Chapter 31 - The Boy Hunters by Mayne Reid
The Vultures and their King
They turned their horses’ heads westward. It was their intention to travel in that direction, until they should strike the tracks of the buffaloes, when they would turn to the north, follow upon the trail of these animals, and endeavour to come up with the great herd. This was clearly the best course they could adopt.
As they were riding past the western extremity of the butte, a flock of large birds drew their attention. They were vultures. The boys now remembered the cimmaron that had fallen over the cliff; and, looking up, they beheld its body still swinging from the tree. It was that which had attracted the vultures.
There were many of them—over an hundred in the flock. Some were sailing about in the air. Others had alighted on the top of the cliff, or perched themselves on the branches of the pines, while a few hovered around the carcass, occasionally settling a moment upon its stiffened limbs, and endeavouring to penetrate the hide with their beaks. They had already torn out the eyes of the animal, but the tough skin of the body still resisted their attacks.
These birds were larger than ravens, and of a dark colour—nearly black. At a distance they appeared purely black; but, upon a nearer view, an admixture of brownish feathers could be perceived, and this was apparent in some of them more than in others. To a careless observer they would all have passed for birds of the same species, although that was not the case. There were two distinct species of them, the “turkey-buzzard” (Cathartes aura), and the black vulture (Cathartes atratus). Our boys knew them well enough—for both kinds are common in Louisiana, and throughout all the southern part of the United States.
I have said that a careless observer would mistake the one species for the other. They are nearly of the same size and colour, though the carrion-crow is of a deeper black than the buzzard; but there are other points of difference that would strike the eye of a naturalist at once. The buzzard is a much more handsomely formed bird, and is more graceful, both upon the ground and while sailing through the air. His wings are longer and more elegantly plumed, and his tail is more tapering. The skin of his naked head and neck, as well as that of his legs, is of a reddish or flesh colour; while the same parts of the black vulture are a mixture of black and grey—the black being caused by a down that grows thinly over the skin. They are easily distinguished in the air. The black vulture flies rather heavily—flapping his wings several times with a quick repetition, and then holding them horizontally for a hundred yards or so—while his short ill-proportioned tail is spread out like a fan. The buzzard, on the contrary, holds his wings at rest—not in a horizontal position, but bent considerably upward. In this attitude he will skim along for a quarter of a mile, without a single stroke of his wings, and that, too, not downward as may be supposed, but along a level, or a line often curving upward! How he executes this upward movement is not known. Some suppose that he possesses the power of inflating himself with heated air, which enables him to soar upward without using his wings. This theory is not very clear, and requires demonstration before it can be accepted as the true one. Others say that he is carried up by the impetus he has already obtained, by having previously descended from an equal or greater height. This is not true, however, as the buzzard may be often seen to rise in this way after a long flight along the level line. It is just possible that the same principle by which the New Holland savages direct their boomerangs, or by which flat stones thrown horizontally often take an upward direction—a fact known to every boy—I say it is just possible that this principle, as yet but little understood, may be instructively acted on by the buzzard, and have something to do with his flight. Be the facts as they may, it is an interesting sight to watch one of these birds, with broad wings outlined against the blue background of the heavens, now swimming in circles, now shooting off in horizontal lines, and anon soaring upward or tracing the undulating curves of the ogee. It is, to say the least of it, a striking and beautiful sight.
The turkey-buzzard is, upon the whole, a nobler bird than the black vulture. There is more of the eagle about him. Both, it is true, are carrion-feeders, like all vultures; but the buzzard also hunts after other food, such as snakes, lizards, and small quadrupeds. He will attack young lambs or pigs, when a good opportunity offers. So, too, will the black vulture, but not so frequently. Neither of them, however, do much harm in this respect; and their preying on such animals is an exception, and not a rule. They only do so, probably, when driven to it by hunger. Both species are gregarious, although they do not always appear in flocks. The buzzards, particularly, are often seen hunting alone, or in twos or threes; but their mode of life brings them together in large numbers. They often assemble—both buzzards and black vultures—to the number of hundreds, over a single carrion. The buzzards, however, are not so plenty as the black vultures; and in one of these flocks more than three-fourths will be found of the latter species. The buzzards are the shyer birds; and they are less disposed to keep together in flocks. It has even been said that these are not gregarious, as they are often seen alone in the high regions of the air. But it is certain that not only do numbers of them roost together at night, but they even associate with the black vultures at such times.
