Chapter Thirty.An Escape from the Bear-Scrape.For hours they sat upon their painful perch—now glancing downward at the fierce gaoler that watched unweariedly below—now gazing out upon the plain, where the dusky droves still continued to move. For hours the buffaloes kept passing northward, until the setting sun glanced redly from their brown bodies. Once or twice again the boys thought they saw white ones in the herd; but their eyes had grown dim with watching, and the pain which they endured now rendered them indifferent to aught else than their own misery. Despair had conquered hope—for they were choking with thirst—and death stared them in the face.After a long while the bear again lay down, and placing his fore-paws over his head appeared once more to sleep. Basil could stand it no longer; and now resolved to make an effort to escape. At all events he would try to bring about some change in their painful situation.Cautioning his brothers to remain silent, he slipped down from his tree; and, with the stealthy tread of a cat, crept over the ground in search of his rifle. He soon laid hands upon it; and then, returning to his tree, climbed up again. The shaking of the branches as he did so, awoke the bear; who sprang to his feet, and rushed towards the tree. Had he been a moment sooner, it would have been ill for Basil, for the snout of the animal, as he reared upward against the trunk, almost touched the boy’s feet. It was an “inch of a miss as good as a mile,” and Basil was saved. The next moment he was seated among the branches, and leisurely loading his rifle!Strange to say, the bear appeared to comprehend this movement. As if aware of his danger, he kept out farther from the trees; and, while rambling about, now, for the first time, stumbled upon what remained of the carcasses of the big-horns. These he proceeded to tear up, and devour. He was still within range of the rifle, though not for a sure shot; but Basil, who knew he could load again, was determined either to force him farther off, or bring him within reach; and with this intent he took aim and fired. The bullet hit the bear in the fore-shoulder, for he was seen to turn his head and tear at the spot with his teeth, all the while growling with rage and pain. Strange to say, he still continued to devour the meat!Again Basil loaded and fired as before. This time the animal received the shot about the head, which caused him to make fresh demonstrations of his fury. He dropped his prey, and galloped back among the trees, first clutching one and then another, making repeated efforts to drag them down. He at length came to Basil’s tree, and seized it in his fierce hug. This was exactly what the young hunter wanted. He had hastily reloaded, and as the bear stood upright under the branches, he leant downwards until the muzzle of his rifle almost touched the snout of the animal. Then came the report—a stream of fire was poured into the very face of the bear—and a crashing sound followed. As the smoke cleared off, the huge body was seen kicking and sprawling upon the ground. The leaden messenger had done its work. It had passed through the brain; and in a few seconds the shaggy monster lay motionless upon the earth.The boys now dropped from the trees. François and Lucien ran for their guns, and all three having loaded with care, proceeded toward the ravine. They stayed not to examine the enemy that had been slain. Thirst urged them on, and they thought only of getting to the spring below. They were full of hope that the she-bear and her cub had been killed by their first fire, and that they would now find the road clear.What was their disappointment when, on looking down the ravine, they saw the cub lying doubled up, near the bottom, and the old one standing sentry over it! The cub was evidently dead. So much the worse—as the mother would not now leave it for a moment, and both were directly in the path. The latter was moving backward and forward upon a ledge of rock, at intervals approaching the cub and tossing its body with her snout, and then uttering a low querulous moan, that was painful to listen to!The hunters saw at once that their situation was as bad as ever. Their retreat was cut off by the infuriated mother, who might remain where she was for an indefinite time. Should they fire down upon her, and take the chances of once more escaping to the trees? This was an alternative which they had reason to dread. Their painful experience decided them against it. What then? Remain until after night-fall, and try to steal past in the darkness? Perhaps the bear might retire to her cave, and give them an opportunity to do so. But in the meantime they were dying of thirst!At this moment a happy idea suggested itself to Lucien. He saw the cactus plants growing near. There were large globes of the echinocactus. He remembered having read that these often assuaged the thirst of the desert traveller. The plants were soon reached, and their succulent masses laid open by the knives of the hunters. The cool watery fibres were applied to their lips; and in a few minutes their thirst was alleviated and almost forgotten. Still the bear occupied the ravine, and so long as she remained there, there was no possible chance of their getting back to camp. They saw, however, that they could do nothing better than wait for the night, in hopes that the darkness might bring about something in their favour.Night soon came on, but not darkness. It chanced to be a clear moonlight; and they saw at once that it would then be quite as perilous to go down the ravine as it had been during the day. They could hear the snorting and growling of the monster below; and they knew she still held the pass. Should they attempt to descend, she would discover them long before they could get down. She could hear them clambering among the rocks and bushes. The advantage would be hers, as she could attack them unawares. Besides, even had the coast been quite clear, they would have found it difficult to get down the steep descent in the night. They dared not attempt it. After much deliberation, therefore, they resolved to wait for the morning.Throughout all the live-long night they kept awake. They heard their steeds neighing below—wondering, poor brutes, what had become of their masters. The hinny of Jeanette echoed wildly from the cliffs, and was answered by the bark and howl of the prairie-wolf. These sounds, together with the more ominous snort of the bear, kept sleep from the eyes of our adventurers. They dared not go to sleep, unless by perching themselves in the trees; as they knew not the moment the bear might come up to the summit. Sleeping upon the slender branch of a mountain pine is more painful than pleasant; and all three preferred keeping awake.Morning broke at length. The first light showed that the shaggy sentinel was still at her post. She sat upon the same spot, as though she was guarding her dead offspring. The young hunters, but particularly Basil, began to grow impatient. They were hungry, though there were still left some fragments of the wild mutton, which they could have eaten. But they were thirsty as well. The juice of the cactus allayed, but did not quench, their thirst. They longed for a draught of cool water from the spring below. The buffaloes, too, were gone northward, “on the run.” They might never overtake them. They might never again have such an opportunity of procuring that for which they had endured all this suffering. These thoughts influenced all three, but Basil more than any. Some attempt must be made to reach the plain, and escape from their elevated prison.Basil proposed provoking the bear, by firing upon her. She would pursue them, he urged, as the other had done, and meet with a similar fate. This might have succeeded, but it would have been a dangerous experiment. Lucien suggested that two of them should go round the edge of the precipice and examine it more carefully, while the third kept a watch upon the bear. Perhaps there might yet be found some other path that led to the plain. This offered but a faint hope; still it would take only a few minutes to make the examination, and Lucien’s proposal was therefore agreed to.“If we only had a rope,” suggested François, “we could let ourselves over the cliff, and then the old grizzly might stay there for ever, if she pleased.”“Ha!” shouted Basil, as if some plan had suddenly come into his mind, “what dunces we have been! Why did we not think of it before? Come, brothers! I’ll get you down in the twinkling of an eye—come!”As Basil uttered these words, he strode off towards the spot where they had butchered the big-horns. On reaching it he drew his hunting-knife; and having spread out one of the skins, proceeded to cut it into strips. Lucien, at once guessing his design, assisted him in the operation; while François was sent back to the head of the ravine, in order to watch the bear.In a few minutes the brothers had cut up both of the hides, until the ground was covered with long strips. These they knotted firmly together—placing cross-pieces of pine branches in the knots—until they had made a raw-hide rope over one hundred feet in length!They now proceeded to a convenient point of the cliff—where a pine-tree grew near its edge—and tied one end of the new-made rope around the trunk. To the other end they fastened Marengo, the three guns—for François had arrived upon the ground—and, along with these, a large stone—in order to test the strength of the rope before any of themselves should venture upon it. All these things were now lowered down until they could see them resting upon the prairie below.The rope was next made taut above; and the weight of the stone—which was too heavy for Marengo to move—kept all fast below. François slipped down the rope first. There was but little difficulty in his doing so; as the pieces of wood formed rests, or steps, that prevented him from sliding too fast. Lucien followed next, and then Basil; so that in less than half an hour, from the time that this plan of escape had occurred to them, all three found themselves safe upon the level of the prairie!They did not waste time when they had got there. Marengo was released, and the whole party hurried in the direction of their horses. These were soon reached, caught, and saddled; and our hunters, now that they could mount at any moment they pleased, felt themselves safe.They resolved, however, to remain no longer by the butte, but to ride away from it, as soon as they had eaten a morsel. A small fire was, therefore, kindled; and a piece of bear-meat, hastily broiled, satisfied their hunger. Basil would have gone back on horseback, to attack the old she-bear in the ravine; but the more prudent Lucien dissuaded him; and, holding their horses in readiness, they packed their camp equipments upon Jeanette, and once more took the route.
For hours they sat upon their painful perch—now glancing downward at the fierce gaoler that watched unweariedly below—now gazing out upon the plain, where the dusky droves still continued to move. For hours the buffaloes kept passing northward, until the setting sun glanced redly from their brown bodies. Once or twice again the boys thought they saw white ones in the herd; but their eyes had grown dim with watching, and the pain which they endured now rendered them indifferent to aught else than their own misery. Despair had conquered hope—for they were choking with thirst—and death stared them in the face.
After a long while the bear again lay down, and placing his fore-paws over his head appeared once more to sleep. Basil could stand it no longer; and now resolved to make an effort to escape. At all events he would try to bring about some change in their painful situation.
Cautioning his brothers to remain silent, he slipped down from his tree; and, with the stealthy tread of a cat, crept over the ground in search of his rifle. He soon laid hands upon it; and then, returning to his tree, climbed up again. The shaking of the branches as he did so, awoke the bear; who sprang to his feet, and rushed towards the tree. Had he been a moment sooner, it would have been ill for Basil, for the snout of the animal, as he reared upward against the trunk, almost touched the boy’s feet. It was an “inch of a miss as good as a mile,” and Basil was saved. The next moment he was seated among the branches, and leisurely loading his rifle!
Strange to say, the bear appeared to comprehend this movement. As if aware of his danger, he kept out farther from the trees; and, while rambling about, now, for the first time, stumbled upon what remained of the carcasses of the big-horns. These he proceeded to tear up, and devour. He was still within range of the rifle, though not for a sure shot; but Basil, who knew he could load again, was determined either to force him farther off, or bring him within reach; and with this intent he took aim and fired. The bullet hit the bear in the fore-shoulder, for he was seen to turn his head and tear at the spot with his teeth, all the while growling with rage and pain. Strange to say, he still continued to devour the meat!
Again Basil loaded and fired as before. This time the animal received the shot about the head, which caused him to make fresh demonstrations of his fury. He dropped his prey, and galloped back among the trees, first clutching one and then another, making repeated efforts to drag them down. He at length came to Basil’s tree, and seized it in his fierce hug. This was exactly what the young hunter wanted. He had hastily reloaded, and as the bear stood upright under the branches, he leant downwards until the muzzle of his rifle almost touched the snout of the animal. Then came the report—a stream of fire was poured into the very face of the bear—and a crashing sound followed. As the smoke cleared off, the huge body was seen kicking and sprawling upon the ground. The leaden messenger had done its work. It had passed through the brain; and in a few seconds the shaggy monster lay motionless upon the earth.
The boys now dropped from the trees. François and Lucien ran for their guns, and all three having loaded with care, proceeded toward the ravine. They stayed not to examine the enemy that had been slain. Thirst urged them on, and they thought only of getting to the spring below. They were full of hope that the she-bear and her cub had been killed by their first fire, and that they would now find the road clear.
What was their disappointment when, on looking down the ravine, they saw the cub lying doubled up, near the bottom, and the old one standing sentry over it! The cub was evidently dead. So much the worse—as the mother would not now leave it for a moment, and both were directly in the path. The latter was moving backward and forward upon a ledge of rock, at intervals approaching the cub and tossing its body with her snout, and then uttering a low querulous moan, that was painful to listen to!
The hunters saw at once that their situation was as bad as ever. Their retreat was cut off by the infuriated mother, who might remain where she was for an indefinite time. Should they fire down upon her, and take the chances of once more escaping to the trees? This was an alternative which they had reason to dread. Their painful experience decided them against it. What then? Remain until after night-fall, and try to steal past in the darkness? Perhaps the bear might retire to her cave, and give them an opportunity to do so. But in the meantime they were dying of thirst!
