made by a motor cycle when it is being started. It consists of a
series of dissyllables, low at first with a pause after each, but
gradually growing in intensity and succeeding one another at shorter
intervals, until the bird seems to have got fairly into its stride,
when it pulls up with dramatic suddenness. Tickell thus syllabises its
call: _Turtuck_, _turtuck_, _turtuck_, _turtuck_, _turtuck_, _tukatu_,
_chatatuck_, _atuckatuck_.
Another sound familiar to those who sleep out of doors at this season
is a low, soft "what," repeated at intervals of about a minute.
The writer ascribes this call to the collared scops owl (_Scops
bakkamoena_). Mr. A. J. Currie, however, asserts that the note in
question is that emitted by spotted owlets (_Athene brama_) when they
have young. He states that he has been quite close to the bird when it
was calling.
A little patient observation will suffice to decide the point at
issue.
It is easy to distinguish between the two owls, as the scops has
aigrettes or "horns," which the spotted owlet lacks.
The nightjars help to swell the nocturnal chorus. There are seven or
eight different species in India, but of these only three are commonly
heard and two of them occur mainly in forest tracts. The call of the
most widely-distributed of the Indian goatsuckers--_Caprimulgus
asiaticus_, the common Indian nightjar--is like unto the sound made by
a stone skimming over ice. Horsfield's goatsucker is a very vociferous
bird. From March till June it is heard wherever there are forests. As
soon as the shadows of the evening begin to steal across the sky its
loud _chuk_, _chuk_, _chuk_, _chuk_, _chuk_ cleaves the air for
minutes together. This call to some extent replaces by night the
_tonk_, _tonk_, _tonk_ of the coppersmith, which is uttered so
persistently in the day-time. In addition to this note Horsfield's
nightjar emits a low soft _chur_, _chur_, _chur_.
The third nightjar, which also is confined chiefly to forest tracts,
is known as Franklin's nightjar (_C. monticolus_). This utters a harsh
_tweet_ which at a distance might pass for the chirp of a canary with
a sore throat.
Other sounds heard at night-time are the plaintive _did-he-do-it
pity-to-do-it_ of the red-wattled lapwing (_Sarcogrammus indicus_),
and the shrill calls of other plovers.
As has already been said, the nesting season is at its height in May.
With the exception of the paroquets, spotted owlets, nuthatches, black
vultures and pied kingfishers, which have completed nesting operations
for the year, and the golden-backed woodpeckers and the
cliff-swallows, which have reared up their first broods, the great
majority of the birds mentioned as having nests or young in March or
April are still busily occupied with domestic cares.
May marks the close of the usual breeding season for the jungle crows,
skylarks, crested larks, finch-larks, wood-shrikes, yellow-throated
sparrows, sand-martins, pied wagtails, green barbets, coppersmiths,
rollers, green bee-eaters, white-breasted kingfishers, scavenger
vultures, tawny eagles, kites, shikras, spur-winged plovers, little
ringed plovers, pied woodpeckers, night herons and pied chats. In the
case of the tree-pies, cuckoo-shrikes, seven sisters, bank-mynas and
blue-tailed bee-eaters the nesting season is now at its height. All
the following birds are likely to have either eggs or nestlings in
May: the white-eyes, ioras, bulbuls, tailor-birds, shrikes, brown
rock-chats, Indian robins, magpie-robins, sunbirds, swifts, nightjars,
white-eyed buzzards, hoopoes, green pigeons, blue rock-pigeons, doves,
sparrows, the red and yellow wattled lapwings, minivets, wire-tailed
swallows, red-headed merlins, fantail flycatchers, pipits, sand-grouse
and grey partridges. The nests of most of these have been described
already.
In the present month several species begin nesting operations. First
and foremost among these is the king-crow or black drongo (_Dicrurus
ater_). No bird, not even the roller, makes so much ado about
courtship and nesting as does the king-crow, of which the love-making
was described last month. A pair of king-crows regards as its castle
the tree in which it has elected to construct a nest. Round this tree
it establishes a sphere of influence into which none but a favoured
few birds may come. All intruders are forthwith set upon by the pair
of little furies, and no sight is commoner at this season than that of
a crow, a kite, or a hawk being chased by two irate drongos. The nest
of the king-crow is a small cup, wedged into the fork of a branch high
up in a tree.
