British Birds in Their Haunts

by C. A. Johns

Upper plumage ash-brown; feathers of the head marked with a central dark line; under parts white, the sides marked with longitudinal brown streaks; flanks tinged with red. Length six inches; breadth ten inches. Eggs bluish white, mottled with reddish spots, which are deepest in colour towards the larger end.

There are few birds with whose haunts and habits we are more familiar than those of the common Flycatcher. In the wooded parts of England there is scarcely a country house, perhaps, which has not in its neighbourhood at least a single pair of these birds, who, though their stay with us is but short, become as necessary appendages of the garden during the summer months as the Redbreast is in winter. They have neither song to recommend them nor brilliancy of colouring; yet the absence of these qualities is more than compensated by the confidence they repose in the innocent intentions of the human beings whose protection they claim, by their strong local attachments, and by their unceasing activity in the pursuit of flying insects. At any time during the months of June, July, and August, in most country and suburban gardens, one may observe perched on a railing, standard rose, or the low branch of an apple-tree, a small brownish bird, with a speckled breast, about the size of a Sparrow, but more slender in form, taking no notice of human beings, but nevertheless evidently on the look-out for something. Suddenly it darts from its position, flies rapidly forwards for a few yards, performs an evolution in the air, and returns either to the exact spot which it had previously occupied or to a similar one hard by. After a rest of a few seconds, it performs the same manœuvre, and always with the same object and success. Every time it quitted its perch, some ill-fated fly or beetle was discovered, winging its way through the air, and captured to be devoured on the spot, or to form part of a pellet of insect food for a hungry nestling. The nest, composed of moss, straws, and hair, and lined with feathers, is usually placed either against a wall, hidden by the leaves of a trained fruit-tree, or on the horizontal bough of a standard apple-tree. During the year 1859, a pair of these birds had taken up their quarters in my own garden in a situation such as that first described, but becoming dissatisfied with the locality even after the nest had received its complement of eggs—five—deserted it, and built another nest in an apple-tree a few yards off, choosing a position on a short branch, where their workmanship was concealed from the sight of passengers by a cluster of large apples. The bough overhung a path by which many persons passed to and fro every day; but the nest was built, and the old birds hatched their eggs, neither noticed nor noticing, until one day when I happened to stop underneath, upon which the bird took flight, and so revealed her place of retreat. I do not mention this incident as anything remarkable, but simply to exemplify the habits of the bird when it has taken up its residence in a frequented garden, and in contrast with its treatment of intruders when it has chosen a more secluded spot for a home. A few days after, I happened to be fly-fishing on the bank of a stream close to which grew some tall elm-trees. Under one of these I was pursuing my amusement, when a flycatcher darted from a tree on the opposite side of the stream, and flew so close to my face that to dip my head out of the way was unavoidable. The same movement was repeated again and again, making it impossible for me to persist. Suspecting that there was a nest somewhere very near me, I looked up and discovered, within a few inches of my head, a nest built against the hole of the tree, and containing four or five nearly fledged young ones, whose heads and breasts projected considerably beyond the edge of their mossy cradle. As I moved away, the parent bird hopped about uneasily in a neighbouring tree, uttering its monotonous and unmusical chirrup, but molested me no further. It would seem then that the garden bird, grown familiar with the human form, was unsuspicious of danger, while the other, who had not been accustomed to see her sanctuary approached, immediately took alarm. It is supposed that the same birds are in the habit of returning annually to their old resort. Both the above incidents tend to give weight to this opinion: one of the birds having been reared, probably in the garden, and so having been accustomed to the sight of men from the first; the other having been always a recluse. The fact which fell under my own notice, that a nest was built, and a brood reared for three successive years in exactly the same spot, is, I think, conclusive evidence that either the same birds or their immediate descendants were the architects, it being scarcely credible that three several pairs of birds should have fixed on the same spot by accident. Mr. Denham Weir has observed that the Spotted Flycatcher consumes only a day and a half in the construction of its nest, and that a pair of birds which he watched fed their young no less than five hundred and thirty-seven times in one day, beginning at twenty-five minutes before four o'clock in the morning, and ending at ten minutes before nine in the evening. The young birds assume the adult plumage in their first year, and soon learn to hawk for their prey as well as their parents. I have recorded elsewhere an instance in which the parent birds contrived to feed a disabled young one after it had left the nest. The Flycatcher arrives in England about the end of April, and leaves about the end of September.

