UNCLE THOMAS TELLS ABOUT SOME INTERESTING PECULIARITIES IN THE HABITS
OF THE OSTRICH AND THE EMU, AS WELL AS ABOUT THOSE OF THE TURKEY
IN ITS NATIVE FORESTS.
“Good evening, Uncle Thomas!” said half-a-dozen little voices at once,
as the party burst into the room. They had been romping as they came
along the pleasant green lane leading to Uncle Thomas’s cottage, and,
fond as they were of his Stories, it was some time before they could
settle down to listen to his account of the Ostrich.
When, at length, order was sufficiently established, Uncle Thomas began.
“The Ostrich,” he said, “is one of the most singular of birds, whether
we regard its structure or habits. Though possessing wings, like other
birds, it never flies, but, as it runs rapidly across the plains, it
uses them to assist its speed. It inhabits the barren deserts of Africa,
and the adaptation of the animal to the mode of life for which it is
intended is one of the most striking proofs of God’s superintending
care, the comprehensiveness of which is such, that we are assured that
not even a sparrow falls to the ground without His knowledge and
consent.
“Though, from the shyness of the animal,” continued Uncle Thomas, “and
the difficulty of watching its habits in a state of nature, less is
known of them than could be wished, we still know enough to cause us to
wonder and admire. It feeds on the stunted herbage of the desert, and
has sometimes to pass over long ranges of sterile plains in search of
food. It builds no nest, but merely hollows out a place in the sand and
deposits its eggs; not, however, to leave them entirely, as has been
sometimes said, to be hatched by the fostering heat of the sun. During
the day, when the heat is very powerful, and the sun beats directly into
the nest, there is no necessity for her remaining to cover them, as they
thus derive quite as much warmth as she could impart, or is useful.
Besides, from the cause already explained, the Ostrich is often under
the necessity of absenting herself for considerable periods in search of
food; but no sooner does the evening set in, than she hastens to resume
her place on the nest, and sits patiently till the bright sunshine of
another day sets her again at liberty.
“A traveller in Africa, who had an opportunity of observing the Ostrich,
says that it runs as rapidly as a good saddle-horse at full speed; and a
philosophical writer, speaking of the providential arrangements of
nature, says, ‘There is not in the whole range of nature a more
beautiful instance of adaptation than that which subsists between the
Ostrich and the desert. The desert is a singular locality in nature, and
the Ostrich is singularly formed and fitted for the severe labour which
it has there to encounter. In its walking structure this bird is not
excelled by any animal, even by those swift Antelopes which are her near
neighbours. We find, too, that wherever one species of action is
required, in a very high degree, the organization of the animal is in a
great measure concentrated upon that. Flight would have been of
comparatively little use to such a bird, in the situation in which it
has been placed by nature. Wings for flight, to bear up so weighty a
bird as the Ostrich in swift motion through the air, would have demanded
a waste of muscular exertion, for the supply of which sufficient food
could not have been found in the Ostrich’s country. Besides, wings would
have been of no use in the desert, because there is nothing there which
a vegetable feeding bird could catch upon the wing, and the height of
the Ostrich is quite sufficient to reach the top of the tallest
vegetable in her pastures. There is, therefore, a very fine instance of
economy in the wings of the Ostrich being so little developed, as that
they are useful for flight, because this enables the whole power of the
bird, in so far as motion is concerned, to be concentrated upon the
legs, and the muscles by which these are moved.’
“A very interesting story,” continued Uncle Thomas, “is told of the
affection of a pair of Ostriches which were formerly in the Jardin du
Roi, at Paris. The sky-light in the roof of the apartment in which they
were kept having been broken, the glaziers proceeded to repair it, and,
in the course of their work, let fall a triangular piece of glass. Not
long after this, the female ostrich was taken ill, and died after an
hour or two of great agony. The body was opened, and the throat and
stomach were found to have been dreadfully lacerated by the sharp
corners of the glass which she had swallowed. From the moment his
companion was taken from him, the male bird had no rest; he appeared to
be incessantly searching for something, and daily wasted away. He was
removed from the spot, in the hope that he would forget his grief; he
was even allowed more liberty, but in vain, and he literally pined
himself to death.”
“Are Ostriches very strong birds?” asked Jane.
