These Are Your Brothers

A WELL-KNOWN French man of letters wrote a book, nearly thirty years ago, with the express object to “reveal the bird a soul, to show that it is a person ; ” in the hope of diminishing the enormous slaughter for purposes of personal adornment, of ministering to our appetites, adding to our collections, or, worst of all, gratifying our love of murder, pure and simple, by whatever name we choose to dignify the taking of life for our own amusement. To this noble man’s effort every lover of birds, for higher uses than to put in the stomach or on the shelf, should add his chronicle, however unpretending.

It is a mystery how men of hearts tender to suffering can be so carried away by the excitement of the hunt as to lose sight of the terror and pain of the victim. Many hunters have confessed to a return to their better selves the moment the chase was won. In what does this short madness differ from the sudden rage which impels one to lift his hand against the life of man, merely a (should be) nobler game ? It seems even more strange that a gentle woman can endure the beautiful plumage of a delicate winged creature, whose sweet life of song and joy was rudely cut short by brutal men that the poor dead body might shine among her laces. For those who are willing to gratify their palate at the cost of so much beauty and music there is nothing to be said, — they cannot be reached. Not until man has outgrown the barbarism of nourishing his body at the expense of his soul can we hope to touch those who eat birds. It is sad enough to turn our murderous weapons against the gentle ox that trusts us, the innocent-faced sheep, and the honesteyed calf, but to rob the world of an inspiring robin or a rollicking bobolink, for the small bits of flesh under their feathers, is too pitiful.

“ Open your eyes to the evidence ” (says Michelet). “ Throw aside your prejudice, your traditional and derived opinions. Dismiss your pride, and acknowledge a kindred in which there is nothing to make one ashamed. What are these ? They are your brothers.”

The following notes are based upon several years’ study of birds enjoying the freedom of a large room, without attempting to tame them, further than by letting alone to inspire confidence and dispel fear.

The most noticeable thing about birds is their individuality ; even those of the same family differ as greatly as children of a household. One goldfinch that I have studied is a shy, timid little creature, utterly unresponsive to its human neighbors, while another is the embodiment of gayety, brimming over with good spirits, and always ready to answer a greeting with a cheerful “Pick-wick.” This bird is extremely fond of human society, and after being without it for an hour or two will pour out a torrent of greetings in his loudest voice, wriggling his body from side to side, as though too full of joy to keep still. Even in times of adversity, when he is moulting (which he does with difficulty) and his wings fail of their office, so that on setting out for his favorite perch, after the bath, he flies wide of the mark, beating the air vainly, and at last fluttering to the floor, where he never willingly goes, — even then he will hasten to a ladder placed for him, hop up round after round, stopping now and then to call out gleefully, as if to say, “ I’m not hurt a bit! I’m all right! ” When

at last the time comes that he does not try to fly, be cheerfully avails himself of a series of perches running around the room, and takes his exercise as blithely as though he had never known wings.

Next neighbor to the goldfinch is a cardinal grosbeak, a fellow of different temperament. He is a cynic, morose and crusty. His world is hollow and his cage is his castle, which he declines to leave for an instant, although the door stands open from morning till night. Above all he is captious on the subject of his rights, and insists on having them respected. To have a bird perch near his door is offensive in the extreme, and alighting on his cage is a crime which stirs him to fury. He despises his restless neighbors, and feels no need of exercise himself. He sits — not stands, like most birds — on his chosen perch hour after hour, leaving it only to eat; and I think that if his food were within reach of this seat he would not rise half a dozen times a day. His only recreation is music, in which he indulges freely ; and his song has a curious quality of defiance in it, quite consistent with his character. His notes indicate a more gentle sentiment only in the morning, before his cage is uncovered and his churlishness aroused by the sight of associates whom he chooses to consider foes. At that charmed hour he will favor his delighted audience of one with a sweet and tender strain, utterly unlike his performance at any other time. A pining captive is an unwelcome guest in this small bird colony, and the cardinal could have his liberty at any moment. But that is not his desire. He evidently appreciates the comfort of a cage, is satisfied with his bill of fare, and has no inclination to forage for himself. The only thing he wishes is to be let alone. His dream of happiness, if put into words, would, I think, resemble the ideal of some of the human family,— a well-appointed house, having everything to please the eye and gratify the taste within and about it, and surrounded by a wall unsurmountable and impenetrable, even to the glances of the world at large.

