THIS name is unfortunate, for some people seem to imagine that the bird will be found to have paint on it, like a painted Sparrow! Though a handsomely marked bird, those who have shot much say that as a sporting bird it is not to be compared with the common Snipe, as it rises slowly, it does not twist or zig-zag about, and is content with a very short flight. It is a resident bird, and breeds in May in Lower Egypt. I met with it at Lake Menzaleh when there in April, and it possibly is more common throughout the country than is imagined, as it lies very close in cover, and rarely shows itself unless compelled to by being almost trodden upon.

PAINTED SNIPE
PAINTED SNIPE

THE AVOCET

Recurvirostra avocetta

I HAVE included this bird because it is like the Spoonbill, so singular in the form of its bill, and so interesting to us, because at one time it was fairly common in Great Britain. If it is seen it ought to be easily identified, not only because of its black and white plumage, but also because of the curious sweeping movement it makes with its bill as it searches the water for its prey, something suggestive of a mower with a scythe. Captain Shelley says it is met with in large flocks on the Nile, but I have only seen it in very small parties, six being the largest number that I have seen together on the river, but at Lake Menzaleh I have seen hundreds together. Von Heuglin says they are very abundant on the shores of the Red Sea, but on the two occasions I was on those shores—the last time at Kosseir—I was not fortunate enough to observe it. On the sandbanks—those that are very low, with wet spots and little pools—it can be seen better than when they are in big flocks on the salt lakes. Those who travel up and down the Nile in the only way one should do the river journey, namely, by sailing dababeah, should keep a good look-out for this beautiful bird; but I fear that those who pass by in great steamers have less chance, as I have often noticed when my boat has been moored to the bank that on the approach of these monsters pouring out their black clouds of smoke, every bird, great and small, hurries off in disgust if not in absolute alarm. The Avocet is not a permanent resident in Egypt, but comes from a northern home to winter here. It is entirely dependent on the water for its food, obtaining therefrom endless minute specks of life by means of its bill, moved from side to side on the top, or just under the surface of the muddy pools. When at Lake Menzaleh in March and April I saw great flocks of many hundreds just near the last sandbank that separates the lake from the Mediterranean, and Mr. M. J. Nicoll has seen it there in January. They are web-footed, a peculiarity that they share with the Flamingo, another very long-legged wading bird, but whereas the latter is really in form rather an ugly, ungainly bird, the Avocet is peculiarly elegant and graceful in all its movements.

AVOCET
AVOCET

THE SACRED IBIS

Ibis aethiopica

Why, exactly, this bird was treated with reverence in its lifetime as a sacred being, and embalmed and mummified when dead, is not known. That it was is certain; and most museums can show many many examples. Then again, it was taken and placed on the body of a man, and made a symbol of the god Thoth, who presided over arts, inventions, writing, and literature. So it has come to pass that all of us, before even our first visit to the Nile, know of this bird, anyhow by name, and being here, very naturally desire to see it. The dragoman, being asked so frequently to point out Sacred Ibises, long ago settled that it would be best to please and humour his patrons, and determined to call all Egrets, Spoonbills, and Buff-backed Herons, being white birds with long necks and legs, Sacred Ibises. Time after time I have been solemnly informed that four or five, or a round dozen, Ibises had been seen at such a place. On inquiry I have been told there could be no mistake, as dear So-and-so, the dragoman, had pointed them out and assured all and sundry that they were “genuine Sacred Ibis.” And though strange, it is true, people prefer to believe a lie if it confirms what they wish, than the truth if it does not. The sad truth is, there are no Sacred Ibises in Egypt at all, and the dragomans—anyhow, most of them—know this elementary bit of ornithology perfectly well, but they prefer to lie, and live in the perpetual atmosphere of mild