“So strong,” said Uncle Thomas, “that when caught and tamed by the
natives of Africa, they sometimes mount the children on their backs, and
the Ostriches run about quite easily with their burdens. Here is a print
of a scene of this kind, in which the little riders and their fond mamas
seem highly pleased with the amusement.”
“Oh, delightful!” cried Jane.
“It is said,” continued Uncle Thomas, “that one of the ancient Egyptian
monarchs had a chariot drawn by Ostriches; and such is their power of
limb, that they can readily lay a Dog prostrate by a single blow.”
“But they are very stupid birds, are they not?” asked Harry. “When about
to be taken by their pursuers, they thrust their heads into the bushes,
expecting that, as they do not see their enemy, he may not be able to
see them.”
[Illustration:
“Children mount on their backs, and the Ostriches run about quite
easily with their burdens.”
Page 148.
]
“I know that such an impression exists,” said Uncle Thomas; “but it is
an erroneous one. Like many other fabulous tales, however, this seems to
retain its hold on the public mind, even in spite of the great increase
of our knowledge within the last few years.”
“Oh!” cried Jane, who, during the conversation which we have just
recorded, had been turning over the pages of the book from which Uncle
Thomas read the extract about the adaptation of the Ostrich to the
locality in which it is found. “See here!” pointing to the figure of an
Emu; “here is a very singular bird; I thought at first it was an
Ostrich; it is very like one!”
“No, my dear,” said Uncle Thomas, “that is the Emu; a bird which in some
measure resembles the Ostrich, but it is only found in New Holland. If
you compare it with the figure of an Ostrich, you will find that it
differs considerably. Its legs are shorter, its body not so handsome in
its form, and its feet has three toes, while that of the Ostrich has two
only. There are, besides, some other points of dissimilarity.
“The Emu,” continued Uncle Thomas, “inhabits the plains and ‘bushes’ of
Australia, but so numerous are the enemies by which they are now
surrounded,—settlers, bushmen, Wolves, and Wild-Dogs, that the race
seems threatened with extirpation. Not only are their eggs reckoned good
food, but some parts of their flesh, though not highly prized, is still
palatable. Besides their swiftness, in which they resemble the Ostrich,
they kick with great vigour; and are thus able to defend themselves
against the Dingo or native Dog, but the trained one, which is brought
to attack them on the side, is almost certain of victory.
“There is a curious provision of nature,” continued Uncle Thomas, “in
the construction of this bird, consisting of an internal pouch,
connected with the windpipe, the use of which long puzzled naturalists.
At length some one more ingenious than his neighbours, or better
acquainted with the animal’s habits, solved the difficulty by pointing
out that it was intended to enable it to escape from the inundations to
which the plains of New Holland are particularly liable, and without
which provision the heaviness of the Emu would probably cause it to sink
and be drowned.”
“How can it prevent it from sinking?” asked Mary.
“Pretty much in the same manner,” said Uncle Thomas, “as fishes are
enabled at pleasure to rise to the surface of the water. Fishes, you
know, are furnished with what is called an air-bladder, which they have
the power of filling and emptying at pleasure; when they wish to sink
they force out the air, and their bodies being thus rendered
specifically heavier than water, descend; and on the contrary, when they
wish to rise, by inflating it they ascend. The ‘air-bladder,’ if I may
so call it, of the Emu acts much in the same way. As the animal walks
about it is, of course, of no use, and is allowed to remain empty; but,
whenever it is threatened with drowning it is inflated, and the Emu is
thus enabled to float with its head above the surface of the water.
“Mr. Jesse gives an account of a singular peculiarity in the habits of
the Emu,” continued Uncle Thomas, “so contrary to the usual operations
of Nature, that I am inclined to suppose it a mere accidental
circumstance; it is this:—‘The only instance,’ he says, ‘which I have
met with in which the hen bird has not the chief care in hatching and
bringing up the young is in the case of the Emu at the farm belonging to
the Zoological Society, near Kingston. A pair of these birds have now
five young ones: the female, at different times, dropped nine eggs in
various places in the pen in which she was confined. These were
collected in one place by the male, who rolled them gently and carefully
along with his beak. He then sat upon them himself, and continued to do
so with the utmost assiduity for nine weeks, during which time the
female never took his place, nor was he ever observed to leave the nest.
