transparent by the operation, and that transparency must be done away
to make it appear perfectly natural. Pound some clean chalk and give it
enough water till it be of the consistency of tar, add a proportion of
gum-arabic to make it adhesive, then take a camel-hair brush and give
the inside of both mandibles a coat; apply a second when the first is
dry, then another, and a fourth to finish all. The gum-arabic will
prevent the chalk from cracking and falling off. If you remember, there
is a little space of transparent white in the lower mandible which
originally appeared blue, but which became transparent white as soon as
the thin piece of blue skin was cut away: this must be painted blue
inside. When all this is completed the bill will please you: it will
appear in its original colours. Probably your own abilities will
suggest a cleverer mode of operating than the one here described. A
small gouge would assist the penknife and render the operation less
difficult.
The houtou ranks high in beauty amongst the birds of Demerara. His
whole body is green, with a bluish cast in the wings and tail; his
crown, which he erects at pleasure, consists of black in the centre,
surrounded with lovely blue of two different shades; he has a
triangular black spot, edged with blue, behind the eye extending to the
ear, and on his breast a sable tuft consisting of nine feathers edged
also with blue. This bird seems to suppose that its beauty can be
increased by trimming the tail, which undergoes the same operation as
our hair in a barber's shop, only with this difference, that it uses
its own beak, which is serrated, in lieu of a pair of scissors. As soon
as his tail is full grown, he begins about an inch from the extremity
of the two longest feathers in it and cuts away the web on both sides
of the shaft, making a gap about an inch long. Both male and female
adonise their tails in this manner, which gives them a remarkable
appearance amongst all other birds. While we consider the tail of the
houtou blemished and defective, were he to come amongst us he would
probably consider our heads, cropped and bald, in no better light. He
who wishes to observe this handsome bird in his native haunts must be
in the forest at the morning's dawn. The houtou shuns the society of
man: the plantations and cultivated parts are too much disturbed to
engage it to settle there; the thick and gloomy forests are the places
preferred by the solitary houtou.
In those far-extending wilds, about daybreak, you hear him articulate,
in a distinct and mournful tone, "houtou, houtou." Move cautious on to
where the sound proceeds from, and you will see him sitting in the
underwood about a couple of yards from the ground, his tail moving up
and down every time he articulates "houtou." He lives on insects and
the berries amongst the underwood, and very rarely is seen in the lofty
trees, except the bastard siloabali-tree, the fruit of which is
grateful to him. He makes no nest, but rears his young in a hole in the
sand, generally on the side of a hill.
While in quest of the houtou, you will now and then fall in with the
jay of Guiana, called by the Indians ibibirou. Its forehead is black,
the rest of the head white, the throat and breast like the English
magpie; about an inch of the extremity of the tail is white, the other
part of it, together with the back and wings, a greyish changing
purple; the belly is white. There are generally six or eight of them in
company: they are shy and garrulous, and tarry a very short time in one
place. They are never seen in the cultivated parts.
Through the whole extent of the forest, chiefly from sunrise till nine
o'clock in the morning, you hear a sound of "wow, wow, wow, wow." This
is the bird called boclora by the Indians. It is smaller than the
common pigeon, and seems, in some measure, to partake of its nature:
its head and breast are blue; the back and rump somewhat resemble the
colour on the peacock's neck; its belly is a bright yellow. The legs
are so very short that it always appears as if sitting on the branch:
it is as ill-adapted for walking as the swallow. Its neck, for above an
inch all round, is quite bare of feathers, but this deficiency is not
seen, for it always sits with its head drawn in upon its shoulders. It
sometimes feeds with the cotingas on the guava- and hitia-trees, but
its chief nutriment seems to be insects, and, like most birds which
follow this prey, its chaps are well armed with bristles: it is found
in Demerara at all times of the year, and makes a nest resembling that
of the stock-dove. This bird never takes long nights, and when it
crosses a river or creek it goes by long jerks.