At this moment a happy idea suggested itself to Lucien. He saw the cactus plants growing near. There were large globes of the echinocactus. He remembered having read that these often assuaged the thirst of the desert traveller. The plants were soon reached, and their succulent masses laid open by the knives of the hunters. The cool watery fibres were applied to their lips; and in a few minutes their thirst was alleviated and almost forgotten. Still the bear occupied the ravine, and so long as she remained there, there was no possible chance of their getting back to camp. They saw, however, that they could do nothing better than wait for the night, in hopes that the darkness might bring about something in their favour.
Night soon came on, but not darkness. It chanced to be a clear moonlight; and they saw at once that it would then be quite as perilous to go down the ravine as it had been during the day. They could hear the snorting and growling of the monster below; and they knew she still held the pass. Should they attempt to descend, she would discover them long before they could get down. She could hear them clambering among the rocks and bushes. The advantage would be hers, as she could attack them unawares. Besides, even had the coast been quite clear, they would have found it difficult to get down the steep descent in the night. They dared not attempt it. After much deliberation, therefore, they resolved to wait for the morning.
Throughout all the live-long night they kept awake. They heard their steeds neighing below—wondering, poor brutes, what had become of their masters. The hinny of Jeanette echoed wildly from the cliffs, and was answered by the bark and howl of the prairie-wolf. These sounds, together with the more ominous snort of the bear, kept sleep from the eyes of our adventurers. They dared not go to sleep, unless by perching themselves in the trees; as they knew not the moment the bear might come up to the summit. Sleeping upon the slender branch of a mountain pine is more painful than pleasant; and all three preferred keeping awake.
Morning broke at length. The first light showed that the shaggy sentinel was still at her post. She sat upon the same spot, as though she was guarding her dead offspring. The young hunters, but particularly Basil, began to grow impatient. They were hungry, though there were still left some fragments of the wild mutton, which they could have eaten. But they were thirsty as well. The juice of the cactus allayed, but did not quench, their thirst. They longed for a draught of cool water from the spring below. The buffaloes, too, were gone northward, “on the run.” They might never overtake them. They might never again have such an opportunity of procuring that for which they had endured all this suffering. These thoughts influenced all three, but Basil more than any. Some attempt must be made to reach the plain, and escape from their elevated prison.
Basil proposed provoking the bear, by firing upon her. She would pursue them, he urged, as the other had done, and meet with a similar fate. This might have succeeded, but it would have been a dangerous experiment. Lucien suggested that two of them should go round the edge of the precipice and examine it more carefully, while the third kept a watch upon the bear. Perhaps there might yet be found some other path that led to the plain. This offered but a faint hope; still it would take only a few minutes to make the examination, and Lucien’s proposal was therefore agreed to.
“If we only had a rope,” suggested François, “we could let ourselves over the cliff, and then the old grizzly might stay there for ever, if she pleased.”
“Ha!” shouted Basil, as if some plan had suddenly come into his mind, “what dunces we have been! Why did we not think of it before? Come, brothers! I’ll get you down in the twinkling of an eye—come!”
As Basil uttered these words, he strode off towards the spot where they had butchered the big-horns. On reaching it he drew his hunting-knife; and having spread out one of the skins, proceeded to cut it into strips. Lucien, at once guessing his design, assisted him in the operation; while François was sent back to the head of the ravine, in order to watch the bear.
In a few minutes the brothers had cut up both of the hides, until the ground was covered with long strips. These they knotted firmly together—placing cross-pieces of pine branches in the knots—until they had made a raw-hide rope over one hundred feet in length!
They now proceeded to a convenient point of the cliff—where a pine-tree grew near its edge—and tied one end of the new-made rope around the trunk. To the other end they fastened Marengo, the three guns—for François had arrived upon the ground—and, along with these, a large stone—in order to test the strength of the rope before any of themselves should venture upon it. All these things were now lowered down until they could see them resting upon the prairie below.
The rope was next made taut above; and the weight of the stone—which was too heavy for Marengo to move—kept all fast below. François slipped down the rope first. There was but little difficulty in his doing so; as the pieces of wood formed rests, or steps, that prevented him from sliding too fast. Lucien followed next, and then Basil; so that in less than half an hour, from the time that this plan of escape had occurred to them, all three found themselves safe upon the level of the prairie!
They did not waste time when they had got there. Marengo was released, and the whole party hurried in the direction of their horses. These were soon reached, caught, and saddled; and our hunters, now that they could mount at any moment they pleased, felt themselves safe.
They resolved, however, to remain no longer by the butte, but to ride away from it, as soon as they had eaten a morsel. A small fire was, therefore, kindled; and a piece of bear-meat, hastily broiled, satisfied their hunger. Basil would have gone back on horseback, to attack the old she-bear in the ravine; but the more prudent Lucien dissuaded him; and, holding their horses in readiness, they packed their camp equipments upon Jeanette, and once more took the route.
Chapter Thirty One.The Vultures and their King.They turned their horses’ heads westward. It was their intention to travel in that direction, until they should strike the tracks of the buffaloes, when they would turn to the north, follow upon the trail of these animals, and endeavour to come up with the great herd. This was clearly the best course they could adopt.As they were riding past the western extremity of the butte, a flock of large birds drew their attention. They were vultures. The boys now remembered the cimmaron that had fallen over the cliff; and, looking up, they beheld its body still swinging from the tree. It was that which had attracted the vultures.There were many of them—over an hundred in the flock. Some were sailing about in the air. Others had alighted on the top of the cliff, or perched themselves on the branches of the pines, while a few hovered around the carcass, occasionally settling a moment upon its stiffened limbs, and endeavouring to penetrate the hide with their beaks. They had already torn out the eyes of the animal, but the tough skin of the body still resisted their attacks.These birds were larger than ravens, and of a dark colour—nearly black. At a distance they appeared purely black; but, upon a nearer view, an admixture of brownish feathers could be perceived, and this was apparent in some of them more than in others. To a careless observer they would all have passed for birds of the same species, although that was not the case. There were two distinct species of them, the “turkey-buzzard” (Cathartes aura), and the black vulture (Cathartes atratus). Our boys knew them well enough—for both kinds are common in Louisiana, and throughout all the southern part of the United States.I have said that a careless observer would mistake the one species for the other. They are nearly of the same size and colour, though the carrion-crow is of a deeper black than the buzzard; but there are other points of difference that would strike the eye of a naturalist at once. The buzzard is a much more handsomely formed bird, and is more graceful, both upon the ground and while sailing through the air. His wings are longer and more elegantly plumed, and his tail is more tapering. The skin of his naked head and neck, as well as that of his legs, is of a reddish or flesh colour; while the same parts of the black vulture are a mixture of black and grey—the black being caused by a down that grows thinly over the skin. They are easily distinguished in the air. The black vulture flies rather heavily—flapping his wings several times with a quick repetition, and then holding them horizontally for a hundred yards or so—while his short ill-proportioned tail is spread out like a fan. The buzzard, on the contrary, holds his wings at rest—not in a horizontal position, but bent considerably upward. In this attitude he will skim along for a quarter of a mile, without a single stroke of his wings, and that, too, not downward as may be supposed, but along a level, or a line often curving upward! How he executes this upward movement is not known. Some suppose that he possesses the power of inflating himself with heated air, which enables him to soar upward without using his wings. This theory is not very clear, and requires demonstration before it can be accepted as the true one. Others say that he is carried up by the impetus he has already obtained, by having previously descended from an equal or greater height. This is not true, however, as the buzzard may be often seen to rise in this way after a long flight along the level line. It is just possible that the same principle by which the New Holland savages direct their boomerangs, or by which flat stones thrown horizontally often take an upward direction—a fact known to every boy—I say it is just possible that this principle, as yet but little understood, may be instructively acted on by the buzzard, and have something to do with his flight. Be the facts as they may, it is an interesting sight to watch one of these birds, with broad wings outlined against the blue background of the heavens, now swimming in circles, now shooting off in horizontal lines, and anon soaring upward or tracing the undulating curves of the ogee. It is, to say the least of it, a striking and beautiful sight.The turkey-buzzard is, upon the whole, a nobler bird than the black vulture. There is more of the eagle about him. Both, it is true, are carrion-feeders, like all vultures; but the buzzard also hunts after other food, such as snakes, lizards, and small quadrupeds. He will attack young lambs or pigs, when a good opportunity offers. So, too, will the black vulture, but not so frequently. Neither of them, however, do much harm in this respect; and their preying on such animals is an exception, and not a rule. They only do so, probably, when driven to it by hunger. Both species are gregarious, although they do not always appear in flocks. The buzzards, particularly, are often seen hunting alone, or in twos or threes; but their mode of life brings them together in large numbers. They often assemble—both buzzards and black vultures—to the number of hundreds, over a single carrion. The buzzards, however, are not so plenty as the black vultures; and in one of these flocks more than three-fourths will be found of the latter species. The buzzards are the shyer birds; and they are less disposed to keep together in flocks. It has even been said that these are not gregarious, as they are often seen alone in the high regions of the air. But it is certain that not only do numbers of them roost together at night, but they even associate with the black vultures at such times.In most countries the vulture is a privileged bird. He is looked upon as a cheap and useful scavenger, clearing away the carcasses of dead animals, that would otherwise pollute the atmosphere. This is a matter of much importance in hot countries; and it is only in such countries that vultures are commonly found. What a beautiful illustration of the completeness of Nature’s laws! As you get into high latitudes and colder regions—where the air is not so readily tainted by putrid substances—the necessity for such a scavenger no longer exists, and he is rarely met with. There the great vulture gives place to the croaking raven, and the small carrion-crow.Vultures, I have said, are privileged birds. In most countries they are protected by law. This is the case with regard to the present species, both in English and Spanish America, where there is a fine for killing them. The consequence is, they are seldom molested; and in many places are so tame, that they will permit you to come within a few feet of them. In the cities and villages of the Southern States they alight in the streets, and go to sleep upon the house-tops. They do the same in the cities of Mexico and South America, where both species are also found.As soon as our young hunters had got opposite the cliff where the vultures were, they reined up, determined to remain awhile, and watch the manoeuvres of the birds. They were curious to see how the latter would conduct themselves with a prey so singularly situated, as was the carcass of the cimmaron. They did not dismount, but sat in their saddles, about an hundred yards from the cliff. The vultures, of course, did not regard their presence; but continued to alight, both upon the escarpment of the precipice and upon the loose rocks at its foot, as if no one was near.“How very like the buzzards are to hen turkeys!” remarked François.“Yes,” rejoined Lucien, “that is the reason why they are called ‘turkey-buzzards.’”François’ observation was a very natural one. There are no two birds, not absolutely of the same species, that are more like each other than a turkey-buzzard and a small-sized turkey-hen—that is, the common domestic turkey of the black variety, which, like the buzzard, is usually of a brownish colour. So like are they, that, at the distance of a hundred yards, I have often taken the one for the other. This resemblance, however, extends no farther than to the general appearance—the shape and colour. In most other respects they differ, as you may imagine, very materially.“Talking of turkey-buzzards,” continued Lucien, “reminds me of an anecdote that is told in relation to one.”“Oh! let us have it, brother,” said François.“With pleasure,” replied Lucien. “It is intended to illustrate the superior cunning of the white over the Indian race; and is a pretty fair sample of the honesty and justice which the former has too often observed in its dealings with the latter. It is as follows:—“A white man and an Indian went out together for a day’s hunting. They agreed that the game should be equally divided at night, no matter who had killed the largest share of it. During the day the Indian shot a turkey, and the white hunter a turkey-buzzard; and these two birds were all that either of them were able to meet with. The proceeds of the day’s hunt were brought together; and now arose a difficulty about an equal division of the game. Both knew well enough the value of a good fat turkey; and both were as well acquainted with the utter worthlessness of the buzzard—which was in factworth less than nothing, as its filthy odour was extremely repulsive. It was evident that the only way of making a fair division would have been to cut the turkey in two equal parts, and each to take one of the halves. The white man, however, would not agree to this; but proposed that one of them should take the whole turkey, and the other the buzzard.