'Herbert K. Job,
Ornithologist,

I Is Dead at 68

i ■

I Friend of Late President
j Roosevelt Quit Ministry
j to Learn Habits of Birds [

{ - I

I Sy The Associated Press

! DELMAR, N. Y., June 17. — Herbert
Kelghtley Job, naturalist and author,
j and once director of nature and con-
' servation education for South Caro¬
lina and Virginia, died here today. He
was sixty-eight years old.

He was a friend of the late President
Theodore Roosevelt and once made an
expedition with him into the Louisiana
marshes to study bird life. Colonel
Roosevelt wrote the Introduction for
his book "Wild Wings” in 1905. Mi-.
Job also wrote “Among the Water
Fowl,” "Blue Goose Chase” and "The
Sport of Bird Study.”

Congregational Pastor

Mr. Job, a native of Boston, was
j graduated from Harvard University in
1888 and from Hartford Theological
I Seminary in 1891. He was pastor of
Congregational churches in North
Middleboro, Mass., from 1891 until
1898 and at Kent, Conn., from 1898 to
1908.

His Interest in birds then induced
Mr. Job to leave the ministry and,
from 1908 to 1914, he served as state
J ornithologist of Connecticut and as aj
T member of the faculty of the Connec- i
ticut Agricultural College. He next ;
became associated with the National :
Association of Audubon Societies, as
economic ornithologist in charge of
I the department of applied ornithology, ■
serving from 1914 to 1924. In 1918 he'
became director of the Ornithological |

, Experiment Station at Amston, Conn., i
erected by Charles E. Ames, who was
I interested in the propagation of
pheasants and other game birds.

He was South Carolina field agent of
, the National Association of Audubon
Societies and state director of nature
and conservation education of South
; Caroiyia from 1926 to 1930. During
i his career, Mr. Job made frequent ex¬
peditions to wilder parts of the North¬
western states, Canada and the South
to secure photographs and motion pic- I
[ tures of wild birds from life. He was j
a member of the American Ornitholo-
, gists Union.

J Surviving are his wife, the former

I Elsie Ann Curtiss, of Mayville, N. D., I
whom he marled September 10, 1891; ■
one son. George, and a daughter,
Muriel Marion.

X

I ’m all ready now

Page 14

WILD WINGS

SlDtcHtHrcsi of a Camcra#untcr among tljc lavgcr
l3ivDsi of j6ovtl) amcvtca on ^ca ano lanD

BY

HERBERT KEIGHTLEY JOB

Antho7- of Among the IVatei'-Fowl,"
Member of The American Ornithologists' Union, etc.

WITH AN INTRODUCTORY LETTER
BY THEODORE ROOSEVELT

WITH ONE HUNDRED AND SIXTY ILLUS¬
TRATIONS AFTER PHOTOGRAPHS FROM LIFE
BY THE AUTHOR

HOUGHTON MIFFLIN id COMPANY
BOSTON AND NEW YORK C. THE
RIVERSIDE PRESS CAMBRIDGE

COPYRIGHT 1905 BY HERBERT K. JOB
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Published May iqo^

Co mp !21^ot()er

IN LOVING RECOGNITION Of' HER MANY
ANXIETIES FOR A ROVING NATURALIST

II DfOicatr tljts Oolumr

KITTIWAKES AND A GANNET, NORTH BIRD ROCK
STRONG WINGS MAKE THEM MASTERS OF THE ELEMENTS'’

PREFACE

The above picture may serve to siig'gest the feelings
which have animated me in securing the contents
of this volume, of enthusiastic love of the out-door
world and keen delight in its free, wild life, — a spirit which
I hope may not have been too fugitive to bear the transfer
from nature to the printed page. It is a scene instinct with life.
Forth from the wave-lashed cliff and out over the heaving,
restless deep fly the wild, hardy birds of the sea. As they
launch into the cold breeze which sweeps over the lonely
northern ocean and wheel off before it with careless abandon.

PREFACE

viii

uttering their shrill cries, which are softened in the undertone
of the surf, strong wings make them masters of the elements.
How I thrill as I watch them ! They and their lone surround¬
ings are the unsullied handiwork of God. No trace is here
of man’s vandalism ; the wildness of the scene might well
have been matched at Creation’s dawn.

I cannot adequately explain the fascination which the wild
birds have for me, and, in these days, for an increasing multi¬
tude of people. Is it their flight, so mysterious even yet to
us, their grace and beauty, their fulness of abounding life, the
interest of their nesting, the charm of their varied surround¬
ings, the exhilaration of the quest which lures us forth into
the open ? It is all these and more, and fortunate are they
who feel the thrill of enthusiasm for nature and in nature, be
the special interest liirds or whatsoever it mav. In this age
of strain and stress some pleasant incentive is needed to
drive us from our toil and give the exercise in the pure open
air which is absolutely essential to health and vigor. Added
years and serenity of soul are the reward.

Of all the various out-door recreations which I have tried,
when it comes to genuine, exciting sport, give me himtiug
zvith the camera. In past years I have tried shooting and
collecting, but this new hunting entirely outclasses them. It
reciuires more skill than shooting, and hence is a finer sport.
The results are of more interest and value, and, withal, the
lives of the wild creatures are spared for our further pleasure.
This hunting is in season the year round, every living thing
is proper “ game,” and the sport may be enjoyed by men and
women alike. One may use l)oth gun and camera, if desired.

PREFACE

IX

In my own case, at first both were used, but, finding camera¬
hunting the more interesting and exciting, I gradually lost
the inclination to shoot. Of course it is far better to per¬
form the whole photographic process one’s self. This is part
of the sport, and is a delightful amusement for days or even¬
ings at home. The excitement of developing a plate which
records a hard-earned shot is almost as great as in making
the shot itself.

If I am asked to advise upon the choice of a camera,
I recommend the size which employs a 4 x 5-inch plate. The
beginner had better secure a lightly built focusing instru¬
ment, of any reputable make, a model sometimes known as
“ cycle style,” having a draw of bellows, for this size, of at
least sixteen inches. A good, yet inexpensive rapid recti¬
linear doublet lens will suffice, one which covers the zvJiolc
plate sharply. The lens designed for the next larger size of
plate is preferable, as it secures a larger image of the game
at a given distance. After mastering the rudiments, if one
then decide to follow up the sport, it will be time enough to
secure a camera of the “ refle.x ” or reflecting tvpe, with its
ingenious mirror arrangement, the swift focal-plane shutter,
and a rapid lens. This fine battery is adapted to photo¬
graphing birds in flight, and the like, but is at present,
unfortunately, expensive. As to the actual using of these
cameras and their accessories, I have tried to make brief
suggestions by concrete cases through the pages which fol¬
low. Various treatises upon the subject by others make it
unnecessary for me here to attempt detailed and technical
explanations.

X

PREFACE

On the principal outing trips, hereafter described, I have
been happy in my companions. Usually these were C. S.
Day, of Boston, and A. C. Bent, of Taunton, Massachusetts,
and occasionally Dr. L. B. Bishop, of New Haven, Con¬
necticut, or Dr. E. E. Murphey, of Augusta, Georgia. All
are fellow members with me of the American Ornithologists’
Union. They are familiar with all my methods, and have
shared with me the excitement of the taking of many of my
most successful pictures. The presence of responsible wit¬
nesses in hunting with the camera is not unimportant in
these davs, when the recognized value of successful camera-
shots leads so many of the unscrupulous to attempt short
cuts to success that there is often need of careful scrutiny
to distinguish the tares from the wheat.

Most of the following chapters have been used, with more
or less variation, as articles in “Outing” and “Country Life
in America,” and one in “The Twentieth Century Home,”
but many of the illustrations have never yet been published.

Every lover of lairds realizes the great need there is for
their protection. For the accomplishment of this end, organ¬
ization is absolutely essential, and it has been secured in the
forming and recent incorporation of “The National Associa¬
tion of Audubon Societies for the Protection of Wild Birds
and Animals,” under the laws of the State of New York.
Largely through its agency, with the cooperation of right-
minded sportsmen, excellent laws have been passed in most
of the states of the ITnion. Through the untiring agency of
its president, Mr. Mhlliam Dutcher, some money has been
raised and wardens have been hired to guard certain great

PREFACE

xi

colonies of water-birds, from Maine to the Gulf of Mexico, and
elsewhere. Some of these breeding-resorts, through the repre¬
sentations of this association, have been set off as government
reservations by President Roosevelt, than whom the birds
have no more friendly protector.

It is a delightful experience for one who loves the birds to
visit these protected colonies, once nearly annihilated for the
millinery market, or in wantonness, but now swarming with
bird-life. Other localities are still suffering in the same way
as did these, largely because the “sinews of war” have not
been supplied for their j^rotection. Here is a great economic
and humanitarian movement which consecrated wealth has
hitherto overlooked. If it could be properly endowed and
supported, immense good would result. Our fields, woods,
shores, and waters might abound afresh in beautiful wild life,
and agriculture, our basal industry, would be spared increas¬
ing devastation and loss.

If the portrayal of some of the delights which I have found
amid beautiful nature, in the haunts of the birds, shall help to
kindle in others the enthusiasm which has done so much for
me with its rewards of health and happiness, and serve to
gain new friends for the birds, I shall be more than satisfied.

HERBERT K. JOB.

Kent, Connecticut.

April I, 1905.

White House, W’ashington

My dear Mr. Job:

As a fellow Harvard man I must thank you for
your exceedingly interesting book. I have been delighted
with it, and I desire to express to you my sense of the
good which comes from such books as yours and from the
substitution of the camera for the gun. The older I grow
the less I care to shoot anything except “varmints.” I do
not think it at all advisable that the gun should be given
up, nor does it seem to me that shooting wild game under
proper restrictions can be legitimately opposed by any who
are willing that domestic animals shall be kept for food 5
but there is altogether too much shooting, and if we can
only get the camera in place of the gun and have the
sportsman sunk somewhat in the naturalist and lover of
wild things, the next generation will see an immense change
for the better in the life of our woods and waters.

Faithfully yours.

(This letter, written after a reading of the author’s earlier book, “ Among the Water-
Fowl,” is here printed by permission of the President.)

NEST AND EGGS OE' WILSON’S SNIPE

CONTENTS

PART I. Adventurings in PAorida Wilds

I. Cities of the Brown Pelicans i

II. Following Audubon among the Florida Keys 19

III. In the Cape Sable Wilderness 41

IV. The Great Cuthbert Rookery 61

V. On Lonely Bird Key 83

PART II. Other Wanderings South

VI. Scavengers of the South 103

VII. Virginia Bird-Homes of Beach and INIarsh 116

Vm. The Egret, in Nature and in Fashion 134

PART III. The Sea! The Sea!

IX. To Bird Rock in an Open Boat 153

X. Amid Northern Spruces and Sea-Girt Rocks 17 1

XI. Off Chatham Bars 187

PART IV. The Elusive Shore-Birds

XII. The Shore Patrol 203

XIII. Northward with the Shore-Bird Host 223

XIV. Shore-Bird Loiterers 239

PART V. Raptors and Forest P'astnesses

XV. The New Sport of “ Hawking ” 259

XVI. Owl Secrets 291

XVH. Adventures with Great Horned Owls 313

Index

337

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

Half-Title — Man-o’-War Birds

PTontispiece — Brown Pelican. “I ’m all ready now ”

Title-Page — Sooty Terns

Preface — Kittiwakes and a Gannet, North Bird Rock. “ Strong

wings make them masters of the elements ” vii

Contents — Nest and eggs of Wilson’s Snipe xv

List of Illu.strations — Wilson’s Snipe. “ There was the

blessed Snipe at her vigil ” xvii

xviii LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

Half-Title, Part I — Noddies. “ Mates caressing ” xxvii

Part of the Pelican city, as seen from the boat i

Brown Pelicans. “ It was not until we sprang out upon the shore

that there was any considerable flight ” 5

Newly hatched young Pelicans 6

The young Pelicans improve with age 7

♦Brown Pelicans. “ They made me think of gangs of boys ” 8

The Brown Pelicans on their nests 1 1

Young Pelicans, almost ready to fly 13

Adult and young Pelicans on nests in mangrove bushes 15

A typical Pelican’s nest 17

Brown Pelicans on their nests, at close range 18

Man-o’-War Birds. “Now they began to rise” ig

“ The Man-o’-\AAr Bird, that wonderful aeronaut of tropical waters ” 2 1

Young Great White Heron 27

Great White Heron. “ He stood like a statue or obelisk ” 29

Young Ward’s Herons. “ Making vicious lunges” 31

Man-o’-War Birds. “ A plate full of the gracefully soaring birds ” 35

Great White Herons. “ Not so well-bred were a trio in a neigh¬
boring nest ” 40

“A pair of splendid White Pelicans” 41

Nest and young of the Wood Ibis, built on the tops of the man¬
groves 43

Young Wood Ibis posed for a portrait 45

“ The tract of woods into which returning Ibises were dropping ” 47

White Ibises in “ flight-line ” for the rookery 51

White Ibises. “ The trees were fairly alive with splendid great

birds” S3

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

XIX

Young White Ibises and Louisiana Herons

Young White Ibis on its nest ^6

“ Contained four young Snowy Herons ”

Spoonbill and Ibis watching the intruders

Young Roseate Spoonbills in nest 6o

Adult Little Blue Heron, from the boat 6i

Ibises and Cormorants leaving the rookery. “ My first pic¬
ture ” 63

“ Another lot of Ibises started up ” 67

Young Anhingas. “ The coveted opportunity ” 69

Telephoto picture of an Ibis and a Louisiana Heron 71

Young Florida Cormorants 72

Louisiana Herons. “ Young in their rude home” 73

Young Little Blue Heron. “ Stood very sweetly for his picture ” 75

Cormorants, Ibises, and a Heron. “ Fluttering from the low

mangroves” 77

A vision of Cuthbert Lake, with an Anhinga 79

“One of these Fish Crows kept hovering close around me ” 82

Sooty Terns. “They settle down upon the sand” 83

Sooty Terns. “ Alone among the birds ” 85

The nesting Noddy. “ A case of love at first sight ” 87

Sooty Terns. “ Thousands of wings are fluttering ” 89

Man-o’-War Birds at their roost 91

Sooty Tern over egg 93

The little pier. “The Noddies and Man-o’-War Birds love to

roost on it ” 95

Noddies. “ The male stands beside his mate as she broods ” 97

Sooty Tern. “ With rather long, pointed wings ” 99

XX

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

Half-Title, Part II — Turkey Buzzard

Black Vultures. “They sit in rows upon the adjoining houses ”
Turkey Buzzard. Sunning itself

Turkey Buzzard’s portrait. “Not altogether as pretty as a picture ”
Turkey Buzzard. “A fine subject to photograph”

Black Buzzard on street in Charleston

Black Vultures. “The fences of the slaughter-pens were fairly
black with them ”

Negroes and Black Buzzards on city dumping-ground, Charleston
Turkey Buzzard. “On pinions majestic the vulture”

Flock of Laughing Gulls by the quarantine station
Nest and eggs of the Black Skimmer
“ Parties of Skimmers were flying about”

Nest and eggs of the Clapper Rail
Black Skimmer incubating eggs
Laughing Gulls hovering over their nests
Young Common Terns, ready to escape
Young Marsh Tern hiding
Laughing Gull on her nest
Nest and eggs of Marsh Tern
The American Egret in flight

lOI

103

105

107
109
1 1 1

114

1 15

1 16
119
121
123

125

127

129

132

133

134

Osprey and nest 137

Egrets and Little Blue Herons 139

Young Little Blue Herons 140

Young Egrets in nest 141

Egret watching approach of boat 143

Female Egret on her nest 145

Young Egrets nearly fledged 149

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS xxi

Half-Title, Part III — Puffins and Razor-bills, one of the

latter flapping 15 1

Gannets leaving North Bird Rock 153

Bird Rock. “ The famous rock, with its beetling cliffs and whir¬
ring multitude ” 155

Gannets and Murre leaving nests 157

Gannets and Murres incubating 159

Gannet returning home 16 1

Puffins leaving the rock 163

Kittiwakes on their nests 165

Party of Razor-bills, one showing peculiar straddling attitude in

flight 166

Gannets nesting on the top of North Bird Rock 167

Briinnich’s Murre by its egg. “ Shrank back bashfully” 169

Pair of Herring Gulls. “ Allowed me to approach ” 17 i

Black Guillemots and their haunts 175

Black Guillemots. “Curiosity seems to be one of their most

striking characteristics ” 178

Black Guillemot over her eggs 180

Herring Gull leaving the dead tree 182

Leach’s Petrel removed from its burrow 186

Greater Shearwater and Wilson’s Petrels 187

Wilson’s Petrels 19 1

“A Sooty Shearwater or two joined the party ” 192

Greater Shearwater. “ They came fairly near ” 193

Greater and Sooty Shearwaters. “It was a school of bait they

were chasing ” 195

Pomarine Jaeger. “ Great powerful Jaegers were passing ” 197

xxii LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

Greater Shearwater rising
Pomarine Jaeger

Half-Title, Part IV — Sandpipers and Turnstones. “ The sands
were fairly alive with shore-birds ”

Semipalmated Sandpipers

Turnstones. “The birds fed up near to me”

Flock of Turnstones, with a Wilson’s Plover, a Dowitcher, and
a Sandpiper

Turnstones and Sandpipers. “ Within a dozen feet they fed,
bathed, and preened their feathers ”

Hudsonian Curlews coming in at night to roost
“ A splendid male Black-breast Plover.” “ Tired of feeding ”
Black-breast Plover. “ Gone sweetly off into dreamland”

Lesser Yellow-legs in Florida pool

Anxious Ring-necked Plovers. “ When they came together ”

Nest and eggs of Least Sandpiper
Least Sandpiper on nest

Mother Least Sandpiper. “ Alighted on the posts and wire ”
Young Least Sandpipers as first found
Wilson’s Snipe on nest. “ A splendid timed exposure”
Ring-necked Plover and young. “ The little fellow scurried in
under the maternal breast”

Nest and eggs of Ring-necked Plover
American Oyster-catcher on nest
Nest and eggs of Oyster-catcher
Young Oyster-catcher
Nest and eggs of Wilson’s Plover

Scene on the Willet Key. Pair of Willets and a Wilson’s Plover

198

200

201

203

209

213

215

2 1 7

220

221

2 2 2

223

226

227

228

229

233

237

238

239

241

245

247

249

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS xxiii

Spotted Sandpiper settling over eggs 250

Willet. “ I inveigled him into alighting 250

W’illet on nest 251

Nest and eggs of Willet 253

Wilson’s Plover 255

Half-Title, Part V — Young Screech Owls, one showing atti¬
tude of defence 257

Nest and young of Marsh Hawk 259

The climb to a Red-tailed Hawk’s nest. “ My friend climbed ” 264

Young Red-shouldered Hawk (Florida) 267

Captive Red-tailed Hawk in the attitude of watching for prey 269
Captive Cooper’s Hawk 271

Nest and eggs of Cooper’s Hawk in crotch of chestnut 273

Cooper’s Hawks, Same nest as last, with young 275

Cooper’s Hawk incubating. “ The wildest hawk can be photo¬
graphed upon the nest ” 277

Young Sharp-shinned Hawks, raised from the nest 280

“ A brood of tiny Sharpshins in their nest ” 282

Pair of Sparrow Hawks in captivity 285

Young Red-tailed Hawk 290

“ For some years a pair of Barred Owls nested in the cavity of

an oak ” 291

Young Barred Owl from nesting hollow shown in preceding

picture 299

Adult Screech Owl. Hiding pose 305

Screech Owl. “ Coming to life ” 307

Two of the young Screech Owls in first plumage 309

The Screech Owl and her children 312

XXIV

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

Great Horned Owl. “ Stared off in such an interested and spirited

attitude” 313

View of the Great Horned Owl on her nest 317

Great Horned Owl, “ When it was about two months old ” 319

Nest and eggs of the Great Horned Owl 322

Great Horned Owl. “The young were safely hatched ” 323

Great Horned Owl. “As she returned to her young” 325

Great Horned Owl. “ Her body crouched down into the nest” 327
Great Horned Owl. “ Stooping over to caress her owlet ” 331

Great Horned Owl. “ Squatting in the leaves ” 333

Great Horned Owl. “ There sat the brooding owl, her head show¬
ing above the nest ” 33^

There is a pleasitre in the pathless zvoods,

There is a raptiu'e on the lonely shore,

There is society zvhere none intrudes
By the deep sea, and music in its roar :

I love not man the less, but nature more.

From these our interviezvs, in zvhich I steal
From all I may be, or have been before.

To mingle zvith the universe, and feel

What I can ne'er express, yet cannot all conceal.

Byron.

Part 1

9llibfntiirms6 in jTlorttia a^ilDs

Palmettos ranked, with childish spear-points set
Against no enemy — rich cones that fret
High roofs of temples shafted tall ivith pines —

Green, grateful mangroves where the sand-beach shines —
Long lissome coast that in and outivard szverves.

The grace of God made manifest in curves.

Lanier.

PART OF THE PELICAN CITY, AS SEEN FROM THE BOAT

CHAPTER I

CITIES OF THE BROWN PELICANS

There, in sweet thraldo?n, yet nnweening why.

The patient dam, who ne'er till then had hnown
Parental instinct, brooded o'er her eggs.

Long ere she found the curious secret out.

That life was hatching in their brittle shells.

Then, from a wild rapacious bird of prey.

Tamed by the kindly process, she became
That gentlest of all living things, — a another.

James Montgomery. From “ The Pelican Island.”

Early spring- in New England is apt to be, at best,
the most trying time of all the year. One recent
season it was notably so, with its succession of raw,
sunless days and protracted storms. During some of my long
drives, in March, through the thawing and stiffening mud,
hunting for nests of the Great Horned Owl, I was almost
frozen, particularly as no successes came, with their exhilara-

2

WILD WINGS

tion, to make me feel that any sort of weather was glorious.
Then April was ushered in with day after day of cold, dismal
rain. Not a bud had swelled ; hardly even a blade of grass
was green.

Yet I was biding my time, and soon, as though by magic,
I found myself in a new world. On the eighth of April, with
tremendous downpour and shrieking blasts, this mockery of
a spring fairly outdid itself. Forswearing travel by sea, under
such circumstances, toward midnight a congenial friend and
I ensconced ourselves comfortably under the blankets of a
Pullman sleeper in Jersey City. YTen we arose, we were at
the national Capital, and strolled awhile amid young leaves
and dowers in the j^arks. In the afternoon we were rolling
through Virginia and North Carolina, gazing upon blossom¬
ing peach-trees and bursting buds. Early next morning, as
I raised the curtain, I saw dense green foliage and summer
skies, in the environs of Savannah. Then came landscapes
gay with rustling palmettos, and we were in Florida. Winter
clothing was discarded, and we almost forgot the chilly North¬
ern clime with its discomforts.

Halfway down the East Coast Railway we had the train
stopped at a little dag-station, where our guide was waiting
for us. In a short time we were sailing across the tepid waters
of the Indian River, exulting in the mild, moist air, watching
the Scaup Ducks which rose in docks before us and the sil¬
very mullets leaping from the water in all directions. On the
other side, upon the narrow peninsula of land which separates
Indian “River” from the ocean, we found a little wharf up
a sort of lagoon, and back of it a pleasant house, shaded by
palms and live-oaks, where we made our headquarters.
Oranges and lemons hung from the trees around the doors.
Mockingbirds and Cardinals gave splendid vocal exhibitions
by day, as well as various other birds new to us, while at

CITIES OF THE BROWN PELICANS

3

night the curious “ Chuck-Will’s-Widow ” and the Florida
Screech Owl put in their contemplative refrains. For the first
few days we almost wilted under the eighty-five degrees of
temperature, Fahrenheit, but soon got ourselves in good form
for hard tramps and various adventures.

On the morning of the sixteenth, after waiting for the
regular sea-breeze to arise, we were making a slow start for
Pelican Island, twelve miles farther down the river. Within
forty minutes the expected breeze began to spring up fair from
the north-northeast, and we scudded along, rejoicing in the
delightful conditions and surroundings. The mullets were
leaping, as usual. Scaup Ducks and Scoters flew up before
us, while Bald Eagles soared and Ospreys plied their fishing
amid lavish abundance, flying with their prey to the tropical-
looking shores lined with palms and mangroves. By ten
o’clock we began to see lines of great pelicans with slow,
measured flight coming in from the ocean and flying down¬
stream past us, and before eleven o’clock the guide pointed
out Pelican Island.

No tremendous cliffs were there, as at Bird Rock, in the
Gulf of St. Lawrence. Indeed, until we had come quite close,
it was hard to distinguish this small low island from the neigh¬
boring shore, not half a mile away, with its jungle of palms
and mangroves. Then we could see many beating wings,
and, with our field-glasses, a great crowd of birds upon the
ground — the Brown Pelicans upon their nests. With eager
anticipation we made ready our battery of cameras for the
bloodless fray, casting anxious glances at the heavy cumulus
clouds which threatened to spoil the light at the critical mo¬
ment. And now we were close enough to take in the whole
situation. Here was the low, flat islet of only about three
acres, somewhat triangular in form. A very few small palmet¬
tos and low mangrove trees and stumps were standing, but

4

WILD WINGS

most of the area was an open expanse, overgrown with tall
weeds and grass, except for two considerable sandy tracts at
the east and southwest corners. Both of these tracts were
fairly covered with an army of great birds, about the size of
geese, each of a general grayish color above and dark brown
beneath, with long brown and white neck and enormous bill
with pendant pouch that was held pointed downward in a
most ridiculously solemn, pompous fashion. There were, too,
a few of the birds located at the northwestern end, and also
smaller overflow colonies on at least two other islands about
a quarter of a mile eastward. These are the Brown Pelican, a
Southern species, entirely different from our only other kind,
the American White Pelican, which is snow-white, with black
wing-tips, and is found mostly in the interior and on the
Gulf of Mexico, breeding on islands in lakes from Minnesota
northward.

P’rom time immemorial this little island has been the prin¬
cipal, if not the only, breeding-ground of the Brown Pelicans
of the east coast of Florida. Though there are hundreds of
other islands apparently just as good, this one alone has
attracted the pelicans. Dastardly plume-hunters have at
times all but annihilated them ; swinish egg-collectors have
robbed them of every egg in sight ; yet still thev remain
faithful to the old home-land of their ancestors. Creatures of
habit they are, like the chickens that persist in roosting in
the orchard, despite the advent of winter weather.

Our boat was now closely approaching the east end of the
island, directed by the guide, while we held readv our cam¬
eras, expecting at every moment to see the birds rise in a
cloud and leave the vicinity. To make sure of present oppor¬
tunity, we took snap-shots as the birds still sat on their nests.
Then we prepared in earnest for the grand flight. The boat
was run ashore abreast of the colony, but without alarming

CITIES OF THE BROWN PELICANS 5

them. Then we stood up and shouted, but hardly a bird rose.
There they sat upon their nests, hundreds and hundreds of
them, many within forty or fifty feet, solemnly gazing at us.
It was not until we sprang out upon the shore that there
was any considerable flight, and even then we noticed that it

“it was not until we sprang out upon the shore that there was
ANY considerable FLIGHT ”

occurred only within a radius of fifty or sixty feet, the rest of
the colony remaining on their nests apparently in perfect
unconcern. We also noticed with delight, as we went back to
the boat for more plates, that the fl^dng birds, after a short
circle out over the water, came right back and settled upon
their nests. The fear that it would be next to impossible to
secure pictures at close range was proven groundless.

Equipped with all necessary photographic implements, we
now started out for a thorough tour of inspection. A great
area of nests lay before us, a few of them built on the spread¬
ing limbs or tops of the mangrove bushes, but the great
majority were on the sand, usually about a yard apart. Those

6

WILD WINGS

on the bushes were built of sticks, weed-stems, and grass, and
were quite bulky, while the ground nests were much smaller,
composed largely of soft materials. The contents of the nests
were greatly varied. Though the nesting-season of the peli¬
cans begins as early as November or December, many of the

nests still had their comj^lements
of great, dirty-white eggs, some
of them comparatively clean and
fresh. These may have been
second or third layings, owing
to previous deprivations, though
to what extent individual peli¬
cans may be irregular in their
nesting-time, I cannot say. In
other nests, there were young,
in all stages, from the naked,
newly hatched, and rather re¬
pulsive-looking callow bird-life, to the more sightly, yet not
altogether handsome, downy stage. Still other nests were
empty, but that their mission had not been fruitless was evi¬
dent from the numbers of well-grown young that were running
about in all directions. Evidently they were all but able to
fly, as their wing-feathers seemed to be well grown, though
on the bodies the feathers were still more or less downv and
ragged. In color they were very different from their parents,
being of a lighter gray, and mainly white on the under parts.

These young pelicans afforded us quite a little amusement.
Though they evidently inherited not a little of the true j^eli-
can gravity of demeanor, their childishness could not but show
out. For one thing, they were, like most children, eminently
social. They made me think of gangs of bovs upon the street
corners, as they congregated here and there in groups, chat¬
tering away in peculiar, guttural tones, indi^’iduals falling

NEWLY HATCHED YOUNG PELICANS

CITIES OF THE BROWN PELICANS

7

THE YOUNG PELICANS IMPROVE WITH AGE

occasionally into some little dispute. Then the gang would
scamper away, no doubt bent upon some gay prank, if,
indeed, that were conceivable of such dignihed creatures as
pelicans, however young. On the whole, though, they seemed
sedate enough to satisfy their industrious parents, who had
gone off across the strij) of “ hammock,” or trojoical jungle,
to the ocean shore, there to plunge headlong into the sea
and catch fish, which they would carry home in the net-like
pouches to fill young maws, doubtless, like those of other
children, in a chronic state of emptiness.

We learned from the guide and others that it was the
pelicans’ custom to feed their young in the morning and late
in the afternoon. Strangely enough, the pelicans do not fish
near the island in the river, but, in flocks of about a dozen,

8

WILD WINGS

fly across to the ocean for that purpose. Since it was not
feeding-time during our stay, we saw this curious operation
only a very few times. The youngsters, with greedy violence,
thrust head and neck away down into the parent’s gullet,
and gobble away at the partly digested fish. In the case of

THEY MADE ME THINK OF GANGS OF BOYS ”

the older children, roaming around in bands, it would seem
remarkable if parents can identifv their own, and if commun¬
ism is not for a time the order of pelican society.

Presentlv we made a visit to the other large group of peli¬
cans at the southwest corner of the island, about a hundred
and fiftv yards from the first. Here we found a similar state
of affairs. Each of the many occupied nests was brooded over
bv a devoted parent • — - 1 could not tell whether male or female.
Yet there was considerable going and coming, for one reason
or other, making a lively scene, with enough noise from the
harsh, croaking voices of the birds to suggest considerable

CITIES OF THE BROWN PELICANS

9

street traffic in this pelican city. The citizens all dress well,
and look remarkably neat in this favored social order where
poverty is unknown, and where there are no strikes or other
signs of discontent. But let not the visitor hope to vie with
the pelicans in neatness of apparel and apparent cleanliness.
The passing birds are continually dropping a watery excre¬
ment which, though it does not seem to stick upon the oily
plumage of the pelicans, certainly does not allow the gar¬
ments of human visitors to remain immaculate. The ground,
too, is very dirty, infested by swarms of insects, and in a short
time our clothing and cameras were well besmeared.

Naturally we were interested to make an estimate of the
population of Pelican Island. As nearly as we could count,
there were four hundred and fifty nests at the east end, five
hundred and twelve at the southwest, and fourteen at the
northwest, making nine hundred and seventy-six in all. This
means nineteen hundred and fifty - two adult birds. The
most common number of the eggs in a nest was three, but
often only two. In only one nest did we find four, and in
one other five. Assuming that each pair raises two young,
a colony ought to double every season, if they were not
disturbed. On the adjacent islands there were evidently over
two hundred nests, though we did not land. Assuming, then,
that there were twelve hundred nests in all, the adult popu¬
lation of the whole colony can be placed at twenty-four
hundred.

Mr. F. M. Chapman has recorded that on a visit to this
island, in 1898, he counted eight hundred and forty-five nests,
and noticed a very few on an adjacent island. Assuming that
there were then nine hundred nests in all, it is evident that
the colony had increased about one third in four years. This
desirable result may be due to the better enforcement of strict
laws in Florida against the destruction of plume-bearing

lO

WILD WINGS

birds, the efforts of the American Ornithologists’ Union in
appointing a warden to watch the colony, and a bettering of
public sentiment in Florida, realizing the great value of inter¬
esting wild life in attracting tourists. Our own party is a case
in point. To see this pelican colony, heron rookeries, and
other bird resorts, three of us — one more having followed —
had come all the way from New England, meaning several
hundred dollars distributed among railroads, boarding-houses,
guides, stable-men, and store-keepers ; and we are only a few
out of thousands. The ])eople of Florida are short-sighted
indeed if they allow vandals and plume-hunters to massacre
these pelicans, herons, and other interesting creatures.

In making an expedition of this kind to such great bird
resorts as this ])elican colony, one feels like a general who is
planning and conducting the siege of some great capital.
Plans must be carefully made beforehand, the photographic
equipment must be comj:)lete and in perfect order, and the
worker must be in readiness to take advantage of everv
favoring circumstance. My equipment at this time lacked the
very desirable reflecting camera, but I had two good long-
focus cameras, a 4 x 5 and a 5x7, with good lenses and
a telephoto lens besides. These I was determined to use for
all they were worth, and with them I went systematically
to work to “take” Pelican Island and all its defending gar¬
rison.

First I took a number of general views, snap-shots with
camera in hand, of the pelicans on their nests and in flight.
Then, with the camera on the tripod, I photographed nests at
close range, with eggs and voung, using the ball and socket
clamjD. When these general, I might say “ routine,” matters
had been disposed of, I had the rest of the time for that
fascinating, but often slow and exasperating, branch of the
subject — bird-portraiture. Over at the farther end of the

THE BROWN PELICANS ON THEIR NESTS

CITIES OF THE BROWN PELICANS

13

southwest settlement, the area of nests extended almost to
a tract of tall weeds. Here I found it convenient to plant the
camera on the shortened tripod, allowing- the tall weeds to
arch over it, where it commanded a view of a number of nests

YOUNG PELICANS, ALMOST READY TO FLY

at moderate distance. When I withdrew a few yards back,
the birds at once returned, and I pulled the thread which I had
attached to the shutter. Then, after two or three exposures,
I placed the camera on its case close to a nest or two, covered
it with the rubber cloth, and the whole with grass. The birds
did not mind this, and returned at once, giving me all the
chances I wished to make exposures from behind a clump
of grass down by the shore.

14

WILD WINGS

Over in the eastern colony a pelican that had a nest at the
foot of a stub returned readily to her eggs, though I had
placed the large camera on the sand, without concealment,
but little over a yard away. She would waddle past the
camera up on to her nest, settle down, draw in her chin in
the most dignified attitude, and seem to say, “I ’m all ready
now ; pull ! ” I also set the camera on the trij^od in the
open near some nests on a mangrove, and iDulled the thread
when some of the old birds alighted on the empty nests,
near the large youngsters. Another successful method was
to drive a company of the well-grown young down to the
shore, where I could get within ten feet of them and secure
snaj>shots.

We stayed on the island until half-past four, and were
careful not to remain close to any nest for more than a few
moments at a time, so as not to keep the birds away. Naked,
newly hatched young birds of any kind will soon die in the
sun, if not brooded, and visitors to the bird colonies will do
well to remember this, or they may do tremendous damage.
In this case the pelicans were so tame that no harm was done
by our stay on the island, with the exercise of a little care, for
the birds did not mind our presence at all, as long as we kept
thirty feet or more from the nesting area.

At one o’clock the pro]:)osal was made to have dinner. The
rest ate without me, for I told them it seemed little short of
sacrilege to lose a single moment of those brief, precious,
golden hours in the wonder-land for such a sordid thing as
eating, that one could do at aii}^ other time. So I fasted, and
worked until we sailed awav.

During the day the wind had steadilv increased, and all
the afternoon had been blowing a gale down the river. W’e
waited in vain for it to veer to southeast, as it usually does
by night, and at length had to start on our long, hard beat to

CITIES OF THE BROWN PELICANS

15

windward. Our craft was a wretched sea-boat. Every wave
broke completely over her, and in a moment we were all
soaked to the skin. By dark we had hardly made four miles,
and were almost perishing with cold — yes, even in Florida !

ADULT AND YOUNG PELICANS ON NESTS IN MANGROVE BUSHES

We debated leaving the boat, walking across the peninsula
and up the ocean beach. But the thought of stepping on
rattlesnakes in the dark deterred us, and we pounded wearily
along. The night was dark indeed when the wind canted
a few points to the eastward, and at about eleven o’clock,
weary, shivering, hungry, we reached “ Oak Lodge ’’ again,
not sorry, however, that we had visited Pelican Island.

i6

WILD WINGS

About two weeks later I made the trijo again with another
friend who had joined us. This time the day was perfect,
with a fair wind both ways, and nothing could have been
more comfortable and enjoyable. Upon our return, our
boarding-mistress, Mrs. Latham, entertained us with her
accounts of how she secured some live })elicans for the Bronx
Park (New York) aviary. She sat among the nests on dark
nights covered with brush and stubble, and, when the birds
finally gathered around her, seized one of them by the neck
and reduced the flapping thing to subjection.

The year following my visit. Pelican Island was set apart
by President Roosevelt as a government reservation for the
propagation of wild native birds. Warning notices were
posted and a warden empowered to prevent people from
landing. Here these pelicans had always nested within the
memory of man, subject to all manner of cruel persecutions,
from which now they were to be ever freed, as long as they
should repair to this sanctuary. Unfortunately the govern¬
ment made no appropriation to instruct the pelicans in read¬
ing, for the next spring, harassed by an early high tide, they
forsook the abodes of their fathers and nested upon some
adjoining islands. One day I told the President how the
Indian River pelicans, citizens of the State of Florida, had
refused to submit to the national ordinances. With a merrv
twinkle in his eye, and an amused smile, he exclaimed, “The
provoking things ! ” Mighty are the wild, free children of
Nature ! We could exterminate them, to be sure, but yet not
all the rulers and governments and armaments upon earth
could compel that band of pelicans to breed where they did
not take a notion to. Since then, having vindicated their
right to independence, they have returned and placed them¬
selves under Federal protection.

I also found that the experiences of the Indian River had

CITIES OF THE BROWN PELICANS 17

been repeated upon the South Carolina coast. One bright
afternoon we anchored our yawl off a veritable “ sea island,”
a little sand-flat out in the open ocean. This was another
reputed city of the pelicans, and here before us was quite an
army of the great birds drawn up along the sand in pompous
array. Now the pelican, ordinarily a most wary bird, as soon
as it has a nest to guard, becomes one of the tamest and

A TYPICAL pelican’s NEST

most stolid members of its race, parental tenderness over¬
coming the wildness of its natural instinct. So, when I saw
the pelicans, even before we had anchored, leave the
island and alight out upon the sea, I was overwhelmed with
well-grounded misgivings. The cause was soon made plain.
Great white eggs were lying, scattered or in windrows, all
over the sand, some of them buried beneath it. A recent gale
had flooded the island and “ broken them up,” as the saying is.
The eggs were fresh, and some were still in the nests with
only a little sand washed in. Yet the birds had deserted and
resumed their natural wildness.

i8

WILD WINGS

During the same cruise we visited two other pelican cities
of long standing, which were likewise u])on low sand-bars.
Here, though the wary old pelicans were al)Out, there was
not a sign of an egg. The sea mav have washed them
entirely away. On the west coast of Florida the pelicans are
said to nest usually upon low trees, as some few did in the
Indian River colony, and thus escape this danger, only to
suffer at the hand of man. Though nature mav be seem¬
ingly even more wanton than man in its destructions, this is not
an example to be followed, but a warning that if he, too,
turns destroyer, the birds can have little chance to survive,
and the balance of nature will be overthrown.

BKOWN PELICANS ON THEIR NESTS, AT CLOSE RANGE

MAN-O’-WAR BIRDS. “NOW THEY BEGAN TO RISE

CHAPTER II

FOLLOWING AUDUBON AMONG THE FLORIDA KEYS

As the ITarion neared the Islet called “ Indian Keyl which is situated on the east¬
ern coast of the petiinsula of Florida, my heart swelled with uncontrollable delight.
Audubon, “ Episodes.”

Rare and beautiful water-birds in amazing numbers,
tropical islets with their dark mangroves, waving
- palms, and coral shores, waters prolihc in fish and
huge sea-turtles, with the soft Southern zephyrs playing over
all — these were my impressions of the Florida Keys gath¬
ered from the writings of Audubon. From bovhood I had
gloated over these accounts of wonders which I was now to
see for myself. No small ]Dart of the pleasure of such an
expedition is in anticipation, planning, and preparation. So
the “ triumvirate ” of various former expeditions set their wits
at work on the elusive, yet delightful, campaign of detail.
Months of inquiry and correspondence resulted at last in

20

WILD WINGS

learning somewhat of “ the lay of the land ” in that morass,
which even yet in part remains a blank upon the map, and in
securing the services of two ideal guides, men brought up
in the unsurveyed and trackless wilderness of the Keys and
Cape Sable, who knew every islet, channel, and lake, and the
wonderful rookeries of the herons, ibises, egrets, and other
interesting birds.

It was on a glorious bright morning, the twenty-third of
April, 1903, at Miami, at that time the terminus of the railway,
that we began our cruise in the old battered seven-ton
schooner, the Maggie Valdez, which one of the guides had
brought from Cape Sable to meet us, as a substitute for his
hner craft, which had recently been wrecked. With a snap-
jring breeze from the east we ran down Biscavne Bav, past
the flat, densely wooded Florida mainland on our right and
low wooded islets well to seaward on the left. By early after¬
noon we had traversed the wider part of the bay, and were
now at last fairly among the Florida Keys. That foreign
word had hitherto savored to me a good deal of mysterv,
though not to such a degree as to a certain New England
villager, who, when I told him that I was to visit the Florida
Keys, remarked, with an air of entire innocence, that there
must be /or/:s down there too.

Our vessel was now gliding along in calm, shallow water,
which was dotted here and there with the far-famed keys.
These were of the mangrove tvpe, little round bunches of
dark, shiny foliage which seemed to spring directly from the
water, as indeed is often the case. Sometimes the low flat
upon which they grow is entirely under water. Even when
it is not, the trees grow out from the shores, leaving no beach
at all. The rounded mass of dark foliage gives the islet the
appearance of a fortification out in the water. But such water !
Should a painter faithfully produce upon his canvas that

AMONG THE FLORIDA KEYS

21

exquisite pale emerald green of such wonderful intensity and
brilliance, the critic would surely declare it exaggerated and
unnatural. Overhead sailed the Frigate Pelican, or Man-o’-
W^ar Bird, that wonder¬
ful aeronaut of tropical
waters, while the Brown
Pelican flapped along or
plunged into the brine
after the fish. Then we
anchored for the night
at Caesar’s Creek, the last
channel for many a mile
out into the open sea.

J list as we did so, a great
dark bird of prey, that I
took to be a Caracara
Eagle, flew directly over
us, seemingly almost
minded to alight upon
the mast-head. Then fol¬
lowed a pull in the skiff
along the mangrove
thickets at the edge of
the keys, where I noted various herons and numbers of migra-
torv Pigeon Falcons, as well as many small birds.

A study of the coast-chart was now illuminating to us as
it had never been before. Here was the outer chain of long,
narrow islands forming a parallel breakwater for the Florida
coast from Miami away out beyond Key West, some two
hundred miles. These were of another type from the little
round mangrove keys of mud in that they were originally
coral reefs, upon which soil had been deposited. They are
now densely wooded, and are used for the cultivation of

“the man-o’-war bird, that wonderful

AERONAUT OF TROPICAL WATERS”

22

WILD WINGS

tropical fruits. Inside this natural breakwater is a vast shal¬
low bay with immense flats of sticky, white clay mud, and
dotted with mangrove islets. New “keys” are continually
started by mangrove shoots which, drifting about, take root
on these flats and, multiplying, form islets by the soil which
the tide lodges around their roots. A very few of these keys
have beaches of finely ground shell-sand.

In Audubon’s time this great inaccessible wilderness was
the resort of pirates and wreckers, and even now it is so
inaccessible and difficult of navigation that a sail, other than
of the few native fishermen, is seldom seen. Few naturalists
have ever penetrated the mazes of its shallows, and many
of the keys are still nameless. Even indefatigable Audubon
only entered the jiortals of Florida Bay and Barnes’s Sound,
and no other ornithologist has given to the world any ex¬
tended account of the region and its contents. Naturallv it
was a very enthusiastic company that went to sleep on the
borders of the promised land, harassed though they were bv
mosc|uitoes and by troops of great two-inch-long cockroaches
that ]ierambulated over their prostrate forms.

Early the next morning we sailed out through the gap in
the coral reef into the open sea, to cruise outside the keys,
since the Maggie, drawing four feet of water, was too deep
for the flats of Card’s and Barnes’s Sounds. Following the
shore a cou|:)le of miles off Kev Largo, the greatest of the
keys, — some thirty miles in length, — we varied matters by
lingering at one point along the reef to catch a few fine fish
for dinner.

Another diversion, as we sailed along, was the ever-wonder-
ful migration of the birds, that seemed now to be at its height.
Thousands of little land-birds were making their long, weary
flight from the West Indies, or even farther, to our shores.
Most that I saw were Water-Thrushes, Redstarts, Black-poll

AMONG THE FLORIDA KEYS

23

Warblers, and Bobolinks. Even with Florida in sight, those
last few miles were often heart-breaking. A number of the
little creatures alighted on our spars, or even on deck, and
sometimes allowed us to take them in our hands. One such
was a male Bobolink in a curious mottled transition stage of
plumage. Another Bobolink tried to alight on the end of the
boom, but was too much exhausted to gain a footing, and
fell into the water, where it lay struggling pitifully, sealed for
death. No land-bird which falls into the water at any distance
from shore can escape, as its plumage soon becomes soaked
and it cannot rise. Thus do multitudes of the little migrants
perish.

Towards evening we ran in to anchor under the lee of
Indian Key, where Audubon began his famous entrance into
Florida Bay in 1832, coming there on the LT. S. Revenue
Cutter Marion. Here he landed and was entertained by
a customs collector living on the island, and from this base
of supplies he made some boating-trips for twenty miles into
the shallows of Florida Bay.

It was with absorbing interest that I gazed upon, and then
explored, this beautiful tropical islet. Though I could not
exactly trace the great naturalist’s literal footsteps upon its
flat coral rock, I could recall his admiration at the Ijeautiful
little birds he saw flitting among the bushes — this verv time
of year it was. Many migrant warblers, thrushes, pigeons,
and the like, were happy amid the luxuriant vegetation of
cocoanut palms, century-plants, and the thorny thickets, in
which last the mother Ground Doves brooded their young
in frail nests, as the evening shadows fell. And when the sun
rose they were all jubilant with song. We drank milk from
the green cocoanuts, rambled about and talked with the old
man who, with his wife, represented the human population.
The old fellow had never heard of Audubon, and was more

24

WILD WINGS

interested in the boat he was building than in our talk of
Audubonian antiquities.

Years after Audubon’s visit, this island was occupied by
a Dr. Perrine and his family, who were raising tropical fruits.
At the outbreak of the Seminole War a band of Indians
murdered the doctor, l)ut failed to find his family, who were
concealed in a turtle-well. Later on an enterprising individual
— according to tradition — set up on this lovely key with its
waving j^alms a saloon and gambling place, to which resorted
all sorts of desperadoes. Shade of Audubon !

Audubon tells that immediately after landing on Indian
Key, he was conducted by his host across to a neighboring
long key, where he and his ])arty inspected a large rookerv
of nesting Florida Cormorants. From his account I should
judge that this was Lower Metacombe Key, which we could
see about a mile to the westward, a dark strip of mangroves,
some four miles long. We did not visit it, as the guide said
the Cormorants did not now resort there, but frequented
some smaller islands farther back in the bay. So, hoping to
hapjten upon the route of Audubon’s second-day excursion
(which he says he made between three A. M. and dusk), to
a key, evidently some miles away, where he found the Man-
o’-War Birds beginning to nest, we got under way about
eight A. I\r., after further photographing on Indian Kev.
Our course lay between Lower Metacombe and Lignum-
\4fie keys, and out into the wilderness of “soapv mud-flats,”
or “soap-flats,” as Audubon called them. The term is an
apt one, for the sticky, whitish clay mud had a verv soapv
ajtpearance, and the tide running over it stirred up a whitish
lather that was suggesti^'e of soajtv dish-water.

