CHAPTER X.

JUNGLE LIFE AT AREMU.

SOME PAGES FROM MY DIARY (_continued_).

(_By C. William Beebe._)

For our supply of meat we depended altogether upon the efforts of an Indian hunter who made daily excursions from the clearing after game, and who never failed to come back heavily laden with some one of eight or ten varieties of edible birds or mammals. He was an Arrawak, going by the name of Francis, his real Indian name being of course never revealed. Like most of the Indians we met, he was quiet, serious and taciturn, but I had the good fortune early to win his approbation and to satisfy him that, while my hunting clothes were no match for his copper-colored skin in stalking animals, yet I could manage to get through the woods without any great noise or bustle. The only personal information I could obtain from him was that he was born on the upper Mazaruni, had a brother and two sisters and was “’bout four hand” (twenty) years old. He got fifty cents a day and his food for hunting and slept in a tiny hammock swung beneath the bungalow floor. The Indian hunter at Hoorie was paid sixty-eight cents a day without rations.

Francis and I had some interesting tramps together and one of my most enjoyable memories of these great tropical jungles is of this little red-man, short, well-built, muscular and absolutely tireless. I found him to be a great help in searching for certain rare birds and animals, and I learned a good deal of jungle craft from him. As one example among many things, I noticed that he never stepped on a log or fallen tree, and it was not until I had crashed through and hurt my ankle on one which had been undermined by ants that I realized how excellent a rule this was. A log of apparently the hardest wood might be but a shell thin as paper. The facility with which Francis found his way about in rain as well as sunshine was a puzzle, until by careful watching I found he was constantly making new trails by breaking, in the direction of the trail, tiny twigs, the leaves of which were of a slightly different color beneath. Such a mark every fifteen or twenty feet was almost a hopeless clue for me at first, although ultimately I learned to discover them more readily. As the breaking made no noise and was accomplished by the least motion of the hand, it was long before I detected it. When I went out alone I chose to leave a “blaze” every _ten_ feet!

MARCH 30th.—At daybreak we started out on our first tramp, I with camera, bag, gun and glasses. Half a mile from the clearing I cached the camera and bag, the pace being such that I could not keep up while carrying them. I have hunted in Canada and elsewhere with first-rate guides and backwoodsmen, but this was a very different matter. From the moment we entered the jungle the whole demeanor of Francis was changed. He walked like a cat and _never for a moment_ relaxed his vigilance, and therein he differed from a white man, who would unconsciously relax when he thought game was still some distance away. His figure slipped silently on ahead of me, flowing under trunks, passing around the densest clumps of underbrush, while I followed and imitated as best I could, learning every minute more than I had ever known of the art of effacing oneself in the wilderness. Every step was made carefully and the entire field of view ahead swept, and every significant sound noted. A branch would fall with a series of resounding crashes and the Indian would apparently not hear it, while a cracking twig or a low rustle which I could scarcely detect would lead him off in an entirely new direction, not necessarily toward the sound, but often to flank it or get to leeward of it. During the first two or three hours we would give our whole attention to hunting, but when the day’s supply was provided, we then stalked the birds and wild creatures and watched them, as closely as we could.

Our first tramp was in a general south or southeast direction, passing over a succession of hills, five in all, three of which were high and quite steep, but all of about the same diameter with regular slopes and flat, narrow valleys. These were mostly swampy, or if dry had a stream flowing slowly along the middle. Agoutis were abundant in such places and we could always depend on obtaining them when desired.

As we left the bungalow I had laughingly asked Mrs. Wilshire what meat she desired for dinner and she said “Venison.” So when I told Francis, in the broken English which we must use in talking to these Indians, that we must get deer, he nodded and disdained the agoutis. If I had said, “Francis, we must be sure to get deer to-day in preference to other game,” he would have understood not a word. But “Shoot-um deer, eh? no accourie, no labba, no maipurie,” outlined the day’s work perfectly in his mind. I was rather reluctant to use this _um! ugh!_ language at first; it savored too much of theatrical Indian dialect or of “penny dreadful” wild-west jargon, but it soon became perfectly natural and was really necessary.

After a half-hour’s walk Francis motioned me to take the greatest care, and pressed my shoulder lower until I was almost on my knees while we slowly crept around a great mora trunk. He pointed steadily ahead, but after a three-minute scrutiny I could discern not a sign of life. Then he raised his gun and fired, and set loose a half dozen feathered bombs, or so it sounded as a flock of nearly full-grown Guiana Crested Tinamou[2] arose with a roar. I secured one with a quick snap shot and we tied up the brace of birds with a slender tough bush-thread. Fastening head, feet and wings together, the Indian tied them ingeniously around his waist, the birds hanging down behind out of the way.

At the sound of the guns three tiny male Purple-throated Euphonias[138] clad in purple jackets, yellow caps and waistcoats, came down to see what the noise was about. They were ridiculously tame and sang their simple chattering song in our very faces.

In the fourth valley we found a perfect maze of agouti tracks mingled with the fresh imprint of a tapir’s feet. Francis showed me the spot where he had shot one of these “bush-cows” the week before. A few yards beyond we found a deer’s track and in some way the Indian seemed to know that the animal was close at hand. We crawled silently for twenty or thirty yards through a shallow creek, then separated and crept along the slope, one on each side. A sudden rustling of vines came from a bend in the stream and we both caught sight of the bright rufous flanks of a deer. We secured it and then for some reason Francis remained perfectly quiet for five minutes while a delightful bit of wilderness life appeared close to me.

