Otsego Leaves, The Bird Primeval, Part II [pp. 273-277]

APPRLETONS' JO URNAL.
blighted bough, looking lazily over the forest, stretching far away north and south, and toward the setting
sun. Not one human habitation could his dark
hazel eye discover on the shores. Not a single faint
column of smoke rose from the forest. Not a solitary skiff on the lake, which lay placid and smiling
in the sunlight with a sweetness and freshness which
would seem to belong to those limpid waters in the
early awakening of spring, after their long winter's
slumber. Hill and forest were clearly reflected in
delicate tracery on that opal-like mirror, and at that
moment the picture was one of varied shading-here
a broad belt of dark evergreen, yonder a reach of
light-gray tracery touched here and there with tender
green or the red or yellowish tassels of the maples,
or the snow-like bloom of the amelanchier and wildplum. Many of the trees, however, were still thoroughly gray.
To the southward, and at no great distance, a
young river flowed from the lake, and, winding onward with increase of breadth as it traveled over a
long path to the Ocean, soon became one of the great
water-arteries of the region. But human eye, when
looking toward the south from the knoll, would have
sought in vain to follow its track. The sharp-eyed
crow saw nothing in that direction but interlacing
bough and twig, either dark green or light gray.
Even at that hour, when half the forest was still
bare of leaf, not a single gleam of sunlight revealed
the stream gliding silently beneath the forest-arch.
And at no point, even on that bright spring morning,
could human eye have penetrated to the leafy bed
of the forest in looking down from the hill-side. The
face of the earth was closely veiled. Opening in
the forest there was none. Here and there a windrow had overthrown a group of the old trees; and
there was one such, as we have said, immediately
below the knoll, but there was nothing to be seen at
that point but a wild, confused mass of prostrate
giants of the forest or their upheaved roots, or shattered limbs. It was a record of some past tempest
in singular contrast with the general aspect of the
woods at that moment, so still and peaceful in the
hopeful calm of early spring.
There was but little air playing among the gray
branches or the tender, opening leaves. Even the
mysterious murmurs among the old pines could
scarcely be heard. Occasionally the note of a single
bird rose from the forest. The old crow had come
over the lake, with heavily-flapping wing, crying
"Caw! caw!" as he alighted on the dead branch.
But he was silent now. The solitary note of a redbreasted robin, or song-sparrow, or the tap of a
woodpecker, might be heard perchance at intervals.
There was a dreamy silence pervading the highland
forest, even on that soft spring morning. The life
and the movement of the land seemed at that moment to belong to the birds alone, as they flitted silently to and fro among the trees. There were, however, wild creatures, large and fierce, lying slumbering at that sunshiny hour in shallow cave, or dark
ravine, or crouching among fallen timber.
About the old elm there was more of winged life
and movement than elsewhere on the mountain-side,
but it was a noiseless life. One by one small, dark
birds of a dull-brown color came wheeling above the
old crow, their long wings and short bodies darting
through the air with wonderful rapidity, and with
scarcely a vibration of the wings, whirling, diving,
darting to and fro, and vanishing, as it were, one by
one, each diving with a singular rapidity and precision into the heart of the old elm. That aged
trunk was hollow for some fifty feet downward from
the open rift above. At the height of a man from
the root it would have required three stalwart savage
hunters to embrace the trunk in its outward girth.
Within, the hollow space, at its widest point, meas,
ured twice the length of a man's arm in diameter.
The entire hollow column was crowded with those
singular birds, and had been their summer-house for
half a century. They were now building new nests
or repairing those of earlier years. And busy workers they were, only occasionally soaring away into
the upper air for an hour of play and pleasure, or in
search of food. They rose far above the tallest
pines in easy, graceful flight, rising, falling, darting
to and fro with scarcely a vibration of the wings, and
then, floating over the lake in airy dance, would
seem at times to graze the waters. Never were they
seen to alight for a brief rest, or to feed, or to sing,
like other birds. Their ways were entirely different.
They lived on the wing. And they were silent
creatures: song they had none-their sole speech
was a faint, twittering sound, heard occasionally. At
the hour when the old crow had alighted on his favorite perch, few were abroad. It was in early
morning and in the evening that these dusky people
were most active. Many of them were now clinging, with their muscular feet and long and very sharp
hooked claws, to the inner surface of the hollow
trunk, using the strong shafts of their tails also for
support, and, with their short, black bills for tools,
were building the cradles for their young. After
their fashion, these cradles were skillfully put together. They were made of slender twigs rudely
interlaced, a sort of little basket, small and shallow,
and the twigs were cemented together by a copious supply of gum or mucilage secreted in the
stomachs of the little builders. These basket-nests
had no lining whatever. They were secured to
the inner surface of the tree by the cement of
natural mucilage. If a twig was needed, the bird
rose into the air and floated silently away, shooting
swiftly to and fro, amusing himself perchance for
a moment by a winged dance with some companion, but sure to return after a while with the needect bit of twig. And where, pray, did he find the
tiny branch? Was it picked up while flying low
over the bed of the forest? Have you ever seen
this dull-colored but most active creature collect his
building-materials? I trow not. Other birds, in
forest or meadow, in garden or on lawn, are often
seen gathering the materials out of which they build
their nests. It is one of the pleasures of spring to
watch them. Any day, early in the season, you may
chance to see bluebird, phoebe, wren, alight on the
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