Before long it was our lot to form a verv intimate acquaint¬
ance with these same soap-flats which the great naturalist had
crossed. We had passed several kevs, and were approaching

AMONG THE FLORIDA KEYS

25

a group of small ones, marked on the coast-chart as the
“ Bow-leg Keys,” I should think some eight miles north of
Indian Key, when the guide found it necessary to run the
vessel through a very narrow channel, to reach some open
water beyond. He had vainly tried to hurry us from Indian
Key, as the tide was falling, and he was not to blame when,
though in mid-channel, the schooner ran hard aground.
Despite the liability of meeting sharks, we all stripped and
jumped overboard, and braced our backs against her sides
and stern. Every moment the tide was falling, and it seemed
destined that the precious light of April 25 should be lost
idly upon a soap-hat.

I confess to feeling rather e.xasperated for a few moments,
until, with my held-glass, taking in our surroundings, I no¬
ticed a great swarm of large birds of some sort hovering over
and beyond the nearest key. The day’s work was now laid
out for us. Launching the tender, we rowed as near the key
as we could, then dragged the craft over the tenacious white
“soap” the rest of the way.

On the first island were found no birds save a score or
more of Louisiana Herons that were nesting, and a pair of
Red-bellied W’^oodpeckers, which had a nest in a hole in a
dead limb of a black mangrove. It was the next island, half
a mile beyond, over which the cloud of birds were hovering
and alighting, as we could now see. So we pushed along
over the “ soap,” until, as we neared the island, I waded on
ahead, camera in hand, for a snap-shot. As I came around
one end of the island, there was consternation among the
inhabitants, and a confused flapping of great wings was seen
and heard, beating the tree-tops and the air. Two or three hun¬
dred, probably, rose, though many were out of sight farther
around the island when I made my snap-shot. There were
Brown Pelicans, Florida Cormorants, and Man-o’-\Var Birds.

26

WILD WINGS

The two former flew directly away ; the Man-o’-War Birds,
separating from the others, rose higher and higher in a flock,
and on almost motionless wings floated over our heads, giving
me a couple more pictures.

Eager to see the nests, we pushed the boat across the
narrow channel that, as usual, ran close around the island,
and forced our way in through the tangle of mangrove roots
and branches. Everything was fllthy with dropj^ings, and
great was our surprise and disappointment to find that the
birds were not nesting. That they resorted there habitually,
however, was evident enough. We learned afterwards that
it was a regular roosting-place. The birds, though now dis¬
persed, we saw return that evening in much greater numbers,
and when we sailed by here a week or more later, at dusk,
there were hundreds of them, on the trees and hovering.
Ever since he had known the region, the guide said, this had
been the principal resort of these Ifirds in that vicinitv, and,
inasmuch as all water-birds are very tenacious of their resorts,
it is more than probaljle that it was here Audubon came on
his second-day’s excursion, and found the Man-o’-\\’^ar Birds.
Before leaving the island I climbed to and examined a great
eagle’s nest in one of the larger trees.

It was not till sundown that we were able to warp the schooner
out of her sticky resting-place and bid adieu to the returning
flocks of night lodgers on Bow-leg Key. sailed along,

dodging shoals, or scraping over them, until about nine
o’clock, when we ran aground again. stayed there till

davlight, but then got off easily, managing that day to keep
afloat. The wind was light, and we worked leisurely along,
seeing a big turtle now and then floating on the surface
of the water, and an occasional sea-bird, one of these being
a Parasitic Jaeger. In the afternoon we passed Sandy Key,
the farthest point that Audubon reached. A few individuals

AMONG THE FLORIDA KEYS

27

of that conspicuous and striking species, the Great White
Heron, — the largest heron of North America, a species
which Audubon here discovered and named, — were perched

YOUNG GREAT WHITE HERON

suggestively on the trees. But as the guide was in a hurry
to get home, we postponed our landing there, and kept on
toward a point on the distant Florida main, about ten miles
east of Cape Sable.

28

WILD WINGS

The wind now began to fail us still more, and at dusk,
when four miles from our destination, it was flat calm. Here
we anchored, and the guide rowed ashore to his home, intend¬
ing to return early in the morning.

Some time in the wee, small hours, when it was yet very
dark, one of the men, sleeping on deck, awoke, and, deciding
that something was wrong, aroused the company. Sure
enough, the wind had arisen strong from the northwest and
we were adrift, evidently well out in Florida Bay. We could
just make out two keys under our lee. The anchor had
become fouled and was dragging. When cleared, it held us,
just as the vessel began to ground in the mud. At daybreak
we got up jib and mainsail, all the sail we could carry in the
brisk wind, and beat in toward a point on the distant shore
where the glasses revealed a couple of buildings, which
proved to be our destination, where we were to make head¬
quarters.

We remained here a week, making trips into the interior,
and to neighboring keys. Several of the latter, three miles
off shore, we visited in a small boat, and here it was that
I first made real acquaintance with the Great White Heron,
a splendid snow-white creature that stands well-nigh as tall
as a man, measuring about seventy inches from bill to claws.
A])proaching one of these rather small keys, I saw several of
the noble birds flying uneasilv about over the trees, and,
clambering about for a time amid mangrove roots and slip-
perv mud, never ceasing to fight mosquitoes withal, I was
rewarded by coming to a spot where, in some particularly
large trees, several nests of the Great White Heron were
built. They were placed in crotches, twenty to thirty feet
from the ground — bulkv, wide platforms of sticks, saucer¬
shaped, profusely whitewashed, and each with two or three
snowy white young, in size and age from only a few days

AMONG THE FLORIDA KEYS 29

old to a stage where they were about fully grown, and all but
able to fly.

One nest esjDecially interested me. It was conveniently
situated about thirty feet from the ground, and was occupied

HE STOOD LIKE A STATUE OR OBELISK

by one imposing young heron, another having left. A gen¬
tleman in appearance, he was in behavior, as he stood there
on the nest politely to receive me, not scrambling or flutter¬
ing out, as all young herons are too apt to do. While I was

30

WILD WINGS

admiring him, and screwing up my photographic apparatus,
he never moved, nor did he at the critical moments of ex¬
posure. Then, as I would stir him up a bit, he retreated out
to a branch, where he stood like a statue or obelisk, showing
his high l)reeding in every inch of his splendid stature, while
I again took his picture, after which 1 gratefully bade him
farewell.

Not so well-bred were a trio in a neighboring nest, about
half grown. These were of the sulky sort, and obstinately
lay down, refusing to stand, in spite of all I could do, though
the guide climbed up and did his best to make them behave.
Another nest with two very young fledglings also gave me
trouble. There was no point of vantage, save from almost
directly above ; it was in the shade, and the breeze was sway¬
ing everything, and the youngsters, as is the way with small
feathered fry, were squirming about like worms. However,
I conquered them, and then climbed to a rather lofty nest,
near by, of the Ward’s Heron, — a species thought by some
to be only a peninsular race of the familiar Great Blue Heron,
— whose two youthful inmates were very ferocious, and
spent their time making vicious lunges at me with their
bills, accomjDanied by the harshest expletives of the heron
tongue. I did not catch sight of their parents, but now
and then a Great White Heron flaj^ped warily overhead at
a safe distance, to reconnoitre. What an aggravation it is
to photograph a flying snow-white heron against a clear Idue
sky, and find that as both cannot be white, it is the heron
that has to be falsely portrayed as black !

Having secured another, and nameless, vessel, no better
than the Maggie, as it proved, except that it was of lighter
draught, we started oft for a general exploration of the inac¬
cessible keys of the inner bays. First, however, we sailed
westward to Sandy Key. Though the guide said there were

AMONG THE FLORIDA KEYS

31

no bird-rookeries on it now, I was anxious to examine the
island where Audubon passed the night under the mosquito
net, which he so vividly describes in one of his “ Episodes.”
With a good easterly wind we were there by noon, and, hav¬
ing eaten, hurried to go ashore. This key is long and narrow.

YOUNG ward’s herons. “MAKING VICIOUS LUNGES ”

over a mile from end to end, is wooded, except for some open
plots of grass and cacti, and is graced with a genuine beach
of shell-sand.

When Audubon landed here years ago, he records that
“ our hrst fire among a crowd of the great godwits laid pros¬
trate sixty-five of these birds. Rose-colored curlews [Roseate
SjDoonbills] stalked gracefully beneath the mangroves. Purple
herons rose at almost every step we took, and each cactus

32

WILD WINGS

supported the nest of a white ibis. The air was darkened by
whistling wings, while on the water floated gallinules and other
interesting birds.” Next morning at low tide, he was amazed
to see the flats covered with feeding birds in all directions.
But now, as we reviewed these same scenes, traversed the
beach of shell-sand, searched the groves of red and black
mangrove, examined the little interior swamp and the patches
of cacti, we found a different state of things. Too convenient
a landing-place for “conch” fishermen, there were no longer
“acres” of ibis nests. A few pairs of Great White Herons,
probably nesting in the mangroves, flew out and alighted
on the flats, where there were also Great Blue and Louisiana
Herons feeding, as well as some Laughing Gulls, Black-breast
Plovers, and other waders. Some Brown Pelicans, Fish
Crows, and Turkey Buzzards were flying about, and a pair
of Bald Eagles, soaring consjoicuously over the island, had
their nest, a great pile of sticks six feet high, about fifty
feet up a large black mangrove. These eagles, we found,
breed commonly on the keys.

As we walked along the beach, we noticed, a few yards
out from shore, a beautiful specimen of the Pharsalia, or
“ Portuguese Man-o’-War,” floating on the water, its trans¬
parent, jelly-like form flashing in the sunlight, resplendent
in its blue, purple, and rosy hues. It was interesting to
watch it capsize, roll over, and right itself again. Its tentacles
reached down into the water, and around it swam a prettv little
fish, keeping it close and constant company. From past
experience, I was chary of touching anything of the jelly-fish
sort, but one of the party, before I could remonstrate, laid
hold of it, and began to drag it ashore, the little fish following.
Suddenly he let go of it with an exclamation of pain. The
creature had well used its means of defence, and for the next
hour my friend’s arm was aching severely and was partially

AMONG THE FLORIDA KEYS

33

benumbed. He will beware of handling these gentry here¬
after.

Sailing on again, — this time south and east, — late in the
evening we approached Man-o’-War Key and “ Bush.”
The latter is a submerged mangrove islet, and both are old
resorts of the Frigate or Man-o’-War Bird. Early in the
morning we rowed and waded to each of them in the tender
over the shallows and ” soap-flats.” In the vessel we could
not approach them within half a mile. There were no ” Men-
o’-War,” but a few Brown Pelicans and Ward’s Herons, and
large numbers of Florida Cormorants were roosting upon
the trees, though not breeding. The latter gave me a good
snap-shot picture or two as a large band doubled past me,
leaving the Man-o’-War Bush. I then waded to the islet,
and, as I came around its end, surprised a considerable
number of the cormorants roosting upon the trees on the
other side. Some of them went flapping off low over the
water ; others fell headlong into the sea as though they
had fainted, but immediate!}" disappeared. In a few moments
I saw them emerge well off from shore and take to wing.

When I tried to ” land ” upon the ” Bush,” I found it a rather
uncanny place. There was no land at all ; the trees grew
out of the water, which was knee deep. Ever}" branch was
completely whitewashed with the excrement of the birds, but
there was not a nest of an}" sort. Nor were the cormorants
nesting upon the other and larger key near b}". But there
I found a number of empty nests of the Ward’s Heron, which
the young had probably left, all built in quite low trees.
A pair of Bald Eagles which we saw had their huge nest of
sticks in a rather large black mangrove, forty feet from the
ground. It was now past their breeding-time.

From here we started out for a long, hard beat to wind¬
ward, in a southeasterly direction, to reach a little settlement

34

WILD WINGS

called Planter on Key Largo, where there was a store at
which we hoj)ed to replenish our provisions, the only one in
the whole region. I will not dwell upon the efforts of these
two days, one of them wet and stormy, spent in scraping
over fiats and shoals, getting aground, making detours to
follow channels, through some of which we had to warp the
vessel to windward by poles, skiff', and anchor. Finally, late
the second afternoon we came up under Key Largo, about
opposite where Planter was supposed to be on the outer
shore of the island. Our attempt to tramjD across resulted in
failure. A creek headed us off, and one of the men got lost
in a swamp. It proved that we had landed several miles too
far east. Next morning a fisherman came alongside, and
told us how to go.

The ground of this key seemed to consist mostly of a hard
broken coral rock, so rough as to be capable of soon wear¬
ing one’s shoes to tatters. What soil there was appeared very
scant, yet the settlers had cut away tracts of jungle, and
right among the rocks had caused to grow luxuriant groves
or fields of tropical fruits, such as oranges, limes, lemons,
grape-fruit, figs, cocoanuts, sapodillas, bananas, pineapples,
and I know not what else. In some of these rocky fields
there were acres of watermelons, unfortunately nearly every
melon being bitten into and ruined — by raccoons, it was said.
Potatoes, grown in the crevices of the rock, are dug with
crowbars, rather than shovels.

Having now plenty of provisions in stock, fruits galore,
and a fine mess of crawfish, we cut loose from the base of
supplies and explored a number of the inner keys. On most
of them there were no water-birds, save a few straggling
herons. On one large key, with lakes in its interior, we spent
a profitable day with breeding Least Terns, Laughing Gulls,
and shore-birds.

PLATE FULL OF THE GRACEFULLY SOAKING BIRDS

AMONG THE FLORIDA KEYS

37

Despite all our efforts thus far, we had not found the Man-
o’-War Birds actually breeding. So we were glad enough,
after exploring this key, to run off half a dozen miles before
the wind, which had now shifted to the west, to a small key
which the guide said was a resort for immense numbers
of this great bird. It was back under Key Largo, farther
eastward than we had been. We came to anchor near sun¬
set, and at once I set out in the tender alone with the guide,
the other ornithologists being busy and deciding to wait till
morning. As we rowed through a narrow passage between
the mangroves, a break in a long peninsula, there lay the
little round green islet before us. First of all flew out some
Florida Cormorants which were watching us from a little
mangrove clump out in the water. Then, as we approached
within long gunshot of the island, began a wonderful scene.
Only a few Man-o’-War Birds had been visible, perched on
the tree-tops, or flying and alighting ; but now they began
to rise in scores, then in hundreds, yes, in thousands. The
area of the island was hardly over an acre, and it seemed
incredible that so many large birds could have found footing
on the trees, for the Man-o’-War Bird has a spread of wing
of nearly seven feet. I secured a picture of them as they
began to rise from the island, and then a number as they
soared overhead, the sky being fairly black with them in
all directions, before they gradually drifted away to hover
over another distant key. One only had to point a camera
upward, almost anywhere, and snap, to get a plate full of the
gracefully soaring birds.

Then we rowed to the island. Several Reddish Egrets, the
only ones we met with on the trip, started out from the man¬
groves close at hand, as did some Louisiana Herons. The
island itself was entirely under water, and the trees were white
with filth. But even here the elusive Frigates were not nest-

38

WILD WINGS

ing. The Louisiana Herons had eggs, and there were about
a dozen empty nests, some of which had feathers in them of
the “ Men-o’-\\"ar,” but which were probably the homes of the
cormorants which we had seen in the vicinity. Audubon
found on the keys rookeries of the Man-o’-\\^ar Birds, which
were beginning to breed at this very same time, in May, but
of late years they have not been known to nest within the
Ibiited States. Their presence in such large numbers made
me confident that they were j^reparing to lay. To make sure,
I had the guide visit these resorts later in the summer, and
he did not in any case find the birds breeding. They build
a huge nest of sticks, like the cormorant, and lay two or three
dirty-whitish eggs. As we pulled back to the vessel through
the narrows, a pair of the exquisite ]:)ink Roseate Spoonbills
flew close by the boat, giving me a splendid and memorable
view of their glorv.

Alas for the j)rocrastinating naturalists ! The Frigates were
seen till dark hovering over a distant isle. Thev did not
return to this roost at all, and next morning at daybreak all
of them had entirely disappeared, except a few stragglers that
rose to mock the cameras of the delinquents. More and more
convinced am I that the only safe time to photograj^h birds,
no matter how plenty they may be, is the first time they show
themselves.

During the cruise we had watched longinglv and carefullv
for a sight of the great rosy Flamingos. That pleasure was
not for us. Small bands of the warv creatures are vet seen
during fall, winter, and early spring. The last small flock was
noticed by our guide in March. But it was now May, their
nesting-time in the West Indies and the Bahamas, and thither
all stragglers had evidently retired. had now explored
pretty thoroughly the only possible region in the United States
where they could nest, and it can be safely assumed that this

AMONG THE FLORIDA KEYS

39

splendid bird does not now breed within our limits, if indeed
it ever did. Even Audubon never saw a nest.

The time had now come for our party to disband. All but
myself had to return home, and were to keep on eastward in
the schooner for Miami. It was my jDrivileg-e to remain for
further exploration. So that morning we said our farewells,
and with one of the guides, in a frail little centre-board skiff
with a leg-of-mutton sail, I started back on a fifty-mile beat
to Cape Sable in a blustering west wind, across and down
Barnes’s Sound and Florida Bay. Indeed, we had a lively time
of it, now drenched, then becalmed, by day studying birds
and the formation of the curious mangrove keys, at night
cooking supper upon some uninhabited key or projection of
the mainland, eating in a smudge, and then seeking refuge
from the fierce mosquitoes under our nets. On a certain
peninsula where we camped one night the pests were simply
unendurable. They settled upon the net literally in quarts,
and, despite all care, many of them found their way inside.
All night long they kept up an angry roar. In the morning
when we crawled out they attacked us with so terrible an
onslaught that we could not think of delaying for breakfast,
I:)Ut made sail immediately.

First and last I made a quite complete exploration of the
more remote and inaccessible portion of the Florida Keys,
where birds would be most likely to resort. I ascertained that
most of the water-birds have been driven bv persecution from
the keys, and now breed on the mainland, in the morasses
of the Everglades and the tangles of the great mangrove
swamp, whither I followed them. Then it was I encountered
the real hardships of the trip. While the cruise among the
Keys had its inconveniences, it was a most interesting and
delightful experience. The weather was mostly fine, with
equable temperatures, the climate healthful, the quaint man-

40

WILD WINGS

grove islands interesting, the sea beautiful in its various hues,
— emerald green, cobalt blue, milky white, — and there were
still enough of rare and beautiful birds to maintain a constant
enthusiasm and expectancy. Possibly the reality did not cjuite
match the day-dreams, but as the years go by that cruise
among the Kevs of Florida will be among the brightest of
recurring memories.

NOT SO WELL-BRED WERE A TRIO IN A NEIGHBORING NEST

A PAIR OP' SPLENDID WHITE PELICANS

CHAPTER III

IN THE CAPE SABLE WILDERNESS

Soon were lost in a maze of sluggish and devious waters^

Which, like a network of steel, exte>ided in every direction.

Over their heads the tozaering and tenebrous boughs of the cypress

Met in a dusky arch, and trailing mosses in mid-air

Waved like banners that hang on the walls of ancient cathedrals.

Deathlike the silence seemed, and unbroken, save by the herons.

Longfellow, “ Evangeline.”

IT was a cool, sparkling morning, with a bracing north¬
erly wind, the twenty-sixth of April, when we shoved the
tender over the slipperv “ soap-flat,” and, in boots loaded
with the tenacious white clay mud, stood upon the southern¬
most tip of the mainland of the United States. An almost
unbroken, unsurveyed wilderness lay before us, with all its
interesting possibilities. A handful of settlers had taken up
claims of government land along the shore, cleared a few

42

WILD WINGS

openings in the mangroves, and built their crude cottages or
curious palmetto shacks. Back from the strip of timber on the
shore is, near Cape Sable, a moderate area of marshy prairie,
which is flooded in the summer rainy season. Aside from
this, all the Cape Sable peninsula is a wild, tangled, pathless,
swampy jungle of red and black mangrove, buttonwood, and
other trees, extending back a number of miles to the open
saw-grass marshes of the Everglades. In the embraces of this
mangrove swamp lie a series of shallow lakes with muddy
bottoms, connected together by various channels through the
mangrove thickets, and more or less overflowed by the sea,
when stormy winds pile the water up into the shallow bays.
The whole country is as flat as a floor, and hardly above sea
level.

Both of our guides lived here with their families in the
wilderness, where they had taken uj:) government land for
fruit-raising close to the shore. One of them owned an un-
comjDleted l)uilding, partly open on one side, which we found
ideal for a camp and base of supplies. Leaving a guide and
another settler to transfer our stuff from the vessel, and delay¬
ing only long enough to examine the nest of a Florida Red¬
shouldered Hawk with its one youthful occupant just able to
flv, located in a strij) of black mangroves near the shore, we
struck inland with the other guide — Bradley, the game-
warden of Monroe County — to visit a lake which lay several
miles north through the mangrove swamp. There was no
boat in the lonely lake, but the guide proposed to carry a
canvas canoe. This we found hidden in the confines of the
swam]). It weighed over fifty pounds, and, as we pushed on
hour after hour through the maze of mangrove roots and
tropical jungle, following a trail so blind that we often lost it,
I was amazed at the strength of the hardy pioneer who
carried it, a man of only moderate weight and size.

IN THE CAPE SABLE WILDERNESS

43

NEST AND YOUNG OF THE WOOD IBIS, BUILT ON THE TOPS OF THE MANGROVES

Taking an occasional rest, during one of which Bradley
climbed to the nest of a Red-shouldered Hawk in a slender
tree, bringing the one young hawk down for me to photo¬
graph, and returning it again to its home, about noon we were
rejoiced to catch sight, through the trees, of the lake, which
we began to fear we had missed. It was about a mile long,
with densely wooded shores, a mere layer of water over a bed
of soft mud. L^p near the farther end we could see an islet
with a lot of snow-white birds roosting on the trees. As we
paddled out toward it in the canoe, several alligators appeared
ahead of us, swimming desperately in their race for deeper
water and supposed security. Now and then they would raise
and turn their snouts to get an observation of our progress,
then paddle away again. Poor brutes, they know that their
hides are wanted for purposes not agreeable to them !

44

WILD WINGS

As we neared the island, I saw that the white birds were
the great Wood Ibis, technically a stork, the American repre¬
sentative of that much-reputed bird of the Orient. Our bird
is likewise an imposing creature that stands nearly as high
as a man, clad in spotless white, save for the black extrem¬
ities of the wings. “ As for the stork, the fir trees are her
house.” Similarly is our stork apt to choose the immense
cypress timber, where, in the interior of Florida, I have found
them nesting over one hundred feet from the ground in inac¬
cessible security. Here it was delightful to see them upon the
tops of low mangroves, evidently a nesting colony. The great
birds rose when we were at cjuite a distance, and circled far
off over the swamp, together with a vagrant crew of buzzards.
Meanwhile we could see a few Brown Pelicans fishing in
the lake, and an occasional Black-crowned Night Heron,
Louisiana Heron, or Anhinga with its snaky neck. Hying
across it.

As we landed on the muddy islet, densely overgrown with
red mangroves, we heard the hoarse voices of young birds
beyond us, that, in almost human tones, seemed to reiterate,
“ Get out ! Get out ! ” It was not easy to transport the cameras
over the treacherous tract, full of deceitful mud-holes, but
after a struggle I arrived beneath the nests — large j^latforms
of sticks, whitewashed and stinking, about fifteen feet above
my head, built on the tops of the mangroves. Verv soon I was
overlooking them. There were eighteen, all told, within an
area of a few rods, and each contained two or three young
birds, pure white in color, about the size of large pullets, with
heavy-looking bills. It was the first time in my life that I had
looked into a stork’s nest, and happy was I in the blazing
Florida sun upon the mangrove-tops.

To photograph these stork homes proved to be a problem
indeed. Built upon the topmost twigs of very slender trees,

IN THE CAPE SABLE WILDERNESS

45

almost bushes, it was hard enough to get one’s head above
them, to say nothing of a camera, and of course there was
nothing to which to fasten the instrument. Finally I selected
the most convenient trees, tied several of them together with
some cord, and had the guide hold them up as I mounted
and stood gingerly upon their tops, overlooking the nests.

YOUNG WOOD IBIS POSED FOR A PORTRAIT

but with nothing to hold on to. With no less care I hoisted
up my ten-pound 5x7 reflex camera, and, thanks to the
good light, was able to make successful snap-shot pictures of
several of the nests. This being done, I descended safely,
taking with me one of the young Wood Ibises, which I posed
for portraits upon the ground.

Another small island was quite near by, where I should have

WILD WINGS

46

liked to hide for an hour or two, to secure pictures of the shy-
returning ibises as they alighted upon their nests. But already
the day was waning, and we had the long, hard tramp before
us. For want of time, another lake connected with this one
was left une.xplored.

How we suffered that day from thirst ! We had been told
that we could get fresh water here. But a combination of low
water inland and high tides seaward had made the water
brackish and poisonous. I became so parched climbing and
photographing that I yielded to temjrtation, and was sorry
enough, as for the next few days I lay in camp under a mos¬
quito-net sick with dysentery and fever. It was about eighty
miles, two days’ sail, to the nearest medical aid, at Key West.
Our vessel was gone, and another which we had engaged
had not arrived. I seemed to be caught like a rat in a trap.
But hnally raw white of egg — a good thing to remember
— checked the dysentery, and I was at length able to resume
the exploration, though for a time rather weak.

A dry and thirsty land is Cape Sable, with all its swamps,
overflowed as they are by the sea, and no drinking water
to be had, save from the clouds. Our water-barrels were
nearly emptv ; so one night, when a vessel had been secured,
we dropped off the soap-fiat and sailed westward around Cape
Sable and up near “ Middle Cape,” where at last we found a
tolerable well, from which to fill the casks. Along the “ Capes ”
there are no mud-fiats, but deep water extends close in to the
fine beach of shell-sand. Here a chain of lakes ap}:)roaches
verv near the coast, and we took the oi^portunity to explore
them. The lone settler here kindly lent us his boat, a fiat
scow, propelled by poling. These lakes are the resorts of large
numbers of the American White Pelicans, that usually breed
in the far North. Yet i was not without hope that jxissibly
we might find them nesting in this Southern wilderness.

“the tract of woods into which returning ibises were DROPPINi

IN THE CAPE SABLE WILDERNESS

49

The first lake was quite a large one, several miles long.
We poled past various little mangrove islands, starting num¬
bers of Brown Pelicans and Florida Cormorants from some
of them, where they were roosting upon dead stubs at their
shores. Then we followed a narrow channel through the man¬
grove forest, the connection with the next lake of the series.
White Ibises and Yellow-crowned Night Herons kept flying
up before us to enliven the scene. Presently we came out into
the lake. It also was very shallow, with bare mud-flats here
and there, on which were scattered quite a host of birds.
Conspicuous and noisy were a flock of Laughing Gulls. Less
conspicuous, but even more interesting to us, were the
shore-birds, which we found abundant both in this spot and
elsewhere during the day. Right before us upon the flat
a fine band of the large Black-bellied Plover, and around
them a humble host of various sandpipers. Ring-necked
Plovers, Dowitchers, and the like, were feeding, sedately or
nimbly, as the case might be. But, dwarfing them into insig¬
nificance by physical contrast, there stood sleepily a pair of
splendid White Pelicans, with bodies as large and plump as
the roundest pillows of the daintiest couch. We landed just
where we were, and I skulked with my camera along the
shore, under shelter of the forest, till I was delightfully near the
unconscious pelicans. I was almost ready for an exposure
when away they went, alarmed evidently by the boat. They
alighted about a mile off out on a flat, where I stalked them
under cover of an island and secured some telephoto pictures
of them, though at longer range than I could have wished.
As soon as I showed myself they flapped heavily away.

Thus we proceeded, visiting in all four or five connecting
lakes, examining a number of islands, but without finding any
rookeries of breeding birds, or seeing any more White Peli¬
cans. These last were plenty here a month ago, but they had

50

WILD WINGS

now evidently departed for their Northern grounds, and there
is no likelihood that the species ever breeds in Florida. Yet
we were glad we had visited this chain of lakes. Hawks and
eagles circled about, herons and ibises flaiDped along, shore-
birds of many interesting varieties prodded the mud and
whistled their piping notes. In fact, nature was so lavish
that in one narrow place in the lake, between an island and
the shore, two young tarpons, of fair size for eating, leaped
out of the water and right into the boat, as though, with true
Southern hospitalitv, to offer themselves for the pleasure and
comfort of the visitors from the North. But, in an unlucky
moment, I gave the larger one a push with my foot to get it
out of the way, and imparted just enough impetus to enable
it to spring out again into its native element.

Returning to our vessel, we sailed back as far as the ex¬
treme projection of Cape Sable, and anchored under the lee of
the beach, opposite a fine grove of cocoanut palms. Here it
was that another decided reverse overtook me. I was the first
one awake in the morning, and was horrified at the sight
which greeted me. In beaching the vessel to get the water-
casks aboard, a serious leak had been started, and the floors,
both in cabin and hold, were under water. And there were
mv two cases of photographic plates — alas ! no longer “ dry
plates” — standing half submerged. Feeling almost sick, I
spread the pasteboard boxes out on deck. About half were
thoroughly soaked, others were damp, and about a third,
those in the top layers, were all right. It looked as though
mv camera-hunting had received a severe handicap. How¬
ever, I kept the damaged boxes out in the wind, and, when
we reached camp, put them in a dry and airy place. To this
treatment and to the fact that the plates were of brands whose
makers in packing them separate their faces by strips along
the edges, I owe the final saving of most of them. In many

IN THE CAPE SABLE WILDERNESS

51

cases the strips stuck to the edge of the him, but this did not
seriously interfere with the usefulness of the plate. For future
outings I shall always use plates thus put up, avoiding those
packed with hlms in contact.

After the departure of the other members of the company,
I camped for a week, with our guide, at our old headquarters.
Poor forlorn country ! Though the soil is suitable for the
raising of tropical fruits,
the lack of fresh water and
the terrible insect scourge
make it simply torture to
stay there. Clouds of mos¬
quitoes allow their victim
not a moment’s peace. One
must wear thick clothes,
and either don gloves and
screen-hat, or hght all the
time. Incamp mustbe main¬
tained a constant smudge,
preferably of dead wood of
the black mangrove, which
“ sheets ” and man alike de¬
test. The name of the pest
is thus abbreviated in Cape
Sable dialect, because it is
the theme of themes, and it
takes too long to keep saying “ mosquito.” Photographing
under these circumstances is decidedly an ordeal. Settlers
who pretend to any comfort at all screen their houses, and
keep outside the door a brush of palmetto leaves, with which
every visitor must beat off the stinging swarm before dodging
within. Other settlers keep the smudge-pot going, and live in
smoke. There are also swarms of a terrible great fly, an inch

THE ROOKERY

52

WILD WINGS

and a quarter in length, whose bite is like a knife-thrust,
with a corresponding flow of blood. No domestic animal but
the mule can support life in such a country, and that hardy
animal only by being kept in a screened stable and bundled
up in burlap when taken out to work.

One Sunday I attended a religious service in a building
used as chapel and school-house. The women wheeled the
children there in baby-carriages, under each of which was
tied a smudge-pot. So the carriage rolled along, enveloped
in smoke and an outlying cloud of “skeets” and flies. In
the building smudges were going all the time, while the
congregation slapped “ skeets ” and the children chased
horse-flies.

One of my best and hardest excursions was made one day
to a lake six miles away, or rather to its vicinity, for of the
lake I saw nothing. A tipcart drawn by a mule swathed
from head to foot in burlap, save for its eyes and projecting
ears, — the most spectacular turnout it was ever my fortune
to see, — took us half the distance. Then the guide and
I walked three miles over an open grassy marsh. In one spot,
by a mud-hole, he showed me the skeleton of a crocodile
which he had killed some weeks before. Already we could
tell the direction of the rookery from the bands of ibises of
both kinds which flew up from the marsh where they were
feeding and “ lined ” the way to the home-spot, bearing food
for their young, as also did herons and egrets.

When we neared the edge of the lake, which was properly
a sort of everglade morass, and tried to get to the swampv
woods where the rookery was evidently located, our real trou¬
bles began, compared with which “skeets” were as nothing.
Rivers of soft, treacle-like mud proved absolutely impassable.
Finally we got across a wide ditch and encountered a tract
of tall dry saw-grass, “ snaky ” and impenetrable. A match

IN THE CAPE SABLE WILDERNESS

53

was applied, and after the roaring sea of flame had passed,
we went on. Then we encountered a tropical jungle, a solid
mass of roots, vines, scrub palmettos, and the like. The guide
went ahead and cut openings with a case-knife, through

WHITE IBISES, “the TREES WERE FAIRLY ALIVE WITH SPLENDID GREAT BIRDS”

which we crawled. After half an hour of this came a saw-
grass bog, an area of water and quaking tussocks, a quarter
of a mile wide. How we ever managed to flounder across,
dragging one another out of holes, I hardly know. But we
reached, at length, the tract of woods into which returning
ibises, herons, and egrets were dropping, and from which we
could hear a confused murmur of distant squawking.

I shall never forget the sight that greeted me as I emerged
from the tangle, and came to the edge of one of the impass-

54

WILD WINGS

able muddy bayous, about thirty feet wide, bordered by thick¬
ets of mang'ro\'e. The trees were fairly alive with splendid
great birds and their half-grown young. The most abundant
was the White Ibis, a hne creature, snow-white, with black
wing-tips and brilliant red legs and bills, both long, the latter
decLirved. They are locally called “ White Curlews,” and are
esteemed as one of the best and most abundant food-birds of
the region. Their young are of a dark gray color, with white
on the rump, and were now in the stage when, though unable
to dy, they had left the nests. The woods were fairly alive
with them. Droves of them raced over the ground under the
mangroves or climbed among the branches in all directions.

Next in abundance was the little Louisiana Heron, the
common blue-gray species with white under parts, whose
young were in about the same condition as the young ibises,
and mingled with them. Across the bavou we could hear,
though not see, the large, graceful, snow-white American
Egrets, and their young. As with the peacock, beauty of
form and plumage is not matched with sweetness of song,
and this lo\'ely dream of a bird speaks in harshest, rattling
grunts. Much the same is true of the elegant little Snowy
Heron, of plumage as its name implies, a few of which we
could see dropping into the woods beyond our muddy Jordan.

But what almost jmralyzed me with excitement was the
sight of half a dozen or so of large rosy-pink birds quietly
]:)erched upon the trees just opjDosite us across the barrier —
the Roseate Spoonbill on its nesting-ground ! Now and then
a rosy apparition of living loveliness would take the eye.
What a spectacle, the dark green mangrove foliage dotted
with ibises of dazzling whiteness, “ Pink Curlews” (the local
name), and blue-tinted herons ! Here I felt I had reached
the high-water mark of spectacular sights in the bird-world.
Wherever I may penetrate in future wanderings, I never

This is the last pitiful remnant of hosts of innocent, exquisite
creatures slaughtered for a brutal, senseless, yes, criminal,
millinery folly, decreed by Parisian butterflies, which many
supposedly free Americans slavishly follow. Florida has awak-

IN THE CAPE SABLE WILDERNESS 55

hope to see anything to surpass, or, in some respects, to
equal, that upon which I now gazed. Years ago such sights
could be found all over Florida and other Southern States.

YOUNG WHITE IBISES AND LOUISIANA HERONS

(The three middle ones are Herons)

56

WILD WINGS

ened to her loss, and imposes a very heavy fine for every
one of these birds killed. Sincerely do I wish that every one
who slaughters, or causes to be slaughtered, these animated
bits of winged poetry, may feel the full weight of the penalty
of the statute and of conscience. Such inaccessible tangles

YOUNG WHITE IBIS ON ITS NEST

of southern Florida are the last places of refuge, the last
ditch of the struggle for existence to which these splendid
species have been driven.

As long as I kept very quiet, the birds did not manifest
much concern at my presence. Climbing a tree, to get above
the undergrowth, I screwed my 4x5 camera to a limb and
proceeded to take pictures of the surrounding birds, with

IN THE CAPE SABLE WILDERNESS

57

telephoto and with long-focus single lens. This being done,
I took the large reflex camera for snap-shots and proceeded
along the bayou, hoping to find some way to cross. Every
time I tumbled into a mud-hole or snapped a twig there was
wild confusion. The air was white with ibises. Crowds of

“contained four young snowy herons”

young ibises and herons fluttered down from the sea of rude
nests of twigs in the trees above and scurried and flapped
across the mud, to get out of my way. By using caution I
secured some snap-shots of these youngsters on the branches,
and a few of some young ibis or other in its nest. More than
one of the latter at a time I could not obtain, as some of the
brood would always leave before I was near enough.

The day was now far on the wane, and yet we had not

WILD WINGS

58

crossed the bayou into the main part of the rookery. About
four P. M. we reached a place where it came nearly to an
end, and, thanks to a fallen tree, we managed to flounder
across. The very first nest I examined, about six feet from the
ground, contained four young Snowy Herons. While I was
standing there, the queenly mother, exc]uisite with her back-
load of elegant drooping “aigrette’' plumes, flew down and
fed her princely children. About twenty-five feet up the next
tree, also a black mangrove, was another bunch of sticks in
a crotch. A sort of pinkish flush around its edge led me to
climb to it, and I gazed upon three young Roseate Spoon¬
bills. Thev were perhaps a third grown, and were clad in
a whitish down, through which jiink feathers, especially on
the wings, were growing. If the young herons were princely,
surely we must call these royal, clad in what could pass for
kingly “ purple.’’ A little distance away were a brood of
young spoonbills, nearly grown, that were scrambling out
of their nest. On the tree-tops around perched a scattered
company of White Ibises, Louisiana and Snowy Herons, and
the elegant pink creatures of the soup-ladle bill, looking down
upon us in silent fear and protest at the intrusion.

My plates were nearly all used, but I expended the remain¬
ing few judiciously among the mass of wonderful material,
taking briefly timed exposures with the smaller camera
screwed ujd near the nests, and slow snaps with the “ Reflex,”
with single lens, at the “ Pink Curlews ” upon the trees. Then
the guide fairly dragged me back, despite my protests that
I had not yet seen the nests of the American Egrets or of
the Wood Ibises beyond. But it was verv necessary to get out
of that morass before sundown. After a hard struggle we
succeeded in so doing, but with unspeakable regret on my
part over what I was leaving behind.

If ever in my life I was thoroughly tired out, it was when, in

IX THE CAPE SABLE WILDERNESS

59

the dim twilight, staggering along with a back-load of stiih,
we returned to our mule tied to the palm-tree. Poor beast,
those Cape Sable horse-flies had reduced him to a sorry
state, despite his suit of armor. His legs were dripping with
blood, and he was so frantic with pain that it was at great
risk that we harnessed him and avoided the flying hoofs.

SPOONBILL AND IBIS WATCHING THE INTRUDERS

Accounts which I have seen, by naturalists who have
skirted the coast about Cape Sable and Barnes’s Sound, de¬
scribe it as “ a forbidding and awful wilderness.” The inter¬
minable swamp with its always impenetrable jungle of man¬
groves and other low trees extends to the verv water’s edge.
To make a landing, one must wade a long distance through
the sticky mud, and begin the ceaseless battle with the insect
pests. During the summer it rains heavily nearly every day,

6o

WILD WINGS

and the“skeets” and flies become so intolerable that even
the few settlers leave for a time. Some day parts of it may
be drained off and settled, but now as I voyaged past the
wooded shores, save in a few spots out towards Cape Sable,
there was no sign of human life, no voice to break the still¬
ness but the squawk of some heron, the croak of the ibis, and
the angrv murmur of the venomous insect swarm. \A"ho
would seek out such a region unless impelled by the spirit of
adventure and the love of the wild things that still find there
a partial retreat from the encroachments of man ?

YOUNG ROSEATE SPOONBILLS IN NEST

ADULT LITTLE BLUE HERON, FROM THE BOAT

CHAPTER IV

THE GREAT CUTHBERT ROOKERY

For this outrage I heard the poor bird
Say a tho2isand viournfiil things
To the wind, which, on its wings.

To the guardian of the sky
Bore her melancholy cry.

De Villegas, translated.

About fifteen years ago it was known to the plume-
hunters that somewhere in the great mangrove swamp
^ near the southern extremity of Florida was a very
large rookery, or breeding colony, of herons, egrets, and
other water-birds. Hitherto all efforts to locate it had proved
unavailing — a fact which will surprise no one who has been
even to the portals of that terrible wilderness. At length,
an individual named Cuthbert, with a hardihood worthy of
a better cause, made a business of tracing out this mysterious

62

WILD WINGS

rookerv. Starting from the southern end of the west coasts
probably somewhere on Wdiitewater Bay, he watched the
flight of the birds, formed a conclusion as to the exact
direction of their course, and plunged into the bewildering
maze of the mangrove swamp. Carrying a meagre outht
and a light canoe, he slept among the mangrove roots where
night overtook him. From time to time he climbed a tree
and verihed his course by that of the birds. Now and then
he utilized one of the muddy, brackish lakes, and secured
a few moments’ rest, as he paddled across, from the worst
of the innumerable hordes of mosquitoes that there make
the life of man almost intolerable.

How many days he was thus engaged is not known, but
at length, forcing his canoe through a narrow, overgrown
channel from one of these lakes, which seemed to lead to
some other body of water, he came out into a round, open
lake, a mile and a half across. Out in the middle of it he saw
a small island of about two acres, densely overgrown with
mangrove trees, whose dark foliage was almost hidden under
a canopy of snow-white birds, — ibises, herons, and egrets, —
with others of darker plumage.

It must have been a beautiful and wonderful sight, a theme
for the artist, a vision for the poet. But our j^lume-hunter was
not that sort of a man ; the sesthetic side was lost upon him.
Making a closer investigation, he found that the island was
crowded bv innumerable thousands of several kinds of birds,
some of them the species whose plumage would bring the
highest prices. There they were, the nesting-season at its
height, brooding their eggs and feeding their young.

Did Cuthbert spread the joyful news among the Seminole
Indians, the widely scattered settlers, or the outlaws that are
in hiding in the swamps ? Not at all. He pondered these
things in his own heart, with a mercenary intent. The snap

IBISES AND CORMORANTS LEAVING THE ROOKERV. “ MY FIRST PICTURE*^

THE GREAT CUTHBERT ROOKERY

65

of his tiny Flobert rifle, inaudible a few rods away, attracted
the attention of no wandering alligator-hunter. Weeks went
by, and matters were very different upon the island. No bird
now winged its way to the solitude, save hordes of Turkey
Buzzards and Fish Crows. In the thousands of nests were
swarms of flies around the decaying bodies of young birds
that had starved to death. On the ground were reeking piles
of the bodies of their natural protectors, each with strips of
skin and plumage torn from its back. The rookery was, as
the local term has it, “ shot out.” The buzzards were gorged
and happy, and so was the brutal Cuthbert over his $1800
from the wholesale milliners, so the story goes.

Quite recently my friend and guide, the game-warden, had
visited the spot, and, finding that quite a colony of birds had
located there again, posted warning game-protection notices.
Naturally I was anxious to visit this remarkable place, but
had to let the rest of the party go there first without me,
when I lay in the Cape Sable shanty ill from drinking swamp-
water. But after they had returned home, I took the trip
alone with the guide.

The first stage of the journey was made in a small
open sail-boat, with a flat-bottomed skiff in tow, about twelve
miles eastward from camp, along the coast-line, up into the
shallows of Barnes’s Sound. When the first-mentioned party
went, a strong northeast wind had blown most of the water
out of the sound, and they had to wade the “ soft soap ” mud
and push the boat for no less than ten of the dozen miles.
We were more fortunate in having water enough for sailing ;
but the wind died out to a flat calm, so that we had to
row. About midnight we anchored off opposite our destina¬
tion, slept on some planks across the thwarts, and pulled the
sail over us when the rain came down. In the morning it
still showered, and we hesitated about pushing up into the

66 WILD WINGS

mangrove swamp, but at length the clouds began to break,
and we decided to go.

We left the large boat anchored near the shore of an inner
bay, and in the skiff, with blankets, and provisions for sev¬
eral days, approached the mangrove thicket which lined the
shore. No opening whatever was visible, but, on pulling
apart the branches with our hands, we could see a narrow
stream of water flowing out into the sea. The branches closed
behind us, and we were in the meshes of the mangrove
swamp. The channel was just wide enough to float the skiff.
Branches met overhead and shut out the sunlight ; tangled
roots and snags reached everywhere through the water, across
which trunks or limbs had grown or fallen. Some of these
had been chopped out ]Dreviously by the guide, so our task
was easier. But by the time we had sculled and paddled,
poled and dragged the boat for seven miles over and under
obstructions, with an occasional respite in crossing one of
the chain of small lakes before entering the next o\'ergrown
channel, we were glad enough to see the desired lake open
UJ3 before us. There lay the famous island, not altogether
white with birds, yet with enough of them in evidence to
verify the wonderful tales I had heard. A good many birds
were visible upon the to]:)S of the trees, and there was a con¬
stant j^rocession to and from the island.

We ate dinner out on the lake to avoid the clouds of
“ sheets,” then cleared a spot for a camp in the mangrove
swam]:) on the shore nearest the island, after which we pulled
for the rookery. The nearer we approached, the more birds
we could see, some white, some black, and others of interme¬
diate shades. I sat in the stern with the reflex camera in mv
lap, the slide withdrawn from a 5 x 7 ]:)late, and the focal plane
shutter set for one five-hundredth of a second. The skv was
well filled with broken clouds, through which the sun shone

rookery. Just as I was ready for the second shot, another lot
of ibises started up, with a few of the beautiful snow-white
American E^ret. This was upon the west side of the island,
where most of the ibises seemed to be located.

THE GREAT CUTHBERT ROOKERY 67

unsteadily at intervals. When we were within a few rods of
the island, the guide thumped an oar upon the thwart, and
quite a cloud of White Ibises rose from the nearest man¬
groves, and gave me my hrst picture of the inhabitants of the

“another lot of ibises started up

68

WILD WINGS

We now rowed round the island, south and east, keeping
close in. A few rods farther, and a lot of great black Florida
Cormorants began springing and fluttering from the low
mangroves, to fly out in bands over the lake and alight out
in the water, A little farther along, numbers of Little Blue
and Louisiana Herons began to start up, and then, with a
tremendous flapping, out past us would come an Anhinga, —
the curious “Snake-bird” or “Water Turkey” of the South,
— its slender, snake-like neck outstretched, and the long tail
spread out like a great fan. One of them, surprised by the
boat near its nest, appeared completely terrified, and fell to
the water, along which it went beating and fluttering past the
boat. This was on the east side of the island. On the north
side we began to start the ibises again, and soon completed
the circuit.

Once more round, and I had a goodly number of hopeful
snap-shots to my credit. Then we landed on the northern side,
running the boat up into a sort of little bayou. Over us
arched the tangled branches of the mangroves, which grew
out into the water from the low, muddy shore. Every step
was attended with alarm and confusion. The trees, not over
about thirty feet high anywhere, were filled with nests in
almost every crotch. The owners scrambled away, squawk¬
ing in their fright, — Louisiana Herons, White Ibises, and
Anhingas, at this point. Young herons seemed to be every¬
where, pretty well grown, and were climbing and fluttering
from branch to branch.

The first nest that I especially noticed, close to the boat,
and only ten feet above the water, held four young Anhingas,
perhaps half-grown, clad in suits of bufl-colored down, with
some dark feathers sprouting on the wings. It was a fine
subject for the camera, and I proceeded to climb a neighbor¬
ing tree. As I did so, one of the youngsters dropped head-

THE GREAT CUTHBERT ROOKERY

69

YOUNG ANHINGAS. “THE COVETED OPPORTUNITY

long" to the water beneath, and disappeared. I could see
it swimming off below the surface. Another climbed out of
the nest among the branches. But the other two stayed
and let me drive my screw-bolt into a limb, and set up
the camera. One bird kept perfectly still, but the other
expended its energy in darting its neck back and forth at
me in serpent fashion, and without cessation, an annoying

70

WILD WINGS

action, as the nest was shaded, and required an exposure of
at least a second, even with wide-open lens. It was quite
a while before I secured the coveted opportunity, and could
proceed to photograph another brood of young Anhingas
just beyond.

