Stories of bird life

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16_ 1902.
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T. Gilbert Pearson
Sec’y Audubon Society

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AMERICAN SPARROW-HAWK.

STORIES OF BIRD LIFE

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T. GitBert Pearson,

Professor of Biology and Geology in the State Normal and Industrial College,
Greensboro, North Carolina

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY AND UNDER THE SUPERVISION

ORs as.

JOHN L. RIDGWAY

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RICHMOND
B,. F. JOHNSON PUBLISHING COMPANY

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COPYRIGHT Igor
BY
T. GILBERT PEARSON

All Rights Reserved

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PREFACE
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My purpose in writing these stories and sketches of birds has
been that I might make others acquainted with the ways of some
of the wild birds which have been of so much interest to me.
Should they serve to give the reader a little more intimate ac-
quaintance with our feathered neighbors of the field and woodland,
my main object will have been accomplished.

These stories are not fanciful, but are true to bird life. The
Arredondo Sparrow Hawk, Ruffle-Breast and Socrates were particu-
lar birds well known to others as to me. In the case of the Bob-
white family, and Bib-neck, the Plover, I have combined into the
lives of a few birds incidents I have known to occur to many.
The accounts of visits to birds’ nests, bird colonies and the like
are given as they occurred. In the Appendixes some suggestions
are offered to the student and the teacher.

Several of these articles have been printed in the North Caro-
lina Journal of Education and elsewhere. One of them, “The
Childhood of Bib-Neck,” is inserted by the kindness of the St.
Nicholas Magazine.

In the preparation of this book I wish to acknowledge my obli-
gations to Mr. Robert L. Ridgway, Curator of Ornithology in the
Smithsonian Institute, for his critical reading of the manuscript;
to Mr. John L. Ridgway for preparing the excellent designs for the
eight full page plates and forty-five of the other illustrations; to
Miss Elsie Weatherly for drawing twenty-seven of the text figures;
: and to a number of other friends who have aided and encouraged

me in many ways.
T. GILBEKT PEARSON.
iREENSBORO, N. C., October 1, 1901.

[3]

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CONTENTS

Page
The Arredondo Sparrow Hawk. ...-+-+++:>5 , 7
@ur Chimney Dwellers: -) ea) sh ote ie we et es L7
The Childhood of Bib-Neck .....+ ++ ee- ce eee
Po pimec breast 26 hee fle ee se evel ees cate 36
Pere aarred Owl 2 ees) eee eo 2 ee 49
The Birds of Cobb’s Island Virginia ...-.-+++::-: 60
eb ainiol Bagless. oie Sica 6 6 Gb ote Hee On eines 71
BitgeMey «205 + REM PS aed ola nas ated cor some 81
seieee BIG. ys see me sw 8 8 sl sw he ee gI
CCN IEMEES! one ec. soe wo ee 8s 2 ae ae eae ee IOI
OSSD ITS eal U1 Ce ce er eer a Gg.
The snowbitd. . .. + - ky I Sees at ae Re STI oc 125
MeBapwhite amily ss 2 ue) ww Gales Bc ee ee 135
Wevsy whhe story. of am Egret. ai. 6 6 ee se 153
The Quest for the Comorant’s Nest... .-- +++ +-- 161
@uckoo, The Rain -Prophet..4 05 680+) viel ses eee 169
Risihe-Breast,. Lhe Slarike .-. s52 aoe) ee, ee ap Sei ee 177
The City of the Longlegs ....--+-+--. Pie emt 185
A Quartet of Woodland Drummers... . +--+ ++ +> 192
Winter Life on a College Campus ..-- +--+ +++: - 216
LASTS SUNT ee ot ee Rearea ee eco i ea CnC a ea oe 225
Pramemei ee teh vas we eee eee ae Re ae Nal 8 Ce 232

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THE ARREDONDO SPARROW HAWK

PASS ERITREA LIT EP
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yy Woe

2 RREDONDO

A 7

oe "GRANT”? is the
name of a tract of

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country of perhaps
forty thousand acres,

: lying in central Florida. It is

hills, dotted with numerous shal-
low ponds and thinly clad in
forests of yellow pine. Many small farms and orange
groves add variety to the landscape. The origin of the
name dates back to the time when the Spaniards ruled the
country and General Arredondo received the territory for
services to the Spanish government. .
The variety of bird life here is not great, but the species
which occur are generally represented by many individ-
uals. One of the most common is the little American
sparrow hawk, which remains throughout the seasons.
It is the smallest of the falcons. Seldom have I seen a
bird which aroused in me a keener interest or deeper sym-
pathy than did one of these sparrow hawks, whose path of

life for some years ran parallel with my own.
[7]

8 STORIES OF BIRD LIFE

To distinguish him from another hawk which lived to
the westward outside of the Grant, I called our hero the
Arredondo sparrow hawk. Later, when I learned to know
him well, I named him Dick.

The first time I remember to have seen Dick was on a
clear balmy morning in middle January while the last of
the orange pickers were going about their work. He came
out of the woods flying high and going as though an eagle
were after him. Over the orange grove he swiftly passed
and turning slightly to the left flew toward a tall hght-
ning-stricken pine standing at the edge of the rice field.
‘* Tilly-tilly-tilly-tilly!’’ he cried as he swept along. Over
and over he repeated his call, until, slacking his speed with
quivering wings, he settled on the lifeless pine.

Not all birds have mates. There are many single females
and many wifeless males. There are widows and widowers,
and often many little orphans are left in the world. But
old Dick was none of these, for down in the pines was the
prettiest, dearest little sweetheart for which a sparrow
hawk ever sighed. True, she was slightly heavier than he,
and her wings were broader and her waist was fully as
large, but these things only added to her attractiveness,
and besides, she was his mate, and he loved her as only a
blue-winged, striped-cheeked sparrow hawk can love.

A bird has three main purposes in life. First, to secure

THE ARREDONDO SPARROW HAWK 9

food for its existence; second, to avoid its enemies; and
third, to rear its offspring. In studying the history of any
bird one learns the details of these three phases of its life.
With many birds this is difficult to do. Some are very
timid, and conceal themselves in the grass and shrubbery.
The homes of a few are in almost inaccessible swamps.
Still others live far away on the rolling ocean, and are seen
only by mariners and travelers.

Not so with the sparrow hawks. In almost any locality
in the United States they may be found, although their
numbers are greater as one travels southward. Nor do
they hide from sight. Their perch is usually some tall
stake or tree; their food is caught in the open; their path-
ways of travel are in full view through the boundless sky.

Searcely a day passed that I did not see Dick. He came
repeatedly to his perch on the dead pine and called, until
one day his mate joined him. At once he launched into
the air, and for her pleasure began a series of elaborate
circles and evolutions. The open space of the field was his
parade ground, the top of the blasted pine was her grand
stand.

At times he flew slowly, and again with high speed, now
skimming low, now soaring high above the earth. Far out
over the rice field and grove he went, then turning, came
hurrying back through the air, flying to his mate, calling

10 STORIES OF BIRD LIFE

to the love of his youth, his blood leaping high with the
ecstacy of spring time. How he strove to please her by
flashing his pretty feathers in the sunlight! How delighted
he was if she deigned to accept any article of food which
he had to offer!

Two hundred yards in the woods stood an old blackened
and broken pine with its head reaching forty feet from
the ground. At some distant date, now far out of mind,

a flicker had chiseled a hole near its top for her nest. The
owner used it probably only for a single year. Since then
it had become the habitation of the Arredondo sparrow
hawk and his mate.

One day I saw Dick fly up to the nest with a lizard in
his mouth. - He entered, and from its dimly lighted depths
issued a strange, low sound,—at that time a new call to me,
and one which I have seldom heard since, save in the
neighborhood of the nest. A moment later his head ap-
peared at the opening, and the strange love call was re-

THE ARREDONDO SPARROW HAWK it

peated. Evidently it was an invitation for her to come and
see what a nice home was that hollow in the tree, and inci-
dentally, to have something good to eat.

On the tenth of April the nest held four beautiful eggs,
blotched and spotted with varying shades of brown and
chocolate. A boy promptly climbed the pine and took the
eggs. On the twenty-ninth of April five more were added
to the boy’s collection. Undismayed, the parents still
clung to their old home and nineteen days later there was
still another set of four eggs in the nest. But the Arre-
dondo sparrow hawk was destined to rear no young that
year, for the third time the tree was climbed and the nest
rifled. After this the birds gave up the attempt and no
more eggs were laid that spring.

The next year they were more fortunate. The boy who
had had a mania for robbing nests had learned better.
Four young sparrow hawks were reared with much care
and great labor. In the autumn the young males went
through the maneuvers of love making. They circled about
the sky, clamoring in a noisy manner; one of them even
went so far as to cling to the side of a tree and look into
an old woodpecker’s nest and try his voice on the low
love call. This was just playing at love making, how-
ever—a harmless sort of flirtation before the summer

12 STORIES OF BIRD LIFE

season was quite gone. Swallows and others have been
seen to engage in similar diversions.

It sometimes occurred that a large hawk would come to the
farm near by and take a chicken. As a preventive against
such raids the farmer planted near his chicken yard some
tall poles. On cross pieces near the top of these he tied a
number of gourds, in each of which a round entrance hole
had been cut. This was a standing invitation to purple
martins, who read by the sign that here were rooms to let.
So it happened that each season several pairs made these
gourds their homes.

Martins keep a sharp lookout for hawks. I often noticed,
however, that the sparrow hawk or his mate discovered
the presence of the chicken killer before the martins, and
by their loud cries and bold attacks quickly drove it from
the neighborhood.

One cloudy summer afternoon a great horned owl came
out of the big woods and alighted on a pine near the farm.
Now, most birds dislike the larger hawks because they
sometimes catch small birds; they have little relish for the
crow, for he has been known to steal eggs; but they hate,
literally hate and dread an owl. His dark deeds are done
under cover of the midnight shadows when all are asleep.
Like a thief in the night, he descends upon the uncon-

THE ARREDONDO SPARROW HAWK LES:

scious victim. Where is the feathered creature that loves
an owl? |

A red-headed woodpecker was the first to discover this
big horned fellow, and his wrathful notes told at once of
danger. Other birds were attracted by the noise, and came
quickly to join their voices in a chorus of protests. Sucha
bedlam of sounds they made,as flying about the tree or hop-
ping among the branches they heaped upon the unfortunate
owl all the vile epithets they could command! There were
a pair of mocking birds, a shrike and several blue jays;
and a dozen martins added their cackling notes to the
uproar.

High above all flew the Arredondo sparrow hawk. Sud-
denly he descended straight as an arrow at the head of
the hated owl. The old rogue dodged the blow and soon
turned his wing-beats toward the depths of the forest.
Above him in the air hung the pair of sparrow hawks,
who continued their pursuit, taking turns at striking down
at him, for fully half a mile of his flight.

The food of the sparrow hawks consisted largely of
grasshoppers, together with a sprinkling of beetles and
crickets. I have seen them capture the little striped
hzards common along the paths and highways of Florida.
But first and last their fare is grasshoppers. Where they
find them when cold weather comes would be hard to tell,

14 STORIES OF BIRD LIFE

but find them they do, and in great numbers as well. Woe
to the luckless grasshopper that lives in a field over which
a sparrow hawk keeps watch!
The hard in-
digestible parts
of the insects are
disgorged in
balls the size of
small marbles, and may be found about their roost-
ing places. Like an owl, the sparrow hawk eats its
prey, and afterward at leisure picks out and discards the
objectionable parts.

Unlhke many other birds Dick and his mate associated
together throughout the year. They roosted under the
eaves of a public school building standing within the
border of their domain. The male was ever distrustful of
a man anda knew to a nicety the range of a gun, for he
always left his perch before an effective shooting distance
was reached.

The female was very trustful. Would that she had
known better the heart of man! One day a boy stealthily
approached to within a few yards of where she sat and
suddenly throwing a heavy stick, struck her to the ground.
He auickly beat her into unconsciousness and after a look
at her feathers threw her body down beside the path.

THE ARREDONDO SPARROW HAWK aL

And there old Dick’s mate lay in the sunshine until the
ants, which soon swarmed over her, had consumed her
flesh, and the feathers went dancing before the wind across
the stubble of the rice field.

It has sometimes been claimed that eagles mate for life,
and that if one of a pair is killed the surviving member
will never mate again. The same has been said of swans
and some other birds. I do not know if these things be
true, but I do know that the Arredondo sparrow hawk,
bereft of his companion, did not mate again during the
three subsequent years in which I knew him.

He did not appear to miss his mate until the warm days
of January came. Then the swelling buds and the soft
winds from the Gulf began to sing weird, sweet strains in
his ears. Out of the woods he came bounding one bright
morning, and circled on strong wings about the orange
grove. He called and signaled as he cleaved the air above
the rice field in his graceful flight. But there was none to
answer him, no bright eye to follow his movements on his
aerial parade ground, for no fond spectator sat on the
top of the dead pine tree.

Day after day he came in vain to their trysting place.
Day after day his yearning heart was unstilled, and his
eager eyes sought through sky and field and forest his lost
companion. One day with food in his beak he flew up to

16 STORIES OF BIRD LIFE

the old nesting place, and in deep quiet tones gave the low
love call so dear to his mate in other days.

For more than a fortnight the faithful bird sought his
own, and then, yielding to despair, ceased to call, and the
long, cheerless silence of a mateless life closed in upon him.

THOUGHT QUESTIONS

Are the males of all the birds you know colored differently from the
females? Did you ever see a hawk on the ground; if so, did you see it
walk? Do you think hawks walk much on the ground? Why? Does a
hawk soar or flop its wings when flying, or does it do both? Does it catch
its prey with its beak or with its claws? How many kinds of hawks can
you name? Can you think of any enemies which a hawk might have
besides men? How many kinds of creatures can you name that the
sparrow hawk and other hawks will catch and eat?

OUR CHIMNEY DWELLERS

Ae Ay
ele Ne a

SEES c™, NE late summer’s even-

ing after the sun went

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down, there were ob-
served flying above
the tree-tops about the
village a large num-
ber of black objects.

\ \\ \ \ AY x % x <

iN \ . 2 Somebody said they
Una We

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Wwe NW ~

SL Ww

\\
\ WS ‘dl io RS | were bats, while others
\ S pronounced them swallows.
eo, ti ~~ But they were neither. The
swarm of dusky forms swinging rapidly about the sky
was a flock of chimney swifts. They seemed to be more
numerous in the neighborhood of a large college building.
Presently they began circling in one rushing, revolving,
twittering mass of bird life. One side of this living wheel
passed directly over the large chimney which leads down
to the furnace in the basement.

Suddenly, during those last moments of twilight before
the darkness falls, one of the swifts threw up its wings

and dropped out of sight into the chimney. Soon another
[17]

18 STORIES OF BIRD LIFE

did the same, then another and another. They went in by
pairs, by fours, almost by dozens. The wheel continued to
revolve while a stream of birds, as if thrown off by a kind
of centrifugal force, continued pouring down into the gap-
ing mouth of darkness.

We stood and counted as best we could the numbers in
this cataract of feathered life. Not for one moment was
the secne changed until the play was at an end. ‘‘One
thousand,’’ I said. ‘‘One thousand and twenty-five,’’ an-
swered the gentleman with me, who had probably counted
more correctly. Five or six birds which had hesitated to
the last moment to take the plunge, and now possibly
missed the moral support of the large company, gave up
the idea of stopping there that night, and, turning, flew
away into the falling darkness. Night closed in upon the
great chimney with its sooty walls lined with an army of
clinging, drowsy swifts; for this was the hvge bedroom
of these little pickaninnies of the air.

It was now seventeen minutes past seven o’clock. Less
than twenty minutes had been required for the whole flock
to enter. Since early morning each bird had been upon the
wing, roaming the endless pathways of the air in quest of
insect food. It is likely that not once during the day had
one paused to rest, as the swift never trusts the weight of

OUR CHIMNEY DWELLERS 19

its body to its weak feet except at such times as when in
the hollow breast of a great tree, or down
the yawning throat of a chimney, it can cling
perpendicularly to the wall, braced from below
by its tail, each feather of which ends in a stiff
needle-like outgrowth.

In the early morning we hastened out to see if
the swifts were up and away. Over the rim of the
ehimney we found them coming, singly, by twos,
by threes, by fours; making long sweeps toward
the earth with the first bound; then mounting high
in the air with innumerable twitterings, they would
7~ be off tor the day’s experiences. At five minutes
a» of six o’clock they ceased to appear. More than
eight hundred had been counted within fifteen min-
utes. Something unexpected now happened. Back
into the chimney came rushing the swifts. In ten minutes
one hundred and sixteen had re-entered. What could it
mean? Up from the east a dark, threatening cloud was
moving. The swifts had espied it, and all those which by
this time were not far afield came hurrying back to the
chimney of refuge.

For many evenings we watched these birds. They
always went to roost in the same way, going through the
same performances. For more than two weeks they con-

WSN S Ww NV),
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20 STORIES OF BIRD LIFE

tinued with us. One day near the middle of September,
we saw from my window that the maple trees over on the
hillside were turning yellow and red. ‘‘Autumn has
come,’’ said my friend. Perhaps the swifts saw the sign
too and passed the word that summer had ended and the
air would soon be free from insects.

That evening at the hour of gathering about the chimney
less than one hundred appeared. The great flock had
probably taken up its line of flight and was now far on
its course toward the land of perpetual summer. The
others lingered for a month longer, gathering in strag-
glers and also those families, the young of which had been
slow in getting upon the wing; and then one day they, too,
were off to join their fellows beneath the skies of Mexico
or Central America.

We shall see no more of the swifts until some day next
spring when we may hear falling to us from the air above
a joyous twittering, and, looking up, may catch a view of
the first arrival, a black, animated, bow-and-arrow shaped
object darting about at such a height that it seems to be
scratching its back against the sky.

The birds usually reach us in April, and within a few
' weeks nest building begins. The structure consists of a
bracket work of dead twigs glued together somewhat in
the form of a half saucer. It may be found sticking to the

OUR CHIMNEY DWELLERS pals

wall on the inside of some chimney. These twigs are the
ends of small, dead branches broken from the trees by the
birds, who grasp them with their feet or bill while on the
wing. They are fastened together by a salivary substance
secreted by glands in the bird’s mouth.

Sometimes the flow of this gluing secretion is checked.
This is possibly due in part to an unhealthy condition of
the bird. At such times the nest building must proceed
but slowly, and it may even be delayed until time for the
eggs to be deposited. Often nests have been, examined
which contained eggs many days before the full number
of twigs had been glued in place.

Before the settlement of this country the swifts built
their nests on the inner vertical sides of hollow trees, but
when the white man came with his chimneys they left their
homes in the forest and came to dwell with him.

A chimney is usually occupied by but one pair of birds.
It is only in the autumn, when the swifts accumulate from
far and near about some favorite roosting place, that we
see so many inhabiting one chimney. Their eggs are four
or five in number, and are white. Nature is not inclined
to lavish her coloring material on the shells of eggs where
it is not needed. With few exceptions those which are
deposited in dark places, as in chimneys, or holes in trees,
or in the ground, are white. Such eggs do not need the

29 STORIES OF BIRD LIFE

protection of coloring matter as do those which are laid in
open nests and are thus exposed to the eyes of many ene-
mies.

In China and some of the neighboring countries there
are swifts which build very peculiar nests. No sticks or
twigs are employed in their construction, the gummy

saliva from the bird’s mouth being the only material used.
These nests are much sought by the people of those coun-
tries as an article of food. They are built on the faces of
cliffs, or the walls of caves. In large numbers they are
gathered and sold in the markets as ‘edible bird’s nests’.
To prepare them for the table they are cooked in the form
of soup.

Our swift is a representative of a large and widely known
family. There are about eighty species found throughout
the world. About thirty occur in America, but only four
in North America, and the chimney swift alone represents
the family in the eastern part of the United States.

THOUGHT QUESTIONS

When do the swifts first come in the spring? When do they leave?
Can you tell a swift from a swallow? How is a swift different from a
bat? Did you ever know two pairs of swifts to build their nests in one
chimney the same year? Did you ever know young swifts to fall down a
chimney into the grate or fireplace? If left alone did they at length get
back up the chimney? Do you think swifts ever eat fruit? How do
swallows and swifts get water to drink?

THE CHILDHOOD OF BIB-NECK

—— pyro lS elle er
re ee

AOWN on the beach among the sand
Y dunes at Cape Lookout there is a
certain small stretch of desert
where the sun shines warm and the fierce gales which
sweep over the ocean never strike, except as in little eddies
they whisk around the dunes and blow the dry sand rat-
tling among the broken sea shells. There is no vegetation
except on the sheltered side of the sand hills where the
wild sea oats grow, and bend, and toss their heavy heads
before each breeze. Some distance over the dunes can be
seen the dun-colored roof of the life-saving station, stand-
ing well back from the ocean beach. Nearly two miles to
the north looms the Cape Lookout lighthouse, a black and
white signal pillar by day, a blaze of warning light by
night.

On this small sandy desert one June morning a young
bird for the first time peeped out with its little round eyes.
[23]

24 STORIES OF BIRD LIFE

{¢ did not distinctly see, or hear, or think anything. Al
it cared for was the pleasure of being out of that horrid old
Shell, and feeung the warm sun on its head and the soft
sea wind blowing the ends of its downy feathers.
However, it soon began to notice things. Its eyes opened
a little wider and it could see the warm white sand every-
where and the waving sea oats on the dunes round about,

~

and could hear the dull roar of the waves pounding over

on the beach. By its side lay two other little birds, its
sisters, and also a spotted egg sharply pointed at one end.
Their nest was a mere hollow in the ground, which the
mother had scratched out and lined with a few smooth
pieces of shells; but it was quite enough for the short time
these little beach babies would have need for a home.

The mother was standing near and the youngster en-
joyed looking at her. The feathers of her breast were very
white, whiter even than the sand, and she wore a dull gray

THE CHILDHOOD OF BIB-NECK 25

eoat above. About her white neck was a gray belt, like a
bib so loose that it had slipped down on her breast. How
large she was, too! She could stand and look over the
largest shell on the beach, for she could reach up until
she was five or six inches tall. She had long slender legs,
and little feet. There were only three toes on each foot,
but she could run very fast, nevertheless ; faster than
the big white crabs when they chased each
other. Her voice was soft and clear, so that
she spoke in a mellow whistle as though there
was a sort of bird flute in her throat. She
was of that species which men have named §
the Wilson’s plover.

Now, little Bib-neck (although he did not
erow the bib on his neck for days to come) and his sisters

grew tired of staying in the hole in the sand, as they had
grown weary of remaining inside the eggshells. Soon
they were out running about and learning many wonderful
things. Their mother fed them and taught them the secrets
of the seashore and the ways of plover life. They were
not allowed’to go near the water, but they often watched
their parents run down behind a wave as it left the beach,
quickly pick up what good things could be found to eat,
and then come speeding back as the next breaker would
rush in. In a short time they would be grown and could

26 STORIES OF BIRD LIFE

do that too, the little ones told themselves. At times the
family would cross to the other side of the sand banks
and feed along the quiet water’s edge of the sound.

Their mother taught them that when the wind blew
strong they must stand or move with their faces toward
it. No self-respecting plover would ever attempt to take
wing in any other direction than against the wind, for if
one tried to rise with the wind, its feathers would be
blown about in a dreadful manner and it would find
much difficulty in starting off. When severe storms came,
the plover family would run up the beach to the dunes and
sit in the shelter of the sand hills, listening to the rustle
of the waving sea oats, and watch the waves throw up their
white hands as if the shock hurt them when they struck
the shore.

‘‘ Always sit still when danger is near,’’ mother plover
had often told the little ones. The color of their down was
such that if they remained motionless it was quite hard to
distinguish them from the ground on which they lay.
Many other young birds besides plovers have learned this
lesson, and by acting on it have sometimes saved their
lives.

Bib-neck often watched the gulls flying about over the
ocean, chasing each other, and now and then sweeping
down to pick up objects from the waves. One day a large

THE CHILDHOOD OF BIB-NECK ae

one came down the beach and gave Bib-neck a great fright.
He lay quite still, but he felt sure the gull saw him; for he
looked down and gave a loud, laughing shout that filled
Bib-neck with terror. Then the gull flew around and
around and called so loud that it seemed that all creatures
everywhere must hear the signal.

A bird which appeared to be a small gull, but was in
reality a tern, did hear and soon joined him. It had a ter-
rible little voice and squeaked as though its wings were
fastened on with rusty hinges. Bib-neck lay very quiet
and hoped that they would not hurt him; and they did not,
for probably they never saw him. Pretty soon the gull
flew down close to the little plover, and then with a cry like
a loud laugh it flew up again and went on down the shore
followed by the tern. An old straw hat had been washed
ashore and was lying near the spot where Bib-neck was
crouching, and it was no doubt this which had interested
the gull and the tern.

But a more dangerous experience, if not a more fright-
ful one, was in store for this juvenile inhabitant of the
dunes. One day a sudden cry of warning from his mother
caused him to squat silent and immovable as the worn and
broken seashells about him. An instant later a fierce hawk
stopped suddenly in mid-air almost directly overhead.

Now hawks are not common along these beaches and the

28 STORIES OF BIRD LIFE

wonder is that Bib-neck knew enough to lie quiet. The
hawk had seen him near that spot only the fraction of a
second before, and it checked its flight with a mighty whir
and flap of its wings which it hoped would cause the little
plover to start, or move his head just the least portion of
an inch, and thus disclose himself. But Bib-neck did not
stir, although the shadow of the bird had fallen over him
and the wicked yellow eyes seemed to look straight into his
as they searched the sands. The hawk wheeled and hov-
ered, and then flew off only to return in half a minute
with another great rush. It disliked to give up the search,
for it was hungry and was hunting in good earnest for its
~ dinner. |

But it did not have much longer to wait, for it soon sur-
prised a red-shouldered blackbird among the reeds of a
small marsh back of the dunes. Away went the blackbird
with a startled cackle, the hawk in hot pursuit.

Bib-neck saw it all from his lookout tower on the top of a
Cune. He beheld his marsh neighbor when first he flew, and
saw him at intervals during the game of dodging which fol-
lowed. He often saw the red epaulettes of the blackbird
twinkle in the sunlight, and at times the flash of light on
the upturned flanges of the hawk’s wings as it dived and
twisted in the race. It was all so new and fearful and
exciting to him that he fairly danced with nervousness.

THE CHILDHOOD OF BIB-NECK 29

The game was a short one, for the small bird was no match
for his foe.

As the blackbird was in the act of darting into a clump
of sea oats a long yellow foot with claws sharp as needles
closed down upon him and one shrill cry told that the end
had come. There on some driftwood the hawk stood and,
holding its prey with its feet, reached down with its long
eurved beak and the midday meal began.

The men who lived
at the life-saving sta-
tion sometimes came
to the part of the
beach where the
plover family lived.
One day two of them
passed close to where
Bib-neck and his sis-
ter were. They sat

very close on the sand
and the men did not
see them. Father and mother plover were quite uneasy.
They flew close to the men and cried and tried to get the
intruders to follow them away. The mother even pre-
tended to be lame. When the men saw this one of them
said, ‘‘ Look at that bird; she has a nest or young ones near
here, or she would not do that way. J have seen partridges

30 STORIES OF BIRD LIFE

on the mainland act in the same manner when I was near
their young.’’

Then they began to search among the shells. This
alarmed the parents so much that they determined to try
their last and best trick. The little mother ran up close
to the men, fell on her side and fluttered and cried as
though she were dying. The father bird, and two other
plovers who had a nest farther up the shore, ran to her
and rubbed her with their bills as if very anxious and so
sorry about her sickness.

‘‘Look there,’’? said the man who had spoken before;
‘‘that bird really is hurt. I have seen many kinds of birds
pretend to be injured, but have never seen two play differ-
ent parts in the same trick.”’

So they tried to catch her. But Mrs. Plover seemed to
get better, and ran on for fifteen or twenty yards and then
appeared to be taken sick again. The other plovers gath-
ered about as before and put their bills under her as if
to raise and help the sick one. The men went hurrying
on, but the lady bird again recovered enough to run for
a little distance. Bib-neck saw them pass off among the
dunes, the four birds in front and the two men following
after.

The young plovers grew very rapidly both in stature and
in wisdom, so that before the autumn came they were as

—— 4 pre

THE CHILDHOOD OF BIB-NECK aie

large, if not as wise, as their parents. During the latter
part of the summer many other birds, some larger and
some smaller than the plovers, began to appear on the
beaches. At night numbers of feathered forms appeared
to be flying southward overhead, and strange voices called
to each other out of the sky.

Flocks of sandpipers, sanderlings and plovers contin-
ually stopped on the beaches to feed and rest before con-
tinuing their journey. They came at length in swarms,
and their numbers seemed to be without limit. Hun-
dreds, and sometimes thousands, would rise and whirl up
or down the beach with wonderful precision, all rising,
or dropping, or turning with the accuracy of perfectly
trained soldiers.

