birds of the vicinity to show themselves, I procured a quantity of
shelled corn, and scattered a few handfuls under my window every night.
This gave me opportunity to note, among other things, the jay's way of
conducting himself on the ground, and his table manners. To eat a kernel
of dry corn, he flew with it to a small branch, placed it between his
feet (the latter of course being close together), and, holding it thus,
drew back his head and delivered a blow with that pickaxe beak of his
that would have broken a toe if he had missed by the shadow of an inch
the grain for which it was intended. I was always nervous when I saw him
do it, for I expected an accident, but none ever happened that I know
of. When the babies grew clamorous all over the place, the jay used to
fill his beak with the whole kernels. Eight were his limit, and those
kept the mouth open, with one sticking out at the tip. Thus loaded he
flew off, but was back in two minutes for another supply. The
red-headed woodpecker, who claimed to own the corn-field, seemed to
think this a little grasping, and protested against such a wholesale
performance; but the overworked jay simply jumped to one side when he
came at him, and went right on picking up corn. When he had time to
spare from his arduous duties, he sometimes indulged his passion for
burying things by carrying a grain off on the lawn with an air of most
important business, and driving it into the ground, hammering it well
down out of sight.
The blue jay's manner of getting over the ground was peculiar, and
especially his way of leaving it. He proceeded by high hops, bounding up
from each like a rubber ball; and when ready to fly he hopped farther
and bounded higher each time, till it seemed as if he were too high to
return, and so took to his wings. That is exactly the way it looked to
an observer; for there is a lightness, an airiness of bearing about this
apparently heavy bird impossible to describe, but familiar to those who
have watched him.
Some time after the blue jay family had taken to roaming about the
grounds, I had a pleasing little interview with one of them in the
raspberry patch. This was a favorite resort of the neighboring birds,
where I often betook myself to see who came to the feast. This morning
I was sitting quietly under a spruce-tree, when three blue jays came
flying toward me with noise and outcries, evidently in excitement over
something. The one leading the party had in his beak a white object,
like a piece of bread, and was uttering low, complaining cries as he
flew; he passed on, and the second followed him; but the third seemed
struck by my appearance, and probably felt it his duty to inquire into
my business, for he alighted on a tree before me, not ten feet from
where I sat. He began in the regular way, by greeting me with a squawk;
for, like some of his bigger (and wiser?) fellow-creatures, he assumed
that a stranger must be a suspicious personage, and an unusual position
must mean mischief. I was very comfortable, and I thought I would see if
I could not fool him into thinking me a scarecrow, companion to those
adorning the "patch" at that moment. I sat motionless, not using my
glass, but looking him squarely in the eyes. This seemed to impress him;
he ceased squawking, and hopped a twig nearer, stopped, turned one
calmly observant eye on me, then quickly changed to the other, as if to
see if the first had not deceived him. Still I did not move, and he was
plainly puzzled to make me out. He came nearer and nearer, and I moved
only my eyes to keep them on his. All this time he did not utter a
sound, but studied me as closely, and to all appearances as carefully,
as ever I had studied him. Obviously he was in doubt what manner of
creature it was, so like the human race, yet so unaccountably quiet. He
tried to be unconcerned, while still not releasing me from strict
surveillance; he dressed his feathers a little, uttering a soft whisper
to himself, as if he said, "Well, I never!" then looked me over again
more carefully than before. This pantomime went on for half an hour or
more; and no one who had looked for that length of time into the eyes of
a blue jay could doubt his intelligence, or that he had his thoughts and
his well-defined opinions, that he had studied his observer very much as
she had studied him, and that she had not fooled him in the least.
