“_Nightingale._”
_Mimus polyglottus._
_Turdus polyglottus_, +Linn.+—Aud. pl. 21.
_Mimus polyglottus_, +Boie.+
_Orpheus polyglottus_, +Sw.+
[30] Length 10 inches, expanse 13, flexure 4¹⁄₄, tail 4¹⁄₄, rictus
1, tarsus 1⁴⁄₁₀ middle toe 1. Intestine 8 inches, two minute,
rudimentary cæca.
One of the very commonest of birds in Jamaica, bold and forward in his
manners, inviting rather than avoiding notice, of striking though not
showy colours, the Mocking-bird would be sure to attract the attention
of a stranger, even were he destitute of those unrivalled powers of
song that have commanded the praise of all auditors. The faculty of
imitating the voices of other birds, which has given to this species
its ordinary appellation, has been ably described by Wilson and
others, as well as the variety of notes, apparently original, which
it commands. The former has often caused me no small disappointment;
hearing the voice of, as I supposed, some new bird, or some that I
was in want of, I have found, after creeping cautiously and perhaps
with some difficulty to the spot, that it proceeded from the familiar
personage before us. With respect to the latter, I have been assured
by an observant friend, George Marcy, Esq., of the Kepp, that he, on
one occasion, counted no less than eighteen different notes, proceeding
from a Mocking-bird perched on a tree in his garden.
It is in the stillness of the night, when, like his European namesake,
he delights
“—— with wakeful melody to cheer
The livelong hours,”
that the song of this bird is heard to advantage. Sometimes, when,
desirous of watching the first flight of _Urania Sloaneus_, I have
ascended the mountains before break of day, I have been charmed with
the rich gushes and bursts of melody proceeding from this most sweet
songster, as he stood on tiptoe on the topmost twig of some sour-sop or
orange tree, in the rays of the bright moonlight. Now he is answered
by another, and now another joins the chorus, from the trees around,
till the woods and savannas are ringing with the delightful sounds of
exquisite and innocent joy. Nor is the season of song confined, as in
many birds, to that period when courtship and incubation call forth
the affections and sympathies of the sexes towards each other. The
Mocking-bird is vocal at all seasons; and it is probably owing to his
permanency of song, as well as to his incomparable variety, that the
savannas and lowland groves of Jamaica are almost always alive with
melody, though our singing birds are so few.
“It is remarkable,” observes Mr. Hill, “that in those serenades and
midnight solos, which have obtained for the Mocking-bird the name
of the Nightingale, and which he commences with a rapid stammering
prelude, as if he had awaked, frightened out of sleep, he never sings
his songs of mimicry; his music at this time is his own. It is full of
variety, with a fine compass, but less mingled and more equable than
by day, as if the minstrel felt that the sober-seeming of the night
required a solemnity of music peculiarly its own. The night-song of the
Mocking-bird, though in many of its modulations it reminds us of that
of the Nightingale of Europe, has less of volume in it. There is not
more variety, but a less frequent repetition of those certain notes of
extacy, which give such a peculiar character, and such wild, intense,
and all absorbing feeling to the midnight song of the European bird.
Though the more regulated quality of the song of _our_ Nightingale is
less calculated to create surprise, it is the more fitted to soothe and
console; and that sensation of melancholy which is said to pervade the
melody of the European minstrel, is substituted in the midnight singing
of our bird by one of thoughtful and tranquil delight.”
The nest of the Mocking-bird is not so elaborate a structure as that of
many birds. It is built with little attempt at concealment in some bush
or low tree, often an orange near the dwelling-house. One now before
me, was built in a bunch of plantains. It consists of a rude platform
of loose twigs, in which are interlaced many shreds of old rags;
this frame supports and encloses a rather neat cup, composed entirely
of fine fibrous roots. Another has the frame almost wholly of rags,
from canvas to lace; and the cup of thatch-threads, and horse-hair.
Three eggs are commonly laid, measuring ¹⁹⁄₂₀ by ⁷⁄₁₀ inch, of a pale
bluish-green, dashed with irregular blotches of pale reddish-brown:
they are not perfectly regular in form, their oval having more or
less tendency to a cylindrical shape, rather abruptly flattened at
the ends. When young are in possession, their presence is no secret;
for an unpleasant sound, half hissing, half whistling, is all day
long issuing from their unfledged throats; delightful efforts, I dare
say, to the fond parents. At this time the old birds are watchful and
courageous. If an intruding boy or naturalist approaches their family,
they hop from twig to twig, looking on with outstretched neck, in
mute but evident solicitude; but any winged visitant, though ever so
unconscious of evil intent, and though ever so large, is driven away
with fearless pertinacity. The saucy Ani and Tinkling instantly yield
the sacred neighbourhood, the brave Mocking-bird pursuing a group of
three or four, even to several hundred yards’ distance; and even the
John-crow, if he sail near the tree, is instantly attacked and driven
from the scene. But the hogs are the creatures that give him the most
annoyance. They are ordinarily fed upon the inferior oranges, the fruit
being shaken down to them in the evenings; hence they acquire the
habit of resorting to the orange-trees, to wait for a lucky windfall.
The Mocking-bird feeling nettled at the intrusion, flies down and
begins to peck the hog with all his might:—Piggy, not understanding the
matter, but pleased with the titillation, gently lies down and turns
up his broad side to enjoy it; the poor bird gets into an agony of
distress, pecks and pecks again; but only increases the enjoyment of
the luxurious intruder, and is at last compelled to give up the effort
in despair.
In St. Domingo the Mocking-bird is no less common than in Jamaica: it
is there called by the French inhabitants Rosignol, which is but a
modification of Rosignor, or lord of the rose, the Spanish name of the
Nightingale, probably of Moorish origin.