All these sights seemed very new and wonderful to Bib-
neck, and yet the forefathers of these birds had been acting
in the same way for thousands of years. It seemed that no
bird wanted to be alone and all kept in flocks as far as
possible. Bib-neck began to imbibe some of the same
spirit, and once or twice when a flock of semi-palmated
plovers flew by, he joined, and fed with them for half a
day. But for the most part he staid by himself or in com-
pany with his parents and sisters.

There were also thereabouts some tall yellow-legged
birds which had loud clear voices, and when they ealled

Cy. STORIES OF BIRD LIFE

all could hear, from the edge of the breakers up to the
dunes and beyond. The yellow-legs were the sentinels,
and were always the first to see the approach of an enemy.
When the clear whistling danger call of the yellow-legs
came down on the wind, the beach birds gathered them-
selves for a sudden dash; for in flight, rather than in
crouching, their chief safety now lay. Men with guns were
the foes most to be feared at this season.

The boy who lived at the hghthouse would bring his old
musket every day or two and run along the beach after the
droves of birds, shooting, and calling to his dog to catch
them. And the dog would rush barking across the sand
at any flock of birds which settled near. All this but
added to the birds’ experiences of the day and they did
not object to the element of danger in the sport, for sel-
dom was anyone hurt. |

There came a day which they all had cause to remem-
ber. One morning the shrill warning flute of the yellow-

legs suddenly rang out and sounded again and again.

These birds had arisen from the sand and were flying
swiftly down the beach, calling to everybody that danger
was abroad. The distant discharge of a gun was followed
in a few seconds by flocks of birds hurrying down the
shore. Running to the top of his favorite dune, Bib-neck
saw four or five men with guns, coming at a distance.

THE CHILDHOOD OF BIB-NECK ao

They wore leggins and each carried a hunting bag, for
they were sportsmen from the yacht which the evening
before had dropped anchor in the bight of the cape.

On they came with bang after bang of the terrible guns.
The birds rose before them and whirled away in swarms.
One at a time the hunters dropped behind each other and
hid themselves among the dunes. At last only one man
was in sight far down the shore.

This wet beach, with its shallow pools here and there
left by the receding tides, was a favorite feeding place for
the birds, and they were loath to leave it. So, after being
driven to the extremity of their range by the solitary hun-
ter, many flocks cireled him and turned again up the
beach. This quickly brought them within range of one of
the concealed hunters, and then another and a few moments
later still another was shooting into their midst.

Back and forth, up and down, the terrified birds flew,
calling and calling constantly, while through it all ever
sounded the danger cries of the faithful yellow-legs.
Every way the flocks turned they encountered a gun whose
discharge tore murderously through their ranks. For
many hours this killing continued, and when at length the
hunters went their way they carried with them long strings
of birds as well as full hunting bags.

Many were shot and fell which the hunters failed to find.

34 STORIES OF BIRD LIFE

Bib-neck saw a wounded one that flew out over the breakers
sink lower and lower until it fell. For a time it rode the
waves, but these at length beat out its life, and long after
the gunners had gone he watched its small white body as
it rose and fell on the billows, drifting out to sea.

One afternoon it began to rain. All night the clouds
gathered and the rain fell and the wind blew. The sky
and the sea were very black except for the pale glow of the
white caps on the shore. Of the hosts hurrying south-
ward many lost their way because they could not see the
landmarks below, and were driven out to sea and the hun-
gry waves swallowed up their weary bodies. Others were
blinded by the glare of the lighthouse and dashed help-
lessly against the big lamp or struck the sides of the tower
and were killed. It was a terrible night for the migrating
birds and many thousands must have perished.

Soon after this a flock of large, fine looking birds was
seen feeding on the beach. If the old plovers had really
known they might have told their children that these birds
were plovers also, their relatives, the black-bellied plovers
who lived in the far north and were now on their way
south, like so many other birds, to spend the winter months.
The sight of these but stirred Bib-neck’s spirit the more,
for a great longing had grown in his mind to fly away to
the southward with the migrating multitudes.

THE CHILDHOOD OF BIB-NECK ou

One evening a company of sandpipers and plovers came
flying overhead. They called and piped so loudly that the
plover family thought it was time for them to heed the
warning. So they arose from the beach and bidding fare-
well to the waves and the dunes and the nodding sea oats,
joined the travelers, and soon all were lost to view, flying
southward, southward toward the shores of perpetual sum-
mer.

THOUGHT QUESTIONS

The killdeer is a kind of plover; have you ever seen one? How do
birds teach their young—by telling, or by showing them? Why do birds
sometimes sit still when danger is near? Have you ever seen birds pretend
to be hurt in order to attract attention? When? Do you know many
birds which leave the country when winter comes? Name some. Why do

they go south?

ROBIN REDBREAST
mnie

f i
ri)

{I!
The

LTH OU
doubt the
most popular bird
with the people of
our country is the
| American robin.
Even in parts of the most southern tier of States, where
he is seen only in winter, the place he holds in the hearts of
men is second only to the master songster, the mocking
bird. He is such a cheerful, companionable fellow that one
cannot help loving him.

In regions where the robin passes the spring and summer
months his song is well known. Scarcely do the first faint
streaks of light appear on the eastern sky before the robin,
mounted on a tree top or some protruding bough, begins
to pour forth his morning hymn of loud, cheerful notes.
At almost any time of day one may hear his song, as it 1s

continued at intervals until late in the afternoon.
[36]

; er} eee

ROBIN REDBREAST Sif

The male has no employment while his mate is sitting
except to gather food, preen his feathers, and indulge in
such singing as his joyous heart may dictate. However,
when the baby robins have broken their blue prison cells
his work begins. Then there is less time for preening, and
singing must be given up almost entirely. From morning
until night both parents are obliged to toil constantly to
feed the hungry nestlings.

Many of the worms and insects which robins eat are
harmful to growing grain and fruit. So it comes about
that these birds perform no small part in keeping down
the number of such pests. Each day a young robin re-
quires more than its own weight of this kind of food.
Think what good a family of them must do in a garden in
summer!

The nest is usually built in a bush or tree near the abode
of man, although at times it may be found to oceupy a
suitable place far from any house, even deep in the woods.
Shade trees in lawns, or fruit trees in gardens, are favorite
sites.

Last spring a pair of robins built their nest on the bough
of a balsam standing beside a much used walk on our
college campus. In gathering the timbers for the home the
greatest care was always exercised to work at those hours
of the day when there was the least chance of being ob-

38 STORIES OF BIRD LIFE

served. Thus the greater part of the construction of the
nest was carried forward in the early morning while few
people were astir. Seldom would any work be done from
the breakfast hour until after students ceased to cross the
campus in numbers, which was about nine o’clock. Then
for an hour or more the building was rushed. Only during
the last few days of its construction did I detect them
working during an afternoon. The morning was, of all
the day, the favorite time for nest making. Perhaps one
reason for this was that blades of dead grass, straw and
other nesting stuff were then damp and pliable, owing to
the night dews, and were much more easily woven into
position than after they had become dry and hard.

In a little pool at the end of a leaky horse trough, the
birds gathered the mud needed to daub their nest and
carried it home in their bills. In dry seasons when suitable
mud is difficult to find, robins have been known to carry
water in their beaks to a road and there mix.the mud for
themselves.

On the 18th of April the nest appeared to be completed,
for no more materials were brought. On the 22nd the
female began sitting. I could see her tail extending over
one side of the nest, and her bill pointing upward at a
sharp angle from the other. She flew off the first day,
when the half hundred young men who frequented that

ROBIN REDBREAST 39

walk came along on their way to meals. But she soon
became accustomed to them, and would sit quietly, although
numerous heads passed within five or six feet. No one
disturbed the bird nor the nest with its four blue eggs,
and on May 6th I saw her feeding the young. Thus about
two weeks had been required for the eggs to hatch. Four
days after this event, while standing on the walk, I noticed
the heads of the young-
sters bobbing above the
nest. They were gain-
ing strength rapidly. ea

The morning of May
mat was. -eool’ - and’ 4"
rainy. A drizzling rain
had been falling for

PRR RS

Pte

some hours. This
dreary morning hap-
pened to come on the
day when the young robins desired to leave the nest. Rain
could not dampen their desire, nor check their plans. At
seven o’clock three of them were found sitting motionless
a foot or more from the nest on the limb which held it. I
watched them for fifteen minutes but they scarcely moved
during that time, and only when I at length approached
them did they take notice of me. Each had gathered him-

40 STORIES OF BIRD LIFE

self into as small a space as possible and with head drawn
down close seemed waiting for something to happen. But
their eyes were bright as they looked out over the vast
expanse of the lawn before them—that trackless region, to
compass which they dared not yet trust their strength. The
other one could not be found.

The old birds were making no alarm, in fact they were
not even in sight, nor have I ever seen them since to my
knowledge. Neither during incubation nor while the young
were being fed had they ever been noisy about the nest.
They approached and left it always in the most quiet man-
ner. When the male sang he was ever at a sufficient dis-
tanee not to attract attention to the home in the balsam.

After the family had once deserted the nest there was no
hope of their ever returning. So, in order to examine it
more closely, | removed it from the limb; I wanted to see
how all that wonderful structure was put together. This
is what I found: In its building a framework of slender
balsam twigs had first been used. There were sixty:
three of these, some of which were as much as a foot in
length. They served as the sills and studding of the house.
Intertwined with them were twenty fragments of weed
stalks and large grass stems. The red clay cup, the plaster-

ing of the house, which came next inside, varied in thick-

ROBIN REDBREAST 41

ness from a quarter of an inch at the rim to an inch at the
bottom. Grass worked in with the clay while it was yet
soft aided in holding the mud cup together. And now last
of all came the smooth dry carpet of fine grass. The whole
structure measured eight inches across the top. Inside it
was three inches in width and one and a half in depth.
It was one of those wonderful objects which were made for
a purpose, and had served that purpose well.

For some time it has been known that robins congre-
gate in numbers to spend the nght. Mr. Bradford Torrey
has told us of a large roost in New England. The place
was used only during summer after the young of the first
brood were old enough to be upon the wing and fly thither
with the adult males. The females at this time were busy
hatching their second nest of eggs. A swampy woodland
was the spot selected, and here the birds assembled each
night during the months from June to October. As he
watched them entering the woods in the evening, he often
counted more than a thousand coming to the roost from one
direction.

A winter roost far more remarkable for numbers than
this has been described to me by a gentleman who lived
near it in his youth. It was situated in what is locally
known as a ‘‘cedar glade,’’ near Fosterville, Bedford
county, ’ennessee. The land there is swampy. Lime-

2]

[4

ROBIN REDBREAST — 43

stone outcrops on the surface, and the soil thus long escap-
ing drainage and the plow, gave opportunity for a vast
growth of cedar trees. This entire tract covered an area
perhaps thirty by forty miles. In all this cedar country,
robins came in immense numbers during the winter months
to feed on the cedar berries.

‘‘By the middle of a winter’s afternoon,’’ said my
friend, ‘‘the robins would begin coming by our house in
enormous flocks, which would follow one another like great
waves moving on in the direction of the roost. They would
continue to pass until night. We lived fifteen miles from
the roost, and it was a matter of common observation that
the birds came in this manner from all quarters.

‘“The spot which the roost oceupied was not unlike num-
bers of others that might have been selected. The trees
here grew to a height of from five to thirty feet, and for a
mile square were literally loaded at night with robins.
Hunting them while they roosted was a favorite sport.
A man would climb a cedar tree with a torch while his
companions with poles and clubs would disturb the sleep-
ing hundreds on the adjacent trees. Blinded by the light,
the suddenly awakened birds would fly to the torch bearer,
who, as he seized each bird, would quickly pull off its head,
and drop the bird into a sack suspended from his shoulder.

‘‘The capture of three or four hundred birds was an

44 STORIES OF BIRD LIFE

ordinary night’s work. Men and boys would come in
wagons from all the adjoining counties and camp near the
roost for the purpose of killing robins. Many times one
hundred or more hunters with torches and clubs would be
at work in a single night.’’

For three years this tremendous slaughter continued
each winter. Then the birds deserted the roost. This
desertion has been attributed by Professor Claxton, whose
account of the roost has just been given, to three possible
causes. First, the constant and wholesale killing of their
numbers; second, the failure of the crop of cedar berries ;
and third, the cutting away of much of the growth which
formed their feeding grounds. Whether the birds chose
some other roosting place in common I have been unable to
learn; but the old roost has not been occupied for twenty-
five years.

In many places robins are considered game birds, and
during the colder months are often shot as they wander in
flocks about the country, seeking food. Once I asked a
boy on the Carolina coast near Nag’s Head what game
birds were to be found there. ‘‘Ducks, and rabbits, and
robins,’’ he replied.

In the southern part of their range these birds do not
pass the spring and summer, so their song is unknown to
many. In fact, the birds here are not always looked upon

ROBIN REDBREAST AD

with the greatest favor. In reckless, rollicking bands they
feed about in the pine woods, shouting to each other in
loud shrill voices. They come into the towns and dissipate
dreadfully. A common shade tree growing in Southern
lawns and along the streets is the china tree. The juice of
its half dried berries in winter often has the effect of mak-
ing the consumers tipsy. Tourists are sometimes shocked
to see their dear

robin friends from ‘es
the North actually Z|
drunk and _ with

soiled feathers and
uncouth manners

floundering in the
mud. While in this: } ig
condition, dangers ys fay? i
swift and terrible 977 {.'pi@P
lurk for their destruction.

Once I came upon an interesting flock of robins feeding
in the edge of a wood. Several were in a large china

tree taking their fill of the dangerous berries. Judging
from the din and clamor the intoxicating juice was already
taking effect. One bird in particular had ‘‘lost his head.’’
He sat on a stump with ruffled feathers and drooping
wings, calling continually. Now and then he whirled with

46 STORIES OF BIRD LIFE

a flourish of his wings as if striking at an imaginary antag-
onist. He would wave his wings and strike and scream as
though tormented by some woodland imp. Once he flopped
to the ground and stood a short time, his tail all jammed
upward behind him where it had struck a bunch of grass
when he lit. In his endeavors to regain the top of the
stump the giddiness in his head was evident, for twice he
fell back. At the third attempt he succeeded in grasping
the side of the stump, and there hung for some time waving
his wings about, and shouting wildly as if for help.
Scarcely had he regained the top when a sharp note of
danger sent the flock rushing pell mell for shelter,—all
but the one on the stump. He paid no heed. Like a flash
a sharp-shinned hawk shot out of the woods straight for
the luckless redbreast. Now he seemed vaguely to realize
his danger. Rising almost straight in the air he suddenly
bore off to the right, barely missing a pine as he did so.
Twenty feet farther and, slap, a foot of the hawk struck
home and the fluttering robin was borne away. The squall-
ing victim fluttered desperately and within fifty yards
escaped. The hawk, seeing me running forward with much
noise and many flourishes, hastily took himself off.
Picking up the robin I found his captor had but grasped
his tail. This hold had proven ineffectual and by dint of
much tugging the robin had escaped, although leaving

ROBIN REDBREAST 47

behind every tail feather he had originally possessed. He
seemed somewhat sobered by this time and was not at all
inclined to comment on the affair. When I left him ten
minutes later standing uneasily amid the long wire grass
of the woods, he was very quiet, and no sound escaped his
bill so long as I was within hearing.

THOUGHT QUESTIONS.

At what times of year have you seen the robin? When does it sing?
Does it have more than one song? What is the color of a robin’s egg?
Does a robin hop, or walk when on the ground? Do robins fight each
other? How many times during a day have you heard one sing? Does
the robin feed his mate while she is sitting? Can a young one fly as
soon as it leaves the nest? Does a robin get its food mostly on the ground
or in trees? Should robins ever be killed?

[48]

AN OLD BARRED OWL

Y O one knew exactly
“THY how old he was, but
there was an idea
prevalent in the
neighborhood that
“the big Swamp
owl’? which lived in
the woods down
along the bottom
land had been en-
joying the pleasures of
2 MES life for fully ten years.
ae cS He bore a bad reputation
Ras ie and was regarded as both
a thief and a murderer. Of course
there were other owls about and there
was no absolute proof that this particular bird was respon-
sible for all the crimes which were placed to his account.

The people of the surrounding country, however, were
possessed of the strong conviction that this old robber
deliberately planned and carried out his raids on their

[49]

50 STORIES OF BIRD LIFE

poultry yards whenever such an enterprise seemed good
to him, and that he alone of all the owls was guilty of such
deeds. Whenever the midnight air was rent by the agon-
ized ery of a fowl from the direction of the henhouse, the
infuriated farmer would spring from his bed and rush out,
gun in hand, vowing the most dreadful vengeance on ‘‘ that
old swamp owl.”’

There was no chicken, guinea or turkey in the whole
region that lost its life by night, or failed to return after a
day spent afield, that its disappearance was not regarded
as due to this bird’s inroads. Consequently he was hated
and dreaded by all the chicken raisers of the region, and
angry farmers on more than one occasion, at the solicita-
tions of their wives, made expeditions into the bottom
land woods to hunt out and kill this great source of annoy-
ance. Such efforts were always futile, although charges
of lead were often shot into the opening of the large cavity
in the big hickory where he was supposed to pass the day.

The view of the matter from the owl’s standpoint was a
little different. True, he visited a henroost once in a great
while and took a half grown chicken, as did also his mate.
The great horned owl which lived over in the big pine
woods and sometimes on rainy days called ‘‘who-o, who-o,
who-o’’ across the fields to them was likewise not free from
guilt. He too would make an occasional night attack on

AN OLD PARRED OWL 51

some sleeping hen and carry her off to his little owlets
in their rude nest which had been used and abandoned by
a hawk the year before. Minks, foxes, coons, opossums
and skunks also knew the flavor of the flesh of the barn-
yard fowl. Why, then, unless one of these intruders was
actually caught in the act, should he always be given the
eredit for the outrages committed on the barnyard?

Among the enemies with which the farmer has to con-
tend are the rabbits. They get into his garden and eat the
vegetables, and gnaw the young fruit trees to a dangerous
degree. The barred owls doubtless had no conscious desire
to render a service to the owner of the fields over which
they hunted, but they did it nevertheless by the num-
ber of cotton-tails which they annually destroyed. It was
not safe for a rabbit to expose itself in the locality inhab-
ited by the owls. Many a luckless one venturing out of
cover into the fields never returned, save as borne aloft
through the air by his arch enemy; for, suddenly and
without warning, there would bear down upon him, silently
as a shadow, the big gray bird. Fearful pains would seize
his body as the long talons closed npon him; he would
eatch the fierce glare of two grcat brown eyes; there would
be a brief struggle, and all would be over. |

The crawfish which had their holes in the damp ground
along the creek came out much at night and ran about, but

iv STORIES OF BIRD LIFE

many of them never came back, for they went to feed the
same hungry mouths which ate the rabbits. Scores of
frogs on the creek banks also lost their lives by the same
terrible enemy. A favorite article of food with him was the
flesh of the meadow mice. These creatures he captured in
great numbers about the farm. Grasshopper steak was
also a popular diet with him.

Up in the peach
ie orchard a little
39" screech owl had her

Si shorn each spring for two
or three years. She and her mate would sometimes go to
the barn at night and even perch in the trees about the
yard and call to each other in their strange, shivering
tones, which caused the young women in the house to wish
that all owls were dead. One autumn they were particu-
larly noisy, for they had brought their children from the
orchard and seemed to be giving them lessons in owl music.
Perhaps the big fellow from the bottom land, while roving
about the fields, heard them. Be that as it may, one morn-
ing the feathers of a little sereecher were found scattered
about the lawn, and from the bark of a large limb over the
limestone walk some of them still fluttered.

AN OLD BARRED OWL 53

The old swamp owl hunted and killed at will about the
fields and through the pine woods, but always after the
shadows of night had gathered; so the eyes were few that
saw him come and go, and no ear ever heard the passing
of his silent wings. However, it will not do to suppose for
a moment that the farmers were the only ones who gave the
owl a bad name. All the small birds and animals knew
him, although in most part only by the sound of his voice,
and they feared him as they feared death.

In a thick growth of young pine trees at the far edge of
the peanut field the crows collected one autumn to roost.
Evening after evening they came to the grove in a long
silent stream from their feeding pastures off to the south-
east. Before going to roost they would circle about the
place for a time in a noisy throng, their black forms cross-
ing and recrossing each other’s trails. Not until the twi-
hght began to thicken would they settle for sleep. One
clear starlight night, while returning across the fields from
a long day’s tramp, my course led me near the roosting
place of the crows. When just opposite the grove I heard
a flapping in one of the pines, accompanied by two or three
startled, strangled ‘‘caws.’’ Something had seized a crow
on its perch and was coming with it straight toward me.
Not twenty feet overhead passed the big barred owl with
a struggling crow in his claws. It required great effort to

54 STORIES OF BIRD LIFE

earry his resisting booty and once he came near lighting ;
but he soon vanished in the gloom, going in the direction of
the swamp.

Next morning when I awoke I heard a great outcry
among the crows. They were flying excitedly about their
roosting pines cawing and cawing with every possible
degree of anger in their voices. They seemed to be dis-
cussing something of importance, and when a conclusion
was reached they at once started to carry out their plans.
Over the peanut field they streamed, and continued on
across the old cornfield where the bobwhite family was
taking its breakfast. Straight to the bottom land woods
they flew, and scattering about overhead began searching
the trees and bushes, craning their necks downward and
peering into every place where an owl could hide. The
clamor never ceased for a moment as the search went on.
What the signal was I could not tell, but at some word all
turned their attention to a tall cedar, in which a sharp eye
had found the object of their quest. It was the old owl,
sitting on a limb close to the trunk and blinking his big
eyes as if in wonder at all the unusual noises about. Oh,
how they screamed at him! ‘‘ Murderer, murderer,’’ they
yelled. ‘‘You owl, you owl—you eat folks raw, raw, caw,
caw,—we saw, we saw, you old outlaw, outlaw.’’ They
reviled him, they told him as plainly as if in words which

AN OLD BARRED OWL 5D

could be spelled that they detested the very thought of
him.

After a time the owl grew weary of such nonsense, and
flying suddenly out of the cedar swept close to the earth
and sped away a hundred yards or more to the hollow in
the big hickory, into which he flew and was hidden from
sight. No crow cared to go into the hole after him or even
to perch at the opening, so after more abuse, in which the
interest soon began to lag because the tormenters could not
see the object of their concern, they betook themselves to
their accustomed feeding grounds, a very ill-humored flock
of crows.

The barred owls were very noisy neighbors, and at times
were quite boisterous. They appeared to shout and laugh
and say many queer things to each other, as for instance,
‘wah, wah; ha, ha; ha, wHo au,’’ or words to that effect.
One farmer’s wife declared if ever her hired girl left, ‘‘that
night the old swamp owl was sure to call, ‘Who, who, who,
who cooks for you all?’’’ But in May, when the three
white eggs in the hollow up in the big oak had hatched, the
parents did not often call, for they were then much occu-
pied with feeding their offspring.

It was about this time that the man who owned the farm
on which the owls lived, learned of a plan that he thought
might rid him of them forever. Out in the field a hundred

D6 STORIES OF BIRD LIFE

yards from the woods he planted a pole twelve feet high,
on which he set and chained a small steel trap.

A night or two later while out looking for meadow mice
the mother owl alighted on the pole. Witha snap the steel
jaws came together, catching and holding her fast in their
grasp. She was caught by her three front toes, for an owl
has two toes growing in front, one growing out behind, and
one which can be turned either way. The trap with its vic-
tim fell from the pole, but the chain which was fastened
within a foot of the top
held securely. There
through the night she
hung head downward,
swaying in the wind and

beating her wings against
the pole in her vain efforts to escape. All night with dizzy,
throbbing brain she swung and beat the air and fought for
freedom. In the morning the happy farmer came and put
an end to her suffering. He reset the trap and ret
joyfully to the house with the dead bird.

The caring for the young now devolved entirely upon
the father. Three hungry mouths to fill besides his own!
What a busy time he had of it! How diligently he must
have pursued the meadow mice and frogs! But he care-
fully avoided that fatal pole. One night he decided to try

AN OLD BARRED OWL ty

the poultry yard again. Surely all the destruction of mice
and rabbits which he had wrought must be worth another
fowl! .

Near the chicken house some guineas were roosting in a
tree. Silently he swooped down upon one of these. A
moment later both were upon the ground, but before the
guinea had expired it had given vent to several heartrend-
ing screams, which had set the whole roost to cackling.
The owl was on the point of rising with his prey when he
eaught sight of a man
near the garden gate.
There was a flash and |
me roar of a gun. At 2
this he fled, badly fright-
ened, to the woods.

\ hy fey \
LY ’ ) ty
1 ee ey thy

An hour later, when all

was quiet, he returned to
the spot where he had dropped his burden. For some reason
it was under a strong box, which was propped up by some
sticks. But the babies in the woods were hungry ; so under
the box he cautiously went. The guinea seemed tied to a
stick. He gave it a pull, when suddenly down came the
box, and he was a prisoner.

Great was the rejoicing in the neighborhood the next

morning when it became known that ‘‘the old swamp owl’’

58 STORIES OF BIRD LIFE

had been captured, and many of the neighbors came to see
him. A small box slatted on two sides served as his prison.

Three days later I saw the feathered outlaw, which was
still confined without food or water. His large wing and
tail feathers had been badly worn and broken by beating
the prison bars in his efforts to escape, and he must have
been weak with fasting. When I took him in my hands his
great brown eyes rolled and slowly winked in helpless de-
fiance. He sought to reach me with his dangerous bill, and
his struggles for freedom were by no means feeble.

I begged for his life, pleading that the good which he
did by destroying vermin far outweighed in value the few
chickens he had killed. But no, I was told that he had been
robbing henroosts for years, and had at length been caught
red-handed in the act, and so he must die. ‘‘I got the hen
owl some time ago,’’ his captor said, ‘‘and now I’ve got
the old he one, and I reckon that will pretty well break up
their chicken stealing.’’ So the deed was done, and the
farmer congratulated himself that he had rid the neighbor-
hood of one of its greatest enemies. Down in the swamp
the little baby owls waited for their food and slowly
starved to death.

Now the crawfishes and frogs along the creek have less to
fear, the screech owls whoop at pleasure in the trees about
the house, the meadow mice scamper about the fields the

AN OLD BARRED OWL 59

livelong night, and the rabbits play in the moonlight and
gnaw the farmers’ fruit trees with impunity, for the call of
the great horned owl over in the big pine woods across the
fields is never answered from the silent bottom lands. The
old swamp owl is gone.

THOUGHT QUESTIONS

Which has stronger toes and sharper claws, an owl or a turkey? Can
an owl run on the ground? When do you hear owls call in the woods?
Do you think owls do more good than they do harm? Do barred owls have
ear tuffs of feathers which are called “horns”? Would you have killed the
Old Swamp Owl?

THE BIRDS OF COBB’S ISLAND, VIRGINIA

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| XTENDING along the coast of Virginia is a
series of flat grassy islands, many of them so low as to be
covered with water at high tide. Among those high enough
to be safe from ordinary overflow is Cobb’s Island, a long
sand bank which at flood tide is only a few feet above
water. In the Autumn of 1896 this island was partially
washed away during a storm. Previous to this it was
seven miles in length, while in width it exceeded scarcely
an eighth of a mile. On its eastern side the ocean broke
continuously along the entire length. Stretching along the
western shore for perhaps half the distance was a marsh.

Among the matted clusters of marsh grass on this island
the beautiful laughing gulls found a summer home. In the

[60]

THE BIRDS OF COBB’S ISLAND, VIRGINIA 61

spring of the year they came over the sea from the South, |
many scores in number, and here built their bulky nests.
In order to reach them I once put on high rubber boots and
waded out into the marsh. There was no difficulty in find-
ing the large piles of grass which served as nests, situated
only a foot or two above the water. In each of those ex-
amined either two or three large spotted eggs were found.
On my first approach to the breeding grounds several of
the birds were ob-
served flying along
the beach just outside .
the surf, but only one
or two were hovering
over the marsh. How-
ever, annoyed by my

presence they soon
came flying about overhead, filling the air with their cries
of distress and uneasiness.

This summer gull is a pretty creature. Its head and the
quills of its wings are black, the neck and under parts
snowy white, and the feathers of its back are pearl eray.
It has feet webbed suitable for swimming, and can ride at
will upon the waves like a cork.

From the beach an observer might regard the gulls as
the only inhabitants of the marsh. But let him once start

62 STORIES OF BIRD LIFE

through it and he will change his mind. Clapper rails,
sometimes termed ‘‘marsh hens,’’ called constantly to each
other from their hidden retreats in the grass. At times
some of them must have been within a few yards of where
I stood, but so carefully were they concealed in their cov-
ered runways beneath the grass, and so closely did the

markings of their feathers resemble their surroundings,
that, although a dozen of the birds would often be calling
near at one time, I was unable to catch sight of a single one.
A few of their nests were found. Some of these held as
many as twelve spotted eggs, although the most of those
examined had been deserted by the young.

