Produced by Rachael Schultz, Thierry Alberto, Melissa
McDaniel and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images
generously made available by The Internet Archive/American
Libraries.)
Transcriber's Note:
Inconsistent hyphenation and spelling in the original document have
been preserved. Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
Italic text is denoted by _underscores_.
The following inconsistencies were noted and retained:
fly-catcher and flycatcher
bottom lands and bottom-lands
Kestrel and Kestril
Chicasaw and Chickasaw
Redwings and Red-wings
Black-and-yellow Warbler and Black and Yellow Warbler
Chuckwill's Widow and Chuck-Will's Widow
Columbian Jay and Columbia Jay
Shawaney and Shawanee
Falco Haliaetos, Haliäetos, Haliaetus and Haliaëtus
Pont Chartrain and Pontchartrain
Genessee and Gennessee
Musquito and moschetto
Skuylkill and Schuylkil
The following are possible errors, but retained:
Massachusets
napsack
pease
pannel
scissars
"flat and juicy" should possibly be "fat and juicy"
"wet cloths" should possibly be "wet clothes"
Gelseminum should possibly be Gelsemium
Psittaccus should possibly be Psittacus
Gadwal Duck should possibly be Gadwall Duck
Anona should possibly be Annona
The plate number of the Adult Female Great Horned Owl should
possibly be LXI.
Several of the words in the sections in French are unaccented where
modern French uses accents. They have been left as printed.
ORNITHOLOGICAL BIOGRAPHY.
ORNITHOLOGICAL BIOGRAPHY,
OR AN ACCOUNT OF THE HABITS OF THE
BIRDS OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA;
ACCOMPANIED BY DESCRIPTIONS OF THE OBJECTS REPRESENTED
IN THE WORK ENTITLED
THE BIRDS OF AMERICA,
AND INTERSPERSED WITH DELINEATIONS OF AMERICAN
SCENERY AND MANNERS.
BY JOHN JAMES AUDUBON, F.R.SS.L.& E.
FELLOW OF THE LINNEAN AND ZOOLOGICAL SOCIETIES OF LONDON; MEMBER
OF THE LYCEUM AND LINNEAN SOCIETY OF NEW YORK, OF THE NATURAL HISTORY
SOCIETY OF PARIS, THE WERNERIAN NATURAL HISTORY SOCIETY OF EDINBURGH;
HONORARY MEMBER OF THE SOCIETY OF NATURAL HISTORY OF MANCHESTER, AND
OF THE SCOTTISH ACADEMY OF PAINTING, ARCHITECTURE, AND SCULPTURE, &C.
EDINBURGH:
ADAM BLACK, 55. NORTH BRIDGE, EDINBURGH;
R. HAVELL JUN., ENGRAVER, 77. OXFORD STREET, AND LONGMAN, REES, BROWN,
& GREEN, LONDON; GEORGE SMITH, TITHEBARR STREET, LIVERPOOL; T. SOWLER,
MANCHESTER; MRS ROBINSON, LEEDS; E. CHARNLEY, NEWCASTLE; POOL & BOOTH,
CHESTER; AND BEILBY, KNOTT, & BEILBY, BIRMINGHAM.
MDCCCXXXI.
NEILL & CO. PRINTERS,
Old Fishmarket, Edinburgh.
INTRODUCTORY ADDRESS.
KIND READER,—Should you derive from the perusal of the following pages,
which I have written with no other wish than that of procuring one
favourable thought from you, a portion of the pleasure which I have felt
in collecting the materials for their composition, my gratification will
be ample, and the compensation for all my labours will be more than,
perhaps, I have a right to expect from an individual to whom I am as
yet unknown, and to whom I must therefore, in the very outset, present
some account of my life, and of the motives which have influenced me in
thus bringing you into contact with an American Woodsman.
* * * * *
I received life and light in the New World. When I had hardly yet
learned to walk, and to articulate those first words always so endearing
to parents, the productions of Nature that lay spread all around,
were constantly pointed out to me. They soon became my playmates; and
before my ideas were sufficiently formed to enable me to estimate the
difference between the azure tints of the sky, and the emerald hue of
the bright foliage, I felt that an intimacy with them, not consisting
of friendship merely, but bordering on phrenzy, must accompany my steps
through life;—and now, more than ever, am I persuaded of the power of
those early impressions. They laid such hold upon me, that, when removed
from the woods, the prairies, and the brooks, or shut up from the view of
the wide Atlantic, I experienced none of those pleasures most congenial
to my mind. None but aërial companions suited my fancy. No roof seemed
so secure to me as that formed of the dense foliage under which the
feathered tribes were seen to resort, or the caves and fissures of the
massy rocks to which the dark-winged Cormorant and the Curlew retired to
rest, or to protect themselves from the fury of the tempest. My father
generally accompanied my steps, procured birds and flowers for me with
great eagerness,—pointed out the elegant movements of the former, the
beauty and softness of their plumage, the manifestations of their pleasure
or sense of danger,—and the always perfect forms and splendid attire of
the latter. My valued preceptor would then speak of the departure and
return of birds with the seasons, would describe their haunts, and, more
wonderful than all, their change of livery; thus exciting me to study
them, and to raise my mind toward their great Creator.
