The pagans of primitive times along the shores of the Mediterranean believed in personal gods and their guidance in human affairs. With the approval of these gods, or of that departmental god or goddess having charge of the matter in mind, one’s project would prosper, whereas their disapproval meant failure and very likely some punishment under divine wrath. The human difficulty was to learn the will of said gods.

Equally well settled was the doctrine that birds—which seemed to belong to the celestial spaces overhead where the gods lived and manifested their variable moods, now in sunshine and zephyr, now by storm-clouds, and rainfall—were inspired messengers of the gods, and required reverent attention. This, however, did but throw the difficulty one step further back, for how could human intelligence comprehend the messages birds were constantly bringing?

At any rate the principal and most numerous omens in the pre-Christian centuries were drawn from birds; and this kind of divination gained so much credit that other kinds were little regarded. It was based, as has been indicated, on the theory that these creatures, by their actions, wittingly or unwittingly, conveyed the will of the gods. This super-avian attribute was by no means confined to the prominent raven and crow, whose prophetic qualities have been portrayed in another chapter, for various birds came to be considered “fortunate” or “unfortunate,” from the point of view of the seeker after supernal guidance, either on account of their own characteristics or according to the place and manner of their appearance; hence the same species might, at different times, foretell contrary events. Let me quote here a succinct statement from The Encyclopedia Londonensis, published in the early part of the 18th century:

If a flock of various birds came flying about any man it was an excellent omen. The eagle was particularly observed for drawing omens; when it was observed to be brisk and lively, and especially if, during its sportiveness, it flew from the right hand to the left, it was one of the best omens that the gods could give. Respecting vultures there are different opinions, both among the Greek and the Roman authors; by some they are represented as birds of lucky omen, while Aristotle and Pliny reckon them among the unlucky birds. If the hawk was seen seizing and devouring her prey, it portended death; but if the prey escaped deliverance from danger was portended. Swallows wherever and under whatever circumstances they were seen were unlucky birds; before the defeat of Pyrrhus and Antony they appeared on the tent of the former and the ship of the latter; and, by dispiriting their minds, probably prepared the way for their subsequent disasters. In every part of Greece except Athens, owls were regarded as unlucky birds; but at Athens, being sacred to Minerva, they were looked upon as omens of victory and success. The swan, being an omen of fair weather, was deemed a lucky bird by mariners.

The most inauspicious omens were given by ravens, but the degree of misfortune which they were supposed to portend depended, in some measure, in their appearing on the right hand or the left; if they came croaking on the right hand it was a tolerably good omen; but if on the left a very bad one.... The crow appearing [at a wedding] denoted long life to the married pair, if it appeared with its mate; but if it was seen single separation and sorrow were portended. Whence it was customary at nuptials for the maids to watch that none of these birds coming singly should disturb the solemnity.

It was hardly to be expected that the comprehension of all this science of soothsaying should belong to ordinary mortals; and therefore there arose early in its development certain clever “wise men” who declared themselves endowed with magical power to understand the language of birds, and to interpret both their chatter and their actions. Thus originated the profession of augury, a word that spells “bird-talk” in its root-meaning, with its later product auspices, or “bird-viewers.” The augur originally was a priest (or a magician, if you prefer that term) who listened to what the birds said; and the auspex was another who watched what they did, or examined their entrails to observe anything abnormal that he might construe as an answer to prayer, or interpreted something else in the nature of an omen from this or that divinity, or from all the gods together.

I need not describe the elaborate rites and ceremonies that came to be associated with the practice of this kind of divination (ornithomancy), especially under the revered and powerful College of Augurs that practically ruled the Roman Republic, even in the Augustan age, for it will suffice to direct attention to a few features.

Birds were distinguished by the Roman augurs as oscines or alites, “talkers” and “flyers.” The oscines were birds that gave signs by their cry as well as by flight, such as ravens, owls and crows. The alites included birds like eagles and vultures, which gave signs by their manner of flying. The quarter of the heavens in which they appeared, and their position relative to that of the observer, were most important factors in determining the significance of the supposed message, as has been extensively explained in an earlier chapter of this book.

This science or business of bird-divination, for it was both, was of prehistoric antiquity. Plutarch^[94] records that Romulus and Remus, the fabled founders of the Latin race began their eventful life under a wild fig-tree, where a she-wolf nursed them, and a woodpecker constantly fed and watched over them. “These creatures,” Plutarch remarks, “are esteemed holy to the god Mars—the woodpecker the Latins still especially worship and honor. Romulus became skilled in divination, and first carried the lituus, or diviner’s staff, a crooked rod with which soothsayers indicated the quarters of the heavens when observing the flight of birds.”