The Indian oriole (_Oriolus kundoo_) is one of the privileged
creatures allowed to enter the dicrurian sphere of influence, and it
takes full advantage of this privilege by placing its nest almost
invariably in the same tree as that of the king-crow. The oriole is a
timid bird and is glad to rear up its family under the aegis of so
doughty a warrior as the Black Prince of the Birds. The nest of the
oriole is a wonderful structure. Having selected a fork in a suitable
branch, the nesting bird tears off a long strip of soft pliable bark,
usually that of the mulberry tree. It proceeds to wind one end of this
strip round a limb of the forked branch, then the other end is
similarly bound to the other limb. A second and a third strip of bark
are thus dealt with, and in this manner a cradle or hammock is formed.
On it a slender cup-shaped nest is superimposed. This is composed of
grasses and fibres, some of which are wound round the limbs of the
forked branch, while others are made fast to the strands of bark. The
completed nest is nearly five inches in diameter. From below it looks
like a ball of dried grass wedged into the forked branch.
The oriole lays from two to four white eggs spotted with dull red. The
spots can be washed off by water; sometimes their colour "runs" while
they are in the nest, thereby imparting a pink hue to the whole shell.
Both sexes take part in nest construction, but the hen alone appears
to incubate. She is a very shy creature, and is rarely discovered
actually sitting, because she leaves the nest with a little cry of
alarm at the first sound of a human footfall.
May and June are the months in which to look for the nests of that
superb bird--the paradise flycatcher (_Terpsiphone paradisi_). This is
known as the rocket-bird or ribbon-bird because of the two long
fluttering tail feathers possessed by the cock. The hen has the
appearance of a kind of bulbul, being chestnut-hued with a white
breast and a metallic blue-black crest. For the first year of their
existence the young cocks resemble the hens in appearance. Then the
long tail feathers appear. In his third year the cock turns white save
for the black-crested head. This species spends the winter in South
India. In April it migrates northwards to summer in the shady parts of
the plains of Bengal, the United Provinces and the Punjab, and on the
lower slopes of the Himalayas. The nest is a deep, untidy-looking cup,
having the shape of an inverted cone. It is always completely covered
with cocoons and cobweb. It is usually attached to one or more of the
lower branches of a tree. Both sexes work at the nest and take part in
incubation. The long tail feathers of the sitting cock hang down from
the nest like red or white satin streamers according to the phase of
his plumage. In the breeding season the cock sings a sweet little
lay--an abridged version of that of the fantail flycatcher. When
alarmed both the cock and the hen utter a sharp _tschit_.
May is perhaps the proper month in which to describe the nesting of
the various species of myna.
According to Hume the normal breeding season of the common myna
(_Acridotheres tristis_) lasts from June to August, during which
period two broods are reared. This is not correct. The nesting season
of this species begins long before June. The writer has repeatedly
seen mynas carrying twigs and feathers in March, and has come across
nests containing eggs or young birds in both April and May. June
perhaps is the month in which the largest numbers of nests are seen.
The cradle of the common myna is devoid of architectural merit. It is
a mere conglomeration of twigs, grass, rags, bits of paper and other
oddments. The nesting material is dropped haphazard into a hole in a
tree or building, or even on to a ledge in a verandah. Four beautiful
blue eggs are laid.
At Peshawar Mr. A. J. Currie once found four myna's eggs in a deserted
crows' nest in a tree.
As has already been stated, the nest of the bank-myna (_A.
ginginianus_) is built in a hole in a well, a sandbank, or a cliff.
The birds breed in colonies; each pair excavates its own nest by means
of beak and claw. Into the holes dug out in this manner the
miscellaneous nesting materials are dropped pell-mell after the manner
of all mynas. The breeding season of this species lasts from April to
July, May being the month in which most eggs are laid.
The black-headed or brahminy myna (_Temenuchus pagodarum_) usually
begins nesting operations about a month later than the bank-myna; its
eggs are most often taken in June. The nest, which is an untidy,
odoriferous collection of rubbish, is always in a cavity. In Northern
India a hole in a tree is usually selected; in the South buildings are
largely patronised. Some years ago the writer observed a pair of these
birds building a nest in a hole made in the masonry for the passage of
the lightning conductor of the Church in Fort St. George, Madras.