In striking contrast with this uncivil personage is a serene and philosophic character, partaking neither the rollicking spirits of the goldfinch nor the moodiness of the cardinal. The return of the house-mistress, after a week’s absence, elicits no manifestations of joy from this bird, as it does from all the others, including the cardinal. Yet, though undemonstrative, he is not without emotions. He will follow her all day, stand for an hour within an inch of the rocker of her chair, and spend half his time on her knee, watching every movement, taking occasional lunches from her fingers, and not hesitating to indulge in a nap when he feels so disposed.

The element of mischief, of caprice, and practical joking is well represented by a cat-bird ; or was, until he grew unhappy and a window was opened to give him liberty. No more tricksy spirit ever dwelt in human frame: delighting in pranks, teasing the smaller birds, working confusion in desk drawers or sewing baskets, performing a war-dance, with appropriate screams, on top of the cardinal’s cage, and exulting in his helpless frenzy. This bird was not quite affectionate, not absolutely trustful ; he would alight on my hand for food, being however so wary and alert that he was as secure from surprise as though he stood on a tree.

Easy-going amiability is the prominent characteristic of another goldfinch, He submitted meekly to the tyranny of his cage-mate, ate only when he had eaten, bathed only when he had finished, till, growing bold by success, the autocrat waxed domineering, when the victim suddenly roused himself, became aggressive, asserted his right to the conveniences of the household, and, as in human society under similar circumstances, carried everything before him.

The manners of “ these our brothers ” are as individual as their tempers. Nothing is more impressive than the dignity of the thrush family; no vulgar haste or fussiness, no ignoble panic. All is tranquil repose, yet without a symptom of dullness. A stranger may approach a thrush, and he will neither flinch nor fidget until the observer becomes intrusive, when he calmly and quietly slips away. Opposed to this high-bred manner is that of the redwing blackbird, who is never still a moment, restless and uneasy to the last degree ; jumping from perch to perch, stretching one Wing and then the other, jerking the tail, craning the neck, ever assuming new attitudes, and showing in every movement his unquiet spirit.

Different from each of the above in manner is the cat-bird. There is an appearance of grave repose, but it is superficial; it is the repose of the air before a tornado, of the volcano before a violent eruption. He is quiet, — he stands as still as a thrush, and looks one full in the eye ; but he is alert to the tips of his toes, and a slight but significant jerk of the tail shows that he is wide awake and prepared for instant movement. Let him suspect one’s intention to be hostile, and he wall flash out of sight; not silently, like the thrush, but with harsh screams that fairly startle one with their violence.

To find rude, blustering, self-assertive manners we need go no farther than our city streets, which the house sparrow has made his own. For cool impudence and offensive intrusion upon the rights of humanity about him this bird has no equal. He is a genuine gamin, and shows the effect of life in the streets even on a bird.

Birds not only cough and sneeze, but they dream and snore, making most distressing sounds, as if strangling. They hiccough —a very droll affair it is, too, — and they faint away. The goldfinch spoken of above, being frightened one night, in his struggles was caught between the wires, and gave a cry like the squeak of a mouse in distress. On my hastening to his release, he slipped out into the room, and flew wildly about till he hit something and fell to the floor, He was picked up, and his fright culminated in a dead faint. The little head drooped, the body was limp, apparently perfectly lifeless, and he was laid in his cage, ready to be buried in the morning. He was placed carefully on the breast, however, and in a few minutes he hopped upon his perch, shook out his ruffled feathers, and composed himself to sleep.

One feat sometimes ascribed to man is in the case of birds a literal fact, — they can sleep with one eye open. This curious habit I have watched closely, and I find it common in nearly all the varieties I have been able to observe. One eye will close sleepily, shut tight, and appear to enjoy a good nap, while the other is wide awake as ever. It is not always the eye towards the light that sleeps, nor is it invariably the one from the light. The presence or absence of people makes no difference. I have even had a bird stand on my arm or knee, draw up one leg, and seem to sleep soundly with one eye, while the other was wide open. In several years’ close attention I have been unable to find any cause, either in the position or the surroundings, for this strange habit.

