[Contents]CHAPTER XXIXSWALLOWS“We have whole tribes of helpers that devote themselves to the patient search for insect eggs in the cracks of tree bark and in piles of dead leaves, for larvæ between the scales of buds and in the worm-holes in wood, and for insects lurking in narrow crevices where they hide from their pursuers. These invaluable assistants of ours embrace the magpies, nuthatches, wrynecks, climbers, tomtits, wrens, kinglets, and many others. In the kind of hunting here referred to the bird is not obliged to chase the game, to vie with it in swiftness; it is enough to know how to find it in its hiding-place. For this a sharp eye and a slender beak are necessary; wings are only of secondary importance.“But now we come to other species of birds that hunt in the air, chase their game on the wing, pursuing gnats and flies and butterflies, moths and mosquitoes and beetles. They require a short beak, but one that opens very wide and is pretty sure to catch insects as they fly—a beak, in fine, that may be depended on to work almost of itself and without an instant’s pause in the bird’s flight; a beak that, above all, is so sticky inside that as soon as an insect’s wing grazes this viscous lining it is caught[221]fast in the glue-like substance. The beak of the bat, that other hunter of insects on the wing, the bat’s beak, I say, opening from ear to ear, may serve as a model in respect to the width of its opening. But above all else the hunter must have swift wings that never tire, that can fly as fast as the prey which is trying so hard to escape, that can follow the bewildering zigzags of a moth manœuvering to save its life. A cleft beak that opens wide and wings that are strong and tireless—such must be the equipment of the bird that pursues its prey in the open air.White-bellied SwallowWhite-bellied Swallow“Chief among these hunters is the swallow, which may be called the daylight bat, as the bat is the twilight swallow. Both chase flying insects, following them in their endless dodgings and doublings and snapping them up with yawning beak, then passing on without an instant’s delay to the pursuit of others. But how much more pleasing in appearance, how much swifter in flight is the swallow than that hunter, the sad-looking bat! While we may compare their work and their way of hunting, we cannot compare them in anything else. Buffon quotes Guéneau de Montbéliard as saying:“ ‘The air is the swallow’s appropriate element, and it is the nature of the bird to be ever on the wing. It eats flying, bathes flying, and sometimes[222]even feeds its young when flying. It glides through the air with no effort, with perfect ease, conscious of being in its own domain. It explores aërial space in all its dimensions, as if to enjoy it to the utmost, and its delight in the act is expressed by little cries of rapture. It may be seen giving chase to flying insects and following with supple agility their evasive and tortuous course; or it may leave one to pursue another and snap up a third in passing; or, again, it lightly skims the surface of land and water to catch any that may be gathered there for the sake of coolness and moisture; or, finally, it may in its turn be driven to flee with all speed before the lightning-like onset of some bird of prey. Always in full control of its movements even when flying at topmost speed, it is continually changing its course, describing in the air a bewildering maze whose paths cross, interlace, recede from and approach one another, meet, wind, ascend, descend, interweave, and mingle in a thousand different ways and after a plan so complicated as to defy representation to the eye by the art of drawing and scarcely to lend itself to description for the imagination through the medium of speech.’“We have three kinds of swallows in France, of which the best known is the martin, black above with glints of blue, and white beneath and on the rump. It builds its nest in window-corners, under the eaves of roofs, and on the cornices of buildings. The materials it uses are fine soil, chiefly that which is deposited by earthworms, after digestion, in little[223]mounds over our fields and gardens. The swallow carries it, a beakful at a time, mixes it with a little viscous saliva to make it stick together, and lays it by courses until it takes the shape of a hemisphere attached to the wall and provided with a small opening at the top. Bits of straw give additional firmness to the masonry; and, finally, the interior is lined with an abundance of little feathers. The laying consists of four or five pure white eggs without any spots.“The nests are used year after year by the same pairs of birds, being recognized by them on their annual return in the spring and made as good as new with a few repairs. If some are left vacant by reason of the owners’ death in distant lands, new couples profit by the fact.”“Don’t they ever quarrel over the old nests?” asked Jules.Swallow’s NestSwallow’s Nest“Very seldom. Swallows like to live in colonies, and their nests touch one another sometimes to the number of hundreds on the same cornice. Each couple recognizes its own nest without the slightest hesitation, and scrupulously respects others’ property in order to have its own respected. There is among them a deep feeling of joint responsibility, and they help one another with as much intelligence as zeal. Occasionally it happens that a nest is no sooner finished than it gives way, either because the[224]mortar used is not strong enough or because the masons were in too great a hurry and had not the patience to let one course dry before laying another, or for some other reason. On hearing of the disaster the neighbors hasten to console the unlucky pair and help them to rebuild. All set to work, bringing the best mortar, straw, and feathers, and in forty-eight hours the nest is rebuilt. Left to themselves, it would have taken the owners a fortnight to repair the damage.”“That’s the kind of friends in need I like to see!” declared Emile.“But I have something still better to tell you. Let us suppose a swallow has been so careless as to become entangled in a mesh of loose threads, and the more frantically it struggles to escape the more firmly it binds its fetters. With wings and claws held fast it is in danger of perishing. Uttering piteous cries, it calls on its comrades for help. All hasten to give aid, noisily making plans for relief and working away with beak and talons until they finally unsnarl the tangle and free the captive. The happy event is then celebrated with chirpings of delight. That is what I saw with my own eyes, right here in the garden, one day when Mother Ambroisine was bleaching some of the linen thread she spins on her distaff.“An author1of note tells us that he once witnessed something similar. These are his words:[225]‘I saw a swallow that had unfortunately, I know not how, caught its foot in a slip-knot tied in a string, the other end of which was fastened to a roof gutter. The bird’s strength was exhausted and it hung, crying, from the end of the string, with an occasional effort to escape. All the swallows in the neighborhood had assembled, to the number of several thousand. They formed a veritable cloud, each one uttering cries of alarm and pity. After considerable hesitation one of them hit on a plan for freeing their luckless companion and communicated it to the others, whereupon they all set to work. A space was cleared and every swallow within hail came, one after another, as in a ring-game, and gave in passing a peck at the string. These blows, all delivered at the same point, followed one another with only a second’s interval or less. Half an hour of this work sufficed to sever the thread and liberate the prisoner. But the entire company of birds, with a few exceptions, stayed there until night, chattering away incessantly, though no longer in anxious tones, but rather as if in mutual congratulation and animated comment.’