May marks the commencement of the breeding season of the pied
starlings (_Sturnopastor contra_). In this month they begin to give
vent with vigour to their cheerful call, which is so pleasing as
almost to merit the name of song.
Throughout the rains they continue to make a joyful noise. Not that
they are silent at other seasons; they call throughout the year, but,
except at the breeding period, their voices are comparatively subdued.
The nest is a bulky, untidy mass of straw, roots, twigs, rags,
feathers and such-like things. It is placed fairly low down in a tree.
Many of these nests are to be seen in May, but the breeding season is
at its height in June and July.
The grey hornbills (_Lophoceros birostris_) are now seeking out holes
in which to deposit their eggs. The hen, after having laid the first
egg, does not emerge from the nest till the young are ready to fly.
During the whole of this period she is kept a close prisoner, the
aperture to the nest cavity having been closed by her mate and herself
with their own droppings, a small chink alone being left through which
she is able to insert her beak in order to receive the food brought to
her by the cock.
Mr. A. J. Currie gives an interesting account of a grey hornbill's
nest he discovered at Lahore in 1910. About the middle of April he
noticed a pair of paroquets nesting in a hole in a tree. On April 28th
he saw a hornbill inspecting the hole, regardless of the noisy
protests of the paroquets. On the 30th he observed that the hole had
become smaller, and suspected that the hornbills had taken possession.
On May 1st all that was left of the hole was a slit. On May 6th Mr.
Currie watched the cock hornbill feeding the hen. First the male bird
came carrying a fig in his bill. Seeing human beings near the nest, he
did not give the fig to the hen but swallowed it and flew off.
Presently the cock reappeared with a fig which he put into the slit in
the plastering; after he had parted with the fig he began to feed the
hen by bringing up food from his crop. During the process the beak of
the hen did not appear at the slit.
On May 7th Mr. Currie opened out the nest. The hole was sixteen feet
from the ground and the orifice had a diameter of three inches; all of
this except a slit, broadest at the lower part, was filled up by
plaster. This plaster was odourless and contained embedded in it a
number of fig seeds.
The nest hole was capacious, its dimensions being roughly 1 foot by 1
foot by 2 feet. From the bottom five handfuls of pieces of dry bark
were extracted. Three white eggs were found lying on these pieces of
bark. The sitting hen resented the "nest-breaking," and, having pecked
viciously at the intruder, tried to escape by climbing up to the top
of the nest hole. She was dragged out of her retreat by the beak,
after an attempt to pull her out by the tail had resulted in all her
tail feathers coming away in her captor's hand!
The young green parrots have all left their nests and are flying about
in noisy flocks. They may be distinguished from the adults by the
short tail and comparatively soft call.
Most pairs of hoopoes are now accompanied by at least one young bird
which is almost indistinguishable from the adults. The young birds
receive, with squeaks of delight, the grubs or caterpillars proffered
by the parents. Occasionally a pair of hoopoes may be seen going
through the antics of courtship preparatory to raising a second brood.
In scrub-jungle parties of partridges, consisting of father, mother
and five or six little chicks, wander about.
As the shades of night begin to fall family parties of spotted owlets
issue from holes in trees or buildings. The baby birds squat on the
ground in silence, while the parents make sallies into the air after
flying insects which they bring to the young birds.
The peafowl and sarus cranes are indulging in the pleasures of
courtship. The young cranes, that were hatched out in the monsoon of
last year, are now nearly as big as their parents, and are well able
to look after themselves; ere long they will be driven away and made
to do so. The display of the sarus is not an elaborate process. The
cock turns his back on the hen and then partially opens his wings, so
that the blackish primaries droop and the grey secondary feathers are
arched. In this attitude he trumpets softly.
The water-hens have already begun their uproarious courtship. Their
weird calls must be heard to be appreciated. They consist of series of
_kok_, _koks_ followed by roars, hiccups, cackles and gurgles.
Black partridges, likewise, are very noisy throughout the month of
May. Their nesting season is fast approaching.
