Of all birds native to North America, the eagles are among the most
fearless. We are proud of the Bald or American eagle, our chosen emblem of
liberty; but while the Bald eagle has as wide wing spread and is
practically the same size, in strength or fearlessness it is no such bird
as the Golden eagle, the only other variety commonly found in North
America. The Golden eagle was formerly found in most parts of the United
States; but as civilization has pushed westward, he, like the Indian, and
with a love of liberty as inborn and undying, has been crowded before it,
till now he is seldom seen save on the western plains and in the lofty
crags of the Rocky Mountains. But in that good old time when there was
room for all, and the dollar god had not been set up in all the land,
there were few days when the eagle could not be seen as he soared on
tireless wing over almost every part of the country.
Between one hundred and twenty-five and one hundred and fifty years
ago, somewhere in the Ohio or the Mississippi valley, was reared a young
golden eagle. When he was two or three months old, and had been taught to
fly, he was driven out of the nest by his parents; for eagles never allow
their young to stay about home when they are old enough to begin to look
out for themselves. But that fall and winter he remained as near the
locality of the home nest as he thought prudent. Often, during this first
winter, when he was not fully grown, and had not come to the knowledge of
his own strength, he was forced to feed with the vultures.
The small compass of one neighborhood is not wide enough for more than
one family of eagles; so in the spring Elo, as we shall call him, started
out in quest of a new home. The white man had settled most of the Ohio
valley, and in the locality where he had been a fledgling, the white man's
gun was becoming more and more a menace to the life of these great birds.
As if that were not enough, his dogs were killing many of the smaller
animals upon which the eagles depend for food. Day by day and month by
month all that for centuries had made their home desirable was being
destroyed.
No wonder this young giant- for verily he
was a giant - turned his flight toward the
setting sun. Mounting upward into the clear depths of the spring sky, till
he was no more than a speck to the earth dwellers, Elo flew westward, and
northward, and toward the pleasant land of the South. And not till his
piercing eye had scanned all the country lying between his home and the
barren wastes of the western prairies, whose sere, brown buffalo grass
stretched still westward for miles upon miles, and from the wilderness
lying beyond the Great Lakes on the north to the lowlands of the Gulf, did
he finally choose a site for his future home.
This occupied his summer, but there was no haste. In the rushes and
swamps of the Northland was an abundance of waterfowl, tender and good,
and Elo feasted to the full. On the western plains he learned to surprise
the alert little prairie dogs and to hunt the long-eared jack rabbit. At
this time, too, he acquired a taste for wild turkey, and learned the
easiest way to gratify it. And when winter once more wrapped all the
northern country in its white winding sheet, Elo flew South again, and,
instinct-taught, became an expert in catching the wild goose and in
snatching from the shore or the blue waters of the gulf its treasures of
gleaming fish.
Still another year he spent learning the secrets of the air. Having no
family cares and plenty to eat, he grew rapidly, daily increasing in size,
strength, and sagacity. The wildlings that have abundant food become the
giants of their race; and happy is that one whom circumstances prevent
from becoming burdened with family duties before he is fully developed.
In the south branch of the Skunk River, in southeastern Iowa, about
three miles west of the point where the river forks, there was a small
island. On this island, difficult of access from all sides, grew at that
time a great cottonwood tree, perhaps the largest within a radius of a
hundred miles. Planted by the living waters, its great roots striking deep
down into mother earth, it drew from this source an unfailing supply of
food and moisture, so that in summer or winter, prolonged drought or
bitter cold, it never suffered. Its proud head was reared to a great
height, and its widespreading branches reached down to the very water's
edge. Its trunk was too large to climb, and the branches were so wide and
the top so high that the shotguns of those days would not carry to the top
of it.
This was the tree, on this secluded island, that Elo had chosen for his
home, and hither, the spring following his third winter, when he was fully
grown, he brought his mate. Shortly after their arrival the actual work of
house building began. This was not a small matter, but the dauntless bird
set about it with a spirit worthy of the giant he was.
Some French missionaries had early made a small clearing near the
present city of Burlington, in Iowa, and formed a settlement. Pushing out
from this frontier, men had here and there built cabins, split a few rails
for fencing their rude homes from the forest prowlers, and
"squatted" in the wilderness. One of these had founded a future
home for his family not far from this island.
