Part 20

Two eggs generally constitute a nest-full, although instances are known where but a single egg was deposited. On the Falkland Islands they are said to lay three occasionally. In the West Indies, especially in the Bahamas, the complement is the same as in the United States, and there does not seem to be any difference in the habits of the birds in the two places. Specimens from New Jersey, Texas, Florida and South Carolina are creamy-white in ground, and are variously marked with shades of brown, intermingled with splashes of lavender and purple, which are often so faint as to be perceptible only upon close examination. Brewer mentions a variety from near Cheraw, S. C., that was nearly pure white, and which showed but a few small red and slightly purplish lines and dots about the larger extremity. Recently we have met with some from Texas answering the same description. In dimensions these eggs vary but little, and have, on the average, a length of 2.78 inches, and a width of 2.00, or rather less.

_Cathartes aura_, as the Turkey Buzzard is known by the scientific naturalist, is far from being demonstrative in the expression of her feelings. When her home is assailed, she makes no ado, but quietly slips out, and seemingly contemplates its desecration with indifference.

Though manifesting a passive disposition in the face of human interference, yet she is not always the gentle being she would have us believe, as shown by the spirit of dominancy she displays over her own household.

Unlike many of her neighbors, she does not entirely assume the responsibilities of brood-raising, permitting her partner the happy enjoyment of a life of luxurious ease, but, believing in the doctrine of a proper division of labor, forces upon him his share of the work.

Whilst she thus appears unduly exacting towards him, she is equally so to her offspring. Few mothers know better than she the right training of their children, so as to fit them to become useful and respectable members of society.

This is no figment of the imagination, as will presently be seen. It was while exploring a section of Delaware County of this State for minerals in the summer of 1894 that some interesting facts were learned of the relation subsisting between her and the rest of her family.

Having accidentally strayed upon a young ground hog which had but recently been killed, the writer resolved to carry it home and place it where it could be seen or scented by the Buzzards, so that he might have an opportunity of making a more intimate acquaintance with these birds than he had ever before been able to make.

Accordingly the dead animal was transported to a meadow overlooked by the house he was occupying. The resolution was well taken, for on the fourth day after the deposit had been made several Buzzards were seen circling high overhead, mere specks against the blue dome of the sky, evidently scanning the earth beneath with their telescopic vision for the presence of food, or endeavoring to scent it with their keen sense of smell.

Nearer and nearer the flock drew earthward, till finally, a full hour being spent in graceful manœuvring, the birds settled down upon the green-carpeted meadow, but a few yards from the carrion that lay festering with vermin.

Their feathers adjusted, and folded to rest their wide-spreading pinions, the young, in obedience to orders, as it seemed, leaped on to a huge pine log that lay near by, while the old folks surveyed, wistfully and long, from their standpoint of observation on the ground, the odorous carrion a few feet away, as if whetting their appetites for the feast they were soon to enjoy.

With a few quick steps, that were meant to be graceful, the female drew near, but the male lingered doubtingly behind. In a trice she was busy at work, tearing with claw and with bill the daintiest morsels. Rendered mad by the smell of the food the male, no longer seeming backward, pressed forward to her side, but only to retreat before her savage assaults. Again he essayed the attempt, and was beaten back as he had been before. Convinced that further effort would be useless, he strode sulkily to a distance, where, in moody contemplation, he nervously awaited her ladyship’s sweet pleasure.

Being filled to the full the female now moved lazily away to a clean patch of grass, where she immediately set to work to arranging her toilet,--wiping her bill and her claws upon the green carpet before her, craning her neck and stretching her pinions, yawning and gaping and gaping and yawning,--and finally ending all by seeking the topmost rail of a near-by fence for rest and composure.

With nothing to fear, the male now stalked complacently forward, and was soon hard at work at what was left of the carcass. His appetite less capacious than that of his lady, his dinner was soon over, and off strode he too to a fresh spot of grass, where he went through the same process of wiping his mouth and stretching and yawning, which, being finished, he mounted the rail by the side of his mistress.

More interesting far than either the parents were the three black creatures that stood upon the pine log. Fixed to the spot as though they had grown there, with scarcely moving heads and downcast eyes they eagerly watched the food disappearing, wondering, mayhap, as children are prone to do, if it would all disappear before they had a chance of testing its virtues, but maintaining their souls the while in perfect serenity of repose. But their time had at length arrived, and down from the log they cast themselves _instanter_, three lusty fellows as large as the parents, but one of them, from his limping gait, proving to be lame. Great consideration was shown the disabled one by the others, who permitted him to feed first, while they stood aside until he had satisfied his hunger, when, without the least bit of ceremony, or the least indication of ill-nature or selfishness, they too set to work, finishing in quick order whatever edible was left of the dead animal. Their actions after feeding were exactly the counterpart of those of the parents. Having finished their toilet, the three sought the rail by the side of the father, where, like their illustrious heads, they were soon occupied with the most self-satisfying thoughts, utterly oblivious, as it seemed, of time and surroundings.

