BIRDS AND THEIR RIGHTS
"As the sweet voice of a bird,
Heard by the lander in a lonely isle
Moves him to think what kind of bird it is,
That sings so delicately clear, and make
Conjecture of the plumage and the form."
Frankly it must be admitted that the idea of retiring to an island was
not spontaneous. It was evolved from a sentimental regard for the welfare
of bird and plant life. Having pondered upon the destructive instinct
which prevails in mankind, having seen that, though the offences which
man commits against the laws of Nature are promptly detected and
assuredly punished, they are yet repeated over and over again, and having
more pity for the victims of man's heartlessness and folly than regard
for the consequences which man suffers in the blows that Nature inflicts
as she recoils, the inevitable conclusion was that moral suasion was of
little purpose--that there must be more of example than precept. In this
particular case how speedy and effective has been the result will be seen
later on. Man destroys birds for sport, or in mere wantonness, and the
increasing myriads of insect hosts lay such toll upon his crops and the
fruit of the earth which by the exercise of high intelligence and noble
perseverance he has improved and made plentiful, that the national loss
is to be counted by hundreds of thousands. In this, as in all other
interferences with natural laws, we blunder unless we reckon
"With that
Fixed arithmic of the universe,
Which meteth good for good, ill for ill,
Measure for measure."
There may be a sort of satisfaction in the reflection, that for, perhaps,
every insectivorous bird wantonly killed, some proportion of its weight
in silver has to be paid indirectly by the country. But the satisfaction
is of no avail to the dead bird nor to the species, unless the taxpayer
feels the smart and becomes indignant. We want to save the lives of the
birds, and the silver, then to moralise; not kill the bird and be
compelled to spend the silver in destroying insects that the bird would
have delighted to consume, and moralise upon the destructiveness of some
hitherto insignificant bug or beetle, which has suddenly developed into a
national calamity.
So it was resolved, as other phases of island life matured, that one of
the first ordinances to be proclaimed would be that forbidding
interference with birds. That ordinance prevails. Our sea-girt hermitage
is a sanctuary for all manner of birds, save those of murderous and
cannibalistic instincts. We give all a hearty welcome and make friends of
them if possible. During the eight years of our occupancy many shy
creatures have become quite bold and familiar; though I am fain to admit,
with disappointment, that but slight increases in the species represented
have been noticed. Four strange species of terns, which are wont to lay
on the bare reef patches of the Barrier, now visit Purtaboi regularly
every season, depositing their eggs among those of two other species,
which in spite of disturbance by the blacks, year after year refused to
abandon the spot. Possibly the fact that a haven of refuge has been
established has not been widely promulgated among our friends. Those who
are with us or visit us have peace and security, and are for the most
part friendly and trustful.
Man--the late-comer, the last work, the perfect form--is not always
kindly disposed towards the lower orders, though the dominion he
exercises over them is absolute. Were not the beasts of the field, the
birds of the air, the very fish of the sea, given over to his arbitrary
authority? Here the interest in birds is mainly protective. The printed
law of the land says in ponderous paragraphs all duly numbered and
subdivided, that it is unlawful to kill many Queensland birds; and the
pains and penalties for disregard thereof, are they not set out in
terrifying array? But who cares? Take, for an example, the lovely
Gouldian finch. The law makes it an offence to kill the birds, or to take
their eggs, or to have them in possession dead or alive. Yet trappers go
out into the habitation of the bird and snare them by the thousand. Fifty
thousand pairs have been sent away in a single season. Not one tenth of
those which twitter so faintly and yet so sweetly to their tiny loves of
their own land and their erstwhile freedom, ever live to be gloated over,
because of their fatal gift of beauty, in London or on the Continent.
A CENSUS
While this census ignores several birds of the island as to the identity
of which doubt exists in the mind of the compiler, it acknowledges the
presence of all permanent residents familiar to him, as well as casual
visitors, and those which stay for a few hours or days, as the case may
be, for rest or refreshment during migratory flights. Chastened by the
half-averted face of irresponsive science, the glowing desire to inflate
the list gave way to the crisper sort of satisfaction which is like the
joy that cometh in the morning.
BIRDS OF PREY
White Goshawk ASTUR (LEUCOSPIZA) NOVAE HOLLANDIAE.
Goshawk ASTUR APPROXIMANS.
Sparrow-Hawk ACCIPITER CIRRHOCEPHALUS.
Wedge-tailed Eagle UROAETUS (AQUILA) AUDAX.
White-bellied Sea-Eagle HALIAETUS LEUCOGASTER.
White-headed Sea-Eagle HALIASTUS GIRRENERA.
Kite MILVUS AFFINIS.
Black-shouldered Kite ELANUS AXILLARIS.
Black-cheeked Falcon FALCO MELANOGENYS.
Grey Falcon FALCO HYPOLEUCUS.
Black Falcon FALCO SUBNIGER.
Kestrel CERCHNEIS (TINNUNCULUS) CENCHROIDES.
Fish Hawk or Osprey PANDION LEUCOCEPHALUS.
Boobook Owl NINOX BOOBOOK.
Rufous Owl NINOX HUMERALIS.
Lurid Owl (De Vis) NINOX LURIDA.
PERCHING BIRDS
Pied Crow-Shrike STREPERA GRACULINA.
White-winged Chough CORCORAX MELANORHAMPHUS.
Manucode PHONYGAMA (MANUCODIA) GOULDI.
Yellow Oriole ORIOLUS FLAVICINCTUS.
Yellow-bellied Fig-bird SPHECOTHERES FLAVIVENTRIS.
Drongo CHIBIA BRACTEATA.
Magpie Lark GRALLINA PICATA.
Brown Shrike-Thrush COLLYRIOCINCLA BRUNNEA.
White-bellied Cuckoo-Shrike GRAUCALUS HYPOLEUCUS.
Little Cuckoo-Shrike GRAUCALUS MENTALIS.
Barred Cuckoo-Shrike GRAUCALUS LINEATUS.
Caterpillar-cater EDOLIISOMA TENUIROSTRE (JARDINII).
Pied Caterpillar-eater LALAGE LEUCOMELAENA.
Northern Fantail RHIPIDURA SETOSA (ISURA).
Ruffis-fronted Fantail RHIFIDURA RUFIFRONS.
Black and White Fantail RHIPIDURA (SAULOPROCTA) TRICOLOR
(MOTACILLOIDES).
Leaden Fly-catcher MYIAGRA RUBECULA (PLUMBEA).
Blue Fly-catcher MYIAGRA CONCINNA.
Pied Fly-catcher ARSES KAUPI.
Shining Fly-catcher PIEZORHYNCHUS NITIDUS.
White-eared Fly-catcher PIEZORHYNCHUS LEUCOTIS.
Spectacled Fly-catcher PIEZORHYNCHUS GOULDI.
Black-faced Fly-catcher MONARCHA MELANOPSIS (CARINATA).
Tawny Grass-Bird MEGALURUS GALACTOTES.
Rufous-breasted Thickhead PACHYCEPHALA RUFIVENTRIS.
Sun-bird CINNYRIS (NECTARINIA) FRENATA.
Dusky Honey-eater MYZOMELA OBSCURA.
Yellow White-eye ZOSTEROPS LUTEA.
Varied Honey-cater PTILOTIS VERSICOLOR.
Fasciated Honey-eater PTILOTIS FASCIOGULARIS.
Yellow-tinted Honey-eater PLILOTIS FLAVA.
Friar Bird PHILEMON CORNICULATUS.
Helmeted Friar Bird PHILEMON BUCEROIDES.
Flower-Pecker
or Mistletoe Bird DICAEUM HIRUNDINACEUM.
Black-headed Diamond Bird PARDALOTUS MELANOCEPHALUS.
Eastern Swallow HIRUNDO JAVANICA.
Swallow HIRUNDO NEOXENA (FRONTALIS).
White-rumped Wood-Swallow ARTAMUS LEUCOGASTER.
Shining Starling CALORNIS METALLICA.
Noisy Pitta PITTA STREPITANS.
PICARIAN BIRDS
Large-tailed Nightjar CAPRIMULGUS MACROURUS.