Even as April showers in England bring forth May flowers, so does the
April sunshine in India draw forth the marriage adornments of the
birds that breed in the rains. The pheasant-tailed jacanas are
acquiring the long tail feathers that form the wedding ornaments of
both sexes.
The various species of egret and the paddy bird all assume their
nuptial plumes in May.
In the case of the egret these plumes are in great demand and are
known to the plumage trade as "ospreys."
The plumes in question consist of long filamentous feathers that grow
from the neck of the egret and also from its breast. In most countries
those who obtain these plumes wait until the birds are actually
nesting before attempting to secure them, taking advantage of the fact
that egrets nest in colonies and of the parental affection of the
breeding birds. A few men armed with guns are able to shoot every
adult member of the colony, because the egrets continue to feed their
young until they are shot. As the plumes of these birds are worth
nearly their weight in gold, egrets have become extinct in some parts
of the world.
The export of plumage from India is unlawful, but this fact does not
prevent a very large feather trade being carried on, since it is not
difficult to smuggle "ospreys" out of the country.
Doubtless the existing Notification of the Government of India,
prohibiting the export of plumage, has the effect of checking, to some
extent, the destruction of egrets, but there is no denying the fact
that many of the larger species are still shot for their plumes while
breeding.
In the case of cattle-egrets (_Bubulcus coromandus_) the custom of
shooting them when on the nest has given place to a more humane and
more sensible method of obtaining their nuchal plumes. These, as we
have seen, arise early in May, but the birds do not begin to nest
until the end of June. The cattle-egret is gregarious; it is the large
white bird that accompanies cattle in order to secure the insects put
up by the grazing quadrupeds. Taking advantage of the social habits of
these egrets the plume-hunters issue forth early in May and betake
themselves, in parties of five or six, to the villages where the birds
roost. Their apparatus consists of two nets, each some eight feet long
and three broad. These are laid flat on the ground in shallow water,
parallel to one another, about a yard apart. The inner side of each
net is securely pegged to the ground. By an ingenious arrangement of
sticks and ropes a man, taking cover at a distance of twenty or thirty
yards, by giving a sharp pull at a pliable cane, can cause the outer
parts of each net to spring up and meet to form an enclosure which is,
in shape, not unlike a sleeping-pal tent. When the nets have been set
in a pond near the trees where the cattle-egrets roost at night and
rest in the day-time, two or three decoy birds--captured egrets with
their eyes sewn up to prevent them struggling or trying to fly
away--are tethered in the space between the two nets; these last,
being laid flat under muddy water, are invisible. Sooner or later an
egret in one of the trees near by, seeing some of its kind standing
peacefully in the water, alights near them. Almost before it has
touched the ground the cane is pulled and the egret finds itself a
prisoner. One of the bird-catchers immediately runs to the net,
secures the victim, opens out its wings, and, holding each of these
between the big and the second toe, pulls out the nuchal plumes. This
operation lasts about five seconds. The bird is then set at liberty,
far more astonished than hurt. It betakes itself to its wild
companions, and the net is again set. Presently another egret is
caught and divested of its plumes, and the process continues all day.
The bird-catchers spend six weeks every year in obtaining cattle-egret
plumes in this manner. They sell the plumes to middle-men, who dispose
of them to those who smuggle them out of India.
If stuffed birds were used as decoys and the plumes of the captured
birds were snipped off with scissors instead of being pulled out, the
operation could be carried on without any cruelty, and, if legalised
and supervised by the Government, it could be made a source of
considerable revenue.
JUNE
'Tis raging noon; and, vertical, the sun
Darts on the head direct his forceful rays;
O'er heaven and earth, far as the ranging eye
Can sweep, a dazzling deluge reigns; and all
From pole to pole is undistinguish'd blaze.
* * * * *
All-conquering heat, oh, intermit thy wrath,
And on my throbbing temples potent thus
Beam not so fierce! incessant still you flow,
And still another fervent flood succeeds.
Pour'd on the head profuse. In vain I sigh,
* * * * *
Thrice happy he who on the sunless side
Of a romantic mountain, forest crown'd
Beneath the whole collected shade reclines.
