COURIERS OF THE AIR.
The power of flight being almost exclusively the characteristic
attribute of birds, it is somewhat strange that even the most eminent
naturalists should be silent upon it. And yet this is almost
universally so. Those who mention the speed of flight do so upon the
most insufficient evidence, as witness Michelet's statement that the
swallow flies at the rate of eighty leagues an hour. Roughly this gives
us a thousand miles in four hours; but assuredly, even in its dashes,
the swallow does not attain to anything like this speed. The Duke of
Argyll is rather under than over the mark when he computes the speed at
more than a hundred miles an hour. Here, however, the mechanism of
flight in the swallows is carried through an ascending scale, until in
the swift it reaches its highest degree of power both in endurance and
facility of evolution. Although there are birds which may, and probably
do, attain to a speed of one hundred and fifty miles an hour, this
remarkable rate is not to be looked for in any of the birds of the
swallow kind. There is something fascinating in the idea of eliminating
time and space, and with this attribute popular fancy has in some
measure clothed the swallows. At the greater rate of speed indicated
above the swallow might, as has been stated, breakfast round the
Barbican, and take its mid-day _siesta_ in Algiers. This, however,
is a popular myth. In their migrations swallows stick close to land,
and never leave it unless compelled; they cross straits at the
narrowest part, and are among the most fatiguable of birds. From this
it will be seen that although swallows may possess considerable speed,
they have no great powers of sustained flight or endurance. These
attributes belong, in the most marked degree, to several ocean birds.
Any one who has crossed the Atlantic must have noticed that gulls
accompany the ship over the whole distance; or, at least, are never
absent throughout the voyage. The snowy "sea swallows," as the terns
are called, seem quite tireless on the wing; though the petrels and
albatross alone deserve the name of oceanic birds. Sir Edwin Arnold, in
an account of his voyage to America, writes as follows of the
sea-swallows: "Every day we see playing round the ship and skimming up
and down the wave-hollows companies of lovely little terns and
sea-swallows, the latter no larger than thrushes. These fearless people
of the waste have not by any means followed us from land, living, as
gulls often will, on the waste thrown from the vessel. They are vague
and casual roamers of the ocean, who spying the great steamship from
afar, have sailed close up, to see if we are a rock or an island, and
will then skim away on their own free and boundless business. Yonder
tiny bird with purple and green plumage, his little breast and neck
laced with silver, is distant one thousand miles at this moment from a
drop of fresh water, and yet cares no more for the fact than did the
Irish squire who 'lived twelve miles from a lemon.' If his wings ever
grow weary it is but to settle quietly on the bosom of a great billow
and suffer it for a time to rock and roll him amid this hissing
spendrift, the milky flying foam, and the broken sea-lace which forms
and gleams and disappears again upon the dark slopes. When he pleases,
a stroke of the small red foot and a beat of the wonderful wing launch
him off from the jagged edge of his billow, and he flits past us at one
hundred knots an hour, laughing steam and canvas to scorn, and steering
for some nameless crag in Labrador or Fundy, or bound, it may be,
homeward for some island or marsh of the far-away Irish coast.
Marvellously expressive of power as is our untiring engine, which all
day and all night throbs and pants and pulses in noisy rhythm under the
deck, what a clumsy affair it is compared to the dainty plumes and
delicate muscles which carry that pretty, fearless sea-swallow back to
his roost."
No deserts seem to bound the range of the petrels, and they are found
at every distance from land. Different species inhabit every
ocean--from the fulmar in the far north to the giant petrel which
extends its flight to the icebanks of the south. Here the Antarctic and
snowy petrels appear, floating upon the drift ice, and never leaving
these dreary seas. Another bird of immense wing power is the tiny
stormy petrel, the smallest web-footed bird known. It belongs to every
sea, and although so seeming frail it breasts the utmost fury of the
storm, skimming with incredible velocity the trough of the waves, and
gliding rapidly over their snowy crests. Petrels have been observed two
thousand miles from nearest land, whilst at half that distance Sir
James Ross once saw a couple of penguins quietly paddling in the sea. A
pair of the rudimentary wings of this bird are lying before me as I
write. These are simply featherless paddles, but by their aid so
rapidly does the bird swim that it almost defies many of the fishes to
equal it. The enormous appetite of the giant penguin (which weighs
about eighty pounds) may have something to do with its restricted
powers of flight, and in the stomach of one of these Ross found ten
pounds of quartz, granite, and trap fragments, swallowed most likely to
promote digestion.
But surely the lord of the winged race is the bird which does not rest;
and this may almost be said of the man-of-war or frigate bird. He is a
navigator who never reaches his bourne, and from his almost ceaseless
flight it would seem as though earth and sea were equally prohibited to
him. To a bird with such an immense and superior wing apparatus, the
metaphor, "he sleeps upon the storm," becomes almost literal. This
black, solitary bird is nearly nothing more than wings, his prodigious
pinions measuring fifteen feet, even surpassing those of the condor of
the Andes. Although sometimes seen four hundred leagues from land, the
frigate bird is said to return every night to its solitary roost.
Of all birds, the albatross has, perhaps, the most extended powers of
flight. It has been known to follow a vessel for several successive
days without once touching the water except to pick up floating food;
and even then it does not rest. In describing the flight of this bird
from personal observation, Captain Hutton writes as follows: "The
flight of the albatross is truly majestic, as with outstretched
motionless wings he sails over the surface of the sea--now rising high
in the air, now with a bold sweep and wings inclined at an angle with
the horizon, descending until the tip of the lower one all but touches
the crests of the waves as he skims over them. I have sometimes watched
narrowly one of these birds sailing and wheeling about in all
directions for more than an hour without seeing the slightest movement
of the wings, and have never witnessed anything to equal the ease and
grace of this bird as he sweeps past, often within a few yards--every
part of his body perfectly motionless except the head and eye, which
turn slowly and seem to take notice of everything. 'Tranquil its spirit
seemed and floated slow; even in its very motion there was rest.'" But
these birds and the frigate bird are sea and ocean species, and, with
rare exceptions, are able to rest upon the waters. This, however,
cannot be said of many of the land birds, and here observation is
easier.
