beautiful bird was seen at the crossing of the Vicksburg and Meridian
R. R. over the big Black River, and again at Jackson. Females were
shot at both places, but the males eluded capture. They seem to be
quite common.
28. =Spiza americana= (_Gm._) _Bonap._ BLACK-THROATED BUNTING.—Seen in
the lowlands along the river in Louisiana opposite Vicksburg.
29. =Agelæus phœniceus= (_Linn._) _Vieill._ RED-WING BLACKBIRD.—Very
abundant in the swamps in the vicinity of Vicksburg.
30. =Sturnella magna= (_Linn._) _Swains._ MEADOW LARK.—Not many were
seen. One specimen at Vicksburg, and another along the railway while
_en route_ to Jackson.
31. =Icterus spurius= (_Linn._) _Bonap._ ORCHARD ORIOLE.—Many of these
were observed, and some shot, in Louisiana opposite Vicksburg.
32. =Icterus galbula= (_Linn._) _Coues_. BALTIMORE ORIOLE.—Quite
common at Memphis and at Vicksburg.
33. =Quiscalus purpureus= (_Bartr._) _Licht._ PURPLE GRACKLE.—Common
at Memphis and at Vicksburg.
34. =Corvus frugivorus= _Bartr._ COMMON CROW.—Seen at Memphis,
Vicksburg, and at several intermediate points along the river.
35. =Cyanocitta cristata= (_Linn._) _Strickl._ BLUE JAY.—A common bird
at Memphis and Vicksburg.
36. =Tyrannus carolinensis= (_Linn._) _Temm._ KINGBIRD.—A very common
bird at Memphis and Vicksburg.
37. =Myiarchus crinitus= (_Linn._) _Caban._ GREAT CRESTED
FLYCATCHER.—Seen at all points visited. Apparently more common than at
the North.
38. =Contopus virens= (_Linn._) _Caban._ WOOD PEWEE.—This bird was
found to be quite common at Memphis and at Jackson.
39. =Empidonax acadicus= (_Gmel._) _Baird_. ACADIAN FLYCATCHER.—A
specimen was shot at Jackson.
40. =Trochilus colubris= _Linn._ RUBY-THROATED HUMMINGBIRD.—A single
specimen was shot at Vicksburg.
41. =Chætura pelasgica= (_Linn._) _Baird_. CHIMNEY SWIFT.—Seen flying
about at Jackson.
42. =Chordeiles popetue= (_Vieill._) _Baird_. NIGHT HAWK.—Observed at
Jackson.
43. =Campephilus principalis= (_Linn._) _Gray._ IVORY-BILLED
WOODPECKER.—No specimens of this species were seen, but their
existence in the denser and less frequented forests in the
neighborhood of Vicksburg and at other points, was confirmed by
hunters and trappers. It is possible that the bird referred to here is
the Logcock (_Hylotomus pileatus_), but as special mention was made by
my informant, a professional hunter, of the white bill, I think the
Ivory-billed Woodpecker must have been seen. Doubtless the other bird
also occurs.
44. =Picus pubescens= _Linn._ DOWNY WOODPECKER.—A single individual of
this species was obtained at Vicksburg.
45. =Melanerpes erythrocephalus= (_Linn._) _Sw._ RED-HEADED
WOODPECKER.—This Woodpecker is apparently not so common as at the
North, but it was observed at Memphis, Vicksburg, and Jackson.
46. =Colaptes auratus= (_Linn._) _Sw._ YELLOW-SHAFTED FLICKER.—A not
uncommon bird about Vicksburg.
47. =Ceryle alcyon= (_Linn._) _Boie_. BELTED KINGFISHER.—Quite common.
Seen at Memphis and Vicksburg and intermediate points along the river.
48. =Coccyzus americanus= (_Linn._) _Bonap._ YELLOW-BILLED
CUCKOO.—Apparently common. A specimen was secured at Vicksburg.
49. =Conurus carolinensis= (_Linn._) _Kuhl._ CAROLINA PARAKEET.—None
were seen by ourselves. Inquiry concerning this rapidly disappearing
species was made of various persons, and especially of hunters. It is
still occasionally seen; but, for the most part, it maintains itself
in the dense cane-brakes and forests, away from contact with man. I
heard of its having been seen recently along the Mississippi River,
about half-way down the state of Mississippi; also that it had been
seen in southeastern Arkansas. A gentleman in Jackson stated that he
had, within a year or two, seen a flock of Parakeets pass over that
city. These items, together with the information obtained by Dr. F. W.
