But we reach a further stage where mud has been given up, and something else adopted in its place. Thus the thrush, whose nest, up to a certain point, much resembles that of the blackbird, makes a cup to it, not of mud, but of cow-dung and rotten wood mashed together. That it once used mud, however, but that in civilised lands, rich in cows, the other substance gradually took its place, I have myself little doubt.
Finally, in the nest of the Edible Swallow, or rather Swift, of India and the Malay Archipelago, we have, perhaps, in its way, as wonderful an example of bird architecture as any that exists. These nests are attached to the face of precipices, and both in this and their general appearance resemble those made by the house-martin, who, before there were houses, no doubt chose precipices too. They are open, however, not domed, so that the resemblance is to a martin’s nest about three-quarters finished, rather than to a completed one. Who can doubt, having regard both to their shape and the site chosen for them, that the bird that makes these nests, or rather its ancestors, used, ages ago, to make them of mud. But this mud was mixed with the salivary secretions—just as in the case of the house-martin now—and these becoming, as the glands developed, more and more viscous and glutinous, as well as more copious, began at last to do duty for the original material, so that now they have entirely taken its place. The substance thus used is, at first, in a semi-liquid state, but dries and hardens till it becomes quite solid. On being steeped in hot water, however, it again softens into a sort of jelly, which is made into soup by the Chinese cooks, and eaten with the greatest possible relish by the Chinese epicures.
CHAPTER V
BOWER-BIRDS AND GARDENER-BIRDS—HOW BIRDS SHOW OFF—A MALAY TRAP—CRIMSON COMPETITION—LOVE IN A TREE-TOP.
As we have seen in the last chapter, some nests of birds are very wonderful buildings, but there are some birds which make much more wonderful buildings than nests. These are the Bower-birds—a family allied to that of our crows and starlings—whose habitat is Australia and some of the adjacent islands. It includes a good many species, and all of them, besides the nest, make another and quite different structure, which is known as the “bower,” but for which “playground” or “garden” is, perhaps, a better name. All three words, however, have something to commend them, for not only do the birds play and sport in and about these rustic buildings, and decorate them sometimes with leaves and flowers; but it is here, also, that the sexes resort, to court and choose one another before the more prosaic duties of matrimony begin. Whilst the nest, therefore, is the nursery, this other structure may be looked upon as the bower of bliss. Generally the birds make it of sticks, grasses, or other materials belonging to the vegetable kingdom, but it differs in each species, so the best way is to describe what it is like in a few of the more salient instances. The Satin Bower-bird makes a sort of platform of sticks, which it weaves together, so that they are firm enough for it to run over. This is the floor of the bower, and now come the walls, which are made of sticks too, but of another kind—long, flexible twigs, which the bird places upright and opposite to one another, on the two longer sides of the platform, which is somewhat oblong in shape. The thicker ends of these twigs rest on the platform, or the ground on each side of it, whilst the thin tips bend inwards till the two walls almost meet at the top, to make a sort of vaulted thatched roof. The whole forms a sort of rustic arbour, open at either end, so that the birds can run through it. This they delight in doing, and in order that the sticks may offer no obstruction as they dart along, they are careful, when minor twigs branch off from them, to place them so that these point outwards. Having made their bower, the next thing the birds do is to decorate it. Anything they can find that is bright, or gaily-coloured, such as feathers, bleached bones, snail-shells, leaves, flowers, etc., they pick up and bring to their bower. The feathers, or flowers, they hang about the rustic walls, whilst they drop the bones and shells in a heap outside each of the entrances.
