From the chivalrous character of the Humming-birds it is not surprising that the most violent passions agitate their little breasts; so that in their desperate contests, they will tilt against each other with such fury, as if each meant to transfix his antagonist with his long bill. It may indeed be truly said that these little creatures are sadly prone to quarrel over their cups, not of wine, but nectareous flowers. Frequently four or five of them may be seen engaged in a flying fight when disputing the possession of a blossoming tree in the forests of Brazil, and then they dart so swiftly through the air that the eye can scarcely follow them in their meteorlike evolutions.
As the smallest shot would blow the tiny humming-birds to pieces, and inevitably destroy the beauty of their plumage, they are taken by aspersing them with water from a syphon, or by means of a butterfly net.
There are many species of Humming-birds, various in size and habit, with straight or curved bills, with a naked or a crested head, with a short or a long tail: some constantly concealing themselves in the solitudes of the forest; while others hover round the habitations of man, and frequently during their disputes pursue each other into the apartments whose windows are left open, taking a turn round the room, as flies do with us, and then suddenly regaining the open air.
CAMPANERO.
Next to the humming-birds the Cotingas display the gayest plumage in the American woods. They are, however, not often seen, for they lead a solitary life in the moist and shadowy forests, where they feed on the various seeds and fruits of the woods. One species is attired in burning scarlet, others in purple and blue, but they are all so splendidly adorned that it would be difficult to say which of them deserves the prize for beauty. Most of the Cotingas have no song; the nearly related snow-white Campanero or bell-bird, however, amply makes up for the deficient voice of his cousins, by the singularity and sweetness of his note. He is about the size of a jay. On his forehead rises a singular spiral tube nearly three inches long. It is jet black, dotted all over with small white feathers. It has a communication with the palate, and when filled with air looks like a spire, when empty it becomes pendulous. His note is loud and clear, like the sound of a bell. ‘In the midst of the forests,’ says Waterton, ‘generally on the dried top of an aged mora, almost out of gun reach, you will see the Campanero. No sound or song from any of the winged inhabitants of the forest causes such astonishment as his toll. With many of the feathered race he pays the common tribute of a song to early morn, and even when the meridian sun has shut in silence the mouths of almost the whole of animated nature, the Campanero still cheers the forest; you hear his toll, and then a pause for a minute; then another toll, and then a pause again, and then a toll and again a pause. Then he is silent for six or eight minutes, and then another toll, and so on. Actæon would stop in mid-chase, Maria would defer her evening song, and Orpheus himself would drop his lute to listen to him, so sweet, so novel and romantic, is the toll of the pretty snow-white Campanero.’
The Tangaras resemble our finches, though they are far more splendidly attired. Their plumage is very rich and diversified, some of them boast six separate colours; others have the blue, purple, green, and black so finely blended into each other that it would be impossible to mark their boundaries; while others again exhibit them strong, distinct and abrupt. The flight of the Tangaras is rapid, their manners lively. They live upon insects, seeds, berries, and many of them have a fine song. Among their numerous species, spread over all the warmer regions of America, the scarlet Piranga is pre-eminent for beauty, and when in the blooming thickets, along the woody river’s banks, the meridian sun shows off his plumage in all its splendour, the huntsman pauses to admire the magnificent bird, and delays his murderous aim.
In the deep forests of Guiana and Brazil, which they never quit for the open plains, reside the Manakins (Pipra), pretty little birds, whose largest species scarcely attain the dimensions of the sparrow, while the smallest are hardly equal to the wren. The plumage of the full-grown male is always black, enlivened by brilliant colours, that of the female and of the young birds greenish. Their flight is rapid but short, and they generally roost on the middle branches of the trees. In the morning they unite in little troops, and seek their food, which consists of insects, and small fruit, uttering at the same time their weak but melodious notes. As the day advances they separate and seek the deepest forest-shades, where they live in solitude and silence.
The famous orange-coloured Cock of the Rock of Guiana (Rupicola aurantia), which owes its name to its comb-like crest, is nearly related to the Manakins. It is a great rarity, even in its own country, and as it dwells in the most secluded forests, is but seldom seen by travellers. Richard Schomburgk relates the following wonderful story of the bird, which, if not proceeding from so trustworthy a source, might almost be considered fabulous. ‘A troop of these beautiful birds was celebrating its dances on the smooth surface of a rock; about a score of them were seated on the branches as spectators, while one of the male birds, with proud self-confidence, and spreading tail and wings, was dancing on the rock. He scratched the ground or leaped vertically into the air, continuing these saltatory movements until he was tired, when another male took his place. The females, meanwhile, looked on attentively, and applauded the performance of the dancers with laudatory cries. As the feathers are highly prized, the Indians lay in wait with their blow-pipes near the places where the Rupicolas are known to dance. When once the ball has begun, the birds are so absorbed by their amusement, that the hunter has full time to shoot down several of the spectators with his poisoned arrows, before the rest take the alarm.’
On penetrating into the wilds of Guiana, the pretty songsters called Troopials, (Icterus, Xanthornus) pour forth a variety of sweet and plaintive notes. Resembling the starling by their habits, they unite in troops, and live on insects, berries, and seeds. The variegated Troopial (Oriolus varius) displays a wonderful instinct in the construction of his nest, which he generally builds on fruit-trees; but when circumstances force him to select a tree whose branches have far less solidity, as, for instance, the weeping willow, his instinct almost rises to a higher intelligence. First, he binds together, by means of bits of straw, the small and flexible branches of the willow, and thus forms a kind of conical basket in which he places his nest, and instead of the usual hemispherical form, he gives it a more elongated shape, and makes it of a looser tissue, so as to render it more elastic and better able to conform to the movements of the branches when agitated by the wind.