ERRATA. (continued 6)
Reading edition
LITTLE YELLOW BITTERN.[103] Tortoiseshell-bird.
Ardeola exilis.
Ardea exilis, Gmel.—Aud. pl. 210.
Ardeola exilis, Bonap.
This minute Heron is not unfrequently seen dodging about the edges of the tall reeds that clothe the morasses, or among the rank sedgy grass that borders the streams. If alarmed it does not usually fly, but darts into the rushy cover, where the thinness of its form enables it to make its way with ease. Frequently it crouches, as if hoping to lie unobserved.
The stomachs of several that I have dissected contained small fishes and Crustacea.
QUOK.[104] Night-heron or Qua-bird.—Wils.
Nycticorax Americanus.
Ardea nycticorax, Linn.—Aud. pl. 236.
? Ardea violacea (immature), Ibid.
Nycticorax Americanus, Steph.
Though a common inhabitant of the deep and fetid morasses, where the sombre mangrove crosses its tangled roots in inextricable confusion, this fine bird is much oftener heard than seen. The superstitious negro, whose heart is in his throat if he is compelled to stir beyond his threshold by night, is often startled by the loud and hoarse quok of this bird, suddenly emitted from the dark solitudes on either side of the road, or from the branches of a tree above his head, where the bird is roosting for the night. Occasionally, when out before day, seeking some birds which are to be shot only at dawn, I have myself heard the same loud cry repeated with deliberation, while the sudden flapping of large wings told that the bird, not less startled, was seeking a station less liable to interruption, farther within the morass. In floating down such broad streams as Burnt Savanna, or Black River, where they are margined by tall overhanging mangrove-woods, we often see this bird, seated on some high branch, which commands a wide prospect; but no sooner is the canoe espied, than he spreads his immense wings, and sails heavily off with the customary vociferation. Vigilant and suspicious, it is not an easy thing to shoot the Quok, unless the sportsman see it first, and conceal himself before he is discovered, or cautiously creep towards the secluded retreat where he hears the voice. But this is almost a forlorn hope; for the senses of the bird are very acute, and he takes alarm from the slight sounds made by the most circumspect footsteps, and escapes in time. Any unusual noise will provoke the utterance of the unmusical voice; a shout, or the report of a distant gun, will be answered from several parts of the morass; and not only by this species, but in various tones by other Herons and Bitterns.
It is a noble bird; its commanding height, erect attitude, stout built frame, fiery eye, powerful beak, hanging crest, and handsome plumage, give it an imposing aspect. Crabs and other Crustacea form its principal diet; evidently swallowed entire, though often of considerable size. The flesh is dark; the fat, which is usually abundant, is of a deep yellow tinge. Notwithstanding the powerful voice of this bird, the trachea is weak, and destitute of convolution or enlargement, save at the divarication of the bronchi.
A specimen was shot in April, in the spotted plumage, which is supposed to indicate youth. It fell into the water, wounded, where it began to swim, the head erect, and the body no more immersed than that of a duck; it struck out with both feet, and made rapid way towards the roots of a mangrove near, on reaching which it jumped out of water, and ran up, but was then secured. In this state it is sometimes called the Guinea-hen Quok, from the white spots on the grey ground; and I am not sure that it is not distinct. One that was shot in May in this plumage, a female, had eggs in the ovary as large as pepper-corns.
Mr. Hill mentions to me as indigenous Ardeadæ, besides such as have come into my hands,—the Great Heron (Ardea Herodias), the Great White Heron (Egretta leuce?), the American Bittern (Botaurus minor), and the Roseate Spoon-bill (Platalea ajaja).
The first of these was not an unfamiliar visitant in the vicinity of Bluefields, being often seen by myself and others at early dawn on the sea-shore, and at the edges of the mangrove swamps. Once or twice we have known a particular tree on which the bird roosted, and Sam has repeatedly watched both before break of day and after dusk, but could never succeed in obtaining a shot at the bird, so excessive was its vigilance.
The second I once saw at a great distance while on the Burnt Savanna River in November, its long white neck towering above the thick reeds; I judged it to be between four and five feet high. At length it flew to a distant tree; the morass precluding the possibility of my gratifying my desire to possess it.
This is, I presume, the species alluded to by Mr. Hill in the former part of the following note.—“I must not omit to mention that in Cuba I saw very usually, in the small farms by the sea-side, the large White Egret or Garzota in a state of mansuetude. The Flamingo was not unfrequently its companion in this unrestrained captivity, if we may use this contradictory expression to represent a state where reconcilement to servitude included a full permission to the birds to use their wings in flight. The abundant food obtained from the refuse of the fishermen’s nets on the beach at day-break, supplied them with an early and full meal for the day, and explained the mystery of this willing captivity. In St. Domingo I visited a woodland farm, situated by the side of some fine freshwater ponds, the resort of numerous wild ducks in the season, where the submission to life among the poultry, on the part of one of the small Egrets, was the result of association only. What was most remarkable was the determination of this bird always to occupy the centre of the roost, by the side of the patriarchal cock. I stayed purposely till roosting time, to see him shift his place after gaining the roost-tree, until he got his station in the middle of the dormitory.”
In some seasons the Scarlet Ibis (Ibis rubra) is not an uncommon visitant on the shores of Jamaica; but I have not met with it. The present winter, 1846-7, Mr. Hill informs me, has brought it in somewhat numerously. On the same authority, I mention two species of Curlews, the one known as the Black Curlew, which is Numenius longirostris, the other called the White Curlew, which may be N. Hudsonicus, or perhaps Ibis alba.
Fam.—SCOLOPACIDÆ. (The Snipes.)
LITTLE SANDPIPER.[105]
Pelidna pusilla.
Tringa pusilla, Wils. pl. 37.
Pelidna pusilla, Cuv.
About the end of the year, this little species becomes numerous in the open morasses, associating in flocks of about half a dozen, which run swiftly over the boggy and wet soil, as the other Sandpipers do.
Out of the same flock I found some, both males and females, which had the beak considerably broader and flatter than others; some also have the feet blackish, and others clay-colour. In other respects the specimens were undistinguishable.
I found in the stomach comminuted animal matter, and fragments of shells.
SPOTTED SANDPIPER.[106]
Actitis macularius.
Tringa macularia, Wils.—Aud. pl. 310.
Actitis macularius, Boie.
This is a common species with us, affecting principally the margins and shallows of rocky streams, such as Bluefield River. It arrives from the north about the end of August, and remains certainly till after the middle of April, and I am not sure that individuals do not stay all the summer.
Wilson has delineated the manners of this bird in a very interesting manner, to which I have nothing to add. One which was wounded in the wing, I put into a cage for an hour or two; during which time it frequently made a succession of charges at the wires, squatting down at intervals on the belly. When it walked, it was in a singular manner; the heel much bent, the tarsus forming an acute angle with the ground, and the toes thrown forward.
BAR-TAILED SANDPIPER.[107]
Totanus chloropygius.
Tringa solitaria, Wils.
Totanus chloropygius, Vieill.
About the ponds of pastures, and fresh-water morasses, this Sandpiper or Gambet is frequently seen; and that not quite so solitarily as Wilson found it. The gizzard of one that I dissected was filled with a blackish, unctuous, filamentous substance, among which I detected some fragments of minute water-insects, a small larva of a libellula, &c.
One day, as I was seeking Herons in Paradise marshes, I aimed at a bird twice in succession, but each time the cap detonated without igniting the charge: the slight sound alarmed two or three Bar-tails, that were close by, and caused them to rise a few yards into the air, where they remained several seconds, hovering, the wings held perpendicularly, and nearly meeting over the back, after which they settled down again. One, whose wing had been broken, I allowed to run about my room, having first cut off the dangling joint. It had much of the manners of the Kildeer (see p. 331), but frequently held up the wings perpendicularly, when running.
That the power of swimming does not depend on webbed feet, is now pretty well known; some instances I have mentioned already. A Bar-tail, shot at Mount Edgecumbe pond, plunged into the water, and swam vigorously, striking out with both feet. On another occasion a Sandpiper, I do not know of what species, being wounded, plunged into a river, and swam some distance; but Sam pursuing and approaching it, it dived, and swam swiftly under water, like a Grebe, coming up at the distance of several yards, then instantly diving again, till at last it effected its escape among the reeds and bushes at the margin.
YELLOW-SHANKS GAMBET.[108]
Totanus flavipes.
Scolopax flavipes, Wils.—Aud. pl. 288.
Totanus flavipes, Bechst.
During the winter we met with this species on one or two occasions, always solitary, wading in the shallows of Crab-pond, and picking. The stomachs of those I obtained, contained a mass of pulverulent matter, which, on being separated in water, seemed to consist largely, if not wholly, of insects. Some soft larvæ, apparently dipterous, and parts of rather large yellow ants, I recognised in one, and in another the remains of Notonectæ.
BARR-FLANKED GAMBET.[109]
Totanus melanoleucus?
Scolopax vocifera, Wils.—Aud. pl. 308.
Totanus melanoleucus, Vieill.
I know this species only by an individual brought to me at Spanish Town on the 21st of March. In the succeeding month, however, Mr. Hill informed me, that both this and the preceding species were particularly abundant; the numbers of these birds procured by the market sportsmen of Spanish-town and Kingston, being quite extraordinary.
The specimen I obtained does not exactly agree with the descriptions I have read, the breast and sides being marked with zigzags of black, which are large and conspicuous on the flanks. The gizzard, which was muscular, contained a greenish unctuous mass, which showed traces of scales, or else the plated covering of crustacea.
SNIPE.[110]
Gallinago Wilsoni.
Scolopax gallinago, Wils.—Aud. pl. 243.
Gallinago Wilsoni, Bonap.
