Part 25

Bill light greyish-blue, the unguis blackish. Iris yellow. Feet greyish-blue, the webs and claws black. The head, the whole neck, and the fore part of the back and breast black, the head and neck glossed with purple and green, the rest tinged with brown. Hind part of the back, rump, abdomen, and upper and lower tail-coverts brownish-black. Middle of the back, scapulars, inner secondaries, anterior part of abdomen, and sides greyish-white, beautifully marked with undulating black lines. Middle of the breast white, wings light brownish-grey. Alula, primaries at the base and end, and the greater part of secondaries, brownish-black; the speculum on the latter white.

Length to end of tail 16-1/2 inches, to end of claws 18; extent of wings 29; wing from flexure 8-1/4; tail 2-1/4; bill along the back 1-10/12, along the edge of lower mandible 2; tarsus 1-1/4; middle toe 2-2/12, its claw (5-1/2)/12. Weight 1 lb. 6 oz.

Adult Female. Plate CCXXIX. Fig. 2.

The female agrees with the male in the characters of the plumage, and in the colours of the bare parts; but those of the former differ considerably. The head, neck, and fore part of the back and breast, are umber brown; and there is a broad patch of white along the fore part of the forehead. The upper parts in general are brownish-black, the middle of the back and the scapulars undulated with whitish dots and bars. The primary quills are greyish in the middle, and the speculum is white, but of less extent than in the male. The greater part of the breast and abdomen is white; the sides and parts under the tail umber brown.

Length 16-1/2 inches, extent of wings 28. Weight 1 lb. 6 oz.

The males, as has been said, vary greatly in size, but in adult specimens there is little difference in colouring. The birds figured in my Illustrations, and described above, were from the Mississippi; but others seen in various parts presented no such differences as to indicate permanent varieties.

THE SANDERLING.

_TRINGA ARENARIA_, BONAP.

PLATE CCXXX. MALE AND FEMALE.

Although the Sanderling extends its rambles along our Atlantic shores, from the eastern extremities of Maine to the southernmost Keys of the Floridas, it is only an autumnal and winter visitor. It arrives in the more Eastern Districts about the 1st of August, on the sea-shores of New York and New Jersey rarely before the 10th of August, and seldom reaches the extensive sand-banks of East Florida previous to the month of November. Along the whole of this extended coast, it is more or less abundant, sometimes appearing in bands composed of a few individuals, and at times in large flocks, but generally mingling with other species of small shore-birds. Thus I have seen Turnstones and Knots mixed with the Sanderlings, but in such cases they are perhaps wanderers, which have not succeeded in meeting with companions of their own species, that associate with the birds of which I here speak.

The Sanderling obtains its food principally by probing the moist sands of the sea-shores with its bill held in an oblique position. At every step it inserts this instrument with surprising quickness, to a greater or less depth, according to the softness of the sand, sometimes introducing it a quarter of an inch, sometimes to the base. The holes thus made may be seen on the borders of beaches, when the tide is fast receding, in rows of twenty, thirty, or more; in certain spots less numerous; for it appears that when a place proves unproductive of the food for which they are searching, they very soon take to their wings and remove to another, now and then in so hurried a manner that one might suppose they had been suddenly frightened. The contents of the stomach of those which I shot while thus occupied, were slender sea-worms, about an inch in length, together with minute shell-fish and gravel. At other times, when they were seen following the receding waves, and wading up to the belly in the returning waters, I found in them small shrimps and other crustacea.

In their flight the Sanderlings do not perform so many evolutions as Sandpipers usually display. They generally alight about a hundred yards of the place from which they started, and run for a yard or so, keeping their wings partially extended. They move on the sand with great activity, running so as to keep pace with a man walking at a moderate rate. Their flight is rapid and straighter than that of other small species, and when on wing they seldom exhibit each surface of the body alternately, as many others are wont to do.

I have thought that the migrations of this bird are carried on under night; but of this I am by no means certain, although I observed some small flocks, composed of a few dozen individuals, crossing the Gulf of St Lawrence, at a little height over the water, in the month of June. The lateness of the season induced me to hope that I might find some nests of the Sanderling on the coast of Labrador; but in this I was disappointed, although some young birds were seen at Bras d’Or, in little parties of four or five individuals. This was early in August, and they were already on their way southward.

The Sanderling affords good eating, especially the young, and the sportsman may occasionally kill six or seven at a shot, provided he fires the moment the flock has alighted, for immediately after the birds spread abroad in search of food.

