_Pelecanus fuscus._—+LINN.+
Aud. pl. 251.
[129] Length 47 inches, expanse 79¹⁄₂, flexure 18¹⁄₂, tail 5,
rictus 12¹⁄₂, tarsus 3¹⁄₄, middle toe 4¹⁄₄.
The high-road from Bluefields to Savanna le Mar winds round the broad
bend of the coast, called Bluefields Bay; for nearly half the distance,
running close to the shore, which in some parts is a low sandy beach,
in others, rocky and precipitous. About a mile from Bluefields the road
recedes about a hundred yards from the sea, the intervening space being
occupied by tall and dense wood, consisting chiefly of manchioneel,
crablight, sweet-wood, and tropic-birch, much tangled by an underwood
of briers and supple-jacks. As we approach the brow of the cliff, we
perceive that the descent, just here, is not a perpendicular rock,
but is a very steep slope, covered with a loose and shifting rubble,
very unpleasant and even dangerous to the feet. Two enormous birches
and a fig, at some distance from each other, springing out of the
brow, spread their immense boughs even over the sea that boils among
the rocks beneath; and the observer needs no informant to tell him
that these trees are occupied as resting places by many large birds.
The earth, and bushes, and rocks beneath, are splashed widely with
white ordure, the fishy fetor of which is diffused all through the
woods, and is but too perceptible even at the highroad. Scattered upon
the ground lie the long bones, bleached in the wind, and the sable
feathers, of several Frigate-birds, who met their death where they had
been accustomed to live; the victims perhaps of disease, or perhaps
of mutual encounters. High up on the loftiest and outmost limbs sit
many Pelicans, some preening their plumage, others, with the long beak
resting on the breast, enjoying a sluggish repose. Frigates and Boobies
are associated with them, but of these we shall speak presently.
From many visits to this place, which commonly goes by the name of the
Pelican hole, I have observed that the Pelicans which resort hither,
leave the roost at early dawn, and fish for two or three hours; they
return about eight o’clock and rest on the roosting trees until about
eleven; then they go abroad again and fish along the shore or sit
lazily on the rocking sea, till dusk, when in long strings they fly
wearily homeward, and spend the night upon their favourite trees.
It is a pleasant sight to see a flock of Pelicans fishing. A dozen
or more are flying on heavy, flagging wing over the sea, the long
neck doubled on the back, so that the beak seems to protrude from
the breast. Suddenly, a little ruffling of the water arrests their
attention; and, with wings half-closed, down each plunges with a
resounding plash, and in an instant emerges to the surface with a
fish. The beak is held aloft, a snap or two is made, the huge pouch
is seen for a moment distended, then collapses as before; and heavily
the bird rises to wing, and again beats over the surface with its
fellows. It is worthy of observation that the Pelican invariably
performs a somerset under the surface; for descending, as he always
does, diagonally, not perpendicularly, the head emerges looking in the
opposite direction to that in which it was looking before. When the
morning appetite is sated, they sit calmly on the heaving surface,
looking much like a miniature fleet.
In the evening, as I have stated, we see them pursuing their laborious
course to repose. Standing at the door of Bluefields, which from a
slight elevation, commands a wide prospect of the beautiful Bay, I
have often watched, in the evening,—while the sun, sinking among his
gilded piles and peaks of cloud on the horizon-sea, leaves the air
refreshingly cool and balmy, while the dying sea-breeze scarcely avails
to break the glassy reflection of the surface,—the straggling flocks of
Pelicans, from a dozen to forty or fifty, passing slowly along over the
shore. On such occasions, they manifest a decided tendency to form long
continuous strings, like ducks. When the flocks are beating for fish,
or sailing round and round on the watch, there is no such arrangement,
but all circle in a confusion equal to that of the planets of the
Ptolemaic system. Yet at any time of the day, in taking a lengthened
flight, whether shifting their locality, or slowly sweeping over the
sea, they usually take a lineal order.
In flying thus in lines, I have been struck with the unity which
they manifest in their motions: the flight is performed by alternate
intervals of heavy flappings, and sailing on outstretched motionless
wing; and the resumption or suspension of the one or the other state,
is regulated by the leading bird of the line. For example; the first
begins to flap; in an instant the second begins, then the third, then
the fourth, and so on, with perfect regularity of succession; and
neither ceases till the first does, and then only each in his own turn.
That this does not depend on the period of each motion being constant,
is shown by the fact, that the duration of either state is very varying
and arbitrary. If a bird be following the same course, near at hand,
but not within the line, he does not regard the succession at all, but
governs his own motion.
The Pelican on alighting on the water to swim, brings his feet, which
before had been stretched out behind, into a standing position, and, as
it were, _slides along the surface_, for several yards before he swims.
Voracious and formidable as is the Pelican to the smaller of the finny
races, he is not without his enemies among them. I once observed a
large Shark gliding along at the surface of the water near a flock of
swimming Pelicans, wilily endeavouring to approach some unwary one
within seizing distance, his triangular dorsal cutting the water and
revealing his progress, and his intentions. The Pelicans were alert,
however, and did not choose a near acquaintance with their insidious
admirer, each one rising into safety upon the wing as he approached. I
fear he went without his supper on that occasion.
