THE GAME OF THE MONTH. BY HENRY WILLIAM HERBERT, AUTHOR OF "FRANK FORESTER'S FIELD SPORTS," "FISH AND FISHING," ETC. THE SUMMER DUCK, OR WOOD DUCK. (Anas Sponsa.) THIS lovely species, the most beautiful of the | from its native haunts. I think, however, that in whole Duck tribe, is peculiar to the continent and isles of America, being familiarly known through almost every portion of the United States, and according to Wilson common in Mexico and the West India islands. In Florida it is very abundant, as it is, more or less, on all the fresh waters so far north as the interior of the State of New York; in the colder regions, to the north-eastward, though not unknown, it is of less frequent occurrence than in more genial climates. Its more correct title, "Summer Duck," is referable to the fact, that it is not, like most of the Anatides and Fuligula, fresh water and sea ducks, more or less a bird of passage, retiring to the fastnesses of the extreme north, for the purposes of nidification and rearing its young; but, wherever it abounds, is a permanent citizen of the land, raising its family in the very place where itself was born, and not generally, if undisturbed, moving very far the United States it is perhaps better known under its other appellation of Wood Duck; and I am not prepared to say, although the former is the specific name adopted by all naturalists, that the latter is not the better, as the more distinctive title, and applying to a more remarkable peculiarity of the bird. For it, alone, so far as I know, of the Duck family, is in the habit of perching and roosting on the upper branches of tall trees, near water-courses, and of making its nest in the holes and hollows of old trunks overhanging sequestered streams or woodland pools, often at a great height above the surface of the water. The Summer Duck is the most gayly attired of the whole family; it has, moreover, a form of very unusual elegance, as compared with other ducks; and a facility of flight, and command of itself on the wing, most unlike to the ponderous, angular flapping of the rest of its tribe, wheeling with a rapidity and power of pinion, approaching in some degree to that of the swallow, in and out among the branches of the gnarled and tortuous pin-oaks, whose shelter it especially affects. From two very fine specimens, male and female, now before me, I take the following description. Drake, in full summer plumage. Length from tip of bill to tip of tail, 21 inches. Length of wing, 9 inches. Bill, 1 1-5 inch. Tarsus, 14. Middle toe, 2 inches. Body long, delicately shaped, rounded. Head small, finely crested; neck rather long and slender. Eye large, with golden-yellow irides. Legs and feet orange-yellow, webs dusky, claws black. Plumage soft, compressed, blended. Bill orange-red at the base, yellow on the sides, with a black spot above the nostrils, extending nearly to the tip; nail recurved, black. The colors are most vivid. The crown of the head, cheeks, side of the upper neck and crest changeable, varying in different lights, from bottlegreen, through all hues of dark blue, bright azure, purple, with ruby and amethyst reflections, to jet black. From the upper corner of the upper mandible a narrow snow-white streak above the eye runs back, expanding somewhat, into the upper crest. A broader streak of the same extends backward below the eye, and forms several bright streaks in the lower part of the crest. Chin and fore throat snowwhite, with a sort of double gorget, the upper extending upward a little posterior to the eye, and nearly reaching it, the lower almost encircling the neck at its narrowest part. The lower neck and upper breast are of the richest vinous red, interspersed in front with small arrow-headed spots of pure white. Lower breast white, spotted with paler vinous red; belly pure white. Scapulars, and lower hind neck, reddish brown, with green reflections. Back, tail-coverts and tail black, splendidly glossed with metallic lustre of rich blue-green and purple. Wing-coverts and primaries brown, glossed with blue and green, outer webs of the primaries silvery white; secondaries glossy blue-black. A broad crescent-shaped band of pure white in front of the wings, at the edge of the red breast-feathers, and behind this a broader margin of jet black. The sides of the body rich greenish yellow, most delicately penciled with narrow close waved lines of gray. On the flanks@six distinct semi-lunated bands of white, anteriorly bordered with broad black origins, and tipped with black. The vent tawny white, the rump and under tail-coverts dark reddish purple. The duck is smaller and duller in her general coloring, but still bears sufficient resemblance to the splendid drake to cause her at once to be recognized, by any moderately observant eye, as his mate. Her bill is blackish brown, the irides of her eyes hazel brown, her feet dull dusky green. Crown of her head and hind neck dusky, faintly glossed with green, and with the rudiments of a crest; cheeks dusky brown. A white circle round the eye and longitudinal spot behind it. Chin and throat dingy white. Shoulders, back, scapulars, wing-coverts, rump and tail brown, more or less glossed