UNCLE THOMAS TELLS ABOUT SOME INTERESTING PECULIARITIES IN THE HABITS OF THE OSTRICH AND THE EMU, AS WELL AS ABOUT THOSE OF THE TURKEY IN ITS NATIVE FORESTS.

“Good evening, Uncle Thomas!” said half-a-dozen little voices at once, as the party burst into the room. They had been romping as they came along the pleasant green lane leading to Uncle Thomas’s cottage, and, fond as they were of his Stories, it was some time before they could settle down to listen to his account of the Ostrich.

When, at length, order was sufficiently established, Uncle Thomas began. “The Ostrich,” he said, “is one of the most singular of birds, whether we regard its structure or habits. Though possessing wings, like other birds, it never flies, but, as it runs rapidly across the plains, it uses them to assist its speed. It inhabits the barren deserts of Africa, and the adaptation of the animal to the mode of life for which it is intended is one of the most striking proofs of God’s superintending care, the comprehensiveness of which is such, that we are assured that not even a sparrow falls to the ground without His knowledge and consent.

“Though, from the shyness of the animal,” continued Uncle Thomas, “and the difficulty of watching its habits in a state of nature, less is known of them than could be wished, we still know enough to cause us to wonder and admire. It feeds on the stunted herbage of the desert, and has sometimes to pass over long ranges of sterile plains in search of food. It builds no nest, but merely hollows out a place in the sand and deposits its eggs; not, however, to leave them entirely, as has been sometimes said, to be hatched by the fostering heat of the sun. During the day, when the heat is very powerful, and the sun beats directly into the nest, there is no necessity for her remaining to cover them, as they thus derive quite as much warmth as she could impart, or is useful. Besides, from the cause already explained, the Ostrich is often under the necessity of absenting herself for considerable periods in search of food; but no sooner does the evening set in, than she hastens to resume her place on the nest, and sits patiently till the bright sunshine of another day sets her again at liberty.

“A traveller in Africa, who had an opportunity of observing the Ostrich, says that it runs as rapidly as a good saddle-horse at full speed; and a philosophical writer, speaking of the providential arrangements of nature, says, ‘There is not in the whole range of nature a more beautiful instance of adaptation than that which subsists between the Ostrich and the desert. The desert is a singular locality in nature, and the Ostrich is singularly formed and fitted for the severe labour which it has there to encounter. In its walking structure this bird is not excelled by any animal, even by those swift Antelopes which are her near neighbours. We find, too, that wherever one species of action is required, in a very high degree, the organization of the animal is in a great measure concentrated upon that. Flight would have been of comparatively little use to such a bird, in the situation in which it has been placed by nature. Wings for flight, to bear up so weighty a bird as the Ostrich in swift motion through the air, would have demanded a waste of muscular exertion, for the supply of which sufficient food could not have been found in the Ostrich’s country. Besides, wings would have been of no use in the desert, because there is nothing there which a vegetable feeding bird could catch upon the wing, and the height of the Ostrich is quite sufficient to reach the top of the tallest vegetable in her pastures. There is, therefore, a very fine instance of economy in the wings of the Ostrich being so little developed, as that they are useful for flight, because this enables the whole power of the bird, in so far as motion is concerned, to be concentrated upon the legs, and the muscles by which these are moved.’

“A very interesting story,” continued Uncle Thomas, “is told of the affection of a pair of Ostriches which were formerly in the Jardin du Roi, at Paris. The sky-light in the roof of the apartment in which they were kept having been broken, the glaziers proceeded to repair it, and, in the course of their work, let fall a triangular piece of glass. Not long after this, the female ostrich was taken ill, and died after an hour or two of great agony. The body was opened, and the throat and stomach were found to have been dreadfully lacerated by the sharp corners of the glass which she had swallowed. From the moment his companion was taken from him, the male bird had no rest; he appeared to be incessantly searching for something, and daily wasted away. He was removed from the spot, in the hope that he would forget his grief; he was even allowed more liberty, but in vain, and he literally pined himself to death.”

“Are Ostriches very strong birds?” asked Jane.

