SOCIALISTIC BIRDS
Repeated observations and diary records have established August 12th as
the beginning of the local "bird season." About that date two of the most
notable birds arrive from the North--the nutmeg pigeon (MYRISTICIVORA
SPILORRHOA) and the metallic starling (CALORNIS METALLICA). Having spent
five months in Papua, Java, Borneo, and the Malay Peninsula, the former
revisit the islands for incubating purposes.
Where the metallic starlings spend their retreat I know not; but they
return with impetuous haste, as if absence had been disciplinary and not
for pleasure. They assemble in glittering throngs, shrilly discussing
their plans for the season, without reserve debating important concerns
of house and home. Shall the tall Moreton Bay ash in the forest be again
occupied and the shabby remnants of old nests designedly destroyed before
departure last season be renovated, or shall a new settlement be
established and the massive milkwood-tree overtopping the jungle be
selected as a capital site? Discussion is acidulous and constant. For
days the majority of the burnished citizens do little else but talk,
while the industrious few begin, some to build nests on the sites of the
old, others to lay hasty foundations among the leaves of the milkwood.
Each faction wishes to carry its point, for ever and anon both rejoin the
main body and proclaim and testify. Then all adjourn to the disputed
sites successively and join in frantic commotion until some sage makes an
entirely original proposition, and off they all go on a flight of
inspection and abruptly end all differences of opinion by favouring a
tree which appears to have no distinctive merits.
These delightfully engaging birds have been known to nest in a particular
tree for a quarter of a century, and again they may select a different
site every year. Though I have no evidence in confirmation of the theory,
I am inclined to think that arboreal snakes are influential in causing
changes. Although the domed nests must be difficult for even a snake to
enter so large a congregation of noisy birds would inevitably attract
these slim nocturnal marauders.
Moreover, a case may be cited in support of the theory. In a Moreton Bay
ash (EUCALYPTUS TESSELARIS), not far from this spot, there nested a pair
of white-headed sea eagles, a pair of cockatoos, and a colony of metallic
starlings, four or five hundred strong. The memory of man knows not the
first settlement of this amicable community, which remained until during
temporary absence the blacks were suborned to climb the tree to secure
the eggs of the eagle. They also helped themselves to a few of the callow
starlings. The sea eagles and cockatoos discarded the tree forthwith, and
the starlings in a couple of years. And why? Because, in my opinion at
least, the eagles had policed the tree, killing offhand any green or grey
snake which had the stupidity to sneak among the nests. When the
policemen went to another beat the snakes took to frightening the
unprotected birds and to the burgling of their nest. This incident caused
a revision of the protective laws. They are much more explicit, and the
pains and penalties for the violation of them are now absolutely unholy
in their truculence.
During the 1909 season a serious diminution was noted in the number of
metallic starlings and nutmeg pigeons. In the case of the former I am at
a loss to account for the cause of the comparatively few visitors--always
highly esteemed and admired and preserved from interference--except on
the theory of the outbreak of an epidemic or in the possible fact that
they are falling victims to the feminine passion for fine feathers.
The Grouse Disease Commission has found a recognised period in the
fluctuations of the number of those game birds. During a cycle of sixty
years there recur the good year, the very good year, the record year, the
bad disease year, the recovery, the average, and the good average. The
round is said to be almost invariable. So may it be with the metallic
starling.
With the nutmeg pigeons the case is different. Here we have direct
evidence of the desolating effects of the interference of man.
Congregating in large numbers on the islands to nest, and only to nest,
these birds offer quite charming sport to men with guns. They are the
easiest of all shooting. Big and white, and given to grouping themselves
in cloudy patches on favourable trees, I have heard of a black boy, with
a rusty gun, powder, and small stones for shot, filling a flour-sack full
during an afternoon. It is, therefore, not strange that men shoot 250 in
an hour or so. The strange thing is that "men" boast of such butchery. On
the very island where this bag Of 250 was obtained a little black boy,
twelve years old, killed four pigeons with a single sweep of a long
stick. He did not boast--to his father and mother and himself the four
birds represented supper; but in the case of the sportsman it might be
asked, how many of the butchered doves went into the all-redeeming pot?
