I have never been able to discover why the great black crow (_Corvus
macrorhynchus_), so common in India, is called the jungle-crow. It is,
indeed, true that the corby is found in the jungle, but it is found
everywhere else in most parts of India, and is certainly abundant in
villages and towns, being in some places quite as much a house bird as
its smaller cousin, the grey-necked crow.
Considering the character of the larger species and its extensive
distribution, one hears remarkably little about it. The explanation is,
of course, that the house-crow absorbs all the attention that man has to
bestow upon the sable-plumaged tribe. The prevailing opinion seems to be
that the black crow is merely a mild edition, a feeble imitation of, a
scoundrel of lesser calibre than, its smaller cousin, _Corvus splendens_,
and, therefore, everything that applies to the house-crow applies in a
lesser degree to the big-billed bird. This is, I submit, a mistaken view,
the result of imperfect observation. _Corvus macrorhynchus_ has an
individuality of his own, and we do him scant justice in dismissing him
with a short paragraph at the foot of a lengthy description of _Corvus
splendens_.
In saying this, I feel that I am speaking as one having authority, and
not as the Scribes and Pharisees, whose zoological horizon coincides with
the limits of the museum. For a period of eighteen months I lived in a
station which should be renamed and called Crowborough. To assert that
the place in question swarms with crows is, of course, to assert nothing,
for it shares this feature with every other place in India. The point I
desire to bring out clearly is that in this particular place the black
crows are nearly as numerous as the grey-necked birds. The former are
certainly in a minority, but their minority is, like Sir Henry
Campbell-Bannerman’s in the previous House of Commons, a large one, and
what they lack in numbers they make up in weight and beak-force. It was
truly delightful to watch them lord it over the grey-necked birds.
Grammarians will observe that I here use the past tense. This is a point
of some importance. Just as it is impossible to properly estimate the
character of an eminent man during his lifetime, so is it to form a
proper opinion of the personality and behaviour of a species of crow
while one is in the midst of that species, while one is subjected to the
persecutions, the annoyances, and the insults to which it thinks fit to
treat one.
But I am now far away from Crowborough, and I may never again return
thither. As I sit upon the Irish shore and see the blue waters of the
North Atlantic roll softly up against the black rocks of Antrim, I feel
that I am in a position to form a true estimate of the character of
_Corvus macrorhynchus_.
Until I went to Crowborough I laboured under the delusion that the
grey-necked crow knew not the meaning of the word “respect.” The
deference with which the big-beaked species is treated by his smaller
cousin came as a complete surprise to me.
Most Anglo-Indians are so embittered against the whole tribe of the
_corvi_ that they will on no account feed them. I do not share this
prejudice. I am able to see things from the corvine point of view. Were I
a crow I should most certainly consider man fair game.
While in Crowborough I invariably gave the surplus of my _tiffin_ to the
crows. Those in the locality of my office window did not take long to
find this out. The grey-necked crows were the first to make the
discovery. It takes these less time to put two and two together than it
does the more sluggish-brained black crows. At the end of a few days
quite half-a-dozen grey-necked fellows had learned to hang about my
windows at the luncheon hour. They used to sit in a row along each
window-ledge. One day a corby appeared upon the scene. His arrival was
the signal for the departure of his grey-necked brethren. From that day
onwards he regarded that ledge as his special preserve, and whenever a
house-crow ventured on to the ledge he “went for” it savagely with his
great beak. The intruder never waited long enough to enable him to get a
blow home. Thus the hunting-ground of the grey-necked crows became
restricted to one of the window-ledges.
In order to tease the black fellow I used sometimes to throw all the food
to the window in which the grey crows were perched. He would fly round
and drive them off that ledge and then give me a bit of his mind! Later
on he introduced his wife. She took possession of one window and he of
the other; so that the poor house-crows no longer had “a look in.” Some
of the bolder spirits among them used certainly to settle on the shutters
in hopes of catching a stray crumb, but none durst venture on to the
ledge while a black crow was there.
Upon one occasion I put a whole milk pudding upon the ledge; the corbies
would not allow the house-crows so much as a peck at the dainty dish
until they themselves had had their fill.
Every one knows that the grey-necked crows, when harassing a creature
more powerful than themselves, work in concert. It is my belief that two
of these birds acting together are more than a match for any other
creature. The way in which a pair of them will, by alternate feint and
attack, take food away from a great kite or a dog is truly admirable. But
so great is the respect of the grey-necked crows for the corby that I
have never seen them attack him in this way. This says volumes for the
force of character of _Corvus macrorhynchus_. He is quite an Oliver
Cromwell among birds. He is a dour, austere, masterful, selfish bird—a
bird which it is impossible to like or to despise.
When he has once made up his mind to do anything there is no deterring
him from the accomplishment thereof. Early in the year one of these birds
spent at least the greater part of a day in trying to secure for its nest
one of the twigs in a little circular fence erected for the protection of
a young tree. The fence in question was composed of leafless branches,
interlaced and tied together. One of these twigs, being loose at one end,
was pounced upon by a black crow who intended to carry it to his or her
nest. But the other end was securely fastened. I watched that crow at
intervals for several hours. Whenever I looked it was grappling in vain
with the refractory twig. The work was, it is true, frequently
interrupted, for natives kept passing by. But immediately the human being
had gone, the crow resumed the attack. Every now and again it would fly
to a dust-bin hard by and alight on the rim in order to take a breather.
Occasionally it would dive into that bin in order to secure the
wherewithal to feed the inner crow. It would then return to work like a
giant refreshed.
I am of opinion that that dust-bin was to the crow what the public-house
is to the British working man.