the old bird had probably been feeding her offspring in two
ways,--sometimes by regurgitation, and sometimes by a simple transfer
from beak to beak. The manner of our discovery was somewhat laughable.
The mother perched beside one of the young birds, put her bill into his,
and then apparently fell off the limb head first. We thought she had not
finished, and looked to see her return; but she flew away, and after a
while the truth dawned upon us. Thereafter, unless our observation was
at fault, she used whichever method happened to suit her convenience. If
she found a choice collection of spiders,[12] for instance, she brought
them in her throat (as cedar-birds carry cherries), to save trips; if
she had only one or two, she retained them between her mandibles. It
will be understood, I suppose, that we did not see the food in its
passage from one bird to the other,--human eyesight would hardly be
equal to work of such nicety; but the two bills were put together so
frequently and in so pronounced a manner as to leave us in no practical
uncertainty about what was going on. Neither had I any doubt that the
change was connected in some way with the increasing age of the
fledgelings; yet it is to be said that the two methods continued to be
used interchangeably to the end, and on the 28th, when Number Two had
been out of the nest for seven days, the mother thrust her bill down his
throat, and repeated the operation, just as she had done three weeks
before.
[12] Mr. E. H. Eames reports (in _The Auk_, vol. vii. p. 287) that, on
dissecting a humming-bird, about two days old, he found sixteen young
spiders in its throat, and a pultaceous mass of the same in its stomach.
For at least two days longer, as I believe, the faithful creature
continued her loving ministrations, although I failed to detect her in
the act. Then, on the 1st of August, as I sat on the piazza, I saw her
for the last time. The honeysuckle vine had served her well, and still
bore half a dozen scattered blossoms, as if for her especial benefit.
She hovered before them, one by one, and in another instant was gone.
May the Fates be kind to her, and to her children after her, to the
latest generation! Our intercourse had lasted for eight weeks,--wanting
one day,--and it was fitting that it should end where it had begun, at
the sign of the honeysuckle.
The absence of the father bird for all this time, though I have
mentioned it but casually, was of course a subject of continual remark.
How was it to be explained? My own opinion is, reluctant as I have been
to reach it, that such absence or desertion--by whatever name it may be
called--is the general habit of the male ruby-throat. Upon this point I
shall have some things to say in a subsequent paper.
THE MALE RUBY-THROAT.
"Your fathers, where are they?"--ZECHARIAH i. 5.
While keeping daily watch upon a nest of our common humming-bird, in the
summer of 1890, I was struck with the persistent absence of the head of
the family. As week after week elapsed, this feature of the case excited
more and more remark, and I turned to my out-of-door journal for such
meagre notes as it contained of a similar nest found five years before.
From these it appeared that at that time, also, the father bird was
missing. Could such truancy be habitual with the male ruby-throat? I had
never supposed that any of our land birds were given to behaving in this
ill-mannered, unnatural way, and the matter seemed to call for
investigation.
My first resort was, of course, to books. The language of Wilson and
Audubon is somewhat ambiguous, but may fairly be taken as implying the
male bird's presence throughout the period of nidification. Nuttall
speaks explicitly to the same effect, though with no specification of
the grounds on which his statement is based. The later systematic
biographers--Brewer, Samuels, Minot, and the authors of New England Bird
Life--are silent in respect to the point. Mr. Burroughs, in Wake-Robin,
mentions having found two nests, and gives us to understand that he saw
only the female birds. Mrs. Treat, on the other hand, makes the father a
conspicuous figure about the single nest concerning which she reports.
Mr. James Russell Lowell, too, speaks of watching both parents as they
fed the young ones: "The mother always alighted, while the father as
uniformly remained upon the wing."
So far, then, the evidence was decidedly, not to say decisively, in the
masculine ruby-throat's favor. But while I had no desire to make out a
case against him, and in fact was beginning to feel half ashamed of my
uncomplimentary surmises, I was still greatly impressed with what my own
eyes had seen, or rather had not seen, and thought it worth while to
push the inquiry a little further.
