Blackbird Family who is found all over the United States. He is shining
blue-black all over, except his head, which is brown. His mate is
entirely brown. He is not quite so large as a red-wing, and he too is a
walker.
This bird is called cowbird because he is fond of flying about the
cows,--not to trouble them, but to eat the insects that torment
them,--which is very pleasant for the cows, I am sure.
There is one queer way that cowbirds have, which no one is able to
explain. The cowbird mother does not build a nest for her little family.
Yet she wants them well cared for. So she goes slyly about and lays her
eggs in other birds' nests. She generally chooses the nest of a smaller
bird, though she often uses one belonging to a wood thrush.
Most little birds--warblers and finches--accept the charge. They hatch
out the strange egg and bring up the young cowbird, who is bigger than
themselves. He is so big that he usually smothers the young ones that
belong in the nest. So he receives the whole attention of the little
mother bird.
Sometimes other birds come to help one who has a young cowbird to feed,
and he grows big and strong. When he is full grown he joins a party of
other cowbirds, and they go off in a flock by themselves.
Some small birds will not submit to this. When they find a cowbird's egg
in their nest, they go away and leave it there, and make a new nest. Or
they make a new story, as I told you the yellow warbler does.
The cowbird has a queer little song. It is something like "cluck-see!"
and he seems to squeeze it out as if it were hard work to say it.
FOOTNOTE:
[16] See Appendix, 15.
XX
THE MEADOW STARLINGS
(_Icteridæ_)--Continued
THE meadow starlings are short-tailed birds who live on the ground. They
have long bills and mixed sort of plumage, of browns and yellows.
[Illustration: MEADOWLARK]
Our common one, called the MEADOWLARK or OLD-FIELD LARK, though he is
not really a lark, is a beautiful bird. He is larger than a robin, and
his mottled feathers are set off by a bright yellow breast, with a black
crescent under the throat.
This bird lives in the meadows or pastures, and walks about on the
ground, where he gets his food. When he wants to sing, he flies up on to
a fence, or stands up very straight on a bit of turf, or a stone, and
sings away a long time. It is a sweet song, or rather several sweet
songs, for he does not always sing the same one.
The mother lark looks like her mate. She makes her nest on the ground,
and a snug and cozy home it is. It is none of the open, cup-like
nests that anybody can see into. It has a roof, if you please, and
sometimes a covered way--like a hall--leading to it. The roof of the
nest is made by drawing the grass stems over it and weaving them
together. So it is very hard to find. And it is hidden in the long
meadow grass besides.
You might think the little family would get hurt when the haymakers came
to cut the grass. So they would, if they happened to be there. But lark
babies are out of the egg before that time, and they run about as soon
as they can stand. Sometimes when a nest has been disturbed, and the
birds have had to make a second one, the little ones are not out when
the mowers come on. Then there are apt to be sad times in the family.
But I have known mowers who carefully cut around a nest, and did not
hurt the nestlings. That is a good thing to do, for the birds are so
useful and such fine singers that we want as many as we can have.
The meadowlark is a shy bird, and so is more often heard than seen. His
song is charming, and he has besides a strange call, a sort of harsh
sputter, or chatter, sometimes as he flies over. No doubt he has many
more ways of expressing himself, but these are the ones we most often
hear.
The WESTERN MEADOWLARK looks like the Eastern, except that he is a
little paler and grayer in color. He has the same general habits, but he
is a much finer singer. The song is wilder and has more variety, and
sometimes it is very brilliant. It is different in every way from the
quiet, rather sad notes that make the Eastern bird so winning.
The Western bird is not so timid as his Eastern brother. He often comes
into the towns and sings from the tops of houses. The finest singer I
ever heard sang every day from the peak of a low roof. His song to his
mate is most charming. It is so low and tender one can hardly hear it.
I once saw a pair of the Western birds nest-making. The little builder
was busy filling her beak with dried grasses and such things. For these
she had to fly across the road where I sat. Her mate went with her every
time. He perched on the fence while she gathered her beakful, watching
that no harm came to her. When she went back, he flew across with her
and perched on a tree on that side.
