# Territory in Bird Life/Chapter 2

CHAPTER II
THE DISPOSITION TO SECURE A TERRITORY
Those who have studied bird life throughout the year are aware that the distribution of individuals changes with the changing seasons. During autumn and winter, food is not so plentiful and can only be found in certain places, and so, partly by force of circumstances and partly on account of the gregarious instinct which then comes into functional activity, different individuals are drawn together and form flocks of greater or less dimensions, which come and go according to the prevailing climatic conditions. But with the advent of spring a change comes over the scene: flocks disperse, family parties break up, summer migrants begin to arrive, and the hedgerows and plantations are suddenly quickened into life. The silence of the winter is broken by an outburst of song from the throats of many different species, and individuals appear in their old haunts and vie with one another in advertising their presence by the aid of whatever vocal powers they happen to possess—the Woodpecker utters its monotonous call from the accustomed oak; the ​Missel-Thrush, perched upon the topmost branches of the elm, persistently repeats its few wild notes; and the Swallow returns to the barn. All of this we observe each season, and our thoughts probably travel to the delicate piece of architecture in the undergrowth, or to the hole excavated with such skill in the tree trunk; to the beautifully shaped eggs; to the parent birds carrying out their work with devoted zeal—in fact, to the whole series of events which complete the sexual life of the individual; and the attachment of a particular bird to a particular spot is readily accounted for in terms of one or other of the emotions which centre round the human home.
But if this behaviour is to be understood aright; if, that is to say, the exact position it occupies in the drama of bird life is to be properly determined, and its biological significance estimated at its true value, it is above all things necessary to refrain from appealing to any one of the emotions which we are accustomed to associate with ourselves, unless our ground for doing so is more than ordinarily secure. I shall try to show that, in the case of many species, the male inherits a disposition to secure a territory; or, inasmuch as the word "secure" carries with it too much prospective meaning, a disposition to remain in a particular place when the appropriate time arrives.
If the part which the breeding territory plays in the sexual life of birds is the important one I believe it to be, it follows that the ​necessary physiological condition must arise at an early stage in the cycle of events which follow one another in ordered sequence and make towards the goal of reproduction, and that the behaviour to which it leads must be one of the earliest visible manifestations of the seasonal development of the sexual instinct. When does this seasonal development occur? For how long does the instinct lie dormant? In some species there is evidence of this first step in the process of reproduction early in February; there is reason to believe that in others the latter part of January is the period of revival; and the possibility must not be overlooked of still earlier awakenings, marked with little definiteness, though nevertheless of sufficient strength to call into functional activity the primary impulse in the sexual cycle. Here, then, we meet with a difficulty so far as direct observation is concerned, for the duration of the period of dormancy and the precise date of revival vary in different species; and, if accurate information is to be obtained, the study of the series of events which culminate in the attainment of reproduction ought certainly to begin the moment behaviour is influenced by the internal changes, whatever they may be, which are responsible for the awakening of the sexual instinct.
In considering how this difficulty might be met, the importance of migratory species as a channel of information was gradually borne in upon me; for it seemed that the definiteness ​with which the initial stage in the sexual process was marked off, as a result of the incidence of migration, would go far towards removing much of the obscurity which appeared to surround the earlier stages of the breeding problem in the case of resident species. Recent observation has shown that I exaggerated this difficulty, and that it is generally possible to determine with reasonable accuracy the approximate date at which the internal changes begin to exert an influence on the behaviour of resident species also. Nevertheless, the specialised behaviour of the migrants furnished a clue, and pointed out the direction which further inquiry ought to take.
Those who are accustomed to notice the arrival of the migrants are aware that the woods, thickets, and marshes do not suddenly become occupied by large numbers of individuals, but that the process of "filling up" is a gradual one. An individual appears here, another there; then after a pause there is a further addition, and so on with increasing volume until the tide reaches its maximum, then activity wanes, and the slowly decreasing number of fresh arrivals passes unnoticed in the wealth of new life that everywhere forces itself upon our attention. If now, instead of surveying the migrants as a whole, our attention be directed to one species only, this gradual arrival of single individuals in their accustomed haunts will become even more apparent; and if the investigation be pursued still further and these single individuals observed ​more closely, it will be found that in nearly every case they belong to the male sex. Males therefore arrive before females. This does not mean, however, that the respective times of arrival of the males and females belonging to any one species are definitely divided, for males continue to arrive even after some of the females have reached their destination; and thus a certain amount of overlapping occurs. A truer definition of the order of migration would be as follows:—Some males arrive before others, and some females arrive before others, but on the average males arrive before females. This fact has long been known. Gätke refers to it in his Birds of Heligoland. "Here in Heligoland," he says, "the forerunners of the spring migration are invariably old males; a week or two later, solitary old females make their appearance; and after several weeks, both sexes occur mixed, i.e. females and younger males; while finally only young birds of the previous year are met with." Newton alludes to it as follows:—"It has been ascertained by repeated observation that in the spring movement of most species of the northern hemisphere, the cock birds are always in the van of the advancing army, and that they appear some days, or perhaps weeks, before the hens"; and Dr Eagle Clarke, in his Studies in Bird Migration, makes the following statement:—"Another characteristic of the spring is that the males, the more ardent suitors, of most species, travel in advance of the females, and arrive at their meeting quarters some days, it is said in some ​cases even weeks, before their consorts." Some interesting details were given in British Birds in regard to the sex of the migrants that were killed by striking the lantern at the Tuskar Rock. Co. Wexford, on the 30th April 1914. In all, there were twenty-four Whitethroats, nine Willow-Warblers, eight Sedge-Warblers, and six Wheatears; and on dissection it was found that twenty Whitethroats, seven Willow-Warblers, eight Sedge-Warblers, and one Wheatear were males.
What a curious departure this seems from the usual custom in the animal world! Here we have the spectacle afforded us of the males, in whom presumably the sexual instinct has awakened, deserting the females just at the moment when we might reasonably expect their impulse to accompany them would be strongest; and this because of their inherited disposition to reach the breeding grounds. If, in order to attain to reproduction, the male depended primarily upon securing a female—whether by winning or fighting matters not at the moment—if her possession constituted the sole difference in his external environment between success and failure, then surely one would suppose that an advantage must rest with those individuals which, instead of rushing forward and inflicting upon themselves a life of temporary isolation, remained with the females and increased their opportunities for developing that mutual appreciation which, by some, is held to be a ​necessary prelude to the completion of the sexual act, and to which close companionship would tend to impart a stimulus.
