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

WE have several builders among our British birds, the best known of which is the common HOUSE MARTIN (Chelidon urbica), whose nests are so plentiful upon the walls of our houses.

The material of which the nests are built is a kind of mud, which becomes tolerably hard when dry, and is strong enough to exist for a series of years, and to serve for the bringing up of many successive broods. The bird is exceedingly capricious as to the spot which it selects for its residence, some houses being crowded with the mud-built nests, while others are free from them. The points of the compass are always noted by the Martin, for there are some points which it clearly detests, while it is equally fond of others. A wall with a northeastern aspect is a favorite locality, while a southern wall is seldom chosen, probably because the heat of the meridian sun might dry the mud too quickly, or might cause inconvenience to the young birds.

My own house, however, forms an exception to the general rule, for the Martins have chosen to build on the south wall only, probably because the eaves project so far that after nine A.M. the nests are in shadow. Moreover, there is a narrow ledge, barely an inch in width, which runs under the eaves, and forms a support for the nests. While the Martins were engaged in bringing up their young, I ascended to the nests, and inspected them carefully, much to the indignation of the parent birds, who flew about wildly, darting occasionally out of their nests, and then stopping short and dashing away over the house. The opening of the nest being close against the eaves, the interior could not be inspected; but the touch of the finger showed that the walls were tolerably smooth, forming a great contrast with the rough exterior. The young birds were quite as much alarmed as their parents, and shrank to the very bottom of the nest, where they were quite invisible.

As to the nests themselves, they are exceedingly irregular on the outside, and look as if they had been made of that preternaturally ugly substance called "rough-cast," with which the walls of houses are sometimes disfigured. The material of which the Martin makes its nest is said to be the earth that is ejected by worms; but that this substance does not form the whole of the material is evident from the fact that stones, grass, and feathers are mixed with the mud, together with small twigs and a few fine roots of an inch or two in length.

The Martin is a rather ingenious bird, and is always ready to take advantage of any circumstance which may aid it in building its nest. The inch-wide ledge, for example, which I have just mentioned, has been quite appropriated by Martins, and there is scarcely a part of it which does not bear marks of their labors. At least a dozen nests have been begun and abandoned after a few beakfuls of mud have been put together, probably because the position is so exceedingly advantageous that the birds can scarcely begin in one place without regretting that they have not chosen a neighboring spot.

There is an interesting account in the "Zoologist" of the unexpected skill displayed by these birds: "Under the eaves of a house, not so high as to be beyond the reach of any urchin who could procure a rod or fling a stone, a Martin had built its nest, which had more than once been destroyed. There is no doubt that, under ordinary circumstances, these birds would have gone on building their habitation in the same place and manner, if left to themselves and their own resources, although even in such cases some important variation in the structure has been known to have occurred. But, in the present instance, the inhabitants of the cottage were not satisfied to see the labors of their favorite perpetually rendered void, and they set their wits to work in what manner to secure them from harm.

"The method adopted was to place a small round basket under the eaves, at the place where the nest had been, as a protection from injury below; but it was attended with the inconvenience that the handle prevented it from being pressed into contact with the stone, while the breadth of the basket was so great as to cause the wet dripping from the eaves to fall within the cavity. It was to obviate this last annoyance that a flat piece of board was laid as a cover to the basket, with the precaution of leaving an opening, not in front, but at the side, for the birds to enter, if they should choose to adopt this new contrivance for their advantage; and they did justice to the kind intentions of their friends by adopting it, and that, too, in a way of their own contrivance. They began by placing a rim of their usual mortar round the basket, at the border where the covering board rested on it; but in thus rendering it safe and close on every side, they observed the precaution of leaving a small hole at the side by which to enter. In this convenient piece of wicker-work they formed a cradle, in which they were able successfully to rear their brood.

"But this was not all. Another pair of birds had seen the good fortune of their fellows, and they resolved to be sharers in the advantage they were enjoying. The space above the board, and within the arched handle of the basket, was only inferior to the basket itself as a situation for a nest, and there, accordingly, they proceeded to place it. It was formed of clay, in the usual manner, and here, immediately above their neighbors, they successfully hatched their young. . . . The laying hold of a novel but obvious convenience to secure an important object is not the least of the operations of the reasoning powers."

The writer of this notice is quite correct in attributing the performances of these birds to reason, and not to instinct. Instinct would have taught them to make their nests under ordinary conditions, and to raise their clay-built houses against a wall. But the mental process which led them to accommodate themselves to such a change of circumstances as the substitution of a basket for a wall does undoubtedly belong to the province of reason rather than of instinct.