As an antithesis to the apparently lifeless wings of the albatross,
Pettigrew compares the ceaseless activity of those of the humming-bird.
In these delicate and exquisitely beautiful birds, the wings, according
to Gould, move so rapidly when the bird is poised before an object that
it is impossible for the eye to follow each stroke, and a hazy circle
of indistinctness on each side the bird is all that is perceptible.
When a humming-bird flies in a horizontal direction, it occasionally
proceeds with such velocity as altogether to elude observation. Mention
of the calm majestic flight of the albatross suggests the possibility
of birds resting on the wing. An American naturalist asserts that birds
of prey and some others have the power to lock securely together those
parts of the wing holding the extended feathers, and corresponding to
the fingers of the human hand. The action of the air on the wing in
this condition extends the elbow, which is prevented from opening too
far by a cartilage, and the wings may keep this position for an
indefinite length of time, with no muscular action whatever on the part
of the bird. While resting in this way, the bird cannot rise in a still
atmosphere; but if there be a horizontal current, it may allow itself
to be carried along by it, with a slight tendency downward, and so gain
a momentum by which, with a slight change of direction, it may rise to
some extent, still without muscular action of the wings. This same
naturalist also believes it quite possible for birds to sleep on the
wing. As bearing on this subject, Professor J. S. Newbury asserts that
he once shot a bird which came slowly to the ground as if still flying,
but reached it dead. He believed that it had died high in the air; but
had never been able to account for the manner of its descent till now,
when he found an explanation in the statement just given.
Thousands of gold-crests annually cross and recross the North Sea at
the wildest periods of the year, and unless the weather is rough
generally make their migrations in safety. And yet this is the
smallest and frailest British bird--a mere fluff of feathers,
weighing only seventy grains. Another of the tits, the oxeye, has
been met upon two occasions at six hundred and nine hundred miles
from land. With regard to those birds which cross the Atlantic, it
matters not for our purpose whether they are driven by stress of
weather or cross voluntarily--suffice it they come. Less likely birds
that have occurred in Britain are the belted kingfisher and American
yellow-billed cuckoo. The white-winged crossbill must be mentioned
with less certainty, for, although a North American bird, it is also
found in some northern European countries.
All birds of great and sustained powers of flight have one well-marked
characteristic--they have long wings, with sharply-pointed ends. The
general truth of this will be at once admitted if the rule be applied
to the various species mentioned above. Another point is worthy of
notice. The apparent speed of flight to an unpractised eye is most
deceptive. A heron, as it rises and flaps languidly along the course of
a brook, appears not only to progress slowly but to use its wings in
like manner. Yet the Duke of Argyll has pointed out, and any one may
verify the statement by his watch, that the heron seldom flaps his
wings at a rate of less than from one hundred and twenty to one hundred
and fifty times in a minute. This is counting only the downward
strokes, so that the bird really makes from two hundred and forty to
three hundred separate movements a minute. The rook and heron fly in
almost straight lines, have large rounded wings, and float with the
greatest ease upon the air. The rook in its measured flight makes about
five-and-twenty miles an hour; the heron thirty. Our short-winged game
birds fly with incredible velocity, and any attempt to observe or count
their wing movements leaves but a blurred impression on the eye, whilst
in some species so quick is the vibratory movement as to prevent its
being seen. Driven grouse flying "down wind" have been known to
seriously stun sportsmen by falling upon their heads. A grouse does not
move its wings so rapidly as a partridge, though the late C. S. was
once clean knocked out of a battery by a grouse he had shot falling
upon him; and in this way loaded guns have frequently been fired by
dead birds. The Duke of Beaufort upon one occasion picked up a brace of
grouse which had cannoned and killed each other in mid-air, and
colliding is not an unfrequent occurrence. As illustrating a remarkable
quality of flight, the case of the kestrel or windhover may be taken.
On a summer day one may frequently see this pretty little falcon
standing against the blue in what seems an absolutely stationary
position, as though suspended by an invisible silken thread. But let a
meadow-mouse so much as move and it drops to the sward in an instant.
As has been already stated, there is perhaps nothing more wonderful in
nature than the power of flight, and no subject which yields such
startling facts upon investigation. "The way of an eagle in the air" is
one of those things of which Solomon expressed himself ignorant; and
there is something truly marvellous in the mechanism which controls
the scythe-like sweep of wings peculiar to most birds of prey. The
noblest of these, the peregrine, has been seen flying over mid-Atlantic;
and Henry IV., King of France, had a falcon which escaped from
Fontainebleau, and in twenty-four hours after was found in Malta, a
space computed to be not less than 1,350 miles, a velocity equal to
fifty-six miles an hour, supposing the hawk to have been on the wing
the whole time. Indeed, in Montagu's opinion, the rapidity with which
hawks and other birds occasionally fly is probably not less than at the
rate of a hundred and fifty miles an hour, when either pursued or
pursuing. The speed of flight of the peregrine cited above is about
that of our best trained pigeons; and it may here be remarked that the
flight of these two (otherwise dissimilar) birds very much resembles
each other. The beautiful swallow-tailed kite has accomplished the feat
of flying across the whole Atlantic Ocean, which is hardly to be
wondered at seeing its vast powers of flight. Lieuwenholk relates an
exciting chase which he saw in a menagerie about one hundred feet long
between a swallow and a dragon-fly (Mordella). The insect flew with
incredible speed, and wheeled with such address that the swallow,
notwithstanding its utmost efforts, completely failed to overtake and
capture it. The best speed of a railway train is only a little more
than half the velocity of the golden eagle, the flight of which often
attains to the rate of one hundred and forty miles an hour. Of all
birds, the condor mounts highest into the atmosphere. Humboldt
describes the flight of this bird in the Andes to be at least twenty
thousand feet above the level of the sea. Upon one occasion a falcon
was observed to cut a snipe right in two, with such strength and
speed did it cut down its prey. Sparrow-hawks and merlins have not
unfrequently been known to crash through thick plate-glass windows
when in pursuit of prey, or at caged birds.
