Hab. Central and South America.

The Orange-chested Hobby is found throughout South and Central America, but the form met with here differs, to some extent, in habits from its representatives of the hotter region. It is a Patagonian bird, the most common Falcon in that country, and is migratory, wintering in the southern and central Argentine provinces. In its winter home it is solitary, and fond of hovering about farm-houses, where it sits on a tree or post and looks out for its prey. Compared with the Peregrine it has a very poor spirit, and I have often watched it give chase to a bird, and just when it seemed about to grasp its prey, give up the pursuit and slink ingloriously away. It never boldly and openly attacks any bird, except of the smallest species, and prefers to perch on an elevation from which it can dart down suddenly and take its prey by surprise.

The nest is a slovenly structure of sticks on a thorny bush or tree. The eggs, which I have not seen, Darwin describes as follows:—“Surface rough with white projecting points; colour nearly uniform dirty wood-brown; general appearance as if it had been rubbed in brown mud.”

305. TINNUNCULUS CINNAMOMINUS (Sw.).

(CINNAMOMEOUS KESTREL.)

Hab. South America.

The habits of this little Falcon closely resemble those of Falco fusco-cærulescens, and like that bird it is common in Patagonia and migrates north in winter. Many individuals, however, do not migrate, as I found when residing at the Rio Negro, where some pairs remained at the breeding-place all the year. Many pairs are also found resident and breeding in other parts of the Argentine country, but it is common only in Patagonia.

It nests in holes in cliffs and also on trees, and sometimes builds its own nest on the large nest of a Dendrocolaptine bird or of a Parroquet. It lays four eggs, large for the size of the bird, oval in shape, and white in colour, thickly blotched with dull red.

The preying habits of the Little Kestrel are similar to those of the Orange-chested Hobby; it haunts farm-houses and plantations, and spends a great deal of time perched on some elevation watching for its prey, and making sudden dashes to capture it by surprise. But though not bold when seeking its food, it frequently makes violent unprovoked attacks on species very much larger than itself, either from ill-temper or in a frolicsome spirit, which is more probable.

Thus I have seen one drive up a flock of Glossy Ibises and pursue them some distance, striking and buffeting them with the greatest energy. I saw another pounce down from its perch, where it had been sitting for some time, on a female skunk quietly seated at the entrance of her burrow, with her three half-grown young frolicking around her. I was watching them with intense interest, for they were leaping over their parent’s tail, and playing like kittens with it, when the Hawk dashed down, and after striking at them quickly three or four times, as they tumbled pell-mell into their kennel, flew quietly away, apparently well satisfied with its achievement.

306. ELANUS LEUCURUS (Vieill.).

(WHITE-TAILED KITE.)

Hab. Central and South America.

This interesting Hawk is found throughout the Argentine Republic, but is nowhere numerous. It also inhabits Chili, where, Gay says, it is called Bailarin (dancer) on account of its aerial performances. It is a handsome bird, with large ruby-red irides, and when seen at a distance its snow-white plumage and buoyant flight give it a striking resemblance to a gull. Its wing-power is indeed marvellous. It delights to soar, like the Martins, during a high wind, and will spend hours in this sport, rising and falling alternately, and at times, seeming to abandon itself to the fury of the gale, is blown away like thistle-down, until, suddenly recovering itself, it shoots back to its original position. Where there are tall poplar trees these birds amuse themselves by perching on the topmost slender twigs, balancing themselves with outspread wings, each bird on a separate tree, until the tree-tops are swept by the wind from under them, when they often remain poised almost motionless in the air, until the twigs return to their feet.

When looking out for prey, this Kite usually maintains a height of sixty or seventy feet above the ground, and in its actions strikingly resembles a fishing gull, frequently remaining poised in the air with body motionless and wings rapidly vibrating for fully half a minute at a stretch, after which it flies on or dashes down upon its prey.

The nest is placed on the topmost twigs of a tall tree, and is round and neatly built of sticks, rather deep, and lined with dry grass. The eggs are eight in number, nearly spherical, the ground-colour creamy white, densely marked with longitudinal blotches or strips of a fine rich red, almost like coagulated blood in hue. There is, however, great variety in the shades of the red, also in the disposition of the markings, these in some eggs being confluent, so that the whole shell is red. The shell is polished and exceedingly fragile, a rare thing in the eggs of a raptor.

An approach to the nest is always greeted by the birds with long distressful cries, and this cry is also muttered in the love-season, when the males often fight and pursue each other in the air. The old and young birds sometimes live together until the following spring.

307. ROSTRHAMUS SOCIABILIS (Vieill.).

(SOCIABLE MARSH-HAWK.)

Hab. South America.