The female may easily be distinguished from the male, by her superior size; but in the colouring of birds of both sexes, I have observed as much difference as in the Turnstone. Even during winter, some are more or less marked with black and brownish-red, while others, which, however, I easily ascertained to be younger birds, were of an almost uniform light grey above, each feather edged with dull white; but in all those which I have examined, whether old birds in the full spring or summer dress, in which I have shot some in May, in the Middle Districts, or young birds in autumn and during winter, I have seen no difference in the colours of the bill, legs, and toes. My plate of this species represents two birds in winter plumage, which were obtained in East Florida in the month of December. The figure of a fine male, which, being on another sheet of paper, was overlooked during my absence from London, you will find in Plate CCLXXXV. of “The Birds of America.”

CHARADRIUS CALIDRIS, _Linn._ Syst. Nat. vol. i. p. 255.—_Lath._ Ind. Ornith. vol. ii. p. 741, in Winter.

CHARADRIUS RUBIDUS, _Ibid._ p. 740, in Summer.

TRINGA ARENARIA, _Ch. Bonaparte_, Synops. of Birds of the United States, p. 320.

CALIDRIS ARENARIA, SANDERLING, _Swains. and Richards._ Fauna Bor. Amer. part ii. p. 366.

RUDDY PLOVER, CHARADRIUS RUBIDUS, _Wils._ Amer. Ornith. vol. vii. p. 129. pl. 63. fig. 3.—Summer dress.

SANDERLING PLOVER, _Ibidem_, vol. vii. p. 68. pl. 59. fig. 4. Winter dress.—_Nuttall_, Manual, vol. ii. p. 4.

Adult Male in winter. Plate CCXXX. Fig. 1.

Bill rather longer than the head, slender, subcylindrical, straight, flexible, compressed at the base, the point rather depressed and obtuse. Upper mandible with the dorsal line nearly straight, slightly sloping to beyond the middle, the ridge convex, towards the end flattened, at the point convex; sides sloping, edges rather blunt and soft. Nasal groove long; nostrils basal, linear, pervious. Lower mandible with the angle long and very narrow, the dorsal line slightly convex, the sides sloping outwards, towards the end convex.

Head of moderate size, oblong, compressed. Eyes rather large. Neck of moderate length. Body rather slender. Feet slender, of moderate length; tibia bare a considerably way up; tarsus compressed, anteriorly and posteriorly with numerous small scutella; hind toe wanting; toes of moderate length, slender; inner toe shorter than outer, middle toe considerably longer, all scutellate above and marginate, with prominent papillæ, and free; claws small, slightly curved, extremely compressed, blunt.

Plumage very soft, blended beneath, slightly distinct above. Wings long and pointed; primaries tapering, obtuse, the first longest, the second a little shorter, the rest rapidly graduated; secondaries rather short, obliquely rounded, curved inwards, the inner elongated and tapering. Tail rather short, rounded, of twelve feathers, the two middle ones considerably longer.

Bill and feet black. Iris brown. The general colour of the plumage above is ash-grey, the edges paler; the lower parts pure white. Alula and primaries brownish-black, the latter with more or less white on their outer webs or along the shaft; secondaries white, the outer with a patch of brownish-black towards the end, the inner ash-grey; primary coverts brownish-black, tipped with white; secondary coverts greyish-brown, broadly tipped with white. Middle tail feathers greyish-brown, their shafts white, the rest of a paler tint on the outer webs, white on the inner, the lateral almost pure white.

Length to end of tail 7-10/12, to end of wings 7-10/12, to end of claws 8-1/4; extent of wings 12-1/2; wing from flexure 4-11/12; tail 2-2/12; bill along the back 1; along the edge of lower mandible 1-(1/2)/12; tarsus 1; middle toe 3/4, its claw 2/12. Weight 1-3/4 oz.

Adult Female in Winter. Plate CCXXX. Fig. 2.

The Female is precisely similar to the Male.

In its summer plumage, this species differs in the following particulars. The bill, feet, and iris, are as described above, and the lower parts are also pure white, excepting the fore part and sides of the neck, which, as well as the upper parts of the head, and the hind neck, are pale yellowish-red, spotted with brownish-black. The back is similarly marked, the spots larger, and on the scapulars disposed in bars; the tips of most of the feathers greyish-white, the wings and tail are as in winter.

A RACOON HUNT IN KENTUCKY.

The Racoon, which is a cunning and crafty animal, is found in all our woods, so that its name is familiar to every child in the Union. The propensity which it evinces to capture all kinds of birds accessible to it in its nightly prowlings, for the purpose of feasting on their flesh, induces me to endeavour to afford you some idea of the pleasure which our western hunters feel in procuring it. With your leave, then, Reader, I will take you to a “Coon Hunt.”

