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Sheldrake, Teal, Landrail, Cuckoo, Nightjar, Quail, Grebe, Baldcoot, Water-Hen and Water-Rail.
CHAPTER XVIII.
Sheldrake: Nest; Food - Teal: Breeding-places; Anecdotes-Landrail;
Arrival of- Cuckoo-Nightjar : Habits of-Quail-Grebe: Arrival;
Account of Nest and Young-Baldcoot-Water-Hen-Water-Rail.
Besides the birds mentioned in the last chapter there are several
others which come here to breed, such as the sheldrake, the
corncrake, the cuckoo, &c.
I should certainly call the sheldrake the most beautiful bird
of the duck tribe that visits this country. His clear black and
white plumage, the beautiful bronze on the wing, and the bright
red bill, give it a particularly gay and at the same time neat
appearance. They arrive here in March or the end of February.
They float in large flocks in the sheltered creeks and bays, swimming high in the water and making a great show. When the
tide recedes, they take to the sands in search of their food, which
consists of shellfish, the sea-worms, &c. Their manner of
catching the latter is curious. When the sheldrake perceives
that he is above the hole of one of these insects, which he
knows by the worm-casts similar to those of a common earthworm, he begins patting the ground with his feet, dancing as it
were over the hole. This motion on the sands generally brings
the worm out of his abode. My tame sheldrakes, when they
come to ask for food, pat the ground in an impatient and rapid
manner, their natural instinct evidently suggesting this as the
usual way of procuring food. Though among the most wary of
birds when wild, their sharp eye detecting the least movement,
yet they become extremely fearless and bold when once domesticated, and certainly no bird is more ornamental. They breed
freely in a tame state, if allowed a certain degree of liberty, and
I have no doubt would be quite as good eating as a common
duck when fed on corn and clean food. In their wild state they
have a rank fishy flavour, out so would any duck that lived on
the same food as they do. My tame birds eat anything, and
will take their food out of my hand without the least hesitation.
They are pugnacious creatures, and the drakes are always the
masters of the poultry-yard, pursuing the other birds with a
peculiar croaking quack. The sheldrakes breed in old rabbitholes, laying their eggs several feet under ground. When I am
on the sandhills in May, early in the morning, I frequently see
their tracks in and out of the holes. It is curious to watch the
male bird standing and strutting in the sun on some hillock
waiting for the female, who is employed in her domestic duties
underground. When she appears, the drake goes to her, and
after a short flirtation they fly away together to the seashore.
When the hen is sitting, she leaves the nest during the time of
low water, appearing to have an instinctive knowledge of when
that time arrives, as it is the part of the day in which she can
most quickly procure her food. This done, she returns to her
nest, and after wheeling several times over it to see that nothing
is amiss, she alights and walks to her hole. The sheldrake has
a quick, smart step, quite unlike the waddling gait of most
ducks. When hatched, the young take at once to the sea, and
never seem to leave it or the sandbanks till their plumage is
complete. I have occasionally found a large flock of young
birds nearly full grown on the sands, but never could manage to
catch one, as they run with great rapidity and dash into the sea
before I can get up to them.
The flight of the sheldrake is not so rapid or easy as that of
other ducks, rather resembling the heavy flapping of a goose
than the quick flight of a wild duck. I cannot understand why
this beautiful bird is not oftener kept on ornamental pieces of
water, as his fine plumage, his boldness, and familiarity render
him peculiarly interesting and amusing.
