Читать книгу Territory in Bird Life - Henry Eliot Howard - Страница 9

Those who have studied bird life throughout the year are aware that the distribution of individuals changes with the changing seasons. During autumn and winter, food is not so plentiful and can only be found in certain places, and so, partly by force of circumstances and partly on account of the gregarious instinct which then comes into functional activity, different individuals are drawn together and form flocks of greater or less dimensions, which come and go according to the prevailing climatic conditions. But with the advent of spring a change comes over the scene: flocks disperse, family parties break up, summer migrants begin to arrive, and the hedgerows and plantations are suddenly quickened into life. The silence of the winter is broken by an outburst of song from the throats of many different species, and individuals appear in their old haunts and vie with one another in advertising their presence by the aid of whatever vocal powers they happen to possess—the Woodpecker utters its monotonous call from the accustomed oak; the Missel-Thrush, perched upon the topmost branches of the elm, persistently repeats its few wild notes; and the Swallow returns to the barn.

All of this we observe each season, and our thoughts probably travel to the delicate piece of architecture in the undergrowth, or to the hole excavated with such skill in the tree trunk; to the beautifully shaped eggs; to the parent birds carrying out their work with devoted zeal—in fact, to the whole series of events which complete the sexual life of the individual; and the attachment of a particular bird to a particular spot is readily accounted for in terms of one or other of the emotions which centre round the human home.

But if this behaviour is to be understood aright; if, that is to say, the exact position it occupies in the drama of bird life is to be properly determined, and its biological significance estimated at its true value, it is above all things necessary to refrain from appealing to any one of the emotions which we are accustomed to associate with ourselves, unless our ground for doing so is more than ordinarily secure. I shall try to show that, in the case of many species, the male inherits a disposition to secure a territory; or, inasmuch as the word "secure" carries with it too much prospective meaning, a disposition to remain in a particular place when the appropriate time arrives.

If the part which the breeding territory plays in the sexual life of birds is the important one I believe it to be, it follows that the necessary physiological condition must arise at an early stage in the cycle of events which follow one another in ordered sequence and make towards the goal of reproduction, and that the behaviour to which it leads must be one of the earliest visible manifestations of the seasonal development of the sexual instinct. When does this seasonal development occur? For how long does the instinct lie dormant? In some species there is evidence of this first step in the process of reproduction early in February; there is reason to believe that in others the latter part of January is the period of revival; and the possibility must not be overlooked of still earlier awakenings, marked with little definiteness, though nevertheless of sufficient strength to call into functional activity the primary impulse in the sexual cycle. Here, then, we meet with a difficulty so far as direct observation is concerned, for the duration of the period of dormancy and the precise date of revival vary in different species; and, if accurate information is to be obtained, the study of the series of events which culminate in the attainment of reproduction ought certainly to begin the moment behaviour is influenced by the internal changes, whatever they may be, which are responsible for the awakening of the sexual instinct.

In considering how this difficulty might be met, the importance of migratory species as a channel of information was gradually borne in upon me; for it seemed that the definiteness with which the initial stage in the sexual process was marked off, as a result of the incidence of migration, would go far towards removing much of the obscurity which appeared to surround the earlier stages of the breeding problem in the case of resident species. Recent observation has shown that I exaggerated this difficulty, and that it is generally possible to determine with reasonable accuracy the approximate date at which the internal changes begin to exert an influence on the behaviour of resident species also. Nevertheless, the specialised behaviour of the migrants furnished a clue, and pointed out the direction which further inquiry ought to take.

