THE intelligence of the crow is admitted by those who deny reason to the lower animals. This bird is so large and is so meddlesome in human affairs that he has forced mankind to acknowledge his intelligence.
While I admire his ability to look out for number one, I do not believe that he is in any way beneficial to the farmer. In my opinion, he is a great deal blacker than he is painted by our wise men at Washington. After a lifetime knowledge of the crow, with ten years' close observation of his habits, I have nothing to say in his favor.
KINGBIRD.
While farming in Maine I was a sworn enemy of the crow. Not because he pulled up my corn, thinned out my barley, and carried off my chickens; these things I could provide against; I was his enemy because he robbed birds' nests by the wholesale. It did not take me long to find out that this black imp prevented the increase of song-birds in cultivated fields and the adjoining woodlands.
I brought with me my hatred of the crow when I dropped into the woods of Cape Ann, and for several years I made life miserable for his kind with trap and shotgun.
Ten years ago, influenced by the articles in Forest and Stream on game protection, I laid aside my gun and devoted more time to the study of the wild things. The crows got the benefit of this change. I should have continued my warfare if the crows had plundered the birds' nests in my vicinity. King-birds nested near my cabin, and during the nesting-season crows and hawks were very careful to give the locality a wide berth. At other times the king-birds did not go far from home to attack the crows, and the latter made themselves at home in my dooryard, after I had ceased to persecute them.
Crows possess a language which enables them to communicate to each other anything that relates to crow-life. They can hold long confabs, and then act intelligently from evident conclusions.
In the years when I lived happily with my shotgun, before a divorce was decreed, I planted a bushel of potatoes in the woods on the west side of Magnolia Swamp. Fire had cleared the side-hill, and the prospect of a crop was good.
The crows gathered in some dead trees, out of gunshot, to criticize my work, and seemed to be highly elated. Raw potatoes are not down on the crow bill of fare, so I thought there would be a great disappointment when they investigated my work. The second day after I had finished planting I visited the spot, and found that the crows had dug up every hill on the south half of the field. There were three pieces of potato beside each hill, so the crows did not dig them up for food. Why they did so much hard work for nothing was beyond my knowledge of crow-life. I nearly surrounded the other half of the field with white cotton string, and retired to the swamp to await the crows. Twenty minutes later a sentinel crow winged his way to a dead tree on the hill, and, after looking for enemies, called out, "Caw, caw, caw." Immediately eight crows appeared. They held a consultation, and it seems they decided that it was a good time to dig up the rest of my potatoes, for they started for the spot where they had left off. As this part of the field was under a high ledge, the crows could not see the string until they had passed the brow of the hill. The first crow over saw the string, and nearly turned a somersault in trying to stop his speed. He called out, "Cur-cur-cur. Cur-cur-cur," and instantly every crow returned to the tree. For ten minutes a great confab took place. The crow that had discovered the string was eagerly questioned by the others, and replied in a hasty and excited manner. After talking it over, a crow flew to the south end of the field, where he could look to the north and see the string. He turned and reported. Another crow flew to the north end of the field and stationed himself in a tall pine-tree. This crow soon discovered that the string did not surround the whole field; there was a wide gap in front of the pine-tree. He called "Caw-caw-caw-caw-caw," and the crows flew down to the tree. They were told about the gap, and one crow boldly flew through and acted as sentinel from a tree in the potato-field. The other crows soon followed, and began digging up the seed-potatoes. I think they tasted of every piece, with the idea that somewhere I had planted something good to eat. I shot two of the crows and hung them in the potato-field, but a week later I found the seeds dug up, with the exception of a few hills beneath the string.
The few hills left made quite a show two years later. They had produced a crop each year without being discovered by hunters. But when the weeds and shrubs made a rabbit-cover, "wild potatoes" were discovered on that side-hill, and I was soon informed of the fact that the potato was growing in a wild state "away back in the woods.”
RUFFED GROUSE.
