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Explorations Introduction To Astronomy 8th Edition Arny Test Bank 1
Explorations Introduction To Astronomy 8th Edition Arny Test Bank 1
3
1. A rock has a density of 2 g/cm . If another rock has twice as much mass but the same volume, its density must
3
be _____ g/cm .
A. 0.5
B. 2
C. 4
D. 8
3
2. A spherical rock has a density of 3 g/cm . If another rock has the same mass but is twice as wide, its density
3
must be _____ g/cm .
A. 3/8
B. 3/4
C. 3/2
D. 6
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A. larger at the poles.
B. larger at the equator.
C. the same everywhere.
D. not known.
6-2
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McGraw-Hill Education.
4. Density is calculated as
3
A. about 5.5 g/cm
3
B. about 5.5 cm /g
3
C. about 1 g/cm
3
D. about 1 cm /g
6. The typical density for a rock found on the surface of the Earth is ________ the average density of the Earth
overall.
A. greater than
B. less than
C. about equal to
6-3
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McGraw-Hill Education.
7. Why are the Earth and other planets spherical while smaller bodies such as most asteroids are not?
A. a perfect sphere
B. an oblate spheroid
C. a prolate ellipsoid
D. an annular toroid
E. flat
9. Rocks that include silicon and oxygen as major components are called ____.
A. silicons
B. silicates
C. dioxides
D. di-silicons
E. silicides
6-4
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McGraw-Hill Education.
10. What is a silicate?
3
12. The Moon has an average density of 3.3 g/cm . From this number, what can we infer about the
composition of the Moon?
13. What are the most common elements composing the Earth?
6-5
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vigorous growth of underwood. Other trees, which have not yet
succumbed to decay, lie prostrate and bar the way. The wind has swept
the fallen wood, both thick branches and delicate twigs, into floating
islands and obtrusive snags, which present to the small boat obstacles not
less difficult than those which obstruct the explorer on foot. Similar
floating islands, composed of reeds and sedges, form a deceptive
covering over wide stretches of water. Raised mud-banks, on which
willows and poplars have found a suitable soil for their seeds, have
become impenetrable thickets, disputing the possession of the ground
even with the forests of reeds which are often many square miles in
extent. Dwarf willows, at once youthful and senile forests, form dark
patches in the heart of the reed-beds. What may be concealed in the
gloomy wood, with its bogs and thickets, or by the reeds, remains almost
quite hidden from the searching eye of the naturalist, for he can see
through no more than the fringe of this wilderness, nor traverse it except
along the broader waterways.
Until near the breeding-time, the sea-eagle lives at peace with his
fellows; but, as that season approaches, he becomes combative and
quarrelsome, in most cases through jealousy. For the sake of mate and
eyrie, he wages bitter war with others of his species. An eagle pair, once
united, remain so for life, but only if the male is able to protect his mate
from the wooing of others, and to defend his own eyrie. A male eagle,
which has just reached maturity and is exulting in the consciousness of
his strength, casts his eyes longingly upon the mate and eyrie of another
eagle, and both are lost to their owner if he allows himself to be
vanquished in fight by the intruder. The rightful lord, therefore, fights to
the death against everyone who attempts to disturb his marital and
domestic happiness. The battle begins high in the air, but is often
finished on the ground. With beak and claw, first one, then the other
ventures an assault; at length one succeeds in getting a grip of his
adversary, whose talons, in return, are promptly fixed in his rival’s body.
Like balls of feathers, the two fall to the ground, or into the water, when
both let go their hold, but only to renew the attack. When they fight on
the ground, the rivals challenge one another like enraged cocks, and
blood and feathers left behind show the scene of the battle and bear
witness to its deadly seriousness. The female circles above the
combatants or watches them from her high perch with seeming
indifference, but she never fails to caress the conqueror, whether he be
her lawful spouse or the new-comer. Woe to the eagle if he does not
succeed in repulsing the intruder! In the eyes of the female, none but the
strong deserves the fair.