The smoke from my gun was still clinging to the great fern fronds overhead, when a second deer, a doe, walked fearlessly past along the opposite slope, stopping to nibble at a leaf now and then, and at last vanished in the underbrush. I was about to climb down to the deer we had shot when I heard a splash and a weak little bleat, and, looking at a pool ahead, there I spied the tiniest of fawns standing in the shallows, looking full at me, and now then splashing the water.

I whistled and the little thing started toward me fearlessly, standing knee-deep in the water, its tiny rufous form decorated with three lines of spots, every one of which was perfectly reflected in the water. Suddenly with a snort and a stamp the mother took one leap over a bush, her eyes staring in terror at me, then turned and vanished. In some way she had infused the spirit of fear into her offspring, for with a bleat which was almost a shriek the little fellow galloped madly, awkwardly after her, tripping every few steps as he turned his head to see if this awful thing was pursuing. I never saw such an instantaneous change from confidence to fear in any creature. The most remarkable thing was that the mother and fawn had not taken fright at the roar of the guns in their very ears. The very loudness and proximity must have had a numbing effect on the organs of hearing. I found that Francis had seen the second deer after shooting at the first, and had lain flat while she walked so near him, that, as he showed me by her tracks, he could have reached out his hand and touched her as she passed.

We know but little of the deer of this region, and I took some notes on this first Savanna Deer (_Odocoileus savannarum_) which we obtained for the mess. It was a male without horns, and of a uniform rich rufous above with grayish-brown head, and the legs up to the hock mouse-color. The tip and under side of the tail and inner thighs were white, while the rufous color was continuous around the breast and belly. The deer stood 24½ inches high at the shoulder and weighed 70 pounds. It had been feeding on leaves and on a great number of seeds of the Kakaralli tree, much like the mora. The seeds look like nutmeg in the mace, and two grow in each husk.

The skill and rapidity with which Francis prepared the animal for carrying was remarkable. He removed eight-foot strips of bark from a small tree which he called Mahoo and stripped off the tough pliable inner layer. With this he bound the legs and head together, then tied a broad band of bark about the body leaving it loose at the top. I hoisted up the deer and he put his arms and shoulders through the tied legs as if it had been a pack bag and slipped the loose band of bark across his forehead, like the tump-lines of the Canadian Indians.

A gentle cool breeze was blowing down the narrow valley and the blood from cleaning the animal had not been exposed five minutes when a line of burying beetles and yellow wasps began coming up-wind to the feast. Such a summons calls them far and wide from their vantage points on leaves and branches, where we see them so frequently in walking through the jungle. Before fifteen minutes had passed, an Orange-headed Vulture[52] appeared soaring over the little opening in ever lessening circles. He too had responded, but as much by sight as by scent, to the welcome meal.

On the way home we frightened a group of large weasel-like creatures which we found to be Tayras (_Galictis barbara_) or, as the natives call them, Hackas. Seven ran rapidly away snarling and I secured one. They had been feeding on big grubs which they had nosed out among the dead leaves, a rather remarkable occupation for creatures of the fierce Mustelidæ family. The fur was dark-brown with a white spot on the breast, while the tail was long and bushy.

Before we reached the clearing a Quadrille Bird[125] sang to us from the heart of a tangled swamp, a new theme differing from any I had heard:

[Music]

During the four mile walk to the clearing there was hardly a minute when we were out of sight or sound of birds. Big Blue Tinamou[1] and Jacupeba Guans[5] boomed up before us; Woodpeckers and Manakins of several species called and flew here and there, while we passed flock after flock of Antbirds, Woodhewers, Flycatchers and Tanagers. One bird which I secured, the Wallace Olive Manakin,[112] was altogether of a dull olive, with none of the brilliant color patches of its congeners. When I went to pick up the specimen I saw a curious jointed band lying across it and found a six-inch centipede on the bird. The Manakin must have fallen across the path of the Myriapod as it was crawling over the jungle floor. While wrapping up this bird, a flock of tiny Brown-fronted Jungle Vireos[128a] flew close to us, uttering a song like a diminutive alarm clock, _Whirrrrrrrrrrr-chee! Whirrrrrrrrrrrrrr-chee!_ Francis shot one, which was hardly more than four inches in length, olive-green above, paler below. Those who think that all tropical birds are brightly colored should see the great number of species of sober little fellows like these.

MARCH 31st.—Francis and I started out in a light rain at daybreak in search of Trumpeters and howling monkeys. The cook was well supplied with meat so we did not intend to bother with game. With the help of Goeldi’s plates of Brazilian birds and much crude attempt at sketching I had taught Francis what creatures I wished especially to see.