Those who are accustomed to notice the arrival of the migrants are aware that the woods, thickets, and marshes do not suddenly become occupied by large numbers of individuals, but that the process of "filling up" is a gradual one. An individual appears here, another there; then after a pause there is a further addition, and so on with increasing volume until the tide reaches its maximum, then activity wanes, and the slowly decreasing number of fresh arrivals passes unnoticed in the wealth of new life that everywhere forces itself upon our attention. If now, instead of surveying the migrants as a whole, our attention be directed to one species only, this gradual arrival of single individuals in their accustomed haunts will become even more apparent; and if the investigation be pursued still further and these single individuals observed more closely, it will be found that in nearly every case they belong to the male sex. Males therefore arrive before females. This does not mean, however, that the respective times of arrival of the males and females belonging to any one species are definitely divided, for males continue to arrive even after some of the females have reached their destination; and thus a certain amount of overlapping occurs. A truer definition of the order of migration would be as follows:—Some males arrive before others, and some females arrive before others, but on the average males arrive before females. This fact has long been known. Gätke refers to it in his Birds of Heligoland. "Here in Heligoland," he says, "the forerunners of the spring migration are invariably old males; a week or two later, solitary old females make their appearance; and after several weeks, both sexes occur mixed, i.e., females and younger males; while finally only young birds of the previous year are met with." Newton alludes to it as follows:—"It has been ascertained by repeated observation that in the spring movement of most species of the northern hemisphere, the cock birds are always in the van of the advancing army, and that they appear some days, or perhaps weeks, before the hens"; and Dr Eagle Clarke, in his Studies in Bird Migration, makes the following statement:—"Another characteristic of the spring is that the males, the more ardent suitors, of most species, travel in advance of the females, and arrive at their meeting quarters some days, it is said in some cases even weeks, before their consorts." Some interesting details were given in British Birds1 in regard to the sex of the migrants that were killed by striking the lantern at the Tuskar Rock, Co. Wexford, on the 30th April 1914. In all, there were twenty-four Whitethroats, nine Willow-Warblers, eight Sedge-Warblers, and six Wheatears; and on dissection it was found that twenty Whitethroats, seven Willow-Warblers, eight Sedge-Warblers, and one Wheatear were males.

What a curious departure this seems from the usual custom in the animal world! Here we have the spectacle afforded us of the males, in whom presumably the sexual instinct has awakened, deserting the females just at the moment when we might reasonably expect their impulse to accompany them would be strongest; and this because of their inherited disposition to reach the breeding grounds. If, in order to attain to reproduction, the male depended primarily upon securing a female—whether by winning or fighting matters not at the moment—if her possession constituted the sole difference in his external environment between success and failure, then surely one would suppose that an advantage must rest with those individuals which, instead of rushing forward and inflicting upon themselves a life of temporary isolation, remained with the females and increased their opportunities for developing that mutual appreciation which, by some, is held to be a necessary prelude to the completion of the sexual act, and to which close companionship would tend to impart a stimulus.

In thus speaking, however, we assume that the revival of the sexual instinct in the migratory male is coincident in time with its return to the breeding quarters; and we do so because the act of migrating is believed to be the first step in the breeding process. But it is well to bear in mind just how much of this assumption is based upon fact, and how much is due to questionable inference. All that can be definitely asserted is this, that appropriate dissection reveals in most of the migrants, upon arrival at their destination, unquestionable evidence of seasonal increase in the size of the sexual organs. Beyond this there is nothing to go upon. Yet if the term "sexual instinct" is held to comprise the whole series of complex relationships which are manifest to us in numerous and specialised modes of behaviour, which ultimately lead to reproduction, and which have gradually become interwoven in the tissue of the race, there can be little doubt that the assumption is a reasonable one. To some, the term may recall the fierce conflicts which are characteristic of the season; to others, emotional response; to not a few, perhaps, the actual discharge of the sexual function—all of these, it is true, are different aspects of the one instinct; but at the same time each one marks a stage in the process, and the different stages follow one another in ordered sequence. However, we are not concerned at the moment with the term in its wider application; we wish to know the precise stage at which the disposition to mate influences the behaviour of the male. Is the female to him, from the moment the seasonal change in his sexual organs takes place, a goal that at all costs must be attained? Or is it only when the cycle of events which leads up to reproduction is nearing completion that she looms upon his horizon? One would like to be in a position to answer these questions, but there is nothing in the way of experimental evidence to go upon; and if I say that there is reason to believe that, in the earlier stages, the female is but a shadow in the external environment of the male, it must be taken merely as an expression of opinion, though based in some measure upon a general observation of the behaviour of various species.

Before attempting to explain the difference in the times of arrival of the male and female migrant, let us examine the behaviour of some resident species at a corresponding period. My investigations have been made principally amongst the smaller species—the Finches and the Buntings—which often pass the winter in or near the localities wherein they brought up offspring or were reared. It is true that they wander from one field to another according to the abundance or scarcity of food; it is also true that, if the weather is of a type which precludes the possibility of finding the necessary food, these wanderings may become extensive or even develop into partial migrations. But under the normal climatic conditions which prevail in many parts of Britain, these smaller resident species seem to find all that they require without travelling any great distance from their breeding haunts. Flocks composed of Yellow Buntings, Cirl Buntings, Corn-Buntings, Chaffinches, Greenfinches, etc., can be observed round the farmsteads or upon arable land; small flocks of Reed-Buntings take up their abode on pieces of waste land and remain there until the supply of food is exhausted, deserting their feeding ground only towards evening when they retire to the nearest reed-bed to pass the night; flocks of Hawfinches visit the same holly-trees day after day so long as there is an abundance of berries on the ground beneath; and so on.

