Part 16

Very amusing it was to watch him, as with praiseworthy deliberation he ate round after round of the cap of the fungus. He would bite off a mouthful of the toadstool, chew it carefully until he had extracted the whole of the juice, then open his mouth and drop out the masticated fibre, and take a fresh mouthful, not biting inward toward the stem, but breaking off the morsel next beside that which he had just eaten. He paced round and round the fungus as he took his bites, and as the fungus decreased in regular circles, the chewed fragments increased. In less than an hour he had eaten all the disk of the fungus to the stipe, and then walked slowly away to seek for another. The discarded parts of the fungus appeared quite dry when examined, nothing nutritious being left in them. There must have been some very good reason for rejecting the central part and the stem, which were left in every instance, but what that reason was we could not imagine. If a decayed or wormy portion of a toadstool was encountered in the feeding process, he did not bite round it, but abandoned the plant altogether, and went off in quest of a fresh specimen.

Coming, in his travels, to a steep gully or ravine which he desires to cross, he does not attempt the undertaking without counting his chances of success. He seemingly revolves the matter over and over for some time in his mind, and, when at last he has reached a conclusion, draws his head and feet under cover, and by some quick, sudden jerk flings himself down to the bottom, trusting to good fortune and his own wits to making his way over the further incline. Observation teaches that his deliberations are generally attended with the accomplishment of the result to be attained.

There is a very common turtle, quite abundant in the small lakes and streams of our Western States, where he is trapped in great numbers for the market, which country people dub the Snapping Turtle, or which, from the resemblance which the head and neck, when stretched out, bear to the same parts of the alligator, takes the name of Alligator Turtle, or _Chelydra serpentina_, with the more learned naturalist. He has a shell too small to close over him and hide him completely, but nature, to make up for this deficiency of covering, has given him a bold and hasty temper, which leads him to snap vigorously when disturbed. Snapping Turtles live rather harmoniously together, even when confined in the same pen, and only manifest their ugly dispositions towards each other when excited by causes from without, with whose origin they have nothing to do. Contests of a very vicious character are often thus precipitated, which sooner or later end in the death of one or more of the belligerent parties.

Down in the pine countries of our Southern States lives a large, stout animal, with a shell fifteen inches in length, which is denominated the Gopher, or _Testudo Carolina_. These animals dwell in troops, several families digging their dens or burrows near together, the entrance thereto being about four feet long and expanding into a spacious apartment. In each burrow resides a single pair of Gophers. By day the Gophers keep close house, but by night they wander out in search of food, devouring yams, melons, corn and other garden produce. They dislike wet weather, and always go in-doors when it rains. Gophers’ eggs, which are as large as pigeons’ eggs, and also their flesh, are highly esteemed as articles of diet by the negroes.

In Europe, a near cousin of the Gopher is kept about the house for a pet. If allowed, in the autumn, to find his way into a garden, he digs a hole and hibernates, coming out in the spring. An English lady had one of these animals which lived in the kitchen. He was fond of creeping into the fireplace and getting under the grate, where he would contentedly lie until the hot coal and ashes dropped upon his back and burnt his shell. When winter came this little creature wanted to take his long sleep, and dug so persistently into baskets, drawers, boxes and closets, that finally a box of earth was given to him, into which he worked his way until out of sight, and there he remained until April sun and showers called him from his winter retreat. His fare was potatoes, carrots, turnips and bread and milk, which he especially liked.

SUMMER DUCK.

Perhaps no species of North American water-bird is more highly esteemed by lovers of the beautiful in nature than _Aix sponsa_--the Summer Duck, or Wood Duck--and, when obtainable, is one of the first to find room in the collection of amateur naturalists. With the epicure, however, he is of rather inferior standing, lacking as he does the delicacy of flesh which makes the green-winged teal and others of his tribe of such immense gastronomic value.

Though truly an American species, yet this bird is more generally found throughout the United States than any other, nesting wherever suitable localities present themselves. North of the Potomac River, and in the various States situated above the parallel of latitude which cuts its head-waters, at least so far as the country east of the Rocky Mountains is concerned, it is chiefly a migrant, arriving towards the close of March, or in the beginning of April. South of this line, from Maryland to Florida, and thence south-westerly through the Gulf States into Mexico, the birds are found in more or less abundance during the entire year.

Pairing commences in the South Atlantic and Gulf States, we are told, about the first of March, but in New England and the Middle States in favorable seasons from the first to the fifteenth of April, whereas in the country bordering on the Great Lakes and in the Western States generally, it does not take place till the last of May or the beginning of June.