From November to April this beautiful and delicious bird is rather common in the morasses of Jamaica. In the fetid swamp that borders Bluefields Creek, I have principally met with it, running on the boggy places, some of which are dangerous and difficult of approach. When the tide comes in, however, the wading birds are driven to the edges of the morass, and may then be seen from the high road at Belmont, walking and feeding deliberately in the shallow water, among the slender stems of the black mangroves, not half a stone’s cast from the passers by. When the water stands just above the tarsal joint, the beak can just reach the bottom: and thus it walks deliberately about, momentarily feeling the mud with the sensitive beak-tip, striking with short perpendicular strokes. Now and then we perceive the motion of swallowing. So absorbed is the bird in its occupation, that I have shouted aloud, without its taking any notice; nor when its eye at last caught the motion of my hand, did it more than run, somewhat leisurely, away.
The present season (1846-7,) seems to be more than usually favourable to the influx of the migrant Grallæ from the north. Mr. Hill mentions, in a recent letter, that a friend, R. Wilkie, Esq., bagged twenty-two brace of Snipe in one day’s shooting, in October.
Other Scolopacidæ that have been observed in Jamaica are the Knit (Tringa Canutus), the Sanderling (Calidris Arenaria), the Willet (Catoptrophorus semipalmatus), and the Little Woodcock (Rusticola minor). These I have not seen, but the first three, Mr. Hill writes me, are plentiful there, this winter. A second species of Woodcock, also, has been reported to have been met with in the island.
Fam.—RALLIDÆ. (The Rails.)
CLUCKING-HEN.[111]
Aramus scolopaceus.
Ardea scolopacea, Gmel.—Aud. pl. 377.
Rallus ardeoïdes, Spix.
Rallus gigas, Bonap.
Aramus scolopaceus, Vieill.
This curious bird, which, from its anomalous formation, has been a subject of considerable interest to ornithologists, seems to be much better known by its form and plumage, than by its habits. I am glad to be able to give some particulars of its history from my own observation, as well as from that of my friend, Mr. Hill.
The Clucking-hen derives its provincial name from its ordinary voice, when ranging its mountain solitudes. One day in August, I was collecting mosses on the Bluefields Peak, where it is densely covered with tall but slender wood, when Sam called my attention to this bird, which we heard walking at a little distance, around us, crackling the dried sticks and stones, and clucking deliberately with a voice exactly resembling that of a sauntering fowl. I sent the lad round to drive it gently towards me, while I remained still; and presently I saw it walking swiftly to and fro, but a few yards distant. While Sam was pursuing it it rose to wing, and alighted again immediately; but soon ran into the recesses of the woods beyond reach.
The negroes often assured me that a precipitous gully, that cleaves the mountain behind Bluefields, thickly clothed with large timber, abounded with these birds, but it was not until February that I obtained a specimen. At that time the parching drought having wasted the mountain pools, I was told that Clucking-hens might be met with in numbers, at the edge of the woods around the spot where the spring of Bluefields River gushes out of the mountain’s foot. It was said that many were in the habit of selecting high trees in that vicinity as roosting-places. My servants having on several evenings heard the loud cries of these birds proceeding from the spot, I sent them thither one evening to watch. As night drew on, the birds were seen and heard around, and though they could not obtain a shot, they succeeded in getting a more definite knowledge of the individual trees selected.
An evening or two afterwards, I myself went to the spot with them: before sunset the loud cry of one was heard, apparently descending the mountain, but it was not until the grey twilight was fading into darkness that we began to hear them screaming and flying around. The notes were singular; sometimes a series of shrill screams were uttered in succession, then a harsh cry, krau, krau, krau, kreaow. All were loud, sudden, and startling. More than one alighted on a large hog-plum not far off, a tree which they seem to affect, but were too wary to allow of my approaching within gun-shot. Sam, who was watching a hundred yards distant, was more fortunate, for as I was stealthily creeping towards my bird, I heard the report of his piece, and had the satisfaction of learning that he had secured his game, the first specimen of this interesting bird that I had an opportunity of examining.
The ordinary spring-rains were distressingly deficient in 1846; and hence I presume it was, that, through the month of April, several birds of this species were in the habit of frequenting the morasses on each side of the swiftly-flowing Paradise River. Where the bridle-path called the Short Cut crosses the stream, there grow many bushes of Black-Withe, about as large as an ordinary apple-tree; many of these are clothed with a dense and matted drapery of convolvolus so thick as to hide the bush completely. On the very summit of these bushes, the Clucking-hens might often be seen at early day, the tangled creepers affording a support for their broad feet, where they stood and turned without sinking and without embarrassment. They stood boldly erect, as if watching, their dark figures relieved against the sky, in an attitude exactly like that of an Ibis, though they flirted the tail in the manner of a Rail. At brief intervals they uttered a short sharp sound, and sometimes the loud harsh scream, krēaow. On being alarmed, they flew heavily and slowly, with the long legs hanging down, and the neck stretched forward, having a very awkward appearance in the air.
About June, they had again retired to the loftier elevations: at the middle of that month, I used to hear their loud cries at an early hour, on the mountains of Grand Vale and Hampstead, above Content. There was a large pond just within the woods, to which they resorted; for the drought still prevailed. My young friend, who had often seen them there, informed me that they scratch and pick like a fowl.
The head and beak of the Clucking-hen bears an obvious resemblance to those of the following species, Rallus longirostris, except that the nasal grooves are nearly obliterated in the Aramus. The feet also are similar. The sternum is that of neither Rallus nor Ardea, but is closely like that of Psophia.
A female was brought me on the 1st of April, in the afternoon, which had been just shot as it was standing in shallow water at Bluefields river-head, fishing. The freshness of the subject enabled me to examine it carefully. The stomachic sac consisted of a gizzard separated by a narrow constriction from a long proventriculus, about twice as large as the gizzard, and of a sub-oval, flattened form. This was divided by the structure of the parietes into two very distinct parts, the upper portion being much thickened, and studded with small round glands, so as to look like shagreen. The lower and larger portion was muscular, the inner surface having longitudinal rugæ. The gizzard was comparatively smooth within, and thinner than the proventriculus. The latter was stuffed with small water-snails (Ampullaria), divested of the shells, but not, in all cases, of the opercula, which filled even the œsophagus almost to the fauces. In the upper part of the proventriculus, the snails were little changed; in the lower they were macerated and more slimy, but in the gizzard there was nothing but a hard mass of blackish, almost homogeneous matter, nearly dry by the expression of its moisture. The intestinal canal measured fifty inches; (in another specimen forty-two inches;) about an inch from the cloaca, the cæca branched off, the left longer by half an inch than the right. I could find no gall-bladder. The body, when divested of the integuments is compressed, but not so decidedly as in either Herons or Rails.
In the male bird the trachea at the distance of about two inches above the furcula, takes an immense convolution, forming a complicated knot; the form of the turnings is not always the same, nor is their extent; I have seen one much more complicated than in the specimen dissected by Mr. Eyton,[112] and some less so. The volutions are connected by a mesentery. At the point where the bronchi divaricate, the trachea dilates into a large oval box. In the female the trachea is quite simple, having no trace of the convolution, nor of the bronchial box. I hence infer that the loud startling cries are uttered only by the male. As in the Rails, the abdominal viscera are very large; the cæca in particular, when distended, are enormous.
Robinson states that the Aramus feeds upon snakes, toads, and lizards, as well as wood-snails, and gully-crabs, yet not on his own observation, but on the authority of “people of credit, who have seen junks of undigested snakes and lizards taken out of their craws.” This is not confirmed, however, by my own observation, gasteropod mollusca having been found in every specimen I have examined. Mr. Hill’s observation does not confirm the former statement. Of one which was sent to him in July 1842, he remarks, “Having opened the craw for the purpose of ascertaining the food it had been eating, I found nothing but a quantity of a dark pulverulent substance, very much resembling decayed wood; a substance which a bird with such a bill as the Clucking-hen has, might be supposed to pick up with the worms it might find in the decaying wood. There was no trace of any animal body, neither wings of beetles, nor vertebræ of lizards.” It may be added that this specimen when discovered, “flew from where a limb of rotten log-wood had been broken off; perhaps it was eating some of the large wood-worms.”
Mr. Eyton’s bird was sent from Honduras: if it had been a Jamaican specimen, I should have guessed that the zoophyte which seemed to resemble a sea-anemone, was a large species of Vaginulus common in the mountains.
From the general, though not total, absence of the shells of the snails which I have found, I judge that the shell is crushed with the beak, and shaken off before the snail is swallowed. The opercula, which are frequently found attached, have enabled me to recognise the genera Ampullaria, Cyclostoma, and Helicina; the latter two, terrestrial snails.
The piercing cries with which the Clucking-hen salutes the approach of night, are little heard at any other time: during the day it more commonly emits the deliberate clucking above mentioned, as it saunters hither and thither in the mountain-woods, or among the cocoes of the provision-grounds. We sometimes hear the harsh sounds proceeding from the forest, even after night has established its dominion, and hence, probably, it has been considered a nocturnal bird; I suspect, however, that these cries are not the accompaniments of activity, but the harbingers of repose, emitted while sitting on the roosting tree, or while flying to and fro in preparation for alighting; the cries which are heard at a rather later hour marking, probably, the awaking from the first sleep, as they soon relapse into silence.