SACRED IBIS AND PAPYRUS
SACRED IBIS AND PAPYRUS

admiration and interest that follows their every utterance. No, the first place that you can at all safely look for Ibis in is south of Kartoom. It needs the great jungle-like brakes of papyrus that grow rampantly along the river-course, and which help to constitute the dread “sudd” of those waters. Immense masses of it, we are told, get torn off and detached when the new year’s flood comes rushing down, and along with other masses go floating onwards till they meet with some stoppage and then they form a dam, new masses coming down and down, till there may be miles of this floating jungle, which can, and does, get so packed and compressed by the weight behind it that it becomes nearly solid. In country like that the Ibis lives, and that is, all will see at once, not the country that Egypt is like, and therefore the Ibis is an absentee from the big, gently-flowing Nile from Assoan to Alexandria. Was it ever common in ancient Egypt? Not unless the conditions of those days were markedly different to these. The river rose each year then as now, and then as now by its rise and rush of waters must have kept the channel clear and the banks bare; but it is possible that there may have been at certain points big swamps where the papyrus grew, which have now become cultivated ground. This view might be taken from the extensive use of papyrus in dynastic days, almost implying that it grew commonly near at hand. What is certain, however, is that it does not do so now; and Ibis and papyrus are so joined together that, the one being absent, the other is also. In the plate I have therefore shown Ibis in a regular jungle of papyrus.[6] There is something strange, almost weird, about the appearance of this bird, with his bald black head; something almost priestly about the black and white drooping wings forming a vestment from which springs the thin, black, naked neck and back. Some will see none of these things, and only find a resemblance to an ugly vulture. It is rather a moody sort of bird, and does not get on over well with other birds when kept in confinement. It eats nearly anything that comes out of the water, and is especially partial to a nice young fat frog.

THE CRANE

Grus communis

CRANES will only be seen flying in flocks high in air, or else resting after a day’s flight on some sandbank by the river-side. As soon as they have rested, fed, and refreshed themselves, they are up and away again, and, as far as I know, they do not now remain anywhere in Egypt a day longer than is necessary. They are as rapid in their visits as the most scampering of tourists, who only allot so many days for a whole continent. But owing to the enormous numbers that there are of these birds, some of the migrating armies of them may be seen either in the autumn when they are all going due south, or on the break-up of the winter when they are all going due north. It seems strange that they should get so far north as Lapland and Siberia, but that they do there is abundance of proof; and it must always be remembered that these migrant birds seem to choose the most northerly point of their migration to breed and rear their young, so that when you see flocks wending their way back in the spring-time all up the Nile valley you must picture them as on their way to their northern homes, either in North Germany, Russia, or Scandinavia. They make but a rough nest on the ground in some parts of the great marshes they love, on little islands or tussocks of coarse grass. Only two eggs are laid, of a rich brown colour with dark spots: and the young are especially lively, running about with ease a few days after being hatched. Therein they contrast strongly with the young of the Heron, which remain in the nest for long weeks, and must have every scrap of food brought right up to their nursery.

Cranes’ plumage, after the summer’s work is over, fades very greatly, and I have seen it stated that the lovely lilac-grey altogether vanishes, leaving but a very dirty, grey-brownish plumage. This is also true of the Heron, and doubtless of all birds whose delicately coloured plumage is put on for the breeding season, for the wear and tear that these delicate

CRANES
CRANES

feathers have to pass through in all that long nesting period is enough to soil and spoil everything.

Their food is very varied. In captivity they seem as if they could, and would, eat anything, and I remember once seeing one trying to swallow a kid glove that had accidentally been dropped into its enclosure; possibly it thought it was some sort of dried frog! Insects, snails, frogs, and anything it can get from the water, as well as seeds and grasses, are its stock articles of diet.

M. Maspero told me that in his opinion there was a notable diminution of their number and of the time they spend in Egypt every winter—a view I also take most decidedly with my own recollections of twenty-five years ago, when I saw them so frequently that then they were one of the commonest sights on the Nile, whilst in the winters of 1907-1908 I was only once able to make drawings of them on a sandbank near Minieh, and saw but two or three flocks during the whole time flying high in air. This is entirely owing to the great increase of large steamers which, passing up and down, disturb the quiet of the water. If one is fortunate enough to hear them calling one to another as they fly above your head, one will ever afterwards be able to identify them, even though they be mere specks in high heaven, as the sound is peculiarly trumpet-like and sonorous. It carries an enormous distance, and attention may perhaps be drawn to their coming before the faintest sign of them can otherwise be seen.

