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Updated: May 19, 2025
"It is not death," replied Henry. "We will come back safely, and it is for a great stake. You and Jim must remain here in the woods, waiting for us again, and we'll trust to your skill and caution not to be caught. If the warriors become too thick around here you might retreat to the island. Anyway, the signal will be as before three wails of the whip-poor-will."
The whip-poor-will flew from his marble perch, and, as the mournful tones died away, the master sighed, and returned to the bedside of his charge. He renewed the ice on her brow, and soon after his sister re-entered. "Mr. Vincent is very sick, and you are wanted immediately." "Very well." He crossed the room and rang the bell. "Guy, are you sure that girl has not scarlet fever?"
At length, however, the mournful notes of a whip-poor-will became blended with the moanings of an owl; his heavy eyes occasionally sought the bright rays of the stars, and he then fancied he saw them through the fallen lids.
The Turkey Vulture, Mourning Dove, Hummingbird, Whip-poor-will, and Nighthawk lay two. Various Thrushes, such as the Robin, Veery, and Wood Thrush, deposit from three to five, four being the most usual number. Wild Ducks, Turkeys, and Grouse range from eight to a dozen or more; while Quails sometimes lay as many as eighteen.
The last verse goes this way: "'When the busy day's employ, ends at dewy eve, Then the happy farmer boy, doth haste his work to leave, Trudging down the quiet lane, climbing o'er the hill, Whistling back the changeless wail, of plaintive whip-poor-will, and then you do the chorus again, and if you know how well enough you whistle in, 'whip-poor-will, 'til the birds will answer you.
And he was afraid that other merrymakers in the farmyard might make matters far from merry for him. For Freddie Firefly feared all birds. At night he used his trusty light to frighten Mr. Nighthawk or Willie Whip-poor-will. But he didn't intend to run any risk in the daytime, with Jolly Robin or Rusty Wren.
Fireflies light their tiny lanterns and flash out their signals, like beacon lights in the darkness, while, ringing up from the valley, the call of the whip-poor-will echoes clear and sweet, each syllable pronounced as distinctly as if uttered by a human voice.
Clad in this somber robe, the wooded height which rose to the north seemed the more forbidding. Not a sound was to be heard but the voice of a whip-poor-will somewhere. Even Hervey's buoyant nature was subdued by the solemn stillness. Suddenly something between the two rocks caught his eye. The caked earth looked as if a narrow board had been drawn over it.
It is very solemn, Lady Mary, to be in the woods by night, and to hear no sound but the cry of the great wood-owl, or the voice of the whip-poor-will, calling to his fellow from the tamarack swamp, or, may be, the timid bleating of a fawn that has lost its mother, or the howl of a wolf."
It is curious to compare the difference of ear with which nations hear the cries of animals, and form their onomatopoetic, or "bow-wow" imitations. For instance, the North Americans express by "whip-poor-will" what the Brazilians call "Joao-corta-pao." The Guinea fowl may have been the "Afraa avis;"but that was a dear luxury amongst the Romans, though the Greek meleagris was cheap.
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