I have much pleasure in adding the following note contained in a letter from my friend, received since my arrival in England. Mr. Hill, having made some inquiries of a gentleman residing among the Blue Mountains, Andrew G. Johnston, Esq., received the following reply:—“I have no copy of my musical score of the Solitaire’s song. The bird now [July 27th] uses only its long breve notes and its octave, often out of tune, more often so than perfect. In the spring they are very numerous in the deep forests, and warble very prettily, somewhat like this:—
The pointed crotchets are very sweet sounds, and seem to sound E—vil evil. I tried in vain to get one this spring, but I find the negroes know nothing about them. Hearing them one day singing, I asked two maroon-men who also listened, what birds they were. One said a grey speckled bird, mottled like a guinea-fowl: the other that it was black, and red about the rump and under the wings.” My conjectures on both points, are thus confirmed. I may add that the most common notes that I have heard are these.
Vieillot, who first described the species by the name of Muscicapa armillata, says that “it inhabits the Antilles, but is very rare in the greater islands.” His figure, pl. 42, is poor, both as regards form and colour. Mr. Swainson’s figure of Myiadestes genibarbis, (Nat. Lib. Flycatchers, pl. 13,) if meant for this species, is better as to colouring, but neither its form nor attitude is correct. Moreover, as he says, its body is not much larger than that of the robin, and mentions white lines on the black ear-coverts, it is with me a matter of doubt; especially as he speaks of the intimate resemblance which it bears to our common robin, “not merely in the red colour of the throat,” but in form; a resemblance certainly not discoverable in the living bird.
The figure in Mr. Gray’s Genera of Birds was drawn from one of the specimens procured by me in Jamaica, and is in winter plumage.
| Corvus pileatus, | Ill.—Pl. col. 58. |
This fine bird was brought to Mr. Hill, about the end of the year 1844, from the mountains of St. Andrews, by a negro who stated that he had caught it near Newcastle. Its wings were cut; which at once excited the suspicion that it had been a caged bird, but, on a moment’s examination, it was perceived that its perfect cleanness and the smoothness of its plumage decisively indicated a state of freedom and wildness. The man stated that having caught it alive in the garden of his cottage, which, (from the circumstance that the cottage-gardens, in the precipitous mountains, often run into narrow cliffs and corners, environed as if by enormous walls,) he might readily do, he had endeavoured to keep it alive, and had clipped both its wings for its detention. After a few days, however, it died, probably for want of proper food, and he brought it to Kingston, to dispose of it for a trifle.
I find by reference to Temminck, Pl. col., that this specimen, now in my possession, is a female; the male has the belly yellowish. His figure is also a female. He ascribes the species to Brazil and Paraguay.
| Cornix Jamaicensis, | Briss. |
| Corvus Jamaicensis, | Gmel. |
In the wildest parts of the mountain regions of Jamaica, where the perilous path winds round a towering cone on the one hand, and on the other looks down into a deep and precipitous gully; or where a narrow track, choked up with tree-ferns on which the vertical sun looks only at noon-day, leads through the dark and damp forest to some lonely negro ground, the traveller is startled by the still wilder tones of the Jabbering Crow. So uncouth and yet so articulate, so varied in the inflexions of their tones, are these sounds, that the wondering stranger can with difficulty believe he is listening to the voice of a bird, but rather supposes he hears the harsh consonants, and deep guttural intonations of some savage language. All the Crows are garrulous, and several are capable of tolerable imitations of human speech, but the present is the only example I am aware of, in which the language of man is resembled by a bird in a state of nature. The resemblance, however, is rather general than particular; every one who hears it is struck with its likeness to speech, though he cannot detect any known words: it is the language of a foreigner. One cannot easily convey an idea of the sounds by writing; but the following fragments which the negroes have been able to catch from the learned bird’s own mouth, will give some notion of their character. “Walk fast, crāb! do buckra work.—Cuttacoo[60] better than wallet.” It must not be supposed that these words uniformly represent the sounds; these and similar combinations of harsh consonants and broad vowels, are varied ad infinitum, as are also the tones in which they are expressed. For myself, I have thought them ludicrously like the very peculiar voice of Punch in a puppet-show; others have fancied in them half-a dozen Welshmen quarrelling. These strange sounds are generally poured forth in sentences, of varying length, from the summit of some lofty tree, or in the course of the bird’s passage from one to another.