In most countries the vulture is a privileged bird. He is looked upon as a cheap and useful scavenger, clearing away the carcasses of dead animals, that would otherwise pollute the atmosphere. This is a matter of much importance in hot countries; and it is only in such countries that vultures are commonly found. What a beautiful illustration of the completeness of Nature’s laws! As you get into high latitudes and colder regions—where the air is not so readily tainted by putrid substances—the necessity for such a scavenger no longer exists, and he is rarely met with. There the great vulture gives place to the croaking raven, and the small carrion-crow.
Vultures, I have said, are privileged birds. In most countries they are protected by law. This is the case with regard to the present species, both in English and Spanish America, where there is a fine for killing them. The consequence is, they are seldom molested; and in many places are so tame, that they will permit you to come within a few feet of them. In the cities and villages of the Southern States they alight in the streets, and go to sleep upon the house-tops. They do the same in the cities of Mexico and South America, where both species are also found.
As soon as our young hunters had got opposite the cliff where the vultures were, they reined up, determined to remain awhile, and watch the manoeuvres of the birds. They were curious to see how the latter would conduct themselves with a prey so singularly situated, as was the carcass of the cimmaron. They did not dismount, but sat in their saddles, about an hundred yards from the cliff. The vultures, of course, did not regard their presence; but continued to alight, both upon the escarpment of the precipice and upon the loose rocks at its foot, as if no one was near.
“How very like the buzzards are to hen turkeys!” remarked François.
“Yes,” rejoined Lucien, “that is the reason why they are called ‘turkey-buzzards.’”
François’ observation was a very natural one. There are no two birds, not absolutely of the same species, that are more like each other than a turkey-buzzard and a small-sized turkey-hen—that is, the common domestic turkey of the black variety, which, like the buzzard, is usually of a brownish colour. So like are they, that, at the distance of a hundred yards, I have often taken the one for the other. This resemblance, however, extends no farther than to the general appearance—the shape and colour. In most other respects they differ, as you may imagine, very materially.
“Talking of turkey-buzzards,” continued Lucien, “reminds me of an anecdote that is told in relation to one.”
“Oh! let us have it, brother,” said François.
“With pleasure,” replied Lucien. “It is intended to illustrate the superior cunning of the white over the Indian race; and is a pretty fair sample of the honesty and justice which the former has too often observed in its dealings with the latter. It is as follows:—
“A white man and an Indian went out together for a day’s hunting. They agreed that the game should be equally divided at night, no matter who had killed the largest share of it. During the day the Indian shot a turkey, and the white hunter a turkey-buzzard; and these two birds were all that either of them were able to meet with. The proceeds of the day’s hunt were brought together; and now arose a difficulty about an equal division of the game. Both knew well enough the value of a good fat turkey; and both were as well acquainted with the utter worthlessness of the buzzard—which was in fact worth less than nothing, as its filthy odour was extremely repulsive. It was evident that the only way of making a fair division would have been to cut the turkey in two equal parts, and each to take one of the halves. The white man, however, would not agree to this; but proposed that one of them should take the whole turkey, and the other the buzzard.
“‘It’s a pity,’ argued he, ‘to spoil the birds. It’s better for each of us to take one.’
“‘Very well,’ said the Indian. ‘Shall we draw lots for the choice?’
“‘Oh, no,’ replied the other. ‘It’s not worth while to do that. I’ll deal fairly with you. I’ll take the turkey, and let you have the buzzard; or, you can take the buzzard, and I’ll keep the turkey.’
