Not all the people know
The wisdom of the Crow:
As they see him come and go,
With verdict brief,
They say, “You thief!”
And wish him only woe.
That he’s selfish we admit,
But he has a lot of grit,
And on favour not a bit
Does he depend;
Without a friend,
He must live by mother-wit.
The Crow is rather shy,
With a very watchful eye
For danger coming nigh,
And any one
Who bears a gun
He’s pretty sure to spy.
The clever farmer’s plan
Is to make a sort of ban,
By stuffing clothes with bran,
Topped with a tile
Of ancient style,
—A funny old scarecrow man.
The Crow looks on with scorn,
And early in the morn
Pulls up the farmer’s corn:
He laughs at that,
The queer old hat,
Of the scarecrow man forlorn.
—Garrett Newkirk, in _Bird-Lore_.
XI
THE FLIGHT OF THE BIRD
_How do Birds find their Way?_[1]
(Told at Foxes Corners School)
“I was telling Grand’ther about how far away the birds go in the winter,
and how they fly against the lighthouses and get killed,” said Tommy
Todd, “and he said I couldn’t tell him anything about their going away
and coming back, ’cause he’d seen that going on, boy and man, these
seventy years. Grand’ther knows how the same kind of birds come back to
the place every spring, ’cause he says there were Phœbe Birds had a nest
on the end beam of the cowshed over where the last cow stands,—way back
when he was learning to milk. Then when that old shed blew down, and
they built a new one like it, back the birds came, and they are coming
yet; first nest over Black Bess, and second nest way out over the
box-pen where the little calves live.
“What Grand’ther wants to know is how they find the way to go so far,
and how they know where to stop and find something to eat, and if they
get hungry, ’cause he says nobody seems to know just what they do
between times, and what people do tell seems like Jack-and-the-Beanstalk
fairy-stories, and he said maybe you had some book that told about it
so’s you could explain.”
Gray Lady smiled in a half-puzzled way, as Tommy spoke, for the
questions that the children asked often gave her as much cause for study
and wonder as the stories that she told them. She was finding out that
there were three or four members of the Kind Hearts’ Club who had been
seeing correctly and trying to think out things for themselves before
they had a chance to ask questions, or had any books to consult.
“Your grandfather’s question cannot be answered in a few words,” she
said, “neither is there any one book that tells everything about these
wonderful journeys, because, as yet, not the very wisest of the Wise Men
know it all, though they wait and watch, and every spring and fall many
of them are scattered through the country upon the course of the flying
birds to watch them as they pass.
“All the information that they collect is printed and kept as evidence
of what is known, a little here and a little there, until we hope some
day that the history will be complete, when it will be one of the most
wonderful stories in the world, for even the little we know sounds like
a fairy-tale.
“Of course,” continued Gray Lady, “I know very little from my own sight,
but I will tell you what I have learned of the Wise Men, who believe it
to be the truth. I had intended telling you about Owls and Hawks to-day,
as I promised you last week, when we saw the Screech Owl up in the
orchard, but that story can wait until the next time you visit Birdland,
for the Owls are still about; there are pictures of them in the library,
and others that are stuffed and mounted in the glass case in the hall.
“All that we need, or that can help us with the story of the bird on its
travels, is that large map of North and South America, for this will be
a geography, as well as a bird, lesson.
(A fine map of the western hemisphere having been the first thing that
Gray Lady had given Miss Wilde for the use of the school at Foxes
Corners, the little old one being out of date and indistinct.)
“Clary, you may take charge of the pointer to-day and sit here by me,
for this will be a rather long lesson, and you will need help with the
binding of your iron-holder, for I’m afraid if you draw the stitches so
very tight it will pucker and not lie flat and smooth like the model
that Ann Hughes made.
“And what work has Jacob given you boys for your penknives to do?”
“Wooden spoons out of white wood,” answered Dave, “big strong ones such
as’ll beat up cake and apple-sauce, and, when they’re shaped, we are to
smooth them down fine with sandpaper. I’m going to give mine to my
mother; she broke hers yesterday, the handle snapped right in two. She
says the bought spoons are sawn out crossgrain, any which way. There was
an old man who used to come down from the charcoal camp with wooden
spoons and butter-scoops and hickory baskets, and he sold lots of ’em
all through the town, but he died last winter.”
“Then surely wooden spoons and butter-scoops will be very good things
for the Kind Hearts’ Club to make for its Christmas sale, and we shall
be interfering with nobody, for that is one of the things that we must
remember when we are working for charity, not to make articles for sale
that shall interfere with others who make them to get an honest living,
for that sort of thing is a species of robbery in disguise.
* * * * *
_The Travels of Birds_
“What becomes of the birds that are with us in summer? Where and how do
they spend the winter? By what roadways do they travel to their winter
haunts? Do they prefer to journey by land or by water, and how do they
find the way?