A few steps brought us to the west side of the island, where
the White Ibises were nesting by hundreds in an area of
rather low mangroves growing out of the water. Every
movement on our part caused an uproar of croaking notes
and beating of wings. Especially ominous to them was the
snapping of a twig, possibly suggesting the report of the
small ride of the plume-hunters, though it may have been
merely the nervous effect of any sharp sound. The ibis is
a beautiful bird, with its snow-white plumage, contrasting
with the black tips of the wings and the dark carmine red of
the long bill and legs. With hundreds of them starting all
about me, and j^assing and repassing overhead, the effect was
something beyond all words to describe.

Eortunately the ibis, though timid, is not verv warv. The
trees were so thick that it was very difficult to find a place
open enough to see the birds at rest. But I found that by
keeping quiet, sheltering myself somewhat in the under¬
growth, the ibises would light fairly near me. So I erected
my smaller camera upon the trij^od, with the telephoto attach¬
ment, and secured some pictures of single ibises amid the
thick of the mangroves.

A little farther along, on the south side of the island, was
the onh" real opening in the trees. Here, fortunatelv for
me, was a dead tree, upon which several ibises at a time
would alight. A Louisiana Heron stayed perched on a leafy
branch just above, and here I was soon able to take quite
a series of telephoto pictures of ibises and the heron. Shortlv
before starting on the trip, I had purchased an excellent firm

THE GREAT CUTHBERT ROOKERY 71

tripod, which now served me admirably, as rigidity of the
apparatus is the prime essential in telephoto work.

All the nests of these water-birds are mere platforms of
sticks in a crotch, usually unlined with any soft material.
The ibises, however, line their nests with green mangrove
leaves, but, despite this, their nests are the liimsiest of them
all. Just a few sticks are laid across one another in the
crotch, some leaves are placed upon them, and the two or
three greenish eggs, beautifully mottled with brown, are then

TELEPHOTO PICTURE OF AN IBIS AND A LOUISIANA HERON

72

WILD WINGS

deposited. All the eggs of the ibises seemed to be fresh^
and many of the sets yet incomplete. In view of finding, in
the other ibis rookery visited, the young already well grown,

I am inclined to believe that
these ibises may have re¬
cently come to this island
from some other rookery,
that had been broken up,
and were trying to raise
belated broods.

While I was among the
ibis nests, a harsh series of
rattling grunts arrested my
attention, whose author I
found to be an American Egret, that flew back and forth
over me, and then alighted in a tree-top to watch. It was
a most beautiful sight, the tall, slender white bird, with long,
graceful neck, and a back covered with the elegant “ aigrette ”
plumes that drooped down over the wings — the prize of
the merciless plume-hunter. Here was the nest, about fifteen
feet up a mangrove. In it were three little egrets, rather
ragged and uncouth in their incipient white plumage, yet
(|uaint and interesting. Not far away were several other
nests of this species, all containing two or three young.
Two weeks loefore, the rest of my party had found a few
nests with eggs, but now all were hatched. One family of
three young were large enough to fly a little, and could just
flutter from tree to tree, out of my reach. Another brood of
two were at the climbing stage, but I drove them back to
the nest, and managed to photograph them with the refle.x
camera in the open sunlight that bathed the tops of the
mangroves. The eggs of the egret are light greenish blue,
like most herons’ eggs.

YOUNG FLORIDA CORMORANTS.

THE GREAT CUTHBERT ROOKERY

73

LOUISIANA HERONS. “YOUNG IN THEIR RUDE HOME”

Out near the edge, on the very tops of the trees, were the
nests of the Florida Cormorants, rather more compact than
most of those of the other birds, but especially dirty. Some
of them held from two to four dirty-white eggs, but in the
majority there were small, naked, black young, repulsive in
appearance. Thev lay squirming in the nests unable to stand
or sit up, and suggested reptiles rather than birds. In only
one nest were there young large enough for successful photo-

74

WILD WINGS

graphs, and this nest was very inconveniently situated. The
only way I could manage was to balance myself on the slen¬
der branch close beside it, and take snap-shots, there being
no possible place to attach a camera. Around me in the tree-
tops were several other nests with tiny young. Noticing that
one brood were beginning to succumb under the sun’s rays,
I covered those near me with leaves till I had taken the de¬
sired pictures. The mother cormorants were quite solicitous,
alighting quite near me on the tops of the trees, and I secured
some pictures of them.

Everywhere I went there were varying numbers of the nests
of the Louisiana Heron scattered about. Some of these con¬
tained eggs, curiously in this rookery almost always three,
whereas the year before in central Florida I invariably found
four or five to a nest. Whenever the young herons were
large enough to stand up, they would usually scramble out
of the nest when I tried to photograph them. It was only with
much difficulty that I finally succeeded in securing a picture
of a whole family of young in their rude home. I also caught
a well-grown youngster, and placed him upon a horizontal
trunk, the guide thwarting his determination to escape until
I had taken his portrait several times.

I also inspected the comparatively small colony of the
Little Blue Heron along the eastern shore of the island, where
they nested in the mangroves out over the water. Four blue
eggs was the usual complement of their nests, or varying
numbers of 3mung. At first the young of this species are pure
white ; then slat\"-blue feathers crop out ; but it is not until
their third summer is near that they don their complete
dark bluish uniform. One poor little white fellow had fallen
into the water, and was nearly chilled and exhausted when
I found him. I put him back into his nest out at the end of
the branches, and set one of his dr}" and contented brothers

THE GREAT CUTHBERT ROOKERY

75

upon a firmer branch, where he stood very sweetly for his
picture. I also secured pictures of the adults in flight or
upon the trees, from the boat.

Upon their previous visit here, my friends had seen twelve
of the elegant Roseate Spoonbills flying about, and had
examined a few nests, containing either three large eggs
beautifully blotched with lilac, or the downy young of very

YOUNG LITTLE BLUE HERON. “STOOD VERY SWEETLY FOR
HIS picture”

tender age. Now they were all gone, their nests being
plundered by crows or buzzards. The only trace of them
I found was a single spoonbill’s egg in an ibis’s nest, with
two eggs of the ibis.

The Fish Crow and the Turkey Buzzard represent the pre¬
datory forces which are allied with man in waging war upon

WILD WINGS

76

these colonies of helpless water-birds. Though I did not actu¬
ally see the buzzards looting the nests, I am sure that these
solemn-looking, red-faced fellows do not hang around the
rookery for any l)enevolent purpose. Yet their ravages are
not as open and unblushing as those of their smaller com¬
panions. The Fish Crows are nothing if not audacious
thieves. A l)and of them was always prowling about our
camp to approj^riate whatever they could. When we pulled
across to the rookery in the morning, they would descend
and eat up all leavings, and then, by the time we were reach¬
ing the island, the black band would come straggling after
us, following up closely as we landed. It was inevitable that
some of the birds would be startled from their eggs, and
this gave the rascals their opportunity. The audacity with
which one would alight over our heads in the nest of a heron
or ibis and proceed to break and suck the eggs was simply
maddening, as there was no way to prevent it. Now and
then we would see one fly oft with an egg impaled on its bill.
The warden thought it would be a good thing for him to
carry a small plume-hunter’s rifle on purpose to kill crows
and stop their ravages.

W’hen I was photographing the young cormorants, one of
these Fish Crows kept hovering close around me, with an
evident desire to get at the young. I had no lead with which
to perforate his hide, but I shot him with a photographic
plate and got his likeness, perfect to his very claws.

One of the minor, yet very interesting exhibits in this re¬
markable aviary of Nature was a party of six of the rare and
little-known Everglade Kite, probably a family group, which
I saw one evening soaring over the island. Very few natural¬
ists have ever seen this bird. It quite closely resembles the
Marsh Hawk in form and general habits, and, like the young
of that species, is dark in coloration. The southern edge of

THE GREAT CUTHBERT ROOKERY

77

CORMORANTS, IBISES, AND A HERON. “FLUTTERING FROM THE LOW MANGROVES”

the great open, grassy quagmires of the Everglades is only
a few miles from this spot. These marshes are the main re¬
sort of this bird, which is often called “ Snail Hawk,” because
it is said to feed almost exclusively on an abounding species
of fresh- water snail, extracting the creature from its shell by
means of the hooked bill. There were plenty of these empty
snail-shells about, upon which, very probably, these kites
had been feeding. As they soared, — the whole six quite close
together and rather low over the island, — though the sun
had gone down, I secured some tolerable snap-shot silhouette
pictures of the interesting party.

The only other feathered visitors to the rookery which
we noticed were a few straggling Wood Ibises and Ward’s
Herons. But there were some gentry with leathery hides
which were too interesting to be neglected. The lake was
a great place for alligators, and we often saw them floating
on the shallow, muddy water, quite near the shores of the

78

WILD WINGS

rookery, upon which, doubtless, they often crawled out. One
of them furnished us not a little amusement. There was a flock
of six American Coots, or Mud-Hens, feeding a little way out
in the lake, near to where we had retreated in the boat from
the mosquitoes to eat our dinner. The wily old fellow had
evidently seen the coots, for he ke])t diving and emerging
nearer and nearer to them. The water was too shallow
for him to catch them from beneath, so when he had come
reasonably near, in line with the course thev were swimming,
he lay perfectly still upon the surface, looking like an old
root or snag. Unwittingly the coots fed along till they were
perhaps within ten yards. Then they noticed the ’gator, but
apparently were not sure what it was. Ceasing to feed, they
swam close together, and really appeared to be holding con¬
sultation, in some way. Finally one of them started off, the
rest looking on, and swam up within a few feet of the object.
There it stopped and studied it, turning its head from side
to side, to see it out of either eye. Finally it swam back to
its companions, and appeared to communicate something, for
they turned and swam off in the direction from which thev
had come. The guide told me that the ’gator’s way would
have been, had they come within range of his weapon, to
swing his tail around with a great slash and break their
necks.

Naturally we made some attempt to form an estimate of
the bird-population of this great rookery. The Louisiana
Heron was the most abundant species, and may have had
from hfteen hundred to two thousand nests. Next would
come the White Ibises, with well toward one thousand pairs
or nests ; then Florida Cormorants with about two hundred,
Anhingas and Little Blue Herons with about one hundred
each, and the American Egrets with only about twenty, with
half a dozen pairs of Roseate Spoonbills when the other party

A VISION OF CUTHBERT LAKE, WITH AN ANHINGA

THE GREAT CUTHBERT ROOKERY 8i

made its visit. This would sum up about three thousand
nests or six thousand birds.

This account is a summary of my observations during
the time of our stay, from Tuesday to Thursday afternoons,
May 12 to 14. In some ways it was the most enjoyable
and exciting two days of my life, even though I had not yet
got back to full physical condition. But the mosquitoes in
these swamps are something dreadful. I managed to endure
their unceasing attacks as I photographed, but I found that
changing sixty plates, of two sizes, dusting and refilling the
holders, out in the open swamp in the dark, was an ordeal
in which I almost lost my nerve. The insects were so numer¬
ous I could not avoid mashing some of them between the
films in packing the plates.

We spread our blankets among the mangrove roots in as
dry a spot as we could find, hung our nets between the trees,
and camped out in the fullest sense, without tent or other
shelter. When we came in from the rookery, the guide built
a smudge and cooked supper, while I donned a screen-hat
and gloves and tried to get a few moments’ peace. After
supper it soon became dark enough to change plates, and
later I joined the guide under the net, by the smudge, and
tried to sleep. The first night was showery, and as I lay there,
many a mile from another human being, half sick to begin
with, feeling the rain splashing in my face, listening to the
roaring hum of the insect scourge around the net, and the
occasional scream of some wild animal, perhaps a panther,
off in the swamp, I felt — as my guide on the Western prai¬
ries once expressed himself under similar conditions — that it
would not take much more to make one homesick !

On Thursday morning the guide awoke ill with a bilious
attack. So I finished up my work during the morning, and
after dinner started back for camp. Without the guide I am

82

WILD WINGS

sure I could never have found my way out of that swamp,
even after being’ conducted in. The leads oft into the jungle,
and from lake to lake, were as blind as though no human
being had ever traversed them. When we had fought our
way out to the sea, and had put sail on our boat, I was thank¬
ful. There was a head wind, and I beat the craft homeward,
while the guide — poor, faithful fellow — slept off his headache
and nausea.

It was one A. M, before our journey was over, and tired
enough we were. None but thorough-going enthusiasts
should, or probably would, venture upon such a trip as that
to the Cuthbert Rookery. It was about the most arduous
thing I have ever attempted, but I would not have missed
it for a good deal. Think of staying on a two-acre islet in
a wilderness lake amid six thousand splendid breeding birds !
I may dream of it with exultation when, in a degenerate day,
the Florida rookeries are, like the buffalo herds and the Great
Auk, but memories of the past.

-A

ONE OF THESE FISH CROWS KEPT HOVER¬
ING CLOSE AROUND ME ”

SOOTY TERNS. “THEY SETTLE DOWN UPON THE SAND

CHAPTER V

ON LONELY BIRD KEY

As the chain grated the ear, / saio a cloud-like mass arise over the Bird KeyB
from which toe were only a feio hundred yards distance. . . . On landing, I felt for
a moment as if the birds toould raise me from the ground. — Audubon.

OUTSIDE of Alaska, it would be hard to find a more
desolate or isolated region in our national domain
than the Dry Tortugas. Far out in the Gulf of
Mexico, sixty-five miles from Key West toward the setting
sun, rise half a dozen barren sand-bars from the exquisite
turquoise-blue waters of the Gulf. One of these. Garden
Key, has been appropriated for a government fort and coal¬
ing-station, and from the massive walls of Fort Jefferson the
exiled marines gaze wistfully across the sparkling waters,
white-capped by the brisk trade-wind, toward their Brooklyn
Navy Yard Jerusalem, and count up the remaining months

WILD WINGS

84

of their pilgrimage. The only other human inhabitants are
the family who tend the light upon Loggerhead Key, our
last outpost toward Cuba and Panama. Other islets are
untenanted, save when the great sea-turtles “crawl” to deposit
their numerous eggs in the sand, on moonlight nights of
June ; one alone is preempted by the birds.

On the eighteenth of May, breaking camp and beating
back the angry swarm of Cape Sable “sheets,” I started out
across Florida Bay in the little mail schooner, sailed by a
daring “ Conch,” or Bahama Islander. With a driving north¬
east wind, directly aft, we scoured along over the white-
capped expanse. In surprisingly short time we had passed
Sandy Key, of Audubonian fame, and sunk the Capes of
Florida. From time to time inky clouds closed in around us
with their dark pall, amid furious bursts of rain and angry
squalls which threatened to take the sticks out of the schooner
and sent waves a-chasing us in a manner that made me fear
for my hard-earned camera trophies of the wilderness. By
late afternoon we had crossed Florida Bay and were making
a splendid run through the mazes of the outer keys, man¬
grove-clad, that rose like dark forts on all sides of us. Then
it became pitch dark, and I was amazed at the way in which
the genial old “ Conch ” rammed his craft through all sorts
of intricate channels, hitting bottom now and then, yet some¬
how getting through, until, when within five miles of Kev
est, at nine o’clock, we plunged on to a shoal between two
keys, and stuck hard and fast. I passed a rather chilly night,
in mackintosh and rubber boots — head under the cuddy and
legs out in the wet. Early in the morning the rising tide
cleared us, and by six A. M. we were at the wharf in Key
West, just in time to meet one of my former guides, Mr.
Burton, and secure passage upon the government tug which
was about to start for the station at the Dry Tortugas. The

ON LONELY BIRD KEY

85

guide had received an appointment as game-warden, to
camp alone on Bird Key and protect the feathered multi¬
tudes through their nesting-season, now beginning.

It was an elegant bright day, with the usual fresh north¬
east trade-wind. We reached the fort early in the afternoon,
whence, through the kindness of the keeper of the light-

SOOTY TERNS. “ALONE AMONG THE BIRDS”

house on Loggerhead Key, we secured passage to Bird Key,
only a mile away, in a small sail-boat, with our skiff in tow.
He left us, bag and baggage, upon a dilapidated little pier,
alone among the birds. As we had approached the islet,
the chorus of shrill cries had grown louder and louder, and
the fluttering of wings more and more apparent. Now birds
were rising into the air in countless swarms, with outcries
that were almost overpowering in their shrillness and volume.
We had fairly to shriek at one another to be heard at all. It
was Tuesday, and until the next trip of the tug, on Saturday

86 WILD WINGS

morning, I was to enjoy and make the most of this remark¬
able spot.

The hrst thing to do was to get settled in our strange
quarters, which were in rather uncanny surroundings. Bird
Kev has something of a history. Many years ago Audubon
landed here and studied the great bird colony. During our
Civil War the key was used as a Confederate prison-camp.
It is perhaps an eighth of a mile long and about a hundred
yards wide, a mere sand-bar, pretty well overgrown with bay
cedar bushes from three to six feet high. There are also
a few small cocoanut palms, some patches of Bermuda grass,
and a species of cactus. Better than Key West does this
island deserve that name, — a corruption from the Spanish,
meaning Bone Key, — for it is a veritable graveyard, not
only of soldiers, but of victims of the “ Yellow Jack.” The
key was used for a yellow fever quarantine station during
the period of the epidemic of 1899, the visible remains of
which, beside the graves with their rude slabs, are several
untenanted buildings, in which sulphur and carbolic acid
are greatly in evidence.

Bestowing our goods in an outer entry, utilizing a rusty
stove in the cook-house, sleeping on a piazza, being careful
to boil the water we used from the neglected cistern, we
made ourselves comfortable, and found constant opportunity
for bird-study by day and by night. Even from the windows
and piazzas of the buildings we could watch the birds sitting
on their nests or flying to and fro, and in every waking mo¬
ment listen to their cries.

Under three species of birds are included all the regular
inhabitants of Bird Key ; in fact two kinds will embrace all
but about two dozen individuals. These abounding sorts
are the Noddy and the Sooty Tern, both being birds of the
tropics, which are found nesting only at this one spot in all

ON LONELY BIRD KEY

87

the LInited States. Each is about the size of a pigeon, slender
and graceful, with rather long, pointed wings. The Sooty
Tern is deep black in its upper plumage and snow-white
below, while the Noddy is dark brownish gray all over, save
for a whitish cap on its head. The Noddy reminds me of
photographic negatives of our common terns of the North,
which are of the reverse shades of color, so that I had the
constant feeling of being in a strange part of the world where
the accustomed order was upset, as though antipodal China¬
men were walking on their heads, and white were here black.

The Sooty Terns form the great majority of the population
of Bird Key. There are such clouds of them that accurately
to estimate their numbers was impossible, but my guess of
six or eight thousand I think cannot be far out of the way.
Of the Noddies there are hardly a thousand, which is a

THE NESTING NODDY. “A CASE OF LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT”

88

WILD WINGS

great decrease from the numbers that were once here. These
two species alone breed on the island. Its only other fre¬
quenters are about two dozen great Man-o’-War Birds, which
loaf about, sunning themselves, upon a certain tract of
bushes, the wharf, or the beacon, when they are not floating
serenely in the air (')r pursuing and robbing the terns as they
come in with the food secured in their trips out to sea each
morning and afternoon.

Though the climate is warm throughout the year, it is not
before early May that the feathered hosts arrive from the
south at this sandy rendezvous. In the van come the Nod¬
dies, only a few at hrst, but the rest within a few days. A
week later the Sootv Terns pour in, and it is said that within
a week of their arrival both kinds begin to lay. At the time
of our coming, nearly all the birds had eggs and were devot¬
ing themselves to their family cares.

To reach the l)uildings from the little landing-pier, we had
to pass through a tract of bushes, and here it was that I saw
the first nests of the Noddies. Upon the tops or in the forks
of the bushes each pair had built a rather rude, yet fairly
substantial platform of sticks, only slightly hollowed, and
upon each sat a dark gray bird. There was something about
the graceful little creatures that instantly took me by storm,
— a case of love at first sight. The Noddy is wonderfully like
a dove, in size, in form, in the softness of its plumage, the
expression in its large, dark eyes, and its gentle, confid¬
ing wavs. There is no wild affright and fluttering as the
stranger approaches. Just a shadow of natural modesty is
evident, but the birds sit quietly, hoiking and trusting, and do
not flv until the intruder is almost within arms’ reach. Then
they flit easily away, waiting upon a neighboring bush until
the interloper has withdrawn, when they return directly to
their charges.

SOOTY TERNS. “THOUSANDS OF WINGS ARE FLUTTERING

ON LONELY BIRD KEY

91

Here, too, at the outset, we began to see the manner of life
of the Sooty Tern. Their homes are never on the bushes, but
on the ground, either under shelter of the foliage or out in
the open spots. Home-making is reduced to the lowest
terms ; merely a hollow scratched in the sand, and all is
ready. It seems strange that both these species lay but one
egg. If robbed, they will lay again and again, but each pair
raises only a single chick each season. This is one of the

r

MAN-O’-WAR BIRDS AT THEIR ROOST
(One is still asleep)

wonderful adaptations of nature, that the birds which have
few natural enemies should have small families, while those
much persecuted — like ducks and grouse — have large
broods. The eggs of both these terns are about two inches
long, of a buffy white, with reddish markings, but are dis¬
tinguishable in that those of the Noddy are less marked,
though the situation, upon ground or bush, makes the matter
certain. Verv rarely the Sooty Tern has two eggs, but I never
found more than one in the possession of a Noddy.

I soon found that, for breeding purposes, the two species
had apportioned off the island into separate communities.

92

WILD WINGS

The Sooties, naturally, occupied the greater part of the island,
but the Noddies had a separate reservation along the middle
and southern part of the west shore, from which one gazes
out upon Loggerhead Light, two miles away. To some extent
the species overlapped on their southern boundary, and the
Sooties were free to liy over Noddy-land, but there was no
interference or unfriendliness. I saw no lighting between
these two, though the Noddies would protest a bit when their
natural disturbers, the Man-o’-War Birds, desired to roost too
near their nests, and there were some little “scraps” between
some of a kind, especially when the wrong Noddy alighted
upon the wrong nest.

Living, as we did, right among the birds, the opportunities
were splendid for observing all the details of their interesting
little lives. Both terns were continually alighting upon the
roofs of the buildings, especially appropriating the ridge¬
poles, upon which there were nearly always lines of them,
iboth kinds j^eacefully intermingled. I watched the caressings
bf the mates, their pretty home-life on and about the nests,
and -even the dropping of the eggs. I was so busy photo¬
graphing during my short stay that I could not take time to
watch protractedly any given nests and learn the full sequence
of events, but I should have enjoyed remaining there with
the warden throughout the season, watching the life and pro¬
gress of the colony.

The climate of these sea-girt. Southern keys is not uncom¬
fortably hot, even in summer, just a delightful, equable con¬
dition that makes living and sleeping outdoors a constant
delight. The rainy season was approaching, as occasional
sudden showers had begun to show. But who would mind
alternate showers and sunshine under such conditions ! How
a congenial company of lovers of nature could enjoy them¬
selves upon such an island, studying the birds, watching at

ON LONELY BIRD KEY

93

night for the “ crawling ” of the great turtles, bathing in the
limpid waters of the Gulf, upon the warm sandy beach gather¬
ing curious sea-weeds, bright shells, sponges, and corals,
reading, forsooth, — as did my companion aloud to me from

SOOTY TERN OVER EGG

the poems of Longfellow, as we sat at dusk looking out upon
the sea and watched the Man-o’-War Birds soar and the terns
come back with edible tidings from afar, — and at night, free
from insect annoyance, — for there are few mosquitoes on
the Dry Tortugas, — be lulled to slumber on the open porch
by the weird cries of the birds ! This is living, indeed !

Had it not been for the Sooty Terns, this lone key would
have been a quiet spot. The great Man-o’-War Birds, seem-

94

WILD WINGS

ingly adapted by nature for stentorian vocal efforts, are prac¬
tically mutes ; the Noddies, also, seem to have no note other
than a weak little croak. But the Sooties make up for all
other lacks with their clarion calls. Even when wholly undis¬
turbed, their natural nervousness makes it impossible for
them to be quiet. The great host is continually engaged in
some alarm. By thousands they settle down to their nests or
upon the sand. Some individual quarrels with another, and
rises with an angry scream. A few neighbors do the same,
and then, with a furious uproar, thousands of wings are flut¬
tering, and thousands of voices unite in a tremendous shout
that well-nigh shakes the key upon its coral foundations. The
racket, at length, seems fairly to frighten the birds them¬
selves, and suddenly every voice is hushed in an absolute
stillness which seems for an instant even more startling and
ajDpalling than the j^revious din. But this is only for an
instant ; again the hubbub breaks forth, if possible with
redoubled power. All day long this goes on, and the visitor
becomes accustomed to it, though he feels that he is becom¬
ing deaf, losing the power to distinguish minor sounds.

At dusk there is a general let-up, and most of the birds
settle down to rest. Yet there are always some a- wing, and
hardly a moment will pass without some sort of a crv. But
now it is only an individual voice that is heard, instead of
a vast chorus. As we lie under our blankets on the piazza,
watching the twinkling of the Loggerhead Light, the dim
form of a Sooty suddenly dashes past the gable, and with
a resounding scream it is gone, like a waning meteorite, per¬
haps to be followed by a Noddy, with its comical little squeak
of a voice. But soon no sounds can longer keep us awake.
At daybreak the clamor begins, and we, too, are astir. The
skilful guide soon prepares a steaming and bountiful repast,
and again I am out with the camera among the birds.

ON LONELY BIRD KEY

95

The first thing to do is to photograph the Man-o’-War
Birds. They have been sleeping on some clumps of bushes,
in pretty close company with us. We do not see them go to
bed, for at dark they are still soaring ; but in the morning we
find them quietly roosting, some of them not more than
thirty or forty feet from our couches. They are late risers.

THE LITTLE PIER. “THE NODDIES AND MAN-O’-WAR BIRDS LOVE TO ROOST ON IT”

and sit there sleepily till some time after sunrise. So I quietly
set up the camera upon the tripod, with the telephoto attach¬
ment, and get what views I wish, without alarming them,
right from my very bed !

Now we will stroll to the northern end of the island, look¬
ing toward the fort, where the Booties are very numerous.
They are nesting all over the dry sand above the beach, and
everywhere under the bushes farther back. As we approach,
they rise in astonishing numbers. The sun is vet low in the
east and lights up their white under parts as they rise, so that

96

WILD WINGS

it is a good time for snap-shots of birds a-wing, giving about
one five-hundredth of a second with the reflex camera. The
negatives secured are likely to be full of birds, if we aim
anywhere except down by our feet ! Still the birds are rising
from beneath the bushes. Some of them are in such a hurry
that they get tangled up in the branches, and we take one
or two of them in hand, stroking them and then letting the
frightened creatures fly away.

Eggs are lying everywhere, in any sort of a situation.
Some of the Sooties, in fact, even lay on the plank walk that
runs eastward from the house. So, careful not to trample
upon their treasures, we stroll off through openings into the
midst of the bushy tract. Some of the Sooties have flown ;
others, surprised upon their nests, refuse to turn tail to the
invader, and bristle up with a showing of courage, almost
allowing themselves to be handled. We can easily take snap¬
shots of them, but I prefer to set up my small camera upon
the tripod, using a single, long-focus lens of my double
anastigmat, and, with a brief time exposure, secure a fully
exposed, soft, detailed picture, even the veinings of the feath¬
ers showing.

Out on the open sand again, we sit down. In a moment
or two the confiding, though nervous, little Sooties, whose
eggs are all around us, begin to alight, first at some distance,
but soon within three or four yards. When there is quite
a mass of them, the focal-plane shutter drops with a bang,
and up they go, to return in a moment, and quietly steal to
their nests in plain sight or under the bushes.

Now we will take a look at the little pier. The Noddies
and the Man-o’-War Birds love to roost on it in the morning
sun, though, somehow, the Sooties seem not to relish the
company, or else their tastes are different. There they sit, as
usual, perhaps twenty Noddies and half a dozen of the great

nearest bushes, fifteen yards away, we use the telephoto lens.
Then, upon my knees, head covered with the focus-cloth,
looking intently into the hood of the reflex camera and
watching the image of the birds on the ground glass, keeping
good focus upon them as I advance, I creep nearer and nearer.
The movement is so gradual, and the object so nondescript,
that they are not alarmed. At length I am very near, and

ON LONELY BIRD KEY 97

hooked-billed, long-winged pirates. Though at times un¬
friendly, the similarity of their dark plumages — perhaps
— gives them now a sense of having some things, after all,
in common, and they sit together as though ever the best
of friends. The big fellows are not over-tame, so from the

NODDIES, “the male STANDS BESIDE HIS MATE AS SHE BROODS”

WILD WINGS

98

make an exposure. Probably the noisy Sooties have already
deafened them, for they do not seem to hear. Changing-
j)lates, I again advance. When I am almost at the wharf,
they start to fly, and just as part of them have launched out,
I snap once more, and get an interesting picture — as it turns
out. This can be done again and again.

From here it is but a few steps to the main resort of the
breeding Noddies. Most of their nests are upon the bushes
just above the beach, or on bunches of cactus. Some of them
Hy as we approach, but soon settle down again. Their quiet¬
ness is in strange contrast with the conduct and disposition
of the Sooties. In photography, now, we may do practically
anything we wish. Here is a nest where the male stands
beside his mate as she broods. Possibly he may fly up, as we
focus about a yard away ; but ere we are read}', he will be
back, and the picture of the pretty pair is easily secured.
Meanwhile, as we work, our coat brushes against another
nest, with a sitting hen Noddy upon it. She does not fly, but
bristles out her feathers, croaking her feeble remonstrance.
I stroke her on the back, and as soon as she feels the touch,
she is gone. But when the egg is nearly hatched, we could
lift her off, and, replacing her, she would continue brooding
without alarm, I am told, so overpowering is Nodd3^’s mater¬
nal passion. From this trait the great naturalist, Linnaeus,
who named the species, called the Noddy Anoiis stolid us.
Stupid fool, it means ; but I resent having any such scur¬
rilous epithet aj^j^lied to my pet. Will not the authorities
kindly change the name ?

So we might go on, as long as we wish, photographing
Noddies — on the egg, beside the egg, tail cocked prettily
aloft, mates caressing, looking down or up, the croaking,
scolding posture, when Noddy strikes the attitude of the caw¬
ing crow (pretty little sea-crow), beside many other poses.

ON LONELY BIRD KEY 99

Really, it is hard to tell when to stop this photography ! I
am sure if I were to remain on Bird Key the livelong season,
I should find something new to photograph every day, as
long as the plates lasted. During my four days’ stay I man¬
aged to keep my enthusiasm under some sort of control, and
only exposed 156 plates!

Thus the days all too quickly passed, and when, before
sunrise on Saturday morning, my friend the guide rowed me
across to the fort to take the steamer and start on my long
trip back to Connecticut, I felt that I was leaving a land
of sunshine and exhilarating delights when, from the deck of
the steamer, I saw fade in the distance the sands and bushes
of lonely Bird Key.

SOOTY TERN.

WITH RATHER LONG, POINTED WINGS'’

/,^£J

Part II

5^antitring£S ^oittlj

From cold Norse caves or buccaneer southern seas
Oft come repenting tempests here to die.

Lanier.

CHAPTER VI

SCAVENGERS OF THE SOUTH

Circles and sails aloft, on pinions majestic, the vulture.

l>ONGFELLO\V.

WARM was the Florida sunshine and the soft cypress-
scented breeze that clear April morning- over the
great Jane Green Swamp. On the lonely prairie
beyond its confines herds of half-wild cattle grazed serenely.
Out on the islets of the immense adjoining marsh that formed
the head waters of the St. John’s River the Ward’s Herons
and several others of this tribe had built their rude stick nests
in the willows, or were laying their bluish-green eggs; while
the Snake-birds, with their peculiar long necks and rudder
tails, perched lazily upon their roosts over the water, ready
for a plunge after the first venturesome fish that might rise

104

WILD WINGS

from the slimy depths under the “ bonnets ” or the floating
fields of water-lettuce. In the swamp itself, that stretched
away for forty miles, — a wonderful area of immense cypresses,
live-oaks, and other Southern trees, with stately palmettos to
guard its portals, — the Barred Owls were quiet in the shade
of foliage and streaming Spanish moss, but the tall, stately
W'ood Ibises — great birds, almost “man grown” in stature
— were nesting out on the spreading boughs of the cypresses,
a hundred, yes, a hundred and twenty-five feet from the
ground, where no enemy, without wings, could harm them.

On the edge of this great, lonely, shadowy swamp was
an open slough or marsh, now nearly dried up by the spring
sunshine. To the last and deepest pool had resorted many
a small fish, in vain search for moisture for its parching gills.
But even that had become quite dry ; the fish lay dead in
heaps, and a flock of about a dozen Turkey Buzzards, gather¬
ing there, had gorged themselves to repletion. Sluggishly
they stood on the moist ground, with drooping heads and
wings, revelling in their satietv and in the warm sunshine.
Little note did thev take of passing time, until suddenly four
men came right upon them and forced them into unwilling
flight.

It was our party, who had spent most of the day exploring
the great cypress swamp with two special plans in mind.
One was to see a nesting colony of the Wood Ibises in the
immense cvpresses, which the guide had visited in previous
seasons ; the other was to find a reputed buzzard rookery.
Two “crackers” had called at our camp on the way to the
coast to sell some enormous rattlesnake skins, and, in describ¬
ing the region, had told us of a place in the great swamp,
six or eight miles from here, which was a remarkable resort
for buzzards. Occasionally, in hunting, they had passed it,
and had seen large numbers of the buzzards sunning them-

SCAVENGERS OF THE SOUTH

105

TURKEY BUZZARD. SUNNING ITSELF

selves in the trees and on the ground. The whole place was
hlthy, and some of the trees had died. It is well known that
buzzards habitually resort to certain localities as roosting-
places. I myself had seen one, on a small scale, in the timber
along the Sheyenne River, in North Dakota, and one of my
guides knew of another in the western part of that state.
This was among the rocks on the side of a steep, barren hill,
and the Turkey Buzzards not only resorted there to roost,
but some of them reared their young under the rocks.

I should very much have liked to stumble upon this roost in
Jane Green Swamp. In the attempt to reach it we had poled
and dragged a boat four weary miles over the treacherous
morass, stepping out now and then into aquatic vegetation
which abounded in deadly moccasins, one of which would
now and then slip out fairly from under our feet. Then we
had to walk six miles across the prairie, passing occasional

io6

WILD WINGS

bands of cattle. Having done this, we were on the edge of
the swampy forest, with its giant cypresses, which, rising
boldly from the prairie level, gave the effect of a long range
of hills, stretching away, as we were told, some forty miles.
The men had described the location of the roost, but we were
unable to reach it. It was several miles farther, and we had
all we could do in a day to investigate the Wood and White
Ibises, Barred Owls, Florida Black Ducks, and other interest¬
ing birds.

When we emerged, at length, and started up the band of
gluttonous buzzards, we watched to see whether they would
not fly toward their rookery. All they did was to extend
their great ragged pinions, and, after the first few flaps, let
the ascending current of heated air do the rest. Lazily they
wheeled high overhead on motionless wings, waiting for us
to withdraw. No doubt they finally went back, but only in
their own good time, when the shadows of the cypresses had
grown long and sombre.

It was quite near this spot that we came upon the nest of
a Wild Turkey, the only one I had ever seen. Under a low
scrub palmetto, on the edge of the prairie near the forest, the
bird had scratched out a slight hollow, lined it with grass, and
deposited a dozen large speckled eggs. These had hatched,
and the shells, neatly cracked in halves, some of the pieces
telescoped, were lying there. Eggs are just the sort of special
treat that buzzards enjoy. VTry likely Turkey Buzzard and
turkey had matched wits and patience, but the owner of the
nest had won, so the scavengers were forced to attend more
strictly to business and search out death among the cattle
herds or the bands of razor-backed hogs — hateful, grizzled
monsters that were ever ready for intrusion.

If the choice must be between buzzards and hogs as scav¬
engers, give me the buzzard. He has at least a tithe of

SCAVENGERS OF THE SOUTH

107

respect for one’s feelings, which the hog has not. From our
camp here by the morass, in a fine grove of cabbage palms,
the hogs nearly routed us. We had hard work to keep pro¬
visions for ourselves, and as for the horse — poor beast !

TURKEY buzzard’s PORTRAIT. “ NOT ALTOGETHER AS PRETTY AS A PICTURE

— one night I awoke and discovered a hog right beside me,
with its nose in the only bag of grain. My foot shot out, and
a sudden tropical storm instantly almost wrecked the tent !

One evening, weary with our poling about in the morass,
we returned to camp. A member of the party, an enthusias¬
tic collector, had that morning stuffed a fine Florida Barred
Owl, well dosed with arsenic, which he had laid away — ten¬
derly as though it were a new baby — in a box. I shall never
forget the look on his face as he came striding out of the tent.

io8

WILD WINGS

exclaiming, “Where’s my Barred Owl!” All we could find
was a solitary feather. The hogs had eaten it, arsenic and
all, besides a Florida Duck and more or less of our pro¬
visions. My friend consoled himself that there would be at
least one sick hog that day. Little satisfaction did he get ;
if the beast had been sick, it had evidently soon recovered,
for the usual precious band of nine paid us a visit early next
morning, hungry as ever, and eager for another breakfast on
luscious owl-skin with cotton dressing and arsenical sugar.

The men who told us of the buzzard-roost wrongly su im¬
posed that the birds nested in the trees, like the ibises. The
two handsomely blotched eggs of each pair are laid on the
ground, in such places as hollow logs or stumps, caves or
thickets. I was once shown an old circular stone slave-prison,
in South Carolina, where a Turkey Buzzard always nested.
Trees and shrubbery had grown around and concealed it,
and the roof had fallen in. Climbing in through a window
opening and scrambling down, I found j^lenty of buzzard
feathers and dirt in the thicket of weeds, but by this time —
May — the young scavengers had taken to wing and de¬
parted. In another place, in North Carolina, another Turkey
Buzzard always was accustomed to nest in a certain old hol¬
low stump, near a farmhouse. The owner of the land allowed
no one to disturb the brooding mother, and enjoyed seeing
her bristle up and strike, and hearing her hiss. The young
are interesting, and rather j^retty, with their woolly white
suits. Neither old nor young can utter any sound save a low
guttural murmur, a little sort of gasp, and a prolonged hiss.
This muteness of the stalwart birds may not be inappropri¬
ate, for it is their lot to live in the presence of death, where
it is fitting to keep silence, or to speak in whispers, with bated
breath.

When I first journeyed South, I confess that I felt consid-

SCAVENGERS OF THE SOUTH

109

erable prejudice against the buzzards, of whose ways, unclean
from our human standpoint, I had read. Yet no true nature-
lover can afford to despise any part of the natural economy,
and I found that there is much to be said for the buzzards.

TURKEY BUZZARD. “A FINE SUBJECT TO PHOTOGRAPH

Probably most birds have habits which would not bear close
inspection by the squeamishly inclined. We can well afford
to gloss over or euphemize some things in nature which
strike us as disagreeable, realizing that the natural economy
is more reasonable and normal than our artificial prejudices.
The person who shudders at every wonderful insect and
loathes the toad, lizard, and harmless snake, and screams at
a bright-eyed mouse, is profoundly to be pitied. The natural
world to such will be a sealed book and an array of horrors.

I lO

WILD WINGS

Some one asked me if I love all birds. Certainly I do, from
the grebe to the thrush, hissing young woodpeckers, thiev¬
ing crows, naked, skinny young cormorants — yes, and buz¬
zards. There is plenty that is admirable and interesting in
them all.

Every one who visits the South is impressed with the grace¬
ful flight of the buzzards. There are no finer flyers among
birds. Mounted aloft, they soar and float so easily and airilv
that it is restful to watch them. There is no symjDtom of our
restless spirit of rush. Their movements blend with the sur¬
roundings, a sleepy atmosphere, an ardent sun. Probably
they would not soar by the hour if much eft'ort were involved.
But after they are started, there is nothing to do but to keep
the great wings extended, and l^y instinctive balancing direct
the way, letting the air-currents do the rest. A Southern
landscape without buzzards would be quite incomplete.

The observer should learn to distinguish l^etween the two
species — the Turkey Buzzard or Vulture, and the Black
Buzzard or Vulture, the latter also being called Carrion Crow.
The former is the more common and more widely distributed.
The other is more a maritime sj^ecies, though it also fre-
(pients the neighborhood of large rivers, notably the Missis-
si jopi. The Turkey Buzzard is also the more graceful flyer,
and, though dark of plumage, is of a browner cast than the
others. The Black Buzzard is a heavier, more stocky bird,
and has to flap more and harder to keep itself afloat.

Both of these birds, though tame enough about human
habitation, are somewhat shy off in the wilds. So, on my first
real acquaintance with them, in Florida, I was rather hard
put to it to secure good photographs. I would meet them
along the East Coast Railway, perched on telegraph poles,
or on stubs by the Indian River, and generallv they would
fly before I wanted them to. Once I managed to rig my

SCAVENGERS OE THE SOUTH

III

telephoto lens and focus on one at a moderate distance on
a telegraph pole. Unfortunately the bird decided to fly just
as I opened the lens for a timed exposure, the result of which
was a streak of buzzard clear across the plate. The onh" pos¬
sible chance I had, that first season, of photographing a Black

BLACK BUZZARD ON STREET IN CHARLESTON

Buzzard was when I saw one sitting quietly on a palmetto
stub, gorged after a banquet on the remains of a large turtle
which some negroes had killed and cut up, giving a number
of Turkey Buzzards and a black fellow or two a fine time.
No one need say that the poor buzzard prefers carrion, if he
can find as nice fresh meat as this. Well, I was sneaking
up to the buzzard, and was almost sure of a snap-shot, when
a companion fired his gun at a duck which passed over his
head, and away went my subject.

1 12

WILD WINGS

The Turkey Buzzard is quite widely distributed. I have
often seen it away up in North Dakota, and now and then it
appears in Connecticut. One warm August day, in the latter
state, I drove eight miles to see a singular, unknown bird
which a farmer wrote me he had caught. It proved to be
a Turkey Buzzard, slightly wounded, which had now fully
recovered. Taking it home with me in a box, I kept it in
my stable. It fed voraciously on livers and sounds, drink¬
ing plenty of water, and made a fine subject to photograph.
But I could never teach it that it was not necessary for it
to offer me its dinner whenever I had occasion to handle
it. One verv singular habit it had was to fill its lungs with
air, and then slowly expel it, keeping up a steady hiss,
like escaping steam, for about ten seconds. Another was to
stamp its foot angrily upon the floor several times in rapid
succession.

Passing through Southern cities, I had seen from the car
windows flocks of buzzards frequenting dumping-grounds
and similar places in the environs. And when I had occasion
to stay for several days in one of them — Charleston it was —
I had the chance of my life to study buzzards. F'ortunately,
too, it was mainly the Black Buzzard, the kind less familiar
to me. Right in the heart of the city, the great black fel¬
lows visit the market. They sit in rows upon the adjoining
houses, or upon the market buildings themselves. Presently
one of the market-men, after serving a customer, throws the
scraps he has cut off into the paved street. Instantly there is
the greatest imaginable flapping of wings and such a scurry¬
ing. Great birds by the score tumble pell-mell into the street,
and laying hold upon the choice morsels, a number at a time,
tug and haul, until the strongest gets the prize. Meanwhile
we stand within a few feet and laugh. Then they linger
around and wait to see if more will not be forthcoming, or

SCAVENGERS OF THE SOUTH

113

BLACK VULTURES. “THE FENCES OF THE SLAUGHTER-PENS WERE
FAIRLY BLACK WITH THEM ”

Stalk about with dignified air as though they owned every¬
thing and were indeed Charleston’s leading citizens.

But the great place to see the sport is at the city dump and
slaughter-pens, out in the suburbs. One afternoon, carrying
a big reflex camera, and with a young lady cousin, I took
a trolley, and told the conductor to let us off at the city dump.
The look of incredulity and scorn in the man’s face was
something that nearly convulsed me with laughter. He
merely gave me a surly grunt, and when we reached what
was evidently the place, made no motion to stop. He finally
had to, and we got out with great deliberation and dignity,
the passengers all craning their necks to take in this new
wonder. Perhaps they thought I was a Federal inspector
investigating the sanitation of their city — or an escaped
lunatic.

Modern methods of destroying garbage are not considered
necessary in these favored quarters of the globe. The buz-

WILD WINGS

114

NEGROES AND BLACK BUZZARDS ON THE CITY DUMPING-GROUND, CHARLESTON

zards have secured the contract for this work, and they never
neglect their duties. At this particular time, in May, there
must have been upwards of a thousand buzzards in sight, all
of them the Black Vulture. The fences of the slaughter-pens
were fairly black with them, awaiting patiently the good
pleasure of the butchers, and they had little objection to my
walking up close and taking their pictures. When I hnally
scared them off, they settled down on a marshy place near
by, joining a regiment of their fellows already there. Thither
I followed, and took some photographs of this remarkable
conclave.

Out on the open lots where the citv carts were dumping the
garbage, numbers of negro women and children were poking
over these leavings, in hope of finding some prize, and with
them were the buzzards, getting their share. N either class paid
attention to the other, and they were closely intermingled, on
evident terms of good fellowship. By courtesy I was allowed

SCAVENGERS OF THE SOUTH 115

to join the company, and I was interested enough in all
I saw.

I should have liked to visit the night-roost of the buzzards,
which in the days of Audubon was in some woods two miles
from the city, across the Ashley River, and may yet be in use.
However, the limited time at my disposal forbade. Accord¬
ing to Audubon’s account, he and the Rev. John Bachman
did not find it very clean. So be it. If we should refine our
scavengers overmuch, they would probably forage the poultry
yards and cease to be the useful birds that they are — albeit
they do commit some depredations upon wild birds’ young
and eggs. But I have no desire to overturn the economy of
nature, and so, though the buzzard’s portraits do not make
him out altogether as pretty as a picture and fair as a lily,
I confess to a feeling of great kindness to these our humble
scavengers.

TTJRKEY BUZZARD. “ ON PINIONS MAJESTIC THE VULTURE

FLOCK OF LAUGHING GULLS BY THE QUARANTINE STATION

CHAPTER VII

VIRGINIA BIRD HOMES OF BEACH AND MARSH

. . . 7V!//i a step I stand
On the fiyyn-packed sand.

Free

By a tvor/d of marsh that borders a world of sea.

Lanier.

The fame of the region had travelled afar. Its dis¬
tances were impressive, its sea-lieaches magnificent,
its marshes the very symbol of the infinite. But these
were not the reasons for its renown. It was a land of birds, —
birds of sea and shore, of kinds not easy to find, — rich both
as to numbers and variety. Winnowing gulls and darting
terns of several kinds laid their eggs on sand and marsh, and
their excitable colonies added a spectacular interest to the
landscape. The singular and remarkable Black Skimmer
was there in all its glory. Shore-birds, some of them nesting,

VIRGINIA BIRD HOMES

117

could be seen at their best. The salt marshes teemed with
Clapper Rails, or Marsh Hens ; Ospreys and Eagles built
their huge nests in the strips of woods ; Great Blue Herons,
long of neck and limb, plied their hshing-trade and nested
in colonies somewhere in the vicinity. The fact, too, that the
region was one of sea islands added to its interest, for there
is a sort of romantic fascination about an island. Bird-
students from time to time had visited it, and their accounts
were always glowing.

To be dehnite, this favored locality comprises the islands
which lie off the northern peninsula of Virginia. Of these,
Cobb’s Island has been the most celebrated, but there are
several others that are of equal interest. These islands are
from two to four miles from the mainland, long narrow strips,
parallel with the shore, and almost joined together, extending
for many miles. The backbone of each island is a ridge of
sandy loam, usually covered with woods of tall pine. On the
ocean side are fine, broad sand-beaches, while in the rear is
a vast salt marsh, cut up by creeks innumerable. The whole
region is a veritable Rehoboth, where the traveller will find
no lack of room.

