The above notes in some degree arranged, and slightly abridged, I quote from Robinson’s valuable MSS., who was evidently much interested in the bird he has so minutely described. That interest I myself felt in no small degree, on reading his notes, as there appear manifest indications of an intermediate link between the diurnal and nocturnal Fissirostres. It was therefore with very much pleasure that I saw on the 4th of last April, what I believe to have been the present species. At Content, in St. Elizabeth, as evening approached, after a little rain, swallows of three species were careering around the mountain: the White bellied Swallow and the Palm Swift were numerous, and among them was a very large black species, with a white collar, rather less numerous, prodigiously rapid in flight. I vainly endeavoured to shoot it. A fortnight afterwards, about half an hour before sunset, after rain, the Piramidigs which first appeared were presently joined by the great collared Swift, which careered with them in numbers. Again, about 11 o’clock in the forenoon, in May, three of these birds swept overhead, heavy rain already falling on the mountain, and beginning to reach the spot where I was. My lad Sam, one day about noon, observed as many as a dozen passing in a flock, in straight and rapid course, when black clouds, already gathered round the mountain brow, threatened rain, which however passed away to leeward. A few days after, a little earlier in the day, and in exactly similar weather, or rather amidst the first large drops of a heavy rainstorm, he saw three flying so low as nearly to skim the ground; two pursuing in mazy course a third, from which proceeded, now and then, a singular vibratory sound, which Sam imitated by the word “churr.” This singular sound, which again reminds one of the Goatsuckers, was also uttered by two, which, about the same season and hour, and in similar weather, were careering swiftly over Bluefields towards the mountain peaks.
Having mentioned the occurrence of this bird to my notice, in a letter to Mr. Hill, he favoured me with the following interesting account of his own acquaintance with the species. “* * * The month was March, the early part of March, when the bleak northerly winds of February had exhausted and blighted all vegetation, and the lower range of the St. Andrews mountains, with their steep and angular declivities walling in the plains, were looking as seared as if a simoom had blasted them. The pastures below were destitute of herbage, but the adjacent cane-fields were sufficiently green to relieve the arid aspect of the mountains, and give the air of cultivation to the plain. Myself and the friend with whom I travelled had waited in Kingston till an afternoon shower had fallen. The sun was just setting when we had got within the last mile of our journey. We had completely headed the extremity of the Long mountain, and were quite within the plain, encircled, as it there seems, by hills and uplands. The air was pleasant and fresh;—the earth sent up its reeking odour, musky and strong;—the road was splashy, and here and there stood puddles in the grassless savannas. Lighted by the level sunbeams the whole landscape was brilliant, and the masses of recent rain-clouds that were up-rolled, but gathered low on the mountains before us, were luminously golden and crimson. The deep, desert bed of the Hope river was right in our view. Here, all of a sudden, we found ourselves coursing our way through a hundred of the White-collared Martin, and they seemed to spread all over this corner of the plain in similar numbers. The extraordinary size of the birds, the easy but rapid glide of their flight, just over the cane-fields and savannas, not at a greater height than just above our horse, when they crossed and re-crossed the road, sweeping so near to us as to tempt us to strike at them with the chaise-whip, were very remarkable incidents in a first acquaintance with them. I was able to see the whole character of their form and colouring, ‘great black Martins, with a white collar,’ as your letter delineates them. They continued quartering over the fields, till the sunlight had left the plains, or was only reflected by the mountains and their piles of roseate clouds. The rain had brought all insect-life to the moist surface of the earth, and these birds were following their congregated swarms to the wet savannas. They sometimes stooped to the puddles, and shot past with a twitter that very much reminded one of the summer play of their smaller sized congeners.
“I have seen the same bird twice or thrice since, but in threes or fours only, and, always, only near rocky and unfrequented hills. Another friend, who drew my attention to them in consequence of their numbers after rains, in his neighbourhood, lived among large open savannas and salt-ponds, near the low range of rocky and sterile mountains, which our maps call the Healthshire hills. He told me he had traced them to the caverns in those mountains, in which he felt assured they nestled in hundreds. This is the nearest to any precise information, I ever could get of their haunts and habitations.”
I am not alone in thinking these birds difficult to shoot; a gentleman who resides near Kingston, having observed them at his residence one evening, the last spring, and kindly wishing to supply me with a specimen, though an expert shot, fired five times unsuccessfully at them. Yet I am not without hope of obtaining specimens, particularly through the politeness of Mr. A. G. Johnston of Portland. In answer to some observations of Mr. Hill’s, this gentleman writes, “The ring-necked Swallow abounds here, and flies all day, just as the other Swift does. Flocks of a hundred or two of each, wheel and scream about us before a shower. I have a specimen before me, which I stuffed sixteen years ago, pretty perfect yet, but I propose to shoot you some fresh birds. I find no difficulty in bringing them down, but I never saw one alight or perch anywhere.”
It is with doubt that I identify this bird with the “White-necked Martin” of Temminck, found by the Prince de Nieuwied in his voyage to Brazil. He states it to be very common in the environs of Rio Janeiro, and in all the districts of that province, where “it is found among rocks.” Perhaps it is Hirundo 3, of Browne.
When the above was just going to press, I received from Mr. Hill information that a specimen of this bird had been obtained by Mr. Johnston. A careful drawing of the left foot accompanied it, with the following note. “The legs are curiously constructed: the tarsus cannot extend further than here represented, [viz. forming an angle with the tibia, of 28°] nor can it be straightened, so that it corresponds with the tail feathers, and keeps the bird in an upright position against vertical rocks and trees.” Mr. J. ascertained that from this formation, the bird cannot stand erect on the ground, nor can it apparently walk; and he has been told that cattle-boys and fishermen in Portland both say that they have taken young ones of this species clinging to the vertical honey-comb rocks, against whose base the sea dashes. As the specimen thus procured is kindly destined for me, I hope to speak still more definitely, if it arrive in time, in an appendix. Perhaps it may form a new genus.
Mr. Johnston’s little boys, familiar with Peter Wilkins’s story, have been accustomed to call these birds Gowries; because of the rushing noise they make with their wings; a noise that is heard even when they sweep by, far overhead. I have adopted this appellation.
PALM SWIFT.[13]
Tachornis phœnicobia.—Mihi.