flight is to be seen also when they move over the surface of the
water, where the fleet of living forms is always so arranged that each
individual does not interfere with its neighbor. I recall with much
pleasure an occasion when, from a ship becalmed in a thick fog off the
southern shore of Labrador, within sound of the breakers, I undertook
to find something about the lay of the land and the chance of
harborage by paddling in a small boat toward the shore. I had hardly
lost sight of the ship when my boat glided into an assemblage of eider
ducks, where the mothers, with their fledgling young, were lazily
swimming to and fro, as if to practise the ducklings in the art of
swimming. Each brood appeared to have its own space of water, and
between each of the chicks there was likewise a less but equally well
measured interval. The same features of orderly association, which I
have just noted in the swimming and flying of these wild birds, may be
seen in a somewhat degraded state in our domesticated varieties of the
group. They all indicate in these forms a keen sense of their
neighbors and a habit of association based upon sympathetic emotions.
[Illustration: Terns Aiding a Wounded Comrade]
The sympathetic quality of our water fowl, at least in that part of
the emotion which leads them to be concerned with the afflictions of
their species, appears to be more distinct than in the case of our
ordinary barnyard fowl. Geese, as is well known, will make common
cause against an intruder from whom harm to the flock may be expected.
Their simultaneous din when anything occurs to arouse their enmity is
commemorated in the ancient myth concerning the aid which they gave in
the defence of the walls of Rome. There are anecdotes apparently well
attested where water fowl have borne away a wounded comrade which had
fallen before the huntsman's fowling-piece. In Smiles's "Life of
Edwards" there is an often-quoted story which appears to be
trustworthy and sufficiently illustrates this point. A hunter, having
shot one of a flock of terns, which fell wounded into the water near
the shore, waded in to seize it. Suddenly two of the terns came to
their wounded companion, seized him by either wing, and bore him
toward the open sea. When these two helpers were weary, the sufferer
was lowered into the water, and, in turn, seized by two other birds
which were fresh for the labor. Working in succession, these birds
carried their companion to a rock some distance from the shore. When
the hunter endeavored to approach the rock, yet others of the species
seized the cripple and bore him far beyond reach.
Although too much value must not be given to the numerous anecdotes
concerning the sagacity of water fowl, the great mass of these stories,
as compared with the poverty of the anecdotes concerning the
better-known barnyard creatures, seems to establish the fact that their
intelligence is much greater than that of the land birds. This
superiority can probably be attributed to the fact that their life
requires much more definite adaptation of means to ends than in the
simpler conditions which are met by the forms which dwell in the fields.
The circumstances of their life are something like those of the seals
among mammals. They have to do with the conditions of the air, the land,
and the water; and as they generally undertake long migrations, the
range of the things they have to accommodate themselves to is great, and
the effect of their labor is decidedly educative.
[Illustration: Some Recent Additions to the Poultry Yard:
Wood Duck, China Goose, Australian Swan, Canada Goose]
As yet, from the great number of species of water fowl man has really
domesticated but two characteristic groups, the species of geese and of
ducks. Swans have been brought to a state where they tolerate the
presence of man, though they rarely establish any really intimate
relations with him. Some other species, as, for instance, the grebe,
have been taught to dwell about the homes of man, accepting food from
his hands. It is likely that more of these water fowl would have come
into human associations were it not for the fact that they are naturally
migratory, and when, after a season of domestication, they join a
passing flock, they never return to the place where they have been kept.
[Illustration: Swans]
The swan, like the peacock, has been bred for ornament rather than for
use. In fact, the bird has no other merit than its exceeding grace.
We cannot believe that much pains was ever taken with this creature to
break up the migratory instincts which are common in the wild kindred
species. We have to suppose that the bird in its pristine form was
without the impulse to undertake distant journeys in the winter
season, or that it abandoned ancient habits with no great difficulty.
We obtain some light on this point by noting the fact that among the
migratory species it not infrequently happens that, while the greater
number of individuals undertake the annual journey, certain of them
will remain on the ground where they were born. Those which remain
would be more likely to mate with those which were like-minded than
with others that journeyed afar. In this way small local breeds might
well be originated which would differ from their migratory kindred not
only in the measure of the wandering instincts, but in the capacity
for flight which their kindred preserve. There is some reason to
believe that this process of selection naturally and somewhat
frequently takes place. In certain cases it may lay the foundation of
new species, or at least of distinct varieties; more commonly,
however, the individuals which have abandoned the migratory life are
likely to perish from the severity of climate or the other unfavorable
conditions that their mates avoid by their wanderings.
