While matters were in this position I beheld, to my utter astonishment and surprise, two of the unwounded terns takehold of their disabled comrade, one at each wing, lift him out of the water, and bear him out seawards. They were followed by two other birds. After being carried about six or seven yards, he was let gently down again, when he was taken up in a similar manner by the two who had been hitherto inactive. In this way they continued to carry him alternately, until they had conveyed him to a rock at a considerable distance, upon which they landed him in safety. Having recovered my self-possession, I made toward the rock, wishing to obtain the prize which had been so unceremoniously snatched from my grasp. I was observed, however, by the terns; and instead of four, I had in a short time a whole swarm about me. On my near approach to the rock I once more beheld two of them take hold of the wounded bird as they had done already, and bear him out to sea in triumph, far beyond my reach. This, had I been so inclined, I could no doubt have prevented. Under the circumstances, however, my feelings would not permit me; and I willingly allowed them to perform without molestation an act of mercy, and to exhibit an instance of affection which man himself need not be ashamed to imitate.[152]
While matters were in this position I beheld, to my utter astonishment and surprise, two of the unwounded terns takehold of their disabled comrade, one at each wing, lift him out of the water, and bear him out seawards. They were followed by two other birds. After being carried about six or seven yards, he was let gently down again, when he was taken up in a similar manner by the two who had been hitherto inactive. In this way they continued to carry him alternately, until they had conveyed him to a rock at a considerable distance, upon which they landed him in safety. Having recovered my self-possession, I made toward the rock, wishing to obtain the prize which had been so unceremoniously snatched from my grasp. I was observed, however, by the terns; and instead of four, I had in a short time a whole swarm about me. On my near approach to the rock I once more beheld two of them take hold of the wounded bird as they had done already, and bear him out to sea in triumph, far beyond my reach. This, had I been so inclined, I could no doubt have prevented. Under the circumstances, however, my feelings would not permit me; and I willingly allowed them to perform without molestation an act of mercy, and to exhibit an instance of affection which man himself need not be ashamed to imitate.[152]
According to Clavigero,[153]the inhabitants of Mexico utilise the sympathy of the wild pelican for the procuring of fish. First a pelican is caught and its wing broken. The bird is then tied to a tree, and being both in pain and captivity, it utters cries of distress. Other pelicans are attracted by the cries, and finding their friend in such a sorry case, their bowels of compassion become moved in a very literal sense; for they disgorge from their stomachs and pouches the fish which they have caught, and deposit them within reach of the captive. As soon as this is done the men, who have been lying in wait concealed, run to the spot, drive off the friendly pelicans, and secure their fish, leaving only a small quantity for the use of the captive.
The parrot which belonged to the Buffon family showed much sympathy with a female servant to whom it was attached when the girl had a sore finger, which it displayed by its never leaving her sick room, and groaning as if itself in pain. As soon as the girl got better the bird again became cheerful.
I shall conclude this brief demonstration of the keen sympathy which may exist in birds, by quoting the following very conclusive case in the words of its distinguished observer, Dr. Franklin:[154]—
I have known two parrots, said he, which had lived together four years, when the female became weak, and her legs swelled. These were symptoms of gout, a disease to which all birds of this family are very subject in England. It became impossible for her to descend from the perch, or to take her food as formerly, but the male was most assiduous in carrying it to her in his beak. He continued feeding her in this manner during four months, but the infirmities of his companion increased from day to day, so that at last she was unable to support herself on the perch. She remained cowering down in the bottom of the cage, making, from time to time, ineffectual efforts to regain the perch. The male was always near her, and with all his strength aided the feeble attempts of his dear better half. Seizing the poor invalid by the beak, or the upper part of the wing, he tried to raise her, and renewed his efforts several times.His constancy, his gestures, and his continued solicitude, all showed in this affectionate bird the most ardent desire to relieve the sufferings and assist the weakness of his companion.But the scene became still more interesting when the female was dying. Her unhappy spouse moved around her incessantly, his attention and tender cares redoubled. He even tried to open her beak to give some nourishment. He ran to her, then returned with a troubled and agitated look. At intervals he uttered the most plaintive cries; then, with his eyes fixed on her, kept a mournful silence. At length his companion breathed her last; from that moment he pined away, and died in the course of a few weeks.[154]
I have known two parrots, said he, which had lived together four years, when the female became weak, and her legs swelled. These were symptoms of gout, a disease to which all birds of this family are very subject in England. It became impossible for her to descend from the perch, or to take her food as formerly, but the male was most assiduous in carrying it to her in his beak. He continued feeding her in this manner during four months, but the infirmities of his companion increased from day to day, so that at last she was unable to support herself on the perch. She remained cowering down in the bottom of the cage, making, from time to time, ineffectual efforts to regain the perch. The male was always near her, and with all his strength aided the feeble attempts of his dear better half. Seizing the poor invalid by the beak, or the upper part of the wing, he tried to raise her, and renewed his efforts several times.
His constancy, his gestures, and his continued solicitude, all showed in this affectionate bird the most ardent desire to relieve the sufferings and assist the weakness of his companion.
But the scene became still more interesting when the female was dying. Her unhappy spouse moved around her incessantly, his attention and tender cares redoubled. He even tried to open her beak to give some nourishment. He ran to her, then returned with a troubled and agitated look. At intervals he uttered the most plaintive cries; then, with his eyes fixed on her, kept a mournful silence. At length his companion breathed her last; from that moment he pined away, and died in the course of a few weeks.[154]
The jealousy of birds is proverbial; and that they also manifest the kindred passion of emulation, no one can doubt who has heard them singing against one another. Mr. Bold relates that a mule canary would always sing at his own image in a mirror, becoming more and more excited, till he ended by flying in rage against his supposed rival.