The peculiar province of the auspices, or bird-inspecters, was to seek the will of the gods as to some contemplated act or policy by watching the behavior of the sacred chickens, cared for by an official called pullarius. “If the chickens came too slowly out of the cage, or would not feed, it was a bad omen; but if they fed greedily, so that some part of their food fell and struck the ground, it was deemed an excellent omen.”—and so forth and so forth.

It is rather engaging to inquire why the humble barnyard fowl was used for so momentous a function. Partly, no doubt, because it was the most convenient kind of bird to keep and propagate in captivity, and therefore would always be at hand when wanted (and in case the prophecy-demand was light an occasional pullet for the official pot would not be missed!), but also because its witlessness made it dependable. A devotee of this way of omen-catching would explain that of course the bird was unconscious of the part it played; that its mind was a mere receptacle of divine impulses to act in a certain way, the significance of which the auspex understood and reported. If that theory is true, it follows that the more empty-headed the “medium” is the better, for it would then have fewer ideas of its own to short-circuit the inspired impulses. This view has, in fact, influenced ignorant folks everywhere in their conclusion that men who were witless, or crazy, or had lost their mentality in a trance, were “possessed,” mostly by devils but sometimes by good “spirits” which had found a mind “swept and garnished,” as St. Luke said, and had become vocal tenants; whence, it was argued, no human rationality interfered with the transmission of the message, and men must accept what the tongues uttered as inspired words. “Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings came forth praise” that was praise indeed, because the infants knew not what they said. That was the reason Balaam listened with so much respect to the warning spoken by his ass; and many a preaching ass since has had a similar reward for articulate braying.

One more consideration suggests itself. The ominous flock kept by the pullarius contained both cocks and hens; and the cock, as a bird of the sun, has been “sacred” from prehistoric antiquity in that primitive nature-worship from which the Greco-Romans were by no means free. “It is not improbable,” we are assured by Houghton^[95] “that the sacrificial rites and consultation by augury, in which cooks figured among the Romans, came originally from Babylonia.... I think that the figure [in a seal] of a cock perched on an altar before a priest making his offerings... represents the bird in this capacity as a soothsayer.” In fact, a whole department of the science of augury was known as alectromancy, in which a barnyard cock was the agent or medium of inspiration.

These practices—which were entirely void of morality—are a curious index of the mental barbarism of the early Greeks and Romans, for they are quite on a level with the ideas and doings of savages now.

With the advance in knowledge and enlightenment culminating in the philosophy of Cicero and his skeptical contemporaries, both faith and practice in this childish consultation of chickens and crows disappeared, or descended to be merely a political sop for the credulous populace. Even this passed away when superstitious paganism faded out of the religion of mankind in Europe, or, more exactly, it became changed into a faith in weather prophecy by noticing the behavior of birds and other animals; but these prognostications are based not on a supposed message from the gods but on deductions from observation and experience. Let us see how far this modern method of augury is of service as a sort of homemade Weather Bureau—we will, as it were, study the genesis of the Rain-bird. It began early. Aristophanes tells us, of the Greeks:

The proprietor of Gardiner’s Island, at the eastern end of Long Island, New York, where fish-hawks then abounded, and always since have been under protection, told Alexander Wilson^[46] many facts of interest respecting their habits, among others the following:

They are sometimes seen high in the air, sailing and cutting strange gambols, with loud vociferations, darting down several hundred feet perpendicularly, frequently with part of a fish in one claw, which they seem proud of, and to claim “high hook,” as the fishermen call him who takes the greatest number. On these occasions they serve as a barometer to foretell the changes of the atmosphere; for when the fish-hawks are thus sailing high in air, in circles, it is universally believed to prognosticate a change of weather, often a thunder-storm in a few hours. On the faith of the certainty of these signs the experienced coaster wisely prepares for the expected storm, and is rarely mistaken.

It would be hard to find a better epitome of the “signs” given by birds to the weather-prophet. Similar behavior in sea-gulls is interpreted in the same way: but in most cases high flight is said to denote continuance of fine weather, and in general there is good sense in that view, because, as a rule, bad weather descends upon us from the higher strata of the atmosphere, and birds up there would be the first to feel its approach. Hence the joyous greeting, “Everything is lovely and the goose honks (not ‘hangs’) high.” Sailors have a rhyme—

This point is made in particular in respect to swallows of various kinds, which are regarded in most countries as presaging rain when they all go skimming along close to the ground; but it was pure fancy that expanded this warning into the senseless couplet

That is, I suppose, the season will then furnish rain enough for a good crop. The same thing is sung of swans. But even the swallows cannot be depended on as indicators, for in late summer and autumn they are more likely to skim along the ground and over ponds than to go anywhere else; and, as showing the uncertainty in men’s minds in this matter, or else how signs change with locality, it may be mentioned that in Argentina swallows are held to indicate coming storms not by low but by elevated flight. Thus the naturalist Hudson^[44] writes of the musical martin (Progne), familiar about Buenos Ayres: “It is ... the naturalist’s barometer, as whenever, the atmosphere being clear and dry, the progne perches on the weathercock or lightning-rod, on the highest points of the house-top, or on the topmost twig of some lofty tree, chanting its incantation, cloudy weather and rain will surely follow within twenty-four hours.”