Roller or Dollar-Bird EURYSTOMUS AUSTRALIS.
Bee-eater MEROPS ORNATUS.
Blue Kingfisher ALCYONE AZUREA.
Little Kingfisher ALCYONE PUSILLA.
Leach Kingfisher DACELO LEACHII.
Sacred Kingfisher HALCYON SANCTUS.
Mangrove Kingfisher HALYON SORDIDUS.
Bronze Cuckoo CHALCOCOCCYX PLAGOSUS.
Koel EUDYNAMIS CYANOCEPHALA.
Channel-bill SCYTHROPS NOVAE HOLLANDIE.
Coucal CENTROPUS PHASIANUS.
PARROTS
Red-collared Lorikeet TRICHOGLOSSUS RUBRITORQUIS.
Glossy Cockatoo CALYPTORHYNCHUS VIRIDIS (LEACHIT).
White Cockatoo CACATUA GALERITA.
Red-winged Lory PTISTES ERYTHROPTERUS.
PIGEONS AND DOVES
Rose-crowned Fruit Pigeon PTILOPUS EWINGI.
Purple-crowned Fruit Pigeon PTILOPUS SUPERBUS.
Purple-breasted Fruit Pigeon MEGALOPREPIA MAGNIFICA.
Allied Fruit Pigeon MEGALOPREPIA ASSIMILIS.
Nutmeg Pigeon MYRISTICIVORA SPILORRHOA.
White-headed Fruit Pigeon COLUMBA LEUCOMELA.
Pheasant-tailed Pigeon MACROPYGIA PHASIANELLA.
Barred-shouldered Dove GEOPELIA HUMERALIS.
Ground Dove GEOPELIA TRANQUILA.
Little Dove GEOPELIA CUNEATA.
Little Green Pigeon CHALCOPHAPS CHRYSOCHLORA.
GAME BIRDS
Brown Quail SYNAECUS AUSTRALIS.
Scrub Fowl MEGAPODIUS DUPERREYI (TUMULUS).
Bald Coot PORPHYRIO MELANONOTUS.
Little Quail TURNIX VELOX.
RAIL
Pectoral Rail HYPOTAENIDIA PHILIPPINENSIS.
CRANE
Crane or Native Companion ANTIGONE AUSTRALASIANA.
PLOVERS, ETC.
Stone Plover BURHINUS (OEDICNEMUS) GRALLARIUS.
Long-billed Stone Plover ORTHORHAMPHUS (ESACUS) MAGNIROSTRIS.
Turnstone ARENARIA (STREPSILAS) INTERPRES.
Pied Oyster-catcher HAEMATOPUS LONGIROSTRIS.
Black Oyster-catcher HAEMATOPUS UNICOLOR.
Masked Plover LOBIVANELLUS MILES.
Red-capped Dottrel AEGIALITIS RUFICAPILLA.
Black-fronted Dottrel AEGIALITIS (MELANOPS) NIGRIFRONS.
Red-necked Avocet RECURVIROSTRA NOVAE-HOLLANDIAE.
Curlew NUMENIUS CYANOPUS.
Whimbrel NUMENIUS VARIEGATUS.
Barred-rumped Godwit LIMOSA NOVAE-SEALANDIAE
Common Sandpiper TRINGOIDES HYPOLEUCUS.
Greenshank GLOTTIS NEBULARIUS (GLOTTOIDES).
Snipe GALLINAGO AUSTRALIS.
SEA BIRDS
Crested Tern STERNA BERGII.
Brown-winged Tern STERNA ANAESTHETA.
Sooty Tern STERNA FULIGINOSA.
White-shafted Ternlet STERNA SINENSIS.
Black-naped Tern STERNA MELANAUCHEN.
Noddy ANOUS STOLIDUS.
White-capped Noddy MICRANOUS LEUCOCAPILLUS.
IBISES
White Ibis IBIS MOLUCCA.
Straw-necked Ibis CARPHIBIS SPINICOLLIS.
HERONS
Plumed Egret MESOPHOYX PLUMIFERA.
White Egret HERODIAS TIMORIENSIS.
White-fronted Heron NOTOPHOYX NOVAE-HOLLANDIAE.
Reef Heron DEMIEGRETTA SACRA.
Little Mangrove Bittem BUTORIDES STAGNATILIS.
Yellow-necked Mangrove
Bittem DUPETOR GOULDI.
POUCHERS
Little Cormorant PHALACROCORAX MELANOLEUCUS.
Darter PTOLUS NOVAE-HOLLANDIAE.
Masked Gannet SULA CYANOPS.
Red-legged Gannet SULA PISCATOR.
Brown Gannet (Booby) SULA SULA (FIBER).
Lesser Frigate Bird FREGATA ARIEL
Pelican PELICANUS CONSPICILLATUS.
DIVER
Black-throated Grebe PODICIPES NOVAE-HOLLANDIAE.
DUCKS
Black Duck ANAS SUPERCILIOSA.
Grey Teal NETTION (ANAS) GIBBERIFRONS.
Why have we no residential parrot, though cockatoos are plentiful; no
scrub turkey though the megapode scampers in all directions in the
jungle; no common black crow, nor butcher bird, though other shrikes (the
magpie for instance) come and go; no wren, no finch, no lark? Scrub
turkeys (TALLEGALLA LATHAMI), mound builders like the megapode, are
plentiful all along the coast, at certain seasons visiting the scrub
which margins the opposite beach, but they are not found on these
islands. The blue mountain parrot (red-collared lorikeet), the red-winged
lory, the black cockatoo (Leach's), and other well-known species, fleet
and venturesome, to whom two miles and a half of "salt, estranging sea"
cannot be any check, certainly do not use the island for nesting as birds
of "innocent and quiet minds" might. Gauze-winged butterflies flit across
the channel, occasionally in great numbers. What law restrains virile
birds from the venture?
The absence among the residents of swimming birds, save the beach
frequenters, is due to the lack of open fresh water, though there are
indications of the past existence of at least one swamp, and also that it
was drained naturally by the fretting away of a sand ridge by the sea.
How is it, that though we have echidna in three different colours--black,
grey and straw--there is no typical marsupial, large or small, no iguana
(rather, monitor lizard), though a fair variety of other reptiles, from
white, house-haunting geckoes to carpet snakes? Though the CYCAS MEDIA is
plentiful on the seaward slopes of the adjacent mainland, no trace of
that interesting old-world plant has been discovered here. and but one
casual representative has been found of the graceful fan palm (LICUALA
MUELLERI), another relic of the far beginning of Australia. No doubt the
seed whence the single fan palm sprung would be brought hither by a
nutmeg pigeon; but there is no bird-carrier for the CYCAD, and the set of
the current is opposed to its transport by the sea.
In birds and in mammals and in plants, wide-spread Australian groups are
unrepresented.
THE DAYBREAK FUGUE
Before there is any visible sign of the break of day, some keener and
finer perception than man possesses reveals it to the noisy pitta, or
dragoon bird, which in duty bound makes prompt proclamation. Man trusts
to mechanism to check off the watches of the night; birds to a
self-contained grace more sensitive if not so viciously exact. The noisy
pitta bustles along the edge of the jungle rousing all the sleepy heads
with sharp interrogative whistles before there is the least paling of the
Eastern sky. He scents the sun as the ghost of Hamlet's father the
morning air. His version of "Sleepers, wake," echoes in the silence in
sharp, staccato notes. Seldom heard during the heat of the day, they are
oft repeated at dusk and late in the evening. Of all the birds of the day
his voice is the last as well as the first, and from that the natives
derive his name, "Wung-go-bah."
As the dawn hastens a subdued fugue of chirps and whistles, soft,
continuous and quite distinct from the cheerful individual notes and
calls with which the glare is greeted, completes a circle of sounds.
Wheresoever he stands the listener is in the centre of ripples of melody
which blend with the silence almost as speedily as the half lights flee
before the pompous rays of the imperial sun. This charming melody is but
a general exclamation of pleasure on the recovery of the day from the
apprehension of the night, a mutual recognition, an interchange of
matutinal compliments. Those who take part in it may be jealous rivals in
a few minutes, but the first impulse of each new day is a universal
paean, not loud and vaunting, but mellow, sweet and unselfish.
