Directly in front of the tent, and at no great distance from it, a thick
network of vines stretched between two trees. These trees were large
tupelos, and the vines, clinging from trunk to trunk and to one another,
formed an impenetrable screen with their dark green leaves. Over the
leaves grew flowers, so thickly as almost to hide them--the whole
surface shining as if a bright carpet had been spread from tree to tree
and hung down between them. The flowers were of different colours.
Some were white and starlike, but the greater number were the large
scarlet cups of the trumpet-vine (_bignonia_).
Francois, although listening to his brother, had for some time kept his
eyes in that direction, as if admiring the flowers. All at once,
interrupting the conversation, he exclaimed,--
"_Voila_! look yonder--humming-birds!"
Now the sight of humming-birds is not so common in America as travellers
would have you believe. Even in Mexico, where the species are numerous,
you will not see them every day. Indeed, you may not notice them at
all, unless you are specially looking for them. They are such small
creatures, and fly so nimbly--darting from flower to flower and tree to
tree--that you may pass along without observing them, or perhaps mistake
them for bees. In the United States, however, where only one species
has yet been noticed, the sight is a rare one, and generally interesting
to those who witness it. Hence Francois' exclamation was one of
surprise and pleasure.
"Where are they?" inquired Lucien, starting up in an interested manner.
"Yonder," replied Francois, "by the trumpet flowers. I see several, I
think."
"Softly, brothers," said Lucien; "approach them gently, so as not to
fright them off--I wish to make some observations upon them."
As Lucien said this, he walked cautiously forward, followed by Basil and
Francois.
"Ah!" exclaimed Lucien, as they drew near, "I see one now. It is the
ruby-throat (_Trochilus colubris_). He is feeding on the bignonias.
They are fonder of them than any other blossoms. See! he has gone up
into the funnel of the flower. Ha! he is out again. Listen to his
whirring wings, like the hum of a great bee. It is from that he takes
his name of `humming-bird.' See his throat, how it glitters--just like
a ruby!"
"Another!" cried Francois; "look above! It is not near so pretty as the
first. Is it a different species?"
"No," replied Lucien, "it is the female of the same; but its colour is
not so bright, and you may notice that it wants the ruby-throat."
"I see no others," said Francois, after a pause.
"I think there are but the two," remarked Lucien, "a male and female.
It is their breeding season. No doubt their nest is near."
"Shall we try to catch them?" inquired Francois.
"That we could not do, unless we had a net."
"I can shoot them with small shot."
"No, no," said Lucien, "the smallest would tear them to pieces. They
are sometimes shot with poppy-seeds, and sometimes with water. But
never mind, I would rather observe them a bit as they are. I want to
satisfy myself upon a point. You may look for the nest, as you have
good eyes. You will find it near--in some naked fork, but not among the
twigs or leaves."
Basil and Francois set about looking for the nest, while Lucien
continued to watch the evolutions of the tiny little creatures. The
"point" upon which our young naturalist wished to be satisfied was,
whether the humming-birds eat insects as well as honey--a point which
has been debated among ornithologists.
As he stood watching them a large humble-bee (_Apis bombylicus_) came
whizzing along, and settled in one of the flowers. Its feet had
scarcely touched the bright petals, when the male ruby-throat darted
towards it, and attacked it like a little fury. Both came out of the
flower together, carrying on their miniature battle as they flew; but,
after a short contest, the bee turned tail, and flew off with an
angry-like buzz,--no doubt, occasioned by the plying of his wings more
rapidly in flight.
A shout from Francois now told that the nest was discovered. There it
was, in the fork of a low branch, but without eggs as yet--else the
birds would not both have been abroad. The nest was examined by all
three, though they did not disturb it from its position. It was built
of fine threads of Spanish moss (_Tillandsia_), with which it was tied
to the branch; and it was lined inside with the silken down of the
anemone. It was a semi-sphere, open at the top, and but one inch in
diameter. In fact, so small was the whole structure, that any one but
the sharp-eyed, bird-catching, nest-seeking Francois, would have taken
it for a knob on the bark of the tree.