I wrote first to Mr. E. S. Hoar, in whose garden Mr. Brewster had made
the observations cited in my previous article. He replied with great
kindness, and upon the point in question said: "I watched the nest two
or three times a day, from a time before the young were hatched till
they departed; and _now you mention it_, it occurs to me that I never
did see the male, but only the white-breasted female."
Next I sought the testimony of professional ornithologists; and here my
worst suspicions seemed in a fair way to be confirmed, although the
greater number of my correspondents were unhappily compelled to plead a
want of knowledge. Dr. A. K. Fisher had found, as he believed, not less
than twenty-five nests, and to the best of his recollection had never
seen a male bird near one of them after it was completed. He had watched
the female feeding her young, and, when the nests contained eggs, had
waited for hours on purpose to secure the male, but always without
result.
Mr. William Brewster wrote: "I have found, or seen _in situ_, twelve
hummers' nests, all in Massachusetts. Of these I took nine, after
watching each a short time, probably not more than an hour or two in any
case. Of the remaining three, I visited one three or four times at
various hours of the day, another only twice, the third but once. Two of
the three contained young when found. The third was supposed to have
young, also, but could not be examined without danger to its contents. I
have never seen a male hummer anywhere near a nest, either before or
after the eggs were laid, but, as you will gather from the above brief
data, my experience has not been extensive; and in the old days, when
most of my nests were found, the methods of close watching now in vogue
were unthought of. In the light of the testimony to which you refer, I
should conclude, with you, that the male hummer must occasionally assist
in the care of the young, but I am very sure that this is not usually,
if indeed often, the case."
Mr. H. W. Henshaw reported a similar experience. He had found four nests
of the ruby-throat, but had seen no male about any of them after
nidification was begun. "I confess," he says, "that I had never thought
of his absence as being other than accidental, and hence have never made
any observations directly upon the point; so that my testimony is of
comparatively little value. In at least one instance, when the female
was building her nest, I remember to have seen the male fly with her and
perch near by, while she was shaping the nest, and then fly off with her
after more material. I don't like to believe that the little villain
leaves the entire task of nidification to his better half (we may well
call her better, if he does); but my memory is a blank so far as
testimony affirmative of his devotion is concerned." Mr. Henshaw recalls
an experience with a nest of the Rivoli humming-bird (_Eugenes
fulgens_), in Arizona,--a nest which he spent two hours in getting. "I
was particularly anxious to secure the male, but did not obtain a
glimpse of him, and I remember thinking that it was very strange." He
adds that Mr. C. W. Richmond has told him of finding a nest and taking
the eggs without seeing the father bird, and sums up his own view of the
matter thus:--
"Had any one asked me offhand, 'Does the male hummer help the female
feed the young?' I am quite sure I should have answered, 'Of course he
does.' As the case now stands, however, I am inclined to believe him a
depraved wretch."
Up to this point the testimony of my correspondents had been unanimous,
but the unanimity was broken by Dr. C. Hart Merriam, who remembers that
on one occasion his attention was called to a nest (it proved to contain
a set of fresh eggs) by the flying of both its owners about his head;
and by Mr. W. A. Jeffries, who in one case saw the father bird in the
vicinity of a nest occupied by young ones, although he did not see him
feed or visit them. This nest, Mr. Jeffries says, was one of five which
he has found. In the four other instances no male birds were observed,
notwithstanding three of the nests were taken,--a tragedy which might be
expected to bring the father of the family upon the scene, if he were
anywhere within call.
In view of the foregoing evidence, it appears to me reasonably certain
that the male ruby-throat, as a rule, takes no considerable part in the
care of eggs and young. The testimony covers not less than fifty nests.
Some of them were watched assiduously, nearly all were examined, and the
greater part were actually taken; yet of the fifty or more male
proprietors, only two were seen; and concerning these exceptions, it is
to be noticed that in one case the eggs were just laid, and in the
other, while the hungry nestlings must have kept the mother bird
extremely busy, her mate was not observed to do anything in the way of
lightening her labors.
