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XXV. THE TRUMPETER SWAN AND THE BALD

EAGLE.

MAYNE REID.

[This passage is from the Young Voyageurs, another work of Captain Mayne Reid's, and a sort of continuation of The Boy Hunters, from which an extract may be found a few pages back. In the interval between the incidents of the two books, the boys, Basil, Lucien, and Francis, are represented as having lost their father, and as having set out on a journey to an uncle living at one of the northern posts of the Hudson's Bay Company. They are accompanied by their cousin Norman, a young man a little older than Basil. Their journey is performed partly in a canoe, and partly on foot. The book is written with the same spirit and animation as the Boy Hunters. The following adventure occurs while they are floating down the Red River, to Lake Winnipeg, in a canoe.]

Ir was the spring season, though late. The snow had entirely disappeared from the hills, and the ice from the water, and the melting of both had swollen the river, and rendered its current more rapid than usual. Our young voyagers needed not therefore to ply their oars, except now and then to guide the canoe; for these little vessels have no rudder, but are steered by the paddles. An occasional stroke of the paddle kept them in their course, and they floated on without effort.

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such was the name of their Canadian or Highsat in the bow, and directed their course. This is the post of honor in a canoe; and as he had more experience than any of them in this sort of navigation, he was allowed habitually to occupy this post. Lucien sat in the stern. He held in his hands a book and pencil; and as the canoe glided onward, he was noting down his observations. There were various trees and shrubs on the banks of the stream; and Lucien lectured upon their properties and characteristics to his companions, as they floated along. Norman listened with astonishment to his scientific cousin, who, although he had never been in this region before, knew more of its plants and trees than he did himself. Basil also was interested in the explanations given by his brother.

On the contrary, Francis, who cared but little for botanical

studies, was occupied differently. He sat near the middle of the canoe, double barrel in hand, eagerly waiting for a shot. He had killed several wild geese and ducks in the course of the day but this did not satisfy him. There was one bird on the river that could not be approached. No matter how carefully the canoe was managed, the shy creature always took flight before they could get within range of him. The very difficulty of getting a shot at them, together with the splendid character of the birds themselves, had rendered Francis eager to obtain one. The bird itself was no other than the great wild swan, the king of aquatic birds.

"Come, brother," said Francis, addressing Lucien, "you have talked long enough about the bushes. Tell us something about these swans. See, there goes another of them. What a splendid fellow he is! I'd give something to have him within range of buck shot."

As he spoke, he pointed down stream to a great white bird that was seen moving out from the bank. It was a swan, and one of the very largest kind,-called a "trumpeter," on account of its note, which resembles the sound of a French horn, or trumpet, played at a distance.

It had been feeding in a sedge of the wild rice; and no doubt the sight of the canoe, or the plash of the guiding oar, had disturbed and given it the alarm. It shot out from the reeds with head erect and wings slightly raised, offering to the eyes of the voyagers a spectacle of graceful and majestic bearing that, among the feathered race at least, is unparalleled.

A few strokes of its broad feet propelled it into the open water near the middle of the stream, when, making a half wheel, it turned head down the river, and swam with the current.

At the point where it turned, it was not more than two hundred yards ahead of the canoe. Its apparent boldness in permitting them to come so near without taking wing led Francis to hope that they might get still nearer; and, begging his companions to ply the paddle, he seized hold of his double-bar

relled fowling piece, and leaned forward in the canoe. Basil also conceived a hope that a shot was to be had, for he took up his rifle, and held it ready to fire. The others went steadily and quietly to work with the oars. In a few moments, the canoe cleft the current at the rate of a galloping horse, and one would have supposed that the swan must either at once take wing or be overtaken.

Not so, however. The trumpeter knew his game better than that. He had full confidence both in his strength and speed upon the water. He did not intend to take flight until the necessity arose for doing so; and as it was, he seemed to be satisfied that that necessity had not yet arrived. The swim cost him much less muscular exertion than the flight would have done; and he judged that the current, here very swift, would carry him out of reach of his pursuers.