I believe that crows destroy fully one-half the quail and grouse on Cape Ann. A woods fire south of my cabin burned the nest of a ruffed grouse late in the season. The grouse made a new nest north of my cabin, and one day I found four eggs in it. The next morning I heard a strange cry in the direction of the nest, and started to investigate. I took to the path at the rear of my cabin, and when I had reached the top of the hill I saw the grouse running toward me. She held one wing close to her side, but with the other she was striking savagely at two crows that hazed her as they flew above and around her. Just as I came in sight of the trio, the grouse dropped an egg from under the closed wing, and one of the crows seized it and flew so near me that I could see the egg in his bill. The thing that impressed me most was the silence of the crows. Not a sound did they utter. The scamps knew that I was near by, and would be warned of crow mischief if I heard their cries. The cry made by the grouse was new to me. It was a wild cry in every sense of the word. The grouse, when she fled with her eggs, took the path to the cabin, and I think she did it for protection.
Last spring I saw something that added to my knowledge of crow intelligence.
Fuller Brook runs past my cabin, and after losing itself in a swamp, takes up its course again between high granite hills, until it falls into the sea at Fresh Water Cove. In the valley along the brook tall pine and hemlock trees make an ideal nesting-site for crows and hawks. Last spring I was much interested in a red-shouldered hawk's-nest which was in this valley. There were two crow's nests some twenty rods farther down the valley. One of my visits found the male hawk at home, and when he discovered me he flew in circles above the trees, uttering the loud scream that can be heard for a mile or more. Soon two crows came sneaking through the tree-tops to find out what was disturbing the hawk. The hawk flew to a tall pine, but continued his cries after he had alighted. The crows flew to the same pine, and, taking a position near the hawk, began to talk to him in a low tone. It was evident that they were telling him that his loud screams would bring all the hunters of Cape Ann to the spot. The hawk continued to scream, and one crow, in a loud tone, called out, "Caw-caw-caw-caw-caw." Immediately five other crows appeared, and all attacked the hawk, striking at him with their wings until he ceased to scream.
The crafty crows did not care about the hawk's nest, but they did not intend to have the hawk publish the fact. Well they knew that a search would expose the two nests down the valley.
The red-shouldered hawk seems to be too slow and clumsy to wage war on crows, and the birds nest near each other, without trouble, only as I have related.
The crows in my locality have named me in the crow language. Two caws is the way the sentinel announces my approach to his mates.
Several years ago I had occasion to pass every night a spot in the woods where dead horses are buried. The crows would gather there nightly, but always had a sentinel out. The sentinel took up a position in a tall oak on a hill where he could overlook all the approaches. When everything was quiet the sentinel called out, "Caw-caw-caw," which means "All is well." If a man approaches, the danger-signal is, "Cur-cur-cur," sometimes repeated, and it means "Look out there." It is uttered rapidly.
I noticed one night that the crow in the tree, as soon as he saw me, called out, "Caw-caw," and in a short time repeated the call. He had told his mates that the hermit was coming. My path passed within fifty feet of the crows, but they did not fly away. They had long ago found that I was not to be feared. Sometimes I had company, and the sentinel would then give the danger-call, "Cur-cur-cur," and the crows would fly away before we got in sight. I had this experience throughout the summer, so there could be no mistake.
This fall a young crow became quite familiar. He would call to me in the woods, "Caw-caw," and often fly near me. The old crows seemed to think he was in danger, or they thought he was departing from the ways of the fathers, and they always drove him away. They would beat him with their wings until he was forced into flight to save himself. This young crow had found food in my dooryard, and had heard the older crows say that "Caw-caw" was harmless, so he wanted to be friendly, no doubt with an eye to the food supply. I experimented with this fellow, in hopes that I could tame him, and learn from him and his mates something of the crow language.
As added to my knowledge of the young crow he proved to be a failure. I am now convinced that this youngster is not of sound mind. He utters the cry of a young crow, when calling for food, which shows that he has not acquired the crow language. The only exception to this rule is when he calls to me. Somehow he has been taught by other crows that my name is "Caw-caw," and whenever he sees me he calls out in an eager manner. Sometimes he steals away from his mates and comes to my dooryard. The crows hear him when he calls to me, and rush in, and with loud cries drive him into the woods.
There is another crow that "gobbles," and I have made up my mind that he is unable to utter the common cries of other crows.
A few years ago I followed this crow for two days. Not a sound escaped him other than the loud gobble. After this, I saw many things that convinced me that the crow was deaf and dumb.
There is another deaf and dumb crow about four miles away. He is located on the line between Gloucester and Essex.