I have mentioned the Reed-Bunting; let us take it as our first example and try to follow its movements when the influence exerted by the internal secretions begins to be reflected on the course of its behaviour. First, it will be necessary to discover the exact localities in any given district to which the species habitually returns for the purpose of procreation; otherwise the earlier symptoms of any disposition to secure a territory may quite possibly be overlooked in the search for its breeding haunts.

In open weather Reed-Buntings pass the winter either singly, in twos or threes, or in small flocks, on bare arable ground, upon seed fields, or in the vicinity of water-courses; but in the breeding season they resort to marshy ground where the Juncus communis grows in abundance, to the dense masses of the common reed (Arundo phragmites), and such like places. During the winter, the male's routine of existence is of a somewhat monotonous order, limited to the necessary search for food during the few short hours of daylight and enforced inactivity during the longer hours of darkness. But towards the middle of February a distinct change manifests itself in the bird's behaviour. Observe what then happens. When they leave the reed-bed in the morning, instead of flying with their companions to the accustomed feeding grounds, the males isolate themselves and scatter in different directions. The purpose of their behaviour is not, however, to find fresh feeding grounds, nor even to search for food as they have been wont to do, but rather to discover stations suitable for the purpose of breeding; and, having done so, each male behaves in a like manner—it selects some willow, alder, or prominent reed, and, perching thereon, leads a quiet life, singing or preening its feathers. Now if the movements of one particular male are kept in view, it will be noticed that only part of its time is spent in its territory. At intervals it disappears. I do not mean that one merely loses sight of it, but that it actually deserts its territory. As if seized with a sudden impulse it rises into the air and flies away, often for a considerable distance and often in the same direction, and is absent for a period which may vary in length from a few minutes to an hour or even more. But these periodical desertions become progressively less and less frequent in occurrence until the whole of its life is spent in the few acres in which it has established itself.

The behaviour of the Yellow Bunting is similar. In any roadside hedge two or more males can generally be found within a short distance of one another, and in such a place their movements can be closely and conveniently followed. Under normal conditions the ordinary winter routine continues until early in February; but the male then deserts the flock, seeks a position of its own, and becomes isolated from its companions. Now the position which it selects does not, as a rule, embrace a very large area—a few acres perhaps at the most. But there is always some one point which is singled out and resorted to with marked frequency—a tree, a bush, a gate-post, a railing, anything in fact which can form a convenient perch, and eventually it becomes a central part of the bird's environment. Here it spends the greater part of its time, here it utters its song persistently, and here it keeps watch upon intruders. The process of establishment is nevertheless a gradual one. The male does not appear in its few acres suddenly and remain there permanently as does the migrant; at first it may not even roost in the prospective territory. The course of procedure is somewhat as follows:—At dawn it arrives and for a while utters its song, preens its feathers, or searches for food; then it vanishes, rising into the air and flying in one fixed direction as far as the eye can follow, until it becomes a speck upon the horizon and is ultimately lost to view. During these excursions it rejoins the small composite flocks which still frequent the fields and farm buildings. For a time the hedgerow is deserted and the bird remains with its companions. But one does not have to wait long for the return; it reappears as suddenly as it vanished, flying straight back to the few acres which constitute its territory, back even to the same gate-post or railing, where it again sings. This simple routine may be repeated quite a number of times during the first two hours or so of daylight, with, of course, a certain amount of variation; on one occasion the bird may be away for a few minutes only, on another for perhaps half an hour, whilst sometimes it will fly for a few hundred yards, hesitate, and then return—all of which shows clearly enough that these few acres possess some peculiar significance and are capable of exercising a powerful influence upon the course of its behaviour. And so the disposition in relation to the territory becomes dominant in the life of the bird.

