The nest is placed on the ground, usually in a cavity under the grass in a field, not far from a hedgerow, or under a thick furze-bush on commons, or at the roots of the heather on moors. It is formed of dry grass and moss, and lined with horsehair and rootlets. Four to six eggs are laid, greenish blue in colour, faintly marked with a zone of brown spots at the larger end.
Stonechat.
Pratincola rubicola.
Head, throat, bill, and legs black; sides of neck near the wing, tertial wing-coverts, and rump white; breast bright chestnut-red, paling to white on the belly; feathers of the back, wings, and tail black with reddish brown edges. Female: head and upper parts dusky brown, the feathers edged with yellowish red; throat black with small whitish and reddish spots; less white in the wings and tail; the red of the breast dull. Length, five and a quarter inches.
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In his colouring and appearance, and to some extent in habits, the small stonechat is unlike any other bird. His strongly contrasted tints--black and white, and brown and chestnut-red--make him as conspicuous to the eye as the goldfinch or yellowhammer, and thus produce much the same effect as brilliancy of colour. The effect is increased by the custom the bird has of always perching on the topmost spray of a furze-bush on the open commons which it inhabits. Perched thus conspicuously on the summit, he sits erect and motionless, a small feathered harlequin, or like a painted image of a bird. But his disposition is a restless one; in a few moments he drops to the ground to pick up some small insect he has spied, or else dashes into the air after a passing fly or gnat, and then returns to his stand, or flits to another bush some yards away, where he reappears on its top, sitting erect and motionless as before. He is always anxious in the presence of a human being, flying restlessly from bush to bush, incessantly uttering his low, complaining note, which has a sound like that produced by striking two pebbles together; hence his name of stonechat. But it is a somewhat misleading name. He is not, like the wheatear, an inhabitant of barren stony places, but is seen chiefly on commons abounding in furze-bushes and thorns and brambles. He is seen in pairs, but is nowhere a numerous species, although found in most suitable localities throughout the three kingdoms. He is also to be met with throughout the year, but is much rarer in winter than in summer; and probably a great many individuals leave the country in autumn, while others seek more sheltered situations to winter in, or have a partial migration.
The stonechat has a slight, but sweet and very pleasing, song, uttered both when perched and when hovering in the air. Towards the end of March the nest is made, and is placed on or close to the ground, under a thick furze-bush; it is large, and carelessly made of dry grass, moss, heath and fibrous roots, lined with fine grass, horsehair, feathers, and sometimes with wool. Five or six eggs are laid, pale green or greenish blue in colour, and speckled at the large end with dull reddish brown. When the nest is approached the birds display the keenest distress.
Redstart.
Ruticilla phœnicurus.
Forehead white; head and upper part of back bluish grey; throat black; breast, tail-coverts, and tail, except the two middle feathers, which are brown, bright bay. Female: upper parts grey deeply tinged with red; throat and belly whitish; breast, flanks, and under tail-coverts pale red. Length, five and a quarter inches.
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The redstart is found from April to the end of August throughout England and Wales, but is nowhere common; in Scotland and Ireland he is rare. He is, nevertheless, a better-known bird to people in the country districts than some of the migratory songsters which are more abundant. Not, however, on account of his song, which is inferior to most, but partly because he ‘affects neighbourhoods,’ as Gilbert White says, and partly on account of his pure and prettily contrasted colours--the white forehead, slaty grey upper parts, and chestnut rump and tail. The bright-coloured tail, which he flirts often as he flits before you, quickly attracts the eye. ‘Firetail’ is a common name for this bird. Redstart is Saxon for redtail. When seen perched upright and motionless he resembles the robin in figure, but does not seek his food so much on the ground, and in his restless disposition and quick, lively motions, he is like the warblers. A peculiarity of the redstart is his fondness for old walls; he is attracted by them to orchards and gardens, where he is most often seen, although always a shy bird in the presence of man.
Seebohm says: ‘As the wheatear is the tenant of the cairns, the rocks, and the ruins of the wilds, in like manner the redstart may be designated a bird of the ruins and the rocks in the lower, warmer, and more cultivated districts. You will find it in orchards and gardens, about old walls, and in the more open woods and shrubberies. Another favourite haunt of the redstart is old crumbling ruins, abbeys, and castles, on whose battlements and still massive walls, ivy-covered and moss-grown, it delights to sit and chant its short and monotonous song.’
The song consists of one short phrase, dropping to a low twitter at the end, which varies in different singers; but the opening note is always a beautiful expressive sound.
The redstart feeds on small beetles, caterpillars, spiders, and grubs, which it picks up in walls, trees, and bushes; and on gnats, flies, and butterflies, captured on the wing after the manner of the flycatcher.
The nest is almost always made in a hole, usually in an old stone wall, but occasionally in a hole in a tree, and sometimes in the cleft formed by two branches. It is loosely built with dry grass and moss, and lined with hair and feathers. The eggs are four to six in number; sometimes as many as eight, or even ten, are laid. They resemble the hedge-sparrow’s eggs, being of a uniform greenish blue colour.