with green, purple and dark crimson. Primaries black, with reflections of deep cerulean blue and violet; outer webs silvery white. Secondaries violet-blue and deep green, with black edges and a broad white margin, forming the speculum or beauty spot. Upper fore neck, breast, sides and flanks deep chestnutbrown, spotted in irregular lines with oval marks of faint tawny yellow; belly, vent and under tail-coverts white, flanks and thighs dull brown. The young males of the first season are scarcely distinguishable from the ducks. The Summer Duck breeds, in New York and New Jersey, according to the season, from early in April until late in May; in July the young birds are not much inferior in size to the parents, though not yet very strong on the wing. 1 well remember on one occasion, during the second week of that month, in the year 1836, while out woodcock shooting near Warwick, in Orange county, New York, with a steady brace of setters, how some mowers who were at work on the banks of the beautiful Wawayanda, hailed me, and, pointing to a patch of perhaps two acres of coarse, rushy grass, told me that six ducks had just gone down there. I called my dogs to heel, and walked very gingerly through the meadow, with my finger on the trigger, expecting the birds to rise very wild; but to my great surprise reached the end of the grass, on the rivulet's margin, without moving any thing. The men still persisted that the birds were there; and so they were, sure enough; for on bidding my setters hold up I soon got six dead points in the grass, and not without some trouble kicked up the birds, so hard did they lay. It was a calm, bright summer's day, not a duck rose above ten feet from me, and I bagged them all. They proved to be the old duck and five young birds of that season, but in size the latter were quite equal to the mother bird. I consider the Summer Duck at all times rather a less shy bird than its congeners, though it may be that this is owing to the woody covert which, unlike others of its tribe, it delights to frequent; and which perhaps acts in some degree as a screen to its pursuer; but except on one other occasion I never saw any thing like the tameness of that brood. The other instance occurred nearly in the same place, and in the same month, I think, of the ensuing year. I was again out summer cock shooting, and was crossing a small, sluggish brook, of some twelve or fourteen feet over, with my gun under my arm, on a pile of old rails, which had been thrown into the channel by the haymakers, to make an extemporaneous bridge for the hay teams; when on a sudden, to my very great wonderment, and I must admit to my very considerable flusteration likewise, almost to the point of tumbling me into the mud, out got a couple of Wood Ducks from the rails, literally under my feet, with a prodigious bustle of wings and quacking. If I had not so nearly tumbled into the stream, ten to one I should have shot too quickly and missed them both; but the little effort to recover my footing gave me time to get cool again, and I bagged them both. One was again the old duck, the other a young drake of that season. In the spring, the old duck selects her place in some snug, unsuspicious looking hole in some old tree near the water edge, where, if unmolested, she will breed many years in succession, carrying down her young when ready to fly, in her bill, and placing them in the water. The drake is very attentive to the female while she is laying, and yet more so while she is engaged in the duties of incubation; constantly wheeling about on the wing among the branches, near the nest on which she is sitting, and greeting her with a little undertoned murmur of affection, or perching on a bough of the same tree, as if to keep watch over her. The following account of their habits is so true, and the anecdote illustrating them so pretty and pleasing, that I cannot refrain from quoting it, for the benefit of those of my readers who may not be so fortunate as to have cultivated a familiar friendship with the pages of that eloquent pioneer of the natural history of the woods and wilds and waters of America, the Scottish Wilson, who has done more for that science than any dead or living man, with the sole exception of his immortal successor, the great and good Audubon; and whose works will stand side by side with his, so long as truthfulness of details, correctness of classification, eloquence of style, and a pure taste and love for rural sounds and sights shall command a willing audience. Speaking of this bird he says "It is familiarly known in every quarter of the United States, from Florida to Lake Ontario, in the neighborhood of which latter place I have myself met with it in October. It rarely visits the seashore, or salt marshes, its favorite haunts being the solitary, deep, and muddy creeks, ponds and milldams of the interior, making its nest frequently in old hollow trees that overhang the water. "The Summer Duck is equally well known in Mexico and many of the West India islands. During the whole of our winters they are occasionally seen in the states south of the Potomac. On the 10th of January I met with two on a creek near Petersburgh, in