Cayenne Lapwing.
(Seebohm’s ‘Plovers,’ p. 216.)
Hab. Eastern South America.
The Lapwing of La Plata is considerably larger than the well-known Lapwing of the Old World, but closely resembles that bird in the general colour of the plumage, in the long, slender, black crest, and in general appearance. Throughout the Argentine country it is called Téru-téru, from its ever-repeated dissyllabic cry; west of the Andes the vernacular name is Queltregue, also in imitation of its notes. It has red legs, crimson irides, a rosy beak tipped with black, and coral-red wing-spurs; and these spots of bright colour add to its bold striking appearance. In size, beauty, and spirit it is a king among the Plovers, while its jealous aggressive disposition gives it the character of a tyrant amongst birds in general. On the pastoral pampas (the district from which the giant grasses have disappeared) it is excessively abundant; and it is there resident, although, as with most strong-winged resident species, some individuals do certainly migrate, small parties being occasionally seen in spring and autumn flying steadily at a great height, apparently performing a long journey. As a rule the birds pair for life, and remain always on the spot where they breed. They may be persecuted with guns, their eggs taken year after year, even the ground turned up with the plough, but they still refuse to be driven out. In regions having a broken surface—hills, woods, and sheltered hollows—birds naturally get attached to one spot, for each locality possesses its own features, and individuals frequenting it acquire a knowledge of its advantages. The vast pampas have a uniform level surface, and produce the same kinds of food in the same quantities. They are parched with droughts and flooded by rains alternately, and swept by dust-storms in summer and cold gales in winter—violent enough, one would imagine, to drive every winged creature away and obliterate all marks of home. Again, the powerful flight of this species would enable it to take long journeys, and, if unaffected by atmospheric changes, scarcity of food and water might be a temptation to seek new regions. But through all vicissitudes the Téru-téru clings to its chosen spot of ground.
In defence of its territory it wages perpetual war against most living creatures, the objects of its special abhorrence being men, dogs, rheas, and birds of prey generally. Its noisy cry and irascible temper are spoken of by most travellers and naturalists; for no person riding across the pampas could possibly overlook the bird, with its screaming protests against all trespassers perpetually ringing in his ears; but they have all omitted to mention the singular habit which this bird has of associating in sets of three for the purpose of amusement or play. Each couple, as I have said, live always together on their own pretty-well-defined plot of ground, which they jealously guard from intrusion. Yet if one watches a pair of them for a while he presently sees another—one of a neighbouring couple—rise up and fly to them, leaving his own mate to take care of home; and, instead of resenting this visit as an intrusion, they welcome it with notes and signs of manifest pleasure. Advancing to the visitor, they place themselves behind it, and then all three, keeping step, begin a rapid march, uttering loud drumming and rhythmical notes in time with their movements, the notes of the birds behind coming in a rapid stream, while the leading bird utters loud single notes at regular intervals. The march ceases, the leader stretches out his wings, still emitting loud notes, while the other two, with puffed-out plumage, standing exactly abreast, stoop forward until the tips of their beaks touch the ground, and, sinking their voices to a murmur, remain for some time in this singular posture. The performance is then over; the birds all resume their natural attitudes, and the visitor takes his leave. It is quite certain that this display has no connection with the sexual feeling, for it is indulged in all the year round, at all hours of the day, and also during moonlight nights. It is simply the bird’s manner of expressing its joyous spirits; for most living creatures—birds especially—have more or less well-defined methods of playing; and playday with the Téru is every day, and at very brief intervals. And yet the grave pompous air of the birds, and the military precision of their movements, might easily lead an observer to attribute these displays to some more important motive. Play is not only indulged in with neighbours; there are many solitary Térus continually wandering about from place to place—probably young birds not yet settled in life—and when one of these vagrants passes near a pair he is immediately invited to join them, and, when he alights, all go through the performance together with great zest. In this case, however, as soon as it is over, the strange bird is attacked with great spirit and chased away; and if by chance he comes down again near them, they hasten to drive him up with increased fury.
