Part 17

Whether, as in the case of the Terns and Gannets previously mentioned, the Pelicans all return to their island on a certain day I can not say. Probably, however, the short duration of their migratory journey, and the fact that they come from both the north and the south, prevents them from joining many other birds en route. However, apparently most of the birds are warned at nearly the same time by a physiological change that the season has come for them to return to their nesting grounds. This is evidently in January, since in March a large number of the young on the island were found almost ready to fly, while some, as has been said, were already on the wing. There was, it is true, a great variation in the development of the young found, and indeed the birds were still laying, but I believe that the parents of these later broods had been robbed of their eggs by tourists.

A careful count yielded a total of 845 nests, which had evidently been built during the season, but only 251 of them were occupied. Most of the vacant nests were on the ground, and had been deserted by their tenants, who were now running about the island.

The 251 occupied nests contained eggs or young, as follows:

55 nests with 1 egg each; 63 „ „ 2 eggs „ 23 „ „ 3 „ „ 63 „ „ 1 young each; 46 „ „ 2 „ „ 1 nest „ 3 „ „

Incubation was found to be well advanced in eggs which were alone in their nest, showing either that one egg sometimes composes the set, or that the other eggs of the set had been destroyed. The fact that one nest was found with three young while twenty-three were found each containing three eggs, would indicate a high mortality among the young birds; and, indeed, no less than 94 dead young were counted. Most of these, however, were birds which were old enough to leave the nest, and death was doubtless due to the thoughtlessness of tourist visitors, who chase the young about until they fall from exhaustion, or are driven too far to find their way home.

Estimating the number of young birds which had left the 594 deserted nests at 891—which would be an average of one and a half birds to the nest—and adding two parent birds to each nest, we have 2,581 birds on wing and on foot. But this number is to be increased by the 152 young that were still in their nests, making the probable total population of Pelican Island 2,736. This calculation, however, does not take into account the eggs, from which almost hourly came new inhabitants of the island; and it is with these eggs, or rather with the nest in which they are placed, that we may begin a brief outline of the young Pelican’s development.

The Pelican, although a low type of bird, is altricial, the young, unlike the offspring of Gulls, Ducks, or Snipe, being hatched in a helpless condition. The nest, therefore, is not only an incubator where with heat from the parent bird the eggs are hatched, but it is a cradle for the young. Consequently, Pelicans’ nests are unusually complicated structures as compared with the dwellings of other birds equally low in the evolutionary scale.

There was a very interesting and constant relation between the character of the nest and its site, ground nests being composed largely or entirely of long grasses, while those nests which were placed in the trees were made of sticks and were lined with grasses, the nest proper being erected on a platform of larger sticks laid from crotch to crotch in the bushes in such a manner as to form a broad, firm foundation, though, structurally, it was not a part of the nest, which could be lifted without removing the platform.

The difference between the nests of straw^{106} and those of sticks^{107} were so marked that it seems probable their makers regularly selected sites on the ground or in the trees respectively. Or, assuming that the same individuals might build a stick nest in the bushes one year and a straw nest on the ground the next, we have an unusual variation in the character of the nest of the same species. In the case of the Fish Hawks of Plumb Island the birds evinced an appreciation of the protection afforded them by the owner of the island by often placing their nests on the ground. Photographs of these nests, however, made by Dr. C. S. Allen, show that the birds employed as much material when nesting on the ground as when nesting in trees, the eggs on the ground being surrounded by a useless mass of large sticks. Certain of the birds, therefore, in response to new conditions, had chosen new nesting sites, but had not as yet made corresponding changes in the character of their nests.

When the nest is completed, as we have seen, from one to three eggs are laid. The period of incubation is probably about four weeks, and a careful listener may detect the presence of a hatching egg by the choking bark which the young Pelican begins to utter as soon as he has made an opening in the shell which holds him. When he has finally freed himself and appears in the world, he is about as unattractive a bit of bird life as can well be conceived.^{106} His dark, purple skin is perfectly naked, he is blind, and when he is deprived of shade provided by the brooding parent, he twists restlessly about in the nest, uttering the same choking bark with which he first greeted the light.

Even at this early age he displays one of the strong characteristics of the immature Pelican—a pugnacious disposition. Almost before his eyes are open he bites at his nest mates for apparently no other reason than that they come within reach of his bill. Soon his eyes open and within a few days a wonderful change begins to take place in his appearance.^{107} Little bunches of white down sprout all over his body, and, growing rapidly, transform the ugly, purple-black nestling into a snowy creature clad in softest down.

