Birds and Nature Vol. 11 No. 4 [April 1902]

James Stephen Compton.

ANTICS OF A HUMMINGBIRD

As the writer was standing one May morning near a clump of bushes in the suburbs of a city in Maine he witnessed, for the first time in a long experience of bird study, the courting antics of a male hummingbird. Two of the tiny creatures appeared, apparently evolved from mid-air, and one alighted in the bush. She was the female. The male immediately began to disport himself in the air in the following remarkable manner:

He dashed back and forth over the head of the female in long, curving swoops such as one describes in a swing, all the time giving utterance to a low, pleasing twitter. He thus swept back and forth ten times, rising at the ends of the curve to a height of perhaps fifteen feet, sustaining himself there a moment, with his ruby throat flashing in the sun, and then darting down the double toboggan slide and up to the other end. Though he flew very swiftly, yet his speed was not the usual flash and his movements could be plainly seen. I had never before seen a hummingbird fly so slowly nor heard from one of them such a prolonged vocal sound. Indeed, it is very rare that one hears the hummingbird’s voice, even if one is on the alert for it. After the tenth swoop there was a buzz of wings and both birds had vanished. A minute after I found the male in a cherry tree sipping honey from the blossoms.

There is evidently a rivalry between the bees and the hummingbirds in their quest for honey. This bird, with an angry dash, expressed its disapproval of the presence of a big bumblebee in the same tree. The usually pugnacious bee incontinently fled, but he did not leave the tree. He dashed back and forth among the branches and white blossoms, the hummingbird in close pursuit. Where will you find another pair that could dodge and turn and dart equal to these? They were like flashes of light, yet the pursuer followed in the track of the pursued, turning when the bee turned. There was no cutting across, for there was no time for that. In short, the bird and the bee controlled the movement of their bodies more quickly and more accurately than the writer could control the movement of his eyes. The chase was all over in half the time that it has taken to tell it, but the excitement of a pack of hounds after a fox is as nothing, in comparison. The bee escaped, the bird giving up the chase and alighting on a twig. It couldn’t have been chasing the bee for food, and there is no possible explanation of its unprovoked attack except that it wished to have all the honey itself. So even as little a body as a hummingbird can show selfishness in a marked degree. However, Mr. Bee continued to take his share of Nature’s bounty, though doubtless he had his weather eye open against another attack. Both scenes afforded me a delightful study and were a rare privilege.

George Bancroft Griffith.

CALAMUS

(Acorus calamus L.)

Another goblet! quick! and stirPomegranate juice and drops of myrrhAnd calamus therein.– Longfellow: Golden Legend, III.

Acorus calamus, commonly known as Calamus, sweet flag and cinnamon sedge, is a reed-like plant common in Europe and Northern United States. It grows in swamps, marshes and very moist places. It is a herbaceous perennial growing from spreading fleshy rhizomes. The long, sword-like, deep green, pointed leaves grow up from the rhizomes.

The history of this plant dates back to remote antiquity, yet there is considerable uncertainty as regards the identity of the various plants which have at various periods been supposed to be sweet flag. There is no doubt that some reedlike plant in many respects similar if not identical with calamus was used by the ancient Egyptians in the preparation of incense as recorded in the papyri of Ebers. These Egyptian records date back to the eighteenth dynasty, or from 1800 to 2000 years B. C. Vague references to a similar plant are to be found in the ancient sacred writings of the Hindoos. It is likely that the plant referred to and that which is mentioned in the Bible is a species of Andropogon, and not Acorus. In Exodus, 30:23, we find: “Take thou also unto thee principal spices of pure myrrh, of sweet cinnamon, and of sweet Calamus.”

Our first reliable information of Calamus is from Plinius, who received specimens from the country about the Black Sea and who described it under the name of Acorus calamus. Acorus, derived from the Greek a for, and corus, the eye, because the plant was highly recommended in the treatment of diseases of the eye. Calamus, also derived from the Greek, means a reed or reed-like plant. Dioscorides and Theophrastus also describe the plant with special reference to the rhizome and its uses.

The rhizomes should be collected late in the autumn, carefully cleaned of dirt, leaf remnants, leaf scales and roots and dried in the sun or in an oven at a moderate temperature. The aromatic odor increases greatly on drying.

Calamus has ever been a favorite popular remedy. Its principal use seems to have been that of a tonic and blood purifier, for which purpose bits of the dried rhizomes are masticated and the saliva swallowed. It undoubtedly is a tonic and it also has a beneficial, stimulating and antiseptic effect upon gums and teeth. Chewing the rhizomes is also said to clear the voice. Calamus is, or has been, used in flavoring beer and gin. Country, people add it to whisky, wine and brandy to make a tonic bitters for the weak and dyspeptic. It is said that the Turks employ it as a preventive against contagious diseases. In India it is used to destroy vermin, especially fleas. In England it is employed in the treatment of malaria.

At the present time Calamus is no longer extensively employed in medicine. It is considered as a stimulating, aromatic and bitter tonic. It is perhaps true that its value as a tonic is at present somewhat underestimated by the medical profession. It is also serviceable in flatulent colic, and in what is designated as atonic dyspepsia. It is added to other medicines, either as a corrective, or adjuvant.

Albert Schneider.

THE BIRDS

They are swaying in the marshes,They are swinging in the glen,Where the cat-tails air their brushesIn the zephyrs of the fen;In the swamp’s deserted tangle,Where the reed-grass whets its scythes;In the dismal, creepy quagmire,Where the snake-gourd twists and writhes.They are singing in arroyos,Where the cactus mails its breast,Where the Spanish bayonet glistensOn the steep bank’s rocky crest;In the cañon, where the cascadeSets its pearls in maiden-hair,Where the hay and holly beckonValley sun and mountain air.They are nesting in the elbowOf the scrub-oak’s knotty arm,In the gray mesh of the sage-brush,In the wheat-fields of the farm;In the banks along the sea beach,In the vine above my door,In the outstretched clumsy fingersOf the mottled sycamore.While the church-bell rings its discourseThey are sitting on the spires;Song and anthem, psalm and carolQuaver as from mystic lyres.Everywhere they flirt and flutter,Mate and nest in shrub and tree.Charmed, I wander yon and hither,While their beauties ravish me,Till my musings sing like thrushes,And my heart is like a nest,Softly lined with tender fanciesPlucked from Nature’s mother-breast.– Elizabeth Grinnell, in “Birds of Song and Story.”