Of all British birds, none is so beautiful or so secluded in its habits
as the kingfisher. Its presence is peculiarly in keeping with the rapid
rocky trout streams which it loves to haunt. Its low, arrow-like
flight, as it darts like a streak of azure, green, and gold, is
familiar to every angler. He hears it far down stream; it comes under
the old ivied bridge, passes like a flash, and is gone--how quickly the
following will show. Mr. George Rooper, the well-known Biographer of
the Salmon, was travelling on the Great Western Railway, which between
Pangbourne and Reading runs parallel with, and close to, the Thames. As
the train approached the river a kingfisher started from the bank and
flew along the river for nearly a mile. Mr. Rooper watched it the whole
distance, and its relative position with the window never varied a
yard; the bird flying at exactly the same pace as that at which the
train travelled, and which the observer had just previously ascertained
to be fifty-five miles an hour. This is about half the speed at which
the eider-duck flies, as, when fairly on the wing, it makes upwards of
one hundred and twenty miles an hour. The rapidity with which all birds
of the plover kind fly is well known, and a "trip" of golden plover
have been seen midway between Hawaii and the mainland. An officer in
Donald Currie's line recently brought home with him a specimen of the
St. Helena waxbill which he caught when on watch on the bridge of the
_Grantully Castle_. At the time the nearest land was distant a
thousand miles, and the little captive was so distressed that it
quietly allowed the officer to capture it.
It has been computed that a red-throated diver swims about four and a
half miles on the surface of the water, and between six and seven
beneath the surface per hour. Macgillivray states that upon one
occasion he watched a flock of red-breasted mergansers pursuing sand
eels, when the birds seemed to move under the water with almost as much
velocity as in the air, and often rose to breathe at a distance of two
hundred yards from the spot at which they had dived. To show to what
depth this bird flies beneath the water it may be mentioned that one
was caught in a net at thirty fathoms; while a shag, or green
cormorant, has been caught in a crab pot fixed at twenty fathoms below
the surface; and guillemots literally fly under water without even
using their feet. As bearing directly on the interesting subject of
flight under water the case of another of the divers may be mentioned.
It has been said that one of the strong and original strokes of nature
was when she made the "loon," a bird which represents the wildness and
solitariness of the wildest and most solitary spots. It dives with such
marvellous quickness that the shot of the gunner gets there just in
time to cut across a circle of descending tail feathers and a couple of
little jets of water flung upward by the web feet of the loon. Speaking
of this bird Burroughs says that in the water "its wings are more than
wings. It plunges into this denser air, and flies with incredible
speed. Its head and beak form a sharp point to its tapering neck. Its
wings are far in front, and its legs equally far in the rear, and its
course through the crystal depths is like the speed of an arrow. In the
northern lakes it has been taken forty feet under water upon hooks
baited for the great lake trout. I had never seen one till last fall,
when one appeared on the river in front of my house. I knew instantly
it was the loon. Who could not tell a loon a half-mile or more away,
though he had never seen one before? The river was like glass, and
every movement of the bird as it sported about broke the surface into
ripples, that revealed it far and wide. Presently a boat shot out from
shore, and went ripping up the surface toward the loon. The creature at
once seemed to divine the intentions of the boatman, and sidled off
obliquely, keeping a sharp look-out as if to make sure it was pursued.
A steamer came down and passed between them, and when the way was again
clear the loon was still swimming on the surface. Presently it
disappeared under the water, and the boatman pulled sharp and hard. In
a few moments the bird reappeared some rods further on, as if to make
an observation. Seeing it was being pursued, and no mistake, it dived
quickly, and when it came up again had gone many times as far as the
boat had in the same space of time. Then it dived again, and distanced
its pursuer so easily that he gave over the chase and rested upon his
oars. But the bird made a final plunge, and when it emerged upon the
surface again it was over a mile away. Its course must have been, and
doubtless was, an actual flight under water, and half as fast as the
crow flies in the air. The loon would have delighted the old poets. Its
wild, demoniac laughter awakens the echoes on the solitary lakes, and
its ferity and hardiness were kindred to those robust spirits." Another
specially interesting bird which does something nearly approaching to
flying under water is the dipper. The ouzel is essentially a bird of
the running brook, though as to what part this pretty white-breasted
thrush plays in the economy of nature naturalists are by no means
agreed. Its most frequent stand is upon some mossy stone in a river
reach, and here its crescented form may oftenest be seen. It haunts the
brightly-running streams in winter as in summer, and when these are
transformed into roaring torrents seems to love them best. Let us watch
it awhile. It dashes through the spray and into the white foam,
performing its morning ablutions. Then it emerges to perch on a stone,
always jerking its body about, and dipping, dipping, ever dipping.
Presently it melts into the water like a bubble, but immediately
emerges to regain its seat, then trills out a loud wren-like song, but,
breaking off short, again disappears. We are standing on an old stone
bridge, and are enabled to observe it closely. By a rapid, vibratory
motion of the wings, it drives itself down through the water, and by
the aid of its wide-spreading feet clings to and walks among the
pebbles. These it rapidly turns over with its bill, searching for the
larvæ of water flies and gauzy-winged _ephemeræ_. It searches the
brook carefully downwards, sometimes clean immersed, at other times
with its back out, then with the water barely covering its feet. It
does not always work with the stream, as we have frequently seen him
struggling against it, but retaining its position upon the bottom. Even
at the present day there are naturalists who, from the examination of
cabinet specimens, aver that it is not in the power of the bird to walk
on the bottom of the brook, but then they know nothing of him along his
native streams.
