A Ruffian in Feathers

WE all know Shakespeare’s opinion of the “ man that hath no music in himself,” although we usually misquote it. If this be a fair judgment of the human race, how much more justly may it be said of the bird, to whom we look for the sweetest harmonies of nature !

I do not think his best friend will claim that the common house sparrow has the soul of music in him ; certainly not if he has ever been wakened in a glorious dawn by the indescribable jangle of harsh sounds which constitute this bird’s only morning hymn, at the hour when every bird in the woods, from the noble singers of the thrush family down to the least chipping sparrow, is greeting the new day in his most musical fashion.

The matin song of the house sparrow, in which he indulges unsparingly, being of similar quality, harmonizes perfectly with the jarring sounds of man’s contriving : the clatter of iron-shod wheels over city pavements, the war-whoop of the ferocious milkman, the unearthly cries of the venders, and above all the junk-man’s pandemonium of " bells jangled out of tune.” The harshest cries of our native birds, if not always musical in themselves, seem at least to accord in some way with sounds of nature. The house sparrow alone is entirely discordant, — the one bird without a pleasing note, whose very love-song is an unmusical squeak. Nor is his appearance more interesting than his voice, and on looking into his manners and customs we discover most unlovely characteristics.

One cannot help watching bird-life, however ignoble, which goes on within sight. Sparrows have long been my neighbors, and I have observed many phases of their life, — combats, brawls, forcible divorce, and persecution of the unfortunate. A day or two ago I saw a murder “ most foul,” and now, while indignation stirs my blood, I will chronicle the ruffian’s monstrous deeds.

Near my window is a Norway spruce which this spring I regretted to see selected by a pair of sparrows for one of their clumsy, straggling nests, to which they brought rubbish of all sorts and colors, from hay of the street to carpet ravelings from the spring house-cleaning, till the tree was greatly disfigured. I do not know how many broods have been raised there, but on the 6th of July I was attracted by cries of infant distress, mingled with harsh parental scolding. On looking out I saw great excitement in the spruce: the mother hopping about with an air of anxiety; the father scolding his loudest, and making constant raids to drive away intrusive neighbors who collected in the next tree. An opera-glass brought the scene near, and I saw at once the cause of the trouble. A nestling had entangled one foot in the edge of the nest, and hung head downwards, calling loudly for help. The mother was evidently trying to coax him to “ make an effort,” while the stern father was littering dire threats if he did not conduct himself in a more becoming manner. The poor sparrowling struggled bravely, but every attempt ended in failure, and the little fluffy body drooped more wearily after each trial.

A life is a life, if it is but a sparrow’s, and so greatly were my sympathies aroused that I would have dispatched human help to the scene of the accident; but the tree was tall and slender, and the only available climber was a young gentleman, who would laugh to scorn the demand. Nothing could be done but watch the movements of the birds.

The mother perched on a lower branch and stood quiet, evidently aware that her lord and master would settle the matter. That choleric individual made one or two attempts to aid the youngster, Seizing him by his wide-open mouth, and pulling so violently that I thought he would dismember him. All was of no avail. Neighbors crowded nearer; the tree was loaded with interested spectators, and the father grew more and more irritated, till at last he seemed suddenly seized with an irresistible frenzy. With the harshest “ chur-r-r ” of which he was capable, he pounced upon that unfortunate infant, seizing him by the throat, burying his bill in his breast, shaking him as a dog would shake a rat, and in less than thirty seconds dragged him from his hold and dropped him to the ground, — a dead bird.

I was horrified, and so were the other spectators. Once during the operation the mother had tried to interfere, and was told unmistakably to " mind her own business.” Several times the male audience attempted to take part, — whether for or against the victim I could only guess, — but were as summarily disposed of. That little incarnate fury was the tyrant of the moment, and worked his own wicked will to the end.

As soon as the tragedy ended every bird disappeared, and the tree was completely deserted, as though accursed. The murderer alone did not leave the neighborhood, but strutted back and forth, on an elm which overlooked the scene of his crime; fluttering his wings, calling loud defiance to all the world, in the greatest excitement for hours. Were there no other youngsters in the nest ? Were they left to starve ? And where was the mother ? As to the first query, I could not be sure. Once during the fray I thought I saw something drop from the nest, and I was obliged to conclude that if there had been another it had fallen victim to a passing cat.

In an hour or two the mother came back, as if to put her bouse in order and resume her duties, but her spouse had other designs. Whether he resented her interference with his lordly will, or whether the late unpleasantness was attributed to her because of defective training or untidy house-building, — whatever the cause, the fact was patent that he had made up his mind to divorce the partner of his sorrows. She appreciated his intention, as was evident from the cautious way in which she approached, looking around for him, and stealing to the nest, as it were, but was resolved to make every effort to induce in him a better spirit and mollify his rage. She did not seem greatly grieved, nor in the least angry. She never opened her mouth to answer back the torrent of reproaches with which he greeted her, but instantly retired before his fierce onslaught. Not once did that fiery spirit go to the ground for food, or lose sight of his nest. Most of the time he perched on a branch of the elm, where he could overlook the spruce and be ready for intruders ; but occasionally he went by his usual alighting-places to the empty home, clearing out beakfuls of small downy feathers, and apparently setting his house in order.