THE MEGAPODE
The cackle and call of the scrub fowl (MEGAPODIUS DUPERREYS) are
nocturnal as well as sounds of the day, being repeated at intervals all
through the night. Rarely venturing out of the shades of the jungle, the
eyesight of this bird is, no doubt, specially adjusted to darkness and
subdued lights, and is thus enabled to detect and prey upon insects which
during the day lurk under leaves and decayed wood, or bury themselves in
the surface of the ever moist soil. Astonishment is excited that there can
by any possibility be any grubs or beetles, centipedes and worms,
scorpions and spiders left to perpetuate their species, when the floor of
the jungle is raked over with such assiduity by this powerful and active
bird. During the day the megapode is sometimes silent, but ever and anon
it gives way to what may in charity be presumed to be a crow---an
uncouth, discordant effort to imitate the boastful, tuneful challenge of
the civilised rooster. In common with "Elia" (and others) the megapode
has no ear for music. It seems to have been practising
"cock-a-doodle-doo" all its life in the solitary corners and undergrowth,
and to have not yet arrived within quavers of it. It "abhors the measured
malice of music."
The inclusion among the birds of the air of such an inveterate land
lover, a bird which seldom takes flight of its own motive, is permissible
on general principles, while its practical exercise of rare domestic
economy entitles it to special and complimentary notice. Reference is
made elsewhere to the surpassing intelligence of the megapode in taking
advantage of the heat caused by the fermentation of decaying vegetation
to hatch out huge eggs. Long before the astute Chinese practised the
artificial incubation of hens' and ducks' eggs, these sage birds of ours
had mastered it. Several birds seem to co-operate in the building of a
mound, which may contain many cartloads of material, but each bird
appears to have a particular area in which to deposit her eggs. The
chicks apparently earn their own living immediately they emerge fully
fledged from the mound, and are so far independent of maternal care that
they are sometimes found long distances from the nearest possible
birthplace, scratching away vigorously and flying when frightened with
remarkable vigour and speed, though but a few hours old. I come gladly to
the conclusion that the megapode is a sagacious bird, not only in the
avoidance of the dismal duty of incubation, but in respect of the making
of those great mounds of decaying vegetable matter and earth which
perform the function so effectively. In a particularly rugged part of the
island is a mound almost completely walled in by immense boulders. In
such a situation the birds could hardly have found it possible to
accumulate by kicking and scratching so great a quantity of debris. The
material was not available on the site, and as the makers do not carry
their rubbish, it was puzzling to account for it all, until it was
noticed that the junction of two boulders with an inclination towards
each other formed a natural flume or shoot down which most of the
material of the mound had been sent. As the rains and use flatten the
apex fresh stuff is deposited with a trifling amount of labour, to afford
an illustration of "purposive conscious action."
The megapode seems to delight in flying in the face of laws to which
ordinary fowls are obedient. While making a law unto herself for the
incubation of eggs, she scandalously violates that which provides that
the size of the egg shall be in proportion to the size of the bird.
Though much less in weight than an average domestic fowl, the egg that
she lays equals nearly three of the fowl's. Comparisons between the egg
of the cassowary (one of the giants among birds) and of the common fowl
with that of the megapode, are highly complimentary to the latter. A fair
weight for a full-grown cassowary is 150 lb., and the egg weighs 1 lb. 6
oz. A good-conditioned megapode weighs 3 lb., the egg 5 1/4 oz.; ordinary
domestic fowl, 4 lb., egg 2 oz. The egg of the cassowary represents 1 per
cent. of the weight of the bird, the domestic fowl's 3 1/8 per cent., and
that of megapode no less than 11 1/2 per cent of its weight.
When these facts are considered, we realise why the homey head of the
great cassowary, the layer of the largest of Australian eggs, is carried
so low as she bursts through the jungle; why the pair converse in such
humble tones and why, on the other hand, the megapode exults so loudly so
coarsely and in such shocking intervals, careless of the sentiments and
of the sense of melody of every other bird.
Though the powers of the flight of this bird are feeble it inhabits
islands 3 and 4 miles further out to sea than their most adjacent
neighbours. The laboured way in which a startled bird flies across the
narrow expanse of my plantation proves that a long journey would never
be undertaken voluntarily. Not many months ago some blacks walking on the
beach on the mainland had their attention attracted by a bird flying low
on the water from the direction of Dunk Island, 2 1/2 miles away. It was
labouring heavily, and some little distance from land fell exhausted into
the sea. When it drifted ashore--a godsend to the boys--it was found to be
a megapode--and the feat was camp talk. None could credit that a
"kee-rowan" could fly so far.
SWAMP PHEASANT
The swamp pheasant, or pheasant coucal (CENTROPUS PHASIANUS) is also an
early bird, and a bird of varied linguistic capabilities. Folks are apt
to associate with him but one note, and that resembling the mellow gurgle
of cream from a bottle, "Glooc! glooc! glooc! glooc!" An intimate
knowledge of his conversational powers leads one to conclude that there
are few birds more widely accomplished in that direction. He does use the
fluid phrase mentioned, but his notes and those of his consort cover
quite a range of exclamations and calls. Just as I write a pair appeal
for a just recognition of their accomplishments. That which I assume to
be the lord and master utters a loud resonant "Toom! toom! toom! toom"
a smooth trombonic sound, "hollow to the reverberate hills," which his
consort answers with a series of "Tum! tum tum! tum!" on a higher but
still harmonious key, and in accelerated tempo. This, I fancy, is the
lover's serenade, and the soft assenting answer; almost invariably the
loud hollow sound is the opening phrase of the duet. "Sole or responsive
to each other's note," the birds make the forest resound again during the
day, especially in the prime months, and even these notes find varied and
pleasing expression. Free and joyous as a rule, occasionally they seem to
indicate sadness and gloom. During and after a bush fire the birds give
to the notes a mournful cadence like the memories of joy that are past, a
lament for the destruction of the grass among which last year's
dome-shaped nests were hidden. The swamp pheasant also utters a contented,
self-complacent chuckle, that resembles the "Goo! goo! goo!" of a happy
infant, and occasionally a succession of grating, discordant, mocking
sounds, "Tcharn! tcharn! tcharn!" The chuckle may be an expression as if
gloating over the detection and assimilation of some favourite dainty,
and the harsh notes a demonstration of rivalry, anger and hostility. The
more familiar and more frequent note is the "Toom," repeated about
fourteen or sixteen times, and the thinner, softer response.
The bird resembles in plumage a pheasant. Cumbersome and slow of flight,
clumsy in alighting, he frequently loses his equilibrium, and is
compelled to use his long tail as a counter-balance, as he jumps from
branch to branch ascending a tree, in order to gain elevation, whence to
swoop and flop across the intervening space to the next. When compelled to
take wing from a low elevation, the flight is slow and laboured in the
extreme. He is a handsome fellow, the ruling colours being glossy black,
brown and reddish chestnut. One writer describes the bird as half hawk,
half pheasant, another as a non-parasitic cuckoo; another "really a
cuckoo"; another a swamp or tree parrot with the foot of a lark. Without
daring to attempt to dispute any of these descriptions, I may say that
the bird is a decided character and possesses the charm of originality.
He has become so confiding that he will perch on the gatepost as one
enters, assuming a fierce and resentful aspect, and he will play "hawk"
to the startled fowls. He eats the eggs of other birds and kills chicks;
but his murderous instincts are rarely exhibited, and then only, perhaps,
when his passions are aroused. He does not (as far as my observation
goes) kill for food, but merely because Nature gives him at certain times
and seasons a fiery, jealous disposition, and a truculent determination
to protect his family.
"GO-BIDGER-ROO!"
As the sun shines over the range, the plaintive cooing of the little blue
dove, such as picked the rice grains from the bowl beside rapt Buddha's
hands, comes up from among the scented wattles on the flat, the gentlest
and meekest of all the converse of the birds. The nervous yet fluty tones
are as an emphatic a contrast to the vehement interjections and commands
of the varied honey-cater (PTILOTIS VERSICOLOR)--now at the first
outburst--as is the swiftly foreshortening profile of the range to the
glare in which all the foreground quivers.
