acquaintance with the young of this family. I was sitting one morning on
the edge of a deep ravine filled with trees, deeply engaged in the study
of another bird, when suddenly a stranger came with an awkward flop
against the trunk of a tree not ten feet from me. I saw in an instant
that it was the infant I had looked for so long. He was exactly like the
parents, with a somewhat shorter tail. I should hardly have suspected
his youthfulness but for his clumsy movements, and the fact that he did
not at once take flight, which a Golden-wing more experienced in the
ways of human-kind would have done instantly. He seemed somewhat
exhausted by his flight, and clung to the trunk, with soft dark eyes
fixed upon me, ready to move if I did.
I did not; I sat motionless for half an hour and watched him. When
somewhat rested he dodged around the other side of the trunk, and peeped
at me through a fork in the branches. Then he scrambled upon a small
branch, where he perched crosswise. But he had trouble to keep his
balance in that position, so he climbed about till he found a limb fully
two inches in diameter, on which he could rest in the favorite flicker
attitude--lengthwise. Then with his head outward to the world at large,
and his tail turned indifferently toward me,--whom he doubtless regarded
as a permanent and lifeless feature of the landscape,--he settled
himself, crouched flat against the bark, for a comfortable nap.
All this time I had been conscious of low Golden-wing talk about me; the
familiar "wick-up! wick-up!" almost in a whisper, a softened "pe-auk!"
from the ravine, and the more distant "laugh," so called. The infant on
the tree heard too. He moved his head, listened and looked, but whether
or not they were words of caution and advice from the wiser ones of his
race, he refused to be frightened and did not move till I rose to leave
him, when, greatly startled, he took flight across the ravine.
A STORMY WOOING.
Not an inch of his body is free from delight,
Can he keep himself still if he would? Oh, not he!
The music stirs in him like wind through a tree.
WORDSWORTH.
VII.
A STORMY WOOING.
If, as Ruskin says, "the bird is little more than a drift of the air,
brought into form by plumes," the particular bit shaped into the form we
call the orchard oriole must be a breath from a Western tornado, for a
more hot-headed, blustering individual would be hard to find; and when
this embodied hurricane, this "drift" of an all-destroying tempest, goes
a-wooing, strange indeed are the ways he takes to win his mate, and
stranger still the fact that he does win her in spite of his violence.
In a certain neighborhood, where I spent some time in the nesting
season, studying a bird of vastly different character, orchard orioles
were numerous, and in their usual fashion made their presence known by
persistent singing around the house. For it must be admitted, whatever
their defects of temper or manners, that they are most cheerful in song,
the female no less than the male. First of the early morning bird chorus
comes their song, loud, rich, and oft-repeated, though marred in the
case of the male by the constant interpolation of harsh, scolding notes.
Anywhere, everywhere, all day, in pouring rain, in high wind that
silences nearly every bird voice, the orioles sing. One could not
overlook them if he wished, so noisy, so restless, and so musical. Nor
do they care to be unseen; they make no attempt at concealment. No
oriole ever steals into a neighborhood in the quiet way of the cat-bird,
silently taking an observation of its inhabitants before making himself
obvious; on the contrary, all his deeds are before the public, even his
family quarrels. He comes to a tree with a bustle, talking, scolding,
making himself and his affairs the most conspicuous things in the
neighborhood.
Many times he is most annoying. When following some shy bird to its
nest, or moving down toward the grove where are the brooklet and the
birds' bathing-place, no matter how quietly one may approach, footsteps
deadened by thick sand and no rustling garments to betray, the orchard
oriole is sure to know it. He is not the only bird to see a stranger, of
course; the brown thrush is as quick as he, but he silently drops to the
ground, if not already there, and disappears without a sound; the
cardinal grosbeak slips down from his perch on the farther side and
takes wing near the ground; the cat-bird, in the center of a thick
shrub, noiseless as a shadow, flutters across the path and is gone;
others do the same. The orchard oriole alone shouts the news to all whom
it may concern in his loudest "chack! chack!" putting every one on his
guard at once, and making the copse in a moment as empty as though no
wing ever stirred its leaves.