~The clapper rail is about fifteen inches in length, includ-

THE BIRDS OF COBB’S ISLAND, VIRGINIA 63

ing its short excuse for a tail. Its body is very slender,
which makes it admirably adapted for threading its way
through the labyrinthian pathways of its marshy haunts.
Its legs are slim and the bird is a good runner. It can
also swim with ease. It is a poor flyer and as a result
seldom takes to wing. Hunters sometimes set the marsh
on fire to start the birds from cover. Then when they rise
and fly slowly along in their awkward manner they present
a target not easily missed even by an amateur sportsman.

Members of
the rail family
are found in
many parts of 4
the world, and
everywhere they
are the same ex-

cellent runners 3
and poor flyers. On the Mascarene Islands there once
lived a rail which stood seven feet high. Its feathers
had brilliant hues and were much sought by sailors who
chanced now and then to land on the islands. So the
natives hunted the birds far and wide to get the feathers
for barter. Such a war was waged that in the end they
were entirely exterminated. The last one is supposed to
have perished over two hundred years ago.

64 STORIES OF BIRD LIFE

Cobb’s Island, at the time of my visit in June, was the
home of many birds of the sea. Ona strip of sandy beach
well up from the reach of the waves the beautiful long
winged sea swallows, or terns, had their homes. With
them were also associated the black skimmers. These are
birds which, with long knife-like bills, skim their food from
the waves as they wander along the seacoast. From the
habit of coming close to shore during bad weather they
are often called by the fishermen ‘‘storm gulls.’’ ‘‘Shear-
water’’ is also a popular name in some localities.

One of the prettiest sights
of the coast is a tern; in fact,
no ocean view is complete
without one. Beautifully
balancing on wings of pearl

he comes floating down the
wind as lightly as a fragment of cloud might drift before
the breeze. In flight he has the perfection of movement and
the embodiment of grace. What human eye can mark
his course and not feel the esthetic thrill that ever stirs the
mind when in the presence of one of Nature’s master-
pieces? His bright eye catches the sunlight glint on the
scales of a fish among the tossing waves and swift as an
arrow he strikes headlong into the deep. The downward
plunge is as sudden as it is swift and seldom does the bird
miss his mark.

THE BIRDS OF COBB’S ISLAND, VIRGINIA 65

‘Sea birds are possessed of great curiosity regarding any
strange object they may chance upon in their wanderings.
I have seen gulls hover and scream for half an hour over
an old basket awash in the surf. Half way along the ocean
side of Cobb’s Island lay a broken fishing boat where it
had been carried and left by some high tide. The long
brown roll of dried sea weed extending along the beach
and marking the high water line crossed the spot where
the boat lay and partially filled 11.

I climbed into this boat one afternoon and lay down on
my back to see what the birds would have to say when they
saw me. Within five minutes I heard a dry high-pitched
squeak and, moving my hat slightly, saw a tern thirty or
forty feet above looking down at me. How his little yellow
eyes did glisten with curiosity! In another moment he
fell off before the wind, but soon came back, slowly balanc-
ing along against the breeze. Again and again his squeaky
ery was uttered. Then another tern appeared, and soon a
gull joined them. Within fifteen minutes a dozen gulls
and more than one hundred terns were flying about, all
making a great outcry at the strange figure in the boat.
Any movement on my part was a signal for a louder out-
burst of sounds as the birds rose higher or hurried away
only to return a minute later to hover and stare and scream
as before. Not until I arose and walked away were they

66 STORIES OF BIRD LIFE

satisfied toleave the spot where had lain the strange
creature which had excited them so much. .

Many observers agree that twenty years ago countless
thousands of terns annually gathered at Cobb’s Island to
lay and hatch their eggs. Fishermen told me that bushels
of eggs could then be gathered in a few hours’ search, and
that it was almost impossible to walk along the beach with-
out crushing them. People frequently visited the island
to gather eggs to eat. While thus engaged the birds would
flock about the heads of the intruders with deafening cries,
trying to drive them from the beach.

If one of the birds was shot and disabled, dozens of
others would gather about the unfortunate comrade with
loud notes of distress. Nor would they be frightened away
by the repeated discharges of the guns, but would continue
to fly excitedly about while one by one they fell bleeding to
the ground.

So easily may terns be killed during the nesting season,
and so pretty are the silver-gray feathers of their wings,
that milliners learned that here was a profitable field for
investment. Accordingly hunters were employed to go to
the nesting places and shoot the birds. The skins were
shipped to the great cities and there made into trimmings
for ladies’ hats. Ten thousand skins were gathered at
Cobb’s Island in a single season. All along the coast from

THE BIRDS OF COBB’S ISLAND, VIRGINIA 67

Maine to Florida and around the shores of the Gulf of |
Mexico as far as Texas the hunting was carried on.

Expeditions were fitted out each summer for collecting
the birds. Hunters would take a sailing vessel, provide
food and ammunition in sufficient amounts to last them
for several weeks, and setting sail would cruise from
island to island in search of the birds. Upon reaching a
beach inhabited by terns the vessel would be brought to
anchor, and here the crew would stay shooting and skin-
ning as long as the occupation continued profitable, which
was usually until the birds were all dead or driven away.

By 1890 the numbers of the terns along the Atlantic
coast of the Southern States had become so depleted that
many of the annual expeditions of the feather gatherers
were discontinued. Individual hunters here and there
still seek out the few remaining breeding places of the sea
swallows and keep up the work of extermination.

One day I stood upon the deck of a two-masted sharpie
lying at anchor in Bogue Sound on the North Carolina
coast. I was talking to an old man whose long thin hair
fell in waves on his shoulders. He was a professional
bird hunter and in the captain’s cabin near which we stood
had, with a companion, skinned many thousands of sea
birds. ‘‘I have hunted the terns in their nesting places,’’
he said, ‘‘from New England southward to the West

68 STORIES OF BIRD LIFE

Indies, and I do not believe there is a rookery in all this
line of coast that I have not repeatedly visited.’’ He had
shipped, be told me, more than one hundred thousand
skins.

One of the most attractive of the tern family is the small
variety known as the least tern. Once they lived by thou-
sands along our coast, but now the birds are rarely seen.
J asked the old feather hunter where these might be found
nesting, and he replied, ‘‘I doubt if there will be a least
tern’s egg laid this summer within two hundred miles of
here.’’

Before me stood an old man whose eyes had become
dim through a life spent in contending with waves, and
wandering over the blistering sands of summer beaches.
He had never been taught to love and protect the birds, and
by killing them he had seen a chance to win his bread. Is
he the one to blame for the death of the terns?

The destruction of so many sea birds at length drew
public attention, and several States, now when it was
almost too late, passed laws for their protection. On some
of the islands along the New England coast inhabited by
terns, wardens are stationed whose business it is to keep
off intruders. Thus protected the birds in a few places
are once more increasing in numbers. Societies for the
protection of birds have been formed in many parts of the

THE BIRDS OF COBB’S ISLAND, VIRGINIA 69

country and their efforts to arouse interest in bird study
and prevent the wearing of bird feathers have met with
much success.

But these movements came too late to save the terns of
Cobb’s Island. Almost as if by magic the vast rookery was
destroyed, and as though Nature wished to forget the
scene of such bloodshed and suffering, the storm king
roared down upon its beaches one autumn, and now noth-
ing is left but a mere strip of sand barely half a mile in
length.

THOUGHT QUESTIONS

Were you ever on the seashore; if so, what birds did you see? Were
you ever in a marsh; if so, what birds did you see there? Why do rails
not live on the open ground instead of keeping hidden away in the tall

grass? Do you think terns and gulls should be killed for their feathers?

j
:

[70]

—o

A PAIR OF EAGLES

er N a thick damp wood near a
f §=s lake in Levy county, Flor-
ida, stands a tall pine tree
which for fifteen years has
held a nest of the bald
eagle. For ninety-one feet
the great pine raises its
slender trunk without a
branch. Thirty feet higher
is the nest in the main fork
of the tree, which here
sends out three limbs.

The structure is a large

one. Year after year it
has been used, and the birds each
season, In repairing the damages sus-
i tained during the months when it was

unoccupied, have added material un-
til it has become more than four feet in thickness. In width
it is likewise about four feet. Some of the sticks used
extend outward at the sides, making the diameter of the
nest, if these be included, fully six feet. The material of

[1]

pe STORIES OF BIRD LIFE

which it is made consists largely of dead twigs and small
pine branches. These usually have the bark still adhering.
Some are only a few inches in length, while others are two
feet long. The largest stick I have seen in the nest was
three and one-half feet in length, and measured at its great-
est circumference nearly four inches. The structure is
slightly basin shaped on top, the depression in the center
being about four inches deep. This I once found lined
with dry moss which the birds had gathered by the lake
shore when the water was low.

Such is the domicile of a pair of shrewd old eagles that
have long been a terror to the wild ducks which in winter
gather on the neighboring lake, and a source of continual
annoyance to the sheep raisers of the surrounding country
in summer. Their careers would long ago have been cut
short if the plans of any of the numerous hunting expedi-
tions against them could have been successfully carried
out. Poison has been repeatedly set, and scores of rifle
balls have sung their way through the forest or across the
lake to strike out the lives of these troublesome enemies.
But the bald eagles lived cn unharmed.

Exasperated at the number of lambs carried out of his
pasture one year by these birds, the owner vowed that he
would never know happiness again until he had killed at
least one of the robbers. But no opportunity came to him

———e ee ee

A PAIR OF EAGLES Te

that summer for carrying out his threat. If he caught
sight of one of them it was either when his gun was not
at hand, or the bird was too far away. During the winter
when the birds repaired to their nest to rear their young,
the sheep raiser thought the time for their destruction had
arrived. Waiting until he knew the eggs had been laid,
he took his gun, loaded it with heavy shot, and secreted
himself one morning near the big pine in the swamp. He
meant to kill the old birds as they approached or left the
nest.

When he arrived there was no sign of life about the big
dark structure high in the tree. Hour after hour went by
but no eagle appeared. Not until eleven o’clock was his
watchfulness rewarded. Then before he was aware of its
approach the home coming eagle had wheeled and was off
in a twinkling out of gun shot. He sent three ounces of
lead whizzing after it, then gave up the attempt and went
home.

The next morning found the hunter again in the eagle
haunted woods near the lake. He made himself com-
fortable on a bed of long moss which he pulled from the
trees. From his position he had a commanding view of the
nest and a clear field in which to aim. He propped up the
muzzle of his gun with a forked stick which he stuck in the
ground, that the weapon might be more convenient to fire

14 STORIES OF BIRD LIFE

at the right moment. He had brought food and water
and meant to stay until one of the yellow eyed birds with
big claws should lie dead at his feet.

A cold drizzling rain set in, but the hunter was plucky.
He pulled down more moss and drew it as a covering over
his legs and body, and
waited. Day dawned,
and the dull yellow spot
which indicated through
the clouds the presence
of the sun crept slowly
upward through the sky.
Cold and dreary and
damp was the lonely
forest, but the man with
a purpose staid on. It

was twelve o’clock before the rain ceased. Soon afterward
with a spring the eagle left the nest, and dodging quickly
behind it sped away. Firing harmlessly into the air the
discouraged farmer shouldered his empty gun and de-
parted, nor tried again that year to kill the eagles at their
nest.

Desiring to examine the nest more closely than could be
done with an opera glass, I determined to climb the tree.
This I accomplished on January twentieth in the following
manner: Taking a narrow board three feet long, I nailed

A PAIR OF EAGLES 75

it crosswise to the tree about five feet from the ground.
Clambering upon this board by the aid of climbing irons
strapped to my feet, I stood and nailed another cleat in
lke manner five feet above the first. A rope thrown over
one shoulder and tied around the tree aided me in holding
my position as I nailed. The strips of wood were drawn
up with a cord as they were used, my companion on the
ground setting the nails in each beforehand.

By this slow method I reached the nest at the end of an
hour and a half. Being on the underside, however, was by
no means equivalent to being in a position to see into the
nest. Above my head was a cart load of sticks and rotting
twigs which had yet to be passed. In order to climb up one
of the large limbs against which the nest rested I was
obliged to tear away several armfuls of the material. The
dust from the decaying wood showered continually upon
me as I worked, getting into my eyes, ears and hair. As
I proceeded slowly upward, layer after layer of decaying
twigs and green stained fish bones were uncovered, show-
ing where the floor of each season’s nursery had been.

At length I raised my head above the level of the nest
and beheld lying flat upon their breasts two eaglets. They
were near the size of half grown chickens, and had bodies
covered with whitish down. They offered no resistance to

76 STORIES OF BIRD LIFE

my handling, nor was there any outburst of complaint, a
low whistling ery being their only sound.

Soon after I began the ascent the old birds appeared,
and, as long as I remained in the tree, continued to soar
anxiously about at a safe distance, occasionally uttering a
high-pitched scream, which was a sort of whistling cackle.
Only once was there any appearance of an attack from
them. The larger one, which I thus judged to be the
female, while flying at a distance of perhaps one hundred
yards, and at an equal elevation with myself, suddenly
changed her course and with set wings came at me straight
as an arrow. With raised hatchet I awaited the assault,

but when within thirty feet her courage failed and she
- turned sharply to one side and passed on.

I had hoped to find eggs, and determined to be at the
nest on time for this another season. The next year, the
weather being stormy, I was delayed until the fourteenth
of the same month when the nest was again found to con-
tain young. This time they were larger than those of the
year previous. From tip to tip of wings they measured
three and one-half feet. The eggs must have been de-
posited as early as November.

During the months of autumn, especially October and
November, the Florida eagles become restless and wander
from their accustomed range. This is their love season

A PAIR OF EAGLES fifi

and they will chase each other for long distances about the
country. One November day I heard a loud roaring over-
head, and looking up saw an eagle at a height of some fifty
vards darting swiftly toward the earth. The rush of air
through its half closed wings caused the whirring sound.
A short distance above came another eagle in hot pursuit,
nor was the speed checked until within fifty feet of where
T stood, when with graceful curves the birds again soared
aloft and the chase continued across the fields and over the
woods beyond. This happened seventeen miles from the
nearest nest and the birds were going in a direction which
would lead them directly away from it.

Hunters have told me of eagles which they have seen at
many times this distance from their nest. But when we
stop to consider that this majestic bird can, with its power-
ful wings, easily cover a distance of sixty, or eighty, or
even one hundred miles an hour, these autumn wanderings
do not seem very extensive.

The feathers of the adult bird are dark brown, except the
head, neck and tail, which are white. On account of the
white appearance of the head, so different from the back
and wings, the bird at a distance might be thought to have
a head destitute of feathers. Hence possibly came the
name by whieh it is usually known—the bald eagle. This
white portion of the plumage does not come until the bird

78 STORIES OF BIRD LIFE

is over two years old. An eagle’s foot is especially adapted
to seizing and holding its prey. The muscles of the leg are
so arranged that when the weight of the body is thrown
on the foot the long sharp claws are driven deep, and once
they close on a victim there is no escape.

In mountainous regions bald eagles often build their
nests on cliffs. In many sections they are more or less
destructive to lambs and young pigs. Where the supply
of fish, grouse, squirrels or other natural prey is plentiful,
domestic animals are seldom disturbed. Only once have I
witnessed such a capture. An eagle carried off before my
eyes a grown hen from a flock in a neighbor’s barn yard.
They are especially fond of fish. These they usually pro-
cure by swooping down and snatching them from the water
in their talons. It is well known that they sometimes rob
the ospreys of the fish which they have caught. There is,
therefore, little neighborly love between the eagles and fish
hawks of a community.

One day I noticed one of the eagles sitting on a dead
pine near the lake. An osprey had worked itself into a
ereat fury at the sight of him and with cries of annoyance
was constantly diving through the air at its old enemy.
For some time the eagle kept his perch, merely throwing
up his wings to avoid a blow when the osprey swooped
nearest. After a time he wearied of this continual dodging

A PAIR OF EAGLES 79

and flew to a tall living pine a few hundred feet distant.
Here standing on a thick limb with the pine boughs above
and about him, he was free from the possibilities of an
attack.

Presently the osprey flew out over the lake and, spying
a fish near the surface below, paused, while on hovering
wings it marked well the spot. For full five seconds it
hung there in the air, then suddenly, with a heavy splash
pounced into the lake. The water was still foaming as the
bird came from the surface and with dripping wings grad-
ually raised, and started across the lake. In its talons I
could plainly see its finny victim. Would the eagle attempt
to rob the bird of its prey? Anxiously I waited to see, for
I had often read and heard of the sight. The osprey was
crossing the little lake directly toward me. As I watched
the pine, there was a sudden swaying of the boughs and
there full and free to view came the great American
eagle—the emblem of our national independence. With a
mighty spring it had launched into the air and its huge
Wings were carrying it at a tremendous rate.

The osprey caught sight of the pursuer and its half
pitiful cries of ‘‘ki, ki, k1,’’
mind. At once it put forth every effort of its wings. On
came the birds, both flying higher as they advanced, each
endeavoring to rise above the other. The fish hawk sped

suggested the anxiety of its

80 STORIES OF BIRD LIFE

past. Another moment and the eagle roared by sweeping
along on the trail of the osprey.

For half a mile the chase continued. The eagle had
steadily gained until now he occupied a point of vantage
above the osprey. The supreme moment had arrived. I
strained my eyes to gaze at the two specks far away. Then
as I watched, the upper one swooped until it almost reached
the one below. The osprey dodged and to avoid further
attacks let fall its prey. Down, down the eagle dropped
through the sky to catch the fish before it struck the earth.
Ere the tree tops were reached the great wings checked the
downward flight, and with the booty in its talons it passed
majestically from sight over the forest, a true example of
the all-conquering king of birds.

THOUGHT QUESTIONS

What bird is often called the “king of birds”? Why is it called this?
What is the emblem of the United States? Young eagles cannot fly for
many weeks after they are hatched. Hawks are closely related to eagles.
Can a young hawk fly soon after being hatched? Would you like for the
osprey to have escaped with the fish? Are there any eagles in your neigh-

borhood ?

BIRD KEY

OME land birds
have the custom

“4 of gathering in

“large numbers at
' certain favorite
spots to pass the

night. There are
well known robin roosts, and buzzard roosts, and
crow roosts, and nightly gatherings of swifts,
martins and other birds. The number of species which do
this is not large, and those which dwell in communities
while rearing their young is even smaller.

With birds of the sea the reverse is the case. They often
accumulate in countless thousands on some lonely shore
for the purpose of rearing their offspring, sometimes many
species being thus associated. Of the gulls, petrels and
other birds which throng certain rocky islands in the Gulf
of St. Lawrence, Mr. Chapman and other naturalists have
told us. The Farallone Islands, lying in the Pacific Ocean
about thirty miles from San Francisco, are famous for
their abundance of bird life.

On some of the South American islands flocks of feath-

[81]

82 STORIES OF BIRD LIFE

ered inhabitants are found in almost inconceivable num-
bers. Why sea birds have this habit it is hard to explain.
Perhaps they gather for mutual protection against enemies.
Possibly they desire the companionship of kindred beings
during the nesting period.

A breeding and roosting place of much ornithological
interest is Bird Key, a small island in Tampa Bay, Flor-
ida. The greater portion of this island, like all those in
the neighborhood, is covered with a growth of mangrove
trees. For years it has been a popular summer resort for
three species of coast and ocean birds. At this season
the wooded part of the island is divided about equally
between Florida cormorants and brown pelicans. The
former occupy the eastern, the latter the western portion
of the island.

Over the area of the island used by the cormorants
many of the trees are fifteen to twenty feet high. Among
the upper branches of these the birds build their substan-
tial nests. A local observer told me that most of the cor-
morants arrive at the rookery in March, and do not leave
until August. He said, howcver, that, probably on account
of the good fishing in the neighborhood, some remain about
the island throughout the year.

On the twentieth of July, while on a visit to this place, I
saw hundreds of these birds. None were found sitting on
eges, and to all appearances the nesting period of the

BIRD KEY 83

cormorants was about to close. The young, with the ex-
ception of two or three dozen, were able to fly, and when
frightened would quit the trees with their parents and fly
out into the bay.

The trees and bushes of the other end of the bird town
furnished accommodations for the nests of several hun-
dred brown pelicans. Here, too, we found the season
nearly at an_ end.
Three or four large

groups of pelicans, —
swimming a hundred —>
yards or more from
shore, were made up

largely of those young
which were old enough
to leave the trees and
fly out into the water. At this age the heads of the birds do
not have the yellow and brown feathers of the adults, but
have a uniform coat of gray. Other young ones were lying
on their nests, or, if sufficiently strong, were standing or
climbing about on the limbs near by. A few of the nests
contained large, chalky white eggs. Of the ten nests ex-
amined, one held one, five held two, and four held three
eges each.

Young pelicans are vicious creatures. Those strong

84 STORIES OF BIRD LIFE

enough to stand alone did not hesitate to strike at us
threateningly with their bills as we approached, and on
more than one occasion they were seen thrusting at each
other. These awkward young pugilists are also exceed-
ingly noisy. They kept up a continual clamor, which
might have been grating to the ears of any but an inter-
ested spectator.

One of our party, whose home was on the coast, re-
marked that, as it was an easy matter to rear young pell-
cans by hand where fish were abundant and easily cap-
tured, he wished to secure a pair for that purpose. Pro-
ceeding to carry out his intention, he approached a man-
grove bush holding a nest in which two thrifty pelican
children were carrying on a heated discussion over some
household difficulty. They were scolding and biting each
other in a most unbrotherly manner. But now they turned
upon their mutual enemy. A lively scene followed, but he
brought them aboard at last at the cost of a bruised hand
and a battered straw hat.

Queer looking and queer acting passengers they were,
with their great bills, white downy coats, and pinfeathered
wings. Once aboard we never saw them quarrel again.
At first they had to be taught to eat from the hand, but
they soon learned the lesson, and in a short time would flop

BIRD KEY 85

vigorously along the deck and stand in an attitude of
entreaty when fish were landed.

They made their roost on the bowsprit, and did little but
occupy it day and night. At first they wholly declined to
be coaxed on deck, and the nature of their retreat made it
difficult to dislodge them. If, while on deck, they were ad-
vanced upon, the action was at once resented with screams
and vigorous waving of wings. As they kept close together
on such oceasions a wing of the larger bird generally came
to rest over the shoulders of the smaller in a truly affection-
ate attitude, and here it would remain. Punch and Judy
we named them. He of the affectionate wing was Punch,
she who abode beneath its shelter was Judy. They had
enormous appetites, these young pelicans of Tampa Bay,
and as fish abounded in the water about us, they were con-
tinually fed to their utmost capacity. When two weeks
later our company separated, there were none of the party
whose appearance had so much improved by the outing
as the young pelicans.

Our stay at Bird Key was but a short call, a sort of flying
visit paid from six to eight o’clock in the morning. For
the number of young pelicans seen, the company of adults
appeared to be disproportionately small; a fact which led
me to think that probably the parents were away in search
of food. Another striking thing was that we saw no old

$6 STORIES OF BIRD LIFE

ones feeding their young, and at what hour the breakfast
came in Pelicanville we did not learn. Although several
days were spent in this part of Tampa Bay, pelicans were
never noticed fishing within some miles of the breeding
grounds. Inasmuch as good fishing could have been found
closer, I failed to understand why the birds did not fish in
the water surrounding the colony.

The brown pelican is very large. In an average speci-
men across the wings from point to point the distance is
six and one-half feet. In length it measures four feet or
more. The size of these birds shows to good advantage
when they are on the wing. They usually travel in flocks,
varying from a dozen to one hundred individuals. The
formation on such occasions is that of a single rank as they
silently pursue their course from one resting place to an-
other. As they proceed their wings beat in perfect unison
for a time, then suddenly the flopping ceases and all sail
apparently without effort. Never have I seen birds move
with such dignity or with more precision.

While standing, a pelican usually holds its head high
with its bill pointed downward, resting in part on its
throat, but if excited, the bird may point its bill almost at
right angles to its neck. As one turns to look at you the
action is strongly suggestive of the movement of an ele-
phant when he swings his head around, the trunk of the
one corresponding well to the bill of the other.

BIRD KEY 87

When a pelican goes fishing he carries nothing but a dip
net, which is a pouch suspended from his under mandible.
Flying along twenty-five or fifty feet above the water,
when he detects a suitable fish near the surface he quickly
checks his flight and ends his outgoing trip with a sudden
downward plunge and a great splash. <As the bird strikes
the water the sides of the under mandible
bow outward to serve as the bails of
the net, and the great pene
scoops in the desired
fish. Down
comes the up-&
per part of the bill, the sides of the lower
close in, the pouch contracts, and the water

1s squeezed out.

A brown pelican’s bill is twelve or thir-
teen inches long, and is armed at the ex-
tremity with a sharp hook. The amount the pouch is
capable of holding is something astonishing. I once
poured fifteen quarts of water into one, the pouch dis-
tending sufficiently to hold it all.

Another visitor which comes to Bird Key in far greater
numbers than either the pelican or cormorant, is the man-
of-war bird. They love to gather here after they have
reared their young on some of the islands of South Florida

88 STORIES OF BIRD LIFE.

or the West Indies. In ease and beauty of flight there are
few, if any, birds which equal this tireless privateer of the
ocean. Imagine a swallow with a long forked tail, and
wings whose sweep is seven and a half feet! Such is the
general appearance of the man-of-war. It is a bird of the
tropics and is a famous wanderer. Its wings bear it far
over the sea, and sometimes when fierce gales are raging
it may be seen at a great height many miles inland, floating
in circles about the sky.

The bird has acquired its name from its wonderful
prowess as a pirate. Not only can it swiftly overtake other
winged inhabitants of the ocean, but its heavy hooked beak
is so formidable that a bird when chased will gladly yield
its recently captured prey to avoid a blow from the dreaded
weapon. The man-of-war’s flight is accomplished with the
greatest ease imaginable. I remember seeing one, during
a heavy squall, swoop down and pick an object from the
waves as gracefully as a swallow might skim a summer
mill pond.

An hour before sunset on the nineteenth of July, the
frigate birds, as they are often called, began to appear off
the mouth of Tampa Bay, and as the evening closed their
numbers increased. All were flying leisurely up the bay
toward Bird Key. They continued to pass until dark.
At dawn the next day I was in a small fishing boat

BIRD KEY 89

grounded on a mud flat three hundred yards from the key.
The excitement of being near a great rookery, the sight
of so many birds, together with the cries and odors which
were borne to us by the wind, will long linger in my
memory.

Soon aiter it became light enough for us to distinguish
objects clearly on thé island, the man-of-wars, which used
the entire wooded portion as a roosting resort, began to
rise from the trees. How they could sleep amid all the
noises of the rookery I could never imagine. Slowly they
arose on their powerful wings, swinging around in ever
increasing circles until they reached an altitude of many
hundred feet. It was a magnificent sight to behold this
top-shaped figure, composed of a great company of birds
which must have numbered ten thousand strong. From
the upper end or the throng, where the air was clear and
pure, the birds headed in a long line, singly and in small
companies, straight for the open gulf. By eight o’clock
only two or three still lingered in view. The great fleet of
privateers had put to sea.

THOUGHT QUESTIONS

Did you ever see a colony of birds roosting or nesting together? In the
fall and winter make inquiries for crow roosts in the country. Did you
ever see a pelican? If not, look at the picture of one and tell whether you
think one could best walk or swim. Can all birds swim? Can a hen swim?

How many sea birds can you nam2?

[90]

THE MOCKING BIRD

~@ ‘= ea

x) V, A/HAT the nightingale is to southern Europe the
| mocking bird is to the Southern States, the
most wonderful song bird of the country and the universal
favorite of the people. His reputation as a musician 1s
world wide. Whoever hears his song is deeply impressed,
and wherever the story of the birds is told, the power of
the mocking bird’s voice is recalled. He is one of the first
in the spring to sing; indeed, I have heard him near the
northern border of his range, singing with great force on a
clear February morning when ice covered the trees as a
garment.

In those States which border on the Gulf of Mexico the
mocking birds are in full song by March first. In that
semi-tropical climate they abound, and in many sections
are the most abundant species. I have sometimes thought

[91]

92 STORIES OF BIRD LIFE

that they must be conscious of the power of their numbers
from the bold, defiant manner in which the music will
often come from a dozen or more throats within hearing
at one time, drowning in its volume the notes of all other
denizens of the fields and shrubbery. The bird revels in
the glory of his vocal strength, and shouts his ringing
challenge to the trees, the flowers, the very sky itself.

Watch the mocking bird some spring morning as with
ruffled feathers and drooping wings he sits on the topmost
bough of a neighboring tree and pours out the beautiful
story of his love. At times the very intensity of the music
within his breast lifts him many feet into the air. With
dangling legs and carelessly flopping wings he drops again
to his perch, singing the while. Anon he descends to the
earth for a moment, a few rapid hops in the grass and he
bounds again into the air with scarcely an intermission in
his song. Music high and low, loud and soft, hilarious
and sad, with never a hesitation, never a false note, is what
falls to your ears as you hearken to this wonderful, master-
ful fellow, the music-prince of the southern highways and
2roves.

However, it is at night that the mocking bird is at his
best. If he is the music-prince of the grove by day, he is
the song-king of the lawn by night. When all the world is
hushed save the faint murmur of distant pines, and the

THE MOCKING BIRD 93

gentle gales are freighted with the odor of orange blos-
soms, the song of the mocking bird, softened by the mellow
moonlight, floats to one’s ears as a message of exquisite
~ loveliness, like the sound of a beloved voice from the silent
past.