This Hawk in size and manner of flight resembles a Buzzard, but in its habits and the form of its slender and very sharply hooked beak it differs widely from that bird. The name of Sociable Marsh-Hawk, which Azara gave to this species, is very appropriate, for they invariably live in flocks of from twenty to a hundred individuals, and migrate and even breed in company. In Buenos Ayres they appear in September and resort to marshes and streams abounding in large water-snails (Ampullaria), on which they feed exclusively. Each bird has a favourite perch or spot of ground to which it carries every snail it captures, and after skilfully extracting the animal with its curiously modified beak, it drops the shell on the mound. When disturbed or persecuted by other birds they utter a peculiar cry, resembling the shrill neighing of a horse. In disposition they are most peaceable, and where they are abundant all other birds soon discover that they are not as other Hawks are and pay no attention to them. When soaring, which is their favourite pastime, the flight is singularly slow, the bird frequently remaining motionless for long intervals in one place; but the expanded tail is all the time twisted about in the most singular manner, moved from side to side, and turned up until its edge is nearly at a right angle with the plane of the body. These tail-movements appear to enable it to remain stationary in the air without the rapid vibratory wing-motions practised by Elanus leucurus and other hovering birds; and I should think that the vertebræ of the tail must have been somewhat modified by such a habit.

Concerning its breeding-habits Mr. Gibson writes:—“In the year 1873 I was so fortunate as to find a breeding colony in one of our largest and deepest swamps. There were probably twenty or thirty nests, placed a few yards apart, in the deepest and most lonely part of the whole ‘cañadon.’ They were slightly built platforms, supported on the rushes and two or three feet above the water, with the cup-shaped hollow lined with pieces of grass and water-rush. The eggs never exceeded three in a nest; the ground-colour generally bluish white, blotched and clouded very irregularly with dull red-brown, the rufous tint sometimes being replaced with ash-grey.”

308. SPIZIAPTERYX CIRCUMCINCTUS (Kaup).

(SPOT-WINGED FALCON.)

Hab. Argentina.

This small Hawk is sometimes met with in the woods of La Plata, near the river; it is rare, but owing to its curious violent flight, with the short blunt wings rapidly beating all the time, it is very conspicuous in the air and well known to the natives, who call it Rey de los Pajaros (King of the Birds), and entertain a very high opinion of its courage and strength. I have never seen it taking its prey, and do not believe that it ever attempts to capture anything in the air, its short blunt wings and peculiar manner of flight being unsuited for such a purpose. Probably it captures birds by a sudden dash when they mob it on its perch; and I do not know any raptor more persistently run after and mobbed by small birds. I once watched one for upwards of an hour as it sat on a tree attended by a large flock of Guira Cuckoos, all excitedly screaming and bent on dislodging it from its position. So long as they kept away five or six feet from it the Hawk remained motionless, only hissing and snapping occasionally as a warning; but whenever a Cuckoo ventured a little nearer and into the charmed circle, it would make a sudden rapid dash and buffet the intruder violently back to a proper distance, returning afterwards to its own stand.

309. MILVAGO CHIMANGO (Vieill.).

(CHIMANGO CARRION-HAWK.)

Hab. Southern half of South America.

Azara says of the Carancho (Polyborus tharus):—“All methods of subsistence are known to this bird: it pries into, understands, and takes advantage of everything.” These words apply better to the Chimango, which has probably the largest bill of fare of any bird, and has grafted on to its own peculiar manner of life the habits of twenty diverse species. By turns it is a falcon, a vulture, an insect-eater, and a vegetable-eater. On the same day you will see one bird in violent hawk-like pursuit of its living prey, with all the instincts of rapine hot within it, and another less ambitious individual engaged in laboriously tearing at an old cast-off shoe, uttering mournful notes the while, but probably more concerned at the tenacity of the material than at its indigestibility.

A species so cosmopolitan in its tastes might have had a whole volume to itself in England; being only a poor foreigner, it has had no more than a few unfriendly paragraphs bestowed upon it. For it happens to be a member of that South-American subfamily of which even grave naturalists have spoken slightingly, calling them vile, cowardly, contemptible birds; and the Chimango is nearly least of them all—a sort of poor relation and hanger on of a family already looked upon as bankrupt and disreputable. Despite this evil reputation, few species are more deserving of careful study; for throughout an extensive portion of South America it is the commonest bird we know; and when we consider how closely connected are the lives of all living creatures by means of their interlacing relations, so that the predominance of any one kind, however innocuous, necessarily causes the modification, or extinction even, of surrounding species, we are better able to appreciate the importance of this despised fowl in the natural polity. Add to this its protean habits, and then, however poor a creature our bird may seem, and deserving of strange-sounding epithets from an ethical point of view, I do not know where the naturalist will find a more interesting one.