“The Indian reflected, that in either case the buzzard would fall to his share; but the white man’s proposition seemed a just one; and, as he could find no flaw in its fairness, he was constrained, though reluctantly, to accept it. The white hunter, therefore, shouldered his turkey, and trudged off homewards, leaving the poor Indian supperless in the woods.”
“Ha! ha! ha!” laughed François, “what a shallow Indian he must have been to be so easily outwitted!”
“Ah!” said Lucien, “he was not the only one of his race, who has been similarly deceived by white men. Many a pewter dollar has been passed upon these simple sons of the forest, in exchange for their furs and peltries. I have reason to suspect that one very rich fur-trader, now dead, laid the foundation of his immense fortune in this way; but my suspicions do not amount to positive proof, and therefore I do not assert it for a fact. Perhaps some historian may one day assail even the character of the good Penn; who is said to have purchased from the Indians a territory of three square miles, but took care to have it measured off as three miles square! I hope the story is not a true one.”
“Why, that,” said François, “is almost the same trick as Dido performed with the bull’s hide.”
“Yes,” replied his brother; “so you see that dishonesty belongs exclusively to no age or nation. It has existed in the past, and will continue to exist, until men, becoming more and more highly educated, will be moved by nobler ambition than the mere spirit of gain. I believe there is such a time in the far future.”
The conversation was again directed to the subject of the vultures. These now formed a flock of at least two hundred; and others were still arriving upon the ground. As fresh ones came, they would wheel about for awhile in the air, and then drop down and perch themselves on the trees and rocks. Some sat crouching with drooping wings, and heads drawn in—so that their long naked necks were quite concealed under their ruff-like collars. Others stood erect, with both wings raised from the body, half unfolded, and held “a-kimbo,” as eagles are often seen, and as they are sometimes represented upon coins and standards. It is supposed that both vultures and eagles spread their wings in this fashion to cool themselves when they are too warm, and sun themselves when too cold—for they do so in cold, as well as warm weather; and in this attitude they exhibit a singular and rather pleasing picture.
Some of the vultures could be seen descending from the very highest regions of the air. They could be noted like little specks against the blue sky, gradually growing larger and larger, until their broad wings cast moving shadows upon the sunlit sward, as the birds floated spirally downward. Others were observed approaching in a horizontal direction—some of them seeming no bigger than sparrows, as they first caught the eye upon the distant horizon.
“What a distance some of them must have travelled!” remarked François; “and how do you think they know where to come? There was not one in sight when we killed those big-horns.”
“They have been guided by their scent, of course,” replied Basil; “they have great power in that way.”
“Not so, brother,” interrupted Lucien; “that is one of the errors of your closet-naturalists—your Buffons and Cuviers—propagated by them, until it has become proverbial. Strange to say, it is altogether erroneous. It has been proved that vultures possess the sense of smell in a less degree even than most other creatures. Dogs and wolves far excel them in this respect.”
“How, then, have they found this carrion, for instance?”
“By their sight—for that sense they possess in a high degree of perfection.”
“But how can that be, Luce?” rejoined Basil. “See! yonder are some coming from the eastward. Now, as the butte is between them and the big-horn, how is it possible they could have seen it?”
“I do not say they have; but they have seen others, who have seen others, who in their turn have seen others, who actually have seen the carrion.”
“Oh! I understand; you mean that some one or more have first spied it; and, while making towards it, have been observed by others at a greater distance; and those again who have followed them have been followed by others still more distant, and so on.”
“Precisely so; and this at once accounts for the fabulous stories of vultures scenting carrion at the distance of miles—none of which stories are true, but have been propagated by men who, perhaps, never saw a vulture in the air, but who, in order to make their books amusing, have readily adopted the exaggerated tales of every Munchausen they could meet with.”
“Your theory is certainly the more probable one.”