Besides his native song, the mocking bird has the won-
derful power of acquiring by practice the notes of many of
the feathered forms he is accustomed to hear. He imitates
the songs of the robin and wood thrush, the bluebird and
the wren. With wonderful distinctness he will give the
clear whistle of the cardinal grosbeak. In regions where
the little sparrow hawk is a common resident many mock-
ers can reproduce its ery so perfectly as to deceive the
most trained ear. Not all mocking birds have equal power
of imitation. The gift of mocking in different individuals
seems to vary quite as much as the range of their natural
song. An observer in South Carolina speaks of hearing
one mimic the notes of no less than thirty-two birds during
an interval of ten minutes.

The nest of the mocking bird is variously situated, in
small trees, brush heaps, briers, in the corners of rail
fences, in the decayed trunks of trees, on stumps, in piles
of cord wood, and at times in vines growing about the
doors and verandas of our houses. Once I found a nest
between the wall and the stick-and-clay chimney of a

94. STORIES OF BIRD LIFE

ruined negro cabin. The nesting material consists of
twigs, plant stems, dry grasses, pieces of paper, strings,
strips of bark, feathers, rags or other suitable articles
which can easily be secured. The structure is generally
lined with rootlets. The distance at which the nest is
placed above the ground varies from three to ten feet.
Rarely one may be seen elevated fifty feet in the air on the
bough of a large tree.

The eggs have a pale greenish blue ground-color and
are covered quite uniformly with reddish brown spots.
Four is the number generally laid in a nest, sometimes five,
and rarely six. The one profession of the male in the
spring 1s singing, and so completely does this engross his
mind that to his mate is left the entire responsibility of
constructing their habitation and hatching the eggs. May
is the principal month for nesting, although I have seen
mocking birds incubating their eggs as far north as Ocra-
coke Inlet by April tenth. In the southern part of its
range two broods are reared in a season.

While engaged in incubation or caring for the young, the
nest is guarded with the utmost care. The parents will
not hesitate to attack any enemy, real or imaginary, which
may approach their domain, be it crow, or dog, or man.
If they do not actually assail they will at least approach
near and scold soundly. Their ery of alarm at once warns

THE MOCKING BIRD 95

other birds in the vicinity of approaching danger. If the
intruder be a hawk the ery is taken up and passed from
garden to garden by these self-appointed sentinels, and the
evil news of its approach is heralded faster than the winged
desperado ean fly.

If a mocking bird’s nest be destroyed the mother bird
will, within a few days, begin building a new one. If an
accident likewise befalls this, still another will be built.
A pair once made their nest among the rails of a fence near
my home. The owner of the fence soon afterward, while
making some repairs about the lot, accidently tore the nest
from its position and the eggs were broken. The bird then
built in a small oak tree near by, but an animal in the
pasture rubbed the tree down and the birds were again
without a home.

In their search for a more secure position the distressed
mockers sought the protection of a large orange tree, and,
on a horizontal limb ten feet from the ground, built a nest.
Here more trouble awaited them, for a cat climbed the tree,
despite the thorns, and ate the young in the nest. If the
poor birds were discouraged by this series of disasters they
did not show it by their actions. A week after this last
catastrophe I saw the female carrying twigs in among the
dagger shaped leaves of a Spanish bayonet plant. Here at
last she found a sure retreat and reared her young in

96 STORIES OF BIRD LIFE

safety, free alike from the intrusions of man, and ox, and
cat.

If kindly treated this bird will ofttimes become very
trustful, and if you are so fortunate as to have trees and
shrubbery about your house, he will perch in your door-
way and even hop about your room. I knew one which
often did this until one day a heavy hand was laid upon
him and he was placed in a cage. But the moment he was
imprisoned his tameness vanished. He refused all food
and dashed wildly against the cruel bars. And O, how long
and untiringly he sought his freedom!
€ Outside he could hear the
buzzing of a humming bird’s
wings among the woodbine on the
veranda trellis. He heard, too,
the twitter of swifts as they cir-
cled and darted about the sky, and
again and again the songs and calls
of his fellows reached his ears, as
they chased each other about the
grove in their mimic combats. In his efforts to escape he
drove his bill continually between the bars of the cage,
until his head was bleeding from many bruises. At times
he called loudly for help, and was never content a moment
until his wings bore him once more into the bright sun-

Fini Im,

ae

te tA il q

Ve eal

ta it
fi
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THE MOCKING BIRD 97

shine, for like most wild creatures that have grown to
maturity in the free air, he could never be taught to live in
captivity.

A friend of mine once picked up a young mocking bird
which had been injured and kindly cared for it. She
placed it in a cage and fed it for a time with ripe berries
and a mixture of boiled egg and potato. Later when it was
able to fly it was given its liberty. Instead of leaving, it
followed her about the house, hopping and flying along
the floor. It would light on her arm and feed from her
hand. If she was out of its sight for an hour it would be-
come uneasy, and entering.the house by door or window,
would seek her from room to room, chirping loudly in dis-
tressed tones. For many weeks the bird remained about
the house and lawn, and would come when called by his
mistress.

Unfortunately for their preservation, mocking birds |
when taken while young will, with proper care, thrive in
eaptivity. This power of adaptability to cage life is
proving its destruction. Thousands of young are collected
each year and placed in cages. Of the small per cent of
these captives which survive the first few months of their
imprisonment, numbers are shipped to Northern cities and
sold. In many communities mocking birds are rapidly
becoming exterminated, owing to the treatment which they

98 STORIES OF BIRD LIFE

receive from the hands of the very beings whom they so
constantly aid by destroying countless millions of harm-
ful insects. Some of the fruit growers shoot the birds be-
cause they choose to sample now and then the fruit which
they have helped to raise. |

Once I knew a man, who, along with his other occupa-
tions, was a grape grower in a small way. He could not
‘‘abide’’ a mocking bird, he declared, ‘‘they ate his grapes
so much.’’ He shouted, and waved blankets, and hung
up bright pieces of tin to frighten them away, but the birds
continued to fill their stomachs with fruit and the farmer
with wrath.

‘‘One of those pesky little rascals will come,’’ he said,
‘Cand go to work on the finest bunch of grapes he can find.
He will bite a hole in one, and stick his bill in another, and
_ keep on that way until he has ruined the whole bunch.
Then he will jump up on top of the vine somewhere and
shout and sing as though he had done something mighty
smart and wanted everybody to know it. And the wood-
peckers are about as bad,’’ he added.

So at length the exasperated husbandman put a gun
into the hands of his son and offered him a reward of two
cents a head for all these birds he would kill within a
radius of a mile. And the boy hunted and killed to his
heart’s content with all the glee of a young savage. Within

THE MOCKING BIRD 99

a week he had shot sixty-five mocking birds, eighteen
woodpeckers, seven shrikes, and a pair of kingbirds. In
some surprise I asked why he had killed the kingbirds
and shrikes.

‘‘T have seen the kingbirds catching our bees,’’ he ex-
plained, ‘‘and those loggerheads, I don’t like them and
just hate to have them about.”’

There were other grape growers in the country, and I
asked one of these what he did to keep the mocking birds
from eating his grapes.

‘‘Q, that’s easy enough!’’ he answered. ‘‘When the
grapes begin to ripen I inclose each bunch in a paper bag
and tie the mouth of the bag close about the stem. That
keeps the birds from the grapes, and as they are in the
dark I sometimes think they ripen more evenly than if left
exposed. Shoot them! shoot a mocking bird?’’ he ex-
claimed, in answer to my suggestion, ‘‘why, I wouldn’t
think of such a thing, they catch too many insects and give
me too much fine music to think of killing one. If I had
no way of protecting my grapes,’’ he continued, ‘‘I should
plant more vines, so as to raise enough both for the birds
and my own use.”’

Our mocking bird belongs to a famous family of singers,
the brown thrasher and the catbird being his close relatives.
Both of these birds are gifted mockers and excellent sing-

100 STORIES OF BIRD LIFE

ers. The localities which mocking birds naturally inhabit
are the growths of shrubbery along the borders of forests
and swamps. They leave these places as soon as man
comes into the wilderness, and flock to his gardens and
orchards, as if to protect
his trees, and cheer him
with their songs. About
the dwellings of the few in-
habitants of stormy Cape
Hatteras they are very
abundant. One of the
sweetest songs I have ever

heard was that of a Cape
Hatteras mocking bird, singing from the shelter of a holly
bush one day while the wind was blowing a gale and the
ocean rolled upon the wreck-strewn sands of the Cape.

THOUGHT QUESTIONS

Do you know the mocking bird and have you heard it sing? If so, how
many different birds’ songs have you heard it imitate? Have you known
these birds to build a second nest after the first one was disturbed? Do
other birds do this? If so, what ones can you name? What is the color of

the mocking bird’s egg? What materials do they use in making their nest?

THE VULTURES

S TRANGERS in the city

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of Charleston, South
Carolina, are often sur-
prised at the number of
buzzards to be seen in
the yards and about the
streets. They appear
to have little fear of
man, perching without
hesitation on the roofs
of the buildings, and
resting unmolested in
the large trees wherever
their fancy may lead

them. They alight at times in the gardens
and at the kitchen doors, picking up pieces of

flesh which have been thrown out. A dead animal on the
premises, be it rat, dog, or bird, they soon discover, and
their appetite quickly rids the neighborhood of the un-

pleasant object.

They are especially fond of congregating at the market

[101]

102 STORIES OF BIRD LIFE

house, where scraps of meat thrown out from the butcher
stalls are quickly pounced upon and devoured. Often two
or more birds will seize the same morsel and there at once
begins a tug of war, accompanied with much hissing and
noisy flapping of wings. So accustomed are the inhabi-
tants to these ever ready street cleaners, that they do not
hesitate to leave exposed any refuse flesh, well knowing
that it will soon disappear. The value of these birds as
scavengers is appreciated, and everywhere they are pro-
tected by law and by the still safer guard of public senti-
ment. |

There are two species of these vultures. Although in
general appearance their similarity is striking, there is
much difference in detail. The one abundant in Charles-
ton is the black vulture, often called ‘‘carrion crow,’’ and
in some sections is known as the ‘‘South Carolina Buz-
zard.’’ Its feathers are black except the shafts of the large
wing quills, which are gray. The skin of its bare head is
black.

The other species is the turkey vulture, familiarly known
simply as the ‘‘turkey buzzard.’’ It is covered with very
dark brown feathers. The skin of its head is red, and like
the heads of all vultures is destitute of feathers. In flying,
the tail appears to be longer than that of the foregoing
species. The two vultures have certain characteristics in

THE VULTURES 103

eommon; for instance, their food is in general of the same
kind, and their nesting and roosting habits are similar.
While engaged in searching for food turkey vultures
hunt singly or in small companies. At almost any time of
day one or more may be seen soaring about, at one moment
low over the gardens and fields, and again sailing hundreds
of yards in the air above the.earth. A southern landscape
would hardly be complete without a turkey vulture some-
where in the back-
srounmd, When
storms come they
will at times rise
rapidly in the air
until, on motionless
wings, they float in .
the blue ether far
above the raging of
the tempest. At
other times they can be seen after a shower perched on

some tree for an hour or more with wings expanded, drying
their feathers in the sunshine.

Although the turkey vulture is a bird of the sky, it seeks
a lowly place to rear its young. In the decayed butt of
some large tree, or in the interior of a hollow one prone in
the forest, the vulture finds an abode. There on the decay-

104 STORIES OF BIRD LIFE

ing wood or dead leaves, without the least attempt at nest
building, the two beautiful spotted and blotched eggs are
laid. In those regions where the country is underlaid with
limestone many small natural caves are found. In these,
often ten or twenty feet below the surface of the earth,
this bird may frequently be found brooding her eggs.

The young are at first covered with white down. This
has doubtless given rise to the familiar expression, ‘‘ very
old buzzard thinks her young ones are the whitest.’’ If
surprised on her nest the buzzard will make no effort to
defend it. She will simply lower her head in the most sub-
dued manner, and not infrequently will humbly lay at
your feet a portion of her last meal. The odor of this dis-
gorged peace offering is not so attractive to the average
man as it would doubtless be to another vulture, and the
intruder at this juncture usually beats a hasty retreat. If
have, with the aid of a short stick, removed eggs from
beneath a setting vulture without her showing the least
resistance.

The principal diet of the turkey vulture is carrion, which
it will seek out and eat wherever found. I once saw one
feeding on the carcass of an alligator floating in a lake.
It is sometimes known to attack weak and helpless animals.

One day I came upon an indignant farmer busily en-
gaged in throwing clubs at a vulture which he claimed he

THE VULTURES 105

had just caught in the act of killing a new-born pig. In
fact he presently showed me the mutilated body of the little
grunter. |

The black vulture is rarely seen except in numbers. In fly-
ing the bird usually goes in a straight line, moving by alter-
nately sailing and flapping the wings. The flight is so
direct and businesslike that it impresses one as being that
of a bird bent on meeting some important engagement far
away over the fields. Again, the vulture will drop like a
bombshell from the sky, hundreds of feet to the earth
beneath, while the wind rushing between its body and the
half closed wings produces a loud roaring sound.

In the South when a farmer’s cow or horse dies, it is
customary to drag the body out into a distant field or woods
and leave it for the buzzards to dispose of. A red-headed
one soon discovers the repast which fortune has spread in
his way, and begins circling about the spot. Soon another
appears and then others. They are usually in sight of
each other and during the course of a day there is scarcely
an acre upon which the shadow of one of their bodies does
not fall.

The black vultures do not patrol the country in this
fashion and how they so quickly discover the dead body
has often seemed to me just cause for wonder. Possibly
some black-head from his lookout in the sky sees the

106 STORIES OF BIRD LIFE

unusual activity among his relations and starts for the
scene of action, thus by his movements giving warning
to a flock of others of his own kind. Be the cause of their
discovery as it may, the black vultures in an irregular
stream are soon to be observed coming across the country,
flying not far above the tree tops, their course straight as
an arrow’s flight toward the lonely spot in the woods which
now holds so much of interest to them.

On they come, twenty, thirty, forty, sometimes fifty or

even sixty in number, their eager eyes peering into the
forest ahead, their dusky pinions bearing them forward to
the weird, revolting feast, hurrying them onward to the
assembly at the vulture’s banquet. Soon they are gathered
about the lifeless animal and with eager joy their sharp
hooked beaks are tearing at the soft parts. They stand
upon its body and pick out its eyes; they trample down the

THE VULTURES 107

grass and wear the ground into dust; they contend over
choice bits, and hiss and fight as they revel.

When satisfied they sit about in the trees and pick their
feathers. Some of the more gluttonous will at times
become so loaded down with much eating, that when at-
tempting to take wing they are obliged to run and flop
along the ground for many yards before being able to rise.
Black vultures will sometimes become so gorged with car-
rion that for a time they are totally unable to fly, and may
easily be captured.

Other hungry beings also gather at the same place to
feed. Sometimes the great bald eagle may be seen wheeling
about in majestic circles, or if far enough south, the cara-
eara eagle may be sighted. At night the half starved dogs
of the neighborhood may sneak and snarl about and gnaw
at the putrefying limbs of the beast. For some days the
vultures stay by the carcass and desert the spot only when
nothing further can be gleaned.

It is said that ravens will gather about a sick and solitary
animal and grimly wait for death, in order that they may
be on hand to feast when the end comes. The actions of a
flock of black vultures which I once watched has made
me think that these birds at times have the same habit.
While riding through a thick forest far back in a southern
wilderness, I came one day upon a small lake the line of

108 STORIES OF BIRD LIFE

whose boggy shore was a most uncertain one. ‘Trees, un-
derbrush and a mass of thick vines extended some distance
out into the water as well as fifty yards or more up into the
woods where one might expect the shore to be. Through
an opening in the foliage I noticed several black vultures
circling about at the opposite side of the pond. A number
of others had perched on the cypress boughs, and two
were standing among the long leaves of a cabbage palmetto
tree. One or two sat quietly picking and shoveling the
feathers of their backs and wings about with their bills, but
the others were continually craning their necks and peering
downward into the bog. Whatever it was that interested
them was hidden from view by the bushes. I could detect
no odor of carrion although directly to leeward of the
spot.

Such unusual actions surely needed investigation, so
riding around to the opposite side of the pond I turned my
horse in through the jungle toward.the spot where I
guessed the vultures to be, for the growth was too dense
to see them. Thick bushes and a confusion of palmetto
leaves made it impossible to see the ground a yard ahead.
At almost every step great thorny vines had to be cut away
from before the horse’s legs or breast. Mosquitoes
swarmed by the myriad in my face and on my hands, while
the little deer flies made life for me a burden, and drove the

THE VULTURES 109

horse almost frantic with their biting. '‘T'o add to our dis-
comfort and the impediment of our progress, the ground
became soft and the horse’s feet continually sank above
their fetlocks in the sticky, treacherous bog.

The horse floundered heavily forward until at ine
with a lunge he struck a spot too soft for his weight and
sank down into the mud to his body, his head buried in a
cluster of palmetto leaves with their saw-like stems cutting
his face and lips. Almost at the same moment I caught
sight of the object of my quest. Lying not ten feet away
was one of the half-wild cows of the country. She was
bogged sure and fast, and her weak movements showed
that her end was near,—starvation had about done its work.
The two vultures on the palmetto tree remained seated
and regarded my movements with some apparent interest.
The others were now upon the wing, circling round about
the pond. Standing on the firm palmetto roots, I endeav-
ored with brush and poles to assist my poor horse in re-
gaining his feet. For the next twenty minutes I worked
on busily, and the two vultures, the grim, loathsome senti-
nels, watched my every movement.

Within a few feet was the open water of the pond. Per-
haps thirty yards away was a floating tussock. A slight
sound and a movement caused me to turn toward this, and
there crawling up from the other side was a big twelve-foot

110 STORIES OF BIRD LIFE

alligator. Sluggishly raising his head a foot or more he
looked toward me. In an instant out came my revolver
and I at once began to drop lead into the mud about him.
Not until the pistol reports rang out did the two vultures
quit the palmetto top. When a short time afterward the
horse was once more on solid ground, and the alligator
was Swimming quietly along out in the deep water, not a
vulture was to be seen, for although they revel in odors
produced by putrefaction, no southern vulture can endure
the scent of burnt powder.

The favorite nesting place of the black vulture is on the
ground among the palmettos or reeds of some inaccessible
swamp. Sometimes the nest is so well concealed that it
ean be approached only along the runway which the birds
make for many yards under overhanging vines and briers.
The young when first hatched are black.

Vultures often congregate at some popular roosting
place in large numbers. I know of one such roost in a
cypress swamp toward which a short time before sunset
the birds begin to come from all points of the compass.
They are prone to circle about for a time before alighting.
They perch on the larger limbs of the trees, often several
on one limb, but never sitting close nor crowding each
other. Soon after dawn they begin to leave the roost, and
as a rule fly directly away. The turkey vultures, singly or

THE VULTURES TEs

in small squads, scatter in all directions. The black vul-
tures go out in companies, following each other one or two
at a time, and flying straight on a given course as if bent on
reuniting at some distant rendezvous. I have counted over
eight hundred birds at this roost.

In all warm countries of the globe vultures are found,
and everywhere they render man the same great service as
scavengers. They are all large birds, in fact the largest
bird that flies is a vulture, the condor of the Andes moun-
tains. In northern and western North America ravens
serve the purpose of the buzzards by eating the remains
of dead animals which have been left exposed. Although
grotesque in appearance and filthy in habits, the vultures
are among the best of man’s feathered friends.

THOUGHT QUESTIONS

Does the turkey buzzard live near you? Have you ever seen one of
their nests? Will vultures catch birds? Is a chicken afraid of a turkey
buzzard? In making a list of all the useful birds you know, at what place
in the column would you put the vulture? Do buzzards sail more than
crows or robins when flying? Where do they sit when tired and wishing to
rest? Sometimes ladies wear long black quills in their hats; do you sup-
pose they know that many of these come from the turkey buzzard’s wing?

WOOD DUCK LIFE

of a squatty, wad-
dling, web-footed
duck making its
nest in a tree, but such
| a is the habit of the wood
it duck. “‘Summer duck’?
| is the name by which it
is known in many places. Most
| kinds of wild ducks found in the
' United States are here only
during the colder months, for
upon the approach of summer
they retire farther north to breed. Often in spring or
autumn they may be seen on their journeys as in long lines
they pass high overhead. But wherever the wood duck is
found, it is a constant resident.

ee

=
——
— Fy
fs

=-

—— tn |
ee
———? 46

> \

——

One spring while spending some ume in a heavily wooded
country, I often watched a pair of these birds flying back

and forth between the forest and their feeding grounds in
[112]

, T seems odd to think °

WOOD DUCK LIFE 113

a small lake. They always flew in the same manner, the
female leading, the male either following a few feet behind
or more rarely occupying a position at her side. They
moved very rapidly and in a few seconds would be out of
sight among the tree tops. The outgoing trip to the woods
was usually made about seven o’clock in the morning, and
the return trip three or four hours later.

It was evident from these movements that the birds had
a nest at some place back in the forest, and I spent many
hours in hunting it. One day, by chance, I detected the
male sitting on the bough of a tree fully fifty feet from the
ground. Thinking the female must be in the neighbor-
hood I sat down and waited. Doubtless the duck on the
limb saw me, but as birds often do when not suspecting
themselves seen, he remained perfectly quiet, not willing
to risk so much as a movement of the head for fear of
attracting my attention. For half an hour I waited, and
then was rewarded by seeing the female emerge from the
top of a tall stump. At once the male joined her and the
two sped swiftly away in the direction of the lake.

The stump from which the female had flown was what
remained of a once large forest tree. It had withstood the
gales of a hundred years or more, and then at some period
in its old age had been broken off about twenty feet from
the ground by a strong wind. The heart of the stump had

114 STORIES OF BIRD LIFE

decayed from the top downward for three or four feet,
leaving a solid rim of wood on the outside. In this hollow
the wood duck had made her nest. She had come that
morning to lay an egg, and while thus occupied her mate
had gallantly waited to escort her back to the lake. Climb-
ing up I found four eggs lying in a soft bed of feathers
which the female had
plucked from her body
to make the nest soft
and warm.

The following after-
noon I went with a
friend to look at my
new-found treasures
iti, oe in the wilderness.
x Upon coming in sight

h of the nesting snag,

[ei 2: 7
a Aaa ie
r] M7
| a8

ea c Hi
ia |
rae great was our disgust
to find that old rascal, the crow, standing on a stump close
by eating one of the duck eggs. We rushed at him with
rough words, brandishing clubs and threatening to exter-
minate his race. The black rogue retired to the limb of a
tree and wiped his bill on the bark with the most diabolical
uneonecern. He could see that we had no gun and so was

in no hurry to leave. The shrewd bird certainly guessed

WOOD DUCK LIFE als

that we would soon depart and leave him free to finish the
feast which he had found in the stump.

The shells of two or three eggs, from which the contents
had been eaten, were lying about on the ground, and upon
climbing to the nest I found it held but a single one. I
visited the stump frequently afterward in the hope that the
ducks would continue to use it, but they at once deserted
the nest which had met with such ill fortune, nor have they
ever used it since.

Three weeks after this occurrence, the birds were again
making daily trips into the forest as before, which sug-
gested that a second setting of eggs was being laid. Day
after day I searched for their new nest. Marking the line
of their flight, I chose the general direction and followed it,
examining every tree or tall stump I passed. But my
efforts were without result.

Some weeks later a boy came to tell me that he had found
the ‘‘summer duck’s’’ nest, so we journeyed into the woods
together. The nest was about thirty feet from the ground,
in a large cavity of a living tree. The boy said that when
he climbed to the opening two days before, he had seen
eleven eggs. But now we found that the eggs had hatched
and the ducklings had departed.

It has been stated by some observers that the young are
carried from the nest, one at a time, in the bill of the parent

116 - STORIES OF BIRD LIFE

bird and deposited on the ground at the root of the nesting
tree, whence they are afterwards led in a body to the
water. Still others say that the young drop from the nest,
spreading their feet and moving their wings to break the
; force of their fall. This nest
was a mile and a half distant
from the nearest body of water;
to reach it, if the young walked,
they would be forced to pass
through forest and plowed
flelds; surely a most tiresome
and perilous undertaking.

The next morning I crossed
the field to the shallow arm of
the grassy lake from which the
ducks had so often come. Ap-

proaching cautiously I was able
to make them out some dis-

tance from shore. There was
much marsh grass here which partly obstructed the
view, but I was sure that I detected a number of young
ducks swimming with them. Being satisfied that the
family was now located, I went up the shore some
distance and, entering my canoe, came cautiously back
toward the feeding birds. I used every precaution. Lying

WOOD DUCK LIFE ie

in the canoe with one arm over the side near the stern, I
slowly sculled around the last bend in the marsh grass and
came in full view of the spot where I had seen the brood.

But the old birds alone were to be seen. There they sat
silent, with heads erect and necks stiff, at some distance
from the position they had recently occupied. In a moment
they had risen from the water with a great noise of
whistling wings that made the little dell resound. Gather-
ing headway at once they rushed whizzing away like a pair
of departing bombshells.

Surely there were no young about, to be deserted in this
way. ‘To make sure I shoved the canoe here and there
through the grass and reeds, and struck the water repeat-
edly with the paddle, but no young could be found. While
this was going on, the old ones returned and circled several
times around the end of the pond, and then settled in the
open lake half a mile away.

Some hours later | again approached the ducks’ feeding
ground and again saw the old ones with the young. I
determined to outwit them if possible and see what became
of the young. Taking a boy in the canoe we boldly ap-
proached the ducks. As we rounded the point of grass
there were the male and female sitting alone as before.
Instantly they were upon the wing and after flying about
some time lit at a distance as in the morning. An old rail

118 STORIES OF BIRD LIFE

fence, which had now partly fallen, extended from the field
out through the grass in the shallow water. On this I
climbed and lying at full length on a couple of rails but a
few inches above the water found myself well hidden from
view. The boy now paddled away up the lake with my hat
and coat decorating one of the paddles which he leaned
against the middle thwart. I lay in the sunshine and
waited.

Twenty minutes later the ducks came flying down the
lake, the female in the lead. Silently they lit in the water
near the bend of the grass, and swam directly toward my
hiding place. Feeling sure both men had gone away in the
boat they did not stop to reconnoitre, and one of them soon
gave two or three low clucks which quickly brought the
young out of their hiding places in the grass. How the
little fuzzy fellows did gather about their parents, and how
happy they seemed at the old ones’ return!

The duck babies were that day being given lessons in
diving. The female would go under water and swim for
five or six feet before coming up. The ducklings would
follow her example, but often could get little more than
their heads under water, while their feet worked so dili-
gently that the water boiled behind them. All this went on
not more than fifty feet from my retreat.

WOOD DUCK LIFE 119

In the midst of the performance a slight noise from
my direction caused the quick danger signal

was in action, hurrying away for the friendly
cover of the grass. Wishing
to eatch one for a closer look I
rose hastily and began splash-
ing through the water toward
them. This time there was no desertion by the parents;
the young were not yet hidden and so could not be left in
safety. Here and there, round and round, the anxious old
ducks fluttered as though helpless from broken wings.

The female hurried the youngsters on by alternate lead-
ing and driving, while the male endeavored to divert my
attention to himself in another direction. Even after the
brood had distanced me in the chase and were well
secreted, the parents did not leave the pool. Their secret
had been discovered and they continued to feign lame-
ness until I had waded ashore and departed across the
fields.

Wood ducks sometimes select for their nests trees close
to water, but those with which I have met were all some
distance away. In fact I have never found one closer than
half a mile to a lake or running stream. The entrance
hole to the nest is sometimes so small that it seems almost

720 STORIES OF BIRD LIFE

impossible that the bird should be able to enter. Once I
found a nest in a tall stump, the entrance to which had been
made by a flicker.

Although the uncleared forest is their chosen nesting
haunt, they will sometimes build close to the homes of man.

Among the wooded
sand hills of Cape
‘Hatteras, standing in
a dooryard there is a
living holly tree, in
the cavity of which
some wood ducks
have made their
home each spring for
several years. The
opening to the cavity is ten feet
from the ground, and the hollow
is eight inches in depth. Here
the duck sits and hatches her eggs,

= = while carts pass along the sandy
~ road within thirty feet, and, on the
ground beneath, the hens cackle and children play.
Determining once to take a peep into this nest I ap-
proached the tree and struck it sharply several times with
a heavy stick to see if the female was at home. But no

WOOD DUCK LIFE Tt

duck appearing, I climbed to the opening. Out against my
face and away she dashed with a frightened rush. Straight
out over Pamlico Sound she went as though she contem-
plated crossing that forty mile tract of water. But within
five minutes the anxious mother was back, having circled
and returned through the woods. Several times she flew
through the trees of the yard and once seemed on the point
of perching. After this she did not leave again until I
was well on my way up the road, then she flew away
toward the Sound.