About three hundred yards from the clearing Francis pointed out a beautiful nest of a White-throated Robin[127] made of green, growing moss, and placed close to the trunk of a tree, about six feet from the ground. We marked the spot and went on, but a day or two later I returned and examined it more carefully. This Thrush is olive brown above, pale below with a streaked chin and throat like our northern Robin. Its most characteristic mark, however, is a patch of pure white on the upper breast, which flashes out like a star among the shadows of the jungle. The parent was shy and would slip off at my approach, but return as silently if I walked away for a minute. When I prepared to photograph the nest she thought something was seriously wrong and voiced her alarm with a sharp _cut! cut!_ When I focussed close to her home, her anger got the better of her and she scolded me roundly with harsh notes, repeated in phrases of seven, _chack-chack-chack-chack-chack-chack-chack!_

[Illustration: FIG. 132. NEST AND EGGS OF WHITE-THROATED ROBIN.]

The nest touched the trunk of the tree, but rested on a loop of a two-inch bush rope or liana, which swung against the bark, binding one tree to another. Just below was a fungoid excrescence larger than the nest itself. The nest was a double one, the new one being built directly on the older. The latter was composed of dry dead moss, while the new one was fresh and green. There were two eggs, pale blue-green, thickly spotted with brown of various shades, much more densely at the larger end.

We found this Robin was a common breeder hereabouts and discovered four other nests, all within a half mile of the clearing, yet all in deep jungle. The parents differed radically in their actions; two allowing us to inspect their treasures without fear, while two others became terrified if we approached within twenty feet of their nest.

To return to our Trumpeter and howling monkey hunt; it rained much of the morning, but for the most part only a drizzle. Francis said that wet weather made bad hunting except for deer and bush-cow or tapir, chiefly because the continual noise made by the falling rain-drops made it difficult to hear the rustlings of birds and animals.

I thoroughly enjoyed this new aspect of the jungle world. As usual small birds were fairly abundant, of which apparently 99 per cent. were Antbirds or Woodhewers. The most common Antbird in the valleys was the Scaly-backed, slate-colored except for the feathers of the back, wings and tail which were black tipped with white. At one place two dozen of these little birds must have been in sight, uttering sharp, snapping calls, and clinging, like Marsh Wrens, to upright stems in the low underbrush.

Every now and then we came across a good-sized hole with fresh earth thrown out at the entrance. Francis said that this was made by a “Yāsee” and he recognized an armadillo when I drew it.

Suddenly the rain came down in sheets, and streamed through the dense foliage. Francis gave me his gun, ran to a tooroo palm, a species which has no stem but sends its leaves, fern-like, from a base level with the earth. He cut off five stalks with as many blows of his knife, brought them to me and stuck them upright in the fork of a low branch. We stood under them for half an hour and never a drop came through, although three inches out in any direction the rain was falling in torrents. It was a wonderful example of a waterproof shelter put up in about thirty seconds. Can we blame these Indians for a general lack of industry, when game is as easy to obtain as we found it, and when one may build a house in a half a minute with a few knife strokes!

During the entire downpour we saw only a Long-tailed Hummingbird[75] which unconcernedly searched the undersides of leaves for insects. Francis said its nest was hung on the side of the tip of a tooroo frond. A fluted tree of large size near us he called ballicusan, saying it was used for making paddles like ruruli. A section would look something like this:

[Illustration: FIG. 133. SECTION OF PADDLE-WOOD TREE.]

The folds when cut off are so thin that a very little additional shaping forms them into blades.

As we were walking along after the shower, several twigs fell on us, which would have been unnoticed by me, as leaves and even branches are continually dropping in these forests. But Francis looked up at once and whispering “Baboon” pointed to where a great male red howler (_Mycetes seniculus_) was walking slowly along a branch overhead. A carefully aimed shot brought it to earth, stone dead. It was a magnificent specimen weighing just twenty pounds and the hyoid bone protruded like an exaggerated Adam’s apple.[I]

These howling monkeys are of course not really baboons, as these latter monkeys live only in the Old World and have short tails; while the howlers are members of the American family Cebidæ.

They are of a low type of intelligence and will not live long in captivity, being morose and sullen, very unlike other smaller South American primates. The hyoid bones in the throat are enlarged to form a great thin-walled bony drum, which is the chief instrument in the production of their wonderful voice.

There were two females and a smaller male in this party, but I got no clear sight of the others after I shot the old one. As in the case of the deer, tiny burying beetles began coming within two minutes after the blood of the baboon had been splashed on the leaves. We had walked for ten or fifteen minutes after shooting the monkey when we heard an infantile roar from the remaining male. This the old one would never have allowed, so we had an interesting example of the almost immediate usurping of the leadership by a young animal, at the death of presumably its parent.

Francis had remarkable eyesight, and when he once realized that I was interested in small birds and other objects he would silently point out everything in our path. In this way I found a remarkable frog which was so protected by its color and markings that I should never have discovered it by myself. I have mentioned it before as being of good size, earthern brown in color, with a tall, thin leaf-like ridge on the head over each eye and a row of light-grey tubercles like fringe down each side of the body. From the tip of the nose to the tail extended a narrow, pale bluish line and externally there seemed to be almost no differentiation between head and body.

I heard Red-billed Toucans[81] calling in a high tree and stalking them, succeeded in shooting two, both males, one younger than the other. The coloring of their beaks was wonderfully brilliant and variegated. Their notes were of the Robin-song type, _Phéo-pha!_ although the resemblance to a puppy’s voice was also strong. They had been feeding on seeds with a pinkish pulp which Francis called suluwafaddy.

There were three Toucans in this group and when the first old bird was shot the others returned and called continuously and loudly. The third also came back to the same tree and I found that this was the adult female.