In thus speaking, however, we assume that the revival of the sexual instinct in the migratory male is coincident in time with its return to the breeding quarters; and we do so because the act of migrating is believed to be the first step in the breeding process. But it is well to bear in mind just how much of this assumption is based upon fact, and how much is due to questionable inference. All that can be definitely asserted is this, that appropriate dissection reveals in most of the migrants, upon arrival at their destination, unquestionable evidence of seasonal increase in the size of the sexual organs. Beyond this there is nothing to go upon. Yet if the term "sexual instinct" is held to comprise the whole series of complex relationships which are manifest to us in numerous and specialised modes of behaviour, which ultimately lead to reproduction, and which have gradually become interwoven in the tissue of the race, there can be little doubt that the assumption is a reasonable one. To some, the term may recall the fierce conflicts which are characteristic of the season; to others, emotional response; to not a few, perhaps, the actual discharge of the sexual function—all of these, it is true, are different aspects of the one instinct; but at the same time each one marks a stage in the process, and the different stages follow one another in ordered sequence. However, we are not concerned at the moment with the term in ​its wider application; we wish to know the precise stage at which the disposition to mate influences the behaviour of the male. Is the female to him, from the moment the seasonal change in his sexual organs takes place, a goal that at all costs must be attained? Or is it only when the cycle of events which leads up to reproduction is nearing completion that she looms upon his horizon? One would like to be in a position to answer these questions, but there is nothing in the way of experimental evidence to go upon; and if I say that there is reason to believe that, in the earlier stages, the female is but a shadow in the external environment of the male, it must be taken merely as an expression of opinion, though based in some measure upon a general observation of the behaviour of various species.
Before attempting to explain the difference in the times of arrival of the male and female migrant, let us examine the behaviour of some resident species at a (corresponding period. My investigations have been made principally amongst the smaller species—the Finches and the Buntings—which often pass the winter in or near the localities wherein they brought up offspring or were reared. It is true that they wander from one field to another according to the abundance or scarcity of food; it is also true that, if the weather is of a type which precludes the possibility of finding the necessary food, these wanderings may become extensive or even develop into partial migrations. But under the ​normal climatic conditions which prevail in many parts of Britain, these smaller resident species seem to find all that they require without travelling any great distance from their breeding haunts. Flocks composed of Yellow Buntings, Cirl Buntings, Corn-Buntings, Chaffinches, Greenfinches, etc., can be observed round the farmsteads or upon arable land; small flocks of Reed-Buntings take up their abode on pieces of waste land and remain there until the supply of food is exhausted, deserting their feeding ground only towards evening when they retire to^the nearest reed-bed to pass the night; flocks of Hawfinches visit the same holly-trees day after day so long as there is an abundance of berries on the ground beneath; and so on.
I have mentioned the Reed-Bunting; let us take it as our first example and try to follow its movements when the influence exerted by the internal secretions begins to be reflected on the course of its behaviour. First, it will be necessary to discover the exact localities in any given district to which the species habitually returns for the purpose of procreation; otherwise the earlier symptoms of any disposition to secure a territory may quite possibly be overlooked in the search for its breeding haunts.
In open weather Reed-Buntings pass the winter either singly, in twos or threes, or in small flocks, on bare arable ground, upon seed fields, or in the vicinity of water-courses; but in the breeding season they resort to marshy ​ground where the Juncus communis grows in abundance, to the dense masses of the common reed (Arundo phragmites), and such like places. During the winter, the male's routine of existence is of a somewhat monotonous order, limited to the necessary search for food during the few short hours of daylight and enforced inactivity during the longer hours of darkness. But towards the middle of February a distinct change manifests itself in the bird's behaviour. Observe what then happens. When they leave the reed-bed in the morning, instead of flying with their companions to the accustomed feeding grounds, the males isolate themselves and scatter in different directions. The purpose of their behaviour is not, however, to find fresh feeding grounds, nor even to search for food as they have been wont to do, but rather to discover stations suitable for the purpose of breeding; and, having done so, each male behaves in a like manner—it selects some willow, alder, or prominent reed, and, perching thereon, leads a quiet life, singing or preening its feathers. Now if the movements of one particular male are kept in view, it will be noticed that only part of its time is spent in its territory. At intervals it disappears. I do not mean that one merely loses sight of it, but that it actually deserts its territory. As if seized with a sudden impulse it rises into the air and flies away, often for a considerable distance and often in the same direction, and is absent for a period which may vary in length from a few minutes to an hour ​or even more. But these periodical desertions become progressively less and less frequent in occurrence until the whole of its life is spent in the few acres in which it has established itself.
The behaviour of the Yellow Bunting is similar. In any roadside hedge two or more males can generally be found within a short distance of one another, and in such a place their movements can be closely and conveniently followed. Under normal conditions the ordinary winter routine continues until early in February; but the male then deserts the flock, seeks a position of its own, and becomes isolated from its companions. Now the position which it selects does not, as a rule, embrace a very large area—a few acres perhaps at the most. But there is always some one point which is singled out and resorted to with marked frequency—a tree, a bush, a gate-post, a railing, anything in fact which can form a convenient perch, and eventually it becomes a central part of the bird's environment. Here it spends the greater part of its time, here it utters its song persistently, and here it keeps watch upon intruders. The process of establishment is nevertheless a gradual one. The male does not appear in its few acres suddenly and remain there permanently as does the migrant; at first it may not even roost in the prospective territory. The course of procedure is somewhat as follows:—At dawn it arrives and for a while utters its song, preens its feathers, or searches for food; then it vanishes, ​rising into the air and flying in one fixed direction as far as the eye can follow, until it becomes a speck upon the horizon and is ultimately lost to view. During these excursions it rejoins the small composite flocks which still frequent the fields and farm buildings. For a time the hedgerow is deserted and the bird remains with its companions. But one does not have to wait long for the return; it reappears as suddenly as it vanished, flying straight back to the few acres which constitute its territory, back even to the same gate-post or railing, where it again sings. This simple routine may be repeated quite a number of times during the first two hours or so of daylight, with, of course, a certain amount of variation; on one occasion the bird may be away for a few minutes only, on another for perhaps half an hour, whilst sometimes it will fly for a few hundred yards, hesitate, and then return—all of which shows clearly enough that these few acres possess some peculiar significance and are capable of exercising a powerful influence upon the course of its behaviour. And so the disposition in relation to the territory becomes dominant in the life of the bird.
Or take the case of the Chaffinch. In winter large or small flocks can be found in many varied situations. But in the latter part of February, or the early days of March, these flocks begin to disperse. At daylight males can then be observed in all kinds of situations, either calling loudly, uttering their spring note, ​or exercising their vocal powers to the full; and it will be found that, in the majority of instances, these males are solitary individuals, that they pass the early hours of the morning alone, and that their normal routine of calling, singing, or searching for food, is only interrupted by quarrels with their neighbours. The same locality is visited regularly—not only the same acre or so of ground, but even the same elm or oak, has, as its daily occupant, the same cock Chaffinch. And temporary desertions from the territory occur also, much like those referred to in the life of the Bunting, but perhaps not so frequently. One has grown so accustomed during the dark days of winter to the sociable side of Chaffinch behaviour—to the large flocks searching for food, to the endless stream of individuals returning in the evening to roost in the holly-trees, to the absence of song—that this radical departure from the normal routine comes as something of a surprise; for the days are still short, the temperature is still low, the nesting season is still many weeks ahead, and yet for part of the day, and for just that part when the promptings of hunger must be strongest, the male, instead of joining the flock, isolates itself and expends a good deal of energy in insuring that its isolation shall be complete. And in place of the silence we hear from all directions the cheerful song uttered with such marked persistency that it almost seems as if the bird itself must be aware that by doing so it was advertising the ​fact of its occupation of a territory. This is surely a remarkable change, and the females in the meantime continue their winter routine.
