Chapter 12: The Pilgrim Pigeons

Every child, old enough to eat with a spoon, knows that monkeys and pigeons cannot get along together. The birds are gentle and of sweet disposition, but the beasts behave like ruffians. All the pigeons of any family, that want to have a quiet time, move away into other countries. It would be like imps and angels living together.

The naughty monkeys are too fond of fresh eggs, to care where they get them, and they have no regard for the feelings of other creatures. They climb up into the trees and pull down the pigeons’ nests, and even eat up the young squabs.

So it happened that, long, long ago, the pigeon fathers and mothers flew far, far away, from Monkey Land. Then the young fuzzy fellows, with such long fingers and toes, had to do without the little blue eggs for their breakfast, of which they had been so fond.

The first country, in which the flock of emigrant pigeons rested their weary wings, was where the Saracens lived. Here were orange and lemon trees, and figs and nut trees, besides plenty of barley and other grain. So that the little birds, that had been made thin and very tired by flying so far, soon got fat again. The young lady pigeons preened their feathers, and made themselves very lovely to look at. This pleased the young male birds greatly. From ducking their heads so vigorously while eating, the pigeons were sometimes called doves; that is divers.

Now that traveling was over, the season of courting began. Soon it was whispered among the pigeon mothers that this, or that son, and daughter, had mated, and both were busy at nest building.

The Saracen boys and girls were very kind to these new comers. They made playmates of them, and taught the mother bird to carry messages, from one city to another. For once away from her nest and young ones, she wanted to get back in a hurry. By and bye, when well trained, a homing pigeon would fly long distances without regard to family cares, or little ones in the nest. So the pigeons were very happy in the Saracen world.

In this warm region, they not only multiplied, but found new and strange places to live in, some in minarets, and some in the mountains; others in the woods, some in the crowded cities, and some by the seashore. Wonderful to relate, instead of being all alike, in size and color, they changed in form, weight and habits, the carrier birds, especially, being strong of wing. Yet they were all called doves, or pigeons, though so varied in appearance.

But after a long time, just when everything in the bird world was going on finely, all the pigeons were made dreadfully unhappy by very sad news. Some of the old feathered daddies at once declared the whole flock would have to become emigrants and pilgrims, again, and seek another country.

What was the matter? All the young fathers and mothers, with their little families, could not, at first, see the reason why. They had built nests, and their birdlings were just putting on their first coat of feathers, and their proud parents wanted to show them off in their varied colors and bright neck-sheen. In fact, every mother bird was sure that her fledglings were very accomplished young ones, and would certainly surprise the world when they made their début. It was too bad that, just when their babies were growing up to be big birds, and coming out into pigeon society, they must leave the olive groves and pleasant vineyards, to go to a strange country where nobody knew them. Already they had learned to coo a ditty, that sounded very much like “Home, sweet home.”