Читать книгу Friends and Foes in the Australian Bush - Edward Sorenson - Страница 11

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On Sundays, and occasionally on other days when the ploughman did not turn up as usual, they would linger for hours about the ground, waiting for their breakfast to be unearthed. Now and again, they would relieve their feelings in a noisy duet. Finally, they would fly across the hills and flats in quest of caterpillars, small lizards and snakes, or even grasshoppers. On one of these jaunts, Jack discovered a carpet snake coiled, roll upon roll, round its big cluster of eggs, which it was hatching. In a ferment of excitement, he darted for the nearest branch, and made the bush ring with his cries. He was three months old then, and could make as much clatter as Mrs. Slocum. In his own way he was calling to Dad Kookaburra: "Quick! here's a snake. Koo-o! a whopper."

The parents came, saw the coiled monster, and set up a cackle that brought a score more of the family hurrying to the scene. These became equally excited, and made an echoing guffaw that was repeated again and again. But none of them attempted to disturb the python. Jack soon learnt that it was not wise to attack big snakes, which included the adult black, brown and the death adder, though he might jeer at them to his heart's content. He could not swallow them if he did kill them, and Jack was a wise bird who killed only what he could eat.

He had often killed and eaten blind snakes, which had been turned up by the ploughshare, but it was not till the following spring that he had his first encounter with a reptile in the open forest. It was a whip snake, which he found in a bush. He did not attack it immediately, but flew to an adjacent limb, from which coign of vantage he eyed it critically. Then he threw up his head, and with his big mandibles wide apart, his closed wings moving in little flutters against his side, announced hysterically that the wonderful snake killing act was about to commence. This over, he gazed down with a quaint aspect of apathy and reflection. When the snake moved, he craned forward with a steely glint in his dark brown eyes. He made presently a swift feint at the bush, and uttered a low fierce koo-koo-ka as he passed it. Wheeling, he fluttered over it. Still chattering, he returned to his perch, and again uttered his noisy paean.

This paean was continued at intervals until he was joined by another Kookaburra. The snake had meanwhile slid to the ground. As soon as it had crawled clear of the bush, he made a bold sweep on to it, and chopped it with a wrenching movement across the neck. As he circled back to his perch, the snake squirmed violently in the grass. In a moment he was down again, and this time he lifted it above the tree tops, and then dropped it. As it neared the ground the other bird darted out suddenly and caught it, and carried it high into the air, when it was again dropped. Then Jack swooped down and caught it. This was repeated several times. On each occasion, the birds rose with a heavy fluttering motion of the wings, with the beak pointed downwards, to guard against the doubling movements of the victim.

After a while, one of them carried it to a limb, and the other joined him with a triumphant laugh. Then commenced a lively tug-of-war. One moment, the snake, perceptibly stretching, would be hanging over the limb, with a bird hanging under each side with closed wings. One would presently let go, and the other, with a startled squawk, would fall with a sudden recoil of the snake. The tussle was renewed on the ground, then again in the air, and once more on the limb. At times, one would be clinging desperately to the perch, holding the neck of the reptile, while the other would hang beneath with a bulldog grip on the tail.

A dozen more Kookaburras had now arrived, and the forest resounded with their levity. The contestants hung on grimly until another bird darted in between, and, getting a central grip on the green streak, mixed them all up in a squabbling heap. When the prey was dropped, a fourth bird swooped down and caught it.

So the tussle and the row went on, now among the branches, or in the air, now on the ground, till finally Jack emerged from the grass with the prize half swallowed, and, with the other half hanging out of his gaping beak, flew heavily away to finish his meal.

It took him half-an-hour to get it all down. For a considerable time he remained in a sleepy state, and looked very uncomfortable. Jack, however, was provided with a quick-acting powerful digestive apparatus, so much so that one end of his meal was already in process of digestion while the other end was swallowed.

Towards sunset he was feeling sprightly again. Then he recollected that he had seen a pretty little lady Kookaburra among the attendance at the scrimmage, and he was prompted to become acquainted with her without delay.

He had not long to look for her, for it was the hour when Kookaburras were particularly merry. Guided by the voices, he was soon beside her, and introduced himself with a gurgling laugh that dinned in her ears. Then, sidling up to her, he touched the point of her beak with the tip of his, and laughed again. This time she joined him. Then they reversed, and had another laugh. Their courtship, if short, was a most hilarious affair. When he was not loudly proclaiming his joy, he was chuckling to her, or making demonstrations in dumb show as if he were persuading her to elope with him.