“It is the true one. It has been proved to be so by numerous experiments with vultures; all of which have gone to show, that these birds have anything but a keen sense of smell. On the contrary, it is remarkably weak; and I think it is well for them it is so, considering the sort of food they live upon.”
“This flock must have gathered from all parts,” remarked François; “we see them coming in from every point of the compass. No doubt some of them have travelled fifty miles.”
“As likely an hundred,” rejoined Lucien. “Such a journey is a mere bagatelle to them. Now, if I knew the precise moment at which the carrion was discovered by the first one, I could tell how far each of the others had come—that is, each of them whose arrival we are now witnessing.”
“But how could you do that, brother?” demanded Basil and François, in astonishment; “pray tell us how?”
“I should make my calculation thus:—In the first place, they have all started at the same time.”
“At the same time!” interrupted Basil; “how can that be, if some of them were an hundred miles off?”
“No matter what distance,” replied Lucien; “it is all the same. They have all commenced their flight hither, not exactly, but nearly, at the same moment. Is it not plain? These birds, while hunting for their food, sweep through the air in great circles. Each of these circles overlooks a large tract of the earth’s surface below. Their circumferences approach or intersect each other—so that, in fact, the whole country is under a network of them. Now, as soon as one of the vultures, thus sailing about, discovers with far-seeing eye the carrion below, he immediately drops from his high orbit, and wings his way downward. He is observed by that one circling nearest him; who, well knowing the cause of the altered flight of his companion, at once forsakes his own orbit and follows; and he, in his turn, is followed by another; and so on to the end of the chain.”
“But how can one of them tell that the other is gone in pursuit of prey?” inquired François, interrupting Lucien in his explanation.
“Suppose you saw Basil at a great distance off on the prairie, could you not tell by his actions when he had started game, and was in pursuit of it?”
“Oh! yes! I could easily.”
“Well, then, the vultures, who have far keener sight than you, understand each other’s movements thoroughly—even to the shaking of a feather—so that they can easily tell when one of their number has a good dinner in sight.
“I think I have shown,” continued Lucien, “that they all start within a few seconds of the same time; and as they fly in a nearly direct line towards the object, if we knew the rate at which they go, it would only remain for us to mark the date of their arrival, to be able to tell how far they had come. Of course it is supposed that we have already noted the time when the first one came upon the spot.
“If we suppose,” continued Lucien, as he pointed up to the vultures, “that the first of these has alighted here two hours ago, and we allow them a flight of thirty miles an hour, we may then safely conclude that some of those now coming in have made a journey of sixty miles this morning. What think you of my theory?”
“It is, to say the least of it, a curious one, brother,” replied Basil.
“But what are they waiting for now?” demanded François; “why don’t they at once fall to, and enjoy it while it is fresh?”
François’ interrogatory was a very natural one. Most of the vultures, instead of attacking the carrion, were, as we have already seen, sitting perched upon rocks and trees—some of them in listless attitudes, as though they were not hungry, and did not care to eat.
Basil proffered an explanation.
“No doubt,” said he, “they are waiting until the flesh becomes putrid. It is said that they prefer it in that state.”
“And that,” remarked Lucien, “is another assertion that has no foundation in fact. They do not prefer it in that state. On the contrary, it is certain that vultures like their food better when fresh, and eat it so when they can get it.”
“And what hinders them now?” inquired François.
“The tough hide hinders them. These birds do not possess the great muscular power in their claws that eagles do, else you would soon see the big-horn reduced to a skeleton. They are waiting until its skin becomes more tender, through decomposition, so that they may be able to tear it open. That is why they are waiting.”
Such was evidently the true explanation; for each of the new-comers was seen to attack the carcass; and, after finding he could make nothing of it, fly off and settle quietly down on the rocks or trees.