“So strong,” said Uncle Thomas, “that when caught and tamed by the natives of Africa, they sometimes mount the children on their backs, and the Ostriches run about quite easily with their burdens. Here is a print of a scene of this kind, in which the little riders and their fond mamas seem highly pleased with the amusement.”

“Oh, delightful!” cried Jane.

“It is said,” continued Uncle Thomas, “that one of the ancient Egyptian monarchs had a chariot drawn by Ostriches; and such is their power of limb, that they can readily lay a Dog prostrate by a single blow.”

“But they are very stupid birds, are they not?” asked Harry. “When about to be taken by their pursuers, they thrust their heads into the bushes, expecting that, as they do not see their enemy, he may not be able to see them.”

“I know that such an impression exists,” said Uncle Thomas; “but it is an erroneous one. Like many other fabulous tales, however, this seems to retain its hold on the public mind, even in spite of the great increase of our knowledge within the last few years.”

“Oh!” cried Jane, who, during the conversation which we have just recorded, had been turning over the pages of the book from which Uncle Thomas read the extract about the adaptation of the Ostrich to the locality in which it is found. “See here!” pointing to the figure of an Emu; “here is a very singular bird; I thought at first it was an Ostrich; it is very like one!”

“No, my dear,” said Uncle Thomas, “that is the Emu; a bird which in some measure resembles the Ostrich, but it is only found in New Holland. If you compare it with the figure of an Ostrich, you will find that it differs considerably. Its legs are shorter, its body not so handsome in its form, and its feet has three toes, while that of the Ostrich has two only. There are, besides, some other points of dissimilarity.

“The Emu,” continued Uncle Thomas, “inhabits the plains and ‘bushes’ of Australia, but so numerous are the enemies by which they are now surrounded,—settlers, bushmen, Wolves, and Wild-Dogs, that the race seems threatened with extirpation. Not only are their eggs reckoned good food, but some parts of their flesh, though not highly prized, is still palatable. Besides their swiftness, in which they resemble the Ostrich, they kick with great vigour; and are thus able to defend themselves against the Dingo or native Dog, but the trained one, which is brought to attack them on the side, is almost certain of victory.

“There is a curious provision of nature,” continued Uncle Thomas, “in the construction of this bird, consisting of an internal pouch, connected with the windpipe, the use of which long puzzled naturalists. At length some one more ingenious than his neighbours, or better acquainted with the animal’s habits, solved the difficulty by pointing out that it was intended to enable it to escape from the inundations to which the plains of New Holland are particularly liable, and without which provision the heaviness of the Emu would probably cause it to sink and be drowned.”

“How can it prevent it from sinking?” asked Mary.

“Pretty much in the same manner,” said Uncle Thomas, “as fishes are enabled at pleasure to rise to the surface of the water. Fishes, you know, are furnished with what is called an air-bladder, which they have the power of filling and emptying at pleasure; when they wish to sink they force out the air, and their bodies being thus rendered specifically heavier than water, descend; and on the contrary, when they wish to rise, by inflating it they ascend. The ‘air-bladder,’ if I may so call it, of the Emu acts much in the same way. As the animal walks about it is, of course, of no use, and is allowed to remain empty; but, whenever it is threatened with drowning it is inflated, and the Emu is thus enabled to float with its head above the surface of the water.

“Mr. Jesse gives an account of a singular peculiarity in the habits of the Emu,” continued Uncle Thomas, “so contrary to the usual operations of Nature, that I am inclined to suppose it a mere accidental circumstance; it is this:—‘The only instance,’ he says, ‘which I have met with in which the hen bird has not the chief care in hatching and bringing up the young is in the case of the Emu at the farm belonging to the Zoological Society, near Kingston. A pair of these birds have now five young ones: the female, at different times, dropped nine eggs in various places in the pen in which she was confined. These were collected in one place by the male, who rolled them gently and carefully along with his beak. He then sat upon them himself, and continued to do so with the utmost assiduity for nine weeks, during which time the female never took his place, nor was he ever observed to leave the nest. When the young were hatched, he alone took charge of them, and has continued to do so ever since, the female not appearing to notice them in any way. On reading this anecdote, many persons would suppose that the female Emu was not possessed of that natural affection for its young which other birds have. In order to rescue it from this supposition I will mention that a female Emu, belonging to the Duke of Devonshire, at Chiswick, lately laid some eggs; and as there was no male bird, she collected them together herself and sat upon them.’”