The late Lady Napier wrote me, among other 'anecdotes of a grey parrot left on a long visit to the family of General Sir William Napier, at the time residing in Germany,'the following graphic description of the exultation displayed by the bird when it baffled the imitative powers of its master. The bird was the same as that already mentioned under the head of 'Memory':—
Sometimes when only two or three were in the room, at quiet occupations instead of talking, she would utter at short intervals a series of strong squalls or cries in an interjectional style, each more strange and grotesque than the previous one. My father on these occasions sometimes amused himself by imitating these cries as she uttered them, which seemed to excite her ingenuity in the production of them to the uttermost. As a last resource she always had recourse to a very peculiar one, which completely baffled him; upon which, with a loud ha! ha! ha! she made a somersault round her perch, swinging with her head downwards, sprung from one part of the cage to another, and tossed a bit of wood she used as a toy over her head in the most exulting triumph, repeating at intervals the inimitable cry, followed by peals of ha! ha! ha! to the great amusement of all present.
Sometimes when only two or three were in the room, at quiet occupations instead of talking, she would utter at short intervals a series of strong squalls or cries in an interjectional style, each more strange and grotesque than the previous one. My father on these occasions sometimes amused himself by imitating these cries as she uttered them, which seemed to excite her ingenuity in the production of them to the uttermost. As a last resource she always had recourse to a very peculiar one, which completely baffled him; upon which, with a loud ha! ha! ha! she made a somersault round her perch, swinging with her head downwards, sprung from one part of the cage to another, and tossed a bit of wood she used as a toy over her head in the most exulting triumph, repeating at intervals the inimitable cry, followed by peals of ha! ha! ha! to the great amusement of all present.
Allied to emulation is resentment, of which the following, communicated to me by a correspondent, may be taken as an example. If space permitted I could give confirmatory cases:—
One day the cat and the parrot had a quarrel. I think the cat had upset Polly's food, or something of that kind; however, they seemed all right again. An hour or so after, Polly was standing on the edge of the table; she called out in a tone of extreme affection, 'Puss, puss, come then—come then, pussy.' Pussy went and looked up innocently enough. Polly with her beak seized a basin of milk standing by, and tipped the basin and all its contents over the cat; then chuckled diabolically, of course broke the basin, and half drowned the cat.
One day the cat and the parrot had a quarrel. I think the cat had upset Polly's food, or something of that kind; however, they seemed all right again. An hour or so after, Polly was standing on the edge of the table; she called out in a tone of extreme affection, 'Puss, puss, come then—come then, pussy.' Pussy went and looked up innocently enough. Polly with her beak seized a basin of milk standing by, and tipped the basin and all its contents over the cat; then chuckled diabolically, of course broke the basin, and half drowned the cat.
Several strange but mutually corroborative stories seem to show cherished vindictiveness on the part of storks. Thus, in Captain Brown's book there occurs an account of a tame stork which lived in the college yard at Tübingen,—
And in a neighbouring house was a nest, in which other storks, that annually resorted to the place, used to hatch their eggs. At this nest, one day in autumn, a young collegian fired a shot,by which the stork that was sitting on it was probably wounded, for it did not fly out of the nest for some weeks afterwards. It was able, however, to take its departure at the usual time with the rest of the storks. But in the ensuing spring a strange stork was observed on the roof of the college, which, by clapping his wings and other gestures, seemed to invite the tame stork to come to him; but, as the tame one's wings were clipped, he was unable to accept the invitation. After some days the strange stork appeared again, and came down into the yard, when the tame one went out to meet him, clapping his wings as if to bid him welcome, but was suddenly attacked by the visitor with great fury. Some of the neighbours protected the tame bird, and drove off the assailant, but he returned several times afterwards, and incommoded the other through the whole summer. The next spring, instead of one stork only, four storks came together into the yard, and fell upon the tame one; when all the poultry present—cocks, hens, geese, and ducks—flocked at once to his assistance, and rescued him from his enemies. In consequence of this serious attack, the people of the house took precaution for the tame stork's security, and he was no more molested that year. But in the beginning of the third spring came upwards of twenty storks, which rushed at once into the yard and killed the tame stork before either man or any other animal could afford him protection.A similar occurrence took place on the premises of a farmer near Hamburg, who kept a tame stork, and, having caught another, thought to make it a companion for the one in his possession. But the two were no sooner brought together than the tame one fell upon the other, and beat him so severely that he made his escape from the place. About four months afterwards, however, the defeated stork returned with three others, who all made a combined attack upon the tame one and killed him.[155]
And in a neighbouring house was a nest, in which other storks, that annually resorted to the place, used to hatch their eggs. At this nest, one day in autumn, a young collegian fired a shot,by which the stork that was sitting on it was probably wounded, for it did not fly out of the nest for some weeks afterwards. It was able, however, to take its departure at the usual time with the rest of the storks. But in the ensuing spring a strange stork was observed on the roof of the college, which, by clapping his wings and other gestures, seemed to invite the tame stork to come to him; but, as the tame one's wings were clipped, he was unable to accept the invitation. After some days the strange stork appeared again, and came down into the yard, when the tame one went out to meet him, clapping his wings as if to bid him welcome, but was suddenly attacked by the visitor with great fury. Some of the neighbours protected the tame bird, and drove off the assailant, but he returned several times afterwards, and incommoded the other through the whole summer. The next spring, instead of one stork only, four storks came together into the yard, and fell upon the tame one; when all the poultry present—cocks, hens, geese, and ducks—flocked at once to his assistance, and rescued him from his enemies. In consequence of this serious attack, the people of the house took precaution for the tame stork's security, and he was no more molested that year. But in the beginning of the third spring came upwards of twenty storks, which rushed at once into the yard and killed the tame stork before either man or any other animal could afford him protection.