The Chimango has not an engaging appearance. In size and figure it much resembles the Hen-harrier, and the plumage is uniformly of a light sandy brown colour; the shanks are slender, claws weak, and beak so slightly hooked that it seems like the merest apology of the Falcon’s tearing weapon. It has an easy loitering flight, and when on the wing does not appear to have an object in view, like the Hawk, but wanders and prowls about here and there, and when it spies another bird it flies after him to see if he has food in his eye. When one finds something to eat the others try to deprive him of it, pursuing him with great determination all over the place; if the foremost pursuer flags, a fresh bird takes its place, until the object of so much contention—perhaps after all only a bit of skin or bone—is dropped to the ground, to be instantly snatched up by some bird in the tail of the chase; and he in turn becomes the pursued of all the others. This continues till one grows tired and leaves off watching them without seeing the result. They are loquacious and sociable, frequently congregating in loose companies of thirty or forty individuals, when they spend several hours every day in spirited exercises, soaring about like Martins, performing endless evolutions, and joining in aerial mock battles. When tired of these pastimes they all settle down again, to remain for an hour or so perched on the topmost boughs of trees or other elevations; and at intervals one bird utters a very long leisurely chant, with a falling inflection, followed by a series of short notes, all the other birds joining in chorus and uttering short notes in time with those of their soloist or precentor. The nest is built on trees or rushes in swamps, or on the ground amongst grass and thistles. The eggs are three or four in number, nearly spherical, blotched with deep red on a white or creamy ground; sometimes the whole egg is marbled with red; but there are endless varieties. It is easy to find the nest, and becomes easier when there are young birds, for the parent when out foraging invariably returns to her young uttering long mournful notes, so that one has only to listen and mark the spot where it alights. After visiting a nest I have always found the young birds soon disappear, and as the old birds vanish also I believe that the Chimango removes its young when the nest has been discovered—a rare habit with birds.

Chimangos abound most in settled districts, but a prospect of food will quickly bring numbers together even in the most solitary places. On the desert pampas, where hunters, Indian and European, have a great fancy for burning the dead grass, the moment the smoke of a distant fire is seen there the Chimangos fly to follow the conflagration. They are, at such times, strangely animated, dashing through clouds of smoke, feasting amongst the hot ashes on roasted cavies and other small mammals, and boldly pursuing the scorched fugitives from the flames.

At all times and in all places the Chimango is ever ready to pounce on the weak, the sickly, and the wounded. In other regions of the globe these doomed ones fall into the clutches of the true bird of prey; but the salutary office of executioner is so effectually performed by the Chimango and his congeners where these false Hawks abound, that the true Hawks have a much keener struggle to exist here. This circumstance has possibly served to make them swifter of wing, keener of sight, and bolder in attack than elsewhere. I have seen a Buzzard, which is not considered the bravest of the Hawks, turn quick as lightning on a Cayenne Lapwing, which was pursuing it, and grappling it bear it down to the ground and despatch it in a moment, though a hundred other Lapwings were uttering piercing screams above it. Yet this Plover is a large, powerful, fierce-tempered bird, and armed with sharp spurs on its wings. This is but one of numberless instances I have witnessed of the extreme strength and daring of our Hawks.

When shooting birds to preserve I used to keep an anxious eye on the movements of the Chimangos flying about, for I have had some fine specimens carried off or mutilated by these omnipresent robbers. One winter day I came across a fine Myiotheretes rufiventris, a pretty and graceful Tyrant-bird, rather larger than the Common Thrush, with a chocolate and silver-grey plumage. It was rare in that place, and, anxious to secure it, I fired a very long shot, for it was extremely shy. It rose up high in the air and flew off apparently unconcerned. What, then, was my surprise to see a Chimango start off in pursuit of it! Springing on to my horse, I followed, and before going half a mile noticed the Tyrant-bird beginning to show signs of distress. After avoiding several blows aimed by the Chimango, it flew down and plunged into a cardoon bush. There I captured it, and when skinning it to preserve found that one small shot had lodged in the fleshy portion of the breast. It was a very slight wound, yet the Chimango with its trained sight had noticed something wrong with the bird from the moment it flew off, apparently in its usual free buoyant manner.

On another occasion I was defrauded of a more valuable specimen than the Tyrant-bird. It was on the east coast of Patagonia, when one morning, while seated on an elevation, watching the waves dashing themselves on the shore, I perceived a shining white object tossing about at some distance from land. Successive waves brought it nearer, till at last it was caught up and flung far out on to the shingle, fifty yards from where I sat; and instantly, before the cloud of spray had vanished, a Chimango dashed down upon it. I jumped up and ran down as fast as I could, and found my white object to be a Penguin, apparently just killed by some accident out at sea, and in splendid plumage; but, alas! in that moment the vile Chimango had stripped off and devoured the skin from its head, so that as a specimen it was hopelessly ruined.

As a rule, strong healthy birds despise the Chimango; they feed in his company; his sudden appearance causes no alarm, and they do not take the trouble to persecute him; but when they have eggs or young he is not to be trusted. He is not easily turned from a nest he has once discovered. I have seen him carry off a young Tyrant-bird (Milvulus tyrannus), in the face of such an attack from the parent birds that one would have imagined not even an Eagle could have weathered such a tempest. Curiously enough, like one of the boldest of our small Hawks (Tinnunculus cinnamominus), they sometimes attack birds so much too strong and big for them that they must know the assault will produce more annoyance than harm. I was once watching a flock of Coots feeding on a grassy bank, when a passing Chimango paused in its flight, and, after hovering over them a few moments, dashed down upon them with such impetuosity that several birds were thrown to the ground by the quick successive blows of its wings. There they lay on their backs, kicking, apparently too much terrified to get up, while the Chimango deliberately eyed them for some moments, then quietly flew away, leaving them to dash into the water and cool their fright. Attacks like these are possibly made in a sportive spirit, for the Milvago is a playful bird, and, as with many other species, bird and mammal, its play always takes the form of attack.

