Homes Without Hands: Being a Description of the Habitations of Animals, Classed According to Their Principle of Construction - Page 14

Few foes can work harm to the Sand Martin during the task of incubation. Rats would find the soft sandy soil crumble away from their grasp; and even the lithe weasel would experience some difficulty in gaining admission to the nest. After the young Sand Martins are hatched, many foes are on the watch for them. The magpie and crow wait about the entrance of the holes, in order to snap up the inexperienced birds while making their first essays at flight; and the kestrel and sparrow-hawk come sweeping suddenly among them, and carry off some helpless victim in their talons.

Man is perhaps the worst foe of the Sand Martin, for there is a mixture of adventure and danger in taking the eggs, which is irresistible to the British schoolboy. To climb up a perpendicular rock, to cling with one hand, while the other is thrust into the burrow, and to know that a chance slip will certainly snap the invading arm like a tobacco-pipe stem, is a combination of joys which no well-conditioned boy can withstand.

Fortunately for the Sand Martins, many of their nests are placed in situations which no boy can reach, and there are happily some instances where the services which they render to mankind are properly appreciated. Mr. C. Simeon, in his "Stray Notes on Fishing and Natural History," gives an interesting account of some Sand Martins which were thus gratefully protected:

"While waiting for the train one afternoon at Weybridge, I amused myself with watching the Sand Martins, who have there a large establishment on either side of the cutting, and got into conversation with one of the porters about them. On my saying, I supposed that the boys robbed a good many of the nests, he answered, 'Oh, sir, they would if they were allowed, but the birds are such good friends to us, that we won't let any body meddle with them.' I fancied at first that he spoke of them as friends in the way of company only, but he explained his meaning to be, that the flies about the station would be quite intolerable if they were not cleared off by the Martins, which are always hawking up and down in front of it; adding, that even during the few hot days which occurred in the spring before their arrival, the flies were becoming very troublesome. 'Now,' he said, 'we may now and then see one, but that is all.'

"It was a bright sunny day in July, and the scene was a very lively and interesting one. The mouths of the holes on both sides of the cutting were crowded with young martins—as many perhaps as four or five in each—sunning their barred white breasts, and waiting to be fed: the telegraph wires formed perches, of which advantage was taken by scores of others more advanced in growth, and of old ones reposing after their exertions; while the air was filled with others employed in catering for their families. All of a sudden the young ones retreated into their holes; the wires were deserted, and only a few remained describing distant circles. I thought that a hawk must have made his appearance, but it turned out that the alarm had been caused by two men walking over the heath above, and approaching the holes. The young ones in the holes had no doubt felt the jar caused by their tread, and those on the wing, who saw them, had probably given warning, by note, to the others perched on the wires, who could not have seen, nor, I should think, heard their approach."

ALTHOUGH the KINGFISHER (Alcedo ispida) does not excavate the whole of the burrow in which it resides, it does, at all events, alter and arrange a ready-made burrow to suit its own necessities.

This lovely bird, which is one of the few indigenous British species that can vie with the bright-feathered denizens of the tropics, is happily very plentiful in England, scarcely any stream or lake being without its Kingfishers.

All who are fond of angling, or of walking by the side of streams, must have noticed the Kingfisher as it sits motionless on a stone or overhanging branch, peering eagerly into the water beneath, and watching the fish as they pass and repass its place of vantage. Brilliant in color though the bird may be, its azure back and red belly seldom betray it except to a practiced eye, so immovable is its attitude. Suddenly, down it drops into the water, splashes furiously for a few seconds, emerges with a small fish in its mouth, and then returns to land. Sometimes it seeks again the perch from which it descended, and then, throwing in the air the fish, which has all the while been held across the beak, catches it dextrously head downward, swallows it with a few eager gulps, and then looks out for another victim. Sometimes it darts with lightning speed along the bank, and, with a quick flash of the azure plumage, settles for a moment upon the bank, looks cautiously round, and then pops swiftly into a little hole.

Into this hole we will follow the bird. She always chooses her residence by the water side, and selects for nidification the deserted hole of some quadrupedal burrower. I have even seen a Kingfisher's nest made in the side of a tiny rivulet across which a child could step, and which served to conduct the drainings of an upper to a lower field.

Generally, the nest is placed in the deserted burrow of a water-vole, but in this instance it had been made in the empty tunnel of a water-shrew, so that the hole was of comparatively small dimensions, and would not admit my hand and arm without some artificial enlargement. In all cases, the bird takes care to increase the size of the burrow at the spot where the nest is made, and to choose a burrow that slopes upward, so that however high the water may rise, the nest will be perfectly dry.