One other example. The monotonous call of the Greenfinch is probably familial to all. In winter these birds accompany other Finches and form with them flocks of varying sizes, but in the spring the flocks disperse, and the Greenfinch, in common with other units of the flock, alters its mode of life. But whereas the Chaffinch or the Bunting begins to acquire its territory in February, the Greenfinch only does so in April. When the organic changes do at length begin to make themselves felt, the male seeks a position of its own, and having found one remains there, uttering its characteristic call. But owing probably to the fact that it is much later than the aforementioned species in acquiring a territory, temporary desertions are not so much in evidence. The species is so very plentiful, and the bird is so prone to nest in gardens and shrubberies surrounding human habitations, that this seasonal change in its routine of existence cannot fail to be noticed. One can hear its call in every direction, one can watch the same individual in the same tree; and it is the male that is thus seen and heard, the female appears later. Thus the behaviour falls into line with that of the Bunting or the Chaffinch.
The behaviour of these resident species throws some light upon the early arrival of the ​males which we are endeavouring to explain in the case of the migrants. Let us see how their actions compare. The male resident deserts the female early in the year and establishes itself in a definite position, where it advertises its presence by song; the male migrant travels from a great distance, arrives later, and also establishes itself in a definite position, where it, too, advertises its presence by song. The male resident passes only the earlier part of the day in its territory at the commencement of the period of occupation; the male migrant remains there continuously from the moment it arrives. The male resident deserts its territory at intervals, even in the morning; the male migrant betrays no inclination to do so. Thus there is a very close correspondence between the behaviour of the two, and what difference there is—slight after all—cannot be said to affect the main biological end of securing territory. One is apt to think of the problem of migration in terms of the species instead of in terms of the individual. One pictures a vast army of birds travelling each spring over many miles of sea and land, and finally establishing themselves in different quarters of the globe; and so it comes about. I suppose, that a country or some well-defined but extensive area is regarded as the destination, the ultimate goal, of the wanderers. But the resident male has a journey to perform, short though it may be; it, too, has a destination to reach, neither a country nor a locality, but a place wherein the rearing of offspring can ​be safely accomplished, and it, too, arrives in that place in advance of the female. With these facts at our disposal, we will endeavour to find an explanation. It is unlikely that specialised behaviour would occur in generation after generation under such widely divergent conditions, and, moreover, expose the birds to risk of special dangers, if it were but an hereditary peculiarity to which no meaning could be attached. Hence the appearance of the males in their breeding haunts ahead of the females becomes a fact of some importance, and suggests that the extensive journey in the one case, and the short journey in the other, may both have a similar biological end to serve.
Darwin evidently attached importance to this difference between the males and the females in their times, of arrival. In the Descent of Man he referred to it as follows: "Those males which annually first migrated in any country, or which in spring were first ready to breed, or were the most eager, would leave the largest number of offspring; and these would tend to inherit similar instincts and constitutions. It must be borne in mind that it would have been impossible to change very materially the time of sexual maturity in the females without at the same time interfering with the period of the production of the young—a period which must be determined by the season of the year." Newton suggested the following explanation: "It is not difficult to ​imagine that, in the course of a journey prolonged through some 50° or 60° of latitude, the stronger individuals should outstrip the weaker by a very perceptible distance, and it can hardly be doubted that in most species the males are stouter, as they are bigger than the females." Granting that the males are the stronger, how can this account for their outstripping the females by a week, ten days, or even a fortnight, in a journey of perhaps 1500 miles? To expect the birds to accomplish such a distance in seven days is surely not estimating their capabilities too highly, and any slight inequality in the power of flight or endurance could give the males an advantage of a few hours only. But this explanation, based upon inequalities in the power of flight and endurance on the one hand, and the magnitude of the distance traversed on the other, cannot afford a solution of the behaviour of the resident males, and is less likely, therefore, to be a true solution of that of the migrants.
There is another theory, simple enough in its way, which will probably occur to many. It is based on the assumption that the males reach sexual maturity before the females; and it is contended that the functioning of the instincts which contribute towards the biological end of reproduction depend upon the organic changes which the term "sexual maturity" is held to embrace, and that, inasmuch as the migratory instinct belongs to the group of such instincts, ​the males must be the first to leave their winter quarters.
What is meant by the "migratory instinct"? To speak of it as one of the instincts concerned in reproduction is not enough. Reproduction involves the actual discharge of the sexual function, which involves the females; but the first, visible manifestation of organic change in the male is its desertion of the females. Yet this is the behaviour which is referred to as the "migratory instinct," and which comes into play, according to this theory, because the bird has reached sexual maturity. Manifestly we must have some clear understanding as to what these terms represent. That organic changes determine the functioning of certain definite instincts at certain specified times there can be no doubt; that these changes may occur at a somewhat earlier date in the male than in the female is more than probable, but that this explains the behaviour in question I do not believe. One wants to know why the changes should occur earlier in the male, what disposition it is which first comes into functional activity, and to what such disposition is related.
It may, however, be urged that, after all, this apparent eagerness to reach the breeding grounds is but a modification of hereditary procedure under the guiding hand of experience. What more likely result would follow from the enjoyment associated with previous success in the attainment of reproduction than a craving to repeat the experience? What stronger incentive ​to a hurried return could be imagined? It must be admitted that there are certain facts which might be used in support of an appeal to experience as a reasonable explanation. For example, the first males to arrive often display that richness of colouring which is generally supposed to indicate a fuller maturity. Gätke even speaks of the "most handsome old birds being invariably the first to hasten back to their old homes." But if experience is a factor, if some dim recollection of the past is held to explain the hurried departure of the male migrant, one wants to know with what such recollection is associated. Is it associated with the former female, or with the former breeding, place, or with both? I take it that any recollection, no matter how vague, must be primarily associated with the particular place wherein reproduction had previously been accomplished; and I grant that if the first individuals to appear were invariably the older and experienced birds, their early return might be explained on the basis of such an association. But if there is reason to believe that a proportion are young birds on the verge of carrying out their instinctive routine for the first time, then we cannot appeal to past experience in explanation of their behaviour.