All the time he was singing the sweetest low warble, and all the time he
was keeping a sharp watch on me. In the West this bird eats beetles,
grasshoppers, and the disgusting big black crickets that do so much
damage.
XXI
THE ORIOLE BRANCH
(_Icteridæ_)--Continued
IT seems odd to put the gay orioles into the Blackbird Family,
especially as they don't live on the ground either; but that's where
they belong in the books. Orioles live in the trees, and are fine
singers. They have sharp-pointed bills, suitable for picking tiny
insects out of fruit blossoms. They have some of the family color,
black, but more orange color, or chestnut red, or yellow. They all make
beautiful nests.
The Baltimore oriole is all over the East, the orchard oriole in the
South, and the Arizona hooded oriole in the West.
The BALTIMORE ORIOLE, who has several other names, such as fire-bird,
golden robin, and hang-nest, is a very showy bird, in bright orange and
black. He has a fine though short song. His mate is yellow, and brown
instead of black, and has a sweet song of her own. Both of them can
scold as well as any birds I know.
The nest of this oriole is one of the prettiest we have. It is hung high
up in a tall tree, an elm or willow usually, and near the end of a
branch, where it swings in the wind. It is a deep bag made of plant
fibres, bits of string, and other things. The whole has a gray tint and
a silky look, which make it very attractive.
While the mother bird is sitting, her mate stays near and sings a good
deal; but when feeding time comes, he works as hard as she in stuffing
the hungry little mouths.
As soon as the nestlings are off, they go away in a little party. Then
one who looks sharp may often see an oriole papa going quietly about on
the ground, with two or three little ones after him, still calling to be
fed. He doesn't sing any in these busy days. But sometimes, after the
young have learned to feed themselves, he will sing again a little
before they all start for their warm winter home in Central America.
It is an anxious time in the bird world when the young are leaving the
nest. Orioles are so nervous and make such an outcry over their troubles
that we often hear them. The most common accident is the falling of a
nestling to the ground. The old birds make so much fuss over it that one
would think the baby had fallen into the claws of the cat, at the very
least.
They fly around as if they were crazy, shrieking and calling, for they
are very fond of their little folk. The youngsters are plucky little
fellows. One will hop along till he comes to a tree, and then try to
climb the trunk. If he happens to hit on a tree with rough bark, he can
do pretty well. He flutters a little way up, and then holds on by the
claws till rested. Then he flies a little farther, and so he goes till
he reaches a branch.
If it is a smooth trunk he tries, his troubles are great. Sometimes one
will scramble up till he comes to a leaf that grows out from the trunk,
and hang on to that till he is able to go on. But often one is unable to
keep his hold, and falls back into the grass. I have several times
picked up a hot and frightened birdling and put him on a branch.
A lady told me an interesting little story, showing how helpful birds
are to one another. A Baltimore oriole was picked up from the ground
with his wing broken so that he could not fly. The kind-hearted people
fixed him comfortably in an attic. They intended to feed him and care
for him till he got well and could fly.
They left him there with a window open, so that his wild friends could
bring food if they wished. A little while afterward one of them went up
to see about the invalid. Behold, he was gone!
They looked for him everywhere, for they knew he could not fly. Suddenly
they noticed a great deal of oriole chatter out in the yard. Then they
looked carefully over a tree near the window, and there they saw the
broken-winged bird in the midst of quite a flock of others.
Of course the outside birds were called by the captive, and they must
have carried him out in some way. Birds have been seen to carry off one
who was wounded, in two ways. One way was by two birds each taking in
his beak a wing of the helpless bird and so flying away with him. This
has been seen, and more than once, by men who tell the truth.
The second way birds have been seen to help another was by one getting
under the helpless one and so holding him up on the back. This also has
been seen by men whose word can be trusted. You remember I told you such
a story about the shrike.
So many untrue stories are told about the birds that I am very careful
not to tell you anything that is not strictly true.
If you live in the South, you more often see the ORCHARD ORIOLE. He is
not quite so gay in his dress as the Baltimore. He has chestnut color
with his black. His mate is different. She is olive on the back, and
yellow below, and she has bright blue legs and feet, which look as if
they were covered with kid.
