In New England the Black-Cap is one of our most common and familiar birds. In the vicinity of Calais, Mr. Boardman speaks of it as resident and abundant. The writer did not meet with it in Nova Scotia, nor even in the islands of the Bay of Fundy, where the hudsonicus is a common bird.
It is a resident species, nesting early in May, and having full-fledged nestlings early in June. While it seems to prefer the edges of woods as best affording the means of food and shelter, it by no means confines itself to
these localities, not only appearing familiarly around the dwellings in the winter season, but also occasionally breeding in open and exposed places. A hollow post of a fence in the midst of open cultivated fields, a decayed stump near the side of a public highway, a hollow log in a frequented farmyard, and even the side of an inhabited dwelling, are localities these birds have been known to select in which to rear their young. In the winter they not unfrequently extend their visits, in search of food, into the very heart of large and crowded cities, where they seem as much at home and as free from alarm as in the seclusion of the forest, searching every crack where insect larvæ or eggs can be hid. On one occasion a pair had built its nest over a covered well which connects with the dwelling by a side door, through which water was drawn at all hours of the day by means of buckets and a rope, the wheel for which was in close proximity to their nest. They manifested, however, no uneasiness, and even after the young were ready to fly, the whole family would return to the place for shelter at night and during inclement weather.
Their courage and devotion to their young is a remarkable trait with the whole race, and with none more than with the present species. On one occasion a Black-Cap was seen to fly into a rotten stump near the roadside in Brookline. The stump was so much decayed that its top was readily broken off and the nest exposed. The mother refused to leave until forcibly taken off by the hand, and twice returned to the nest when thus removed, and it was only by holding her in the hand that an opportunity was given to ascertain there were seven young birds in her nest. She made no complaints, uttered no outcries, but resolutely and devotedly thrust herself between her nestlings and the seeming danger. When released she immediately flew back to them, covered them under her sheltering wings, and looked up in the face of her tormentors with a quiet and resolute courage that could not be surpassed.
The nest of the Chickadee is usually a warm and soft felted mass of the hair and fur of the smaller quadrupeds, downy feathers, fine dry grasses and mosses, lining the cavity in which it is placed and contracting it into a deep and purse-like opening if the cavity be larger than is necessary. Usually the site selected is already in existence, and only enlarged or altered to suit the wishes of the pair. But not unfrequently, at some pains, they will excavate an opening for themselves, not only in decaying wood, but even into limbs or trunks that are entirely sound.
These birds in winter collect around the camps of the log-cutters, become very tame, and seek on all occasions to share with their occupants their food, often soliciting their portion with plaintive tones. Though nearly omnivorous in the matter of food, they prefer insects to everything else, and the amount of good conferred by them on the farmers and the owners of woodlands in the destruction of insects in all their forms—egg, caterpillar, larva, or imago—must be very great. No chrysalis is too large to resist
their penetrating bill, and no eggs so well hidden that they cannot find them out. I have known one to attack and fly off with the chrysalis of a “Woolly-bear” or salt-marsh caterpillar (Leucarctia acræa). When thus foraging for their food they seem totally unconscious of the near presence of man, and unmindful of what is passing around them, so intent are they upon the object of their pursuit.
The notes of the Chickadee exhibit a great variety of sounds and combinations. As they roam through the country in small flocks in quest of food, their refrain is a continued and lively succession of varying notes sounding like a quaint chant. When annoyed by any intrusion, their cry is louder and harsher. They are rarely thus disturbed by the presence of man, and even when their nest is approached by him they present only a passive and silent resistance. Not so when a cat or a squirrel is observed in unwelcome vicinity. These are pursued with great and noisy pertinacity and hoarse cries of dāy, dāy, dāy, in which they are often joined by others of the same species.
So far as we have observed them, they are apparently affectionate, gentle, and loving to each other. We utterly discredit the accusation that they will treacherously beat out the brains of feeble birds of their own race. It is unsupported by testimony, and in the instance cited by Wilson he gives no evidence that this injury may not have been done by some other species, and not by one of its own kindred.
Their nest is usually near the ground, and the number of eggs rarely if ever exceeds eight. They are said to have two broods in the season, but this statement seems to be contradicted by their continued presence after June in small flocks, evidently the parents and their first and only brood, who apparently remain together nine or ten months.