All three now returned to watch the manoeuvres of the birds, that, not
having seen them by the nest, still continued playing among the flowers.
The boys stole as near as possible, keeping behind a large bunch of
hanging vines. Lucien was nearest, and his face was within a few feet
of the little creatures, so that he could observe every motion they
made. He was soon gratified with a sight that determined his "point"
for him. A swarm of small blue-winged flies attracted his attention.
They were among the blossoms, sometimes resting upon them, and sometimes
flitting about from one to another. He saw the birds several times dash
at them with open bills, and pick them from their perch; so the question
was decided--the humming-birds were insect-eaters.
After a while the female flew off to her nest, leaving the male still
among the flowers.
The curiosity of the boys was now satisfied, and they were about to
return to the tent, when Lucien suddenly made a motion, whispering the
others to remain silent. Francois first caught sight of the object
which had caused this behaviour on the part of his brother, and then
Basil saw it. A hideous object it was!
Crouching among the leaves, now crawling sideways, now making short
springs, and then hiding itself, went a fearful-looking creature. It
was about the size of one of the birds, but far different in appearance.
Its body consisted of two pieces, joined about the middle, and covered
all over with a reddish-brown wool or hair, that stood upright like
bristles. It had ten limbs--long, crooked, and covered with hair, like
the body--two curved claw-like antennae or feelers in front, and two
horns projecting behind, so that, but for the sharp fiery eyes of the
creature, it would have been difficult to tell its head from its hinder
part. Its rusty colour, its ill-shaped body, and hairy legs, combined
with the piercing look from its eyes, gave it a most vicious appearance,
such as belongs, less or more, to all of its race--for it was of the
race _aranea_, or spiders.
"The _leaping tarantula_!" whispered Lucien to his brothers. "See," he
continued, "it is after the ruby-throat!"
This was evident. Step by step, and leap after leap, it was approaching
the cluster of blossoms where the humming-bird was at the moment
engaged. Its eyes were bent eagerly upon the latter; and whenever it
flew up from the flowers and whirred idly about, the tarantula squatted
itself closely, hiding behind the leaves or shanks of the vines. On the
other hand, when the bird settled a moment and appeared busily feeding,
the skulking creature would advance a stage nearer, either by a quick
run or a leap, when it would again conceal itself and await a fresh
opportunity. As the bird flitted about a good deal, the spider had
frequently to change its direction in following. The former after one
of its short flights, settled into a pet-flower directly in front of
where the latter lay crouching. It did not enter the cup of the flower,
but remained at the mouth--poised upon its whirring wings--while with
its long prehensile tongue it drew out the honey. It had scarcely been
a moment in this position, when the tarantula sprang forward and
clutched it round the body with his antennae. The bird, with a wild
chirrup, like that of a distressed cricket, flew outward and upwards.
Its wings were still free, and all expected it would carry off the
spider that was now seen clinging around it. Not so, however. On
getting a few feet from the flower its flight appeared to be suddenly
checked; and, although it still kept in the air, flying first one way
and then another, it was evident that something restrained it from
getting clear off. On looking more attentively a fine silk-like line
was seen stretching from the trees to the fluttering creature. It was
the thread of the spider, and this it was that prevented his victim from
carrying him into the air.
The little wings soon ceased to move, and both bird and spider fell to
the end of the thread, where they hung for a moment suspended. The boys
could see that the bird was dead, and the mandibles of the tarantula
were buried in its shining threat!
Francois would have rushed forward to kill the destroyer; but Lucien,
who was too ardent a naturalist to have his lesson thus interrupted,
restrained his more impetuous brother, and all three remained quiet as
before.
The tarantula now commenced reeling in his line, for the purpose of
carrying his prey up among the branches, where he had his nest. The
boys looked upward to discover the latter. There, sure enough, was the
web, in a shaded corner, stretching its meshes from a large liana to the
trunk of the tupelo; and towards this point the spider now slowly
progressed with his lifeless victim.
