It was October 8, and many birds had gone on their long journey to
tropical lands. The fog hung thick like a white blanket between the
trees, and obscured all distant objects, such as mountain ranges or
winding rivers, from view. My home was in Lynchburg, on the James
River, and consequently in the line of the "birds' highway," and I
was standing beside the window on the lookout for migrants, when, to
my surprise, there alighted in the tree beside me a female scarlet
tanager in olive-green and dusky yellow, with her soft, innocent eyes
looking with gentle confidence around her. In a few minutes the trees
around her were ringing with _chip cheer! chip cheer!_ from a large
flock of tanagers that had evidently lost their way in the fog, and
descended near the ground to make observations. During the morning
three different _waves_ of migrating tanagers passed, flying slowly and
so low that it was easy to see and recognize them.
The next day it was again thickly foggy. As I glanced out at the window
I saw another tanager, sitting motionless on a bough. From ten to three
wave after wave, in even greater numbers than the day before, passed.
Frequently there were from three to nine tanagers perched in full view,
occasionally calling _chip cheer!_ but usually quietly resting or
eating insects, of which the trees were full. I heard one _crunching_
a hard-shelled bit in his strong beak. The scarlet of summer was not
to be seen in the fall plumage of green and yellow, but the books
are misleading when they speak of the male as "dull," or "like the
female." It is true he is green above and yellow underneath, but where
her wings are darker or "fuscous," his wings and tail are a glossy,
velvety black, and instead of her dull yellow, his breast is a shining
and vivid lemon-yellow, so that he is almost as beautiful as in his
black and scarlet. In such large flocks I saw every phase of varying
yellow or green in the immature males and females, one of the latter
seeming a soft olive all over, slightly greener above and slightly more
yellow below. Even in the spring, when our woods ring with the joyous
calls and songs of both varieties, I have never seen half the number of
tanagers together.
I was interested in noticing how many of our migrating birds gathered
in unusually large flocks. The oven birds and the mocking-birds were
seen in large numbers before they left, for many, if not most of
the latter, do go farther South in cold weather. I heard one of the
mocking-birds singing the most exquisite song, but softened almost to
a whisper, as if singing in a dream a farewell to the trees he knew
so well. He sang in this way for quite a long while, the rest of the
flock flying excitedly to and fro. I also saw a large flock of chebecs
instead of the one or two scattered migrants I was accustomed to see in
the fall. The gay-colored sapsuckers came to us in large flocks--they
spend the winter with us--filling the trees around us.
For the first time, too, I had an experience of the caprices of
migrating warblers. The blackpolls and pine-warblers, so numerous last
year, had evidently chosen another route to the tropics, nor were the
magnolia and the chestnut-sided to be seen. But the Cape May warblers,
usually rare, were very numerous, and remained long--from September 20
to October 18. This might probably be explained by the abundant supply
of food, for the unusual warmth of the season had not only awakened the
fruit trees and lilacs, the kalmia and other wild flowers, to a second
period of blooming, but had filled the air with immense swarms of tiny
insects. Everywhere glittered and danced myriads of winged creatures,
and the trees offered a plentiful table for our insect-loving
warblers.
[Illustration: BLACK SQUIRREL.
5/13 Life-size.
FROM COL F. NUSBBAUMER & SON.
A. W. MUMFORD, PUBLISHER, CHICAGO.
COPYRIGHT 1900, BY
NATURE STUDY PUB. CO., CHICAGO.]