Once aroused, the varied honey-eater is wide awake. His restlessness is
equalled only by his impertinent exclamations. He shouts his own
aboriginal title, "Go-bidger-roo!" "Put on your boots!"
"Which--which-which way-which way-which way you go!" "Get your whip!" "Get
your whip!" "You go!" "You go!" "None of your cheek!" "None of your
cheek!" "Here-here!" And darts out with a fluster from among the hibiscus
bushes on the beach away up to the top of the melaleuca tree; pauses to
sample the honey from the yellow flowers of the gin-gee, and down to the
scarlet blooms of the flame tree, across the pandanus palms and to the
shady creek for his morning bath and drink, shouting without ceasing his
orders and observations. He is always with us, though not always as noisy
as in the prime of the year--a cheerful, prying, frisky creature, always
going somewhere or doing something in a red-hot hurry, and always making
a song of it--a veritable babbler. His love-making is passionate and
impulsive, joyous almost to rowdyism.
BULLY, SWAGGERER, SWASHBUCKLER
The drongo shrike is another permanent resident; glossy black, with a
metallic shimmer on the shoulders, long-tailed, sharp of bill and
masterful. He has a scolding tongue, and if a hawk hovers over the
bloodwoods he tells without hesitation of the evil presence. He is the
bully of the wilderness of leaves, bouncing birds vastly his superior in
fighting weight and alertness of wing, and clattering his jurisdiction to
everything that flies. When the nest on the nethermost branch of the
Moreton Bay ash is packed with hungry brood, his industry is
exhilarating. Ordinarily he gets all the food he wants by merely a
superficial inspection; but with a family to provide for, he is compelled
to fly around, shrewdly examining every likely looking locality. Clinging
to the bark of the bloodwood, with tail spread out fan-wise as additional
support, he searches every interstice, and ever and anon flies to the
Moreton Bay ash, and tears off the curling fragments of crisp bark which
afford concealment to the smaller beetles, grubs and spiders.
With the loose end of bark in his bill, tugging and fluttering, using his
tail as a lever with the tree as a fulcrum, and objurgating in unseemly
tones, as the bark resists his efforts, the drongo assists the Moreton
Bay ash in discarding worn-out epidermis, and the tree reciprocates by
offering safe nesting-place on its most brittle branches.
The drongo is a bird of many moods. Silent and inert for months together,
during the nesting season he is noisy and alert, not only the first to
give warning of the presence of a falcon, but the boldest in chiveying
from tree to tree this universal enemy.
He is then particularly partial to an aerial acrobatic performance,
unsurpassed for gracefulness and skill, and significant of the joy of
life and liberty and the delirious passion of the moment. With a mighty
effort, a chattering scream and a preliminary downward cast, he impels
himself with the ardour of flight--almost vertically--up above the level
of the tree-tops. Then, after a momentary, thrilling pause, with a gush of
twittering commotion and stiffened wings preternaturally extended over
the back and flattened together into a single rigid fin, drops--a
feathered black bolt from the blue--almost to the ground, swoops up to a
resting-place, and with bowing head and jerking tail gloats over his
splendid feat.
Though denied fluency of utterance, the spangled drongo has no rival in
the peculiar character of the notes and calls over which he has secure
copyright. The shrill stuttering shriek which accompanies his aerial
acrobatic performances, the subdued tinkling tones of pleasure, the
jangle as of cracked china, the high-pitched tirade of jarring abuse and
scolding at the presence of an enemy, the meek cheeps, the tremulous,
coaxing whistles when the young first venture from the nest--each and
every sound, unique and totally unlike that of any other bird, indicates
the oddity of this sportful member of the crow family.
EYES AFLAME
Perhaps the most interesting and entertaining of all the birds of the
island is that commonly known as the weaver or friendly bird, otherwise
the metallic starling, the shining calornis of the ornithologist, the
"Tee-algon" of the blacks. Throughout the coastal tract of North
Queensland this bird is fairly familiar. In these days it could not
escape notice and comment, for it is an avowed socialist establishing
colonies every few miles. There are four on Dunk Island, and though not
permanent residents, spending but little more than half the year with us,
they are among the few birds who have permanent homes. In some lofty tree
they build perhaps two hundred nests in groups of from two to six. With
all these nests weighting its thinner branches the tree may look wearied
and afflicted, but it obtains direct benefit from the presence of the
birds. The nests, deftly built of tendrils and slender creepers and grass
are domed, the entrance being at the side, and so hidden and overhung as
almost to escape notice. Each August the birds appear, coming from the
north. and until the middle of March, when they take their departure,
they do not indulge in many leisure moments. There are the old nests to
renovate and new ones to build in accordance with the demand of the
increasing population, and loads of fruits and seeds and berries to be
conveyed from the jungle to the colony. The shining calornis is a
handsome fellow, gleaming black, with purple and green sheen. The live
bird differs so greatly from the dull, stuffed specimen of the museum
that one is tempted to endeavour to convey by similitude its wonderful
radiance. A soap bubble, black yet retaining all its changing lights and
flashing reflections, is the nearest approach to a just description, and
then there are to specify the rich, red eyes, eyes gleaming like polished
gems. Until after the first year of their existence the young are
brown-backed, and mottled white and bluish-grey of breast, and would
hardly be recognised as members of the colony, but for the shrill notes
and restless activity and those flaming eyes--living gems of wondrous
radiance, and the eyes epitomise the life of the bird which is all flame
and fever.
Twenty or thirty may be peering about in a bloodwood, and with a
unanimous impulse and a call in unison they slip through the forest, and
shoot into the jungle, flashing sun-glints. Eager, alert, always under
high pressure, the business of the moment brooks of no delay. The flocks
come and go between the home and the feeding-ground with noisy
exclamations and impetuous haste. With whirr of wings and jeering notes
they swoop close overhead, wheeling into the wilderness of leaves with
the rapidity of thought, and with such graceful precision that the
sunlight flashes from their shoulders as an arc of light. Work, hasty
work, is a necessity, for their wastefulness is extreme, or, rather, do
they not unconsciously perform a double duty, being chief among the
distributing agents--industrious and trustworthy though unchartered
carders for many helpless trees. When the company darts again out of the
jungle, each with a berry in its bill and each shrilly exulting, many a
load is dropped by the way, and many another falls to mother earth in the
act of feeding the clamorous young. Berries and seeds having no means of
self-transportation are thus borne far from parent trees to vegetate in
sweet unencumbered soil. Other birds take part in this generous
dispersal, but none engage in it so systematically or so openly.
Beneath the tree which is the head centre of the colony is a carpet of
debris several inches thick. Old and discarded nests, fragments of unused
building materials, the nutmeg with its lacing of coral-red mace, the
blue quandong, the remains of various species of figs, hard berries,
chillies, degenerated tomatoes, the harsh seed-vessels of the
umbrella-tree, samples of every fruit and berry of attractive appearance,
however hot and acrid, all go to form a mulching of vegetable matter such
as no other tree of forest or jungle gets. Prodigal and profuse as she
may be, Nature is the rarest of economists. Out here in the forest is
springing up an oasis of jungle, every plant of which owes its origin to
the shining calornis.
It must not be thought that all the notes of these most engaging birds,
symbolic of light in plumage and in flight, are shrill and strident. When
they feed--and they seem always to be feeding or carrying food--their
chatter is perpetual and varied in tone. Occasionally a male bird sets
himself to beguile the time with song. Then his flame-red eyes flash with
ardour, his head is thrown back, a sparkling ruffle appears on his
otherwise satiny smooth neck, and the tune resembles that of a well-taught
canary--more fluty but briefer. But the song is only for the ears of those
who know how to overcome timidity and shyness. Birds naturally so
impetuous are restless and uneasy under observation. One must pose in
silence until his presence is forgotten or ignored. Then the delicious
melody, the approving comments of the songster's companions, and the
efforts of ambitious youngsters to imitate and excel, are all part of a
quaint entertainment.