On first noticing the ways of the birds about me on the occasion
mentioned, I saw that there was some sort of a disturbance among them;
scarcely ten minutes passed without a commotion, followed by a chase
through the branches of a tree, one bird pursuing another so hotly that
twigs bent and leaves parted as they passed, the one in advance often
uttering a complaining cry, and the pursuer, a loud, harsh scold.
Something exciting was evidently going on; some tragedy or possibly
comedy, in this extremely sensational family. I was at once interested
to see what it might be and how it would end; and in fact, before I knew
it, I was as much absorbed in oriole matters as though no other
feathered life was to be seen.
There were in the party two males, one in his second year, and therefore
immature in coloring, being olive-yellow on the breast, brown on wings
and tail, with a black mask over eyes and chin; the other was older, and
a model of oriole beauty, being bright chestnut on the lower parts,
with velvety black hood coming down on the breast. With them was one
female, and though far from being friends, the three were never
separated. The trouble seemed to be that both males were suitors, and
notwithstanding the pretty little maid appeared to have a mind of her
own and to prefer the younger of her wooers, the older plainly refused
"to take no for an answer," and was determined to have his own way,
bringing to bear on his courtship all the persistence of his race. In
that particular quality of never giving up what he has set his heart on,
the oriole cannot be excelled, if indeed he can be equaled in the bird
world; for a time, and a long time, too, he is a bird of one idea, and
by fair means or foul he will almost certainly accomplish his desire,
whatever it may be.
Life never grew dull in the party mentioned; they were always talking,
singing, or going for each other in the mad way already described.
Sometimes the chase was between the males, but oftener the female flew
for her life apparently, while the rough wooer followed closely with
great noise and confusion. The affair ended occasionally with a cry of
distress as though somebody was pecked, but several times she stood at
bay and defied him with mouth open, feathers bristled up, wings
fluttering, and every way quite ready to defend herself. Like other
blusterers, on the first show of fight he calmed down, and the matter
ended for the time. Peace lasted from ten to twenty minutes, during
which they hopped about the tree, or hung head-downward on the Spanish
moss, talking in low tones, though the male never omitted delivering a
scolding note with every two or three pleasant ones. Her voice was
charming, in a tender call, a gentle chatter, or a sweet song, unspoiled
by the harsh tones of her partner. She was also a very pretty bird,
bright yellow below, olive-yellow on the back, no black about the face,
and legs and feet blue as the sky, and she was as graceful as she was
beautiful.
Repose of manner was unknown to the orchard orioles. One was scarcely
ever seen sitting or standing still. The song was given while moving,
either flying or hopping about on the tree. If one did pause while it
was uttered, the body jerked, and the head turned this way and that, as
though he really was too restless to be perfectly quiet for a moment.
The most tempestuous times were when the younger suitor put himself
forward and persuaded the fair yellow damsel to show him some slight
preference. The venerable lover was not slow to resent this, and to
fall like a hurricane upon the pretender, who disappeared like a dead
leaf before the blast, and so quickly that he could not be followed--at
least by anything less rapid than wings. Once, however, I saw a curious
affair between the two suitors which was plainly a war-dance. It
followed closely upon one of the usual flurries, conducted with perhaps
louder cries and more vehemence than common, and began by both birds
alighting on the grass about a foot apart, and so absorbed in each other
as to be utterly oblivious of a spectator within ten feet of them on the
balcony. No tiger out of the jungle could hold more rage and fury than
animated those feathered atoms, bristled up even to the heads, which
looked as if covered with velvet caps. They paused an instant, then
crouched, jerked their tails, "teetered" and posed in several attitudes,
ending each new movement with a solemn bow, perhaps equivalent to a
handshake among larger fighters. What one did the other exactly copied,
and both seemed to be trying to get one side of the opponent, so as to
secure some advantage. To prevent this, each kept his face to the foe,
and moved as he moved. Thus they passed down one side, then back, down
the other and return, neither able to get the slightest superiority of
position. It was extremely grotesque, and was continued several
minutes, while I eagerly watched to see what would happen next. What did
happen was entirely unexpected, a unique anti-climax, quite worthy of
the undignified character of the bird. On a sudden, as by one consent,
both flew opposite ways; both alighted in low trees about thirty feet
apart, and each one sang a loud joyous song, as of victory!