Most would think, from a general glance at the Crane, that it was a Heron of some sort, but scientists tell us that it is a long way removed from them, and indeed some place it nearer the Bustards. There are many species of Cranes, and they are to be found practically the world over, for not only in Africa and Europe, but Asia, and Australia, and America all have their special Cranes.

In many of the wall-paintings throughout Egypt Cranes are shown, and in none are they in more exact truth than in the temple at Deir-el-Bahari. There they are shown walking in stately fashion between slaves bearing precious burdens; whilst some carry garden produce, rich fruits, and flowers, others are laden with ready trussed fowls and ducks, and amidst them all the graceful bird walks on. One wonders it does not fly away, for these good things do but foreshadow its own end; but if you look closely you will see its bill is tied down close to its neck, for these old-time people knew well the habits of the beasts and birds, and knew that if it could not stretch out head and neck it could not fly. All Cranes, and indeed many other birds, seem unable to start flight without a certain momentum given by a run forward with wings outspread and stretched-out neck. With head tied down it could get no balance, and would flap and flop, and then fall to the ground. It is in little details such as this that the more you know the more you respect the knowledge of these old artists, and admit the truth and merit of their unrivalled art.

Fig. 8.
Fig. 8.

THE SPOONBILL

Platalea leucorodea

I have seen pictures in some of the Gurnah tombs which, though crudely drawn, were undoubtedly meant for the Spoonbill. The old-time artist was apparently so struck with the flat, spoon-shaped beak that he deemed it a worthy subject for the exercise of his art. But though faithfully drawn in so far as its form is concerned, it is wrongly depicted in its relation to the head, since the head is shown in profile, while the beak is drawn as though it were seen from above! In no picture that I can recall by these ancient draughtsmen is any bird ever shown in the very slightest degree foreshortened.

SPOONBILLS On a mud-bank.
SPOONBILLS On a mud-bank.

The use of this very remarkable beak is apparent when the bird is seen feeding; it is held low down on the surface of the water, and pushed along, like a shrimper’s net, in front of the bird, so as to collect the minute organisms which constitute its food. I have also seen this beak driven deep down, and brought to the surface bearing long strings of grass and other water weeds. In February 1909, when walking along the front at Luxor,—with its hotels and shops, crowds of people and noisy donkey-boys,—I was startled by quite a big flock of Spoonbills that were beaten down low by a strong wind. They passed so close over my head that I saw their big flat beaks and long extended necks quite plainly: as they got farther away their general likeness to Swans in flight was most striking.

Like all birds showing any marked peculiarity in the shape or size of the beak, the Spoonbill wears a somewhat melancholy air, and my readers will doubtless recall this appearance in the case of Herons and Storks, Pelicans and Cormorants.

Time was when the Spoonbill was once common in Great Britain; this is now, unhappily, no longer the case, but no farther away than Holland it still lives and breeds.

THE STORKS

THE WHITE STORK

Ciconia alba

THE BLACK STORK

Ciconia nigra

FACING page 1 is shown a White Stork flying, and the fact that all Storks, in distinction to Herons, fly with their heads and their legs stretched out to their fullest extent, has been already pointed out. This Stork is nearly always seen in large flocks, and there must be ten to one of the white to the black species. The white bird is eminently a gregarious bird, sociable with its fellows, and this sociability extends also to mankind; and most have seen the old wheels stuck on poles and rough platforms