“‘It’s a pity,’ argued he, ‘to spoil the birds. It’s better for each of us to take one.’“‘Very well,’ said the Indian. ‘Shall we draw lots for the choice?’“‘Oh, no,’ replied the other. ‘It’s not worth while to do that. I’ll deal fairly with you. I’ll take the turkey, and let you have the buzzard; or,you can take the buzzard, and I’ll keep the turkey.’“The Indian reflected, that in either case the buzzard would fall to his share; but the white man’s propositionseemeda just one; and, as he could find no flaw in its fairness, he was constrained, though reluctantly, to accept it. The white hunter, therefore, shouldered his turkey, and trudged off homewards, leaving the poor Indian supperless in the woods.”“Ha! ha! ha!” laughed François, “what a shallow Indian he must have been to be so easily outwitted!”“Ah!” said Lucien, “he was not the only one of his race, who has been similarly deceived by white men. Many apewterdollar has been passed upon these simple sons of the forest, in exchange for their furs and peltries. I have reason to suspect that one very rich fur-trader, now dead, laid the foundation of his immense fortune in this way; but my suspicions do not amount to positive proof, and therefore I do not assert it for a fact. Perhaps some historian may one day assail even the character of thegoodPenn; who is said to have purchased from the Indians a territory of threesquare miles, but took care to have it measured off asthree miles square! I hope the story is not a true one.”“Why, that,” said François, “is almost the same trick as Dido performed with the bull’s hide.”“Yes,” replied his brother; “so you see that dishonesty belongs exclusively to no age or nation. It has existed in the past, and will continue to exist, until men, becoming more and more highly educated, will be moved by nobler ambition than the mere spirit of gain. I believe there is such a time in the far future.”The conversation was again directed to the subject of the vultures. These now formed a flock of at least two hundred; and others were still arriving upon the ground. As fresh ones came, they would wheel about for awhile in the air, and then drop down and perch themselves on the trees and rocks. Some sat crouching with drooping wings, and heads drawn in—so that their long naked necks were quite concealed under their ruff-like collars. Others stood erect, with both wings raised from the body, half unfolded, and held “a-kimbo,” as eagles are often seen, and as they are sometimes represented upon coins and standards. It is supposed that both vultures and eagles spread their wings in this fashion to cool themselves when they are too warm, and sun themselves when too cold—for they do so in cold, as well as warm weather; and in this attitude they exhibit a singular and rather pleasing picture.Some of the vultures could be seen descending from the very highest regions of the air. They could be noted like little specks against the blue sky, gradually growing larger and larger, until their broad wings cast moving shadows upon the sunlit sward, as the birds floated spirally downward. Others were observed approaching in a horizontal direction—some of them seeming no bigger than sparrows, as they first caught the eye upon the distant horizon.“What a distance some of them must have travelled!” remarked François; “and how do you think they know where to come? There was not one in sight when we killed those big-horns.”“They have been guided by their scent, of course,” replied Basil; “they have great power in that way.”“Not so, brother,” interrupted Lucien; “that is one of the errors of your closet-naturalists—your Buffons and Cuviers—propagated by them, until it has become proverbial. Strange to say, it is altogether erroneous. It has been proved that vultures possess the sense of smell in a less degree even than most other creatures. Dogs and wolves far excel them in this respect.”“How, then, have they found this carrion, for instance?”“By their sight—for that sense they possess in a high degree of perfection.”“But how can that be, Luce?” rejoined Basil. “See! yonder are some coming from the eastward. Now, as the butte is between them and the big-horn, how is it possible they could have seen it?”“I do not say they have; but they have seen others, who have seen others, who in their turn have seen others, who actuallyhaveseen the carrion.”“Oh! I understand; you mean that some one or more have first spied it; and, while making towards it, have been observed by others at a greater distance; and those again who have followed them have been followed by others still more distant, and so on.”“Precisely so; and this at once accounts for the fabulous stories of vultures scenting carrion at the distance of miles—none of which stories are true, but have been propagated by men who, perhaps, never saw a vulture in the air, but who, in order to make their books amusing, have readily adopted the exaggerated tales of every Munchausen they could meet with.”“Your theory is certainly the more probable one.”“It is the true one. It has been proved to be so by numerous experiments with vultures; all of which have gone to show, that these birds have anything but a keen sense of smell. On the contrary, it is remarkably weak; and I think it is well for them it is so, considering the sort of food they live upon.”“This flock must have gathered from all parts,” remarked François; “we see them coming in from every point of the compass. No doubt some of them have travelled fifty miles.”“As likely an hundred,” rejoined Lucien. “Such a journey is a mere bagatelle to them. Now, if I knew the precise moment at which the carrion was discovered by the first one, I could tell how far each of the others had come—that is, each of them whose arrival we are now witnessing.”“But how could you do that, brother?” demanded Basil and François, in astonishment; “pray tell us how?”“I should make my calculation thus:—In the first place, they have all startedat the same time.”“At the same time!” interrupted Basil; “how can that be, if some of them were an hundred miles off?”“No matter what distance,” replied Lucien; “it is all the same. They have all commenced their flight hither, notexactly, butnearly, at the same moment. Is it not plain? These birds, while hunting for their food, sweep through the air in great circles. Each of these circles overlooks a large tract of the earth’s surface below. Their circumferences approach or intersect each other—so that, in fact, the whole country is under a network of them. Now, as soon as one of the vultures, thus sailing about, discovers with far-seeing eye the carrion below, he immediately drops from his high orbit, and wings his way downward. He is observed by that one circling nearest him; who, well knowing the cause of the altered flight of his companion, at once forsakes his own orbit and follows; and he, in his turn, is followed by another; and so on to the end of the chain.”“But how can one of them tell that the other is gone in pursuit of prey?” inquired François, interrupting Lucien in his explanation.“Suppose you saw Basil at a great distance off on the prairie, could you not tell by his actions when he had started game, and was in pursuit of it?”“Oh! yes! I could easily.”“Well, then, the vultures, who have far keener sight than you, understand each other’s movements thoroughly—even to the shaking of a feather—so that they can easily tell when one of their number has a good dinner in sight.“I think I have shown,” continued Lucien, “that they all start within a few seconds of the same time; and as they fly in a nearly direct line towards the object, if we knew the rate at which they go, it would only remain for us to mark the date of their arrival, to be able to tell how far they had come. Of course it is supposed that we have already noted the time when the first one came upon the spot.“If we suppose,” continued Lucien, as he pointed up to the vultures, “that the first of these has alighted here two hours ago, and we allow them a flight of thirty miles an hour, we may then safely conclude that some of those now coming in have made a journey of sixty miles this morning. What think you of my theory?”“It is, to say the least of it, a curious one, brother,” replied Basil.“But what are they waiting for now?” demanded François; “why don’t they at once fall to, and enjoy it while it is fresh?”François’ interrogatory was a very natural one. Most of the vultures, instead of attacking the carrion, were, as we have already seen, sitting perched upon rocks and trees—some of them in listless attitudes, as though they were not hungry, and did not care to eat.Basil proffered an explanation.“No doubt,” said he, “they are waiting until the flesh becomes putrid. It is said that they prefer it in that state.”“And that,” remarked Lucien, “is another assertion that has no foundation in fact. They donotprefer it in that state. On the contrary, it is certain that vultures like their food better when fresh, and eat it so when they can get it.”“And what hinders them now?” inquired François.“The tough hide hinders them. These birds do not possess the great muscular power in their claws that eagles do, else you would soon see the big-horn reduced to a skeleton. They are waiting until its skin becomes more tender, through decomposition, so that they may be able to tear it open. That is why they are waiting.”Such was evidently the true explanation; for each of the new-comers was seen to attack the carcass; and, after finding he could make nothing of it, fly off and settle quietly down on the rocks or trees.As the boys watched them, however, some more eager than the rest effected an incision—at the spot where Basil’s bullet had entered the body of the animal—and were rapidly widening it. The others, perceiving this, began to fly toward the spot; and, in less than five minutes, the tree was black with the filthy birds, until they crowded each other upon the branches. Several perched upon the limbs and horns of the animal itself, until there was not a space left for another to stand upon. But their united weight, combined with that of the carcass, was too much for the roots of the pine. A loud crash was heard, followed by the sharp rat-like squeaking of the vultures, as they flapped hurriedly away; and as the broken tree bent downwards, the body of the big-horn was precipitated to the earth, and fell upon the rocks below!There was a great commotion among the assembled birds; and the sound of their broad wings, hurriedly beating the air, could have been heard for miles off; but their fright was soon over, and they all settled down again near the carrion.The accident was in their favour rather than otherwise. The already decomposing body, by falling from such a vast height upon the sharp rocks, was mangled, and the skin burst open! This the foul birds were not slow in perceiving; and first one, and then another, flapped towards it, and commenced their horrid meal. In a few moments they were crowding over the body, hissing like geese, striking at each other with wings, beak, and claws, and altogether exhibiting such a scene of ravenous hunger and angry passion as would be difficult to portray. They soon got in among the entrails of the animal, and commenced dragging them forth. Sometimes two of them would seize a long string of these, and each swallowing from opposite ends, would meet each other in the middle of the piece. Then would be witnessed a singular scene, as the birds dragged one another over the ground, each trying to make the other disgorge his filthy morsel! The young hunters, amused by these curious episodes, agreed to remain and watch them for awhile; and with this intent they dismounted from their horses, so as to relieve the animals of their weight.A new object of interest now presented itself to their attention. François discovered it. François had been directing his eyes upward, watching the graceful motions of such of the vultures as were still in the air. All at once he was heard to exclaim,—“Awhitebuzzard! awhitebuzzard!”Lucien and Basil saw that François pointed to the sky overhead. They raised their eyes in that direction. There, sure enough, was awhite bird; but of what species neither of them could make out. It was flying at a vast elevation—higher, apparently, than any of the buzzards; but even at that great height it appeared larger than any of them. Like them, it seemed to sail about with great ease, as if the sky was its natural home.When first observed, it appeared about as large as a gull; and the boys might have taken it for one—not knowing any otherwhitebird likely to be flying about at such a height—but as there were several buzzards near it, and evidentlybelowit, and as these looked no bigger than swallows, what must be its size? It was not only bigger than a buzzard, but, at least, three times the size of any one of them. Thus calculated Lucien, and his calculation was not far from the truth.The strange bird then could be no gull. What was it? A swan? No. Its mode of flight answered that question at once. It bore no resemblance whatever to the short rapid flapping of the swan, nor to the flight of any water-bird. Was it a pelican? or perhaps a white ibis (Tantalus alba)? or the white egret heron (Ardea egretta)? No; it was none of these. The slow laborious flight of these great wading birds would have been at once recognised by any of the boys, who were accustomed to see them often hovering over the bayous of Louisiana. But this bird flew differently from any of these. It used its wings more after the manner of the buzzards themselves or the black vultures; but as the boys could think of nowhitebird of similar flight, they were puzzled as to what it might be. Its size and mode of flying would have led them to believe it was an eagle; but its colour forbade this supposition. There were no white eagles, that ever they had heard of.I have said that, when first seen by François, the strange bird appeared about the size of a gull; but as the young hunters stood gazing up at it, they saw that it was gradually becoming larger and larger. They knew from this that it was descending towards the earth, and, to all appearance, directly over the spot occupied by themselves and the vultures. As they had all three grown very curious to know what sort of a creature it might be, they were expressing their hopes that it would continue its descent. They knew thatitmust have seenthemalready; and it would, therefore, be useless for them to attempt concealing themselves. In fact, there was no cover for them, had they wished to do so.As they stood watching and waiting, an exclamation, uttered by all three at the same moment, announced thatanother white birdwas in sight! It was still high up, like a spot of snow upon the sky; but it, too, was making downward, in the track of the former, and appeared to be of the same species. This soon became evident; for the one last seen, descending more vertically, soon overtook the other; and both together continued to sail downward upon a spiral curve.In a few moments they had arrived within two hundred yards of the earth; and now they circled slowly around, looking down as they flew.They were directly over the spot occupied by the vultures; and as the day was one of the brightest, the boys had an opportunity of beholding two of the most beautiful birds they had ever seen. They were not entirely white—although, in looking at them from below, they appeared so; but as, in sailing round the circle, they sometimes held themselves sideways in the air, their backs at intervals could be seen distinctly. It was then noticed that the upper part of their bodies was of a rich cream colour, while their wings above—both plumes and coverts—were of a glossy brown. Their tails were tipped with black; but the whole of the under part of their bodies was of a pure milk-like white. But the most singular appearance about these birds was presented on their heads and necks. These were entirely naked of feathers as far down as the shoulders—where the neck was encircled by a large ruff that looked like a tippet—and the naked skin of both head and neck exhibited the most brilliant colours of orange and red. These colours were not mixed nor mottled together; but each belonged to separate parts of the membrane, forming distinct and regular figures—according to the manner in which the cartilaginous covering is itself most singularly divided. Their beaks were orange-red; and over their bases grew crest-like protuberances, like the comb of a cock. Their eyes had dark pupils and white irides, encircled by rings of a deep red colour; and, in short, the whole appearance of these beautiful creatures was such that, like the peacock, when once seen, they could never be forgotten.