In this turbulent way life went on for two or three weeks; I could not
tell how long, for it was in full progress when I came. There was always
a vulgar broil, often a furious encounter, stopping just short of coming
to blows, and it seemed really doubtful if the orioles would succeed in
settling their matrimonial affairs before summer. The third member of
the belligerent party, the demure little object of all this agitation,
was meekness and gentleness itself, never aggressive, but always flying
before the furious onslaught of her would-be spouse. Why then did she
not select her mate and thus end the trouble, which, according to the
books, it must do?
Turning away from the more conspicuous males with their endless
contests, and watching her closely, I saw that she was trying her best
to do so. She plainly preferred the younger and less quarrelsome suitor,
and often followed him off, bringing down upon herself in consequence
the wrath of the elder, and instant pursuit, which ended in the
disappearance of her chosen hero, and a forced endurance of the tyrant's
presence, till it appeared that she would have to "marry him to get rid
of him," as our plain-spoken grandmothers characterized a similar
situation in human affairs.
When these birds could spare time from their own absorbing matters, they
were very inquisitive in the affairs of their neighbors. After the
mocking-bird babies were out, the orioles often visited them, while the
parents were absent, for no reason that I could discover but to see what
they were like, and how they got on, for nothing about them was
disturbed. If, however, an oriole was found by one of the old
mocking-birds perched on the edge of the nest, he was driven away with a
piece of mocking-bird mind on the subject of meddlers. Likewise they
frequently paid visits to a nuthatch colony at the top of a tall
pine-tree. Whether more aggressive among these smaller birds, or not,
could not be seen. But the facts were that upon an oriole's disappearing
through those heavy pine branches, away above our heads, there instantly
arose a great outcry in the querulous nuthatch voice, and the intruder
returned to the lower world with some precipitation, while gentle,
complaining sounds came from the invaded territory for some time. So,
too, in different degree the birds showed interest in me, peering down
between the leaves of the tree in which they spent most of their time,
and making remarks or expressing opinions, climbing--which they
literally did--to the end of a twig, stretching up tall to look over the
top and stare at me, or when flying slowly past, hovering a moment just
in front of me with perfect fearlessness and earnest attention to my
pursuits.
At length the crisis in the oriole matters came, as come it must, and
not long after the war-dance that has been described. The season was
advanced and nesting time already begun. In fact, it was ended in
several families; mocking-birds were about ready to fly, young chipping
sparrows peeped from every tuft of grass, baby bluebirds were trying
their wings at their doors, the yellow-throated warbler was stuffing her
youngsters on the next tree, and the late kingbirds had nearly finished
their nests. Whether a pitched battle at last settled the dispute,
whether the modest little dame united with her chosen mate against the
common enemy, or whether perchance--though this is not likely--the elder
bird tired of his useless warfare, will never be known, for the whole
matter was settled before we mortals were out of bed, in the magic
morning hours when so many interesting things go on in bird and beast
life. When I came out, I saw at once that a decision had been reached.
The younger bird had won his bride, and with much talk and love-making
the happy pair were busying themselves about a building spot. This first
day of their honeymoon was not, however, very peaceful; old troubles are
not so soon forgotten, and the discarded suitor found it hard to believe
that the repulse was final and he really should not have his own way. He
frequently made his appearance in the old scenes, making himself
agreeable in the usual way; but the newly wedded were now a pair, and
when both flung themselves upon him he recognized at last the
inevitable, no longer resented it, and left them in peace.
