Part 5

I am sorry to be under the necessity of making a statement which may offend the ladies, but the fact is that among birds the cocks tend to be ahead of the hens as regards evolutionary development, they are, in a sense, superior beings. The tendency is for all birds to assume brilliant plumage, and it is fitting that this should be so, for are not birds the most exquisite ornaments of the earth? In some species both sexes have travelled equally far along the evolutionary path, and in such instances the sexes are alike. In other cases one of the sexes is one or more stages ahead of the other, and it is almost invariably the cock who leads and who is, therefore, the more beautiful. It is my belief that at one time both sexes of both species of Indian robin were coloured as the hens now are. Later, a mutation arose in the cock whereby all his plumage save the back became black, and when this mutation became fixed in the species, the cock had advanced a stage in his evolutionary progress. A still more advanced stage was reached when the whole of the plumage became black. Could we peep a thousand years into the future, it is quite likely that we should find that the northern species of Indian robin had acquired a black back.

Some may think that these statements are far-fetched. I submit that they are nothing of the kind. Not infrequently it happens that hen birds develop the plumage of the male. Again, sometimes of two closely allied species one displays marked sexual differences, while the sexes of the other are difficult to distinguish. Every one is familiar with the showy drake and the dull-coloured hen of the common mallard or wild duck of Europe (_Anas boscas_), and we in India are equally familiar with an allied species the spotted bill (_A. poecilorhyncha_), in which both sexes are dull-coloured like the female mallard. The cock mallard is a stage ahead of the hen mallard and of both sexes of the spotted bill as regards evolutionary development. A thousand years hence the male spotted-bill may have developed a coat of many colours. The foregoing will not be acceptable to the old-fashioned Darwinians, but as these cannot explain satisfactorily how it is that natural selection has given cock robin in Northern India a brown back, and a black back to his southern cousin, they are not entitled to dictate to us. The Darwin-Wallace hypothesis has been of great service to Science during the past fifty years, but zoology has now outgrown it, and sooner or later all scientific men must recognise this fact. But we have made a long digression into the arid field of science, let us hie back to our Indian robins.

Perhaps their most interesting characteristic is their fondness for queer nesting sites. There is nothing particularly remarkable about the nest itself, which varies according to its situation, from a mere pad to a neat cup composed of soft materials, such as cotton, grass, and vegetable fibres. The nursery is cosily lined, frequently with feathers. The lining almost invariably contains some human or horse hair, and often fragments of snake’s skin. In April and May of one year I came upon the following robins’ nests at Lahore: No. 1, in the disused nest of a rat-bird (_Argya caudata_) placed about five feet above the ground in a thorny but dense bush; No. 2, on the outer sill of a window, which was guarded by trellis-work, the meshes of which were so fine that it was with difficulty that I could insert two fingers into the nest; No. 3, in a hole in the mud wall of a deserted hut; No. 4, among the roots of a sago palm tree; No. 5, in a very dilapidated disused rat-bird’s nest; No. 6, in a hole in a railway embankment; No. 7, in a hole barely a foot from the ground in the trunk of a tree—in the same hole was a wasps’ nest; No. 8, in one of the spaces between bricks that had been stacked in order to become dried by the sun.

The above form a varied assortment of sites; but there is nothing very remarkable in any of them. Colonel Marshall records a nest built in the hole in a wall intended for the passage of a punkah rope.

At Fategarh, some years ago, a pair of robins built inside an old watering pot that had been thrown into a bush. Another pair went “one better” by nesting in the loop of an old piece of cloth that had been thrown over the branch of a tree.

Mr. J. T. Fry records in _The Countryside Monthly_ a nest built at Jhansi in a long-haired brush used for taking down cobwebs. “The nest,” he writes, “is constructed of the fine roots of the _khus-khus_ lined with hair into which onion peel and scraps of cast-off snake’s skin have been incorporated. The brush, when out of use, was placed against the wall at the side of the bungalow, being fixed to the end of a long bamboo. It was only in use about a fortnight before the nest was discovered.”

The above were all nests of the brown-backed robin, but the black-backed species selects equally curious nesting sites. As examples of these mention may be made of holes in railway cuttings within a few feet of the line, holes in walls, the side of a haystack, a hole in a gatepost. Dr. Blanford found the nest of this species inside the bamboo of a _dhooly_ in the verandah of Captain Glasfurd’s house at Sironcha. Mr. J. Macpherson records a nest in an elephant’s skull lying out in his compound at Mysore.