None of the host of sayings, of which you may read hundreds in the publications of the United States Weather Service, and in such collections of odd lore as Gleanings for the Curious,^[96] that pretend to foretell the character of a whole season from what birds do, are worth credence. For example, some declare that “a dry summer will follow when birds build their nests in exposed places,” on the theory, I suppose, that the builders will have no fear of getting wet; and

One important exception to this kind of nonsense may be made, however, for in certain circumstances it is fair to accept from our American birds a broad hint as to the character of the approaching winter. Experience convinces us that an unusually early arrival of migratory birds from the north indicates an extra cold winter to follow. Several northwestern sayings about ducks and geese tell us that whenever they leave Lake Superior noticeably earlier than is their wont; or fly southward straight and fast, not lingering near accustomed halting-places, then a severe season is to be anticipated. In the sum this is logical, for this reason:

Birds whose home is in the far North—and several species go to the extreme limit of arctic lands to make their nests—must quit those desolate coasts as soon as chilling rains, snow-storms, and frost begin to kill the insects, bury the plants and freeze the streams, thus cutting off food-supplies; and they must keep ahead of those famine-producing conditions as they travel southward toward their winter-resorts in a more hospitable zone. On the average, their arrival in the United States will be nearly on the same date year after year.

It sometimes happens, however, that winter will pounce upon the arctic border of the continent days or weeks earlier than usual, and the cold and snowfall will exceed the normal quantity. In such circumstances the birds must make their escape more hastily than ordinarily, and will come down across the Canadian border in larger and more hurrying companies, very likely accompanied by such species as snow-birds, crossbills, pine finches and evening grosbeaks, which in general pass the winter somewhat to the north of our boundary. Excessive cold in the far North is almost certain to influence southern Canada and the northern states, and it is therefore safe to conclude, when we witness this behavior of migratory birds, that a winter of exceptional severity has set in at the north and is in store for us. But the prophets are ourselves—not the birds! They are dealing with dangerous conditions, and leave it to us to do the theorizing.

One feature of the behavior of the fish-hawks in Wilson’s story was their restlessness, taken by fishermen to betoken a rising storm. There may be some value in this “sign,” since it is noted in many other cases. Dozens of proverbs mention as indications various unusual actions noticeable in poultry, such as crowing at odd times, clappings of the wings, rolling in the dust, standing about in a distraught kind of way, a tendency to flocking, and so forth. Many popular sayings tell us that both barnyard fowls and wild birds become very noisy before an unfavorable change in the weather.

is one such. Virgil’s statement that “the owl” screeches unduly at such a time is supported by modern testimony.

A reasonable explanation of this uneasiness is that it is the effect of that increased electrical tension in the atmosphere that often precedes a shower, to which small creatures are perhaps more sensitive than are men and large animals. It will not do, then, to reject all the weather-signs popularly alleged to be given by animals.

At the same time, as has been suggested, much of the current weather-prophecy relating to animals is silly, such, for example, that a solitary turkey-buzzard seen at a great altitude indicates rain; that blackbirds’ notes are very shrill before rain; that there will be no rain the day a heron flies down the creek; that when woodpeckers peck low on the tree-trunks expect a hard winter. These, and many other nonsensical maxims, are in fact spurious. Most of them, no doubt, were uttered originally in jest, or as a whimsical answer to some inquisitive child, then repeated as amusing, and finally quoted seriously. Others have been brought to us from the old world by early farmer-immigrants—French in Canada, Louisiana and New England, Dutch in New York, Swedish and German in New Jersey and Pennsylvania, Spanish in the Southwest, and so on—and have been applied to our native birds, where often they fail to fit. A saw that perhaps had some value when told of the European robin or blackbird, is ludicrously inappropriate when said of our blackbirds and robins, which are totally different in nature and habits.

One of the most venerable of these worthless prognostics, and one that very likely is a relic of Roman auspices, twenty-five centuries ago, is that of the goose-bone:

“To read the winter of any year take the breast-bone of a goose hatched during the preceding spring. The bone is translucent, and it will be found to be colored and spotted. The dark color and heavy spots indicate cold. If the spots are of light shade, and transparent, wet weather, rain or snow, may be looked for.