These pigeons are one of the natural features of the coast of North
Queensland, in the conservation of which the State and the Commonwealth
are concerned. It may be contended that the extermination of a species
represented by such multitudes is impossible. But while the history of
the passenger pigeon of North America is extant such argument carries no
weight.
When the birds are, so to speak, shot on their nests or sitting in their
crowded dormitories a whole season's natural increase may be discounted
by an afternoon's wretched "sport." If nutmeg pigeons are to be preserved
as one of the attractions and natural features of the coast of North
Queensland, extensive sanctuaries must be established. Strict prohibition
might be enforced for a period of, say, five years to enable the colonies
to regain their population, and thenceforward they might--if the shooting
of sitting birds is still deemed to be "sport"--be allowed a "jubilee"
every second year.
If the unrestricted molestation is permitted, the day is not far distant
when indignation will arise and lovers of Nature will ask passionately
why a unique feature of the coast was allowed to be obliterated in blood.
True sportsmen would unanimously rejoice in the permanent preservation of
birds elegant and swift of flight, not very good to eat, and which visit
us at a time when inhospitality is a wanton crime.
For this indulgence of my feelings I have, I am aware, laid myself open
to censure. It is foreign to, indeed, quite out of place in, a book which
professes neither message nor mission. Yet, mayhap, some kindred spirit
having influence and judicious eloquence at command may read these lines.
Then the birds need not much longer fear the naughty local man. Long may
the dulcet islands within the Barrier Reef burst morn and eve into snowy
bloom as the pigeons go and come!
So having soothed my fretfulness by irresponsible scolding, consigned
countless white pigeons to inviolable sanctuary and thereby confirmed to
perpetuity the charter under which a bustling interchange of seeds and
the kernels of fruit-trees between isle and mainland is maintained, I am
at liberty to chronicle certain every-day incidents in the establishment
of a colony by those other companionable birds, metallic starlings, also
under engagement to Nature as distributing agents.
Whereas the bulk of the traffic of the pigeons is with the mainland, that
of the metallic starlings is purely local, though, perhaps, just as
important. The insular communities do not venture for their merchandise
across the water, and those of the mainland have no dealings with the
isles.
Reference has been made to the disappointment occasioned by the violation
of a colony at the instance of a semi-professional egg-snatcher, and of
the subsequent abandonment of the tree which had been used as a building
site by the birds as far back as the memory of the blacks went.
The tree was in the midst of the forest, and season after season upon the
return of the members of the colony they assembled in the vicinity, but
never again built in the neighbourhood. Last season, however, the pent-up
exasperation of years found a certain sort of relief, for a new colony
was started in a Moreton Bay ash-tree not a hundred yards away and in
full view from my veranda. There are five other colonies of these
socialistic, disputative birds on this Island; but they happen to be in
out-of-the-way spots, where continuous detailed observation of their
habits and customs would be impossible. Hence, when I saw the noisy
throng gather together discussing the imperious business of nesting, I
watched with eager and hopeful anticipation. About the third day from the
first demonstration in favour of the particular tree building operations
began, and thenceforward daily notes were taken of the doings of the
colony. Great pleasure was found in being the spectator of the
establishment of a new colony.
In 1908 the earliest arrivals appeared, on August 2nd--eight days before
the herald of the nutmeg pigeons. The colony the history of which it is
proposed to relate was no doubt an offshoot of the first brood of those
which had arrived on that date. Circumstances exist which persuade me
that the shining Calornis rear two broods during the season. Nutmeg
pigeons rear as many as three young successively.
Just about the time the site of the new colony was selected young birds
were fairly numerous, so that it seems safe to assume that, expelled from
parental nests, they determined to set up an establishment on their own
account forthwith. In their industry they seemed to display the defects
and advantages of the quality of youth--enthusiasm, impulsiveness and
vigour, inexperience, haste, and irrelevance.