But the strange little bird-drama, suggestive, alas, of some phases of human passion, was not yet concluded. Many times during the day the divorced spouse came near, as if to survey her late home, and see if her lord was in a more amiable mood; but she found him utterly remorseless, ever on guard to repel all attempts to “ make up.” When at last, after the long hours of night had calmed his savage temper, his mood did change, it was not to her that he turned for sympathy. He would not forgive, but he had no notion of remaining a pining widower. Before evening the next day he went a-wooing, and there appeared upon the spruce-tree, with the evident purpose of examining the home and assuming possession, a dainty young bird. It had taken that disreputable sparrow less than thirty-six hours to kill his baby, divorce his wife, and woo and bring home a bride !

It may be a matter of surprise that one can distinguish between birds, but it is not at all difficult when their habits are watched closely. I knew the new wife from the old one in two ways : first, the old one, after the labors of bringing up a brood or two, was worn and ragged, while the new-comer was fresh as a daisy, and fluffy and younglooking as a nestling ; second, she approached the nest in a different way. It is true of sparrows, however it may be with other birds, that each one has his special alighting-places, — a certain twig where he first settles, and certain others on which, as a flight of steps, he invariably proceeds to his nest. The mother of the dead infant always came to the home from the right side, and her grim tyrant does so still, but the bride selected a convenient series of twigs on the left side.

It is now four or five days since the crime was committed, and although the new spouse is perfectly at home and settled peace, even to the extent that a sparrow enjoys it, is still a stranger to the spruce-tree nest. I think it is haunted by the discarded mate. Certainly a sparrow, that I have no doubt is she, comes to the neighborhood, and scolds the meek-looking bride and her spouse in most savage fashion. No one resents her performance, and after a moment she goes away.

The sparrow is an autocrat, especially addicted to divorcing his partner upon the smallest pretext. I have elsewhere chronicled two small dramas in sparrow life which I watched from beginning to end. The actors in the first were a pair living in a hole in a maple-tree before my window. For some undiscoverable reason the graceless head of the household decided to make a change in his domestic arrangements, and to begin by divorce. In that case the female had the advantage, since the home was not an open nest, but a castle. She had possession, and kept it for two days, in spite of violent vituperation and the most threatening manner. In this case, also, I observed that she never “ talked back,” indulged in unseemly scolding, or assumed the offensive in any way. She appeared indifferent to his opinions, but enough attached to her home to endure his annoyances for two days before she tired of the controversy. When at last she accepted her fate and departed, I saw him bring home the bride, as coquettish a young thing as can be imagined, coax her by many wiles to examine the snug house, follow her about, and finally induce her to take up her residence with him.

The other case was of trouble on the other side. A cock sparrow lost one leg, and his mate, who had nestlings to feed, attempted to divorce him. Several birds appeared upon the scene, evident aspirants for the soon-to-be-vacant place. But the little fellow, though evidently suffering so greatly that several times he appeared to be dying, never failed to revive and attack with fury every pretender, and after a day or two of this conflict was able to resume his duties as assistant provider for the little ones, when his spouse amiably “ kissed and made up.” All through the trouble she never displayed temper. She refused him admission into the honeysuckle vine, where the nest was; but she would come out and alight near him on the window-sill, talk to him calmly, reproach him, evidently, reminding him of the babies to feed, and he not able to help. To these remarks he made little reply.

As I said, the sparrow is a domestic tyrant, brooking no opposition. I have never observed a case in which the hen had her own way. He is so great a bully, so self-willed and violent, that, whatever the cause of disagreement, he holds out with dogged obstinacy till he gets his will. In one case there was difference of opinion as to the site for a nest; he wishing to occupy an empty cottage of man’s providing, while she, with finer instinct, had decided upon a charming crotch in an evergreen tree. At first she opposed him strongly, scattering the material he brought, throwing the choicest bits to the winds, while he stormed and scolded, and — brought more. In the intervals between thwarting his plans, she would accumulate materials in the chosen tree. He scorned to touch them; he simply ignored her designs, and proceeded with obstinacy almost sublime to bring, and bring, and bring, till she was worn out, gave up, and accepted the cottage at last.

The female sparrow is a modest little soul, any way, as might be expected in one always “ kept down,” and so outshrieked by her mate that she is rarely heard. Next to the tree which the murderer considers his own is another spruce, which for some reason is very attractive to the hens, who search among the twigs and take something in their mouths, whether insect or part of the vegetable growth I am unable to say positively. Whatever it may be, it has no interest for the masculine sparrow. There are often as many as a dozen females there at once, and I have been delighted with this opportunity to observe them apart from their obstreperous spouses, who are so self-assertive that they give their mates no chance at all. I find that their voices are less harsh than the male tones. Their chatter among themselves is quite soft, as is also their “ baby talk,” which I hear when a mother has her young family out. The most pleasing sound I ever noticed from one of the house-sparrow tribe was from a solitary female on that tree. She kept up a continual soliloquy, gentle, almost sweet. It was not a call; simply a little talk with herself.