In this case as always, I did not take the life of a living creature without some good reason: for sport, never—but either as food, or as in this instance as the only way to solve a problem of scientific interest. I had noticed trios of Toucans in many places and wondered whether the third bird was an extra female or young. On the following day I observed no fewer than five separate trios of Toucans of two species, and now that I knew the dull-colored upper tail-coverts were a clue to the young bird of the year, my high power stereo glasses showed me a single young in each instance. We know practically nothing of the nesting habits of this group except from vague accounts. So it is certain that in this region the rule is that only one young bird is reared to maturity.

The loud hollow whirring of the wings of these birds often drew our eyes up to the tree-tops and we had many opportunities of watching them feed. The commonest way was for them to creep out as far as they dared to the branch tips and then crane their necks and bills to reach the fruit. But often they adopted a more spectacular method. A trio would beat heavily into a berry-laden tree and perch quietly a few moments, looking carefully in all directions for danger, overhead for hawks and eagles, beneath and around for monkeys, opossums and snakes. Then one would launch out, make a flying leap at a pendent cluster of fruit, clutch it frantically with its feet, and dangle and sway for ten seconds at a time—reaching out the while and filling its bill with the berries. Then when the bird dropped exhausted to a branch below, it would swallow what it had gathered.

After shooting the Toucans I leaned my gun against a patch of black moss on a tree trunk. To my astonishment the moss whirled outward and back, and then I saw it was a host of caterpillars crowded as densely as they could be in a patch three feet high and forming a semicircle about the six-inch trunk. They were covered with black, branched, stinging hairs, with two longer tufted ones on the segments near the head. As Francis said, “Um wurrum’s hairs bite hard!”

I began experimenting with their reaction motions. I found that any _sst_ sound or hiss, the snapping of fingers, whistling, hand clapping, or pounding on the metal or wood of my gun, caused absolutely no response on the part of the caterpillars. No matter how close to the creatures or how loud or sudden was the sound, unless they were touched they did not move. On the contrary, any utterance of such sounds as _bis!_ _bow!_ _bing!_ _buzz!_ even when so low as hardly to rise above a whisper, caused every caterpillar of the many hundreds to react as one. The head with the long tufted appendage was jerked quickly backward, then down, and on the edges of the mass from side to side. Those in the centre, because of their position, had only the up and down flick. The effect as a whole was indescribable. An inconspicuous growth of moss was transformed like a flash into a seething, rearing mass of waving caterpillars. A suggestion, altogether theoretical, is that the reaction to the buzzy sounds may hint that the chief danger feared by these caterpillars is the fatal buzz of the wings of the ichneumon fly.

This evening we added baboon and bill-bird to our venison, and were surprised to find the former tender and by no means devoid of taste. The Toucans were tough, but more than one of us came back for a second helping of “howler”—in spite of the cannibalistic chaff with which we were regaled!

[Illustration: FIG. 134. PHONETIC CATERPILLARS.]

The rain had increased in amount successively during the last three days and to-night a new sound was added to our nocturnal chorus—the Bubbling or Gurgling Frogs, which, by the score, vented their joyful emotions in energetic gulps from the jungle at the edge of the clearing.

APRIL 1st.—Having missed finding Trumpeters yesterday, Francis promised them for to-day and we took a long tramp full of incident as usual. We circled to the north, swinging around beyond the first two valleys and then turning and describing a second curve intersecting the first. Two of the Jungle Wrens or Quadrille Birds[125] sang their incomparable strains, each with a theme of its own. The first had two phrases which it uttered alternately, thus;

[Music]

There is absolutely no other bird song with which to compare it. The timbre, when heard at a distance, is that of the Wood Thrush quality—sweet, liquid and altogether ethereal. But the distinctness of the notes and their remarkably intricate trios and gradations are wholly unique. Three or four large species of Antbirds ran rapidly here and there, holding their short tails erect and jerking them frequently, thus presenting a decidedly ralline appearance.

We saw several Little Tinamous[3] in the course of the day, one of which I shot. When the cook cleaned it in the evening, he found an egg about to be laid. Several days later a short distance from the clearing, a bird of this species was flushed from a slight hollow between the buttresses of a mora. The following day when the bird flew from the same spot it was found that an egg had been deposited. It was of a burnished purple color and was 35 × 45 mm. in size. Although we knew that the egg had been laid less than twenty-four hours before, yet it contained an embryo corresponding to a four day chick. This fact, in the case of these generalized birds, may have some significance when we remember the advanced state of embryonic development characterizing the newly laid eggs of many reptiles.

