Part 14

The light of day is waning fast, and the smoky air gets dim and misty. The assembled Eaves are now seen to rise in clouds from their oasis, mix their forces with the invading army, and the grandest spectacle ensues. At first it looks as if confusion reigned, but soon the hosts of fleet-winged birds no longer whirl aimlessly through space. All mass and muster, and perform strange evolutions with amazing swiftness and precision. Now we see them scattering and spreading over the whole area on which they intend to roost, apparently to make sure that no danger lurks beneath the grasses. Here they come, skimming, almost touching, the spartina, pass by, and speed onward until lost to sight for a few moments, when all at once a great cloud of moving specks is visible in the distant sky. The specks are Swallows, and the cloud has life; it moves, it rolls, it swells, it comes, it breaks and, like a torrent of wing-borne arrows, darts upon us, scattering and spreading out, as it descends for another wild dash low over the spartina.

The same wonderful maneuvers repeat themselves as long as the evening twilight lasts, and, though with each descent the cloud does shrink in size, it does not cease to rise again until black night has fully settled down, and even after dark small droves of bewildered birds rush madly by our side. Being well within the range of the now settled birds, we cannot go away without disturbing some in their repose; although they are dispersed over a large area, every now and then one will be seen to scamper out and vanish in the darkness.

Watching the Bittern 'Pump'

BY BRADFORD TORREY

Since I printed, in 'The Auk' (Vol. vi, p. 1), a description of the Bittern's vocal performances, I have witnessed a repetition of them on three occasions; and the story of my successes, such as they are, may be encouraging to the younger readers of Bird-Lore.

The remarkable sounds, sometimes likened to those of an old-fashioned wooden pump, sometimes to those made by a man driving a stake in wet soil (and the likeness is unmistakable, not to say perfect, in both cases), must have attracted attention, we may suppose, ever since the settlement of the country. The dullest person could not hear them, it would seem, without wondering how and by what they were produced. But up to the time of my 'Auk' article, there was only one authentic record, so far as I am aware, that the bird had ever been seen in the act of uttering them. For my own part, having never lived near a meadow adapted to the Bittern's purposes, I had never so much as heard his famous 'boom,' though references to it here and there, in the writings of Thoreau especially, had given me a lively desire to do so. It was a strange accident, surely, that the first Bittern I had ever heard should show himself so openly and for so long a time. Beginners' luck, we may call it, and be thankful that such providential encouragements are not so very uncommon. As the Scripture says, "The last shall be first."

On the 2d of May, 1889, a year after the observations recorded in 'The Auk' article, I was lying upon a cliff on the edge of a cat-tail swamp, listening for Rail notes or a Least Bittern's _coo_, when a Bittern, very much to my surprise, pumped almost at my feet. By good luck a small wooded peninsula jutted into the swamp just at that point (the swamp, I regret to say, has since been converted into a town reservoir), and, keeping in the shelter of rocks and trees, I stole out to its very tip unobserved. Two or three times the notes were repeated, but I could get no sight of the performer. Then, all in a flash, he stood before me--as no doubt he had been doing all the while--in full view, just across a narrow space of open water against a patch of cat-tails. He had taken no alarm, and pumped six or eight times while I stood, opera-glass in hand, watching his slightest motion. Then he stalked away into the reeds, pumped twice,--behind the scenes, as it were,--and fell silent.

Two days later I went to the Wayland meadows, where I had seen my bird of the year previous, and there, seated upon the railroad embankment, as before, I watched a Bittern pump at short intervals for more than an hour. Most of the time he was more or less hidden by the low grass, through which he was slowly traveling down the meadow; but once, coming near the remains of a last year's haycock, he went a little out of his way, mounted it, and boomed in full sight. The Bittern is a wader and a recluse, but once in a while, it appears, he has no objection to a clear platform and dry feet.

I felt myself highly favored. Twice within three days I had been admitted to "assist" at mysteries of which Thoreau, who spent his life in the best of Bittern country, had never obtained so much as a glimpse.

