GOSSIP ABOUT BIRD-NEIGHBORS
"Doctor," said Mrs. Leonard, "Amy and I have been indulging in some
surmises over a remark you made the other day about the bluebirds. You
said the female was a cold, coy beauty, and that her mate would soon be
overburdened with family cares. Indeed, I think you rather reflected on
our sex as represented by Mrs. Bluebird."
"I fear I cannot retract. The female bluebird is singularly devoid of
sentiment, and takes life in the most serious and matter-of-fact way. Her
nest and her young are all in all to her. John Burroughs, who is a very
close observer, says she shows no affection for the male and no pleasure
in his society, and if he is killed she goes in quest of another mate in
the most business-like manner, as one would go to a shop on an errand."
"The heartless little jade!" cried Maggie, with a glance at Leonard which
plainly said that such was not her style at all.
"Nevertheless," continued the doctor, "she awakens a love in her husband
which is blind to every defect. He is gallantry itself, and at the same
time the happiest and most hilarious of lovers. Since she insists on
building her nest herself, and having everything to her own mind, he does
not shrug his blue shoulders and stand indifferently or sullenly aloof.
He goes with her everywhere, flying a little in advance as if for
protection, inspects her work with flattering minuteness, applauds and
compliments continually. Indeed, he is the ideal French beau very much in
love."
"In other words, the counterpart of Leonard," said Burt, at which they
all laughed.
"But you spoke of his family cares," Webb remarked: "he contributes
something more than compliments, does he not?"
"Indeed he does. He settles down into the most devoted of husbands and
fathers. The female usually hatches three broods, and as the season
advances he has his hands, or his beak rather, very full of business. I
think Burroughs is mistaken in saying that he is in most cases the
ornamental member of the firm. He feeds his wife as she sits on the nest,
and often the first brood is not out of the way before he has another to
provide for. Therefore he is seen bringing food to his wife and two sets
of children, and occasionally taking her place on the nest. Nor does he
ever get over his delusion that his mate is delighted with his song and
little gallantries, for he kepps them up also to the last. So he has to
be up early and late, and altogether must be a very tired little bird
when he gets a chance to put his head under his wing."
"Poor little fellow! and to think that she doesn't care for him!" sighed
Amy, pityingly; and they all laughed so heartily that she bent her head
over her work to hide the rich color that stole into her face--all
laughed except Mr. Alvord, who, as usual, was an attentive and quiet
listener, sitting a little in the background, so that his face was in
partial shadow. Keen-eyed Maggie, whose sympathies were deeply enlisted
in behalf of her sad and taciturn neighbor, observed that he regarded Amy
with a close, wistful scrutiny, as if he were reading her thoughts. Then
an expression of anguish, of something like despair, flitted across his
face. "He has lavished the best treasures of his heart and life on some
one who did not care," was her mental comment.
"You won't be like our little friend in blue, eh, Amy?" said old Mr.
Clifford; but with girlish shyness she would not reply to any such
question.
"Don't take it so to heart, Miss Amy. Mr. B. is never disenchanted," the
doctor remarked.
"I don't like Mrs. B. at all," said Maggie, decidedly; "and it seems to
me that I know women of whom she is a type--women whose whole souls are
engrossed with their material life. Human husbands are not so blind as
bluebirds, and they want something more than housekeepers and nurses in
their wives."
"Excellent!" cried Rev. Mr. Barkdale; "you improve the occasion better
than I could. But, doctor, how about our callous widow bluebird finding
another mate after the mating season is over?"
"There are always some bachelors around, unsuccessful wooers whose early
blandishments were vain."
"And are there no respectable spinsters with whom they might take up as a
last resort?" Leonard queried.
"No, none at all. Think of that, ye maiden of New England, where the
males are nearly all migrants and do not return! The only chance for a
bird-bachelor is to console some widow whom accident has bereaved of her
mate. Widowers also are ready for an immediate second marriage. Birds and
beasts of prey and boys--hey, Alf--bring about a good many step-parents."
"Alf don't kill any little birds, do you, Alf?" asked his mother.
"Well, not lately. You said they felt so bad over it But if they get over
it so easy as the doctor says--"
"Now, doctor, you see the result of your scientific teaching."
"Why, Mrs. Leonard, are you in sympathy with the priestcraft that would
keep people virtuous through ignorance?" said the minister, laughing.
