The Drake of Freiburg

One night in 390 B.C., a detachment of Gauls crept up Capitoline Hill and tried to scale the walls of ancient Rome. The Roman sentries slept, but not the sacred geese in the Temple of Juno. They squawked, Rome waked, and the attack in the night was repelled.

Last week, in the sleepy Bavarian town of Freiburg, the city fathers unveiled a three-foot marble statue of a drake, neck arched to the sky and bill at full quack.

They had assembled to honor a nameless drake, born in Freiburg some time during World War II, which showed an uncanny sensitivity to high-flying aircraft engines.

On many occasions, long before the sirens sounded, the drake gave warning of an air raid, flapping its wings and quacking. On Nov. 27, 1944 the vigilant Freiburg drake began cackling and would not stop. Freiburgers dived for their cellars although no warning had been given, and they got there just in time. A surprise Allied attack laid the city (pop. 109,822) in ruins. The drake's carcass was found beside a bomb crater.

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