After successfully repelled attacks and fights of that kind, from which no
eagle is exempt, and which are said to be repeated in Hungary every
year, the pair, probably long wedded, take possession of the old eyrie,
and begin, in February, to repair it. Both birds set to work to collect the
necessary material, picking it up from the ground, or from the water, or
breaking it off the trees, and carrying it in their talons, often for a long
distance, to the nest, to rebuild and improve this as well as an eagle can.
As this building up of the old nest takes place every year, it gradually
grows to a considerable height, and one can tell from it the age of the
birds, and may also guess the probable duration of their wedded life; for
the oldest nest contains the oldest pair of eagles. The nest is not always
placed among the highest branches of the tree, but is in all cases high
above the ground, more or less near the trunk, and always on strong
boughs which can bear its heavy and ever-increasing weight. Both upper
and lower tiers consist of sticks and twigs laid loosely above and across
one another; and many pairs of hedge-sparrows, which approach the
mighty birds quite boldly and confidently, find among these twigs
cavities suitable for nesting or hiding.
Towards the end of February, or in the beginning of March, the female
lays two, or at most three eggs in the shallow nest-cavity, and begins
brooding assiduously. The male meantime supplies her with food, not,
however, making longer expeditions in search of it than are absolutely
necessary, but spending whatever time he can spare from the work of
providing for her and himself, sitting, a faithful and attentive guardian,
on a tree in the neighbourhood, which serves him at once as perch and
sleeping-place. After about four weeks of brooding, the young emerge
from the eggs, looking at first like soft balls of wool, from which dark
eyes peer forth, and a dark bill and very sharp claws protrude. Even in
their earliest youth the little creatures are as pretty as they are self-
possessed. Now there is work enough for both father and mother. The
two take turns in going forth to seek for prey, and in mounting guard
over the little ones; but it is the mother who tends them. The father
honestly performs his part in the rearing of the brood; but the mother
alone is capable of giving them that care and attention which may be
described as nursing. If she were torn from them in the first days of their
life, they would perish as surely as young mammals robbed of their
suckling mother. With her own breast the eagle-mother protects them
from frost and snow; from her own crop she supplies them with warmed,
softened, and partly-digested food. The eagle-father does not render such
nursing services as these, but if the mother perish when the young are
half-grown, he unhesitatingly takes upon himself the task of rearing and
feeding them, and often performs it with the most self-sacrificing toil.
The young eagles grow rapidly. In the third week of their existence the
upper surface of the body is covered with feathers; towards the end of
May they are full-grown and fully fledged. Then they leave the nest, to
prepare, under the guidance of their parents, for the business of life.
This is a picture, drawn with hasty strokes, of the life of the eagle, which,
for the next few days, was the object of our expeditions. No fewer than
nineteen inhabited eyries were visited by us with varying success. Now
on foot, now in little boats, now jumping and wading, now creeping and
gliding, we endeavoured, unseen and unheard, to approach the trees
bearing the nests; for hours we crouched expectantly beneath them in
huts hastily built with branches, gazing eagerly up at the eagles, which,
startled by us or others, were wheeling and circling high in the air, and
showing no inclination to return to their nests, but which we knew must
return sometime, and would probably fall victims to us. We were able to
observe them very accurately and fully, and this eagle-hunt gained,
therefore, an indescribable charm for us all.