In the woods of the parish of St. David’s these birds are said to be abundant, as also in the mountainous districts of St. Ann’s, St. Dorothy’s, and the Coona-coonas. Swift of foot, if not of wing, the Aramus does not confine itself, however, to one or two localities, but ranges, with rapid sidelong strides, the lonely woods from the mountain-tops to the mangrove morasses of the shore. Solitary and shy, it is a difficult bird to approach, but when obtained is esteemed by some as “the best wildfowl of the country.” “The flesh of this bird,” says Dr. Chamberlaine, “acquires, about the termination of the year, that plumpness, which gives it a claim to be placed in the catalogue of edible birds. It is then esteemed fit for the table, and may be dressed in two ways; viz., in fricassée, or roasted like the Guinea-birds, and smothered, after being cut up, in a rich salade.” Mr. Hill observes of the specimen which came into his possession; “I directed the whole of the muscles on either side of the sternum to be cut out and cooked. I found its flavour indescribably fine, a compound of hare, partridge, and pigeon. The flesh was of peculiarly close and compact texture, and as peculiarly tender.” I would add to these, my own testimony to its excellence.
Of its domestic economy, I know nothing, except that Robinson asserts, that “it lays nine eggs in December.” In February, I found eggs in the ovary of a female, as large as small peas: another, in June, had about half-a-dozen a little larger than peas, about a dozen as large as pigeon-shot, and many small.
Mr. Hill, in a letter written since my return to England, informs me, that “for the last month of the late drought, [summer of 1846] numbers of Clucking Aramuses made their appearance about the river-swamps and marshes in the Caymanas district of this parish. They were a bird almost unknown in these plains. As slugs and snails were very plentiful in these, the only moist places at that time, we perceive what the attraction to this locality was, that brought them so numerously together, beside the desire for water.”
The Clucking-hen was among the birds sent from Cuba by Mr. Mac Leay.
MANGROVE-HEN.[113]
Rallus longirostris.—Lath.
Pl. enl. 849.
The reader shall be introduced to the bird before us, by the delightful pen of my friend, Mr. Hill.
“14th of March, 1842. I have visited Passage Fort at a season when Wild-ducks are stretching from one side of the Bay to the other in strings, and Plovers and Sandpipers are feeding in little flocks on the beach. The nights and the mornings are quiet, but the day is one uninterrupted bluster of the sea-breeze. The country is dry. Many of the large trees are leafless, and there is no verdure in the grass. Such a picture would seem to afford no great diversity for amusement: the sea, however, is always an interesting object. Whether calm or stirring it has a variety of features, all different at different hours of the day. The repose of morning; the slumbering ocean; the sleepy mountains kerchiefed in clouds; the awakened daylight peeping through the curtains of night; the birds just risen and moving; the little flocks wending about as if the day had its business to attend to; the Herons and Egrets shaking their wings by the mirrory waters, and making their toilet there. All this is a pleasant mixture of repose and activity; of the stir from sleeping to waking; in which nature is never seen to such advantage, as in the magnitude of a view that mingles the ocean with the earth.
“The day is gathering brighter and brighter; but the mountains rise between me and the sun, and are one dull blue mass, neither deeply nor faintly blue, but clear, and yet obscure. On the beach the fishermen are silently hauling their seine, sweeping, with its line of dotted corks, such a circuit on the waters, that it seems to take in half the bay. At a distance off, the flats loaded with grass are getting under weigh. Busy men and women are on the beach launching canoes and preparing for the market. The sails are hoisted, and the masses, that lay like logs upon the water, just stir, and glide out into the glaring bay. Amid all this hushed movement, there is one pervading sound, the murmurs of the distant breakers. This voice is seldom silent; in the stillest lull there will be heard this roll of the restless surge.——There is a sweet melancholy voice that comes from the bordering mangroves along the river: it is the morning call of the Pea-dove. It is responded to by a faint low cooing from the hill-side woods. It is repeated again and again; and again it is replied to far away. And now there are other sounds. The Crotophagas are trooping to the river-shallows, and calling to each other to settle among the sedges, where the receding tide has left them living food. There is a sound overhead like the hurtling of arrows. It is a flock of Wild-ducks flitting from the Salt Island ponds to the Lagoons on the other side the bay: and again there is another sound of gathered tribes moving through the air. It resembles bubbling waters. It is a flight of Tinklings shifting from their rookery to their feeding grounds in the morasses. Streams of smoke are curling up from various points of the mountains, like the morning sacrifices of hill-worshippers of old. A shower has scudded along the loftiest of the ridges and shown the deep indentings of the elevated country, by the different depths of the misty haze.—It has passed away, and the heights are now lighted by the full blaze of the uprisen sun. The clouds cast deep shadows on the mountain declivities, and the highest points of the chain pierce through the masses, rolling one upon the other, thick and accumulated.
“The sea-breeze is in. It comes as no other breeze comes, and feels as no other breeze feels. At first two or three whiffles make darkened tracks on the glassy waters. Then half the sea afar off is covered with ripples. The ripples come creeping on, and the wind has reached the shore. Two minutes pass, and a line of small breakers are chasing each other on the beach. From this time the constant wind never lulls, but sweeps with ‘a steady unrelenting force from the bright east.’
“Noon. In a small stretch of marsh land, through which the river has cut two or three channels, and left several smaller meandering dykes very clear and open, with pools and little lakes shut in from the sea by sand-banks, there is a good deal of rank grass (Digitaria stolonifera) growing, on which the village goats congregate to feed at mid-day, that being the time when the ground is least swampy. Among the sedge and bulrushes that cover the flooded parts, at the same noon-tide hours, the crek, crek, crek, of the Water-rail is heard, with that kind of impatient reiterated sound, with which Guinea-fowl call to each other. This call is a summons for the birds to quit the sedges, and seek the muddy shoals and half-dry ooze, to feed. Two or three birds nearly, if not quite, as large as half grown pullets, of a dingy ash-colour, come over a low intervening wall where I am, and feed in the open yard. The country people call this bird the Mangrove-hen, from its appearance, its habits, and its haunts. It greatly resembles the dappled grey variety of the common fowl; and in the breeding season it rambles about with its callow brood, like a hen and chickens. After one of these visits, I went and traced the footmarks in the mud, and found that the Mangrove-hens had been searching for small crabs. Worms, shell-fish, insects, and crustacea are its animal food, and the seeds and shoots of aquatic plants, its vegetable. As the rank-growing herbage is necessary for its concealment, and creative wisdom has adapted it, like the rest of its tribe, by an extraordinary expansion of the foot, for walking on weedy waters, and so compressed its body that it threads with alacrity reeds and rushes; the mangrove thickets, which it commonly haunts, are those that grow in tide-waters, and at the mouths of rivers, and in neighbourhoods luxuriant in aquatic herbage. These are the prevailing thickets at Passage Fort: I therefore find every body there familiar with the Mangrove-hen. As these birds have much of the character of the gallinaceæ, and are able to run and feed themselves as soon as they are hatched, they are, when half grown, as helpless on the wing as half-fledged poultry. At the pullet age, when feeding out on the mud and shoals, they are run down with great facility. At this time they are delicious eating. Persons, on whose taste I can depend, tell me, that, though a Plover be undoubtedly a fine bird for the table, and the Sanderling a great delicacy, the Mangrove-hen exceeds both; as it combines all their peculiarity of flavour with the fleshiness of the Quail. This is no small commendation.”
To this interesting note, I have little to add. At Crabpond, where rounded clumps of mangroves are scattered like islets in a lake, we have observed it frequently running quickly and timidly from one cover to another, exposing itself in the open pond as little as possible. As it walks under the arched roots, it holds its short tail nearly erect.
In a specimen dissected in December, I found fragments of crabs; and a large one, nearly whole, was in the craw: the stomach is a muscular gizzard. This individual was excessively fat.
One brought to me alive in May, taken in a springe, bit fiercely and pertinaciously at anything presented to it, shaking it like a dog. It uttered in rapid succession the most deafening screams.
The long beak, and the spurs upon the winglet, distinguish this species from our other Rails.
RED RAIL.[114] Water Partridge.
Rallus concolor.—Mihi.
The gallinaceous form common to the Rails, and the red hue of this species have given to it the provincial name of Water Partridge. It affects freshwater morasses, and secluded streams, rather than saline swamps, and is found even on the mountain acclivities. I have shot it skulking among the aquatic weeds at Basin Spring. As it roams, it utters at intervals of a few seconds, a cluck, like a hen. The remarkable thinness of body, common to all this tribe, beautifully adapts them for making their way through close herbage.
It is sometimes seen perched on a low tree by the road-side, at which time it seems to have lost its usual shyness, and sits looking at the sportsman until he nearly comes up to it. Its flight is singularly ineffective; slow, heavy, and laboured; the head is projected, and the body hangs down, as I have seen the body of some unwieldy Bombyx, distended with eggs: the feet also are pendent.
I have never found in the gizzard of the Red-Rail, (which though small, is muscular) anything but a homogeneous cream or mud of a dark brown hue; or a green mucus.
The flesh is pale and flabby; the fat of a rich salmon-red.
A specimen sent to Mr. Hill by Dr. Hay from the neighbourhood of the Black River, in St. Elizabeth’s, illustrated, in the manner of its capture, the habits of the genus. The Doctor observed, while standing on the steps of the house at Elim Estate, this Rail sauntering through the grass. He pursued it, and ran it among some oleanders that grew in clumps about, and succeeded in getting it. When brought into the house, the bird shot rapidly across the floor, and getting into a darkened corner of the room, remained quiet there, believing itself concealed. On being driven out from that hiding-place, it again scudded away over the floor to another dark corner, in which it remained quiet as before. These recesses seemed to represent the dense coverts in which it ordinarily conceals itself in apprehended danger; its reliance on which, doubtless, made it so easy a prey to its captor’s hand, when it had taken refuge among the stems of the oleanders.
STRIATED CRAKE.[115] (Carolina Rail.—Wils.)
Ortygometra Carolina.
Rallus Carolinus, Linn.—Aud. pl. 233.
Ortygometra Carolina, Leach.
