Chapter XII: Part 12

These birds are fond of large eddies below projecting points of land, but frequently dive in search of food at a considerable distance from them. When in eddies they may be approached and shot with less difficulty than when in any other situation. If wounded only, they are not easily secured; in fact, you need not go after them, for by diving, fluttering along the surface, and cutting backward and forward, they generally elude pursuit. Between Louisville and Shippingport, on the Kentucky side of the Ohio, the shores are from ten to fifteen feet high, and rather abrupt when the waters are at their ordinary level. The Scaup Ducks are fond of diving for food along this place, and there, by coming directly upon them unseen, till you are almost over them, you may have the very best opportunities of procuring them. They are not worth shooting, however, unless for sport or examination, for their flesh is generally tough and rather fishy in flavour. Indeed I know none, excepting what is called _an Epicure_, who could relish a Scaup Duck.

They appear to experience some difficulty in getting on wing, and assist themselves on all occasions, either by meeting the current or fronting the wind, while they also use their broad feet as helps. When danger is near, they frequently, however, prefer diving, which they find as effectual a means of security as flying. As they usually feed at some distance from each other, it is amusing to see them go off, as they emerge from the water in succession, and to watch them when they collect again, and when, after flying for a long time in circles, now high then low over the water, they all realight. These habits, and the toughness of their sinewy bodies, render it rather difficult to shoot them. Although flat-billed, they dive to a considerable depth, and when they have reached the bottom, no doubt furrow the mud, in the manner of the Shoveller (_Anas clypeata_), although the latter performs this action while floating on the surface, with its head and neck alone submersed, as it swims over the shallows.

The food of the Scaup Duck I have found to consist of small fry, crayfishes, and a mixture of such grasses as here and there grow along the beds of our rivers. I never found any portions of testaceous mollusca in the gizzards of those obtained on our western waters, although even there they might meet with abundance of these animals.

When these birds are travelling, their flight is steady, rather laborious, but greatly protracted. The whistling of their wings is heard at a considerable distance when they are passing over head. At this time they usually move in a broad front, sometimes in a continuous line. When disturbed, they fly straight forward for a while, with less velocity than when travelling, and, if within proper distance, are easily shot. At times their notes are shrill, but at others hoarse and guttural. They are however rarely heard during the day, and indeed, like many other species, these birds are partly nocturnal.

At the approach of spring the Drakes pay their addresses to the females, before they set out on their journey. At that period the males become more active and lively, bowing their heads, opening their broad bills, and uttering a kind of quack, which to the listener seems produced by wind in their stomach, but notwithstanding appears to delight their chosen females.

The Scaup Duck varies materially as to size at different ages. Some wounded individuals which I kept, and which were birds of the first year, were much larger and heavier at the end of a year; and I agree with my learned friend NUTTALL, that specimens may be procured measuring from sixteen and a half to eighteen, nineteen, or twenty inches in length.

On the Atlantic coast I have met with this species from the Gulf of Mexico to the Bay of Fundy, and my friend THOMAS MACCULLOCH has told me that they are not unfrequent at Pictou in Nova Scotia. Farther north I saw none; and their breeding places are yet unknown to me.

ANAS MARILA, _Linn._ Syst. Nat. vol. i. p. 196.—_Lath._
Ind. Ornith. vol. ii. p. 853.

FULIGULA MARILA, _Ch. Bonaparte_, Synopsis of Birds of the
United States, p. 392.—_Swains. and Richards._ Fauna Bor.
Amer. part ii. p. 453.

SCAUP DUCK, ANAS MARILA, _Wils._ Amer. Ornith, vol. viii.
p. 84. pl. 69. fig. 8.—_Nuttall_, Manual, vol. ii. p. 437.

Adult Male. CCXXIX. Fig. 1.

Bill as long as the head, deeper than broad at the base, enlarged and flattened towards the end, which is rounded, the frontal angles narrow and pointed. Upper mandible with the dorsal line at first straight and declinate, then slightly concave, along the unguis curved, the ridge broad at the base, narrowed at the middle, enlarged and convex towards the end, the sides nearly erect at the base, becoming more and more declinate and convex, the edges curved upwards, with about forty lamellæ, the unguis small and oblong. Nostrils submedial, oblong, rather large, pervious, near the ridge, in an oblong groove with a soft membrane. Lower mandible flat, with the angle very long and rather narrow, the dorsal line very short and straight, the erect edges with about sixty lamellæ,—on the upper edge, however, the lamellæ are more numerous,—the unguis broadly elliptical.

Head of moderate size. Eyes small. Neck of moderate length, rather thick. Body comparatively short, compact, and depressed. Wings small. Feet very short, strong, placed rather far behind; tarsus very short, compressed, anteriorly with a series of broad scutella, externally of which is another of smaller, the rest reticulated with angular scales. Hind toe small, with a free membrane beneath; anterior toes double the length of the tarsus, united by reticulated membranes having a sinus at their free margins, the outer and inner with loose somewhat lobed marginal membranes, all obliquely scutellate above, the third and fourth about equal and longest. Claws small, that of first toe very small and curved, of middle toe largest, with an inner thin edge, of the rest very slender and pointed.

Plumage dense, soft, blended. Feathers of the head and neck short and velvety, those of the hind head a little elongated. Wings shortish, narrow, pointed; primary quills curved, strong, tapering, the first longest, the second very little shorter, the rest rapidly graduated; secondary broad and rounded, the inner elongated and tapering. Tail very short, much rounded, of fourteen feathers.