As they watched his motions, their eyes were caught by a shining object
that moved along the wrinkled bark of the liana. As the vine was nearly
a foot in diameter, and of a deep ferruginous colour, this object was
the more apparent against its dark ground, for it was a creature of
brilliant hues. It was an animal of the lizard species; and if any
lizard could be considered beautiful, this one might have been so
called. But the hideous, half-human form of these animals, their
piercing looks, their stealthy and predatory habits, and, above all, the
knowledge that the bite of several of their species is poisonous,
combine to render them objects that excite disgust and awe, rather than
admiration.
This one, as we have already said, was of the most brilliant colour.
The whole of its upper surface was a golden green, vivid as the hues of
an emerald; while its body underneath was greenish-white. But this
part, as it lay along the liana, was not seen; and a pure, uniform green
was the apparent colour of the whole animal. There was one conspicuous
exception--the throat. This was swollen out, as though by inflation,
exhibiting a surface of the brightest scarlet, that appeared in the sun
as if painted with vermilion. The eyes of the animal shone like flame--
for the irides were, in fact, the colour of burnished gold, with small
pupils, sparkling like diamonds, in their midst. Its arms and limbs
were of the same colour as the body; and its branching feet exhibited
the peculiarity of having small knots or tubercules at the ends of the
toes. These tubercules, together with the loose dewlap of the throat,
told the genus to which the animal belonged,--an _anolius_ of the family
_Iguanidae_, and the only species of the anolius found in the territory
of the United States.
These facts were communicated by Lucien to his brothers in a whisper,
while they were observing the creature on the liana. Basil and Francois
had often seen the species before, and were familiar with it under the
names of "green lizard" and "chameleon,"--both of which names are
applied to it in common phraseology. The animal was not over six inches
in length; and its long coffin-shaped head, and slender, whip-like tail,
were at least two-thirds of this extent. When first noticed, it was
passing up the liana, for the latter slanted upwards between the trees.
It did not see the boys; or, at all events, did not regard their
presence--for the chameleon is a bold little animal, and is not afraid
of man. Up to this time it had not seen the tarantula either. As it
was passing onward, its eyes fell upon the latter as he climbed up his
silken ladder. All at once the lizard stopped, and put itself into a
crouching attitude. Its colour suddenly changed. The vermilion throat
became white, and then ashy pale; and the bright green of its body faded
into dark brown or rust colour, until it was difficult to distinguish
the animal from the bark of the liana! Had the eyes of the spectators
not been already fixed upon it, they might have supposed that it had
disappeared altogether. After crouching for a few seconds, it seemed to
have formed its plan of attack--for it was evident that it meant to
attack the spider--such, with flies and other insects, being its natural
food and prey. It passed to the opposite side of the liana, and then
proceeded upward, making for the nest of the tarantula. It reached this
point by a single run, although its back was downward as it crawled.
This it could easily do by means of the tubercules upon its toes--which
enable lizards of the genus anolius to walk upon perpendicular walls, up
glass windows, or along the smoothest ceilings.
For some moments it lay quiet in a crouching attitude, waiting the
approach of the spider, that, busied with his own affairs, did not dream
of a lurking foe so near him. The tarantula was, no doubt, in high
spirits at the moment, exulting at the prospect of the banquet of blood
he should have, when he had carried the ruby-throat to his dark, silken
cave. But he was destined never to reach that cave. When he had got
within a few inches of its entrance, the chameleon sprang out from the
limb, seized the spider in his wide jaws, and all three--lizard, spider,
and bird--came to the ground together. The bird was let go in the fall,
and became separated from the others. Between these there was a short
struggle over the grass--for the tarantula fought fiercely; but he was
no match for his antagonist; who, in a few moments, had ground off his
legs with his powerful jaws, and left him a helpless and motionless
trunk. The chameleon now seized his victim by the head, sunk his sharp,
conical teeth into its skull, and thus killed it outright.
What appeared singular to all was, that the moment the lizard had first
sprung upon his prey his bright colours returned like a flash, and he
again appeared with his green back and red throat, if possible more
brilliant than ever.