The little boy blue is one of the birds suffering under a bad name whom
I have wished to know better, to see if perchance something might be
done to clear up his reputation a bit. I am not able to say that he
never steals the eggs of other birds, though during nearly a month of
hard work, when, if ever, a few eggs would have been a welcome addition
to his resources, and sparrows were sitting in scores on the place, I
did not see or hear anything of the sort. I have heard of his destroying
the nest, and presumably eating the eggs or young of the English
sparrow, but the hundred or two who raised their broods and squawked
from morning to night in the immediate vicinity of the pine-tree
household never intimated that they were disturbed, and never showed
hostility to their neighbors in blue. Moreover, there is undoubtedly
something to be said on the jay's side. Even if he does indulge in these
little eccentricities, what is he but a "collector"? And though he does
not claim to be working "in the interest of science," which bigger
collectors invariably do, he is working in the interest of life, and
life is more than science. Even a blue jay's life is to him as precious
as ours to us, and who shall say that it is not as useful as many of
ours in the great plan?
The only indications of hostilities that I observed in four weeks' close
study, at the most aggressive time of bird life, nesting-time, I shall
relate exactly as I saw them, and the record will be found a very modest
one. In this case, certainly, the jay was no more offensive than the
meekest bird that has a nest to defend, and far less belligerent than
robins and many others. On one occasion a strange blue jay flew up to
the nest in the pine. I could not discover that he had any evil
intention, except just to see what was going on, but one of the pair
flew at him with loud cries, which I heard for some time after the two
had disappeared in the distance, and when our bird returned, he perched
on an evergreen, bowing and "jouncing" violently, his manner plainly
defying the enemy to "try it again." At another time I observed a savage
fight, or what looked like it, between two jays. I happened not to see
the beginning, for I was particularly struck that morning with the
behavior of a bouquet of nasturtiums which stood in a vase on my table.
I never was fond of these flowers, and I noticed then for the first time
how very self-willed and obstinate they were. No matter how nicely they
were arranged, it would not be an hour before the whole bunch was in
disorder, every blossom turning the way it preferred, and no two looking
in the same direction. I thought, when I first observed this, that I
must be mistaken, and I took them out and rearranged them as I
considered best; but the result was always the same, and I began to feel
that they knew altogether too much for their station in the vegetable
world. I was trying to see if I could discover any method in their
movements, when I was startled by a flashing vision of blue down under
the locusts, and, on looking closely, saw two jays flying up like
quarrelsome cocks,--only not together, but alternately, so that one was
in the air all the time. They flew three feet high, at least, all their
feathers on end, and looking more like shapeless masses of blue feathers
than like birds. They did not pause or rest till one seemed to get the
other down. I could not see from my window well enough to be positive,
but both were in the grass together, and only one in sight, who stood
perfectly quiet. He appeared to be holding the other down, for
occasionally there would be a stir below, and renewed vigilance on the
part of the one I could see. Several minutes passed. I became very
uneasy. Was he killing him? I could stand it no longer, so I ran down.
But my coming was a diversion, and both flew. When I reached the place,
one had disappeared, and the other was hopping around the tree in great
excitement, holding in his beak a fluffy white feather about the size of
a jay's breast feather. I did not see the act, and I cannot absolutely
declare it, but I have no doubt that he pulled that feather from the
breast of his foe as he held him down; how many more with it I could not
tell, for I did not think of looking until it was too late.
Again one day, somewhat later, when blue jay and catbird babies were
rather numerous, I saw a blue jay dive into a lilac bush much frequented
by catbirds, young and old together. Instantly there arose a great cry
of distress, as though some one were hurt, and a rustling of leaves,
proclaiming that a chase, if not a fight, was in progress. I hurried
downstairs, and as I appeared the jay flew, with two catbirds after him,
still crying in a way I had never heard before. I expected nothing less
than to find a young catbird injured, but I found nothing. Whether the
blue jay really had touched one, or it was a mere false alarm on the
part of the very excitable catbirds, I could not tell. This is the only
thing I have seen in the jay that might have been an interference with
another bird's rights; and the catbirds made such a row when I came near
their babies that I strongly suspect the only guilt of the jay was
alighting in the lilac they had made their headquarters.
