A Book of Natural History Part 7

Another pair of blue grossbeaks built in a graveyard within the city limits. The nest was placed in a low bush, and the male continued to sing at intervals till the young were ready to fly. The song of this bird is a rapid, intricate warble, like that of the indigo-bird, though stronger and louder. Indeed, these two birds so much resemble each other in color, form, manner, voice, and general habits that, were it not for the difference in size,--the grossbeak being nearly as large again as the indigo-bird,--it would be a hard matter to tell them apart. The females of both species are clad in the same reddish-brown suits. So are the young the first season.

Of course in the deep, primitive woods also are nests, but how rarely we find them! The simple art of the bird consists in choosing common, neutral-tinted material, as moss, dry leaves, twigs, and various odds and ends, and placing the structure on a convenient branch, where it blends in color with its surroundings; but how consummate is this art, and how skilfully is the nest concealed! We occasionally light upon it, but who, unaided by the movements of the bird, could find it out?

During the present season, I went to the woods nearly every day for a fortnight, without making any discoveries of this kind, till one day, paying them a farewell visit, I chanced to come upon several nests. A black and white creeping warbler suddenly became much alarmed as I approached a crumbling old stump in a dense part of the forest. He alighted upon it, chirped sharply, ran up and down its sides, and finally left it with much reluctance. The nest, which contained three young birds nearly fledged, was placed upon the ground, at the foot of the stump, and in such a position that the color of the young harmonized perfectly with the bits of bark, sticks, etc., lying about.

My eye rested upon them for the second time before I made them out.

They hugged the nest very closely, but as I put down my hand they scampered off with loud cries for help, which caused the parent birds to place themselves almost within my reach. The nest was merely a little dry gra.s.s arranged in a thick bed of dry leaves.

This was amid a thick undergrowth. Moving on into a pa.s.sage of large, stately hemlocks, with only here and there a small beech or maple rising up into the perennial twilight, I paused to make out a note which was entirely new to me. It is still in my ear. Though unmistakably a bird note, it yet suggested the bleating of a tiny lambkin. Presently the birds appeared,--a pair of the solitary vireo.

They came flitting from point to point, alighting only for a moment at a time, the male silent, but the female uttering this strange, tender note. It was a rendering into some new sylvan dialect of the human sentiment of maidenly love. It was really pathetic in its sweetness and childlike confidence and joy. I soon discovered that the pair were building a nest upon a low branch a few yards from me. The male flew cautiously to the spot, and adjusted something, and the twain moved on, the female calling to her mate at intervals, _love-e, love-e_, with a cadence and tenderness in the tone that rang in the ear long afterward. The nest was suspended to the fork of a small branch, as is usual with the vireos, plentifully lined with lichens, and bound and rebound with ma.s.ses of coa.r.s.e spider-webs. There was no attempt at concealment except in the neutral tints, which made it look like a natural growth of the dim, gray woods.

Continuing my random walk, I next paused in a low part of the woods, where the larger trees began to give place to a thick second growth that covered an old Bark-peeling. I was standing by a large maple, when a small bird darted quickly away from it, as if it might have come out of a hole near its base. As the bird paused a few yards from me, and began to chirp uneasily, my curiosity was at once excited.

When I saw it was the female mourning ground warbler, and remembered that the nest of this bird had not yet been seen by any naturalist,--that not even Dr. Brewer had ever seen the eggs,--I felt that here was something worth looking for. So I carefully began the search, exploring inch by inch the ground, the base and roots of the tree, and the various shrubby growths about it, till, finding nothing, and fearing I might really put my foot in it, I bethought me to withdraw to a distance and after some delay return again, and, thus forewarned, note the exact point from which the bird flew. This I did, and, returning, had little difficulty in discovering the nest. It was placed but a few feet from the maple-tree, in a bunch of ferns, and about six inches from the ground. It was quite a ma.s.sive nest, composed entirely of the stalks and leaves of dry gra.s.s, with an inner lining of fine, dark-brown roots. The eggs, three in number, were of light flesh color, uniformly specked with fine brown specks. The cavity of the nest was so deep that the back of sitting bird sank below the edge.

