A second glance, in the
increasing light, showed me the forms of other geese, great numbers of
them on the newly formed ice. On this pond, as on the other, water had
gathered over the winter ice and then frozen again.
With the exception of this one gander, the flock was sitting there very
still and quiet. The gander waddled among the others, plucking at them
with his pink beak, as if to stir them up. Now and then he straightened
up, flapped his wings and squalled dolorously. None of the others I
noticed flapped, stirred or made any movement whatever. They looked as
if they were asleep, and many of them had their heads under their wings.
At last I went out toward them on the new ice, which had now frozen
solid enough to bear me. The gander rose in the air and circled
overhead, squalling fearfully. On going nearer, I saw that all those
geese were frozen in, and that they were dead; the entire flock, except
that one powerful old gander, had perished there. They were frozen in
the ice so firmly that I could not pull them out; in fact, I could
scarcely bend the necks of those that had tucked them under their wings.
I counted forty-one of them besides the gander.
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