He now commenced dragging the body of the spider over the grass,
evidently making for some decayed logs, half covered with vines and
briars, that formed a heap near the spot. Here, no doubt was his
retreat.
This time Francois did not attempt to interfere. He had no desire to do
so. He looked upon the death of the tarantula as a just punishment;
moreover, the chameleon, from its fine colours, its sportive habits, and
its harmlessness--so far as man is concerned--is a general favourite
with all; and it was so with Francois. In fact, Francois, as well as
his brothers, who had often watched this little creature gambolling
among the leaves, and feeding upon flies and other small insects, had
never seen it exhibit so much ferocity before. Notwithstanding this,
they all applauded it for killing the hideous tarantula; and so far as
they were concerned, it might have carried the body to its hole without
being molested. It was destined, however, to meet with interruption
from another quarter. Francois, whose quick eyes were wandering about,
suddenly exclaimed,--
"Look--brothers, look! A _scorpion-lizard_!"
Basil and Lucien cast their eyes where Francois pointed--up to the trunk
of a tree that rose over the spot where the chameleon was crawling.
About twenty feet from the ground was a dark, round hole, evidently the
former nest of the red-bellied woodpecker (_Picus Carolinus_). The
birds, however, who made that nest had deserted it; for it was now
occupied by a creature of a far different kind--a scorpion-lizard--whose
red head and brown shoulders at the moment protruded from the hole.
All who have travelled the great American forests are familiar with such
a sight--for this animal may be often observed in similar situations. A
more disagreeable sight is rarely met with. The scorpion-lizard, with
his red head and olive-brown body, is a hideous-looking reptile at best;
but when thus peering from his gloomy tree-cave, moving his pointed
snout from side to side, his dark eyes glancing all the while with a
fierce, malignant expression, it is difficult to conceive a more
vicious-looking creature.
His head was in motion when Francois spake--for it was this that had
caught the eye of the boy. It was moving from side to side, protruded
out from the hole, the snout pointing downwards. The animal was
watching the ground below, and evidently preparing to issue forth, and
come down. The chameleon, rustling over the dead leaves, had attracted
his attention.
As quick as lightning his whole body appeared upon the tree, and lay
flat along the bark, head downwards. Here he halted for a moment; then,
raising his shoulders, he ran nimbly down the trunk, and rushing
outwards, sprang upon the chameleon. The latter, thus suddenly
attacked, dropped the spider; and at first showed an intention of
retreating. Had he done so the scorpion would have followed him no
farther--as its only object in attacking him was to rob him of his prey.
The chameleon, however, is a courageous little animal; and seeing that
his assailant was not much bigger than himself--for the animal in
question was one of the smallest of the skink family--he turned again
and showed fight. His throat swelled to its largest extent, and grew
brighter than ever.
Both now stood facing each other, and about twelve inches apart, in
threatening attitudes. Their eyes sparkled; their forked tongues shot
forth, glittering in the sun; and their heads at intervals rose and
fell, in a manoeuvring manner, like a pair of pugilists "coming to the
scratch!"
After a short while they sprang at each other open-jawed; wriggled over
the ground a moment--their tails flying in the air--then separated, and
again assumed their defiant attitudes, manoeuvring as before. In this
manner they met and parted several times, neither seeming to have gained
much advantage.
The weakest part of the green lizard lies in his tail. So tender is
this appendage that the slightest blow of a small switch will separate
it from the body. The skink seemed to be aware of this fact, as he
several times endeavoured to get around his antagonist, or, in military
phraseology, to "turn" him. It was evidently his intention to attack
the tail. This the chameleon dreaded; and was equally desirous not to
be "outflanked." In whatever way the skink manoeuvred, his antagonist
met him with his scarlet front.
For several minutes the battle raged--these little creatures exhibiting
as much fury and fierceness as if they had been a pair of great
crocodiles. The chameleon at length began to show symptoms of giving
out. The throat grew paler--the green became less vivid--and it was
evident that he was getting the worst of it. The scorpion now made a
rush, and threw the other upon his back. Before the chameleon could
recover himself, his antagonist seized his tail, and bit it off close to
the body. The poor little fellow, feeling that he had lost more than
half his length, scuttled away, and hid himself among the logs.