In the top of a tall tree, a short distance farther on, I saw the nest of the red-tailed hawk,--a large ma.s.s of twigs and dry sticks. The young had flown, but still lingered in the vicinity, and, as I approached, the mother bird flew about over me, squealing in a very angry, savage manner. Tufts of the hair and other indigestible material of the common meadow mouse lay around on the ground beneath the nest.

[Ill.u.s.tration: NEST OF RED-EYED VIREO.]

As I was about leaving the woods, my hat almost brushed the nest of the red-eyed vireo, which hung basket-like on the end of a low, drooping branch of the beech. I should never have seen it had the bird kept her place. It contained three eggs of the bird's own, and one of the cow-bunting. The strange egg was only just perceptibly larger than the others, yet three days after, when I looked into the nest again and found all but one egg hatched, the young interloper was at least four times as large as either of the others, and with such a superabundance of bowels as to almost smother his bedfellows beneath them. That the intruder should fare the same as the rightful occupants, and thrive with them, was more than ordinary potluck; but that it alone should thrive, devouring, as it were, all the rest, is one of those freaks of Nature in which she would seem to discourage the homely virtues of prudence and honesty. Weeds and parasites have the odds greatly against them, yet they wage a very successful war nevertheless.

The woods hold not such another gem as the nest of the humming-bird.

The finding of one is an event to date from. It is the next best thing to finding an eagle's nest. I have met with but two, both by chance.

One was placed on the horizontal branch of a chestnut-tree, with a solitary green leaf, forming a complete canopy, about an inch and a half above it. The repeated spiteful dartings of the bird past my ears, as I stood under the tree, caused me to suspect that I was intruding upon some one's privacy; and following it with my eye, I soon saw the nest, which was in process of construction. Adopting my usual tactics of secreting myself near by, I had the satisfaction of seeing the tiny artist at work. It was the female, una.s.sisted by her mate. At intervals of two or three minutes she would appear with a small tuft of some cottony substance in her beak, dart a few times through and around the tree, and alighting quickly in the nest arrange the material she had brought, using her breast as a model.

The other nest I discovered in a dense forest on the side of a mountain. The sitting bird was disturbed as I pa.s.sed beneath her. The whirring of her wings arrested my attention, when, after a short pause, I had the good luck to see, through an opening in the leaves, the bird return to her nest, which appeared like a mere wart or excrescence on a small branch. The humming-bird, unlike all others, does not alight upon the nest, but flies into it. She enters it as quick as a flash, but as light as any feather. Two eggs are the complement. They are perfectly white, and so frail that only a woman's fingers may touch them. Incubation lasts about ten days. In a week the young have flown.

The only nest like the humming-bird's, and comparable to it in neatness and symmetry, is that of the blue-gray gnat-catcher. This is often saddled upon the limb in the same manner, though it is generally more or less pendent; it is deep and soft, composed mostly of some vegetable down, covered all over with delicate tree-lichens, and, except that it is much larger, appears almost identical with the nest of the humming-bird.

But the nest of nests, the ideal nest, after we have left the deep woods, is unquestionably that of the Baltimore oriole. It is the only perfectly pensile nest we have. The nest of the orchard oriole is indeed mainly so, but this bird generally builds lower and shallower, more after the manner of the vireos.

The Baltimore oriole loves to attach its nest to the swaying branches of the tallest elms, making no attempt at concealment, but satisfied if the position be high and the branch pendent. This nest would seem to cost more time and skill than any other bird structure. A peculiar flax-like substance seems to be always sought after, and always found. The nest when completed a.s.sumes the form of a large, suspended gourd. The walls are thin but firm, and proof against the most driving rain. The mouth is hemmed or over-handed with horse-hair, and the sides are usually sewed through and through with the same.

