More Talk about the Vultures.
They conversed about the vultures, as they rode away from the butte. The naturalist of the party had much to say of these picturesque birds; and the curiosity of Basil and François had been excited by the appearance of a species new to them—the king himself.
“With regard to the vultures,” observed Lucien, “the study of their natural history has been considerably impeded by the closet-naturalists, and particularly by the Frenchmen—who are fonder than all others of making a parade of science, by the absurd multiplication of genera and species. This, in the absence of any real knowledge of the habits of the animals, gives them an opportunity of adding something to what has been already said; and leaves the reader under the impression that these learned anatomists know all about the thing; and that is what such gentlemen desire, and nothing more.
“There are not over two dozen species of vultures in the world; and yet the French naturalists make almost as many genera of them, multiplying high-sounding names to such an extent, that the mind of the student is quite bewildered with what would otherwise prove a most simple study.
“All the vultures are so similar in their physiognomy and habits, that they might be treated as one genus. Indeed, it would not lead to great confusion in ornithological science, if they were generically classed with the eagles—as both kinds have many points of similitude. The vultures often kill their prey as eagles do; and it is certain that they do not prefer it in a putrid state. The eagles do not always kill their prey, and many of them eat carrion. Some of the vultures—such as the lammergeyer—have almost all the habits of the eagle. The lammergeyer always kills what he eats, unless when pressed by hunger; and there is a singular fact in relation to the food of this bird,—he prefers certain parts of the bones of animals to their flesh!”
It is somewhat strange that the boy hunter, Lucien, should have known this “fact,” as I believe it is not in possession of the naturalists. I, myself, was made acquainted with it by one of the “feeders” of the superb collection in Regent’s Park—who had observed this propensity for bone-eating in a young African lammergeyer. He had observed also that the bird was always healthier, and in better spirits, on the days when he was indulged in his favourite osseous diet. These men usually know more of natural history than the catalogue-makers and teeth-measurers of the museum and the closet.
“Perhaps,” continued Lucien, “one of the most essential points of difference between the vulture and eagle lies in the claws. The claws of the vultures are less developed, and their limbs want the muscular power that those of eagles possess. Hence the former are less able to kill a living animal, or tear the carcass of a dead one. They are unable, also, to raise a large prey in their claws; and the stories of vultures carrying off deer, and full-grown sheep, are mere fables. Even the condor—the largest of the species known—cannot lift into the air a weight of more than ten pounds. A deer of that weight would be rather a small one, I fancy. Most of the wonderful stories about the condor were propagated by the discoverers and conquerors of Spanish America; who, if they were great conquerors, were also the greatest braggarts the world ever saw. The books they have left behind them fully prove my assertion; and I believe that their accounts of the Mexican and Peruvian nations, whom they subdued, are not a whit less exaggerated than their stories about the condor. Three centuries could not have so completely swept away the vestiges of such a civilisation as they describe—leaving scarcely a trace of it to attest the truth of their assertions. It is true, that in these countries are to be found monuments of a high state of civilisation; but these were in ruins long previous to the discovery of the Spaniards; and the feeble races who submitted so easily to the latter, knew no more about the builders of these monuments than we do. The same vestiges of a civilised people are found in the deserts of North America; and yet the Spanish writers can tell nothing of them, farther than that they existed at the period of the discovery just as they are now.”
“How many kinds of vultures are there in America?” inquired François, whose mind ran more upon the present than the past; and who, as we have already hinted, was a great boy for birds.
“There are five species well-known,” replied Lucien; “and these are so different from each other that there is no difficulty in distinguishing them. These species form two genera—Sarco ramphus and Cathartes. The Sarcoramphs have a fleshy protuberance over the beak—hence the generic name, which is a compound of two Greek words, signifying flesh, and beak or bill. The Cathartes, or ‘purging-vultures,’ derive their name from a singular habit—that of throwing up their food again, not only when feeding their young, but also when providing for one another during the period of incubation.