"Alf must learn to do right, knowing all the facts. I don't believe he
will shy a stone at a bird this coming year unless it is in mischief."
"Well," said Squire Bartley, who had relapsed into a half-doze as the
conversation lost its practical bent, "between the birds and boys I don't
see as we shall be able to raise any fruit before long. If our boys
hadn't killed about all the robins round our house last summer, I don't
think we'd 'a had a cherry or strawberry."
"I'm afraid, squire," put in Webb, quietly, "that if all followed your
boys' example, insects would soon have the better of us. They are far
worse than the birds. I've seen it stated on good authority that a
fledgling robin eats forty per cent more than its own weight every
twenty-four hours, and I suppose it would be almost impossible to compute
the number of noxious worms and moths destroyed by a family of robins in
one season. They earn their share of fruit."
"Webb is right, squire," added the doctor, emphatically. "Were it not for
the birds, the country would soon be as bare as the locusts left Egypt.
Even the crow, against which you are so vindictive, is one of your best
friends."
"Oh, now, come, I can't swallow that. Crows pull up my corn, rob hens'
nests', carry off young chickens. They even rob the nests of the other
birds you're so fond of. Why, some state legislatures give a bounty for
their destruction."
"If there had only been a bounty for killing off the legislators, the
states would have fared better," replied the doctor, with some heat. "It
can be proved beyond a doubt that the crow is unsurpassed by any other
bird in usefulness. He is one of the best friends you have."
"Deliver me from my friends, then," said the squire, rising; and he
departed, with his prejudices against modern ideas and methods somewhat
confirmed.
Like multitudes of his class, he observed in nature only that which was
forced upon his attention through the medium of immediate profit and
loss. The crows pulled up his corn, and carried off an occasional
chicken; the robins ate a little fruit; therefore death to crows and
robins. They all felt a certain sense of relief at his departure, for
while their sympathies touched his on the lower plane of mere utility and
money value, it would be bondage to them to be kept from other and higher
considerations. Moreover, in his own material sphere his narrow prejudices
were ever a jarring element that often exasperated Webb, who had been known
to mutter, "Such clods of earth bring discredit on our calling."
Burt, with a mischievous purpose illuminating his face, remarked: "I'll
try to put the squire into a dilemma. If I can catch one of his boys
shooting robins out of season, I will lodge a complaint with him, and
insist on the fine;" and his design was laughingly applauded.
"I admit," said Mr. Clifford, "that Webb has won me over to a toleration
of crows, but until late years I regarded them as unmitigated pests."
"Undeserved enmity comes about in this way," Webb replied. "We see a crow
in mischief occasionally, and the fact is laid up against him. If we
sought to know what he was about when not in mischief, our views would
soon change. It would be far better to have a little corn pulled up than
to be unable to raise corn at all. Crows can be kept from the field
during the brief periods when they do harm, but myriads of grasshoppers
cannot be managed. Moreover, the crow destroys very many field-mice and
other rodents, but chief of all he is the worst enemy of the May-beetle
and its larvae. In regions of the country where the crow has been almost
exterminated by poison and other means, this insect has left the meadows
brown and sear, while grasshoppers have partially destroyed the most
valuable crops. Why can't farmers get out of their plodding, ox-like
ways, and learn to co-work with Nature like men?"
"Hurrah for Webb!" cried Burt. "Who would have thought that the squire
and a crow could evoke such a peroration? That flower of eloquence surely
grew from a rank, dark soil."
"Squire Bartley amuses me very much," said Mrs. Clifford, from the sofa,
with a low laugh. "He seems the only one who has the power to ruffle
Webb."
"Little wonder," thought Amy, "for it would be hard to find two natures
more antagonistic."
"It seems to me that this has been a very silent winter," the minister
remarked. "In my walks and drives of late I have scarcely heard the chirp
of a bird. Are there many that stay with us through this season, doctor?"
"More than you would suppose. But you would not be apt to meet many of
them unless you sought for them. At this time they are gathered in
sheltered localities abounding in their favorite food. Shall I tell you
about some that I have observed throughout several successive winters?"