It was well for him, as it proved afterwards, that he got off, even thus
mutilated; and it would have been better for the skink had he remained
in his hole. The battle between the two had carried them some distance
from the spot where it first commenced, and under the leafy, spreading
branches of a mulberry-tree. While the fight was raging, a slight
movement in the leaves above had attracted the attention of the boys.
The next moment a red object was thrust downward, until a foot or so of
it appeared hanging clear of the branches. It was about the thickness
of a walking-cane; but the glistening scales and the elegant curving
form told that this singular object was a serpent.
It did not remain stationary. It was slowly and gradually letting
itself down--for more of its body was every moment becoming visible,
until a full yard of it hung out from the leaves. The remainder was
hidden by the thick foliage where its tail no doubt was coiled around a
branch. That part of the body that was seen was of a uniform blood-red
colour, though the belly or under side was much the lightest.
"_Voila_!" muttered Francois, "what a red snake! I never saw such
before."
"Nor I either," added Basil.
"Nor I," said Lucien, "but I have heard of it. I easily recognise it
from the description. It is the `red snake' of the Rocky Mountains
(_Coluber testacea_)."
"Oh," said Basil, "I have heard trappers speak of it."
"Yes," added Lucien. "It is a rare species, and only found in the Far
West. See! the scorpion has whipped. The chameleon is running off,
and, as I live, without its tail!"
The skink at this moment perceived the long, red body of the serpent
dangling above him; and knowing from experience a terrible enemy, ran
off, endeavouring to hide himself in the grass. Instead of making for a
tree--where he might have escaped by his superior nimbleness--his
confusion and terror led him out into the open ground. The snake
dropped from the mulberry and glided after, with his head raised high in
the air, and his jaws wide open. In a second or two he overtook the
lizard; and striking forward and downward, killed it upon the spot.
Lucien was in raptures with the interesting lesson he was receiving; and
again restrained Francois from rushing forward. They all, however,
crept a little nearer--so as the better to observe the further movements
of the serpent. They kept as well as possible behind the screen of
leaves and bushes.
The snake, after having killed the lizard, remained out in the open
ground; and, stretching himself along the grass, commenced devouring it.
Snakes do not masticate their food. Their teeth are not formed for
this, but only for seizing and killing. The blood-snake is not
venomous, and is, therefore, without fangs such as venomous snakes
possess. In lieu of these he possesses a double row of sharp teeth;
and, like the "black snake," the "whip," and others of the genus
coluber, he is extremely swift, and possesses certain powers of
constriction, which are mostly wanting in serpents of the venomous
tribes. Like all the others, he swallows his prey just as he kills it--
whole. So with the one in question. Having placed the nose of the
lizard _vis-a-vis_ with his own, he opened his jaws to their full
extent, took in the head, and commenced gradually sucking the body down
his throat. It was a curious operation; and the boys watched it with
feelings of interest.
But other eyes were bent upon the reptile. His bright blood-coloured
body lying along the grass had caught the far-seeing eye of an enemy,
whose dark shadow was now seen moving over the ground. On looking up,
the boys beheld a large bird wheeling in the air. Its snow-white head
and breast, the far spread, tapering wings, but, above all, the long
forked tail, told them at a glance what bird it was. It was the great
Southern kite (_Falco furcatus_).
When first seen he was sailing in circles,--or rather in a spiral curve,
that was constantly contracting downward and inward. The centre of that
curve was the spot occupied by the snake.
It was a beautiful sight to behold this creature cutting the thin air.
His flight was the _beau ideal_ of ease and gracefulness--for in this no
bird can equal the kite. Not a stroke of his long pointed wings
betrayed that he needed their assistance; and he seemed to glory that he
could navigate the air without them. Besides, the motion of these, had
he used them, might have caught the eye of his intended victim, and
warned it of the danger. I say it was a beautiful sight to watch him as
he swam through his aery circles, at one moment appearing all white--as
his breast was turned to the spectators--the next moment his black back
and purple wings glittering in the sun, as sideways he guided himself
down the spiral curve. It was a beautiful sight, and the young hunters
stood gazing with silent admiration.