Except for the eagles and other birds of prey which we secured, the
forests, which looked so promising, proved, or at any rate seemed, to be
poor in feathered inhabitants. Of course it was early in the year, and the
stream of migration was still in full flood; nor did we succeed in
investigating more than the outskirts of the forest. But even the number
of birds which had returned and taken up their quarters on the outskirts
of the forest did not come up to our expectations. And yet this apparent
poverty disappointed me less than the lack of good songsters. The song-
thrush did indeed pour forth its rich music through the woods fragrant
with the breath of spring; here and there a nightingale sang; the finch
warbled its spring greeting everywhere; and even a white-throat tried its
notes, but none of these satisfied our critical ear. All who sang or
warbled seemed merely bunglers, not masters. And at last we began to
feel that real song did not belong to those dark woods at all, that the cries
of eagles and falcons, the hooting of horned owls and screech-owls, the
croaking of water-hens and terns, the shrill cry of herons and the laughter
of woodpeckers, the cuckoos’ call and the cooing of stock-doves were
the music best befitting them, and that, besides these, the only bird that
had a right to sing was the sedge-warbler, who lived among the reeds and
bulrushes, and who had borrowed most of his intricate song from the
frogs.
On the fourth day we hunted in the Keskender forest, a few miles from
the banks of the Danube. As we left the forests on the river banks, we
had to traverse a great plain bounded in the far distance by a chain of
hills. Our route lay through well-cultivated fields belonging to the large
estate of Bellye—a model of good management—and we made rapid
progress on swift horses. Here and there marshy meadows, with pools
and ditches, a little thicket, large farm-buildings surrounded by gnarled
oaks, a hamlet, a village, but for the most part treeless fields; this was the
character of the district through which we hastened. Larks innumerable
rose singing from the fields; dainty water-wagtails tripped about the
roads; shrikes and corn-buntings sat on every wayside hedge; brooding
jackdaws and starlings bustled and clamoured about their nests in the
crowns of the oaks; above the ponds ospreys were wheeling on the
outlook for fish, and graceful terns skimmed along in zigzag flight; the
lapwing busied itself in the marshes. Apart from these, we observed very
few birds. Even the Keskender wood, a well-kept forest, which we
reached after two hours’ riding, was poor in species, notwithstanding its
varied character. There, however, were the nests of spotted-eagles and
ospreys, short-toed eagles and common buzzards, falcons, owls, and,
above all, black storks in surprising numbers, and our expedition was
therefore successful beyond all expectation. And yet the foresters, who,
in anticipation of the Crown Prince’s visit, had, only a few days before,
searched the woods and noted the position of the various eyries on a
hastily constructed map, did not know of nearly all the birds of prey and
black storks nesting in the forest. “It is like Paradise here,” remarked the
Crown Prince Rudolf, and these words accurately described the relations
between men and animals in Hungary. Like the Oriental, the Hungarian
is happily not possessed by the mania for killing which has caused the
extreme shyness of the animals, and the painfully evident poverty of
animal life in Western Europe; he does not grudge a home even to the
bird of prey which settles on his land, and he does not make constant and
cruel raids on the animal world, which lives and moves about him. Not
even the low self-interest which at present prompts covetous feather-
dealers to make yearly expeditions to the marshes of the lower Danube,
and which sacrifices hundreds of thousands of happy and interesting
bird-lives for the sake of their feathers, has had power to move the
Magyar from his good old customs. It may be that indifference to the
animal life around him has something to do with his hospitality; but the
hospitality is there, and it has not yet given place to a thirst for
persecution. Animals, and especially birds, remain quite confidently in
the neighbourhood of men; they go about their own affairs quite
unconcerned as to what men may be doing. The eagle has his eyrie by
the roadside, the raven nests among the trees in the field, the black or
wood stork is hardly more shy than the sacred house-stork; the deer does
not rise from his lair when a carriage passes within rifle-range. Verily, it
is like Paradise.
But we found a state of paradise elsewhere than in the Keskender forest.
After we had roamed through the forest in many directions, and had
visited more than twenty eyries of buzzards and ospreys and black
storks, and had refreshed and strengthened ourselves with an excellent
breakfast provided for us, and still more with the delicious wine of the
district, we set out on our return journey to the ship, urged to haste by
threatening thunder-clouds, but still hunting and collecting as time and
opportunity allowed. Our route was different from that which we had
followed in coming to the forest; it was a good high-road connecting a
number of villages. We passed through several of those, and again the
road led us between houses. There was nothing remarkable about the
buildings, but the people were stranger than my fancy could have
pictured. The population of Dalyok consists almost solely of Schokazen
or Catholic Servians, who migrated from the Balkan Peninsula, or were
brought thither by the Turks, during the period of the Turkish supremacy.
