From North Pole to Equator: Studies of Wild Life and Scenes in Many Lands

by Alfred Edmund Brehm

AN ORNITHOLOGIST ON THE DANUBE.

Hungary was, and is, and will continue to be one of the goals of the German ornithologist’s ambition. Situated more favourably than any other country in Europe, lying as it does between the North Sea and the Black Sea, the Baltic and the Mediterranean, the great northern plain and the Alps—including within its boundaries both the North and the South, steppes and mountains, forests, rivers, and marshes—it offers great advantages and attractions to resident and wandering birds alike, and thus possesses a richer bird-fauna perhaps than any other country in our quarter of the globe. Enthusiastic descriptions of this wealth, from the pen of our most illustrious investigators and masters, have contributed not a little to increase and strengthen the longing—I would almost call it inborn—that all the bird-lovers of Germany have to see Hungary. It is strange, however, that this beautiful, rich country, lying so near to us, has been so rarely visited by Germans.

I myself had seen only its capital and what one can see of the country from the railway; I therefore shared most thoroughly in the longing of which I have just spoken. It was to be fulfilled, but only to return even more ardently thereafter. “None walks unpunished beneath the palms”, and no lover of birds can spend May-tide in Fruskagora without having for ever after a longing to return.

“Would you like,” asked my gracious patron, the Crown Prince Rudolph, “to accompany me to South Hungary for some eagle-shooting? I have definite reports of perhaps twenty eyries, and I think that we should all be able to learn much, if we visited them and observed diligently.”

Twenty eyries! One must have been banished for long years on the dreary flats of North Germany, one must have gloated over the bright pictures raised in one’s mind by the glowing reports of some roaming ornithologist, to appreciate the joy with which I agreed to go. Twenty eyries, at no very great distance from Vienna and not far from Pesth: I should not have been my father’s son had I remained indifferent. The days seemed hours when we were busy with all sorts of preparations, and again they seemed to lengthen out into weeks, such was my impatient desire to be off.

It was but a small travelling party that started from Vienna on the second day of the Easter holidays (1878), but we were merry and hopeful, eager for sport and energetic. Besides the august lord of the chase and his illustrious brother-in-law, there were but three—Obersthofmeister Count Bombelles, Eugen von Homeyer, and myself. A day later, at Pesth, we got aboard the swift and comfortable vessel which carried us towards the mouth of the “blonde” Danube. In Lenten mist suffused with morning sunlight, the proud Kaiserburg stood out before us, and the gardens of the Bloxberg were bright with the first green of the young year, as we took leave of the capital of Hungary.

With the scenery of the Rhine, of the Upper, or even, it is said, of the Lower Danube, the stretch of country through which we were now rapidly borne cannot be compared. A few kilometres below the sister towns the banks become flat, the hills on the right side of the stream sink into featureless heights, and only in the dim blue distance does the eye catch the gently curved lines of moderately high ranges. From the left bank extends the broad plain. Without end, without change, it stretches in uniform monotony; hardly one of the large, rich villages is conspicuous enough to catch the eye. Here and there a herdsman in shepherd’s dress leans on his strong staff, but his charge is not a flock of simple sheep; grunting, bristly pigs crowd around him—how brown with the sun he is!—or lie in rows about him enjoying comfortable rest. Around the pools filled by the floods the lapwing flutters; over the broad flats the hen-harrier wings its unsteady flight; the martins sweep in and out of their nests burrowed in the steep banks; dainty water-wagtails trip about on the shingle-roofs of the innumerable boatmills; ducks and cormorants rise in noisy alarm from the stream; while kites and hooded crows fly in circles over its surface. Such is a picture of this region.

Soon, however, the landscape changes. The alluvial plain, traversed by the river which made it, broadens out. Over the flats, not yet protected by dikes, and submerged by every flood, the river extends in numerous, for the most part nameless branches. A luxuriant growth of wood clothes the banks and islands, and as the fringe is too dense to allow any glimpse of the interior, this meadow-wood bounds the view for mile after mile. Variable and yet monotonous are the pictures which appear and disappear, as in a dissolving view, while the ship follows the windings of the stream. Willows and poplars—white, silvery, and black—elms and oaks, the first predominating, the last often sparse in their occurrence, form the material of these pictures. Above the dense fringe, which consists almost wholly of willow, there rise older trees of the same kind; beyond these in the woods, which often extend far inland, rise the impressive crowns of lofty silver poplars and black poplars, and the bald heads of old gnarled oaks. A single glance embraces all phases of tree-life from the sprouting willow-shoot to the dying giant—trees living, sprouting, growing, and exultant in the fulness of their strength; trees withered at the top, victims of fire from the heavens or from the earth and half reduced to tinder; trees prostrate on the ground, crumbling and rotting. Between these we see the gleams of flowing or standing water; above all is the great dome of heaven. In the secret shades we hear the song of the nightingale and the finches, the lyrics of the thrush, the shrill cry of falcon or eagle, the laugh of the woodpecker, the raven’s croak, and the heron’s shrill shriek.

Here and there is a glade not yet overgrown, a gap in the wood and through which we catch a glimpse of the landscape in the background,—of the broad plain on the right bank of the stream, and the fringe of hills in the distance, of an apparently endless succession of fields, from which at distant intervals rise the church spires which mark the scattered villages or, it may be, townships. In summer, when all is of one predominantly green hue, in late autumn, winter, and early spring, when the trees are leafless, this shore landscape may seem almost dull; now it is monotonous, but yet not unattractive, for all the willows and poplars have young leaves, or in many cases catkins, and, here and there at least, they make the woods gay and gladsome.

Only at a few places is such a wood as this accessible; for the most part it is a huge morass. If one attempts, either on land or by waterways, to penetrate into the interior, one, sooner or later, reaches a jungle which has no parallel in Germany. Only on those spots which are raised above the level of the river, and which have a rich, in part muddy soil, is one reminded of German vegetation. Here lilies of the valley, with their soft, green leaves and fragrant, white bells, form a most decorative carpeting, covering the ground for wide stretches; but even here the nettles and bramble-bushes grow in wanton luxuriance, and various climbing plants spread their tangled net over wide areas of the forest, so that almost insuperable obstacles and barriers prevent further progress. In other places the wood is literally a bog out of which the giant trees rear their stems. Mighty stems indeed, but many—victims of old age, tempest, thunderbolt, and the careless herdsman’s fire—lie rotting in the water, already forming, in many cases, the soil from which rises a younger and vigorous growth of underwood. Other trees, which have not yet succumbed to decay, lie prostrate and bar the way. The wind has swept the fallen wood, both thick branches and delicate twigs, into floating islands and obtrusive snags, which present to the small boat obstacles not less difficult than those which obstruct the explorer on foot. Similar floating islands, composed of reeds and sedges, form a deceptive covering over wide stretches of water. Raised mud-banks, on which willows and poplars have found a suitable soil for their seeds, have become impenetrable thickets, disputing the possession of the ground even with the forests of reeds which are often many square miles in extent. Dwarf willows, at once youthful and senile forests, form dark patches in the heart of the reed-beds. What may be concealed in the gloomy wood, with its bogs and thickets, or by the reeds, remains almost quite hidden from the searching eye of the naturalist, for he can see through no more than the fringe of this wilderness, nor traverse it except along the broader waterways.

Fig. 79.—Herons and their Nests.

Such was the district in which our sport began. The eagles, the royal rulers of the air, which formed the primary object of our quest, did not, indeed, come within range, nor even within sight, on the first day of our journey; but, on the other hand, we visited the famous heronry on the island of Adony, and had abundant opportunities of observing the life of the brooding birds. For two generations, herons and cormorants have nested on the tall trees of the island, among the much older residents—the rooks; and, though the cormorants have greatly diminished in numbers since the beginning of the sixties, they have not yet entirely disappeared. Forty years ago, according to Landbeck’s estimate, there nested here about one thousand pairs of night-herons, two hundred and fifty pairs of common herons, fifty pairs of little egrets, and a hundred pairs of cormorants; but now the rooks, of which there are from fifteen hundred to two thousand pairs, form the great bulk of the colony, while the common herons have dwindled to about a hundred and fifty, the night-herons to thirty or forty pairs, the egrets have disappeared entirely, and only the cormorants remain in approximately the same numbers as formerly. Yet at least an echo of the former life rang in our ears as we set foot on the island, and here and there the forest still presents the old picture almost unchanged.

The various birds in such a mixed heronry appear to live in the best accord, yet there is neither peace nor friendliness among them. One oppresses and supports, plunders and feeds the other. The herons invade the rooks’ colonies to save themselves the labour of nest-building; the rooks collect twigs and build their nests, and the herons drive them away, that they may take forcible possession of the nests, or at any rate of the building material; the cormorants dispute with the herons the possession of the stolen booty, and finally assume despotic authority over the entire colony. But even they, thieves and robbers as they are, are plundered and robbed in their turn, for the crows and kites—the last being seldom absent from such settlements—feed themselves and their young to no slight extent on the fish which the herons and cormorants have brought for the sustenance of their mates and young. The first meeting of the various kinds of brooding birds is hostile. Violent and protracted battles are fought, and the ten times vanquished renews hostilities for the eleventh time before he learns to submit to the inevitable. But in time the inter-relations are better adjusted, as the individual members of the colony recognize that there are advantages in social life, and that there is room enough for peaceable neighbours. Fighting and quarrelling never cease entirely, but the bitter war of species against species gives place gradually to conditions which are at least endurable. The birds become accustomed to each other, and make use of the capabilities of their adversaries as far as may be. It may even happen, indeed, that those who have been plundered follow those who have robbed them when the latter find it necessary to change their brooding-places.

Fig. 80.—Rooks and their Nests.

The spectacle of a mixed heronry is fascinating in the highest degree. “There is hardly anything”, writes Baldamus, “more varied, more attractive, more beautiful, than these Hungarian marshes with their bird-life, which is remarkable both for the number of individuals and for their variety of form and colouring. Let any one look at the most conspicuous of these marsh-dwellers in a collection, and then let him endeavour to picture them to himself standing, walking, running, climbing, flying, in short, living, and he will be obliged to admit that such bird-life is marvellously attractive.” This description is correct even if it be applied to the impoverished island of Adony. Much as its once teeming population has dwindled, there are still thousands and thousands of birds. For long stretches of the forest every high tree bears nests, many having twenty or thirty, and all about these is the noisy bustle of sociable bird-life. Upon the nests sit the female rooks, common herons, night-herons, and cormorants, looking out with dark, sulphur-yellow, blood-red, and sea-green eyes upon the intruder who has invaded their sanctuary; sitting and climbing on the topmost boughs of the giant trees, or fluttering, flying, floating above them are black, brown, gray, one-coloured and many-coloured, dull and shimmering bird forms; above these, kites are circling; on the trunks woodpeckers are hanging, hard at work; sleek, gleaming white-throats are seeking their daily bread among the blossom of a pear-tree, finches and willow-wrens among the fresh foliage of the bird-cherry. The beautiful carpet of woodruff which covers the ground in many places is spattered and soiled with the excrement of birds, and disfigured by broken eggs or their shells, and by decomposing fish which have fallen from the nests.