A vivid pleasure shone upon those days of my early youth, attended with a
calmness of feeling, that seldom failed to rivet my attention for hours,
whilst I gazed in ecstacy upon the pearly and shining eggs, as they lay
imbedded in the softest down, or among dried leaves and twigs, or were
exposed upon the burning sand or weather-beaten rock of our Atlantic
shores. I was taught to look upon them as flowers yet in the bud. I
watched their opening, to see how Nature had provided each different
species with eyes, either open at birth, or closed for some time after;
to trace the slow progress of the young birds toward perfection, or
admire the celerity with which some of them, while yet unfledged, removed
themselves from danger to security.
I grew up, and my wishes grew with my form. These wishes, kind reader,
were for the entire possession of all that I saw. I was fervently desirous
of becoming acquainted with nature. For many years, however, I was sadly
disappointed, and for ever, doubtless, must I have desires that cannot
be gratified. The moment a bird was dead, however beautiful it had been
when in life, the pleasure arising from the possession of it became
blunted; and although the greatest cares were bestowed on endeavours to
preserve the appearance of nature, I looked upon its vesture as more than
sullied, as requiring constant attention and repeated mendings, while,
after all, it could no longer be said to be fresh from the hands of its
Maker. I wished to possess all the productions of nature, but I wished
life with them. This was impossible. Then what was to be done? I turned
to my father, and made known to him my disappointment and anxiety. He
produced a book of _Illustrations_. A new life ran in my veins. I turned
over the leaves with avidity; and although what I saw was not what I
longed for, it gave me a desire to copy nature. To Nature I went, and
tried to imitate her, as in the days of my childhood I had tried to raise
myself from the ground and stand erect, before nature had imparted the
vigour, necessary for the success of such an undertaking.
How sorely disappointed did I feel for many years, when I saw that my
productions were worse than those which I ventured (perhaps in silence)
to regard as bad, in the book given me by my father! My pencil gave
birth to a family of cripples. So maimed were most of them, that they
resembled the mangled corpses on a field of battle, compared with the
integrity of living men. These difficulties and disappointments irritated
me, but never for a moment destroyed the desire of obtaining perfect
representations of nature. The worse my drawings were, the more beautiful
did I see the originals. To have been torn from the study would have
been as death to me. My time was entirely occupied with it. I produced
hundreds of these rude sketches annually; and for a long time, at my
request, they made bonfires on the anniversaries of my birth-day.
Patiently, and with industry, did I apply myself to study, for, although
I felt the impossibility of giving life to my productions, I did not
abandon the idea of representing nature. Many plans were successively
adopted, many masters guided my hand. At the age of seventeen, when I
returned from France, whither I had gone to receive the rudiments of my
education, my drawings had assumed a form. DAVID had guided my hand in
tracing objects of large size. Eyes and noses belonging to giants, and
heads of horses represented in ancient sculpture, were my models. These,
although fit subjects for men intent on pursuing the higher branches of
the art, were immediately laid aside by me. I returned to the woods of
the New World with fresh ardour, and commenced a collection of drawings,
which I henceforth continued, and which is now publishing, under the
title of "THE BIRDS OF AMERICA."
To these Illustrations I shall often refer you, good-natured reader,
in the sequel, that you may judge of them yourself. Should you discover
any merit in them, happy would the expression of your approbation render
me, for I should feel that I had not spent my life in vain. You can best
ascertain the truth of these delineations. I am persuaded that you love
nature—that you admire and study her. Every individual, possessed of
a sound heart, listens with delight to the love-notes of the woodland
warblers. He never casts a glance upon their lovely forms without
proposing to himself questions respecting them; nor does he look on the
trees which they frequent, or the flowers over which they glide, without
admiring their grandeur, or delighting in their sweet odours or their
brilliant tints.
* * * * *
In Pennsylvania, a beautiful State, almost central on the line of our
Atlantic shores, my father, in his desire of proving my friend through
life, gave me what Americans call a beautiful "plantation," refreshed
during the summer heats by the waters of the Schuylkil River, and
traversed by a creek named Perkioming. Its fine woodlands, its extensive
fields, its hills crowned with evergreens, offered many subjects to my
pencil. It was there that I commenced my simple and agreeable studies,
with as little concern about the future as if the world had been made
for me. My rambles invariably commenced at break of day; and to return
wet with dew, and bearing a feathered prize, was, and ever will be, the
highest enjoyment for which I have been fitted.
Yet think not, reader, that the enthusiasm which I felt for my favourite
pursuits was a barrier opposed to the admission of gentler sentiments.
Nature, which had turned my young mind toward the bird and the flower,
soon proved her influence upon my heart. Be it enough to say, that the
object of my passion has long since blessed me with the name of husband.
And now let us return, for who cares to listen to the love-tale of a
naturalist, whose feelings may be supposed to be as light as the feathers
which he delineates!
For a period of nearly twenty years, my life was a succession of
vicissitudes. I tried various branches of commerce, but they all proved
unprofitable, doubtless because my whole mind was ever filled with my
passion for rambling and admiring those objects of nature from which
alone I received the purest gratification. I had to struggle against
the will of all who at that period called themselves my friends. I must
here, however, except my wife and children. The remarks of my other
friends irritated me beyond endurance, and, breaking through all bonds,
I gave myself entirely up to my pursuits. Any one unacquainted with the
extraordinary desire which I then felt of seeing and judging for myself,
would doubtless have pronounced me callous to every sense of duty, and
regardless of every interest. I undertook long and tedious journeys,
ransacked the woods, the lakes, the prairies, and the shores of the
Atlantic. Years were spent away from my family. Yet, reader, will you
believe it, I had no other object in view, than simply to enjoy the sight
of nature. Never for a moment did I conceive the hope of becoming in
any degree useful to my kind, until I accidentally formed acquaintance
with the PRINCE of MUSIGNANO at Philadelphia, to which place I went,
with the view of proceeding eastward along the coast.
