In the same mountains Dr. Wetmore found another apartment builder, the palm chit-chat. It is a gregarious species that lives in small bands, each being made up of several pairs having a communal nest as the center of its activities. The largest bands frequenting a single nest do not appear to contain more than 20 birds.
The nests are constructed of twigs about the size of a pencil and from ten to 17 inches in length. The bird itself is only seven or eight inches long. Yet it is able to carry these heavy “timbers” 30 or 40 feet from the ground. One of the nests examined was about the size of a bushel basket and evidently was occupied by only a few pairs. There was a roughly defined central tunnel four to five inches in diameter leading through the mass of sticks and opening to the outside at either end. Near each end was a slight accumulation of bark that made a little platform.
The “apartments” opened from the tunnel on each side. There was a central chamber, supposedly a community room, about five inches in diameter, its floor carpeted with fine shreds of bark. Each nest was a separate unit, with its own door to the outside. There were, however, roughly defined passages running through the interlacing twigs at the top of the nests that permitted the birds to creep about under cover.
One of the most intricate of all bird nests is that of the South African penuline titmouse, distantly related to the American chickadees. It is made of a wool-like plant fiber, very intricately and delicately woven. The form is that of a small bag hanging from a thorn bush. It has one visible opening, a false one which leads nowhere and apparently is intended entirely as camouflage. The real entrance is skillfully hidden, its location known only to the builder. When the mother bird enters the nest she lifts a concealed flap, slips through, and closes it behind her. She again closes it just as carefully when she leaves the nest. There is not the slightest indication on the surface of the finely woven fiber of the existence of the flap.
The Ceylon tailor bird, orthotomus sutorius, makes its nest by actually sewing large leaves together in the shape of a horn, using its bill as a needle. As described by the British naturalist A. G. Pinto: “The first thing she did was to make with her sharp little beak a number of punctures along each edge of the leaf. Having thus prepared the leaf, she disappeared for a little and returned with a strand of cobweb. One end of this she wound around the narrow part of the leaf that separated one of the punctures from the edge. Having done this she carried the loose end of the strand across the under surface of the leaf to a puncture on the opposite side where she attached it to the leaf, and thus drew the two edges a little way together. She then proceeded to connect most of the other punctures with those opposite them, so that the leaf took the form of a tunnel converging to a point. The under surface of the leaf formed the roof and sides of the tunnel. There was no floor to this, since the edges of the leaf did not meet below, the gap between them being bridged by strands of cobweb.
“When lining the nest the bird made a number of punctures in the body of the leaf, through which she poked the lining with her beak, the object being to keep it in situ. All this time the margins of the leaf that formed the nest had been held together by the thinnest strands of cobweb, and it is a mystery how they could have stood the strain. However, before the lining was completed the bird proceeded to strengthen them by connecting the punctures on opposite edges of the leaf with threads of cotton. She would push one end of a thread through a puncture. The cotton used is soft and frays easily so that the part of it forced through a tiny aperture issues as a fluffy knob, which looks like a knot and usually is taken as such. As a matter of fact, the bird makes no knots. She merely forces a portion of the cotton strand through a puncture and the silicon in the leaf catches the strands and prevents them from slipping. Sometimes the cotton threads are long enough to admit of their being passed to and fro, in which case the bird uses the full length.”
The leaves are not killed by the tailoring process and remain green. Hence the nest is almost impossible to detect.
The Ferocious Leech Worms
Armies of billions of ferocious worms defended and preserved a fabulous 1,000-year-old Arabian Nights kingdom for three centuries. This kingdom was templed Kandy in the center of Ceylon, encircled by low, densely forested mountains. It was the site of one of the most picturesque ancient civilizations of the Orient which had degenerated into a brutal despotism when the first European invaders, the Portuguese, came to the island early in the sixteenth century.
Armed with arquebuses, the white man established missions and trading posts on the coast with little difficulty, but the forested mountains proved impassable. The Portuguese soldiers were hard put to pitch their camps in deep jungle bush and in bug-filled marshes. Grass and bushes swarmed with little green worms—extremely nimble creatures about an inch long which subsisted on the blood of warm-blooded animals. They seemed to prefer human blood. They attacked the soldiers night and day. Clothes were no protection. The worms dropped in streams of blood from eyelids and ears. They swarmed on all sides in ever-increasing numbers as the invading forces penetrated further into the jungle. With no defense against this unanticipated enemy, the Europeans were forced to retreat long before the temples of Kandy were in sight. They made no further effort to conquer the ancient kingdom.