In some parts of the mountains they are not uncommon, though their loquacity would induce us to think them more numerous than they are, for we rarely see more than two or three at once. They are social, but not gregarious; and much of their time is spent in visiting successively the summits of those trees that tower above the rest of the forest, the Santa-Maria, the bread-nut, the broad-leaf, and the cotton-tree. As these visitations are often performed alone, I imagine that the gabbling cries are calls to their companions, especially as, if another comes within hearing, he is pretty sure to visit his clamorous brother, and enter into noisy conversation with him. After spending a few minutes on one tree, during which they do not, generally, change their position, otherwise than by walking deliberately along the branch, they both wing their way to the next station, not side by side, but one a little behind the other, both calling as they go. The bleached and bare limbs of a dry tree are always selected, when one of the requisite elevation is within range, as affording most fully that which they seem to delight in, an unobstructed prospect. Sometimes they do alight on lower trees, but then they are very wary and suspicious, so that it is a difficult matter to get within shot of one. When out of gun range, which they seem to estimate pretty accurately, they are much more careless of a passing stranger. Their flight is heavy and slow. They scarcely ever desert the solitudes of the mountains; two thousand feet is the lowest limit at which I have known them, with two exceptions. The one is that in certain lofty woods surrounding the extensive morass in Saltspring Pen, near Black river, I have heard the voices of these birds clamorously uttered, in the latter part of November. The other instance occurred behind Pedro Bluff, but little above the level of the sea, where I heard this bird in June.
The food of the Jabbering Crow is principally vegetable. Of several shot in autumn, the stomachs contained various berries, some fleshy, others farinaceous. The stomach is a muscular sac, but not a gizzard. Descending in the early months of the year to the ripening sour sops, on which it feeds, it is then much more approachable, but at the same time more silent. And about the same time, the seed of the bitter wood is ripe, which also attracts him. One of these trees is in the yard of a house at Content, where I occasionally sojourned; this was generally visited at dawn of day, and sometimes in the evening, by the Crows. I have been amused by the intelligence which they manifest in approaching it: a company of two or three will come into the neighbourhood, and alight with much clamour on some tree in the woods, a few rods distant; we hear no further sound, but presently one and another are seen stealing on silent wing to the bitter-wood, where they nibble the berries in all stillness and quiet. I could not help thinking that the noisy and ostentatious alighting on the first tree was but a feint to prevent suspicion, as if they should say, “Here we are, you see; this is the place that we frequent.” And this, I am informed, is not an accidental case, but a habit. The pimento also, which in its green state is eaten by so many of our birds, tempts the Jabbering Crow in February from his forest fastnesses, to the low but dense groves that clothe the mountain brows.
An intelligent person has informed me, that it will take advantage of a small bird’s being entangled in a withe, to kill and eat it; and that when a boy, amusing himself by setting springes for small birds, he has occasionally known them to be taken out of the springe by the Jabbering Crow. These statements, at least as far as the animal appetite is concerned, are in some measure confirmed by an experiment with one I had alive. One day in December, hearing a strange querulous sound proceeding from the top of the woods near me, I sent Sam to find the cause. He ascertained it to proceed from one of two Jabbering Crows, perched side by side on the top of a tree; the vociferous one being evidently young, though in full plumage, and capable of flight, for it was shivering its wings, while with open beak receiving something from the mouth of the other, doubtless its parent. He shot the old one, and slightly wounding it in the wing, brought it to the ground, where it ran so vigorously, that he had difficulty in securing it. It was rather formidable too; for it clutched his hand with its claws so forcibly, as to give pain; and afterwards, as I was holding it, it nipped my finger with the point of its powerful beak, and took the piece out. When turned into a room, it climbed about the various objects, by walking, and taking considerable jumps, striving to gain the highest elevation it could attain, where it sat, moody, but watchful. I presented to it the flesh of one side of the breast of a bird just skinned. He seized it greedily, and, after carrying it about a little, attempted to swallow it. In this he did not succeed without many efforts, as the piece was large: he several times tried to toss it while in his beak, and also drew it out by setting his foot on it, and took it in another position; but seemed to have no power of dividing it.
