Part II Chapter 1 Doctor Dolittle and the Green Canary by Hugh Lofting
The Green Canary Learns to Fly
'After about half an hour the storm abated, the rain stopped and the sun come out. I at once left my rat hole and started to fly around in the open to get the wet shaken out of my feathers.
'I was astonished to discover that I could hardly fly at all, I decided that this was due to the soaking I had had—and to exhaustion from want of food. But even when, by constant fluttering, I got perfectly dry I found that the best I could do was just tiny, short distance; and that the effort of these was frightfully tiring. As a cage bird I had learned to keep up a flight only from one perch to another—hardly flying at all, you might say. Before I could take to the air like a regular free bird I had to learn—just as though I were a baby leaving the nest for the first time.
'Well, there was no food here. And if I was to go foraging for any I had better get busy. So I set to work practising my flight. There was an old packing–case close to the door of the mill and I began by flying up on to it and down again. Presently while I was doing this I noticed a lean, hungry–looking cat watching me. "Ha, ha, my beauty," I thought. "I may be a very green cage bird, but I know you and your kind."
'And by short stages I flew up on to the roofs of some old tumble–down outhouses that stood near. She followed me up there. Then I returned to the yard. In spite of my poor flying I could keep out of her claws so long as I knew where she was. And I never lingered anywhere in the neighbourhood of an ambushing place, where she could pounce out on me unawares.
'In the meantime I kept on practising. And although it was very exhausting work, I felt I was improving hourly and would soon be able to make the top of the mill tower on one flight. From there I hoped I would be able to get inside the building through a hole in the roof and make my way down to the kitchen, where I could find some food.
'Seeing what a poor flyer I was, Mme Pussy, in the mean–souled way that cats have, had made up her mind that I was injured or a weakling and would be easy prey. And she stayed around and watched and waited. She was determined to get me. But I was equally determined that she wouldn't.
'Most people would think, I suppose, that it is a very simple matter for a cage bird to change herself in a moment into a wild one. But it isn't easy—not by a great deal. You see, wild birds are taught when they are very young to take care of themselves. They learn from their parents and from watching and imitating other birds, where to search for water, at what seasons seed is to be found, where and when to look for certain kinds of berries, what places to roost in at night so they'll be protected from winds and safe from pouncing weasels, and—well, a million and a half other things. All this education I had missed. And for me my freedom at its beginning was just about the same as it would be for Gub–Gub there suddenly to find himself in the jungle with wild boars and tigers and snakes, after spending his life in a nice, comfortable sty.'
'Pardon me,' said Gub–Gub, turning up his nose. 'But I have already been in the jungle and enjoyed it greatly.'
'Yes, and got lost there,' growled Jip. 'Dry up!'
'Well,' Pippinella continued, 'I realized this at once, I saw that if I was to escape the dangers that threatened me and to survive in the open I would have to be very careful, to depend on common sense and take no risks. That was the chief reason why I began by making my way into the inside of the building. Within its walls I should be safe. I knew that owls and hawks and shrikes swept around this hill every once in a while on the lookout for anything small enough to kill. And until my flying was a great deal better I would stand no earthly chance of escape, once a bird of prey started out to get me.
'I found a hole in the top of the tower and I made my way downward through all sorts of funny dark flues and passages till I came to the kitchen door. This was locked. But luckily the old things was all wrapped and it didn't fit very well. There was a space over the top big enough for me to slip through.
'I lived in that kitchen for a week. I found my seed where I knew the window–cleaner always kept it, in a paper bag on the mantelshelf. In the corner by the stove there was a bucket of water. So I was well stocked with provisions, besides being snugly protected behind solid stone walls from my natural enemies and the cold of the nights. There I went on practising my flying. Round and round that kitchen I flew, counting the number of laps. And after I had got as high as a thousand I thought, "Well, I don't know just how far that would be in a straight line, but it must be a good long way."
'Still I wasn't satisfied. I knew that often in the open I would have to fly miles and miles at high speed. And I kept on circling the kitchen by the hour. One morning, when I rested on the mantelpiece after two hours of steady flying, I suddenly spied that wretched cat, squatting behind the stove, watching me. How she had got in I don't know—certainly not the way I had come. But cats are mysterious creatures and can slip through unbelievably small spaces when they want to.