They are handsome, slender people these Schokazen, the men tall and
strong, the women at least equal to the men, extremely well built and
apparently rather pretty. We could form a definite opinion with regard to
their figures, but, as far as their faces were concerned, we had to depend
to some extent on our own imagination. For the Schokaz women wear a
style of dress which will hardly be found elsewhere within the
boundaries of Europe at the present day: a dress which our princely
patron, happy as usual in his descriptions, called mythological. When I
say that head and face were almost entirely enveloped in quaintly yet not
unpicturesquely wound and knotted cloths, and that the skirt was
replaced by two gaily-coloured apron-like pieces of cloth, not connected
with each other, I may leave the rest to the most lively imagination
without fearing that it will be likely to exceed the actual state of things.
For my own part I was reminded of a camp of Arab nomad herdsmen
which I had once seen in the primitive forests of Central Africa.
At dusk, under pouring rain, we reached our comfortable vessel. Rain
fell the following morning also, the whole day was gloomy, and our
expedition was proportionately disappointing. All this impelled us to
continue our journey, though we look back gratefully on those pleasant
days on the Bellye estate, and though it would have been well worth
while to have observed and collected there a few days longer. With warm
and well-earned words of praise the Crown Prince bade farewell to the
officials on the archducal estate; one glance more at the woods which
had offered us so much, and our swift little vessel steams down the
Danube again. After a few hours we reach Draueck, the mouth of the
river Drau, which thenceforward seems to determine the direction of the
Danube bed. One of the grandest river pictures I have ever seen
presented itself to our gaze. A vast sheet of water spread out before us;
towards the south it is bounded by smiling hills, on all the other sides by
forests, such as we had already seen. Neither the course of the main
stream nor the bed of its tributary could be made out; the whole
enormous sheet of water was like an inclosed lake whose banks were
only visible at the chain of hills above mentioned; for through the green
vistas of the forest one saw more water, thickets, and reed-beds, these
last covering the great marsh of Hullo, which stretches out in apparently
endless extent. Giant tree-trunks, carried down by both streams, and only
partly submerged, assumed the most fantastic shapes; it seemed as if
fabled creatures of the primitive world reared their scaly bodies above
the dark flood. For the “blonde” Danube looked dark, almost black, as
we sped through the Draueck. Grayish-black and dark-blue thunder-
clouds hung in the heavens, apparently also amidst the hundred-toned
green of the forests, and over the unvarying faded yellow of the reed-
beds; flashes of lightning illumined the whole picture vividly; the rain
splashed down; the thunder rolled; the wind howled through the tops of
the tall old trees, lashed up the surface of the water, and crowned the
dark crests of the waves with gray-white foam; but away in the south-
east the sun had broken through the dark clouds, edged them with purple
and gold, illumined them so that the black shadows grew yet blacker, and
shone brightly down on the smiling hills, which lead up to a mountain
range far away on the horizon. Below and beyond us lay hamlets and
villages, but, where we were, at most a cone-shaped, reed-covered fisher-
hut broke the primeval character of the magnificent scene, which, in its
wildness and in the weird effect of the momentary flashes of light, was
sublime beyond description.
The scarcity of birds was striking, as indeed was the desolateness of the
whole sheet of water. Not a gull floated over the mirror of the Danube,
not a tern winged its zigzag flight up and down; at most a few drakes
rose from the river. Now and then a common heron, a flight of night-
herons, an erne, and a few kites, hooded crows and ravens, perhaps also
a flock of lapwings, and the list of birds which one usually sees is
exhausted.