THE PIED FLYCATCHER
MUSCÍCAPA ATRICAPILLA

Upper plumage and tail black, the wings black, with the central coverts white; scapulars edged with white; under plumage white. In the female the black is replaced by greyish brown, the white is dingy, and the three lateral tail feathers are edged with white. Length five inches. Eggs pale blue, generally without spots.

The Pied Flycatcher, so called from its feathers being varied with black and white, is a smaller bird than the preceding, and by no means so common, being very local as a breeder. It appears, indeed, to be mainly confined to the northern counties of England, where it arrives about the middle of April, and builds its nest of dry leaves, small roots, grass, and a little hair, loosely put together, in the hole of a tree. There it lays from five to seven pale blue eggs, very like, both in size and colour, those of the Redstart, which it also much resembles in habits. It has more claim to be considered a songster than the Spotted Flycatcher. In places where it is frequent it is often observed to settle on the decayed stump of a tree, constantly repeating its short, little varied, but far from unpleasing song, every now and then interrupted by the pursuit and capture of some passing insect. It is said also to be very noisy and clamorous when its nest is approached. It quits our shores in September.

FAMILY HIRUNDINIDÆ

THE SWALLOW
HIRUNDO RÚSTICA

Forehead and throat chestnut-brown; upper parts, sides of the neck, and a bar across the breast black, with violet reflections; lower parts dull reddish white; tail very long and forked. Female—with less red on the forehead and less black on the breast; under parts whiter; outer tail-feathers shorter. Length six inches and a half, width thirteen inches and a quarter. Eggs white, spotted with brown and dark red.

There are many features in the life of the Swallow so prominent, that no undomesticated bird is more thoroughly known. Like the Sparrow, it accompanies man wherever he fixes his dwelling; but, unlike the Sparrow, it is liable to be mistaken for no other bird; its flight is peculiar and all but ceaseless; at least, it is rarely seen except in motion; and it is absent during the greater portion of the year, so giving to itself a twofold notoriety, being regretted at the season of its departure and welcomed at its return. These three circumstances, its migratory habits, its mode of flight, and attachment to the dwellings of man, have been the cause why, in all ages, it has been invested with especial interest. Its return is universally greeted as prophetic of summer weather; the very proverb that 'one Swallow does not make a summer', only indicates a popular belief; and its departure is among the first intimations of approaching winter. The Swallow consequently is the type of migratory birds; if the Swallow is come, all take it for granted that the other summer birds have arrived, and when its twitter is no longer heard, we know that all the other birds of passage are gone or going. Of the Swallow, therefore, it is said pre-eminently, "God sends us the Swallow in the first days of summer, to relieve us of the insects which the summer suns are calling into life. The home of the Swallow is all the habitable earth; it knows nothing of winter or winter's cold." In remote ages the Swallow was considered to be endowed with supernatural intelligence; it refused to build its nest in a certain town because it was polluted with crime; in another, because it had been frequently burnt down; it foretold tempests; and, above all, it was noted for having taught men the healing properties of a certain herb,[12] by employing it to give sight to its young. Not only was it thus skilled in the healing art, but was in itself a medicine of no ordinary virtue. Even in the time of our countryman Ray, not two hundred years ago, its efficacy in various complaints was seriously believed: the whole body burnt was considered a specific for weak eyes, quinsy and inflamed uvula; the heart was prescribed in epilepsy and in quartan ague, it was good also for strengthening the memory; the blood was good for the eyes, especially if drawn from under the right wing: a little stone sometimes found in the stomach of young birds, called chelidonius, tied to the arm, or hung around the neck, was a remedy against children's fits. This was to be searched for before or at the August full moon, in the eldest of a brood. Even the nest had its virtues, being, if applied externally, good for quinsy, redness of the eyes, and the bite of a viper.