The boclora is very unsuspicious, appearing quite heedless of danger:
the report of a gun within twenty yards will not cause it to leave the
branch on which it is sitting, and you may often approach it so near as
almost to touch it with the end of your bow. Perhaps there is no bird
known whose feathers are so slightly fixed to the skin as those of the
boclora. After shooting it, if it touch a branch in its descent, or if
it drop on hard ground, whole heaps of feathers fall off: on this
account it is extremely hard to procure a specimen for preservation. As
soon as the skin is dry in the preserved specimen the feathers become
as well fixed as those in any other bird.
Another species, larger than the boclora, attracts much of your notice
in these wilds: it is called cuia by the Indians, from the sound of its
voice. Its habits are the same as those of the boclora, but its colours
different: its head, breast, back and rump are a shining, changing
green; its tail not quite so bright; a black bar runs across the tail
towards the extremity, and the outside feathers are partly white, as in
the boclora; its belly is entirely vermilion, a bar of white separating
it from the green on the breast.
There are diminutives of both these birds: they have the same habits,
with a somewhat different plumage, and about half the size. Arrayed
from head to tail in a robe of richest sable hue, the bird called
rice-bird loves spots cultivated by the hand of man. The woodcutter's
house on the hills in the interior, and the planter's habitation on the
sea-coast, equally attract this songless species of the order of pie,
provided the Indian-corn be ripe there. He is nearly of the jackdaw's
size and makes his nest far away from the haunts of men. He may truly
be called a blackbird: independent of his plumage, his beak, inside and
out, his legs, his toes and claws are jet black.
Mankind, by clearing the ground and sowing a variety of seeds, induces
many kinds of birds to leave their native haunts and come and settle
near him: their little depredations on his seeds and fruits prove that
it is the property, and not the proprietor, which has the attractions.
One bird, however, in Demerara is not actuated by selfish motives: this
is the cassique. In size he is larger than the starling: he courts the
society of man, but disdains to live by his labours. When Nature calls
for support he repairs to the neighbouring forest, and there partakes
of the store of fruits and seeds which she has produced in abundance
for her aerial tribes. When his repast is over he returns to man, and
pays the little tribute which he owes him for his protection. He takes
his station on a tree close to his house, and there, for hours
together, pours forth a succession of imitative notes. His own song is
sweet, but very short. If a toucan be yelping in the neighbourhood, he
drops it, and imitates him. Then he will amuse his protector with the
cries of the different species of the woodpecker, and when the sheep
bleat he will distinctly answer them. Then comes his own song again;
and if a puppy-dog or a guinea-fowl interrupt him, he takes them off
admirably, and by his different gestures during the time you would
conclude that he enjoys the sport.
The cassique is gregarious, and imitates any sound he hears with such
exactness that he goes by no other name than that of mocking bird
amongst the colonists.
At breeding-time a number of these pretty choristers resort to a tree
near the planter's house, and from its outside branches weave their
pendulous nests. So conscious do they seem that they never give
offence, and so little suspicious are they of receiving any injury from
man, that they will choose a tree within forty yards from his house,
and occupy the branches so low down that he may peep into the nests. A
tree in Waratilla Creek affords a proof of this.
The proportions of the cassique are so fine that he may be said to be a
model of symmetry in ornithology. On each wing he has a bright yellow
spot, and his rump, belly and half the tail are of the same colour. All
the rest of the body is black. His beak is the colour of sulphur, but
it fades in death, and requires the same operation as the bill of the
toucan to make it keep its colours. Up the rivers, in the interior,
there is another cassique, nearly the same size and of the same habits,
though not gifted with its powers of imitation. Except in
breeding-time, you will see hundreds of them retiring to roost amongst
the moca-moca-trees and low shrubs on the banks of the Demerara, after
you pass the first island. They are not common on the sea-coast. The
rump of this cassique is a flaming scarlet. All the rest of the body is
a rich glossy black. His bill is sulphur-colour. You may often see
numbers of this species weaving their pendulous nests on one side of a
tree, while numbers of the other species are busy in forming theirs on
the opposite side of the same tree. Though such near neighbours, the
females are never observed to kick up a row or come to blows!