Bill light greyish-blue, the unguis blackish. Iris yellow. Feet greyish-blue, the webs and claws black. The head, the whole neck, and the fore part of the back and breast black, the head and neck glossed with purple and green, the rest tinged with brown. Hind part of the back, rump, abdomen, and upper and lower tail-coverts brownish-black. Middle of the back, scapulars, inner secondaries, anterior part of abdomen, and sides greyish-white, beautifully marked with undulating black lines. Middle of the breast white, wings light brownish-grey. Alula, primaries at the base and end, and the greater part of secondaries, brownish-black; the speculum on the latter white.

Length to end of tail 16-1/2 inches, to end of claws 18; extent of wings 29; wing from flexure 8-1/4; tail 2-1/4; bill along the back 1-10/12, along the edge of lower mandible 2; tarsus 1-1/4; middle toe 2-2/12, its claw (5-1/2)/12. Weight 1 lb. 6 oz.

Adult Female. Plate CCXXIX. Fig. 2.

The female agrees with the male in the characters of the plumage, and in the colours of the bare parts; but those of the former differ considerably. The head, neck, and fore part of the back and breast, are umber brown; and there is a broad patch of white along the fore part of the forehead. The upper parts in general are brownish-black, the middle of the back and the scapulars undulated with whitish dots and bars. The primary quills are greyish in the middle, and the speculum is white, but of less extent than in the male. The greater part of the breast and abdomen is white; the sides and parts under the tail umber brown.

Length 16-1/2 inches, extent of wings 28. Weight 1 lb. 6 oz.

The males, as has been said, vary greatly in size, but in adult specimens there is little difference in colouring. The birds figured in my Illustrations, and described above, were from the Mississippi; but others seen in various parts presented no such differences as to indicate permanent varieties.

THE SANDERLING.

_TRINGA ARENARIA_, BONAP.

PLATE CCXXX. MALE AND FEMALE.

Although the Sanderling extends its rambles along our Atlantic shores, from the eastern extremities of Maine to the southernmost Keys of the Floridas, it is only an autumnal and winter visitor. It arrives in the more Eastern Districts about the 1st of August, on the sea-shores of New York and New Jersey rarely before the 10th of August, and seldom reaches the extensive sand-banks of East Florida previous to the month of November. Along the whole of this extended coast, it is more or less abundant, sometimes appearing in bands composed of a few individuals, and at times in large flocks, but generally mingling with other species of small shore-birds. Thus I have seen Turnstones and Knots mixed with the Sanderlings, but in such cases they are perhaps wanderers, which have not succeeded in meeting with companions of their own species, that associate with the birds of which I here speak.

The Sanderling obtains its food principally by probing the moist sands of the sea-shores with its bill held in an oblique position. At every step it inserts this instrument with surprising quickness, to a greater or less depth, according to the softness of the sand, sometimes introducing it a quarter of an inch, sometimes to the base. The holes thus made may be seen on the borders of beaches, when the tide is fast receding, in rows of twenty, thirty, or more; in certain spots less numerous; for it appears that when a place proves unproductive of the food for which they are searching, they very soon take to their wings and remove to another, now and then in so hurried a manner that one might suppose they had been suddenly frightened. The contents of the stomach of those which I shot while thus occupied, were slender sea-worms, about an inch in length, together with minute shell-fish and gravel. At other times, when they were seen following the receding waves, and wading up to the belly in the returning waters, I found in them small shrimps and other crustacea.

In their flight the Sanderlings do not perform so many evolutions as Sandpipers usually display. They generally alight about a hundred yards of the place from which they started, and run for a yard or so, keeping their wings partially extended. They move on the sand with great activity, running so as to keep pace with a man walking at a moderate rate. Their flight is rapid and straighter than that of other small species, and when on wing they seldom exhibit each surface of the body alternately, as many others are wont to do.

I have thought that the migrations of this bird are carried on under night; but of this I am by no means certain, although I observed some small flocks, composed of a few dozen individuals, crossing the Gulf of St Lawrence, at a little height over the water, in the month of June. The lateness of the season induced me to hope that I might find some nests of the Sanderling on the coast of Labrador; but in this I was disappointed, although some young birds were seen at Bras d’Or, in little parties of four or five individuals. This was early in August, and they were already on their way southward.

The Sanderling affords good eating, especially the young, and the sportsman may occasionally kill six or seven at a shot, provided he fires the moment the flock has alighted, for immediately after the birds spread abroad in search of food.

The female may easily be distinguished from the male, by her superior size; but in the colouring of birds of both sexes, I have observed as much difference as in the Turnstone. Even during winter, some are more or less marked with black and brownish-red, while others, which, however, I easily ascertained to be younger birds, were of an almost uniform light grey above, each feather edged with dull white; but in all those which I have examined, whether old birds in the full spring or summer dress, in which I have shot some in May, in the Middle Districts, or young birds in autumn and during winter, I have seen no difference in the colours of the bill, legs, and toes. My plate of this species represents two birds in winter plumage, which were obtained in East Florida in the month of December. The figure of a fine male, which, being on another sheet of paper, was overlooked during my absence from London, you will find in Plate CCLXXXV. of “The Birds of America.”

CHARADRIUS CALIDRIS, _Linn._ Syst. Nat. vol. i. p.
255.—_Lath._ Ind. Ornith. vol. ii. p. 741, in Winter.