After an hour or more of the most careful stalking in a low swampy valley, we heard the unmistakable thunderings of Trumpeters[25] or Warracabras, and my blood leaped in response. Long before I could hear them, Francis had distinguished the low booming note amid all the other jungle sounds. I had studied specimens for months in the north and had searched in vain for any definite account of their habits. And now, although the briefness of my stay would permit of almost no chance for real investigation, yet here at any rate were the birds themselves in their native haunts. At last we flushed two which flew down from their perch with a sudden whirr of wings and ran swiftly out of sight. As they flew they uttered the familiar _Chack! chack!_

These interesting birds have no near relations, but form a Sub-order by themselves. They run very swiftly but seldom use their wings, and although they swim quite well, rivers of any size are never crossed. Large flocks are sometimes met with, but the birds travel more often in small parties. They feed on the ground and roost in the tall trees. The voice has many variations but the sound from which the name is derived is very loud and sonorous, and can be heard at a great distance. Trumpeters are very common pets among the Indians, to whom they become greatly attached, and although given full liberty in the midst of the dense bush they never attempt to return to their former homes. When standing upright, the Trumpeter reaches a height of from 18 to 20 inches. The head and neck are black and covered with soft velvety feathers, about a quarter of an inch in length, and slightly recurved. On the upper part of the breast and the lower part of the neck a purplish iridescence appears on the feathers while the rest of the plumage is entirely black, with the exception of a brownish band across the back, and the grayish plume-like secondaries. The tail is very soft and does not exceed four inches in length and is indeed hidden by the wing feathers.

I made careful inquiry concerning the nesting of the Common Trumpeter. So-called biographers have credited it with nesting on the ground or in a hole high up a tree; of laying from two to ten or more eggs, which in the words of the describers are white, dirty-white, or green!

I questioned Francis at various times and could never get him to vary his answers. He said that the Trumpeter nested in the hollow of a tree and laid three, four or five white eggs.

On another occasion I questioned the Indian who hunted for Mr. Nicholson at Matope and he said the Warracabra builds a nest of leaves well up in a tree and lays five white eggs.

While waiting for the Trumpeters we heard the strange Bare-headed Cotinga[117] or Calf-bird. The note has been compared to the lowing of a cow, but to me it seemed much more musical resembling the humming of a goblet when one’s moistened finger is rubbed around the rim. The bird is yellowish brown with a bare head and keeps to the tops of the trees. It is not shy however and can easily be approached and watched with the glass.

The most interesting discovery I made to-day was the elaborate courtship and challenge performance of the Crested Curassow.[4] In a low bit of valley with thick underbrush we put up a deer which dashed off before we could catch more than a glimpse of it. It was followed by two agoutis, one of which we gathered in for dinner. The note of alarm of these rodents is a loud nasal _Wăăăăh!_ Then Francis clutched my arm and by listening intently I could just hear a faint low mumbling. It might have been a bumble bee a few feet away, but the Indian pointed to the east and said “Powies—Warracabras! Me go shootum labba.” Which very plainly meant that there were Curassows and Trumpeters near me and that he would leave me to stalk and study them, while he went to secure a toothsome paca for dinner.

I cached my gun, in fact everything but my glasses, and began creeping as silently as possible down the course of the little valley. Francis, quietly amused, smiled as I tied my handkerchief tenderfoot fashion to my gun; expressing quite as much as a multitude of chaffing remarks could have done.

[Illustration: FIRST PHASE OF CURASSOW STRUTTING, A SLOW WALK WITH RAISED TAIL.

FIG. 135. Rear view.

FIG. 136. Side view.]

Foot by foot I pushed through or crawled under fallen trees and tangled vines and tree-ferns, close to the hot steaming forest mould, with the low distant booming becoming ever more distinct. The ventriloquial quality completely deceived me, and long after I thought to see the performer I went on and on for many yards. At last I turned to the south to gain the shelter of a great fallen tree which had begun to merge its rotten wood with the débris of the jungle floor. I shall never forget pushing aside a mass of beautiful green orchids and slipping into a great hollow made by a second tree which had fallen athwart the first. Just beyond were three Crested Curassows,[4] a male and two females, the latter busy scratching among the dead leaves, while the male was devoting himself to a most remarkable performance.[J]

The splendid bird walks slowly up and down the clear space which he has chosen. The entire body is tilted far forward, the breast low and the wings pointing down in front, the wrist portion, or shoulder as it is often wrongly called, dropping almost to the ground. The wing tips lie flat upon the back, and the tail is raised, while the head is held high, almost touching the back and tips of the wings. The tail, carrying out the line of the back, points straight upward, and the white belly, flanks and especially the under tail-coverts are fluffed out to their greatest extent, forming a most conspicuous white mark against the black of the remaining plumage. (Fig. 135.)

[Illustration: SECOND PHASE OF CURASSOW STRUTTING.

FIG. 137. Standing with Pebble in Beak, striking the Head against the Back.]

Now from a tree near by comes a low penetrating moan or muffled boom. The bird in front of me at once changes his whole demeanor. He continues his walking but it assumes more of a mincing character, uttering all the while several notes, like low but shrill squeaks or gurgles, mingled with snorts and snores, all rather subdued. These seem rather hit or miss, there being no regular sequence or similarity of the utterances. Several times these sounds are interrupted by the bird stopping, appearing to pick up something, and then to dash its head violently against its back, producing a low champing sound which seems to excite the females, who otherwise are wholly indifferent. Try as I may I can make nothing of this action, and later it is an indiscreet, impatient movement of mine at such a juncture that ultimately frightens the birds and ends my observations. I was delighted therefore when observing the Curassow in the north to see the bird repeatedly pick up pebbles or a feather or twig and champ them in its bill just as the wild bird did. The clicking sound resulted only when a hard object was picked up, but the dull thuds were made by the skull of the bird striking violently against its dorsal vertebræ, the object it had picked up being held meanwhile in its bill. (Fig. 137.)

