XXIII. SNAKES
First Impression of a Tropical Forest--Exaggerated Fears-- Comparative rareness of Venomous Snakes--Their Habits and External Characters--Anecdote of the Prince of Neu Wied--The Bite of the Trigonocephalus--Antidotes--Fangs of the Venomous Snakes described--The Bush-master--The Echidna Ocellata-- The Rattlesnakes--Extirpated by Hogs--The Cobra de Capello-- Indian Snake-Charmers--Maritime Excursions of the Cobra--The Egyptian Haje--The Cerastes--Boas and Pythons--The Jiboya--The Anaconda--Enemies of the Serpents--The Secretary--The Adjutant-- The Mongoos--A Serpent swallowed by another--The Locomotion of Serpents--Anatomy of their Jaws--Serpents feeding in the Zoological Gardens--Domestication of the Rat-Snake--Water-Snakes.
On penetrating for the first time into a tropical forest, the traveller is moved by many conflicting emotions. This luxuriance of vegetation revelling in ever-changing forms, these giants of the woods clasped by the python-folds of enormous creepers, and bearing whole hosts of parasites on their knotty arms; this strange and unknown world of plants, harbouring in its impenetrable recesses a no less strange and unknown world of animals, all unite in filling the soul with pleasurable excitement; and yet the heart is, at the same time, chilled with vague fears, that mix like a discordant sound with the harmonies of this sylvan world. For in the hollows of the tangled roots and in the dense underwood of the forest a brood of noxious reptiles loves to conceal itself, and who knows whether a snake, armed with poisonous fangs, may not dart forth from the rustling foliage.
Gradually, however, these reflections wear away, and time and experience convince one that the snakes in the tropical woods are hardly more to be feared than in the forests of Germany or France, where also the viper will sometimes inflict a deadly wound. These reptiles are, indeed, far from being of so frequent occurrence as is generally believed; and on meeting with a snake, there is every probability of its belonging to the harmless species, which show themselves much more frequently by day, and are far more numerous. Even in India and Ceylon, where serpents are said to abound, they make their appearance so cautiously that the surprise of long residents is invariably expressed at their being so seldom seen.
Sir E. Tennent, who frequently performed journeys of two to five hundred miles through the jungle without seeing a single snake, never heard, during his long residence in Ceylon, of the death of a European being caused by the bite of one of these reptiles; and in almost every instance accidents to the natives happened at night, when the animal, having been surprised or trodden on, had inflicted the wound in self-defence. Thus, to avoid danger, the Singhalese, when obliged to leave their houses in the dark, carry a stick with a loose ring, the noise of which, as they strike it on the ground, is sufficient to warn the snakes to leave their path.
During his five years’ travels through the whole breadth of tropical America, from the Atlantic to the Pacific, M. de Castelnau, although ever on the search, collected no more than ninety-one serpents, of which only twenty-one were poisonous; a proof that they are not more frequently met with in the primitive forests of Brazil than in the jungles of India or Ceylon.
The habits of the venomous snakes, and the external characters by which they are distinguished from the harmless species, likewise tend to diminish the danger to be apprehended from them. Thus, their head is generally flat, broad, lanceolate; they have an aperture or slit on each cheek, behind the nostrils, and an elongated vertical pupil like many other nocturnal animals.
They are also generally slower and more indolent in their motions, and thus are more easily avoided. No venomous snake will ever be found on a tree, and on quietly approaching one in the forest or in the savannah, it will most likely creep away without disputing the path, as it is not very anxious uselessly to squander the venom which Nature gave it as the only means for procuring itself food.
‘There is not much danger in roving amongst snakes,’ says Waterton, who, from spending many a month in tropical wilds, may justly be called an excellent authority, ‘provided only that you have self-command. You must never approach them abruptly; if so, you are sure to pay for your rashness; because the idea of self-defence is predominant in every animal, and thus the snake, to defend himself from what he considers an attack upon him, makes the intruder feel the deadly effect of his envenomed fangs. The labarri snake is very poisonous, yet I have often approached within two yards of him without fear. I took care to advance very softly and gently, without moving my arms, and he always allowed me to have a fine view of him, without showing the least inclination to make a spring at me. He would appear to keep his eye fixed on me, as though suspicious, but that was all. Sometimes I have taken a stick ten feet long and placed it on the labarri’s back; he would then glide away without offering resistance. However, when I put the end of the stick abruptly to his head, he immediately opened his mouth, flew at it, and bit it.’ But although accidents from venomous snakes are comparatively rare, yet the consequences are dreadful when they do take place, and the sight of a cobra or a trigonocephalus preparing for its fatal spring may well appal the stoutest heart.
Prince Maximilian of Neu Wied, having wounded a tapir, was following the traces of his game along with his Indian hunter, when suddenly his companion uttered a loud scream. He had come too near a labarri snake, and the dense thicket prevented his escape. Fortunately the first glance of the distinguished naturalist fell upon the reptile, which with extended jaws and projecting fangs was ready to dart upon the Indian, but at the same moment, struck by a ball from the prince’s rifle, lay writhing on the ground. The Indian, though otherwise a strong-nerved man, was so paralysed by fear, that it was some time before he could recover his self-possession--a proof, among others, that it is superfluous to attribute a fascinating power to the venomous snakes, as the effects of terror are quite sufficient to explain why smaller animals, unable to flee the impending danger, become their unresisting victims, and even seem, as it were, wantonly to rush upon destruction. Thus Pöppig saw on the banks of the Huallaga an unfortunate frog, which, after being for some time unable to move, at length made a desperate leap towards a large snake that was all the time fixing its eye upon it, and thus paid for the confusion of its senses with the loss of its life.
A poor Indian girl that accompanied Schomburgk on his travels through the forests of Guiana was less fortunate than the Prince of Neu Wied’s companion. She was bitten by a trigonocephalus, and it was dreadful to see how soon the powers of life began to ebb under the fatal effects of the poison. The wound was immediately sucked, and spirits of ammonia, the usual remedy, profusely applied both externally and inwardly, but all in vain. In less than three minutes, a convulsive trembling shook the whole body, the face assumed a cadaverous aspect, dreadful pains raged in the heart, in the back, less in the wound itself; the dissolved blood flowed from the ears and nose, or was spasmodically ejected by the stomach; the pulse rose to 120–130 in the minute; the paralysis which first benumbed the bitten foot spread farther and farther, and in less than eight minutes the unfortunate girl was no longer to be recognised. The same day the foot swelled to shapeless dimensions, and she lay senseless until, after an agony of sixty-three hours, death relieved her from her sufferings.
A great many antidotes have been recommended against serpentine poison, but their very number proves their inefficacy. One of the most famous is the juice of a Peruvian climbing plant, the vejuco de huaco (Mikania Huaco, Kunth), the remarkable properties of which were first discovered by a negro, who observed that when the huaco, a kind of hawk which chiefly feeds on snakes, has been bitten by one of them, it immediately flies to the vejuco and eats some of its leaves.
It is a well-known fact that serpentine poison may be swallowed with impunity; it shows its effects only on mixing directly with the blood. A tight ligature above the wound, along with sucking, burning, or cutting it out, are thus very rational remedies for preventing the rapid propagation of the venom. Suction is, however, not always unattended with danger to the person who undertakes the friendly office. Thus Schomburgk relates the misfortunes of a poor Indian, whose son had been bitten in the cheek. The father instantly sucked the wound, but a hollow tooth conveyed the poison into his own body. His cheek swelled under excruciating pains, and without being able to save his son, his own health and vigour were for ever lost. For such are the dreadful consequences of this poison, that they incurably trouble the fountains of life. The wound generally breaks open every year, emitting a very offensive odour, and causes dreadful pains at every change of the weather.
Although all the venomous snakes produce morbid symptoms nearly similar, yet the strength of the poison varies according to the species of the serpent, and to the circumstances under which it is emitted. It is said to be most virulent during very hot weather, when the moon changes, or when the animal is about to cast its skin. The effects are naturally more powerful and rapid when a larger quantity of poison flows into the wound, and a snake with exhausted supplies from repeated bitings will evidently strike less fatally than another whose glands are inflated with poison after a long repose.
Before describing some of the most conspicuous of the venomous serpents, a few words on the simple but admirable mechanism of their delicate but needle-like fangs will not be out of place. Towards the point of the fang, which is invariably situated in the upper jaw, there is a little oblong aperture on the convex side of it, and through this there is a communication down the fang to the root, at which lies a little bag containing the poison. Thus, when the point of the fang is pressed, the root of the fang also presses against the bag and sends up a portion of the poison it contains. The fangs being extremely movable, can be voluntarily depressed or elevated; and as from their brittleness they are very liable to break, Nature, to provide for a loss that would be fatal, has added behind each of them smaller or subsidiary fangs ready to take their place in case of accident.
Unrivalled in the display of every lovely colour of the rainbow, and unmatched in the effects of his deadly poison, the bush-master or counacutchi (Lachesis rhombeata) glides on, sole monarch of the forests of Guiana or Brazil, as both man and beast fly before him. In size he surpasses most other venomous species, as he sometimes grows to the length of fourteen feet. Generally concealed among the fallen leaves of the forest, he lives on small birds, reptiles, and mammalians, whom he is able to pursue with surprising activity. Thus, Schomburgk once saw an opossum rushing through the forest, and closely followed by an enormous bush-master. Frightened to death and utterly exhausted, the panting animal ascended the stump of an old tree, and thence, as if rooted to the spot, looked with staring eyes on its enemy, who, rolled in a spiral coil, from which his head rose higher and higher, slowly and leisurely, as if conscious that his prey could not possibly escape him, prepared for his deadly spring. This time, however, the bush-master was mistaken, for a shot from Schomburgk’s rifle laid him writhing in the dust, while the opossum, saved by a miracle, ran off as fast as he could. Fortunately for the planter and negroes, the bush-master is a rare serpent, frequenting only the deepest shades of the thicket, where in the day-time he generally lies coiled upon the ground.
Still rarer, though if possible yet more formidable, is a small brown viper (Echidna ocellata), which infests the Peruvian forests. Its bite is said to be able to kill a strong man within two or three minutes. The Indian, when bitten by it, does not even attempt an antidote against the poison, but stoically bids adieu to his comrades, and lays himself down to die.
The ill-famed wide-extended race of the rattlesnakes, which ranges from South Brazil to Canada, belongs exclusively to the New World. They prefer the more elevated, dry, and stony regions, where they lie coiled up in the thorny bushes, and only attack such animals as come too near their lair. Their bite is said to be able to kill a horse or an ox in ten or twelve minutes; but, fortunately, they are afraid of man, and will not venture to attack him unless provoked. When roused to anger they are, however, very formidable, as their fangs penetrate through the strongest boot. One of the most remarkable features of their organisation is a kind of rattle terminating the tail, and consisting of a number of pieces inserted into each other, all alike in shape and size, hollow, and of a thin, elastic, brittle substance, like that of which the scales are externally formed. When provoked, the strong and rapid vibratory motions imparted to the rattle produce a sound which has been compared to that of knife-grinding, but is never loud enough to be heard at any distance, and becomes almost inaudible in rainy weather.
Naturalists distinguish at least a dozen different species of rattlesnakes, the commonest of which are the Boaquira (Crotalus horridus), which frequents the warmest regions of South America, and the Durissus (C. durissus), which has chosen the United States for its principal home. The chief enemy of this serpent is the hog, whom it dreads so much that on seeing one it immediately loses all its courage, and instantly takes to flight. But the hog, who smells it from afar, draws nearer and nearer, his bristles erected with excitement, seizes it by the neck, and devours it with great complacency, though without touching the head. As the hog is the invariable companion of the settler in the backwoods, the rattlesnake everywhere disappears before the advance of man, and it is to be hoped that a century or two hence it will be ranked among the extinct animals. The American Indians often regale on the rattlesnake. When they find it asleep, they put a small forked stick over its neck, which they keep immovably fixed to the ground, giving the snake a stick to bite, and this they pull back several times with great force, until they perceive that the poison-fangs are torn out. They then cut off the head, skin the body, and cook it as we do eels. The flesh is said to be white and excellent.
None of the American snakes inhabit the old world, but in the East Indies and Ceylon other no less dangerous species appear upon the scene, among which the celebrated Cobra de Capello is one of the most deadly.
As long as it is in a quiet mood, its neck is nowhere thicker than its head or other parts; but as soon as it is excited, it raises vertically the anterior part of its trunk, and dilating the hood on each side of the neck, which is curiously marked in the centre in black and white, like a pair of spectacles, advances against the aggressor by the undulating motion of the tail. It is not only met with in the cultivated grounds and plantations, but will creep into the houses and insinuate itself among the furniture. Bishop Heber heard at Patna of a lady who once lay a whole night with a cobra under her pillow. She repeatedly thought during the night that she felt something move, and in the morning when she snatched her pillow away, she saw the thick black throat, the square head, and the green diamond-like eyes of the reptile advanced within two inches of her neck. Fortunately the snake was without malice; but alas for her if she had during the night pressed him a little too roughly.
This is the snake so frequently exhibited by the Indian jugglers, who contrive by some unknown method to tame them so far as to perform certain movements in cadence, and to dance to the sound of music, with which the cobra seems much delighted, keeping time by a graceful motion of the head, erecting about half its length from the ground, and following the few simple notes of the conjuror’s flute with gentle curves like the undulating lines of a swan’s neck. It has been naturally supposed, before this could be done, that the poisonous fangs had been extracted; but Forbes, the author of ‘Oriental Memoirs,’ had nearly been taught at his cost that this is not always practised. Not doubting but that a cobra, which danced for an hour on the table while he painted it, had been disarmed of its fatal weapons, he frequently handled it to observe the beauty of the spots, and especially the spectacles on the hood. But the next morning his upper servant, who was a zealous Mussulman, came to him in great haste and desired he would instantly retire and praise the Almighty for his good fortune. Not understanding his meaning, Forbes told him that he had already performed his devotions, and had not so many stated prayers as the followers of his prophet. Mahomet then informed him that while purchasing some fruit in the bazaar, he observed the man who had been with him on the preceding evening entertaining the country people with the dancing snakes; they, according to their usual custom, sat on the ground around him, when, either from the music stopping too suddenly or from some other cause irritating the snake which he had so often handled, it darted at the throat of a young woman, and inflicted a wound of which she died in about half an hour. That the snake-charmers control the cobra not by extracting its fangs, but by courageously availing themselves of its timidity and reluctance to use them, was also proved during Sir E. Tennent’s residence in Ceylon by the death of one of these performers, whom his audience had provoked to attempt some unaccustomed familiarity with the cobra; it bit him on the wrist, and he expired the same evening.
The deserted nests of the termites are the favourite retreat of the sluggish and spiritless cobra, which watches from their apertures the toads and lizards on which it preys. On coming upon it, its only impulse is concealment; and when it is unable to escape, a few blows from a whip are sufficient to deprive it of life.
It is a curious fact that, though not a water-snake, the cobra sometimes takes considerable excursions by sea. When the ‘Wellington,’ a Government vessel employed in the inspection of the Ceylonese pearl-banks, was anchored about a quarter of a mile from land, a cobra was seen, about an hour before sunset, swimming vigorously towards the ship. It came within twelve yards, when the sailors assailed it with billets of wood and other missiles, and forced it to return to land.
The Egyptian Haje (Naja Haje), a near relation of the Indian cobra, is probably the asp of ancient authors, which Queen Cleopatra chose as the instrument of her death, to avoid figuring in the triumph of Augustus. Like the cobra, it inflates its neck when in a state of excitement, and as it raises its head on being approached, as if watchful for its safety, it was venerated by the ancient Egyptians as a symbol of divinity, and as the faithful guardian of their fields. Divine honours have, however, much more frequently been paid to the venomous snakes from the terror they inspire, than from far-fetched notions of beneficence. Several Indian tribes in North America adore the rattlesnake; and in the kingdom of Widah, on the coast of Guinea, a viper has its temple and ministers, and is no less carefully provided for than if it were an inmate of the Zoological Gardens.
The Cerastes, or horned viper, one of the most deadly serpents of the African deserts, is frequently exhibited by Egyptian jugglers, who handle and irritate it with impunity: they are supposed to render themselves invulnerable by the chewing of a certain root, but most likely, as in the case of the cobra-charmers, their secret consists in their courage and perfect knowledge of the animal’s nature.
Although the Boas and Pythons are unprovided with venomous fangs, yet, from their enormous size, they may well be ranked among the deadly snakes; for, as Waterton justly remarks, ‘it comes nearly to the same thing in the end whether the victim dies by poison from the fangs, which corrupts his blood, or whether his body be crushed to mummy and swallowed by a Python.’
The kingly Jiboya (Boa constrictor) inhabits the dry and sultry localities of the Brazilian forests, where he generally conceals himself in crevices and hollows in parts but little frequented by man, and sometimes attains a length of thirty feet. To catch his prey he ascends the trees, and lurks, hidden in the foliage, for the unfortunate agutis, pacas, and capybaras, whom their unlucky star may lead within his reach. When full-grown he seizes the passing deer; but, in spite of his large size, he is but little feared by the natives, as a single blow of a cudgel suffices to kill him. Prince Maximilian of Neu Wied tells us that the experienced hunter laughs when asked whether the Jiboya attacks and devours man.
The Sucuriaba, Anaconda, or Water Boa (Eunectes murinus), as it is variously named, abounds in the swampy lowlands of tropical America, where it attains so enormous a size that, according to trustworthy witnesses,[25] monsters more than sixty feet long are sometimes seen slowly crawling through the submerged groves of the Buriti palm. While lazily stretched out in the grass, it might easily be mistaken for the prostrate trunk of one of these noble trees. It passes most of its time, however, on the water, now reposing on a sand-bank with only its head above the surface of the stream, now rapidly swimming like an eel, or abandoning itself to the current of the river. Often, also, it suns itself on the sandy margin of the stream, or patiently awaits its prey, stretched out upon some rock or fallen tree. With sharp eye it observes all that swims in the waters, as well as all that flies over them, or all that comes to the banks to drink; neither fish nor aquatic bird is secure from its rapid assault, and woe to the capybara that comes within its grasp.
When preparing for an attack, it attaches itself with its tail to a tree or rock, and then suddenly darts its prodigious length upon its prey, the bones of which it breaks in its resistless folds before slowly swallowing it. A large snake will thus engulph a horse and its rider, or a whole ox as far as the horns, which eventually separate from the putrefying body. Even water-boas of a smaller size are able to swallow enormous masses; a deer and two pecaris were found in the stomach of one forty feet long. The chase of these hideous reptiles is not dangerous, for they are slow and cowardly, and a wound in the spine soon renders them stiff and unable to move. Their flesh is unfit to be eaten, but their fat is considered a remedy for consumption, and their tanned skin makes excellent coverings for saddles.
The boas principally inhabit America, although some species are likewise met with in Asia; but the still more formidable pythons are confined to the hot regions of the Old World. They are said to enlace even the tiger or the lion in their fatal embrace, and, to judge by their size and strength, this assertion seems by no means improbable.
The various serpent tribes are exposed to the attacks of many enemies, who fortunately keep their numbers within salutary bounds, and avenge the death of the countless insects, worms, toads, frogs, and lizards, that fall a prey to their strength or their venom. Several species of rapacious and aquatic birds live upon snakes, the American ostrich thins their ranks whenever he can, and the African Secretary is renowned for his prowess in serpentine warfare.
‘The battle was obstinate,’ says Le Vaillant, describing one of these conflicts, ‘and conducted with equal address on both sides. The serpent, feeling the inferiority of his strength, in his attempt to flee, and regain his hole, employed that cunning which is ascribed to him, while the bird, guessing his design, suddenly stopped him, and cut off his retreat by placing herself before him at a single leap. On whatever side the reptile endeavoured to make its escape, his enemy was still found before him. Then, uniting at once bravery and cunning, he erected himself boldly to intimidate the bird, and hissing dreadfully, displayed his menacing throat, inflamed eyes, and a head swelled with rage and venom. Sometimes this threatening appearance produced a momentary suspension of hostilities, but the bird soon returned to the charge, and covering her body with one of her wings as a buckler, struck her enemy with the horny protuberances upon the other, which, like little clubs, served the more effectually to knock him down as he raised himself to the blow; at last he staggered and fell, the conqueror then despatched him, and with one stroke of her bill laid open his skull.’
The secretary-eagle has now been successfully acclimatised in the West Indies, where he renders himself useful by the destruction of the venomous snakes with which the plantations are infested.
Gravely, ‘with measured step and slow,’ like a German philosopher cogitating over the nature of the absolute, but, as we shall presently see, much more profitably engaged, the adjutant wanders among the reeds on the banks of the muddy Ganges. The aspect of this colossal bird, measuring six feet in height and nearly fifteen from tip to tip of the wings, is far from being comely, as his enormous bill, his naked head and neck, except a few straggling curled hairs, his large craw hanging down the forepart of the neck like a pouch, and his long naked legs, are certainly no features of beauty. Suddenly he stops, dips his bill among the aquatic plants, and immediately raises it again triumphantly into the air, for a long snake, despairingly twisting and wriggling, strives vainly to escape from the formidable pincers which hold it in carcere duro. The bird throws back his head, and the reptile appears notably diminished in size; a few more gulps and it has entirely disappeared. And now the sedate bird continues his stately promenade with the self-satisfied mien of a merchant who has just made a successful speculation, and is engaged in the agreeable calculation of his gains. But, lo! again the monstrous bill descends, and the same scene is again repeated. The good services of the giant heron in clearing the land of noxious reptiles, and the havoc he is able to make among their ranks, may be judged of by the simple fact, that, on opening the body of one of them, a land-tortoise ten inches long and a large black cat were found entire within it, the former in the pouch, as a kind of stock in trade, the latter in the stomach, all ready for immediate consumption.