Langdon, communicated in his recent paper, would indicate that this
bird has not yet disappeared from the Mississippi Valley.
50. =Scops asio= (_Linn._) _Bonap._ LITTLE SCREECH OWL.—A single
individual of this species, in the shabbiest of plumage, was shot
along the Big Black River between Vicksburg and Jackson.
51. =Buteo lineatus= (_Gm._) _Jard._ RED-SHOULDERED HAWK.—A specimen
of this hawk was shot and brought to me by a hunter at Jackson.
52. =Cathartes aura= (_Linn._) _Illig._ TURKEY BUZZARD.—A common bird
everywhere. Seen in great numbers at Jackson in company with the next.
53. =Catharista atrata= (_Wils._) _Less._ CARRION CROW.—Not observed
at any place but Jackson, although doubtless common everywhere.
Readily distinguished from the Turkey Buzzard by its smaller size and
its manner of flight.
54. =Zenaidura carolinensis= (_Linn._) _Bonap._ MOURNING DOVE.—Common
everywhere. Memphis, Vicksburg, Jackson.
55. =Meleagris gallopavo americana= (_Bartr._) _Coues_. WILD
TURKEY.—None were seen, but hunters stated that they were quite
abundant, even in the immediate vicinity of the city of Jackson. In
the spring of 1880 I saw a fine gobbler that had been shot by a party
of hunters in the pine woods of Kemper County, near the eastern border
of the State.
56. =Ortyx virginiana= (_Linn._) _Bonap._ BOB WHITE.—The call notes of
these birds were frequently heard as we passed down the river. At
Vicksburg they appeared to be abundant in the bottom lands. We were
extremely sorry that we could procure none of their skins.
57. =Ardea herodias= _Linn._ GREAT BLUE HERON.—Several of these birds
were seen flying about in the swamps near Vicksburg.
58. =Herodias alba egretta= (_Gmel._) _Ridgw._ AMERICAN EGRET.—A
number of this snow-white species were observed in the swamps across
the “lake” from Vicksburg. One was shot, and was found to have the
long dorsal train of plumes.
59. =Oxyechus vociferus= (_Linn._) _Reich._ KILLDEER.—Observed only at
Vicksburg. Will probably be found to breed here.
60. =Philohela minor= (_Gmel._) _Gray._ AMERICAN WOODCOCK.—One
specimen was shot at Vicksburg.
61. =Sterna antillarum= (_Less._) _Coues_. LEAST TERN.—This beautiful
little Tern was very abundant on a sandy point across the “lake,” or
old bend of the river, opposite Vicksburg. We were told that these
birds lay their eggs on the bare sand, and that these eggs hatch in an
extraordinarily short time.
IMPRESSIONS OF SOME SOUTHERN BIRDS.
BY WILLIAM BREWSTER.
Looking back on my first winter in the South I can recall no pleasanter
experience than that of a stay of some four weeks at St. Mary’s, a town
situated on the very border line of Southern Georgia. This place was
then scarcely known to Northerners, although the crowded Florida
steamers, on their way across Cumberland Sound, passed within sight of
it and occasionally even touched at its wharf for some chance freight or
a supply of fuel. But the village still retained a primitive quiet and
simplicity that was all the more restful from its contrast with the
bustling world outside. Now there are rumors of a railroad and daily
trains from Savannah, with all the accompanying desecrations. It is a
pity that the march of modern improvements cannot spare a few such
peaceful spots, but the “levelling process” seems universal and
inevitable.
A Northerner passing his first spring in the South will miss the marked
distinction between the seasons upon which he has been accustomed to
rely. The vegetation does indeed take a partial rest during the winter
months, but it is checked rather than suppressed, and the reign of
summer begins without that interval of preparation which we call spring.
Most of the trees are evergreen, but some of them, curiously enough,
assume bright autumn tints and cast their leaves in April. This at least
is true of the live-oaks and magnolias: during my stay at St. Mary’s one
of the latter, a remarkably fine tree which I often passed in my daily
walks, was at one time nearly denuded, while the ground beneath was
strewn with scarlet and orange-tinted leaves.