Its inefficient weapons compel it to be more timid than the Hawk, but there are many exceptions, and in every locality individual birds are found distinguished by their temerity. Almost any shepherd can say that his flock is subject to the persecutions of at least one pair of lamb-killing birds of this species. They prowl about the flock, and watch till a small lamb is found sleeping at some distance from its dam, rush upon it, and, clinging to its head, eat away its nose and tongue. The shepherd is then obliged to kill the lamb; but I have seen many lambs that have been permitted to survive the mutilation, and which have grown to strong, healthy sheep, though with greatly disfigured faces. One more instance I will give of the boldness of a bird of which Azara, greatly mistaken, says that it might possibly have courage enough to attack a mouse, though he doubts it. Close to my house, when I was a boy, a pair of these birds had their nest near a narrow path leading through a thicket of giant thistles, and every time I traversed this path the male bird, which, contrary to the rule with birds of prey, is larger and bolder than the female, would rise high above me, then dashing down, strike my horse a violent blow on the forehead with its wings. This action it would repeat till I was out of the path. I thought it very strange the bird never struck my head; but I presently discovered that it had an excellent reason for what it did. The gauchos ride by preference on horses never properly tamed, and one neighbour informed me that he was obliged every day to make a circuit of half a mile round the thistles, as the horses he rode became quite unmanageable in the path, they had been so terrified with the attacks of this Chimango.

Where the intelligence of the bird appears to be really at fault is in its habit of attacking a sore-backed horse, tempted thereto by the sight of a raw spot, and apparently not understanding that the flesh it wishes to devour is an inseparable part of the whole animal. Darwin has noticed this curious blunder of the bird; and I have often seen a chafed saddle-horse wildly scouring the plain closely pursued by a hungry Chimango determined to dine on a portion of him.

In the hot season, when marshes and lagoons are drying up, the Chimango is seen associating with Ibises and other waders, standing knee-deep in the water and watching for tadpoles, frogs, and other aquatic prey. He also wades after a very different kind of food. At the bottom of pools, collected on clayey soil after a summer shower, an edible fungus grows of a dull greenish colour and resembling gelatine. He has found out that this fungus is good for food, though I never saw any other creature eating it. In cultivated districts he follows the plough in company with the black-headed gulls, Molothri, Guira cuckoos, and tyrant-birds, and clumsily gleans amongst the fresh-turned mould for worms and larvæ. He also attends the pigs when they are rooting on the plain to share any succulent treasure-trove turned up by their snouts; for he is not a bird that allows dignity to stand between him and his dinner. In the autumn, on damp, sultry days, the red ants, that make small conical mounds on the pampas, are everywhere seen swarming. Rising high in the air they form a little cloud or column, and hang suspended for hours over the same spot. On such days the Milvagos fare sumptuously on little insects, and under each cloud of winged ants several of them are to be seen in company with a few Flycatchers, or other diminutive species, briskly running about to pick up the falling manna, their enjoyment undisturbed by any sense of incongruity.

Before everything, however, the Chimango is a vulture, and is to be found at every solitary rancho sharing with dogs and poultry the offal and waste meat thrown out on the dust-heap; or, after the flock has gone to pasture, tearing at the eyes and tongue of a dead lamb in the sheepfold. When the hide has been stripped from a dead horse or cow on the plains, the Chimango is always first on the scene. While feeding on a carcass it incessantly utters a soliloquy of the most lamentable notes, as if protesting against the hard necessity of having to put up with such carrion fare—long, querulous cries, resembling the piteous whines of a shivering puppy chained up in a bleak backyard and all its wants neglected, but infinitely more doleful in character. The gauchos have a saying comparing a man who grumbles at good fortune to the Chimango crying on a carcass; an extremely expressive saying to those who have listened to the distressful wailings of the bird over its meat. In winter a carcass attracts a great concourse of the Black-backed Gulls; for with the cold weather these vultures of the sea abandon their breeding-places on the Atlantic shores to wander in search of food over the vast inland pampas. The dead beast is quickly surrounded by a host of them, and the poor Chimango crowded out. One at least, however, is usually to be seen perched on the carcass tearing at the flesh, and at intervals with outstretched neck and ruffled up plumage uttering a succession of its strange wailing cries, reminding one of a public orator mounted on a rostrum and addressing harrowing appeals to a crowd of attentive listeners. When the carcass has been finally abandoned by foxes, armadillos, gulls, and caracaras, the Chimango still clings sorrowfully to it, eking out a miserable existence by tearing at a fringe of gristle and whetting his hungry beak on the bones.