At this I hurried back and hid near the nesting tree.
In a few minutes she returned and pausing a moment in
the entrance of the cavity disappeared within, from which,
T hope, there emerged later a brood of young ducks.

The habit which the bird has of lining her nest with the
feathers of her body serves a double purpose. Not only do
they make a soft bed, but the bare warm skin of the bird’s
breast gives a greater warmth to the eggs by resting
directly against them.

The wood duck is a favorite game bird in many places
and is much appreciated as a table dish. Along in August,
when the young are nearly grown, the sport of the local
gunners begins. In regions where the birds are numerous
they can be found on nearly every pond and stream of any
size. Often two or more families unite and thus large

ee STORIES OF BIRD LIFE

flocks are formed. ‘Their feeding ground is usually in the
clear patches of shallow water among rushes and grass
where sometimes they may be approached with ease.

The sight of a group of feeding wood ducks, as they bob
about, dipping their heads under water, is a novel and
fascinating one. While at rest they enjoy standing or sit-
ting on partially submerged logs or stumps, and when
feeding they often have one or more sentinels posted, some-
times on a tree or snag several feet above the water. This
is one of the birds which has stood well against the ad-
vances of civilization. All over North America where
woodlands exist, and lakes or running streams abound,
the beautiful crested wood duck is found.

THOUGHT QUESTIONS

Do young ducks have webbed feet when they are first hatched? How old
is a duck before feathers begin to appear in place of the down which at
first comes? Do tame ducks roost at night on perches, or on the ground?
How soon can a young duck learn to swim? Are ducks’ eggs the same
shape and color of hens’ eggs? Do you know the wood duck?

[123]

THE SNOWBIRD

ACH change of the sea-
ons, almost each phase

of the weather may be

associated with the ap-

pearance of some par-
fienular bird, “Thus a

certain kind of spring
weather always brings
to memory the song of
the wood thrush and
the whistle of the bob-
white. One or more

ref | morning's that are sure

Ye, E to -occur each year

cause me to think of a time late in

June, when in an apple orchard in the Hudson Valley
1 watched the black-and-yellow goldfinches about their
nests. Other times bring fresh to mind a day deep in
summer when I wandered through a meadow in eastern
Indiana and startled the bobolinks from their lurking

places in the grass.
[125]

126 STORIES OF BIRD LIFE

And so it is that when the autumn days come, and the
nights grow frosty, when the leaves are red and gold on
all the trees, and the flocks of cedar waxwings come to feed
on the berries of the black gum and the mistletoe, I look
for the first snowbirds to appear along the borders of the
woodland.

It is usually near to November when we first see them in
central Carolina. This year I went into the woods and
fields looking for the snowbirds, as is my custom, on Octo-
ber fifteenth, and continued to go each day thereafter until
they came. It was not until the evening of the twenty-
eighth that I was rewarded for my watchfulness. While
returning home a little before sundown, four birds flew up
from among the weeds at the roadside where they had been
feeding, and perched in some cedars near by. They posi-
tively refused a closer inspection and my inquisitiveness
soon caused them to fly away. By the glimpse I had, and
by their notes, I knew them to be snowbirds, the first of the
season. They were of the species called eastern snow-
bird, or Junco hyemalis. Two days later others were seen,
and by the time a week elapsed they had become abundant.

During the winter they are one of the most character-
istic and abundant species of birds which inhabit our
dooryards and fields and woods. They keep together in
flocks, sometimes fifty or a hundred being seen at a time.

THE SNOW BIRD 5 ye

Sparrows often flock with them. The white on the outer
tail feathers is distinctly noticeable when the bird flies, and
is a good mark to look for when endeavoring to identify
it. The white patches, contrasting with the dark, slaty
color of the back and tail, make the bird easy to recognize.

When the snow comes and covers up much of the birds’
food, the stout weed .
stalks still hold their
store of seeds high above
it all, and to these the
snowbirds are wont to
come. They alight on
the stalks, and by their
pecking thrash out the
seed, which are after-
wards gathered from the

snow.

Sometimes the hunt for food becomes a most serious
one. In February, 1899, a distressing cold wave swept the
country. On the thirteenth a sleet came and covered the
trees, wrapping each limb and twig tightly as in a blanket.
Grass and weeds were covered and crushed to the earth
beneath its weight. The next day the snow fell until it lay
deep upon the ground. All bird food was buried under
this merciless sheet of ice and snow. ‘The cold was so

128 STORIES OF BIRD LIFE

bitter that for two days the thermometer constantly hov-
ered near the zero point. The voices of the birds were still,
the wind did not blow, and an unearthly silence brooded
over field and forest. The crows which flew eagerly about
the country, seeking food, did not caw. The nuthatches
and woodpeckers made no sound, life was too serious now
for comment. The usually noisy Carolina wren neither
sang nor scolded. The great famine of the birds was on,
and thousands upon thousands perished during those awful
days. |

One evening I noticed a snowbird fly to the building in
which I lived and disappear in a slit between the bricks
near the ground. The next evening I sprinkled some bread
crumbs on the snow in front of the entrance and watched
from the window above. About sunset the snowbird ap-
peared. Iam not sure that it ate any of the bread, although
it stopped before going in to roost and apparently exam-
ined the crumbs.

The next morning I saw a snowbird, which possibly was
the same one, alight in the snow about sixty yards from
the house. Several fierce, hungry-acting blue jays came
moving through the grove, silent as ghosts. One of them
saw the snowbird and immediately darted after it. Ex-
treme hunger had changed the jaunty, saucy jay into a
gaunt cannibal. The nearly starved snowbird fled, but

THE SNOW BIRD 129

within fifty feet dropped into the snow. The jay was close
upon it, when I threw up the window, waving my paper
and loudly shouting a remonstrance. The jay paid no
heed but pounced upon his intended victim. Springing
out of the door I ran floundering through the snow, halloo-
ing as I went. The snowbird managed to escape, but its
weak wings soon gave way and again it dropped. The jay
alighted near and gave it a vicious peck, but I was on the
scene by this time, and before the blow could be repeated
had interfered. The jay retreated a few yards and stood
in the snow defiantly watching me. I strongly urged him
to leave the country, and emphasized my remarks by
throwing snow balls at his head. I had failed to notice
where the snowbird went, and so, when the jay had re-
treated, was unable to locate my pet. It did not return
again to its roost in the brick wall.

In the early spring snowbirds begin to sing. The song
is little more than a trill repeated over and over with
pleasant monotony ; but coming, as it does, when few birds
are singing, and issuing from such a nice, gentle bird, the
few notes are very pleasing to hear. My notebook shows
me that the first one I heard trilling this year was on
March first. The birds sang nearly every day after that
and on the twenty-fifth a dozen or more were heard at one

130 STORIES OF BIRD LIFE

time outside my window, although the day was cold and
a heavy mist was falling.

The Junco is found over the greater part of North
America east of the Rocky Mountains. In the southern
part of its range it comes only as a winter visitor. In the
mountains of Virginia and the Carolinas it is a resident
the entire year. And so when the warmth of summer
comes, the snowbirds of all the Southland retire to the
North, except those which go up into the higher moun-
tains to nest. Visit the Junco in his summer home and
you will find his lodge a simple little nest of grass and
rootlets hid away in a low bush, or in some snug spot on
the ground; and if the season be early you may find in it
four or five brown-spotted eggs. Here too you may hear
his singing; and his short trill of early spring has now a
deeper, sweeter tone.

There is a picture which will long linger in my mind, of
a pair of snowbirds and their nest, up on the side of
Grand“‘ather mountain. When we saw it the morning sun
was flooding the Blue Ridge in a blaze of golden light.
Down the slopes and into the valleys its foremost rays were
darting, jewelling in their courses a thousand dewdrops
on every tree and rock. Grand and beautiful were the
surroundings; as fresh did the world seem as if just from
the Creator’s hand. On the eastern side of this mountain,

THE SNOW BIRD 131

where it was always sure of the warmth from the rising
sun, a little bird sat snugly in her nest on the ground.
Now the light shown directly upon her, but later when the
blazing orb should climb higher through the heavens,
there was the shelter of an overhanging cluster of leaves
to protect her from the scorching rays. Her head turned
inquiringly from side to side, as with first one eye and then
the other she examined a neighboring laurel bush behind
which appeared two heads. ‘‘Queer that they keep look-
ing at me,’’ she may have said to herself, ‘‘but I guess
they will not hurt a body.’’

Just then her mate flew along and alighted on the top-
most spray of a neighboring bush. He evidently did not
see the strangers, for a moment later in a low reassuring
tone he began his morning song. Louder and more con-
fident he became as the beauty of the morning and the
sense of security of his mate and their treasures grew upon
him. His head was thrown back, his white breast con-
trasted strongly with his black head and gray coat, and his
throat swelled as the enchanting strain came stronger and
clearer. Ah! why did we ever have to leave the singer and
his song!

And so I like to think of him as each spring he sings—a
solitary songster on the mountain side; mingling his music
with the murmur of the brook, his only listener the mate he
loves.

132 STORIES OF BIRD LIFE

THOUGHT QUESTIONS

Does the snowbird come in your neighborhood; if so, when does it ap-
pear? Will snowbirds eat crumbs and suet if they be offered them? Did
you ever hear a snowbird trill? Snowbirds are closely related to sparrows.
How many kinds of sparrows do you know? Where do sparrows build their
nests and what kind of eggs do they lay? Where are the places to look for
sparrows and snowbirds—in trees, fields, or flying about the sky?

— eT eo

PE a 1 et) OME i

Rye be Ne Syn poy a ee

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4 p=

A BOBWHITE FAMILY

~
=~ \\"

RINE bright
A / morning while the
; is grass and leaves were
yet heavy with dew, and
the air was still, as if the world were hushed in the pres-
ence of such a perfect day, a fine male partridge walked the
top rail of a farm fence and loudly whistled his favorite
note. ‘‘Bobwhite, Bobwhite,’’ he seemed to say.

Over the meadow land and the cornfield floated the call.
Down the lane and through the plum orchard it rang until
it reached the ears of Farmer Levering standing in the
doorway of his house. A smile rested on the good man’s

face, for forty years of toil in the fields had not worn from
[135]

spring

136 STORIES OF BIRD LIFE

his heart the love he bore for living nature. He was soothed
by the quiet morning, and the warming sunshine; by the
dew on the cornfield, and the whistle of the partridge
ringing through the air, while memories of other days
floated through his mind.

The farmer’s son also heard the note and paused to
listen as he saddled his horse. He too smiled, but thought
of the autumn and the time for dogs and guns. Perhaps
the old barred owl in his hollow hickory in the bottom
land woods drowsily heard the sound and twisted his wise
old face into a smile, and licked the inside of his bill at
the thoughts which came before he dozed off again into
dreamland.

There was still another that heard the whistle. This
was a plump female partridge on the ground not far away.
Whether she smiled is not recorded, for she remained
hidden in the grass and admiringly watched the splendid
appearance of the figure on the fence. Quietly she an-
swered in the low, ladylike manner of her sex. For half
an hour the partridge on the rail remained at his post, call-
ing and indulging in much self-satisfied strutting, which
showed the brillianecy of his feathers to good advantage.
Then, the dew having partially dried, he flew down and
led his mate away through the grass and beneath the over-
hanging leaves of the growing corn. By bounteous atten-

A BOBWHITE FAMILY 137

tion and expressions of affection he paid his tribute to the
god of bird-love, as winged creatures have done ever since
the days when birds first sang, and loved, and mated.

Ah! those which followed were glorious days about the
Levering farm. For the voices of many spring birds filled
the fields, and the swamp lands, and the pine forests all
about; and the partridge with his mate lived and whistled
and, on tireless legs, roved through it all. Close to a rail
fence the nest was built beneath a bunch of grass, and day
by day, for nearly two weeks, the white eggs it contained
grew in number. Then for many days the mother brooded
over her treasures, keeping them warm and guarding the
nest from danger. Her mate fed her and at times even sat |
in the nest while the tired one went away to exercise and
search for food.

Out into the field one day the parents came with their
family of babies. Thirteen little brown, fuzzy, down-
covered balls were these chicks, for all the eggs had
hatched. It was only that day that each white shell had
opened before the vigorous pecking of the little bird inside,
and let out its prisoner. No weaklings were these bob-
whites. They had no notion of remaining in the nest and
being fed like young sparrows. No sooner had the sun
and wind dried their downy coats than they were ready
and anxious to start afield with their parents.

138 STORIES OF BIRD LIFE

Great was the anxiety of the old ones that day, for they
had so many duties to perform. Nourishment must be
found for mouths which as yet had never tasted food.
The grass must be watched for lurking cat or skunk or
gliding snake. One eye must be kept open for dogs or
men. The sky must be watched for the murderous hawk,
while all the time great care must be exercised to keep the
family together. 7

As Farmer Levering was crossing the meadow he heard,
a short distance in advance, the rapidly repeated, warning
clucks of a partridge. At the same moment he caught sight
of a number of small downy objects hurrying with low
whistling cries in all directions. Hardly were they seen
before all had disappeared. Beneath blades of grass,
under the edges of upturned clods, lying flat in the open,
anywhere, everywhere they had hidden. As if by magic
all had vanished and, search as carefully as he might, not
one could be found. Two adult birds, apparently in great
pain and distress, were fluttering along the ground eight
or ten yards away.

The farmer did not follow nor attempt to catch these
shrewd old parents. Well did he know their secret, nor
would he have harmed either the old birds or their young.
It was a beautiful sight to him, this devotion of the parents,
as they recklessly risked their lives for their offspring.

A BOBWHITE FAMILY 139

The kind man passed on, thinking with joy of the partridge
family and the good they would do on the farm that sum-
mer if mishap did not befall them. He thought of the
numbers of harmful insects they would destroy ; of the
potato bugs they would kill; of the hosts of cutworm
moths they would eat; and the quantities of noxious weed
seeds they would consume. ‘‘They are a great blessing to
any farm,’’ he said,
‘and not one word
of evil have I ever
beard spoken
against them.’’

troubles which beset /

the young birds’
pathway of life. A
limit has been set upon the undue increase of any species
of bird, and this is a law of Nature: The number of young
brought into the world by a species varies with the de-
structiveness of its natural enemies, and so it is that the
robin lays few eggs and the partridge many. The second
day out from the nest, one of the little bobwhites was
stepped upon by a horse galloping about the pasture. The
next day one sickened and died. A third was caught by a

140 STORIES OF BIRD LIFE

prowling cat. Another fell into a deep post hole and never
got out again.

When some weeks had passed and the young had learned
much about taking care of themselves, the mother sud-
denly forsook the family. Close beside a rarely used road
which ran through the open pine woods, she scratched a
slight hollow in the ground at the base of a small pine,
lined and covered it over with grass, and there laid another
setting of eggs. In due time a second brood appeared.
Fifteen more little fuzzy balls of life started on that long
journey, fraught with so much danger, from the days of
down toward the days of feathers.

Scarcely had their mother led them from the nest when a
storm came on. For hours the rain fell in torrents. Water
ran everywhere. The road was turned into a stream. In
the woods it stood in pools. Night closed down and the
storm continued. In vain did the anxious partridge strive
to cover and protect her brood. The water rose under her.
The little ones became soaked and chilled; some were
drowned outright. When the light came again and the
rain had ceased, only six small voices were able to cheep
a feeble response to their mother’s calls.

The two families, now depleted in numbers, united.
Father and mother, big brothers and sisters, and little
brothers and sisters all associated together. When danger

A BOBWHITE FAMILY TAI:

came near, the young of the first brood would take wing
and seek safety in flight. On sounding pinions they would
burst away with a loud whirr from the very feet of the
astonished -intruder. Rising but a few yards from the
earth they would soar rapidly away to a safe distance and
alight again on the ground. The baby ones would run
peeping to the nearest leaf or stick or bunch of grass
beneath which they could hide.

Thus living together they spent the summer, making
their daily rounds through meadow and field and forest;
the parents ever watchful for enemies, the young growing
larger, swifter of foot, and stronger of wing, while each
hour bore them farther and farther from the days of baby-
hood.

One evening the bobwhite family settled to roost in the
long wire grass which grows everywhere in the pine woods.
The tall trees wore their habitual coverings of slender
green needles, but the bright colors which painted the
leaves of the deciduous trees at the back of the farm
quickly revealed to the eye that autumn had come.

Only twelve of the partridge family of thirty now re-
mained. Their history, like the history of every bird
family, had been a series of tragedies, as one by one their
numbers fell a prey to some enemy, a fate which sooner or
later must befall even the strongest and the swiftest bird.

142 STORIES OF BIRD LIFE

This afternoon they had been feeding in the field, eating
weed seeds as well as grains of corn which had been left on
the ground at harvesting. As insects become less numer-
ous in the fall, the birds must depend more and more on
a diet of this character.

All in a bunch the covey of partridges crouched with
their tails together and heads pointed outward in all direc-
tions. The farmer’s dog, while scouting about with no
apparent object, passed near them. In an instant they
were all upon the wing, each taking a separate course.
Two of the number did not come to earth but flew up on
the lower limb of a pine near by. In a few minutes the
‘‘seatter call,’’ consisting of two or three low, anxious
notes, was being sounded as the members of the disunited
family sought each other again before going to sleep.

One of the birds in the pine tree tarried for a time on
his new found perch. Just what happened to him will
never be written. But this much is known. The big
swamp owl was very noisy that night, and his calls were
answered by another which was not his mate. The old
inhabitant appeared to be quarrelling with a stranger, as
at this season of the year many barred owls come into the
country and swell the owl census considerably. Indeed
so boisterous did the two become that an old colored man

A BOBWHITE FAMILY 143

living on the place remarked, ‘“De ole swamp owl am sure
mad at somethin’ tonight.’’

The next morning while riding along the border of the
swamp I was surprised to find a large barred owl sitting
on the ground in a most dejected manner. Its wings
drooped listlessly and the top of its head was bare of
feathers and the skin was raw and bleeding. Evidently
it had experienced a terrible whipping. Bobwhite feathers
were scattered about. I took the wounded owl up on the
horse with me, but he died within a mile, sitting on the
pommel of my saddle. His stomach contained no signs of
a partridge feast although I strongly suspect he knew
what became of the solitary bird which alighted on the
swaying pine bough. Perhaps he had caught it but, before
he could eat his victim, had been robbed of his booty by the
old swamp owl, who had devoured it after giving its cap-
tor a rare beating. At any rate the swamp owl’s calls the
next night indicated that he was still alive and appar-
ently happy.

The young were now full grown, and a prettier, plumper
covey of partridges could not have been found in the
country around. Sometimes the chickens when wandering
about the fields would meet the bobwhites and all would
hunt and feed together. Once they went back together to
the farm yard. It was a still Sunday afternoon and all

144 STORIES OF BIRD LIFE

was quiet about the house and barn. The old cat lay out
on the shed roof asleep in the sunshine. The boy, wearing
his best clothes, had gone away with the horse and buggy
some time before. The dog was nowhere in sight. In
company with the hens the partridges scratched and wan-
dered about the yard.

Just back of the kitchen was the potato house, a small
log structure partially sunk in the ground and roofed with
bark. Through the open door of this a hen jumped down
to the floor two feet below. Others followed, and soon
one of their small friends joined them.

As the farmer chanced to be crossing his yard he heard
a commotion among his hens at the rear of the house and
also saw the partridge family running down the garden
fenee. Approaching the door of the potato house he beheld
a bobwhite running with low, anxious notes back and forth
at the far end and vainly seeking some opening for es-
cape. Creeping toward it with lowered head and twitching
tail was the ever-hungry house cat.

With a loud ‘‘seat’’ the man sprang forward. He soon
held the trembling partridge in his hands. For a few
moments he kept it to admire its beauty. The shining
coat, the beautiful beaming dark eyes, and the short, stout
beak all spoke to him of elegance and usefulness. It was a
female, he knew by the buff color on its throat and head.

A BOBWHITE FAMILY 145

Had it been a male these feathers would have been white.
Her heart beat in quick, heavy throbs against his hand.
With all his heart he pitied
his prisoner, and soon raising
high his hand he let go the bird.
Away she went speeding across
the yard and over the garden,
her short round wings bearing
her at a rapid rate. Far down /
the field the farmer watched her&
fly until with a turn and a flut-
ter she dropped into the grass by

the rail fence. Long did the mem-
ory of that day’s fright burn in
her mind, and greater grew her
distrust of cats and men.

The season for gunning was ap-
proaching. Already the farmer’s
son had been hunting gray squir-
rels in the thick woods back of the
farm, and one day he shot a large
black fox squirrel from a pine
near where the bobwhites were
crouching in nervous anxiety. Soon their turn came. The
covey had just crossed from the pine woods into the pea-

146 STORIES OF BIRD LIFE

nut field, which was being well rooted by the fattening
hogs, when they became aware that they were being
watched. With a warning cry the father bird ran, followed
quickly by the others. When they were well in line run-
ning down a furrow near the fence there was a loud
‘‘bang,’’ and three of their number died in a great agony
of fluttering.

It was unsportsmanlike, this shot of the farmer’s son.
Some men would not have fired until the birds had taken
wing, thus giving them at least a chance for their lives.
But this hunter secured partridge meat by his course and
that was what he wanted. From this time on a more dili-
gent watch was kept for men with guns.

Lured one bright day by the number of peas to be found
in the upper end of the field, the flock wandered farther
than was their custom. In the midst of their feeding a low
warning note from one of their number indicated danger.
No running this time. Up and away they sped with light-
ning-like rapidity. Whither, they did not stop to con-
sider, their one desire being to escape. ‘‘Bang, bang,’’
sounded the gun, but every bird kept straight on. Over
the garden fence they went. The farmhouse had recently
been repainted. Whether its white sides deceived them,
or whether being blinded by the sunlight they saw not
their danger, it would probably be difficult to explain, but

A BOBWHITE FAMILY 147

straight against the north side of the building several of
them flew headlong with resounding raps. Half stunned
and breathless the frightened birds crept across the yard
and through the fence,—all but one, which lay dead and
bleeding by the house.

Much of happiness the bobwhite family knew, although
there was much of watchfulness and anxiety and sudden
terror mingled with their joy. One of their number was
taken in a trap and carried away to the kitchen along with
a Carolina dove captured the same day. Another was
chased by a hawk and made its escape only by flying
directly into the open stable door, much to the astonish-
ment of the hens that were scratching there.

S+i1] another was struck by a shot that fatal day in the
peanut field, but had been able to make its escape with the
others. When cover was reached it had picked the feathers
out of the wound in its side and cleared away the blood,
doing the best it knew for its hurt. But the heavy sick-
ening pain in its body continued. All day it crouched
trembling or ran on after the others when the dread of
being left alone came upon it. It tried to ease its pain by
eating certain berries or leaves which old Mother Nature
whispered in its ear might be good.. Through the long
hours of that autumn day it knew no joy, only sorrow was
in its heart, and a great fever was in its brain, and a swim-

148 STORIES OF BIRD LIFE

ming dizziness was in its eyes. At times it struck with its
beak hard and wantonly into the ground where it lay, as if
seeking a solace there. A choking thirst almost stifled the
piteous notes of complaint which at times escaped.

As the evening came down the gathering call of the
family sounded over in the field. The bird endeavored to
rise, but the exertion only resulted in spasms of pain and it
lay hopelessly fanning the ground with its wings. Oh!
the agony of that day, and the hours yet to follow! The
dews of night, which soon began to gather, revived the
bird a little, but this only made it more conscious of its
sickness as the hours of darkness wore on. There it lay
alone beating out its life in the forest. There was no sound
save the sounds of the night, the singing of the crickets in
the grass, the croaking of the frogs down in the swamp,
and the distant baying of the farmer’s dog.

Gliding through the grass among the shadows of the
pine trees, here and there, but ever nearer and yet nearer
to where the stricken bird lay, came something which
seemed to be only a slender, softly moving shadow. Its nose
touched the ground and the grass blades; quickly it looked
up and eagerly sniffed the air. A slight sound reached
the bird’s ears; its head turned, and close by in the dark-
ness blazed the two small red eyes of its most dreaded
enemy, Weasel, the blood-thirsty. With a desperate spring

A BOBWHITE FAMILY 149

the partridge fluttered wildly away. One, two, three yards
it had gone and then the soft arms of Weasel, the blood-
thirsty, closed about its neck. ‘Two sets of sharp teeth
met, there was a despairing cry, a flutter of wings and the
night sounds in the forest went on as before.

The days of the winter months were drawing to a close.
One afternoon late in February the bobwhite family, now
numbering only eight, was lying in the sand of a road
which ran through
the woods half a
mile from the
parm, They
feratched and “<=
kicked the warm =
dry dust upon
their sides and aie
backs: “and ‘had = ae wees a
the delicious ig zz,
pleasure of feel-
ing it scatter and sift down between their feathers. The sun
yet rode high in the heavens and the day was warm, for in
this Southland but little frost comes to chill the earth, and
snow is unknown. While thus they lay and drank deeply

Nise Lian
Lh. Le

of the bliss of existence, the sky gradually became overcast
and a thin haze settled in among the pines. It tainted the

150 STORIES OF BIRD LIFE

air for the nostrils, and clung burning to the eyes and eye-
lids. More overcast became the sky, thicker through the
trees drifted the smarting haze, while deep and low came
an ominous rumbling, borne before the breast of the west
wind. |
The partridges lay still and watched and listened. The
darkness grew, the rumbling increased to a roar, now
mingled with a medley of snapping, crackling, crashing
sounds. The birds arose and shook the dust from their
sides. The forest was on fire. Along the west and girting
about to the north and south came roaring and rushing
the burning flames, the fierce devouring wolves of the fire
king. Like an immense pack in some mad race they came
rushing on in great leaps, eating down the high hot grass,
tossing up their fiery tongues and snapping and snarling
in their hideous work. Wrapping about the small trees
they quickly stripped them of their foliage and climbed
high up the bark of the tall pines, scorching and killing
the slender green leaves one hundred feet from the ground.
The forest had not been burned over for four years and
the accumulated carpet of pine needles, with all their rosin,
together with the tall dead grass, was a great feast for the
fire.

Dense volumes of smoke arose which at times drifted
low and shut from view the oncoming flames. A flicker

A BOBWHITE FAMILY 151

flew by, fleeing for his life. High above the tree tops the
Arredondo sparrow hawk and his mate circled, calling
through the sky, ready to strike upon the wing any of the
insects which were endeavoring to escape from the con-
suming furnace beneath. With low notes of uneasiness the
bobwhites turned and ran, but the flames gaining upon
them they took wing and sped away toward the fields to the

east. But alas, their only course of escape was cut off. To
save his fences, the farmer had set a back fire, which now
with savage roar came leaping to meet the wild fire from
the forest. The helpless birds dropped to earth, for they
had never learned to soar high enough to pass this en-
circling voleano of fire and smoke.

15? STORIES OF BIRD LIFE

Near the spot where two of them pitched was the home
of a gopher turtle, a hole dug deep in the earth by this
land reptile of the Southern pine woods. A gray fox, ex-
hausted with speeding before the fire came panting by;
it saw the hole, paused a moment, then crept far down its
darkened course. The two birds, moved by some impulse,
followed their dreaded enemy into the earth for a yard or
more, and crouched trembling in the sand.

A moment later the fire wolves swept over them with
their awful fierceness, sending down their hot breath
threateningly into the gopher’s hole. For a moment the
birds’ lives swayed in the balance, then the fire passed on
and they were saved.

Again the land throbs with the life of springtime. The
heavy dew rests on the corn blades and grass, while ring-
ing through orchard and forest floats the whistle of a bob-
white. The farmer hearkens with joy to the well known
eall, but the memory of Nature’s inexorable law of the
birds comes forcibly to his mind, for of all the partridges
of his farm the summer before, but a single pair remains.

THOUGHT QUESTIONS

What do people call bobwhites where you live? How do men catch those
you see alive in market? Do you think a bobwhite has to watch out for
dangers more than you do? What color are the eggs and how many are
found in a nest? Do you ever see bobwhites perched on trees? Why do you
suppose the fox did not try to catch those which went into the gopher hole
with him?

LEVY, THE STORY OF AN EGRET

y N the scattered
a orowth of button
© bushes coveringa

small marshy island in
a southern lake, several
8 pairs of American
‘e egrets for some years
built their summer
habitations. They
made no effort to hide
their bulky nests,
which were simply
placed there in the
bushes, the most of
hie | them barely a yard
ty above the mud. Their
! : greatest enemy was
man and hardly could they have found a place more free
from his inroads than this island in a sequestered lake.

But we sought out their village one March day, my com-
panion and IJ, and when we scraped the slimy mud from

our feet and trousers, and clambered again into the boat,
[153]

Hy

14 STORIES OF BIRD LIFE

we bore with us one of their young. He was an awkward
creature with long weak legs and slender toes. Thin white
down covered the dark green skin, and the wing quills had
been growing but a short time. His neck, which was long
and slender, he kept drawn in. His bill was slim and
pointed. His pale yellow eyes looked out in startled won-
der, or moved in fright whenever he was seized with a
desire to clamber out of the boat. When we put forth our
hands to detain him he squawked piteously.