The first shot from the gun of our gracious patron caused an indescribable confusion. The startled herons rose screaming, and the rooks with stupefying croaking; the cormorants, too, forsook their nests with angry screeches. A cloud of birds formed over the forest, drifted hither and thither, up and down, became denser and overshadowed the tree-tops, broke up into groups which sank hesitatingly down towards their forsaken nests, enveloped these completely for a little, and then united again with the main mass. Every single one screamed, croaked, cawed, and screeched in the most ear-piercing fashion; everyone took to flight, but was drawn back again by anxiety for nest and eggs. The whole forest was in an uproar; yet, careless of the terrifying noise, the finch warbled its spring greeting amidst the trees, a woodpecker called joyously, the nightingales poured forth their inspiring melody, and poetic souls revealed themselves even among the thieves and robbers.

Richly laden with booty, we returned, after five hours’ sport, to our comfortable quarters on board ship, and occupied ourselves as we steamed further with the scientific arrangement of our newly-acquired treasures. For hours we travelled through forests such as I have depicted, now and then passing by large or small hamlets, villages, and towns, until the gathering darkness forced us to moor our vessel. In the early dawn of the following morning we reached Apatin. The firing of cannon, music, and joyous acclamation greet the much-loved heir to the throne. People of all sorts throng about the boat; native hunting-assistants, nest-seekers, tree-climbers, and bird-skinners come on board; more than a dozen of the little boats called “Ezikela” are loaded. Then our steamer turns up stream again, to land us in the neighbourhood of a broad arm of the river. Up this we penetrated for the first time into the damp meadow-forests. All the little boats which had joined us in Apatin followed our larger one, like ducklings swimming after a mother duck. To-day the chase is directed solely against the sea eagle which broods so abundantly in these forests that no fewer than five eyries could be found within a radius of a square mile. We separated with the sportsman’s salute, to approach these eyries from different directions.

I was well acquainted with these bold and rapacious, if rather ignoble birds of prey, for I had seen them in Norway and Lapland, in Siberia and in Egypt, but I had never observed them beside their eyries; and the opportunity of doing so was most welcome. As his name implies, the favourite habitat of the sea-eagle is by the sea-coasts, or on the banks of lakes and rivers rich in fish. If winter drives him from his haunts, he migrates as far southwards as is necessary to enable him to pick up a living during the cold months. In Hungary, this eagle is the commonest of all the large birds of prey; he does not forsake the country even in winter, and only makes long expeditions in his earlier years before maturity, as though he wished to try the experiment of living abroad. During spring, therefore, one sees in that district only adult, or what comes to the same thing, full-grown birds capable of reproduction, while in autumn and winter there are, in addition, the young ones which left the nest only a few months before. Then also many wanderers who have not settled down come to enliven the forest-shores of the Danube. As long as the river is not covered with ice, they have no difficulty in finding food; for they hunt in the water not less, perhaps rather more skilfully than on land. They circle over the water until they spy a fish, then throw themselves down upon it like a flash of lightning, dive after it, sometimes disappearing completely beneath the waves, but working their way quickly to the surface again by aid of their powerful wings, carry off their victim, whose scaly armour has been penetrated by their irresistible talons, and devour it at their leisure. As their depredations are not so severely condemned in Hungary as with us, and as they are treated generally with undeserved forbearance, they regularly frequent the neighbourhood of the fishermen’s huts, and sit among the trees close by until the fisherman throws them stale fish or any refuse which they can eat. Like the fishermen, the Hungarian, Servian, and Slav peasants help to provide them with food, for, instead of burying animals which have died, they let them lie exposed in the fields, and leave it to the eagles and the vultures, or to dogs and wolves, to remove the carrion. If a covering of ice protects his usual prey, and no carrion is available, the sea-eagle need not yet starve; for, like the nobler and more courageous golden eagle, he hunts all game which he has a chance of overpowering. He attacks the fox as well as the hare, the hedgehog and the rat, the diver and the wild goose, steals from the mother seal her sucking young, and may even carry his blind rapacity so far as to strike his powerful talons into the back of a dolphin or a sturgeon, by whom he is carried down into the sea and drowned before he can free his claws. Under some circumstances he will even attack human beings. Thus he need hardly ever suffer want; and as he is not systematically hunted, he leads quite an enviable life.

Fig. 81.—Sea-eagle and Nest in a Danube Forest.

Until near the breeding-time, the sea-eagle lives at peace with his fellows; but, as that season approaches, he becomes combative and quarrelsome, in most cases through jealousy. For the sake of mate and eyrie, he wages bitter war with others of his species. An eagle pair, once united, remain so for life, but only if the male is able to protect his mate from the wooing of others, and to defend his own eyrie. A male eagle, which has just reached maturity and is exulting in the consciousness of his strength, casts his eyes longingly upon the mate and eyrie of another eagle, and both are lost to their owner if he allows himself to be vanquished in fight by the intruder. The rightful lord, therefore, fights to the death against everyone who attempts to disturb his marital and domestic happiness. The battle begins high in the air, but is often finished on the ground. With beak and claw, first one, then the other ventures an assault; at length one succeeds in getting a grip of his adversary, whose talons, in return, are promptly fixed in his rival’s body. Like balls of feathers, the two fall to the ground, or into the water, when both let go their hold, but only to renew the attack. When they fight on the ground, the rivals challenge one another like enraged cocks, and blood and feathers left behind show the scene of the battle and bear witness to its deadly seriousness. The female circles above the combatants or watches them from her high perch with seeming indifference, but she never fails to caress the conqueror, whether he be her lawful spouse or the new-comer. Woe to the eagle if he does not succeed in repulsing the intruder! In the eyes of the female, none but the strong deserves the fair.

After successfully repelled attacks and fights of that kind, from which no eagle is exempt, and which are said to be repeated in Hungary every year, the pair, probably long wedded, take possession of the old eyrie, and begin, in February, to repair it. Both birds set to work to collect the necessary material, picking it up from the ground, or from the water, or breaking it off the trees, and carrying it in their talons, often for a long distance, to the nest, to rebuild and improve this as well as an eagle can. As this building up of the old nest takes place every year, it gradually grows to a considerable height, and one can tell from it the age of the birds, and may also guess the probable duration of their wedded life; for the oldest nest contains the oldest pair of eagles. The nest is not always placed among the highest branches of the tree, but is in all cases high above the ground, more or less near the trunk, and always on strong boughs which can bear its heavy and ever-increasing weight. Both upper and lower tiers consist of sticks and twigs laid loosely above and across one another; and many pairs of hedge-sparrows, which approach the mighty birds quite boldly and confidently, find among these twigs cavities suitable for nesting or hiding.

Towards the end of February, or in the beginning of March, the female lays two, or at most three eggs in the shallow nest-cavity, and begins brooding assiduously. The male meantime supplies her with food, not, however, making longer expeditions in search of it than are absolutely necessary, but spending whatever time he can spare from the work of providing for her and himself, sitting, a faithful and attentive guardian, on a tree in the neighbourhood, which serves him at once as perch and sleeping-place. After about four weeks of brooding, the young emerge from the eggs, looking at first like soft balls of wool, from which dark eyes peer forth, and a dark bill and very sharp claws protrude. Even in their earliest youth the little creatures are as pretty as they are self-possessed. Now there is work enough for both father and mother. The two take turns in going forth to seek for prey, and in mounting guard over the little ones; but it is the mother who tends them. The father honestly performs his part in the rearing of the brood; but the mother alone is capable of giving them that care and attention which may be described as nursing. If she were torn from them in the first days of their life, they would perish as surely as young mammals robbed of their suckling mother. With her own breast the eagle-mother protects them from frost and snow; from her own crop she supplies them with warmed, softened, and partly-digested food. The eagle-father does not render such nursing services as these, but if the mother perish when the young are half-grown, he unhesitatingly takes upon himself the task of rearing and feeding them, and often performs it with the most self-sacrificing toil. The young eagles grow rapidly. In the third week of their existence the upper surface of the body is covered with feathers; towards the end of May they are full-grown and fully fledged. Then they leave the nest, to prepare, under the guidance of their parents, for the business of life.

This is a picture, drawn with hasty strokes, of the life of the eagle, which, for the next few days, was the object of our expeditions. No fewer than nineteen inhabited eyries were visited by us with varying success. Now on foot, now in little boats, now jumping and wading, now creeping and gliding, we endeavoured, unseen and unheard, to approach the trees bearing the nests; for hours we crouched expectantly beneath them in huts hastily built with branches, gazing eagerly up at the eagles, which, startled by us or others, were wheeling and circling high in the air, and showing no inclination to return to their nests, but which we knew must return sometime, and would probably fall victims to us. We were able to observe them very accurately and fully, and this eagle-hunt gained, therefore, an indescribable charm for us all.

Except for the eagles and other birds of prey which we secured, the forests, which looked so promising, proved, or at any rate seemed, to be poor in feathered inhabitants. Of course it was early in the year, and the stream of migration was still in full flood; nor did we succeed in investigating more than the outskirts of the forest. But even the number of birds which had returned and taken up their quarters on the outskirts of the forest did not come up to our expectations. And yet this apparent poverty disappointed me less than the lack of good songsters. The song-thrush did indeed pour forth its rich music through the woods fragrant with the breath of spring; here and there a nightingale sang; the finch warbled its spring greeting everywhere; and even a white-throat tried its notes, but none of these satisfied our critical ear. All who sang or warbled seemed merely bunglers, not masters. And at last we began to feel that real song did not belong to those dark woods at all, that the cries of eagles and falcons, the hooting of horned owls and screech-owls, the croaking of water-hens and terns, the shrill cry of herons and the laughter of woodpeckers, the cuckoos’ call and the cooing of stock-doves were the music best befitting them, and that, besides these, the only bird that had a right to sing was the sedge-warbler, who lived among the reeds and bulrushes, and who had borrowed most of his intricate song from the frogs.

