UNCLE THOMAS TELLS ABOUT OWLS, AND OF THE CURIOUS PECULIARITIES IN
THEIR STRUCTURE WHICH ENABLE THEM TO SEEK FOR AND SECURE THEIR
PREY DURING THE NIGHT.
“The Owls,” said Uncle Thomas, on their next meeting, “are perhaps one
of the most interesting families of Birds of Prey. They are, with one or
two exceptions, night birds; that is, they seek their prey during the
night, or in the dim twilight when scarcely any other animal can see.”
“But how, then, can they perceive their prey?” asked Jane.
“By a peculiar formation,” said Uncle Thomas, “the eye of the Owl has
been fitted for use just when from the habits of the bird it is most
wanted. The pupil of its eye, which, when there is little light, expands
to a great extent, and enables it to see distinctly the smallest
objects, is of such extreme sensibility that if light is admitted it
contracts, and prevents the bird from seeing at all. You will understand
this better if you examine carefully the eye of a Cat, which to a
certain extent has the same property as that of the Owl. When it is
subjected to a moderate light, you will perceive that the pupil is of a
certain size, but if a much stronger light is admitted it contracts till
you scarcely perceive it, and in this state it is nearly as useless as
if it was covered by the eyelid.”
“But Cats can see to hunt in the sunshine,” said Mary; “I saw Puss
watching some birds in the garden to-day.”
“Though I used the Cat’s eye as an illustration,” said Uncle Thomas, “I
did not mean you to understand that those of the Owl and it are exactly
the same. From possessing less sensibility, perhaps, that of the Cat can
be used in broad day-light, when the Owl is nearly blind. Accordingly,
when one happens to be dislodged by any accident during sunshine, it is
immediately attacked with impunity by whole flocks of small birds, who
never cease their persecutions till it again finds refuge in some dark
and snug retreat.
“Besides this singular power of vision, which it has in common with all
animals which seek their prey in the twilight,” continued Uncle Thomas,
“the Owl has other peculiarities in its structure, which are in a great
measure confined to itself. Its skull is larger in proportion to the
size of the bird than that of most other animals, and the bone is thin
and fine, so that no space is lost, nor is it troubled with more weight
than is absolutely necessary. A considerable part of the interior of the
skull is occupied by two large cavities, in which the nerve by which the
impression of sound is conveyed to the brain is expanded to an unusual
size, and thus the sense of hearing is much more acute than in most
other animals.”
“What can it want with this?” asked Harry. “At night, when every thing
is so still there can be no difficulty in hearing, I should think.”
“One minute, if you please, Harry,” said Uncle Thomas; “there is another
peculiarity in the structure of the Owl, of which I wish to tell you;
and when I have pointed out their nice adaptation to each other, and the
beautiful manner in which they all subserve the habits of the animal, I
think you will admit that they are all made in wisdom. The other
peculiarity to which I refer is in the plumage of the bird. The wings of
some birds, as they fly along, make a whistling noise, which arises from
the air acting on their hard and rigid feathers. Not so those of the
Owl. The feathers of its wings are fringed with a sort of silky down, so
remarkably soft and elastic that they seem scarcely to stir the air. It
can thus noiselessly pounce down upon an unwary Mouse as it stirs among
the leaves in the waning twilight, before it has the slightest suspicion
of the presence of its enemy, who has, perhaps, been guided to the spot
by the tiny stirring of a decayed leaf. You will thus perceive how the
various peculiarities of which I have told you act upon each other. The
Owl hears a squeak or a rustle among the leaves, and flies noiselessly
to the spot; were it not, however, for the acuteness of its sight, its
prey must still escape; but thus, provided, it soon spies it out and
secures it.
“That the ear is greatly used by the Owl in directing it to its prey,”
said Uncle Thomas, “is evident, from the fact that they are frequently
attracted to the spot where the rustic sportsman has stationed himself
for the purpose of shooting them, by imitating the squeaking of a Mouse.
“With us,” continued Uncle Thomas, “the Owl generally inhabits hollow
trees, old ruins, church steeples, or the dark recesses of some
uninhabited building, where it can roost undisturbed during the day.
Wilson, the delightful writer from whose work I have often read to you,
thus describes the haunts of the Great Tufted Owl:—‘His favourite
residence is in the dark solitudes of deep swamps covered with a growth
of gigantic timber; and here, as soon as the evening draws on, and
mankind retire to rest; he sends forth such sounds as seem scarcely to
belong to this world, startling the solitary pilgrim as he slumbers by
the forest fire:—
‘Making night hideous.’
