is its most interesting and outstanding characteristic. Indeed, it
is the one thing that many ever know of the species. It is a bird
easily heard but comparatively seldom seen; therefore, though the
call may be a nightly sound throughout the summer, the author may
be utterly unknown to many by sight. However, no one who lives
within the range of the chuck can have failed to listen to the
notes perforce, and only a deaf person can fail to be aware of its
presence. Though the specific name of “vociferous” has been applied
to the whippoorwill, it is equally true of the chuck-will’s-widow,
if not more so, but the generic name of the latter is well chosen,
for the mouth is certainly “cavelike.”
The call of this species is well deserving of comment, particularly
in view of the fact that there seems to be so much confusion about
it in the recent literature. Why this difference of opinion should
exist, and why certain positive statements have been made, are
sources of wonder to me and to others who know the voice of the
chuck intimately. How anyone could listen for only a few minutes
to the call and then say that “the song of the chuck-will’s-widow
is less vigorous than that of the whippoorwill; it consists of
_three_ notes ... with a slight accent on the _first_ syllable” is
beyond my comprehension. And yet more than one ornithologist has
so stated. It seems significant that all those so describing it
are northerners, that they know the chuck only by reason of short
southern trips of a few days or weeks. Or, perhaps, they take the
opinion of others who have as little information as themselves. If
their experience with this bird covered any extended period, they
could hardly fall into such error.
The call of the chuck-will’s-widow is distinctly 4-syllabled
(some observers say five at times), and therein lies one of the
marked differences between it and the whippoorwill, which does
have a 3-syllabled call. The accent is not on the first but on
the third syllable; in other words, on the “wid” of widow. Few
birds “say” their names as plainly. The _chuck_ is uttered on a
lower tone than the rest but is distinctly audible at 300 yards or
more. At some distance one might be excused for thinking the call
3-syllabled, for it may sound like _will’s-widow_, but on still
nights the first syllable is plainly heard even across broad bodies
of water, as occur over much of the southern coast region.
The notes are not limited entirely to the dusk of evening or night.
The bird sometimes calls in full daylight, either on cloudy or
bright days, and sometimes during rains. I have heard it at 1 p.
m. on a bright, clear day. It is, of course, not the rule any more
than is the cross perching sometimes indulged in, but it certainly
occurs. However, it is during late evening and all through the
night that the chuck really performs, and it sometimes calls
through the entire period. In localities favored by the species,
several birds may be calling at once, which results in a jumble
and overlapping of notes. Herbert L. Stoddard writes that, never
having heard a chuck-will’s-widow calling in the daytime, he was
“greatly surprised to hear two calling back and forth at 11:30
a. m. today (May 25, 1928). It was crystal clear and the sun was
_hot_, but these two called over 5 minutes, exactly as they do in
the nighttime.”
In rapidity and frequency, there is much variation. A bird may
utter a very few calls or very many. I have counted individual
calls many times, and there seems to be no established custom or
sequence. The usual interval between the notes is about 2½ seconds,
when the bird is doing a string of them. I counted the calls of a
bird just outside my window one night and it ran off 111 without
“drawing breath” other than the short spacing between each, 2½
seconds. The calls were uttered at the rate of 25 a minute, this
series taking about 4½ minutes. One of my longest counts is 176
calls successively uttered without a break. E. S. Dingle tells me
that he has counted 300 consecutive calls. On the night of June 2,
1939, at my home in St. Andrews Parish, Charleston, I heard a chuck
that beat anything I have encountered yet. I had gone to bed; the
night was warm and I was lying near a window, when a chuck started
up about 50 yards away in one of the live oaks in my yard. I began
counting almost automatically, and kept it up, idly wondering
whether it would reach my former record. It did, and then some. I
continued to count, and count. Finally, I got up and sat by the
window, in order not to miss any of it. The calls were perfectly
continuous, and uttered at the usual rate, although twice there was
a slight break in perhaps as much as a second’s lateness between
them. The bird shifted its perch twice, moving perhaps a few yards
each time, but did not stop calling. The total was _eight hundred
and thirty-four calls_ (834).
