The Condor—His Marvellous Flight—His Cowardice—Various Modes of Capturing Condors—Ancient Fables circulated about them—Comparison of the Condor with the Albatross—The Carrion Vultures—The King of the Vultures—Domestication of the Urubu—Its Extraordinary Memory—The Harpy Eagle—Examples of his Ferocity—The Oricou—The Bacha—His Cruelty to the Klipdachs—The Fishing Eagle of Africa—The Musical Sparrow-hawk—The Secretary Eagle.

The flight of the Condor is truly wonderful. From the mountain-plains of the Andes, the royal bird, soaring aloft, appears only like a small black speck on the sky, and a few hours afterwards he descends to the coast and mixes his loud screech with the roar of the surf. No living creature rises voluntarily so high, none traverses in so short a time all the climates of the globe. He rests at night in the crevices of the rocks, or on some jutting ledge; but as soon as the first rays of the sun light the high mountain peaks, while the darkness of night still rests upon the deeper valleys, he stretches forth his neck, shakes his head as if fully to rouse himself, stoops over the brink of the abyss, and flapping his wings, dives into the aËrial ocean. At first his flight is by no means strong; he sinks as if borne down by his weight; but soon he ascends, and sweeps through the rarefied atmosphere without any perceptible vibratory motion of his wings. ‘Near Lima,’ says Mr Darwin, ‘I watched several condors for nearly half an hour without once taking off my eyes. They moved in large curves, sweeping in circles, descending and ascending without once flapping. As they glided close over my head, I intently watched from an oblique position the outlines of the separate and terminal feathers of the wing; if there had been the least vibratory movement these would have blended together, but they were seen distinct against the blue sky. The head and neck were moved frequently and apparently with force, and it appeared that the extended wings formed the fulcrum on which the movements of the neck, body, and tail acted. If the bird wished to descend, the wings were for a moment collapsed, and then, when again expanded with an altered inclination, the momentum gained by the rapid descent seemed to urge the bird upwards with the even and steady movement of a paper kite.’

Like other vultures, the condor feeds only upon dead carcases, or on new-born lambs and calves, whom he tears from the side of their mothers. He thus does so much damage to the herds, that the shepherds pursue and kill him whenever they can. As even a bullet frequently glances off from his thick feathery coat, the natives never use fire-arms for his destruction, but make use of various traps, of the sling, or of the bolas, which they are able to throw with marvellous dexterity.

In the Peruvian province of Abacay, an Indian provided with cords conceals himself under a fresh cow’s skin, to which some pieces of flesh are left attached. The condors soon pounce upon the prey, but while they are feasting, he fastens their legs to the skin. This being accomplished, he suddenly comes forth; and the alarmed birds vainly flap their wings, for other Indians hurry towards them, throw their mantles or their lassos over them, and carry the condors to their village, where they are reserved for the next bull fight. For a full week before this spectacle is to take place, the bird gets nothing to eat, and is then bound upon the back of a bull which has previously been scarified with lances. The bellowing of the poor animal, lacerated by the famished vulture, and vainly striving to cast off its tormentor, amuses what may well be called the ‘swinish multitude.’ In the province of Huarochirin there is a large natural funnel-shaped excavation, about sixty feet deep, with a diameter of about eighty feet at the top. A dead mule is placed on the brink of the precipice. The tugging of the condors at the dead carcase causes it to fall into the hole; they follow it with greedy haste, and having gorged themselves with food, are unable again to rise from the narrow bottom of the funnel. In a somewhat similar manner condors are caught in Peru, Bolivia, and Chili, and are frequently brought to Valparaiso and Callao, where they are sold for a few dollars to the foreign ships, and thence conveyed to Europe.

The condor, though a very large bird, about four feet long and measuring at least three yards from tip to tip of his extended wings, is far from attaining the dimensions assigned to him by the earlier writers and naturalists, who, emulating Sinbad the Sailor, in his account of the fabulous roc, described him as a giant whose bulk darkened the air.

The condor reminds us of the Albatross. As the former sweeps in majestic circles high above the Andes, the latter soars gracefully over the ocean, ‘and without ever touching the water with his wings, rises with the rising billow and falls with the falling wave.’33 If the wonderful power of wing which bears the condor, often within the space of a few hours, from the sea-shore into the highest regions of the air, and the strength of breast which is able to support such changes of atmospheric pressure, may well raise our wonder, the indomitable pinions of the albatross are no less admirable. Both are unable to take wing from a narrow space, and both finally, so lordly in their movements, feed in the same ignoble manner, the condor pouncing from incredible distances upon the carcase of the mule or lama, while the albatross gorges upon the fat of the stranded whale.