A century later 'good old White' published his account of the Swallow, to which the reader is referred as an admirable model of bird-biography, not only for the age, but as an authentic history full of fresh interest to the reader in all ages. The only point on which White had doubts was whether Swallows all migrate, or whether some of the young do not occasionally stay behind, and hibernate in hollow trees, holes of rocks, and the banks of pools and rivers. Individuals are said to occasionally remain, perhaps in consequence of having been disabled by accident at the season when the migratory instinct was in its active force, or from some other cause unknown to us. Several instances of such have been recorded by authors who, whether accurate observers or not, certainly believed that they were reporting truly. That they were seen only on warm days is of course no evidence that they had been roused from a state of torpor by the unusual warmth. Sunny days in winter tempt people to walk abroad and to resort to the same places which winter-gnats would choose for their gambols. Here, too, the stray Swallow would be found; but in dark stormy weather the gnats and the Swallow would stay at home, and the ornithologist would have little temptation to do otherwise. I happen to be myself among the number of those who on personal evidence believe that individual Swallows do remain in England long after the period of general migration. I was walking through a limestone quarry at Saltram on the bank of the Plym, in Devonshire, many years ago, on the twenty-fourth of December, when I saw a Swallow, whether a Chimney Swallow or Martin, I cannot positively affirm, wheeling about, and evidently hawking for gnats near the face of the cliff. The season was a mild one, the air still, and the sun shining brightly against the limestone rocks, from which much heat was reflected. That the bird had been kept in captivity until the migratory season had passed and then released is not probable. On any other supposition it must have remained either of its own free will, which is not likely, or from incapacity to accompany its congeners. Left alone it probably found a sheltered retreat in the face of the cliff, and sallied forth whenever the weather was inviting, making the most of the short days, and, on the finest, contenting itself with a scanty meal. The temperature of the west of England in winter it is quite able to bear; in fact, it is not uncommon there for a whole winter to pass without any weather so severe as that which has characterized the whole of the present April (1860), though Swallows have returned, and contrive to find food enough to keep themselves alive. If, therefore, the bird which I saw managed to live on till Christmas Eve, there is no reason why it should not survive the whole of the winter. But as 'one Swallow does not make a spring', so neither is one sufficient to upset a theory. There remains, therefore, the rule with the one exception to prove it, that Swallows do migrate. A full account of all that has since been learnt of the Swallow's history will be found in Yarrell's British Birds. For the sake of reference only I will add a short summary of what I may term its statistics. The Swallow is a migratory bird wherever it is found, that is in most of the countries of Europe, Asia, and Africa. The first Swallows arrive in this country about the eleventh of April, and are followed by others at various intervals, until the middle or end of May. On their arrival, they resort to those places which, being most sheltered, abound most in winged insects, these being frequently the courses of rivers and canals. As the season advances, they spread themselves more generally over the country, still, however, being most numerous in the vicinity of water. In May they build their shallow open nests of mud and straw lined with feathers, a few feet down a chimney, in an outhouse, a bell-tower, the shaft of a deserted mine, or any other place which is at once dry and dark, rarely in more exposed places. They lay four or five eggs, and rear two or three broods in a season. The young being, from the usual situation of the nest, unable to leave their nursery until they are fully fledged, require to be fed a long time, but they continue to be, partially at least, dependent on the parent birds for many days after they have learnt to hawk for themselves. The process of feeding is carried on while both old and young are on the wing; or the young, perched on the top of a house or the branch of a tree, receive in turn the morsels which their more skilful parents have caught for them. In autumn, many days before migration is actually about to take place, Swallows, old and young, assemble in large flocks, especially towards evening, and roost on trees in the vicinity of water. At this season they seem to be more socially disposed, even during the day, than at any other period of their sojourn with us. In October they take their departure collectively, and so strongly is the migratory instinct then in force, that it overcomes parental affection, powerful though this feeling is in the Swallow; some of the late broods being left behind.