The weaver bird has, thanks to its marvellous nest, a world-wide
reputation. It is related to our ubiquitous friend the house sparrow, and
is known to men of science as _Ploceus baya_.
Except at the breeding season, the weaver bird looks rather like an
overgrown sparrow, and frequently passes as such. But the cock decks
himself out in gay attire when he goes a-courting. The feathers of his
head become golden, while his breast turns bright yellow if he be an
elderly gentleman, or rusty red if he still possess the fire of youth.
Weaver birds are found all over India. In most parts they seem to shun
the haunts of man, but in Burma they frequent gardens. Jerdon mentions a
house in Rangoon which had at one time over one hundred weaver birds’
nests suspended from the thatch of the roof! In India proper the
favourite site for a nest is a tree that overhangs water. Toddy palms are
most commonly chosen, but in Northern India, where palms are but rarely
seen, a _babul_ tree is usually utilised.
Weaver birds or bayas, as they are invariably called by
Hindustani-speaking people, live almost exclusively on grain, hence they
are easy birds to keep in captivity. Given a commodious aviary and plenty
of grass, captive bayas amuse themselves by weaving their wonderful
nests. They are, however, not very desirable as pets if they have to
share a cage with other birds, for, as Colonel Cunningham remarks, “every
weaver bird appears to be possessed by an innate desire to hammer in the
head of his neighbour.” To this the neighbour is apt to take exception,
so that unpleasantness ensues.
Natives frequently train bayas to do all manner of tricks.
The man with performing birds is quite an institution in India. Parrots,
bayas, and pigeons are most frequently trained.
A very effective trick, which is performed alike by parrots and weaver
birds, is the loading and firing of a miniature cannon. First the bird
places some grains of powder in the muzzle of the cannon, then it rams
these home with a ramrod. It next takes a lighted match from its master,
which it applies to the touch-hole. The result is a report loud enough to
scare every crow in the neighbourhood, but the little baya will remain
perched on the gun, having apparently thoroughly enjoyed the performance.
The nest of the baya is one of the most wonderful things in nature.
Description is unnecessary. Every one who has been in India has seen
dozens of the hanging flask-shaped structures, while those who know not
the Gorgeous East must be acquainted with the nest from pictures.
On account of its champagne-bottle shaped nest, the weaver is sometimes
known as the bottle bird; I have also heard it called the hedge sparrow.
It makes no attempt to conceal its exquisitely woven nest. It relies for
protection on inaccessibility, not concealment. Every animal _badmash_
can see the nest, but cannot get at it. It hangs sufficiently high to be
out of reach of all four-footed creatures. The ends of the entrance
passage are frayed out so as to baffle all attempts on the part of
squirrels and lizards to reach the treasures hidden away in it.
Both cock and hen work at the nest, the cock being the more industrious.
The fibres of which it is composed are not found ready-made. The birds
manufacture them out of the tall elephant grass which is so common in
India. The weaver alights on one of the nearly upright blades and seizes
with its beak a neighbouring blade near the base and makes a notch in it;
it next seizes the edge of the blade above the notch and jerks its head
away. By this means it strips off a thin strand of the leaf; it then
proceeds to tear off in a similar manner a second strand, retaining the
first one in its beak; in precisely the same way a third and perhaps a
fourth strand are stripped off. The tearing process is not always
continued to the extreme end of the blade; the various strands sometimes
remain attached to the tip of the blade. The force with which the bird
flies away usually suffices to complete the severance; sometimes,
however, it is not effected so easily, and the bird is pulled back and
swings in the air suspended by the strands it holds in its bill. Nothing
daunted, the weaver makes a second attempt to fly away, and if this is
not successful, continues until its efforts are crowned with success.
The grass which is used in nest construction is impregnated with silicon
to such an extent that I experienced considerable difficulty in
extricating from my pocket some of the fibres which, on one occasion, I
took home with me. The material is thus eminently suitable for weaving
purposes.
The fibres first collected are securely wound round the branch or leaf
from which the nest will hang. The fibres added subsequently are plaited
together until a stalk four or five inches long is formed; this is then
expanded into a bell-shaped structure. The bell constitutes the roof of
the nursery. When the roof is completed a loop is constructed across its
base, so that the nest at this stage may be likened to an inverted basket
with a handle.
