CRESTED CASSIQUE. BALTIMORE ORIOLE.
The neat little black and orange Baltimore (Icterus Baltimore) constructs a still more marvellous nest on the tulip trees, on whose leaves and flowers he seeks the caterpillars and beetles which constitute his principal food. When the time comes for preparing it, the male picks up a filament of the Tillandsia usneoides and attaches it by its two extremities to two neighbouring branches. Soon after, the female comes, inspects his work, and places another fibre across that of her companion. Thus by their alternate labours a net is formed, which soon assumes the shape of a nest, and as it advances towards its completion, the affection of the tender couple seems to increase. The tissue is so loose as to allow the air to pass through its meshes, and as the parents know that the excessive heat of summer would incommode their young, they suspend their nest so as to catch the cooler breeze of the north-east when breeding in Louisiana; while in more temperate regions, such as Pennsylvania and New York, they always give it a southern exposition, and take care to line it with wool or cotton. Their movements are uncommonly graceful; their song is sweet; they migrate in winter towards more southerly regions, Mexico or Brazil, and return after the equinox to the United States.
The Cassiques, which are nearly related to the troopials or orioli, are no less remarkable for their architectural skill. They suspend their large pendulous nests, which are often above four feet long, at the extremities of branches of palm trees, as far as possible from all enemies that might by climbing reach the brood, often choosing, for still further protection, trees on which the wasps or maribondas have already built their nests, as these are adversaries whose sharp stings no tiger-cat or reptile would desire to face. The nest of the Cassicus cristatus is artificially woven of lichens, bark-fibres and the filaments of the tillandsias, while that of the tupuba (Cassions ruber), which is always suspended over the water, consists of dry grasses, and has a slanting opening in the side, so that no rain can penetrate it. On passing under a tree, which often contains hundreds of cassique nests, one cannot help stopping to admire them, as they wave to and fro, the sport of every storm and breeze, and yet so well constructed as rarely to be injured by the wind. Often numbers of one species may be seen weaving their nests on one side of a tree, while numbers of another species are busy forming theirs on the opposite side of the same plant, and what is, perhaps, even still more wonderful than their architectural skill, though such near neighbours, the females are never observed to quarrel!
The Cassicus Persicus, a small black and yellow bird, somewhat larger than the starling, has been named the mocking-bird, from his wonderful imitative powers. He courts the society of man, and generally takes his station on a tree close to his house, where for hours together he pours forth a succession of ever-varying notes. If a toucan be yelping in the neighbourhood, he immediately drops his own sweet song, and answers him in equal strain. Then he will amuse his audience with the cries of the different species of the woodpecker, and when the sheep bleat he will distinctly answer them. Then comes his own song again, and if a puppy dog or a guinea fowl interrupt him, he takes them off admirably, and by his different gestures during the time, you would conclude that he enjoys the sport.
Wild and strange are the voices of many of the American forest-birds. In the Peruvian woods the black Toropishu (Cephalopterus ornatus) makes the thicket resound with his hoarse cry, resembling the distant lowing of a bull; and in the same regions the fiery-red and black-winged Tunqui (Rupicola Peruviana) sends forth a note, which might readily be mistaken for the grunting of a hog, and strangely contrasts with the brilliancy of his plumage. But of all the startling cries that issue from the depths of the forest, none is more remarkable than the Goatsucker’s lamentable wail. ‘Suppose yourself in hopeless sorrow,’ says Waterton, ‘begin with a high, loud note, and pronounce ha, ha, ha, ha, ha! each note lower and lower till the last is scarcely heard, pausing a moment or two between every note, and you will have some idea of the mourning of the largest Goatsucker in Demerara. Four other species of goatsucker articulate some words so distinctly, that they have received their names from the sentences they utter, and absolutely bewilder the stranger on his arrival in these parts. The most common one sits down close by your door, and flies and alights three or four yards before you, as you walk along the road, crying, ‘Who are you, who-who-who-who are you?’ Another bids you, ‘Work away, work-work-work away.’ A third cries mournfully, ‘Willy come go, Willy-Willy-Willy come go.’ And high up in the country, a fourth tells you to, ‘Whip-poor-Will, whip-whip-whip-poor-Will.’
You will never persuade the negro to destroy the birds, or get the Indian to let fly his arrow at them, for they are held to be the receptacles for departed souls, who came back again to earth, unable to rest for crimes done in their days of nature, or expressly sent to haunt cruel and hardhearted masters, and retaliate injuries received from them. If the largest goatsucker chance to cry near the white man’s door, sorrow and grief will soon be inside, and they expect to see the master waste away with a slow consuming sickness. If it be heard close to the negro’s or Indian’s hut, from that night misfortune sits brooding over it, and they await the event in terrible suspense.
During the daytime, the Goatsucker, whose eyes, like those of the owl, are too delicately formed to bear the light, retires to the deepest recesses of the forest, but when the sun has sunk behind the western woods, he may, on moonlight nights, be seen silently hovering in the forest glades, or hopping about among the herds. This poor bird has the character of a nocturnal thief, but never has a more unjust accusation been made, as, far from robbing the flocks of their milk, he does all he can to free them from insects. ‘See how the nocturnal flies are tormenting the herd,’ says Waterton, ‘and with what dexterity he springs up, and catches them, as fast as they alight on the belly, legs, and udder of the animals. Observe how quiet they stand, and how sensible they seem of his good offices, for they neither strike at him, nor hit him with their tail, nor tread on him; nor try to drive him away as an uncivil intruder. Were you to dissect him, and inspect his stomach, you would find no milk there: it is full of the flies which have been annoying the herd.’
The large tropical nocturnal butterflies, or moths, form the chief food of the wide-beaked Goatsucker, and the number of their wings that may be seen lying about, give proof of the ravages he commits among their ranks. For as the bat with his hooked thumb cuts off the wings of the moths and cockchafers which he catches on his twilight excursions, thus, also, the Goatsucker refrains from swallowing these parts, and his hooked and incurvated upper mandible seems purposely intended for clipping them.
While the Goatsucker makes the forest resound with his funereal tones, other birds of the forest pour forth the sweetest notes. Dressed in a sober cinnamon brown robe, with blackish olive-coloured head and neck, the Organist (Troglodytes leucophrys) enlivens the solitude of the Peruvian forests. The astonished wanderer stops to listen to the strain, and forgets the impending storm. The Cilgero, a no less delightful songster, frequents the mountain regions of Cuba, and the beauty of his notes may be inferred from the extravagant price of several hundred dollars, which the rich Havanese are ready to pay for a captive bird. Wagner (‘Travels in Costa Rica,’ 1854) tells us that our nightingale is far inferior to the Cilgero, who entertains his mate with the softest tones of the harmonica, and in Guiana the flute-bird (Cyphorinus cantans) delights the ear with his melodious song. All these lovely musicians of the grove belong to the extensive finch tribe, and, like their European cousins, appear in a simple unostentatious garb.