A similar occurrence took place on the premises of a farmer near Hamburg, who kept a tame stork, and, having caught another, thought to make it a companion for the one in his possession. But the two were no sooner brought together than the tame one fell upon the other, and beat him so severely that he made his escape from the place. About four months afterwards, however, the defeated stork returned with three others, who all made a combined attack upon the tame one and killed him.[155]
The curiosity of birds is highly developed, so much so, indeed, that in this and other countries it is played upon by sportsmen and trappers. Unfamiliar objects beingplaced within sight, say, of ducks, the birds approach to examine them, and fall into the snares which have been prepared. Similarly, in oceanic islands unfrequented by man, the birds fearlessly approach to examine the first human beings that they have seen.
That birds exhibit pride might be considered doubtful if we had to rely only on the evidence supplied by the display of the peacock, and the strutting of the turkey-gobbler; for these actions, although so expressive of this emotion, may not really be due to it. But I think that the evident pleasure which is taken in achievement by talking birds can only be ascribed to the emotion in question. These birds regularly practise their art, and when a new phrase is perfected they show an unmistakable delight in displaying the result.
Play is exhibited by many species in various ways, and it seems to be this class of feelings in their most organised form which have led to the extraordinary instincts of the bower-birds of New South Wales. The 'playhouses' of the animals have been described by Mr. Gould in his 'History of the Birds of New South Wales.' Of course the play-instincts are here united with those of courtship, which are of such general occurrence among birds; but I think no one can read Mr. Gould's description of the bowers and the uses to which they are put without feeling that the love of sportive play must have been joined with the sexual instincts in producing the result. But, be this as it may, there can be no question that these bowers are highly interesting structures, as furnishing the most unexceptionable evidence of true æsthetic, if not artistic feeling, on the part of the bird which constructs them; and, according to Mr. Herbert Spencer, the artistic feelings are physiologically allied with those of play. It is a matter of importance to obtain definite proof of an æsthetic sense in animals, because this constitutes the basis of Mr. Darwin's theory of sexual selection; but as he has treated the evidence on this subject in so exhaustive a manner, I shall not enter upon so wide a field further than to point out that the case of the bower-bird, even if it stood alone, would be amply sufficient to carry the general conclusionthat some animals exhibit emotions of the beautiful. The following is Mr. Gould's description,in extenso, of the habits of the bird in question:—
The extraordinary bower-like structure, alluded to in my remarks on the genus, first came under my notice in the Sydney Museum, to which an example had been presented by Charles Cox, Esq. . . . . On visiting the cedar bushes of the Liverpool range, I discovered several of these bowers or playing-houses on the ground, under the shelter of the branches of the overhanging trees, in the most retired part of the forest; they differed considerably in size, some being a third larger than others. The base consists of an extensive and rather convex platform of sticks firmly interwoven, on the centre of which the bower itself is built. This, like the platform on which it is placed, and with which it is interwoven, is formed of sticks and twigs, but of a more slender and flexible description, the tips of the twigs being so arranged as to curve inwards and nearly meet at the top; in the interior the materials are so placed that the forks of the twigs are always presented outwards, by which arrangement not the slightest obstruction is offered to the passage of the birds. The interest of this curious bower is much enhanced by the manner in which it is decorated with the most gaily coloured articles that can be collected, such as the blue tail-feathers of the Rose-hill and Pennantian parakeets, bleached bones and shells of snails, &c.; some of the feathers are inserted among the twigs, while others with the bones and shells are strewed near the entrances. The propensity of these birds to fly off with any attractive object is so well known to the natives that they always search the runs for any small missing article that may have been accidentally dropped in the bush. I myself found at the entrance of one of them a small neatly worked stone tomahawk of an inch and a half in length, together with some slips of blue cotton rag, which the birds had doubtless picked up at a deserted encampment of the natives.
The extraordinary bower-like structure, alluded to in my remarks on the genus, first came under my notice in the Sydney Museum, to which an example had been presented by Charles Cox, Esq. . . . . On visiting the cedar bushes of the Liverpool range, I discovered several of these bowers or playing-houses on the ground, under the shelter of the branches of the overhanging trees, in the most retired part of the forest; they differed considerably in size, some being a third larger than others. The base consists of an extensive and rather convex platform of sticks firmly interwoven, on the centre of which the bower itself is built. This, like the platform on which it is placed, and with which it is interwoven, is formed of sticks and twigs, but of a more slender and flexible description, the tips of the twigs being so arranged as to curve inwards and nearly meet at the top; in the interior the materials are so placed that the forks of the twigs are always presented outwards, by which arrangement not the slightest obstruction is offered to the passage of the birds. The interest of this curious bower is much enhanced by the manner in which it is decorated with the most gaily coloured articles that can be collected, such as the blue tail-feathers of the Rose-hill and Pennantian parakeets, bleached bones and shells of snails, &c.; some of the feathers are inserted among the twigs, while others with the bones and shells are strewed near the entrances. The propensity of these birds to fly off with any attractive object is so well known to the natives that they always search the runs for any small missing article that may have been accidentally dropped in the bush. I myself found at the entrance of one of them a small neatly worked stone tomahawk of an inch and a half in length, together with some slips of blue cotton rag, which the birds had doubtless picked up at a deserted encampment of the natives.
