March! March! March! They are coming
In troops to the tune of the wind;
Red-headed Woodpeckers drumming,
Gold-crested Thrushes behind.
Sparrows in brown jackets hopping
Past every gateway and door.
Finches with crimson caps stopping
Just where they stopped years before.
—Lucy Larcom.
“How do the birds know when spring has come? How can they tell the
difference between a warm day in December and a warm day in March when
the ground is still snow covered? We ourselves might be puzzled to tell
the difference if we had not kept record of the days and weeks by the
almanac.
“But the birds know. The Red-wings, Grackles, and Cowbirds will not
return for the warmest December sun, but let the sun of early March but
blink, and they are up and away, oftentimes stealing a march on shy
Pussy-willow herself.
“Unless the season is very stormy, as we have seen for ourselves this
year, a few Robins, Bluebirds, and Blackbirds are added to the winter
residents in February. These, however, belong to a sort of roving
advance-guard; the real procession comes in March, the exact time
depending upon the weather, for the insect-eating birds cannot stay if
their larder of field and air is ice locked.
“So we may look for larger flocks of the birds that drifted along in
February, and in addition to these the Woodcock, the Great Fox Sparrow
as big as the Hermit Thrush, Phœbe, Kingfisher, Mourning Dove, and Field
Sparrow of the flesh-pink bill, rusty head and back, and buff breast,
who sings his little strain, ‘cherwee-cher-wee-cherwee-iddle-iddle-iddle
ee,’ as the sun goes down.
“The three birds that are the most noticeable in the latter part of
March, that has made up its mind to go out like a lamb and let
Pussy-willow wave in peace in moist pasture and the delicate
blue-and-white hepaticas star the edges of dry woods, are the Red-winged
Blackbirds, the Kingfishers, and the cheerful little Phœbe. All love the
vicinity of water, but the Red-wing locates often in merely marshy
ground, while the bird who is a fisherman by trade locates near a pond
or stream of considerable size and the Phœbe comes to house or woodshed.
“‘Among all the birds that return to us in late March or April, which is
the most striking and most compels attention?’ asked a bird-lover of a
group of kindred spirits.
“‘The Fox Sparrow,’ said one, who lived on the edge of a village where
sheltered wild fields stretched uphill to the woodlands. ‘Every morning
when I open my window I can hear them almost without listening.’
[Illustration: RED-WINGED BLACKBIRD
(Upper Figure, Male; Lower Figure, Female)]
Order—Passeres Family—Icteridæ
Genus—Agelaius Species—Phœniceus
“‘The Phœbe,’ said another, who was the owner of a pretty home, where
many rambling sheds broke the way from cow-barn to pasture.
“‘The Whip-poor-will, but that does not come until late in the month,’
answered a third, a dweller in a remote colony of artists in a
picturesque spot of cleared woodland, where the ground dropped quickly
to a stream.
“‘No, the Woodcock,’ said her nearest neighbour, a man whose cottage was
upon the upper edge of these same woods, where they were margined by
moist meadows and soft bottom-lands,—a man who spent much time
out-of-doors at dawn and twilight studying sky effects.
“‘And I think it’s Red-winged Blackbirds,’ cried the ten-year-old son of
the latter; ‘for when I go out up back of the trout brook by the little
path along the alders near the squashy place where the cat-tails grow in
summer, you’ve just got to hear them. You can’t listen to them as you do
to real singing-birds, for they make too much noise, and when you listen
for a bird it’s got to be still, at least in the beginning. Sometimes
they go it all together down in the bushes out of sight, then a few will
walk out up to the dry Meadowlark’s field with Cowbirds, or maybe it’s
their wives, and then one or two will lift up and shoot over the marsh
back again, calling out just like juicy sky-rockets. Ah, they’re in it
before the leaves come out to hide them even the least bit.’ And, in
spite of difference of viewpoint, the group finally acknowledged that
the boy was right.
“In point of colouring, the Red-wing is faultlessly plumed,—glossy
black with epaulets of scarlet edged with gold, the uniform of a
soldier,—and this, coupled with the three martial notes that serve him
as a song, would make one expect to find in him all the manly and
military virtues. But aside from the superficial matter of personal
appearance, the Red-wing is lacking in many of the qualities that endear
the feathered tribe to us and make us judge them, perhaps, too much by
human standards.