Taking advantage of two birds remarkable for their long and sustained
powers of flight, experiments have recently been conducted with a view
to utilising swallows and pigeons as war messengers. In this connection
the use of trained pigeons is one of the oldest institutions in the
world; though now that certain European Powers have trained falcons to
cut down pigeons, it is said that the pigeon-post is not sufficiently
reliable. In consequence a number of French _savants_ recently
approached the Minister of War, and induced him to found a military
swallow-cote whence the birds might be trained. The Governor of Lille
was charged to test the plan, and certain experiments made at Roubaix
last year are now commanded to be repeated under the supervision of
Captain Degouy of the Engineers. During the coming autumn this
gentleman is to be present at a grand flight of messenger swallows; and
if his report is favourable, a swallow-cote will be founded and placed
under the care of special trainers at Mont Valérian. The idea of
engaging swallows in war is a pretty one, as in future all European
wars will have to be conducted in "Swallow-time"--when the warm winds
blow from the sunny south. This arrangement will at least obviate
night-watches in frozen trenches; nor is it likely that pickets will
any longer be starved to death at their posts. The incident is also
quoted in proof of the fact that we are nearing the time when Europe
will be governed by the Parliament of Man, the Federation of the World.
But, after all, the idiosyncrasies of France have a way of not being
fulfilled; and the reign of the swallow will doubtless be as ephemeral
as that of the _brav' Général_ himself. In all their military
operations of late the French have made considerable use of pigeons in
conveying despatches; and in the Franco-German war the birds played a
conspicuous part. Upon several occasions, indeed, the inhabitants of
beleaguered cities looked upon the successful flights of these birds as
their only hope betwixt death and starvation.
At the time the French were making trials with messenger swallows, the
young German Emperor ordered extensive experiments to be carried out
with carrier pigeons, the same to be tested at the Imperial
manoeuvres. Upon this, six of the first Columbarian Societies of
Germany each offered to supply twenty-four birds, which are now in
training. So we have it that the French are endeavouring to train
swallows, the Germans pigeons, and the Russians falcons. Whether the
falcons are themselves to convey messages, or are to be used to cut
down the swallows and pigeons whilst so engaged, is not stated. The
pigeon is a tried messenger, and has, moreover, some interesting and
remarkable records. The claim of the swallow, on the other hand, lies
all in its possibilities. In this connection "swallow" must stand in a
generic sense, and include all birds of the swallow kind as well as the
swift. Although, as already stated, swallows are among the most
fatiguable of birds, yet one of the American species--the purple
martin--would seem to be an exception, and the fact of its having
crossed the Atlantic is well known. It is true that swallows attain to
an immense speed in their rushes, and there is a well-authenticated
instance of one having flown twenty miles in thirteen minutes. The
probable speed of the swallow, flying straight and swift, is about one
hundred and twenty miles an hour; its ordinary speed ninety miles. The
swift attains to two hundred miles, and seems quite tireless on the
wing. If swifts can be inspired with a sense of discipline; if French
wars can invariably be arranged for the summer months; and if some
arrangement can be made with the insect hosts to keep the upper
air--_then_ something may come of the Lille experiments. If these
things cannot be, the French sharpshooter will never be asked to try
flying shots at swifts rushing through the air at the rate of two
hundred miles an hour. If the Russians are training falcons to catch
pigeons, the Germans must train raptors to catch swallows. Here is a
fact which proves the possibility. The hobby falcon, a summer migrant
to Britain, hawks for dragon-flies--among the swiftest of
insects--which it seizes with its foot and devours in mid-air. It cuts
down swifts, larks, pigeons, and, where they are found, bee-birds--all
remarkable for their great powers of flight. By way of testing the
speed of flight in birds of the swallow kind, Spallanzani captured and
marked a sand-martin or bank-swallow--the feeblest of its genus--on her
nest at Pavia and set her free at Milan, fifteen miles away. She flew
back in thirteen minutes. In striking contrast with the rate at which
birds with long pointed wings fly is the fact that one of a pair of
starlings (which are short-winged birds) was captured and sent in a
basket a distance of upwards of thirty miles by train. It was then
freed, and was three hours before it found its way back to its
nestlings.
To turn from swallows to pigeons. The power of pigeons on the wing is
proverbial. All trained birds of this species have two qualifications
in a marked degree. The first is speed; the second long and sustained
powers of flight. This proposition can be amply demonstrated, and the
following are some of the most remarkable records. On the 6th of
October, 1850, Sir John Ross despatched a pair of young pigeons from
Assistance Bay, a little west of Wellington Sound; and on October 13th
a pigeon made its appearance at the dovecote in Ayrshire, Scotland,
whence Sir John had the pair he took out. The distance direct between
the two places is two thousand miles. An instance is on record of a
pigeon flying twenty-three miles in eleven minutes; and another flew
from Rouen to Ghent, one hundred and fifty miles, in an hour and a
half. An interesting incident of flight is the case of a pigeon which,
in 1845, fell wounded and exhausted at Vauxhall Station, then the
terminus of the South-Western Railway. It bore a message to the effect
that it was one of three despatched to the Duke of Wellington from
Ichaboe Island, two thousand miles away. The message was immediately
sent on to his Grace, and by him acknowledged. In a pigeon competition
some years ago, the winning bird flew from Ventnor to Manchester, two
hundred and eight miles, at the rate of fifty-five miles an hour. As an
experiment a trained pigeon was recently dispatched from a northern
newspaper office with a request that it might be liberated for its
return journey at 9.45 a.m. It reached home at 1.10 p.m. having covered
in the meantime one hundred and forty miles, flying at the rate of
forty miles an hour. In the north pigeons have long been used to convey
messages between country houses and market towns; and in Russia they
are now being employed to convey negatives of photographs taken in
balloons. The first experiment of the kind was made from the cupola of
the Cathedral of Isaac, and the subject photographed was the Winter
Palace. The plates were packed in envelopes impenetrable to light, and
then tied to the feet of the pigeons, which safely and quickly carried
them to the station at Volkovo. Here is another interesting instance of
speed and staying power. The pigeons in this case flew from Bordeaux to
Manchester, and not only beat all existing records, but flew more than
seventy miles further than anything previously attempted by English
flyers. The winning bird flew at the rate of eighteen hundred and
seventy-nine yards a minute, or over sixty-four miles an hour, and that
for a distance of one hundred and forty-two and a half miles. The same
club has flown birds distances of six hundred and thirteen, and six
hundred and twenty-five miles. These latter, however, were several days
in returning, and in their case the only wonder is that they could
accomplish the distance at all. The following is still more
interesting, as it entailed a race between birds and insects. A
pigeon-fancier of Hamme, in Westphalia, made a wager that a dozen bees
liberated three miles from their hive would reach it in better time
than a dozen pigeons would reach their cot from the same distance. The
competitors were given wing at Rhynhern, a village nearly a league from
Hamme, and the first bee finished a quarter of a minute in advance of
the first pigeon, three other bees reached the goal before the second
pigeon, the main body of both detachments finishing almost
simultaneously an instant or two later. The bees, too, may be said to
have been handicapped in the race, having been rolled in flour before
starting for purposes of identification.