While watching their antics, which the Gauchos call the Téru’s quadrilles, a curious subject of inquiry suggested itself to my mind. It appeared to me that its manner of playing has had a reflex effect strong enough to mark the bird’s whole character—language, bearing, and habits being coloured by it, and even the domestic relations interfered with. And with regard to the latter point, though it is the rule that each cock bird has only one hen, I have known several instances of a cock with two hens, the two females laying their eggs in one nest and taking turns in sitting on them. I have also found instances of two males to one female; and in one case, where I watched the birds, I noticed that when the female was on the nest the males stood over her, one on each side.
I once had my attention drawn to a large concourse of Térus by the strange behaviour of two individuals amongst them, and I stayed to watch their proceedings. It was in the dry hot weather, and a great many birds had congregated to drink at a lagoon. Some hundreds of them were standing about, quietly preening their feathers, and in the middle of the flock two birds were conspicuously marching about, stiff and upright as a couple of soldiers engaged in some military exercise, and uttering loud notes full of authority. Every few minutes a fresh bird would arrive and alight at some distance from the water, on which the two noisy birds would bustle up, and, ranging themselves behind it, run it with loud drumming notes to the margin; then, standing close together, they would wait till its thirst was quenched, after which they would run it away to some distance from the water, of which they seemed to have made themselves dispensers. For over an hour I continued watching them, and every bird that arrived was conducted to and from the water in this ceremonious manner.
Occasionally several couples unite and soar about in a compact flock; they divide into sets of three birds each, then hover for some time, all waving their wings exactly in time and screaming their notes in unison, and these movements seem like an imitation in the air of the usual marching and drumming performance on the ground.
The breeding-season of the Térus begins as early as the month of June in favourable seasons; severe cold, drought, or other causes sometimes delays it to August. The nest is a shallow circular hollow made by the bird on the level plain, and lined with broken grass-stems and small fragments of thistle-stalks; the eggs are four, rather sharply pointed at one end, and have an olive-green ground-colour spotted with black. The eggs in different nests vary greatly in size, ground-colour, and in the amount of black they are marked with, no two birds laying eggs exactly alike.
While the female is on the nest the male keeps watch at a distance of twenty or thirty yards, and utters a low warning cry in case of danger. The female leaves the nest sometimes by running, but oftener flies from it, and by marking the spot she rises from, it is easy to find the nest on the open level pampas. In the course of a morning’s ride I have picked up as many as sixty-four eggs. During incubation the birds are excessively watchful and jealous, their irritability increasing with the growth of the chick in the shell; and at that time they will attack any bird of prey approaching the nest with amazing virulence. When approached by a human being they fly to meet him when he is still far from them, and hovering, with loud screams, over him, dash down at intervals, threatening to strike with their wing-spurs, coming very close to his head. Unable to intimidate the enemy with this show of violence, the bird changes its tactics, and, alighting at some distance, counterfeits the action of a bird seeking its nest. With well-acted caution and secrecy in its manner, it runs silently along, stooping low, and having found a slight nest-like depression on the surface, sits on it, half opens its wings, and begins gathering all the small sticks or straws within its reach and carefully arranges them about it, as most ground-breeding birds do when incubating. Sometimes also, like many other species, it tries to lead one away from the nest by feigning lameness; but the former instinct of seeking and sitting on an imaginary nest, which I have not observed in any other bird, seems far more complex and admirable.
When sheep in a flock pass over the nest, the bird stands on it to defend its eggs; and then its loud cries and outspread wings often serve to bring the sheep, from motives of curiosity, about it. Even with a dozen sheep clustered round it the bird stands undaunted, beating their faces with its wings; but, unhappily for it, if the shepherd is following, the loud cries of the bird bring him to the spot, and the eggs so bravely defended are taken.