Having received eager encouragement, he resumed: "My favorites, the
bluebirds, we have considered quite at length. They are very useful, for
their food in summer consists chiefly of the smaller beetles and the
larvae of little butterflies and moths. Many robins stay all winter. It
is a question of food, not climate, with them. In certain valleys of the
White Mountains there is an abundance of berries, and flocks of robins
feed on them all winter, although the cold reaches the freezing-point of
mercury. As we have said, they are among the most useful of the insect
destroyers. The golden-crested kinglet is a little mite of a bird, not
four inches long, with a central patch of orange-red on his crown. He
breeds in the far North, and wintering here is for him like going to the
South. In summer he is a flycatcher, but here he searches the bark of
forest trees with microscopic scrutiny for the larvae of insects. We all
know the lively black-capped chickadees that fly around in flocks
throughout the winter. Sometimes their search for food leads them into
the heart of towns and cities, where they are as bold and as much at home
as the English sparrow. They also gather around the camps of log-cutters
in the forest, become very tame, and plaintively cry for their share in
the meals. They remain all the year, nesting in decayed logs, posts,
stumps, and even in sides of houses, although they prefer the edge of a
wood. If they can find a hole to suit them, very well; if they can't,
they will make one. Their devotion to their young is remarkable. A nest
in a decayed stump was uncovered, and the mother bird twice taken off by
hand, and each time she returned and covered her brood. She uttered no
cries or complaints, but devotedly interposed her little form between
what must have seemed terrific monsters and her young, and looked at the
human ogres with the resolute eyes of self-sacrifice. If she could have
known it, the monsters only wished to satisfy their curiosity, and were
admiring her beyond measure. Chickadees are exceedingly useful birds, and
make great havoc among the insects.
"Our next bird is merely a winter sojourner, for he goes north in spring
like the kinglet. The scientists, with a fine sense of the fitness of
things, have given him a name in harmony, _Troglodytes parvulus_, var.
_Hyemalis_."
"What monster bird is this?" cried Amy.
"He is about as big as your thumb, and ordinary mortals are content to
call him the winter wren. He is a saucy little atom of a bird, with his
tail pointing rakishly toward his head. I regret exceedingly to add that
he is but a winter resident with us, and we rarely hear his song. Mr.
Burroughs says that he is a 'marvellous songster,' his notes having a
'sweet rhythmical cadence that holds you entranced.' By the way, if you
wish to fall in love with birds, you should read the books of John
Burroughs. A little mite of a creature, like the hermit-thrush, he fills
the wild, remote woods of the North with melody, and has not been known
to breed further south than Lake Mohunk. The brown creeper and the
yellow-rumped warbler I will merely mention. Both migrate to the North in
the spring, and the latter is only an occasional winter resident. The
former is a queer little creature that alights at the base of a tree and
creeps spirally round and round to its very top, when it sweeps down to
the base of another tree to repeat the process. He is ever intent on
business. Purple finches are usually abundant in winter, though, not very
numerous in summer. I value them because they are handsome birds, and
both male and female sing in autumn and winter, when bird music is at a
premium. I won't speak of the Carolina wax-wing, _alias_ cedar or cherry
bird, now. Next June, when strawberries and cherries are ripe, we can
form his intimate acquaintance."
"We have already made it, to the cost of both our patience and purse,"
said Webb. "He is one of the birds for whom I have no mercy."
"That is because you are not sufficiently acquainted with him. I admit
that he is an arrant thief of fruit, and that, as his advocate, I have a
difficult case. I shall not plead for him until summer, when he is in
such imminent danger of capital punishment He's a little beauty, though,
with his jaunty crest and gold-tipped tail. I shall not say one word in
favor of the next bird that I mention, the great Northern shrike, or
butcher-bird. He is not an honest bird of prey that all the smaller
feathered tribes know at a glance, like the hawk; he is a disguised
assassin, and possessed by the very demon of cruelty. He is a handsome
fellow, little over ten inches long, with a short, powerful beak, the
upper mandible sharply curved. His body is of a bluish-gray color, with
'markings of white' on his dusky wings and tail. Three shrikes once made
such havoc among the sparrows of Boston Common that it became necessary
to take much pains to destroy them. He is not only a murderer, but an
exceedingly treacherous one, for both Mr. Audubon and Mr. Nuttall speak
of his efforts to decoy little birds within his reach by imitating their
notes, and he does this so closely that he is called a mocking-bird in
some parts of New England. When he utters his usual note and reveals
himself, his voice very properly resembles the 'discordant creaking of a
sign-board hinge.' A flock of snow-birds or finches may be sporting and
feeding in some low shrubbery, for instance. They may hear a bird
approaching, imitating their own notes. A moment later the shrike will be
seen among them, causing no alarm, for his appearance is in his favor.