The little boy blue in the apple-tree, already spoken of, did not get
his family off with so little adventure as his pine-tree neighbor. The
youngling of this nest came to the ground and stayed there. The people
of the house returned him to the tree several times, but every time he
fell again. Three or four days he wandered about the neighborhood, the
parents rousing the country with their uproar, and terrorizing the
household cat to such a point of meekness that no sooner did a jay begin
to squawk than he ran to the door and begged to come in. At last, out of
mercy, the family took the little fellow into the house, when they saw
that he was not quite right in some way. One side seemed to be nearly
useless; one foot did not hold on; one wing was weak; and his breathing
seemed to be one-sided. The family, seeing that he could not take care
of himself, decided to adopt him. He took kindly to human care and human
food, and before the end of a week had made himself very much at home.
He knew his food provider, and the moment she entered the room he rose
on his weak little legs, fluttered his wings violently, and presented a
gaping mouth with the jay baby cry issuing therefrom. Nothing was ever
more droll than this sight. He was an intelligent youngster, knew what
he wanted, and when he had had enough. He would eat bread up to a
certain point, but after that he demanded cake or a berry, and his
favorite food was an egg. He was exceedingly curious about all his
surroundings, examined everything with great care, and delighted to look
out of the window. He selected his own sleeping-place,--the upper one of
a set of bookshelves,--and refused to change; and he watched the
movements of a wounded woodcock as he ran around the floor with as much
interest as did the people. Under human care he grew rapidly stronger,
learned to fly more readily and to use his weak side; and every day he
was allowed to fly about in the trees for hours. Once or twice, when
left out, he returned to the house for food and care; but at last came a
day when he returned no more. No doubt he was taken in charge again by
his parents, who, it was probable, had not left the neighborhood.
After July came in, and baby blue jays could hardly be distinguished
from their parents, my studies took me away from the place nearly all
day, and I lost sight of the family whose acquaintance had made my June
so delightful.
XIV.
THE GREAT CAROLINIAN.
All through June of that summer I studied the birds in the spacious
inclosure around my "Inn of Rest." But as that month drew near its end,
"The happy birds that change their sky
To build and brood, that live their lives
From land to land,"
almost disappeared. Blue jay babies wandered far off, where I could hear
them it is true, but where--owing to the despair into which my
appearance threw the whole jay family--I rarely saw them; orchard and
Baltimore orioles had learned to fly, and carried their ceaseless cries
far beyond my hearing; catbirds and cardinals, doves and golden-wings,
all had raised their broods and betaken themselves wherever their fancy
or food drew them, certainly without the bounds of my daily walks. It
was evident that I must seek fresh fields, or remove my quarters to a
more northerly region, where the sun is less ardent and the birds less
in haste with their nesting.
Accordingly I sought a companion who should also be a guide, and turned
my steps to the only promising place in the vicinity, a deep ravine,
through which ran a little stream that was called a river, and dignified
with a river's name, yet rippled and babbled, and conducted itself
precisely like a brook.
The Glen, as it was called, was a unique possession for a common
work-a-day village in the midst of a good farming country. Long ago
would its stately trees have been destroyed, its streamlet set to
turning wheels, and Nature forced to express herself on those many
acres, in corn and potatoes, instead of her own graceful and varied
selection of greenery; or, mayhap, its underbrush cut out, its slopes
sodded, its springs buried in pipes and put to use, and the whole
"improved" into dull insipidity,--all this, but for the will of one man
who held the title to the grounds, and rated it so highly, that, though
willing to sell, no one could come up to his terms. Happy delusion! that
blessed the whole neighborhood with an enchanting bit of nature
untouched by art. Long may he live to keep the deeds in his possession,
and the grounds in their own wild beauty.
The place was surrounded by bristling barbed fences, and trespassers
were pointedly warned off, so when one had paid for the privilege, and
entered the grounds, he was supposed to be safe from intrusion, except
of others who had also bought the right. The part easily accessible to
hotel and railroad station was the scene of constant picnics, for which
the State is famous, but that portion which lay near my place of study
was usually left to the lonely kingfisher--and the cows. There the shy
wood dwellers set up their households, and many familiar upland birds
came with their fledglings; that was the land of promise for
bird-lovers, and there one of them decided to study.