While the condor is considered an enemy to man, the Gallinazos, turkey-buzzards, or common American Carrion Vultures (Vultur aura, V. urubu), are very serviceable to him, by consuming the animal offals which, if left to putrefaction, would produce a pestilence. Thus they generally, in tropical America, enjoy the protection of the law, a heavy fine being imposed upon the offender who wantonly kills one of these scavengers. It is consequently not to be wondered at that, like domestic birds, they congregate in flocks in the streets of Lima, and sleep upon the roofs of the houses.

According to Mr. Wallace the Carrion Vultures, though commonly supposed to have very acute olfactory nerves, depend entirely on sight in seeking out their food. While he was skinning a bird, a dozen of them used to be always waiting attendance at a moderate distance. The moment he threw away a piece of meat they would all run up to seize it; but it frequently happened to fall in a little hollow of the ground or among some grass, and then they would hop about, searching within a foot of it, and very often go away without finding it. A piece of stick or paper would bring them down just as rapidly, and after seeing what it was they would quietly go back to their former places. They always choose elevated stations, evidently to see what food they can discover, and when soaring at an immense height in the air, they will descend where some animal has died long before it emits any strong smell.

It is a remarkable fact that, though hundreds of gallinazos may be feeding upon a carcase, they immediately retire when the King of the Vultures (Sarcoramphus papa) makes his appearance, who yet is not larger than themselves. Perching on the neighbouring trees, they wait till his majesty—a beautiful bird, with a gaudily coloured head and neck—has sufficiently gorged himself, and then pounce down with increased voracity upon their disgusting meal.

The Indians of Guiana sometimes amuse themselves with catching a gallinazo by means of a piece of meat attached to a hook, and decking him with a variety of strange feathers, which they attach to him with soft wax. Thus travestied, they turn him out again among his comrades, who, to their great delight, fly in terror from the nondescript; and it is only after wind and weather have stripped him of his finery that the outlaw is once more admitted into their society.

When full of food this vulture, like the other members of his tribe, appears an indolent bird. He will stand for hours together on a branch of a tree, or on the top of a house, with his wings drooping, or after rain, spreading them to catch the rays of the sun. But when in quest of prey, he may be seen soaring aloft on pinions which never flutter, and at the same time carry him with a rapidity equal to that of the golden eagle. Scarcely has he espied a piece of carrion below, when, folding his broad wings, he descends with such speed as to produce a whistling sound, resembling that of an arrow cleaving the air.

The gallinazos when taken young can be so easily tamed that they will follow the person who feeds them for many miles. D’Orbigny even mentions one of these birds that was so attached to its master that it accompanied him, like a dog, wherever he went. During a serious illness of its patron, the door of the bedroom having been left open, the bird eagerly flew in, and expressed a lively joy at seeing him again.

The Harpy Eagle (ThrasaËtus harpyia) is one of the finest of all the rapacious birds. The enormous development of his beak and legs, and his consequent strength and power in mastering his prey, correspond with his bold and noble bearing and the fierce lustre of his eye. His whole aspect is that of formidably organised power, and even the crest adds much to his terrific appearance. ‘Among many singular birds and curiosities,’ says Mr. Edwards, in his ‘Voyage up the Amazon,’ ‘that were brought to us, was a young harpy eagle, a most ferocious looking character, with a high crest and a beak and talons in correspondence. He was turned loose into the garden, and before long gave us a sample of his powers. With erected crest and flashing eyes, uttering a frightful shriek, he pounced upon a young ibis, and quicker than thought had torn his reeking liver from his body. The whole animal world there was wild with fear.’

The harpy attains a greater size than the common eagle. He chiefly resides in the damp lowlands of tropical America, where Prince Maximilian of Neu Wied met with him only in the dense forests, perched on the high branches. The monkey, vaulting by means of his tail from tree to tree, mocks the pursuit of the tiger-cat and boa, but woe to him if the harpy spies him out, for seizing him with lightning-like rapidity, he cleaves his skull with one single stroke of his beak.

Fear seems to be totally unknown to this noble bird, and he defends himself to the last moment. D’Orbigny relates that one day, while descending a Bolivian river in a boat with some Indians, they severely wounded a harpy with their arrows, so that it fell from the branch on which it had been struck. Stepping out of the canoe, the savages now rushed to the spot where the bird lay, knocked it on the head, and tearing out the feathers of its wings, brought it for dead to the boat. Yet the harpy awakened from his trance, and furiously attacked his persecutors. Throwing himself upon D’Orbigny he pierced his hand through and through with the only talon that had been left unhurt, while the mangled remains of the other tore his arm, which at the same time he lacerated with his beak. Two men were hardly able to release the naturalist from the attacks of the ferocious bird.