The nest is a hanging one, of course, but it does not usually swing like
other oriole nests. It is a little supported at the bottom. It is very
beautiful, for it is made of one kind of fine grass. When it is first
made, its green color makes it hard to see among the leaves. And as it
dries, it turns a rich yellow, like bright clean straw. It is not so
high as the Baltimore's, and not hung to the end of a branch. It is
often in an apple-tree, for this bird likes to be near people.
The song of the orchard oriole is different from the Baltimore's. It is
longer, and has more variety. His mate sings also. Her voice is sweeter
than his and not so loud.
If you live in California, the oriole you know will be the ARIZONA
HOODED ORIOLE. Sometimes he is called the palm-leaf oriole for a reason
you will soon see. He is a beautiful, slender bird, having bright orange
color with his black. He wears more black than some of the family. His
face and throat and tail and wings are of that color, though the wings
have two white bars. His mate is yellowish below and olive brown above.
This bird makes the regular oriole family cradle. Sometimes it swings
free like the Baltimore's, but not always. It is made of slender, wiry
grass, which is green, so that it is hard to see. Sometimes a sort of
thread from the edge of palm leaves is used.
This bird sometimes selects a droll place for her nest. She swings it
from the under side of a palm or banana leaf. You know a banana leaf is
long and wide, and makes a comfortable shade in a hot day; and it does
just as well for an umbrella when it rains. It is hard to see how a bird
can fasten a nest to a smooth leaf. But Mrs. Grinnell has seen it done
in her own yard, and she tells us how the little builder goes to work.
First she takes a thread in her beak and pushes it through the leaf,
making a hole, of course. Then she flies around to the other side of the
broad leaf, and standing there a minute she pulls the thread through,
and pushes it back, making another hole. Thus she goes on, flying from
one side to the other till she has sewed her bag to the strong leaf.
Except in the place they choose for their nest, these orioles are about
the same as their Eastern cousins, and oriole little folk are the same
the world over, I think.
XXII
THE CROW-BLACKBIRD BRANCH
(_Icteridæ_)--Continued
THE fourth branch of this family is of crow-blackbirds and grackles.
They have a right to the name of blackbird, for they are quite black. At
least they look so a little way off, but if one gets near and sees the
sunshine on them, he will see that they reflect blue or green or purple,
from their feathers.
Then, too, like others of their family, they go in flocks, and they have
a dignified walk on the ground. Some birds who are so social that they
like to live in a crowd prefer to go a little apart to nest. But these
birds make their rude, clumsy nests all close together.
Blackbirds are fond of corn; who can blame them for that? Thousands of
them have been shot because they eat it. But farmers who shoot them
forget, or perhaps they do not know, that corn is not the only thing
they eat.
Insects as well as birds are fond of corn, and it isn't so easy to keep
them away. The birds eat great numbers of them, such as grasshoppers,
caterpillars, beetles, and cut-worms, besides mice. All these creatures
eat the farmers' crops. So when birds destroy them, they earn some of
the corn. They do more than clear the fields of troublesome insects,
they eat great quantities of the seeds of weeds that the farmer is
always fighting.
Blackbirds are most often seen on the ground, walking around with great
dignity. They are looking for food in the grass, or in the field in
ploughing time. When they are closely watched, it is often found that
they are not in mischief.
Mr. Warren, State Ornithologist of Pennsylvania, tells a story which
shows how easy it is to be mistaken. He was with a friend who had thirty
acres of corn growing, and was much vexed to see blackbirds walking
about among the young plants. They seemed very busy about something, and
he was sure they were pulling up his crop. So he got out his guns, and
Mr. Warren went with him to punish the birds.
They shot thirty-one of them. Then they began to see what they had been
eating. In all the thirty-one, only seven had the least bit of corn, and
even they were mostly filled with insects. The rest were stuffed full of
insects which do much harm to young corn, mostly cut-worms.
The farmer had killed thirty-one birds who were working for him as hard
as they could. No money could hire help that would do so much good as
they were doing.
In the Eastern States we have the CROW BLACKBIRD, or PURPLE GRACKLE, and
the BRONZED GRACKLE, whose habits are the same.