THE NESTFUL TREE
All the forest brood do not plot mutual slaughter. Some live in strict
amity. Here in the Moreton Bay ash, taken advantage of by the shining
calornis, a white-headed, rufous-backed sea-eagle nests, and the
graceful, fierce-looking pair come and go among the glittering noisy
throng without exciting any special comment. Of course it would be
impossible to detect any certain note of remonstrance, for the smaller
birds are generally commenting on something or other in acidulous tones.
Another occupant of this nestful tree is the sulphur-crested cockatoo,
whose eggs are laid deep down in a hollow. Two or three hundred of the
shining colonists, a brood of sea-eagles, white-headed, snowy-breasted and
red-backed, and a couple, perhaps, three, screeching white cockatoos,
represent the annual output of this single tree, in addition, of course,
to its own crop of sweet savoured flowers (on which birds, bees, beetles
and butterflies, and flying-foxes feast) and seeds in thousands in
cunning cups.
"STATELY FACE AND MAGNANIMOUS MINDE"
How feeble and ludicrous are the voices of the fierce hawks and eagles.
The white-headed sea-eagle's puking discordant twang, the feeble cheep of
the grey falcon--the cry of a sick and scared chicken--the harsh protest
of the osprey, are sounds distinctive but frail, conveying no notion
whatever of the demeanour and characteristics of the birds.
Now the white-headed sea-eagle, with its sharp incurved beak, terrible
talons, and armour-plated legs, is a friend to all the little birds. He
has the "stately face and magnanimous minde" that old writers were wont to
ascribe to the Basilisk, the King of Serpents. They know and respect,
almost venerate him. A horde of them never seeks to scare him away with
angry scolding and feeble assaults, as it does the cruel falcon and the
daring goshawk. Domestic fowls learn of his ways, and are wise in their
fearlessness of him. But I was not well assured of the reasons for the
trustfulness and admiration of the smaller birds for the fierce-looking
fellow who spends most of his time fishing, until direct and conclusive
evidence was forthcoming. Two days of rough weather, and the blue bay had
become discoloured with mud churned up by the sea, and the eagle found
fishing poor and unremunerative sport. Even his keen eyesight could not
distinguish in the murky water the coming and going of the fish. just
below the house is a small area of partly cleared flat, and there we saw
the brave fellow roaming and scooping about with more than usual interest
in the affairs of dry land. At this time of year green snakes are fairly
plentiful. Harmless and handsome, they prey upon small birds and frogs,
and the eagle had abandoned his patrol of the sad-hued water to take toll
of the snakes. After a graceful swoop down to the tips of a low-growing
bush, he alighted on the dead branch of a bloodwood 150 yards or so away,
and, with the help of a telescope, his occupation was revealed--he was
greedily tearing to pieces a wriggling snake, gulping it in
three-quarter-yard lengths. Here was the reason for the trustfulness and
respect of the little birds. The eagle was destroying the chief bugbear
of their existence--the sneaking greeny-yellowy murderer of their kind and
eater of their eggs, whose colour and form so harmonises with leaves and
thin branches that he constantly evades the sharpest-eyed of them all,
and squeezes out their lives and swallows them whole. But the big red
detective could see the vile thing 50 and even 100 yards away, and once
seen--well, one enemy the less. Briskly stropping his beak on the branch
of the tree on which he rested, and setting his breast plumage in order,
much as one might shake a crumb from his waistcoat, the eagle adjusted
his searchlights and sat motionless. In five minutes a slight jerk of the
neck indicated a successful observation, and he soared out, wheeled like
a flash, and half turning on his side, hustled down in the foliage of a
tall wattle and back again to his perch. Another snake was crumpled up in
his talons, and he devoured it in writhing, twirling pieces. The
telescope gave unique advantage during this entertainment, one of the
tragedies of Nature, or rather the lawful execution of a designing and
crafty criminal. Within ten minutes the performance was repeated for the
third time, and then either the supply of snakes ran out or the bird was
satisfied. He shrewdly glanced this way and that, craning and twisting
his neck, and seeming to adjust the lenses of his eyes for near and
distant observation. No movement among the leaves seemed to escape him.
Two yards and a half or perhaps three yards of live snakes constituted a
repast. At any rate, after twenty minutes' passive watchfulness, he
sailed up over the trees and away in the direction of his home in the
socialistic community of the shining calornis.
The white-headed sea-eagle is a deadly foe to the pugnacious sea-serpent
also. On the beach just above high water-mark was the headless carcase of
one that must have been fully 5 feet long, and while it was under
inspection an eagle circled about anxiously. Soon after the intruders
disappeared the bird swooped down and resumed his feast, and presently
his mate came sailing along to join him. The snake must have weighed
several pounds, and apparently was not as dainty to the taste as the
green arboreal variety, for after two days' occasional feasting there was
still some of the flesh left.
Shrewd as is the observation of the white-headed sea-eagle he is not
exempt from blunders. Though he pounces with authoritative certainty and
precision, he does not discriminate until the capture is complete,
between the acceptable and the unacceptable. Generally whatsoever is
seized is carried off, apparently without inspection. Perhaps the balloon
fish is the only one that is promptly discarded. The sea porcupine
(DIODON), which shares with that repugnant creature the habit of
exemplifying the extent to which the skin of a fish is capable of
distention without bursting, is frequently picked up from the shallow
water it favours. Short sharp needles stand out rigidly from its skin,
forming a complete armament against most foes. The sea-eagle does not
always devour the sea porcupine, which at the very best is nothing more
than a picking. Amongst such a complex labyrinth of keen bones a hasty
meal is not to be found, and the sea-eagle is not a leisurely eater. He
likes to gulp; and so when he has indiscreetly blundered on a porcupine
he frequently unlocks his talons and shakes himself free, while the fish,
inflated to the last gulp, floats away high and light, bearing on its
tense silvery-white side the crimson stigmata of the sea-eagle.
When misguided fish have blundered into the trap in the corner of the
bay, the sea-eagle demands a share of the easily-gotten spoil. Perched on
the tallest stake, he faithfully indicates the presence of food that he
cannot obtain unless by goodwill; yet who would deny the bird of his
right? Having fulfilled his duty as sentinel, he soars to an adjacent
tree, uttering that sneering twang which is his one paltry attribute, and
when a fish is thrown into the shallow water he swoops down and is away
with it to his eyrie. If the sand is bare, however, he cannot, owing to
his length of wing, pick up the fish in his flight. Unbecoming as it may
be to tantalise by trickery so regal a bird, a series of trials was
undertaken to ascertain the height from the surface whence a fish could
be gripped. Twelve successive swoops for a mullet flopping on the sand
failed, though it was touched at least six times with the tips of the
eagle's outstretched talons. Consenting to failure, the bird was
compelled to alight undignifiedly a few yards away, to awkwardly jump to
the fish and to eat it on the spot, for however imperious the sea-eagle
is in the air, and dexterous in the seizure of a fish from the water, he
cannot rise from an unimpressionable plane with his talons full. On
another occasion a fish was raised 4 inches on a slender stake. The
sea-eagle dislodged it several times, but could not grasp it. Raised a
further 4 inches the fish was seized without fumbling. Eight inches or
so, therefore, seems to be about the minimum height from which a bird
with 6 feet of red wing and a nice determination not to bruise or soil the
tips, may grip with certainty.
WHITE NUTMEG PIGEON
No birds of the air which frequent these parts attract more attention
than the white nutmeg or Torres Straits pigeons (MYRISTICIVORA
SPILORRHOA), which resort to the islands during the incubating season.
White with part of each flight feather black, and with down of pale buff,
it is a handsome bird, strong and firm of flesh, and possesses remarkable
powers on the wing. Half of the year is spent with us. They come from the
north in their thousands during the first week of September, and depart
during March. While in this quarter they seek rest and recreation, and
increase and multiply on the islands, resorting to the mainland during
the day for food. Their flights to and from are made in companies varying
from four to five to as many as a hundred--but the average is between
thirty and forty. Purpose and instinct guide them to certain islands, and
to these the companies set flight. Towards the end of the breeding
season, when the multitude has almost doubled its strength by lusty young
recruits, for an hour and more before sunset until a few minutes after,
there is a never-ending procession from the mainland to the favoured
islands--a great, almost uncountable host. Soon some of the tree-tops are
swaying under the weight of the masses of white birds, the whirr and rush
of flight, the clacking and slapping of wings, the domineering
"coo-hoo-oo" of the male birds and the responsive notes of the hens; the
tumult when in alarm all take wing simultaneously and wheel and circle
and settle again with rustling and creaking branches, the sudden swoop
with whistling wings of single birds close overhead, create a perpetual
din. Then as darkness follows hard upon the down-sinking of the sun, the
birds hustle among the thick foliage of the jungle, with querulous,
inquiring notes and much ado. Gradually the sounds subside, and the
subdued monotonous rhythm of the sea alone is heard.