I reached Philadelphia on the 5th April 1824, just as the sun was sinking
beneath the horizon. Excepting the good Dr MEASE, who had visited me in
my younger days, I had scarcely a friend in the city; for I was then
unacquainted with HARLAN, WETHERELL, MACMURTRIE, LESUEUR, or SULLY. I
called on him, and showed him some of my drawings. He presented me to
the celebrated CHARLES LUCIAN BONAPARTE, who in his turn introduced me
to the Natural History Society of Philadelphia. But the patronage which
I so much needed, I soon found myself compelled to seek elsewhere. I
left Philadelphia, and visited New York, where I was received with a
kindness well suited to elevate my depressed spirits; and afterwards,
ascending that noble stream the Hudson, glided over our broad lakes, to
seek the wildest solitudes of the pathless and gloomy forests.
It was in these forests that, for the first time, I communed with myself
as to the possible event of my visiting Europe again; and I began
to fancy my work under the multiplying efforts of the graver. Happy
days, and nights of pleasing dreams! I read over the catalogue of my
collection, and thought how it might be possible for an unconnected and
unaided individual like myself to accomplish the grand scheme. Chance,
and chance alone, had divided my drawings into three different classes,
depending upon the magnitude of the objects which they represented; and,
although I did not at that time possess all the specimens necessary, I
arranged them as well as I could into parcels of five plates, each of
which now forms a Number of my Illustrations. I improved the whole as
much as was in my power; and as I daily retired farther from the haunts
of man, determined to leave nothing undone, which my labour, my time,
or my purse, could accomplish.
Eighteen months elapsed. I returned to my family, then in Louisiana,
explored every portion of the vast woods around, and at last sailed
towards the Old World. But before we visit the shores of hospitable
England, I have the wish, good-natured reader, to give you some idea of
my mode of executing the original drawings, from which the Illustrations
have been taken; and I sincerely hope that the perusal of these lines
may excite in you a desire minutely to examine them.
Merely to say, that each object of my Illustrations is of the size of
nature, were too vague—for to many it might only convey the idea that
they are so, more or less, according as the eye of the delineator may
have been more or less correct in measurement simply obtained through that
medium; and of avoiding error in this respect I am particularly desirous.
Not only is every object, as a whole, of the natural size, but also
every portion of each object. The compass aided me in its delineation,
regulated and corrected each part, even to the very foreshortening which
now and then may be seen in the figures. The bill, the feet, the legs,
the claws, the very feathers as they project one beyond another, have
been accurately measured. The birds, almost all of them, were killed
by myself, after I had examined their motions and habits, as much as
the case admitted, and were regularly drawn on or near the spot where
I procured them. The positions may, perhaps, in some instances, appear
_outré_; but such supposed exaggerations can afford subject of criticism
only to persons unacquainted with the feathered tribes; for, believe me,
nothing can be more transient or varied than the attitudes or positions
of birds. The Heron, when warming itself in the sun, will sometimes
drop its wings several inches, as if they were dislocated; the Swan may
often be seen floating with one foot extended from the body; and some
Pigeons, you well know, turn quite over, when playing in the air. The
flowers, plants, or portions of trees which are attached to the principal
objects, have been chosen from amongst those in the vicinity of which
the birds were found, and are not, as some persons have thought, the
trees or plants upon which they always feed or perch.
An accident which happened to two hundred of my original drawings,
nearly put a stop to my researches in ornithology. I shall relate it,
merely to show you how far enthusiasm—for by no other name can I call
the persevering zeal with which I laboured—may enable the observer of
nature to surmount the most disheartening obstacles. I left the village
of Henderson, in Kentucky, situated on the bank of the Ohio, where I
resided for several years, to proceed to Philadelphia on business. I
looked to all my drawings before my departure, placed them carefully in
a wooden box, and gave them in charge to a relative, with injunctions
to see that no injury should happen to them. My absence was of several
months; and when I returned, after having enjoyed the pleasures of home
for a few days, I inquired after my box, and what I was pleased to call
my treasure. The box was produced, and opened;—but, reader, feel for
me—a pair of Norway rats had taken possession of the whole, and had
reared a young family amongst the gnawed bits of paper, which, but a few
months before, represented nearly a thousand inhabitants of the air! The
burning heat which instantly rushed through my brain was too great to
be endured, without affecting the whole of my nervous system. I slept
not for several nights, and the days passed like days of oblivion,—until
the animal powers being recalled into action, through the strength of my
constitution, I took up my gun, my note-book, and my pencils, and went
forth to the woods as gaily as if nothing had happened. I felt pleased
that I might now make much better drawings than before, and, ere a period
not exceeding three years had elapsed, I had my portfolio filled again.
America being my country, and the principal pleasures of my life having
been obtained there, I prepared to leave it with deep sorrow, after
in vain trying to publish my Illustrations in the United States. In
Philadelphia, WILSON's principal engraver, amongst others, gave it as
his opinion to my friends, that my drawings could never be engraved. In
New York, other difficulties presented themselves, which determined me
to carry my collections to Europe.
