Part 11

So nice and well understood are the differences between the sounds which these birds give forth, and so well are their notes appreciated by their companions, that the creatures may well be said to have a language. Though it probably conveys only emotions and not distinct thoughts, it still must be regarded as a certain kind of speech. The modes of expression indicate that in this creature, as in the other feathered forms, the intellectual life consists largely in the movements inspired by the emotions. On the rational side our fowls seem weaker than many other less interesting species. In their nesting and other habits there are no evidences of constructive ingenuity; and in all my observations on them I have never seen any evidence which showed either considerable powers of memory or a capacity to act in any complicated way with reference to an end. It is evident, however, that they make a very good classification of the world about them. They have, for the limited field over which they roam, a keen topographic sense; they never are lost, and this in connection with their sympathetic homing instinct prevents them from wandering from their accustomed places to take up again with a wilderness life.

In their adhesion to domestication our common fowls differ in a remarkable way from all other of our captive animals except the dog, and these birds are even more ineradicably attached to man than their older companion. While the dog will sometimes become half wild, or, as we may phrase it, undomiciled, fowls seem incapable of maintaining themselves apart from human care. In much ranging of the wilderness I have never found one of these creatures more than a thousand feet away from a human habitation. When we consider how common must be the chances of their going astray, and how easy it is in many parts of the country, as in our Southern States, for them to obtain in the wilderness food throughout the year, the fact that they never go wild is indeed remarkable. It can only be explained by the great development of the homing instinct which man has brought about in their sympathetic souls.

Although our unnatural process of breeding has done much to degrade the original beauty of the cocks and hens, destroying the delicate coloration of the feathers as well as the admirable blending and contrasts of their pristine hues, it seems likely that the effect on the physical and mental development as a whole has not been unfavorable. Though less courageous, they are stronger creatures than in their wild state; they are clearly more fecund; they are gentler natured; and, so far as I have been able to compare the high-bred with the primitive forms, their range of expression through the voice has been much increased, a feature which may be noted in other domesticated species of birds, as, for instance, in the canaries. The most remarkable alteration which has been brought about in the minds of these creatures consists in the very great diminution in the combative motive of the males. In the wild forms, as well as in the kindred variety of the game-cock, this impulse to battle attains a truly phenomenal development, the like of which is probably not to be found in any other creature. The male birds begin their warfare before they are more than half grown, and in their adult state will attack anything which they can conceive to be an enemy. They will, with slight provocation, assail any of the other domesticated species of birds, and even the lesser mammals, such as the dogs and cats. They will fight their own image in a looking-glass. I have had game-cocks attack my hand when it was held near the ground and given an up-and-down movement in imitation of their antagonist's head.

I once reared a game-cock by hand, keeping him secluded from his kind until he was adult. I then placed him in a large collection of barnyard fowl where there were half a dozen mongrel cocks, a drake of the muscovy variety, several ganders, and two turkey-gobblers. Immediately and in rapid succession he settled his accounts with the males of his own kind. He shortly overcame the drake and the ganders. He then devoted what was left of his forces to battles with the turkeys. Here he found himself in great difficulty, for the reason that these great birds would seize him by the head and lift his body off the ground. However, he soon learned an ingenious trick which protected him from this danger. When gathering breath in the intervals between his assaults, he would hover himself between his antagonist's legs, keeping step with the awkward creature in its efforts to get away from him. In a few days he wore out these doughty foemen and remained the battered master of the field.

Although the indomitable valor of the game-cock may be in some measure due to the selection which the breeder has applied to the variety, there can be no question that it is essentially natural to the species and is the result of an age-long habit which in the native wilds of the creature did much to insure its safety. The antiquity of the state of mind may be judged by the perfection to which the spurs have attained and the remarkably skilful and definite way in which the creatures use them. The spur, which has arisen from the development of the scales and underlying bone of the bird's leg, is a singularly perfect structure, the finish of which cannot be judged in the degraded form in which it is found in our ordinary barnyard species. Although in its construction this weapon is admirably devised, it is placed in a position where only a remarkably well-addressed movement can give effect to its blow. Those who have watched game-cocks in combat have had a chance to see the vaults by which the creature, partly turning in the air, is able to throw the spur in such a manner that it shares the impulse of the body when it strikes the antagonist. This peculiar craft has been in good part lost among our common varieties. Their spiritless contests differ as much from those of the game-birds as do the fist fights of untrained men from the contests of skilled pugilists.

