Chapter VI: Part 6

Our roads diverged after a while, and my own soon ran into a wood with an undergrowth of saw palmetto. This was the place for the ivory-bill, and as at the swamp two days before, so now I stopped and listened, and then stopped and listened again. The Fates were still against me. There was neither woodpecker nor turkey, and I pushed on, mostly through pine woods--full of birds, but nothing new--till I came out at the lake. Here, beside an idle sawmill and heaps of sawdust, I was greeted by a solitary negro, well along in years, who demanded, in a tone of almost comical astonishment, where in the world I had come from. I told him from Tallahassee, and he seemed so taken aback that I began to think I must look uncommonly like an invalid, a "Northern consumptive," perhaps. Otherwise, why should a walk of six miles, or something less, be treated as such a marvel? However, the negro and I were soon on the friendliest of terms, talking of the old times, the war, the prospects of the colored people (the younger ones were fast going to the bad, he thought), while I stood looking out over the lake, a pretty sheet of water, surrounded mostly by cypress woods, but disfigured for the present by the doings of lumbermen. What interested me most (such is the fate of the devotee) was a single barn swallow, the first and only one that I saw on my Southern trip.

On my way back to the city, after much fatherly advice about the road on the part of the negro, who seemed to feel that I ran the greatest risk of getting lost, I made two more additions to my Florida catalogue--the wood duck and the yellow-billed cuckoo, the latter unexpectedly early (April 11), since Mr. Chapman had recorded it as arriving at Gainesville at a date sixteen days later than this.

I did not repeat my visit to Lake Bradford; but, not to give up the ivory-bill too easily,--and because I must walk somewhere,--I went again as far as the palmetto scrub. This time, though I still missed the woodpecker, I was fortunate enough to come upon a turkey. In the thickest part of the wood, as I turned a corner, there she stood before me in the middle of the road. She ran along the horse-track for perhaps a rod, and then disappeared among the palmetto leaves.

Meanwhile, two or three days before, while returning from St. Mark's, whither I had gone for a day on the river, I had noticed from the car window a swamp, or baygall, which looked so promising that I went the very next morning to see what it would yield. I had taken it for a cypress swamp, but it proved to be composed mainly of oaks; very tall but rather slender trees, heavily draped with hanging moss and standing in black water. Among them were the swollen stumps, three or four feet high, of larger trees which had been felled. I pushed in through the surrounding shrubbery and bay-trees, and waited for some time, leaning against one of the larger trunks and listening to the noises, of which the air of the swamp was full. Great-crested flycatchers, two Acadian flycatchers, a multitude of blue yellow-backed warblers, and what I supposed to be some loud-voiced frogs were especially conspicuous in the concert; but a Carolina wren, a cardinal, a red-eyed vireo, and a blue-gray gnatcatcher, the last with the merest thread of a voice, contributed their share to the medley, and once a chickadee struck up his sweet and gentle strain in the very depths of the swamp--like an angel singing in hell.

My walk on the railway, that wonderful St. Mark's branch (I could never have imagined the possibility of running trains over so crazy a track), took me through the choicest of bird country. The bushes were alive, and the air rang with music. In the midst of the chorus I suddenly caught somewhere before me what I had no doubt was the song of a purple finch, a bird that I had not yet seen in Florida. I quickened my steps, and to my delight the singer proved to be a blue grosbeak. I had caught a glimpse of one two days before, as I have described in another chapter, but with no opportunity for a final identification. Here, as it soon turned out, there were at least four birds, all males, and all singing; chasing each other about after the most persistent fashion, in a piece of close shrubbery with tall trees interspersed, and acting--the four of them--just as two birds are often seen to do when contending for the possession of a building site. At a first hearing the song seems not so long sustained as the purple finch's commonly is, but exceedingly like it in voice and manner, though not equal to it, I should be inclined to say, in either respect. The birds made frequent use of a monosyllabic call, corresponding to the calls of the purple finch and the rose-breasted grosbeak, but readily distinguishable from both. I was greatly pleased to see them, and thought them extremely handsome, with their dark blue plumage set off by wing patches of rich chestnut.

A little farther, and I was saluted by the saucy cry of my first Florida chat. The fellow had chosen just such a tangled thicket as he favors in Massachusetts, and whistled and kept out of sight after the most approved manner of his kind. On the other side of the track a white-eyed vireo was asserting himself, as he had been doing since the day I reached St. Augustine; but though he seems a pretty clever substitute for the chat in the chat's absence, his light is quickly put out when the clown himself steps into the ring. Ground doves cooed, cardinals whistled, and mocking-birds sang and mocked by turns. Orchard orioles, no unworthy companions of mocking-birds and cardinals, sang here and there from a low treetop, especially in the vicinity of houses. To judge from what I saw, they are among the most characteristic of Tallahassee birds,--as numerous as Baltimore orioles are in Massachusetts towns, and frequenting much the same kind of places. In one day's walk I counted twenty-five. Elegantly dressed as they are,--and elegance is better than brilliancy, perhaps, even in a bird,--they seem to be thoroughly democratic. It was a pleasure to see them so fond of cabin door-yards.