Robinson says, “They are great devourers of ripe plantains and bananas, and also rob the wild pigeons of their eggs and young. When tame, they are very droll and diverting, and as arrant thieves as our Jackdaws and Magpies, stealing knives, spoons, thimbles, &c., and hiding them. They abandon all such plantations as have the woods much cleared away from them, of which there have been many instances. They are often seen stooping down and drinking the water that is deposited in the bosom of the leaves of the largest wild pines. When employed in stealing plantains, they are said to be very silent, but at other times are the most loquacious, noisy animals breathing. I have been informed by some very creditable persons, that they will attack and destroy a yellow-snake; their method is to fly upon him one after another, and tearing away a mouthful of his skin and flesh, retreat. This they do with great nimbleness, and with impunity, till they have devoured the poor animal alive.” (MSS.)
Once in walking in a very lonely wood, I came suddenly on a Jabbering Crow sitting on a low tree just over my head; the bird was evidently startled, and in the surprise quite lost its presence of mind; for instead of making off with the usual clamour, it flew mute to another low tree a few yards off, where it sat peeping at me in silence, until I shot it.
I have never met with the nest; but a young friend, to whom I am indebted for several interesting facts, tells me, that about the beginning of last June, he was accustomed to see a pair on a very lofty cotton-tree, which he thought were nesting. He repeatedly saw them go and “lie down,” as he expressed it, in a large bunch of wild-pine, where they would remain for some time; and when one flew out, the other, which had been sitting on the same tree, would go and sit in the place. Usually the bird will leave its position on the slightest alarm, but when either of these was in its hollow, nothing would induce it to fly. He on one occasion fired thrice at the sitting bird, but she would not leave her place, and the situation was too lofty for the shot to reach her. The approach of the birds to the wild-pine was always perfectly silent and cautious; but they would dart out on any other bird flying near, and drive it away with clamour. On the whole, I have no doubt that this pair had a nest in the wild-pine.
The same young friend once witnessed a singular rencontre between two Jabbering Crows, and two Red-tail Buzzards, and in this case it is probable that parental solicitude gave the desperate courage. A single Hawk flying along was pounced upon by a Crow from a neighbouring tree, and a flying fight commenced, the Hawk thrusting forth his talons in endeavour to clutch, in which he once succeeded, and the Crow repeatedly striking his enemy forcibly with his sharp and powerful beak. Now and then each would rise perpendicularly and pounce down upon the other: this was principally but not solely, the manner of the Buzzard, the Crow usually striking his blow, and then retreating obliquely. After some time a second Hawk approached, which was attacked by another Crow; and now the melée went on in the same manner between the four combatants. The conflict lasted near ten minutes, and at length terminated in favour of the Crows, who fairly drove their opponents off the aerial field, pursuing them with pertinacity to a great distance. At the moment of my writing down this account, it was in a measure confirmed by my actually observing a Jabbering Crow pursuing with insult a Buzzard over the woods: it was strange to see, that after he had returned from the pursuit, he himself was attacked by a little Petchary, to whose superior prowess he was fain to yield, and flee in his turn.
In the latter part of May and early in June, which I presume to be the season of incubation, the singular chattering is almost relinquished for a much more monotonous cawing, somewhat like the note of the Rook, but uttered more pertinaciously, and more impatiently.
Robinson states that “they build their nest with slender twigs in the manner of Rooks on the tops of lofty trees, but not more than two nests on one tree. When they have young they will suffer nobody to take them, assaulting the bold invader with great courage and much clamour, fiercely buffeting his face with their wings, at the same time endeavouring to pluck out his eyes with their strong beaks.” He elsewhere states that “they are said to build in hollow trees.” (MSS.)