“Again: ‘An insolent sparrow invades a swallow’s nest and likes it so well it wishes to stay. The owners assail the intruder, but the latter, having a stronger beak and being also protected by the ramparts of the nest, easily repulses their attacks. Ha! so you won’t budge, then? We’ll see about that. One of the two swallows remains to hold the blockade while the other goes for help. The neighbors[226]hasten to the spot, consider the situation, deliberate on means to be employed, and finally conclude that it is out of the question to hope to dislodge by force an enemy so securely entrenched in the nest as in a strong redoubt. There is but one opinion: the invader cannot be ousted from the nest, but the proprietors must at least be avenged. No sooner said than done. While a few courageous ones posted at the opening intimidate the interloper with their cries, the others fetch a supply of their usual mortar, soil moistened with saliva, and little by little close the entrance to the nest.’ ”“Who was the fool that time?” cried Jules, in high delight.“It certainly was the sparrow, sealed up in its narrow prison and left to perish.”“Caught, you nest-robber!” Emile exclaimed, clapping his hands.“The chimney-swallow or house-swallow, also called barn-swallow, has chestnut-red forehead, throat, and eyebrows, a black back with violet sheen, and a white breast and stomach. Its name of house-swallow is given to it because it seeks man’s neighborhood and even nests inside our houses, especially where there is but little commotion or noise. Open and empty rooms, sheds and coach-houses, the eaves of roofs, the under side of balcony floors, and the inside of tall chimneys are its chosen nesting-places. The nest itself is made of moistened clay mixed with straw and hay and furnished inside with feathers and dry grass. It is in the shape of a half-cup wide[227]open at the top. The eggs are five in number, white with small brown and violet spots.“The house-swallow is the most interesting of the tribe. It is the farmer’s cheery companion and the guest of the barn, while the martin prefers towns and the cornices of monuments. Its characteristic cry is a sweet little song which the father, perched on the edge of the nest, keeps repeating to the brooding mother to beguile the long hours of incubation. This bird is found all over the world. It reaches us after a long migration about the first of April, twelve days before the martin and a month ahead of the swift.“The sand-martin is smaller and of less frequent occurrence than the other two swallows of which we are speaking. Its back is mouse-gray in color, as are also its cheeks and a wide stripe across the chest, while breast and stomach are pure white. With its beak and claws—poor tools for such rough work did not energetic good will supply the deficiency—it tunnels into steep sand-banks by the waterside, or into the face of cliffs and the walls of quarries, making a hole with a narrow entrance and extending in a winding passage for nearly two feet. At the further end a little space is hollowed out and furnished with a thick bed of straw, dry grass, and feathers, all heaped together with no art. There are laid five or six slightly translucent white eggs. The sand-martin perches only on rocks, to which it clings easily with its long and pointed claws. It haunts the water’s edge, which it explores in rapid flight, darting[228]to and fro and snapping up the gnats attracted by the coolness.”“It is said,” remarked Jules, “that swallows take long journeys.”“Yes, all our swallows migrate every year, not from a love of wandering but from necessity. Many other birds, particularly those that live on insects, do the same. Swallows, like bats, live entirely on flying insects, and when cold weather comes these are lacking. What does the bat do then to keep from starving?”“It goes to sleep,” answered Emile.“Yes, it closes as tightly as it can the draft in the vital stove—that natural stove, you know, that gives us heat, movement, and animation by burning up our blood with the help of air. The bat almost stops its breath in order to economize the fuel stored up in its little veins and make it last until the reappearance of insects at the approach of summer. In a word, it goes to sleep in the depths of some grotto, falling into an unconsciousness resembling death. Birds, however, cannot thus save their fuel. Their little stoves are always burning away under forced draft, because of the violent exercise of flying. Their temperature, summer and winter, is forty-two degrees, centigrade, whereas man’s is only thirty-eight. When such a fire has to be kept going, imagine if you cantakea six months’ nap because there was nothing to eat in the larder. It is quite out of the question. What, then, do birds do?“Unable to do as the bat does, they form a bold[229]resolve: they leave their native land, which is about to be stripped of flying insects by the cold, and go far away, sad to leave but not without the hope of returning some day. They migrate, the strong helping the weak, the old and much-traveled ones guiding the young and inexperienced. They form in flocks and fly southward to Africa, where abundant food and a warmer sun await them. With no compass but instinct to direct their course, they cross the sea, the vast expanse of water in which only an occasional islet offers them a halting-place. Many perish in the crossing, and many arrive faint with hunger and spent with fatigue, but they do arrive at last.”“It must be a trying time for the swallows when the day for starting comes,” Jules observed.“A very trying time indeed, for the bird has to tear itself away from its beloved haunts, the place where it was born, to face the fatigues and dangers of a tremendous journey, a journey never before taken by the greater number of the emigrants. In a general assembly the date of departure is fixed for about the end of August in the case of martins and sand-martins, and later, even as late as October, for house-swallows. This being arranged, the martins gather for several successive days on the roofs of high buildings. Every now and then small groups detach themselves from the rest and circle about in the air with anxious cries, taking a last look at their birthplace and bidding it farewell; then they return to their companions and, we may imagine, fall to[230]chattering about their hopes and fears as they prepare for the journey by a careful examination of their plumage, which they oil a feather at a time. After several repetitions of these touching farewells a plaintive twittering announces the fateful hour: they must start. Launching themselves on their desperate adventure, they take flight in a body toward the south.“House-swallows, when the time for their departure approaches, hold a consultation on some leafless tree, and almost always in the rain. The emigrating flock numbers three or four hundred birds.”[231]1Dupont de Nemours.↑
