“Ypecaha” is the Guarani name, preserved by Azara, of this highly interesting species; by the Spanish it is called “Gallineta,” from its supposed resemblance to a fowl. Without any brilliant tints, there is yet something so pleasing to the eye in the various hues of its plumage—light brown and drab colour, grey, buff, and black—all these colours so harmoniously disposed, the effect heightened by the long straight yellow beak, golden-red eye, and vermilion legs, that I do not know a handsomer waterfowl.
These Rails are found as far south as the thirty-fifth parallel of latitude, and are abundant along the marshy borders of the Plata, frequenting the vast reed-beds and forests of water-loving Erythrina crista-galli. Where they are never persecuted they are bold pugnacious birds, coming out of the reeds by day and attacking the domestic poultry about the houses and even in the streets of the villages situated on the borders of their marshy haunts. But when compelled to place man on the list of their enemies, it is a difficult matter to get a sight of one; for, like all birds that rise laboriously, they are vigilant to excess, and keep themselves so well concealed that the sportsman may pass through their haunts every day of the year, and the Ypecaha still be to him no more than a “wandering voice.” But even persecution does not entirely obliterate a certain inquisitive boldness which characterizes them. Usually they roam singly in quest of food, but have reunions in the evening and occasionally during the day, especially in gloomy weather. On misty days they often wander to a distance from the covert, walking with an easy, somewhat stately grace, jerking the tail at every stride, and running with a velocity no man can equal. Where there are woods they usually fly, when disturbed, into a tree; and it is in connexion with this habit that the Ypecaha sometimes makes a curious mistake in places where it has not been much shot at. One day, while pushing my way through a dense growth of rushes, I saw two Ypecahas not fifteen yards from me, on the horizontal branch of a tree, to which they had evidently flown for safety. I was anxious to secure them, but surprised at their temerity; and wishing to find out its cause, I approached them still nearer, and then stood for some time observing them. It was easy to see that they fancied themselves quite safe from me while off the ground. In the most unconcerned manner they continued strutting up and down along the branch, jerking their tails, and turning about this way and that, as if to tantalize their baffled enemy by ostentatiously displaying their graces.
When surprised on the open ground the Ypecaha lies close, like a Tinamou, refusing to rise until almost trodden upon. It springs up with a loud-sounding whirr, rushes violently through the air till, gaining the reeds, it glides a few yards and then drops: its flight is thus precisely like that of the Tinamou, and is more sounding and violent than that of the Grouse or Partridge. On spying an intruder it immediately utters a powerful cry, in strength and intonation not unlike that of the Pea-fowl. This note of alarm is answered by other birds at a distance as they hastily advance to the spot where the warning was sounded. The cry is repeated at irregular intervals, first on one side, then on the other, as the birds change their position to dog the intruder’s steps and inspect him from the reeds. I have surprised parties of them in an open space, and shot one or more; but no sooner had the survivors gained their refuge than they turned about to watch and follow me, sounding their powerful alarm the whole time. I have frequently been followed half a mile through the rushes by them, and by lying close and mimicking their cries have always succeeded in drawing them about me.
But the Ypecaha’s loudest notes of alarm are weak compared with the cries he utters at other times, when, untroubled with a strange presence, he pours out his soul in screams and shrieks that amaze the listener with their unparalleled power. These screams, in all their changes and modulations, have a resemblance to the human voice, but of the human voice exerted to its utmost pitch, and expressive of agony, frenzy, and despair. A long piercing shriek, astonishing for its strength and vehemence, is succeeded by a lower note, as if in the first one the creature had well-nigh exhausted itself. The double scream is repeated several times; then follow other sounds, resembling, as they rise and fall, half-suppressed cries of pain and moans of anguish. Suddenly the unearthly shrieks are renewed in all their power. This is kept up for some time, several birds screaming in concert; it is renewed at intervals throughout the [day], and again at set of sun, when the woods and marshes resound with the extravagant uproar. I have said that several birds unite in screaming; this is invariably the case. I have enjoyed the rare pleasure of witnessing the birds at such times; and the screams then seem a fit accompaniment to their disordered gestures and motions.