The only specimen of this bird that I possess was shot among the reeds in Salt Spring morass, near Black River, the habitation of incredible numbers of these and similar birds. It was near the end of November. Though it slightly differs from Wilson’s description, in the buff hue of the vent being scarcely noticeable, I conclude that it is of his species; the rather, since Mr. Hill has procured a specimen from Passage Fort, in which the buff hue was conspicuous. His specimen was obtained in March. It is probably a winter visitant from the United States, where Wilson describes it as an abundant species.
In the stomach of that which I dissected, I found only mud and coarse siliceous sand.
Le petit Râle de Cayenne of Buffon, (Pl. enl. 817) is probably a female of this species.
MINUTE CRAKE.[116]
Ortygometra minuta.
Rallus minutus, var. β, Lath.
Ortygometra minuta, Leach.
In travelling from Bluefields to Savannah le Mar, we save about two miles by taking what is called the Short Cut, a bridle-path through the deep matted woods. The trees are largely sweet-wood, tangled, near the edges of the broad morass, which occupies so much of this plain, by spreading bushes of black-withe and cockspur. Two streams are to be forded, the one a sluggish water that crosses the path immediately on our entering the woods, the other is the deep and rapid Sweet River. After pursuing for more than a mile the track through the bush, which here and there opens on each side into secluded grassy glades, adorned with many flowers, and haunted by gay butterflies, the gradual predominance of marsh plants, sagittaria, ginger-fern, bulrush, and black-withe, to the exclusion at length, of every thing else, warns us of our approach to the river, and at length we come suddenly upon it in all its beauty. Emerging darkly into view from beneath overhanging trees on the right, upon which is spread a thick drapery of convolvuli, whose lovely festoons, gemmed with purple and green, depend to the very surface of the water, the stream gurgles along a pebbly bed, or here and there glides with treacherous smoothness over quicksands hidden by the waving tresses of the dark green equisetum; and is presently lost again in the meandering of its tortuous course through the bushes.
Many sorts of water-fowl haunt this darkling stream: scarlet-fronted Gallinules, that were feeding at the edge, alarmed at our approach, flutter along the surface with much splashing of the water and laborious flapping of their wings, to seek concealment; while the less timid, but more beautiful Sultana bridles its purple neck, and peeps at us from the shadow of the overarching withes, or walks calmly away over the shallows. The harsh scream of the Little Bittern comes fitfully from the reedy morass, and the cry of the Clucking-hen from its watch-post above; the little Squat-ducks are diving in the eddies of the stream, the Blue Kingfisher darts across with his rattling call, while the snowy form of the White Gaulin is seen in the distance, relieved against the dark bushes, as it drags its heavy flight across the swamp. All the while gushes of rich melody are pouring from the throats of a dozen Mocking-birds around, soothing us as we recline on the soft beds of thyme that profusely cover the bank and fill the air with delicious fragrance.
It was in this situation that Sam found the little Crake before us, on the 30th of March. It was at first standing at the edge of the stream, whence it ran up the large marsh-fern, vulgarly known as Wild-ginger, and peeped from among the fronds, until the lad shot it. It was a male. I found in its stomach, which was not very muscular, merely a little yellowish mucus, and some small gravel. We never met with the species again. I suspect, however, it is a permanent inhabitant of the morasses; but the impenetrable character of these sombre and fœtid recesses, renders an acquaintance with their inhabitants very difficult. The swiftness of foot, and the retiring habits of most of these birds, as well as their nocturnal rather than diurnal activity, add to this difficulty. The naturalist is often indebted for his knowledge of a species to “the fortune of the hour,” more than to his own efforts. Hence, I have no doubt, many birds of this tribe, unknown to me, exist in Jamaica.
LITTLE RED-EYED CRAKE.[117]
Ortygometra Jamaicensis.
Rallus Jamaicensis, Gmel.—Aud. pl. 349.
Ortygometra Jamaicensis, Steph.
A specimen of this little Crake was brought to me in April, alive and unhurt. It lived in a cage two days, but though I enclosed with it a vessel containing water and mud, with aquatic weeds in a growing state, and scattered on it crumbs of bread and pounded corn, it scarcely ate. Once or twice I observed it picking in the mud, but in general it would not even walk on it. Yet it was not at all timid. Its motions were very deliberate; slowly raising its large feet, and then setting them down, often without making a step. The neck was usually drawn in, short; and then it had little of the appearance of a Rail, but rather of a passerine bird; but when it walked, the neck was more or less extended horizontally, and now and then bridled up: the head was carried low. The throat was often in slight vibration, when standing still. I observed no flirting, nor erection of the tail.
On two or three occasions, I have seen the species. Near the end of August, pursuing a White Gaulin in the morasses of Sweet River, several of these little Rails, one at a time, flew out from the low rushes before my feet, and fluttering along for a few yards, with a very laboured flight, dropped in the dense rush again. Their manner of flight, and their figure greatly resembled those of a chicken; the legs hung inertly down. I saw another in February, by the border of the River at the Short Cut, flying with the same feeble and laborious motion, from one tuft of herbage to another, whence it would not emerge till almost trodden on.
I have not heard it utter any sound; but Robinson, in describing two that were brought to him alive in October, 1760, says, “their cry was very low, and resembled that of a Coot, when at a great distance.” He notices also their peculiar mode of flight, as well as their habit of squatting. “Several,” he observes, “were killed accidentally, by the negroes at work; as they are so foolish as to hide their heads, and, cocking up their rumps, think they are safe, when they are easily taken.” (MSS. iii. 112.) He says elsewhere, “The negroes in Clarendon call it Cacky-quaw, by reason of its cry, which consists of three articulations; the negroes in Westmoreland call it Johnny Ho, and Kitty Go, for the same reason.” (iii. 134.)
The gizzard of the one that I examined, contained a few hard seeds. The body is much compressed.
The speckled plumage, rufous neck, and scarlet eyes, constitute this a species of much beauty.
SULTANA.[118] (Martinico Gallinule.—Wils.)
Porphyrio Martinica.
Gallinula Martinica, Gmel.—Aud. pl. 305.
Gallinula cyanocollis, Vieill.
Porphyrio tavoua, Ibid.
Porphyrio Martinica, G. R. Gray.
This magnificent bird is not uncommon in some of the lowland ponds and marshy rivers of Jamaica. The road from Savannah le Mar to Negril, passes through the immense swamp of the Cabarita River, the tall and dense rushes of which form a wall on each side of the way, which in the wet season is overflowed. Riding there one day in January, I saw a Sultana walking in the middle of the road; a horseman had passed an instant before, who certainly had not disturbed it; and on my approach it took no more notice than a common fowl, sauntering about, and picking here and there; allowing me to come within three or four feet of it. I stopped and gazed at it, and at length made a noise and a sudden motion with my hands; but it merely half-opened the wings, and gave a little start, exactly as a chicken would do, but neither flew nor ran. I never saw a bird, feræ naturæ, so tame.
I afterwards found that this vast morass abounded with them, and that their presence in the high road was a thing of daily occurrence; and though I never saw them quite so fearless as the one I have mentioned, still they were very bold, walking out from the rushes and strolling across the road in the sight of passengers.
The aspect of the living bird is not that of a Gallinule; it stands high on the legs, which are placed more forward: its air is much like that of a fowl, but its contour is much slenderer. As it walks, the neck is bridled up, and thrown forward alternately, and the short black and white tail, which is semi-erect, is, at every step, flirted up with a jerk into a perpendicular position.
I was struck with the remarkable elegance of one, that I saw by the roadside, about mid-way between Savanna le Mar and Bluefields. It was at one of those pieces of dark water called Blue-holes, reputed to be unfathomable. The surface was covered with the leaves and tangled stems of various water-plants, and on these the Sultana was walking, supported by its breadth of foot; so that the leaves on which it trod sank only an inch or two, notwithstanding that the bird, according to its usual manner, moved with great deliberation, frequently standing still, and looking leisurely on either side. As it walked over to where the water was less encumbered, it became more immersed, until it seemed to be swimming, yet even then, from the motion of its legs, it was evidently walking, either on the bottom, or on the yielding plants. At the margin of the pool, it stood some time, in a dark nook overhung by bushes, where its green and purple hues were finely thrown out by the dark background. I could not help thinking what a beautiful addition it would make to an ornamental water in an English park; and the more so, because its confiding tameness allows of approach sufficiently near to admire its brilliancy. Nor are its motions void of elegance: the constant jerking of its pied tail is perhaps rather singular than admirable, but the bridling of its curved and lengthened neck, and the lifting of its feet are certainly graceful.
That the Sultana could be easily domesticated is probable: Mr. Hill once kept one for three months, which fed eagerly on Guinea-corn (Holcus sorghum).
The immense length of the toes in this bird is a wise and beautiful provision for its support on the aquatic herbage, which usually covers the surface of standing waters in warm countries. Xenophon, in the Retreat of the Ten Thousand, if I mistake not, has mentioned a country, where they were in the habit of affixing hurdles to the horses’ hoofs, to enable them to cross rivers without sinking. This device, however, could be available only on a weedy surface.
Robinson, who has a drawing of this species, says, “This is called the true Plantain Coot, by reason of his great affection for that fruit.” In describing what he calls the Carpenter Coot, which seems merely the present bird in immature plumage, he says, “It has its name from the noise it makes; it being customary for these birds to assemble, and knock against pieces of felled timber with their beaks, either in search of insects, or to break the shells of the water-snails, which are common in the ponds and rivers of these parts. The noise they make when thus busied has been not badly likened to that of carpenters at work. And I am deceived if the Clucking-hen makes not a like noise, and for a similar purpose. I have been since credibly informed they do. The Carpenter Coot lays in March, and has young in April.” (MSS.)