On the fourth day we hunted in the Keskender forest, a few miles from the banks of the Danube. As we left the forests on the river banks, we had to traverse a great plain bounded in the far distance by a chain of hills. Our route lay through well-cultivated fields belonging to the large estate of Bellye—a model of good management—and we made rapid progress on swift horses. Here and there marshy meadows, with pools and ditches, a little thicket, large farm-buildings surrounded by gnarled oaks, a hamlet, a village, but for the most part treeless fields; this was the character of the district through which we hastened. Larks innumerable rose singing from the fields; dainty water-wagtails tripped about the roads; shrikes and corn-buntings sat on every wayside hedge; brooding jackdaws and starlings bustled and clamoured about their nests in the crowns of the oaks; above the ponds ospreys were wheeling on the outlook for fish, and graceful terns skimmed along in zigzag flight; the lapwing busied itself in the marshes. Apart from these, we observed very few birds. Even the Keskender wood, a well-kept forest, which we reached after two hours’ riding, was poor in species, notwithstanding its varied character. There, however, were the nests of spotted-eagles and ospreys, short-toed eagles and common buzzards, falcons, owls, and, above all, black storks in surprising numbers, and our expedition was therefore successful beyond all expectation. And yet the foresters, who, in anticipation of the Crown Prince’s visit, had, only a few days before, searched the woods and noted the position of the various eyries on a hastily constructed map, did not know of nearly all the birds of prey and black storks nesting in the forest. “It is like Paradise here,” remarked the Crown Prince Rudolf, and these words accurately described the relations between men and animals in Hungary. Like the Oriental, the Hungarian is happily not possessed by the mania for killing which has caused the extreme shyness of the animals, and the painfully evident poverty of animal life in Western Europe; he does not grudge a home even to the bird of prey which settles on his land, and he does not make constant and cruel raids on the animal world, which lives and moves about him. Not even the low self-interest which at present prompts covetous feather-dealers to make yearly expeditions to the marshes of the lower Danube, and which sacrifices hundreds of thousands of happy and interesting bird-lives for the sake of their feathers, has had power to move the Magyar from his good old customs. It may be that indifference to the animal life around him has something to do with his hospitality; but the hospitality is there, and it has not yet given place to a thirst for persecution. Animals, and especially birds, remain quite confidently in the neighbourhood of men; they go about their own affairs quite unconcerned as to what men may be doing. The eagle has his eyrie by the roadside, the raven nests among the trees in the field, the black or wood stork is hardly more shy than the sacred house-stork; the deer does not rise from his lair when a carriage passes within rifle-range. Verily, it is like Paradise.

But we found a state of paradise elsewhere than in the Keskender forest. After we had roamed through the forest in many directions, and had visited more than twenty eyries of buzzards and ospreys and black storks, and had refreshed and strengthened ourselves with an excellent breakfast provided for us, and still more with the delicious wine of the district, we set out on our return journey to the ship, urged to haste by threatening thunder-clouds, but still hunting and collecting as time and opportunity allowed. Our route was different from that which we had followed in coming to the forest; it was a good high-road connecting a number of villages. We passed through several of those, and again the road led us between houses. There was nothing remarkable about the buildings, but the people were stranger than my fancy could have pictured. The population of Dalyok consists almost solely of Schokazen or Catholic Servians, who migrated from the Balkan Peninsula, or were brought thither by the Turks, during the period of the Turkish supremacy. They are handsome, slender people these Schokazen, the men tall and strong, the women at least equal to the men, extremely well built and apparently rather pretty. We could form a definite opinion with regard to their figures, but, as far as their faces were concerned, we had to depend to some extent on our own imagination. For the Schokaz women wear a style of dress which will hardly be found elsewhere within the boundaries of Europe at the present day: a dress which our princely patron, happy as usual in his descriptions, called mythological. When I say that head and face were almost entirely enveloped in quaintly yet not unpicturesquely wound and knotted cloths, and that the skirt was replaced by two gaily-coloured apron-like pieces of cloth, not connected with each other, I may leave the rest to the most lively imagination without fearing that it will be likely to exceed the actual state of things. For my own part I was reminded of a camp of Arab nomad herdsmen which I had once seen in the primitive forests of Central Africa.

At dusk, under pouring rain, we reached our comfortable vessel. Rain fell the following morning also, the whole day was gloomy, and our expedition was proportionately disappointing. All this impelled us to continue our journey, though we look back gratefully on those pleasant days on the Bellye estate, and though it would have been well worth while to have observed and collected there a few days longer. With warm and well-earned words of praise the Crown Prince bade farewell to the officials on the archducal estate; one glance more at the woods which had offered us so much, and our swift little vessel steams down the Danube again. After a few hours we reach Draueck, the mouth of the river Drau, which thenceforward seems to determine the direction of the Danube bed. One of the grandest river pictures I have ever seen presented itself to our gaze. A vast sheet of water spread out before us; towards the south it is bounded by smiling hills, on all the other sides by forests, such as we had already seen. Neither the course of the main stream nor the bed of its tributary could be made out; the whole enormous sheet of water was like an inclosed lake whose banks were only visible at the chain of hills above mentioned; for through the green vistas of the forest one saw more water, thickets, and reed-beds, these last covering the great marsh of Hullo, which stretches out in apparently endless extent. Giant tree-trunks, carried down by both streams, and only partly submerged, assumed the most fantastic shapes; it seemed as if fabled creatures of the primitive world reared their scaly bodies above the dark flood. For the “blonde” Danube looked dark, almost black, as we sped through the Draueck. Grayish-black and dark-blue thunder-clouds hung in the heavens, apparently also amidst the hundred-toned green of the forests, and over the unvarying faded yellow of the reed-beds; flashes of lightning illumined the whole picture vividly; the rain splashed down; the thunder rolled; the wind howled through the tops of the tall old trees, lashed up the surface of the water, and crowned the dark crests of the waves with gray-white foam; but away in the south-east the sun had broken through the dark clouds, edged them with purple and gold, illumined them so that the black shadows grew yet blacker, and shone brightly down on the smiling hills, which lead up to a mountain range far away on the horizon. Below and beyond us lay hamlets and villages, but, where we were, at most a cone-shaped, reed-covered fisher-hut broke the primeval character of the magnificent scene, which, in its wildness and in the weird effect of the momentary flashes of light, was sublime beyond description.

The scarcity of birds was striking, as indeed was the desolateness of the whole sheet of water. Not a gull floated over the mirror of the Danube, not a tern winged its zigzag flight up and down; at most a few drakes rose from the river. Now and then a common heron, a flight of night-herons, an erne, and a few kites, hooded crows and ravens, perhaps also a flock of lapwings, and the list of birds which one usually sees is exhausted.

From the following day onwards we hunted and explored a wonderful district. The blue mountains, upon which lay bright, golden sunlight during the thunder-storm of the previous day, are the heights of Fruskagora, a wooded hill range of the most delightful kind. Count Rudolf Chotek had prepared everything for the fitting reception of our Prince, and thus we enjoyed several days which can never be forgotten. From the village of Čerewič, on the upper side of which our vessel lay, we drove daily through the gorges, climbed the heights on foot or on horseback, to return homewards each evening delighted and invigorated. The golden May-tide refreshed heart and soul, and our host’s untiring attention, complaisance, courtesy, and kindness went far to make the days passed at Fruskagora the pleasantest and most valuable part of our whole journey.

It was a charming district, about which we roamed every day. Around the village was a range of fields; beyond these a girdle of vineyards which reach to the very edge of the forest; in the valleys and gorges between them the innumerable fruit trees were laden with fragrant blossom, which brightened the whole landscape; on the banks, beside the road which usually led through the valleys, there was a dense growth of bushes, and the refreshing charm of the wealth of blossom was enhanced by the murmuring brooks and trickling runlets of water. From the first heights we reached the view was surprisingly beautiful. In the foreground lay the picturesque village of Čerewič; then the broad Danube, with its meadow-forests on the opposite shore; behind these stretched the boundless Hungarian plain, exhibiting to the spectator its fields and meadows, woods and marshes, villages and market towns in an unsteady, changeful light, which gave them a peculiar charm; in the east lay the stronghold of Peterwardein. Larks rose singing from the fields; the nightingale poured forth its tuneful lay from the bushes; the cheery song of the rock-thrush rang down from the vineyards; and two species of vulture and three kinds of eagle were describing great circles high in the air.

When we had gone a little farther we lost sight of river, villages, and fields, and entered one of the secluded forest-valleys. The sides of the mountain rise precipitously from it, and, like the ridges and slopes, they are densely wooded, though the trees are not very tall. Oaks and limes, elms and maples predominate in some places, copper-beeches and hornbeams in others; thick, low bushes, which shelter many a pair of nightingales, are scattered about the outskirts of the forest. No magnificent far-reaching views reward the traveller who climbs to the highest ridge to see Hungary lying to the north, and Servia to the south; but the mysterious darkness of the forest soothes soul and sense. From the main ridge, which is at most 3000 feet in height, many chains branch off on either side almost at right angles, and have a fine effect from whatever side one looks at them. Among them are valleys or enclosed basins whose steep walls make transport of felled wood impossible, and which therefore display all the natural luxuriance of forest growth. Gigantic beeches, with straight trunks smooth up to the spreading crown, rise from amid mouldering leaves in which the huntsman sinks to the knee; gnarled oaks raise their rugged heads into the air as if to invite the birds of prey to nest there; dome-like limes form such a close roof of leaves, that only a much-broken reflection of the sun’s rays trembles on the ground. In addition to the nightingale, which is everywhere abundant, the songsters of this forest are the song-thrush and blackbird, golden oriole and red-breast, chaffinch and wood-wren; the cuckoo calls its spring greeting from hill to hill; black and green woodpeckers, nut-hatches and titmice, ring-doves and stock-doves may be heard in all directions.

We had come here chiefly to hunt the largest European bird of prey, the black vulture, Fruskagora being apparently the northern boundary of its breeding region. The other large European vulture had recently appeared in the district, probably attracted by the unfortunate victims of the Servian war, and both species brooded here protected by the lord of the estate, who was an enthusiastic naturalist. I was already acquainted with both these species of vulture, for I had seen them on former journeys, but it was a great pleasure to me to observe them in their brooding-place, and hear the reports of my fellow-sportsmen and of Count Chotek; for on this expedition also our main desire was to increase our knowledge of animal life. Here again we were able to make a long series of observations, and many aspects of the life of both these giant birds, which had hitherto been obscure to us all, were cleared up and explained by our investigations.

The crested black vulture, whose range of distribution is not confined to the three southern peninsulas of Europe, but extends also through West and Central Asia, to India and China, is resident in Fruskagora, but after the brooding season he frequently makes long expeditions, which bring him regularly to Northern Hungary, and frequently to Moravia, Bohemia, and Silesia. His powerful wings enable him to undertake such expeditions without the slightest difficulty. Unfettered by eggs or helpless young, he flies early in the morning from the tree on which he has passed the night, ascends spirally to a height to which the human eye unaided cannot follow him, then with his incomparably keen, mobile eye, whose focal distance can be rapidly altered, he scans the horizon, detects unfailingly even small carrion, and alights to devour and digest it, or to store it in his crop. After feeding he returns to his accustomed place, or continues his pathless journeying. Not only does he carefully scan the land lying beneath him, perhaps for many square miles, but he keeps watch on the movements of others of his species, or of any large carrion-eating birds, that he may profit by their discoveries. Thus only can we explain the sudden and simultaneous appearance of several, or even many vultures beside a large carcass, even in a region not usually inhabited by these birds. They are guided in their search for prey, not by their sense of smell, which is dull, but by sight. One flies after another when he sees that he has discovered carrion, and his swiftness of flight is so great that he can usually be in time to share the feast, if he sees the finder circling above his booty. Certainly he must lose no time, for it is not for nothing that he and his kin are called “geier”; their greed beggars description. Within a few minutes three or four vultures will stow away the carcass of a sheep or a dog in their crops, leaving only the most trifling remains; the meal-time therefore passes with incredible rapidity, and whoever arrives late on the scene is doomed to disappointment.