“When Red-wings live in colonies it is often difficult to estimate the
exact relationship existing between the members, though it is apparent
that the sober brown-striped females outnumber the males; but in places
where the birds are uncommon and only one or two male birds can be
found, it is easily seen that the household of the male consists of from
three to five nests, each presided over by a watchful female, and when
danger arises, this feathered Mormon shows equal anxiety for each nest,
and circles screaming about the general location. In colony life the
males ofttimes act in concert as a general guard, being diverted
oftentimes from the main issue, it must be confessed, to indulge in
duels and pitched battles among themselves.
“The Red-wing belongs to a notable family,—that of the Blackbirds and
Orioles,—and in spite of the structural semblances that group them
together, the differences of plumage, voice, and breeding habits are
very great.
“The Cowbird, the Red-wing’s next of kin, even lacks the rich liquid
call-note of the latter, and the lack of marital fidelity, on the part
of the male, is met in a truly progressive spirit by the female, who,
shirking all domestic responsibility, drops her eggs craftily in the
nests of other and usually smaller birds, who cannot easily resent the
imposition; though a strong proof of the unconscious affinity of race
lies in the fact that these young foundling Cowbirds invariably join the
parent flocks in autumn instead of continuing with their foster-mothers.
“The Meadowlark, with the true spring song, who hides his nest in the
dry grass of old fields, is also kin to the Red-wing, and the Bobolink,
too, the vocal harlequin of the meadows and hillside pastures. The
Orchard and Baltimore Orioles, also next of kin, are skilled musicians
and model husbands.
“Still another plane is to be found in the Red-wing’s dismal cousins,
the Grackles,—Purple, Rusty, Bronzed, and Boat-tailed,—all harsh of
voice and furtive in action, as if a Crow fairy had been present at
their creating and, endowing them with ready wits, had, at the same
time, deprived them of all sense of humour and cast a shadow upon their
happiness. For a Grackle is gloomy even during the absurd gyrations of
his courtship, and when, in autumn, the great flocks settle on lawns and
fields, and solemnly walk about, as they forage they seem like a party
of feathered mutes waiting to attend the funeral of the year; and this
trait somewhat tinctures the disposition of the Red-wing before and
after the breeding season.
“The Red-wing in one of his many subspecific forms, and masquerading
under many names,—Red-shouldered Blackbird, American Starling, and
Swamp Blackbird,—lives in North America from Nova Scotia and the Great
Slave Lake southward to Costa Rica. The Red-wing, as known to us of
middle and eastern North America, breeds in all parts of its United
States and Canadian range, though it is more numerous by far in the
great prairies of the upper Mississippi Valley, with their countless
back-water sloughs, than anywhere else. It is in regions of this sort
that the great flocks turn both to the fall-sown grain, as well as that
of the crop in the ear, causing the farmers the loss that puts a black
mark against the Red-wings. Yet those that dwell east of this area,
owing to the draining and ditching of their swampy haunts being in much
reduced numbers, are comparatively harmless.
“During the winter months the Red-wings are distributed throughout the
South, though stragglers may be occasionally seen in many parts of their
summer range. Exactly why they begin the southward migration in
September and end it with the falling of the leaves in late October, it
is not easy to guess; for the food supply is not at an end, and they do
not dread moderate cold, else why should they be in the front rank of
spring migrants?
“The last of February will bring a few individuals of the advance-guard
of males. In early March their calls are heard often before the ice has
melted and the hylas found voice; yet in spite of this hurried return,
the nesting season does not begin until the middle of May; and so for
two months and more the flock life continues, and foraging, fighting,
and general courting serve to kill time until the remote marshes show
enough green drapery to hide the nests.
“As a nest-builder the Red-wing shows much of the weaver’s skill of its
Oriole cousins, though the material they work with is of coarser
texture, being fastened firmly to low bushes or reeds and woven of grass
and the split leaves of reeds and flags, all nicely lined with soft
grasses and various vegetable fibres. Often, like that of the Marsh
Wren, the nest will be suspended between three or four reeds, and so
firmly knit that it resembles one of the four-legged work-baskets that
belonged to the ‘mother’s room’ of our youth. The pale blue eggs of the
Red-wing are particularly noticeable from the character of the markings
that thickly cover the larger end, for they seem the work of a sharp
scratching pen dipped in purplish black ink and held by an aimless human
hand, rather than the distribution of natural pigment.
“An eater of grain though the Red-wing is, and a menace to the farmer in
certain regions, Professor Beal concedes to him a liberal diet of weed
seeds and animal food, itself injurious to vegetation. Dr. B. H. Warren,
who has made a wide study of the food habits of this Blackbird, says:
‘The Red-wing destroys large numbers of cutworms. I have taken from the
stomach of a single Swamp Blackbird as many as twenty-eight cutworms. In
addition to the insects, etc., mentioned above, these birds also, during
their residence with us, feed on earthworms, grasshoppers, crickets,
plant-lice, and various larvæ, so destructive at times in field and
garden. During the summer season fruits of the blackberry, raspberry,
wild strawberry, and wild cherry are eaten to a more or less extent. The
young, while under parental care, are fed exclusively on an insect
diet.’