As against this preponderance of negative testimony, and in
corroboration of Mr. Lowell's and Mrs. Treat's circumstantial
narratives, there remain to be mentioned the fact communicated to me by
Mr. Hoar, that a townsman of his had at different times had two hummers'
nests in his grounds, the male owners of which were constant in their
attentions, and the following very interesting and surprising story
received from Mr. C. C. Darwin, of Washington, through the kindness of
Mr. Henshaw. Some years ago, as it appears, a pair of ruby-throats built
a nest within a few feet of Mr. Darwin's window and a little below it,
so that they could be watched without fear of disturbing them. He
remembers perfectly that the male fed the female during the entire
period of incubation, "pumping the food down her throat." All this time,
so far as could be discovered, the mother did not once leave the nest
(in wonderful contrast with my bird of a year ago), and of course the
father was never seen to take her place. Mr. Darwin cannot say that the
male ever fed the young ones, but is positive that he was frequently
about the nest after they were hatched. While they were still too young
to fly, a gardener, in pruning the tree, sawed off the limb on which the
nest was built. Mr. Darwin's mother rescued the little ones and fed them
with sweetened water, and on her son's return at night the branch was
fixed in place again, as best it could be, by means of wires. Meanwhile
the old birds had disappeared, having given up their children for lost;
and it was not until the third day that they came back,--by chance,
perhaps, or out of affection for the spot. At once they resumed the care
of their offspring, who by this time, it is safe to say, had become more
or less surfeited with sugar and water, and gladly returned to a diet
of spiders and other such spicy and hearty comestibles.
Mr. Henshaw, with an evident satisfaction which does him honor, remarks
upon the foregoing story as proving that, whatever may be true of male
hummers in general, there are at least some faithful Benedicts among
them. For myself, indeed, as I have already said, I hold no brief
against the ruby-throat, and, notwithstanding the seemingly unfavorable
result of my investigation into his habits as a husband and father, it
is by no means clear to me that we must call him hard names. Before
doing that, we ought to know not only that he stays away from his wife
and children, but _why_ he stays away; whether he is really a shirk, or
absents himself unselfishly and for their better protection, at the risk
of being misunderstood and traduced. My object in this paper is to raise
that question about him, rather than to blacken his character; in a
word, to call attention to him, not as a reprobate, but as a mystery. To
that end I return to the story of my own observations.
In last month's article[13] I set forth somewhat in detail (if the
adverb seem inappropriate, as I fear it will, I can only commend it to
the reader's mercy) the closeness of our watch upon the nest there
described. For more than a month it was under the eye of one or other of
two men almost from morning till night. We did not once detect the
presence of the father, and yet I shall never feel absolutely sure that
he did not one day pay us a visit. I mention the circumstance for what
it may be worth, and because, whatever its import, it was at least a
lively spectacle. It occurred upon this wise: On the 19th of July, the
day when the first of the young birds bade good-by to its cradle, I had
gone into the house, leaving my fellow-observer in the orchard, with a
charge to call me if anything noteworthy should happen. I was hardly
seated before he whistled loudly, and I hastened out again. Another
hummer had been there, he said, and the mother had been chasing him (or
her) about in a frantic manner; and even while we were talking, the
scene was re-enacted. The stranger had returned, and the two birds were
shooting hither and thither through the trees, the widow squeaking and
spreading her tail at a prodigious rate. The new-comer did not alight
(it couldn't), and there was no determining its sex. It may have been
the recreant husband and father, unable longer to deny himself a look at
his bairns,--who knows? Or it may have been some bachelor or widower who
had come a-wooing. One thing is certain,--husband, lover, or inquisitive
stranger, he had no encouragement to come again.
[13] These two humming-bird papers were printed in consecutive numbers
of _The Atlantic Monthly_, June and July, 1891.
