In January, 1900, I had given me a Golden Eagle. He had been picked up
in a stunned condition in the foot-hills, having received a shock from
the electric wires, on which he had probably alighted for a moment or
struck in his flight. There is an electric power-house in the Sierras
opposite Fresno, from which pole lines carry the strong current down to
be used for power and light in the valley, and this was by no means the
first record of eagles and other large birds being stunned or killed by
them.
The person who found him had brought him down with the idea of having
him stuffed, but as he showed a good deal of life, I begged to keep him
alive, and he was handed over to me. He was evidently a young bird of
the previous season, though nearly full grown. From tip to tip of his
wings he was over five feet, and his wonderful black talons measured one
and one-half to two inches beyond the feathers. His legs were handsomely
feathered down to the claws, and his proud head, with its strong beak,
large, piercing eyes, and red and yellow-brown feathers, was a thing of
beauty. The rest of his body was dark, almost black, with the exception
of three or four white diamonds showing on the upper tail feathers.
I kept him in a big box open on one side. When I first brought him home
and had put him into the box, a neighbor’s poodle came sniffing around
for the meat I had brought for the eagle. He was on the back side of the
box, and so could not see that there was anything in it, nor did he hear
anything, but all at once the scent of the bird must have struck his
nostrils, for with a squall of fear he disappeared from the yard and
never afterward would venture near the cage.
During the time I kept the eagle, some two months, he never showed any
desire to attack me, though his claws would have gone through my hand
like a knife, nor did he display any fear of me. He never made any
attempt to get out while anyone was in sight of him, nor did I catch him
in any such attempt, but sometimes at night I would hear him, and every
morning his wings, beak and feathers showed he never gave up the hope of
getting free.
I never fed him to the full extent of his capacity, but gave him from a
pound to a pound and a half of meat daily at noon, which he devoured in
a very short time, sticking his claws through the toughest beef and
tearing it like ribbons with his beak. It was wonderful to see how clean
he could pick a bone with his clumsy-looking great beak. I never knew
him to touch any kind of food but raw meat. When anything was handed in
to him, no matter how high up, he never accepted it in his bill, but
struck at it with a lightning-like movement of his claws, scarcely ever
missing it.
One day he snapped in two one of the bars across his cage, pried off
another and got out. I was telephoned that my eagle was out, and hurried
home to find all the children in the neighborhood blockaded indoors. The
eagle was perched on the grape-arbor easily surveying the lay of things.
A cat had crawled into the wood-pile and under the doorsteps the
venerable cock of the yard was congratulating himself on his safety, but
feeling rather undignified. I procured a rope and took my first lessons
in lassoing. The eagle had been so closely confined that he had not been
able to gain the full use of his wings, and so could only run or flutter
a few feet from the ground. I finally recaptured him and brought him
back. He showed no fear and offered little resistance.
About the middle of March the weather became very hot, and it was really
cruel to keep the bird penned up in such close quarters in such weather,
so I took him out to the plains and set him free. He could not use his
wings much, and it is very doubtful if he escaped the shotgun or rifle
of some predatory small boy, but it was the best I could do for him. He
was a beautiful specimen of a bird, and I only wish I could have kept
him.
Charles Elmer Jenney.
[Illustration: ]
THE HARLEQUIN DUCK.
(_Histrionicus histrionicus_.)
The Harlequin Duck is the sole representative of the genus to which it
belongs. The generic and the specific names (Histrionicus), which
unfortunately the strict rules of scientific naming require in the case
of this bird to be the same, are from the Latin word meaning harlequin.
This word, meaning a buffoon, is especially appropriate, for the
arrangement of the colors on its head, neck and back give the bird a
peculiar appearance, especially during the mating season. At this time,
too, the drollery of their actions is very noticeable.
Harlequin is not the only name by which this bird is known. In the New
England States and northward along the Atlantic coast it is frequently
called the “Lord and Lady,” because of the white crescents and spots of
its plumage and the proud bearing of the male. It is also called the
Rock Duck, the Mountain Duck and the Squealer.
Its range covers the northern portion of North America, Europe and Asia.
“It is not common wherever found. In many parts of the Old World it is
only a rare or occasional visitor; this is the case in Great Britain,
France and Germany.” In the United States, during the winter, it passes
southward into Illinois, Missouri and California. It breeds only in the
northern part of its range.
It is a mountain duck and “frequents swiftly running streams, where it
delights to sport among the eddies below water falls or in the brawling
rapids.” It is not only an adept in the art of swimming and diving, but
it also flies swiftly and to a great height. During the winter it
frequents northern sea coasts and exhibits the characteristics of other
sea ducks, and is occasionally found far out at sea. It is known that
the Harlequin will lead a solitary life, and it is sometimes observed in
pairs or even alone on streams of remote and unfrequented localities.
The sexes vary greatly. While the male, which is the sex of the bird of
our illustration, is brightly colored, the female is much more somber.
The young resemble the adult female.
The food of the Harlequin consists almost entirely of the parts of
aquatic plants and the smaller crustaceans and mollusks. The food is
obtained by diving, frequently through several feet of water. Mr.
Chapman tells us that the sea ducks in diving to obtain food, will
“sometimes descend one hundred and fifty feet or more.”
Its nest, though usually placed on the ground, is sometimes built in the
hollow of a tree or a hollow stump, though always near a body of water.
The nest is usually a simple structure made of the stems of water
plants, twigs and grass thickly lined with the downy feathers from the
breast of the duck. The eggs are occasionally laid on the grass, and no
effort is made to build a nest. The female thoroughly covers the eggs
when she leaves the nest.
The number of eggs varies from six to eight, though ten have been
recorded. They are of a “yellowish buff or greenish yellow” color.
This duck is considered an excellent food and is much sought for by the
natives of those regions which it frequents.