TROPICAL BIRD LIFE.
The Toucan--Its Quarrelsome Character--The Humming-birds--Their
wide Range over the New World--Their Habits--Their Enemies--
Their Courage--The Cotingas--The Campanero--The Tangaras--The
Manakins--The Cock of the Rock--The Troopials--The Baltimore--
The Pendulous Nests of the Cassiques--The Mocking-bird--Strange
Voices of Tropical Birds--The Goat-Sucker’s Wail--The Organista--
The Cilgero--The Flamingos--The Scarlet Ibis--The Jabiru--The
Roseate Spoon-bill--The Jacana--The Calao--The Sun-birds--The
Melithreptes--The Argus--The Peacock--Tropical Waders of the Old
World--The African Ibis--The Numidian Crane--Australian Birds--
The Lyre Bird--The Birds of Paradise--African Weaving-birds--
Social Grosbeak--The Baya--The Tailor-bird--The Honey Eaters--The
Rock Warbler--The Dicæum--The Bower-birds--The Talegalla--Birds
of Passage.
Useful in many respects to man, no class of animals is more interesting
or agreeable to him than that of the Birds, whether we consider the
beauty of their plumage, the grace of their movements, the melody
of their voice, or the instinct that regulates their migrations and
prompts them to construct their nests; so that their study forms,
without doubt, one of the most attractive departments in the whole
range of natural history.
But it is at the same time one of the most difficult, particularly in
countries where man has not yet mastered the powers of vegetation,
where numberless creepers and bush-ropes render the forest
impenetrable, and the pathless wilderness obstructs the observer at
every step. Thus it is by no means surprising that so many secrets
still veil the life of the tropical birds--that comparatively so
little is known as yet of their economy and mode of existence.
Many families of birds have a wide range over the whole earth:
falcons hover over the Siberian fir-woods, as over the forests of the
Amazons; in every zone are found woodpeckers, owls, and long-beaked
martin-fishers, while thrushes enliven with their song both the shades
of the beech-woods and the twilight of the cocoa-nut groves. In the
north and in the south, fly-catchers carry destruction among the
numerous insect-tribes; in every latitude, crows cleanse the fields
of vermin; and swallows, pigeons, ducks, gulls, petrels, divers, and
plovers frequent the fields and lakes, the banks and shores in all
parts of the world.
Thus the class of birds shows us a great similarity in the distribution
of its various forms all over the earth; and we find the same
resemblance extending also to their mode of life, their manners, and
their voice. The woodpeckers make everywhere the forest resound with
the same clear note, and the birds of prey possess in every clime the
same rough screech so consonant to their habits, while a soft cooing
everywhere characterises the pigeon-tribes. But, notwithstanding this
general uniformity and this wide range of many families of birds, each
zone has at the same time its peculiar ornithological features, that
blend harmoniously with the surrounding world of plants and animals,
and, taking a prominent part in the aspect of nature, at once attract
the attention of the stranger.
In this respect, as in so many others, the warmer regions of the globe
have a great advantage over those of the temperate and glacial zones,
but nowhere do the feathered tribes find a richer or wider field for
their development than in the forests and swamps of tropical America,
where the vegetable world revels in luxuriant growth, and myriads of
insects, peopling the woods, the waters and the fields, furnish each
kind according to its wants with an inexhaustible supply of food. The
circumstance that man but thinly inhabits these wilds is another reason
which favours the multiplication of birds, for in Europe also they
would no doubt be far more numerous, if the farmer, the sportsman, and
so many other enemies were not continually thinning their ranks. To
these elements of destruction they are far less exposed in tropical
America, and being comparatively but little disturbed, they reign,
as it were, over the forest and the field, over the mountain and the
plain, over the river and the lake.
By their loud cry, resembling the yelping of a puppy-dog, and the
enormous disproportion of their bill, which might seem rather adapted
to a bird of ostrich-like dimensions than to one not much larger than
a crow, the Toucans make themselves very conspicuous in the American
woods. Were it of a strong and solid texture, their huge beak would
infallibly weigh them to the ground; but being of a light and cellular
structure, and in some places not thicker than writing paper, they
carry it easily, and leap with such agility from bough to bough, that
it does not then appear preposterously large.
When flying, it gives them, indeed, a very awkward appearance, as their
body always seems overweighted by the enormous beak, which makes the
head bow downwards as the bird passes through the air; but the beauty
of its colouring soon reconciles the eye to its disproportionate size:
for the brightest red, variegated with black and yellow stripes on the
upper mandible, and a stripe of the liveliest sky-blue on the lower,
contribute to adorn the bill of the Bouradi, as one of the three Toucan
species of Guiana is called by the Indians. Unfortunately, these
brilliant tints fade after death, and even the art of a Waterton is
unable to fix and preserve their evanescent hues. The plumage of this
strange bird rivals the beak in beauty of colouring, and the feathers
are frequently used as ornaments by the Brazilian ladies.
A green-wood loving bird, the Toucan never wanders from the shady
forests, where he may generally be seen perched on the topmost boughs
of the loftiest trees, far beyond the reach of small shot, and
requiring a single bullet or the Indian’s poisoned arrow to bring him
from his elevated situation.
Few birds are more noisy or of a more quarrelsome and imperious temper.
In the rainy season his clamour is incessant, and in fair weather the
woods resound at morning and evening with his yelping cry.
Schomburgk relates an anecdote of a tamed Toucan who, by dint of
arrogance, assisted by his enormous beak, had made himself despot not
only over the domestic fowls, but even over the larger four-footed
animals of an estate in Guiana. Large and small willingly submitted
to him, so that when a dispute arose among the trumpeters and hoccos
of the yard, the combatants all dispersed as soon as he made his
appearance, and if by chance he had been overlooked in the heat of the
fray, his powerful beak soon reminded them that their lord and master
was by no means inclined to tolerate disputes among his subjects. On
bread being thrown among them, none of his two or four-legged subjects
would have ventured to seize the smallest morsel before the Toucan had
liberally helped himself. This domineering spirit even went so far
that he inhospitably reminded every strange dog that came near the
premises, that none durst enter his domains without his permission.
There is no knowing to what lengths he might not have carried his
despotism, if a powerful mastiff, one day entering the yard and taking
several bones without leave, had not put an end to his tyranny. For
scarcely had the Toucan perceived the intruder, when angrily rushing
upon him, he attacked him with his beak. The dog at first only growled,
without suffering himself to be disturbed in his meal, but as the bird
continued to bite, he finally lost his patience and, snapping at the
Toucan, wounded him so severely in the head that he soon after expired.
