Ch. 17: The Crested Screamer - Page 2

between birds and
reptiles belonging to the Upper Jurassic period.

The screamer's right to dwell with the geese has not been left
unchallenged. The late Professor Garrod finds that "from considerations
of pterylosis, visceral anatomy, myology, and osteology the screamer
cannot be placed along with the Anserine birds." He finds that in some
points it resembles the ostrich and rhea, and concludes: "It seems
therefore to me that, summing these results, the screamer must have
sprung from the primary avian stock as an independent offshoot at much
the same time as did most of the other important families." This time,
he further tells us, was when there occurred a general break-up of the
ancient terrestrial bird-type, when the acquisition of wings brought
many intruders into domains already occupied, calling forth a new
struggle for existence, and bringing out many special qualities by means
of natural selection.

With this archaeological question I have little to do, and only quote
the above great authorities to show that the screamer appears to be
nearly the last descendant of an exceedingly ancient family, with little
or no relationship to other existing families, and that its pedigree has
been hopelessly lost in the night of an incalculable antiquity. I have
only to speak of the bird as a part of the visible world and as it
appears to the non-scientific lover of nature; for, curiously enough,
while anatomists nave been laboriously seeking for the screamer's
affinities in that "biological field which is as wide as the earth and
deep as the sea," travellers and ornithologists have told us almost
nothing about its strange character and habits.

Though dressed with Quaker-like sobriety, and without the elegance of
form distinguishing the swan or peacock, this bird yet appeals to the
aesthetic feelings in man more than any species I am acquainted with.
Voice is one of its strong points, as one might readily infer from the
name: nevertheless the name is not an appropriate one, for though the
bird certainly does scream, and that louder than the peacock, its scream
is only a powerful note of alarm uttered occasionally, while the notes
uttered at intervals in the night, or in the day-time, when it soars
upwards like the lark of some far-off imaginary epoch in the world's
history when all tilings, larks included, were on a gigantic scale, are.
properly speaking, singing notes and in quality utterly unlike screams.
Sometimes when walking across Regent's Park I bear the resounding cries
of the bird confined there attempting to sing; above the concert of
cranes, the screams of eagles and macaws, the howling of dogs and wolves
and the muffled roar of lions, one can hear it all over the