“That is a very curious circumstance,” said Frank, “do you think the birds do so in their native haunts?”

“I should think not,” said Uncle Thomas. “I once heard a similar instance of a Turkey-cock hatching a brood of young. On one occasion, a female Turkey belonging to a gentleman in Sweden was sitting upon eggs, and as the cock in her absence began to appear uneasy and dejected, he was shut up with her. He immediately sat down by her side; and it was soon found that he had taken some eggs from under her, which he covered very carefully. The eggs were put back under the female, but he soon afterwards took them again. This induced the owner, by way of experiment, to have a nest made, and as many eggs put in it as it was thought the Turkey-cock could conveniently cover. The bird seemed highly pleased with this mark of confidence; he sat with great patience on the eggs, and was so attentive to the care of hatching them, as scarcely to afford himself time to take the food necessary for his support. At the usual period, twenty-eight young ones were produced; and the cock, who was in some measure the parent of this numerous offspring, appeared perplexed on seeing so many little creatures pecking around him, and requiring his care.”

“Does the Turkey come from New Holland as well as the Emu?” asked Mary.

“The Turkey,” said Uncle Thomas, “is a native of North America, and was unknown to Europeans before the discovery of that country. In some parts of America, however, it is now quite extinct as a wild bird, being only found in a state of domestication; but in the more western parts, where the native forests exist, it is still plentiful. The best account of the Turkey in its native haunts is that afforded by Prince Lucien Buonaparte, which Harry will have the goodness to read to us:—

“The wild Turkeys do not confine themselves to any particular kind of food; they eat maize, all sorts of berries, fruits, grasses, Beetles, and even Tadpoles; young Frogs and Lizards are occasionally found in their crops; but when the pecan nut is plentiful, they prefer that fruit to any other nourishment. Their more general predilection is, however, for the acorn, on which they rapidly fatten. When an unusually profuse crop of acorns is produced in a particular section of country, great numbers of Turkeys are enticed from their ordinary haunts in the surrounding districts. About the beginning of October, while the mast still remains on the trees, they assemble in flocks, and direct their course to the rich bottom lands. At this season they are observed in great numbers in the Ohio and Mississippi. The time of this irruption is known to the Indians by the name of the Turkey month.

“The male Turkeys, usually termed gobblers, associate in parties, numbering from ten to a hundred, and seek their food apart from the females; whilst the latter either move about singly with their young, then nearly two-thirds grown, or, in company with other females and their families, form troops, sometimes consisting of seventy or eighty individuals, all of whom are intent on avoiding the old males, who, whenever opportunity offers, attack and destroy the young, by repeated blows on the skull. All parties, however, travel in the same direction, and on foot, unless they are compelled to seek their individual safety by flying from the hunter’s-Dog, or their march is impeded by a large river. When about to cross a river, they select the highest eminences, that their flight may be the more certain; and here they sometimes remain for a day or more, as if for the purpose of consultation, or to be duly prepared for so hazardous a voyage. During this time the males gobble obstreperously, and strut with extraordinary importance, as if they would animate their companions, and inspire them with the utmost degree of hardihood; the females and young also assume much of the pompous air of the males, the former spreading their tails, and moving silently around. At length the assembled multitude mount to the tops of the highest trees, whence, at a signal note from a leader, the whole together wing their way towards the opposite shore. All the old and fat ones cross without difficulty, even when the river exceeds a mile in width; but the young, meagre, and weak, frequently fall short of the desired landing, and are forced to swim for their lives. This they do dexterously enough, spreading their tails for a support, closing their wings to the body, stretching the neck forwards, and striking out quickly and forcibly with their legs. If, in thus endeavouring to regain the land, they approach an elevated or inaccessible bank, their exertions are remitted, they resign themselves to the stream for a short time, in order to gain strength, and then with one violent effort escape from the water. But in this attempt all are not successful; some of the weaker, as they cannot rise sufficiently high in air to clear the bank, fall again and again into the water, and thus miserably perish. Immediately after the Turkeys have succeeded in crossing a river, they for some time ramble about without any apparent unanimity of purpose, and a great many are destroyed by the hunters, although they are then least valuable.

