THE JACKDAW.
We have called the Rook and Jackdaw first cousins. They are so, and
are greatly attached to each other. There is a difference, however, in
their character; the rook is grave and dignified, the jackdaw is active
and full of fun. But they are fond of each other’s society, and agree
to associate for nine months in the year: during the other three they
are both occupied with their respective family cares.
[Illustration:
JACKDAWS AND NESTLINGS. [Page 82.
]
Rooks build in trees in the open air, the nests of the young being
exposed to all the influences of wind and weather. The jackdaw does not
approve of this mode. He likes to live under cover, and, therefore,
makes his nest in holes and crannies, amongst rocks, as in our picture;
in old and tall buildings, as church towers and steeples, old ruinous
castles, or old hollow trees. The traditional structure of the family
nest is certainly that of the rook; a strong frame-work of sticks upon
which the eggs can be laid, and the clamorous young jackdaws be brought
up. This our friend Mr. Weir has shown us plainly. But, after all, it
does not appear that the jackdaw, with all his sharpness, has much
scientific knowledge, the getting the sticks into the hole being often
a very difficult piece of work. Mr. Waterton amused himself by watching
the endless labour and pains which the jackdaw takes in trying to do
impossibilities. Thinking it absolutely necessary that a frame-work
of sticks should be laid in the hole or cavity as the foundation of
the nest, he brings to the opening just such sticks as the rook would
use in open spaces, and may be seen trying for a quarter of an hour
together to get a stick into a hole, holding it by the middle all the
time, so that the ends prop against each side, and make the endeavour
impossible. He cannot understand how it is; he knows that sticks ought
to go into holes, but here is one that will not; and, tired out at
length, and thinking perhaps that it is in the nature of some sticks
not to be got into a hole by any means, he drops it down and fetches
another, probably to have no better result, and this may happen several
times. But jackdaws have perseverance, and so, with trying and trying
again, he meets with sticks that are not so self-willed, and that can
be put into holes, either by being short enough or held the right way,
and so the foundation is laid, and the easier part of the work goes on
merrily; for the jackdaw is at no loss for sheets and blankets for his
children’s bed, though we cannot see them in our picture, the clamorous
children lying at the very edge of their bed. But if we could examine
it, we should most likely be amused by what we should find. The jackdaw
takes for this purpose anything soft that comes readily—we cannot say
to _hand_—but to _bill_. In this respect he resembles the sparrow,
and being, like him, fond of human society, gleans up out of his
neighbourhood all that he needs for the comfort of his nestlings. Thus
we hear of a nest, built in the ruins of Holyrood Chapel, in which,
on its being looked into for a piece of lace which was supposed to be
there, it was found also to be lined with part of a worsted stocking,
a silk handkerchief, a child’s cap, a muslin frill, and several
other things which the busy jackdaw had picked up in various ways; for
it must be borne in mind that he is own cousin to the magpie, whose
thievish propensities are well known.
The call of the jackdaw is much quicker and more lively than the rook,
somewhat resembling the syllable _yak_, variously modulated, and
repeated somewhat leisurely, but at the same time cheerfully. Its food
is similar to that of the rook, and going forth at early dawn it may be
seen in pastures or ploughed fields, busily searching for larvæ, worms,
and insects. They walk gracefully, with none of the solemn gravity
either of the rook or raven, and may occasionally be seen running along
and sometimes quarrelling amongst themselves.
Like the rook, the jackdaw stows away food in its mouth or throat-bag
to feed its young. Its plumage is black, with shining silvery grey
behind the head. Occasionally they are found with streaks or patches of
white, as are also rooks, but these are mere sports of nature.
[Sidenote: _Mr. Waterton’s Opinion._]
Mr. Waterton was of opinion that jackdaws lived in pairs all the year
round, as he had seen them sitting in November on the leafless branches
of a sycamore, side by side, pruning each other’s heads, and apparently
full of mutual affection; and as they mostly left the trees in pairs,
and so returned, he was inclined to think that it was their custom
always to remain paired.
I will now give you his _carte de visite_ from Macgillivray’s “British
Birds.” “He is a remarkably active, pert, and talkative little fellow,
ever cheerful, always on the alert, and ready either for business or
frolic. If not so respectable as the grave and sagacious raven, he
is, at least, the most agreeable of the family, and withal extremely
fond of society, for, not content with having a flock of his own folk
about him, he often thrusts himself into a gang of rooks, and in winter
sometimes takes up his abode entirely with them.”
As to _thrusting_ himself into a gang of rooks, I am, however, of
opinion that the rooks make him heartily welcome. How do we know what
amusement they, with their stolid gravity and solemn dignity, find in
him with all his fun and loquacity? That rooks are really fond of the
society of jackdaws is proved by an observation of Mr. Mudie. He says
that “in the latter part of the season, when the rooks from one of the
most extensive rookeries in Britain made daily excursions of about six
miles to the warm grounds by the sea-side, and in their flight passed
over a deep ravine, in the sunny side of which were many jackdaws, he
observed that when the cawing of the rooks in their morning flight was
heard at the ravine, the jackdaws, who had previously been still and
quiet, instantly raised their shriller notes, and flew up to join the
rooks, both parties clamouring loudly as if welcoming each other; and
that on the return, the daws accompanied the rooks a little past the
ravine as if for good fellowship; then both cawed their farewell: the
daws returned to their home and the rooks proceeded on their way.”
Jackdaws, like rooks, are said to be excellent weather-prophets.
If they fly back to their roost in the forenoon, or early in the
afternoon, a storm may be expected that evening, or early in the
morning.
[Sidenote: _The Rev. J. G. Wood’s Anecdote._]
The anecdotes of tame jackdaws are numerous. The Rev. J. G. Wood
speaks of one which had learnt the art of kindling lucifer matches,
and thus became a very dangerous inmate, busying himself in this way
when the family was in bed, though, fortunately, he seems to have done
nothing worse than light the kitchen fire which had been laid ready
for kindling over night. Clever as he was, however, he could not learn
to distinguish the proper ignitable end of the match, and so rubbed
on till he happened to get it right. He frightened himself terribly
at first by the explosion and the sulphur fumes, and burned himself
into the bargain. But I do not find that, like the burnt child, he
afterwards feared the fire and so discontinued the dangerous trick.
The jackdaw is easily domesticated, and makes himself very happy in
captivity, learns to articulate words and sentences, and is most
amusing by his mimicry and comic humour.
[Illustration]