MIGRATION OF ANIMALS AND BIRDS.
“FOR, lo! the winter is past, the rain is over and gone; the flowers appear on the earth; the time of the singing of birds is come, and the turtle is heard in our land.” —Song of Sol. 2:11, 12.
“Yea, the stork in the heaven knoweth her appointed times; and the turtle and the crane and the swallow observe the time of their coming.” —Jer. 8:7.
“SWEET April, hail! with cheerful tone
I bid thee welcome; not alone,
Because thou com’st and bring’st along
The sight, and smell, and tuneful song,
Of leaf, and flowers of various hue,
And many a feathered warbler new:—
But that thou wak’st the grateful thought
To us by holy scripture taught,
That when these pleasant things are o’er,
Things bright and glorious are in store,
In God’s own heavenly home above;—
For those that trust Him, and that love,
Too bright for human thought to seem,
Too glorious for the heart of man!”
APRIL begins the most delicious season of the whole year. It may have fitful showers, or a slight crisp frost, but the sun shines brightly, the air is warm and cheerful, and nearly every day we may sally forth into the now beautiful green fields and verdant lanes. Wonders everywhere crowd upon us in April. Earth, air, and water, alike provide amusement and instruction. It would be impossible to turn up a sod, to examine a single pool of water, or to watch the thousands of winged insects, flies, or birds, that sport in the air, without seeing marvelous proofs of the wisdom, the goodness, and the daily care of God, without whose knowledge not even a sparrow falls to the ground.
The migration of birds is one of the most marked wonders of this month. Let us have a little talk about this. You never see the swallows flit about, nor do you ever hear the sweet musical note of the cuckoo in the winter. Why is this?
Well, all over the world, certain animals, fishes, birds, and insects change their place of abode, some occasionally, and for reasons which no one, as yet, has been able to find out, but most at stated times.
Now, I can tell you very little about this in a short paper; but it is one of those subjects about which I wish you to get all the information you possibly can. Only I would rather you got ever so little by the use of your own ears, eyes, and hands than ever so much by simply reading books. Someday, if the Lord Jesus should tarry and not call away His saints to be with Himself, I will try and give you some help, as to how best to examine little pools and plants and flowers, and what tools will help you, but this month, as I said, we will have a talk about this wonderful migration of beasts, birds, fishes, and insects.
The Bison, or Buffaloes of America travel hundreds of miles every year. The way of it is very wonderful. When the time comes one of their number, the largest and fiercest of the tribe, suddenly seems to become frantic; his roarings resound through the valleys, vast herds gather round him; then, with great excitement, shaking his long shaggy mane, he lowers his head to the ground and lifts up his back like a mountain; at the same time a dull sound, the signal of departure, issues from his deep chest, when off he starts at a furious rate, followed by thousands. Travelers tell us the sight is terrible to behold. Bearing down every obstacle in their way, and having got on the full swing, it is impossible to stop themselves; and many weak ones and all the stumbling ones are trodden to death.
The migration of squirrels, in countries where they are very plentiful, is also wonderful. When the time comes they start in numbers that you could not count; and when they come to a river in their wanderings, each one will search out a fragment of wood, and turning it into a little vessel, and pushing it into the water, will raise his bushy tail and the whole company will soon be wafted across the river.
There is a still smaller animal, called a Lemming, in Lapland, which comes down from the mountains in troops so numerous that part of the country for a large space is covered as with a moving mass. Neither rivers, lakes, nor arms of the sea, stop their progress. Not even the efforts of the inhabitants, who regard them as a plague, nor the war waged against them by enemies, such as foxes, fish, and carnivorous birds, which destroy them in immense numbers as they march to their destination in search of new homes, can stop their progress.
Amongst the fishes, the herrings are perhaps the most remarkable emigrants. They are generally supposed to come from the northern or polar seas; and it is thought they divide into two great columns; one ad, advancing towards Ireland, and skirting the shores of America; the other taking an opposite direction along the shores of Norway, some going on to the Baltic, and some to the south of France and England. It is scarcely possible to give you a just idea of the enormous Shoals that traverse the seas, and the quantities yearly taken for food. In Scotland alone, in one year, near a million barrels, each holding 700 herrings, were caught and cured.
You have all heard of the swarms of locusts. In Africa and Asia they fly in such masses as to be like immense clouds. The track they pass over seems as if it had been wasted by fire; not a trace of verdure is left behind. You will remember what Moses relates of the dreadful plague of locusts in the land of Egypt. Words fail to tell what devastation they produce. Throughout all history, ancient and modern, we read of the desolations produced by them. The squirrels, the lemmings, and the locusts, however, do not regularly make these migrations. If they were as constant as some of the birds and fishes, they would cause the destruction of all human food wherever they visited.
No one can tell you with certainty why all these make such changes. Some may do it for food, some for warmth, some for safety while they rear their young. All we can certainly say is, that God has given to each such feelings, which men call instinct, as prompt them at a given time to start a journey of hundreds or even thousands of miles. They seem to know exactly where they are going, and will cross the ocean, or long deserts and trackless prairies, with the utmost accuracy, never losing their way, but arriving at the very spot they had before left.
But let us look a little more closely at the migration of our special friends, the birds, that make our summers so cheerful with their songs.
The swallow is perhaps the best known and most interesting. There are several kinds, a little different in shape, size, and song, but all visit us in the spring and leave us in the autumn. One curious fact is, they gather in great companies when they leave our shores, but they are never seen so to return. About the second week in April you will see an odd one or so, and in a few days they will be whirling above our heads in vast numbers, but no one can tell how or whence they came.