Both sexes take part in nest construction. At the mating season cock robins are very bold and pugnacious, but these characteristics do not always save the nest from destruction, as the following incident will show.

In May, 1912, a pair of brown-backed robins elected to nest in the verandah of my bungalow at Fyzabad. The roof of the verandah is supported by longitudinal beams which rest on a series of cross-beams that project from the main wall of the house and lean at their far end on the verandah pillars. The upper surface of the cross-beams affords admirable nesting sites of which the doves and mynas take full advantage. The robins in question built their nest on one of these cross-beams. No sooner had the nursery been completed than trouble began. The first intimation I received of the existence of the nest was much swearing (if I may use that expression to denote the angry cries of a little bird) on the part of cock robin. The temperature on that day was well over 100° F. in the shade, consequently I did not open the doors of the house to ascertain the cause of the robin’s wrath. But the angry cries of the bird persisted, and I heard them repeatedly on the following day, so I braved the heat and went into the verandah to prospect and discovered that a myna was the object of the robin’s wrath.

During the following day the language of the robin abated neither in quantity nor quality; indeed, his noise began to get on my nerves. He used to perch when giving vent to his feelings, just above the heads of the _chaprassis_ who sat in the verandah awaiting orders. These men are not usually very observant, but even they noticed and grew annoyed at the robin’s noise, and on several occasions I heard them flicking at the robin with a duster. During the early part of the fourth day there was comparative quiet in the verandah, and I thought that the robins and mynas had settled their differences. I was mistaken. The quiet proved to be the lull before the storm. This burst about 4 p.m. The uproar brought me to the window; from there I saw that the robin was hissing with rage at a myna who was peeping into the robin’s nest. Then the cock robin flew at the myna and pecked at him. The myna, although three times the size of the robin, fled and flew from the verandah, followed by the swearing robin. A couple of minutes later cock robin returned alone. He then perched on the floor of the verandah, drew himself up to his full height, like the heroine in a penny novelette (who, by the way, appears always to slouch except when she is very angry), and stood there hissing with rage. This continued until a _chaprassi_, who was squatting in the verandah, drove the angry bird away. The next morning I found lying on the floor of the verandah the wreck of the robins’ nest, and noticed that a myna was constructing a nest on the site recently occupied by that of the robin.

XII THE SHIKRA

Falconers divide hawks into the long-winged and the short-winged varieties. The former stand in much the same relation to the latter as the cross-country runner does to the sprinter. The long-winged hawks have dark eyes, while in the short-winged ones the eyes are yellow or orange; hence the two classes are sometimes distinguished as dark-eyed and light-eyed hawks. The various falcons, the peregrine, the laggar, the saker, etc., come in the long-winged category. When they catch sight of their quarry, they give chase and follow it, if necessary for a long distance, till they either lose it or are able to get above it in order to strike. The short-winged hawk is content with making one pounce or dash at its quarry; if it secures it, well and good, if it fails, it does not give chase. The sparrow-hawk and the shikra are familiar examples of the short-winged hawks.

The long-winged falcons are naturally held in greatest favour by the hawker; but short-winged birds of prey are also trained. Long-winged hawks hunt in the open. Being long-distance fliers, they rely chiefly upon their power of endurance, and so naturally like plenty of room in which to operate. Short-winged hawks, on the other hand, usually hunt in wooded localities, where they are better able to surprise their victims than in the open.

After the kite, the shikra (_Astur badius_) is the commonest bird of prey in India. It is in habits and appearance very like the common sparrow-hawk (_Accipiter nisus_). So great is the resemblance between the two species that “Eha,” in his _Common Birds of Bombay_, gives an excellent description of the shikra under the title of the Indian sparrow-hawk.

Although the two little hawks are so similar in appearance, ornithologists place them in different genera on account of the considerably longer legs of the sparrow-hawk proper and its heavily spotted and blotched eggs, the eggs of the shikra being white and almost entirely free from spots.

The shikra is a slightly-built bird about the same length as a pigeon; its tail is half a foot long. The upper plumage is greyish. The wings and tail are heavily barred with black. The breast is white, with large brown spots in young birds; in old birds the brown spots are replaced by a number of thin wavy, rust-coloured cross-bars. The female, as is invariably the case in birds of prey, is considerably larger than the male, she being fourteen inches in length as against his twelve and a half. But it is quite useless to attempt to recognise a shikra, or indeed any other bird of prey, from a description of its plumage. As “Eha” says: “To try to make out hawks by their colour is at the best a short road to despair. Naturalists learn to recognise them as David’s watchman recognised the courier who brought tidings of the victory over Absalom: ‘His running is like the running of Ahimaaz the son of Zadok.’ Every bird of prey has its own character, some trick of flight, some peculiarity of attitude when at rest, something in its figure and proportions which serves to distinguish it decisively. The sparrow-hawk (shikra) flies with a few rapid strokes of the wings and then a gliding motion, and this, together with its short, rounded wings and long tail, distinguishes it from any other common bird of prey. I learn of its presence oftener by the ear than the eye. Its sharp, impatient double cry arrests attention among all other bird-voices.”