[Contents]CHAPTER XXIXSWALLOWS“We have whole tribes of helpers that devote themselves to the patient search for insect eggs in the cracks of tree bark and in piles of dead leaves, for larvæ between the scales of buds and in the worm-holes in wood, and for insects lurking in narrow crevices where they hide from their pursuers. These invaluable assistants of ours embrace the magpies, nuthatches, wrynecks, climbers, tomtits, wrens, kinglets, and many others. In the kind of hunting here referred to the bird is not obliged to chase the game, to vie with it in swiftness; it is enough to know how to find it in its hiding-place. For this a sharp eye and a slender beak are necessary; wings are only of secondary importance.“But now we come to other species of birds that hunt in the air, chase their game on the wing, pursuing gnats and flies and butterflies, moths and mosquitoes and beetles. They require a short beak, but one that opens very wide and is pretty sure to catch insects as they fly—a beak, in fine, that may be depended on to work almost of itself and without an instant’s pause in the bird’s flight; a beak that, above all, is so sticky inside that as soon as an insect’s wing grazes this viscous lining it is caught[221]fast in the glue-like substance. The beak of the bat, that other hunter of insects on the wing, the bat’s beak, I say, opening from ear to ear, may serve as a model in respect to the width of its opening. But above all else the hunter must have swift wings that never tire, that can fly as fast as the prey which is trying so hard to escape, that can follow the bewildering zigzags of a moth manœuvering to save its life. A cleft beak that opens wide and wings that are strong and tireless—such must be the equipment of the bird that pursues its prey in the open air.White-bellied SwallowWhite-bellied Swallow“Chief among these hunters is the swallow, which may be called the daylight bat, as the bat is the twilight swallow. Both chase flying insects, following them in their endless dodgings and doublings and snapping them up with yawning beak, then passing on without an instant’s delay to the pursuit of others. But how much more pleasing in appearance, how much swifter in flight is the swallow than that hunter, the sad-looking bat! While we may compare their work and their way of hunting, we cannot compare them in anything else. Buffon quotes Guéneau de Montbéliard as saying:“ ‘The air is the swallow’s appropriate element, and it is the nature of the bird to be ever on the wing. It eats flying, bathes flying, and sometimes[222]even feeds its young when flying. It glides through the air with no effort, with perfect ease, conscious of being in its own domain. It explores aërial space in all its dimensions, as if to enjoy it to the utmost, and its delight in the act is expressed by little cries of rapture. It may be seen giving chase to flying insects and following with supple agility their evasive and tortuous course; or it may leave one to pursue another and snap up a third in passing; or, again, it lightly skims the surface of land and water to catch any that may be gathered there for the sake of coolness and moisture; or, finally, it may in its turn be driven to flee with all speed before the lightning-like onset of some bird of prey. Always in full control of its movements even when flying at topmost speed, it is continually changing its course, describing in the air a bewildering maze whose paths cross, interlace, recede from and approach one another, meet, wind, ascend, descend, interweave, and mingle in a thousand different ways and after a plan so complicated as to defy representation to the eye by the art of drawing and scarcely to lend itself to description for the imagination through the medium of speech.’“We have three kinds of swallows in France, of which the best known is the martin, black above with glints of blue, and white beneath and on the rump. It builds its nest in window-corners, under the eaves of roofs, and on the cornices of buildings. The materials it uses are fine soil, chiefly that which is deposited by earthworms, after digestion, in little[223]mounds over our fields and gardens. The swallow carries it, a beakful at a time, mixes it with a little viscous saliva to make it stick together, and lays it by courses until it takes the shape of a hemisphere attached to the wall and provided with a small opening at the top. Bits of straw give additional firmness to the masonry; and, finally, the interior is lined with an abundance of little feathers. The laying consists of four or five pure white eggs without any spots.“The nests are used year after year by the same pairs of birds, being recognized by them on their annual return in the spring and made as good as new with a few repairs. If some are left vacant by reason of the owners’ death in distant lands, new couples profit by the fact.”“Don’t they ever quarrel over the old nests?” asked Jules.Swallow’s NestSwallow’s Nest“Very seldom. Swallows like to live in colonies, and their nests touch one another sometimes to the number of hundreds on the same cornice. Each couple recognizes its own nest without the slightest hesitation, and scrupulously respects others’ property in order to have its own respected. There is among them a deep feeling of joint responsibility, and they help one another with as much intelligence as zeal. Occasionally it happens that a nest is no sooner finished than it gives way, either because the[224]mortar used is not strong enough or because the masons were in too great a hurry and had not the patience to let one course dry before laying another, or for some other reason. On hearing of the disaster the neighbors hasten to console the unlucky pair and help them to rebuild. All set to work, bringing the best mortar, straw, and feathers, and in forty-eight hours the nest is rebuilt. Left to themselves, it would have taken the owners a fortnight to repair the damage.”“That’s the kind of friends in need I like to see!” declared Emile.“But I have something still better to tell you. Let us suppose a swallow has been so careless as to become entangled in a mesh of loose threads, and the more frantically it struggles to escape the more firmly it binds its fetters. With wings and claws held fast it is in danger of perishing. Uttering piteous cries, it calls on its comrades for help. All hasten to give aid, noisily making plans for relief and working away with beak and talons until they finally unsnarl the tangle and free the captive. The happy event is then celebrated with chirpings of delight. That is what I saw with my own eyes, right here in the garden, one day when Mother Ambroisine was bleaching some of the linen thread she spins on her distaff.“An author1of note tells us that he once witnessed something similar. These are his words:[225]‘I saw a swallow that had unfortunately, I know not how, caught its foot in a slip-knot tied in a string, the other end of which was fastened to a roof gutter. The bird’s strength was exhausted and it hung, crying, from the end of the string, with an occasional effort to escape. All the swallows in the neighborhood had assembled, to the number of several thousand. They formed a veritable cloud, each one uttering cries of alarm and pity. After considerable hesitation one of them hit on a plan for freeing their luckless companion and communicated it to the others, whereupon they all set to work. A space was cleared and every swallow within hail came, one after another, as in a ring-game, and gave in passing a peck at the string. These blows, all delivered at the same point, followed one another with only a second’s interval or less. Half an hour of this work sufficed to sever the thread and liberate the prisoner. But the entire company of birds, with a few exceptions, stayed there until night, chattering away incessantly, though no longer in anxious tones, but rather as if in mutual congratulation and animated comment.’