Another species of cassique, as large as a crow, is very common in the
plantations. In the morning he generally repairs to a large tree, and
there, with his tail spread over his back and shaking his lowered
wings, he produces notes which, though they cannot be said to amount to
a song, still have something very sweet and pleasing in them. He makes
his nest in the same form as the other cassiques. It is above four feet
long, and when you pass under the tree, which often contains fifty or
sixty of them, you cannot help stopping to admire them as they wave to
and fro, the sport of every storm and breeze. The rump is chestnut; ten
feathers of the tail are a fine yellow, the remaining two, which are
the middle ones, are black, and an inch shorter than the others. His
bill is sulphur-colour; all the rest of the body black, with here and
there shades of brown. He has five or six long narrow black feathers on
the back of his head, which he erects at pleasure.
There is one more species of cassique in Demerara which always prefers
the forests to the cultivated parts. His economy is the same as that of
the other cassiques. He is rather smaller than the last described bird.
His body is greenish, and his tail and rump paler than those of the
former. Half of his beak is red.
You would not be long in the forests of Demerara without noticing the
woodpeckers. You meet with them feeding at all hours of the day. Well
may they do so. Were they to follow the example of most of the other
birds, and only feed in the morning and evening, they would be often on
short allowance, for they sometimes have to labour three or four hours
at the tree before they get to their food. The sound which the largest
kind makes in hammering against the bark of the tree is so loud that
you would never suppose it to proceed from the efforts of a bird. You
would take it to be the woodman, with his axe, trying by a sturdy blow,
often repeated, whether the tree were sound or not. There are fourteen
species here: the largest the size of a magpie, the smallest no bigger
than the wren. They are all beautiful, and the greater part of them
have their heads ornamented with a fine crest, movable at pleasure.
It is said, if you once give a dog a bad name, whether innocent or
guilty, he never loses it. It sticks close to him wherever he goes. He
has many a kick and many a blow to bear on account of it; and there is
nobody to stand up for him. The woodpecker is little better off. The
proprietors of woods in Europe have long accused him of injuring their
timber by boring holes in it and letting in the water, which soon rots
it. The colonists in America have the same complaint against him. Had
he the power of speech, which Ovid's birds possessed in days of yore,
he could soon make a defence: "Mighty lord of the woods," he would say
to man, "why do you wrongfully accuse me? Why do you hunt me up and
down to death for an imaginary offence? I have never spoiled a leaf of
your property, much less your wood. Your merciless shot strikes me at
the very time I am doing you a service. But your shortsightedness will
not let you see it, or your pride is above examining closely the
actions of so insignificant a little bird as I am. If there be that
spark of feeling in your breast which they say man possesses, or ought
to possess, above all other animals, do a poor injured creature a
little kindness and watch me in your woods only for one day. I never
wound your healthy trees. I should perish for want in the attempt. The
sound bark would easily resist the force of my bill; and were I even to
pierce through it, there would be nothing inside that I could fancy or
my stomach digest. I often visit them it is true, but a knock or two
convince me that I must go elsewhere for support; and were you to
listen attentively to the sound which my bill causes, you would know
whether I am upon a healthy or an unhealthy tree. Wood and bark are not
my food. I live entirely upon the insects which have already formed a
lodgment in the distempered tree. When the sound informs me that my
prey is there, I labour for hours together till I get at it, and by
consuming it for my own support, I prevent its further depredations in
that part. Thus I discover for you your hidden and unsuspected foe,
which has been devouring your wood in such secrecy that you had not the
least suspicion it was there. The hole which I make in order to get at
the pernicious vermin will be seen by you as you pass under the tree. I
leave it as a signal to tell you that your tree has already stood too
long. It is past its prime. Millions of insects, engendered by disease,
are preying upon its vitals. Ere long it will fall a log in useless
ruins. Warned by this loss, cut down the rest in time, and spare, O
spare the unoffending woodpecker."
In the rivers and different creeks you number six species of the
kingfisher. They make their nest in a hole in the sand on the side of
the bank. As there is always plenty of foliage to protect them from the
heat of the sun, they feed at all hours of the day. Though their
plumage is prettily varied, still it falls far short of the brilliancy
displayed by the English kingfisher. This little native of Britain
would outweigh them altogether in the scale of beauty.
