Homes Without Hands: Being a Description of the Habitations of Animals, Classed According to Their Principle of Construction - Page 100

In many cases the nest of the Crow is placed on branches so long and so slender that they will not endure the weight of a small boy, much less of a man, and the only method of getting at it is by bending down the branches. But, when the branches are bent, the nest is tilted over, and out fall the eggs, so that the disappointed hunter loses all his time and trouble.

Possibly this extreme caution may be the result of sad experience, for, although the generality of Crows’ nests are placed in the most inaccessible positions, I have seen and taken many which were so easy of attainment that in a very few minutes I had ascended the tree and returned with the eggs. There are generally four or five eggs, although in some exceptional cases six eggs are said to be laid in a single nest. I never saw more than five, though I have examined very many nests. High as the nest of a Crow may be, it is always worthy of an ascent, for, even should it be an old nest and deserted by the original inhabitant, there is always a possibility that it may have been usurped by some hawk, whose beautiful eggs are always considered as prizes.

THERE is a splendid British bird, which is becoming scarcer almost yearly, which makes a nest something like that of the crow and rook, but much larger. This is the HERON (Ardea cinerea), one of the very few large birds which still linger among us.

On account of its own great size, the Heron makes a very large and very conspicuous nest, built chiefly of sticks and twigs, and placed on the summit of a tree.

Like the rook, the Heron is gregarious in its nesting, so that a solitary Heron’s nest is very seldom seen, though now and then an exception to the general rule is discovered. To watch the manners and customs of this bird is not a very easy task, because the number of heronries in England is very small, and the shy nature of the birds renders them difficult of approach. At Walton Hall, however, the Herons are so fearless, through long-continued impunity, that they will allow themselves to be watched closely, provided that the observer is quiet, and does not make a noise, or alarm the birds by abrupt movements.

It is a very pretty sight to watch the great birds as they go to and from their nests, bringing food to their young, or flying to the lake in search of more fish. Numbers of the Heron may be seen at the water’s edge, sometimes standing on one foot, with their long necks completely hidden, and their bayonet-like beaks projecting from their shoulders. For hours the birds will retain this attitude, which to a human being would be the essence of discomfort, and it is really wonderful how they can keep up for so long a time the muscular energy which is expended in holding up the spare leg and keeping it tucked under their belly.

Now and then one of the Herons seems to wake up, and after a stretch of the neck and a flap of the wings, walks statelily and deliberately into the water, through which it stalks, examining every inch of bank and every cluster of weeds as it passes along. Presently the bird pauses, and remains quite still for some time, when the long neck is suddenly darted forward, the beak disappears for a second among the reeds, and presently emerges with a fish, frog, or water-rat in its gripe. The real beauty of the Heron can never be appreciated until it is seen at liberty, and in the enjoyment of its natural life. It suits the locality so well that, when it flies away, the spot has lost somewhat of its charms. As it stands in the water, intent upon catching prey, the drooping feathers of its breast wave gracefully in the breeze, and the ripples of the sunlit water are reflected in mimic waves upon its gray-plumed wings.

Generally it cares little for exerting itself until toward the evening, but then it becomes impatient and restless, and is not quieted until it has obtained some food.

Some anglers have an idea that the Heron is one of the birds that ought to be ranked as “vermin,” thinking that it destroys so many fish that it ruins an angler’s sport. Consequently they kill the bird whenever they can manage to do so, and flatter themselves that they are doing good service in preserving the breed of fish. Now, even were the entire diet of the Heron to consist of fish, the bird would really do but little harm, because it can only take food in shallow water, and is seldom to be seen more than a yard or two from the bank. But the diet of the Heron is by no means exclusively of a fishy nature, inasmuch as the bird eats plenty of frogs and newts, and will often secure a water-rat even when fully grown. It is seldom that fish which are of any value to the angler come into water in which the Heron could catch them, and even if they did so, their size would prevent the bird from taking them.

At Walton Hall, where the Herons breed largely, and where they procure nearly all the food for themselves and young out of the lake, there is no lack of fish, as may be practically proved by any one who is permitted to cast a line into the water. I am a very poor fisherman, and yet I never found any difficulty in taking in the course of the morning quite as many fish as could easily be carried home.