The flesh is not eaten; but having a curiosity to taste it, I had one broiled. The flesh of the breast was well-tasted and juicy, but so dark, tough, and coarse-grained, that I should readily have mistaken it for beef.
I found the tracheal muscles of this bird large and globose.
The appearance, voice, and habits of this bird had pretty well convinced me of its distinctness from Q. versicolor, before I was aware that Mr. Swainson had described it in “Two centenaries and a quarter,” p. 355. From the length of his specimen, it is probable the tail was not fully developed.
This is one of the first birds which a stranger notices: his conspicuous size and glossy plumage, his familiar business-like manners, and his very peculiar metallic cry, at once attract attention. Gregarious, but not associating in very great numbers to feed, they frequent pastures and open grounds in search of insects, not often hopping, (though I have seen one hop,) but walking with a swaggering gait, like rooks and crows. When on the ground their time is chiefly occupied in searching about among the roots of the grass. It is most amusing to stand where one is not observed, at a few yards’ distance from a Tinkling at work, and to watch the unremitted industry with which he labours. He marches rapidly to and fro, turning his head in all directions, peeping eagerly hither and thither, now turning one eye to a spot, now the other, ever and anon thrusting into the earth the beak, which is then forcibly opened to loosen the soil. He drags many morsels forth, which he quickly swallows, and searches for more. I suspect earthworms and various larvæ that live at the roots of grass are the objects of his research. Amidst his constant occupation, he does not omit, however, to keep an eye warily on any suspicious object. Only shew your person, and you see the singular-looking white eye turned up towards you; stir a step towards him, and away he flies, uttering his very peculiar cry, his long tail folded on itself, and resembling a vertical fan. As he sits on a tree, he will now and then elevate the fan-like tail, ruffle up the plumage, throw back the head, and with the beak wide open, utter two or three most singular notes, which I can compare to nothing but the sounds produced by repeatedly striking with force a piece of sonorous metal, relieved occasionally by the creaking of a schoolboy’s pencil upon a slate. “There are,” observes Mr. Hill, “two or three fine modulations, followed by a sudden break down into the harsh grating sounds of the ungreased wheels of a heavy-loaded truck.” It is to the first of these notes that the bird before us owes his local names of Tinkling, Tintin, Clinkling, and, among the Spaniards of St. Domingo, Chinchiling.
Like the Ani, the Tinkling feeds on the parasites of cattle. Walking among them, and mounting on their backs, they pick off the ticks that so sadly infest the poor beasts, who, as if appreciating the service, offer not the slightest molestation to their kind friends. I one day observed a Tinkling thus engaged in feeding her offspring. It was in the picturesque pasture of Peter’s Vale, where kine were numerous. Beneath the grateful shade of a spreading mango, in the heat of the day, a cow was peacefully ruminating. At her feet was the old Tinkling, walking round and looking up at her, with an intelligent eye. Presently she espied a tick upon the cow’s belly, and leaping up, seized it in her beak. Then marching to her sable offspring, who stood looking on a few yards off, she proceeded to deliver the savoury morsel into the throat of her son, who had gaped to the utmost stretch of his throat in eager expectation, even before his mother was near him. This done, she returned, and again walking round, scrutinized the animal’s body, but discovering nothing more, flew up on the cow’s back and commenced an investigation there. Just at this moment something alarmed her, and both mother and son flew to a distant tree. It was at the same time, and in the same pasture, that I observed a number of these birds collected in a large bastard-cedar that overhung a shallow pool; to which one and another were continually descending, and bathing with great apparent enjoyment; after which each flew to a sunny part of the tree, and fluttered and pecked, and ruffled its plumage, that it might dry smoothly and equally.
