Chico: the Story of a Homing Pigeon Part 5

"Not much danger of that, I fancy. If he doesn't fall down on the easy flights, he'll be able to take the longer ones.

"Why, lad," Paolo went on kindly, touched by the boy's dejection, "if you want Chico to be a real homing pigeon, you must expect him to run some risks. Don't you remember Dandolo's bird that carried the glad news from Constantinople?"

Andrea nodded, doubtfully. While he had thought much of the possible glory Chico might gain as a faithful messenger, for the first time he trembled lest, in realizing the ambition, the safety of the bird might be endangered. Thoughts of possible perils filled his mind with foreboding, but he didn't wish Paolo to think he was turning the white feather, so he swallowed hard and forced himself to say:

"I guess it will be all right."

"All right! I should say it would be," was the hearty response; "and just remember, my boy, if you expect your bird to have a stout heart you must keep up your own courage."

At last Sat.u.r.day came, the day Paolo had set for the training to begin.

Andrea was so excited he had no appet.i.te for breakfast and would have rushed from the house without a mouthful if Luisa had not insisted that he eat at least one piece of the hot polenta. But that was all--he almost bolted it whole, and, without waiting for Paolo, was out of the house and in St. Mark's Square at least half an hour earlier than ever before.

Not that it was much satisfaction, for hardhearted Paolo had carefully placed the pigeon in the basket the night before, saying as he secured the cover:

"He must not be allowed his freedom until we reach the Rialto, then he will be hungry and doubly anxious to reach home."

"Can't we give him anything to eat?" Andrea asked anxiously.

"Not a morsel!" was the stern reply. "If he is to be trained at all, it must be done right. Come, children, give me your promise not to interfere."

"We won't," they answered in unison, and though Andrea still thought the treatment very harsh, he dared not again raise his voice in further protest.

It seemed very forlorn not to find Chico waiting on his window ledge when he turned the corner of the church, and with heart aching for the imprisoned bird, he entered the dark little shed and looked anxiously for the basket. There it was, in the corner where Paolo had left it, but, as he called once, and then again, there was no answering "coo."

Andrea's heart sank; perhaps the bird was sick. Beset by anxious thoughts he crossed the room, took the basket in his hand and held it to his ear.

Not a sound! Genuinely frightened, he regretted bitterly that he had ever wished the bird trained. Why had he not been content with him as he was--the most beautiful bird in St. Mark's Square?

Turning the basket about, he looked it all over carefully. There was a slight stir. He breathed a sigh of relief, then joyfully caught his breath as he suddenly discovered two bright eyes looking straight at him through one of the cracks.

"Chico!" he cried joyfully; "Chico! Are you all right?" Placing his ear to the wicker prison, he caught a faint answering "coo," and a minute later the very tip of the bird's bill found its way through one of the cracks. It was heartrending, and it was only with the greatest difficulty that Andrea restrained himself from tearing off the cover of the basket and feeding his hungry pet, but he had given his promise, so he was obliged to content himself with holding the basket close to his cheek and murmuring soft words into the responsive ears of the prisoner.

So Paolo found him. Andrea started guiltily as the old caretaker stepped in the door, but drew himself up proudly at the sharp inquiry:

"Is it possible that you are feeding Chico?"

"No," was the quick reply, "I am only talking to him. Surely there isn't any harm in that!"

"No harm at all," the old man answered; "and now I propose to take him to the Rialto and there give him his freedom, while you wait here and see if he knows enough to come home. Notice the time by the big clock; if he returns promptly, you may reward him with a good breakfast and plenty of water to drink, for he will be thirsty."

Andrea's face lighted up with joy. He had a pocket full of choice morsels, and, with a happy face, watched Paolo set out, carefully holding the basket with its precious load, while he and Maria settled themselves to await developments.

The Rialto is one of the busiest spots in all Venice; especially is it so at this time in the morning, for hither come the black boats from the island laden with fruits and vegetables to provision the city. On every side, amid the jostling throngs of people, one sees mountains of watermelons, piles of garlic, old scows and worn-out gondolas, heaped with all manner of strange-looking fish. Crossing over the bridge to the end where the jewelers have their shops, and elbowing through the crowd of young girls and matrons, with their gay-colored handkerchiefs and strands of bright beads, Paolo came to a more secluded quarter. Here he stopped, and, with careful deliberation, lifted the cover of the basket, saying as he laid his hand affectionately on Chico's glossy head, "Now fly, my bird, straight to your house!"

