characteristic of himself. Slow to make the plunge, he was equally
deliberate in coming out of the bath. When fairly in, he first thrust
his head under, then sat up in the drollest way, head quite out of water
and tail lying flat on the bottom, while he spattered vigorously with
wings and tail. When he stepped out, the bath was over; he never
returned for a second dip, but passed at once to a favorite corner of
the window-bar, and stood there a most disconsolate-looking object,
shivering with cold, with plumage completely disheveled, but making not
the least effort to dry his feathers for several minutes. If the sun
shone, he indulged himself in a sunning, erecting the feathers of his
chin till he looked as if he wore a black muffler, opening his tail like
a fan, spreading and crossing his wings over the back. This attitude
made a complete change in his looks, showing white where black should
be, and _vice versa_. This was the result of his peculiar coloring. Next
the skin all feathers were the common slate-color, but outside of that
each feather was black and white. On the back the black was at the tip,
and the white between that and the slate-color; on the breast this order
was reversed, and the white at the tip. Thus when wet the white and
black were confused, and he resembled an object in patch-work. The
rose-colored shield was formed by the slightest possible tips of that
color on the white ends, and it was wonderful that they should arrange
themselves in an unbroken figure, with a sharply defined outline, for
each feather must have lain in its exact place to secure the result.
The different ways in which birds greet advancing night has long been a
subject of interest to me, some restless and nervous, others calm, and a
few wild and apparently frightened. In no one thing is there more
individuality of action, and in my room that winter were exhibited every
evening quite a variety of methods. A brown thrush or thrasher on the
approach of darkness became exceedingly restless, flying about his
cage, going over and under and around his perches, posturing in
extraordinary ways, uttering at every moment a strange, harsh-breathing
sound. Two smaller thrushes met the evening hour by fluttering, and a
queer sort of dance elsewhere described. Two orchard orioles saluted the
twilight by gymnastics on the roof of the cage. The bluebirds made
careful and deliberate arrangements for a comfortable night, while the
grosbeak differed from all in simply fluffing himself out, and settling
himself, on the first hint of dark, in the chosen corner, whence he
scarcely moved, and as soon as objects grew indistinct he laid his head
quietly in its feather pillow and stirred no more. The brightest
gaslight an hour later did not disturb him; if a noise wakened him, he
simply looked up to see what was the matter, but did not move, and soon
turned back to his rest, when slight jerks of his wings, and faint
complaining sounds, told that he not only slept, but dreamed.
The bearer of the rosy shield was a persistent individual; having once
taken a notion into his head, nothing would make him forget it or change
his mind. Fully settled in his preference for a certain perch on the
window, the coldest day in winter, with the wind blowing a gale through
the crack between the sashes, would not make him desert it. Driving him
away from the spot had not the slightest effect on him, he returned the
moment he was left in peace. Thinking that another cage was more
convenient for his use, nothing short of absolute shutting the door
would keep him out of it. Nor did he forget about it either; if the door
was accidentally left open, after being closed for weeks, he entered as
quickly as though he had been in every day.
This bird never showed any playfulness of disposition; indeed, he had
too much dignity to do so. He never flew around the room as though he
liked to use his wings, although they were perfect, and there was
nothing to prevent if he chose. Nor did he display curiosity about his
surroundings. The only things he appeared to notice were the doings of
the birds and people in the room, and the moving panorama without, which
latter he always viewed with equanimity, although the sound of a
hand-organ aroused him to a sort of mild fury.
As spring advanced, the beautiful grosbeak grew tuneful and often added
his exquisite song to the rippling music of the small thrushes,
and--with a little stretch of the imagination as to its duration--
"Trilled from out his carmine breast,
His happy breast, the livelong day."
THE BIRD OF MYSTERY.
For me there is a mystery unrevealed;
Sweet Nature, speak to me!
LUCY LARCOM.
XV.
THE BIRD OF MYSTERY.
It is well that Nature has so carefully guarded the lives of her most
beautiful birds, for it is a sad fact that, in the words of an eminent
writer, "the winged order--the loftiest, the tenderest, the most
sympathetic with man--is that which man nowadays pursues most cruelly."