CHARADRIUS RUBIDUS, _Ibid._ p. 740, in Summer.

TRINGA ARENARIA, _Ch. Bonaparte_, Synops. of Birds of the
United States, p. 320.

CALIDRIS ARENARIA, SANDERLING, _Swains. and Richards._
Fauna Bor. Amer. part ii. p. 366.

RUDDY PLOVER, CHARADRIUS RUBIDUS, _Wils._ Amer. Ornith.
vol. vii. p. 129. pl. 63. fig. 3.—Summer dress.

SANDERLING PLOVER, _Ibidem_, vol. vii. p. 68. pl. 59. fig.
4. Winter dress.—_Nuttall_, Manual, vol. ii. p. 4.

Adult Male in winter. Plate CCXXX. Fig. 1.

Bill rather longer than the head, slender, subcylindrical, straight, flexible, compressed at the base, the point rather depressed and obtuse. Upper mandible with the dorsal line nearly straight, slightly sloping to beyond the middle, the ridge convex, towards the end flattened, at the point convex; sides sloping, edges rather blunt and soft. Nasal groove long; nostrils basal, linear, pervious. Lower mandible with the angle long and very narrow, the dorsal line slightly convex, the sides sloping outwards, towards the end convex.

Head of moderate size, oblong, compressed. Eyes rather large. Neck of moderate length. Body rather slender. Feet slender, of moderate length; tibia bare a considerably way up; tarsus compressed, anteriorly and posteriorly with numerous small scutella; hind toe wanting; toes of moderate length, slender; inner toe shorter than outer, middle toe considerably longer, all scutellate above and marginate, with prominent papillæ, and free; claws small, slightly curved, extremely compressed, blunt.

Plumage very soft, blended beneath, slightly distinct above. Wings long and pointed; primaries tapering, obtuse, the first longest, the second a little shorter, the rest rapidly graduated; secondaries rather short, obliquely rounded, curved inwards, the inner elongated and tapering. Tail rather short, rounded, of twelve feathers, the two middle ones considerably longer.

Bill and feet black. Iris brown. The general colour of the plumage above is ash-grey, the edges paler; the lower parts pure white. Alula and primaries brownish-black, the latter with more or less white on their outer webs or along the shaft; secondaries white, the outer with a patch of brownish-black towards the end, the inner ash-grey; primary coverts brownish-black, tipped with white; secondary coverts greyish-brown, broadly tipped with white. Middle tail feathers greyish-brown, their shafts white, the rest of a paler tint on the outer webs, white on the inner, the lateral almost pure white.

Length to end of tail 7-10/12, to end of wings 7-10/12, to end of claws 8-1/4; extent of wings 12-1/2; wing from flexure 4-11/12; tail 2-2/12; bill along the back 1; along the edge of lower mandible 1-(1/2)/12; tarsus 1; middle toe 3/4, its claw 2/12. Weight 1-3/4 oz.

Adult Female in Winter. Plate CCXXX. Fig. 2.

The Female is precisely similar to the Male.

In its summer plumage, this species differs in the following particulars. The bill, feet, and iris, are as described above, and the lower parts are also pure white, excepting the fore part and sides of the neck, which, as well as the upper parts of the head, and the hind neck, are pale yellowish-red, spotted with brownish-black. The back is similarly marked, the spots larger, and on the scapulars disposed in bars; the tips of most of the feathers greyish-white, the wings and tail are as in winter.

A RACOON HUNT IN KENTUCKY.

The Racoon, which is a cunning and crafty animal, is found in all our woods, so that its name is familiar to every child in the Union. The propensity which it evinces to capture all kinds of birds accessible to it in its nightly prowlings, for the purpose of feasting on their flesh, induces me to endeavour to afford you some idea of the pleasure which our western hunters feel in procuring it. With your leave, then, Reader, I will take you to a “Coon Hunt.”

A few hours ago the sun went down far beyond the “far west.” The woodland choristers have disappeared, the matron has cradled her babe, and betaken herself to the spinning-wheel; the woodsman, his sons, and “the stranger” are chatting before a blazing fire, making wise reflections on past events, and anticipating those that are to come. Autumn, sallow and sad, prepares to bow her head to the keen blast of approaching winter; the corn, though still on its stalk, has lost its blades; the wood pile is as large as the woodsman’s cabin; the nights have become chill, and each new morn has effected a gradual change in the dews, which now crust the withered herbage with a coat of glittering white. The sky is still cloudless; a thousand twinkling stars reflect their light from the tranquil waters; all is silent and calm in the forest, save the nightly prowlers that roam in its recesses. In the cheerful cabin all is happiness; its inmates generously strive to contribute to the comfort of the stranger who has chanced to visit them; and, as racoons are abundant in the neighbourhood, they propose a hunt. The offer is gladly accepted. The industrious woman leaves her wheel, for she has listened to her husband’s talk; now she approaches the fire, takes up the board shovel, stirs the embers, produces a basket filled with sweet potatoes, arranges its contents side by side in front of the hearth, and covers them with hot ashes and glowing coals. All this she does, because she “guesses” that hungry stomachs will be calling for food when the sport is over. Ah! Reader, what “homely joys” there are in such scenes, and how you would enjoy them! The rich may produce a better, or a more sumptuous meal; but his feelings can never be like those of the poor woodsman. Poor I ought not to call him, for nature and industry bountifully supply all his wants; the woods and rivers produce his chief dainties, and his toils are his pleasures.