“I have never seen one of them before,” remarked Lucien, “but I have no difficulty in telling what they are.”“What?” inquired Basil and François, impatiently.“King-vultures.”As Lucien said this, the birds, that did not seem to regard the presence of the party, swooped suddenly down towards the carrion. The boys followed them with their eyes—curious to witness what effect their arrival would have upon the buzzards and black vultures. To the surprise of all, not one of the latter was now to be seen near the carcass! While the attention of the party had been directed to the king-vultures, the others had been regarding them as well; and, knowing from experience what these great birds were, both buzzards and black vultures had scattered precipitately, and now sat upon the rocks at a respectful distance!The king-vultures, without seeming to heed their presence, hopped up to the carrion, and commenced tearing it with their beaks. In a few minutes these creatures, that had appeared so clean and beautiful—for the king-vultures are as proud of their plumage as peacocks, and usually keep it in the best order—exhibited a picture of filth that was disgusting to look upon. The brilliant hue of their heads and necks was changed into a dark blood colour; and their white breasts became dappled with gore. Their vulturous appetites rendered them regardless of all else.“Shall we fire, and kill one?” asked François.“No,” said Lucien, “it is not right to deprive the poor creatures of life. If you wish to get a nearer view of them, have patience, and your wish may be gratified without the expenditure of powder and lead.”What Lucien said proved correct. At the end of half an hour or so, the birds appeared to have eaten as much as they could get into their stomachs; and commenced stalking over the ground with a heavy sluggish gait. The boys, who had waited patiently, now ran forward; and, finding that the vultures were unable to rise into the air, after a chase—in which Marengo took a prominent part—secured them both.But they did not hold them long; for the moment that François, who was the most eager to seize them, laid his hands upon one, he let it go again with an exclamation of disgust; and ran faster from the vulture, than the latter could run from him!The fetid odour of the creatures—which was quite as strong as that of the carrion itself—was too much for the olfactory nerves of our heroes; and they were all three glad enough to let the king-vultures off without a second encounter.As they returned to their horses, they observed that the buzzards and black vultures were once more collecting about the remains of the big-horn. They had been joined by several prairie-wolves; and these were snarling and snapping—now driving off the birds, and now receiving a blow from the long wings of the latter, that caused them to growl more fiercely than ever. Our adventurers did not wait for thefinaleof this hideous scene; but remounting, once more headed their horses to the prairie.
They turned their horses’ heads westward. It was their intention to travel in that direction, until they should strike the tracks of the buffaloes, when they would turn to the north, follow upon the trail of these animals, and endeavour to come up with the great herd. This was clearly the best course they could adopt.
As they were riding past the western extremity of the butte, a flock of large birds drew their attention. They were vultures. The boys now remembered the cimmaron that had fallen over the cliff; and, looking up, they beheld its body still swinging from the tree. It was that which had attracted the vultures.
There were many of them—over an hundred in the flock. Some were sailing about in the air. Others had alighted on the top of the cliff, or perched themselves on the branches of the pines, while a few hovered around the carcass, occasionally settling a moment upon its stiffened limbs, and endeavouring to penetrate the hide with their beaks. They had already torn out the eyes of the animal, but the tough skin of the body still resisted their attacks.
These birds were larger than ravens, and of a dark colour—nearly black. At a distance they appeared purely black; but, upon a nearer view, an admixture of brownish feathers could be perceived, and this was apparent in some of them more than in others. To a careless observer they would all have passed for birds of the same species, although that was not the case. There were two distinct species of them, the “turkey-buzzard” (Cathartes aura), and the black vulture (Cathartes atratus). Our boys knew them well enough—for both kinds are common in Louisiana, and throughout all the southern part of the United States.
I have said that a careless observer would mistake the one species for the other. They are nearly of the same size and colour, though the carrion-crow is of a deeper black than the buzzard; but there are other points of difference that would strike the eye of a naturalist at once. The buzzard is a much more handsomely formed bird, and is more graceful, both upon the ground and while sailing through the air. His wings are longer and more elegantly plumed, and his tail is more tapering. The skin of his naked head and neck, as well as that of his legs, is of a reddish or flesh colour; while the same parts of the black vulture are a mixture of black and grey—the black being caused by a down that grows thinly over the skin. They are easily distinguished in the air. The black vulture flies rather heavily—flapping his wings several times with a quick repetition, and then holding them horizontally for a hundred yards or so—while his short ill-proportioned tail is spread out like a fan. The buzzard, on the contrary, holds his wings at rest—not in a horizontal position, but bent considerably upward. In this attitude he will skim along for a quarter of a mile, without a single stroke of his wings, and that, too, not downward as may be supposed, but along a level, or a line often curving upward! How he executes this upward movement is not known. Some suppose that he possesses the power of inflating himself with heated air, which enables him to soar upward without using his wings. This theory is not very clear, and requires demonstration before it can be accepted as the true one. Others say that he is carried up by the impetus he has already obtained, by having previously descended from an equal or greater height. This is not true, however, as the buzzard may be often seen to rise in this way after a long flight along the level line. It is just possible that the same principle by which the New Holland savages direct their boomerangs, or by which flat stones thrown horizontally often take an upward direction—a fact known to every boy—I say it is just possible that this principle, as yet but little understood, may be instructively acted on by the buzzard, and have something to do with his flight. Be the facts as they may, it is an interesting sight to watch one of these birds, with broad wings outlined against the blue background of the heavens, now swimming in circles, now shooting off in horizontal lines, and anon soaring upward or tracing the undulating curves of the ogee. It is, to say the least of it, a striking and beautiful sight.
The turkey-buzzard is, upon the whole, a nobler bird than the black vulture. There is more of the eagle about him. Both, it is true, are carrion-feeders, like all vultures; but the buzzard also hunts after other food, such as snakes, lizards, and small quadrupeds. He will attack young lambs or pigs, when a good opportunity offers. So, too, will the black vulture, but not so frequently. Neither of them, however, do much harm in this respect; and their preying on such animals is an exception, and not a rule. They only do so, probably, when driven to it by hunger. Both species are gregarious, although they do not always appear in flocks. The buzzards, particularly, are often seen hunting alone, or in twos or threes; but their mode of life brings them together in large numbers. They often assemble—both buzzards and black vultures—to the number of hundreds, over a single carrion. The buzzards, however, are not so plenty as the black vultures; and in one of these flocks more than three-fourths will be found of the latter species. The buzzards are the shyer birds; and they are less disposed to keep together in flocks. It has even been said that these are not gregarious, as they are often seen alone in the high regions of the air. But it is certain that not only do numbers of them roost together at night, but they even associate with the black vultures at such times.
In most countries the vulture is a privileged bird. He is looked upon as a cheap and useful scavenger, clearing away the carcasses of dead animals, that would otherwise pollute the atmosphere. This is a matter of much importance in hot countries; and it is only in such countries that vultures are commonly found. What a beautiful illustration of the completeness of Nature’s laws! As you get into high latitudes and colder regions—where the air is not so readily tainted by putrid substances—the necessity for such a scavenger no longer exists, and he is rarely met with. There the great vulture gives place to the croaking raven, and the small carrion-crow.
Vultures, I have said, are privileged birds. In most countries they are protected by law. This is the case with regard to the present species, both in English and Spanish America, where there is a fine for killing them. The consequence is, they are seldom molested; and in many places are so tame, that they will permit you to come within a few feet of them. In the cities and villages of the Southern States they alight in the streets, and go to sleep upon the house-tops. They do the same in the cities of Mexico and South America, where both species are also found.
As soon as our young hunters had got opposite the cliff where the vultures were, they reined up, determined to remain awhile, and watch the manoeuvres of the birds. They were curious to see how the latter would conduct themselves with a prey so singularly situated, as was the carcass of the cimmaron. They did not dismount, but sat in their saddles, about an hundred yards from the cliff. The vultures, of course, did not regard their presence; but continued to alight, both upon the escarpment of the precipice and upon the loose rocks at its foot, as if no one was near.
“How very like the buzzards are to hen turkeys!” remarked François.
“Yes,” rejoined Lucien, “that is the reason why they are called ‘turkey-buzzards.’”
François’ observation was a very natural one. There are no two birds, not absolutely of the same species, that are more like each other than a turkey-buzzard and a small-sized turkey-hen—that is, the common domestic turkey of the black variety, which, like the buzzard, is usually of a brownish colour. So like are they, that, at the distance of a hundred yards, I have often taken the one for the other. This resemblance, however, extends no farther than to the general appearance—the shape and colour. In most other respects they differ, as you may imagine, very materially.
“Talking of turkey-buzzards,” continued Lucien, “reminds me of an anecdote that is told in relation to one.”
“Oh! let us have it, brother,” said François.
“With pleasure,” replied Lucien. “It is intended to illustrate the superior cunning of the white over the Indian race; and is a pretty fair sample of the honesty and justice which the former has too often observed in its dealings with the latter. It is as follows:—
“A white man and an Indian went out together for a day’s hunting. They agreed that the game should be equally divided at night, no matter who had killed the largest share of it. During the day the Indian shot a turkey, and the white hunter a turkey-buzzard; and these two birds were all that either of them were able to meet with. The proceeds of the day’s hunt were brought together; and now arose a difficulty about an equal division of the game. Both knew well enough the value of a good fat turkey; and both were as well acquainted with the utter worthlessness of the buzzard—which was in factworth less than nothing, as its filthy odour was extremely repulsive. It was evident that the only way of making a fair division would have been to cut the turkey in two equal parts, and each to take one of the halves. The white man, however, would not agree to this; but proposed that one of them should take the whole turkey, and the other the buzzard.
“‘It’s a pity,’ argued he, ‘to spoil the birds. It’s better for each of us to take one.’
“‘Very well,’ said the Indian. ‘Shall we draw lots for the choice?’
“‘Oh, no,’ replied the other. ‘It’s not worth while to do that. I’ll deal fairly with you. I’ll take the turkey, and let you have the buzzard; or,you can take the buzzard, and I’ll keep the turkey.’
“The Indian reflected, that in either case the buzzard would fall to his share; but the white man’s propositionseemeda just one; and, as he could find no flaw in its fairness, he was constrained, though reluctantly, to accept it. The white hunter, therefore, shouldered his turkey, and trudged off homewards, leaving the poor Indian supperless in the woods.”
“Ha! ha! ha!” laughed François, “what a shallow Indian he must have been to be so easily outwitted!”