When the time came that my zeal would brook no further
delay in seeing these things for myself, I was unable to find
another of like mind and with the necessary time at his
disposal. Yet, desirable and agreeable as is a congenial com¬
panion on such a trip, its pleasure is not spoiled by one’s
being alone. Anticipation keeps one in a pleasant day-dream,
and realization is sufficiently absorbing to make one forget
all else.

On this occasion there was no time for lonely reflection.
One evening late in June, bestowing myself in a sleeper berth,
ere the late train left Jersey City, I dreamed delightfully of
the birds, and awoke early in the morning not long before

ii8

WILD WINGS

I reached my destination at Cape Charles, \nrginia. In a
few moments I was talking over the telephone with Captain
Hitchens of the Smith’s Island life-saving station, my host,
who was to meet me and sail me across. Such modernizing
of the conditions of the supposedly lonely and retired sea
islands hardly seemed in keeping with the purj^ose of my
jonrnev. But after a darky boy had driven me twelve miles in
a liverv team, and the genial keeper had sailed me four miles
across the bav to his island home, my hopefulness returned.
Aside from the abodes of the keepers of the lighthouse and
life-saving station, the government buildings, there was not
another human habitation. The tall towers of the new light¬
house on the bay side, 192 feet high, and of the old abandoned
one nearly undermined by the ocean, almost as tall, showed
up over the sea, flats, and marsh for many a mile. What
a difference the telephone makes in the lives of these other¬
wise isolated families I could vividly realize, as I heard the
keeper with whom I stayed “call up” in the morning the
various other island stations along the coast and chat with
their keepers about the weather and the occurrences of the
day or night. How different from the so-called good old times !

The hrst look from the station southward down the broad
beach told eloquently of the hoj^eless resistance of these sea
islands to the onslaughts of the ocean. \Wthin the memory
of man their shores were a mile farther out to sea. The spot
occupied by the station was then in the midst of a pine forest.
Now the buildings are all but undermined by the waves which
storms drive u]^ around them. From the very beach rise an
array of decaving stubs and stumps, a warning to the pines
behind them of what will soon be their fate.

Somewhere I had received the impression that the condi¬
tions of bird-life around my headquarters would be compar¬
able to those of Noah’s ark. Really I had almost expected

VIRGINIA BIRD HOMES

119

to gaze upon fluttering multitudes out of my bedroom
window. But I was soon undeceived, and I found myself
next morning trudging up the beach northward, weighted
down with a backload of impedimenta, under the ardor of
the late June sunshine. For a mile the way was past the
pine-tract, which contained many great Osprey’s nests, con¬
spicuous as hay-mows in the tree-tops. Then came the sandy
beach, unrelieved by any background save that of the low,
interminable salt marsh. A tramp of miles upon the sand
may be wearisome and monotonous, or not, according to
circumstances. When breezes blow free and the waves are
flowing, when shore-birds pipe their clear, mellow calls, when
sea-birds flit gracefully by and plunge into the brine, one
forgets his burdens and feels as free as they.

Expecting such conditions, I plodded along, and was re¬
warded. After about three miles I began to hear the sounds

NEST AND EGGS OF THE BLACK SKIMMER

120

WILD WINGS

of bird-flutes, and pairs of demure little Wilson’s Plovers
ran pattering before me along the shingle. Some louder,
more incisive cries came from a couple of Oyster-catchers,
large and wary shore-birds that probably had young in the
vicinity. A mile or two farther along I began to approach a
flock of good-sized birds whose sooty black plumage showed
up with startling contrast against the dazzling glare of the
sand upon which they were resting. Presently they took to
wing and came dashing toward me like a pack of hounds in
full cry. Darting past, they revealed their white under parts
and great carmine bills, the lower mandible projecting be¬
yond the upper one. This most singular bird is the Black
Skimmer. Were there nothing else picturesque in the land¬
scape, these would sufhce and would furnish inducement
enough for the trip down into old \drginia.

About a dozen pairs of them were nesting at this particu¬
lar spot. By threes and fours their rather large white eggs,
handsomely marked with black, were readily seen lying in
hollows in the dry sand above high-water mark. They make
no nest whatever, save to scratch out a little round depression,
which is similar to the numerous wallows where the birds
have been squatting to bask in the sun. A few hundred
yards beyond was another group of perhaps twenty nests,
and so these groups recurred, as I continued my way along
the seemingly endless beach.

It was a lively and beautiful scene. Parties of Skimmers
were flying about in all directions, some across the sand,
other bands close over the surface of the ocean just outside
the white line of the lazilv breaking surf. One moment they
would wheel and look like snowv terns, then immediately
they would become as black as crows, according as they
presented their lower or upper parts. But their cries ! Some¬
times one would suddenly dash by me and utter, almost in

VIRGINIA BIRD HOMES

I2I

my ear, a veritable shriek, loud enough to startle one greatly,
if taken unawares. More often the cry was a reiteration of
sounds which reminded me of the violent sobbing of a child,
made by drawing in the breath. They were anxious about
their eggs ; indeed it would sound as though they were
fairly heart-broken. If they really suffered as much as their
curious remonstrance seemed to imply, I should have felt posi¬
tively guilty in subjecting them to such outrageous indignity
by prying into their domestic privacy and happiness. I called
them “the sobbing birds,” and they darted about and sobbed
their hearts away as long as I stayed near their nests. As
they “ sobbed,” I could see their bills, like pairs of great
shears, open and shut, as though, in flying by, they would
snip off my ears. Flving low over the water, they seem to
shear it as they quicklv, in passing, pick up fish or other
marine creatures from the surface.

To photograph them in flight successfully requires a

122

WILD WINGS

camera of the reflecting-, or “ reflex,” type. Such at this time
I did not jDossess. Focusing upon a certain point, I snapped
a dozen times as the birds passed the exact spot. Though
I am called a good shot with the shot-gun, I actuall}- in this
case did not “ hit ” a single bird and get it on the plate. All
the flight pictures I have secured of Skimmers were taken in
a subsequent year, before the nesting-season, when the birds
were quite wary, and had me at great disad\'antage.

But I did manage to photograph them upon their nests.
One way was with the telephoto lens at quite a distance.
This, howev'er, secured only a small and not very satisfactory
picture. So I tried placing the camera close to a nest, to
make the exposure by a thread from a distance. This did
not work, as the eggs were freshly laid, and the birds not
very anxious to incubate. So I left small heaps of seaweed
near certain of the nests, and had no trouble next day in
securing all the pictures I required. After the camera was
properly set, and covered with the weed, and I had lain down
upon the sand at some distance, the bird would soon return
and alight about a rod from the nest. After a few moments’
hesitation she would patter over to the eggs and settle down
upon them, always facing the wind. All I had to do then
was to pull the thread, and then change plates and try again,
if I wished another picture.

Along these reaches of sand many terns were also nesting,
laying their three eggs — smaller than those of the Skimmer,
and with a darker drab ground-color — in hollows of the sand
or among shells and pebbles, usually with a little lining of
straw, or at least of chips of shell. Wherever I went bands
of terns were hovering overhead, with piercing cries. Most of
them were the Common Tern, but quite a few were of the
Southern species known as the Marsh or Gull-billed Tern.
Both are very similar in color, — white, with pearl-gray

NEST AND EGGS OF THE CLAPPER RAIL

VIRGINIA BIRD HOMES

125

backs, and black cap and wing-tips, — except that the former
species has an orange bill, the latter a black one. The nests
were scattered irregularly about and usually contained three
eggs.

The great salt marsh back of the narrow strip of sand was
meanwhile offering its allurements. Willets were flying about
with loud outcries, distressed lest I should find their young.

BLACK SKIMMER INCUBATING EGGS

A flock of Laughing Gulls — so called from their laughter¬
like cacklings — were preening their feathers by a pool on
the marsh’s edge. The occasional “cluck, cluck’’ of some
Marsh Hen, or Clapper Rail, invisible in the grass, bespoke
a new wonder of which I desired to know more. Although
there are doubtless tens of thousands of these peculiar birds
on all these great marshes, I learned to my chagrin that
it was by no means easy to find a nest. Two hours’ hard
tramping over the sticky and treacherous expanse failed to
reward me with an occupied nest. Two were discovered from
which the young had gone. They were neat, saucer-shaped

126

WILD WINGS

platforms of dry stems, built in tussocks just above the
reach of the tides which flow up all over the marsh, and were
canopied over by the grass in a very pretty manner. At one
time I caught sight of a little black young rail, which led me
a sorry chase over a soft mud-flat, greatly to the detriment of
my personal appearance. I had almost caught it, I thought,
when suddenly, as though by magic, it faded from my sight
amid a few sparse blades of marsh grass. Oh ! but I was
thirsty that day ! It was blazing hot, and the marsh seemed
like a furnace. After drinking the last of the precious water,
I found some relief in a dijD in the ocean. Then came an
eight-mile tramp. Next day the keeper provided me with a
horse and tij^cart for the same jaunt. This time I took plenty
of water, but, in an evil hour, I made the horse trot upon
the apparently smooth sand-beach. Everything on board the
springless cart began to leap into the air. A hole was
chipped in the bottle, and nearly all the water had leaked out
ere I knew it. Only about half a pint was saved by holding
the wreck of the bottle in my hand as I drove, and I had
another thirsty dav of it.

The numerous Laughing Gulls were not nesting in these
particular marshes, and to locate them I scoured the bays and
marshes far and near in a sail-boat with the keeper. Away
out near the entrance of Chesa]:)eake Bav lie a group of small
islands, upon one of which is a U. .S. quarantine station,
about as isolated a location as one could well find. Here,
ujDon the wide flats, were Laughing CtuIIs by the hundreds,
consorting with Black Skimmers and Common Terns. But
what amazed me most, as I landed upon a low sand-liar of
an island, was to find scores and scores of the Black Tern,
in full breeding plumage, hovering overhead, darting down
at us, and acting exactlv as thev do out in the sloughs of
North Dakota when one approaches their nests. The strange

VIRGINIA BIRD HOMES

127

LAUGHING GULLS HOVERING OVER THEIR NESTS

thing is that they are not known to breed in eastern North
America, though they occur as migrants. Unfortunately
there had been a high tide which had washed the key clean
of all nests and eggs, certainly of Black Skimmers and Com¬
mon Terns, and probably of the Black Terns also. I noticed
one little hollow, lined with weed, which looked like one of
their nests.

On another islet, — this one marshy, — a dozen miles to the
northward of this, I finally found my first nest of the Marsh
Hen. First of all, in landing there, I discovered several nests
of the Forster’s Tern, mere hollows in piles of dry eel-grass
drifted up on the marsh grass. One of these, which had the
usual three eggs, I photographed, and with it the female bird
in the act of alighting. This was done by setting the camera
upon the tripod and pulling the thread from hiding in some

128

WILD WINGS

long grass. A few days later I returned to show the nest to
a friend. As we stood by it, I caught sight of a gleam of
white, and there was a nest with eleven eggs of the Marsh
Hen, skilfully concealed under the canopied grass. I had
placed my tripod directly over it, and then gone away with¬
out detecting its presence.

Stepping back from this nest a few feet, I suddenly flushed
the mother bird, which I had almost trodden upon. So con¬
fident are they in their protective coloration and surround¬
ings that they are almost fearless of dull-eyed man. The day
before this I had waded out in a marsh at high tide to a little
hummock and, standing upon it, clapped my hands to start
up a Willet which had alighted out beyond. Upon this up
jumped a Marsh Hen almost from between my legs. It, too,
had taken refuge from the tide and did not intend to yield its
ground for any ordinary alarm. Sometimes I saw them, when
suddenly flushed, fly straight out into the bay and alight upon
the water, where they would swim like ducks.

Despite all accounts, I did not find the Laughing Gulls’
nesting-grounds till I extended my wanderings to the vicinity
of Cobb’s Island. Meanwhile I had found and photographed
a rookery of Great Blue Herons on the mainland. As we
approached a little marsh island in our sail-boat, bands of
hovering, cackling gulls gave assurance of certain success.
The very first thing one of the men saw, on jumping from the
boat, was a Marsh Hen’s nest with eight eggs. The over¬
arching of the grass revealed it. Very close by was another
with eight eggs, and still another with eleven. It was now
July 2, and these were second layings, for the Marsh Hens
here begin their family cares in April or early May. Then we
discovered, here and there on the marsh, the nests of the
Laughing Gulls, hollows in piles of drift-weed, in each of
which were three drab-colored mottled eggs.

VIRGINIA BIRD HOMES

129

Toward evening we landed upon Cobb’s Island at the life¬
saving station which stands on piles at the edge of the
immense salt marsh. Here we were pleasantly entertained by
“ Captain Jack ” and his family. A long bridge on piles leads
across the marsh to the outer beach. These structures and
a very few others loom above the water and the tops of the

YOUNG COMMON TERNS, READY TO ESCAPE

submerged grass at high tide, and are all that are left of
a thriving village with schools and churches. The sea has
claimed its own, and, never satiated, clamors for more. It is
not man who will sav it nay.

Next day we traversed the long bridge and found ourselves
upon the ocean front, which was backed by a wonderful ridge
extending perhaps a mile and composed entirely of shells,

WILD WINGS

130

particularly of oysters, scallops, and sea-clams. Some of the
terns by this time had young. The downy little fellows do
not remain long in the home-nest, but wander about freely
over the warm sand. Nature’s “protective coloration” won¬
derfully blends them with their surroundings. When an
enemy approaches, all they have to do is to squat and keep
perfectly still, and the chances are that they will not be no¬
ticed.

At one place a Marsh Tern was making a great ado over
my presence, screaming and swooping down so vigorously
as almost to strike me on the head. Slowly walking about,
I kept my eyes fastened on the glaring sand. After some mo¬
ments, I suddenly spied the cause of the commotion, a young
tern squatting at the foot of a weed. During the quarter of
an hour I spent photographing it, not a yard away, the little
creature did not stir a hair’s breadth. As long as I did not
touch it, it evidently thought itself unobserved. But when my
work was done, I gave the touch that dissolved the magic
spell, and it went racing away.

In this vicinity the Laughing Gulls were also nesting.
Some had nests out on the marsh, others in the clumps of
coarse grass just back from the beach. I chose a spot where
there were onlv a few scattered pairs, to make as little com¬
motion as possible and not to kee]3 many birds long off their
nests, where I began the ordeal of trying to photograph them
at short range. Selecting a nest with the usual three eggs,
conveniently located, I set the camera on the ground near
it in a clump of grass, the latter arched over it in what
I thought to be a masterly manner. As I lay hidden, peering
over a sand-dune, thread in hand, I was prepared to see the
gull return almost at once to its nest. Soon the bird was
hovering over it ; she seemed about to alight, when away
she went. Making a few circlings, she came back, but after

VIRGINIA BIRD HOMES

131

YOUNG MARSH TERN HIDING

hovering provokingly, throwing up her wings as though
certainly alighting, again was off. This was repeated till
I was thoroughly tired. No further covering of the camera,
changing its position, trimming it with leaves, or making an
arched passage for it under the grass made any difference.
Then I tried other nests, and it was the same old story. Thus
was nearly a whole day wasted.

Next day was my last, the Fourth of July, and roasting
hot, but I was early at the work again. The night before
I had placed piles of seaweed near the nests, and was con¬
fident of success. But as the hours again slipped away, and
no bird had given me a shot, I nearly lost hope, for I had to
start back at one o’clock. Lying on my face in the burning
sand, I began to fear being overcome by the heat, and

WILD WINGS

132

thought wistfully of my family up in Connecticut eating ice
cream in the cool shade !

At tjuarter of one I seemed to be no nearer succeeding
than I had been the morning before. All my resources were
exhausted, and I was about ready to quit, when suddenly the
hovering gull threw up her wings, and down she went. As
I was two hundred yards away, I could not be sure that
she was really on her eggs. So I waited hve minutes, and
then, seeing nothing more of her, I carefully and slowly drew
the thread taut. Almost as soon as I stood up, the gull flew,
evidently from the nest.

This made me feel that at any cost I must have just one
more picture. So I changed the plate, set the shutter again,

LAUGHING GULL ON HER NEST

VIRGINIA BIRD HOMES

133

and returned to hiding. The gull worried me for another half
hour, and then gave me my wish. With glad heart I removed
the camera, left the birds in peace, and hurried back to the
life-saving station, in time to be taken across the bay, and,
elbowing through throngs of dark-faced celebrants in the
town, to catch the evening train for home.

NEST AND EGGS OF MARSH TERN

THE AMERICAN EGRET IN FLIGHT

CHAPTER VIII

THE EGRET, IN NATURE AND IN FASHION

Vainly the fowler s eye

Afiglit mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong.

Bryant.

The splendid snow-white heron known as the Amer¬
ican Egret, one of the few kinds which bear the
aigrette plumes of millinery and commerce, is among
the waning species of America. In Audubon’s time it was
common all over the southeastern quarter of the country.
Now there is but a pitiful remnant in the southern part of
Elorida, and a few other spots. Indeed it is generally sup¬
posed that there are practically none outside of Florida. So
when I made a trip to another part of the South, to study and
photograph birds, the Egret was not reckoned in as a likeli¬
hood, and but barely a possibility.

THE EGRET

135

When the question was up for decision whether or not to
go to a certain locality, the information that “white cranes”
were constantly seen, and might be nesting somewhere about,
decided it in the affirmative. So great a romantic, sesthetic,
yes, and pathetic interest attaches to this beautiful, spectacular
species that one might well travel far for the chance, however
slim, of studying it from life, ere it is too late.

Thus it came about, at length, that after a long sail up a
series of narrow, tortuous creeks, between walls of impassable
mud and through immense salt marshes, we found ourselves
anchored at the desired locality. Even before the anchor
took the mud, late in the afternoon, I had seen the sun glance
on the dazzling whiteness of several dozen of the Egrets
as. they flew to and from the marsh, immaculate amid the
Southern mud which sticks like glue.

On shore, in the little village, the opinion prevailed that
the “ white cranes ” nested in a strip of timber on the edge
of the marsh, four miles away, and a negro boatman was
engaged to row us over there bright and early. When the
sun rose, we could see Egrets flying toward the timber, and
several of the trees appeared white, as though crowded with
the birds. Two of our company started off directly in the
tender upon another jaunt, while another and myself waited
for the darky. Bv nine o’clock we were feeling the race
problem increasingly from the Southern standpoint. Finally
we managed to hail a passing boat, and a negro boy pulled
us up the creeks to the desired locality. There was not
a sign of a heron there ; the whiteness on the trees was the
sunlight glancing on the dark, shiny leaves. But we accom¬
plished much by meeting a man who was a hunter and had
traversed the region thoroughly, who told us where the Egret
rookery really was.

Following his directions, we had the boy row us back to

WILD WINGS

136

the yacht, and then to the settlement, where we hired a con¬
veyance and drove ten miles through a region of sandy soil
and pine forest to an old rice-plantation. There we hunted up
the foreman, who knew the location of the rookery, in a great
cypress swamp. We found him kind and willing, ready to
take us to the place at once. First we tramped a mile along
a woodland trail, when we came to an arm of muddy water
under high, overarching trees, and a small, fiat-bottomed
skih. Working two paddles, we glided on and soon emerged
in a great area of cypress trees growing out of the water.
Alligators and turtles splashed before us, and buzzards and
ospreys wheeled overhead. From the cypress branches, with
their delicate needle-foliage of pale green, hung the streaming
gray moss. Pairs of Wood Ducks started up now and then
from the water with resounding wing-beats. Bees hummed
merrily about, and now and then were to be seen issuing
from the hollow of some “bee-tree,” which was, no doubt,
full of delectable honey. It was a new experience, with an
atmosphere of weirdness and grandeur, to be gliding silently
over the water under the shadows of moss-bearded forest
sentinels.

The beginning of the rookery was over a mile beyond us,
and meanwhile we were interested in the huge nests of the
Ospreys, built on the extreme tops of dead cypress stubs,
thirty to sixty feet from the water. We paused by one com¬
paratively low down, and secured some good snap-shots as
the angry female alighted in the nest or was leaving it.

Though it was late in the afternoon, and a shower was
imminent, we determined to see something of the rookery
that night, and to explore it more thoroughly next day. So
we paddled on, stopping all too often to push the boat off from
some submerged snag on which we were stranded. At length
the harsh squawking of herons became audible, and we

OSPREY AND NEST

THE EGRET

139

glided into a minor rookery which was only halfway to the
sanctum sanctorum of the saintly-appearing bird in white.
Egrets and Great Blue Herons were here nesting in peaceful
neighborliness. The great ragged platforms of sticks that
formed the homes of each species were scattered indiscrimi¬
nately upon adjoining trees over a couple of acres of space.
They were high up on the outspreading boughs, and the

EGRETS AND LITTLE BLUE HERONS

great birds, broad of wing, flapped noisily therefrom at our
approach and went squawking away. It was the twentieth
of May, and both kinds had well-feathered young, which
were visible as they stood up in the nests or climbed out on
the neighboring branches. As we remained quiet to watch,
the old birds began to pass silently overhead, and even to
alight on the nests. The shower passed with a mere sprinkle
and I had a brief season of sunshine for photography, but
under great difficulties, in the thickness and shadow of the

140

WILD WINGS

YOUNG LITTLE BLUE HERONS

submerged forest. The trees were unclimbable, and the birds
wary.

The region is one of malarial fever, and no white man
dares remain there past sundown during the warm season.
Even the overseer always drives back to town after the day’s
work. So soon we, too, had to quit, take the long jaunt to
the yacht, and return early next morning. My friend thought
he had had enough of it, so I left the party, put up with the
overseer, and drove with him on his buckboard drawn by
a little runt of a mule, employing him as guide to the rookery
and other interesting localities.

It was nine o’clock before we could reach the swamp again.
The guide and a negro paddled, while I was perched up in

THE EGRET

VOUNG EGRETS IN NEST

the bow with my reflex camera, ready to do a better day’s
work than did Audubon, when he and the Rev. John Bach¬
man visited an Egret rookery and killed forty-six of the
birds. He quaintly comments, in his great book, that “ many
more of them might have been killed, but we became tired of
shooting them.” What wonder! But those were unenlight¬
ened times, and there was no “camera-hunting.”

Passing the scenes of yesterday, where there were prob¬
ably a hundred of the egrets and herons breeding, we came in
time to the day of larger things. First we met, as we con¬
tinued to navigate this cypress-sea, scattered nests, with eggs,
of the Yellow-crowned Night Heron. Then we began to meet
individuals of the familiar Black-crowned Night Heron of the

142

WILD WINGS

North, also breeding', and soon emerged into a more open
area where the trees grew more sparsely and not so tall. At
every rod of progress dozens and scores of Egrets and of
the smaller, dark-colored Little Blue Herons, with numbers
of the bluish but white-breasted Louisiana Herons, kept
springing into the air. For nearly half a mile we kept on,
and it was the same story. Then, as the abundance began
to lessen, we returned to the heart of the rookery to spend
the day.

The two small herons nested quite low down, the former
even in clumps of bushes, so that it was comparatively easy
to secure photographs of the eggs and young in these nests.
It was not so with the Egrets, which nested high in the
cypresses. Though I had no climbing-irons, I finally ascended
one slender tree to an Egret’s nest about forty feet up. There
were three bluish eggs in it, but it was situated in the top¬
most fork, with only a slender, rotten stub above, and could
not be photographed. One other to which I managed to
climb had three rather small young. Though similarly situ¬
ated, the stub above was a trifle stouter, and I managed, with
some trepidation, to screw up my small camera, replace the
refractory young many a time in the nest, hang on with
my eyelids in the gusts of wind, and make some successful
exposures.

The Egrets were quite timid. Perched on high stubs,
singlv or in small parties, they would crane their necks at
the approaching boat and fly all too soon. If one happened
to perch lower down and we were able to aj^proach it closely
under cover, it would be off the instant we showed ourselves
and before I could get an unobstructed view with the camera.
So photography, it must be admitted, was difficult and vex¬
atious.

But it was a wonderful sight, well worth travelling far to

THE EGRET

143

see. Upon any sudden noise, hundreds of these different
herons would spring from the trees everywhere about. Then
they would return and alight upon the tree-tops, the delicate
snow-white plumes from the backs of the Egrets straying
out bewitchingly in the breeze. Nearly all day we paddled

EGRET WATCHING APPROACH OF BOAT

about amid the lacustrine forest, and I revelled in the sights
and sounds of this wonderful place, which is probably the
largest, and perhaps the only large. Egret rookery in North
America. The only reason that it exists to-day is because it
is guarded by armed wardens who will arrest, or, if necessary.

144

WILD WINGS

shoot, any person found upon the property with a gun. And
where is it ? May my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth,
if I reveal the Egrets’ secret.

I his whole business of the slaughter of the white herons —
to say nothing of other birds — for their plumes for millinery
])urposes is one that every lover of nature and everv person
of humane feeling who understands the case will regard as
no less than infamous. This is one of the moral questions —
to be classed with the opium traffic and the slave trade — to
which there is but one side. The origin of this trade is ignor¬
ance on the one hand and greed for money on the other, and
there is not one true word which can be said in its defence.

It should be understood at the outset that these plumes —
which are variously called by milliners “aigrettes,” “stubs,”
or “ ospreys,” and are dyed to whatex'er color is fashionable
— are borne by herons, and only during the nuptial season,
and can be secured only by shooting the birds when thev
have assembled in colonies to breed, when their usual shyness
has departed, owing to the strength of the parental instinct.
Returning to their nests, they are shot down and their young
are left to starve.

Let it be nailed as a trade lie that these plumes are
secured in any other way. I do not think that it can be said
that I do not make use of my eyes ; yet in all my explorations
of these rookeries I have found but ONE solitary “ aigrette ”
feather, badly worn at that. It is inconceivable, impossible,
that any one could find them in paying quantities, scattered
about in these morasses and jungles. NEITHER ARE THEV
MANUEACTURED. This lie has also been “ nailed,” as when
recently a leading firm in England, — for whom the claim
had been made, — though challenged to show one single
manufactured plume, was unable to do so. Manufactured
aigrettes and hens’ teeth belong to the same class.

THE EGRET

in other parts of the world. At the present rate of destruc¬
tion, a decade or two more will make each of these American
and foreign herons as extinct as the wild buffalo and the
Great Auk. Then where will woman get her aigrettes ? Why
could she not just as well cease wearing them now as a
dozen years hence, and save these harmless and beautiful
birds to hll their proper place in the natural economy ?

That the work of destruction is going on with rapidity, one
cannot fail to realize who has been to Elorida. There, years

145

This traffic has almost exterminated the two plume-bearing
species of white herons found in the United States, — the
Snowy Heron, a small species, with curling plumes, and the
much larger American Egret, with straight ones. There are
several other closely similar species in South America and

FEMALE EGRET ON HER NEST

146

WILD WINGS

ago, these beautiful and spectacular species of water-fowl
were to be seen nearly everywhere. In 1903 I had hard work
to hnd a few scattered colonies in the remotest and wildest
parts of the state, in the unsurveyed and trackless swamps
of its lower end. Mr. F. M. Chapman went there last season
and found them all practically annihilated. The same is
becoming true even in southern Brazil.

When we know about the millinery plume trade, we under¬
stand the reason. In 1903 the price for plumes offered to
hunters was $32 per ounce, which makes the plumes worth
about TWICE THEIR WEIGHT IN GOLD. There will alwavs
be men who would break any law for such profit. No rookery
of these herons can long exist, unless it be guarded by force
of arms day and night.

Here are some official figures of the trade from one source
alone, of auctions at the London Commercial Sale Rooms
during 1902. There were sold 1608 packages of “ ospreys,”
that is, herons’ plumes. A package is said to average in
weight 30 ounces. This makes a total of 48,240 ounces. As
it requires about four birds to make an ounce of plumes,
these sales meant 192,960 herons killed at their nests, and
from two to three times that number of voung or eggs
destroyed. Is it, then, any wonder that these species are on
the verge of extinction ?

The killing of these white herons — and others, as well —
is now ]:)unishable with heavv fines, and the Milliners’ Asso¬
ciation of America has pledged itself not to deal in these
contraband plumes. Yet the}' reser\'e the right to sell FOR¬
EIGN plumes. Now it happens that these same species also
breed in Central and South America, and also that the
plumes of distinctly foreign species of white herons are so
exactly similar to those of our native ones that not even the
most expert ornithologists can tell them apart. This means

THE EGRET

147

the nullifying of our present laws, as it is practically impos¬
sible to secure evidence of their violation on the part of the
dealers. It also means, unless some adequate means are
found, the inevitable destruction of all these beautiful species
from the face of the earth.

In these days there is arising a many-sided and tremendous
problem in regard to saving the natural world from ignor¬
ant, short-sighted, commercial vandalism. Every tree must
be cut down, every plant pulled up, every wild thing slaugh¬
tered, every beautiful scene disfigured, if only there is money
to be made from it. What remedies are there to propose ?

Regarding the herons, an agreement on the part of all the
nations concerned to penalize the killing of these birds and
the possession (including wearing) or exportation of all such
plumes would be excellent. Meanwhile, in our own country,
the POSSESSION of all such plumes should make one liable
to the hne for killing a heron, which, in Florida, is $500.
How many aigrettes would then be bought and worn, pray
tell !

Then, too, there should be carried on all the time a cam¬
paign of education, not simply about this single matter of the
“ aigrette,” but to arouse sympathetic interest in the lives of
all harmless wild creatures, that people may learn to realize
their value and desire not to kill, but to protect them. Teach¬
ers should so teach their scholars, parents their children,
the clergy preach to their congregations with no uncertain
voice, that no one may in future have an excuse for ignorance
and thoughtlessness of this important subject.

In these enlightened days it should be a matter of moral
principle with every true lady neither to wear aigrette plumes
nor any plumage of wild birds. Even if we grant that man
has a right to the lives of wild creatures, this millinery use of
birds is too costly from other standpoints. It is a dangerous

WILD WINGS

148

thing to overturn the balance of nature. Destroy our birds,
and very soon we find calamity overtaking our harvests,
orchards, lawns, or foliage, costing untold millions of money
to the nation.

If women would not buy these slaughtered remains, with
the absurd idea that they are ornamental, men would not
shoot the poor things for the millinery market, so that the
responsibility for certain sad and irreparable losses must be
laid to woman. Otherwise millions of beautiful birds would
add charm and interest to what are rapidly becoming well-
nigh silent landscapes. Multitudes of children, youth, and
adults are studying birds afield, finding pure delight, intellec¬
tual uplift, cure of care, incentive to outdoor e.xercise, with
consequent gain to health and jDrolongation of life. Attend¬
ants and nurses in sanitariums are pursuing courses in bird-
study, in order to interest their patients in out-of-door things,
to the saving of health and life, in these days of nervous
strain. Every woman who wears feathers of harmless or use¬
ful wild birds is making herself a stumbling-block in the wav
of all this good, and is, even though thoughtlessly, an abettor
in the ultimate destruction of our bird-life, which is certain
to come, if the present course is pursued.

I venture to ask whether the millions of people who to-dav
love wild nature have no rights which deserve respect, and
whether the same sordid spirit which placards the beautiful
country, particularly along the railways, with its hateful bill¬
boards about whiskies, worthless pills, and the like — I for
one make it a principle to boycott all firms that so advertise
— is to ride rough-shod over us at the decree of a barbarous
fashion that commands us to revert to the scalps and trophies
of savagery, even though it devastate and destroy the beauty
of God’s wonderful world. Theodore Roosevelt has written :

“ Spring would not be spring without bird-songs any more

THE EGRET

149

than . . . without buds and flowers, and I only wish that
besides protecting the songsters . . . we could also protect
the birds of the seashore and of the wilderness. . . . The loss
of the wild pigeon and Carolina paroquet has meant a loss as
severe as if the Catskills or the Palisades were taken away.
When I hear of the destruction of a species, I feel as if all the
works of some great writer had perished. . . . Half, and
more than half, the beauty of the woods and fields is gone
when they lose the harmless wild things. . . . They add
immeasurably to the wholesome beauty of life.”

YOUNG EGRETS NEARLY FLEDGED

Part III

Ci)e ^ea. Cijt

Prcscjitly they heard the soldiers shouting,
“ The sea, the sea / ” —

A nd cheering on one another.

Xenophon.

The sea, the sea, the open sea.

The blue, the fresh, the ever free.

Cornwall.

gannets leaving north bird rock

CHAPTER IX

TO BIRD ROCK IN AN OPEN BOAT

Come on, sir ; here 's the place : stand still. How feaipul
A nd dizzy V is to cast one’s eyes so low.

Shakespeare, “ King Lear.”

ONE short experience of such a miracle of nature as
Bird Rock is as tantalizing as a glimpse into Para¬
dise. Ever since the famous rock, with its beetling
cliffs and whirring multitude of sea-fowl, faded from my sight
four years ago on that dark evening, angry with the threat
of storm, it has periodically risen before my imagination.
Again I could seem to hear the crash of the surf against the
cliffs, the varied voices of the birds forming with it a grander
symphony than any human orchestra could play. It was only
a question of time when I must return, especially as there was
another and impelling motive to enforce this desire. Since

154

WILD WINGS

my previous visit I had secured a photographic equipment
of rapid lens and shutter suited for picturing birds in flight.
The thoughts of the results obtainable with such an instru¬
ment by a practised hand upon these ledges crowded with
sea-birds was enough to keep an enthusiast awake at night.
Previously published pictures showed the birds mainly in
repose. Now one might hope to portray them in all their
wild activities.

Hence it came about that a party of four reached the
Magdalen Islands on the seventeenth of last June, and took
up quarters upon Grosse Isle, to make some researches there
among the northern birds, and to go to the Rock upon the
first favorable opportunity. It was a promising beginning that
within half an hour of landing I found a nest of the beautiful
P'ox Sparrow containing four heavily marked eggs. Close
upon this followed from day to day discoveries of nests of
interesting shore-birds, ducks, and other birds of water and
land. Yet Bird Rock was our Mecca. P'rom the great head¬
lands we could see it on clear days grimly towering far out
to sea, and at night watch the mocking twinkle of its light
— elusive and baffling indeed, for we were stranded. The
large schooner we had hoped to engage had gone off on
a protracted vo^^age, and there was no other. A small tug
that had recently come to Grand Entry had broken down
and was unseaworthy.

Either we must give up our cherished project or go in
some small open fishing-boat, if, indeed, we could find a man
who dared attempt it. Fishermen shook their heads. The
Rock lies out toward Newfoundland and Labrador twenty-
two miles as the murre flies from Grosse Isle. There is only
one possible landing-place under the tremendous cliffs, a pile
of jagged rocks which have fallen down on one part of the
west side, upon which, as against the cliffs themselves, the

TO BIRD ROCK IN AN OPEN BOAT

155

surf beats almost ceaselessly. For weeks, oftentimes, there
is no interval when it is possible either to land or to launch a
boat. Much of the time the lonely crag is shut in by the gray
walls of the fog ; even more often does the wind heap up the

THE FAMOUS ROCK, WITH ITS BEETLING CLIFFS AND WHIRRING MULTITUDE”

forbidding surf. Arrive off the Rock in a sea-going vessel,
and you may have to “ lie off ” for days before a landing can
be made. Reach it in an open boat and find it imjDossible to
land, and there is no telling what might occur. Let the wind
breeze up strong, contrary for a return to shelter, and where
would one be ? Let the ever-ready fog shut down, and what
assurance is there of finding that atom amid the great waters,
or even of returning to the Magdalen Islands ?

Several parties before us had tried conclusions in an open

WILD WINGS

156

boat, and, as far as we could learn, none had succeeded in
the attempt. One, I think, had been unable to land ; another
had missed the Rock in the fog ; another had been even
worse lost, had tossed about on a cold, angry sea for an
indehnite period, with one of the men sick and nearly dying
from fright and exposure. It was not an alluring prospect,
and, to be honest, we rather shrank from it. Yet we did
badly want to get to Bird Rock, especially after coming so far.

Now there was at Grosse Isle a certain young fisherman of
twenty-four — I will not say summers, but winters, Magdalen
Island winters at that, with their long months of below zero
temperatures and silence of frozen death. These winters, in
their rough way, had dealt kindly with the youth, and had
fashioned him into as hardy, muscular, and daring a type of
manhood as it is often one’s fortune to see. The turbulent
sea had no terrors for him, as he hauled his lobster-traps in
the gale of wind and at oft times helped to smuggle over
valuable cargoes of French wines and liquors from St. Pierre.
Fie was the man who volunteered to sail us over in his
seventeen-foot open lobster boat any day when there was
anv sort of a chance. So we cheered up and lived in hope.

Our plans gave us but ten precious days. Half of them
passed, unfavorable. At first the sea was rough after a jDre-
vious gale. Then set in a cold, blustering norther, when we
had to run and beat our hands to keep warm, in our winter
clothes at that. Next followed a southeast blow, rainstorm,
and fog. The sixth day was clear, but the sea was rough.
Time was now alarmingly short, and we were becoming
anxious. We spent the morning in the spruce woods, and
noticed that the wind was moderating. At eleven came a boy
with a message from our bold mariner. He would sail for
Bryon Island as soon as we could get ready, and thence try
for Bird Rock next morning. Hurriedly finishing my camera

TO BIRD ROCK IN AN OPEN BOAT

157

work on the nest and eggs of a Blackpoll Warbler, we re¬
turned to the house, ate dinner, packed our bags, and were
off at two o’clock under two sprit-sails, with a moderate, fair
wind. Bryon lies twelve miles to the north, and Bird Rock
twelve miles farther to the northeast.

GANNETS AND MURRE LEAVING NESTS
(One of the Gannets is in the mottled second-year plumage)

Every hour, as we proceeded, the heavy ocean swell seemed
to go down. “ \\ hat do you say,” said I to the skipj^er, ‘‘to
keeping on for Bird Rock to-night ? ” “I was just thinking
of that myself,” he replied. “ Suppose we land on Brvon and
look over on the north side, and, if the surf is not heavy, trv
our luck?” At five o’clock we ran into a cove and leaped
out upon the cobble-stones, where the “ king ” of Bryon Island
gave us a royal reception. Keeping a little store, he sells
supplies to the few fishermen who during the lobster season

158

WILD WINGS

lease land from him and pay a fee for the hshing privileges.
He is monarch of all he surveys, yet glad of the rare glimpse
of strangers from the great and distant “ world,” especially
of Americans, to whom he would gladly sell his big island,
with its hue hshery privileges and supposed mineral deposits,
for thirty thousand dollars. In the half hour of our stay he
was so overwhelmingly kind that I shall do all I can to help
him advertise his wares.

The sea was fairly quiet upon the north side, and the
“royal ” advice was strongly in favor of starting at once for
Bird Rock, as the weather indications were suggestive of
wind and plenty of it before long. So we sailed away, with
the dying breeze following gently, directly from astern. In
an hour we had made good progress, yet Bird Rock, which
we could see, was still but a distant haze, and it was already
evening, by the watch. Oars were brought out, and they and
our backs bent to the task. At eight, as the sun sunk below
the sea to the northwest, the Rock looked near, but it was
half-past nine, under the last fading rays of the day and the
silvery light of the welcome moon, when the great stately
cliffs at last towered above us, and the sea-birds screamed
and issued forth to meet us in the clouds of ghostlv forms.

Already had the dynamite bomb crashed in welcome. A
form hurried down the ladder, and a lantern waved from the
pile of rocks, signalling to us where to make the venture.
Calm as v:as the sea outside, some surf was rolling in upon
the ledges. We must run the gauntlet and take our chances ;
there could be no backing out now. So on we went to our
fate. A sudden concussion almost threw us off our feet ; we
had struck a sulmierged rock. Then a following wave picked
us up and hurled us against the pile. We all leaped out and
held the boat against the undertow, and with mighty efforts,
helped by succeeding waves, got her up a few feet farther.

GANNETS AND MURKES INCUBATING

TO BIRD ROCK IN AN OPEN BOAT i6i

The keeper from above was lowering the cable by the steam
winch. Meanwhile the seas were battering the stern and
combing over on deck, filling her with water. With despera¬
tion we were all scurrying in the darkness to get our stuff out
before it would be soaked, and to throw overboard the rock

GANNET RETURNING HOME

ballast. We were wet, but what matter ; everything was landed.
No, who has seen my carrying-case and plate-holders?
Horrors ! One of the partv is fishing them out of the water,
and emptying out the brine in quarts. Somehow in the ex¬
citement they have been left in the stern, and the surf has
done the rest. Perhaps it is all up with my photography !

i62

WILD WINGS

There is no time to stop to grieve. The boat will be stove
to pieces soon. Down comes the wire cable, with a rope to
gird under the boat. A dash or two into the surf, and it is
done. Now hoist away. Slip and crash ! The stern goes
bumping over the rocks. “ Hold hard, there ! ” United yells
convey the intelligence up above. The cable slackens. Again
the rope is secure and the heavy boat goes sailing, as she
never did before, uj) into the darkness, like a phantom-ship.
They swing her in upon a ledge, and at last we all are safe.
We release the rope, the cable goes up and returns with the
crate, into which we put our baggage, and then we climb the
ladder with Keeper Peter Bourque, who has come down to
learn who has arrived and to welcome whomever it may
prove to be.

L'p in his loftv home, by his warm and welcome stove, this
twenty-third of June, my hrst task is to throw out all my wet
plates and set up the soaking holders to dry, while I renew
my friendship, and introduce the others to the keeper, his
nephew, and two young lady daughters. They are all radi¬
ant, for since the hfth of the previous November, when the
government supply boat made her last call, they have seen
no other human beings till now, save some fishermen who
landed on the twenty-ninth of May. All that terrible winter
they were frozen in. Navigation was closed. There was no
need to light the torch for mariners, or to fire the bomb sig¬
nals in the fog. All thev could do was to maintain the strug¬
gle for existence. The ice enclosed them in November, and
granted a possible release not until the middle of May. Even
now they had received no letters or papers since November.
With his glass the keejDcr had seen us before we had come
a mile from Brvon, and all hands set to work at once to write
letters, knowing that so small a craft could have no possible
destination beyond Bird Rock. And so, with tales of the

TO BIRD ROCK IN AN OPEN BOAT 163

herds of seals which in thousands had been forced in around
the Rock during March by the jamming ice-floes, the evening
passed. At midnight we retired, but before that we could
hear the screaming of the rising wind. The gale had started

PUFFINS LEAVING THE ROCK

in again, two hours after we reached the Rock. Had we been
only a little later, our plight would have been something
unpleasant to contemplate.

The night was short indeed, for at a reasonably early hour
I was out among the birds. It was a magnificent sight ! The
wind was blustering from the southwest, the sky clear, and
the sea an angry array of white-caps, with surges thundering
against the cliffs, and our landing-place a raging caldron of
breakers. But the birds ! The keeper’s belief that they had
increased during the last four years was certainly right. The

WILD WINGS

164

ledges were crowded, the air was full of them. It takes a
windy day to show Bird Rock at its best. Then the birds are
constantly in motion, apparently from the very love of flight.
Those that must incubate do so for but a few moments, and
then are off for a spin and circuit out over the water, ere they
return for another short vigil.

The most notable increase, I think, has been among the
Kittiwakes, the beautiful pearly-mantled white gull that nests
in the niches of the cliffs. Perhaps they are now the most
numerous species. About equal in number are the great
Gannets, the largest of the inhabitants. Their accustomed
ledges were all filled, and in the distance I could see that the
summits of the three parts of North Bird Rock, three quarters
of a mile away, were literally white with them. The Murres
probably come next, and have more than held their own.
The Brlinnich’s Murre is much more numerous than the
“Common ” kind. As before, there are only a few dozen of the
“Ringed Murre” type or phase, of uncertain classification.
The Razor-billed Auks are about as numerous as the Murres
and have certainly multiplied, but the Puffins have possibly
decreased slightly in numbers. As for the Petrels, I saw and
heard nothing of them, though there are a few in the burrows.

After breakfast I filled my plate-holders, now dry, though
somewhat warped inside, and began the work. I had a ca¬
pacity of thirty plates with my reflex camera and of two
dozen with my Centurv. As a matter of fact the former was
the only one I used. When the thirty plates were exposed,
I went into the cellar, which I had darkened, packed away the
exposures, filled the holders, and went out for another batch
of pictures. The wind was so violent that it was practically
impossible to do any tripod work.

During the morning I made snap-shots at flying birds, and
took the precaution to develop two plates in the cellar, thus

TO BIRD ROCK IN AN OPEN BOAT 165

KITTIWAKES ON THEIR NESTS

assuring myself that the exposures were rightly and fully
timed in giving them about one eight-hundredth of a second.
I also climbed down the ladders at the southeast corner and
took note of the Murres and Razor-bills. At the top I snapped
at birds passing a fixed point off some projecting rock, or as
they alighted or left, as well as at passing Gannets. Murres
and Kittiwakes nested mostly down below. The afternoon
was devoted to descending the main ladder on the west side,
and from it photographing Kittiwakes on their nests, and
then clambering around and up toward the north, where there
was a splendid array of birds, a wonderful sight.

WILD WINGS

1 66

PARTY OF RAZOR-BILLS, ONE SHOWING PECULIAR STRADDLING ATTITUDE IN FLIGHT

Late in the day one of my friends lost his big reflex camera
down the cliff. He was on the ladder, when the snap of his
strap slipped off and his camera went ricochetting down,
smashing to fragments on the rocks below, though the valu¬
able lens was, wonderfully, quite unharmed.

Great changes have been made at this western landing-
place. Last summer fifty workmen were employed in blast¬
ing out a cut into the cliff, so that there will be a stairway of
about sixty degrees ascent. As yet it is unfinished, and one
has to climb three quarters of the way on ladders. There is
a little landing-jetty, but it was not yet built far enough out,
and the way the surf was dashing over it made one doubt its
usefulness.

Next morning, Saturday, June 25, the wind had shifted to

TO BIRD ROCK IN AN OPEN BOAT 167

the northeast, and was beating down the sea. It was moder¬
ate, and very few birds were Hying, nearly all being at their
nests. We took the opportunity, after working at various
ledges, when the swell had materially lessened, of having
a dory lowered by the steam winch from the top and rowing
over to North Bird Rock. The sea was breaking upon it quite
hard, but we ran the gauntlet, and landed safely on the spit
of gravel. Meanwhile the birds were Hying off in wild confu¬
sion, the Gannets from the top and the Kittiwakes from their
nests in the niches of the cliff, with some Murres and Razor¬
bills. We gained the summits of each of the main sections
by scrambling up forty feet from ledge to ledge, aiding each
other in turn. The first man up, as he raised his head above
the summit, found himself face to face with a Gannet, which
squawked with terror and launched forth in fiight — fortun¬
ately not into his face. The whole Hat area of both parts was
covered with the rude seaweed nests of the Gannet, each with
its dirty-white egg. No one had landed this year to rob them,
either here or on the main rock, and the birds were having

GANNETS NESTING ON THE TOP OF NORTH BIRD ROCK

WILD WINGS

1 68

a splendid season. A group of half a dozen Gannets stuck
devotedly to their nests and allowed us to photograph them
as near as we desired. When 1 ]3ushed at one with my foot
to make it change its attitude, it merely raised its head and
squawked angrily. Those on the “ Pillar,” the isolated crag
out in the water, remained peacefully on their nests while we
photographed them.

We had about two hours on the Rock, when the keeper
fired a bomb for us to return, as the barometer was falling
and the wind increasing. After dinner I changed plates again,
and three of us were then lowered down in the crate to
photograj:>h Kittiwakes and Murres. It gives a somewhat
uncanny sensation hanging in mid-air, at times sjfinning
around like a top. But we forget that in gazing at the Kitti¬
wakes peacefully upon their nests, or launching forth and
returning. Usually there were two eggs to a nest, in some
cases three, or only one, the latter, probably, in cases where
one or more had rolled out. A few nests alreadv contained
young. The Murres shrank back bashfully against the wall
of rock under our interested gaze and the aiming of cameras.
In some cases the birds were but five feet from us, but they
had become accustomed to the jrassage of the crate.