Suddenly he will pounce upon an unsuspecting neighbor, and with one blow
of his beak take off the top of its head, dining on its brains. If there
is a chance to kill several more, he will, like a butcher, hang his prey
on a thorn, or in the crotch of a tree, and return for his favorite
morsel when his hunt is over. After devouring the head of a bird he will
leave the body, unless game is scarce. It is well they are not plentiful,
or else our canary pets would be in danger, for a shrike will dart
through an open window and attack birds in cages, even when members of
the family are present. In one instance Mr. Brewer, the ornithologist,
was sitting by a closed window with a canary in a cage above his head,
and a shrike, ignorant of the intervening glass, dashed against the
window, and fell stunned upon the snow. He was taken in, and found to be
tame, but sullen. He refused raw meat, but tore and devoured little birds
very readily. As I said before, it is fortunate he is rare, though why he
is so I scarcely know. He may have enemies in the North, where he breeds;
for I am glad to say that he is only a winter resident.
"It gives one a genuine sense of relief to turn from this Apache, this
treacherous scalper of birds, to those genuinely useful little songsters,
the tree and the song sparrow. The former is essentially a Northern bird,
and breeds in the high arctic regions. He has a fine song, which we hear
in early April as his parting souvenir. The song sparrow will be a great
favorite with you, Miss Amy, for he is one of our finest singers, whose
song resembles the opening notes of a canary, but has more sweetness and
expression. Those that remain with us depart for the North at the first
tokens of spring, and are replaced by myriads of other migrants that
usually arrive early in March. You will hear them some mild morning soon.
They are very useful in destroying the worst kinds of insects. A fit
associate for the song sparrow is the American goldfinch, or yellow-bird,
which is as destructive of the seeds of weeds as the former is of the
smaller insect pests. In summer it is of a bright gamboge yellow, with
black crown, wings, and tail. At this time he is a little olive-brown
bird, and mingles with his fellows in small flocks. They are sometimes
killed and sold as reed-birds. They are brilliant singers.
"The snow-bird and snow-bunting are not identical by any means; indeed,
each is of a different genus. The bunting's true home is in the far
North, and it is not apt to be abundant here except in severe weather.
Specimens have been found, however, early in November, but more often
they appear with a late December snowstorm, their wild notes suggesting
the arctic wastes from which they have recently drifted southward. The
sleigh tracks on the frozen Hudson are among their favorite haunts, and
they are not often abundant in the woods on this side of the river.
Flocks can usually be found spending the winter along the railroad on the
eastern shore. Here they become very fat, and so begrimed with the dirt
and grease on the track that you would never associate them with the
snowy North. They ever make, however, a singular and pretty spectacle
when flying up between one and the late afternoon sun, for the predominant
white in their wings and tail seems almost transparent. They breed at the
extreme North, even along the Arctic Sea, in Greenland and Iceland, and are
fond of marine localities at all times. It's hard to realize that the
little fellows with whom we are now so familiar start within a month for
regions above the Arctic Circle. I once, when a boy, fired into a flock
feeding in a sleigh track on the ice of the river. Some of those that
escaped soon returned to their dead and wounded companions, and in their
solicitude would let me come very near, nor, unless driven away, would they
leave the injured ones until life was extinct. On another occasion I
brought some wounded ones home, and they ate as if starved, and soon became
very tame, alighting upon the table at mealtimes with a freedom from
ceremony which made it necessary to shut them up. They spent most of their
time among the house plants by the window, but toward spring the migratory
instinct asserted itself, and they became very restless, pecking at the
panes in their eagerness to get away. Soon afterward our little guests may
have been sporting on an arctic beach. An effort was once made in
Massachusetts to keep a wounded snow-bunting through the summer, but at
last it died from the heat. They are usually on the wing northward early in
March.
"The ordinary snow-bird is a very unpretentious and familiar little
friend. You can find him almost any day from the 1st of October to the
1st of May, and may know him by his grayish or ashy black head, back, and
wings, white body underneath from the middle of his breast backward, and
white external tail-feathers. He is said to be abundant all over America
east of the Black Hills, and breeds as far south as the mountains of
Virginia. There are plenty of them in summer along the Shawangunk range,
just west of us, in the Catskills, and so northward above the Arctic
Circle. In the spring, before it leaves us, you will often hear its
pretty little song. They are very much afraid of hawks, which make havoc
among them at all times, but are fearless of their human--and especially
of their humane--neighbors. Severe weather will often bring them to our
very doors, and drive them into the outskirts of large cities. They are
not only harmless, but very useful, for they devour innumerable seeds,
and small insects with their larvae. Dear me! I could talk about birds
all night."
