Part 20

PAGE Frontispiece--Golden Eagle. Photographed from life by _H. W. Nash_. A Search for the Reedy Island Crow Roost. _Witmer Stone_ 177 Illustrated by _W. Gordon Smith_. Winter Bird Notes from Southern New Hampshire. _William Everett Cram_ 180 Illustrated by the author. How the Central Park Chickadees Were Tamed. _A. A Crolius_ 185 The Surprising Contents of a Birch Stub. _Frank M. Chapman_ 187 Illustrated by the author. Richardson's Owl. Illustrated by the author. _P. R. Peabody_ 190

FOR TEACHERS AND STUDENTS An 'Advisory Council'. 192 "Humanizing" the Birds. _Caroline G. Soule_ 193 'On the Ethics of Caging Birds.' _Olive Thorne Miller_ 194

FOR YOUNG OBSERVERS The Birds' Christmas Tree. Illustrated. 195 The Little Brown Creeper. Verse. Illustrated. 196

NOTES FROM FIELD AND STUDY 197 An Interesting Phoebe's Nest, illustrated, _Ellen E. Webster_; A Singing Blue Jay, _Frank E. Horack_; A Useful Nest-Holder, illustrated; To Hunt Southern Birds; Seventeenth Congress of the American Ornithologists' Union.

BOOK NEWS AND REVIEWS 199 Newton's 'Dictionary;' Mrs Wright's 'Wabeno;' Cory's 'Birds of Eastern North America;' Book News.

EDITORIAL 201

BIRD-LORE FOR 1900 202

AUDUBON DEPARTMENT Editorial: Reports from Rhode Island, Pennsylvania, and Wisconsin Societies; The Passing of the Tern, illustrated.

×*× _Bird-Lore is published on the first of the month, at Englewood, New Jersey, where all notices of change of address, manuscripts intended for publication, books, etc., for review, and exchanges should be sent._

IMPORTANT NOTICE TO SUBSCRIBERS

All subscriptions beginning with the first (February) number of Bird-Lore expire with this issue. A blank is enclosed for the purpose of renewal, which it is requested be made at our Englewood, N. J., office, ten cents for exchange charges being added to checks on other than New York City banks. In this connection we would call attention to the editorial and announcements on pages 201 and 202 of this number.

PUBLISHERS' ANNOUNCEMENT

Bird-Lore for February, 1900, beginning Volume II, will contain the details of the students' 'Advisory Council,' and, among other interesting contributions, an important and fully illustrated paper on 'The Tongues of Birds,' by F. A. Lucas, Curator of Comparative Anatomy in the U. S. National Museum; 'A Method of Recording Observations,' by Professor Pinchot, of Trinity College; 'Egret Farming,' by F. M. Chapman; and there will be some remarkable bird photographs.

=Bird-Lore=

A BI-MONTHLY MAGAZINE

DEVOTED TO THE STUDY AND PROTECTION OF BIRDS

Official Organ of the Audubon Societies

======================================= Vol. 1 December, 1899 No. 6 =======================================

A Search for the Reedy Island Crow Roost

BY WITMER STONE

Curator of Birds, Academy of Natural Sciences, Philadelphia.

In the Delaware river, just where it begins to widen out into the bay, and midway between the shores of Delaware and New Jersey, lie two long, low islands, known as 'The Pea-patch' and 'Reedy Island.'

Early in the century the former of these was selected by the government as the site of Fort Delaware, and its importance advanced proportionately in the popular mind. Later on, the lower island, which already boasted of a light-house, became further dignified by the establishment of a quarantine station on its banks.

Although of little importance before the government claimed them, these islands were by no means uninhabited, but were, in fact, well-known as a winter resort. The early inhabitants, though much less imposing than the soldiers and health officers who have superseded them, did not fail to attract attention--even newspaper notoriety; not from their individualities, but from their countless numbers. In fact they were nothing more than ordinary, despised black Crows, but Crows in such countless numbers that they could not fail to be noticed.

Every evening they came at dusk by thousands and tens of thousands, winging their way in long lines from all points of the compass, and settling down on the reed-covered islands in a solid black phalanx. This winter roosting habit of the Crows is well-known, and many roosts have been located, but the habit seems still to lack a satisfactory explanation. Why should these birds fly back and forth every day over miles and miles of country to roost in some definite spot which, so far as we can judge, is no better suited for roosting purposes than hundreds of other places which they pass by? And why should they gather together every night in such numbers as to attract general attention and invite slaughter by thoughtless gunners, when, by roosting in small numbers wherever they happen to be feeding, they would escape notice? These are questions I shall not attempt to solve.

Estimates placed the number of Crows in these two island roosts at half a million, and they held possession of the islands undisturbed until about the time of the establishment of Fort Delaware. They did not relish this intrusion, and determined to desert the ancestral Pea-patch roost; being also influenced, no doubt, by a storm which flooded the island at night and drowned thousands of the unfortunate birds.