A dozen or twenty birds have their place of reunion on a small area of smooth clean ground surrounded by reeds; and by lying well concealed and exercising some patience, one is enabled to watch their proceedings. First one bird is heard to utter a loud metallic-sounding note, three times repeated, and somewhat like the call of the Guinea-fowl. It issues from the reeds, and is a note of invitation quickly responded to by other birds on every hand as they all hurriedly repair to the customary spot. In a few moments, and almost simultaneously, the birds appear, emerging from the reeds and running into the open space, where they all immediately whirl about and begin the exhibition.
Whilst screaming they rush from side to side as if possessed with frenzy, the wings spread and agitated, the beak wide open and raised vertically. I never observed them fight or manifest anger towards each other during these performances; and, knowing the pugnacious spirit of the Ypecahas, and how ready they are to seek a quarrel with birds of other species, this at first surprised me, for I was then under the mistaken impression that these gatherings were in some way related to the sexual instinct.
Whilst watching them I also remarked another circumstance. When concealing myself amongst the rushes I have been compelled to place myself so disadvantageously, owing to the wet ground, that any single bird straying accidentally into the open space would have discovered my presence immediately; yet the birds have entered and finished their performance without seeing me, so carried away are they by the emotion that possesses them during these moments. But no sooner has the wild chorus ended than, aware of my presence, they have fled precipitately into the reeds.
We frequently speak of our familiarity with the habits of the species we have long and carefully observed in a state of nature; yet the knowledge so gained must necessarily be exceedingly imperfect, for with many shy vigilant birds it is next to impossible to see them without being seen; and no bird, conscious of being watched, will act unconstrainedly any more than a human being with clouded reputation will comport himself naturally with the eyes of a detective on him. While we are observing the bird, the bird watches us: of all its curious doings when we are out of its sight and mind we see nothing. The only way to learn the habits of a species like the Ypecaha—wary, intelligent, and passing its life behind a screen of rushes—is to domesticate it; for although in this state some instincts are blunted and others remain in abeyance, they are not obliterated. It might surprise some that I speak of the Ypecaha as an intelligent bird, since it is a member of the “stupid family,” as Professor Parker has called the Rails; but in spite of the very profound admiration I feel for that illustrious anatomist, I believe he is wrong about these birds: there is, to my mind, very much more stupidity in the Auserine and Limicoline families, while the Ypecaha has always seemed to me a singularly intelligent bird.
Fortunately Azara was able to give an account of one of these birds in a domestic state, which shows that it makes a very sprightly and entertaining, although a mischievous pet. It was taken young and allowed to run about at liberty with the poultry at the house of a village doctor in Paraguay. When full-grown it was very domineering, and became the tyrant of the poultry-yard. Occasionally a cock had the courage to face it, and then a singular combat would ensue: the Ypecaha, moving with astonishing rapidity, putting its head low down, would charge, and, thrusting its head between the cock’s legs, fling him instantly on his back, then rain a shower of blows on his breast before he could rise. It was fond of eggs, and always knew when a hen went off to lay, cautiously following her to the nest and then concealing itself at some distance to wait. As soon as the egg was dropped it would run, pick it up with its beak, and carry it away to a safe distance, and then, breaking a hole in the shell at one end, suck out the contents without spilling a drop. Sometimes, when the hen remained too long on the nest, it would lose its temper and, driving her off, pursue her with the greatest animosity about the grounds, administering correction with its sharp beak. Not satisfied with devouring all the eggs laid by the doctor’s fowls, it visited all the neighbours’ houses, doing so much damage that at length the poor doctor, afraid perhaps that his practice would suffer, had the troublesome bird put to death.
This Ypecaha would never allow any one to touch it, but it would come into the house and search through all the rooms for thimbles, scissors, and other small metal objects, and these it would carry away to conceal them among the weeds or else bury them in the mud. It was also a good mouser, and after killing a mouse with a blow from its beak would swallow it entire.