Elo had left the region of his eaglethood because of the offensive
presence of the white man; but now that one had come to live so near his
chosen home, he seems to have made up his mind to profit by the
interloper's presence, and make use of his skill. At all events, the birds
selected three of the smallest fence stakes as a foundation for their
nest. These were heavy for a bird to carry, but being linden wood, were
much lighter than they looked, and light enough that in some way the birds
carried them up above the tree and placed them, in the form of a rude
triangle, into the forks of its great branches, so high as to ensure
safety from the wicked aim of the hunter. Next they chose branches of the
wild grapevine, some of them from ten to fifteen feet long, and wove them
into the rough outlines of the nest, finishing it with smaller vines and
sticks mingled with sod and mud.
It was to be no temporary affair, this home of the air, and the pair
built it strong, with a broad base and firm foundations. When completed,
it was several feet in diameter, and almost level on the top. Being
above the tops of all the other trees, it was one of the most
conspicuous things in the forest. One who has never seen such a nest
might find it difficult to believe that two birds could build a
structure of this size.
I have seen many eagles' nests since this one-nests built in various
parts of the Rocky Mountains-but never one that would compare with this
one in size. The nest which for half a century at least surmounted the
famous Eagle Cliff on the bank of the Gardiner River at the entrance to
Yellowstone Park, is a pigmy compared with it. About ten miles from the
town of Charlevoix, Michigan, on the bank of the lake, the last we knew
there stood a giant pine, which tradition says has served as a landmark
for nearly two centuries. But the great nest which for many years has
been in the top of this pine, and which may still be used every year by
two bald eagles, is much smaller than the nest of Elo and his mate.
The same nest was used year after year, Elo and his mate adding to it
each successive season, placing new material on top of the old. So
strongly was it built and so firmly were its foundations laid that long
after it ceased to be the home of the two happy birds it was pointed out
to the children of the neighborhood as "the old eagles' nest."
When my father, then a twelve-year-old boy, came to Iowa, in 1842,
the land where the old eagle tree stood, still belonged to the Indians,
being only about a hundred yards across the line that divided their
reservation from the white man's territory. He tells me that even at
that early date the nest looked old, giving evidence of having been
there for ten or fifteen years.
A little later the Indians moved westward, the river was dammed, and
a mill was built just below the famous nest. From the steps of this mill
the doings of the eagles were closely observed for years. In early
spring they began to fly back and forth, now lost to view in the clouds,
now appearing again, as they swept the country in search of food. And
even at that height they would detect their prey in the open.
They did not trouble ordinary birds, and only rarely did they destroy
anything belonging to man. It is related that on one occasion, however,
the old eagle brought home a lamb from a fold at least ten miles
distant. But whether from prudence or other motives, they did not forage
in the locality of the nest.
However, not a rabbit could stir from his covert without attracting
the attention of Elo. If the great bird was hungry, he would choose his
victim and swoop down upon him. With wings turned backward and tail
spread, he would drop from the clouds, head first, silent and swift as
an arrow, and far more destructive. Slender indeed were poor bunny's
chances of escape then. Elo's great weight, added to the momentum gained
in his descent of several hundred feet, would drive the bird's mighty
talons their full length into his prey, almost instantly crushing out
its life. Then the eagle would carry the carcass off and, perched in the
topmost branches of some tall tree, finish it at a meal.
"Cruel," you say, but I have seen men carrying chickens to
a similar fate, while the startled creatures cried out in terror; yet
they never supposed they were acting cruelly. Let him who condemns the
wildlings for their deeds of violence take heed lest the greater sin lie
at his own door. They slay only to eat, and their hapless victims are
not forced to bear the agony of suspense before they are dispatched.
When the eagle seizes its prey, the victim's struggles are usually over
in an instant. Even though it be large, the eagle generally manages to
break either its back or its neck at first contact, and so its suffering
is slight.
Elo's mate seemed equally sagacious with himself. Female eagles are
usually larger than the males, but not so with Elo. He was a giant of
his race. Many a man would have counted it a high honor to add the head
and claws of either bird to his trophies of the chase, but none could
get within gunshot of them. The birds soared too high, and when they did
alight, it was in the top of the tallest trees, commanding a view of all
the country around.
