Birds and All Nature, Vol. V, No. 4, April 1899

The stronger feather sometimes grows out of the same place as the downy one in such a way that it pushes out the down to the outside of the plumage and the bird appears to have his underwear outside his overcoat.

The best eider-down is so light that three-quarters of an ounce of it will fill a large hat. It is so elastic that two or three pounds may be compressed into a ball that may be held in the hand.

Some feathers have a second shaft growing out of the end of the quill so as to form a double feather, and in rare instances there are two of these growths from one quill, making a triple feather.

Birds are warmer blooded than other animals. What is a dangerous fever temperature in the blood of man, is natural and ordinary in a bird. As birds fly rapidly, they could not live if they were perspiring creatures because they would lose heat so fast. Feathers protect them from the sudden changes of temperature and loss of heat and strength.

Feathers are important to the bird to fly with; but even for this purpose they are not absolutely necessary. There are forms of animals that fly, as the bat does, with their skin to beat the air. There were once on the earth many more skin-flying animals than there are to-day.

Feathers are modifications of the scarf-skin. Wherever the skin is exposed to sun, wind, or water it is modified in some way to contribute to the well-being of the animal. The many forms of feathers make a most fascinating study.

A peculiar thing about them is that they are not vascular. Vascular means full of vessels. Almost everything that grows is vascular. It has tubes to carry in new material and little sacs or large ones to store substance for new growths. But dermal appendages, the forms that grow out of the scarf-skin and are modifications of it, are not vascular. Take a feather two feet long, and examine it to see how the feather material was carried from the beginning of the quill to the tip. You find no veins and no circulation. Yet feathers grow and their growth is quite mysterious and not understood by the wisest people.

The material of a feather consists of cells that push each other out to their destination. They change their forms as they travel along, and their colors and degrees of hardness change with their going. They are composed of about the same stuff that makes horns and hoofs. Your finger nail is like a feather in its growth and composition. It is mostly albumen with some lime in it. Albumen is the substance which makes the white of eggs.

When the Mexican motmot trims his two tail feathers with his beak, he merely makes diamond cut diamond. The material of the cutting instrument is the same as that of the thing cut, only somewhat harder.

When you consider how a feather grows by pushing out its cells you must wonder at the intelligence which guides the cells to change their nature so as to form the quill, the shaft, the after-shaft, the barb, the barbules, and the little hooks which hold them together. More than this is the cause for admiration seen in the regular change of pigment contained in the cells, so the feather shall have its beautiful colors and accurate markings.

Along with the materials of the feather is carried a little oil which turns the water from the duck's back and gives the feather its gloss. It is thought by some that the fading of feathers in museums where mounted specimens are exposed to the action of light is largely due to the loss of this delicate oil. No enterprising Yankee has come forward yet with a patent for restoring this oil and giving back to the thousands of musty and dusty skins in our museums their original brilliancy.

Every one wonders at the way feathers keep their shape instead of getting hopelessly ruffled. The little hooks which hold the barbules together are exceedingly strong and flexible. They will yield and bend, but never break. Even when torn apart from their hold they can grasp again so as to restore the injured feather to its former shape.

VISION AND SCENT OF VULTURES

REV. R. T. NICHOL

To the Editor of Birds and All Nature:

Sir: Are you not mistaken in the assertion in your October number that vultures, carrion-crows, etc., have such keen scent that they can detect carcasses and offal at a very great distance?

I was under the impression that Wilson [1 - When I said "Wilson" above I find I was slightly mistaken. I remembered reading it long ago in the first edition I possessed of this writer's works – the little four-volume set edited by Prof. Jameson for "Constable's Miscellany," Edinburgh, 1831, and taking down the book now, which I have not opened for years, I find the passages in question (Vol. iv, pp. 245 et seq.) form part of an appendix drawn from Richardson and Swainson's "Northern Zoology," and that the real authority is Audubon.] had decided this forever, and proved conclusively that their apparently miraculous power of discovering their proper food, was due to keenness of vision, and not of the sense of smell.

The following extracts may be new to some and interesting to all of your readers: Under the head "Vultur aura, Turkey Vulture," etc., I find:

"Observations on the supposed power which vultures such as the turkey vulture, are said to possess of scenting carrion at a great distance.

