The Whistling Swan 



bird can explore the bottom freely in shallow waters in its search for roots 

 and mollusks, without making any ungainly motions with the body. 

 Indeed, there is a peculiar disconnectedness between the operations of the 

 Swan proper and its far-reaching head, — as though here were a white boat 

 serenely floating at anchor, from the bow of which now and then a diver is 

 sent down to grapple for hidden treasure. All the bird's motions above 

 water are graceful enough, except in case of anxious inquiry, when the 

 neck is stretched to its utmost, perpendicularly, as it pauses in dread 

 expectancy; and the bird looks like a white eighth-note of the musical 

 scale, set upon a staff of widening ripples. Ashore, its gait is a rather 

 ungainly waddle, the foot being folded and lifted "unco high" at every step. 



The Whistling Swan is a noisy bird at best. A flock of them exhibit 

 great individual variations of notes, and they can create a chorus which is 

 mildly worse than that of a political jollification meeting. The bass horns, 

 of tin rather than brass, are blown by the old fellows, while the varied notes 

 which seem to come from clarionets are really due to cygnets. The birds 

 set up a great outcry when they have done or are about to do anything 

 important, as when preparing for the flight northward, or when welcoming 

 a company of their fellows to the feeding grounds. 



The Whistling Swan is not known to breed south of Alaska and all 

 records of the nesting of "wild swans" within the limits of the United 

 States are now believed to refer to Olor buccinator. The nest is always 

 made near water, and consists of a large accumulation of grass, leaves, 

 tule stems, and trash, with a plentiful lining of down from the bird's 

 breast. From two to seven large yellowish white eggs are laid late in May, 

 and the female is obliged to cover them for a matter of forty days. Both 

 parents are exceedingly zealous in defense of their young, and a sitting 

 Swan will sooner fly at an intruder in a passion than away from him in 

 fear. A stroke of a Swan's wing has been known to break a poacher's leg. 

 Would that the bird's indignation had similar power at longer range! 



No fitter emblem of purity and grace will ever be found than this 

 matchless daughter of the wilderness, the American Swan. If we are 

 impelled to admire the stately beauty of the domestic bird, as it moves 

 about upon some narrow duck pond of our own contriving, how much 

 more shall we yield tribute of admiration to this native princess, spotless 

 and untamed! Whether seen as a garniture of some inland mere, or 

 descried aloft as a bank of winged snow, no vision of nature will ever thrill 

 us with a deeper romance than does the wild swan. And if we forfeit that 

 vision to greed or blood-lust, no pachycephalic crime will be greater and 

 no regret of future generations more poignant. 



1885 