When the young were hatched, he alone took charge of them, and has
continued to do so ever since, the female not appearing to notice them
in any way. On reading this anecdote, many persons would suppose that
the female Emu was not possessed of that natural affection for its young
which other birds have. In order to rescue it from this supposition I
will mention that a female Emu, belonging to the Duke of Devonshire, at
Chiswick, lately laid some eggs; and as there was no male bird, she
collected them together herself and sat upon them.’”
“That is a very curious circumstance,” said Frank, “do you think the
birds do so in their native haunts?”
“I should think not,” said Uncle Thomas. “I once heard a similar
instance of a Turkey-cock hatching a brood of young. On one occasion, a
female Turkey belonging to a gentleman in Sweden was sitting upon eggs,
and as the cock in her absence began to appear uneasy and dejected, he
was shut up with her. He immediately sat down by her side; and it was
soon found that he had taken some eggs from under her, which he covered
very carefully. The eggs were put back under the female, but he soon
afterwards took them again. This induced the owner, by way of
experiment, to have a nest made, and as many eggs put in it as it was
thought the Turkey-cock could conveniently cover. The bird seemed highly
pleased with this mark of confidence; he sat with great patience on the
eggs, and was so attentive to the care of hatching them, as scarcely to
afford himself time to take the food necessary for his support. At the
usual period, twenty-eight young ones were produced; and the cock, who
was in some measure the parent of this numerous offspring, appeared
perplexed on seeing so many little creatures pecking around him, and
requiring his care.”
“Does the Turkey come from New Holland as well as the Emu?” asked Mary.
“The Turkey,” said Uncle Thomas, “is a native of North America, and was
unknown to Europeans before the discovery of that country. In some parts
of America, however, it is now quite extinct as a wild bird, being only
found in a state of domestication; but in the more western parts, where
the native forests exist, it is still plentiful. The best account of the
Turkey in its native haunts is that afforded by Prince Lucien
Buonaparte, which Harry will have the goodness to read to us:—
“The wild Turkeys do not confine themselves to any particular kind of
food; they eat maize, all sorts of berries, fruits, grasses, Beetles,
and even Tadpoles; young Frogs and Lizards are occasionally found in
their crops; but when the pecan nut is plentiful, they prefer that fruit
to any other nourishment. Their more general predilection is, however,
for the acorn, on which they rapidly fatten. When an unusually profuse
crop of acorns is produced in a particular section of country, great
numbers of Turkeys are enticed from their ordinary haunts in the
surrounding districts. About the beginning of October, while the mast
still remains on the trees, they assemble in flocks, and direct their
course to the rich bottom lands. At this season they are observed in
great numbers in the Ohio and Mississippi. The time of this irruption is
known to the Indians by the name of the _Turkey month_.
“The male Turkeys, usually termed _gobblers_, associate in parties,
numbering from ten to a hundred, and seek their food apart from the
females; whilst the latter either move about singly with their young,
then nearly two-thirds grown, or, in company with other females and
their families, form troops, sometimes consisting of seventy or eighty
individuals, all of whom are intent on avoiding the old males, who,
whenever opportunity offers, attack and destroy the young, by repeated
blows on the skull. All parties, however, travel in the same direction,
and on foot, unless they are compelled to seek their individual safety
by flying from the hunter’s-Dog, or their march is impeded by a large
river. When about to cross a river, they select the highest eminences,
that their flight may be the more certain; and here they sometimes
remain for a day or more, as if for the purpose of consultation, or to
be duly prepared for so hazardous a voyage. During this time the males
gobble obstreperously, and strut with extraordinary importance, as if
they would animate their companions, and inspire them with the utmost
degree of hardihood; the females and young also assume much of the
pompous air of the males, the former spreading their tails, and moving
silently around. At length the assembled multitude mount to the tops of
the highest trees, whence, at a signal note from a leader, the whole
together wing their way towards the opposite shore. All the old and fat
ones cross without difficulty, even when the river exceeds a mile in
width; but the young, meagre, and weak, frequently fall short of the
desired landing, and are forced to swim for their lives. This they do
dexterously enough, spreading their tails for a support, closing their
wings to the body, stretching the neck forwards, and striking out
quickly and forcibly with their legs. If, in thus endeavouring to regain
the land, they approach an elevated or inaccessible bank, their
exertions are remitted, they resign themselves to the stream for a short
time, in order to gain strength, and then with one violent effort escape
from the water. But in this attempt all are not successful; some of the
weaker, as they cannot rise sufficiently high in air to clear the bank,
fall again and again into the water, and thus miserably perish.