A bird with so strange a beak must naturally be expected to feed and
drink in a strange manner. When the Toucan has seized a morsel, he
throws it into the air and lets it fall into his throat; when drinking,
he dips the point of his mandibles into the water, fills them by a
powerful inspiration, and then throws back the head by starts. The
tongue is also of a very singular form, being narrow and elongated, and
laterally barbed like a feather. The Toucan builds its nest in hollow
trees, preferring those cavities which can only be entered by a small
aperture. According to some writers it makes the burrow for itself,
using the huge beak as its tool. Most probably, however, it only adapts
and slightly alters the interior of the hollow so as to make it more
convenient for its purpose.
[Illustration: TOUCAN.]
To paint the Humming-bird with colours worthy of its beauty, would
be a task as difficult as to fix on canvas the glowing tints of the
rainbow, or the glories of the setting sun. Unrivalled in the metallic
brilliancy of its plumage, it may truly be called the bird of paradise;
and had it existed in the old world it would no doubt have claimed the
title instead of the splendid bird which has now the honour to bear
it. See with what lightning speed it darts from flower to flower; now
hovering for an instant before you, as if to give you an opportunity
of admiring its surpassing beauty, and now again vanishing with the
rapidity of thought. But do not fancy that these winged jewels of
the air, buzzing like bees round the blossoms less gorgeous than
themselves, live entirely on the honey-dew collected within their
petals; for on opening the stomach of a humming-bird, dead insects are
almost always found there, which its long and slender beak, and cloven
extensile tongue, like that of the woodpecker, enable it to catch at
the very bottom of the tubular corollas.
[Illustration: SAWBILL HUMMING-BIRD. BRAZILIAN WOOD NYMPH. WHITE-SIDED
HILL STAR.]
The torrid zone is the chief seat of the Humming-birds, but in summer
they wander far beyond its bounds, and follow the sun in his annual
declensions to the poles. Thus, in the north, they appear as flying
visitors on the borders of the Canadian lakes, and on the southern
coast of the peninsula of Aljaschka; while in the southern hemisphere
they roam as far as Patagonia, and even as Tierra del Fuego; visiting
in the northern hemisphere the confines of the walrus, and reaching
in the south the regions of the penguin and the lion-seal; advancing
towards the higher latitudes with the advance of summer, and again
retreating at the approach of autumn.
[Illustration: FIERY TOPAZ AND HERMIT.]
The nests of the Humming-birds are as elegant and neat as their tiny
constructors; true masterpieces of architectural instinct. Some are
suspended from twigs or attached to a branch; others enjoy the shelter
of some overhanging rock, and others again cling to a leaf. Spider
webs are generally employed for fastening the nest to the support on
which it hangs, or for interweaving the moss or the vegetable fibres
used in its construction, so as to form a firm and wet-resisting mass.
Soft cotton down or fine hairs line its interior, and to screen it from
the piercing eye of an enemy it is frequently covered with patches of
lichen, which render its external appearance as similar as possible
to that of the branch on which it is placed. The nest of the Fiery
Topaz, one of the most magnificent of the humming-birds, glittering in
scarlet, crimson, and emerald green, is particularly curious. It is
formed of a kind of tough, leathery, thick and soft fungus, like German
tinder, and this apparently intractable substance the bird contrives
to mould into the shape of a nest so closely resembling in colour
the branch to which it clings, that it seems more like a natural
excrescence than the artificial structure of a feathered architect.
The Ruby-Throated Humming-bird, thus called from the feathers of its
breast, which glitter as if made of burnished metal, and glow with
alternate tints of ruby and orange, constructs a nest which even the
Indian’s eagle glance can hardly discover, so closely does it resemble
a knob upon a branch. So fearful too is the female of detection
that she does not fly straight to her home, but first shoots up
perpendicularly into the air until her tiny body is lost to sight, and
then darts down among the branches with such meteor swiftness that the
eye cannot follow her movements, and she is quietly seated in her nest
before the spectator knows exactly in which direction she has gone.
Nothing can exceed the tenderness which the male humming-bird evinces
during breeding time for his lovely companion, nor the courage which
he displays for her protection. On the approach of an intrusive bird,
though ten times bigger than himself, he will not hesitate a moment to
attack the disturber of his nest, his bravery adds a tenfold increase
to his powers, the rapidity of his movements confounds his enemy, and
finally drives him to flight. Proud of his success, the little champion
returns to his partner, and flaps triumphantly his tiny wings. But with
all his activity and courage, he is not always able to avert disaster
from his nest, for an enormous bush spider, covered all over with black
hair (_Mygale_), too often lurks in the vicinity, watching for the
moment when the little birds shall creep out of the shell. With sudden
attack it then invades the nest, and sucks their life-blood. Against
this enemy neither courage nor despair are of any avail, and if the
poor humming-bird endeavours to avenge the slaughter of his young, he
only shares their fate. When the dark long-legged monster entwines his
brilliant prey, one might almost fancy an angel of light bleeding under
the talons of a demon.
From the chivalrous character of the Humming-birds it is not surprising
that the most violent passions agitate their little breasts; so that in
their desperate contests, they will tilt against each other with such
fury, as if each meant to transfix his antagonist with his long bill.
It may indeed be truly said that these little creatures are sadly
prone to quarrel over their cups, not of wine, but nectareous flowers.
Frequently four or five of them may be seen engaged in a flying fight
when disputing the possession of a blossoming tree in the forests of
Brazil, and then they dart so swiftly through the air that the eye can
scarcely follow them in their meteorlike evolutions.
As the smallest shot would blow the tiny humming-birds to pieces, and
inevitably destroy the beauty of their plumage, they are taken by
aspersing them with water from a syphon, or by means of a butterfly net.
There are many species of Humming-birds, various in size and habit,
with straight or curved bills, with a naked or a crested head, with
a short or a long tail: some constantly concealing themselves in the
solitudes of the forest; while others hover round the habitations of
man, and frequently during their disputes pursue each other into the
apartments whose windows are left open, taking a turn round the room,
as flies do with us, and then suddenly regaining the open air.
[Illustration: CAMPANERO.]
Next to the humming-birds the Cotingas display the gayest plumage in
the American woods. They are, however, not often seen, for they lead
a solitary life in the moist and shadowy forests, where they feed on
the various seeds and fruits of the woods. One species is attired
in burning scarlet, others in purple and blue, but they are all so
splendidly adorned that it would be difficult to say which of them
deserves the prize for beauty. Most of the Cotingas have no song; the
nearly related snow-white Campanero or bell-bird, however, amply makes
up for the deficient voice of his cousins, by the singularity and
sweetness of his note. He is about the size of a jay. On his forehead
rises a singular spiral tube nearly three inches long. It is jet black,
dotted all over with small white feathers. It has a communication with
the palate, and when filled with air looks like a spire, when empty
it becomes pendulous. His note is loud and clear, like the sound of a
bell. ‘In the midst of the forests,’ says Waterton, ‘generally on the
dried top of an aged mora, almost out of gun reach, you will see the
Campanero. No sound or song from any of the winged inhabitants of the
forest causes such astonishment as his toll. With many of the feathered
race he pays the common tribute of a song to early morn, and even when
the meridian sun has shut in silence the mouths of almost the whole
of animated nature, the Campanero still cheers the forest; you hear
his toll, and then a pause for a minute; then another toll, and then a
pause again, and then a toll and again a pause. Then he is silent for
six or eight minutes, and then another toll, and so on. Actæon would
stop in mid-chase, Maria would defer her evening song, and Orpheus
himself would drop his lute to listen to him, so sweet, so novel and
romantic, is the toll of the pretty snow-white Campanero.’
