_Acanthylis collaris?_
? _Cypselus collaris_, +Pr. Max.+—Temm. Pl. col. 195.
[12] “Length 8¹⁄₂ inches, expanse 20, wings reaching 2¹⁄₄ beyond
the tail, tail 3, rictus ⁶⁄₈, beak from feathered part to tip ³⁄₈,
tarsus ⁶⁄₈, middle toe ¹⁄₂, claw ³⁄₈, inner toe equal to the middle
one.
“Irides deep hazel [“blacker than the pupil,” Mr. Johnston;] beak
black, polished, a little hooked; nostrils large, oval: eyes large,
deep sunk in the head, with remarkably large eyebrows; toes three
before and one behind, covered as well as the tarsi with blackish
purple scales; claws black, polished, hooked, and compressed; tibia
feathered to the tarsus. Head, throat, wings, tail, and belly
brown; the back and tail more inclining towards black, as also the
long quill-feathers. The breast partly white, which was continued
round the neck, like a ring: the head large, like that of Edwards’s
Whip-poor-will. Fore part of the eyebrows tipt with white.”
“As this bird seldom alights, it is furnished with two supernumerary
bones, which are placed on the superior and exterior part of the leg;
the skin that covers them is of an obscure flesh-colour; they are of an
oblong ovated form, one fourth of an inch long; and as the bird hangs
upon a wall, rock, &c., by his claws, these bones are pressed close to
it, and the leg thereby secured from harm.
“The tail consisted of ten feathers, which, when expanded, formed
a large segment of a circle, somewhat pointed at their ends; the
innermost ones broadest. It is remarkable in this bird, that the
tail-feathers have naked shafts after the manner of the woodpeckers,
and adapted to the same use; for the shafts, being remarkably strong
and elastic, even to their points, help to support the birds in their
pendent situation, till they get fast hold by their claws, if there
is any to be got: if not, they can, by means of their tail, fling
themselves back, and recover their wings quickly, which might be
difficult for them to do were the shafts of the tail less strong. The
points are not only naked but sharp.
“Mr. Long had this bird alive. I set it upon the floor; it crept along
with its legs bent, leaning upon the aforesaid bones, but was not able
to raise itself upon its feet; its legs were not so thick as those of
our great English Swift. It was remarkably broad-shouldered, measuring
_two inches_ from pinion to pinion; its head was one inch broad between
the eyes. It resembled the _Caprimulgus_ of Edwards in the form of its
beak and body, as also in _the largeness of its eyes_. Its feathers
were all glossy.
“When the tail is half-spread it forms a straight line at the end; when
more, a curve like a fan. When by any accident this bird falls to the
ground, it creeps or scrambles to some rock or shrub, where bending its
tail and expanding its wings, it elevates its body, and at the same
time throwing its legs forward, catches hold of the rock, &c., with
its claws, and climbing up to a proper height, throws itself back and
recovers its wings.
“This bird was brought to me March 5th, 1759; it had fallen from a tree
by some accident, and was taken up by a negro, before it could recover.”
The above notes in some degree arranged, and slightly abridged, I quote
from Robinson’s valuable MSS., who was evidently much interested in
the bird he has so minutely described. That interest I myself felt
in no small degree, on reading his notes, as there appear manifest
indications of an intermediate link between the diurnal and nocturnal
Fissirostres. It was therefore with very much pleasure that I saw on
the 4th of last April, what I believe to have been the present species.
At Content, in St. Elizabeth, as evening approached, _after a little
rain_, swallows of three species were careering around the mountain:
the White bellied Swallow and the Palm Swift were numerous, and among
them was a very large black species, with a white collar, rather less
numerous, prodigiously rapid in flight. I vainly endeavoured to shoot
it. A fortnight afterwards, about half an hour before sunset, _after
rain_, the Piramidigs which first appeared were presently joined by
the great collared Swift, which careered with them in numbers. Again,
about 11 o’clock in the forenoon, in May, three of these birds swept
overhead, heavy rain already falling on the mountain, and beginning to
reach the spot where I was. My lad Sam, one day about noon, observed
as many as a dozen passing in a flock, in straight and rapid course,
when black clouds, already gathered round the mountain brow, threatened
rain, which however passed away to leeward. A few days after, a little
earlier in the day, and _in exactly similar_ weather, or rather amidst
the first large drops of a heavy rainstorm, he saw three flying so low
as nearly to skim the ground; two pursuing in mazy course a third, from
which proceeded, now and then, a singular vibratory sound, which Sam
imitated by the word “churr.” This singular sound, which again reminds
one of the Goatsuckers, was also uttered by two, which, about the same
season and hour, and in similar weather, were careering swiftly over
Bluefields towards the mountain peaks.
