ROBERT THE SECOND.
FTER slight intimacies with various robins who were visitors to the conservatory and found their way in and out at the open windows, I was led to special friendship with a brown-coated young bird I used often to see close to the open French window where I was sitting. He was coaxed into the room by mealworms being thrown to him until he made himself quite at home indoors. By the time he had attained his red breast the weather had become too cold for open windows, but Bobbie would sit on the ledge and[p. 189] wait till I let him in, and then he would be my happy little companion for the whole morning, flitting all about the room, along the corridor, into the hall—in fact, he was to be found all over the house; but when hungry he returned to me as his best friend, because I was the provider of his delightsome mealworms. It was always amusing to visitors to see me feed my small fowl! He would be on the alert to see where his prey was to be found, and he would hunt for it perseveringly if it happened to fall out of sight. He was often to be seen perched on the Californian mouse's cage, and I wondered what could be the attraction; at last I discovered that he coveted mousie's brown biscuits, and after that he was allowed one for his own use, kept in a special corner, where a cup of water was also provided for his small requirements.
However tame wild birds may seem there will be times when all at once a sort of intense longing to get out seems to possess them. When this was the case Bobbie would fly backwards and forwards uttering his plaintive cry (one of the six kinds of notes by which robins express their feelings),[p. 190] and his distress was so evident that the window was always opened at once to let him go out.
I am sorry to have to confess that robins are most vindictive towards each other! Bobbie maintained a very angry warfare with a hated rival out-of-doors, in fact his chief occupation in life seemed to be watching for his enemy. He might often be seen sitting under a small palm in a pot on the window-ledge, and whilst looking the picture of gentle innocence he was, I fear, cherishing envy, hatred, and malice in his naughty little heart, for, all at once, there would be a grand fluttering and pecking at the window whilst the two little furies, one inside and the other out, expended their strength in harmless warfare which only ceased when they were too exhausted to do more, and then followed on both sides a triumphant song of defiance or victory.
I must now weave into this biography the life-history of a poor robin which, I suppose, must have been caught in a trap, for it had lost the lower mandible of its beak, and had only a little knob remaining of the upper mandible. It haunted the windows, and looked so hungry and miserable[p. 191] from its inability to pick up its food, that I thought it kindest to coax it into a cage where it could be fed with suitable food. By placing mealworms in a cage I at last induced it to hop in, and for five months it had a very happy life indoors, feeding on soaked brown bread and all the insect diet I could secure for it. When the cage was cleaned each morning Bobbie was let out, and would take a bath in a glass dish, and then fly to the top of the looking-glass, where he would often remain all day unless we were quick enough to secure his cage-door when he went in to feed. By the middle of May I thought caterpillars would be plentiful enough for him to find his own living, so one day he was released, but unhappily Robert the Second was close by, and the moment he saw the invalid in his cage on the lawn with the door open, he rushed in and savagely fought the poor defenceless bird. Before we could interfere he drove our pet out of his cage, and terrible was the battle that went on; the beakless bird was driven far away, and I was quite unhappy about his fate, for he was now beyond my loving care, and I never expected to see him again. Two months passed by, and[p. 192] I only once caught a glimpse of the invalid, but at last he came just as before to the window, looking thin and ill, with ruffled feathers, and evidently again at starvation point. Once more he entered his cage and began his old life, only now he was hung under the veranda so as to enjoy fresh air and the songs of his companions. For two months I endeavoured to keep the dear little creature happy; we were all so fond of him, and it seems very touching to think that in his times of extremity he should have come willingly into captivity and felt sure that a kind welcome would be accorded him. But no amount of care could bring him through the moulting season, the lack of a beak to plume his feathers and his great difficulty in picking up even the mealworms made him weak and sickly. He got out of his cage one day into the garden, and a few days after we found his poor little body lying dead close to the window where he had always found the help he needed, and yet we could not but be glad that his sorrowful little life was ended.
When robins have been thus tamed for years the families they rear are like pet birds; they are[p. 193] fed by their parents close to the windows, and then come indoors, as if they knew they would be welcome everywhere.
There is one feature in the robin's character that, as far as I know, is shared by no other bird; I mean his adopting a certain spot as his district and always keeping to it, just as the stickle-backs portion out a pond and jealously defend the territory they have chosen. Here, there is a special robin to be found at each of the lodges; one haunts the Mission Hall and will often sing vigorously from the reading-stand while classes are going on. A very tame one lives in the coachman's house, running about the floor like a little brown mouse, and sitting inside the fender on cold days to warm himself. He must have met with trouble in his early youth, for when first seen he was very lame, and had lost the sight of one eye. Through kind care he has become well and strong, but he is much at the mercy of his enemies, who often attack him on his blind side. The conservatory, dining-room, and drawing-rooms have each their little redbreast visitor; the latter is so tame he will take meal-worms from my hand,[p. 194] and sits on my inkstand singing a sweet, low song whilst I write. As long as each bird keeps to his domain there is peace, but woe to any intruder! The conflicts are desperate, and I have often to mediate, and separate two little furies rolling over and over on the ground. I suppose it is in this way that the idea has arisen about the young robins killing the old ones; I cannot ascertain that it has any foundation—in fact, every robin fights his neighbour all the year through, except when paired and busy with domestic duties. As dead redbreasts are not found specially in autumn, I do not think there can be any truth in the superstition.
FEEDING BIRDS IN SUMMER
AND WINTER.