The wild Curassow soon drops whatever it has picked up and claps its wings together seven or eight times over its back, making a loud slapping sound. It then turns its back on its rival in the tree, plucks nervously at the wings, right and left, for a full minute or longer, and then reaches convulsively forward several times, with its head and neck, the bill being wide open, gulping in a great quantity of air. Its abdominal air-sacs swell, its wings are lowered and rounded out until the bird appears half as large again as usual. Thus it stands, half squatting with lowered head and tail, and within a period of five to ten seconds utters usually four notes of the deepest and most penetrating character. Now that I am within a few yards, they sound no louder than when several hundred yards away. The exertion put forth shows this vocal effort to be a strenuous one, and at the second performance the tones are rather low and confused. But the normal utterance, this climax of the whole challenge, is as follows:

[Music]

This may be imitated by anyone with a deep bass voice by humming the syllables _Um, um, um-um-um_, to the notes as I have written them.

During this period the actor, as observed in the captive specimen, seems almost in a trance, standing with half closed eyes, oblivious even of a hand resting on the feathers of his back, and the recovery is slow, the bird seeming dazed for a short time.

As I lay concealed in the Guiana forest, the whole performance was repeated five times in twelve minutes, the Curassow appearing most excited after it had finished the challenge call. It frequently ran to the hens and walked about them, while the captive bird which I observed paid no attention to the hens, but showed off to human visitors and devoted himself to attacks upon their footwear.

[Illustration: THIRD PHASE OF CURASSOW STRUTTING.

FIG. 138. Back turned, Wings lowered, Air-sacs inflated, uttering the penetrating Challenge Call.]

No part of the performance was ever omitted. Invariably he turned his back on his rival or observer, invariably he first walked and snorted, then champed and clapped his wings, and finally sent out his challenge. As I have said, one may closely imitate this call, and the birds, as I learned on another occasion, will respond to repeated calls and come within shooting distance.

Taken altogether, the performance was a most delightful insight into the lives of these little known birds, and the complexity and intricate succession of the various maneuvres was remarkable. As I have said, at one of the pebble champing periods I become so interested that I made a noise and the three birds rose at once and whirred away, while I retraced my steps. I returned as carefully as possible and encountered a troup of small monkeys which passed close overhead, sending down a rain of dead twigs. They apparently have the habit of breaking off twigs when they are progressing leisurely, as I observed this same unnecessary amount of falling twigs and branches on several other occasions. When thus engaged they make a great racket, uttering now and then plaintive, inarticulate sounds. When once they spy you beneath them a sudden chorus arises like the greatly exaggerated swearing of a red squirrel, and off they go rapidly, silently, with not a sound of breaking branches.

Finding a good point of vantage not far from my gun and bag, I waited for Francis, squatting—coolie fashion—out of respect to the bête rouge which were numerous and enthusiastic at this point! I sat there five minutes and not a moment was devoid of interest. I accidentally snapped a stick, and like an electric spark came a sharp _zizz!_ at my very elbow. I jumped as if an electric shock had indeed accompanied it, and then broke another stick. Again the _zizz!_ snapped in answer, and close to my resting place I discovered a “Six o’clock Bee,” as the natives call these giant cicadas (_Cicada grossa_). Like the Curassow, he was on the _qui vive_ for rivals and ready with his challenge. As often as I snapped a stick, he whirred out an answer.

A pair of Blue-and-yellow Macaws[61] screamed. When heard in the distance, all harshness is eliminated from their voices, and an extremely human quality of sound is acquired, as of one person calling in a high tone to another. A Green Cassique[150] whirred overhead, tolled his cow-bell and strutted with slow elaborateness. Suddenly a pair of Trumpeters[25] came into view, but saw me at the same instant, and with loud _chacks!_ fled in all haste. Going on to our meeting place I almost stepped on Francis, who had been, quietly watching me and resting after having returned with a load of game.

We struck the broken twig trail on which we secured the old howling monkey yesterday, and a few hundred yards from the spot we heard the young male roaring. He had improved wonderfully on his falsetto yell of yesterday, and except for a general weakness of volume and an occasional break and tendency to get out of breath, he made a good showing in the vocal gymnastics of his race. Twice after this we ran across the youngster and each time he was howling, but entirely alone. He had not yet secured a mate and his mother and aunt had apparently deserted him upon his assumption of leadership!

A half-hour’s walk close to the clearing this afternoon revealed birds everywhere in flocks, passing leisurely. Small Woodpeckers were tapping, Woodhewers picking and prying, Antbirds peering under leaves and twigs, and the Flycatchers audibly snapping up insects in mid-air. The jungle was filled with dee-dee-dees, chirps, chacks, low mewings and whistles, while a rain of falling leaves, ripe berries, dead twigs and bits of bark marked the progress of the flocks. I shot a number of birds which were new to me, one of which I could not find until after ten minutes’ search. When I discovered it, a line of ants five yards long had formed and it was covered with their bodies. So swiftly do tropical scavengers work!

I secured a Wedge-billed Pygmy Woodhewer[96] with its single young one, which must have left the nest that very day. Curiously enough, the latter perched as often as it clung to the tree-trunks, and keeping this in mind I found that the measurements of the two birds were very interesting. There was almost no difference between the length of the wings and beaks of parent and young, but the tail of the young bird was only 1⁷⁄₁₆ inches in length as compared with 4¾ inches in the adult. From this it appears that the climbing habit is not developed as early in the young Woodhewer as in Woodpeckers, in which it seems instinctive from the first.

