who stood silent, plainly understanding, and waiting for the next move.
Finally the mocking-bird started, gracefully and without haste. He first
flew easily and lightly to the desk, in a moment to the back of a chair,
then deliberately to an arm, next to the seat, and lastly to a round; at
each step pausing, shaking himself, and threatening. When he reached the
floor, he ran a few steps toward the thrush, stopped short, erected
himself very straight, and puffed out as big as possible; then another
little run, and the operation was repeated. He proceeded till within a
foot of the thrush, when he alternated the upright position with a
lowered head, and bill pointed toward the foe, changing from one to the
other very suddenly. When he came so near, the thrush crouched flat on
the floor, with beak turned squarely against the approaching bird, and
thus awaited the onslaught.
In that attitude the mocking-bird did not apparently like to attack him.
He threatened a long time, then retreated gradually, making feints,
turning, running a few inches, and bringing up suddenly with a half turn
back. In this manner he moved away for some distance, then flew to the
round of the chair, the seat, the arm, the back, and so on till he
reached the ladder again. Then for the first time the thrush changed his
position and rose to his feet, when, without the least warning, the
mocker flung himself madly after him, and the thrush, unprepared, ran,
with a sharp cry. Obviously the mocking-bird, finding the first method
of attack, which was probably his usual one, a failure, decided to try
another, as the event proved, successfully. The excitement of this
performance evidently gave him pleasure, no doubt helped to pass away
the long hours, for be often indulged in it, always making his approach
in the same deliberate way, tripping daintily a step or two at a time,
examining everything in a careless way, tasting a piece of apple-skin,
lifting a bit of thread, toying and dallying to all appearance, as he
moved, still always advancing, and never turning aside from his purpose
till he reached the distance of a foot from the thrush, crouching
motionless with crown feathers erect. At that point he often stood a
moment, looking grimly at his victim, then gave a quick, exaggerated
jump which carried him forward not more than an inch, but sent the
thrush, in a panic, running half across the room, where he brought up in
a heap,--his claws sprawled as they slipped on the matting, every
feather standing up,--and made no attempt to draw his feet together. A
slow, formal attack he could meet, but a sudden rush was irresistible.
Then the assailant turned, slowly, gracefully, the personification of
tranquillity, his air saying, "Who's done anything?" yet taking a direct
line for the enemy, approaching in the same way, by easy stages, but
relentlessly drawing nearer and nearer, till he ended by a quick plunge,
which sent the thrush off with a cry. In a moment he began again,
teasing, following, tormenting; so wily, so wicked, so determined!
The motions of this bird were most bewitching; his flight the perfection
of grace. He never flew straight across the room as if on business, but
always in a dancing, loitering, easy way; hovering to examine a picture,
slowly pausing on wing to look at anything, turning, wheeling, up or
down or any way, buoyant and light as the air itself. It was his delight
to exercise on wing about the room, diving between the rounds of the
ladder, darting under a stretched string or into a cage full dash. His
feet found rest on any point, however small,--the cork in a bottle, the
tip of a gas-burner, or the corner post of a chair; nothing was too
small or too delicately balanced for his light touch, and he never upset
anything. He enjoyed running up and down a ladder six feet long with six
or eight rounds, passing over it so rapidly that he could not be seen to
touch it at any point, yet not using his wings he must have stepped upon
every round. He always used his legs with a freedom rarely seen in a
bird, not moving them together as usual in his kind, but handling them
with astonishing independence of each other.
The body of this bird was capable of wonderful expression, not only in
the free use of each member, but every feather seemed under his
voluntary control. The spasmodic movement of the wings in excitement,
common to many birds, was accomplished in an original manner by holding
the wing slightly away from the body, and spreading or opening it a
little at each jerk, without changing its position toward his side. His
tail seemed as loosely connected with his body as if it were hung on
wires; it moved even with his breathing, and the emphatic flirt of the
member was an insult which every bird in the room understood. Intense
interest in any sound was indicated by raising the feathers over the
ears alone, which gave him the droll appearance of wearing velvet "ear
muffs." In expressing other emotions he could erect the feathers of his
chin, his shoulders or his back, either part alone, or all together, as
he chose. A true bird of the south, he did not enjoy our climate, and if
the room became too cool he made his opinion known by drawing his head
down into his shoulders, with every feather on his body fluffed out,
even to the base of the beak, till he looked as if wrapped in delicate
gray furs to his nose, and almost burying his eyes.