The American passenger pigeon compasses the whole Atlantic ocean. The
speed of its flight is approximately known; it is able to cover one
thousand six hundred miles in twenty-four hours. This, however, is
marvellous, when it is seen that, flying at the rate of nearly seventy
miles an hour, it takes the bird two days and nights to cross. What
must be the nature of the mechanism that can stand such a strain as
this? This pigeon is now recognised as a British bird. Several examples
have occurred, and whilst some of these were probably "escapes," others
doubtless were wild birds. These had perfect plumage, were taken in an
exhausted condition, and their crops showed only the slightest traces
of food. As is well known, the passenger pigeon is a bird of immense
powers of flight, and in its overland journeys often flies at the rate
of a mile a minute. Wild birds, however, can only come from America;
and this opens up the interesting question as to the possibility of
birds crossing the Atlantic without once resting. Naturalists of the
present day say that this feat is not only probable, but that it is
accomplished by several birds. Mr. Darwin somewhere asserts that one or
two of them are annually blown across the ocean; and it is certain that
half-a-dozen species have occurred upon the west coasts of England and
Ireland, which are found nowhere but in North America. Mr. Howard
Saunders states that passenger pigeons are often captured in the State
of New York with their crops still filled with the undigested grains of
rice that must have been taken in the distant fields of Georgia and
South Carolina; apparently proving that they passed over the
intervening space within a few hours. It certainly seems remarkable
that a bird should have the power of winging its way over four thousand
miles of sea; but recently two persons have recorded the fact that they
have noticed pigeons settle upon the water to drink, then rise from it
with apparent ease. And Mr. Darwin says that, where the banks of the
Nile are perpendicular, whole flocks of pigeons have been seen to
settle on the water and drink while they floated down the stream. He
adds that, seen from a distance, they resemble flocks of gulls on the
surface of the sea. The passenger pigeon is one of the handsomest of
its kind. The accounts of its migrations in search of food are known to
all. It is said to move in such vast flocks as to darken the earth as
they pass over, and that one of these columns brings devastation
wherever it comes.
In the Anglo-Belgian pigeon races, some of the birds attain to nearly a
mile a minute, and this when the race is for five hundred miles. The
English, French, and Germans all rear pigeons in their fortresses; and
the birds are utilised by the Trinity House in conveying messages from
the lightships. They are also in use on the Indian stations. The
following are additional remarkable instances of quick and long
sustained powers of flight which show what the pigeon is capable of
doing. Thirty-three birds were recently brought from Termonde, in
Belgium, and were liberated at Sunderland at 5 a.m. A telegram received
at the latter place stated that sixteen of the birds reached home at
1.35 the same afternoon, having accomplished the distance of four
hundred and eighty miles in about eight and a half hours, or about
fifty-six miles an hour. A week previous the same birds had flown from
London to Brussels.
It has frequently been suggested that homing pigeons should be used
to carry telegraphic messages between country houses and post
offices. In many cases pigeons have been used as telegraphic
messengers with the most successful results. Sending into town, by
the people of the Hall is a frequent occurrence, and whenever a
messenger had occasion to go, some pigeons, bred at the Hall are sent
in a hamper by the dog-cart or what-not. These are taken possession
of by a local tradesman living near the post office, who also
receives the telegrams. The latter are rolled up and tied either
round the bird's leg, or so that it lies across the upper part of its
breast. The pigeon is then liberated, and in about ten minutes from
the time of despatch the telegram is delivered at the Hall, five
miles distant. The reverse process is repeated with the tradesman's
pigeons kept at the Hall if a reply to the telegram is required. The
platform leading into the pigeon-house is connected with an electric
bell that rings when the pigeon, reaching home, alights on the
platform, and thus notifies the servants the arrival of a telegram;
one of them then goes and unties it from the bird's neck. Much saving
in porterage is thus accomplished; the telegrams are delivered in a
few minutes, and rarely, if ever, lost. The ordinary homing pigeon is
best adapted for the purpose, being an inexpensive purchase. In proof
of this fitness the following most remarkable incident may be
recorded. A number of English homers were recently sent to Lassay, an
inland town of France, but for some reason the French police
authorities refused to start them, and the birds were relegated to
Cherbourg, where they were liberated at 7 a.m. One of them was seen
to alight on the roof of its loft at 11.30 the same forenoon. It had
accomplished the entire distance of about three hundred miles,
including one hundred miles of water, in a bee-line from Cherbourg to
Birkenhead at the rate of over a mile a minute. This particular bird
had never been any great distance from home, and although English
bred it was from a famous strain of Belgian "homers." The large
provincial towns in the north of England are the great centres of
pigeon-flying. Recently as many as two thousand five hundred birds
were liberated at a flight. Every one of these pigeons were out of
sight in one minute from the time they were thrown up, a fact which
shows how strong is the "homing" instinct within them. The homing
pigeon may not supersede the telegraph; but in disturbed times it is
the business of an enemy to cut the wires, to tap them, or even to
send misleading despatches along them. No such danger need be
apprehended from a carrier pigeon, for, if well trained, it will fly
straight from loft to loft, never parting with its tiny scroll unless
killed or taken--a mishap which is not likely to befall more than one
or two of a flight. As already stated, some remarkable results have
already been achieved, not only by Government birds--whose
performances and proceedings are, of course, kept secret--but by
those belonging to the numerous carrier-pigeon societies which have
been established on the Continent either for mere amusement or with
more patriotic objects in view. Thus, some years ago, a homing pigeon
covered the six hundred and fifteen miles--air-line--between Liége,
in Belgium, and San Sebastian, in Spain, in the course of a single
day; and in the United States as much as five hundred miles has been
traversed in from twenty-four to twenty-eight hours--that is, the
birds were absent from loft to loft for that period. But, as the
progress of the pigeon from one station to another cannot be
accurately followed, it may have halted on the way. The bird is
believed to travel the first day without stopping, and being stiff
and sore, to rest the second day, resuming its journey on the third,
since it is seldom that "a return" comes back travel-stained or weary.
