Our birds in their haunts: a popular treatise on the birds of eastern North America

Front matter

OUR BIRDS

IN

THEIR HAUNTS

Table Of Contents

Chapter.

I. HOAR-FROST

II. SNOWED IN

Preface

'T^HE first aim of this work is to render as popular and attractive as possible, as well as to bring within a small compass, the sum total of the bird-life of Eastern North America. I have therefore given brief descriptions, and for the most part full life histories, of all the species commonly east of the Mississippi, giving special attention to the songs and nesting, and dwelling upon the curious and fascinating, of which there is so much in the lives of these wonderful creatures. The narrative follows, in the main, the order of the seasons, and groups itself about certain interesting localities, as Niagara River and St. Clair Flats, for instance. I give a good deal of attention to migration, instinct, the analogy of nidification, the specialized forms and adaptations of structure in birds, etc., endeavoring particularly to make all this readable. Particularly do I note the many evidences of a Designing Intelligence in this department of nature. Hence the

6 PREFACE.

author addresses himself especially to men of his own profession — the gospel ministry; and would earnestly urge them to become, as far as possible, the interpreters of nature as well as of the written word. Thus may they come most fully into sympathy with the Great Teacher, who pointed to the " fowls of the air " and the " lilies of the field " as the most instructive object-lessons of a practical faith. Let the pastor go with the little ones of his flock to see the nest of the Oriole in the orchard, or of the Pewee under the bridge; and he will not only go to the orchard and to the bridge, but he will find his way into the little heart. If he cannot become a naturalist, he may acquire, at least, a general intelligence of natural objects, thus finding many hours of healthful and happy recreation, furnishing his own mind with food for thought, and discovering ready avenues to other minds. In this day of almost universal thirst for natural science, the minister can ill afford to be ignorant of the natural world around him. Happy, indeed, will it be for his ministry if, instead of leaving the interpretation of nature to the ungodly and the atheistic, he may show to 'the people the thoughts of an infinitely wise and good Creator embodied in the universe. What is said to the preacher on this topic may apply also to the Sunday School teacher, and, indeed, should apply to the secular teacher of every grade.

PREFACE. 7

The farmers of our country are, for the most part, a very intelligent class, as the writer well knows from personal intercourse with them. Many of them might, and should be, amateur naturalists. This would turn many an hour of field -labor into a recreation, and could not fail to be an important aid in the education of their families. A popular book, giving a pleasing account of the habits and characters of the birds of the garden, the orchard, the field and the forest, would be a work of frequent reference, and might afford many an hour of leisurely reading in connection with more or less observation, and thus would be a constant source of pleasure and profit.

In short, I have tried to meet a wide demand never yet met in this country — to have a book on birds for everybody. I write almost entirely from personal observation, incorporating in my work a full report for Western New York and the adjoining regions of the Great Lakes, and a pretty full report for Nova Scotia; also a good deal of direct information from Hudson's Bay, by means of an excellent correspondent. This last feature of original investigation should specially commend the work to the scientist.

I would here acknowledge the cordial aid received through correspondence with a large circle of naturalists and amateurs, whose names appear in different parts of

8 PREFACE.

the work ; and also the great personal kindness in the way of friendly entertainment, on the part of a large circle of friends, during many years of travel and investigation over different parts of the field under review.

The illustrations, which should add much to the character of the book, have been nearly all furnished by Dr. Coues, whose scientific nomenclature, as given in his former works, I have adopted throughout. On this subject, now so much in distress, I claim no authority; and those wishing the check-list of the Smithsonian Institution can easily procure it.

J. H. LANGILLE.

BUFFALO, N. Y.