“We need not think that we, or anybody else of our day, are the first to
ask these questions, for it is many hundreds of years since they first
began to puzzle thinking people. At first, lacking any real knowledge of
the simplest facts of nature, and not having as yet trained the eye to
correct seeing, the people did as the ignorant do to this day,—they
imagined fabulous reasons. The more impossible and wonderful or
unnatural, the better, for it takes a trained mind oftentimes to realize
that the most natural way is the best, and that the simplest way is the
most natural.
“It was in these far-back times that the foolish idea was started that
the Swallows dived into the mud and there spent the winter, like the
frogs.
“Another stranger idea was that small birds crossed large bodies of
water as passengers on the backs of large birds, such as Cranes, Ducks,
and Geese, for people did not know enough of the structure of birds to
realize that the machinery of the tiny Humming-bird is as fit for flying
long distances as that of the biggest birds that grow. Ideas like this
have been believed until a comparatively short time ago, and it is only
within the last fifty years that there has been much real progress
toward the truth of it all. And this is the way it has been brought
about. In our country the band of Wise Men at Washington, forming the
United States Biological Survey, have for twenty years been gathering
facts about the migration of birds. This body has sent out naturalists
to travel through the North American continent from Guatemala to the
Arctic Circle, to meet with other scientific men on their way, and keep
careful notes of what they see, so that reports are had in the spring
and fall each year from hundreds of observers.
“These reports give the date upon which each particular kind (or
species, as they call it) of bird is seen, when it becomes plenty, and
when it moves on again. The lighthouse keepers also give much
information by noting the times at which they find the birds that are
dashed to death against the lanterns in the tower. In short, the Wise
Men have more material at hand than ever before from which to shape the
story that day by day increases in wonder.
_Causes of the Migrations_
“It is more than two thousand years since the wonders of bird travel
have been noted; and while the distances and routes of travel are better
known, we cannot yet give a positive answer to the question, ‘Why do
birds migrate?’”
“Please, Gray Lady,” said Sarah Barnes, “I thought you said it was
because in fall the insect food begins to freeze and give out, and they
go south after it and in spring they want to go back home.”
“Yes, Sarah, that is one of the reasons, and yet birds start off
oftentimes when food is still plenty, and every naturalist knows of the
rush of the water-fowl northward so early every spring that they are
often turned back by storms and have to retrace their flight, and they
have all seen that Robins, Bluebirds, and Swallows, following too
closely in the wake of the water-fowl, sometimes lose hundreds out of
their flocks by cold and starvation.
“If the fall journey is caused by lack of food, why does it begin when
food is most plenty? At some of the Florida lighthouses the Wise Men
have seen that the southward trip with some birds begins between the
first and middle of July, at the time when the crop of insects and ripe
seeds and berries is at its height. So the best answer that can be made
is that ages ago, when the migrations began, they were connected with a
food supply that changed more suddenly than at the present time, and
that, even when the direct motive is lost, the habit remains fixed.”
“That’s it; that’s a bully reason!” cried Tommy Todd, excitedly.
“They’ve got the notion that they’re going travelling just so often and
they can’t calculate the time right and so they get ready too soon;
likely they haven’t got very good heads for planning. That’s the reason,
Pop says, that every fall, when Ma and Aunt Hannah go up to Kent to
visit Grandma Tuck, they are all ready on the stoop by half-past seven,
when there’s never been a train from here to there before ’leven. If
they were birds, they’d probably fly off as soon as it was light, and
get to Grandma’s for breakfast, when they’d written on a picture postal,
with tea-cups and a cat on it, that she might expect them for supper.”
When the laugh at Tommy’s comparison had subsided, Gray Lady said, “Your
idea is by no means a foolish one, and it may be that a boy like you,
who watches and thinks, will some day piece the facts together that will
finally settle the question.”
_How do Birds find their Way?_
“How do the birds find their way over the hundreds or thousands of miles
between the winter and summer homes? Sight is probably the chief guide
of those who fly by day, and it is known that these day travellers
seldom make the long single flights that are so common with the birds
that journey at night. Sight, undoubtedly, also guides them, to a large
extent, in the night journeys, when the moon is bright. Migrating birds
fly high, so that one can hardly hear their faint twittering. But if the
sky is obscured and the clouds hang low, the flocks keep nearer to the
earth, and their calls are more distinctly heard; while on very dark
nights, the vibration of their wings can be heard close overhead.
[Illustration: TERNS AND SKIMMERS ON THE WING
(Summer Bird-Life, Cobbs Island, Va. Am. Museum Nat. Hist., N.Y.)]