Five years ago a Mr. Clark, a resident of Gloucester, told me about the last-named crow. Mr. Clark was ninety years of age. He was as straight and vigorous as a young man, and possessed a fund of amusing stories. He told how, when he went to his farm and found the crows pulling up his grain, the sentinel would call out, "Clark, Clark, Clark," and then another crow would cry, "Bother-the-luck, bother-the-luck.”
"THE NEXT SENTINEL TAKES UP THE CALL."
In the winter months the crows visit the clam-flats for food. A sentinel is sent down to the woods, overlooking the flats, and when the tide goes out, this sentinel returns, and, flying in a circle above the pines, calls out "Caw-caw-caw," continuing the cry until he has completed the circuit.
This cry can be translated into "Come-come-come," or, "Clams-clams-clams." Anyhow, the crows understand, and a sentinel flies to a pine-tree just south of my cabin. Another drops into a large oak-tree on the hill looking to the east. Two more sentinels seek trees for observation, one near the clam-flats. The crow near the flats calls out "Caw-caw-caw," which means "All is well." The next sentinel takes up the call, and thus it is carried to crows in the woods. The latter fly to the sentinel-trees, if there is nothing to create fear. If a man should approach either sentinel with or without a gun, the danger-cry would be rapidly uttered. This cry "Cur-cur-cur," is usually quickly repeated, and the crows rush to the shelter of the pines.
Like human beings, crows have courts of justice. The jury, however, tries, convicts, and punishes the criminal. Sometimes I have witnessed these trials. Once, while sitting under a sentinel-tree, I saw six crows flying across the swamp, headed for the tree. Five of the crows were striking at one crow that was evidently trying to escape. When the crows reached the tree, the criminal was surrounded by the others. This was not to his liking, and he flew to an upper limb. One of the crows said something to him, and he answered in a loud, defiant tone. For ten minutes the trial went on. Each crow had something to say, while the criminal replied in the most aggressive style. At last the criminal seemed to be convicted, when he flew away with a string of caws that doubtless, in crow language, meant, "Go to hades, the whole blooming lot of you." One old crow shouted "Car-r-r-r-r," as much as to say, "I told you so," The crows followed the criminal, and as they disappeared in the deep woods beyond the swamp, they were making it extremely warm for him. I do not know how the matter ended, but I am satisfied that the bad crow received severe punishment.
I have read in books relating to natural history, that crows are in the habit of playing games. I can only say from my observation that crows take life very seriously. I have seen nothing like play in a lifetime of careful watching.
Courting is a serious business. The male rushes at his intended, mauling her, while he utters loud cries, in which he rolls his r's in the most approved stage style. When he has forced the young lady to say "yes," they are mated for life. Then he becomes tender in his attentions. He will sit for a half-hour or more, singing the crow love-song. It is not much of a song, but it is the best he can do. He draws his beak down to his breast while he utters liquid notes that remind one of the suction of a wooden pump.
This spring the king-birds returned to Bond's Hill, and I hope they will nest near by. If they do, the crows and hawks will have to walk Spanish. Last season the crows destroyed many birds'-nests in the woods in the immediate vicinity of my cabin. One pair of robins had four nests looted. Only two towhee-buntings were reared, and two nests of the chestnut-sided warbler escaped. The destruction in so small an area shows how fearful the havoc must be on a large territory.
If the king-birds do not nest near by, I shall continue the study of the crow at the muzzle of the shotgun, in defence of the song-birds that inhabit the woods around me.
Those that praise the crow can have but little knowledge of his destructive habits.
I sleep in the open air eight months of the twelve, and the crows awake me each morning before it is fairly light. For a half-hour or more they keep up a conversation in the crow language. They seem to be debating and laying out a programme for the day.
They must have a crow almanac, for they know all about the tides. If the tide is out in the morning they seek the clam-flats without a report from a scout. At this early hour they make the flight without posting sentinels. If it is high water they go down to the seashore to see what the tide has brought in.
It is generally supposed that crows utter but one note, or cry, a loud caw. The fact is the crow language is not confined to one note, for "ker" is heard as frequently as "caw."
The cries of the crow can be modulated to express many of the feelings common to the human voice.
In the old times, when I killed crows right and left, I often threw dead birds into my cabin dooryard. If a crow passed over, his sharp eyes always discovered his dead comrades, and he would immediately circle above the bodies, repeating several times a cry, "ker-r-r-r," which most vividly expressed horror and indignation.
