Tropical portions of the American continent, rich in an endless variety
and beauty of bird-life, have shared with New England but a single
species of Trochilidæ, _Trochilus colubris_, the ruby-throated humming
bird.
This "glittering fragment of a rainbow" adds a decorative feature
to our gardens, its nest so protected through diminutive size and
perfect adaptation to the surroundings that it rarely comes under one's
observation.
It is commonly asserted that the male is an arrant shirk, that he
leaves the entire labor of building and furnishing the house as well
as the heavy duties of housekeeping to the faithful mother, being in
the fullest sense a _silent_ partner either from choice or otherwise, a
mere apology for a husband and head of a family.
Nor does he redeem himself when the prospective "twins" arrive and
slender bills are lifted appealingly for food! No thanks to him that
the naked, squirming little atoms replacing the two white eggs become
gradually stronger, that some hint of plumage duly covers their
nudeness, or that bye-and-bye they become birds in reality.
Two years ago this "little lady in green" made her nest upon an apple
tree branch, concealing it so deftly that the gardener at work near by
was unaware of the distinguished guests until the brooding was nearly
over. When the little birds had flown the lichened residence, becoming
a family possession, was considered the daintiest souvenir of the
summer.
Being anxious to know if this rare, interesting episode would be
repeated, the following summer I watched carefully for its repetition.
Promptly in June I found that a humming bird was again "at home," this
time upon a horizontal maple branch, twelve feet from the ground and
directly over the sidewalk. This nest was soldered upon a long slender
bough half an inch in thickness at the intersection of another, a mere
twig a quarter of an inch through, the latter inwrought with, and
concealed for a full inch in the structural fiber. Upon the 22d of the
same month, by the aid of a ladder I found that two eggs "the size of
yellow beans" were lying inside the downy cup shaped nest. Before this
luckless visitation the tail of the brooding bird could be seen from
the ground, but during the next two days there was no sign of life
thereabout.
In the afternoon of the third day my bird was in the maple, darting
hither and thither like a swallow, plunging into the insect swarms and
securing several before they realized her presence. Then she came to
the honeysuckle beside me, hovering over it in a bewildered, irresolute
manner as if debating whether she could safely probe its scarlet cups.
Just at this moment a big miller flew by and off she went in close
chase, capturing it upon the wing. Then she rested upon a maple twig,
leisurely preened her feathers, drawing each one gently through her
beak, and after a second visit to the honeysuckles darted toward the
nest. Now, I thought, is the time, if ever, to decide if she is still
housekeeping, and following quickly, I saw her standing upon the edge
of the silken cradle. Her head moved rapidly from side to side as she
regarded its contents, after which she rose lightly in the air, dropped
upon the nest with the airy grace of a thistledown, and spread above it
the feathered blanket of her soft, warm breast. For several minutes she
ignored my presence, drawing her beak across the leaves or springing
into the air for a passing insect which was captured and apparently
given to her family. Once I detected a "squeak," and her head was
instantly thrown to one side in a listening attitude. If it was the
note of the mate he did not approach the nest, the thick leaves hiding
the tree-top from which the sound proceeded.
There was a furious wind that night and the warm days were followed by
a sudden fall in temperature.
From that time the nest was deserted; I could only conjecture that I
had presumed too much upon her defenselessness, or, that the young, if
young there were, were dislodged by the wind. This abandoned homestead
was as round and perfect as a new coin just issued from nature's mint,
a marvel of elegance in which all the instinctive gifts of decorative
art united.
There were no visible signs of rebuilding during the twelve days that
followed; casual trips to the honeysuckle, hovering over the flowers
like some gorgeous insect with colors scintillating in the full
sunshine, alone gave evidence of further interest or intention.
Upon the thirteenth day there was a marked change. Again she flew
excitedly about the lawn, stopping abruptly to wheel about and dart
off in an opposite direction, a vitalized complement of the spirit of
the trees, mingling with and pervading the garden as freely as did
the light and air. She threw herself against a summer warbler almost
knocking him off his perch and, not content with this treatment, drew
him from the lawn, which, by the way, was his own harvest field where
he had gleaned diligently for several days.
Then the bird poised before me in mid-air, circled about my head before
plunging into an apple tree in whose leafy mazes she disappeared. Just
at that moment an accommodating breeze displaced the leaves; there was
a flutter within, a flash of wings, an unusual agitation that told of
something quite beyond the ordinary. As the breeze died away the leaves
resumed their place thus preventing all further inspection. From the
parlor windows, fortunately, there was less obstruction,--she was still
twisting about, going and returning, dropping within the foliage and
going through the most singular antics.
An opera-glass revealed the meaning; she dropped into a half-finished
nest that had all this time been directly in range of vision. The
tiny tenement was so deftly concealed, blending in color and apparent
texture with the bough that held it, and so sheltered by overhanging
leaves that it was still difficult to locate a second time.