No “ set old woman ” is more wedded to her accustomed “ ways ” than are birds in general to theirs. Their hours for eating, napping, and singing are as regular as ours. So, likewise, are their habits in regard to alighting places, even to the very twig they select. After a week’s acquaintance with the habits of a bird, I can always tell when something disturbing has occurred, by the place in which he is found. One bird will make the desk his favorite haunt, and freely visit tables, the rounds of chairs, and the floor, while another confines himself to the backs of chairs, the tops of cages and picture frames. One hermit thrush frequented the bureau, the looking-glass frame, and the top of a cardboard map which had warped around till the upper edge was almost circular. On this edge he would perch for hours, and twitter and call, but no other bird ever approached it. Still another would always select the door casing and window cornices.

Every bird has his chosen place for the night, usually the highest perch on the darkest side of the cage. They soon become accustomed to the situation of the dishes in their cages, and plainly resent any change. On my placing a drinking cup in a new part of the cardinal’s residence, he came down at once, scolding violently, pretended to drink, then looked over to the corner where the water used to be, and renewed his protestations. Then he returned to the upper perch, flirting his tail and expressing his mind with great vigor. A few minutes passed, and he repeated the performance, keeping it up with great excitement until, to pacify him, I replaced the cup. He at once retired to his usual seat, smoothed his roughened plumage, and in a few moments began to sing. A dress of new color on their mistress makes great commotion among these close observers, and the moving about of furniture puts the tamest oue in a panic.

“ Besides song.” says Michelet, “ the bird has many other languages. Like men, he prattles, recites, and converses.” The subject of birds’ language is one of great interest, and I have studied it very closely. I notice that all the birds understand certain sounds made by any one of them, even by sparrows outside, — a cry of distress, any excitement, calls for food, and especially an expression of dislike for another’s song ; but I have never seen any appearance of talk except between those of the same family. Two goldfinches keep up a continual chatter, with distinctly different tones for different occasions, as when a fly alights on the window near them, or a neighboring bird makes any uncommon movement. They never talk at the same time, although they often sing together, and one is much more talkative than the other. Sometimes their notes are low and their manner indifferent, as if the talk were mere desultory chat; but if anything occurs of interest in their small world the tones become animated, and in times of excitement their voices are raised almost to shrieks. After a quarrel, moreover, there is no more exchange of opinion for a long time. Further than this, I have experimented by taking one from the room, when invariably all talk ceased. I have never known one to make the peculiar sounds I have called “ talk ” when the other was not in the room. Robins notoriously talk together, and when one intrudes upon their neighborhood he can almost translate into English their low words of warning and caution, and their observations upon his movements. Who that has ever lain on his back in the hay, and watched the barn swallows as they come to their nest and perch on the great beam to dress their feathers, and perhaps give their quaint little song before setting out again, but is convinced that they are great chatterers ! Indeed, one can hear them, as they fly through the air, not only calling to each other, but exchanging remarks, which is quite different.

To one who has watched birds it is plain that they are fond of play. A bit of string will often aumse one for a long time: he will jump sideways and drag it about in a very droll way, beat it on the floor, fly away with it, and in other ways enjoy it. A marble, or anything that rolls, will sometimes answer the same purpose. A mocking-bird delighted in a grass stalk with the seeds on. He would grasp it in the middle, hop all about his cage, lay it carefully down in one place, leave it, and then return and take it up again. He would entertain himself a half hour at a time in this manner. A cat-bird was particularly pleased with a handkerchief. If one fell to the floor he was after it in an instant, jerking it over the carpet and enjoying himself greatly. Another bird made himself happy by swinging on a spring perch, jumping back and forth, and seeming to like the motion. The desire for amusement is also shown by a habit of throwing things down to see them drop. Several birds have liked to throw pins from the cushion, and look over to observe the fall; and a cat-bird never came near a spool without pushing it over, rolling it to the edge of desk or table, and noticing the result with interest. This is true not only of birds in a house, which may be supposed specially in need of something to pass away the hours, but I have seen sparrows amuse themselves in the same way, throwing small objects — leaf stems, I think — from a roof, and looking over to see them flutter to the ground.

