The office building in which for some time past I have rendered service
to a paternal government was once a tomb. That it is now an office is
evidence of the strict economy practised by the Indian Administration.
Since the living require more light than the dead, skylights have been
let into the domed roof. In these the brown rock-chat (_Cercomela fusca_)
loves to sit and pour forth his exceedingly sweet little lay, while his
spouse sits on four pale blue eggs in a nest on a ledge in a neighbouring
sepulchre. But it is not of this bird that I write to-day; I hope to give
him an innings at some future date.
Two little brown doves (_Turtur cambaiensis_) first demand our attention,
since these for a time appropriated my skylights. This species is smaller
than the spotted dove so common in Madras, and, to my way of thinking, is
a much more beautiful bird. Its head, neck, and breast are pale lilac
washed with red. On each side of the neck the bird carries a miniature
chessboard. The remainder of its plumage is brown, passing into grey and
white. The legs are lake-red.
It has a very distinctive note—a soft, subdued musical
_cuk-cuk-coo-coo-coo_. There is no bird better pleased with itself than
the little brown dove. In the month of March the two doves in question
were “carrying on” in my office skylight to such an extent as to leave no
doubt that they had a nest somewhere. I discovered it on the rolled-up
end of one of the bamboo verandah _chiks_. These are not let down in the
cold weather, so that the doves had been permitted to build undisturbed.
“Eha” has humorously described a dove’s nest as composed of two short
sticks and a long one; that of the little brown dove is a little more
compact than the typical nest, a little less sketchy, and composed of
grass and fine twigs. There was plenty of room for it on the top of the
rolled-up portion of the _chik_.
When I found the nest there were two white eggs in it. Every species of
dove lays but two eggs. I do not know whether the smallness of the clutch
has anything to do with the helplessness of the young birds when first
hatched. Young doves and pigeons have not, like other baby birds, great
mouths which open to an alarming extent. They feed by putting their beaks
in the mouth of the parent and there they obtain “pigeon’s milk,” which
is a secretion from the crop of the old birds.
Being at that time less versed in the ways of the little brown dove than
I now am, I was under the impression that this nest was in rather a
curious situation, so I determined to obtain a photograph of it with the
young birds. I may here say that I dislike photography, and not without
cause. Some years ago I visited the Himalayan snows, and dragged up a
great camera and a number of plates to an altitude of 12,000 feet. Having
no portable dark room, I endured untold agonies while changing the plates
under the bedclothes. Being anxious lest the light should reach the
exposed negatives, I wrapped them up very carefully, using newspaper,
which was the only wrapping available. When I returned from the
expedition I developed the plates, but lo and behold! instead of snowy
peaks and sunny valleys, advertisements of soaps and pills appeared on
the plates. Why do not books on the camera tell one not to wrap up plates
in newspaper? I made a vow to leave photography to others, and I kept the
vow until I saw those young doves perched so temptingly on the _chik_.
Having risked both life and limb in mounting a chair placed upon a table,
I obtained a “snap” at the nest. On developing the plate everything
appeared with admirable clearness except the nest. There was nothing but
a blur where this should have been; the rest of the _chik_ came out
splendidly. The only explanation of this phenomenon that I can offer is
the natural “cussedness” of the camera. I have now renewed my vow to
eschew photography.
The first young doves were successfully reared. No sooner had they been
driven forth into the world than the parents set about repairing the
nest, for doves are not content with one brood; when once a pair commence
nesting there is no knowing when they will stop. As it was then April and
the sun was growing uncomfortably hot, the letting down of the _chik_
became a matter of necessity, and this, of course, wrecked the nest. I
expected to see no more of the doves. In this I was mistaken. Before long
they were billing and cooing as merrily as before. A little search showed
that this time they had built a nest on the top of the same _chik_—a feat
which I should have thought impossible had I not seen the nest with my
own eyes. Some sacking was attached to the _chik_, and this, together
with the bamboo, presented a surface of about half an inch. On this
precarious foundation the nest rested; the twigs, of course, reached over
to the wall from which the _chik_ was hung. Thus the nest received some
additional support. Needless to say, the young birds had to remain very
still or they would have fallen out of the nest.
The second and the third broods were raised without mishap. One of the
birds of the fourth family was more restless than his brethren had been;
consequently he fell off the nest on to the floor of the verandah. He was
picked up and brought to me. Although not strong enough to walk, or even
stand, he showed unmistakable signs of that evil temper which
characterises all doves, by opening his wings and pecking savagely at my
hand. In spite of this behaviour I set natural selection at naught by
putting him back into the nest. He fell out again next day and was again
replaced. This time he stayed there, and is now probably at large.
When the fifth clutch of eggs was in the nest my _chaprassi_, who, since
I have shown him how to play cuckoo, has been upsetting the domestic
affairs of any number of birds, asked whether he might substitute two
pigeon’s eggs for those laid by the dove. The substitution was duly
effected without rousing any suspicions on the part of the doves. The
young pigeons soon hatched out and were industriously fed by their
foster-parents, nor did these latter appear to notice anything unusual
when the white plumage of the pigeons appeared. Two days before the
changelings were ready to fly a terrific storm arose and so shook the
_chiks_ that the poor pigeons were thrown off and killed. Nothing
daunted, the doves have since successfully reared a sixth family! Can we
wonder that doves are numerous in India?