We had intended to remain upon Bird Rock one more
day. But late in the afternoon the keeper told us that the
barometer was still falling and that it would undoubtedly
storm the next day, and it might be another week before the
sea would calm down again. The wind was fair ; and for our
good, in order to catch our steamer, he advised us to start
back that afternoon. This we decided to d(^. Before that,

I again climbed bv a ladder halfwav down the cliff at the
north end, and crept along the narrow ledge out to the north¬
west corner, where I exposed my remaining plates upon the
splendid array of birds on the ledges spread out before me.

TO BIRD ROCK IN AN OPEN BOAT 169

and at flying individuals of the great Bird Rock host, which
the keeper believed numbered ten thousand.

By six o’clock we were ready for the start. The crate,
heaped with baggage, was lowered, while we, after hearty
farewells, climbed down the ladders. The sea was wonder-

brunnich’s murre by its egg. “shrank back bashfully”

fully quiet, for Bird Rock, and at half-past six we were safely
launched, and sailed away, exchanging gunpowder and dyna¬
mite salutes with the good people who had treated us so
magnificently.

It is splendid that the fine bird colony is doing so well.
The keeper has orders from the British government to prevent

WILD WINGS

170

all depredations upon the birds. Yet he ought to have more
done for him, a telephone or telegraph to the Magdalens,
and more calls of the government supply boat. Left as he
is, he must dejDend largely upon casual vessels, and he
can hardly afford to prevent the visitors from egging and
shooting, lest they, in retaliation, forego their favors.

From the very start the wind began to die down, and
before long it was flat calm. We never shall forget that
night, throughout which, taking turns, we toiled at the oars.
Yet it was grand. The aurora borealis flashed, the full moon
smiled benignantly uj:)on the placid ocean, the effects of its
soft light being wonderfully varied by the majestic streamers
of clouds which sailed across its face. As we approached the
Magdalens, a Petrel fluttered close round us several times
like a bat, and a party of Loons uttered their long-drawn,
wailing screams. At two A. M. the dawn was evident, and at
half-past two, in the broad daylight, we beached our craft
at Grosse Isle, the ski])per firing salutes with his gun to wake
up the hshermen to help haul up the boat. And then it was
that he wittily bestowed upon the company, in the name of
the great Magdalen University of the northern seas, the
honorary degree of “ S.S.D.,” — sad sea dog, — which is
to be granted only to those who successfully make the trij:) to
Bird Rock in an open boat.

Arousing the family, sore and weary, we took to our beds,
and slept till nearly noon, awaking to find that the expected
easterly storm had set in, and the shore was white with break¬
ers. Once more we had been just in time. And yet, though
fortune did favor us by a scant margin, we are not advising
others, if they can possibly charter a sea-going vessel, to
attempt the trip to Bird Rock in an open boat.

PAIR OF HERRING GULLS. “ALLOWED ME TO APPROACH”

CHAPTER X

AMID NORTHERN SPRUCES AND SEA-GIRT ROCKS

Deep from its rocky cavertis, the deep-voiced neighboring ocean
Speaks, and in accents disconsolate anssaers the luail of the forest.

Longfellow.

WHENEVER, in making a camera-hunting trip to
the north, I begin to see the spruces and balsams
with their pointed tops, I seem to enter a special
sort of holiday atmosphere. The landscape is full of “ Christ¬
mas-trees.” They are characteristic of the north, and I am
conscious of being in a northern latitude. The air feels colder,
whether it really is so or not. Indeed, I can almost imagine
that the branches of the trees are laden down with snow, and
that it is the Christmas season. I associate these trees, too,
with the dearly loved mysteries of the migratory northern

172

WILD WINGS

birds — rare and beautiful warblers, thrushes, and finches —
which nest in the fastnesses of their densely tangled needle-
foliage. Coastwise, I associate them with wave-lashed cliffs
or island shores strewn with stones and boulders, where sea¬
birds congregate. So spruces or balsams, rocks, waves, and
sea-fowl, all fit harmoniously into the scenes which I shall
proceed to describe.

Away off the southeastern coast of Nova Scotia, about
twenty miles out to sea, lies Seal Island, an ideal place of the
sort I have in mind. It is three miles long, densely overgrown
with spruces, which shelter many interesting northern birds.
Flocks of Crossbills, roaming through them, would make one
think it was suddenly winter, and a cold one at that. This
island forest is a great resort for the Bicknell’s Thrush, a bird
rather hard, ordinarily, to find and study. All through these
woods, as well as in open places, the singular Leach’s Petrels
— one of several species called by sailors “Mother Carey’s
Chickens” — dig their rat-holes of burrows, and each female
lays a single white egg. The great white Herring Gulls have
from time immemorial nested there in thousands, with hun¬
dreds of the Common and Arctic Terns. Most of the shores
are sandy, but some of them are heaped up with cobble¬
stones and boulders of all sizes and shapes, rounded by
the mighty power of the waves. Among these, hundreds
of the Black Guillemots — also called Sea Pigeons, or Sea
Widgeons — lay their eggs, with a few Puffins. The island
is owned by Mr. John Crowell, all except for the government
station on which the lighthouse stands, of which he is keeper.
A very few fishermen are also there, most of them only
during the fishing season. They come and go in small sail¬
boats, and there is no communication, save casually, with the
outside world.

Some years ago I stopped on the island over one night.

AMID SPRUCES AND SEA-GIRT ROCKS 173

and saw enough to rouse a strong desire for a longer stay.
Various plans to repeat the trip had fallen through. But
now, as a party of us were returning from the Magdalen
Islands, the time seemed opportune. So, before crossing by
steamer from Yarmouth, Nova Scotia, to Boston, we branched
off on a new railroad, completed only as far as Barrington,
on the way to Halifax. None of the station-agents in the
northern part of the Province knew the name of this road, or,
indeed, of its existence, and our plans were long in delight¬
ful uncertainty. Fortunately there was a connecting train ;
and the night of the last day of June found us at Barrington
Passage, ready to be sailed across to Seal Island.

Though a Nova Scotia fog prevailed that night, we were
not worried about reaching the island. We had just been to
Bird Rock, far more inaccessible, in an open boat, and this
trip seemed like small game in comparison. So we con¬
fidently engaged a skipper and sail-boat, and slept the sleep
of the just. Yet that twenty-mile stretch of ocean between
Cape Sable and Seal Island is as rough and dangerous an
area as can well be found, with its powerful currents, tide-
rips, cross-seas, and sunken reefs. To traverse it even in fair
weather is no boy’s play, and much less now when we arose
and found weather conditions of thick fog, rain-squalls, and
a heavy wind from the southwest, directly ahead. Our skipper
confessed his inability to get us to the island in his little
cockle-shell, and suggested that we try to engage some
larger craft. We spent half the day trying to bribe various
owners to undertake it by sail or steam, then gave it up, and
explored the wet and dense spruce woods. The following
day was just as bad, with no sign of fog or wind letting up.
No one would start, and we began to feel rather blue, when
by great good fortune we met a man who was part owner of
a wrecking-steamer which had recently put into a neighbor-

174

WILD WINGS

ing port. For a comparatively moderate consideration he
offered to take us across that afternoon.

In due time we found ourselves out in the dense fog, the
steamer rolling her rails under as the great ocean swells
hurled themselves against her. It was no wonder that the
fishermen did not care to attempt it. Now and then a Sooty
Shearwater, wild wanderer from the Antarctic Ocean, on
long, narrow wings would come sweeping along the trough
of the sea and then go scaling over the crests to windward.
While man may be struggling and drowning, they are merry
and fearless. But now, though we did roll heavily, we were
climbing the old seas offshore at a steady pace, and every
foot was so much nearer Seal Island. Sails are prettv, but
when for days one has been baffled and beaten, he believes
in steam.

At length the fog began to lift, which, with the lessening of
the swell, indicated an approach to land. Then the long-lost
sun beamed out over the tossing water, and Seal Island began
to emerge from the mist. Soon we could clearly see its spec¬
tacle-shaped form, the two lobes with their dense spruces and
rocky shores, and the connecting bridge of sand. From the
thick forest of the southern lobe stood out the white light¬
house tower, and above the dark foliage of both the white
Herring Gulls were hovering, in beautiful contrast. We were
approaching the eastern side, which was under the lee, so the
sea was not rough. Coming to anchor, we were set ashore in
a dory on a conveniently built slip in the cove, and were soon
enjoving the bountiful fare and hospitality of the owner of
the island and his family. For several days, now, the weather
was, for the most part, fair, and I was able to spend the
whole time in studying and photographing the birds.

Our nearest neighbors were the Black Guillemots. Back
from the house, a short road led down through the spruces

BLACK GUILLEMOTS AND THEIR HAUNTS

AMID SPRUCES AND SEA-GIRT ROCKS 177

to the steam foghorn building, located just up from a very
rough, rocky shore. This is a cobble-stone beach, composed
of rocks rounded by the action of the waves, varying from
the size of a man’s head to that of a haystack. Resting upon
the tops of the larger ones were groups of these curious birds,
about the size of small ducks, enjoying the sunshine. Their
plumage is entirely black, except for a large oval patch of
white on each wing, which shows very conspicuously whether
they are sitting or flying. Other parties of them are out on
tl;: water, a few rods offshore. They ride easily on the
swells, which, after passing them, break as surf upon the
rocks. Their food is flsh, which they secure by diving. One
by one they plunge and disappear, remaining under water
for as much as a minute at a time. No doubt they improve
these moments of submersion, for they appear well-fed and
plump enough. After a spell at fishing or playing about
in the water, they will start to fly, sometimes singly, some¬
times the whole party at once. Their wings beat very rapidly
and they pass the rock almost like bullets, their bright car¬
mine feet and legs dangling conspicuously behind. Often,
when I sat quietly among the rocks watching them, they
would alight one after the other upon some boulder quite
close to me, and then step about, turning this way and that
to look me all over, not so much in fear as in curiosity.
Their legs are set so far behind them that they walk almost
erect, like penguins or murres. When they have satisfied
themselves, they squat or lie down, others coming to join
them from time to time, till there are a dozen or more in
the party.

No one would call them communicative. The only sound
they make is a shrill, rather faint whistle, which is not aud¬
ible at any great distance. Perhaps they make up for this
comparative muteness by their varied and expressive gestures.

WILD WINGS

178

In this way the little black imps strike one as comical, quaint,
almost pompous. Especially when they make love, it is worth
a great deal to watch a couple facing each other, sidling
about, the male — probably it is — going through a series of
dignified bowings and attempted caresses, until one might
well laugh aloud and frighten the performers.

BLACK GUILLEMOTS. “ CURIOSITY SEEMS TO BE ONE OF THEIR MOST
STRIKING characteristics”

Curiosity seems to be one of their most striking character¬
istics. Naturally rather timid, they will usually fly before one
can walk up boldly very near them. But what a great differ¬
ence it will make if one tries to sneak up behind the rocks !
An occasional glimpse, though it reveals the presence of the
intruder, does not really alarm them. They do so wonder
what he is up to, what sort of a body is beneath that bobbing
head, perhaps what sort of shoes he wears, that they forget
all about flight. When very near, he can gradually and

AMID SPRUCES AND SEA-GIRT ROCKS 179

deliberately rise into sight, looking into the hood of his
camera, and snap them as they hesitate. Then, sinking down
quietly, he can change the plate behind the rocks, and have
another shot if he will, perhaps this time advancing a few
steps nearer, until they begin to get uneasy. He must stop
then for a moment, and they will recover conhdence, and
let him come still nearer. In this way I easily secured all
the pictures I wanted. They are, on the whole, sociable little
fellows, yet I could not but wonder how they enjoyed that
terrible foghorn which roars away twice a minute, day and
night, whenever foggy weather prevails, and kept me awake
all one night.

Most of these birds on the rocks, presumably, are the males,
though they, indeed, take their turn upon the eggs. Under
our very feet their wives may be brooding each her beauti¬
fully marked twin eggs. Nesting is a very simple process.
All the preparation needed is to crawl in between and under
the rocks, perhaps down through several layers, and select
a spot where there is a little gravel washed in, upon which
the eggs will be laid. Sometimes the sitting bird, upon hear¬
ing the approach of an intruder, flies out, and he can mark
the spot where her nest is. But just as often, especially when
the eggs are well hidden, she will remain upon them, refusing
to come out for anything that may be done. A good way to
find nests is to follow Keeper Crowell’s dog. He cannot
detect eggs beneath him, but he can infallibly scent the bird
when she is upon the nest, and will gaze down the crevice
intently, whining and wagging his tail.

It is possible to photograph the strange bird upon or by
her eggs. Realizing that she is cornered, she will not attempt
to fly out. So we manage to pry or roll away the rocks one
by one, and presently we see her squatting down in the dark
hole. When it is opened to the light, the bird may shrink

i8o

WILD WINGS

from the eggs, or try to crawl back farther among the
rocks, but we can probably catch her and replace her. A long
timed exposure is necessary, so the camera is set upon the

BLACK GUILLEMOT OVER HER EGGS

tripod and focused on the bird. The greatest difficulty is
that she is apt to turn her head at the critical moment. One
may spoil a plate or two, but a few exposures of from five to
ten seconds will probably give some good negatives. Look
out for accidents : a rock may suddenly slide and roll ; the
camera mav slip and fall on its face on rocks that are not
soft ; the bird may make a sudden exit, and the photographer
must be ever ready to seize her, without wrecking his appara¬
tus. Once my anastigmat lens, pointed nearly straight down.

AMID SPRUCES AND SEA-GIRT ROCKS i8i

fell out upon the rocks, and it was a mere chance it was not
ruined.

By far the most abundant bird on the island is the Herring
Gull, the common large white scavenger of our harbors in
the winter season. They nest in scattered colonies all over
the island, mostly in the woods or openings in them, also in
tracts of “stump land” along the shore, where the woods
have been cut off.

1 he largest of these colonies is in the midst of the woods
on the northern lobe of the island, and it was the first one we
visited. After a two-mile walk along the shore, we struck in
by a sheep-path through the thick spruces. Soon we began
to hear the screams and cacklings of the gulls and to see the
great white fellows flying over the trees above us. Now and
then we passed a bulky nest of sticks, grass, and seaweed in
the thick top of a tree, whither persecution often drives these
otherwise ground-nesting birds. Presently we emerged into
a partially open area where the trees were scattering. Several
hundred gulls were flying about excitedly, making a great
racket. Their nests were scattered about on the ground,
usually at the foot of a tree or under a young spruce. Two
or three large, drab-colored eggs, spotted with black, are the
usual laying, but many of the nests were empty. Fishermen
had recently landed and robbed them.

On the previous visit the gulls had boldly circled about
close over one’s head. Since then they have been robbed
and shot until they are now nearly as shy as hawks. Indeed,
in the first colony visited, I could not get near enough to
a gull to secure a single satisfactory photograph, and I felt
pretty well disheartened, especially after making such an
effort to reach the island.

Retracing our steps, we followed the shore along the
northern end. Groups of seals, or single ones, basked upon

i82

WILD WINGS

the rocks that stood out of the water. Pairs or groups of
Eider Ducks were swimming here and there not far off the
rock-strewn shore, the white-backed m^ales very distinguished

HERRING GULL LEAVING THE DEAD TREE

in appearance, compared with their sombre brown mates.
This was their nesting-time. The female crawls up from the
shore into the thick of the small spruces, and beneath the
tangle deposits from five to eight large, smooth, yellowish
eggs, surrounding them with a profusion of down plucked

AMID SPRUCES AND SEA-GIRT ROCKS 183

from her own breast. On so large an island the nests are
very hard to find. We spent a long time beating the bushes
with clubs, hoping that some sitting bird would dash out in
sudden fright. The main chance was that the dog would
scent one, but the animal was old, and tired from an early
hunt on his own hook, and he took but a listless interest in
the search, which was not successful.

After lunching by a spring-hole, stared at meanwhile by
a band of the numerous sheep that graze at large upon the
island, we went on and came to another gull colony just back
from the shore. Rambling off from the rest of the party,
I found the birds less wary. So I let them leave me and go
on, and presently, sitting in a clump of low bushes, I had the
gulls flying over me comparatively near, and secured all the
snap-shots I needed. They were settling down upon the trees
near by, and some of the beautiful creatures, conspicuous
upon the dark foliage, allowed me to approach and take pic¬
tures of them. A good way was to sit down behind a bush
near a clump of spruces where they alighted by their nests,
and snap them in the act of alighting or flying off. One bird
constantly returned to a dead tree, and would allow me to
walk up boldly within ten yards and photograph it. Thus I
finally secured a series of pictures, though not nearly as satis¬
factory as could be obtained in some of our Maine colonies so
zealously protected through the noble efforts of our apostle
of bird-liberty, Mr. William Dutcher, and others like him.

This island is a great breeding resort of the Leach’s Petrel,
or Mother Carey’s Chicken. Not one is visible by day, yet
the woods and pastures by the shores are fairly honeycombed
with their burrows. All we have to do, whenever the notion
strikes us to e.xamine one, is to pull up the light mouldy soil,
starting at the entrance. A couple of feet along, just below
the surface, the tunnel ends in a little chamber, and there sits

WILD WINGS

184

the little dusky, swallow-like bird, with a white rump and
webbed feet, upon a single white egg. W'hen handled they
always vomit up, or eject from their nostrils, a mass of strong¬
smelling, yellow oil. Poor lards ! every carnivorous animal
jwevs upon them. Stray cats are here fat and flourishing, and
I have often noticed the dogs chewing up a poor joetrel.
W'hen I undertook to pose and photograph one that I had
dug up for that jDurpose, 1 had to resign myself to a two
hours’ struggle with a ceaselessly active automaton that could
do nearly everything except keep still. This is the pent-up
energy that serves them well in their life upon the bound¬
less deep, when for months they never approach the stable
land.

Here and there, in sandy tracts above the shores, or on the
stump land, are small colonies of terns, both the Arctic
and Common species, I think. On the sand-bar ccmnecting
the lol)es of the island there is a ct)lony of the Arctic. When
I was crossing it, the flrst thing I knew, one of the hovering,
angry terns, darting down, struck me a stinging blow on
the top of mv head. Elsewhere they are usually shyer, and,
delighted bv this exhibition of boldness, I returned next
dav with my reflex camera. It must have been amusing to
watch me, sitting on the sand, following with the camera the
darting birds, one or another of which w(Hild land with a thud,
almost momentarilv, on my devoted head. Now and then,
after a swoop, I would remove my felt hat to see if they had
punctured it.

A pair or two of Ravens nest in the spruces, which, with
numerous Crows, help to destroy the eggs and young of the
other birds. The busy little Black-poll \ATrbler is everywhere
abundant among the spruces. Not the least interesting of the
.Seal Islanders is the demure little grayish brown fellow, with
the white and spotted breast, the Bicknell’s Thrush. meet

AMID SPRUCES AND SEA-GIRT ROCKS 185

them everywhere in the woods ; they stand on a branch in
a thrush-like attitude and chirp, then flit on a little farther
and again watch. Their nesting-time was now past, but one
of the party found a nest out on a branch of a spruce, fifteen
feet from the ground. It was deserted, yet in perfect order,
and held one blue egg, slightly speckled with brown around
the larger end.

Keeper Crowell and his family are ardent protectors of the
birds. A pretty, well-educated daughter busies herself writing
and posting notices forbidding people to shoot or rob the
birds. But it is a losing fight. The island is too big for them
to watch. The fine colonies have sadly diminished, and there
seems to be no adequate law to protect them, unless the
keeper takes the law into his own hands. As he quaintly
expresses it, when the vandals row around the shore and
shoot the defenceless breeding “ widgeons,” or Black Guille¬
mots, some day he will start out and get his share of the
gunning, and the boat may accidentally get in range. Once
he tried this, and the birds were not troubled again for a long
time. The New Brunswick laws are excellent and well en¬
forced, and it is to be hoped that the Nova Scotia people,
kind and hospitable as I have always found them to be, will
come to the rescue of this fine family and see to it that a few
ignorant fishermen are kept from breaking up this and other
great sea-bird colonies in the Province, and driving from the
coast the birds which are most useful to the fishing industry
in locating the schools of fish.

Storm-bound in trying to reach the island, we were now
detained upon it a couple of days b}" a protracted calm,
which deterred the fishermen from setting us ashore. After
some days, in desperation, we got one to make the attempt,
and after a long day of drifting we managed to reach the
mainland. Seal Island, isolated as it is from the world, seen

WILD WINGS

1 86

by few save fishermen and from vessels doubling the south¬
eastern cape of Nova Scotia, beaten by wild storms, pictur¬
esque with its rocks, spruces, and bird-life, is a charming
little world by itself, amply repaying our efforts in visiting
it, and braving the raging of the sea and the discomforts of
fog and calm.

leach’s petrel removed from its burrow

GREATER SHEARWATER AND WILSON’S PETRELS

CHAPTER XI

OFF CHATHAM BARS

Yet he ne'er falters, — so, petrel, spring
Once more o'er the waves on thy storiny wing.

Cornwall.

My very first successful photographs of free wild
birds were of “ocean wanderers,” taken out here
on the bounding main from the unstable deck
of a fishing-boat, and with an ordinary little camera. That
I secured any such results at that callow stage of my expe¬
rience under such conditions is now a marvel to me, after
further experience of the difficulties, even with a complete
modern photographic outfit. I must attribute it to consum¬
mate good luck.

Minded to have another “try” at the birds of the ocean.

WILD WINGS

1 88

I found myself again on old Ca]De Cod at Chatham, one fine
September afternoon, and engaged a boat for the next morn¬
ing to take me outside the bars. The day proved dark
and cloudy, with a dead calm, so it was useless to make the
attempt. Next day we were enveloped in a dense fog. The
fishermen find that with fog usually comes the “ ground
swell,” and, sure enough, next morning the surf was moan¬
ing, breaking heavily on the bars and clear across the mouth
of the harbor. Thus day after day passed, and, just as the
weather cleared and the sea quieted down, I was summoned
home by telegraph.

In dealing with the weather, waves, and currents of such
a battle-ground of titanic forces, there is no hurrying of mat¬
ters, without exposing one’s self to disaster. There was a time
when I thought the fishermen over-cautious, but I learned
mv lesson. I had sailed my small sloop down from Boston,
with several friends, intending to run in to Chatham. At
daybreak we were off Chatham bars, the wind blowing hard
offshore from the northwest, and the sea breaking mast-high
clear across the harbor entrance. It was too rough to double
Alonomoy Point and take the gale on ” the shoals,” so we
cruised back and forth under the lee, waiting for something
to turn up. To be caught off the “back-side of the Cape”
in a small craft in bad weather, with no chance to get under
shelter, puts one in a not altogether enviable position.

Toward evening the wind moderated. Although the surf
was still bad, at length we saw a seine-boat with a crew of
fishermen dodge out among the breakers to try for a school
of bluefish. We hailed them, and they agreed to pilot us in,
so all boarded the yacht. With their boat in tow, one of
them took the helm and headed in for the raging caldron.
After a big wave had passed, we ran round the point of the
shoal and were in between two breakers. How we were to

OFF CHATHAM BARS

189

extricate ourselves, I could not see. I supposed they knew;
but even experts miscalculate. We had run alDOut midwav
into the entrance when I saw coming a wave that fairlv ap¬
palled me. The hshermen exchanged anxious glances, and
the helmsman swung the yacht to meet it, bowsprit on, while
I hurriedly closed the hatchway. 1 can never forget the
ominous look of that wall of water towering above me, before
it struck. It was green and sinister, with a curling crest that
rose high above our heads, like the flowing mane of a war-
horse. Its onward rush seemed like the charge of a troop of
cavalry. All we could do was to cling to something and take
it. Then it fairly buried us. The yacht lurched violently, but
did not capsize. The next thing I knew, the standing-room
was full of water, the deck swept of all movable articles, which
were floating or sinking out beyond us, and the seine-boat
had broken away. Fortunately the strong tide was racing in,
which carried us to safety before the next comber could reach
us. Had the tide been the other way, it might have been
much more serious for us. So, to this day, when I am tempted
to be rash to secure a coveted opportunity with sea-birds,
a vision of that white-crested, green coml^er rises to forbid.

It was two years after the unsuccessful attempt mentioned
on the preceding page before I was able to try again. Another
September day found me at Chatham. The next two days
the bars moaned and thundered, but on the third came the
realization of the great event. The Chatham cat-rig plunged
and tossed considerably, but, fortunately for my water-fowl
studies, my equilibrium is not easily upset. Once through the
line of breakers, we took the long, even swell, and soon hove
to to catch some dog-fish for livers with which to bait up birds.
Of late years the cod and haddock have mostly disappeared
from the coast, and it was necessary to resort to this degen¬
erate sort of fishing to secure bait. But no one who knows

190

WILD WINGS

the dog-fish will waste any pity. This is a small species of
shark, which goes about in schools, snapping at fish right and
left, making wholesale destruction. The dog-fish were on
hand and took hold with their usual greed and ferocity. In
a short time we had numbers of them flopping all over the
standing-room, each trying to stab us with its sharp abdom¬
inal spine. It took many heavy blows with a mallet to ]3ut
them out of commission so that we could appropriate their
livers, which are larger than those of most fish !

As we were doing this, we noticed ofi to the southward
a flock of terns darting down and plunging excitedly into the
water. We knew what it meant, and, hauling aft the sheet,
ran off toward them, throwing out a bluefish drail astern. The
school of small “ bait ” disappeared with a plunge as we sailed
over it. And then something took the hook with a powerful
jerk. Up went the boat into the wind, and after a hard strug¬
gle a fine eight-pound bluefish came flouncing over the (juar-
ter. No sooner was the hook overboard again than another
grabbed it, but it tore off, and the school was gone. This is
one of the important uses of the sea-birds. The mackerel
fleet, for instance, is badly handicapped without the birds to
indicate where the fish are. The wholesale destruction of
these birds for millinery purposes is absolutely criminal, as it
is for any gunner to shoot them in wanton “sport.” Indeed,
there is no skill or sport in it, nothing but contemptible
butchery and mean selfishness. Live and let live!

With a moderate supply of liver-bait we now ran offshore
to the southeast, leaving Pollock Rip light-ship dimly show¬
ing up away to the southward. How strange it is, every time
I get off here is different from any other in my exjDerience
with birds ! Oh, the Mother Carey’s Chickens that there were
this day 1 We began to encounter them three miles out, and
soon, by droj^ping liits of liver, we had a fine company of

OFF CHATHAM BARS

191

them following us up astern, and then flitting and twittering
around the vessel. As far as I could tell, they were all the
antarctic Wilson’s Petrels — with yellow webs instead of black,
and tails rounded instead of forked. What restless, stirring
bits of animation they are ! They are seldom seen to alight
on the water, save for an
instant. Toss out a bit of
liver just astern and a
petrel flutters down and
seizes it, without alighting.

It keeps fluttering its wings
and pattering its feet on the
surface, seeming to walk
on the water, like Peter of
old, hence its name. They
are hard indeed to photo¬
graph, so constant is their
activity and so rapid the
beating of their wings. I
was snapping away plates
at them with my reflex camera and found that an exposure
of one one-thousandth of a second was none too quick. With
one five-hundredth, at close range, the wings would blur.

The farther off we sailed, the more birds appeared. Now
and then a Parasitic Jaeger followed us up, and finally a large
Pomarine Jaeger, tempted by the bribes of rich, fat liver we
were offering, flew up several times close astern and gave
me some fine chances with the camera. A few shearwaters,
too, began to show themselves, and by the time we had
reached the “ Crab Ledge,” some eight miles out, we decided
to “lie to” again and feed the birds. “Chickens” were as
plenty as ever, and came again for rations. A couple of jaegers
took the leavings, as they drifted off a little way from the

192

WILD WINGS

“a sooty shearwater or two joined the party”

vessel, and perhaps a dozen Greater Shearwaters and a Sooty
Shearwater or two joined the party. The fishermen call the
latter class “ Haglets,” — White and Black, resj^ectively, —
while the jaeg-ers are “ Jiddies.”

The haglets did not seem as tame as years ago, when
I used almost to feed them out of mv hands. Perhaps the
trouble was we did not have enough livers to throw out much
at a time and get them so excited that they would bait up
well. However, they came fairly near, — within ten feet, —
and I took a lot of pictures of them, in all sorts of positions
and combinations. AWien all the plates in the holders had
been exposed, I darkened the cuddy and managed to change
plates without disaster and get to work again.

At length it was time to go back, especially as the wind
had become light and was dying out. For a time it was fiat

OFF CHATHAM BARS

193

calm, and we got out the long oars. As we rowed, I kept
dropping out liver, and at length we waited, as a number of
haglets, not inclined to fly without wind, alighted to eat the
liver and swam after us. The skipper had managed to catch
a few haddock and a single cod while I had been photograph¬
ing, and we dealt out frugally the scant supply of liver. But
we had not enough to draw them very close, and presently it
was all gone, so the birds left us and we rowed on. In time
a light breeze started up, ruffling the glassy ocean and filling
the sail.

A little farther inshore we noticed a flock of both kinds of
haglets darting eagerly about on the water. Changing our
course, we ran close by them and saw that it was a school
of bait they were chasing. In passing I secured a fine pic¬
ture of the whole scene in action. This time our drail was

GREATER SHEARWATER. “THEY CAME FAIRLY NEAR”

194 WILD WINGS

not ready for the bluefish, but the birds had done their
part.

It was my purpose to spend another day off Pollock Rip
and enjoy, possible new developments. Next day the wind
blew a gale offshore, and evidently it blew all the birds away
out to sea, for on the day following, when I tried it again,
first catching a liberal supply of dog-fish outside the bar, there
was hardly a bird to be found, despite a long sail, and far off¬
shore at that. It was necessary, then, to return home, so I had
to content myself with what I had already secured.

The next 3"ear, in August, I tried it again. This time some¬
thing remarkable happened. I got offshore the first day,
without any delay. Even thus I had to have a little fuss and
fret. I arrived at Chatham late in the preceding afternoon,
with favorable weather. Then the wind had to haul to the
eastward, and blow hard in the night. The old bars began
to moan, and in the morning we could see a line of breakers
across the entrance. “ Too rough,” announced the skipper.
Yet he thought we might be able to get out when the tide
turned in. So we ran down about ten o’clock, the party
including two friends, a gentleman and his wife, both ardent
bird-lovers. They confessed to being wretched sailors, but
they were so eager to see those ocean-birds I had written
about that they were willing to take the necessary punish¬
ment.

While we were still inside the point of the “ north beach,”
before we took the swell, we saw many gulls and terns of
various species, and were having such a good time that the
lady remarked ver\" naively that she might make a sailor
after all, which completely upset the gravit\^ of the skipper.
Alas, as we rounded the point and shoal and plunged into
the swell, our “ lands-people ” were soon prostrated, though
they remained courageous. Dp in the harbor the wind was

GREATER AND SOOTY SHEARWATERS. “ IT WAS A SCHOOL OF BAIT THEY WERE CHASING

OFF CHATHAM BARS

197

POMARINE JAEGER. “GREAT POWERFUL JAEGERS WERE PASSING”

Strong- and we had taken a double reef before starting. There
was also wind enough outside, we could see, but right here
was a slack place, and we could not stem the strong incoming
tide. So we had to anchor and shake out the reef. Then came
some breaker-dodging tactics, but we got outside the bar by
noon and stood off to the southward, toward the Pollock Rip
light-ship, which we could dimly see, and then offshore.

It proved to be the most wonderful day for jaegers in all
my experience in these waters, with one possible exception.
Wdthin a mile of the bars we began to see them, and several
miles out they were flying about in large numbers, in all sorts
of plumage, and some shearwaters as well, with a few of the
rare Corv’s Shearwater, which I had not seen for years.

I wish I could have a painting of that scene. The sky was

198

WILD WINGS

GRKATER SHEARWATER RISING

clear, the breeze good, and the boat tossing actively on a
rolling, dancing sea. Two suffering people lay quietly, one
on each side of the standing-room. The skipper had a line
overboard trying for cod, and, at my dictation, was throwing
out fragments of liver now and then, to keep the birds baited
up. There was the greatest imaginable flapping of wings
going on all around us. Scores of great powerful jaegers
were passing and repassing close about, and dashing down
into the water to secure pieces of liver. Several at once would
try for a piece, and the quickest would get it. There were
shearwaters, or haglets, too, though not nearly so many.
With great rapidity they would go winnowing along, faster
than the jaegers, and plunge violently into the water, seize a
piece of liver with a most comical e.xpression of greedy satis¬
faction, and hurry off, as they gulped it down, for fear that
a jaeger would get it away from them. Once in flight they
did not fear the jaegers, so swift are they on their narrow.

OFF CHATHAM BARS

199

pointed wings. The wailing that was going on made me
think of the slaughter of a battle, only that I knew the wails
were not of anguish but of satisfaction, eagerness, jealousy.
The jaeger’s wail was in a high-pitched key, somewhat stri¬
dent ; that of the shearwater was mellower and lower in the
scale.

As for me, I was just in my element, fairly wild with de¬
light, feeling like an admiral on his quarter-deck when victory
is surely his own. As fast as I could, I loaded the reflex
camera, selected a single bird nearest me, in flight or in the
act of alighting, or else some pretty combination of birds, and
fired away. It was a perfect fusillade, yet each exposure was
made with thought and care, though each followed the other
with considerable rapidity. Meanwhile my friends had pluckily
aroused themselves to see the great sight, and I pointed out
to them the different sorts of birds — six kinds in all, there
were. The doctor had with him a small camera, and he took
a few snap-shots.

For over an hour my battery was in constant action. Then
the plates were used up, so I darkened the cuddy, and crawled
into it to change plates. This took some time, and when I
emerged a big cloudbank was making up from the west. Just
as it began to cover the sun, something went wrong with the
focal-plane shutter, — a chip got into it, I found out that
evening, — and it would not work. It was time, anyhow, to
stop and get in before the tide turned, so I quit work. It was
singular that all day I saw but two Wilson’s Petrels. Yet it
was far more of an achievement to have photographed the
jaegers, which I have never found as tame as, for some
reason, they were this day. Unfortunately a good manv of
the pictures proved worthless on account of the ground-glass
having been reset a trifle out of register. A few good ones,
however, repaid me for the trip.

200

WILD WINGS

No sooner did we enter the harbor again than the sick
ones revived, and soon were restored to health and the
enthusiasm of living, glad that they had endured the ordeal
and seen the “ocean wanderers.” Yet we were all agreed
that about once a year was often enough for a land-lubber
to be subjected to so severe a punishment, even to see rare
birds.

rOMARINE JAEGER

Part IV

Cfje ClusitJE ^i)orE=33irlis

Birds of passage sailed through the leaden air, from the ice-bound,
Desolate northern bays to the shores of tropical islands.

Longfellow.

CHAPTER XII

THE SHORE PATROL

There is a Power whose care
Teaches thy %vay along that pathless eoast.

Bryant.

T certain seasons of the year our shores bordering on
/-A ocean and great lake are carefully patrolled by the
crews of the Government Life-saving Service. And
there are seasons, too, when a feathered host is on patrol,
suffering few castaways — of a certain class — to be long
neglected. Science has a concise and suggestive name for
them, — Limicolse, dwellers by the shore. It is a varied and
numerous company, represented by forty species in eastern
North America. Though one of these, the Woodcock, prefers
the swampy thickets, and his cousin, Wilson’s Snipe, the

204

WILD WINGS

thick grass of the meadows, and certain others are partial to
marshes, dry pasture, or prairie, the decided iDreference of the
Order is for the margin where land and water meet, whether
it be bv ocean, river, lake, or pool. They are waders by nature
and generally by practice, and there is not one but what at
times dabl)les in margins, that, unlike stmie margins in human
affairs, provide an unfailing sustenance, with their abounding
forms of small animal life.

Many a sojourn by the sea has been brightened for me by
the presence of the shore-birds. They are nature’s contribu¬
tion toward ftlling a vacuum. Every other sort of locality —
forest, j:)asture, j^rairie, mountain, swamp, and ocean — has
its peculiar birds, and so has, therefore, the shore. I love
to sit on the beach and see a ffock of sandpipers racing
nimbly after the retreating wave, and back again when it
returns, pattering along the strand and picking uj:) the tiny
bits of food, invisible to coarse human sight. They are not
ordinarily very shy, and, by hiding a little, or sitting quite
still, I have often watched their pretty motions from within
a few feet. Then, perhaps, they see that they are observed,
and off thev go with quick, darting flight and mellow twit¬
terings, to take a circuit out over the water, and return to
alight a few hundred feet farther along. Though small,
thev are strong of flight, and that they seek out the distant,
mysterious North for their nesting adds to their charm.

A few species spend their summers with us and raise
their young, but, possessing vigorous powers of flight, and
sought after by man for food, most of them wing their way
to the shores of the Arctic Ocean, passing hurriedly by us in
the spring, and returning more leisurely in the fall. On the
Atlantic coast north of Virginia comparatively few are now
found in the spring flight, during May; the great majority
pass us out to sea or go up through the interior, notably

THE SHORE PATROL

205

along the Mississippi Valley and the Great Plains, returning
from July to October by the Atlantic coast route in large
numbers, though many, even then, take the inland route.

It is June before the last migrant waders have passed the
New England shores, and by early July they begin to straggle
back again, so that the stay of some of them in the North is
but short. Among the hrst to return are the little sandpipers
known as “ Peep ” or “ Ox-eyes,” — the Least and Semipal-
mated Sandpipers. The little Ring-necked Plovers and the
Lesser (or “Summer”) Yellow-legs soon follow. The bare
flats again begin to be dotted with nimble little forms, and
the shrill, piping whistle of the Yellow-legs on the marshes is
a characteristic sound. The Sanderling — our only sandpiper
that, plover-like, has not even a rudimentary hind toe — soon
becomes common on the flats and beaches, and j^resently
small parties of the Knot (or Gray-back), Dowitcher (or Red¬
breasted Snipe), and Black-bellied Plover (or “ Beetle-head”)
appear. The Spotted Sandpipers, notable for their habit of
teetering the body, the commonest shore-bird breeding in New
England, now gather on the shores of the bays or on stony
beaches, where the gay-colored Turnstone, singly, or in small
parties, begins to be seen. By August a few Willets may be
found on the beaches and sand-flats, and the PJpland Plovers
or Bartramian Sandpipers frequent certain hilly pastures not
far from salt water. By this time, scattering Bonaparte’s (or
White-rumped) Sandpipers have joined the flocks of small
waders, flocks of Pectoral Sandpipers (or “ Grass-birds ”) and
Greater (or “Winter”) Yellow-legs appear on the marshes,
and the pretty little sand-colored Piping Plover, which has
remained to breed, gains its greatest abundance through
accessions of young birds, and some that have been farther
north. A few Hudsonian (or “Jack”) Curlew, wary fellows,
with long, decurved bills, roam about behind the beaches.

206

WILD WINGS

The Solitary Sandpiper is seen on the margins mostly of
woodland jDonds and bogs.

I may be mistaken, but it has usually seemed to me that
from about the twentieth of August to the first part of Sep¬
tember there is a decided diminution in the numbers of many
of the shore-lfirds. It is largely the adults that have been
jiresent hitherto. These pass on, and there is a gap between
this and the arrival of the young, which in a numl^er of
s]:)ecies can be distinguished by a paler cast of j^lumage.
The young Ring-necks and Knots begin to appear by the
last of August ; young Black-bellied Plovers are not much in
evidence before the tenth of September, and the young of
the Golden Plovers, if they come at all, are often even later.
During the latter half of Septeml)er and well into October
there are considerable flights of Winter Yellow-legs. At
this time, too, the Red-backed Sandpipers flock along the
beaches, a tardy tribe that the summer boarder knows
nothing of. Wilson’s Snipe abounds on the meadows and
{provides sport for the hunters. The hardiest of all the host
are the Purple Sand]:)i]Ders, the only waders that habitually
spend their winters in the North. Thev can rarely bear the
tropical heat of a Boston winter, and Cape Ann is about as
far south as they commonly venture. They are abundant,
for instance, on Matinicus Island, Maine, all winter, feeding
among the rocks, and are called “ Rock Snipe.”

There can be little doubt that, owing to the tremendous
])ersecution of the shore-birds in their southward flight along
the coast-line of New England and the Middle States, increas¬
ing numbers of various species are learning to avoid this
dangerous zone and to pass us far out to sea, living in the
spring from the capes of North Carolina or \^irginia direct
to the Maritime Provinces, and in the autumn flight straight
back from Nova Scotia. Indeed, this has always been the

THE SHORE PATROL

207

habit of certain species — naturally enough the Phalaropes,
and notably the Golden Plover and the Eskimo Curlew. One
of the most fascinating possibilities of the fall flight time
— late in August and during September — is that a violent
easterly gale may occur and deflect to our shores great num¬
bers of these fine birds, which are of particular interest because
of the halo of mystery and romance — we may say — which
surrounds them. These exciting occasions, alas, are becom¬
ing more and more rare, yet I keenly enjoy the remembrance
of some of them, especially of one which I shall now describe.

The twenty-ninth of August, 1883, according to my journal,
was the date of the first autumnal hurricane. For nearly two
months I had been camping, with friends, at Chatham,
Massachusetts, studying the birds of sea and shore. Our tent
was pitched on a grassy slope, a few rods up from the bay.
During the previous afternoon the wind had freshened from
the northeast, and masses of stratus cloud and fog, rolling in
from the sea, began to underlie the high cirrus streamers
from a contrary direction. At bedtime, making everything
fast, we sought our blankets. But at midnight there came to
our ears a crv. It was the roar of the storm which threatened
our frail shelter, while the sea had risen to our very door.
After a disturbed, uncomfortable night, the day broke gray
and wet. Looking out, we saw the waters, even of the bay,
a mass of raging foam. The rain was driving almost parallel
with the ground, while ever and anon came a terrific blast
that would almost carry one away with the helpless raindrops
flving before it. Out on the open sea great waves followed
one after another in cjuick succession, and thundered in on
the beach, bringing, it seemed, the ocean bottom along with
them, for, as far out as one could see, the ocean was mingled
with sand and masses of weed, trophies of the violence of the
storm.

2o8

WILD WINGS

WHiat was that great cloud of lairds high in the air, appar¬
ently three or four hundred in number, driving in from the
sea with the gale ? I realized I was witnessing what I had
longed to see, a flight of the Golden Plover and Eskimo
Curlew, birds which in a certain way are to be associated in
a class by themselves. In a moment, as I stood there, I saw
another flock, and others, some smaller, but all of good size.
There was no esi:)ecial order in their ranks ; it was no time to
think of such matters. The gale had reduced them to hud¬
dling, driven masses.

I have not space to detail the events of the day. P^or hours,
these and other shore-bird flocks ]:)assed in from the sea over
the end of the Cape. Most of them were high in air, but some
came in low over the outer beach, and were decimated by the
gunners. All that morning noble flocks of Golden Plover and
Eskimo Curlew were stringing over the pasture grounds and
barren hill-tojos, where the gunners lay in wait for them
and shot them down. By noon the storm began to abate
slightly, and the flight slackened. Early the next morning,
though the wind was still in the east, there was hardly a wader
of anv kind to be found. Every year since then, these hne
birds have become scarcer on New England shores, and such
a flight may never be seen again. There is a peculiar roman¬
tic interest which attaches to these flights. After nesting in
the arctic regions, these plover and curlew proceed in August
to Labrador. Thence they pass to Nova Scotia, and then
south over the ocean, resting occasionally on its surface, but
avoiding the dangerous shores of the luiited States. Cross¬
ing the West Indies, they are said to land on the shores of
Brazil, and thence pass down to Argentina, and even Pata¬
gonia. If a gale blows them oft this course, and compels
them to touch on our much-hunted shores, they leave them
at the earliest possible moment. In the spring they return to

THE SHORE PATROL

209

the far North through the interior of the United States. The
first flight off New England seems to occur about the last ten
days of August, and is only of adult birds. The young do not
reach us till about the middle of September. The young
Golden Plovers used to frequent, in late September, the
“ Back-Bay marshes ” of Boston, which I then considered
a splendid plover ground ; but this is a thing of the past.

TURNSTONES. “THE BIRDS FED UP NEAR TO ME

The desire to see more of the shore-birds, rapidly becom¬
ing scarce on the New England coast, started me off, a few
seasons ago, about the middle of August, along the eastern
coast of Nova Scotia. I kept travelling until I found an
ideal spot, — fine lonely sand-beaches pounded by the surf,
extensive salt marshes back of them, and an inlet whose
sand-flats furnished unsurpassed feeding-ground for hosts of
shore-birds. The very first birds I saw were four Hudsonian
Curlews walking about in their sedate fashion in the dry
sand and grass above the beach on which were sporting
flocks of smaller shore-birds. I had seen enough to convince

210 WILD WINGS

me, and forth\vith I engaged board with a fisherman’s family
who lived close by.

All my favorable impressions were fully confirmed during
the two weeks of my stay. The beaches and flats abounded in
life. Sanderlings, Ring-necks, Least and Semipalmated Sand-
])ipers — in large flocks or scattering — were everywhere,
with numbers of Piping Plovers, and occasionally Gray-
backs and Dowitchers feeding among them. On the stony
beaches, especially where seaweed had accumulated, were
good flocks of Turnstones and numbers of Spotted Sandpip¬
ers. Great flocks of hundreds of all these species intermingled
fed along the outer beach. Out on the flats of the inlet were
many adult Black-bellied Plovers, which gathered in an
immense flock, at high tide, upon certain dry sand-bars
and thwarted all attempts to approach them. On these
flats and on the marshes both kinds of Yellow-legs were found,
and their shrill, “tell-tale” whistle was always resounding.
The marshes attracted quite a few Pectoral Sandpipers, and,
in the early morning, bunches of Phalaropes which had come
in from the open sea. There were, too, from time to time,
a few Hudsonian Curlews upon the marshes and dunes and
also back in the cranberry-bogs.

There was no flight, as yet, of the Golden Plover or
Eskimo Curlew. I had to leave on September first, and,
rather curiously, returned there on that exact date the year
following, as though to begin where I left off. Conditions
were about as before, save that the weather had turned cool
and many of the smaller waders had left, while the young
birds were just beginning to arrive. About the twenty-fifth of
August the fishermen had noticed a few flocks of Eskimo
Curlew and Golden Plover, but there were none about now.
On September tenth I saw a single Golden Plover, which a boy
had shot as it fed with some “ Ox-eyes.” On the thirteenth

THE SHORE PATROL

21 I

the wind was fresh from the northeast and the Golden Plovers
arrived in good numbers, and were common during the
remaining week of my stay. At first all were adults, with dark
breasts, but on the fifteenth and afterwards there were more
and more of the pale-bellied young. They fed preferably on
the marshes or on any grass-land near the sea, but also were
often seen along the edge of the inlet, wading along its sandy
margins.

Somehow, the Golden Plover appeals to me as the finest
of the shore-birds. It has a good name, it is a beautiful bird,
and is all the more attractive for the romantic interest attach¬
ing to its wonderful migration and its fortuitous appearances
on our shores. No bird has more splendid powers of flight.
How I love to watch the varied evolutions of its swift squad¬
rons, now high in air, now low over the flats, wheeling to the
stirring, wild music of mellow, whistled calls ! Then they
suddenly alight in the short grass, where they scatter out in
pursuit of grasshoppers or other insect prey, not forgetting
their true plover dignity as they walk sedately about or stand
erect, like Robins listening for the worm.

On the eighteenth the first of the tardy host of Red-backed
Sandpipers — sometimes called “ Frost-birds ” — arrived, and
previously, on the fifth and sixth, I made my first acquaint¬
ance with the Buff-breasted Sandpiper, — a flock of a dozen
flying along the beach and a single one feeding on the inlet
flats.

Birds were now pouring in, — scoters and other sea-ducks
had begun to fly, jaegers were out at sea in swarms, hawks of
various sorts were migrating, with many Northern land-birds
among the spruces, — and it seemed hard to pack my belong¬
ings and start off, amid the first early snow-squall, for tame
and effete civilization !

