Animal Heroes — Arnaux, the Chronicle of a Homing Pigeon, part 1

ARNAUX

THE CHRONICLE OF A HOMING PIGEON

We passed through the side door of a big stable on West Nineteenth Street.

The mild smell of the well-kept stalls was lost in the sweet odor of hay, as we mounted a ladder and entered the long garret.

The south end was walled off, and the familiar "Coo-oo, cooooo-oo, ruk-at-a-coo," varied with the "whirr, whirr, whirr" of wings, informed us that we were at the pigeon-loft.

This was the home of a famous lot of birds, and to-day there was to be a race among fifty of the youngsters.

The owner of the loft had asked me, as an unprejudiced outsider, to be judge in the contest.

It was a training race of the young birds.

They had been taken out for short distances with their parents once or twice, then set free to return to the loft.

Now for the first time they were to be flown without the old ones.

The point of start, Elizabeth, N. J.

, was a long journey for their first unaided attempt.

"But then," the trainer remarked, "that's how we weed out the fools; only the best birds make it, and that's all we want back."

There was another side to the flight.

It was to be a race among those that did return.

Each of the men about the loft as well as several neighboring fanciers were interested in one or other of the Homers.

They made up a purse for the winner, and on me was to devolve the important duty of deciding which should take the stakes.

Not the first bird back, but the first bird into the loft, was to win, for one that returns to his neighborhood merely, without immediately reporting at home, is of little use as a letter-carrier.

The Homing Pigeon used to be called the Carrier because it carried messages, but here I found that name restricted to the show bird, the creature with absurdly developed wattles; the one that carries the messages is now called the Homer, or Homing Pigeon--the bird that always comes home.

These Pigeons are not of any special color, nor have they any of the fancy adornments of the kind that figure in Bird shows.

They are not bred for style, but for speed and for their mental gifts.

They must be true to their home, able to return to it without fail.

The sense of direction is now believed to be located in the bony labyrinth of the ear.

There is no creature with finer sense of locality and direction than a good Homer, and the only visible proofs of it are the great bulge on each side of the head over the ears, and the superb wings that complete his equipment to obey the noble impulse of home-love.

Now the mental and physical equipments of the last lot of young birds were to be put to test.

Although there were plenty of witnesses, I thought it best to close all but one of the pigeon-doors and stand ready to shut that behind the first arrival.

I shall never forget the sensations of that day.

I had been warned: "They start at 12; they should be here at 12:30; but look out, they come like a whirlwind.

You hardly see them till they're in."

We were ranged along the inside of the loft, each with an eye to a crack or a partly closed pigeon-door, anxiously scanning the southwestern horizon, when one shouted: "Look out--here they come!"

Like a white cloud they burst into view, low skimming over the city roofs, around a great chimney pile, and in two seconds after first being seen they were back.

The flash of white, the rush of pinions, were all so sudden, so short, that, though preparing, I was unprepared.

I was at the only open door.

A whistling arrow of blue shot in, lashed my face with its pinions, and passed.

I had hardly time to drop the little door, as a yell burst from the men, "Arnaux!

Arnaux!

I told you he would.

Oh, he's a darling; only three months old and a winner--he's a little darling!"

and Arnaux's owner danced, more for joy in his bird than in the purse he had won.

The men sat or kneeled and watched him in positive reverence as he gulped a quantity of water, then turned to the food-trough.

"Look at that eye, those wings, and did you ever see such a breast?

Oh, but he's the real grit!"

so his owner prattled to the silent ones whose birds had been defeated.

That was the first of Arnaux's exploits.

Best of fifty birds from a good loft, his future was bright with promise.

He was invested with the silver anklet of the Sacred Order of the High Homer.

It bore his number, 2590 C, a number which to-day means much to all men in the world of the Homing Pigeon.

In that trial flight from Elizabeth only forty birds had returned.

It is usually so.

Some were weak and got left behind, some were foolish and strayed.

By this simple process of flight selection the pigeon-owners keep improving their stock.

Of the ten, five were seen no more, but five returned later that day, not all at once, but straggling in; the last of the loiterers was a big, lubberly Blue Pigeon.

The man in the loft at the time called: "Here comes that old sap-headed Blue that Jakey was betting on.

I didn't suppose he would come back, and I didn't care, neither, for it's my belief he has a streak of Pouter."

The Big Blue, also called "Corner-box" from the nest where he was hatched, had shown remarkable vigor from the first.

Though all were about the same age, he had grown faster, was bigger, and incidentally handsomer, though the fanciers cared little for that.

He seemed fully aware of his importance, and early showed a disposition to bully his smaller cousins.

His owner prophesied great things of him, but Billy, the stable-man, had grave doubts over the length of his neck, the bigness of his crop, his carriage, and his over-size.

"A bird can't make time pushing a bag of wind ahead of him.

Them long legs is dead weight, an' a neck like that ain't got no gimp in it," Billy would grunt disparagingly as he cleaned out the loft of a morning.

II

The training of the birds went on after this at regular times.

The distance from home, of the start, was "jumped" twenty-five or thirty miles farther each day, and its direction changed till the Homers knew the country for one hundred and fifty miles around New York.