As the birds are always adding to these collections, and keep up and repair their bowers from year to year, these curious, white, glistening heaps grow and grow, until sometimes they are large enough to fill a cart. Quite a number of birds—perhaps a dozen or more—come to play and sport at these bowers, or summer-houses. They run through and in and out and round about them, chasing one another, and having all manner of fun. The cock of this species is a most beautiful bird, and it is here that he shows off his glossy, blue-black body and velvety wings to the female, who is of a sober green, and not nearly so handsome. It is because the cock’s feathers are so smooth and shining, that he is called the Satin Bower-bird. The female has not this satiny appearance, but, like other ladies, she has to take her husband’s name. The size of the birds is about that of a jackdaw—at least I have seen them in the gardens, and they looked to me almost as large. Mr. Gould, speaking of the bower of this bird, says: “It has now been clearly ascertained that these curious structures are merely sporting-places in which the sexes meet, and the males display their finery and exhibit many remarkable actions, and so inherent is this habit, that the living examples which have, from time to time, been sent to this country, continue it even in captivity. Those belonging to the Zoological Society have constructed their bowers, decorated and kept them in repair, for several successive years.” A gentleman who kept these Bower-birds in captivity, writing to Mr. Gould, says: “My aviary is now tenanted by a pair of satin-birds, which for the last two months have been constantly engaged in constructing bowers. Both sexes assist in their erection, but the male is the principal workman. At times the male will chase the female all over the aviary, then go to the bower, pick up a gay feather or a large leaf, utter a curious kind of note, set all his feathers erect, run round the bower, and become so excited that his eyes appear ready to start from his head, and he continues opening first one wing and then the other, uttering a low whistling-note, and seeming to pick up something from the ground, until at last the female goes gently towards him, when, after two turns round her, he suddenly makes a dash, and the scene ends.”
I forgot to say that Mr. Gould once found a stone native tomahawk, amongst the heap of things that this bird had collected at its bower, and when, in Australia, either a native or a white man loses anything in the least ornamental—anything, in fact, that is not too heavy for a Bower-bird to carry—the first thing he does is to go to all the bowers in the neighbourhood, and see if it has been taken to any of them.
The Spotted Bower-bird is as beautiful, perhaps, as the last, and its bower or sporting-place is a still more wonderful structure. Mr. Gould describes it as considerably longer than that of the Satin Bower-bird—three feet long sometimes—so that it is more like an avenue than a bower. “Outwardly,” he says, “they are built of twigs, and beautifully lined with tall grasses, so disposed that their heads nearly meet” (others, however, who have seen them, say that they are much more open at the top); “the decorations are very profuse, and consist of bivalve shells, crania of small mammalia, and other bones, bleached by exposure to the rays of the sun, or from the camp-fires of the natives. Evident indications of high instinct are manifest throughout the whole of the bower decorations formed by this species, particularly in the manner in which the stones are placed within the bower, apparently to keep the grasses with which it is lined fixed firmly in their places; these stones diverge from the mouth of the run, on each side, so as to form little paths, while the immense collection of decorative materials are placed, in a heap, before the entrance of the avenue, the arrangement being the same at both ends. In some of the larger bowers, which had evidently been resorted to for many years, I have seen half a bushel of bones, shells, etc., at each of the entrances.” Mr. Gould goes on to say that he “frequently found these structures at a considerable distance from the rivers, from the borders of which the birds could alone have procured the shells, and small, round, pebbly stones,” and that “their collection and transportation must, therefore, be a task of great labour.”
The “bower” or, rather, the little rustic village, made by the beautiful Golden Bower-bird—a name which is as good as a description—is still more wonderful than either of the other two; indeed it is like a fairy-tale to read about it. This species chooses out two trees that stand near one another, and round the trunk of each it piles up an enormous quantity of small sticks and twigs, in the shape of a cone or pyramid. One of these stick pyramids may be as much as six feet high, and bulky in proportion, but the other is not nearly so large, standing only about eighteen inches from the ground. Having reared the two pillars, as it were, the birds—for several may join in the labour—proceed to arch over the space between them. For this purpose they search out the long stems of creepers that grow in the woods, and having fixed them, by an end, to the top of one pile, stretch them tight, and trail them over the other, thus making a covered walk between the two. Then they bring white moss, and festoon the pillars with it, and into the leafy roof they weave clusters of green fruit, like grapes, that hang down from it, so that it looks as if they had trained a vine over a trellis. Yet still the birds are not satisfied. All around the great central arbour they make little dwarf huts, or wigwams, of the growing grass, bending the stems together till the ends meet, and then thatching them over with a horizontal layer of twigs. When all is finished, they chase each other through their trellised arbour and round and round their little grassy wigwams—or “gunyahs” as they are called by the natives—the males, all resplendent in their beautiful golden plumage, glancing in and out amongst them, like so many little suns.