With unbounded delight I watched her come and go a dozen times in less
than that number of minutes, bringing at each arrival a quantity of
vegetable fiber soft as a silken cobweb, adjusted invariably while
standing inside the nest and turning completely around several times
as if shaping the interior to her better satisfaction. She reached
far over and pulled the fluffy cotton into place, beating it here and
jerking it there, sinking her little breast into and shaping it to fit
the soft contours of her body; or, covering the outside with trailing
wings, beat them rapidly against the felted foundation which at these
times was entirely hidden beneath their iridescence. Though still
unfinished the delicate structure was lichen-decorated, simply perfect
so far as it went, in this case defying the assertion that humming
birds' nests are always completed before this ornate decoration is
added.
[Illustration: The changes a Feather undergoes in turning from Green
to Yellow.
6-99
COPYRIGHT 1899,
NATURE STUDY PUB. CO., CHICAGO.]
In the succeeding weeks--weeks in which I entertained an angel, not
unawares, her two ways of approach were unvaried; either passing the
nest entirely to rise from beneath, or, hovering over and over, drop
down as lightly as a snowflake or the petal of an apple blossom. And
such a pretty proprietary air--the complacence and importance for which
great possessions are often answerable! As if the trees were there for
her alone, the garden made simply for her convenience!
After working rapidly for two full hours she paused to rest upon a
dead twig, opening and closing her wings in the twinkling fashion of a
bluebird, an exercise prefacing a breakfast taken in the nearest tree
as she poised beneath the leaves.
With appetite appeased she dropped upon the unfinished cradle and sat
so still for twenty minutes that I was certain an egg was deposited.
Doubtless the misfortunes attending previous nesting had interrupted
the even tenor of life, the second housekeeping was more urgent than
was anticipated.
For ten minutes more her form was motionless though her head moved from
side to side in a ceaseless surveillance--a warbler lunching in the next
tree glanced casually in her direction, and was evidently just wild
with curiosity.
The situation was too much for him; he left his post hurriedly, flew
over her and looked down, flew under and looked up, peered at her
from an airy poise, still undecided as to who was rocking in that
wonderful cradle. Craning his neck he hopped along the branch till
he stood beside her, so near that his yellow coat literally brushed
her garments, his attitude a quick pantomime of his thoughts, half
paralyzed with questioning surprise as to what this remnant of a bird
might be, not by any means to be bought _cheap_ because it was a
remnant.
A quick thrust from the hummer's beak brought him to his senses; he
took leave for a few seconds, returning cross-lots to stare again from
the same near point of view, which unwarranted impertinence was borne
without flinching or changing her position. Later on these tours of
inspection were thoroughly resented, the right of territory contested
in many a battle when the defendant advanced and retreated with the
rapidity of lightning, making furious thrusts at her adversary, and
chasing him about till sheer exhaustion compelled her to desist. Then
she would drop upon the nest still regarding him with undistinguished
contempt till he took her to the tree-top, keeping an eye upon her as
he dropped a song or swallowed an insect.
A young woodpecker came one day to her door; two quarrelsome robins
stopped to say good morning; and goldfinches lisped their soft love
notes, while she only hugged her eggs more closely with the dear,
delicious shyness of affection.
When my little house-builder left that morning I was sure that the
edge of a white egg rose above the low rim of the nest. From the attic
window it was plainly visible, the cradled egg rocking in the wind,
but, though the warbler was close by, to his credit be it said he did
not once trespass upon other people's property.
Twice that afternoon my lady buzzed through the trees without halting
to look in at home, nor when night came down did the wanderer return.
She was busy about the next morning, all work being done in the early
hours, and by eight o'clock a second egg lay beside the first. By nine
o'clock the following morning the regular brooding began, the finishing
touches being given to the nest long before the breakfast hour.
It was a noisy location, what with the clatter of lawn mowers, the
drumming of pianos, and the singing of canaries, to which she listened
with neighborly interest. In that chosen place, directly over the path
leading from the sidewalk to the door, it was impossible to find even
a degree of seclusion. The weather was fine, the piazza rarely vacant,
and there were few hours in the day but someone passed the nest.
Nor did the trouble end with daylight; bicycle parties made the yard a
starting-point for evening excursions, lanterns flashed while parting
guests halted beneath the little house-beautiful, until I trembled for
poor "Queenie" thus barred away from her own door.
Though she unvaryingly left the nest, the persons passing were never
once conscious of the nearness of bird or nest, swinging breezes often
bringing the latter so near that it almost touched their faces.
I could see it hourly from my window, the overhanging leaf, the
opalized lustre of the brooding bird, as if a store of sunshine was
shivered, and falling over her feathers, then momentarily hidden as the
swinging leaf intervened. More solid pursuits were forgotten or for the
time regarded as of little importance; each delicate outline became
familiar; the brooding leaf assumed a personality; it was a guardian
of the home, vitalized, spiritualized, protective. It seemed to change
position as the sun made the need apparent, shielding the little one in
the long waiting days, so patient and passive in the sweet expectancy
of nearing motherhood. My memory pictures her still, while a more
tangible photograph upon my desk gives permanence to my "bird of the
musical wing" as she brooded over the apple-tree nest.
With this home as a focus, lawn and garden seemed to hold the sunshine
in suspension; uplifted grasses gave it recognition in smiling
approval; shadows were invested with humane and beneficent attributes,
and the very air was radiant with scent and gracious influence.