"It has always appeared to us unaccountable that birds of prey, as vultures, could scent carcasses at such immense distances, as they are said to do. We were led to call in question the accuracy of this opinion, on recollecting the observations of some travelers, who have remarked birds of prey directing their course towards dead animals floating in the rivers in India, where the wind blows steadily from one point of the compass for months in succession. It was not easy to conceive that the effluvium from a putrid carcass in the water, could proceed in direct opposition to the current of air, and affect the olfactory nerves of birds at so many miles distant. We were disposed to believe that these birds were directed towards the carrion rather by the sense of seeing than by that of smelling. This opinion is confirmed by the following observations of our friend Audubon, communicated to us by him some time ago for our Philosophical Journal."

Here follows at length Audubon's communication, from which I extract the following passages:

"My First Experiment was as follows: I procured a skin of our common deer, entire to the hoofs, and stuffed it carefully with dried grass until filled rather above the natural size, – suffered the whole to become perfectly dry and as hard as leather – took it to the middle of a large open field, and laid it down upon its back with the legs up and apart, as if the animal were dead and putrid. I then retired about a few hundred yards, and in the lapse of some minutes a vulture coursing around the field, tolerably high, espied the skin, sailed directly towards it, and alighted within a few yards of it. I ran immediately, covered by a large tree, until within about forty yards, and from that place could spy the bird with ease. He approached the skin, looked at it without apparent suspicion, raised his tail and voided itself freely (as you well know all birds of prey in a wild state generally do before feeding), then approaching the eyes, that were here solid globes of hard, dried, and painted clay, attacked first one and then the other, with, however, no farther advantage than that of disarranging them. This part was abandoned; the bird walked to the other extremity of the pretended animal, and there, with much exertion, tore the stitches apart, until much fodder and hay were pulled out; but no flesh could the bird find or smell; he was intent on finding some where none existed, and, after reiterated efforts, all useless, he took flight, coursed round the field, when, suddenly turning and falling, I saw him kill a small garter snake and swallow it in an instant. The vulture rose again, sailed about, and passed several times quite low over the stuffed deer-skin, as if loth to abandon so good-looking a prey.

"Judge of my feelings when I plainly saw that the vulture, which could not discover through its extraordinary sense of smell that no flesh, either fresh or putrid, existed about that skin, could at a glance see a snake scarcely as large as a man's finger, alive, and destitute of odor, hundreds of yards distant. I concluded that, at all events, his ocular powers were much better than his sense of smell.

"Second Experiment.– I had a large dead hog hauled some distance from the house and put into a ravine, about twenty feet deeper than the surface of the earth around it, narrow and winding much, filled with briars and high cane. In this I made the negroes conceal the hog, by binding cane over it, until I thought it would puzzle either buzzards, carrion-crows, or any other birds to see it, and left it for two days. This was early in the month of July, when, in this latitude, a body becomes putrid and extremely fetid in a short time. I saw from time to time many vultures, in search of food, sail over the field and ravine in all directions, but none discovered the carcass, although during this time several dogs had visited it and fed plentifully on it. I tried to go near it, but the smell was so insufferable when within thirty yards of it that I abandoned it, and the remnants were entirely destroyed at last through natural decay.

"I then took a young pig, put a knife through its neck, and made it bleed on the earth and grass about the same, and, having covered it closely with leaves, also watched the result. The vultures saw the fresh blood, alighted about it, followed it down into the ravine, discovered by the blood of the pig, and devoured it, when yet quite fresh, within my sight."

He pursues the subject at some length, recounting other experiments; but these, were they not even given on the authority of Audubon —clarum et venerabile nomen– seem to me to be conclusive.

    22 Irving place, New York

THE HOARY BAT

C. C. M

A VERY singular animal is the bat, and seems to belong to several classes and orders. The specimen we present here (Atalapha cinerea) is very rare in this part of the country, and was taken in Lincoln Park, Chicago. It flies through the air like a bird and, possessing mammæ like the quadrupeds, suckles its young. The double jaw is provided with three kinds of teeth. With the canines and incisors it tears its prey like carnivorous animals, and with the molars or grinders it cracks nuts like rodents, which it resembles in the narrow, oval form of its head. An imperfect quadruped when on the ground, it drags itself along, embarrassed by the mantle of its wings, which fold up around its legs like an umbrella when closed. When it undertakes to fly it does so in an awkward manner. It first crawls painfully along, and with great difficulty extends its long fingers, spreading out the membrane which covers and binds them together. The ungainly creature then quickly flaps its broad wings, tough as leather, but thin and transparent; a bird without plumage, it now flies abroad in pursuit of insects – nocturnal like itself – or in search of ripe fruit, to which some species are particularly destructive.