Now mark him! the bold Kentuckian is on his feet; his sons and the stranger prepare for the march. Horns and rifles are in requisition. The goodman opens the wooden-hinged door, and sends forth a blast loud enough to scare a wolf. The racoons scamper away from the cornfields, break through the fences, and hie to the woods. The hunter has taken an axe from the wood-pile, and returning, assures us that the night is clear, and that we shall have rare sport. He blows through his rifle, to ascertain that it is clear, examines his flint, and thrusts a feather into the touch-hole. To a leathern bag swung at his side is attached a powder-horn; his sheathed knife is there also; below hangs a narrow strip of home-spun linen. He takes from his bag a bullet, pulls with his teeth the wooden stopper from his powder-horn, lays the ball on one hand, and with the other pours the powder upon it until it is just overtopped. Raising the horn to his mouth, he again closes it with the stopper, and restores it to its place. He introduces the powder into the tube; springs the box of his gun, greases the “patch” over with some melted tallow, or damps it; then places it on the honeycombed muzzle of his piece. The bullet is placed on the patch over the bore, and pressed with the handle of the knife, which now trims the edges of the linen. The elastic hickory rod, held with both hands, smoothly pushes the ball to its bed: once, twice, thrice has it rebounded. The rifle leaps as it were into the hunter’s arms, the feather is drawn from the touch-hole, the powder fills the pan, which is closed. “Now I’m ready,” cries the woodsman. His companions say the same. Hardly more than a minute has elapsed. I wish, Reader, you had seen this fine fellow—but hark! the dogs are barking.

All is now bustle within and without: a servant lights a torch, and off we march to the woods. “Don’t mind the boys, my dear sir,” says the woodsman, “follow me close, for the ground is covered with logs, and the grape vines hang everywhere across.” “Toby, hold up the light, man, or we’ll never see the gullies.” “Trail your gun, sir, as General CLARK used to say,—not so, but this way—that’s it; now then, no danger you see; no fear of snakes, poor things! They are stiff enough, I’ll be bound. The dogs have treed one. Toby, you old fool, why don’t you turn to the right—not so much there—go a-head, and give us light—What’s that?—Who’s there?—Ah, you young rascals! you’ve played us a trick, have you. It’s all well enough, but now, just keep behind, or I’ll”—and in fact, the boys, with eyes good enough to see in the dark, although not quite so well as an Owl’s, had cut directly across the dogs, which had surprised a racoon on the ground and bayed it, until the lads knocked it on the head. “Seek him, boys,” cries the hunter.—The dogs, putting their noses to the ground, pushed off at a good rate. “Master, they’re making for the creek,” says old Toby. On towards it therefore we push. What woods, to be sure! No gentleman’s park this, I assure you, Reader. We are now in a low flat; the soil thinly covers the hard clay; nothing but beech trees hereabouts, unless now and then a maple. Hang the limbs! say I—hang the supple-jacks too—here I am, fast by the neck—cut it with your knife. My knee has had a tremendous rub against a log—now, my foot is jammed between two roots—and here I stick. “Toby, come back—don’t you know the stranger is not up to the woods. Halloo, Toby, Toby!” There I stood perfectly shackled, the hunter laughing heartily, and the lads glad of an opportunity of slipping off. Toby arrived, and held the torch near the ground, on which the hunter cutting one of the roots with his hatchet, set me free. “Are you hurt, Sir?”—no, not in the least. Off we start again. The boys had got up with the dogs, which were baying a Racoon in a small puddle. We soon joined them with the light. “Now, stranger! watch and see!” The Racoon was all but swimming, and yet had hold of the bottom of the pool with his feet. The glare of the lighted torch was doubtless distressing to him; his coat was ruffled, and his rounded tail seemed thrice its ordinary size, his eyes shone like emeralds; with foaming jaws he watched the dogs, ready to seize each by the snout if it came within reach. They kept him busy for several minutes; the water became thick with mud; his coat now hung dripping, and his draggled tail lay floating on the surface. His guttural growlings, in place of intimidating his assailants, excited them the more; and they very unceremoniously closed upon him, curs as they were, and without the breeding of gentle dogs! One seized him by the rump and tugged, but was soon forced to let go; another stuck to his side, but soon taking a better directed bite of his muzzle than another dog had just done of his tail, coon made him yelp; and pitiful were the cries of luckless Tyke. The Racoon would not let go, but in the mean time the other dogs seized him fast, and worried him to death, yet to the last he held by his antagonist’s snout. Knocked on the head by an axe, he lay gasping his last breath, and the heaving of his chest was painful to see. The hunters stood gazing at him in the pool, while all around was by the flare of the torch rendered trebly dark and dismal. It was a good scene for a skilful painter.