One bird diverted himself after the manner of a “sportsman” hunting a fox, by chasing smaller birds from one side of a room to the other, and the more frightened he could make them the more he exulted in the “ sport.” He would also run the length of a cornice in a panic-stricken way, as though suddenly gone mad, stop short at the last inch, turn instantly, and repeat the performance, and he would keep it up for an hour. The fun of another, a goldfinch, consisted in turning “ back summersets.” He would hang, head downward, from the roof of his cage, walk about in that position, using his bill to help, like a parrot, and at last give a backward spring, turn completely over, and land on the floor of the cage. His cage mate did not approve of this sort of frolic, and after mildly expressing his opinions once or twice he put an end to the gymnastics by a sharp reproof, accompanied by a twitch of one of the offender’s feathers.

Most birds take deep interest in things going on about them, as any one who has watched them, wild or tame, must know. I have seen a swallow hover like a great humming-bird before a stranger, to satisfy his curiosity regarding him. Nothing shows difference of character more plainly than the various ways of gratifying curiosity. One is very cautious, and circles around a new object a long time before touching it, while another flies directly to the spot, and pounces upon it or tries it with the bill at once. Many birds are fond of looking at things outside the window, carriages, people, sparrows flying about, and falling snow or rain, while the appearance of a boy’s kite in the air never fails to put the whole roomful in a fright.

Especially are birds interested in others of their kind, and they are generally ready to help with their presence and advice, if nothing else. A cry of distress will bring sympathizers from every quarter, and during several sparrow broils I have noticed there has always been an audience, all talking, — giving advice, no doubt, — and many ready to take a band in any sort of scrimmage. Robins, too, rush in crowds to the assistance of their neighbors.

Birds show a love of teasing in several ways, the most common being to display contempt for another’s song. One of my goldfinches will assume the most indifferent air when the other begins to sing ; moving to the farther end of the long perch, puffing himself out, and ostentatiously getting ready for a nap. The singer never fails to notice the offense at once, and follows up his tormentor, singing somewhat louder, till the naughty fellow deliberately puts his head under his feathers as if to sleep, when the voice rises to a positive shriek, and the offended bird stretches himself up tall, and towers above his sleepy comrade as though he would devour him.

The coolest insult I ever saw is often paid by a goldfinch to a cardinal as big as half a dozen of himself. He insisted upon alighting upon the cardinal’s cage to shake himself after bathing, and in spite of hard words from the owner, kept up the custom until sundry nips of his toes convinced the saucy goldfinch that it was not a good place to dry himself. Since then he perches close to the door of his crusty neighbor to sing, edging as near as he can, and singing his loudest. The cardinal expresses disapproval by sharp " Trip’s ” and other sounds, but when he becomes too enraged to contain himself he sings ! It is certainly a strange way of showing anger, He puffs out his feathers, holds his quivering wings a little away from his sides, erects his crest, and sways his body like a Chinese mandarin in the tea shops, only from side to side, singing all the time at the top of his voice.

The goldfinch understands the meaning of this demonstration, and it really seems to awe him, for as long as the cardinal continues it he stands meek and silent. Although fearing it would be useless, I on one occasion fastened open the door of the angry bird’s cage, to put him on more equal terms with his small foe. But so far from helping matters, the goldfinch became more saucy than before, even venturing into the enemy’s cage for hempseed which he spied upon the floor. The cardinal hurried down when he saw this ; but the smaller bird was so quick in his movements that he could go in, snatch a seed, and be out before his clumsy adversary reached him. Once outside, where he knew perfectly well he would not be followed by the irate proprietor, the small rogue stood on a perch not two inches from the open door, calmly cracked and ate his seed, and then waited for another chance to make a raid upon the coveted stores.

No one who has kept several birds needs to be told of their jealousy. In spite of infinite pains and redoubled attentions to the older resident, I have been pained to see the feeling towards a new-comer cause unhappiness, even misery, and in one case a permanent souring of temper.