Along the mountainous shores of the Ohio, and among the deep forests of
Indiana, alone, and reposing in the woods, this ghostly watchman has
frequently warned me of the approach of the morning, and amused me with
its singular exclamations;—sometimes sweeping down and around my fire,
uttering a loud and sudden waugh O! waugh O! sufficient to have alarmed
a whole garrison. He has other nocturnal solos no less melodious, one of
which very much resembles the half-suppressed screams of a person
suffocating or throttled, and which cannot fail of being extremely
entertaining to a lonely or benighted traveller, in the midst of an
Indian wilderness.’”
“Entertaining, does he say?” asked Jane. “I should rather think
terrifying, Uncle Thomas.”
“He speaks ironically,” said Uncle Thomas, “and thinks exactly as you
do. The hooting of the Owl, however, we must not regard as a mere
incident in nature, without any use but that of frightening benighted
travellers. It is one of those wise provisions to assist it in procuring
its prey. As it sits in waiting on some solitary eminence, or pursues
its stealthy flight over the places where it knows they frequent, it
utters its well known, and discordant note. Terrified at the unexpected
presence of their enemy, its prey shrink and endeavour to escape, and it
is ten chances to one if the Owl is close at hand that he discovers them
either by the eye or the ear.
“Some of the larger Owls, such as the Great Tufted one, of whose haunts
I have just read you Wilson’s description, feed on small birds,
Squirrels, Rabbits, and young Partridges, and as they are very voracious
eaters, it is astonishing how many they will destroy. On one occasion a
sportsman fired at a very large one, and broke its wing. He took it home
to a farm house, where, after remaining for several days, it
disappeared, no one could tell how. Almost every day after its
mysterious departure Hens and Chickens also vanished, one by one, in the
same unacountable manner, till in eight or ten days very few were left
remaining. The Fox and the Weasel were alternately the reputed authors
of the mischief, until one morning the old lady of the house, herself,
rising before day to bake, in passing towards the oven surprised her
late prisoner, the Owl, regaling himself on the body of a newly-killed
Hen! The thief instantly made for his hole under the house, from which
the enraged matron soon dislodged him with the brush-handle, and
dispatched him without mercy. In this snug retreat were found the
greater part of the feathers and many very large fragments of her whole
family of Chickens.
“It is only the large Owls, however,” continued Uncle Thomas, “which
prey upon poultry; the lesser ones confine their depredations to the
smaller animals, such as Mice, Rats, &c., and are thus very useful to
mankind in destroying such animals as would otherwise do much mischief
to the crops. Some of the species also feed on fish, a fact as to which
naturalists were long incredulous, on account of the want of adaptation
in the structure of the Owl, as they thought, to capture such a
description of prey. Recent observation has, however, confirmed the fact
beyond a doubt. Not only have they been seen to carry fish to feed their
young, but the bones have frequently been observed close under the nest.
Many years ago the Duchess of Portland had a quantity of gold and silver
fish in a pond in the flower garden at Bulstrode. As the fish were
frequently missed, and suspecting that they were stolen, a watch was
kept in order to detect the thief. He was soon discovered in the shape
of several common brown Owls, which alighted on the side of the pond,
and, waiting the approach of the fish, captured and devoured them. A
naturalist, speaking of this singular habit of the Owl, relates that, on
one occasion, a person standing on a bridge in the twilight of a July
evening, watching an Owl carrying Mice to its nest, was surprised to see
it suddenly drop perpendicularly into the water. Thinking that it had
been seized with a fit, or had met with some unacountable accident, he
ran to the end of the bridge to procure a boat to go to its rescue, but,
before he could do this, he saw the Owl rise out of the water, bearing a
fish in its claws, and convey it to its nest.”
“The Owl must be very clear sighted, indeed, to see a fish in the water
at night,” said Harry.
“The fact is so well established,” said Uncle Thomas, “that it admits of
no doubt. The explanation which some naturalists give of the manner in
which the fish are decoyed towards it is, I admit, a little more
questionable. They suppose that the luminous appearance of its large
bright eyes attract the fish, and that it stares at them till they come
within reach of its beak or talons.”
“I have seen the Cat’s eyes glaring in a dark room,” said Jane; “I
suppose it is something of the same kind, Uncle Thomas.”
“Quite so,” said Uncle Thomas; “and though, from its very great
singularity, the supposition at first startles us, one of the American
Bitterns possesses a power something akin to it. The bird lives almost
entirely on fish, and, when in search of its prey, it is said to decoy
them within reach by a light from its breast of considerable brilliancy,
which is described, by those who have seen it, as equal to the light of
a common torch.”
“But are fish attracted by light?” asked Mary.
“Oh, yes,” said Uncle Thomas; “sportsmen in every country use torches to
take them, spearing them as they come to the surface of the water, to
gaze on the singular and unusual appearance.