Upon their arrival in our Northern States these birds, strange to say, unlike many of their numerous family connections, seldom frequent the sea-shore or the adjoining salt marshes, but manifest a predilection for the ponds, mill-dams and deep muddy streams of the interior; and the same is true in more southern latitudes, for they prefer to place their nests along the creeks and bayous of the land where the orange and palmetto charm the eye with perennial verdure.

Between the time of their appearance in March and the plighting of their vows at the accustomed trysting-places, the sexes consort together in flocks of four or more, but never in very large numbers, and fatten on acorns, the seeds of the wild oats, and such insects as they can procure from the tree-branches or the muddy borders of the streams and ponds which they so delight to visit.

On each recurrence of the mating season there is reason to believe that the same couple come together and pledge anew their fidelity and affection, unless debarred by death, or some other of the many vicissitudes to which life is prone. The troth-plight sealed, and a union effected, the happy couple soon start off in quest of a spot for a home. In the case of old birds the same locality, where no interference has been experienced from beast or man, has been known to be visited for four successive years. For obvious reasons, Wood Ducks delight to live in close proximity to bodies of water, such places affording conveniences to the young, when they are sufficiently matured to betake themselves thither, for food and exercise. Situations remote from water entail unnecessary labor upon the female, who is then required, at considerable risk and peril, to carry them one by one to the pond or stream in her bill. When the distance is not too great, and the ground underneath the nesting-tree is amply covered with dry leaves and grasses, the young scramble to the mouth of the nest, drop themselves down, and under the maternal leadership wend their way to the much-loved fluid. Often the tree or stub which contains their home is found to overshadow the water. All that is necessary then is for the tender little creatures, after reaching the entrance, to spread their ill-feathered pinions and oar-like feet and fling themselves down, a feat which can be performed without jeopardy to life or limb.

Almost any tree, or tree-branch, containing the essential hollow, and suitably located, is utilized. Broken branches of high sycamores, seldom more than forty or fifty feet from water, are, according to Audubon, favorite places, while Wilson claims to have met the home of a pair of these birds in a fork composed of branches, and built out of a few rude sticks. In the South, the forsaken retreat of the gray squirrel and the hole of the ivory-billed woodpecker are common nesting-places. Often the entrance to the nest is apparently so small when compared with the bulk of the occupant that it is a matter of surprise to many that she can manage to make her way into it without suffering bodily injuries. But she does, nevertheless, which is an evidence that she either knows how to conform to circumstances, or is a better judge of dimensions than many of the would-be-wise lords of creation. All nests of our finding have been wide enough at their mouths to admit of easy passage, and have been from four to six feet in vertical direction. Soft decayed wood, and a few feathers, doubtless plucked from the breast of the builder, were their only contents. Dry plants, down, and feathers of the wild turkey, wild goose and the common barnyard fowl, have been observed, in addition to the foregoing articles, by other writers. The height of the entrance above the ground varies from fifteen to thirty feet, but probably a less, or even a greater elevation, may sometimes be attained.

Wilson speaks of a nest which he observed in an old grotesque white oak, which stood on a slope of one of the banks of the Tuckahoe River, in New Jersey, just twenty yards from the water’s edge, that had been occupied for four consecutive years. At the time of his visit the nest contained thirteen young birds, which the maternal head was engaged in carrying down to the water to give them, perhaps, their first experience in the art of swimming. So carefully, and yet so adroitly and quickly, did she perform this seemingly difficult task, that she was less than ten minutes in its accomplishment. Although the male usually stands sentry while the processes of laying and sitting are going on, and signals the approach of enemies by a peculiar cry which has been likened to the crowing of a young cock--œ-ēēk! œ-ēēk!--yet from the silence of one writer upon the subject we infer that the duty of rearing the rather numerous family is left to the mother, while he--her friend and consequential partner, as though disdaining such ignoble and degrading work, because of its slavish character--is off with his gay companions, disporting themselves in mid-air, or trimming, while perched upon some sheltering bough, their rich and varied plumage. So intent, however, was the mother-bird upon the faithful discharge of her home-duties, that she heeded not the stately sloop, then nearly completed, as it lay upon the stocks close-by, with its hull looming up within twelve feet of her home, darkened with the presence, and reverberating with the noise of workmen, but continued to pass in and out as though utterly unconscious of the so near approach of danger. Audubon claims that the male deserts the female when the period of sitting commences, and joins his sterner brethren, who unite into flocks of considerable numbers, and keep apart from their partners until the young are fully matured, when young and old of both sexes come together, and thus remain until the return of another breeding-season.

