Fifty thousand Eave Swallows are seated on the protruding tops of sunflowers, which grow here among the spartina in restricted areas, covering a few acres in the middle of the marsh! They sit, several on one plant, as close together as the branches and their weight allow. We draw nearer, until we are within twenty yards of the assembly. The birds must see us, but do not mind, and we have excellent opportunity to watch them. Their numbers are still swelling. The long, narrow, ridge-like stretch of sunflowers is filling up more and more. From the north comes a steady flow of Eaves, all bound for the convention.
It is now 6 A. M.; the influx of arrivals from the north has ceased, and all seem ready for the opening of the session; but they do not look as if they were going to transact important business. Some fly up from time to time, draw a few circles and sit down again. Most of them look tired, as if they had already performed a most fatiguing task. The majority are young fellows, all Eaves, in pale attire, some so small as if not fully grown; but there are also many adults in high dress among them. All are enjoying their rest, some are preening their feathers, others half close their eyes and puff up their plumage, as if going to sleep. There are still some high up in the ether enjoying their enviable wing power; others are hunting low over the marsh, in company with Whitebreasts.
Although the two species hunt, fly and roost together, they do not hold their meetings together. The Whitebreasts' assemblages are held over water. They betake themselves to a pond or lake, and find a perch on the pods, stalks and projecting leaves of the lotus (Nelumbo lutea), with which some of these shallow waters of the marsh are literally covered. There is a small pond only a quarter of a mile from the sunflower patch, and this is now just full of Whitebreasts. Now and then a little cloud of them rises from the pond, and after a few evolutions settles down again. There are only a few hundred; the height of their autumnal wandering is several weeks behind that of the Eaves. These are most numerous in late August and early September; but, as their number decreases, that of the Whitebreasts increases, reaching the height at the time the Eaves depart.
In summer the roost belongs almost entirely to the Eaves, who flock here from the surrounding country. So do the Roughwings, a few hundred only, and some Barn Swallows and Whitebreasts, which two species are not numerous breeders in this region.
TREE OR WHITE-BREASTED SWALLOWS
Immature birds on the ground gathering nesting material, which they drop after carrying a short distance, thus apparently giving a premature exhibition of the nest-building instinct
Photographed from nature by Frank M. Chapman, Leonia, N. J., August, 1897
As soon as migration begins, about the middle of August, the Eaves are greatly reinforced, and for the next four weeks enormous numbers are present, but it is probable that they are not always the same individuals, as their numbers vary from day to day. It seems they perform their migrations by stages, from roost to roost, employing mainly the first hour of the morning for their flights, spending the day resting and feeding in the region surrounding the roost. The substitution of arriving Whitebreasts for departing Eaves is in the beginning almost imperceptible, but at last we see that the one has taken the place of the other entirely. The Roughwings become more numerous in early September, and many remain, with a few Barn Swallows, into October, but the latter are never conspicuous at this roost. Martins and Bank Swallows are only accidental visitors to this roost. The Whitebreasts remain numerous to the middle of October, and small detachments linger even a week longer.
Most of the Eaves that have been gathering on the sunflowers before 6 A. M. are still there at 8 A. M., and the Whitebreasts are also on the lotus yet; but an hour later, when the sun has heated the marsh and started the winged insects on their aërial mission, the time for activity has arrived, and the meetings are adjourned, the birds dispersed. We, too, will adjourn, with the promise to be back for another meeting in the evening. When migration is well under way, the collecting of the Eaves and Whitebreasts begins early in the evening; in fact, large droves are met at all hours of the day, playfully gyrating in the blue heavens above, or describing endless curves upon the glittering marsh beneath. The Roughwings are seldom seen in the marsh in daytime. As soon as they leave the roost at early dawn, they hurry away to their accustomed haunts along the water courses in the timber, where they collect on the branches of a dead tree on the bank, if possible over water. There they sit, soon after daybreak, fifty to one hundred together, silent and lost in meditation, patiently awaiting the dissipation of the vapory dimness, the signal for activity. They are greatly attached to these meeting-places, and resort to them often in daytime as well as in the evening. Indeed, these gatherings of Roughwings on certain dead trees along our woodland lakes and streams are quite a feature of the landscape from July till October. Often their ranks are considerably swelled by an admixture of other Swallows—oftenest the Bank Swallows, who join them on their entomologizing excursions, and find it congenial to spend some time on the same perch with their gentle cousins.
In fall migration, the different kinds of Swallows like to mix, hunt and rest together, and it is nothing rare to find four or five species sitting side by side. To be sure of a full view of the whole performance, we are in the marsh as early as 5 P. M., and take a stand west of the roost to have a good light, and also to be in a position where we can overlook part of Maple Lake, over which a large number of Swallows take their way. Indeed, we find them already plentiful, and watch their actions. A few dozens are sitting on the plant stalks projecting from the water, mostly Whitebreasts. From the west comes a pretty steady stream of Eaves. When they reach the spot where the Whitebreasts are gathering now, they pause a moment, and, hovering, take a drink, several at once, after which they continue their course. Is it not strange that they seem to think that this is the only place for Eaves to drink, though the lake is half a mile long?