Had they been as accessible as sparrows, even although they equaled them
in numbers, not one would by this time be alive on earth.
The family whose extraordinary dress and mystery of origin justify its
name--Birds of Paradise--is securely hidden in distant islands not
friendly to bird-hunting races. Inaccessible mountains and pathless
forests repel the traveler; impassable ravines bar his advance; sickness
and death lie in wait for the white man, while the native lurks with
poisoned dart behind every bush.
The first of the race that came to us were heralded by myth and invested
with marvels: they had no feet; they slept upon the wing; they fed upon
dew, and hatched their eggs upon their backs. Such were the tales that
accompanied the skins, magnificent beyond anything known to the world in
the glory of plumage, and they were named Birds of Paradise. But science
is supposed in these days to conquer all mysteries, and science armed
itself with powder and shot, game bags, provision trains, and servants,
and set out for the far-away inhospitable islands, the home of this, the
most attractive of all. Science has solved many problems: the "Heart of
Africa" has become a highway; the Polar sea and the source of the Nile
are no longer unknown; but with her most persistent efforts during three
hundred years she has not yet been able to give us the life history of
this one feathered family. Many of her devotees have penetrated to its
home and brought back fresh varieties; money, health, and life have been
freely spent; but, save for a few strange and curious facts, we know
little more of the manner of life of the Birds of Paradise than we did
when we depended on the native legends. How some of them look we know;
we have their skins wired into shape in our museums and gorgeously
pictured in our books; but every traveler finds new kinds, and how many
sorts there may be which have so far eluded the few and short visits of
naturalists, no one is able to tell. Even of those we have, how scanty
is our knowledge! What they eat we are told; how they bathe and dress
their plumage; their loud calls and unmusical voices; the shyness of
those whose conspicuous beauty sets a price upon their heads, and their
"dancing parties," so graphically described by Wallace; but of their
nesting we are in profound ignorance. Where the gravely dressed partners
of the brilliant creatures set up the hearthstone none can tell, unless
it be the mop-headed Papuan, and he will not.
The colors lavished on the plumage would alone make the Birds of
Paradise the wonder of the world; exquisite tints not surpassed by the
humming-birds themselves, and of almost infinite variety, from the
richest velvety purple to the gorgeous metallic greens, blues, and
yellows, changing with every motion, and glittering in the sun like
gems. But the marvelous freaks in the arrangement of the plumage are
more specially interesting. So extraordinary a variety of forms, so
unique and fantastic in disposal, are without parallel in the animal
world. Some species are adorned with long, drooping tufts of plumes
light as air, as the Red Bird of Paradise, and others bear
strange-shaped, movable shields; part of the family wear ruffs, and
others display fans on shoulders or breast; a few sport extravagant
length of tail, and one or two show bright-hued wattles; one species is
bare-headed, and--other vagaries being exhausted--two have curls. The
greater number have an unusual development of two or more feathers into
long, wire-like objects, with a patch of web at the ends. In one species
these wires are formed into two perfect circles beyond the end of the
tail; in another they cross each other in a graceful double curve, and
in a third stand straight and stiff from the end of the feathers. The
Sexpennis, or Golden Bird of Paradise, has on the head six of these
shafts, which it erects at pleasure, producing a singular appearance;
and the Standard Wing has two on each wing, equally effective. Perhaps
the most peculiar fact about the family is the power each bird possesses
to change its form by means of these eccentric ornaments. All are
erectile and movable in several ways, and a bird that is at one moment
like our common crow in shape, may in the next show a dazzling array of
waving plumes or vibrating fans, and be utterly unrecognizable for the
same creature. It is evident to all bird students that feathers are as
surely an "index of the mind" as are tails in cat and dog, and the
manners and expression of this family would be a study of absorbing
interest.