Let the diary notes tell of the enterprise as scrutinised through the
telescope:
Nov. 15. Shining Calornis (all young birds, mottled grey and black with
green sheen on back) busy surveying tree (Moreton Bay ash) on plateau to
the north.
16. Birds seem inclined to build.
17. Notice that the birds are in pairs; no old, full-plumaged among them.
18. First beginning of nests. About thirty birds. All seem very excited
and full of business.
20. Several nests well forward. Other parts of the tree now being
occupied.
22. Seventeen nests; some nearly complete
23. Eighteen nests; several apparently complete, save for the overhanging
entrance. Many quarrels and squabbles in the family, for the nests are in
groups and in close quarters.
27. Three new nests, or rather foundations thereof.
Dec. 1. Now 25 nests. Those which appeared to be near completion are
still being added to. Many have entrances, so that one of the pair works
from inside, placing and threading the materials. Sometimes one sits for
a long time with the head protruding, as if testing the comfort of the
nest. Squabbles are frequent. The backs of some betray a lovely green
sheen in the sunshine, with rich purple at the base of the neck.
4. After two days' heavy rain the birds are as busy as ever. Many
flirtations. The great want of the colony seems to be insect powder.
5. The tree now is in full flower. I watch the birds making feints at
bees and butterflies visiting the blooms but they do not seem to catch
insects. Fruit, seeds, and nuts form their diet. The nests, which are
composed of tendrils and pliant twigs elaborately intertwined, are domed,
and in size somewhat less than a football.
6. Birds very busy. Most of the nests appear to be fit for habitation.
Work is suspended at sundown. They do not roost in the tree. Have not
detected their resting-place; but it seems to be some distance in the
jungle.
7. Sunset (6.45). The birds disappeared from vicinity of the tree almost
immediately, though twilight lasted half an hour.
8. Three minutes before sunrise (5.48) birds' voices heard as they
approached trees. They were in three or four companies in a
bloodwood-tree, where they flirted and fussed and made violent love; then
in a trailing mob flew noisily and began work in haste and excitement,
one eager bird manipulating a long, slender, partly dry leaf,
industriously trying to fit it in various spots. Finding its due place,
the limp leaf was thrust in among the compact twigs and tendrils. The
leaf was seized close to the stalk, which was deftly inserted, then it
was gripped a trifle farther back and pushed and re-gripped, the process
being repeated rapidly until nothing but the tip remained visible.
9. Most of the exterior of the nests is now finished. Work continues
briskly on the lining, though the material used therefor does not seem to
be different from the bulk. When one of a pair has disappeared inside of
the tunnel-like entrance, if the other arrives it clings to the threshold
until its mate emerges, and then briskly enters. This evening work was
suspended at 6.40--cloudy. A few butterflies still flitting about the
flowers.
10. Another new nest. As with the others, a few tendrils are laid across
dependent sprays of leaves, engaging and intertwining them. These
represent the foundations upon which the superstructure is partly built,
but both sides and dome are made to entangle other frail branches and
leaves, so that the nest is supported throughout its various parts. A
considerable quantity of material is lost from each nest, owing to the
difficulty of contriving to make initial tendrils engage the leaves and
pedicels. The space for the circular entrance is sketched out at quite an
early stage. In this colony with few exceptions it faces the south, and
is so overhung by a veranda as to be undiscernible except from
immediately below.
The situation of the nests on the extremities of the outermost branches,
parts of some being lower than the leaves to which they are attached, is
no doubt an illustration of acquired sagacity. Such impetuous birds
living in large communities, and thus compounding a savour calculated to
attract arboreal snakes, would in the course of nature take precautions.
The nests in position and design represent the crystallisation of the wit
of the bird in antagonism to the wile of the snake.