"And we could listen to you," chorused several voices.
"I never before realized that we had such interesting winter neighbors
and visitors," said Mrs. Clifford, and the lustre of her eyes and the
faint bloom on her cheeks proved how deeply these little children of
nature had enlisted her sympathies.
"They are interesting, even when in one short evening I can give but in
bald, brief outline a few of their characteristics. Your words suggest
the true way of becoming acquainted with them. Regard them as neighbors
and guests, in the main very useful friends, and then you will naturally
wish to know more about them. In most instances they are quite susceptible
to kindness, and are ready to be intimate with us. That handsome bird, the
blue jay, so wild at the East, is as tame and domestic as the robin in many
parts of the West, because treated well. He is also a winter resident, and
one of the most intelligent birds in existence. Indeed, he is a genuine
humorist, and many amusing stories are told of his pranks. His powers of
mimicry are but slightly surpassed by those of the mocking-bird, and it is
his delight to send the smaller feathered tribes to covert by imitating the
cries of the sparrow, hawk, and other birds of prey. When so tame as to
haunt the neighborhood of dwellings, he is unwearied in playing his tricks
on domestic fowls, and they--silly creatures!--never learn to detect the
practical joke, for, no matter how often it is repeated, they hasten
panic-stricken to shelter. Wilson speaks of him as the trumpeter of the
feathered chorus, but his range of notes is very great, passing from harsh,
grating sounds, like the screeching of an unlubricated axle, to a warbling
as soft and modulated as that of a bluebird, and again, prompted by his
mercurial nature, screaming like a derisive fish-wife. Fledglings will
develop contentedly in a cage, and become tame and amusing pets. They will
learn to imitate the human voice and almost every other familiar sound. A
gentleman in South Carolina had one that was as loquacious as a parrot, and
could utter distinctly several words. In this region they are hunted, and
too shy for familiar acquaintance. When a boy, I have been tantalized
almost beyond endurance by them, and they seemed to know and delight in the
fact. I was wild to get a shot at them, but they would keep just out of
range, mocking me with discordant cries, and alarming all the other game in
the vicinity. They often had more sport than I. It is a pity that the small
boy with his gun cannot be taught to let them alone. If they were as
domestic and plentiful as robins, they would render us immense service. A
colony of jays would soon destroy all the tent-caterpillars on your place,
and many other pests. In Indiana they will build in the shrubbery around
dwellings, but we usually hear their cries from mountain-sides and distant
groves. Pleasant memories of rambles and nutting excursions they always
awaken. The blue jay belongs to the crow family, and has all the brains of
his black-coated and more sedate cousins. At the North, he will, like a
squirrel, lay up for winter a hoard of acorns and beech mast. An
experienced bird-fancier asserts that he found the jay 'more ingenious,
cunning, and teachable than any other species of birds that he had ever
attempted to instruct.'