With much talk and discussion the tree that had been the scene of the
stormy wooing was selected for the homestead, and the young wife at once
set to work upon the foundation, while her spouse in his new role of
lord and master stood on a higher twig and gave his opinions; much
advice, no doubt, and plenty of instruction. I doubt his mastery,
however, for I noticed that, though meek, madam had a mind of her own
and an orchard oriole's persistence in carrying out her plans. He
talked, it is true, blustered and strutted around, but she worked
quietly, steadily, and in a business-like way, utterly oblivious of him.
During this day, too, even this first day, not five hours after he had
tried to coax the bride away, the elderly suitor came back from some
unknown quarter, with a brand-new wife of his own; precipitation worthy
of the vulgar house-sparrow of our city streets, which these birds also
resemble in their constant broils. That naturally put a complete end to
further dispute over sweethearts; but they could not change their
nature, and I observed that each young husband had a vast amount of
fault to find, much scolding and grumbling. Happily it did not seem to
disconcert the little wives; they sang as sweetly, and worked as
steadily as though they were used to it, and expected nothing better,
which was well for them.
The elder oriole and his mate soon settled in another place, and I saw
them no more, but I was sorry to see upon what tree the young pair
decided to build, for a kingbird had an unfinished nest in one of the
lower branches, and two families so aggressive would make a lively
neighborhood no doubt. Hostilities began indeed on the first day.
Watching the oriole at her building, I caught the pretty
innocent-looking creature stealing material from the kingbird's nest,
while her virtuous spouse perched himself on the upper branch of the
tree, exactly as if on the watch for returning owners. In a low tone he
talked to her as she entered the uncompleted nest, worked busily a
moment, then appeared on the edge with a soft white feather, gathered it
into a convenient shape, and flew with it in her beak to the upper
branch. Twice afterward I saw that performance repeated, and each time
it was a white feather taken. On one occasion the kingbird was at home.
There was a sharp cry of distress, a bustle, and in a moment Madam
Oriole flew off with a feather, while the outraged owner stood on a
neighboring branch and uttered two or three plaintive cries. Considering
the size and the belligerent nature of the kingbird, I was astonished,
but exactly thus it happened.
I greatly wished to stay and see the result, for I had confidence enough
in the bravery of the kingbirds to be sure that the end was not yet.
Also, I longed to watch the restless pair whose ups and downs I had
found so interesting. I should like to see the orchard oriole in the
role of a father; a terribly fussy one he would be without doubt. Above
all, I most desired to see the infant orioles, to know if they begin
their quarrels in their narrow cradle, and if their first note is a
scold. But the troubles of this courtship had, like the wars of Augustus
and Arabella in a three-volume novel, consumed so much time that there
was none left for post-nuptial chronicles, and I was obliged to leave
them with a neighborhood quarrel on hand which promised full employment
for the head of the family while his little mate was sitting.
FLUTTERBUDGET.
O hark to the brown thrush! hear how he sings!
Now he pours the dear pain of his gladness!
What a gush! and from out what golden springs!
What a rage of how sweet madness!
D. A. WASSON.
VIII.
FLUTTERBUDGET.
"Flutterbudget" is the one expressive word that exactly characterizes a
certain brown thrush, or thrasher, the subject of a year's study. This
bird is perhaps the only restless creature that bears the name of
thrush, and he is totally unlike the rest of his family, having neither
dignity, composure, nor repose of manner. My brown thrush, however, was
exceedingly interesting in his own way, if only as a study of perpetual
motion, of the varieties of shape and attitude possible to him, and the
fantastic tricks upon wing of which he was capable. One never tired of
watching him, for he was erratic in every movement, always inventing
some new sort of evolution, or a fresh way of doing the old things, and
scarcely a moment at rest. A favorite exercise was flying across the
room, planting his feet flatly against the side wall, turning instantly
and flying back. This he often did a dozen times in succession. His
feet were always "used to save his head" (contrary to our grandmothers'
teachings). When he made the usual attempt to fly through the window on
his first outing in the room, he went feet first against it, and thus
saved himself a bumped head. His movements were abrupt in the extreme,
and always so unexpected that he frequently threw the whole feathered
family into a panic, apparently without the least intention of doing so.