BLACK STORK
BLACK STORK

built on the top of buildings and barns in Holland or Germany to encourage the bird to come and nest. The Stork and the Swallow know their seasons, and people love to have these messengers of the coming summer make their home with them; and in many places there are traditions of the same site having been used by them for nesting in for hundreds of years. Of all this side of their life, however, those seen in Egypt show nothing, as nearly all that come are simply migrating still farther south. A very few do remain throughout the winter in one or two exceptionally favoured feeding-grounds; Lake Menzaleh, for instance, with its great area of shallow water teeming with fish and aquatic insect life, is a favourite haunt. The profusion of life in every pool and puddle throughout Egypt is really astonishing. I have seen isolated spaces hardly exceeding a couple of square yards absolutely teeming and heaving with innumerable beetles and larvæ of flies and insects. I can also recall one little pool in the centre of one of the many small nameless islands in Lake Menzaleh: when I approached it, from its glittering whiteness I took it to be one of those salt-covered basins that are everywhere, but when I looked close the whole floor of what had been a small pool was one solid mass of dead fry, none longer than an inch and a half. The water had been all over the island, but when I was there in April it had gone down, and this mass of imprisoned little fish had died as the water gradually dried up. How long they may have been dead I do not know, but the level mass of them was so untouched that it was clear no gull or heron or stork had been there, and yet the district was full of these birds; but I presume living food being in such profusion round them, they cared not to trouble about dead. The pool looked like a large basin of the most wonderfully silvery whitebait.

Up the Nile when flocks of Storks are seen they are always either heading due north in spring, or due south in autumn. Every now and again they indulge, however, sometimes for hours together, in curious aerial exercises high up in mid-air over one spot—why this is I do not know. This, as is the case with so many of birds’ habits, is all that can be done—note the fact. Conclusions drawn from these facts are vain, as too often man reads into these birds’ actions the reasons that would occur in his life; and the life of a bird is not as that of a man, and the sooner man throws over all such ideas that he can tell anything of the causes of birds’ actions by reading himself into their lives, the sooner he may get at the real truth of the matter. I say this because I have been asked so often the question, Why do the Storks behave in this curious way? I don’t know, and at present I don’t think any man knows; for if they are on a journey the only stop you would think they would make would be for rest or food, yet for hours, sometimes almost for the best part of a day, they do stop over one spot, and you will see these vast flocks high up, so that they look like mere specks, going round and round, sometimes higher, sometimes lower, but never going far from some unseen centre of attraction till the spirit moves them; and swinging out of the great circle, they one by one take their places in the wake of some chosen leader to the land to which they would go.

The White Stork makes a curious clattering noise with its bill. Its food is mainly derived from the water; and frogs, a plague of which is always over Egypt, are favourite morsels.

If sailing down the river you chance on a large flock resting on some sandbank, you will see a picture which would be exceedingly difficult to surpass in beauty and interest. The white of the great masses of birds comes in fine contrast with the reds of their legs and the golden yellow of the sand, and if on your nearer approach they all simultaneously rise together into mid-air you will be hardly likely to forget the scene for a whole lifetime.

The Black Stork is not so interesting as the above, but it is a remarkably handsome bird in itself. All its peculiarities are just the opposite of the White Stork. It is not gregarious, but generally rather a solitary bird; it does not love its own species, and it certainly does not court the proximity of man. On the scale that our drawing has had to be reduced to, to suit these pages, it comes very small, but not too small to show the general disposition of the colours of its plumage. We came very early in the morning on this group standing at the end of a long sand-bar, just ten miles south of Sohag, and they never got up as the boat sailed comparatively close by them. The group was a very mixed one, as in addition to the four Black Storks there were two Spoonbills and a Heron; and I find another note that once I saw three Black Storks, one White Stork, and several Herons all in a bunch together, this also in the grey of an early March morning. These two cases of a contradiction of what we are generally told is the ordinary habit of shunning their own species is only another of the endless cases that I have met with of the variation of the individual in absolutely everything. All that can be done is to give what is believed to be the average customary habit, but ever be prepared for individuals contradicting the rule. To dogmatise as to what a child or a bird will do is always March madness. The Black Stork is like his white cousin, of great use in keeping down the Egyptian plague of frogs.

