CHAPTER XIGOOD-BYE TO THE GALLINULES
Not long after the entrance of this new gallinule into my bird world, circumstantial evidence convicted him of a crime that seemed to me particularly atrocious and unnecessary.
I had bought two little birds—a linnet and a goldfinch. These birds came with large numbers of other birds from Europe to New York, which is the great market for foreign birds.
They were both so restless in the cage in which I put them for quarantine purposes, that I was convinced they were trapped birds. This suspicion wasconfirmed by finding some of the linnet’s feathers stuck together with bird lime. Indeed, he was in such a state that I did not see how he had maintained enough freedom of movement to get about the large cage in which I had put him. I cut off the sticky feathers, felt angry with his trappers for catching him, for the little wild creature beat himself against his bars all the time, and I let him loose in the aviary. He flew about the basement, ascended to the roof-veranda, made friends with one of my native linnets—so-called, which are really finches, and finally I gave him his freedom. He flew away with the finch, and I hope migrated with him.
This European linnet was a quiet-looking, dark bird. The goldfinch was utterly different, both in appearance and in disposition, and was also totally unlike our pretty, bright American goldfinch. The English bird was about five inches long, his whitish beak was conical and sharp, his feet were brown and slender, the front of his head was bright scarlet, the top of it black. His cheeks and upper neck were pure white, the sides of his breast light brown, the middle whitish gray, his wing feathers were velvety black, yellow, and white. In Europe he and his fellows are of great service to farmers, their sharp little beaks dragging many insects from their hiding-places. One of their chief articles of diet is thistle-seed, and they are trapped by means of bird lime placed near bunches of thistles.
My little goldfinch did not seem very strong. One can fancy that after having a struggle with limed twigs, and then being shut up in a tiny cage with an entire change of food, and being transported across a wide ocean, he would not to any sensible degree find himself benefited in health. This poor little fellow soon died, and the bird-dealer gave me another one that worried along through one winter and spring. He was like the first one, as far as two birds can be alike. I became very fond of him. He was such a quiet, good little creature, and never molested another bird. When moulting-time came his weak points were accentuated. His feathers seemed to drop out all at once, and he lost his ability to fly. However, he bore his affliction philosophically, and seeing that his wings had deserted him, calmly took to his slender brown feet. Through the long, pleasant autumn days, he would go from tree to tree, climbing from one branch to another till he reached the top, then at night he always chose for his bed-place a perch near the old-fashioned worked picture, given to my father by one of his parishioners, and entitled, “Sweet rest in Heaven.”
This picture hung in my bedroom, a sunny apartment opening on the roof-veranda. I had very much enjoyed this room, but my birds had become so sociable, hopping in to see me, examining my pincushion and workbasket for threads and bits of cloth for their nests, and also crowding me somuch when I tried to look in my mirror, that for a part of the year I gave the room up to them and slept in another.
I had nailed some branches and perches to the walls and the little goldfinch when morning came, carefully picked his way down from behind the picture, and began journeying to and fro on the veranda, with many slips and many falls, but with so much enjoyment of his liberty that I could not bear to shut him up in one of the detested cages.
I knew that it was scarcely safe to have this little crippled fellow wandering about among large birds, but he was so discreet, and the large birds seemed so forbearing, that I hoped nothing would happen to him.
Then I was with my birds nearly all day long, either on the veranda or in the bird-room, and if I were not there some members of the family would be reading, sewing, or entertaining friends out in the sunshine.
I kept for several years from eighty to a hundred birds at a time, and there were a good many quarrels which would be quickly settled by a word from us, or sometimes by the birds themselves.
I have often seen a bird rush between two others who were angrily beating each other. Of course, the purpose of this bird is not to settle the quarrel. After watching them carefully I concluded that they interfere from a variety of motives, none of them altruistic. I think the chief reason of their interferencearises from the fact that birds are highly sensitive creatures. They hate sharp noises and any disturbance. If they do not understand a noise they fly away and hide, or rush wildly to and fro. If they do understand it, as in the case of two of their fellows quarreling, they irritably interfere, as if to say, “Why do you make such a horrible noise and disturb the harmony of things?”
The gallinules loved the roof-veranda, and solemnly ascending the elevator, would stand for hours in the water dishes, or would bask in the sunlight. I noticed that they moved about a good deal at night, and I have since heard that there is more movement in the bird world at night than we sometimes suppose.
I know many of my birds would make their way about, if there was the least particle of light, and some of them would arouse me by flying to and fro, and singing, if the moonlight were bright.
I did not know very much about gallinules, and it did not occur to me that they would prey upon birds, though I did find one of them playing with one of the turtles. However, gallinules were waders, and anything that lived in the water would be legitimate prey. But this second gallinule should not have killed my dear little goldfinch, and torn his wise little head from his shoulders.
This was the painful sight that greeted me one morning as I stepped out to the veranda. There was the headless body. There stood the gallinule,looking as if he were thinking of nothing but the beauty and brightness of the morning.
How did I know this gallinule, Beauty Number Two, was to blame? Well, if a mother has a certain number of children, and studies the character of each one, she knows them as thoroughly as one created being can understand another. She leaves the children in a room and returns to find one hurt and crying. She looks around, and by certain indefinable signs discovers the aggressor.
The gallinule’s philosophical, uninterested air might have led an outsider astray, and for just a very short time my suspicions did wander to a cardinal bird. However, they came back to the long-legged bird, and after a time I saw him playing with the poor little goldfinch’s head. I put him through the gate leading to the elevator, and told him to stay in regions below for a time. I would not have a murderer above. He did not like this, and with his companion would come and stand at the gate, pleading to be let in, until at last I relented; and whether he understood or not, he did not kill another bird for a long time.
When I moved the birds to my farm in the country, the gallinules went too. In an ell of the house were some rooms with screened windows. The screen on one door was loose, and my first gallinule managed to insinuate his body, and get out one fine day.
Below the house was a meadow, and through themeadow ran a beautiful little river. We could hear the birds the farmers called meadow-hens laughing down there all day long, and at night the legions of frogs kept up an harmonious chant of “Rain, rain, rain!”
Along the river banks were lovely wild flowers and thick shrubbery. I imagined that the gallinule would have a delightful time in this dense covert, and as he had been clever enough to find his way to Nova Scotia from Mexico or Georgia, perhaps, when autumn came, he might be clever enough to find his way back. So I took the other gallinule and carried him out to the bank overhanging the meadow. I threw him high up in the air, and he sank down from my sight among the violets and long grass of the hillside.
From what I knew of his habits, I concluded that he would hide there till night came, then make his way to the river. I hoped that he would find Beauty Number One, and many times since I have thought that I would give a very great deal to know the ultimate fate of my two gallinules.