On turning from the New to the Old World, we find other but not less interesting raptorial birds sweep through the higher regions of the air in quest of prey. The gigantic oricou, or Sociable Vulture (Vultur auricularis), inhabits the greater part of Africa, and builds his nest in the fissures of rocks on the peaks of inaccessible mountains. In size he equals the condor, and his flight is not less bold; leaving his lofty cavern at dawn, he rises higher and higher, till he is lost to sight; but, though beyond the sphere of human vision, the telescopic eye of the bird is at work. The moment any animal sinks to the earth in death, the unseen vulture detects it. Does the hunter bring down some large quadruped, beyond his powers to remove, and leave it to obtain assistance?—on his return, however speedy, he finds it surrounded by a band of vultures, where not one was to be seen a quarter of an hour before.

Le Vaillant having once killed three zebras, hastened to his camp, at about a league’s distance, to fetch a wagon; but on returning he found nothing but the bones, at which hundreds of oricous were busy picking. Another time, having killed a gazelle, he left the carcase on the sand, and retired into the bushes to observe what would happen. First came crows, who with loud croakings wheeled round the dead animal: then after a few minutes kites and buzzards appeared, and finally he saw the oricous descending from an enormous height. They alighted upon the gazelle, and soon hundreds of raptorial birds were assembled. Thus the small robbers had first pointed out the way to those of middle size, who in their turn roused the attention of the bandits of a higher order; and none of them came too short, for after the powerful oricous had dismembered the carcase, some very good morsels remained for the buzzards, and the bones furnished excellent pickings for the crows.

The Bacha (Falco bacha, Daudin) inhabits India and Africa, where he sits for days on the peak of precipitous cliffs, on the look-out for rock-rabbits (Hyrax Capensis). These poor animals, who have good reason to be on their guard, venture only with the greatest caution to peep out of the caves and crevices in which they take up their abode, and to which they owe their Dutch name of ‘klipdachs.’ Meanwhile the bacha remains immovable, as if he were part of the rock on which he perches, his head muffled up in his shoulders, but watching with a sharp eye every movement of his prey, until, finally, some unfortunate klipdachs venturing forth, he darts upon him like a thunderbolt. If this rapid attack proves unsuccessful, the bacha slinks away, ashamed, like a lion that has missed his spring, and seeks some new observatory, for he is well aware that no rock-rabbit in the neighbourhood will venture to stroll out during the remainder of the day. But if he succeeds in seizing the klipdachs before it has time to leap away, he carries it to a rocky ledge, and slowly tears it to pieces. The terrible cries of the animal appear to sound like music in his ears, as if he were not only satisfying his hunger but rejoicing in the torments of an enemy. This scene of cruelty spreads terror far and wide, and for a long time no klipdachs will be seen where the bacha has held his bloody repast.

The Fishing Eagle of Africa (HaliÆtus vocifer), first noticed by Le Vaillant, may be seen hovering about the coasts and river-mouths of that vast continent. He is never found in the interior of the country, as the African streams are but thinly stocked with fish, which form his principal food. ‘Elastic and buoyant, this agile dweller in the air mounts to soaring heights scanning with sharp and piercing eye the motions of his prey below. Energetic in his movements, impetuous in his appetites, he pounces with the velocity of a meteor on the object of his wishes, and with a wild and savage joy tears it to pieces. His whole sense of existence is the procuring of food, and for this he is ever on the alert, ever ready to combat, to ravage, and destroy.’34 He generally devours his prey on the nearest rock, and loves to return to the same spot where the bones of gazelles and lizards may be seen lying about, a proof that his appetite is not solely confined to the finny tribes. When these birds are sitting, they call and answer each other with a variously-toned shriek which they utter under curious movements of the head and neck.

While all other raptorial birds croak or shriek, the musical Sparrow Hawk of Africa (Melierca musicus, Gray) pours forth his morning and evening notes to entertain his mate while she is performing the business of incubation. Every song lasts a minute, and then the hunter may approach, but during the pause he is obliged to remain perfectly quiet, as then the bird hears the least noise and immediately flies away.

The prowess of the Secretary Eagle (Serpentarius cristatus) attacking the most venomous serpents has already been mentioned. The long legs of this useful bird, which owes its name of secretary to the crest on the back of its head, reminding one of the pen stuck behind the ear, according to the custom of writing-clerks, might give one reason to reckon it, at first sight, among the cranes or storks, but its curved beak and internal organisation prove it to belong to the falcon tribe. Its feet being incapable of grasping, it keeps constantly on the ground in sandy and open places, and runs with such speed as to be able to overtake the most agile reptiles. The destruction it causes in their ranks must be as great as its own enviable powers of digestion, for Le Vaillant mentions that having killed one of these birds he found in its crop eleven rather large lizards, three serpents of an arm’s length, and eleven small tortoises, besides a number of locusts, beetles, and other insects, swallowed most likely by way of dessert.