The country round Fruskagora yields a good deal more to the vultures than an occasional feast of carrion, for in the stomachs of those which we shot and dissected we found remains of souslik and large lizards, which are scarcely likely to have been found dead, but were more probably seized and killed.

On account of the northerly situation of Fruskagora, and the well-ordered state of the surrounding country, which is not very favourable to vultures, the black vultures were still brooding during our visit, though others of the same species, whose haunts were farther south, must undoubtedly have had young birds by that time. The eyries were placed in the tallest trees, and most of them on the uppermost third of the mountain side. Many were quite well known to Count Chotek and his game-keepers, for they had been occupied as a brooding-place by a pair of vultures, possibly the same pair, for at least twenty years, and as they had been added to each year they had assumed very considerable proportions. Others seemed of more recent origin, but all were apparently the work of the vultures themselves. In the oldest and largest of them, a full-grown man could have reclined without his head or feet being seen projecting over the edge.

Under these eyries we sat watching, listening to the life and bustle of the woods, and waiting in the hope of getting a shot at the vultures which our approach had scared away. For four days we went to the splendid woods every morning, and never did we return to our vessel empty-handed. No fewer than eight large vultures, several eagles, and numerous smaller birds fell to our guns, while valuable observations, which fascinated us all, added zest and interest to our sport. But when the last rays of the sun had disappeared, the younger portion of the population assembled about our ship. Violin and bagpipes joined in a wonderful but simple melody, and youths and maidens danced the rhythmically undulating national round dances in honour of their august guest.

After we had hunted successfully on both sides of the Danube, we took leave, on the fifth day after our arrival in Čerewič, of our most devoted host, the lord of the estates, and continued our journey down the river. In three-quarters of an hour we passed Peterwardein, a small, antiquated, but picturesquely situated stronghold, and an hour and a half later, we reached Carlowitz, near which we spent the night. The next morning we reached Kovil, the goal of our journey.

In the neighbourhood of this large village, and girdled by cultivated fields, there are woods in which the oak predominates, but which have such a dense undergrowth, that notwithstanding the many villages about, the wolves and wild-cats lead a threatening but scarcely threatened existence in them. It is not to be wondered at, therefore, that birds of prey of all kinds, especially sea-eagles, imperial eagles, spotted eagles, and booted eagles, “short-toed eagles”, kites, hawks, horned and other owls should have chosen them as a nesting-place, and that they should also harbour all kinds of small birds. Sure of rich booty the Crown Prince and his brother-in-law directed their steps to these woods, while Eugen von Homeyer and I tried our luck up-stream beyond the village, in a marsh which the flood, then at its height, had transformed into a great lake.

Fig. 82.—Nest of the Penduline Titmouse (Parus pendulinus).

A surprisingly rich and varied life reigned in this marsh, though only a very small fraction of the feathered population could be seen, and indeed the tide of migration was still in full flood. Great flocks of black terns flew in almost unbroken succession up the river, sometimes assembling in compact swarms, sometimes distributing themselves over the whole breadth of the flooded Danube; hundreds of glossy or dark ibises wandered up and down the stream, flying in the usual wedge-shaped order towards or away from the neighbouring river Theiss, apparently still in search of suitable nesting-places; purple herons, common herons, and squacco herons strode about fishing in all accessible parts of the great expanse of water; marsh-barriers flew along their accustomed routes carrying long reed-stalks to their nests; ducks, mating a second time because the flood had robbed them of their eggs, rose noisily from the water on the approach of our small flat boat, while grebes and dabchicks dived for safety—in short, every part of the vast expanse was peopled. A forester well acquainted with all the paths through the submerged wood, awaited us in a house which rose above the flood like an island, and acted as our guide through a forest-wilderness which far surpassed all that we had hitherto seen, for the water had added new obstacles to those always present. Brushing past many branches which must usually be high above the ground, often stooping beneath boughs which blocked our way, we attempted to find a route between half or wholly fallen trees, logs, and drift-wood, and to penetrate to the heart of the forest. Brooding mallards, whose nests in the tops of the willows had been spared by the flood, did not rise on our approach, even though we glided by within a yard of them. Eared grebes, which were out on the open water, when they saw us, swam sideways into the green thicket of tree-crowns, chiefly willows, which rose just above the surface; water-wagtails ran from one piece of drift-wood to another; spotted woodpeckers and nut-hatches clung to the tree-trunks close to the water, and searched for food as usual. One picture of bird-life crowded upon another; but all seemed unfamiliar, because altered by the prevailing conditions. To reach a sea-eagle’s eyrie we were obliged to wade a long distance; to visit a raven’s nest we had to make a wide détour. Hunting in the approved fashion was impossible under such circumstances, but our expedition rewarded us richly. To me personally it afforded the pleasure of seeing one of the best of the feathered architects of Europe, the penduline titmouse, at work on its nest, and of observing for the first time its life and habits.[88]

The following day our whole company assembled in one of the woods already mentioned. A Hungarian forester had made preparations for a wolf-drive on a grand scale, but had arranged it so unskilfully that Friend Isegrim succeeded in slipping away unperceived. The unpromising chase was therefore soon abandoned, and the short time which remained to us was devoted to more profitable observation of the bird-life in the forest.

In the course of the same afternoon we left Kovil, reached Peterwardein the same evening, steamed past Fruskagora early in the night, left the vessel once more the following day to hunt in the marsh of Hullo, saw there the noble heron which we had until then sought for in vain, but were obliged to hurry onwards so as not to miss the fast train for Vienna. Gratefully looking back on the days we had spent, and lamenting the swiftness with which they had sped, we steamed rapidly past all the river forests, which had afforded us so much enjoyment, and, with the ardent wish that we might some day return to spend a longer time in it, we took leave of this rich and unique country.

NOTES BY THE EDITOR.

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THE BIRD-BERGS OF LAPLAND.

For other pictures of Arctic Natural History the reader may profitably consult the following works:—

Collett, R. Bird Life in Arctic Norway. Trans. by A. H. Cocks (London, 1894).

Nordenskiöld, A. E. The Voyage of the “Vega” Round Asia and Europe, with a Historical Review of Previous Journeys along the North Coast of the Old World (Trans. by A. Leslie, 2 vols., London, 1881).

Gilder, W. H. Ice-Pack and Tundra, an Account of the Search for the Jeanette, and a Sledge Journey through Siberia (8vo, London, 1883. Chiefly personal, not scientific).

Hovgaard, A. Nordenskiöld’s Voyage Round Asia and Europe, a Popular Account of the North-east Passage of the Vega, 1878-80 (Trans. by H. L. Brækstad, 8vo, London, 1882).

Pennant’s Arctic Zoology (1785).

[Note 1] p. 38.—Dense masses of fish.

I have consulted a Scandinavian pisciculturist, who, while not corroborating the occurrence of such vast multitudes, admitted the periodic appearance of dense local swarms, such as are sometimes seen in the lochs in the west of Scotland.

[Note 2] p. 45.—The female eider-duck plucking the male.

The popular story of the male eider being made to furnish down for the nest, after the mother-bird’s supply is exhausted, must, we fear, be regarded as a misstatement. See Newton’s Dictionary of Birds (London, 1893), and other authoritative works on ornithology. Perhaps the story has some basis in the fact that for a short time after the breeding season the males undergo a change of plumage, becoming less decorative and more like the females.

[Note 3] p. 48.—Economic value of eider-down.

According to Stejneger, each nest yields about an ounce and a third. From Greenland and Iceland alone, six thousand pounds, or the contents of seventy-two thousand nests, are yearly exported. Nordenskiöld notes that the quantity of eider-down brought from the polar lands to Tromsöe amounted in 1868 to 540 kilogrammes, in 1869 to 963, in 1870 to 882, in 1871 to 630, in 1872 to 306, and that the total annual yield may be probably estimated at three times as much.

[Note 4] p. 57.—Auks.

A graphic description of the King-auks (Alle alle), which breed in Spitzbergen, is given by Nordenskiöld in the work above mentioned.

The name auk is oftenest applied only to the razor-bills, but is also used collectively for other members of the family Alcidæ, such as guillemots and puffins.

[Note 5] p. 59.—Altrices and Præcoces.

Altrices or nidicolæ are those birds which are more or less helpless when hatched. They are often blind and naked, and unable to leave the nest. The food-yolk has been mostly or wholly used up before birth, and the young depend on what their parents bring them. Examples are doves, hawks, and passerine birds.

Præcoces or nidifugæ are those birds which are more or less able to run about when hatched. They are born with their eyes open, with a covering of down, and with much of their yolk still unused. Examples are running birds, fowl, gulls, and ducks.

THE TUNDRA AND ITS ANIMAL LIFE.

In addition to Nordenskiöld’s voyage, and other works already cited, the following may be consulted by those who wish to amplify their picture of the Tundra and its life:—

Seebohm. Siberia in Asia (1882).

Jackson, F. G. The Great Frozen Land (Bolshaia Zemelskija Tundra). Narrative of a winter journey across the Tundras and a sojourn among the Samoyedes (ed. from the author’s journal by A. Montefiore, 8vo, London, 1895).

[Note 6] pp. 63 and 71.—The Tundra.

[Note 7] pp. 63 and 71.—The Tundra.

With Brehm’s picture of the Tundra, it is interesting to compare that given by Mr. Seebohm in his address to the Geographical Section of the British Association at Nottingham, 1893. (Scottish Geogr. Magazine, ix. (1893), pp. 505-23, with map.)

“In exposed situations, especially in the higher latitudes, the tundra does really merit its American name of Barren Ground, being little else than gravel beds interspersed with bare patches of peat or clay, and with scarcely a rush or a sedge to break the monotony. In Siberia, at least, this is very exceptional. By far the greater part of the tundra, both east and west of the Ural Mountains, is a gently undulating plain, full of lakes, rivers, swamps, and bogs. The lakes are diversified with patches of green water plants, amongst which ducks and swans float and dive; the little rivers flow between banks of rush and sedge; the swamps are masses of tall rushes and sedges of various species, where phalaropes and ruffs breed, and the bogs are brilliant with the white fluffy seeds of the cotton-grass. The groundwork of all this variegated scenery is more beautiful and varied still—lichens and moss of almost every conceivable colour, from the cream-coloured reindeer-moss to the scarlet-cupped trumpet-moss, interspersed with a brilliant alpine flora, gentians, anemones, saxifrages, and hundreds of plants, each a picture in itself, the tall aconites, both the blue and yellow species, the beautiful cloudberry, with its gay white blossom and amber fruit, the flagrant Ledum palustre and the delicate pink Andromeda polifolia. In the sheltered valleys and deep water-courses a few stunted birches, and sometimes large patches of willow scrub, survive the long severe winter, and serve as cover for willow-grouse or ptarmigan. The Lapland bunting and red-throated pipit are everywhere to be seen, and certain favoured places are the breeding grounds of plovers and sandpipers of many species. So far from meriting the name of Barren Ground, the tundra is for the most part a veritable paradise in summer. But it has one almost fatal drawback—it swarms with millions of mosquitoes.”

