_White Egg-Bird._
_Thalasseus Cayanus._
_Sterna Cayana_, +Gmel.+—Aud. pl. 273.
_Thalasseus Cayanus_, +Boie+.
[135] Length 21 inches, expanse 45, flexure 14¹⁄₂, tail 7¹⁄₄,
rictus 3⁴⁄₁₀, tarsus 1⁴⁄₁₀, middle toe 1³⁄₁₀. Two cæca ¹⁄₃ inch
long.
This large and beautiful Tern is the most common species we have in
the vicinity of Bluefields. Its powerful beak of a bright orange hue,
its pointed occipital crests of black, the pearly tint of its upper,
and the satiny lustre of its under parts, constitute it a species of
much beauty. In the autumn months we may frequently see this bird
fishing. A quarter of a mile from the shore, off Crabpond Point, there
is a reef, above which it may be seen almost every day. Quite solitary
in his habits, the Crested Tern prefers to fish alone; and though
sometimes two or three may be in view at once, there is no association,
no accordance of movement, as in the Pelicans. High above the water,
we discern a bird, the snowy whiteness of whose plumage contrasts
with the blue sky; he flies rapidly round and round in a large circle,
quickly flapping his wings without intermission. Suddenly, he arrests
his flight, flutters his wings in rapid vibration, as he looks
downwards, but in a moment proceeds as before: it was doubtless a
fish near the surface, but which disappeared before he could descend.
Presently he again stops short, flutters,—then bringing the elbow
of the wings to a right angle, descends perpendicularly, but with a
singular turning of the body, so as to present now the back, now the
belly, alternately, to the observer; not, however, by a rotation, but
irregularly, and as if by jerks. But his purpose is again frustrated;
for on nearly reaching the surface, he recovers himself with a graceful
sweep, and remounts on flagging wing. Again he circles; and again, and
again stops: at length, down he swoops, disappears with a plash, and in
a moment breaks, struggling, from the wave, and, as if to rise burdened
with prey were difficult, flags heavily near the surface, and circling
slowly round, gradually regains his former altitude. Suddenly,—as if
alarmed, though nothing appears to cause it,—he utters two or three
loud cries in a plaintive tone, and flies off, along the coast, until
he is concealed from view by the projecting mangroves. Yet, strange
to say, in a few seconds he returns, and calmly pursues his wonted
occupation. When satiated, he betakes himself to some one of the logs
of wood which are placed as buoys by the fishermen to mark the position
of their sunken fish-pots; and on this he reposes all night, rocked to
sleep by the roll of the surf. The fishermen, on visiting their pots
at early day, find the Terns, exceedingly often, sitting on the buoys;
and so fearless are they, that not seldom a canoe may be paddled nearly
within touch of one before he will fly.
Though web-footed, I believe none of the Terns are ever seen to swim.
One shot and wounded in the wing made no effort to strike out, but
merely struggled in the water as a land-bird would do. This specimen
was brought home alive; it attempted to bite, striking with the beak.
The flesh was dark, and resembled that of a Duck.