Not particular as to the matter of secrecy, the bird is not particular as to material, so that it be of the nature of strings or threads. A lady friend once told me that while working by an open window, one of these birds approached during her momentary absence, and, seizing a skein of some kind of thread or yarn, made off with it to its half-finished nest. But the perverse yarn caught fast in the branches, and, in the bird's efforts to extricate it, got hopelessly tangled.

She tugged away at it all day, but was finally obliged to content herself with a few detached portions. The fluttering strings were an eye-sore to her ever after, and pa.s.sing and repa.s.sing, she would give them a spiteful jerk, as much as to say, "There is that confounded yarn that gave me so much trouble."

From Pennsylvania, Vincent Barnard (to whom I am indebted for other curious facts) sent me this interesting story of an oriole. He says a friend of his, curious in such things, on observing the bird beginning to build, hung out near the prospective nest skeins of many-colored zephyr-yarn, which the eager artist readily appropriated. He managed it so that the bird used nearly equal quant.i.ties of various high, bright colors. The nest was made unusually deep and capacious, and it may be questioned if such a thing of beauty was ever before woven by the cunning of a bird.

Nuttall, by far the most genial of American ornithologists, relates the following:--

"A female (oriole), which I observed attentively, carried off to her nest a piece of lamp-wick ten or twelve feet long. This long string and many other shorter ones were left hanging out for about a week before both the ends were wattled into the sides of the nest. Some other little birds making use of similar materials, at times twitched these flowing ends, and generally brought out the busy Baltimore from her occupation in great anger.

"I may perhaps claim indulgence for adding a little more of the biography of this particular bird, as a representative, also, of the instincts of her race. She completed the nest in about a week's time, without any aid from her mate, who, indeed, appeared but seldom in her company, and was now become nearly silent. For fibrous materials she broke, hackled, and gathered the flax of the _asclepias_ and _hibiscus_ stalks, tearing off long strings and flying with them to the scene of her labors. She appeared very eager and hasty in her pursuits, and collected her materials without fear or restraint, while three men were working in the neighboring walks, and many persons visiting the garden. Her courage and perseverance were indeed truly admirable. If watched too narrowly, she saluted with her usual scolding, _tshrr, tshrr, tshrr_, seeing no reason, probably, why she should be interrupted in her indispensable occupation.

"Though the males were now comparatively silent on the arrival of their busy mates, I could not help observing this female and a second, continually vociferating apparently in strife. At last she was observed to attack this second female very fiercely, who slyly intruded herself at times into the same tree where she was building.

These contests were angry and often repeated. To account for this animosity, I now recollected that two fine males had been killed in our vicinity; and I therefore concluded the intruder to be left without a mate; yet she had gained the affections of the consort of the busy female, and thus the cause of their jealous quarrel became apparent. Having obtained the confidence of her faithless paramour, the second female began preparing to weave a nest in an adjoining elm, by tying together certain pendent twigs as a foundation. The male now a.s.sociated chiefly with the intruder, whom he even a.s.sisted in her labor, yet did not wholly forget his first partner, who called on him one evening in a low, affectionate tone, which was answered in the same strain. While they were thus engaged in friendly whispers, suddenly appeared the rival, and a violent _rencontre_ ensued, so that one of the females appeared to be greatly agitated, and fluttered with spreading wings as if considerably hurt. The male, though prudently neutral in the contest, showed his culpable partiality by flying off with his paramour, and for the rest of the evening left the tree to his pugnacious consort. Cares of another kind, more imperious and tender, at length reconciled, or at least terminated, these disputes with the jealous females; and by the aid of the neighboring bachelors, who are never wanting among these and other birds, peace was at length completely restored, by the rest.i.tution of the quiet and happy condition of monogamy."

Let me not forget to mention the nest under the mountain ledge, the nest of the common pewee, a modest mossy structure, with four pearl-white eggs, looking out upon some wild scene and overhung by beetling crags. After all has been said about the elaborate, high-hung structures, few nests, perhaps, awaken more pleasant emotions in the mind of the beholder than this of the pewee,--the gray, silent rocks, with caverns and dens where the fox and the wolf lurk, and just out of their reach, in a little niche, as if it grew there, the mossy tenement!