The mocking-bird's emotions were so intense and so originally displayed
that he was a constant source of interest. A hand-glass lying face up
gave opportunity for an amusing exhibition one day. Leaning over it, he
puffed out every feather, opened his mouth, and tried the glass with his
beak at every point. Meeting no satisfaction, he turned to leave it, but
first peeped slyly over the edge to see if the stranger were still
there, no doubt unable to get over his surprise at seeing a bird in that
position and ready to meet his bill at every point. The same glass
standing up brought out a different demonstration. He stood in front of
it and swelled himself out, while the feathers of the shoulders and
breast were erected. Then he opened his mouth wide and attacked the
reflection, but was astonished to meet the glass. He touched the bill of
his double with his own, and moved all the way to the bottom of the
glass, not taking it away, but apparently trying to seize the one which
opposed his. He lowered his head as though to take hold of the enemy's
foot, then pulled himself up as straight as a soldier, wings and tail
constantly jerking with excitement. After indulging for some time in
these proceedings, he dodged around behind the glass, plainly expecting
to pounce upon his opponent, and surprised not to do so. Several times
he drew himself up, swelled out his breast, and blustered before the
glass. Once he flew up with the reflection in the manner of a
quarrelsome cock, and upon reaching the top of the glass, naturally went
over and landed behind, without an enemy in sight. Upon this he stared a
moment, as if dazed, then shook himself out, and flew away in evident
disgust.
The deliberate, leisurely dressing of plumage, with which many birds
pass away the dull hours, is an occupation in which the mocking-bird
never had time to indulge. He was a bird of affairs; he had too much on
his mind for loitering. A few sudden, thorough shakes, a rapid snatching
of the wing and tail feathers through the beak, or, after a bath, a
violent beating the air with both wings while holding tightly to the
perch with his feet, sufficed for his toilet. Notwithstanding his
apparent carelessness, his plumage was soft and exquisite in texture,
and when wet the downy breast feathers matted together and hung in
locks, like hair. Through a common magnifying glass each tiny barbule
was seen to be ringed with gray and silvery white, so finely that the
rings could hardly be seen.
The most beautiful and peculiar attitude this bird assumed was when
conducting an attack upon a small object. Seeing one day a steel
pen-point black with ink, he stood before it at a respectful distance,
and raised both wings over his back till they almost touched each other,
holding the tail on one side. In two or three seconds he lowered the
wings a moment, then raised them again, while his tail leaned the other
side. After half a dozen such feints he delivered a gentle peck, and
instantly hopped back out of the way. Seeing that it did not move, he
took it in his bill and flew to the floor, where he soon satisfied
himself that it was not a new variety of beetle. This was always his
method with any new object of small size.
Not only did this doughty warrior vanquish the ordinary birds about him,
but when a gray African parrot made his appearance in the room (on a
short visit) he boldly attacked him, in spite of his size and strength.
The parrot had a temporary perch before the window, and on the cage
nearest to him the mocking-bird took his place, and after posturing and
threatening, stooped to a crouching position, and then darted past him,
trying to hit him as he went. The first time this occurred the parrot
whirled on his perch and cried "Whoo!" and after that greeted every
charge with a very good imitation of a policeman's rattle, probably as
the loudest and most terrifying noise he could make. So determined was
the belligerent fellow to subdue or annihilate the larger bird, and so
reckless were his attacks, that I had to keep him a prisoner during the
few days the parrot was in the room, for hospitality must not be
violated. It is interesting to note that so great was his variety of
resource that he had a distinctly different method of warfare in each of
the six cases mentioned.
A dignified composure was so natural to my bird that he was never
startled out of it, not even when suddenly enveloped in a shawl, a
proceeding that greatly alarms birds of less self-possession. It was
necessary on one occasion to catch him to return him to his cage, where
he might be protected from the cold of the night. All the usual ways
were tried without success, so lightly did he slip away, so gracefully
and calmly did he flutter around the room, not in the least disturbed or
confused by the darkness, and quite willing to play hide-and-seek all
night. No other way availing, the last resource was tried--throwing a
shawl over him as he stood crouched on the top of the cage, ready for
instant flight. Not a flutter nor a cry arose, and it seemed that he
must have escaped; but on looking through the cage from below, he was
seen flattened against the wires, but perfectly quiet, submissive to the
inevitable, like any other philosopher. He was gathered up in the folds
and carefully uncovered before his own door, when he simply hopped to a
perch and coolly returned the gaze of his captors, not a feather out of
place, not in the smallest degree disconcerted.
Amusements were not lacking in this interesting life aside from the
pleasures of worrying and teasing, which plainly were entertainments for
him. He indulged in other performances which distinctly were play.