THE SHOEBILL OR WHALE-HEADED STORK

Balaeniceps rex

Arabic name, Abu-markub, or Father of a Slipper

THIS bird I have included, though hardly a true Egyptian bird, its home being in the Soudan and south to Uganda, where Sir H. Johnston commonly saw it. It is the greatest show-bird the Cairo Zoological Gardens possesses, and by the ordinary person can be alone seen in Egypt. It is so exceedingly quaint and grotesque, that even when desiring to give an accurate representation of it, one is conscious that one’s drawing seems to look rather like a caricature. When it stands still there is something suggestive of a crabbed, disagreeable old person; and when it walks, the slow pedantic gait with the leg shot forward, with distended toes pointing outwards, inevitably suggests the drum-major or the dancing-master. So many people

SHOEBILL STORK
SHOEBILL STORK

visiting the Cairo Gardens remember only this quaint bird, that it has become one of the most popular birds of the country, and is better known than very many of the true native Egyptian birds.

Captain Stanley S. Flower says “he saw perhaps as many as forty in one day” during a trip on the White Nile. “They were to be seen usually singly, sometimes two or three within a score of yards of each other, standing about on the edges of the marsh, always in the same attitude. In the motionless way in which they stand, their solitariness, and their flight, they are more like a Heron than a Stork. In fact, at a distance, unless you can see the bill, it is impossible to tell them when on the wing from the Goliath Heron.”

Mr. A. L. Butler says of it in its native wilds: “They seem of a very sluggish nature, and I seldom observed them on the wing unless put up by our steamer.” And as to its food, he writes: “I have never known it attempt to eat shell-fish; the bird is a fisher pure and simple, but doubtless, like a Heron, will eat any small mammal or young water-bird that comes within reach.” Heron-like, Balaeniceps, instead of searching for its prey, waits patiently for it to come to it. It is generally to be seen standing motionless on newly-burnt swampy ground, or short grass flooded with an inch or two of water, inside the fringe of papyrus, or “um suf” sudd which separates the channel of the Bahr-el-Ghazal from the plains. I never saw the bird actually wading in water. Its food consists principally of Polypterus senegalus, which wanders a great deal into flooded grass-land. Sometimes the bird will perch on the top of a tree, but trees are scarce in its haunts. Its flight is heavy, but powerful; the neck is drawn back like a Heron’s. “It seems to be rather a quarrelsome bird; on its first arrival at Khartoum, it seized a fox terrier which approached it so sharply that the dog fairly yelled.” Some of its habits are as peculiar as its appearance, for, later on, Mr. Butler tells us, “They have a curious trick of repeatedly bringing up their food before finally swallowing it. This often results in the disgorged fishes being snatched up by Kites”; and every visitor to the Giza Gardens must have noticed its curious habit of rattling its bill as it alternately lifts and lowers its head as a sort of welcome to its keeper. When it stands thus with its head lowered, its bill clattering, and its neck slightly swollen and held straight as a stick, it is about the most curious-looking bird possible. At the date of writing, I believe these three specimens at Giza are the only ones in any zoological gardens in the world, and the authorities are naturally very proud of them; but we do hope that some day we shall have some in our own Zoological Gardens in London, as they are birds that can stand captivity well.

THE COMMON HERON

Ardea cinerea

THIS is the common Heron of England, and is evenly distributed over the country. It needs water, and from that cause is more often seen in Lower than Upper Egypt. It seems to be a visitor and not a resident. Mr. M. J. Nicoll tells me that from August to April it is steadily seen either in, or flying over, the Zoological Gardens at Cairo, and if it were a resident bird it would be one of the first to make the Gardens a breeding-place, as the thick trees and quiet pools of water are all to its liking; but I have not heard that it ever occurs there during the summer months. The group I sketched were standing together at the edge of a pool on the river, gazing stolidly at a solitary pelican. At home, it always nests in colonies known as heronries, and I believe that in England

HERONS At dawn on the Nile.
HERONS
At dawn on the Nile.