We had now two coons, whose furs were worth two quarters of a dollar, and whose bodies, which I must not forget, as Toby informed us, would produce two more. “What now,” I asked—“What now,” quoth the father, “why go after more to be sure.” So we did, the dogs ahead, and I far behind. In a short time the curs treed another, and when we came up, we found them seated on their haunches, looking upwards, and barking. The hunters now employed their axes, and sent the chips about at such a rate that one of them coming in contact with my cheek marked it so, that a week after several of my friends asked me where, in the name of wonder, I had got that black eye. At length the tree began to crack, and slowly leaning to one side, the heavy mass swung rustling through the air, and fell to the earth with a crash. It was not one coon that was surprised here, but three—aye three of them, one of which, more crafty than the rest, leaped fairly from the main top while the tree was staggering. The other two stuck to the hollow of a branch, from which they were soon driven by one of the dogs. Tyke and Lion having nosed the cunning old one, scampered after him, not mouthing like the well-trained hounds of our southern fox hunters, but yelling like furies. The hunter’s sons attacked those on the tree, while the woodsman and I, preceded by Toby, made after the other; and busy enough we all were. Our animal was of extraordinary size, and after some parley, a rifle ball was sent through his brain. He reeled once only,—next moment he lay dead. The rest were dispatched by the axe and the club, for a shot in those days was too valuable to be spent when it could be saved. It could procure a deer, and therefore was worth more than a coon’s skin.

Now, look at the moon! how full and clear has she risen on the Racoon hunters! Now is the time for sport! Onward we go, one following the long shadow of his precursor. The twigs are no impediment, and we move at a brisker pace, as we return to the hills. What a hue and cry!—here are the dogs. Overhead and all around, on the forks of each tree, the hunter’s keen eye searches for something round, which is likely to prove a coiled up Racoon. There’s one! Between me and the moon I spied the cunning thing crouched in silence. After taking aim, I raise my barrel ever so little, the trigger is pressed; down falls the Racoon to the ground. Another and another are on the same tree. Off goes a bullet, then a second; and we secure the prey. “Let us go home, stranger,” says the woodsman; and contented with our sport, towards his cabin we trudge. On arriving there, we find a cheerful fire. Toby stays without, prepares the game, stretches the skins on a frame of cane, and washes the bodies. The table is already set; the cake and the potatoes are all well done; four bowls of butter-milk are ranged in order; and now the hunters fall to.

The Racoon is a cunning animal, and makes a pleasant pet. Monkey-like, it is quite dexterous in the use of its fore feet, and it will amble after its master, in the manner of a bear, and even follow him into the street. It is fond of eggs, but prefers them raw, and it matters not whether it be morning, noon, or night, when it finds a dozen in the pheasant’s nest, or one placed in your pocket to please him. He knows the habits of mussels better than most conchologists. Being an expert climber, he ascends to the hole of the woodpecker, and devours the young birds. He knows, too, how to watch the soft-shelled turtle’s crawl, and, better still, how to dig up her eggs. Now by the edge of the pond, grimalkin-like, he lies seemingly asleep, until the summer-duck comes within reach. No Negro knows better when the corn is juicy and pleasant to eat; and although squirrels and woodpeckers know this too, the Racoon is found in the corn-field longer in the season than any of them, the havock he commits there amounting to a tithe. His fur is good in winter, and many think his flesh good also; but for my part I prefer a live Racoon to a dead one, and should find more pleasure in hunting one than in eating him.

THE LONG-BILLED CURLEW.

_NUMENIUS LONGIROSTRIS_, WILS.

PLATE CCXXXI. MALE AND FEMALE.

The Long-billed Curlew is a constant resident in the southern districts of the United States, whereas the other species are only autumnal and winter visitors. It is well known by the inhabitants of Charleston that it breeds on the islands on the coast of South Carolina; and my friend the Reverend JOHN BACHMAN has been at their breeding grounds. That some individuals go far north to breed, is possible enough, but we have no authentic account of such an occurrence, although many _suppositions_ have been recorded. All that I have to say on this subject is, that the bird in question is quite unknown in the Magdeleine Islands, where, notwithstanding the assertions of the fishermen, they acknowledged that they had mistaken Godwits for Curlews. In Newfoundland, I met with a well-informed English gentleman, who had resided in that island upwards of twenty years, and described the Common Curlew of Europe with accuracy, but who assured me that he had observed only two species of Curlew there, one about the size of the Whimbrel—the _Numenius hudsonicus_, the other smaller—the _N. borealis_, and that only in August and the beginning of September, when they spend a few days in that country, feed on berries, and then retire southward. Mr JONES of Labrador, and his brother-in-law, who is a Scotch gentleman, a scholar, and a sportsman, gave me the same account. None of my party observed an individual of the species in the course of our three months’ stay in the country, although we saw great numbers of the true Esquimaux Curlew, _N. borealis_. Yet I would not have you to suppose that I do not give credit to the reports of some travellers, who have said that the Long-billed Curlew is found in the fur countries during summer. This may be true enough; but none of the great northern travellers, such as RICHARDSON, ROSS, PARRY, or FRANKLIN, have asserted this as a fact. Therefore if the bird of which I speak has been seen far north, it was in all probability a few stragglers that had perhaps been enticed to follow some other species. I am well aware of the propensity it has to ramble, as I have shot some in Missouri, Indiana, Kentucky, Arkansas, and Mississippi; but the birds thus obtained were rare in those districts, where the species only appears at remote periods; and in every instance of the kind I have found the individuals much less shy than usual, and apparently more perplexed than frightened by the sight of man.

Until my learned friend, Prince CHARLES BONAPARTE, corrected the errors which had been made respecting the Curlews of North America, hardly one of these birds was known from another by any naturalist, American or European. To WILSON, however, is due the merit of having first published an account of the Long-billed Curlew as a species distinct from the Common Curlew of Europe.