Especially was this true of the habit he imitated from the
Mexican,--tramping across two cages heavily, with as much noise as
possible, and then with an extravagant jump landing on another cage,
where he was received with a scolding, which apparently pleased him as
much as any part of it. A specially quick flying-run rattled a paper
fastened against the wall, which delighted him greatly; and when the
cages were covered with paper, to put an end to the proceeding which
annoyed the residents, he regarded it as a particular attention, and
enjoyed it more than ever, doubtless because it enabled him to make a
louder noise. Often he diverted himself by a mad frolic in his cage;
from place to place he went half flying, and scarcely touching anything;
back and forth, with great flutter of wings and great noise; up and
down, under and over and around his perches, in the same wild way, so
that it seemed as if he must beat his brains out. Then suddenly, when
most riotous, he alighted like a feather, the image of serenity and
repose. Sometimes he was seized with this sort of fury of play when out
of his cage, and then he flung himself about the room in the same
frantic manner, scarcely touching a perch, diving under a table, between
the rounds of a chair, over a gas-fixture, behind and through any
openings he could find. Should some bird in the room disapprove of this
behavior, and scold, as the finch was quite apt to do, the mocking-bird
instantly alighted beside him, humped his back till he looked deformed,
sidled two or three steps towards him, stopped, and stared at his
critic; then two or three steps more, stopping again, and in every way
acting more like a mischievous monster than a bird, till the astonished
finch was reduced to silence, and as meek as poor Mrs. Quilp before the
antics of her malicious little spouse.
In all these actions, even in his contests with his room-mates, no anger
ever appeared on the part of the mocking-bird; everything seemed done to
amuse himself and pass away the weary hours, rather than from desire to
hurt his neighbors. In fact, he never did positively touch a bird, to my
knowledge, though he always acted as though he intended to annihilate
them. He could hardly be called malicious; rather (shall we say?)
mischievous, and like Ariel "a tricksy spirit."
THE "WISE BLUEBIRD."
Never was sweeter music--
Sunshine turned into song.
To set us dreaming of summer,
When the days and the dreams are long.
Winged lute that we call a bluebird,
You blend in a silver strain
The sound of the laughing waters,
The patter of spring's sweet rain,
The voice of the wind, the sunshine,
And fragrance of blossoming things.
Ah! you are a poem of April,
That God endowed with wings.
EBEN. E. REXFORD.
V.
THE "WISE BLUEBIRD."
"A wise bluebird
Puts in his little heavenly word."
The characteristic air and expression of the bluebird, and his
enchanting little warble, could not be better described in a page of
writing than the poet has here done in a couplet.
Who has not seen him in his favorite resting-place, the lowest branch of
an apple-tree, standing up very straight, crown feathers erected, honest
little countenance squarely facing one, motionless and silent, looking
the embodiment of wisdom!
A pair of bluebirds lived in my house for nearly a year, and the calm,
imposing manner of the male I have never seen disturbed. In the presence
of birds much larger than himself he never lost his equanimity, paid not
the slightest attention to any one, went about his daily duties and
pleasures exactly as though there were not another bird, except his
mate, in the room. Quite otherwise was his little spouse: quick,
nervous, easily frightened, yet assuming the responsibility of
everything, even her lord's comfort and safety. Her very attitude was
different; she held her body horizontal, never perpendicular, as he did;
and she was more lively in movement. She was a brave little soul, too.
Even when greatly annoyed by a larger bird, she never failed to stand
upon the defensive, open her mouth, and sometimes remonstrate in low,
gentle talk. Nor did she--after she felt at home--allow a stranger to
enter her door. She boldly faced the largest bird in the room, and
always forced him to retire, while her mate stood calm and cool and
"wise," on the upper perch. More than this, she seemed to feel it part
of her duty to defend and protect his lordship, as though he were too
fragile to come into contact with the rough side of life. Nothing could
be droller than to see her stand guard while he bathed in the common
dish on the table, and fly furiously at the grosbeak, or any bird coming
too near her precious idol, who meanwhile placidly proceeded with his
bath in the most matter-of-fact manner, as though expecting to be
protected. I have seen similar conduct in a wild pair: the female
defending her nestlings against some fancied danger, scolding, flying
around the intruder, and taking the whole care upon herself; while her
spouse occupied the topmost twig of the tree on which his family was in
trouble, uttering at short intervals his musical cry of distress, one
rich, loud note.
I did, however, on one occasion see a male bluebird excited in the
defense of his young. It was in North Carolina, where a nestling chanced
to alight on the favorite resting-place of a mocking-bird, and the
latter a moment afterward came to his usual perch not a foot from the
wild-eyed youngster. Then arose a great outcry from both bluebirds, and
one after the other swooped down at that mocking-bird, coming so near I
thought they must hit him. Again and again they returned to the charge
with loud cries, while the mocking-bird stood quiet, crouched as though
to dash into the little one, and jerking wings and tail in a wicked
manner. It lasted but a moment, for the nestling itself was scared and
flew to another branch, upon which the attack came to an end, and the
mother went to the baby, but the father stood on a perch near the enemy,
and scolded for some time.