“The condor is a true Sarcoramph—in fact, one of the most marked features of this bird is the fleshy cartilaginous crest that surmounts his head and part of his beak. This, however, is only found upon the males, as the female birds are not crested in a similar manner. The condor, when in full plumage, might be called a black-and-white bird. His body underneath, his tail, shoulders, and the butts as well as the outer margins of his wings, are all of a dark, nearly black, colour; but his wings, when closed, give him a large space of greyish white from the back to the tail. The downy ruff around the breast and neck is milk-white, and the naked wrinkled skin of the neck and head is of a blackish red or claret colour, while the legs are ashy blue. It is only when full-grown—nearly three years old—that the condor obtains these colours; and up to that time he is without the white collar around his neck. The young birds, for many months after they are hatched, have no feathers, but a soft thick down, like young goslings or cygnets; and even at two years of age their colour is not black and white, but a dirty, brownish black.
“The full-grown condor usually measures about eight feet from tip to tip of his wings; but there can be no question that specimens exist, and have been seen by truthful travellers, that measured fourteen feet and some inches!
“The condor, like other vultures, feeds principally upon carrion; but, when pressed with hunger, he will kill sheep, lambs, vicunas, young lamas, deer, and other animals. The larger kinds he can master, by attacking their eyes with his powerful beak—which is his principal weapon. That he can kill boys of sixteen years old, as Garcilaso de la Vega asserts, is, like many other statements of that celebrated author, simply untrue; but that he frequently attacks, and, according to the Indians, sometimes puts to death little children, is probable enough. If he can kill full-grown sheep or vicunas, there is nothing remarkable about his doing the same for a child five or six years of age; and, indeed, it is certain that such instances have occurred.
“Almost any eagles can do as much, and would, provided they were hungry, and children were left exposed in the neighbourhood of their haunts. The condor, however, is one of the most ravenous of his species. One in a state of captivity has been known to eat eighteen pounds of flesh in a single day! But that this bird can raise into the air with his claws, and carry off large animals, such as deer and sheep, as asserted by Acosta, Desmarchais, and other French and Spanish writers, is altogether fabulous.
“The condor, unlike the vultures of most countries, is not under the protection of the law. His destructive habits among the lambs, and young lamas and alpacas, render him an object to be persecuted rather than protected. He is, therefore, either killed or captured, whenever an opportunity offers. There can be but little use made either of his flesh or his feathers; but as he is an object of curiosity, he is often kept as a pet about the houses of the Chilians and Peruvians. Live ones are frequently to be seen in the markets of Valparaiso, and other South American cities.
“The natives who hunt the condor have various ways of capturing him. Sometimes they lie in wait near a carcass, and shoot the bird when it alights; but it is very difficult to kill them in this way, on account of their strong thick feathers, as well as the tenacity of life which they possess: it can only be done when the shot takes effect in a vital part. This method, therefore, is not much practised. A second plan is, to wait until the condor has gorged himself to repletion, when, like most other vultures, he is unable to fly for some time after. The hunters then gallop up, and lasso him from their horses; or impede his flight by flinging the ‘bolas’ around his legs. The ‘bolas’ are thongs of leather, with leaden balls at each end; and these, when adroitly thrown, twine themselves round the shanks of the condor, and prevent his escape. A third mode is still a surer one. The hunters build a large penn, in which they place a quantity of carrion. The palisades that inclose this penn are made so high, that, when the bird has gorged himself, he is unable either to rise into the air or get out of the enclosure in any way; and he is then overtaken and captured, or beaten to death with clubs.
“The Indians kill the condor by stones, projected from slings to a great distance—a species of weapon which these people use with much dexterity.
“Condors are taken alive in traps and snares; but there is an excellent and somewhat curious method of capturing them alive, sometimes employed by the Indians of the Sierras. It is this:—The hunter provides himself with the skin of some animal, such as an ox or horse, freshly taken off, and with a piece of the flesh adhering to it. With this he proceeds to some open place, where the condors, wheeling high in the air above, may readily see him. Having chosen a spot, he crouches down upon the ground, and draws the skin over him, with the fleshy side turned upward. In this situation he remains; but not long, until some one of the condors, with his far-piercing glance, espies the ensanguined object, and comes swooping downward. The bird, having no suspicion, hops boldly upon the hide; and commences tearing at the piece of flesh. The hunter, underneath, now cautiously feels for one of its legs; and having assured h............