“Again: ‘An insolent sparrow invades a swallow’s nest and likes it so well it wishes to stay. The owners assail the intruder, but the latter, having a stronger beak and being also protected by the ramparts of the nest, easily repulses their attacks. Ha! so you won’t budge, then? We’ll see about that. One of the two swallows remains to hold the blockade while the other goes for help. The neighbors[226]hasten to the spot, consider the situation, deliberate on means to be employed, and finally conclude that it is out of the question to hope to dislodge by force an enemy so securely entrenched in the nest as in a strong redoubt. There is but one opinion: the invader cannot be ousted from the nest, but the proprietors must at least be avenged. No sooner said than done. While a few courageous ones posted at the opening intimidate the interloper with their cries, the others fetch a supply of their usual mortar, soil moistened with saliva, and little by little close the entrance to the nest.’ ”“Who was the fool that time?” cried Jules, in high delight.“It certainly was the sparrow, sealed up in its narrow prison and left to perish.”“Caught, you nest-robber!” Emile exclaimed, clapping his hands.“The chimney-swallow or house-swallow, also called barn-swallow, has chestnut-red forehead, throat, and eyebrows, a black back with violet sheen, and a white breast and stomach. Its name of house-swallow is given to it because it seeks man’s neighborhood and even nests inside our houses, especially where there is but little commotion or noise. Open and empty rooms, sheds and coach-houses, the eaves of roofs, the under side of balcony floors, and the inside of tall chimneys are its chosen nesting-places. The nest itself is made of moistened clay mixed with straw and hay and furnished inside with feathers and dry grass. It is in the shape of a half-cup wide[227]open at the top. The eggs are five in number, white with small brown and violet spots.“The house-swallow is the most interesting of the tribe. It is the farmer’s cheery companion and the guest of the barn, while the martin prefers towns and the cornices of monuments. Its characteristic cry is a sweet little song which the father, perched on the edge of the nest, keeps repeating to the brooding mother to beguile the long hours of incubation. This bird is found all over the world. It reaches us after a long migration about the first of April, twelve days before the martin and a month ahead of the swift.“The sand-martin is smaller and of less frequent occurrence than the other two swallows of which we are speaking. Its back is mouse-gray in color, as are also its cheeks and a wide stripe across the chest, while breast and stomach are pure white. With its beak and claws—poor tools for such rough work did not energetic good will supply the deficiency—it tunnels into steep sand-banks by the waterside, or into the face of cliffs and the walls of quarries, making a hole with a narrow entrance and extending in a winding passage for nearly two feet. At the further end a little space is hollowed out and furnished with a thick bed of straw, dry grass, and feathers, all heaped together with no art. There are laid five or six slightly translucent white eggs. The sand-martin perches only on rocks, to which it clings easily with its long and pointed claws. It haunts the water’s edge, which it explores in rapid flight, darting[228]to and fro and snapping up the gnats attracted by the coolness.”“It is said,” remarked Jules, “that swallows take long journeys.”“Yes, all our swallows migrate every year, not from a love of wandering but from necessity. Many other birds, particularly those that live on insects, do the same. Swallows, like bats, live entirely on flying insects, and when cold weather comes these are lacking. What does the bat do then to keep from starving?”“It goes to sleep,” answered Emile.“Yes, it closes as tightly as it can the draft in the vital stove—that natural stove, you know, that gives us heat, movement, and animation by burning up our blood with the help of air. The bat almost stops its breath in order to economize the fuel stored up in its little veins and make it last until the reappearance of insects at the approach of summer. In a word, it goes to sleep in the depths of some grotto, falling into an unconsciousness resembling death. Birds, however, cannot thus save their fuel. Their little stoves are always burning away under forced draft, because of the violent exercise of flying. Their temperature, summer and winter, is forty-two degrees, centigrade, whereas man’s is only thirty-eight. When such a fire has to be kept going, imagine if you cantakea six months’ nap because there was nothing to eat in the larder. It is quite out of the question. What, then, do birds do?“Unable to do as the bat does, they form a bold[229]resolve: they leave their native land, which is about to be stripped of flying insects by the cold, and go far away, sad to leave but not without the hope of returning some day. They migrate, the strong helping the weak, the old and much-traveled ones guiding the young and inexperienced. They form in flocks and fly southward to Africa, where abundant food and a warmer sun await them. With no compass but instinct to direct their course, they cross the sea, the vast expanse of water in which only an occasional islet offers them a halting-place. Many perish in the crossing, and many arrive faint with hunger and spent with fatigue, but they do arrive at last.”“It must be a trying time for the swallows when the day for starting comes,” Jules observed.“A very trying time indeed, for the bird has to tear itself away from its beloved haunts, the place where it was born, to face the fatigues and dangers of a tremendous journey, a journey never before taken by the greater number of the emigrants. In a general assembly the date of departure is fixed for about the end of August in the case of martins and sand-martins, and later, even as late as October, for house-swallows. This being arranged, the martins gather for several successive days on the roofs of high buildings. Every now and then small groups detach themselves from the rest and circle about in the air with anxious cries, taking a last look at their birthplace and bidding it farewell; then they return to their companions and, we may imagine, fall to[230]chattering about their hopes and fears as they prepare for the journey by a careful examination of their plumage, which they oil a feather at a time. After several repetitions of these touching farewells a plaintive twittering announces the fateful hour: they must start. Launching themselves on their desperate adventure, they take flight in a body toward the south.“House-swallows, when the time for their departure approaches, hold a consultation on some leafless tree, and almost always in the rain. The emigrating flock numbers three or four hundred birds.”[231]1Dupont de Nemours.↑
CHAPTER XXIXSWALLOWS