Perhaps this individual bluebird had learned to assist in the family
defense, for they had other troubles. The nest was in an unsafe spot,
the hollow dead limb of a tall pine-tree, about seventy feet above the
ground. The opening was in the lower side of the sloping branch, making
it very easy for a nestling to fall out, and that is what I think
happened the day before the little scene above described.
Hearing cries of distress from the pine grove, I hastened down to see if
I could be of any assistance. Both bluebirds were on a low tree, about a
foot apart, uttering constantly the mournful notes I had heard.
Evidently a tragedy of some sort had occurred, and I thought at once of
a falling little one. I looked carefully around the tree while the
parents came down near me, much disturbed. I found nothing, but a gale
was blowing and a little bird might easily have been driven far away. It
was a serious matter plainly, for the cries went on without intermission
the rest of the day.
During that time I saw a curious and interesting attempt at consolation
on the part of the male. He flew away, and returned in a few moments
with something in his beak. Alighting near his mate, he began a low,
tender twitter, at the same time offering the morsel to her. She moved a
few inches away; he followed, still coaxing. She flew to another branch,
refusing to look at it. He followed, still asking her to accept it. At
last she flew away, and he seemed astounded, stood as if he did not
know what to do next, hesitated several minutes, when a bright thought
seemed to strike him, and he carried it to the nest.
The pair in my room were a most affectionate and gentle couple; no
disputes, not even the smallest difference, arose between them. If one
wished to bathe while the other was using the bath-tub, he stood on the
edge till his turn came. In the same way one usually waited for the
other to finish a lunch before going down himself, though on rare
occasions they descended together for a social meal. If she were
alarmed, and went to the floor, as at first sometimes happened, he at
once appeared in the door, looking anxiously after her, and calling
tenderly. If she did not return, he flew down himself, ran about till he
found her, and, after talking in a low tone for some time, started for
home, when she followed him, showing that she was reassured. They always
sat on the same perch, and on cool days as near each other as possible,
first one and then the other "hitching" a little nearer. After bathing
they sunned themselves together, even when in the cage, where the
sunshine came only into one corner, and they crowded so closely that
there was not room to spread out. Even that discomfort never elicited a
harsh word, though he enjoyed spreading himself very completely, bending
his legs, resting his breast on the floor, and opening his wings to
their full extent.
This bird's anxiety when his mate was out of his sight did not, however,
compare with her unrest in his absence, for her affection seemed to be
of the motherly or protecting sort. Before they became familiar with the
room, and learned that, though unseen, the partner was not lost, the
moment he disappeared from view she began running around the cage
excitedly, looking everywhere, and calling loudly. At first he answered,
but, deciding to try his wings, he swept around the room, came--as some
birds do--against the window, and fell to the floor, when instantly both
were perfectly silent. She looked out apprehensively, and as soon as he
recovered breath he flew to the top of their own cage. Then her
solicitude turned to annoyance; she went to the top perch, and gently
nipped his toes (which she never did to strangers) as a slight reproof.
He became accustomed to going out and in sooner than his mate, for she
was shy and inclined to stay at home, and she suffered much anxiety;
before long she too grew accustomed to freedom, and expressed no further
fears when he was out.
Making arrangements for the night was an interesting event in bluebird
life. They always selected the highest perch in the darkest end of the
cage, and placed themselves so close together that they looked like a
wide ball, or two balls that had been almost pressed into one when in a
very soft state. In the morning the feathers on the side next the mate
were crushed flat, requiring much shaking and dressing to give them
their ordinary appearance. What was curious, the female took the
outside, no doubt with the motherly motive of taking care of him. To see
them settle themselves was pleasing. Being more quiet and less nervous
than his spouse, the singer generally retired first, some time before
she was ready, and composed himself in a moment in his corner, for they
were never restless at evening; she followed when she chose.
Occasionally, however, she went first, taking her place about as far as
usual from the wires, and leaving space for him. But if he went to his
place, there was not room to turn around, facing the middle of the cage,
as was their custom; and he seemed to appreciate the difficulty, for he
hopped up on the outside, or the wrong side of her. Instantly she jumped
to a lower perch, when he sidled up to his regular place, and she at
once returned and took her usual position beside him. One night
something startled them, and both flew wildly around the cage. I
produced a light to show them the perches, so they might quiet
themselves again. The male readily did so, but she remained on the lower
perch. I went close to the wires and began to speak soothingly, to calm
her, and induce her to resume her place, when, to my surprise, she began
to reply to me, every time I spoke, standing less than a foot from me.
She stared me full in the face, not at all disturbed, and answered every
word I said with her musical call, in a low tone, as if to tell me the
story of the fright. We kept up the queer little chat for several
minutes, and she did not return to his side that night.