Although to persons unaccustomed to the spectacle the combats between game-birds may seem disgusting, almost every one must admire the valor, grace, and address which such scenes exhibit. Except where the brutal custom of putting steel points on the spurs prevails, the birds rarely receive fatal wounds. The defeated cock is soon brought to confess his inferiority and takes himself away. At no other time in the life of these birds does their organic beauty appear to such advantage as when they are struggling with each other. Then alone do we perceive the singular efficiency of their bodies and the quick as well as appropriate action of their instincts. They set themselves against each other in attitudes as well chosen and as peculiar as those of a well-trained fencer. Before the assault they often go through a singular performance, which consists in picking up bits of twigs or pebbles. These they cast into the air, an unmeaning movement which may be compared to the like meaningless though similarly graceful salute with which swordsmen preface their contests. Then, with their legs flexed so that they may be ready for the spring, and with the rather stiff feathers about the neck erected so as to serve as a shield, they creep toward each other until they are separated by the distance appropriate for the spring. When fairly placed for battle they begin a system of fence which is intended to provoke the enemy to an untimely assault. The art of the game appears to consist in persuading the adversary to venture an attack where his force will be spent in the air, so that a blow can be given him before he has time to recover position. The issue depends much on the endurance of the birds. Their movements require so much energy that one of them is apt to become exhausted before the other is quite spent. In rare cases, only one of which has been seen by me, a weary bird will feign death for a minute or so and thus obtain new strength with which to renew the combat, profiting also by the confusion which he will bring upon his adversary by his sudden revival.

Although the combatant motive which we find in the males among our barnyard fowls has doubtless been developed through their combats with each other, the valiant spirit which has come from it often leads the creatures to attack the enemies of their flock. I have seen a nimble game-cock strike a hawk which was pouncing to its prey, delivering the blow some feet above the surface of the ground, and this so effectively that the marauder was driven away in a sorely hurt condition. I have seen males of the game variety attack a number of other larger animals which in any way threatened their charges.

Although our barnyard fowl are almost the only ground birds which have ever been brought to a state of perfect domestication, there are several other species of the same group which have been taught in a measure to adhere to man. Of these perhaps the longest in domestication is the peafowl. This creature, though it has edible, indeed we may say savory flesh, has retained its small place in civilization solely on account of its extraordinary beauty. For its size it is doubtless the most beautiful of animals, its plumage, especially the magnificent display of the tail, exceeding that of any other natural object. There are other birds of small size which vie with the peacock in the details of ornamentation. Those jewels among the feathered tribes, the humming-birds, have a more delicate beauty. The birds-of-paradise and the lyre-birds have a grace in the attitudes of particular feathers which is unequalled; but for splendor none of them approach the peacock in his best estate.

The peacock is a native of Southern Asia, a realm in fact in which the species of the group attain an uncommonly rich development. The creature appears to have been domesticated some thousands of years ago, but has undergone no considerable changes in its experience with man. It has in truth not been completely tamed. It does not willingly remain near the dwellings of man, but prefers to abide apart, only resorting to the home when in need of food. It is very intolerant of the other barnyard creatures, and often becomes possessed of a kind of mania for slaying their young, not for food but from pure spirit of mischief.

Intellectually speaking, the peacocks are much below the cocks and hens; although they flock together, their sympathies do not seem quick; their cries and calls do not number a fifth part of those which we hear from our chickens, and their notes are prevailingly very discordant. Their cry of defiance, answering to the crow of the cock, is one of the rudest and least sympathetic sounds which is heard among the birds. Its only merit is that it can be heard very far. It is readily audible at the distance of a mile when it breaks the stillness of a summer night. At present the bird seems out of favor. At best it is a beautiful but annoying ornament to pleasure-grounds. It is likely, indeed, that it may in time become limited to its native wildernesses and to zoological gardens.