This bird is the largest of the genus found in North America. The great length of its bill is of itself sufficient to distinguish it from every other. The bill, however, in all the species, differs greatly, according to the age of the individual, and in the present Curlew I have seen it in some birds nearly three inches shorter than in others, although all were full grown. In many of its habits, the Long-billed Curlew is closely allied to the smaller species of Ibis; its flight and manner of feeding are similar, and it has the same number of eggs. Unlike the Ibis, however, which always breeds on trees, and forms a large nest, the Curlew breeds on the ground, forming a scanty receptacle for its eggs; yet, according to my friend BACHMAN, the latter, like the former, places its nests “so close together, that it is almost impossible for a man to walk between them, without injuring the eggs.”

The Long-billed Curlew spends the day in the sea-marshes, from which it returns at the approach of night, to the sandy beaches of the sea-shores, where it rests until dawn. As the sun sinks beneath the horizon, the Curlews rise from their feeding-grounds in small parties, seldom exceeding fifteen or twenty, and more usually composed of only five or six individuals. The flocks enlarge, however, as they proceed, and in the course of an hour or so the number of birds that collect in the place selected for their nightly retreat, sometimes amounts to several thousands. As it was my good fortune to witness their departures and arrivals, in the company of my friend BACHMAN, I will here describe them.

Accompanied by several friends, I left Charleston one beautiful morning, the 10th of November 1831, with a view to visit Cole’s Island, about twenty miles distant. Our crew was good, and although our pilot knew but little of the cuttings in and out of the numerous inlets and channels in our way, we reached the island about noon. After shooting various birds, examining the island, and depositing our provisions in a small summer habitation then untenanted, we separated; some of the servants went off to fish, others to gather oysters, and the gunners placed themselves in readiness for the arrival of the Curlews. The sun at length sunk beneath the water-line that here formed the horizon; and we saw the birds making their first appearance. They were in small parties of two, three, or five, and by no means shy. These seemed to be the birds which we had observed near the salt-marshes, as we were on our way. As the twilight became darker the number of Curlews increased, and the flocks approached in quicker succession, until they appeared to form a continuous procession, moving not in lines, one after another, but in an extended mass, and with considerable regularity, at a height of not more than thirty yards, the individuals being a few feet apart. Not a single note or cry was heard as they advanced. They moved for ten or more yards with regular flappings, and then sailed for a few seconds, as is invariably the mode of flight of this species, their long bills and legs stretched out to their full extent. They flew directly towards their place of rest, called the “Bird Banks,” and were seen to alight without performing any of the evolutions which they exhibit when at their feeding-places, for they had not been disturbed that season. But when we followed them to the Bird Banks, which are sandy islands of small extent, the moment they saw us land the congregated flocks, probably amounting to several thousand individuals all standing close together, rose at once, performed a few evolutions in perfect silence, and re-alighted as if with one accord on the extreme margins of the sand-bank close to tremendous breakers. It was now dark, and we left the place, although some flocks were still arriving. The next morning we returned a little before day; but again as we landed, they all rose a few yards in the air, separated into numerous parties, and dispersing in various directions, flew off towards their feeding-grounds, keeping low over the waters, until they reached the shores, when they ascended to the height of about a hundred yards, and soon disappeared.

Now, Reader, allow me to say a few words respecting our lodgings. Fish, fowl, and oysters had been procured in abundance; and besides these delicacies, we had taken with us from Charleston some steaks of beef, and a sufficiency of good beverage. But we had no cook, save your humble servant. A blazing fire warmed and lighted our only apartment. The oysters and fish were thrown on the hot embers; the steaks we stuck on sticks in front of them; and ere long every one felt perfectly contented. It is true we had forgotten to bring salt with us; but I soon proved to my merry companions that hunters can find a good substitute in their powder-flasks. Our salt on this occasion was gunpowder, as it has been with me many a time; and to our keen appetites, the steaks thus salted were quite as savoury as any of us ever found the best cooked at home. Our fingers and mouths, no doubt, bore marks of the “villanous saltpetre,” or rather of the charcoal with which it was mixed, for plates or forks we had none; but this only increased our mirth. Supper over, we spread out our blankets on the log floor, extended ourselves on them with our feet towards the fire, and our arms under our heads for pillows. I need not tell you how soundly we slept.

The Long-billed Curlews are in general easily shot, but take a good charge. So long as life remains in them, they skulk off among the thickest plants, remaining perfectly silent. Should they fall on the water, they swim towards the shore. The birds that may have been in company with a wounded one fly off uttering a few loud whistling notes. In this respect, the species differs from all the others, which commonly remain and fly about you. When on land, they are extremely wary; and unless the plants are high, and you can conceal yourself from them, it is very difficult to get near enough. Some one of the flock, acting as sentinel, raises his wings, as if about to fly, and sounds a note of alarm, on which they all raise their wings, close them again, give over feeding, and watch all your motions. At times a single step made by you beyond a certain distance is quite enough to raise them, and the moment it takes place, they all scream and fly off. You need not follow the flock. The best mode of shooting them is to watch their course for several evenings in succession; for after having chosen a resting place, they are sure to return to it by the same route, until greatly annoyed.

The food of the Long-billed Curlews consists principally of the small crabs called fiddlers, which they seize by running after them, or by pulling them out of their burrows. They probe the wet sand to the full length of their bill, in quest of sea-worms and other animals. They are also fond of small salt-water shell-fish, insects, and worms of any kind; but I have never seen them searching for berries on elevated lands, as the Esquimaux Curlews are wont to do. Their flesh is by no means so delicate as that of the species just mentioned, for it has usually a fishy taste, and is rarely tender, although many persons consider it good. They are sold at all seasons in the markets of Charleston, at about twenty-five cents the pair.