When the rearing and training of carrier-pigeons for French military
service was seriously undertaken, the first thing to be done was to
find a breed of birds at once intelligent, hardy, strong, light on the
wing, and of a dull, uniform colour, likely to escape notice and
pursuit. All these attributes are possessed by the Belgian breed, which
is divided into two classes; the large, heavy Antwerp, and the smaller,
lighter Luttrich variety. The scientific training, which must be begun
early, is as follows: As soon as the young pigeons can fly they are
taken out of the pigeon-house, put into a basket, and carried (always
with the flying-hole of the basket kept carefully turned towards the
pigeon-house), to an unknown spot at a short distance, where they are
set free and let fly home. It is seldom that a pigeon fails, in the
first short trial, to find its way back to its paternal nest. At each
trial the distance is slightly lengthened. Pigeons six months old are
liberated at a distance of eighty kilometres from home, those of a year
old at one hundred and fifty kilometres, those of two years at three
hundred kilometres, and older tried birds at six hundred to eight
hundred kilometres. These, of course, are average measurements, and are
varied according to circumstance. The percentage of losses naturally
increases with increasing distance. In long flights the birds meet with
innumerable hindrances; rain, hail, fog, wind, and thunderstorms not
only impede their flight, but often affect their wonderful sense of
locality and direction. The birds are remarkably sensitive to
electricity, so that thunderstorms are peculiarly baffling to them, and
large forests, great extents of water, and ranges of mountains
influence and alter the upper air currents, by the direction of which
the pigeons, taught by some marvellous "instinct," are able to steer
their course. The average speed of a pigeon is reckoned at a kilometre
a minute, and on this basis, and taking into consideration the time of
year, length of daylight, weather, &c., calculations are made of the
distance a pigeon can be sent. In summer, when daylight begins at
half-past three in the morning and lasts till half-past eight at night,
a trained pigeon can fly about one thousand kilometres in a day, while
on a foggy November day, when the daylight begins late and darkness
comes on early, the same bird cannot accomplish more than four hundred
kilometres. One great drawback hitherto attendant on the use of pigeons
has been the supposed impossibility of making them fly backwards and
forwards between two points; they would only fly in one direction. Now,
however, Captain Malogoli, the head of the Italian military carrier
pigeon depôts, has, after immense and unwearying trouble, succeeded in
getting his pigeons to fly backwards and forwards between Rome and
Civita Vecchia (seventy-two kilometres). This practical success has
shattered the theories of various ornithologists, as Russ, who have
affirmed that pigeons cannot be made to fly in two directions. The
chief points to be observed in the rearing of pigeons are--roomy, warm
houses, facing toward the sun; scrupulous cleanliness, light food, and
abundance of clean, fresh water. The smaller the bird, and the quieter
its colour, the better chance it stands of safety from human and other
enemies; among the latter the falcon is the most dangerous. The
military pigeon-post is best organised in Germany, Italy, and France.
In the last French budget a sum of sixty-eight thousand francs was
devoted to this branch of the service, and there are at present in
France twenty-two sub-depôts, besides the chief pigeon station. In
Italy there are twelve sub-depôts, and five in the Italian possessions
in Africa.
The following are the regulations as to training and flying in
connection with the messenger war pigeons in Italy. The posts of
Digdegha, the wells of Tata, as well as the detachments sent out to
reconnoitre towards Ailet, Assur, &c., send their reports by means of
pigeons from the dovecote installed at Massowa, whence they are
forwarded to the headquarters at Saati. On rainy days, and when the
communications are confidential, the despatches are introduced into
goose-quills and sealed; but as this operation, above all when the
troops are on the march, entails a certain loss of time, they must
only, when possible, write a despatch on a leaf of a pocket-book with
which every officer and non-commissioned officer is provided; the
despatch is then tied to a tail-feather of the bird. Conventional signs
are also used in the case of a detachment being surprised by the enemy
and not having time to send a telegram. For instance, when one or more
pigeons arrive at the dovecote without despatches, and with the loss of
some tail feathers, it is a sign that the troops have been attacked.
Sometimes marks made with colour supply such-and-such information. Each
detachment carries three or four pigeons in a light basket of bamboo
and net. The distances being short, each despatch is sent by one
pigeon. A first despatch is sent at the hour fixed in advance by the
commander, the others successively as there is news to transmit. The
pigeon-basket is borne by soldiers, who relieve one another at stated
intervals. The grains of wheat and vessels of water are confided to a
corporal, who has the care of the pigeons. When the detachment has to
remain absent more than a day, they take with them four pigeons, with
wheat and water in a leathern case. If they have to return in a day,
they carry but three pigeons, with the food and drink necessary. The
frequent arrival of these birds from all quarters presents a curious
appearance. When they arrive they perch at the window of the dovecot,
where their mates and young await them. To enter they must pass through
a sort of cage-trap, which does not permit them to return, and at the
same time separates them from the other pigeons. The weight of the
newcomer sets an electric bell ringing; and this signal continues all
the time the bird remains in the trap; thus giving notice to the
sergeant of the guard, who takes the despatch and forwards it to
headquarters.