The Reedy Island roost continued in use until the establishment of the Quarantine Station, at a much later day; then it, too, was deserted, and the famous island roosts were no more.

I have long been interested in the winter gatherings of the Crows, and made inquiry of the light-keeper at Reedy Island to ascertain whether any Crows at all remained there at the present time. I was informed that they came across from Delaware as of old in long flights from the west, northwest and southwest, but all passed over the island into New Jersey, where he judged they had established new winter quarters.

The location of this new roost at once became a matter of interest. By further inquiry I learned that Crows at Salem, N. J., nearly opposite the Pea-patch, flew southwards at evening, and by plotting this flight line with those given by the light-house keeper, on a map, I found that they joined some four or five miles below Salem, and here I felt sure the roost was to be found.

I had little trouble in impressing an ornithological friend, who resided at Salem, with the importance of locating this roost, and one cold afternoon in January found us driving off in the direction taken by the Salem Crow flight.

When we neared the point at which we thought the roost ought to be, we noticed a scattered line of Crows coming up from the south, evidently from feeding grounds on the shores of the bay. They came along in twos and threes, and alighted in a corn-field on our left, from which the farmer had neglected to haul in all of the ears. Here was a rare feast, and about a thousand birds were already assembled, to whose numbers constant additions were being made. This, we thought, must be the beginning of the evening assemblage, but, strange to say, no Crows were coming in from the west; these were all southern Crows, and, furthermore, they showed no signs of settling for the night, but were simply intent on the grain.

Driving further on, we inquired of a man where the Crows roosted, and were assured that they made use of a long strip of woods lying between us and the river. Investigation, however, showed not a Crow in the wood, and we were inclined to believe that we had been purposely misled. Passing through the trees, we had an unobstructed view of the river. The sun was just setting, a round, red ball of fire in the west, and in the yellow light we could see the lines of Delaware Crows crossing towards us, while in the fields before us were hundreds of Crows lazily flapping about much as the others were in the corn-field to the east.

Here, again, we were directed back to the same wood and assured that the birds would repair there when ready. It was just dusk as we hitched our horse and entered the woods; there was still no sign of Crows, but as we emerged on the farther side we found that an immense flight was just beginning to pass overhead from the westward; evidently the river Crows had concluded that bedtime had come. They did not, however, alight in the trees, but passed over and dropped noiselessly into the low fields just before us, seeming to select a black, burnt area on the far side. To our amazement this "burnt" patch proved to be a solid mass of Crows sitting close together, and in the gathering gloom it was difficult to see how far it extended. Four immense flights of the birds were now pouring into the fields, in one of which we estimated that 500 Crows passed overhead per minute, during the height of the flight.

It was now quite dark, and we began to think that the birds had no intention of retiring to the woods, so determined to vary the monotony of the scene and at the same time warm our chilled bodies. We, therefore, ran rapidly toward the nearest birds and shouted together just as they first took wing. The effect was marvellous; with a roar of wings the whole surface of the ground seemed to rise. The birds hovered about a minute, and then entered the woods; we soon saw that but a small portion of the assemblage had taken wing. Those farther off had not seen us in the darkness, and doubtless thought that this was merely the beginning of the regular nightly retirement into the trees. The movement, once started, became contagious, and the Crows arose steadily section by section. The bare branches of the trees which stood out clearly against the western sky but a minute before seemed to be clothed in thick foliage as the multitude of birds settled down.

After all had apparently entered the roost, we shouted again and the roar of wings was simply deafening; another shout brought the same result in undiminished force, and even then, probably not half the birds took wing.

They soon settled down again, and we were glad to leave them in peace. So far as we could learn they are but little molested, and let us hope that this may continue. Many of the large roosts farther north in Pennsylvania and New Jersey, seem to be rapidly decreasing in size, owing to thoughtless persecution, and eventually the poor birds may be driven to roost in scattered detachments, as would, indeed, seem best for their preservation; but if this comes to pass, one of the most impressive phenomena of our bird-life will have disappeared.

Winter Bird Notes from Southern New Hampshire

BY WILLIAM EVERETT CRAM

Illustrated by the author

January 1, 1898. Northern birds have, as a rule, been decidedly rare this winter. In November, Goshawks were quite abundant, and a few Snowy Owls were also to be seen at that time. As I was returning from a tramp just at dusk one evening, one of the great white fellows came sailing by only a few yards from the ground. His manner of sailing and something in the set of his wings reminded me strongly of an Eagle flying before the wind; there were evident the same power and swiftness without visible effort. He came from the northeast on the wind of a rising storm, and had evidently but just arrived, being in much more perfect plumage than is usual in November, appearing, at the distance of only a few yards, absolutely white, with his big yellow eyes burning among his snowy feathers.