Mr. Hill has observed at Fort Dauphin, on the north side of St. Domingo, the Tinkling feeding in flocks of two hundred or more. The low grounds around the harbour, consisting of many shallow marly hollows are overflowed by the tide, after the prevalence of strong north winds, reducing them to marshes. Many marine mollusca, &c. congregating in these hollows, are left, by the water evaporating, to putrefy: the vicinity is hence very unhealthy, but hither the Tinklings resort in large flocks to feed on the decaying animal matters, with which the mud is filled. And in Jamaica, my friend has witnessed flocks of these birds equally numerous, winging their way, in March, towards Passage Fort, an embouchure subject to a similar inundation, on which they appeared to descend.
The food of our Grakle I believe to consist almost, if not quite exclusively, of insects, worms, &c. Yet I have seen one in March eating a Seville orange on the tree, tugging out large portions of the pulp, and swallowing them. But the stomach of this very specimen, which I shot in the act, was full of comminuted insects. As it was in the midst of very dry weather, the object may have been the quenching of its thirst. Robinson in describing the Corato, (Agave keratto) notices a fondness of this bird for its nectar, which may perhaps be similarly explained. He says of this magnificent plant, (MSS. I. 76.) “the flowering stem begins to rise about Christmas, and in the beginning of March, the flowers open. The Mocking-birds are fond of the honey found at the base of this flower; the Barbadoes Blackbirds are also fond of it, and between these birds happen great dissensions and bickerings. If the Blackbirds, which are naturally very loquacious, would fare well, and hold their tongues, they might feed unmolested. But their incessant chattering attracts the attention of the Mock-birds, who having at that time young ones, and being doubly jealous, assault the Blackbirds with great fierceness and vigour, soon obliging them to quit the plant, and hide themselves among the trees and bushes.”
Of two which I shot in January, the stomach of one presented a singular appearance, being stuffed with green herbage, like very fine grass, chopped excessively small. I had noticed several caterpillars among the mass, but it was not until I dispersed it in water, that I discovered it to consist of the contents of the caterpillars’ stomachs, expressed by the muscular action of the gizzard. There were no less than nineteen caterpillars, all smooth, and I think grass-eating kinds, some of which still contained portions of comminuted herbage. The stomach of the other contained about as many caterpillars, besides other larvæ, some spiders, a moth, and other insects.
Regularly at nightfall, during the summer, I used to see many parties of Tinklings fly over Bluefields, with the usual vociferation, and wend their way to a spreading cotton-tree near the seaside, where, I was informed, they slept; whence, as regularly one might see them, in the early morning, emerging and dispersing to their places of diurnal occupation. One evening I went down to watch their arrival and proceedings. About half-an-hour before sunset, they began to arrive in straggling parties, but did not proceed at once to their roosting place, but congregated in a clump of smaller trees, about one hundred and fifty yards from it, on the banks of Bluefields River, where they clamoured in all sorts of metallic tones with unceasing vociferation. Some parties from a distance, coming straight to the roost, suddenly altered their course, attracted by the calls of these intermediate settlers, and joined them, and some even returned to them, which had already passed the spot. A few, however, went on to their destination, and when once some were there, their numbers soon increased, for the calling now proceeded from both quarters. As the parties arrived, one or two single birds kept flying from one station to the other, backwards and forwards. At length the whole assembled number on the intermediate station rose as by common consent, and flew in an immense flock to the number of nearly two hundred, to the roosting place, darkening the air, and making a loud rushing with their united wings. Others went on to arrive, until between four and five hundred, (I could not count very accurately) had assembled. Long before this, however, I had found that the real roosting place was not the large cotton-tree, that this was but another station of congregation, for as the evening advanced, they began to leave this, and to perch on the fronds of four or five cocoa-nut palms that were growing in two lines, of which the cotton-tree was the angle. The nearest trees to this point were first chosen, and few chose the second, till the first was pretty well crowded, nor the third till the second was occupied, and finally the numbers on each cocoa-nut were in proportion to its proximity to the central point.