Though an inordinate lover of carrion, a wise instinct has taught it that this aliment is unsuited to the tender stomachs of its fledglings; these it feeds almost exclusively on the young of small birds. In November the Chimangos are seen incessantly beating over the cardoon bushes, after the manner of Hen-harriers; for at this season in the cardoons breeds the Synallaxis hudsoni. This bird, sometimes called Téru-réru del campo by the natives, is excessively shy and mouse-like in its habits, seldom showing itself, and by means of strong legs and a long, slender, wedge-like body is able too glide swiftly as a snake through and under the grass. In summer one hears its long melancholy trilling call-note from a cardoon bush, but if approached it drops to the ground and vanishes. Under the densest part of the cardoon bush it scoops out a little circular hollow in the soil, and constructs over it a dome of woven grass and thorns, leaving only a very small aperture: it lines the floor with dry horse-dung, and lays five buff-coloured eggs. So admirably is the nest concealed that I have searched every day for it through a whole breeding-season without being rewarded with a single find. Yet they are easily found by the Chimango. In the course of a single day I have examined five or six broods of young Chimangos, and by pressing a finger in their distended crops, made them disgorge their food, and found in every instance that they had been fed on nothing but the young of the Téru-réru. I was simply amazed at this wholesale destruction of the young of a species so secret in its nesting-habits; for no eye, even of a Hawk, can pierce through the leafage of a cardoon bush, ending near the surface in an accumulated mass of the dead and decaying portions of the plant. The explanation of the Chimango’s success is to be found in the loquacious habit of the fledglings it preys on, a habit common in the young of Dendrocolaptine species. The intervals between the visits of the parent birds with food they spend in conversing together in their high-pitched tones. If a person approaches the solid fabric of the Ovenbird (Furnarius rufus), when there are young in it, he will hear shrill laughter-like notes and little choruses, like those uttered by the old birds, only feebler; but in the case of that species no harm can result from the loquacity of the young, since the castle they inhabit is impregnable. Hovering over the cardoons, the Chimango listens for the stridulous laughter of the fledglings, and when he hears it the thorny covering is quickly pierced and the dome broken into.

Facts like this bring before us with startling vividness the struggle for existence, showing what great issues in the life of a species may depend on matters so trivial, seemingly, that to the uninformed mind they appear like the merest dust in the balance, which is not regarded. And how tremendous and pitiless is that searching law of the survival of the fittest in its operations when we see a species like this Synallaxis, in the fashioning and perfecting of which nature seems to have exhausted all her art, so exquisitely is it adapted in its structure, coloration, and habits to the one great object of concealment, yet apparently doomed to destruction through this one petty oversight—the irrepressible garrulity of the fledglings in their nest! It is, however, no oversight at all; since the law of natural selection is not prophetic in its action, and only preserves such variations as are beneficial in existing circumstances, without anticipating changes in the conditions. The settlement of the country has, no doubt, caused a great increase of Chimangos, and in some indirect way probably has served to quicken their intelligence; thus a change in the conditions which have moulded this Synallaxis brings a danger to it from an unexpected quarter. The situation of the nest exposes it, one would imagine, to attacks from snakes and small mammals, from bird-killing spiders, beetles, and crickets, yet these subtle ground foes have missed it, while the baby-laughter of the little ones in their cradle has called down an unlooked-for destroyer from above. It might be answered that this must be a very numerous species, otherwise the Chimango could not have acquired the habit of finding the nests; that when they become rarer the pursuit will be given over, after which the balance will readjust itself. But in numbers there is safety, especially for a feeble hunted species, unable from its peculiar structure to vary its manner of life. To such, the remark made by Darwin, that “rarity is the precursor to extinction,” applies with peculiar force.

310. POLYBORUS THARUS (Mol.).

(CARANCHO CARRION-HAWK.)

Hab. South America.

This bird, which combines the raptorial instincts of the Eagle with the base carrion-feeding propensities of the Vulture, has already had so many biographers that it might seem superfluous to speak again at any great length of it; only it happens to be one of those very versatile species about which there is always something fresh to be said; and, besides, I do not altogether agree with the very ignoble character usually ascribed to it by travellers. It is, however, probable that it varies greatly in disposition and habits in different districts. In Patagonia I was surprised at its dejected appearance and skulking cowardly manner, so unlike the bird I had been accustomed to see on the pampas. I shot several, and they were all in a miserably poor condition and apparently half-starved. It struck me that in that cold sterile country, where prey is scarce, the Carancho is altogether out of place; for it there has to compete with Eagles and Vultures in large numbers; and these, it is almost needless to say, are, in their separate lines, stronger than the composite and less specialized Carancho. In Patagonia he is truly a “miserable bird,” with a very frail hold on existence. How different on that illimitable grassy ocean further north, where he is the lord of the feathered race, for Eagles and Vultures, that require mountains and trees to breed and roost on, do not come there to set him aside; there the conditions are suited to him and have served to develop in him a wonderfully bold and savage spirit. When seen perched on a conical ant-hill, standing erect above the tall plumy grass, he has a fine, even a noble, appearance; but when flying he is not handsome, the wings being very bluntly rounded at the extremities and the flight low and ungraceful. The plumage is blackish in the adult, brown in the young. The sides of the head and breast are creamy white, the latter transversely marked with black spots. The crown is adorned with a crest or top-knot. The beak is much larger than in Eagles and Vultures, and of a dull blue colour; the cere and legs are bright yellow.