Of the other birds along the St. Mark's railway, let it be enough to mention white-throated and white-crowned sparrows, red-eyed chewinks (the white-eye was not found in the Tallahassee region), a red-bellied woodpecker, two red-shouldered hawks, shrikes, kingbirds, yellow-throated warblers, Maryland yellow-throats, pine warblers, palm warblers,--which in spite of their name seek their summer homes north of the United States,--myrtle warblers, now grown scarce, house wrens, summer tanagers, and quails. The last-named birds, by the way, I had expected to find known as "partridges" at the South, but as a matter of fact I heard that name applied to them only once. On the St. Augustine road, before breakfast, I met an old negro setting out for his day's work behind a pair of oxen. "Taking some good exercise?" he asked, by way of a neighborly greeting; and, not to be less neighborly than he, I responded with some remark about a big shot-gun which occupied a conspicuous place in his cart. "Oh," he said, "game is plenty out where we are going, about eight miles, and I take the gun along." "What kind of game?" "Well, sir, we may sometimes find a partridge." I smiled at the anti-climax, but was glad to hear Bob White honored for once with his Southern title.

A good many of my jaunts took me past the gallinule swamp before mentioned, and almost always I stopped and went near. It was worth while to hear the poultry cries of the gallinules if nothing more; and often several of the birds would be seen swimming about among the big white lilies and the green tussocks. Once I discovered one of them sitting upright on a stake,--a precarious seat, off which he soon tumbled awkwardly into the water. At another time, on the same stake, sat some dark, strange-looking object. The opera-glass showed it at once to be a large bird sitting with its back toward me, and holding its wings uplifted in the familiar heraldic, _e-pluribus-unum_ attitude of our American spread-eagle; but even then it was some seconds before I recognized it as an anhinga,--water turkey,--though it was a male in full nuptial garb. I drew nearer and nearer, and meanwhile it turned squarely about,--a slow and ticklish operation,--so that its back was presented to the sun; as if it had dried one side of its wings and tail,--for the latter, too, was fully spread,--and now would dry the other. There for some time it sat preening its feathers, with monstrous twistings and untwistings of its snaky neck. If the chat is a clown, the water turkey would make its fortune as a contortionist. Finally it rose, circled about till it got well aloft, and then, setting its wings, sailed away southward and vanished, leaving me in a state of wonder as to where it had come from, and whether it was often to be seen in such a place--perfectly open, close beside the highway, and not far from houses. I did not expect ever to see another, but the next morning, on my way up the railroad to pay a second visit to the ivory-bill's swamp, I looked up by chance,--a brown thrush was singing on the telegraph wire,--and saw two anhingas soaring overhead, their silvery wings glistening in the sun as they wheeled. I kept my glass on them till the distance swallowed them up.

Of one long forenoon's ramble I retain particular remembrance, not on account of any birds, but for a half hour of pleasant human intercourse. I went out of the city by an untried road, hoping to find some trace of migrating birds, especially of certain warblers, the prospect of whose acquaintance was one of the lesser considerations which had brought me so far from home. No such trace appeared, however, nor, in my fortnight's stay in Tallahassee, in almost the height of the migratory season, did I, so far as I could tell, see a single passenger bird of any sort. Some species arrived from the South--cuckoos and orioles, for example; others, no doubt, took their departure for the North; but to the best of my knowledge not one passed through. It was a strange contrast to what is witnessed everywhere in New England. By some other route swarms of birds must at that moment have been entering the United States from Mexico and beyond; but unless my observation was at fault,-- and I am assured that sharper eyes than mine have had a similar experience,--their line of march did not bring them into the Florida hill-country. My morning's road not only showed me no birds, but led me nowhere, and, growing discouraged, I turned back till I came to a lane leading off to the left at right angles. This I followed so far that it seemed wise, if possible, to make my way back to the city without retracing my steps. Not to spend my strength for naught, however (the noonday sun having always to be treated with respect), I made for a solitary house in the distance. Another lane ran past it. That, perhaps, would answer my purpose. I entered the yard, all ablaze with roses, and in response to my knock a gentleman appeared upon the doorstep. Yes, he said, the lane would carry me straight to the Meridian road (so I think he called it), and thence into the city. "Past Dr. H.'s?" I asked. "Yes." And then I knew where I was.