it is rather increasing than decreasing in numbers. The young birds are peculiarly ugly, and have a rather mad-looking hairy down covering on their heads, which is retained till they have become almost fully fledged. When I have been watching Herons standing, patiently waiting by the hour together, for fish to come within striking distance, I have often wondered if there was any truth in the old homely legend of their legs having some potent fascination by reason of an exuded oil which the fish love, that tempts them to come swimming round and round till they approach too near and are adroitly caught. Anyhow this is certain, it does not walk after them; they come to it. Having chosen its spot, it remains there as quiet as a mouse, and with the true fisherman’s patience bides its time. It is a curious sight to see the way in which it perches on a branch. It drops its long, thin legs and seizes it with its extended toes, but always seems to find it hard to get its balance, and as the branch sways with its weight it bends its body this way and that, all the time keeping its wings expanded as if trying to get just the right balance, and you realise then that it is no true “perching bird.” It lends its picturesque form to Egyptian scenery, just as it does to our homely English waters or wilder Scotch lochs; it always, somehow, goes well with the landscape. Shelley says, “It may be seen in considerable numbers in company with Spoonbills, Pelicans, and other waders.” And it is one of the curious facts about bird life here, that so many of the birds that we know only as solitary and not at all given to consorting in flocks, either with their own species or any other, save at their breeding stations, frequently do show a complete difference of habit in this respect in this country. From the boat I remember seeing a singular line of seven birds flying towards us. The first was a Heron, then a Spoonbill, then a Heron followed by two Spoonbills, and the straight line ended with two Herons, all so close together, the bill of one nearly touching the tail of the other, and all keeping time with the utmost precision.

To enumerate all the places I have watched this bird at is unnecessary, as at one time or another I have seen it everywhere. Its food is fish, frogs, and it is particularly fond of eels.

BUFF-BACKED HERON

Ardeola russata

THIS is the bird that is most often called the Egret, and it is very similar, as in its winter plumage it is practically white all over—just a line of buff on the crown. It is of the greatest service to the cattle when feeding or resting, as it seems to know no fear, and settles on their backs, one or two at a time, and diligently searches for flies and ticks and all those parasitic things that infest the poor brutes. I have seen them walk right up to one of the recumbent buffaloes, and go solemnly picking things off it all the way round its face, even off its eyes, whilst the creature never ceased chewing the cud, and one saw its jaw going solemnly round and round whilst the bird did its best to free it from the pests. What Egypt would be without all these birds, who are ceaselessly at work clearing the air of insect life, it is appalling to contemplate, for with them the clouds of flies, midges, mosquitoes and the rest render life in some places intolerable. No one quite knows what flies are till one tries sketching out of doors here. With your palette on one hand and brushes in the other, you are an easy prey to them, and they take every advantage of the fact. They will cluster by the dozen on your face, walk in brigades over the ridge of your nose, sting you on the hand, at the back where your palette hides them from your view, and even if you have a boy with a fly-wisp they will never leave you. I have found them at their worst at the edges of the cultivated land, where trees are often growing picturesquely, tempting the artist to sit in their seductive shade; with most dire results, as one is almost eaten alive, and one envies the cattle who are being so assiduously attended to by these kindly fly-catchers.

The Egret is one of the many birds that the dragoman makes the tourist happy by calling “the Ibis,” and the number that return to their friends gleefully telling how they saw a flock of Ibises grows every season. In the article on the Ibis it is shown how ludicrously untrustworthy is the dragoman’s Natural History information.

The Buff-backed Heron may often be seen flying up or down the river in little parties of

BUFF-BACKED HERON
BUFF-BACKED HERON

five or six. They look snow-white, and are then hard to tell from Spoonbill or Egret; but they ought not to be mistaken for the first-named bird, for, being Herons, they fly as all Herons do, with head tucked in, whilst the Spoonbill flies with extended neck. This is a real resident bird. Captain Shelley says it breeds in August in large colonies in the sont trees, and that, in addition to being useful to the poor cattle, it is of the greatest use to Egypt, as it wages war on the locusts that would otherwise devastate the green crops and all growing things.