“When the Turkeys have arrived in their land of abundance, they disperse in small flocks, composed of individuals of all sexes and ages intermingled, who devour all the mast as they advance: this occurs about the middle of November. It has been observed that, after these long journeys, the Turkeys become so familiar as to venture on the plantations, and even approach so near the farm-houses as to enter the stables and corn cribs in search of food; in this way they pass the autumn, and part of the winter. During this season great numbers are killed by the inhabitants, who preserve them in a frozen state, in order to transport them to a distant market.

“Early in March they begin to pair; and, for a short time previous, the females separate from, and shun their mates, though the latter pertinaciously follow them, uttering their gobbling note. The sexes roost apart, but at no great distance, so that, when the female utters a call every male within hearing responds, rolling note after note, in the most rapid succession; not as when spreading the tail and strutting near the hen, but in a voice resembling that of the tame Turkey, when he hears any unusual or frequently repeated noise. When the Turkeys are numerous, the woods from one end to the other, sometimes for hundreds of miles, resound with this remarkable voice of their wooing, uttered responsively from their roosting-places. This is continued for about an hour; and, on the rising of the sun, they instantly descend from their perches, and the males begin to strut, for the purpose of winning the admiration of their mates.

“If the call be given from the ground, the males in the vicinity fly towards the individual, and, whether they perceive her or not, erect and spread their tails, throw the head backwards, distend the comb and wattles, strut pompously and rustle their wings and body feathers, at the same moment ejecting a puff of air from the lungs. Whilst thus occupied, they occasionally halt to look out for the female, and then resume their strutting and puffing, moving with as much rapidity as the nature of their gait will admit. During this ceremonious approach, the males often encounter each other, and desperate battles ensue, when the conflict is only terminated by the flight or death of the vanquished.

“About the middle of April, when the weather is dry, the female selects a proper place in which to deposit her eggs, secure from the encroachment of water, and, as far as possible, concealed from the watchful eye of the Crow. This crafty bird espies the hen going to her nest, and, having discovered the precious deposit, waits for the absence of the parent, and removes every one of the eggs from the spot, that he may devour them at leisure. The nest is placed on the ground, either on a dry ridge, in the fallen top of a dead leafy tree, under a thicket of sumach or briars, or by the side of a log; it is of a very simple structure, being composed of a few dried leaves. In this receptacle the eggs are deposited, sometimes to the number of twenty, but more usually from nine to sixteen; they are whitish, spotted with reddish brown, like that of the domestic bird. Their manner of building, number of eggs, period of incubation, &c., appear to correspond throughout the Union, as I have received exactly similar accounts from the northern limits of the Turkey range to the most southern limits of Florida, Louisiana, and the western wilds of Missouri.

“The female always approaches her nest with great caution, varying her course so as rarely to reach it twice by the same route; and on leaving her charge, she is very careful to cover the whole with dry leaves, with which she conceals it so artfully as to make it extremely difficult, even for one who has watched her movements, to indicate the exact spot; hence few nests are found, and these are generally discovered by fortuitously starting the female from them, or by the appearance of broken shells, scattered around by some cunning Lynx, Fox, or Crow. When laying or sitting, the Turkey hen is not easily driven from her post by the approach of apparent danger; but if an enemy appears, she crouches as low as possible, and suffers it to pass. A circumstance related by Mr. Audubon will show how much intelligence they display on such occasions: having discovered a sitting hen, he remarked that, by assuming a careless air, whistling, or talking to himself, he was permitted to pass within five or six feet of her; but if he advanced cautiously, she would not suffer him to come within twenty paces, but ran off twenty or thirty yards with her tail expanded, when, assuming a stately gait, she paused on every step, occasionally uttering a chuck. They seldom abandon their nests on account of being discovered by a man, but should a Snake, or any other animal, suck one of the eggs, the parent leaves them altogether. If the eggs be removed, or destroyed, she again commences laying, although otherwise she lays but one nest of eggs during the season. Several Turkey hens sometimes associate, perhaps for mutual safety, deposit their eggs in the same nest, and rear their broods together.