“We have whole tribes of helpers that devote themselves to the patient search for insect eggs in the cracks of tree bark and in piles of dead leaves, for larvæ between the scales of buds and in the worm-holes in wood, and for insects lurking in narrow crevices where they hide from their pursuers. These invaluable assistants of ours embrace the magpies, nuthatches, wrynecks, climbers, tomtits, wrens, kinglets, and many others. In the kind of hunting here referred to the bird is not obliged to chase the game, to vie with it in swiftness; it is enough to know how to find it in its hiding-place. For this a sharp eye and a slender beak are necessary; wings are only of secondary importance.“But now we come to other species of birds that hunt in the air, chase their game on the wing, pursuing gnats and flies and butterflies, moths and mosquitoes and beetles. They require a short beak, but one that opens very wide and is pretty sure to catch insects as they fly—a beak, in fine, that may be depended on to work almost of itself and without an instant’s pause in the bird’s flight; a beak that, above all, is so sticky inside that as soon as an insect’s wing grazes this viscous lining it is caught[221]fast in the glue-like substance. The beak of the bat, that other hunter of insects on the wing, the bat’s beak, I say, opening from ear to ear, may serve as a model in respect to the width of its opening. But above all else the hunter must have swift wings that never tire, that can fly as fast as the prey which is trying so hard to escape, that can follow the bewildering zigzags of a moth manœuvering to save its life. A cleft beak that opens wide and wings that are strong and tireless—such must be the equipment of the bird that pursues its prey in the open air.White-bellied SwallowWhite-bellied Swallow“Chief among these hunters is the swallow, which may be called the daylight bat, as the bat is the twilight swallow. Both chase flying insects, following them in their endless dodgings and doublings and snapping them up with yawning beak, then passing on without an instant’s delay to the pursuit of others. But how much more pleasing in appearance, how much swifter in flight is the swallow than that hunter, the sad-looking bat! While we may compare their work and their way of hunting, we cannot compare them in anything else. Buffon quotes Guéneau de Montbéliard as saying:“ ‘The air is the swallow’s appropriate element, and it is the nature of the bird to be ever on the wing. It eats flying, bathes flying, and sometimes[222]even feeds its young when flying. It glides through the air with no effort, with perfect ease, conscious of being in its own domain. It explores aërial space in all its dimensions, as if to enjoy it to the utmost, and its delight in the act is expressed by little cries of rapture. It may be seen giving chase to flying insects and following with supple agility their evasive and tortuous course; or it may leave one to pursue another and snap up a third in passing; or, again, it lightly skims the surface of land and water to catch any that may be gathered there for the sake of coolness and moisture; or, finally, it may in its turn be driven to flee with all speed before the lightning-like onset of some bird of prey. Always in full control of its movements even when flying at topmost speed, it is continually changing its course, describing in the air a bewildering maze whose paths cross, interlace, recede from and approach one another, meet, wind, ascend, descend, interweave, and mingle in a thousand different ways and after a plan so complicated as to defy representation to the eye by the art of drawing and scarcely to lend itself to description for the imagination through the medium of speech.’“We have three kinds of swallows in France, of which the best known is the martin, black above with glints of blue, and white beneath and on the rump. It builds its nest in window-corners, under the eaves of roofs, and on the cornices of buildings. The materials it uses are fine soil, chiefly that which is deposited by earthworms, after digestion, in little[223]mounds over our fields and gardens. The swallow carries it, a beakful at a time, mixes it with a little viscous saliva to make it stick together, and lays it by courses until it takes the shape of a hemisphere attached to the wall and provided with a small opening at the top. Bits of straw give additional firmness to the masonry; and, finally, the interior is lined with an abundance of little feathers. The laying consists of four or five pure white eggs without any spots.“The nests are used year after year by the same pairs of birds, being recognized by them on their annual return in the spring and made as good as new with a few repairs. If some are left vacant by reason of the owners’ death in distant lands, new couples profit by the fact.”“Don’t they ever quarrel over the old nests?” asked Jules.Swallow’s NestSwallow’s Nest“Very seldom. Swallows like to live in colonies, and their nests touch one another sometimes to the number of hundreds on the same cornice. Each couple recognizes its own nest without the slightest hesitation, and scrupulously respects others’ property in order to have its own respected. There is among them a deep feeling of joint responsibility, and they help one another with as much intelligence as zeal. Occasionally it happens that a nest is no sooner finished than it gives way, either because the[224]mortar used is not strong enough or because the masons were in too great a hurry and had not the patience to let one course dry before laying another, or for some other reason. On hearing of the disaster the neighbors hasten to console the unlucky pair and help them to rebuild. All set to work, bringing the best mortar, straw, and feathers, and in forty-eight hours the nest is rebuilt. Left to themselves, it would have taken the owners a fortnight to repair the damage.”“That’s the kind of friends in need I like to see!” declared Emile.“But I have something still better to tell you. Let us suppose a swallow has been so careless as to become entangled in a mesh of loose threads, and the more frantically it struggles to escape the more firmly it binds its fetters. With wings and claws held fast it is in danger of perishing. Uttering piteous cries, it calls on its comrades for help. All hasten to give aid, noisily making plans for relief and working away with beak and talons until they finally unsnarl the tangle and free the captive. The happy event is then celebrated with chirpings of delight. That is what I saw with my own eyes, right here in the garden, one day when Mother Ambroisine was bleaching some of the linen thread she spins on her distaff.“An author1of note tells us that he once witnessed something similar. These are his words:[225]‘I saw a swallow that had unfortunately, I know not how, caught its foot in a slip-knot tied in a string, the other end of which was fastened to a roof gutter. The bird’s strength was exhausted and it hung, crying, from the end of the string, with an occasional effort to escape. All the swallows in the neighborhood had assembled, to the number of several thousand. They formed a veritable cloud, each one uttering cries of alarm and pity. After considerable hesitation one of them hit on a plan for freeing their luckless companion and communicated it to the others, whereupon they all set to work. A space was cleared and every swallow within hail came, one after another, as in a ring-game, and gave in passing a peck at the string. These blows, all delivered at the same point, followed one another with only a second’s interval or less. Half an hour of this work sufficed to sever the thread and liberate the prisoner. But the entire company of birds, with a few exceptions, stayed there until night, chattering away incessantly, though no longer in anxious tones, but rather as if in mutual congratulation and animated comment.’