I regret, however, that every year, according to the best evidence, this bird is less and less seen. Twenty-five years ago it was to be met with, off and on, everywhere, and in the Delta it was absolutely one of the commonest of birds. The cause of its lessening numbers is not certain, but when it is recalled that it is a form of Egret, and that from Egrets come “aigrettes,” one solution is apparent. Against that view, however, in common justice, I must say that I have no scrap of evidence that these birds are at all largely persecuted in Egypt, and they are, as already said, a resident bird. Some undoubtedly migrate north; it may be they never return, and so the annual decrease. Of the decrease there is no doubt, and I have been told that now the natives—the men who till the soil and benefit by its products—openly say that certain insect pests the much-valued cotton suffers from nowadays is due, in their opinion, to the reduced number of “little white birds” who used to come in flocks, by hundreds, and search and find and devour these same insect pests.

THE NIGHT HERON

Nycticorax griseus

THIS is a really common bird, but being nocturnal it is not very often noticed. Many a sont or palm tree that people walk under may have four or five sitting so quietly among the branches that they are not observed; but towards evening—before the sun has actually dropped behind the horizon—they begin to waken up; and curious “squawk, squawk” calls, then flappings about as they move from branch to branch, will be heard, till, as the afterglow begins, they all start mounting into the air and taking great circles round and round, or away in a bee-line to some favourite feeding-ground, where they remain all night, and return at dawn to their roosting-places. In some trees in the garden of the old Luxor Hotel, there is, as I write in 1909, a colony—two of the trees they roost in hang over the very carriage roadway up to the station,—noisy and bustling for three months of the year, yet they remain in this old-time haunt undisturbed by all the changes that have taken place in this ancient town. Twenty-seven years ago I saw them there, but I have met people who declare there never was a time known when Night Herons did not frequent this spot. There is a certain seat on the front where one enters the hotel grounds, that is under some Lebekh trees these Herons love, and I was early in the season horrified to hear that the order had gone out to shoot all those that were there, as they sometimes soiled the monstrous hats that the ladies were wearing. I appealed in vain to the management—“They had had so many complaints,” etc.—it must be, and was. I never dared ask how many were shot; and I really do not see why the ladies could not take their hats off, or else put up parasols. Anyhow, just because of women’s hats, an historic colony of these interesting birds in a very remarkable situation has been in danger of being driven away. This Heron is not nearly so big as our own familiar bird, and is rather squat and dumpy in shape, but he is a fascinating, rather weird-looking creature. Occasionally, one or two stray as far as Great Britain; but here in Egypt it

NIGHT HERON
NIGHT HERON

is to be met with, where it establishes a colony, in quite large numbers, and, in the report I have frequently referred to on wild birds that visit the Giza Zoological Gardens, it is stated that “Night Herons begin to arrive during August, winter here, and leave during the spring months. A few individuals, however, are seen throughout the summer. The number of these birds, which spend the daytime in the gardens, has greatly increased during the last ten years. 108 were counted on January 15, 1900; 360 on December 11, 1902. At present it is impossible to count them.”

All day long it sits moped up, out of the direct rays of the sun, in the centre of a mass of overhanging foliage, and only wakes up when most other birds are just falling to sleep. It feeds on fish, frogs, and even water-beetles and insects.

THE FLAMINGO

Phoenicopterus antiquorum

Arabic, Basharoush

IF it were not for zoological collections few of us would be as familiar with the form of this strange bird as we are—for though there are thousands and thousands of them in Egypt, it is generally only seen when flying in great flocks high overhead, and it does not often give a chance of a close inspection. But owing to its peculiarities it is always a favourite, and young as well as old are interested in its extraordinary length of leg and neck, and charmed with its brilliant rosy-red plumage, so that all know something of its appearance if they do not know much of its life-history. The Flamingo loves most of all shallow water, and lives nearly all its days in the great brackish lakes of Lower Egypt.

FLAMINGO
FLAMINGO

H.H. the Khedive being informed of my desire to visit the Flamingo at its home in Lake Menzaleh, exceedingly kindly granted me special facilities, and I was able to go from end to end of this great lake and from side to side, visiting every place where they were to be found. I was allowed the use of one of the coastguard dahabeahs. These boats are built on the lines of the native fishing-boats; being practically flat-bottomed they draw but little water, which is necessary, as the lake for its size is very shallow. It is this shallowness which makes Menzaleh such a happy hunting-ground for all water-birds. It fairly teems with birds; in February there are literally millions of Duck there, with Cormorants, Pelicans, Herons, Flamingoes, and Waders of every sort. In March they lessen in numbers, many only using it as a place to spend a few weeks at before going north to their summer homes, and by the time April comes there are not an overwhelming number; but the Flamingoes keep there as a feeding-ground nearly all the year round, and it was to see if they had their nesting-quarters there that I went to Menzaleh early this year, 1909.