From Africa we have derived one rather uncommon tenant of our barnyards and fields, the guinea-hen. This creature, though of convenient size, hardy, and commendable from the number of eggs it lays, has never won a large place in the esteem of our rural people, and is now not much kept, except in some parts of the Southern States of this country. The difficulty with this creature, as with the peacock, is that it is not truly domesticated; though it will not betake itself altogether to the woods, it prefers to maintain a half-wild habit. It will not, if it can possibly avoid it, lay its eggs in any place where they are likely to be found by man. Moreover, their rude and little-modulated cries are in the summer season almost incessant, and the din which a considerable flock can produce is exceedingly vexatious. They thus do not fit the needs or comfort of man to the degree which is likely to give them a permanent place among his associates.

The last considerable addition to our barnyards has come to us in the form of the turkey. This species has the peculiar distinction of being the only animal form of definite use to man over a wide field which has been contributed from the life of the New World. Although the creature was much hunted by our North American Indians, and is of a type which lends itself to domestication, it does not appear to have become a companion of man until it was taken from the West India Islands to Europe shortly after the discovery of this country. Thence the domesticated form appears to have been returned to this country, where it has been a favorite in a measure unknown in the Old World. Ornithologists deem the Cuban turkey, whence our tame form came, to be specifically distinct from those which are found on the mainland of this continent. Although these kinds are distinguishable by plumage, they are probably only varieties of a common species. This is indicated by the fact that our tame flocks readily intermingle with their wild kindred.

The ease with which the turkey becomes domesticated is remarkable. In this regard the creature may be compared to our cocks and hens. In both cases the tamableness is doubtless to be explained by the fact that the primitive forms dwelt in permanent association, the movements of which were in a way controlled by the adult males, and by the fact that the forms had abandoned the use of wings for wide-ranging flight. The change which has been brought about in the turkeys with their adoption into the human association has been slight. No distinct varieties of breeds have been originated, though here and there the observer may note slight local variations in the coloration of the plumage, which are probably due to varying admixtures with the wild forms of our forests. Thus in Kentucky and other parts of the South, where the opportunities for the intermingling of blood of the tame and wild forms are frequent, the domesticated creatures often resemble so nearly the wilderness forms that even the wary hunter may make mistakes as to whether the bird he sights be fair game or not. Unless carefully watched, a drove of these creatures on the border of the wilderness is apt gradually to return to the wild state, the three or four centuries of life about the home of man not having been sufficient to do away with their ancient love of freedom.

Among the English folk of North America the turkeys found a large place as an element of the food-supply. It has become curiously associated with the Puritan festival of Thanksgiving, an institution which has spread throughout the United States and which has in a way taken the place of the harvest-home festivities of the Old World and bygone ages. It is probable that the relation of this bird to our national festivities has done much to keep it in use in this country. It is a well-recognized fact that it is costly to keep and that the eggs are not desirable for culinary use. The species requires a wide range. It does not do well in the confined conditions in which cocks and hens can readily be maintained. It therefore is not likely to be kept in any region where the agriculture is of a high grade. It is best suited to farms where there are considerable areas of half-wild pastures.

Although the turkey is a truly gregarious form, its mental endowments are of a lower grade than those of most social birds. Their calls are few in number and have little of that conversational quality which we note in those of our ordinary barnyard fowls. Although the males contest the field with each other by personal combats, they are not very valiant, the creatures trusting for favor with the females rather to the parade of their plumage and the pomp of their carriage than to the wager of battle. In the matter of show they are, however, very effective, being surpassed only by the peacock in the splendor of their attire. In their domesticated state they lose much of the beauty which they have in the wilderness, as they do their pristine dimensions. Those who have hunted our wild species are likely to remember scenes where in some forest glade they have beheld a gobbler displaying his graces to an admiring harem. As he struts about with his tail feathers erect and his neck arched back, now and then pausing to utter an exultant gobble, the spectacle is one of the most amusing displays of animal pride which the naturalist has a chance to behold.