"One of our most beautiful and interesting winter visitants is the pine
grosbeak. Although very abundant in some seasons, even extending its
migrations to the latitude of Philadelphia, it is irregular, and only the
coldest weather prompts its excursions southward. The general color of
the males is a light carmine, or rose, and if only plentiful they would
make a beautiful feature in our snowy landscape. As a general thing, the
red tints are brighter in the American than in the European birds. The
females, however, are much more modest in their plumage, being ash-colored
above, with a trace of carmine behind their heads and upon their upper tail
coverts, and sometimes tinged with greenish-yellow beneath. The females are
by far our more abundant visitants, for in the winter of '75 I saw numerous
flocks, and not over two per cent were males in red plumage. Still, strange
to say, I saw a large flock of adult males the preceding November, feeding
on the seeds of a Norway spruce before our house. Oh, what a brilliant
assemblage they made among the dark branches! In their usual haunts they
live a very retired life. The deepest recesses of the pine forests at the
far North are their favorite haunts, and here the majority generally remain
throughout the year. In these remote wilds is bred the fearlessness of man
which is the result of ignorance, for they are among the tamest of all wild
birds, finding, in this respect, their counterpart in the American red
cross-bill, another occasional cold-weather visitant. For several winters
the grosbeaks were exceedingly abundant in the vicinity of Boston, and were
so tame that they could be captured in butterfly nets, and knocked down
with poles. The markets became full of them, and many were caged. While
tame they were very unhappy in confinement, and as spring advanced their
mournful cries over their captivity became incessant. They can be kept as
pets, however, and will often sing in the night. Mr. Audubon observed that
when he fired at one of their number, the others, instead of flying away,
would approach within a few feet, and gaze at him with undisguised
curiosity, unmingled with fear. I have seen some large flocks this winter,
and a few fed daily on a bare plot of ground at the end of our piazza. I
was standing above this plot one day, when a magnificent red male flew just
beneath my feet and drank at a little pool. I never saw anything more
lovely in my life than the varying sheen of his brilliant tropical-like
plumage. He was like a many-hued animated flower, and was so fearless that
I could have touched him with a cane. One very severe, stormy winter the
grosbeaks fairly crowded the streets of Pictou. A gentleman took one of
these half-starved birds into his room, where it lived at large, and soon
became the tamest and most affectionate of pets. But in the spring, when
its mates were migrating north, Nature asserted herself, and it lost its
familiarity, and filled the house with its piteous wailings, refused food,
and sought constantly to escape. When the grosbeaks are with us you would
not be apt to notice them unless you stumbled directly upon them, for they
are the most silent of birds, which is remarkable, since the great majority
of them are females".
"That is just the reason why they are so still," remarked Mrs. Leonard.
"Ladies never speak unless they have something to say."
"Far be it from me to contradict you. The lady grosbeaks certainly have
very little to say to one another, though when mating in their secluded
haunts they probably express their preferences decidedly. If they have an
ear for music, they must enjoy their wooing immensely, for there is
scarcely a lovelier song than that of the male grosbeak. I never heard it
but once, and may never again; but the thrill of delight that I experienced
that intensely cold March day can never be forgotten. I was following the
course of a stream that flowed at the bottom of a deep ravine, when, most
unexpectedly, I heard a new song, which proceeded from far up the glen. The
notes were loud, rich, and sweet, and I hastened on to identify the new
vocalist. I soon discovered a superb red pine grosbeak perched on the top
of a tall hemlock. His rose-colored plumage and mellow notes on that bleak
day caused me to regret exceedingly that he was only an uncertain and
transient visitor to our region.
"We have a large family of resident hawks in this vicinity; indeed, there
are nine varieties of this species of bird with us at this time, although
some of them are rarely seen. The marsh-hawk has a bluish or brown
plumage, and in either case is distinguished by a patch of white on its
upper tail coverts. You would not be apt to meet with it except in its
favorite haunts. I found a nest in the centre of Consook Marsh, below
West Point. It was a rude affair. The nests of this hawk are usually made
of hay, lined with pine needles, and sometimes at the North with
feathers. This bird is found nearly everywhere in North America, and
breeds as high as Hudson Bay. In the marshes on the Delaware it is often
called the mouse-hawk, for it sweeps swiftly along the low ground in
search of a species of mouse common in that locality. It is said to be
very useful in the Southern rice-fields, since, as it sails low, it
interrupts the flocks of bobolinks, or rice-birds, in their depredations.
Planters say that one marsh-hawk accomplishes more than several negroes
in alarming these greedy little gourmands. In this region they do us no
practical harm.
"Our most abundant hawk is the broad-winged, which will measure about
thirty-six inches with wings extended. The plumage of this bird is so
dusky as to impart a prevalent brownish color, and the species is
distributed generally over eastern North America. Unlike the marsh-hawk,
it builds in trees, and Mr. Audubon describes a nest as similar to that
of the crow--a resemblance easily accounted for by the frequency with
which this hawk will repair crows' nests of former years for its own use.
