60. Philohela minor (Gmel.) Gray. American Woodcock.—One specimen was shot at Vicksburg.
61. Sterna antillarum (Less.) Coues. Least Tern.—This beautiful little Tern was very abundant on a sandy point across the “lake,” or old bend of the river, opposite Vicksburg. We were told that these birds lay their eggs on the bare sand, and that these eggs hatch in an extraordinarily short time.
IMPRESSIONS OF SOME SOUTHERN BIRDS.
BY WILLIAM BREWSTER.
Looking back on my first winter in the South I can recall no pleasanter experience than that of a stay of some four weeks at St. Mary’s, a town situated on the very border line of Southern Georgia. This place was then scarcely known to Northerners, although the crowded Florida steamers, on their way across Cumberland Sound, passed within sight of it and occasionally even touched at its wharf for some chance freight or a supply of fuel. But the village still retained a primitive quiet and simplicity that was all the more restful from its contrast with the bustling world outside. Now there are rumors of a railroad and daily trains from Savannah, with all the accompanying desecrations. It is a pity that the march of modern improvements cannot spare a few such peaceful spots, but the “levelling process” seems universal and inevitable.
A Northerner passing his first spring in the South will miss the marked distinction between the seasons upon which he has been accustomed to rely. The vegetation does indeed take a partial rest during the winter months, but it is checked rather than suppressed, and the reign of summer begins without that interval of preparation which we call spring. Most of the trees are evergreen, but some of them, curiously enough, assume bright autumn tints and cast their leaves in April. This at least is true of the live-oaks and magnolias: during my stay at St. Mary’s one of the latter, a remarkably fine tree which I often passed in my daily walks, was at one time nearly denuded, while the ground beneath was strewn with scarlet and orange-tinted leaves.
By the middle of April the fields and forests wore that mature appearance which we associate with August and early September. At noonday cicadas shrilled in the sultry woods, and crickets chirped all night long in the shrubbery about the house. Yet few birds had begun to nest, and many of the northern ones still lingered. I saw Yellow-rumped Warblers, Blue Yellow-backed Warblers and Cedar Birds nearly to the end of April, and a White-throated Sparrow as late as May 2. Many of the Blue Yellow-backed Warblers remained to breed, or rather were breeding, for long before this (on April 9) I had found a nearly finished nest. The local birds, however, did not mingle with the strangers, the former being found in pairs, and only where the trees were hung with Spanish moss; while the latter occurred in all kinds of timber, and in flocks made up largely of Redstarts, Kinglets, Black-poll Warblers and other northern species. The same was true of the Catbirds, Brown Thrushes, Pine Warblers, Towhees and several others. It was especially marked in the case of the Towhees, for the resident individuals belonged to a different and readily recognizable race.
One needed but to pass the boundaries of St. Mary’s to be fairly in the country, for the village had not then overflowed its limits, and the few outlying plantations were scarcely less wild and unkempt than the woods which surrounded them. One of my favorite haunts was the “Bay-gall” (I could never learn the origin of this name), a tract of swampy forest less than a quarter of a mile distant from the house at which we were staying. This place was sure to be alive with birds, and I rarely entered it without making some pleasing discovery. My first visit was on April 6, the day after our arrival. As I approached the woods a Red-bellied Woodpecker started from a solitary tree within a few feet of my head, and alighting at the base of one near by scrambled hurriedly up, dislodging the scales of loose bark in his ascent. He was immediately joined by his mate and the two began a game of hide-and-seek around the trunk and among the branches, uttering a rolling wor’r’r’roo very like that of a Flicker.
Forcing my way through the brambly outskirts, I entered the swamp and paused a moment to look around. Grand old wateroaks and sweet-gums thickly hung with Spanish moss cast a dense shade over the ground beneath, and the few sunbeams that struggled through flickered in the gloom like dying torches. There was little undergrowth, and the eye could penetrate far in every direction. In the branches above Blue Yellow-backed Warblers were singing incessantly, and occasionally the note of a Great-crested Flycatcher echoed sharply among the trees. There were other sounds; the rolling tapping of Woodpeckers, the shrill cry of the Blue Jay; and, from the clearing outside, pleasantly softened by distance, the songs of Mockingbirds and Cardinal Grosbeaks.
Passing deeper into the forest I came to an opening where the morning sun lay warm on a thicket of bushes that surrounded a shallow pool. Here I found an interesting little company of tired migrants resting after the fatigues of their last night’s journey and preparing for that still before them. There were six or eight Hooded Warblers, all males in full spring livery, a number of Worm-eating Warblers, a female Prothonotary Warbler, and several Ruby-crowned Kinglets and Redstarts. All were busily engaged in catching insects, but occasionally one of them would pause to sing a few notes in a listless undertone. The Prothonotary was the first that I had ever met with, and it was the only one that I saw at St. Mary’s. The Hooded and Worm-eating Warblers were common for a week or more afterwards, when all departed for some more northern breeding-ground.