“Mr. Forbush also tells us that Kalm states in his _Travels in America_,
that in 1749, ‘after a great destruction among the Crows and Blackbirds
for a legal reward of three pence per dozen, the northern states
experienced a complete loss of their grass and grain crops. The
colonists were obliged to import hay from England to feed their cattle.
The greatest losses from the ravages of the Rocky Mountain Locust were
coincident with, or followed soon after, the destruction by the people
of countless thousands of Blackbirds, Prairie Chickens, Quail, Upland
Plover, Curlew, and other birds. This coincidence seems significant, at
least. A farmer from Wisconsin informed me that, the Blackbirds in his
vicinity having been killed off, the white grubs increased in number and
destroyed the grass roots, so that he lost four hundred dollars from
this cause.’
“These facts should make us of the East welcome rather than discourage
the Red-wing; for this is one of the species of familiar birds that must
become extinct in many localities, owing to the circumstance, so
desirable in itself, of reducing the waste marshlands, and though, later
in the year, other birds replace him acceptably, March and April would
seem lonely without the Red-wing, for then, as the child said, ‘you’ve
just got to look at him.’
* * * * *
“The Kingfisher is certainly one of the most dashing birds that we have;
without having the cruel and ferocious expression of some of the smaller
Hawks, he has the swagger and dash of a feathered brigand.
[Illustration: National Association of Audubon Societies BELTED KINGFISHER
(Upper Figure, Female; Lower Figure, Male)]
Order—Coccyges Family—Alcedinidæ
Genus—Ceryle Species—Alcyon
“His plumage is beautiful in texture and soft in colour; bluish gray
that sometimes looks quite blue in the bright light; wings and
tail-feathers spotted with white, a white collar deep in front and
narrow at the back, and a broad belt of the gray crossing the white
breast and seeming to keep the gray mantle from slipping from his
shoulders. The long head-feathers, also of the bluish gray, form a crest
that the bird can raise at will and thus put on an expression of
combined alertness and defiance.
“The Kingfisher’s plumage is more perfect than his form, his head, with
its beak two inches in length, being out of proportion to his short
tail, and his small, weak feet seeming too small to support a body more
than a foot long.
“In disposition the Kingfisher seems to be rather remote and unfriendly;
they never seem to travel in flocks, and even in the nesting season, the
only time in which they associate in pairs, they seem to be quarrelling
and wrangling, so very harsh are their notes. Hereabouts we have very
few Kingfishers. Last summer a pair tunnelled a hole in the loamy bank
of the river fifty feet below the grist-mill; for the Kingfisher does
not build a tree nest, or, in fact, any nest, but, like the Bank
Swallow, burrows sidewise into a bank of sufficiently stiff soil not to
cave in for the depth of anywhere from three to fifteen feet. This
burrow may be only a few feet below the surface, or if the bluff rises
above the stream, the hole may be twenty feet from the top and close to
high-water mark.
“Sometimes the hole runs straight, and then again it may have several
turns before the nesting-chamber is reached, the turns probably being
made to avoid stones or tough roots; though one[5] careful observer,
whose account of this bird is so novel and charming (I will read it to
you from the scrap-book), thought for a time that these turns might be
for the purpose of keeping light from the nesting-chamber.
* * * * *
“A hole in a bank seems a strange place in which to build a nest, but
although one may know it to be the home of a Kingfisher, he little
imagines the singular course of the passage leading to the room at the
other end, and is hardly aware of the six long weeks of faithful care
bestowed by the parent birds upon their eggs and family.
“Early in April we may hear the Kingfisher’s voice, sounding like a
policeman’s rattle, as he patrols the stream, and we often see him
leaving a favourite limb, where he has been keeping watch for some
innocent minnow in the water below. Off he goes in his slaty blue coat,
shaking his rattle and showing his top-heavy crest, his abnormal bill,
and pure white collar.
“The mother bird, as usual with the sex, does most of the work at home.
The hole is generally located high upon the bank, is somewhat less than
four inches in diameter, and varies from at least five to eight feet in
length. It slightly ascends to the dark, mysterious den at the other
end,—dark because the passage generally bends once or twice, thereby
entirely excluding the light. The roof of the passage is vaulted from
end to end, merging into a domed ceiling almost as shapely as that of
the Pantheon. Such a home is built to stay, and if undisturbed would
endure for years. Two little tracks are worn by the female’s feet the
full length of the tunnel as she passes in and out.