“Notwithstanding this, something besides sight guides these travellers
in the upper air. (Here is a route for you to trace on the map.) In
Alaska, a few years ago, members of the Biological Survey on the
Harriman expedition went by steamer from the island of Unalaska to
Bogoslof Island, a distance of about sixty miles. A dense fog had shut
out every object beyond a hundred yards. When the steamer was halfway
across, flocks of Murres, returning to Bogoslof after long quests for
food, began to break through the fog wall astern, fly side by side with
the vessels, and disappear in the mists ahead. By chart and compass, the
ship was heading straight for the island; but its course was no more
exact than that taken by the birds. The power which carried them
unerringly home over the ocean wastes, whatever its nature, may be
called ‘a sense of direction.’ We recognize in ourselves the possession
of some such sense, though imperfect and easily at fault. Doubtless a
similar, but vastly more acute, sense enabled the Murres, flying from
home and circling wide over the water, to keep in mind the direction of
their nests and return to them without the aid of sight. It is probable
that this faculty is exercised during migration.
“Reports from lighthouses in southern Florida show that birds leave Cuba
on cloudy nights when they cannot possibly see the Florida shores, and
safely reach their destination, provided no change occurs in the
weather. But if meantime the wind changes or a storm arises to throw
them out of their reckoning, they become bewildered, lose their way, and
fly toward the lighthouse beacon. Unless killed by striking the lantern,
they hover near or alight on the balcony, to continue their flight when
morning breaks, or, the storm ceasing, a clear sky allows them once more
to determine the proper course.
“Birds flying over the Gulf of Mexico to Louisiana, even if they
ascended to the height of five miles, would still be unable to see a
third of the way across. Nevertheless this trip is successfully made
twice each year by countless thousands of the warblers of the
Mississippi Valley.
“Probably there are many short zigzags from one favoured feeding-spot to
another, but the general course between the summer and winter homes is
as straight as the birds can find without missing the usual
stopping-places.
_Accidents during Migration_
“Migration is a season full of peril for myriads of winged travellers,
especially for those that cross large bodies of water. Some of the
shore-birds, such as Plover and Curlew, which take long ocean voyages,
can rest on the waves if overtaken by storms, but woe to the luckless
warbler whose feathers once became water-soaked,—a grave in the ocean
or a burial in the sand of the beach is the inevitable result. Nor are
such accidents infrequent. A few years ago on Lake Michigan a storm
during spring migration piled many birds along the shore.
“If such a disaster could occur on a lake less than a hundred miles
wide, how much greater might it not be during a flight across the Gulf
of Mexico. Such a catastrophe was once witnessed from the deck of a
vessel, thirty miles off the mouth of the Mississippi River. Large
numbers of migrating birds, mostly warblers, had accomplished
nine-tenths of their long flight, and were nearing land, when they were
caught by a ‘norther’ with which most of them were unable to contend,
and, falling into the Gulf, were drowned by hundreds.
“Then, as I have told you before, birds are peculiarly liable to
destruction by striking high objects. A new tower in a city kills many
before the survivors learn to avoid it. The Washington Monument has
caused the death of many little migrants; and though the number of its
victims has decreased of late years, yet on a single morning in the
spring of 1902 nearly 150 lifeless bodies were strewn around its base.
“Bright lights attract birds from great distances. While the torch in
the Bartholdi Statue of Liberty in New York Harbor was kept lighted, the
sacrifice of life it caused was enormous, even reaching a maximum of 700
birds in a month. A flashing light frightens birds away, and a red light
is avoided by them as if it were a danger signal, but a steady white
light looming out of mist or darkness seems to act like a magnet and
draws the wanderers to destruction. Coming from any direction, they veer
around to the leeward side, and then, flying against the wind, dash
themselves against the pitiless glass.
_Distance of Migration_
“The length of the migration journey varies enormously. Some birds do
not migrate at all. Many a Cardinal, Carolina Wren, and Bob-white rounds
out its whole contented life within ten miles of its birthplace. Other
birds, for instance, the Pine Warbler and the Black-headed Grosbeak, do
not venture in winter south of the breeding range, so that with them
fall migration is only a withdrawal from the northern and a
concentration in the southern part of the summer home—the Warbler in
about a fourth and the Grosbeak in less than an eighth of the summer
area.
“The next variation is illustrated by the Robin, which occurs as a
species in the middle districts of the United States throughout the
year, in Canada only in summer, and along the Gulf of Mexico only in
winter. Probably no individual Robin is a continuous resident in any
section; but the Robin that nests, let us say, in southern Missouri will
spend the winter near the Gulf, while his hardy Canada-bred cousin will
be the winter tenant of the abandoned summer home of the southern bird.
“Most migrants entirely change their abode twice a year, and some of
them travel immense distances. Of the land-birds, the common eastern
Night Hawk seems to deserve the first place among those whose winter
homes are widely distant from their breeding-grounds. Alaska and
Patagonia, separated by 115 degrees of latitude, are the extremes of the
summer and winter homes of the bird, and each spring many a Night Hawk
travels the 5000 miles that lie between. But some of the shore-birds are
still more inveterate voyagers. These cover from 6000 to 8000 miles each
way, and appear to make travelling their chief occupation.