At the same time he has been growing much stronger; he is able to sit up,^{108} his fighting abilities have greatly increased, and his voice, after passing through a rasping k-r-r-r-ing stage, has become a high, piercing cry very closely resembling the scream of a child in extreme pain. Young Pelicans uttering this call chiefly made up the chorus one could hear all day and at intervals during the night on Pelican Island.

Pelicans of the same nest never seem to recover from the mutual enmity with which they begin life. Quarreling is the normal condition of affairs among the children of a Pelican family, and as they always scream loudest when fighting, one cause for the continuous uproar is evident. Another is the question of food, and just at this point I may pause a moment to describe the manner in which the young Pelicans are fed.

So far as I know, Pelicans live wholly on fish, and the difference between the fare of a young Pelican and that of its parent is in the size of its finny food. I have seen fish twelve inches long in the throat of an old Pelican, while the pouch of a very young bird contained several fishes less than an inch in length.

It is plain to be seen, therefore, that when an old Pelican goes fishing for his family he must keep constantly in mind the size of his offspring and bring home little fish for little birds, larger fish for larger ones.

Immediately after the parent returns from its fishing expedition, the young cluster about it and the outcry begins. But the old one takes it very patiently, sitting quite still until ready to open its creel, as it were. Then he takes a stand if possible a little above the young, drops his lower bill with its pouch, when at once the young thrust in their heads to secure their morning’s catch. On one occasion I saw three half-grown Pelicans with their heads and necks entirely out of sight in the parent’s pouch, and all were prodding about so vigorously that one would have thought it would be damaged past mending.

Having been fed, one might suppose that for a time peace would reign in the Pelican household; but, after emptying their parent’s pouch, the young immediately begin to squabble over the contents of their own. Here is real cause for war, and they grasp each other by the bill and twist and turn like athletes in a test of strength, seldom, however, with serious results.

Returning to our sketch of the young Pelican’s growth: shortly after the acquisition of the white down, the wing feathers begin to grow. As yet the sprouting feathers are useless, but with them come strength and courage to leave the nest and to clamber about in search of the foes who perhaps have been mocking him for days, from their nest on an adjoining limb. In spite of his broadly webbed toes, he manages to climb about in the bushes with more or less ease;^{109} but in this climbing he is greatly aided by his bill. Indeed, if it were not for the safety hook made by the bill, head, and neck, many a young Pelican would have a premature tumble. As it is, this hook is often the only thing that saves him if he chances to lose his footing; catching by the bill and neck he hangs for a moment, and then, like a gymnast, hauls himself up by the aid of his toes.

If the young Pelican’s home is on the ground, at this age he waddles about playing by himself or fighting all comers. He dabbles in the shallow water, filling his pouch with mud and water, bits of sticks, shells, and weeds; then dropping the point of his bill downward so that the mud and water ooze out, he carefully examines the remainder, piece by piece, as if to see whether it is palatable. Even when alone he sometimes loses his temper. I saw one evidently much annoyed by the appearance of a displaced feather in his wing, and in a vain effort to catch it he whirled about like a kitten chasing its own tail.

But the fast-growing wing plumes soon seem to be a source of inspiration, rather than of annoyance. The young Pelicans feel a new and strange power coming to them, and they stand in the nest and aimlessly wave their now nearly grown wings, until some day an impulse prompts them to spring into the air.^{110} The immediate result is a humiliating tumble, for Pelicans, unlike smaller birds, must learn to fly. Once on the ground he has a safer place to practice, and with a hop, skip, and a flap, he makes brave efforts to mount skyward. Finally he succeeds, and the awkward nestling becomes a creature of power and grace, sailing away on broad pinions to join its elders.

With this wonderful gift of flight comes a complete change in the Pelican’s character and behavior. From a noisy, quarrelsome fledgeling, whose days were passed in screaming and squabbling, he is transformed into a dignified, patriarchal-like bird so absolutely voiceless that I have never heard a wild Pelican utter a sound, nor do I know of any one who has; while in disposition he has become so peaceful that under the strongest provocation he shows no desire to protest.

Just what has influenced him—who can say? It is one of Nature’s mysteries. But let us hope that the same charm may be exerted on every noisy, quarrelsome creature.

INDEX

Audubon, J. J., 155.

Auk, Razorbilled, on Bird Rock, 167, 169; tameness of, 170; nesting of, 176; young of, 176. The, 154.

Bayberries, 26.

Bird-Lore, 9.

Bird photography, definition of, 1; scientific value of, 1, 34; charm of, 3, 39; outfit for, 6; methods of, 26.