On taking off the skin, one is struck to observe the bases of all the feathers projecting from the interior surface, to an extent seen in no other birds than those of this genus.
SCARLET-FRONTED GALLINULE.[119]
Gallinula galeata.
Gallinula chloropus, Bon.—Aud. pl. 244.
Gallinula galeata, Licht.
By a confusion of terms this species is called in Jamaica the Coot, while the following is known by the name of Water-hen.
This bird is scarcely to be distinguished from the European Moor-hen, in appearance or in manners. It delights in any water where there is cover; sometimes a swiftly running stream, as Sweet River, where the bushes dip their branches into the water, or the margins are fringed with high weeds; but more usually large ponds, in which tall and thick bulrushes densely grow, or masses of the great ginger-fern. On approaching such a piece of water early in the morning, or at any hour of the day, if the place be unfrequented, we may see the Gallinules playing on the surface, some by their black plumage and scarlet shields, known to be females, the browner males less dressy, as becomes their sex, and some smaller and greyer, which are young. As they swim to and fro, they utter a loud cluck at short intervals; but on alarm each one sounds the note in a higher key, and the whole company dashes into the cover. Here they continue to call to one another; but if much pressed, they lie close, or conceal themselves in some way, so as to elude search even in a very small area; probably by keeping under water, holding on the roots of the rushes. But if the observer remain quite silent and concealed, in about half an hour the cluck is again raised, and they begin cautiously to re-emerge, and play at the margin of the reeds. I think the sense of sight is less acute with them than that of hearing.
One which I slightly wounded, on my carrying it by the legs, repeatedly turned up its head to bite; its force, however, was insufficient to break the skin, though it could pinch a little. Another in similar circumstances, I also found vicious in its attempts, though ineffective. On arriving at home, I wished to observe its manners in the water more closely, and for this purpose I fastened a cord to its foot, having bandaged it to prevent its being hurt or cut, and then let it swim in the pools of Bluefields River. Its first impulse was to dive, and then to swim along about a foot beneath the surface, which it did for a considerable distance, aiding its progress by striking out, not only the feet, but also the wings, which were expanded. It thus reminded me of a turtle. When immerged, the whole plumage was coated with a pellicle of air, which had a singular and beautiful effect. When it swam at the surface, little of the body but the back was exposed, and sometimes only the neck and head. It made constant efforts to reach the weeds and grass at the margins, and if allowed to do so, crept in among them, and remained motionless. Sometimes, when thus retired, it put its whole head beneath the water, and remained still, so long that I feared it was drowned; but on being touched, it raised its head uninjured. It seemed unwilling to walk; perhaps because its legs were stiff, from having been held in the hand; on a boarded floor, it could only shuffle along on its belly: and on the turf, it seemed capable of maintaining a walking posture only as long as its motion was rapid; the moment its speed abated, its breast came to the ground, owing to the backward position of its legs. Its fœcal discharges, when first secured, were a thin black mud, but afterwards were merely a clear water, slightly tinged with green.
The belly in these birds is always protuberant; the intestines being both very long and very large; the cæca are also enormous. The stomach, a very large and muscular gizzard, is usually filled, as well as the craw and intestine, with a greenish earth, which under a lens is seen to contain much organized matter, as minute seeds, decaying leaves, &c. From the circumstance of an excessive quantity of matter being taken into the stomach, containing a comparatively small proportion of nutritive substance, we see the need of the digestive organs being both capacious and lengthened.
The young of the season have the legs and feet of their full size and development, while the feathers of the wings are only beginning to protrude; showing how subordinate the organs of flight are to those of swimming.
Early in December we found an egg in Mount Edgecumbe pond, undoubtedly of this species, for no other large bird frequents it. It was larger than a hen’s egg, but more regularly oval: and appeared to have been of a pale blue tint, but covered with a coat of white chalky substance. It was lying on some crushed reeds at the surface, but evidently had been floating a long time, for it was discoloured, and the contents were coagulated by decomposition.
CINEREOUS COOT.[120]
Fulica Americana.—Gmel.
Aud. pl. 239.
In the immense morass behind Savanna le Mar, the dense rushes afford shelter to innumerable aquatic birds, among which one may recognise, even at a distance, the Sultanas by their graceful air and slender form, the Gallinules by their scarlet shields, and the Coots by their conspicuous ivory beaks. In the broad spaces of open water, which here and there margin the reeds, as at Radonda, they may be seen at all hours of the day, if undisturbed, hundreds congregated within an acre. Wary, however, to an excess, the distant sight of a man, or the snapping of the twigs beneath his tread, alarms the whole, and away they flutter into the covert, splashing the surface as they go. Yet the noise made by the cattle walking on the shore, or trampling and munching the reeds, as they wade breast-high, has no such effect. The best way to shoot them is to lie very quiet, if the musquitoes will allow you, behind a bush, and take them as they come out, sometimes two or three at a shot; or else to wade in among the reeds, and bring them down as they rise; though sometimes you cannot flush them. A good water dog is indispensable to success.
As far as my observation goes, the white shield is the mark of mature age: in the young it is dark brown; I have not seen any with the shield wholly white, the upper part still being brown. After having been carried head downward for some time, I found the beak of one, instead of white, livid purple, as if filled with blood. The stomachs usually contain small seeds, and decaying vegetable matter mixed with mud and sand.
Fam.—RECURVIROSTRADÆ. (The Avocets.)
ROSEATE STILT.[121]
Himantopus nigricollis.
Recurvirostra himantopus, Wils.—Aud. pl. 328.
Himantopus nigricollis, Vieill.
This beautiful and singular bird first fell under my observation in December. It was wading in the water of Crab-pond, picking from the mud at the bottom, with the beak, the water reaching not quite half-way up the tarsus. It did not feel with the beak in the manner of the Snipe, but struck at the prey that caught its eye, as it walked with the head erect. The statement of Cuvier that walking is painful to this bird, is as contrary to fact as to reason. This specimen was walking in the shallow firmly enough; and even when shot in one leg so as to break it, it stood for some time on the other in a firm erect attitude, the broken limb being held up and dangling.
Three were shot at Bluefields Creek on the 1st of May, in the evening, out of a large flock that were wading on the little bar at the mouth,—and were brought to me. One which had the wing broken was alive, and otherwise unhurt. It ran actively enough, without the slightest vacillation, taking long strides; but when it was on its belly, it could not get on its legs without help, sprawling about with opened wings: it is quite likely, however, that this was owing to one wing being rendered useless, for in attempting to rise, I perceived, it always tried to balance itself by opening and extending horizontally the wings. Probably this is the compensation given to it by the Allwise Creator, for the want of purchase which must be felt in raising the body at the end of levers, so long and so slender as the legs. It frequently stopped abruptly, essayed to go on, and stopped again, in that hesitating manner common to the Plovers; and like them it often jerked the head up and down. Its usual attitude, when standing still, was with the neck shortened, so that the head projected from between the shoulders, the beak pointing obliquely downwards, and the hinder parts of the body a little elevated. Now and then it lifted one foot, and held it dangling behind the other for a few seconds. Once or twice I saw it pick at the floor, and probably it took a small insect. Its cry, which was uttered once or twice, was a short clank, loud, harsh, and abrupt. I cannot by any means agree with Wilson, that this bird manifests no resemblance to the Plovers.
The stomachs of these contained a few small shells, Turbo and Nerita: two which Robinson dissected contained “a kind of Cornu-ammonis,” probably Planorbis. He notices also, what I have not seen mentioned in print, but which was conspicuous enough in my specimen, a beautiful rosy blush on the white of the neck and breast; but only in the male. The females had eggs in the ovary at this time, (1st May) as large as pigeon-shot. They were all very fat, the fat being of a deep yellow hue.
Mr. Hill has favoured me with the following notes on this species: “In addition to the extraordinary length of leg of the Himantopus, it has been asserted that its leg-bones are as limber as a leathern thong, and that they can be bent up without being broken. The accurate Wilson has made this statement. I will not merely say that it is at variance with my experience, but that it is absolutely absurd. The bones of this bird are as rigid as those of any other. [To this I add also my own testimony.] The only peculiarity I observe in them, is a flatness in the make of the leg. While the measurement is a fourth of an inch one way, it is scarcely an eighth of an inch the other. The tendon that runs all along the limb is very large, and the skin that envelopes the whole leg very fleshy. A fleshy feeling of softness is the only approach to the leathery peculiarity so confidently spoken of. The bill has a trifling trace, almost imperceptible, of recurvature. It is very rigid. Out of sixteen or eighteen birds carefully examined, I saw only one with a very decidedly marked recurved character. There was another circumstance I observed, very worthy of notice; viz. that the length of the legs of no two birds was precisely the same. Nearly half an inch of difference was found between the tibia and tarsus of the longest, and of the shortest specimens. [My own observation fully bears out this statement.]
“The birds brought me were shot while feeding in some shallow pools of water in the Salines at Passage Fort. They were wading deeply. They fed in small flocks, and winged about sportively, mingled with Sandpipers of the Tringa cinerea species. A variety of Teal were there also; and the Shoveler Duck (Rhynchaspis clypeata), a peculiar insect-feeder, being among them at the same time, makes us pretty distinctly acquainted with the food of Himantopus.
“In March 1842, I noticed several Stilt Plovers fishing breast-high in a lakelet at the mouth of the Rio Cobre, which I used to look upon from the window of the dwelling I stayed at, at Passage Fort. I saw some eight or ten together, when a Kingfisher was fishing at one end of the pond, and an Osprey at the other; the Kingfisher confining himself to the tranquil stream, and the Osprey to the broken waters, where the current of the river contended with the shoaling sea. I saw the Stilts there an hour together, beating breast-high over the pond. It was evident that their food floated on the surface.”