It soon began to appear that he had judged rightly; and the voyagers, to their chagrin, saw that, instead of gaining on him, as they had expected, every moment widened the distance between him and the canoe. The bird had an advantage over his pursuers. Three distinct powers propelled him, while they had only two to rely upon. He had the current in his favor; so had they. He had oars, or paddles - his feet; they had oars as well. He "carried sail," while they had not a rag to spread. The wind chanced to blow directly down stream, and the broad wings of the bird, held out from his body, and half extended, caught the very pith of the breeze on their double concave surfaces, and carried him through the water with the swiftness of an arrow.

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Unquestionably the swan had gone through a process of reasoning, and calculated his distance, and resolved to keep on "the even tenor of his way" without putting himself to extra trouble by beating the air with his wings. His judgment proved sound; for in less than ten minutes from the commencement of the chase, he had gained a clear hundred yards upon his pursuers, and continued to widen the distance. At intervals, he raised his beak higher than usual, and uttered his loud

booming note, which fell upon the ears of the voyagers as though it had been sent back in mockery and defiance.

They would have given up the chase, had they not noticed that, a few hundred yards farther down, the river made a sharp turn to the right. The swan, on reaching this, would no longer have the wind in his favor. This inspired them with fresh hopes. They thought they should be able to overtake him after passing the bend, and then either get a shot at him or force him into the air.

They bent, therefore, with fresh energy to their oars, and pulled onward in the pursuit. First the swan, and after him the canoe, swung round the bend, and entered the new reach of the river. The voyagers at once perceived that the bird now swam more slowly. He no longer "carried sail," as the wind was no longer in his favor. His wings lay closely folded to his body, and he moved only by the aid of his webbed feet and the current; which latter happened to be sluggish, as the river at this part spread over a wide expanse of level land. The canoe was evidently catching up, and each stroke was bringing the pursuers nearer the pursued.

After a few minutes' brisk pulling, the trumpeter had lost so much ground that he was not two hundred yards in advance, and "dead ahead." His body was no longer carried with the same gracefulness, and the majestic curving of the neck had disappeared. His bill protruded forward, and his thighs began to drag the water in his wake. He was evidently about to take wing. Both Basil and Francis saw this, and stood with their guns crossed and ready. At this moment, a shrill cry sounded over the water. It was the scream of some wild creature, ending in a strange laugh, like that of a maniac.

On both sides of the river there was a thick forest of tall trees of the cottonwood species. From this forest the strange cry had proceeded, and on the right bank. Its echoes had hardly ceased, when it was answered by a similar cry from the trees on the left. These cries were hideous enough to frighten any one not used to them. They had not that effect

upon the voyagers, who knew their import. One and all of them were familiar with the voice of the white-headed eagle.

The trumpeter knew it as well as any of them, but on him it produced a far different effect. His terror was apparent, and his intention was all at once changed. Instead of rising into the air, as he had purposed, he suddenly lowered his head, and disappeared under the water.

Again was heard the wild scream and the maniac laugh; and the next moment, an eagle swept out from the timber, and, after a few strokes of its broad wing, poised itself over the spot where the trumpeter had gone down. The other, its mate, was seen crossing at the same time from the opposite side.

XXVI. —THE SAME, CONCLUDED.

PRESENTLY the swan rose to the surface; but his head was hardly out of the water, when the eagle once more uttered its wild note, and half folding its wings, darted down from above. The swan seemed to have expected this; for before the eagle could reach the surface, he had gone under the second time, and the latter, though passing with the velocity of an arrow, plunged his talons in the water to no purpose. With a cry of disappointment, the eagle mounted back into the air, and commenced wheeling in circles over the spot. It was now joined by its mate, and both kept wheeling round and round, watching for the reappearance of their intended victim.

Again the swan came to the surface; but before either of the eagles could swoop upon him, he had for the third time disappeared. The swan is but an indifferent diver; but under such circumstances he was likely to do his best at it. But what could it avail him? He must soon rise to the surface to take breath, each time at shorter intervals. He would soon become fatigued and unable to dive with sufficient quickness, and then his cruel enemies would be down upon him with their

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