[Note 8] p. 72.—The Mammoth.

The Mammoth (Elephas primigenius) was a near relative of the Indian elephant, if not indeed a variety of the same species. One of its characteristics was a woolly covering of brownish hair, rudimentary traces of which have been found in the Indian species.

It was abundant in Europe before the glacial epoch, and seems to have been especially common in Siberia. Lydekker’s Royal Natural History gives a good account of the finding of the mammoth, and the striking fact is noticed that the imports of fossil ivory into England prove that, within a period of twenty years, over 20,000 mammoths must have been discovered.

As Brehm describes, the carcasses are found frozen in the soil, to all appearance just as the animals died, but the explanation of this is obscure. The particular case to which he alludes was one of the earliest finds—by Adams in 1806. Before Adams reached the carcass, which had been known for some years, the dogs of the yakuts had eaten most of the flesh.

See also Vogt’s Natural History of Mammals.

[Note 9] p. 73.—Colour of the Arctic Fox.

On the interesting question of the winter colour-change, Mr. Poulton’s Colours of Animals and Mr. Beddard’s Animal Coloration should be consulted.

[Note 10] p. 75.—Reindeer devouring Lemming.

With reference to Brehm’s statement as to reindeer eating lemming, I may note a report on creditable authority that in the hard winter 1894-5 stags in Aberdeenshire were known to have eaten rabbits.

[Note 11] p. 76.—Migration of the Lemming.

A careful discussion of the strange migratory instinct of the lemming will be found in the late Mr. Romanes’s Mental Evolution in Animals.

[Note 12] p. 77.—Food of the Reindeer.

Though the reindeer may eat grasses and aquatic plants, its great resource is the so-called reindeer-moss, which is really a lichen, common on the mountain heights of the interior where the herds pass the winter.

[Note 13] p. 80.—The Phalarope.

Of the Grey Phalarope (Phalaropus fulicarius) and the Red-necked Phalarope (Phalaropus hyperboreus), both occurring in Britain, Professor Newton says: “A more entrancing sight to the ornithologist can hardly be presented than by either of these species. Their graceful form, their lively coloration, and the confidence with which both are familiarly displayed in their breeding-quarters, can hardly be exaggerated, and it is equally a delightful sight to watch the birds gathering their food in the high—running surf, or, when that is done, peacefully floating outside the breakers.” See also Collett’s Bird Life in Arctic Norway.

[Note 14] p. 84.—Sense of smell and touch.

The somewhat mysterious reference which Brehm makes to a sense between smell and touch is thoroughly justifiable. To the senses of many of the lower animals—and even of fishes—it is exceedingly difficult to apply our fairly definite human conceptions of smell, taste, touch, &c.

[Note 15] p. 85.—Mosquitoes.

This general term covers a large number of species belonging to the gnat genus (Culex). They are very various in size, and are widely distributed from the Tropics to the Poles. Their larvæ are aquatic, and for their abundance the tundra obviously offers every opportunity.

THE ASIATIC STEPPES AND THEIR FAUNA.

See—

Bovalet, G. Through the Heart of Asia (trans. by C. B. Pitman, 2 vols, London, 1889).

Jackson, F. G. The Great Frozen Land, cited above.

[Note 16] p. 91.—Flora of the steppe.

According to Seebohm (op. cit.), “The cause of the treeless condition of the steppes or prairies has given rise to much controversy. My own experience in Siberia convinced me that the forests were rocky, and the steppes covered with a deep layer of loose earth, and I came to the conclusion that on the rocky ground the roots of the trees were able to establish themselves firmly, so as to defy the strongest gales, which tore them up when they were planted in loose soil. Other travellers have formed other opinions. Some suppose that the prairies were once covered with trees, which have been gradually destroyed by fires. Others suggest that the earth on the treeless plains contains too much salt or too little organic matter to be favourable to the growth of trees. No one, so far as I know, has suggested a climatic explanation of the circumstances. Want of drainage may produce a swamp, and the deficiency of rainfall may cause a desert, both conditions being fatal to forest growth, but no one can mistake either of these treeless districts for a steppe or a prairie.” See also for general description of steppe vegetation Kerner’s Plant Life and Wiesner’s Biologic der Pflanzen.

[Note 17] p. 97.—The Quagga.

The true quagga (Equus quagga), intermediate between zebras and asses, is no longer known to exist, though it was described by Sir Cornwallis Harris in 1839 as occurring in immense herds. The name quagga is given by the Boers to Burchell’s zebra (Equus burchelli).

The same sad fact of approaching extermination must be noted in regard to not a few noble animals, e.g. rhinoceros, hippopotamus, and giraffe.

Selous writes in 1893: “To the best of my belief, the great white or square-mouthed rhinoceros (Rhinoceros simus), the largest of modern terrestrial mammals after the elephant, will, in the course of the next few years, become absolutely extinct. Yet, twenty years ago, it was a common animal over an enormous extent of country in Central South Africa.

“Never again will the traveller be able to stand upon his wagon-box, and, like Burchell, Andrew Smith, Cornwallis Harris, and Gordon Cumming, scan plains literally darkened by thousands upon thousands of wildebeests, quaggas, Burchell’s zebras, blesboks, hartebeests, and spring-boks.”

[Note 18] p. 97.—The Buffalo.

The American bison or buffalo (Bos americanus) is now practically exterminated.

Two sentences from An Introduction to the Study of Mammals, by Sir W. H. Flower and Mr. R. Lydekker (London, 1891), put the case in a nutshell.

“The multitudes in which the American bison formerly existed are almost incredible; the prairies being absolutely black with them as far as the eye could reach, the numbers in the herds being reckoned by millions.”

With the completion of the Kansas Branch of the Pacific Railway in 1871, the extraordinarily careless and ruthless slaughter began. In less than ten years bison-shooting ceased to be profitable.

And now, “A herd of some two hundred wild individuals derived from the northern herd is preserved in the Yellowstone National Park; and it is believed that some five hundred of the race, known as Wood-Bison, exist in British territory; but with these exceptions this magnificent species is exterminated”.

A vivid account of the buffalo’s habits and of its rapid tragic extermination will be found in Mr. Grinell’s essay “In Buffalo Days” in American Big-Game Hunting (Boone and Crockett Club), edited by Th. Roosevelt and G. B. Grinell, Edinburgh, 1893.

See also Hornaday, The Extirpation of the American Bison, 1889, and a monograph by J. A. Allen, “The American Bisons, Living and Extinct”: Memoirs of the Museum of Comparative Zoology, Harvard, vol. iv., 1876.

[Note 19] p. 102.—Fighting-ruffs.

The ruff (Machetes pugnax) is in many ways a most interesting bird. Thus, there is the rapid change of plumage, as the result of which the male acquires his characteristic frill or ruff before the breeding season. The indefatigable pugnacity of the males, the efficacy of their shield, their assiduous polygamous courtship, their subsequent carelessness as to the fate of the reeve and her young, and their extraordinary “polymorphism”, are very remarkable. While the individual peculiarities of plumage are very marked, each ruff is true season after season to its own idiosyncrasy. Visitors to the National Museum of Natural History in London will remember a beautiful case of ruffs in the Entrance Hall.

[Note 20] p. 103.—Sky-goat.

Bleating of snipe. There has been much discussion as to the origin of the peculiar drumming or bleating sound made by the snipe, to which it owes its Scotch name of “heather-bleater”, but many at least agree with Brehm.

[Note 21] p. 106.—Sand-grouse.

Sand-grouse (Pterocles and Syrrhaptes), a group of birds quite distinct from the grouse. One species, Syrrhaptes paradoxus, “ranging from Northern China across Central Asia to the confines of Europe”, has shown a tendency to extensive migration, visiting Britain, for instance, in 1859, 1863, 1872, 1876, and abundantly in 1888. For a concise account of these irregular invasions see Newton’s Dictionary of Birds.

[Note 22] p. 107.—Yurt.

According to Radloff “jurte” or “yurt” is a general name for a more or less transportable rough hut made of stakes, felt, bark, and the like, varying slightly in construction in different districts. The ring to which Brehm here refers is probably that through which the upper ends of the converging stakes are thrust.

[Note 23] p. 109.—The Jerboa.

The rodent here referred to is the Kirghiz jerboa (Alactaga decumana). What Brehm says as to its eating eggs and young birds is confirmed by others.

[Note 24] p. 115.—The Sand-grouse or Steppe-grouse.

Pallas’s Sand-grouse (Syrrhaptes paradoxus), see note 21.

[Note 25] p. 115—Ancestry of the horse.

See Sir W. H. Flower’s little book on The Horse (Modern Science Series). The kulan or kiang is rather a wild ass than a wild horse, and the balance of evidence in favour of regarding the Tarpan as in the line of ancestry is greater than Brehm indicates. Flower suggests that Przewalski’s horse, discovered some years ago in Central Asia, and looked upon as a distinct species, may be a hybrid between the kiang and the tarpan.

[Note 26] p. 116.—Ancestors of the cat and the goat.

It is very generally believed that our domestic cat is descended from the sacred Egyptian or Caffre cat (Felis caffra). See St. George Mivart’s monograph on the cat. Similarly, the breeds of domestic goat are often referred to the Pasang or Capra ægagrus, found in Crete, Asia Minor, Persia, &c. See a vivid essay by Buxton in his Short Stalks, entitled “The Father of all the Goats”.

[Note 27] p. 116.—Wild camels.

An interesting note on wild camels in Spain—a strayed herd—is to be found in Wild Spain by Chapman and Buck. St. George Littledale has recently discussed (Proc. Zoological Society, 1894) the question whether the camels of Lob-nor, on the slope of Altyn Tag, are remains of a wild stock or strayed. No wild dromedaries are known, and the same is probably true of camels.

THE FORESTS AND SPORT OF SIBERIA.

See also—

W. Radloff, Aus Sibirien, 2 vols., Leipzig, 1884.

A. Th. von Middendorf, Voyage dans l’extrême Nord et dams l’est de la Sibérie (St. Petersburg, 1848).

[Note 28] p. 123.—The Life of the Forest.

With Brehm’s description of this minor forest, the reader should compare that which Stanley gives of “The Great Central African Forest” (chap. xxiii. of 2nd vol. of In Darkest Africa). He computes the size of the main mass at 321,057 square miles. A few sentences from his description may be quoted.

“Imagine the whole of France and the Iberian peninsula closely packed with trees varying from 20 to 180 feet high, whose crowns of foliage interlace and prevent any view of sky and sun, and each tree from a few inches to four feet in diameter. Then from tree to tree run cables from two inches to fifteen inches in diameter, up and down in loops and festoons and W’s and badly-formed M’s; fold them round the trees in great tight coils, until they have run up the entire height like endless anacondas; let them flower and leaf luxuriantly, and mix up above with the foliage of the trees to hide the sun, then from the highest branches let fall the ends of the cables reaching near to the ground by hundreds with frayed extremities, for these represent the air roots of the epiphytes; let slender cords hang down also in tassels with open threadwork at the ends. Work others through and through as confusedly as possible, and pendent from branch to branch—with absolute disregard of material, and at every fork and on every horizontal branch plant cabbage-like lichens of the largest kind, and broad spear-leaved plants—these would represent the elephant-eared plant—and orchids and clusters of vegetable marvels, and a drapery of delicate ferns which abound. Now cover tree, branch, twig, and creeper with a thick moss like a green fur.”