Nearly every high projecting rock in my range has one of these nests.

Following a trout stream up a wild mountain gorge, not long since, I counted five in the distance of a mile, all within easy reach, but safe from the minks and the skunks, and well housed from the storms.

In my native town I know a pine and oak clad hill, round-topped, with a bold, precipitous front extending half-way around it. Near the top, and along this front or side, there crops out a ledge of rocks unusually high and cavernous. One immense layer projects many feet, allowing a person or many persons, standing upright, to move freely beneath it. There is a delicious spring of water there, and plenty of wild, cool air. The floor is of loose stone, now trod by sheep and foxes, once by the Indian and the wolf. How I have delighted from boyhood to spend a summer-day in this retreat or take refuge there from a sudden shower! Always the freshness and coolness, and always the delicate mossy nest of the phbe-bird! The bird keeps her place till you are within a few feet of her, when she flits to a near branch, and, with many oscillations of her tail, observes you anxiously. Since the country has become settled, this pewee has fallen into the strange practice of occasionally placing its nest under a bridge, hay-shed, or other artificial structure, where it is subject to all kinds of interruptions and annoyances. When placed thus, the nest is larger and coa.r.s.er. I know a hayloft beneath which a pair has regularly placed its nest for several successive seasons. Arranged along on a single pole, which sags down a few inches from the flooring it was intended to help support, are three of these structures, marking the number of years the birds have nested there. The foundation is of mud with a superstructure of moss, elaborately lined with hair and feathers. Nothing can be more perfect and exquisite than the interior of one of these nests, yet a new one is built every season. Three broods, however, are frequently reared in it.

[Ill.u.s.tration: NEST OF PHBE.]

The pewees, as a cla.s.s, are the best architects we have. The king-bird builds a nest altogether admirable, using various soft cotton and woollen substances, and sparing neither time nor material to make it substantial and warm. The green-crested pewee builds its nest in many instances wholly of the blossoms of the white-oak. The wood pewee builds a neat, compact socket-shaped nest of moss and lichens on a horizontal branch. There is never a loose end or shred about it. The sitting bird is largely visible above the rim. She moves her head freely about, and seems entirely at her ease,--a circ.u.mstance which I have never observed in any other species. The nest of the great-crested flycatcher is seldom free from snake skins, three or four being sometimes woven into it.

About the thinnest, shallowest nest, for its situation, that can be found is that of the turtle-dove. A few sticks and straws are carelessly thrown together, hardly sufficient to prevent the eggs from falling through or rolling off. The nest of the pa.s.senger pigeon is equally hasty and insufficient, and the squabs often fall to the ground and perish. The other extreme among our common birds is furnished by the ferruginous thrush, which collects together a ma.s.s of material that would fill a half-bushel measure; or by the fish-hawk, which adds to and repairs its nest year after year, till the whole would make a cart-load.

The rarest of all nests is that of the eagle, because the eagle is the rarest of all birds. Indeed, so seldom is the eagle seen, that its presence always seems accidental. It appears as if merely pausing on the way, while bound for some distant unknown region. One September, while a youth, I saw the ring-tailed eagle, an immense, dusky bird, the sight of which filled me with awe. It lingered about the hills for two days. Some young cattle, a two year-old colt, and half a dozen sheep were at pasture on a high ridge that led up to the mountain, and in plain view of the house. On the second day, this dusky monarch was seen flying about above them. Presently he began to hover over them, after the manner of a hawk watching for mice. He then with extended legs let himself slowly down upon them, actually grappling the backs of the young cattle, and frightening the creatures so that they rushed about the field in great consternation; and finally, as he grew bolder and more frequent in his descents, the whole herd broke over the fence, and came tearing down to the house "like mad." It did not seem to be an a.s.sault with intent to kill, but was, perhaps, a stratagem resorted to in order to separate the herd and expose the lambs, which hugged the cattle very closely. When he occasionally alighted upon the oaks that stood near, the branch _could_ be seen to sway and bend beneath him. Finally, as a rifleman started out in pursuit of him, he launched into the air, set his wings, and sailed away southward. A few years afterward, in January, another eagle pa.s.sed through the same locality, alighting in a field near some dead animal, but tarried briefly.