Virginia. In the more northern districts, however, they are migratory. In Pennsylvania the female usually begins to lay late in April, or early in May. Instances have been known where the nest was constructed of a few sticks laid in a fork of the branches; usually, however, the inside of a hollow tree is selected for this purpose. On the 18th of May I visited a tree containing the nest of a Summer Duck, on the banks of the Tuckahoe River, New Jersey. It was an old, grotesque white-oak, whose top had been torn off by a storm. It stood on the declivity of the bank, about twenty yards from the water. In this hollow and broken top, and about six feet down, on the soft, decayed wood, lay thirteen eggs, snugly covered with down, doubtless taken from the breast of the bird. These eggs were of an exact oval shape, less than those of a hen, the surface exceedingly fine grained, and of the highest polish, and slightly yellowish, greatly resembling old, polished ivory. The egg measured two inches and an eighth by one inch and a half. On breaking one of them, the young bird was found to be nearly hatched, but dead, as neither of the parents had been observed about the tree during the three or four days preceding, and were conjectured to have been shot. "This tree had been occupied, probably by the same pair, for four successive years, in breeding time; the person who gave me the information, and whose house was within twenty or thirty yards of the tree, said that he had seen the female, the spring preceding, carry down thirteen young, one by one, in less than ten minutes. She caught them in her bill by the wing or back of the neck, and landed them safely at the foot of the tree, whence she afterward led them to the water. Under this same tree, at the time I visited it, a large sloop lay on the stocks, nearly finished; the deck was not more than twelve feet distant from the nest, yet notwithstanding the presence and noise of the workmen, the ducks would not abandon their old breeding place, but continued to pass out and in, as if no person had been near. The male usually perched on an adjoining limb, and kept watch while the female was laying, and also often while she was sitting. A tame goose had chosen a hollow space at the root of the same tree, to lay and hatch her young in. "The Summer Duck seldom flies in flocks of more than three or four individuals together, and most commonly in pairs, or singly. The common note of the drake is peet, peet; but when, standing sentinel, he sees danger, he makes a noise not unlike the crowing of a young cock, oe eck! oe eek! Their food consists principally of acorns, seeds of the wildoats, and insects." Mr. Wilson states, as his opinion, that the flesh of this lovely little duck is inferior in excellence to that of the blue-winged teal. But therein I can by no means coincide with him, as I consider it, in the Atlantic states, inferior to no duck except the canvas-back, which is admitted facile princeps of all the duck tribe. The Summer Duck is in these districts probably the most graminivorous and granivorous of the family, not affecting fish, tadpoles, frogs or field-mice, all of which are swallowed with great alacrity and rejoicing by the mallards, pin-tails, and other haunters of fresh water streams and lakes. On the great lakes of the west and north, where all the duck tribe feed to fattening on the wild-rice and wild-celery, zizania aquatica and balisneria Americana, no one species is better than another, all being admirable; but in the course of an autumn spent on the northern shores of Lake Huron and the rivers debouching into it, and thence north-westward to Lake Superior, I do not remember seeing any specimens of this beautiful bird, though I feel sure that it cannot but exist in those waters, which are in all respects so congenial to its habits. Another peculiarity of this species, which I have repeatedly noticed, when it has not been disturbed by any sudden noise or the pursuit of dogs, is thus neatly touched upon by Mr. J. P. Giraud, Jr., the enthusiastic and accomplished ornithologist of Long Island, whose unpretending little volume should be the text book of every sportsman in the land who has a taste for any thing beyond mere wanton slaughter. "Often when following those beautiful and rapid streams that greatly embellish our country, in pursuit of the angler's beau ideal of sport, have I met with this gayly-attired duck. As if proud of its unrivaled beauty, it would slowly rise and perform a circuit in the air, seemingly to give the admiring beholder an opportunity of witnessing the gem of its tribe." The Summer Duck is very easily domesticated, if the eggs be taken from the nest and hatched under a hen, and the young birds become perfectly tame, coming up to the house or the barn-yard to be fed, with even more regularity than the common domestic duck; nay, even the old birds, if taken by the net and wing-tipped, will soon become gentle and lose their natural shyness. In the summer of 1843 I had the pleasure of seeing a large flock of these lovely wild fowl perfectly gentle, answering the call of their owner by their peculiar murmur of pleasure, and coming, as fast as they