[Illustration: The Original Wild Rock Dove (_Columba livia_)
and Some of its Domestic Descendants]
Although many of the free-flying birds of the land are or have been kept
captive because of the pleasure which men have found from their songs,
their grace, or their quaint ways, only one of these has really been
gained to domestication. In the pigeon, man has made what is on many
accounts the most remarkable of all his conquests over the wild nature
about him. While the breeder's art has led many forms, some of them on
several divergent lines, far away from their primitive estate, in no
other field has it accomplished such surprising results as with the
doves. The original wild form of this group is a native of Europe and
Asia, where the species _Columba livia_, or rock pigeon, is still
common, and whence it may be readily won anew to domestication. It is
a small, plain-colored, rather invariable and inconspicuous bird about
the size of our American dove. In its wild state it dwells in small
flocks, nesting by preference in the crannies of the cliffs, and
exhibiting no striking qualities which make it seem a desirable subject
for domestication. We note, however, that even in this primitive
condition the creature has certain physical and mental qualities
which have been the basis of its adoption by man as well as of the
wide changes which it has undergone at his hands.
It is a characteristic of all the doves that their young are born in a
very immature state, and for some time after they come from the egg they
have to be supplied with food which has been partly digested in the crop
or upper part of the stomach of the parent. For the proper rearing of
the brood there is required the assiduous care of both parents.
Therefore quite naturally we find among these birds that the pairing
habit is well developed, and as they rear several broods each season,
that the mating is for life. Although there are numbers of birds in
various orders which are accustomed to the monogamic habit, it happens
that the pigeon is the only animal which man has ever won to true
domestication in which the sexes can be thus permanently united. In the
dovecote, however many birds it may contain, the breeder can be always
sure as to the parentage of the young which he is rearing. This affords
an admirable basis for the practice of his art, which is still further
favored by the fact that pigeons reproduce rapidly and the progeny are
ready to mate in a few months after they come into the world. Thus the
species affords really ideal conditions for that process of selection on
which the improvement of all domesticated animals intimately depends.
[Illustration: Turtle Doves]
Selective breeding of pigeons began in India, as the records seem to
show, more than two thousand years ago. Though other animals have been
brought to domestication at much earlier times, this appears to have
been the first of them to be subjected to deliberate efforts on the part
of their masters, which were intended to bring about in a methodical way
certain changes in their forms and habits. The most curious part of this
great endeavor which has been applied to breeding pigeons is found in
the fact that the ends sought have no utility, but afford satisfaction
from the point of view of pure diversion or the gratification of taste.
We are well accustomed to the action of such motives upon our flowering
plants of the garden, but the pigeon is the only animal where fancy has
labored for thousands of years for its gratification. The breeders of
pigeons from remote antiquity to the present day appear to have had no
definite purpose in all their pains. They have taken the chance
variations in form and habit and endeavored to extend these sports of
nature by a careful system of mating those in which the singular
features were most evident. Thus the fan-tail breed has been developed
until the creatures display their unornamental tail feathers with all
the dignity with which a peacock shows his marvellous decorations. The
pouters have in some unaccountable way learned to take air into their
crop; and the habit has been developed by selection until the bird
destroys all trace of his original shapeliness, though he seems to take
pride in his diseased appearance. The tumbler, probably derived from
some ancestor afflicted with a disease of an epileptic character,
manages to go through his convulsions in the air without serious
consequences and apparently with some pleasure to himself. There are
over one hundred less conspicuous varieties, of which only one deserves
notice, and this for the reason that it has some possible utility to
man and is now much attended to. This is known as the carrier pigeon.
[Illustration: The Giant Crowned Pigeon of India]
In early time, before the invention of the railway and telegraph, some
ingenious breeder of pigeons, observing the constant way in which these
creatures returned to the place where they were bred, invented the plan
of using them to convey information. This service was found convenient
not only for ordinary correspondence, but was exceedingly valuable where
a place was beleaguered by an enemy. In such cases carrier pigeons could
often be used to convey information across the otherwise impassable
lines. Even in modern times, as, for instance, during the last siege of
Paris, these swift and sure flying birds proved of great use in keeping
up communications between the people of the invested town and the French
armies in the field. Letters in cipher, sometimes photographed down
until the characters were microscopically fine, were made into packages
of small weight in order not to impede the flight of the bird, carefully
affixed to its body, and thus sent away. Very generally these curious
shipments came to the hands of those for whom they were destined. The
birds can be trusted to fly at night; they retain for a long time the
memory of their home, and spare no pains to return to it.
