BIEDS OF CEYLON WOOD 251 



injuring them. In vain does one hammer on the tree or shout down 

 the nest aperture. The parrot knows he or she is safe and inacces- 

 sible and simply lies " doggo ". Wait has well described the native 

 Sinhalese method, an ingenious and humane one, of capturing par- 

 rots, both nestlings and adult birds. It is practically impossible by 

 ordinary means to dislodge these birds from the deep holes in hard- 

 wood trees which they generally choose as a refuge from various 

 enemies, and where they may raise a brood in peace and quiet. The 

 fledglings are generally two, although most Ceylon parrakeets lay 

 three or four eggs to the clutch. As a rule, the hole is too small 

 and too long and deep, like a woodpecker's nest, to be reached by 

 any native arm however long and skinny, not to mention the strong, 

 curved beak and needle-pointed claws that are waiting for invaders 

 from above. I have already described elsewhere my adventure on a 

 Pacific island when, with native assistance, I tried to examine the 

 nest of a Polynesian parrot, whose nesting activities had never be- 

 for been described. On that occasion we did not wish or try to cap- 

 ture the mother parrot who was sitting on her two eggs secure from 

 interruption at the bottom of a 4-foot hole in the stump of a tree 

 that was as hard as any oak. There she was, and there she stayed, 

 quite unaffected by any efforts of ours to dislodge her, and we were 

 obliged eventually to hack through the base of the stump before she 

 could be dragged, with some inconvenience to herself, from her hid- 

 ing place. The only damage done was to the Kandavan who, with 

 his big chopping knife, had acted as excavator. He received several 

 deep scratches and one vigorous bite that cost me half a tin of 

 cigarettes. 



The Sinhalese resort to no such crude methods. When a parrot's 

 nesting pocket is discovered, the natives keep watch of it, and when, 

 from various signs, the occupants are believed to have arrived at a 

 suitable age for caged life, the Sinhalese boy shins up the tree in a 

 trice and, standing on a nearby branch or simply clasping the trunk 

 of the bole holding the nesthole, dislodges the birds without trouble. 

 It is a triumph of brains over brute force. There is no laborious 

 cutting away of the wall of the nesthole, with its possible danger 

 of injuring or (almost as bad) frightening the birds half to death 

 and thus lessening their value either as human companions or as a 

 commercial commodity. From the native's neck is suspended a bag 

 filled with dry sand. From this he takes a handful and carefully, a 

 little at a time, pushes it into the hole. The sand falls on the parrots' 

 backs. They shake it off and trample it under foot. The operation 

 is repeated — remember that time is of no importance to the Sinhalese, 

 who is engaged in a task of his own choosing — until the birds grad- 

 ually elevate themselves to the top of their excavated nest. A prac- 



