THE CONDOR.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
TROPICAL BIRDS OF PREY.
The Condor—His Marvellous Flight—His Cowardice—Various Modes of Capturing Condors—Ancient Fables circulated about them—Comparison of the Condor with the Albatross—The Carrion Vultures—The King of the Vultures—Domestication of the Urubu—Its Extraordinary Memory—The Harpy Eagle—Examples of his Ferocity—The Oricou—The Bacha—His Cruelty to the Klipdachs—The Fishing Eagle of Africa—The Musical Sparrow-hawk—The Secretary Eagle.
The flight of the Condor is truly wonderful. From the mountain-plains of the Andes, the royal bird, soaring aloft, appears only like a small black speck on the sky, and a few hours afterwards he descends to the coast and mixes his loud screech with the roar of the surf. No living creature rises voluntarily so high, none traverses in so short a time all the climates of the globe. He rests at night in the crevices of the rocks, or on some jutting ledge; but as soon as the first rays of the sun light the high mountain peaks, while the darkness of night still rests upon the deeper valleys, he stretches forth his neck, shakes his head as if fully to rouse himself, stoops over the brink of the abyss, and flapping his wings, dives into the aërial ocean. At first his flight is by no means strong; he sinks as if borne down by his weight; but soon he ascends, and sweeps through the rarefied atmosphere without any perceptible vibratory motion of his wings. ‘Near Lima,’ says Mr Darwin, ‘I watched several condors for nearly half an hour without once taking off my eyes. They moved in large curves, sweeping in circles, descending and ascending without once flapping. As they glided close over my head, I intently watched from an oblique position the outlines of the separate and terminal feathers of the wing; if there had been the least vibratory movement these would have blended together, but they were seen distinct against the blue sky. The head and neck were moved frequently and apparently with force, and it appeared that the extended wings formed the fulcrum on which the movements of the neck, body, and tail acted. If the bird wished to descend, the wings were for a moment collapsed, and then, when again expanded with an altered inclination, the momentum gained by the rapid descent seemed to urge the bird upwards with the even and steady movement of a paper kite.’
Like other vultures, the condor feeds only upon dead carcases, or on new-born lambs and calves, whom he tears from the side of their mothers. He thus does so much damage to the herds, that the shepherds pursue and kill him whenever they can. As even a bullet frequently glances off from his thick feathery coat, the natives never use fire-arms for his destruction, but make use of various traps, of the sling, or of the bolas, which they are able to throw with marvellous dexterity.
In the Peruvian province of Abacay, an Indian provided with cords conceals himself under a fresh cow’s skin, to which some pieces of flesh are left attached. The condors soon pounce upon the prey, but while they are feasting, he fastens their legs to the skin. This being accomplished, he suddenly comes forth; and the alarmed birds vainly flap their wings, for other Indians hurry towards them, throw their mantles or their lassos over them, and carry the condors to their village, where they are reserved for the next bull fight. For a full week before this spectacle is to take place, the bird gets nothing to eat, and is then bound upon the back of a bull which has previously been scarified with lances. The bellowing of the poor animal, lacerated by the famished vulture, and vainly striving to cast off its tormentor, amuses what may well be called the ‘swinish multitude.’
In the province of Huarochirin there is a large natural funnel-shaped excavation, about sixty feet deep, with a diameter of about eighty feet at the top. A dead mule is placed on the brink of the precipice. The tugging of the condors at the dead carcase causes it to fall into the hole; they follow it with greedy haste, and having gorged themselves with food, are unable again to rise from the narrow bottom of the funnel. In a somewhat similar manner condors are caught in Peru, Bolivia, and Chili, and are frequently brought to Valparaiso and Callao, where they are sold for a few dollars to the foreign ships, and thence conveyed to Europe.
The condor, though a very large bird, about four feet long and measuring at least three yards from tip to tip of his extended wings, is far from attaining the dimensions assigned to him by the earlier writers and naturalists, who, emulating Sinbad the Sailor, in his account of the fabulous roc, described him as a giant whose bulk darkened the air.
The condor reminds us of the Albatross. As the former sweeps in majestic circles high above the Andes, the latter soars gracefully over the ocean, ‘and without ever touching the water with his wings, rises with the rising billow and falls with the falling wave.’[33] If the wonderful power of wing which bears the condor, often within the space of a few hours, from the sea-shore into the highest regions of the air, and the strength of breast which is able to support such changes of atmospheric pressure, may well raise our wonder, the indomitable pinions of the albatross are no less admirable. Both are unable to take wing from a narrow space, and both finally, so lordly in their movements, feed in the same ignoble manner, the condor pouncing from incredible distances upon the carcase of the mule or lama, while the albatross gorges upon the fat of the stranded whale.