So far, indeed, is the Heron from injuring the interests of the angler, that it is a positive benefactor. Mr. Waterton, who was obliged by the continual burrowing of water-rats to drain and fill up a series of large ponds, makes the following remarks on the bird: “Had I known then as much as I do now of the valuable services of the Heron, and had there been a good heronry near the place, I should not have made the change. The draining of the ponds did not seem to lessen the number of rats in the brook; but soon after the Herons had settled here to breed, the rats became exceedingly scarce, and now I rarely see one in the place where formerly I could observe numbers sitting on the stones at the mouth of their holes as soon as the sun had gone below the horizon.”

When the Heron flies to its nest from any great distance, it generally ascends to a considerable height, and is in the habit of uttering a curious and very harsh cry, which at once tells the naturalist that a Heron is on the wing. When a Heron passes immediately over the observer the effect is very remarkable, the long, stretched-out legs and neck and slender body looking like a large knitting-needle supported on enormous wings.

To see the Heron alight on its nest or on a branch is rather a curious sight. The bird descends, drops its long legs, places its feet on the branch, and then flaps its huge wings as if to get its balance before it settles down. The rustics have an idea that a Heron is obliged to allow its legs to dangle on either side of the nest while it sits on its eggs, and some will aver that a hole is made in the nest through which the legs can be thrust. It is scarcely necessary to say that the construction of a bird’s legs prevents it from assuming such an attitude, and that the long-legged Heron can sit as easily upon its pale green eggs as the short-limbed domestic fowl on her white eggs.

Some of our common British birds build nests that can vie, in point of beauty and delicacy, with any nest made by birds of other lands. It is scarcely possible to conceive a nest which is more worthy of admiration than that of the Long-tailed Titmouse, which has already been described; and in their own way, the houses erected by the Chaffinch and Goldfinch are quite as beautiful. As there are some points of similarity in the two nests, they will be mentioned in connection with each other.

First we will take the nest of the CHAFFINCH (Fringilla cœlebs). Although the beautifully-spotted eggs are plentiful in the collection of every nest-hunting school-boy, they do not come into his little museum for some time. The eggs of the blackbird, thrush, and hedge-warbler are generally the first to be found, because the nests in which they are contained are so conspicuous. But the nest of the Chaffinch is never easily seen, and its discovery requires a special training of the eye.

Nest of the Chaffinch.

An experienced nest-hunter will always detect it, and it is amusing to watch the bewildered expression of a novice to whom a Chaffinch nest is pointed out, and who can not see it in spite of all the indications of his instructor. The bird likes to find the fork of a tree or bush, where several branches are thrown out from one spot, and so as to form a kind of cup in which the nest can lie. Tall hawthorns, or even sloe or crab-trees, especially if they grow in thick hedges, are favorite trees with the Chaffinch, and a luxuriant and untrimmed hedgerow is always prolific in Chaffinch nests.

Within the forked branches the bird constructs its nest, and does so in rather a singular manner. The chief material is wool, which is matted together so as to form a kind of loose felt, and with this felt are woven delicate mosses, spider-webs, cottony down, and lichens. The last-mentioned materials are stuck most ingeniously upon the outside of the nest, and have the effect of making it look exactly like a natural excrescence from the tree in which it is placed.

This pretty nest is generally deep in proportion to its width, and is lined with hairs, arranged in a most methodical manner, so as to form a cup for the eggs. The hair of the cow is much used by the Chaffinch, which may be seen collecting its stock of hairs from the fields wherein cows are pastured; not plucking them directly from the body of the animal, but searching for them in the crevices of the trees and posts against which the cattle are accustomed to rub themselves. Mostly, the bird can only procure single hairs; but when it is fortunate enough to find a tuft, or bunch of hairs, it pulls them out, and works them separately into the nest, so as to insure the needful uniformity. The hair of the horse is largely used by the Chaffinch, as is the fur of several other animals; but in the generality of nests the hairs of the cow predominate.

The texture of the nest is very strong, and, owing to the nature of the materials, is very elastic, returning to its original shape even after severe pressure. Boys seldom take the eggs of the Chaffinch, because they are so plentiful; but they are too apt to take the nest itself, knowing that it makes a safe and convenient basket for the eggs of rarer birds, and forgetting that they cause much sorrow to the poor birds that have spent so much trouble in preparing their home.

As I have already mentioned, there is some resemblance between the nest of the chaffinch and that of the GOLDFINCH (Fringilla carduelis).

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