A few hours ago the sun went down far beyond the “far west.” The woodland choristers have disappeared, the matron has cradled her babe, and betaken herself to the spinning-wheel; the woodsman, his sons, and “the stranger” are chatting before a blazing fire, making wise reflections on past events, and anticipating those that are to come. Autumn, sallow and sad, prepares to bow her head to the keen blast of approaching winter; the corn, though still on its stalk, has lost its blades; the wood pile is as large as the woodsman’s cabin; the nights have become chill, and each new morn has effected a gradual change in the dews, which now crust the withered herbage with a coat of glittering white. The sky is still cloudless; a thousand twinkling stars reflect their light from the tranquil waters; all is silent and calm in the forest, save the nightly prowlers that roam in its recesses. In the cheerful cabin all is happiness; its inmates generously strive to contribute to the comfort of the stranger who has chanced to visit them; and, as racoons are abundant in the neighbourhood, they propose a hunt. The offer is gladly accepted. The industrious woman leaves her wheel, for she has listened to her husband’s talk; now she approaches the fire, takes up the board shovel, stirs the embers, produces a basket filled with sweet potatoes, arranges its contents side by side in front of the hearth, and covers them with hot ashes and glowing coals. All this she does, because she “guesses” that hungry stomachs will be calling for food when the sport is over. Ah! Reader, what “homely joys” there are in such scenes, and how you would enjoy them! The rich may produce a better, or a more sumptuous meal; but his feelings can never be like those of the poor woodsman. Poor I ought not to call him, for nature and industry bountifully supply all his wants; the woods and rivers produce his chief dainties, and his toils are his pleasures.

Now mark him! the bold Kentuckian is on his feet; his sons and the stranger prepare for the march. Horns and rifles are in requisition. The goodman opens the wooden-hinged door, and sends forth a blast loud enough to scare a wolf. The racoons scamper away from the cornfields, break through the fences, and hie to the woods. The hunter has taken an axe from the wood-pile, and returning, assures us that the night is clear, and that we shall have rare sport. He blows through his rifle, to ascertain that it is clear, examines his flint, and thrusts a feather into the touch-hole. To a leathern bag swung at his side is attached a powder-horn; his sheathed knife is there also; below hangs a narrow strip of home-spun linen. He takes from his bag a bullet, pulls with his teeth the wooden stopper from his powder-horn, lays the ball on one hand, and with the other pours the powder upon it until it is just overtopped. Raising the horn to his mouth, he again closes it with the stopper, and restores it to its place. He introduces the powder into the tube; springs the box of his gun, greases the “patch” over with some melted tallow, or damps it; then places it on the honeycombed muzzle of his piece. The bullet is placed on the patch over the bore, and pressed with the handle of the knife, which now trims the edges of the linen. The elastic hickory rod, held with both hands, smoothly pushes the ball to its bed: once, twice, thrice has it rebounded. The rifle leaps as it were into the hunter’s arms, the feather is drawn from the touch-hole, the powder fills the pan, which is closed. “Now I’m ready,” cries the woodsman. His companions say the same. Hardly more than a minute has elapsed. I wish, Reader, you had seen this fine fellow—but hark! the dogs are barking.

All is now bustle within and without: a servant lights a torch, and off we march to the woods. “Don’t mind the boys, my dear sir,” says the woodsman, “follow me close, for the ground is covered with logs, and the grape vines hang everywhere across.” “Toby, hold up the light, man, or we’ll never see the gullies.” “Trail your gun, sir, as General CLARK used to say,—not so, but this way—that’s it; now then, no danger you see; no fear of snakes, poor things! They are stiff enough, I’ll be bound. The dogs have treed one. Toby, you old fool, why don’t you turn to the right—not so much there—go a-head, and give us light—What’s that?—Who’s there?—Ah, you young rascals! you’ve played us a trick, have you. It’s all well enough, but now, just keep behind, or I’ll”—and in fact, the boys, with eyes good enough to see in the dark, although not quite so well as an Owl’s, had cut directly across the dogs, which had surprised a racoon on the ground and bayed it, until the lads knocked it on the head. “Seek him, boys,” cries the hunter.—The dogs, putting their noses to the ground, pushed off at a good rate. “Master, they’re making for the creek,” says old Toby. On towards it therefore we push. What woods, to be sure! No gentleman’s park this, I assure you, Reader. We are now in a low flat; the soil thinly covers the hard clay; nothing but beech trees hereabouts, unless now and then a maple. Hang the limbs! say I—hang the supple-jacks too—here I am, fast by the neck—cut it with your knife. My knee has had a tremendous rub against a log—now, my foot is jammed between two roots—and here I stick. “Toby, come back—don’t you know the stranger is not up to the woods. Halloo, Toby, Toby!” There I stood perfectly shackled, the hunter laughing heartily, and the lads glad of an opportunity of slipping off. Toby arrived, and held the torch near the ground, on which the hunter cutting one of the roots with his hatchet, set me free. “Are you hurt, Sir?”—no, not in the least. Off we start again. The boys had got up with the dogs, which were baying a Racoon in a small puddle. We soon joined them with the light. “Now, stranger! watch and see!” The Racoon was all but swimming, and yet had hold of the bottom of the pool with his feet. The glare of the lighted torch was doubtless distressing to him; his coat was ruffled, and his rounded tail seemed thrice its ordinary size, his eyes shone like emeralds; with foaming jaws he watched the dogs, ready to seize each by the snout if it came within reach. They kept him busy for several minutes; the water became thick with mud; his coat now hung dripping, and his draggled tail lay floating on the surface. His guttural growlings, in place of intimidating his assailants, excited them the more; and they very unceremoniously closed upon him, curs as they were, and without the breeding of gentle dogs! One seized him by the rump and tugged, but was soon forced to let go; another stuck to his side, but soon taking a better directed bite of his muzzle than another dog had just done of his tail, coon made him yelp; and pitiful were the cries of luckless Tyke. The Racoon would not let go, but in the mean time the other dogs seized him fast, and worried him to death, yet to the last he held by his antagonist’s snout. Knocked on the head by an axe, he lay gasping his last breath, and the heaving of his chest was painful to see. The hunters stood gazing at him in the pool, while all around was by the flare of the torch rendered trebly dark and dismal. It was a good scene for a skilful painter.

