(_Martinico Gallinule._—+Wils.+)
_Porphyrio Martinica._
_Gallinula Martinica_, +Gmel.+—Aud. pl. 305.
_Gallinula cyanocollis_, +Vieill.+
_Porphyrio tavoua_, Ibid.
_Porphyrio Martinica_, +G. R. Gray+.
[118] Length 12¹⁄₂ inches, expanse 21¹⁄₂, flexure 6¹⁄₂, tail 2¹⁄₂,
rictus 1³⁄₁₀, breadth of shield ⁹⁄₂₀, height from base of lower
mandible to point of shield, 1 inch, tarsus 3, middle toe 3. Hind
claw largest.
This magnificent bird is not uncommon in some of the lowland ponds and
marshy rivers of Jamaica. The road from Savannah le Mar to Negril,
passes through the immense swamp of the Cabarita River, the tall and
dense rushes of which form a wall on each side of the way, which in
the wet season is overflowed. Riding there one day in January, I saw
a Sultana walking in the middle of the road; a horseman had passed an
instant before, who certainly had not disturbed it; and on my approach
it took no more notice than a common fowl, sauntering about, and
picking here and there; allowing me to come within three or four feet
of it. I stopped and gazed at it, and at length made a noise and a
sudden motion with my hands; but it merely half-opened the wings, and
gave a little start, exactly as a chicken would do, but neither flew
nor ran. I never saw a bird, _feræ naturæ_, so tame.
I afterwards found that this vast morass abounded with them, and that
their presence in the high road was a thing of daily occurrence;
and though I never saw them _quite_ so fearless as the one I have
mentioned, still they were very bold, walking out from the rushes and
strolling across the road in the sight of passengers.
The aspect of the living bird is not that of a Gallinule; it stands
high on the legs, which are placed more forward: its air is much like
that of a fowl, but its contour is much slenderer. As it walks, the
neck is bridled up, and thrown forward alternately, and the short black
and white tail, which is semi-erect, is, at every step, flirted up with
a jerk into a perpendicular position.
I was struck with the remarkable elegance of one, that I saw by the
roadside, about mid-way between Savanna le Mar and Bluefields. It was
at one of those pieces of dark water called Blue-holes, reputed to
be unfathomable. The surface was covered with the leaves and tangled
stems of various water-plants, and on these the Sultana was walking,
supported by its breadth of foot; so that the leaves on which it trod
sank only an inch or two, notwithstanding that the bird, according to
its usual manner, moved with great deliberation, frequently standing
still, and looking leisurely on either side. As it walked over to
where the water was less encumbered, it became more immersed, until
it seemed to be swimming, yet even then, from the motion of its legs,
it was evidently walking, either on the bottom, or on the yielding
plants. At the margin of the pool, it stood some time, in a dark nook
overhung by bushes, where its green and purple hues were finely thrown
out by the dark background. I could not help thinking what a beautiful
addition it would make to an ornamental water in an English park;
and the more so, because its confiding tameness allows of approach
sufficiently near to admire its brilliancy. Nor are its motions void
of elegance: the constant jerking of its pied tail is perhaps rather
singular than admirable, but the bridling of its curved and lengthened
neck, and the lifting of its feet are certainly graceful.
That the Sultana could be easily domesticated is probable: Mr. Hill
once kept one for three months, which fed eagerly on Guinea-corn
(_Holcus sorghum_).
The immense length of the toes in this bird is a wise and beautiful
provision for its support on the aquatic herbage, which usually covers
the surface of standing waters in warm countries. Xenophon, in the
Retreat of the Ten Thousand, if I mistake not, has mentioned a country,
where they were in the habit of affixing hurdles to the horses’ hoofs,
to enable them to cross rivers without sinking. This device, however,
could be available only on a weedy surface.
Robinson, who has a drawing of this species, says, “This is called the
true Plantain Coot, by reason of his great affection for that fruit.”
In describing what he calls the Carpenter Coot, which seems merely
the present bird in immature plumage, he says, “It has its name from
the noise it makes; it being customary for these birds to assemble,
and knock against pieces of felled timber with their beaks, either in
search of insects, or _to break the shells of the water-snails_, which
are common in the ponds and rivers of these parts. The noise they make
when thus busied has been not badly likened to that of carpenters at
work. And I am deceived if the Clucking-hen makes not a like noise, and
for a similar purpose. I have been since credibly informed they do. The
Carpenter Coot lays in March, and has young in April.” (MSS.)
On taking off the skin, one is struck to observe the bases of all the
feathers projecting from the interior surface, to an extent seen in no
other birds than those of this genus.