The notes are clear-cut, insistent, and sharply enunciated with
the exception of the first syllable. There is a ringing quality
about them that is very striking, and one gets the impression of
full-voiced effort. The head is moved noticeably when the call
is uttered, and doubtless considerable muscular effort is put
forth. Some writers have termed the notes “doleful,” “monotonous,”
and “melancholy,” but to me they have never seemed anything but
soothing and dreamily satisfying. Charles Torrey Simpson (1920)
says that the chucks “make night hideous” with their “terrible
chatter.” Thus do tastes differ!
When it arrives from its winter quarters the chuck is particularly
vociferous, and keeps this up until after the eggs are hatched.
There is then a cessation followed by some renewed activity
before departing for the south on the approach of fall. It must
be very susceptible to cool weather, for it does not remain even
as far south as Charleston until early in fall. The first part of
September usually sees it gone, although individuals linger longer
than that.
Besides the regular, self-naming call, the chuck has another note,
which is not well known and is very difficult to describe. It is
not the hissing sound uttered when the bird is caught or handled
but is given occasionally when about its hunting. Almost entirely,
if not entirely, it is a _flight_ note; at least I have never heard
it when the bird is sitting. It is inadequate to describe it as a
“growl,” and yet that is the only word that seems to approach it.
As one flies by in the gloom, this note is heard, and it is an
eerie, utterly indefinite sound, possessing a strangely unearthly
quality which impresses one with wonder that it comes from a bird.
It is seldom if ever referred to in the literature but some have
remarked upon it in correspondence to the writer. The late James
Henry Rice, Jr., of Brick House Plantation, Wiggins, S. C., once
had an army officer visiting him who remarked on this note, but Mr.
Rice himself, being very deaf, was not aware of it, though he knew
the chuck well. He asks, in a letter to Mr. Bent, whether anyone
has noted what he termed “that clucking sound.” I should hardly
describe it as a “cluck” but it may impress some as such.
One other note has been commented on by those thoroughly familiar
with the chuck. It is often given just as the bird is _flushed_
and, like the one above, is very difficult to describe. It can be
interpreted as a “croak” perhaps, and Dr. Eugene E. Murphey (MS.),
of Augusta, Ga., calls it “froglike.” His allusion to it, as well
as the utterances of the regular call as given in fall, is given in
a communication as follows:
“I imagine most field ornithologists are familiar with the froglike
croak that the bird makes when flushed, and I am inclined to
believe that this note is much more apt to be sounded when the
bird has been flushed from the nest. One observation may be worthy
of note, namely, that I have heard the chuck-will’s-widow singing
as late as September 12 in Edgefleld County, S. C. When it comes to
interpreting the quality of a bird’s song, it is impossible to get
away from a personal construction, which, of course, is invalid in
a scientific observation, but it seemed to me that on this occasion
the song was very definitely less vehement and forceful, certainly
less frequently reiterated than is the case in spring; in fact, the
whole thing seemed to have a querulous and uncertain character,
somewhat as if he were wondering why he should be singing at this
particular time of year. I endeavored to collect the bird, but the
rapidly gathering darkness made it impossible for me to secure
it, although I was very close to it several times and saw it take
flight. Unfortunately, it chose to fly toward the darkening east
rather than the west where there was still an afterglow.”
In commenting generally upon the continuity of the chuck’s calls
during the early part of the season, Herbert L. Stoddard, of
Thomasville, Ga., has sent me the following notes:
“Spent the entire night of April 14, 1927, on the alert in the
observatory at the quail pens on lookout for an owl which has been
killing quail ... a brilliant moonlight night. Chuck-will’s-widows
called _all night_, no 5-minute period between 9 p. m. and 5 a.
m. elapsing without one to eight or ten calling. They have many
guttural notes of different inflection, as well as the beautiful
call note, a guttural, low-toned _waugh_ given in questioning tones
being common. These notes are most frequently uttered when a pair
of the birds are together.”
_Fall._--The latest record in fall for the chuck-will’s-widow in
lower South Carolina is September 28 (Wayne, 1910). The great
majority of the birds have left some time before this date. Indeed,
Dr. Murphey’s record mentioned above was a late one and impressed
him markedly, as his account shows.