An endeavour, from the outset destined to be futile, has been made each
season in succession, to estimate the number of nutmeg pigeons passing a
given point per minute on their evening flight. With so methodical a
bird, it was to be expected that the companies would have favoured points
of departure from the mainland, and would fly along precise routes to a
common destination. There are thousands of stragglers all along the
coast, but the main bodies keep to particular routes. Most of those which
rest on the islands in this neighbourhood quit the mainland between Clump
Point and Tam o' Shanter, the trend of numbers being toward the latter
point. Six miles separate these headlands, but the channel between Tam o'
Shanter and Dunk Island is little more than 2 1/2 miles, so that the
pigeons here become concentrated to a certain extent. Early in the season
they pass Dunk Island at the rate of about 300 per minute, during the hour
and a half preceding sunset. To speak more definitely, but well within the
mark, those flying south, easily within range of sight from the sand spit
here, may be calculated at something like 27,000. But in reality the
procession of birds may cover a breadth of 2 miles, while only those
flocks nearest to the observer are included in the estimate. No doubt,
fully 100,000 come and go evening and morning. When the incubating season
is at its height the number lessens; when all the young are hatched the
unmarshalled procession trails along with but brief intervals between the
companies--some flying low over the water, others high and wide.
Great as the company of birds seems, it is small compared with the
myriads that favoured the islands in years gone by. Pioneers tell of the
days when blacks were wont to make regular expeditions, returning to the
mainland with canoes ladened with fledglings and eggs, which in
accordance with tradition were devoured by the older men and women. The
youngsters of the tribes were nurtured in the belief that if they partook
of such luxuries all the pigeons would fly away never to re-visit their
haunts. Strange as it may seem, the vast quantities eaten by the blacks
did not seem to decrease the numbers. But since the advent of the white
man, with his nerve-shattering gun, a remarkable diminution has been
observed in some localities. No doubt it could be successfully maintained
that the gun is responsible for an insignificant toll compared with that
taken by the blacks of the past. But the birds were then deprived of
their nestlings and eggs quietly, if remorselessly, while the noise of
the gun is more demoralising to the species as a whole than the numbers
actually killed.
Nutmeg pigeons are frequently shot by the hundred as they reach their
nesting-place and mass themselves on the trees. Some of their nurseries
lie far away from the usual tracks of the sportsman. Yet a single
expedition during the breeding season to one of the islands may cause
immense destruction and unprofitable loss of life. Though in lessening
numbers they venture much further along the coast to the south, they keep
well within the tropical zone. The most favoured resorts within many
miles are the Barnard Islands, 14 miles to the north of Dunk Island. The
whole of the tribes, therefore, though scattered for feeding over an
immense area of the coast congregate on four or five islands--miles
apart--to rest and breed. The assemblages are indeed prodigious; but they
represent the gathering together of clans which have a very wide
dispersal. Crowded together the host appears innumerable, but on the
mainland during the day (when only the hen birds stay at home) the
pigeons seem scarce. An occasional group may be met with, and they may be
heard fluttering and flapping on the tree-tops (they are generally silent
when feeding), but they are too thinly distributed to afford sport. Any
other species of native bird which took to gregarious habits might seem
as numerous as this. If all the sulphur-crested cockatoos, scrub turkeys,
and scrub fowls scattered over an area of the mainland corresponding in
extent with the feeding-ground of the nutmeg pigeons were massed each
night in four or five communities, the numbers would seem startling; but
because the poor pigeon, conspicuous and heedless, has the instinct or
habit of association, it is argued that they outnumber all the other
birds, that their legions are infinite, and that that fact is sufficient
licence for the destruction of thousands during the breeding season.
Compared with some species, nutmeg pigeons may be considered scarce,
although their breeding establishments extend over hundreds of miles of
the eastern coast of North Queensland. But it must be remembered that the
birds breed only on the islands. To preserve them effectually certain
islands should be proclaimed sanctuaries, and genuine sportsmen will
never indulge their propensities when haunted by the thoughts of the
consequent cruelty.
There are many contradictory statements in popular natural history works
with reference to the habits of this bird, and it may not be out of place
to quote what one authority says:--
"This singularly shy bird has acquired its popular name from the
well-remarked habit it has of exclusively frequenting the wild nutmeg tree
(MYRISTICA), in the tops of which it may be said to pass its life, except
during the brief pairing season. Then it commonly selects the denser
scrub or the mangroves, most probably guided by their contiguity to fresh
water. Here it makes its nest, a more than ordinarily careless structure,
the few crossed sticks barely sufficing to prevent the single egg it is
destined to receive, from falling through to the ground. The fruit of the
nutmeg is undoubtedly swallowed whole by the bird, and to the powers of
deglutition is left the separation of the nutritive portion which we
know as mace, from the hard and indigestible nut which is voided in
flight. Thus this elegant little creature becomes the useful means of
disseminating the remarkable nutmeg-tree, and it is found that some
chemical treatment corresponding to that which it undergoes during
sojourn within the body of the bird, is actually necessary before the nut
can be fertilised and induced to take root. So strictly arboreal is this
pigeon in its habits that it is questionable if it ever alights upon the
ground, and so timid that it is impossible to procure specimens unless
stratagem is resorted to."
Some years of repeated observation enable me to offer certain amendments
to this narrative, evidently written by one who has been impressed by
half the life-history of the bird--the half spent on the mainland. The
food of the nutmeg pigeon is multifarious. All sorts of nuts and seeds,
and even fruits are consumed--quandongs, various palm seeds (including
those of the creeping palm or lawyer vine, CALAMUS), nutmeg (MYRISTICA
INSIPIDA, not the nutmeg of commerce, though resembling it), the white
hard seeds of the native cabbage (SCOEVOLA KOENIGII), the Burdekin plum
(PLEIOGYNIUM SOLANDRI), and all sorts of unpromisingly tough and
apparently indigestible, innutritious woodeny nuts and drupes. Moreover,
it fattens on such diet, but still the wonder grows at the happy
provision which enables nuts proportionately of such enormous size to be
swallowed by the bird, and ejected with ease after the pulp or flesh has
been assimilated. As the birds alight on the island after their flight
from the mainland, a portion of the contents of the crop seems to be
expelled. A shower of nuts and seeds comes pattering down through the
leaves to the ground as each company finds resting-place. Perhaps those
only who are suffering from uncomfortable distention so relieve
themselves. The balance of the contents of the crops seem to go through
the ordinary process of digestion. Thus, by the medium of the pigeons,
there is a systematic traffic in and interchange of seeds between the
mainland and the islands. The nutmeg pigeon resorts to islands where
there is no fresh water, and builds a rude platform of twigs, and
occasionally of leaves, on all sorts of trees, in all sorts of
localities. Palms and mangroves, low bushes, rocky ledges, saplings, are
all favoured, no particular preference being shown. It rears generally
two, but sometimes three young, one at a time, during the long breeding
season, which continues from the end of September until the end of
January, and for each successive egg a fresh carpet of twig or leaves is
spread. A rare nest was composed of fresh leaves of the Moreton Bay ash,
with the petioles towards the centre, forming a complex green star. No
doubt the arrangement of the leaves was accidental, but the white dumpy
egg as a pearl-like focus completed a quaint device. Another egg reposed
carelessly at the base of a vigorous plant of DENDOBRIUM UNDULATUM, the
old-gold plumes of the orchid fantastically shading it.