The Marabou Storks, though so intensely ugly, furnish in their superb white and downy plumes, which grow under their wings, a highly prized ornament of beauty. To procure these valuable feathers, of which each bird generally yields but four serviceable ones, they are bred in some villages in the neighbourhood of Calcutta, but may also be seen stalking about the streets of the ‘City of Palaces,’ where, on account of their scavenger utility, a heavy fine is imposed upon their destruction.
Brehin, who chased the Marabou on the banks of the White Nile, found him a most provoking game, always regulating his steps after those of his pursuer and keeping at a safe distance of two or three hundred paces. Such is his caution that he places sentinels to give notice of approaching danger, which is the more remarkable as he is one of the most voracious of birds.
Trusting to his agility and the certainty of his eye, the Indian ichneumon or Mongoos attacks without hesitation the most venomous serpents. The cobra, which drives even the leopard to flight, rises before the little creature with swelling hood and fury in its eye; but, swift as thought, the ichneumon, avoiding the death-stroke of the projecting fangs, leaps upon its back, and fastening his sharp teeth in the head, soon despatches the helpless reptile.
The serpents sometimes even feed upon their own brethren. Thus a rat-snake in the Zoological Gardens was once seen to devour a common Coluber Natrix, but not having taken the measure of his victim, he could not dispose of the last four inches of his tail, which stuck out rather jauntily from the side of his mouth, with very much the look of a cigar. After a quarter of an hour the tail began to exhibit a retrograde motion, and the swallowed snake was disgorged, nothing the worse for his living sepulchre, with the exception of the wound made by his partner when first he seized him.
A python in the same collection, who had lived for years on friendly terms with a brother nearly as large as himself, was found one morning sole tenant of his den. As the cage was secure, the keeper was puzzled to know how the serpent had escaped. At last it was observed that the remaining inmate had swollen remarkably during the night, when the truth came out.
When we consider that the snakes have neither legs, wings, nor fins, and are indeed deprived of all the usual means of locomotion, the rapidity of their progress is not a little surprising. On examining the anatomical structure of their body, however, it will be remarked that while we have only twelve pairs of ribs united in front by the breast-bone and cartilage, the snake has often more than three hundred, unconnected in front, and consequently much more free in their motions, a faculty which is still further increased by the great mobility of the spondyli of the backbone. Between the ribs and the broad transverse scales or plates which exist on the belly of all such serpents as move rapidly, we find numerous muscles connecting them one with another, and thus, amply provided with a whole system of strong pulleys and points of attachment, the reptile, bringing up the tail towards the head, by bending the body into one or more curves, and then again resting upon the tail and extending the body, glides swiftly along, not only upon even ground, but even sometimes from branch to branch, as the smallest hold suffices for its stretching out its body at a foot’s length into the air, and thus reaching another sallying point for further progress.
The anatomy of the serpent’s jaws is no less remarkable than the mechanism of its movements. In spite of their proverbial wisdom, snakes would not be able to exist unless they were able to swallow large animal masses at a time. For, however rapid their motions may be, those of their prey are in general still more active, and thus they are obliged to wait in ambush till a fortunate chance provides them with a copious meal. The victim is often much more bulky than the serpent itself, but still, without tearing it to pieces, it is able to engulph it in its swelling maw. For the two halves of its lower jaw do not coalesce like ours into one solid mass, but are merely connected in front by a loose ligament, so that each part can be moved separately. The bones of the upper jaw and palate are also loosely attached or articulated one with the other, and thus the whole mouth is capable of great distension. By this mechanism, aided by the numerous sharp teeth, which are so many little hooks with the point curved backwards, each side of the jaws and mouth being able to act as it were independently of the other, alternately hooks itself fast to the morsel, or advances to fasten itself farther on in a similar manner, and thus the reptile draws itself over its prey, somewhat in the same way as we draw a stocking over our leg, after having first, by breaking the bones, fashioned it into a convenient mass, and rendered its passage more easy by lubricating it with its saliva. Slowly the huge lump disappears behind the jaws, descends lower and lower beneath the scales, which seem ready to burst asunder with distension, and then the satisfied monster coils himself up once more to digest his meal in quiet. The time required for this purpose varies of course according to the size of the morsel; but often weeks or even months will pass before a boa awakens from the lethargic repose in which--the image of disgusting gluttony--he lies plunged after a superabundant meal.
The reptiles in the Zoological Gardens are offered food once a week, but even then their appetites are frequently not yet awakened, though great care is taken never to spoil their stomachs by excess.
This is the time for visiting the Reptile House, which otherwise offers but little amusement, as the great snakes have either retired from public life under their blankets, or lie coiled upon the branches of the trees in their dens. Three o’clock is the feeding-time, and the reptiles, which are on the look-out, seem to know full well the errand of the man who enters with the basket, against the side of which they hear the fluttering wings of the feathered victims, and the short stamp of the doomed rabbits. The keeper opens the door at the back of the den of the huge pythons, for these he need not fear, takes off their blanket and drops a rabbit, who hops from side to side, curious to inspect his new habitation, and probably finding it to his taste, sits on his haunches and leisurely begins to wash his face. Silently the python glides over the stones, uncurling his huge folds, looks for an instant upon his unconscious victim, and the next has seized him with his jaws. His contracting folds are twisted as swiftly as a whiplash round his shrieking prey, and for ten minutes the serpent lies still, maintaining his mortal knot until his prey is dead, when seizing it by the ears, he draws it through his vice-like grip, crushing every bone, and elongating the body preparatory to devouring it.
The arrangement for feeding the venomous kinds, is, of course, more cautious. The door opens at the top instead of at the side of the dens, and with good reason; for no sooner does the keeper remove with a crooked iron rod, the blanket from the cobra, than the reptile springs with inflated hood into an S-like attitude and darts laterally at his prey, whose sides have scarcely been pierced, when it is seized with tetanic spasms, and lies convulsed in a few seconds.
These instantaneous effects, almost as rapid as those of a mortal shot or of lightning itself, might at first sight seem to warrant the conclusion that the genius of evil had formed the venomous serpents to be his chosen agents of destruction; but at a nearer view, they afford but another proof of the beneficence of the Creator in providing weak, sober, and by no means cruel creatures, with a weapon which makes up to them for the want of speed, and at the same times abridges the torments of their victims.
Though generally the objects of abhorrence and fear, yet serpents sometimes render themselves useful or agreeable to man. Thus the rat-snake of Ceylon (Coryphodon Blumenbachii), in consideration of its services in destroying vermin, is often kept as a household pet, and so domesticated by the natives as to feed at their table.
The agility of this serpent in seizing its nimble-footed prey is truly wonderful. One day Sir Emerson Tennent had an opportunity of surprising a coryphodon which had just seized on a rat, and of covering it suddenly with a glass shade, before it had time to swallow its prey. The serpent, which appeared stunned with its own capture, allowed the rat to escape from its jaws, which cowered at one side of the glass in an agony of terror. On removing the shade, the rat, recovering its spirits, instantly bounded towards the nearest fence, but quick as lightning it was followed by its pursuer, which seized it before it could gain the hedge, through which the snake glided with its victim in its jaws.
The beautiful coral-snake (Elaps corallinus) is fondled by the Brazilian ladies, but the domestication of the dreaded cobras as protectors in the place of dogs, mentioned by Major Skinner, on undoubtedly good authority,[26] is still more remarkable. They glide about the house, going in and out at pleasure, a terror to thieves, but never attempting to harm the inmates.
The Tree-snakes offer many beautiful examples of the adaptation of colour to the animal’s pursuits, which we have already had occasion to admire in our brief review of the tropical insect world. They are frequently of an agreeable green or bluish hue, so as hardly to be distinguishable from the foliage among which they seek their prey, or where they themselves are liable to be seized upon by their enemies. They are often able vertically to ascend the smoothest trunks and branches, in search of squirrels and lizards, or to rifle the nests of birds.
The Water-snakes which infest some parts of the tropical seas, though far from equalling in size the vast proportions of the fabulous sea-serpent, are very formidable from their venomous bite. They have the back part of the body and tail very much compressed and raised vertically, so as to serve them as a paddle with which they rapidly cleave the waters.
XXIV. LIZARDS, FROGS AND TOADS
Their Multitude within the Tropics--The Geckoes--Anatomy of their Feet--The Anolis--Their Love of Fight--The Chameleon--Its wonderful Changes of Colour--Its Habits--Peculiarities of its Organisation--The Iguana--The Teju--The Water-Lizards--Lizard Worship on the Coast of Africa--The Flying Dragon--The Basilisk-- Frogs and Toads--The Pipa--The Bahia Toad--The Giant Toad--The Musical Toad--Brazilian and Surinam Tree-Frogs.
The equatorial regions may well be called the head-quarters of the lizard race, as these reptiles nowhere else appear in such a multitude of genera, species, and individuals. The stranger is struck with their numbers as soon as he sets his foot on a tropical shore, for on all sides, on the sands and in the forests, on banks and rocks, on the trees and on the ground, innumerable varieties of lizards are seen basking, rustling, crawling, climbing, or rapidly darting along.
The Geckoes might even claim to be ranked among the domestic animals, as they take up their abode in the dwellings of man, where they make themselves useful by the destruction of flies, spiders, and other noxious or disagreeable insects, which they almost always swallow entire, their throat being as broad as the opening of their jaws. During the day time they generally remain concealed in some dark crevice or chink, but towards evening they may be seen running along the steepest walls with marvellous rapidity, in keen pursuit of their prey, frequently standing still, nodding with their head, and uttering shrill tones, most likely by smacking their tongue against the palate. Their flattened flexible body seems to mould itself into the hollows, in which they often remain motionless for hours, and their generally dull colour harmonises so well with their resting-places, as to render them hardly distinguishable, a circumstance which answers the double purpose of masking their presence from the prey for which they lie in wait, and from the enemies that might be inclined to feast upon them. Among these, some of the smaller birds of prey--hawks and owls--are the most conspicuous, not to mention man, the arch-persecutor of almost every animal large enough to attract his notice.
How comes it that these nocturnal lizards, seemingly in defiance of the laws of gravitation, are thus able to adhere to ceilings or any other overhanging surfaces? An inspection of the soles of their broad feet will soon solve the enigma, for all their toes are considerably dilated on their margins, and divided beneath into a number of transverse lamellæ, parallel to each other, and generally without any longitudinal furrow. From these a fluid exudes which serves to attach the animal to the surface. They are also generally provided with sharp and crooked claws, retractile and movable, like those of a cat, and which render them good service in climbing trees.
In spite of their harmless nature, the Geckoes, their real utility being forgotten over imaginary grievances, nowhere enjoy a good reputation, probably in consequence of their ugliness and the wild expression of their large eyes. They are accused of tainting with a virulent secretion every object they touch, and of provoking an eruption on the skin merely by running over it--a popular prejudice which naturally causes many a poor inoffensive Gecko’s death. They abound all over the torrid zone, even in the remote islands of the Pacific, such as Tahiti and Vanikoro. Duméril, enumerates fifty-five different species, only two of which are indigenous in Southern Europe, while India monopolises no less than thirteen for her share.
Mr. Adams once witnessed in Borneo a desperate struggle between a Gecko and a large Tarantula spider. After a long and doubtful contest, the Gecko proved at length victorious, and succeeded in swallowing the insect, whose enormous legs, protruding from the lizard’s mouth, gave the animal the look of some monstrous cuttle-fish.
The graceful Anolis are peculiar to America. By the structure of their feet, provided with long unequal toes, they are related to the Geckoes, but are distinguished from them by a more slender form of body, by their extremely long thin tail, and a large neck-pouch, which dilates under the influence of excitement. These small and nimble creatures, the largest species seldom exceeding eight inches in length, are as touchy as fighting-cocks. On approaching them, they instantly blow up their pouch, open widely their diminutive jaws, and spring upon the aggressor, striving to bite him with their teeth, which, however, are too tiny to do much harm. Among each other they live in a perpetual state of warfare. As soon as one Anolis sees another, he makes a rapid advance, while his adversary awaits him with all the courage of a gallant knight. Before beginning the conflict, they make all sorts of menacing gestures, convulsively nodding their heads and puffing up their pouches, until finally they close in desperate struggle.
‘The meeting of these champions proud Seems like the bursting thunder-cloud.’
If they are of equal strength, the battle remains for some time undecided. At length the vanquished Anolis turns and runs away, but he may think himself fortunate if he escapes with the loss of his tail. Many of them are thus deprived of this ornamental appendage, which they voluntarily leave behind to avoid a still greater disaster, and then they become timid, melancholy, and fond of retirement, as if ashamed of being seen, only regaining their spirits when, by a wonderful power of reproduction, the amputated tail has been replaced by another.
Like many other lizards, the Anolis possesses the faculty of changing colour when under the influence of excitement, but of all animals, whether terrestrial or marine, none is more famous or remarkable in this respect than the Chameleon. It frequently happens that man, not satisfied with the wonders which Nature everywhere exposes to his view, adds to their marvels others of his own invention, and thus many a fable has been told about the Chameleon. It has been said, for instance, that it could emulate all the colours of the rainbow, but the more accurate observations of Hasselquist and other naturalists have shown that the whole change, which takes place most frequently when the Chameleon is exposed to full sunshine or under the influence of emotion, consists in its ordinary bluish-ash colour, turning to a green or yellowish hue with irregular spots of a dull red. Like many other reptiles, the Chameleon has the power of inflating its lungs and retaining the air for a long time so as one moment to appear as fat and well-fed as an alderman, and the next as lean and bony as a hungry disciple of the Muses. These alternating expansions and collapses seem to have a great influence on the change of colour, which, however, according to Milne-Edwards, is principally owing to the skin of the animal consisting of two differently coloured layers, placed one above the other, and changing their relative position under the influence of excitement.
In our cold and northern regions the captive Chameleon cuts but a sorry figure: but in his own and sunny regions, which extend from southern Spain and Sicily to the Cape, and eastwards from Arabia and Hindostan to Australia, it is said to be by no means deficient in beauty, in spite of its strangely-formed carinated head, its enormously projecting eyes, and its granulated skin. Its manner of hunting for the little winged insects, that form its principal food, is very peculiar. Although the movements of its head are very limited, on account of the shortness of its neck, this deficiency is amply supplied by the wide range of its vision, each eye being able to move about in all directions independently of the other. Thus, while one of them attentively gazes upon the heavens, the other minutely examines the ground, or while one of them rolls in its orbit, the other remains fixed; nay, their mobility is so great, that without even moving its stiff head, this wonderful lizard, like Janus, the double-faced god of ancient Rome, can see at the same time all that goes on before and behind it. When an insect comes flying along, the Chameleon, perched on a branch, and half concealed between the foliage, follows it in all its movements by means of his powerful telescopes, until the proper moment for action appears. Then, quick as thought, he darts forth, even to a distance of five or six inches, his long fleshy glutinous tongue, which is moreover furnished with a dilated and somewhat tubular tip, and drawing it back with the same lightning-like velocity, engulphs his prey. This independence of the eyes is owing to the imperfect sympathy which subsists between the two lobes of the brain and the two sets of nerves which ramify throughout the opposite sides of its frame. Hence also one side of the body may be asleep while the other is vigilant, one may be green while the other is ash-blue, and it is even said that the Chameleon is utterly unable to swim, because the muscles of both sides are incapable of acting in concert.
Destined for an arboreal life, he is provided with organs beautifully adapted for supporting himself on the flexible branches; for, besides the cylindrical tail nearly as long as his body which he coils round the boughs, his five toes are united two and three by a common skin, so as to form, as it were, a pair of pincers or a kind of hand, admirably suited for a hold-fast.
Among the Iguanas, a huge lizard tribe, characterised by a carinated back and tail, and a large denticulated gular pouch, the common or Great American Guana (Iguana tuberculata) deserves particular notice, as its white flesh is considered a great delicacy in Brazil and the West Indies. Notwithstanding its large size, for it not seldom attains a length of four or five feet, and the formidable appearance of its serrated back, it is in reality by no means of a warlike disposition, and so stupid that, instead of endeavouring to save itself by a timely flight, it merely stares with its large eyes, and inflates its pouch, while the noose is passing round its neck to drag it from its hole.
The Bahama Islands abound with Guanas, which form a great part of the subsistence of the inhabitants. They are caught by dogs, trained for the purpose, in the hollow rocks and trees where they nestle, and either carried alive for sale to Carolina, or kept for home consumption. They feed wholly on vegetables and food, particularly on a kind of fungus, growing at the roots of trees, and on the fruits of the different kinds of pine apples, whence their flesh most likely acquires its delicate flavour.
The famous South American monitory lizard or Teju (Tejus monitor) is one of the largest and most beautiful of the whole race, as he measures no less than five feet from the snout to the tip of the tail, which is nearly twice as long as the body, while his black colour, variegated with bright yellow bands and spots, produces an agreeable and pleasing effect. The head is small, the snout gradually tapers, the limbs are slender, and the tail, which is laterally compressed, gradually decreases towards the extremity. The Teju lives in cavities and hollows, frequently under the roots of trees. When pursued, he runs rapidly straight forward to his burrow; but when his retreat is intercepted, he defends himself valiantly, and proves a by no means contemptible antagonist, as he is able to bite through a thick boot, and a stroke with his strong and muscular tail will completely disable a dog. Though the Monitor generally lives on land, he is an excellent swimmer, and catches many a fish in its native element. His chief food, however, consists in various fruits, rats, mice, birds, and he also devours a large number of the eggs and young of the alligator. The attachment to man which is universally attributed to him in Brazil, and the warning which, like his relation the Monitor of the Nile, he is said to give to him of the approach of the cayman or the crocodile, by emitting a peculiar and shrill sound, are idle fables which hardly required the contradiction of Prince Maximilian of Neu Wied, who in all his travels never once heard the Teju’s monitory cry, although occasions were not wanting when it might have been of service.
The large Water-lizards (Hydrosauri) frequent the low river banks or the margins of springs, and although they may be seen basking on rocks or on the dead trunk of some prostrate tree in the heat of the sun, yet they appear more partial to the damp weeds and undergrowth in the neighbourhood of water. Their gait has somewhat more of the awkward lateral motion of the crocodile than of the lively action of the smaller saurians. When attacked, they lash violently with their tail, swaying it sideways with great force like the cayman. These modern types of the Ichthyosaurus have a graceful habit of extending the neck, and raising the head to look about them, and as you follow them leisurely over the rocks, or through the jungle, they frequently stop, turn their heads round, and take a deliberate survey of the intruder. They are by no means vicious, though they bite severely when provoked, acting, however, always on the defensive. On examining their stomachs, crabs, locusts, beetles, the remains of jumping fish, the scales of snakes, and bones of frogs and other small animals are discovered. Like that of the Iguanas, their flesh is delicate eating, resembling that of a very young sucking-pig. Mr. Adams gives us an amusing description of his contests with a gigantic Water-lizard (Hydrosaura giganteus): ‘Throwing myself on him, I wounded him with a clasp knife in the tail, but he managed to elude my grasp, and made for the woods. I succeeded, however, in tracking his retreating form, on hands and knees, through a low covered labyrinth in the dense undergrowth, until I saw him extended on a log; when, leaving the jungle, I called my servant, a marine, who was shooting specimens for me, and pointing out the couchant animal, desired him to shoot him in the neck, as I did not wish the head to be injured, which he accordingly did. Entering the jungle, I then closed with the wounded saurian, and seizing him by the throat, bore him in triumph to our quarters. Here he soon recovered; and hoping to preserve him alive to study his habits, I placed him in a Malay wicker hen-coop. As we were sitting, however, at dinner, the black cook, with great alarm depicted in his features, reported that ‘Alligator got out his cage!’ Seizing the carving knife, I rushed down, and was just in time to cut off his retreat into the adjoining swamp. Turning sharply round, he made a snap at my leg, and received in return a ‘Rowland for his Oliver’ in the shape of an inch or so of cold steel. After wrestling on the ground, and struggling through the deserted fire of our sable cook, I at length secured the runaway, tied him up to a post, and to prevent further mischief, ended his career by dividing the jugular. The length of this lizard from actual measurement was five feet ten inches and a half.’
These semi-aquatic, dingy-hued saurians are admirably adapted to the hot moist swamps and shallow lagoons that fringe the rivers of the tropical alluvial plains. As we watch their dark forms, plunging and wallowing in the water, or sluggishly moving over the soft and slimy mud, the imagination is carried back to the age of reptiles, when the muddy shores of the primæval ocean swarmed with their uncouth forms. The huge lizard, six or seven feet long, to which divine honours are paid at Bonny on the coast of Guinea, belongs most likely to this amphibious class. Undisturbed, the lazy monsters crawl heavily through the streets, and as they pass, the negroes reverentially make way. A white man is hardly allowed to look at them, and hurried as fast as possible out of their presence. An attempt was once made to kidnap one of these dull lizard-gods for the benefit of a profane museum, but the consequences were such as to prevent a repetition of the offence, for all trade and intercourse with the ships in harbour was immediately stopped, and affairs assumed so hostile an aspect, that the foreigners were but too glad to purchase peace with a considerable sacrifice of money and goods. When one of these lizards crawls into a house, it is considered a great piece of good fortune; and when it chooses to take a bath, the Bonnians hurry after it in their canoes. After having allowed it to swim a stretch, and to plunge several times, they seize it for fear of danger, and carry it back again to the land, well pleased at once more having the sacred reptile in their safe possession.