“When the process of incubation is ended, and the mother is about to retire from the nest with her young brood, she shakes herself violently, pecks and adjusts the feathers about the belly, and assumes a different aspect; her eyes are alternately inclined obliquely upwards and sideways; she stretches forth her neck, in every direction, to discover birds of prey or other enemies; her wings are partially spread, and she softly chucks to keep her tender offspring close to her side. They proceed slowly, and, as the hatching generally occurs in the afternoon, they sometimes return to pass the first night in the nest. While very young, the mother leads them to elevated dry places, as if aware that humidity during the first few days of their life would be very dangerous to them, they having then no other protection than a delicate, soft, hairy down. In very rainy seasons wild Turkeys are scarce, because, when completely wetted, the young rarely survive.

“At the expiration of about two weeks, the young leave the ground on which they had previously reposed at night under the female, and follow her to some low branch of a tree, where they nestle under the broadly curved wings of their vigilant and fostering parent. The time then approaches in which they seek the open ground or prairie land, during the day, in search of strawberries, and subsequently of dewberries, blackberries, and Grasshoppers; thus securing a plentiful food, and enjoying the influence of the genial sun. They frequently dust themselves in shallow cavities of the soil or on ant-hills, in order to clean off the loose skin of their growing feathers, and rid themselves of ticks and other vermin. The young Turkeys now grow rapidly, and in the month of August, when several broods flock together, and are led by their mothers to the forest, they are stout and quite able to secure themselves from the unexpected attacks of Wolves, Foxes, Lynxes, and even Cougars, by rising quickly from the ground, aided by their strong legs, and reaching with ease the upper limbs of the tallest tree. Amongst the numerous enemies of the Wild Turkey, the most dreaded are the large diurnal and nocturnal birds of prey, and the Lynx, who sucks their eggs, and is extremely expert at seizing both parent and young: he follows them for some distance in order to ascertain their course, and then, making a rapid circular movement, places himself in ambush before them, and waits until, by a single bound, he can fasten on his victim.

“Turkeys are very watchful birds, and act as guardians of each other; the first who observes a Hawk, Eagle, or other enemy, giving a note of alarm, on which all within hearing lie close on the ground. As they usually roost in flocks, perched on the naked branches of trees, they are easily discovered by the large Owls, and when attacked by these prowling birds, often escape by a somewhat remarkable manoeuvre. The Owl sails around the spot to select his prey; but notwithstanding the almost inaudible action of his pinions, the quick ear of one of the slumberers perceives the danger, which is immediately announced to the whole party by a chuck; thus alarmed, they rise on their legs and watch the motions of the Owl, who, darting like an arrow, would inevitably secure the individual at which he aimed, did not the latter suddenly drop his head, squat, and spread his tail over his back; the Owl then glances over without inflicting any injury, and at the very instant that the Turkey suffers himself to fall headlong towards the earth, when he is secure from his dreaded enemy.”

“Thank you, Harry!” said Uncle Thomas. “We shall now stop for the evening; but before you go, I must tell you of a little adventure with a Lynx, which happened to a gentleman who was enjoying the sport of Turkey-shooting:—‘Having seen a large flock of Turkeys at some distance,’ says he, ‘I approached them with great caution, when singling out a large cock, and being just on the point of firing, I observed that several young cocks were affrighted, and, in their language warned the rest to be on their guard against an enemy, who I plainly perceived was industriously making his subtle approaches towards them, behind the fallen trunk of a tree, about twenty yards from me. This cunning fellow-hunter was a large Wild-cat or Lynx; he saw me, and at times seemed to watch my motions, as if determined to seize the delicious prey before me, upon which I changed my object, and levelled my piece at him. At this instant my companion, at a distance, also discharged his gun, the report of which alarmed the flock of Turkeys, and my fellow-hunter, the Lynx, sprang over the log, and trotted off.’”