N wintry mornings, when leaf and twig are decked with hoar-frost and the ground is hard and dry, affording no food for the birds, it is a piteous sight to see them cowering under the evergreens with ruffled feathers, evidently starving and miserable, quietly waiting for the death that must overtake many of them unless we come to their rescue.
It is one of my delights to feed the small "feathered fowls" through all the winter months, and I only wish all my readers could enjoy with me the lovely scenes of happy bird life to be[p. 196] witnessed through the French window opposite my writing-table. These gatherings of birds are the result of many years of persistent kindness and thought for the welfare of my bird pets. Their tameness cannot be attained all at once; it takes time to establish confidence; it needs thought about the kinds of food required by various species of birds, regularity in feeding, and quiet gentleness of manner to avoid frightening any new and timid visitors. Doubtless there are very many lovers of birds who share this pleasure with me, but for those who may not happen to know how to attract the feathered tribes I will go a little into detail.
This being a large garden near game preserves, and surrounded by a wide, furze-covered common, I have been able to attract and tame the ordinary wild pheasants by putting out Indian corn, buckwheat, and raisins, till now they come to the doorstep and look up with their brilliant, red-ringed eyes, and feed calmly whilst I watch them. It is a really beautiful sight to see three or four cock birds, with their golden-bronze plumage glistening like polished metal as the morning sun rests upon them, and as many of their more sober-coloured[p. 197] mates feasting on the dainties they find prepared for them; as a rule, they are very amicable and feed together like barndoor fowls. When satisfied, the brown hens run swiftly away to cover, while the cocks, with greater confidence, walk quietly away in stately fashion, or remain under the trees.
Wood-pigeons are usually very shy and wary birds, yet these also come, six and eight at a time, and feed at my window, Indian corn and peas being their specialities. I have large quantities of beech-nuts and acorns collected every autumn, and thus I can scatter this food also for pigeons and squirrels all through the winter. Jays, jackdaws, rooks, and magpies also approve of acorns and beech-nuts, so it is doing a real kindness to tribes of birds to reserve this food for them until their other stores are exhausted, and we can thus bring them within our view and study their interesting ways, their modes of feeding, and, I fear I must add, their squabbles also, for hungry birds are very pugnacious.
Blackbirds and thrushes are very fond of Sultana raisins; they also like split groats and brown bread crumbs, as also do starlings and, I believe, most[p. 198] of the smaller birds. Fat in any shape or form will attract the various species of titmice to the window. I always keep a small Normandy basket full of suet and ham-fat hanging on a nail at the window. It is a great rendezvous for these charming little pets, and it is also supplied with Barcelona nuts for nuthatches, who fully appreciate them and carry them off to the nearest tree with rugged bark into which they fix the nuts, and then hammer at the shell till they can extract the contents.
In very hard frosts I used always to put out a pan of water, as I feared the birds suffered from thirst and needed this help. One day, however, I was comforted to see some starlings, after a good meal of groats, run off to the grass plot and eagerly peck at the hoar-frost, which, while it exists, thus supplies the lack of water.
Bewick says linnets are so named from their fondness for linseed, and I think most of the finches like it. The greenfinch is soon attracted by hemp seed, and all the smaller birds by canary seed. I hope this paper may induce many kind hands to minister to the needs of our feathered[p. 199] friends during the winter months. It is sad to think of their dying for lack of the food we can so easily afford them, and they will be sure to repay us by their sweet songs and confiding tameness when summer days return.
One is apt to think that winter is the only time when birds need our help and bounty, but there is almost as much real distress after a long drought in summer, especially amongst the insect-eating birds.
I was led to think of this by the pathetic way in which a hen blackbird came to the French window of my room early in June last and stood patiently waiting and clicking time after time in trouble of some kind I knew, and, supposing it might be food, I threw out a plentiful supply of soaked brown bread. At once the poor bird went to it, devouring ravenously for her own needs, and then, filling her beak as full as it would hold, she flew off with a supply for her young brood. Then came thrushes, robins, sparrows, a whole bevy of feathered folk all doing the same thing—carrying the provisions in every direction for unseen families at starvation point, and I began to realize that[p. 200] the month of continued sunshine in which we had rejoiced had brought great distress upon the birds by drying up the lawns so that no worms could be found, and, as it was early in the year, but few insects were to be had, so that just when each pair of birds had a clamorous brood to provide for the food supply had fallen short. Now I understood the pathos of the hen blackbird's appeal; her dark eyes and note of distress were trying to say to me, "I know you care for us; you seemed so kind last winter; when we were without food you fed us and saved our lives; but now I am in far deeper distress—my children are crying for food, the grass is dried up, and the ground so hard that I cannot find a single worm, I am thin and worn with hunger myself; do help me and my little ones, and we will sing you sweet songs in return to cheer you when wintry days come back again. Does she understand? I've said all this several times before, but I thought I would make one last appeal before my children die. Yes; she has left the room! I will wait. Ah! here it is, just the soft food that will suit my little ones: how they will rejoice and all want to be fed at once. I hope my friend can understand that I am thanking her[p. 201] with all my heart." Love has a universal language and can interpret through varied signs, and thus I quite believe the mother bird's heart wished to express itself.
Ever since that day I have been careful in nesting time to supply suitable and varied food for the families of young birds in times of drought, for it seems mournful to think of their dying from want, in the season of flowers and green leaves, when nature is to us so attractive, and rendered all the more so by their sweet songs.
