XV.
THE CHESTNUT-SIDED WARBLER
THURSDAY morning, May 27, 1886, a small bird hopped out of the bushes into my dooryard. The bird was a female chestnut-sided warbler. She was collecting dry grass blades for a nest.
May 27, 1897, the same little bird was in my dooryard engaged as before, collecting nesting material.
Eleven years had been credited to the past for man and bird. The man had not escaped the weight of the added years. Deeper wrinkles and gray hair told the story, but the little bird, strange to tell, was apparently as blithe and young as on that Thursday morning eleven years before.
I provide an abundance of nesting material for all birds that frequent my cabin dooryard. The chestnut-sided warbler seemed to appreciate my motive and gave me her confidence in return. After the first year I could sit by her nest from the hour the first straw was laid to the day when the young were large enough to take wing, and she would go on with her domestic affairs without fear.
CHESTNUT-SIDED WARBLER.
During eleven years the bird has constructed thirteen nests. Two nests were robbed by snakes and were replaced. No two of these nests were alike. All were loosely built, and with the exception of the last were saddled on the forks of small bushes. The nest of 1897 was suspended between two shoots of a currant bush, about twenty inches from the ground. This was a new departure, and led me to have a picture made of the nest. There was a bunch of currants in the way and the bird fastened it to the side of the nest with spiders-web. The currants show in the picture.
The book informs us that the nest of this warbler is never pensile, but if the nest in my currant bush was not pensile, what may we call it? It was fastened at the brim to two upright currant stems without support at the bottom. The brim was fashioned first. It was composed of straws, shreds of cedar bark, and dry grass blades. The same material was fastened to the brim and arranged to cross, thus forming the bottom and sides. The tying material used was spiders-web and silken threads from some cocoon unknown to me. The nest was lined with fine straw and horsehair. All the nests previously made by this bird contained a liberal amount of plant down on the outside. This last nest was nearly wanting in plant down, although a good supply was in the dooryard.
Several years ago the bird saddled into the fork of a bayberry bush a bunch of cotton nearly as large as a baseball, and on this foundation erected a nest.
I have records of four nests, including the last—the one in the currant bush. This 1897 nest was three and one half inches in diameter by two inches in depth inside, and three and one half inches outside. The foundation was laid May 27th, and the nest was completed June 3d. It was then deserted for three days. The first egg was deposited June 6th, and thereafter one each day until the 9th, when four eggs made up the set. The fourth egg was pure white; the other three were white with a ring of reddish-brown blotches around the larger end.
After the fourth egg was laid the bird remained on the nest nights, but during the daytime for three days spent the most of the time gadding about. June 20th, I found one bird out of the shell and the next day all were out. The young birds are not fed until they are one day old. They are not great feeders like young robins, and the mother bird has an easy task to provide food. The birds grow rapidly. At first the mother can cover her brood while half hid below the brim of the nest, but before the young birds leave the nest she must stand with a foot on each side of the brim.
July 2d the young birds were induced to leave the nest. On that day the mother bird did not feed the young birds, and I think they must have been downright hungry. Later she tempted them with a plump insect, while the male fluttered about with cries of encouragement. Soon one hopped out of the nest on to a twig and was quickly fed. The others took the hint, and all were soon out of the nest. Most birds pursue the same method, and it reminds one of teaching baby how to walk.
My little friend has had two mates since we became acquainted. She was made a widow by a prowling cat during the summer of 1896. The next spring she returned with a second husband. This newcomer resented any familiarity on my part. He seemed to think that I was too inquisitive, and made a great fuss every time he found me near the nest. Frequently my little friend would fly at him and drive him away. She tried to make him understand that I was a welcome guest, but he never took kindly to my presence. In return I thought him most ungrateful, for I had killed one cat and two snakes to protect his family.
My little friend holds my dooryard and immediate vicinity against all other chestnut-sided warblers. If some other bird of the same species starts a nest, the little squatter tyrant drives the interloper away. She claims sway over a circle about 200 feet in diameter, with my cabin for a centre. Catbirds, towhee-buntings and oven-birds and two ruffed grouse have nested on this claim, but for eleven years no chestnut-sided warbler has succeeded in preempting the claim.
