The Book of Curiosities

by John Platts

This reasoning is very ingenious, but, on the other hand, the facts related above are very stubborn; and the celebrated Buffon does not hesitate to yield to the force of such strong and concurrent evidence. He had procured some chimney-swallows, and kept them some time in an icehouse, in order to ascertain whether they were of the torpid kind, and he thus relates the result of his experiments. “None of them fell into the torpid state; the greater part died, and not one of them revived by being moved into the warmth of the sun. Those that had not long suffered the cold of the icehouse, had all their movements, and went out briskly. From these experiments I thought I might conclude, that this species of the swallow was not liable to that state of torpor and insensibility, which supposes, notwithstanding, and very necessarily, the fact of their remaining at the bottom of the water during the winter. Having had recourse, moreover, to the most creditable travellers, I found them agreed as to the passage of swallows over the Mediterranean. And Mr. Adamson has positively assured me, that during the long stay he made in Senegal, he observed the long-tailed swallow, the same with the chimney-swallow we are now speaking of, arrive constantly in Senegal about the time it leaves France, and as constantly leave Senegal in the spring. It cannot, therefore, be doubted, that this species of the swallow passes from Europe into Africa in the autumn, and from Africa to Europe in the spring; of consequence, it neither sleeps nor hides itself in holes, nor plunges into the water on the approach of winter. There is, besides, another well authenticated fact, which comes in proof here, and shews that this swallow is not reduced to a torpid state by cold, which it can bear to a certain degree, (and if that degree is exceeded, it dies,) for if we observe these birds towards the end of the warm season, we shall see them, a little before their departure, flying together in families, the father, the mother, and the young brood. Afterwards several families unite, and form themselves into flocks, more or less numerous in proportion as the time of their departure draws near. At last they go all together, three or four days before the end of September, or about the beginning of October. Still, however, some remain, and do not set off till a week, a fortnight, or three weeks after the rest: and some too there are which do not go at all, but stay and perish under the first rigours of the cold. These swallows that delay their flight, or never undertake it, are such as find their young too weak to follow them; such as have had the misfortune to have their nests destroyed after laying, and have been obliged to rebuild them a second or a third time. They stay for the love of their little ones, and choose rather to endure the rigour of the season, than to abandon their offspring. Thus they remain some time after the rest for the purpose of taking their young with them; and if they are unable to carry them off in the end, they perish with them.

“These facts then plainly demonstrate (concludes Mr. Buffon) that the chimney-swallows pass successively and alternately from our climate to another that is warmer; that they spend their summer here, and their winter there; and of consequence never fall into a state of insensibility. But, on the other hand, what have we to oppose to the precise testimony of those, who, on the approach of winter, have seen these swallows in troops throw themselves into the water; nay, not only this, but have seen them taken out in nests from beneath the ice? What answer shall we make to those who have beheld them in the torpid state, and seen them gradually recover motion and life, when they were brought into the warmth, and moved cautiously towards a fire? I know but of one means of reconciling these facts: we must suppose that the sleeping and travelling swallow are of different species, though the difference, for want of attention, has not been observed.”

Thus this great philosopher concurs with Mr. Pennant, in his solution, already mentioned, of the difficulty, by supposing two species—the migrating, and the sleeping swallow. With respect to the principal objects of this wonderful instinct, that teaches such various kinds of the feathered race to migrate to different countries, it is obvious, from what has already been said, that they are governed by their food, temperature of air, and convenient situations for breeding.