By the middle of April the fields and forests wore that mature
appearance which we associate with August and early September. At
noonday cicadas shrilled in the sultry woods, and crickets chirped all
night long in the shrubbery about the house. Yet few birds had begun to
nest, and many of the northern ones still lingered. I saw Yellow-rumped
Warblers, Blue Yellow-backed Warblers and Cedar Birds nearly to the end
of April, and a White-throated Sparrow as late as May 2. Many of the
Blue Yellow-backed Warblers remained to breed, or rather _were
breeding_, for long before this (on April 9) I had found a nearly
finished nest. The local birds, however, did not mingle with the
strangers, the former being found in pairs, and only where the trees
were hung with Spanish moss; while the latter occurred in all kinds of
timber, and in flocks made up largely of Redstarts, Kinglets, Black-poll
Warblers and other northern species. The same was true of the Catbirds,
Brown Thrushes, Pine Warblers, Towhees and several others. It was
especially marked in the case of the Towhees, for the resident
individuals belonged to a different and readily recognizable race.
One needed but to pass the boundaries of St. Mary’s to be fairly in the
country, for the village had not then overflowed its limits, and the few
outlying plantations were scarcely less wild and unkempt than the woods
which surrounded them. One of my favorite haunts was the “Bay-gall” (I
could never learn the origin of this name), a tract of swampy forest
less than a quarter of a mile distant from the house at which we were
staying. This place was sure to be alive with birds, and I rarely
entered it without making some pleasing discovery. My first visit was on
April 6, the day after our arrival. As I approached the woods a
Red-bellied Woodpecker started from a solitary tree within a few feet of
my head, and alighting at the base of one near by scrambled hurriedly
up, dislodging the scales of loose bark in his ascent. He was
immediately joined by his mate and the two began a game of hide-and-seek
around the trunk and among the branches, uttering a rolling
_wor’r’r’roo_ very like that of a Flicker.
Forcing my way through the brambly outskirts, I entered the swamp and
paused a moment to look around. Grand old wateroaks and sweet-gums
thickly hung with Spanish moss cast a dense shade over the ground
beneath, and the few sunbeams that struggled through flickered in the
gloom like dying torches. There was little undergrowth, and the eye
could penetrate far in every direction. In the branches above Blue
Yellow-backed Warblers were singing incessantly, and occasionally the
note of a Great-crested Flycatcher echoed sharply among the trees. There
were other sounds; the rolling tapping of Woodpeckers, the shrill cry of
the Blue Jay; and, from the clearing outside, pleasantly softened by
distance, the songs of Mockingbirds and Cardinal Grosbeaks.
Passing deeper into the forest I came to an opening where the morning
sun lay warm on a thicket of bushes that surrounded a shallow pool. Here
I found an interesting little company of tired migrants resting after
the fatigues of their last night’s journey and preparing for that still
before them. There were six or eight Hooded Warblers, all males in full
spring livery, a number of Worm-eating Warblers, a female Prothonotary
Warbler, and several Ruby-crowned Kinglets and Redstarts. All were
busily engaged in catching insects, but occasionally one of them would
pause to sing a few notes in a listless undertone. The Prothonotary was
the first that I had ever met with, and it was the only one that I saw
at St. Mary’s. The Hooded and Worm-eating Warblers were common for a
week or more afterwards, when all departed for some more northern
breeding-ground.
During subsequent visits to the “Bay-gall” I met many interesting birds,
several of which were new to me. Occasionally I would startle a
Chuck-will’s-widow from its noonday slumbers on some mossy knoll, and if
a chance shot through the leaves succeeded in stopping its erratic,
bat-like flight, there was the pleasure of smoothing its soft plumage
and admiring the rich brown coloring before consigning the bird to the
paper wrapper that formed its temporary tomb. I believe I never shot one
without indulging myself in this way. There is much to be learned, too,
from the examination of a freshly-killed bird. For instance, I had never
known the wonderful beauty of this Goat-sucker’s eye until I held the
bird in my hand, and the size of its mouth would hardly be suspected
from the examination of a dried skin.
On April 17 the Acadian Flycatchers arrived. I was first made aware of
their presence by their emphatic _queep’ éep_ which so closely resembled
that of Traill’s Flycatcher that I immediately suspected the identity of
the singers, although it was some time before I could get a sight at
one. They had another note also which was much like the whistling of
wings. I afterwards satisfied myself that this sound was a vocal one.