Immediately after the Turkeys have succeeded in crossing a river, they
for some time ramble about without any apparent unanimity of purpose,
and a great many are destroyed by the hunters, although they are then
least valuable.
“When the Turkeys have arrived in their land of abundance, they disperse
in small flocks, composed of individuals of all sexes and ages
intermingled, who devour all the mast as they advance: this occurs about
the middle of November. It has been observed that, after these long
journeys, the Turkeys become so familiar as to venture on the
plantations, and even approach so near the farm-houses as to enter the
stables and corn cribs in search of food; in this way they pass the
autumn, and part of the winter. During this season great numbers are
killed by the inhabitants, who preserve them in a frozen state, in order
to transport them to a distant market.
“Early in March they begin to pair; and, for a short time previous, the
females separate from, and shun their mates, though the latter
pertinaciously follow them, uttering their gobbling note. The sexes
roost apart, but at no great distance, so that, when the female utters a
call every male within hearing responds, rolling note after note, in the
most rapid succession; not as when spreading the tail and strutting near
the hen, but in a voice resembling that of the tame Turkey, when he
hears any unusual or frequently repeated noise. When the Turkeys are
numerous, the woods from one end to the other, sometimes for hundreds of
miles, resound with this remarkable voice of their wooing, uttered
responsively from their roosting-places. This is continued for about an
hour; and, on the rising of the sun, they instantly descend from their
perches, and the males begin to strut, for the purpose of winning the
admiration of their mates.
“If the call be given from the ground, the males in the vicinity fly
towards the individual, and, whether they perceive her or not, erect and
spread their tails, throw the head backwards, distend the comb and
wattles, strut pompously and rustle their wings and body feathers, at
the same moment ejecting a puff of air from the lungs. Whilst thus
occupied, they occasionally halt to look out for the female, and then
resume their strutting and puffing, moving with as much rapidity as the
nature of their gait will admit. During this ceremonious approach, the
males often encounter each other, and desperate battles ensue, when the
conflict is only terminated by the flight or death of the vanquished.
“About the middle of April, when the weather is dry, the female selects
a proper place in which to deposit her eggs, secure from the
encroachment of water, and, as far as possible, concealed from the
watchful eye of the Crow. This crafty bird espies the hen going to her
nest, and, having discovered the precious deposit, waits for the absence
of the parent, and removes every one of the eggs from the spot, that he
may devour them at leisure. The nest is placed on the ground, either on
a dry ridge, in the fallen top of a dead leafy tree, under a thicket of
sumach or briars, or by the side of a log; it is of a very simple
structure, being composed of a few dried leaves. In this receptacle the
eggs are deposited, sometimes to the number of twenty, but more usually
from nine to sixteen; they are whitish, spotted with reddish brown, like
that of the domestic bird. Their manner of building, number of eggs,
period of incubation, &c., appear to correspond throughout the Union, as
I have received exactly similar accounts from the northern limits of the
Turkey range to the most southern limits of Florida, Louisiana, and the
western wilds of Missouri.
“The female always approaches her nest with great caution, varying her
course so as rarely to reach it twice by the same route; and on leaving
her charge, she is very careful to cover the whole with dry leaves, with
which she conceals it so artfully as to make it extremely difficult,
even for one who has watched her movements, to indicate the exact spot;
hence few nests are found, and these are generally discovered by
fortuitously starting the female from them, or by the appearance of
broken shells, scattered around by some cunning Lynx, Fox, or Crow. When
laying or sitting, the Turkey hen is not easily driven from her post by
the approach of apparent danger; but if an enemy appears, she crouches
as low as possible, and suffers it to pass. A circumstance related by
Mr. Audubon will show how much intelligence they display on such
occasions: having discovered a sitting hen, he remarked that, by
assuming a careless air, whistling, or talking to himself, he was
permitted to pass within five or six feet of her; but if he advanced
cautiously, she would not suffer him to come within twenty paces, but
ran off twenty or thirty yards with her tail expanded, when, assuming a
stately gait, she paused on every step, occasionally uttering a chuck.