It has now been clearly ascertained that these curious bowers are merely sporting-places in which the sexes meet, when the males display their finery, and exhibit many remarkable actions; and so inherent is this habit, that the living examples, which have been from time to time sent to this country, continue it even in captivity.[156]Those belonging to the Zoological Society have constructedtheir bowers, decorated and kept them in repair, for several years. In a letter from the late Mr. F. Strange, it is said:—
My aviary is now tenanted by a pair of satin-birds, which for the last two months have been constantly engaged in constructing bowers. Both sexes assist in their erection, but the male is the principal workman. At times the male will chase the female all over the aviary, then go to the bower, pick up a gay feather or a large leaf, utter a curious kind of note, set all his feathers erect, run round the bower, and become so excited that his eyes appear ready to start from his head, and he continues opening first one wing and then another, uttering a low whistling note, and, like the domestic cock, seems to be picking up something from the ground, until at last the female goes gently towards him, when after two turns round her, he suddenly makes a dash, and the scene ends.[157]
My aviary is now tenanted by a pair of satin-birds, which for the last two months have been constantly engaged in constructing bowers. Both sexes assist in their erection, but the male is the principal workman. At times the male will chase the female all over the aviary, then go to the bower, pick up a gay feather or a large leaf, utter a curious kind of note, set all his feathers erect, run round the bower, and become so excited that his eyes appear ready to start from his head, and he continues opening first one wing and then another, uttering a low whistling note, and, like the domestic cock, seems to be picking up something from the ground, until at last the female goes gently towards him, when after two turns round her, he suddenly makes a dash, and the scene ends.[157]
I have said that if this case stood alone it would constitute ample evidence that some animals possess emotions of the beautiful. But the case does not stand alone. Certain humming-birds, according to Mr. Gould, decorate the outsides of their nests 'with the utmost taste; they instinctively fasten thereon beautiful pieces of flat lichen, the larger pieces in the middle, and the smaller on the part attached to the branch. Now and then a pretty feather is intertwined or fastened to the outer sides, the stem being always so placed that the feather stands out beyond the surface.' Several other instances might be rendered of the display of artistic feeling in the architecture of birds; and, as Mr. Darwin so elaborately shows, there can scarcely be question that these animals take emotional pleasure in surveying beautiful plumage in the opposite sex, looking to the careful manner in which the males of many species display their fine colours to the females. Doubtless the evidence of æsthetic feeling is much stronger in the case of birds than it is in that of any other class; but if this feeling is accepted as a sufficient cause, through sexual selection, of natural decoration in the members of this class, we are justified in attributing to sexual selection, and so to æsthetic feeling, naturaldecoration in other classes, at least as low down in the scale as the Articulata. But, as I have said, Mr. Darwin has dealt with this whole subject in so exhaustive a manner that it is needless for me to enter upon it further than to say in general terms, that whatever we may think of his theory of sexual selection, his researches have unquestionably proved the existence of an æsthetic sense in animals.
The same fact appears to be shown in another way by the fondness of song-birds for the music of their mates. There can be no doubt that male birds charm their females with their strains, and that this, in fact, is the reason why song in birds has become developed. Of course it may be said that the vocal utterances of birds are not always, or even generally, musical; but this does not affect the fact that birds find some æsthetic pleasure in the sounds which they emit; it only shows that the standard of æsthetic taste differs in different species of birds as it does in different races of men. Moreover, the pleasure which birds manifest in musical sounds is not always restricted to the sounds which they themselves produce. Parrots seem certainly to take delight in hearing a piano play or a girl sing; and the following instance, published by the musician John Lockman, reveals in a remarkable manner the power of distinguishing a particular air, and of preferring it above others. He was staying at the house of a Mr. Lee in Cheshire, whose daughter used to play; and whenever she played the air of 'Speri si' from Handel's opera of 'Admetus,' a pigeon would descend from an adjacent dovecot to the window of the room where she sat, 'and listen to the air apparently with the most pleasing emotions,' always returning to the dovecot immediately the air was finished. But it was only this one air that would induce the bird to behave in this way.[158]
Under this heading we shall have a number of facts to consider, which are more or less of a disconnected character.
Taking first those special habits connected with the procuring of food, we may notice the instinct manifested by blackbirds and thrushes of conveying snails to considerable distances in order to hammer and break their shells against what may happen to be the nearest stone,[159]and the still more clever though somewhat analogous instinct exhibited by certain gulls and crows of flying with shell-fish to a considerable height and letting them fall upon stones for the purpose of smashing their shells.[160]Both these instincts manifest a high degree of intelligence, either on the part of the birds themselves, or on that of their ancestors; for neither of these instincts can be regarded as due to originally accidental adjustments favoured and improved by natural selection; they must at least originally have been intelligent actions purposely designed to secure the ends attained.
An interesting instinct is that of piracy, which in the animal kingdom reaches its highest or most systematic development among the birds. It is easy to see how it may be of more advantage to a species of strong bird that its members should become parasitic on the labours of other species than that they should forage for themselves, and so there is no difficulty in understanding the development of the plundering instinct by natural selection. We find all stages of this development among the sea-birds. Thus the gulls, although usually self-foragers, will, as I have often observed, congregate in enormous numbers where the guillemots have found a shoal of fish. Restingon or flying over the surface of the water, the gulls wait till a guillemot comes to the surface with a fish, and then wrest the latter from the beak of the former. In the robber-tern this instinct has proceeded further, so that the animal gains its subsistence entirely by plunder of other terns. I have often observed this process, and it is interesting that the common tern well knows the appearance of the robber; for no sooner does a robber-tern come up than the greatest consternation is excited among a flock of common terns, these flying about and screaming in a frantic manner. The white-headed eagle has also developed the plundering instinct in great perfection, as is shown by the following graphic account of Audubon:—
During spring and summer, the white-headed eagle, to procure sustenance, follows a different course, and one much less suited to a bird apparently so well able to supply itself without interfering with other plunderers. No sooner does the first hawk make its appearance along the Atlantic shore, or around the numerous and large rivers, than the eagle follows it, and, like a selfish oppressor, robs it of the hard-earned fruits of its labour. Perched on some tall summit, in view of the ocean or of some watercourse, he watches every motion of the osprey while on the wing. When the latter rises from the water, with a fish in its grasp, forth rushes the eagle in pursuit. He mounts above the fish-hawk, and threatens it by actions well understood; when the latter, fearing perhaps that its life is in danger, drops its prey. In an instant the eagle, accurately estimating the rapid descent of the fish, closes its wings, follows it with the swiftness of thought, and the next moment grasps it. The prize is carried off in silence to the woods, and assists in feeding the ever-hungry brood of the eagle.
