“We have three kinds of swallows in France, of which the best known is the martin, black above with glints of blue, and white beneath and on the rump. It builds its nest in window-corners, under the eaves of roofs, and on the cornices of buildings. The materials it uses are fine soil, chiefly that which is deposited by earthworms, after digestion, in little [[223]]mounds over our fields and gardens. The swallow carries it, a beakful at a time, mixes it with a little viscous saliva to make it stick together, and lays it by courses until it takes the shape of a hemisphere attached to the wall and provided with a small opening at the top. Bits of straw give additional firmness to the masonry; and, finally, the interior is lined with an abundance of little feathers. The laying consists of four or five pure white eggs without any spots.
“The nests are used year after year by the same pairs of birds, being recognized by them on their annual return in the spring and made as good as new with a few repairs. If some are left vacant by reason of the owners’ death in distant lands, new couples profit by the fact.”
“Don’t they ever quarrel over the old nests?” asked Jules.
Swallow’s Nest
“Very seldom. Swallows like to live in colonies, and their nests touch one another sometimes to the number of hundreds on the same cornice. Each couple recognizes its own nest without the slightest hesitation, and scrupulously respects others’ property in order to have its own respected. There is among them a deep feeling of joint responsibility, and they help one another with as much intelligence as zeal. Occasionally it happens that a nest is no sooner finished than it gives way, either because the [[224]]mortar used is not strong enough or because the masons were in too great a hurry and had not the patience to let one course dry before laying another, or for some other reason. On hearing of the disaster the neighbors hasten to console the unlucky pair and help them to rebuild. All set to work, bringing the best mortar, straw, and feathers, and in forty-eight hours the nest is rebuilt. Left to themselves, it would have taken the owners a fortnight to repair the damage.”
“That’s the kind of friends in need I like to see!” declared Emile.
“But I have something still better to tell you. Let us suppose a swallow has been so careless as to become entangled in a mesh of loose threads, and the more frantically it struggles to escape the more firmly it binds its fetters. With wings and claws held fast it is in danger of perishing. Uttering piteous cries, it calls on its comrades for help. All hasten to give aid, noisily making plans for relief and working away with beak and talons until they finally unsnarl the tangle and free the captive. The happy event is then celebrated with chirpings of delight. That is what I saw with my own eyes, right here in the garden, one day when Mother Ambroisine was bleaching some of the linen thread she spins on her distaff.
“An author[1] of note tells us that he once witnessed something similar. These are his words: [[225]]‘I saw a swallow that had unfortunately, I know not how, caught its foot in a slip-knot tied in a string, the other end of which was fastened to a roof gutter. The bird’s strength was exhausted and it hung, crying, from the end of the string, with an occasional effort to escape. All the swallows in the neighborhood had assembled, to the number of several thousand. They formed a veritable cloud, each one uttering cries of alarm and pity. After considerable hesitation one of them hit on a plan for freeing their luckless companion and communicated it to the others, whereupon they all set to work. A space was cleared and every swallow within hail came, one after another, as in a ring-game, and gave in passing a peck at the string. These blows, all delivered at the same point, followed one another with only a second’s interval or less. Half an hour of this work sufficed to sever the thread and liberate the prisoner. But the entire company of birds, with a few exceptions, stayed there until night, chattering away incessantly, though no longer in anxious tones, but rather as if in mutual congratulation and animated comment.’
“Again: ‘An insolent sparrow invades a swallow’s nest and likes it so well it wishes to stay. The owners assail the intruder, but the latter, having a stronger beak and being also protected by the ramparts of the nest, easily repulses their attacks. Ha! so you won’t budge, then? We’ll see about that. One of the two swallows remains to hold the blockade while the other goes for help. The neighbors [[226]]hasten to the spot, consider the situation, deliberate on means to be employed, and finally conclude that it is out of the question to hope to dislodge by force an enemy so securely entrenched in the nest as in a strong redoubt. There is but one opinion: the invader cannot be ousted from the nest, but the proprietors must at least be avenged. No sooner said than done. While a few courageous ones posted at the opening intimidate the interloper with their cries, the others fetch a supply of their usual mortar, soil moistened with saliva, and little by little close the entrance to the nest.’ ”