I never left the “Bay-gall” without reluctance in the days when I was
perhaps the only invader of its secret recesses; and now, in recalling
it, the feeling is scarcely less strong. But the country about St.
Mary’s held other attractions which must not be neglected. The open
space surrounding the town was bordered on the north by a pine forest
that stretched an indefinite number of miles into the interior, and my
walks often tended in this direction. Following some grass-grown road
that wandered aimlessly among the trees, I often paused to watch the
gambols of the Brown-headed Nuthatches which fairly swarmed in these
woods. They are exceedingly social little birds, and it was no uncommon
thing, even in the middle of their breeding season, to see five or six
rollicking together. In their motions they closely resemble _Sitta
canadensis_, and they have the same habit of exploring the ends of the
pine branches and hanging head downward, like Titmice, among the tufts
of pine needles. But they are decidedly more active, and their notes are
shriller, more varied and altogether unlike those of either the Red or
White-bellied species. _Whick-whick-whee’e’e’ whick-whicker-whicker_ is
the usual utterance, but when several come together their shrill excited
piping altogether baffles description. These little companies were by no
means wholly composed of Nuthatches, but usually included a more or less
numerous escort of Pine Warblers, Bluebirds, Titmice and Woodpeckers. As
the motley troop rambled through the woods, its members were continually
chasing one another from tree to tree, chirping, calling and singing as
their various moods dictated. I noticed that the Bluebirds usually led
the van, while the Woodpeckers invariably brought up the rear.
Unlike the Red-bellied, Downy, Hairy and Golden-winged species, which
inhabited all sorts of timber, the Red-cockaded Woodpecker was
exclusively a bird of the pines. It was not common about St. Mary’s and
I had difficulty in getting as many specimens as I wanted. Its notes to
my ear almost exactly resembled those of _Sitta pusilla_. On the 1st of
May I started a female from her nesting-hole, which was about thirty
feet above the ground in a large and apparently perfectly sound pine. I
was unable to climb the tree but the bird acted as if her eggs had
already been laid.
The pine lands of the South have an open park-like character that is a
continual surprise to one accustomed only to New England forests. The
trees rarely stand in close proximity to one another, and they are often
so widely scattered that the general effect is that of an opening rather
than a forest. Unless a hummock interrupts the view, the eye may
sometimes roam for half a mile in every direction over a perfectly level
plain, interspersed with occasional trees whose tufted heads throw
waving shadows upon the bright green beds of saw-palmetto that cover
most of the ground beneath. Were it not for the half-wild cattle that
range at will through the country, the palmetto would probably usurp
every inch of ground; but these creatures keep it within reasonable
limits, and many spaces of closely cropped grass and stunted blueberries
intervene. About such places I used to find the Bachman’s Finch, a
retiring little bird which might easily be overlooked by one
unacquainted with its habit of skulking among the herbage and lying
concealed until nearly trodden on. But no one with the slightest ear for
bird music can long remain in ignorance of its presence after the
breeding season has set in, for the male possesses vocal powers of a
very rare order. His song is a prolonged, leisurely chant composed of
several distinct bars or sets of notes, with brief pauses between, as if
the bird stopped to take breath. The final notes of each bar have
sometimes a rising, sometimes a falling, inflection, and the tone is
varied in the most subtle manner. Now it has a full bell-like ring that
seems to fill the air around; next it is soft and low and inexpressibly
tender; now it is clear again, but so modulated that the sound seems to
come from a great distance. The whole performance is very simple and I
hardly know the secret of its charm. To be fully appreciated it should
be heard in the soft twilight of an April evening, when the still woods
are filled with dusky shadows. At such times it has moved me more deeply
than I care to confess.
The male always sings from an elevated perch, usually a dead twig close
to the trunk of a southern pine. He sits perfectly motionless and is
unaccountably hard to see. I have often stood directly beneath one for
several minutes, vainly straining my eyes in the direction from whence
the sound came, and perhaps finally discovered him within ten feet of my
head in plain view. The ventriloquous character of many of his notes
increases this difficulty. If disturbed in the midst of his song, he
pitches to the ground beneath and at once seeks shelter in the grass.
Another characteristic inhabitant of these grassy openings was the
Meadow Lark. It was much tamer than our northern bird, and its notes had
a wild, ringing inflection that harmonized well with the surroundings.