[Ill.u.s.tration: EAGLE.]

So much by way of identification. The bird is common to the northern parts of both hemispheres, and places its eyrie on high, precipitous rocks. A pair built on an inaccessible shelf of rock along the Hudson for eight successive years. A squad of Revolutionary soldiers also found a nest along this river, and had an adventure with the bird that came near costing one of their number his life. His comrades let him down by a rope to secure the eggs or young, when he was attacked by the female eagle with such fury that he was obliged to defend himself with his knife. In doing so, by a mis-stroke, he nearly severed the rope that held him, and was drawn up by a single strand from his perilous position. Audubon, from whom this anecdote is taken, figures and describes this bird as the golden eagle, though I have little doubt that Wilson was right, and that the golden eagle is a distinct species.

The sea-eagle also builds on high rocks, according to Audubon, though Wilson describes the nest of one which he saw near Great Egg Harbor, in the top of a large yellow pine. It was a vast pile of sticks, sods, sedge, gra.s.s, reeds, etc., five or six feet high by four broad, and with little or no concavity. It had been used for many years, and he was told that the eagles made it a sort of home or lodging-place in all seasons. This agrees with the description which Audubon gives of the nest of the bald eagle. There is evidently a little confusion on both sides.

The eagle in all cases uses one nest, with more or less repair, for several years. Many of our common birds do the same. The birds may be divided, with respect to this and kindred points, into five general cla.s.ses. First, those that repair and appropriate the last year's nest, as the wren, swallow, blue-bird, great-crested flycatcher, owls, eagles, fish-hawk, and a few others. Secondly, those that build anew each season, though frequently rearing more than one brood in the same nest. Of these, the phbe-bird is a well-known example. Thirdly, those that build a new nest for each brood, which includes by far the greatest number of species. Fourthly, a limited number that make no nest of their own, but appropriate the abandoned nests of other birds.

Finally, those who use no nest at all, but deposit their eggs in the sand, which is the case with a large number of aquatic fowls. Thus the common gull breeds in vast numbers on the sand bars or sand islands off the south coast of Long Island. A little dent is made in the sand, the eggs are dropped, and the old birds go their way. In due time the eggs are hatched by the warmth of the sun, and the little creatures s.h.i.+ft for themselves. In July countless numbers of them, of different ages and sizes, swarm upon these sandy wastes. As the waves roll out, they rush down the beach, picking up a kind of sea gluten, and then hasten back to avoid the next breaker.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

BIRDS IN THEIR RELATION TO AGRICULTURE

(FROM THE PROCEEDINGS OF THE NEBRASKA ORNITHOLOGISTS' UNION JANUARY, 1901.)[4]

BY LAURENCE BRUNER.

[4] By permission.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

When civilized man takes possession of new regions and begins cultivating the soil and establishes his sovereignty there, the equilibrium as it existed upon his arrival is very quickly disturbed.

One or more of the many forms of life--plant and animal--that were previously held within certain limits gain ascendency. The introduction of new crops that furnish an abundance of the proper food for some insect, enables this form to increase out of all proportions and harm soon results. The killing off of certain other forms of life that naturally keep still others in check also a.s.sists in disturbing the equilibrium further. The cutting down and clearing away of forests removes the shelter and homes of others, as does also the turning under of prairie gra.s.ses. Then, too, many of the natural residents of primeval forests and virgin prairies shun the sight of man, hence they gradually withdraw from the region, and their influence for good or evil goes with them. Since the majority of such forms are timid and inoffensive creatures, their withdrawal only adds that much more to the already overbalanced conditions. Year by year the gap which at first was scarcely noticeable becomes widened, so that frequent inroads are made and harm results. Instead of trying to ascertain the true cause for all this trouble perhaps exactly the wrong thing is done by the settlers. This of course only has the effect of further widening the gap between safety and danger. Since an insect or other animal becomes noticeably harmful only when present in alarming numbers, it stands to reason that anything which favors such an abnormal increase is a factor in disturbing nature and should be quickly rectified where possible. In order that these disturbances should be looked after the all-wise G.o.d of the universe created birds and gave them the power of flight that they might the more readily move about rapidly from place to place, where their services might be needed in balancing affairs. Hence birds have naturally and rightfully been called the "balancers" in nature. This being true, let us see just what their relations are to agriculture.