Up to this point the cock and hen do the same kind of work, both fetch
strips of grass or of palm leaves and weave these into the structure of
the nest. But when once the loop or cross-bar is completed the hen takes
up a position on it and makes the cock do all the bringing of material.
She henceforth works from the interior of the nest and he from the
exterior.
They push the fibres through the walls to one another. Thus the work
progresses very rapidly. On one side of the loop the bell is closed up so
as to form a chamber in which the eggs are laid, and the other half is
prolonged into a neck, which becomes the entrance to the nest. This may
be nearly a foot long; six inches is, however, a more usual length.
The entrance to the nursery is thus from below. The way the owners shoot
vertically upwards into it, with closed wings, without perceptibly
shaking it is really marvellous.
Nest construction obviously gives the little builders great pleasure.
They frequently build supernumerary nests, purely from the joy of
building. Each time the cock bird approaches the nest with a beakful of
material he cries out with delight. Every now and again in the midst of
weaving material into the structure of the nest he bursts into song.
Weaver birds usually build in company; ten or a dozen different nests
being found in the same tree. As each little craftsman is in a very
excited state, fights between neighbouring cocks frequently ensue, but
these are never of a serious nature. I was once the witness of an amusing
piece of wickedness on the part of a cock baya. The bird in question flew
to a branch near the nest belonging to another pair of weaver birds who
were absent. After contemplating it for a little he flew to the nest, and
having deliberately wrenched away a piece of it with his beak, made off
with the stolen property and worked it into his own nest! Four times did
he visit his neighbour’s nest and commit larceny; two of the stolen
strands he utilised and the remaining ones fell to the ground. I am
inclined to think that the thief was actuated by motives of jealousy; for
he deliberately dropped some of the stolen material on to the ground and
extracted it from the place at which the nest was attached to its branch,
thus weakening its attachment. The victim of the outrage on his return
did not appear to notice that anything was amiss.
Not the least interesting feature of the nest is the clay which is
studded about it in lumps. In one nest Jerdon found no fewer than six of
these lumps, weighing in all three ounces. The clay has, I think, three
uses: it helps to balance the nest, it prevents it being blown about by
every gust of wind, and keeps it steady while the bird is entering it.
A story is abroad, and is repeated in nearly every popular book on
ornithology, to the effect that the weaver bird sticks fireflies on these
lumps of clay, and thus illuminates the nursery, or renders it terrifying
to predacious creatures. Jerdon scoffs at this firefly story, and I, too,
am unable to accept it. Nevertheless it is so universally believed by the
natives of India that there must be some foundation for it.
Some time ago a correspondent living on the West Coast of India informed
me that weaver birds are very abundant in that part of the country, that
their nests are everywhere to be seen, and that he had noticed fireflies
stuck into many of them. He asked if I could explain their presence. I
suggested in reply that he had made a mistake and requested him to look
carefully next nesting season, that is to say in August, and, if he came
upon a single nest on to which a firefly was stuck, to take it down,
fireflies and all, and send it to me at my expense. Since then August has
come and gone thrice, and I have heard nothing from my correspondent!
Thus it is that I am still among those that disbelieve the firefly story.
My theory is that the bird brings the clay to the nest in its bill in a
moist condition. Now wet clay retains moisture for some time and would
shine quite brightly in the moonlight, so might easily be mistaken for a
firefly. Unfortunately the weaver bird is not common where I am now
stationed, so that I have not had an opportunity of putting this theory
to the test. I have, however, noticed how the nests built by solitary
wasps shine when the clay that composes them is wet.
The natives of Northern India attribute great medicinal value to the nest
of the weaver bird. They assert that a baby will never suffer from boils
if it be once washed in water in which a weaver bird’s nest has been
boiled!
A great many half-finished weaver birds’ nests are seen in India. Most of
these are the work of the cock, who thus amuses himself while his wife is
incubating. A few are nests which have gone wrong, nests which do not
balance nicely and so have not been completed.
Two eggs are usually laid; they are pure white and without any gloss. On
these the hen sits very closely. On one occasion Hume took home a very
fine specimen of the nest and hung it from one of a pair of antlers on
his dining-room wall. Three days later the inmates of the bungalow became
aware of a very unpleasant odour, which was traced to the nest. On taking
it down it was found to contain a female baya dead upon two dead
half-hatched chicks.