My friend adds Recurvirostra Americana, as an occasional visitant of Jamaica.
Order.—ANSERES. (Swimmers.)
Fam.—ANATIDÆ. (The Ducks.)
RED FLAMINGO.[122]
Phœnicopterus ruber. Linn.
Aud. pl. 416.
The dimensions given below are from a specimen shot on the beach at Negril, in March 1764; from the Doctor’s description, it seems to have been scarcely mature. He adds, “I once saw a living one at Kingston. Its food was white bread steeped in water in a washing basin. In feeding, it immerged its upper mandible in the bottom of the basin, resting on the elbow or angle of that mandible, and by quick repeated motions, like those of a duck in the mud, sucked up the finest parts of the dissolving bread.”
As I have never met with this beautiful bird in Jamaica, I am the more obliged for the following memoir from the pen of my kind friend, Mr. Hill. “I believe the Flamingo is never seen now upon our coasts, but as a solitary bird, or, at most, associated with three or four companions, when they make excursions in small groups, preparatory to pairing and breeding. The congregated flocks of the neighbouring islands disperse themselves; and stragglers appear upon the sand-bars at the mouths of our rivers, occasionally, in seasons remarkable for visits of the Hyperborean and the Canada Goose. We are best acquainted with them as inhabitants of Cuba. The waters between the thinly peopled shores of that island, and the clustered green kays of the coast, to which Columbus gave the names of the Gardens of the King and Queen, are low and shoaly. In these shallow seas, in adjacent swamps, in river-lakes, in marshes and lagoons, and salina-ponds, they are to be always seen moving in flocks, or flying and feeding in ranks of two and three hundred together. Their lengthened lines and red plumage have led the colonial Spaniards to call them English soldiers, a name not inappropriate to birds that marshal themselves under a leader, and regulate their movements by signals, when the remotest danger threatens; and obey the bugle-blast of their sentinel, when he summons the cohorts to the wing, and to betake themselves to other feeding-grounds.
“I visited the district of Boyamo on the south side of Cuba in the year 1821, and was on the coast from January to April. I was much among the marshes and swamps about the river Conta, a stream that receives the tidal waters, which here rise and fall six or seven feet, at fifty miles along its course. At the mouth of this river there are long stretches of shoal ground, where the floods of the river and the sea form lakelets, and successively deposit their stores of living atoms, with the rising and falling tides. Here the Flamingoes flock and feed. They arrange themselves in what seem to be lines, in consequence of their finding their food along the edges of these shallows; and though it is true that whilst their heads are down, and they are cluttering with their bills in the water, they have one of their number on the watch, standing erect, with his long neck turning round to every point, ready to sound the alarm on the apprehension of danger,—what appears to be a studied distribution of themselves back to back, as some observers describe their arrangement, is nothing but their regardless turning about in their places, inwardly and outwardly, at a time when all are intent on making the most of the stores which the prolific waters are yielding.
“The vessel I was with on the coast of Cuba was loading timber. Our raftsmen brought us from Juanita, a town on the Rio Conta to which the tidal influences of the sea extend, a pair of Flamingoes. I was struck with their attitudes, with the excellent adaptation of their two-fold character of waders and swimmers, to their habits, while standing and feeding in the sort of shoal which we made them in a large tub upon deck. We were here able to observe their natural gait and action. With a firm erectness, like a man treading a wine press, they trod and stirred the mashed biscuits, and junked fish, with which we fed them; and plied their long lithe necks, scooping with their heads reversed, and bent inwardly towards their trampling feet. The bill being crooked, and flattened for accommodation to this reversed mode of feeding, when the head is thrust down into the mud-shoals and the sand drifts, the upper bill alone touches the ground. The structure of the tongue, of which Professor Owen has given so minute and interesting a description, is admirably adapted for a mode of feeding altogether peculiar. The spines with which the upper surface is armed, are arranged in an irregular and alternate series, and act with the notches on the edge of the upper mandible, on which they press when the bird feeds with the head reversed. In this reversed position, the weight and size of the tongue becomes a very efficient instrument for entrapping the food. The bird muddles, and clatters the bill, and dabbles about, and the tongue receives and holds as a strainer whatever the water offers of food.
“When I made my notes of the Flamingo, thought I had remarked what had hitherto been unobserved, respecting the ceaseless trampling of the feet while feeding; but I find Catesby has described it.... A correspondent of Buffon’s also, I perceive, communicated the same fact, with other incidents equally striking....
“There is nothing of the Heron character in the Flamingo. Extraordinary length of neck and legs is common to both, but a firm erect posture is its ordinary standing attitude. The neck is never curved inward and outward, convex and concave, like a Crane’s, but its movements are in long sweeping curves, which are peculiarly pleasing, when the bird is preening its plumage.
“The bar at the mouth of the Rio Conta stretches some two miles and a half out to sea, with a narrow inlet about nine feet deep at high water. Here the Flamingoes, at the season when they associate in flocks, are congregated by hundreds. They feed divided into the lines I have explained already, and subdivided into companies. A scout on some advantageous point apart, where he may glance alternately at the lengthened reach of the river, and at the sweeping sinuosities of the coast, right and left, sounds his orders to the squadron. A sort of long-drawn trumpet-call is the signal of danger. At the warning to retreat, the whole troop rise on the wing crying and screaming. They fly in a stiff cruciform posture, with the neck extended swan-like, and the legs depending, but stretched behind so as to balance the flight. When thus suddenly alarmed, they rise to the height of the belt of mangroves that close in some neighbouring lagoon, and clearing the fringing woodland, drop within the impervious wilderness, and then feed no longer congregated, but dispersed about.”
Robinson states that “the flesh is tough: they skin them and boil them. The broth is very good and rich. The fat of the bird being orange-coloured, like that of the Great White Curlew, gives it a very agreeable and rich appearance.” The Doctor also observes, “The body appears depressed, not compressed as the Ardeæ.” (MSS.)
BLACK-BILLED WHISTLING DUCK.[123]
Dendrocygna arborea.
Anas arborea, Linn.—Pl. enl. 804.
Dendrocygna arborea, Sw.
The Whistling Duck is well known in Jamaica, by the singular note which has conferred on it its provincial name. This note uttered in its crepuscular flights to and from its feeding-places, and also when alarmed, is peculiarly shrill, and bears no small resemblance to the sound produced by blowing forcibly over the pipe of a drawer-key.
It is much dreaded by those who plant Guinea-corn; in February, when this grain is in the milk, the ducks in a compact flock dash forcibly into the corn, striking down a large breadth, on which they can stand, and eat the soft grain at ease. But for this impetus, they could have no means of reaching the panicle, from its loftiness; nor of bringing down the stalk with their beaks, from its firmness: nor, from its slenderness, would their arboreal habits avail them to perch on it. Numerous flocks of both young and old birds, frequent the millet-fields from December till the end of February, when this corn is reaped. They are most busy in their depredations on moonlight nights; and as they sweep round in circles, their remarkable whistle always betrays their movements.
The young are frequently taken, and brought up in the poultry yard with the tame ducks, either pinioned, or sufficiently subdued by kindness to be allowed liberty. These are always found to attract large flocks of their wild brethren to the farm-ponds, and are often preserved for that purpose. The tame birds, which are allowed to roam, even go to a considerable distance in search of the wild flocks, and bring them home. Some, with which Mr. Hill was familiar near Spanish Town, always led the whole flock of aquatic poultry, invariably marching at their head, when called from the pond to be fed, and when fed, returning in the same order to the water again.
A gentleman of Spanish Town informs me that the nest of this bird is usually at the foot of a mangrove, and that it lays eight or nine eggs. Robinson, however, gives it a different mode of nidification, having been informed by Mr. Thistlewood of Savanna le Mar, a copious contributor to his ornithological notes, that “the Whistling Ducks sometimes make their nests in hollow trees above thirty feet in height, and the hollows or cavities several feet deep, which makes him at a loss to know by what method the little ducklings either get up the hollow, or down the tree when up; but he thinks the old one must carry them; and I believe this must be soon after they are hatched; for I cannot suppose she can carry food and water for them into such a place; it being not known that any birds of this kind ever feed their young. [See Wilson, on the Summer Duck.] However, I believe the young ducks may jump out of such a cavity; for a day or two after they have been hatched, they have been known to jump out of a barrel, and far above that height.” (MSS. ii. 85.)
“The Whistling Duck endeavours to save her young, when pursued, by throwing herself into the man’s way; that is, by rushing up so close to him as to draw his attention, that her young, who are very active, may have an opportunity of escaping. Accordingly, the man, seeing the duck so near him, looking upon her as a much better prize than the young ones, leaves pursuing the ducklings, and endeavours to catch the subtil dame, who runs before, but takes special care to keep out of his reach; yet stopping in front of him, occasionally, to make him renew the pursuit, till the young are entirely out of danger; when she flies away, leaving her pursuer to fret at his double disappointment. This I had from a person of credit, who affirmed that himself was thus deceived. The Whistling Duck is very hard to catch, if its wing only is disabled; and will outrun a man, if he be not very nimble.
“The Whistling Duck breeds numerous in the morasses of Westmoreland; in such places they remain all day, and in the evening disperse themselves over the ponds in the open plains to feed, till near morning, when they return. It is usual for people to watch for them in the evening, when they go to feed, and to shoot them. When the gunner hears them whistling in their flight, he imitates the sound, and thus lures them to where he is, and, of course, to their destruction. A duck and mallard with their young brood commonly fly together.” (Rob. MSS.)
