Bird-Lore, Volume I—1899

by Various

But while man does not yet know how to make good use of it, birds do, especially some species of the families Hirundinidæ and Icteridæ—the Swallow and Blackbird families—who find in the spartina the material for a good and safe dormitory. Hundreds of acres of this grass cover the region about Maple Lake, and as they are within the confines of one of the best managed club grounds, where neither plow nor cattle, neither drainage nor fire are allowed, they serve many kinds of birds for a roosting place at all seasons of the year, but especially in fall migration.

Of Swallows, the most numerous frequenters are the Eaves, the Tree or White-breasts, and the Roughwings, and they show their appreciation of this rare place of security and peace by coming early in the season and staying late. When the Eaves have become strangers at their breeding stations for a long time, the marsh is the place to find them in plenty. Here is the place to look for the first White-breast of the year as early as the second week of March, and for the last, in the third week of October. For two months, from the middle of August to the middle of October, a cloud of Swallows may be seen every evening, just before dark, hovering over the most remote and inaccessible part of the immense spartina waste, and wherever you are in the marsh in the late afternoon, you cannot fail to notice innumerable Swallows skimming the grassy ocean and the adjacent lakes. If toward sunset you watch them closely, you will find that, though they may linger long on some favorite hunting ground, the general trend is toward one particular region, and if you will wait long enough, you will find that they have all disappeared in that direction and that, when almost dark, belated parties passing by go in a straight line direct for the same unknown destination. Certainly a most interesting sight for the naturalist to see so many of these lovely, lively, likely creatures passing over, about and around you, all governed by one idea, all driven by one common impulse, all eager to reach the same aim, the common roost! Where is the roost? Where do all these birds spend the night? How do they retire in the evening, and what is their conduct when they leave their night-quarters in the morning?

TREE OR WHITE-BREASTED SWALLOWS
Photographed from nature by Edward Van Altena, Alpine, N. J., September, 1898

In spite of their large numbers and generally unconcealed activity, the answer to these questions is not quite easy. Otherwise confiding creatures, Swallows are careful to keep the exact location of their roost as much as possible a secret from the outer world. Neither the persons who live in the neighborhood of the marsh, nor the hunters who desecrate its sanctity, could tell you where the Swallows roost. It requires the persistent efforts and full attention of the naturalist to show you where and how his favorite bird goes to rest and how it sets out and enters upon the duties and pleasures of another day. You have to be after nightfall, alone with the mosquitos and other pests, in the wide, wet and pathless marsh, and again before the faintest glimmer announces the approach of day.

But select a day in the latter part of August or the first half of September, and follow me. We are up early, to be on the grounds before 5 A. M.; the stars are vanishing, one after the other, and the first dawn appears on the eastern horizon; the air is cool and misty, the grass loaded with heavy dew, but we have to plow our way through as best we can. By previous observation we have located the whereabouts of our birds, and we are now fast approaching their sanctum, all alive and alert for the expected disclosures.

Before this, only the hooting of the Barred Owl in the distant woods had broken the silence, but now comes from the depth of his private retreat, the sleepy 'seewick' of the Henslow's Sparrow, and at the same time the weak but lively 'chip chip churr' of the Short-billed Marsh Wren. 'Pink, pink, pink' exclaims the Bobolink, whom we have startled from his slumber of repose, and, as we advance, up go some Swallows, one by one, to the right, to the left, in front of us, not in masses or bunches, but singly, every few yards one or two flying up, silent, and on wings heavy with dew.

Dawn has been making fast progress the last few minutes, and we can see quite a little distance through the misty air. Now is the time when the Swallows begin of their own accord to leave their perch down in the depths of the spartina and fly with heavy wing through the cool and foggy layer below into the clearer atmosphere above, where the sun's first rays will soon dispel the chilly dampness of their plumage.

While we are still absorbed in the astounding spectacle, daylight is stealing quietly into the novel scene, and discloses the presence of greater and greater numbers of Swallows as far as the eye can reach. Many have gained enormous heights, and are soaring majestically in the sun-kissed zenith. Not so voiceless as the Swallows do the Bobolinks leave the roost. Their pink is continually in the air, and numerous parties are seen passing over, drifting into all directions of the compass. Some alight again, all in their yellow traveling suits, with the exception of one who has a little song for us and wears a somewhat mottled garb with whitish rump. Long-stretched flocks of Redwings pass in one direction, troops of Frackles in another; but, on the whole they do not present anything like the grand spectacle they will later in the year, when migration sends millions of them to this marsh.

The sun is up now, and a little wind is stirring and dispels the clammy dampness of the air. Short-bills sing on all sides, and a few Marylands and Henslows are also heard to sing. Great Blue Herons are on the move, and the Marsh Hawk is at work. A Bittern wings its way across the marsh, attended by a committee of inquisitive young Eaves. There is a peculiar movement now among the Swallows. They seem to concentrate their forces. Let us follow them, and be treated to an unexpected sight.