Snow Buntings were also common in November, and Horned Larks during the first part of the month. I noticed a large flock of the latter one morning feeding in the stubble and, observing that they were moving towards me, crouched motionless until they came up and surrounded me, gathering seeds in the earnest, industrious manner of domestic Pigeons, and exhibiting but little more alarm at my presence. On the 27th a Shrike alighted in the top of the elm near the house, and, after reconnoitering for a few moments, started down into the orchard, but apparently missed whatever it struck at and, turning upward, alighted in a smaller elm by the road, when it at once began tearing to pieces an old bird's nest, behaving exactly as if in anger at its disappointment.

For some time I was unable to discover what it had at first been after, but finally caught sight of a Downy Woodpecker clinging motionless to the underside of a small branch in an apple tree, with every feather drawn down close to its body, just as an owl does when trying to escape notice.

After a while it began turning its head from side to side, as if to make sure its enemy had disappeared. When I attempted to make it fly, it merely crept mouse-like about the branches until perfectly certain that the Shrike had gone, when it took wing and flew to another tree, where it presently went to work as if nothing had happened.

Throughout December the only birds to be found were Crows, Blue Jays, Downy Woodpeckers, Black-capped Chickadees, Nuthatches, Golden-crowned Kinglets, Brown Creepers, and Partridges, with an occasional Bald Eagle or Rough-legged Hawk and a very few Flickers. A large flock of Wild Geese passed over on the 7th, and I saw a few Tree Sparrows and a Winter Wren about the last of the month. The Sparrows lingered about until the first week in January, when a large flock of Snow Buntings made their appearance. A few days later, however, neither Sparrows nor Buntings were to be found anywhere.

January 6. Going through the woods I heard the small birds making quite a fuss in the young growth, and on looking for the cause, discovered a Saw-whet Owl in a little hemlock. When I first caught sight of him he was sitting on one of the smaller branches ten feet from the ground, apparently asleep, with his back to the trunk and his head tipped back. On being closely approached, he seemed to awake suddenly with a start, at once turning his great round eyes in my direction, and after that, never removed them from me for an instant, though I walked around his tree several times. He had a partly eaten white-footed mouse slung across the branch beside him, probably the remains of his breakfast.

Most of the small birds contented themselves with chirping at him from the surrounding trees, occasionally approaching to inspect him more closely and then flying off again, but one Red-breasted Nuthatch remained from the first on a twig close to the Owl's head, and kept up a continual harsh rasping cry, as if having some especial cause of complaint against him. A Flicker and some Blue Jays alighted in the neighboring trees, but not seeing anything of importance, soon flew away again.

When I shook the tree the Owl merely fluttered a few yards, and lit on a maple sapling just out of my reach. The next time he tried to hide by alighting on the further side of the stem of a pine several inches in diameter, but finding this of no avail, at last took a longer flight off through the woods, where I was unable to follow him.

January 28. Heard what I at first took to be the song of a Ruby-crowned Kinglet to-day, but it proved to be a Black-capped Chickadee, uttering what was to me an entirely new note; like the Kinglet's, only fainter and shorter, with just a little of the ring of the Canary's song in it. He was sitting all alone under the dark evergreens, singing to himself in a manner wholly out of keeping with the general disposition and taste of the Chickadee. When I at last disturbed him, he flew to another tree and began searching for insects, uttering the familiar note of his species.

February 3. There is a little Junco hopping about the path to-day, in spite of the fact that the mercury has been very near zero most of the time for the last fortnight, and that the snow is drifted eight or ten feet deep in places. He appears to spend a considerable portion of his time in the woodshed, poking about among the chips, etc., and I fancy sleeps somewhere about the building.

There are also a few Flickers and at least one Meadowlark in this vicinity, and since the last heavy snowfall they have become unusually tame and familiar, coming close about the house for food. Goldfinches and Tree Sparrows are still quite abundant, and there is a flock of fifty or sixty Pine Grosbeaks, mostly in young plumage, in the woods about a mile to the west of us, the first I have seen this winter.

February 6. About five o'clock this evening a large Goshawk in rather dark plumage came flying across the field only a few yards above the snow. As he neared a tall elm he rose in the air and alighted near the top of the tree, and after sitting there for a few moments, turning his head in all directions, he opened his wings and tumbled from his perch, falling several yards down among the branches before regaining his balance, when he flew rapidly off toward the west and disappeared among the pines. Just a week ago I noticed where a Goshawk, judging from the tracks in the snow, had killed a rabbit, so that it would seem that they have not been entirely absent at any time this winter.

February 7. Have just seen a Goshawk, apparently in young plumage, flying west at a height of perhaps sixty or seventy yards from the ground.