The age of a bird is difficult to determine. Experience leads me to believe that some of the males that arrive before the females are birds born the previous season; one finds, for instance, individuals with plumage of a duller hue, ​which denotes immaturity, amongst the first batch of arrivals. But though plumage may sometimes be a satisfactory guide, yet to rely upon it alone, or upon a more perfect development of feather, is to exceed the limits of safety. How, then, can we ascertain whether all the males that arrive before the females have had some previous experience of reproduction? Well, we take a particular locality and note the migrants that visit it year after year, and we find that the respective numbers of the different species are subject to wide annual fluctuations. Not every species lends itself to an inquiry of this kind: some are always plentiful and fluctuation is consequently difficult to discern; others are scarce and variation is easily determined. Those which are of local distribution but conspicuous by their plumage, or easily traced by the beauty or the peculiarity of their song, afford the more suitable subjects for investigation. For example, the Grasshopper-Warbler, Marsh-Warbler, Nightingale, Corncrake, Red-backed Shrike, or Whinchat have each some distinctive peculiarity which makes them conspicuous, and each one is subject to marked fluctuation in numbers. The small plantation or wooded bank may hold a Nightingale one year, but we miss its song there the next; the osier bed or gorse-covered common which vibrates with the trill of the Grasshopper-Warbler one April is deserted the following season; the plantation which is occupied by a host of common migrants this summer may be enlivened ​next year by the song of the rarer Marsh-Warbler also; and so on. The fluctuation is considerable: we observe desertion on the one hand, appropriation on the other, and yet males appear before females whether the particular plantation, osier bed, or swamp had been inhabited or not the previous season. This fact is not without significance. It shows that similar conditions prevail both amongst the males that appropriate breeding grounds new to them, and amongst those that return to some well-established haunt; and on the assumption that the earlier arrivals are experienced males, the same birds evidently do not return to the same place year after year. Granting, then, that the males which appropriate new breeding-grounds are young birds, how can their earlier arrival be explained in terms of past experience; and granting that they are old, and therefore experienced, how can it be explained in terms of association?
Again, it may be urged that if there is some biological end to be furthered by this hurried return, and if recollection of past experience is a means towards that end, such recollection need not necessarily be associated with a definite place, but only in a vague way with the whole series of events leading up to reproduction—in which series the migratory journey may even have acquired meaning. Whether there be any recollection of a previous journey or of a nest with young. I do not know. But the young bird is capable of performing its journey, of ​building its nest, and of rearing its young antecedent to experience—racial preparation has fitted it thus far; why then exclude the other event in the series, the earlier departure of the male, from hereditary equipment? If the journey were a casual affair without any goal attaching to it, if the males upon arrival wandered about in search of a mate, there would be some ground for thinking that a vague recollection of the whole former experience was sufficient to explain the hurried return; but since the pleasurable effect of association, founded upon previous experience of a definite place, cannot well be established, and since it is so difficult to study the objective aspect of the behaviour in question without coming to the conclusion that the journey is related to the appropriation of a place suitable for the rearing of offspring, one is tempted to ask whether the hurried return may not also be so related.
Now the males of some of the migratory species, especially of those which are accustomed to return to their breeding haunts early in the season, are called upon to face greater dangers and have a greater strain imposed upon their strength by starting forth upon their journey ten days or a fortnight before their prospective mates. The blizzards which so often sweep across the northern parts of Europe in the latter half of March, destroying in their course the all too scanty supply of insect life, may take toll of their numbers; or the westerly gales, which are not infrequent at that period, ​may meet them in mid-ocean and add to the perils of their journey; or the temperature of the previous weeks may have been sufficiently low to arrest the development of insect life—and yet males are annually exposed to these risks in hurrying to their breeding grounds. For what purpose? The answer will -largely depend upon the way in which we regard those few acres wherein a resting place is ultimately found. For myself. I believe that they are of importance, inasmuch as the securing of a place suitable for the rearing of offspring is a primary condition of success in the attainment of reproduction; and if this be so, it is evident that the interests of the race will be better served by the males making good this first step before the females are ready to pair, otherwise they might oscillate between two modes of behaviour, created by the premature functioning of conflicting impulses.
The different steps in the process seem to follow one another in ordered sequence. The male inherits a disposition—which for us, of course, has prospective meaning—to seek the appropriate breeding ground and there to establish itself; and as early a functioning of this disposition as possible, consonant with the conditions of existence in the external environment, may have been evolved for the following reasons—firstly, the earlier individuals will meet with less interference wherever they may settle, every locality will be open to them, every acre free, their only need being that ​particular environment for which racial preparation has fitted them. In the second place, being already established when other males appear upon the scene, and advertising their presence by song, they will be less liable to molestation; thirdly, in those cases in which a long journey is undertaken, they will have ample time to recover from the fatigue, and, if attacked by later arrivals, will thus be in a better position to defend their territories; and lastly, a greater uniformity in their distribution will be insured before the females begin their search.
There is, besides, another good reason for thinking that the earlier males will have an advantage. We will assume—And from the abundant evidence supplied by the marking of birds, it is quite a reasonable assumption—that there is a tendency, generally speaking, for individuals to return to the neighbourhood of their birthplace, or to the place in which they had previously reared their offspring. Now the earlier arrivals will have no difficulty in securing territories; those that come later may have to search more diligently, still they will gain all that they require so long as any available space remains. Then comes the point when all suitable ground is occupied, and yet there are males to be provided for. What will be the position of these males? Urged by their inherited nature, they will leave the district and possibly continue their search into those adjoining, only, however, to add to the diffi​culties of the males there similarly situated; and even allowing that they are at length successful in establishing themselves, what are their prospects of securing mates? Since the earlier females will not extend their wanderings farther than is absolutely necessary, but will pair whenever the opportunity for doing so arises, it is to the later females, forced onwards by competition, that the late males must look for mates; so that when at length pairing does take place, much valuable time will have been lost.
The disadvantages which the late arrivals have to face are therefore great, and it is probable that the percentage which attain to reproduction will on the average be somewhat lower than the percentage in the case of the earlier arrivals. The district in which my observations have been made lies well within the limits of the breeding range of most of our common species, and it is not surprising that I should have met with little evidence of failure to breed as a result of failure to secure territory. Some interesting information was supplied to me, however, by the late Robert Service. He found, in certain seasons in Dumfriesshire, flocks of from ten to fifty unmated Sedge-Warblers, which, from the time of their arrival in May until the middle of July, haunted reed-filled spaces along stagnant streams. These flocks appeared to him to be composed of loosely-attached individuals of a migrant flock that had failed to find things ​congenial enough to entice them to disperse. But may they not have been composed of males that had failed to secure territories, or of females that had failed to discover males in possession of territories, or of both?
We have seen that, in the case of many species, each male establishes itself in a particular place at the commencement of the breeding season, even though this may mean a partial or perhaps a complete severance from former companions. We must now discuss this fact in greater detail because it is opposed to the views often held regarding the sexual behaviour of birds, and is manifestly of importance when considering the theory of breeding territory.
