CHAPTER VBOWER-BIRDS AND GARDENER-BIRDS—HOW BIRDS SHOW OFF—A MALAY TRAP—CRIMSON COMPETITION—LOVE IN A TREE-TOP.
BOWER-BIRDS AND GARDENER-BIRDS—HOW BIRDS SHOW OFF—A MALAY TRAP—CRIMSON COMPETITION—LOVE IN A TREE-TOP.
As we have seen in the last chapter, some nests of birds are very wonderful buildings, but there are some birds which make much more wonderful buildings than nests. These are the Bower-birds—a family allied to that of our crows and starlings—whose habitat is Australia and some of the adjacent islands. It includes a good many species, and all of them, besides the nest, make another and quite different structure, which is known as the “bower,” but for which “playground” or “garden” is, perhaps, a better name. All three words, however, have something to commend them, for not only do the birds play and sport in and about these rustic buildings, and decorate them sometimes with leaves and flowers; but it is here, also, that the sexes resort, to court and choose one another before the more prosaic duties of matrimony begin. Whilst the nest, therefore, is the nursery, this other structure may be looked upon as the bower of bliss. Generally the birds make it of sticks, grasses, or other materials belonging to the vegetable kingdom, but it differs in each species, so the best way is to describe what it is like in a few of the more salientinstances. The Satin Bower-bird makes a sort of platform of sticks, which it weaves together, so that they are firm enough for it to run over. This is the floor of the bower, and now come the walls, which are made of sticks too, but of another kind—long, flexible twigs, which the bird places upright and opposite to one another, on the two longer sides of the platform, which is somewhat oblong in shape. The thicker ends of these twigs rest on the platform, or the ground on each side of it, whilst the thin tips bend inwards till the two walls almost meet at the top, to make a sort of vaulted thatched roof. The whole forms a sort of rustic arbour, open at either end, so that the birds can run through it. This they delight in doing, and in order that the sticks may offer no obstruction as they dart along, they are careful, when minor twigs branch off from them, to place them so that these point outwards. Having made their bower, the next thing the birds do is to decorate it. Anything they can find that is bright, or gaily-coloured, such as feathers, bleached bones, snail-shells, leaves, flowers, etc., they pick up and bring to their bower. The feathers, or flowers, they hang about the rustic walls, whilst they drop the bones and shells in a heap outside each of the entrances.
As the birds are always adding to these collections, and keep up and repair their bowers from year to year, these curious, white, glistening heaps grow and grow, until sometimes they are large enough to fill a cart. Quite a number of birds—perhaps a dozen or more—come to play and sport at these bowers, or summer-houses. They run through and in and out and round about them,chasing one another, and having all manner of fun. The cock of this species is a most beautiful bird, and it is here that he shows off his glossy, blue-black body and velvety wings to the female, who is of a sober green, and not nearly so handsome. It is because the cock’s feathers are so smooth and shining, that he is called the Satin Bower-bird. The female has not this satiny appearance, but, like other ladies, she has to take her husband’s name. The size of the birds is about that of a jackdaw—at least I have seen them in the gardens, and they looked to me almost as large. Mr. Gould, speaking of the bower of this bird, says: “It has now been clearly ascertained that these curious structures are merely sporting-places in which the sexes meet, and the males display their finery and exhibit many remarkable actions, and so inherent is this habit, that the living examples which have, from time to time, been sent to this country, continue it even in captivity. Those belonging to the Zoological Society have constructed their bowers, decorated and kept them in repair, for several successive years.” A gentleman who kept these Bower-birds in captivity, writing to Mr. Gould, says: “My aviary is now tenanted by a pair of satin-birds, which for the last two months have been constantly engaged in constructing bowers. Both sexes assist in their erection, but the male is the principal workman. At times the male will chase the female all over the aviary, then go to the bower, pick up a gay feather or a large leaf, utter a curious kind of note, set all his feathers erect, run round the bower, and become so excited that his eyes appear ready to start from his head,and he continues opening first one wing and then the other, uttering a low whistling-note, and seeming to pick up something from the ground, until at last the female goes gently towards him, when, after two turns round her, he suddenly makes a dash, and the scene ends.”
I forgot to say that Mr. Gould once found a stone native tomahawk, amongst the heap of things that this bird had collected at its bower, and when, in Australia, either a native or a white man loses anything in the least ornamental—anything, in fact, that is not too heavy for a Bower-bird to carry—the first thing he does is to go to all the bowers in the neighbourhood, and see if it has been taken to any of them.
