Love's Meinie: Three Lectures on Greek and English Birds

103. Strangely, the most interesting fact (if fact it be) that it builds a floating nest, gains scarcely more than chance notice from its historians. Here is Mr. Gould's account of it: "The materials composing this raft or nest are weeds and aquatic plants carefully heaped together in a rounded form; it is very large at the base, and is so constantly added to, that a considerable portion of it becomes submerged; at the same time it is sufficiently buoyant to admit of its saucer-like hollow top being always above the surface. In this wet depression five or six eggs are laid. The bird, always most alert, is still more so now, and scarcely ever admits of a near examination of the nest-making, or of a view of the eggs. In favorable situations, however, and with the aid of a telescope, the process may be watched; and it is not a little interesting to notice with what remarkable quickness the dabchick scratches the weeds over her eggs with her feet, when she perceives herself observed, so as not to lead even to the suspicion that any were deposited on the ill-shapen floating mass. This work of an instant displays as much skill in deception as can well be imagined."

104. It is still left to question, first, what is meant by a wet depression?—does the bird actually sit in the water, and are the eggs under it? and, if not, how is the water kept out? Secondly, is the floating nest anchored, and how? Looking to other ornithologists for solution of these particulars, I find nobody else say anything about a floating nest at all. Bewick describes it as being of a large size, and composed of a very great quantity of grass and water plants, at least a foot in thickness, and so placed in the water that the female hatches her eggs amidst the continual wet in which they were first laid. Yarrell says only that it is a large flat nest made of aquatic plants; while Morris finally complicates the whole business by telling us that the nest is placed often as much as twenty or thirty yards from the water, that it is composed of short pieces of roots, reeds, rushes, and flags, and that when dry the whole naturally becomes very brittle.[23 - I hear, from a friend in whose statements I have absolute confidence, that he has found the eggs of the water-hen laid on a dead sycamore leaf by the side of a shallow stream, one of the many brooks near Uxbridge.]

105. While, out of my fifteen volumes of ornithology, I can obtain only this very vague account of the prettiest bird, next to the kingfisher, that haunts our English rivers, I have no doubt the most precise and accurate accounts are obtainable of the shapes of her bones and the sinuosities of her larynx; but about these I am low-minded enough not to feel the slightest curiosity. I return to Mr. Gould, therefore, to gather some pleasanter particulars; first, namely, that she has a winter and summer dress,—in winter olive gray and white, but in summer, (changing at marriage time) deep olive black, with dark chestnut chemisette. Infant dabchicks have "delicate rose-colored bills, harlequin-like markings, and rosy-white aprons." The harlequin-like markings I should call, rather, agate-like, especially on the head, where they are black and white, like an onyx. The bodies look more like a little walnut-shell, or nutmeg with wings to it, or things that are to be wings, some day.

106. Even when full-grown, the birds never fly much,—never more, says Morris, "than six or ten feet above the water, and for the most part trailing their legs in it; but either on the water or under it, every movement is characterized by the most consummate dexterity, and facile agility. The most expert waterman that sculls his skiff on the Thames or Isis, is but an humble and unskillful imitator of the dabchick. In moving straightforward (under water?), the wings are used to aid its progress, as if in the air, and in turning it has an easy gliding motion, feet and wings being used, as occasion requires, sometimes on one side and sometimes on the other. It walks but indifferently, as may readily be imagined from the position of the legs, so very far back. It is pleasant to watch the parent bird feeding her young: down she dives with a quick turn, and presently rises again with, five times out of six, a minnow, or other little fish, glittering like silver in her bill. The young rush towards the spot where the mother has come up, but she does not drop the fish into the water for them to receive until she has well shaken it about and killed it, so that it may not escape, when for the last time in its own element. I have seen a young one which had just seized, out of its turn I have no doubt, the captured prey, chased away by her, and pursued in apparent anger, as if for punishment, the following one being willingly given the next fish without any demur."

107. Mr. Gould seems to think that the dabchick likes insects and fish spawn better than fish, or at least more prudently dines upon them. "That fish are taken we have positive evidence from examples having been repeatedly picked up dead by the fishermen of the Thames, with a bull-head or miller's thumb in their throats, and by which they had evidently been choked in the act of swallowing them. That it is especially fond of insects is shown by the great activity it displays, when in captivity, in capturing house-flies and other diptera. Those who have visited Paris will probably have seen the grebes in the window of the restaurateur in the Rue de Rivoli. For years have a pair of these birds been living, apparently in the greatest enjoyment, within the glass window, attracting the admiration of all the passers-by. The extreme agility with which they sailed round their little prison, or scrambled over the half-submerged piece of rock for a fly, was very remarkable. That no bird can be more easily kept in a state of confinement is certain."