Exactly a year afterward (May 4, 1890) I was strolling along a road near home, when from a meadow beside it came the now familiar pumping notes. I made toward the spot, and by the help of a clump of alder bushes approached within a very short distance of the bird, who stood in short grass, quite unconcealed. A migratory visitor only, he must have been, for I am certain that no Bittern ever summered in that place during my years of residence near it. I watched him at his work till I was tired. Then, bethinking myself of a friend and neighbor who knew nothing about birds, but had once expressed to me a curiosity about the 'Stake-driver,' I walked to the village, rang his doorbell, and invited him to go back with me to see the show. The showman was still rehearsing, and we stole upon him without difficulty, and saw as much as we wished of his doings. Though it was Sunday morning, and the bird was as serious as any parson, we took the liberty of laughing a little at his absurd contortions.

Since then I have heard the Bittern's music on sundry occasions, but never have found it possible to come within sight of him in the act of making it. Once, I remember, I was sitting upon a roadside fence, reading, when a carriage stopped and an unrecognized feminine voice said: "Do you see that Heron behind you, Mr. Torrey?" The "Heron" was _Botaurus lentiginosus_, in a bit of low ground close by a house. I shut my book and gave him my attention, which he presently rewarded by catching and swallowing a snake. This was in autumn, when Bitterns, like lesser birds, are liable to turn up in unexpected quarters. The reader may take the incident, if he will, as a warning against the reading of print out of doors. As a general thing, we may safely say, Nature's page is better than a book.

One season a friend and myself became much interested in the question as to the relative 'carrying power' of the three notes or syllables of which the Bittern's music is composed. The discussion began by our hearing a single far-away note, repeated at the proper intervals, at a time when we could not well follow it up. Later investigation, to our no small surprise, compelled us to settle down upon the conclusion that the first note was the one last to be lost as we traveled away from the bird. We were surprised, I say, for the second note is the one which bears, or seems to bear, the accent. _Plum-pud-d'n_, the creature appears to say, with an emphasis fairly to be called violent upon the middle note. Why, then, should not the middle note be heard farthest? What _is_ emphasis, anyhow, if not, as the dictionary says, a "special force of voice." Could there be something peculiar, we asked ourselves, in the _quality_ of the first syllable, which made it carry beyond the others? We discussed the matter eagerly, trudging to and fro to make certain of the fact itself, and agreed, if I remember rightly, upon a plausible explanation. As I review the case, however, I am so much in doubt as to the correctness of our theory that it seems quite as well not to state it, but to leave the question to any Bird-Lore reader who may some day have nothing better to do than to investigate it for himself.

=For Teachers and Students=

Hints to Young Bird Students[F]

[Footnote F: From a leaflet prepared under the initiative of Mr. Witmer Stone, Conservator Ornithological Section, Acad. Nat. Sci., Philadelphia. These "hints" are addressed to students who desire to become scientific ornithologists and to whom specimens are a necessity. They show, however, how few specimens are required, and how much more there is to learn from living birds than from dead ones.]

It has always been our experience that young bird students who have just crossed the threshold of ornithology are glad to turn for a word of advice and assistance to their older brethren, who have already made some progress in the science; and it has always been a pleasure for us to give such aid. In view of these facts, we take this opportunity of offering a few words of counsel for the benefit of those who are beginning the study of birds.

Doubtless every beginner looks upon the formation of a collection as necessarily the first step on the ornithological ladder; and probably a collection of eggs is preferred to a collection of birds, because the specimens can be prepared much more readily.

Soon you meet complaints from well meaning persons who object to robbing birds' nests, and you reply that you are collecting for scientific purposes. Very good; science has need of you all, but do you know what scientific ornithology--real ornithology--is?

Are you not influenced, to some extent, at least, by "oölogical" magazines and dealers' price-lists of eggs, from which you learn that it is important to secure _series of sets_,--which means hundreds and thousands of eggs,--and wherein you also learn the market price of this or that egg, and value your specimens accordingly,--just as you do your postage stamps? This is not science, and the men who advocate this sort of collecting, and who have the largest collections of eggs, rarely contribute anything to our knowledge of birds, and are not advancing the science of ornithology.