Not to mention the birds already familiar in books, there are a few
interesting peculiarities of some of the late discoveries, and the
possible varieties are by no means exhausted, so that each new traveler
who penetrates into their chosen home will doubtless have opportunity to
see his own name Latinized into dignity and bestowed upon some brilliant
and hitherto unknown bird, having a new disposition of plumage, or a
color more beautiful--if conceivable--than any before. One of the most
attractive of the recent additions to the list was made by Signor
D'Albertis, and named for him _Drepanoris Albertisi_. In a letter to a
Sydney newspaper he tells the story of the discovery, which occurred
while he was living in a Papuan mansion built upon the trunks of trees,
and reached by means of a long ladder. From this unique residence he
made excursions into the mountains, and, among other things, had the
good fortune to see two curious episodes in the life of the Six-shafted
Bird of Paradise. He found this bird--which is not new to science--to be
a noisy and solitary fellow, roaming the thick woods alone, dining upon
figs and other fruits, and indulging in the strange habit of "dusting"
itself like a city sparrow. Happily he saw the whole operation.
Selecting a suitable spot, the beautiful bird first cleared away the
grass and leaves, and while the eager observer was wondering what all
this preparation portended, suddenly flung itself to the ground, and
rolled its rich plumage in the dust, fluttered the wings, elevated and
depressed the six plumes on its head, and otherwise appeared to enjoy
itself extremely. At another time the traveler witnessed a second
uncommon scene in the deep interior of the forest. A bird of the same
species alighted upon the ground, and after peering in every direction,
either to make sure of being unobserved, or to discover an enemy or a
friend, began a most singular performance, waving the six long plumes of
the head, raising and lowering a small tuft of silvery white feathers
over its beak, elevating a glittering crest on its neck, and spreading
and drawing back the long feathers on its sides, every movement entirely
changing its apparent shape. In a short time it began to jump from side
to side and to assume an attitude of war, and all the time it never
ceased uttering an uncommon note, as though calling for admiration or
for a fight.
Not long after this curious exhibition followed the observer's great
prize, the _Drepanoris Albertisi_, which is so rare that even to many of
the natives it was a surprise. At the first glance this bird does not
appear to deserve a place in the remarkable family. It is about the size
of our common crow, brown on the back and lavender-gray below, with a
curved bill more than three inches long. But closer study reveals
several peculiarities: a bare space of bright blue around the eye,
brilliant green on the throat, and a pair of feathery tufts standing up
on the forehead like horns, with the crowning attraction of two pairs of
fans, one behind the other on each side of the breast, capable of being
folded smoothly against the body, or spread wide in two gorgeous
semicircles altering the entire outlines of the creature. The first of
the two admirable ornaments, when in repose, appears of the same
violet-gray hue as the breast; but when raised the bases of the feathers
are seen to be of a brilliant red, giving the effect of longitudinal
stripes. The second pair is much longer, with deep margins of splendid
purple instead of the stripes. When the possessor of all this splendor
spreads its four fans, it also erects the long tail and opens it widely
into a fifth fan, which produces an astonishing effect.
Another of D'Albertis's contributions to the mysterious family is among
its most magnificent members, the _Paradisea Raggiana_. A fine specimen
of this genus, mounted in the position described by Wallace as the
"dancing" attitude of _P. Apoda_, the floating plumes elevated in a
"golden glory" above the head, is the gem of the collection in the
American Museum of New York. It resembles the Great Bird of Paradise,
having long, airy plumes springing from under each wing. In general
color golden brown, with yellow head and green throat. To this bird, as
to others, beauty is a dangerous possession; and, as if feeling aware of
the fact, it lives in the tops of tall trees, in the deepest forest,
among the most inaccessible ravines. But wary though it be, one
characteristic lures it to destruction--curiosity. A European hunter in
his unfamiliar dress is an irresistible attraction; nearer and nearer it
comes, hopping from branch to branch, pausing at every step to observe
and study the intruder, with neck stretched and wings flapping, every
moment uttering a peculiar cry, no doubt equivalent to "Come and look!"
for it brings others upon the scene, till the pretty sight is rudely
ended by a shot and a death-wound. The cry of distress brings the
friends nearer, only to fall victims in their turn to the same murderous
gun. Our traveler once surprised a female of this species, and a droll
proceeding followed. After flying several times around his head to see
what sort of a creature he might be, she alighted on a vine, and turning
heels over head, remained hanging head down, sharply scrutinizing his
appearance from this point of view till he--shot her.