Recent experiments in ostrich farming seem to indicate that we are on the eve of introducing into our "happy family" the noblest remaining member of that group of great birds which characterized the life of the later geological periods. As yet the efforts in taming ostriches are too new for us to tell just what the effect of man's skill on the development of this creature will be. It is evident, however, that the creature can be won from its wilderness state, at least to something like the imperfect companionship with man which has been attained by the guinea-fowls and turkeys. All we know of the variations in plumage of birds indicates that the breeder's art may bring about great changes in the highly decorative feathers for which this bird is to be reared. It is also probable that with the better food which domestic conditions imply, this wanderer of the desert may be brought to attain a very much greater size than it wins in the hard life of its native land. If the form should prove as plastic as that of our ordinary barnyard species, we may indeed succeed in developing a variety approaching in dimensions the gigantic moa of New Zealand, or the aepyornis of Madagascar, those magnificent creatures of the past which passed away just before their native lands were known to our race. The variations in size of the wild ostrich appear to indicate that this interesting result may be attainable.

Next after the cocks and hens the most important birds of economic value have come from the water fowl. In this field there are great opportunities for domestication, only a few of which have been adequately used. The aquatic birds, save for the fact that they are in all cases inspired with a more or less strong migratory humor, lend themselves to the shaping hand of man more readily than most other forms. These creatures have the habit of association in a much more perfect way than our ground birds. They normally dwelt in rather close order and in relations which are necessarily very sympathetic. Whoever has watched the flight of wild geese must have remarked the beautiful way in which they arrange at once for close companionship and for safety in the violent movements which impel their heavy bodies at high speed through the air. In the order of their flight the alignment is more perfect than in the march of trained soldiers. Each bird keeps as near to his neighbor as possible; but manages always to preserve the interval which will insure against a collision of the strong and swift-moving wings, an accident which might well disable them for flight. I have repeatedly undertaken to confound their motion by firing a rifle bullet at the head of the moving wedge. Although the sound of the projectile, if well directed, will disturb their processional order, it never brings confusion. The startled birds sink down or rise above the plane of the air in which their comrades are moving, but they never strike against them.

The admirable sense of interval which the wild birds exhibit in their flight is to be seen also when they move over the surface of the water, where the fleet of living forms is always so arranged that each individual does not interfere with its neighbor. I recall with much pleasure an occasion when, from a ship becalmed in a thick fog off the southern shore of Labrador, within sound of the breakers, I undertook to find something about the lay of the land and the chance of harborage by paddling in a small boat toward the shore. I had hardly lost sight of the ship when my boat glided into an assemblage of eider ducks, where the mothers, with their fledgling young, were lazily swimming to and fro, as if to practise the ducklings in the art of swimming. Each brood appeared to have its own space of water, and between each of the chicks there was likewise a less but equally well measured interval. The same features of orderly association, which I have just noted in the swimming and flying of these wild birds, may be seen in a somewhat degraded state in our domesticated varieties of the group. They all indicate in these forms a keen sense of their neighbors and a habit of association based upon sympathetic emotions.

The sympathetic quality of our water fowl, at least in that part of the emotion which leads them to be concerned with the afflictions of their species, appears to be more distinct than in the case of our ordinary barnyard fowl. Geese, as is well known, will make common cause against an intruder from whom harm to the flock may be expected. Their simultaneous din when anything occurs to arouse their enmity is commemorated in the ancient myth concerning the aid which they gave in the defence of the walls of Rome. There are anecdotes apparently well attested where water fowl have borne away a wounded comrade which had fallen before the huntsman's fowling-piece. In Smiles's "Life of Edwards" there is an often-quoted story which appears to be trustworthy and sufficiently illustrates this point. A hunter, having shot one of a flock of terns, which fell wounded into the water near the shore, waded in to seize it. Suddenly two of the terns came to their wounded companion, seized him by either wing, and bore him toward the open sea. When these two helpers were weary, the sufferer was lowered into the water, and, in turn, seized by two other birds which were fresh for the labor. Working in succession, these birds carried their companion to a rock some distance from the shore. When the hunter endeavored to approach the rock, yet others of the species seized the cripple and bore him far beyond reach.