To examine minutely the economy of a Martin's nest is a pleasant task enough, but has its drawbacks, which are very numerous, and may be summed up in one word—vermin.

All birds are liable to the attacks of parasitic insects, but the Martins contrive to harbor such quantities of them that the spectator can not but wonder how they contrive to live through the constant attacks. The nest itself swarms with them; and so numerous are their hosts, that I have found an isolated lump of clay filled with these repulsive insects, though at the distance of eighteen inches from the nest. They are not visible at first, and but for their cast skins would probably attract no notice. But when one of these innocent-looking pieces of mud is removed, and put under a glass in which a few drops of spirits of turpentine have been placed, the vermin come trooping out of every crevice, many in numbers, large in dimensions, and obese in outline.

In one lump of clay about as large as a walnut I have seen so many parasites that they seemed capable of devouring all the little birds; and when it is remembered that every portion of the nest is equally tenanted, how the inmates can survive for a single night is indeed a matter of surprise. Their size is absolutely portentous; for, when compared with the birds on which they feed, they are as large as full-grown frogs compared with men. I mention this circumstance in order that my readers may be chary of bringing a Martin's nest into a room, for to introduce such pests into the house is far more easy than to extirpate them. Most insects are killed at once by inhaling the vapor of turpentine, but I have kept a number of them shut up in a tin box in which some spirits of turpentine had been poured, and after six-and-thirty hours found them still alive. They certainly dislike the vapor, and it has the effect of stupefying them; but, as soon as they are removed from its influence, the fresh air seems to restore them, and they begin to crawl about again.

THE common SWALLOW (Hirundo rustica) also makes a clay-built nest, similar in many respects to that of the martin, but differing in its shape. The nest of the martin is always covered, and entered by an aperture on one side. Mostly it is built immediately under a projecting ledge, which answers the purpose of a roof, but if no such accommodation can be obtained, it covers in the nest with a dome-like roof. The nest of the Swallow, on the contrary, is open at the top, probably because the long forked tail would be crushed if pressed into so small a compass, while the shorter and simpler tail of the martin does not require so much space.

Wherever it can find an old chimney, the Swallow will always build its nest therein, a habit which has gained for the bird the popular title of Chimney Swallow. It will, however, build in many other situations, such as precipitous rocks and quarries, barns, outhouses, and steeples. There are usually five eggs, and the nest is lined with a soft bed of feathers, like that of the martin.

I must now refer the reader to the large illustration, wherein is depicted a group of natives engaged in digging eggs out of an earth-heap. This engraving represents a scene of very common occurrence in Australia, and serves to illustrate the habits of the natives as well as of the bird, which will presently be described.

In the foreground is a group of natives resting themselves after a successful hunt, the evidences of which are scattered around them. There is the emu with its head in the woman's lap, the kangaroo, the echidna, and the duckbill. The weapons by which they were killed are thrown carelessly on the ground, and comprise the waddy or club, the boomerang, the spear, and the wummerah, or throwing stick, by which it is hurled with terrific force. The large wooden shield indicates also that the natives in question consider themselves in danger of hostile tribes. On the upper branches of a tree are seen a pair of those wonderful kingfishers, popularly termed, from their cry, Laughing Jackasses, and in the centre of the illustration is seen an old man crouched upon his knees, busily engaged in digging from a large mound some eggs which are arranged nearly in a circle, and are set perpendicularly, with their larger end upward, as if they had been placed there by the Opposition party in Lilliput.

This mound is the work of an Australian bird popularly called the BRUSH TURKEY, or TALLEGALLA (Tallegalla Lathami), one of a small series of birds which scrape together great heaps of vegetable substances, and lay their eggs in them so as to be hatched by the heat given out during the process of fermentation. A very brief account of these birds will be given, but we will at present confine ourselves to the Tallegalla.

This bird belongs to the order Gallinæ and the family Megapodidæ, or large-footed birds, the name being given to them on account of the very great comparative size of the feet. It is a native of New South Wales, and is generally found in the densest bushes, through which it can make its way with such rapidity that it can scarcely be captured. As the bird is called by many names, I will mention one or two of them, so that the reader may be better able to identify it while reading the accounts of observant but unscientific travelers. The natives sometimes call it Tallegalla, and sometimes Weelah; and it is occasionally named the New Holland Vulture, because the bare head and neck give it a somewhat vulturine aspect.