As I approached the coast of England, and for the first time beheld
her fertile shores, the despondency of my spirits became very great. I
knew not an individual in the country; and, although I was the bearer
of letters from American friends, and statesmen of great eminence, my
situation appeared precarious in the extreme. I imagined that every
individual whom I was about to meet, might be possessed of talents
superior to those of any on our side of the Atlantic! Indeed, as I for
the first time walked on the streets of Liverpool, my heart nearly failed
me, for not a glance of sympathy did I meet in my wanderings, for two
days. To the woods I could not betake myself, for there were none near.
But how soon did all around me assume a different aspect! How fresh is
the recollection of the change! The very first letter which I tendered
procured me a world of friends. The RATHBONES, the ROSCOES, the TRAILLS,
the CHORLEYS, the MELLIES, and others, took me by the hand; and so kind
and beneficent, nay, so generously kind, have they all been towards
me, that I can never cancel the obligation. My drawings were publicly
exhibited, and publicly praised. Joy swelled my heart. The first
difficulty was surmounted. Honours, which, on application being made
through my friends, Philadelphia had refused, Liverpool freely accorded.
I left that emporium of commerce, with many a passport, bent upon visiting
fair Edina, for I longed to see the men and the scenes immortalized
by the fervid strains of BURNS, and the glowing eloquence of SCOTT and
WILSON. I arrived at Manchester; and here, too, the GREGGS, the LLOYDS,
the SERGEANTS, the HOLMES, the BLACKWALLS, the BENTLEYS, and many others,
rendered my visit as pleasing as it was profitable to me. Friends pressed
me to accompany them to the pretty villages of Bakewell, Mattlock, and
Buxton. It was a jaunt of pure enjoyment. Nature was then at her best,
at least such was the feeling of our whole party; the summer was full
of promise.
My journey to Scotland was performed along the north-western shores of
England. I passed in view of Lancaster Castle, and through Carlisle. I had
by this time much altered my ideas of this Island and its inhabitants.
I found her churches all hung with her glories, and her people all
alive to the kindest hospitality. I saw Edinburgh, and was struck with
the natural pictorial elegance of her site; and I soon found that her
inhabitants were as urbane as those whom I had left behind me. The
principal scientific and literary characters of the ancient metropolis
of Scotland received me as a brother. It is impossible for me to mention
all the individuals from whom I received the kindest attention; but
gratitude forbids my omitting the names of Professors JAMESON, GRAHAM,
RUSSEL, WILSON, BROWN, and MONRO, Sir WALTER SCOTT, Captain HALL, Dr
BREWSTER, Dr GREVILLE, Mr JAMES WILSON, Mr NEILL, Mr HAY, Mr COMBE,
Mr HAMILTON, the WITHAMS, the LIZARSES, the SYMES, and the NICHOLSONS.
The Royal Society, the Wernerian Natural History Society, the Society
of Scottish Antiquaries, the Society of Useful Arts, and the Scottish
Academy of Painting, Sculpture, and Architecture, spontaneously and
gratuitously enrolled me among their members.
In this capital commenced the publication of my ILLUSTRATIONS, and there
it might have been accomplished, had not unexpected difficulties come in
the way. My engraver, Mr W. H. LIZARS, advised me to seek an artist in
London. There, after many fruitless inquiries, I became acquainted with
Mr ROBERT HAVELL junior, who has ever since continued to be employed by
me, and who, I am happy in saying, has given general satisfaction to my
patrons.
Four years have passed. One volume of my Illustrations, containing one
hundred plates, is before the public. You may easily see, good-natured
reader, that to Britain I owe nearly all my success. She has furnished
the artists through whom my labours were to be presented to the world;
she has granted me the highest patronage and honours;—in a word, she
has thus far supported the prosecution of my Illustrations. To Britain,
therefore, I shall ever be grateful.
Two objections have been made to the mode in which my work is published:
the great size of the paper upon which the representations are offered
to you, and the length of time necessary for their completion.
As to the size of the paper, which has been complained of by some, it
could not be avoided without giving up the desire of presenting to the
world those my favourite objects in nature, of the size which nature has
given to them. As one of the first ornithologists of the age, who kindly
reviewed a few numbers of the Plates, has spoken upon this subject in
a manner which I cannot here use, I refer you to his observations. The
name of SWAINSON is, doubtless, well known to you. Permit me also to lead
you, for a defence of my resolution in this matter, to one, who, being
the centre of zoological science, is well entitled to your deference in
a question relating to Ornithology. You will readily apprehend that I
allude to the great, the immortal CUVIER.
Secondly, As to the time necessary for finishing my Work, I have only
to observe, that it will be less than the period frequently given by
many persons to the maturation of certain wines placed in their cellars,
several years previous to the commencement of my work, and which will
not be considered capable of imparting their full relish until many
years after the conclusion of the "Birds of America."
Since I became acquainted with Mr ALEXANDER WILSON, the celebrated
author of the well-known and duly appreciated work on American Birds,
and subsequently with my excellent friend CHARLES LUCIAN BONAPARTE,
I have been aware of the keenness with which every student of Natural
History presses forward to describe an object of his own discovery, or
that may have occurred to travellers in distant countries. There seems
to be a pride, a glory in doing this, that thrusts aside every other
consideration; and I really believe that the ties of friendship itself
would not prevent some naturalists from even robbing an old acquaintance
of the merit of first describing a previously unknown object. Although I
have certainly felt very great pleasure, when, on picking up a bird, I
discovered it to be new to me, yet I have never known the desire above
alluded to. This feeling I still cherish; and in spite of the many
injunctions which I have received from naturalists far more eminent
than I can ever expect to be, I have kept, and still keep, unknown to
others, the species, which, not finding portrayed in any published work,
I look upon as new, having only given in my Illustrations a number of
them proportionate to the drawings of already known species that have
been engraved. Attached to the descriptions of these, you will find the
place and date of their discovery. I do not, however, intend to claim
any merit for these discoveries, and should have liked as well that the
objects of them had been previously known, as this would have saved
some unbelievers the trouble of searching for them in books, and the
disappointment of finding them actually new. I assure you, good reader,
that, even at this moment, I should have less pleasure in presenting
to the scientific world a new bird, the knowledge of whose habits I
do not possess, than in describing the peculiarities of one long since
discovered.