The species ranges throughout South America, and from Paraguay northwards is called everywhere, I believe, “Caracara.” South of Paraguay the Spanish name is “Carancho,” possibly a corruption of “Keanché,” the Puelche name for the allied Milvago chimango, in imitation of its peevish cry. The Indian name for the Carancho in these regions is Trarú (from its harsh cry), misspelt tharú by Molina.

The Caranchos pair for life, and may therefore be called social birds; they also often live and hunt in families of the parent and young birds until the following spring; and at all times several individuals will readily combine to attack their prey, but they never live or move about in flocks. Each couple has its own home or resting-place, which they will continue to use for an indefinite time, roosting on the same branch and occupying the same nest year after year; while at all times the two birds are seen constantly together and seem very much attached. Azara relates that he once saw a male pounce down on a frog, and carrying it to a tree call his mate to him and make her a present of it. It was not a very magnificent present, but the action seems to show that the bird possesses some commendable qualities which are seldom seen in the raptorial family.

In uninhabited places I have always found the Caranchos just as abundant as in the settled districts; and after a deer has been pulled down by the dogs I have seen as many as seventy or eighty birds congregate to feed on its flesh within half an hour, although not one had been previously visible. D’Orbigny describes the bird as a parasite on man, savage and civilized, following him everywhere to feed on the leavings when he slays wild or domestic animals, and as being scarcely able to exist without him. No doubt the bird does follow man greatly to its advantage, but this is only in very thinly settled and purely pastoral and hunting districts, where a large proportion of the flesh of every animal slain is given to the fowls of the air. Where the population increases the Carancho quickly meets with the fate of all large species which are regarded as prejudicial.

Without doubt it is a carrion-eater, but only, I believe, when it cannot get fresh provisions; for when famished it will eat anything rather than study its dignity and suffer hunger like the nobler Eagle. I have frequently seen one or two or three of them together on the ground under a column of winged ants, eagerly feasting on the falling insects. To eat putrid meat it must be very hungry indeed; it is, however, amazingly fond of freshly-killed flesh, and when a cow is slaughtered at an estancia-house the Carancho quickly appears on the scene to claim his share, and catching up the first thing he can lift he carries it off before the dogs can deprive him of it. When he has risen to a height of five or six yards in the air he drops the meat from his beak and dexterously catches it in his claws without pausing or swerving in his flight. It is singular that the bird seems quite incapable of lifting anything from the ground with the claws, the beak being invariably used, even when the prey is an animal which it might seem dangerous to lift in this way. I once saw one of these birds swoop down on a rat from a distance of about forty feet, and rise with its struggling and squealing prey to a height of twenty feet, then drop it from its beak and gracefully catch it in its talons. Yet when it pursues and overtakes a bird in the air it invariably uses the claws in the same way as other Hawks. This I have frequently observed, and I give the two following anecdotes to show that even birds which one would imagine to be quite safe from the Carancho are on some occasions attacked by it.

While walking in a waste field near my home one day I came on a Pigeon feeding, and at once recognized it as one which had only began to fly about a week before; for although a large number of Pigeons were kept, this bird happened to be of the purest unspotted white, and for a long time I had been endeavouring to preserve and increase the pure white individuals, but with very little success, for the Peregrines invariably singled them out for attack. A Carancho was circling about at some distance overhead, and while I stood still to watch and admire my Pigeon it stooped to within twenty yards of the surface and remained hovering over my head. Presently the Pigeon became alarmed and flew away, whereupon the Hawk gave chase—a very vain chase I imagined it would prove. It lasted for about half a minute, the Pigeon rushing wildly round in wide circles, now mounting aloft and now plunging downwards close to the surface, the Carancho hotly following all the time. At length, evidently in great terror, the hunted bird flew down, alighting within a yard and a half of my feet. I stooped to take hold of it, when, becoming frightened at my action, it flew straight up and was seized in the talons of its pursuer close to my face and carried away.

In the next case the bird attacked was the Spur-winged Lapwing, the irreconcilable enemy of the Carancho and its bold and persistent persecutor. The very sight of this Hawk rouses the Lapwings to a frenzy of excitement, and springing aloft they hasten to meet it in mid-air screaming loudly, and continue to harry it until it leaves their ground, after which they return, and, ranged in triplets, perform their triumphal dances, accompanied with loud drumming notes. But if their hated foe alights on the ground, or on some elevation near them, they hover about him, and first one, then another, rushes down with the greatest violence, and gliding near him turns the bend of its wing so that the spur appears almost to graze his head. While one bird is descending, others are rising upwards to renew their charges; and this persecution continues until they drive him away, or become exhausted with their fruitless efforts. The Carancho, however, takes little notice of his tormentors; only when the Plover comes very close, evidently bent on piercing his skull with its sharp weapon, he quickly dodges his head, after which he resumes his indifferent demeanour until the rush of the succeeding bird takes place.