More than an hour was thus spent in drowsy meditation, when, as by common consent, they all, one after the other, leaped to the ground, where they busied themselves preening their feathers and preparing for departure. The time being ripe, the female set the example. With a run of a half-dozen yards to gain a good start, she was soon on the wing, and in fifteen minutes or more was lost in the ether. The male followed suit, and when he had vanished from sight, the young, one after another, mounted the atmosphere, and gradually circling their way through its limitless depths, were also soon lost to the earth-chained beholder.

Concluding this brief chapter of bird-history, we have a few brief comments to make. To the uninitiated in science matters, the statements just made must seem well nigh incredible. But there were other witnesses of the facts, just and reliable observers, too, whose testimony could be appealed to, to settle all doubts of their authenticity. From all that has been said, it cannot but be evident that the female was the acknowledged head of the family, a sort of feathered autocrat, whose will was the law by which the family was governed. Even the male, who did not always respect her authority, especially where her interests conflicted with his own, was made to see that might makes right when confronted with her stronger and more powerful nature. But it was the patience and orderly behavior that characterized the nearly-grown young, and their sweetness and gentleness of disposition under the most trying circumstances as well, that impressed us as extremely wonderful, and led to the opinion that man-born offspring might here learn a lesson of filial obedience and respect that would greatly redound to the honor and glory of the race.

When captured, these birds offer no active resistance, but very effectually warn off their aggressor by vomiting up the half-putrid contents of their crop. They will often simulate death at such times. On one occasion an individual having been shot by Dr. Coues was picked up for dead. While being carried to the Doctor’s tent, it was perfectly limp. On reaching his quarters, he carelessly threw it upon the ground, and went to work at something else. After a little, upon looking around, he beheld to his great surprise that the bird had changed position, and was furtively glancing around. On going up to it, its eyes instantly closed, its body became relaxed, and it lay perfectly motionless, and apparently lifeless. After compressing its chest for several minutes until he fancied life extinct, he dropped the bird and repaired to supper. Upon his return the bird was gone, it evidently having scrambled into the bushes as soon as he had turned his back upon it.

The young, when first hatched, are covered with a whitish down, and are fed upon half-digested matter which is disgorged by their parents. When taken from the nest and kept in captivity until fully grown they become exceedingly tame, and will feed on fresh meat, earthworms, crickets, grasshoppers, and other large insects, which they apparently relish, and oftentimes will also eat bits of bread, cake and particles of apples or pears which are thrown before them. The benefits which these scavengers render are too well known to need any comment. In the mature state the plumage of the Buzzard is brownish-black, and more or less glossy, the quills being paler on the under surface. The skin of the head and neck is red and wrinkled, and with scattering bristle-like feathers, the bill whitish, legs and feet pinkish, iris grayish-brown, and nostrils large and oval. Their length is about thirty inches, extent of wing seventy-two inches, wing being about twenty-five, and tail twelve.

RARE AND CURIOUS NESTS.

From time immemorial it has been the current popular belief that birds of the same species never varied their style of architecture, but constructed the same form of nest, and out of the same materials, as their remotest progenitors did, instinct being the principle by which they were guided. This opinion, though long since exploded by scientific research, is still, I am sorry to say, entertained by persons who should know better. An examination of nests from different and widely-separated localities affords evidence of the most convincing character of its erroneousness. Most marked differences will always be found to exist in composing materials, as these are sure to vary with environment, and in a wider degree in the nests of some than in those of other species; even configuration, which is less prone to change, is often influenced by circumstances of position and latitude.

Among the Thrushes, the nest of the Robin is the most addicted to variation, and this is not wholly restricted to the constituents of its usually mud-plastered domicile, but is quite frequently observed to occur in the arrangement of materials, and in contour and position as well. Where low marshy woods abound on the outskirts of towns and villages, as is the case in Southern New Jersey, nests of this species have been taken that contrasted in a most wonderful manner with those one is accustomed to see in more northern localities. The great masses of grayish-green fibrous lichen, which depend from shrub and tree in sylvan marshes, are most freely used, and from its very nature to mat when pressed together all necessity for mud is precluded.