“Again: ‘An insolent sparrow invades a swallow’s nest and likes it so well it wishes to stay. The owners assail the intruder, but the latter, having a stronger beak and being also protected by the ramparts of the nest, easily repulses their attacks. Ha! so you won’t budge, then? We’ll see about that. One of the two swallows remains to hold the blockade while the other goes for help. The neighbors[226]hasten to the spot, consider the situation, deliberate on means to be employed, and finally conclude that it is out of the question to hope to dislodge by force an enemy so securely entrenched in the nest as in a strong redoubt. There is but one opinion: the invader cannot be ousted from the nest, but the proprietors must at least be avenged. No sooner said than done. While a few courageous ones posted at the opening intimidate the interloper with their cries, the others fetch a supply of their usual mortar, soil moistened with saliva, and little by little close the entrance to the nest.’ ”“Who was the fool that time?” cried Jules, in high delight.“It certainly was the sparrow, sealed up in its narrow prison and left to perish.”“Caught, you nest-robber!” Emile exclaimed, clapping his hands.“The chimney-swallow or house-swallow, also called barn-swallow, has chestnut-red forehead, throat, and eyebrows, a black back with violet sheen, and a white breast and stomach. Its name of house-swallow is given to it because it seeks man’s neighborhood and even nests inside our houses, especially where there is but little commotion or noise. Open and empty rooms, sheds and coach-houses, the eaves of roofs, the under side of balcony floors, and the inside of tall chimneys are its chosen nesting-places. The nest itself is made of moistened clay mixed with straw and hay and furnished inside with feathers and dry grass. It is in the shape of a half-cup wide[227]open at the top. The eggs are five in number, white with small brown and violet spots.“The house-swallow is the most interesting of the tribe. It is the farmer’s cheery companion and the guest of the barn, while the martin prefers towns and the cornices of monuments. Its characteristic cry is a sweet little song which the father, perched on the edge of the nest, keeps repeating to the brooding mother to beguile the long hours of incubation. This bird is found all over the world. It reaches us after a long migration about the first of April, twelve days before the martin and a month ahead of the swift.“The sand-martin is smaller and of less frequent occurrence than the other two swallows of which we are speaking. Its back is mouse-gray in color, as are also its cheeks and a wide stripe across the chest, while breast and stomach are pure white. With its beak and claws—poor tools for such rough work did not energetic good will supply the deficiency—it tunnels into steep sand-banks by the waterside, or into the face of cliffs and the walls of quarries, making a hole with a narrow entrance and extending in a winding passage for nearly two feet. At the further end a little space is hollowed out and furnished with a thick bed of straw, dry grass, and feathers, all heaped together with no art. There are laid five or six slightly translucent white eggs. The sand-martin perches only on rocks, to which it clings easily with its long and pointed claws. It haunts the water’s edge, which it explores in rapid flight, darting[228]to and fro and snapping up the gnats attracted by the coolness.”“It is said,” remarked Jules, “that swallows take long journeys.”“Yes, all our swallows migrate every year, not from a love of wandering but from necessity. Many other birds, particularly those that live on insects, do the same. Swallows, like bats, live entirely on flying insects, and when cold weather comes these are lacking. What does the bat do then to keep from starving?”“It goes to sleep,” answered Emile.“Yes, it closes as tightly as it can the draft in the vital stove—that natural stove, you know, that gives us heat, movement, and animation by burning up our blood with the help of air. The bat almost stops its breath in order to economize the fuel stored up in its little veins and make it last until the reappearance of insects at the approach of summer. In a word, it goes to sleep in the depths of some grotto, falling into an unconsciousness resembling death. Birds, however, cannot thus save their fuel. Their little stoves are always burning away under forced draft, because of the violent exercise of flying. Their temperature, summer and winter, is forty-two degrees, centigrade, whereas man’s is only thirty-eight. When such a fire has to be kept going, imagine if you cantakea six months’ nap because there was nothing to eat in the larder. It is quite out of the question. What, then, do birds do?“Unable to do as the bat does, they form a bold[229]resolve: they leave their native land, which is about to be stripped of flying insects by the cold, and go far away, sad to leave but not without the hope of returning some day. They migrate, the strong helping the weak, the old and much-traveled ones guiding the young and inexperienced. They form in flocks and fly southward to Africa, where abundant food and a warmer sun await them. With no compass but instinct to direct their course, they cross the sea, the vast expanse of water in which only an occasional islet offers them a halting-place. Many perish in the crossing, and many arrive faint with hunger and spent with fatigue, but they do arrive at last.”“It must be a trying time for the swallows when the day for starting comes,” Jules observed.“A very trying time indeed, for the bird has to tear itself away from its beloved haunts, the place where it was born, to face the fatigues and dangers of a tremendous journey, a journey never before taken by the greater number of the emigrants. In a general assembly the date of departure is fixed for about the end of August in the case of martins and sand-martins, and later, even as late as October, for house-swallows. This being arranged, the martins gather for several successive days on the roofs of high buildings. Every now and then small groups detach themselves from the rest and circle about in the air with anxious cries, taking a last look at their birthplace and bidding it farewell; then they return to their companions and, we may imagine, fall to[230]chattering about their hopes and fears as they prepare for the journey by a careful examination of their plumage, which they oil a feather at a time. After several repetitions of these touching farewells a plaintive twittering announces the fateful hour: they must start. Launching themselves on their desperate adventure, they take flight in a body toward the south.“House-swallows, when the time for their departure approaches, hold a consultation on some leafless tree, and almost always in the rain. The emigrating flock numbers three or four hundred birds.”[231]
“We have whole tribes of helpers that devote themselves to the patient search for insect eggs in the cracks of tree bark and in piles of dead leaves, for larvæ between the scales of buds and in the worm-holes in wood, and for insects lurking in narrow crevices where they hide from their pursuers. These invaluable assistants of ours embrace the magpies, nuthatches, wrynecks, climbers, tomtits, wrens, kinglets, and many others. In the kind of hunting here referred to the bird is not obliged to chase the game, to vie with it in swiftness; it is enough to know how to find it in its hiding-place. For this a sharp eye and a slender beak are necessary; wings are only of secondary importance.