“Ah!” said Lucien, “he was not the only one of his race, who has been similarly deceived by white men. Many apewterdollar has been passed upon these simple sons of the forest, in exchange for their furs and peltries. I have reason to suspect that one very rich fur-trader, now dead, laid the foundation of his immense fortune in this way; but my suspicions do not amount to positive proof, and therefore I do not assert it for a fact. Perhaps some historian may one day assail even the character of thegoodPenn; who is said to have purchased from the Indians a territory of threesquare miles, but took care to have it measured off asthree miles square! I hope the story is not a true one.”
“Why, that,” said François, “is almost the same trick as Dido performed with the bull’s hide.”
“Yes,” replied his brother; “so you see that dishonesty belongs exclusively to no age or nation. It has existed in the past, and will continue to exist, until men, becoming more and more highly educated, will be moved by nobler ambition than the mere spirit of gain. I believe there is such a time in the far future.”
The conversation was again directed to the subject of the vultures. These now formed a flock of at least two hundred; and others were still arriving upon the ground. As fresh ones came, they would wheel about for awhile in the air, and then drop down and perch themselves on the trees and rocks. Some sat crouching with drooping wings, and heads drawn in—so that their long naked necks were quite concealed under their ruff-like collars. Others stood erect, with both wings raised from the body, half unfolded, and held “a-kimbo,” as eagles are often seen, and as they are sometimes represented upon coins and standards. It is supposed that both vultures and eagles spread their wings in this fashion to cool themselves when they are too warm, and sun themselves when too cold—for they do so in cold, as well as warm weather; and in this attitude they exhibit a singular and rather pleasing picture.
Some of the vultures could be seen descending from the very highest regions of the air. They could be noted like little specks against the blue sky, gradually growing larger and larger, until their broad wings cast moving shadows upon the sunlit sward, as the birds floated spirally downward. Others were observed approaching in a horizontal direction—some of them seeming no bigger than sparrows, as they first caught the eye upon the distant horizon.
“What a distance some of them must have travelled!” remarked François; “and how do you think they know where to come? There was not one in sight when we killed those big-horns.”
“They have been guided by their scent, of course,” replied Basil; “they have great power in that way.”
“Not so, brother,” interrupted Lucien; “that is one of the errors of your closet-naturalists—your Buffons and Cuviers—propagated by them, until it has become proverbial. Strange to say, it is altogether erroneous. It has been proved that vultures possess the sense of smell in a less degree even than most other creatures. Dogs and wolves far excel them in this respect.”
“How, then, have they found this carrion, for instance?”
“By their sight—for that sense they possess in a high degree of perfection.”
“But how can that be, Luce?” rejoined Basil. “See! yonder are some coming from the eastward. Now, as the butte is between them and the big-horn, how is it possible they could have seen it?”
“I do not say they have; but they have seen others, who have seen others, who in their turn have seen others, who actuallyhaveseen the carrion.”
“Oh! I understand; you mean that some one or more have first spied it; and, while making towards it, have been observed by others at a greater distance; and those again who have followed them have been followed by others still more distant, and so on.”
“Precisely so; and this at once accounts for the fabulous stories of vultures scenting carrion at the distance of miles—none of which stories are true, but have been propagated by men who, perhaps, never saw a vulture in the air, but who, in order to make their books amusing, have readily adopted the exaggerated tales of every Munchausen they could meet with.”
“Your theory is certainly the more probable one.”
“It is the true one. It has been proved to be so by numerous experiments with vultures; all of which have gone to show, that these birds have anything but a keen sense of smell. On the contrary, it is remarkably weak; and I think it is well for them it is so, considering the sort of food they live upon.”
“This flock must have gathered from all parts,” remarked François; “we see them coming in from every point of the compass. No doubt some of them have travelled fifty miles.”
“As likely an hundred,” rejoined Lucien. “Such a journey is a mere bagatelle to them. Now, if I knew the precise moment at which the carrion was discovered by the first one, I could tell how far each of the others had come—that is, each of them whose arrival we are now witnessing.”
“But how could you do that, brother?” demanded Basil and François, in astonishment; “pray tell us how?”
“I should make my calculation thus:—In the first place, they have all startedat the same time.”
“At the same time!” interrupted Basil; “how can that be, if some of them were an hundred miles off?”
“No matter what distance,” replied Lucien; “it is all the same. They have all commenced their flight hither, notexactly, butnearly, at the same moment. Is it not plain? These birds, while hunting for their food, sweep through the air in great circles. Each of these circles overlooks a large tract of the earth’s surface below. Their circumferences approach or intersect each other—so that, in fact, the whole country is under a network of them. Now, as soon as one of the vultures, thus sailing about, discovers with far-seeing eye the carrion below, he immediately drops from his high orbit, and wings his way downward. He is observed by that one circling nearest him; who, well knowing the cause of the altered flight of his companion, at once forsakes his own orbit and follows; and he, in his turn, is followed by another; and so on to the end of the chain.”
“But how can one of them tell that the other is gone in pursuit of prey?” inquired François, interrupting Lucien in his explanation.
“Suppose you saw Basil at a great distance off on the prairie, could you not tell by his actions when he had started game, and was in pursuit of it?”
“Oh! yes! I could easily.”
“Well, then, the vultures, who have far keener sight than you, understand each other’s movements thoroughly—even to the shaking of a feather—so that they can easily tell when one of their number has a good dinner in sight.
“I think I have shown,” continued Lucien, “that they all start within a few seconds of the same time; and as they fly in a nearly direct line towards the object, if we knew the rate at which they go, it would only remain for us to mark the date of their arrival, to be able to tell how far they had come. Of course it is supposed that we have already noted the time when the first one came upon the spot.
“If we suppose,” continued Lucien, as he pointed up to the vultures, “that the first of these has alighted here two hours ago, and we allow them a flight of thirty miles an hour, we may then safely conclude that some of those now coming in have made a journey of sixty miles this morning. What think you of my theory?”
“It is, to say the least of it, a curious one, brother,” replied Basil.
“But what are they waiting for now?” demanded François; “why don’t they at once fall to, and enjoy it while it is fresh?”
François’ interrogatory was a very natural one. Most of the vultures, instead of attacking the carrion, were, as we have already seen, sitting perched upon rocks and trees—some of them in listless attitudes, as though they were not hungry, and did not care to eat.
Basil proffered an explanation.
“No doubt,” said he, “they are waiting until the flesh becomes putrid. It is said that they prefer it in that state.”
“And that,” remarked Lucien, “is another assertion that has no foundation in fact. They donotprefer it in that state. On the contrary, it is certain that vultures like their food better when fresh, and eat it so when they can get it.”
“And what hinders them now?” inquired François.
“The tough hide hinders them. These birds do not possess the great muscular power in their claws that eagles do, else you would soon see the big-horn reduced to a skeleton. They are waiting until its skin becomes more tender, through decomposition, so that they may be able to tear it open. That is why they are waiting.”
Such was evidently the true explanation; for each of the new-comers was seen to attack the carcass; and, after finding he could make nothing of it, fly off and settle quietly down on the rocks or trees.
As the boys watched them, however, some more eager than the rest effected an incision—at the spot where Basil’s bullet had entered the body of the animal—and were rapidly widening it. The others, perceiving this, began to fly toward the spot; and, in less than five minutes, the tree was black with the filthy birds, until they crowded each other upon the branches. Several perched upon the limbs and horns of the animal itself, until there was not a space left for another to stand upon. But their united weight, combined with that of the carcass, was too much for the roots of the pine. A loud crash was heard, followed by the sharp rat-like squeaking of the vultures, as they flapped hurriedly away; and as the broken tree bent downwards, the body of the big-horn was precipitated to the earth, and fell upon the rocks below!
There was a great commotion among the assembled birds; and the sound of their broad wings, hurriedly beating the air, could have been heard for miles off; but their fright was soon over, and they all settled down again near the carrion.
The accident was in their favour rather than otherwise. The already decomposing body, by falling from such a vast height upon the sharp rocks, was mangled, and the skin burst open! This the foul birds were not slow in perceiving; and first one, and then another, flapped towards it, and commenced their horrid meal. In a few moments they were crowding over the body, hissing like geese, striking at each other with wings, beak, and claws, and altogether exhibiting such a scene of ravenous hunger and angry passion as would be difficult to portray. They soon got in among the entrails of the animal, and commenced dragging them forth. Sometimes two of them would seize a long string of these, and each swallowing from opposite ends, would meet each other in the middle of the piece. Then would be witnessed a singular scene, as the birds dragged one another over the ground, each trying to make the other disgorge his filthy morsel! The young hunters, amused by these curious episodes, agreed to remain and watch them for awhile; and with this intent they dismounted from their horses, so as to relieve the animals of their weight.
A new object of interest now presented itself to their attention. François discovered it. François had been directing his eyes upward, watching the graceful motions of such of the vultures as were still in the air. All at once he was heard to exclaim,—
“Awhitebuzzard! awhitebuzzard!”
Lucien and Basil saw that François pointed to the sky overhead. They raised their eyes in that direction. There, sure enough, was awhite bird; but of what species neither of them could make out. It was flying at a vast elevation—higher, apparently, than any of the buzzards; but even at that great height it appeared larger than any of them. Like them, it seemed to sail about with great ease, as if the sky was its natural home.
When first observed, it appeared about as large as a gull; and the boys might have taken it for one—not knowing any otherwhitebird likely to be flying about at such a height—but as there were several buzzards near it, and evidentlybelowit, and as these looked no bigger than swallows, what must be its size? It was not only bigger than a buzzard, but, at least, three times the size of any one of them. Thus calculated Lucien, and his calculation was not far from the truth.
The strange bird then could be no gull. What was it? A swan? No. Its mode of flight answered that question at once. It bore no resemblance whatever to the short rapid flapping of the swan, nor to the flight of any water-bird. Was it a pelican? or perhaps a white ibis (Tantalus alba)? or the white egret heron (Ardea egretta)? No; it was none of these. The slow laborious flight of these great wading birds would have been at once recognised by any of the boys, who were accustomed to see them often hovering over the bayous of Louisiana. But this bird flew differently from any of these. It used its wings more after the manner of the buzzards themselves or the black vultures; but as the boys could think of nowhitebird of similar flight, they were puzzled as to what it might be. Its size and mode of flying would have led them to believe it was an eagle; but its colour forbade this supposition. There were no white eagles, that ever they had heard of.
I have said that, when first seen by François, the strange bird appeared about the size of a gull; but as the young hunters stood gazing up at it, they saw that it was gradually becoming larger and larger. They knew from this that it was descending towards the earth, and, to all appearance, directly over the spot occupied by themselves and the vultures. As they had all three grown very curious to know what sort of a creature it might be, they were expressing their hopes that it would continue its descent. They knew thatitmust have seenthemalready; and it would, therefore, be useless for them to attempt concealing themselves. In fact, there was no cover for them, had they wished to do so.
As they stood watching and waiting, an exclamation, uttered by all three at the same moment, announced thatanother white birdwas in sight! It was still high up, like a spot of snow upon the sky; but it, too, was making downward, in the track of the former, and appeared to be of the same species. This soon became evident; for the one last seen, descending more vertically, soon overtook the other; and both together continued to sail downward upon a spiral curve.
In a few moments they had arrived within two hundred yards of the earth; and now they circled slowly around, looking down as they flew.
They were directly over the spot occupied by the vultures; and as the day was one of the brightest, the boys had an opportunity of beholding two of the most beautiful birds they had ever seen. They were not entirely white—although, in looking at them from below, they appeared so; but as, in sailing round the circle, they sometimes held themselves sideways in the air, their backs at intervals could be seen distinctly. It was then noticed that the upper part of their bodies was of a rich cream colour, while their wings above—both plumes and coverts—were of a glossy brown. Their tails were tipped with black; but the whole of the under part of their bodies was of a pure milk-like white. But the most singular appearance about these birds was presented on their heads and necks. These were entirely naked of feathers as far down as the shoulders—where the neck was encircled by a large ruff that looked like a tippet—and the naked skin of both head and neck exhibited the most brilliant colours of orange and red. These colours were not mixed nor mottled together; but each belonged to separate parts of the membrane, forming distinct and regular figures—according to the manner in which the cartilaginous covering is itself most singularly divided. Their beaks were orange-red; and over their bases grew crest-like protuberances, like the comb of a cock. Their eyes had dark pupils and white irides, encircled by rings of a deep red colour; and, in short, the whole appearance of these beautiful creatures was such that, like the peacock, when once seen, they could never be forgotten.