Or take the case of the Chaffinch. In winter large or small flocks can be found in many varied situations. But in the latter part of February, or the early days of March, these flocks begin to disperse. At daylight males can then be observed in all kinds of situations, either calling loudly, uttering their spring note, or exercising their vocal powers to the full; and it will be found that, in the majority of instances, these males are solitary individuals, that they pass the early hours of the morning alone, and that their normal routine of calling, singing, or searching for food, is only interrupted by quarrels with their neighbours. The same locality is visited regularly—not only the same acre or so of ground, but even the same elm or oak, has, as its daily occupant, the same cock Chaffinch. And temporary desertions from the territory occur also, much like those referred to in the life of the Bunting, but perhaps not so frequently. One has grown so accustomed during the dark days of winter to the sociable side of Chaffinch behaviour—to the large flocks searching for food, to the endless stream of individuals returning in the evening to roost in the holly-trees, to the absence of song—that this radical departure from the normal routine comes as something of a surprise; for the days are still short, the temperature is still low, the nesting season is still many weeks ahead, and yet for part of the day, and for just that part when the promptings of hunger must be strongest, the male, instead of joining the flock, isolates itself and expends a good deal of energy in insuring that its isolation shall be complete. And in place of the silence we hear from all directions the cheerful song uttered with such marked persistency that it almost seems as if the bird itself must be aware that by doing so it was advertising the fact of its occupation of a territory. This is surely a remarkable change, and the females in the meantime continue their winter routine.

One other example. The monotonous call of the Greenfinch is probably familiar to all. In winter these birds accompany other Finches and form with them flocks of varying sizes, but in the spring the flocks disperse, and the Greenfinch, in common with other units of the flock, alters its mode of life. But whereas the Chaffinch or the Bunting begins to acquire its territory in February, the Greenfinch only does so in April. When the organic changes do at length begin to make themselves felt, the male seeks a position of its own, and having found one remains there, uttering its characteristic call. But owing probably to the fact that it is much later than the aforementioned species in acquiring a territory, temporary desertions are not so much in evidence. The species is so very plentiful, and the bird is so prone to nest in gardens and shrubberies surrounding human habitations, that this seasonal change in its routine of existence cannot fail to be noticed. One can hear its call in every direction, one can watch the same individual in the same tree; and it is the male that is thus seen and heard, the female appears later. Thus the behaviour falls into line with that of the Bunting or the Chaffinch.

The behaviour of these resident species throws some light upon the early arrival of the males which we are endeavouring to explain in the case of the migrants. Let us see how their actions compare. The male resident deserts the female early in the year and establishes itself in a definite position, where it advertises its presence by song; the male migrant travels from a great distance, arrives later, and also establishes itself in a definite position, where it, too, advertises its presence by song. The male resident passes only the earlier part of the day in its territory at the commencement of the period of occupation; the male migrant remains there continuously from the moment it arrives. The male resident deserts its territory at intervals, even in the morning; the male migrant betrays no inclination to do so. Thus there is a very close correspondence between the behaviour of the two, and what difference there is—slight after all—cannot be said to affect the main biological end of securing territory. One is apt to think of the problem of migration in terms of the species instead of in terms of the individual. One pictures a vast army of birds travelling each spring over many miles of sea and land, and finally establishing themselves in different quarters of the globe; and so it comes about, I suppose, that a country or some well-defined but extensive area is regarded as the destination, the ultimate goal, of the wanderers. But the resident male has a journey to perform, short though it may be; it, too, has a destination to reach, neither a country nor a locality, but a place wherein the rearing of offspring can be safely accomplished, and it, too, arrives in that place in advance of the female.

With these facts at our disposal, we will endeavour to find an explanation. It is unlikely that specialised behaviour would occur in generation after generation under such widely divergent conditions, and, moreover, expose the birds to risk of special dangers, if it were but an hereditary peculiarity to which no meaning could be attached. Hence the appearance of the males in their breeding haunts ahead of the females becomes a fact of some importance, and suggests that the extensive journey in the one case, and the short journey in the other, may both have a similar biological end to serve.

Darwin evidently attached importance to this difference between the males and the females in their times of arrival. In the Descent of Man he referred to it as follows: "Those males which annually first migrated in any country, or which in spring were first ready to breed, or were the most eager, would leave the largest number of offspring; and these would tend to inherit similar instincts and constitutions. It must be borne in mind that it would have been impossible to change very materially the time of sexual maturity in the females without at the same time interfering with the period of the production of the young—a period which must be determined by the season of the year." Newton suggested the following explanation2: "It is not difficult to imagine that, in the course of a journey prolonged through some 50° or 60° of latitude, the stronger individuals should outstrip the weaker by a very perceptible distance, and it can hardly be doubted that in most species the males are stouter, as they are bigger than the females." Granting that the males are the stronger, how can this account for their outstripping the females by a week, ten days, or even a fortnight, in a journey of perhaps 1500 miles? To expect the birds to accomplish such a distance in seven days is surely not estimating their capabilities too highly, and any slight inequality in the power of flight or endurance could give the males an advantage of a few hours only. But this explanation, based upon inequalities in the power of flight and endurance on the one hand, and the magnitude of the distance traversed on the other, cannot afford a solution of the behaviour of the resident males, and is less likely, therefore, to be a true solution of that of the migrants.