Chapter I. Hoar-frost

IT was early winter. The ground was covered with snow, but the atmosphere had been laden with a dense falling mist. The temperature falling below the freezing point, throughout the night a zephyr-like wind from the northeast continued to crystallize the moisture on every object, arraying the landscape in a most magnificent hoar-frost. The delicate plumose or spinulose ornaments increased every twig and spear of grass to many times its size. The spray of trees and shrubs seemed almost as dense as when arrayed in a young foliage; telegraph wires were as thick as cables; and the delicate array of spinulose plumes on the evergreens was of greater magnitude than their own dark covering. The exquisite delicacy and beauty of the patterns of crystallization were indescribable. The whole landscape was a charming fairy-land. The genius of a Greek mind might well have conceived that all the hosts of rural and sylvan deities had been at work; while, in this inimitable robe of snow-white purity, the Christian theist might read the thoughts of Him who is the Author of the beautiful, as well as of the true and the good.

THE HORNED LARK.

In the dead calm every object was motionless. Perfect stillness reigned. The slightest sound was awakening. What could be more pleasing to the lover of nature at such a time than the graceful flight and the musical notes of birds? Ever and anon, small, loose flocks of Horned Larks (Ercmophila alpcstris] appeared, alighting in the fields and along the highway; and they seemed as social and happy as so many Frenchmen, as they flew, and ran, and squatted, and hopped, vying with each other in their soft conversational tsccp, tseepes.

This is one of the most characteristic birds of Western New York. In Orleans County, and westward, throughout the year, unless it be in December, there is none which one is more liable to meet. Though in much smaller flocks, it may as frequently appear in the snow-storm as the Snow Bunting, and is much more common in the finer weather of midwinter than the Goldfinch or the Lesser Redpoll. From the frozen fields or the frost-clod fence it greets us with its song already in early February, several weeks before we hear the soft warble of the Bluebird, or the resonant notes of the Song Sparrow, and so gives us the first bird-song of the year. When the earth is soaked and the air is chilled from the thaws of spring, it is as merry and chipper and full of song as ever. It is amidst the merry throngs of May, traverses the heated dust of the highway in July and August, and in the mild, hazy days of Indian summer, gives forth a respectable echo of its more vigorous song of the breeding season. Until very recently the breeding habitat of this species has been wholly consigned to the far north; but it is now well understood that it breeds abundantly in the lake counties of Western New York, and more or less to the eastward as far as Troy, raising two broods, the first being very early. Rev. Wm. Elgin, of Rochester, N. Y., a competent observer, writes to me as follows: — "On the 28th of April, 1875, I discovered in the Park, near the lake at Buffalo, the nest of a pair of Horned Larks, containing four young birds which I took to be at least eight days old. I had observed the parent birds in that locality early in the month, and had been watching their movements ever since, being convinced from their actions, when first noticed, that they were nesting. But my search was not rewarded till the day above named. When the parent birds were first seen, the ground was bare, but about the 10th there fell several inches of snow, which lay on the ground several days, during which time the temperature frequently fell almost to zero. Under these circumstances, it seemed to me a marvel that any of the eggs hatched, since the bird must have been sitting while the ground — and in fact herself— was covered with snow. Yet the nest was admirably contrived for this weather, being placed in a small basin scooped out of the level ground, and carefully lined with fine dried grass, the top being on a level with the surface. Such a case of nidification certainly argues a marked degree of hardihood in the species. Another circumstance,, which fell under my observationj would tend also to confirm this opinion. On the 7th of April, 1878, near the village of Wayne, Steuben County, I observed a female Horned Lark feeding a pair of young in the road; the young being so far matured as to be able to fly from the road to the fence, a distance of fully three rods. In this case the nest must have been begun early in March."

These instances accord with the nests reported as found near Racine, Wisconsin, while the snow was on the ground.

On the Oth of April, 1880, as I was crossing a meadow a few days after a snow-fall of some three or four inches, a female Horned Lark flew out from under the snow near my feet. Thrusting my finger carefully through the cold covering, I touched the eggs, still warm; and picking out carefully the snow which had fallen into the nest as the bird left it, I found four eggs about half incubated. Who would not be impressed with the fidelity of this bird to her charge, thus allowing herself to be snowed over, and continuing to sit, as she no doubt would have done, till she thawed out again ?