The original fifty birds dwindled to twenty, for the rigid process weeds out not only the weak and ill-equipped, but those also who may have temporary ailments or accidents, or who may make the mistake of over-eating at the start.

There were many fine birds in that flight, broad-breasted, bright-eyed, long-winged creatures, formed for swiftest flight, for high unconscious emprise, for these were destined to be messengers in the service of man in times of serious need.

Their colors were mostly white, blue, or brown.

They wore no uniform, but each and all of the chosen remnant had the brilliant eye and the bulging ears of the finest Homer blood; and, best and choicest of all, nearly always first among them was little Arnaux.

He had not much to distinguish him when at rest, for now all of the band had the silver anklet, but in the air it was that Arnaux showed his make, and when the opening of the hamper gave the order "Start," it was Arnaux that first got under way, soared to the height deemed needful to exclude all local influence, divined the road to home, and took it, pausing not for food, drink, or company.

Notwithstanding Billy's evil forecasts, the Big Blue of the Corner-box was one of the chosen twenty.

Often he was late in returning; he never was first, and sometimes when he came back hours behind the rest, it was plain that he was neither hungry nor thirsty, sure signs that he was a loiterer by the way.

Still he had come back; and now he wore on his ankle, like the rest, the sacred badge and a number from the roll of possible fame.

Billy despised him, set him in poor contrast with Arnaux, but his owner would reply: "Give him a chance;'soon ripe, soon rotten,' an' I always notice the best bird is the slowest to show up at first."

Before a year little Arnaux had made a record.

The hardest of all work is over the sea, for there is no chance of aid from landmarks; and the hardest of all times at sea is in fog, for then even the sun is blotted out and there is nothing whatever for guidance.

With memory, sight, and hearing unavailable, the Homer has one thing left, and herein is his great strength, the inborn sense of direction.

There is only one thing that can destroy this, and that is fear, hence the necessity of a stout little heart between those noble wings.

Arnaux, with two of his order, in course of training, had been shipped on an ocean steamer bound for Europe.

They were to be released out of sight of land, but a heavy fog set in and forbade the start.

The steamer took them onward, the intention being to send them back with the next vessel.

When ten hours out the engine broke down, the fog settled dense over the sea, and the vessel was adrift and helpless as a log.

She could only whistle for assistance, and so far as results were concerned, the captain might as well have wigwagged.

Then the Pigeons were thought of.

Starback, 2592 C, was first selected.

A message for help was written on waterproof paper, rolled up, and lashed to his tail-feathers on the under side.

He was thrown into the air and disappeared.

Half an hour later, a second, the Big Blue Corner-box, 2600 C, was freighted with a letter.

He flew up, but almost immediately returned and alighted on the rigging.

He was a picture of pigeon fear;

nothing could induce him to leave the ship.

He was so terrorized that he was easily caught and ignominiously thrust back into the coop.

Now the third was brought out, a small, chunky bird.

The shipmen did not know him, but they noted down from his anklet his name and number, Arnaux, 2590 C. It meant nothing to them.

But the officer who held him noted that his heart did not beat so wildly as that of the last bird.

The message was taken from the Big Blue.

It ran: 10 A.

M.

, Tuesday.

We broke our shaft two hundred and ten miles out from New York; we are drifting helplessly in the fog.

Send out a tug as soon as possible.

We are whistling one long, followed at once by one short, every sixty seconds.

(Signed) THE CAPTAIN.

This was rolled up, wrapped in waterproof film, addressed to the Steamship Company, and lashed to the under side of Arnaux's middle tail-feather.

When thrown into the air, he circled round the ship, then round again higher, then again higher in a wider circle, and he was lost to view;

and still higher till quite out of sight and feeling of the ship.

Shut out from the use of all his senses now but one, he gave himself up to that.

Strong in him it was, and untrammelled of that murderous despot Fear.

True as a needle to the Pole went Arnaux now, no hesitation, no doubts; within one minute of leaving the coop he was speeding straight as a ray of light for the loft where he was born, the only place on earth where he could be made content.

That afternoon Billy was on duty when the whistle of fast wings was heard; a blue Flyer flashed into the loft and made for the water-trough.

He was gulping down mouthful after mouthful, when Billy gasped: "Why, Arnaux, it's you, you beauty."

Then, with the quick habit of the pigeon-man, he pulled out his watch and marked the time, 2:40 P.

M.

A glance showed the tie string on the tail.

He shut the door and dropped the catching-net quickly over Arnaux's head.

A moment later he had the roll in his hand; in two minutes he was speeding to the office of the Company, for there was a fat tip in view.

There he learned that Arnaux had made the two hundred and ten miles in fog, over sea, in four hours and forty minutes, and within one hour the needful help had set out for the unfortunate steamer.

Two hundred and ten miles in fog over sea in four hours and forty minutes!

This was a noble record.

It was duly inscribed in the rolls of the Homing Club.

Arnaux was held while the secretary, with rubber stamp and indelible ink, printed on a snowy primary of his right wing the record of the feat, with the date and reference number.

Starback, the second bird, never was heard of again.

No doubt he perished at sea.

Blue Corner-box came back on the tug.