BOAT-TAILED GRACKLE 345 



saw, and certainly not a natural enemy; for these big gallinaceous 

 birds come into the clearings as seldom as the grackles enter the forest 

 where the curassow is at home. One morning, while I was in the 

 Valley, my attention was drawn by a harsh cry to a male curassow 

 flying heavily, with labored wingbeats, high above the hillside in front 

 of the house. As he approached the top, two clarineros and several 

 sanates flew out from the palm trees to buffet him. Flying "near his 

 ceiling" and doubtless already fatigued by his unwonted journey, the 

 big bird wavered in his course and lost altitude as his assailants beat 

 down upon him, but managed to remain in the air until he rounded 

 the brow of the hill and was lost from view. 



Just as the historian must record both the pleasant and unpleasant 

 events — alas! too often the latter — in the history of nations, so must 

 the bird watcher reveal the disagreeable as well as the lovable traits 

 of the birds which come under his notice; thus, I must record the 

 following episode in the history of the grackles at "Alsacia." There 

 was a nest, in the coveted position between the youngest fronds of 

 one of the smaller palm trees, which as usual with such nests I found 

 it necessary to support by tying. It had also been considerably 

 damaged by a high wind, but the two nestlings that it cradled con- 

 tinued to thrive. One morning in this tree I saw a fight between two 

 sanates, who clinched and fluttered to the ground; but I did not give 

 much attention to their quarrel, for such flurries were of frequent 

 occurrence. The next day, when I climbed into the crown of this 

 palm tree, I found that grass and weed stems had been piled on top 

 of the dilapidated structure which only yesterday had been the home 

 of two healthy, 10-day -old grackles. Removing the new accumula- 

 tion, I found the cold, dead bodies of the nestlings interred beneath 

 it. The intruder had apparently won the fight and must have begun 

 her nest above the living nestlings, trampling or smothering them to 

 death, for they were too fine and vigorous to have died during the 

 night if they had been left unharmed. 



The sanates found most of their nestlings' food on the ground and 

 often bore it a long distance to the nest. Sometimes they flew from 

 the river, half a mile away, bringing a morsel that they had found 

 along the shore. The nestlings received grubs from among the grass 

 roots, green caterpillars, and sometimes small lizards. Their eyes 

 opened between their third and fifth days, but they continued to be 

 very ugly little creatures until they were feathered at the age of 2 

 weeks or a little more. When from 16 to 19 days old, they would 

 try to crawl from the nest if disturbed by one of my visits, but they 

 could not yet fly. The rasping cry of distress which, at this stage of 

 development, they uttered when touched, drove the adults to a 



