I shall never forget how vainly I sought, when a lonesome and isolated amateur, to find somewhere in print some useful information about how to remove grease, dirt, and blood-stains from the plumage of birds. I remember well my disgust and anger at the makers of the so-called "complete" manuals of taxidermy that left me groping in Egyptian darkness on that subject, and most others also; and I registered a solemn vow that should I ever write on taxidermy I would do my best to afford some practical information on cleaning the plumage of birds.

As has been previously stated, the time to clean the plumage of a bird is while you are making up the fresh skin (Chapter VI.), before the skin has been laid away to dry, before the blood dries and imparts a permanent stain (to white feathers, at least), and before the oil has had a chance to ooze out into the feathers to gather dirt, and presently form a nasty, yellow oil-cake upon the skin. In cleaning the skin of a fat or oily bird, scrape all the grease from the inside of the skin, and absorb it with corn meal or plaster Paris. Scrape the skin until it looks as if the feathers are about to fall out, until no more oil is raised, and then you may call it clean. When you have done this, you need not fear that any oil will ever exude upon the feathers.

Fresh Specimens.—If a freshly killed bird has blood upon its plumage, separate the bloody feathers from the others, lift them on your fingers, and with warm water and a sponge gently sponge them off. Give the blood a little time to soften, and when the feathers are as clean as you can get them with water, wipe them as dry as you can, then sponge them over with clear spirits of turpentine or benzine, and absorb this with plaster Paris. The manner of managing plaster Paris will be described in detail in another paragraph.

Very often the plumage of a freshly killed swan, gull, or duck, becomes so covered with dirt, blood, and grease by the time it reaches the taxidermist that it is a sight to behold. Never mind if it is, you can make it as good as new, in every respect, so far as cleanliness is concerned. The thing to do is to skin the bird, and clean the skin before either mounting it or making it up as a skin. The cleaning is often made easier, however, by hastily filling the loose skin with excelsior or tow, to give a firm foundation to work upon when cleaning the plumage.

If you have no turpentine, as will probably happen to you many a time when you least expect it, take some warm water, as warm as you can bear your hand in, rub some castile soap in it, and with a sponge, or a soft cotton cloth, wash the soiled feathers. Do not scrub them as you would a greasy floor, and utterly destroy the perfect set of the feathers, but sponge them with the grain, as far as possible, treating them as a compact layer. Now, if you have turpentine, wipe the feathers as dry as you can, and give them a sponging with that, for they will come out better from the plaster Paris than otherwise. When the plaster is put upon feathers that are wet with water, it acts too quickly in its drying, and the feathers are often dried before they have had time to become fluffy as in life. But if you have no turpentine, you must finish without it. Whichever liquid you use, at the finish fill the feathers full of plaster Paris, and almost immediately lift the bird and beat it gently to knock out the saturated plaster. That done, put on more plaster, filling the feathers full of it down to their very roots, and presently whip that out also. By the time you have made the third application, the feathers are almost dry, and the plaster falls out almost dry also. Now is your time to whip the feathers with a supple switch, or a light filler of stiff wire, to make each bedraggled feather fluff up at the base of its shaft, and spread its web for all it is worth. This treatment is also vitally necessary to knock the plaster out of the plumage. Work the feathers with your long forceps, lifting them up a bunch at a time and letting them fall back into place. By this time the plaster flies out in a cloud of white dust, and the whipping of the feathers must be kept up without intermission until the plaster is all out. If any plaster remains in the feathers, you may count with certainty that it will always be sifting out upon the pedestal, and, what is even worse, if the plumage is black, or dark-colored, it will impart to it a gray and dusty appearance.

Caution.—Remember that if you leave the first application of plaster, or even the second, too long in the feathers it will "set" or harden there, and make you wish you were dead before you get it out.

Dry Skins.—The hardest subjects to deal with are old, dry skins. While fresh, fat is merely so much clean oil smeared on the feathers. An old, dry duck, goose, swan, penguin, auk, or albatross skin is liable to have the feathers of the breast and abdomen all caked together in a solid mass of rancid, yellow grease, to which time has added a quantity of museum dirt. In mounting one of the charming specimens of this too numerous class, it is not always safe to clean the feathers before inserting the body. There is danger that the skin will go to pieces. For this, and other reasons, the skin should be scraped clean inside, poisoned, furnished with a body, and sewn up before you attempt to clean the feathers.

When feathers are badly caked with old, dry grease, it is an excellent plan to apply a jet of steam to the afflicted region, which quickly warms and moistens the grease, and allows the turpentine to cut it in less than half the time it would otherwise require. There is nothing that starts dry grease as quickly as a little well-directed steam; but steam is a powerful shrinking agency, and it must be used with judgment.

Usually an old skin is so dirty that it requires to be "plastered" all over. If you have no steam, attack the greasy portions first with warm water (but no soap), to warm up the grease and soften it. Time and patience are both necessary. Next, wipe off the water, and with a wad of cotton cloth, tow, or cotton batting, dip from your dish of turpentine, and apply it as a wash upon the feathers, always rubbing with the grain, of course. When, after repeated applications, you see that the turpentine has dissolved the grease to quite an extent, go rapidly over the remainder of the bird, then lay it down upon a sheet of heavy paper, upon its back, and cover it completely with plaster Paris. It takes two or three quarts to do this usually, and for a swan it requires a pailful.

As soon as the plaster has had time to absorb the greasy turpentine, which it does in about a minute, lift the bird from its burial-place, and holding it head upward hit it several sharp blows with a light stick to knock the plaster out of the feathers. Devote from three to five minutes to this, then examine the feathers and see whether they are perfectly clean. Most likely they are not, if it is a case of old grease, and a repetition of the dose is necessary. Start again with your wash of turpentine and do precisely as before (without the use of any water). If this does not bring the feathers out clean and white from roots to tips, then give it a third going over, with unabated vigor and thoroughness. The third time is usually "the charm," even with the worst cases. This time the plaster must be thoroughly beaten out of the feathers, even if takes you an hour to accomplish it.

All this is rather disagreeable work. Of course you will put on old clothes and get out doors to windward of your bird while beating it, so that the plaster will fly off upon some other fellow. Soft feathers may be handled more carelessly than the stiffer sorts. Of course great care must be taken to not separate the web of the tail and wing feathers, nor to break the shafts of even the small ones. Beware getting any of the body feathers twisted during this operation, or they will not lie down where they belong.

Benzine can be used instead of turpentine in cleaning plumage, but it is too volatile, and evaporates too quickly to render the best service.

It is practically useless to attempt to remove clotted blood from the feathers of old dry skins. Even if by persistent effort the blood itself is removed, it leaves a lasting stain upon the feathers, and they are also permanently awry. The universal custom with taxidermists in such case is to obey the (paraphrased) scriptural injunction—if a feather offend thee, pluck it out. If this course leaves a vacancy in the plumage, steal a perfect feather from some suitable portion of the bird's body, and glue it fast in the place of the missing one. Fortunately, however, collectors have about ceased to make up skins to dry with blood upon them, and there is not much trouble to apprehend hereafter from that source.