There are persons whose desire of obtaining celebrity induces them to
suppress the knowledge of the assistance which they have received in the
composition of their works. In many cases, in fact, the real author of the
drawings or the descriptions in books on Natural History is not so much
as mentioned, while the pretended author assumes to himself all the merit
which the world is willing to allow him. This want of candour I never
could endure. On the contrary, I feel pleasure in here acknowledging the
assistance which I have received from a friend, Mr WILLIAM MACGILLIVRAY,
who being possessed of a liberal education and a strong taste for the
study of the Natural Sciences, has aided me, not in drawing the figures
of my Illustrations, nor in writing the book now in your hand, although
fully competent for both tasks, but in completing the scientific details,
and smoothing down the asperities of my Ornithological Biographies.
I do not present to you the objects of which my work consists in the
order adopted by systematic writers. Indeed, I can scarcely believe
that yourself, good-natured reader, could wish that I should do so; for
although you and I, and all the world besides, are well aware that a
grand connected chain does exist in the Creator's sublime system, the
subjects of it have been left at liberty to disperse in quest of the
food best adapted for them, or the comforts that have been so abundantly
scattered for each of them over the globe, and are not in the habit of
following each other, as if marching in regular procession to a funeral
or a merry-making. He who would write a general ornithology of the world,
and is possessed of knowledge adequate to such a task, is the only one
by whom the ordination of birds could be made truly useful. When this
work is completed, and when the results of my observations have been duly
weighed and arranged, I shall reduce the whole to an order corresponding
with the improvements recently made in ornithological science, and
present to you a Synopsis of the Birds of the United States, including
the ordinal, generic and specific characters, with the distinctive habits
of each species, and references to the descriptions of other writers.
I shall therefore simply offer you the results of my own observation
with respect to each of the species, in the order in which I have
published the representations of them. Nor do I intend to annoy you
with long descriptions, including the number and shape of the feathers,
particularly in cases where the species are well known. Tables of synonyms
I have also judged superfluous. Indeed, the technical descriptions and
references you will find as appendages to the more generally interesting
descriptions of the habits of each species; so that you may read them
or not, just as you please. Yet, should you be inclined to enter into
these matters, I trust you will find in these appendages descriptions
constructed according to the strictest rules of science.
Should you, good-natured reader, be a botanist, I hope you will find
pleasure while looking at the flowers, the herbs, the shrubs, and the
trees, which I have represented; the more so, I imagine, if you have
seen them in their native woods. Should you not, the sight of them in
my Illustrations may, for aught I know, tempt you to go and partake of
the hospitality of our brethren the Aborigines of America.
* * * * *
Permit me now to address a few words to the Critic, who I fervently
hope is a good-natured reader too. This I do with much deference. He
has seen my Illustrations, and has judged favourably of them; he has
passed his keen eye over this page; he knows the very moderate strength
of my talents; and I have only to add, with my compliments, that ever
since I have known that such a person as himself exists, I have laboured
harder, with more patience and with more care, to gain his good will,
indulgence, and support.
JOHN J. AUDUBON.
EDINBURGH, }
March 1831. }
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Page
The Wild Turkey, _Meleagris Gallopavo_, 1
The Yellow-billed Cuckoo, _Coccyzus Americanus_, 18
The Prothonotary Warbler, _Sylvia Protonotarius_, 22
The Purple Finch, _Fringilla purpurea_, 24
Bonaparte's Fly-catcher, _Muscicapa Bonapartii_, 27
THE OHIO, 29
The Wild Turkey. Female, _ Meleagris Gallopavo_, 33
The Purple Grakle or Common
Crow-Black-bird, _Quiscalus versicolor_, 35
The White-throated Sparrow, _Fringilla pennsylvanica_, 42
Selby's Flycatcher, _Muscicapa Selbii_, 46
The Brown Titlark, _Anthus Spinoletta_, 49
THE GREAT PINE SWAMP, 52
The Bird of Washington, _Falco Washingtonii_, 58
The Baltimore Oriole, _Icterus Baltimore_, 66