The earliest arrival record for the whippoorwill for the same
locality is September 15, 1928 (Edward S. Dingle, MS.). The latest
whippoorwill record is for April 1, 1911 (Wayne, 1910). Thus, in
some exceptional years there may be the slightest overlapping of
the arrival and departure of the chuck and the whippoorwill, but
in the main the one has gone when the other appears, and there is
usually some little interval between the sojourns of the two.
Referring to the fall migration in El Salvador, Dickey and van
Rossem (1938) say: “Chuck-will’s-widows were seen as late as
October 29 at Rio Goascorán, where they were more common than in
any other locality. * * * Most were found well up in trees, once
as high as a hundred feet above the ground, and so wild that
collecting them was usually impossible. At Lake Alomega one flew
from tree to tree through the high forest and at no time permitted
an approach closer than about a hundred yards. * * *
“The usual daytime locations were large, horizontal branches twenty
feet or so from the ground and in rather heavy woods.”
DISTRIBUTION
_Range._--Southeastern United States, the Caribbean region, Central
America, and northern South America; casual north to Ontario and
Nova Scotia.
_Breeding range._--The chuck-will’s-widow breeds =north= to
southeastern Kansas (Arkansas City and Independence); Missouri
(Willard, Springfield, and Sulphur Spring); southern Illinois
(Olney); southern Ohio (West Union); and southern Maryland
(Point Lookout). =East= along the Atlantic coast to Florida (St.
Augustine, Daytona Beach, Royal Palm Hammock, and Man-o-war Key).
=East= to Florida (Man-o-war Key, Fort Myers, St. Marks, Lynn
Haven, and Pensacola); southern Alabama (Spring Hill); southern
Louisiana (St. Francisville and Urania); and southern Texas
(Houston, San Antonio, and Kerrville). =West= to central Texas
(Kerrville, Waco, and Commerce); eastern Oklahoma (probably rarely
Norman and Copan); and southeastern Kansas (Arkansas City).
_Winter range._--The winter range is not clearly defined, but
at this season it has been found =north= to Cuba (Isle of Pines
and San Pablo); the Bahama Islands (Andros Island and Nassau);
the Dominican Republic (Catarrey and Samana); and Puerto Rico
(Arecibo, San Piedras, and Vieques Island). =East= to Puerto Rico
(Vieques Island); and northern Colombia (Medellin). =South= to
northern Colombia (Medellin and Antioquia); Panama (Panama City
and Divala); Costa Rica (Rio Sicsola and Candelaria); Nicaragua
(San Juan del Sur); El Salvador (Lake Olomega and probably Barra
de Santiago); and Guatemala (Guatemala City). =West= to Guatemala
(Guatemala City); and western Cuba (Isle of Pines). It appears
that occasionally individuals may spend the winter in Florida, as
one was recorded from Orlando on December 1, 1885; one from Lake
Jackson on December 5, 1911; and another from the same general area
on December 28, 1903. One also was seen at Chenier au Tigre, La.,
on January 2, 1934.
_Spring migration._--Early dates of arrival are: Florida--Orlando,
February 17; Melrose, March 3; Palma Sola, March 5; Daytona Beach,
March 9; Merritts Island, March 12. Alabama--Prattville, April
2; Barachias, April 3; Greensboro, April 5; Montgomery, April 6.
Georgia--Savannah, March 15; Cumberland, March 25; St. Marys,
March 28, South Carolina--Charleston, March 12; Frogmore, March 31;
Columbia, April 6. North Carolina--Raleigh, April 10; Louisburg,
April 17. Virginia--Lawrenceville, April 12; Bowers Hill, April
26. Louisiana--Bains, April 2; Bayou Sara, April 11; Baton Rouge,
April 18; New Orleans, April 28. Mississippi--Biloxi, April 9;
Jackson, April 10. Arkansas--Delight, April 10; Monticello, April
10; Fayetteville, April 14. Tennessee--Chattanooga, April 10;
Knoxville, April 12; Belfast, April 18. Kentucky--Covington, April
7; Bowling Green, April 25. Missouri--Valley Park, April 18;
Monteer, April 23. Texas--Refugio County, March 17; Corpus Christi,
March 18; Austin, March 21; Kerrville, April 8. Oklahoma--Tulsa,
April 20. Kansas--Manhattan, April 26; Elmdale, April 29.