Rambling birds of this species are sometimes seen as far as the neighbourhood of Boston; for my learned friend THOMAS NUTTALL says in his Manual, that “they get so remarkably fat, at times, as to burst the skin in falling to the ground, and are then superior in flavour to almost any other game bird of the season. In the market of Boston, they are seen as early as the 8th of August.” I found them rather rare in East Florida in winter and spring. They were there seen either on large savannahs, or along the sea shore, mixed with marbled Godwits, Tell-tales, and other species.

NUMENIUS LONGIROSTRIS, _Ch. Bonaparte_, Synops. of Birds
of the United States, p. 314.—_Richards. and Swains._
Fauna Bor. Amer. part ii. p. 376.

LONG-BILLED CURLEW, NUMENIUS LONGIROSTRIS, _Wils._ Amer.
Ornith. vol. viii. p. 23. pl. 64. fig. 1. adult.—_Nuttall_,
Manual, vol. ii. p. 94.

Adult Male. Plate CCXXXI. Fig. 1.

Bill excessively elongated, being more than four times the length of head, very slender, subcylindrical, slightly compressed, nearly straight to the middle, beyond which it is slightly curved. Upper mandible with the ridge broad and flat at the base, broad and rounded in the rest of its extent, a deep groove running from the nostrils to near the tip, which is decurved, enlarged so as to form an oblong obtuse knob, projecting beyond the point of the lower mandible, the edges rounded, the inner surface with a deep narrow groove. Nostrils basal, lateral, longitudinal, linear, pervious. Lower mandible similar in its curvature to the upper, its angle extremely narrow, and extending to near the middle, the ridge rounded, the sides with a shallow groove to near the end, the edges directly meeting those of the upper mandible, the tip obtuse.

Head rather small, oblong, compressed. Neck long and slender. Body rather slender. Feet long and rather stout. Toes rather small, scutellate above; first very small, second and fourth about equal, third considerably longer, flat beneath and broadly marginate, the three anterior connected by short webs, of which the outer is much larger. Bare part of tibia covered with transverse series of angular scales, as is the upper part of the tarsus, its lower two-thirds with scutella in front. Claws small, compressed, blunt, that of middle toe largest, curved outwards, with a sharp dilated inner edge.

Plumage soft and blended, on the fore part of the head very short. Wings long, very acute, narrow, the first quill longest, the second a little shorter, the rest rapidly graduated; secondaries of moderate length, slightly incurved, narrowly rounded, some of the inner greatly elongated and tapering. Tail short, much rounded, of twelve rounded feathers.

Upper mandible of a rich deep brown in its whole extent, as is the lower in its terminal half, its basal portion being flesh colour tinged with brown. Iris hazel. Feet light greyish-blue; claws dusky. The ground colour of the plumage is light yellowish-red; the head marked with oblong spots, the back with spots and bars of brownish-black. Alula and outer webs of first four quills deep brown, the rest of the quills of the general colour, barred on both webs with dark brown, as are the tail feathers. Chin or upper part of throat white, as is the lower eyelid; neck marked with longitudinal lines of brownish-black; sides barred with the same, as are the lower larger wing-coverts; the rest of the lower parts unspotted, the sides and under wing-coverts of a richer yellowish-red than the rest.

Length to end of tail 26 inches, to end of wings 25, to end of claws 29; extent of wings 40; wing from flexure 11-1/2; tail 4-1/4; bill along the back 8-1/2; along the edge of lower mandible 8; bare part of tibia 2; tarsus 3-7/12; middle toe 1-10/12 its claw (3-1/2)/12. Weight 1-3/4 lb.

Adult Female. Plate CCXXXI. Fig. 2.

The Female cannot be distinguished from the Male by external appearance.

The bill varies in length from 7 to 9 inches. It has been remarked that the tarsus of this species is scutellate anteriorly in its whole length, whereas that of _N. arquata_ is scutellate on its lower half only; but this is incorrect; for both species have transverse series of small scales on the upper third of the tarsus.

THE HOODED MERGANSER.

_MERGUS CUCULLATUS_, LINN.

PLATE CCXXXII. MALE AND FEMALE.

Excepting the Smew or White Nun, the Hooded Merganser is the handsomest of its family. Its broad and rounded crest of pure white, with an edging of jetty black, and which it closes or spreads out at pleasure, renders the male of this species conspicuous on the waters to which it resorts. The activity of its motions, the rapidity of its flight, and its other habits, contribute to render it a pleasing object to the student of nature, not less than to the sportsman. Its flesh, however, has a fishy taste and odour, although it is relished by some persons. It seems to prefer fresh water, and is by no means very frequent along the sea coast. Long, narrow, and moderately deep creeks, or small ponds, are more frequented by it than large rivers or lakes.

On the waters of the Western and Southern States, these Mergansers are seen to arrive from the north early in October, but generally later than many species of Ducks, although sooner than either the Red-breasted Merganser or the Goosander. At the approach of night, a person standing still on the banks of such a river as the Ohio, first hears the well-known sound of wings whistling through the air, presently after, a different noise, as if produced by an eagle stooping on her prey, when gliding downwards with the rapidity of an arrow, he dimly perceives the Hooded Mergansers sweeping past. Five or six, perhaps ten, there are; with quick beats of their pinions, they fly low over the waters in wide circles. Now they have spied the entrance of a creek; there they shoot into it, and in a few seconds you hear the rushing noise which they make as they alight on the bosom of the still pool. How often have I enjoyed such scenes, when enticed abroad by the clear light of the silvery moon, I have wandered on the shores of _la belle rivière_, to indulge in the contemplation of nature!