There is another theory, simple enough in its way, which will probably occur to many. It is based on the assumption that the males reach sexual maturity before the females; and it is contended that the functioning of the instincts which contribute towards the biological end of reproduction depend upon the organic changes which the term "sexual maturity" is held to embrace, and that, inasmuch as the migratory instinct belongs to the group of such instincts, the males must be the first to leave their winter quarters.

What is meant by the "migratory instinct"? To speak of it as one of the instincts concerned in reproduction is not enough. Reproduction involves the actual discharge of the sexual function, which involves the females; but the first visible manifestation of organic change in the male is its desertion of the females. Yet this is the behaviour which is referred to as the "migratory instinct," and which comes into play, according to this theory, because the bird has reached sexual maturity. Manifestly we must have some clear understanding as to what these terms represent. That organic changes determine the functioning of certain definite instincts at certain specified times there can be no doubt; that these changes may occur at a somewhat earlier date in the male than in the female is more than probable, but that this explains the behaviour in question I do not believe. One wants to know why the changes should occur earlier in the male, what disposition it is which first comes into functional activity, and to what such disposition is related.

It may, however, be urged that, after all, this apparent eagerness to reach the breeding grounds is but a modification of hereditary procedure under the guiding hand of experience. What more likely result would follow from the enjoyment associated with previous success in the attainment of reproduction than a craving to repeat the experience? What stronger incentive to a hurried return could be imagined? It must be admitted that there are certain facts which might be used in support of an appeal to experience as a reasonable explanation. For example, the first males to arrive often display that richness of colouring which is generally supposed to indicate a fuller maturity. Gätke even speaks of the "most handsome old birds being invariably the first to hasten back to their old homes." But if experience is a factor, if some dim recollection of the past is held to explain the hurried departure of the male migrant, one wants to know with what such recollection is associated. Is it associated with the former female, or with the former breeding place, or with both? I take it that any recollection, no matter how vague, must be primarily associated with the particular place wherein reproduction had previously been accomplished; and I grant that if the first individuals to appear were invariably the older and experienced birds, their early return might be explained on the basis of such an association. But if there is reason to believe that a proportion are young birds on the verge of carrying out their instinctive routine for the first time, then we cannot appeal to past experience in explanation of their behaviour.

The age of a bird is difficult to determine. Experience leads me to believe that some of the males that arrive before the females are birds born the previous season; one finds, for instance, individuals with plumage of a duller hue, which denotes immaturity, amongst the first batch of arrivals. But though plumage may sometimes be a satisfactory guide, yet to rely upon it alone, or upon a more perfect development of feather, is to exceed the limits of safety. How, then, can we ascertain whether all the males that arrive before the females have had some previous experience of reproduction? Well, we take a particular locality and note the migrants that visit it year after year, and we find that the respective numbers of the different species are subject to wide annual fluctuations. Not every species lends itself to an inquiry of this kind: some are always plentiful and fluctuation is consequently difficult to discern; others are scarce and variation is easily determined. Those which are of local distribution but conspicuous by their plumage, or easily traced by the beauty or the peculiarity of their song, afford the more suitable subjects for investigation. For example, the Grasshopper-Warbler, Marsh-Warbler, Nightingale, Corncrake, Red-backed Shrike, or Whinchat have each some distinctive peculiarity which makes them conspicuous, and each one is subject to marked fluctuation in numbers. The small plantation or wooded bank may hold a Nightingale one year, but we miss its song there the next; the osier bed or gorse-covered common which vibrates with the trill of the Grasshopper-Warbler one April is deserted the following season; the plantation which is occupied by a host of common migrants this summer may be enlivened next year by the song of the rarer Marsh-Warbler also; and so on. The fluctuation is considerable: we observe desertion on the one hand, appropriation on the other, and yet males appear before females whether the particular plantation, osier bed, or swamp had been inhabited or not the previous season. This fact is not without significance. It shows that similar conditions prevail both amongst the males that appropriate breeding grounds new to them, and amongst those that return to some well-established haunt; and on the assumption that the earlier arrivals are experienced males, the same birds evidently do not return to the same place year after year. Granting, then, that the males which appropriate new breeding-grounds are young birds, how can their earlier arrival be explained in terms of past experience; and granting that they are old, and therefore experienced, how can it be explained in terms of association?