The taking of places was attended with much squabbling; the alighting of each new comer on a frond, causing it to swing so as greatly to discompose the sitters already in possession, and throw them off their balance; and hence each was received by his fellows with open beaks, and raised wings to prevent his landing. Still, many thrust themselves in among others, pecking right and left in self-defence. The highest horizontal fronds were most in demand, and many of these had at the close as many as ten or twelve birds each, sitting side by side in a sable row. When once the birds had left the cotton-tree, and selected their places on the palms, they did not return, but places were shifted continually. During the whole time their singular voices were in full cry, and could be heard at a great distance; some idea may be formed of the effect of the whole, by imagining two or three hundred small table bells of varying tones to be rung at the same time. By half-an-hour after sunset, the arrivals had pretty well ceased, and most of the birds were quietly settled for the night. I visited them on one or two subsequent evenings, but found no material difference in their proceedings.
As the Tinkling roosts in society, so does it build. The nests, to the number of twenty or thirty, are placed in a single tree, usually a hog-plum, (Spondias graveolens). One of these trees, chosen every year as a nesting tree, being on the property of a friend, a nest, one of fourteen then built, was brought down for my inspection. It consists of a deep, compact, and well-formed cup, the hollow of which is as large as a pint basin; the sides, about an inch and a half thick, formed of flexible stems of weeds, and stalks of guinea grass. It contained three eggs, measuring 1¹⁄₁₀ inch by ⁸⁄₁₀, of a dull pale blue-green, singularly marked with sinuated lines of black. I am assured that when the company have hatched their broods for the season, they tear away with their feet the nests, and scatter the materials; and that should any other bird have a nest on the same tree, it is mercilessly destroyed with the rest, regardless of the eggs or young which it may contain. The nests are placed on the forks of divergent branches, near the end of horizontal limbs, at a considerable elevation.
Mr. Hill informs me, on the authority of a friend from Barbadoes, that in that island a strange custom prevails among the children, of collecting these birds about Shrove Tuesday in every year, and bringing them into the towns, where they then play with them, and feed them with cockroaches. The origin or the object of this annual amusement my friend’s informant could not explain, having left that island when himself a child. The same gentleman has observed the Tinklings in Jamaica go to the lime trees, and descending beneath the trees pick up in their beaks the fallen fruits; then rising to a twig, each would take its lime in one foot, and gently rub it over its side beneath the wing, transfer it to the other foot, and rub the other side in the same way: the object here being doubtless the fine aromatic odour of the oil of the bruised rind communicated to the feathers. The observer has watched this proceeding by the hour together.
| Oriolus icterus, | Linn. |
| Oriolus Mexicanus, | Leach.—Zool. Misc. i. pl. 2. |
| Icterus leucopteryx, | Wagl. |
This pretty bird is a general favourite; social and confiding in his manners, without being saucy, he frequents the fruit trees which are invariably planted around a Jamaican homestead. On an elevated twig he sits and cheers his mate with his clear, melodious song, which he trills forth with much energy. Sometimes his notes have considerable variety, and may properly be called a song; at others he whistles a quick repetition of two clear notes which much resemble the words Tom Paine>, Tom Paine, if we attempt to enunciate them in whistling. Again, it is a single note quickly repeated, as when we whistle to call a dog. Besides these, the Banana bird has other sounds, which are very deceiving, and seem the result of imitation.
Fruit is his principal diet; a ripe banana, or orange, a papaw, or a bunch of pimento, presents temptations to him; but perhaps still more acceptable are the various species of Anona, the sops and custard-apples, on whose soft and luscious pulp he delights to regale. A ripe sour-sop is sure to attract him, in common with the Blue Quits, with which he mingles. If the part exposed be decomposing, as is often the case, he may be seen tugging vigorously to pull off portions of this, which he throws from his beak with a jerk, seeking to arrive at a part more palatable. When thus engaged in feeding, and particularly when playfully pursuing the hen among the twigs, his bright yellow coat glows beautifully through the openings of the green leaves.
I have observed so frequently as to be worthy of notice, that when shot, the Banana bird grasps the twig on which he was sitting, so tenaciously as to hang from it, body downwards, until death at length relaxes the clasp.