On Sunday evening, the night before I left, I strolled down

212

WILD WINGS

the beach alone, for a parting look. The full moon had just
risen from the ocean, flooding sea and beach with its silvery
s|dendor. The exquisite scene made a profound impression
on me, which was heightened by the jwesence of two little
Sanderlings, feeding by moonlight. I sat down and watched
them. The sparkling, phosphorescent wave would ripple up
around their little feet, and they would run before it, and
then race back again, as it retreated. They were so busy, so
happy, and twittered one to the other, saying, in spirit,

“ One little sandpiper and I,”

while I felt it too. At length they darted off up the shore,
but I still lingered to enjoy the moon, wave, and ocean,
worshipping, I felt, in the beauty of holiness, until passing
time compelled me to seek the fisher’s cottage.

There is a peculiar fascination for me in the spring migra¬
tion of the Limicolae, for then the birds are decked in their
beautiful vernal dress. Instead of a pale, bleached-out plum¬
age, the fashion is one of rich browns, reds, and black, with
deep-tinted, striking breast-colors and markings. There is
no finer place to observe this than the broad prairies of the
W’est. There one will meet a number of the larger kinds in
abundance, which he would look for in vain on the Atlantic
coast. How the ]:)icture rises before my mind of the broncos
jogging ewer a fire-swept prairie, about the middle of May,
and the discovery of a flock of twenty Golden Plover but
a few rods off, blending j^erfectly in color with the blackened
ground, as they faced us with coal-black breasts. We stopped
the horses to watch, yet they did not fly, as we feared they
would, but resumed their feeding. They j^attered about,
making their graceful plover-bows as they stooj^ed c|uickly
for their insect-prey, showing us the golden-yellow spangles
on their backs, and the clear white wreath of distinction

THE SHORE PATROL

213

around the sides of the head. They were taking needed
rest and refreshment on their long journey from Patagonia to
the Arctic Sea, and we left them with sincere wishes for their
prosperity. Thus I encountered many a flock, and even found
a band of them wading in a shallow alkaline lake.

FLOCK OF TURNSTONES, WITH A WILSON^S PLOVER, A DOWITCHER, AND A SANDPIPER

Near here the next morning, on a muddy flat bordering
a small slough, I had my introduction to a kind of wader that
I had long desired to meet. I saw them, a band of a dozen,
long of leg and bill, scattered about, eagerly probing in the
rich Dakota mud. They had reddish breasts and white rumps,
and I knew they were the Hudsonian Godwit, a bird I had
never seen alive. They remained there all day, giving me
abundant opportunity to watch their graceful motions, ■ —
walking, probing, and wading, — which resembled those of
the Yellow-legs. This species, too, breeds in the far North.

Other migratory species were also passing, lingering awhile
along the margins of the lakes or the muddv shores of the
sloughs. Many Turnstones, in their most brilliant plumage,
were enjoying the pebbly shores of the larger lakes. In one

214

WILD WINGS

shallow, muddy slough, on Memorial Day, I saw a t}4Dical
and beautiful sight. The soft, muddy shores and the shallow
water were dotted all over with shore-birds wading about and
having a most happy time. Largest and most conspicuous,
save for two or three Wdllets, were a number of fine Black-
bellied and Golden Plovers in s])lendid plumage. Near them
were Dowitchers, with their ruddy under parts of the spring
dress, and some Yellow-legs, as well as a varied proletariat
of the smaller siDCcies, — \Mrite-rumped, Semipalmated, and
Least Sandpipers, Ring-necks, and a few Solitary Tatlers and
Killdeers. It was a glorious day, spicy with the crisp ozone
of the prairies. How could 1 but be exhilarated ! Along with
the migrants one also continually sees the limicoline species
that remain to breed, — L' pland Plovers, Killdeers, Mdllets,
Great Marbled Godwits, Wilson’s Phalaropes, Piping Plovers,
and Avocets, the aggregate of which would make well worth
while a spring trip to the prairies of the West, even if the only
bird-life were that of the shore-birds.

In these degenerate davs of waning numbers of shore-
birds in our Northern Atlantic States, it will greatly revive
the bird-lover’s drooping spirits and stimulate his faith
that it is not yet too late to save the shore-birds, to take
a trip along the coasts of our Southern States in beautiful
May. It is prettv hot then, but never mind, it will pay to
go. Aside from the breeding shore-birds, the abundance of
the migrants is a revelation. I was charmed with the gentle
Red-backed SandjDipers, in their beautiful spring plumage,
with the black abdomen, so dift'erent from our “ Lead-back ”
of the late fall. Thev were so tame I was sometimes able
to creep up near enough to them, on the open fiats and
shores, to secure quite satisfactory pictures with the reflex
camera. Then there were the Dowitchers, Knots, and Turn¬
stones in their gav habiliments, with the Black-bellied and

TURNSTONES AND SANDPIPERS. -‘WITHIN A DOZEN FEET THEY FED, BATHED, AND PREENED THEIR FEATHERS

THE SHORE PATROL

217

HUDSONIAN CURLEWS COMING IN AT NIGHT TO ROOST

Ring-necked Plovers, Yellow-legs, and the host of little
‘‘ Ox-eyes.”

But what impressed me most was the astonishing migra¬
tion of the Hudsonian Curlews. Having never seen more
than a few scattered ones at any one time, I had imagined
that the species was everywhere scarce. But here they were
by scores of thousands. During the day they were widely
scattered over immense marshes. Learning from others of
the best places to observe them, I spent a night at each of
several little low islands — mere sand-bars — lying off the
coast.

About half-past five or six o’clock, when the sun was low in
the horizon or had set behind a cloud-bank, the first advanc¬
ing line is seen, and a string of from a dozen to fifty Hud¬
sonian Curlews come scaling over the beach, to alight on the
l)ar, down at the other end. After a few minutes another flock
is seen approaching. By half-past si.x they are arriving fast,
and by seVen there are two or three flocks in sight all the

2i8

WILD WINGS

time, some of them containing as many as seventy- five birds.
Meantime I am shooting at them as they pass, with my re-
fiex camera, despite the dull light. As may be imagined, the
company on the sand has become immense, covering many
acres. They keep up a sort of murmuring noise, and now and
then all fly up, with a perfect storm and tumult of wings and
voices, soon to alight again. Even after dark they are yet
arriving, as one may hear. I hazard the guess that there are
often ten thousand curlews at such a roost each night. At the
first glimmer of day they are off again for the marshes. It is
very important that every Southern State should prohibit the
spring shooting of shore-birds. Unless they do so, in a few
years these species will surely be exterminated, at the recent,
and even present, rate of wholesale slaughter. It is simply
wicked, as well as short-sighted, to kill them at this time, when
they are about to breed.

Despite all the camera-hunting of the day, it is notable that
there have been almost no shore-bird photographs in exist¬
ence. The reason is that the task is almost prohibitive. Shore-
birds are timid, cjuick in their motions ; they live in the open,
and are so small — most of them — that, unless one can get
very near indeed, the picture will amount to but little. I have
spent whole days in blinds with decovs, or with the camera
focused on the water’s edge, vainlv waiting for a single one
of the provoking birds to come within proper range. Occa¬
sionally I have thus secured a single picture. Little by little,
in the course of years, through taking advantage of every
opportunity, my series of shore-bird pictures has been slowly
growing, and once I improved the chance of a lifetime.

It was in my cruise among the Florida Keys when I left
the party who were to return in the schooner to Miami, and
Warden Bradley and I started on the fifty-mile beat to wind¬
ward in a centre-board skiff back to our headquarters. The

THE SHORE PATROL

219

westerly wind kept increasing, and by eleven o’clock the situ¬
ation was alarming. The waves were making a clean breach
over us. My precious box of photographic plates was in the
middle of the boat, propped up on a kettle and a coffee-pot
to keep them out of the swashing water, and covered with
a rubber cloth above. Finally, up spake Bradley: “Mr. Job,
I don’t want to take the responsibility for your life ; suppose
we run back and anchor behind those keys till we have better
weather.” But time was very valuable, and I urged him to
take the chances, so we kept on, and, after a hard ffght, by
early afternoon reached the next keys to windward, — two
small mangrove islets, one of them with a narrow sand-beach
around it, close up to the thicket, with small sand-bars at
one end just across a narrow channel that closely approached
the shore. As we sailed near, I saw that these sands were fairly
alive with shore-birds, feeding and taking refuge from the
gale.

Immediately I recognized this as a great opportunity,
and, landing upon the key, despite the swarms of mosquitoes,
I went to work. Up at the farther end were the most birds,
and, creeping up, I peered through the bushes. Within from
ten to twenty feet of me were a sprinkling of minor waders,
a fine flock of some twenty Black-bellied Plovers, and a few
Laughing Gulls. I wish I could have photographed the
gulls, yet I am sorry they were there, for vdiile I was trying
to clear a “window” through the mangrove shrubbery out
of which to aim the camera, they saw me and set up such
a screaming, as they departed, that they took with them all
the other birds.

However, standing knee-deep in the water, I finished my
work and set up the camera on the tripod, and focused on
the sand-bar. No sooner had I done this than many of the
birds began to come back, — various sandpipers, Dowitchers,

220

WILD WINGS

Wilson’s Plovers, and soon a large dock of Turnstones.
Silently and swiftly I photographed them until my plates
were exhausted, when I returned to the boat for more, and
then went at it again. Not a bird saw me. Within a dozen
feet they fed, bathed, preened their feathers, and rested, with
no shadow of suspicion disturbing their peace of mind.

A SPLENDID MALE BLACK-BREAST PLOVER.” “TIRED OF FEEDI.NG”

Then I left them and went out to an open beach with the
reflex camera. A large flock of small sandpijDers and some
Turnstones, with a few Ring-necked and Wilson’s Plovers,
were busilv feeding. l"pon hands and knees I crawled out
to an isolated mangrove bush, close to the water’s edge. The
birds fed up near to me, as I squatted there, without seeming
to distinguish me from the bush. Some of them, one or two

THE SHORE PATROL

22 I

at a time, would even run past me within about five feet, with¬
out being alarmed. With my single lens, an inch-wide aper¬
ture of the curtain and not very rapid speed, I exposed plate
after plate, and not long before sundown had used up my
last one.

We then crossed to the other key, only a few rods off, and

“gone sweetly off into dreamland

camped.” That is, we started a fire, got supper, and hung
our mosquito net among the trees. After dark I changed
plates, and early in the morning went to work again. There
was nothing new, save for the presence of a splendid male
Black-breast Plover and two Least Terns bathing in a pool.
I had to choose between these subjects for the first shot. I
chose the plover, as the shyest of the shore-birds. The terns

222

WILD WINGS

soon flew away, but I did not regret the decision. In various
interesting and characteristic poses, I secured a dozen pictures
of the plover, ending up with a couple when he had tired of
feeding, had drawn up one leg, put his bill under his wing-
coverts, and gone sweetly ofl into dreamland. This was glory
enough for one dav, so, as the wind had moderated some¬
what, we started again on our beat for Cape Sable. Some
naturalists who afterwards saw this picture were much amused
to think that an old Black-bellied Plover — of all birds —
should allow a man to crawl up within ten feet and photo¬
graph him, and asleep at that !

lesser yellow-legs in FLORIDA POOL

ANXIOUS RING-NKCKED PLOVERS. ‘‘WHEN THEY CAME TOGETHER’^

CHAPTER XIII

NORTHWARD WITH THE SHORE-BIRD HOST

N^o mortal saw it go ; —

But who doth hear
Its summer' cheer
As it flitteth to and fro I

How ITT.

SWIFT and tireless of flight, late in May the hordes
of migrant shore-birds are gone as suddenly as they
appeared. No one sees them go ; probably the start
is in the evening. But by the time we miss them they may
be a thousand miles farther to the north, — that is, when
they have really decided to be on the move. Previously they
may have fed leisurely along from beach to beach and marsh
to marsh, recuperating from their long flight across southern
seas. But now the vernal influence sounds the clarion call,
and they forthwith strike the real limicoline pace.

Where do they go? Less is known about the breeding

WILD WINGS

224

haunts and habits of this mysterious tribe than of any order
in the system of ornithology, \\diile a very few of the s])ecies
linger on our Southern coasts, the great mass of them push
on for the far North. Nor do the bulk of them stoj^ till they
are where the curiosity of man can seldom disturb their pri¬
vacy. The eggs and nesting habits of a number of these
species are hardly known to science. Their summer home is
the barren grounds along the arctic sea. In the damjD moss
near some pool, u])on the cold ground, still frozen underneath,
in the early part of June they scratch a slight hollow, build
a rude, frail nest of grass, and lay four eggs, pyriform, or
])ear-shaped, drab-colored, and hea^■ily blotched with black
or brown.

Somehow, the mystery and romance surrounding the lives
of these dabblers in margins make strong appeal to me.
F rom the time when in boyhood I hrst heard the clear whistle
of the Yellow-legs over the salt marshes and the long-drawn,
j^laintive notes of the plovers on the bay flats, or saw the
nimble band of sandpij)ers upon the ocean front chased by
the surf, I ha^'e longed to know more of them all. And,
though I have not yet roamed quite within the arctic circle,
latterlv I have been far enough north to find at least strag¬
glers from the main bodv settled down to breed under essen-
tiallv arctic conditions, and to secure some photographs of
these birds from life, which are probably the first of such
ever made.

Never shall I forget the thrill of my first experience with
these Northerners in their summer homes. It was on the
Magdalen Islands, in the stormy Gulf of St. Lawrence, well
up toward southern Labrador, The day was the thirteenth of
June, clear and cold, the air of the early morning having
almost the sting of the frost. With a comjoanion and a guide
I was exploring the extensive marshy l)arrens of the East Point

NORTHWARD WITH THE SHORE-BIRDS 225

ponds which Audubon, some seventy years ago, vainly tried
to reach. On this my hrst day upon these Northern islands
it was delightful that I should be privileged to hear for my
first time the melodious love-songs of those Northern shore-
birds, the Wilson’s Snipe and the Least Sandpiper. Of the
former I shall tell presently. In the vicinity of a small pond
the little sandpiper was flying about in circles, now low, now
high enough to be almost lost to sight. The wings were
beating tremulously under the impulses of love, and the little
fellow was uttering a continuous mellow twittering, very
pretty to hear. Many other shore-birds have this habit ; it
may be characteristic of them all. The love-song of the Wood¬
cock is an example, and is comparatively well known.

Seimrating now from my companions, I had almost exceeded
the limits of my boot-tops in reaching the nests of some
Rusty Grackles (a northerly species) in a strip of low spruces,
when I heard a faint halloo, and saw my companion in the
distance eagerly beckoning. When I reached him he said
nothing, but pointed down near his feet. He was standing
just up from a wet depression, in open, barren ground
which bore only the coarse, sparse grass and the gray moss
of the arctic barrens. Following his direction, I saw a Least
Sandpiper trotting nervously about near us. Then, looking
closer, I saw the nest. This vSandpiper is the smallest of the
“ Peeps” or “Ox-eyes,” as they are popularly called, which
in spring and fall flock upon our beaches and marshes, but
breed in the arctic regions. The nest was merely a round hol¬
low scratched out in the moss and lined with a few dry bav-
berrv leaves. The eggs were four, as is usual with shore-birds,
and were arranged with the small ends together, which is also
good form in shore-bird etiquette. They were of a verv dark
drab color, heavily blotched with brown. My delight may be
imagined, as I stood gazing at an exhibition which but few

226

WILD WINGS

NEST AND EGGS OF LEAST SANDPIPER

naturalists have been privileged to see. It was near this spot
that we had just heard the love-song. What luck, thus soon,
in all this vast waste, to stumble upon its cause ! And here,
now, were both the owners. The singer had heard the dis¬
tressed chirping of his mate and had come down to trot
about with her, though more careful than she to avoid too
close approach to danger. It was the mother who showed
herself the really anxious one. At times she would come close
up beside us, throw herself prostrate on the moss, limp, flut¬
ter, and drag herself as though about to expire — the familiar
ruse of shore-birds.

And now, of course, to record by photography some of this
rare scene was in order. As luck would have it, — perhaps to
even up matters, — this was the only time in my life when

NORTHWARD WITH THE SHORE-BIRDS 227

I had lost the tripod screw. Not to be beaten, I cut down
with my knife a small spruce, made a stake, and drove it into
the ground near the nest. With my tree-apparatus I clamped
the camera to the stake and was ready for business, the hrst
part of which was to attempt the picture of the mother-bird on
the nest. The camera was properly focused and screened
with spruce boughs ; then, with a thread in hand, attached at
the other end to the shutter, I lay flat on my face, peering
over a dune, and waited. Poor little bird, she did not like
the look of this blunderbuss with staring eye any more than
we should that of a cannon trained upon our front door.

LEAST SANDPIPER ON NEST

228

WILD WINGS

Again and again she approached almost to the nest, only to
flee in dismay. Finally, becoming bolder, after twenty min¬
utes of this hesitancy, without warning she suddenly fairly
“ scooted ” over the moss and settled down upon her eggs.
Snap went the shutter, and her portrait was mine. Instantly

MOTHER LEAST SANDPIPER. “ALIGHTED ON THE POSTS AND WIRE

she darted ofl in great fright, too much alarmed to venture
again. So I }:)hotographed the nest and eggs and withdrew.

Four years later, again in June, I was back at the Magda-
lens. Daily ]Dassing along a road bv a fisherman’s house
revealed nothing notable, until one dav, at the very end of
our stay, one of our party, passing this spot, was attracted bv
the actions of a pair of Least Sandpipers. Desperate with
anxiety, they fluttered along the road before him and alighted,
vociferating, on the posts and wire of the fence. l"pon learn-

NORTHWARD WITH THE SHORE-BIRDS 229

ing of this, I came at once and found the birds acting as de¬
scribed, and alighting a good deal in the adjoining field of
short grass. It was evident that they had young, so two of
us made a thorough search for them. At one place the sand¬
pipers were especially so¬
licitous, and here we soon
found an egg-shell, and pre¬
sently the whole brood of
four of about the most cun¬
ning bird-mites I ever had
seen. They were of a mot¬
tled rich brown and white,
and were squatting close
together amid some sparse
grass, perfectly motionless,
and so blending with their
surroundings that we had
overlooked them many
times. No nest could be
found, and yet here were the newly hatched young, too feeble,
seemingly, to have travelled but a few steps.

This was a prize indeed, a splendid complement for my
other Least Sandpiper pictures, — for they were of this spe¬
cies. After photographing them, I placed the camera so as to
secure a picture of the mother brooding. She would not ven¬
ture, and the brood was becoming chilled in the raw evening
air, so I removed the camera, and in a few seconds they were
under mother’s wing. Next morning I readily found the brood
again in the same field, stronger now, and running about
singly. The old ones were as demonstrative as ever, and
with mv reflex camera, set with the single member of my
big double anastigmat, I secured pictures of the female upon
stub, fence, and ground, and also of single young. That after-

230

WILD WINGS

noon they were gone, and in the evening I saw the old birds
a third of a mile away on a salt marsh, whither they had
evidently led their brood.

Besides the breeding Horned Grebes, Bitterns, Red-breasted
Mergansers, Black Ducks, Blue-bills, and Teal of these inter¬
esting East Point ponds, another striking phenomenon is the
gyration and “love-song” of the Wilson’s Snipe. This is
the l)ird so dear to sportsmen, here breeding quite commonly.
We hrst heard a sweet winnowing or twittering sound some¬
where above us, reminding one of the sound of the wings
of the Golden-eye Duck, or “ Whistler,” in flight. Though
we strain our eyes in scanning the blue vault, nothing is at
hrst visible. Finally we see what looks like a speck of a bird,
so high up is it. The wings move rapidly, and with great
velocity it darts about in wide circles, far and wide, high and
low. It may at length dash close down over our heads, utter¬
ing now a continuous vocal alarm-note, somewhat after the
style of the Cooper’s Hawk. The hrst thing we know it will
alight pell-mell upon the topmost twig of a sjDruce, whence it
will continue its sharp vociferation, or stand for a while in
silence, when it may start oh again on another ten-mile Bight.
Wdien an intruder approaches the nest, both birds will By
about in this erratic manner.

The nest is hard to hnd, and I have tramped and tramped,
searching for it in vain. But this season one of our party
undertook to watch a pair of snipe from a hiding-place. In
the course of half an hour he saw one of them alight in the
grass on the edge of a sort of marshy bayou, back from
a large pond. Waiting a few moments, he walked up and
soon Bushed the bird a few rods from where she had
alighted. On damp ground, amid a tract of low bushes and
sparse grass, was the long-sought nest, containing four dark-
colored, mottled eggs, rounder and less pointed than the eggs

NORTHWARD WITH THE SHORE-BIRDS 231

of most other shore-birds, — for the snipe is classed among
shore-birds, or Limicolae. The date was the eighteenth of
June.

After duly photographing the nest and eggs, both snipes
meanwhile flying excitedly about overhead, I prepared the
camera for a possible picture of the mother snij^e upon the
nest at close range. When all was ready, the camera being
set upon the ground only a yard from the nest, I laid the
line of connecting thread clear across the bayou, where I hid
under some low s])ruces to watch. One snipe only seemed to
I)e flying about, and there was no way of telling whether the
other had returned to the nest but to creep up and look.
Before doing this, however, I rejoined the party who were
eating lunch up on a sand-dune. After nearly an hour’s
absence, I crept silently to my spool and pulled at a venture,
not knowing whether or not the bird was on the nest. As
the sky was somewhat overcast, I had set the shutter for one
second, trusting that the snipe might be dozing on the nest
and would not move. Then I silently tiptoed over to where I
could learn my fate. There was the blessed snipe at her vigil,
facing the camera, head low and bill resting on the ground.

She made no move to start till I was within ten feet of her,
when she fluttered reluctantly away and dropped down on
the bank close at hand, beside a spruce thicket, where she
lay flapping her wings much as does a nighthawk under
similar circumstances, reiterating the familiar “ scaip ” note,
that every gunner knows. Then for half a minute she lay
still, as though dead, but soon stood up, ran a little way, and
flew quickly off. So tame was she that she returned to the
nest in my verv presence, before I was ready for the next
shot. Driving her off, I set the shutter again and took my
station under a spruce about twenty feet away. In just four
minutes I saw her alight near by, and in another minute she

232

WILD WINGS

had settled down upon her eggs, this time side to the camera.
A steady ])ull on the string gave me a splendid timed expos¬
ure, the bird not moving at the click of the shutter. Alter
being flushed again she would not return for a while, but
I hnally got two more pictures before a shower started us
back for the boat, myself delighted that I had succeeded,
probably for the hrst time in history, in photographing Wil¬
son’s Snipe from life. Episodes like this are what, to my
mind, make camera-hunting the finest of all sports. There
are still many birds and mammals which have never yet
been photographed. But even when a species, as such,
has been photographed, there is well-nigh as great a held
remaining as in human portraiture after the hrst man had
been successfully photographed !

In 1900, during a boating-trip to these islands, I happened
upon a locality where, along with Piping Plovers and Spotted
Sandpipers, there was quite a colony of Ring-necked Plovers,
evidently breeding. These plovers, so common upon our Hats
and beaches during the migrations, breed, usually, in the
arctic regions, but here they were, at the southern limit of
their range. Two parallel sand-bars connecting two “ islands ”
here form between them a natural canal or lagoon over a mile
in width, with sandy shores, and grassy dunes between these
and the outer sea-beaches. The plover-ground was on the
eastern shore of this lagoon. Numbers of the pretty plovers
kept trotting along the sand in front of us, evidently anxious
about their nests or young. These, unfortunately, we were
unable to discover, owing to lack of time to prosecute the
search. The fact of seeing a young Piping Plover led me to
believe that the more northerly species also had young.

I'pon my recent return to the Magdalens, I made it a point
to devote a whole day to this localitv. It was the very same
time of year as before, the twentieth of June, clear, and almost

Wilson’s snipe on nest, “a splendid timed exposure

NORTHWARD WITH THE SHORE-BIRDS 235

freezing cold. A blustering northwest wind lashed the bays
into white-caps and made the lobster-boat skim along the
wide lagoon like a shearwater. We first landed on the side
opposite the plover resort, where was a series of ponds simi¬
lar to those of East Point, where we hoped to find a variety
of shore-birds. Numbers of Least Sandpipers were feeding,
singly or in pairs, along the margins of the lakelets, with
a few of the Ring-necks. It was so cold that I had fairly to
run to get warm, after the cold sail in the boat, as I beat
about in hope of flushing a sandpiper, snipe, or wild duck
from its nest. One of the comjDany came racing and puffing
after me, saying he was having a hard time to catch up. All
we found was the nest of a Horned Grebe out in some reeds in
quite deep water. It seemed natural on such a cold day to
see a flock of Common Crossbills feeding among the spruces.

We ate dinner behind some sand-dunes above the beach,
and then scjuared away for the home of the plovers, some
two miles over the sparkling water. As we approached, we
were sorrv to see several men and boys with pails walking
about over the stretch of sand and grass, followed by an
angrv companv of hovering terns. They proved to be French
fishermen, gathering eggs for food. The Ring-necked Plovers
were here, as before, running anxiously about along the
sandv margin, and I feared that we were too late. When the
men showed us what they had found, I was glad to see that,
besides the terns’ eggs, they had taken but one set of four
eggs of the Piping Plover.

It occurred to me that these fellows might aid us in our
search. Thev could not speak a word of English, and I
imagine that their French dialect was none of the purest.
However, we unlimbered our college French as best we
could. Each sally brought forth a roar of laughter from the
rest of the party, as the air became redolent with phrases

236

WILD WINGS

about “ les petits oeufs.” Finally we made the Frenchmen
understand that we would give them ten cents for every plov¬
er’s nest — not Spotted Sandpiper’s — they would hnd us.
It did not take long to begin. One of them soon shouted
and beckoned. We hurried over, and, sure enough, there
was the first nest of the Ring-necked Plover that I had ever
seen, with four handsome eggs, more pointed than those of
the Piping Plover and much more heavily marked, resemb¬
ling in that respect terns’ eggs. It was just up from the
wide sand-fiat shore, at the edge of the sparse grass, a mere
hollow in the sand with a few straws laid around it. The
owners were trotting around on the fiat or flying back and
forth, uttering their familiar alarm-note. While we were
photographing this nest, the Frenchmen found another
a little farther back among the dunes, and thus they kept us
busy — photographing and handing out dimes. One of our
party also discovered a nest of the Red-breasted Merganser,
containing six eggs. It was situated in the thick grass of
a marshy depression. The bird, in leaving, had drawn the
grass skilfully over the eggs.

Meanwhile another friend had found and caught a young
Ring-neck, a cunning, little striped thing that could run like
a witch. Presently, farther along, I also captured a plover-
chick belonging to another pair of the birds. These were
so extremely solicitous, as they limped and fluttered about,
that I conceived an idea which I at once put into j^ractice.
Tethering the youngster to a blade of grass out on the dry,
open sand, to keep it from running away, I sat down with
my reflex camera not more than two or three paces from
the young bird. Then I had some camera-shooting that was
worth while. Both the plovers were pattering close around
me. M'hen they came together, I would get them both on
one plate.

NORTHWARD WITH THE SHORE-BIRDS 237

Owing to the wind and cold, the chick needed brooding,
and the devoted little mother was not slow to respond. In
a few moments, hnding that I kept still and did not hurt her,
she came up and nestled down on the sand close beside her

RING-NECKED PLOVER AND YOUNG. “THE LITTLE FELLOW SCURRIED IN
UNDER THE MATERNAL BREAST ”

darling, and the little fellow scurried in under the maternal
breast. Now and then she ran off, but soon returned, stood
beside the chick, and then cuddled it some more. Meanwhile
I was working the camera assiduously, photographing her
and her mate in all sorts of attitudes, securing thereby an
uncommonly interesting series of eighteen pictures — and
using up my last plate.

WILD WINGS

238

It is dang^erous for the camera-hunter in such a rich game-
country to be without reserve plates. This I realized keenly
enough when, as we sailed back, away out in the middle of the
lagoon, we ]:)assed close by a mother Black Duck, with her
brood of eight small ducklings, all bravely paddling for the
rather distant shore. We, too, were shoreward l)ound, though
on a longer voyage. The cold beam wind drove us on, and
when the western sky was ros}" with the sunset, we rounded
the bold red-sandstone promontorv, soon to wade ashore and
with hapjoy talk of the successful day’s excursion, encum¬
bered with big boots and cameras, trudge to the fisher’s
cottage up on the wind-swe]3t headland of the cold Northern
isle, with its bare slopes and stunted spruces.

NEST ANU EGflS OE RING NECKED PLOVER

AMERICAN OYSTER-CATCHER ON NEST

CHAPTER XIV

SHORE-BIRD LOITERERS

Thou call'st along ihe sand and haunt' st the surge.

Dana.

SOMEHOW shore-birds in their very nature seem to
belong to the far North. This, of course, is but the
imagining of a New Englander accustomed to see
them mainly as swiftly moving travellers, advancing persist¬
ently toward the arctic or fleeing reluctantly before its cold.
Their quick movements, restless manner, and great powers of
flight all fit in with their impulse toward the frozen barrens,
until one feels the boreal in their very aspect.

Yet there are species, equally capable of extended flight
with this hardy majority, whose members are content with

240

WILD WINGS

Southern shores and summer sands. Hence there is no
secluded sea-beach or marsh from Texas to the polar sea
but what may provide for the bird-lover or sportsman the
exhilaration of the mellow, piping whistle of some shore-
bird voice and the sight of nimble forms racing with the
waves, or, on quick-beating wings, circling out over the
water. To me such a shore is a hundred-fold more interest¬
ing than those which man has preemjjted with his tinsel
hotels and their accessories. The margin of the sea with
real shore-bird possibilities is a distinct type of its own ;
I can tell it at a glance, and often travel far to enjoy it.
To the shipwrecked mariner it is a cruel desolation, but to me
it is an insjjiration and delight. To hnd it in all its varieties
I have journeyed to the north where chilling winds and ice-
cold waves lashed the stern prohle of the land, and wandered
south where soft zephyrs and tepid waters offered their blan¬
dishments.

One of the loiterers which has particularlv interested me is
the American Oyster-catcher. It is a striking sj^ecies, nearly
as large as a crow, — indeed, it is sometimes locallv called
“Sea-crow,” — with conspicuous black and white plumage
and a large, red, knife-shaped bill. I have seen it at its best
on the outer Sea Islands of the Carolina coast. There it is
found on nearly every lonely beach with its area of shells,
seaweed, and dry sand above the reach of the tide. Especially
dear to it are the tiny islands which at high water are nothing
but narrow strips of hummocky sand, almost washed over
by the waves in ordinarv times, and inevitably in storms.
Late in Aj^ril, or in early May, the female scratches a hollow
on the highest mound of sand and deposits large spotted
eggs — not four, as do most shore-birds, but only two, like
the buzzards that wheel overhead, or the Red-tailed Hawk
that nests back in the forest.

SHORE-BIRD LOITERERS

241

We anchor the yacht well off and go ashore in the flat-
bottomed tender. No sooner do we land than we see two or
four of the Oyster-catchers pattering along ahead of us. Then
a pair take to wing and dash by us, at some distance, across
the sand and out over the water, uttering piercing cries that
call up floods of shore-bird memories. Everywhere we go we
shall have oyster-catcher company, until we leave the place.
The eggs are lying exposed to view on the open sand, hatched
largely in the daytime by the warm southern solar rays. They
are not hard to find, if only one traverse the sand-bar faith¬
fully and keep his eyes always alert.

Except in the breeding-season, the Oyster-catcher is a most
wary bird, and even at that time it is shy enough. To photo¬
graph it is a matter of extreme difficulty. It will not allow

NEST AND EGGS OF OYSTER-CATCHER

242

WILD WINGS

one to approach it, and as for placing a camera at its nest, it
will seldom go near the nest in the daytime. At times I have
set the camera and waited for hours for the forlorn hope.
Once, however, I was successful, and I shall narrate the man¬
ner thereof.

On one of these island sand-bars 1 had discovered the two
eggs of an Oyster-catcher in a hollow of the sand. We were
to anchor there overnight, and I was ardent to achieve a
photographic feat which I believed had never been accom-
])lished. The only thing to be done that night was to place
a small pile of driftweed close to the nest, to accustom the birds
to it. Morning came, clear and hot. First I removed the j^ile,
placed the camera there upon the carrying-case, and carefully
focused it on the eggs. Then I covered it up with the cloth
and with the debris, trying to make everything look about
as before. Two hundred jDaces away was a great drift-log of
pine. My long spool of thread, attached to the ready shutter,
would just reach it. We dug out a slight hollow in the sand
close alongside of the log and behind it, in which I lay flat,
my head raised on my large camera so that I could just peer
over the log. I had on a brown hunting suit, matching well
with the bark, and my companions, bes]:)rinkling me with
sand to heighten the deception, left me and embarked upon
the vacht, as though the whole party had gone. In one hand
I held my opera-glasses ; the thread was handy, and 1 began
mv vigil of broiling on the blistering sand under the brazen
Southern skv.

The decejotion was complete. The birds saw the party off
in approved ovster-catcher stvle, and then, relieved of all
anxietv, settled down to their usual ways of life. They fed
along the beach a bit, l)nt breakfast had already been served,
and they were not hungrv. Soon thev trotted u]d on the dry
sand and took their station about thirty yards from me. They

SHORE-BIRD LOITERERS

243

preened their feathers ; now they stood lovingly side by side ;
then they walked around a bit, came within ten yards of me,
tripped over the thread, continued their stroll, then came back.
Now and then one of them, probably the female, would patter
down to the region of the eggs, to see that they were all right,
and then run back to its mate. As they trotted around me,
they seemed to gaze at me intently, and yet apparently did
not realize that I was anything more than another piece of
wood.

This was all very ]:)retty, but I was becoming terribly un¬
comfortable. My neck felt at the breaking point, my back
sore, and my skin fairly broiled, yet the Oyster-catcher seemed
to have no thought of incubating during the livelong day. An
hour and a half jDassed slowly by, when the bird took another
run and happened to go close by the camera. For the first
time she noticed that something unusual was there. She ran
off and brought her mate, and the two looked the thing over,
and plaved hot and cold, as they say. Finally the female
seemed to think that the eggs might be getting cooked in
the sun, and that she had better shade them a bit. She went
almost to them, and ran away from the dreadful lens. This
was done half a dozen times, and then what did the pair
do but saunter off to the other end of the island ! I feared all
was up with mv little enterprise. But after some moments
the mother bird came j^addling back. I was so far away that
I could not see the eggs, but when she squatted down close
in front of the camera, I knew she must l:»e over them. Just
as I started to pull the string, her fears overcame her and off
she went. It took ten minutes more of manceuvring before
she again took her position upon the nest-hollow, side to the
camera. As quicklv as possible I drew the thread taut. At
the click of the shutter she leaped in terror, and away she ran
with her mate far from the danger. The game was up, and

244

WILD WINGS

I returned to the yacht and set sail, but I confess to a pardon¬
able pride in the fruit of that endeavor.

On that same sand-bar was another pair of Oyster-catchers,
but I could find no nest. When I returned a week later, —
the middle of May it was, — some hunters, who had just been
ashore there, told me they had seen a large young Oyster-
catcher running about, had caught it, after a hard chase,
and then had let it go. This was at night, and next morning
I thought I would find and photograph the youngster. Two of
us hunted that strip of barren sand from end to end without
being able to detect a sign of the object of our search. \Vhere
could it be ? There was not a blade of grass to hide it, nothing
whatever, and we had examined, we thought, every foot.
Once more we canvassed the ground, with the same result.
We were back almost to the point of the bar, off which lay
the yacht. There were still fifty yards of smooth, wet sand,
absolutely bare, — no, except a little insignificant wisp of drift-
weed at the water’s edge, as big as my hand. Of course it
was of no use to walk farther. But somehow it came into my
head to go out and look at that seaweed. Lo and behold, if
there did not lie the young Oyster-catcher flat on the sand,
absolutely motionless ! The bird was about as large as the
seaweed, and it was as pretty a piece of hiding as I had ever
seen.

The young rascal never moved a feather while it was
being photographed. But when I thought to take it stand¬
ing, we had a long, hard tussle. Finally I conquered by sheer
persistency, putting my cap over it and removing it sud¬
denly, to snap. When I let it go, it was comical to see
those long, stout legs measure off the rods over that sand
toward its fond parents, apparently shouting, — in gesture,
if not in voice, — “ Mamma, mamma, here ’s your little
oyster-cracker coming like a good one.” The whole per-

SHORE-BIRD LOITERERS

245

formance completely upset the gravity of our company,
and the climax was reached when the next morning I com¬
plained that my head was so sore I had hardly slept. Our
medical member was amazed that a man who had gone bare¬
headed for an hour in that blazing sun after a South Caro¬
lina “ oyster-cracker ” should be surprised that his head
was sore !

On the same beaches with the Oyster-catcher we shall find
the Wilson’s Plover, a demure little fellow, gray above like
the shingle on which he runs, with a dark band across his
white breast. There is nothing spectacular or assertive about
him, as with the big Oyster-catcher. He blends well with the

YOUNG OYSTER-CATCHER

WILD WINGS

246

cjLiiet of the summer sea and the gentle Southern zephyrs,
with which his ])laintive and not consj^icuous mellow flute-
note harmonizes in the pleasing and quieting andante maes¬
toso. Superflcially he is close of kin to the Semipalmated
Plover, our familiar “ Ring-neck,” and at first glance might
be mistaken for it. But closer acquaintance dispels the illu¬
sion. There is less of dash and restlessness in this Southern
“ Ring-neck,” else he too might seek the arctic with his
cousin. Coloration, too, conforms to this impression of charac¬
ter, in that blacks are modulated to grays. The bill, though,
is larger, tracing a line of special kinship with the large
Black-bellied Plover, or “ Beetle-head.”

Wdiile the eggs of the Oyster-catcher, owing to their size,
are rather easy to find, it requires careful searching to find
those of our little plover. Singularly they are but three,
though the allied Ring-neck and Piping Plover lay four, —
another hint at his general moderation of temj^erament. The
nest-spot is merelv a hollow scratched in the dry shingle
above the beach, usually where there are pebbles and shells,
sometimes, however, under a weed or low shrub. In marking
and coloration they blend wonderfully with their surround¬
ings, and one must look sharp to see them. I remember well
finding the nest with the usual three eggs on a stretch of
gravelly shingle on a sandv key off the coast of South Caro¬
lina, and having occasion to find it again to photograph it,
in a hurrv at that, as the party were im]:)atient to proceed on
the cruise, I found myself for quite a while completely baffled.
I should have given up, but for the exasj^eration at my blind¬
ness which made me determined to find it. When my eyes,
at length, separated the eggs from the stones, I realized that
I had passed it a score of times.

One of mv prettiest experiences with my sedate little friend
was when cruising among the Florida Keys. We had landed

SHORE-BIRD LOITERERS

247

upon one with a shore of shell-sand, having seen from the
vessel that behind the fringe of mangroves along the outer
beach was a little lake. An occasional flutter of white wings
made us all the more curious. The sight which greeted us as
we peered through the low mangrove bushes was one I would

NEST AND EGGS OF WILSON’S PLOVER

go far again to see. On a projecting point of the sandy shore
was a colony of about fifty pairs of the Least Tern. The
females were incubating, and the males preening their feathers
on the sand near by or along the margin, their pearl and
white plumage showing off prettily against the pulverized
shells and the lapping water. Scattered here and there were
little gray Wilson’s Plovers quietly feeding along the shore
or resting on the sand. Out in the shallow water, conspicuous

WILD WINGS

248

bv their position, on long, stilt-like legs, stood several birds of
a kind I had never seen before in my life, another Southern
loiterer, the Black-necked Stilt. How gracefully they waaed
about, probing the muddy bottom for worms or mollusks with
their long, sensitive bills ! A hock of small migrating sand¬
pipers, probably the Semipalmated, were also feeding along
the edge.

Of course the terns’ nests were easily discovered, hollows
in the sand, quite near together, usually containing two eggs.
But it took considerable searching to locate four nests of the
plover, now out on the sand, then in the shelter of a weedy
clump or under the thin shade of the straggling mangroves.
At the very outset we stumbled upon a nest of four eggs of
the stilt, and presently found another with three. They were
each in the sand back a little from the water, the hrst by the
curious, spreading root of a red mangrove, the other near
some weeds. The hollow in each case was prettily lined with
bits of shell and a few weed-stems. I wish I could have
stayed there alone to study and photograph these pretty
life-scenes. The presence of a party of men talking and
tramping around throws birds of such timid nature into
a state of panic. One needs to be somewhat of a hermit in
taste to get the most and best out of such surroundings. Yet
we are social beings, and the thought of life alone on a lonely
key in Barnes’s Sound, scores of miles from human aid,
persecuted day and night by horrid swarms of venomous
insects, is not altogether attractive.

There is a class of shore-birds intermediate between the
boreal and south-temperate extremes of their order. Though
not reaching the far north, they yet penetrate within the
Canadian boundary, and also breed far south, as well as
at intermediate points ; such are the Long-billed Curlew,
the Great Marbled Godwit, the Bartramian Sandpiper or

SHORE-BIRD LOITERERS

249

Upland Plover, the Killdeer Plover, the Spotted Sandpiper,
and the Willet. I shall here write of only the last two of
these comparative loiterers, because I have secured life photo¬
graphs of them.

No shore-bird is more widely known than the Spotted

Sandpiper, or “Teeter,” the little bird that frequents the
farm, and lays its four pointed eggs among the crops, being
satisfied with any watery margin, whether it be of brook,
pool, lake, or ocean. I have found almost numberless nests,
from the far south to the Magdalen Islands, in all sorts of
situations. Especially on small islands, indifferently on fresh
or salt water, they breed in what amounts to scattering colo¬
nies, dozens of pairs to a few hundred acres. Place the camera

WILD WINGS

250

by a nest and in a few minutes the mother will come timidly

back and allow you, if you
keep well out of sight, to
take her picture by thread
or bulb-release process. The
young are quaint little
things, and will be found
scurrying before one in
most unexpected places,
their fond mother showing
great solicitude for them.

And the Willet — what a
singular piece of self-asser¬
tion in the bird-world he is,
at least in the nesting-sea¬
son ! The name of “ Humility,” by which the species is often
locally known, seems ironical at that time. I have studied
Willets by pools on the Western prairies, on marshes of the
Canadian Maritime Provinces, on marshes and islands of
the Southern coast, and find
it ever the same. No sooner
does one approach the
boundaries of the great
tract which it has preempted
for nesting or for the feed¬
ing of its young than one
or both members of the
pair dash aggressively at
the intruder, angrily shriek¬
ing out its “ yelp, yelp, pill-
willet, pill-willet.” Each bird
alights upon the qround or

' * WILLET. “l INVEIGLED HIM INTO

some stake or stub, watch-

SPOTTED SANDPIPER SETTLING OVER EGGS

ALIGHTING

WILLET ON NEST

SHORE-BIRD LOITERERS

253

ing, and never stopping its scolding. Then, with redoubled
outcry, it dashes off again for another furious onslaught. If
one can handle a reflecting camera deftly, here is a fine
chance for a picture in flight. On a marsh of a \drginia coast

NEST AND EGGS OF WILLET

island I secured a fine series of Willet pictures by placing
the camera on the tripod under a bush, focused on the top
twigs of a stub upon which I noticed that the angry Willet
repeatedly alighted, and hiding well off in the grass with
the connecting thread in hand. Of course the provoking
bird would alight on some other stub or go off, and require
further stirring up on my part. But during the afternoon I

254

WILD WINGS

inveigled it into alighting half a dozen different times where
1 wanted it to and when I was at the end of my thread and
ready, which was more than I could have expected of the
obstreperous creature.

d'he climax was capped in my Willet hunting when, on a kev
oft the South Carolina coast, I came upon a breeding colonv of
these birds. For several miles there was a rather narrow ridge
of dry sand, with frequent clumps of grass or weeds, between
the sea on the one hand and the marsh on the other. Sev¬
eral of us traversed this strip systematically, and every few
minutes a Willet would flutter out of a clump almost at our
feet, and disclose the frail nest of grass and the four hand¬
somely marked, drab-olive eggs. During that day we cer¬
tainly found ftfty or sixty nests, and that by covering only
a small fraction of the territory.

In some instances we saw the birds before they flushed.
They would then sit very close, believing themselves fully
concealed by the vegetation. One such I photographed at
close range, focusing the camera upon the tripod within two
feet of her, and taking timed exposures. These of course were
not wholly satisfactory, as the bird was largely hidden. Not
a stalk could be touched without flushing her.

In some cases I tried opening up nests and visiting them
after the owners had returned. Thev became timid and self-
conscious, hardly allowing an aj^jrroach within twenty feet.
After great trouble I secured a coiqDle of not wholly satisfac¬
tory exposures at long range. It was not till I tried the last
nest, just before we were to sail away, that I found the Willet
tamer, allowing me to secure a series of timed exposures with
my large lens within six feet, which amply repaid me for
all the eflort I had made and the hot miles I had tramped.
Resting on the deck, as the favoring wind filled the white
sails and wafted me on to other new and exciting camera-

SHORE-BIRD LOITERERS

255

hunting, I watched, with pleasing thoughts and day-dreams,
the isolated sands of the productiv^e key — with its willets,
oyster-catchers, plovers, sandpipers, terns, and pelicans —
fade away in the distance.

Wilson’s plover

Part V

3^aptorQ ant) jTorcst jFastnrsscs

In a spot that tics

Among yon moiDitain fastnesses eoneealed,

Yon unit receive, before the hour of noon.

Good recompense, I hope, for this day's toil.

Wordsworth.

NEST AND YOUNG OF MARSH HAWK

CHAPTER XV

THE NEW SPORT OF “ HAWKING ”

A pair of faicons, wheeling on the wins^.

In clamorous agitation, round the crest
Of a tall rock, their airy citadel.

Wordsworth.

The annual sj^ring hunt for hawks’ nests appeals to
me as a sport bv itself, a unique excitement that
stirs the blood with a peculiar thrill. It begins
when the woods and helds hrst emit their spring fragrance,
to which one’s blood, stagnated by indoor toil, responds
with new bounds of life. It means strenuous, yet joyous.

26o

WILD WINGS

activity, driving-, tramping, climbing, amid the wildest wood¬
land tracts and forests, always on the lookout, every nerve
and sense attuned. So much woodcraft and knowledge
of the wild things’ habits is involved that success gives
a splendid satisfaction. Having found the nest, one may
climb the tall tree, — often at some risk, — examine, and
photograph the nest, eggs, and young, and, most difficult
of all, the parent birds, and subsequently study their habits.
The ancient “ hawking,” where people rode around with
a tame hawk or falcon and let it fly at a poor lumbering
heron, to see it torn to pieces, was no sport at all, in com-
|3arison.

When living in southeastern Massachusetts I was accus¬
tomed to hnd over thirty nests of hawks and owls — mostly
the former, and not including the colonizing Ospreys — each
season. Each nest involved a separate hunt, and it meant
hundreds of miles of rough exploration, but it was perfectly
splendid sport.

My method of ferreting out the hawks of a given territorv
is to begin in late autumn, when the leaves have fallen, and
explore the region thoroughlv, noting especiall-v the groves
or tracts of large timber and the presences of old nests —
platforms of sticks in the forks of tall trees. These trips
serve for needed outing and exercise all winter. A few of the
hawks remain about their old haunts throughout the vear,
and in early spring the absentees return. The continued
presence of hawks in or about certain woodland tracts is
a good clue, especially if they can be detected carrying
building material.

When the nesting-season arrives, I visit the likely spots,
and with an opera-glass criticallv examine everv nest in sight.
Unlike the owls, hawks more commonlv build their own nests,
though they frequently add to an old one, or even use a leafy

THE NEW SPORT OF “HAWKING”

261

squirrel’s nest as a foundation. They are apt either to use
their last season’s nest or build another near it. There is
a peculiar appearance about a new hawk’s nest. Only sticks
are used, except for the inside lining. In the old nest the
material is rotted and matted together ; in the new each stick
has an individuality, and stands out from the rest. Often the
ends of the sticks are newly broken, hence light in color, and
there is a general look of freshness about the whole. Best of
all signs, in most cases, though not always, some shreds
of downy feathers cling to the occupied nest, or to the branches
near it, — more and more as incubation advances.