The liability of so defenceless a bird as the pigeon to attack has led
to experiments being undertaken from time to time with young ravens,
which make fairly quick and reliable messengers up to a distance of
about fifty miles. As the raven is very teachable (it can be made to
"retrieve" most creditably), and as it manifests a strong attachment to
its birth-place, there seems no reason why its training should not be
further extended in the new direction, for which its great spirit and
endurance appear eminently to fit it.
Here I have only touched upon the speed and power of flight, but the
whole subject is one of the most fascinating branches of natural
history. No reference has been made to the marvellous movements of
birds in the air, which constitute the very poetry of motion--the
stationary balancing, hovering, circling, and gliding, all of which may
be observed, especially among our own birds of prey.
Although much is known of the speed of birds and animals, there are but
few ascertained facts concerning that of insects and fishes. The
comparatively low intelligence of these two classes of animals makes it
difficult to direct them. They rarely fly or swim in anything
approaching to a straight line, and experiments give only approximate
results. Pike in pursuit of their prey seem to flash through the water;
and salmon and trout move almost as quickly. The Spanish mackerel, with
its smooth, cone-shaped body, is among the swiftest of fishes, and for
speed only finds a parallel in the dolphin. There is a great similarity
in shape between these two, and both cut the water like a yacht. The
first follows the fastest steamers with the greatest ease, in its
dashes swimming at five times their speed. The bonito is also a fast
swimmer; and all those fishes "trimmed" in like fashion with him.
There is one insect to which attention may be drawn, as affording a
most striking example of speed among lowly-winged creatures. That is
the dragon-fly. I have frequently had an opportunity of dropping into
company with the largest species (_Libellula grandis_), in its
aerial excursions in autumn by a particular roadside, along which
there was a rushy-margined pool. At such times the writer has been
occasionally on foot,--more frequently driving. On foot one has
scarcely any means of judging of its speed, for in a moment it is past
and gone out of sight. But what is the experience when you are driving,
say at ten or twelve miles an hour? This rapid voyager passes over,
proceeds beyond you almost out of sight, then turns, swerving widely
from right to left, repasses again in both directions, traversing
repeatedly the ground, while you are travelling, or rather dragging,
over the same space of about a mile only once. We are apt to exaggerate
in these matters, but with every allowance, having compared the flight
of a dragon-fly with that of a passing hawk, swallow, or cuckoo, I have
computed that this large species is capable of flying at a speed of
from eighty to one hundred miles an hour--an enormous draw upon the
creature's nerves and muscular powers, as manifested by occasional
rests of a few minutes upon a bush or a piece of sedge, its habits not
requiring uninterrupted flight at such a pace. Perhaps the need of
these occasional rests is an erroneous opinion founded upon too limited
an area of observation. For Cuvier has stated that M. Poey, who had
particularly studied the insects of Cuba, informed him that at certain
seasons of the year the northerly winds bring to the city of Havannah
and its neighbourhood an innumerable quantity of specimens of one
of the species of _Libellulæ_. Other instances of the periodical
flights or migrations of dragon-flies have been noted by observers.
And even butterflies have been seen to migrate to distant points of
land, making flights of fifty or sixty miles across water. These long
journeys may be relieved by occasional rests, as Mr. Newman and others
have ascertained that lepidopterous insects are able to alight upon the
water, rest awhile, and then rise with apparent ease--a fact readily
credited by fishermen, who so frequently see the green-and-grey drake
and other _ephemeræ_ float down stream, and, if not taken by the
trout, suddenly spring up again, and resume their aerial dances. But
this power of rapid movement in the dragonfly, be the rate more or
less, is in just keeping with its structure. The insect's body is
slender, the chest strongly developed, though firm; the wings, four
in number, are narrow, of great length, and consist of fine, thin,
dry membrane, stretched upon a series of lightly made _costæ_, or
rafters. No wonder, then, that with such a mechanism the creature
pursues its prey of smaller insects with such rapidity.
There are many insects which one would little suspect being furnished
with apparatus suited to swift and more or less continuous flight.
House flies frequent the insides of our windows, buzzing sluggishly in
and out of the room. But what different creatures are they when they
accompany your horse on a hot summer's day. A swarm of these little
pests keep pertinaciously on wing about the horse's ears; quicken the
pace up to ten or twelve miles an hour, still they are there; let a
gust of wind arise and carry them backwards and behind, the breeze
having dropped, their speed is redoubled, and they return to their post
of annoyance to the poor horse, even when urged to its fastest pace.
But this example gives only a partial proof of the fly's power of
flight, as the following will show. The writer was travelling one day
in autumn by rail at about twenty-five miles an hour, when a company of
flies put in an appearance at the carriage window. They never settled,
but easily kept pace with the train; so much so, indeed, that their
flight seemed to be almost mechanical, and a thought struck the writer
that they had probably been drawn into a kind of vortex, whereby they
were carried onward with little exertion on the part of themselves. But
this notion was quickly dispelled. They sallied forth at right-angles
from the carriage, flew to a distance of thirty or forty feet, still
keeping pace, and then returned with increased speed and buoyancy to
the window. To account for this look at the wings of a fly. Each
is composed of an upper and lower membrane, between which the
blood-vessels and respiratory organs ramify so as to form a delicate
network for the extended wings. These are used with great quickness,
and probably six hundred strokes are made per second. This would carry
the fly about twenty-five feet, but a seven-fold velocity can easily be
attained, making one hundred and seventy-five feet per second, so that
under certain circumstances it can outstrip the fleetest racehorse. If
a small insect like a fly can outstrip a racehorse, an insect as large
as a horse would travel very much faster than a cannon-ball.