Resting my camera for a moment against the buttress of a giant mora, a small brown bird flew out and I recognized another Wedge-billed Pygmy Woodhewer.[96] It flew to a sapling and peered at me around the side. When I did not move away it came nearer and voiced its disapproval by a five-syllabled cry, _chik-chik-chik-chik-chik!_ This made me suspicious and peering down a narrow crevice formed by a deep fold in the buttress I caught a glint of white, and finally made out three eggs, one of which seemed to be freshly broken. A safer or cosier place could not be imagined. The crevice was eighteen inches deep and only two inches wide, with the opening of the fold almost closed by a small dangling bush rope. The nest itself was only two feet above the ground. The eggs were pure white and were laid on a thin net-work of rootlets and fibres resting on the black mould which had collected in the crevice. The following day it took me two hours of hard work, cutting and sawing, to reach the nest, and when Milady spooned up nest and eggs, four good-sized scorpions came with them, unpleasant guests I should think! There were two eggs in the nest and a broken one on the ground outside which the parent had removed the night before. This egg had probably been broken by the hurried flight of the parent on the preceding day. The eggs were a broad oval in shape, dull white and both measured 20 by 16 mm.

Four other pairs of birds were nesting on this side of the clearing, Yellow-winged Honey Creepers,[136] Jungle Wrens,[125] two pair of White-throated Robins,[127] and a Guiana Quail or Douraquara.[8] This last I found wholly by accident as I was watching a dragon-fly which had been injured by a small Flycatcher. Good-sized pieces were bitten out of the two hind wings and one of the others was doubled and broken. Yet the brave little insect was far from giving up and managed to fly slowly, albeit with a heavy slant to one side, the loose wing making a whizzing sound as it vibrated. I followed to see its ultimate fate. As it passed the end of a log a green lizard leaped from a leaf and seized the unfortunate insect in mid-air, thus typifying the _anlaga_ of bird flight. The lizard fell full length upon a rounded pile of dead leaves and like a bomb there shot forth the whirring form of the Quail, which scaled off between the trees.

We found the Douraquara[8] had rocketted from a tunnel about a foot in length, made of twigs and dead leaves, which led to a round hidden nest cavity containing four white eggs, one of which was broken. On the following day the Quail had removed all trace of broken egg and shell. So completely was the nest a part of the jungle floor that never except by accident would we have discovered it.

Day after day, on every tramp we took we were more and more impressed with the myriad examples of protective form and coloration. As I have said before, it is the immense variety rather than the exactness of detail which makes these resemblances so effective. I became so confused at times that repeatedly I would net a falling leaf or blossom or even fire at an imaginary bird, or on the other hand fail altogether to notice some rare bird or insect until I passed on some distance and happened to turn around. For instance, while walking along I saw something drift down and catch on a leaf. I thought to myself, this is surely an insect, although a most remarkable mimic. Then I bent over and examined it closely, lifting the branch close to my eyes, and decided it was nothing but a dead leaf, half curled and shrivelled up. As I turned away I swooped at it idly with my net and lo! it took to flight and cost me several yards of hard pursuit before I secured it again. The irregularity of its wings, their leaf-brown color edged with a line of yellow, and the remarkable drifting flight in full sunshine, all helped to deceive me. It was a moth, _Gonodonta pyrgo_.

The Goldbirds,[115] although the size of large Thrushes, are absolutely indistinguishable in their garb of dull brown in the shadowy mid-forest, neither descending to the ground nor ascending to the sun-lit tree-tops.

Almost as common as the piercing _wheé! wheé! o!_ of the Goldbirds was a less loud but penetrating _Chuckle-de-deé!_ which we heard almost as soon as we entered the shadows of the jungle. Three days of intermittent search passed before we discovered the author of this omnipresent sound. The note seemed to come from the tree-tops and we unconsciously held in mind a bird at least the size of the Goldbird. Imagine our surprise when, after searching the branches with aching necks, we finally detected the bird in the very act, finding it perched only about ten feet above our heads. It was a veritable mite of a bird, the Golden-crowned Manakin[110] clad in forest green with a tiny crown spot of yellow. From head to tail he measured less than three inches, and of all the marvels which we have encountered in our travels the most remarkable was how such a tiny creature, considerably smaller than our Ruby-crowned Kinglet, could produce such a tremendous volume of sound. His _Chuckle-de-deé!_ can easily be heard a hundred yards away through dense forest.

Once identified it was an easy matter to locate these little Manakins. They loved the deep, damper parts of the woods and were ridiculously tame, perching quietly and calling continuously when one walked around within arm’s reach. We discovered the nest of one of these birds a short distance from the mine clearing in a sapling about seven feet from the ground, a very frail affair suspended in the fork of a branch. It was merely a thin cup of fine bush threads and rootlets, while two or three small leaves were fastened to the bottom with strands of cobweb. One could see through it anywhere. It was only 1¾ inches across and ¾ of an inch deep inside the cup.

The bird was on the nest and refused to leave until we lifted her off and photographed her. Then she flew and chuckle-de-deed with all her little power!