The Snow Bird, _Fringilla hyemalis_, 72
The Prairie Warbler, _Sylvia discolor_, 76
The Blue Yellow-backed Warbler, _Sylvia americana_, 78
THE PRAIRIE, 81
The Great-footed Hawk, _Falco peregrinus_, 85
The Carolina Turtle Dove, _Columba carolinensis_, 91
Bewick's Wren, _Troglodytes Bewickii_, 96
The Louisiana Water Thrush, _Turdus ludovicianus_, 99
The Blue-winged Yellow Warbler, _Sylvia solitaria_, 102
THE REGULATORS, 105
The Mocking Bird, _Turdus polyglottus_, 108
The Purple Martin, _Hirundo purpurea_, 115
The Yellow-breasted Warbler,
or Maryland Yellow-throat, _Sylvia Trichas_, 121
Roscoe's Yellow-throat, _Sylvia Roscoe_, 124
The Song Sparrow, _Fringilla melodia_, 126
IMPROVEMENTS IN THE NAVIGATION OF THE MISSISSIPPI, 130
The Carolina Parrot, _Psittacus carolinensis_, 135
The Red-headed Woodpecker, _Picus erythrocephalus_, 141
The Solitary Fly-catcher, or
Vireo, _Vireo solitarius_, 147
The Towhe Bunting, _Fringilla erythrophthalma_, 150
Vigors's Warbler, _Sylvia Vigorsii_, 153
A FLOOD, 155
The White-headed Eagle, _Falco leucocephalus_, 160
The Black-billed Cuckoo, _Coccyzus erythrophthalmus_, 170
The American Goldfinch, _Fringilla tristis_, 172
The Worm-eating Warbler, _Sylvia vermivora_, 177
Children's Warbler, _Sylvia Childrenii_, 180
MEADVILLE, 182
The Stanley Hawk, _Falco Stanleii_, 186
The Golden-winged Woodpecker, _Picus auratus_, 191
The Kentucky Warbler, _Sylvia formosa_, 196
The Crested Titmouse, _Parus bicolor_, 199
The American Redstart, _Muscicapa Ruticilla_, 202
THE COUGAR, 205
The Ruffed Grouse, _Tetrao Umbellus_, 211
The Orchard Oriole, _Icterus spurius_, 221
The Cedar Bird, _Bombycilla carolinensis_, 227
The Summer Red Bird, _Tanagra æstiva_, 232
Traill's Fly-catcher, _Muscicapa Traillii_, 236
THE EARTHQUAKE, 239
The Barred Owl, _Strix nebulosa_, 242
The Ruby-throated Humming
Bird, _Trochilus colubris_, 248
The Azure Warbler, _Sylvia azurea_, 255
The Blue-green Warbler, _Sylvia rara_, 258
The Black-and-yellow Warbler, _Sylvia maculosa_, 260
THE HURRICANE, 262
The Red-tailed Hawk, _Falco borealis_, 265
Chuckwill's Widow, _Caprimulgus carolinensis_, 273
The Painted Finch, _Fringilla ciris_, 279
The Rice Bird, _Icterus agripennis_, 283
Cuvier's Regulus, _Regulus Cuvierii_, 288
KENTUCKY SPORTS, 290
The Red-shouldered Hawk, _Falco lineatus_, 296
The Loggerhead Shrike, _Lanius ludovicianus_, 300
The Hermit Thrush, _Turdus minor_, 303
The Chestnut-sided Warbler, _Sylvia icterocephala_, 306
The Carbonated Warbler, _Sylvia carbonata_, 308
THE TRAVELLER AND THE POLE-CAT, 310
The Great Horned Owl, _Strix virginiana_, 313
The Passenger Pigeon, _Columba migratoria_, 319
The White-eyed Flycatcher, or
Vireo, _Vireo noveboracensis_, 328
The Swamp Sparrow, _Fringilla palustris_, 331
The Rathbone Warbler, _Sylvia Rathbonia_, 333
DEER HUNTING, 335
The Ivory-billed Woodpecker, _Picus principalis_, 341
The Red-winged Starling, or
Marsh Blackbird, _Icterus phœniceus_, 348
The Republican, or Cliff
Swallow, _Hirundo fulva_, 353
The Bay-breasted Warbler, _Sylvia castanea_, 358
Henslow's Bunting, _Emberiza Henslowii_, 360
NIAGARA, 362
The Winter Hawk, _Falco hyemalis_, 364
The Swallow-tailed Hawk, _Falco furcatus_, 368
The Wood Thrush, _Turdus mustelinus_, 372
The Indigo Bird, _Fringilla cyanea_, 377
Le Petit Caporal, _Falco temerarius_, 381
HOSPITALITY IN THE WOODS, 383
The Virginian Partridge, _Perdix virginiana_, 388
The Belted Kingsfisher, _Alcedo Alcyon_, 394
The Great Carolina Wren, _Troglodytes ludovicianus_, 399
The Tyrant Fly-catcher, _Muscicapa tyrannus_, 403
The Prairie Titlark, _Anthus pipiens_, 408
THE ORIGINAL PAINTER, 410
The Fish Hawk or Osprey, _Falco Haliaetus_, 415
Whip-poor-will, _Caprimulgus vociferus_, 422
The House Wren, _Troglodytes ædon_, 427
The Blue-grey Fly-catcher, _Muscicapa cærulea_, 431
The Yellow-throated Warbler, _Sylvia pensilis_, 434
LOUISVILLE IN KENTUCKY, 437
The Black Warrior, _Falco Harlani_, 441
The Florida Jay, _Corvus floridanus_, 444
The Autumnal Warbler, _Sylvia autumnalis_, 447
The Nashville Warbler, _Sylvia rubricapilla_, 450
The Black-and-white Creeper, _Certhia varia_, 452
THE ECCENTRIC NATURALIST, 455
The Broad-winged Hawk, _Falco pennsylvanicus_, 461
The Pigeon Hawk, _Falco columbarius_, 466
The Sea-side Finch, _Fringilla maritima_, 470
The Grass Finch or Bay-winged
Bunting, _Fringilla graminea_, 473
The Yellow-poll Warbler, _Sylvia æstiva_, 476
SCIPIO AND THE BEAR, 479
The Columbian Jay, _Corvus Bullockii_, 483
The Little Screech Owl, _Strix Asio_, 486
The White-bellied Swallow, _Hirundo bicolor_, 491
The Cow-pen Bird, _Icterus pecoris_, 493
The Marsh Wren, _Troglodytes palustris_, 500
COLONEL BOON, 503
ORNITHOLOGICAL BIOGRAPHY.