The Tangaras resemble our finches, though they are far more splendidly
attired. Their plumage is very rich and diversified, some of them boast
six separate colours; others have the blue, purple, green, and black
so finely blended into each other that it would be impossible to mark
their boundaries; while others again exhibit them strong, distinct and
abrupt. The flight of the Tangaras is rapid, their manners lively.
They live upon insects, seeds, berries, and many of them have a fine
song. Among their numerous species, spread over all the warmer regions
of America, the scarlet Piranga is pre-eminent for beauty, and when
in the blooming thickets, along the woody river’s banks, the meridian
sun shows off his plumage in all its splendour, the huntsman pauses to
admire the magnificent bird, and delays his murderous aim.
In the deep forests of Guiana and Brazil, which they never quit for
the open plains, reside the Manakins (_Pipra_), pretty little birds,
whose largest species scarcely attain the dimensions of the sparrow,
while the smallest are hardly equal to the wren. The plumage of the
full-grown male is always black, enlivened by brilliant colours, that
of the female and of the young birds greenish. Their flight is rapid
but short, and they generally roost on the middle branches of the
trees. In the morning they unite in little troops, and seek their food,
which consists of insects, and small fruit, uttering at the same time
their weak but melodious notes. As the day advances they separate and
seek the deepest forest-shades, where they live in solitude and silence.
The famous orange-coloured Cock of the Rock of Guiana (_Rupicola
aurantia_), which owes its name to its comb-like crest, is nearly
related to the Manakins. It is a great rarity, even in its own country,
and as it dwells in the most secluded forests, is but seldom seen by
travellers. Richard Schomburgk relates the following wonderful story of
the bird, which, if not proceeding from so trustworthy a source, might
almost be considered fabulous. ‘A troop of these beautiful birds was
celebrating its dances on the smooth surface of a rock; about a score
of them were seated on the branches as spectators, while one of the
male birds, with proud self-confidence, and spreading tail and wings,
was dancing on the rock. He scratched the ground or leaped vertically
into the air, continuing these saltatory movements until he was tired,
when another male took his place. The females, meanwhile, looked
on attentively, and applauded the performance of the dancers with
laudatory cries. As the feathers are highly prized, the Indians lay
in wait with their blow-pipes near the places where the Rupicolas are
known to dance. When once the ball has begun, the birds are so absorbed
by their amusement, that the hunter has full time to shoot down several
of the spectators with his poisoned arrows, before the rest take the
alarm.’
On penetrating into the wilds of Guiana, the pretty songsters called
Troopials, (_Icterus_, _Xanthornus_) pour forth a variety of sweet and
plaintive notes. Resembling the starling by their habits, they unite
in troops, and live on insects, berries, and seeds. The variegated
Troopial (_Oriolus varius_) displays a wonderful instinct in the
construction of his nest, which he generally builds on fruit-trees;
but when circumstances force him to select a tree whose branches have
far less solidity, as, for instance, the weeping willow, his instinct
almost rises to a higher intelligence. First, he binds together,
by means of bits of straw, the small and flexible branches of the
willow, and thus forms a kind of conical basket in which he places
his nest, and instead of the usual hemispherical form, he gives it a
more elongated shape, and makes it of a looser tissue, so as to render
it more elastic and better able to conform to the movements of the
branches when agitated by the wind.
[Illustration: CRESTED CASSIQUE. BALTIMORE ORIOLE.]
The neat little black and orange Baltimore (_Icterus Baltimore_)
constructs a still more marvellous nest on the tulip trees, on whose
leaves and flowers he seeks the caterpillars and beetles which
constitute his principal food. When the time comes for preparing it,
the male picks up a filament of the _Tillandsia usneoides_ and attaches
it by its two extremities to two neighbouring branches. Soon after,
the female comes, inspects his work, and places another fibre across
that of her companion. Thus by their alternate labours a net is formed,
which soon assumes the shape of a nest, and as it advances towards its
completion, the affection of the tender couple seems to increase. The
tissue is so loose as to allow the air to pass through its meshes, and
as the parents know that the excessive heat of summer would incommode
their young, they suspend their nest so as to catch the cooler breeze
of the north-east when breeding in Louisiana; while in more temperate
regions, such as Pennsylvania and New York, they always give it a
southern exposition, and take care to line it with wool or cotton.
Their movements are uncommonly graceful; their song is sweet; they
migrate in winter towards more southerly regions, Mexico or Brazil, and
return after the equinox to the United States.
The Cassiques, which are nearly related to the troopials or orioli,
are no less remarkable for their architectural skill. They suspend
their large pendulous nests, which are often above four feet long, at
the extremities of branches of palm trees, as far as possible from
all enemies that might by climbing reach the brood, often choosing,
for still further protection, trees on which the wasps or maribondas
have already built their nests, as these are adversaries whose sharp
stings no tiger-cat or reptile would desire to face. The nest of the
_Cassicus cristatus_ is artificially woven of lichens, bark-fibres and
the filaments of the tillandsias, while that of the tupuba (_Cassions
ruber_), which is always suspended over the water, consists of dry
grasses, and has a slanting opening in the side, so that no rain can
penetrate it. On passing under a tree, which often contains hundreds
of cassique nests, one cannot help stopping to admire them, as they
wave to and fro, the sport of every storm and breeze, and yet so well
constructed as rarely to be injured by the wind. Often numbers of one
species may be seen weaving their nests on one side of a tree, while
numbers of another species are busy forming theirs on the opposite side
of the same plant, and what is, perhaps, even still more wonderful than
their architectural skill, though such near neighbours, the females are
never observed to quarrel!
The _Cassicus Persicus_, a small black and yellow bird, somewhat larger
than the starling, has been named the mocking-bird, from his wonderful
imitative powers. He courts the society of man, and generally takes his
station on a tree close to his house, where for hours together he pours
forth a succession of ever-varying notes. If a toucan be yelping in the
neighbourhood, he immediately drops his own sweet song, and answers him
in equal strain. Then he will amuse his audience with the cries of the
different species of the woodpecker, and when the sheep bleat he will
distinctly answer them. Then comes his own song again, and if a puppy
dog or a guinea fowl interrupt him, he takes them off admirably, and
by his different gestures during the time, you would conclude that he
enjoys the sport.