During spring and summer, the white-headed eagle, to procure sustenance, follows a different course, and one much less suited to a bird apparently so well able to supply itself without interfering with other plunderers. No sooner does the first hawk make its appearance along the Atlantic shore, or around the numerous and large rivers, than the eagle follows it, and, like a selfish oppressor, robs it of the hard-earned fruits of its labour. Perched on some tall summit, in view of the ocean or of some watercourse, he watches every motion of the osprey while on the wing. When the latter rises from the water, with a fish in its grasp, forth rushes the eagle in pursuit. He mounts above the fish-hawk, and threatens it by actions well understood; when the latter, fearing perhaps that its life is in danger, drops its prey. In an instant the eagle, accurately estimating the rapid descent of the fish, closes its wings, follows it with the swiftness of thought, and the next moment grasps it. The prize is carried off in silence to the woods, and assists in feeding the ever-hungry brood of the eagle.
The frigate pelican is likewise a professional thief, and attacks the boobies not only to make them drop the fish which they have newly caught, but also to disgorge those which are actually in their stomachs. The latter process is effected by strong punishment, which they continue until the unfortunate booby yields up its dinner. The punishment consists in stabbing the victim with its powerful beak. Catesby and Dampier have both observed and described these habits, and it seems from their account that the plunderer may either commit highway robbery inthe air, or lie in wait for the boobies as they return to rest.
In antithesis to this habit of plundering other birds I may quote the following from 'Nature' (July 20, 1871), to show that the instinct of provident labour, so common among insects and rodents, is not altogether unrepresented in birds:—
The ant-eating woodpecker (Melanerpes formicivorus), a common Californian species, has the curious and peculiar habit of laying up provision against the inclement season. Small round holes are dug in the bark of the pine and oak, into each of which is inserted an acorn, and so tightly is it fitted or driven in, that it is with difficulty extricated. The bark of the pine trees, when thus filled, presents at a short distance the appearance of being studded with nails.
The ant-eating woodpecker (Melanerpes formicivorus), a common Californian species, has the curious and peculiar habit of laying up provision against the inclement season. Small round holes are dug in the bark of the pine and oak, into each of which is inserted an acorn, and so tightly is it fitted or driven in, that it is with difficulty extricated. The bark of the pine trees, when thus filled, presents at a short distance the appearance of being studded with nails.
The following may also be quoted:—
It is the nature of this bird (guillemot), as well as of most of those birds which habitually dive to take their prey, to perform all their evolutions under water with the aid of their wings; but instead of dashing at once into the midst of the terrified group of small prey, by which only a few would be captured, it passes round and round them, and so drives them into a heap; and thus has an opportunity of snatching here one and there another as it finds it convenient to swallow them; and if any one pushes out to escape, it falls the first prey of the devourer. The manner in which this bird removes the egg of a gull or hen to some secure place to be devoured, when compared with that in which a like conveyance is made by the parent for the safety of its future progeny, affords a striking manifestation of the difference between appetite and affection. When influenced by affection, the brittle treasure is removed without flaw or fracture, and is replaced with tender care; but the plunderer at once plunges his bill into its substance, and carries it off on its point.[161]
It is the nature of this bird (guillemot), as well as of most of those birds which habitually dive to take their prey, to perform all their evolutions under water with the aid of their wings; but instead of dashing at once into the midst of the terrified group of small prey, by which only a few would be captured, it passes round and round them, and so drives them into a heap; and thus has an opportunity of snatching here one and there another as it finds it convenient to swallow them; and if any one pushes out to escape, it falls the first prey of the devourer. The manner in which this bird removes the egg of a gull or hen to some secure place to be devoured, when compared with that in which a like conveyance is made by the parent for the safety of its future progeny, affords a striking manifestation of the difference between appetite and affection. When influenced by affection, the brittle treasure is removed without flaw or fracture, and is replaced with tender care; but the plunderer at once plunges his bill into its substance, and carries it off on its point.[161]
Speaking of the feeding habits of the lapwing, Jesse says:—
When the lapwing wants to procure food, it seeks for a worm's cast, and stamps the ground by the side of it with its feet. After doing this for a short time, the bird waits for theissue of the worm from its hole, which, alarmed at the shaking of the ground, endeavours to make its escape, when it is immediately seized, and becomes the prey of the ingenious bird. The lapwing also frequents the haunts of moles, which, when in pursuit of worms on which they feed, frighten them, and the worm, in attempting to escape, comes to the surface of the ground, when it is seized by the lapwing.[162]
When the lapwing wants to procure food, it seeks for a worm's cast, and stamps the ground by the side of it with its feet. After doing this for a short time, the bird waits for theissue of the worm from its hole, which, alarmed at the shaking of the ground, endeavours to make its escape, when it is immediately seized, and becomes the prey of the ingenious bird. The lapwing also frequents the haunts of moles, which, when in pursuit of worms on which they feed, frighten them, and the worm, in attempting to escape, comes to the surface of the ground, when it is seized by the lapwing.[162]
Again,—
A lady of Dr. E. Darwin's acquaintance saw a little bird repeatedly hop on a poppy stem, and shake the head with his bill, till many seeds were scattered, when it settled on the ground and picked up the seeds.[163]
A lady of Dr. E. Darwin's acquaintance saw a little bird repeatedly hop on a poppy stem, and shake the head with his bill, till many seeds were scattered, when it settled on the ground and picked up the seeds.[163]
It is a matter of common remark that in countries where vultures abound, these birds rapidly 'gather together where the carcass is,' although before the death of their prey no bird was to be seen in the sky. The question has always been asked whether the vultures are guided to the carcass by their sense of smell or by that of sight; but this question is really no longer an open one. When Mr. Darwin was at Valparaiso he tried the following experiment. Having tied a number of condors in a long row, and having folded up a piece of meat in paper, he walked backwards and forwards in front of the row, carrying the meat at a distance of three yards from them, 'but no notice whatever was taken.' He then threw the meat upon the ground, within one yard of an old male bird; 'he looked at it for a moment with attention, but then regarded it no more.' With a stick he next pushed the meat right under the beak of the bird. Then for the first time the bird smelled it, and tore open the paper 'with fury, and at the same moment every bird in the long row began struggling and flapping its wings.'[164]Thus there can be no doubt that vultures do not depend on their sense of smell for finding carrion at a distance. Nor is it mysterious why they should find it by their sense of sight. If over an area of many square miles there are a number of vultures flying as they do at a very high elevation, and ifone of the number perceives a carcass and begins to descend, the next adjacent vultures would see the descent of the first one, and follow him as a guide, while the next in the series would follow these in the same way, and so on.