[Illustration: FIG. 139. GOLDEN-CROWNED MANAKIN LIFTED FROM NEST.]

While insects were far from rare in the jungle itself, they were present in myriads in the little fallen-tree clearings. Blue Morphos flashed in and out of the thickets, while white-spotted, clicking ones, snapped back and forth. In the darker recesses the transparent Ghost Butterflies flew silently and almost invisibly, while Heliconias threaded the vines. Giant bees buzzed past now and then. One which I caught was an inch and a half long with tremendously thick and hairy hind legs, an orange collar across the front of the thorax and an equally broad band of yellow on the abdomen (_Centis americana_).

[Illustration: FIG. 140. YOUNG DUSKY PARROTS.]

Among the most interesting birds which we found nesting were Dusky Parrots.[66] About one hundred yards from the clearing we observed two red-breasted Parrots fly from a hole about forty feet up in a tall dead kakeralli tree. We watched the tree, morning and afternoon for several days, often for an hour at a time, but neither saw nor heard anything of the birds. Fearing that we had been deceived in thinking they were nesting we had a black cut down the tree, but no sooner had the dust settled from the débris of rotten wood than a chorus of raucous cries arose, and four young Parrots, nearly fledged, were gathered into a hat.

The quartet showed an interesting sequence of growth, there being several days’ difference between each one. The youngest was clad only in quill-like blood feathers; number two had the scapulars, part of the crown, the breast and a half inch of the tail feathers out of the sheath. Number three was pretty well feathered except for face, throat, under wings and sides, while number four was to all intents and purposes a real Parrot! The way in which the old birds kept hidden was remarkable.

One day Milady and I started out with only the lay of the land and a compass for guide and walked straight toward that unknown region lying to the northwest. A whole chapter could be written of our observations on that single tramp, but I shall keep our notes for a future work on the natural history of this region and add to this already too lengthy account only a few paragraphs.

We saw many Lavender Jays[161] restless and numerous, yet curious to know what manner of beings we were. Their alarm note _Keeeow!_ accompanied us for a long distance. Later in the morning we spent some time watching a dense line of parasol ants. They were as gay as Fifth Avenue on Easter Sunday, being laden with the purple and white blossoms of some forest tree. The broad wavering banners interspersed with those insects which bore stamens and pistils lance-like, presented a most humanly comical appearance. The tiny creatures are so serious and in such a hurry and yet look so tipsy and political, that one never tires of watching them.

[Illustration: FIG. 141. EARLY MORNING IN THE WILDERNESS.]

Black clouds and a high wind overtook us and we walked rapidly on, looking for some sort of shelter, he were lucky enough to discover a huge tree, hollow, even to the centre of the buttresses and this we made our headquarters during the storm. From each of four natural windows we watched the jungle life during the rain. A small patch of the black caterpillars was near by on a light-barked tree, all reacting or not according to whether we ejaculated _sst!_ or _buzz!_ As before they were very conspicuous and made no attempt at concealment, although at a distance they resembled a black knot-hole on the trunk. But their rôle was evidently to depend on their threatening actions and their even more reliable stinging hairs.

[Illustration: FIG. 142. INDIAN HUNTER BRINGING IN A PECCARY.]

On the very floor of our shelter a tragedy was enacted. A small wasp (_Notogonia_ sp.) less than an inch in length with a splash of gilt on thorax and head, dashed upon a brown cricket (_Gryllus argentinus_) more than twice its size, and stung it. Then the wasp left its prey and ran off about eight inches to a round hole which it had excavated in the black wood mould. Back to the cricket again it came, turned it right side up, seized it by the head and began to drag it along. Although I can hardly credit the wasp with the conscious intention, yet its sting had certainly been delivered in exactly the right spot. The whole cricket was paralyzed except for the two front pair of legs. The motor nerves of these were unaffected and they kept up a convulsive pulling and pushing which aided the wasp greatly in its difficult task. Indeed the wasp did little but straddle its prey and steer, while the cricket pushed itself along.

Just before the latter disappeared still kicking into the hole, the wasp stung it again and laid a small curved white egg on one of the hind legs of the cricket. The hole was just the right bore to admit the body of the victim and was six inches deep.

As soon as the sun came out, huge metallic Buprestid beetles boomed about the trunk and the Woodhewers began their sweet scale-songs, and close over our heads a tiny Golden-crowned Manakin[110] joined in with his _Chuckle-de-deé!_, the effort almost lifting him from his perch.

* * * * *

In offering these notes on the jungle life about the Aremu clearing, I have purposely refrained from classifying them, as I wished the reader to realize how, in this region of superabundant life, events crowd in upon one—insect, bird, flower, animal—without apparent rhyme or reason. Yet they really pass in splendid sequence, the key to which lies in the ultimate relation of each to the other. Some day, if we do not delay until the destroying hand of man is laid over this whole region, we may hope partially to disentangle the web. Then, instead of a seeming tangle of unconnected events, all will be seen in their real perspective: The flower adapted to the insect; the insect hiding from this or that enemy; the bird showing off its beauties to its mate, or searching for its particular food. These things can never be learned in a museum or zoölogical park, or by naming a million more species of organisms. We must ourselves live among the creatures of the jungle, and watch them day after day, hoping for the clue as to the _why_—the everlasting _why_ of form and color, action and life.