First, however, there is a point which requires some explanation. I speak of the same male being in the same place. How can I prove its identity? In the first place it is highly improbable that a bird which roams about within the same small area of ground, makes regular use of a certain tree and a certain branch of that tree, and observes a similar routine day after day, can be other than the same individual. But, apart from this general consideration, are there any means by which individuals of the same species can be identified? Well, there is variation in the plumage. Supposing we take a dozen cock Chaffinches and examine them carefully, we shall find slight differences in pattern and in colour—more grey ​here or a duller red there, as the case may be—and though these differences may not be sufficient to enable us to pick out a bird at a distance, they are nevertheless conspicuous when it is close at hand. Then again there is variation in the song; and the more highly developed the vocal powers the greater scope there is for variation. But even the phrases of a simple song can be split up and recombined in different ways. If one were asked casually whether the different phrases of the Reed-Bunting's song always followed one another in the same sequence, the answer would probably be that they certainly did so, whereas the bird is capable of combining the few notes it possesses in a surprising number of different ways. And lastly, there are differences in just the particular way in which specific behaviour, founded upon a congenital basis, is adapted by each individual to its own special environment. Racial preparation determines behaviour as a whole, but the individual is allowed some latitude in the execution of details which are in themselves of small moment—the selection of a particular tree as a headquarters and a particular branch upon that tree, the direction of the distant excursion, and the direction of the limited wanderings within the small area surrounding the headquarters which in the course of time determine the extent of the territory, are matters for each individual to decide when the occasion for doing so arises. Moreover instances of abnormal coloration or abnormal song are not ​rare, and they are valuable since they place the identity of the individual beyond dispute. I can recall the case of a Willow-Warbler whose song was unlike that of its own or any other species, and of a Redbreast whose voice puzzled me not a little. I can recollect also a male Yellow Bunting whose foot was injured or deformed. Of this bird's behaviour I kept a record for two months or so; and inasmuch as it inhabited a roadside hedge, and was of fearless disposition, the deformed foot could plainly be seen whenever it settled upon the road to search for food. Identification is not, therefore, a difficulty. There is always some small difference in colour or in song, or some well-defined routine which makes recognition possible.
Owing to their great powers of locomotion, birds have generally been regarded as wanderers more or less; anything in the nature of a fixed abode, apart from the actual nest, having been accounted foreign to their mode of life; and even the locality immediately surrounding the nest has not been apprehended as possessing any meaning for the owner of that nest. No doubt the supply of food determines their movements for a considerable part of the year; they seek it where they can find it, here to-day, there to-morrow—in fact few species fail to move their quarters at one season or another, so that there is much truth in the notion that birds are wanderers. Yet to suppose that every individual one sees or hears—every Lapwing on the meadow, or Nightingale in the withy ​bed—is in that particular spot just because it happens to alight there as it roams from place to place, is to take a view which the observed facts do not support. For as soon as the question of reproduction dominates the situation, a new condition arises, and the habits formed during the previous months are reversed, and the males, avoiding one another, or even becoming actively hostile, prefer a life of seclusion to their former gregariousness—all of which occurs just at the moment when we might reasonably expect them to exhibit an increased liveliness and restlessness as a result of their endeavour to secure mates; and so universal is the change that it might almost be described as an accompaniment of the sexual life of birds generally.
That the Raven and certain birds of prey exert an influence over the particular area which they inhabit has long been known, and it has been recognised more especially in the case of the Peregrine Falcon, possibly because the bird lives in a wild and attractive country, and, forcing itself under the notice of naturalists, has thus had a larger share of attention devoted to its habits. Moreover, when a species is represented by comparatively few individuals, and each pair occupies a comparatively large tract of country, it is a simple matter to trace the movements and analyse the behaviour of the birds. There is a rocky headland in the north-west of Co. Donegal comprising some seven miles or so of cliffs, where three pairs of Falcons and two pairs of Ravens have nested for many years. ​Each year the different pairs have been more or less successful in rearing their young; each year the young can be seen accompanying their parents up to the time when the sexual instinct arises; and yet the actual number of pairs is on the whole remarkably constant, and there is no perceptible increase. It seems as if the numbers of three and two respectively were the maximum the headland could maintain. But this is no exceptional case; it represents fairly the conditions which obtain as a rule amongst those species, granting, of course, a certain amount of variation in the size of each territory determined by the exigencies of diverse circumstances.
If we take a given district, and devote our attention to the smaller migrants that visit Western Europe each returning spring for the purpose of procreation, we shall find that the movements of the males are subject to a very definite routine. This, however, is not true of every male; some may be wending their way to breeding grounds at a distance; others may be seeking the particular environment to which they may be adapted; others again, having found their old haunts destroyed, may consequently be seeking new.
Of all this there is evidence. Small parties of Chiffchaffs pass through a district on their way to other breeding grounds, flitting from hedge to hedge as they move in a definite direction with apparently a definite purpose; Reed- Warblers settle in a garden or plantation, ​eminently unsuited to their requirements, and disappear; Wood- Warblers arrive in some old haunt, and finding it no longer suitable for their purpose, seek new ground. So that plenty of individuals are always to be found, which, for the time being at least, are wanderers.
In the district which I have in mind, the wandering males form only a small part of the incoming bird population. The majority of individuals that fall under observation are those that have made this particular district their destination; and in doing so, they may possibly have been guided by their experience as owners or inmates of former nests, for it cannot be doubted that a return to the neighbourhood of the birthplace would lead to a more uniform distribution and therefore be advantageous, and the tendency to do so might consequently have become interwoven in the tissue of the race. How, then, do they behave? A certain amount of movement, an interchanging of positions, even though restricted to an area defined, let us say, by experience, might be expected under the circumstances—that, however, is not what we find; we observe the available situations plotted out into so many territories, each one of which is occupied by a male who passes the whole of his time therein. Take whatever species we will—Whitethroat, Whinchat, Willow- Warbler, Red-backed Shrike, it matters not which, for there is no essential difference in the general course of procedure—this condition will be found to prevail. Generally speaking, the ​behaviour in relation to the territory can be studied more conveniently where a number of individuals of the same species have established themselves in proximity to one another. Such species as the Chiffchaff, Willow- Warbler, or Wood-Warbler are often sufficiently common to allow of three or more of their respective males being kept in view at the same time; and the disposition to occupy a definite position can be readily observed. The Reed- Warbler is a suitable subject for an investigation of this kind; for since it is restricted by its habits to localities wherein the common reed (Arundo phragmites) grows in abundance, and since such localities are none too plentiful and often limited in extent, the area occupied by each individual is necessarily small—if it were not so the species would become extinct. Hence it is a simple matter to study the routine of the different individuals and to mark the extent of their wanderings.