The homing power of the carrier pigeon appears to be a special
development of a natural capacity, as is also its swiftness and
endurance in flight. Our other breeds and the wild species whence they
have all come are not disposed to undertake long journeys; they rarely,
indeed, wander far from their abiding places. Our experience with the
carriers shows how readily the creatures may be educated to perform
feats which they were not accustomed to do in their wild state.
Something of the same elasticity of constitution may be observed in the
bodies of our pigeons as they have been affected by selection. Not only
has the plumage been greatly altered by the breeder's art and in
pursuance of his plans, but the form and proportions of the bones have
coincidently and unintentionally been greatly changed. So considerable
are these alterations that if these creatures were submitted for
dissection to a naturalist who knew nothing of the history of the bird,
he would have no hesitation in classing them as belonging not only in
different species, but as members of diverse genera.
It must be regarded as unfortunate that the experiments which have been
made on pigeons have been limited to their features of form, color, and
slight peculiarities in their habits. If the breeders had sought to
modify the intellectual parts with anything like the insistence which
they have given to the development of these bodily peculiarities, we
might now have a most valuable store of knowledge as to the limitations
of animal minds. The facts gained in the breeding of the carriers show
clearly that certain of the instincts of these birds can be readily
modified. There is every reason to suppose that their mental capacities
in other directions have something of the same pliability.
[Illustration: The English Pheasant]
Although the pigeon is the only free-flying form which has been won to
intimate relations with man, there are numerous other species of these
volant creatures which have been reduced to partial domestication,
though they cannot be trusted to abide with us without being more or
less completely caged. Experience has shown that by far the greater part
of the arboreal birds may be kept and will breed in captivity. From the
host of these feathered creatures men have from time to time selected
species which grace their habitations by their beauty, their song, or by
the sympathetic relations which they form with their captors. Our
successes in these efforts toward domestication of these birds have been
most eminent with those varieties which in their wilderness state have a
well-developed social life, which abide in families or flocks, and have
the pairing habit well affirmed. The reason for this has been already
indicated. It is due to the sympathetic motive which is developed in
such communal life, and is manifested in the friendly relations with
each other which the creatures maintain. A good instance of this is to
be found in the crows and their kindred, a group of extremely sociable
creatures, which are endlessly engaged in chattering communications with
each other. All these forms are highly domesticable, and if for any
reason they had proved permanently attractive to men they would
doubtless have been brought into the state of willing captives.
Although some of the free-flying or tree birds have been kept for their
beauty alone, the greater part of them have commended themselves to man
because of their voices. It is hardly necessary to tell the reader that
the birds, of all animals, are most provided with means of expression
through the voice. There is hardly a species which has not a greater
range of notes or calls than the most vocal of our wild mammals, and
many varieties are impelled to tuneful expression in a measure which no
other creature, not even man, exhibits. In most cases these utterances
are pleasing to the human ear, for they have the quality which we term
musical. Therefore it is not surprising that the most of our captive
birds have been chosen for their song.
It seems clear that the song of birds, like their calls--the two shade
indefinitely into each other--expresses a sympathetic emotional
consciousness of the actions going on about them, particularly of the
life of their kind. In general these utterances are directed toward
their kindred of their own species. In many cases, however, as among the
imitative birds, the sounds which they utter indicate a curiously keen
interest in the actions of their masters or other human affairs. The
mocking-birds and some other species will, with great assiduity,
endeavor to copy any sound which they happen to hear. I well remember
watching a mocking-bird which was listening with rapt attention to the
noise produced by a man sharpening a saw with a file. The poor bird
would hearken with great attention until he thought he had caught the
note, and then endeavor to reproduce it. As may be imagined, the measure
of his success was small. He was fully conscious of his failure, and
would beat himself about the cage in evident chagrin, returning again
and again to try the hopeless task.
Wherever the vocal organs of caged birds permit them to imitate human
speech they are apt to devote a large part of their labor to this task,
paying little attention to other less meaningful sounds. It appears to
me that they perceive in a way the sympathetic character of language and
therefore take a peculiar pleasure in copying it. It is hardly to be
believed that they ever get a sense of the connotative value of words,
but it is not to be doubted that they sometimes attain to a certain
appreciation of the denotation of simpler phrases. In this task they do
not exhibit as much sagacity as the dog, a creature which learns to
understand the purport of rather complicated sentences. Nevertheless,
their capacity for imitating speech is a fascinating peculiarity, one
which has greatly endeared them to bird fanciers.