_Routes of Migration_
“Birds often seem eccentric in choice of route, and many land-birds do
not take the shortest line. The fifty species from New England that
winter in South America, instead of making the direct trip over the
Atlantic, involving a flight of 2000 miles, take a slightly longer route
which follows the coast of Florida, and passes thence, by island or
mainland, to South America. What would seem, at first sight, to be a
natural and convenient migratory highway extends from Florida through
the Bahamas or Cuba to Haiti, Porto Rico, and the Lesser Antilles, and
thence to South America.
_The Bobolink Route_
“Chief among these dauntless voyagers is the Bobolink, fresh from
despoiling the Carolina rice-fields, waxed fat from his gormandizing,
and so surcharged with energy that the 500-mile flight to South America
on the way to the waving pampas of southern Brazil seems a small
hardship. Indeed, many Bobolinks appear to scorn the Jamaican
resting-point and to compass in a single flight the 700 miles from Cuba
to South America. With the Bobolink is an incongruous company of
travelling companions—a Vireo, a King Bird, and a Night Hawk that
summer in Florida; the queer Chuck-will’s-widow of the Gulf States; the
two New England Cuckoos; the trim Alice’s Thrush from Quebec; the
cosmopolitan Bank Swallow from frozen Labrador, and the Black-poll
Warbler from far-off Alaska. But the Bobolinks so far outnumber all the
rest of the motley crew that the passage across the Caribbean Sea from
Cuba to South America may with propriety be called the ‘Bobolink route.’
Occasionally a mellow-voiced Wood Thrush joins the assemblage, or a
green-gold Tanager, which will prepare in its winter home its next
summer livery of flaming scarlet. But the ‘Bobolink route,’ as a whole,
is not popular with other birds, and the many that traverse it are but a
fraction of the thousands of North American birds that spend the winter
holiday in South America.
* * * * *
“Have you patience to follow the history of the flight of one bird? The
longest migration route is taken by some of the wading-birds, especially
the American Golden Plover, the Eskimo Curlew, and the Turnstone. The
journey of the Plover, in itself like a fable, is wonderful enough to be
told in detail.
“In the first week of June, they arrive at their breeding-grounds in the
bleak, wind-swept ‘barren grounds’ above the Arctic Circle, far beyond
the tree line. Some even venture 1000 miles farther north (Greely found
them at latitude 81 degrees). While the lakes are still ice-bound, they
hurriedly fashion shabby little nests in the moss only a few inches
above the frozen ground. By August, they have hastened to Labrador,
where, in company with Curlews and Turnstones, they enjoy a feast.
Growing over the rocks and treeless slopes of this inhospitable coast is
a kind of heather, the crowberry, bearing in profusion a juicy black
fruit. The extravagant fondness shown for the berry by the birds, among
which the Curlew, owing to its greater numbers, is most conspicuous,
causes it to be known to the natives as the ‘curlewberry.’ The whole
body of the Curlew becomes so saturated with the dark-purple juice that
birds whose flesh was still stained with the colour have been shot 1000
miles south of Labrador.
[Illustration: GOLDEN PLOVER]
“After a few weeks of such feasting, the Plovers become excessively fat,
and ready for their great flight. They have reared their young under the
midnight sun, and now they seek the southern hemisphere. After gaining
the coast of Nova Scotia, they strike straight out to sea, and take a
direct course for the easternmost islands of the West Indies. Eighteen
hundred miles of ocean waste lie between the last land of Nova Scotia
and the first of the Antilles, and yet 600 more to the eastern mainland
of South America, their objective point. The only land along the route
is the Bermuda Islands, 800 miles from Nova Scotia. In fair weather, the
birds fly past the Bermudas without stopping; indeed, they are often
seen by vessels 400 miles or more east of these islands.
“When they sight the first land of the Antilles, the flocks often do not
pause, but keep on to the larger islands and sometimes even to the
mainland of South America. Sometimes a storm drives them off the main
track, when they seek the nearest land, appearing not infrequently at
Cape Cod and Long Island.
“A few short stops may be made in the main flight, for the Plover swims
lightly, and easily, and has been seen resting on the surface of the
ocean; and shore-birds have been found busily feeding 500 miles south of
Bermuda and 1000 miles east of Florida, in the Atlantic, in that area
known as the Sargasso Sea, where thousands of square miles of seaweed
teem with marine life.
“Though feathered balls of fat when they leave Labrador and still plump
when they pass the Bermudas, the Plovers alight lean and hungry in the
Antilles. Only the first, though the hardest, half of the journey is
over. How many days it has occupied may never be known. Most migrants
either fly at night and rest in the day or vice versa, but the Plover
flies both night and day.