In the thicker groves I often heard the voice of the Summer Tanager
(_Pyranga æstiva_). His song is rich, flowing, and not unlike that of
the Rose-breasted Grosbeak, although some of its notes recall those of
the Robin. The call-note used by both sexes is a peculiar
_chuck’l-chuckl’ut_. The bright colors of the male make him a
conspicuous object among the branches of the southern pine which, at
least in Georgia, is his favorite tree.
The Yellow-throated Warbler also was sure to be met with in these walks.
His song to my ear has a far-a-way sound, even when the bird is near at
hand. It is simple and monotonous, but nevertheless sweet and plaintive.
This bird has all the habits of the Pine Warbler, with which it often
associates.
A totally different phase of bird life was presented when, as was often
the case, I visited the plantations. The fields themselves rarely
offered anything more attractive than Yellow-winged Sparrows, Grass
Finches and, late in April, migratory troops of Bobolinks that settled
among the last year’s weeds for a moment before resuming their northward
journey with rollicking snatches of song. But the fence corners and
similar neglected places around the outskirts of the cultivated lands
were filled with bushes over which trailed Cherokee roses, trumpet-vines
and other luxuriant creepers. In these places I was sure to find
Mockingbirds, Cardinals, Catbirds, Brown Thrushes, White-eyed Vireos and
the brilliant little Painted Buntings.
Next to the always self-assertive Mockingbird the White-eyed Vireo was
perhaps the most conspicuous inhabitant of such thickets. Not that he
was often seen, but at almost any time of the day one might hear his
emphatic, jerky little strain, coming from half a dozen points at once.
I noticed that the note varied considerably from that which we hear in
New England, and, moreover, scarcely two of the southern birds sang
exactly alike. Some individuals even seemed to have a talent for
mimicry. One that I remember imitated the note of the Loggerhead Shrike
so closely that I was completely deceived. The nest of this bird is a
wonderfully delicate and beautiful structure. One that I got at St.
Mary’s contained its complement of four eggs on April 26. I discovered
it twelve days previously when the birds were busily employed on the
framework. The male took an equal part in this task and it was amusing
to see him try to sing with his bill full of moss or bark.
The Painted Buntings or Nonpareils, as they are universally called by
the townspeople, arrived April 23 and through the remainder of the month
were abundant. I used to find them in flocks about the openings where
they spent much of their time on the ground. They were timid rather than
shy, flying to the thickets upon the slightest alarm, but when once
conscious of being pursued, it was difficult to get a shot at one. The
brilliant plumage of the adult male makes him a conspicuous object
either on the ground or in green foliage, but it is no easy matter to
see one among the flowers of the trumpet-vine where they often seek
refuge, apparently fully conscious of the protection afforded by the
clusters of scarlet blossoms. The young males during the first year are
colored precisely like the females. They sing, and for aught I know,
breed, while in this condition. The song is a low, pleasing warble very
un-Finch-like in character. I should compare it to that of the Canada
Flycatcher, but the notes are less emphatic, though equally
disconnected. The bird almost invariably sings in the depths of some
thicket, and its voice ceases at the slightest noise. Both sexes have a
sharp chirp of alarm which closely resembles that of the Indigo Finch.
Most of the Nonpareils left St. Mary’s by May 1, but a few pairs
remained up to the time of my departure, when they were apparently
preparing to breed. Another familiar inhabitant of these thickets was
the Towhee Bunting. Two distinct races of this bird were to be met with
during the same walk, but never, so far as my observation went, actually
in company. The Red-eyed or northern form, _erythrophthalmus_ proper,
apparently occurred only as a winter visitor, while var. _alleni_
represented the resident or local race. The latter was chiefly a bird of
the oak scrub, although it was also to be found in open pine woods where
it haunted the beds of saw-palmetto. Its note differed widely from that
of _erythrophthalmus_; the “_chewink_” was shorter and harsher, and in
addition to this cry, both sexes occasionally uttered a sharp, clear
whistle that sounded like a sportsman’s call to his dog. I am not sure
that I heard the song, or at least identified it. These Towhees were
hard to obtain, for they were shy and retiring, rarely venturing far
from their secure retreats. The irides of all the specimens that I
examined were brownish-yellow or dull, opaque amber; never white, as is
said to be the case with examples from Southern Florida.