One of the most familiar habits of this graceless bird is his delight in a mob. No sooner does anything occur to disturb the even tenor of sparrow life, whether a domestic skirmish, the first outing of a young family, or some danger to a nest, than a crowd collects, not only as interested spectators, but quite ready and willing to take a hand in any sport or crime that is going; not only a hand, but a voice as well. Loud cries always announce when a rabble is at work. Whether, as is declared by some observers, they drive away our native birds by this means I am not sure. I have seen them annoy the catbird, the robin, and the Baltimore oriole, but in each case they were put to flight by the native bird ; though no doubt the experience is sufficiently disagreeable to induce either of these birds to select a more retired neighborhood for nestbuilding. I once noticed the same tactics successfully applied to a cat which climbed up among the nests.

An amusing instance in which the birds were worsted took place under my eye last summer. Hearing the usual outcry one morning, I looked out, and saw a great crowd of sparrows perched on the branches of a tall maple-tree, shrieking at the top of their voices, craning their necks, and hopping ever nearer to one of the houses so kindly provided for their use. It was not one of the four-story hotel arrangements with which we disfigure our trees, but a single cottage, with room for but one couple, and it was quite high up in the tree. The excitement centred around this house, and for a long time I could not see what was the disturbing cause. Close watching with a glass at length revealed a small reddish head, with very sharp eyes, occupying the doorway of the cottage, and after some time the owner of these features calmly stepped out on the veranda and showed himself, — a small red squirrel, with a silver collar, which proclaimed him an escaped pet. He looked thin, with a tail almost as bare as a rat’s. He had evidently not fared well in captivity, and I rejoiced in his freedom.

But the sparrow world had decided to eject him from the neighborhood, and faithfully, with true sparrow doggedness, they worked at this problem. No sooner did he appear than they resumed their attack, flying around him, screaming and making quick dashes at him. He was somewhat disconcerted, and ran up a long branch, followed by the whole gang, which grew more bold as he apparently retreated, dashing ever nearer as though to peck him, but never actually touching him. While he was running they were very bold, but the moment he sat up and faced them they drew off a little, though they never went quite away. For several days not a movement of his escaped their notice. It was amusing to see how quickly the smallest stir on his part was announced to the world. “ There he is ! He’s coming out! ” one could easily understand, and every sparrow within hearing responded by instantly deserting his business or pleasure, and adding his presence and cries to the mob.

But the squirrel, finding fruit trees with green apples and pears, resolved to stay, and after a week or two they became so far accustomed to his presence as to be less alarmed, though they never lost interest in him. His eating especially seemed to divert and astonish them. I have seen fifty birds at once hovering around an evergreen-tree, too small to afford them perching-places, far enough from the enemy, while he gathered and nibbled the small cones. When he sat up on a branch, holding a green pear in his tiny paws, their amusement knew no hounds. They sat around at a safe distance, exchanging remarks, in the amiable manner of some of the human race at the ways of a foreigner.

The squirrel had by this time resumed his wild instincts, cared nothing for them, and would even answer back with a sharp little cry. He had taken up his summer residence in the maple-tree cottage, and all through the fall, while pears hung on the trees of the neglected yard next ours, he lived in clover. His tail became bushy, his coat grew sleek, and he looked like a different animal. Still the sparrows attended his every movement, following him like a train of courtiers wherever he went, though they did not make quite so much noise about it as at first.

The household became as keenly interested as the birds in the doings of the pretty fellow. All through the winter he appeared on the mild days, running and bounding all over the tall maples. We saw him gather grass and carry it off in great bundles in his mouth to make a bed, and after an unusually cold season he spent part of two days in removing his residence from an ornamental pile of stones in a neighbor’s yard to some place he had discovered under the house. He had evidently collected a quantity of stores of some sort. No doubt as soon as spring opened he would vary his diet with fresh eggs, but as I left the vicinity I did not have opportunity to observe whether the sparrow family suffered from him, though I noticed that he had changed his dwelling to the hole in the maple above mentioned as the scene of a family broil.¹

Next to the sparrow’s mobbing propensity is his impudence. Not only will he insist on sharing the food of chickens and domestic animals, but he is a common guest at the table of the great bald eagles in the parks, and does not disdain the crumbs that fall from the repast of the polar bear, one touch of whose paw would flatten him like a wafer.

Perhaps the most saucy thing reported of a sparrow was witnessed in Brooklyn by a well-known artist. He was watching a robin hard at work on the lawn, gathering food for his family, when he noticed a sparrow, who also seemed interested in the operation. The sparrow looked on, evidently with growing excitement, while one bit after another was uncovered, till at last a particularly large and attractive grub was brought to light. This was too much for sparrow philosophy. He made one dash, snatched the tempting morsel from the very bill of the robin, and disappeared before the astounded bird recovered from his surprise.

With this unparalleled act of impertinence to a bird big enough to eat him, this true chronicle of the most unattractive fellow that wears feathers shall close.

Olive Thorne Miller.