Wild and strange are the voices of many of the American forest-birds.
In the Peruvian woods the black Toropishu (_Cephalopterus ornatus_)
makes the thicket resound with his hoarse cry, resembling the
distant lowing of a bull; and in the same regions the fiery-red and
black-winged Tunqui (_Rupicola Peruviana_) sends forth a note, which
might readily be mistaken for the grunting of a hog, and strangely
contrasts with the brilliancy of his plumage. But of all the startling
cries that issue from the depths of the forest, none is more remarkable
than the Goatsucker’s lamentable wail. ‘Suppose yourself in hopeless
sorrow,’ says Waterton, ‘begin with a high, loud note, and pronounce
ha, ha, ha, ha, ha! each note lower and lower till the last is scarcely
heard, pausing a moment or two between every note, and you will have
some idea of the mourning of the largest Goatsucker in Demerara. Four
other species of goatsucker articulate some words so distinctly, that
they have received their names from the sentences they utter, and
absolutely bewilder the stranger on his arrival in these parts. The
most common one sits down close by your door, and flies and alights
three or four yards before you, as you walk along the road, crying,
‘Who are you, who-who-who-who are you?’ Another bids you, ‘Work away,
work-work-work away.’ A third cries mournfully, ‘Willy come go,
Willy-Willy-Willy come go.’ And high up in the country, a fourth tells
you to, ‘Whip-poor-Will, whip-whip-whip-poor-Will.’
You will never persuade the negro to destroy the birds, or get the
Indian to let fly his arrow at them, for they are held to be the
receptacles for departed souls, who came back again to earth, unable
to rest for crimes done in their days of nature, or expressly sent to
haunt cruel and hardhearted masters, and retaliate injuries received
from them. If the largest goatsucker chance to cry near the white man’s
door, sorrow and grief will soon be inside, and they expect to see
the master waste away with a slow consuming sickness. If it be heard
close to the negro’s or Indian’s hut, from that night misfortune sits
brooding over it, and they await the event in terrible suspense.
During the daytime, the Goatsucker, whose eyes, like those of the
owl, are too delicately formed to bear the light, retires to the
deepest recesses of the forest, but when the sun has sunk behind the
western woods, he may, on moonlight nights, be seen silently hovering
in the forest glades, or hopping about among the herds. This poor bird
has the character of a nocturnal thief, but never has a more unjust
accusation been made, as, far from robbing the flocks of their milk,
he does all he can to free them from insects. ‘See how the nocturnal
flies are tormenting the herd,’ says Waterton, ‘and with what dexterity
he springs up, and catches them, as fast as they alight on the belly,
legs, and udder of the animals. Observe how quiet they stand, and how
sensible they seem of his good offices, for they neither strike at him,
nor hit him with their tail, nor tread on him; nor try to drive him
away as an uncivil intruder. Were you to dissect him, and inspect his
stomach, you would find no milk there: it is full of the flies which
have been annoying the herd.’
The large tropical nocturnal butterflies, or moths, form the chief food
of the wide-beaked Goatsucker, and the number of their wings that may
be seen lying about, give proof of the ravages he commits among their
ranks. For as the bat with his hooked thumb cuts off the wings of the
moths and cockchafers which he catches on his twilight excursions,
thus, also, the Goatsucker refrains from swallowing these parts, and
his hooked and incurvated upper mandible seems purposely intended for
clipping them.
While the Goatsucker makes the forest resound with his funereal tones,
other birds of the forest pour forth the sweetest notes. Dressed in
a sober cinnamon brown robe, with blackish olive-coloured head and
neck, the Organist (_Troglodytes leucophrys_) enlivens the solitude
of the Peruvian forests. The astonished wanderer stops to listen to
the strain, and forgets the impending storm. The Cilgero, a no less
delightful songster, frequents the mountain regions of Cuba, and the
beauty of his notes may be inferred from the extravagant price of
several hundred dollars, which the rich Havanese are ready to pay
for a captive bird. Wagner (‘Travels in Costa Rica,’ 1854) tells us
that our nightingale is far inferior to the Cilgero, who entertains
his mate with the softest tones of the harmonica, and in Guiana the
flute-bird (_Cyphorinus cantans_) delights the ear with his melodious
song. All these lovely musicians of the grove belong to the extensive
finch tribe, and, like their European cousins, appear in a simple
unostentatious garb.
The same beauty of plumage which characterises so many of the American
forest-birds, adorns, likewise, the feathered tribes of the swamp and
the morass, of the river and the lake. Nothing can exceed in beauty a
troop of scarlet Ibises or deep red Flamingoes (_Phœnicopterus ruber_)
on the green margin of a stream. Raised on enormous stilts, and with
an equally disproportionate length of neck, the flamingoes would be
reckoned among the most uncouth birds, if their splendid robe did not
entitle them to rank among the most beautiful.
They always live in troops, and range themselves, whether fishing
or resting, like soldiers, in long lines. One of the number acts as
sentinel, and on the approach of danger gives a warning scream, like
the sound of a trumpet, when, instantly, the whole troop, expanding
their flaming wings, rise loudly clamouring into the air.
These strange-formed birds build in the swamps high conical nests of
mud, in the shape of a hillock with a cavity at top, in which the
female generally lays two white eggs of the size of those of a goose,
but more elongated. The rude construction is sufficiently high to admit
of her sitting on it conveniently, or rather riding, as the legs are
placed on each side at full length. Their mode of feeding is no less
remarkable. Twisting their neck in such a manner that the upper part
of their bill is applied to the ground, they at the same time disturb
the mud with one of their webbed feet, thus raising up from the water
insects and spawn, on which they chiefly subsist.
Six feet high, and stately as a grenadier of the guards, the American
Jabiru stalks along the banks of the morasses. His plumage is white,
but his neck and head are black, like his long legs; his conical,
sharp, and powerful black bill, is a little recurved, while that of
the stork, to whom he is closely related, is straight. He destroys
an incredible number of reptiles and fishes; and, being very sly, is
difficult to kill.
The roseate American Spoon-bill (_Platalea Ajaja_) is particularly
remarkable for his curious large beak, dilating at the top into a
broad spoon or spatula, which, though not possessed of great power,
renders him excellent service in disturbing the mud and seizing the
little reptiles and worms he delights to feed on.
The Jacana (_Parra jacana_) possesses enormously long and slender toes,
armed with equally long spine-like claws. While pacing the ground they
seem as inconvenient as the snow shoes of a Laplander, and yet nothing
can be more suitable for a bird destined to stalk over the floating
leaves of the Nelumbos and Nymphæas, and to seek for water insects
on this unstable foundation. The Jacana is found all over tropical
America, and is also called the Surgeon, from the nail of his hinder
toe being sharp and acuated like a lancet.