From the following day onwards we hunted and explored a wonderful
district. The blue mountains, upon which lay bright, golden sunlight
during the thunder-storm of the previous day, are the heights of
Fruskagora, a wooded hill range of the most delightful kind. Count
Rudolf Chotek had prepared everything for the fitting reception of our
Prince, and thus we enjoyed several days which can never be forgotten.
From the village of Čerewič, on the upper side of which our vessel lay,
we drove daily through the gorges, climbed the heights on foot or on
horseback, to return homewards each evening delighted and invigorated.
The golden May-tide refreshed heart and soul, and our host’s untiring
attention, complaisance, courtesy, and kindness went far to make the
days passed at Fruskagora the pleasantest and most valuable part of our
whole journey.
It was a charming district, about which we roamed every day. Around the
village was a range of fields; beyond these a girdle of vineyards which
reach to the very edge of the forest; in the valleys and gorges between
them the innumerable fruit trees were laden with fragrant blossom,
which brightened the whole landscape; on the banks, beside the road
which usually led through the valleys, there was a dense growth of
bushes, and the refreshing charm of the wealth of blossom was enhanced
by the murmuring brooks and trickling runlets of water. From the first
heights we reached the view was surprisingly beautiful. In the
foreground lay the picturesque village of Čerewič; then the broad
Danube, with its meadow-forests on the opposite shore; behind these
stretched the boundless Hungarian plain, exhibiting to the spectator its
fields and meadows, woods and marshes, villages and market towns in
an unsteady, changeful light, which gave them a peculiar charm; in the
east lay the stronghold of Peterwardein. Larks rose singing from the
fields; the nightingale poured forth its tuneful lay from the bushes; the
cheery song of the rock-thrush rang down from the vineyards; and two
species of vulture and three kinds of eagle were describing great circles
high in the air.
When we had gone a little farther we lost sight of river, villages, and
fields, and entered one of the secluded forest-valleys. The sides of the
mountain rise precipitously from it, and, like the ridges and slopes, they
are densely wooded, though the trees are not very tall. Oaks and limes,
elms and maples predominate in some places, copper-beeches and
hornbeams in others; thick, low bushes, which shelter many a pair of
nightingales, are scattered about the outskirts of the forest. No
magnificent far-reaching views reward the traveller who climbs to the
highest ridge to see Hungary lying to the north, and Servia to the south;
but the mysterious darkness of the forest soothes soul and sense. From
the main ridge, which is at most 3000 feet in height, many chains branch
off on either side almost at right angles, and have a fine effect from
whatever side one looks at them. Among them are valleys or enclosed
basins whose steep walls make transport of felled wood impossible, and
which therefore display all the natural luxuriance of forest growth.
Gigantic beeches, with straight trunks smooth up to the spreading crown,
rise from amid mouldering leaves in which the huntsman sinks to the
knee; gnarled oaks raise their rugged heads into the air as if to invite the
birds of prey to nest there; dome-like limes form such a close roof of
leaves, that only a much-broken reflection of the sun’s rays trembles on
the ground. In addition to the nightingale, which is everywhere abundant,
the songsters of this forest are the song-thrush and blackbird, golden
oriole and red-breast, chaffinch and wood-wren; the cuckoo calls its
spring greeting from hill to hill; black and green woodpeckers, nut-
hatches and titmice, ring-doves and stock-doves may be heard in all
directions.
We had come here chiefly to hunt the largest European bird of prey, the
black vulture, Fruskagora being apparently the northern boundary of its
breeding region. The other large European vulture had recently appeared
in the district, probably attracted by the unfortunate victims of the
Servian war, and both species brooded here protected by the lord of the
estate, who was an enthusiastic naturalist. I was already acquainted with
both these species of vulture, for I had seen them on former journeys, but
it was a great pleasure to me to observe them in their brooding-place, and
hear the reports of my fellow-sportsmen and of Count Chotek; for on this
expedition also our main desire was to increase our knowledge of animal
life. Here again we were able to make a long series of observations, and
many aspects of the life of both these giant birds, which had hitherto
been obscure to us all, were cleared up and explained by our
investigations.
