Chapter V

Early one May morning the next spring I was greatly pleased to hear the well remembered call. I knew my old-time friend had come to spend his summer sojourn in the yard amid the scenes of former years.

He flitted about the yard in his old familiar way, tapping off his short quick rattle on the roof-board which reverberated through the cabin.

He was happy again. Why not? He had brought with him a new bride. She was afraid of me. He showed her by example that I would not hurt them, but on sight of me she slipped around the stumps and trees, and at the least approach flew away.

William Harrison Lewis.

BEAUTIFUL SNOW.

Beautiful snowflakes are softly falling
Like down from an angel’s wings,
Beautiful snowflakes are softly falling
While the snow bird merrily sings.

Beautiful snowflakes are softly falling,
From the clouds they come whirling down,
Like the dust from the floor of a crystal palace,
And cover the frozen ground.

Beautiful snowflakes are softly falling,
Covering the ground with white;
The flowers of summer have withered and faded,
The robin has taken his flight.

Beautiful snowflakes are softly falling,
They bring joy to young and old;
Beautiful-snowflakes are watching and waiting
For the Christmas chimes to toll.

Beautiful snowflakes are softly falling
Like down from an angel’s wings,
Beautiful snowflakes are softly falling
While the snow bird merrily sings.
—J. Frank Richman.

THE SHARP-SHINNED HAWK.
(_Accipiter velox._)

The Sharp-shinned Hawk is a hardy and courageous bird with an extended range, covering North America as far south as Panama. Unlike the larger number of birds, it breeds throughout its range, even as far north as the Arctic circle. In the fall months it passes over the middle states in large numbers. One writer says that he observed several hundred during a single day’s tramp, the majority flying very high in the air. In the spring, usually in March and April, the same scene is repeated during their northward flight.

Much of the bad repute in which the hawks are held is due to the depredations of the Sharp-shinned and its sister species the Cooper’s and goshawks. All these feed, to a great extent, upon the smaller birds, grouse and poultry. The smaller mammals, such as the troublesome field rodents, form a much smaller proportion of their food than is the case with the other hawks.

Dr. A. K. Fisher, speaking of the Sharp-shin, says: “Little can be said in favor of this hawk, although its daring, courage and impudence are to be admired. A score of valuable species suffer because they belong to a class which includes two or three noxious kinds. However, like most villains, it has at least one redeeming quality, and that is its fondness for the English sparrow, our imported bird nuisance. This Hawk is gradually learning that there is a never-failing supply of food for it in the larger towns and cities, and it is not uncommon in Central Park, New York, all through the winter, where the writer has witnessed it chasing sparrows.”

The Sharp-shinned Hawk is brave and full of dash and spirit. It does not hesitate to attack birds fully as large as itself and in one instance it was known to strike down a night heron, which obtained its liberty only because its discordant squawks so disconcerted its ordinarily cool and collected enemy that it was frightened away. Even though its wings are short and seemingly not fitted for rapid progress, its flight, when in the pursuit of prey, is very swift and direct. “No matter which way the selected victim may turn and double, his untiring pursuer is equally prompt, and only rarely will it miss capturing its quarry. Once struck, death fortunately follows quickly, as it fairly transfixes its victim’s vitals with its long and sharp talons.”

Audubon well describes the habits of this bird. He says: “While in search of prey, the Sharp-shinned Hawk passes over the country, now at a moderate height, now so close over the land, in so swift a manner that, although your eye has marked it, you feel surprised that the very next moment it has dashed off and is far away. In fact, it is usually seen when least expected and almost always but for a few moments, unless when it has procured some prey and is engaged in feeding upon it. The kind of vacillation or wavering with which it moves through the air appears perfectly adapted to its wants; for it undoubtedly enables this little warrior to watch and to see at a single quick glance of its keen eyes every object, whether to the right or to the left, as it pursues its course. It advances by sudden dashes, as if impetuosity of movement were essential to its nature, and pounces upon and strikes such objects as best suit its appetite, but so very suddenly that it appears quite hopeless for any of them to try to escape.”

The nest of this species is usually built in dense hemlock or other cone-bearing trees, though a deciduous tree is sometimes selected. It prefers also a site not more than twenty to forty feet from the ground. It is said that the nest is sometimes built in the crevices of cliffs or in hollow trees. This may be the case in Arctic regions, but it is not the usual habit of the bird within the borders of the United States. The nests are very large, as compared with the size of the bird, varying in diameter from twenty to thirty inches, outside measurement. The walls are usually constructed with twigs and lined with smaller ones and strips of the fibrous inner bark of coniferous trees. Instances have been reported in which the walls were nearly eight inches in thickness.

As a rule the Sharp-shinned Hawk does not defend its nest from the attack of intruders. There are, however, a few instances recorded in which both the male and female birds fought a person who was climbing to their nest, by repeatedly striking at the intruder.

As befits a bird that possesses such a character as that of the Sharp-shinned Hawk, it is practically a voiceless bird and seldom utters a sound except when its nest is approached. At such times its cries have been described as like those of a flicker.

BIRDS ON THE WING.

In a picturesque little hill-town in eastern Massachusetts, where I was spending the summer, I had opportunities for studying birds, their language, and their customs. I shall not soon forget a remarkable sight in the heavens on the evening of August 26. I was suddenly attracted by an unusual twittering and calling of the birds, and, on looking out of a window, I saw a multitude of birds of various sizes, from the tiniest of hare-birds, or sparrows, to birds as large as robins, flying in all directions and filling the air, it seemed, with their songs and their soft little notes. Ah, I thought, the birds are having a gala day, a picnic, or a ball, or perhaps a regatta. They were sailing, soaring, whirling, diving, dipping, in intricate mazes, yet with a certain method that was both bewildering and charming. Perhaps they were trying their wings for their southern journey; perhaps they were merely taking a twilight constitutional en masse. The hour was a little past six o’clock. The southern sky was pale blue, overspread with soft, translucent clouds of opaline hues, paling and flushing—a most fascinating picture of itself, and a fine background for the bird parade. All around great trees rose in billowy masses of emerald green, maples and elms predominating; while, standing like tall sentinels, two giant Lombardy poplars rose above them all, looking straight up to the heavens. In pauses of the dance the birds seemed to sink into these bowers of green, and for a few moments no bird was seen. Then, from somewhere, one came sailing through the air, then two, then three, with little notes of command, as when the leader of an orchestra with his baton begins the overture, and then a general rush of wings and the whirling and wheeling and dipping and darting was again in full play.

This display of bird maneuvring continued for about half an hour. I viewed it from a doorway where I could command the whole scene, which was enchanting and something which I had never before seen.

I have not the presumption to suppose that it was a field-day review gotten up for my especial benefit; yet I enjoyed it quite as much as if it were.

It is possible that they were swallows out on a foraging expedition, for the day before a shower of small, green flies swept through the air, lighting here and there and everywhere within its radius. Perhaps the birds had discovered a school of these flies in the air and took sudden advantage of the aerial sporting grounds. Whatever may have been the occasion, I wonder if such bird parades are often seen.