I once shot one upon such a nest, from which I had taken crows' eggs the
preceding summer. I had only wounded the bird, and he clawed me severely
before I was able to capture him. I once took a fledgling from a nest,
and he became very fond of me, and quite gentle, but he would not let any
one else handle him. On another occasion, when I was examining a nest,
the male bird flew to a branch just over it, uttering loud, squealing
cries, thence darted swiftly past me, and so close that I could feel the
rush of air made by his wings; then he perched near again, and threatened
me in every way he could, extending his wings, inclining his head and
body toward me, making meanwhile a queer whistling sound. Only when I
reached the nest would the female leave it, and then she withdrew but a
short distance, returning as soon as I began to descend. The devotion of
these wild creatures to their young is often marvellous. Mr. Audubon
describes this hawk as 'spiritless, inactive, and so deficient in courage
that he is often chased by the little sparrow-hawk and kingbird.' Another
naturalist dissents emphatically from this view, and regards the
broad-winged as the most courageous and spirited of his family, citing an
instance of a man in his employ who, while ascending to a nest, was
assailed with great fury. His hat was torn from his head, and he would
have been injured had not the bird been shot. He also gives another
example of courage in an attack by this hawk upon a boy seeking to rob
its nest. It fastened its talons in his arm, and could not be beaten off
until it was killed. Perhaps both naturalists are right. It is brave and
fierce when its home is disturbed, and lacks the courage to attack other
birds of its own kind. At any rate, it has no hesitancy in making
hawk-love to chickens and ducklings, but as a rule subsists on insects
and small quardrupeds. It is not a very common winter resident, but early
in March it begins to come northward in flocks.
"Next to the broad-winged, the sharp-shinned is our most abundant hawk,
and is found throughout the entire continent from Hudson Bay to Mexico. It
usually builds its nest in trees, and occasionally on ledges of rocks,
and as a general thing takes some pains in its construction. Its domicile
approaches the eagle's nest in form, is broad and shallow, and made of
sticks and twigs lined thinly with dried leaves, mosses, etc. A full-grown
female--which, as I told you once before, is always larger than the male
among birds of prey--measures about twenty-six inches with wings extended.
It is lead-colored above, and lighter beneath. You can easily recognize
this hawk by its short wings, long tail, and swift, irregular flight. One
moment it is high in the air, the next it disappears in the grass, having
seized the object of its pursuit. It is capable of surprisingly sudden
dashes, and its pursuit is so rapid that escape is wellnigh hopeless. It is
not daunted by obstacles. Mr. Audubon saw one dart into a thicket of
briers, strike and instantly kill a thrush, and emerge with it on the
opposite side. It often makes havoc among young chickens. One came every
day to a poultry-yard until it had carried off over twenty. It does not
hesitate to pounce down upon a chicken even in the farmer's presence; and
one, in a headlong pursuit, broke through the glass of a greenhouse, then
dashed through another glass partition, and was only brought up by a third.
Pigeons are also quite in its line. Indeed, it is a bold red-taloned
freebooter, and only condescends to insects and the smaller reptiles when
there are no little birds at hand. During the spring migration this hawk
is sometimes seen in large flocks.
"The American goshawk is the next bird of this family that I will
mention, and I am very glad to say that he is only a winter resident. He
is the dreaded blue hen-hawk of New England, and is about twenty-three
inches long, and forty-four from tip to tip of wings. One good authority
says that for strength, intrepidity, and fury he cannot be surpassed. He
will swoop down into a poultry-yard and carry off a chicken almost before
you can take a breath. He is swift, cunning, and adroit rather than
heedless and headlong, like the sharp-shinned hawk, and although the
bereaved farmer may be on the alert with his gun, this marauder will
watch his chance, dash into the yard, then out again with his prey, so
suddenly that only the despairing cries of the fowl reveal the murderous
onslaught. In western Maine this hawk is very common. A housewife will
hear a rush of wings and cries of terror, and can only reach the door in
time to see one of these robbers sailing off with the finest of her
pullets. Hares and wild-ducks are favorite game also. The goshawk will
take a mallard with perfect ease, neatly and deliberately strip off the
feathers, and then, like an epicure, eat the breast only. Audubon once
saw a large flock of blackbirds crossing the Ohio. Like an arrow a
goshawk darted upon them, while they, in their fright, huddled together.
The hawk seized one after another, giving each a death-squeeze, then
dropping it into the water. In this way he killed five before the flock
escaped into the woods. He then leisurely went back, picked them up one
by one, and carried them to the spot selected for his lunch. With us, I
am happy to say, he is shy and distant, preferring the river marshes to
the vicinity of our farmyards. He usually takes his prey while swooping
swiftly along on the wing.
"Have we any hawks similar to those employed in the old-time falconry of
Europe?" Webb asked.