A bare-headed bird would not seem to present any attraction to the lover
of beauty, though it might be of scientific interest; but Nature, not
having exhausted her resources upon the Birds of Paradise already
mentioned, has even accomplished the feat of making a bald-headed
beauty. The bare skin on the whole crown is of a brilliant blue color
most oddly crossed by narrow rows of minute feathers, which irresistibly
remind one of the sutures of the human skull. That color shall not be
lacking, it bears, besides the blue of the head, black, straw color,
bright red, and green; and is further adorned with two very long central
tail feathers, which reach far beyond the rest of the tail, and return,
making a complete circle; a rare and lovely ornament. A good specimen is
among the later arrivals at the American Museum.
The _Manucodia_ are the curly Birds of Paradise, and our knowledge of
one of the latest and most novel of them is owing not to the
indefatigable naturalists who have braved the dangers and discomfort of
their wild island home, neither to the English Wallace, the Dutch Von
Rosenburg, the Italian Beccari, nor to D'Albertis, nor Bruiju, nor De
Myer, whose names will be forever associated with the splendid family,
but to a British officer of scientific tastes.
_M. Comrii_ is the largest, and has more curls than any other yet
discovered, for they not only decorate the top of the head, but extend
down the neck, and form ridges over the eyes. Even the tail partakes of
the general curve, which makes it boat-shaped, and--most fantastic of
all--the two middle feathers are nearly an inch shorter than their next
neighbors, and turned over at the ends so as to display the different
color of their inner surface, and form what ladies call "_revers_."
"Such eccentricities are really not to be accounted for, as we cannot
conceive they can be for any useful purpose" (!), gravely says science
in the person of an English authority. This severely disapproved of
plumage is blue with green lights on back and head, and black edged on
every feather, with purple on the breast.
Another species of the curly family, the Blue-green Paradise Bird (_M.
Chalybea_), has been known to us for a hundred years, but its habits
are as much a mystery as its curls. It is exquisite in color, of the
richest purple, glossy as satin, with neck of deep green, and all
crinkled and curled over head and neck.
The Long-tailed Bird of Paradise is the proud possessor of twenty-two
names, from which it were hard to make a selection. It is one of the
largest, being twenty-two inches in length, most of which, however, is
tail, and is splendid in soft velvet-like black with hints of green and
blue and purple. On each side it carries a fan of curved feathers, and
the plumes of the flanks are of the lightest and most delicate texture.
Words cannot describe the grace and elegance of this bird, and the
perfect specimen in the museum above mentioned is worthy of a pilgrimage
to see.
A "changeable" Bird of Paradise is the one remaining eccentricity
conceivable to complete the variety in coloring, and this is found in
the _Epimachus Ellioti_, a bird so rare that at the time Gould published
his first work the specimen in his collection was unique, and
naturalists in their excursions in the Papuan Islands have vainly tried
to discover its home and learn its habits. The whole incomparable
plumage is of rich changeable hues; in ordinary light, when perfectly
motionless, the bird appears of a soft black, but on moving about the
color varies from violet to maroon, from this to deep amethyst, and then
to green, purple, and blue. A most extraordinary effect is produced when
it faces the spectator with fan-plumes expanded, reaching so far above
its head that they look like a pair of arms thrown up.
The most interesting though not the most beautiful of the family is the
Gardener bird, discovered a few years ago by the Italian naturalist
Beccari. Here is a Bird of Paradise eccentric not in dress but in
habits. His plumage is modest brown in several shades, so inconspicuous
that the partner of his joys can wear the same tints, which she does.
The bird is the size of a turtle-dove. Let the doctor himself tell the
story of the discovery while walking through the beautiful forest, so
thick that scarcely a ray of sunshine penetrated the branches. He says:
"I suddenly stood before the most remarkable specimen of the industry of
an animal. It was a hut or bower close to a small meadow enameled with
flowers. The whole was on a diminutive scale, and I immediately
recognized the famous nests described by the hunters of Bruiju. After
well observing the whole I gave strict orders to my hunters not to
destroy the little building. That, however, was an unnecessary caution,
since the Papuans take great care never to disturb these nests or
bowers, even if they are in their way. The birds had evidently enjoyed
the greatest quiet until we happened, unfortunately for them, to come
near them. I had now full employment in the preparation of my
treasure.... I took colors and brushes, and went to the spot, and made
the sketch which I now publish. When I was there neither host nor
hostess was at home.... I could not ascertain whether this bower was
occupied by one pair or more, whether the male alone is the builder, or
whether the wife assists. I believe, however, that the nest lasts
several seasons."