Although in the torrid zone we hardly ever meet with a single
aboriginal species of plant or animal common to both hemispheres, yet
the analogy of climate everywhere produces analogous organic forms, and
when on surveying the feathered tribes of America, we are struck by any
bird remarkable for its singularity of shape or mode of life, we may
expect to find its representative in Asia, Africa, or Australia.
[Illustration: RHINOCEROS HORNBILL.]
Thus the enormous beak of the toucan is emulated or surpassed by that
of the Indian Calao, or Rhinoceros Hornbill (_Buceros rhinoceros_)
whose twelve-inch long, curved, and sharp-pointed bill, is, moreover,
surmounted with an immense appendage in the form of a reverted horn,
the use of which belongs as yet to the secrets of nature. While the
toucans are distinguished by a gaudy plumage, the Calaos are almost
entirely decked with a robe black as that of the raven, and enhancing
the beautiful red and orange colours of their colossal beak. Generally
congregating in small troops, like the toucans, they inhabit the dense
forests, where they chiefly live on fruits, seeds, and insects, which
they also swallow whole, throwing them up into the air and catching
them as they fall. The clapping together of their mandibles causes
a loud and peculiar noise, which towards evening interrupts the
silence of the forest. The flight of a bird burdened with such a load
must naturally be short: they hop upon their thick clumsy feet, and
generally roost upon the highest trees.
Like the toucans, the Indian Hornbills make their nest in the hole of
some decaying tree, sometimes plastering up the entrance with mud, so
as to leave but a small aperture, a practice which the Korwê, a species
of African Hornbill, seems invariably to follow.
The female having entered her breeding-place, in one of the natural
cavities of the mopane tree, a species of Bauhinia, the male plasters
up the entrance, leaving only a narrow slit by which to feed his mate,
and which exactly suits the form of his beak. The female makes a nest
of her own feathers, lays her eggs, hatches them, and remains with the
young till they are fully fledged. During all this time which is stated
to be two or three months, the male continues to feed her and the young
family. The prisoner generally becomes quite fat, and is esteemed a
very dainty morsel by the natives, while the poor slave of a husband
gets so lean and weak, that on the sudden lowering of the temperature,
which sometimes happens after a fall of rain, he is benumbed, falls
down, and dies.
The first time Dr. Livingstone saw this bird was at Kolobeng, where he
had gone to the forest for some timber. Standing by a tree, a native
looked behind him and exclaimed, ‘There is the nest of a korwê.’ Seeing
a slit only about half an inch wide and three or four inches long in
a slight hollow of the tree, and thinking the word korwê denoted some
small animal, he waited with interest to see what the Bechuana would
extract. The latter, breaking the clay which surrounded the slit,
put his arm into the hole, and brought out a tockus, or red-beaked
hornbill, which he killed.
The brilliant Sun-birds or Suimangas (_Cinnyris_) of Asia and Africa,
are the Colibris of the old world, equally ethereal, gay, and sparkling
in their motions, flitting briskly from flower to flower, and assuming
a thousand lively and agreeable attitudes. The sunbeams glittering on
their bodies make them sparkle like so many gems. As they hover about
the honey-laden blossoms, they vibrate rapidly their tiny pinions,
producing in the air a slight whirring sound, but not so loud as the
humming noise produced by the wings of the colibris. Thrusting their
slender beaks into the deep-cupped flowers, they probe them with their
brushlike tongues for insects and nectar. Some are emerald green, some
vivid violet, others yellow with a crimson wing, and rivalling the
colibris by the metallic lustre of their plumage, they surpass them by
their musical powers, for the latter can only hum, but the sun-birds
accompany their movements with an agreeable chirp.
[Illustration: ARGUS PHEASANT.]
[Illustration: JAVANESE PEACOCK.]
While the superb ocellated turkey of Honduras (_Meleagris ocellata_)
displays, with all the pride of a peacock, the eye-like marks of
his tail and upper-coverts, the no less beautifully spotted Argus,
a bird nearly related to the gold and silver pheasants which have
been introduced from China into the European aviaries, conceals his
splendour in the dense forests of Java and Sumatra. The wings of this
magnificent creature, whose plumage is equally remarkable for variety
and elegance, consist of very large feathers, nearly three feet long,
the outer webs being adorned with a row of large eyes, arranged
parallel to the shaft; the tail is composed of twelve feathers, the two
middle ones being about four feet in length, the next scarcely two,
and gradually shortening to the outer ones. Its voice is plaintive and
not harsh, as in the Indian peacock, which Alexander the Great is said
to have first introduced into Europe, though its feathers had many
centuries before been imported by the Phœnicians. The Peacock is still
found wild in many parts of Asia and Africa, but more particularly in
the fertile plains of India. Another species, nearly similar in size
and proportions, but distinguished by a much longer crest, inhabits the
Javanese forests.
The tropical wading birds of the old world are no less remarkable for
beauty or size than those of equatorial America. The rose-coloured
Flamingo, with red wings and black quills, adorns the creeks and
rivers of tropical Africa and Asia, and in warm summers extends his
migrations as far northward as Strasburg or the Rhine. The sight of
a troop of flamingoes approaching on the wing and describing a great
fiery triangle in the air is singularly majestic. When about to
alight, their flight becomes slower, they hover for a moment, then
their evolutions trace a conical spire, and finally descending, they
immediately arrange themselves in a long line, place their sentinels,
and commence their fishing operations.
[Illustration: FLAMINGOES.]
On the borders of Lake Menzaleh, in Egypt, thousands upon thousands of
flamingoes may often be seen standing in scarlet array. The Arabs catch
them in nets, or endeavour to surprise the sentinels by cautiously
creeping up to them under the water, and suddenly breaking their necks
before they have time to give the note of alarm. It is then easy to
catch a number of the unsuspecting troop. The flamingoes are not only
beautiful in appearance, but their flesh also surpasses that of most
other birds in delicacy of flavour. At the renowned culinary feasts
of Lucullus, their fleshy tongues, interwoven with fat, formed one of
the rarest and most highly prized dishes. Many of the learned have
doubted the truth of this tradition, as the Romans were unacquainted
with the use of fire-arms, but Brehm,[31] who thinks it would have been
impossible to collect so many flamingoes by means of the noisy gun, is
convinced that they were caught with nets in the swamps of Pontus, as
they are now on Lake Menzaleh.
[Illustration: EGYPTIAN IBIS.]