“After a short stop of three or four weeks in the Antilles and on the
north-eastern coast of South America, the flocks disappear, and later
their arrival is noted at the same time in southern Brazil and the whole
prairie region of Argentina and Patagonia. Here they remain from
September to March (the summer of the southern hemisphere), free from
the responsibilities of the northern summer they have left. The native
birds of Argentina are at the time engrossed in family cares; but,
_remember this well, no wayfarer from the north nests in the south; he
has a second summer free from care!_
“After a six months’ vacation the Plovers resume the serious affairs of
life and start back toward the Arctic zone, but not by the same course.
Their full northward route is a problem still unsolved. They disappear
from Argentina and shun the whole Atlantic coast from Brazil to
Labrador. In March they appear in Guatemala and Texas; April finds their
long lines trailing across the prairies of the Mississippi valleys; the
first of May sees them crossing our northern boundary; and by the first
week in June they reappear at their breeding-grounds in the frozen
North. What a journey! Eight thousand miles of latitude separates the
extremes of their course, and 3000 miles of longitude constitutes the
shorter diameter, and all for the sake of spending ten weeks on an
Arctic coast! Do you realize this endurance when you see birds passing
that window?
* * * * *
“As to the fatigue of the bird from travel, this is now thought to be
very slight, as bird flocks that have crossed great bodies of water do
not stop to rest, but usually continue many miles inland. It is,
undoubtedly, accident or illness that sometimes causes birds to stop for
rest on the rigging of vessels or offshore islands.
_The Unknown_
“Interest in bird migration goes back to a far distant period.
Marvellous tales of the spring and fall movements of birds were spun by
early observers, yet hardly less incredible are the ascertained facts.
Much remains to be learned, and it may be of interest to note a few of
the mysteries which still occupy attention. Even the daily flight of a
bird is a wonderful thing apart from the endurance required in the long
migrations. Though the wings of birds are built on very much the same
plan, few species use them in precisely the same manner; while on a
windy day the wings assume a dozen different positions in as many
seconds, and to watch the flight of a sea-bird, as it rises and trims
itself to the wind and then shapes its course, is to be awe-struck by
this mysterious power of flight.
“Snap shot pictures of birds on the wing will show you this better than
many words. Some birds, like the Hawks and Eagles, can sustain
themselves in the air for hours, sailing against the wind without any
visible motion of the wings. Others fly both by swift beating and
sailing, like the Terns in one of these pictures.
“In short, the differences are so great that the Wise Men can often
identify a bird by the sharp outline of its shadow in flight.
“This power of flight has been a subject of wonder for many thousand
years; we think and we speculate, but no one has yet learned the secret
in its fulness.
“‘The way of an eagle in the air! This is too wonderful for me!’ is an
expression of this feeling of mystery, recorded in the book of Proverbs.
One thing seems quite certain, however—if man ever succeeds in
conquering the air and sailing through it, it will not be by the power
of any invention of his own, but because he has at least in some degree
mastered the knowledge of the flight of the bird and adapted it to his
own use.
“The Chimney Swift, that you all know as the Chimney Swallow, is one of
the most abundant and best-known birds of the eastern part of the United
States. With troops of fledglings, catching their winged prey as they
go, and lodging by night in some tall chimney, the flocks drift slowly
south, joining with other bands until, on the northern coast of the Gulf
of Mexico, they become an innumerable host. Then they disappear. Did
they drop into the water and hibernate in the mud, as was believed of
old, their obliteration could not be more complete. In the last week in
March a joyful twittering far overhead announces their return to the
Gulf coast, but the intervening five months is still the Swifts’ secret.
[Illustration: THE WINGS IN FLIGHT
(Birds of the San Joaquin Valley, Cal. Am. Museum Nat. Hist., N.Y.)]
“The mouse-coloured Bank Swallows, that we saw here in flocks a few
weeks ago, are almost cosmopolitan, and enliven even the shores of the
Arctic Ocean with their graceful aerial evolutions. Those that nest in
Labrador allow a scant two months for building a nest and raising a
brood, and by the first of August are headed southward. Six weeks later
they are swarming in the vicinity of Chesapeake Bay, and then they, too,
pass out of the range of our knowledge. In April they appear in northern
South America, moving north, but not a hint do they give of how they
came there. The rest of the species, those that nest to the south or
west, may be traced farther south, but they, too, fail to give any clew
as to where they spend the five winter months.
“Which one of the Wise Men can tell us? No one. Look out the window now;
there are two Night Hawks, first flying high and then dropping suddenly
through the air. Is it not hard to realize that, while you are going to
and fro every day between your homes and school, and by and by having to
dig paths through the snow in order to get there, those two slender
birds will have flown 5000 miles to find a new summer, and will be
having a vacation absolutely free from family cares?”
