The eagle is a bird that deserves much sympathy, for he has seen better
times. Until a few years ago the pride of place among the fowls of the
air was always given to the eagle. “Which eagle?” you ask. I reply,
“_The_ eagle.” The poets, who have ever been the bird’s trumpeters, know
but one eagle upon which they lavish such epithets as “the imperial
bird,” “the royal eagle,” “the monarch bird,” “lord of land and sea,”
“the wide-ruling eagle,” “the prince of all the feathered kind,” “the
king of birds,” “the bird of heaven,” “the Olympic eagle,” “the bold
imperial bird of Jove,” and so on, _ad nauseam_.
The eagle of the poets was truly regal. But somebody discovered, one day,
that this bird is, like the phœnix, a mythical creature. Eagles do
exist—many species of them—but they are very ordinary creatures, in no
way answering to the description of the poet’s pet fowl. This, of course,
is not the fault of the eagles. They are not to blame because the bards
have, with one accord, combined to idealise them. Nevertheless, men, now
that they have found out the truth, seem to bear a grudge against the
eagle. They are not content with dethroning him, they must needs throw
mud at him. It is the present custom to vilify the eagle, to speak of him
as though he were an opponent at an election, to dub him a cowardly
carrion feeder, little if anything better than a common vulture. Let us,
therefore, give the poor out-at-elbows bird an innings to-day and see
what we can do for him.
But how are we to recognise him when we see him? This is indeed a
problem. There is a feature by which the true eagles may be distinguished
from all other birds of prey, namely, the feathered tarsus. The true
eagles alone among the _raptores_ decline to go about with bare legs;
their “understandings” are feathered right down to the toe. Thus may they
be recognised.
This method of identification is on a par with that of catching a bird by
placing a small quantity of salt upon its tail. Eagles show no readiness
to come and have their legs inspected. There is, I fear, no feature
whereby the tyro can distinguish an eagle as it soars overhead high in
the heavens. Nothing save years of patient observation can enable the
naturalist to identify any particular bird of prey at sight. Colour is,
alas! no guide. The _raptores_ are continually changing their plumage. It
were as easy to identify a woman by the colour of her frock as a bird of
prey by the hues of its plumage. We read of one eagle that it is tawny
rufous, of another that it is rufous tawny, of a third that it is tawny
buff. The surest method of distinguishing the various birds of prey is by
their flight; but is it possible to describe the peculiar flap of the
wings of one eagle, and the particular angle at which another carries its
pinions as it sails along? The length of the tail is a guide, but by no
means an infallible one. The shikra, the sparrow-hawk, the kestrel, and
the kite are long-tailed birds, the caudal appendage accounting for half
their total length. In the eagles the tail is considerably shorter in
proportion to the size of the bird. Thus the female of the golden eagle
(_Aquila chrysætus_)—which, _en passant_, is not gold in colour, but
dirty whitish brown—is 40 inches long, while the tail is but 14 inches.
The vultures have yet shorter tails in proportion to their size. If,
therefore, you see soaring overhead a big bird of prey, looking like a
large kite, with a moderate tail and curved rather than straight wings,
that bird is probably an eagle. So much, then, for the appearance of our
dethroned monarch; it now behoves us to consider his character and
habits. There are many species of eagle, each of which has its own
peculiar ways, hence it is impossible for the naturalist to generalise
concerning them. In this respect he is not so fortunate as the poet. Let
us briefly consider two species, one belonging to the finer type of eagle
and the other to the baser sort.
Bonelli’s eagle (_Hieraëtus fasciatus_), or the crestless hawk eagle as
Jerdon calls him, is perhaps the nearest approach of any to the poet’s
eagle. This fine bird is common on the Nilgiris, but rare in Madras. It
is said to disdain carrion; it preys on small mammals and birds of all
sizes. It takes game birds by preference, but when hungry does not draw
the line at the crow. If it has hunted all day without obtaining the
wherewithal to fill its belly, it repairs to the grove of trees in which
all the crows of the neighbourhood roost. As the sun sinks in the heavens
the crows arrive in straggling flocks. Suddenly the eagle dashes into the
midst of them and, before the crows have realised what has happened, one
of them is being carried away in the eagle’s talons. Then the _corvi_
fill the welkin with their cries of distress. It is very naughty of the
eagle to prey upon crows in this way, because by so doing it mocks the
theory of protective colouration. No one can maintain that our friend
_Corvus splendens_ is protectively coloured, that is to say, so coloured
as to be inconspicuous. No one but a blind man can fail to see a crow as
he steadily flaps his way through the air. No one can deny that the bird
flourishes, in spite of the fact that eagles eat him, and that his
plumage is as conspicuous as the blazer of the Lady Margaret Boat Club at
Cambridge. If, as the theory teaches, it is of paramount importance to a
bird to be inconspicuous, why was not the whole clan of _corvi_ swept off
the face of the earth long ago?
We have, in conclusion, to consider an eagle of the baser sort. The
Indian tawny eagle (_Aquila vindhiana_), which is the commonest eagle in
India, will serve as an example. This bird eats anything in the way of
flesh that it can obtain. If the opportunity offers, it will pounce upon
a squirrel, a small bird, a lizard, or a frog; but it is a comparatively
sluggish creature, and so robs other _raptores_ in preference to catching
its own quarry. Most birds of prey are robbers. This the falconer knows,
and profits by his knowledge. He first captures some small bird of prey,
such as a white-eyed buzzard. Having tied up two or three of its wing
feathers so that it cannot fly far, he attaches to its feet a bundle of
feathers, from which hang a number of fine hair nooses. He then flies
this lure bird. Every bird of prey in the neighbourhood espies it and,
seeing the bundle of feathers and remarking the laboured flight, jumps to
the conclusion that it is carrying booty, and promptly gives chase with
the object of relieving it of its burden. The first robber to arrive is
caught in one of the nooses.
The tawny eagle is not above feeding upon carrion. It has not the pluck
of Bonelli’s eagle, but is apparently not the contemptible coward it is
made out to be by some writers. A few weeks ago I noticed, high up in a
_farash_ tree, the platform of sticks and branches that does duty for the
nest of this species. I sent my climber to find out what was in the nest.
While he was handling the two eggs it contained, the mother eagle swooped
down upon him, scratched his head severely, and flew off with his turban.
As she sped away, her prize attracted the notice of some kites, who at
once attacked her. In the _mêlée_ which ensued, the _puggaree_ dropped to
the ground, to the joy of its lawful owner and the disgust of the
combatants. I must add that I was not an eye-witness of the encounter; I
however saw the marks of the bird’s claws on my climber’s scalp.