The night found them roosting together in an ironbark tree on a stony ridge.

Now commenced the important preparations for nesting. There was no difficulty in finding a suitable place, for drooping spouts, which they dearly loved, were plentiful. But there was a tree-ants' nest as well near the spot, and the trouble was to decide which to have. The ants' nest was ultimately favored. The surface was almost as hard as cement. Unable to make any impression on it, Jack, after exhaustive prospecting, flew off some distance, and, wheeling about, rushed at it with such force that the grit whizzed from the blow of the wonderful beak. Having cracked the surface, the bird proceeded with the excavation of the nest. Both took part in the work, and continued patiently and tirelessly until the required dimensions were attained. The swarming termites within, shrinking from the light, at once blocked up the passages leading into the chamber. In such nests it was not uncommon to see termites crawling among the eggs or young birds. If the nest was considerably disturbed, the rightful owners sometimes abandoned it.

Early in September, four beautiful pearl-white eggs were placed in the snug nest. They were one-and-three-quarter inches long by one-and-half inches broad. This size was a shade bigger than the eggs of the white cockatoo. During the period of incubation, Jack was never far away, and encouraged his mate with his cheery cackle many times between sunrise and sunset.

When the chicks appeared, he played no small part in providing for them. They were hungry, clamorous little things, that never seemed satisfied, and leapt noisily forward with their capacious mouths wide open when any bird whatsoever fluttered within hearing. At times, Jack would look meditatively into the nest as if disgusted with his gluttonous progeny. However, in echoing shouts from the tree-tops, he would presently let the general public know that he was still happy, though married.

There were other busy couples in the neighborhood. Most of their nests were in hollow spouts, some high and some low, and none of them lined in any way. The eggs rested on the dust of decayed wood. His sister Goo-goo was not one of these. She nested late in the season, and produced only one clutch.

Having few natural enemies, and being treated as almost sacred by most bushmen, his species might have become numerous throughout the broad gum forests of the east. He feared neither hawk nor eagle, and only at night did he dread the spotted sneak, Buckandee, or Native Cat, and the Bushy-tailed Rat, which occasionally managed to steal upon birds as they slept on their perches. But there were men who exercised no forbearance towards them. Gadney, who was Slocum's neighbor, was one of these. His method was to cripple one, and the terrific row that would be raised by the wounded bird would bring all others within hearing into the nearest trees. He would then continue the slaughter as long as any remained within gunshot.

"You ought to get six months," said Slocum, hotly, as he rode up on one occasion. "Those birds are not only harmless, but do good in killing vermin."

"What about killing chickens!" demanded Gadney. "That fellow there had a chicken in his mouth when I potted him."

"It's very rarely a Jackass interferes with chickens, Gadney," said Slocum. "And if an odd one does get tempted to act in that way, it's no reason why you should clear the whole bush of them. Most people in this country want them to live, and you've got no right to destroy what the people have a national claim to."

Many a brood, orphaned by Gadney's gun, died miserably of starvation in their nests. Others escaped only to fall into the hands of professional bird-catchers. Being attractive, the poor birds were much sought after, and everywhere nests were robbed for metropolitan and foreign markets.

The thieves appeared on the stony ridge when the babies in the ants' nest were still unshapely forms with sprouting tails. They would halt near by, their van laden with boxes covered with wire-netting, in which were birds of many kinds. Among them were several young kookaburras, who fed ravenously on the fresh meat that was thrust through the meshes.

Having a prying, inquisitive nature, Jack perched himself in a convenient position to watch. Nothing escaped his keen eye. The kindling of the fire to boil the men's billy especially interested him. The appearance of smoke, in fact, was an occasion for jubilation. When they attempted to climb his nest tree, however, his feathered bosom swelled with resentment. His daring in defence of the young provoked the men to throw sticks and other missiles at him. Still, when they were off their guard, he darted savagely at them, and his strong beak snapped loudly near their heads. His mate was equally excited and aggressive, and uttered a low, angry chatter, that was like a growl, as she swooped past. The ladder was luckily not long enough, and, as there were no secure limbs within reach over which to throw a rope, they at last departed. The echoing notes of the jubilant couple rang in their ears as they went.