Up the creek the Mergansers proceed, washing their bodies by short plunges, and splashing up the water about them. Then they plume themselves, and anoint their feathers, now and then emitting a low grunting note of pleasure. And now they dive in search of minnows, which they find in abundance, and which no doubt prove delicious food to the hungry travellers. At length, having satisfied their appetite, they rise on wing, fly low over the creek with almost incredible velocity, return to the broad stream, rove along its margin until they meet with a clean sand-beach, where they alight, and where, secure from danger, they repose until the return of day. A sly Racoon may, when in search of mussels, chance to meet with the sleeping birds, and surprise one of them; but this rarely happens, for they are as wary and vigilant as their enemy is cunning, and were the prowler to depend upon Hooded Mergansers for food, he would be lean enough.

This bird ranges throughout the United States during winter, content with the food it meets with in the bays and estuaries of the eastern coast, and on the inland streams. The dam of the Pennsylvania miller is as agreeable to it as that of the Carolina rice-planter. The Le High and Brandy-wine Creek have their fishes, as well as the waters of Bear Grass or Bayou Sara. Nay, the numerous streams and pools of the interior of the Floridas are resorted to by this species, and there I have found them full of life and gaiety, as well as on the Missouri, and on our great lakes. When the weather proves too cold for them they move southwards many of them removing towards Mexico.

The Hooded Merganser is a most expert diver, and so vigilant that at times it escapes even from the best percussion gun. As to shooting at it with a flint lock, you may save yourself the trouble unless you prevent it from seeing the flash of the pan. If you wound one, never follow it: the bird, when its strength is almost exhausted, immerses its body, raises the point of its bill above the surface, and in this manner makes its way among the plants, until finding some safe retreat along the shore, it betakes itself to it, and there remains, so that you may search for it in vain, unless you have a good dog. Even on wing it is not easily shot. If on a creek ever so narrow, it will fly directly towards its mouth, although you may be standing knee-deep in the middle. It comes up like a ball, rises and passes over head with astonishing speed, and if you shoot at it, do not calculate upon a hit. You may guess how many one may shoot in a day.

When I removed from Pennsylvania to Kentucky, the Hooded Merganser was not uncommon in the neighbourhood of Louisville during summer, and I told WILSON so. On several occasions I caught the young with a partridge net; and let me assure you, Reader, that they are not yellow, as is alleged by some writers, but very dark brown. Even when feathered they retain the same colour until the beginning of August, when they gradually change it for the dress of the adult female.

Like all the rest of the tribe, which, when far north, for the want of hollow trees, breed on the moss or ground, the Hooded Mergansers that remain with us nestle in the same kind of holes or hollows as the Wood Ducks; at least I have found their nests in such situations seven or eight times, although I never saw one of them alight on the branch of a tree, as the birds just mentioned are wont to do. They dive as it were directly into their wooden burrows, where on a few dried weeds and feathers of different kinds, with a small quantity of down from the breast of the female, the eggs are deposited. They are from five to eight, measure one inch and three-fourths by one and three-eighths, and in other respects perfectly resemble those of the Red-breasted Merganser.

The young, like those of the Wood Duck, are conveyed to the water by their mother, who carries them gently in her bill; for the male takes no part in providing for his offspring, but abandons his mate as soon as incubation has commenced. The affectionate mother leads her young among the tall rank grasses which fill the shallow pools or the borders of creeks, and teaches them to procure snails, tadpoles, and insects. The eggs are laid in May, and the young are out some time in June. On two occasions the parents would not abandon the young, although I expected that the noises which I made would have induced them to do so: they both followed their offspring into the net which I had set for them. The young all died in two days, when I restored the old birds to liberty.

The Hooded Merganser, as well as all the other species with which I am acquainted, moves with ease on the ground, nay even runs with speed. Those which leave the United States, take their departure from the first of March to the middle of May; and I am induced to believe that probably one-third of them tarry for the purpose of breeding on the margins of several of our great lakes. When migrating, they fly at a great height, in small loose flocks, without any regard to order. Their notes consist of a kind of rough grunt, variously modulated, but by no means musical, and resembling the syllables _croo, croo, crooh_. The female repeats it six or seven times in succession, when she sees her young in danger. The same noise is made by the male, either when courting on the water, or as he passes on wing near the hole where the female is laying one of her eggs.

The males do not acquire the full beauty of their plumage until the third spring, but resemble the females for the first year. In the course of the second, the crest becomes more developed, and the white and black markings about the head and body are more distinct. The third spring they are complete, such as you see the bird represented in the plate.

MERGUS CUCULLATUS, _Linn._ Syst. Nat. vol. i. p. 207.—_Lath._
Ind. Ornith. vol. ii. p. 830.—_Ch. Bonaparte_, Synops. of
Birds of the United States, p. 397.

HOODED MERGANSER, MERGUS CUCULLATUS, _Swains. and Richards._
Fauna Bor. Amer. part ii. p. 463.—_Nuttall_, Manual, vol.
ii. p. 465.

Adult Male. Plate CCXXXII. Fig. 1.