The following interesting note, I quote from a valuable paper by
Mr. Hill, “On the aerating powers of birds,” read at a meeting of
the Jamaica Society, June 1st, 1840. “The facility with which the
Pelican resigns itself to fasting, or rouses itself to feasting, was
very interestingly exhibited to me in a bird, I saw the other day at
Passage Fort. It was a domesticated Pelican, of mature age: it winged
backward and forward, visiting the wild flocks, and feeding with them
in the harbour during the day, and withdrew from them to roost in its
master’s yard during the night. In that period of restraint, when it
was necessary to observe the caution of drawing its quill feathers, to
keep it within very diminished capabilities of flight, until it became
familiar and domesticated, it was wholly dependent on the fish provided
for it by the fishermen of the beach. Sunday was no fishing day with
these men; and this was regularly a day on which there were no supplies
for the Pelican. It became in time so conscious of the recurrence of
this fast-day, that although at all other times it went daily down
to the sea-side to wait the coming in of the canoes, on the seventh
day it never stirred from the recumbent trunk of a tree on which it
roosted within the yard. It had been found necessary to pluck its wing
within the last two or three months to restrain it within bounds, in
consequence of its absence latterly with the wild birds for several
days in succession; and in this state it was reduced as formerly to
depend on the fishermen for food. The old habit of abstinence and
drowsy repose on the Sundays again recurred, and when I saw it, it was
once more a tranquil observer of the rest, and with it the fast, of the
Sabbath day.”
Robinson describes one in captivity, as “a bold fierce bird, which
would snap his beak not only at dogs and other small animals, but even
at men and horses, that came inadvertently within his reach.” (MSS.)
The Pelican is sometimes taken much in the same manner as Gannets in
England. A fish is fastened to a board, which is swiftly drawn through
the sea by a canoe under sail; the Pelican plunges down upon it, and
breaks his neck with the violence of the contact. Although the beak is
not pointed, but hooked at the extremity, Sam has assured me that it
has been known to be driven through the soft wood of the cotton tree,
when that has been used for the board. The flesh is eaten by some of
the negroes, notwithstanding its insupportable fishy odour; to overcome
which in some degree, they bury it for some hours in the sand of the
beach, after which they subject it to three or four boilings before it
is eaten.
The term _fuscus_ is but poorly applicable to this bird in adult
plumage: the long and pointed feathers, being black with a central
stripe of pure white, give a hue rather hoary or silvery than fuscous;
and the pale yellow head, and deep chestnut neck, margined with a white
edging, adds a considerable degree of beauty to the whole.
I dissected a female in May; an operation which though performed in
the open air, was almost sufficient to take away the breath. I found
the stomach a long capacious sac without constriction, with thick
muscular walls; there was a round cavity just beyond the pyloric bend;
the intestinal canal was nearly uniform in size, slender, but long,
with many convolutions; it measured 99 inches; near the middle was a
curious conformation, which I have observed in the intestine of the
_Ardeadæ_; as though the tube had been abruptly terminated and closed,
and another tube _let in at the side_ of the former a little way from
the end, which end thus projected like a teat. Two cæca, about 1¹⁄₂
inch long when distended. The appearance of the viscera corresponded in
most particulars to that described by Prof. Owen (Pr. Zool. Soc. 1835)
in _P. rufescens_. The right lobe of the liver was three or four times
greater in volume than the left; the former had its edges rounded;
the latter was sub-globose. The gall-bladder small; the gall deep
brown-yellow. The spleen was large, oval, about 1³⁄₄ by 1¹⁄₄, soft, and
greenish-black. Kidneys about equal, 2 inches by 1 inch. The fat about
the viscera, which was in series of small lumps, was of a deep orange,
or almost salmon-red. I may add that our species seems much more
arboreal than that described by Prof. Owen. On bending the heel-joint,
so as to bring the tarsus up towards the tibia, the toes were strongly
incurved; and on my placing a stick beneath the toes, and then forcibly
bending the heel, the stick was grasped with so much power that it
could with difficulty be dragged away. I perceived from the form which
the foot assumed under such circumstances, that the hind toe is opposed
to the others in grasping or perching, notwithstanding their continuity
of membrane; the web which connects the hind-toe being wide enough to
admit an object like the branch of a tree, when the toes are opposed.
The tongue is singularly minute; the _rami_ of the hyoïd bone, passing
on each side of the larynx, are simply enveloped in the membranes of
the pouch, and at their convergence, there is a minute projecting point
of cartilage about ¹⁄₆ inch long, which is the only apology for a
tongue.
I was astonished to observe that the whole inner surface of the skin
on the trunk, was cellular, especially on the breast; composing an
immense congeries of membranous cells, inflated with air. The pouch
held seventeen pints of water, which when full dripped out at a wound
_in the fore-arm_.