The Spotted Bower-bird is as beautiful, perhaps, as the last, and its bower or sporting-place is a still more wonderful structure. Mr. Gould describes it as considerably longer than that of the Satin Bower-bird—three feet long sometimes—so that it is more like an avenue than a bower. “Outwardly,” he says, “they are built of twigs, and beautifully lined with tall grasses, so disposed that their heads nearly meet” (others, however, who have seen them, say that they are much more open at the top); “the decorations are very profuse, and consist of bivalve shells, crania of small mammalia, and other bones, bleached by exposure to the rays of the sun, or from the camp-fires of the natives. Evident indications of high instinct are manifest throughout the whole of the bower decorations formed by this species, particularly in the manner in which the stones are placed within the bower, apparently to keep the grasses with which it is lined fixedfirmly in their places; these stones diverge from the mouth of the run, on each side, so as to form little paths, while the immense collection of decorative materials are placed, in a heap, before the entrance of the avenue, the arrangement being the same at both ends. In some of the larger bowers, which had evidently been resorted to for many years, I have seen half a bushel of bones, shells, etc., at each of the entrances.” Mr. Gould goes on to say that he “frequently found these structures at a considerable distance from the rivers, from the borders of which the birds could alone have procured the shells, and small, round, pebbly stones,” and that “their collection and transportation must, therefore, be a task of great labour.”
The “bower” or, rather, the little rustic village, made by the beautiful Golden Bower-bird—a name which is as good as a description—is still more wonderful than either of the other two; indeed it is like a fairy-tale to read about it. This species chooses out two trees that stand near one another, and round the trunk of each it piles up an enormous quantity of small sticks and twigs, in the shape of a cone or pyramid. One of these stick pyramids may be as much as six feet high, and bulky in proportion, but the other is not nearly so large, standing only about eighteen inches from the ground. Having reared the two pillars, as it were, the birds—for several may join in the labour—proceed to arch over the space between them. For this purpose they search out the long stems of creepers that grow in the woods, and having fixed them, by an end, to the top of one pile, stretch them tight, andtrail them over the other, thus making a covered walk between the two. Then they bring white moss, and festoon the pillars with it, and into the leafy roof they weave clusters of green fruit, like grapes, that hang down from it, so that it looks as if they had trained a vine over a trellis. Yet still the birds are not satisfied. All around the great central arbour they make little dwarf huts, or wigwams, of the growing grass, bending the stems together till the ends meet, and then thatching them over with a horizontal layer of twigs. When all is finished, they chase each other through their trellised arbour and round and round their little grassy wigwams—or “gunyahs” as they are called by the natives—the males, all resplendent in their beautiful golden plumage, glancing in and out amongst them, like so many little suns.
But the wonder of these things goes on increasing, and at last we come to the Gardener-bird, who, as its name implies, lays out a regular garden with a lawn and flower-beds, and a summer-house in it, as well. The lawn, however, is made of soft, verdant moss, and stuck about in it, at various points, are the brightest blossoms and berries that the country where the bird lives—which is New Guinea—can afford. As these wither, the “gardener” takes them away, and brings new ones in their place. The summer-house, which is about two feet high, is built of sticks round a small tree, which projects through the top and makes a central support. From this the walls radiate outwards, in the shape of a tent or wigwam, and, to make them look smooth and pretty, they are allcovered over with orchid stems. On the top—either round the projecting tent-pole, or over it—the birds put moss, arranging it in the form of a sugar-loaf. At one side the wigwam is left open, and it is in front of the opening that the lawn and flower-beds are placed. The birds can sit in their tent, or summer-house, and look out at their garden, or walk about their garden and look at their pretty summer-house; and if that is not romance in animal life I am sure I do not know what is. The bird that does all this is not very handsome itself, and this makes its appreciation of the beauty of a garden and summer-house—which must be much the same as our own—all the more remarkable. Signor Beccari, an Italian gentleman, was the first to discover and describe the species, and he has made a drawing of it and its garden, which may be seen in volume ix. ofThe Gardener’s Chronicle, at p. 333. One can only hope that he did not “obtain,” as they call it, any specimens—for to kill a creature that makes a garden and looks after the flowers in it, taking them away when they wither and bringing fresh ones in their stead, is, to my mind, to do something but little short of murder. Perhaps if it watered them as well it really would be thought wrong to take such a bird’s life: but where are we to draw the line?