The formidable name of Flying Dragons has been given to a genus of small lizards, remarkable for the expansible cutaneous processes with which the sides are furnished, and by whose means they are enabled to spring with more facility from branch to branch, and even to support themselves for some time in the air, like the bat or flying-squirrel. The tiny painted Dragon of the East, the Flying Lizard of the woods, is fond of clinging with its wings to the smooth trunks of trees, and there remaining immovable, basking in the sun. When disturbed, it leaps and shuffles away in an awkward manner. One Mr. Adams had in his possession, reminded him of a bat when placed on the ground. Sometimes the strange creature would feign death, and remain perfectly motionless, drooping its head, and doubling its limbs, until it fancied the danger over, then cautiously raising its crouching form, it would look stealthily around, and be off in a moment. The dragon consumes flies in a slow and deliberate manner, swallowing them gradually; its various species belong exclusively to India and the islands of the Eastern Archipelago.
Who has not heard of the fatal glance of the basilisk, which, according to poetical fancy, obliged all other poisonous animals to keep at a respectful distance
‘from monster more abhorr’d than they’?
The truth is, that the ugly lizards that bear this dreaded name, which has been given them from the fanciful resemblance of their pointed occipital crest to a regal crown, are quite as harmless and inoffensive as the flying dragon. They are chiefly inhabitants of South America, where they generally lead a sylvian life, feeding on insects.
Among the toads of the torrid zone there is none more curious than the large and hideous Pipa Surinamensis, whose deformity is often aggravated by a phenomenon unexampled in the rest of the animal world, namely, the young in various stages of exclusion, proceeding from cells dispersed over the back of the parent. It was for a long time supposed that the ova of this extraordinary reptile were produced in the dorsal cells without having been first excluded in the form of spawn; but it is now thoroughly ascertained that the female Pipa deposits her eggs or spawn at the brink of some stagnant water, and that the male collects or amasses the heap of ova, and deposits them with great care on the back of the female, where, after impregnation, they are pressed into the cellules, which are at that period open for their reception, and afterwards close over them; thus retaining them till the period of their second birth, which happens in somewhat less than three months, when they emerge from the back of the parent in their complete state. The Pipa is fond of dark nooks and corners, and avoids the light of day as if conscious of its unrivalled hideousness.
Mr. Darwin thus describes a remarkable species of toad he noticed at Bahia. ‘Amongst the Batrachian reptiles, I found only one little toad, which was most singular from its colour. If we imagine, first, that it had been steeped in the blackest ink, and then, when dry, allowed to crawl over a board freshly painted with the brightest vermilion, so as to colour the sides of its feet and parts of its stomach, a good idea of its appearance will be gained. If it is an unnamed species, surely it ought to be called diabolicus, for it is a fit toad to preach in the ear of Eve. Instead of being nocturnal in its habits as other toads are, and living in damp and obscure recesses, it crawls during the heat of the day about the dry sand hillocks and arid plains, where not a single drop of water can be found. It must necessarily depend on the dew for its moisture, and this probably is absorbed by the skin, for it is known that these reptiles possess great powers of cutaneous absorption. At Maldonado I found one in a situation nearly as dry as at Bahia Blanca, and, thinking to give it a great treat, carried it to a pool of water; not only was the little animal unable to swim, but I think without help would soon have been drowned.’
The giant-toad (Bufo gigas, agua) frequents the Brazilian campos in such numbers that in the evening or after a shower of rain, when they come forth from their hiding-places to regale on the damp and murky atmosphere, the earth seems literally to swarm with them. They are double the size of our common toad, and are even said to attain, with their outstretched hind legs, a foot’s length, with a proportionate girth. Covered with unsightly warts, and of a dull grey colour, their aspect is repulsive, and when excited, they eject a liquid which is very much feared by the natives. Their voice is loud and disagreeable; while Guinea possesses, in the Breviceps gibbosus, a small toad which is said to sing delightfully, ‘charming the swamps with its melodious note.’
A Brazilian tree-frog, (Hyla crepitans) which adheres to the large leaves, not merely with its widened toes, but with its constantly viscid body, has a voice which sounds like the cracking of a large piece of wood, and generally proceeds from many throats at a time. On wandering through the forests of Brazil, Prince Maximilian of Neu Wied was often surprised by this singular concert issuing from the dark shades of the forest.
A Surinam tree-frog (Hyla micans) has the singular property of secreting a luminous slime, so as to look in the dark like a yellowish will-o’-the-wisp. Its voice is most disagreeable, and is said at times completely to overpower the orchestra of the theatre in Paramaribo, thus emulating the stentorian achievements of the Virginian bull-frog.
XXV. TORTOISES AND TURTLES
The Galapagos--The Elephantine Tortoise--The Marsh-Tortoises-- Mantega--River-Tortoises--Marine-Turtles--On the Brazilian Coast-- Their Numerous Enemies--The Island of Ascension--Turtle-Catching at the Bahama and Keeling Islands--Turtle caught by means of the Sucking-Fish--The Green Turtle--The Hawksbill Turtle-- Turtle Scaling in the Feejee Islands--Barbarous mode of selling Turtle-flesh in Ceylon--The Coriaceous Turtle--Its awful Shrieks.
In the South Sea, exposed to the vertical beams of the equatorial sun, lies a large group of uninhabited islands, on whose sterile shores you would look in vain for the palms, bananas, or bread-fruit trees of more favoured lands, as rain falls only upon the heights, and never descends to call forth plenty on the arid coasts.
And yet, this desolate group offers many points of interest to the naturalist, for the Galapagos or Tortoise Islands represent, as it were, a little world in themselves, a peculiar creation of animals and plants, reminding us, more strongly than the productions of any other land, of an earlier epoch of planetary life. Here are no less than twenty-six different species of land-birds, which, with one single exception, are found nowhere else. Their plumage is homely, like the flora of their native country; their tameness so great that they may be killed with a stick. A sea-mew, likewise peculiar to this group, mixes its shriek with the hoarse-resounding surge; lizards, existing in no other country, swarm about the shore, and the gigantic land-tortoise (Testudo indica, elephantina), although now spread over many other countries, is supposed by Mr. Darwin to have had its original seat in the Galapagos, where it was formerly found in such vast numbers as to have given the group its Spanish name. If the seafarer visits these treeless shores, which as yet produce nothing else worth gathering, it is chiefly for the purpose of catching a few of these huge animals, which, in spite of frequent persecutions, still amply reward a short sojourn with a rich supply of fresh meat. Their capture costs nothing but the trouble, for man has not yet drawn the boundary marks of property over the tenantless land.
The elephantine tortoise inhabits as well the low and sterile country, where it feeds on the fleshy leaves of the cactus, as the mountainous regions where the moist trade-wind calls forth a richer vegetation of ferns, grasses, and various trees. On this meagre food, which seems hardly sufficient for a goat, it thrives so well that three men are often scarcely able to lift it, and it not seldom furnishes more than 200 pounds of excellent meat.
‘The tortoise,’ says Mr. Darwin, ‘is very fond of water, drinking large quantities, and wallowing in the mud. The larger islands alone possess springs, and these are always situated towards the central parts, and at a considerable elevation. The tortoises, therefore, which frequent the lower districts, when thirsty, are obliged to travel from a long distance. Their broad and well-beaten paths radiate off in every direction, from the wells even down to the sea coast, and the Spaniards, by following them up, first discovered the watering places. When I landed at Chatham Island, I could not imagine what animal travelled so methodically along the well-chosen tracks. Near the springs it was a curious spectacle to behold many of these great monsters, one set eagerly travelling onward with outstretched necks, and another set returning after having drank their fill. When the tortoise arrives at the spring, quite regardless of any spectator, it buries its head in the water above the eyes, and greedily swallows great mouthfuls, at the rate of about ten in a minute. The inhabitants[27] say each animal stays three or four days in the neighbourhood of the water, and then returns to the lower country; but they differed in their accounts respecting the frequency of these visits. The animal probably regulates them according to the nature of the food which it has consumed. It is, however, certain that tortoises can subsist even on those islands where there is no other water than what falls during a few rainy days in the year. I believe it is well ascertained that the bladder of the frog acts as a reservoir for the moisture necessary to its existence--such seems to be the case with the tortoise. For some time after a visit to the springs, the urinary bladder of these animals is distended with fluid, which is said gradually to decrease in volume, and to become less pure. The inhabitants, when walking in the lower districts and overcome with thirst, often take advantage of this circumstance by killing a tortoise, and if the bladder is full, drinking its contents. In one I saw killed, the fluid was quite limpid, and had only a very slightly bitter taste.
‘The tortoises, when moving towards any definite point, travel by night and day, and arrive at their journey’s end much sooner than would be expected. The inhabitants, from observations on marked individuals, consider that they can move a distance of about eight miles in two or three days. One large tortoise, which I watched, I found walked at the rate of sixty yards in ten minutes, that is, three hundred and sixty in the hour, or four miles a day, allowing also a little time for it to eat on the road. The flesh of this animal is largely employed, both fresh and salted, and a beautifully clear oil is prepared from the fat.
‘When a tortoise is caught, the man makes a slit in the skin near its tail, so as to see inside its body, whether the fat under the dorsal plate is thick. If it is not, the animal is liberated, and it is said to recover soon from this strange operation. In order to secure the tortoises, it is not sufficient to turn them like turtle (their upper buckler being highly arched, while it is more flattened in the aquatic families, for the better adaptation of their forms to motion in a liquid), for they are often able to regain their upright position.’
They are said to be completely deaf; so much is certain, that they do not perceive a person even when walking close behind them. Mr. Darwin often amused himself by overtaking the slow and monstrous creatures, who, as soon as he had passed them, instantly withdrew their head and legs, and fell flat down with a loud hiss and heavy noise as if touched by lightning. He then mounted upon their back, and on giving them a smart slap or two on the hind part of their carapace, they rose and leisurely proceeded with their learned freight, the author of ‘Origin of Species’ finding it very difficult to maintain his equilibrium on this strange beast of burthen.
It is a remarkable fact, that though the land-tortoises are scattered in many places over the warmer regions of the globe, and even extend as far as Patagonia and the south of Europe, yet not a single one has hitherto been found in Australia, where, equally strange to say, no indigenous monkey exists.
The marsh tortoises, or Emydæ, have their chief seat in tropical America and the Indian Archipelago, where an abundance of swamps, lagoons, lakes, pools, and gently-flowing rivers favours the increase of their numbers. In the month of September, as soon as the sand-banks begin to be uncovered, the females deposit their eggs, scraping hollows of a considerable depth, covering them over carefully, smoothing and beating down the sand, and then walking across and across the place in various directions, for the purpose of concealment. There are such numbers of them, that some beaches are almost one mass of eggs beneath the surface, and here the Indians come to make oil. A canoe is filled with the eggs, which are all broken and mashed up together. The oil rises to the top, and is skimmed off and boiled, when it will keep, and is used both for light and for cooking. During this operation, the neighbouring strand swarms with carrion vultures, and the smell of the offal attracts also a number of alligators, eager to come in for their share of the feast. Millions of eggs are thus annually destroyed, and of those that remain a very small portion only arrives at maturity. When the young tortoises issue from the egg and run to the water, many enemies are awaiting them. Great alligators open their jaws, and swallow them by hundreds; the jaguars and the smaller felidæ from the forest come to feed upon them; eagles and buzzards and the great wood ibises attend the feast, and when they have escaped all these, there are many ravenous fishes which seize them in the stream.
The marsh-tortoises may be said to form the connecting link between the eminently aquatic marine and river chelonians and the land-tortoises, as the formation of their feet, armed with sharp claws or crooked nails, and furnished with a kind of flexible web, connecting their distinct and movable toes, allows them both to advance much quicker on the dry land than the latter, and to swim rapidly either on the surface or in the depth of the waters.
Endowed with more rapid powers of locomotion, they are not vegetarians, like the land-tortoises, but chiefly live on mollusks, fishes, frogs, toads, and annelides.
The river-tortoises differ in many respects from the sea-turtles, although formed like them for a purely aquatic life. In both families the extremities are complete fins, serving as oars, but the fore feet of the river-tortoises are not double the length of the hind feet, as we find in the marine chelonians; and while the latter have a short apoplectic neck, that of the river-tortoise is generally very long, and surmounted by a small and narrow head. The river-tortoises are exclusively confined to the warmer countries of the globe, and sometimes weigh as much as seventy pounds. It seems that during the night, and when they fancy themselves secure from danger, they repose upon the small river islands, or on rocks and trunks of trees that have fallen on the banks, or are drifted along by the current, and instantly plunge again into the water at the sight of man or at the least alarming noise. They are extremely voracious, and being very active swimmers, kill numbers of fish and reptiles. When they wish to seize their food or to defend themselves, they dart forwards their head and long neck with the velocity of lightning, and are said in this manner to surprise and seize even small birds that incautiously fly too near the surface of the water. They bite lustily with their sharp beak, never quitting their hold till they have fairly scooped out the morsel, so that the fishermen stand in great awe of their powerful mandibles, and generally cut off their head as soon as they are caught, rightly judging this to be the most radical means to prevent any further mischief. The Indians of the Amazons catch them either with the hook, net, or arrow. The last is the most ingenious method, and requires the most skill. The tortoise never shows its back above water, only rising to breathe, which it does by protruding its nostrils almost imperceptibly above the surface. The Indian’s keen eye perceives this, even at a considerable distance, but an arrow shot obliquely would glance off the smooth flat shell, so he shoots up into the air with such accurate judgment that the arrow falls nearly vertically upon the shell, which it penetrates, and remains securely fixed in the tortoise’s back. The head of the arrow fits loosely on to the shaft, and is connected with it by a long fine cord, carefully wound round it; as the tortoise dives they separate, the light shaft forming a float or buoy which the Indian secures, and by the attached cord draws the prize up into his canoe. In this manner almost all the tortoises sold in the small settlements on the Amazons are procured, and the little square vertical hole of the arrow-head may generally be seen in the shell.
The turtles, which are likewise inhabitants of the warmer latitudes, though sometimes a strange erratic propensity or mischance will carry them as far from their usual haunts as the North Sea, have, as we all know, a far greater commercial and gastronomic value than all the rest of the tortoise tribes.[28]
During the Brazilian summer (December, January, February), colossal turtles are seen everywhere swimming about along the coast, raising their thick round heads above the water, and waiting for the approach of night to land. The neighbouring Indians are their bitterest enemies, killing them whenever they can. Thus these dreary sand coasts, bounded on one side by the ocean and on the other by gloomy primæval forests, offer on all sides pictures of destruction, for the bones and shells of slaughtered turtles everywhere bestrew the ground. Two parallel grooves indicate the path of the turtle after landing; they are the marks of the four large and long fin-shaped feet or paddles, and between them may be seen a broad furrow where the heavy body trailed along the ground. On following these traces about thirty or forty yards shore-upwards, the huge animal may be found sitting in a flat excavation formed by its circular movements, and in which one half of its body is imbedded. It allows itself to be handled on all sides without making the least attempt to move away, being probably taught by instinct how useless all endeavours to escape would be. A blowing or snorting like that of a goose when any one approaches its nest, at the same time inflating its neck a little, are the sole signs of defence which it exhibits.
On the small islands of Talong, on the coast of Borneo, Mr. Brooke had an opportunity of seeing a turtle deposit its eggs. When on the sand it wandered from place to place, and tried several by digging a little, apparently rejecting them as unfit. At length, having made its choice, it buried its nose, and began scooping the sand with its hinder feet in a most deliberate and easy manner, throwing the sand to a considerable distance. It often stopped in its work and recommenced, and so dug till the body was pretty well buried, and the hole a depth of three or more feet. It then took its station over the hole and began to lay its eggs, which it did at intervals for a length of time, to the number of two hundred and thirty, and all the while was perfectly indifferent to the proximity of numerous spectators. Having deposited the eggs, it filled the hole with its hinder fins, and beat down the sand both on the spot and all around, and then retired, not directly (for the track would have been a guide to the nest), but in numerous tortuous courses, round and round, and finally took its departure for the sea at a point distant from its eggs. The Malays on watch have small sticks with flags on them, and as each turtle deposits its eggs they mark the spot with one of these, and the following morning take the eggs. With all their vigilance, however, numbers escape their observation, and some nests they purposely spare.
Similar scenes take place during the dry season throughout the whole of the tropical zone, on every sandy, unfrequented coast: for the same instinct which prompts the salmon to swim stream-upwards, the cod to seek elevated submarine banks, or the penguin to leave the high seas and settle for the summer on some dreary rock, attracts also the turtles from distances of fifty or sixty leagues to the shores of desert islands or solitary bays.
The enemies of the marine chelonians are no less numerous than those of the terrestrial or fluviatile species. While the full-grown turtles, as soon as they leave the water, are exposed to the attacks of many ravenous beasts, from the wild dog to the tiger or jaguar; storks, herons, and other strand- or sea-birds devour thousands upon thousands of the young before they reach the ocean, where sharks and other greedy fishes still further thin their ranks, so that but very few escape from the general massacre, and the whole race can only maintain itself by its great fecundity.
Of all the foes of the turtle-tribe there is, however, none more formidable than man, as even on the most lonely islands the seafarer lies in wait for them, eager to relieve the monotony of his coarse fare by an abundant supply of their luscious flesh.
On the isle of Ascension, the head-quarters of the finest turtle in the world, all the movements of the poor creatures are carefully watched, and when, after having deposited their eggs in the sand, they waddle again towards the sea, their retreat is often intercepted, for two stout hands running up to the unfortunate turtle after the completion of her task, one seizes a fore-flipper and dexterously shoves it under her belly to serve as a purchase; whilst the other, avoiding a stroke which might lame him, cants her over on her back, where she lies helpless. From fifteen to thirty are thus turned in a night. In the bays, when the surf or heavy rollers prevent the boats being beached to take on board the turtles when caught, they are hauled out to them by ropes.
In former times, as long as the island had neither master nor inhabitants, every ship’s crew that landed helped itself to as many turtles as it could catch; but since England has taken possession of the island, turtle-turning has been converted into a Government monopoly. They are kept in two large enclosures near the sea, which flows in and out, through a breakwater of large stones. A gallows is erected between the two ponds, where the turtles are slaughtered for shipping, by suspending them by the hind-flippers and then cutting their throats. Often above 300 turtles, of 400 lbs. and 500 lbs. each, are lying on the sand or swimming about in the ponds--a fine sight for an alderman.
The way by which the turtles are most commonly taken at the Bahama Islands is by striking them with a small iron peg of two inches long, put in a socket at the end of a staff of twelve feet long. Two men usually set out for this work in a canoe, one to row and gently steer the boat, while the other stands at the end of it with his weapon. The turtles are sometimes discovered by their swimming with their head and back out of the water, but they are more often seen lying at the bottom a fathom or more deep. If a turtle perceives he is discovered, he starts up to make his escape; the men in the boat, pursuing him, endeavour to keep sight of him, which they often lose and recover again by the turtle putting his nose out of the water to breathe.
On Keeling Island, Mr. Darwin witnessed another highly interesting method of catching turtle.
‘I accompanied Captain Fitzroy to an island at the head of the lagoon,’ says the eminent naturalist; ‘the channel was exceedingly intricate, winding through fields of delicately-branched corals. We saw several turtles, and two boats were then employed in catching them. The method is rather curious: the water is so clear and shallow that, although at first a turtle quickly dives out of sight, yet in a canoe, or boat under sail, the pursuers, after no very long chase, come up to it. A man, standing ready in the bows, at this moment dashes through the water upon the turtle’s back; then clinging with both hands by the shell of the neck, he is carried away till the animal becomes exhausted and is secured. It was quite an interesting chase to see the two boats thus doubling about, and the men dashing into the water trying to seize their prey.’
The Green turtle (Chelonia midas), which has been known to attain a length of seven feet, and a weight of 900 lbs., is most prized for its flesh; but the Hawksbill (Chelonia imbricata), which hardly reaches one-third of the size, is of far greater commercial value, the plates of its shell being stronger, thicker, and clearer than those of any other species. It is caught all over the tropical seas, but principally near the Moluccas, the West Indian, and the Feejee Islands, where it is preserved in pens by the chiefs, who have a barbarous way of removing the valuable part of the shell from the living animal. A burning brand is held close to the outer shell, until it curls up and separates a little from that beneath. Into the gap thus formed a small wooden wedge is then inserted, by which the whole is easily removed from the back. When stripped, the animal is again put into the pen, where it has full time for the growth of a new shell--for though the operation appears to give great pain, it is not fatal.
A similar cruel method of removing the tortoise’s shell by heat is resorted to in Ceylon; but the mode in which the flesh of the edible turtle is sold piecemeal, while it is still alive, by the fishermen of that island, is still more repulsive, and a disgrace to the Colonial Government which allows it to be openly practised. ‘The creatures,’ says Sir Emerson Tennent, ‘are to be seen in the market-place undergoing this frightful mutilation, the plastron and its integuments having been previously removed, and the animal thrown on its back, so as to display all the motions of the heart, viscera, and lungs. A broad knife, from twelve to eighteen inches in length, is first inserted at the left side, and the women, who are generally the operators, introduce one hand to scoop out the blood, which oozes slowly. The blade is next passed round till the lower shell is detached and placed to one side, and the internal organs exposed in full action. Each customer, as he applies, is served with any part selected, which is cut off as ordered, and sold by weight. Each of the fins is thus successively removed, with portions of the fat and flesh, the turtle showing by its contortions that each act of severance is productive of agony. In this state it lies for hours writhing in the sun, the heart and head being usually the last pieces selected; and till the latter is cut off, the snapping of the mouth, and the opening and closing of the eyes, show that life is still inherent, even when the shell has been nearly divested of its contents.’