_Fall migration._--Data on the autumn movement are not plentiful,
but late dates of departure are: Oklahoma--Canadian River,
September 5. Texas--Grapevine, September 20; Brownsville, October
1; Corpus Christi, October 22. Arkansas--London, September 1;
Delight, October 7. Mississippi--Bay St. Louis, September 25.
Louisiana--New Orleans, September 21. Virginia--Lawrenceville,
August 24. North Carolina--Louisburg, September 19; Raleigh,
September 21. South Carolina--Summerton, September 23; Charleston,
September 28. Georgia--Athens, September 6; Savannah, September 23.
Florida--College Point, October 19; Pensacola, October 21; Punta
Rossa, October 30.
_Casual records._--Among records of this species north of its
known breeding range are several for Maryland--one heard at North
Beach on June 28, 1930; one heard at Clements on August 14, 1932;
a mounted specimen in the collection of the Cambridge High School,
taken at Fishing Creek sometime prior to 1933; and one recorded at
Laurel on May 12, 1935. A specimen was taken at New Haven, Conn.,
on May 17, 1889; another was captured at East Boston, Mass., on
October 13, 1915; one was killed at Pictou, Nova Scotia, on October
22, 1890; one was taken at Dayton, Ohio, on May 1, 1933, one was
collected on Point Pelee, Ontario, on May 19, 1906; one was taken
at Indianapolis, Ind., during April or May 1908; and one was
obtained at Sugar Creek, in southeastern Iowa, on June 17, 1933.
There are several records for Kansas north of areas where it is
known to breed, among them being a specimen collected at Wichita
on June 12, 1898; one taken at Hamilton on April 30, 1912; and one
obtained at Lawrence on May 4, 1935.
_Egg dates._--Arkansas: 11 records, May 15 to June 26.
Florida: 53 records, March 7 to June 30; 27 records, March 20 to
May 13, indicating the height of the season.
Georgia: 28 records, April 25 to June 18; 14 records, May 7 to 24.
Texas: 17 records, April 4 to June 16; 9 records, May 2 to June 5.
ANTROSTOMUS VOCIFERUS VOCIFERUS (Wilson)
EASTERN WHIPPOORWILL
PLATES 21–23
HABITS
CONTRIBUTED BY WINSOR MARRETT TYLER
Almost every man, woman, and child living in the wide breeding
range of the whippoorwill knows the bird by name. Those who once
hear it singing, reiterating its name perhaps a hundred times
or more without a pause, cannot fail to realize that they are
listening to a whippoorwill, but how many of this multitude who
know the whippoorwill’s name ever saw the bird, or would recognize
it if they did see it? Not, it may be presumed, one-tenth of 1
percent.
Yet the whippoorwill lived many long years in denser obscurity
still, for, playing a part behind the scenes, so to speak, its
lines were ascribed to another actor in the play; it was not
recognized as a bird at all until the early part of the last
century. Prior to this time the whippoorwill was supposed to be
nothing more than the voice of the nighthawk, and even now in many
rural districts the two birds are not clearly distinguished from
each other. William Brewster (1895) says: “They are still very
generally regarded by country people throughout New England as one
and the same bird.”
_Spring._--The whippoorwill starts northward from central Florida
in the latter part of March. This northerly movement evidently
represents a general migration from the southern and eastern Gulf
States, and through them from points farther south. The bird
arrives in the latitude of Boston, Mass., late in April or early in
May, thus flying a distance of a thousand miles or more in 35 or 40
days--a migration that corresponds closely, both in time of year
and in speed of travel, with that of the chimney swift. Of this
journey Wilson (1831) says:
In their migrations north, and on their return, they
probably stop a day or two at some of their former
stages, and do not advance in one continued flight. The
whip-poor-will was first heard this season [1811] on the
2d day of May, in a corner of Mr. Bartram’s woods, not far
from the house, and for two or three mornings after in the
same place, where I also saw it. From this time until the
beginning of September, there were none of these birds to
be found within at least one mile of the place; though I
frequently made search for them. On the 4th of September,
the whip-poor-will was again heard for two evenings
successively in the same part of the woods. I also heard
several of them passing, within the same week, between dusk
and nine o’clock at night, it being then clear moonlight.
These repeated their notes three or four times, and were
heard no more. It is highly probable that they migrate
during the evening and night.