'Well, anyway, there she was. My comfortable kitchen wasn't safe any more. However, I found a place to rest at night—the funniest roosting–place you ever saw; on a string of dried onions that hung from the ceiling. I knew she couldn't reach me there and I could go to sleep in safety.
'But, as a matter of fact, I got very little rest. The cat was on my mind all the time. And although I knew perfectly well that she couldn't jump as high as that string, somehow—they're such horribly clever things—every time she moved I woke up, thinking that perhaps she'd discovered some devilish trick to reach me after all.
'Finally I said to myself: "Tomorrow I will leave the mill and take to the open. It's a little earlier than I had planned to go, but I'll get no peace, now she has found her way here. Tomorrow I will journey forth to seek my fortune."
'Back I travelled through the little space above the door, up the dark, dusty, dilapidated mill tower, until I came to the hole in the stonework at the top. It was a beautiful morning. A lovely scene lay before me as I―'
'But when's the window–cleaner coming back?' whined Gub–Gub. 'I want to know what happened to that window–cleaner.'
'Be patient,' said the Doctor. 'Pippinella has told you to wait and see.'
'A lovely scene,' the canary repeated, 'lay before me as I gazed out over the countryside. For a moment I felt almost scared to launch myself down upon the bosom of the air from that height. I picked out a little copse over to the eastward. "That can't be more than a quarter of a mile away," I said to myself. "I can surely fly that far. All right—here goes!"
'And I shot off the tower top in the direction of the little wood. And now once more I found myself faced with the problems of my own inexperience. I had never before flown high up in the open air. I had no idea of how to tackle the winds and the air currents that pushed me and turned me this way and that. Any ordinary bird would have reached that copse with hardly a flutter—just sailed down to it with motionless, outstretched wings. But I—well, I was like some badly loaded boat without a rudder in a gale. I pitched and tossed and wobbled and staggered. I heard some crows who passed laughing at me in their hoarse, cracky voices.
'"Haw, haw!" they crackled. "Look at the feather–duster the wind blew up! Put your tail down, chicken! Stick to it! Mind you don't fall!—Whoa!"
'They're vulgar, low birds, crows. But I suppose I must have looked comical enough, flustering and flapping around at the mercy of the fitful wind. I got down to the woods somehow and made a sort of wild spreadeagle landing in the top boughs of an oak. I was all exhausted. But I felt encouraged, anyway. I had proved that I could get where I wanted to, even with a moderate wind against me.
'I rested awhile to regain my breath and then started hopping around through the woods. I found it much easier to get my wings all caught up in the blackberry brambles than to shoot in and out of the thickets like the other birds did. But I took the crow's advice and stuck to it, knowing that the only way to learn even this was by practice.
'While I was hopping about, making discoveries and collecting experience, I became aware that once more I was being watched by enemies. This time it was a large sparrow hawk. Whenever I came out into a clearing I'd see the same round–shouldered bird, sitting motionless at the top of small tall tree. He pretended to be dozing in the sun. But I felt quite certain that he had noticed my awkward, clumsy flight and was only waiting for a chance to swoop on me. I knew that so long as I stayed near the bramble thickets I was safe. For with his wide wings he couldn't possibly follow me into the little tiny spaces of the thorny blackberry tangles.
'After a while I supposed he had given me up as a bad job. For he flew off with easy, gliding flight and made away over the tree–tops as though leaving the woods for good. Then, feeling safe once more I proceeded with further explorations and after a little I decided to venture out in the open again.
'This time I thought I'd try travelling downwind. And I set out flying back in the general direction from which I had approached the wood. It was much easier work, but required quite a lot of skill to keep a straight line with the wind at my back.
'About half–way across the fields that lay beneath the copse and the windmill hill I noticed a flock of sparrows rise out of a hedge below me in a great state of alarm. They were looking upwards at the sky as they scattered, chattering, in all directions. They were evidently in a panic about something. And suddenly I guessed what it was—I had forgotten all about the hawk. I turned my head, and there he was, not more than a hundred and fifty yards behind, speeding after me like a bullet. I never had such a fright in my life. There was no place in the fields where I could hide.
'"The hole in the tower," I thought to myself. "If I can reach that I am safe. He isn't small enough to follow me into that hole in the roof."
'And putting on the best speed I could I shut my beak tight and made for the old mill.
'It was a terrible race,' Pippinella went on, shaking her head. 'That hawk had the speed of the wind itself and there were times when I thought I'd never get away from him. I was afraid to look back, lest even the turning of my head delay my flight. I could hear the swish, swish, swish of his great wings beating the air behind me.