108. This question about its food is closely connected with that of its diving. So far as I understand Mr. Morris, it dives only when disturbed, and to escape,—remaining under water, however, if need be, an almost incredible time, and swimming underneath it to great distances. Here we have, if we would only think of it, the same question as that about the water-ouzel, how it keeps down; and we must now note a few general points about diving birds altogether.

It is easy to understand how the properly so-called divers can plunge with impetus to great depths, or keep themselves at the bottom by continued strokes of the webbed feet; but neither how the ouzel walks at the bottom, if it be specifically lighter than the water, nor how a bird can swim horizontally under the surface; at least it is not enough explained that the action must be always that of oblique diving, the bird regulating the stroke according to the upward pressure of the water at different depths.

109. But there are many other points needing elucidation. It is said (and beautifully insisted on, by Michelet,) that great spaces in the bones of birds that pass most of their lives in flight are filled with air: presumably the bones of the divers are made comparatively solid, or it is even conceivable—if conceptions or suppositions were of any use,—that the deep divers may take in water, to help themselves to sink. The enormous depths at which they have been caught, according to report, cannot be reached by any mere effort of strength, if the body remained as buoyant as it evidently is on the surface. The strength of the wing must, however, be enormous, for the great northern diver is described as swimming under water "as it were with the velocity of an arrow in the air" (Yarrell, vol. iii., page 431); or to keep to more measured fact, Sir William Jardine says, "I have pursued this bird in a Newhaven fishing-boat with four sturdy rowers, and notwithstanding it was kept almost constantly under water by firing as soon as it appeared, the boat could not succeed in making one yard upon it" (ibid., p. 432).

110. But this is followed by the amazing statement of Mr. Robert Dunn, p. 433, that in the act of diving it does not appear to make the least exertion, but sinks gradually under the surface, without throwing itself forward, the head being the last part that disappears. I am not fond of the word 'impossible,' but I think I am safe in saying that according to the laws of nature no buoyant body can sink merely by an act of volition; and that it must pull itself down by some hitherto unconceived action of the feet, which in this bird are immensely broad and strong, and so flat that it cannot walk with them, any more than we could with two flat boards a yard square tied to our feet; but, when it is caught on land, shoves its body along upon the ground, like a seal, by jerks. All these diving motions are executed in a more delicate but quite as wonderful way by the dabchick,—more wonderful indeed it may be said, because it has only the divided or chestnut-leaf-like foot, to strike with. We shall understand it perhaps a little better after tracing, in a future talk, the history of its relations among the smaller sea-gulls; meantime, in quitting the little dainty creature, I must plead for a daintier Latin name than it has now—'Podiceps.' No one seems to have the least idea what that means; and 'Colymbus,' diver, must be kept for the great Northern Diver and his deep-sea relatives, far removed from our little living ripple-line of the pools. I can't think of any one pretty enough; but for the present 'Trepida' may serve; and perhaps be applied, not improperly, to all the Grebes, with reference to their subtle and instant escape from any sudden danger. (See Stanley, p. 419.) "It requires all the address of a keen sportsman to get within shot," and when he does, the bird may still be too shrewd for him. "I fired at the distance of thirty yards; my gun went quick as lightning, but the grebe went quicker, and scrambling over, out of sight, came up again in a few seconds perfectly unhurt."

I think, therefore, that unless I receive some better suggestion, 'Trepida Stagnarum' may be the sufficiently intelligible Latin renaming of our easily startled favorite.

