Some days later, I saw the big thief—­emblem of American liberty—­play his sharp game to the finish.  I was crossing the bridge, and by accident turned and looked upward. (By accident, I say, but I was always doing it.) High in the air were two birds, one chasing the other,—­a fish-hawk and a young eagle with dark head and tail.  The hawk meant to save his dinner if he could.  Round and round he went, ascending at every turn, his pursuer after him hotly.  For aught I could see, he stood a good chance of escape, till all at once another pair of wings swept into the field of my glass.

    “A third is in the race!  Who is the third,
    Speeding away swift as the eagle bird?”

It was an eagle, an adult, with head and tail white.  Only once more the osprey circled.  The odds were against him, and he let go the fish.  As it fell, the old eagle swooped after it, missed it, swooped again, and this time, long before it could reach the water, had it fast in his claws.  Then off he went, the younger one in pursuit.  They passed out of sight behind the trees of an island, one close upon the other, and I do not know how the controversy ended; but I would have wagered a trifle on the old white-head, the bird of Washington.

The scene reminded me of one I had witnessed in Georgia a fortnight before, on my way south.  The train stopped at a backwoods station; some of the passengers gathered upon the steps of the car, and the usual bevy of young negroes came alongside.  “Stand on my head for a nickel?” said one.  A passenger put his hand into his pocket; the boy did as he had promised,—­in no very professional style, be it said,—­and with a grin stretched out his hand.  The nickel glistened in the sun, and on the instant a second boy sprang forward, snatched it out of the sand, and made off in triumph amid the hilarious applause of his fellows.  The acrobat’s countenance indicated a sense of injustice, and I had no doubt that my younger eagle was similarly affected.  “Where is our boasted honor among thieves?” I imagined him asking.  The bird of freedom is a great bird, and the land of the free is a great country.  Here, let us hope, the parallel ends.  Whether on the banks of Newfoundland or elsewhere, it cannot be that the great republic would ever snatch a fish that did not belong to it.

I admired the address of the fish-hawks until I saw the gannets.  Then I perceived that the hawks, with all their practice, were no better than landlubbers.  The gannets kept farther out at sea.  Sometimes a scattered flock remained in sight for the greater part of a forenoon.  With their long, sharp wings and their outstretched necks,—­like loons, but with a different flight,—­they were rakish-looking customers.  Sometimes from a great height, sometimes from a lower, sometimes at an incline, and sometimes vertically, they plunged into the water, and after an absence of some seconds, as it seemed, came up and rested upon the surface.  They were too far away to be closely observed, and for a time I did not feel certain what they were.  The larger number were in dark plumage, and it was not till a white one appeared that I said with assurance, “Gannets!” With the bright sun on him, he was indeed a splendid bird, snowy white, with the tips of his wings jet black.  If he would have come inshore like the ospreys, I think I should never have tired of his evolutions.