In this way the males of all the Warblers that breed commonly in Great Britain establish themselves, each one in its respective station at the respective breeding ground; so, too, do those of many other migrants—for example, the Whinchat, Wheatear, Tree-Pipit, and Red-backed Shrike. All of these, it is true, are common species—numbers of individuals can often be found in close proximity—and therefore it may be argued that they keep to one position more from pressure of population than from any inherited disposition working towards that end.
​But the rarer species behave similarly. Districts frequented by the Marsh- Warbler and offering plenty of situations of the type required by the bird are often inhabited by a few members only, and yet the disposition to remain in a definite position is just as marked.
You will say, however, that these smaller migrants have no exceptional powers of flight; that they have besides just completed a long and arduous journey; and you will ask why they should be expected to wander, whether it is not more reasonable to expect that, in order to overcome their fatigue, they should remain where they settle. The Cuckoo is a wanderer in the wider sense of the term, and is gifted with considerable powers of flight. Upon arrival the male flies briskly from field to field, showing but little signs of weariness; yet we have only to follow its movements for a few days in succession to assure ourselves that the bird is no longer a wanderer; for just as the Warbler or the Chat moves only within a definitely delimited area, so the male Cuckoo, strange as it may seem, restricts itself to a particular tract of land. The area over which it wanders is often considerable and consequently it is not possible to keep the bird always in view, but inasmuch as the variation in the voices of different individuals is quite appreciable, identification is really a simple matter. If we cannot keep the bird in sight, we can trace its movements by sound and mark the extent of its wanderings, which by repetition become more and more ​defined, until a belt of trees here, or an orchard there, mark a rough and rarely passed boundary line.
Let us take another example from the larger migrants—the Black-tailed Godwit, a bird common enough in the Dutch marshes but no longer breeding in this country. On suitable stretches of marsh land, numbers will be found in proximity one to another after the manner of the Lapwing, each male occupying a definite space of ground wherein it passes the time preening, searching for food, or in sleep—though at the same time keeping a strict watch over its territory. Now the preference shown for a particular piece of ground, and the determination with which it is resorted to, is the more remarkable when we take into consideration the specific emotional behaviour arising from the seasonal sexual condition. This behaviour is expressed in a peculiar flight. The bird rises high in the air, circles round with slowly beating wings above the marsh, and utters a call which, as far as my experience goes, is characteristic of the performance. The air is often full of individuals circling thus even beyond the confines of the marsh, for a male does not limit its flight to a space immediately above its territory; but nevertheless careful observation will show how unerringly each one returns to its own position on the breeding ground, no matter how extensive the aerial excursion may have been. And so, when the males of the smaller migrants confine their ​movements to an acre of ground at the completion of their long journey, they are acting no more under the influence of fatigue than the Cuckoo, which keeps within certain bounds yet flies about briskly, or the Godwit which, though holding to its few square yards on the ground, executes most tiring and extensive flights above the marsh.
Territorial flight of the Black-tailed Godwit
​different order. But we must bear in mind that the process has been adjusted to meet the requirements of different species: the size of the territory, the period of its daily occupation, the purpose which it serves—these all depend upon manifold relationships and do not affect the principle. Why it has been differentiated in different circumstances we shall have occasion to discuss later; for the moment it is enough that at the end of its migratory journey each Ruff occupies one position on the meeting ground.
Now birds that are paired for life, whose food-supply is not affected by alternations of climate, have no occasion to desert the locality wherein they have reared their offspring, and so their movements, being subject to a routine which would tend to become increasingly definite, must in the course of time and according to the law of habit formation become organised into the behaviour we observe. Is it necessary, therefore, to seek an explanation of their tendency to remain in one place in anything so complex as an inherited disposition? Again, since we have to confess to so very much ignorance on so many points connected with the whole phenomenon of migration, may there not be some condition, hitherto shrouded in mystery, which might place so different a complexion on the corresponding aspect of migrant behaviour as to rid us, in their case also, of the necessity of appealing to an inherited disposition? Such questions are justifiable. And if the ​life-histories of other species gave no further support to our interpretation, if, in short, the evidence were to break down at this point, then we should be forced to seek some other explanation more in keeping with the general body of facts.
But far from placing any obstacle in the way of an interpretation in terms of inherited disposition, the behaviour of many of those residents which are not paired for life gives us even surer ground for that belief. Moreover in their case the initial stages in the process are more accessible to observation. I will endeavour to explain why. In the process of reproduction the environment has its part to play—whether in the manner here suggested, or indirectly through the question of food-supply, matters not at the moment. Now, migratory species are more highly specialised than resident species as regards food, and are affected more by variations of temperature, so that they can live for only a part of the year in the countries which they visit for the purpose of procreation. Hence the organic changes, which set the whole process in motion, must be coincident in time with the growth of appropriate conditions in the environment; for if it were not so, if the internal organic changes were to develop prematurely, the bird would [undertake its journey only to find an insufficiency of food upon its arrival, and this would scarcely contribute towards survival. Definite limitations have therefore been imposed upon the period of organic change. But in the ​case of many resident species the conditions are somewhat different, for they remain in the same locality throughout the year, and a gradual unfolding of the reproductive process cannot therefore have a similarly harmful effect. Thus it comes about that the behaviour of the migrant, when it arrives at the breeding ground and first falls under observation, represents a stage in the process which, in the case of the resident, is only reached by slow degrees; and by closely observing the behaviour as it is presented to us in the life of the resident male, we not only gain a better insight into the changes in operation, but can actually witness the breaking down of the winter routine, stereotyped through repetition, by the new disposition as it arises.
The first visible manifestations, even though they may be characterised by a certain amount of vagueness, are therefore of great importance if the behaviour is to be interpreted aright; and in order to insure that none of these earlier symptoms shall be missed, it is necessary to begin the daily record of the bird's movements at an early date in the season. As a rule the second week in February is sufficiently early for the purpose, but the date varies according to the prevailing climatic conditions. Even in species widely remote there is great similarity of procedure, and the behaviour of the Buntings is typical of that of many. With the rise of the appropriate organic state the male resorts at daybreak to a suitable environment, occupies a ​definite position, and singling out some tree or prominent bush, which will serve as a headquarters, advertises its presence there by song. At first the bird restricts its visits, which though frequent in occurrence are of short duration, for the most part to the early hours of the morning; it disappears as suddenly as it appeared, and one can trace its flight to the feeding grounds—a homestead or perhaps some newly sown field. But by degrees the impulse to seek the society of the flock grows less and less pronounced, the visits to the territory are more and more prolonged, and the occupation of it then becomes the outstanding feature of the bird's existence. This in outline is the course of procedure as it appears to an external observer.
But although much can be learnt from the lives of these smaller species, there is no gainsaying the fact that a great deal of patient observation is required, and the process is apt to become tedious. There are others, however, which are more readily observed, whilst their life-histories afford just as clear an insight into the effect produced by the new disposition upon the developing situation; and among these the Lapwing takes a prominent position, because it is plentiful and inhabits open ground where it is easily kept in view.