"Yes; our duck or great-footed hawk is almost identical with the
well-known peregrine falcon of Europe. It is a permanent resident, and
breeds on the inaccessible cliffs of the Highlands, although preferring
similar localities along a rocky sea-coast. There is no reason to doubt
that our duck-hawk might be trained for the chase as readily as its
foreign congener. It has the same wonderful powers of flight, equal
docility in confinement, and can be taught to love and obey its master. I
have often wondered why falconry has not been revived, like other ancient
sports. The Germans are said to have employed trained hawks to capture
carrier-pigeons that were sent out with missives by the French during the
siege of Paris. In a few instances the duck-hawk has been known to nest
in trees. It is a solitary bird, and the sexes do not associate except at
the breeding season. While it prefers water-fowl, it does not confine
itself to them. I shot one on a Long Island beach and found in its crop
whole legs of the robin, Alice's thrush, catbird, and warblers. It
measures about forty-five inches in the stretch of its wings, and its
prevailing color is of a dark blue.
"The pigeon-hawk is not very rare at this season. Professor Baird
describes this bird as remarkable for its rapid flight, its courage, and
its enterprise in attacking birds even larger than itself. This accords
with my experience, for my only specimen was shot in the act of destroying
a hen. He is about the size of our common flicker, or high-holder, which
bird, with robins, pigeons, and others of similar size, is his favorite
game. The sparrow-hawk is rare at this time, and is only abundant
occasionally during its migrations. The red-shouldered hawk is a handsome
bird, with some very good traits, and is a common permanent resident.
Unless hunted, these birds are not shy, and they remain mated throughout
the year. Many a human pair might learn much from their affectionate and
considerate treatment of each other. They do not trouble poultry-yards, and
are fond of frogs, cray-fish, and even insects. Occasionally they will
attack birds as large as a meadow-lark. They have a high and very irregular
flight, but occasionally they so stuff themselves with frogs that they can
scarcely move. Wilson found one with the remains of ten frogs in his crop.
"Last among the winter residents I can merely mention the red-tailed
hawk, so named from the deep rufus color of its tail feathers. It is a
heavy, robust bird, and while it usually feeds on mice, moles, and shrews
that abound in meadows, its depredations on farmyards are not infrequent.
It is widely distributed throughout the continent, and abundant here. It
is a powerful bird, and can compass long distances with a strong, steady
flight, often moving with no apparent motion of the wings. It rarely
seizes its prey while flying, like the goshawk, but with its keen vision
will inspect the immediate vicinity from the branch of a tree, and thence
dart upon it. It is not particular as to its food. Insects, birds, and
reptiles are alike welcome game, and in summer it may be seen carrying a
writhing snake through the air. While flying it utters a very harsh,
peculiar, and disagreeable scream, and by some is called the squealing
hawk. The social habits of this bird are in appropriate concord with its
voice. After rearing their young the sexes separate, and are jealous of
and hostile to each other. It may easily happen that if the wife of the
spring captures any prey, her former mate will struggle fiercely for its
possession, and the screaming clamor of the fight will rival a conjugal
quarrel in the Bowery. In this respect they form an unpleasing contrast
with the red-shouldered hawks, among whom marriage is permanent, and
maintained with lover-like attentions. Thus it would appear that there
are contrasts of character even in the hawk world; and when you remember
that we have fifteen other varieties of this bird, besides the nine I
have mentioned, you may think that nature, like society, is rather
prodigal in hawks. As civilization advances, however, innocence stands a
better chance. At least this is true of the harmless song-birds.
"I have now given you free-hand sketches of the great majority of our
winter residents, and these outlines are necessarily very defective from
their brevity as well as for other reasons. I have already talked an
unconscionably long time; but what else could you expect from a man with
a hobby? As it is, I am not near through, for the queer little
white-bellied nut-hatch, and his associates in habits, the downy, the
hairy, the golden-winged, and the yellow-bellied woodpeckers, and four
species of owls, are also with us at this season. With the bluebirds the
great tide of migration has already turned northward, and all through
March, April, and May I expect to greet the successive arrivals of old
friends every time I go out to visit my patients. I can assure you that I
have no stupid, lonely drives, unless the nights are dark and stormy.
Little Johnnie, I see, has gone to sleep. I must try to meet some fairies
and banshees in the moonlight for her benefit But, Alf, I'm delighted to
see you so wide-awake. Shooting birds as game merely is very well, but
capturing them in a way to know all about them is a sport that is always
in season, and would grow more and more absorbing if you lived a thousand
years."
A bent for life was probably given to the boy's mind that night.