“But now we come to other species of birds that hunt in the air, chase their game on the wing, pursuing gnats and flies and butterflies, moths and mosquitoes and beetles. They require a short beak, but one that opens very wide and is pretty sure to catch insects as they fly—a beak, in fine, that may be depended on to work almost of itself and without an instant’s pause in the bird’s flight; a beak that, above all, is so sticky inside that as soon as an insect’s wing grazes this viscous lining it is caught[221]fast in the glue-like substance. The beak of the bat, that other hunter of insects on the wing, the bat’s beak, I say, opening from ear to ear, may serve as a model in respect to the width of its opening. But above all else the hunter must have swift wings that never tire, that can fly as fast as the prey which is trying so hard to escape, that can follow the bewildering zigzags of a moth manœuvering to save its life. A cleft beak that opens wide and wings that are strong and tireless—such must be the equipment of the bird that pursues its prey in the open air.
White-bellied SwallowWhite-bellied Swallow
White-bellied Swallow
“Chief among these hunters is the swallow, which may be called the daylight bat, as the bat is the twilight swallow. Both chase flying insects, following them in their endless dodgings and doublings and snapping them up with yawning beak, then passing on without an instant’s delay to the pursuit of others. But how much more pleasing in appearance, how much swifter in flight is the swallow than that hunter, the sad-looking bat! While we may compare their work and their way of hunting, we cannot compare them in anything else. Buffon quotes Guéneau de Montbéliard as saying:
“ ‘The air is the swallow’s appropriate element, and it is the nature of the bird to be ever on the wing. It eats flying, bathes flying, and sometimes[222]even feeds its young when flying. It glides through the air with no effort, with perfect ease, conscious of being in its own domain. It explores aërial space in all its dimensions, as if to enjoy it to the utmost, and its delight in the act is expressed by little cries of rapture. It may be seen giving chase to flying insects and following with supple agility their evasive and tortuous course; or it may leave one to pursue another and snap up a third in passing; or, again, it lightly skims the surface of land and water to catch any that may be gathered there for the sake of coolness and moisture; or, finally, it may in its turn be driven to flee with all speed before the lightning-like onset of some bird of prey. Always in full control of its movements even when flying at topmost speed, it is continually changing its course, describing in the air a bewildering maze whose paths cross, interlace, recede from and approach one another, meet, wind, ascend, descend, interweave, and mingle in a thousand different ways and after a plan so complicated as to defy representation to the eye by the art of drawing and scarcely to lend itself to description for the imagination through the medium of speech.’
“We have three kinds of swallows in France, of which the best known is the martin, black above with glints of blue, and white beneath and on the rump. It builds its nest in window-corners, under the eaves of roofs, and on the cornices of buildings. The materials it uses are fine soil, chiefly that which is deposited by earthworms, after digestion, in little[223]mounds over our fields and gardens. The swallow carries it, a beakful at a time, mixes it with a little viscous saliva to make it stick together, and lays it by courses until it takes the shape of a hemisphere attached to the wall and provided with a small opening at the top. Bits of straw give additional firmness to the masonry; and, finally, the interior is lined with an abundance of little feathers. The laying consists of four or five pure white eggs without any spots.
“The nests are used year after year by the same pairs of birds, being recognized by them on their annual return in the spring and made as good as new with a few repairs. If some are left vacant by reason of the owners’ death in distant lands, new couples profit by the fact.”
“Don’t they ever quarrel over the old nests?” asked Jules.
Swallow’s NestSwallow’s Nest
Swallow’s Nest
“Very seldom. Swallows like to live in colonies, and their nests touch one another sometimes to the number of hundreds on the same cornice. Each couple recognizes its own nest without the slightest hesitation, and scrupulously respects others’ property in order to have its own respected. There is among them a deep feeling of joint responsibility, and they help one another with as much intelligence as zeal. Occasionally it happens that a nest is no sooner finished than it gives way, either because the[224]mortar used is not strong enough or because the masons were in too great a hurry and had not the patience to let one course dry before laying another, or for some other reason. On hearing of the disaster the neighbors hasten to console the unlucky pair and help them to rebuild. All set to work, bringing the best mortar, straw, and feathers, and in forty-eight hours the nest is rebuilt. Left to themselves, it would have taken the owners a fortnight to repair the damage.”
“That’s the kind of friends in need I like to see!” declared Emile.
“But I have something still better to tell you. Let us suppose a swallow has been so careless as to become entangled in a mesh of loose threads, and the more frantically it struggles to escape the more firmly it binds its fetters. With wings and claws held fast it is in danger of perishing. Uttering piteous cries, it calls on its comrades for help. All hasten to give aid, noisily making plans for relief and working away with beak and talons until they finally unsnarl the tangle and free the captive. The happy event is then celebrated with chirpings of delight. That is what I saw with my own eyes, right here in the garden, one day when Mother Ambroisine was bleaching some of the linen thread she spins on her distaff.
“An author1of note tells us that he once witnessed something similar. These are his words:[225]‘I saw a swallow that had unfortunately, I know not how, caught its foot in a slip-knot tied in a string, the other end of which was fastened to a roof gutter. The bird’s strength was exhausted and it hung, crying, from the end of the string, with an occasional effort to escape. All the swallows in the neighborhood had assembled, to the number of several thousand. They formed a veritable cloud, each one uttering cries of alarm and pity. After considerable hesitation one of them hit on a plan for freeing their luckless companion and communicated it to the others, whereupon they all set to work. A space was cleared and every swallow within hail came, one after another, as in a ring-game, and gave in passing a peck at the string. These blows, all delivered at the same point, followed one another with only a second’s interval or less. Half an hour of this work sufficed to sever the thread and liberate the prisoner. But the entire company of birds, with a few exceptions, stayed there until night, chattering away incessantly, though no longer in anxious tones, but rather as if in mutual congratulation and animated comment.’