F. Seymour Hersey (1923) tells of a striking instance of nocturnal
migration when a multitude of whippoorwills arrived suddenly at
Lakeville, Mass., in the middle of the night.
In 1901 [he says], on the evening of May 4, about eight
o’clock, a single bird was heard singing. This was the
first arrival noted and no others were heard that evening.
At two o’clock the following morning, six hours later,
I was awakened by birds singing loudly everywhere. I
dressed and went out and for more than an hour the chorus
continued. There were numbers of birds about the house, on
the door-step and ridge-pole, others singing in the road
or from the stone walls along the road side, while still
others could be heard down in the pastures,--often eight
or ten were singing at the same instant. I walked down
the road for half a mile and the birds seemed equally as
abundant on neighbors’ farms. It seems probable that the
migration takes place at night as these birds had just
arrived.
_Courtship._--Few observers have had the good fortune to watch the
sexual activities of the whippoorwill. One must be very near the
birds to see, in the semidarkness, the courtship in detail, and
even should we catch sight of a courting pair--a rare happening--we
may get but a glimpse of their actions, because, if they flit only
a little way back into the gloom, they are lost to view, fading
into the shadows.
Frank Bolles (1912) tells of the following experience. He was
hidden under a “narrow fringe of spirea bushes, 2½ ft. high only
3 ft. from the stone”--a stone on which a whippoorwill sang every
evening. He says:
It uttered its note about twenty or thirty times when to my
astonishment another whip, alighted near it, on the left
(W.) end of the boulder. One or two sounds like the soft
popping of corn came from the new arrival, and the first
bird, which had ceased its call, faced west and began a
strange, slow dance, advancing a step at a time towards its
mate, raising its body to the full length of its legs at
each step, thus making a sort of undulating approach. The
other bird remained where it alit, but seemed to be moving
its body up and down or else slowly pulsating its wings.
The first bird, which I think was the male, seemed to
continue its dance entirely around the female. As he passed
her, indescribable purring and popping sounds were made and
one of the birds flew lightly away--the ♀ I think. The male
resumed his first position, and remained silent. Then he
rose and circled in the air, catching an insect I thought,
for he came back at once to the spot on the rock which he
always covers. A moment later his mate seemed to call from
below the house, near the lake, and he flew, his white
feathers flashing as he spread his tail, and the strokes
of his wings making a distinct and quite loud sound as he
passed close above my head.
Henry K. Coale (1920) reporting the observation of his neighbor,
Moritz Boehm, says:
On different occasions, while the male was calling, he
saw the female going through some peculiar antics, but
in the dusk could not make out just what she was doing.
One evening, when he was sitting on the lower step, the
birds came up and performed within ten feet of him. He
kept perfectly quiet. The male called from a low branch
overhead, while the female strutted on the gravel path
below, with wings and tail outspread and head lowered, and
sidestepped back and forth, half way around to the right,
then to the left, all the time uttering a curious guttural
chuckle. This performance was kept up for ten or fifteen
minutes.
Bendire’s (1895) account of the whippoorwill’s courtship is
the best in the literature; it has become almost a classic,
and ornithologists still deplore the regrettable incident that
interrupted the observation.
While on a collecting trip in Herkimer County, New York,
with Dr. William L. Ralph, in June, 1893, I witnessed a
most amusing performance, which one may see perhaps once
in a lifetime. I happened to be in a little outbuilding,
some 20 feet in the rear of the house at which we were
stopping, early on the evening of the 24th, about half an
hour after sundown, when I heard a peculiar, low, clucking
noise outside, which was directly followed by the familiar
call of “whip-poor-will.” * * * Directly alongside of the
small outbuilding previously referred to, a barrel of sand
and lime had been spilled, and from the numerous tracks
of these birds, made by them nightly afterwards, it was
evident that this spot was visited regularly, and was the
trysting place of at least one pair. Looking through a
small aperture, I saw one of the birds waddling about in a
very excited manner over the sand-covered space, which was
perhaps 2 by 3 feet square, and it was so much interested
in its own performance that it did not notice me, although
I made some noise trying to fight off a swarm of mosquitoes
which assailed me from all sides. Its head appeared to be
all mouth, and its notes were uttered so rapidly that,
close as I was to the bird, they sounded like one long,
continuous roll.