The Coriaceous turtle (Sphargis coriacea), of a more elongated form than the other species, and whose outer covering, marked along its whole length by seven distinct, prominent, and tuberculated ridges, is not of a horny substance, but resembles strong leather, grows to the greatest size of all the marine chelonians, some having been taken above eight feet in length, and weighing no less than 1,600 lbs., so that even the crocodile can hardly be compared to it in bulk.
While the land-tortoises can scarcely be said to have a voice, merely hissing or blowing when irritated or seized, the Coriaceous turtle, when taken in a net or seriously wounded, utters loud shrieks, or cries, that may be heard at a considerable distance--a power which, in an inferior degree, seems to belong to most of the fluviatile and marine chelonians.
The turtles generally live on marine plants, but the Caouana, or Loggerhead (Chelonia caouana), and the Hawksbill (C. imbricata), feed on crustaceans and cuttle-fish, which they can easily crush in their strong, horny beak. The Caouana and the Coriaceous turtles are frequently found in the Mediterranean, and on the coasts of South America and Africa. Both are of no commercial importance; their shell is almost useless, and their flesh, which, like that of the alligator, exhales a strong smell of musk, is extremely coarse and ill flavoured.
XXVI. CROCODILES AND ALLIGATORS
Their Habits--The Gavial and the Tiger--Mode of Seizing their Prey-- Their Voice--Their Preference of Human Flesh--Alligator against Alligator--Wonderful Tenacity of Life--Tenderness of the Female Cayman for her Young--The Crocodile of the Nile--Its Longevity-- Enemies of the Crocodile--Torpidity of Crocodiles during the Dry Season--Their Awakening from their Lethargy with the First Rains-- ‘Tickling a Crocodile.’
There was a time, long before man appeared upon the scene, when huge Crocodiles swarmed in the rivers of England, and, for aught we know, basked on the very spot where now their grim representatives can hardly be said to adorn the grounds of Sydenham Palace.
But the day when the ferocious, bone-harnessed Saurians lorded it in the European streams has passed, never to return; the diminished warmth of what are now the temperate regions of the globe having long since confined them to the large rivers and lagunes of the torrid zone. The scourge and terror of all that lives in the waters which they frequent, they may with full justice be called the very images of depravity, as perhaps no animals in existence bear in their countenance more decided marks of cruelty and malice. The depressed head, so significant of a low cerebral development; the vast maw, garnished with formidable rows of conical teeth, entirely made for snatch and swallow; the elongated mud-coloured body, with its long lizard-like tail, resting on short legs, stamp them with a peculiar frightfulness, and proclaim the baseness of their instincts.
The short-snouted, broad-headed Alligators, or Caymen, belong to the New World; the Gavials, distinguished by their straight, long, and narrow jaw, are exclusively Indian; while the oblong-headed Crocodiles are not only found in Africa and Asia, but likewise infest the swamps and rivers of America. All these animals, however, though different in form and name, have everywhere similar habits and manners; so that, in general, what is remarked of the one may be applied to the others.
Formed for an aquatic life they are very active in the water, darting along with great rapidity by means of their strong muscular tail and their webbed hind feet. They sometimes bask in the sunbeams on the banks of the rivers, but oftener float on the surface, where, concealing their head and feet, they appear like the rough trunk of a tree, both in shape and colour, and thus are enabled the more easily to deceive and catch their prey.
In America, many a slow-paced Capybara, or water-pig, coming in the dusk of evening to slake its thirst in the lagune, has been suddenly seized by an insidious Alligator; and the Gangetic Gavial is said to make even the tiger his prey. When the latter quits the thick cover of the jungle to drink at the stream, the Gavial, concealed under water, steals along the bank, and, suddenly emerging, furiously attacks the tiger, who never declines the combat; and though in the struggle the Gavial frequently loses his eyes and receives dreadful wounds on the head, he at length drags his adversary into the water, and there devours him.[29]
In order to observe the manner in which the Alligator seizes its prey, Richard Schomburgk frequently tied a bird or some large fish to a piece of wood, and then turned it adrift upon the stream. Scarcely had the Cayman perceived his victim than he slowly and cautiously approached, without even rippling the surface of the water, and then curving his back, hurled his prey, by a stroke of his tail, into his wide-extended jaws.
On the American streams, the stillness of the night is often interrupted by the clacking of the Cayman’s teeth, and the lashing of his tail upon the waters. The singular and awful sound of his voice can also readily be distinguished from that of all the other beasts of the wilderness. It is like a suppressed sigh, bursting forth all of a sudden, and so loud as to be heard above a mile off. First, one emits this horrible noise; then another answers him; and far and wide the repetition of the sound proclaims that the Caymen are awake. When these hideous creatures have once tasted the flesh of man, they are said, like the cannibals of the Feejee Islands, to prefer it to that of any animal.
During Humboldt’s stay at Angostura, a monstrous Cayman seized an Indian by the leg while he was busy pushing his boat ashore in a shallow lagune, and immediately dragged him down into the deeper water. The cries of the unfortunate victim soon attracted a large number of spectators, who witnessed the astonishing courage with which he searched in his pocket for a knife. Not finding a weapon, he then seized the reptile by the head, and pressed his fingers into its eyes-- a method which saved Mungo Park’s negro from a similar fate. In this case, however, the monster did not let go his hold, but disappearing under the surface with the Indian, came up again with him as soon as he was drowned, and dragged the body to a neighbouring island.
‘One Sunday evening,’ says Waterton, ‘some years ago, as I was walking with Don Felipe de Yriarte, Governor of Angostura, on the bank of the Orinoco--“Stop here a minute or two, Don Carlos,” said he to me, “while I recount a sad accident. One fine evening, last year, as the people of Angostura were sauntering up and down in the Alameda, I was within twenty yards of this place, when I saw a large Cayman rush out of the river, seize a man, and carry him down, before anybody had it in his power to assist him. The screams of the poor fellow were terrible, as the Cayman was running off with him. He plunged into the river with his prey; we instantly lost sight of him, and never saw or heard him more.”’
Humboldt also relates that, during the inundations of the Orinoco, alligators will sometimes make their appearance in the very streets of Angostura, where they have been known to attack and drag away a human prey.
Even among each other, these ferocious animals frequently engage in deadly conflict. Thus, Richard Schomburgk once saw a prodigiously large Cayman seize one of a smaller species (Champsa vallifrons) by the middle of the body, so that the head and tail projected on both sides of its muzzle. Now both of them disappeared under the surface, so that only the agitated waters of the otherwise calm river announced the death-struggle going on beneath; and then again the monsters reappeared, wildly beating the surface; so that it was hardly possible to distinguish here a tail, or there a monstrous head, in the seething whirlpool. At length, however, the tumult subsided, and the large Cayman was seen leisurely swimming to a sand-bank, where he immediately began to feed upon his prey.
The same traveller relates an interesting example of the Cayman’s tenacity of life. One of them having been wounded with a strong harpoon, was dragged upon a sand-bank. Here the rays of the sun seemed to infuse new life into the monster, for, awakening from his death-like torpidity, he suddenly snapped about him with such rage that Schomburgk and his assistants thought it prudent to retreat to a safer distance. Seizing a long and mighty pole, the bravest of the Indians now went towards the Cayman, who awaited the attack with wide-extended jaws, and plunged the stake deep into his maw--a morsel which the brute did not seem to relish. Meanwhile two other Indians approached him from behind, and kept striking him with thick clubs upon the extremity of the tail. At every blow upon this sensitive part, the monster bounded in the air and extended his frightful jaws, which were each time immediately regaled with a fresh thrust of the pole. After a long and furious battle, the Cayman, who measured twelve feet in length, was at last slain. Another remarkable instance of the vitality of the common crocodile is mentioned by Sir E. Tennent. A gentleman at Galle having caught on a baited hook an unusually large one, it was disembowelled by his coolies, the aperture in the stomach being left expanded by a stick placed across it. On returning, in the afternoon, with a view to secure the head, they found that the creature had crawled for some distance, and made its escape into the water.
We all know the intense hatred which sailors bear to the shark, and with what savage delight they drag one on board, and hack him to pieces with their knives before life is extinct; but the American Indian is a no less inveterate enemy of the Cayman, and, when occasion offers, lets him feel the full extent of his inventive cruelty. Among the Javanese, on the contrary, we find the crocodile considered as a sacred animal, on account of his clearing the rivers and lagunes of putrefying substances; and the friendship even seems to be reciprocal, as Bennett saw Javanese convicts busy working up to their middle in water, quite near the monsters.
Like the sea-turtles, the crocodiles generally deposit their eggs, which are about the size of those of a goose, and covered with a calcareous shell, in holes made in the sand, leaving them to be hatched by the warm rays of the tropical sun. In some parts of America, however, they have been observed to resort to a more ingenious method, denoting a degree of provident instinct which could hardly have been expected in a cold-blooded reptile. Raising a small hillock on the banks of the river, and hollowing it out in the middle, they collect a quantity of leaves and other vegetable matters, in which they deposit their eggs. These are covered with the leaves, and are hatched by the heat extricated during their putrefaction, along with that of the atmosphere.
Callous to every other generous sentiment, the female Cayman continues for some time after their birth to watch over her young with great care. One day, as Richard Schomburgk, accompanied by an Indian, was busy fishing on the banks of the Essequibo, he suddenly heard in the water a strange noise, resembling the mewing of young cats. With eager curiosity he climbed along the trunk of a tree overhanging the river, about three feet above the water, and saw beneath him a brood of young alligators, about a foot and a half long. On his seizing and lifting one of them out of the water, the mother, a creature of prodigious size, suddenly emerged with an appalling roar, making desperate efforts to reach her wriggling and screeching offspring, and increasing in rage every time Schomburgk tantalised her by holding it out to her. Having been wounded with an arrow, she retired for a few moments, and then again returned with redoubled fury, lashing the waters into foam by the repeated strokes of her tail. Schomburgk now cautiously retreated, as in case of a fall into the water below, he would have had but little reason to expect a friendly reception, the monster pertinaciously following him to the bank, but not deeming it advisable to land, as here it seemed to feel its helplessness. The scales of the captured young one were quite soft and pliable, as it was only a few days old, but it already had the peculiar musk-like smell which characterises the full-grown reptile.
The sight of the first crocodile he meets with, lying on a flat sand-bank of the Nile, is a great event in the traveller’s life in Egypt. With all the eagerness of curiosity he first seizes his telescope to have a look at the monster, and then his gun, to drive, if possible, a bullet through its harnessed skin. But long before the enemy approaches, the wary reptile creeps slowly into the river, and plunging into the water, mocks all further pursuit. If the sportsman wishes to become better acquainted with the leviathan, he must wander farther to the South. The thousands of crocodile mummies piled up in the pits of Monfaloot, prove that in ancient times the dreaded reptile must have been common in the land of the Pharaohs; at present this can only be affirmed of the Sudan, where one may reckon with certainty upon finding a crocodile upon every sand-bank of the two Niles. The favourite resorts of the crocodile are quiet places in the rivers, where it can bask undisturbed in the sun; the cataracts it seems are not to its taste. It is no lover of change, for old men affirm that since their childhood they have seen the same crocodile invariably make its appearance upon the same island, nor is there reason to doubt their word, as the reptile attains an extreme old age. A life of a hundred years is exceptional with man, with the crocodile it is probably but a part of its existence. At its birth the animal issues from an egg not bigger than that of a goose; it grows very slowly like all amphibia, and yet reaches the enormous length of twenty feet. When bursting its shell it is scarce nine inches long; after a year it attains the double, sometimes the triple length, and then grows slower. On comparing the full-grown with the new-born crocodile, one can hardly conceive how this neat little creature can ever expand to such a size.
In spite of its unwieldy appearance, the crocodile is by no means awkward in its movements. The web uniting the four toes of its hind feet, and its long oar-like tail, enable it to catch fish without difficulty, but also on land it is far from being slow. According to Brehm, an excellent observer, it moves in every direction with the greatest ease, and is able to turn in a circle, the diameter of which is about equal to its length--so that running backwards and forwards, so warmly recommended by the inventors of fables, as the best means to escape the reptile, would hardly be of use. Fortunately, the crocodile on land never gives occasion to show the fallacy of this method, as it invariably runs away at the approach of man. During his journeys in Fassokl, Dr. Penney disturbed a crocodile which had hidden itself in a heap of dried leaves. The animal fled at the approach of the riders, and ran bellowing in a direct line to the river, which was several miles distant. It was impossible to come up to it with the swiftest dromedaries.
The chief food of the gigantic reptile consists of fishes, but nothing living, which it can reach and master, comes amiss to its voracity. Land animals it generally surprises while drinking. Slowly it approaches, swimming under the surface of the water; then suddenly darts its head forward, seizes its prey, drags it into the water, and leisurely devours it, though as some believe not before the carcass is in a certain state of putrefaction. Its human victims are generally those whom it seizes while wading into the river to fetch water. The dogs in the neighbourhood of the Nile hate and fear the crocodile. While a dog born in the interior of the country will approach the stream without any signs of shyness, the others are extremely cautious, drink quickly, having all the time an attentive eye upon the water. Their hatred shows itself in their rage at sight of a great lizard.
But the natives also testify on every occasion their but too well-founded fear of the harnessed monster, for in all Sudan there is not a village on the banks of the two rivers which has not to deplore the loss of more than one of its inhabitants from the insidious attack of the crocodile.
According to the natives, the hideous reptile possesses a true friend in a small bird (Hyas Ægyptiacus), called by the Arabs Rhafihr-el-Timsach, or the ‘crocodile’s guardian’--a not inappropriate name, though the bird performs the part of a guardian not from any friendly feeling but accidentally. It lives on the islands and flat banks of the Nile and its tributaries, and being extremely swift has no reason to fear the crocodile. It runs without the least hesitation over the back of the sleeping monster, feeds on the leeches and water-insects that may have settled there, and seems to consider it as harmless as a log of wood. Its habit of uttering a piercing cry at the sight of man betrays his approach to the crocodile, who generally awakes and creeps into the water.
The young of the crocodiles have no less numerous enemies than those of the snakes. Many an egg is destroyed in the hot sand by small carnivora, or birds, before it can be hatched; and as soon as the young creep out of the broken shell, and instinctively move to the waters, the herons, cranes and other long-legged wading birds gobble up many of them, so that their span of life is short indeed. In the water they are not only the prey of various sharp-toothed fishes, but even of the males of their own species, while the females do all they can to protect them. Even man not only kills the crocodile in self-defence, or for the sake of sport, but for the purpose of regaling upon its flesh. In the Siamese markets, crocodiles, large and small, may be seen hanging in the butchers’ stalls; and Captain Stokes,[30] who more than once supped off alligators’ steaks, informs us that the meat is by no means bad.
According to one of those zoological fables which by frequent repetition usurp the authority of facts, the Ichneumon or Pharaoh’s Rat, a small animal closely resembling the weasel tribe, is supposed to be the most dangerous enemy of the full grown crocodile. It is said to creep into the maw of the unwieldy reptile when asleep, to penetrate into its stomach, to tear its heart, and then with its sharp teeth to cut its way out of the dead Leviathan’s body. In plain truth the Ichneumon is a far more dangerous enemy to rats, mice, lizards, snakes and little birds, than to the huge crocodile, and instead of being esteemed for his imaginary service as he is supposed to have been by the ancient Egyptians, is detested by the fellah as the active plunderer of his pigeon cots and hen roosts. A similar fable relates that in the rivers of America, a tortoise of the genus Cinyxis, after having been swallowed by the alligator, and thanks to its shelly case arriving unharmed in its stomach, eats its way out again with its sharp beak, thus putting the monster to an excruciating death.
I have already mentioned, in the chapter on the Llanos, that in many tropical countries the aridity of the dry season produces a similar torpidity in reptile life to that which is caused by the cold of winter in the higher latitudes. In Ceylon, when the tanks become exhausted, the marsh-crocodiles are sometimes encountered wandering in search of water in the jungle; but generally, during the extreme drought, they bury themselves in the sand, where they remain in a state of torpor, till released by the recurrence of the rains. Sir Emerson Tennent, whilst riding across the parched bed of a tank, was shown the recess, still bearing the form and impress of the crocodile, out of which the animal had been seen to emerge the day before. A story was also related to him of an officer who, having pitched his tent in a similar position, had been disturbed during the night by feeling a movement of the earth below his bed, from which, on the following day, a crocodile emerged, making its appearance from beneath the matting.
Like the rattlesnake, crocodiles seem to possess the power of fascinating their prey, or rather of completely depriving their victims of all presence of mind, by the terror which they inspire. In Sumatra, Marsden once saw a large crocodile in a river, looking up to an overhanging tree, on which a number of small monkeys were sitting. The poor creatures were so beside themselves for fright, that instead of escaping to the land, which they might easily have done, they hurried towards the extremities of the branches, and at length fell into the water, where the dreadful monster was awaiting them.
Crocodiles sometimes indulge in strange wanderings. Chamisso mentions one having been drifted to Eap, one of the Carolines, where it was killed after having devoured a woman; and about thirty years ago, the inhabitants of one of the Feejee Islands were equally astonished and alarmed at seeing a large crocodile emerge from the lagune, and lazily creep on shore. At first they took it for some marine deity; but it soon proved that its visit was not of a beneficent nature, as it seized and devoured nine of them at various intervals. After many unavailing attempts to destroy the monster, it was at length caught with a sling passed over the bough of a large tree, the other end of the rope being held at a distance by fourteen men who lay concealed, while one of the party offered himself as a bait to entice the reptile to run into the snare. Captain Fitzroy (‘Voyage of the Beagle’), who relates the fact, supposes that the animal must have been drifted all the way from the East Indies--a voyage which, in fact, is not more surprising than to see a turtle land upon the shores of the North Sea, or a sperm whale flounder about in the Thames.
Like many other of the lower animals, the crocodile, when surprised, endeavours to save himself by feigning death. Sir Emerson Tennent relates an amusing anecdote of one that was found sleeping several hundred yards from the water. ‘The terror of the poor wretch was extreme when he awoke and found himself discovered and completely surrounded. He was a hideous creature, and evidently of prodigious strength, had he been in a condition to exert it; but consternation completely paralysed him. He started to his feet, and turned round in a circle, hissing and clacking his bony jaws, with his ugly green eye intently fixed upon us. On being struck, he lay perfectly quiet and apparently dead. Presently he looked round cunningly, and made a rush towards the water; but on a second blow he lay again motionless. We tried to rouse him, but without effect; pulled his tail, slapped his back, struck his hard scales, and teased him in every way, but all in vain: nothing would induce him to move, till, accidentally, my son, a boy of twelve years old, tickled him gently under the arm, and in an instant he drew it close to his side, and turned to avoid a repetition of the experiment. Again he was touched under the other arm, and the same emotion was exhibited, the great monster twisting about like an infant to avoid being tickled.’
XXVII. TROPICAL BIRD LIFE
The Toucan--Its Quarrelsome Character--The Humming-birds--Their wide Range over the New World--Their Habits--Their Enemies-- Their Courage--The Cotingas--The Campanero--The Tangaras--The Manakins--The Cock of the Rock--The Troopials--The Baltimore-- The Pendulous Nests of the Cassiques--The Mocking-bird--Strange Voices of Tropical Birds--The Goat-Sucker’s Wail--The Organista-- The Cilgero--The Flamingos--The Scarlet Ibis--The Jabiru--The Roseate Spoon-bill--The Jacana--The Calao--The Sun-birds--The Melithreptes--The Argus--The Peacock--Tropical Waders of the Old World--The African Ibis--The Numidian Crane--Australian Birds-- The Lyre Bird--The Birds of Paradise--African Weaving-birds-- Social Grosbeak--The Baya--The Tailor-bird--The Honey Eaters--The Rock Warbler--The Dicæum--The Bower-birds--The Talegalla--Birds of Passage.
Useful in many respects to man, no class of animals is more interesting or agreeable to him than that of the Birds, whether we consider the beauty of their plumage, the grace of their movements, the melody of their voice, or the instinct that regulates their migrations and prompts them to construct their nests; so that their study forms, without doubt, one of the most attractive departments in the whole range of natural history.
But it is at the same time one of the most difficult, particularly in countries where man has not yet mastered the powers of vegetation, where numberless creepers and bush-ropes render the forest impenetrable, and the pathless wilderness obstructs the observer at every step. Thus it is by no means surprising that so many secrets still veil the life of the tropical birds--that comparatively so little is known as yet of their economy and mode of existence.
Many families of birds have a wide range over the whole earth: falcons hover over the Siberian fir-woods, as over the forests of the Amazons; in every zone are found woodpeckers, owls, and long-beaked martin-fishers, while thrushes enliven with their song both the shades of the beech-woods and the twilight of the cocoa-nut groves. In the north and in the south, fly-catchers carry destruction among the numerous insect-tribes; in every latitude, crows cleanse the fields of vermin; and swallows, pigeons, ducks, gulls, petrels, divers, and plovers frequent the fields and lakes, the banks and shores in all parts of the world.