That the eggs are laid upon dry fish-bones is a fact that has long been known, but for an accurate account of the nest we are indebted to Mr. Gould, the eminent ornithologist.

Until he succeeded in removing the nest entire, no one had been able to perform such a feat, and so well known to all bird-nesters is the difficulty of the task, that a legend was, and perhaps is still, current in various parts of England, that the authorities of the British Museum had offered a reward of 100l. to any one who would deposit in their collection a perfect nest of the Kingfisher. This feat has been admirably accomplished by Mr. Gould.

Having discovered the retreat of a Kingfisher, and ascertained by digging down upon the nest that the bird was laying, he replaced the earth, and waited for three weeks before attempting any farther operations. The chief difficulty was, of course, to prevent the earth from falling into the nest, and becoming mixed with the delicate bones of which it was composed. In order to obviate such a mishap, Mr. Gould introduced a quantity of cotton wool into the burrow, pushing it to the extremity with a fishing-rod. He then dug down upon the nest, and captured the female, who was sitting upon eight eggs. With very great care he removed the fragile nest, and transferred it to the British Museum, where it may be seen by any one who will look for it in the room devoted to such objects.

The nest is composed wholly of fish-bones, minnows furnishing the greater portion. These bones are ejected by the bird when the flesh is digested, just as an owl ejects the pellets on which her eggs are laid. The walls of the nest are about half an inch in thickness, and its form is very flat. The circular shape and slight hollow show that the bird really forms the mass of bones into a nest, and does not merely lay her eggs at random upon the ejected bones. The whole of these bones were deposited and arranged in the short space of three weeks.

It may possibly be owing to these bones and the partial decomposition which must take place during the time occupied in drying, that the burrow possesses so exceedingly evil an odor. This unpleasant effluvium, which may indeed be called by the stronger name of stench, is wonderfully enduring, and clings to the bird as well as to its dwelling. The feathers of the Kingfisher are most lovely to the eye, but the proximity of the bird is by no means agreeable to the nostrils, the "ancient and fishlike smell" being extremely penetrating. I have now before me a stuffed and perfectly dry skin of a Kingfisher, which has been washed and soaked in water for many hours, and yet retains the peculiar odor, which is so strong that, after I had prepared it, many and copious ablutions were required to divest my hands of the horrible emanation.

To those who collect eggs, and care for numbers, the discovery of a Kingfisher's nest is a singular boon. Not only does the bird lay a great number of eggs, the aggregate mass of which exceeds her own dimensions, but she is a fearless and indefatigable layer, and if the eggs are removed with proper care, she will produce an enormous number in the course of a season.

THE comical little PUFFIN (Fratercula arctica) may be reckoned among the true burrowers, possessing both the will and the power of excavation, but exercising neither unless pressed by necessity.

As is the custom with most diving birds, the Puffin lays only one egg, and always deposits it in some deep burrow. If possible, the bird takes advantage of a tunnel already excavated, such as that of the rabbit, and "squats" upon another's territory, just as the Coquimbo owl takes possession of the excavations made by the prairie dog. The rabbit does not allow its dominion to be usurped without remonstrance, and accordingly the bird and the beast engage in fierce conflict before the matter is settled. Almost invariably the Puffin wins the day, its powerful beak and determined courage being more than a match for the superior size of its antagonist.

When it is unable to obtain a ready-made habitation, it sets to work on its own account, and excavates tunnels of considerable dimensions.

The Feroe Islands are notable haunts of the Puffin, because the soil, which is in many places soft and easily worked, is favorable for its excavations. The male is the principal excavator, though he is assisted by the female; and so intent is the bird upon its work, that it may be captured by hand by thrusting the arm into the burrow. The average length of the tunnel is about three feet, and it is seldom straight, taking a more or less curved form, and being furnished with a second entrance. No nest of any kind is used, but the egg is laid on the earth, at the end of the burrow, so that, although it is at first beautifully white, it becomes in a short time stained so deeply that it can seldom be restored to its primitive purity.

Puffin.

So deeply do the burrows run, that when a passenger is walking near the edge of the precipice upon which the Puffins breed, he can hear the old birds grunting below his feet, angry because they are disturbed by the footsteps above them.

The young Puffin has many foes, who endeavor to seize it before its bill has attained its full proportions and its muscles have gained their full powers. The parent birds, however, bravely defend their young, and have been known, as a last resource, to grasp the invader in the beak, and hurl themselves and the foe into the sea. Once among the waves, the Puffin is in its natural element, for it is an admirable swimmer and practiced diver, being able to catch the swift-finned fishes and bear them home to its nest. The foe, therefore, must either remain on dry land or lose the victory, if not its life, for there are few enemies for which the Puffin is not more than a match when in the water.

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