As soon as the plaster has had time to absorb the greasy turpentine, which it does in about a minute, lift the bird from its burial-place, and holding it head upward hit it several sharp blows with a light stick to knock the plaster out of the feathers. Devote from three to five minutes to this, then examine the feathers and see whether they are perfectly clean. Most likely they are not, if it is a case of old grease, and a repetition of the dose is necessary. Start again with your wash of turpentine and do precisely as before (without the use of any water). If this does not bring the feathers out clean and white from roots to tips, then give it a third going over, with unabated vigor and thoroughness. The third time is usually "the charm," even with the worst cases. This time the plaster must be thoroughly beaten out of the feathers, even if takes you an hour to accomplish it.
All this is rather disagreeable work. Of course you will put on old clothes and get out doors to windward of your bird while beating it, so that the plaster will fly off upon some other fellow. Soft feathers may be handled more carelessly than the stiffer sorts. Of course great care must be taken to not separate the web of the tail and wing feathers, nor to break the shafts of even the small ones. Beware getting any of the body feathers twisted during this operation, or they will not lie down where they belong.
Benzine can be used instead of turpentine in cleaning plumage, but it is too volatile, and evaporates too quickly to render the best service.
It is practically useless to attempt to remove clotted blood from the feathers of old dry skins. Even if by persistent effort the blood itself is removed, it leaves a lasting stain upon the feathers, and they are also permanently awry. The universal custom with taxidermists in such case is to obey the (paraphrased) scriptural injunction—if a feather offend thee, pluck it out. If this course leaves a vacancy in the plumage, steal a perfect feather from some suitable portion of the bird's body, and glue it fast in the place of the missing one. Fortunately, however, collectors have about ceased to make up skins to dry with blood upon them, and there is not much trouble to apprehend hereafter from that source.
[CHAPTER XXV.]
MOUNTING REPTILES.
Ophidia: The Serpents.—There are several methods of mounting snakes, but only one that I can recommend. Such processes as ramming a rubber-like snake skin full of sawdust, or cotton, or tow, are to be mentioned only to be condemned. In my opinion, the only proper way to mount a serpent is to make a manikin of tow, carefully wound on a wire and afterward shaped with thread, and cover it with clay at the finish. It is necessary to attach small wires to the body-wire at given intervals, so that they can be passed down through the pedestal, and afford a means by which a finished specimen may be drawn down and made to lie naturally.
A manikin for a large snake, like an anaconda or python, is best made of excelsior, and its exact form secured by sewing through it with a needle. In the field notes printed in Chapter III. something may be learned of the form of the python.
If a snake is "stuffed," it stretches the scales apart most unnaturally, and never looks like life. For this reason, the clay-covered manikin is necessary, in order that any excess of skin may be modeled down upon it, and the scales be made to form an unbroken covering.