Many of these Bower-birds are wonderful mimickers, and can reproduce all sorts of sounds so exactly that people in Australia are often taken in by them. Mr. Morton, of Benjeroop, relates how a neighbour of his had been driving cattle to a certain spot, and on his way backdiscovered a nest in a prickly needle-bush, or hakea tree. While “threading the needle branches after the nest (to take, that is destroy it, of course), he thought he heard cattle breaking through the scrub, and the barking of dogs in the distance, and at once fancied his cattle had broken away, but could see no signs of anything wrong. He heard other peculiar noises, and glancing at his dog, as much as to say, ‘What does it mean?’ he saw the sagacious animal, with head partly upturned, eyeing a spotted Bower-bird, perched in the next tree.”
The structures which we have been here considering are of so extraordinary a nature, that they more arrest our attention than do those special activities relating to courtship and matrimony, for the due performance of which the birds have erected them. With all other species, however, in which these rites are a special feature, the exact converse is the case; or, rather, whilst a special place is sought out for their indulgence, no structure in connection with them is made. In some few cases, however, we perhaps see the beginnings of this. The male argus pheasant, for instance, displays before the hen in a little open space in the jungle, to which, in the breeding season, he day after day repairs, and though he builds nothing, he is most assiduous in keeping this space clear and clean, so that if a leaf or a twig, or anything else, gets into it, he takes it up and drops it outside. So pronounced, indeed, is this habit, that the Malays have learnt to take advantage of it to the birds’ destruction. They cut off a long shaving from the stem of a bamboo, and tie one end of it to a peg, which they drive intothe ground in the centre of the clearing. Finding that an ordinary pull will not remove the untidy-looking thing, the irritated bird at length seizes it with his bill by the free end, and twisting his neck two or three times about it, makes a violent spring backwards, with the result that he cuts his throat, for the thin edges of the bamboo are almost as sharp as a razor.
The display, as it is called, of the argus pheasant is a most interesting thing to see. The secondary quill feathers of the male are immensely developed, and very beautifully and æsthetically ornamented with a row of circular spots, so finely shaded that they stand out in perspective, like a real ball, as though drawn by a clever artist. Under ordinary circumstances these lovely ornaments are hidden, but when the wings are expanded they make, together, a great circular shield, which is thickly studded with them; and this starry firmament the male, when he wishes to make an impression, offers suddenly and withempressementto the gaze of the female. The lower feathers meet together in front of the bird’s head, so that, in order to judge of the effect he is making, he has to thrust it between two of them, and thus peep out at the hen. At the same time he fans his tail and elevates it, so that the two very broad and very long plumes which it contains nod above the soft splendour of the wings. To see several of these magnificent birds—as large almost, at least in their then appearance, as peacocks—contending thus for the favours of the female, must be a most magnificent sight, to be excelled only, perhaps, by the similar rivalry of peacocks themselves in sometiger-haunted jungle of India. Both these birds belong to a family which is famous for displays of this sort. They are striking enough in our own pheasant, which, however, comes originally from the East, and rise to a maximum, at least in Europe, in the blackcock and capercailzie. I have myself seen both these birds exhibiting to the females, in Norway.
The cock-of-the-rock offers another striking example of the importance of courtship amongst birds. The male of this species is, from beak to tail, of a deep orange, or, more beautiful still, of a brilliant blood-red colour. From the beak one may well say, for this, to the very tip, as well as the head itself, is covered with, or rather buried in, a magnificent crescent-shaped crest, which, by obscuring the usual contour of that region, gives a touch ofbizarrerieto atout ensemblesufficiently splendid. As in the case of the argus pheasant, a little open space is selected, the mossy turf of which soon becomes pressed smooth by the tramplings of the birds’ feet. In it the adorned males, to the admiration of their more sombre-coloured lady-loves, dance and spring about, engaging, from time to time, in fierce and valorous conflicts. Whilst not in the ring, as one may say, the birds often fly from one to another of the neighbouring trees, to the trunks of which they sometimes cling, all in the greatest excitement. As in all other cases of the sort, the females are supposed to accept, by preference, those males for their husbands, whose plumage, when thus shown to advantage, creates the most dazzling effect.