We shall now give an account of the Curious Method of Bird-Catching in the Faro Isles.—The manner of bird-catching in the Faro Islands, is exceedingly strange and hazardous. Necessity compels man to wonderful attempts. The cliffs which contain the objects of their search, are often two hundred fathoms in height, and are attempted both from above and below. In the first case, the fowlers provide themselves with a rope eighty or a hundred fathoms in length. The fowler fastening one end about his waist, and between his legs, recommends himself to the protection of the Almighty, and is lowered down by six others, who place a piece of timber on the margin of the rock, to preserve the rope from wearing against the sharp edge. They have, besides, a small line fastened to the body of the adventurer, by which he gives signals, that they may lower or raise him, or shift him from place to place. The last operation is attended with great danger, by the loosening of the stones, which often fall on his head, and would infallibly destroy him, were he not protected by a strong thick cap; but even this is found unequal to save him against the weight of the larger fragments of rock. The dexterity of the fowlers is amazing; they will place their feet against the front of the precipice, and dart themselves some fathoms from it; with a cool eye survey the places where the birds nestle, and again shoot into their haunts. In some places the birds lodge in deep recesses. The fowler will alight there, disengage himself from the rope, fix it to a stone, and at his leisure collect the booty, fasten it to his girdle, and resume his pendulous seat. At times he will again spring from the rock, and in that attitude, with a fowling-net placed on a staff, catch the old birds that are flying to and from their retreats. When he has finished his dreadful employ, he gives a signal to his friends above, who pull him up, and share his hard-earned profit. The feathers are preserved for exportation: the flesh is partly eaten fresh, but the greater part is dried for winter’s provision.

PERILOUS ADVENTURE OF A BIRD-CATCHER.

The engraving represents the situation of a bird-catcher at St. Kilda. A tale is told of one of these men who had entered such a cavern, and in the excitement produced by finding its floor all strewn over with eggs, forgot the rope and loosened his hold: in a moment it was gone, and as he turned he saw it swinging at the mouth of the cavern. In vain he tried to reach it, it was beyond his grasp; he tried again and again, but all to no purpose, while, as if in mockery of his dismay, it swung idly in the air, just passing beyond his reach. What was he to do? A projection of rock concealed him from the observation of those above, while the roar of the sea prevented their hearing his cries. If they drew up the rope and found him not there, he knew they would conclude he had lost his hold and dropped into the sea, and he would then be left to starve in the cave. The rope still kept passing backwards and forwards, as if tantalizing him with the hope of escape. Every minute now seemed an age; at length, almost wild with despair, he formed the desperate resolution to spring at the rope as it passed by him. He watched for a favorable opportunity and leaped from the cave: fortunately he was successful in catching it with a firm grasp, and was safely drawn again to the top.

The fowling from below has also its share of danger. The party goes on the expedition in a boat; and when it has attained the base of the precipice, one of the most daring, having fastened a rope about his waist, and furnished himself with a long pole, with an iron hook at one end, either climbs or is thrust up by his companions, who place a pole under his breech, to the next footing spot he can reach. He, by means of the rope, brings up one of the boat’s crew; the rest are drawn up in the same manner, and each is furnished with his rope and fowling-staff. They then continue their progress upwards in the same manner, till they arrive at the regions of the birds, and wander about the face of the cliff in search of them. They then act in pairs; one fastens himself to the end of his associate’s rope, and, in places where the birds have nestled beneath his footing, he permits himself to be lowered down, depending for his security on the strength of his companion, who has to haul him up again; but it sometimes happens that the person above is overpowered by the weight, and both inevitably perish. They fling the fowl into the boat, which attends their motions, and receives the booty. They often pass seven or eight days in this tremendous employ, and lodge in the crannies which they find in the face of the precipice.

We shall close this division of our work with A curious Account of the Song of Birds.—We introduce the subject by the following poetical quotations; which, we have no doubt, will interest every admirer of nature, and nature’s God.

———————————Every copse
Deep-tangled, tree irregular, and bush
Bending with dewy moisture, o’er the heads
Of the coy choristers that lodge within,
Are prodigal of harmony.
Thomson.
———————————Each bird,
Or high in air, or secret in the shade,
Rejoicing, warbles wild his grateful hymn.
Mallet.

From branch to branch the smaller birds with song
Solace the woods, and spread their painted wings
Till even; nor then the solemn nightingale
Ceases to warble: in shadiest covert hid,
She all the night tunes her soft lays.
Milton.