We began with the most virtuous resolves. We would come at five o'clock
in the morning; we would catch the birds at their breakfast. We did; it
was a lovely morning after a heavy rain, on which we set out to explore
the ravine for birds. The storm in passing had taken the breeze with it,
and not a twig had stirred since. Every leaf and grass blade was loaded
with rain-drops. Walking in the grass was like wading in a stream; to
touch a bush was to evoke a shower. But though our shoes were wet
through, and our garments well sprinkled, before we reached the barbed
fence, over or under or through or around which we must pass to our
goal, we would not be discouraged; we went on.
As to the fence, let me, in passing, give my fellow drapery-bearers a
hint. Carry a light shawl, or even a yard of muslin, to lay across the
wire you can step over (thus covering the mischievous barbs), while a
good friend holds up with strong hand the next wire, and you slip
through. Thus you may pass this cruel device of man without accident.
Having circumvented the fence, the next task was to descend the steep
sides of the ravine. The difficulty was, not to get down, for that could
be done almost anywhere, but to go right side up; to land on the feet
and not on the head was the test of sure-footedness and climbing
ability. We conquered that obstacle, cautiously creeping down rocky
steps, and over slippery soil, steadying ourselves by bushes, clasping
small tree-trunks, scrambling over big ones that lay prone upon the
ground, and thus we safely reached the level of the stream. Then we
passed along more easily, stooping under low trees, crossing the beds of
tiny brooks, encircling clumps of shrubbery (and catching the night's
cobwebs on our faces), till we reached a fallen tree-trunk that seemed
made for resting. There we seated ourselves, to breathe, and to see who
lived in the place.
One of the residents proclaimed himself at once,
"To left and right
The cuckoo told his name to all the hills,"--
and in a moment we saw him, busy with his breakfast. His manner of
hunting was interesting; he stood perfectly still on a branch, his beak
pointed upward, but his head so turned that one eye looked downward.
When something attracted him, he almost fell off his perch, seized the
morsel as he passed, alighted on a lower branch, and at once began
looking around again. There was no frivolity, no flitting about like a
little bird; his conduct was grave and dignified, and he was absolutely
silent, except when at rare intervals he mounted a branch and uttered
his call, or song, if one might so call it. He managed his long tail
with grace and expression, holding it a little spread as he moved about,
thus showing the white tips and "corners."
While we were absorbed in cuckoo affairs the sun peeped over the trees,
and the place was transfigured. Everything, as I said, was charged with
water, and looking against the sun, some drops hanging from the tip of a
leaf glowed red as rubies, others shone out blue as sapphires, while
here and there one scintillated with many colors like a diamond, now
flashing red, and now yellow or blue.
"The humblest weed
Wore its own coronal, and gayly bold
Waved jeweled sceptre."
In that spot we sat an hour, and saw many birds, with whom it was
evidently a favorite hunting-ground. But no one seemed to live there;
every one appeared to be passing through; and realizing as we did, that
it was late in the season, our search for nests in use was rather
half-hearted anyway. As our breakfast-time drew near we decided to go
home, having found nothing we cared to study. Just as we were taking
leave of the spot I heard, nearly at my back, a gentle scolding cry, and
glancing around, my eyes fell upon two small birds running down the
trunk of a walnut sapling. A few inches above the ground one of the pair
disappeared, and the other, still scolding, flew away. I hastened to the
spot--and there I found my great Carolinian.
The nest was made in a natural cavity in the side of a stump six or
eight inches in diameter and a foot high. It seemed to be of moss,
completely roofed over, and stooping nearer its level I saw the bird,
looking flattened as if she had been crushed, but returning my gaze,
bravely resolved to live or die with her brood. I noted her color, and
the peculiar irregular line over her eye, and then I left her, though I
did not know who she was. Nothing would have been easier than to put my
hand over her door and catch her, but nothing would have induced me to
do so--if I never knew her name. Time enough for formal introductions
later in our acquaintance, I thought, and if it happened that we never
met again, what did I care how she was named in the books?
I did not at first even suspect her identity, for who would expect to
find the great Carolina wren a personage of less than six inches! even
though he were somewhat familiar with the vagaries of name-givers, who
call one bird after the cat, whom he in no way resembles, and another
after the bull, to whom the likeness is, if possible, still less. What
was certain was that the nest belonged to wrens, and was admirably
placed for study; and what I instantly resolved was to improve my
acquaintance with the owners thereof.