The shikra has comparatively feeble claws, and so is unable to tackle any large quarry. Birds of prey strike with the claw, not with the beak, as some artists would have us believe; hence the size of the claws of any particular bird of prey affords a safe index of the magnitude of its quarry. The more formidable the claw, the larger the prey. No matter how large a raptorial bird be, if its claws are small and feeble, it feeds either upon carrion or tiny creatures.

The shikra is said to live chiefly upon lizards; but it makes no bones about taking a sparrow or other small bird, a mouse, or even a rat. In default of larger game it does not despise grasshoppers, and, when the termites swarm, it will make merry among these along with the crows and kites. I once saw a shikra pounce upon a little striped squirrel. Some crows were witnesses of the feat, and at once proceeded to attack the shikra so vehemently that it let go of the squirrel, which made good its escape. The crows, let me add, were not actuated by philanthropic motives. Their object was, not to liberate the squirrel but to make a meal of it. They were quite as disappointed as the shikra when the little rodent regained its liberty.

Natives of India frequently hawk with the shikra, setting it on to partridges, quails, and mynas. It is very easily and quickly trained. Within a week or ten days of capture its education is complete. However, hawking with a shikra is, in my opinion, very poor sport, for the shikra makes but one dash at its quarry, and at once desists if it fails to secure it. The hawker holds it in his hand and throws it like a javelin in the direction of its quarry. While waiting for its victim it is carried on the hand in the same way as a merlin is, but is never hooded. It is only the dark-eyed hawks that have to be hooded; they seem to be much more excitable than the light-eyed ones. A trained shikra is very tame and does not show any objection to being handled.

The shikra nests from April to June, building, high up in a lofty tree, a nest which can scarcely be described as a triumph of avine architecture. Hume says: “These little hawks take, I should say, a full month in preparing their nest, only putting on two or three twigs a day, which they place and replace, as if they were very particular and had a great eye for a handsome nest; whereas, after all their fuss and bother, the nest is a loose, ragged-looking affair, that no respectable crow would condescend to lay in.” Three bluish-white eggs are deposited in the nest. Shikra nestlings show fight when interfered with and peck savagely at the intruder.

XIII A FINCH OF ROSEATE HUE

The _Fringillidæ_, or finches, constitute the most successful family of birds in the world. The crow tribe runs the finches close, but the _Corvi_ are handicapped by their large size. Were the sparrow as big as the crow, man would never have allowed him to become the pest that he is. The impudent pigmy is tolerated because he is so small and insignificant.

Finches are birds of coarse build, and are characterised by a vulgar-looking beak, so that they need either fine feathers or a sweet voice to render them acceptable to man. Those finches which, like the common sparrow, lack either of these attributes are accounted mean birds of low estate. But, on the whole, Dame Nature has been kind to the finches in that she has arrayed the cocks of many species in bright colours. The showy goldfinch is a familiar instance of this, as is the canary, but the yellow colour of the latter has been induced largely by artificial selection. The wild canary is not a very beautiful bird.

Among the finches all shades of red and yellow are to be found. Brown and green are worn by some species. Blue seems to be the only colour not vouchsafed to the _Fringillidæ_.

Several of the finches have the gift of song. This being so, it is regrettable that the particular species of finch which, like the poor, is always with us should have such an execrable voice. If sparrows sang like canaries what a pleasing adjunct to London they would be!

The gross, massive beak of the finch, though not good to look upon, is of great value as a seed-husking machine. No one can have watched a canary for five minutes without observing the address with which each little seed is picked up, cracked, and the husk rejected by the joint

## action of tongue and mandibles.

Sixty-four species of finch occur within the limits of the Indian Empire. Of these fifteen species are known as rose-finches. Rose-finches are birds of about the size of a sparrow. The plumage of the cocks is more or less suffused with crimson, while that of the hens is dark greyish olive sometimes washed with yellow. Rose-finches are essentially birds of a cold climate; they are found in Northern Europe, Asia, and America. All the Indian species, save one, are confined to the Himalayas and the country north of those mountains. The one exception is the species known as the common rose-finch (_Carpodacus erythrinus_). This spreads itself during the winter all over the plains of India as far south as the Nilgiris. I do not remember having seen it in or about Madras, but it may sometimes visit that city. In April this rose-finch goes north to breed, a few individuals remaining in the Himalayas, where they nidificate at altitudes of 10,000 feet and upwards.