THE WILD TURKEY.
_MELEAGRIS GALLOPAVO_, LINN.
PLATE I. MALE.
The great size and beauty of the Wild Turkey, its value as a delicate
and highly prized article of food, and the circumstance of its being the
origin of the domestic race now generally dispersed over both continents,
render it one of the most interesting of the birds indigenous to the
United States of America.
The unsettled parts of the States of Ohio, Kentucky, Illinois, and
Indiana, an immense extent of country to the north-west of these
districts, upon the Mississippi and Missouri, and the vast regions
drained by these rivers from their confluence to Louisiana, including
the wooded parts of Arkansas, Tennessee, and Alabama, are the most
abundantly supplied with this magnificent bird. It is less plentiful
in Georgia and the Carolinas, becomes still scarcer in Virginia and
Pennsylvania, and is now very rarely seen to the eastward of the last
mentioned States. In the course of my rambles through Long Island, the
State of New York, and the country around the Lakes, I did not meet with
a single individual, although I was informed that some exist in those
parts. Turkeys are still to be found along the whole line of the Alleghany
Mountains, where they have become so wary as to be approached only with
extreme difficulty. While, in the Great Pine Forest, in 1829, I found a
single feather that had been dropped from the tail of a female, but saw
no bird of the kind. Farther eastward, I do not think they are now to
be found. I shall describe the manners of this bird as observed in the
countries where it is most abundant, and having resided for many years
in Kentucky and Louisiana, may be understood as referring chiefly to them.
The Turkey is irregularly migratory, as well as irregularly gregarious.
With reference to the first of these circumstances, I have to state, that
whenever the _mast_[1] of one portion of the country happens greatly to
exceed that of another, the Turkeys are insensibly led toward that spot,
by gradually meeting in their haunts with more fruit the nearer they
advance towards the place where it is most plentiful. In this manner
flock follows after flock, until one district is entirely deserted, while
another is, as it were, overflowed by them. But as these migrations are
irregular, and extend over a vast expanse of country, it is necessary
that I should describe the manner in which they take place.
About the beginning of October, when scarcely any of the seeds and fruits
have yet fallen from the trees, these birds assemble in flocks, and
gradually move towards the rich bottom lands of the Ohio and Mississippi.
The males, or, as they are more commonly called, the _gobblers_, associate
in parties of from ten to a hundred, and search for food apart from the
females; while the latter are seen either advancing singly, each with
its brood of young, then about two-thirds grown, or in connexion with
other families, forming parties often amounting to seventy or eighty
individuals, all intent on shunning the old cocks, which, even when the
young birds have attained this size, will fight with, and often destroy
them by repeated blows on the head. Old and young, however, all move
in the same course, and on foot, unless their progress be interrupted
by a river, or the hunter's dog force them to take wing. When they come
upon a river, they betake themselves to the highest eminences, and there
often remain a whole day, or sometimes two, as if for the purpose of
consultation. During this time, the males are heard _gobbling_, calling,
and making much ado, and are seen strutting about, as if to raise their
courage to a pitch befitting the emergency. Even the females and young
assume something of the same pompous demeanour, spread out their tails,
and run round each other, _purring_ loudly, and performing extravagant
leaps. At length, when the weather appears settled, and all around is
quiet, the whole party mounts to the tops of the highest trees, whence,
at a signal, consisting of a single _cluck_, given by a leader, the flock
takes flight for the opposite shore. The old and fat birds easily get
over, even should the river be a mile in breadth; but the younger and
less robust frequently fall into the water,—not to be drowned, however,
as might be imagined. They bring their wings close to their body, spread
out their tail as a support, stretch forward their neck, and, striking
out their legs with great vigour, proceed rapidly towards the shore;
on approaching which, should they find it too steep for landing, they
cease their exertions for a few moments, float down the stream until
they come to an accessible part, and by a violent effort generally
extricate themselves from the water. It is remarkable, that immediately
after thus crossing a large stream, they ramble about for some time, as
if bewildered. In this state, they fall an easy prey to the hunter.
When the Turkeys arrive in parts where the mast is abundant, they separate
into smaller flocks, composed of birds of all ages and both sexes,
promiscuously mingled, and devour all before them. This happens about
the middle of November. So gentle do they sometimes become after these
long journeys, that they have been seen to approach the farm-houses,
associate with the domestic fowls, and enter the stables and corn-cribs
in quest of food. In this way, roaming about the forests, and feeding
chiefly on mast, they pass the autumn and part of the winter.