The little opening in the woods, which became the Wren's Court, when
their rank was discovered, was a most attractive place, shaded enough to
be pleasant, while yet leaving a goodly stretch of blue sky in sight,
bounded on one side by immense forest trees--walnut, butternut, oak, and
others--which looked as if they had stood there for generations; on the
other side, the babbling stream, up and down which the kingfisher flew
and clattered all day. One way out led to the thicket where a
wood-thrush was sitting in a low tree, and the other, by the Path
Difficult, up to the world above. The seat, across the court from the
nest, had plainly been arranged by some kind fate on purpose for us. It
was the trunk of a tree, which in falling failed to quite reach the
ground, and so had bleached and dried, and it was shaded and screened
from observation by vigorous saplings which had sprung up about it. The
whole was indeed an ideal nook, well worthy to be named after its
distinguished residents.
Thoreau was right in his assertion that one may see all the birds of a
neighborhood by simply waiting patiently in one place, and into that
charming spot came "sooner or later" every bird I had seen in my
wanderings up and down the ravine. There sang the scarlet tanager every
morning through July, gleaming among the leaves of the tallest trees,
his olive-clad spouse nowhere to be seen, presumably occupied with
domestic affairs. There the Acadian flycatcher pursued his calling,
fluttering his wings and uttering a sweet little murmur when he
alighted. Into that retired corner came the cries of flicker and blue
jay from the high ground beyond. On the edge sang the indigo-bird and
the wood-pewee, and cardinal and wood-thrush song formed the chorus to
all the varied notes that we heard.
Upon our entrance the next morning, my first glance at the nest was one
of dismay--the material seemed to be pulled out a little. Had it been
robbed! had some vagabond squirrel thrust lawless paws into the little
home! I looked closely; no, there sat, or rather there lay the little
mother. But she did not relish this second call. She flew, fluttering
and trailing on the ground, as if hurt, hoping, of course, to attract us
away from her nest. Seeing that of no avail, however, which she quickly
did, she retreated to a low branch, threw back her head, and uttered a
soft "chur-r-r," again and again repeated, doubtless to her mate. But
that personage did not make his appearance, and we examined the nest.
There were five eggs, white, very thickly and evenly specked with fine
dots of dark color. An end of one that stuck up was plain white, perhaps
the others were the same; we did not inquire too closely, for what did
we care for eggs, except as the cradles of the future birds?
Very soon we retired to our seat across the court and became quiet, to
wait for what might come. Suddenly, with almost startling effect,
"A bird broke forth and sung
And trilled and quavered and shook his throat."
It was a new voice to us, loud and clear, and the song, consisting of
three clauses, sounded like "Whit-e-ar! Whit-e-ar! Whit-e-ar!" then a
pause, and the same repeated, and so on indefinitely. It came nearer and
still nearer, and in a moment we saw the bird, a tiny creature,
red-brown on the back, light below--the image of the little sitter in
the stump, as we remarked with delight; we hoped he was her mate. He did
not seem inclined to go to the nest, but stayed on a twig of a dead
branch which hung from a large tree near by.
While the stranger was pouring out his rhapsody, head thrown back, tail
hanging straight down, and wings slightly drooped, I noticed a movement
by the nest, and fixed my eyes upon that. The little dame had stolen out
of her place, and now began the ascent of the sapling which started out
one side of her small stump. Up the trunk she went with perfect ease,
running a few steps, and then pausing a moment before she took the next
half-dozen. She did not go bobbing up like a woodpecker, nor did she
steady herself with her tail, like that frequenter of tree-trunks; she
simply ran up that almost perpendicular stick as a fly runs up the wall.
Meanwhile her mate, if that he were, kept up his ringing song, till she
reached the top of the sapling, perhaps seven or eight feet high, and
flew over near him. In an instant the song ceased, and the next moment
two small birds flew over our heads, and we heard chatting and
churring, and then silence.