Basil and Francois wondered that he did not at once pounce upon the
snake, for towards it his flight was evidently tending. They had seen
other hawks do this--such as the red-tailed, the peregrine, and the
osprey--which last sometimes shoots several hundred feet perpendicularly
down upon its prey. Lucien, however, knew better. He knew that that
feat can be performed only by those hawks whose tails are full and not
forked, as the bald eagle, and the species already named--their
spreading tails giving them the power to suddenly arrest the downward
motion, and prevent them from dashing themselves against the earth. The
kites, on the other hand, have not that power; and in this arrangement
Lucien could perceive a beautiful adaptation of Nature--an equalising of
advantages between these two kinds of birds. He reasoned thus:--
The hawks, although swift of wing, and capable of extended flight,
cannot remain long in the air. They grow weary and need rest, which
they take, perching themselves upon some tree. It may be observed,
moreover, that they choose dead trees that overlook an open space. They
do so, in order that the leaves may not obstruct their vision--thus
giving them a wider range, and, consequently, a better chance of espying
their prey. But even with this advantage their chances of seeing their
prey are circumscribed, when compared with that of hawks upon the wing;
and they are frequently compelled to take to the air in order to
discover it.
Now the kites are always in the air, or nearly so. They, in fact, _live
upon the wing_, eating their food as they fly, from their claws. Living
thus, they have many more chances of _seeing_ their prey than their
cousins of the hawk species; and were they possessed of the power to
_pounce_ upon it with as much certainty as the latter do, it is evident
they would have greatly the advantage. The want of that capability,
however, brings them upon an equality; and, as I have said, Lucien
perceived in this that peculiar equilibrium, or "balance of power,"
which constantly presents itself to the student of Nature.
These thoughts passed through his mind at the moment. They occupied but
a moment however--for it was but a few seconds from the time the kite
was first noticed wheeling high in the air, until he swept along the
tops of the low trees, so close that the boys could distinguish the red
iris of his glistening eyes.
Now, for the first time, the snake caught sight of him. Hitherto it had
been too much occupied with its own prey, which it had succeeded in
swallowing. The shadow of the broad wings fell upon the sunlit sward
directly before its eyes. It looked up, and saw its terrible enemy. It
seemed to shiver through its whole length, and turn paler in colour. It
struck its head into the grass, endeavouring to hide itself. It was too
late. The kite swooped gently downward; and, with open claw, poised
himself a moment over the spot. As he rose again, the reptile was seen
wriggling in his talons!
A few strokes of his bold wing carried the kite upward, above the tops
of the tallest trees; but he was observed to fly heavily. As he rose
higher, the flapping of his wings became more hurried and irregular. It
was evident that something was impeding his flight. The snake was no
longer hanging from his talons. The reptile had twined itself around
his body; and its glistening folds, like red bands, could be seen
half-buried in the white plumage of the bird!
All at once the kite began to flutter--then one of his wings
disappeared; and, notwithstanding the hurried flapping of the other,
both bird and serpent fell heavily to the earth!
They fell close to the spot from whence they had risen. Neither was
killed by the fall, nor, to all appearance, hurt; for, the moment after
they had touched the ground, both were seen engaged in a violent
struggle--the bird evidently endeavouring to free himself from the folds
of the reptile, while the latter seemed equally bent upon holding him!
The snake knew well that this was its only hope; for, should it unfold
itself and endeavour to escape, it would only give the kite an
opportunity of clutching it a second time, when he would be certain to
do it with more fatal effect. It was because the reptile had buried its
head in the grass that the kite had failed in seizing it properly by the
neck, and putting an end to it at once.
This, no doubt, was the idea of the snake; but it is probable that its
antagonist at the moment would have been delighted to "cry quits" with
it, for the bird was in a worse "fix" than it was. As things stood, the
serpent had undoubtedly the advantage.