At the first approach of spring the eagles began their household
duties. The eggs were usually deposited in February, and by the last of
March or the first of April the young eaglets had hatched. Then the work
began in good earnest. As the wild turkeys were usually in the brush
caring for their young at this time of year, they could not be easily
caught; so the eagles fed their babies mostly on rabbits and a few fish.
These latter were brought from a great distance by Elo, while his mate
stayed nearer by to guard the nest, never leaving it for any length of
time. Golden eagles are not supposed to catch fish, but I have talked
with several men who were old hunters and keen observers, who agreed
with my father that these eagles fed fish to their young, and they
surely were golden eagles.
My father said Elo would fly far to the east, returning from one to
five hours later, flying low, and flapping wearily, with a fish,
sometimes of considerable size, in his talons. These he presumably had
either caught himself or taken from a fish hawk. Often have I seen a
fish hawk dive into the water, bring up a large fish, and start to fly
home with his trophy; but perhaps he would not go more than a few
hundred yards before a bald eagle, which had been soaring above him,
would dart downward with a scream. That scream would be the signal for
trouble, for the hawk naturally wished to keep the fish he had caught,
and would struggle to the utmost to rise above his enemy as they swept
round and round in great circles. But the eagle, being the swifter, and
having no load, would soon gain the coveted vantage point, and from his
superior height would swoop down upon the hawk. When his enemy was close
upon him, the hawk, with a last cry of rage and disappointment, would
drop the fish and dash aside, thus exemplifying again the old law that
all that one possesses will he give for his life. With incredible
swiftness the eagle would catch the fish before it reached the ground,
and bear it triumphantly away. Though only bald eagles are supposed to
do this, Elo was known to get fish in this way.
As Elo brought most of the food for his mate as well as for the young
birds, he was kept busy to supply their wants. Still, an eagle gets
along comfortably with one good feed in three or four days, so they
never suffered.
Sometimes a hunter would hide in the brush, and when the weary bird
was flying homeward, would fire a gun as he drew near, thus making him
drop his prey. Then the poor fellow would have to return perhaps as far
as fifty miles for another fish, for he would have none but the best,
and they were not easy to get. He soon learned to fly up the middle of
the stream and below the tops of the tall trees as he neared home; then
he would not be seen by the concealed hunter, and so would be safe.
Year after year Elo and his mate reared their young in the old eagle
nest. From the mill on the opposite bank my father has often watched the
old bird teach his young to fly. Pushing a protesting eaglet out of the
nest, he would catch it on his back and soar upward into the blue,
higher and higher, till, finally darting from under it, he would leave
the frightened baby to flutter and fly as best it could. He would circle
watchfully about till the young bird fell almost within gunshot of the
ground; then, swooping under it, he would receive it on his back and
bear it heavenward again. This would be repeated until the eaglet was
exhausted, when it would be carried back to the nest. After the first
lesson in flying it was only about two weeks till the brood could care
for themselves. Where they went, no one knows, but I have never known or
heard of more than one nest of this kind of eagle in the whole region. I
do know that an eagle is an ill-natured bird that delights in solitude;
and it is a fact that, though devoted to his mate, his sternness drives
his young from home as soon as they are able to care for themselves.
When he is not otherwise occupied, the eagle sits on some high point,
and in silence surveys the country for miles. For hours he may sit as
still as a statue, but nothing ever seems to escape his vigilant eye.
And when an eagle is sitting like a sentinel on some watchtower or is
soaring among the clouds, the hawks and vultures keep under cover and
the small birds have a holiday. Even the crow, whose superior activity
enables him to attack the hawk at sight, often flits quietly away when
an eagle is near.
There was a crow roost in the white oak timber a few miles from the
eagles' nest, and one day a troop of marauding crows discovered the old
eagle perched in the top of a tree. Emboldened by their numbers, they
began flying around him, to his great disgust, cawing and picking at
him. It so happened that my father was in the woods near by, and hearing
the din made by the crows, crept up and watched the following take
place. He says that as the eagle bore their ill-chosen attentions in
solemn silence, they grew bolder and yet bolder, and some even ventured
to alight near him. Finally he made one swift move, and caught a crow
which had ventured too near. Then, holding his prisoner fast in his
talons, he deliberately plucked it, feather by feather, the terrified
bird squalling mean while at the top of its voice.
