The Trumpet of the Swan: Chapters 4–6

"...The light strengthens. The air becomes warmer. Gradually the mist disappears. I glide, I glide, swanlike. Birds sing their early song. Frogs that have croaked in the night stop croaking and are silent. Still I glide, ceaselessly, like a swan.”

“Well, no. That is quite true. Thank you, my dear, for correcting me.” The cob felt taken aback by his mate’s commonsense remark.

“What makes you think it’s a son?” inquired his wife.

“All swans are vain,” said the cob. “It is right for swans to feel proud, graceful—that’s what swans are for.”

The youngster scrambled up onto the edge of the nest.

One of the cygnets, more daring than the others, left the nest and teetered around on the shore of the little island.

“Welcome to the pond and the swamp adjacent!” he said.

Welcome to danger, which you must guard against—the vile fox with his stealthy tread and sharp teeth, the offensive otter who swims up under you and tries to grab you by the leg, the stinking skunk who hunts by night and blends with the shadows, the coyote who hunts and howls and is bigger than a fox.

Welcome to danger, which you must guard against—the vile fox with his stealthy tread and sharp teeth, the offensive otter who swims up under you and tries to grab you by the leg, the stinking skunk who hunts by night and blends with the shadows, the coyote who hunts and howls and is bigger than a fox.

"...Be vigilant, be strong, be brave, be graceful, and always follow me! I will go first, then you will come along in single file, and your devoted mother will bring up the rear. Enter the water quietly and confidently!”

The cygnets gazed for a second at the water, then tottered forward, gave a jump, and were afloat.

“Good-bye, camp! See you in the fall!” said Mr. Beaver, as he shut the door and gave it a pat. He and Sam climbed into the plane and were soon aloft, on their way home to Montana.

“Now that you mention it, I never have,” said the cob. “Goodness! What are you getting at? Do you wish me to believe that I have a son who is defective in any way? Such a revelation would distress me greatly. I want everything to go smoothly in my family life so that I can glide gracefully and serenely, now in the prime of my life, without being haunted by worry or disappointment....”

“Now that you mention it, I never have,” said the cob. “Goodness! What are you getting at? Do you wish me to believe that I have a son who is defective in any way? Such a revelation would distress me greatly. I want everything to go smoothly in my family life so that I can glide gracefully and serenely, now in the prime of my life, without being haunted by worry or disappointment....”

“Now that you mention it, I never have,” said the cob. “Goodness! What are you getting at? Do you wish me to believe that I have a son who is defective in any way? Such a revelation would distress me greatly. I want everything to go smoothly in my family life so that I can glide gracefully and serenely, now in the prime of my life, without being haunted by worry or disappointment....”

“Now that you mention it, I never have,” said the cob. “Goodness! What are you getting at? Do you wish me to believe that I have a son who is defective in any way? Such a revelation would distress me greatly. I want everything to go smoothly in my family life so that I can glide gracefully and serenely, now in the prime of my life, without being haunted by worry or disappointment....”

“It’s not too serious now,” she said. “But it will be serious two or three years from now when Louis falls in love, as he will surely do. A young male swan will be greatly handicapped in finding a mate if he is unable to say ko-hoh, ko-hoh, or if he can’t utter the usual endearments to the young female of his choice.”

“Yes. You had the finest, most powerful, most resonant voice of any of the young male swans in the Red Rock Lakes National Wildlife Refuge in Montana.”

Now he realized fully that he would never have been able to woo her and win her if he had been unable to say anything.

He was a brave, noble bird, and already he was beginning to work out a plan for his little son Louis.

“If it’s really true that Louis has no voice,” said the cob to himself, “then I shall provide him with a device of some sort, to enable him to make a lot of noise. There must be some way out of this difficulty. After all, my son is a Trumpeter Swan; he should have a voice like a trumpet. But first I will test him to make certain that what his mother says is true.”

“Now!” said the cob, when they reached the upper end of the pond. “Here we are, gracefully floating, supremely buoyant, at some distance from the others, in perfect surroundings—a fine morning, with the pond quiet except for the song of the blackbirds, making the air sweet.”

“This is an ideal place for our conference,” continued the cob. “there is something I feel I should discuss with you very candidly and openly—something that concerns your future. We need not range over the whole spectrum of bird life but just confine our talk to the one essential thing that is before us on this unusual occasion.”

“This is an ideal place for our conference,” continued the cob. “there is something I feel I should discuss with you very candidly and openly—something that concerns your future. We need not range over the whole spectrum of bird life but just confine our talk to the one essential thing that is before us on this unusual occasion.”

“This is an ideal place for our conference,” continued the cob. “there is something I feel I should discuss with you very candidly and openly—something that concerns your future. We need not range over the whole spectrum of bird life but just confine our talk to the one essential thing that is before us on this unusual occasion.”

There may even be some slight advantage, at your age, in not being able to say anything. It compels you to be a good listener.

I know that you are all fond of this pretty pond, this marvelous marsh, these reedy shores and restful retreats.

You have avoided the odious otter and the cruel coyote.

At night you have dropped off to sleep to the sound of frogs—the voices of the night. But these pleasures and pastimes, these adventures, these games and frolics, these beloved sights and sounds must come to an end.

At night you have dropped off to sleep to the sound of frogs—the voices of the night. But these pleasures and pastimes, these adventures, these games and frolics, these beloved sights and sounds must come to an end.

Flying consists of three parts. First, the takeoff, during which there is a lot of fuss and commotion, a lot of splashing and rapid beating of the wings.

Second, the ascent, or gaining of altitude—this requires hard work and fast wing action.

“Don’t look down!” said his father. “Look straight ahead. And don’t lose your nerve. Besides, swans do not get dizzy—they feel wonderful in the air. They feel exalted.”

“Don’t look down!” said his father. “Look straight ahead. And don’t lose your nerve. Besides, swans do not get dizzy—they feel wonderful in the air. They feel exalted.”

Watch how I retract my feet and allow them to stream out behind, full-length, until they extend beyond my tail!

His long white neck stretched out ahead. His big black feet stretched out behind. His wings had great power. The heat slowed as he settled into sustained flight.

“All right,” said the cob. “You’ve seen how it’s done. Follow me, and we’ll give it a try. Extend yourselves to the utmost, do everything in the proper order, never forget for a minute that you are swans and therefore excellent fliers, and I’m sure all will be well.”

There was a tremendous commotion—wings beating, feet racing, water churned to a froth.

There was a tremendous commotion—wings beating, feet racing, water churned to a froth.

“Boy!” he said to himself. “I never knew flying could be such fun. This is great. This is sensational. This is superb. I feel exalted, and I’m not dizzy. I’ll be able to get to Montana with the rest of the family. I may be defective, but at least I can fly.”