The female, it is evident from what has just been said, assumes the entire charge of incubation. For more than twenty-one days she is thus busied, with nothing, it would seem, to relieve the monotony of her task. How often she despairs and bewails the hardship of her lot, none can know. It is the inexorable decree of fate that she should perform the duties alone and unassisted, and most willingly she submits. But the _ennui_ of the labor is, in a measure, forgotten in the vision that hope holds out to her patience, for her persistent assiduity is ultimately rewarded by a whole nest-full of happy ducklings. While the hatching process is going on the patient housewife only leaves the nest when pressed by the pangs of hunger, and but for a short time. Before leaving, however, she takes the precaution to see that her creamy-white, elliptical treasures, to the number of ten or thirteen eggs, are carefully covered with down.

Like the young of our domesticated species, the little Wood Ducks follow the mother almost as soon as they are hatched, and gather whatever of vegetable and insect food they happen to encounter. They are passionately fond of the water, and best show their real character when gracefully floating upon its glassy bosom, or diving into its azure depths. At an early age they respond to the parent’s call with a soft and mellow _pee, pee, pee-e_, which is uttered quite rapidly, and at repeated intervals. The call of the mother, when addressing the young at such times, is rather low and soft, and resembles that of the young, being only a little more prolonged.

These beautiful birds have often been domesticated. They become at such times so unsuspicious and familiar as to allow themselves to be stroked by the hand. No handsomer bird could be chosen for introduction into our yards. The male, some nineteen inches in length, and with a scope of wing of two and one-third feet, is a being of no mean proportions. But it is the richness and variety of his colors that render him an object of admiration. A conspicuous green and purple crest adorns his head, while the sides, which are iridescent purple, are relieved of their monotony by a streak of white from base of bill to occiput, and by another, back of the eye, of a pure white color, which is continuous with that of the throat. The sides and front of the lower neck and the forepart of the breast are a bright chestnut, with five white spots, while the lower parts are generally white. Beautifully iridescent metallic hues set off the upper surfaces of the wings, which show most effectively in the blaze of the noonday sun. To the female nature has not been, it would seem to the casual observer, quite so propitious. Her grayish head, with lengthened hind-feathers, white throat, brownish-yellow fore-neck, upper breast and sides, striped with grayish and generally dark-brown upper parts, glossed chiefly with purple, contrast most markedly with the rich, gorgeous attire of her other half. While less showy in dress and lacking the dignity of demeanor that characterizes her lord, she is none the less fitted to perform her part in the drama of life. Her dress, sober in color, and with just enough of ornament to relieve the oppressiveness of its sameness, is so accordant with her home-surroundings as to afford her the protection and security she requires in the trying and perilous duties of brood-raising.

AMERICAN WOODCOCK.

Quite as interesting in habits is the American Woodcock, the _Philohela minor_ of Gray, which belongs to the grallatorial, rather than to the natatorial, family of birds. In distribution he is somewhat restricted, differing in this respect from his numerous congeneric brethren, which have a wide dispersion. He is chiefly a denizen of the eastern parts of the United States, and of the British territory immediately adjacent. Fort Rice, in north-western Dakota, and Kansas and Nebraska in the West, appear to be the limits of his range in these directions. In the Middle and Eastern States Woodcocks are found in greater abundance than anywhere else. While the bulk pass North to breed, a few remain in the South and raise their happy little families in spite of the ardor of the climate.

Few migrants arrive earlier at their breeding-grounds. They usually appear from the fifth to the tenth of March in New England and the Middle Atlantic States, although instances are recorded where they have been observed as early as the twenty-fourth of February. These cases are rare, however, and only happen, if at all, when the weather has been remarkably auspicious for a lengthy spell. As a few birds have been known to winter in the North, when the season has been unusually mild, their emergence from sheltered localities so early might be construed by persons not cognizant of their presence, or of their occasional winter sojourn, as a case of recent arrival. In view of this fact, it would be difficult to prove that a bird seen in winter had just come from the South, unless discovered _in transitu_.