This proceeding lasted for probably an hour, and the crows flocked to
the roost by hundreds, cawing and flying angrily about, till the woods
was hideous with their cries, but he paid not the slightest attention to
them. When his victim had not so much as a feather left, Elo let him go
free; then, stretching up to his full height, deliberately spread his
wings, paused a moment, and flew away in utter contempt of his whilom
tormentors, not one of which dared follow him. The cowards did, however,
set upon the naked, helpless victim and peck it to death.
Finally Mr. Goodheart (alas that a name for goodness of heart does
not always include a love for every creature God has made), who owned
the mill already spoken of, bought a new long-range rifle, and of course
must needs try it. One morning from the porch of the mill he saw the
mother eagle on the nest, now the pride of the country, and could not
resist the temptation to try one shot at her. One did the fatal work,
and wounded unto death she fell out of the nest into the river. As Elo
was away at the time of the tragedy, he did not know what became of her.
All summer long he flew back and forth, up and down the river, hunting
for his beloved mate. Late in the fall he went away, but early the
following spring he returned. And almost any clear day every spring for
thirty years he might have been seen soaring high up in the clouds.
As a child I learned to know this eagle, and often I have watched him
in his endless search. Stern and unbending in his disposition, his
affections were as strong as life itself. Sometimes he would alight on
the tree that was his former home and look sorrowfully-
one might easily imagine- at the ruins of his
old nest. Then he would again start on his tireless quest, hoping
against hope, ever seeking some trace of that happiness that had gone
forever. The sight made a deep impression on my mind. How often we cause
sorrow deeper than we understand to the wildlings, which have every
right to look to men for protection.
One morning in late autumn of 1888 a neighbor boy went hunting. As he
neared the river he saw the old eagle soaring slowly through the clouds
and coming his way. He had a rifle and his brother had a shotgun, so
they waited. On came he eagle, straight over head. See them?-
Yes, but for years Elo had been acquainted with guns, and he felt
secure; he was high above them. Or it might have been that, weary with
his long search, he was tired of life, and had grown reckless. At any
rate he flew directly overhead. A flash of smoke and a report from a
shotgun-but the kingly bird kept his course.
Then the rifle was fired more or less at random. Surely fate was
against the old hero, for that happened which would not occur one time
in a thousand. He was out of range of the shotgun, but the new
long-range rifle was a weapon whose power he had not learned. Down he
tumbled, surprised, stunned, limp. He lay all in a heap on the ground.
When the eager dogs rushed upon him they were soon convinced that he was
no waterfowl, and after they had felt the power of his mighty talons
they did not seek a closer intimacy.
Then the boys attacked him, and being armed, succeeded in capturing
him, and took him home. On examination it was found that he was unhurt,
save that the small bone of his right wing was broken. My brother-in-law
was teaching school and boarding at the lads' home at the time, so he
measured the eagle. From tip to tip of his outstretched wings this royal
bird measured almost a foot more than any other eagle I have ever known,
and he stood fully three feet tall when he sat on his perch-three feet
from the perch to the top of his head, not from his head to the tip of
his tail. His long hooked beak was a terrible weapon when one thought
how he could use it, and his cruel talons were sharp as needles. In
color he was decidedly gray-brown, and the feathers on his legs came
well below the knee. His toes were quite naked. His tail was broad, and
was slightly lighter in color than the remainder of his body. In old age
it became quite light.
He was placed in a wooden cage not over six or eight feet square,
just high enough for him to sit on his perch and hop about easily. Later
two posts were set in the ground near his cage, and a pole was nailed
between them. His chain was lengthened and fastened to one of the posts
to enable Elo to come out of his cage and sit on this perch. This gave a
little more freedom, and he seemed to enjoy the change. Thus he who had
had half a continent for his hunting ground and the blue heaven for his
roof was cast into ignoble imprisonment. But captivity could not tame
that dauntless spirit; neither did it cause him to lose one particle of
his dignity.
Seeming to realize that he could not get at his tormentors, he took
their taunts and prods of canes and umbrellas with stolid indifference.
But he could not brook the contempt of his inferiors. One day a dog came
too near and sniffed at the cage in contempt. This was more than he
could stand. He let the dog come within reach, and then what a fight for
a few moments! But it did not last long, for the eagle literally tore
his tormentor in pieces.