“In America,” continued Uncle Thomas, “some species of Owls are very
numerous. A rambler among the forests of the ‘Far West’ says, that it is
almost impossible to travel eight or ten miles in any of the retired
woods there without seeing several of them, even in broad day; and, at
the approach of night, their cries are heard proceeding from every part
of the forest around the plantations. Should the weather be lowering,
and indicate the approach of rain, their cries are so multiplied during
the day, and especially in the evening, and they respond to each other
in tones so strange, that one might imagine some extraordinary fête
about to take place among them. On approaching one of them, its
gesticulations are of a very extraordinary nature. The position of the
bird, which is generally erect, is immediately changed. It lowers its
head and inclines its body, to watch the motions of the person beneath;
throws backward the lateral feathers of the head, which thus has the
appearance of being surrounded by a broad ruff; looks towards him as if
half blind, and moves its head to and fro in so extraordinary a manner
as almost to induce a person to fancy that part dislocated from the
body. It follows all the motions of the intruder with its eyes; and
should it suspect any treacherous intentions, flies off to a short
distance, alighting with its back to the person, and immediately turning
about, with a single jump, to recommence its scrutiny.”
“Another writer,” continued Uncle Thomas, “relates a very amusing story
of the terror of a party of hunters, which shows how strongly
superstitious feelings sometimes affect the mind:—‘The Virginian Horned
Owl,’ says Richardson, ‘is found in almost every quarter of the United
States, and occurs in all parts of the fur countries, where the timber
is of a large size. Its loud and full nocturnal cry, issuing from the
gloomy recesses of the forest, bears some resemblance to the human
voice, uttered in a hollow sepulchral tone, and has been frequently
productive of alarm to the traveller, of which an instance occurred
within my own knowledge. A party of Scottish Highlanders, in the service
of the Hudson’s Bay Company, happened in a winter journey to encamp
after night-fall in a dense clump of trees, whose dark tops and lofty
stems, the growth of centuries, gave a solemnity to the scene that
strongly tended to excite the superstitious feelings of the Highlanders.
The effect was heightened by the discovery of a tomb which, with a
natural taste often exhibited by the Indians, had been placed at this
secluded spot. Our travellers, having finished their supper, were
trimming their fire preparatory to retiring to rest, when the slow and
dismal notes of the Horned Owl fell on the ear with a startling
nearness. None of them being acquainted with the sound, they at once
concluded that so unearthly a voice must be the moaning of the spirit of
the departed, whose repose they supposed they had disturbed, by
inadvertently making a fire of some of the wood of which his tomb had
been constructed. They passed a tedious night of fear, and with the
first dawn of day hastily quitted the ill-omened spot.’”
“Have not all Owls got horns?” asked Mary. “This one,” pointing to one
of the specimens in Uncle Thomas’s collection, “seems to have none.”
[Illustration:
“The slow and dismal notes of the Horned Owl fell on the ear, with
startling nearness.”
Page 112.
]
“No!” said Uncle Thomas; “it is only particular species which are so
ornamented. They are, however, improperly called ‘horns,’ and sometimes
‘ears,’ as the protuberance consists merely of a little bunch of
feathers, without any corresponding configuration of the skull; indeed,
in some species the tuft is imperceptible when the bird is in a state of
repose, but is elevated whenever its attention is excited; so that in a
dead bird it requires a very careful examination to perceive them.
“In ancient times,” continued Uncle Thomas, “the Owl was regarded as the
symbol of wisdom; and in the present day a superstition of the same kind
lingers among the North American Indians. We are told that among the
Creeks the younger priests constantly wear a white mantle, and have a
skin of the Great White Northern Owl cased and stuffed very ingeniously,
so well executed as almost to appear like the living bird, having large
sparkling glass beads, or buttons, fixed in the head for eyes. This
insignia of wisdom and divination they wear sometimes as a crest on the
top of the head, at other times the image sits on the arm, or is borne
in the hand. The bearers are also distinguished from other people by
their taciturnity, grave and solemn countenance, dignified step, and by
their singing to themselves songs or hymns, in a low sweet voice as they
stroll about the town.
“Owls,” continued Uncle Thomas, “have been remarked as showing very
great affection for their young, frequently visiting them and feeding
them long after they have been taken from the nest, and even when placed
in a state of confinement. It is thus that we get glimpses of the
surpassing wisdom and beauty of the works of the Almighty. The whole of
the Owl tribe, as I have already told you, are extremely voracious
feeders; and in the earlier stages of their existence, from the time
that they leave the nest until their powers are sufficiently matured to
enable them to provide entirely for themselves, they must be unable to
procure sufficient food to satisfy their almost insatiable appetite.
