The eagles swept nearer. I could feel the wind from their wings. I
could see the rolling of their gleaming eyes, and the glint of the sun
on their snow-white necks. And as they dipped and turned and careened
over me, I came perilously near trying to fly myself.
What a scene lay under me and rolled wide and free to the very edge of
the world! The level marsh, the blue, hazy bay, the far-off, unblurred
horizon beyond the bending hill of the sea! The wild, free wind from
the bay blew in upon my face, the old tree trembled and rocked beneath
me, the screaming eagles wove a mazy spell of double circles about me,
till I screamed back at them in wild delight.
The sound of my voice seemed to infuriate the birds. The male turned
suddenly in his round and swooped directly at me. The movement was
instantly understood by his mate, who, thus emboldened, cut under him
and hurled herself downward, passing with a vicious grab at my face. I
dodged, or she would have hit me.
For the moment I had forgotten where I stood; and, in dodging the
eagle, I almost stepped over the edge of the nest. I caught my balance
and dropped quickly to my knees, completely unnerved.
Fear like a panic took instant hold on me. Only one desire possessed
me--to get down. I crept to the edge and looked over. The sight made
me dizzy. Sixty feet of almost empty air! Far down, a few small limbs
intervened between me and the ground. But there was nothing by which
to descend.
I was dismayed; and my expression, my posture--something, betrayed my
confusion to the eagles. They immediately lost all dread of me. While
I was looking over, one of them struck me a stinging blow on the head,
knocking my cap off into the air.
That started me. I must climb down or be knocked over. If only I had
continued with my channel to the top! If only that forked branch by
which I ascended were within reach! But how could I back over the
flaring rim to my whole length and swing my body under against the
inward-slanting nest until my feet could touch the fork? But if I ever
got down, that was what I must do; for the eagles gave me no chance to
cut a channel now.
Laying the eggs back for the time in the hollow, I began tearing away
the rim of the nest in order to clear a place over which to back down.
I was momentarily in danger of being hurled off by the birds; for I
could not watch them and work, too. And they were growing bolder with
every dash. One of them, driving fearfully from behind, flattened me
out on the nest. Had the blow been delivered from the front, I should
have been knocked headlong to the ground.
I was afraid to delay longer. A good-sized breach was opened in the
rim of the nest by this time. And now, if the sticks would not pull
out, I might let myself over and reach the fork. Once my feet touched
that, I could manage the rest, I knew.
Digging my hands deep into the nest for a firm hold, I began
cautiously to back over the rough, stubby rim, reaching with my feet
toward the fork.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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