But the most curious nest I have ever met with was built upon a railroad cutting, where the ground had a slope of more than forty-five degrees. Such a position for a dwelling of the kind the Robin is known to build, to one not conversant with the facts, must appear incredible. But that it was accomplished, the nest itself was the monument of the builders’ thoughtful skill and labor. A semicircular wall of mud, eight inches in diameter and five inches in height, constituted the groundwork, and within the cavity thus formed was reared a coarse, substantial, bulky fabric, that was entirely composed of the stems of grasses, leaves and roots, loaded down and held in place by pellets of mud.

A more remarkable position, and one that seemed as difficult to manage, I shall now relate. Few birds care so little for position as the common House Wren. Almost any place answers its purpose. Near the little town of Thornbury, in the State of Pennsylvania, a pair of these birds, in the summer of 1882, took possession of a derrick, and, as a site for a home, selected the space over a sheave in one of the stationary blocks, where, in due time, was deposited their rude, yet comfortable, nest of sticks and feathers. A similar structure occupied the spot the previous year, and a brood of eight birds was raised. It was not the elements of composition of these nests that excited interest and surprise, for they are not materially different from the usual form, but the strange, anomalous situation which they occupied. So dexterously were the materials arranged within the space that the revolution of the wheel was not in the least interfered with. The nest was approached on the side facing the rope that moved the pulley. The opposite side could have been used for this purpose, and doubtless with less danger to life or limb, but preference seemed to be shown for the other. Why this was so was for some time a mystery. But when the birds were seen to alight upon the rope at the top of the derrick and ride down to the nest, the explanation at once became apparent.

Never did linnet enjoy the rocking twig, or bobolink the swaying cat-tail, with half the zest than did these eccentric creatures their ride down the rope. A hundred times a day, when necessity arose, they treated themselves to the pleasure, the rope all the while moving at the rate of thirty feet in a second. Six of the seven days, from early morn till night, they availed themselves of this strange conveyance, and never a danger occurred to mar their delight. In due time a family of happy, rollicking children was raised, and the nest on the derrick deserted.

More beautiful are the nests which the Red-winged Blackbirds build. These are the birds that affect our swamps and marshes, and make the air ring with their loud, clear, resonant notes. Before me is a nest that surpasses in beauty the average structure. It is a bulky affair for the species, but so symmetrical in contour, and so quaintly, deftly woven, that the eye never tires in looking at it, nor the mind in contemplating its wonderful mechanism. Broad ribbons of grasses are its composing materials, and eight of them are so woven into the nest as to securely fasten it to the tall typhas in the summit of which it was placed.

But a more clever nest of these birds, and one that is as unique in shape as it is in texture and composition, was found in the summer of 1879 in the vicinity of Philadelphia. It was built in a field of timothy, many of the stalks of which being wrought into the fabric. Its shape is that of an inverted cone, and so beautifully, symmetrically and compactly put together is it, that one could hardly credit the builders with the possession of the skill necessary to the production of so perfect a domicile. Externally the nest is formed of grasses and rushes, neatly and intricately interwoven, with here and there a head of the dry pappus of some species of hawkweed. Sedges and fine grasses make for it a cosy and comfortable lining. This nest shows quite conspicuously in the drawing, but in its natural position, in the centre of a large field, the authors had spared no pains to have its concealment as perfect as possible.

Typical nests of these Blackbirds are somewhat irregular in outline, and rather coarsely and rudely built of stubble and broad grasses, variously intermingled, and lined with soft meadow grass. Usually they are placed in clusters of weeds or in the tops of small bushes alongside of streams of water. High positions are seldom chosen for nesting purposes, as they offer poor facilities for food-collecting, the aquatic larvæ, may-flies, dragon-flies and mosquitos, which constitute a prominent part of the diet of these birds, being only found in marshy situations. Small bushes along the margins of streams, from the double advantage which they possess, are almost exclusively adopted in certain localities. Being convenient to appropriate food-stuffs, they are, at the same time, out of the reach of snakes, especially water-snakes, which have a decided fondness for young birds.

Of the sub-family of Orioles, to which the Red-wing belongs, no member, unless it be the namesake of Maryland’s distinguished proprietor, builds a more magnificent nest than the one that inhabits the orchard. In the books it is known by the no means euphonious title of _Icterus spurius_. Its nest is shaped like a pouch, and generally pensile. Soft, flexible meadow grasses, neatly and compactly woven together, make up the outer fabric, while within is a lining of vegetal or animal wool, or one of fine grasses intermingled with horse-hair. But the handsomest ever seen was one that was found in the vicinity of Nazareth, Pa., by Richard Christ, in the summer of 1883. It is of the usual size, five inches in height, three in external diameter, but differing from the normal form only in materials of composition. The proverbial meadow grasses are absent, and in lieu thereof are the headed stems of such as grow by the roadside, notably conspicuous for their golden brightness in a state of desiccation.