As the boys watched them, however, some more eager than the rest effected an incision—at the spot where Basil’s bullet had entered the body of the animal—and were rapidly widening it. The others, perceiving this, began to fly toward the spot; and, in less than five minutes, the tree was black with the filthy birds, until they crowded each other upon the branches. Several perched upon the limbs and horns of the animal itself, until there was not a space left for another to stand upon. But their united weight, combined with that of the carcass, was too much for the roots of the pine. A loud crash was heard, followed by the sharp rat-like squeaking of the vultures, as they flapped hurriedly away; and as the broken tree bent downwards, the body of the big-horn was precipitated to the earth, and fell upon the rocks below!
There was a great commotion among the assembled birds; and the sound of their broad wings, hurriedly beating the air, could have been heard for miles off; but their fright was soon over, and they all settled down again near the carrion.
The accident was in their favour rather than otherwise. The already decomposing body, by falling from such a vast height upon the sharp rocks, was mangled, and the skin burst open! This the foul birds were not slow in perceiving; and first one, and then another, flapped towards it, and commenced their horrid meal. In a few moments they were crowding over the body, hissing like geese, striking at each other with wings, beak, and claws, and altogether exhibiting such a scene of ravenous hunger and angry passion as would be difficult to portray. They soon got in among the entrails of the animal, and commenced dragging them forth. Sometimes two of them would seize a long string of these, and each swallowing from opposite ends, would meet each other in the middle of the piece. Then would be witnessed a singular scene, as the birds dragged one another over the ground, each trying to make the other disgorge his filthy morsel! The young hunters, amused by these curious episodes, agreed to remain and watch them for awhile; and with this intent they dismounted from their horses, so as to relieve the animals of their weight.
A new object of interest now presented itself to their attention. François discovered it. François had been directing his eyes upward, watching the graceful motions of such of the vultures as were still in the air. All at once he was heard to exclaim,—
“A white buzzard! a white buzzard!”
Lucien and Basil saw that François pointed to the sky overhead. They raised their eyes in that direction. There, sure enough, was a white bird; but of what species neither of them could make out. It was flying at a vast elevation—higher, apparently, than any of the buzzards; but even at that great height it appeared larger than any of them. Like them, it seemed to sail about with great ease, as if the sky was its natural home.
When first observed, it appeared about as large as a gull; and the boys might have taken it for one—not knowing any other white bird likely to be flying about at such a height—but as there were several buzzards near it, and evidently below it, and as these looked no bigger than swallows, what must be its size? It was not only bigger than a buzzard, but, at least, three times the size of any one of them. Thus calculated Lucien, and his calculation was not far from the truth.
The strange bird then could be no gull. What was it? A swan? No. Its mode of flight answered that question at once. It bore no resemblance whatever to the short rapid flapping of the swan, nor to the flight of any water-bird. Was it a pelican? or perhaps a white ibis (Tantalus alba)? or the white egret heron (Ardea egretta)? No; it was none of these. The slow laborious flight of these great wading birds would have been at once recognised by any of the boys, who were accustomed to see them often hovering over the bayous of Louisiana. But this bird flew differently from any of these. It used its wings more after the manner of the buzzards themselves or the black vultures; but as the boys could think of no white bird of similar flight, they were puzzled as to what it might be. Its size and mode of flying would have led them to believe it was an eagle; but its colour forbade this supposition. There were no white eagles, that ever they had heard of.
I have said that, when first seen by François, the strange bird appeared about the size of a gull; but as the young hunters stood gazing up at it, they saw that it was gradually becoming larger and larger. They knew from this that it was descending towards the earth, and, to all appearance, directly over the spot occupied by themselves and the vultures. As they had all three grown very curious to know what sort of a creature it might be, they were expressing their hopes that it would continue its descent. They knew that it must have seen them already; and it would, therefore, be useless for them to attempt concealing themselves. In fact, there was no cover for them, had they wished to do so.