Mr. Swainson’s conjectures that this is the male of the Red-billed species, (Anim. in Menag. p. 223.) and also that it is the female (Ibid. p. 224.) are both groundless. The Red-bill is perfectly distinct; and the sexes of the present species do not differ from each other. The difference in depth of the warm brown tint on the belly and chin is common to both sexes. The trachea is terminated by a trilateral bony capsule, where the bronchi divaricate. There is but one pair of tracheal muscles. The feet-webs are so concave, as to be little more than semi-palmate.
It is very common in Hayti, where its Indian name, Iguasa, is adopted by the Spaniards.
All Ducks are fond of shaking their tails and their feathers, but in the Whistling Ducks of both species, from their height, this is particularly conspicuous.
The Red-billed Whistling Duck (D. Autumnalis) though much less common in Jamaica than the preceding, is found there in some seasons, as an autumnal visitant from the Spanish-main. I have seen several in a state of domestication, allowed to run in a yard at Kingston, but they had been imported.
GREEN-BACKED MALLARD.[124]
Anas maxima.—Mihi.
? Anas boschas et Cairina moschata; hybrid.
I have ventured to give a name to the magnificent Duck described below, notwithstanding the opinion of so high an authority as Mr. G. R. Gray, who, on inspecting my specimen, considered it a hybrid. Though I have the greatest respect for the judgment of that gentleman, I cannot feel quite free from doubt on the subject for the following reasons. At Radonda water, near Savanna le Mar, where my specimen was shot, it seemed well known to the negro gunners, who had been accustomed to call it Wigeon, and who stated that others had been lately (at the end of February) seen in the neighbouring waters.
Robinson was acquainted with this identical species, (or variety?) nearly a hundred years ago. “Mr. Thistlewood shot a Duck and Drake, which he called the Wild Muscovy Duck and Drake, not on account of their resembling those birds in colour, but in size, for the Drake equalled the Muscovy Drake, and the Duck the Muscovy Duck. The Wild Muscovy Duck, Mr. T. says, was covered with a most elegant, beautiful plumage, far surpassing that of any bird of this kind he ever saw.” (MSS. ii. 86.) From an elaborate description and admeasurement, which the Doctor afterwards gives, I find the male agrees accurately with mine, save that its expanse was 48 inches, and its tail 7½, the extremity being curled upwards. The female also was shot, but dived and escaped: it was in the great pond at Egypt, (close to which mine was obtained,) November 19th, 1753.
I leave the question thus; merely adding that the trachea of mine, (a male) terminated in a large pear-shaped bony capsule, on the left side. The stomach contained hard seeds of sedges, with some vegetable fibre. The testes were comparatively small.
LUNATE BLUEWING.[125]
Cyanopterus discors.
Anas discors, Linn.—Aud. pl. 313.
Cyanopterus discors, Eyton.
This is one of the ducks which, being in high estimation for sapidity, are largely brought to market in the towns. My acquaintance with it is indeed confined to this condition. Robinson notices it, as frequently met with in the wet months. He saw one in the yard of Edward Long, Esq., of Spanish Town, where it fed amongst the poultry: “it was coloured like that painted in Mr. Catesby’s History of Carolina, i. p. 100, and was known to be a female by having laid an egg, though Mr. Catesby says the female is all over brown.” (MSS. ii. 120) Robinson agrees with Browne in considering this a permanent inhabitant of Jamaica, having known them shot, even during the dry season.
Of those which I examined, the stomachs contained coarse siliceous sand, and small black seeds; the œsophagus of one contained several small fishes.
PLAIN BLUEWING.[126]
Cyanopterus inornatus.—Mihi.
The Teal which from the absence of the white crescent in both sexes, I have thus named, is well known in Jamaica, and has probably been mistaken for the female of discors, with which it associates. Its manners are said to be identical with those of its congener. It much resembles C. Fretensis of Eyton, but has not the broad yellow spot on the beak, nor the barred flanks.
The stomachs of such as I have dissected, contained small seeds, and coarse sand. One was brought me alive in March; its voice, when alarmed, was a very subdued hissing, like that of a goose, but very softly. I have met with this species only in Spanish Town.
The eastern point of Old Harbour is occupied by a salt-morass, immediately opposite Goat Island, which affords the principal supply of Ducks to the Spanish Town market; and more particularly since the construction of the railway has driven the birds from Passage Fort. The morass borders the little cove called Galleon Harbour, and extends over a small projecting peninsula, where it is cut into natural channels, intersecting each other at right angles, through which the sea flows, which are almost as regular as if cut by art. The surf, driven through them by the sea-breeze, and the frequent passage of boats, keep these singular canals open, and prevent the growth in them of the mangroves, which are perpetually throwing out their bow-like roots, and encroaching on every unoccupied space. It is at the open pans formed by the intersection of the canals, that the Ducks of various species congregate: when the gunners approaching in boats up the canals, come suddenly upon the flocks, and taking them in enfilade, bring down numbers at a shot.
SPINOUS SQUAT-DUCK.[127]
Erismatura spinosa.
Anas spinosa, Lath.—Pl. enl. 967.
In a broad piece of water near Radonda, which is crossed by the high road from Savanna le Mar to Negril, and which is connected with the vast morass that lies behind the former town, I have seen these curious little Ducks. Rarely more than three are visible at one time, scattered over the water, often very near the road. They pay very little attention to passing travellers; but if one stop and gaze at them, they take alarm, and sink the body lower into the water, until the back is level with the surface. If they suspect danger, they gradually sink wholly under water; and if suddenly alarmed they thus immerse themselves in a moment, not diving as other water birds do, but sinking as they sit, causing scarcely a ruffle of the surface. I have found them excessively wary, and difficult to shoot; because if they come up and still suspect danger, they immediately sink again, and remain beneath an incredible while, even for several hours, unless they can manage to expose the nostrils to the surface without appearing. When they do rise, it is in the same noiseless, almost imperceptible manner, and in the same posture as they went down. Occasionally they fly, or rather flutter with much flapping of wings, and apparently painful exertion, across the pond, splashing the surface as they go; and I have seen one take a higher flight across the road to the lower water. When undisturbed, they sit long in one place, and spend a good deal of time in smoothing their plumage.
The stomach of the specimen I obtained, a male, from which the description was taken, contained only seeds mostly comminuted.
From a recent letter of Mr. Hill’s I extract the following notes. “We have certainly two if not three different Pond Ducks. With two I am familiarly acquainted. One is a very beautiful little bird, with such a prevalence of yellow and red ochre in the plumage, and with the usual crescent shaped ocellated markings of the Duck tribe, so dark, as to give it a very quail-like appearance. It has in consequence been commonly designated the Quail-duck.[128] The secondaries of the wing are white; the head is dappled black and ochry-white, and the bill is a brilliant cobalt-blue. The tail is stiff and curved upwards, with (I think) 16 black feathers which radiate broad and distinct, without any lapping of one feather over another. In the nestling bird the feathers are differently formed. They are unwebbed in the centre of the shaft, the terminal plumes being few, and curved like the Υ of the Greek alphabet.
“The other is a short squat Duck, almost square in form, the breadth of its body being equal to its length, and uniformly coloured wood-brown;—a description of the plumage not perhaps very precise, but so much so with respect to the ordinary hue of the bark of trees, as to make it sufficiently indicative of the prevailing colour. The centre shafts of the tail of this bird terminate in long stiff spines, as stiff and as long as those of a horse-comb.
“I shall not venture to say how far similarity of structure in the tail of the Erismaturine family of Ducks with that of the Cormorant, indicates a similarity in the application of this organ for diving purposes, as Mr. Eyton has conjectured; but a bird kept in a small pool in a flower garden, into which pond-weeds were daily thrown, particularly chara and duck-weed, (pistiaceæ) upon which it was supposed to feed, would lead me to think that one important purpose that this remarkably constructed organ was applied to, was to move aside the dense vegetation of shallow pools in which it fed. The habit of this bird was to turn round quick. By this motion it opened out the weeds on the surface, so graphically described by Shakspeare as ‘the green mantle of the standing pool,’—and made a clear space for ‘swithering with its neb,’ as Lincolnshire decoy-keepers would say. It dived frequently, and the period it remained submerged was prodigiously long. It swam backward as frequently as forward, and, I apprehend, found its peculiarly made tail a powerful lever in dilating the space behind it. The little garden, in which the bird was kept, that furnished me with these observations, was a fair representation of its natural haunts. Tufts of flowers, composed of lilies, kincalmias, and Indian-shot, with intermixtures of young vegetating bananas, were an apt substitute for the heliconias, nymphæas, cyperaceæ, juncales, and marantaceous plants, among which it delighted when wild and at large. It sometimes crept on the bank, and sheltered itself among the bowery herbage; but the clots of damp weed, strewn around its pond, were its favourite resting place when out of the water; and there it sat crouching, not sitting upright as the Grebe does. In its natural haunts it is occasionally flushed, but its flight is exceedingly short, not usually more than from the bank into the mantling herbage of the pond, where it instantly disappears in those long submersions I have already noticed.”
The remaining Anatidæ which have been observed in Jamaica, I shall dismiss with a bare enumeration, furnished by my esteemed friend to whom this work is so deeply indebted. Though some of them have fallen under my own notice, I have nothing to add to their known history. I treat them in this summary manner, the more willingly, because my friend is himself preparing for the press a treatise on the migratory birds of Jamaica, the fruit of many years’ close observation.
Chen hyperboreus, Snow Goose.
Anser Canadensis, Canada Goose.
Dafila acuta, Pintail.
Pœcilonetta Bahamensis, Ilathera Duck.
Mareca Americana, Wigeon.
Aix sponsa, Summer Duck.
Querquedula Carolinensis, Greenwing Teal.
Rhynchaspis clypeata, Shoveler.
Chaulelasmus streperus, Gadwall.
Anas obscura, Dusky Duck.