As if to heighten the dramatic interest of our studies (I come now to
the promised mystery), we had already had the singular good fortune to
find a male humming-bird who seemed to be stationed permanently in a
tall ash-tree, standing by itself in a recent clearing, at a distance of
a mile or more from our widow's orchard. Day after day, for at least a
fortnight (from the 2d to the 15th of July), he remained there. One or
both of us went almost daily to call upon him, and, as far as we could
make out, he seldom absented himself from his post for five minutes
together! What was he doing? At first, in spite of his sex, it was hard
not to believe that his nest was in the tree; and to satisfy himself, my
companion "shinned" it, schoolboy fashion,--a frightful piece of work,
which put me out of breath even to look at it,--while I surveyed the
branches from all sides through an opera-glass. All was without avail.
Nothing was to be seen, and it was as good as certain, the branches
being well separated, and easily overlooked, that there was nothing
there.
Four days later I set out alone, to try my luck with the riddle. As I
entered the clearing, the hummer was seen at his post, and my suspicions
fastened upon a small wild apple-tree, perhaps twenty rods distant. I
went to examine it, and presently the bird followed me. He perched in
its top, but seemed not to be jealous of my proximity, and soon returned
to his customary position; but when I came back to the apple-tree, after
a visit to a clump of oaks at the top of the hill, he again came over. I
could find no sign of a nest, however, nor did the female show herself,
as she pretty confidently might have been expected to do had her nest
been near by. After this I went to the edge of the wood, where I could
keep an eye upon both trees without being myself conspicuous. The
sentinel spent most of his time in the ash, visiting the apple-tree but
once, and then for a few minutes only. I stayed an hour and a half, and
came away no wiser than before. The nest, if nest there was, must be
elsewhere, I believed. But where? And what was the object of the male's
watch?
My curiosity was fully roused. I had never seen or heard of such conduct
on the part of any bird, and the next forenoon I spent another hour and
a half in the clearing. The hummer was at his post, as he always was. We
had never to wait for him. Soon after my arrival he flew to the
apple-tree, the action seeming to have no connection with my presence.
Presently he went back to the ash, and drove out of it two intruding
birds. A moment later two humming-birds were there, and in another
moment they flew away in a direction opposite to the apple-tree. Here,
then, was a real clue. The birds were probably our sentinel and his
mate. I made after them with all speed, pausing under such scattered
trees as had been left standing in that quarter. Nothing was to be
found, and on my return there sat the male, provokingly, at the top of
the apple-tree, whence he soon returned to the ash. A warbler entered
the tree, and after a while ventured upon the branch where the hummer
was sitting. Instead of driving her away he took wing himself, and paid
another visit to the apple-tree,--a visit of perhaps five minutes,--at
the end of which he went back to the ash. Then two kingbirds happened to
alight in the apple-tree. At once the hummer came dashing over and
ordered them off, and in his excitement dropped for a moment into the
leafy top of a birch sapling,--a most unnatural proceeding,--after which
he resumed his station in the ash. What could I make of all this?
Apparently he claimed the ownership of both trees, and yet his nest was
in neither! He sat motionless for five minutes at a time upon certain
dead twigs of the ash, precisely as our female was accustomed to sit in
her apple-tree. For at least seven days he had been thus occupied. Where
was his mate? On the edge of the wood, perhaps. But, if so, why did I
hear nothing from her, as I passed up and down? Again my hour and a half
had been spent to no purpose.
Not yet discouraged, I returned the next morning. For the three quarters
of an hour that I remained, the hummer was not once out of the ash-tree
for five minutes. I am not sure that he left it for five minutes
altogether. As usual, he perched almost without exception on one or
other of two dead limbs, while a similar branch, on the opposite side of
the trunk, he was never seen to touch. A Maryland yellow-throat alighted
on one of his two branches and began to sing, but had repeated his
strain only three or four times before the hummer, who had been absent
for the moment, darted upon him and put him to flight. A little
afterward, a red-eyed vireo alighted on his other favorite perch, and he
showed no resentment. The day before, a warbler had sat on the same
branch which the yellow-throat now invaded, and the hummer not only did
not offer to molest him, but flew away himself. These inconsistencies
made it hard to draw any inference from his behavior. During my whole
stay he did not once go to the apple-tree, although, for want of
anything better to do, I again scrutinized its branches. This time I
_was_ discouraged, and gave over the search. His secret, whatever it
might be, was "too dear for my possessing." But my fellow-observer kept
up his visits, as I have said, and the hummer remained faithful to his
task as late as July 15th, at least.