More noteworthy, however, than the Nazareth nest, is one that was removed from a silver maple-tree. It is a double structure, composed of long, flexible grasses, and is firmly bound by the same to several small, slender branches. The larger nest, inversely sub-conical, is joined to the smaller, somewhat similarly shaped, but less compact in structure, by ribbons of the same kind of grass that composes the nest. A circular opening, one inch in diameter, is a noticeable feature of the smaller. That the additional structure served some useful purpose there can be no doubt. I am inclined to believe that it was built for the accommodation of either parent while the other was sitting. The aperture was a convenient outlook for the non-sitting bird, who, from this position, could with little difficulty, like a sentinel from an outpost, detect the approach of an enemy.

But nothing can exceed in beauty and skill the nest of a female Baltimore Oriole in the writer’s possession. It was built under peculiar circumstances, the builder being a prisoner, having been taken from home when quite a fledgling. A male companion was brought away at the same time. These birds, the property of Dr. Detwiler, of Easton, Pa., in 1883, were a source of considerable pleasure to that elderly gentleman in his leisure moments. Under his careful, kindly management, they became quite tame, the female manifesting greater familiarity than the male. That either would become so accustomed to confinement as to evince a desire to build never entered the mind of the Doctor. They had, when he was alone, the freedom of his studio. One lovely June morning, the outside world brimming over with life and joy and sunshine, the door of their cage was thrown open, and the Doctor settled himself into a soft easy-chair to read. Hardly had he scanned a dozen lines, when something pulling at his hair caused him to drop his paper and look around. He was not slow to detect the offender in the person of his female feathered friend who was seen flying towards the most distant corner of the room with something, resembling hair, in her bill. The reading was resumed, and again the culprit stole cautiously to where he was sitting, and, seizing another hair, was off in a twinkling.

Permitting for a while these liberties, and noticing that bits of strings were, when placed in positions to be seen, quite as much the objects of interest as the hairs of his head, the Doctor was not slow in divining the motive which led to this strange and unexpected behavior. Convinced by actions, as significant as words themselves could be, that his little friend was desirous to build a home, he began to cast about for a corner where she could be free to carry out her intentions without fear or interference. The attic furnished the place, and after fitting it up with a large tree-branch for a perch, and plenty of new white strings for building purposes, he bore his favorite and her partner to their new quarters. Soon the female became at home and entered into her voluntarily-imposed labor with alacrity, and at the end of a week had constructed a domicile which her untamed prototypes of field and roadside would strive in vain to excel. But the male would have nothing at all to do with the matter, but remained the same cold, indifferent being as I found him to be upon my first introduction.

Some nests are curious on account of shape. The birds often, it would seem, try their very best to see how oddly they can build their homes. The little Acadian Flycatcher, so common in Eastern Pennsylvania during the breeding-season, sometimes appears to be controlled by cranky ideas with regard to building. Dry blossoms of the hickory are the materials it ordinarily uses, and they can always be obtained whenever needed, but in a nest discovered by the writer in 1882, not a blossom was to be found, but in place of them there were long, stringy fibres of the inner bark of some species of herbaceous plant, which the birds had modelled into a compactly-built, shallow, saucer-like cavity, and from which they had caused to depend a gradually tapering train of the same for nearly nine inches.

The King Bird, a distant relative of the Flycatcher, often displays as much eccentricity. Once upon a time a pair of King Birds took a fancy to an old apple-tree that stood within a few yards of my Germantown home. It was certainly not a place of quiet and retirement, for scores of noisy, dirty children daily resorted to its leafy shelter for coolness and pastime. But the birds were not the least disquieted. They had fixed their minds upon the spot, and build they did. The nest was posed between a forked branch, just out of the reach of the urchins. It was a crazy affair. Black, slender roots, wrinkled and knotted and tendrilled, made up the body of the fabric. As it was nearing completion, the opportune discovery of a bunch of carpet rags was hailed with delight. They were instantly appropriated, and promptly adjusted to the outside, but in such a manner that long ends, some fourteen inches in length, were made to project from the sides and bottom. Whether all this was for ornament or protection, or for both, I could not say, but I am inclined to think that safety was uppermost in the minds of the builders, for, looking from below at the nest it seemed but a mass of rags that had been thrown into a tree-crotch, which, the birds perceiving, and its close resemblance to an entangled bunch, had utilized.