The teal can scarcely be called a winter bird with us, although
occasionally a pair or two appear; but in the spring they come
in numbers to breed and rear their tiny young in the swamps
and lochs. Nothing can exceed the beauty and neatness of this
miniature duck. They fly with great swiftness, rising suddenly
into the air when disturbed, and dropping as quickly after a
short flight, much in the same manner as a snipe. In the spring
the drake has a peculiar whistle, at other times their note is a
low quack. A pair of teal, if undisturbed, will return year
after year to the same pool for the purpose of breeding. Like
the wild duck, they sometimes hatch their young a considerable
distance from the water, and lead the young brood immediately
to it. I once, when riding in Ross-shire, saw an old teal with
eight newly-hatched young once cross the road. The youngsters
could not climb up the opposite bank, and young and old all
squatted flat down to allow me to pass. I got off my horse and
lifted all the little birds up and carried them a little distance
down the road to a ditch, for which I concluded they were
making, the old bird all the time fluttering about me and frequently coming within reach of my riding-whip. The part of
the road where I first found them passed through thick firwood with rank heather, and it was quite a puzzle to me how
such small animals, scarcely bigger than a half-grown mouse,
could have got along through it. The next day I saw them all
enjoying themselves in a small pond at some little distance oft',
where a brood of teal appeared every year. In some of the
mountain lakes the teal breed in great numbers. When shooting in August I have seen a perfect cloud of these birds occasionally rise from some grassy loch. The widgeon never breeds
with us, but leaves this country at the end of April.
We have great numbers of landrails here in their breeding-season. I have for several years first heard them on the 1st of
May. Hoarse and discordant as their voice is, I always hear it
with pleasure, for it brings the idea of summer and fine weather
with it. Oftentimes have I opened my window during the fine
dewy nights of June to listen to these birds as they utter their
harsh cry in every direction, some close to the very window,
and answered by others at different distances. I like too to see
this bird, as at the earliest dawn she crosses a road followed by
her train of quaint-looking, long-legged young ones, all walking
in the same stooping position ; or to see them earlier in £he year
lift up their snake-like heads above the young corn, and croak in
defiance of some other bird of the same kind, whose head appears
now and then at a short distance. At other times, one hears the
landrail's cry apparently almost under one's feet in the thick
clover, and he seems to shake the very ground, making as much
noise as a bull. How strange it is that a bird with apparently so
6oft and tender a throat can utter so hard and loud a cry, which
sounds as if it was produced by some brazen instrument. I
never could ascertain whether this cry is made by the male or
female bird, or by both in common : I am inclined to suppose the
latter is the case, as in endeavouring to make this out I have
watched carefully a small piece of grass and shot four landrails
in it in as many minutes, every bird in the act of croaking.
Two of them were larger and of a redder plumage than the
others, and were apparently cock birds : this inclines me to think
that the croaking cry is common to both sexes. Their manner
of leaving the country is a mystery. Having hatched their
young, they take to the high cornfields, and we never see them
again, excepting by chance one comes across a brood at dawn of
day, hunting along a path or ditch side for snails, worms, and
flies, which are their only food, this bird being entirely insectivorous, never eating corn or seeds. By the time the corn is
cut they are all gone ; how they go, or whither, I know not, but
with the exception of a stray one or two I never see them in
the shooting-season, although the fields are literally alive with
them in the breeding-time. You can seldom flush a landrail
twice ; having alighted he runs off at a quick pace, and turning
and doubling round a dog, will not rise. I have caught them
more than once when they have pitched by chance in an open
wood, and run into a hole or elsewhere at the root of a tree; they
sometimes hide their head, like the story of the ostrich, and allow
themselves to be lifted up. Unlike most other migrating birds,
the landrail is in good order on his first arrival, and being then
very fat and delicate in flavour, is very good eating. Their
nest is of a very artless description, a mere hollow scratched in
the middle of a grass field, in which they lay about eight eggs.
The young ones at first are quite black, curious-looking little
birds, with the same attitudes and manner of running as their
parents, stooping their heads and looking more like mice or rats
than a long-legged bird.
Besides those already mentioned, I can only call to mind two
other birds that visit us for the breeding-season-the cuckoo and
the nightjar.
The cuckoo, like the landrail, is connected in all my ideas with
spring and sunshine, though frequenting such a different description of country; the landrail always inhabiting the most open
country, while the cuckoo frequents the wooded glades and banks
of the rivers and burns; flitting from tree to tree, alighting
generally on some small branch close to the trunk, or chasing
each other, uttering their singular call. So much has been
written respecting their habit of laying their egg In the nest of
some other bird, that I can add nothing to what is already known.
