The kingbird will worry the hawk as a whiffet dog will worry a bear. It
is by his persistence and audacity, not by any injury he is capable of
dealing his great antagonist. The kingbird seldom more than dogs the
hawk, keeping above and between his wings, and making a great ado; but
my correspondent says he once “saw a kingbird riding on a hawk’s back.
The hawk flew as fast as possible, and the kingbird sat upon his
shoulders in triumph until they had passed out of sight,”—tweaking his
feathers, no doubt, and threatening to scalp him the next moment.
That near relative of the kingbird, the great crested flycatcher, has
one well-known peculiarity: he appears never to consider his nest
finished until it contains a cast-off snake-skin. My alert
correspondent one day saw him eagerly catch up an onion skin and make
off with it, either deceived by it or else thinking it a good
substitute for the coveted material.
One day in May, walking in the woods, I came upon the nest of a
whip-poor-will, or rather its eggs, for it builds no nest,—two
elliptical whitish spotted eggs lying upon the dry leaves. My foot was
within a yard of the mother bird before she flew. I wondered what a
sharp eye would detect curious or characteristic in the ways of the
bird, so I came to the place many times and had a look. It was always a
task to separate the bird from her surroundings, though I stood within
a few feet of her, and knew exactly where to look. One had to bear on
with his eye, as it were, and refuse to be baffled. The sticks and
leaves, and bits of black or dark brown bark, were all exactly copied
in the bird’s plumage. And then she did sit so close, and simulate so
well a shapeless, decaying piece of wood or bark! Twice I brought a
companion, and, guiding his eye to the spot, noted how difficult it was
for him to make out there, in full view upon the dry leaves, any
semblance to a bird. When the bird returned after being disturbed, she
would alight within a few inches of her eggs, and then, after a
moment’s pause, hobble awkwardly upon them.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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