130 THE BOOK OF BIRDS 



The strength of a Cockatoo's beak seems to equal the 

 cleverness of its brain — and the two often work together. 

 " They are, perhaps without exception/' says Mr. Lea, 

 " the most destructive of birds. They will gnaw through 

 planks two inches thick, and even through a thin sheet of 

 iron. Linden kept some Cockatoos which persisted in 

 turning over the food-trough in their cage. He fastened 

 it to the bars with wire, he screwed it down, and tried all 

 sorts of means to secure it, but the birds knew perfectly 

 well how to unscrew it, and were never satisfied until they 

 had got it loose again." Sooner or later they always 

 succeeded. 



The temper of the Cockatoo is easily roused. The 

 sight of anything or anybody whom it specially dislikes is 

 enough to turn the dignified white bird into a screaming 

 fury. 



On one occasion, at least, this very unlovely trait was 

 turned to good account. The incident illustrating this 

 occurred a good many years ago. 



An English ship voyaging in the Pacific had touched 

 at a certain island, and the natives had come off in their 

 canoes and crowded on board. They were armed and 

 evidently bent on theft, if not violence, and the captain 

 was at his wits' end to know how to get rid of them. The 

 ship and her crew were at their mercy, should an occasion 

 of quarrel arise. 



Suddenly a shrill scream was heard. A pet Cockatoo, 

 belonging to the ship, had been hustled by one of the 

 sailors in passing, and was in a royal rage. With crest 

 erect and blazing eyes it uttered scream upon scream. 

 Then it began to talk — just like the mate when he was 

 scolding, the words coming thick and fast. 



The savages stared in amazement. Soon their super- 



