While at Little Macatina Harbour, on the coast of Labrador, in July 1833, I saw a Raven's nest placed under the shelvings of the rugged and fearful rocks that form one side of that singular place. The young were nearly fledged, and now and then called loudly to their parents, as if to inquire why our vessel had come there. One of them in attempting to fly away fell into the water. It was secured, when I trimmed one of its wings, and turned it loose on the deck along with some other birds. The mother, however, kept sailing high over the schooner, repeating some notes, which it seems the young one understood, for it walked carefully to the end of the bowsprit, opened its wings, and tried to fly, but being unable, fell into the water and was drowned. In a few days the rest of the family left the place, and we saw no more of them. Some of the sailors who had come to the harbour eight years in succession, assured me that they had always observed the Ravens breeding there. My whole party found it impossible to shoot one of the old ones, who went to the nest and left it with so much caution, that the task of watching them became irksome. One afternoon I concealed myself under a pile of detached rocks for more than two hours. The young frequently croaked as I was waiting there, but no parent came; so I left the place, but the next moment the female was seen from the deck of the Ripley. She alighted in the nest, fed her young, and was off again before I could reach within shooting distance. It was at this place that I observed how singularly well those birds could travel to and from their nest, at a time when I could not, on account of the fog, see them on wing at a greater distance than twenty or thirty yards. On the 29th of the same month, young Ravens were seen in flocks with their parents; but they were already very shy.
I found a nest of this bird at a narrow part of the Lehigh in Pennsylvania, in a deep fissure of the rocks, not more than twenty feet above the water, the security afforded by which had probably been considered as equivalent to that which might have been gained by a greater height of rock. The nest, in fact, hung over the stream, so that it was impossible to reach it either from above or from below. Many years ago, I saw another placed immediately beneath the arch of the Rock Bridge in Virginia. It was situated on a small projecting stone scarcely a foot square; yet the Raven appeared quite satisfied as to the security of her brood on that narrow bed. This extraordinary production of Nature is placed on the ascent of a hill, which appears to have been rent asunder by some convulsion of the earth. The fissure is about 200 feet deep, and above 80 in width under the arch, narrowing to 40 or so at the bottom. The thickness of the arch probably exceeds 30 feet, and increases at either end. At the bottom is seen the water of what is called Cedar Creek, gently meandering in its rocky channel. The place, when I saw it, was graced by handsome trees, and in some positions there was a pleasing view of the "Blue Ridge" and the "North Mountain." Tradition reports that General Washington threw a dollar over the bridge from the creek below. I may mention, that I passed it under peculiar circumstances connected with my ornithological pursuits, as you will find detailed in another page of this volume.
I have already stated that some Ravens breed as far south as the Carolinas. The place to which they resort for this purpose is called the Table Mountain, which is situated in the district of Pendleton, and of which I extract an account from Drayton's Views of South Carolina. "The Table Mountain is the most distinguished of all the eminences of the State. Its height exceeds 3000 feet, and thirty farms may be discerned at any one view from its top by the unaided eye. Its side is an abrupt precipice of solid rock, 300 feet deep, and nearly perpendicular. The valley underneath appears to be as much below the level as the top of the mountain towers above it. This precipice is called the Lover's Leap. To those who are in the valley, it looks like an immense wall stretching up to heaven, and the awe which it inspires is considerably increased by the quantities of bones which lie whitening at its base,—the remains of various animals which had incautiously approached too near its edge. Its summit is often enveloped in clouds. The gradual ascent of the country from the sea-coast to this western extremity of the State, added to the height of this mountain, must place its top more than 4000 feet above the level of the Atlantic Ocean; an eminence from which vessels crossing the bar of Charleston might be seen with the aid of such improved glasses as are now in use. Large masses of snow tumble from the side of this mountain in the winter season, the fall of which has been heard seven miles. Its summit is the resort of deer and bears. The woods produce mast in abundance; wild pigeons resort to it in such numbers as sometimes to break the limbs of trees on which they alight."
A friend of mine, who is an excellent observer of the habits of birds, has told me that he saw a Raven's nest in the high lands of New York placed in a deep fissure of a rock, in the immediate vicinity of that of a Golden Eagle. I chanced one day, while in the Great Pine Forest of Pennsylvania, to stop, for the purpose of resting and refreshing myself, at a camp of the good Jediah Irish, with whom I have already made you acquainted during my former rambles in that remarkable district. We had seen some Ravens that day, and our conversation returning to them, the person employed in preparing the food of the woodcutters told us, that whenever she chanced to place a salt mackerel or other fish in the brook running from the spring near the camp, "the Raven was sure to carry it away in less than an hour." She firmly believed that it had the power of smelling the fish as she carried it from the hut to the water. We went to the spot with her, and, leaving a fish there, returned to our homely meal, but on visiting the place several hours after, we found it untouched. "The Raven perhaps smelt the powder in our guns!" At all events, it did not choose to come that day.
The flesh of this bird is tough and unfit for food, but this indicates its great strength. When wounded, it bites severely, and scratches with its claws as fiercely as a Hawk. Like the latter also, it disgorges indigestible substances, as bones, hair, and feathers.
I have represented a very old male Raven on a branch of the Shell-bark Hickory; not because the bird alights on any particular kind of tree by preference, but because I thought you might be interested in seeing so fruitful a branch of that valuable ornament of our forests.
Corvus Corax, Linn. Syst. Nat. vol. i. p. 155.—Lath. Ind. Ornith. vol. i. p. 150.—Ch. Bonaparte, Synops. of Birds of the United States, p. 56.—Swains. and Richards. Fauna Boreali-Americ. part ii. p. 290.—Lath. Gen. Synops. vol. i. p. 367.
Raven, Wils. Amer. Ornith. vol. ix. p. 113. pl. 75. fig. 3.—Nuttall, Manual, part i. p. 202.
Old Male. Plate CI.
Bill longish, thick, robust, somewhat compressed; upper mandible with the dorsal line arched and declinate, the sides convex; lower mandible straight, the sides inclined obliquely outwards; the edges of both sharp, the tip slightly deflected. Nostrils basal, lateral, round, covered by bristly feathers, which are directed forwards. Head large, neck short, body robust. Legs of moderate length, strong; tarsus covered anteriorly with scutella, shorter than the middle toe; toes scutellate above, separated almost to the base; first, second, and fourth nearly equal in length, third longest; claws moderate, arched, acute, compressed, channelled beneath.