While I was searching for another sap orchard, I saw a barred owl, with something in his bill, fly to a grove of small hemlocks. I followed on my hands and knees, and found his owlship on a low limb. Evidently this was his breakfast-hour. The thing in his bill proved to be a leopard frog. He was preparing to swallow the frog by crushing the bones of the legs and joints. He did not see me, or, if he did, he ignored my presence, and continued leisurely to prepare and swallow his breakfast. Afterward he spent several minutes preening his feathers before settling down for a Sunday nap. A pair of saucy chickadees, scouring the woods for a Sunday breakfast, discovered the owl and gave the alarm. Inside of two minutes I counted thirty-six birds, all called together by the cries of the chickadees. These birds included cuckoos, warblers, blue jays, thrushes, vireos, flycatchers, and buntings. How they did jeer and abuse the owl, but all were careful to keep at a safe distance. The blue jays seemed to be filled with fury, and if birds can swear, doubtless that owl listened to some very emphatic language.
For twenty minutes that patch of young hemlocks contained noise and life enough to stock a first-class aviary. The owl seemed bored, but was apparently fearless.
OWL CHASED.
Thirty-two minutes after the first alarm, all the birds had disappeared, excepting two red-eyed vireos. The vireos continued to scold vigorously. The owl had intruded on their nesting-ground. Not twenty feet away a vireo's nest swung lightly from the horizontal limb of a red beech. It seemed to me that the owl suspected the presence of the nest, for he thrust out his head and swung it from side to side as if searching for something. After awhile he discovered the nest, and flew to the beech limb. When he had commenced to approach the nest by short hitches along the limb, the vireos changed their scolding to cries of alarm. Immediately all the birds returned. Again the owl was told that he was a robber and a great rascal by every bird in the grove. As he continued to approach the nest, I thought it time to interfere. "Hold, there!" I shouted, and the effect on the owl was instantaneous. He stopped short, crouched on the limb, then twisted his impish face directly into the back of his neck, and glared at me with a frightened look in his wide-open eyes. After a brief inspection he tumbled forward off the limb, caught himself on his wings, and floated as noiseless as a feather into the dark shadows of Magnolia Swamp. I examined the vireo-nest and found it empty—in fact, it was not yet completed.
It was evident, from what took place, that birds of different species can communicate with each other.
First, the chickadees call other birds to the spot by cries that certainly are understood to mean danger.
Afterward, the vireos did the same thing. While the latter were scolding the owl, other birds paid no attention, but responded at once to their cries for help.
After the owl had disappeared, the birds scattered as before. The blue jays and two thrushes stopped back to interview me, and find out if my intentions were friendly.