At length our prisoner settled quietly on the center-
board case, and sat looking back at the old parent egrets
which now like fragments of white clouds came floating
back to their nests of eggs and young.

Poor little egret! He knew nothing of the world but the
island and the lake. Now against his will a boat was bear-
ing him from home far across a waste of waters. What
lake shores would his feet yet tread, through what space
would his wings yet carry him? Would they sometime
bear him back to his home on the island? It was we who
thought and asked these questions; the bird, more prob-
ably, was speculating on the possibilities of escape, or
wondering when he would be fed again. Indeed, before
many hours had elapsed, it became the general opinion
that contemplations of the latter subject occupied the
greater part of his time.

LEVY, THE STORY OF AN EGRET 159

Just outside the water lily leaves which fringed the
shore I dropped my hook baited with worms taken from the
lily stems. Several nice perch were soon drawn into the
boat. With these we strove to feed the youngster, but he
positively refused to take his food in the manner we served
it. He had been accustomed to put his beak between the
mandibles of his mother’s bill and receive his food from
her throat.

It was evident that he must be taught a different way of
eating. So he was caught by the head and his mouth
foreed open. This rough treatment he resisted with all his
force, screaming and twisting his head in an effort to draw
it away. At the same time the nails of his toes scratched
seriously the bare hands that held him. A long finger
thrust sent the piece of fish well down his throat; then it
was quickly swallowed.

After this performance was repeated a few times it
became necessary only to place the food in the bird’s beak
to get him to swallow it. The second morning, unaided he
picked his food from the ground and, with a jerk or two of
his neck, sent each piece home in a twinkling. The number
and size of the fish which this young bird devoured was
something astonishing. Including beak, neck and tail he
measured little over a foot, and yet half a pound of fish
was for him but an ordinary lunch.

156 STORIES OF BIRD LIFE

From the moment he arrived in camp and was tied out
to a tree he became the master of the territory over which
his string would allow him to move. One of the dogs
whose curiosity prompted her to come too near was
severely pecked on the nose. Losing his balance when the
stroke was given, the bird fell on his back, and there lay
kicking and squawking while the dog retreated to a safe
distance.

Upon breaking camp we put the bird in the rear of a
wagon among a mixture of pots,
eartridge belts and hammocks,
named him Levy in memory of
the lake, and headed for home.

Before half a mile was covered
a loud strangled squawking ©
brought me clambering back over
the outfit. There lay Levy on his

2 back, kicking out with his long
ae legs most earnestly. He was chok-
ing on the leg and foot of a dead
fish hawk which he had Uae oe to swallow. His appe-
tite knew no bounds.

Later, in the garden at home his greed for fresh beef
was even greater than his appetite for fish had been. He
seemed never satisfied with eating until he could swallow

LEVY, THE STORY OF AN EGRET 157

no more; even then it would be but a short time until he
appeared as hungry as ever. Such serious inroads were
made on the family larder that soon the egret was brought
into disfavor with the heads of the household, and when
one day he pecked and instantly killed a young chicken,
the parental wrath fell heavily upon Levy and his keeper.

Hence it came about that the next day I bade farewell to
Levy and left him standing on the margin of a lake on
Horse Prairie, some miles away. He must now earn his
living or perish. It seemed bad to treat him thus, but such
had been the decree at home and there appeared no help
for it; and his captor was young and possessed few re-
sources.

A year later I drove one day by the shore of the lake on
Horse Prairie. Two hundred yards away in the shallow
water stood a magnificent American egret. It was over
three feet tall and its entire plumage was a spotless white.
On its back between the wings grew many long, airy plumes
which fell waving far beyond its tail. The skin of the bare
portions of its legs were black; its long bright yellow beak
flashed like a dagger in the sunlight.

With a spring the bird launched into the air and with
slow deliberate wing strokes flew for a quarter of a mile
down the shore and alighted. It was the embodiment of
elegance and grace of movement. Probably I had never

158 STORIES OF BIRD LIFE

seen the bird before, and yet I could not help thinking that
possibly this was Levy, and at once began to speak of him
as such. This was childish, but I was a child, and thought
as a child. Chancing to be passing that way frequently
during the next few days, I saw each time an egret, doubt-
less the same bird, haunting that stretch of the shore.
Others could be seen on the marshes at a distance.

In the tall bushes, growing in a secluded pond in the
swamp half a mile from the lake, a small colony of herons
had their nesting home. Here the egrets of that region,
to the number of half a dozen pairs, likewise built their
nests. Learning of this from a squirrel hunter, I accom-
panied him one day to the spot. The scene which met our
eyes was not a pleasant one. We had expected to see some
of the beautiful egrets about their nests, or standing on the
trees near by. But not a living one could we find, while
here and there in the mud lay the lifeless forms of eight of
the birds. They had been shot down and the skin bearing
the plumes stripped from their backs. Flies were getting
in their work and they swarmed up with hideous buzzings
as we approached each spot where a victim lay.

This was not the worst. In four of the nests young
orphan birds could be seen. They were clamoring piteously
for food which their dead parents could never again bring
them. A little one was discovered which, now past suffer-

LEVY, THE STORY OF AN EGRET 159

ing, lay with its head and neck hanging out of a nest.
On higher ground the embers of a fire, and the scattered
straw where a horse had been fed, gave evidence of the
plume hunter’s recent camp.

The plume feathers of each bird killed were worth at
that time ninety cents in Jacksonville. From there they
were shipped to certain great millinery houses in New
York, where in due time they were placed on the market
and sold as ‘‘aigrettes’’ for decorations on ladies’ bonnets.

Egrets are shy and difficult to approach at all times,
save when in the neighborhood of their nests. Here the
poor birds are loath to leave their young, and return again
and again within range of the concealed hunter’s gun. It
is during the season of rearing their young that the plumes
are at their finest,—another reason why the hunters seek
to kill the birds in their breeding places.

Possibly all twelve of the egrets which lived here were
slain. It may be that some of them escaped and fled to
wilder recesses of the swamps. At any rate no more were
found about the heronry in the woods that year. The bird
which haunted the lake shore and the ones seen in the
marshes did not come again to feed in their old wading
places.

The next spring I visited the nesting site of the egrets
but found only the old nests fast falling to decay. Rarely

160 STORIES OF BIRD LIFE

is an egret now seen about the waters of Horse Prairie.
When man comes and slaughters and exterminates,
Nature does not restore.

THOUGHT QUESTIONS

Have you ever seen an egret? The egret gets its living as it wades about
in the shallow water. What do you suppose it eats? Have you seen the
“aigrettes” on ladies’ hats? If you had known Levy do you think you
would care for aigrettes on your hat?

THE QUEST FOR THE CORMORANT’S NEST

A LONG black line appeared
. upon the horizon and bore
down upon us, a pulsating,
waving battalion of three

Mam
i i i My ] P
i TATA 4

it il,
iy i i | | \

f

————S =

hundred great birds fly-

—

eS SSS :
EE
== = —
.

ing abreast. Over the
waves of Pamlico Sound
they came, their long
wings almost touching
the water with every
stroke. From the deck
of our vessel we watched
{hem cross our bows, as
they winged their way far
into the glare of the sink-
ing sun to a spot where a
low-lying island of shells
reared its back above the water. Here among hundreds of
their fellows they alighted, and drawing their sable wings
about them sought the rest and sleep which the night should
bring. |

This island is situated in a nook of the North Carolina

[161]

162 STORIES OF BIRD LIFE

coast called Yesocking Bay. It was the roosting place not
only for the cormorants which fed in the neighborhood, but
also for those which mustered from all the region lying
between Roanoke Island on the north and Hatteras Inlet
on the southeast. About these waters they lived, singly or
in flocks, and procured their living by diving and eaptur-
ing their prey from the abundant schools of fish, such
as the shad, herring and menhaden, which swarm in the
sound. In spring they are supposed to leave for the North,
and it has been said by ornithologists that the summer
home of the cormorant did not extend to North Carolina.

A few weeks later we again approached the island as
the sun went down, and as no cormorants were seen gath-
ering there, we might have been led to suppose that they
had all departed for the North, not to return until the
autumn. However, we found it to be otherwise. Sailing
down the sound, we could see here and there seated on a
channel stake or buoy a great black bird, rearing its head
on a long slender neck nearly three feet above its perch.
Now and then one would rise from the water and, making
straight for the mainland, would disappear in the forests
on the shore. They were especially numerous in the neigh-
borhood of Beaufort, where the people from long famili-
arity with the birds have named them ‘‘ Nigger Geese,’’ or
‘Bogue Sound Lawyers.”’

THE QUEST FOR THE CORMORANT’S NEST Ga

We had often thought and often tried to prove that
about the inland lakes a few miles from the coast, or in
some of the fresh-water swamps, these birds must rear
their young. That spring we had gone into the swamps
and searched about the lakes from the upper end of Albe-
marle Sound southward along the coast one hundred miles
or more, to Old Topsail Inlet. For eight weeks the search
was in vain; the secret breeding place of the cormorants
was still unknown.

One morning late in May our expedition moved away
from the railway station of Havelock and headed south-
ward through the pine forests of Craven county. After
ten miles of travel through a barren country with scarce
a human inhabitant, we halted near an old plantation.
Our light canoe was launched in a large ditch dug by negro
hands to drain the land in the days of slavery. Sitting
flat in the bottom of the canoe we presently emerged from
the shadows of the cypress swamp and passed out upon
the shallow waters of Lake Ellis.

Then for three miles we paddled, while blackbirds and
marsh hens called to us from the reeds along the shores and
the islands, and great white egrets floated like fragments
of snowy clouds across the sky above, or viewed us from
some far standing cypress top. On the west side of the
lake the canoe was taken from the water, and we pushed

164 STORIES OF BIRD LIFE

on another mile, first over a marsh, then through a tangled
jungle of vines and forest trees, the guide carrying the
canoe inverted over his head. Here the tracks of the wild
deer and gray squirrels were abundant.

Again our canoe was launched and we found ourselves
floating upon the body of water known as Big Lake. For
seven miles it spread before us, a beautiful rippling sheet.
For two-thirds the distance the shore is lined by a dense
cypress swamp, the remaining portion being clothed with
a barren pine pocoson. The timber everywhere grows
down to the water’s edge, and many cypress trees and
stumps stand well out from shore like giant forest mon-
archs who have waded knee deep into the cooling lake.
Many of these contain the immense nests of the osprey,
the fierce fish eagle of the ocean and lakes.

Herons also, of several species, had built nests for their
young here and there on the boughs of the overhang-
ing trees. Probably not more than once or twice a year
does a boat of any kind ever float on this secluded lake.
There are no dwelling houses for miles around and the
wild creatures here are seldom disturbed. A doe and her
fawn coming down to the water to drink eyed us from a
distance for many minutes before taking fright. Two large
alligators floated quietly in our course, making no effort to

THE QUEST FOR THE CORMORANT’S NEST 165

keep from sight until the double discharge of my gun
awoke the echoes along the shore.

In this region my guide had said that we would surely
find the nests of the ‘‘nigger geese,’’ and it certainly

seemed that at last we might be approaching the summer
haunts of the cormorant, for the place appeared free
enough from the intrusions of man to suit the tastes of the
wildest bird. And we found them! Low spreading
cypress trees, their tops reaching as a rule not more than
twelve or fifteen feet above the water, were the sites chosen
for the nests. Eighteen trees, scattered along the shore
for a mile and a half, were thus used. A few trees con-
tained only one nest each, some were occupied by two,
while in others six, eight, ten, and even twelve nests were
noted. One tree contained thirty-eight cormorant houses,
each with its eggs or young birds. The number of occu-
pants to the nest was in all cases either two or three. One
hundred and fifty inhabited nests were counted.

166 STORIES OF BIRD LIFE

In color the eggs are a pale bluish white overlaid with a
more or less soft calcareous coating, and measure about two
and a half inches in length by one and a half in width. The
nests were made entirely of dead twigs and small branches,
with often a few green twigs and leaves placed at the top.
The structures were usually about one foot across.

The food of the cormorant at this season of the year must
consist largely of the common eel. In nearly every nest
signs of the eel’s remains were seen. The young birds
upon becoming excited would disgorge fragments of eel
flesh. An old bird which was captured had the slime of
eels about her head, neck and bill. We tried for a time to
keep this fierce, wild mother cormorant, but she bit so fear-
fully, and struggled so constantly, beating the air with her
large black wings and tail, and scratched so seriously with
the sharp nails on her large webbed feet, that we were soon
glad to liberate her.

The young birds were covered with black down, and
many of them were large enough to leave their nests and
climb about the branches of the trees. In doing this they
would often lose their balance on the limbs while endeavor-
ing to escape, but instead of falling into the water the hook
at the point of their long bills would invariably catch on
the perch, and by dint of much scratching the birds would
- soon regain their former position. Queer fellows were

THE QUEST FOR THE CORMORANT’S NEST 167

these baby ‘‘nigger geese,’’ which were being reared here
amid the wild surroundings of a Carolina lake.

Cormorants live in almost all countries of the world. To

find them, however, one must look along the sea coast or
about large lakes where the supply of fish is abundant.

There are twen-
ty-five kinds of
cormorants,

eer
cmd. they all eS

bear a close re-
semblanee.
They have
heavy bodies,
long necks and
short stout legs.
While perched
they stand very
erect and the
stiff feathers
of their tails
serve as a prop,

or a kind of third leg, for their support.
nearly all species are glossy black.

The feathers of

In China the people have learned that cormorants can

be tamed and taught to be very useful as domestic animals.

168 STORIES OF BIRD LIFE

The way in which the birds serve their masters is this:
They are taken to a river or lake, a strap is placed about
their necks, and they are liberated. Once in the water they
dive in quest of fish. When one comes to the surface with
a struggling victim in its mouth, and finds itself unable to
swallow its prey on account of the strap, it at once swims
to the boat and the boatmen relieve it of its prize. Once
free, the faithful fisherman again dives beneath the sur-
face, only to repeat the performance.

We have not yet learned to tame the cormorants in our
country and make use of them as do the Chinese. The old
birds we saw that day on Big Lake were far from being
tame. Upon our approach they left their nests and, after
flying wildly about for some time, settled on the water
several hundred yards away. Here they remained until,
as we passed on around the lake, they left the water in a
body and rising gradually, went winging rapidly back to
their ancient breeding grounds, back to their hungry, clam-
oring young.

THOUGHT QUESTIONS

What is the largest bird you have ever seen? Do you think it was larger
than a cormorant? Can you name any birds besides cormorants that eat
fish and eels?) What other birds can you recall that are black? What other
birds and domestic fowls have webbed feet? Where do web-footed birds live?

CUCKOO, THE RAIN PROPHET

Na NE cloudy autumn af-

FA ternoon while strolling
along a woodland path
PD sheard« a weed

mournful voice plain-

tively calling for

»
¢

many minutes. The

sound seemed to come
from a cluster of trees
across the glen near
by. After a little time
I came up with the
sorrowing creature
and found it seated on the drooping
ough of an old gnarled oak. It was a yellow-billed
cuckoo.

Some of our birds had already departed for their winter
visit to the tropics, but the cuckoo still tarried in the haunts
of its summer home. It seemed to feel the solitude of the
autumn forest, and although its voice is seldom heard at

this time of year, it was now chanting its plaintive cry as if
[169]

170 STORIES OF BIRD LIFE

its heart was breaking at. the thought that summer was
over. It was sitting crosswise on the limb and was motion-
less except for a slight upward impulse of the body each
time it called.

As it did not see me at first, there was good opportunity
to notice its appearance. It was about the size of a robin
but was more slender; its long tail was over half the entire
length of the bird. Its legs were short, and its small feet
grasped the limb on which it sat, with two toes extending
outward in front, and two behind. The bird’s back and
wings were olive brown, and its under parts were a dull
whitish color. The outer tail feathers were black with
white tips. Its bill, which appeared to be nearly an inch
long, was black above and yellow beneath.

Soon the bird detected the presence of an intruder. For
a few moments it eyed me, as the cuckoo will often do, in
a dazed kind of way, all the time slowly raising and lower-
ing its long tail; then swiftly it flew and vanished through
the foliage. It could not have gone very far; for as I went
farther along the path, from the distance there came to
my ears the faint murmuring, ‘‘Cow, cow, cow,’’ of the sad,
mysterious bird.

The cuckoo always leads a mournful, secluded life. If
we chance to see it at any time while it is with us, from
May to October, it will most probably be observed silently

CUCKOO, THE RAIN PROPHET lvak

slipping from the cover of one tree or thicket to that of
another, generally alone, and frequently uttering the harsh
eutteral note from which it has long since acquired the
name ‘‘rain crow.’’ I never have understood why it should
be called a crow. Certainly it does not resemble the crows
in our country either in voice, appearance, or manner of
life.

The cuckoo is often heard calling on cloudy days, or
just before rains, and for this reason it 1s usually acecred-
ited with the power of foretelling the coming shower. It
cannot sing; but it has some notes peculiarly its own,
which, once heard, are not easily forgotten. ‘‘ T'ut-tut,
tut-tut,’’ it seems to say, ‘‘cl-uwck-cl-uck, cow, cow, cow.”’

In Europe there is a bird called the cuckoo. It is larger
than our bird by that name and, besides, is quite a pretty
singer. It is not shy; so a great many people are ac-
quainted with its habits. It was well known when the Bible
was written, and you can find its name in the list of animals
which the Children of Israel were forbidden to eat.
Shakespeare in one of his plays tells us about the cuckoo’s
young. Some of the English poets speak of its singing.

The earliest English lyric poem begins in this way:

“Summer is i-cumen [coming] in,

Lhude [loud] sings cuceu;
Groweth sed [seed]

72 STORIES OF BIRD LIFE

And bloweth med [mead],
And springeth the wde [wood] nu [now]

Sing cuccu.”

Of all the tales told on the English birds, the one relat-
ing to the nesting habits of the cuckoo must reflect the
least credit on the accused.

In the spring when the nesting time for birds arrives it
does not build a nest for itself, but quietly steals away and
deposits its eggs secretly in the nests of other birds. There
the eggs are incubated and the young are reared by the
foster parents. While the cuckoo thus saves itself the labor
of building a nest and the anxiety of caring for the young,
it has gained for itself an unpleasant notoriety, possessed
by few other birds. In this country the black cowbird has
the same habit.

Our yellow-billed cuckoo has learned the art of nest
building but poorly, the nest in which the young are reared
being little more than a mere platform of twigs. Indeed,
so thin and frail a structure is it, that the eggs can often be
counted through the nest from beneath. It is usually
placed on some sheltering limb or among thick vines. The
eges are nearly an inch and a quarter long and are about
three-fourths as wide. They vary from two to four in
number, and their color is greenish blue. Many birds lay
their eggs, one each day, with great regularity until the

CUCKOO, THE RAIN PROPHET 173

full number has been reached. The cuckoo, however, often
allows a few days to pass after she begins setting on some
of the eggs before the others are deposited. Thus there
are sometimes found a young bird, an incubated egg, and
a freshly laid egg, all in the same nest.

Among the branches of our fruit trees we may BOUipU ee
see large webs which have been
made by the tent-caterpillars. pe”, WI) Fd
An invading host seems to have :
come and pitched its tents =A
among the boughs on all sides. Caterpillars ae
are quite destructive to trees, and the cuckoos S'\\;
do us a great favor by coming often to raid the S Va
encampment. ‘They pull the little hairy intruders [
out of their tents by hundreds, and eat them. So ~~
many are eaten by these birds that their stomachs Za
are often found to be thickly coated with a layer “(NY
of caterpillar hairs. Cuckoos also eat grasshop- £24
pers and different kinds of flies. |

In some parts of the United States, especially in the
South, the surface of the country is quite level and the soil
is of sand. There are found here large tracts of pine wood-
land, sometimes with no other kinds of trees growing near.
In these great pine forests the cuckoos are seldom seen;
and in such regions, if we wish to find them, we must search

174 STORIES OF BIRD LIFE

by the lakes and along the streams where other kinds of
trees are growing.

The cuckoo family is a numerous one. There are one
hundred and seventy-five known species, thirty-five of
which are found in the New World. In the United States
we have three species. These are the yellow-billed cuckoo,
the black-billed cuckoo, and the mangrove cuckoo. The
latter does not occur in large numbers.

THOUGHT QUESTIONS

How early in the spring have you seen the cuckoo? Does it live among:
the trees, or in open places? How does the cuckoo fly, slow or fast, high or
low? Is the cuckoo useful to fruit growers? If so, how? What kinds of
notes does it make? Do cuckoos ever go in flocks? Do they ever fly about
at night like an owl? What is the bird called in your neighborhood ?

eee

“RUFFLE-BREAST, THE SHRIKE

» UFFLE-BREAST was the name
"given by some boys to a logger-
head shrike which lived a few

years ago about the fields and

A
li) bas

orange groves of a small town in

Florida. The bird was so

ealled on account of the pecu-

liar appearance of its breast,

there being a row of feathers

across the front which ap-

peared to have grown in the
wrong direction, thus rendering it
impossible for the breast to be smooth
as in other birds.

Our first acquaintance with Ruffle-Breast was made in
this way. A pair of shrikes one season built their nest in
the main fork of a small oak tree growing near one of the
public highways which led into the village. No one dis-
turbed the nest until the eggs were hatched and the young
had been fed for some time. One day a boy climbed into

the tree to see the little birds. As he did so the nest seemed
[177]

178 STORIES OF BIRD LIFE

to explode like a bomb as the five frightened young shrikes
launched out suddenly into the world on their untried
wings. One gained the lower limb of a neighboring tree.
Another reached the middle rail of a fence. A third, while
vainly trying to cling to the side of a hitching-post, fell
scratching and fluttering to the ground.

The resemblance of these young birds to each other was
strong. The feathers of their backs were grayish brown
and those of the breast were white, marked with dusky
bars. Their wings and tails were brownish-black and a
dusky stripe was on the side of each stout chubby head.
Their beaks were sharp, hooked, dangerous looking weap-
ons.

The one which sat in the crack of the fence had an odd
ruff of feathers on its breast, which distinguished it from
all other shrikes. Many times during the next few weeks
the shrike family was seen. The little ones were soon
strong upon the wing, and had learned to catch grass-
hoppers and other insects for themselves. But so long as
there existed the slightest chance of their being able to
secure food from their parents, they never failed to beg
with pitiful voices and quivering wings whenever either
parent was near. As the summer advanced the family
became separated and scattered.

Now the brownish tinge left the feathers of the breast

RUFFLE-BREAST, THE SHRIKE 179

and back, and each became in fact a grown bird. Their
general appearance was now not wholly unlike the mock-
ing bird for which they are sometimes mistaken by casual
observers. Ruffle-Breast was seen less frequently now,
and in the autumn it finally disappeared from its haunts
of babyhood and I saw it no more for a time.

Early the next spring while crossing a field in which
stood a few neglected orange trees, I heard the eager calls
of a shrike issuing from among the leaves of one of the
smaller trees. The notes were recognizable as those of a
male anxiously seeking to assist its mate in selecting a
suitable nesting site. Just then the female alighted on a
neighboring tree with an answering call. I looked up and
there before me sat Ruffle-Breast, my old acquaintance,
she of the fence crack. It was a great pleasure to meet her
thus with a mate and the prospect of a nest not half a mile
from her own birthplace.

A crotch in the orange tree six or seven feet from the
ground was settled upon as a suitable site for a nest, and
at once the construction of a home for their eggs began.
First, twigs and small weed stalks were brought, and on
the platform made by these, other materials, such as grass
blades, roots, strings and pieces of cotton were placed and
woven tightly and snugly together. Finally the structure
was completed by a layer of soft chicken feathers. Then

180 STORIES OF BIRD LIFE

the mother laid her eggs, brown-speckled beauties, one
each day until there were five in the nest. .

During the two weeks, or a little over, occupied in incu-
bating the eggs, Ruffle-Breast was seldom seen, and was
never away from the orange tree long at a time. Usually
her mate could be found in the vicinity of the nest, perched
on some tree top or high fence stake silently watching for
insects to appear in the grass or on the ploughed field;
for the shrike never hunts its food, but waits patiently
until its prey comes within reach and then pounces upon it.
Sometimes the bird will pause in mid-air on hovering
wings and scan the earth below for the sight of some
coveted prize.

Upon capturing a grasshopper or cricket or beetle, the
shrike often impales it upon a thorn and, using this as a
sort of tablefork to hold its victim, proceeds to make a
meal. If not hungry it will leave its prey thus transfixed
for hours, returning later in the day to eat it. From this
habit of hanging up food and leaving it, the bird has long
since acquired the name of ‘‘Butcherbird.’’ During the
colder part of the year when there are few insects to be
procured the shrike subsists mainly on other kinds of
animal life. It catches mice, and even small birds at times
fall beneath its strong beak. I once saw a shrike endeavor-
ing to carry away a small dead chicken.

RUFFLE-BREAST, THE SHRIKE 181

One afternoon while watching a company of feeding
sparrows, Ruffle-Breast, who chanced to be roving about
the field, perched on a tall stake near by. At the first sound
of her harsh grating voice the sparrows became nervous.
Two or three fled to the friendly cover of a cedar tree, but
the others remained where they were, moving cautiously
about in the grass and speaking only in subdued tones.
Their uneasiness continued until the shrike resumed her
journey across the field. The sparrows did not regard her
with the terror which they would have shown had the
visitor been a hawk, nor with the unconcern which they
certainly would have manifested towards a crow, but the
feeling seemed to prevail in the company that they did not
eare to be observed by her. Perhaps they felt much as
children do when playing in a yard and a large and much
dreaded dog passes along the sidewalk.

A few days later I had an opportunity to observe an
incident which showed clearly that the sparrows had
abundant reason to dread the fierce gray bird which
prowled about their feeding ground. I noticed a bird
flying heavily across the field. It seemed to be carrying
something which hindered its flight, for every few yards it
would light on the ground. Presently it reached the edge
of the woods and perched among the limbs of a fallen pine
tree. Upon a near approach I found the bird to be none

182 STORIES OF BIRD LIFE

other than Ruffle-Breast, the shrike. She was tugging on
one of the limbs at an object which she seemed reluctant
to leave. When she flew I tound that the burden she had
carried to the tree was a chipping sparrow. It had been
thrust on a sharp splinter protruding from one of the
broken limbs and the bird had already begun to feed upon
it. The skull had been broken open at the base. The
brains and parts of flesh from the neck had been eaten.
A little villain she was indeed! Yet she was no worse than,
other shrikes, and during the two years of my acquaint-
ance with her she was ever a faithful and gentle mother to
her little ones.

She reared two broods that summer; the first nest con-
taining five eggs, the second six. One spring her second
nest was disturbed by a boy who thought it belonged to a
mocking bird. He took the eggs, saying that he was going
to hatch them under a hen. Ruffle-Breast and her mate
then left the orange tree and sought a safer place for their
home on the limb of a pine thirty feet from the earth.

It was interesting to watch these birds fly to their nest.
Across the field one would come with rapidly beating
wings, flying close to the ground until near the pine, when
with a sudden upward sweep it would rise, climbing the
invisible ladder of the air to its nest. Sometimes the father
bird would attempt to sing in an odd, squeaking, guttural

RUFFLE-BREAST, THE SHRIKE 183

manner. Such attempts were performed apparently with
great effort, and the music produced was never of a very
high order.

In going through the pine woods of Florida the traveler
often comes upon a negro cabin in a small clearing. Here
are usually growing two or three orange trees, a Spanish
bayonet plant, and perhaps a dozen live oak trees of differ-
ent sizes. For the past two miles of his journey the traveler
has found no shrike, but here at this diminutive plantation,
if the season be March, he is sure to hear a loggerhead
calling loudly and continuously from the top spray of some
tree, or flying down before him to seize a beetle or grass-
hopper from the grass. A search in the orange or oak
trees will soon reveal its nest, a wonderfully strong affair
built of sticks and vines and a great quantity of chicken
feathers.

Farther on a shallow pond is found, about whose shores
are growing a few water oak trees. Here is another good
place to look for the loggerhead’s nest. Thus one may
move on for days through the high pine woods and rarely
see a shrike except about the farms or ponds where the
thick foliage of the orange or oak trees furnish them with
suitable nesting places.

THOUGHT QUESTIONS

What time of year do you see the shrike? Do shrikes prefer sparrows to

184 STORIES OF BIRD LIFE

other kinds of food? Do you know of any other birds besides hawks and
owls that sometimes kill and eat small birds? On the whole do you regard
the shrike as a good bird or not? Does the shrike rear its young where you
live? Is the shrike’s sharp-hooked beak fitted for pecking in the bark of
trees like a woodpecker’s?

THE CITY OF THE LONGLEGS|

WA %
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few miles from its mouth, lies a large rice
plantation with its broad fields extending along the bottom
lands. Half a mile from the river is a bluff, which at some
remote date may have served as the bank of a much larger
stream. There on the high ground, surrounded by mag-
nificent live oaks, stands the large house of the planter.
Behind the mansion is a garden, and behind the garden are
more rice fields, while beyond these stretch away for miles
unbroken forests of pine and cypress.