Thus the class of birds shows us a great similarity in the distribution of its various forms all over the earth; and we find the same resemblance extending also to their mode of life, their manners, and their voice. The woodpeckers make everywhere the forest resound with the same clear note, and the birds of prey possess in every clime the same rough screech so consonant to their habits, while a soft cooing everywhere characterises the pigeon-tribes. But, notwithstanding this general uniformity and this wide range of many families of birds, each zone has at the same time its peculiar ornithological features, that blend harmoniously with the surrounding world of plants and animals, and, taking a prominent part in the aspect of nature, at once attract the attention of the stranger.
In this respect, as in so many others, the warmer regions of the globe have a great advantage over those of the temperate and glacial zones, but nowhere do the feathered tribes find a richer or wider field for their development than in the forests and swamps of tropical America, where the vegetable world revels in luxuriant growth, and myriads of insects, peopling the woods, the waters and the fields, furnish each kind according to its wants with an inexhaustible supply of food. The circumstance that man but thinly inhabits these wilds is another reason which favours the multiplication of birds, for in Europe also they would no doubt be far more numerous, if the farmer, the sportsman, and so many other enemies were not continually thinning their ranks. To these elements of destruction they are far less exposed in tropical America, and being comparatively but little disturbed, they reign, as it were, over the forest and the field, over the mountain and the plain, over the river and the lake.
By their loud cry, resembling the yelping of a puppy-dog, and the enormous disproportion of their bill, which might seem rather adapted to a bird of ostrich-like dimensions than to one not much larger than a crow, the Toucans make themselves very conspicuous in the American woods. Were it of a strong and solid texture, their huge beak would infallibly weigh them to the ground; but being of a light and cellular structure, and in some places not thicker than writing paper, they carry it easily, and leap with such agility from bough to bough, that it does not then appear preposterously large.
When flying, it gives them, indeed, a very awkward appearance, as their body always seems overweighted by the enormous beak, which makes the head bow downwards as the bird passes through the air; but the beauty of its colouring soon reconciles the eye to its disproportionate size: for the brightest red, variegated with black and yellow stripes on the upper mandible, and a stripe of the liveliest sky-blue on the lower, contribute to adorn the bill of the Bouradi, as one of the three Toucan species of Guiana is called by the Indians. Unfortunately, these brilliant tints fade after death, and even the art of a Waterton is unable to fix and preserve their evanescent hues. The plumage of this strange bird rivals the beak in beauty of colouring, and the feathers are frequently used as ornaments by the Brazilian ladies.
A green-wood loving bird, the Toucan never wanders from the shady forests, where he may generally be seen perched on the topmost boughs of the loftiest trees, far beyond the reach of small shot, and requiring a single bullet or the Indian’s poisoned arrow to bring him from his elevated situation.
Few birds are more noisy or of a more quarrelsome and imperious temper. In the rainy season his clamour is incessant, and in fair weather the woods resound at morning and evening with his yelping cry.
Schomburgk relates an anecdote of a tamed Toucan who, by dint of arrogance, assisted by his enormous beak, had made himself despot not only over the domestic fowls, but even over the larger four-footed animals of an estate in Guiana. Large and small willingly submitted to him, so that when a dispute arose among the trumpeters and hoccos of the yard, the combatants all dispersed as soon as he made his appearance, and if by chance he had been overlooked in the heat of the fray, his powerful beak soon reminded them that their lord and master was by no means inclined to tolerate disputes among his subjects. On bread being thrown among them, none of his two or four-legged subjects would have ventured to seize the smallest morsel before the Toucan had liberally helped himself. This domineering spirit even went so far that he inhospitably reminded every strange dog that came near the premises, that none durst enter his domains without his permission. There is no knowing to what lengths he might not have carried his despotism, if a powerful mastiff, one day entering the yard and taking several bones without leave, had not put an end to his tyranny. For scarcely had the Toucan perceived the intruder, when angrily rushing upon him, he attacked him with his beak. The dog at first only growled, without suffering himself to be disturbed in his meal, but as the bird continued to bite, he finally lost his patience and, snapping at the Toucan, wounded him so severely in the head that he soon after expired.
A bird with so strange a beak must naturally be expected to feed and drink in a strange manner. When the Toucan has seized a morsel, he throws it into the air and lets it fall into his throat; when drinking, he dips the point of his mandibles into the water, fills them by a powerful inspiration, and then throws back the head by starts. The tongue is also of a very singular form, being narrow and elongated, and laterally barbed like a feather. The Toucan builds its nest in hollow trees, preferring those cavities which can only be entered by a small aperture. According to some writers it makes the burrow for itself, using the huge beak as its tool. Most probably, however, it only adapts and slightly alters the interior of the hollow so as to make it more convenient for its purpose.
To paint the Humming-bird with colours worthy of its beauty, would be a task as difficult as to fix on canvas the glowing tints of the rainbow, or the glories of the setting sun. Unrivalled in the metallic brilliancy of its plumage, it may truly be called the bird of paradise; and had it existed in the old world it would no doubt have claimed the title instead of the splendid bird which has now the honour to bear it. See with what lightning speed it darts from flower to flower; now hovering for an instant before you, as if to give you an opportunity of admiring its surpassing beauty, and now again vanishing with the rapidity of thought. But do not fancy that these winged jewels of the air, buzzing like bees round the blossoms less gorgeous than themselves, live entirely on the honey-dew collected within their petals; for on opening the stomach of a humming-bird, dead insects are almost always found there, which its long and slender beak, and cloven extensile tongue, like that of the woodpecker, enable it to catch at the very bottom of the tubular corollas.
The torrid zone is the chief seat of the Humming-birds, but in summer they wander far beyond its bounds, and follow the sun in his annual declensions to the poles. Thus, in the north, they appear as flying visitors on the borders of the Canadian lakes, and on the southern coast of the peninsula of Aljaschka; while in the southern hemisphere they roam as far as Patagonia, and even as Tierra del Fuego; visiting in the northern hemisphere the confines of the walrus, and reaching in the south the regions of the penguin and the lion-seal; advancing towards the higher latitudes with the advance of summer, and again retreating at the approach of autumn.
The nests of the Humming-birds are as elegant and neat as their tiny constructors; true masterpieces of architectural instinct. Some are suspended from twigs or attached to a branch; others enjoy the shelter of some overhanging rock, and others again cling to a leaf. Spider webs are generally employed for fastening the nest to the support on which it hangs, or for interweaving the moss or the vegetable fibres used in its construction, so as to form a firm and wet-resisting mass. Soft cotton down or fine hairs line its interior, and to screen it from the piercing eye of an enemy it is frequently covered with patches of lichen, which render its external appearance as similar as possible to that of the branch on which it is placed. The nest of the Fiery Topaz, one of the most magnificent of the humming-birds, glittering in scarlet, crimson, and emerald green, is particularly curious. It is formed of a kind of tough, leathery, thick and soft fungus, like German tinder, and this apparently intractable substance the bird contrives to mould into the shape of a nest so closely resembling in colour the branch to which it clings, that it seems more like a natural excrescence than the artificial structure of a feathered architect.
The Ruby-Throated Humming-bird, thus called from the feathers of its breast, which glitter as if made of burnished metal, and glow with alternate tints of ruby and orange, constructs a nest which even the Indian’s eagle glance can hardly discover, so closely does it resemble a knob upon a branch. So fearful too is the female of detection that she does not fly straight to her home, but first shoots up perpendicularly into the air until her tiny body is lost to sight, and then darts down among the branches with such meteor swiftness that the eye cannot follow her movements, and she is quietly seated in her nest before the spectator knows exactly in which direction she has gone.
Nothing can exceed the tenderness which the male humming-bird evinces during breeding time for his lovely companion, nor the courage which he displays for her protection. On the approach of an intrusive bird, though ten times bigger than himself, he will not hesitate a moment to attack the disturber of his nest, his bravery adds a tenfold increase to his powers, the rapidity of his movements confounds his enemy, and finally drives him to flight. Proud of his success, the little champion returns to his partner, and flaps triumphantly his tiny wings. But with all his activity and courage, he is not always able to avert disaster from his nest, for an enormous bush spider, covered all over with black hair (Mygale), too often lurks in the vicinity, watching for the moment when the little birds shall creep out of the shell. With sudden attack it then invades the nest, and sucks their life-blood. Against this enemy neither courage nor despair are of any avail, and if the poor humming-bird endeavours to avenge the slaughter of his young, he only shares their fate. When the dark long-legged monster entwines his brilliant prey, one might almost fancy an angel of light bleeding under the talons of a demon.
From the chivalrous character of the Humming-birds it is not surprising that the most violent passions agitate their little breasts; so that in their desperate contests, they will tilt against each other with such fury, as if each meant to transfix his antagonist with his long bill. It may indeed be truly said that these little creatures are sadly prone to quarrel over their cups, not of wine, but nectareous flowers. Frequently four or five of them may be seen engaged in a flying fight when disputing the possession of a blossoming tree in the forests of Brazil, and then they dart so swiftly through the air that the eye can scarcely follow them in their meteorlike evolutions.
As the smallest shot would blow the tiny humming-birds to pieces, and inevitably destroy the beauty of their plumage, they are taken by aspersing them with water from a syphon, or by means of a butterfly net.
There are many species of Humming-birds, various in size and habit, with straight or curved bills, with a naked or a crested head, with a short or a long tail: some constantly concealing themselves in the solitudes of the forest; while others hover round the habitations of man, and frequently during their disputes pursue each other into the apartments whose windows are left open, taking a turn round the room, as flies do with us, and then suddenly regaining the open air.
Next to the humming-birds the Cotingas display the gayest plumage in the American woods. They are, however, not often seen, for they lead a solitary life in the moist and shadowy forests, where they feed on the various seeds and fruits of the woods. One species is attired in burning scarlet, others in purple and blue, but they are all so splendidly adorned that it would be difficult to say which of them deserves the prize for beauty. Most of the Cotingas have no song; the nearly related snow-white Campanero or bell-bird, however, amply makes up for the deficient voice of his cousins, by the singularity and sweetness of his note. He is about the size of a jay. On his forehead rises a singular spiral tube nearly three inches long. It is jet black, dotted all over with small white feathers. It has a communication with the palate, and when filled with air looks like a spire, when empty it becomes pendulous. His note is loud and clear, like the sound of a bell. ‘In the midst of the forests,’ says Waterton, ‘generally on the dried top of an aged mora, almost out of gun reach, you will see the Campanero. No sound or song from any of the winged inhabitants of the forest causes such astonishment as his toll. With many of the feathered race he pays the common tribute of a song to early morn, and even when the meridian sun has shut in silence the mouths of almost the whole of animated nature, the Campanero still cheers the forest; you hear his toll, and then a pause for a minute; then another toll, and then a pause again, and then a toll and again a pause. Then he is silent for six or eight minutes, and then another toll, and so on. Actæon would stop in mid-chase, Maria would defer her evening song, and Orpheus himself would drop his lute to listen to him, so sweet, so novel and romantic, is the toll of the pretty snow-white Campanero.’
The Tangaras resemble our finches, though they are far more splendidly attired. Their plumage is very rich and diversified, some of them boast six separate colours; others have the blue, purple, green, and black so finely blended into each other that it would be impossible to mark their boundaries; while others again exhibit them strong, distinct and abrupt. The flight of the Tangaras is rapid, their manners lively. They live upon insects, seeds, berries, and many of them have a fine song. Among their numerous species, spread over all the warmer regions of America, the scarlet Piranga is pre-eminent for beauty, and when in the blooming thickets, along the woody river’s banks, the meridian sun shows off his plumage in all its splendour, the huntsman pauses to admire the magnificent bird, and delays his murderous aim.
In the deep forests of Guiana and Brazil, which they never quit for the open plains, reside the Manakins (Pipra), pretty little birds, whose largest species scarcely attain the dimensions of the sparrow, while the smallest are hardly equal to the wren. The plumage of the full-grown male is always black, enlivened by brilliant colours, that of the female and of the young birds greenish. Their flight is rapid but short, and they generally roost on the middle branches of the trees. In the morning they unite in little troops, and seek their food, which consists of insects, and small fruit, uttering at the same time their weak but melodious notes. As the day advances they separate and seek the deepest forest-shades, where they live in solitude and silence.
The famous orange-coloured Cock of the Rock of Guiana (Rupicola aurantia), which owes its name to its comb-like crest, is nearly related to the Manakins. It is a great rarity, even in its own country, and as it dwells in the most secluded forests, is but seldom seen by travellers. Richard Schomburgk relates the following wonderful story of the bird, which, if not proceeding from so trustworthy a source, might almost be considered fabulous. ‘A troop of these beautiful birds was celebrating its dances on the smooth surface of a rock; about a score of them were seated on the branches as spectators, while one of the male birds, with proud self-confidence, and spreading tail and wings, was dancing on the rock. He scratched the ground or leaped vertically into the air, continuing these saltatory movements until he was tired, when another male took his place. The females, meanwhile, looked on attentively, and applauded the performance of the dancers with laudatory cries. As the feathers are highly prized, the Indians lay in wait with their blow-pipes near the places where the Rupicolas are known to dance. When once the ball has begun, the birds are so absorbed by their amusement, that the hunter has full time to shoot down several of the spectators with his poisoned arrows, before the rest take the alarm.’
On penetrating into the wilds of Guiana, the pretty songsters called Troopials, (Icterus, Xanthornus) pour forth a variety of sweet and plaintive notes. Resembling the starling by their habits, they unite in troops, and live on insects, berries, and seeds. The variegated Troopial (Oriolus varius) displays a wonderful instinct in the construction of his nest, which he generally builds on fruit-trees; but when circumstances force him to select a tree whose branches have far less solidity, as, for instance, the weeping willow, his instinct almost rises to a higher intelligence. First, he binds together, by means of bits of straw, the small and flexible branches of the willow, and thus forms a kind of conical basket in which he places his nest, and instead of the usual hemispherical form, he gives it a more elongated shape, and makes it of a looser tissue, so as to render it more elastic and better able to conform to the movements of the branches when agitated by the wind.
The neat little black and orange Baltimore (Icterus Baltimore) constructs a still more marvellous nest on the tulip trees, on whose leaves and flowers he seeks the caterpillars and beetles which constitute his principal food. When the time comes for preparing it, the male picks up a filament of the Tillandsia usneoides and attaches it by its two extremities to two neighbouring branches. Soon after, the female comes, inspects his work, and places another fibre across that of her companion. Thus by their alternate labours a net is formed, which soon assumes the shape of a nest, and as it advances towards its completion, the affection of the tender couple seems to increase. The tissue is so loose as to allow the air to pass through its meshes, and as the parents know that the excessive heat of summer would incommode their young, they suspend their nest so as to catch the cooler breeze of the north-east when breeding in Louisiana; while in more temperate regions, such as Pennsylvania and New York, they always give it a southern exposition, and take care to line it with wool or cotton. Their movements are uncommonly graceful; their song is sweet; they migrate in winter towards more southerly regions, Mexico or Brazil, and return after the equinox to the United States.
The Cassiques, which are nearly related to the troopials or orioli, are no less remarkable for their architectural skill. They suspend their large pendulous nests, which are often above four feet long, at the extremities of branches of palm trees, as far as possible from all enemies that might by climbing reach the brood, often choosing, for still further protection, trees on which the wasps or maribondas have already built their nests, as these are adversaries whose sharp stings no tiger-cat or reptile would desire to face. The nest of the Cassicus cristatus is artificially woven of lichens, bark-fibres and the filaments of the tillandsias, while that of the tupuba (Cassions ruber), which is always suspended over the water, consists of dry grasses, and has a slanting opening in the side, so that no rain can penetrate it. On passing under a tree, which often contains hundreds of cassique nests, one cannot help stopping to admire them, as they wave to and fro, the sport of every storm and breeze, and yet so well constructed as rarely to be injured by the wind. Often numbers of one species may be seen weaving their nests on one side of a tree, while numbers of another species are busy forming theirs on the opposite side of the same plant, and what is, perhaps, even still more wonderful than their architectural skill, though such near neighbours, the females are never observed to quarrel!
The Cassicus Persicus, a small black and yellow bird, somewhat larger than the starling, has been named the mocking-bird, from his wonderful imitative powers. He courts the society of man, and generally takes his station on a tree close to his house, where for hours together he pours forth a succession of ever-varying notes. If a toucan be yelping in the neighbourhood, he immediately drops his own sweet song, and answers him in equal strain. Then he will amuse his audience with the cries of the different species of the woodpecker, and when the sheep bleat he will distinctly answer them. Then comes his own song again, and if a puppy dog or a guinea fowl interrupt him, he takes them off admirably, and by his different gestures during the time, you would conclude that he enjoys the sport.
Wild and strange are the voices of many of the American forest-birds. In the Peruvian woods the black Toropishu (Cephalopterus ornatus) makes the thicket resound with his hoarse cry, resembling the distant lowing of a bull; and in the same regions the fiery-red and black-winged Tunqui (Rupicola Peruviana) sends forth a note, which might readily be mistaken for the grunting of a hog, and strangely contrasts with the brilliancy of his plumage. But of all the startling cries that issue from the depths of the forest, none is more remarkable than the Goatsucker’s lamentable wail. ‘Suppose yourself in hopeless sorrow,’ says Waterton, ‘begin with a high, loud note, and pronounce ha, ha, ha, ha, ha! each note lower and lower till the last is scarcely heard, pausing a moment or two between every note, and you will have some idea of the mourning of the largest Goatsucker in Demerara. Four other species of goatsucker articulate some words so distinctly, that they have received their names from the sentences they utter, and absolutely bewilder the stranger on his arrival in these parts. The most common one sits down close by your door, and flies and alights three or four yards before you, as you walk along the road, crying, ‘Who are you, who-who-who-who are you?’ Another bids you, ‘Work away, work-work-work away.’ A third cries mournfully, ‘Willy come go, Willy-Willy-Willy come go.’ And high up in the country, a fourth tells you to, ‘Whip-poor-Will, whip-whip-whip-poor-Will.’
You will never persuade the negro to destroy the birds, or get the Indian to let fly his arrow at them, for they are held to be the receptacles for departed souls, who came back again to earth, unable to rest for crimes done in their days of nature, or expressly sent to haunt cruel and hardhearted masters, and retaliate injuries received from them. If the largest goatsucker chance to cry near the white man’s door, sorrow and grief will soon be inside, and they expect to see the master waste away with a slow consuming sickness. If it be heard close to the negro’s or Indian’s hut, from that night misfortune sits brooding over it, and they await the event in terrible suspense.
During the daytime, the Goatsucker, whose eyes, like those of the owl, are too delicately formed to bear the light, retires to the deepest recesses of the forest, but when the sun has sunk behind the western woods, he may, on moonlight nights, be seen silently hovering in the forest glades, or hopping about among the herds. This poor bird has the character of a nocturnal thief, but never has a more unjust accusation been made, as, far from robbing the flocks of their milk, he does all he can to free them from insects. ‘See how the nocturnal flies are tormenting the herd,’ says Waterton, ‘and with what dexterity he springs up, and catches them, as fast as they alight on the belly, legs, and udder of the animals. Observe how quiet they stand, and how sensible they seem of his good offices, for they neither strike at him, nor hit him with their tail, nor tread on him; nor try to drive him away as an uncivil intruder. Were you to dissect him, and inspect his stomach, you would find no milk there: it is full of the flies which have been annoying the herd.’
The large tropical nocturnal butterflies, or moths, form the chief food of the wide-beaked Goatsucker, and the number of their wings that may be seen lying about, give proof of the ravages he commits among their ranks. For as the bat with his hooked thumb cuts off the wings of the moths and cockchafers which he catches on his twilight excursions, thus, also, the Goatsucker refrains from swallowing these parts, and his hooked and incurvated upper mandible seems purposely intended for clipping them.
While the Goatsucker makes the forest resound with his funereal tones, other birds of the forest pour forth the sweetest notes. Dressed in a sober cinnamon brown robe, with blackish olive-coloured head and neck, the Organist (Troglodytes leucophrys) enlivens the solitude of the Peruvian forests. The astonished wanderer stops to listen to the strain, and forgets the impending storm. The Cilgero, a no less delightful songster, frequents the mountain regions of Cuba, and the beauty of his notes may be inferred from the extravagant price of several hundred dollars, which the rich Havanese are ready to pay for a captive bird. Wagner (‘Travels in Costa Rica,’ 1854) tells us that our nightingale is far inferior to the Cilgero, who entertains his mate with the softest tones of the harmonica, and in Guiana the flute-bird (Cyphorinus cantans) delights the ear with his melodious song. All these lovely musicians of the grove belong to the extensive finch tribe, and, like their European cousins, appear in a simple unostentatious garb.
The same beauty of plumage which characterises so many of the American forest-birds, adorns, likewise, the feathered tribes of the swamp and the morass, of the river and the lake. Nothing can exceed in beauty a troop of scarlet Ibises or deep red Flamingoes (Phœnicopterus ruber) on the green margin of a stream. Raised on enormous stilts, and with an equally disproportionate length of neck, the flamingoes would be reckoned among the most uncouth birds, if their splendid robe did not entitle them to rank among the most beautiful.
They always live in troops, and range themselves, whether fishing or resting, like soldiers, in long lines. One of the number acts as sentinel, and on the approach of danger gives a warning scream, like the sound of a trumpet, when, instantly, the whole troop, expanding their flaming wings, rise loudly clamouring into the air.
These strange-formed birds build in the swamps high conical nests of mud, in the shape of a hillock with a cavity at top, in which the female generally lays two white eggs of the size of those of a goose, but more elongated. The rude construction is sufficiently high to admit of her sitting on it conveniently, or rather riding, as the legs are placed on each side at full length. Their mode of feeding is no less remarkable. Twisting their neck in such a manner that the upper part of their bill is applied to the ground, they at the same time disturb the mud with one of their webbed feet, thus raising up from the water insects and spawn, on which they chiefly subsist.