Having mentioned the occurrence of this bird to my notice, in a letter
to Mr. Hill, he favoured me with the following interesting account of
his own acquaintance with the species. “* * * The month was March, the
early part of March, when the bleak northerly winds of February had
exhausted and blighted all vegetation, and the lower range of the St.
Andrews mountains, with their steep and angular declivities walling
in the plains, were looking as seared as if a simoom had blasted
them. The pastures below were destitute of herbage, but the adjacent
cane-fields were sufficiently green to relieve the arid aspect of the
mountains, and give the air of cultivation to the plain. Myself and the
friend with whom I travelled had waited in Kingston till _an afternoon
shower_ had fallen. The sun was just setting when we had got within the
last mile of our journey. We had completely headed the extremity of the
Long mountain, and were quite within the plain, encircled, as it there
seems, by hills and uplands. The air was pleasant and fresh;—the earth
sent up its reeking odour, musky and strong;—the road was splashy, and
here and there stood puddles in the grassless savannas. Lighted by
the level sunbeams the whole landscape was brilliant, and the masses
of recent rain-clouds that were up-rolled, but gathered low on the
mountains before us, were luminously golden and crimson. The deep,
desert bed of the Hope river was right in our view. Here, all of a
sudden, we found ourselves coursing our way through a hundred of the
White-collared Martin, and they seemed to spread all over this corner
of the plain in similar numbers. The extraordinary size of the birds,
the easy but rapid glide of their flight, just over the cane-fields
and savannas, not at a greater height than just above our horse, when
they crossed and re-crossed the road, sweeping so near to us as to
tempt us to strike at them with the chaise-whip, were very remarkable
incidents in a first acquaintance with them. I was able to see the
whole character of their form and colouring, ‘great black Martins,
with a white collar,’ as your letter delineates them. They continued
quartering over the fields, till the sunlight had left the plains, or
was only reflected by the mountains and their piles of roseate clouds.
The rain had brought all insect-life to the moist surface of the earth,
and these birds were following their congregated swarms to the wet
savannas. They sometimes stooped to the puddles, and shot past with a
twitter that very much reminded one of the summer play of their smaller
sized congeners.
“I have seen the same bird twice or thrice since, but in threes or
fours only, and, always, only near rocky and unfrequented hills.
Another friend, who drew my attention to them in consequence of their
numbers after rains, in his neighbourhood, lived among large open
savannas and salt-ponds, near the low range of rocky and sterile
mountains, which our maps call the Healthshire hills. He told me he
had traced them to the caverns in those mountains, in which he felt
assured they nestled in hundreds. This is the nearest to any precise
information, I ever could get of their haunts and habitations.”
I am not alone in thinking these birds difficult to shoot; a gentleman
who resides near Kingston, having observed them at his residence one
evening, the last spring, and kindly wishing to supply me with a
specimen, though an expert shot, fired five times unsuccessfully at
them. Yet I am not without hope of obtaining specimens, particularly
through the politeness of Mr. A. G. Johnston of Portland. In answer
to some observations of Mr. Hill’s, this gentleman writes, “The
ring-necked Swallow abounds here, and flies all day, just as the other
Swift does. Flocks of a hundred or two of each, wheel and scream about
us before a shower. I have a specimen before me, which I stuffed
sixteen years ago, pretty perfect yet, but I propose to shoot you some
fresh birds. I find no difficulty in bringing them down, but I never
saw one alight or perch anywhere.”
It is with doubt that I identify this bird with the “White-necked
Martin” of Temminck, found by the Prince de Nieuwied in his voyage to
Brazil. He states it to be very common in the environs of Rio Janeiro,
and in all the districts of that province, where “_it is found among
rocks_.” Perhaps it is Hirundo 3, of Browne.
When the above was just going to press, I received from Mr. Hill
information that a specimen of this bird had been obtained by Mr.
Johnston. A careful drawing of the left foot accompanied it, with the
following note. “The legs are curiously constructed: the tarsus cannot
_extend_ further than here represented, [viz. forming an angle with the
tibia, of 28°] nor can it be straightened, so that it corresponds with
the tail feathers, and keeps the bird in an upright position against
vertical rocks and trees.” Mr. J. ascertained that from this formation,
the bird cannot stand erect on the ground, nor can it apparently walk;
and he has been told that cattle-boys and fishermen in Portland both
say that they have taken young ones of this species _clinging_ to the
vertical honey-comb rocks, against whose base the sea dashes. As the
specimen thus procured is kindly destined for me, I hope to speak still
more definitely, if it arrive in time, in an appendix. Perhaps it may
form a new genus.
Mr. Johnston’s little boys, familiar with Peter Wilkins’s story, have
been accustomed to call these birds _Gowries_; because of the rushing
noise they make with their wings; a noise that is heard even when they
sweep by, far overhead. I have adopted this appellation.