The black redstart (Ruticilla titys) is a winter visitor in small numbers to the south-west of England, and has been known to breed on two or three occasions in this country. It is common throughout Central and Southern Europe, wintering in North Africa, and in its nesting and other habits and language resembles the redstart.
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Between the redstarts (Ruticilla) and the redbreast (Erithacus), next to be described, the bluethroats (Cyanecula) are placed, of which two species have been recorded as casual visitors to this country--the white-spotted bluethroat (C. Wolfi), from Western Europe; and the red-spotted bluethroat (C. Suecica), a breeder in the arctic regions.
Redbreast.
Erithacus rubecula.
Upper parts olive-brown; forehead and breast red, the red edged with grey; belly white. Female: a trifle smaller than the male, and less bright in colour. Length, five inches and three-quarters.
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Of man’s feathered favourites--the species he has thought proper to distinguish by a kindly protective sentiment--the redbreast probably ranks first, both on account of the degree of the feeling and its universality. The trustfulness of the familiar robin, especially in seasons of snow and frost, in coming about and entering our houses in quest of crumbs, is the principal cause of such a sentiment; but the highly attractive qualities of the bird have doubtless added strength to it. The bright red of his breast, intensified by contrast with the dark olive of the upper parts, gives him a rare beauty and distinction among our small songsters, which are mostly sober-coloured. Even more than beauty in colouring and form is a sweet voice; and here, where good singers are not few, the robin is among the best. Not only is he a fine singer, but in the almost voiceless autumn season, and in winter, when the other melodists that have not left our shores are silent, the robin still warbles his gushing, careless strain, varying his notes at every repetition, fresh and glad and brilliant as in the springtime. His song, indeed, never seems so sweet and impressive as in the silent and dreary season. For one thing, the absence of other bird-voices causes the robin’s to be more attentively listened to and better appreciated than at other times, just as we appreciate the nightingale best when he ‘sings darkling’--when there are no other strains to distract the attention. There is also the power of contrast--the bright, ringing lyric, a fountain of life and gladness, in the midst of a nature that suggests mournful analogies--autumnal decay and wintry death. There cannot be a doubt that the robin gives us all more pleasure with his music than any other singing-bird; we hear him all the year round and all our lives long, and his voice never palls on us. But those who have always heard it, for whom this sound has many endearing associations, might have some doubts about its intrinsic merits as a song--they might think that they esteem it chiefly because of the associations it has for them. In such a case one is glad to have an independent opinion--that, for instance, of an ‘intelligent foreigner,’ who has never heard this bird in his own country. Such an opinion we may find in John Burroughs, the American writer on birds; and it may well reassure those who love the robin’s song, but fear to put their favourite bird in the same category with the nightingale, blackcap, and garden-warbler. He writes: ‘The English robin is a better songster than I expected to find him. The poets and writers have not done him justice. He is of the royal line of the nightingale, and inherits some of the qualities of that famous bird. His favourite hour for singing is the gloaming, and I used to hear him the last of all. His song is peculiar, jerky, and spasmodic, but abounds in the purest and most piercing tones to be heard--piercing from their smoothness, intensity, and fulness of articulation; rapid and crowded at one moment, as if some barrier had suddenly given way, then as suddenly pausing, and scintillating at intervals bright, tapering shafts of sound. It stops and hesitates, and blurts out its notes like a stammerer; but when they do come, they are marvellously clear and pure. I have heard green hickory-branches thrown into a fierce blaze jet out the same fine, intense, musical sounds on the escape of the imprisoned vapours in the hard wood as characterise the robin’s song.’
The robin is an early breeder, and makes its nest beneath a hedge, or in a bank, or in a close bush not far above the ground; it is formed of dry grass, leaves, and moss, and lined with feathers. Six or seven eggs are laid, reddish white in ground-colour, clouded or blotched, and freckled with pale red. When the nest is approached the old birds express their anxiety by a very curious sound--a prolonged note so acute that, like the shrill note of some insects and the bat’s cry, it is inaudible to some persons. Two, and even three, broods are raised in the season.
At the end of summer the old birds disappear from their usual haunts to moult; and during this perhaps painful, and certainly dangerous, period, they remain secluded and unseen in the thickest foliage. When they reappear in new and brighter dress, restored to health and vigour, a fresh trial awaits them. The young they have hatched and fed and protected have now attained to maturity, and are in possession of their home. For it is the case that every pair of robins has a pretty well-defined area of ground which they regard as their own, jealously excluding from it other individuals of their own species. The young are forthwith driven out, often not without much fighting, which may last for many days, and in which the old bird is sometimes the loser. But in most cases the old robin reconquers his territory, and the young male, or males, if not killed, go otherwhere. And here we come upon an obscure point in the history of this familiar species; for what becomes of the young dispossessed birds is not yet known. It has been conjectured that they migrate, and that not many return from their wanderings beyond the sea. And it is not impossible to believe that the migratory instinct may exist in the young of a species, although obsolete at a later period of life.
Nightingale.
Daulias luscinia.
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