Impressions of the Voices of Tropical Birds 423 



geous and ear-splitting Macaw. Along the lower Magdalena River, the red- 

 and-blue, and the blue-and-yellow Macaws were both quite common, and it 

 is hard to say whether their greatest attack was on our eyes or our ears! Their 

 heavy, rasping yell was clearly audible above the churning racket of the 

 engines, even when the birds were some distance away in the forest. We were 

 frequently apprised of their flights, high, high over the valley, as they passed 

 from one great Andean chain to another, perhaps three thousand feet above 

 us, by the penetrating, though distance-mellowed cries that filtered down to 

 us from the scarcely discernible line. When heard near at hand, there is a 

 heavy, hammering quality in a Macaw's scream that makes it the most deaf- 

 ening noise that I have ever heard from a bird, while their fiery beauty affords 

 the greatest sensation a naturalist gets in their country. Not only are their 

 exposed surfaces brilliant, but their wing- and tail-linings are as gorgeous. I 

 shall never forget a flock of blue-and-yellow Macaws we passed one evening 

 just before sunset, as we were descending the Magdalena. We were between 

 them and the low sun. They were near, and about level with our eyes, reliev- 

 ing against the velvety green of the forest wall directly where our shadows 

 fell. The astonishing glory of their turquoise upper surfaces, alternating, as 

 they flew, with intense cadmium yellow as the sun got under their wings, 

 kindled a flashing riot of color that made us gasp. 



So far as I know. Parrots all pair for life, and every large flock we saw, 

 whether of Macaws, Parrots or Parrakeets, was made up of pairs, each bird of 

 which bore the same relation to the other all through the flock. They looked 

 as if made with a paired stencil, or seen through a double-refracting glass. 

 Invariably, if one bird was lost out of a passing flock, another would soon drop 

 out, circle and come back to see what had happened to its mate. If, rarely, 

 there were unpaired birds in a flock, they were usually apart from the main 

 body, and conspicuously 'out of it.' In flight. Parrots present a singular 

 resemblance to Ducks, particularly from ahead or behind. Flying 'across the 

 quarter,' their heavy blunt heads are of course unmistakable. 



We were kept constantly interested in the varied voices of the Doves and 

 Pigeons. The gentle little Ground-doves, hardly bigger than Sparrows, give a 

 single, soft, questioning 'coo,' invariably with a rising inflection. I could dis- 

 tinguish no material variation in their calls in Florida, Yucatan, or South 

 America, and even the Rufous species presented no differences appreciable to 

 my ear. The Ground-pigeons of the genus Geotrygon all have gentle, velvety 

 voices which, heard in the damp gloom of the cloud-forest, impart something 

 of the mystery and romance of the Tinamou's tremulous plaint. They have 

 the same uncanny way of gliding silently into view and melting away, and 

 when, rarely, they fall into our hands, their subdued but rich beauty com- 

 pels an admiration that does not dim with repetition. 



But not all Pigeons have these soft owl-like voices. Columba speciosa has a 

 harsh, raw- voiced single 'toot/ audible at a considerable distance. (C. 



