Kitabı oku: «Bird Portraits», sayfa 5
BOB-WHITE
Bob-white, unlike the majority of our birds, does not migrate southward in winter; the whole covey, unless they are killed, spend the whole year near the spot where they were born, feeding on the fallen grain, seeds, and various kinds of fruit. In hard winters, they become very tame, and if fed regularly, come to the barnyard almost like poultry. Most people are only too familiar with this bird, but not as he looks in life. Then he is full of energy and spirit; his pure white throat shows against the black of his head, and his rich reddish brown wings are ready to carry him off with a whirr that startles one. For one that we see alive, we see a thousand hanging, bloody and bedraggled, in the markets. Few people who become really acquainted with Bob-white, who see him sitting on a stone wall calling his name, or see his mate hurrying her little ones over the road into the blackberry vines, will care to make another meal off his little body. We must consider not only the wrong, if we acknowledge it to be one, done to the individual quail whose life has been taken, but the danger that threatens his whole race. The cheerful Bob-white is already a much rarer sound than it used to be, and the bird has many other dangers to contend against besides the pot-hunter's gun.
The greatest peril that besets quail in the North is the occasional midwinter blizzard, followed by intense cold. The quail at night huddle close together on the ground, their tails touching and their heads pointing out in a circle. After a great storm in a recent winter, the melting snow exposed a circle of quail, surprised and buried by the snow, like the people of Pompeii buried under the falling ashes.
In May, the male begins to whistle the two or three clear notes which have been translated into "Bob-white," or "More wet." This call is not only a summons to the female, but also a challenge to other males; if one hides near by and imitates the whistle accurately enough, a sudden flight will sometimes bring the angry bird directly to the spot. The surprise of the visitor is then amusing enough. Stone walls, fences, the low limbs of trees are favorite perches for the male, and his cheerful call has long been a familiar sound in farming country, from Massachusetts southward.
The nest is placed in some tangle of blackberry vines, along the edge of a field, and is a sight worth a long journey to see. The pure white eggs, often as many as fifteen, are laid close together in such a manner that the little body of the female may cover and warm them all. When the young are hatched, they are covered with down, and run at once, like chickens, and unlike the little blind naked young which we see in the nests of song birds. They follow their mother through the tangled grass or low bushes, feeding on fruit and insects, and later on the grain in the stubble fields. The whole family keep together, even when the young are able to care for themselves. When they hear any danger approaching, they keep close to the ground, relying on their brown coloring to conceal them. If the danger comes too near, they are off in half a dozen directions, over walls and bushes, coming quickly to earth again when they see some sheltering covert. Then, after an interval, one hears a note something like a guinea hen's, issuing from different parts of the field. Guided by these sounds, the whole covey reassemble.
THE GOLDFINCH
Not the most sullen sky nor the bitterest cold seems to discourage Goldfinches. They are always cheerful and affectionate, keeping together for the greater part of the year in larger or smaller flocks, which call to each other, if separated, by notes as sweet as those of a Canary. In summer, Goldfinches find an abundance of food in the seeds of many species of plants, but in winter also many remain even in the Northern States, searching cheerfully among the dry weeds and grasses, and uttering their sweet notes. Many people, however, do not notice them at this season, for when winter comes the head and body of the males of this species, as of many others, lose the bright black and yellow which marks them so distinctly in summer, and are clothed in dull brownish shades. About the first of April, one notices here and there in a flock a male that shows a few bright yellow feathers, and by another month, they have moulted their winter dress and are as gay as ever.
In the spring and early summer, the Goldfinches are extremely musical, spending hours in uttering a simple but pleasing song. Several males now engage in what seems to be a musical contest, flying out from a tree and circling about with set wings, all the time keeping up a continual strain. When flying through the air at a considerable height, they go in long curves, and utter during each undulation three or four simple notes. As they seem constantly to have business in one part or other of the country, the wave-like flight and characteristic notes become a common feature of the summer landscape.