Those pigeons who elect to incubate on the ground discard even the rude
platform of twigs, which generally represents the nest of those who
prefer bushes and trees, but gradually encircle themselves with tiny
mounds of ejected seeds, until the appearance of a nest is presented. At
the termination of the breeding season these birthplaces of the young are
indicated by circular ramparts, in the composition of which the aromatic
nutmeg predominates. Personal experiments on the spot prove that these
nutmegs germinate less readily than those taken direct from the tree.
Planted with the red mace still adherent the nuts are quite reliable;
others which have been swallowed by the pigeon and ejected, though
submitted to like conditions, fail in considerable proportion. So that
the oft-repeated theory that the Queensland nutmeg requires primarily to
undergo some chemical process similar to that which takes place in the
crop of the pigeon to ensure germination, has no foundation whatever in
fact. The part the pigeon performs is to transport the nut to free,
unstifled soil.
No bird is more precise and punctual in its visits. It comes to its
nesting-places and departs with almost almanac-like regularity. It is a
large bird as pigeons go, and becomes wonderfully tame and trustful when
undisturbed. Specimens may be procured in thousands. Blacks,
understanding their habits, climb particular trees known to be well
patronised, and as the birds swoop down to rest, kill them easily with a
swoop of a long slender stick, or hurl nulla-nullas into the home-coming
flocks, just as they alight. It is not a good table bird, the flesh being
dark, tough, and of an earthy flavour--far inferior to the generality of
pigeons, and not to be compared with ground or aquatic game.
FRUIT-EATERS
The tyrannical fig-tree of the species referred to elsewhere, in full
fruit--pink in colouring until it attains purple ripeness--attracts birds
from all parts, and for nearly a quarter of the year is as gay as a
theatre. From sunset to sunrise birds feast and flirt with but brief
interludes. A general dispersal of the assemblage occurs only in the
tragic presence of a falcon, whose murderous deeds are transiently
recorded by stray painted feathers. But the fright soon passes, and the
magnificent fruit pigeon--green, golden-yellow, purplish-maroon, rich
orange, bluish-grey, and greenish-yellow, are his predominant
colours--resumes his love-plaint in bubbling bass. "Bub-loo, bub-loo
maroo," he says over and over again in unbirdlike tone, without emphasis
or lilt. "Bub-loo, bub-loo maroo," a grievance, a remonstrance and a
threat in one doleful phrase; but to the flattered female it is all
compliment and gallantry. That other, known as the allied--so like his
cousin that his dissonant accents, "quok--quok--quoo," are more to be
relied upon as ready means of identification than any striking difference
in plumage; the white-headed, the pheasant-tail, the gorgeous "superb,"
the tranquil dove, Ewing's fruit pigeon--most timorous of the order--are
regular patrons, and each of the family has the distinctive demeanour and
note. All save the allied--which is too full of assurance and fruit to be
disconcerted by the presence of man--may flutter into the jungle, and
then, as the momentary disturbance subsides, a study, whimsical and rich,
begins.
With one exception the fruit pigeons, however gay the colouring of the
throat and breast and under parts generally, are green of back, that
passing falcons may be deceived by resemblance to leafy environment. Yet
the "superb" and Ewing's and Swainson's have the richest of crowns--crowns
pink, or shimmering rosy purple. Why this fanciful decoration if not to
carry the delusion further by resemblance to a flower?
These glorious pigeons are but a few of the many birds that come to the
tree with its millions of pink figs, and enliven the scene with soft
notes and eager whistles. Varied and fasciated honey-eaters, black and
white, and Jardine's caterpillar-eaters, the tiny swallow dicaeum, in a
tight-fitting costume of blue-black and red (who must bruise and batter
the fruit to reduce it to gobbling dimensions), the yellow white-eye (who
pecks it to pieces), the white-bellied and the varied graucalus, the
drongo, the shining calornis--these and others have been included time
after time in the one enumeration.
Cockatoos do not visit the fig-trees as systematically as might be
expected. When they come they waste almost as lavishly as the flying
foxes at night, nipping off branchlets and dropping them after eating but
two or three of the figs.
When the grey falcon soars overhead the birds display varied forms of
strategy. The inconspicuous pigeons crouch motionless but alert, their
eyes fixedly following the circles of the enemy; the readily detected
graucalus fly straight to a forest tree, whence there is a clear
get-away; the companies of yellow white-eyes, with a unanimous note of
alarm, dart into the jungle; the caterpillar-eaters and the honey-eaters,
peering about, drop discreetly down among the lower branches, and silence
prevails.
No serious heed is taken of the white-headed sea-eagle. Though the
fruit-eaters do not recognise the lordly fellow on the instant of his
appearance, he may perch on the topmost branches of the tree to
scrutinise the shallows, and they will resume their feasting and noise.
But a falcon is as a death's-head, and alas! too often a sanguinary
disturber of the peace, as the tufts of painted feathers tell.
AUSTRALIA'S HUMMING-BIRD
One of the most self-assertive of birds of the island is also one of the
least--the sun-bird (CINNYRIS FRENATA). Garbed in rich olive green, royal
blue, and bright yellow, and of a quick and lively disposition, small as
he is, he is always before his public, never forgetful of his appearance,
or regardless of his rights. Feeding on honey and on insects which
frequent honey-supplying flowers, the sun-bird is generally seen amid
surroundings quite in keeping with the splendour of his plumage. The best
part of his life is passed among blossoms, and he seems to partake of
their beauty and frailness. The gold of the gin-gee, the reds of the
flame-tree, the umbrella-tree, and of the single and double hibiscus are
reflected from his shining feathers, as he flutters and darts among the
blooms, often sipping on the wing after the habit of the
humming-bird--which he resembles even to the characteristic expansion of
the tail feathers. When in September the flame-tree is a dome of red,
sun-birds gather by the score--the gayest of all the revellers. Uncommon
length of bill enables them to probe recesses of flowers forbidden
others, and they seem proud of the superiority. The varied-honey-eater
visits flower after flower with something of method. The sun-bird flashes
from raceme to raceme, sampling a dozen blooms, while his noisy rival
sips with the air of a connoisseur at one. There is a spell in the nectar
of the flame-tree as irresistibly attractive to taste of birds as the
colour is to the sight of man. Although the tree bursts into bloom with
truly tropical ardour, they await the coming banquet with unaffected
impatience. Then one of the prettiest frolics of the sun-bird is
revealed. Time cannot lag with such gay, saucy creatures, so while they
wait half a dozen or more congregate in a circle and with uplifted heads
directed towards a common centre sing their song in unison. Whether the
theme of the song is of protest against the tardiness of the tree, or of
thanks in anticipation, or of exultation in race, or of rivalry, matters
not; but one is inclined to the last theory, for none but males take part
in it. The sun glints on their burnished breasts, their throats throb,
their long bills quaver with enthusiastic effort, and the song still
matters not, for it is but a thin twittering, so feeble and faint as to
be inaudible a few yards off. Patience and stillness are the price of it.
And with a squeak in chorus the choir disperses, to meet and sing again
in a few minutes in another part of the reddening tree.
"MOOR-GOODY"
Aptly imitating its most frequent note, blacks have given the name of
"Moor-goody," to a sedate little bird rarely seen away from the jungle,
and then only in the shadiest of bushes. Many of the birds are
distinguished and named in accordance with their notes. "Wung-go-bah"
describes the noisy pitta; "Wee-loo" the stone plover; "Coo-roo" the
tranquil dove; "Piln-piln" the large-billed shore plover; "Kim-bum-broo"
the fasciated honey-eater; "Calloo-calloo" the manucode; "Go-bidger-roo"
the varied honey-eater, and so on.
"Moor-goody" (shrike thrush) has the most tuneful and mellow call of all,
and in obedience to the general law which forbids beauty to sweet-voiced
birds, is soberly clad in two shades of brown, cinnamon the breast, dust
the back. But it is of graceful form, and soft of flight as a falling
leaf; the eyes are large and singularly tender and expressive. Often
terminating in a silvery chirrup, the note, varied with melodious
chuckles and gurgles of lulling softness, is exceedingly pleasing, the
expression of a bird of refinement, content and sweet temper. Coming at
frequent intervals from the jungle or the heart of the mango trees or
acalypha bushes, and wheresoever foliage is thickest, the sound is always
welcome, as it tells of some of the most desirable features of the
tropics--quiet, coolness, and the sweet security of shade. It tells, too,
of the simple life spent in seclusion in contradistinction to the
"envious court" of the roysterers in the glare of the leafless
flame-tree.