Although too much value must not be given to the numerous anecdotes concerning the sagacity of water fowl, the great mass of these stories, as compared with the poverty of the anecdotes concerning the better-known barnyard creatures, seems to establish the fact that their intelligence is much greater than that of the land birds. This superiority can probably be attributed to the fact that their life requires much more definite adaptation of means to ends than in the simpler conditions which are met by the forms which dwell in the fields. The circumstances of their life are something like those of the seals among mammals. They have to do with the conditions of the air, the land, and the water; and as they generally undertake long migrations, the range of the things they have to accommodate themselves to is great, and the effect of their labor is decidedly educative.

As yet, from the great number of species of water fowl man has really domesticated but two characteristic groups, the species of geese and of ducks. Swans have been brought to a state where they tolerate the presence of man, though they rarely establish any really intimate relations with him. Some other species, as, for instance, the grebe, have been taught to dwell about the homes of man, accepting food from his hands. It is likely that more of these water fowl would have come into human associations were it not for the fact that they are naturally migratory, and when, after a season of domestication, they join a passing flock, they never return to the place where they have been kept.

The swan, like the peacock, has been bred for ornament rather than for use. In fact, the bird has no other merit than its exceeding grace. We cannot believe that much pains was ever taken with this creature to break up the migratory instincts which are common in the wild kindred species. We have to suppose that the bird in its pristine form was without the impulse to undertake distant journeys in the winter season, or that it abandoned ancient habits with no great difficulty. We obtain some light on this point by noting the fact that among the migratory species it not infrequently happens that, while the greater number of individuals undertake the annual journey, certain of them will remain on the ground where they were born. Those which remain would be more likely to mate with those which were like-minded than with others that journeyed afar. In this way small local breeds might well be originated which would differ from their migratory kindred not only in the measure of the wandering instincts, but in the capacity for flight which their kindred preserve. There is some reason to believe that this process of selection naturally and somewhat frequently takes place. In certain cases it may lay the foundation of new species, or at least of distinct varieties; more commonly, however, the individuals which have abandoned the migratory life are likely to perish from the severity of climate or the other unfavorable conditions that their mates avoid by their wanderings.

Although many of the free-flying birds of the land are or have been kept captive because of the pleasure which men have found from their songs, their grace, or their quaint ways, only one of these has really been gained to domestication. In the pigeon, man has made what is on many accounts the most remarkable of all his conquests over the wild nature about him. While the breeder's art has led many forms, some of them on several divergent lines, far away from their primitive estate, in no other field has it accomplished such surprising results as with the doves. The original wild form of this group is a native of Europe and Asia, where the species Columba livia, or rock pigeon, is still common, and whence it may be readily won anew to domestication. It is a small, plain-colored, rather invariable and inconspicuous bird about the size of our American dove. In its wild state it dwells in small flocks, nesting by preference in the crannies of the cliffs, and exhibiting no striking qualities which make it seem a desirable subject for domestication. We note, however, that even in this primitive condition the creature has certain physical and mental qualities which have been the basis of its adoption by man as well as of the wide changes which it has undergone at his hands.

It is a characteristic of all the doves that their young are born in a very immature state, and for some time after they come from the egg they have to be supplied with food which has been partly digested in the crop or upper part of the stomach of the parent. For the proper rearing of the brood there is required the assiduous care of both parents. Therefore quite naturally we find among these birds that the pairing habit is well developed, and as they rear several broods each season, that the mating is for life. Although there are numbers of birds in various orders which are accustomed to the monogamic habit, it happens that the pigeon is the only animal which man has ever won to true domestication in which the sexes can be thus permanently united. In the dovecote, however many birds it may contain, the breeder can be always sure as to the parentage of the young which he is rearing. This affords an admirable basis for the practice of his art, which is still further favored by the fact that pigeons reproduce rapidly and the progeny are ready to mate in a few months after they come into the world. Thus the species affords really ideal conditions for that process of selection on which the improvement of all domesticated animals intimately depends.