The second set of eggs is laid in June. The full fledged young are of a mottled gray color, somewhat like the first plumage of young Screech Owls. The nest is made of stubble, rootlets, and dried grasses, sometimes having a little wool or horse-hair in the lining. It is well sunken into the ground, and is generally a frail, loose and inartistic structure. The eggs, commonly four, about .88 x -62, are grayish-white, thickly speckled all over with greenish-brown, having a similar under-marking of pale lilac or purplish-brown. They cannot be easily mistaken for any other eggs in this locality.

Mr. James Booth, of Drummondville, Ontario, for over thirty years a distinguished taxidermist for Niagara Falls, Buffalo, and the region round about, says that the Horned Larks did not breed here formerly; that this southern extension of their breeding habitat is a recent and noticeable change. With this corresponds the testimony of Mr. T. Mcllwraith, of Hamilton, Ont.

Audubon found the nests of this species common on the moss-clad coasts of Labrador. Mr. James Fortiscue, an excellent correspondent of mine, who is chief factor of the Hudson's Bay Company at York Factory, reports it as a summer resident about Hudson's Bay, building its nest " in grass along the coast."

The species has been known to breed in Canada West, in southern Iowa, Indiana, and in the northwest generally, while one variety is known to breed in New Mexico. This latter variety is said to be smaller and brighter colored than the common type, while that of the northwest is larger and lighter in color. As one approaches the Atlantic States, the Horned Lark is irregularly migratory in large flocks; this common type being in no respect different from its European representative.

Ordinarily the Horned Lark is strictly terrestrial. When alighted it is most commonly seen resting on the ground or walking; it is a great walker, maintaining its center of gravity by a graceful, dove-like motion of the head. Seldom, if ever, is it seen in a tree, aspiring, when at rest, merely to the top rail of the fence. It has one trick, however, strangely in contrast with its ordinary lowliness, and which once greatly perplexed me. It was a sunny afternoon, late in May. Hearing its song, now quite familiar to me, I strolled warily through the open field, hoping to find its nest. But whence came the song? It was as puzzling as the voice of a ventriloquist. Now it seemed on the right, and now on the left, and now in some other direction. Presently Icaught the way of the sound, and lo! its author was soaring high in air, moving in short curves up, up, singing for a few moments as it sailed with expanded wings before each flitting curve upward, till it became a mere speck in the zenith, and finally I could scarcely tell whether I saw it or not. But I still heard the song, one that never can be mistaken, so unlike is it to that of any other bird. At first one is at a loss whether to be pleased with it, and is tempted to compare it to the screaking of an ungreased wheelbarrow. " Quit, quit, quit, you silly rig and get away" it seems to say: the first three or four syllables being slowly and distinctly uttered, and the rest somewhat hurriedly run together. However, like the faces and voices of ^certain people, this ditty sweetens on acquaintance, and finally becomes a real source of pleasure.

But I must not be diverting. I am still looking into the deep blue, when the black speck unmistakably reappears, and gradually enlarges as the bird approaches. Down, down it comes, meteor-like, with wings almost closed, until one fears it will dash out its life on the earth. But no, it alights in safety, and steps along with all its wonted stateliness, dividing the time between its luncheon and its song. Many a time since, and sometimes as early as the last days of February, I have witnessed the same maneuver, and always with renewed pleasure. So Bayard Taylor is not mistaken after all, when, in his " Spring Pastoral," he speaks of

" Larks responding aloft to the mellow flute of the Bluebird."

And though the song of our bird can bear no comparison to the astounding song-flights of the European Skylark, their similarity of manner indicates the relationship of the two species.

In the northwest, on the prairies abont the Upper Missouri and its tributaries, is the Missouri Skylark, so admirably described by Dr. Coues, and which, in its lofty flight and great powers of song, seems scarcely if at all second to the famous bird of the Old World.

