Shortly after parting from my rabbits and rats I became much interested in hearing from a naturalist friend, of the arrival of a strange bird on our coast. A pitiless gale had been beating strange birds shoreward, and this wanderer had been picked up, helpless, but still living. The man who found him knew from his brilliant coloring that he was no Nova Scotian bird, and sent a description of him to my naturalist friend, who at once pronounced him to be a purple gallinule—a heron-like wader related to the coot family.
“The bird is a native of the Gulf States,” wrote the naturalist, “and of the South Atlantic generally. I wish he could give us an account of his trip. He must have been caught in a tyrannous blast, and been whirled more than a thousand miles, and he not a great flyer, either.”
I was quite excited about this bird that had been hurried so swiftly through the air; the more so, as I heard that he was intended as a present for me, after he had recuperated in a cage that he seemed quite contented in.
Shortly afterward the naturalist arrived with the gallinule in a box, with a kind of chimney to it to accommodate his long neck. I could not see him properly in it, so we hurried to the aviary and let him loose on the earth. He was a beauty, with handsome blue and purple plumage, and seemed a gentle, reasonable sort of bird, not at all frightened by captivity. After eating gravely from a cup of cornmeal pudding, with worms for raisins, he took a long drink.
The guineapigs, devoured with curiosity, ran round and round this handsome bird with the long, slender legs. He walked very lame on one of these legs, but after examination, we decided that there was nothing broken—he had merely rheumatism in it.
In order to hasten his recovery I took him up to my warm study, where I added hard-boiled eggs to his bill of fare. These he liked very much. I loved to watch him. He had a pretty way of carrying his long neck and head, an exceedingly calm, philosophical manner, and lovely dark eyes. He had also a comical way of flirting his tail and showing the pretty white feathers in it.
After a few days his wings did not droop so much. He was getting better, his excellent appetite helping him in this respect. While eating, he was very economical; and if a crumb dropped outside his dish he at once picked it up.
Soon he began to fight his cage in my study, and beat himself about so much, that I decided to put him downstairs. First, though, we must take his photograph, and we had great amusement in arranging a sofa in a window, and persuading him to sit on it.
After his picture was taken, he was put into the aviary, and seemed delighted with the greater freedom, flying to and fro, with his legs sticking straight out behind him. Finally he calmed down, walked about, looked out the windows, and at night-time took possession of a broad, soft nest that I had made him in one of the trees standing against the wall. He liked the protection of these firs and spruces. Animals and birds kept in captivity enjoy having some place where they can get out of sight. I often pity squirrels kept in open cages. They should always have a box to run into.
The guineapigs kept on bothering the gallinule. When he was eating, they pressed close to him. He eyed them severely, but did not retaliate until they were actually on his long, slender claws. Then, with a well-directed blow, he would strike them exactly on the top of the head with his heavy beak, and I fear caused the death of several of them, that were found lying quite still and cold where they had fallen in their tracks.