THE FLAME-TREE'S VISITORS
A final note in reference to the flame-tree may be permitted. As it is
the popular rendezvous during September, pleasure was taken in
cataloguing the greatest variety and number of birds congregated there at
one and the same time. Several lists were compiled, the most
comprehensive being:--
Sulphur-crested Cockatoo,
Honey-eaters (varied, fasciated and obscure),
Friar Bird (two species),
Shining Calornis,
Drongo Shrike,
White-rumped Wood Swallow,
Australian Bee-eater,
Black-headed Diamond Bird,
Sun-bird,
Pied Caterpillar-eater.
Honey-eaters were represented by a dozen or more; but were not so
numerous as the sun-birds, which were difficult to accurately enumerate,
owing to their sprightly behaviour. Next came the shining calornis (about
ten), friar birds (about eight), wood swallows (six, all in a row--a band
of white among the red flowers); bee-eaters (about the same number), and
so on down the list in ever-shifting places and varying numbers.
The birds were more numerous about eight a.m. This hour may seem late,
in consideration of familiar habits, but the flame-tree is in the shadow
of the highest peak of the island, and consequently does not receive the
earliest of the benedictions of the sun. Birds come and go to it in
irregular pulsations. Their presence is constant, but their number
variable. Comparative silence may exist for an hour or so after the first
joyful feast of the day, to be broken by quite a gush of the sounds of
revelry, and then the tree becomes again for a space as noisy as a
merry-go-round.
RED-LETTER BIRDS
To the manucode is ascribed practical interference with the laws of
Nature. This handsome bird, of jet black glossy plumage, comes hither in
September, adding to the pleasant sounds of the jungle a loud rich note,
which closely resembles the frequent repetition of the name bestowed upon
it by the blacks, "Calloo-calloo." As are its visits so are its
notes--casual, coming in erratic bursts and sudden sallies of whirling
spiral sound. Its advent is hailed with satisfaction, for the belief
exists that it causes the bean-tree--the source of a much-esteemed
food--togrow more quickly. This faith has a substantial origin, for
shortly after the bird's first fluty notes are heard the bean tree
blossoms, renewing the promise of plenty. While here, the "Calloo-calloo,"
is remarkably shy, very rarely venturing out of the seclusion of the
thickest jungle, and warning off intruders with a curious note of alarm,
half purr, half hiss.
When the clattering corcorax puts in an appearance the blacks lift up
their eyes unto the hills, firm in the faith that the birds cause in them
an increase in height, or to put it in the vernacular--"Look out.
Mountain jump up little bit!" When the flame-tree flowers, it is to tell
of the coming of the nutmeg pigeon, when eggs and dainty young are to be
obtained with little trouble.
Yet another red-letter time on the calendar is the laying season of the
terns. Then the fancies of the blacks lightly turn to thoughts of
"Tan-goorah" (bonito) and other strong-flavoured fish. So that the young
shall not lack, nor suffer hunger, the hatching is coincident with the
appearance of immense shoals of young fish which the bonito perpetually
harass, driving them to the surface for the terns, with sharp screams of
satisfaction, to dart upon. What with the strong, far-leaping fish, and
the agile, acrobatic birds, the existence of the small fry is one of
perplexity and terror.
Six species of tern take part in these gyrating, foraging campaigns.
Three show almost purely white as they fly; the others, less numerous, as
dark flakes in the living whirlwind. Ever changing in position and in
poise--some on the swift seaward cast, some balancing for it with every
fraction of brake power exerted in beating wings and expanded tail, some
recovering equilibrium lost through a fluky start, some dashing deep,
some hurrying away (after a spasmodic flutter of dripping feathers) with
quivering slips of silver--the perpetual whirl keeps pace with the
splashes of the bonito and the ripples of the worried small fry.
Could they enjoy the satisfaction of the fact the little fish might
snigger when the terns are called upon to exert all their agility and
tricks, vainly endeavouring to elude the long slim-winged frigate bird.
This tyrant of the upper air observes, as it glides in steady, stately
circles, the noisy unreflecting terns, and with arrow-like swiftness
pursues those which have been successful. Dodge and twist and double as
it may--and no hare upon land is half so quick or resourceful as the wily
tern in the air--the frigate bird follows with the audacity and certainty
of fate, until flustered and frightened the little fish is abandoned, to
be snapped up by the air-ranger before it reaches the sea. As an
exhibition of fierce and relentless purpose, combined with sprightliness
and activity, the pursuit of a tern by the fearless frigate bird, and the
impetuous swoop after and seizure of the falling fish, cannot be matched
in Nature.
As the cries of the circling tern mark the movements of the distracted
shoals, the blacks in canoes fit in to the scheme of destruction, taking
a general toll. So preoccupied are the bonito, that they fall a
comparatively easy prey to the skilled user of the harpoon. Sharks
continue the chain of destruction by dashing forays on the bonito, and
occasionally man harpoons a shark. With his frail bark canoe tugged
hither and thither by the frightened but still vicious fish, the black,
endowed with nerve, then enjoys real sport. Not the least in dread of the
shark, his only fear being for the safety of his harpoon and line as the
lithe fish leaps and snaps, the black plays with it until it submits to
be towed ashore.
The birds' eggs on the coral banks also make an item in the blacks' bill
of fare; while the frantic little fish hustled towards the shore are
captured by the million in coffer-dams made of loosely twisted grass and
beach trailers.
CASUAL AND UNPRECISE
These observations of mine are admittedly casual and unprecise. Not the
life of a single bird or insect has been sacrificed to prove "facts" for
personal edification or entertainment. Cases in which points were
inconclusive have been allowed to remain undecided. The face of the
administrator of the law here is rigidly set against the enforcement of
the death penalty, simply because the subject is beautiful, or rare, or
"not understood." With the aid of a good telescope and a compact pair of
field-glasses, birds may be studied and known far more pleasurably than
as stark cabinet specimens, and, perhaps, with all the certainty that the
ordinary observer needs. Patience and a magnifying glass put less
constraint on insects than lethal bottles and pins.
An observer who was prepared to satisfy doubts with the gun might,
possibly with ease, bring up the Bird Census of the island to one hundred
and fifty. Such a one may find pleasure in the future in demonstrating
how much more than a seventh of the birds of Australia dwell upon or
visit the spot. The present era of strict non-interference has resulted
in an increase, however small, in the species represented. Whereas in
years gone by but two species of sea-birds nested on Purtaboi, now at
least six avail themselves of that refuge.
Birds that were driven to remote reefs and banks of the Barrier now make
themselves at home for three months of the year within hailing distance.
Tidings of goodwill towards the race generally are beginning to spread.
Gladness compels me to record a recent development of the protective
laws. Space for the rearing of families at the headquarters of the
terns--Purtaboi--having been gradually absorbed during recent years, the
overflow--comprising perhaps a thousand amorous birds--has taken
possession of the sand spit of Dunk Island. So calm are they in the
presence of man, so sure of goodwill, that when temporarily disturbed,
they merely wheel about close overhead, remonstrating against intrusion in
thin tinny screams, and settle again on their eggs before the friendly
visit is well over. Not for ten years at the least have sea-birds utilised
this spot. Realising their privileges elsewhere in the immediate
neighbourhood, they have thrust themselves under official protection.
They crowd me off a favourite promenade, mine by right of ten years'
usage. They scold every boat, affront passing steamers, and comport
themselves generally as if on the assurance of counsel's opinion on the
legality of their trespass.
And so it has come to pass, that the example of the uninfluential
Beachcomber, in the establishment of an informal and unofficial refuge
for birds, has been warranted and confirmed by the laws of the country. A
proclamation in those terms, those good set terms, which time and custom
approve, forbids shooting on this and two neighbouring groups of islands.
Is there not excuse in this flattery for just a little vainglory?