The crested black vulture, whose range of distribution is not confined to
the three southern peninsulas of Europe, but extends also through West
and Central Asia, to India and China, is resident in Fruskagora, but after
the brooding season he frequently makes long expeditions, which bring
him regularly to Northern Hungary, and frequently to Moravia, Bohemia,
and Silesia. His powerful wings enable him to undertake such
expeditions without the slightest difficulty. Unfettered by eggs or
helpless young, he flies early in the morning from the tree on which he
has passed the night, ascends spirally to a height to which the human eye
unaided cannot follow him, then with his incomparably keen, mobile
eye, whose focal distance can be rapidly altered, he scans the horizon,
detects unfailingly even small carrion, and alights to devour and digest it,
or to store it in his crop. After feeding he returns to his accustomed
place, or continues his pathless journeying. Not only does he carefully
scan the land lying beneath him, perhaps for many square miles, but he
keeps watch on the movements of others of his species, or of any large
carrion-eating birds, that he may profit by their discoveries. Thus only
can we explain the sudden and simultaneous appearance of several, or
even many vultures beside a large carcass, even in a region not usually
inhabited by these birds. They are guided in their search for prey, not by
their sense of smell, which is dull, but by sight. One flies after another
when he sees that he has discovered carrion, and his swiftness of flight is
so great that he can usually be in time to share the feast, if he sees the
finder circling above his booty. Certainly he must lose no time, for it is
not for nothing that he and his kin are called “geier”; their greed beggars
description. Within a few minutes three or four vultures will stow away
the carcass of a sheep or a dog in their crops, leaving only the most
trifling remains; the meal-time therefore passes with incredible rapidity,
and whoever arrives late on the scene is doomed to disappointment.
The country round Fruskagora yields a good deal more to the vultures
than an occasional feast of carrion, for in the stomachs of those which we
shot and dissected we found remains of souslik and large lizards, which
are scarcely likely to have been found dead, but were more probably
seized and killed.
On account of the northerly situation of Fruskagora, and the well-ordered
state of the surrounding country, which is not very favourable to
vultures, the black vultures were still brooding during our visit, though
others of the same species, whose haunts were farther south, must
undoubtedly have had young birds by that time. The eyries were placed
in the tallest trees, and most of them on the uppermost third of the
mountain side. Many were quite well known to Count Chotek and his
game-keepers, for they had been occupied as a brooding-place by a pair
of vultures, possibly the same pair, for at least twenty years, and as they
had been added to each year they had assumed very considerable
proportions. Others seemed of more recent origin, but all were
apparently the work of the vultures themselves. In the oldest and largest
of them, a full-grown man could have reclined without his head or feet
being seen projecting over the edge.
Under these eyries we sat watching, listening to the life and bustle of the
woods, and waiting in the hope of getting a shot at the vultures which
our approach had scared away. For four days we went to the splendid
woods every morning, and never did we return to our vessel empty-
handed. No fewer than eight large vultures, several eagles, and numerous
smaller birds fell to our guns, while valuable observations, which
fascinated us all, added zest and interest to our sport. But when the last
rays of the sun had disappeared, the younger portion of the population
assembled about our ship. Violin and bagpipes joined in a wonderful but
simple melody, and youths and maidens danced the rhythmically
undulating national round dances in honour of their august guest.
After we had hunted successfully on both sides of the Danube, we took
leave, on the fifth day after our arrival in Čerewič, of our most devoted
host, the lord of the estates, and continued our journey down the river. In
three-quarters of an hour we passed Peterwardein, a small, antiquated,
but picturesquely situated stronghold, and an hour and a half later, we
reached Carlowitz, near which we spent the night. The next morning we
reached Kovil, the goal of our journey.