A blow or two on the tree-trunk will often banish doubt by
starting the incubating hawk, but it is well to make as little
noise as possible. Some individuals are exceedingly shy, and
will not await a near approach. One Red-shouldered Hawk,
whose nest I used to visit, would leave the nest and flit
silently off as soon as she heard me coming. It was only
by extreme stealth that I could catch even a fleeting glimpse
of her. To pound trees indiscriminately would drive away
all such birds long before the seekers came within sight of
the nest. On the other hand, occasionally, and notably on a
rainy day, the hawk will not move a feather for all the pound¬
ing one can do. To obviate the need of pounding the trees,
and as more sure to flush the sitting bird, I have often used
a rubber sling-shot, and a pocketful of small pebbles, which
last can be replenished by the roadside. Many a fine hawk
have I seen leave the nest in a hurry, even when the stone
did not strike its mark, but simply whizzed by. It is often
puzzling to know when it is best to climb to a nest. All we
can do is to look sharp for signs, and act accordingly. I used
to climb whenever in doubt, but after ascending about a thou¬
sand tall trees for nothing, I am now content, in most cases,
to await further evidence.

262

WILD WINGS

Now let us go “ hawking.” Middle April opens the season,
when the Red-tailed and Red-shouldered Hawks have just
laid their eggs. It is the twelfth this time, and we start out
early from North Middleboro, Massachusetts, in the buggy,
behind my s]Deedy little mare. Never was there a more beau¬
tiful early spring day. The songs of Robins, Bluebirds, Song
Sparrows, Pine Warblers, the newly arrived Chipping Spar¬
rows, and others hll the air. Barn and Tree Swallows add
grace to the quiet scenery of the gently rolling landscape of
the Pilgrim county. The loud honking of a passing wedge
of Canada Geese on their way north rings out now above the
other sounds.

Our hrst quest shall be the huge nest of a Red-tail on an
enormous white pine on the edge of a swamp, to which on
the twenty-second of March I happened to see the hawk Hy
with a stick. We drive up the sandy old New Bedford turn¬
pike, three miles or more, to North Lakeville, near the tack
factory, and turn down the lane to the old abandoned ” her¬
mitage,” where we hitch the horse and follow a path. It leads
almost to the tree, and there is the nest. Now watch while
I pound, and start the hawk. Nothing stirs. Is it possible
that I was mistaken in my former observation? No, there
she spreads her wings, and away she goes over the tree-tops!
A good sixty feet it is, and no branches near the base, so
the climbing-irons must be buckled on. Shall I guess at the
contents of the nest? Three eggs. For a wonder I am right,
for the Red-tail in New England seldom lays more than two.
Meanwhile the female has returned and is protesting. Her
harsh screams have been compared, not inaptly, to the squeal¬
ing of a ]3ig, — ” pee-eh-h, pee-eh-h-h,” they sound like, to
me. The male has heard, and he follows, though rather far
off. It is fascinating to sit here in the sun and see them soar,
but we must be off to other adventures.

THE NEW SPORT OF “HAWKING” 263

Now we will drive a mile west and try a pine grove, where
a pair of Red-shoulders always nest. The Barred Owls that
used to breed here have gone, but the hawk proves constant.
There goes one of them from near the last year’s nest. It
is an easy climb of thirty-hve feet, plenty of limbs, a regular
step-ladder pine. Not an egg is yet laid ; this particular
pair is habitually later than the others that I know of. Some
of them are already incubating their sets, but in this case,
judging from past experience, the eggs will hardly be all
laid before the twenty-hfth. There will be three or four ; the
Red-shoulder is more prolihc than the Red-tail.

Last year another pair of Red-tails had young in a pine
swamp away out beyond Lakeville Precinct, and probably
have nested there again ; so we will drive out there over that
narrow road where for miles we see but one house. Here is
the pasture where we will leave the horse ; the nest is just
across the edge of this swamp on the border of a clearing.
Almost entirely blown down ! Then we must search the big
tract through, separating and working systematically in
parallel lines. It gets tiresome, but let us not give it up.
“ There she goes,” — did I hear a shout ? Yes, and the hawk
is sailing over my head, just above the trees, and, wheeling,
her tail, dull red above, flashes in the sun. You did well
to see that nest almost hidden from observation in that
unusually thick pine, again sixty feet from below. And
how much wilder she was than the other, to leave the nest
at the first rap ! There will not be three eggs this time, only
the usual two, but beautifully spotted. We are more than
satisfied as, under the lengthening shadows of the woods, the
horse fairly flies toward her bin of oats.

In western New England in the hill country, the Red-tail’s
favorite nesting-site is on some tall chestnut or oak growing
from the foot of a steep, rocky declivity a little way up from

264

WILD WINGS

THE CLIMB TO A RED-TAILED HAWk’S NEST

“my friend climbed”

the base of a mountain. The rocks rise so abruptly that often
the observer can walk very near the nest, and not infrequently
see into it. On the sixteenth of a recent April I visited a
fine tract of old deciduous trees on a side hill where I had
seen a pair of these hawks so frequently that I was assured
of their nesting. Hardly had I entered the grove, halfway
up the hill, when I noticed a nest on a tall chestnut, but so
far below me that I found myself gazing upon the back

THE NEW SPORT OF “HAWKING”

265

of a great hawk as she sat upon the nest. Our glances met,
and she instantly flew. The hollow of the nest concealed the
contents from view. A week later I returned with a friend,
and climbing-irons. The hawk flew as we neared the nest.
My friend climbed and found two eggs, while I took a pic¬
ture of the nest and his descent from it.

The Red-tailed Hawk builds the largest nest that is ordi¬
narily found in the woods, yet individual nests vary. The
one just mentioned was so flimsy an affair that I should have
dismissed it without further thought, had I not seen the
hawk. The year before, in fact, I passed it by, when it was
undoubtedly occupied. It was very unlike the first one that
I found, near the village of Middleboro. I was searching
a tract of very tall pines, when, on the border of a wood road,
I saw an enormous bristling mass of sticks, very high up,
the sight of which instantly quickened my pulse. A stick with
which I tried to strike the tree broke off in my hands at the
first attempt. But the great Red-tail above heard it, and
sailed off gracefully as a fleecy cloud. How I hurried up that
tree, and then gazed and gazed at the two large eggs that
lay in the slight hollow of that great platform nearly a yard
across, on a slight lining of moss, bark, and pine twigs ! This
bird was not demonstrative, but after circling and sounding
the usual harsh squeal for a few moments, departed, followed
by a few angry crows.

Consistency seems to mark the whole career of this red¬
tailed tribe. The bird is big, lays big eggs in a big nest, and
that earlier than any other hawk. For convenience’ sake w'e
look for the nests of the Red-tail and Red-shoulder at the
same time, but in fact the former is fully a week ahead, on the
average. I have even known of incubated eggs being found
in the last week of March, when snow was on the ground,
and the weather quite cold.

266

WILD WINGS

It is well known that each pair of raptorial birds preempts
its own private hunting-preserve, from which it tries to
exclude all others that might create troublesome competition.
But there are curious exceptions. Smaller hawks of other
genera are frequently allowed to nest near by, though not
verv close. Now and then smaller species of the same genus
are, apparently, not deemed dangerous enough rivals to be
driven off. I have known Broad-wings to nest in the same
woodland tract with each of the two larger species. Never,
though, have I found two pairs of the same species — save
the social Ospreys — nesting near together. Perhaps marital
jealousy has something to do with this. In some instances
I have known two pairs of the Red-shoulder to nest not far
apart on opposite sides of a road. Probably neither of them
crossed the road into the other’s territory.

It is worth noting that hawks and owls of the same size
often share the same haunts, both for nesting and for hunt¬
ing. Interesting, too, is the fact that the Red-shouldered
Hawk seems to fraternize with the Barred Owl, while the
Great Horned Owl and the Red-tail are in the same way
associated.

I must confess to a feeling of partiality for the Red-shoul¬
dered Hawk, probably because I have for years lived on
intimate terms with the species. In Middleboro and sur¬
rounding towns there were ten pairs that I used to look up
from year to year, and a number of others with which I had
casual acquaintance. As time went on I discovered that most
of these hawk families had a distinct individuality.

My prime favorites were the “ Dean Woods” pair, noisy,
not so shy as some, building a large new nest each year near
the old one, forty-five feet or so up some white pine. They
always had four large eggs, distinctively blotched, so that
I could have told them from the eggs of any other pair. The

THE NEW SPORT OF “HAWKING”

267

“ Crocker Leonard ” pair were shy, tenacious of their adopted
pine grove, nesting rather low, and laying late. My “ Mur¬
dock Street ” pair were the first of the season to breed,
having eggs usually by the fifth of April. They built high

YOUNG RED-SUOULDERED HAWK (FLORIDA)

up, and had much of their white down clinging about the
nest. Then there was the “ Hermann ” pair, the shyest of
them all, but which atoned for their lack of cordiality by
laying three most beautifully clouded eggs each season. My

268

WILD WINGS

“Pine Street” pair were the bold ones. When I climbed
to the nest the female would hover close to my face and
menace me with her claws, making such a hubbub that
once a companion, who was waiting outside the pine swamp
in a buggy, thought I must be plucking the hawk ! The
“ Raynham ” pair near Taunton had acquired the haj^jyv
faculty of laying litters of hve — a rare gift for the species.
And thus the gossip might continue about the affairs of
other hawk households.

Occasionally I have appropriated a young hawk — of this
or other kinds — as a pet. To prevent the infliction of unin¬
tended cruelty, let me say that young raptorial birds should
never be kept in a soft nest, but on something similar to their
home nest, which they can grasp with their feet, else their
legs will become paralyzed. They require raw meat, but
clear, soft butcher’s meat alone, lacking lime, will eventually
cause rickets. In the natural state they eat their prey in
junks, — bones, and fur or feathers included, — which indi¬
cates the proper diet.

By the end of the first week in May, in New England,
another group of hawks have completed their layings, and we
must start out afresh to observe the Marsh Hawk, Cooper’s
Hawk, and the Osprey, in their respective haunts. Hardest
of all the hawks to locate is the Marsh Hawk, because it
nests on the ground in tangled swamps, protected by thick¬
ets, weeds, or briars. The swamp tracts in southern Massa¬
chusetts are so dense and interminable that, though I knew
of various pairs of Marsh Hawks, after many vain endeavors
I almost despaired of finding a nest. But at last a hunter
told me of a larch swamp near Precinct Station, Lakeville,
where a pair had bred for years. The swamp, though very
wet and dense, was only a quarter of a mile in diameter, in
a hollow between hills, and there was a chance of being able

CAPTIVE RED-TAILED HAWK IN THE ATTITUDE OF WATCHING FOR PREY

larches, the ground being very wet and spongy. The very
first bird to appear was a fine white male Marsh Hawk that
flew hurriedly out of the swamp, and returned now and then
high in the air to see what success I was having.

THE NEW SPORT OF “HAWKING” 271

to explore it thoroughly. My first visit was on the eleventh
of May. Pulling up the tops of my long boots, I struggled
through the dense fringe of alders on the edge, and emerged
in a rather open area of long grass, low bushes, and stunted

CAPTIVE cooper's HAWK

272

WILD WINGS

There was nothing to do but to beat through the tract
systematically, and I went at it with a will. Back and forth,
round and round, I plodded. I was soaked by falling into
bog-holes, and perspiration ran in rivers. At the end of three
hours I was deliberating an inglorious surrender, when sud¬
denly from the grass and bushes about ten feet from me, a
little to one side, up sprang the female Marsh Hawk. What
a fuss she made, Hying back and forth over me within easv
gunshot, and keeping up an incessant screaming and cack¬
ling. I hastened forward. The grass was matted down on
the south side of two small larches in a rather open spot.
The bird had built a slovenly nest of coarse weed-stems and
grass, flat on the ground. It contained two dirty-white eggs,
unspotted, the set being still incomplete.

Next season I did not get to the swamp till May twenty-
ninth. I had another long search, until hnally, as I was away
down at the other end of the tract, the female began to fly
around in evident anxiety. It was for a time a game of “ hot
or cold.” When the hawk relaxed her efforts, I knew I was
on the wrong track, and as she grew more excited, I knew
I was making progress. At length I came upon a nest simi¬
lar to the first, containing five young, in various stages of
growth, one apparently just hatched, and the oldest several
times as large ; the eggs must have been laid by the end
of April. This time Mrs. Hawk fairly outdid herself. I had
brought a youth with me to help patrol the swamp, and
he really thought the bird would scratch his eyes out. She
dived frantically at our heads, scratching at us with her
claws. Once or twice she actually struck me. Indeed, I know
of a man who was driven out of a berry-pasture by one of
these hawks, which doubtless had young in the bushes. Next
year my harriers nested again near where I first found them,
and there were five fresh eggs on the thirtieth of April.

THE NEW SPORT OF “HAWKING”

273

By May tenth it is the height of the nesting-season for the
Cooper’s Hawk. This species is preeminently the most
destructive of the raptorial tribe in the United States, though

NEST AND EGGS OF COOPER’S HAWK IN CROTCH OF CHESTNUT

if the Goshawk were more common it would deserve the
palm. It pounces upon every living thing it meets that is
not too large for it. Ordinarily wary enough, its dash and
boldness in pursuit of prey are amazing. Not long ago a
gentleman called to me as I passed along the village street,
asking me to come to his hen-house and see a hawk that was
after his chickens. It was a Cooper’s Hawk, as I had antici-

274

WILD WINGS

pated, and there was the rascal, well up in the air, circling
about with alternate soarings and a series of quick flappings.
Despite the fact that two men were working right there, and
had a gun close at hand, no sooner would they get to work
with saw and hammer than down the hawk would dash and
snatch a chicken within a yard or two of them. Twice or
thrice it had tried, but the men had rushed at it and made it
drop the chicken. For twenty minutes I held the gun while
the men worked, but the hawk kept its distance. Then, as
I could not wait, I stood the gun against the coop and started
off. In a moment, hearing a commotion, I turned and laughed
right out to see the fierce bird flopping over the ground with
a chicken in its claws and a big man, shouting and gesticu¬
lating, making such a rush that the hawk, seeing that it was
about to be caught, let go the chicken — which was unin¬
jured, save for a slight scratch — and was off. It alighted
on a tree, and I followed with the gun, but it was too wary
for me.

The situations chosen for the nest are usually tall, slender
trees in groves or woods. In Plymouth County, Massachu¬
setts, it selects a pine, in western New PZngland usually
a chestnut. I have never found it lower than thirtv feet from
the ground ; usually it is from forty to fifty. The nest is
large for the size of the bird, a great rough pile of sticks. It
is very characteristic of the nest that it is unlined, save with
scales of rough bark, which would seem to be almost worse
than no lining at all. But the hawk doubtless knows what it
wants.

My earliest date for eggs of this hawk was the twenty-
seventh of April. It was a raw, threatening day, but I drove
away off to the eastern edge of Middleboro to explore
new country, where hawks had been seen, and to go through
a great cedar swamp. Nothing whatever was found, and to-

the tree, I expected to see a Red-shoulder flop leisurely off.
Instead something’ left the nest with a dash and a whir, as
though it were a projectile shot from a gun. This was typ¬
ical of Cooper’s Hawk, but it was so early in the season that
I could not feel assured of the bird’s identity till I found my¬
self gazing at the five bluish-white eggs, marked with a few
sparse brown spots, and heard the familiar “ cac-cac-cac ”

THE NEW SPORT OF “HAWKING” 275

ward night, on the way home, passing a pine grove, I hitched
the horse and went in, following a high ridge, pine-clad, that
ran through the woods. On one of these trees, overlooking
the steep ravine, I saw a fresh nest of good size. As I struck

SAME NEST AS LAST, WITH YOUNG

WILD WINGS

276

from a distance in the pines. Then I drove home with the
eggs in a raging, late, wet snowstorm, cold, white, but not
“ white- washed.”

Lisually these hawks are silent and retiring when their
nesting haunts are invaded, but on occasion they can be
very vociferous. A pair once advanced to meet me, as I went
through a grove in East Taunton, Massachusetts, one twenty-
fifth of May, Hitting from tree to tree and scolding at me with
all their might. Suddenly they disappeared. There were a
dozen old nests about, and I could not decide which to climb
to, so I withdrew for a while. I went farther than I intended,
and it was nearly dark when I got back. It was not until
I rapped the very last tree that the hawk whirred off into
the gathering gloom. There was the nest fifty feet from the
ground, up a slender pine that had no limbs, save rotten stubs,
until one almost reached the nest. I confess I dreaded the
climb alone there in the dusk, but I made it, and found five
big, dirty eggs, well incubated, the second set of Cooper’s that
I had discovered that day.

It was with the Cooper’s Hawk that I first made de¬
monstration of the fact that the wildest hawk can be photo¬
graphed upon the nest, if sufficient time be taken, and proper
methods used. It is hard enough to photograph a hawk’s
nest from an insecure perch in a lofty tree, but it is as
nothing compared with doing so when the adult bird is
upon it.

In the present instance I found a new nest in a hemlock
tree, in some mixed woodland, forty-two feet from the ground.
After the eggs had all been laid for some days, I began work
bv nailing up low in a near-by tree a small box with a round
hole in one end and a cloth over it, in rude imitation of
a camera. The hawk was so shy that she would ffy even
before I came within sight of the nest. I gave her about

THE NEW SPORT OF “HAWKING”

277

a day to study the instrument, and then screwed it about
five feet above the nest, pointed down at it. When I came
again I rejoiced to find she had not deserted. So I replaced
the box with the real camera, focused and made ready, and
covered it with the same cloth.

This done, I attached to the shutter my long, strong thread,
dropping the spool end to the ground and laying out the line
of communication to a bower which I had previously built
under some thick hemlocks, as far away as I could see the
nest through the trees, where I hid myself, lying flat on
the ground and peering through a loop-hole. For half an
hour all was silent. Then the hawk began her clatter near
by, flitting nervously from tree to tree. After a while she

cooper’s hawk incubating

THE WILDEST HAWK CAN BE PHOTOGRAPHED UPON THE NEST

278

WILD WINGS

suddenly darted on to the nest and I made the exposure,
without causing her to fly. It would have been successful,
save that, in setting the camera, I had accidentally exposed
the plate, and so had a double picture. A subsequent at¬
tempt was entirely successful, though the hawk almost found
me out, for she alighted close above my head and kept
me lying face downward for ten minutes without moving
a muscle, while the swarms of mosquitoes were doing their
worst.

Since then I have learned that hawks — notably the larger
kinds — seem to know when a person has not left the woods,
and will often refuse to approach the nest until one has really
gone. The best way to deceive them in such a case is to take
a companion to the spot, get well hidden, and then have the
other noisily withdraw.

The magnificent Osprey, or Fish Hawk, is another species
which, in the latitude of New England, lays its eggs in early
May. Osprey “ hawking” is very different from what I have
been describing. Nests are often jDlaced in solitary trees on
open land near water, sometimes close to a house, as is the
case in southern New England. I have seen one on the cross¬
piece of a telephone pole, and they have been built on chim¬
neys or other strange places. The nests are usually enormous,
and it is frequently very difficult to get above to photograph
them. Meanwhile the old birds will sometimes menace one
in the most ferocious manner, though I nev^er knew one
actually to strike. They generally lay three eggs, rarely four,
very heavily and strikingly marked.

I have also studied Ospreys on various parts of our South¬
ern coast, where they nest in pineries or swamps, often in the
vicinity of nests of the Bald Eagle. They are often tame
enough to alight on the nest when one is standing beneath it,
and many a camera-shot have I fired at the hovering birds.

THE NEW SPORT OE “HAWKING” 279

Somehow, though, it is by no means as easy as it looks to
obtain a large, sharp, first-class picture.

The aforesaid Bald Eagles are much harder subjects for the
camera. Their nests are huge, and usually high in monster
trees, and the owners are always difficult of approach. They
nest very early in the season, in Florida even the year before,
one might say, — about December, — so that I have always
come too late even to find young.

Coming now to our late breeders, the Broad-winged Hawk
is about the same size as the Cooper’s, but in form, habit, and
movements is very much like the Red-shouldered. Some¬
times it soars about uttering a peculiar shrill whistle, which
a German friend of mine, who was a great hawk-hunter,
and had a pair of these hawks on his farm, thought was
a “grieved note,” as he called it, of the female Red-shoulder,
deprived of her eggs. But presently his birds quieted down,
and, selecting an old nest in a pine grove near by, soon after
the middle of May rejoiced in the prospects afforded by two
smallish brown and lilac spotted eggs.

Two eggs is the usual number at one laying, though I have
found three. And though May twentieth is the standard
date for the full set, it is sometimes earlier, for I once found
a nest in a low pine on May fourth with one egg, and the
set of two, which I examined on the ninth, had probably
been completed by the si.xth. This same pair the next sea¬
son made a nest in a pine a few yards away, only nineteen
feet from the ground, in which were three eggs. When dis¬
turbed, the female gently flapped off a couple of gunshots,
and, alighting in a tree, motionless and silent, awaited the
departure of the intruder.

Another nest of Broad- wings which I found was in a most
picturesque spot, in Kent, Connecticut. A large mountain
brook leaps forty feet over a precipice in some dark hemlock

28o

WILD WINGS

YOUNG SHARr-SUlNNED HAWK, RAISED FROM THE NEST

woods, and goes roaring down a series of cascades. On the
seventh of Mav, as I was following up the brook along the
cascades, a Broad-winged Hawk dew out from some tall hem¬
lock and deciduous trees bordering the brook on the other
side, and circled three times over me, in a rather threatening
manner, I thought, returning then to alight in a tall oak,
where it sat quietly.

I was convinced that the bird was nesting, so I crossed the
brook by a bridge farther up, and reached the spot. The
hawk was not to be seen, but I saw an old squirrels’ nest,
forty feet up a chestnut-tree, that had some fresh sticks laid
across the top, which made me confident that the hawk was

THE NEW SPORT OF “HAWKING

281

rebuilding' this nest. It was not until the twenty-fifth of May
that I returned, in a pouring rain. As I expected, the bird
was on the nest, her head raised to watch the intruders. A
blow on the trunk made her flap slowly off. She alighted in
a neighboring tree, and kept uttering her shrill, high-pitched,
whistling scream, flying now and then to circle a bit, and
alight in another place, never far from home. I found that
the nest was the usual rude structure, a layer of sticks
added to the squirrels’ nest, and a lining of leaves and bark,
in which lay two of the most beautiful eggs I had ever seen,
the white background being heavily blotched with rich
brown, giving the eggs a strong resemblance to those of the
Sharp-shinned Hawk, except for their larger size. The whole
scene — the handsome eggs, the hovering bird, the woods
dark in the storm, and the wild, thundering cataract close by
— takes its place in my memory as one of uncommon
grandeur.

Few happenings in “hawking” please me more than
finding the nest of the little Sharp-shinned Hawk. It is
a neat structure of clean new twigs, without any lining
whatever, usually well up a slender evergreen tree of some
sort, in the woods. The birds are very jealous of intrusion,
and will sometimes thus betray the vicinity of the nest. One
thirteenth of May as I passed through a grove of young
pines with a fellow naturalist, a pair of these little hawks set
up a tremendous outcry, and even swooped at us, as we
went peacefully along the cart-path. This set us to search¬
ing, and very soon I climbed to the nest, and found it com¬
pleted, the eggs not yet laid. Two weeks later I took the
beautiful set of four, despite the angry dashes of the mother,
and much to the joy of the farmer whose chicken-yard,
close by, had been almost depopulated by the pestiferous
little raptors.

282 WILD WINGS

xA.nother year a young friend, wishing to please me, set out
alone to find a hawks’ nest. I lent him my buggy, and he
drove many miles, returning empty-handed, as I expected.
He reported that he had not seen a sign of a hawk, nothing
but some birds about the size of Robins that had made a
great fuss and swoo]Ded at him, in a thick pine grove. There
were two nests built of sticks close by, high up in the
trees. Climbing away up to one, he found it empty, and in
vexation departed, exclaiming, “ You ’re no hawks, nothing
but Robins ; you can’t fool me ! ” Next day. May eighteenth,
I drove there with him, ten miles from home, and a mile
down a logging road into a swamp, where I had him climb

“A BROOD OF TINY SHARPSHINS IN THEIR NEST”
TAKEN FROM ITS SITE

THE NEW SPORT OF “HAWKING” 283

to the other nest, from which one of the “Robins” had
flown as I rapped the tree, and in which, much to his surprise,
he found hve Sharp-shinned Hawk’s eggs !

A recent P'oiirth of July was very pleasantly passed by
a mountain lake in Kent, away from the noise of man, but
close to the heart of nature. The pleasantest part of it all
was when, astride a branch forty feet up a hemlock, on the
mountain-side overlooking the beautiful lake, I played with
a brood of tiny Sharpshins in their nest, downy little fel¬
lows, no larger than newly hatched domestic chickens. Their
mother was not so bold as some, and remonstrated only
vocally from a distance. The nest contained feathers and
bones of small birds, and yet, presently, just under a neigh¬
boring tree, where I sat to watch the hawk, a beautiful Black-
throated Blue Warbler and a pair of Canada Warblers were
gleaning insect food for young, unmindful of “ sharpshins ”
which were liable at any time to be felt and to make orphans
of their children.

I will conclude this description of the hawks in their wild
fastnesses by some account of their resorts as I have found
them in North Dakota. In various explorations in strips
of timber along the shores of lakes and rivers, in early May,
I have found the Red-tailed and Cooper’s Hawks bleeding
abundantly, with the Swainson’s and Sparrow Hawks getting
readv to do so. The Red-tail here is the geographical race
or subspecies called Krider’s Hawk, but it is essentially our
old friend of the East. About every half-mile along the
Goose River — wonderfully crooked, as are all prairie streams
— I found a huge nest high up in some enormous tree, usu¬
ally an elm, seldom less than eighty feet from the ground.
I wanted to see the eggs of Krider’s Hawk, yet did not feel
equal to such terrible ascents. Fortunately I met a sailor,
who was glad enough to go aloft from that flat prairie, — in

WILD WINGS

284

consideration of a dollar, — and climbed to two of the nests,
from each of which he safely brought down three large white,
spotted eggs. One tree gave him such a dangerous climb
that he did not dare to descend by climbing-irons alone, and
he sat up in a crotch until I could secure a rope at a distant
farmhouse. The female in each case left the nest as we
approached, and the pair circled about overhead with the
same harsh squeals to which I was accustomed.

I found the Sparrow Hawks very common in most of the
timber-belts that I visited, as well as in the extensive forests
of the Turtle Mountain country. One or both of the pair will
be seen perched on some bare limb, and not far away is the
hollow they have chosen for their nest, usually a rotted-out
knot-hole. Early in June, if not before, the female deposits
her four or hve brownish, finely speckled eggs, and then the
pair become more solicitous over intrusion. The female
darts from the hole, when both birds fly about and scold
angrily. The eggs, though always of the unmistakable
l)rown type of the Falcons, vary a good deal. In one very
curious set that I secured by the Sheyenne River, two of the
eggs are almost round and a little irregular, looking a good
deal like small potatoes.

The Swainson’s Hawk is a typical bird of the prairies,
a large, heavy creature, slow but graceful in flight. It is one
of the commonest sights to see it soaring over the prairie,
especially if there be timber near, or standing on a knoll or
a fence-post. It is the tamest hawk of my acquaintance, and
it will often allow one to drive, or even walk, very close to it.
Many an isolated tree, even though but a few feet high, bears
a bulky nest that looms up miles away as one traverses the
plain. I have also found the nest in clumps of bushes. In
the many that I have examined, the number of eggs has been
from two to four, usually three. The female sits on them

PAIR OF SPARROW HAWKS IN CAPTIVITY

THE NEW SPORT OF “HAWKING” 287

quite persistently, but on a close approach flies out and
circles in the usual buzzard-fashion, uttering harsh screams
that remind me very much of the notes of its relative the
Red-tail. I once apjDroached a nest whose owner was more
disinclined than usual to leave it. She looked down at
me over the edge, but would not fly until I struck the tree
several times. Then, before I could climb, she returned to the
nest, though it was but thirty feet up. I expected on my last
trip West to be able, without much trouble, to photograph
these hawks on their nests. Probably this could be done ; but
I found so much to occupy me that I could not take time for
the attempt.

Though Swainson’s Hawk is very common in Dakota, I
think that the first rank in abundance must be conceded
to the Marsh Hawk. One cannot travel far on the prairie
without seeing the long-winged bird with a band of white
on its rump quartering about low over the ground, now and
then suddenly dropj^ing into the grass to catch a gopher, or
perhaps an insect.

The best place to find their nests is in the grass just up
from a slough, or even away from water in a depression of
the prairie, in coarse grass where water has formerly stood.
At times I have roamed for scores of miles without finding
a nest. And then again, when I have happened upon a favor¬
able locality, it was the easiest thing in the world to discover
them. The nest itself is inconspicuous, a mere little rim of
grass and weed-stems, though again, when built on wet
ground, quite a platform of the same material is constructed.
One Memorial Day a friend and I were taking a tramp on the
prairie, and came across a little alkaline lake, with mud¬
flats, and, up from its edge, patches of dried weeds. I flushed
a Mallard in one of these latter from eleven almost hatched
eggs, and, singularly, only a few rods away, a female Marsh

288

WILD WINGS

Hawk, when closely approached, also started from her nest,
with three newly hatched young, clad in yellowish down, and
three eggs not yet hatched. Across on the opposite shore of
the pond, not a quarter of a mile away, we put up another
Marsh Hawk from six half-incubated eggs.

A few days later, the third of June, we had a wonderful
experience with the Marsh Hawks. Driving eight miles from
camp, we searched two closely adjoining sloughs, in all a ter¬
ritory about a mile square. Not to speak of numerous ducks’
nests, and others, we began by flushing a Marsh Hawk,
about ten yards from us. Her odd family consisted of two
young, three normal eggs and one small runt, six in all.
Shortly after this, one of my companions, coming out into
the slough to see a Sora’s nest that I had found, discovered
another Marsh Hawks’ home in the meadow grass where
there was a little water. It held six young and was necessarily
quite a structure, measuring eighteen inches in height and
thirty across. Plodding out into the next slough, another
Marsh Hawk made some fuss over a nest I did not take the
trouble to hunt up. At the farther end of this slough I found
two more nests, only a few rods apart, the first with six eggs,
the other with four young and an addled egg. As we
drove home, the dogs, ranging out on the prairie, started still
another hawk from its scant nest in a little depression, with
four eggs. I took pictures of several of the nests, and, all in
all, it was preeminently a Marsh Hawk day.

A fine, striking raptor of the prairie is the Ferruginous
Rough-legged Hawk. No one can well mistake it, with its
light breast and white tail, as it soars about. In disposition
it seems much like the Swainson’s Hawk, being rather quiet
and not particularly shy, though it is a very solitary bird, and
retires more and more into the wilder parts as the countrv
becomes settled. Like the Swainson’s, it builds large nests on

THE NEW SPORT OF “HAWKING”

289

trees in timber-belts or isolated patches, but it is also partial
to ground-building on the slojDes of rocky knolls of the prairie
from the central parts of North Dakota westward. In either
case, when the nest is approached, the owners hover and
scream with considerable boldness and vigor. The eggs are
laid early in the season, about the hrst of May, — the laying¬
time here also of the Red-tail, — and are from three to hve in
number, usually handsomely marked specimens.

On the Memorial Day just spoken of, I saw an interesting
nest. It was in an oak back from a lake, about forty feet from
the ground. From far out on the prairie I could see the
head of the female sticking up over the edge. Away she
went, spreading her white tail, as we drew near, and mani¬
festing her displeasure as long as we remained. Part of the
time she flew back and forth just over the tree-tops with
angry screams, and then she would rise in the air and soar
with her mate. There were five young, picturesque indeed,
as were their fine white-tailed parents and the beautiful sur¬
roundings.

I was also privileged to see one other raptorial bird in
Dakota that I had never seen before. Though I had occa¬
sionally seen the Bald Eagle in the East, circling, or perched
on some tree, usually near lake or river, the majestic Golden
Eagle was a stranger to me. One day I was shown a splen¬
did specimen alive that had been caught in a trap, and not
long after that, early in June, as we were jogging along over
the wild prairie, uninhabited by man, away up near the Mani¬
toba boundary, I saw an enormous bird sitting on the ground.
We drove toward it, and got near enough for a good view
with our glasses before it flew. Spreading its great wings, it
majestically flapped into the air. After a little upward flight,
it extended its wings to their full length, and without another
effort, simply soared in circles, up and up, until it actually

290

WILD WINGS

could be no longer observed in the zenith by the naked eye.
It was the Golden Eagle, noble of form and majestic in flight.
The whole scene in its impressiveness suggested to me the
upward course of the human soul from things low and sordid
to wisdom, strength, and purity, to eternal heights as yet
bevond our ken.

YOUNG RED-TAILED HAWK

“ FOR SOME YEARS A PAIR OF BARRED OWLS NESTED IN THE CAVITY OF AN OAK

CHAPTER XVI

OWL SECRETS

The night-owl, hushed and tranced, hates
Its cfy, and in the darkness zuaits.

Stephen Henry Thayer.

CLOSELY related to the sport of “hawking” is that of
“ owling.” Indeed the latter is properly a department
of the former, and in some measure is to be carried
on along with it. It is really much the more difficult of the
two, for the owl has the faculty and habit of so closely safe¬
guarding its secrets — its domestic affairs in particular —
that, to the enthusiastic bird-lover or camera-hunter who

292

WILD WINGS

keenly craves a thorough knowledge of the whole avifauna,
the success of the owl in eluding him is simply maddening.
Indeed it is so hard to find an owl’s nest that one would need
“hawking” — if for no other reason! — to hll in between
times and provide sufficient stimulus to keep one’s enthusiasm
from flagging.

Owling differs also from hawking in that each recurring
season it ushers in the nesting of the birds, and with it the
sport with the raptors begins. The owls are as early as they
are hardy. In fact the last of the owls to lay its eggs — the
Screech Owl — has done so by about the time that the earliest
of the hawks are beginning their family cares. The Great
Horned Owl is the first of all the birds to nest. Think of the
hardy mother, on an open platform of sticks in some tall tree
of a hillside forest, brooding her eggs in February, — some¬
times even Januarv, — the raging blizzard heaping up the
snow around her and on her back, or on the clear, cold nights
when the mercury has fallen far below zero I

Another difference between these allied sports is one of
method. In part, to be sure, the methods of each are iden¬
tical. But owls are so comparatively scarce that merely to
search the woods for them would be very unrewarding. The
best clues to their whereabouts are secured through their habit
of hooting. One may rest assured that somewhere near any
locality where owls are habitually heard to hoot they will nest
when the proper time comes, though to find the nest is quite
another matter. My habit is to drive or walk out, beginning
in Januarv, on mild, muggy afternoons toward dusk, along
roads bordering favorable woodland tracts. It is notable that
owls are particularly inclined to hoot at dusk, more so as
the nesting-season approaches, when there are indications of
storm, especially rain. At such times, if there are any owls
in the vicinity, the listener is very likely to hear what will

OWL SECRETS

293

thrill him with joyous enthusiasm. In case one does not hear
the owls for himseli, it is well to inquire of farmers or woods¬
men and ask them, if they hear any in the future, to make
note of the exact spot whence the hooting seems to issue.

Sometimes, toward the end of a lowering winter afternoon,
I drive along a road near the village of Kent that approaches
Leonard Mountain on the north side, and stop to listen. After
waiting awhile, at length I hear, issuing from the hemlocks
halfway up the steep declivity, a baritone voice mellowed by
distance, giving an impression of power and wildness. There
are three syllables : the first is prolonged and tremulous ; the
others follow quicker and shorter, yet not without delibera¬
tion, — “Whoo-0-0; whoo, whoo.” I need not the reminder
of the song to

“ Listen to the hooting of the Great Horned Owl.”

At intervals of a minute or two the cry is repeated, with some
intermissions, usually ceasing about at dark, when the fierce
creature “bates its cry,” lurking silent and watchful for prey.
And meanwhile, from another spot farther along the moun¬
tain, another voice of softer timbre is heard, the answering
cry of the smaller male bird. These hootings are almost
invariably followed by stormy weather, and the owls are
recognized as an excellent “ farmers’ almanac.”

Toward the end of Februarv these cries proceed nearly
every night for a week or more from one locality well up on
the mountain, and here it is that the nest, a rude platform of
sticks, upon some fine old hemlock, is being repaired and
the two white eggs laid. Again and again I have carefully
located these cries up on old Leonard Mountain, and tried to
reach the place whence they proceeded, only to wander along
the precipitous ledges through the wild forest maze. Though
I have often been successful in other woodland tracts, it is

WILD WINGS

294

not for me to assume what the Psalmist attributes to the
Creator, — “I know all the fowls of the mountains.”

Because the doings of the owl are shrouded in mystery and
his ways almost past finding out, the spell of the secret things
is upon me and has inspired many a wild ramble, aggregating
thousands of miles. My earliest searchings for the mysterious
owl were in and around the outskirts of Boston. Ever mem¬
orable was my first view of an owl in nature. It was many
years ago, a cold, blustering morning in early March. Trav¬
ersing a frozen cedar swamp on the shore of Hammond’s
Pond, Newton, my heart fairly bounded as I came right upon
a tiny little Acadian or Saw-whet Owl lying prone upon a
spreading cedar bough just over my head, sound asleep, —
pretty, cunning creature !

Only a few owl episodes in those days were vouchsafed
me, — a glimpse of a Long-eared Owl one fall in the same
swamp, mobbed by crows ; a nest of the Great Horned Owl
in Canton, with one quaint, fuzzy youngster ; one of a Barred
Owl in Sharon, deserted before the eggs were laid ; another
Barred Owl prowling in a Brookline orchard ; a Snowy Owl
on the Back-Bay marsh one winter ; a Short-eared Owl on
Thompson’s Island, Boston Harbor ; a red Screech Owl in
the outskirts of Brookline ; these treats were about all. But
subsequent residence in old Plymouth County, with its many
fine groves of tall pines and its lonely swamps, and more
recently among the rugged Taconic Mountains of western
Connecticut, together with various expeditions north, west,
and south, have furnished far more extensive opportunities
for acquaintance with owl secrets, especially with those de¬
partments, most recondite of all, the nesting of owls and the
photographing of them from life.

As I think how delightfully owling and hawking some¬
times converge, I love to recall a day when a friend and

OWL SECRETS

295

I were rounding up our Red-tail nests. It was the twelfth
of April, late in the day, and, after some successes, we had
driven up a wood road to the borders of a swampy tract of
very tall white pines on the borders of Lakeville and Taun¬
ton, Massachusetts. On one of the tallest of these trees, nearly
eighty feet from the ground, a pair of Red-tails had built, the
preceding year, an enormous nest, which we hoped again to
find occupied. Here it was, at length, larger, apparently,
than ever, and from it fluttered the telltale down. Four
resounding blows of a club upon the thick trunk rang out ;
then was heard a commotion up above, and out flapped a
great bird with a big round head. I could hardly believe my
eyes. It was not the expected Red-tail, but a Great Horned
Owl ! And there were the white egg-shells under the tree,
which, with spattered droppings in a circle around the base,
betokened the presence of young.

Neither of us could ascend the tree, but my companion
mounted the next one, which had limbs, some eighty feet,
whence he could see the young owls huddled together.
Meanwhile the mother owl — for only one appeared — gave
a most interesting entertainment. She flew uneasily from tree
to tree, sometimes going off for quite a flight, to return in
a circle to the same spot. Keeping for the most part about a
gunshot away, she occasionally came quite near, sometimes
balancing for a moment on the tip-top twig of a tall pine,
until it settled down beneath her weight.

It was an entertainment of sound, as well as of sight. Con¬
spicuous above the hubbub of the mobbing crows came the
impressive sepulchral tones of the owl. Sometimes it was
a single hoot, — “ Whoo-o ; ” again it was two of these notes,
repeated rather deliberately ; then it would be one prolonged
note and two quicker and shorter, as heard from the moun¬
tain. Another frequent note was a single soft cooing sound.

296

WILD WINGS

quite dove-like, — “ 00-0-0-0,” — with no aspirate quality.
Still another was the guttural, laughter-like cry, — “ waugh-
whoo-o,” — more like the sounds uttered by the Barred Owl
than any of the other notes. Comparing the cries of these
allied species, aside from the hooting of the Barred Owl
being more prolonged, the tones of the latter are sharp and
metallic, startling in their resonant qualities, while those of
the Great Horned Owl are rich, deep, and mellow, sounding
much softer close at hand than those of the other, yet audible
at a great distance.

A week later I conducted to this nest another friend who,
aided with climbing-irons, managed to ascend the tree. Two
downy young occupied the nest, and they were in no imme¬
diate danger of starvation, for three rabbits and a mouse,
{partly eaten, remained piled up on the edge of the nest for
their support. This time it was cloudy, and the old owl de¬
parted while we were yet some distance off, and did not
again show herself. A month later the young could be seen
roosting out on the branches near the nest. A miscreant,
who noted mv visits to this spot, shot the owlets, and had the
audacitv to try to sell them to me to mount !

The Great Horned Owl is found in scattered pairs in this
region, but the Barred Owl is rather more common. In west¬
ern New England, however, this order is reversed. Here, as
in Plymouth County, the Great Horned Owl is apt to use the
abandoned nests of the Red-tailed Hawk, which, in this case,
are almost invariably in chestnuts or oaks, while there they
are as regularly in pines. In western New England the owl
also nests in the hemlock tracts on the mountains, probably
using any old nest of scjuirrel or crow.

The owls are all early breeders, and the Barred Owl comes
in as a close second to the Great Horned. Though these two
species are often confounded under the common title of

OWL SECRETS

297

“ Hoot Owl,” they are entirely distinct. The Barred Owl is
a trifle the smaller, lacking the conspicuous ear-tufts or
“horns” of the other, with dark iris instead of yellow, and
plumage very differently shaded and marked. Its eggs are
laid by, or soon after, the middle of March. Both kinds
are quite tenacious of a locality, unless disturbed, but the
Barred Owl is, I think, the more so. One can find a pair of
them in the same woods year after year, though the nest
may have been repeatedly plundered, or one of the birds
killed. In the latter case the survivor secures a new mate
and maintains the family estate and traditions.

The Great Horned Owl does not often now, in southern
New England, nest in hollow trees, but the Barred Owls
prefer such a location, if indeed they can find a hollow large
enough in our much-devastated forests. If they cannot,
they usually patch up some old affair of hawks’ or squirrels’
construction, generally in a tall pine in a thick, dark grove.
Slovenliness is inbred in owl nature. They do whatever is
easiest, and it is easier to lay the eggs in the bottom of a
hollow on the soft decayed wood than even to fix up a squir¬
rels’ nest.

For some years a pair of Barred Owls nested in the cavity
of an oak where a branch had been torn off only twelve feet
from the ground and the wood had rotted out. This was in
a strip of mixed woodland, just back of the main street of
the pleasant little village of North Middleboro. I used to
hear the owls hooting, but somehow could never find their
home, though I scoured the whole region. But one bright
afternoon, the eleventh of April, as I was up a tall pine
examining the nest of a Red-shouldered Hawk, I heard
the prolonged hooting of the Barred Owl. Starting in search,
I happened to pass the hollow tree, and thoughtlessly gave it
a kick. Such a thundering, scrambling, whirring sound issued

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WILD WINGS

from within the old shell, that in my surprise I almost fell
over. An absurd monkeyish face appeared at the entrance,
and away went the great brown creature that I was in search
of. Scrambling up, I could just reach the three eggs at the
bottom of the hollow. They were very dirty, being advanced
in incubation, and were stained with blood from the claws of
the predacious bird.

This enticing nest recently nearly caused the death of a
friend, an ardent ornithologist, to whom I had revealed the
owl’s secret. Reaching in to get an egg, he slipped, and, his
arm becoming wedged in the bottom of the narrow slit, he
hung there alone for an indehnite period, no one responding
to his cries for help. Finally the arm became disengaged,
and he fell exhausted to the ground.

This pair of owls were always loquacious, and would some¬
times “ talk back ” to a human intruder hidden near the nest.
Our conversations of “ whoo-whoos ” have afforded me the
rarest amusement. The female was the one glib of tongue,
and she would launch out on splendid flights of eloquence
in reply t(^ mv inquiries as “to-whoo” she was and “who’s
who.” '

A favorite haunt of this species is in groves of tall pines.
In one such grove of about ten acres in the town of Lake¬
ville, a pair were for vears domiciled. I first discovered them
bv hearing of a farmer who the previous vear had discovered
a large young owl that had fallen from the nest. Under his
guidance I found the tree, but, as we reached it, I noticed
another platform of sticks fifty feet up a neighboring pine.
Two things about it were significant, — a large piece of gray
down clung to one of the sticks, and from the nest protruded
a brown stubby thing that I felt sure was the owl’s tail.
Blows on the trunk of the tree failed to produce any move¬
ment above. My companion was sceptical as I began the

YOI NG BARRED OWL FROM NESTING HOLLOW SHOWN IN PRECEDING PICTURE

OWL SECRETS

301

ascent ; but when I was fifteen feet up, silently and hurriedly
the owl left the nest and went out of sight to the other side
of the grove.

At last I was up the dizzy height, and before me lay an
old squirrels’ nest, an aggregation of sticks and leaves, the
top of which the new occupants had hollowed out quite
deeply. Here in a soft bed of leaves and owl-down were
three eggs, — the usual complement o.f this species, though
it is often but two, — white, as are all owls’ eggs, nearly
spherical, and about the size of eggs of domestic fowl.
Though it was “April Fools’ Day,” the owl had not been
able to deceive me and prevent the discovery of her secret.

These eggs were appropriated for purposes which I con¬
sidered more important than those of the owl. Two weeks
later, to a day, on a bright morning, I was gazing upward
under that tree, looking in vain for the stubby tail. But there
it was on the last year’s nest, in a very slender jDine, at about
the same elevation. Backing oft' to see the owl move, while
the farmer knocked vigorously at her tree door, at length
I observed her very slowly raise her solemn face above the
edge of the nest, and, with fixed gaze, try to stare me out
of countenance. This time she was even tamer than before.
I stopped climbing only when my head was just below the
level of the nest. There was the brown barred tail projecting
within easy reach. Why not catch the owl ? But the thought
of a struggle in the tree-top with the great raptor’s beak and
claws forbade.

Probably never again shall I witness at such close quarters
the scramble of a large owl from the nest, for this tameness
is unique in my experience. First she rose to her feet with
a quick start, and almost simultaneously leaped into the air,
spreading her wings as she did so. The branches were rather
thick, though there was an opening, and the owl in her

302

WILD WINGS

excitement struck her wings against the obstruction, almost
falling back. With owls, as with men, “ haste makes waste.”
She had but two eggs, and the body of a mouse lay in the
larder, as provision, doubtless, for the mid-day repast. This
time, as I approached, the husband and father was on guard
near the nest. He was not as brave as his mate, — the usual
story among raptorial birds, — and flitted on ahead, a few
rods at a time, alighting high up in the pines, back toward
me, then facing around to stare and “ whoo ” his usual
interrogatory.

Another pair of similar habits resorted to a grove of spe¬
cially large pines just out of Scotland village, in the town of
Bridgewater. Mv first acquaintance with them was made one
ninth of March, when I saw a tail projecting from a nest,
sixty-si.x feet from the ground, and at one blow on the trunk
drove off the owl, evidently preparing to lay. Though
robbed of their eggs everv year bv a friend of mine, the pair
remained faithful in their attachment to this fine grove, and
probably raised a Iwood from their second laying each year.
Once the second set of eggs was discovered in an open
hollow on the top of a dead stump. That time they had
three eggs, though two is usually all they can produce at
the second attempt.

It is not true that the large owls nest only in the deep
forests. They prefer, indeed, a very retired location, but in
many sections such cannot be found. So, as a matter of fact,
they are likelv to select some grove of old, large timber on
the outskirts of anv rather lonely farm. Of the two species
alreadv mentioned, the Barred Owl seems to be the less re¬
tiring in haunts and habits.

It is easv to remember what owls one is likely to find nest¬
ing in New England. There are two large ones, two medium,
and two small. The two big ones have just been dealt with.