In this country they seem to delight in the woods on the hill sides
by the edge of loch or river, where I constantly hear their note
of good omen. When the young ones are fledged, they remain
for a week or two about the gardens or houses, perching on the
railings, and darting off, like the flycatcher, in pursuit of passing
insects.
The nightjar is a summer resident here, building its nest-or
rather laying its eggs, for nest it has Done-in some bare spot
of ground, near the edge of a wood, and seldom quite within it.
The eggs are of a peculiarly oval shape. The nightjar, during
the daytime, will lie flat and motionless for hours together on
some horizontal branch of a tree near the ground, or on some
part of the ground itself which exactly resembles its own plumage
in colour. In this manner the bird will allow a person to approach nearly close to it before it moves, although watching
intently with its dark eye to see if it is observed. If it fancies
that you are looking at it, up it rises straight into the air, and
drops again perpendicularly in some quiet spot, with a flight
like that of an insect more than of a bird. With the shades of
evening comes its time of activity. With rapid and noiseless
flight the nightjar flits and wheels round and round as you take
your evening walk, catching the large moths and beetles that
you put into motion. Sometimes the bird alights in the path
near you, crouching close to the ground, or sits on a railing
or gate motionless, with its tail even with its head. Frequently,
too, these birds pitch on a housetop, and utter their singular
jarring noise, like the rapid revolving of a wheel or the rush of
water, and the house itself appears to be trembling, so powerful
is their note. It is a perfectly harmless, indeed a useful bird ;
and I would as soon wantonly shoot a swallow as a nightjar.
I admire its curiously-mottled plumage, and manner of feeding
and flying about in the summer and autumn evenings, which
make it more interesting when alive than it can possibly be when
dead. Often, when I have been fishing late in the evening, has
the nightjar flitted round, or pitched on a rock or bank close to
me, as if inclined to take an interest in what I was at-confident,
too, of not being molested. Its retreat in the daytime is usually
in some lonely wild place. Though feeding wholly at night, I
do not think that it is annoyed by sunshine, as it frequently basks
in an open spot, appearing to derive enjoyment from the light
and glare which are shining full upon it; unlike the owl, whose
perch in the daytime is in some dark and shady corner, where
the rays of the sun never penetrate.
The quail is sometimes killed here, but very rarely. I once
shot a couple on the Ross-shire side of the Moray firth, but
never happened to meet with one on this side, though I have
heard of their being killed, and also of their having been seen in
the spring time, as if they came occasionally to breed.
Another singular bird visits this country regularly in the
spring, the lesser grebe (in England commonly called the dabchick). It is difficult to understand how this bird makes out its
journey from the region, wherever it may be, where they pass
the winter. No bird is less adapted for a long flight, yet they
suddenly appear in some rushy loch. Generally a pair take possession of some small pool, where they build their singular nest
and rear their young, till the returning autumn warns them that
it is time to return to some country less liable than this to have
its pools and lochs frozen. In a small rushy pond in Inverness-shire I had frequent opportunities of observing their domestic
economy, and the manner in which they build their nest and rear
their young. Though there was no stream connecting this pool
with any other larger piece of water, a pair, and only a pair of
these little grebes came to it every spring. After two or three
days spent in recruiting their strength and making love to each
other, the little birds set about making their nest in a tuft of
rushes, at a shallow part of the water, a few yards from the
shore. They first collected a considerable quantity of dead
rushes, which they found in plenty floating about the edges of
the water. Both male and female were busily employed in
building, swimming to and fro with the greatest activity. After
laying a good foundation of this material, they commenced diving
for the weeds which grew at the bottom of the water, bringing
up small bunches of it, and clambering up the sides of their
nest (the bottom of which was in the water), they made a layer
of this, hollowed out in the middle. They worked only in the
morning and very late in the evening. Their eggs were six in
number, and when first laid, quite white, and nearly oval.