Here, then, is both the necessity and the cause for this extraordinary
affection, of which I will by and by give you one or two examples. If
the parent Owls were not endowed with this extraordinary affection, the
young would starve, and the race soon become extinct. A young Owl
having, on one occasion, escaped from the nest before it was fully
fledged, was caught and placed in a hen-coop. To the surprise of the
captors, in the morning a fine young Partridge was found lying dead
before the door of its place of confinement. For fourteen days the same
mark of attention was repeated, the provision sometimes consisting of
one kind, and sometimes of another. Though he well knew whence the
supply proceeded, the gentleman to whom the captured bird belonged kept
watch for several nights, accompanied by his servant, to observe when
and how the supply was brought, but they watched in vain. So long as
they remained at the window nothing was brought, but whenever it was
left for a short time unoccupied, the Owls deposited their provision and
escaped unobserved. This continued till the usual time when the Owls
leave their young to shift for themselves.”
“I suppose if one was to attempt to rob an Owl’s nest of its young, it
would fight very fiercely,” said Harry.
“Some of the species are occasionally very bold in defence of their
nestlings,” said Uncle Thomas; “and, if their territory is invaded,
evince great alarm. A carpenter, some years ago, passing through a field
near Gloucester, was suddenly attacked by an Owl that had a nest in a
tree near the pathway. It flew at his head, and the man struck at it
with his adze that he had in his hand, but missed his blow. The enraged
bird repeated the attack, and fastening her talons in his face,
lacerated him very severely.
“Before I conclude my account of the Owl,” continued Uncle Thomas, “I
must tell you of a very curious experiment made by a gentleman named
Waterton, who lives in Yorkshire. Some years ago he resolved to
establish a colony of Owls, and accordingly had a dwelling made for them
on the ruins of an old gateway. The place was about four feet square, a
nice perch was fixed for them to sit upon, and the ivy which grew round
the gateway was trained to cover and conceal the whole. In about a month
after these preparations were made for their reception, it was duly
examined and fixed upon as a desirable place of residence by a pair of
Barn Owls. Their example was soon followed, and in time not only filled
the ‘ivy mantled tower,’ but extended into the trees in the vicinity.
Mr. Waterton had so constructed the tower that he could see into the
colony without disturbing the Owls, and as they were never injured, they
soon became familiar, showing no symptoms of fear, even when strangers
mounted the ladder to look into their retreat.”
“How very curious!” said Mary.
“Singular it certainly is,” said Uncle Thomas, “but it has other and
better qualities to recommend it. From diligently observing the habits
of the Owls, Mr. Waterton discovered several curious facts connected
with their natural history, which, besides their interest merely as
pieces of information, are very useful, and show the adaptation of the
various parts of the creation to each other. For instance, the Owl is by
many persons deemed a noxious creature, and is hunted and killed
whenever opportunity offers. On the contrary, it is one of the greatest
friends of mankind. Mr. Waterton estimates that when the Owls have their
broods to provide for, they bring to the nest from four to five mice
every hour, so that in the course of a year the quantity of mice
consumed must be immense: how much to the advantage of the farmer’s crop
it is impossible to say. Again, whenever an Owl is discovered near a
pigeon-house, it is immediately attacked and killed, from the idea that
they destroy the young pigeons. Mr. Waterton’s observations show that,
instead of doing damage, they are of great use in freeing such places
from Rats and other vermin, by which they are generally frequented, and
his remarks are confirmed by other observers. A person whose Pigeons
were frequently destroyed laid it to the charge of a pair of Owls which
visited the dove-cot. He accordingly watched, and at last shot one of
the birds as it flew out. On picking it up, however, he was astonished
to find that, instead of a young Pigeon, its prey consisted of a huge
Rat. Mr. Waterton’s experience amounted to this: as soon as the Rats
were excluded from his pigeon-house, the Pigeons rapidly increased in
number, notwithstanding that it continued to be frequented by the Owls,
and they were encouraged all about the place. On one occasion, when he
was seeking to destroy some Rats, he killed a large one as it emerged
from its hole. Expecting to get another shot, he remained still, and
allowed the Rat to lie where it had fallen. In a short time a Barn Owl
pounced upon it and carried it off, though, had it chosen, it might as
readily have flown into the Pigeon-house and feasted on the young brood.
“These instances,” said Uncle Thomas, “are sufficient to show how much
mischief may be done by ignorance of the habits of an animal, and how
useful it is to study the nature of the creatures with which Providence
has surrounded us. We may at all times feel assured that they have been
so placed for our good, and that this good can only be realized by
availing ourselves of, or at least by not counteracting the instincts
and habits with which He has endowed them.”
Uncle Thomas then dismissed his little charges for the evening,
informing them that to-morrow night he would narrate some Tales about
Storks and Cranes, of both of which he had some very interesting
information to communicate.