Plan of the water meadow showing the territories occupied by Lapwings in the year 1915.
Plan of the water meadow showing the territories occupied by Lapwings in the year 1916.
[Between pages 58 and 59.
​and at first collect in a small flock at one end of the meadow. A male, here and there, can then be seen to break away from the flock, and to establish itself in a definite position upon the unoccupied portion of the ground, where it remains isolated from its companions. Others do likewise until the greater part of the meadow is divided into territories. Six of these territories I kept under observation for approximately two months in the year 1915. The occupant of the one marked No. 6 upon the 1915 plan was a lame bird, a fortunate occurrence as it enabled me to follow its movements with some accuracy; and though it maintained its position for some weeks, it ultimately disappeared, as a result. I believe, of the persistent attacks of neighbouring males. The behaviour of the males during the first fortnight or so after they broke away from the flock was interesting. Though they retired to their territories and remained in them for the greater part of their time, yet it was only by degrees that they finally severed their connection with the flock, for so long as a nucleus of a flock remained, so long were they liable to desert their territories temporarily and to rejoin their companions.
Lapwings, as is well known, collect in flocks during the winter months, and these flocks, which sometimes reach vast proportions, are to be found on tidal estuaries, water meadows, arable land, and such like places, according to the prevailing climatic conditions. This flocking ​may contribute towards survival, and may therefore be the result of congenital dispositions which have been determined on biological grounds. On the other hand, since food at that season is only to be obtained in a limited number of situations, the birds may be simply drawn together by accident. In the former case the behaviour would be instinctive, in the latter, though accidental at first, recurrent repetition would tend to make it habitual; but in either case the impulse to accompany the flock must be a powerful one, for on the one hand it would depend upon inherited, and on the other hand upon acquired, connections in the nervous system. Now observe that soon after the flock arrived in the meadow, single males detached themselves; there was no hesitation, they just retired from their companions and settled in their respective territories. They were not expelled, for if their leaving had been compulsory much commotion would have preceded their departure, and their return would certainly not have been welcomed. A reference to the plan will make the position clearer; the neutral zone inhabited by the flock is there shown as situated in one corner of the meadow, the territories that fell under observation are plotted out as far as possible to scale, and the more important zones of conflict are also marked.
The males spent part of their time in their respective territories and part with the flock, so long as it remained in existence. When a ​male was in its territory it avoided companions and was openly hostile to intruders; when it was with the flock it wandered about with companions in search of food. The contrast between the two modes of behaviour was very marked, and it was evident that the gregarious instinct was gradually yielding its position of importance to the new factor—the territory. If there had been no flock, if a few solitary individuals had appeared here and there and had established themselves in different parts of the meadow, one would have had no definite evidence of the strength of the impulse in the male to seek a position of its own, one could only have argued from the general fact of males flocking in the winter and isolating themselves in spring that something more than accident was required to explain so radical a change. But since the birds returned in a flock to the ground upon which they intended to breed, and since the flock occupied temporarily part of the ground whilst the partitioning of the remainder was still proceeding, it was possible to gauge the strength of the impulse, which was forcing the males to isolate themselves in particular areas of ground, by comparing it with the impulse to accompany the flock—and the measure of its intensity was the rapidity with which the latter impulse yielded its position of importance.
Like the Lapwing, the Coot and Moor-Hen are easily kept under observation, and since many individuals often breed in proximity, ​more than one can be watched at the same moment; moreover the area occupied by each male generally embraces an open piece of water as well as part of the fringe of reeds, so that the movements of the bird can be followed without much difficulty. Under favourable conditions manifestations of the developing situation become visible at a comparatively early date in the season—the middle or the latter part of February—and these manifestations resemble those of other species. But the Moor-Hen passes summer and winter alike in the same situation, and being therefore in a position to respond at once to internal stimulation, however vague, the change from the one state to the other is gradual. This, however, is a matter of detail; the main consideration lies in the fact that the impulse to retire to a definite position, to avoid companions, and to live in seclusion, is strongly marked, and produces a type of behaviour similar on the whole to that of the Lapwing. First of all there is the appropriation of a certain position, the limits of which are fixed according to the law of habit formation, and according to the pressure exerted by neighbouring individuals; then there is the neutral ground over which the birds wander amicably in search of food; and finally there is the contrast between the pugnacity of the male whilst in its territory, and its comparative friendliness when upon neutral ground.
Evidence of similar behaviour is to be found ​in the life of the Black Grouse, a bird which has always excited the curiosity of naturalists on account of the special meeting places to which both sexes resort in the spring. Mr Edmund Selous watched these birds in Scandinavia, where he kept a daily record at one of the meeting places. In various passages he refers to the appropriation of particular positions by particular males, and concludes thus: " It would seem from this that, like the Ruffs, each male Blackcock has its particular domain on the assembly ground, though the size of this is in proportion to the much greater space of the whole. On the other mornings, too, the same birds, as I now make no doubt they are, have flown down into approximately the same areas."
The cliff-breeding species—Guillemots, Razorbills, and Puffins—are difficult to investigate because individuals vary so little, and the sexes resemble one another so closely; yet, despite these difficulties, we can gain some idea of the general purport of their activities. But when the ledges are crowded and the air is filled with countless multitudes, how is it possible to keep a single bird in view for a sufficient length of time to Understand its routine? The difficulty is not an insuperable one. The flights, undertaken seemingly for no particular purpose, are often of short duration and are completed before the strain of observation becomes too great; moreover an individual sometimes possesses a special mark or characteristic which serves to ​make it conspicuous. For example, there is a well-marked variety of the Common Guillemot, the Ringed or Bridled Guillemot of science, distinguished by an unusual development of white round the eye and along the furrow behind it. One such individual I was fortunate in discovering upon a crowded cliff, and, as in the case of the Lapwing with the broken leg or the Yellow Bunting with the injured foot, the identity of the bird was beyond dispute, and one could observe that it appropriated to itself a particular position upon a particular ledge.
Competition for territory is seldom more severe than amongst cliff-breeding sea birds and the efforts of individual Razorbills to secure positions on the crowded ledges lead to desperate struggles.
Emery Walker ph.sc
​of that method which we observe in the periodical returns of the Bunting or the Finch, it may be thought that needless importance is being attached to an episode in their lives which is quite intelligible in terms of a feeble response determined by a dawning organic change. While it may be quite intelligible in such terms it is not thereby explained; for every response must have as its antecedent an inherited connection in the nervous system determined on biological grounds. Besides, these early periodic returns conform in general to the type of behaviour displayed by other species, the males of which return to their breeding grounds many weeks before the real business of reproduction begins. Are we then justified in regarding them as accidents of the developing situation? Are we not rather bound to admit that they have some definite biological end to serve?
These examples show that the males of many species reverse their mode of life at the commencement of the breeding season and proceed to isolate themselves, each one in a definitely delimited area.