IV

TITANIA ARCTICA. ARCTIC FAIRY

111. I must first get quit of the confusion of names for this bird. Linnæus, in the Fauna Suecica, p. 64, calls it 'Tringa Lobata,' but afterwards 'Northern Tringa'; and his editor, Gmelin, 'Dark Tringa.' Other people agree to call it a 'phalarope,' but some of them 'northern' phalarope, some, the 'dark' phalarope; some, the 'ashy' phalarope, some, the 'disposed to be ashy' phalarope; some, the 'red-necked' phalarope; and some, 'Mr. Williams's' phalarope; finally, Cuvier calls it a 'Lobipes,' and Mr. Gould, in English, 'red-necked phalarope.' Few people are likely to know what 'Phalarope' means,[24 - The terminal 'pe' is short for pus, (pous!) and 'phalero,' from phalera, fringes—"Fringe-foot" (Morris).] and I believe nobody knows what 'Tringa' means; and as, also, nobody ever sees it, the little bird being obliged to live in Orkney, Greenland, Norway, and Lapland, out of human creatures' way, I shall myself call it the Arctic Fairy. It would come south if we would let it, but of course Mr. Bond says, "The first specimen I ever had was shot by a friend of mine in September, 1842, near Southend, Essex, where he saw the phalarope swimming on the water, like a little duck, about a mile from land; not knowing what it was, he shot it, and kindly brought it to me." Another was shot while running between the metals of the Great Eastern Railway, near the Stratford station, early in June, 1852; and on the Norfolk coast, four others have been killed during the last fifteen years; and the birds' visits, thus, satisfactorily, put a stop to. I can therefore study it only in Mr. Gould's drawing, on consulting which, I find the bird to be simply a sea dabchick,—brown stripes on the back, and all; but the webs of the feet a little finer, and in its habits it is more like the Lily-ouzel, according to the following report of Mr. St. John: "The red-necked phalarope is certainly the most beautiful little wader of my acquaintance. There were a pair of them, male and female, feeding near the loch, in a little pool which was covered with weeds of different kinds. Nothing could be more graceful than the movements of these two little birds, as they swam about in search of insects, etc. Sometimes they ran lightly on the broad leaves of the water-lily which served them for a raft, and entirely kept them out of the water. Though not exactly web-footed, the phalarope swims with the greatest ease. The attachment of these two birds to each other seemed very great: whenever in their search for food they wandered so far apart as to be hidden by the intervening weeds, the male bird stopped feeding suddenly, and, looking round, uttered a low and musical call of inquiry, which was immediately answered by the female in a different note, but perfectly expressive of her answer, which one might suppose to be to the purport that she was at hand and quite safe; on hearing her, the male immediately recommenced feeding, but at the same time making his way towards her; she also flew to meet him; they then joined company for a moment or two, and, after a few little notes of endearment, turned off again in different directions. This scene was repeated a dozen times while I was watching them. They seemed to have not the slightest fear of me, for frequently they came to within a yard of where I was sitting, and after looking up they continued catching the small water-insects, etc., on the weeds, without minding my presence in the least." What reward the birds got for this gentle behavior, we learn from the sentence following after the next two lines, containing the extremely valuable contribution to their natural history, that "on dissecting the female we found two eggs in her."

112. All other accounts concur in expressing (with as much admiration as is possible to naturalists) the kindly and frank disposition of this bird; which for the rest is almost a central type of all bird power with elf gifts added: it flies like a lark, trips on water-lily leaves like a fairy, swims like a duck, and roves like a sea-gull, having been seen sixty miles from land: and, finally, though living chiefly in Lapland and Iceland, and other such northern countries, it has been seen serenely swimming and catching flies in the hot water of the geysers, in which a man could not bear his hand.

And no less harmoniously than in report of the extreme tameness, grace, and affectionateness of this bird do sportsmen agree also in the treatment and appreciation of these qualities. Thus says Mr. Salmon: "Although we shot two pairs, those that were swimming about did not take the least notice of the report of the gun, and they seemed to be much attached to each other; for when one of them flew to a short distance, the other directly followed; and while I held a wounded female in my hand, its mate came and fluttered before my face." (Compare the scene between Irene and Hector, at page 393 of the May number of Aunt Judy's Magazine.) And, again, says Mr. Wolley: "The bird is extremely tame, swimming about my india-rubber boat so near that I could almost catch it in my hand; I have seen it even, when far from its nest, struck at many times with an oar before it flew away." In its domestic habits also the creature seems as exemplary as, in its social habits, it is frank; for on the approach of danger to her nestlings, the hen uses all the careful subtleties of the most cunning land birds, "spreading her wings, and counterfeiting lameness, for the purpose of deluding the intruder; and after leading the enemy from her young, she takes wing and flies to a great height, at the same time displaying a peculiar action of the wings; then descending with great velocity, and making simultaneously a noise with her wings. On her return to her young, she uses a particular cry for the purpose of gathering them together. As soon as she has collected them, she covers them with her wings, like the domestic hen."

113. I cannot quite make out the limits of the fairy's migrations; but it is said by Morris to 'occur' in France, Holland, Germany, Italy, and Switzerland. I find that one was what sportsmen call 'procured' near York, in full summer dress; and another killed at Rottingdean, swimming in a pond in the middle of the village, in the company of some ducks. At Scarborough, Louth, and Shoreham, it has also been captured or shot, and has been 'found' building nests in Sutherland: and, on the whole, it seems that here is a sort of petrel-partridge, and duckling-dove, and diving-lark, with every possible grace and faculty that bird can have, in body and soul; ready, at least in summer, to swim on our village ponds, or, wait at our railway stations, and make the wild north-eastern coasts of Scotland gay with its dancing flocks upon the foam; were it not that the idle cockneys, and pot-headed squires fresh out of Parliament, stand as it were on guard all round the island, spluttering small-shot at it, striking at it with oars, cutting it open to find how many eggs there are inside, and, in fine, sending it for refuge into the hot water of Hecla, and any manner of stormy solitude that it can still find for itself and its amber nestlings. I have never seen one, nor I suppose ever shall see, but hear of some of my friends sunning themselves at midnight about the North Cape, of whom, if any one will bring me a couple of Arctic fairies in a basket, I think I can pledge our own Squire's and Squire's lady's faith, for the pair's getting some peace, if they choose to take it, and as many water-lily leaves as they can trip upon, on the tarns of Monk-Coniston.