It was likely to prove a protracted struggle; for, although there was
much twisting and wriggling over the ground, and flapping of the odd
wing--that was still free--very little change for a long time appeared
to take place in the relative position of the combatants. This could be
seen, whenever they paused to rest themselves--which they did every two
or three minutes.
How was it to end? The kite could not kill the snake, for he could not
get at it, either with his beak or talons. The hold which he had at
first taken he had lost, in his attempts to save himself from falling;
and he was now unable to renew it, so closely was the reptile warped
around him. The snake, on the other hand, could not kill the kite; for,
although possessed of considerable powers of constriction, they were not
sufficient. It was strong enough to hold, and, perhaps, _squeeze_ its
antagonist, but not strong enough to crush and kill him.
Though each, no doubt, at the moment wished to be far enough from the
other, they could not separate with safety to both. The kite _could not
get away_, and the snake _dared not let him go_!
How, then, was the affair to end, in the event that no third party
should interfere? This was the conjecture of our adventurers, as with
curious eyes they watched this singular contest. The train of reasoning
was as follows:--
By one or the other dying of hunger. But which would starve first? It
was well-known that the kite could live for days without food. Ha! but
so too could the snake,--nay, more, for every day the bird could go
without eating, the reptile could fast ten; besides, the snake had just
dined--dined sumptuously upon the scorpion-lizard, that was now lying
undigested in his stomach; whereas the kite had not tasted dinner,--nay,
it was very certain he had not breakfasted either--and must have been
very hungry indeed to have attempted preying upon a blood-snake full
four feet long--for, as is well-known, his usual prey is the locust, the
chameleon, and the little green snake (_Coluber aestivus_). Under every
view of the question then, the snake had the advantage of the bird, and
would easily outstarve him. Thus, then, the affair would end, if the
combatants were left to themselves.
The young hunters arrived at this conclusion; and, having watched the
contest until their curiosity was satisfied, were about stepping forward
to put an end to it, when a new manoeuvre on the part of the combatants
caused them to remain still. The kite had got his beak close to the
head of the serpent, and was striking with open mandibles, endeavouring
to seize the jaw of the latter. He was upon his back--for these birds
fight best in that position. The serpent, on the other hand, was trying
his best to bite the bird; and for this purpose at intervals extended
its jaws, showing the double rows of sharp conical teeth. At one of
these intervals, while its mouth was open, the kite struck quickly
upward, and seized the lower jaw of the reptile in his beak. The latter
closed its mouth on the instant; but the horny mandible was impervious
to its sharp teeth, and the bird regarded them not.
The kite continued to hold fast with his powerful beak. He had now
gained the advantage, for which he had been all the while contending.
He had got a "fulcrum for his lever," and he was not slow in using it.
Suddenly turning back upward, with the aid of his wing and one of his
claws, he held himself fast to the ground, while with his strong neck he
drew the head of the serpent close under him until it lay within reach
of his other claw. Then with a quick fierce stroke he planted his
talons, so as to encircle the throat of his adversary, clutching and
holding it like a vice.
This manoeuvre put a period to the contest. The red coils were seen to
loosen, then fall off; and, although the reptile still writhed, it was
only in its death-struggles. In a few moments its body lay along the
grass, powerless and without motion.
The kite after a short rest drew his beak from the jaws of the serpent,
raised his head, extended his wings--to assure himself they were free--
and, with a scream of triumph, rose upward, the long carcass of the
reptile trailing after him like a train!
At this moment another scream reached the ears of the young hunters. It
might have passed for the echo of the first, but its tones were wilder
and louder. All eyes were turned to the direction whence it came. The
boys knew very well what sort of a creature had uttered it, for they had
heard such notes before. They knew it was the _white-headed eagle_.
They caught sight of him the moment they turned. It was not difficult
to see him soaring upward--his great tail and broad wings expanded,
seven feet in extent, against the light blue sky.
When first seen his flight was nearly in a straight line, slanting up in
the direction of the kite--for that was the object that had started him.