-----
[1] Condensed and adapted from _Some New Facts about the Migration of
Birds_, by Wells W. Cooke, United States Biological Survey.
XII
SOME SUSPICIOUS CHARACTERS
_Owls and Hawks_
Frost had come. Real frost, with black, nipping fingers. White frost, at
its first appearance, is a decorator who casts a silver spell upon the
meadows, turning them into shimmering lakes and touching the ripe leaves
until each one becomes a banner of scarlet, gold, or russet.
Chrysanthemums and tufts of self-sown pansies, huddling in warm nooks,
were the only flowers left about the farm-houses or in Gray Lady’s
garden, and both of these would hold their own until Thanksgiving Day
gave praise for the year’s growth and bade growing things sleep the long
sleep of winter.
Birdland showed the change less than either the hickory or the river
woods, for the old orchard held its leaves as apple trees usually do,
and the belt of spruces and pines, that ran from the north side of it
quite up to the house, made a cheerful green barrier and wind-break as
well; but the Swallows and Night Hawks were no longer skimming the air,
and high above, a pair of Red-shouldered Hawks were sailing
majestically, occasionally giving their cry Kee-o—Kee-o!
[Illustration: RED-SHOULDERED HAWK]
Jacob had finished the Martin house the week previous, and a stout
smooth pole like a flagstaff had been planted, not in Birdland itself
but on a slight rise in the ground that overlooked both the barns and
the orchard. The setting up of the house itself had been reserved for
this special Saturday, so that the children might take part in the
ceremony.
The top of the pole, on which there were fastened crosspieces to make a
foundation for the house, was thirty feet above the ground. In this pole
stout spikes were driven at intervals. This not only would prevent cats
from climbing up to the house, but made a sort of ladder by which a man
or boy could go up and pull out the nesting material of English sparrows
if they tried to take possession. For, if we are to keep the useful
insect-eating birds about our houses, we must try our best to keep this
Sparrow from living amongst us.
Hard as it seems, he must be classed with animals that the kindest heart
knows must be destroyed. But no one wishes to hurt nestlings, so the
best way to do is to prevent the old birds from building in the haunts
of the useful song-birds, and then in winter, when the old Sparrows
gather in flocks about the barnyard, have some grown man, with good
judgment and aim, shoot them. Children should never be let do this for
amusement, for it is not well to allow a painful necessity to become a
sport.
Tommy Todd was quite late on this Saturday morning, so that it was
thought that he was not coming, and when he did arrive he found the
others gathered about the pole,—Dave, who had a steady head for
climbing, having been allowed to go up with Jacob, after the house had
been raised with a block and falls, to hold hammer and nails while it
was securely fastened to the braces.
They were all so busy that it was not until Jacob and Dave had come
down, that Gray Lady noticed the box that Tommy had brought and which
stood beside him, the slats on top telling that it contained some live
thing.
As she turned to ask Tommy what he had brought, Goldilocks came down the
path in her chair, for though she could walk quite well by this time,
she was obliged to be very careful, and Ann would not allow her to be on
her feet for more than an hour or two each day.
“The little Owls are back again and all sitting in a row on a branch of
the old russet beyond the lunch-counter. There is a hollow in the trunk
of the tree that I never noticed before, and do you know, mother, I
shouldn’t be surprised if the nest had been in there, so, perhaps, if we
have something that they like on the lunch-counter, they’ll come back
next year.”
“Come back? Aren’t you going to shoot them before they get away?” asked
Dave. “Because they might not come back.”
“We don’t want them to come back to be shot, but to make more nests and
live here,” said Goldilocks.
“Live! why, folks _always_ shoot Owls and Hawks! They are very bad
things, though I guess Hawks are the worst; anyhow, there’s more of ’em.
Just look at those big Hen-hawks flying up yonder now; maybe you’d like
them to come and live in the orchard. If they did, they’d eat the lunch
off’n your counter, other birds and all.”
Gray Lady, seeing by the expression of Dave’s face that he could not
quite understand any other view of the matter, said: “Yes, Dave, you are
right; people usually shoot Hawks and Owls on sight—and have been doing
so for years. In fact, my own husband used to shoot them as a matter of
course, and he was one who never killed a song-bird and who greatly
preferred to hear the Grouse drumming in the forest, the Woodcock
singing and dancing in the spring woods (yes, they both dance and sing
and I will tell you of them some day), and Bob-white telling his name
from the fence-rail, than to have them come on the table ever so
deliciously cooked.