The pleasing description of the house and lawn, with its many
decorations, has been widely copied. "Being mostly near the entrance,"
says the grave scientist in conclusion, surprised into sentiment, "it
would appear that the husband offers there the daily gift to the wife,
removing the objects to the back of the hut as they fade or wither." It
is clever not only in building a house and lawn, but in imitating the
songs and cries of other birds, and doing it so well, according to our
author, that it brought "his hunters to despair."
So few Birds of Paradise have entered the scientific world alive, and so
little is known of their manners, that the meagre accounts we have
possess unusual interest. So long ago as early in the century Mr.
Bennett, in his visit to Macao, wrote a statement of the ways of a Great
Bird of Paradise (_P. Apoda_) which had been at that time in confinement
nine years. His description of the toilet of the most exquisite of birds
is delightful.
"It washes itself regularly twice daily, and after having performed its
ablutions, throws its delicate feathers up nearly over the head.... The
beautiful subalar plumage is then thrown out and cleaned from any spot
that may sully its purity by being passed gently through the bill, the
short chocolate-colored wings are extended to the utmost, and he keeps
them in a steady flapping motion, at the same time raising up the
delicate long feathers over the back, which are spread in a chaste and
elegant manner, floating like films in the ambient air. In this position
the bird would remain for a short time, seemingly proud of its heavenly
beauty. I never yet beheld a soil on its feathers. After expanding the
wings it would bring them together so as to conceal the head, then
bending gracefully it would inspect the state of its plumage
underneath.... It then picks and cleans its plumage in every part within
reach, and throwing out the elegant and delicate tuft of feathers
underneath, they are cleaned in succession, if required, by throwing
them abroad, elevating and passing them in succession through the bill.
Then turning its back to the spectators, the actions above mentioned are
repeated, ... and throwing its feathers up with much grace, appears as
proud as a lady dressed in her full ball dress"(!). After further
account of its taking grasshoppers from visitors, he concludes: "Should
any of the insects fall to the floor of his cage he will not descend to
them, appearing to be fearful that in so doing he should soil his
delicate plumage."
Almost equally charming is Mr. Bennett's observation of one that Wallace
carried alive to London, which lived two years there and became
exceedingly tame. It is this species whose dancing parties Wallace thus
describes:--
"On one of these trees a dozen or twenty full-plumaged male birds
assemble, raise their wings vertically over the back, stretch out their
necks, and raise and expand their exquisite long plumes till they form
two magnificent golden fans, which are kept in continual vibration.
Between whiles they fly across from branch to branch in great
excitement, so that the whole tree is filled with waving plumes in every
variety of attitude and motion. In the position above mentioned the
whole bird is overshadowed by his plumage, the crouching body, yellow
head, and emerald green throat form but the foundation and setting to
the golden glory which waves above. Seen in this attitude the Bird of
Paradise really deserves its name, and must be ranked as one of the most
beautiful and most wonderful of living things."
In truth, it is so transcendently beautiful that hunters have been
astonished into forgetfulness of their guns, and no triumph was ever
greater, for to recognize an attractive creature and lift the gun to
take its life seems to be a single operation of many who carry the
murderous weapon.
The Twelve-wired, one of the better known varieties of the Birds of
Paradise, is usually figured, and probably always mounted, with its
exquisite plumes closely folded against its sides, but the French
naturalist and traveler Le Vaillant, in his large work published early
in the century, gives a representation of it under the name of _Le
Nebuleux_, with feathers expanded to the uttermost, a truly magnificent
display. All his figures, though sometimes incorrect, owing to the
scanty knowledge of the time, have a great deal of life. Each bird is
presented both in repose, with plumage all folded smoothly back, and in
excitement, with every fan and ruff and erectile ornament fully spread.