Some readers may be prompted to ask, as one of my correspondents asked
at the time, whether the mysterious sentry may not have been the mate of
our home bird. I see no ground for such a suspicion. The two places were
at least a mile apart, as I have already mentioned, and woods and hills,
to say nothing of the village, lay between. If he was our bird's mate,
his choice of a picket station was indeed an enigma. He might almost as
well have been on Mount Washington. Nor can I believe that he had any
connection with a nest found two months afterward in a pitch-pine grove
within a quarter of a mile, more or less, of his clearing. It was
undoubtedly a nest of that season, and might have been his for aught I
know, so far as the mere fact of distance was concerned; but here again
an intervening wood must have cut off all visual communication. If his
mate and nest were not within view from his ash-tree perch, what could
be the meaning of his conduct? Without some specific constraining
motive, no bird in his normal condition was likely to stay in one tree
hour after hour, day after day, and week after week, so that one could
never come in sight of it without seeing him. But even if his nest was
in the immediate neighborhood, the closeness and persistency of his
lookout are still, to my mind, an absolute mystery. Our female bird,
whether she had eggs or offspring, made nothing of absenting herself by
the half hour; but this male hardly gave himself time to eat his
necessary food; indeed, I often wondered how he kept himself alive. Is
such a course of action habitual with male hummers? If so, had our
seemingly widowed or deserted mother a husband, who somewhere, unseen by
us, was standing sentry after the same heroic, self-denying fashion?
These and all similar questions I must leave to more fortunate
observers, or postpone to a future summer. Meantime, my judgment as to
the male ruby-throat's character remains in suspense. It is not plain to
me whether we are to call him the worst or the best of husbands.
ROBIN ROOSTS.
"From every side they hurried in,
Rubbing their sleepy eyes."
KEATS.
Of all the nearly eight hundred species of North American birds, the
robin is without question the one most generally known. Its great
commonness and wide distribution have something to do with this fact,
but can hardly be said to account for it altogether. The red-eyed vireo
has almost as extensive a range, and at least in New England is possibly
more numerous; but except among ornithologists it remains a stranger,
even to country-bred people. The robin owes its universal recognition
partly to its size and perfectly distinctive dress, partly to its early
arrival in the spring, but especially to the nature of its nesting and
feeding habits, which bring it constantly under every one's eye.
It would seem impossible, at this late day, to say anything new about
so familiar a bird; but the robin has one interesting and remarkable
habit, to which there is no allusion in any of our systematic
ornithological treatises, so far as I am aware, although many individual
observers must have taken notice of it. I mean the habit of roosting at
night in large flocks, while still on its breeding grounds, and long
before the close of the breeding season.[14]
[14] Mr. William Brewster has been aware of this habit for twenty-five
years, but, like myself, has never seen it mentioned in print. He
devotes to it a paper in _The Auk_ for October, 1890, to which I am
happy to refer readers who may wish a more thorough discussion of the
matter than I have been able to give. My own paper was printed at the
same time, in _The Atlantic Monthly_, and had been accepted by the
editor before I knew of Mr. Brewster's intention to write. References to
a roost in Belmont, Mass., discovered by Mr. Brewster six years before,
are frequent in the following pages.
Toward the end of summer, two years ago, I saw what looked like a daily
passage back and forth of small companies of robins. A friend, living in
another town, had noticed similar occurrences, and more than once we
discussed the subject; agreeing that such movements were probably not
connected in any way with the grand southward migration, which, so far
as we could judge, had not yet commenced, but that the birds must be
flying to and from some nightly resort. The flocks were small, however,
and neither of us suspected the full significance of what we had seen.