The Horned Lark is 7-7.50 inches long, somewhat larger than our ordinary-sized sparrow, its shape being about as peculiar as its voice. The bill is rather long for a song-bird, quite pointed, and a little curved; on its head are two tufts of erectile black feathers, from which it receives part of its common name. As in the case of other larks, but unlike the rest of the song birds, the scales of the leg extend

THE LESSER REDPOLL. 15

around behind; and its hind claw is very long and straight. This lark is always in a squatting position, with drooping tail when at rest. With a long, black patch on each cheek, a somewhat triangular black spot on the upper part of the breast, reddish light-brown above and dull white beneath, with yellow throat, long pointed wings tipped with black, and a tail of the same color, a peculiar undulating flight often accompanied with a soft tseep or tseepes, whether sitting, walking, or flying, this bird readily appeals to the eye of the observer. It was formerly placed in the fringillidce family among the sparrows and their relatives, but now stands with a Lark family, formed by later ornithologists. In the main, it is a seed-eating species, but also subsists largely on insects.

THE LESSER REDPOLL.

On this same day of indescribably beautiful hoar-frost my garden was visited by an immense flock of birds, common throughout New England and the Middle States during winter, but resident in the more northern climes in summer. They came in a cloud, the graceful curves of their undulating flight intersecting each other at all angles, while here and there one seemed to be describing unusually long, sweeping curves amidst the dense moving mass, as if throwing out a challenge to its more moderate companions. Cree-cree-cree-cree, shree-shree-shree-shree, coming in soft, lisping voices from hundreds of little throats, at once swells into a grand volume of sound, which indicates that nearly all are taking part in the animated conversation. They alight indiscriminately on trees, shrubs, and weeds, and also on the ground, and begin their search for food. Taking alarm readily, they resort to the leafless tree-tops in the vicinity, or, rising high, they leave the spot. This is decidedly our most beautiful bird of the winter. About the size of a canary, 5-5.50

16 THE LESSER REDPOLL.

and 8.50 in extent, the general color of the upper parts is a rich dark brown, every feather being delicately fringed with grayish white; around the base of the bill and extending down the throat is a band of dusky black; the top of the head is bright glossy crimson; on the lower part of the back, where the feathers are so deeply fringed with white that the brown almost disappears, there is a slight touch of carmine; and in the mature male the breast and under parts, which are ordinarily white streaked with brown on the sides, are finely tinged with rose-color. How these delicate tints of rose and carmine set off the winter landscape, appearing as gay as peach-blossoms in the leafless brown of early spring. Redpoll is a member of the same family with the sparrows (the FringiUidcd). From its noticeable resemblance to them and its delicately-tinted breast, it is sometimes called the Rose-breasted Sparrow, but is commonly known as the Lesser Redpoll. Dr. Coues gives the habitat of the Redpoll (/Egiothus linaria), "From Atlantic to Pacific, ranging irregularly southward in flocks in winter, to the Middle States (sometimes a little beyond) and corresponding latitudes in the west." As to its breeding, he cites Audubon, who says that it breeds "in Maine, Nova Scotia, Newfoundland, Labrador and the fur countries." The latter also describes the eggs as from four to six in number, measuring five-eighths of an inch in length, rather more than half an inch in diameter, and pale bluish-green in color, sparingly dotted with reddish-brown toward the larger end. Mr. C. O. Tracy, of Taftsville, Vt., says in the Ornithologist and Oologist, June, 1883: "The last of March, 1878, I found the nest and eggs of this species. The nest, now before me, is composed of fine, dry twigs, dried grasses, fine strips of fibrous bark, bits of twine, hair, fibrous roots, moss, dried leaves, pieces of cocoons, feathers, thistle-down,

THE CHICKADEE. 17

and other material, which are neatly woven together into a compact structure and lined with hair. It was placed very loosely among the top branches of a small spruce, about six feet from the ground, and contained three fresh eggs of a very pale bluish-green color, sparingly marked with spots and splashes of different shades of brown at the larger end. Dimensions, 72 X 48, 72 X 47, 71 X 48."