The white Ibis, who formerly made his appearance from the south, along
with the swelling waters of the Nile, was revered as a sacred bird by
the Egyptians, as the herald of the abundance which the growing river
was about to scatter over the inundated land. They paid him divine
honours, they embalmed his remains with the same spices which served
to preserve the corpses of princes from decay, and the pyramid of
Sakarrah served as the mausoleum of countless thousands of Ibises. At
present, however, the sacred bird, as if resenting the deprivation
of his ancient honours, no longer makes his appearance in Egypt, for
he is never met with beyond the northern boundary of the tropical
rains. When the Blue and White Nile begin to rise, he builds his rude
nest among the branches of the thorny bushes, in an inundated part of
the primitive forest, and lays in September three or four snow-white
or yellow-speckled eggs, which are hatched in a few weeks, and find
abundant food in the countless worms and insects generated in the
swampy grounds.
Few wading birds are more remarkable for grace of form and elegance
of deportment than the Demoiselle, or Numidian Crane, so that Linnæus
justly gave it the name of virgin (_Grus virgo_). Like the ibis it is
easily domesticated, and daily gains upon the affections of its master
by the numerous proofs of attachment and intelligence which it gives
him. With maidenish care it preserves its silken plumage from every
spot or defilement, and enhances its beauty by the arts of an amiable
coquetry. With our Common Cranes (_Grus cinerea_) it hibernates on the
sand-banks of the tropical Nile, where it meets the crowned Demoiselle
(_Grus Pavonia_), which, in spite of its more gorgeous plumage, is a
far less attractive bird. When sailing about the middle of October
on one of the two chief rivers of East Sudan, the traveller sees day
and night flocks of Cranes fly past and settle for the winter on some
appropriate spot. They consist of common and Numidian Cranes. The
latter have been found breeding in summer on the banks of the Wolga,
and very rarely in Germany, but no one knows where the thousands which
assemble in the Sudan spend their summer months. The Demoiselle, a
rare bird in most collections, is there met with in such multitudes
as literally to cover a large sand island. All the cabinets of Europe
might be largely provided with specimens, if the bird was not so
extremely intelligent, shy, and cautious. It evades every snare, and
constantly keeps at a respectful distance from the sportsman’s gun.
Brehm chose the night for its chase, and found that when the moon
shone, it used to fly once as high again as when protected by darkness.
The ornithological wonders of Australia and its neighbouring islands
are inferior to those of no other part of the world. Though of less
dazzling splendour than the peacock’s tail, that of the Menura, or
Lyre-bird, is unrivalled for its elegance. Fancy two large, broad,
black and brown striped feathers, curved in the form of a Grecian
lyre, and between both, other feathers, whose widely distanced silken
barbs envelope and surmount them with a light and airy gauze. No
painter could possibly have imagined anything to equal this masterpiece
of nature, which its shy possessor conceals in the wild bushes of
Australia.
‘Of all the birds I have ever met with,’ says Mr. Gould, ‘the Menura is
by far the most difficult to procure. While among the bushes, on the
coast or on the sides of the mountains in the interior, I have been
surrounded by those birds pouring forth their loud and liquid calls for
days together, without being able to get a sight of them, and it was
only by the most determined perseverance and extreme caution that I was
enabled to effect the desired object.’
The Lyre-bird is constantly engaged in traversing the bush from
mountain-top to the bottom of the gullies, whose steep and rugged sides
present no obstacle to its long legs and powerful muscular thighs. When
running quickly through the bush, it carries the tail horizontally,
that being the only position in which it could be borne at such times.
Besides its loud, full cry, which may be heard at a great distance, it
has an inward and varied song, the lower notes of which can only be
heard when you have stealthily approached to within a few yards of the
bird when it is singing. Its habits appear to be solitary, seldom more
than a pair being seen together. It constructs a large nest, formed on
the outside of sticks and twigs, like that of a magpie, and lined with
the inner bark of trees and fibrous roots.
In the neighbouring regions of Papua or New Guinea, and the small isles
in their immediate vicinity, extending only a few degrees on each side
of the Equator, we find the seat of the wondrous Birds of Paradise,
thus named from that peculiar union of splendour and elegance which
seems to render them more worthy of the gardens of Eden than of a
terrestrial home.
The great Bird of Paradise (_P. apoda_) may justly be said to surpass
in beauty the whole of the feathered creation. The throat is of the
brightest emerald, and the canary-coloured neck blends gradually into
the fine chocolate of the other parts of the body. From under the short
chestnut-coloured wings project the long delicate and gold-coloured
feathers whose beautiful and graceful tufts are equally valued by the
princes of the East and the ladies of England. The chocolate-coloured
tail is short, but two very long shafts of the same hue considerably
exceed in length even the long, loose plumes of the sides.
[Illustration: BIRD OF PARADISE.]
Unable to fly with the wind, which would destroy their loose plumage,
the Birds of Paradise take their flight constantly against it, being
careful not to venture out in hard blowing weather. The Papuas climb,
during the night, upon the high forest trees, where they have observed
the birds to roost, and patiently await the dawn to catch them in
nooses, or to shoot them with blunted arrows. The Portuguese first
found these birds on the island of Gilolo, and as the Papuas tear off
their legs before bringing them to market, it was for a long time
supposed that they were destitute of these organs. The most absurd
fables were founded on this imaginary deficiency: it was said that they
passed their whole life sailing in the air, dew being their only food;
that they never took rest, except by suspending themselves from the
branches of trees by the shafts of their two elongated tail feathers;
that they never touched the earth till the moment of their death; and
the Malays still believe that they retire for breeding to the groves of
Paradise. It is almost superfluous to add that the researches of modern
travellers have fully proved the utter fallacy of these ridiculous
tales.
The wondrous pendulous nests of the American Cassiques and Baltimores
are equalled, if not surpassed, by those of the African Weaving Birds.
These tiny architects generally suspend their structures to the ends
of slender twigs, small branches, leaves or reeds, where they dangle
freely in the air, and dance about merrily at every breeze. For greater
security, many species always hang their nests over water, at no
great distance above the surface, so that, however small the animal,
monkey, or snake may be that would attempt to rob the bird of its young
brood, its weight is more than sufficient to cause its immersion in
the water, and thus put a stop to its burglarious intentions. As a
further annoyance, the baffled invader may expect soon to have a troop
of birds swarming about him like so many scolding beldames, for the
weavers never can see one of their enemies without flying up to it with
hoarse screams, shooting close to its body, and, when an opportunity
offers, indulging in a passing peck.
[Illustration: SOCIABLE WEAVER BIRD.]
The nests of the various species of weavers are very dissimilar in
shape and design; some very long, others very short; some having their
entrance from below, others at the side, and others again from near the
top. Some are made of delicate fibres, and others of coarse grass; some
are of so loose a texture that the eggs can plainly be seen through
them, while others are so strong and thick that they will bear the
roughest handling without going to pieces. That of the Mahali Weaver, a
pretty bird about as large as our common starling, resembles in shape
a Florence oil-flask, but instead of being smooth on the exterior,
the ends of the thick grass stalks of which it is made, protrude like
‘quills upon the fretful porcupine,’ and pointing towards the mouth of
the nest, which hangs downwards, serve as eaves whereby the rain is
thrown off the nest.