”boschas, Mallard.
Cairina moschata, Muscovy Duck.
Oidemia perspicillata, Surf Duck (Dr. Chamb.).
Fuligula Americana, Pochard.
”affinis, Scaup Duck.
”rufitorques, Tufted Duck.
Nyroca leucophthalma, White-eyed Duck.
Fam.—PELECANIDÆ. (The Pelicans.)
RUFOUS-NECKED PELICAN.[129]
Pelecanus fuscus.—Linn.
Aud. pl. 251.
The high-road from Bluefields to Savanna le Mar winds round the broad bend of the coast, called Bluefields Bay; for nearly half the distance, running close to the shore, which in some parts is a low sandy beach, in others, rocky and precipitous. About a mile from Bluefields the road recedes about a hundred yards from the sea, the intervening space being occupied by tall and dense wood, consisting chiefly of manchioneel, crablight, sweet-wood, and tropic-birch, much tangled by an underwood of briers and supple-jacks. As we approach the brow of the cliff, we perceive that the descent, just here, is not a perpendicular rock, but is a very steep slope, covered with a loose and shifting rubble, very unpleasant and even dangerous to the feet. Two enormous birches and a fig, at some distance from each other, springing out of the brow, spread their immense boughs even over the sea that boils among the rocks beneath; and the observer needs no informant to tell him that these trees are occupied as resting places by many large birds. The earth, and bushes, and rocks beneath, are splashed widely with white ordure, the fishy fetor of which is diffused all through the woods, and is but too perceptible even at the highroad. Scattered upon the ground lie the long bones, bleached in the wind, and the sable feathers, of several Frigate-birds, who met their death where they had been accustomed to live; the victims perhaps of disease, or perhaps of mutual encounters. High up on the loftiest and outmost limbs sit many Pelicans, some preening their plumage, others, with the long beak resting on the breast, enjoying a sluggish repose. Frigates and Boobies are associated with them, but of these we shall speak presently.
From many visits to this place, which commonly goes by the name of the Pelican hole, I have observed that the Pelicans which resort hither, leave the roost at early dawn, and fish for two or three hours; they return about eight o’clock and rest on the roosting trees until about eleven; then they go abroad again and fish along the shore or sit lazily on the rocking sea, till dusk, when in long strings they fly wearily homeward, and spend the night upon their favourite trees.
It is a pleasant sight to see a flock of Pelicans fishing. A dozen or more are flying on heavy, flagging wing over the sea, the long neck doubled on the back, so that the beak seems to protrude from the breast. Suddenly, a little ruffling of the water arrests their attention; and, with wings half-closed, down each plunges with a resounding plash, and in an instant emerges to the surface with a fish. The beak is held aloft, a snap or two is made, the huge pouch is seen for a moment distended, then collapses as before; and heavily the bird rises to wing, and again beats over the surface with its fellows. It is worthy of observation that the Pelican invariably performs a somerset under the surface; for descending, as he always does, diagonally, not perpendicularly, the head emerges looking in the opposite direction to that in which it was looking before. When the morning appetite is sated, they sit calmly on the heaving surface, looking much like a miniature fleet.
In the evening, as I have stated, we see them pursuing their laborious course to repose. Standing at the door of Bluefields, which from a slight elevation, commands a wide prospect of the beautiful Bay, I have often watched, in the evening,—while the sun, sinking among his gilded piles and peaks of cloud on the horizon-sea, leaves the air refreshingly cool and balmy, while the dying sea-breeze scarcely avails to break the glassy reflection of the surface,—the straggling flocks of Pelicans, from a dozen to forty or fifty, passing slowly along over the shore. On such occasions, they manifest a decided tendency to form long continuous strings, like ducks. When the flocks are beating for fish, or sailing round and round on the watch, there is no such arrangement, but all circle in a confusion equal to that of the planets of the Ptolemaic system. Yet at any time of the day, in taking a lengthened flight, whether shifting their locality, or slowly sweeping over the sea, they usually take a lineal order.
In flying thus in lines, I have been struck with the unity which they manifest in their motions: the flight is performed by alternate intervals of heavy flappings, and sailing on outstretched motionless wing; and the resumption or suspension of the one or the other state, is regulated by the leading bird of the line. For example; the first begins to flap; in an instant the second begins, then the third, then the fourth, and so on, with perfect regularity of succession; and neither ceases till the first does, and then only each in his own turn. That this does not depend on the period of each motion being constant, is shown by the fact, that the duration of either state is very varying and arbitrary. If a bird be following the same course, near at hand, but not within the line, he does not regard the succession at all, but governs his own motion.
The Pelican on alighting on the water to swim, brings his feet, which before had been stretched out behind, into a standing position, and, as it were, slides along the surface, for several yards before he swims.
Voracious and formidable as is the Pelican to the smaller of the finny races, he is not without his enemies among them. I once observed a large Shark gliding along at the surface of the water near a flock of swimming Pelicans, wilily endeavouring to approach some unwary one within seizing distance, his triangular dorsal cutting the water and revealing his progress, and his intentions. The Pelicans were alert, however, and did not choose a near acquaintance with their insidious admirer, each one rising into safety upon the wing as he approached. I fear he went without his supper on that occasion.
The following interesting note, I quote from a valuable paper by Mr. Hill, “On the aerating powers of birds,” read at a meeting of the Jamaica Society, June 1st, 1840. “The facility with which the Pelican resigns itself to fasting, or rouses itself to feasting, was very interestingly exhibited to me in a bird, I saw the other day at Passage Fort. It was a domesticated Pelican, of mature age: it winged backward and forward, visiting the wild flocks, and feeding with them in the harbour during the day, and withdrew from them to roost in its master’s yard during the night. In that period of restraint, when it was necessary to observe the caution of drawing its quill feathers, to keep it within very diminished capabilities of flight, until it became familiar and domesticated, it was wholly dependent on the fish provided for it by the fishermen of the beach. Sunday was no fishing day with these men; and this was regularly a day on which there were no supplies for the Pelican. It became in time so conscious of the recurrence of this fast-day, that although at all other times it went daily down to the sea-side to wait the coming in of the canoes, on the seventh day it never stirred from the recumbent trunk of a tree on which it roosted within the yard. It had been found necessary to pluck its wing within the last two or three months to restrain it within bounds, in consequence of its absence latterly with the wild birds for several days in succession; and in this state it was reduced as formerly to depend on the fishermen for food. The old habit of abstinence and drowsy repose on the Sundays again recurred, and when I saw it, it was once more a tranquil observer of the rest, and with it the fast, of the Sabbath day.”
Robinson describes one in captivity, as “a bold fierce bird, which would snap his beak not only at dogs and other small animals, but even at men and horses, that came inadvertently within his reach.” (MSS.)
The Pelican is sometimes taken much in the same manner as Gannets in England. A fish is fastened to a board, which is swiftly drawn through the sea by a canoe under sail; the Pelican plunges down upon it, and breaks his neck with the violence of the contact. Although the beak is not pointed, but hooked at the extremity, Sam has assured me that it has been known to be driven through the soft wood of the cotton tree, when that has been used for the board. The flesh is eaten by some of the negroes, notwithstanding its insupportable fishy odour; to overcome which in some degree, they bury it for some hours in the sand of the beach, after which they subject it to three or four boilings before it is eaten.
The term fuscus is but poorly applicable to this bird in adult plumage: the long and pointed feathers, being black with a central stripe of pure white, give a hue rather hoary or silvery than fuscous; and the pale yellow head, and deep chestnut neck, margined with a white edging, adds a considerable degree of beauty to the whole.
I dissected a female in May; an operation which though performed in the open air, was almost sufficient to take away the breath. I found the stomach a long capacious sac without constriction, with thick muscular walls; there was a round cavity just beyond the pyloric bend; the intestinal canal was nearly uniform in size, slender, but long, with many convolutions; it measured 99 inches; near the middle was a curious conformation, which I have observed in the intestine of the Ardeadæ; as though the tube had been abruptly terminated and closed, and another tube let in at the side of the former a little way from the end, which end thus projected like a teat. Two cæca, about 1½ inch long when distended. The appearance of the viscera corresponded in most particulars to that described by Prof. Owen (Pr. Zool. Soc. 1835) in P. rufescens. The right lobe of the liver was three or four times greater in volume than the left; the former had its edges rounded; the latter was sub-globose. The gall-bladder small; the gall deep brown-yellow. The spleen was large, oval, about 1¾ by 1¼, soft, and greenish-black. Kidneys about equal, 2 inches by 1 inch. The fat about the viscera, which was in series of small lumps, was of a deep orange, or almost salmon-red. I may add that our species seems much more arboreal than that described by Prof. Owen. On bending the heel-joint, so as to bring the tarsus up towards the tibia, the toes were strongly incurved; and on my placing a stick beneath the toes, and then forcibly bending the heel, the stick was grasped with so much power that it could with difficulty be dragged away. I perceived from the form which the foot assumed under such circumstances, that the hind toe is opposed to the others in grasping or perching, notwithstanding their continuity of membrane; the web which connects the hind-toe being wide enough to admit an object like the branch of a tree, when the toes are opposed.
The tongue is singularly minute; the rami of the hyoïd bone, passing on each side of the larynx, are simply enveloped in the membranes of the pouch, and at their convergence, there is a minute projecting point of cartilage about ¹⁄₆ inch long, which is the only apology for a tongue.
I was astonished to observe that the whole inner surface of the skin on the trunk, was cellular, especially on the breast; composing an immense congeries of membranous cells, inflated with air. The pouch held seventeen pints of water, which when full dripped out at a wound in the fore-arm.
DUSKY BOOBY.[130]
Sula fusca.
Pelecanus sula, Linn.—Aud. pl. 207.