I once saw several of these birds which Mr. Bing of Rochester had trapped and trained. One had a soft belt around his body, under his wings, to which was fastened a small chain and a bucket about as big as a thimble, with which he drew water out of a deep dish, and drank. Another had a tiny car on a platform outside the cage; and as this little vehicle was fastened to the inside of the cage by a chain and contained his food, he would draw it in whenever he wished a repast. " Even after witnessing all this, I felt that, to me, the bird was but a stranger, for I had never heard its song nor seen its nest. A closely allied species or variety is found in Europe. The so-called Mealy Redpoll may be regarded as a paler variety of the common Redpoll — an Arctic race, not difficult to recognize, representing in America the true Mealy Redpoll (A. cancscens} of Greenland. The broad, whitish fringe of the plumage, the elegant rose-white rump, and the pale, rosy breast give a peculiar delicate beauty to this variety.

THE CHICKADEE.

I have finished my morning ramble, and am fairly seated in my study, when lo ! a familiar voice calls me to the window. Chickadcc-dce-dee, chick, chick, chickadee, chickadee-dee-dee-dee ; most cheerful and winning voice of a winter's day ! There they are, little Black-capped Titmice or Chickadees, finding a satisfactory repast in those frosted evergreens, where my

18 THE CHICKADEE.

eyes can detect nothing of the kind; standing upright, tipping forward, stretching upward, leaning to right and left, or hanging by the feet ; so brimful of contentment, so sweet-spirited and confiding, with so much of the sunshine of hope in their voices, that they are a most significant reproof to querulous, unsatisfied human nature.

Those above given are far from being the only notes of the Black-capped Chickadee (Parus atricapillus), if they have christened him. They seem to be especially his winter song, whether he be in the door-yard, in the deep forest, or in the crowded town; and the same vocal performance can hardly be said to characterize him in summer, though it is then occasionally heard. Throughout the year, but especially in the breeding season, he has many quaint little notes, sounding very much like subdued and familiar conversation. Tse-de-yay, tse-de-yay; tsip, tsip; and a soft, almost indescribable, peep, peep, are among his common utterances in secluded parts of the deep forest. How much of the happy, inner life of these little creatures may be communicated in these soft, musical phrases ! But that which pre-eminently constitutes the song of the Chickadee is a soft, elfin whistle of two notes, heard occasionally even in midwinter, but most commonly in the breeding season — Whee-hce. The former syllable is in the rising and the latter in the falling inflection; the whole being uttered in a soft, plaintive, tremulous, melting tone, which almost restrains one's breath while listening. It is the voice of pathethic tenderness, and makes one feel how much of conscious life may vibrate in the breast of a tiny bird.

Long years did I wait after becoming an ornithologist before I could get a glimpse of the nest of the Chickadee. On a beautiful, sunny 24th of May, in a thicket of Tonawanda Swamp, while I was studying the song of the Black-

THE CHICKADEE. 19

throated Green Warbler, a Chickadee dropped into the side of an old stump, just a few feet before me. The hole which it entered was near the top, about two feet and a half from the ground; and as the stump was mellow, it was not many minutes before I had sufficiently enlarged the passage with my jack-knife to get a good view of the inside. I have often felt the subduing influence of the familiar, trustful ways of this little bird, but never did it seem so gentle and confiding as now, peering up at me with such a mingled look of surprise and firmness, which, to say the least, was very disconcerting to an oologist.' The excavation was new, and evidently made by the bird itself. The nest consisted of a loose but well-made felt of moss, fibres of bark, down and hair. For safety and softness few nests could surpass it. The seven eggs -were a little smaller than those of the common Wren, some .64 x .51, of a delicate, flesh-tinted white, minutely dotted with red, the marks thickening and running together at the large end. In all respects this nest 'is representative. The nesting of any bird, however, is subject to variation. Sometimes the Chickadee makes its own excavation in a green tree, and sometimes it appropriates the abandoned nest of the Downy Woodpecker. It feeds especially on the larvae and eggs ofinsects.

About the size of a canary, some 5—5.25 long, and 7.75—8.25 in extent, its bill is short, somewhat thick, straight and strong; its head is large and its neck short, body plump and tail longish; it is deep, glossy black on the head, down the back of the neck and on the throat; cheeks pure white; upper parts dark drab, much lighter and yellowish on the rump; and of the same color, or somewhat lighter, underneath. These markings are strongly contrasted, and render the bird a conspicuous object at any time of year; but at

20 THE PINE GROSBEAK.

no time is one so forcibly impressed with the beauty, as also with the familiarity, of this gentle little creature as when meeting it in the depth of the forest on a bleak winter's day. Then the flock appear like bright and gracefully moving ornaments on the dark evergreens or leafless spray. Then this bird becomes the familiar companion of the solitary woodman, and will even venture to light on his arm and take from his hand the crumbs of his luncheon.