For two years and a half Elo was kept in captivity. Although many
interested visitors came to see him, he made friends with none, nor did
he ever show any disposition to unbend his stern dignity. Sometimes he
was simply chained by the foot and allowed a little more freedom than
his box and the pole gave, but even then he spent most of his time
brooding over his troubles, daily growing more fierce and morose. He was
fed mice, rats, rabbits, and anything else that could be conveniently
shot for him. He would take the oldest, toughest rat in his talons,
fasten his beak in the skin on the middle of its back and skin it at a
single jerk. Although he ate the rat he never ate the skin, and I am of
the opinion that had he been at liberty he would have disdained such
vermin.
The household cat was a kindhearted creature, and she either took
pity on the lonely captive or desired to feed from the crumbs that fell
from his table. Whatever her reason, she often came about his cage,
though keeping well out of reach. As time went on she grew bolder, but
he, instead of making friends, resented her familiarity. One day she
ventured too near, and paid for her rashness with her life. The old
eagle was tired of eating carcasses furnished by his keeper, and here
was a chance to taste the warm blood of his own kill. True, cats might
not be to his liking, but even a cat was better than carcasses that were
cold and stiff. He crushed the life out of poor puss almost instantly,
and in a trice had skinned her, devouring her at a single meal.
The chickens also began to come too near his cage, but none ever came
within reach that went away to tell the tale. This costly habit of
catching chickens gained the poor captive his liberty, because his
owners preferred their fowls to even so historic a bird as Elo. Being
unwilling to kill him, and perhaps not fully realizing his value, one
spring morning they set him free. At first he did not seem to understand
that he was actually unfettered, and even when he found that he was free
he did not attempt to fly. His long captivity had not broken his
dauntless spirit, but his great wings had grown weak from inactivity.
The last seen of him, he was hopping down through the meadow. As his
carcass was never found, it was supposed that he soon recovered the use
of his wings.
Sometime afterward a neighbor reported that he had seen an eagle
soaring aimlessly up and down the river in the vicinity of the old nest.
But all had changed. During his captivity, the avarice of man had
destroyed the last vestige of the old eagle's home. A sawmill had been
set up in his native woods, and even the historic old eagle tree, which
should have been spared, had been hewn down, cut into logs, and sawed
into lumber. Where for so many years had been his happy home, were only
disfigured stumps and piles of charred and blackened brush. Heartsick
and weary, the old bird mounted upward, higher and higher, looking over
the wreck of his former kingdom- alas, how
changed!- till he faded from sight.
That was about the year 1901, and I supposed the bird to have died at
last of a broken heart or at least to have left that neighborhood
forever. Closing the story of Elo at this point, I handed the manuscript
for this book to an old friend and neighbor, asking for any suggestions
he might have. To my surprise and delight he told me of the capture of a
very large eagle only a few miles from the home neighborhood in the
spring of 1900. He said that it was spoken of in the local papers. I
immediately wrote to the editor of the county paper, the Sigourney News,
and from him received the name and address of the man who had made the
capture.
With this man, a Mr. Reed, I corresponded, sending him a description
of the eagle and telling him how the bird might be identified. The eagle
proved to be Elo, and from Mr. Reed I learned the story that follows.
The winter of 1899 and 1900 was exceptionally cold and stormy. Snow
drifted high everywhere, and the biting winds howled about the house
gables for days. The wildlings perished by the score, but this was
naught to the old warrior who had successfully battled with a thousand
storms. The love of home and friends- how
strong it is! A deep yearning seems to have come over the old eagle to
visit again the home of his youth. One day it grew warmer and even began
to thaw, and toward night a drizzling rain set in. A north wind sprang
up, and the rain changed to a blinding sleet.
Sheep and cattle were in their barns, and domestic fowls were safely
housed by their owners, but woe to the unsheltered denizens of the
forest! for hours the rain and biting sleet drove with cruel fury over
field and forest, and then the white flakes scurried down by the
million, spreading a soft blanket over earth's icy covering. Next
morning the pale sun looked out over a transformed world-a waste of
shining white. Later, as the wind rose and shook the snow from the
trees, their icy coating glittered so radiantly that one almost forgot
the suffering it had caused.