“But within the last ten or fifteen years the Wise Men have found out a
great deal more about these Owls and Hawks—or Birds of Prey, as they
are called, and they know exactly what the work of these birds is in the
great plan of nature. Many of the facts they tell us of we can see for
ourselves if we have the patience to watch. Before the country was
settled by white men, and became what we call ‘civilized,’ all of these
birds of prey had their place, but even now many of them are not only
not hurtful to us, but of distinct benefit. The difficulty is that we do
not stop to sift the facts and separate the good from the bad. To the
farmer, and particularly the poultry-raiser, the cry of Hawk brings him
out, quick as a flash, shot-gun in hand.
“But if he will only realize that for every chicken or pigeon one of
these Hawks destroys, it in all probability takes fifty rats,
field-mice, short-tailed meadow-mice, weasels, and red squirrels, he
will see that he owes the Hawk a debt of gratitude; for it is easier by
far to protect a poultry-yard from conspicuous things that fly
above—like Hawks and Owls—than to keep out the things that crawl and
creep.
“Now, before we go down to the orchard to see Goldilocks’ little Screech
Owls, let us see what Tommy Todd has in this box.”
“It’s only a Screech Owl that I found up in the pigeon-coop this
morning, but it’s such a different colour from the gray ones we have
here, that I brought it up for you to see if it was a rare kind. I
daren’t take it out because it claws and bites so.” And Tommy took away
the cloth that partly covered the box, and there sat the bird with open,
yellow-rimmed eyes, with which he seemed to see with difficulty.
The Owl was no taller than a Robin, but his large, round head and
thickset body made him appear to be a much larger bird. He had two ear
tufts (or horns) of feathers, a strong, curved beak, and powerful toes,
lightly feathered, ending in the hooked talons that mark the birds of
prey, that is, birds that prey, or feed, upon forms of animal life other
than defenceless insects, worms, etc. Its feathers were a bright rusty
red colour, streaked with black; its underparts being more or less
white, mixed with red and black.
“The Owls in the orchard are like this one, only they are all gray and
black,” said Goldilocks, after taking a long look.
“Perhaps this is the father bird; you told us that if one bird is a
gayer colour than the other, it is generally the father,” said Sarah
Barnes.
“Yes, that is often the case, as I am glad to find that you remember,
but not with the Screech Owl, the most common of American Owls, and one
that is known under many names—Mottled Owl, Gray Owl, and Red Owl.
[Illustration: SCREECH OWL]
“There may be some gray birds and some red ones in the same brood, but
this does not depend upon sex, season, or age. The strange difference is
called by a long name, ‘dichromatism’ or two-colour phase, and this is
one of the things for which the Wise Men can give no positive reason; so
it is another question like those about the flight and travels of the
birds for one of you to find out in future.
“Bring the box up to the orchard, Tommy, and, after we have seen the
gray Screech Owls, you can open the door and put the box in the tree and
see what will happen.”
Before they reached the gate of Birdland, they heard a commotion inside;
Jays were screaming in a great state of rage and alarm, and, as they
drew nearer, another sound blended with the screaming, a hissing sound
like “shay—shay—shay,” and the snapping of beaks.
“The Jays have found the Owls out, and they’re hopping mad,” said Jacob,
who was standing in the shelter of a tree-trunk, enjoying the scene.
“The Jays daren’t really touch the Owls, only jeer, and the Owls only
snap their beaks and hiss in return because they don’t like to fly out
in bright light; all you get back by the fence and watch out.”
The children did as Jacob suggested and Tommy put his box on top of the
wall and, at a signal from Gray Lady, unfastened the slats. At first the
little Red Owl stretched his neck and snapped his beak; then, as he
heard the voices of the Jays, he backed into the corner of the box and
drew himself up thin and long, so that he did not look like the same
bird that had been so plump and fluffy a few seconds before.
“That’s just the way he did this morning when I found him in the
pigeon-house,” said Tommy; “in the dark he didn’t look a bit like a
bird, but more like a corn-cob on end.
“There! look there, Gray Lady.” And Tommy pointed at a tree behind that
in which the five Owls were roosting. “There is another Owl all by
itself that the Jays haven’t found out, and it’s all drawn up thin just
like my red one.” And, following the direction of his finger, the Owl
was plainly to be seen, but so rigid and motionless that it might have
been a moss-covered branch stump.
“We would better go in now,” said Gray Lady, after they had watched for
a few moments. “The Owls are beginning to notice us, and I do not wish
them to be driven away until I have had a chance to photograph them.
Leave the box there, Tommy; with all this noise your Owl cannot be
expected to come out before night.”
“But if they are good birds, what was the red one doing in Tommy’s
pigeon-house?” asked Dave.
“Probably looking for mice or other vermin, or perhaps shelter,” said
Gray Lady, “for though they sometimes eat large game, mice or smaller
animals are easier food for a tribe of Owls that sometimes grow only six
inches high and never to a foot in length. I will tell you a way to
convince yourselves and make sure of what Owls feed upon without killing
the Owls,” said Gray Lady, as, on their way up to the play and work
rooms, they went into the library to look at some of the mounted birds
in one of the cases.
