The Tragical hi Natu7'e 75 



below me in the lake a wild duck gave a cry louder 

 than I supposed a duck could make. "He has seen 

 me by the lamplight through the open door," I 

 thought, "and is giving the alarm." But the duck 

 kept on crying. That is no note of warning — that 

 is a shriek of mortal agony. There was some 

 splashing in the water, and the duck's cries began 

 to grow feebler, feebler, diminishing, and ending at 

 last in a sound as nearly a groan as one could im- 

 agine from a bird — the last shudder of pain and of 

 life. Really it was horrible, much more so than if 

 the tragedy had been visible: and I went back into 

 my cabin out of the wild and frightful realm of 

 superstition. So that was the meaning of the pecu- 

 liar cry of the owl. He was calling on his mate for 

 reinforcement. The duck had evidently taken 

 alarm, and swam, perhaps diving, too near the shore 

 of the island; but death had followed on noiseless 

 wing. It was nothing but a wild duck; true, and 

 yet it was a cruel murder. I will hunt for that owl 

 to-morrow, and kill him if I find him. It is a satis- 

 faction to avenge a crime, even if the victim be only 

 a harmless water-fowl. Did you ever examine atten- 

 tively a living quail, pheasant, duck, or other game- 

 bird, or even a domestic fowl? If so, you admired 

 the beauty and perfection of the organism, the 

 bright eye, the exquisitely modeled and penciled 

 plumage, the perfect adaptation of the form to 

 swimming or flying. It is really a marvel of com- 

 plex design, much more so than that of a rose or a 