As early as the middle of February, they begin to experience the impulse
of propagation. The females separate, and fly from the males. The
latter strenuously pursue, and begin to gobble or to utter the notes of
exultation. The sexes roost apart, but at no great distance from each
other. When a female utters a call-note, all the gobblers within hearing
return the sound, rolling note after note with as much rapidity as if
they intended to emit the last and the first together, not with spread
tail, as when fluttering round the females on the ground, or practising
on the branches of the trees on which they have roosted for the night,
but much in the manner of the domestic turkey, when an unusual or
unexpected noise elicits its singular hubbub. If the call of the female
comes from the ground, all the males immediately fly towards the spot,
and the moment they reach it, whether the hen be in sight or not, spread
out and erect their tail, draw the head back on the shoulders, depress
their wings with a quivering motion, and strut pompously about, emitting
at the same time a succession of puffs from the lungs, and stopping now
and then to listen and look. But whether they spy the female or not,
they continue to puff and strut, moving with as much celerity as their
ideas of ceremony seem to admit. While thus occupied, the males often
encounter each other, in which case desperate battles take place, ending
in bloodshed, and often in the loss of many lives, the weaker falling
under the repeated blows inflicted upon their head by the stronger.
I have often been much diverted, while watching two males in fierce
conflict, by seeing them move alternately backwards and forwards, as
either had obtained a better hold, their wings drooping, their tails
partly raised, their body-feathers ruffled, and their heads covered
with blood. If, as they thus struggle, and gasp for breath, one of them
should lose his hold, his chance is over, for the other, still holding
fast, hits him violently with spurs and wings, and in a few minutes
brings him to the ground. The moment he is dead, the conqueror treads
him under foot, but, what is strange, not with hatred, but with all the
motions which he employs in caressing the female.
When the male has discovered and made up to the female (whether such
a combat has previously taken place or not), if she be more than one
year old, she also struts and gobbles, turns round him as he continues
strutting, suddenly opens her wings, throws herself towards him, as if
to put a stop to his idle delay, lays herself down, and receives his
dilatory caresses. If the cock meet a young hen, he alters his mode of
procedure. He struts in a different manner, less pompously and more
energetically, moves with rapidity, sometimes rises from the ground,
taking a short flight around the hen, as is the manner of some Pigeons,
the Red-breasted Thrush, and many other birds, and on alighting, runs
with all his might, at the same time rubbing his tail and wings along
the ground, for the space of perhaps ten yards. He then draws near the
timorous female, allays her fears by purring, and when she at length
assents, caresses her.
When a male and a female have thus come together, I believe the connexion
continues for that season, although the former by no means confines his
attentions to one female, as I have seen a cock caress several hens,
when he happened to fall in with them in the same place, for the first
time. After this the hens follow their favourite cock, roosting in his
immediate neighbourhood, if not on the same tree, until they begin to
lay, when they separate themselves, in order to save their eggs from the
male, who would break them all, for the purpose of protracting his sexual
enjoyments. The females then carefully avoid him, excepting during a
short period each day. After this the males become clumsy and slovenly,
if one may say so, cease to fight with each other, give up gobbling or
calling so frequently, and assume so careless a habit, that the hens
are obliged to make all the advances themselves. They _yelp_ loudly
and almost continually for the cocks, run up to them, caress them, and
employ various means to rekindle their expiring ardour.
Turkey-cocks when at roost sometimes strut and gobble, but I have more
generally seen them spread out and raise their tail, and emit the pulmonic
puff, lowering their tail and other feathers immediately after. During
clear nights, or when there is moonshine, they perform this action at
intervals of a few minutes, for hours together, without moving from the
same spot, and indeed sometimes without rising on their legs, especially
towards the end of the love-season. The males now become greatly
emaciated, and cease to gobble, their _breast-sponge_ becoming flat.
They then separate from the hens, and one might suppose that they had
entirely deserted their neighbourhood. At such seasons I have found them
lying by the side of a log, in some retired part of the dense woods and
cane thickets, and often permitting one to approach within a few feet.
They are then unable to fly, but run swiftly, and to a great distance. A
slow turkey-hound has led me miles before I could flush the same bird.
Chases of this kind I did not undertake for the purpose of killing the
bird, it being then unfit for eating, and covered with ticks, but with
the view of rendering myself acquainted with its habits. They thus retire
to recover flesh and strength, by purging with particular species of
grass, and using less exercise. As soon as their condition is improved,
the cocks come together again, and recommence their rambles. Let us now
return to the females.
About the middle of April, when the season is dry, the hens begin to
look out for a place in which to deposit their eggs. This place requires
to be as much as possible concealed from the eye of the Crow, as that
bird often watches the Turkey when going to her nest, and, waiting in
the neighbourhood until she has left it, removes and eats the eggs. The
nest, which consists of a few withered leaves, is placed on the ground,
in a hollow scooped out, by the side of a log, or in the fallen top of
a dry leafy tree, under a thicket of sumach or briars, or a few feet
within the edge of a cane-brake, but always in a dry place. The eggs,
which are of a dull cream colour, sprinkled with red dots, sometimes
amount to twenty, although the more usual number is from ten to fifteen.
When depositing her eggs, the female always approaches the nest with
extreme caution, scarcely ever taking the same course twice; and when
about to leave them, covers them carefully with leaves, so that it is
very difficult for a person who may have seen the bird to discover the
nest. Indeed, few Turkeys' nests are found, unless the female has been
suddenly started from them, or a cunning Lynx, Fox, or Crow has sucked
the eggs and left their shells scattered about.
Turkey hens not unfrequently prefer islands for depositing their eggs and
rearing their young, probably because such places are less frequented by
hunters, and because the great masses of drifted timber which usually
accumulate at their heads, may protect and save them in cases of great
emergency. When I have found these birds in such situations, and with
young, I have always observed that a single discharge of a gun made them
run immediately to the pile of drifted wood, and conceal themselves in
it. I have often walked over these masses, which are frequently from
ten to twenty feet in height, in search of the game which I knew to be
concealed in them.