“I have never seen one of them before,” remarked Lucien, “but I have no difficulty in telling what they are.”
“What?” inquired Basil and François, impatiently.
“King-vultures.”
As Lucien said this, the birds, that did not seem to regard the presence of the party, swooped suddenly down towards the carrion. The boys followed them with their eyes—curious to witness what effect their arrival would have upon the buzzards and black vultures. To the surprise of all, not one of the latter was now to be seen near the carcass! While the attention of the party had been directed to the king-vultures, the others had been regarding them as well; and, knowing from experience what these great birds were, both buzzards and black vultures had scattered precipitately, and now sat upon the rocks at a respectful distance!
The king-vultures, without seeming to heed their presence, hopped up to the carrion, and commenced tearing it with their beaks. In a few minutes these creatures, that had appeared so clean and beautiful—for the king-vultures are as proud of their plumage as peacocks, and usually keep it in the best order—exhibited a picture of filth that was disgusting to look upon. The brilliant hue of their heads and necks was changed into a dark blood colour; and their white breasts became dappled with gore. Their vulturous appetites rendered them regardless of all else.
“Shall we fire, and kill one?” asked François.
“No,” said Lucien, “it is not right to deprive the poor creatures of life. If you wish to get a nearer view of them, have patience, and your wish may be gratified without the expenditure of powder and lead.”
What Lucien said proved correct. At the end of half an hour or so, the birds appeared to have eaten as much as they could get into their stomachs; and commenced stalking over the ground with a heavy sluggish gait. The boys, who had waited patiently, now ran forward; and, finding that the vultures were unable to rise into the air, after a chase—in which Marengo took a prominent part—secured them both.
But they did not hold them long; for the moment that François, who was the most eager to seize them, laid his hands upon one, he let it go again with an exclamation of disgust; and ran faster from the vulture, than the latter could run from him!
The fetid odour of the creatures—which was quite as strong as that of the carrion itself—was too much for the olfactory nerves of our heroes; and they were all three glad enough to let the king-vultures off without a second encounter.
As they returned to their horses, they observed that the buzzards and black vultures were once more collecting about the remains of the big-horn. They had been joined by several prairie-wolves; and these were snarling and snapping—now driving off the birds, and now receiving a blow from the long wings of the latter, that caused them to growl more fiercely than ever. Our adventurers did not wait for thefinaleof this hideous scene; but remounting, once more headed their horses to the prairie.
Chapter Thirty Two.More Talk about the Vultures.They conversed about the vultures, as they rode away from the butte. The naturalist of the party had much to say of these picturesque birds; and the curiosity of Basil and François had been excited by the appearance of a species new to them—the king himself.“With regard to the vultures,” observed Lucien, “the study of their natural history has been considerably impeded by the closet-naturalists, and particularly by the Frenchmen—who are fonder than all others of making a parade of science, by the absurd multiplication of genera and species. This, in the absence of any real knowledge of the habits of the animals, gives them an opportunity of adding something to what has been already said; and leaves the reader under the impression that these learned anatomists know all about the thing; and that is what such gentlemen desire, and nothing more.“There are not over two dozen species of vultures in the world; and yet the French naturalists make almost as many genera of them, multiplying high-sounding names to such an extent, that the mind of the student is quite bewildered with what would otherwise prove a most simple study.“All the vultures are so similar in theirphysiognomyand habits, that they might be treated as one genus. Indeed, it would not lead to great confusion in ornithological science, if they were generically classed with the eagles—as both kinds have many points of similitude. The vultures often kill their prey as eagles do; and it is certain that they donotprefer it in a putrid state. The eagles do not always kill their prey, and many of them eat carrion. Some of the vultures—such as the lammergeyer—have almost all the habits of the eagle. The lammergeyer always kills what he eats, unless when pressed by hunger; and there is a singular fact in relation to the food of this bird,—he prefers certain parts of the bones of animals to their flesh!”It is somewhat strange that the boy hunter, Lucien, should have known this “fact,” as I believe it is not in possession of the naturalists. I, myself, was made acquainted with it by one of the “feeders” of the superb collection in Regent’s Park—who had observed this propensity for bone-eating in a young African lammergeyer. He had observed also that the bird was always healthier, and in better spirits, on the days when he was indulged in his favourite osseous diet. These men usually know more of natural history than the catalogue-makers and teeth-measurers of the museum and the closet.“Perhaps,” continued Lucien, “one of the most essential points of difference between the vulture and eagle lies in the claws. The claws of the vultures are less developed, and their limbs want the muscular power that those of eagles possess. Hence the former are less able to kill a living animal, or tear the carcass of a dead one. They are unable, also, to raise a large prey in their claws; and the stories of vultures carrying off deer, and full-grown sheep, are mere fables. Even the condor—the largest of the species known—cannot lift into the air a weight of more than ten pounds. A deer of that weight would be rather a small one, I fancy. Most of the wonderful stories about the condor were propagated by the discoverers and conquerors of Spanish America; who, if they were great conquerors, were also the greatest braggarts the world ever saw. The books they have left behind them fully prove my assertion; and I believe that their accounts of the Mexican and Peruvian nations, whom they subdued, are not a whit less exaggerated than their stories about the condor. Three centuries could not have so completely swept away the vestiges of such a civilisation as they describe—leaving scarcely a trace of it to attest the truth of their assertions. It is true, that in these countries are to be found monuments of a high state of civilisation; but these were in ruins long previous to the discovery of the Spaniards; and the feeble races who submitted so easily to the latter, knew no more about the builders of these monuments than we do. The same vestiges of a civilised people are found in the deserts of North America; and yet the Spanish writers can tell nothing of them, farther than that they existed at the period of the discovery just as they are now.”“How many kinds of vultures are there in America?” inquired François, whose mind ran more upon the present than the past; and who, as we have already hinted, was a great boy for birds.“There are five species well-known,” replied Lucien; “and these are so different from each other that there is no difficulty in distinguishing them. These species form two genera—Sarco ramphusandCathartes. TheSarcoramphshave a fleshy protuberance over the beak—hence the generic name, which is a compound of two Greek words, signifyingflesh, andbeakorbill. TheCathartes, or ‘purging-vultures,’ derive their name from a singular habit—that of throwing up their food again, not only when feeding their young, but also when providing for one another during the period of incubation.“The condor is a trueSarcoramph—in fact, one of the most marked features of this bird is the fleshy cartilaginous crest that surmounts his head and part of his beak. This, however, is only found upon the males, as the female birds are not crested in a similar manner. The condor, when in full plumage, might be called a black-and-white bird. His body underneath, his tail, shoulders, and the butts as well as the outer margins of his wings, are all of a dark, nearly black, colour; but his wings, when closed, give him a large space of greyish white from the back to the tail. The downy ruff around the breast and neck is milk-white, and the naked wrinkled skin of the neck and head is of a blackish red or claret colour, while the legs are ashy blue. It is only when full-grown—nearly three years old—that the condor obtains these colours; and up to that time he is without the white collar around his neck. The young birds, for many months after they are hatched, have no feathers, but a soft thick down, like young goslings or cygnets; and even at two years of age their colour is not black and white, but a dirty, brownish black.“The full-grown condor usually measures about eight feet from tip to tip of his wings; but there can be no question that specimens exist, and have been seen by truthful travellers, that measured fourteen feet and some inches!“The condor, like other vultures, feeds principally upon carrion; but, when pressed with hunger, he will kill sheep, lambs, vicunas, young lamas, deer, and other animals. The larger kinds he can master, by attacking their eyes with his powerful beak—which is his principal weapon. That he can kill boys of sixteen years old, as Garcilaso de la Vega asserts, is, like many other statements of that celebrated author, simply untrue; but that he frequently attacks, and, according to the Indians, sometimesputs to deathlittle children, is probable enough. If he can kill full-grown sheep or vicunas, there is nothing remarkable about his doing the same for a child five or six years of age; and, indeed, it is certain that such instances have occurred.“Almost any eagles can do as much, and would, provided they were hungry, and children were left exposed in the neighbourhood of their haunts. The condor, however, is one of the most ravenous of his species. One in a state of captivity has been known to eat eighteen pounds of flesh in a single day! But that this bird can raise into the air with his claws, and carry off large animals, such as deer and sheep, as asserted by Acosta, Desmarchais, and other French and Spanish writers, is altogether fabulous.“The condor, unlike the vultures of most countries, is not under the protection of the law. His destructive habits among the lambs, and young lamas and alpacas, render him an object to be persecuted rather than protected. He is, therefore, either killed or captured, whenever an opportunity offers. There can be but little use made either of his flesh or his feathers; but as he is an object of curiosity, he is often kept as a pet about the houses of the Chilians and Peruvians. Live ones are frequently to be seen in the markets of Valparaiso, and other South American cities.“The natives who hunt the condor have various ways of capturing him. Sometimes they lie in wait near a carcass, and shoot the bird when it alights; but it is very difficult to kill them in this way, on account of their strong thick feathers, as well as the tenacity of life which they possess: it can only be done when the shot takes effect in a vital part. This method, therefore, is not much practised. A second plan is, to wait until the condor has gorged himself to repletion, when, like most other vultures, he is unable to fly for some time after. The hunters then gallop up, and lasso him from their horses; or impede his flight by flinging the ‘bolas’ around his legs. The ‘bolas’ are thongs of leather, with leaden balls at each end; and these, when adroitly thrown, twine themselves round the shanks of the condor, and prevent his escape. A third mode is still a surer one. The hunters build a large penn, in which they place a quantity of carrion. The palisades that inclose this penn are made so high, that, when the bird has gorged himself, he is unable either to rise into the air or get out of the enclosure in any way; and he is then overtaken and captured, or beaten to death with clubs.“The Indians kill the condor by stones, projected from slings to a great distance—a species of weapon which these people use with much dexterity.“Condors are taken alive in traps and snares; but there is an excellent and somewhat curious method of capturing them alive, sometimes employed by the Indians of the Sierras. It is this:—The hunter provides himself with the skin of some animal, such as an ox or horse, freshly taken off, and with a piece of the flesh adhering to it. With this he proceeds to some open place, where the condors, wheeling high in the air above, may readily see him. Having chosen a spot, he crouches down upon the ground, and draws the skin over him, with the fleshy side turned upward. In this situation he remains; but not long, until some one of the condors, with his far-piercing glance, espies the ensanguined object, and comes swooping downward. The bird, having no suspicion, hops boldly upon the hide; and commences tearing at the piece of flesh. The hunter, underneath, now cautiously feels for one of its legs; and having assured himself of this, grasps it firmly, folding the foot of the bird in the soft loose flaps of the hide. Having already provided himself with a long rope, he adroitly nooses it around the ankle; and, taking the other end in his hand, he now appears from under the skin, and shows himself to his astonished captive. Of course, during the operation of ‘tethering,’ the condor flaps and struggles with all his might; and were it not for the hide which protects the hunter, the latter would be very apt to come off with the loss of an eye, or be otherwise dreadfully torn by the powerful beak of the bird. When the hunter has fairly secured his prize, he passes a leathern thong through its nostrils, and knotting it firmly, leads the condor off in triumph. In this same manner the bird is kept chained, so long as he is wanted. With the string through his nostrils, and fastened by the other end to a picket-pin in the ground, the captive can walk about freely within the area of a circle. Sometimes forgetting that he is chained, he attempts to fly off; but, on reaching the end of his string, the sudden jerk brings him to the ground again; and he invariably falls upon his head!”“But how is it,” inquired François, “since the condors are hunted in this way, and so easily captured, that they are not long since exterminated? They are so large, that any one can see them at a great distance; and they can be easily approached, I believe; yet there are still great flocks of them—are there not?”