Small companies, from four to six in number, start together upon the migratory tour. Low, swampy thickets invite their presence upon reaching their destination. Here they conceal themselves during the day, but when night has gathered dark they come out of their grassy retreats and wander about in quest of food. From the setting of the sun behind the western hills to the appearance of the first streaks of dawn in the east, they pursue their nocturnal rambles. Few persons have visited these birds in their accustomed haunts while foraging. Let me take the reader to some neighboring swamp, or by the side of some lonely woodland, which these birds delight to frequent. The utmost silence must be maintained, or they will be frightened away. While it will be difficult to see the creatures that have called us hither, yet we know they are not far away by the rustle they produce among the dry leaves, and by the peculiar notes they emit. _Chipper, chip-per, chip_ may be heard from the right, and almost at the next instant it is varied to _bleat_ or _bleat ta bleat ta_, produced in the contrary direction, or off in the distance, showing that the authors of these sounds have changed their positions. While these birds have a habitual fondness for humid thickets, they not infrequently betake themselves to corn-fields and other cultivated tracts in close proximity, and even to elevated woods.

For more than a fortnight after their arrival the sexes, though feeding in company, do not apparently manifest a disposition to assume conjugal relationship. The desire for food seems to outweigh every other consideration. The inclemency of the weather, and the coldness of the earth, may have much to do with holding the amatory forces in check. But when the opportune period arrives, which it does in the course of events, the sexes desist in a measure from their riotous living and give the nobler instincts of their being a chance to assert their power. The males are the first to feel the changes which are being wrought in their natures. For more than a week from the incipiency of this feeling, in the early morning and evening hours, they may be seen exercising themselves by means of “curious spiral gyrations” in mid-air, and uttering, as earthwards they descend, a note which has been likened to the word _kwank_. This note may be a call to the female in the spring, but as it is often uttered in the fall after the breeding-season is past, it may also be a summons for the gathering together of the members of the same household. The production of these sounds seems a labor of very great effort. But the movements of the males at these times must be seen to be appreciated. The head and bill are bent forward until the latter comes into contact with the ground, and, just as the sound is being emitted, the body is urged violently forward. These spasmodic exertions having ceased, the actor in this drama twitches his abbreviated, half-spread tail, assumes an erect attitude of listening, and, if no response is elicited, repeats his characteristic cry with all its accompanying movements. If the call awakes an answering note, the happy lover flies to the presence of the one he seeks and lavishes upon her the most endearing caresses. Sometimes, as Audubon affirms, the male awaits the arrival of the dear one, and does not fly to meet her. The summons, according to the same eminent authority, seem sometimes to be replied to by one of the same sex, which is always the prelude to a fierce encounter between the two, for, on such occasions, when the feelings are in a high state of tension, the most intense enmity exists between the males. But these contentions are ordinarily short-lived, and cease with the assumption of matrimonial relations.

The happiness of the male is now complete. With his homely but prepossessing bride by his side, he soon journeys off in search of a home. This is a matter of great consequence, and tasks the patience to the utmost. But their labors are eventually crowned with success. The most secluded resorts are visited, and in some low, dense and swampy woods or brake, difficult of access, and one that none but the cruel collector would be likely to find, they hide away their nest. The structure is generally placed on the ground, at the foot of a bush or tussock, in the midst of small birches or alders, or on a decayed stump or prostrate log. In certain localities, it is snugly nestled in the midst of a meadow. It is by no means an elaborate affair, but merely consists of a few dried leaves or grasses which are scratched together by the female, and the work of a few brief hours at the most.

Being ready for occupancy, the female soon commences to deposit her eggs. These, to the number of three or four, are laid one at a time on consecutive days. Oviposition, in the Southern States, commences in February or March, while in the northern limits of the bird’s range from the tenth to the fifteenth of April, seldom later. Both birds perform the labor of incubation, and so attentive are they to the business that it is an unusual occurrence to find both absent from the nest at the same time. When the female is sitting the male busies himself in attending to the demands of hunger; and when her turn has come the care of the nest is resigned to her noble, conscientious lord. So faithfully do they keep to the nest that nothing short of the most menacing danger will compel them to leave. The approach of a team or a pedestrian, even when within a few feet of its location, has not been known to startle them. But when the danger is quite imminent the sitting bird slips out of the nest and makes her way into the tall grasses, where, hidden from view, she becomes a silent and sorrowful witness of any disaster that may befall her home. Should no destruction be perpetrated, and the intruder has gone his way, she cautiously comes out of her place of concealment and resumes her labors. But she has learned a very impressive lesson, for on a second visit to the nest no bird is to be seen. Apprised of the coming of danger, she has slipped out in time to escape detection. Thus, patiently, persistently and unweariedly these faithful creatures apply themselves by turns to the task of sitting until success has crowned their willing labors. The time spent in hatching is, under the most favorable conditions, from seventeen to eighteen days.