As they stood watching and waiting, an exclamation, uttered by all three at the same moment, announced that another white bird was in sight! It was still high up, like a spot of snow upon the sky; but it, too, was making downward, in the track of the former, and appeared to be of the same species. This soon became evident; for the one last seen, descending more vertically, soon overtook the other; and both together continued to sail downward upon a spiral curve.
In a few moments they had arrived within two hundred yards of the earth; and now they circled slowly around, looking down as they flew.
They were directly over the spot occupied by the vultures; and as the day was one of the brightest, the boys had an opportunity of beholding two of the most beautiful birds they had ever seen. They were not entirely white—although, in looking at them from below, they appeared so; but as, in sailing round the circle, they sometimes held themselves sideways in the air, their backs at intervals could be seen distinctly. It was then noticed that the upper part of their bodies was of a rich cream colour, while their wings above—both plumes and coverts—were of a glossy brown. Their tails were tipped with black; but the whole of the under part of their bodies was of a pure milk-like white. But the most singular appearance about these birds was presented on their heads and necks. These were entirely naked of feathers as far down as the shoulders—where the neck was encircled by a large ruff that looked like a tippet—and the naked skin of both head and neck exhibited the most brilliant colours of orange and red. These colours were not mixed nor mottled together; but each belonged to separate parts of the membrane, forming distinct and regular figures—according to the manner in which the cartilaginous covering is itself most singularly divided. Their beaks were orange-red; and over their bases grew crest-like protuberances, like the comb of a cock. Their eyes had dark pupils and white irides, encircled by rings of a deep red colour; and, in short, the whole appearance of these beautiful creatures was such that, like the peacock, when once seen, they could never be forgotten.
“I have never seen one of them before,” remarked Lucien, “but I have no difficulty in telling what they are.”
“What?” inquired Basil and François, impatiently.
“King-vultures.”
As Lucien said this, the birds, that did not seem to regard the presence of the party, swooped suddenly down towards the carrion. The boys followed them with their eyes—curious to witness what effect their arrival would have upon the buzzards and black vultures. To the surprise of all, not one of the latter was now to be seen near the carcass! While the attention of the party had been directed to the king-vultures, the others had been regarding them as well; and, knowing from experience what these great birds were, both buzzards and black vultures had scattered precipitately, and now sat upon the rocks at a respectful distance!
The king-vultures, without seeming to heed their presence, hopped up to the carrion, and commenced tearing it with their beaks. In a few minutes these creatures, that had appeared so clean and beautiful—for the king-vultures are as proud of their plumage as peacocks, and usually keep it in the best order—exhibited a picture of filth that was disgusting to look upon. The brilliant hue of their heads and necks was changed into a dark blood colour; and their white breasts became dappled with gore. Their vulturous appetites rendered them regardless of all else.
“Shall we fire, and kill one?” asked François.
“No,” said Lucien, “it is not right to deprive the poor creatures of life. If you wish to get a nearer view of them, have patience, and your wish may be gratified without the expenditure of powder and lead.”
What Lucien said proved correct. At the end of half an hour or so, the birds appeared to have eaten as much as they could get into their stomachs; and commenced stalking over the ground with a heavy sluggish gait. The boys, who had waited patiently, now ran forward; and, finding that the vultures were unable to rise into the air, after a chase—in which Marengo took a prominent part—secured them both.
But they did not hold them long; for the moment that François, who was the most eager to seize them, laid his hands upon one, he let it go again with an exclamation of disgust; and ran faster from the vulture, than the latter could run from him!
The fetid odour of the creatures—which was quite as strong as that of the carrion itself—was too much for the olfactory nerves of our heroes; and they were all three glad enough to let the king-vultures off without a second encounter.
As they returned to their horses, they observed that the buzzards and black vultures were once more collecting about the remains of the big-horn. They had been joined by several prairie-wolves; and these were snarling and snapping—now driving off the birds, and now receiving a blow from the long wings of the latter, that caused them to growl more fiercely than ever. Our adventurers did not wait for the finale of this hideous scene; but remounting, once more headed their horses to the prairie.