The purple grackle is a handsome bird, larger than a robin, with very
light eyes. His plumage looks black in the shade, but when the sun is on
it, shows rich green and blue, and it shines like satin. The bronzed
grackle shows purple, and blue, and green, with metallic bronze on the
back.
The purple grackle is said to eat corn, and also the eggs and young of
other birds. But what he eats has been found out by the Agricultural
Department, in the way I told you of. It is given out by them that he
does not do so much harm to nests as has been said, and among the crops
he does good enough to pay for all the corn he eats.
It is very hard to see just what a bird is eating. It is not even safe
to believe all we think we see.
The only time the purple grackle can do more harm than good is when he
comes with a big crowd of his friends, and settles down to spend the
winter. Then he should be driven away from crops.
I want you to understand me about this. I do not say that these birds
never eat the eggs and young of others. What I do say is, that there is
plenty of evidence to show that they do it not half so much as people
say. I have watched birds for twenty years, as closely, I believe, as
any one ever watched them, and I never saw any of the bad deeds that are
laid to the blue jay, or the shrike, or the kingbird, or the purple
grackle. They may be guilty occasionally, but they are not the villains
they are often said to be.
Besides, however bad we may call a few birds, we are ourselves worse.
Birds kill only to eat. Many of them are made to feed upon each other,
and cannot live in any other way. They kill quickly, and do not
generally--if they ever do--torture their prey.
How is it with us? We kill for sport, or for useless show, and we kill
in a way that often wounds and leaves our victim to suffer tortures
before he dies. Do you think it is fair for us to say hard things about
the birds?
In the Rocky Mountains and west of them the common blackbird is BREWER'S
BLACKBIRD, sometimes called blue-headed grackle. He is not so shy as
his brother of the East. He is amiable and friendly with people, and as
familiar as the robin in New England. He is often seen in the streets of
towns. He will come into yards, and even take food from a doorstep.
Brewer's blackbird is a restless, uneasy fellow, like most of his
family. He is always bustling about, and flying hither and thither with
rustling wings.
In summer, these birds feed mostly upon insects, which they find on the
ground. They have an amusing way of being fair in their feeding. As they
walk about in little social parties looking for food, those who come
last in the string find the insects nearly all picked up before they get
a chance. So they take this clever way of getting their turn at the good
things. Every few minutes those in the rear rise and fly over the heads
of their friends and alight just before them. So they have the first
pick for a while. Then, in a few minutes, those left behind fly over
their heads, and take the lead for a time. So, without any quarreling,
each one has a fair chance with all the rest. Other birds have found out
this way of playing fair. I have seen great blue herons three feet tall
do the same thing.
In winter, when insects are scarce, the blackbird turns to grain and the
seeds of weeds. But it has been found that he does more good by the
weeds he keeps down than harm by the grain he eats.
Brewer's blackbird usually nests in trees, not very high. One time a
naturalist going about in Arizona, where are few or no trees, found a
curious thing,--a good many blackbird nests, a little settlement one
might call it, on the ground, and all strung along close to the edge of
a steep bank. At first he could not see why the birds had chosen to be
on the edge of a precipice. Then he remembered that horses and cattle
roamed over the country, and these animals are careful never to graze
close to an edge which might crumble and give them a fall. He concluded
that the birds had wit enough to know that. If their nests were out on
the plains, they would be likely to be stepped on, but near the edge,
they were safe from hoofs.
The common call of Brewer's blackbird is a harsh "chack;" but in the
spring he turns musical, and serenades his mate with what we must call
songs, because songs are what he intends. They are droll enough to
listen to, and not very sweet.
This bird is about the size of a robin, with violet-colored head in the
sunlight. His mate is slate-colored.
Birds who live in a crowd learn to be fair in their treatment of one
another. An interesting story is told of the way a flock of blackbirds
go to bed at night. They come to the roosting-place in little parties
from all the country around. One would suppose the first one to get
there would choose his place to sleep, and let the last one take what
was left.
But no! as they arrive, they alight in some big old tree outside the
roosting-place. When all are in, they fly up together, circle around for
a while, then all settle at the same time in the place where they are to
sleep.
XXIII
THE CROW FAMILY
(_Corvidæ_)[17]
THIS is a large family. Some of our most intelligent birds belong to it.
