THE BRASS-EYED DUCK.
The whistler, whistle-wing, great head, garrot or brass-eyed is one
of the few ducks that, to my knowledge, builds its nest in trees.
The Indians, who are noted for giving appropriate names, call this
duck "arrow duck," on account of its quick passage through the air.
They fly very swiftly, and it is only an expert gunner that can bring
them down in succession.
I once had the rare opportunity of watching the doings of a female
brass-eyed from the building of the nest to the time she placed the
young ones on the waters of the lake. To watch the industrious little
builder was a most interesting pastime and afforded me much pleasure.
The tree selected was not, as one would suppose, immediately on the
shore, but a bit back in the thick growth. Properly speaking, the
tree was a stump, although a strong live one grew rubbing sides with
it. The stump was on the south side of the green one, and thus
protected from the north, and was about twenty feet in height.
On examination shortly after the duck began to lay, I found that the
concave top had been lined with dead leaves, hay, clay and small
sticks. After this one peep in at the architecture and the couple of
eggs therein, I refrained from approaching the stump again, but
continued my observations from a distance.
When the duck took to steady setting I could just see her head and
bill over the edge of the nest. Regularly each evening during the
period of incubation she would fly out onto the lake to feed, drink
and plume herself. These absences from her duty lasted from twenty
minutes to half an hour.
When the young were hatched I kept a strict and steady watch on her
movements for the thought occurred to me, "How would they get to the
ground?" But, like a good many other things, this riddle of the
forest was made clear to me one evening near sundown.
I sat motionless in my canoe a little to one side of the direction of
the stump. The lake was as calm as oil, and in a little while, after
taking up my position, out flew the mother in a slanting way to the
water, and hanging from her bill was one of the young ducks. This she
quickly deposited on the lake and flew back to the nest, and made
trips to and fro, until she had brought the whole of her brood which
numbered seven.
A hen is a proud mother even with one chick; well this was a
transported one with seven. She swam through the midst of them,
around them, away from them and toward them, exhibiting the utmost
delight. Finally she led them in toward the shore, the shadows of the
woods shutting them out from further observation. While daily
visiting my nets about the lake, I often encountered the brood, or
saw them at a short distance and they continued to interest me.
One day the number of ducklings appeared fewer than ought to be and
on counting them I found there were only five. Next day this was
reduced to four, and a few days after, when next I saw them, there
remained only three. However, the mystery of their disappearance was
made clear to me on that same day, for while trolling past the ducks'
feeding grounds a big maskinonge struck the hooks savagely.
Being alone in the frail and small canoe I had the utmost difficulty
to successfully play and kill him, but was amply paid, for on
cleaning the big fish we found in its maw one of my young ducks.
Thus was their mysterious disappearance explained, this, or some
other large fish, was accountable for the brood's diminution.
While on the subject of the brass-eye I would wish to set the reader
right in regard to the whistling noise they make, that is the male.
The author of "Wild Fowl and Their Habits" asserts that this noise is
made by their short sharp wings cutting the air in rapid flight. Were
this the case the female would make the same sound, but no one ever
heard this whistling from a lone female or a number of females.
It is from the male we get this; not from the wings, however, but
from a gristly sac attached at the end of the wind-pipe, much the
shape of the bag of the bag-pipes. From this he emits several
different kinds of sounds, as I have often listened to when
approaching a flock on a calm moonlight night in the mating season.
Another erroneous assertion by the same author is that the flesh is
rank, fishy and hard. The old ones are, more or less so, on their
first arrival inland in the spring. At the sea, as a necessity, they
live on fish, but a month after reaching inland waters, where they
feed on marine plants and roots, the color of the flesh changes. It
also becomes juicy and is as good eating as black duck or teal.
The young ones, when full fledged, just before migrating to the sea
for the winter, are excellent.
The French-Canadians call this duck the diver and the half-breeds of
Hudson Bay the pork duck.
All the tricks of hiding attributed to this duck by Netlje Blanchan,
author of the book from which I have taken the several names under
which the duck is known to American readers, are quite true, and also
other devices not enumerated. For instance, when wounded I have known
it to dive and come up within a few yards of my canoe with its head
under a water-lily leaf and there remain, quite motionless, until I
noticed the center elevation of this single leaf and fired at a
venture with the result that I killed the duck.
On another occasion I noticed a wounded brass-eye making toward the
shore in very shallow water. The formation of the banks was such that
it was impossible for it to land and hide. Nevertheless, toward that
shore it had dived, and never appeared above water. Pushing the canoe
quietly along with my gun ready in the other hand, I scanned every
inch as I went. Along the beach there was a solution of mud almost as
light as the water. The duck had passed under this and came to the
shore in about five inches of water showing nothing but its bill on
the beach, the entire body being covered with mud, the exact
counterpart of that about it.
Although my canoe was within six feet of the bird, it never moved,
and it was only by the closest scrutiny that I detected its presence.
With a good silent dog playing in front of a blind these ducks in the
early spring will come within short range, as will the black duck and
gray goose. They have keen eyesight and will work in from a quarter
of a mile to investigate the dog. The dog of best color to attract
ducks is yellow or yellow and white. A pure white is better than a
dark colored, which latter only appears to scare them away.
[This is an interesting contribution, for it brings up a number of
points about which there has been more or less controversy in the
past, and one at least which is new to us. That Mr. Hunter's duck
brought her young to the water in her bill is interesting and agrees
with statements made years ago in _Forest and Stream_ by Mr. George
A. Boardman, who quoted a Canadian informant as stating that the old
birds brought their young from the nests to the water, carrying them
in their bills, but that to transport the young for a longer
distance, the birds carried the young pressed to the body by the
feet, a description which is not altogether clear.
Mr. Hunter declares that the whistling noise made by the brass-eye
does not come from the wings and that this noise is never made by the
female, in this his opinion differs from that of many other writers.
In his belief the labyrinth--an enlargement of the wind-pipe found in
the male of most ducks and but seldom in the female--explains the
whistling sound so commonly heard when these birds fly near us.
Food notoriously gives flavor to the flesh of ducks as well as other
animals. On the sea coast, where it feeds on fish and perhaps shell
fish, the flesh of the brass-eye or golden-wing is notoriously bad,
but like Mr. Hunter, other authors have declared that inland the bird
is excellent eating.
The observation of the destruction of the brood by the maskinonge is
worth recording. Pike, pickerel, maskinonge and snapping turtles are
notorious enemies of young duck.]