The Chickadee belongs to the Titmouse or Par idee family, and has many near relatives, such as the Mountain Chickadee, Chestnut-back Chickadee, Long-tailed Chickadee, etc., which resemble it very closely. Our species is a bird of the Northeastern States, extending to Alaska, replaced from Maryland and Illinois southward by the Carolina Titmouse, which Mr. Maynard regards as simply a smaller variety of the same species. About the size of our Black-cap, and in all respects similiar in habit, is the Hudson's Bay Titmouse (Parus Jiudsonius}. The jet black on the crown of the former is replaced by an elegant brown; the pure white on the cheeks by a grayish white; the back and sides are also tinged with brown; otherwise, their similarity in marking is close. Hudsanius is common to British North America, breeding as far south as Maine. I found it very common in Nova Scotia. Its strongly characterized note chect-a-djyday-day, cheet-a-day, uttered in a rather low key, may always distinguish it.

THE PINE GROSBEAK.

As I go out through the front yard during the forenoon, I almost run my head into a flock of Pine Grosbeaks (Pinicola enucleator), feeding eagerly on the berries of a mountain ash. The hoar-frost falls in a cloud as a dozen or more of them shake the spray and the branches in taking their food. About 8.50 in length, this species is very robust and plump,

•with a short, thick, almost hawk-like bill, and the tail slightly notched. The general color of the old male is bright crimson-red, the feathers, especially on the back, showing elegant centers of dusky ash; the lores, the sides of the head and body, and-the under tail coverts, ashy; two bands on the wing coverts, white; wings and tail, dusky. Female and young, ashy, variously marked or tinged with greenish yellow or light golden brown on the crown and' rump, or even over the back and breast As the male is no •doubt several years in reaching his bright colors- of maturity, nearly all the individuals visiting us in winter are -ashy. To the naturalist and artist the old males are a great desideratum. Scarcely can the southern climes send us a more brilliant migrant than this casual visitor from the north. Immature specimens may arrive in New England and the Middle States, already in the wake of Indian Summer, but only in severe winters are they common. Then the florl^ of I" --" may contain quite a sprinkling of the brilliant old males, and occasionally this species may extend its winter flight as far south as Maryland, Ohio, Illinois and Kansas.

As I fire into the flock in the mountain ash, they scatter into the surrounding trees, loth to fly away, and emit a loud and prolonged pecnk, sounding almost like the note of a hawk. Its song is said to be a pleasing warble. It breeds from northern Maine and the Maritime Provinces northward, being common about Moose Factory on James' Bay, and down the Rocky Mountains into Colorado. The nest, placed in trees, is made of sticks and grasses, and contains 3-4 eggs, oval, about .97 X .72, "pale bluish-green in color, spotted, dotted, and lined with brown and umber."

THE DOWNY WOODPECKER.

I was never naturally fond of a gun. But for the emergencies of natural history I should never have used much powder and shot; but I cannot, like Thoreau, become a naturalist without either gun or trap. He must have been on remarkably good terms with the inhabitants of the woods and the fields.

In the afternoon of this same day of the hoar-frost, I spied a Downy Woodpecker pounding away at a beautiful mountain ash in the front yard. Of course he would not hurt the tree, but I was tempted to get the bird; so, notwithstanding my poor marksmanship, I started with an old shot-gun to procure the specimen. As usual, the bird was very unsuspecting, and allowed me to come quite near. I fired, but, to my surprise, the bird flew to the next tree, apparently without the least surprise. ^ I loaded and fired again, but without securing my specimen, and, it would seem, without even alarming him. Again I fired, and again and again, and y:t the bird seemed as safe and self-possessed