We had now two coons, whose furs were worth two quarters of a dollar, and whose bodies, which I must not forget, as Toby informed us, would produce two more. “What now,” I asked—“What now,” quoth the father, “why go after more to be sure.” So we did, the dogs ahead, and I far behind. In a short time the curs treed another, and when we came up, we found them seated on their haunches, looking upwards, and barking. The hunters now employed their axes, and sent the chips about at such a rate that one of them coming in contact with my cheek marked it so, that a week after several of my friends asked me where, in the name of wonder, I had got that black eye. At length the tree began to crack, and slowly leaning to one side, the heavy mass swung rustling through the air, and fell to the earth with a crash. It was not one coon that was surprised here, but three—aye three of them, one of which, more crafty than the rest, leaped fairly from the main top while the tree was staggering. The other two stuck to the hollow of a branch, from which they were soon driven by one of the dogs. Tyke and Lion having nosed the cunning old one, scampered after him, not mouthing like the well-trained hounds of our southern fox hunters, but yelling like furies. The hunter’s sons attacked those on the tree, while the woodsman and I, preceded by Toby, made after the other; and busy enough we all were. Our animal was of extraordinary size, and after some parley, a rifle ball was sent through his brain. He reeled once only,—next moment he lay dead. The rest were dispatched by the axe and the club, for a shot in those days was too valuable to be spent when it could be saved. It could procure a deer, and therefore was worth more than a coon’s skin.

Now, look at the moon! how full and clear has she risen on the Racoon hunters! Now is the time for sport! Onward we go, one following the long shadow of his precursor. The twigs are no impediment, and we move at a brisker pace, as we return to the hills. What a hue and cry!—here are the dogs. Overhead and all around, on the forks of each tree, the hunter’s keen eye searches for something round, which is likely to prove a coiled up Racoon. There’s one! Between me and the moon I spied the cunning thing crouched in silence. After taking aim, I raise my barrel ever so little, the trigger is pressed; down falls the Racoon to the ground. Another and another are on the same tree. Off goes a bullet, then a second; and we secure the prey. “Let us go home, stranger,” says the woodsman; and contented with our sport, towards his cabin we trudge. On arriving there, we find a cheerful fire. Toby stays without, prepares the game, stretches the skins on a frame of cane, and washes the bodies. The table is already set; the cake and the potatoes are all well done; four bowls of butter-milk are ranged in order; and now the hunters fall to.

The Racoon is a cunning animal, and makes a pleasant pet. Monkey-like, it is quite dexterous in the use of its fore feet, and it will amble after its master, in the manner of a bear, and even follow him into the street. It is fond of eggs, but prefers them raw, and it matters not whether it be morning, noon, or night, when it finds a dozen in the pheasant’s nest, or one placed in your pocket to please him. He knows the habits of mussels better than most conchologists. Being an expert climber, he ascends to the hole of the woodpecker, and devours the young birds. He knows, too, how to watch the soft-shelled turtle’s crawl, and, better still, how to dig up her eggs. Now by the edge of the pond, grimalkin-like, he lies seemingly asleep, until the summer-duck comes within reach. No Negro knows better when the corn is juicy and pleasant to eat; and although squirrels and woodpeckers know this too, the Racoon is found in the corn-field longer in the season than any of them, the havock he commits there amounting to a tithe. His fur is good in winter, and many think his flesh good also; but for my part I prefer a live Racoon to a dead one, and should find more pleasure in hunting one than in eating him.

THE LONG-BILLED CURLEW.

_NUMENIUS LONGIROSTRIS_, WILS.

PLATE CCXXXI. MALE AND FEMALE.