“The Kingfisher’s knowledge of construction, her ingenious manner of
hiding her eggs from molestation, and her constancy to her young arouse
our interest and admiration. We must also appreciate the difficulty with
which the digging is attended, the meeting of frequent stones to block
the work, which, by the way, may be the cause of the change in direction
of the hole, but which I was inclined to believe intentional until I
found a perfectly straight passage, in which a brood was successfully
raised.
“To get photographs of a series of the eggs and young was almost as
difficult a task, I believe, as the Kingfisher had in making the hole.
It was necessary to walk at least four miles and dig down to the back of
the nest, through the bank above, and fill it in again four times,
without deranging the nest or frightening away the parent birds. But we
were well repaid for the trouble, for the pictures accurately record
what could not be described.
“A photograph of the seven eggs was taken before they had even been
touched, and numerous disgorgements of fish bones and scales show about
the roomy apartment. The shapely domed ceiling, as well as the arch of
the passage, is constructionally necessary for the safety of the
occupants, the former being even more perfect than the pictures show.
What is generally called instinct in birds has long since been to me a
term used to explain what in reality is intelligence.
“Some writer has mentioned that as soon as the young Kingfishers are
able, they wander about their little homes until they are able to fly,
but evidently his experience was limited. My four pictures of the young
birds were taken by lifting them out of their nests and placing them in
a proper place to be photographed in the light, but the first two
pictures were taken in the positions in which they were naturally found
in the nest. The first, when they were about two days old, was obtained
on the 21st of May, 1899, and the young were not only found wrapped
together in the nest, but the moment they were put on the ground, one at
a time, though their eyes were still sealed, they immediately covered
one another with their wings and wide bills, making such a tight ball
that when any one shifted a leg, the whole mass would move like a single
bird. This is a most sensible method of keeping warm, since the mother
bird’s legs are so short that she could not stand over them, but, as
they are protected from the wind and weather, they have no need of her.
Their appearance is comical in the extreme, and all out of proportion.
This clinging to one another is apparently kept up for at least ten
days, for a week later, when nine days old, they were found in exactly a
similar position.
“When the young were first observed, they were absolutely naked, without
the suggestion of a feather, and, unlike most young birds, showed no
plumage of any kind until the regular final feathering, which was the
same as that of the adult, began to appear. The growth of the birds was
remarkably slow, and even when nine days old the feathers were just
beginning to push through their tiny sheaths, but so distinctly showed
their markings that I was able to distinguish the sexes by the colouring
of the bands on the chest. They did not open their mouths in the usual
manner for food, but tried to pick up small objects from the ground, and
one got another by his foot, as the picture shows. I took two other
photographs the same day, showing several birds searching on the ground
with their bills, as if they were already used to this manner of
feeding.
“When the birds were sixteen days old, they had begun to look like
formidable Kingfishers, with more shapely bills and crests, but as yet
they evidently knew no use for their wings. They showed little temper,
though they appeared to be somewhat surprised at being disturbed.
“My next visit to the hole in the bank was when the birds were
twenty-three days old, and, to ascertain whether they were still at
home, I poked into the entrance of the hole a long, thin twig, which was
quickly accepted by quite a strong bite. Taking the precaution to stop
the hole with a good-sized stone, I proceeded to my digging for the last
time on the top of the bank. This time I found the chamber had been
moved, and I had some difficulty in locating it about a foot higher up
and about the same distance to one side. The old birds had evidently
discovered my imperfectly closed back door, and either mistrusted its
security, or else a heavy rain had soaked down into the loosened earth
and caused them to make alterations. They had completely closed up the
old chamber and packed it tightly with earth and disgorged fish bones.
“The skill with which they met this emergency was of unusual interest,
showing again the ingenuity and general intelligence which so often
surprises us in the study of birds. Their home was kept perfectly clean
by its constant caretaker. One of the full-grown birds, with every
feather, as far as I could see, entirely developed, sat just long enough
for me to photograph him, and then flew from the branch where I had
placed him, down the stream, and out of sight, loudly chattering like an
old bird. One more bird performed the same feat, but before I was able
to get him on my plate. The rest I left in the nest, and no doubt they
were all in the open air that warm, sunny day, before nightfall.
* * * * *
“It happens that but few of us may look into a Kingfisher’s home as Mr.
Baily did, but it is very pleasant to know where this dashing bird goes
when, on securing a fish, instead of swallowing it, he seems to dive,
drop into the water, and disappear, when in reality he is taking his
prey home to the nest.