In the neighbourhood of this large village, and girdled by cultivated
fields, there are woods in which the oak predominates, but which have
such a dense undergrowth, that notwithstanding the many villages about,
the wolves and wild-cats lead a threatening but scarcely threatened
existence in them. It is not to be wondered at, therefore, that birds of
prey of all kinds, especially sea-eagles, imperial eagles, spotted eagles,
and booted eagles, “short-toed eagles”, kites, hawks, horned and other
owls should have chosen them as a nesting-place, and that they should
also harbour all kinds of small birds. Sure of rich booty the Crown Prince
and his brother-in-law directed their steps to these woods, while Eugen
von Homeyer and I tried our luck up-stream beyond the village, in a
marsh which the flood, then at its height, had transformed into a great
lake.
Fig. 82.—Nest of the Penduline Titmouse (Parus pendulinus).
A surprisingly rich and varied life reigned in this marsh, though only a
very small fraction of the feathered population could be seen, and indeed
the tide of migration was still in full flood. Great flocks of black terns
flew in almost unbroken succession up the river, sometimes assembling
in compact swarms, sometimes distributing themselves over the whole
breadth of the flooded Danube; hundreds of glossy or dark ibises
wandered up and down the stream, flying in the usual wedge-shaped
order towards or away from the neighbouring river Theiss, apparently
still in search of suitable nesting-places; purple herons, common herons,
and squacco herons strode about fishing in all accessible parts of the
great expanse of water; marsh-barriers flew along their accustomed
routes carrying long reed-stalks to their nests; ducks, mating a second
time because the flood had robbed them of their eggs, rose noisily from
the water on the approach of our small flat boat, while grebes and
dabchicks dived for safety—in short, every part of the vast expanse was
peopled. A forester well acquainted with all the paths through the
submerged wood, awaited us in a house which rose above the flood like
an island, and acted as our guide through a forest-wilderness which far
surpassed all that we had hitherto seen, for the water had added new
obstacles to those always present. Brushing past many branches which
must usually be high above the ground, often stooping beneath boughs
which blocked our way, we attempted to find a route between half or
wholly fallen trees, logs, and drift-wood, and to penetrate to the heart of
the forest. Brooding mallards, whose nests in the tops of the willows had
been spared by the flood, did not rise on our approach, even though we
glided by within a yard of them. Eared grebes, which were out on the
open water, when they saw us, swam sideways into the green thicket of
tree-crowns, chiefly willows, which rose just above the surface; water-
wagtails ran from one piece of drift-wood to another; spotted
woodpeckers and nut-hatches clung to the tree-trunks close to the water,
and searched for food as usual. One picture of bird-life crowded upon
another; but all seemed unfamiliar, because altered by the prevailing
conditions. To reach a sea-eagle’s eyrie we were obliged to wade a long
distance; to visit a raven’s nest we had to make a wide détour. Hunting in
the approved fashion was impossible under such circumstances, but our
expedition rewarded us richly. To me personally it afforded the pleasure
of seeing one of the best of the feathered architects of Europe, the
penduline titmouse, at work on its nest, and of observing for the first
time its life and habits.[88]
The following day our whole company assembled in one of the woods
already mentioned. A Hungarian forester had made preparations for a
wolf-drive on a grand scale, but had arranged it so unskilfully that Friend
Isegrim succeeded in slipping away unperceived. The unpromising chase
was therefore soon abandoned, and the short time which remained to us
was devoted to more profitable observation of the bird-life in the forest.
In the course of the same afternoon we left Kovil, reached Peterwardein
the same evening, steamed past Fruskagora early in the night, left the
vessel once more the following day to hunt in the marsh of Hullo, saw
there the noble heron which we had until then sought for in vain, but
were obliged to hurry onwards so as not to miss the fast train for Vienna.
Gratefully looking back on the days we had spent, and lamenting the
swiftness with which they had sped, we steamed rapidly past all the river
forests, which had afforded us so much enjoyment, and, with the ardent
wish that we might some day return to spend a longer time in it, we took
leave of this rich and unique country.
NOTES BY THE EDITOR.