Though the Goldfinches are here all winter, they delay nesting till very much later than the other resident birds; the Chickadees have their first brood already out in the world by the time the Goldfinches determine on building. The female is a modest-colored little body, as is often the case where the male is bright. The pair generally build in July, and choose some thick leafy tree, often a maple or poplar, and there, on a limb at a considerable height from the ground, construct a very neat nest, deep and cup-shaped, built of fine materials and lined with down from plants like the thistle. Here five or six bluish white eggs are laid, and when in another month the young Goldfinches begin to fly, it is at once evident from their sharp, insistent crying. As the calling of the young Orioles is a mark of late June, so the notes of the young Goldfinches become associated with August.
Goldfinches are very fond of the seeds of many kinds of composite flowers; they bite holes in unripe dandelion heads and take out the seeds; thistles are another favorite food, and a row of sunflowers planted in the garden will not fail to attract them. In winter, besides the seeds of weeds, they feed on birch seeds, scattering the scales over the snow, and they even pull out the seeds of the pitch pine, when the scales begin to loosen toward spring.
No bird has livelier, more cheerful ways than our Goldfinch, and none becomes a greater favorite. People are often at considerable pains to remove the dandelion plants from their lawns; if the gay flowers themselves do not repay one for their presence, many would certainly allow them to remain in order to have the pleasant spectacle, in summer, of a flock of yellow Goldfinches scattered about the grass and feeding on the seeds.
THE BLUE JAY
Most people are surprised when they first learn that the Blue Jay is a near relative of the Crow. The difference in color is certainly marked, but in other ways the resemblance is striking. Neither bird can utter its most characteristic note without gesticulation. Watch a Crow from a car window when the caw is inaudible, and the bowing and opening of the wings are all the more noticeable. The motions which the Jay makes when screaming are not so well known, as the sound generally comes from a screen of leaves. Both birds are thieves and seem to relish their thieving life; both can live on almost any food; both are heartily hated by their neighbors in bird world. The Jay is more bitterly detested by the other birds than the Crow. He is himself suspicious, and at the approach of a hawk, owl, or man, warns the woods by his cries. Besides the ordinary djay, djay, the loud scream so familiar in the autumn woods, the Jay has other cries; a note like a wheelbarrow turning on an ungreased axle, a high scream exactly like the Red-shouldered Hawk's, and such a variety of lesser notes that one never is surprised to find that any unusual sound heard in the woods is produced by the Blue Jay.
Though one of the noisiest of birds when pursuing an intruder, the Jay has learned to slip through the trees without a sound, and conceals its bright blue and white in a remarkable way. A pair of Jays may be nesting in some evergreen in our very garden, and unless we happen to see the female slip into the tree, we may remain entirely unaware of their presence. The nest is roughly constructed of twigs and roots, and is placed in a tree from six to twenty feet from the ground. On a lining of finer roots are laid four or five brownish or greenish eggs, spotted with yellowish brown. The young are hatched by the middle or end of June.
The Jay in spring is undoubtedly a reprobate. He cannot resist the temptation to sneak through the trees and bushes, and when he finds a nest of eggs temporarily left by its owner, to thrust his sharp bill through the shells; even young birds are devoured. In the autumn, however, the Jay is a hearty, open fellow, noisy and intent on acorns and chestnuts. The woods ring with his loud screams, as he travels through them with his companions. It is amusing at this season to observe them obtaining chestnuts, a favorite food. They drive their powerful bills into a nut and wrench it out of the burr, then fly off with it to a convenient limb and hammer it open. Many Jays spend the entire winter in the northern woods, subsisting on nuts, but the large numbers observed in the fall are evidence that many others are moving southward, where food is more plenty.
Jays and squirrels are curiously associated; both live in the autumn and winter, innocently enough, on nuts and acorns; both, in spring, poach on the eggs and young of birds. One becomes fond of each of these rascals in spite of his undoubted villanies, and is glad that though neither Squirrel nor Jay is protected by law, and in some states both are constantly persecuted, neither seems to be diminishing in numbers.
In Europe, the Crow and the Jay have several relatives, many of whom, such as the Magpie, Rook, and Jackdaw, share the family characteristics. They are all thieves, clowns, and impudent fellows, and yet win, if not affection, yet a certain degree of good-humored toleration.