“We must be content to enjoy the Kingfisher as a feature in the
landscape, as the centre of a picture of woods, pond, or river, to which
he gives the needful touch of life. The river scenery of March is
lifeless and dreary, for, if the snow has melted and the ice broken up,
the bushes alongshore are beaten down by the storms of winter or partly
submerged by the spring freshets. Here and there, in sunny spots on the
low shore, we may see the purple-pointed hood and bright green leaves of
the skunk-cabbage, but if a Kingfisher is perching on a dead branch
overhanging the water, crest erect, gazing into the water and on the
alert for a fish to pass, the scene at once becomes full of interest. Of
course the Kingfisher, as his name implies, is above all a fisherman,
and complaints come sometimes from those who are stocking ponds and
rivers with fish, and who object to his taking his tithe, but when
pressed by hunger through the sudden skimming of their hunting ponds
with ice in early winter, he has been known to eat berries of many
kinds, and in time of drought when streams run low or dry up entirely,
the Kingfisher will feed upon beetles, grasshoppers, crickets, frogs,
lizards, etc. But here in the East, at any rate, the bird is not
plentiful enough to be a danger to the fishing industry.”
“I’ve seen a Kingfisher fishing in the salt-water creek that goes into
the bay. We camped right there on the point last summer,” said Tommy.
“He must have lived up the river somewhere, for he used to come down
early in the morning, and stay about all day, and I suppose he must have
got through feeding his children, for it was along in August. I never
saw but one,—the male, I guess, because it didn’t have any brown on its
breast like what there is in the picture of the female.
“It was great fun to watch him. One day the rest all went off fishing to
Middle Ground Light, and I stayed at home because I’d cut my finger with
a fish-hook, and it hurt a lot, and the Doctor made me keep it soaking
in medicine, so I just lay in the sand under the shady side of the tent,
only moving enough to keep out of the sun, and watched out.
“When the Kingfisher first came, the tide was just turned and beginning
to rush out of the creek like everything. Mr. Fisherman sat on a tall
post that we tie the boats up to at night. It was close to the water,
not where the strong current was, but a little to one side, where it was
more still. He did pretty well for a while; the fish looked small, and
he swallowed ’em without wriggling his throat so very much.
“One thing he did was very funny; he didn’t dive right down from the
post after the fish, but he took a little fly up first and then folded
his wings to his sides and dropped right in beak first, same as we
fellows do when we jump off the spring board dad rigged to a raft and
then dive. I couldn’t make out whether he always did it, or if it was
because the post was too near the water.
“After a little, the water went down so that the post wasn’t near enough
to the water; then what did he do but shift over to the bowsprit of an
old oyster boat that was wrecked and half buried in the sand, right in
the bank just inside the creek; this gave him a fine perch right over
the channel. When he saw that there was no one about, he sort of settled
down, and looking at him so long made me lazy, and I guess I fell asleep
and didn’t see him dive, because the next thing I knew, there was the
Kingfisher back on the perch, but he had an eel in his beak instead of a
fish.
“Say, Gray Lady, did you ever try to hold an eel in your fingers,
without rubbing wet sand on them first? Well, you should have seen that
bird twist and flop about. It was only a little eel, not any bigger than
a pencil, but, oh my!” And Tommy laughed heartily at the very memory of
the fray.
“Kingfisher couldn’t stick to the perch, so he dropped right on to a
piece of the deck of the boat that wasn’t buried, and began to beat the
eel on the wood and dance about. The eel squirmed so, it didn’t hit
often, and it acted as if it had legs and was dancing too. When the fun
began, the bird had the eel about in the middle, but it pulled away
until one end was longer than the other, and that made it harder to
hold.”
“Which was the head end, the one that hung down?” asked Eliza, who
always insisted on precise details.
“I didn’t know then,” said Tommy; “I couldn’t see, and it didn’t keep
still long enough for me to ask!
“At last Kingfisher gave the eel a good bang, and it didn’t squirm so
much (then I knew the head must have been on the long piece because it
wouldn’t have hurt its tail), and the bird began to swallow and work his
throat, just like when a snake begins to work a toad down. Once or twice
he stopped, and I thought that he was going to choke and keel over. He
didn’t, though, but after it was all down, he looked real sorry and
uncomfortable and his feathers laid down almost flat to his head, and he
crouched there on the boat quite a while before he flew up creek and
didn’t fish any more that day.
“Maybe he’d never caught a salt-water eel before, and didn’t know how
lively they are; you can’t measure them by mud eels out of still water
any more’n you can match snakes with ground-worms.”