William Brewster, 1851-1919 281 



of an expedition for Prothonotary Warblers, made with Robert Ridgway at 

 Mt. Carniel, 111., in May, 1878. (Bull. Nutt. Orn. Club, 1878, pp. 160-162)- 



"In the hope of presenting to the reader's mind some slight idea of the general char- 

 acter and surroundings of the locality where the Prothonotary Warblers were found 

 breeding in the greatest abundance, I close with a brief description of a visit, on May ii, 

 to the cypress swamp. Towards the middle of the afternoon we reached Beaver Dam 

 Pond, and embarked in an old weather-beaten dugout. Our guide, a half-breed Indian 

 and a most accomplished woodsman, took his station in the stern, and, with a vigorous 

 shove upon his long push-pole, sent the frail craft well out into the pond. Before us 

 stretched a long, narrow sheet of water hemmed in on every side by an unbroken wall 

 of forest trees. Around the margin grew a fringe of button-bushes, with a sprinkling 

 of tall slender willows, while behind and above them towered the light-green feathery 

 crests of numerous cypresses. . . . Wood Ducks and Hooded Mergansers rose on 

 every side, while their broods of downy ducklings scuttled off among the water-plants, 

 sometimes huddling close together, a dusky mass of bobbing little forms, at others, 

 when closely pressed, separating and diving like water-sprites. Overhead, Buzzards 

 were wheeling in graceful, interminable circlings, while in their nests upon the tops 

 of some gigantic sycamores, a little back from the shore, stood a number of Great 

 Blue Herons, their tall, graceful forms boldly outlined against the sky. From the 

 lower depths of the forest came innumerable bird-voices, — the slow, solemn chant 

 of the Wood Thrush, the clear, whistled challenge of the Cardinal, the sweet, wild notes 

 of the Louisiana Water Thrush, the measured pter-dle, pter-dle, pter-dle of the Kentucky 

 Warbler, and the emphatic song of the Hooded Flycatcher. Higher up among the trees 

 Woodpeckers rattled upon dead limbs, a Tanager sang at intervals, the tufted Titmouse 

 reiterated its monotonous peto, peto, and numerous Blue Warblers added their guttural 

 little trills to the general chorus. From all along the pond edges came the sandpiper- 

 like song of the Prothonotary Warblers. As we advanced, the button-bushes gave way 

 to stretches of black- willows, which at the head of the pond formed the exclusive growth 

 over an area of perhaps six acres. This tract had -at one time evidently formed part of 

 the pond, for as we pushed our canoe in among the trees we found the water scarcely 

 shallower than in the open portions. 



"Although the willows grew rather thinly, the spaces between the living stems were 

 filled with stubs in every stage of decay, and perforated with countless Woodpecker- 

 holes, most of them old, and long since given up by their original tenants. That a 

 locality so favorable in every way had not been overlooked by the Prothonotary Warblers 

 was soon evinced by the presence of the birds on all sides in numbers that far exceeded 

 anything which we had previously seen, and careful search soon revealed a number of 

 nests. Probably not less than twenty pairs were here breeding in close proximity. In 

 the larger holes and among the branches were the nests of a colony of Crackles 

 (Quiscalus pur pur ens), and a few Woodpeckers and Carolina Titmice were also nesting 

 somewhere in the vicinity. As we returned down the pond late in the afternoon the 

 sun was sinking behind the tree-tops. The dying breeze still agitated the crest of the 

 forest, but not a breath rippled the still water beneath. The lonely pool rested in deep 

 shadow, save at its upper end, where the slanting sunbeams still lighted up the group 

 of willows, bringing out their yellowish foliage in strong relief against the darker mass 

 behind. The arches of the grand old woods were filled with a softened, mysterious light, 

 and a solemn hush and silence prevailed, broken only by the occasional hooting of a 

 Barred Owl or the song of some small bird among the upper branches, where the rays 

 of the setting sun still lingered. High in air, over the open space, the buzzards still 

 wheeled and soared on easy wing. Ducks were scurrying about in all directions or 

 splashing down among the lily leaves, and a heavy plunge in-shore told where a startled 