Six feet high, and stately as a grenadier of the guards, the American Jabiru stalks along the banks of the morasses. His plumage is white, but his neck and head are black, like his long legs; his conical, sharp, and powerful black bill, is a little recurved, while that of the stork, to whom he is closely related, is straight. He destroys an incredible number of reptiles and fishes; and, being very sly, is difficult to kill.
The roseate American Spoon-bill (Platalea Ajaja) is particularly remarkable for his curious large beak, dilating at the top into a broad spoon or spatula, which, though not possessed of great power, renders him excellent service in disturbing the mud and seizing the little reptiles and worms he delights to feed on.
The Jacana (Parra jacana) possesses enormously long and slender toes, armed with equally long spine-like claws. While pacing the ground they seem as inconvenient as the snow shoes of a Laplander, and yet nothing can be more suitable for a bird destined to stalk over the floating leaves of the Nelumbos and Nymphæas, and to seek for water insects on this unstable foundation. The Jacana is found all over tropical America, and is also called the Surgeon, from the nail of his hinder toe being sharp and acuated like a lancet.
Although in the torrid zone we hardly ever meet with a single aboriginal species of plant or animal common to both hemispheres, yet the analogy of climate everywhere produces analogous organic forms, and when on surveying the feathered tribes of America, we are struck by any bird remarkable for its singularity of shape or mode of life, we may expect to find its representative in Asia, Africa, or Australia.
Thus the enormous beak of the toucan is emulated or surpassed by that of the Indian Calao, or Rhinoceros Hornbill (Buceros rhinoceros) whose twelve-inch long, curved, and sharp-pointed bill, is, moreover, surmounted with an immense appendage in the form of a reverted horn, the use of which belongs as yet to the secrets of nature. While the toucans are distinguished by a gaudy plumage, the Calaos are almost entirely decked with a robe black as that of the raven, and enhancing the beautiful red and orange colours of their colossal beak. Generally congregating in small troops, like the toucans, they inhabit the dense forests, where they chiefly live on fruits, seeds, and insects, which they also swallow whole, throwing them up into the air and catching them as they fall. The clapping together of their mandibles causes a loud and peculiar noise, which towards evening interrupts the silence of the forest. The flight of a bird burdened with such a load must naturally be short: they hop upon their thick clumsy feet, and generally roost upon the highest trees.
Like the toucans, the Indian Hornbills make their nest in the hole of some decaying tree, sometimes plastering up the entrance with mud, so as to leave but a small aperture, a practice which the Korwê, a species of African Hornbill, seems invariably to follow.
The female having entered her breeding-place, in one of the natural cavities of the mopane tree, a species of Bauhinia, the male plasters up the entrance, leaving only a narrow slit by which to feed his mate, and which exactly suits the form of his beak. The female makes a nest of her own feathers, lays her eggs, hatches them, and remains with the young till they are fully fledged. During all this time which is stated to be two or three months, the male continues to feed her and the young family. The prisoner generally becomes quite fat, and is esteemed a very dainty morsel by the natives, while the poor slave of a husband gets so lean and weak, that on the sudden lowering of the temperature, which sometimes happens after a fall of rain, he is benumbed, falls down, and dies.
The first time Dr. Livingstone saw this bird was at Kolobeng, where he had gone to the forest for some timber. Standing by a tree, a native looked behind him and exclaimed, ‘There is the nest of a korwê.’ Seeing a slit only about half an inch wide and three or four inches long in a slight hollow of the tree, and thinking the word korwê denoted some small animal, he waited with interest to see what the Bechuana would extract. The latter, breaking the clay which surrounded the slit, put his arm into the hole, and brought out a tockus, or red-beaked hornbill, which he killed.
The brilliant Sun-birds or Suimangas (Cinnyris) of Asia and Africa, are the Colibris of the old world, equally ethereal, gay, and sparkling in their motions, flitting briskly from flower to flower, and assuming a thousand lively and agreeable attitudes. The sunbeams glittering on their bodies make them sparkle like so many gems. As they hover about the honey-laden blossoms, they vibrate rapidly their tiny pinions, producing in the air a slight whirring sound, but not so loud as the humming noise produced by the wings of the colibris. Thrusting their slender beaks into the deep-cupped flowers, they probe them with their brushlike tongues for insects and nectar. Some are emerald green, some vivid violet, others yellow with a crimson wing, and rivalling the colibris by the metallic lustre of their plumage, they surpass them by their musical powers, for the latter can only hum, but the sun-birds accompany their movements with an agreeable chirp.
While the superb ocellated turkey of Honduras (Meleagris ocellata) displays, with all the pride of a peacock, the eye-like marks of his tail and upper-coverts, the no less beautifully spotted Argus, a bird nearly related to the gold and silver pheasants which have been introduced from China into the European aviaries, conceals his splendour in the dense forests of Java and Sumatra. The wings of this magnificent creature, whose plumage is equally remarkable for variety and elegance, consist of very large feathers, nearly three feet long, the outer webs being adorned with a row of large eyes, arranged parallel to the shaft; the tail is composed of twelve feathers, the two middle ones being about four feet in length, the next scarcely two, and gradually shortening to the outer ones. Its voice is plaintive and not harsh, as in the Indian peacock, which Alexander the Great is said to have first introduced into Europe, though its feathers had many centuries before been imported by the Phœnicians. The Peacock is still found wild in many parts of Asia and Africa, but more particularly in the fertile plains of India. Another species, nearly similar in size and proportions, but distinguished by a much longer crest, inhabits the Javanese forests.
The tropical wading birds of the old world are no less remarkable for beauty or size than those of equatorial America. The rose-coloured Flamingo, with red wings and black quills, adorns the creeks and rivers of tropical Africa and Asia, and in warm summers extends his migrations as far northward as Strasburg or the Rhine. The sight of a troop of flamingoes approaching on the wing and describing a great fiery triangle in the air is singularly majestic. When about to alight, their flight becomes slower, they hover for a moment, then their evolutions trace a conical spire, and finally descending, they immediately arrange themselves in a long line, place their sentinels, and commence their fishing operations.
On the borders of Lake Menzaleh, in Egypt, thousands upon thousands of flamingoes may often be seen standing in scarlet array. The Arabs catch them in nets, or endeavour to surprise the sentinels by cautiously creeping up to them under the water, and suddenly breaking their necks before they have time to give the note of alarm. It is then easy to catch a number of the unsuspecting troop. The flamingoes are not only beautiful in appearance, but their flesh also surpasses that of most other birds in delicacy of flavour. At the renowned culinary feasts of Lucullus, their fleshy tongues, interwoven with fat, formed one of the rarest and most highly prized dishes. Many of the learned have doubted the truth of this tradition, as the Romans were unacquainted with the use of fire-arms, but Brehm,[31] who thinks it would have been impossible to collect so many flamingoes by means of the noisy gun, is convinced that they were caught with nets in the swamps of Pontus, as they are now on Lake Menzaleh.
The white Ibis, who formerly made his appearance from the south, along with the swelling waters of the Nile, was revered as a sacred bird by the Egyptians, as the herald of the abundance which the growing river was about to scatter over the inundated land. They paid him divine honours, they embalmed his remains with the same spices which served to preserve the corpses of princes from decay, and the pyramid of Sakarrah served as the mausoleum of countless thousands of Ibises. At present, however, the sacred bird, as if resenting the deprivation of his ancient honours, no longer makes his appearance in Egypt, for he is never met with beyond the northern boundary of the tropical rains. When the Blue and White Nile begin to rise, he builds his rude nest among the branches of the thorny bushes, in an inundated part of the primitive forest, and lays in September three or four snow-white or yellow-speckled eggs, which are hatched in a few weeks, and find abundant food in the countless worms and insects generated in the swampy grounds.
Few wading birds are more remarkable for grace of form and elegance of deportment than the Demoiselle, or Numidian Crane, so that Linnæus justly gave it the name of virgin (Grus virgo). Like the ibis it is easily domesticated, and daily gains upon the affections of its master by the numerous proofs of attachment and intelligence which it gives him. With maidenish care it preserves its silken plumage from every spot or defilement, and enhances its beauty by the arts of an amiable coquetry. With our Common Cranes (Grus cinerea) it hibernates on the sand-banks of the tropical Nile, where it meets the crowned Demoiselle (Grus Pavonia), which, in spite of its more gorgeous plumage, is a far less attractive bird. When sailing about the middle of October on one of the two chief rivers of East Sudan, the traveller sees day and night flocks of Cranes fly past and settle for the winter on some appropriate spot. They consist of common and Numidian Cranes. The latter have been found breeding in summer on the banks of the Wolga, and very rarely in Germany, but no one knows where the thousands which assemble in the Sudan spend their summer months. The Demoiselle, a rare bird in most collections, is there met with in such multitudes as literally to cover a large sand island. All the cabinets of Europe might be largely provided with specimens, if the bird was not so extremely intelligent, shy, and cautious. It evades every snare, and constantly keeps at a respectful distance from the sportsman’s gun. Brehm chose the night for its chase, and found that when the moon shone, it used to fly once as high again as when protected by darkness.
The ornithological wonders of Australia and its neighbouring islands are inferior to those of no other part of the world. Though of less dazzling splendour than the peacock’s tail, that of the Menura, or Lyre-bird, is unrivalled for its elegance. Fancy two large, broad, black and brown striped feathers, curved in the form of a Grecian lyre, and between both, other feathers, whose widely distanced silken barbs envelope and surmount them with a light and airy gauze. No painter could possibly have imagined anything to equal this masterpiece of nature, which its shy possessor conceals in the wild bushes of Australia.
‘Of all the birds I have ever met with,’ says Mr. Gould, ‘the Menura is by far the most difficult to procure. While among the bushes, on the coast or on the sides of the mountains in the interior, I have been surrounded by those birds pouring forth their loud and liquid calls for days together, without being able to get a sight of them, and it was only by the most determined perseverance and extreme caution that I was enabled to effect the desired object.’
The Lyre-bird is constantly engaged in traversing the bush from mountain-top to the bottom of the gullies, whose steep and rugged sides present no obstacle to its long legs and powerful muscular thighs. When running quickly through the bush, it carries the tail horizontally, that being the only position in which it could be borne at such times. Besides its loud, full cry, which may be heard at a great distance, it has an inward and varied song, the lower notes of which can only be heard when you have stealthily approached to within a few yards of the bird when it is singing. Its habits appear to be solitary, seldom more than a pair being seen together. It constructs a large nest, formed on the outside of sticks and twigs, like that of a magpie, and lined with the inner bark of trees and fibrous roots.
In the neighbouring regions of Papua or New Guinea, and the small isles in their immediate vicinity, extending only a few degrees on each side of the Equator, we find the seat of the wondrous Birds of Paradise, thus named from that peculiar union of splendour and elegance which seems to render them more worthy of the gardens of Eden than of a terrestrial home.
The great Bird of Paradise (P. apoda) may justly be said to surpass in beauty the whole of the feathered creation. The throat is of the brightest emerald, and the canary-coloured neck blends gradually into the fine chocolate of the other parts of the body. From under the short chestnut-coloured wings project the long delicate and gold-coloured feathers whose beautiful and graceful tufts are equally valued by the princes of the East and the ladies of England. The chocolate-coloured tail is short, but two very long shafts of the same hue considerably exceed in length even the long, loose plumes of the sides.
Unable to fly with the wind, which would destroy their loose plumage, the Birds of Paradise take their flight constantly against it, being careful not to venture out in hard blowing weather. The Papuas climb, during the night, upon the high forest trees, where they have observed the birds to roost, and patiently await the dawn to catch them in nooses, or to shoot them with blunted arrows. The Portuguese first found these birds on the island of Gilolo, and as the Papuas tear off their legs before bringing them to market, it was for a long time supposed that they were destitute of these organs. The most absurd fables were founded on this imaginary deficiency: it was said that they passed their whole life sailing in the air, dew being their only food; that they never took rest, except by suspending themselves from the branches of trees by the shafts of their two elongated tail feathers; that they never touched the earth till the moment of their death; and the Malays still believe that they retire for breeding to the groves of Paradise. It is almost superfluous to add that the researches of modern travellers have fully proved the utter fallacy of these ridiculous tales.
The wondrous pendulous nests of the American Cassiques and Baltimores are equalled, if not surpassed, by those of the African Weaving Birds. These tiny architects generally suspend their structures to the ends of slender twigs, small branches, leaves or reeds, where they dangle freely in the air, and dance about merrily at every breeze. For greater security, many species always hang their nests over water, at no great distance above the surface, so that, however small the animal, monkey, or snake may be that would attempt to rob the bird of its young brood, its weight is more than sufficient to cause its immersion in the water, and thus put a stop to its burglarious intentions. As a further annoyance, the baffled invader may expect soon to have a troop of birds swarming about him like so many scolding beldames, for the weavers never can see one of their enemies without flying up to it with hoarse screams, shooting close to its body, and, when an opportunity offers, indulging in a passing peck.
The nests of the various species of weavers are very dissimilar in shape and design; some very long, others very short; some having their entrance from below, others at the side, and others again from near the top. Some are made of delicate fibres, and others of coarse grass; some are of so loose a texture that the eggs can plainly be seen through them, while others are so strong and thick that they will bear the roughest handling without going to pieces. That of the Mahali Weaver, a pretty bird about as large as our common starling, resembles in shape a Florence oil-flask, but instead of being smooth on the exterior, the ends of the thick grass stalks of which it is made, protrude like ‘quills upon the fretful porcupine,’ and pointing towards the mouth of the nest, which hangs downwards, serve as eaves whereby the rain is thrown off the nest.
If the dwellings made by the generality of Weavers may be likened to detached villas, each built apart from its neighbour, those of the social Grosbeak of South Africa, an allied species, deserve the name of populous cities, for here we find hundreds of feathered architects uniting their labours in the construction of one vast nest often large enough to shelter five or six men.
The material used is the tough and wiry Bushman’s grass; the tree usually chosen for the suspension of the nest, is a species of acacia, the giraffe thorn, which derives its name from its constituting the chief food of the beautiful camelopard, and on account of its size and the umbrella-shaped disposition of its foliage is a great ornament to the arid wastes of Caffraria.
The instinct of the birds seems to have pointed out to them that it is peculiarly adapted for the purpose, as its smooth and polished bark keeps off many an enemy who, if he could ascend the stem, would be but too happy to give them a friendly call; and besides, the wood is extremely hard and tough, so that the branches are able to bear the great weight of the nests.
When about to make a new construction, the birds hang the Bushman’s grass over a suitable branch, and by means of weaving and plaiting it, form a roof of some little size. Under this cover are sheltered a quantity of nests, increasing in number with each new brood, for although the same nest-mass is occupied for several successive seasons, the birds never breed in the same nests a second time.
In consequence of this custom, when they have to provide for a new brood, they enlarge the roof, and build a second row of nests just like the combs of a hornet’s habitation. Layer after layer is thus added, until the mass, spreading out like an extended umbrella, attains so enormous a size as to be easily mistaken by the traveller for a thatched dwelling erected by the natives in arboreal elevation, as a defence against wild beasts. Ultimately the branch, however strong, breaks under the accumulated weight, and comes crashing to the ground; an accident which fortunately leaves the breeding months undisturbed, as it generally occurs during the rainy season after the dried grass has absorbed a vast quantity of moisture. One of the wonders of these prodigious nests is that the birds should be able so easily to find their way to their own particular home. Of all the hundreds of holes with which these nest-cities are frequently pierced, one is as like as possible to the other, yet notwithstanding this similarity the inmates glide in and out without any hesitation.
On turning to Asia we likewise find many admirable nest-builders. Among these the Baya, or Toddy Bird, is one of the most curious. In shape it resembles the sparrow, as also in the brown feathers of the back and wings; the head and breast are of a bright yellow, and in the rays of a tropical sun have a splendid appearance when the birds are flying by thousands in the same grove. They make a chirping noise, but have no song; they associate in large communities, and cover clumps of palmyras, acacias, and date-trees with their nests. These are formed in a very ingenious manner by long grass woven together in the shape of a bottle, and suspended by so slender a thread to the end of a flexible branch that even the squirrel dare not venture his body on so fragile a support, however his mouth may water at the eggs and prey within. These nests contain several apartments, appropriated to different purposes: in one the hen performs the office of incubation; another, consisting of a little thatched roof and covering a perch without a bottom, is occupied by the male, who cheers the female with his chirping note. The Hindoos are very fond of these birds for their docility and sagacity; when young, they teach them to fetch and carry, and at the time the young women resort to the public fountains their lovers instruct the baya to pluck the tica or golden ornament from the forehead of their favourite and bring it to their master.
The Tailor-bird of Hindostan (Sylvia sutoria) is equally curious in the structure of its nest, and far superior in the elegance and variety of its plumage, which in the male glows with the varied tints of the colibri. Selecting a suitable leaf, generally one which hangs from the end of a slender twig, the little artist pierces a row of holes along each edge, using his beak as a shoemaker uses his awl. When the holes are completed the feathered tailor next selects his thread, which is a long fibre of some plant, and passing it through the holes, draws the sides of the leaf towards each other, so as to form a kind of hollow cone, the point downwards. Generally a single leaf answers the purpose, but whenever the bird cannot find one sufficiently long, it sews two together, or even fetches another leaf and fastens it with the fibre. The interior of the hollow is then lined with a quantity of soft white down, and thus a warm, light, and elegant nest is constructed, scarcely visible among the foliage, and safe from the attacks of almost every foe but man. Who, on witnessing these miracles of instinct, would not exclaim with the poet:
Behold a bird’s nest! Mark it well, within, without! No tool had he that wrought, no knife to cut; No nail to fix, no bodkin to insert, No glue to join: his little beak was all! And yet how neatly finish’d! What nice hand, With every implement and means of art, Could compass such another?
The Honey Eaters of Australia and the neighbouring archipelagoes, where they seem to occupy the position which is taken in America by the humming-birds, and by the sun birds of Asia and South Africa, have thus been named from their feeding largely on the sweet juices of many flowers, although the staple of their diet consists of insects. Some are splendidly decorated, others captivate the ear by their melodious song. They are most lively and interesting birds, affording an endless fund of amusement to the careful observer. Never still, they traverse the branches of the trees with astonishing celerity, skipping from one to another, and probing every crevice with their needle-like tongue. Like the humming-birds they display great ingenuity in the building of their nests which the Singing and Painted Honey Eaters (Ptilotus sonorus; Entomophila picta) suspend from the long and slender branches of the pendulous Acacia, while the Lanceolate Honey Eater, thus named on account of the shape of its feathers, slings its hammock just as a seaman slings his oscillating couch.
The Lanceolated Honey Eater chooses for the site of its pendulous dwelling the thinnest twigs which grow at the summit of the enormous gum trees; where, owing to the great height at which it is placed and the surrounding leaves, even the eagle eye of the native Australian can with difficulty detect it; while the White Throated Honey Eater (Entomophila albogularis), detesting the wind, loves to frequent the dense mangrove thickets which edge the bays and creeks. In these places, often scarcely two feet from the water, and invariably so placed as to be under the protection of a spray of leaves, may be found its curious nest, which is about as large as a breakfast cup, and very much the same shape.
Besides the Honey Eaters, Australia has many other expert nest-builders, such as the Rock Warbler (Origma rubricata), which suspends its nest from the rocks in sheltered places, wherever an overhanging ledge affords protection from the elements; the Sericornis citreogularis, which constructs its dwelling in the centre of the large masses of moss which in the Australian forests often accumulate at the extremities of drooping branches, and the brilliantly coloured Swallow Dicæum (Dicæum hirundinaceum), which hangs its pretty nest from the tops of the tallest Casuarinas, where its minute body can scarcely be seen without the assistance of glasses; but nothing can be more extraordinary than the constructions of the Bower Birds, which are built not for the useful purpose of containing the young, but purely as a playing place or an assembly room.
‘The structures of the spotted bower bird,’ says Mr. Gould, ‘are in many instances three feet in length. They are outwardly built of twigs, and beautifully lined with tall grasses, so disposed that their heads nearly meet; the decorations are very profuse, and consist of bivalve shells, crania of small mammalia, and other birds. Evident and beautiful indications of design are manifest throughout the whole of the bower and decorations formed by this species, particularly in the manner in which the stones are placed within the bower, apparently to keep the grasses with which it is lined fixed firmly in their places. These stones diverge from the mouth of the run on each side, so as to form a little path, while the immense collection of decorative materials, bones, shells, &c., are placed in a heap before the entrance of the avenue, this arrangement being the same at both ends. I frequently found these structures at a considerable distance from the rivers, from the borders of which they alone could have procured the shells and small round pebbly stones; their collection and transportation must, therefore, be a task of great labour and difficulty. As these birds feed almost entirely upon seeds and fruits, the shells and bones cannot have been collected for any other purpose than ornament; besides, it is only those that have been bleached perfectly white in the sun, or such as have been roasted by the natives, and by this means whitened, that attract their attention.’ For what purpose these curious bowers are made is not yet, perhaps, fully understood; they are certainly not used as a nest, but as a place of resort, where the assembled birds run through and about the bower in a playful manner, and that so frequently that it is seldom entirely deserted.