If you must have a collection, a few sets of eggs (often a single set) of each species of bird will answer all your purposes. There is nothing to be gained by the collecting of a series, except the extermination of the birds, which is surely not your object.

On the other hand, there is a vast amount of bird work that you can do to help the science of ornithology and gain a reputation for yourself.

There are hundreds of facts regarding the distribution of birds, their habits, etc., which are still unknown, and you should make it your aim to become an authority on the birds of your region, and keep records of all your observations as to migration, habits, abundance, etc. You will find ample opportunity for work, as every year will bring to light new facts, and the more you contribute to our knowledge of the birds the more you will see what an insignificant matter the formation of an egg collection is in comparison with real ornithology.

In the case of birds, it is justifiable to shoot specimens which are new to you for purposes of identification, but you should make the best use of the bird _before_ you kill it, so that it will not be necessary to shoot more of the same kind in order to tell what they are. Your aim should be to learn to recognize birds at sight and by their notes, and you will find you will learn more of value by a study of the living bird than by collecting skins.

The exact knowledge that we now possess of the coloration, etc., of North American birds, and the large collections available for study in the museums, render it entirely unnecessary for _every_ bird student to form a collection. Those who undertake any special line of study will soon learn what specimens are required and collect accordingly, instead of amassing a large number of specimens with no particular object in view.

These suggestions are not made with a faultfinding or sentimental feeling, but in a friendly spirit, for the purpose of counteracting the effect of the advice of egg dealers and traders, who seem bent upon developing our budding students into "egg hogs" instead of ornithologists.

We have all killed birds and collected eggs, but not to a useless excess, and have always, we believe, made real use of our collections in adding to the knowledge of birds and advancing the science of ornithology.

As active members of the American Ornithologists' Union, we are only too glad to encourage the study of birds and aid the beginner, but unless some steps be taken against this useless egg collecting, the extermination of some at least of our birds will soon be effected.

We ask your earnest consideration of these points, and trust you will aid us by your influence and example in advancing true ornithology, and in discouraging the waste of bird-life occasioned by this "fad" of egg collecting.

WITMER STONE, Conservator Ornithological Section, Acad. Nat. Sci., Philadelphia. J. A. ALLEN, Curator Dept. Vertebrate Zool., Amer. Mus. Nat. Hist., New York City. FRANK M. CHAPMAN, Ass't Curator Dept. Vertebrate Zool., Amer. Mus. Nat. Hist., New York City. ROBERT RIDGWAY, President American Ornithologists' Union. Curator Dept. of Birds, U. S. Nat. Mus., Washington, D. C. CHARLES W. RICHMOND, Ass't Curator Dept. of Birds, U. S. Nat. Mus., Washington, D. C. C. HART MERRIAM, Chief U. S. Biol. Survey, Dept. of Agriculture, Washington, D. C. T. S. PALMER, Ass't Biol. Survey, Dept. of Agriculture, Washington, D. C. A. K. FISHER, Ass't Biol. Survey, Dept. of Agriculture, Washington, D. C. WILLIAM BREWSTER, Curator Dept. of Birds, Museum Comp. Zool., Cambridge, Mass. WILLIAM DUTCHER, Treasurer American Ornithologists' Union, New York City. JOHN H. SAGE, Secretary American Ornithologists' Union, Portland, Conn.

Fall Migration at Portland, Conn.

BY JOHN H. SAGE

I. AVERAGE DATES OF DEPARTURE OF THE COMMONER SUMMER RESIDENT BIRDS

September 1 to 10

Least Bittern, Black-billed Cuckoo, Least Flycatcher, Baltimore Oriole, Veery.

September 10 to 20

Kingbird, Cliff Swallow, Purple Martin, Warbling Vireo, White-eyed Vireo, Prairie Warbler, Wood Thrush.

September 20 to 30

Spotted Sandpiper, Whip-poor-will, Hummingbird, Rose-breasted Grosbeak, Bank Swallow, Yellow-throated Vireo, Nashville Warbler, Yellow Warbler, Redstart, Ovenbird, House Wren.