While out riding one day a Carancho flew past me attended by about thirty Lapwings, combined to hunt him from their ground, for it was near the breeding-season, when their jealous irascible temper is most excited. All at once, just as a Lapwing swept close by and then passed on before it, the Hawk quickened its flight in the most wonderful manner and was seen in hot pursuit of its tormentor. The angry hectoring cries of the Lapwings instantly changed to piercing screams of terror, which in a very short time brought a crowd numbering between two and three hundred birds to the rescue. Now, I thought, the hunted bird will escape, for it twisted and turned rapidly about, trying to lose itself amongst its fellows, all hovering in a compact cloud about it and screaming their loudest. But the Carancho was not to be shaken off; he was never more than a yard behind his quarry, and I was near enough to distinguish the piteous screams of the chased Lapwing amidst all the tumult, as of a bird already captive. At the end of about a minute it was seized in the Carancho’s talons, and, still violently screaming, borne away. The cloud of Lapwings followed for some distance, but presently they all returned to the fatal spot where the contest had taken place; and for an hour afterwards they continued soaring about in separate bodies, screaming all the time with an unusual note in their voices as of fear or grief, and holding excited conclaves on the ground, too all appearance as greatly disturbed in their minds as an equal number of highly emotional human beings would be in the event of a similar disaster overtaking them.

It is not often, however, that the Carancho ventures singly to attack adult and vigorous birds, except Tinamous; they prey by preference on the young or ailing, on small lambs and pigs left at a distance by their dams; and they also frequently attack and kill old and weakly sheep. Where anything is wrong with bird or beast they are very quick to detect it, and will follow a sportsman to pick up the wounded birds, intelligently keeping at a safe distance themselves. I once shot a Flamingo in the grey stage of plumage and had some trouble to cross the stream, on the opposite side of which the bird, wounded very slightly, was rapidly stalking away. In three or four minutes I was over and found my Flamingo endeavouring to defend itself against the assaults of a Carancho which had marked it for its own, and was striking it on the neck and breast in the most vigorous and determined way, sometimes from above, at other times alighting on the ground before it and springing up to strike like a game-cock. A spot of blood on the plumage of the wounded bird, which had only one wing slightly damaged, had been sufficient to call down the attack; for to the Carancho a spot of blood, a drooping wing, or any irregularity in the gait, quickly tells its tale.

When several of these birds combine they are very bold. A friend told me that while voyaging on the Paraná river a Black-necked Swan flew past him hotly pursued by three Caranchos; and I also witnessed an attack by four birds on a widely different species. I was standing on the bank of a stream on the pampas watching a great concourse of birds of several kinds on the opposite shore, where the carcass of a horse, from which the hide had been stripped, lay at the edge of the water. One or two hundred Hooded Gulls and about a dozen Chimangos were gathered about the carcass, and close to them a very large flock of Glossy Ibises were wading about in the water, while amongst these, standing motionless in the water, was one solitary White Egret. Presently four Caranchos appeared, two adults and two young birds in brown plumage, and alighted on the ground near the carcass. The young birds advanced at once and began tearing at the flesh; while the two old birds stayed where they had alighted, as if disinclined to feed on half-putrid meat. Presently one of them sprung into the air and made a dash at the birds in the water, and instantly all the birds in the place rose into the air screaming loudly, the two young brown Caranchos only remaining on the ground. For a few moments I was in ignorance of the meaning of all this turmoil, when, suddenly, out of the confused black and white cloud of birds the Egret appeared, mounting vertically upwards with vigorous measured strokes. A moment later and first one, then the other, Carancho also emerged from the cloud, evidently pursuing the Egret, and only then the two brown birds sprung into the air and joined in the chase. For some minutes I watched the four birds toiling upwards with a wild zigzag flight, while the Egret, still rising vertically, seemed to leave them hopelessly far behind. But before long they reached and passed it, and each bird as he did so would turn and rush downwards, striking at the Egret with his claws, and while one descended the others were rising, bird following bird with the greatest regularity. In this way they continued toiling upwards until the Egret appeared a mere white speck in the sky, about which the four hateful black spots were still revolving. I had watched them from the first with the greatest excitement, and now began to fear that they would pass from sight and leave me in ignorance of the result; but at length they began to descend, and then it looked as if the Egret had lost all hope, for it was dropping very rapidly, while the four birds were all close to it striking at it every three or four seconds. The descent for the last half of the distance was exceedingly rapid, and the birds would have come down almost at the very spot they started from, which was about forty yards from where I stood, but the Egret was driven aside, and sloping rapidly down struck the earth at a distance of two hundred and fifty yards from the starting point. Scarcely had it touched the ground before the hungry quartette were tearing it with their beaks. They were all equally hungry no doubt, and perhaps the old birds were even hungrier than their young; and I am quite sure that if the flesh of the dead horse had not been so far advanced towards putrefaction they would not have attempted the conquest of the Egret.

I have so frequently seen a pure white bird singled out for attack in this way, that it has always been a great subject of wonder to me how the two common species of snow-white Herons in South America are able to maintain their existence; for their whiteness exceeds that of other white Waterfowl, while, compared with Swans, Storks, and the Wood-Ibis, they are small and feeble. I am sure that if these four Caranchos had attacked a Glossy Ibis they would have found it an easier conquest; yet they singled out the Egret, purely, I believe, on account of its shining white conspicuous plumage.