During the time of sitting, whenever the old bird left her nest
she covered her eggs most carefully. The singular part of this
proceeding was, that she always dived for a quantity of green
weed, which grew at the bottom of the pond, and used this,
wet as it was, to cover her eggs. By the time that they had
been laid for a few days they became green and dirty-looking,
having quite the appearance of being addled-and no wonder,
as the nest was constantly wet from below, the water coming up
through the rushes and weeds of which it was composed ; and
she gave them a fresh wet covering every time that she left
them, arranging it around the eggs, so that the edges of the
nest gradually became higher and higher. The bird appeared
to be very frequently off during the daytime, remaining away
for hours together, playing about on the water with her mate.
After a fortnight of this kind of sitting, I one day saw her followed by six little dabchicks, scarcely bigger than large beetles,
but as active and as much at home on the water as their parents.
A very windy day came on, and the young birds collected in a
group behind a floating rail, which being half grounded at an
angle of the pool, made a kind of breakwater for them. The
old birds swam out of this harbour when I came, but the little
ones crept close up to the railing, uttering a feeble squeak like a
young chicken. Huddled up in a group, they certainly were
the smallest and quaintest-looking little divers that I ever saw.
I have heard it argued that it was impossible that eggs could be
hatched in a situation constantly exposed to so much wet and
damp, but those of this kind of grebe are certainly an exception,
as they were continually wet below, and frequently covered with
wet green weed. I do not know why the bird should always
bring the covering from below the water, but she invariably did
so, and the pool being in a convenient place for my watching
them closely, I took some trouble to be sure that my observations were correct. It is a pretty, amusing little bird, and quite
harmless : I have always much pleasure in watching their lively
actions in the water. Where undisturbed, they soon become bold
and confident. These little fellows used to swim close to me,
and after looking up in my face with an arch cock of their tiny
head, turn up their round sterns and dip under the water.
They often remained so long under water, that the circles made
in the calm pool from their last dive were quite obliterated from
the surface before the saucy-looking little fellows would rise
again, often in exactly the same spot, when they would look at
me again, as if to be sure of who I was ; then, turning half over
in the water, they would scratch their neck with their curiously
formed foot, shake their apology of a wing, and dip under
again.
One day my dog jumped into the water for a swim, and the
motions of the birds were then very different. They dived
rapidly to the other end of the pool, where they rose, showing
only the very tip of their bill, which 1 could distinguish by the
small wave in the water made when it first came up. After
remaining in this position for a short time, they gradually lifted
up more and more of their head, till seeing that all danger was
over and that the dog had left their pool, they rose entirely to
the surface, and shaking their feathers resumed their usual attitudes, keeping, however, at a respectful distance and watching
the dog. After the young ones were hatched and full grown
they again disappeared, leaving us for the winter. How or where
they went it is difficult to imagine.
If the weather is tolerably open, the bald coot arrives here
early in the spring. It is very difficult to make this bird fly,
unless it happens to be surprised in the open part of the lake,
when it darts off immediately to the rushes, where, diving and
wading with great quickness, it remains so completely concealed
that neither dog nor man can put it up again. Its young ones
are like a ball of black down, but swim about and dive as
cleverly as their parents. They build a very large nest amongst
the rushes growing in the water, and sit very close. The coot
has an ornamental appearance on a sheet of water, from their
constant activity in swimming about, and their loud, wild cry
adds an interest to the solitude of the Highland lake.
The water-hen is another bird which deserves encouragement
and protection, as they repay it by becoming tame and familiar,
leaving the water to feed with the poultry, and walking about
all day on the grass, with an air of the greatest confidence and
sociability. I know nothing prettier than the young ones, as
they follow their parents in their active search for flies and
insects. When first hatched they are perfectly black, with a
small spot of bright red skin on the top of their beaks.
These birds remain with us all the winter, only changing their
location from the pools to the open ditches in severe frosts.
The water-rail I only see in the winter, and even then rarely.
I do not think that it is a regular visitor to us, for were it so,
notwithstanding its habits of concealment, my dogs would,
when looking through the wet places and ditches for snipes, certainly find it oftener than they do. I sometimes see it in frosty
weather, feeding at all hours of the day in a running stream or
ditch, busily searching amongst the weeds for its food.
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