First, however, I must let my new acquaintance show me his garden. His name was G., he said. Most likely I had heard of him, for the legislature was just then having a good deal to say about his sheep, in connection with some proposed dog-law. Did I like roses? As he talked he cut one after another, naming each as he put it into my hand. Then I must look at his Japanese persimmon trees, and many other things. Here was a pretty shrub. Perhaps I could tell what it was by crushing and smelling a leaf? No; it was something familiar; I sniffed, and looked foolish, and after all he had to tell me its name--camphor. So we went the rounds of the garden,--frightening a mocking-bird off her nest in an orange-tree,--till my hands were full. It is too bad I have forgotten how many pecan-trees he had planted, and how many sheep he kept. A well-regulated memory would have held fast to such figures: mine is certain only that there were four eggs in the mocking-bird's nest. Mr. G. was a man of enterprise, at any rate; a match for any Yankee, although he had come to Florida not from Yankeeland, but from northern Georgia. I hope all his crops are still thriving, especially his white roses and his Marshal Niels.

In the lane, after skirting some pleasant woods, which I meant to visit again, but found no opportunity, I was suddenly assaulted by a pair of brown thrashers, half beside themselves after their manner because of my approach to their nest. How close my approach was I cannot say; but it must be confessed that I played upon their fears to the utmost of my ability, wishing to see as many of their neighbors as the disturbance would bring together. Several other thrashers, a catbird, and two house wrens appeared (all these, since "blood is thicker than water," may have felt some special cousinly solicitude, for aught I know), with a ruby-crowned kinglet and a field sparrow.

In the valley, near a little pond, as I came out into the Meridian road, a solitary vireo was singing, in the very spot where one had been heard six days before. Was it the same bird? I asked myself. And was it settled for the summer? Such an explanation seemed the more likely because I had found no solitary vireo anywhere else about the city, though the species had been common earlier in the season in eastern and southern Florida, where I had seen my last one--at New Smyrna--March 26.

At this same dip in the Meridian road, on a previous visit, I had experienced one of the pleasantest of my Tallahassee sensations. The morning was one of those when every bird is in tune. By the road side I had just passed Carolina wrens, house wrens, a chipper, a field sparrow, two thrashers, an abundance of chewinks, two orchard orioles, several tanagers, a flock of quail, and mocking-birds and cardinals uncounted. In a pine wood near by, a wood pewee, a pine warbler, a yellow-throated warbler, and a pine-wood sparrow were singing--a most peculiarly select and modest chorus. Just at the lowest point in the valley I stopped to listen to a song which I did not recognize, but which, by and by, I settled upon as probably the work of a freakish prairie warbler. At that moment, as if to confirm my conjecture,--which in the retrospect becomes almost ridiculous,--a prairie warbler hopped into sight on an outer twig of the water-oak out of which the music had proceeded. Still something said, "Are you sure?" and I stepped inside the fence. There on the ground were two or three white-crowned sparrows, and in an instant the truth of the case flashed upon me. I remembered the saying of a friend, that the song of the white-crown had reminded him of the vesper sparrow and the black-throated green warbler. That was my bird; and I listened again, though I could no longer be said to feel in doubt. A long time I waited. Again and again the birds sang, and at last I discovered one of them perched at the top of the oak, tossing back his head and warbling --a white-crowned sparrow: the one regular Massachusetts migrant which I had often seen, but had never heard utter a sound.

The strain opens with smooth, sweet notes almost exactly like the introductory syllables of the vesper sparrow. Then the tone changes, and the remainder of the song is in something like the pleasingly hoarse voice of a prairie warbler, or a black-throated green. It is soft and very pretty; not so perfect a piece of art as the vesper sparrow's tune,--few bird-songs are,--but taking for its very oddity, and at the same time tender and sweet. More than one writer has described it as resembling the song of the white-throat. Even Minot, who in general was the most painstaking and accurate of observers, as he is one of the most interesting of our systematic writers, says that the two songs are "almost exactly" alike. There could be no better example of the fallibility which attaches, and in the nature of the case must attach, to all writing upon such subjects. The two songs have about as much in common as those of the hermit thrush and the brown thrasher, or those of the song sparrow and the chipper. In other words, they have nothing in common. Probably in Minot's case, as in so many others of a similar nature, the simple explanation is that when he thought he was listening to one bird he was really listening to another.

The Tallahassee road to which I had oftenest resorted, to which, now, from far Massachusetts, I oftenest look back, the St. Augustine road, so called, I have spoken of elsewhere. Thither, after packing my trunk on the morning of the 18th, I betook myself for a farewell stroll. My holiday was done. For the last time, perhaps, I listened to the mocking-bird and the cardinal, as by and by, when the grand holiday is over, I shall listen to my last wood thrush and my last bluebird. But what then? Florida fields are still bright, and neither mocking-bird nor cardinal knows aught of my absence. And so it _will_ be.

"When you and I behind the Veil are past,
Oh, but the long, long while the World shall last."