He goes on to describe the rush of life to fill up each gap—the struggle for existence—the crowding, crushing, and strangling—the death and disease.

“To complete the mental picture of this ruthless forest, the ground should be strewn thickly with half-formed humus of rotting twigs, leaves, branches; every few yards there should be a prostrate giant, a reeking compost of rotten fibres, and departed generations of insects, and colonies of ants, half veiled with masses of vines and shrouded by the leafage of a multitude of baby saplings, lengthy briars and calamus in many fathom lengths, and every mile or so there should be muddy streams, stagnant creeks, and shallow pools, green with duckweed, leaves of lotus and lilies, and a greasy green scum composed of millions of finite growths.”

[Note 29] p. 126.—Appearance of Decay in the Forests.

A closely similar picture is given by Mr. E. N. Buxton in recounting a journey in the Rocky Mountains. He says: “This bane of pack-trains is caused by forest fires, which have burnt out the life of the trees, leaving only gaunt stems and blackened ground, followed by tempests which have whirled these tottering giants in heaps to the ground. In places the stems lie parallel to one another, and piled to the height of many feet as though they had been laid in sheaves. Elsewhere, while some have stood the shock and are still erect, their neighbours lie prone at every conceivable angle to one another, and their branches pierce the air as weathered snags. This ghastly waste, whether brought about by natural causes, or the recklessness of man, will have to be paid for some day, for are we not within measurable distance of the inevitable world-wide timber-famine” (E. N. Buxton, Short Stalks, 1893).

See also Rodway’s In the Guiana Forest (London, 1895), and article “Death in the Forest” (Natural Science, Sept., 1892).

[Note 30] p. 129.—Taiga.

“A strip of Alpine region, 100-150 miles in breadth, consisting of separate mountain-chains whose peaks rise from 4800-6500 feet above sea-level, and beyond the limits of forest vegetation.” According to Radloff, the name taiga is also generally applied by the Kalmucks to wooded and rocky mountain-land.

[Note 31] p. 135.—Extermination of the Beaver.

Mr. Martin, in his eulogy of the beaver (Castorologia, 1892), describes the rapid diminution of numbers in Canada, largely as the result of careless greed, but also through the spread of colonisation. He believes that by the end of the century, none will be found except in museums. Their rarity in Europe is well known.

[Note 32] p. 136.—Export of skins.

Radloff notes, in 1884, that the yearly sale of furs at the Irbitsch fair amounts to between three and four millions of roubles.

[Note 33] p. 144.—Velvet of antlers.

An account of the various ways in which pounded antlers and the vascular velvet were once used in medicine will be found in Prof. W. Marshall’s recent Arzenei-Kästlein, Leipzig, 1894.

[Note 34] p. 147.—The Elk.

The elk (Alces machlis) is the largest of the land animals of Europe, and is the same as the “moose” of Canada.

[Note 35] p. 150.—Rouble.

This varies from 3s. 8d. to 3s. 10d., but is usually reckoned as 4s. Of the kopeks, afterwards referred to, a hundred go to the rouble.

[Note 36] p. 161.—Brick Tea.

Broken or powdered tea-leaves mixed with the blood of the sheep or ox, and formed into cakes. Other fragrant leaves are sometimes added.

[Note 37] p. 165.—The Bear rearing her cubs.

I have been unable to find any corroboration of this story as to the she-bear employing her children of a former year as nurses.

THE STEPPES OF INNER AFRICA.

See—

Selous, F. C. Travel and Adventure in South-East Africa (1893).

Solymos, B. (B. E. Falkenberg). Desert Life: Recollections of an Expedition in the Soudan. London, 1880.

Foà, E. Mes grandes Chasses dans l’Afrique Centrale. Paris, 1895.

Lichtenstein, M. H. K. Reise im Südlichen Africa. Berlin, 1812.

G. Schweinfurth. The Heart of Africa.

J. Thomson. Through Masai Land.

Emin Pasha in Central Africa. Edited by Schweinfurth, Ratzel, Felkin, and Hartlaub. London, 1885.

Also well-known works by Livingstone, Stanley, &c.

[Note 38] p. 170.—Heat in the Desert.

50° Celsius, or Centigrade = 122° Fahrenheit. Temperatures of 121°, 122°, 133° Fahr., and so on, have been repeatedly recorded in the desert. Solymos, in his Desert Life, notes 115° Fahr. in the shade as the maximum for his year. He also calls attention to the frost and ice! “Duveyrier registered frost twenty-six times between December and March in the plains of the Central Sahara.” His picture of the desert-well is much less optimistic than Brehm’s.

[Note 39] p. 173.—The Termites.

Termites or “white ants” are very characteristic, wood-eating insects of tropical Africa and other warm countries. Though not related to the true ants, they have somewhat similar social organizations.

The reader will be rewarded who turns to Prof. Henry Drummond’s Tropical Africa, where there is not only a graphic description of the ways of the termites, but an interesting theory of their possible agricultural importance. As they avoid the light, and travel on the trees only under cover of their tunnels of finely-comminuted and cemented earth, they must be continually pulverizing the soil. When rain-storms come this fine dust is washed from the trees, and some of it may go to swell the alluvium of distant valleys. Hence the termite may be, like the earthworm, a soil-maker of considerable importance. Mr. H. A. Bryden, in his Gun and Camera in Southern Africa (London, 1893), writes as follows of the termites: “Our cases, portmanteaus, &c., were arranged round, but not touching the walls. Every article reposed on glass bottles, as the only known protection against the depredations of white ants.... They will eat large holes in a thick tweed coat in one night, and anything softer than metal left to their tender mercies for a night or two is irretrievably ruined.... If the huts are inspected every few days, the tunnels of self-made mortar can be swept away, and the depredator kept at all events to the flooring.... Most housewives have, at least once a year, to institute a crusade against the marauders, dig up the flooring, and attempt to find the queen. If the queen-ant can be successfully located and dug up, the nuisance is ended; the rest of the ants, bereft of their sovereign, at once quit the building, and for a season trouble no more.... In the forests to the north and west the mischief done by these insects is enormous. The tree is attacked, the tunnels are run up along the bole, the wood is pierced and riddled, and the work of destruction is soon completed.”

There is, however, a lack of precise observation as to the extent to which termites attack trees which are altogether sound and living. In great measure they merely hasten and complete a destruction for whose initiation they are not responsible.

[Note 40] p. 173.—Summer Sleep.

Summer-sleep in torrid regions, affecting a few fishes, amphibians, and reptiles, is a phenomenon analogous to hibernation elsewhere, but its physiological explanation is even more obscure.

[Note 41] p. 174.—The Karroo.

Karroo, a general name for the highland steppes of South Africa. See H. A. Bryden’s Kloof and Karroo (1889).

[Note 42] p. 178.—Cerastes (Vipera hasselquistii).

The horned viper is the most common viper of Northern Africa. It is extremely poisonous. It is of a brownish-white colour with darker markings, and has a scaly spine or horn over each eye. This species is usually supposed to have been Cleopatra’s asp.

[Note 43] p. 182. See Note 39.

[Note 44] p. 183.—The mud-fish.

This remarkable animal (Protopterus) is one of the Double-breathers or Dipnoi, a member of a small class between Fishes and Amphibians, represented by three genera—Ceratodus in Queensland, Lepidosiren in Brazil, and this Protopterus in Africa. They differ in many ways from other fishes, being physiologically intermediate between Fishes and Amphibians. Hundreds of specimens have been brought within their ‘nests’ from Africa to Europe. Brehm speaks of the complete enclosure of the capsule, but this is now known to communicate with the outer world by a tubular passage through the mud. At the foot of this tube the mud-fish keeps his nostrils. The lung is a specialization of the swim-bladder which is present in most fishes.

[Note 45] p. 184.—The Royal Aspis or Uräus.

The Uräus snake or Aspis is the well-known Egyptian jugglers’ snake (Naja haje). It may be over six feet in length, and is very deadly.

[Note 46] p. 185.—Spitting poison.

The poison of a snake is contained in the secretion of a specialized salivary gland. The compression of this venom gland propels the fluid along a duct which leads to the groove or canal of the fang. Infection with the venom only occurs when, by more or less of a bite, the poison is injected into the victim. No spitting of poison is known, nor would it have effect without a wound.

[Note 47] p. 186.—The Gecko.

Figures and a brief description of the gecko’s clinging foot will be found in Semper’s well-known Animal Life (International Science Series, 1881). The clinging power is due to numerous long bristle-like hairs on the sole of the foot. These appear to be modifications of the “casting-hairs” which are used in “skin-casting”.

[Note 48] p. 191.—Dance of Ostrich.

A vivid picture of the Ostrich dance will be found in Prof. Lloyd Morgan’s Animal Sketches (1892).

[Note 49] p. 192.—Ostrich.

Prof. Newton, in his Dictionary of Birds, notes that Ostriches, though sometimes assembling in troops of 30-50, commonly live in companies of four or five—one cock and the rest hens. This is especially true at the breeding season. All the hens lay together; the cock broods during the night; the hens take turns during the day, more, it would seem, to guard their common treasure from jackals and small beasts of prey than directly to forward the process of hatching, for that is often left wholly to the sun. Some thirty eggs are laid in the nest, and round it are scattered perhaps as many more, which are said to be used as food for the newly-hatched chicks.

Compare works cited in that article: M. H. K. Lichtenstein, Reise im südlichen Africa (Berlin, 1812); Fursch and Hartlaub, Vögel Ost Afrikas; De Mosenthal and Harting, Ostrich and Ostrich Farming; also, Mrs. Martin, Home Life on an Ostrich Farm.

[Note 50] p. 193.—Primaries and Secondaries.

Primary feathers are the longer quill-feathers of the wing, and are borne by the ‘hand’ of the bird; the secondaries are the quill-feathers higher up, borne by the ulna of the arm.

THE PRIMEVAL FORESTS OF CENTRAL AFRICA.

[Note 51] p. 220.—Hornbills.

Members of the family Bucerotidæ, including some 60 species whose generic arrangement is uncertain. Of their habits Prof. Newton says: “They breed in holes of trees, laying large white eggs, and when the hen begins to sit, the cock plasters up the entrance with mud or clay, leaving only a small window, through which she receives the food he brings her during her voluntary imprisonment”. He notes Mr. Bartlett’s discovery, confirmed by others, that the hornbills cast out at intervals the lining of their gizzard in the form of a bag, which is filled with the fruit that the bird has been eating, and asks whether “these castings are really intended to form the hen-bird’s food during her confinement”.

[Note 52] p. 221.—Umber- or Umbre-bird.

