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

by Alfred Edmund Brehm

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.