February 13. The Great Horned Owls began hooting nearly an hour before sunset this evening. It is remarkable how loud their cry sounds at a distance of half a mile or even a mile. I am convinced that they can be heard distinctly two miles away, for I have often heard them in the day time from a direction in which the nearest woods were at least as far as that. There are always several pairs dwelling in a certain dark hemlock swamp about a mile and a half away, and sometimes in the evening, or by moonlight, they come hunting across the meadows and pastures, hooting at intervals as they come. When they get within one hundred yards or so their cry is loud enough to arouse everyone in the house.

February 18. Followed the track of a Hawk, apparently a Goshawk, twenty or thirty rods through the birch woods west of the cove. From the appearance of the tracks the bird must have walked much after the manner of a Crow, though dragging its claws more. Occasionally it hopped for a few feet. There was no sign of its having killed any game near there and having eaten so much as to be unable to fly at once, as is sometimes the case. At times it followed in the tracks of rabbits for some distance. I have often known them to do this, and am inclined to think that they occasionally hunt rabbits in this manner where the under-brush is too dense to allow them to fly through it easily. I have sometimes followed their tracks through the brush until I came upon the remains of freshly killed rabbits which they had been eating. On coming out into an opening, I saw a beautiful male Goshawk in full blue plumage perched on the top of a dead maple in a swamp. When I tried to approach, he took wing and flew off toward the north.

How the Central Park Chickadees Were Tamed

BY A. A. CROLIUS[I]

[Footnote I: In Bird-Lore for April, pp. 55 and 58, there were given accounts of experiences with the remarkably tame Chickadees that passed the winter of 1898-9 in Central Park, New York City. The present paper solves the mystery of their surprising confidence in man.--Ed.]

IN the early part of the winter of 1898-9 Chickadees were unusually abundant in Central Park, New York City, and a friend and myself saw them come down and get some of the nuts we were feeding to White-throated Sparrows. We were, of course, much interested, and determined to see if we could tame them. They would take the nuts to a limb, eat all they wished, and hide the rest in crevices in trees or bushes, where, I think, they seldom found them again, for the impudent and ever wide-awake English Sparrow watched and got the pieces almost as soon as they were deposited. After feeding them in this way for some time, we tried to get them to eat from our hands, and finally succeeded by first placing our hands on the ground with a nut about a foot from our fingers, then a little nearer, then on the ends of our fingers, and lastly in the palms of our hands. There was a great shout when they hopped on our hands the first time, our delight being indescribable.

Finding that kneeling or bending over on the ground was rather hard work, we tried holding out our hands when standing, or while sitting on the benches, and they very soon came, no matter where we were or in what attitude. The little creatures never seemed to get tired if we remained hours at a time, and it was indeed difficult to tear oneself away. Just as I would make up my mind to be off one would fly over my head calling _chick-a-dee-dee_ in such a bewitching way as to make it impossible to leave. I would say to myself, "Just one piece more," then throw a lot of nuts on the ground and make a 'bee line' for home, never looking back for fear the temptation would be too great, and I should find myself retracing my steps. After a time they would come to me and follow me anywhere in the park, whenever I called them, and getting better acquainted I found the birds possessed of so many different traits of character that I named each one accordingly. One I called the 'Scatterer,' because he stood on my hand and deliberately threw piece after piece of nut on the ground, looking down as they fell with the most mischievous twinkle in his eyes, as much as to say, "see what I've done," then take a piece and fly away. This he did dozens of times in succession. I thought at first he would rather pick them up from the ground, but he came directly back and waited for me to do it. Another I called 'Little Ruffled Breast,' on account of the feathers on the breast being rough and much darker than the rest. He was the most affectionate, had a sweet disposition, and, like human beings of the same character, was often imposed upon, many times being driven off by the others when he was just about taking a nut. He was very tame, and had perfect confidence in anyone who would feed him. The third I named the 'Boss,' because he took the lead and carried the day. He was a beauty, spick and span in his dress, not a feather out of place, and plump and perfect in form. The fourth, dubbed 'Little Greedy,' was very fascinating, and I must confess to loving him more than the rest, having had a most novel experience with him, and one never to be forgotten. He came to me one morning, and, lighting on my hand, sang _chick-a-dee-dee_ two or three times, helped himself to a nut, and, perching on my forefinger, put the nut under his foot, as I have seen them do many a time on the trees, remaining there until he had eaten it. I was thrilled through and through with the sensation and the perfect trustfulness of the little creature, and was sorry when he had finished. But why was he called Greedy? Because he usually took two pieces instead of one, and, strange to say, knew that he must have both the same size or one would fall out. It was very funny to see him with a good sized piece, his bill stretched to its utmost capacity, trying to fit in another. He turned his bill first on one side then on the other, thinking he could wedge it in by forcing it against my hand, and he succeeded in this wonderful feat by his perseverance and indomitable will.

The Surprising Contents of a Birch Stub