This bird, whose name refers to the earthy-brown colour, is the Hammer-head or Scopus umbretta of ornithologists. Of the nest, Prof. Newton says that “it is occasionally some six feet in diameter, a mass of sticks, roots, grass, and rushes compactly piled together, with a flat-topped roof, the interior being neatly lined with clay, and a hole of entrance and exit”. It may be of interest to compare its nest with that of the South American Oven-birds (Furnarius, &c.).

[Note 53] p. 221.—Doves beside falcons.

Those interested in the facts of nature which suggest the danger of exaggerating the Darwinian idea of the struggle for existence should consult two articles by Kropotkine, entitled “Mutual Aid Among Animals”, in the Nineteenth Century, 1889. Kropotkine cites from Dr. Coues, an American ornithologist, an observation in regard to some little cliff swallows which nested quite near the home of a prairie falcon. “The little peaceful birds had no fear of their rapacious neighbour; they did not let it even approach to their colony. They immediately surrounded it and chased it, so that it had to make off at once.”

[Note 54] p. 223.—And they know that this is so.

Brehm suggests here and elsewhere what it would be difficult to prove, that animals which have unconsciously acquired protective colouring, and which instinctively crouch or lie still instead of trying to escape by flight, are aware of their adaptation to concealment. There seem to be but few cases which give countenance to this supposition.

[Note 55] p. 227.—Crocodile Bird.

This is usually regarded as Pluvianus or Hyas ægyptius—one of the “plovers” in the wide sense. Professor Newton observes, however, in a note to the article “Plover” in his Dictionary of Birds that there is not perfect unanimity on the matter, as some have supposed that the “crocodile bird” was a lapwing—Hoplopterus spinosus. But the elder Geoffroy St. Hilaire and Brehm, who both saw the bird enter the reptile’s mouth, regarded it as Pluvianus ægyptius.

Dr. Leith Adams notes (1870) that the crocodile is now rarely seen below Beni Hassan, and is evidently receding everywhere below the second cataract. Both Herodotus and Strabo speak of its domestication, and it is tamed at the present day by certain religious sects in India. On the lower Nile it is shy and difficult even to shoot.

“A sail, or the smoke and noise of a steamboat, suffice to warn the crocodiles basking on the sand-banks, or their common companions, the black-headed and spur-winged plovers (Pluvianus ægyptius and Hoplopterus spinosus), which are frequently seen perched on their backs, and always prepared to give timely warning of approaching danger, just as the Father of History noticed them 2300 years ago, and, strange to say, his well-known story is current among the modern Egyptians, who, as usual, have put a tail to the narrative. They say, that in addition to its office of leech-catcher to the crocodile, it occasionally does happen that the zic-zac—so called from its note of alarm—in searching for the leeches, finds its way into the reptile’s mouth when the latter is basking on a sand-bank, where it lies generally with the jaws wide apart. Now this is possible and likely enough, but the captain of our boat added, that occasionally the crocodile falls asleep, when the jaws suddenly fall, and the zic-zac is shut up in the mouth, when it immediately prods the crocodile with its horny spurs, as if refreshing the memory of his reptilian majesty, who opens his jaws and sets his favourite leech-catcher at liberty” (Leith Adams).

MIGRATIONS OF MAMMALS.

[Note 56] p. 237.—Rats.

The brown rat (Mus decumanus) is much stronger than the black rat (Mus rattus), and gains an easy victory. The rivalry between the two species is one of the examples Darwin gives of his generalization that the struggle for existence is most severe between allied forms, and there seems no doubt that the brown rat has often ousted and will even devour the black rat. The latter is now rare in Britain. It should be noted, however, (1) that the two species are said sometimes to live together on board ship, (2) that cases have been recorded where the black rat returned and defeated its conquerors, and (3) that the black rat keeps more about houses, stables, and barns, is therefore more readily exterminated by man, whose efforts were doubtless increased when a second species appeared on the scene. The case is of some importance in connection with the generalization referred to above.

[Note 57] p. 240.—Migrations of Reindeer.

Of the reindeer in Spitzbergen, Nordenskiöld writes:—“During the summer it betakes itself to the grassy plains in the ice-free valleys of the island; in the late autumn it withdraws—according to the walrus-hunter’s statements—to the sea-coast, in order to eat the seaweed that is thrown up on the beach. In winter it goes back to the lichen-clad mountain heights in the interior of the country, where it appears to thrive exceedingly well, though the cold during winter must be excessively severe; for when the reindeer in spring return to the coast they are still very fat, but some weeks afterwards, when the snow has frozen on the surface, and a crust of ice makes it difficult for them to get at the mountain sides, they become so poor as to be scarcely eatable. In summer, however, they speedily eat themselves back into condition, and in autumn they are so fat that they would certainly take prizes at an exhibition of fat cattle.”

Wrangel describes migrations of thousands of reindeer in Eastern Siberia moving from the mountains to the forests, where they winter. He mentions his guide’s assertion that each body is led by a female of large size.

Perhaps we may take the liberty of quoting, with a tribute of admiration, Mr. F. Marion Crawford’s eloquent description of a wild rush of reindeer from the inland country to the shore. We confess to incredulity in regard to the reindeer’s longing to drink of the Polar Sea, but the splendid vividness of the description may excuse some slight inaccuracy.

“In the distant northern plains, a hundred miles from the sea, in the midst of the Laplander’s village, a young reindeer raises his broad muzzle to the north wind, and stares at the limitless distance while a man may count a hundred. He grows restless from that moment, but he is yet alone. The next day a dozen of the herd look up from the cropping of the moss, sniffing the breeze. Then the Laps nod to one another and the camp grows daily more unquiet. At times the whole herd of young deer stand at gaze, as it were, breathing hard through wide nostrils, then jostling each other and stamping the soft ground. They grow unruly, and it is hard to harness them in the light sledge. As the days pass, the Laps watch them more and more closely, well knowing what will happen sooner or later, and then at last, in the northern twilight, the great herd begins to move. The impulse is simultaneous, irresistible, their heads are all turned in one direction. They move slowly at first, biting still, here and there, at the rich moss. Presently the slow step becomes a trot, they crowd closely together, while the Laps hasten to gather up their last unpacked possessions—their cooking utensils and their wooden gods. The great herd break together from a trot to a gallop, from a gallop to a breakneck race, the distant thunder of their united tread reaches the camp during a few minutes, and they are gone to drink of the Polar Sea. The Laps follow after them, dragging painfully their laden sledges in the broad track left by the thousands of galloping beasts—a day’s journey, and they are yet far from the sea, and the trail is yet broad. On the second day it grows narrower, and there are stains of blood to be seen; far on the distant plain before them their sharp eyes distinguish in the direct line a dark motionless object, another, and another. The race has grown more desperate and more wild as the stampede neared the sea. The weaker reindeer have been thrown down and trampled to death by their stronger fellows. A thousand sharp hoofs have crushed and cut through hide and flesh and bone. Ever swifter and more terrible in their motion, the ruthless herd has raced onward, careless of the slain, careless of food, careless of any drink but the sharp salt water ahead of them. And when at last the Laplanders reach the shore their deer are once more quietly grazing, once more tame and docile, once more ready to drag the sledge whithersoever they are guided. Once in his life the reindeer must taste of the sea in one long, satisfying draught, and if he is hindered he perishes. Neither man nor beast dare stand before him in the hundred miles of his arrow-like path.”—A Cigarette-Maker’s Romance, vol. ii. pp. 23-25.

[Note 58] p. 241.—Migrations of Bisons.

In regard to the migration of the bison or buffalo, Mr. G. B. Grinnell writes:—“It was once thought that the buffalo performed annually extensive migrations, and it was even said that those which spent the summer on the banks of the Saskatchewan wintered in Texas. There is no reason for believing this to have been true. Undoubtedly there were slight general movements north and south, and east and west, at certain seasons of the year; but many of the accounts of these movements are entirely misleading, because grossly exaggerated. In one portion of the northern country I know that there was a decided east-and-west seasonal migration, the herds tending in spring away from the mountains, while in the autumn they worked back again, seeking shelter in the rough, broken country of the foot-hills from the cold west winds of the winter.”—American Big-Game Hunting (Boone and Crockett Club), edited by Theodore Roosevelt and George Bird Grinnell, Edin., 1893.

[Note 59] p. 250.—Migrations of Seals.

Much interesting information as to the migrations and habits of seals will be found in J. A. Allen’s History of North American Pinnipedia. The eared fur-seals (Otaria) and others travel periodically to the breeding-places or “rookeries”, where they spend a considerable time, but it should be noted that our common seal (Phoca vitulina) does not make seasonal migrations.

[Note 60] p. 256.—Instinct of the Lemming.

A discussion of the strange instinct of the lemming, remarkable in its apparent fatality, will be found in Romanes’s Mental Evolution in Animals.

[Note 61] p. 258.—Numbers of Springbok.

“I beheld the plains and even the hillsides which stretched on every side of me thickly covered, not with herds, but with one vast mass of springboks; as far as the eye could strain the landscape was alive with them, until they softened down into a dim red mass of living creatures. To endeavour to form any idea of the number of antelopes which I had that day beheld were vain, but I have no hesitation in saying that some hundreds of thousands were within the compass of my vision.”—Gordon Cumming. With this should be compared what other sportsmen and travellers have in recent years told us of rapidly diminishing numbers.

[Note 62] p. 260.—The Monkey Question.

The position of evolutionists in regard to the relations of man and monkeys is conveniently stated in Huxley’s Man’s Place in Nature. A criticism of the thorough-going evolutionist position, from the philosopher’s point of view, will be found in Professor Calderwood’s Evolution and Man’s Place in Nature. A midway position is indicated in Wallace’s Darwinism.

While most naturalists are now thoroughly evolutionist in regard to the descent or ascent of man, as in regard to other problems, most would probably agree with Lloyd Morgan’s cautious conclusion:—

“In denying to animals the perception of relations and the faculty of reason, I do so in no dogmatic spirit, and not in support of any preconceived theory or opinion, but because the evidence now before us is not, in my opinion, sufficient to justify the hypothesis that any animals have reached that stage of mental evolution at which they are even incipiently rational.”

Probably all naturalists allow that animals who profit by experience and adapt their actions to varying circumstances are intelligent. But cases which force us to credit animals with general ideas, with “thinking the therefore”, in short, with reason, are admitted by few.

LOVE AND COURTSHIP AMONG BIRDS.

While admiring the vigorous protest which Brehm makes in this chapter against the interpretation which regards animals as automata, I feel that he has hardly done justice to it. In general terms, the interpretation is that animals act as they do in virtue of an inherited organic mechanism which responds in a uniform manner to certain stimuli. That this is true of many animal and even human actions, especially in early youth, seems highly probable. That it only covers a small fraction of animal behaviour is certain. But even those who go furthest in extending the scope of animal automatism, do not say that an automatic act may not be accompanied by consciousness, they only say that it is not controlled by consciousness. See Huxley, Are Animals automata? in his collected Essays: and Lloyd Morgan, Introduction to Comparative Psychology.

[Note 63] p. 272.—Sexual Selection.