It was just about six weeks after the eggs were laid that the little ones left the nest and learnt to fly. In November, the mother commenced to lay again. The same nest was used, for it had not been vacated long enough for the industrious termites to fill up the excavation. Whether they filled it in or not subsequently, there was not much probability that Jack would be found again carrying on business at the old address. His mother was breeding that year in the old spout where he was hatched, but most of her comrades had sought new quarters.

When the second brood were finally dismissed, there followed a long period of comparative quiescence, until the breeding season came round again. Besides the joys of hatching and rearing the young ones, spring and summer brought thrilling snake adventures, and the excitement of bush fires. A smoke-cloud attracted them as well as the hawks and kites. Whereas the hawks soared high in the air, Jack and his kin flew from tree to tree as the fire advanced, and watched the ground closely for retreating vermin. Burning brush and burning logs were also watched, sometimes for several hours at a stretch.

It was near a brush fire that he had his most memorable adventure. He had tackled a half-grown diamond snake, which, with a lightning movement, threw its coils around him. For a moment he was in a sorry predicament, and screeched in terror as the coils tightened. His companions, flocking about him, were tumultuous in their excitement. When it seemed that the life would be crushed out of him, one, with a vicious snap, broke the reptile's neck, and the coils relaxed. Jack took no part in the subsequent proceedings. He was too busy shaking himself and wiping his bill on a stump.

Still he was not daunted. Ere a week had elapsed, he attacked a brown snake on the open flat. The brown was a venomous reptile, and quick in its movements. He did not fear its fangs so much as its coils, for his thick coat of feathers protected his body. He was alone. The snake's head was raised to strike as he approached it warily on the ground. For awhile they sparred for an opening. The snake led with a vicious lunge, and was instantly knocked flat with a sharp smack of the strong wing, which was thrown out as the bird dodged aside. It was slightly dazed, but more savage as it raised its head again. There was more sparring, more lunging and dodging, and Jack scored an occasional dig with his beak between whiles. The snake fought gamely, but soon the set curves of its body gave way to a hopeless wriggle. Jumping in quickly, he dealt the knockout blow with his bill on the neck.

After a few minutes, he carried it high into the air, and let it drop over a clear patch. As it fell with violence, he followed it down, and picked it up again from the ground. Twice he repeated this performance before he commenced leisurely to swallow the limp and battered victim.

Though he loved the open forests, and very seldom drank, even in the summer months, he went down to the river now and again for a change of diet. Here he would plunge into the water after yabbies, and would sometimes go right under. He gathered mussels, too, in the shallows along the edge. When he got one, he carried it to a log and whacked it thereon repeatedly until it opened.

Between whiles, he perched on a dry limb, and watched the more expert fishing of his small relative, the Blue Kingfisher, whose nest was tunnelled, a foot deep, into the broken bank. If one examined that domicile about October or December, he would find six or seven baby birds, and a quantity of fish bones and remnants of water beetles all mixed up together. When he was not bringing in more fish, or quietly watching from a projecting snag, the saucy little male was shooting like a blue meteor up and down stream in pursuit of a brother. Sometimes, he flew with a screech at Jack, for any intrusion whatever he resented at breeding time. Jack merely opened his mouth and said "Yah!" as the little spitfire shot past.

Summer and winter he stuck to his native district. His wanderings in quest of food covered a radius of only a few miles. His flights were never long. He flew low and not very fast. Sometimes, he perched on the telegraph wire by the railway line, and looked down unconcernedly at the passing train. At other times, he would alight on a roof in the township, and surprise newcomers with his cachinnations.

His favorite perches were on Slocum's barn, and on the gallows at the slaughter yard, though he looked disdainfully on the offal and carrion which the Crows and the Kurrawongs (Pied Bell Magpies) liked so much.

Many a time he had seen the rabbit poisoner drive through the station paddocks that lay beyond, but he did not know that this person was the cause of the heavy mortality he had noticed everywhere among the birds.

One April day, when he was hungry and listless, he picked up a bait that had been dropped among the stones, on the ridge. Perhaps he mistook it for a grub or a beetle. Certainly he beat it on the ground several times before he swallowed it. Shortly afterwards, he was threshing around in agony, while his comrades cackled loudly overhead.

A little later, while gathering wood, Slocum found his dead body under a bush.

"The squatters have done for you, Jack, with their plaguy phosphorus," he said as he turned the bird over tenderly with his foot. "And you never did them any harm."