Coming now to special instincts relating to incubation and the care of offspring, a correspondent writes:—
Last spring I had a pair of canaries, in an ordinary breeding cage (with two small boxes for nests in a compartment at one end). In due course the first egg was laid, which I inspected through the little door made for that purpose. The next day I looked again; still only one egg, and so for four or five days. It being evident, from the appearance of the hen, that there were more eggs coming, and as she seemed in good health, I supposed she might have broken some; and I took out the box, and examined it carefully for the shells (but without pulling the nest to pieces), and found nothing, until towards the beginning of another week I went to take the one egg away, as the hen seemed preparing to sit upon it. There were two eggs! The next morning, to my surprise, she was sitting upon six eggs! She must therefore have buried four of them in the four corners of the box, and so deep that I had been unable to find them. At first I thought that she had done so merely from dislike at their being looked at, but on reflection it has occurred to me that she did it that all might be hatched at the same time (as they subsequently were); for she was perfectly tame, and would almost suffer herself to be handled when on her nest. Wild birds never seem to conceal their eggs before sitting; but then (having more amusements than cage birds) they do not revisit their eggs after laying, until they have laid their number, whereas a caged bird, having nothing to divert her attention from her nest, often sits on it the greater part of the day.
Last spring I had a pair of canaries, in an ordinary breeding cage (with two small boxes for nests in a compartment at one end). In due course the first egg was laid, which I inspected through the little door made for that purpose. The next day I looked again; still only one egg, and so for four or five days. It being evident, from the appearance of the hen, that there were more eggs coming, and as she seemed in good health, I supposed she might have broken some; and I took out the box, and examined it carefully for the shells (but without pulling the nest to pieces), and found nothing, until towards the beginning of another week I went to take the one egg away, as the hen seemed preparing to sit upon it. There were two eggs! The next morning, to my surprise, she was sitting upon six eggs! She must therefore have buried four of them in the four corners of the box, and so deep that I had been unable to find them. At first I thought that she had done so merely from dislike at their being looked at, but on reflection it has occurred to me that she did it that all might be hatched at the same time (as they subsequently were); for she was perfectly tame, and would almost suffer herself to be handled when on her nest. Wild birds never seem to conceal their eggs before sitting; but then (having more amusements than cage birds) they do not revisit their eggs after laying, until they have laid their number, whereas a caged bird, having nothing to divert her attention from her nest, often sits on it the greater part of the day.
I am not aware that this curious display of forethought on the part of a caged bird has been hitherto recorded, and seeing, as my correspondent points out, that it has reference to the changed conditions of life brought about by domestication, it may be said to constitute the first step in the development of a new instinct, which, if the conditions were of sufficiently long continuance, might lead to an important and permanent change of the ancestral instinct.
I have several interesting facts, also communicated tome by correspondents, similarly relating to individual variations of the ancestral instinct of incubation in order to meet the requirements of a novel environment. Thus Mr. J. F. Fisher tells me that while he was a commander in the East India trade he always took a quantity of fowls to sea for food. The laying-boxes being in a confined space, the hens used to quarrel over their occupancy; and one of the hens adopted the habit of removing the 'nest-eggs' which Mr. Fisher placed in one of the boxes to another box of the same kind not very far away. He watched the process through a chink of a door, and 'saw her curl her neck round the egg, thus forming a cup by which she lifted the egg,' and conveyed it to the other box. He adds:—
I can give no information as to the more recondite questionwhythe egg was removed, or the fastidious preference of the one box over the other, or the inventive faculty that suggested the neck as a makeshift hand; but from the despatch with which she effected the removal of the egg in the case I saw, I have no doubt that this hen was the one which had performed the feat so often before.
I can give no information as to the more recondite questionwhythe egg was removed, or the fastidious preference of the one box over the other, or the inventive faculty that suggested the neck as a makeshift hand; but from the despatch with which she effected the removal of the egg in the case I saw, I have no doubt that this hen was the one which had performed the feat so often before.
The explanation of the preference shown for the one box over the other may, I think, be gathered from another part of my correspondent's letter, for he there mentions incidentally that the box in which he placed the nest-egg, and from which the hen removed it, was standing near a door which was usually open, and thus situated in a more exposed position than the other box. But be this as it may, considering that among domestic fowls the habit of conveying eggs is not usual, such isolated cases are interesting as showing how instincts may originate. Jesse gives an exactly similar case ('Gleanings,' vol. i., p. 149) of the Cape goose, which removed eggs from a nest attacked by rats, and another case of a wild duck doing the same.