For a statement of the doctrine of sexual selection, the original document—Darwin’s Descent of Man—should be consulted. But the theory has met with strong criticism, e.g. on the part of Alfred Russel Wallace, see his Darwinism. See also The Evolution of Sex, by Geddes and Thomson, and Lloyd Morgan’s Animal Life and Intelligence.

[Note 64] p. 279.—Polygamous Birds.

Darwin has discussed the question of polygamous birds in his Descent of Man.

[Note 65] p. 281.—The Widowed Bird.

For one of the finest expressions in literature of the possible emotions of the widowed bird, we may be allowed to refer to Walt Whitman’s “Out of the cradle endlessly rocking” (Leaves of Grass).

APES AND MONKEYS.

[Note 66] p. 285.—Descent from Monkeys.

Hanumân, the sacred Hindoo long-tailed monkey, plays an important part in Hindoo mythology. He was the friend of Vishnu during his incarnation as Rama Chandra, and he aided the god greatly in the search for his wife Sita, who had been carried off by Ravān. A female slave, who had tended Sita kindly during her captivity, was married to Hanumân as a reward, and this pair some Indian noble families proudly claim as ancestors.

[Note 67] p. 286.—Monkeys on the Rock of Gibraltar.

A letter written in 1880 by an officer in Gibraltar to the Field newspaper and quoted in vol. i. of the Royal Natural History gives the number living on the Rock at that time as twenty-five, among whom were only two adult males. There had been several gangs of them at one time, but they had done so much damage in the town gardens that they had been nearly exterminated by means of traps and poison. But in 1856, when their numbers had been reduced to four or five, a garrison order was issued forbidding further destruction of them, and since that time they have been strictly preserved and regularly counted. In 1863, four were imported from Africa, and after a time were admitted as members of the band. Another attempt was made in 1872 to reinforce their numbers, but it was unsuccessful.

[Note 68] p. 290.—Habits of Monkeys.

See Mr. Garner’s observations on monkeys (Speech of Monkeys, 1893); Hartmann’s Apes and Monkeys (Internat. Science Series), Romanes’s Animal Intelligence and Mental Evolution in Animals. H. A. Forbes, A Handbook to the Primates (Allen’s Naturalist’s Library; Lond. 1894). Mr. Havelock Ellis in his Man and Woman (Lond. 1894) has some interesting notes on the relation of young monkeys and young children to the adult forms.

[Note 69] p. 291.—Death from Grief.

Instances of death from grief are given in Romanes’s Animal Intelligence. See also a paper by Mr. Garner in Harper’s Monthly, 1894.

[Note 70] p. 298.—Speech of Monkeys.

See Mr. Garner’s Speech of Monkeys (Lond. 1893), which tends to support Brehm’s view. But in reference to Garner’s work, Lloyd Morgan says, “Of the nine sounds made by capuchins, not one is, so far as the observations go, indubitably indicative of a particular object of desire. All of them may be, and would seem to be, in the emotional stage, and expressive of satisfaction, discontent, alarm, apprehension, and so forth. Still they may be indicative of particular objects of appetence or aversion; and experiments with the phonograph, conducted with due care and under test-conditions, may do much to throw light upon an interesting and important problem.” After careful consideration, Prof. Lloyd Morgan says, “At present, however, there is not, so far as I am aware, any evidence that animals possess powers of descriptive intercommunication involving perception of relations”.

[Note 71] p. 298.—Right and Wrong in Monkeys.

What is said here should be compared with the discussion of the subject in Darwin’s Descent of Man, Romanes’s Mental Evolution in Animals, or perhaps most conveniently in Lloyd Morgan’s Introduction to Comparative Psychology (Lond. 1894). According to the last-named authority the moral sense “involves a thinking of the ought; it involves a more or less definite perception of the relation of a given act to an ideal standard”. “In none of these cases (cited), is there sufficient evidence to justify a belief that a standard of conduct takes form in the animal mind.”

[Note 72] p. 303.—Mutual Aid among Monkeys.

Mr. Darwin quotes this case in his Descent of Man, and calls the monkey “a true hero”. Similar examples of mutual aid will be found in the same work, as also in a couple of articles by Prince Kropotkine, “Mutual Aid among Animals”, Nineteenth Century, 1889.

[Note 73] p. 316.—Effect of age.

There are some who hold that observation favours the opposite view, that the young ape is relatively more human and less simian than the adult. With these, rather than with Brehm, we agree. There is, however, need of more precise physiological and psychological observation.

[Note 74] p. 318.—Man’s Place in Nature.

It should be noted that the zoologist’s usual statement of his position is that he believes that men and the higher apes have arisen from a common stock. See Huxley’s Man’s Place in Nature. As the anthropoid apes are believed to have diverged as distinct types in Miocene times, the common stock is plainly in the almost inconceivably distant past. A belief in descent from a common stock does not in the least affect the demonstrable distinctiveness of man, nor does it explain how the evolution, whose results we are, took place. See Darwin’s Descent of Man, and Drummond’s Ascent of Man.

DESERT JOURNEYS.

[Note 75] p. 330.—Nodules in the Desert.

These seem to be the now well-known manganese nodules. The puzzling question of their origin is discussed by Dr. John Murray in that part of the Challenger Reports which deals with marine deposits. Solymos thus describes them, “Belted by higher hills, I have mounted one, apparently consisting entirely of a lofty pile of hardened equal sandstone balls, the size of peaches. They were as nearly globular as anything in nature—a bubble, a drop, a planet.”

NUBIA AND THE NILE RAPIDS.

For some interesting geological and zoological observations see A. Leith Adams, Notes of a Naturalist in the Nile Valley and Malta (1870). J. H. Speke, Journal of the Discovery of the Source of the Nile (1864).

[Note 76] p. 358,—On the Nile and its Cataracts.

See Sir Samuel Baker’s The Nile and its Tributaries (1867), and Walter Budge, The Nile: Notes for Travellers in Egypt (1890).

[Note 77] p. 359.—Syenite.

Syenite, a hard crystalline rock, resembling granite, and well adapted for monuments. It is not known in Britain, but occurs in many parts of Europe and America, as well as at the place to which it owes its name.

[Note 78] p. 362.—Philæ.

Philæ has recently been a centre of attention in connection with the Egyptian waterworks. See Sir Benjamin Baker, “Nile Reservoirs and Philæ”, Nineteenth Century, xxxv. (1894), pp. 863-72; J. P. Mahaffy, “The Devastation of Nubia”, pp. 1013-18; Frank Dillon, “The Submergence of Philæ”, pp. 1019-25; H. D. Pearsall, “The Nile Reservoirs”, Scottish Geographical Magazine (1895, August), pp. 393-402.

[Note 79] p. 370.—Government of Egypt.

The reader must bear in mind that Egypt has had a somewhat complex political history since Brehm wrote.

A JOURNEY IN SIBERIA.

[Note 80] p. 397.—Archar Sheep.

Archar or arkal is the Kirghiz name for the Mongolian argali (Ovis ammon). The animal is almost as large as a donkey, has enormous horns and short coarse hair. It is said to be now restricted to Northern Mongolia, and some districts of Southern Siberia. The Tibetan argali (Ovis hodgsoni) is closely allied. See Sir V. Brooke, Proc. Zoological Society, 1875.

[Note 81] p. 412.—Splenic Fever.

Anthrax or splenic fever is a rapidly fatal disease due to a microbe, Bacillus anthracis. This was demonstrated by Koch, and corroborated by Pasteur. The latter discovered how to attenuate the virus, and secure immunity by inoculation. Cattle, sheep, and reindeer are among the commonest victims; but, as the narrative shows, man himself is not exempt.

THE HEATHEN OSTIAKS.

[Note 82] p. 426.—Present state of Ostiaks.

The Ostiak population was estimated in 1891 at about 27,000, and is believed to be still decreasing. There is some interesting information regarding them in Erman’s Travels in Siberia.

[Note 83] p. 433—Larvæ out of nostrils.

The reindeer is excessively troubled by the attacks of several insects, related to the bot-flies (Œstridæ), which attack sheep, cattle, and horses in this country. One lays its eggs in the skin, another in the nostrils, whence the larvæ emerge. The reindeer have a great horror of these insects, and are said to become weak and emaciated in their efforts to avoid them. The disease due to the parasitic insects is sometimes referred to as “germ”, and may destroy most of a herd.

[Note 84] p. 438.—Brick Tea.

See Note 36.

[Note 85] p. 444.—Shamans.

Some interesting details as to these in Hofgaard’s Nordenskïold’s Voyage. He speaks of the preparatory asceticism: “solitude, watching, fasting, exciting and narcotic remedies work upon his imagination; he soon sees the spirits and the apparitions he heard about in his youth, and believes firmly in them”.... “He is no cool, calculating deceiver, no common conjuror.” “Sometimes they have been thrashed in order that they might change a particular prophecy, but Wrangel relates a case in 1814, when their orders to kill a beloved chief, in order to stay a plague, were at length obeyed. Though Christianity has been introduced for more than a century, the Shamans have still (1882) much power.”

A scholarly account of the Shamans, which includes much interesting material in regard to the customs which Brehm describes in this chapter, will be found in the Journal of the Anthropological Institute, xxiv., August and September, 1894. “Shamanism in Siberia and European Russia”, being the second part of “Shamantsvo,” by Professor V. M. Mikhailovskii, translated by O. Wardrop.

NOMAD HERDSMEN AND HERDS OF THE STEPPES.

See F. Burnaby’s Ride to Khiva (1876); H. Lansdell’s Through Siberia (1882), and Russian Central Asia (1885); A. de Levchine, Description des Hordes et des Steppes des Kirghiz-Kazaks (Paris, 1840); Zaleskie, La vie des Steppes Kirghizes (Paris, 1865).

COLONISTS AND EXILES IN SIBERIA.

[Note 86] p. 514.—Geology of the Altai.

“In the Altai the mountains are built up of granites, syenites, and diorites covered with metamorphic slates belonging to the Laurentian, Silurian, Devonian, and Carboniferous periods. The Jurassic strata on the outskirts are all fresh-water deposits, and contain coal.”

“The Altai Mines (12,000 men) yielded in 1881, 16,670 lbs. of silver, 13,140 cwts. lead, 6708 cwts. copper, 3200 cwts. iron, 240,000 cwts. coal, and 320,000 cwts. salt.”

[Note 87] p. 539.—The Exile System.

The reader should consult Dr. Lansdell’s Through Siberia (London, 1882); H. de Windt’s Siberia As It Is (London, 1892); Seebohm’s Siberia in Asia (1882). While some, e.g. de Windt, give an account of the exile system which agrees with Brehm’s, it should be noted that others think very differently; see Kennan’s Siberia and the Exile System (1891).

AN ORNITHOLOGIST ON THE DANUBE.

[Note 88] p. 563.—The Penduline Titmouse.

A very small species of titmouse occurring in Southern Europe and Africa. Its remarkable nest (see figure) is formed of a felt woven of hemp or wool often mixed with goat’s hair. It usually hangs on the extreme end of a branch just over water. Both birds share in the work of building, as also in that of hatching and rearing the young, of which there are usually seven.