October 1 to 10

Green Heron, Night-hawk, Chimney Swift, Wood Pewee, Scarlet Tanager, Red-eyed Vireo, Black and White Warbler, Parula Warbler.

October 10 to 20

Virginia Rail, Black-crowned Night Heron, Cooper's Hawk, Yellow-billed Cuckoo, Phoebe, Bobolink, Indigo Bunting, Barn Swallow, Catbird, Brown Thrasher, Short-billed Marsh Wren.

October 20 to 31

American Bittern, Sharp-shinned Hawk, Red-winged Blackbird, Meadow Lark, Field Sparrow, Vesper, Savanna and Chipping Sparrows, Towhee, Tree Swallow, Black-throated Green Warbler, Maryland Yellow-throat, Long-billed Marsh Wren.

November 1 to 30

Woodcock, Mourning Dove, Marsh Hawk, Kingfisher, Flicker, Bronzed Grackle, Cowbird, Song Sparrow, Swamp Sparrow, Robin.

II. DATES OF ARRIVAL OF MIGRANTS FROM THE NORTH

August 15 to 31

Great Blue Heron, Small-billed Water Thrush.

September 1 to 10

Yellow Rail, Least Sandpiper, Solitary Sandpiper, Osprey, Blackburnian Warbler, Yellow Palm Warbler, Canadian Warbler[A].

September 10 to 20

Pied-billed Grebe, Blue-winged Teal, Wilson's Snipe, Pigeon Hawk, Yellow-bellied Sapsucker, Rusty Blackbird, White-throated Sparrow, Philadelphia Vireo, Bay-breasted Warbler, Black-poll Warbler, Connecticut Warbler, Red-breasted Nuthatch, Grey-cheeked Thrush.

September 20 to 30

Loon, Black Duck, American Coot, Pectoral Sandpiper, Semi-palmated Sandpiper, Greater Yellow-legs, Nelson's Sparrow, Junco, Lincoln's Sparrow, Black-throated Blue Warbler[G], Myrtle Warbler, Magnolia Warbler[G], Pine Warbler, Wilson's Warbler[G], American Pipit, Winter Wren, Ruby-crowned Kinglet, Olive-backed Thrush.

October 1 to 10

Green-winged Teal, Pintail, American Scoter, White-winged Scoter, Short-eared Owl, White-crowned Sparrow, Blue-headed Vireo, Brown Creeper, Golden-crowned Kinglet, Hermit Thrush.

October 10 to 20

Red-throated Loon, American Scaup Duck, Old-squaw, Surf Scoter, Ruddy Duck, Canada Goose, American Golden Plover, American Goshawk, Fox Sparrow.

October 20 to 31

Hooded Merganser, Baldpate, Lesser Scaup Duck, Ring-necked Duck, Buffle-head, Snowflake, Tree Sparrow, Northern Shrike.

November 1 to 20

Red-breasted Merganser, Mallard, Snowy Owl, Pine Siskin.

[Footnote G: Generally noted at Englewood, N. J., between August 20 and 31.--F. M. C.]

=For Young Observers=

Mr. Flicker Writes a Letter

BY GARRETT NEWKIRK

People: Tell me where you scare up Names for me like 'Flicker,' 'Yarup,' 'High-hole,' 'Yucker,' 'Yellow-hammer'-- None of these are in my grammar-- 'Piquebois jaune,' (Woodpick yellow), So the Creoles name a fellow. Others call me 'Golden-wings,' 'Clape,' and twenty other things That I never half remember, Any summer till September.

Many names and frequent mention Show that I receive attention, And the honor that is due me; But if you would interview me Call me any name you please, I'm 'at home' among the trees. Yet I never cease my labors To receive my nearest neighbors, And 'twill be your best enjoyment Just to view me at employment.

I'm the friend of every sower, Useful to the orchard grower, Helping many a plant and tree From its enemies to free,-- They are always food for me. And I like dessert in reason, Just a bit of fruit in season, But my _delicacy_ is _ants_, Stump or hill inhabitants; Thrusting in my sticky tongue, So I take them, old and young.