Selective breeding of pigeons began in India, as the records seem to show, more than two thousand years ago. Though other animals have been brought to domestication at much earlier times, this appears to have been the first of them to be subjected to deliberate efforts on the part of their masters, which were intended to bring about in a methodical way certain changes in their forms and habits. The most curious part of this great endeavor which has been applied to breeding pigeons is found in the fact that the ends sought have no utility, but afford satisfaction from the point of view of pure diversion or the gratification of taste. We are well accustomed to the action of such motives upon our flowering plants of the garden, but the pigeon is the only animal where fancy has labored for thousands of years for its gratification. The breeders of pigeons from remote antiquity to the present day appear to have had no definite purpose in all their pains. They have taken the chance variations in form and habit and endeavored to extend these sports of nature by a careful system of mating those in which the singular features were most evident. Thus the fan-tail breed has been developed until the creatures display their unornamental tail feathers with all the dignity with which a peacock shows his marvellous decorations. The pouters have in some unaccountable way learned to take air into their crop; and the habit has been developed by selection until the bird destroys all trace of his original shapeliness, though he seems to take pride in his diseased appearance. The tumbler, probably derived from some ancestor afflicted with a disease of an epileptic character, manages to go through his convulsions in the air without serious consequences and apparently with some pleasure to himself. There are over one hundred less conspicuous varieties, of which only one deserves notice, and this for the reason that it has some possible utility to man and is now much attended to. This is known as the carrier pigeon.

In early time, before the invention of the railway and telegraph, some ingenious breeder of pigeons, observing the constant way in which these creatures returned to the place where they were bred, invented the plan of using them to convey information. This service was found convenient not only for ordinary correspondence, but was exceedingly valuable where a place was beleaguered by an enemy. In such cases carrier pigeons could often be used to convey information across the otherwise impassable lines. Even in modern times, as, for instance, during the last siege of Paris, these swift and sure flying birds proved of great use in keeping up communications between the people of the invested town and the French armies in the field. Letters in cipher, sometimes photographed down until the characters were microscopically fine, were made into packages of small weight in order not to impede the flight of the bird, carefully affixed to its body, and thus sent away. Very generally these curious shipments came to the hands of those for whom they were destined. The birds can be trusted to fly at night; they retain for a long time the memory of their home, and spare no pains to return to it.

The homing power of the carrier pigeon appears to be a special development of a natural capacity, as is also its swiftness and endurance in flight. Our other breeds and the wild species whence they have all come are not disposed to undertake long journeys; they rarely, indeed, wander far from their abiding places. Our experience with the carriers shows how readily the creatures may be educated to perform feats which they were not accustomed to do in their wild state. Something of the same elasticity of constitution may be observed in the bodies of our pigeons as they have been affected by selection. Not only has the plumage been greatly altered by the breeder's art and in pursuance of his plans, but the form and proportions of the bones have coincidently and unintentionally been greatly changed. So considerable are these alterations that if these creatures were submitted for dissection to a naturalist who knew nothing of the history of the bird, he would have no hesitation in classing them as belonging not only in different species, but as members of diverse genera.

It must be regarded as unfortunate that the experiments which have been made on pigeons have been limited to their features of form, color, and slight peculiarities in their habits. If the breeders had sought to modify the intellectual parts with anything like the insistence which they have given to the development of these bodily peculiarities, we might now have a most valuable store of knowledge as to the limitations of animal minds. The facts gained in the breeding of the carriers show clearly that certain of the instincts of these birds can be readily modified. There is every reason to suppose that their mental capacities in other directions have something of the same pliability.