The Talegalla or Brush-turkey is a no less interesting Australian bird. In appearance it is very like the common black turkey, but is not quite so large: the extraordinary manner in which its eggs are hatched constitutes its singularity. It collects together a great heap of decaying vegetables as the place of deposit of its eggs, thus making a hot-bed, arising from the decomposition of the collected matter, by the heat of which the young are hatched. This mound varies in quantity from two to four cartloads, and is of a perfectly pyramidical form: it is not, however, the work of a single pair of birds, but the result of the united labour of many, and the same site appears to be resorted to for several years in succession. ‘The mode,’ says Mr. Gould, ‘in which the materials composing these mounds are accumulated is equally singular, the bird never using its bill, but always grasping a quantity in its foot, throwing it backwards to one common centre, and thus clearing the surface of the ground to a considerable distance so completely that scarcely a leaf or blade of grass is left.’ The heap being accumulated and time allowed for a sufficient heat to be engendered, the eggs, each measuring not less than four inches in length--an enormous size, considering the bulk of the bird--are deposited, not side by side, as is ordinarily the case, but planted at the distance of nine or twelve inches from each other, and buried at nearly an arm’s depth perfectly upright, with the large end upwards; they are covered up as they are laid, and allowed to remain until hatched. After six weeks of burial, the eggs, in succession and without any warning, give up their chicks--not feeble, but full-fledged and strong, so that at night they scrape holes for themselves, and lying down therein are covered over by the old birds and thus remain until morning. The extraordinary strength of the newly-hatched birds is accounted for by the size of the shell, since in so large a space it is reasonable to suppose that the young ones would be much more developed than is usually found in eggs of smaller dimensions. Other Australian birds, such as the Jungle-fowl (Megapodius tumulus), Duperrey’s Megapodius (M. Duperreyii), which inhabits the forests of New Guinea, and the Leipoas or native pheasants, construct similar mound-like nests. Those of the jungle-fowl, observed at Port Essington, are described as fifteen feet high, and sixty in circumference at the base, and so enveloped in thickly foliaged trees as to preclude the possibility of the sun’s rays reaching any part of it.
The tropical forests of the eastern hemisphere resound with bird-cries no less appalling, wild, or strange than those of the western world. In the close jungles of Ceylon one occasionally hears the call of the Copper-smith (Megalasara Indica), whose din resembles the blows of a smith hammering a cauldron, or the strokes of the great orange-coloured Woodpecker (Brachypterus aurantius), as it beats the decaying trees in search of insects; but of all the yells that fancy can imagine there is none to equal that of the Singhalese Devil-bird or Gualama. ‘Its ordinary cry,’ says Mr. Mitford, ‘is a magnificent clear shout like that of a human being, which can be heard at a great distance, and has a fine effect in the silence of the closing night. It has another cry like that of a hen just caught, but the sounds which have earned for it its bad name, and which I have heard but once to perfection, are indescribable; the most appalling that can be imagined, and scarcely to be heard without shuddering. I can only compare it to a boy in torture, whose screams are being stopped by being strangled. On hearing this dreadful note the terrified Singhalese hurries from the spot, for should he chance to see the bird of ill omen he knows that his death is nigh. A servant of Mr. Baker’s,[32] who had the misfortune of seeing the dreaded gualama, from that moment took no food, and thus fell a victim to his superstitious despair. This horror of the natives explains the circumstance that it is not yet perfectly ascertained whether the devil-bird is an owl (Syrnium) or a night hawk.
As if to make amends for this screech, the robin of Nueraellia, the long-tailed thrush, the oriole, the dayal-bird, and some others equally charming, make the forests and savannas of the Kandyan country resound with the rich tones of their musical calls.
Besides the vast number of birds which, constantly attached to a sultry climate, breed and live within the tropics, there are others who at the approach of winter leave the uncongenial regions of the temperate or frigid zones, and in search of food and warmth migrate towards the equatorial world. Thus our house swallow annually wanders as far as the unknown heart of Africa, resting neither in Egypt nor in Nubia, nor even in the insect-teeming steppes and woods of Eastern Sudan, and the stork, who every spring appears as a welcome guest in the lowlands of Northern Germany, has frequently spent the previous winter months in South Nubia and Darfur. In Kordofan (16° 35 N. Lat.) the naturalist hears with astonishment the dactylic note of the quail, which may have sounded in summer in Great Britain or Sweden, or meets with our charming songster the nightingale, who, likewise, wings his flight towards unknown regions, far beyond the tropics, where however his voice is mute.
XXVIII. TROPICAL BIRDS OF PREY
The Condor--His Marvellous Flight--His Cowardice--Various Modes of Capturing Condors--Ancient Fables circulated about them--Comparison of the Condor with the Albatross--The Carrion Vultures--The King of the Vultures--Domestication of the Urubu--Its Extraordinary Memory--The Harpy Eagle--Examples of his Ferocity--The Oricou-- The Bacha--His Cruelty to the Klipdachs--The Fishing Eagle of Africa--The Musical Sparrow-hawk--The Secretary Eagle.
The flight of the Condor is truly wonderful. From the mountain-plains of the Andes, the royal bird, soaring aloft, appears only like a small black speck on the sky, and a few hours afterwards he descends to the coast and mixes his loud screech with the roar of the surf. No living creature rises voluntarily so high, none traverses in so short a time all the climates of the globe. He rests at night in the crevices of the rocks, or on some jutting ledge; but as soon as the first rays of the sun light the high mountain peaks, while the darkness of night still rests upon the deeper valleys, he stretches forth his neck, shakes his head as if fully to rouse himself, stoops over the brink of the abyss, and flapping his wings, dives into the aërial ocean. At first his flight is by no means strong; he sinks as if borne down by his weight; but soon he ascends, and sweeps through the rarefied atmosphere without any perceptible vibratory motion of his wings. ‘Near Lima,’ says Mr Darwin, ‘I watched several condors for nearly half an hour without once taking off my eyes. They moved in large curves, sweeping in circles, descending and ascending without once flapping. As they glided close over my head, I intently watched from an oblique position the outlines of the separate and terminal feathers of the wing; if there had been the least vibratory movement these would have blended together, but they were seen distinct against the blue sky. The head and neck were moved frequently and apparently with force, and it appeared that the extended wings formed the fulcrum on which the movements of the neck, body, and tail acted. If the bird wished to descend, the wings were for a moment collapsed, and then, when again expanded with an altered inclination, the momentum gained by the rapid descent seemed to urge the bird upwards with the even and steady movement of a paper kite.’
Like other vultures, the condor feeds only upon dead carcases, or on new-born lambs and calves, whom he tears from the side of their mothers. He thus does so much damage to the herds, that the shepherds pursue and kill him whenever they can. As even a bullet frequently glances off from his thick feathery coat, the natives never use fire-arms for his destruction, but make use of various traps, of the sling, or of the bolas, which they are able to throw with marvellous dexterity.
In the Peruvian province of Abacay, an Indian provided with cords conceals himself under a fresh cow’s skin, to which some pieces of flesh are left attached. The condors soon pounce upon the prey, but while they are feasting, he fastens their legs to the skin. This being accomplished, he suddenly comes forth; and the alarmed birds vainly flap their wings, for other Indians hurry towards them, throw their mantles or their lassos over them, and carry the condors to their village, where they are reserved for the next bull fight. For a full week before this spectacle is to take place, the bird gets nothing to eat, and is then bound upon the back of a bull which has previously been scarified with lances. The bellowing of the poor animal, lacerated by the famished vulture, and vainly striving to cast off its tormentor, amuses what may well be called the ‘swinish multitude.’
In the province of Huarochirin there is a large natural funnel-shaped excavation, about sixty feet deep, with a diameter of about eighty feet at the top. A dead mule is placed on the brink of the precipice. The tugging of the condors at the dead carcase causes it to fall into the hole; they follow it with greedy haste, and having gorged themselves with food, are unable again to rise from the narrow bottom of the funnel. In a somewhat similar manner condors are caught in Peru, Bolivia, and Chili, and are frequently brought to Valparaiso and Callao, where they are sold for a few dollars to the foreign ships, and thence conveyed to Europe.
The condor, though a very large bird, about four feet long and measuring at least three yards from tip to tip of his extended wings, is far from attaining the dimensions assigned to him by the earlier writers and naturalists, who, emulating Sinbad the Sailor, in his account of the fabulous roc, described him as a giant whose bulk darkened the air.
The condor reminds us of the Albatross. As the former sweeps in majestic circles high above the Andes, the latter soars gracefully over the ocean, ‘and without ever touching the water with his wings, rises with the rising billow and falls with the falling wave.’[33] If the wonderful power of wing which bears the condor, often within the space of a few hours, from the sea-shore into the highest regions of the air, and the strength of breast which is able to support such changes of atmospheric pressure, may well raise our wonder, the indomitable pinions of the albatross are no less admirable. Both are unable to take wing from a narrow space, and both finally, so lordly in their movements, feed in the same ignoble manner, the condor pouncing from incredible distances upon the carcase of the mule or lama, while the albatross gorges upon the fat of the stranded whale.
While the condor is considered an enemy to man, the Gallinazos, turkey-buzzards, or common American Carrion Vultures (Vultur aura, V. urubu), are very serviceable to him, by consuming the animal offals which, if left to putrefaction, would produce a pestilence. Thus they generally, in tropical America, enjoy the protection of the law, a heavy fine being imposed upon the offender who wantonly kills one of these scavengers. It is consequently not to be wondered at that, like domestic birds, they congregate in flocks in the streets of Lima, and sleep upon the roofs of the houses.
According to Mr. Wallace the Carrion Vultures, though commonly supposed to have very acute olfactory nerves, depend entirely on sight in seeking out their food. While he was skinning a bird, a dozen of them used to be always waiting attendance at a moderate distance. The moment he threw away a piece of meat they would all run up to seize it; but it frequently happened to fall in a little hollow of the ground or among some grass, and then they would hop about, searching within a foot of it, and very often go away without finding it. A piece of stick or paper would bring them down just as rapidly, and after seeing what it was they would quietly go back to their former places. They always choose elevated stations, evidently to see what food they can discover, and when soaring at an immense height in the air, they will descend where some animal has died long before it emits any strong smell.
It is a remarkable fact that, though hundreds of gallinazos may be feeding upon a carcase, they immediately retire when the King of the Vultures (Sarcoramphus papa) makes his appearance, who yet is not larger than themselves. Perching on the neighbouring trees, they wait till his majesty--a beautiful bird, with a gaudily coloured head and neck--has sufficiently gorged himself, and then pounce down with increased voracity upon their disgusting meal.
The Indians of Guiana sometimes amuse themselves with catching a gallinazo by means of a piece of meat attached to a hook, and decking him with a variety of strange feathers, which they attach to him with soft wax. Thus travestied, they turn him out again among his comrades, who, to their great delight, fly in terror from the nondescript; and it is only after wind and weather have stripped him of his finery that the outlaw is once more admitted into their society.
When full of food this vulture, like the other members of his tribe, appears an indolent bird. He will stand for hours together on a branch of a tree, or on the top of a house, with his wings drooping, or after rain, spreading them to catch the rays of the sun. But when in quest of prey, he may be seen soaring aloft on pinions which never flutter, and at the same time carry him with a rapidity equal to that of the golden eagle. Scarcely has he espied a piece of carrion below, when, folding his broad wings, he descends with such speed as to produce a whistling sound, resembling that of an arrow cleaving the air.
The gallinazos when taken young can be so easily tamed that they will follow the person who feeds them for many miles. D’Orbigny even mentions one of these birds that was so attached to its master that it accompanied him, like a dog, wherever he went. During a serious illness of its patron, the door of the bedroom having been left open, the bird eagerly flew in, and expressed a lively joy at seeing him again.
The Harpy Eagle (Thrasaëtus harpyia) is one of the finest of all the rapacious birds. The enormous development of his beak and legs, and his consequent strength and power in mastering his prey, correspond with his bold and noble bearing and the fierce lustre of his eye. His whole aspect is that of formidably organised power, and even the crest adds much to his terrific appearance. ‘Among many singular birds and curiosities,’ says Mr. Edwards, in his ‘Voyage up the Amazon,’ ‘that were brought to us, was a young harpy eagle, a most ferocious looking character, with a high crest and a beak and talons in correspondence. He was turned loose into the garden, and before long gave us a sample of his powers. With erected crest and flashing eyes, uttering a frightful shriek, he pounced upon a young ibis, and quicker than thought had torn his reeking liver from his body. The whole animal world there was wild with fear.’
The harpy attains a greater size than the common eagle. He chiefly resides in the damp lowlands of tropical America, where Prince Maximilian of Neu Wied met with him only in the dense forests, perched on the high branches. The monkey, vaulting by means of his tail from tree to tree, mocks the pursuit of the tiger-cat and boa, but woe to him if the harpy spies him out, for seizing him with lightning-like rapidity, he cleaves his skull with one single stroke of his beak.
Fear seems to be totally unknown to this noble bird, and he defends himself to the last moment. D’Orbigny relates that one day, while descending a Bolivian river in a boat with some Indians, they severely wounded a harpy with their arrows, so that it fell from the branch on which it had been struck. Stepping out of the canoe, the savages now rushed to the spot where the bird lay, knocked it on the head, and tearing out the feathers of its wings, brought it for dead to the boat. Yet the harpy awakened from his trance, and furiously attacked his persecutors. Throwing himself upon D’Orbigny he pierced his hand through and through with the only talon that had been left unhurt, while the mangled remains of the other tore his arm, which at the same time he lacerated with his beak. Two men were hardly able to release the naturalist from the attacks of the ferocious bird.
On turning from the New to the Old World, we find other but not less interesting raptorial birds sweep through the higher regions of the air in quest of prey. The gigantic oricou, or Sociable Vulture (Vultur auricularis), inhabits the greater part of Africa, and builds his nest in the fissures of rocks on the peaks of inaccessible mountains. In size he equals the condor, and his flight is not less bold; leaving his lofty cavern at dawn, he rises higher and higher, till he is lost to sight; but, though beyond the sphere of human vision, the telescopic eye of the bird is at work. The moment any animal sinks to the earth in death, the unseen vulture detects it. Does the hunter bring down some large quadruped, beyond his powers to remove, and leave it to obtain assistance?--on his return, however speedy, he finds it surrounded by a band of vultures, where not one was to be seen a quarter of an hour before.
Le Vaillant having once killed three zebras, hastened to his camp, at about a league’s distance, to fetch a wagon; but on returning he found nothing but the bones, at which hundreds of oricous were busy picking. Another time, having killed a gazelle, he left the carcase on the sand, and retired into the bushes to observe what would happen. First came crows, who with loud croakings wheeled round the dead animal: then after a few minutes kites and buzzards appeared, and finally he saw the oricous descending from an enormous height. They alighted upon the gazelle, and soon hundreds of raptorial birds were assembled. Thus the small robbers had first pointed out the way to those of middle size, who in their turn roused the attention of the bandits of a higher order; and none of them came too short, for after the powerful oricous had dismembered the carcase, some very good morsels remained for the buzzards, and the bones furnished excellent pickings for the crows.
The Bacha (Falco bacha, Daudin) inhabits India and Africa, where he sits for days on the peak of precipitous cliffs, on the look-out for rock-rabbits (Hyrax Capensis). These poor animals, who have good reason to be on their guard, venture only with the greatest caution to peep out of the caves and crevices in which they take up their abode, and to which they owe their Dutch name of ‘klipdachs.’ Meanwhile the bacha remains immovable, as if he were part of the rock on which he perches, his head muffled up in his shoulders, but watching with a sharp eye every movement of his prey, until, finally, some unfortunate klipdachs venturing forth, he darts upon him like a thunderbolt. If this rapid attack proves unsuccessful, the bacha slinks away, ashamed, like a lion that has missed his spring, and seeks some new observatory, for he is well aware that no rock-rabbit in the neighbourhood will venture to stroll out during the remainder of the day. But if he succeeds in seizing the klipdachs before it has time to leap away, he carries it to a rocky ledge, and slowly tears it to pieces. The terrible cries of the animal appear to sound like music in his ears, as if he were not only satisfying his hunger but rejoicing in the torments of an enemy. This scene of cruelty spreads terror far and wide, and for a long time no klipdachs will be seen where the bacha has held his bloody repast.
The Fishing Eagle of Africa (Haliætus vocifer), first noticed by Le Vaillant, may be seen hovering about the coasts and river-mouths of that vast continent. He is never found in the interior of the country, as the African streams are but thinly stocked with fish, which form his principal food. ‘Elastic and buoyant, this agile dweller in the air mounts to soaring heights scanning with sharp and piercing eye the motions of his prey below. Energetic in his movements, impetuous in his appetites, he pounces with the velocity of a meteor on the object of his wishes, and with a wild and savage joy tears it to pieces. His whole sense of existence is the procuring of food, and for this he is ever on the alert, ever ready to combat, to ravage, and destroy.’[34] He generally devours his prey on the nearest rock, and loves to return to the same spot where the bones of gazelles and lizards may be seen lying about, a proof that his appetite is not solely confined to the finny tribes. When these birds are sitting, they call and answer each other with a variously-toned shriek which they utter under curious movements of the head and neck.
While all other raptorial birds croak or shriek, the musical Sparrow Hawk of Africa (Melierca musicus, Gray) pours forth his morning and evening notes to entertain his mate while she is performing the business of incubation. Every song lasts a minute, and then the hunter may approach, but during the pause he is obliged to remain perfectly quiet, as then the bird hears the least noise and immediately flies away.
The prowess of the Secretary Eagle (Serpentarius cristatus) attacking the most venomous serpents has already been mentioned. The long legs of this useful bird, which owes its name of secretary to the crest on the back of its head, reminding one of the pen stuck behind the ear, according to the custom of writing-clerks, might give one reason to reckon it, at first sight, among the cranes or storks, but its curved beak and internal organisation prove it to belong to the falcon tribe. Its feet being incapable of grasping, it keeps constantly on the ground in sandy and open places, and runs with such speed as to be able to overtake the most agile reptiles. The destruction it causes in their ranks must be as great as its own enviable powers of digestion, for Le Vaillant mentions that having killed one of these birds he found in its crop eleven rather large lizards, three serpents of an arm’s length, and eleven small tortoises, besides a number of locusts, beetles, and other insects, swallowed most likely by way of dessert.
XXIX. THE OSTRICH AND THE CASSOWARY
Size of the Ostrich--Its astonishing Swiftness--Ostrich Hunting-- Stratagem of the Ostrich for protecting its Young--Points of Resemblance with the Camel--Its Voracity--Ostrich Feathers-- Domestication of the Ostrich in Algeria--Poetical Legend of the Arabs--The American Rheas--The Cassowary--The Australian Emu.
In the African plains and wildernesses, where the lion seeks his prey, where the pachyderms make the earth tremble under their weighty strides, where the giraffe plucks the high branches of the acacia, and the herds of the antelope bound along: there also dwells the Ostrich, the king of birds, if size alone gives right to so proud a title; for neither the condor nor the albatross can be compared in this respect to the ostrich, who raises his head seven or eight feet above the ground, and attains a weight of from two to three hundred pounds. His small and weak wings are incapable of carrying him through the air, but their flapping materially assists the action of his legs, and serves to increase his swiftness when, flying over the plain, he ‘scorns the horse and its rider.’ His feet appear hardly to touch the ground, and the length between each stride is not unfrequently from twelve to fourteen feet, so that for a time he might even outstrip a locomotive rushing along at full speed.
In Senegal, Adanson saw a couple of ostriches so tame that two negro boys could sit upon the largest of them. ‘Scarce had he felt the weight,’ says the venerable naturalist, ‘when he began to run with all his might, and thus they rode upon him several times round the village. I was so much amused with the sight, that I wished to see it repeated; and in order to ascertain how far the strength of the birds would reach, I ordered two full-grown negroes to mount upon the smallest of them and two others upon the strongest. At first they ran in a short gallop with very small strides, but after a short time they extended their wings like sails, and scampered away with such an amazing velocity that they scarcely seemed to touch the ground. Whoever has seen a partridge run knows that no man is able to keep up with him, and were he able to make greater strides his rapidity would undoubtedly be still greater. The ostrich, who runs like a partridge, possesses this advantage, and I am convinced that these two birds would have distanced the best English horses. To be sure they would not have been able to run for so long a time, but in running a race to a moderate distance they would certainly have gained the prize.’
Not only by his speed is the ostrich able to baffle many an enemy, the strength of his legs also serves him as an excellent means of defence; and many a panther or wild dog coming within reach of his foot has had reason to repent of its temerity. But in spite of the rapidity of his flight, during which he frequently flings large stones backwards with his foot, and in spite of his strength, he is frequently obliged to succumb to man, who knows how to hunt him in various ways.
Unsuspicious of evil, a troop of ostriches wanders through the plain, the monotony of which is only relieved here and there by a clump of palms, a patch of candelabra-shaped tree-euphorbias, or a vast and solitary baobab. Some leisurely feed on the sprouts of the acacias, or the hard leaves of the mimosas, others agitate their wings and ventilate the delicate plumage, the possession of which is soon to prove so fatal to them. No other bird is seen in their company--for no other bird leads a life like theirs; but the zebra and the antelope are fond of associating with the ostrich, desirous perhaps of benefiting by the sharpness of his eye, which is capable of discerning danger at the utmost verge of the horizon. But in spite of its vigilance, misfortunes are already gathering round the troop, for the Bedouin has spied them out, and encircles them with a ring of his fleetest coursers. In vain the ostrich seeks to escape. One rider drives him along to the next, the circle gradually grows narrower and narrower, and, finally, the exhausted bird sinks upon the ground, and receives the death-blow with stoical resignation.
