Part 16

Everyone who has heard and seen the Blackcap will at once recognise the truth and accuracy of this; but, strangely enough, Gilbert White never once mentions the Garden Warbler in his writings.

The estimate of a wild bird’s song is like that of the voice of a public singer--to some extent a matter of individual opinion. Personally, though by no means disposed to underrate the beauty and power of the Blackcap’s song, I do not think that it approaches so near in quality to that of the Nightingale, or is so far superior to that of the Garden Warbler as some observers appear to believe.

The Blackcap is a very shy, retiring bird, preferring to be heard rather than seen. The male takes his share of the duties of incubation, and it is said that he beguiles the tedium of his task by singing whilst sitting on the nest. I have watched him brooding on several occasions, but in spite of long vigils have never had the gratification of hearing a single note.

Curiously enough, the poets have given this superb singer very little attention, probably because they were seldom in a position to identify the vocalist, however much they admired his music.

The alarm note of this species sounds something like tack-tack or teck-teck.

=THE BULLFINCH.=

There is no need for me to describe the appearance of the male bird of this species, which has been rendered familiar to nearly everybody in town and country alike on account of the facts that its engaging manners and striking colours have made it a favourite cage pet. It may be necessary, however, to mention that the female differs from her mate in the following particulars. The black on the top of her head is not so intense, her back is greyish-brown, and her breast and under parts are of a dirty brown colour instead of bright tile red.

Both male and female may always be instantly identified when on the wing by the conspicuous patch of white on the rump, and when not seen the presence of the species is easily known by its unmistakable plaintive call note, which is constantly uttered whilst the birds are hunting in pairs or families for food along a hedgerow or from bush to bush in a wood. It sounds something like wheon.

This species has profited more by the Wild Birds’ Protection Acts than perhaps any other breeding in our country. It is as much hated by some people on account of the harm it does to the buds of fruit trees, as it is loved by others as a cage pet. It has increased greatly in numbers nearly all over the country during the past ten years, as may be judged when it is mentioned that over forty were shot in one Essex garden last spring. Let us hope that the damage done to buds and branches by small shot expended during the slaughter may not be put down to the credit of the unfortunate feathered victims.

In a secluded Surrey wood, where I spend a good deal of time every July and August studying and photographing birds from the interior of a small green tent pitched near to a place where birds come all day long to drink and bathe, I notice that the Bullfinch is my most frequent visitor. Sometimes an old male will come along in silence, take a few hurried sips, and then abruptly depart, indicating that he has a sitting mate, and at others whole families arrive to quench their thirst, which appears to be abnormal in this species, and to enjoy a good bath.

The Bullfinch breeds in suitable localities throughout the British Isles, but, according to my experience, is commonest in the South of England. Its nest is of rather singular construction, consisting of a little platform of slender dead twigs cleverly interlaced with a somewhat shallow recess in the middle, beautifully lined with fine, fibrous roots and sometimes a little hair. The structure is placed from three to six feet from the ground, as a rule, in whitethorn, blackthorn, briar, and other bushes, also in yew and other evergreen trees growing in gardens, shrubberies, woods, and thick hedgerows.

The eggs number from four to six, of a pale, greenish-blue ground colour, spotted, speckled, and sometimes streaked with purplish-brown, most thickly at the larger end.

The female Bullfinch is a confiding creature whilst brooding, as will be gathered by my readers when I state that the one figured in our illustration became so tame through kind and gentle treatment that she would actually allow me to take her in my hand and place her in any attitude I wished upon the nest before taking a photograph of her. I secured a large series of pictures of this particular bird on and near her nest.

The song of this species is short and very soft. One day a fine male alighted on a bare branch close to my hiding tent and held forth with his head on one side, as if listening to the sound of his own voice, whilst his body seemed to throb with the effort of producing even such feeble notes as he commanded.

Bullfinches learn the song of the Canary when brought up under that bird, instead of the notes of their own species, and can be taught in confinement to whistle all kinds of airs and melodies.

=THE WHEATEAR.=

The Wheatear is a thick-set little bird measuring about six inches in length. It arrives in the South of England about the end of February and beginning of March, and leaves our shores again in August and September. It has the top of the head, nape, and back of a bluish-grey colour, tinged with light brown, rump and upper two-thirds of tail pure white. Wings nearly black, with buff margins and tips to some of the feathers, end of tail black; chin and throat dull white; breast pale creamy white, turning to a dull yellowish-white on the under parts. The female is somewhat browner on her upper parts than the male. The Wheatear may always be readily distinguished by the large white patch at the base of its tail, seen most conspicuously when the bird is flying away from the observer.

This species inhabits high moorland districts where rocks and solitude are the most striking features of the landscape, but it is a mistake to say that the cultivation of land banishes it, for I have met with it breeding on ploughed land in the Highlands, Hebrides, and Shetlands quite commonly.

The nest is situated under loose slabs of rock, in holes in rough, dry stone walls, peat stacks, and rocky banks. I have met with it on two or three occasions in the old nesting burrows of rabbits. It is made of dead grass, rootlets, and moss, with an inner lining of hair, feathers, and rabbits’ down.

The eggs generally number five or six, of a pale greenish-blue, occasionally spotted on the larger end with rusty red.

This species practises a short and somewhat pretty, but not very loud, song, which is enhanced in value by the weird solitude of the vocalist’s surroundings. It is frequently uttered whilst the bird is on the wing going through aërial antics, often highly suggestive of dementia.

The call note of the species may be imitated by beating two pebbles together, and sounds like chick, chack, chack.

=THE STONECHAT.=

This very conspicuous and familiar little bird measures just over five inches in length. Its head, nape, throat, back, wings, and tail are black, many of the feathers being edged with rusty brown. On the sides of the neck, wings, and at the base of the tail are large patches of white. Breast dark rust colour, under parts much lighter. Its unlikeness to any other British bird, and habit of perching on the topmost sprays of gorse, juniper, and bramble bushes, render it perfectly easy to observe and identify. The female differs somewhat, being dull brown with buff edgings to the feathers on her upper parts, and having the chin buff, sides of the neck brownish-white, and breast and under parts duller.

This species does not live, as its name might be taken to imply, in stony wildernesses, but upon furze-clad commons and uncultivated land where juniper, brambles, and other kinds of tangled vegetation grow. The nest is built upon or near the ground, and is generally well concealed. It consists of rootlets, moss, and dry grass, with an inner lining of hair, feathers, and occasionally pieces of wool. I have often seen it with very little else than fine blades of dead grass.

The eggs number from four to six, and on rare occasions even seven have been found. They are of a pale bluish-green ground colour, closely spotted round the larger end with reddish-brown. Sometimes the spots are entirely absent.

The Stonechat, although subject to local movement, stays with us all the year round. Its soft, low song, although of no great length or importance, is sweet and pleasing, and sometimes contains imitations of other birds’ notes. It is delivered both whilst the singer is at rest and hovering in the air. The male helps the female to feed the young ones, and in the case of the chicks hatched from the eggs figured on the previous page he had the whole of the domestic work to do because his mate disappeared altogether a few days after the young ones had been hatched.

The call note resembles the sound made by striking two small pebbles together in the hand, hence its name of Stonechat. It has been written down as u-tic, u-tic. After the young are hatched it changes somewhat and sounds like chuck, chuck.