could swim or run, to be fed by his hand. This was at the beautiful place of the Hon. Mahlon Dickinson, formerly a member of General Jackson's cabinet, not far from Morristown, in New Jersey, which is singularly adapted for the rearing and domesticating these feræ naturâ; since it has, immediately adjoining the trim and regular gardens, a long and large tract of beautiful wild shrubbery, full of rare evergreens, and interspersed with bright, cool springs and streamlets feeding many ponds and reservoirs, where they can feed and sport and breed, as undisturbed as in the actual wilderness; while, the adjacent country being all tame and highly cultivated, they have no inducement to stray from their abode. Beside Summer Ducks, Mr. Dickinson had, at the period of my visit, Dusky Ducks, better known as Black Ducks, Green-winged Teal, Golden-eyes, and I think Widgeon; but the Summer Ducks were by far the tamest, as the Dusky Ducks were the wildest of the company. I should long ago have attempted to naturalize them ou my own place, but that a large river, the Passaic, washing the lower end of my lawn and garden, from which it would not be possible to exclude them, I have felt that it is useless to attempt it, the rather that there is a large patch of wild-rice immediately adjoining me, which would tempt them to the water, whence they would drift away with the current or the tide, and be lost or shot in no time. The best time for shooting and for eating these fowl is late in October, when the acorns and beechmast, of both of which they are inordinately fond, he thick and ripe on the woodland banks of the streams and pools they love to frequent. And this reminds me of a little sketch, illustrative of their habits, taken down almost verbatim, from the lips of a right good fellow, and at that time a right good sportsman also; though now, alas! the untimely loss of the inestimable blessing of eyesight has robbed him, among other sources of enjoyment, of that favorite and innocent pastime-the forest chase: "Are there many Wood Ducks about this season, Tom?" asked Forester, affecting to be perfectly careless and indifferent to all that had passed. "Did you kill these yourself?" "There was a sight on them a piece back, but they're gittin' scase-pretty scase now, I tell you. Yes, I shot these down by Aunt Sally's big springhole a Friday. I'd been a lookin' round, you see, to find where the quail kept afore you came up here -for I'd a been expectin' you a week and betterand I'd got in quite late, toward sundown, with an outsidin' bevy, down by the cedar swamp, and druv. them off into the big bog meadows, below Sugarloaf, and I'd killed quite a bunch on them-sixteen, I reckon, Archer; and there was n't but eighteen when I lit on 'em-and it was gittin' pretty well dark when I came to the big spring, and little Dash was worn dead out, and I was tired, and hot, and thunderin' thirsty, so I sets down aside the outlet where the spring water comes in good and cool, and I was mixin' up a nice, long drink in the big glass we hid last summer down in the mud-hole, with some great cider sperrits-when what should I hear all at once but whistle, whistlin' over head, the wings of a whole drove on 'em, so up I buckled the old gun; but they'd plumped down into the crick fifteen rod off or better, down by the big pin oak, and there they sot, seven ducks and two big purpleheaded drakes-beauties, I tell you. Well, boys, I upped gun and tuck sight stret away, but just as I was drawin', I kind o' thought I'd got two little charges of number eight, and that to shoot at ducks at fifteen rod was n't nauthen. Well, then, I fell a thinkin', and then I sairched my pockets, and arter a piece found two green cartridges of number three, as Archer gave me in the spring, so I drawed out the small shot, and inned with these, and put fresh caps on to be sarten. But jest when I'd got ready, the ducks had floated down with the stream, and dropped behind the pint-so I downed on my knees, and crawled, and Dash alongside on me, for all the world as if the darned dog knowed; well, I crawled quite a piece, till I'd got under a bit of alder bush, and then I seen them--all in a lump like, except twosix ducks and a big drake-feedin', and stickin' down their heads into the weeds, and flutterin' up their hinder eends, and chatterin' and jokin'-I could have covered them all with a handkercher, exceptin' two, as I said afore, one duck and the little drake, and they was off a rod or better from the rest, at the two different sides of the stream-the big bunch warn't over ten rods off me, nor so far; so I tuck sight right at the big drake's neck. The water was quite clear and still, and seemed to have caught all the little light as was left by the sun, for the skies had got pretty dark, I tell you; and I could see his head quite clear agin the water-well, I draw'd trigger, and the hull charge ripped into 'em-and there was a scrabblin' and a squatterin' in the water now, I tell you-but not one on 'em riz-not the fust one of the hull bunch; but up jumped both the others, and I drawed on the drake-more by the whistlin' of his wings, than that I seen him-but I drawed stret, Archer, any ways; and