J. THOMSON.
With dancing feet glad peafowl greet
Bright flash and rumbling cloud;
Down channels steep red torrents sweep;
The frogs give welcome loud;
* * * * *
No stars in skies, but lantern-flies
Seem stars that float to earth.
WATERFIELD, _Indian Ballads_.
There are two Indian Junes--the June of fiction and the June of fact.
The June of fiction is divided into two equal parts--the dry half and
the wet half. The former is made up of hot days, dull with dust haze,
when the shade temperature may reach 118 degrees, and of oppressive
nights when the air is still and stagnant and the mercury in the
thermometer rarely falls below 84 degrees. Each succeeding period of
four-and-twenty hours seems more disagreeable and unbearable than its
predecessor, until the climax is reached about the 15th June, when
large black clouds appear on the horizon and roll slowly onwards,
accompanied by vivid lightning, loud peals of thunder and torrential
rain. In the June of fact practically the whole month is composed of
hot, dry, dusty, oppressive days; for the monsoon rarely reaches
Northern India before the last week of the month and often tarries
till the middle of July, or even later.
The first rain causes the temperature to fall immediately. It is no
uncommon thing for the mercury in the thermometer to sink 20 degrees
in a few minutes. While the rain is actually descending the weather
feels refreshingly cool in contrast to the previous furnace-like heat.
Small wonder then that the advent of the creative monsoon is more
heartily welcomed in India than is spring in England. No sound is more
pleasing to the human ear than the drumming of the first monsoon rain.
But alas! the physical relief brought by the monsoon is only
temporary. The temperature rises the moment the rain ceases to fall,
and the prolonged breaks in the rains that occur every year render the
last state of the climate worse than the first. The air is so charged
with moisture that it cannot absorb the perspiration that emanates
from the bodies of the human beings condemned to existence in this
humid Inferno. For weeks together we live in a vapour-bath, and to the
physical discomfort of perpetual clamminess is added the irritation of
prickly heat.
Moreover, the rain brings with it myriads of torments in the form of
termites, beetles, stinking bugs, flies, mosquitoes and other creeping
and flying things, which bite and tease and find their way into every
article of food and drink. The rain also awakens from their slumbers
the frogs that have hibernated and aestivated in the sun-baked beds of
dried-up ditches and tanks. These awakened amphibia fill the welkin
with their croakings, which take the place of the avian chorus at
night. The latter ceases with dramatic abruptness with the first fall
of monsoon rain. During the monsoon the silence of the night is broken
only by the sound of falling raindrops, or the croaking of the frogs,
the stridulation of crickets innumerable, and the owlet's feeble call.
Before the coming of the monsoon the diurnal chorus of the day birds
begins to flag because the nesting season for many species is drawing
to a close. The magpie-robin still pours forth his splendid song, but
the quality of the music in the case of many individuals is already
beginning to fall off. The rollers, which are feeding their young, are
far less noisy than they were at the time of courtship. The barbets
and coppersmiths, although not so vociferous as formerly, cannot, even
in the monsoon, be charged with hiding their lights under a bushel.
Towards the end of June the _chuk_, _chuk_, _chuk_, _chuk_, _chuk_ of
Horsfield's nightjar is not often heard, but the bird continues to
utter its soft churring note. The iora's cheerful calls still resound
through the shady mango tope. The sunbirds, the fantail flycatchers,
the orioles, the golden-backed woodpeckers, the white-breasted
kingfishers and the black partridges call as lustily as ever, and the
bulbuls continue to twitter to one another "stick to it!" With the
first fall of rain the tunes of the paradise flycatchers and the
king-crows change. The former now cry "Witty-ready wit," softly and
gently, while the calls of the latter suddenly become sweet and
mellow.
Speaking generally, the monsoon seems to exercise a sobering, a
softening influence on the voices of the birds. The pied myna forms
the one exception; he does not come into his full voice until the
rains have set in.
The monsoon transfigures the earth. The brown, dry, hard countryside,
with its dust-covered trees, becomes for the time being a shallow lake
in which are studded emerald islets innumerable. Stimulated by the
rain many trees put forth fresh crops of leaves. At the first break in
the downpour the cultivators rush forth with their ploughs and oxen to
prepare the soil for the autumn crops with all the speed they may.
There is much to interest the ornithologist in June.