If the dwellings made by the generality of Weavers may be likened to
detached villas, each built apart from its neighbour, those of the
social Grosbeak of South Africa, an allied species, deserve the name
of populous cities, for here we find hundreds of feathered architects
uniting their labours in the construction of one vast nest often large
enough to shelter five or six men.
The material used is the tough and wiry Bushman’s grass; the tree
usually chosen for the suspension of the nest, is a species of acacia,
the giraffe thorn, which derives its name from its constituting the
chief food of the beautiful camelopard, and on account of its size and
the umbrella-shaped disposition of its foliage is a great ornament to
the arid wastes of Caffraria.
The instinct of the birds seems to have pointed out to them that it is
peculiarly adapted for the purpose, as its smooth and polished bark
keeps off many an enemy who, if he could ascend the stem, would be
but too happy to give them a friendly call; and besides, the wood is
extremely hard and tough, so that the branches are able to bear the
great weight of the nests.
When about to make a new construction, the birds hang the Bushman’s
grass over a suitable branch, and by means of weaving and plaiting
it, form a roof of some little size. Under this cover are sheltered
a quantity of nests, increasing in number with each new brood, for
although the same nest-mass is occupied for several successive seasons,
the birds never breed in the same nests a second time.
In consequence of this custom, when they have to provide for a new
brood, they enlarge the roof, and build a second row of nests just
like the combs of a hornet’s habitation. Layer after layer is thus
added, until the mass, spreading out like an extended umbrella, attains
so enormous a size as to be easily mistaken by the traveller for a
thatched dwelling erected by the natives in arboreal elevation, as a
defence against wild beasts. Ultimately the branch, however strong,
breaks under the accumulated weight, and comes crashing to the ground;
an accident which fortunately leaves the breeding months undisturbed,
as it generally occurs during the rainy season after the dried grass
has absorbed a vast quantity of moisture. One of the wonders of these
prodigious nests is that the birds should be able so easily to find
their way to their own particular home. Of all the hundreds of holes
with which these nest-cities are frequently pierced, one is as like as
possible to the other, yet notwithstanding this similarity the inmates
glide in and out without any hesitation.
[Illustration: BAYA SPARROW.]
On turning to Asia we likewise find many admirable nest-builders.
Among these the Baya, or Toddy Bird, is one of the most curious. In
shape it resembles the sparrow, as also in the brown feathers of the
back and wings; the head and breast are of a bright yellow, and in the
rays of a tropical sun have a splendid appearance when the birds are
flying by thousands in the same grove. They make a chirping noise, but
have no song; they associate in large communities, and cover clumps of
palmyras, acacias, and date-trees with their nests. These are formed
in a very ingenious manner by long grass woven together in the shape of
a bottle, and suspended by so slender a thread to the end of a flexible
branch that even the squirrel dare not venture his body on so fragile a
support, however his mouth may water at the eggs and prey within. These
nests contain several apartments, appropriated to different purposes:
in one the hen performs the office of incubation; another, consisting
of a little thatched roof and covering a perch without a bottom, is
occupied by the male, who cheers the female with his chirping note. The
Hindoos are very fond of these birds for their docility and sagacity;
when young, they teach them to fetch and carry, and at the time the
young women resort to the public fountains their lovers instruct the
baya to pluck the tica or golden ornament from the forehead of their
favourite and bring it to their master.
[Illustration: THE TAILOR BIRDS.]
The Tailor-bird of Hindostan (_Sylvia sutoria_) is equally curious in
the structure of its nest, and far superior in the elegance and variety
of its plumage, which in the male glows with the varied tints of the
colibri. Selecting a suitable leaf, generally one which hangs from the
end of a slender twig, the little artist pierces a row of holes along
each edge, using his beak as a shoemaker uses his awl. When the holes
are completed the feathered tailor next selects his thread, which is a
long fibre of some plant, and passing it through the holes, draws the
sides of the leaf towards each other, so as to form a kind of hollow
cone, the point downwards. Generally a single leaf answers the purpose,
but whenever the bird cannot find one sufficiently long, it sews two
together, or even fetches another leaf and fastens it with the fibre.
The interior of the hollow is then lined with a quantity of soft white
down, and thus a warm, light, and elegant nest is constructed, scarcely
visible among the foliage, and safe from the attacks of almost every
foe but man. Who, on witnessing these miracles of instinct, would not
exclaim with the poet:
Behold a bird’s nest!
Mark it well, within, without!
No tool had he that wrought, no knife to cut;
No nail to fix, no bodkin to insert,
No glue to join: his little beak was all!
And yet how neatly finish’d! What nice hand,
With every implement and means of art,
Could compass such another?
The Honey Eaters of Australia and the neighbouring archipelagoes,
where they seem to occupy the position which is taken in America by
the humming-birds, and by the sun birds of Asia and South Africa, have
thus been named from their feeding largely on the sweet juices of many
flowers, although the staple of their diet consists of insects. Some
are splendidly decorated, others captivate the ear by their melodious
song. They are most lively and interesting birds, affording an endless
fund of amusement to the careful observer. Never still, they traverse
the branches of the trees with astonishing celerity, skipping from one
to another, and probing every crevice with their needle-like tongue.
Like the humming-birds they display great ingenuity in the building
of their nests which the Singing and Painted Honey Eaters (_Ptilotus
sonorus_; _Entomophila picta_) suspend from the long and slender
branches of the pendulous Acacia, while the Lanceolate Honey Eater,
thus named on account of the shape of its feathers, slings its hammock
just as a seaman slings his oscillating couch.
[Illustration: PTILOTUS SONORUS. SERICORNIS CITREOGULARIS.
ENTOMOPHILA PICTA.
ENTOMOPHILA ALBOGULARIS. ORIGMA RUBRICATA.]
The Lanceolated Honey Eater chooses for the site of its pendulous
dwelling the thinnest twigs which grow at the summit of the enormous
gum trees; where, owing to the great height at which it is placed and
the surrounding leaves, even the eagle eye of the native Australian
can with difficulty detect it; while the White Throated Honey Eater
(_Entomophila albogularis_), detesting the wind, loves to frequent
the dense mangrove thickets which edge the bays and creeks. In these
places, often scarcely two feet from the water, and invariably so
placed as to be under the protection of a spray of leaves, may be found
its curious nest, which is about as large as a breakfast cup, and very
much the same shape.
[Illustration: SWALLOW DICÆUM.]