Bees and wasps are even swifter than flies. Here is another actual
incident. The present writer has sprinkled individual wasps and bees
with rose-coloured powder, and has found that thus handicapped they
could with ease keep up with the fastest trains when speeding down
"Shap Summit," one of the steepest gradients in the country. Nor were
these carried along in the rush of air caused by the train. They would
come in and out of the window, sometimes disappearing for a minute or
more, but frequently returning again and again. At distances of from
five to ten miles they dropped behind, when others took their places.
All of us have seen the flagging, lazy butterfly, flitting from flower
to flower in our gardens--not quite so lazy, however, if goaded on by
some urgent motive. For when this little flutterer, touched by some
strange and mysterious feeling which we cannot read, mounts on sportive
wings, "through fields of air prepared to sail," she hurries onwards
and onwards to some new haven of real or fancied delight and happiness.
Such were the thoughts which occurred when one of these wanderers
accompanied the writer by the roadside for a couple of miles, never
flagging a yard behind, nay, sometimes being before a horse that was
travelling at the rate of nine or ten miles an hour. What could all
this speed and earnestness of the little creature mean? It is not easy
to explain how the butterfly, with its broad, soft, feathery wings,
should be able to accomplish the feat of speed just recorded.[1]
[1] For several interesting facts concerning the flight of
insects, especially the dragon-fly, I am indebted to the late
Dr. Gough.
In the tropics countless swarms of locusts sometimes suddenly make
their appearance, and as suddenly vanish. They cover every leaf-bearing
thing, and occasionally completely denude whole districts of greenery.
So great are their powers of flight that they have been seen at sea
nearly four hundred miles from nearest land. In Natal the farmers,
rightly or wrongly, believe that the locusts introduce injurious seeds
upon their grass-lands, and the following would seem to show that their
belief is well founded. A Mr. Weale, who was of their way of thinking,
collected a packet of dried pellets and sent them to England. When
closely examined under the microscope they revealed a number of tiny
seeds, from which plants of seven kinds of grasses were ultimately
raised.
Among animals, those which have been longest under the care of man
have attained to the greatest degree of perfection in all those
qualities it has been deemed wise to develop. With his mind bent on
utility, man has striven to improve the staying and flying power of
pigeons; the strength and swiftness of horses; and has himself proved
to be a marvellous instance of speed and endurance. To observe the
differences of locomotion, both as regards structural contrivance and
speed among animals--the term "animal" being extended to every
member, high or low, within the province of the animal kingdom--is
one of the most fascinating of out-door studies. It is not an easy
matter, however, to compute the speed or mileage of quick-moving
animals. Among quadrupeds, the horse perhaps may be considered the
fleetest. "Hambletonian" covered a space of four miles in eight
minutes, which is but thirty miles an hour, if it could be continued.
"Firetail" ran a mile in one minute and four seconds; and the famous
"Eclipse" is said to have gone at the rate of a mile in a minute for
a short distance. But it is difficult to form any exact estimate of
his speed, as he never met with an opponent to put him to the test.
During one of his trials, an old woman, according to Youatt, was
asked if she had seen a race. Her reply was that "she could not tell
whether it was a race or not, but she had seen a horse with a white
leg running away at a monstrous rate, and another horse, a great way
behind, trying to run after him; but she was sure he would never
catch the white-legged horse, even if he ran to the world's end." The
above records refer of course to horses galloping; but trotting,
which is more or less an artificial mode of horse progression, has,
with regard to speed, almost been reduced to an art. For facts
concerning it we must look mainly to America, and perhaps no records
are more interesting than those of the famous trotting mare "Maud S."
On September 1st, 1884, Maud ran a mile over the Hartford track in
two minutes twenty-eight seconds; and every fourth day she trotted
over the same distance, the first being the slowest, and the fourth
the fastest--two minutes twenty seconds. At the end of eight days her
training consisted of trotting over two or three mile journeys, with
the result that the time was brought down to two minutes thirteen
seconds; and three days later to two minutes eleven and three-quarter
seconds. Resting some days, Maud was again tried, and among other
times succeeded in trotting the mile in a fraction of a second over
the above, but went marvellously in the last half-mile. Subsequently
to this she was shipped to Lexington, Kentucky, and when she had
covered the mile distance in two minutes sixteen and a half seconds,
it was decided that three days hence she should endeavour to beat her
own great record. This she succeeded in doing by trotting a mile in
two minutes nine and a half seconds; and a year later Maud made the
world's record--two minutes eight and three-quarter seconds. This is
what no other horse ever accomplished, and the interesting phase of
the situation is that the mare is even now in training to beat her
own splendid record given above.
As compared to the rate of speed in animals, those attained by man are
interesting. A hundred yards has been run in ten seconds; two hundred
yards in twenty and two-fifths; three hundred yards in thirty-one and a
half; and a quarter of a mile in forty-eight and four-fifths seconds,
by Messrs. A. Wharton, J. Shearman, C. G. Wood, and L. E. Myers
respectively. Mr. W. G. George holds the championship for one mile and
up to ten miles; his time for the former distance being four minutes
eighteen and two-fifths seconds, and for the latter fifty-one minutes
twenty seconds. For fifteen, twenty, and twenty-five miles Mr. G. A.
Dunning holds the record; the first distance being covered in one hour
twenty-four minutes and twenty-four seconds; the last in two hours
thirty-three minutes forty seconds. The same gentleman is champion at
forty miles. Mr. J. A. Squires has run thirty miles in three hours
seventeen minutes thirty-six and a-half seconds; and Mr. J. E. Dixon is
fifty-mile champion with six hours eighteen minutes and twenty-six and
one-fifth seconds--all truly marvellous performances.