“As Owls usually swallow their food whole, they take in bones, fur,
feathers, etc., that they cannot digest; these portions are made up into
little pellets called ‘Owl balls,’ and these are spit up before the real
process of digestion is begun, and if you search under the trees where
owls roost, you may often find these pellets for yourselves.”
“Maybe that is what these things are that I’ve found, for ever so many
days, below the porch of the pigeon-house,” said Tommy, pulling a bunch
of paper from his pocket; “I guess the Red Owl meant to live there this
winter.” He spread out the paper before Gray Lady, who was now sitting
at the table turning over the pages of a large book in red covers. It
was a reference book, in two volumes, that she often used to look up
stories of the birds about which the children asked. The name of the
book was _Life Histories of North American Birds_, and they were written
and collected by Major Bendire, who was both one of the Wise Men and an
officer in our army. Putting in a mark at the page where Screech Owl
began, she closed the book and looked at the contents of the paper.
“Yes, Tommy,” she said presently, “these are not only Owl balls, but
there is the fur and bones of a mouse in each.” And deftly separating
the wads with the point of a pair of scissors and taking out a tiny
skull, she motioned the children to look at it through a reading-glass,
each one in turn.
“Does the Screech Owl live everywhere in the United States?” asked Dave,
after he and Tommy had picked out enough of the tiny bones from the fur
to piece out the entire skeleton of a mouse.
“This same species of Screech Owl that we have here is found all through
the eastern part of North America, but there is a Screech Owl, of some
sort, to be found in the other parts of the country; thus, there is a
Florida Screech Owl; one for California; another for the Rocky
Mountains; one for Mexico, and one for Puget Sound, besides several
others, and, of them all, the Rocky Mountain Owl is said to be the
handsomest.
“We have several other owls that live hereabouts and do good work by
killing rats, mice, snakes, lizards, etc. Of course, they also eat some
birds, but they are so valuable to the farmer that he can ill spare
them, and if he cannot, neither can we. Do you realize that it is really
the farmer that holds the life of the country in his hand? What good
would money and houses and clothes do us if we had no food?—and it is
the farmer who, by carrying out the workings of nature, makes food
possible.
“These birds of prey divide time between them, the Hawk works by day and
the Owls at night and in the early dawn; thus, ‘Nature, in her wisdom,
puts a continuous check upon the four-footed vermin of the ground.’
“Our little Screech Owls love old orchards and the hollow trees to be
found there, and they are well suited to be guardians of the fruit
trees. In hard winters, mice and rabbits will often eat the bark of
young peach, pear, plum, and apple trees in such a way as to ruin them.
Who can keep a constant watch upon them by day and night so well as the
Hawks and Owls?—and if they do take an occasional chicken or pigeon,
these are more easily replaced than fruit trees.
“Then, too, our little Screech Owl is a destroyer of cutworms, those
dreadful worms that do their work by night. For this alone, should the
farmer call this Owl his friend, and let him nest in any little hollow
under the barn eaves, or in the old willow or sycamore, as he chooses.
That is, if the few sticks and feathers that line the hollow can be
called a nest.
“The courtship of the Owl begins late in March, for Owls, living, as
they do, permanently in their homes, nest early; the Great Horned Owl,
of deservedly savage reputation, beginning in February, and the
round-faced Barred Owl in March. I have only seen the young Owls on
their first coming from the nest—queer, fuzzy little balls, awkward in
flight and noisy, who perch on a branch like a row of clothes-pins all
day, and then spend their nights being fed, and in awkward attempts at
learning to fly. Once, in my girlhood, I kept an Owl with a sprained
wing in an outdoor cage for a couple of months, and he grew quite tame
and was very clever and clean apparently, from the evidence of spilled
water, taking a bath in his pan every night and keeping his feathers in
good condition.
“Major Bendire tells of the courtship of these songless birds in a way
that proves that where voice is lacking, gesture takes the place of
speech, as with Grackles and Crows. ‘The female was perched in a dark,
leafy tree, apparently oblivious of the presence of her mate, who made
frantic efforts to attract her attention through a series of bowings,
wing-raisings, and snapping of the beak. These antics were continued for
some time, varied by hops from branch to branch near her, accompanied by
that forlorn, almost despairing, wink peculiar to this bird. Once or
twice I thought that I detected sounds of inward groanings as he, beside
himself at lack of success, sat in utter dejection. At last the lady
lowered her haughty head, looked at and approached him.’
“The young Owls when first hatched are blind and featherless, and are so
ravenous that not only do their parents feed them at night but also put
away enough food in the nest to last through the day as well, so you can
easily see how useful a family of these Owls would be the neighbourhood
of any farm.