“Again: ‘An insolent sparrow invades a swallow’s nest and likes it so well it wishes to stay. The owners assail the intruder, but the latter, having a stronger beak and being also protected by the ramparts of the nest, easily repulses their attacks. Ha! so you won’t budge, then? We’ll see about that. One of the two swallows remains to hold the blockade while the other goes for help. The neighbors[226]hasten to the spot, consider the situation, deliberate on means to be employed, and finally conclude that it is out of the question to hope to dislodge by force an enemy so securely entrenched in the nest as in a strong redoubt. There is but one opinion: the invader cannot be ousted from the nest, but the proprietors must at least be avenged. No sooner said than done. While a few courageous ones posted at the opening intimidate the interloper with their cries, the others fetch a supply of their usual mortar, soil moistened with saliva, and little by little close the entrance to the nest.’ ”
“Who was the fool that time?” cried Jules, in high delight.
“It certainly was the sparrow, sealed up in its narrow prison and left to perish.”
“Caught, you nest-robber!” Emile exclaimed, clapping his hands.
“The chimney-swallow or house-swallow, also called barn-swallow, has chestnut-red forehead, throat, and eyebrows, a black back with violet sheen, and a white breast and stomach. Its name of house-swallow is given to it because it seeks man’s neighborhood and even nests inside our houses, especially where there is but little commotion or noise. Open and empty rooms, sheds and coach-houses, the eaves of roofs, the under side of balcony floors, and the inside of tall chimneys are its chosen nesting-places. The nest itself is made of moistened clay mixed with straw and hay and furnished inside with feathers and dry grass. It is in the shape of a half-cup wide[227]open at the top. The eggs are five in number, white with small brown and violet spots.
“The house-swallow is the most interesting of the tribe. It is the farmer’s cheery companion and the guest of the barn, while the martin prefers towns and the cornices of monuments. Its characteristic cry is a sweet little song which the father, perched on the edge of the nest, keeps repeating to the brooding mother to beguile the long hours of incubation. This bird is found all over the world. It reaches us after a long migration about the first of April, twelve days before the martin and a month ahead of the swift.
“The sand-martin is smaller and of less frequent occurrence than the other two swallows of which we are speaking. Its back is mouse-gray in color, as are also its cheeks and a wide stripe across the chest, while breast and stomach are pure white. With its beak and claws—poor tools for such rough work did not energetic good will supply the deficiency—it tunnels into steep sand-banks by the waterside, or into the face of cliffs and the walls of quarries, making a hole with a narrow entrance and extending in a winding passage for nearly two feet. At the further end a little space is hollowed out and furnished with a thick bed of straw, dry grass, and feathers, all heaped together with no art. There are laid five or six slightly translucent white eggs. The sand-martin perches only on rocks, to which it clings easily with its long and pointed claws. It haunts the water’s edge, which it explores in rapid flight, darting[228]to and fro and snapping up the gnats attracted by the coolness.”
“It is said,” remarked Jules, “that swallows take long journeys.”
“Yes, all our swallows migrate every year, not from a love of wandering but from necessity. Many other birds, particularly those that live on insects, do the same. Swallows, like bats, live entirely on flying insects, and when cold weather comes these are lacking. What does the bat do then to keep from starving?”
“It goes to sleep,” answered Emile.
“Yes, it closes as tightly as it can the draft in the vital stove—that natural stove, you know, that gives us heat, movement, and animation by burning up our blood with the help of air. The bat almost stops its breath in order to economize the fuel stored up in its little veins and make it last until the reappearance of insects at the approach of summer. In a word, it goes to sleep in the depths of some grotto, falling into an unconsciousness resembling death. Birds, however, cannot thus save their fuel. Their little stoves are always burning away under forced draft, because of the violent exercise of flying. Their temperature, summer and winter, is forty-two degrees, centigrade, whereas man’s is only thirty-eight. When such a fire has to be kept going, imagine if you cantakea six months’ nap because there was nothing to eat in the larder. It is quite out of the question. What, then, do birds do?
“Unable to do as the bat does, they form a bold[229]resolve: they leave their native land, which is about to be stripped of flying insects by the cold, and go far away, sad to leave but not without the hope of returning some day. They migrate, the strong helping the weak, the old and much-traveled ones guiding the young and inexperienced. They form in flocks and fly southward to Africa, where abundant food and a warmer sun await them. With no compass but instinct to direct their course, they cross the sea, the vast expanse of water in which only an occasional islet offers them a halting-place. Many perish in the crossing, and many arrive faint with hunger and spent with fatigue, but they do arrive at last.”
“It must be a trying time for the swallows when the day for starting comes,” Jules observed.
“A very trying time indeed, for the bird has to tear itself away from its beloved haunts, the place where it was born, to face the fatigues and dangers of a tremendous journey, a journey never before taken by the greater number of the emigrants. In a general assembly the date of departure is fixed for about the end of August in the case of martins and sand-martins, and later, even as late as October, for house-swallows. This being arranged, the martins gather for several successive days on the roofs of high buildings. Every now and then small groups detach themselves from the rest and circle about in the air with anxious cries, taking a last look at their birthplace and bidding it farewell; then they return to their companions and, we may imagine, fall to[230]chattering about their hopes and fears as they prepare for the journey by a careful examination of their plumage, which they oil a feather at a time. After several repetitions of these touching farewells a plaintive twittering announces the fateful hour: they must start. Launching themselves on their desperate adventure, they take flight in a body toward the south.
“House-swallows, when the time for their departure approaches, hold a consultation on some leafless tree, and almost always in the rain. The emigrating flock numbers three or four hundred birds.”[231]
1Dupont de Nemours.↑
1Dupont de Nemours.↑
1Dupont de Nemours.↑
1Dupont de Nemours.↑