In the morning, fuss, fierce purpose, and hurry are shown. As the
afternoon wears on, less and less industry prevails. Work is suspended at
6.45 p.m. when the last of the crowd hastily departed. Before sundown all
are spent and weary. Some of the birds begin to darken on the sides of
the upper part of the breasts. The purple sheen on the back of the neck
is more brilliant. There is a glowing patch, too, at the base of the
tail, though the other parts of the back are dingy with a green tinge in
reflected light. The nuptial costume is fast becoming, more attractive.
14. Nests were not deserted until 7.30 p.m. The last half-dozen birds,
alert and anxious, dashed off upon a common impulse noisily. They roost
in the jungle adjoining.
15. A more sedate condition prevails in the demeanour of the birds, due
peradventure to domestic responsibilities. Fewer are about, and they
spend leisure moments on the top of or near the nests, while others pop
in and out. Are these signs of the beginning of egg-laying?
17. Egg-laying undoubtedly begins, though improvements to nests, which
seemed to be finished over a week ago, occupy odd moments.
20. Two past days have been dull and showery. Quietude reigns; a tendril
or twig is occasionally threaded or poked into the nests. The male muses
on the top of the nest, or closely adjacent thereto. The female pops in
and out of apparently cosy quarters. Circumstances point to the
conclusion that most of the nests contain eggs.
21. Good deal of rain, which bothers the birds. They play about excitedly
in one company. Towards evening very few are about. The nests are
deserted, though five or six birds in one mob are in a neighbouring tree.
22. Heavy rain and never-ceasing squalls. No sign of the birds, though a
few notes of passers-by were heard. Finer evening.
23. Fine and calm. Nests deserted all morning. Late afternoon many
returned, though not, I think, the full company. They seem to be
inspecting and repairing the nests.
24. Did not see any of the birds.
25. At 3 p.m. several appeared--some entering the nests two at a time,
though without customary fuss and excitement.
26. Full company in possession throughout the day. Several (which are
assumed to be males) are better plumaged, the breasts being streaked with
black, and the backs much more lustrous.
27. Serious business of incubation deprives the colony of customary
gaiety and impulsiveness. While the female sits close, the male perches
on top of the nest, occasionally beguiling the time by inconsequent
repairs and petty squabbles with next door neighbours. How brilliant are
their eyes, especially when they sparkle with spite--flame red and
flashing.
28. I am astonished at the sobering effect of pending domestic troubles.
Is it that the sitting hen is responsible for the great part of the
gaiety and impulsiveness, as well as for the quibbles and brawls that
often disturb the happy family? Whatever the cause, whoever responsible,
order and tranquillity reign, each expectant father spending hours
demurely on his respective nest, a model of staid deportment, though ever
ready to resent intrusion on the part of a friend. Portending cares sit
heavily on the young and inexperienced colonists.
29. All quiet and industrious. Fancy that the chicks are well
forward--rather to my surprise.
Jan. 2. Very rainy all morning. Did not see any of the birds until the
weather cleared. Though the nests looked sodden, the owners were cheerful
and noisy--a tone of pleasure because of the return of the sunshine
being, as I fancied, noticeable.
3. Busy all day. At 6.45 a.m. all gathered in a company on the topmost
branches, and after two or three preliminary flights to the accompaniment
of much commotion and chattering, dashed into the jungle with a unanimous
and most acidulous shriek. One of the nests is hanging in shreds.
4. This morning the birds were engaged for some little time pulling their
nests to pieces, strands of tendrils being jerked out and cast away with
a contemptuous fling. Most are still fairly rotund and compact, and
appear to be weather-proof, while others are already loopholed and
ragged. The duty was performed in a most haphazard, halfhearted way.
Beneath the tree are many varieties of seeds and nuts, and portions of
fruits, but no egg-shells. After the members of the colony had swooped
and swept about as if practising military manoeuvres, sometimes silently
but generally to the accompaniment of much shrieking in unison, the tree
was entirely deserted for the rest of the afternoon.