One summer while visiting here I noticed about the rice
fields numerous large birds wading in the shallow water.
All seemed stilted on long, slender legs. Occasionally

one would thrust out its snakelike neck and strike at some-
[185]

186 STORIES OF BIRD LIFE

thing in the water with its sharp bill. Evidently they were
feeding on the small fish which were so abundant here.
Three species of birds could be seen. One of these slender
waders, which stood about twenty inches high, was of a
dark slaty blue in color. This was the little blue heron.
Another variety of similar size and form had wings and
neck marked with varying shades of brown, gray and
white, while its entire under parts were yellowish white.
This was the Louisiana heron, the bird which on account of
its rare beauty and elegance of movement is sometimes
ealled ‘‘lady-of-the-waters.’’ The largest of all the birds
were nearly four feet tall. These, the people of the plan-
tation declared, were ‘‘blue cranes,’’ but they were, in
reality, great blue herons.

Now and then one of the birds would rise from the feed-
ing grounds, fold its long neck, stretch its legs out behind,
and come flying in from the river high overhead, making
straight for the forest. Sometimes one would come from
the opposite direction and drop down into the rice fields.
It seemed odd that so many should be coming and going in
the same manner. Upon inquiring the cause, my host ex-
plained that back in the woods there was a place where
each year the birds congregated in great numbers to build
their nests and rear their offspring. ‘‘These you see fly-

THE CITY OF THE LONGLEGS 187

ing over,’’ he continued, ‘‘are old ones carrying food to
their young.’’

One day he took me to visit this annual gathering place
of the herons. On the rear side of the plantation is a pond
formed by a stream which was dammed to furnish water
for flooding the rice fields. It extends for a mile or more
into the woods. At the upper end it divides into three
branches, which like long arms reach back into the wilder-
ness for a considerable distance. At the far end of one of
these arms the herons had their city.

In a growth of young cypress trees covering an area of
not more than an acre their nests were built. As we ap-
proached, the birds could be seen in numbers flying from
place to place. Many were resting on the branches of the
trees while others were feeding their young. Two inquisi-
tive fellows, sentinels possibly, came out for a better view
of us and our boat, but soon flew hurriedly back, squawking
loudly as they went. Their sounds of alarm could not have
attracted much notice amid all the squeak-squawking of
those hundreds of noisy tenants and their young, for the
colony as a whole took no heed of our arrival. Only those
nearest us as we passed took fright.

The nests of the little blue and Louisiana herons were
simply slight platforms of dead twigs placed loosely to-
gether in the crotches of the cypress limbs, from four to

188 STORIES OF BIRD LIFE

eight feet above the water. Usually they were not over
eight or ten inches across, and often were so frail that the
four or five blue eggs they contained could be counted
through the structure from beneath. So closely do the
nests and eggs of these birds resemble that it was only by
hiding and watching until the owners came that we were
able to distinguish between them.

In many cases the eggs had hatched. The young blues,
covered with white down, were very pretty creatures.
When grown their feathers are white, and not until the
summer of the second year does the coat of blue appear.
In some cases the young are said never to acquire the blue
covering, but go on through life as white birds. The young
Louisianas resembled their parents in color; only, of
course, they wore suits of soft down instead of feathers.

In some tall trees at one side of the heronry the great
blue herons had built their large platforms of nests on the
horizontal limbs high in air, and their great babies in a
dozen or more places were seen standing gazing silently off
through the forest as though absorbed in thought. So
large and fine looking are the great blues that my friend
called them the ‘‘kings”’ of the city. The splendid plumes
of their heads and backs, together with their dignity of
bearing, surely bore out the comparison.

In one place two pairs of quite different herons, together

THE CITY OF THE LONGLEGS 189

with their nests, were found. They were nearly as tall as
the great blues, but the special feature of their appearance
was their coverings of beautiful snowy feathers. These
birds were American egrets. Long white plumes growing
on their backs and extending far beyond their tails also
added to their attractiveness. I like to think of these grace-
ful creatures as the queens of that city.

Wishing to get a peep into the private life of the heronry,
we concealed our boat among the low trees and screened our
bodies with long gray moss and cypress boughs. Searcely
were we hidden when the herons began to return to their
homes. While we were watching, a crow flew up and
alighted near a nest containing eggs. After a wicked
glance around he thrust his beak into an egg, and, flying
with it but a short distance, perched and deliberately began
to eat its contents. Finishing his egg the rascal wiped his
bill on the limb, looked about for a minute or two, and then
came back for another one. The distressed heron whose
nest was being plundered, squawked a timid resentment
and moved away as the intruder approached. That day we
saw five or six crows thus engaged in pilfering the homes
of the defenseless herons.

It was meal time with each brood of longlegs whenever
a parent arrived from the rice fields. The curious manner

in which the young were fed was one of the most interest-

190 STORIES OF BIRD LIFE

ing things we witnessed. An old bird upon coming home
would alight on the edge of the nest, or on a limb close at
hand. With a peculiar pumping motion of its throat it
seemed to bring the food up its long neck and hold it in its
mouth ready for the little ones to feed upon. One at a
time they would reach up and thrust their bills into the
open mouth of their parent to receive their portion.

The diet of the baby herons must have consisted largely
of small fish, for when we attempted to row our boat among
the tree trunks beneath the nests, they disgorged large
quantities of partially digested minnows, possibly in their
efforts to drive us away, or perhaps because of their great
uneasiness. In fitful streams these descended upon us,
falling in the boat, in our laps, in our pockets or down our
necks. Our journey through the city of the longlegs was
fraught with much anxiety and watchfulness, as well as
peril to the appearance of our garments. There were over
one thousand occupied nests in this place.

Probably there are other enemies to the eggs and young
birds besides crows. In one nest we saw a large water snake
lying coiled about an egg quietly enjoying a sun bath. We
were unable to learn, however, whether snakes eat the eggs
of the heron. The eyes and snout of an alligator were seen
protruding from the water in a little open place among the
tree trunks. Possibly this monster lived here and was

THE CITY OF THE LONGLEGS 191

ever ready to snap up any unfortunate nestling which
might fall from its platform of twigs.

The feathers of herons are much sought for decorating
women’s bonnets. Whole colonies of nesting birds are
sometimes destroyed for this purpose. It is to be hoped
that no plume hunter will find this heronry and for this
reason I refrain from mentioning its location. ‘There are
many such cities of longlegs in the South, although their
number is becoming less each year on account of the on-
slaughts of the plume hunter.

THOUGHT QUESTIONS

Have you ever seen a crane, heron, or other long-legged bird? If a
bird’s legs are long is it necessary for its neck to be long also? Why? Did
you ever see a bird feed its young like the herons do? How do hens feed
their little ones? How do sparrows feed their young? Make a list of all
’ the water birds you know.

A QUARTET OF WOODLAND DRUMMERS

~

JHERE is a cheery little

VAG
af : heey 7 paar neighbor of mine living
Wha i 1 ee among the trees of a
7 grove whom I should like to
fiver ey, have all my friends meet. He
“as” is a little downy woodpecker.
Black and white spots are scat-

tered all over his wings, and
there is just a stripe of red
across the top of his black cap.
J am sure you would know him
by his small size, his colors and
his trustful manner. He is not
at all suspicious of people and
when hard at work will usually
allow anyone to come quite close to
him. He is a quiet, modest little

: creature who never does anyone
il ele harm, and so far as known has but
few enemies.

Downy is the smallest as well as the most active of our
[192]

A QUARTET OF WOODLAND DRUMMERS 193

woodpeckers, and always appears to be busy. We may
often see him climbing up the huge trunk of some old oak
tree, pausing a second here and there to rap on the bark
with his bill to learn if all is solid wood within. Again he
will pause as the peculiar sound given back from his tap
indicates that an insect is lurking within. Then the re-
sounding blows of his little pickaxe fall thick and fast,
sending the chips in every direction. In vain does the
plump larva feasting on the sap of the tree retreat into
its hole. A gleam of daylight shoots into the burrow, and
an instant later the spear-like tongue of the woodpecker
has impaled its victim and jerked it forth. Then on
up the tree Downy goes, perhaps without further in-
cident until well among the limbs, when suddenly he
flies to a neighboring tree, dropping as he does so to
a point near its base, and begins to ascend this trunk
as he did the one before.

He is the natural watchman of our fruit trees. He
hunts out the moth’s eggs laid in the crack of the
bark and eats them, thus preventing a brood of cater-
pillars from hatching and eating the leaves of the
tree. He finds the eggs of the beetle and eats them, also,

before they can hatch out into the wood-boring larve,
which sometimes girdle and kill the limbs.
Thus Downy labors on, day by day, through the year,

194

STORIES OF BIRD LIFE

destroying millions of harmful insects, which if unmo-
lested would do a vast injury to the groves and orchards.
For all this service he never eats any of the fruit of the
trees he guards, but, when in need of a little vegetable diet,

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goes to the berries of the dogwood, or woodbine, or poke-
berry. Occasionally he eats a few weed seeds just for
variety. Downy is sometimes called ‘‘sapsucker,’’ and is
accused of pecking holes in the bark of trees for the pur-

pose of getting the sap. But Downy is not the guilty

A QUARTET OF WOODLAND DRUMMERS 195

party. The bird which does this is another kind of wood-
pecker. The small holes which our little friend makes in
trees do not even reach the inner bark, except when he is
bent on securing some harmful intruder.

Like the most of our woodpeckers, -Downy is a resident
throughout the year wherever found, and seems to enjoy
equally all seasons. When you find him in your orchard
on a bright, cold morning in January, he has the same
busy, contented air which you must have noticed when
first making his acquaintance, perhaps on some warm
spring day. He appears so happy and buoyant at all times
that one wonders if he does not have hid away under his
little white waistcoat a perpetual fountain of the ecstacy
of springtime and youth.

He likes cheerful company, especially in the winter,
when most of the forest voices are silent and the cold winds
are howling around the trunks of the
sleeping forest trees.

He then hunts up his friends, the little
gray tufted titmouse and the lght
hearted chickadee. Together they spend
much time in bands, patrolling the wood-
land, searching out from their hiding places the eggs of

insects stowed away under the bark waiting for the warm

196 STORIES OF BIRD LIFE

spring sun to hatch them. A dozen or more birds are thus
often found together.

. They form a merry company, these
“ee little forest rangers, and never lack for
music as they march. The shrill piping

a peto, peto, peto of the titmouse mingles
with the tenor drum tap, tap of Downy’s bill on the bark,
while ever and again the chickadee, a mere bundle of
nerves and fluffy feathers, ‘‘merrily sings his chick-a-dee-
dee.”

Not merely for company do these birds thus associate,
but for mutual protection as well. Twenty pairs of sharp
eyes are more likely to see an enemy approaching than is
a single pair, and it is well for a small bird to keep a sharp
lookout at this season of the year, for it is more readily
seen by a hawk in a leafless winter wood than it is in a
shady summer forest.

Like all other woodpeckers, Downy’s mate lays white
eggs. These are usually four or five in number, and are
placed on a bed of fine chips at the bottom of a hole, which
both parents have helped to dig, usually in the under side
of some decayed limb of a tree. Nature is not prone to
use her coloring matter on eggs which, like the woodpeck-
ers’, are hid away in dark holes in trees. When the little
ones are hatched, Downy and his mate are kept very busy

A QUARTET OF WOODLAND DRUMMERS 197

for a long time bringing them worms to eat, for the little
woodpeckers have great appetites which seem never to be
satisfied.

There are thirty-six varieties of woodpeckers which
oceur in various parts of North America, four of this num-
ber being known over a greater portion of the region.
The Downy is perhaps the best known of all. Another bird
which is sometimes mistaken for Downy comes to the
grove. Along in October when the maple leaves begin to
turn red and drop down as if to hide their blushing faces
in the withering grass; when the blue haze hangs along
the horizon, and all the plant world:seems going to sleep
after its summer’s work, we awake some morning and find
a stranger in our garden. We hear his plaintive cry fall-
ing on our ears from off the trunk of some tall fruit or
shade tree. Let us hasten out of doors and look for him.

There he goes up the side of a tree very much as Downy
travels. We can tell by the way he moves that he is a
woodpecker of some kind. In appearance he is much like
Downy, but seems to be a little larger and more slender.
There is more red on his head, too, and he wears a red
patch on his chin. During the night he has arrived from
his summer home in the far north, and he has come to stay
with us awhile. All winter long we may hear his com-
plaining ery in the grove about the house. He is really a

198 STORIES OF BIRD LIFE

northern bird, for his true home is where he mates and
rears his young.
His name is ‘‘yellow-bellied sapsucker.’’ This is the

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kind of bird which perhaps girdled the shade tree in your
yard last spring by pecking so many holes in it to drink
the sap. He is the true sapsucker, and is fond of the juice
of many kinds of trees. The sap of the apple tree he re-

gards as especially pleasant, and often turns there for his

A QUARTET OF WOODLAND DRUMMERS 199

eider. He goes to the sugar maple for his syrup, to the
mountain ash for his wine, and in the North indulges much
in his favorite cup of hemlock.

The sapsucker is not the only one that likes the sap of
trees. In the country where he makes his summer home,
insects of many kinds are said to gather around the little
wells he makes and lean over to draw up the sweet juice
through their tube-like mouth-parts, somewhat as a boy
might drink through a straw the clear water from a wood-
land spring. Several kinds of little people go there to
feast; there are flies of different sizes and colors, and
there are gnats, and an occasional yellow jacket. Ants,
too, climb up the trees and elbow their way among the
others for their share.

While all this is going on, many of the company get
their feet mired in the sticky juice which has been spilled
about the edges of the spring and are there held fast.
Pretty soon the sapsucker comes back for his dinner, when
lo! he finds that some one has been stealing it from hin,
and there are the little thieves caught sure and fast. He
does not appear to be at all angry at this but hops about
and cheerfully snaps up and eats all the insects he can
find, and turns to catch others buzzing near. Some ob-
servers think that the sapsuckers do not do this very often,
but confine their diet almost entirely to sap. It would be

200 STORIES OF BIRD LIFE

interesting for some one living in the country where the
sapsucker makes his summer home, to watch the bird
closely and learn to what extent he really catches insects.

Unlike Downy the sapsucker never digs into dead wood
for the larve of insects, and if he did his tongue is not
long enough to reach into their holes and spear them out
of their hiding places; besides, the end of it is more like
a brush, and for this reason is better adapted to gathering
up sap than to spearing insects.

For several years a sapsucker (possibly not the same
bird always) has each season visited a small balsam grow-
ing in a frequented lawn near my home. In the autumn
he begins his attack and a few small holes are dug through
the bark for sap, but by far the larger amount of his work
is done in the spring. This year when the sap first began
to rise the sapsucker came out of the woods and com-
menced operations on the balsam. He is a wonderful car-
penter and the way he made the chips fly with his sharp
bill was astonishing. Hour after hour he toiled on, cut-
ting scores of holes through the bark to the solid wood be-
yond. In a few days hundreds of these little wells had
been sunk and the sap rose in them in abundance.

The bird would cling to the side of the tree, braced by
his tail, and drink the sweet juice from the holes, one after
another. As they ran dry, day by day, other holes were

A QUARTET OF WOODLAND DRUMMERS . 201

chiseled. Usually these openings were made in rings about
the tree or in rows up and down its side. I counted forty-
two holes in one vertical line. These were mostly about
the size of a lead pencil, but a few were an inch and a
quarter long by three-fourths of an inch wide. Some of
the holes.are less than a foot from the ground and they
occur at intervals for twenty feet, or fully two-thirds the
distance to the top. The perforations were confined chiefly
to the trunk of the tree, and in only one case was a limb
assailed.

During the month of March new holes were made daily
and on the twenty-ninth the
bark showed one thousand
six hundred and seventy-one
unhealed openings which
had been made this spring.
Hundreds of old sears bore
mute testimony to the work-
ings of the sapsucker in pre-
vious years. ‘The accom-
panying picture is that of a
piece of bark four inches in
length by a little less than
four inches in width which was cut from the side of the

tree twelve feet from the ground. It gives a good idea of

202 STORIES OF BIRD LIFE

the appearance of bark which has been subjected to the
sapsucker’s bill. Undoubtedly trees sometimes die as a
result of the serious attacks made by this little red-faced
carpenter.

When April drew near and Nature, awaking from her
long sleep, began to whisper joyously to the buds on all the
trees to push out of doors, the sapsucker bethought him-
self of his northern home. He was accustomed to come
each morning for his sap, usually about half-past seven
o’clock, and would feed for half an hour or an hour. After
breakfasting on the morning of April the first, he flew to
a large white oak near by and beat a loud drum eall several
times on a resounding piece of bark. Over in the edge of
the woods there was another roll from a dead limb, an
answering signal. It came from another male bird which
sometimes appeared on the lawn. The meaning of this was
clear ; the spell of spring and nesting time was strong upon
them ; it was the call of kind to kind, and I felt that their
time for departure was near. For four mornings longer
the sapsucker came, but on the fifth he did not appear,
although I came early to watch and waited long in the
hope of seeing him. The tugging at his heart had become
too strong to resist, his love was calling to him out of the
north, and he could not tarry longer. I shall watch with
gladness for his return in the autumn, for although he may

A QUARTET OF WOODLAND DRUMMERS 203

some day kill the pretty balsam, the loss of one tree is a
small price to pay for the knowledge and pleasure to be
gained by watching him from day to day.

One April day while passing through an unused field I
came to the spot where a large tree had once stood. During
a storm some years before, it had been broken by the wind
at a height of twelve or fifteen feet from the ground, so
now only a tall decayed stump was left standing. Up its
side, a little higher than one could reach with a walking
cane, was a hole about the size of a large apple. On the
ground beneath were many little pieces of wood like small
chips. |

It appeared that some one had been cutting a hole in the
old dead stub. A low, vigorous pounding was going on
inside, so I tapped on the wood with my knife to see if the
workman within would appear. In a moment a long bill
was thrust out of the hole, followed by a light brown chin
and a pair of black eyes, which looked sharply down as if
to ask what business I had there. Again I tapped and
out flew a bird a little larger than a robin. Its breast was
spotted, a large white patch was plainly seen on the lower
part of its back, and there was much yellow about the
wings and tail. It was a flicker, the bird which many
people call ‘‘yellow hammer.’’ This tree was her tower,
and there high in that upper room, which she and her mate

204 STORIES OF BIRD LIFE

were chiseling out with their bills, was to be her nest.
Lord and Lady Flicker they were, who would soon be liv-
ing here in their tall wood castle, safe from hawks and
weasels and cats. What a cosy place it would be for the

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little ones, tucked away in that great house with such thick
walls all around!

Next day I came and hid by the flickers’ tower to watch.
Soon with strong rapid flight the male came racing through
the air and landed near the doorway of his castle. How
strong and wild he looked! Proudly he threw up his

A QUARTET OF WOODLAND DRUMMERS 205

slightly curved bill and sent forth a call such as only a
flicker can give. His manner was majestic, as though con-
scious of the fact that he wore a coat of more varied colors
than that of any other woodpecker in the whole country.

There was a long black spot on each side of his face,
such as men call burnsides.

Soon the lady bird came and perched near her mate.
Though she had no burnsides, she had a strip of red
across the back of her head, as though it was her hood
which had almost slipped off backwards. How oddly
Mr. Flicker acted when she arrived! What strange antics
he at once began to perform! He bowed low to his mis-
tress, and spread his pretty yellow wings like a cloak, as
he swept now forward, now backward. He stepped side-
wise and danced gracefully back again. He bobbed, he
bowed, he displayed his every charm. A brave wooer was
he as he laughingly, pleadingly, coaxingly called to her in
his mellowest and most enticing voice. He said many
things I could not understand, but ‘‘Ywu’ch, yw’ch,’’ was
what he seemed most to say. The flicker is a devoted and
demonstrative lover, and he pays homage to his loved one
at home or afield wherever he meets her.

Another day I came to watch the young birds get their
dinners. Of this I could learn but little, for when an old
one would come home nothing could be seen in its bill, and

206 STORIES OF BIRD LIFE

yet it must have carried food, for the trips to and from
the nests continued at intervals of several minutes all the
day. Those who have had opportunity to watch the birds
closely tell us that the old flicker feeds the young with the
food from her stomach. She puts her bill into the mouth
of the little one and feeds it by a process of regurgitation.
Whether hungry or not the baby birds were always ready
to cry out at the least disturbance or scratching on the
wood at the mouth of the hole. When annoyed they would
make a sharp hissing noise quite like the blowing of a
hog-nosed adder.

I wished to see the nest in which the little flickers were
oa a, Tl | reared; so, late in the summer after they
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fad grown up and flown away over the
fields, I cut the old stump down and,
splitting it open, soon had before me the

inside of the flickers’ nursery. It was
somewhat gourd-shaped, the entrance
hole being at the end of the handle and
the largest part being at the bottom
twelve inches below the opening. On the
floor of the cavity was a thick carpet of

very fine chips for the family to rest on. The walls were
much scratched and scarred by the climbing in and out of
many claws.

A QUARTET OF WOODLAND DRUMMERS 207

The flicker is more of a ground bird than any other
of our woodpeckers. He is fond of digging in the fields
and pastures for grubs and earthworms. His bill is not
straight and chisel-shaped at the end like that of other
members of his family, but it is slightly curved lke the
bill of a thrush and is quite pointed, a thing which aids
him much in digging. He drives it into the ground much
as one might drive a pickaxe, making the clods fly in a
lively manner.

Often the flicker will attack ant-hills, spading the nests
out with his powerful bill, and eating the ants and their
larve in numbers. Different kinds of fruit and berries,
such as cherries, mulberries and wild grapes, add variety
to his bill of fare. In the early winter, when other fruit
has become scarce, he enjoys a few persimmons now and
then for his dessert. But his bread of life is a diet of ants,
and he has been known to eat as many as three thousand
at a single meal.

From five to seven white eggs are usually laid. When
all but one of these are taken out of the nest flickers have
been known on some occasions to continue laying one a
day for a long time, as does a domestic fowl. A flicker
near Greensboro, North Carolina, laid in this way more
than thirty. One in Massachusetts once laid seventy-one
eges in seventy-three days.

208 STORIES OF BIRD LIFE

I know a gentleman living in a grove about whose house
the birds are always abundant. I will tell you his method
of keeping them near him. One winter there was a deep
snow which lay for a long time upon the ground. At the
same time the weather was bitterly cold. The birds suf-
fered much for lack of food and hundreds were frozen to
death. One day a flicker came into his house through a
crack above a side window, and pecked about on the shelves
and chairs hunting for something to eat. When the man
of the house came into the room the flicker, in an effort to
escape, flew against the window and fell fluttering to the
casement. The gentleman took the bird in his hands and,
finding it to be very poor, knew that it must be almost
famished. It then occurred to him that all the other birds
must likewise be suffering and maybe the flicker had come
to let him know about it. So he at once set about to devise
some means of feeding them.

Taking a short board he nailed it to a tree in his yard
in such a way as to make a shelf. On this he sprinkled
cracker crumbs which contained some seeds, and a piece of
suet, but no salt. Within an hour a chickadee discovered
the dinner on the board and at once helped himself.. Soon
a pair of hungry nuthatches were on the spot. The news
spread rapidly and day by day the good man had the
pleasure of watching many kinds of little feathered people

A QUARTET OF WOODLAND DRUMMERS 209

gather to the feast. Since that time he has never failed to
keep food in his yard for the birds. If you would like to
observe a flicker where you can approach close enough to
see his red head-stripe and black burnsides, come with me
some winter day when the snow lies deep, and we will
visit the birds’ banquet table spread by the good man who
lives in the grove.

Skirting a path along which I am accustomed to pass
each morning is a row of old, scraggy locust trees. These
are the regular haunts of numerous birds in the summer,
and even in winter they are not deserted, for the bluebirds
and meadowlarks frequently perch on the bare branches,
and the white-breasted nuthatches wander much up and
down the trunks. Another bird seen here nearly every day
the past winter was a flashing red-headed fellow with white
breast and black back. A large patch of white also was
on each wing. He would cling to the side of a limb, with
two toes on each foot pointed forward and two pointed
backward, and brace himself with his tail against the
bark while he pecked on the wood. The size and actions
of this bird of course clearly indicated that he was a wood-
pecker, and his colors revealed his name—the red-headed
woodpecker.

Only a small per cent of the woodpeckers of this species
spend the winter months in North Carolina, for possibly,

210 STORIES OF BIRD LIFE

as some have suggested, the supply of food may be limited.
Having this in mind I began to suspect that our fine bird
was getting his daily food from some dead limbs of the

locust trees in
which he daily
busied himself. He
dug long ditches
into the _ rotten
wood and as a re-
sult quantities of

chips lay on the
~ ground beneath, as

NE
—,

\,

eR

tern
AY ANY wa

WOO #
\'

=X
¥=)

aS
SN
Th

Who jh

retafih

els
ee

—t
fd

{

=

\y)

evidence of his in-
dustry. It must
be insect life of
some kind that he
WA AI) is looking for, I

A, eg) i AG ‘ s! iy es often thought, and
PT 'NS ese yet on more than
one occasion I de-
je tected him in the

act of eating acorns. One morning after a strong wind
had been blowing I found that a large dead limb had
fallen across my path. It was one of those on which the
woodpecker had spent much time. So much decayed was
it that in falling it had broken into several pieces, thus dis-

A QUARTET OF WOODLAND DRUMMERS Pale |

closing numerous chambers and galleries running through
the wood. In these here and there were crowded hosts of
black ants taking their long winter sleep. Many of the
galleries had been opened from the outside by the wood-
pecker and robbed of their occupants. Here then was an
explanation of his actions. In an old rent on one side from
which a small limb had been broken four acorns were
found, two of which were perfectly sound. They could not
have lodged there in falling from an oak. They must have
been carried there, possibly by some little fourfooted
animal, but more probably by the redhead himself, as in
other places he has been known to do this. Perhaps he
had acorns also stowed away in other chinks of the old
locust trees, but of this I did not learn.

The redhead is such a handsome fellow that it is hard to
think of his ever doing anything unpleasant; and yet at
times he is a very bad bird, probably the worst one of the
whole family. It is told of him that he will sometimes go
to other birds’ nests and eat their eggs. He is accused not
only of being a rogue, but a murderer as well. Downy’s
friends, the titmouse and the chickadee, know him well,
and it is whispered that they have on more than one occa-
sion caught him plundering their nests. There is small
wonder then that Downy dislikes the redhead and often
disputes with him for the possession of some favorite limb
or post.

oA STORIES OF BIRD LIFE

In summer the bird lives largely on fruit. He will light
in your cherry tree, seize the ripest fruit within reach, and
in another moment be off for some frequented limb at the
edge of the grove, where he likes to carry his food before
eating. Here on his high dining table, he holds the cherry
down with his foot and eats it at his convenience. Then
he wipes his bill on the limb, using the bark for a napkin,
and soon comes back for another piece of fruit. Besides
plums and cherries he likes to eat grapes and berries.
Many kinds of insects also go to supply his mouth with
good things.

In Florida I have known the redhead to pick holes in
oranges and drink the sweet juice. An orange grower
once showed me a device he employed for killing them as
well as the red-bellied woodpeckers which in hke manner
pecked his fruit. He had placed a long slender pole up
through the tree in such a way that one end rested on the
ground and the other protruded above the boughs. Often
a bird coming for a draught of juice would first alight on
this natural perch. A man hidden beneath would then
strike the pole a sharp bkow with an axe or heavy club.

A QUARTET OF WOODLAND DRUMMERS 213

The violent jar transmitted to the upper end was usually
severe enough to kill the bird.

The redhead visits the corn fields during roasting-ear
time. He will tear the husk open at the end until he can
see the milky white grains so snugly tucked away in rows.
After eating his fill he leaves and does not return to the
came ear, but when hunger again calls him to the field he
attacks a new one. The corn raisers of course object to
this pilfering in their fields and some of them make it a
point to shoot at the thief whenever they catch him in the
act.

In flying, the redhead does not travel in a straight, even
line as many birds do, nor does he soar as many others,
but goes swinging up and down through the air in long
billowy sweeps. When you see one start across a wide field
it is worth the while to stop and watch him; the sight will
well repay you. |

Like the flicker, this woodpecker digs a cavity for his
nest in a dead tree. Five eggs are generally found in a
nest. If the bird is robbed it will not keep on laying an
egg each day, but will in the course of two or three weeks
deposit another set of four or five. If these are taken the
bird will often try a third time to rear a brood. I once
knew a pair of redheads which had their nest rifled four
times, nineteen eggs in all being taken. Then they left

214 STORIES OF BIRD LIFE

their nest in the stump and dug out another in a tall dead
tree where the boy who had robbed them before could not
molest them further. Late that summer I saw the young
ones flying about the grove with their parents. In appear-
ance they were much the same as the old ones, but the head
and neck of each was a grayish brown. Not until many
months had passed did they get their red feathers.

The bird has many call notes, al-
though it has no song. One which
it often uses in the summer resem-
bles closely the note of the common
tree frog, and it is said that the bird
and frog sometimes answer one an-
other ; each possibly thinking it is calling to one of its own
kind. The strongest note of the redhead is given when he
sounds his love-call from the dead resounding limb of
some tall tree. It is produced by striking the hard wood
very rapidly with his bill. As he hears his loud stirring
signal go re-echoing through the woodland, he settles back
on his perch until, faintly borne to his listening ears, comes
the well known answering tap of a beloved bill, and he
starts up to sound a reply.