There are first the crows, much larger than a robin and dressed in
black. They have long, pointed wings, and tails square at the end. They
live in a crowd, and walk on the ground.
Then there are the jays, about the size of a robin, all bright-colored
birds. They have short, rounded wings, and long tails which come down
almost to a point in the middle.
And then the magpies, between the other two in size. They have tails
longer and more pointed than the jays, and are dressed in black with
showy white markings.
The common AMERICAN CROW is a bird that everybody knows. He lives all
over our country, and seems to like one part as well as another. There
is enough to be said about this bird to fill this whole book. So I shall
not try to tell all about him.
The crow is thought by many people to be the most knowing bird in
America, and he is the one who has been most abused. He does some
mischief, it is true, but he does a great deal more good. So say the
officers of the Department who have looked into his food. They have
found that he does pull up some corn; but he stuffs himself and his
family with thousands, and even millions, of grubs, and insects, and
mice, and other small creatures, that would have done far more damage to
the crops than he.
Farmers have often killed or driven away the crows, because they thought
they were hurting their crops. But sometimes they have found out their
mistake, and have been glad to get them back again.
A story comes from the West which shows what I mean. One year the
farmers were alarmed to see a great many crows around their fields. They
had never seen so many there. Of course they thought they had come to
eat the corn, so they began to kill them. I won't tell you the ugly
story of the war against the birds. After it had gone on awhile, the
farmers began to notice that crows were not the only ones who had come.
A new grub that they had never seen before was on hand. There were
millions of them, and they were always hungry. Young corn plants seemed
to suit them, and when corn was gone, they began eating the grass.
It never came into the farmers' heads that the birds had anything to do
with the grubs. So they kept up their war on the crows till few were
left.
It's easier to drive away birds than insects, so the grubs went on
eating. There were no crows left to trouble, and yet the crops got
smaller every year. At last some one had sense enough to see that the
crows had come on purpose to eat the grubs, and that they had driven
away their best friends, the most useful helpers they could possibly
have.
When they saw how stupid they had been, they began to coax the birds
back. They sent out and had crows caught and brought to their fields to
work for them. The birds took hold of the business, and made short work
of the corn-eating grub, and the farmers learned a good lesson.
You may think it strange that the crows should know where the grubs
were, but birds are very sharp to find their food. It is well known that
when there gets to be an unusual number of insects in one place, more
birds will come to feed on them. Some time when you are in the country
when grass is cut, notice how many birds will come to eat the
grasshoppers and other creatures that are uncovered when the hay is
taken away.
The crows take the same fair way of going to roost that the Brewer's
blackbirds do.
I could tell you stories--true ones, too--all day about this bird, and
his services to the farmer. We all know how wise he is, and how hard it
is to trap him.
I will give you one little story, to show his kindness to his fellows.
Then, when you have a chance to watch one, I hope you will take pains to
see for yourself what he does and what he eats. Do not believe all you
hear or read about him, for I'm sorry to say there are some persons who
like so well to tell a sensational story that they do not take any
trouble to find out if it is true.
The story is this. Two crows were caught and kept in a large cage out of
doors. It happened to be a time when food for birds was rather scarce.
Some one noticed that the birds seemed to eat a good deal, and he set
himself to watch them. He found that the prisoners in the cage were
giving some of their food through the bars to their hungry friends
outside. Could men be more unselfish?
There is no end to the funny pranks that are told of crows who have been
tamed and lived with people. One that I heard of liked to get out in the
yard when clothes from the wash were hung out. He would walk along on
the clothesline and pull out every clothespin, carrying each one to the
roof and laying it safely away. Of course this let the wet garments fall
in the dirt, and he was scolded well for his mischief. Then he would fly
up to the roof and throw every pin down to the ground, as if he said,
"Well, take your old clothespins!"
Another tame crow was very fond of pulling over a work-basket, and
scattering the spools and thimbles and other things in it. One day he
got hold of a paper of needles. This he opened, and then went on to hide
them, which crows always like to do with everything. He took each needle
and pushed it into the bed, as if it were a cushion, and hammered each
one in out of sight.