5. Before 7 a.m. dismantlement of nests was resumed with enthusiasm and
deliberate purpose, shreds being twitched out and cast down. A good deal
of chatter. There are a few completely feathered youngsters, the breasts
being almost pure white, but not more than one to each nest. Most of the
nests have no output, in which case the responsible birds have no
assistance in the work of destruction. Late in the afternoon all were
very busy again, repairs to nests engaging attention. The birds are so
unsettled that I am puzzled. Occasionally one would sit in a
semi-dismantled nest snoodling down cosily and peering out with shining
eyes, the glow and glitter of which from the darksome entrance have a
jewel-like effect. While the one sat close and still the mate would
repair the exterior, and in a flash of electric suddenness all would dart
out of the tree to swoop about as if to perfect themselves in an exercise
designed towards the evasion of the dash of a hawk.
6. Early again the wrecking of the nests began; but was soon abandoned,
the colony being deserted for the last part of the day.
7. Demolition very casual. The birds are averse from working in the rain,
and, to-day several showers have occurred.
8. Notwithstanding light rain the duty of demolition began at 6.30 a.m.
As much energy and purpose are expended withdrawing the strands by a
series of tugs as were displayed in the building. Occasionally the whole
branch from which the nest is pendant sways with the work of a single
bird, the eyes of which glitter the more fiercely as it pulls and jerks
at an obstinate strand. Twenty-five birds are counted, so it would seem
that the enterprise has failed in respect of increase. No doubt some are
absent. Both young and old birds take part in the work of destruction.
One, I notice, has a black blotch on his otherwise mottled breast, while
his back shines with the polished radiance of a soap-bubble.
9. Tree visited at odd intervals--not at all during early morning.
Dismantlement proceeds half-heartedly.
10. Very early, the morning being fine and clear, the birds resumed in a
playful, lackadaisical way the demolition of the nests; without apparent
cause, save the shriek of a passing cockatoo, they fled into the jungle.
Did not see them again until late in the afternoon.
11. Again the birds visited the reserve early. Shortly before sundown I
counted sixteen. They were resting silently on the sodden remains of the
nests, for there have been heavy showers; some were picking idly at
loosened strands as if merely to beguile time. Now and again they fly
briskly and noisily in close company--always "diagonalising." Failure to
add largely to the population of birds does not seem to have damped the
gaiety and impulsiveness of the erratic flights. They are as sprightly in
their confabulations and as spiteful in their squabbles. The founders of
the colony were, I am convinced, this season's birds. If so they could
not have been more than two months old when they began to build. The
young brood from old-established colonies hatched out just about two
months before these appeared.
12. Yesterday's occupations and recreations repeated. The inheritance of
parasitic intruders, to cut off which the nests are torn to pieces, now
depends on unsubstantialities.
13. This morning, the flock assembled at break of day, and began, some to
extricate tendrils from, others to repair woebegone nests. When the sun
shone on the tree the plumage of the birds gleamed with almost dazzling
iridescence, the shoulders green, the back of the neck purple and lake of
the richest hue.
14. One casual visit to the tree was observed.
15. No visit.
16. No appearance until late in the afternoon, when four, wildly flying,
settled for a few minutes and departed shrieking. The tree is not now a
home, merely a rendezvous.
And so the history ends. Next August, no doubt, the surviving members of
the colony will return, all fully feathered in glossy black, and with
eyes aflame, to complete the destruction of the nests--according to
habit--and build afresh.
Dec. 10 (1910). True to attributes, the bird's returned yesterday. To-day
the one nest which had withstood a year's buffeting was demolished
offhand, and twenty-two are now being built with frantic haste.
Dec. 12. To the solidification of the joy of the Isle no less than four
new colonies are being established close at hand, the very tree which was
raided years ago being again occupied by a jubilant and clamorous crowd.
One of the new colonies is over one hundred nests strong. Does this
regeneration signify the beginning of a favourable phase analogous to
that discovered by the commission previously referred to in respect of
grouse?