Without a moment's delay Chico was out of his prison and with a quick, spiral curve had soared into the blue Venetian sky. Pausing for an imperceptible instant, as though in search of some familiar object, he was off in the direction of St. Mark's Square.

In the meantime Andrea and Maria waited impatiently enough. They knew it would take time for Paolo to reach his destination, for the old man's steps were not as quick as they had once been. And then the awful thought would come that Chico might not fly straight home--might be beguiled elsewhere for some reason.

Full well Andrea knew how much depended upon this first flight.

Just as the figures on the great clock struck the hour of ten there was a whirr of wings. An arrow of silver shot through the air, and in another instant Chico was in his nest.

"Urra! Urra!" the boy shouted, throwing his cap into the air; then boisterously seizing his pet, "You did it, you did it! Chico, old bird! My, but I'm proud of you!" Then remembering that Paolo had said there would be a message concealed about the bird's leg, his hand felt for the closely wound bit of tissue paper, and tense with excitement he shouted aloud Chico's first message:

"Evviva Italia!" [Footnote: Long live Italy!]

Again he hugged his pet until he suddenly discovered a hungry bill in his pocket, and he remembered that Chico hadn't had his breakfast.

When Paolo arrived upon the scene, puffing from his unaccustomed exertion, he found Chico greedily eating while Maria was still repeating, "Viva Italia!"

Upon comparing his watch with the clock Paolo's delight knew no bounds at finding that Chico had made the flight in one minute and a half, fully one half a minute shorter time than Paolo had allowed.

"Bene! bene!" he cried excitedly, "I told you he had the points of a good homing pigeon. All he needs is training." Then, laying his hand on Andrea's shoulder, he added, "My boy, you have a bird of which you may well be proud."

While he was thus under discussion Chico, seemingly unconscious that he had done anything at all remarkable, with his crop fairly bulging with the good things which he had eaten, perched serenely on the window ledge diligently preening his feathers.

This was but the first of many flights: the next time it was Paolo who stayed to watch the nest while Andrea set off, carrying the bird in his basket. He was especially delighted because the Colleoni statue was his destination, for there was no place in Venice (except the Piazza of St.

Mark's) which possessed a greater fascination for him than the Campo of Giovanni e Paolo. The sight of the stalwart figure of Colleoni in his coat of mail astride the splendid steed never failed to rouse in his young heart the fires of ambition.

"It's a great thing, Chico!" he exclaimed, peering through the cracks at the bright eyes--"a great thing to be so brave and do so much for Venice.

Perhaps, who knows, you and I may do as much some day."

With that he loosed the prisoner who straightway flew into the air, and after gracefully circling for an instant around the statue, without further hesitation was off and was soon a mere speck in the blue sky.

Once the boy had the felicity of keeping Chico in his home all night. Then nothing would do but Luisa must admire his fine plumage, and his father must declare that he was quite the finest pigeon he had ever seen. It took the combined force of the family to consider what message they should send old Paolo in the morning, and, after a great deal of discussion, Giovanni's stiff old hand penned the simple words on a bit of paper:

"Buon giorno!"

So the days pa.s.sed; every few mornings Chico essayed some new flight until Paolo declared he was satisfied that the bird knew his way perfectly within a certain radius and must now venture farther from home. After this it was not so easy, and on several occasions Chico had adventures that tried even his stout little heart, and brought many an hour of anxiety to his friends.

CHAPTER VII

DANGER AHEAD!

The earnest little fellow carrying his bird in a basket was now a familiar object in Venice and attracted much attention from tourists and bystanders who often collected in little groups to watch the graceful flights. To some it was the subject of jest, and to them it seemed nothing short of folly to spend so much time in the training of a pigeon, while others were loud in exclamations of delight.

"Bello! Bello Colombo! [Footnote: Beautiful! Beautiful pigeon!] He's a mighty fine bird, my boy!"

As for Chico, one could see that he greatly enjoyed his experience. He no longer showed resentment at being shut up in the basket, but evidently considered that a necessary prelude to his glorious flights.

One morning Andrea set out for the a.r.s.enal, which is, as every one acquainted with the city knows, one of the show places of Venice. In the olden days, when the Venetians were first in the art of s.h.i.+pbuilding, it was the working spring of their strength, their enemies looking upon the stronghold with envious eyes as symbolizing her supremacy over the Adriatic, and even now there was always a large number of strangers in its vicinity.

Andrea approached and took his station, near one of the two great lions that guard the entrance. He was accosted by a well-dressed Austrian:

"What have you there, my boy? Anything to sell?"