“These instances,” said Uncle Thomas, “are sufficient to show how much mischief may be done by ignorance of the habits of an animal, and how useful it is to study the nature of the creatures with which Providence has surrounded us. We may at all times feel assured that they have been so placed for our good, and that this good can only be realized by availing ourselves of, or at least by not counteracting the instincts and habits with which He has endowed them.”
Uncle Thomas then dismissed his little charges for the evening, informing them that to-morrow night he would narrate some Tales about Storks and Cranes, of both of which he had some very interesting information to communicate.
CHAPTER VI.
UNCLE THOMAS TELLS ABOUT THE HERON, AND ITS PLACE OF RETREAT; AS WELL AS ABOUT THE AFFECTION AND GENTLENESS OF THE STORK AND THE CRANE.
“Good Evening, Uncle Thomas! Good Evening!” said each of the little circle, as on the following evening they drew their chairs around him, to listen to the Stories which he had promised to tell them about the Storks and Cranes. They knew from what Uncle Thomas had said, as he bid them good bye on the previous evening, that he had something curious to tell them, and although both Mary and Jane had some questions to ask him, they restrained their curiosity for the present, and Uncle Thomas began:—
“The Herons, Storks, and Cranes,” said Uncle Thomas, “were formerly comprehended by the naturalists in one family, but they vary so much in their habits and structure that they are now generally regarded as distinct. The Heron stays with us all the year, while the Storks and the Cranes are birds of passage, most of them never appearing in England at all. The Heron lives almost entirely on fish, which he watches with great assiduity, sitting on some solitary place, the very picture of patience, waiting till an unwary fish comes within its reach, when it darts its powerful bill at it, and so quick and certain is it in its movements that it seldom fails to secure its prey.”
“Are Herons found elsewhere than in England?” asked Harry.
“Oh yes,” said Uncle Thomas, “there are a great many varieties, some of which are to be found in almost every part of the world. They have been seen in all parts of America; and when some adventurous traveller penetrates into the wild deserts of Africa, he sees the solitary Heron sitting in the same watchful attitude on the banks of those unfrequented rivers and marshes, seeking his prey just as we see them here. They like those countries most, however, which are covered with tall forests, and which abound in rivers and stagnant waters, as in those places they can most readily obtain their food, which they devour in immense quantities. In the Backwoods of America, accordingly, they are very abundant. Here is a description of the haunts of the Great Heron, and of his habits, which will convey more information to you in a few lines than I could give you in as many pages:—
“Their favourite places for building and rearing their young are generally in the gloomy solitudes of the tallest cedar swamps, where, if unmolested, they continue annually to breed for many years. These swamps are from half a mile to a mile in breadth, and sometimes five or six in length, and appear as if they occupied the former channel of some choked-up river, stream, lake, or arm of the sea. The appearance they present to a stranger is singular: a front of tall and perfectly straight trunks, rising to the height of fifty or sixty feet, without a limb, and crowded in every direction, their tops so closely woven together as to shut out the day, spreading the gloom of a perpetual twilight below. On a nearer approach they are found to rise out of the water, which, from the impregnation of the fallen leaves and roots of the cedars, is of the colour of brandy. Amidst this bottom of congregated springs, the ruins of the former forest lie piled in every state of confusion. The roots, prostrate logs, and in many places the water, are covered with green mantling moss; while an undergrowth of laurel, fifteen or twenty feet high, intersects every opening so completely as to render a passage through laborious and harassing beyond description; at every step you either sink to the knees, clamber over fallen timber, squeeze yourself through between the stubborn laurels, or plunge to the middle in ponds made by the uprooting of large trees, and which the moss concealed from observation. In calm weather the silence of death reigns in these dreary regions; a few interrupted rays of light shoot across the gloom; and, unless for the occasional hollow screams of the Herons, and the melancholy chirping of one or two species of small birds, all is silence, solitude, and desolation. When a breeze rises, at first it sighs mournfully through the tops; but, as the gale increases, the tall, mast-like cedars wave like fishing-poles, and, rubbing against each other, produce a variety of singular noises, that, with the help of a little imagination, resemble shrieks, groans, or the growling of bears, wolves, and such-like comfortable music.
“On the tops of the tallest of these cedars the Herons construct their nests; ten or fifteen pairs sometimes occupying a particular part of the swamp. The nests are large, formed of sticks, and lined with smaller twigs; each occupies the top of a single tree. The eggs are generally four in number, of an oblong pointed form, larger than those of a Hen, and of a light greenish blue, without any spots. The young are hatched about the middle of May, and remain on the trees till they are full as heavy as the old ones, being extremely fat before they are able to fly. They breed but once in the season. If disturbed in their breeding place, the old birds fly occasionally over the spot, sometimes crying like a Goose, sometimes uttering a coarse hollow grunting noise, like that of a Hog, but much louder. The Great Heron is said to be fat at the full moon, and lean at its decrease; this may be accounted for by the fact of their fishing regularly by moonlight, through the greater part of the night, as well as during the day. The principal food of the Heron is fish, for which he watches with the most unwearied patience, and seizes them with surprising dexterity. At the edge of the river, pond, or sea-shore, he stands fixed and motionless, sometimes for hours together. But his stroke is as quick as thought, and as sure as fate to the first luckless fish that approaches within his reach; these he sometimes beats to death, and always swallows head foremost. He is also an excellent mouser, and is of great service in our meadows in destroying the Short-tailed, or Meadow Mouse, so injurious to the banks. He also feeds eagerly upon Grasshoppers, and various winged insects, particularly Dragon-flies, which he is very expert at striking.”