One need not wonder at the indignant refusal of hard-headed commanders of old who refused to let their strategy or tactics to be interfered with by alarmed priests who reported unfavorable auguries from dissected hens. Eusebius records the legend that a bird was presented to Alexander the Macedonian when on the point of setting out for the Red Sea, in order that he might read the auguries according to custom. Alexander killed the bird by an arrow, saying, “What folly is this? How could a bird that could not foresee its death by this arrow, predict the fortunes of our journey?” The shocked bystanders might have replied, of course, that the poor creature had no such knowledge in itself, but was merely the blank on which divine intelligence was written; but the chances are that they held their tongues! Plutarch mentions many a case in which commanders construed the “omens” in a way contrary to the priestly interpretation, in order to carry out some plan that could not be delayed, and yet conciliate the superstitious soldiers.

It will have been noticed that most of the prophecies learned from birds relate to coming rain or bad weather, and winter rather than summer. In The Strange Metamorphosis of Man (1634), as quoted by Brewer,^[34] speaking of the goose, we read: “She is no witch or astrologer, ... but she hath a shrewd guesse of rainie weather, being as good as an almanac to some that beleeve in her.” Men generally seem more desirous of ascertaining the evil than the good that may be in store for them. The feeling is, perhaps, that if we knew of dangers ahead we might prepare for them, but that in fair days we can take care of ourselves. Almost every country has some particular “rain-bird” whose cry is supposed to foretell showers. In England it is the green woodpecker, or yaffle; in Malaya a broadbill; in some parts of this country the spotted sandpiper, or tipup; but everywhere some sort of cuckoo is called “rain-bird” or “rain-crow,” although the various cuckoos of America, Europe, and the Orient, differ widely in appearance, habits and voice.

Why should peoples so dissimilar and widely scattered attribute to this very diverse cuckoo family the quality of “rain-birds” more than to another family? I can only believe that it denotes the survival of a very ancient Oriental notion, whose significance was very real in a symbolic way to the primitive people among whom it originated locally, but has now been utterly forgotten.

Plunging into the thickets of comparative mythology, hoping to pluck a few fruity facts for our pains, we find that in Hindoo myths the cuckoo stands as a symbol of the sun when hidden behind clouds, that is, for a rainy condition of the sky; furthermore that this bird has a reputation for possessing exceeding wisdom surpassing that of other birds, all of which are fabled to be supernaturally wise: and that it knew not only things present but things to come. It was, in fact, in the opinion of the ancient Hindoos, a prophetic bird of unrivalled vatic ability. The Greeks thought their own cuckoo had inherited some of these qualities, for they made it one of the birds in the Olympian aviary of Zeus, who, please remember, was the pluvial god.

Plainly this rainy-day character was given to the bird through the circumstance that in southern Asia, as in southern Europe, the cuckoo is one of the earliest and quite the most conspicuous of spring-birds—and the spring is the rainy season. In early days farmers had little knowledge of a calendar. They sowed and reaped when it seemed fitting to do so. The coming of the cuckoo coincided with experience, and came to be their almanac-date for certain operations—a signal convenient in advice to the young, or to a newcomer; and as a rule hoped-for showers followed the bird’s advent. In the same way old-fashioned Pennsylvania farmers used to connect corn-planting time and the first-heard singing of the brown thrasher.

Hesiod instructed his rural countrymen that if “it should happen to rain three days in succession when the cuckoo sings among the oak-trees, then late sowing will be as good as early sowing”—doubtless good agricultural counsel. Not more than a century ago English farmers thought it necessary to sow barley when the earliest note of the cuckoo was heard in order to insure a full crop. Mr. Friend^[11] reasons thus about this: “As the cuckoo only returns to our shores at a certain time, it has been customary to predict from his appearance what kind of season will follow; and farmers have in all ages placed great reliance on omens of weather and crops drawn from this source.... In Berwickshire those oats which are sown after the first of April are called ‘gowk’s’ [cuckoo’s] oats....

If the spring is so backward that the oats cannot be sown until the cuckoo is heard, or the autumn so wet that the hay cannot be gathered in until the woodcocks come over, the farmer is sure to suffer great loss.”

So much for these old maxims; and when British or Italian immigrants became colonists in America, and found cuckoos here, they continued the sayings, regardless of difference in climate and other circumstances. Our species are not early migrants in spring, are poor guides for planters, and seem to have no prophetic gift, yet they are rain-birds because their ancestral relatives in India were such 3,000 years ago.