The nest of this bird is an interesting structure; like that of the Baltimore of the Northern continent, it is a deep purse suspended from two parallel twigs, or from a fork. One before me is composed chiefly of the wiry fibres plucked from the fronds of the Palmetto-thatch, with some horse-hair interwoven. Sometimes, where thatch-threads are scarce, horse-hair alone is used, and the structure is particularly neat. But the more ordinary material is a vegetable substance, so closely resembling horse-hair, even on a minute inspection, that I have had difficulty in persuading intelligent persons that it was not actual hair, till I applied it to the flame of a candle, when it burnt without shrivelling. But I am very uncertain what the substance is; some say it is the Tillandsia usneoides or “Old man’s beard,” a very common tree-parasite, but it assuredly is not this; I have suspected it to be the fibrous stem of the Dodder, dried; a nest newly made, I observed to be of the bright buff hue of that plant, whence I presumed that the stems are sometimes taken in a recent, and even a growing state. A friend tells me, that he has, with much gratification, watched the process of building. The hairs or threads are procured one by one, and carried to the selected spot, where they are deposited in a loose heap. From this accumulated mass of material, the work is carried on, and progresses rapidly, when once begun. When a few threads are laid and interlaced for the base, the work becomes perceptible and interesting. Both birds work together; one taking a thread, and weaving-in one end, holds down the loose part with his beak; while his mate takes the ends of others projecting, and lays them tightly down over it, interweaving them with others. Other threads are crossed in the same manner, in every direction, until a slight but very compact purse is made, resembling a loose cloth. As it hangs, the texture is so thin, that a person below can discern the eggs or young within. Four eggs are laid, pointed at the less end: they are white, marked with a few angular scratches, and large spots of deep brown, and measure 1 inch by ⁷⁄₁₀. If an intruder attempt to rifle the nest when the young are there, both old birds fly round in excessive perturbation, and cry Tom Paine’s pick-a-ninny, with vociferous shrillness.
In March I have dissected females, which displayed a brilliance of plumage, in no wise inferior to that of the male.
I presume this to be the Watchy-picket of Sloane.
Mr. Hill has mentioned to me two other species of Icterus, both black, the one larger, the other smaller, which have been found in the mountains near Kingston. I think I once saw the former in Mount Edgecumbe.
| Emberiza oryzivora, | Linn.—Aud. pl. 54. |
| Icterus agripennis, | Bonap. |
| Dolichonyx oryzivorus, | Sw. |
In ordinary seasons this well-known bird arrives in vast numbers from the United States, in the month of October, and scattering over the lowland plains, and slopes of the sea-side hills, assembles in the guinea-grass fields, in flocks amounting to five hundred or more. The seed is then ripe, and the black throngs settle down upon it, so densely, that numbers may be killed at a random discharge. To procure the seed, the birds perch on the culm, but as the weight would bear down a single stalk, each grasps several culms in its foot, while it rifles the panicles. At this time, the males are dressed in the sober livery of the females. Early in November they depart for the southern continent, but during their brief stay they are in great request for the table. Dr. Chamberlaine only echoes the general estimation, when he says:—“The Butter-bird is a bonne bouche; it is but a mouthful, but a luscious and delightful one. Their note,” he adds, “during their migration hither, is simply ping, ping, ping:—what it may be in its native woods, I do not know. But wounded birds have been secured and kept in cages, and when placed in the same room with a Canary have soon acquired similar notes, and in time warble with equal strength and melody.” (Jam. Alm. 1840; p. 25.)
When the spring rains have set in, usually in the month of April, they again become our transient guests for a few days, on their northward migration, when the males are conspicuous in their nuptial dress. Other species of grass are now seeding, and the nutritive farinaceous grains of many neglected weeds afford them a supply during their brief sojourn.
| Fringilla Zena, | Linn. |
| Fringilla Bahamensis, | Briss. |
| Tanagra multicolor, | Vieill. |
| Spindalis bilineatus, | Jard. and Selb.—Ill. Orn. n.s. pl. 9. |
Though not very numerous, this beautiful bird is well-known, being conspicuous from his brilliant colours. He is spread over the country, from the mountains of the interior, to the plains of the coast. Rather social, though perhaps attracted by a common cause, the abundance of food;—we may sometimes see a dozen or more scattered over a large bully-tree, from the twigs of which they hang in all positions, while they pick the berries. Its flight is rapid, and performed in long undulations: during flight, a low sibilant note is uttered; but it is usually a silent bird.