None of the bats like to raise themselves into the air from a perfectly level surface, and, therefore, use all their endeavors to climb to some elevated spot, from whence they may launch themselves into the air. They climb with great ease and rapidity, being able to hitch their sharp and curved claws into the least roughness that may present itself, and can thus ascend a perpendicular wall with perfect ease and security. In so doing they crawl backward, raising their bodies against the tree or wall which they desire to scale, and drawing themselves up by the alternate use of the hinder feet. When they have attained a moderate height, they are able to fling themselves easily into the air and to take immediate flight. They have the power of rising at once from the ground, but always prefer to let themselves fall from some elevated spot. One reason why bats take their repose suspended by their hind feet is said to be that they are then in the most favorable position for taking to the air. There may be, and probably are, other reasons for the curious reversed attitude. Even among the birds examples are found of a similar mode of repose. Members of the genus Colius, an African group of birds, sleep suspended like the bats, clinging with their feet and hanging with their heads downward. But these birds cannot assume this attitude for the purpose of taking flight, as their wings are used as readily as those of most other feathered creatures, and, therefore, there must be other reasons to account for the strange attitude.

The more closely we approach the torrid zone, it is said, the greater is the number of bats and the richer their variety. The South is the native country of the majority of wing-handed animals. Even in Italy, Greece, and Spain, the number of bats is surprising. There, according to Brehm, who studied them industriously, as evening draws nigh they come out of their nooks and corners not by hundreds but by thousands. Out of every house, every old stone wall, every rocky hollow they flutter, as if a great army were preparing for a parade, and the entire horizon is literally filled with them. The swarms of bats one sees in a hot country are astonishing. They darken the sky. Everywhere there is a living and moving mass flying through the trees or gardens and groves. Through the streets of the town, through houses and rooms flits the moving train. Hundreds are constantly appearing and disappearing and one is always surrounded by a hovering swarm.

A feature of the wings of bats, is a highly elastic skin. The outer layer is constantly kept pliable by anointing with an oily liquid, secreted by glands in the animal's face. The structure of the hair is also remarkable, as each thread presents under the microscope a screw-like appearance.

THE COMING OF SPRING

E. E. BENTON

NO ONE perhaps ever lived who excelled Henry D. Thoreau as a general observer of nature. He patiently and with minute care examined both animate and inanimate creation, and wrote down an accurate account of his observations, noting particularly the effects produced by the changes in the seasons. He worked diligently to discover the first sign of spring, with results not wholly satisfactory. In one place he asks: "What is the earliest sign of spring? The motions of worms and insects? The flow of sap in trees and the swelling of buds? Do not the insects awake with the flow of the sap? Bluebirds, etc., probably do not come till the insects come out. Or are there earlier signs in the water, the tortoises, frogs, etc.?"

He found that whenever there was a warm spell during the winter some forms of vegetation, particularly the grasses and water plants, would begin to grow, and some would even bloom in favorable locations, as the skunk cabbage. He did not fully settle the question as to what would begin to grow first in the spring, whether it was the catkins of the swamp willow or the stems and leaves of the equisetum in the pool, or something else.

A list of the most striking phenomena observed by Thoreau in early spring is given below, and is extracted from his journals, written when he lived near Boston, during the years 1840 to 1860. In each case the earliest date mentioned by Thoreau is given, there being a difference of about a month between the earliest and latest spring. Many of these phenomena and the order in which they occur are common to a large extent of country, including the eastern and northern central states. Thus, the skunk cabbage is the first flower in all this region. A few notes are added, showing variations.

February 21 – Sap of the red maple flowing. This was in 1857. It does not usually flow until the second week in March.

February 23 – Yellow-spotted tortoise seen.

February 24 – The bluebird, "angel of the spring," arrives; also the song-sparrow. The phebe or spring note of the chickadee, a winter bird, heard.

"The bluebird and song-sparrow sing immediately on their arrival, and hence deserve to enjoy some preëminence. They give expression to the joy which the season inspires, but the robin and blackbird only peep and tchuck at first, commonly, and the lark is silent and flitting. The bluebird at once fills the air with his sweet warbling, and the song-sparrow, from the top of a rail, pours forth his most joyous strain."

March 1 – The catkins of the willow and aspen appear to have started to grow.

March 2 – The caltha, or cowslip, found growing in water.

The skunk cabbage in bloom in warm, moist grounds.

March 5 – The red maple and elm buds expanded.

The spring note of the nut-hatch heard: To-what, what, what, what, what, rapidly repeated, instead of the usual quah quah of this winter bird.

March 6 – The gyrinus (water-bug) seen in the brook.

First blackbird seen.

Green sprouts of the sassafras, hazel, blueberry, and swamp-pink found.