IV.B

TITANIA INCONSTANS. CHANGEFUL FAIRY

Phalaropus Fulicarius. (Coot-like Phalarope—Gould.)

114. I think the epithet 'changeful' prettier, and, until we know what a coot is like, more descriptive, than 'coot-like'; the bird having red plumage in summer, and gray in winter, while the coot is always black. It is a little less pretty and less amiable than its sister fairy; otherwise scarcely to be thought of but as a variety, both of them being distinguished from the coot, not only by color, but by their smaller size;—(they eight inches long, it sixteen)—and by the slender beaks, the coot having a thick one, half-way to a puffin's.

And here, once for all,—for I see I have taken no note yet of the beaks or bills of my dabchicks,—I will at once arrange a formula of the order of questions which it will be proper to ask, and get answered, concerning any bird, in the same order always, so that we shall never miss anything that we ought to think of. And I find these questions will naturally and easily fall into the following twelve:

1. Country, and scope of migration.

2. Food.

3. Form and flight.

4. Foot.

5. Beak and eye.

6. Voice and ear.

7. Temper.

8. Nest.

9. Eggs.

10. Brood.

11. Feathers.

12. Uses in the world.

It may be thought that I have forced—and not fallen into—my number 12, by packing the faculties of sight and hearing into by-corners. But the expression of a bird's head depends on the relation of eye to beak, as the getting of its food depends on their practical alliance of power; and the question, for instance, whether peacocks and parrots have musical ears, seems to me not properly debatable unless with due respect to the quality of their voices. It is curious, considering how much, one way or another, we are amused or pleased by the chatter and song of birds, that you will scarcely find in any ornithic manual more than a sentence, if so much, about their hearing; and I have not myself, at this moment, the least idea where a nightingale's ears are! But see Appendix, p. 122.

I retain, therefore, my dodecahedric form of catechism as sufficiently clear; and without binding myself to follow the order of it in strictness, if there be motive for discursory remark, it will certainly prevent my leaving any bird insufficiently distinguished, and enable me to arrange the collected statements about it in the most easily compared order.

115. We will try it at once on this second variety of the Titania, of which I find nothing of much interest in my books, and have nothing discursive myself to say.

1. Country. Arctic mostly; seen off Greenland, in lat. 68°, swimming among icebergs three or four miles from shore. Abundant in Siberia, and as far south as the Caspian. Migratory in Europe as far as Italy, yet always rare. (Do a few only, more intelligently curious than the rest, or for the sake of their health, travel?)

2. Food. Small thin-skinned crustacea, and aquatic surface-insects.

3. Form and flight. Stout, for a sea-bird; and they don't care to fly, preferring to swim out of danger. Body 7 to 8 inches long; wings, from carpal joint to end, 4¾,—say 5. These quarters of inches, are absurd pretenses to generalize what varies in every bird. 8 inches long, by 10 across the wings open, is near enough. In future, the brief notification 8 × 10, 5 × 7, or the like, will enough express a bird's inches, unless it possess decorative appendage of tail, which must be noted separately.

4. Foot. Chestnut-leaved in front toes, the lobes slightly serrated on the edges. Hind toe without membrane. Color of foot, always black.

5. Beak. Long, slender, straight. (How long? Drawn as about a fifth of the bird's length—say an inch, or a little over.) Upper mandible slightly curved down at the point. In Titania arctica, the beak is longer and more slender.

6. Voice. A sharp, short cry, not conceived by me enough to spell any likeness of it.

7. Temper. Gentle, passing into stupid, (it seems to me); one, in meditative travel, lets itself be knocked down by a gardener with his spade.

8. Nest. Little said of it, the bird breeding chiefly in the North. Among marshes, it is of weeds and grass; but among icebergs, of what?

9. Eggs. Pear-shape; narrow ends together in nest; never more than four.

10. Brood. No account of.

11. Feathers. Mostly gray, passing into brown in summer, varied with white on margin. Reddish chestnut or bay bodice—well oiled or varnished.

12. Uses. Fortunately, at present, unknown.

V

RALLUS AQUATICUS. WATER-RAIL