About Spanish Town, it is called the Orange-bird, not from its feeding on oranges, but from the resemblance of its plump and glowing breast, to that beautiful fruit, as it sits among the dark green foliage. It is also called the Goldfinch.
I shot a male in September, and wounding him only in the breast, picked him up, more frightened than hurt. I carried him home in my handkerchief, and put him into a large cage, where he soon became quite a favourite. From the very first he was fearless and lively, found the use of the perches immediately, and did not flutter or beat himself against the sides, though persons stood close to the cage. This was large enough to allow him a short flight; and as there were several perches inserted at various heights and distances into the sides, he spent a great deal of his time in leaping from one to the other, seeming to enjoy it much. Seeing this, I put in one or two more, which were no sooner ready than he took notice of them, stretching himself towards them, cautiously at first, as if doubtful whether they would bear him; soon, however, he ventured boldly, and then took them regularly in his course. He always slept on the highest perch, with his head behind his wing. He was in full plumage, and his gay breast, and the fine contrasts of his striped head and wings, showed him off to advantage. I knew nothing that he would eat, save the berries of the bully-tree, none of which grew within a considerable distance. I first tried him with a few insects, and small earthworms, but he took no notice of these: then I gathered a few bunches of fiddle-wood berries, which I had no sooner stuck into his cage than I was pleased to see him hop towards them, and pick off the ripe ones with much relish and discrimination. I was informed that in a wild state, he sometimes eats the sour-sop; as I had none of this fruit at hand, I gave him pieces of a ripe custard-apple and of a guava. He immediately began to eat of each, plucking off portions of the pulp, and also taking up the fleshy ovaria of which the former is composed, which he chewed with his beak till the enclosed seed was pressed out. But all these were forsaken so soon as I presented to him bunches of ripe pimento, black and sweet. These he picked off greedily, masticating each in the beak, until the seeds, which I suppose, were too hotly aromatic for his taste, fell out. It was amusing to see the persevering efforts he made to obtain those berries, which happened to be a little beyond his reach. He would jump from perch to perch impatiently, gazing with outstretched neck at the tempting fruit, then jump, and look again; then reach forward to them, until in the endeavour, he would overbalance himself, and perform an involuntary somerset. Nothing daunted, however, he persevered until he ventured to do, what he had been several times on tiptoe to do, leap on the bunch itself; and this he continued to do, though with some failures, holding on in a scrambling way, now by a leaf, now by the berries themselves, until he had rifled the bunch of the ripest.
After I had kept him about a week, during which his liveliness and good temper had much attached him to me, though he made not the slightest effort at song, I took him out to cleanse the feathers of his breast from the dried blood that had flowed from his wound. I gently rubbed them with a soft wet sponge, but whether he took cold, or whether I irritated the wound, I know not; but on being returned to the cage, he instantly began to breathe asthmatically with open beak, apparently with pain; interrupted now and then by fits of coughing, which continued all night, and on the next morning he died. On dissection, I could not find that the shot had penetrated the chest, but they were imbedded in the muscles of the forearm, and had broken the scapula.
A nest, reported to be of the Cashew bird, was brought me on the 18th of June, taken from a pimento tree. It was a thick, circular mat, slightly concave, of a loose but soft texture, principally composed of cotton, decayed leaves, epidermis of weeds, slender stalks, and tendrils of passion-flower, intermingled, but scarcely interwoven. I think it probable that this had been sustained by a firmer framework; and that the person who took it merely tore out the soft lining as a bed on which the eggs might be carried. The child who brought it, could give no account of this. The eggs were two, long-oval, taper at the smaller end; 1¹⁄₁₀ inch by nearly ⁸⁄₁₀; white, sparingly dashed with irregular dusky spots, in a rude ring around the larger end. The embryo was at this time formed.