Those who have observed the talking birds have doubtless noted the
fact that their capacity for remembering and uttering words varies
greatly. I am inclined to think that in the same species some
individuals can do such tasks several times as easily as others. If
these speaking forms could be brought to breed in captivity, and
something like the selective care were given to their development that
has been devoted to the varieties of pigeons, we might well expect to
attain very remarkable results. If anywhere in the animal world there
is a chance to open communication by means of speech with the lower
creatures, it should be here.
[Illustration: The Falconer's Favorite--Peregrine Falcon]
At one time among our ancestors it was accustomed to make much use of
the larger hawks in hunting. Curiously enough this amusement, more
refined and elaborated than any other form of the chase, has gradually
fallen into disuse among Europeans. So far as I have been able to learn,
the only region in which it is well preserved is in northern Africa, a
country in which the custom was probably introduced from Spain during
the occupancy of that peninsula by the Moors. From the literature of
this art of hawking, even after we allow much for the exaggeration of
unobservant men, it seems certain that the training of these fierce
birds was carried to a point of singular perfection. The creatures
learned to do their duty in a very skilful way, and they readily
acquired habits of obedience, under circumstances of excitement, more
perfect than those which we succeed in instilling in any animal but the
dog. When we consider the natural qualities of the hawk, and note that
when well trained he flew at only the designated game, and came back to
the master when a bit of hide or other lure was thrown into the air as a
signal, we may fairly believe that the creature displayed an
extraordinary fitness for receiving instruction. The facts are the more
remarkable because these hawks were not bred in cages, but were taken
from the wild nests; so that there was none of that gradual accumulation
of inheritances under the conditions of selection which have brought
about the obedience of our really domesticated animals.
The remarkable way in which the art of hawking has disappeared from our
civilization deserves more than a passing notice, though it appears to
be inexplicable. It is evident that it was a tolerably ingrained habit,
at least among the English-speaking people, for it has left a very deep
impress upon the language. There are far more phrases derived from the
custom than can be traced to any other of the sportsman's arts. At least
one of these collocations of words which has escaped from the minds of
grown people still holds a place among the boys of this country. When
two lads are fighting we often hear the bystanders say, by the way of
encouragement to one of the contestants, "Give him jesse." The use of
this curious phrase prevails in all parts of the United States, but
after much inquiry I have failed to find a trace of it preserved in
England. There seems to be little doubt that these words are due to a
custom of beating a hawk which failed to do its duty with the thongs or
jesses by which it was attached to the wrist of the falconer. Giving
another jesse thus came to be equivalent to giving a person a strapping.
[Illustration: The Bandit's Brood]
Whatever may have been the reason for abandoning this beautiful and in a
way noble sport, its disuse must be deemed most unfortunate by all the
students of animal intelligence, for it has deprived us of precious
opportunities in the way of observations on the mental peculiarities
which exist in a most interesting group of birds. In these days, when
there is a fancy for reviving the customs of our forefathers, it might
be well for some persons of leisure to give their attention to restoring
the arts of falconry. Enough of the practice and of the traditions is
left to make it an easy task to reinstitute all the important parts of
the custom. Moreover, those who essayed the matter would have access to
a much greater range of rapacious birds than our forefathers, who had to
content themselves with the limited number of wild species which inhabit
the continent of Europe. Especially on our Western plains, where
game-birds abound and the country lies wide open, sportsmen would find
an admirable field in which to follow the bird they flew. Not only would
the restoration of hawking give us a sport much more skilful and refined
than the fox chase, but it would reintroduce the cultivation of the only
creature which, having once been brought to the service of man, has
been permitted to return to its ancestral wild life.
The most striking and by far the most interesting quality exhibited by
our birds is found in their sympathetic motive. In this spiritual
quality, so far as it relates to their own kind, the feathered
creatures are clearly in advance of all other species, including even
man. A single fact, one of great generality, will serve to make this
statement clear. Among the birds we find the only cases of true
marriage which are known in the animal kingdom. In the greater number
of the species the union is for a season, but among many it is for
life. In the case of certain varieties of paroquets, the union is so
indissoluble that, according to common report, a report which seems
much better verified than the most of those concerning the habits of
animals, neither member of the pair will survive the death of the
other. Man, with all his striving towards a better social state, has,
as a whole, not yet attained to the enduring affection for the mate
which is evinced by the greater part of the birds.