“You are quite right,” answered Lucien; “they are still numerous, both in the Andes of Chili and Peru. I think I can explain this. It is because they have a safe place, not only to breed but to retire to, whenever they feel inclined. Numerous peaks of the Andes, where these birds dwell, shoot up far above the line of perpetual snow. Away up on these summits the condor breeds, among naked rocks where there is no vegetation. No one ever thinks of ascending them; and, indeed, many of these summits are inaccessible to the human foot. Not even animals of any species are found there, nor birds—except the condor himself. He is the sole lord of that region. Therefore, unlike most other creatures, these birds have a retreat where no enemy can come near them, and where they may bring forth their young, and rear them in perfect security. Still more, they can go to rest at night without fear of being disturbed, unless by the crash of the falling avalanche, or the roar of the loud thunder that often reverberates through these Alpine regions. But the condor is not in the least afraid of these noises; and he heeds them not, but sleeps securely, even while the red lightning is playing around his eyrie.“Now, it is very evident that birds, or any other wild animals, possessing a secure place, both to bring forth their young or escape to in time of danger, will not easily be extirpated. It is because their places of breeding and retreat are accessible—not only to man but to hosts of other enemies—that such creatures as eagles and the like are so scarce. Not so with the condor. His race can never become extinct so long as the Andes exist; and that is likely to be for a good long period, I fancy.”“What sort of nests do they build?” inquired François.“They do not build nests,” replied Lucien, “they choose a cavity in the rocks, or in the soil around them, where they lay two large white oval eggs, and hatch them just as other vultures do. Strange to say, very little is known of their mode of life in their elevated haunts; but this is because the natives of the Sierras rarely venture up to the high regions where the condors dwell. All they know of them is what they see, when these great birds descend upon the plateaux, or inhabited mountain-valleys, in search of food—which they do only in the mornings and evenings. During mid-day the condor usually perches upon some high rock, and there goes to sleep. When pressed by hunger, they sometimes extend their range down to the hot coast lands of the Pacific Ocean; but they are evidently birds that can bear cold much better than heat.“TheKing-vulture,” continued Lucien, “is the next species that claims our attention. He is also a Sarcoramph (Sarcoramphus Papa), and the only one of that genus besides the condor. He is unlike the condor in many respects. He is not much of a mountain bird, but prefers the low savannas and open plains. He prefers heat to cold, and he is rarely met with outside the tropics, although he makes occasional visits to the peninsula of Florida and the northern plains of Mexico; but in these places he is only a rare and migratory bird. He feeds principally upon carrion, and dead fish that have been left by the drying-up of ponds and lakes; but he will also kill and eat serpents, lizards, and small mammiferous animals. Bartram states that in Florida he only appears after the savannas have been on fire, when he is seen to pass over the ground amidst the black ashes, hunting for and devouring the snakes and lizards that have been killed by the fire. Bartram, therefore, infers that his food must consist altogether ofroastedreptiles; but as it would be sometimes difficult for him to procure a supply of these ready-cooked, I think we may safely conclude that he does not object to eating themraw. The fanciful ideas of these old naturalists are sometimes very amusing from their very absurdity.“The king-vultures live in pairs as eagles do—though they are often seen in flocks, when a carcass or some other object has brought them together.“This bird has been called the ‘painted’ vulture on account of the brilliant colours upon his head and neck, which do, in fact, present the appearance of the most vivid painting. He derives his name of a ‘King-vulture,’ not from the possession of any noble qualities, but from the manner in which he tyrannises over thecommonvultures (auraandatratus), keeping them from their food until he has gorged himself with the choicest morsels. In this sense the name is most appropriate; as such conduct presents a striking analogy to that of most human kings, towards thecommonpeople.“Next to the condor in size,” continued the naturalist, “and, perhaps, quite equal to him, is the greatCalifornian vulture—the ‘condor of the north.’ He is classed among the purging-vultures (Cathartes Californianus). This bird may be called black, as he is nearly of that hue all over the body; although some of the secondary wing feathers are white at the tips, and the coverts are brown. Black, however, is the prevailing colour of the bird. His naked head and neck is reddish; but he wants the crest or comb, which the condors and king-vultures have. On the posterior part of his neck, long lance-shaped feathers form a sort of ruff or collar, as in other birds of this kind.“The Californian vulture derives his name from the country which he inhabits—the great chain of the Californian mountains—the Sierra Nevada—which extends almost without interruption through twenty degrees of latitude. That he sometimes visits the Rocky Mountains, and their kindred the Cordilleras of the Sierra Madre in Mexico, there can be little doubt. A large bird occasionally seen among these mountains, and pronounced to be the condor, is far more likely to have been the Californian vulture. As far as size is concerned, this mistake might easily be made, for the latter bird is nearly, if not quite, as large as the former. A specimen of the Californian vulture has been measured, which proved to be four feet eight inches in length, and nine feet eight inches between the tips of the wings! Now, this is actually larger than the average size of the condors; and it is not improbable, therefore, that individuals of the Californian species may yet be found quite equal to the largest of the South American birds.“The Californian vulture has been seen as far north as the thirty-ninth parallel of latitude. He is common in some parts of Oregon, where he makes his nest in the tops of the tallest trees, constructing it of coarse thorny twigs and brambles, somewhat after the manner of eagles. As many of the great spruce and pine-trees of Oregon and California are three hundred feet in height, and twenty feet thick at the base, this vulture is almost as secure among their tops as the condor on his mountain summit; but to render himself doubly safe, he always selects such trees as overhang inaccessible cliffs or rapid rivers. The female lays only two eggs, which are nearly jet-black, and as large as those of a goose; and the young, like those of the condor, are for many weeks covered with down instead of feathers. Like other vultures, the food of this species is carrion or dead fish; but he will follow after wounded deer and other animals, and commence devouring them as soon as they have dropped; and a score of these birds will devour the carcass of a deer, or even of a horse or mule, in about one hour’s time, leaving nothing but a well-cleaned skeleton! While eating, they are strong enough and bold enough to keep at a distance wolves, dogs, and all such animals as may attempt to share with them.“Perhaps no bird of the vulture species is so shy and wary as this one. Except when he is gorged with eating, he will never allow the hunter to approach within shot; and even then, his thick heavy plumage renders him most difficult to be killed. His wings are full and long, and his flight is most graceful and easy, not unlike that of his congener the turkey-buzzard.“I have said,” continued Lucien, “that naturalists make out five species of American vultures. The remaining two, the turkey-buzzard and black vulture, or, as he is sometimes called, the ‘carrion-crow,’ we have already had before us; but, I believe, there are more than five species on the continent of America. There is a bird in Guayana called the ‘gavilucho,’ which I believe to be a vulture differing from all these; and, moreover, I do not think that the ‘red-headed gallinazo’ of South America is the same as the turkey-buzzard of the north. He is, more probably, a distinct species ofcathartes; for, although he resembles the turkey-buzzard in shape and size, his plumage appears to me of a purer black, and the skin of his head, neck, and legs, of a much more vivid red—having an appearance as if these parts had been painted. I think naturalists will yet discover, that besides the great Californian vulture, there are three if notfourspecies of the smallercathartes.”So much for the vultures of America.
They conversed about the vultures, as they rode away from the butte. The naturalist of the party had much to say of these picturesque birds; and the curiosity of Basil and François had been excited by the appearance of a species new to them—the king himself.
“With regard to the vultures,” observed Lucien, “the study of their natural history has been considerably impeded by the closet-naturalists, and particularly by the Frenchmen—who are fonder than all others of making a parade of science, by the absurd multiplication of genera and species. This, in the absence of any real knowledge of the habits of the animals, gives them an opportunity of adding something to what has been already said; and leaves the reader under the impression that these learned anatomists know all about the thing; and that is what such gentlemen desire, and nothing more.
“There are not over two dozen species of vultures in the world; and yet the French naturalists make almost as many genera of them, multiplying high-sounding names to such an extent, that the mind of the student is quite bewildered with what would otherwise prove a most simple study.
“All the vultures are so similar in theirphysiognomyand habits, that they might be treated as one genus. Indeed, it would not lead to great confusion in ornithological science, if they were generically classed with the eagles—as both kinds have many points of similitude. The vultures often kill their prey as eagles do; and it is certain that they donotprefer it in a putrid state. The eagles do not always kill their prey, and many of them eat carrion. Some of the vultures—such as the lammergeyer—have almost all the habits of the eagle. The lammergeyer always kills what he eats, unless when pressed by hunger; and there is a singular fact in relation to the food of this bird,—he prefers certain parts of the bones of animals to their flesh!”
It is somewhat strange that the boy hunter, Lucien, should have known this “fact,” as I believe it is not in possession of the naturalists. I, myself, was made acquainted with it by one of the “feeders” of the superb collection in Regent’s Park—who had observed this propensity for bone-eating in a young African lammergeyer. He had observed also that the bird was always healthier, and in better spirits, on the days when he was indulged in his favourite osseous diet. These men usually know more of natural history than the catalogue-makers and teeth-measurers of the museum and the closet.
“Perhaps,” continued Lucien, “one of the most essential points of difference between the vulture and eagle lies in the claws. The claws of the vultures are less developed, and their limbs want the muscular power that those of eagles possess. Hence the former are less able to kill a living animal, or tear the carcass of a dead one. They are unable, also, to raise a large prey in their claws; and the stories of vultures carrying off deer, and full-grown sheep, are mere fables. Even the condor—the largest of the species known—cannot lift into the air a weight of more than ten pounds. A deer of that weight would be rather a small one, I fancy. Most of the wonderful stories about the condor were propagated by the discoverers and conquerors of Spanish America; who, if they were great conquerors, were also the greatest braggarts the world ever saw. The books they have left behind them fully prove my assertion; and I believe that their accounts of the Mexican and Peruvian nations, whom they subdued, are not a whit less exaggerated than their stories about the condor. Three centuries could not have so completely swept away the vestiges of such a civilisation as they describe—leaving scarcely a trace of it to attest the truth of their assertions. It is true, that in these countries are to be found monuments of a high state of civilisation; but these were in ruins long previous to the discovery of the Spaniards; and the feeble races who submitted so easily to the latter, knew no more about the builders of these monuments than we do. The same vestiges of a civilised people are found in the deserts of North America; and yet the Spanish writers can tell nothing of them, farther than that they existed at the period of the discovery just as they are now.”
“How many kinds of vultures are there in America?” inquired François, whose mind ran more upon the present than the past; and who, as we have already hinted, was a great boy for birds.
“There are five species well-known,” replied Lucien; “and these are so different from each other that there is no difficulty in distinguishing them. These species form two genera—Sarco ramphusandCathartes. TheSarcoramphshave a fleshy protuberance over the beak—hence the generic name, which is a compound of two Greek words, signifyingflesh, andbeakorbill. TheCathartes, or ‘purging-vultures,’ derive their name from a singular habit—that of throwing up their food again, not only when feeding their young, but also when providing for one another during the period of incubation.
“The condor is a trueSarcoramph—in fact, one of the most marked features of this bird is the fleshy cartilaginous crest that surmounts his head and part of his beak. This, however, is only found upon the males, as the female birds are not crested in a similar manner. The condor, when in full plumage, might be called a black-and-white bird. His body underneath, his tail, shoulders, and the butts as well as the outer margins of his wings, are all of a dark, nearly black, colour; but his wings, when closed, give him a large space of greyish white from the back to the tail. The downy ruff around the breast and neck is milk-white, and the naked wrinkled skin of the neck and head is of a blackish red or claret colour, while the legs are ashy blue. It is only when full-grown—nearly three years old—that the condor obtains these colours; and up to that time he is without the white collar around his neck. The young birds, for many months after they are hatched, have no feathers, but a soft thick down, like young goslings or cygnets; and even at two years of age their colour is not black and white, but a dirty, brownish black.
