Bird Watching. Edmund Selous
to me, in a little more intimate association, and the third seeming to wish to make a third. They chase each other excitedly down the stream for a little, then all pitch down upon it and dive, and one, upon coming up, dives again at the merest sight of another who behaves similarly, a peculiarly set and rigid attitude being adopted by the waiting bird. Is this not something like a little romp or water-dance following on the excitement of the chase? True, it may have been fighting between the two males, for dabchicks, like the great crested grebe and other water-birds, probably fight by diving and attacking each other beneath the surface. To my eyes, however, it had very much the appearance of a romp, or, at any rate, a something betwixt sport and earnest. Assuming it to have been so, then here is a habit of a sport or antic between three birds at the end of an excited chase of each other. Now supposing this habit to increase, then, as the birds became more enamoured of their little sport—as it became more and more a fixed habit with them—is it not likely that the preliminary chase before the romp began would be thrown more and more into the background? The more one enjoys a thing, the more eager is one to begin it, and as here, the longer the chase lasted, the longer must the romp at the end be postponed, the tendency would be for the former to become shortened and shortened, till at length it ceased altogether, the approach of the one bird getting to be associated in the minds of the other two with the sport or game alone. In the final stage this last might be extraordinary in a high degree, but every trace of its origin, as here suggested, would have vanished. And so strongly might the habit or instinct of thus romping à trois be now implanted, that one of any pair of birds would be ready to join any other pair, and they to receive him, in order to indulge in it.
I can, indeed, see no reason why birds that sported well should succeed in life better than others, but if such sporting were an outcome of general vigour, and vigorous birds were selected, their sportings would be selected also. And that movements of this sort would tend sooner or later—if only by mere preference—to fall into some sort of form, also seems not unlikely. It will be remembered that what I have just recounted took place early in February, whereas the dabchick does not, in my experience, commonly build before May. One would not, at so early a period, expect to find the jealous and combative feelings of the male in regard to the female bird fully awake, but if there were apt to be occasional sudden outbursts of this—little flare-ups, inducing appropriate action for a few moments and then passing quickly away—the birds might be left, as it were, surprised at themselves and not quite knowing what had started them off. The originating cause would have ceased or subsided, but the excitation consequent on the bodily activity which had been thus aroused would require a further outlet, and this might pass in time into some prescribed play or antic which might afterwards be indulged in for its own sake.
My other instance is that of the oyster-catcher. If anyone will watch these birds closely, he may see three of them go through a performance bearing the same sort of resemblance to that of the spur-winged lapwing, that the combs of the humble-bee do to the more perfect ones of the hive-bee. He may see, for instance, two standing side by side with their heads bent forwards and downwards, as the two lapwings bend theirs, though here the length of the brilliant, orange-red bills, the tips of which, also, almost touch the ground, make the angle of inclination a much lesser one. In this attitude they both of them utter a long, continuous, piping note, of a very powerful and penetrative quality, sometimes swaying their heads from side to side as though in ecstasy at their own performance, and seeming to listen intently in a manner strongly suggestive of the musical connoisseur. The third bird, who is obviously the female, either stands or walks at a short distance from the two pipers, who will frequently follow and press upon her, and then, though the march is not quite so formal and regular, it yet bears for a few moments a considerable resemblance to that of the spur-winged lapwing, as described and figured in Mr. Hudson's work. Of course, there is really no march at all in the proper sense of the word, but there is the occasional resemblance, and the resemblance suggests the origin. In the case of the spur-winged lapwing the play is commenced by one bird of a pair flying to another pair, and thus making the trio. There is the same kind of rough and imperfect resemblance to this in the way in which these oyster-catcher trios commonly open, but as an account of what I actually saw may give a better idea of how the birds act than can a mere generalisation, I will illustrate the last point, as well as those others which I have mentioned, by this means.
"When one of the male birds—standing near the female—commences thus to pipe, the other one, if on the same rock, runs excitedly up to him, and pushing him out of the way so as to occupy almost his exact place, pipes himself, as though he would do so instead of him. The other, however, is not to be silenced, but standing close by him the two pipe together, throwing their heads from time to time in each other's direction, and then back again, in a frenzy or ecstasy, as though they were Highland bagpipers of rival clans piping against each other, and swinging their instruments as they grew inspired by their strains. Continuing thus to act, the two male birds approach and press upon the female. She flies to a corner of the rock, the two, still piping vigorously, follow and again press upon her. She flies down upon a lower ledge of it, the two pipe down at her from above. She flies from the rock, they half raise their heads, and cease to pipe, then with single querulous notes, and in their ordinary attitude, walk disconsolately about.
"After some ten minutes the female flies back again. The demeanour of the two birds is at once visibly affected, and they begin to pipe again, though not so vigorously as before. They continue to do so, more or less, at intervals, the third bird (the female) remaining always passive, and never once piping. All at once one of the two pipers flies violently at the other, who flies off, and is closely pursued by him. They alight—it would seem together—on the edge of a great rocky slab, but are instantly at some little distance apart, looking at each other and bearing themselves after the manner of rivals. How they separated, whether as recoiling from a conflict, or avoiding it, I cannot now say. The movements of birds are often so quick, that the eye, though it may follow, forgets them as they pass. On another occasion, a bird close to where I sit, on hearing the pipe from a rock a little off the shore, becomes excited, pipes for a moment itself, and then darts off to the rock. On alighting, he instantly runs to the piping bird, and the two pipe together to a third, exactly as before. This third one, silent and unresponsive, soon flies away. The piping instantly ceases, and the two birds assume normal attitudes.
"The note of the male oyster-catcher when thus courting the female differs both from its ordinary one, and, as I think, from that of the female. The usual note is a loud 'wich, wich, wich,' or some similar sharp, penetrative cry, constantly reiterated. The pipe is a much more wonderful affair, and, though harsh, is like a real composition. It is of long continuance, beginning with something like 'kee, kee, kee, kee, ker-vie, ker-vie, ker-vie, ker-vie, ker-vie,' a loud and ear-piercing clamour. Gradually, however, it sinks, becoming in its later stages quite faint, and ending, commonly, in a sort of long-drawn-out, quavering trill which the bird seems to pause upon with pleasure. Holding down its head all the time, it seems to drink in every tittle of the sound, and to strive to give it its full and just expression. So much has it, whilst doing this, the appearance of a musician, and so much does the long, straight, orange bill resemble a pipe it is playing on, that if fingers were to appear there of a sudden, and begin to 'govern the stops,' one would hardly feel surprise—for a moment or two. A point to be noted is that the piping bird is not always turned towards the female he is courting, even when close beside her. He turns towards her, commonly (perhaps always), when he begins, but having once begun, he seems more enthralled by his own music than by her, and will turn from side to side, or even right round and away from her, as though in the rhythmical sway of his piping."
Here, then, at last, we have upon our own shores, and amongst our own birds, an unmistakable case of a display or performance of a very marked character, in which three birds are present, though one takes only a passive part. The motive power here is obviously sexual; two males are, at least to all appearance, courting one female. But I made at the time this special observation, that, though the rival birds did, upon two occasions, fly at each other, and though the piping of one always brought the other over to him to pipe in rivalry, yet, when once they began to pipe vigorously, their interest seemed to become centred in, and, as it were, abstracted into this. The actual display, in this case vocal, seemed to have become, or to be in process of becoming, of more importance than the emotion which had given birth to it, the essence seemed merged into