They seldom abandon their nests on account of being discovered by a man,
but should a Snake, or any other animal, suck one of the eggs, the
parent leaves them altogether. If the eggs be removed, or destroyed, she
again commences laying, although otherwise she lays but one nest of eggs
during the season. Several Turkey hens sometimes associate, perhaps for
mutual safety, deposit their eggs in the same nest, and rear their
broods together.
“When the process of incubation is ended, and the mother is about to
retire from the nest with her young brood, she shakes herself violently,
pecks and adjusts the feathers about the belly, and assumes a different
aspect; her eyes are alternately inclined obliquely upwards and
sideways; she stretches forth her neck, in every direction, to discover
birds of prey or other enemies; her wings are partially spread, and she
softly chucks to keep her tender offspring close to her side. They
proceed slowly, and, as the hatching generally occurs in the afternoon,
they sometimes return to pass the first night in the nest. While very
young, the mother leads them to elevated dry places, as if aware that
humidity during the first few days of their life would be very dangerous
to them, they having then no other protection than a delicate, soft,
hairy down. In very rainy seasons wild Turkeys are scarce, because, when
completely wetted, the young rarely survive.
“At the expiration of about two weeks, the young leave the ground on
which they had previously reposed at night under the female, and follow
her to some low branch of a tree, where they nestle under the broadly
curved wings of their vigilant and fostering parent. The time then
approaches in which they seek the open ground or prairie land, during
the day, in search of strawberries, and subsequently of dewberries,
blackberries, and Grasshoppers; thus securing a plentiful food, and
enjoying the influence of the genial sun. They frequently dust
themselves in shallow cavities of the soil or on ant-hills, in order to
clean off the loose skin of their growing feathers, and rid themselves
of ticks and other vermin. The young Turkeys now grow rapidly, and in
the month of August, when several broods flock together, and are led by
their mothers to the forest, they are stout and quite able to secure
themselves from the unexpected attacks of Wolves, Foxes, Lynxes, and
even Cougars, by rising quickly from the ground, aided by their strong
legs, and reaching with ease the upper limbs of the tallest tree.
Amongst the numerous enemies of the Wild Turkey, the most dreaded are
the large diurnal and nocturnal birds of prey, and the Lynx, who sucks
their eggs, and is extremely expert at seizing both parent and young: he
follows them for some distance in order to ascertain their course, and
then, making a rapid circular movement, places himself in ambush before
them, and waits until, by a single bound, he can fasten on his victim.
“Turkeys are very watchful birds, and act as guardians of each other;
the first who observes a Hawk, Eagle, or other enemy, giving a note of
alarm, on which all within hearing lie close on the ground. As they
usually roost in flocks, perched on the naked branches of trees, they
are easily discovered by the large Owls, and when attacked by these
prowling birds, often escape by a somewhat remarkable manœuvre. The Owl
sails around the spot to select his prey; but notwithstanding the almost
inaudible action of his pinions, the quick ear of one of the slumberers
perceives the danger, which is immediately announced to the whole party
by a _chuck_; thus alarmed, they rise on their legs and watch the
motions of the Owl, who, darting like an arrow, would inevitably secure
the individual at which he aimed, did not the latter suddenly drop his
head, squat, and spread his tail over his back; the Owl then glances
over without inflicting any injury, and at the very instant that the
Turkey suffers himself to fall headlong towards the earth, when he is
secure from his dreaded enemy.”
“Thank you, Harry!” said Uncle Thomas. “We shall now stop for the
evening; but before you go, I must tell you of a little adventure with a
Lynx, which happened to a gentleman who was enjoying the sport of
Turkey-shooting:—‘Having seen a large flock of Turkeys at some
distance,’ says he, ‘I approached them with great caution, when singling
out a large cock, and being just on the point of firing, I observed that
several young cocks were affrighted, and, in their language warned the
rest to be on their guard against an enemy, who I plainly perceived was
industriously making his subtle approaches towards them, behind the
fallen trunk of a tree, about twenty yards from me. This cunning
fellow-hunter was a large Wild-cat or Lynx; he saw me, and at times
seemed to watch my motions, as if determined to seize the delicious prey
before me, upon which I changed my object, and levelled my piece at him.
At this instant my companion, at a distance, also discharged his gun,
the report of which alarmed the flock of Turkeys, and my fellow-hunter,
the Lynx, sprang over the log, and trotted off.’”
[Illustration:
“He seemed to watch my motions, as if determined to seize the
delicious prey.”
Page 168.
]