OWL SECRETS

303

and we will now consider the two medium-sized fellows, but
only briefly, as I ha^'e not been able, as yet, to photograph
them in the East. They are the Long-eared and Short-eared
Owls. The latter is a bird of the open marshes, particularly
on the seacoast, and is not at all plenty, save as a migrant.
I have never seen its nest in New England, though it is
known to breed at places where I have been, such as Martha’s
Vineyard and Chatham. But in autumn I have often flushed
it singly from marshes or bushy tracts along the coast, and
sometimes inland.

The Long-eared Owl is much more common and breeds
regularly in pineries and cedar swamps, but it is so retiring
that it is largely overlooked. Few naturalists have ever heard
its hooting. Early one morning, years ago, I heard a long-
drawn, wailing cry, twice or thrice repeated, that seemed to
proceed from a cedar swamp, near the Weld farm. West
Roxbury, Massachusetts. Investigation revealed a Long-eared
Owl roosting in the dense cedars, the probable author of the
sounds. In such situations I have often found them, and
there they sometimes breed, as, indeed, they did in this par¬
ticular swamp, with the Night Herons, though they often,
perhaps usually in New England, choose tall pines, content¬
ing themselves with an old nest.

No owl’s nest, save that of the Screech Owl, perhaps, is
harder to find. The reason is that the bird usually can neither
be seen from the ground nor made to fly. As there are
hundreds of old nests in the evergreen groves and swamps,
it is impossible for the searcher to climb them all, and thus
he may pass under the l^rooding owl without knowing it. A
friend of mine, traversing a grove through which I had often
gone, happened to notice on one of the old squirrels’ nests
a clinging fragment of gray down. He could start nothing,
but finally climbed the tree, and when close up to the nest.

304

WILD WINGS

some forty feet from the ground, he was rewarded by seeing
a Long-eared Owl reluctantly leave, disclosing hve downy
owlets.

A similar incident gave me a delightful experience. Camp¬
ing on an islet in Lake Winnepesaukee early one June,
I landed one morning on Bear Island and explored a tract of
large trees, mostly hemlocks. Halfway up one of the largest
of the latter I soon espied a bulky nest of sticks, and under
it white egg-shells and droppings. Presently I was seated
astride an adjoining branch, watching with eager interest
the four half-grown owlets of this species that stood up in the
nest and with bristling feathers, angry hisses, and snappings
of their beaks menaced their unwelcome visitor. Suddenly
the mother appeared on the scene. Seldom have I heard
such an outcry from a bird throat. She hopped or flitted
uneasily from branch to branch only about a dozen feet
from me, mewing like a cat, wailing like a lynx, fairly scream¬
ing with fear and indignation, and as an interlude snapping
her bill so rapidly as to suggest the roll of a watchman’s
rattle. Father Owl allowed me only fleeting glimpses of
himself at a respectful distance, as he approached to assist
his agonized mate, only to retreat as his scant courage was
exhausted. This continued as long as I remained in the tree,
about half an hour.

Minded to have a pet or two, I returned to camp for a basket.
One of the young owls fell from the nest as I started down,
and I put it on a stub for safety from prowlers. When 1
returned in the afternoon, the youngster on the stub had
disappeared, as well as one from the nest. The female was
now as shy as she had been bold, only barely venturing within
sight. Curious to know whither the ]3arents had transported
their young, I climbed to everv nest I could discover within
a considerable radius, numbering not a few, but all in vain.

OWL SECRETS

305

ADULT SCREECH OWL. HIDING POSE

The remaining young I carried home with me. Fed on raw
meat, they grew up and made interesting pets.

There remain now the two little fellows — the Screech
and the Saw-whet or Acadian Owls — for us as “ owlers ” to
consider. The tremulous hooting of the Screech Owl is still
a common sound in rural New England, and is even heard
in towns and villages. I love to sit on my piazza of a moon¬
light night in autumn and be serenaded by one of the little
fellows from a Norway spruce near by. But though they
be ever so common, it is seldom that one is seen. Most often

WILD WINGS

306

I see them at dusk, when just out of the hole for the nightly
hunt, perched on a tree by the roadside or in the orchard.
One afternoon in early spring I was driving home at dusk,
when, hearing one of these owls, I stopped to listen. The
sound came from somewhere close at hand, but for some
time I could not locate it, until finally, looking directly up,
there I saw the little rogue within a few feet of me, peering
down and hooting merrily at me, as though in friendly ridi¬
cule.

Now and then I succeed in ferreting them out, especially
in the winter, by looking for their disgorged pellets under
holes in trees, in orchards particularly. These are owls’ “at
home ” cards. The little dignitary will very likely be found
asleep within, and can usually be pulled out unresisting. Of¬
ten he will feign death and lie perfectly limp, with eyes half-
closed. But, if not watched, he will suddenly come to life, and
be off.

It is wonderfully hard to find the nest, considering that the
little owl is so common. I have actually found more nests
of the scarcer and wilder Great Horned Owl than of our tame
little friend that abounds all about us. The eggs are laid
on the rotten wood at the bottom of a tree-hollow, wherever
a suitable one is found. It may even be right in the door-
yard, in a shade-tree on the village or even city street, or
in the orchard, as well as in the groves or forests. There
the brooding owl sits like a statue, and nothing on earth
will move her, but force. Moreover she is careful in nesting¬
time not to betray the location by droppings under her door.
When the young are hatched, the parents will bring food,
beginning at dusk, and this will sometimes reveal the secret.
A brood were raised every year in a lofty hole of a great
elm in Bedford, Massachusetts, just over the front door of
the house, and I greatly enjoyed the sight when the owls

OWL SECRETS

307

issued forth each evening to receive food and practise flying.
One of them fluttered down one night and gave us the
privilege of a closer inspection.

Sometimes one will happen upon a Screech Owls’ nest
by some fortunate chance. Two boys were walking out one
afternoon, early in May. Happening to notice a Flickers’
hole in a low stub out in a field, one of them climbed up,
put in his hand, and pulled out an unresisting Screech Owl.
They carried it home and tried to feed it on corn, — which
was as reasonable as for themselves to eat hay ! After three

SCREECH OWL. “COMING TO LIFE”

3o8

WILD WINGS

days one of them brought the owl to my home in a paper
bag. It was ev^ening, and I had just returned from a drive.
I saw from the worn plumage of the bird that she was a
mother. The boy protested that there was nothing else in the
hole, but I knew better. Next day I had him show me the
place.

As I climbed the stub, I detected the odor of decay. “ Poor
little things,” I thought; “starved!” However, 1 reached in,
and instantly something seized the end of one of my hngers,
and I drew out a puny, downy little owlet, hanging on for
dear life. Again 1 put in my hand, and had another “ bite.”
This I kept up till I had the whole brood of six. Down at the
very bottom were six or eight mice which the mother had
brought them, now badly decayed. The owlets were too
young to tear them, and evidently the father had left his
motherless children to their fate.

Taking them home, I fed them, and put them in a box with
their mother. Meat which I left was evidently fed to them all
each night by the old bird. After a few nights she escaped,
and the young were again motherless. One puny little runt
died, but the rest flourished and made very interesting pets,
which I photographed from time to time in their various
stages. One of them had one eye smaller than the other,
a deformity which I also observed in one other Screech Owl.
Two escaped and another died, but two of them are yet alive
and well, after three years of captivity.

About the only way, ordinarily, of solving the Screech Owl’s
nesting secret is to peer into everv likely tree-hollow, and now
and then one will be rewarded. One day, the thirteenth of
April, I glanced into a low hole in an apple-tree. Two bright
eyes glowed like coals at the bottom, and at length I could
make out the owl shrinking over on her side, and disclosing
three eggs, about the size of those of jDigeons.

OWL SECRETS

309

TWO OF THE YOUNG SCREECH OWLS IN FIRST PLUMAGE

On the twenty-seventh of the same month I was in a swampy
tract of large timber, in which were many hollows. It was im¬
possible to climb to most of them, but a Saw-whet Owl had been
“ whetting ” nightly in these woods, and I was on the lookout.
Finally I saw a rather large round hole in an oak, twenty feet
up, that looked so especially inviting that I climbed and looked
in. There was no Saw-whet, but on the bottom, less than a foot
from the entrance, sat a Screech Owl, in the gray phase of plum¬
age. She made not the slightest motion or resistance as I drew
her out, and examined her five eggs. All the time she feigned
death, and, when placed back in the nest, she went on with
her task as if nothing had happened.

Though I did not at this time see anything of the Saw-
whet, I was still exulting over a discovery made shortly

310

WILD WINGS

before, on the eighteenth of April. I had casually met this
owl in my rambles, but never had learned the secret of its
nesting, which is a rare occurrence in southern New England,
This day, searching for hawks’ nests in the pine woods, I came
to a clearing in which stood near together two solitary dead
pine stubs, in one of which were several holes made by the
Flicker. Arriving beneath these holes, I noticed some sort
of excrescence projecting from the stul), partly around on
the t)ther side, about fifteen feet up, and stepped to where
it could be better viewed. My heart almost stopped beating !
A round disk filled one of the woodpecker cavities. A pair
of tiny yellow eyes gazed fixedly upon me. It was no ordi¬
nary sight ; an owl, but no common Screech Owl. It had no
ear-tufts, and was much smaller, — the Saw-whet or Acadian
Owl !

There is no telling how long I stood transfixed watching
the owl, and the owl, equally motionless, watched me. But
the owl was victor, f(ir an aching neck at length interrupted
my gaze. Then I lay down on the dry leaves, and, in an
easier posture, continued to watch. All the while the owl
stared fixedly, and now and then blinked. The sun shone
strong and hot, and the bird of night was right in the glare.
Sometimes it would close its eyes, and appear asleep. But,
at the slightest movement on my part, the yellow orbs would
instantly oj^en. Finally the little creature, thinking me harm¬
less, slid back into her cool and shady retreat within the
stub.

I tried the effect of a slight noise at the foot of the tree. LTp
popped the little round head. A gentle kick on the stub made
her come part way out of the hole, ready to fly ; so I care¬
fully retreated a few paces. The owl watched me awhile, and
then withdrew, appearing again as I approached to see if
there were any droppings under the hole. There was nothing

OWL SECRETS

311

but a small spatter of dung and a single feather nearly cov¬
ered with dead leaves. Certainly it would have been difficult
to locate the bird above by any telltale signs.

For fear that the owl might desert, in case she had not laid
her eggs, and not knowing then the usual date for that event,
I decided to ascertain this from the books before further dis¬
turbing her. Leaving her to disappear down the hole as I
retired, I returned home. The scant references to the breed¬
ing of this owl gave it as occurring in early April.

It was Saturday, and, not daring to wait till Monday, at ten
o’clock in the evening I drove oh with my wife, like a pair
of owls ourselves, after the other owl. With lighted lantern
I left the team, and stumbled off into the woods. After some
blundering, — for things looked very differently in the woods
by lamp-light, — I struck the right path, and a half-mile tramp
brought me to the stub. The little head appeared, as before.
At once I set the lantern down, and began to climb. Out
flitted the silent owl, off to the edge of the woods, to alight
there.

I was soon at the hole, and, holding on by the right arm,
I thrust in the left, which had been bared. At first the hole
seemed too deep for me to reach the bottom, and foolishly,
I had brought no knife. With determination I squeezed in
the poor member, till it was almost bleeding from contact with
the rough wood. Then came a sort of electric thrill, as the
finger tips came in contact with some smooth, round objects.
It seemed impossible to grasp them, but at length, by even
more painful forcing, I managed to insert fingers under one
egg, and draw it out. How many were there was the next
question. The bird is said to lay from three to seven. Pro¬
ceeding after the same manner, I at length had five, and no
further fumbling could discover more. I could see in the dim
light that they were of a dull white color, quite round, and

312 WILD WINGS

about the size of the eggs of the Flicker or of the Mourning
Dove.

Meanwhile the owl had returned, and was perched on the
adjacent stub, some ten feet away, silently watching me, with¬
out exhibiting any token of impatience or anger. Never do
I remember a more weird experience. After eleven o’clock
on an inky night, up a tree in lonely woods, the lantern below
throwing long sombre shadows, and the spectre-like owl
watching me with glowing yellow eyes. I thoroughly enjoyed
the ghostly outlook, but it was late, and I descended. At once
the owl flew back into the hole. A parting tap brought the
disk-like face to the opening again. As I withdrew, I turned
back just in time to see the little creature sink back into her
domicile. Two weeks later I found her there, not a whit dis¬
couraged, incubating another set of four eggs.

Since then I have discovered many more “ owl secrets,”
but not one has given me more unallo^^ed delight than the
revelation of that midnight vigil on the lonely forest stub
under the glare of the yellow orbs of the smallest of the owls.

THE SCREECH OWL AND HER CHILDREN

“stared off in such an interested and spirited attitude”

CHAPTER XVII

ADVENTURES WITH GREAT HORNED OWLS

O, when the night falls, and roosts the fotvl.

Then, then is the reign of the horned owl.

Cornwall.

I AM free to confess that no other bird gives me the same
thrill of ecstasy as the Great Horned Owl in its native
forests. Savage and destructive though it is, there is
a majesty in the appearance and character of the splendid
creature which compels admiration. Owing to its intractable
wildness and secluded haunts, there is no bird more difficult
to observe and know. Hardy above all our birds, it makes
or selects a great nest in the most inaccessible woodland

314

WILD WINGS

tracts, often in the heart of some p;-reat swamp or on a wild
mountain-side, and lays its large white eggs — usually but
two — in the bitterest winter weather, usually the latter part
of February, or by the very hrst of March. From boyhood
mv feeling has been that it was a supreme triumph of an
ornithologist’s held-work to trace out the great feathered tiger
to its lair, and in j^articular to discover its nest. And when
came the era of hunting birds with a camera, my highest ideal
of attaining the dizzy pinnacle of success was to be able to
]:)hotograph the Great Horned Owl, wild and free, by or u])on
its nest.

How vividly I recall the excitement of the discovery of mv
hrst Great Horned Owl’s eggs. It was in a wild region of
extensive pine swamps in southeastern Massachusetts. A cer¬
tain farmer for thirty years back had heard the hootings of
a ]:)air of these owls from a lonely swamp, where there still
remained a rare tract of virgin timber. I asked him to try
and locate them for me that winter by their hootings, so that
I might hnd their nest in the S]3ring.

The time came, at length, for the hunt. It was the eighth
of March, a hue bright day. Early in the morning I drove
the eight miles over rough, frozen roads, through a country
of pine tracts and cedar swamps, to the retired farm. The
owner told me that lumbermen had been cutting off the old
swamp, but that the owls had hooted frequently in another
tract of woods in the opposite direction, where he could often
hear the crows mobbing them.

Taking him as guide, we struck into these woods, which
consisted of tall pines and deciduous timber on swampy land,
with considerable undergrowth of bushes and horse-briars.
Our course was well taken, for we had not gone a half-mile
before a Great Horned Owl ffaj^ped majestically out from
a tree before us, scaled down toward the ground, and soared

GREAT HORNED OWLS

315

off just over the tops of the bushes. There was no nest here,
so we kept on toward a clump of large pines which we could
just see. When we came within gunshot of it, out flew an
even larger owl, — the female. I hurried forward, and saw,
some forty feet up a yellow pine, a great nest of sticks, which
must have measured a yard or more across. From its edges,
as well as from neighboring limbs and twigs, bits of tawny
yellowish down were fluttering in the breeze. At last my
long-cherished desire was to be gratified ; I had found the
nest of the Great Horned Owl. Somehow the place had
a familiar look, and it suddenly came to me that this nest was
one which I had found the season before, occupied by a pair
of Red-tailed Hawks ; we had approached it from a new
direction.

The tree was nearly limbless, and in my eagerness I was in
such haste that, when I reached the first limb, I was consider¬
ably winded. moment’s rest, and then at it again, and I
was soon there. The great nest was quite shallow, and on the
comfortable lining of bark, sprays of pine foliage, owl-down,
and feathers lay the two great round white eggs. Meanwhile
the mother owl returned. She alighted upon the dead limb
of an enormous pine, fully one hundred feet from the ground,
where she stood majestically outlined against the blue sky.
At once a flock of crows discovered her, and began to swoop,
cawing excitedly. The owl would dodge, snap her bill with a
loud clicking sound, and now and then utter an angry “ whoo-
whoo,” her ear-tufts erected and her yellow eyes blazing with
indignation. Seldom have I felt more delighted and exult¬
ant than while lingering in that tree-top in the breeze and
sunshine of that splendid morning of March, with the Great
Horned Owl, her nest and eggs before me. That same season
also it was my good fortune to find two other nests of this owl,
all in last season’s nests of Red-tailed Hawks !

WILD WINGS

316

The time came when, becoming more skilled in the hand¬
ling of the camera, I determined, if it were possible, to photo-
graj^h the wary owl on or by her nest, and attain the crown¬
ing triumph of camera-hunting, in the mastering of difficulties
almost insuperable. The first thing was to find a nest, but
it seemed that I must suffer defeat at this initial stage. After
many long, hard tramps I found one, about the middle of April.
It was in a lofty fork of a very tall chestnut tree, as usual, an
old nest of the Red-tail, which had nearly all crumbled away,
leaving only a very precarious jDerch for the one owlet of con¬
siderable size and its most wary mother. The latter was so
exceedingly shy that it was only with the greatest difficulty
that I could come even within sight of the nest before she
flew. Nor would she return as long as I remained anywhere
in the vicinity. The case was absolutely hopeless.

It took four years’ tramping to find another nest of the
Great Horned Owl. Then, on the ninth of March, a rainy day,
I started to explore a large wild timber-tract on the sides
and top of a mountain in western Connecticut where owls
had been heard to hoot. Year after year I had climbed and
tramped this mountain in vain, so that I had no especial hope
of success. About halfway up, growing at the foot of a rather
steep ledge, was a massive rock oak, in a fork of which, about
sixty feet up, had been for years a large hawks’ nest, which
I always examined. The season before, a pair of Red-tails
had occupied it. I visited it this time, on the way, as a matter
of course.

As I caught sight of the nest through the trees, my heart
gave an exultant bound. It had evidently been rebuilt, and
two knobs projected from it, outlined against the sky. They
were the ear-tufts of a Great Horned Owl ! I was at least
two gunshots from the nest, but the big owl saw me, and
stood up, ready to fly. To ])hotograph in the rain, was, of

GREAT HORNED OWLS

able, from the ledge above one was practically halfway up,
and thence grew more slender trees, on some of which one
could climb to within fifteen feet of the nest. There one
might screw up a camera, and “pull the string” on the owl
from a distance. She might also be photographed from the
ground as she stood up in the nest, or looked over the edge.

317

course, impossible, and I quietly withdrew to devise a future
plan of attack.

The situation of the nest was quite favorable. Though the
massive tree, with its rough, scaly bark, was almost unclimb-

WILD WINGS

318

The first problem was how to gain a close approach with¬
out being seen by the watchful owl. Studying upon this, the
thought came to me of an elderly man in town who for years
had carried a faded brown umbrella almost the exact color
of the dead leaves in the woods. For a consideration, said
umbrella presently became my property. A strip of brown
cambric siisj^ended from the edge of its circumference trans¬
formed it into a portable tent. Trimmed with a few hem¬
lock sprays and dead oak leaves, the structure was almost
invisible in the woods.

Three days later I tried it. Nearly an hour was consumed
in sneaking up to the nest. Without the rustling of a leaf or
the crackling of a twig I had reached the nearest point, and
there sat the brooding owl, her head showing above the nest.
Carefully I set the camera up on the shortened tripod, behind
the umbrella, and then made timed exposures upon the
motionless bird. This done, I would fain catch a snap-shot
as she stood up to fly. So I made ready, and, bulb in hand,
rustled the leaves. No response. Now I knocked on a tree ;
the owl did not stir. And so it went till I shouted, and then
stood out in plain sight. The owl moved not so much as
an ear-tuft. Her eyes were half-opened. Was she dead and
frozen, or asleep, or what ?

The thought now occurred to me that, since the owl was
so impassive, perhaps I could climb the neighboring tree
without alarming her. So buckling on the climbers, with the
camera slung over my shoulder, I began the ascent, feeling
almost certain that she would fly. But there she sat, and
soon I was on a level with the nest, only twenty feet from
the object of my desires. In order to be sure of a good pic¬
ture, of sufficient size, it was necessary to use the single long-
focus lens of my doublet, and hence to set up the camera and
focus. I expected to see the owl leave as soon as I began to

WHEN IT WAS ABOUT TWO MONTHS OLD”

GREAT HORNED OWLS

321

do this, but she did not. Then everything seemed to go
wrong ; the apparatus was not in perfect order, my footing
w'as precarious, and the wind was blowing. For over an hour
I fussed with the screw-bolt, clamps, and camera. At last it
was fixed ; I made four exposures, and should have descended
from the tree without alarming her had I not maintained
a shouted conversation with my companion who had been
hiding at a distance, which finally caused her to fly and reveal
her eggs. The vigil in the dark-room brought four good
pictures. But the sun had so glanced on the owl’s back as to
make her appear almost white, and I decided that on an
overcast day I could do better work. So I made another
trip with a companion, walking boldly up with him to the
tree, climbing, and at my leisure securing a splendid series
of pictures. When I wanted to photograph the eggs, my
friend had to throw stones quite a while before the owl would
fly.

From time to time I visited the nest again. The young
were safely hatched in the early part of April. From now on
the old bird became more and more shy, until one could not
approach anywhere near her. On the eighteenth of the
month, when the downy owlets were strong enough to sit
up, I photographed them. It was a windy day, when furious
gusts from the northwest made the tree on wTich I was bend
like a reed, and obliged me to hug it, and hang on for dear
life. I also succeeded in photographing the old owl several
times, as she returned to her young, by screwing the camera
up in a tree, attaching a two hundred-yard spool of black
linen thread to the shutter, and from my place of conceal¬
ment farther up the mountain, lying behind a fallen trunk
for nearly an hour at a time, pulling the end of the thread,
as the owl returned to her accustomed branch before entering
the nest.

322

WILD WINGS

Two days later, happy over the results of hunting with the
camera this prince among birds, I started off for southern
Florida. A friend kindly took for me from the nest one of
the young owls, about the tenth of May, when they were

NEST AND EGGS OF THE GREAT HORNED OWL

nearly ready to fly, and had climbed out on the branches.
Soon after my return I photograj^hed it, on the first of June,
when it was about two months old.

Though this particular mother owl did not make anv
attack, I know of various instances when they have done
so. One was that same season, the last of March, when
a companion of many of my owl-hunts climbed to the
nest of a Great Horned Owl — one of my old Red-tail nests
of former years, in a large white pine. The young were

GREAT HORNED OWLS

323

just hatching-, but the owl flew as he approached. When he
was halfway up the tree the owl swooped from behind and
struck him a terrible blow with her talons, tearing his scalp
quite badly. After this she kept her distance.

“the young were safely hatched”

The Great Horned Owls aforementioned next year had
abandoned their old nesting-site. A sawmill had been located
on that side of the mountain, and what I feared had indeed
happened. Climbing and wading laboriously through the
deep snow early in March, I stood, perspiring and regretful,
gazing upon the stump of the ancient rock oak which had
held far aloft the great nest of sticks in which those splendid
owls had reared their young. Why could not that avaricious
lumber company have realized that that was an oivl-tree ?

324

WILD WINGS

What sane person would dare deliberately “to break up”
a pair of Great Horned Owls, above all birds ? But people
are not all like me.

There was nothing to do but begin the search anew, and
for days and days I vainly explored the cold and silent wintry
woods. Meanwhile, all unknown to me, a dozen miles away,
another man was in the woods. He was not looking for owls,
but vigorously wielding the axe that cold first day of bluster¬
ing March. The fierce winter of 1903-04 showed no sign
of abatement ; evervthing was locked in ice and snow. As
he worked, he noticed that a flock of crows kept up a great
racket in a neighboring grove of heavy deciduous timber.
After a time he decided to go and see what was the trouble.
Walking quietly up, he saw the black rascals swooping
excitedly about a certain chestnut tree. In its top fork was
a platform of sticks, from which projected a dark mass which
ended in two peculiar knobs. A closer approach revealed
two round yellow eyes gazing fixedly down at him. He was
a trained woodsman, and knew well what it all meant. The
crows were mobbing a Great Horned Owl on its nest. Most
men would have shot the owl, but he possessed the instincts
of a true naturalist, and preferred to watch it from time to
time. After some two weeks it occurred to him that he had
promised to write to me should he find anything of interest.
So one night, after a day of unremunerative owl-hunting,
I received a very welcome letter.

As soon as possible, early on March 19, I started with
a vouth in mv sleigh for the locality, which was some eight
miles from my home — the longest eight miles I ever drove.
It was uphill all the way, some places at an angle of forty-five
degrees. Now it was partly frozen mud or bare rocks, and
jwesently we floundered through a softening drift, in depth
up to the horse’s ears. Eight such miles was a morning’s

GREAT HORNED OWLS

325

drive. It was mainly through woods, and as I neared at last
the locality described I heard crows and saw a number of
them flying about over a grove not far off to the left of the
road. I thought that this must be the place, and sure enough
it was.

Leaving the horse at the home of my informant, we all
followed the wood-path, through the deep snow, to the owl-
preserve. The crows were still excited, but one of them gave

“as she returned to her young”

326

WILD WINGS

a warninof caw as it saw us, and away they all went. The
owl sat upon her nest, forty feet from the ground, stolidly
gazing down at the approaching company, making no move
as we surrounded the tree, and as I took photographs of her
from the ground.

The question then was as to how near her she would let
me climb with the camera. Examining the surrounding trees,
I selected a black birch about eighteen feet away, — south,
toward the light, — and likely to afford the best opportunity.
The climbers were buckled on, camera strapped over the
shoulder, and I began the ascent, quietly, pausing now and
then to see if the owl was getting alarmed. She had been
facing east, but now she turned her head sidewise toward me,
her body crouched down into the nest as far as possible. It
was a shrinking attitude, and typical of all owls’ attempts
at concealment, — the feathers drawn closely together so as
to look as small as possible, the eyes closed all but a mere
slit, the ear-tufts erect, like snags of bark.

As she did not move, I kept on till I was upon a level with
the nest. Now, would she let me work and rig the camera ?
Everything was favorable except one small Iwanch in the
way ; I must try to remove it. \Trv slowly I reached out
my hand. The owl shrank back a trifle. Taking the twig,
I snapped it as softly and gently as I could. The noise was
but slight, yet the owl gave a nervous start, and almost de¬
cided to fly. Keeping j^erfectly still, I did not even withdraw
my hand for a couple of minutes, till she seemed reassured.
Then I began operations, cautiously and with deliberation in
every movement, driving the screw-bolt into the limb, taking
my camera from the case, ojiening it, clamping it to the bolt,
adjusting it and focusing under the cloth, — using only the
front lens of my doublet, to secure a larger image. A branch
was in the way from this spot, so I had to undo everything.

GREAT HORNED OWLS

327

select a spot for the bolt farther out, and do the work all over.
It was an hour and a half before I was ready for the expos¬
ures, meanwhile suffering from cramps in my feet and legs
from their constrained attitudes. The sun was overcast, just
enough for soft fine detail with short timed exposures. I took
a series of them timed from one to three seconds with the
lens at full opening. This being done, I packed my instru¬
ments and descended, without starting the owl. I should have
liked to see what she was brooding so bravely, but I was
afraid that the eggs might become chilled and not hatch.

/

HER BODY CROUCHED DOWN INTO THE NEST’’

WILD WINGS

328

My next visit to the owl’s nest was on the sixth of April,
this time with my wife. The thaw was well under way, and
the condition of the mountain roads something dreadful. The
owl was on her nest as before. My purpose now was to set
the camera near the nest and make the exposures from a blind
with a thread just as she alighted, upon her return. She
allowed me to climb the same tree as before, but flew just as
I reached the place for the camera, when I called to my com¬
panion. On the edge of the nest was part of a rabbit, and
snuggled down deep in the middle was a heap of white down,
the owl’s young.

While setting the camera, I was unlucky enough to tip my
carrving-case too far over, and all my plate-holders went
scaling down upon the carpet of dead leaves and sticks forty
feet below. My feelings may be imagined as I resigned
myself to the thought of having had the day’s hard drive for
nothing. I felt wonderfully better when it was announced
that only one of the plate-holders was broken, and that the
plates in the rest seemed to be sound. Lowering my thread,
one of the holders was fastened on, which I then drew up and
inserted in the camera. The latter was duly focused on the
nest, and I then attached the thread to the shutter, set for
an exposure, dropped the spool end to the ground, and
descended.

The place that I selected for our ambush was a thick clump
of green mountain laurel, about a hundred yards from the
nest. To this spot I carefully laid out the line of thread, made
a dry seat of bark and overcoats, and then began the vigil,
hardly moving my eyes from the nest, which I could see
through an opening in the leaves. For quite a while not a
sound broke the stillness. Then a pair of Downy Woodpeckers
began to tap on a tree, and, coming near us, to go through
their mating antics. Soon after this a Red-shouldered Hawk

GREAT HORNED OWLS

329

set up a powerful screaming on the edge of the grove, and
the crows went after him in full chorus, as he beat a retreat.
Next we heard quacking and the whistling of wings, as four
Black Ducks passed over our heads, just above the tree-tops.
After circling a number of times, they alighted over beyond
the grove in an overflowed meadow and alder swamp, where
they are accustomed to breed.

These sights and sounds of nature diverted our minds,
until at the end of forty-five minutes we were startled by
a loud, incisive note, which sounded to me like “ waup-p,”
ending in a sort of snap, the whole having a rising inflection.
Immediately the great owl glided in, and with an upward
swoop alighted on a limb only a few rods from the nest, in
plain sight of us. Splendid great bird, she stood two feet
high, ear-tufts erect, eyes round and blazing, turning the fine
head uneasily from side to side. In about a minute she flew,
gliding downward as she left the branch, uttering, just as
she started, another “ waup-p,” which fairly made us jump.
Thus she flitted majestically from perch to perch, distrusting
the camera and focus-cloth, which certainly made a very
conspicuous object up there in the tree-top against the sky.
By this time some crows had discovered the owl, and were
following her about, swooping at her head now and then
with angry caws. The great bird disdained to give them any
attention, save that now and then, when one came too close,
she snapped her bill angrily.

During one of her flights she alighted very near us. Bear¬
ing discovery, we kept perfectly still, and she did not detect
us through the branches. Then she flew to a perch nearer to
the nest, then farther off, but suddenly she sailed up and
alighted on a forked branch close to the nest, when I imme¬
diately pulled the thread. The sun was slightly overcast, and
I had set the shutter for about a fifth of a second, with the

330

WILD WINGS

single, long-focus member of the doublet lens. Though the
shutter did not seem to alarm her, she was not quite ready
to brave the camera, so she hew, and it was not until the
third ai:)proach that she actually alighted on the nest and
went to brooding. All this had taken her a little over an
hour. I did not attempt as yet to change the plate, wishing
her to learn that the camera was harmless. She remained
seven minutes over her young, and then Hew off of her own
accord.

Just after her first approach to the nest, her mate for the
first time made himself heard, at least by us. At the western
edge of the grove, farthest away from roads and farms, he
beg'an to hoot, the regular cry of the owl which is usually
heard, — “ too-whoo-o, whoo, whoo,” — soft and mellow in
tone, yet audible at a considerable distance. Indeed, while
at work during fall, winter, and early spring, my friend
who showed me the locality had heard three different
owls hooting at once, from as many tracts of woodland.
It was noon, and quite bright, with considerable snow in
j)atches on the ground, yet the owl was awake and hooting.
For about a cjuarter of an hour he hooted once or twice
a minute.

In the absence of the female owl I ascended the tree again
and set the camera. It was nearly another hour before she
came back, and twice more I pulled the thread on her when
she perched conspicuously near the nest. I believed I had
secured some s]:)lendid pictures. We reached home at dark,
and after supper I hurried to the dark-room. In one case
onlv half the owl was upon the jolate, the camera having-
moved, and in the others the bird was more or less hidden
by the branches.

(^n the fifteenth of April I made the trip again, this time
alone. It was quite mild and bright. Only patches of snow-

GREAT HORNED OWLS

331

drifts remained, and the sprinkle of snow which had fallen
the night before was fast disappearing. A neighbor’s boy
went with me to the nest ; the owl was on it. I had feared
for her safety, as a man
had been chopping not far
away, and I was afraid that
he would discover her. This
was one case to show that
the faculty of observation
is not always desirable !

First, now, I wanted a flight
picture. So I aimed the re¬
flex camera at the nest and
had the boy kick the tree.

Oft went the owl, northward,
as she always did. She was
\'ery quick and I too slow,
for I got onlv part of her
image on the plate !

As before, I set the camera up in the tree ; then I dismissed
the boy, and hid in my bower, keeping tally on a sheet of
paper of all the sights and sounds of nature. This time there
was constantly “ something doing,” and for three hours I was
busy. Both owls were hooting and flying about, the crows
were excited. Flickers and Hairv Woodpeckers were drum¬
ming, drilling their nests, and making love, and there were
other happenings. My vigil began four minutes before noon.
In thirteen minutes the male owl began his tuneful songs
from the same place as before. It took the female fortv-six
minutes to begin her usual whines, or ” waupps.” This
ushered in her usual performance of “ monkeying,” until
at the end of an hour and twelve minutes she suddenlv —
before I realized it — had alighted on her nest, and I scored

332

WILD WINGS

my next camera-shot. After a vigil of an hour and seven
minutes I had another.

If there were any question as to whether such sport is
worth while, in answer I would point to the picture of the
old owl, every marking of her beautiful plumage distinct, her
feathers Hulled out, stooping over to caress her owlet, which
is snuggled down behind the piece of rabbit visible on the
edge of the nest. If such a picture of such a bird is not
thought worth a day’s sport in the open air, I do not think
much of the sporting blood of one who holds such opinion.
The exhilarating drive through the hue woodlcmd and moun¬
tain scenerv, the bracing air, the excitement of tree-climbing,
the lunch with keen appetite in the laurel thicket, the sights
of unsuspecting wild creatures, the exciting expectancy
through all, — even these, aside from the picture, make a glori¬
ous day’s outing.

After the second exposure I stole out of the grove without
alarming the brooding owl — leaving the plate unchanged
— and summoned the youth again to assist me. First I had
him climb the owl-tree, slender and partly rotten, to the nest.
There was only one owlet, now about the size of a pigeon,
covered with white down, save for incipient yellowish feathers
on back and wings. With it was a rotten egg which contained
a small embrvo. Probably it had become chilled, and this
episode helps account for the fact that these owls often raise
but one owlet. I noticed another thing, too. The nest of
sticks, unusuallv small and rough in the first place, — probably
an old nest of a pair of Broad-winged Hawks which breed in
these woods, — at each of mv succeeding visits was smaller
than before, as though it was gradually dropping to pieces.
There was now barelv enough of it left to hold the owl family
and its stock of food, which latter consisted of the hind quar¬
ters of a rabbit.

GREAT HORNED OWLS

333

I had the boy bring down the owlet and the egg, while I
climbed the neighboring tree for the camera, and then photo¬
graphed the owl and his incipient brother or sister on the
ground. Then the youth replaced the owlet in the nest, and
climbed a tree close by, where he photographed the nest and
its contents, under my directions.

To hnish up this owl business in good shape, one more
visit was necessary ere I started on a Southern trip on May
second. The week before was stormy and unsettled through¬
out, save one day when I could not go. Saturday came, the
last day of April, — and of grace, — dark and forbidding, with
thick fog. It was then or never, so I started with a youth for
the nest. Gradually the fog lifted, and the sun came out by
the time the long drive was over. The crows were making
a tremendous racket. Confident of what I should see, I came
in sight of the tree. There was just a mere fragment of the
nest left, no owl on it, not even the owlet, nor was the latter

‘‘squatting in the leaves”

334

WILD WINGS

on any branch. I felt terribly chagrined, but began a search
for it, hoping that it was not yet devoured by foxes. Good !
Here it was on the ground, directly under the nest, squat¬
ting in the leaves. First I photographed it just as it lav, then
in other surroundings where I placed the angry, snapping
little fellow to suit my pleasure. One of these situations was
at the entrance of a great hollow in a tree-trunk, which might
well have been used as the nest-site by the parents, for this
species sometimes uses hollow trees as well as old open nests
of hawks and crows.

The next move was to replace the little fellow in the small
remnant of nest from which he had fallen, and j^hotograph
him from the next tree. Then I screwed up the camera in the
old ]:)lace, and the youth and I went into hiding, hoping that
the mother owl would come back. The youth soon got tired
of watching for owls, and went sound asleep. Now and then
the old owl whined in the distance, but as time dragged on,
it was evident that she knew that the young one, now half-
grown, and partly feathered, was too old to need brooding.
The little fellow, thinking he was unwatched, acted like his
own little self. For a while he lay in the sun asleep. His head
drooped away over the edge of the nest, and I did not know
but he would fall out. Then he stood up and walked about,
and stared off in such an interested and spirited attitude that
I could not resist the temptation to pull the thread and take
his picture. And so the series was complete. Before I left the
blind, a Broad-winged Hawk came and stood on a tree near
by in a dreamy, contemplati\'e way for about a quarter of an
hour, perhaps pondering upon what tree she and her mate
had better build their nest.

It was more than a month, after returning from my trip
South, before I again visited the locality. Not a single stick
of the nest was left in the crotch. I understood now why it

GREAT HORNED OWLS

335

was that five years before I had found a Great Horned Owl
brooding an owlet in the bare fork of a tree, where there was
nothing but a little dirt left of the nest. A hunter who was
with me had seen such things before, and thought that the
owl tore down her nest, as the young grew up, to make it
less conspicuous. Now I am convinced that it is not done
purposely, but is due to the elements and the slovenh" habits
of the bird in using old rotten nests instead of building for
itself.

I also learned of the farther career and tragedy of the owl
family. The owlet had again fallen out of the nest, and was
mobbed continually by crows. The man who had shown me
the nest found the youngster back in the woods on the ground,
several hundred yards from the nesting-site. Taking it to
his home on an adjoining farm, nearly a half-mile away, he
kept it in a chicken-coop, and then let it out, to stay about
his yahd. In a few da3"s the mother owl heard her little
one, which “ peeped ” somewhat like a chicken. Each night
thereafter she brought it food, usualh'’ the hind quarters of
a rabbit, most of which was found b\^ it in the morning.

After a while it straved back into the woods, and another
man, a neighbor, found it, who brought it to his place, and
kept it confined. Each night or earl)' in the morning the
devoted mother brought food to her fledgling. One morning,
shortly after dawn, she alighted on the ridge-pole of the barn
with a rabbit. The farmer had just arisen, and, seeing her,
seized his gun, and brought her tumbling to the ground. The
savage little orphan he kept in captivity, and finally exchanged
it with some one else for a boat. How strange it is, this blood-
thirstv instinct in so many men, that makes them eager to
kill everv wild thing of size, whether of an\^ use to them
or not ! Sympathetic observation of nature, allied with the
fine new sport of camera-hunting, will enforce the appeals of

WILD WINGS

336

culture and religion, and help to drive out of man the linger¬
ing remnants of savagery. As for myself, I look with intense
delight to many owl-haunts in wild forests in all seasons,
but particularly to hnding the nests of, and above all to the
achieving my ideal of photographing from life, the Great
Horned Owl.

“ there sat the brooding OWL, HER HEAD SHOWING ABOVE THE NEST

INDEX

INDEX

Alligator, 43, 137.

Anhinga, 44, 68, 69, 78, 79, too.

Auk, Great, 82.

Razor-billed, 164-167.

Avocet, 214.

Beetle-head. See Plover, Black-bellied.
Bittern, American, 230.

Blue-bill, 230.

Bluebird, 262.

Bobolink, 23.

Buzzard, 44, 75, 136, 240.

Black, 103, 1 lo-i 1 5.

Turkey, 32,65, 75, 103-110, 112.

Chuck-Will’s- Widow, 3.

Coot, American, 78.

ConRorant, no.

Florida, 24, 25, 33, 37, 49, 68,
72-74, 76-78.

Crocodile, 52.

Crossbill, 172.

American, 07- Common, 235.
Crow, American, 1 10, 315, 324-326, 329,
333> 334-

FLsh, 32, 65, 75, 76, 82.

Curlew, Eskimo, 207, 20S, 210.

Iludsonian, or Jack, 205, 209,
210, 217, 218.

Long-billed, 249.

Pink. See Spoonbill, Roseate.
White. See Ibis, White.

Dog-fish, 189, 190.

Dove, Ground, 23.

Dowitcher, 49, 205, 210, 213, 214, 219.
Duck, 235.

Black, 230, 238, 329.

Eider, 182.

Florida, 106, 108.

Scaup, 2, 3.

Wood, 136.

Eagle, Bald, 3, 26, 32, 33, 50 1 17 278, 279,
289.

Caracara, 21.

Golden, 2S9, 290.

Egret, 61, 62.

American, 54, 58, 67, 72, 78, 134-
149.

Reddish, 37.

Falcon, Pigeon, 21.

Flamingo, 38.

Flicker, 310, 331.

Gallinule, 32.

Gannet, 153, 157, 159, 161, 165, 167, 168.
Godwit, 3 1 .

Great Marbled, 214, 249.
Iludsonian, 213.

Golden-eye, American, 230.

Goose, Canada, 262.

Crackle, Rusty, 225.

Grass-bird. See Sandpiper, Pectoral.
Gray-back. See Knot.

Grebe, 1 10.

Horned, 230, 235.

Guillemot, Black, 172, 174-180, 185.

Gull, Herring, 171, 172, 174, 181-183.

Laughing, 32, 34, 49, 116, 125-128,

1 30-1 33. 219-

Haglet. See Shearwater.

Hawk, 259-90.

Broad-winged, 266, 279-281, 332,

334-

Cooper’s, 268, 271, 273-278, 283.
Ferniginous Rough-legged, 288,
289.

Krider’s, 283, 284.

Marsh, 76, 259, 268, 271, 272, 287,
288.

Pigeon, 21.

Red-shouldered, 42, 43, 261, 263,
265-268, 275, 328.

Red-tailed, 262-266, 283, 290, 295,
322.

Sharp-shinned, 280-283.

Snail. See Kite, Everglade.
Sparrow, 283, 284.

Swainson’s, 283, 284, 287, 28S.
Heron, 34, 41, 50, 60-62, 77.

Black-crowned Night, 44, 14 1.

INDEX

340

Heron, Great Blue, 30, 117, 128, 139.
Great White, 27-30, 32, 40.

Little Blue, 61, 68, 74, 75, 78, 139,
140, 142.

Louisiana, 25, 32, 37, 38, 44, 54,
55, 58,68,70, 71, 73, 74, 78, 142.,
Snowy, 54, 57, 58, 145.

Ward’s, 30-32, 77, 103.
Yellow-crowned Night, 49, 141. I
Hog, Razor-backed, 106.

Ibis, 50, 52, 60, 62. I

White, 32, 49-59, 63, 67, 68, 70, 7i,|

7 5’ 77> 7^- j

Wood, 43-46, 58, 77, 104.

Jaeger, 197- 199, 211. j

Parasitic, 26, 191.

Pomarine, 19 1, 197, 200.
jiddy. See Jaeger.

Killdeer, 214, 249.

Kite, Everglade, 76, 77.

Kittiwake, 164, 165, 167, 168.

Knot, 205, 206, 210, 214.

Loon, 170.

Man-o’-War, Portuguese, 32.

Man-o'-\Var Bird, 19, 21, 24, 25, 33, 35, 37,
38, 88, 91-98.

Marsh Hen. See Rail, Clapper.

Merganser, Red-breasted, 230, 236.
Mockingbird, 2.

Mother Carey’s Chicken. See Petrel.
Mullet, 2, 3.

Murre, 154, 157, 159, 164, 165, 167, 168.
Briinnich’s, 164, 169.

Common, 164.

Ringed, 164.

Noddy, 86-88, 91, 92, 94-98.

Osprey, 3, 117, 1 19, 136, 137, 260, 266,
268, 278.

Owl, 260, 291-336.

Acadian, 294, 309-312.

Barred, 263, 266, 291, 294, 296-302.
Florida Barred, 104, 107, 108.
Florida .Screech, 3.

Great Horned, i, 266, 292-297, 306,

.>i.3“336-

Long-eared, 294, 303, 304.

Owl, Saw-whet, 294, 309-312.

Screech, 292, 294, 303, 305-310. 312.
Snowy, 294.

Ox-eye, 205, 210, 217.

Oyster-catcher, 120, 239-245.

Panther, 81.

Paroquet, 149.

Peep. See Ox-eye.

Pelican, American White, 4, 41, 46, 49.

Brown, 1-18, 21, 25, 32, 33, 44,
-49-

Frigate. See Man-o’-War Bird.
Petrel, 164, 170, 190.

Leach’s, 164, 172, 183, 184, 186.
Wilson’s, 187, 191, 199.

Phalarope, 207, 210.

Wilson’s, 214.

Pharsalia, 32.

Pigeon, 23.

Sea. Guillemot, Black.

Wild, 149.

Plover, Black -bellied, 32,49, 205,206, 210,
214, 219-222, 246.

Golden, 206-214.

Piping, 205, 210, 214, 232, 235,
236, 246.

Semipalmated, or Ring-necked,
49, 205, 206, 210, 214, 217, 220,
223, 232, 235-238, 246.

Upland. See Sandpiper, Bartram-
ian.

W’ilson’s, 120, 213, 220, 245-249,

255-

Puffin, 163, 164, 172.

Rail, Clapper, 117, 123, 125-128.

Raven, Northern, 184.

Redstart, 22.

Ring-neck. See Plover, Semipalmated.
Robin, 262.

Sanderling, 205, 210, 212.

Sandpiper, 49, 213, 215, 219, 224, 235.

Bartramian, 205, 214, 248.
Bonaparte’s, 205, 214.

Buff -breasted, 21 1.

Least, 205, 210, 214, 225-229,
235-

Pectoral, 205, 210.

Purple, 206.

Red-backed, 206, 21 1, 214.
Semipalmated, 205, 210, 214.

INDEX

341

Sandpiper, Solitary, 206, 214. Tern, Common, 122, 126, 127, 129, 172,

Spotted, 205, 210, 232, 236,! 184,235.

249, 250.

White-rumped, 205, 214.
Scoter. 3, 21 1.

Seal, 163, 181.

Shearwater, 191, 193, 195, 19S, 199.
Cory’s, 197.

Greater, 187, 192, 193, 198.
Sooty, 174, 192.

Skimmer, Black, 116, 1 19-122, 125-127.
Snake-bird. See Anhinga.

Snipe, Red-breasted. See Dowitcher.
Rock. See Sandpiper, Purple.
Wilson’s, 203, 206, 225, 230-233

• 235.

Sparrow, Chipping, 262.

P'o.x, 154.

Song, 262.

Spoonbill, Roseate, 31, 54, 58-60, 75, 78
Stilt, Black -necked, 248.

Stork. See Ibis, Wood.

Swallcyvv, Barn, 262.

Tree, 262.

Tarpon, 50.

Tatler, Solitary. See Sandpiper, Solitary.
Teal, 230.

Tern, Arctic, 172, 184.

Black, 126, 127.

I Forster’s, 127.

Gull-billed, 122, 130, 131, 133.

I Least, 34, 221, 247.

I Marsh, 122, 130, 131, 133.

1 Sooty, 83-99.

Thrush, 23.

j Bicknell’s, 172, 184, 185.

' Water, 22.

Turkey, Wild, 106.

Turnstone, 205, 209, 210, 213-215, 220.
Turtle, 26, 136.

j Warbler, 23.

j Black-poll, 22, 184.

I’ine, 262.

Whistler. See Golden-eye, American.
Widgeon, Sea. See Guillemot, Black.
Willet, 125, 128, 205, 214, 249.
Woodcock, 203, 225.

Woodpecker, no.

: Downy, 328.

! Hairy, 331.

Red-bellied, 25.

I Yellow-legs, Summer, 205, 210, 213, 214,
i 217,222,224.

j Greater, or Winter, 205, 206^

1 210.

Cbc liilicrsiDe press

Electrotyped and printed by H . O. Houghton Co.

Cambridge^ Mass.., U. S. A.

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