The nest is a neat cup-shaped structure made of grass with a lining of fine material. It is usually built within a yard of the ground, in a bush, or even among long grass. The eggs are blue with chocolate or purple markings, which may be sparse or numerous, and may take the form of blotches, freckles, or pencillings.

The cock rose-finch, or _Tuti_, as he is always called by the natives of India, is a handsome bird. The head and neck are dull crimson, the lower parts are rosy pink and the wings are brown. The rose-finches seen in the early part of the winter are considerably less brightly coloured than those observed after Christmas. This phenomenon is due to two causes. The one is that the bird moults in September or October and dons a new suit of clothes. These are of such excellent material that they improve by wearing! As is so often the case, the margins of the new feathers are duller than the inner portion. A bird’s feathers overlap like the tiles on a roof, and they overlap to such an extent that only the margin of each feather shows. As the dull edges wear away, the brighter parts begin to show, hence the gradual transition from dullness to brightness. Further, the actual colouring of the feathers becomes intensified as the spring season approaches. But in the plains of India the cock is never seen in the full glory of his crimson tunic, because he departs to high altitudes at the breeding season.

The hen rose-finch is an olive-brown bird with a tinge of yellow and some brown streaks in her plumage. The wing is set off by a couple of whitish wing-bars. There are also bars in the wing of the cock, but these are not well defined.

Seeing how beautiful the cock rose-finch is naturally, and how successful have been the efforts to improve the canary, it may seem strange that fanciers have not turned their attention to the rose-finch, and produced, by artificial selection, a rose-finch arrayed from head to tail in crimson lake.

The fact is all the crimson colour disappears from the plumage of a rose-finch kept in captivity. Until some means of preventing this is discovered it is hopeless to attempt to breed a crimson finch.

Rose-finches live in flocks, which consist usually of from sixteen to thirty members. These flocks appear to be made up of cocks and hens in equal numbers. The birds feed on the ground, from which they pick small seeds that have fallen. “In the extreme south,” writes Jerdon of the rose-finch, “I have chiefly seen it in bamboo jungle, feeding on the seeds of bamboos on several occasions, and so much is this its habit that the Telugu name signifies ‘Bamboo sparrow.’” In other parts of the country it frequents alike groves, gardens, and jungles, feeding on various seeds and grain; also not infrequently on flower buds and young leaves. Adams states that in Kashmir it feeds much on the seeds of a cultivated vetch.

During the greater part of the year the rose-finch is a silent bird. At the breeding season, and a little before it, the cock joins in the bird chorus. Its vocal efforts are well described by Blyth as “a feeble twittering song, but soft and pleasing, being intermediate to that of the goldfinch, and that of the small redpole linnet, the call note much resembling that of a canary bird.”

Rose-finches are said to be very pugnacious, and in this respect they resemble their vulgar relations the sparrows, but they differ from the latter in lacking their fearlessness of man or beast. At the least alarm a flock of rose-finches feeding on the ground scurries into the nearest tree with a loud fluttering of wings. The harsh cry of the king-crow or the shadow of a passing kite is quite sufficient to cause the instant disappearance of the little flock into the foliage.

On an average, a feeding flock thus takes alarm at least twenty times in the course of an hour. Sometimes the birds take fright for no apparent reason whatever. Their behaviour in this respect is exactly like that of chaffinches, greenfinches, etc., in England, which Edmund Selous describes so accurately in that perfect nature book _Bird Watching_. Selous “came to the conclusion that the cause of flight was almost always a nervous apprehension, such as actuates schoolboys when they are doing something of a forbidden nature and half expect to see the master appear at any moment round the corner. Though there might be no discernible ground for apprehension, yet after some three or four minutes it seemed to strike the assembly that it _could_ not be quite safe to remain any longer, and, presto! they were gone.”

It is my belief that what may be called the undue nervousness of little birds has been caused by the attacks of birds of prey. It must as a rule be the bolder spirits—those that refuse to take refuge in the foliage at every alarm—that fall victims to the sparrow-hawk. The more nervous ones escape and transmit their innate nervousness to their offspring. There has thus arisen a race of little birds as nervous as horses.