1894.
March 30
(No 3)
Trinidad, B.W.I.
Caparo
  Late in the afternoon I walked up to road taking
my gun as usual but not intending to shoot anything
unless a rare bird appeared. The "six o'clock" Cicada began
shrieking just as I left the house and when I
reached the edge of the woods the sun had sunk below
the horizon and the whole of the open country to
the eastward was illumined by the amber light of
the after-glow which is so constant a feature of the sunsets
here. A few birds were singing — Diplopteryx, Thamnophilus
major T doliatus, a Trogon or two, and a House Wren.
These tropical birds do not, however, sing nearly so much
at evening as in the early morning. Every now and
then a huff-huff-huff-huff like the distant puffing
of a locomotive would attract my attention to one
of the big Corn-birds (Ostirops) flying high overhead
on his way to some distant roost. This sound is
made by the birds wings and is a regular
accompanyment of its heavy, direct flight which
is much like that of Quiscalus aureus. The ordinary
call of Ostirops is also exceedingly like the husky
cac of our Grackle.

  Very soon after sunset and before twilight had begun
to fall – indeed at the time when the amber light
was most intense – a multitude of Swifts and Bats
appeared over the clearing and began darting about
in every direction feeding. They appear regularly every
evening but their relative as well as aggregate numbers
vary greatly on different evenings. Last evening there
were about ten Bats to one Swift; this evening the
Swifts were by far the more numerous of the two.