None the less, it is good to have lived our day and taken our peep at the mighty show. Ten thousand things we may have fretted ourselves about, uselessly or worse. But to have lived in the sun, to have loved natural beauty, to have felt the majesty of trees, to have enjoyed the sweetness of flowers and the music of birds,--so much, at least, is not vanity nor vexation of spirit.

INDEX.

Air-plants, Alligator, Azalea,

Baptisia, Beggar's-ticks, Blackberry, Blackbird, red--wing, Bladderwort, Bluebird, Blue-eyed Grass, Butterworts, Buzzard, turkey,

Calopogon, Carrion Crow (Black Vulture), Catbird, Cedar-bird, Cedar, red, Chat, yellow-breasted, Cherokee Rose, Cherry, wild, Chewink (Towhee):-- red-eyed, white--eyed, Chickadee, Carolina, Chimney Swift, Chuck-will's-widow, Clematis Baldwinii, Clover, buffalo, Cloudberry, Coot (Fulica americana), Coquina Clam, Coreopsis, Cormorant, Crab-apple, Creeper, black-and-white, Cross-vine, Crow, Cuckoo, yellow-billed, Cypress-tree,

Dabchick, Dove:-- Carolina, ground, Duck, wood,

Eagle, bald,
Egret:--
great white,
little white,

Fish-hawk, Flicker (Golden-winged Woodpecker), Flowering Dogwood, Flycatchers:-- Acadian, crested, kingbird, phoebe, wood pewee, Fringe-bush, Frogs,

Gallinule:-- Florida, purple, Gannet, Gnatcatcher, blue-gray, Golden club, Goldenrod, Grackle, boat-tailed, Grebe, pied-billed, Grosbeak:-- cardinal, blue, Gull:-- Bonaparte's, ring-billed,

Hawk:--
fish,
marsh,
red-shouldered,
sparrow,
swallow-tailed,
Heron:--
great blue,
great white (_or_ Egret),
green,
little blue,
Louisiana,
night (black-crowned),
Honeysuckle:--
scarlet,
white,
Houstonia, round-leaved,
Humming-bird, ruby-throated,
Hypoxis,

Iris versicolor,

Jay:--
Florida,
Florida blue,
Judas-tree,

Killdeer Plover, Kingbird, Kingfisher, Kinglet, ruby--crowned, Kite, fork-tailed, Krigia,

Lantana, Lark, meadow, Leptopoda, Live-oak, Lizards, Lobelia Feayana, Loggerhead Shrike, Lygodesmia,

Martin, purple, Maryland Yellow-throat, Mocking-bird,

Mullein, Myrtle Bird. _See_ Warbler.

Night-hawk, Nuthatch, brown-headed,

Orange, wild, Oriole, orchard, Osprey. _See_ Fish-Hawk. Oven-bird, Oxalis, yellow,

Papaw, Paroquet, Partridge-berry, Pelican:-- brown, white, Persimmon, Phoebe, Pipewort, Poison Ivy, Poppy, Mexican,

Quail,

Rail:--
Carolina,
clapper,
king,
Redbird (Cardinal Grosbeak),

"Ricebird". Robin,

Salvia lyrata, Sanderling, Sandpiper:-- solitary, spotted, Sassafras, Schrankia, Senecio, Shrike, loggerhead, Sow Thistle, Snakebird (Water Turkey), Sparrow:-- chipping, field, grasshopper (yellow-winged), pine-wood, savanna, song, white-crowned, white-throated, Spiderwort, St. Peter's-wort, Strawberry, Swallow:-- barn, rough-winged, tree (white-bellied), Swift, chimney,

Tanager, summer, Tern, Thorns, Thrasher (Brown Thrush), Thrush:-- hermit, Northern water, Louisiana water, Titlark, Titmouse:-- Carolina, tufted, Towhee. _See_ Chewink. Turkey,

Vaccinium, arboreum, Venus's Looking-glass (Specularia), Verbena, Violets, Vireo:-- red-eyed, solitary, white-eyed, yellow-throated, Virginia creeper, Vulture (Carrion Crow),

Warbler:--
black-throated green,
blue yellow-backed,
myrtle (yellow-rumped),
palm (yellow redpoll),
pine,
prairie,
yellow-throated (Dendroica dominica),

Water Lily,
Water Thrush:--
Louisiana,
Northern,
Water Turkey (Snakebird),
Wood Pewee,
Woodpecker:--
downy,
golden-winged (flicker),
ivory-billed,
pileated,
red-bellied,
red-cockaded,
red-headed,
Wren:--
Carolina (mocking),
house,
long-billed marsh,
winter,

Yellow Jessamine, Yellow-legs (Totanus flavipes),

End of Project Gutenberg's A Florida Sketch-Book, by Bradford Torrey