Standing beside the cage of another bird, he would wheel quickly and
face the other way, absolutely nothing more, but doing this in a manner
so startling that the occupant of the cage scolded roundly. He specially
delighted in clambering all over the cage of a goldfinch, acting as if
he should tear it in pieces, and greatly annoying the small bird. He
often flew up the side of the window casing, as though climbing it like
a ladder, his feet touching it now and then; and he did the same on the
curtains of coarse net. Again he flew across the room before the three
windows, turning to each one in turn, planted his feet squarely on the
linen shade, as on the wall above mentioned, and without a pause passed
to the end of the room, and touched it with his feet in the same strange
way. Often when standing for the moment perfectly still before a window,
he suddenly flew up, put both feet in this unbirdlike way against the
window-shade, turned and went to his cage. In like manner he came in
contact with a cage, the books on the shelves, the back of a chair, or
any piece of furniture, taking from that point a new direction. When
startled he instantly bounded into the air as though the ground were hot
under his feet, and often turned a corner or two before he came down. In
the middle of his most lovely song he was quite likely, without the
least warning, to make a mad dash somewhere, turn a sharp corner, dive
in another direction, and alight on the spot he had left a moment
before, and all in so spasmodic a way that every bird was
panic-stricken.
The thrasher was exceedingly wary, and nothing was droller than his
manner of approaching anything, whether a worm I had thrown on the
matting for him, or the bathing-dish. In the case of the worm, the
moment he saw his prey--which I selected for its liveliness--he came to
a nearer perch, and stood there a few minutes, posturing, shaking his
plumage in great excitement, looking at me and then at the tempting
object. Very soon he dropped to the floor and started towards the worm
in the funniest way; running a few steps, stopping short and turning
half round, ready for instant flight, flirting his feathers with a
great rustle, turning an anxious eye on me, then on the wriggling
attraction, running a step or two, and repeating the performance. In
this way he advanced very gradually till near enough to half encircle
his prey; or to run and hop sideways as though to describe a circle,
turning away at each pause as before, all the time jerking and
fluttering in intense agitation, and always keeping an eye on me. Not
that he was in the least afraid of me; it was simply his sensational way
of doing everything. When he finally came within reach of the worm, he
snatched it, and ran as though the enemy were upon him.
His performances before entering the bath were even more amusing. The
bathing-dish, a broad, deep plate, stood upon a towel on a table. The
bird alighted on the table, and began first to peck the towel, pulling
the fringe, working at any loose thread he discovered, and industriously
enlarging any small hole he chanced to find. In doing thus he often
turned over the edge, when he sprang back as though he had seen a ghost.
Recovering from the shock, he circled around the dish with little hops,
occasionally giving a gentle peck at the edge of the dish, or a snip at
the water with his beak. Thus he waltzed around the bath perhaps forty
times, now and then going so far as to jump up on the edge, make a dash
at the water, and back off as if it were hot, or to give a hop into the
middle of the water and out again so quickly that one could hardly
believe he touched it. When, after all this ceremony, he did go in to
stay, he made most thorough work, splashing in a frantic way, as though
he had but a moment to stay, and in one minute getting more soaked than
many birds ever do. After this short dip he dashed out, flew to a perch,
and in the maddest way jerked and shook himself dry; pulling his
feathers through his beak with a snap, and making a peculiar sound which
I can liken only to the rubbing of machinery that needs oil.