A bird called jacamar is often taken for a kingfisher, but it has no
relationship to that tribe. It frequently sits in the trees over the
water, and as its beak bears some resemblance to that of the
kingfisher, this may probably account for its being taken for one; it
feeds entirely upon insects; it sits on a branch in motionless
expectation, and as soon as a fly, butterfly, or moth pass by, it darts
at it, and returns to the branch it had just left. It seems an
indolent, sedentary bird, shunning the society of all others in the
forest. It never visits the plantations, but is found at all times of
the year in the woods. There are four species of jacamar in Demerara.
They are all beautiful: the largest, rich and superb in the extreme.
Its plumage is of so fine a changing blue and golden-green that it may
be ranked with the choicest of the humming-birds. Nature has denied it
a song, but given a costly garment in lieu of it. The smallest species
of jacamar is very common in the dry savannas. The second size, all
golden-green on the back, must be looked for in the wallaba-forest. The
third is found throughout the whole extent of these wilds, and the
fourth, which is the largest, frequents the interior, where you begin
to perceive stones in the ground.
When you have penetrated far into Macoushia, you hear the pretty
songster called troupiale pour forth a variety of sweet and plaintive
notes. This is the bird which the Portuguese call the nightingale of
Guiana. Its predominant colours are rich orange and shining black,
arrayed to great advantage. His delicate and well-shaped frame seems
unable to bear captivity. The Indians sometimes bring down troupiales
to Stabroek, but in a few months they languish and die in a cage. They
soon become very familiar, and if you allow them the liberty of the
house, they live longer than in a cage and appear in better spirits,
but when you least expect it they drop down and die in epilepsy.
Smaller in size, and of colour not so rich and somewhat differently
arranged, another species of troupiale sings melodiously in Demerara.
The woodcutter is particularly favoured by him, for while the hen is
sitting on her nest, built in the roof of the woodcutter's house, he
sings for hours together close by. He prefers the forests to the
cultivated parts.
You would not grudge to stop for a few minutes, as you are walking in
the plantations, to observe a third species of troupiale: his wings,
tail and throat are black; all the rest of the body is a bright yellow.
There is something very sweet and plaintive in his song, though much
shorter than that of the troupiale in the interior.
A fourth species goes in flocks from place to place, in the cultivated
parts, at the time the indian-corn is ripe; he is all black, except the
head and throat, which are yellow. His attempt at song is not worth
attending to.
Wherever there is a wild fig-tree ripe, a numerous species of birds
called tangara is sure to be on it. There are eighteen beautiful
species here. Their plumage is very rich and diversified. Some of them
boast six separate colours; others have the blue, purple, green and
black so kindly blended into each other that it would be impossible to
mark their boundaries; while others again exhibit them strong, distinct
and abrupt. Many of these tangaras have a fine song. They seem to
partake much of the nature of our linnets, sparrows and finches. Some
of them are fond of the plantations; others are never seen there,
preferring the wild seeds of the forest to the choicest fruits planted
by the hand of man.
On the same fig-trees to which they repair, and often accidentally up
and down the forest, you fall in with four species of manikin. The
largest is white and black, with the feathers on the throat remarkably
long; the next in size is half red and half black; the third black,
with a white crown; the fourth black, with a golden crown, and red
feathers at the knee. The half-red and half-black species is the
scarcest. There is a creek in the Demerara called Camouni. About ten
minutes from the mouth you see a common-sized fig-tree on your right
hand, as you ascend, hanging over the water; it bears a very small fig
twice a year. When its fruit is ripe this manikin is on the tree from
morn till eve.
On all the ripe fig-trees in the forest you see the bird called the
small tiger-bird. Like some of our belles and dandies, it has a gaudy
vest to veil an ill-shaped body. The throat, and part of the head, are
a bright red; the breast and belly have black spots on a yellow ground;
the wings are a dark green, black, and white; and the rump and tail
black and green. Like the manikin, it has no song: it depends solely
upon a showy garment for admiration.