The chestnut-sided warbler is so conspicuously marked that a mere tyro in bird study cannot mistake it for any other member of the warbler family. The bright yellow crown, pure white under parts, and chestnut sides of the old birds are marks not to be mistaken. The young birds are yellowish green above and silky white below.
An amusing thing happened here some years ago over a bird of this species. A lady caller, a summer resident, asked me for the name of a bird which often visited a tree over her sitting-room window. She claimed that the bird was pure white with red wings. I could not make her understand that there was no such bird in New England. "Seeing is believing," she exclaimed, and I was invited to investigate for myself. While looking from the sitting-room window I saw the bird above my head on a twig. Sure enough, he was a white bird with red wings. It was a chestnut-sided warbler. From a distance the effect was enough like a white bird with red wings to deceive any one not well acquainted with bird life. Looking up to the bird the chestnut sides resembled red wings.
I sent the lady into an upper room, where she could look down on her white bird, and she soon returned, and laughingly said, "I always knew that there were two sides to a story, and now I have just learned that there are two sides to a bird.”
May 27, 1902, five years after the foregoing history was published, the same little bird hopped to my feet for nesting material. I gave her some cotton twine, cut to eight-inch lengths, and she carried away two pieces. She flew to a small hollow about twenty feet south of my spring. I followed, and seated on a small boulder, watched the nest building for the next two hours. I could reach out and touch the bush that contained the nesting material, but the little mother paid no attention to my presence, only to turn a bright eye on me, after she had coiled a piece of string or blade of grass in the bottom of the nest. I think she wanted me to criticise her work. I usually told her that it was well done, and so it was. The bush was a sweet pepper bush, and the nest was saddled between the main stem and two twigs. When I first saw the nest it was but just begun. The bottom was a small wad of some gray material, which I found afterward was shreds of wool from an old gray coat that I had discarded. I placed grass and string on my knee and the bird's keen sight discovered it at once. She fearlessly hopped from a twig to my knee and examined the material. She was satisfied with the inspection and took three blades of grass to the nest. When she had coiled them, one stiff blade insisted on standing out straight. She put this in place three times, but it would straighten out each time. She flew away and returned immediately with some spider-web with which she fastened the blade of grass to one of the twigs. The male warbler swung from a twig over the nest and inspected the work. Once he pulled out a piece of string and his wife caught him in the act, and flew at him in a great rage. I put my hand on the nest and she pecked my finger and scolded me roundly. After two hours' hard work, she was coaxed away by her mate and I returned to my writing. Day by day I watched the nest building until it was finished, seven days after it was begun. It was lined with horsehair. The little bird spent most of the seventh day in shaping the nest. She would turn about, pressing the sides of the nest with her breast, until the whole nest was made firm and as round as an apple. The nest was deserted for three days before the first egg was laid. Four eggs, the usual number, were laid, and then I found the mother bird on the nest toward sunset. For the next three days she did what all chestnut-sided warblers do, sit on the nest nights and roam about through the day. After this I always found her on the nest until the little ones were out.
I made up my mind to tame these young birds so they would come at my call. I bred some meal worms and began to feed them to the baby birds. The mother objected at first, but after awhile she appeared to know that I would not harm them, and she would look on while I was passing the worms to the birds. After the young birds were out of the nest, and flying around in the shrubbery, I would hunt them up. One bird would come to my finger to eat, but the others were shy and as they grew older they would not remain for the proffered worm. They all drifted away to the huckleberry fields and I lost them until nearly time for migration. Then they came to the water in the dooryard to bathe. My tame bird would take flies and green worms from my hand as of old, but the three others preferred to feed themselves. When the birds returned in migration the next spring, I hunted high and low for my tame warbler but did not find him. The warblers that nest along the old road are quite tame for wild birds. They will come within four feet of an observer. They have attracted the attention of visitors by this trait. I think many of these tame birds are the descendants of my little bird friend that for sixteen years has consecrated my cabin dooryard.
BLUE JAYS.