Surely we have found the best Place wherein to make our nest-- Tunnel bored within a tree, Smooth and clean as it can be, Smallest at the open door, Curving wider toward the floor. Every year we make a new one, Freshly bore another true one; Other birds, you understand, Use our old ones, second-hand,-- Occupying free of rent, They are very well content.

To my wife I quite defer, I am most polite to her, Bowing while I say, 'kee-cher.' Eggs we number five to nine, Pearly white with finish fine. On our nest we sit by turns, So each one a living earns; Though I think I sit the better, When she wishes to, I let 'er!

--_Flicker._

Zip and Phoebe (A Cat-Bird Story)

BY FLORENCE A. VAN SANT

Early each spring I watch for the return of a Phoebe bird, which usually gladdens my heart by his appearance about sundown of some bright day. He is alone, because, according to most authorities, he travels in advance of his mate; and when I ask with wonder, "Well Peter, where is Phoebe?" with a quick dip of his tail and an expressive twitter, he seems to say, "She will arrive on the next train."

For several years they have returned to the same nest beneath the roof of my veranda, each spring re-lining the inside and brightening the outside with green moss. They always raise two broods. They are very tame, and from year to year do not seem to forget their confidence of the previous summer, and will perch on the cedar tree close to the porch, or light on the rope of the hammock only a few feet away from me.

I have so trained my cat, Zip, that she thinks it is as wicked to look at a bird as she does to climb on the table, and never does either. Peter and Phoebe seemed to know that they had nothing to fear from her; and, when sitting on the little white eggs, their bright eyes would peep over the nest at Zip, sitting or napping in the easy chair below. When the young birds arrived, the parents would fly back and forth feeding them, without showing any more fear of the cat than they did of me.

While busy in the house one day, my attention was attracted by a loud tapping at the window, and on looking up I saw Phoebe apparently in great distress. She would fly at the window, striking the glass with her bill, circle round, fly back again, and tap, as though trying to attract my attention. Upon my appearance at the door, she flew toward the nest and, pausing on the wing, as a Kingfisher will poise over the water when seeing a fish, uttered sharp cries, fluttering her wings all the while, and telling me in bird language of her trouble. There sat a cat on the chair just below the nest, but it was not Zip. She had taken no other cat into her confidence, hence her alarm. When I drove the strange cat away, she quieted down and administered to the wants of her family as usual.

This little incident seems to show that birds become so accustomed to their environments that they know each member of the family, even to the dog and cat, and that they possess a certain degree of reasoning power.

One day later in the season, when they were raising the second family, my attention was again attracted by the same cries. A pair of my tame Pigeons, looking for a place to build, had lighted on the cornice over the door not far from the nest, and both Peter and Phoebe were trying to drive them away. They would dart almost up to them, all the while snapping their bills vigorously, as though catching a succession of insects, but before the Pigeons could strike with their wings, would dart away, and like a flash be back again. They did not seem to be calling on me for assistance, but were themselves fighting for what they considered their rights, and evidently did not think Pigeons "as harmless as Doves." The warfare continued at intervals for several days, until the Pigeons decided it was an unpleasant locality for a future home, and retired to the barn.

=Notes from Field and Study=

Birds Through a Telescope

The season is approaching when the migration of birds may be studied to advantage through a telescope. A 2-inch hand glass may be used, though a higher power is preferable. It should be focused on the moon, across the surface of which the bird is seen passing.

September 3, 1887, at Tenafly, N. J., Mr. John Tatlock, Jr., and myself, using a 6-1/2-inch equatorial, saw 262 birds cross the moon's disc between the hours of eight and eleven (The Auk, V, p. 37), and we have since repeated the observation.

Studies of this nature should throw much light on the question of 'highways of migration,' and at the same time furnish an idea of the number of birds passing through a given space during a given time; and, more particularly, they should tell us the height at which birds perform their nocturnal journeys.

Mr. Tatlock and myself solved this latter problem by a hypothetical assumption of the inferior and superior distances at which a bird would be visible. In this way we arrived at the conclusion that the birds seen were between one and three miles above the earth.