The swallow is a favorite with all. One has well said “He gladdens my sense of seeing as much as any other does my sense of hearing. He is the joyous prophet of the year—the harbinger of the best season; he lives a life of enjoyment amongst the loveliest forms of nature; winter is unknown to him; and he leaves the green meadows of England in autumn for the myrtle and orange groves of Italy, and for the palms of Africa.”
“Welcome, welcome feathered stranger,
Now the sun bids nature smile;
Safe arrived and free from danger,
Welcome to our blooming isle!”
What a proof are these beautiful wanderers of the care of our God over the least of His creatures I They live entirely upon insects, and as the insect tribes either die or remain torpid in the winter, He who made and cares for them warns them that they must leave the place which can no longer supply them with food.
Then when the warmth of spring hatches the insects’ eggs and brings out millions of tiny creatures into the sunshine, the same Divine and gracious hand leads them to their former home again.
There are four kinds come to this country. The chimney swallow, which arrives about twenty days before the others, gets its name from the fact that it builds its nest inside chimneys, four or six feet from the top. Next comes the martin or house swallow, a smaller bird, which builds its nest under the eaves of houses, rows of which I have no doubt you have all seen. From the fact that he builds his house of earth which he is able to moisten and cement together in a clever manner, he is sometimes called the mason builder.
The sand swallow is the least of its tribe, and builds its nest in holes in sand pits, and in the banks of rivers. These are marvels of industry, penetrating some feet deep into the banks. Last, comes the steeple swift, the largest of his kind, his length of wing being near eighteen inches, and yet it is said he weighs not more than one ounce. This is the swallow that scarcely ever lights on the ground. His feet are very small, and to walk or rise from the ground seems to him very difficult. He is constantly on the wing, and he is said to fly at the rate of sixty miles an hour for ten hours a day. You will easily know him by his size, and especially by his loud shrill scream. He builds under the eaves of houses or in lofty steeples, The following interesting story is told by the celebrated Baron Cuvier about two swallows, which so interested him that he became most devoted to the study of birds.
One morning, when he was a young man and tutor in a family, he observed two swallows building a nest in the outer angle of his small casement; the male bringing moist clay in his beak, which the hen kneaded together, and with straws and bits of hay formed their cozy home. As soon as the framework was completed, the pair hastened to line the interior with feathers, wool, and dried leaves; and then, winging their flight to a neigh-bottling wood, they continued absent for several days.
As, however, the nest was in course of building, two sparrows looked on with great curiosity, and no sooner had the swallows departed, than they took possession of the vacant domicile, always leaving one on the watch, with his sturdy bill protruding through the entrance.
At length the swallows returned, when the cock made an indignant attack on the intruders, only, alas! to endure a bleeding head and ruffled feathers; and so, after a short colloquy with his mate perched on a green bough, they withdrew again together.
On the return of the hen sparrow, the young tutor thought that her husband gave her an account of the attack and the repulse, over which they chuckled; and then he saw them sally forth and store up a large stock of provisions, with two beaks ready to defend the entrance.
But now cries resounded in the air; crowds of swallows began to assemble on the roof; in the midst he perceived the expelled builders, recounting their wrongs to each fresh arrival; and before long two hundred of these birds were assembled. Suddenly a host of them flew against the nest—still defended by the two sturdy beaks—each having his bill filled with mud, which he discharged against the entrance, and then gave place to another to follow up the assault; this they so managed to accomplish as to keep at a short distance from the nest, and be out of the reach of the besieged sparrows. The swallows now heaped mud on the nest till it was completely covered, and but for the desperate efforts of the sparrows, who contrived to shake off some of the pellets, the opening would have been soon quite choked up. But brief indeed was the interval; for a party of the swallows perched on the nest, smoothed and pressed down the clay over the opening, and soon hermetically closed it; when loud cries arose of vengeance and victory.
Another work was yet to be done. The swallows hurried away for fresh materials; of these they constructed a nest over the blocked-up entrance, and in two hours it was occupied by the ejected swallows. No wonder the young tutor looked on with increasing interest: he observed the development of the young brood; the male bird teaching them how to seize their prey in the air; how to fly high when all was still, and the flies sported aloft; and how to keep near the ground when a storm was coming, for then all insects seek a shelter.
So passed the summer, and autumn came. Crowds of swallows once more assembled on the roof of the chateau; the little birds were placed with other little birds in the midst of the troop; and ere long they all took flight towards the east.
Spring came, and two swallows, lean and with ruffled feathers, came with it, and were recognized as the parents of last year’s brood; they repaired and re-lined the nest, and then set out on an excursion as in the previous season. The morning after their return, a hawk pounced suddenly on the cock, and would have borne him away had not the young tutor mortally wounded the assailant with a fowling-piece. The swallow was seriously wounded by the talons of the hawk, and a grain or two of shot had grazed his breast and broken one wing, but the kind young man dressed his wounds, and replaced him in the nest, while the poor hen fluttered sadly around her mate, uttering piercing cries of distress. In spite of every attention, he soon died; from that moment the hen never left her nest, refused the food that was constantly offered her, and expired five days after her beloved mate.
There are many other birds that leave us in the winter, as the cuckoo, woodcock, wood pigeon, the nightingale and several others; but I fear I have already tired you with the length of my paper, and so must say good-bye bill the merry month of May.