arter I'd pulled half a moment I hard him plump down into the crick with a splash, and the water sparkled up like a fountain where he fell. So then I did n't wait to load, but ran along the bank as hard as I could strick it, and when I'd got down to the spot, I tell you, little Dash had got two on 'em out afore I came, and was in with a third. Well, sich a cuttin' and a splashin' as there was you niver did see, none on you-I guess, for sartin-leastwise I niver did. I'd killed, you see, the drake and two ducks, dead at the first fire, but three was only wounded, wing-tipped, and legbroken, and I can't tell you what all. It was all of nine o'clock at night, and dark as all out doors, afore I gathered them three ducks, but I did gather 'em; Lord, boys, why I'd stayed till mornin', but I'd a got them, sarten. Well, the drake I killed flyin' I couldn't find him that night, no how, for the stream swept him down, and I had n't got no guide to go by, so I let him go then, but I was up next mornin' bright and airly, and started up the stream clean from the bridge here, up through Garry's back-side, and my bog-hole, and so on along the meadows to Aunt Sally's run-and looked in every willow bush that dammed the waters back, like, and every bunch of weeds and brier-brake, all the way, and sure enough I found him, he'd been killed dead, and floated down the crick, and then the stream had washed him up into a heap of broken sticks and briers, and when the waters fell, for there had been a little freshet, they left him there breast uppermost-and I was glad to find him-for I think, Archer, as that shot was the nicest, prettiest, etarnal, darndest, long, good shot, I iver did make, anyhow; and it was so dark I couldn't see him." | alteration, since I doubt not many others are in the same error, who will be glad to be corrected in detail. It appears, as will be seen below, that, although there are no European tree-ducks, nor any other American, there is a family of Asiatic and African congeners of our Summer Duck, for which an especial name has been proposed, though not as yet generally adopted. I might add that the present Latin name of our bird, anas sponsa, signifies, being interpreted, the bride duck, from the rare elegance of its form and beauty of its plumage-a pretty name for a pretty creature. "These lovely ducks may be said to represent an incessorial form among the anatida; they build and perch on trees, and spend as much time on land as upon the waters; Dr. Richardson has given this group, containing few members, the title of dendronessa from their arboreal habits. Our present species is the only one belonging to America, where it ranges rather to the south than north; the others, 1 believe, are all confined to India. They are remarkable for the beauty and splendor of their plumage, its glossy, silky texture, and for the singular form of the scapulars, which, instead of an extreme development in length, receive it in the contrary proportion of breadth; and instead of lying flat, in some stand perpendicular to the back. They are all adorned with an ample crest, pendulous, and running down the back of the neck. They are easily domesticated, but I do not know that they have been yet of much utility in this state, being more kept on account of their beauty, and few have been introduced except to our menageries; with a little trouble at first, they might form a much more common ornament about our artificial pieces of water. It is the only form of a Tree Duck common to this continent; in other countries there are, however, two or three others of very great importance in the natural system, whose Many of his friends and mine will recognize the character, to whom I allude, as he figures largely in the pages of "The Warwick Woodlands," from which the above extract is taken, of "My Shooting-structure and habits have yet been almost entirely box," and the other sporting scenes of Frank Forester, wherein nothing good or generous or kind is related of Tom Draw, that does not fall far short of the reality. overlooked or lost sight of. These seem to range principally over India, and more sparingly in Africa; and the Summer Duck is the solitary instance, the United States the nearly extreme limit, of its own peculiarities in this division of the world." With this note I close this paper, expressing only the hope that the bird will become more largely do Before closing this article, I will correct an error into which I perceive I have inadvertently fallen in the first page of it, wherein I said that this duck, alone of the family, has the habit of perching, roost-mesticated; as no more beautiful adornment can be ing, and nesting on trees. I should have said alone of the American family; for I find a note by Mr. Brewer, the last editor of Wilson, annexed to his article on our bird, which I prefer to subjoin instead of merely making a verbal conceived to the parks and shrubberies of gentlemen, such more especially as possess the advantages of small inland rivulets, or pieces of ornamental water, whether natural or artificial. SONNET. On! she was young, and beautiful, and good, And Nature breathes of resurrection bright: WM. H. C. HOSMER. |