In the same connection, and with the same remarks, I may quote the following case in which a fowl adopted the habit of conveying, not her eggs, but her young chickens. I quote it from Houzeau ('Journ.,' i., p. 332), who givesthe observation on the authority of his brother as eye-witness. The fowl had found good feeding-ground on the further side of a stream four metres wide. She adopted the habit of flying across with her chickens upon her back, taking one chicken on each journey. She thus transferred her whole brood every morning, and brought them back in a similar way to their nest every evening. The habit of carrying young in this way is not natural to Grallinaceæ, and therefore this particular instance of its display can only be set down as an intelligent adjustment by a particular bird.
Similarly, a correspondent (Mr. J. Street) informs me of a case in which a pair of blackbirds, after having been disturbed by his gardener looking into their nest at their young, removed the latter to a distance of twenty yards, and deposited them in a more concealed place. Partridges are well known to do this, and similarly, according to Audubon, the goatsucker, when its nest is disturbed, removes its eggs to another place, the male and female both transporting eggs in their beaks.[165]
Still more curiously, a case is recorded in 'Comptes Rendu' (1836) of a pair of nightingales whose nest was threatened by a flood, and who transported it to a safe place, the male and the female bearing the nest between them.
Now, it is easy to see that if any particular bird is intelligent enough, as in the cases quoted, to perform this adjustive action of conveying young—whether to feeding-grounds, as in the case of the hen, or from sources of danger, as in the case of partridges, blackbirds, and goatsuckers—inheritance and natural selection might develop the originally intelligent adjustment into an instinct common to the species. And it so happens that this has actually occurred in at least two species of birds—viz., the woodcock and wild duck, both of which have been repeatedly observed to fly with their young upon their backs to and from their feeding-ground.
Couch gives some facts of interest relating to the mode of escape practised by the water-rail, swan, and some other aquatic birds. This consists in sinking under water, withonly the bill remaining above the surface for respiration. When the swan has young, she may sink the head quite under water in order to allow the young to mount on it, and so be carried through even rapid currents.
The same author remarks that—
Many birds will carefully remove the meetings of the young from the neighbourhood of their nests, in order not to attract the attention of enemies; for while we find that birds which make no secret of their nesting-places are careless in such matters, the woodpecker and the marsh tit in particular are at pains to remove even the chips which are made in excavating the cavities where the nests are placed, and which might lead an observer to the sacred spot.
Many birds will carefully remove the meetings of the young from the neighbourhood of their nests, in order not to attract the attention of enemies; for while we find that birds which make no secret of their nesting-places are careless in such matters, the woodpecker and the marsh tit in particular are at pains to remove even the chips which are made in excavating the cavities where the nests are placed, and which might lead an observer to the sacred spot.
Similarly, Jesse observes:—
The excrement of the young of many birds who build their nests without any pretensions to concealment, such as the swallow, crow, &c., may at all times be observed about or under the nest; while that of some of those birds whose nests are more industriously concealed is conveyed away in the mouths of the parent birds, who generally drop it at a distance of twenty or thirty yards from the nest. Were it not for this precaution, the excrement itself, from its accumulation, and commonly from its very colour, would point out the place where the young were concealed. When the young birds are ready to fly, or nearly so, the old birds do not consider it any longer necessary to remove the excrement.
The excrement of the young of many birds who build their nests without any pretensions to concealment, such as the swallow, crow, &c., may at all times be observed about or under the nest; while that of some of those birds whose nests are more industriously concealed is conveyed away in the mouths of the parent birds, who generally drop it at a distance of twenty or thirty yards from the nest. Were it not for this precaution, the excrement itself, from its accumulation, and commonly from its very colour, would point out the place where the young were concealed. When the young birds are ready to fly, or nearly so, the old birds do not consider it any longer necessary to remove the excrement.
Sir H. Davy gives an account of a pair of eagles which he saw on Ben Nevis teaching their young ones to fly; and every one must have observed the same thing among commoner species of birds. The experiments of Spalding, however, have shown that flying is an instinctive faculty; so that when he reared swallows from the nest and liberated them only after they were fully fledged, they flew well immediately on being liberated. Therefore, the 'teaching to fly' by parent birds must be regarded as mere encouragement to develop instinctive powers, which in virtue of this encouragement are probably developed sooner than would otherwise be the case.
A few observations may here be offered on somehabits which do not fall under any particular heading.
The habit which many small birds display of mobbing carnivorous ones is probably due to a desire to drive off the enemy, and perhaps also to warn friends by the hubbub. It may therefore perhaps be regarded as a display of concerted action, of which, however, we shall have better evidence further on. I have seen a flock of common terns mob a pirate tern, which shows that this combined action may be directed as much against robbery as against murder. Couch says he has seen blackbirds mobbing a cat which was concealed in a bush, and here the motive would seem to be that of warning friends rather than that of driving away the enemy.
I have observed among the sea-gulls at the Zoological Gardens a curious habit, or mode of challenge. This consists in ostentatiously picking up a small twig or piece of wood, and throwing it down before the bird challenged, in the way that a glove used to be thrown down by the old knights. I observed this action performed repeatedly by several individuals of the glaucous and black-back species in the early spring-time of the year, and so it probably has some remote connection with the instinct of nest-building.
In connection with the habits and instincts peculiar to certain species of birds, I may give a short account of the more remarkable kinds of nidification that are met with in this class of animals. As the account must necessarily be brief, I shall only mention the more interesting of the usual types.
Petrels and puffins make their nests in burrows which they excavate in the earth. The great sulphur mountain in Guadaloupe is described by Wasser as 'all bored like a rabbit warren with the holes that these imps (i.e.petrels) excavate.' In the case of the puffin it is the male that does the work of burrowing. He throws himself upon his back in the tunnel which he has made, and digs it longer and longer with his broad bill, while casting outthe mould with his webbed feet. The burrow when finished has several twists and turns in it, and is about ten feet deep. If a rabbit burrow is available, the puffin saves himself the trouble of digging by taking possession of the one already made. The kingfisher and land-martin also make their nests in burrows.