“The full-grown condor usually measures about eight feet from tip to tip of his wings; but there can be no question that specimens exist, and have been seen by truthful travellers, that measured fourteen feet and some inches!
“The condor, like other vultures, feeds principally upon carrion; but, when pressed with hunger, he will kill sheep, lambs, vicunas, young lamas, deer, and other animals. The larger kinds he can master, by attacking their eyes with his powerful beak—which is his principal weapon. That he can kill boys of sixteen years old, as Garcilaso de la Vega asserts, is, like many other statements of that celebrated author, simply untrue; but that he frequently attacks, and, according to the Indians, sometimesputs to deathlittle children, is probable enough. If he can kill full-grown sheep or vicunas, there is nothing remarkable about his doing the same for a child five or six years of age; and, indeed, it is certain that such instances have occurred.
“Almost any eagles can do as much, and would, provided they were hungry, and children were left exposed in the neighbourhood of their haunts. The condor, however, is one of the most ravenous of his species. One in a state of captivity has been known to eat eighteen pounds of flesh in a single day! But that this bird can raise into the air with his claws, and carry off large animals, such as deer and sheep, as asserted by Acosta, Desmarchais, and other French and Spanish writers, is altogether fabulous.
“The condor, unlike the vultures of most countries, is not under the protection of the law. His destructive habits among the lambs, and young lamas and alpacas, render him an object to be persecuted rather than protected. He is, therefore, either killed or captured, whenever an opportunity offers. There can be but little use made either of his flesh or his feathers; but as he is an object of curiosity, he is often kept as a pet about the houses of the Chilians and Peruvians. Live ones are frequently to be seen in the markets of Valparaiso, and other South American cities.
“The natives who hunt the condor have various ways of capturing him. Sometimes they lie in wait near a carcass, and shoot the bird when it alights; but it is very difficult to kill them in this way, on account of their strong thick feathers, as well as the tenacity of life which they possess: it can only be done when the shot takes effect in a vital part. This method, therefore, is not much practised. A second plan is, to wait until the condor has gorged himself to repletion, when, like most other vultures, he is unable to fly for some time after. The hunters then gallop up, and lasso him from their horses; or impede his flight by flinging the ‘bolas’ around his legs. The ‘bolas’ are thongs of leather, with leaden balls at each end; and these, when adroitly thrown, twine themselves round the shanks of the condor, and prevent his escape. A third mode is still a surer one. The hunters build a large penn, in which they place a quantity of carrion. The palisades that inclose this penn are made so high, that, when the bird has gorged himself, he is unable either to rise into the air or get out of the enclosure in any way; and he is then overtaken and captured, or beaten to death with clubs.
“The Indians kill the condor by stones, projected from slings to a great distance—a species of weapon which these people use with much dexterity.
“Condors are taken alive in traps and snares; but there is an excellent and somewhat curious method of capturing them alive, sometimes employed by the Indians of the Sierras. It is this:—The hunter provides himself with the skin of some animal, such as an ox or horse, freshly taken off, and with a piece of the flesh adhering to it. With this he proceeds to some open place, where the condors, wheeling high in the air above, may readily see him. Having chosen a spot, he crouches down upon the ground, and draws the skin over him, with the fleshy side turned upward. In this situation he remains; but not long, until some one of the condors, with his far-piercing glance, espies the ensanguined object, and comes swooping downward. The bird, having no suspicion, hops boldly upon the hide; and commences tearing at the piece of flesh. The hunter, underneath, now cautiously feels for one of its legs; and having assured himself of this, grasps it firmly, folding the foot of the bird in the soft loose flaps of the hide. Having already provided himself with a long rope, he adroitly nooses it around the ankle; and, taking the other end in his hand, he now appears from under the skin, and shows himself to his astonished captive. Of course, during the operation of ‘tethering,’ the condor flaps and struggles with all his might; and were it not for the hide which protects the hunter, the latter would be very apt to come off with the loss of an eye, or be otherwise dreadfully torn by the powerful beak of the bird. When the hunter has fairly secured his prize, he passes a leathern thong through its nostrils, and knotting it firmly, leads the condor off in triumph. In this same manner the bird is kept chained, so long as he is wanted. With the string through his nostrils, and fastened by the other end to a picket-pin in the ground, the captive can walk about freely within the area of a circle. Sometimes forgetting that he is chained, he attempts to fly off; but, on reaching the end of his string, the sudden jerk brings him to the ground again; and he invariably falls upon his head!”
“But how is it,” inquired François, “since the condors are hunted in this way, and so easily captured, that they are not long since exterminated? They are so large, that any one can see them at a great distance; and they can be easily approached, I believe; yet there are still great flocks of them—are there not?”
“You are quite right,” answered Lucien; “they are still numerous, both in the Andes of Chili and Peru. I think I can explain this. It is because they have a safe place, not only to breed but to retire to, whenever they feel inclined. Numerous peaks of the Andes, where these birds dwell, shoot up far above the line of perpetual snow. Away up on these summits the condor breeds, among naked rocks where there is no vegetation. No one ever thinks of ascending them; and, indeed, many of these summits are inaccessible to the human foot. Not even animals of any species are found there, nor birds—except the condor himself. He is the sole lord of that region. Therefore, unlike most other creatures, these birds have a retreat where no enemy can come near them, and where they may bring forth their young, and rear them in perfect security. Still more, they can go to rest at night without fear of being disturbed, unless by the crash of the falling avalanche, or the roar of the loud thunder that often reverberates through these Alpine regions. But the condor is not in the least afraid of these noises; and he heeds them not, but sleeps securely, even while the red lightning is playing around his eyrie.
“Now, it is very evident that birds, or any other wild animals, possessing a secure place, both to bring forth their young or escape to in time of danger, will not easily be extirpated. It is because their places of breeding and retreat are accessible—not only to man but to hosts of other enemies—that such creatures as eagles and the like are so scarce. Not so with the condor. His race can never become extinct so long as the Andes exist; and that is likely to be for a good long period, I fancy.”
“What sort of nests do they build?” inquired François.
“They do not build nests,” replied Lucien, “they choose a cavity in the rocks, or in the soil around them, where they lay two large white oval eggs, and hatch them just as other vultures do. Strange to say, very little is known of their mode of life in their elevated haunts; but this is because the natives of the Sierras rarely venture up to the high regions where the condors dwell. All they know of them is what they see, when these great birds descend upon the plateaux, or inhabited mountain-valleys, in search of food—which they do only in the mornings and evenings. During mid-day the condor usually perches upon some high rock, and there goes to sleep. When pressed by hunger, they sometimes extend their range down to the hot coast lands of the Pacific Ocean; but they are evidently birds that can bear cold much better than heat.
“TheKing-vulture,” continued Lucien, “is the next species that claims our attention. He is also a Sarcoramph (Sarcoramphus Papa), and the only one of that genus besides the condor. He is unlike the condor in many respects. He is not much of a mountain bird, but prefers the low savannas and open plains. He prefers heat to cold, and he is rarely met with outside the tropics, although he makes occasional visits to the peninsula of Florida and the northern plains of Mexico; but in these places he is only a rare and migratory bird. He feeds principally upon carrion, and dead fish that have been left by the drying-up of ponds and lakes; but he will also kill and eat serpents, lizards, and small mammiferous animals. Bartram states that in Florida he only appears after the savannas have been on fire, when he is seen to pass over the ground amidst the black ashes, hunting for and devouring the snakes and lizards that have been killed by the fire. Bartram, therefore, infers that his food must consist altogether ofroastedreptiles; but as it would be sometimes difficult for him to procure a supply of these ready-cooked, I think we may safely conclude that he does not object to eating themraw. The fanciful ideas of these old naturalists are sometimes very amusing from their very absurdity.
“The king-vultures live in pairs as eagles do—though they are often seen in flocks, when a carcass or some other object has brought them together.
“This bird has been called the ‘painted’ vulture on account of the brilliant colours upon his head and neck, which do, in fact, present the appearance of the most vivid painting. He derives his name of a ‘King-vulture,’ not from the possession of any noble qualities, but from the manner in which he tyrannises over thecommonvultures (auraandatratus), keeping them from their food until he has gorged himself with the choicest morsels. In this sense the name is most appropriate; as such conduct presents a striking analogy to that of most human kings, towards thecommonpeople.
“Next to the condor in size,” continued the naturalist, “and, perhaps, quite equal to him, is the greatCalifornian vulture—the ‘condor of the north.’ He is classed among the purging-vultures (Cathartes Californianus). This bird may be called black, as he is nearly of that hue all over the body; although some of the secondary wing feathers are white at the tips, and the coverts are brown. Black, however, is the prevailing colour of the bird. His naked head and neck is reddish; but he wants the crest or comb, which the condors and king-vultures have. On the posterior part of his neck, long lance-shaped feathers form a sort of ruff or collar, as in other birds of this kind.
“The Californian vulture derives his name from the country which he inhabits—the great chain of the Californian mountains—the Sierra Nevada—which extends almost without interruption through twenty degrees of latitude. That he sometimes visits the Rocky Mountains, and their kindred the Cordilleras of the Sierra Madre in Mexico, there can be little doubt. A large bird occasionally seen among these mountains, and pronounced to be the condor, is far more likely to have been the Californian vulture. As far as size is concerned, this mistake might easily be made, for the latter bird is nearly, if not quite, as large as the former. A specimen of the Californian vulture has been measured, which proved to be four feet eight inches in length, and nine feet eight inches between the tips of the wings! Now, this is actually larger than the average size of the condors; and it is not improbable, therefore, that individuals of the Californian species may yet be found quite equal to the largest of the South American birds.
“The Californian vulture has been seen as far north as the thirty-ninth parallel of latitude. He is common in some parts of Oregon, where he makes his nest in the tops of the tallest trees, constructing it of coarse thorny twigs and brambles, somewhat after the manner of eagles. As many of the great spruce and pine-trees of Oregon and California are three hundred feet in height, and twenty feet thick at the base, this vulture is almost as secure among their tops as the condor on his mountain summit; but to render himself doubly safe, he always selects such trees as overhang inaccessible cliffs or rapid rivers. The female lays only two eggs, which are nearly jet-black, and as large as those of a goose; and the young, like those of the condor, are for many weeks covered with down instead of feathers. Like other vultures, the food of this species is carrion or dead fish; but he will follow after wounded deer and other animals, and commence devouring them as soon as they have dropped; and a score of these birds will devour the carcass of a deer, or even of a horse or mule, in about one hour’s time, leaving nothing but a well-cleaned skeleton! While eating, they are strong enough and bold enough to keep at a distance wolves, dogs, and all such animals as may attempt to share with them.
“Perhaps no bird of the vulture species is so shy and wary as this one. Except when he is gorged with eating, he will never allow the hunter to approach within shot; and even then, his thick heavy plumage renders him most difficult to be killed. His wings are full and long, and his flight is most graceful and easy, not unlike that of his congener the turkey-buzzard.
“I have said,” continued Lucien, “that naturalists make out five species of American vultures. The remaining two, the turkey-buzzard and black vulture, or, as he is sometimes called, the ‘carrion-crow,’ we have already had before us; but, I believe, there are more than five species on the continent of America. There is a bird in Guayana called the ‘gavilucho,’ which I believe to be a vulture differing from all these; and, moreover, I do not think that the ‘red-headed gallinazo’ of South America is the same as the turkey-buzzard of the north. He is, more probably, a distinct species ofcathartes; for, although he resembles the turkey-buzzard in shape and size, his plumage appears to me of a purer black, and the skin of his head, neck, and legs, of a much more vivid red—having an appearance as if these parts had been painted. I think naturalists will yet discover, that besides the great Californian vulture, there are three if notfourspecies of the smallercathartes.”
So much for the vultures of America.