It is curious to see a bird show rage. Besides the singing already spoken of, the cardinal sometimes displays it in another way. He will perch as near as possible to the wires which separate him from the goldfinch; raise the feathers of his neck all around, till they look like a ruff; lean his head far over one side, with crest down, eyes fixed on the enemy, and one wing quivering. This attitude of speechless wrath seems to impress the goldfinch for a moment, but at last he takes courage and begins to sing, low at first, but gradually louder, till almost shrieking, while his own wings droop and quiver, and he edges nearer and nearer to his insulter, until his swelling body fairly touches the wires. Meanwhile, upon the opening of the song the cardinal scolds his harshest, and when the goldfinch touches his wires he gives a vicious dig into his rice, which sends a volley flying, and seizes a wire in his bill as though he would bite it off. Yet he will not avail himself of his open door. The native thrush alone, of all the birds I have watched, fails to display temper. I never saw one angry.

There is great difference in the general intelligence of birds, and so far in my studies I have found the larger ones on a higher grade in this respect. The robin, cat-bird, thrush, learn the intentions of the various members of a family towards them much more quickly than those that are smaller. These birds soon confide in me, let me do anything I like about their cages without a flutter, while the goldfinches, though the oldest residents and very familiar at a distance, and a linnet and a chipping sparrow are frightened if I touch the cage.

That birds show selfishness I am obliged to admit. Any dainty put into the cage of one arouses the interest of all, and a big bird hovering in the air before a neighbor’s residence, to discover if his grape or bit of apple is better than his own, is a queer sight. A bunch of fresh leaves in the goldfinch cage makes an excitement that would be funny, except that it is painful to see this ignoble passion so strong. To avoid trouble I always put in two bunches, one at each end of the longest perch. Neither bird can settle to one bunch lest the other is better, and so they vibrate between the two, till the whole is eaten. Even the gentle thrush so dislikes seeing others possessed of plantain leaves that he will snatch away from another’s cage any leaf that he can reach from the outside. He is very dexterous, too, flying up and seizing the protruding stem without alighting.

Birds are as prone as children to imitate what they see others do. I have noticed them particularly in the matter of bathing. I have one bird that never really bathed till he learned by seeing another. He simply “washed his face,” and then passed half an hour arranging his feathers. But when a companion was put into his cage who greatly enjoyed the bath, going in all over and splashing violently, he stood and watched the proceeding with great interest, came on to the perch nearest the bathing dish, looked on earnestly, and seemed to be amazed. Two or three days this went on, his interest in the thing not diminishing ; and at last, after circling many times around the pan in an undecided way, dreading yet wishing to make the plunge, he finally got up his courage and jumped into the middle,— it was a shallow pan with one inch of water. Even then he hesitated, looked over to me, and called out gayly as though to say, “ See what I’ve done ! ” I answered, and in a few moments he dipped his head and began to spatter. It was evidently a new experience, and he called to me again and again, and was so delighted that it was charming to see. Never since that day has he neglected the bath, and he often gets so wet that he cannot fly to his cage, four feet above, till he has shaken himself out.

Now, at this hour of noon, all four birds are sitting quietly on their perches, indulging in their accustomed midday siesta. Suddenly the goldfinch utters in soft undertone, “ Seep ! ” There is no reply, and after a moment he speaks again, a little louder: “Peep! peep!” Across the window the cardinal, sitting motionless on his perch, now adds his voice in a low call, followed soon by a loud “ Three cheers ! three cheers ! ” The thrush, on the other side of the room, next strikes in gently, a genuine whisper song, keeping his eye on me to see if I observe him. And at last comes the blackbird, with loud, clear “ Conk-aree ! ” and all four are singing like mad. Then suddenly they drop to silence. The cardinal goes down for a lunch of rice ; the thrush stands swelled out, motionless, on his perch; the blackbird interests himself in the state of his feet and in stretching his wings; and the goldfinch plumes his feathers. When all these duties are performed and the cardinal has settled himself once more, there is a pause of a few moments, and the concert begins again in the same way.

Let me close with the sentiment of Emerson upon the bird : —

“ In ignorant ages it was common to vaunt the human superiority by underrating the instinct of other animals, but a better discernment finds that the difference is only of less and more. Experiment shows that the bird and the dog reason as the hunter does ; that all the animals show the same good sense in their humble walk that the man who is their enemy or friend does, and if it be in smaller measure, yet it is not diminished, as his often is, by freak and folly.”

Olive Thorne Miller.