To surprise the cautious seal the northern Eskimo puts on a skin of the animal, and imitating its motions mixes among the unsuspicious herd; and, in South Africa, we find the Bushman resort to a similar stratagem to outwit the ostrich. He forms a kind of saddle-shaped cushion, and covers it over with feathers, so as to resemble the bird. The head and neck of an ostrich are stuffed, and a small rod introduced. Preparing for the chase, he whitens his black legs with any substance he can procure, places the saddle on his shoulders, takes the bottom part of the neck in his right hand, and his bow and poisoned arrows in his left. Under this mask he mimics the ostrich to perfection, picks away at the verdure, turns his head as if keeping a sharp look out, shakes his feathers, now walks, and then trots, till he gets within bow-shot, and when the flock runs, from one receiving an arrow, he runs too. Sometimes, however, it happens that some wary old bird suspects the cheat, and endeavours to get near the intruder, who then tries to get out of the way, and to prevent the bird from catching his scent, which would at once break the spell.
The ostrich generally passes for a very stupid animal, yet to protect its young it has recourse to the same stratagems which we admire in the plover, the oyster-catcher,[35] and several other strand-birds. Thus Professor Thunberg relates that riding past a place where a hen-ostrich sat on her nest, the bird sprang up and pursued him, in order to draw off his attention from her young ones or her eggs. Every time the traveller turned his horse toward her, she retreated ten or twelve paces, but as soon as he rode on, pursued him again.
The instinct of the ostrich in providing food for its young is no less remarkable, for it is now proved that this bird, far from leaving its eggs, like a cold-blooded reptile, to be vivified by the sun, as was formerly supposed, not only hatches them with the greatest care, but even reserves a certain portion of eggs to provide the young with nourishment when they first burst into life: a wonderful provision, when we consider how difficult it would be for the brood to find any other adequate food in its sterile haunts. In Senegal, where the heat is extreme, the ostrich, it is said, sits at night only upon those eggs which are to be rendered fertile, but in extratropical Africa, where the sun has less power, the mother remains constant in her attentions to the eggs both day and night.
The number of eggs which the ostrich usually sits upon is ten; but the Hottentots, who are very fond of them, upon discovering a nest, seize fitting opportunities to remove one or two at a time; this induces the bird to deposit more, and in this manner she has been known, like the domestic hen, to lay between forty and fifty in a season.
Almost as soon as the chicks of the ostrich (which are about the size of pullets) have escaped from the shell, they are able to walk about and to follow the mother, on whom they are dependent for a long time. And here again we find a wonderful provision of nature in providing the young of the ostrich with a colour and a covering admirably suited to the localities they frequent. The colour is a kind of pepper and salt, agreeing well with the sand and gravel of the plains, which they are in the habit of traversing, so that you have the greatest difficulty in discerning the chicks even when crouching under your very eyes. The covering is neither down nor feathers, but a kind of prickly stubble, which no doubt is an excellent protection against injury from the gravel and the stunted vegetation amongst which they dwell.
The ostrich resembles in many respects the quadrupeds, and particularly the camel, so that it may almost be said to fill up the chasm which separates the mammalia from the birds, and to form a connecting link between them. Both the ostrich and the dromedary have warty excrescences on the breast upon which they lean whilst reposing, an almost similarly formed foot, the same muscular neck; and when we consider that they both feed upon the most stunted herbage, and are capable of supporting thirst for an incredibly long time, being, in fact, both equally well formed for living on the arid plains, it is certainly not to be wondered at that the ancients gave the ostrich a name betokening this similitude (Struthio camelus), and that the fancy of the Arabs ascribes its original parentage to a bird and to a dromedary.
It is difficult to ascertain what the tastes of the ostrich may be while roaming the desert, but when in captivity no other bird or animal shows less nicety in the choice of its food, as it swallows with avidity stones, pieces of wood and iron, spoons, knives, and other articles of equally light digestion that may be presented to it. ‘Nothing,’ says Methuen, speaking of a domesticated ostrich, ‘disturbed its digestion--dyspepsia (happy thing) was undreamt of in its philosophy. One day a Muscovy-duck brought a promising race of ducklings into the world, and with maternal pride conducted them forth into the yard. Up with solemn and measured stride walked the ostrich, and, wearing the most mild and benignant cast of face, swallowed them all, one after the other, like so many oysters, regarding the indignant hissings and bristling plumage of the hapless mother with stoical indifference.’
The costly white plumes of the ostrich, which are chiefly obtained from the wings, have been prized in all ages for the elegance of their long, waving, loose, and flexible barbs. From seventy to ninety feathers go to the pound; but a single bird seldom furnishes more than a dozen, as many of them are spoilt by trailing or some other accident. The vagrant tribes of the Sahara sell their ostrich plumes to the caravans which annually cross the desert, and convey them to the ports of the Mediterranean. Here they were purchased as far back as the twelfth or thirteenth century, by the Pisanese or Genoese merchants, through whose agency they ultimately crossed the Alps to decorate the stately Burggräfinnen of the Rhine, or the wives of the opulent traders of Augsburg or Nuremberg. At a still more remote period the Phœnicians brought ostrich-feathers from Ophir to Tyre, whence they were distributed among the princes of the Eastern world.
In Algeria, the ostrich is often domesticated, particularly on account of its eggs, which weigh three pounds, and are equivalent to twenty-four of the common fowl’s eggs. According to Andersson they afford an excellent repast; while Dr. Livingstone tells us they have a strong disagreeable flavour, which only the keen appetite of the desert can reconcile one to. The flesh of the ostrich is decidedly coarse, but as there is no accounting for tastes, the Romans seem to have prized it; and Firmus, one of their pseudo-emperors, most likely desirous of emulating the gormandising powers of the bird on which he fed, is said to have devoured a whole ostrich at one meal.
A legend of the Arabs gives the following poetical account of the origin of the crippled wings and ruffled coat of the ostrich. ‘About a thousand years ago,’ say the wandering tribes of Kordofan, ‘the ostrich still resembled the Hubahra or Arabian bustard, and both together inhabited the grassy plains. Then also he flew remarkably well, nor was he so shy as at present, when he avoids the approach of man with gigantic strides, but lived in friendship and confidence both with him and the other animals of the desert. One day the Hubahra thus addressed him: “Dear brother! if thou art inclined we will, inschalla! (with God’s permission) fly to-morrow to the river, bathe, drink, and then return to our young!” “Well,” replied the ostrich; “we will do so:” but he did not add--“inschalla!” for he was arrogant, and did not bow before the might of the all-merciful and eternal God, “whose praise the angels in heaven proclaim, and whose glory the thunder in the clouds celebrates,”[36] as hitherto he only had known His inexhaustible goodness, and prided himself upon his own strength and his strong wings. On the following morning they prepared for their journey, but the Hubahra before starting said, “Be issm lillahi!” (in the name of Allah) while the ostrich remained mute, and then they both flew towards the eye of God (the sun). And the ostrich rose higher and higher, and striking the air with his mighty wings left the Hubahra far behind. His heart was full of arrogance; he forgot the blessings of Him who is the fountain of all blessings, and relied only upon himself. But the measure of God’s mercy was filled to overflowing, and the anger of Allah was roused against the offender. Higher and higher he rose, as if he wanted to reach the sun. But now the avenging angel of the Lord approached, and withdrew the veil which separated him from the flaming orb. In an instant his wings were burnt, and he fell miserably down upon the earth. Even now he cannot fly; even now thou seest his singed feathers; even now he fears God’s vengeance, and endeavours to escape it with gigantic strides. Therefore, O man! let the bird of the desert serve thee as a warning example: humble thyself before the power of the Almighty, and never undertake anything without saying beforehand “inschalla!” that the blessing of God may attend thy work.’ There is evidently a great resemblance between this legend and the story of Icarus, but the Arab tale gives an excellent moral lesson, and is imbued with a deep religious feeling, of which we find no traces in the Greek.
The Rheas, from their size and similar habits, have been styled the ostriches of the New World, though differing in many essential characters. One species, the Rhea Darwinii, inhabits Patagonia, while the Emu or Nandu (Rhea Americana) is found throughout the whole eastern part of South America, from Buenos Ayres to the Orinoco, wherever open plains or savannas invite it to take up its residence. The nandu is not near so tall as the true ostrich, scarcely rising above four feet, and is of a uniform grey colour except on the back, which has a brown tint. The back and rump are furnished with long feathers, but not of the same rich and costly kind as those which adorn the African ostrich. Its feeble wings merely serve to accelerate its flight, serving it as oars or sails, particularly when running with the wind. ‘It is not easily caught,’ says the Prince of Neu Wied, ‘as it not only runs very fast, but in zigzag lines, so that the horse, rendered giddy by so many evolutions, at length drops down with its rider.’
The Indian Archipelago and New Holland have likewise their peculiar struthionidous birds.
The Galeated Cassowary (Casuarius galeatus), thus called from its head being surmounted by a kind of horny helmet, is a native of Java and the adjacent isles. The skin of the head and upper part of the neck is naked, of a deep blue and fiery red tint, with pendant caruncles similar to those of the turkey-cock. It is much inferior in size to the ostrich, and its wings are reduced to so rudimentary a state, consisting merely of five long bristles, without any plumes, that they are even unable to assist it in running. It is, however, very swift, and striking out alternately with one of its robust and powerful legs, projects its body violently forward with a bounding motion far surpassing the speed of the horse.
The Australian Emu (Dromaius Novæ Hollandiæ) is allied to the cassowary, though differing in many external characters. Both the helmet, and the long pens or quills observable in the wings of the latter, are here wanting; its neck and legs are longer, its feathers, for the most part grey and brown mixed, are not so filiform, and its beak also is differently shaped. In size it more nearly approaches the ostrich, rising to a height of seven feet, and from its great muscular power is able to run so quickly as to distance the swiftest greyhound. Incessant persecutions have driven it far away from the colonised parts of the country; but it has still a vast range in the wilds of the interior. It lives on fruits, eggs, and even small animals, which it swallows entire.
XXX. PARROTS
Their Peculiar Manner of Climbing--Points of Resemblance with Monkeys--Their Social Habits--Their Connubial Felicity-- Inseparables--Talent for Mimicry--Wonderful Powers of Speech and Memory--Their Wide Range within the Temperate Zones--Colour of Parrots Artificially Changed by the South American Indians--The Cockatoos--Cockatoo Killing in Australia--The Macaw--The Parakeets.
The parrots have so many points of resemblance with the monkeys in their tastes and habits, that, notwithstanding their different appearance, one might almost be tempted to call them near relations. A constant restlessness is peculiar to both. Most animals love repose after meals, but not so the monkeys and the parrots, who, contrary to the general rule, only remain quiet while they are eating. At other times the former are always in motion, chattering or screaming, hanging from the boughs, or swinging to and fro like rope dancers, or jumping from branch to branch, or climbing to the top of the highest trees; and the parrots behave exactly in the same manner. They also are constantly screaming, flying or climbing about, when not eating a banana or cracking a nut; they also are particularly noisy before going to sleep.
As the monkey seldom or never sets his foot on even ground, but climbs or springs from branch to branch, thus also the parrot will rarely be seen walking; his flight is rapid, but generally only of short duration, so that evidently neither the ground nor the air were destined for his habitual abode. In climbing, however, he shows an uncommon expertness and agility, unlike that of any other quadruped or bird, as the organ he chiefly uses for the purpose is his beak. He first seizes with his powerful mandibles the branch he intends to ascend, and then raises his body one foot after the other; or if he happens to have a sweet nut in his bill which he is anxious to preserve, he presses his lower mandible firmly upon the branch, and raises himself by the contraction of the muscles of his neck. On descending, he first bends his head, lays the back of his beak upon the branch, and while the extended neck supports the weight of the body, brings down one foot after the other. While accidentally walking on even ground, he also frequently uses his upper mandible as a kind of crutch, by fixing its point or its back upon the ground; for the formation of his toes is such, that he can walk but very slowly, and consequently requires the aid of that singular support. Thus monkeys and parrots are, in the fullest sense of the word, dendritic animals-- the free children of the primeval forest. But if the toes of the parrot are but ill adapted for walking, they render him valuable services in grasping his food. They even form a kind of hand, with which he conveys the morsel to his beak. This easily cracks the hardest nutshell, after which the broad and fleshy tongue adroitly extracts the kernel.
In his free state the parrot lives only upon nuts and seeds; when captive, however, he becomes omnivorous, like man his master, eats bread and meat, sugar and pastry, and is very fond of wine, which has a most exhilarating effect on his spirits.
Like most monkeys, the parrots are extremely social. At break of day they generally rise in large bands, and with loud screams fly away to seek their breakfast. After having feasted together, they retire to the shady parts of the forest as soon as the heat begins to be oppressive, and a few hours before the setting of the sun reappear in large troops.
If the monkeys are distinguished by a strong affection for their young, the parrots may be cited as models of connubial love, for when once a pair has been united, its attachment remains unaltered unto death. Far more than the turtle-dove, the little passerine parrot of Brazil, and the love-parrot of Guinea, deserved to be celebrated by poets as patterns of conjugal affection. Never seen but in each other’s company, each delights to imitate the actions of the other; and when one dies, the other soon follows its partner. A gentleman who had lost one of a pair of these inseparables, attempted to preserve the other by hanging up a looking-glass in its cage. At first the joy of the poor bird was boundless, as he fancied his mate restored to his caresses; but soon perceiving the deception, he pined away and died.
Another point of resemblance between the parrots and monkeys is their talent for mimicry; but while the latter, favoured by the similarity of their organisation to that of man, strive to copy his gestures and actions; the former endeavour to imitate his voice and to repeat his words, an attempt facilitated by the extreme mobility of their tongue and upper mandible, no less than by the peculiar construction of their larynx or windpipe. These imitative instincts appear the more remarkable when we consider that both monkeys and parrots have no pursuits that necessarily bring them into closer connection with man. They are comparatively useless to him, live at a distance from his haunts, in the depths of the forests, and are so far from seeking his company, that they retreat as fast as they can on seeing him approach. How comes it, then, that they have been gifted with their wonderful ability to imitate his language and his actions, and of what use is it to them or to us?
The talent of speech has not been given to all parrots alike. The beautiful American aras, for instance, are in this respect remarkably stupid, while the purple lory of the East Indies, and the grey African parrot (Psittacus erithacus), are remarkable for their linguistic attainments. It is well known that they are often able to retain whole songs and sentences, and to repeat them with astonishing exactness. Buffon mentions a parrot who, having been taught to speak during the passage by an old sailor, had so completely adopted his gruff voice as to be mistaken for the weather-beaten tarpaulin himself. Although the bird was afterwards presented to a young lady, and no more heard the voice of its first instructor, it did not forget his lessons, and nothing could be more ludicrous than to hear it suddenly pass from the sweet tones of its fair mistress to the rough accents of its first teacher.
The grey parrot not only imitates the voice of man, but has also a strong desire to do so, which he manifests by his attention in listening, and by the continuous efforts he makes to repeat the phrases he has heard. He seems to impose upon himself a daily task, which even occupies him during sleep, as he speaks in his dreams. His memory is astonishing, so that a cardinal once gave a hundred gold crowns for one of these birds that correctly repeated a long prayer; and M. de la Borde told Buffon he had seen one that was fully able to perform the duties of a ship’s chaplain.
All parrots are more or less susceptible of education, and, particularly when caught young, grow very much attached to the master that feeds them. Those that are sent to Europe are generally taken from the nest, and have thus never experienced the sweets of freedom; but they are also frequently caught full grown. The American Indians know how to strike them with small arrows, whose points are blunted with cotton, so as to stun without killing them; or else, under the trees on which they perch, they light a fire of strong-smelling weeds, whose vapours cause them to drop to the ground. These captives are frequently extremely stubborn; but blowing the fumes of tobacco into their face until they fall asleep is an infallible remedy to cure them of their obstinacy, this operation being so little to their taste that it need hardly ever be repeated twice.
Although pre-eminently tropical, like the colibris, several parrots range far within the temperate zone, as they are found in the Southern hemisphere at the Straits of Magellan and on the Macquarie Islands, and in the Northern, in the neighbourhood of Cairo and in Kentucky, where the Carolina parrot is often seen in great numbers during the summer.
The parrots are subdivided into numerous groups and species, chiefly according to the various forms of their bills and tails. The short-tailed parrots of the Old World mostly display bright or gaudy colours, such as the Lories, which owe their name to the frequency with which they repeat this word, while the American species are generally green. The Indians have, however, found out an ingenious method to adorn the plumage of the Amazonian parrot (Psittacus Amazonicus), which is in great request, from its being easily tamed, and learning to speak with facility. They take a young bird from its nest, pluck the feathers from its back and shoulders, and then rub the naked parts with the blood of a small species of frog. The feathers which grow again after this operation are no longer green, but yellow, or of a bright red colour. Many birds die in consequence of being plucked, and thus these metamorphosed parrots are extremely rare, notwithstanding the high prices which the savages obtain for them.
The Cockatoos are distinguished from the other parrots by a crest of elegant feathers, which they can raise and depress at pleasure. They inhabit the East Indies and Australia, and have generally a white or roseate plumage. Their chief resorts are dense and humid forests, and they frequently cause great devastations in the rice plantations, often pouncing to the number of six or eight hundred upon a single field, and destroying even more than they devour.
The great white cockatoo (Cacatua Cristata), who is able to raise his beautiful yellow crest five inches high, as a cock does his comb, is the species most frequently seen in Europe. This bird is half-domesticated in several parts of India, as it builds its nest under the roofs of houses, and this tameness results from its intelligence, which seems superior to that of other parrots.
As Australia, the land of anomalies in natural history, possesses a black swan, it also gives birth to a splendid black cockatoo (Cacatua Banksii), the finest and rarest of the whole genus. Captain Grey gives us an animated description of the chasing of this bird. ‘Perhaps the finest sight that can be seen, in the whole circle of native sports, is the killing cockatoos with the kiley or boomerang. A native perceives a large flight of cockatoos in a forest which encircles a lagoon: the expanse of water affords an open clear space above it, unencumbered with trees, but which raise their gigantic forms all around, more vigorous in their growth from the damp soil in which they flourish; and in their leafy summits sit a boundless number of cockatoos, screaming, and flying from tree to tree, as they make their arrangements for a night’s sound sleep. The native throws aside his cloak, so that he may not even have this slight covering to impede his motions, draws his kiley from his belt, and with a noiseless, elastic step, approaches the lagoon, creeping from tree to tree, from bush to bush, and disturbing the birds as little as possible. Their sentinels, however, take the alarm; the cockatoos farthest from the water fly to the trees near its edge, and thus they keep concentrating their forces as the native advances; they are aware that danger is at hand, but are ignorant of its nature. At length the pursuer almost reaches the edge of the water, and the scared cockatoos with wild cries spring into the air; at the same instant the native raises his right hand high over his shoulder, and bounding forwards with his utmost speed for a few paces to give impetus to his blow, the kiley quits his hand as if it would strike the water, but when it has almost touched the unruffled surface of the lake, it spins upwards with inconceivable velocity, and with the strangest contortions. In vain the terrified cockatoos strive to avoid it; it sweeps wildly and uncertainly through the air (and so eccentric are its motions, that it requires but a slight stretch of the imagination to fancy it endowed with life), and with fell swoops is in rapid pursuit of the devoted birds, some of whom are almost certain to be brought screaming to the earth. But the wily savage has not yet done with them; he avails himself of the extraordinary attachment which these birds have for one another, and fastening a wounded one to a tree, so that its cries may induce its companions to return, he watches his opportunity, by throwing his kiley or spear, to add another bird or two to the booty he has already obtained.’
The magnificent Macaws, or Aras, of South America are distinguished by having their cheeks destitute of feathers, and their tail feathers long. Their size and splendid plumage render them fit ornaments of princely gardens, but their loud and piercing screams would prove a great annoyance to the inmates of humbler dwellings. ‘Superior in size and beauty to every parrot of South America,’ says Waterton, ‘the ara (Macrocercus Macao) will force you to take your eyes from the rest of animated nature, and gaze at him: his commanding strength; the flaming scarlet of his body; the lovely variety of red, yellow, blue, and green in his wings; the extraordinary length of his scarlet and blue tail, seem all to form and demand for him the title of emperor of all the parrots. He is scarce in Demerara, till you reach the confines of the Macoushi country; there he is in vast abundance: he mostly feeds on trees of the palm species. When the concourites have ripe fruit on them, they are covered with this magnificent parrot: he is not shy or wary; you may take your blow-pipe and quiver of poisoned arrows and kill more than you are able to carry back to your hut. They are very vociferous, and, like the common parrots, rise up in bodies towards sunset, and fly two and two to their place of rest. It is a grand sight in ornithology to see thousands of aras flying over your head, low enough to let you have a full view of their flaming mantle.’
The Paroquets, or Parakeets, are smaller than the common parrots, and have longer tails. There are numerous species, some distinguished by a very long pointed tail, and collar-like mark round the neck, which inhabit the Asiatic continent and islands; and others, natives of Australia, which are distinguished by their colour being gorgeously variegated and peculiarly mottled on the back, by their tail feathers not being pointed, and by their being furnished with elongated tarsi adapted for running on the ground.
To the former belongs the beautiful ring paroquet, which is supposed to have been the first bird of the parrot kind known to the ancient Greeks, having been brought from the island of Ceylon, after the Indian expeditions of Alexander the Great; to the latter, the elegant green parakeet, which in the hot seasons congregates about the pools in almost incredible numbers. Though capable of a rapid and even flight, and frequently at great altitudes, it is generally found running over the ground, and treading its way among the grasses to feed on the seeds. It can easily be domesticated, and a more elegant or beautiful pet can scarely be conceived.