Devoid, too, of song, and in a still superber garb, the yawaraciri
comes to feed on the same tree. It has a bar like black velvet from the
eyes to the beak; its legs are yellow; its throat, wings and tail
black; all the rest of the body a charming blue. Chiefly in the dry
savannas, and here and there accidentally in the forest, you see a
songless yawaraciri still lovelier than the last: his crown is whitish
blue, arrayed like a coat of mail; his tail is black, his wings black
and yellow; legs red; and the whole body a glossy blue. Whilst roving
through the forest, ever and anon you see individuals of the wren
species busy amongst the fallen leaves, or seeking insects at the roots
of the trees.
Here, too, you find six or seven species of small birds whose backs
appear to be overloaded with silky plumage. One of these, with a
chestnut breast, smoke-coloured back, tail red, white feathers like
horns on his head, and white narrow-pointed feathers under the jaw,
feeds entirely upon ants. When a nest of large light-brown ants
emigrates, one following the other in meandering lines above a mile
long, you see this bird watching them and every now and then picking
them up. When they disappear he is seen no more: perhaps this is the
only kind of ant he is fond of. When these ants are stirring, you are
sure to find him near them. You cannot well mistake the ant after you
have once been in its company, for its sting is very severe, and you
can hardly shoot the bird and pick it up without having five or six
upon you.
Parrots and paroquets are very numerous here, and of many different
kinds. You will know when they are near you in the forest not only by
the noise they make, but also by the fruits and seeds which they let
fall while they are feeding.
The hia-hia parrot, called in England the parrot of the sun, is very
remarkable: he can erect at pleasure a fine radiated circle of tartan
feathers quite round the back of his head from jaw to jaw. The
fore-part of his head is white; his back, tail and wings green; and his
breast and belly tartan.
Superior in size and beauty to every parrot of South America, the ara
will force you to take your eyes from the rest of animated nature and
gaze at him: his commanding strength, the flaming scarlet of his body,
the lovely variety of red, yellow, blue and green in his wings, the
extraordinary length of his scarlet and blue tail, seem all to join and
demand for him the title of emperor of all the parrots. He is scarce in
Demerara till you reach the confines of the Macoushi country: there he
is in vast abundance. He mostly feeds on trees of the palm species.
When the coucourite-trees have ripe fruit on them they are covered with
this magnificent parrot. He is not shy or wary: you may take your
blow-pipe and quiver of poisoned arrows and kill more than you are able
to carry back to your hut. They are very vociferous, and, like the
common parrots, rise up in bodies towards sunset and fly two and two to
their place of rest. It is a grand sight in ornithology to see
thousands of aras flying over your head, low enough to let you have a
full view of their flaming mantle. The Indians find their flesh very
good, and the feathers serve for ornaments in their head-dresses. They
breed in the holes of trees, are easily reared and tamed, and learn to
speak pretty distinctly.
Another species frequents the low-lands of Demerara. He is nearly the
size of the scarlet ara, but much inferior in plumage. Blue and yellow
are his predominant colours.
Along the creeks and river-sides, and in the wet savannas, six species
of the bittern will engage your attention. They are all handsome, the
smallest not so large as the English water-hen.
In the savannas, too, you will sometimes surprise the snow-white egret,
whose back is adorned with the plumes from which it takes its name.
Here, too, the spur-winged water-hen, the blue and green water-hen and
two other species of ordinary plumage are found. While in quest of
these, the blue heron, the large and small brown heron, the boatbill
and muscovy duck now and then rise up before you.
When the sun has sunk in the western woods, no longer agitated by the
breeze; when you can only see a straggler or two of the feathered tribe
hastening to join its mate, already at its roosting-place, then it is
that the goat-sucker comes out of the forest, where it has sat all day
long in slumbering ease, unmindful of the gay and busy scenes around
it. Its eyes are too delicately formed to bear the light, and thus it
is forced to shun the flaming face of day and wait in patience till
night invites him to partake of the pleasures her dusky presence brings.
The harmless, unoffending goat-sucker, from the time of Aristotle down
to the present day, has been in disgrace with man. Father has handed
down to son, and author to author, that this nocturnal thief subsists
by milking the flocks. Poor injured little bird of night, how sadly
hast thou suffered, and how foul a stain has inattention to facts put
upon thy character! Thou hast never robbed man of any part of his
property nor deprived the kid of a drop of milk.