Besides the Honey Eaters, Australia has many other expert
nest-builders, such as the Rock Warbler (_Origma rubricata_), which
suspends its nest from the rocks in sheltered places, wherever an
overhanging ledge affords protection from the elements; the _Sericornis
citreogularis_, which constructs its dwelling in the centre of the
large masses of moss which in the Australian forests often accumulate
at the extremities of drooping branches, and the brilliantly coloured
Swallow Dicæum (_Dicæum hirundinaceum_), which hangs its pretty nest
from the tops of the tallest Casuarinas, where its minute body can
scarcely be seen without the assistance of glasses; but nothing can be
more extraordinary than the constructions of the Bower Birds, which are
built not for the useful purpose of containing the young, but purely as
a playing place or an assembly room.
‘The structures of the spotted bower bird,’ says Mr. Gould, ‘are in
many instances three feet in length. They are outwardly built of
twigs, and beautifully lined with tall grasses, so disposed that their
heads nearly meet; the decorations are very profuse, and consist of
bivalve shells, crania of small mammalia, and other birds. Evident
and beautiful indications of design are manifest throughout the whole
of the bower and decorations formed by this species, particularly
in the manner in which the stones are placed within the bower,
apparently to keep the grasses with which it is lined fixed firmly in
their places. These stones diverge from the mouth of the run on each
side, so as to form a little path, while the immense collection of
decorative materials, bones, shells, &c., are placed in a heap before
the entrance of the avenue, this arrangement being the same at both
ends. I frequently found these structures at a considerable distance
from the rivers, from the borders of which they alone could have
procured the shells and small round pebbly stones; their collection
and transportation must, therefore, be a task of great labour and
difficulty. As these birds feed almost entirely upon seeds and fruits,
the shells and bones cannot have been collected for any other purpose
than ornament; besides, it is only those that have been bleached
perfectly white in the sun, or such as have been roasted by the
natives, and by this means whitened, that attract their attention.’ For
what purpose these curious bowers are made is not yet, perhaps, fully
understood; they are certainly not used as a nest, but as a place of
resort, where the assembled birds run through and about the bower in
a playful manner, and that so frequently that it is seldom entirely
deserted.
[Illustration: LATHAMI TALEGALLA.]
The Talegalla or Brush-turkey is a no less interesting Australian
bird. In appearance it is very like the common black turkey, but is
not quite so large: the extraordinary manner in which its eggs are
hatched constitutes its singularity. It collects together a great heap
of decaying vegetables as the place of deposit of its eggs, thus making
a hot-bed, arising from the decomposition of the collected matter,
by the heat of which the young are hatched. This mound varies in
quantity from two to four cartloads, and is of a perfectly pyramidical
form: it is not, however, the work of a single pair of birds, but the
result of the united labour of many, and the same site appears to be
resorted to for several years in succession. ‘The mode,’ says Mr.
Gould, ‘in which the materials composing these mounds are accumulated
is equally singular, the bird never using its bill, but always grasping
a quantity in its foot, throwing it backwards to one common centre,
and thus clearing the surface of the ground to a considerable distance
so completely that scarcely a leaf or blade of grass is left.’ The
heap being accumulated and time allowed for a sufficient heat to be
engendered, the eggs, each measuring not less than four inches in
length--an enormous size, considering the bulk of the bird--are
deposited, not side by side, as is ordinarily the case, but planted at
the distance of nine or twelve inches from each other, and buried at
nearly an arm’s depth perfectly upright, with the large end upwards;
they are covered up as they are laid, and allowed to remain until
hatched. After six weeks of burial, the eggs, in succession and without
any warning, give up their chicks--not feeble, but full-fledged and
strong, so that at night they scrape holes for themselves, and lying
down therein are covered over by the old birds and thus remain until
morning. The extraordinary strength of the newly-hatched birds is
accounted for by the size of the shell, since in so large a space
it is reasonable to suppose that the young ones would be much more
developed than is usually found in eggs of smaller dimensions. Other
Australian birds, such as the Jungle-fowl (_Megapodius tumulus_),
Duperrey’s Megapodius (_M. Duperreyii_), which inhabits the forests
of New Guinea, and the Leipoas or native pheasants, construct similar
mound-like nests. Those of the jungle-fowl, observed at Port Essington,
are described as fifteen feet high, and sixty in circumference at the
base, and so enveloped in thickly foliaged trees as to preclude the
possibility of the sun’s rays reaching any part of it.
The tropical forests of the eastern hemisphere resound with bird-cries
no less appalling, wild, or strange than those of the western world.
In the close jungles of Ceylon one occasionally hears the call of the
Copper-smith (_Megalasara Indica_), whose din resembles the blows of a
smith hammering a cauldron, or the strokes of the great orange-coloured
Woodpecker (_Brachypterus aurantius_), as it beats the decaying trees
in search of insects; but of all the yells that fancy can imagine there
is none to equal that of the Singhalese Devil-bird or Gualama. ‘Its
ordinary cry,’ says Mr. Mitford, ‘is a magnificent clear shout like
that of a human being, which can be heard at a great distance, and has
a fine effect in the silence of the closing night. It has another cry
like that of a hen just caught, but the sounds which have earned for
it its bad name, and which I have heard but once to perfection, are
indescribable; the most appalling that can be imagined, and scarcely
to be heard without shuddering. I can only compare it to a boy in
torture, whose screams are being stopped by being strangled. On hearing
this dreadful note the terrified Singhalese hurries from the spot,
for should he chance to see the bird of ill omen he knows that his
death is nigh. A servant of Mr. Baker’s,[32] who had the misfortune of
seeing the dreaded gualama, from that moment took no food, and thus
fell a victim to his superstitious despair. This horror of the natives
explains the circumstance that it is not yet perfectly ascertained
whether the devil-bird is an owl (_Syrnium_) or a night hawk.
As if to make amends for this screech, the robin of Nueraellia, the
long-tailed thrush, the oriole, the dayal-bird, and some others equally
charming, make the forests and savannas of the Kandyan country resound
with the rich tones of their musical calls.
Besides the vast number of birds which, constantly attached to a sultry
climate, breed and live within the tropics, there are others who at
the approach of winter leave the uncongenial regions of the temperate
or frigid zones, and in search of food and warmth migrate towards the
equatorial world. Thus our house swallow annually wanders as far as the
unknown heart of Africa, resting neither in Egypt nor in Nubia, nor
even in the insect-teeming steppes and woods of Eastern Sudan, and the
stork, who every spring appears as a welcome guest in the lowlands of
Northern Germany, has frequently spent the previous winter months in
South Nubia and Darfur. In Kordofan (16° 35 N. Lat.) the naturalist
hears with astonishment the dactylic note of the quail, which may
have sounded in summer in Great Britain or Sweden, or meets with our
charming songster the nightingale, who, likewise, wings his flight
towards unknown regions, far beyond the tropics, where however his
voice is mute.
[Illustration: LANCEOLATE HONEY EATER.]
[Illustration: THE CONDOR.]