Part 47

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 1¹⁄₂ 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 1³⁄₄ by 1¹⁄₄, 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.

Sula fusca.

Pelecanus sula, +Linn.+—Aud. pl. 207. Sula fusca, +Briss.+

Length 29 inches, expanse 58, flexure 14³⁄₄, tail 7³⁄₄, rictus 4⁸⁄₁₀, tarsus 1¹⁄₂, middle toe 3.

The trees described in the preceding article as constituting the lodging place of the Pelicans, are frequented also, though less regularly, by a considerable number of these Boobies. They usually huddle together, in little groups, sitting closely side by side, so that four and five may frequently be brought down at a shot.

I have invariably found the stomachs of those thus obtained, quite empty, and as the Frigate-birds assemble on the same trees, I conjecture that the Boobies examined had been compelled to disgorge the prey they had taken, by the assaults of their powerful neighbours: to avoid whose attacks, probably, they took refuge on the trees. As they sit, they frequently utter a loud croaking cackle.

One which was disabled, manifested great ferocity, striking forcibly with the opened beak, endeavouring to pierce with its very acute points, as well as to cut with its keen saw-like edges. It had the sagacity to neglect a stick presented, and strike at the hand that held it; and my fingers could testify to the lacerating power of their formidable weapon.

The tails of all the specimens that fell into my hands, were much worn at the extremity; probably from incubation on the rocks. The use of the very singular pectination of the middle toe, was indicated, by its being choked up in each one with down. The great length of the body in these birds is particularly observable when the integuments are removed. In one specimen, I found lying among the folds of the intestines, a tape-worm, about three feet in length.

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The above is the only Sula that we know anything of, about the coast of Westmoreland; but Mr. Hill has identified three others from the Pedro Kays, some of which appear to frequent the little Kays of the coast near Kingston. I believe they are the Sula fiber, or drab-coloured Booby, S. piscator, or White Booby, and S. parva, or Black and white Booby. Of this last Mr. Hill has a pair domesticated, of whose habits he has favoured me with the following pleasing notes.

“The sympathy shewn by gregarious birds for their wounded companions is usually never more strongly manifested than in the Boobies. In the wanton sport of shooting at them when sailing past the kays and islets they resort to, there are few who have not witnessed the extraordinary efforts made by the clamorous flock to assist a wounded bird, when fluttering in the water, and unable to regain the wing. An accident which happened to one of the two Boobies we have in our yard, gave us an opportunity of seeing traits of this feeling, and of its attendant emotions. My little nephew, in chasing with a small whip one of our birds, entangled the lash about its wing, and snapped the arm-bone. The one bird not alone shewed sympathy for the other, but exhibited curiosity about the nature and character of the accident. Our two birds are male and female. The wounded Booby withdrew into a lonely part of the yard, and stood there drooping. The female sought him as soon as she heard his cry of agony, and after ascertaining, by surveying him all round, that the injury was in the wing, proceeded to prevail on him to move the limb, that she might see whether he was really disabled beyond the power of using it for flight. After a quacking honk or two, as a call to do something required of him, the female stretched out one of her wings;—the wounded male imitated her, and, making an effort, moved out, in some sort of way, the wounded member to its full length. He was now required by a corresponding movement to raise it:—he raised the broken arm, but the wing could not be elevated. The curiosity of the female was at a standstill. After a moment’s pause, her wounded companion was persuaded to make another trial at imitation, and to give the wings some three or four good flaps. He followed the given signal, gave the required beats upon the air with so thorough a good will, to meet the wishes of his curious mate, that he twirled the broken wing quite round, and turned it inside out. The mischief was prodigiously increased. It was now necessary to put a stop to this process of investigation of the one bird into the misfortune of the other. I came in just as these exhibitions had occurred, and taking up the bird with its twisted wing, I was obliged after setting the limb, to restrain him from any further gratification of his mate’s curiosity by tying the wing into place, and keeping it so tied, till the bone united. The one now attended the other, and carefully examined, day after day, the broken limb. Calling on him to make an occasional effort to raise the disabled and immovable member, she used her ineffectual endeavours to persuade him to lift it, though tied, by lifting her own from time to time.

“Though this fellow-feeling was so strongly and so remarkably manifested with regard to the broken wing,—when feeding together, the abler female did not hesitate to take advantage of her greater agility, by snatching away from her mate his share of victuals, and grappling with him for one and the same piece of meat. Instinct seems to exhibit simple, not complex emotions. If the male bird had been utterly unable to feed himself, the female would, possibly, herself have supplied him with food:—but, able to eat, the undivided passion was the feeding appetite; and the instinctive habit of striking at the prey, and grabbing it, was not capable of restraint, or of any modification whatever.

“The Booby has an uncontrollable predilection for elevated spots as perching places. If a single stone be higher than others in the yard, the Booby’s eye perceives it, and there he takes up his station, and stands, when he has fed, and is satisfied. If a log or a bundle of wood lie about, he mounts it, and perches upon it to sun himself, extending his wings over his tail, and erecting his dorsal feathers for the admission of the genial beams of morning. He roosts upon similar vantage spots, generally on the tops of the triangular coops in which are kept our fattening poultry. He has great prehensile power with his foot; and his serrated middle-toe is frequently applied to scratch the naked skin about his eyes and face. Our birds are fonder of flesh meats, such as beef and pork, than of fish. They dislike fat, and generally reject it, if it be given separately from the lean. They never drink, and are just as regardless of the water about the yard, as if they had been as unadapted for it, as hens and turkeys.”

The following note I received from my friend, since the above was prepared for the press. “My male Booby died the other day. I found animalcules in the liver. Its anatomy exhibited, in a remarkably interesting manner, the fine adaptation for the purposes of buoyancy, detailed by Professor Owen in the dissection of the kindred Gannet. The muscles showed the air-vessels interspersed among them, in a manner altogether surprising. They had the appearance, as he expresses it, of being dissected. The bird, in the act of expiring, had almost entirely discharged the air from about the chest; but very considerable inflation still subsisted in the thighs. The large femoral muscle might be said to be almost entirely detached from the enveloping integument. The septa of the cells seemed alone to attach it to the adjacent flesh. There was no adhesion, but along one of its edges.” The cells were strongly united to the skin; and the roots of the feathers protruded into the internal cavities, as if they grew out of nothing. The cells must have performed their office with marvellous readiness, for the nerves were easily traceable among them. The air-vessels were like so many colourless bubbles.