'But fortunately the rising sparrows had warned me in time, so I had a pretty fair start on him. And in so short a flight even he was not swift enough to overtake me. He came awfully close to it, though. As I shot into the mill roof and tumbled down gasping for breath among the cobwebs I saw his great shadow sweep over the hole not more than a foot behind me.
'"You wait!" I heard him hiss as he tilted upwards and veered away over the mill roof. "I'll get you yet!"'
'You haven't forgotten about the window–cleaner, have you?' asked Gub–Gub. 'What's happening to him all this time?'
'Oh, be quiet,' snapped Jip.
'I spent the night in the tower,' Pippinella continued. 'The cat did not know I was there yet, so I wasn't bothered by her. But I felt very miserable as I settled down to sleep. An ordinary free bird, I suppose, would have not been greatly disturbed by being chased by a hawk—so long as he got away. But it was my first experience in the wild. And it seemed to me as though the whole world was full of enemies, of creatures that wanted to kill me. I felt dreadfully friendliness and lonely.
'After a fitful, nightmary sort of sleep I was awakened in the morning by a very agreeable sound, the love song of a greenfinch. Somewhere on a ledge just outside the hole a bird was singing. And he was singing to me. I was, as it were, being serenaded at my window. I got up, brushed the cobwebs out of my tail, spruced up my feathers and prepared to go out and take a look at my caller.
'I peeped out cautiously through the hole and there he was—the handsomest little cock you ever saw in your life. His head was thrown back, his wings slightly raised and his throat puffed out. He was singing away with all his might. I do not know any song, myself, that I like better than the love song of the greenfinch in the spring. There's a peculiar dreamy, poetic sort of quality to it that no other bird melody possess. You have no idea what it did for me that morning. In a moment I had forgotten about the hawk and the cat and all my troubles. The whole world seemed changed, friendly, full of pleasant adventures. I waited there, listening in the dark, till he had finished. Then I stepped out of the hole on to the roof.
'"Good morning," he said, smiling in an embarrassed sort of way. "I hope I didn't wake you too early."
'"Oh, not at all." I answered. "It was very good of you to come!"
'"Well," he said, "I saw you being chased by that beastly sparrow hawk last night. I had noticed you in the copse earlier. From your sort of stiff way of flying I guessed you were a cage bird just newly freed. I'm glad you got away from the old brute. I was awfully afraid you wouldn't. You are partly a greenfinch yourself, are you not?"
'"Yes," I replied. "My mother was a greenfinch and my father a canary."
'"I guesed that, too, from your feathers," said he. "I think you're very pretty—with those fine yellow bars in your wings."
'"Would you care to take a fly around the woods?" my new acquaintance asked me. "It's a pleasant morning."
'"Thank you," I said. "I certainly would. I'm very hungry and I don't know very much as yet about foraging for food in the open."
'"Well, let's be off, then," he said. "Wait till I take a look around to make sure the squint–eyed old hawk isn't snooping about. Then we'll go across to Eastdale Farm. I know a granary there where there are whole sacks of millet seed kept. And some of it is always lying around loose near the door where the men load it in. Ha, the coast is clear! Come along."
'So off we went, as happy as you please—for all the world like two children out for a romp. On the way my friend, whose name I found was Nippit, gave me no end of new tips about flying—how to set the wings against a twisting air current, what effect had the spreading of the tail fan–like when the wind was behind me, dodges for raising myself without the work of flapping, how to drop or dive without turning over.
'We reached the farm he had spoken of. A fine, substantial, old–fashioned place, it looked just charming in early morning sunlight.
'"I don't think the men are up yet," he said—"not that they would bother us even if they were. But it's more comfortable getting your breakfast without disturbances. There's the granary, that big brick building with the elms hanging over it."
'He led me to the door at the back, and there, as he had said, was quite a lot of millet seed scattered around loose, where it had fallen from the sacks on their way into the storerooms.
'While we were gobbling away he suddenly shouted, "Look out!" at the top of his voice. And we both leaped into the air in the nick of time. The farm dog, one of those spaniels they use for shooting, had made a rush at us from behind. I hadn't seen him coming at all. But my friend's eyes were twice as sharp as mine and he never ate near the ground without keeping one eye constantly on the lookout all around. His vigilance had saved my life.'