About thirty miles from the old eagle tree a boy crossing a field on
some errand discovered an eagle, unable to fly, yet hopping about in his
efforts either to find food or to keep from freezing. All over the
neighborhood hawks, crows, and smaller birds had been coated with ice
until they either froze to death or became easy victims to the first
passing enemy. But the eagle was not made of that sort of stuff. He
would not give up the battle without a fight. The poor old fellow had
been so coated with ice that he could not spread his wings, but he was
not willing to be taken captive. Two years and a half of prison life had
been all too much to teach him its horrors, and cold and almost helpless
as he was, he fought desperately for liberty. Had the boy persisted, he
might have been killed; as it was, he was badly scratched and torn in
the struggle, and soon gave it up.
A little later Mr. Reed came into the same field and discovered the
eagle. Elo knew when he was mastered, and submitted to recapture with
little resistance. He was easily identified by the gunshot wound that
had left the small bone of his right wing slightly crooked, and by other
characteristic marks. By some mishap since last he was in captivity he
had lost one of the toes on the left foot.
He was placed in a large room and allowed what freedom it would
afford until warm weather. He seemed quite resigned to his fate, and
even showed some sort of friendship for his new master. After the first
few days of sulking he seemed to have a reasonably good temper. When the
warm weather drew on, his wing was cropped, and he was allowed the
freedom of the yard. This kindness seemed to touch his heart, and
although he never lost the vigor of his youth or the brilliancy of his
piercing eye, he soon became a great pet. He seemed well contented and
made no effort to escape. He was always glad to see his master come with
his daily food, and never once did he show the least disposition to
fight. Toward the latter part of August he mysteriously disappeared one
day while Mr. Reed was away from home. Mr. Reed thought that he was
stolen, for he felt sure that so good a friend would not have deserted
him.
But what is the friendship of a day compared with the deep affections
of half a century? During the summer new feathers had grown in his
wings, and with the return of his strength the old spirit had evidently
revived, and that undying love of liberty, which is breathed in the very
air of America, again coursed through his veins.
No, Elo was not dead. My surmises were correct. Not many years after
the book Elo the Eagle was first published, I began to hear of people
who had seen an eagle flying up and down the Skunk River not far from
the vicinity of the old nest, and I wondered about it. Could Elo still
be alive, and did he sometimes visit the old home, or were these people
just mistaken in what they saw? No one ever claimed to have seen him
alight or to have seen him anywhere but high in the air, and eagles were
so scarce it would not be surprising if a man who did not know birds
might be mistaken.
So several years passed; then one cold January day I received a copy
of a newspaper printed in North MacGregor, Iowa, evidently sent to me by
a friend who had read my book and was interested in the story of Elo.
More than a page of this small local paper was devoted to telling the
story of how a certain farmer living a few miles from town had gone out
in a heavy snowstorm to make sure all his sheep had come out of the
pasture and were safe, and had taken his gun with him, hoping he might
see a rabbit.
He chanced to see the biggest bird he had ever seen, sitting in the
top of a tree. He carefully crept up much nearer than he hoped he could
get, and taking careful rest on a fence, shot and killed his bird, a
giant eagle.
I immediately wrote this man and told him to look for the knot on the
small bone of his wing where he had been shot before, and that if he
were Elo, one toe on his left foot was gone, leaving a stub about an
inch long.
I also asked him, if this proved to be Elo, to have him skinned so he
could be properly mounted, and to set a price on him, that I might buy
the skin.
He answered immediately that he had examined the carcass thoroughly
and had found every mark I had told him to look for; consequently there
is no doubt it was Elo.
He said the dogs had torn him so badly there was no possibility of
getting his skin.
The poor old hero was dead. He had lived fully seventyfive years,
much longer than most of his race, and his life, at least forty or fifty
years of it, had seen much trouble and suffering. It seemed too bad that
so noble a bird should have had to die to satisfy the passing whim of a
man with a gun, whose only care was that he might boast of having shot
an eagle- something none of his neighbors had
ever done.
Perhaps it was better so. Elo was an old bird, and there were several
more weeks of ice, snow and cold, and perhaps famine ahead of him. But I
have always been glad he never knew his slayer was near, and that he was
killed instantly. He evidently never knew that anything happened to him.
Let us hope so.
No more will he fly over his once happy home on his endless search
for his mate. Already most of the people who knew him are dead, and a
new generation has grown up that never heard of him. But so is life in
this world.
WHAT'S
NEW? 