To me this is one of the most stirring notes in nature.
Among the earliest scenes which I can recall is the sight
of one of these birds sounding his drum from the top of a

A QUARTET OF WOODLAND DRUMMERS 215

tall dead pine near my home, and as the years go by, I
turn each spring with ever renewed interest and pleasure
to hearken when I catch the drumming roll of the red-
head’s love-ceall.

THOUGHT QUESTIONS

How many kinds of woodpeckers do you know? Do they all have red on
their heads? Which species has the most red on its head? Are downy
woodpeckers ever seen among the trees in town? Will the downy harm the
fruit or vegetables? Will it do the farmer any good? Should it be killed?
Does the downy leave us when the winter comes? Tie some suet to the
limb of a tree in your yard next winter, and watch for a downy to come and
eat it. By how many names have you heard the flicker called? How do
woodpeckers fly, by swoops or in a straight line?

WINTER LIFE ON A COLLEGE CAMPUS

NE autumn day three very odd look-

ing fellows strolled into the college
campus hear which I lived. They were dressed just alike.
Kach wore a long tailed gray coat, a white waistcoast, a tall
white collar and a black necktie. For trousers they had
white running pantaloons. They were bare from a little
above their knees down. Although strangers there, they
avoided the walks and driveways and spent the afternoon
in running foot races on the low open plot of ground at the
eastern side of the campus. A carriage came along, going
to the ball park. The dog which trotted behind ran out
and barked, whereat the three frightened gray-coats
tumbled over one another as they rushed off, each loudly
shouting his name as he went. The man in the carriage
said, ‘‘ Killdeers, to be sure; I should like to have a shot at

them.’’
[216]

WINTER LIFE ON A COLLEGE CAMPUS A, iF

Late that night, when the weary athletes had forgotten
their bruises and were at rest, three pairs of bare feet came
over the fence of the athletic field and alighted on the
ploughed and trampled sands. Again the gray-coats
chased each other, looking for benighted insects as they
ran and shouted in their glee. Out in the starlight I heard
them calling to one another, ‘‘killdee, killdee!’’ Three

es

ae? SO! —% Vi y, aN
Hi - ZF i

a ( te i Cie
Pen eee ia: fits ra Bae H

erm ets

i VW a ; ee :
little wanderers had stopped to enjoy our hospitalities.
What tales would they have to tell of us when they chose to
leave? Three close friends they were, banded for the
winter months to struggle against starvation, and snow,
and ice; against hawks, and dogs, and guns.

The last week of December was warm and bright. The

218 STORIES OF BIRD LIFE

days were such as birds much enjoy and they came to the
campus in numbers. In all, I counted twenty-one species.
A flock of forty-two meadow larks patrolled the campus
from gate to gate, through grove and open, searching for
food in the grass and among the fallen leaves. A downy
woodpecker which lives in the trees near the south build-
ing was to be seen each day. Early in the month he had
dug out with his bill a cavity for his winter bedroom in
the dead limb of a tree standing near the library. So
nice and cosy a retreat was it from the wind that early
in the evening he would often leave his friends, the chick-
adee and titmouse, with whom he had romped all day, and
hurrying off soon tumble into bed to dream away the long
winter night.

Downy had a relative, the little Yankee sapsucker, which
came from the far North to spend the winter months on the
campus. He did not care for such noisy companions as the
downy’s friends, so he kept apart by himself, and at inter-
vals during the day would announce his whereabouts by
calling out in a plaintive voice.

These two birds have a relative in common which came
to the holiday eampus. This was their big, clumsy country
cousin, the yellow-hammer, or flicker. He hardly knew how
to behave himself among those large buildings, and twice
during the winter was almost caught while prowling

WINTER LIFE ON A COLLEGE CAMPUS 219

around inside one of them. He does not hesitate to go in at
a window if he finds one open.

One day just before the close of the year I heard a great
outery among the branches ot a large Spanish oak near by.
I hastened to the window and found that the flicker was in
more trouble. A company of blue jays were feeding in the
grove. Many were searching for acorns in the leaves on
the ground, which when found would be carried promptly
up to a limb, and pounded open. While one was thus en-
gaged the flicker’s inquisitiveness led him to venture too
near, whereupon the jay remonstrated loudly, screaming
and flaunting her blue and white feathers about in a most
excited manner.

The flicker was evidently quite abashed, and retreated
around the limb, chattering something which I thought
might be to the effect that she need not make so much fuss
about nothing. There were two or three other flickers in
the grove and they seemed to enjoy the discomfort of their
friend immensely. A moment later one of them alighted
on the limb by his side and, bobbing his head in a most odd
and quaint manner, offered by way of encouragement his
characteristic remark of ‘‘walk-up, walk-up.”’

Just then a sparrow hawk came around the corner of the
building and perched on a limb. It was Xantippe, the quar-
relsome little lady bird we had watched about the campus

220 STORIES OF BIRD LIFE

so often the winter before, and we had wondered if she had
a mate somewhere. Poor Xantippe had seen much trouble
the past year. In the spring she left the campus and went
back into the fields to meet her mate, old Socrates, perhaps.
A little later some boys found their nest and destroyed it.
It was in the natural cavity of a dead tree twenty feet from
the ground. Three eggs I believe they said it contained,
three chocolate spotted eggs.

The pair must have found another nesting site, however,
for in the autumn when Xantippe again appeared on the
campus she brought with her not only Socrates but also
a pair of young birds. The college atmosphere must have
proved too stimulating for the young ones, for they soon
left, probably returning to the country.

Xantippe’s favorite perch, as last winter, was on one of |
the goal posts in the athletic park, while Socrates took up
his headquarters on the topmost limb of a locust tree just
outside the park fence. Here they would sit for hours at
a time, flying down now and then to capture some article of
food, or else to chase away the meadow larks when they
came near. Sometimes both would come and perch near
the laboratory, high on the fourth floor, and nod to each
other and peep in through the windows. Then the boys
would look up from their microscopes and call to each
other that the little hawks had come to look on again.

WINTER LIFE ON A COLLEGE CAMPUS 2a:

One day just before Christmas a boy shot Socrates. For
days his body lay in the rain and wind. At length one of
the professors saw it and picked it up saying, ‘‘ poor bird.”’
He laid it on a pile of coal with its face upturned to the
eold gray sky. Then a friend buried the dead bird; buried
him beneath the locust tree on which he had loved to sit.

So Xantippe was left alone. Perhaps she was feeling
sad this day while the jays were so noisy and the flickers
so full of life. Near by, the flock of meadow larks was
feeding. Out on the sunny side of a big hickory the sap-
sucker clung and drowsed. A little farther away Downy
and his companions were making their usual amount of
noise. From under the eaves of the new east building
came the sounds of cooing pigeons. Out in the open ground
the killdeers were calling.

Suddenly in the midst of this joy and laughter, feeding
and ealling, some boys came with their guns. Thick and
fast were the discharges, loud and terrible was the roar.
With loud shouts the jays fled screaming to the woods.
The flickers went racing off in long galloping sweeps, all
save one which, with broken wing, lay beating the ground.
The sapsucker was shot from his perch on the hickory.
Two of the meadow larks failed to escape. Of the unsus-
pecting pigeons nine gave up their lives. They fell here
and there. Their feathers were scattered on the walks,

223 STORIES OF BIRD LIFE

their dark blood stained the stone steps of the north en-
trance. It was a wild morning for the birds, their peace
and joy were at an end,—the snake had entered the garden.
The killdeers fled for parts unknown, bearing with them
their tale of horror and woe.

Earlier in the day the hunters had killed a rabbit and
some partridges. That night there was a feast. All the
game was put together, rabbit, pigeon, and sapsucker;
partridge, flicker, and lark, and was

“In the cauldron boiled and baked.”

The next day scarcely a bird was to be seen on the campus.
The jays kept far back in the large timber. Once a flicker
came to the edge of the woods and looked across to the
campus and sounded his drum call on a dead limb. But
no answering note came back from the silent campus, save,
faintly borne to his ears, the laughter of the hunters start-
ing out again, at which he turned and fled back to the cover
of the forest.

But Xantippe did not leave. Where else should she go?
Just before night she flew up to the new east building,
for her roosting place was under the eaves. Surely no
hunter would think of eating her; and for what other pur-
pose would one wish to shoot her? Suddenly there was a
roar beneath. Pains shot lke steel blades through her

WINTER LIFE ON A COLLEGE CAMPUS DS

body. Blindly, wildly she fled, over the spot where the
pigeons had fallen, around the corner of the laboratory,
out by the locust tree beneath which old Socrates slept, her
head reeling with pain, the hot blood choking her throat.
On, on she goes across the open grounds towards the
woods, that she may not fall until reaching cover, instinc-
tively avoiding her enemies even in death. Her wings no
longer beat the air, they are now set and rigid. Death
clutches at her heart and throws his veil before her eyes.
On, on she speeds, sinking lower and lower. She passes
the campus wall, she nears the line of woods, and now low
in the gathering gloom of the evening forest she sinks faint-
ing, gasping, dying,—and the last act of the holiday cam-
pus tragedy is at an end.

THOUGHT QUESTIONS

How many kinds of birds did you ever find in the woods or fields on a
winter day? Can you name any which appear only in winter? Do kill-
deers live in your part of the country? Do you know the meadow lark?
What color is its breast? What do jays eat besides acorns? Do any other
birds eat acorns? How late in the fall of the year will tame pigeons con-
tinue to feed their young? Do you suppose a bird really cares when its
companions are killed?

TS
SM TiS CH
2474" Za IM Ay,
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Za (Ai BAIS,
V— ey

APPENDIX I

The questions given at the end of each story are designed to draw out
the pupil’s power of observation. The teacher will readily supplement
these with other questions that will suggest themselves.

The detailed descriptions which follow, together with the range of the
chief birds, will assist pupils and teachers in a more technical study of
these and other birds.

In making these descriptions the following abbreviations are used:
L. represents length; W., wing; T., tail; M., male; Fe., female.

The length of a bird is determined by placing the specimen upon its
back on a smooth surface and measuring from the tip of the bill to the
end of the tail. The length of the wing is the distance from the joint
nearest the end to the point of the longest wing feather. The measure-
ments are given in inches and hundredths.

THE ARREDONDO SPARROW HAWK

AMERICAN SPARROW Hawk (falco sparverius ).—M.—Back and tail rufous,
the former barred with black, the latter with a broad black band near the
end. Tip of tail white; head slaty blue with a crown patch rufous; back
rufous with a few black spots on lower part; wing coverts slaty blue; pri-
maries black, barred with white; ear coverts white with a black patch
before and behind; under parts vary from white to cream-buff; belly and
sides spotted with black. Fe—Wing coverts rufous, under parts streaked
with buff. L., 10.10; W., 7.00; T., 4.75. Range.—North America, from
Central Canada to South America, west to the Rocky Mountains.

OUR CHIMNEY DWELLERS
CuImMney Swirr (Chetura pelagica).—Sooty brown, sometimes with
a faint greenish tinge above, lighter beneath. The shafts of the tail

feathers extend beyond the vanes and end in sharp, stiff points. L., 5.25;

[225]

226 APPENDIX

W., 5.00; T., 1.90. Range.—Eastern North America, north to Labrador
and west to the Plains. Winters south of the United States.

THE CHILDHOOD OF BIB-NECK

Witson’s PLover (4 gialitis Wilsonia)—M.—A black band across
the breast; lores and front of crown also black; forehead and under parts
white; back, cheeks and crown brownish gray; outer tail feathers white.
Fe.—Has brownish gray where the male has black. L., 7.50; W., 4.50;
T., 1.15. Range.—Eastern coast of America from New York to Brazil;
western coast from lower California to Peru.

ROBIN REDBREAST

AMERICAN Rosin (Merula migratoria).—Above dark gray except top
and sides of head, which are black; a white spot over the eye; tail black;
outer feathers white on ends; throat is white, spotted with black. The
breast and belly are rufous. Fe. is lighter than male. L., 10.00;
W., 5.00; T., 3.75. Range.—Eastern North America from Mexico to
Alaska.

AN OLD BARRED OWL

BARRED OwL (Syrnium nebulosum).—Grayish brown above, each
feather with a few white bars; the disk about the eyes is gray, mottled
with dark brown; under parts white, tinged with buff; breast barred;
- sides and belly streaked with buff. Legs and toes feathered. L., 20.00;
W., 13.00; T., 9.50. Range.—Eastern United States, north to Quebec,
west to Kansas.

THE BIRDS OF COBB’S ISLAND, VIRGINIA

LAUGHING GULL (Larus atricilla).—Head and throat dark slate-color ;
primaries black, the inner ones having white tips; upper parts dark pearl
gray; under parts white. In winter the head and throat are white.
L., 16.50; W., 12.25; T., 5.00. Range.—Atlantic coast, from Maine south-
ward. In winter, south through West Indies.

Witson’s TERN; ComMMoNn TERN (Sterna hirundo).—Upper parts pearl
gray; top of head black; under parts pale gray except throat, which is

APPENDIX yall

white. The bill is red except outer third, which is black. The feet are
orange red. L., 15.00; W., 10.253 T., 5.50.

A PAIR OF EAGLES

BaALp EAGLE; WHITE-HEADED EAGLE (Halietus leucocephalus).—Head,
neck and tail white, rest of the feathers dark brown. The bill is
yellow and the leg is not feathered to the toes. The immature bird has
more or less white mingled with its plumage, but its head, neck and tail
are not white until the third year. L., 33.00; W., 22.00; T., 12.50. Extent
of wings seven feet. Fe—Larger than male. Range.—North America
from Alaska to Mexico.

BIRD KEY

MAN-OF-WAR Birp (Fregata aquila).—Black and very glossy above.
The Fe. is less black and has a white belly and breast. The bill is six
inches long and is hooked at the point. L., 3.50 feet; W., two feet; T.,
1.50 feet. Range.—Tropical and sub-tropical coasts of America, common
ncrthward to Florida and Texas, casually to Nova Scotia.

Brown PELIcAN (Pelecanus fuscus).—Back of head and neck brown;
top of head and spot on breast yellow; sides and back, scapulars, wing
coverts, secondaries and tail are silvery gray. The primaries are black;
under parts blackish brown streaked with white. L., 50.00; W., 20.00;
B., 11.00. Range.—Tropical and sub-tropical coast of eastern America,
occurring as far north as North Carolina.

THE MOCKING BIRD

Mocxine Birp (Mimus polyglottos).—Upper parts ashy; wings and
tail blackish brown; inner half of primaries white; three outermost pairs
of tail feathers with more or less white. Under parts white. L., 10.50;
W., 4.50; T., 5.00. Range.—Southern United States; rare north of Mary-
land and Kentucky.

THE VULTURES

TURKEY VULTURE (Cathartes aura).—Black with some grayish brown;
head and upper neck bare, the skin of which is red. L., 30.00; W., 22.00;

228 APPENDIX

T., 11.00. Range—From British Columbia southward to Patagonia; rare
in New England.

BLACK VULTURE (Catharista atrata).—Black; skin of head black. L.,
24.00; W., 17.00; T., 8.00. Range——From lower Ohio Valley to southern
South America.

WOOD DUCK LIFE

Woop Duck; SUMMER Duck (Aix sponsa).—M.—Throat, a line
over the eye, a broad strip up the side of the head and part of the long
crest feathers white. Cheeks and crown green with reflections of purple;
chestnut on breast spotted with white, and chestnut at base of tail. Belly
white; sides buff, barred with black and white; brownish green back;
scapulars darker; primaries tipped with greenish blue. Fe.—Without
the crest; other markings less brilliant. L., 18.50; W., 9.00. Range.—
Temperate North America.

THE SNOWBIRD

SLATE-COLORED JUNCO; SNOWBIRD (Junco hyemalis).—M.—Upper
parts, throat and breast slate-color; belly white, and sides grayish; two
outer tail feathers white, as is also a part of the third. Bill flesh color.
L., 6.25; W., 3.00; T., 2.75. Range—North America, mainly east of the
Rocky Mountains; breeds from the Catskills and the mountains of New
England northward. In winter it occurs south to the Gulf States.

CAROLINA SNOWBIRD (J. h. Carolinensis).—Closely resembling preceding
species, but is a little larger, and the dark parts are without the brownish
tinge usually noticeable in that species. Range.—Southern Alleghanies.

A BOBWHITE FAMILY

BoBwHiTE (Colinus Virginianus).—Chestnut above, with some mark-
ings of buff and black; rump grayish brown, mottled and streaked with
black; tail ash. Front of crown, a strip beneath the eye, and a band on
breast black; throat white; sides chestnut, with white and black; belly
white, barred with black. Fe—Smaller, and white of head replaced by
buff. L., 10.00; W., 4.50; T., 2.50. Range.—Eastern United States, from
Canada to the Gulf of Mexico; west to the Rocky Mountains.

APPENDIX 229

LEVY, THE STORY OF AN EGRET

AMERICAN EGRET (Ardea egretta).—Pure white, with about fifty
straight plumes growing between the se-pulars in the breeding season.
The legs and feet are black. L., 41.00; W., 15.00. Range.—Temperate
America, from New Jersey to Patagonia.

THE QUEST FOR THE CORMORANT’S NEST

FioripA CorMoRANT (Phalacrocorax dilophus Illoridanus).—Upper
parts glossy black; under parts lighter. L., 30.00; W., 12.00; T., 5.50.
Varies much in size. Range.—Along the coast from North Carolina to
Texas, and up the Mississippi river to Illinois.

CUCKOO, THE RAIN PROPHET

YELLOW-BILLED Cuckoo (Coccyzus Americanus).—Lower mandible
yellow except at tip, where it is black; upper one black. Upper parts
olive gray; wing feathers rufous. Outer tail feathers black, tipped with
white; outer edge of outer feathers white. Breast and belly white.
L., 12.15; W., 5.75; T., 6.00. Range.—Eastern North America; north to
New Brunswick; west to the Plains, and south in winter to the West
Indies and Costa Rica.

RUFFLE-BREAST, THE SHRIKE

LOGGERHEAD SHRIKE (Lanius Ludovicianus).—Gray above; secondaries
tipped with white; tail and wings black; tail feathers with black tips;
lores black, with black line running to base of bill; white beneath, washed
with grayish. L., 9.00; W., 3.75; T., 3.80. Range——United States, west
to the Plains, northward to New England. Breeds from the Gulf of
Mexico to Virginia and casually northward to New Jersey and the Great
Lakes.

THE CITY OF THE LONGLEGS

GREAT BLUE HERON (Ardea herodias).—“Center of the crown and
throat white, sides of the crown black, this color meeting on the back of

230 APPENDIX

the head, where the feathers are lengthened to form an occipital crest;
neck pale grayish brown; a narrow black, white and ochraceous line down
the middle of the fore neck; feathers of the lower fore neck narrow and
much lengthened, whitish with sometimes black streaks; back, wing
coverts and tail slaty gray; the scapulars paler, narrow and much length-
ened; bend of the wing chestnut rufous; a patch of black and white feathers
on the side of the breast; breast and belly streaked with black and white,
and sometimes pale rufous; feathers on legs dull rufous; legs and feet
black; upper mandible olive yellow; the culmen blackish; lower mandible
yellow; lores blue.” (Chapman.) L., 45.00; W., 19.00. Varies much in
size. Range.—North America.

LitTLE BLueE Heron (Ardea caerulea) —Head and neck dull chestnut;
the rest of plumage dark slaty blue; legs yellow. Young for two years are
white. L., 22.00; W., 10.50. Range.—From Illinois to South America.

A QUARTET OF WOODLAND DRUMMERS

Downy WoopPECKER (Dryobates pubescens).—Back, wings and tail
black; middle of back and outer tail feathers white, the latter barred
with black; wings and wing coverts spotted with white; under parts white,
and a white stripe below the eye. The male has a small red bar across
the nape. L., 6.75; W., 3.75; T., 2.50. Range—North America, west to
the Plains and south to the Gulf of Mexico.

- YELLOW-BELLIED SAPSUCKER (Sphyrapicus varius).—M.—Back barred
with black and yellowish white; wings spotted with white, coverts mostly
white; tail black, outer feathers having white margins; white line below
eye, crown and throat bright red, breast black, belly pale yellow. Fe.—Has
the throat white. L., 8.50; W., 4.80; T., 3.20. Range—HEastern North
America, breeding from Massachusetts northward. In winter it is spread
through the Southern States, the West Indies, Mexico and Costa Rica.

FLICKER (Colaptes awratus).—Back and wing coverts brownish gray,
barred with black; rump white; primaries black outside, but shafts
beneath are yellow; tail black above and yellow beneath; upper tail
coverts streaked with white and black. Top of head and sides and back of

APPENDIX 2a

neck ash; a scarlet stripe across the neck; sides of head, throat and breast
brown; black cheek spots, which are wanting in the female. Under parts
are cream yellow and spotted. with black. L., 12.00; W., 6.00; T:, 4:20.
Range.—North America, west to the Rocky Mountains and Alaska.

Rep-HEADED WoopPecKEerR (Melanerpes erythrocephalus).—Back, wings
and tail blue black; under parts, secondaries, upper tail coverts and ends
of outer tail feathers white; head, neck and fore breast crimson. The
immature bird has a grayish brown head, and secondaries barred with
black. L., 9.75; W., 5.50; T., 3.30. Range.—United States, west to Rocky
Mountains,

APPENDIX II

METHODS FOR STUDENTS AND TEACHERS
Suggestions for Bird Study

The general awakening to an interest in the subject of ornithology has
called for the means of gaining a more precise knowledge of the names
and habits of our common birds. Many persons are deeply interested in
observing the forms and movements of the wild birds, and yet are con-
scious that their efforts are on the whole not well directed.

Much information concerning the activities of birds can be acquired
by observation without the assistance of text-book or teacher; but to become
absolutely accurate the need of one or both is indispensable. Those to
whom the assistance of a teacher is not possible can at least equip them-
selves with one of the several excellent text-books which are now on the
market. Some of the best of these are:

Handbook of Birds of Eastern North America, by Frank M. Chapman.
(D. Appleton & Co., publishers. Price, $3.00.)
Birds of Village and Field, by Florence Merriam.
(Houghton, Mifflin & Co. Price, $2.00.)
Manual of North American Birds, by Robert L. Ridgway.
(J. B. Lippincott Co., Philadelphia. Price, :$7.50.)

Equipped with one of these books the most inexperienced observer is
ready for work, though the aid of an .opera or field glass will greatly
assist one’s efforts.

Let us imagine that the first bird observed is a red one. The color is
probably the first thing that arrests the attention. You quickly note
whether it is red all over, its size and its movements. You discover that
it appears to be a little smaller than a robin; that it has no crest on its
head; and that it is not hopping upon the ground or soaring in the sky,

[232]

APPENDIX 233

but that it is on a limb of a tree or among the boughs. Does it have a
song? What are its call-notes? On what is it feeding, berries or insects?
And if both birds are present, is the female colored like the male? These
are questions which quickly suggest themselves.

In short, observe everything of interest; form, color, size, call-note and
whatever else there is to see, and quickly make in a notebook a memoran-
dum of your observations. Then with the assistance of the “key” in your
handbook you can easily determine the species, which in this instance
would be either a male cardinal grosbeak or a male summer tanager.

Should the student have a dead specimen he can take the dimensions,
the chief of which are: First, length from bill tip to tail tip; second, dis-
tance from last joint of wing to the point of the longest wing feather;
and third, length of tarsus. All the different parts of the bird that it is
necessary to observe for identification are indicated in the following dia-
gram, which should be carefully studied:

The ornithologists named below have kindly expressed their willingness
to assist, within the range of territory over which they are recognized as
authorities, those who may have any difficulty in determining a species.

234 APPENDIX

They will also gladly give any information concerning the literature on
the birds of their region, and answer any other questions of an ornithologi-
cal nature.

ALABAMA AND GEoRGIA.—Dr. Eugene E. Murphey, Augusta, Ga.

ARIZONA.—Herbert Brown, Yuma, Arizona.

ARKANSAS, LOUISIANA AND MISSISSIPPI.—Prof. Geo. E. Beyer, Tulane Uni-
versity, New Orleans, La.

CAROLINA, NortTH.—T. Gilbert Pearson, Greensboro, N. C.

CAROLINA, SouTH.—Arthur T. Wayne, Mount Pleasant, S. C.

CoLoRADO, NEVADA AND UTAH.—Wells W. Cooke, Fort Collins, Colo.

Dakota, NorRTH AND SoUTH, AND Wyomine.—Dr. Mortimer Jesurun, Doug-
las, Wyo.

DELAWARE AND MARYLAND.—F. C. Kirkwood, 1500 Bolton street, Balti-
more, Md.

FrLoripA.—Robert W. Williams, Jr., Tallahassee, Fla.

InLino1s.—Benjamin T. Gault, Glen Ellgin, Ill.

Inp1ana.—Amos W. Butler, State House, Indianapolis, Ind.

Iowa.—Prof. F. E. L. Beal, Department of Agriculture, Washington, D. C.

KANSAS, OKLAHOMA AND INDIAN TeRRITORY.—Prof. D. E. Lantz, Man-
hattan, Kansas.

Micuican.—Walter B. Barrows, Agricultural College, Mich.

Minnesota.—Dr. Thos. S. Roberts, 1603 Fourth avenue, South, Minne-
apolis, Minn.

Missour1.—Otto Wildman, Old Orchard, Mo.

MontTana.—P. M. Silloway, Lewistown, Mont.; M. J. Elrod, Missoula, Mont.

New ENGLAND.—William Brewster, 145 Brattle street, Cambridge, Mass.

NEBRASKA.—Prof. Edwin H. Burlour, University of Nebraska, Lincoln,
Nebraska.

New Mexico.—Dr. A- K. Fisher, Department of Agricuiture, Washing-
ton, D. C.

New York.—Frank M. Chapman, American Museum of Natural History,
New York City.

OHIO AND Kentucky.—Prof. Lynds Jones, Oberlin College, Oberlin, O.

Paciric Coast.—Chester Barlow, Santa Clara, Cal.

PENNSYLVANIA AND New JeErRSEy.—Witmer Stone, Academy of Natural
Sciences, Philadelphia, Pa.

TENNESSEE.—Mina Baker Mitchell, Chattanooga, Tenn.

APPENDIX Doe

Trexas.—H. P. Attwater, Houston, Texas.

VIRGINIA AND WEST VirGin1IA.—Dr. Wm. C. Rives, 1723 I street, Wash-
ington, D. C.

Wisconsin.—H. Nehrling, Milwaukee, Wis.

EASTERN CANADA.—E. D. Wintle, 17 Saint John street, Montreal, Canada.

The student who has a handbook can not only get from it the name of his
specimen, but can learn of its geographical range and its habits of migra-
tion, and thus know at what season to look for it. He can get hints of its
nesting, food and other habits, which tell him enough to give him an intelli-
gent foundation for further observation regarding the species. If the
student will continue the work of identifying and observing birds during a
vacation, or as opportunity offers, he will soon notice with joy the increas-
ing number of friends which greet him each time he goes afield.

An occupation most stimulating to the study is to make a list of all
the birds seen and positively identified in a neighborhood. The bird popu-
lation is constantly changing, and it varies with the seasons as the great
waves of the annual migrations pulse to and fro. By keeping a sharp look-
out one ought to be able to determine one hundred or more varieties of
birds in an ordinary neighborhood in a year’s time. A magazine of popular
ornithology, Bird Lore, published by the Macmillan Company at Harris-
burg, Pa., for $1.00 a year, is a valuable periodical for all bird lovers.

SUGGESTIONS TO TEACHERS

Although it is recognized as essential that a teacher should have a
pretty fair understanding of a subject before attempting to teach it, no
such rule should hinder the beginner in bird study from endeavoring to
interest others in the subject. It is a deference to this rule that keeps many
teachers from branching out in nature work of this character.

The teacher need not assume to know much about the birds, but he
can work and observe with his pupils. Children always become fascinated
with bird study if their efforts are appreciated.

At the time of the opening exercises in the morning, or for a short
period during the day, permit the students to make reports of birds they
have seen since that time the day before. The teacher should keep a list
of these on the blackboard. The pupils should be encouraged to make a
list of the foods of birds.

236 APPENDIX

During the spring and fall it is an excellent plan to record on the
board the name of each new bird as it appears, together with the date
of its appearance and the name of the pupil who first sees it.

It is sometimes well to have the pupils make lists of the birds seen
within the school grounds, or the village, or a particular field. If the
school be in a large city where few birds are seen, specimens of mounted
birds or bird skins may be shown, and trips to the museums or zoological
gardens may take the place of the tramps which the village or country
teacher can have. Beautiful colored pictures of birds, which are excellent
fer schoolroom work, can be procured at very small cost. The Perry
Pictures Co., Malden, Mass., and A. W. Mumford, Chicago, Ill., have a
large list of these.

In many graded schools systematic work in bird study is mapped out
for several years throughout the grades, and excellent results are being
realized,

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