You cannot be long on the lake before you begin to understand why birds love it so, for as you sail along you frequently see, first here, then there, fish jumping out of the water, and when you look into the shallows in all directions you see shoals of little fishes. Then the number of fishing-boats, with their great nets picturesquely hung up to dry, is another visible evidence of the teeming myriads of fish that this saltish-water lake contains. The first Flamingoes I saw were in the centre of a large flock of tufted Ducks. Leaving the dahabeah I got into the small boat and quickly paddled towards them, but they would not allow of a very near approach before up got the Duck, and then in another moment the Flamingoes, who had up to then been feeding with heads down in the water, were all on the wing—to rise they faced for one minute in my direction, and the great mass of crimson feathers under the wings made a most gorgeous spectacle against the blue sky; then they swung round, and more white than red was visible, and quickly in a long irregular line they were away to some less disturbed place. Only once did I get really close up to one, and I found out afterwards by the hanging leg that it only allowed me to because it was some poor crippled bird. They are so shot at and persecuted generally that they are now exceedingly shy, and in spite of the good feeding they get here it is surprising they still keep to these waters in the numbers they do. At a town called Matariya I visited a great local bird-dealer, one Angelino Tedeschi. His place was on the outskirts of the town, and was a collection of tumble-down shanties made of straw, matting, and boards. Behind his own dwelling, which was literally worse than any Irish cabin, were three enclosures made of tall reeds and split palm branches about eight feet high, with more open lattice-work on the top; in these enclosures were fully fifty to sixty Flamingoes. I walked right in, and the birds did not stampede or dash themselves about, yet Angelino said they had not long been caught. They were all in surprisingly good condition, considering their numbers and cramped space. A door at one end was opened and they filed out into the adjoining enclosure to have their bath—a very dirty, muddy hole in the sodden ground, but they seemed to enjoy it; one after the other, and sometimes two or three at a time, all went in, and drank and splashed about, trumpeting a little, and then they were driven back. I bought a particularly brilliant-coloured one which had died that day, for the price the man asked, three shillings, which seemed to me very cheap, as it was in perfect order. I wanted one to make detailed studies of, and I took it back to the boat with me, and worked from this poor bird till all the crew covered their noses with their hands as they came near my model, and I myself could stand it no longer, and it was tossed over as food for the fishes, who later again would be food for others of its own kindred. Scattered about Angelino’s quarters were curious high crates made of split palm branches and lined with canvas. Asking what they were for, I was told they were the cages for the poor birds to be sent away—“to America,” he said—and I could get no more out of him. We learned this man comes every winter from Alexandria, settles down in these remarkable quarters, and buys his Flamingoes from the local fishermen, who vary their ordinary pursuit by catching duck and any wildfowl that they can net, and the result is that, though years ago Flamingoes did nest on the lake, now not one does.

The form of the bill in the Flamingo always suggests a man with a broken nose. The angular fall-back of the bill is nearly as singular as the upturned one of the Avocet. As the Flamingo obtains its insect and other food from the water, and the inside of its peculiar-shaped bill with which it has to obtain this food is provided with a tooth-like serrated margin like a duck’s, it follows that to get the water into its mouth it has to walk as shown in the illustration with its bill turned backwards. This position I do not think is adopted by any other living bird, and is the one outstanding individual peculiarity the Flamingo possesses. When seen thus feeding it is far from graceful; the long neck is straightened out, and the top of the head is to the front in the direction of which it is moving, and the bill is pointed backwards towards the tail.

Fig. 9.
Fig. 9.

GREEN-BACKED GALLINULE

Porphyrio Madagascariensis

Arabic, Digmeh