The farmer sows in order that he may reap an increased measure of what he has sown. In doing this he must first turn over the soil. This destroys many existing plants as well as animals that depend upon them for food. The plants thus turned down cannot regain their position and must of necessity die. Not so with many of the animals, however, which soon work their way to the surface. Some of these attack the growing plants which have been made to occupy the place of those destroyed by the plough. Others take wing and seek suitable food in adjoining districts where they add to the numbers already drawing upon the vegetation up to the point of possible continued supply. Here, then, the scales begin to vibrate. In the field the new and tender crop entices the ever-s.h.i.+fting individuals of myriads of forms that have been crowded out elsewhere. The result here too is, or would be, very disastrous were it not for the timely visit of flocks of birds likewise in search of food.

It is during the period of first settlement of a country, when the fields are small, few and widely separated, that injury may and frequently does result from birds. It is then a problem that needs careful consideration, not only for the time being, but also for the future welfare of that country. If animal life is destroyed indiscriminately and without intelligent forethought, calamities unforeseen are sure to follow in the not distant future.

Birds can be useful to man in many ways. They can benefit him by carrying the seeds of various plants from place to place so as to a.s.sist him in establis.h.i.+ng new groves in which to find shelter from the cold in winter and refuge from the heat of the noonday sun in summer. They plant various shrubs by the wayside that spring up and later are laden with luscious fruit. They also carry the sp.a.w.n of fishes and small crustaceans among their feathers into new waters, and feed upon the countless seeds of weeds that are scattered broadcast over the face of the earth. Some kinds live almost exclusively upon insects, while others hunt out the small rodents that would, if left to themselves, destroy great quant.i.ties of grain and other vegetation.

Still other birds benefit mankind by acting as scavengers in the removal of putrid and other offensive matter which would endanger our health. In addition to all these varied direct benefits which are brought about by the presence of birds, man is further indebted to these creatures for the cheer which their gay music, bright plumage and pleasant manners bring to him. The birds form a carefully organized army of police which is engaged in keeping affairs balanced in nature.

But we can go even further summing up the benefits that men may derive from the birds. A great many kinds make excellent food, while others furnish sport and pleasure to a large number of men and boys who seem to require a certain kind of entertainment while accompanied with dog and gun. Dead birds when embalmed as mummies and attached to the head-gear worn by some girls and women are also claimed to cause much happiness.

_Birds as Enemies._--It would be ridiculous for me to a.s.sert here that no injury ever results from the presence of birds on the farm or in the orchard. Quite a number of different species are continually stepping over to the wrong side of the "ledger" as it were, and committing depredations of various kinds which if considered alone would render the perpetrators liable to severe punishment--in some cases even unto death. Some of the crimes that can be charged to the feathered tribe are cherry and berry-stealing, grape-puncturing, apple-pecking, corn-pulling, grain-eating, the unintentional carrying from place to place of some kinds of scale insects that happen to crawl on their legs and feet, the possible spreading of hog cholera by crows and buzzards, the robbing of the poultry yard, and lastly some birds are accused of making noises that awaken us from our slumbers in the morning.

Some of these crimes are genuine and are to be deplored, while others are more imaginary than real. A few of them could be prevented in part or altogether, while others might be diminished if we were inclined to take the trouble to do it.