He was evidently bent upon robbing the latter of his late-gotten booty.
The kite had heard the cry that echoed his own; and, knowing its import,
at once plied all the power of his wings to rise higher into the air.
He seemed resolved to hold on to his hard-earned plunder; or, at all
events, not to yield it, without giving the more powerful robber the
trouble of a chase. The fresh remembrance of the peril he had passed
through in obtaining it, no doubt stimulated him to this resolve.
Birds of his species will sometimes outfly and escape the eagle--that
is, _some_ eagles, for these bird-kings differ in degrees of swiftness
as hounds or horses. So, too, do the kites; and the one in question
having, no doubt, full confidence in _his_ wings, thought he would make
trial of those of his pursuer--who, being personally unknown to him,
might be some individual too fat, or too old, or too young, perhaps, to
possess full powers of flight. At all events he had made up his mind to
have a "fly" for it--believing that if overtaken he could easily put an
end to the pursuit by surrendering the snake, as his cousin, the osprey,
often has to do with his fish. Up, therefore, he went, in a spiral
curve of about fifty yards in diameter.
If the kite entertained the idea that his pursuer was either a very old
or young bird, or too fat a bird, or in any way a "slow" bird, he was
likely to be soon undeceived. That idea was not shared by those who
watched him in his flight. On the contrary, the young hunters thought
they had never seen a more splendid specimen of his kind,--of full
feather, snow-white head and tail-tip, and broad clean-cut wings. He
was one of the largest size, too; which proved him not to be a "him,"
but a female--for, strange to say, Nature seems to have reversed her
order with these birds--the females being universally brighter in
plumage, larger in body, swifter of wing, stronger, and even fiercer
than the males. It may be inferred, that in the social life of
"eagle-dom" the fair sex have their "rights," and perhaps a little more.
One thing is certain, and it seems to be a consequence of this (in
compliment to the sex I say it) that nothing like polygamy is known
amongst them. Woe to the eagle husband that would even dream of such a
thing!
_Voila_! up goes the kite, straining every pinion of his pointed wings--
up the spiral curve, _screwing_ himself towards the zenith. Upward
follows the eagle, spirally as well, but in wider gyrations that embrace
and seem to hold the curvatures of the other within their circumference.
Both birds circle concentrically. Now their orbits cross each other--
now they are wheeling in parallel curves. Still upward flies the kite--
still upward goes the pursuing eagle. Closer and closer they appear to
come; narrower grow their soaring circles--but that is because they are
more distant and seem so. See! the kite is but a speck, and appears
stationary--now he is lost to the view. See! the eagle is but a speck!
She, too, disappears! No, not altogether--the little spot like the
fragment of a white cloud, or a piece of snow upon the sky--that is her
tail-tip. Ha! it is gone too--they are beyond the reach of our vision.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Hark! _Ish-sh-ish_! Did you hear that sound, like the whistling of a
rocket? See! Something has fallen upon the tree-top, breaking several
branches! As I live it is the kite! Dead he is, and the blood is
spurting from a wound in his shoulder!
Hark, again! _Whush-sh-ush_! It is the eagle. See! she has the
serpent in her talons!
------------------------------------------------------------------------
The eagle had shot down from her elevation, though no eye could have
followed her in that arrow-like descent. When within two or three
hundred yards of the ground, her wings flew out, her tail was spread,
and, suddenly lowered, fan-like to its fullest extent, arrested her
downward course; and, with a few measured strokes, she glided slowly
over the tops of the trees, and alighted on the summit of the dead
magnolia.
Basil seized his rifle, with the intention of having a shot. There was
not much cover on the ground that encircled the tree where the eagle had
perched herself; and the young hunter knew from experience that his only
chance of getting near enough was to make his approach upon horseback.
He therefore drew the picket that fastened Black Hawk; and, flinging
himself upon the horse's back, rode off among the bushes. He had been
gone but a few minutes when a sharp crack was heard, and the eagle was
seen tumbling from her perch.
This was the last link in the _chain of destruction_!