This wing-contest was a very splendid spectacle, and I was very glad that I had witnessed it, although it ended badly for the poor Egret; but in another case of a combined attack by Caranchos there was nothing to admire except the intelligence displayed by the birds in combining, and much to cause the mind to revolt against the blindly destructive ferocity exhibited by Nature in the instincts of her creatures. This scene was witnessed by a beloved old Gaucho friend of mine, a born naturalist, who related it to me. It was in summer, and he was riding in a narrow bridle-path on a plain covered with a dense growth of giant thistles, nine or ten feet high, when he noticed some distance ahead several Caranchos hovering over one spot; and at once conjectured that some large animal had fallen there, or that a traveller had been thrown from his horse and was lying injured amongst the thistles. On reaching the spot, he found an open space of ground about forty yards in diameter, surrounded by the dense wall of close-growing thistles, and over this place the birds were flying, while several others were stationed near, apparently waiting for something to happen. The attraction was a large male Rhea squatting on the ground, and sheltering with its extended wings a brood of young birds. My friend was not able to count them, but there were not fewer than twenty-five or thirty young birds, small tender things, only a day or so out of the shell. As soon as he rode into the open space of ground, the old Ostrich sprung up, and with lowered head, clattering beak, and broad wings spread out like sails, rushed at him; his horse was greatly terrified, and tried to plunge into the dense mass of thistles, so that he had the greatest difficulty in keeping his seat. Presently the Ostrich left him, and casting his eyes round he was astonished to see that all the young Ostriches were running about, scattered over the ground, while the Caranchos were pursuing, knocking down, and killing them. Meanwhile the old Ostrich was frantically rushing about trying to save them; but the Caranchos, when driven from one bird they were attacking, would merely rise a few yards and drop on the next one a dozen yards off; and as there were about fifteen Caranchos all engaged in the same way, the slaughter was proceeding at a great rate. My friend, who had been vainly struggling to get the better of his horse, was then forced to leave the place, and did not therefore see the end of the tragedy in which he had acted an involuntary part; but before going he saw that at least half the young birds were dead, and that these were all torn and bleeding on the small of the neck just behind the head, while in some cases the head had been completely wrenched off.

The Gauchos, when snaring Partridges (Tinamous), frequently bribe the Caranchos to assist them. The snarer has a long slender cane with a small noose at the extremity, and when he sights a Partridge he gallops round it in circles until the bird crouches close in the grass; then the circles are narrowed and the pace slackened, while he extends the cane, and lowers it gradually over the bewildered bird until the small noose is dropped over its head and it is caught. Many Partridges are not disposed to sit still to be taken in this open barefaced way; but if the snarer keeps a Carancho hovering about by throwing him an occasional gizzard, the wariest Partridge is so stricken with fear that it will sit still and allow itself to be caught.

In the love-season the male Caranchos are frequently seen fighting; and sometimes, when the battle is carried on at a great height in the air, the combatants are seen clasped together and falling swiftly towards the earth; but in all the contests I have witnessed the birds have not been so blinded with passion as to fall the whole distance before separating. Besides these single combats, in which unpaired or jealous males engage in the love-season, there are at all times occasional dissensions amongst them, the cause of which it would be difficult to determine. Here again, as often in hunting, the birds combine to punish an offender, and in some cases the punishment is death.

Their cry is exceedingly loud and harsh, a short abrupt note, like cruk, repeated twice; after which, if the bird is violently agitated, as when wounded or fighting, it throws its head backwards until the crown rests on the back, and rocks it from side to side, accompanying the action with a prolonged piercing cry of great power. This singular gesture of the Carancho, unique among birds, seems to express very forcibly a raging spirit, or, perhaps, rage mingled with despair.

The nest is built in a variety of situations: on trees, where there are any, but on the treeless pampas, where the Carancho is most at home, it is made on the ground, sometimes among the tall grass, while a very favourite site is a small islet or mound of earth rising well out of the water. When a suitable place has been found, the birds will continue to use the same nest for many consecutive years. It is a very large slovenly structure of sticks, mixed with bones, pieces of skin, dry dung, and any portable object the bird may find to increase the bulk of his dwelling. The eggs are three or four, usually the last number, slightly oval, and varying greatly in colour and markings, some having irregular dark red blotches on a cream-coloured ground, while others are entirely of a deep brownish red, with a few black marks and blotches.

Fam. XXXIII. CATHARTIDÆ, or CONDORS.

The American Vultures, or Condors as it is better to call them, are now universally admitted to be quite distinct from the rest of the Accipitres and to constitute a family apart. They differ from the Falconidæ in having the hind toe inserted at a higher level than the others, and in the nostrils being pervious, owing to the absence of the bony septum, besides in other important characters2.

The Cathartidæ are few in number, only some six or seven species being accurately known. Of these, three occur within the limits of the Argentine Republic.