Then, As To The Vulture, It Was Not A True Vulture Nor A Strictly True
Eagle, But A Carrion-Hawk,
A bird the size of a small eagle, blackish
brown in colour with a white neck and breast suffused with
Brown and
spotted with black; also it had a very big eagle-shaped beak, and
claws not so strong as an eagle's nor so weak as a vulture's. In its
habits it was both eagle and vulture, as it fed on dead flesh, and was
also a hunter and killer of animals and birds, especially of the
weakly and young. A somewhat destructive creature to poultry and young
sucking lambs and pigs. Its feeding habits were, in fact, very like
those of the raven, and its voice, too, was raven-like, or rather like
that of the carrion-crow at his loudest and harshest. Considering the
character of this big rapacious bird, the _Polyborus tharus_ of
naturalists and the _carancho_ of the natives, it may seem strange
that a pair were allowed to nest and live for years in our plantation,
but in those days people were singularly tolerant not only of
injurious birds and beasts but even of beings of their own species
of predaceous habits.
On the outskirts of our old peach orchard, described in a former
chapter, there was a solitary tree of a somewhat singular shape,
standing about forty yards from the others on the edge of a piece of
waste weedy land. It was a big old tree like the others, and had a
smooth round trunk standing about fourteen feet high and throwing out
branches all round, so that its upper part had the shape of an open
inverted umbrella. And in the convenient hollow formed by the circle
of branches the _caranchos_ had built their huge nest, composed of
sticks, lumps of turf, dry bones of sheep and other animals, pieces
of rope and raw hide, and any other object they could carry. The nest
was their home; they roosted in it by night and visited it at odd
times during the day, usually bringing a bleached bone or thistle-
stalk or some such object to add to the pile.
Our birds never attacked the fowls, and were not offensive or
obtrusive, but kept to their own end of the plantation furthest away
from the buildings. They only came when an animal was killed for meat,
and would then hang about, keeping a sharp eye on the proceedings and
watching their chance. This would come when the carcass was dressed
and lights and other portions thrown to the dogs; then the _carancho_
would swoop down like a kite, and snatching up the meat with his beak
would rise to a height of twenty or thirty yards in the air, and
dropping his prize would deftly catch it again in his claws and soar
away to feed on it at leisure. I was never tired of admiring this feat
of the _carancho_, which is, I believe, unique in birds of prey.
The big nest in the old inverted-umbrella-shaped peach tree had a
great attraction for me; I used often to visit it and wonder if I
would ever have the power of getting up to it. Oh, what a delight it
would be to get up there, above the nest, and look down into the great
basin-like hollow lined with sheep's wool and see the eggs, bigger
than turkey's eggs, all marbled with deep red, or creamy white
splashed with blood-red! For I had seen _carancho_ eggs brought in by
a gaucho, and I was ambitious to take a clutch from a nest with my own
hands. It was true I had been told by my mother that if I wanted wild
birds' eggs I was never to take more than one from a nest, unless it
was of some injurious species. And injurious the _carancho_ certainly
was, in spite of his good behaviour when at home. On one of my early
rides on my pony I had seen a pair of them, and I think they were our
own birds, furiously attacking a weak and sickly ewe; she had refused
to lie down to be killed, and they were on her neck, beating and
tearing at her face and trying to pull her down. Also I had seen a
litter of little pigs a sow had brought forth on the plain attacked by
six or seven _caranchos_, and found on approaching the spot that they
had killed half of them (about six, I think), and were devouring them
at some distance from the old pig and the survivors of the litter. But
how could I climb the tree and get over the rim of the huge nest? And
I was afraid of the birds, they looked so unspeakably savage and
formidable whenever I went near them. But my desire to get the eggs
was over-mastering, and when it was spring and I had reason to think
that eggs were being laid, I went oftener than ever to watch and wait
for an opportunity. And one evening just after sunset I could not see
the birds anywhere about and thought my chance had now come. I managed
to swarm up the smooth trunk to the branches, and then with wildly
beating heart began the task of trying to get through the close
branches and to work my way over the huge rim of the nest. Just then I
heard the harsh grating cry of the bird, and peering through the
leaves in the direction it came from I caught sight of the two birds
flying furiously towards me, screaming again as they came nearer. Then
terror seized me, and down I went through the branches, and catching
hold of the lowest one managed to swing myself clear and dropped to
the ground. It was a good long drop, but I fell on a soft turf, and
springing to my feet fled to the shelter of the orchard and then on
towards the house, without ever looking back to see if they were
following.
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