Sometimes the bird came to my window, her beak clicking against the
glass in a vain effort to probe the flowers within.
There were visits, too, to the piazza, when the family were gathered
there, poising above the embroidered flowers upon a lady's slipper and
trying persistently to taste their illusive sweetness.
Thrice upon the fourth day of sitting she improved the nest with an
extra beakful of cotton, holding it firmly for five or ten minutes
before it was inwrought. This was repeated after two weeks when there
was a decided change--the little, warm breast was pressed less closely
against the nest treasures. Some amazing instinct, directly opposed
to that dear experience by which _we_ find a short path to a long
wandering, taught her that their increased fragility would yield to
her full weight, and her touch was of exquisite softness.
When three full weeks had passed a homely baby no bigger than a honey
bee lay in the nest, a one day's advantage kept to the end, and
noticeable in both size and strength. The next morning this mite was
duplicated, their whole bodies trembling with every heart beat.
Life became now a problem of supply and demand, only a clearer
expression of the one that has from all time agitated humanity. Then
began that marvel of marvels, the feeding of the newly hatched birds.
It was hardly worth while to question the wisdom of the process, though
I confess that after each feeding I expected only two little mangled
corpses would remain!
The food, partially digested in the mother's stomach, was given by
regurgitation, her beak being thrust so far down their throats that I
surmised it would pierce the bottom of the nest, to say nothing of the
frail bodies churned violently up and down meanwhile. The great wonder
was that the infants survived this seemingly brutal and dangerous
exercise in which they were sometimes lifted above the nest, the food
being given alternately at intervals of half an hour to an hour. They
thrived, however, under a treatment that gave strength to the muscles,
besides aiding in the digestion of food.
From the first, the comparative length of beak was their most
noticeable feature, the proportion becoming less marked by the fourth
day when fine hairy pin-feathers appeared, these increasing in size and
reinforced by a decided plumage seen above the rim of the nest before
the second week ended.
By the ninth day they attempted their first toilet, drawing the
incipient feathers, mere hairs, through the beak, and on the tenth day,
more surprising still, they had found their voices. Several times daily
the branch was pulled down to the level of my eyes, the twins regarding
me with the surprise and innocence of babyhood, sinking low into the
nest meanwhile, and emitting a plaintive cry almost human in its pathos
and expression.
So far as I know no observer has recorded this pleading, pathetic note
from the infant hummers so noticeable whenever I came too near. The
branch replaced and the disturbing element removed, they reappeared
above the nest's rim, the slight form of the mother palpitant as she
hovered near. Early in their lives when a cold rain followed the long
drouth, her enforced absences were brief; hasty trips merely to the
flower garden in the rear of the house, or to the flowering beans
in the next yard, a favorite lunch counter patronized every hour
ordinarily.
The leaf that served to so good purpose in the sunny days became heavy
with raindrops, tilted to one side, and little streams trickled down
upon her back and ran off her tail, while big drops splashing down
from the higher branches threatened to annihilate the whole affair.
Undaunted still, my Lilliputian mother hugged her precious charges,
with drooping tail hanging over the edge of the nest, head drawn into
her feathers, her whole appearance as limp and bedraggled as a hen
caught out in a shower. When the infants had seen two weeks of life
they refused to be longer brooded. From this time on they matured
rapidly, filling the nest so full that my lady found no place for the
sole of her foot, and often alighted upon their backs to give them
food. In four days more their baby dresses were quite outgrown. These
were replaced by green graduating gowns of stylish texture and fit,
and, as my bird book stated that young hummers left the nest when a
week old, I was watching eagerly for their debut.
Long before this the nest proper began to show signs of hard service.
Before its occupants left it became a thing of the past, positively
dissolving to a mere shelf or platform, and one side falling out
entirely, the imperturbable twins sitting or standing upon what
remained, content in the silence that all completed tasks deserve.
As I have said before, one of these little grown-ups surpassed the
other in size and vigor, insisting gently or forcibly upon the best
standing-place, and vibrating its wings for several seconds at a time.
Plainly this one would be the first to launch upon the world.
Twenty-two days after hatching it spread its wings without apparent
effort and alighted upon a neighboring twig. Clearly, life was regarded
from a mature standard as it preened its plumage and looked about with
an undaunted air.
Two days later the smaller twin followed the example, reaching the
upper branches as easily as if flight were an every-day occurrence,
both birds flitting about the familiar tree, and fed by the parent,
until after the third day, they were seen no more.
* * * * *
There is something noble, simple, and pure in a taste for trees. It
argues, I think, a sweet and generous nature to have this strong relish
for beauties of vegetation, and this friendship for the hardy and
glorious sons of the forest. There is a grandeur of thought connected
with this part of rural economy. It is worthy of liberal and freeborn
and aspiring men. He who plants an oak looks forward to future ages,
and plants for posterity. Nothing can be less selfish than this. He
cannot expect to sit in its shade nor enjoy its shelter, but he exults
in the idea that the acorn which he has buried in the earth shall grow
up into a lofty pile and shall keep on flourishing and increasing
and benefiting mankind long after he shall have ceased to tread his
paternal fields.--_Washington Irving._