There are three ways in which we may attempt to interpret this particular mode of male behaviour. We may regard it as an accidental circumstance, nowise influencing the course of subsequent procedure; or, appealing to the law of habit formation, we may regard it as an individual acquirement; or ​again, we may invest it with a deeper significance and seek its origin in some specific congenital disposition determined on purely biological grounds.
Which of these three shall we choose? The first by itself requires but little consideration; for though it might explain the initial visit, it cannot account for the persistency with which the plot of ground is afterwards -resorted to. Supposing, however, that we combine the first and the second; supposing, that is to say, we assume, for the purpose of argument, that the initial visit is fortuitous, and that constancy is supplied by habit formation—would that be a satisfactory interpretation? It is a simple one, inasmuch as it only requires that a male shall alight by chance in a particular place for a few mornings in succession in order that the process may be set in motion. Now an essential condition of habit formation is recurrent repetition; given this repetition and, it is true, any mode of activity is liable to become firmly established. But how can we explain the repetition? Even if we are justified in assuming that the initial visit is purely an accidental occurrence, we cannot presume too far upon the laws of chance and assume that the repetition, at first, is also fortuitous.
So that we come back to the congenital basis, the last of our three propositions. And it will, I think, be admitted that the facts give us some grounds for believing that the securing of the territory has its root in the inherited con​stitution of the bird. In comparing the behaviour of the migratory male with that of the resident, attention was drawn to the manner in which the occupation of a territory was effected: the former bird, it may be remembered, established itself without delay, whereas the latter did so only by degrees, and the difference was attributed to the incidence of migration which required a closer correspondence between organic process and external environment. But the significance for us just now lies in the fact that the definiteness, which accompanies the initial behaviour of the migratory male in relation to the territory, cannot have been acquired by repetition; for this reason, that when the male occupies its space of ground at the end of its long and arduous journey, it does so without preparation or experiment, even without hesitation, as if aware that it was making good the first step in the process of reproduction. No doubt, if it happened to be an individual that had already experienced the enjoyment of reproduction, it might be aware of the immediate result^ to be achieved and act accordingly. But among the hosts of migrants that one observes, there must be many males which have not previously mated; and yet, upon arrival, they all behave in a similarly definite manner—so that experience cannot well be the primary factor in the situation. If, then, the essential condition of habit formation is absent and experience is eliminated, there is nothing left but racial preparation to fall back upon.
​Nevertheless, it is true that many resident males seem to pass through a period of indecision before they establish themselves permanently in their respective territories; they come and go, their visits grow more and more prolonged, and only after the lapse of some considerable time does the process of establishment attain that degree of completeness which is represented in the initial behaviour of the migratory male. Their whole procedure seems therefore to bear the stamp of individual acquirement; and, if it stood alone, we might be content to construe it thus, but the example of the migratory male necessitates our looking elsewhere for the real meaning of the indecision.
Let me first of all give some instances of the persistence with which a male remains in one spot, and this despite the fact that it has no mate.
A Reed-Bunting occupied a central territory in a strip of marshy ground inhabited annually by four or five males of this species. Throughout April. May, and until the 19th June, it clung to its small plot of ground, tolerated no intrusion, and sang incessantly.
Two Whitethroats arrived at much the same time—the 30th April approximately—and occupied the corner of a small plantation; the one obtained a mate the day following its arrival, the other remained unpaired for a fortnight.
A Reed- Warbler established itself amongst ​some willows and alders adjoining a reed-bed and made its headquarters in a small willow bush. Not more than fifteen yards away, on the edge of the main portion of the reeds, another male was established and was paired on the 22nd May. Each morning the single male behaved in much the same way, singing continuously whilst perched upon the bush. And so the days passed by until it seemed improbable that it would ever secure a mate, but one appeared on the 20th June, and a nest was built forthwith.
Now it is difficult to believe that a chance visit, even though repeated for a few mornings in succession, could have accounted for the Reed-Bunting remaining so persistently in the marsh, or the Whitethroat in one corner of the osier bed, or the Reed- Warbler in that one particular willow. Not only so, but if a habit of such evident strength can be acquired so readily, we have a right to ask why it should only be acquired in the spring—why not at every season? Considerations such as these lead to the belief that there must be some congenital basis to account for such persistent endeavour; the more so since it is difficult not to be impressed with the conative aspect of the male's behaviour. To a stranger, unacquainted with its previous history, the bird might appear to be leading a life of hesitation, whereas, if carefully watched, its whole attitude will be found to betray symptoms of a striving towards some end; and the frequent departure and return, which might ​be pointed to as the material from which a definite mode of procedure would be likely to emerge, is in reality behaviour of a determinate sort.
My interpretation, then, of^ the apparent indecision in the behaviour of the resident male is this. During the winter most species live in societies, together they seek their food and together they retire in the evening to the accustomed roosting places; and the association of different individuals confers mutual benefits upon the associates. The movements of these societies are dominated by the question of food; all else is subservient, and the supply of the necessary sustenance may, under certain conditions, become a difficulty which can only be met by energy and resource. After the long night the sensation of hunger is strong, and the birds, on awakening, fly to the accustomed feeding grounds, returning again in the evening to the selected spot, and by frequent repetition a routine becomes established. Thus the behaviour of each individual is determined not only by the powerful gregarious impulse but also by the habits formed in connection therewith during many weeks in succession. Now with the rise of the appropriate organic state, the disposition to seek the breeding ground and there to establish itself becomes dominant in the male. But the process is a gradual one. There is no need, as happens amongst the migrants, for the period of organic change to conform rigidly to the growth of ​any particular condition in the environment, and hence for a time the bird oscillates between two modes of behaviour—between that one organised by frequent repetition and that one determined by the functioning of this new disposition.
To look at the matter broadly, it is scarcely likely that so definite a mode of behaviour would recur with such regularity, generation after generation, in the individuals belonging to so many widely divergent forms, if it had no root in the inborn constitution of the bird. But the law of habit formation has its part to play also. By itself it is inadequate; yet it probably does assist very materially in adding still greater definition, and it probably is responsible in a large measure for determining the limits of the territory according to the conditions of existence of the species—thus the Falcon seeks its prey over wide tracts of land, and, by hunting over certain ground repeatedly, establishes a routine, which broadly fixes the area occupied; the Woodpecker cannot find food upon every tree, and every forest does not contain the necessary trees, and therefore the bird regulates its flight according to the position of the trees; and the Warbler, finding food close at hand, does not need to travel far, and the area it occupies is consequently small.
So that the most likely solution of the problem will be found in a combination of our second and third propositions; that is to say, in ​an initial responsive behaviour provided for in the inherited constitution of the nervous system, and in a definiteness acquired by repetition and determined by relationships in the external environment.
* ↑ June 1915. R. M. Barrington.
* ↑ Dictionary of Birds, p. 556.