This is the theory of sexual selection by which Darwinaccounts for most of the very beautiful colours and markings throughout nature. But though his arguments have never been shaken, whilst the evidence on which they are based has been most effectively supplemented,[3]yet naturalists, as a body, seem determined to ignore both the one and the other, and to see in the most striking patterns and conspicuous hues, a “protective resemblance” to the surrounding landscape, which, if it really exist for any man, must be due rather to some personal cause, such as strong imagination or weak eyesight—or a combination of the two—than to any objective reality. There is no animal now, in fact, however conspicuous it may be to the eye of the savage, that is not pronounced almost invisible by some spectacled old gentleman or another, and I feel confident myself that, were a red or blue lion to step off a public-house and walk in full view down the street, it would be thought to “blend wonderfully” with the houses on either side, by these thorough going advocates of the protective theory. Darwin, however, who has pointed out so many cases of assimilative colouring, all of which are accounted for on his theory of natural selection, did not believe that the tiger or zebra were protected in this way, nor would he, probably, have endorsed the red lion.
It is amongst the birds of paradise, however—and especially in the case of the great bird of paradise, theloveliest, perhaps, of all—that we see the courting antics of birds exhibited, if not in their greatest perfection, at least in their most overpowering beauty. Here the gathering-place, instead of being on the ground, is amongst the tree-tops, and a tree of a specially lofty kind is chosen, which, by virtue of its spreading head and scantiness of foliage, is well adapted for the purpose. Here, in the early morning, the birds assemble, and the males, which alone possess those magnificent plumes, or, rather, fountains of feathers, that spring from beneath the wings on either side, display them now to the best advantage, elevating them, spreading and shaking them out, and keeping them all the while in a state of quivering, tremulous vibration. Amidst this soft and spray-like shower, tinted of a soft mauve and a deep golden orange, the emerald feathers of the neck and the pale, straw-coloured ones of the head, as the bird turns it excitedly from side to side, gleam and sparkle, whilst the wings are raised and opened, making, as it were, a basket out of which the plume-jets spring. In the intervals between these exhibitions, the birds fly from branch to branch of the wide-spreading tree-top, their plumes now trailing behind them, and looking as beautiful, almost, in another way, as they did just before when specially exhibited. Not that there is much order in the birds’ performances, or, rather, it is order in disorder. Though rivals, emulous of one another’s actions, yet each of them plays its own independent part. No two, it is probable, out of, perhaps, a score composing the assembly, acts in just the same way at just the same time, and thus the whole space is filled,each moment, with a varied scene of exquisite, ethereal loveliness.
Professor Wallace—who does not, however, as it would appear, speak from personal knowledge—tells us that, “at the time of the bird’s greatest excitement, the wings are raised vertically over the back, the head is bent down and stretched out, and the long plumes are raised up and expanded till they form two magnificent golden fans striped with deep red at the base, and fading off into the pale brown tint of the finely divided and softly waving points. The whole bird is then overshadowed by them, the crouching body, yellow head, and emerald-green throat forming but the foundation and setting to the golden glory which waves above. When seen in this attitude the bird of paradise really deserves its name, and must be ranked as one of the most beautiful and most wonderful of living things.” Nothing is said about the hens here, but in the following description—the only one I know which comes from an eye-witness—they play their part, as will be seen, and as I have no doubt they should do in the other. The birds here seen belonged to another species of theparadiseidæ—the red bird of paradise, I think, which is almost as handsome, but of this I cannot be sure. “The two hens,” says Mr. Chalmers, who was travelling in New Guinea, “were sitting quietly on a branch, and the four cocks, dressed in their very best, their ruffs of green and yellow standing out, giving them a handsome appearance about the head and neck, their flowing plumes so arranged that every feather seemed combed out, and the long wires (some curious shaftlessfeathers characteristic of this family of birds) stretched well out behind, were dancing in a circle round them. It was an interesting sight. First one and then another would advance a little nearer to a hen, and she, coquette-like, would retire a little, pretending not to care for any advances. A shot was fired, contrary to our expressed wish; there was a strange commotion, and two of the cocks flew away, but the others and the hens remained. Soon the two returned, and again the dance began and continued long. As we had strictly forbidden any more shooting, all fear was gone: and so, after a rest, the males came a little nearer to the dark brown hens. Quarrelling ensued, and in the end, all six birds flew away.”
There is not, it must be confessed, much power of description shown here, but it is from life, and at any rate the birds are not killed—a very redeeming point indeed.