Certain auks lay their single egg on the bare rock while the stone curlew and goatsucker deposit theirs on the bare soil, returning, however, year after year to the same spot. Ostriches scrape holes in the sand to serve as extemporised nests for their eggs promiscuously dropped, which are then buried by a light coating of sand, and incubated during the day by the sunbeams, and at night by the male bird. Sometimes a number of female ostriches deposit their eggs in a common nest, and then take the duty of incubation by turns. Similarly, gulls, sandpipers, plovers, &c., place their eggs in shallow pits hollowed out of the soil. The kingfisher makes a bed of undigested fish-bones ejected as pellets from her stomach, and 'some of the swifts secrete from their salivary glands a fluid which rapidly hardens as it dries on exposure to the air into a substance resembling isinglass, and thus furnish the "edible birds' nests" that are the delight of the Chinese epicures.'[166]
The house-martin builds its nest of clay, which it sticks upon the face of a wall, and renders more tenacious by working into it little bits of straw, splinters of wood, &c. According to Mr. Gilbert White:—
That this work may not, while it is soft and green, pull itself down by its own weight, the provident architect has prudence and forbearance enough not to advance her work too fast; but by building only in the morning, and by dedicating the rest of the day to food and amusement, gives it sufficient time to dry and harden. About half an inch seems a sufficient layer for a day. Thus careful workmen, when they build mud walls (informed at first perhaps by these little birds), raise but a moderate layer at a time, and then desist, lest the work should become top-heavy, and ruined by its own weight. By this method, in about ten or twelve days is formed a hemispheric nest, with a small aperture towards the top, strong, compact,and warm, and perfectly fitted for all the purposes for which it was intended.
That this work may not, while it is soft and green, pull itself down by its own weight, the provident architect has prudence and forbearance enough not to advance her work too fast; but by building only in the morning, and by dedicating the rest of the day to food and amusement, gives it sufficient time to dry and harden. About half an inch seems a sufficient layer for a day. Thus careful workmen, when they build mud walls (informed at first perhaps by these little birds), raise but a moderate layer at a time, and then desist, lest the work should become top-heavy, and ruined by its own weight. By this method, in about ten or twelve days is formed a hemispheric nest, with a small aperture towards the top, strong, compact,and warm, and perfectly fitted for all the purposes for which it was intended.
Other birds build in wood. The tomtit and the woodpecker excavate a hole in a tree, and carefully carry away the chips, so as not to give any indication of the whereabouts of their nests. Wilson says that the American woodpecker makes an excavation five feet in depth, of a tortuous form, to keep out wind and rain.
The orchard starling suspends its nest from the branches of a tree, and uses for its material tough kinds of grass, the blades of which it weaves together. Wilson found one of these blades to be thirteen inches long, and to be woven in and out thirty-four times.
We may next notice the weaver (Ploceus textor) and tailor (Prinia,Orthotomus, andSylvia). The former intertwines slender leaves of grass so as to produce a web sufficiently substantial for the protection of its young. The tailor-birds sew together leaves wherewith to make their nests, using for the purpose cotton and thread where they can find it, and natural vegetable fibres where they cannot obtain artificial. Colonel Sykes says that he has found the threads thus used for sewing knotted at the ends.[167]
Forbes saw the tailor-bird of the East Indies constructing its nest, and observed it to choose a plant with large leaves, gather cotton which it regularly spun into a thread by means of its bill and claws, and then sew the leaves together, using its beak as a needle, or rather awl.
This instinct is rendered particularly interesting to evolutionists from the fact that it is exhibited by three distinct genera. For, as the instinct is so peculiar and unique, it is not likely to have originated independently in the three genera, but must be regarded as almost certainly derived from a common ancestral type—thus showing that an instinct may be perpetuated unaltered after the differentiation of structure has proceeded beyond a specific distinction. The genusSylviainhabits Italy, the other two inhabit India.Sylviauses for thread spiders' web collectedfrom the egg-pouches, which is stitched through holes made in the edges of leaves, presumably with the beak.
The baya bird of India 'hangs its pendulous dwelling from a projecting bough, twisting it with grass into a form somewhat resembling a bottle with a prolonged neck, the entrance being inverted, so as to baffle the approaches of its enemies, the tree snakes and other reptiles.'
Sir E. Tennent, from whom this account is taken, adds:—
The natives assert that the male bird carries fire-flies to the nest, and fastens them to its sides by particles of soft mud. Mr. Layard assures me that although he has never succeeded in finding the fire-fly, the nest of the male bird (for the female occupies another during incubation) invariably contains a patch of mud on each side of the perch.
The natives assert that the male bird carries fire-flies to the nest, and fastens them to its sides by particles of soft mud. Mr. Layard assures me that although he has never succeeded in finding the fire-fly, the nest of the male bird (for the female occupies another during incubation) invariably contains a patch of mud on each side of the perch.
Dr. Buchanan confirms the report of the natives here alluded to, and says:—
At night each of the habitations is lighted up by a fire-fly stuck on the top with a bit of clay. The nest consists of two rooms; sometimes there are three or four fire-flies, and their blaze in the little cells dazzles the eyes of the bats, which often kill the young of these birds.
At night each of the habitations is lighted up by a fire-fly stuck on the top with a bit of clay. The nest consists of two rooms; sometimes there are three or four fire-flies, and their blaze in the little cells dazzles the eyes of the bats, which often kill the young of these birds.
While this work is passing through the press I meet with the following, which appears to refer to some independent, and therefore corroborative observation concerning the above-stated fact, and in any case is worth adding, on account of the observation concerning the rats, which, if trustworthy, would furnish a sufficient reason for the instinct of the birds. The extract is taken from a letter to 'Nature' (xxiv., p. 165), published by Mr. H. A. Severn: