B 3 BED 020 *9/0- LAN EMERSON BIOLOGY LIBRARY 6 BIRDS, BEASTS, AND FISHES OF THE NORFOLK BROADLAND BIRDS BEASTS AND FISHES OF THE NORFOLK BROADLAND BY P. H. EMERSON B.A., M.B. (CANTAB), M.R.C.S. ENG., A.K.C FELLOW OK THE ROYAL HORTICULTURAL, METEOROLOGICAL, AND PHOTOGRAPHIC SOCIETIES, AND MEMBER OF THE SOCIETY OF ARTS ALTHOR OF A SON' OK THE FEN'S," "\VILD LIFE OX A TIDAL WATER," " ON ENGLISH LAGOONS,' "TALES FROM WELSH WALES." "SIGNOR I.IPPO," ETC. 3rito6tratrtJ tottj) IHvtp*eig;I)t IPMosrap&e bv @T. &• Cotton LONDON DAVID NUTT, 270-71 STRAND 1895 [AH rights reserved] o b 6l LIBRARY G Printed by BALLANTYNE, HANSON & Co. At the Ballantyne Press PREFATORY NOTE TO THE SECOND ISSUE THE present issue remains unaltered, save that some passages in Chapter LXIX. of Part I., and XVIII. of Part II., which were held, whether rightly or wrongly need not here be discussed, to make the book less suitable for general reading, have been left out or changed, and that the Preface to the First Edition has been omitted. As the author's statement that many of the illustrations were taken from life has been implicitly or explicitly denied by some of his reviewers, it is here emphatically reaffirmed. The author's terminology and classification are not those of official " natural histories," and some reviewers have assumed that when he differs from the "authorities" he must be in the wrong. He thinks it well to state that he maintains the accuracy of every fact recorded in the follow- ing pages. He has set down nothing save on the warrant of his own observation extending over many years, or on the authority of fowlers, ratcatchers, fishermen, gamekeepers, and the like, whose work brings them into daily contact with the birds, beasts, and fishes of the Norfolk Broadland. ? ERRATA age 23, line 32, for " gauge " read " gage." » 37» » 4,/^"soft"mwr"loud." „ 37, „ 21, for " April " read " summer." » 38, „ 3,/^"asthe"mwr"asthatofthe." „ 38, „ 22,/ » 14) for " mice-like " read " mouse-like." „ 71, „ 6, for " pied "raw?" white." „ 71, „ 21, y^r " parnassian grass" read" water crowsfoot." „ 72, „ 20, for " florets " read " leaflets." „ 99, „ 12, for " brown " mzd' " hard." „ 106, „ 1 5, for " water-lilies " read " water-violets." „ 112, „ 35, for " for they " read " for, to all appearance, they." „ 145, „ 23, for " themselves " read " themselves entirely." „ 145, „ 25, for "after the manner of a pigeon" read"&& opera- tion which, at a distance, has the appearance of a pigeon feeding her young." „ 151, „ i, for "swallow family" read " popularly called swallow family." „ 166, „ 12, /0r " heteras " raza? " hetairas." „ 208, „ 4, for "ruddy" read" common." „ 210, „ 23, for " Everett " read " Everitt ; " for " Oulton " read " Oulton Broad." „ 219, „ 14, for "diving" read u dive." „ 240, „ 31, for " budding " read " leafy." „ 243, „ 9, for "wakes "read11 walls." 55 25°) » 32) for " shout " read " whistle." )) 2 5 5) j) J 3> /^r " on " read " over." „ 277, ., 1 8, for " till he is about to fly up " read " look." „ 277, „ 22, for "their" read'''- three." „ 278, „ 22, for " but " read " they." „ 279, ,, 26, for " down " read " up." „ 285, „ 1 7, for " vocal " read " laryngeal." „ 292, „ 3, for " simple-like" read " snipe-like." „ 292, Plate, for "black-tailed godwits " read "bar-tailed godwits." „ 309, line 6, for "pile" read " plod." )» 3°9) » 26, for " night-jar " read " rook." 55 3J3) » J9> ^r "stomach" read" crop." „ 320, „ 4, /9 LXIX. SWANS 211 LXX. THE MALLARD 217 LXXI. THE SHOVELLER AND PINTAIL DUCKS . . . 224 LXXII. TWO TEAL 226 LXXIII. WIDGEON 230 LXXIV. "POKER" DUCKS 232 LXXV. THE GOOSANDER, MERGANSER, AND SMEW . . 237 LXXVI. WILD PIGEONS 238 LXXVII. PALLAS' SAND-GROUSE AND QUAILS . . .242 LXXVIII. THE PHEASANT - . 243 LXXIX. PARTRIDGES 245 LXXX. THE RAILS 249 LXXXI. THE WATERHEN 2$ 5 LXXXII. THE COOT 260 LXXXIII. RINGED PLOVER . 268 LXXXIV. GOLDEN PLOVER 270 LXXXV. THE PEEWIT OR " PIWIPE " 272 LXXXVI. THE AVOCET 28 1 LXXXVII. WOODCOCK 282 LXXXVIII. SNIPE 285 LXXXIX. THE COMMON SANDPIPER 292 XC. THE RUFF AND REEVE 293 XCL THE RED-LEG 297 XCII. CURLEWS 304 xcin. THE "COMMON TERNER" 306 XCIV. THE BROWN-HEADED GULL 307 XCV. SEA-GULLS 311 XCVI. GREAT NORTHERN DIVER 313 XCVII. GREAT CRESTED GREBE 31$ xcvin. THE "DOB-CHICKEN" 319 xii CONTENTS PART II.— BEASTS AND FISHES (MAMMALS, FISH, AND REPTILES) CHAP. PAGE I. BATS 323 II. HARE 325 III. MICE AND VOLES 33O IV. THE MOLE . 334 V. THE OTTER 339 VI. POLECATS, STOATS, AND WEASELS 344 VII. THE RABBIT 35O VIII. RATS 354 IX. SHREW MOUSE OR RANA, AND SQUIRRELS . . 363 X. BREAM 364 XI. EELS 366 XII. THE PERCH 371 XIII. THE PIKE 373 XIV. ROACH 381 XV. RUDD 384 XVI. SOME OF THE MORE UNCOMMON FISHES . . . 386 XVII. TENCH . . 388 XVIII. FROGS AND TOADS 391 XIX. VIPERS 395 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS PART I.— BIRDS BEARDED TITMICE — NEST AND EGGS . . . Frontispiece PAGE GATHERING SEA-BIRDS' EGGS (YORKSHIRE) .... I EGG-GATHERERS 2 BLACKBIRD'S NEST AND EGGS IN A CLIFF (YORKSHIRE). . n RING-OUZEL'S NEST 12 COMMON WHEATEAR'S NEST AND EGGS 1 6 MUD COTTAGE (NORFOLK) 24 NIGHTINGALE'S NEST AND EGGS 26 REED-WARBLER'S NEST IN A BLACK-CURRANT BUSH (NOR- FOLK) 41 REED-WARBLER'S NEST AND EGGS 43 YOUNG GRASSHOPPER- WARBLERS AND NEST . . . 52 GRASSHOPPER-WARBLER'S NEST AND EGGS 53 REED-PHEASANTS AND NEST 60 THE HAUNT OF THE WAGTAIL 76 SAND-MARTINS AND BURROWS 91 CHAFFINCH'S NEST AND EGGS 108 LESSER REDPOLL'S NEST AND EGGS 118 YELLOW-HAMMERS 125 REED-BUNTING'S NEST AND EGGS 128 JACKDAW'S NEST (DEVONSHIRE) 135 A ROOKERY IN SPRING 146 NIGHT-JARS (full-page illustration'} . . . To face page 153 YOUNG KINGFISHERS l6o THE MARSH OWL (full-page illustration] . . To face page 169 THE MARSH HARRIER (full-page illustration] . „ „ 173 xiv LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS PAGE THE HEN HARRIER (full-page illustration) . To face page 1,77 THE MONTAGU HARRIER (full-page illustration} „ „ 179 HAUNT OF MONTAGU HARRIER l8l MONTAGU HARRIER'S NEST AND YOUNG 183 YOUNG MERLINS . . . . ,. . . " . . . 1 88 MERLINS AND YOUNG (full-page illustration) . To face page 188 CORMORANT'S NESTING-PLACE (CHISLEBURY BAY) . . .196 GANNETS AND YOUNG (full-page illustration) . To face page 197 HERONS (full-page illustration) .... „ „ 199 THE BITTERN (full-page illustration} . . „ „ 205 COMMON BITTERN 2o6 WHITE-FRONTED GEESE 2IO COMMON DUCK ON NEST 223 SHOVELLER DUCKS (full-page illustration) . To face page 224 PINTAIL DUCKS 225 NESTING-PLACE OF TEAL AND SHOVELLER . . . .229 GOLDEN-EYED DUCKS (full-page illustration) . To face page 232 COMMON POCHARDS (from life) 236 TURTLE-DOVES (full-page illustration) . . To face page 240 PALLAS' SAND-GROUSE (full-page illustration) . „ „ 242 WATER-RAIL'S NEST AND YOUNG (in situ) . . . .254 WATERHEN'S NEST AND EGGS (in situ} 259 COOT'S NEST AND EGGS (in situ} 267 RINGED PLOVER (full-page illustration) . . To face page 268 RINGED PLOVER'S NEST AND EGGS (in situ) . . . .269 SNIPE (full-page illustration) .... To face page 285 BLACK-TAILED GODWITS (from life) 292 REEVE'S NEST AND EGGS (in situ) 296 CURLEWS (full-page illustration} . . . To face page 304 HERRING-GULLS 306 NEST AND EGGS OF THE BROWN-HEADED GULL (in situ) . 310 HERRING-GULL'S NEST AND EGGS (YORKSHIRE) . . .312 GREAT CRESTED GREBE'S NEST AND EGGS (in situ} . .318 DAB-CHICKENS (full-page illustration} . . To face page 319 SEAGULLS AND NESTS 320 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS xv PART II.— BEASTS AND FISHES (MAMMALS, FISH, AND REPTILES) PAGE SUNSET ON SALHOUSE BROAD 321 FISHING ON HOVETON BROAD 322 "ON GUARD" 353 ON A NORFOLK RIVER-SIDE 365 AN EEL-CABIN ON GREAT HOVETON BROAD .... 370 "NATIVES" FISHING ON GREAT HOVETON BROAD . . . 380 WOOD-SORREL 394 GREAT HOVETON BROAD 396 " They do not sweat and whine about their condition, They do not lie awake in the dark and weep for their sins, They do not make me sick discussing their duty to God, Not one is dissatisfied, not one is demented With the mania of owning things ; Not one kneels to another, nor to his kind that lived thousands of years ago ; Not one is respectable or unhappy over the whole earth." —WALT WHITMAN. PART I.— BIRDS. GATHERING SEA-BIRDS1 EGGS (YORKSHIRE). " Papillon, tu es volage ! Tu ressemble a mon amant : L'amour est un badinage, L'amour est un passe-temps : Quand j'ai mon amant J'ai le cceur content." — Chansons Populaires. ECfO-GATHERERS. BIRDS, BEASTS, AND FISHES OF THE NORFOLK BROADLAND CHAPTER I THE SPECKLED THRUSHES THE speckled birds of the coppice and field are of varying degrees of distinction and attractiveness. The familiar Song Thrush, or " Mavtsh" as the fenmen call him, is our dearest songster. He is, moreover, the most delicate of the speckled tribe, although he is the earliest riser of all the birds, singing of a morning before the lark. When the grey mists of February soften the outlines of the farm-buildings so that they hang in the air like castles, and the lone trees rise from the upland like weird ghosts, the mavis begins to sing his beautiful love-Song with its series of triple notes ending abruptly witrT ''pretty "boy." He delights to sit of a morning on a^a^e s'prigW 'thorn -tree overhanging a holl, and pour forth his song ere he go6s 'a- hunting for worms, startling them from the soft ground, and killing them (when caught) as a heron kills an eel. After eating but half of his slippery quarry mayhap, he goes a- dodman gathering, carrying his prey to some stone-anvil by the roadside to crack the husk that guards the succulent flesh. And if dodman-meat taste as sweetly to him as the 4 BIRDS, BEASTS, AND FISHES E scar got de Bourgogne does to us, well may he seek it far and wide. At this season, too, he delights in fighting his rivals, and you may see them rolling over and over in battle on the marsh-walls or by the roadside. At eventide, too, when the grey mists are closing over the lush flatland, you may hear the cock-birds singing around you until dark- ness hides the landscape, when he suddenly stops his song, being followed by the screech of the owl. When the bitter winds of March blow dryly over the land, the mavises begin to build their mud-fashioned cradles, laying their sky-blue speckled eggs long ere the last chill snows have fallen. Indeed, you may see some snowy day a hen sitting in the heart of a bare thorn-tree, her head resting on the edge of the nest, her feathers shot, her tail contracted, looking like a serpent, her lustrous eyes staring at you through the cold snow-crystals as they fall, powdering the bleak marshlands till the rivers look like leaden skeins threading a white world. At any time up to harvest you may find the mavis sitting, for if robbed she will build again and again; and all through the bright-flowered spring and warm-scented summer you may come upon the young birds, bright in colour, flying chiefly through sallow coverts, gorse coppices, and hedgerows that lead to the uplands, or mayhap skulking in clumps of undergrowth of gorse on the river-walls. Should the lone marshman possess a black-heart cherry-tree in hn> j*arden; on a,pat(Jh of strawberries, the thrush knows it, a'oS.you .wfll 'S^e "him. running briskly over the ground under ^e iQWe^.br^cties^or hopping lightly upon the light sppigs' berrt* 'down 'with fruit, or else pecking daintily at a luscious British queen strawberry in the patch. Nor is he averse from currants and gooseberries, and the marshman, who knows this, keeps watch over his scanty unpruned bushes with old muzzle-loader, as many a mavis and black- bird knows full well ; for often the child-like screams of the maimed birds resound far and near. A cinder-heap, too, is THE SPECKLED THRUSHES 5 dear to the mavis ; but that he is free of. And when the hard toil of feeding the young is over-past — for the fledg- lings do not leave the nest till they can fly — the families form flocks, and go a-foraging for food amongst the fruit crops or along the upland hedgerows. Not much singing is done after this flocking — the cares of life press too heavily upon them. And when the dikes are ice and the marshes slabs of snow, the mavises flock to the hawthorns, scarlet with berries, whence their speckled breasts gleam in the autumn sunshine, as they fight for the haws as parrots wrangle over wild oranges. Mayhap at this season a keen-set sparrow-hawk swoops down upon one here and there, and the biting cold kills many more ; and though the flocks are increased by migrants from over the seas, still, when winter is gone, and the fighting season returns on foggy wing, their numbers are sadly thinned. Nevertheless, they are not cursed (or blessed) with memories; and when the love impulse guides them to it, again they burst into joyful song, and once more spring, the season of the Lent lily, the primrose, the white violet, and the pale flowers of the coppice is upon us, and our hearts beat with gladness. The Missel Thrush, or " Fulfar," or " Yellow Fulfar," as he is called on the marshes, is a better fighter but a poorer minstrel than the mavis; his temper is too hasty to allow him to be a great artist. Yet 'tis a brave bird, fighting for love unto death ; rolling over and over, struggling until one slinks off into a corner to die, and leaves the victor to sing heartily through the storms that sweep across the marsh- land. Their fights take place in February, just before the birds pair ; for the old Fulfar is one of the earliest birds to begin his wattle and gutter-putty nest in the crotch of an oak, wherein the four greenish eggs with rusty spots are laid. At this season they are "artful old seeds," as the farmers say ; for do you approach their half-built cradles, and they will sneak off at once, and never go near the nest until 6 BIRDS, BEASTS, AND FISHES you be gone about your business. But should you dis- cover the finished nest and go to rob it, the fiery couple will attack you right bravely, making a noise that puts you to very shame, and flying straight at your hat, as if to lift it from your head. You or the thieving cuckoo, he cares not which — you or any other foe, he will fight and drive from his precious eggs, with all his bravery — an he can. Whilst his hen is sitting closely in some hollow tree or marsh-oak, he will be sneaking about the trees and bushes, driving off any strange bird, for he is of a dog-in-the-manger disposition. And should you rob him, his wife will go laying again and again, ay ! unto ten clutches, so anxious is he to propagate his kind and seize the world to himself. And so closely does the hen stick to her eggs, that you may sometimes take her from the nest with your hand ; and once having found her cradle, you know where to find it year after year (an she be not robbed), for spring after spring she returns to the same tree, and to the same crotch of the tree, to build. The young do not leave their nest till they too can fly, and then they get to know the country round their cradle in their small excursions for worms, snails, and slugs, on which they feed. The marsh cottager, too, knows the old birds, for they dearly love a cherry, or even the buds of plums, bullaces, and red-currants ; but his brave song does not repay the stolen buds and fruits. In autumn you see them keep to themselves, family by family, for they are unsocial and independent birds. In- deed, you rarely see more than four or five together in a bunch on the land, or walking clumsily amongst the turnips or along the holls. But they love best to keep about the hawthorn trees, gay with red berries. In the hardest weather, when the rivers are frozen, you may see them in large flocks in company with the field- fares, but they are not great friends, for you may see fighting going on at one end of a row of bright-berried thorn-trees in the same field, whilst at the other end the birds are THE SPECKLED THRUSHES 7 greedily swallowing the berries whole, throwing the stones up as a second thought, ere they fly across the low red disc of the setting sun to roost in a friendly holly-tree ; for a hardy bird is the missel-thrush, rarely succumbing to the frigid winters of the marshlands : he is too brave to die of mere cold ; like the hero he is, he prefers to die fighting. The Fieldfare, or "Dow Fulfar" as the fenman has named him, is merely a visitor, coming over in large flocks in autumn after the larks, and with the redwings, to fre- quent the marshes. According to the fenman's simple calendar, the old " dow fulfar " is to be seen directly after the last morfra has carried home the yellow grain to the stackyard ; and the fenman is right. He is a punctual bird, as I have observed season after season. He is a lover of open spaces, merely taking to trees when the heavy gales and hard frosts drive him there for food ; and even there he perishes in numbers, his speckled breast dotting the icy ground beneath the bare coppices more fre- quently than any other bird; for he is a tender creature, and lacking in character — a bird doomed to extinction, I surmise. When an Arctic winter freezes the rivers, and he draws up to the land a bit, you may see him looking about for food amongst " newlays " and by marsh-roads. Then, too, you may recognise his note, differing as it does from the rest of the tribe, his winter voice being a harsh " sack ! sack ! " whilst the redwing makes a " weeping" noise. He is much bigger, too, than the redwing, and though hardly as in- teresting or familiar, yet he loves the wild wastes. He has, when delayed by a cold spring-tide, dropped his eggs in England, but never in the Broad district that I know of, though I have seen fieldfares there as late as May, sitting on a pasture by the roadside. Lastly, the smallest of the family is the little Redwing, or " French Mavish" as the men here call him. He, too, is a winter visitor, and at times mixes freely with the flocks of BIRDS, BEASTS, AND FISHES fieldfares, but more frequently he is to be seen about in small flocks feeding on the scarlet haws that shine against the snow; for he is hardier than the fieldfare, and tamer too. For when the milk freezes in the pail, you may hear his little chicken-like " weeping" voice near the bottoms of stacks, or upon newlays and ollunts close by the marsh farm- house, whence they rise at times in hundreds, as the farmer goes forth to get a hare for his dinner. But in the hardest weather they too perish, and you may find their stark frozen corpses under the leafless hedges, unknown, unnamed, un- buried, in a strange land, far away from the home of their birth, though the broadsmen tell you that in days gone by the French mavishes used to nest in the reed-beds. CHAPTER II THE BLACKBIRD THE blackbird is the emblem of greediness and noisy vulgarity, of selfishness, and assertive pretentiousness, and his chief virtue is his pugnacity during the mating season. When the dikes are ablaze with kingcups, the cock-bird sings his thrush-like song noisily from the low hedgerows until a rival cock appears, flying with a rush at the peaceful songster, who, often taken by surprise, flies forth from his perch, with many noisy calls, to the marsh, where he alights with raised tail to recover his balance. In a moment his rival is upon him ; their heads are erect, their wings slightly spread out, and they dash at one another, fighting and darting, and shifting ground across twenty or thirty yards of marsh, when they will fly up into the air, fly at each other, alight again on the marsh, and go at it until one feels himself worsted, when he flies off, crying a harsh "puk,ptik, puk" seeking refuge in some friendly hedge, leaving the victor to court the plain hen-bird. Together these twain build their artless nest of mud and horse-dung in the hedge, or behind some sheltering stump, where their useless eggs are laid, and the ugly brood reared. As soon as the nestlings can fly the family seek the seclusion given by a neighbouring alder-tree — a tree near the water for preference. There they live, going early to bed and rising late, starting off to steal their breakfasts from the nearest garden, to rob the cottager of his cherries or the gardener of his figs. They lack no cunning in their thieving, for they will walk along the ground and jump to io BIRDS, BEASTS, AND FISHES the lowest berries, catching the fruit in their bills and hanging on till the slender stem gives way — in fact, pulling them off by sheer weight. After the breeding season the cock-bird stops his song — it was used for selfish ends, for he is now content ; and when the family "can do for themselves" they separate, seeking the gardens dotted over the marshes or fringing the villages. Nor do they do much good to the gardens, as do the thrushes, starlings, and robins, but they merely gorge strawberries, cherries, currants, gooseberries, &c.; in many a garden, moreover, they seek out the choicest peaches, nectarines, and dearly love ripe figs — having the impudence to fly into the fig-tree on one side whilst you are actually getting fruit on the other. Peas, too, they delight in as much as does the sparrow. He is a bold bird the blackbird, but he weeps when his nest is robbed, wailing c/ii-chi-chi, though he does often fly boldly at the robber's head and face. In truth, his audacity knows no bounds. One of these pleasant thieves built his nest in an old English codlin-tree growing in the middle of my strawberry patch, which nest I was glad to rob, for I have never yet seen a blackbird do good in the garden. Most insulting, too, is his vulgar cry as he flies away over the wall — a mingled vulgar cry of alarm and derision — a chortling that makes one glad when the winter cold drives him to the homely fruit of the hawthorn — a dish too good, however, for any but thrushes, who gratefully repay their pilferings of fruit by killing snails. So much do I detest him, that I have often wished an old peasant's love of black- bird pie was a common taste. This old man used to fre- quent the berried hedgerows with an old blunderbuss killing blackbirds, and so peculiar was this taste, that the keeper of those hedgerows began to suspect the blackbird-killer, and one day he followed him up a lone hedgerow. The old fellow went along calling " Pie, pie, pie ! " until at last a fine cock blackbird flew out. " Fine cock ! fine cock ! " mut- THE BLACKBIRD 11 tered the old man, and "poft~! " he fired and killed his bird. When he put the cock into his pocket, the keeper's hand went with it, and drew forth six blackbirds for the old man's pie. The old fellow had found the proper use of the blackbird. Nearly every winter evening I hear his vulgar call, as he flies at closing-in time to roost in the evergreens, leaving me longing to go south, far away from dreary mists and melancholy landscapes. BLACKBIRD'S NEST ix A CLIFF (YORKSHIRE). KING-OUZEL'S NEST. CHAPTER III THE RING-OUZEL WHEN the hedgerows grow green with buds at the end of April, and the sealike marshes are green with springing oats, small flocks of ring-ouzels come over the gleaming sandhills from the sea and scatter over the fields. You may know this bird from afar, for he is not so vulgarly " smart " as the blackbird, and is a lover of the open fields. The blackbird skulks in the hedgerow or beneath the pendant fruit crops, but not so the ring-ouzel ; for, though a great lover of fruit, he leaves the hedgerow and seeks his food afield. You may see them in early spring on any of the marshes by the sea feeding upon worms ; and should you disturb them, they will, blackbird- like, fly off to the hedgerow, where they occasionally build their blackbird-like nest and lay their starling-like eggs, scant of spots. But the ring-ouzel is not common in the Broadland, and beyond a few flocks in the early spring, and scattered wan- derers a little later when the ivy is in bloom, and a very few nesting couples, he soon leaves the marshlands for the THE RING-OUZEL 13 uplands, and is not seen again until autumn with many- coloured wings settles on the land, when the ring-ouzel passes on his return journey bound across the sea, his plumage rather frayed and weather-beaten perhaps, but still the familiar ring-ouzel. CHAPTER IV WHEATEARS As you walk along the warrens, where the yellow silver- weed blooms at the edge of the sand-dunes, you may in early spring come upon the first pair of wheatears as they flitter across the marram green hills and show their white rump- bands ; for upon their arrival across the grey sea they frequent the warrens at first — it is warmer there, and they can feed upon the early flies and sand-bred insects. And this practice of theirs has earned them the nickname of " coney-suckers," their common name amongst the Broads- men, for they say these birds enter the " rabbit eyes " in the dunes and suck the milch-does. One spring, whilst walking along the crest of the sandhills, amongst clumps of honeysuckle, juicy oak saplings, brakes of bramble, blackthorn, bracken, and flowering gorse — for such is the lean flora that flourishes amongst the marram's fibrous roots - — I suddenly saw two birds fly up before me, and flying on, alight on the sand, standing very up- rightly, and looking very black and white against the sandy background. Sinking into the soft warm marram, I watched them feeding on insects, working like a robin, though more eagerly, and cheeping like a titlark. Every now and then they would pause, and, standing upright, look as elegant as any courtly lady. Then they flitted on to a spray of gorse, and so I followed them to the round steeple that stands without the sandy fortalice. I knew them from the first for wheatears, but after close shadowing and careful observation, my glasses proved them WHEATEARS 15 to be wholly unknown to me — for they were the first and last of the kind that I ever saw in the open — but from careful notes made on the spot as to their markings, I was afterwards able to identify them as desert wheatears ; the black tail, throat, and buff head marked them for every one as desert wheatears. These birds were not so plump as the common wheatear, but more graceful, and stood up more straightly. They walked differently too — more like a robin. Howbeit, as we returned over the dunes in the roar of the fresh sparkling sea, noting the footprints of rat and rabbit, and the dung and spoor of partridges, who dearly love the sandhills, we saw some of the common wheat- ears on the beach, feeding upon insects ; and as we walked home across the marshes, now turning emerald, we passed single wheatears standing by the marsh dikes or feeding upon the marsh-walls, flying up safely out of reach, and calling with a peculiar note, jerking their tails at the same time. Though never numerous, you may nearly any time during the summer see a pair or two of common wheatears as you walk over the marshlands or by the sea, where I have seen them flying from stone to stone. At that season, too, you may see a hawk chase them, but never have I seen a hawk cut them down, nor yet have I ever found a nest. One old fenman tells me he has found their nests on the warren in a rabbit's hole, also by a dike in an old rat-hole ; but that was many years ago. Nevertheless, I am inclined to think they nest in the Broad- lands, one sees them about so often and so long, though I must say I have never seen any very young birds. They are rather mysterious birds, for although you see them flicker across the landscape or start from a dike where the bottom-fyers have recently been working, yet they do not let one see much of their lives — not even the " coney- sucking" with which they are accredited. In truth, the i6 BIRDS, BEASTS, AND FISHES wheatear is a bird of whom we know little in the marsh- lands, for he comes in spring, flits up by the summer dikes as you pass, and goes away again in August, so that the chief memory we have of him is his soft song and the vision of his flickering presence. COMMON WHEATEAR'S NEST AND EGGS. CHAPTER V THE WHIN CHAT WHEN the soft grey showers gleam across the marsh- lands in silvery April, little flocks of whinchats appear amongst the dead thistles and gorsy clumps of verdure on the flatland; a gay cock and two or three sober hens, generally feeding together, hunting over the marshland for flies and moths, their favourite food. Indeed, they follow the marsh-mowers, with other birds, to snatch the moths from the swathes, as those insects fly startled from the falling marsh crops. The gaily painted little grasshoppers, too, are a staple dish. You may lie upon the marsh, hidden in tussocks of rush, and watch the lively birds flying from a gorse spray to the ground to feed, and you will see them flit back calling " utick} utick ;" or perhaps one will sit on a spray just above the marsh, and sing a pretty sweet little song. Then something seizes their minds, and they flit off to another gorse bush, and again the same ceremonials are gone through. By the beginning of June they are paired, and build their hedge-sparrow-like nest of grass, often lined with the flaxen down of the gladen spindle, in rush bushes, brambles, or gorse plants that clump together on the marshes in prickly islets. They prefer these islets to be by the dike- side, for they delight in the presence of water, and there by the dikes, gay with flowers, you may hear their short calling whistles. And should you perchance see them whistling, you will see their tails jerked up every time they speak. Or at times you see them sitting upon a fork- 1 8 BIRDS, BEASTS, AND FISHES shaft left standing on the levels; they delight to perch on a fork-shaft as much as does the cuckoo. And when the large-sized eggs — recalling a reed-bird's — are hatched, and the fledglings can fly, you again see the little families flitting over the marshland feeding on the gaily enamelled grass- hoppers and soft-winged moths. And in winter, though most of these birds go across the seas, still a very few re- main and are to be seen on the uplands. One winter I saw a cock-bird amongst the yellow reeds by the Waveney; but it is a very rare bird in the winter landscape. Still it is seen, a fact, I believe, disputed by some naturalists. On the whole, it is a quiet, simple, unobtrusive little bird, without much character ; a harmless, pleasant little creature. More- over, the cock, in full plumage, is a welcome spot of colour in the sober-hued landscape of early spring. CHAPTER VI THE STONECHAT THE Stonechat, too, loves the Broadland, and his brighter colouring makes him more desirable than the whinchat. He might have been appropriately called the wheatear, for his song, a harsh, abrupt wheat-ear, wheat-ear, can be heard as he flits from fern to bramble-bush in the early spring- time ; for he is not a lover of marshland when the snow-blast and hail-squall sweeps over the land, rustling the creaking reed-stubbles. Then he retires to the uplands, where hedge- row and farm-shed give him shelter when the rime-crystals deck the dead thistles with gems. But in early spring he comes down to the marshes, and you may see him flying up into the air, catching insects, returning to his station on a thistle-stalk, whence he drops down to the marsh-sedges for some dainty morsel, flitting back again to his look-out perch. And when the flowers are glowing over the grey marsh- lands, these little birds build in the side of a marsh-wall, placing their nests in the grass, or they may choose some marsh-bottom. Their cradle is built of marsh-grasses, hair, roots, and feathers, wherein six eggs — greener than those of his relative the whinchat — lie snugly. The parents never leave the nest far; should you approach, they keep " chatting" and flying restlessly about the nest, alighting on bramble-sprays, prickly gorse, or sallow-stoles. Later, when the young are hatched, you may see them following the mowers, catching moths and grasshoppers and flies, as the coarse swathes fall before the sturdy marshmen's strokes. 19 20 BIRDS, BEASTS, AND FISHES In autumn the marshlands scarce know the stonechat, for he seeks his dinner of seeds upon the uplands. Like the whinchat, he is not too common, and being a little, shy, colourless character, there is but little to record about his life. He and his cousin the whinchat are playful little children of the marshland — children who, during the breeding season, take life more seriously, but still remain throughout children, who play at life, offending none. Long may they live to enjoy themselves ! CHAPTER VII THE FIRETAIL THE Redstart is rare in the Broadland, but the cock is a beautiful bird when he flashes early in April across the tender green of a newly-leaved thorn-hedge beneath a blue sky. He is very shy and very active, and all you may see in his passage is a patch of red and black chequering the back- ground, or hopping this way and that from some spray to the ground and back, producing on the mind the effect of a red and black toy paper-mill. But his gayness leaves a bright impression with you, for you cannot keep him in sight long ; directly he perceives you are following, up he whisks with a sharp turn across the hedge, and 'tis useless to follow. I have never found his nest in Norfolk, but old nest-finders tell me that he generally selects a hole in a tree — a pollarded willow for preference — and that he returns year after year to the same nesting-place, if not disturbed. But very few must build in the Broadland, for I have seen scarce one during the summer, and not until after harvest, when the marshes grow beautiful with the chameleon-like beauty of dying brilliancy, does the little firetail flicker across your path again, chasing the insects that are daily growing scarcer, as he knows full well ; for in September he leaves us, bound on the old trail, " the trail that is always new," leaving us a gay memory of whistling red and black. CHAPTER VIII COCK-ROBIN "BOB," as the Broadsmen familiarly call this pert, boy-like bird, is the most respected bird in the district ; for does not the local rockstaff say, " Ef you rob Bob of his eaggs, you're sure to break your arm ; " therefore Bob's eggs require no Wild Birds' Protection Act in Broadland. Yet these red- breasted birds do not multiply exceedingly. They are such boys to fight — for their decrease is not due to bird-hunting cats ; for though Pussy will kill Bob at times, as she will the young swallows, mavises, and starlings, for mere sport, yet Pussy despises Bob's flesh. Not so, however, with larks, sparrows, and blackbirds: Puss eats them and licks her whiskers afterwards. In March, when the black earth is bright with yellow crocuses, or the porcelain-blue bells of the hyacinth, or later with crimson and gold tulip cups, Bob's melancholy song is to be heard in the hedgerows and bare coppices. Bob and another fighting fiercely for the lady, waging fierce battle, with loosely hanging wings and standing feathers. The rivals fly at each other like young bucks, until one retires from the contest, or is left dead amid the spring flowers, whilst the perky little victor goes off with his mistress to his station — chosen the previous autumn — and then the simple cradle of moss, leaves, feathers, or horse-hair is built in some hole in a bank. When the familiar little eggs are laid, the hen begins her duties, sitting very closely on her eggs, whilst the pert little husband goes in search of black worms, wherewith he feeds her upon the nest. COCK-ROBIN 23 And should an}' urchin, regardless of the warning rock- staff, put her off her nest and rob an egg or two, she will not desert her home, but return to his leavings with a contented and philosophic mind, warming them into young fledglings, whom Bob will feed with wire-worms. He is busy then, in no mistake, carrying and giving the loveless wire-worms to his brood, himself eating any worm or " sow " (wood-louse) that he finds. Sometimes he finds a young cuckoo in his nest instead of his progeny; then he feeds him as carefully as he would have done his own children. And all summer Bob is breeding, for one family a year is insufficient, two or three broods being regularly turned off. And when the autumn air is yellow with falling leaves, Bob begins, perhaps, to regret his uxoriousness, for his quickly growing, pert little sons are already as big as him- self and lustier, and — oh ! that it should be written — ungrate- ful ; for with the fall of the yellow corn before the dipping harvesters the duels between father-robin and son-robin begin, and all along the embrowning hedgerows you may come across these fights, where fierce and unnatural war of upstart children against careful parents is being waged, and many an aged parent is left dead upon the battlefield, the homing harvesters at nightfall muttering their funeral ser- mons as they kick the dead bodies aside into the holls. And many an old Broadsman whom I have closely ques- tioned assures me he has never found a young bird dead after these battles. One of these men, who in winter is a professional gunner, assures me he can find a score of dead birds any year he likes during the harvest season, all old birds. Nor is this little fighter content with battling against his own flesh and blood, but he must needs throw the gauge to the strong-beaked house-sparrow, and at times Bob worsts him. When the fields are white and the misty hedgerows hang above the marshlands, Bob draws near to the fenman's cot- tage, getting scraps at the pig trough, seeds from the ricks, 24 BIRDS, BEASTS, AND FISHES and eke crumbs from the fenman's table ; for often the kindly man leaves his door open, and Bob walks right in, " oncon- sarned as a passenger," and eats between his quiet host's crotch-boots as carelessly as a starling wanders under a horse's belly. And though Bob's song be rare in winter, still you may occasionally hear it, and the fenman says with a smile, " Thar's old Bob a calling on you ter feed him." And feed this pretty ungrateful young generation of " Bobs " you will, for the little creature has such charming manners, and is so confiding — quite one of the mildest of parricides, yet selfish withal. Nothwithstanding everything, like the boy high- wayman, Bob will always be a hero in popular sentiment. As for me, I like his pluck. His breast is a bright patch of colour in the landscape, moreover, and his song is not repul- sive, if not very attractive. The sentiment aroused by him, too, is one of tolerant amusement. A desirable little fellow on the whole is Bob. MUD COTTAGE, NORFOLK. CHAPTER IX THE NIGHTINGALE WHEN the coppice-trees of the Broadland have broken into bud, and young leaves look large and bland by the still waters of the lagoons, the Nightingales that live thereabouts arrive from over the sea, and mayhap as you are sailing some evening over the silver mere, within a mile of the sacred grove, their sweet jug, jug, breaks upon your ear, as you glide noiselessly through the still waters, your sail clearly reflected in the stiller water below ; and with your ears full of his sweet music — for a rival soon answ'ers the proud challenge — your eyes turn dreamily to the distant wood, looming fresh and green over the flatland, and you listen, soothed by the soughing of the breeze in your ear, through which soft aeolian music the distant voices of the proud cocks steal like some far-away dream of music, re- minding you the nightingales are back again to their old haunts, to challenge and pair and build their coracle-like nests of oak-leaves, in which to float their fledglings upon the grassy marshland sea. And next day, mayhap, you steal into the wood, and hear first the regular strokes of an old man riving broaches, who, apparently heedless of the music, splits up his wands for the coming thatching season. But he has not been inatten- tive, and as you draw near he sees you are absorbed in the bird's music, and says carelessly, " You see that's a different bahd a-singing t'mornin ; he hev a different note ; one bird sing of a night and t'other sing of a daytime. I heard 'em for the first time last night." And the spell is strong upon you, and you listen and recognise the truth of the old man's 26 BIRDS, BEASTS, AND FISHES observation; but you answer never a word, the homely - looking little minstrel's song has sealed your lips : you are in the presence of art, of a joyous outburst of love, of a paean of battle, such as one used to listen to day after day and night after night from rooms overlooking the old gar- dens of Downing College, where one used to recall the songs of the singers of Greece, accompanied by the nightingale's songs, which, like flowers, are " always old, yet always new." Later in the season you are in the same wood again listen- ing, for these birds are very rare in the Broadland. And as the song stops another bird begins to croak, and the old broach- river rises slowly, and strolling out with his black dog, as he adjusts his old moleskin cap, he leads you silently to an old tree-stump and points out a nest of young nightingales ; but then you are not discomfited, for you know that pure love-song will last for six joyous weeks in the prime of the year, when all the world is young again, and every lad has his lass, and the world lives poetry, as it did in the golden age of Hellas. NIGHTINGALES NEST AND EGGS. CHAPTER X THE WHITETHROATS THE Greater* Whitethroat, or " Hay-jack," as he is locally called, is by no means uncommon in the gardens and hedge- rows near the Broads. When the lanes are white with May and the cherries are in bloom, the whitethroat's short, cheery song, half land-bunt- ing, half-chaffinch, may be heard for the first time, for he comes from across the mysterious sea, when the blue spring air is dappled with moths' wings and traceried by the flight- lines of insects. For he is an insect-feeder; and when the fenman hears the hay-jack's song, he knows well the cheery sedge-warbler will soon follow. Nor is he a laggard in love, for within a fortnight of his arrival his brief courtship is over, and the happy pair may be seen flying along the thorn-hedges building, their delicately tinted bodies flitting in and out, the cock being the architect, carrying the delicate materials — dead whip-tongue, grass, and roots — briskly making six or seven journeys in ten minutes, his white throat and buff coat shining softly be- tween the green leaves of the hawthorn as he disappears with a mouthful of fine grass or horse-hair; for he takes but little pains with his cradle — indeed, you may often see through it, so slightly is it built. Nor does he confine him- self to a thorn-tree, though it is a favourite site. Still you may see his nest in a bank where the violets bloom, in a tangled growth of brambles and dog-rose, on the border of * Though I have seen a few pairs of the lesser whitethroat in this district I believe them to be rare. 27 28 BIRDS, BEASTS, AND FISHES a dry ditch where the blue speedwell flourishes, in a little clump of lush grass, or in a prickly bed of nettles, or even on a piece of waste land. And when the eggs are laid and the hen sits closely, you may see the cock, of delicate coat, fly joyously up into the air for a dozen yards, returning to the exact bramble spray whence he started — a mere ecstatic expression of joy that all is thriving so prosperously in the little family circle. And when the young are hatched — those weak, timid fledg- lings that recall the sedge-warbler's young in habit — the happy pair are both busy catching flies and moths near the beloved children, for they never leave their nest far. And as soon as the timid chicks have a few feathers — not a quarter the number they should have — these young things will be leaving the nest (again resembling the sedge-warbler in habit), though they are unable to fly across a good mill outlet: they think, perhaps, that they can run sufficiently well to escape an enemy. But they are not alert enough for that, and the hunting urchin soon " muddles them out," as he expresses it, or makes them lose their little heads, both metaphorically and often, I fear, in reality, for he takes them home to his father's ferrets — those omnivorous bird-eaters. But when the cherries are ripe the parents know, for the " hay-jack " dearly loves a cherry, thrusting his delicate bill into the most luscious cheek of a Frogmore Bigarreau with the relish of a connoisseur. At other times you may catch his young (four or five in number)* sitting closely together upon a bramble, forming a beautiful little decorative group against the blue, and if you drop behind the nearest green screen and watch, you will see the mother, mayhap, come with a full crop and alight on a spray opposite, and, 'mid many cheepings and flutterings of wings, the timid little songsters are fed in turn. And a pretty little picture it is, till some boisterous boy, perchance, as sometimes happens, knocks three of the timid weaklings over with a smooth stone, so closely are they seated at their little family meal. THE WH1TETHROATS 29 But you are consoled when you think that they will rear two more broods that season, if not robbed by man nor beast —three families reared to leave with him when the September gales blow boisterously over the seas. A delicate, timid little songster is the " hay-jack," but dear, for all that, with his softly-tinted plumage, delicate as the silvery petals of a rose, and his smoke-coloured crest, chaste as the bloom upon a peach ; and, in return for his sweet short song, he is most welcome to all the cherries he can peck in my garden, nor do I think the needy fenman would grudge him a white-heart. CHAPTER XI BLACKCAPS MAY has come in with green and gold ; the river is em- broidered, with flowering chate, and the sallow plantings are green and cool with tender leaves and musical with flies — as the blackcaps seem to know, for there they are flitting to and fro through the willow wands, their little bills cracking sharply together as they catch the midges in their flight from stole to stole. Hour after hour they feed in the little willow grove, the cocks preferring the tops of the pliant wands, but every now and then dropping to the ground, to be followed by their sober-hued little mates. They seem never to catch enough flies to make up for their exhausting journey across the blue sea — for the weather is fine and clear. You must look well at them and listen to the sweet, little song, for you will rarely hear them in the Broad district; and if you find their nest thereabouts, consider yourself lucky, for I have never yet seen their eggs in that watery land ; the birds themselves seem rare enough. CHAPTER XII GARDEN WARBLER WHEN you walk along the green hedgerows, bright with new-born leaves — hedges running on either side of the grassy, springy lokes that lead from the marshes to the upland — you may often hear this warbler's sweet song and shriller chuckling call, but seldom will you see him — at least I have rarely been able to catch sight of him, and when I first made his acquaintance it was in an orchard in which grew some alders down by the water. I stood hidden in the alders, for I heard a bird then unknown to me, and watched, and by good luck he came into open view, hopping round the stems, stopping to sing every now and then, his little throat swelling forth with song; but I have always known him since, though he is very shy, flitting off directly he gets sight of you, whether he be high up in a thorn bush or in a garden catching caterpillars or stealing figs ; for he is the first bird to find out that my topmost bro\vn Turkey figs are ripening; indeed, he tells me they are ripe, for he is sure to have the first peck into the purple-brown skin, discovering the pink flesh; then you may watch him, for his love for figs overcomes his shyness. I have, in a Kentish garden, stood beneath the leathery leaves with my glasses upon him for many minutes, a matter I could never do in Norfolk. When disturbed, he merely flew up to a large roomy walnut-tree and watched till I had gone ; but he is no fig-robber like the blackbird ; after all, the garden wrarbler filches but little, and that generally over-ripe fruit. I have never found its nest in Norfolk, nor, in truth, seen it 32 BIRDS, BEASTS, AND FISHES there. Indeed, the bird is unknown to most of the fenmen, as is the blackcap, which, so far as my experience goes, is very rare in the Broadland. The garden warbler loves the lanes of Broadland as well as the cottagers' gardens, and you may see him fly across the road, or fly out of the light green hawthorn, going down the loke-cutting ahead of you, but he soon clears off to a hedgerow running up a field away from the road : he is shy, very shy, except when over a fig — that is his grand passion. If I did not know his song, I should have thought him rare indeed ; but he is commoner in the Broadland than is generally supposed. CHAPTER XIII THE HERRING-SPINK* As the North Sea fishermen call that mighty soul in that little body — the Golden-Crested Wren — is rather rare about the Broad district, though numbers may be seen on the sea- coast nearly every autumn. But at times you see them farther inland where the sluggish water sleeps on the lazy weed. One April morning I sailed over the sleepy tide between walls of fresh young gladen that shimmered with chameleon- like colours as the soft winds blew it this way and that — now showing dark as the green ribbons faced you, now shimmering as they waved idly from side to side, anon glancing and showing green when the wind filled your sail from behind and tugged at the sheet asking for more, and lastly dyed with blue along the edges — a pale blue reft from the azure overhead — a blue that made the fenman's red- brown freckled features cerulean and dyed the backs of the grazing flocks. After leaving this water-way and its magic beauteous glances, we drew up to a decaying landing-stage, startling the sporting fish over the green hair-weed, ere we took our way to the sea, which the dead ragworts and rabbit-eaten thistle-roots proved we were nearing. Indeed we were close upon it, and turning into a sandy lane, the gap in the dunes gaped intensely blue before us. Beyond we could hear the cry of the sea, and not even a broody hedge-sparrow that limped cunningly before us attracted * I have seen the Fire-Crested Wren once in the Broadlands. 33 C 34 BIRDS, BEASTS, AND FISHES our regards — they were turned towards the wet sea- beaches. A little way down the sandy loke two little birds flew up — torn-tits, I thought; indeed, the hen, as we afterwards found, flew from blossoming gorse to gorse with the flight of a wren. And indeed I thought the bird a wren, but sud- denly a little fellow with a golden crest flew from a spray of blooming blackthorn, and I recognised the brave, cheery little goldcrest. In sooth, his very tameness and confi- dence showed his kind ; for, though brave as a lion, trust- ing and loving is the little goldcrest. And the seas and marshes, the gleaming ridges of sandhills and marram-crests were forgotten ; the sweet little cheepings of the little pair of goldcrests were more attractive. There he sat on a gorse spray — they love the gorse down there — cheeping and picking insects from the prickly leaves. He, a mite of seventy grains in weight, a mere living atom of feathers — he, with his . loving little wife, had come across the turbulent seas. What hope ! what bravery ! Yes, indeed, he with a young wife goes down into the deep, flying just above the waters, hopeful that no storm will arise and tire his slender wings, blowing him down into the trough of the sea to perish miserably, a common fate with his tribe, as their little bodies prove to kind-hearted fishermen who see them floating on the waves after a gale, and mutter to themselves sadly, " Poor little warmin ! " for they cannot alight on the water and ride out the storm as do the stormy petrels. Poor little herring- spink ! for he has to cross in the autumn with that vast crush of birds — the migrants contemptuously called by the fenmen " wheat-pickers" (e.g., the tree-sparrows, rooks, larks, wood-pigeons), that the boats meet during the herring- fishing in misty autumn, when the snow falls and a north- west wind blows. They come and go by their appointed paths — larks steering east to west, flying low, just above the water. And the strong men who go down in the fishing- boats will tell you of the flocks upon flocks they meet THE HERRIXG-SPINK 35 during the last four months of the year over the Dogger — myriads of larks, redwings, wood-pigeons, rooks, spar- rows, starlings, swallows and swifts, house and sand martins, bramblings, homely robins, jackdaws, and Kentish- men going from and making for Old England; and they will tell you, too, of kestrels caught and fed on herring- gut, of wearied carrier-pigeons taken from the mast-heads and carried into port, and of the scapings of snipe flying high above the drifting luggers; but rarely do they catch sight of the woodcock — he is too shy. Then if the fleet be becalmed in an autumn fog, that makes the vessels' lights loom ghostly and large through the damp mists floating dreamily over the oily water, the birds get bewildered and the fleet becomes a vast roosting-place, and the young hands go bird-catching, capturing the air- loving pigeons and hawks ; for the pigeon roosts with the hawk, the silent, sleepy mavises with the larks, and even kittiwakes side by side with the little herring-spinks, that often feed like wrens in and out of the sheaves of blocks, or amongst the nets, picking off the sea-lice, a food they delight in. And the captives are taken below into the cabin, that reeks of tobacco, bilge, and tar, and forthwith the birds become sea-sick, throwing up their food amid the hoarse laughter of the crew; nay, even the little herring- spink turns sea-sick. But even birds get their sea-crops, and recover and feed, if kept below, keeping their food down with the best sailor of all the crew. And the next morning perhaps breaks fine and bright, a chill autumn morning with a blue sky, and the birds leave the ship and go noisily on their compassless way across the watery wastes — sailing with the wind abeam — flying a yard or so above the water. And perchance, if your ship be near the English shore at this season, you may see the emigrants coming towards the land in the early dawn, and then you know for all time the real joy of the traveller as he sights the port ; for all these 36 BIRDS, BEASTS, AND FISHES vast flocks will break forth into cries of delight, encouraging each other, and mounting higher into the air, so that they may get sight of the promised land, which they hail with a paean of exultation. Still, though the shore and safety be within their grasp, some of the weak and feeble of mind or body will, weary unto death, sink down and alight on the sea — the treacherous sea, that swallows them up within sight of the dunes. Mavises and larks are prone to give up on the eve of victory ; but even some of these laggards, at the wet touch of the ocean, struggle up on tired wings and struggle to the shore, swimming down the blue air, dazed and drunk with fatigue, to the dry warm sands — safe, and forgetful of those who have perished. And amongst them will be found our brave little herring-spink — the coy, tame little bird — that emblem of bravery. The weak in heart should take the goldcrest as his guiding star, and the augury of birds might be of living worth to him. CHAPTER XIV THE WILLOW-WREN SOME time in the second week in April, when the willows in the carr are breaking into new life, if you chance to pass that way in the soft diffused light when the tall and slim saplings shine softly brown or green, you may hear the soft sweet song of the willow-wren ; and if you look up amongst the slim leaf-blades, you may see the little greenish bird, just arrived from Africa, running about the mossy bark feeding on the flies and " little millers " (a small white moth) he came all that long journey to find. He is not shy, and if you do not make too much noise breaking through the close coverts, he will go on unconcernedly feeding, working all over the tree, hopping from branch to branch at times, resembling a reed-warbler in form as he flits to a dark corner amongst the green boughs, or again feeding like the wren or saucy " pick-cheese." You may see him better, perhaps, as he flits to and fro seeking " green-fly " under the leaves of sycamore trees, or darting at the caterpillars that hang by silken threads from the tree-branches, especially when he has young in his oven — for his nest is just like an oven ; hence he is called the " oven-bird " in the fenlands. All through April you may hear his sweet song, and in May he begins to build on the ground in a planting at the foot of a willow, or in a clump of nettles beneath a bramble- islet, or by some grassy dike-side where he scoops a hole and roofs it over, or beneath the ivy in a hedgerow. I have seen the nest in all these places. The oven is built of moss, grass, mud, hair, and a good warm lining of feathers, upon 37 38 BIRDS, BEASTS, AND FISHES which the six or seven whitish eggs with pinkish spots are laid. The hen enters the oven by a good-sized hole, a door nearly twice as large as the wren ; and in this warm oven the old bird sits very closely, only leaving the nest if you get very near to her, when she darts off and disappears ; but even then the nest is difficult to find, and though the birds be not uncommon, their nests often escape the egg-robber. When she darts from her nest, if you lie down and conceal yourself, and then wait patiently for some quarter of an hour, you may see her come dancing back, looking round anxiously as she flits from branchlet to branchlet, gradually drawing up with great caution, and dropping into her nest ; and then you too know where it is ; but don't disturb it, for she only lays once, and if robbed will not lay again. But should the eggs be hatched and the oven filled with young, if you pass within earshot they will betray them- selves, for they are for their size the noisiest youngsters I know, continually " weeping" for food : nor are the old birds often far away from their brood. Many a time when walk- ing along a dike I have suddenly heard the young willow- wren calling me straight to the nest, the old birds flying up the rond a little way, looking on with beating hearts. A friendly, tame, affectionate little bird is the simple little willow-wren. One of the joyous, sweet-voiced har- bingers of spring, he is always welcome, the child-like little willow-wren. Coming in April and staying till November, he is like some of the pale flowers of the fenland — as charming as evanescent. CHAPTER XV THE REED-WARBLER THE "Reed-bird" or " Reed-chucker " (for the reed-warbler is known by both names in Norfolk) follows the sedge- warbler and grasshopper-warbler across the sea ; he is the last of the three to appear, waiting patiently till the young reeds shall have grown three or four feet in height, and there is plenty of cover to hide himself and his bride ; for the reed-warbler is a shy bird, and it is not easy to get a shot at him once he takes to the reed-beds, though you may see him when he first arrives, for he generally roosts in the sallow plantings for a few days on his return across the sounding sea, which is oftener at the beginning of May than not — in May, when the gold and black chate flowers deck the dikes. From the cool shades of the sallow plantings they fly to the reed -beds, seeking reed-stems that grow in boggy places and marsh swamps, where they grow long and stand rotten, for there he finds his food, the reed-maggots, that leave their reed-cases in spring — maggots looking for all the world like meat-maggots. These are his dainties, but he does not despise insects floating on the water; and if you sit quietly amongst the creaking reed-beds, you may see him running up and down the canes hanging over the water like a mouse, feeding upon his choice insects and maggots. The hen-birds often arrive with the cocks, and once they have taken to the reed-beds you may see them chasing each 39 40 BIRDS, BEASTS, AND FISHES other from reed-clump to reed-clump, or you may see the cocks flying up in the air like butterflies, sailing down into the reeds with outspread wings. By night, too, the court- ship goes on, so eager are they to pair, and though they soon mate, they are in no haste to squander their honey- moon— they wisely enjoy their young lives, singing sweetly at intervals by day and night, but most sweetly at break of day and closing-in time. Only one hour seems sacred to them, the hour before midnight, when the reed-beds grow silent, though some restless youngsters may break even that solemn stillness. If, in the bright mornings of May or long June evenings, you push quietly into the reed-beds, and follow some watery path bright with white water-ranunculus, arrow-head leaves, and white and yellow water-lilies, and bordered with beds of lush gladen brown with spindles, nodding holders with their crowned and feathery heads erect as plumed lancers, you will hear, as you move silently through the soft ghost-like reflec- tions of the water-plants, the sweet song of these birds — a song sweeter in note and more finished than that of the sedge- warbler, but hardly so spontaneous and joyous. There, amid the soft music of the water-plants, as they whisper together like lovers at dusk, come the reed-warblers in legion and drown the music of the breezes. And as their chorus dies away, a pike splashes, a coot calls, the breeze freshens, rustling the water-plants,- and the reed-leaves crackle till you feel their hardness and sharpness; the breezes gain strength, their passion rises, and they sigh through the watery jungle, the reed-plants clashing against each other and creaking as they bend before the freshening breeze : then the reed-warblers are silent, for they love still quiet weather ; they brook no rival music. But as the sun warms the waters the bird's passions kindle, and the happy pair begin to weave the wonderful nest, choosing three or four (oftener four) stout amber reeds for support. Beginning above high-water mark (some THE REED-WARBLER 2 ft. 6 in. above the tide), the birds take a length of dried wiry grass at the ends, and together they weave their cradle, filling in the outer layer with reed-feather; next comes a cushion of flaxen spindle fluff, reed-feather, and at times a few swan's feathers ; then a wiry framework of dry reed feather, and last stage of all, a cosy lining of soft white cotton-grass ; and, lo ! the cradle is done and placed above the water safe from vermin, near food for the young and secure from storm ; for though a gale blew over the reed- bed, the reed-stems stand secure as piles made of steel.* After the few days of toil passed in building the perfect little nest the hen begins to lay her four or five greenish eggs freckled with olive. Nor is she in haste to get that over, for she often misses a morning be- tween her layings, spending her time in listening to her mate singing his chucking yet sweet note. The song then betrays to the egger the where- abouts of the dear eggs ; for your Broadsman always hunts these eggs by sound. But the egger must be alert, for once the eggs are laid the songs grow rare and more rare. Though essentially a- denizen of the level swamps, the reed-warbler at times builds in sallow plantings, and even in gardens, as the plate shows. I once found one built upon a briar and a single reed-stalk in a planting by the water, and very tame was the sitting bird — the hen on this occasion, for both birds sit. I watched the little hen for REED -WARBLERS NEST IN A BLACK-CURRANT BUSH (Norfolk) — (taken in situ). * I have never seen wool, moss, or horse-hair used in the making of these nests in Norfolk, but often cotton-grass-down, which may have been mistaken for wool. Nor have I ever found a cuckoo's egg in a reed-warbler's nest, — as asserted by Mr. Saunders and others. Nor have I ever heard of marshmen finding such. In a ^a^-warbler's nest, yes ! 42 BIRDS, BEASTS, AND FISHES long before she flew up and ran away up the branch of an alder growing from the tangled clump of briar and reed. But the uxorious cock soon appeared, and it seemed to me ordered her back, for she returned, as I stood, to her eggs, and sat tamely enough, eyeing me from her compact shot-shaped nest — a piece of confidence with which the sedge-warbler has never honoured me, though his eggs are smaller and darker in colour, and not so easy to be seen. When the hot sun of July beats down upon the reed-beds, the young nestlings are born in the romantic home that does not rise and fall with the tide, as some aver. Then the cock and hen are busy indeed gathering insects, running up and down the reeds like mice, hanging in all sorts of quaint positions as they collect maggots and insects and the embryo dragon-flies hatched on the reeds. During this busy time both birds keep near the young, one sitting on the nest and uttering hoarse little notes, whilst the mate, who is col- lecting insects perhaps from the blazing marsh-marigolds, answers in the same voice. Or at intervals the cock breaks into short joyous snatches of song. At this season, too, they frequent clumps of sallow in search of flies, of which they are very fond, but they seldom leave the reed-beds far, and when they choose a secluded swamp, are rarely to be seen once their nursery duties have begun ; in short, they keep to the reeds all summer. The nestlings cannot fly far when they leave the cradle, but climb about the reeds like mice in search of food, mov- ing rapidly through the reeds, or at times nestling together upon a reed-spray, making as pretty a little picture as one could wish for. Should you happen to come upon the fledg- lings in their cradle, they will, like sedge-warblers, run out of their nest and glide away like mice into the reeds. But they soon grow, and when the September moon arrives the reed-beds are again silent, for the warblers have gone across the seas, and never a one is to be heard through the grey cold winter. THE REED-WARBLER 43 The reed-warbler is an artist, reticent, shunning publicity, and fully occupied with its own work, as all artists should be. To him, to sing and weave those perfect nests and rear his family is the be-all and end-all of life. KEED-WARBLER'S NEST AND EGGS— (taken in Situ). CHAPTER XVI THE GREAT REED-WARBLER ONE June morning I was working through a large reed jungle, the water over my boot-tops, with a quick-eyed Broadsman, who knew every bird of the district by sight, and name too, though his nomenclature was provincial. The sun was shining brightly, and a nice south-easterly sailing breeze blowing through the old reeds, that shook their ragged tassels this way and that, so that, as we marched through the tall crop, we grew dizzy with the ever-shifting reeds, and seemed to be walking up hill and down, though really on a flat bog. Suddenly the marsh- man stopped in his sinking footsteps, held up his finger, and looked eagerly towards an opening in the reeds on his left, and yet in front of him. I listened as I sank into the soft ooze, and heard a hoarse chuckling — a voice more like that of a large mechanical sedge-warbler than anything I could think of. When the notes stopped, the marshman crept forward stealthily in the direction of the sound, whilst I stood still, now over my boot-tops in water, looking silently after him. As he neared the opening, I saw him looking keenly round the yellow waste of stalks, and suddenly he turned and beckoned to me eagerly. I stole up to him, and he pointed to a broken spray of reed some thirty yards away, and whispered eagerly, " What be they? Look yonder — reed-birds as big as mavishes." I looked in the direction indicated, and saw at once the plate in Lord Lilford's book — only alive ; they were undoubtedly THE GREAT REED-WARBLER 45 great reed-warblers, my glasses confirming the diagnosis. Both birds were sitting on the reeds, as if resting, and we stood silently watching them ; but they did not rest long, but flew off into the reed after the manner of a reed-warbler. And these were the first and last great reed-warblers I ever saw alive, and they were as " big as mavishes." A native collector told me afterwards he was sure they had bred two miles from there the year before. CHAPTER XVII THE SEDGE-WARBLER BEFORE the last rime-frosts have gone, the brave little cock sedge-warblers come across the sea in small parties, and any day after the middle of April you may awake to hear either the cuckoo or this quaint little fellow, with his hoarse canary-like voice, singing from some little clump of reed in a dike, from some islet of bramble, or from some hedge near by, his song, chuck, chuck, chuck, chuck, chuck, chuck, changing his note to a click, click, click, and then to a soft wheet, wheet ; and if you watch him, you will see him fly up into the air, then spread his wings, and sail softly down, like a great brown moth, into the stuff. Should you whistle to him, he will try and imitate you, and, should you stone him, he will sing the more cheerily. Blow high or blow low, come rain, come storm, he will sing, by night and day, his never-ceasing little carol, so characteristic of the Broadland — that song which, when you hear it far away from Norfolk, recalls vividly the lazy rivers and idle lagoons. About a week after the males arrive the females appear — little brown shy birds, to whom the males sing, chasing them along the reeds and hedgerows, flying up singing into the air some twenty yards, and sailing prettily down, still sing- ing and generally showing off; but should you approach, they will drop into the stuff on sight of you, and sing on in a subdued voice, for they are shy or suspicious. Should you approach too closely, a hoarse tut-tut greets you ; and if you flush them, they go flying down the stuff or hedgerow, and dart into a snug corner some thirty yards 46 THE SEDGE-WARBLER 47 from you, at once resuming their song ; for they are saucy, provoking, jolly little creatures, and I prefer their song to that professional musician, the reed-warbler, as he has too much " side " for me. Towards the end of May, when the last frosts have gone, the little pairs begin to build their nests, preferring sallow bushes in a sedge marsh; but hedgerows near water, or clumps of reed in half-choked dikes, or clumps of rush suit them, if they cannot get a sallow forest on a sedgy plain ; and at this season you will hear the cock's bright song by day and night all over the flatland, for these birds are four times as numerous as the cock reed- warblers, whom they most resemble. Should his nursery's aspect be too exposed, he will hide his nest behind a rush screen, and once or twice I have known him hang it from a branch of a bush, or two or three reeds, after the manner of the reed-warbler, but differing in this, that he always hangs his nest from one side, and never builds it about the reed stalks and branches, as does the reed- warbler. What he uses to build with depends, as in the case of most birds, on what materials are handiest; also, the nest is placed at various heights from the ground, according to circumstances. I have known it to be built a few inches from the ground, a foot, two feet, and two feet six. In any of these positions you may see their long nest, but most frequently in stuff half-laid down, with its contracted rim, built of fine dead grass externally, and lined with horse- hair and wool, and reed feather. And when the little pair have built their cradle, which generally takes them four days, the hen begins forthwith to lay her sedge-green eggs, speckled with hair-like markings, the colour of sedge-flowers — the pair lurking near the nest after the first egg is laid, the cock still flying up and crying as of yore. As a rule, every morning an egg is laid, until five lie cosily in the nest litter, and then she begins to sit, he singing joyously near by from a reed-top, hanging this way and that, and dropping 48 BIRDS, BEASTS, AND FISHES down if disturbed. I don't think he sits at all, as does the reed-warbler. She is artful enough to manage it all, how- ever ; for, should you flush her from her nest in the open, she will feign to be wounded or lame, like many another, and lead you astray, as mayhap other ladies have done before. In the fulness of time, when the young maws are born, you see the old birds busily gathering maggots, cater- pillars, insects, moths, and midges, chiefly from the top of the water, ere they hurry back to the nest. You may at times stand on a marsh and see four or five pairs flying to and fro feeding their hungry young, for it is very easy to watch them to their nests ; their journeyings to and fro are so frequent, that if you lose sight of the parents the first time you see them, they soon reappear. Should you approach the clump of sallow where the young are, the old birds will come to meet you, and fly around uttering a short chuck, hoping to lead you astray ; for they are jealous of their homes, and you may often see rival pairs chasing each other away from their particular sallow islet across the green sea of rush or sedge. Sometimes, before the young are half fledged, they will come from the nest to hunt for food, returning again ; but this is rare. The young are difficult to catch as a rule, escaping along the ground and through the stuff, coursing rapidly along like mice, and seldom will you see them in the nest fully feathered, though at times you may, when they will at once flit from their cradle like mice, and scatter through the herbage. Soon these young birds begin " to do " for themselves, and the parents forthwith begin to build a second nest and raise a second family — a piece of work only undertaken by the reed-warbler when he has been robbed of his first family. In fine seasons I have heard the little fellow singing as late as the last week in October, but never later than that, for the cold grey mists rising from the rivers and lagoons THE SEDGE-WARBLER 49 like ghosts, warn him it is time to go where the sun is warm and insects abound. Brave, joyous, manly little fellow, with your endearing manners and pretty ways, long may your race flourish, though oft-times your eggs are sucked by the pilfering mouse and relentless weasel. CHAPTER XVIII THE GRASSHOPPER-WARBLER THIS shy, mysterious bird, the " razor-grinder," * as he is often called in the Broad district, is oftener heard than seen. When the chate is in bloom the grasshopper-warblers come over in small parties, which scatter at once over rush- marshes dotted with islets of sallow, bramble, and reed ; for they are not such water lovers as are the reed and sedge warblers — nor are they such musicians. Indeed, unless you be alert, you may hear the earlier homing sedge- warbler, and the later arrivals, the reed-warblers, and not have heard the grasshopper-warbler at all. Yet he has often sung to you (for he arrives between the other two songsters), but you may have thought him some insect, so low and mysterious is the chattering coming from the marshland. By night and day, too, he sings when the days grow long. On the other hand, most people would not know he existed were it not for his song, for he is the most skulking of birds, a mysterious and reserved little minstrel, who shuns publicity. But if you know the marshlands, and frequent a marsh of " laid-rush," where brambles and sallows grow in clumps, you may at daybreak and closing-in time hear his myste- rious song ; and if sharp-eyed, you will see him sitting on a bramble spray a few feet from the marsh. But should you approach even at a gallop, he will drop into the stuff like a stone, and you may search in vain, though, if he have dropped into a bramble-bush, and there be two of you with sticks, you may succeed in flushing him, when you will see that he is a bigger, darker, more broad-tailed bird * Never " reeler." 5° THE GRASSHOPPER-WARBLER 51 than his brother warblers — a bird resembling a hedge-sparrow more than a warbler. But you must be quick, for he will not fly far, and if you pursue him he will dive into the stuff, and you may search the marsh all over — never will you see him again, for he is as alert and quick as a marsh-mouse. All night through flowery May you may hear these " grindings " of his at intervals — the song sometimes lasting for half-an-hour or longer. When the cotton-grasses are ripe at the beginning of June, the pair begin their nest in the soft, green moss on the marsh bottom, hidden beneath the laid-rush, or in fairy forests of cotton-grass. There, in dusk seclusion, the nest, resembling that of the lark, and made of dried grass and roots, is placed; and so cautious is the bird, that should the nest be disturbed by the curious, she will desert it, although one marsh-mower once mowed a nest up in his swathe, the bird starting from the marsh at his feet. He replaced the swathe, never touching the nest, and tried to chase the bird, and " muddle her out;" but she seemed to sink into the ground. However, he returned to the nest some days afterwards and found two eggs, which he took, leaving her to start anew, as she does if once robbed, as does the reed-warbler. These birds have runs to their nests like marsh-mice, and if you flush them they will fly a little way, go down to the marsh like a stone, strike one of their dark arcades, and track for yards under the stuff as securely as a mouse, coming back later on, when you have in despair given up the search, to their four, five, or six spotted, pinkish eggs. But if you are determined to find a nest, cut a long stick, and watch for a bird " grinding," for they always grind near their nests ; then walk steadily towards the grinding bird, beating the stuff with your stick, but looking steadily some twenty yards ahead of you, and you may be rewarded by finding one ; but your chances are small, and these nests are seldom found, save by men mowing the rushes for litter. You must be content to see them sitting on BIRDS, BEASTS, AND FISHES a spray of bramble or sallow some feet above the marshes, " grinding " with their heads set up straight, and tails hang- ing straight down ; for you will find as you approach, the shy bird drops on to a lower bramble, and finally, as you draw nearer, disappears in the stuff. But you may oftener see the young birds, for though they cannot fly out of the stuff, an active man can fall suddenly upon them and catch them; yet it is a difficult feat, and an impossible feat when they are fully fledged, for then they leave the stuff for the clumpy islets of sal- low, bramble, and sedge. But these birds are oftener seen than caught, because they too have grown more active and knowing, and drop into the stuff like stones, and are lost to view. After harvest is over they are seldom to be heard "grinding," though at daybreak and throughout the summer they are to be heard daily. But July is their nosiest month — July, when the marshes are gay with ragged robin, blue oxytrip, meadow-sweet, cinquefoil, red docks, and yellow rattle. Then at daybreak, as the mists YOUNG GRASSHOPPER-WARBLERS AND NEST. THE GRASSHOPPER-WARBLER 53 are clearing, you may hear the birds " grinding" amongst their coppice islets in that marshy sea, like some huge cicadas, for three, four, ten, or even twenty minutes by your watch, stopping merely to get breath, and going on till the mists clear and the garish day exposes them to view, when they rest for a space, beginning again at ten in the morning, " grinding " through long spells with their heads thrown well back and their eyes looking all around them over the green marshland, the songs rising quicker and sounding shriller until the birds stop for a moment, the intervals being of different lengths, then continuing it for over an hour with a few momentary stops, the song recalling the winding of a spring steel-tape in different lengths, now stopping suddenly for a moment, now being pulled out quicker and quicker, then suddenly stopping. And so on at intervals the songs — those mysterious voices — go on by day and night till the end of summer, when the birds go to " grind " music upon some far distant marshes. GRASSHOPPER-WARBLER'S NEST AND EGGS. CHAPTER XIX HEDGE-SPARROW THIS quiet, tame, sober-coloured little bird goes in the Broadland by the name of the " Hatcher," perhaps because he sometimes "hatches off" the lazy cuckoo's egg — though neither he nor his nest are favourites of the cuckoo. His short robin-like song is one of the charming, hopeful voices of early spring ; and when in February you see the cocks chasing the hens across the marsh-grass, your heart is delighted, for when the blue eggs by the hatcher are laid the cuckoo will soon be over. Then day by day you see them lurking about the bare hedgerows, working their half-spread wings in jerks, fol- lowing each other. A little later after this courting chase — towards the end of March — you may see the pairs feeding together by some gorsy islet that rises from the marshland — that is their honeymoon. For soon the little nest is begun, for preference, in a low gorse bush already breaking into bud, or in an " ivory bush,"* or more rarely in old thorn faggots stowed by the millman's door. Early in April the well-known little blue eggs lie naked to the skies. And when the hen begins to sit, if you chance to pass that way and flush her from her nest, she — full of deceit, like many " simple," homely folk- will mayhap lie down on the road and spread out her tail, or sit back on her spread tail with her partly spread wings fluttering, pretending to be fatally ill or mortally wounded. * Ivy bush. 54 HEDGE-SPARROW 55 But do you run up and attempt to catch her and you will see she will at once gather herself up and fly nimbly off to the protecting hedgerow, awaiting your departure from her district. At this season too the cock shows he is not averse from joining other sparrows in robbery. You will find this " quiet " simple little soul pecking furiously at your young onion-beds or some other sweet seedlings, or he will be playing havoc with your budding bushes and trees ; and if you could accuse him green-billed, you are sure that, like the " simple " girl, he would plead " it was such a little one," or " only the first time." And when the equinoxes fill the North Sea with herring fleets, these birds spread over the country-side, living through the winter by the fenman's or farmer's door, or else they feed with the rooks, starlings, and larks and titlarks on the melting patches of snow in the bleak landscape. And so this insignificant little bird lives its life, never doing anything to be " spoken on," adding no beauty of song or bright patch of colour to the landscape, but leading a "quiet life," practising the arts of deceit when necessary, stealing with a deprecatory air, and passing through life as do a host of "homely" and petty-minded people — as "respectable." CHAPTER XX THE REED-PHEASANT LONG before the frogs awake from their winter sleep, long ere the peaty dikes are green with the spear-like tips of the reed-colts, the grey-headed, tawny buff cock-birds with their black moustachios begin their low chings through the tossing yellow reed-beds, where the gusty wind plays in and out, casting ever-shifting shades and lights that dazzle and stupefy the fenman on egging bent; for the reed- pheasant's eggs and skins are beloved of the collector, that fatuous gatherer of unconsidered trifles. If the weather be open upon St. Valentine's day the birds begin to pair, and you may, as you glide along the silver water-ways, see a little band fly up into the ambient air as high as a wherry's vane, chinging as they fly, then suddenly stop, turn, and dart down again into the yellow reed-bed, as if shunning the light. Before this augury the taciturn fenman by your side will say slowly, " They'll soon be laying now." And he is right ; for immediately follows the playtime or honeymoon, when the happy pair fly about the " thyte (thick) reed," plucking reed- feathers and tossing them wantonly hither and thither. At such seasons, if you lie silently by a green rond ablaze with kingcups bordering a reed-bed, you will see the handsome cock-bird, grotesque with moustaches, flit to and fro, and run up and down the reeds like a mouse, for in pairing these birds never seem to quarrel or chase each other in that aimless manner peculiar to most birds. In- deed, I have known two birds to lay in one nest. Then, too, as you wander through some of the reed-jungles, you will find in the chate several cocks' nests, as the country- THE REED-PHEASANT 57 men call them, for the cock reed-pheasant is very fond of making these abortive attempts at nest-making. A week or so later, if you go into the swampy jungle (at the end of March), and look carefully through those parts where the quaking bog is knee-deep with chate, soft rushes, or beaten-down gladen-stalks — for they invariably choose a dense undergrowth of one or all of these marsh crops wherein to lodge their nests — you may be on the look-out for these curious birds running up and down the creaking reeds, or making pheasant-like flights through the amber stalks, chinging as they go. Once you hear the cock's metallic cry, if you be nesting and are experienced, you will suddenly stand perfectly still, and strain your eyes to catch sight of the mice-like bird running up and down the reeds. As you stand silently in the soft ooze, sinking in the water above your boot-tops, you may observe him run up a reed- stalk like a mouse and pick a piece of reed-tassel, and then fly straight off to his nest, uttering a metallic ching, ching, ching. Then start off through the reed-jungle as fast as your waders will permit, keeping an eager eye upon the reed-bush where he alights. If you are fortunate to have come close to the nest, and possess your soul in silence, you will soon see the little birds working about the reed round about you, running to and fro like mice. In such plight you may know you are too close to the nest ; so move quietly off deeper into the jungle, and crouch in the dry, crackling under- growth of chate, and watch stealthily as a tiger watches its prey. Presently you will see the cock-bird betray the nest, for he will begin plucking dry reed-feathers and dropping them over his cradle. If experienced, your heart will jump into your mouth as you bound forward and search amongst the dry chate about from one to two feet from the hover bottom, the old birds meanwhile having run off in the stuff like little mice. There, cradled in the undergrowth of sedge, you will, if fortunate, find the long nest, about nine inches in depth, deftly woven of the dried bottom leaves of the reed, 58 BIRDS, BEASTS, AND FISHES and lined with reed-feather; occasionally a coot's or swan's feather being thrust jauntily into the reedy boat-shaped cradle pour Jamuser. As you part the dry and crackling chate, you may catch sight, for a moment only, of five yellow bills peeping from brown heads, lost in a mass of blackish feathers tipped with buff, and you may hear a cheep, cheep, and lo ! they have bolted out of the nest and run like mice away into the stuff. Still you may know them to be near, for the old birds will come working and calling round you ; you can hear them chinging and making a peculiar grunting kind of noise. That is a signal for you to move off into the deep reed, for they will surely return to their nest even when they can fly — indeed, young reed-pheasants are the only birds who do this — and they will return four or five times a day. Having taken your mark, you draw off, and return upon a rainy day or early in the morning after a heavy dew, and you will see the old birds hunting under the sheaths of the reed-stalks and at the nodes for the maggots where- with to feed their nestlings — for they love damp reed to work upon. Spiders, midges, and the seed of reed, too, are found in their bill of fare. Should you, however, be of a predatory nature, and attempt to take the nest rashly from its moorings, it will fall to pieces unless you be cautious to tie it together beforehand ; but 'tis safer to cut the hover from the reed-bed — nest, chate, and all — but best of all it is to leave the long bulky nest where it is and go search for others. You may find as many as nine eggs in a nest, but five is the more usual number ; and they will, if robbed, build five or six nests in a season, moreover, and not far from the spot where the first cradle was lodged. Nine days suffice for those little architects to complete a new home, which is nearly always built of reed-leaf and feather, but I have seen nests built of litter and lined with fine grass. At times they will not wait to build a new nest, if robbed, but will drop their eggs where the old nest rested, and build a new nest over them. I have known fenmen who have THE REED-PHEASANT 59 frequently found old nests with eggs woven into their bottoms — cellared, as it were, and such happens with the great-crested grebe. The fenmen who gather the nestlings mow a circle round the nest before the eggs are hatched off, and net the place with an old piece of herring lint ; for the birds seldom build over water, though they dearly love a hover that rises and falls with the tide, and perhaps that may account for their long nests. And when the hatchlings are a week old the bird-catchers drop into the reed-jungle and make a dash for the nest. The young birds tumble out like mice and make for the ground, and the fenmen catch them in the mowed space before they have time to reach the protecting reed-brakes, and after- wards they are reared by hand and kept as cage- birds, and they are wonderfully fast-growing birds. Indeed, the eggs are hatched in eight days and the young can fly in a fort- night. Should you not have patience to loaf about the reed- beds, however, and wish to discover a nest in a lightly cropped marish swamp, take a long light pole in your hand and start into the swamp, being all eyes (looking ahead) and ears, listening for the ching, cJiing. March along, looking well ahead and beating the stuff, and you will be sure to put them up, if there be any birds in your sparse jungle. And then be careful you do not crush the eggs or nestlings with your heavily-booted feet. And be sure you choose a still, bright day for your work, or never a reed-pheasant will you see. And you may find their nests as late as July. And be sure, also, that the cock-bird, who often begins to sit on two eggs, will be sure to betray the nest if you let him. Espe- cially is he over-anxious and fussy about the first eggs; indeed, his behaviour must be a thorn in the side of his plain mate. In winter the reed-pheasants gather together in flocks, each numbering fifteen or twenty, and you may see them rise from the reed on a bright winter's day, chinging, flying up some yards into the blue, and suddenly throwing themselves down headlong into the yellow reed-bed to feast 60 BIRDS, BEASTS, AND FISHES upon the insects therein. They are cheery companions to the solitary reed-cutter, as he works boot-deep in the icy water. He often sees them run along the fallen amber stalks, moving like a wagtail, with tail held straight out behind, picking insects from the water. And the fenman knows they will build close by, for they never wander far from the place where they were bred and born. The reed-pheasants are hardy, sociable little fellows ; in- deed, in nesting time they often, like red-shanks and pee- wits, build close to one another — one " coys " the other, as the solitary fenmen say; but the hard winter of 1890-91 was very fatal to these little fen-birds, and the following spring but two nests were found in a district most dear to them. Yet they are not extinct, and may still be seen in the Broads wherever the swampy crops grow thick in winter and sparsely in spring. And, like the fenman, they are mysterious, ever seeking the seclusion of the reed-bed. The reed-pheasant is, after all, the last link with an earlier age, a period when the fenman lived in inaccessible morasses, with no other companions than the flickering will-o'-the-wisps and the watery tribes of birds whose strange voices filled his soul with a native poetry that increased his natural melan- choly and superstition. REED-PHEASANTS AND NEST. CHAPTER XXI THE LONG-TAILED TITMOUSE Or " titimouse," as the fenmen call this moth-like bird, always associates itself in my mind with the humming-bird. Any one who has seen a living gem of a humming-bird hovering moth-like about the trumpet-shaped flowers of a plantain or banana-tree in the tropics, cannot fail to compare it to the hovering of a long-tailed titmouse about an ivy-covered tree in summer-time when in search of insects. Moreover, the face of the bird resembles that of a large moth in its round- ness, beady eyes, texture, and general expression. Alto- gether he is an artistic creature in form and colouring as well as in habits, for he builds one of the deftest and most beautiful of all bird's nests. The silvery lichen-covered home, woven amid a large branch of ivy, or in some scaly-barked gorse bush, is a little masterpiece, although perhaps rather inconvenient for the mother, who has to sit with her long tail folded over her back, her feathers resembling a Spanish mantilla over her little head as you peer into the nest. Though by no means common in the Broadland, the long- tailed tit is not rare, and often builds there, generally return- ing to the same neighbourhood to nest year after year. I know of one garden abutting on a Broad where a pair have nested in the ivy round an old elm-tree for several years, laying their dozen or sixteen eggs regularly. And there on a fine warm day in July you may see the young birds flying about the trees looking for insects, and calling to each other with their childish wee, wee, wee ; and later, when the reed is ripe, they frequent in flocks the tall trees by the river, 61 62 BIRDS, BEASTS, AND FISHES with the " pick-cheeses " and redpolls, flying about following one another round the tall bare tops from tree to tree, like a flock of giant moths, and even at a long distance you should know them by that paddling flight of theirs, for they seem to lie on the air with their tail and body, and paddle with their wings. You may distinguish them as well by their long tails. But, like the giant moth, 'tis a bird not too commonly seen, nor are its simple habits too freely divulged ; for during the nesting season they are very shy and skulk- ing, and one may be surprised by suddenly finding a young family flocking about a familiar corner of the garden where no nest was suspected, or even old birds seen. And yet you might think they would be more numerous, for sixteen is a common number of eggs ; but I have seldom seen more than five or six young birds together when the cradle is left ; perhaps they perish from overcrowding in that bottle- like nest. And the fenmen speak of two kinds, the blue and pink long-tailed titimouse, describing the blue as the bigger bird. CHAPTER XXII TWO MORE TITMICE— THE GREAT. TITMOUSE AND THE COAL-TITMOUSE I HAVE rarely seen either of these birds in the Broadlands, and from inquiries I find they are by no means common. The great titmouse is locally called the " Bee-bird," from its habit of eating bees in spring and autumn, when they are somnolent and there is little other insect food. I know of one of these hatching off six young in a hollow tree, the nest being a yard below the hole in the tree, and therefore not to be reached by the grasping urchin. These six nestlings were fed upon flies and moths that were captured in the ivy growing round an old elm. When the old hen was sitting, if you approached the nest she hissed "like a wiper," as the old fenman in whose cottage she built expressed it. An old mole-catcher told me they are some- times called " saw-sharpeners " in the building season, from the well-known and peculiar grating noise made by the cock. The " coal-titimouse," as the coal-tit is locally called, is seen about the reeds now and then, or more rarely amongst the alders ; but I have never found his nest in this district, though it cannot be unknown, for the birds, though not common, are by no means rare, although all one sees of these two pied tits is a flash across the land- scape or a glance from a reed-bed — a mere glimpse here and there, of which the memory alone is left. CHAPTER XXIII THE BLUE TITMOUSE AROUND some of the Broadsmen's homes grow tree-mallows, or " pick-cheese trees/' as they are locally called — the seeds of this plant, called " pick-cheeses," bearing a faint resem- blance to a cheese. The blue tit is extremely fond of these pick-cheeses, whence he has been called locally the " pick- cheese," and thus is explained an etymological problem that has long puzzled the ornithologist and philologist. And a brave little bandit is this blue-headed bird. Indeed he is as beautiful as he is brave, and as charming as he is beautiful. He is well armed, too, as you may test by letting him get a peck at your finger ; but look out lest he carry off a bit of flesh. And in the early spring, when the fruit trees are breaking and the sleepy bees are recovering, the blue-headed tit is busy playing havoc, eating the somnolent bees and pulling the hearts from the buds. A mischievous bird is he in a garden, nearly as harmful as the thieving sparrow, where the year round you may see them "in twoses," as the Broadsmen say — and I often wonder if they pair for life. And when the slipshod nest of twigs, grass, horse-hair, wool, and feathers is being built in some hole in the wall or tree, or in some crack in an old barn or mill, occupied year after year, you may, if you like, test their perseverance. Do but pull out their new nest, and they will build again ; or, if you catch them building in a hollow tree, go day after day and cut the door of their stronghold larger and larger ; still will they persevere in their labours, and go ahead with 64 THE BLUB TITMOUSE 65 their cradle ; and should you reward their perseverance by letting them alone, the hen will lay her eight little eggs and forthwith begin sitting. And if you bide your time till the eggs be hatched, and then go to the nest, you may have proof of their bravery, for they will boldly attack you, fighting with you with bill and claw : in sooth, you may catch the cock thus, so eager is he for his young. Indeed, so furiously will they rage, that if you have a spark of sympathy in your character, you will give the little blue-headed captain an honourable truce, and leave him until his young be reared, and eight more little blue-capped warriors are sent forth to fight and steal your currants, or in cold winter feed upon the beef rib-bones you hang forth in your garden to sustain him and his kin ; for if he does much havoc he does much good, for his young family is always fed upon cankers culled from your garden plants, or moths, which he catches after the manner of the fly-catcher, and in grey winter he searches over your rotten bark and delves out insects upon which he feeds, hanging now back-down, now sideways, now standing haughtily on a branch, as he threatens a too curious young sparrow who would fain share his food with him. The " pick-cheese " never leaves his birthplace far ; indeed I have known them to sleep in winter in the very place wherein they were hatched — a hole in an old mill. And when the leaves have fallen from the trees and the marshlands are bare, you may perchance find them feeding upon a dead horse, whose carcase has been dragged forth from some dyke ; and as you pass along the soppy land you may see a flock of these blue-headed rovers on the dead horse, like blue-bottles upon a corpse, though they eat maggots whilst the flies blow them, and therein lies one distinction. Or later, in the dead of winter, when the flocks and herds have been driven from the marshes, you will find the blue " pick- cheeses " in the alders by the grey river searching for 66 BIRDS, BEASTS, AND FISHES insects and seeds, or in a warm osier carr upon some bright winter morning, when the sun has melted the rime on the reeds, you may see the little " pick-cheeses" running about the dripping reed-stalks in search of insects and seed; for, in sooth, they are hard pressed at this season of the year. But they are hardy and brave, and that spells survival, as his little song informs you in early spring as you look up through the quaint decorative alder catkins and see the little blue- cap far outshining the azure itself in brilliancy — a blue star in the blue — a worthy crest for so brave and beautiful a little bird. Long may he live, bandit though he be ! CHAPTER XXIV THE WREN THE tomtit, as the Broadsmen call this pert, childlike little bird, always brings an affectionate smile to your face as you see his hopping, plump little body flitting over the bank, or running along the branches of a leafless tree, stopping every now and then to sing his loud-voiced song ; for, though his is a little body, he has a mighty and pleasant song. And very early in the year, before the winter snows have melted, you may see him courting, singing loudly from some tree or bush, flying up in joy some ten yards into the pure air, singing as he flies, then descending prettily to his perch like a plump moth or butterfly. And no sooner has he taken unto himself his little wife (generally early in April) than he begins to construct those mysterious cock's-nests, in some leafless, gnarled thorn-bush, some old wall, heap of faggots, reed-thatched shed, bank, or ivy-covered elm — for all these places are dear to him for nesting, though at times stranger sites are chosen. The most beautiful nest I ever saw was placed amongst some yellow reed-stalks growing in a pulk in the heart of a coppice abutting on one of the Broads. And a lovely little picture the green mossy nest made, as it lodged without fastenings amongst the amber reed-stalks, so softly lighted beneath the budding greenery of the planting. And when the mossy nest, horse-hair lined, is finished, the little hen takes a respite from her labours ; for she is in no hurry to lay her eggs, often waiting several days before the first little egg is deposited in the chosen nest, for at times 67 68 BIRDS, BEASTS, AND FISHES they build two or three before they are satisfied. Yet they do not always make a new nest, but occasionally lay in an old cradle. And when the ten little eggs are laid, the little hen begins to sit, and if you disturb her she steals off like a mouse, and it is reported will not return if so much as your finger be thrust into the nest. But this statement, like many others of the same kind, is misleading, for I have often tried the experiment. Some will desert, others will not, even after some eggs have been taken ; and upon one occasion I took out every egg and replaced it again, and still the hen re- turned to her nest, and hatched off the little fledglings, which she and her little lord fed upon insects, worms, and cater- pillars, especially those found upon the fenmen's gooseberry bushes; for a pair of tomtits with a family are the best destroyers of gooseberry cankers I know, and should there- fore be encouraged in every garden. In white-hot July, too, when the second brood is being reared, he is ever busy in the garden grubbing amongst the insects for his young. And when the young are growing, should you draw near the nest, they will come tumbling out one after the other like children bounding out of school, and the anxious parents hop about on the bushes calling. And when they have left the nest, you may see them, aye, to the number of ten, sitting in a row on a bramble spray sunning themselves like playful little children, and a pretty little group they make. And when the autumn rains and frosts and gales have stripped the trees, you may see your little friends — many of them having braved the sea-voyage — at eventide skulking behind old stumps, or round about pollarded trees, where they sleep — sometimes as many as twenty in a hole, keeping each other warm. A hole in a reed-thatch, or even an old sparrow's nest, is used at times for the same purpose. And then the boys go forth to stone the " king of birds," as they call the wren in Norfolk — one party going on one side of the leafless hedge, and another ruthless gang following on THE WREN 69 the other. And the tomtit fares badJy, for he never leaves the cover of the hedge, like other birds, but goes flitting along, hiding behind stumps, running into rat or rabbit holes, or hiding in a hollow thorn-ball, occasionally escaping the stones. At times a dog is brought along with his tormentors, for since Tommy has scent, a dog will snuff and follow, as eager for the hunt as the boys themselves. A few years ago the boys could sell Tommy's tail feathers to a Norwich chemist — for tying flies, I presume. But the wiser tomtits hang about the stacks and remain near the farmhouse, where food is more plentiful when the stack tops are white and the pump is frozen. And so he lives his simple life, a joy to all, a dear little childish co-mate in our journey through life. CHAPTER XXV THE TREE-CREEPER THE fenman often sees a little bird running up his apple- trees or the old stumps in the hedgerows, climbing up a few feet, then stopping to feed hurriedly, and then hastening on again, supporting itself on its tail and with its sharp claws. It is the tree-creeper. There is not much to know about him, except you may see him feeding on the tree-trunks, running up like a mouse either when trees loom large and green in summer or look small and bare in winter. Sometimes he travels round the tree in a spiral, especially if the weather be fine ; but when the wind blows you will see him work under the lee of the trunk, for most little birds dislike wind — it ruffles their plumage ; indeed, many water-fowl sit head to wind chiefly on that account. Though the tree-creeper builds every year, to find his nest is a rare matter, for 'tis generally placed in some dark little cavern whose mouth is concealed by ivy or other greenery. The only nest I have seen came from a hollow apple-tree, and is a curious structure, composed almost entirely of moss and old cobwebs, those dust-powdered old draperies that hang from deserted barn rafters, the whole lined with grass, upon which rest the red-spotted eggs, never to be mistaken if once seen. A mysterious shy bird, rarely giving one a chance to study his simple life, the tree-creeper is the bark-bird : as constant a companion to the old tree as the moss and polished ivy. CHAPTER XXVI THE WAGTAILS A DECORATIVE, elegant little family are the wagtails — birds that should be dedicated to the Muse of Painting. Whether on a winter's morn you see the common wagtail darting to and fro — tracing lovely patterns across an old wall as he hawks for drowsy flies dozing in the sun ; or whether it be the pied wagtail tripping daintily along a silver dike, snapping dead flies floating by the shore ; or whether it be a graceful yellow wagtail, flying elegantly above a water-ranunculus petalled dike in early spring, his yellow and black and white tail cutting the air flamewise ; or, lastly, \vhether it be a lovely blue-headed wagtail running daintily along the green top of a marsh wall, stopping to dart swiftly at the flies collected in a horse's track — all are the same — all are elegant, graceful, dainty, lovely to look upon ; and, as the nightingale is the voice of the English landscape, so is the yellow wagtail the bright and graceful jewel of our low-toned English landscape. The yellow wagtail, or " wangtail," as the fenmen call him, arrives in Norfolk early in April. As you are walking over the grassy marshes, bright with the lazy dike-weeds, now in flower and gay with Parnassian-grass petals, you start as a flash of yellow light gleams athwart the lush green, and you smile, and your heart is glad, for 'tis your first " yellow-hammer," as the Broadsmen often wrongly call him. Already the many pied wagtails have arrived, but there is still the blue-headed one — that rare visitor to the Broads — to follow. In a few days, the marshlands and dikes will be 71 72 BIRDS, BEASTS, AND FISHES alive with the beautiful yellow birds, then a few days later follow the hen birds, of soberer hue, possessing a greener plumage and a more staid and less graceful demeanour than their mates, as you may see later. They walk quickly along the walls, darting at the flies rising from the steaming dung left by the horses and cattle. With them may be seen at times starlings and even herons. The yellow wagtail's soft ching-t-u, ching-i-u — a call indistinguishable from the voice of the pied wagtail — sounds sweetly amid the cries of the lambs. Their courtship is brief and mysterious. You see pairs sitting on the clumps of leafless bramble, on docks, and at times on thistles, dear to the goldfinch, and, though a shyer bird than the pied wagtail, they are by no means timid. In June, when the grass-marshes are yellow with crow's- foot and red with ragged-robin, and the holls are decorated with elegant masses of flowering hawthorn, the yellow wag- tail begins to weave his grassy cradle on a mossy marsh bottom near the water-side where the milk-white water-lilies are just beginning to unfold their shapely cups amid the smaller florets of Parnassian grass and the large-leaved burdocks. The beautiful little couple will often choose, too, a moist marsh, fragrant with mint, and pied with the tossing plumes of cotton-grass. If you watch them building, you will see they have chosen a " hill " * where there is a scant crop of pin-rush and chate. There on the drier side they work a hollow with their claws and breasts, a little cup-shaped snuggery, larger than a tit- lark's cup, which they line with dry grass-stalks, but they do not weave their cradles so closely as the titlark, nor yet are their nests so symmetrical. The titlark is the more, metho- dical architect, but the wagtail is the more finished artist. Next to the grass he sometimes places a warm layer of non-conducting wool, torn from his co-mates of the pasture, whilst inside of this wool he weaves a lining of horse-hair picked from the marsh-herds, crowning the work with a * A "hill " in Norfolk is a dry patch of very slightly elevated marsh. THE WAGTAILS 73 spray of swan's-down or sable wool. But sometimes he must have a roof to his cradle, so he pulls over a few stalks of dead rush, bending them into a beautiful Gothic arch, lacing their springy ends into the spongy peat with, dried reeds bent prone, all sewn as lightly as wickerwork to the spongy peat with dried pin-rush threads. And the door of this little house faces the east, in order that the sitting bird (for they take their turns at incubation) may behold the gleaming sunrise of a summer's morning mayhap, but more likely that the great heat of the day may not play upon its six tender nestlings when in the fulness of time they are cradled — the yellowish- brown chicks that have begun their battle for life. And you may sometimes know the exact position of the nest, for the birds often hover over the nest before dropping into it, and you may hear the peculiar monotonous note of the sitting bird — a note that never varies. Often, too, you may see them, on leaving the nest, stop and arrange their dainty feathers before ranging for food. And when the blue waters are white with water- lilies and red with pond-weed, the young birds leave the nest at the end of June, and you may see them on dewy mornings searching over the marshes for flies and moths, which they love dearly. All the summer season they follow, in large parties, the stalwart marsh-mowers from daylight to sunset, as they sweep down the coarse marshy crops, disturbing myriads of flies and moths, upon which the yellow and green families feed, regardless of the labourers. Amongst these followers of the fenmen, too, you may occa- sionally see a slenderer, shyer bird, with a beautiful blue head —the blue " wangtail," as the mowers call him ; but he is rare — to see six in a season is to be lucky; and to find a nest very rare indeed. But such was my luck upon one happy May — a nest holding eggs yellower and larger than those of his yellow brother. But rarely indeed is he to be seen, though my wherryman was stupid enough to shoot the father of the family ere the eggs were all laid. 74 BIRDS, BEASTS, AND FISHES All through the long days of July and August you may see the yellow wagtail taking long flights, at times crossing the green reed-beds, as they range from marsh to marsh, and in a fine autumn they linger with us through Septem- ber and October, and I have seen a few as late even as November ; but that is extremely rare, and the autumn must be fine indeed — an autumn such as delights the herring- fisher's wife. More often the first frost falls in October, and they are gone across the salt seas to lands where the sun rises as yellow as their own beautiful breasts, lands teeming with the insect tribe of flies and moths. The pied or " black wangtail," as the fenmen call him, is resident, but the majority arrive long before the frosts have left ; indeed I have seen them flying amongst the peewits in February, ere the kingcups have opened their golden cups. A trusting bird is the black wagtail, the miller's friend, for he dearly loves to nest in a pollard overhanging a sleepy dike or beneath the prickly eaves of a gorse-thatched shed where the miller fattens his winter calves. Perhaps this shrewd and elegant little harlequin has an eye to the flies and moths that frequent the miller's sheds in the first warm days of spring. A sociable little fellow, too, is the pied wagtail, for if he can- not find company by the millside, he will away to the marshes where the fenmen are cleaning the dikes or mowing the sere marsh crops, where he alights, throwing his tail up into the air, bowing coquettishly. After this ceremony, you may see him intent upon his prey and forgetful of the labourer's presence, merely crying ching-i-u, ching-i-u, if disturbed by meak or crome that drags forth the lamb's-tail. Very fond too is he of alighting on a marsh gate or decaying post, wrhence his regards extend over the marsh- lands, brown from the winter's frosts, away to the mill-shed or pollard where he and his sober wife intend building their large nest of grass and horsehair, that you may see him THE WAGTAILS 75 steal in early spring from the horses' manes ; for this im- pudent little fellow thinks no more of riding the marsh on cattle and sheep than the starling ; indeed they often ride together and are great friends. When the nest is made and the four eggs laid (less blue and smaller in size than those of his near relative the white wagtail*), you may see him hawking over the marshes and catching flies round the cattle's feet or getting worms from the dikes ; and when he has gathered his load he flies away in a bee-line for his nest in the pollard, now green with leaves, for it is May ere he builds. And these twain take turns at the dull work of incubation, both sitting pretty close, but never allowing you to catch them with your hand. Year after year they will return to the same spot to rear their young ; year after year you may recognise the sweet ching-i-u about the old mill-wheel until the cold of winter drives most of them across the grey seas to another old mill by an African waterside. In winter you may see those that remain feeding in sober plumage along the water, clad in dull winter coats. Indeed, when the meres are ice-bound and the marshes covered with snow, you may find them by many a runlet eating what they can, and pleased with what they get. His brother, the white wagtail, is rare — rare as the blue- headed bird ; but I have on occasions seen this elegant bird by water near stone walls, and once I found his nest in a pollarded willow overhanging a sleepy dike, where his wife had laid five eggs, bluer and larger in size than those of the pied wagtail. I noticed both birds sat on them; but a greedy urchin found the nest, and seized the eggs, and my studies were cut short. * A reviewer in Nature seemed to question my statement in On English Lagoons that the white wagtail and blue-headed wagtail had been seen in Norfolk. Mr. Fielding Harmer, in Wild Life on a Tidal Water, records the white wagtail's appearance in Norfolk, and the specimen of the blue-headed wagtail my wherryman shot was sent to Mr. George Grimsell of Reedham to stuff. 76 BIRDS, BEASTS, AND FISHES And would that some English Hokusai would paint a characteristic panel of wagtails in their beautiful coursing flight, with fan-spread tails, across a lush marsh, yellow with kingcups and rosy with the ripe crop of the water-grass, and send it to me to keep and treasure as a joy for ever. THE HAUNT OF THE WAGTAIL. CHAPTER XXVI THE TITLARK ISLETS of blossoming hawthorn, clumps of pale green sallow, and trailing brambles rise from the green sea of the far-stretching marshland, while a few scattered windmills guard the grassy plains like beacons — marks to the lazy wherrymen gliding through the land behind their black sails, that disappear round groups of marsh-farm buildings re- calling arks anchored in a green sea. Above is stretched the sky, with the soft fleecy clouds of May, and the warm moist air is quivering with the plaintive wild cries of plover and the joyous carolling of the larks; when suddenly there is a brief song as a little brown bird rises from the green sea and flits upward as far as the mill-neck, calling tu-wheety tu-wheet, in crescendo. When it reaches this height it pauses, turns on its side, and drops with out- spread wings, calling first chuck-a-chuck-a-chiick, like a sedge-warbler, and alighting, it skulks off like him too. Tis the voice of the titlark courting. The spring migrants have come out of the foggy sea, and filled the great gaps left by autumn migration, and cold, and birds of prey ; for your hawk and harrier loves a tit-lark as we do a snipe. All through the hard grey winter have the resident titlarks been seen by the melting ice-fields, pecking hungrily at the worms and insects thrown up by the thaw, or feeding round the fenmen's mills. But now their troubles are over, and they are disporting their little bodies before their still more sober-hued mates. Up goes the cock again from his reed- bed or marsh, his little body swelling with his simple love- 77 78 BIRDS, BEASTS, AND FISHES song, then down he comes, when his appointed course is run, into the grassy marsh. Already it is building its compact little nest of coarse grass, fine grass, and little pieces of rush, building it securely in the moss on the marsh bottom in a sheltered spot beneath a tussock of beaten-down grass or rush — that serves it for a roof — a covering, however, which does not protect it from the visits of the ubiquitous cuckoo, who is already chasing, or being chased, by some of its tribe across the grassy seas — such is the mysterious relationship between these two birds. But let us find a nest, for there flies a bird, shutting his wings and rising into the air and falling back again, re- minding one of a swimmer cleaving the glassy waves of the sea. There he goes across the wall into the soft marsh. Now he hovers for a moment over a spot, and dips into the marsh with something in his bill — he is feeding his mate, for 'tis too early yet for young birds. Jumping the sleeping water in the dike, we beat about the soft marsh, putting up a bright-eyed peacock-butterfly (" King George " the fenmen call it), and several brown and yellow moths, all of which flying creatures delight his little palate, for he is a lover of dainties. Ah ! we have put up the little pair ; let us follow them to the dike-side. Watch ! he has got a little worm, and they are walking away up the dike beyond the kingcups. Let us follow; but hold ! they are looking at us. On they go past that patch of cuckoo-flowers — he is going to feed the hen. No ; they move off again. Let us follow; they bid us follow towards the mill. On we go past an old thistle-stalk ; the saucy pair eye us askance, and still he holds the worm in his bill. They stop and seem to confer, yet she eats nothing. By jove ! they're fooling us, leading us away from the nest, and the big fenman cracks his sides with laughter and shouts, "The little warmin." Yes, they took us in, as they THE TITLARK 79 have done before by feigning lameness; and yet he feeds his hen whilst she sits, so we must go and hide behind the wall and wait till they return to the nest ; for that is the easiest way to find the reddish eggs — an you wish. But hold ! ere we have hidden another appears, looking lighter in plumage than he did in the dark days of winter, when he resembled the hedge-sparrow and starling in the white snow-fields. Watch him; he is hunting along the bank, the colour of his feathers being a shield as he hunts in and out of the grassy tussocks. Naturally shy, he sneaks along something like a rail in a reed-bed, taking advantage of any bit of cover, like the skirmisher he is. Look ! he has sighted his prey yonder, a yard ahead of him. You see he is running swiftly towards it ; lo ! he has seized and swallowed it, and look ! he has already begun skirmishing again. But he has stopped again at yon little silver pool and is sipping the water ; and now look how he preens his feathers, raising his head as suspiciously as a guilty lover. He is in deshabille now, his wings hang loosely by his side, his feathers are shot out ; still his quick little eye sees an insect drop into the pool, and, after a swift glance all round, he seizes it quickly, looks round swiftly again, and darts his head down into the feathers between his legs for another insect that irritates him. But up rises the head again. There ! you moved, and he is gone like a startled hare, and we will follow; for we have disturbed the breeding birds to-day, and they will sit about on the tops of blossoming gorse-sprays, budding brambles, and even on the shaft of that old fork left idly in the marsh, whence they will fly along the heaps of stuff till they think they have wearied you, notwithstanding their eggs are cooling. All summer long, from May until the golden harvest, you may find their eggs or nestlings over the marshlands. There you may see them hovering with laden bills over their cradles or flying up in courtship, or with their young following the marsh-mowers, snapping at the moths and 8o BIRDS, BEASTS, AND FISHES butterflies so dear to them ; or else they are feeding a voracious cuckoo, and following him over the marshes, pan- dering to the great silent bird through August, until he ungratefully goes across the seas when the guns begin to boom across the stubble, leaving his foster-parents to fly aimlessly to and fro looking for their lost child ; or mayhap when the ever-new springtide returns, they give chase to the first cuckoo, stung by affection, and thinking perhaps to find their dear foster-child, for whom they so willingly sacrifice their own flesh and blood. Strange, insignificant, mysterious little birds ! what is the riddle, what the mysterious love you bear the great selfish chortling cuckoo ? What the love and enmity that by turn stirs your soft souls to deeds of war or loving self-sacrifice ? CHAPTER XXVIII RED-BACKED SHRIKE THE dark leafless trees and pale marsh crops of the winter landscape have gradually melted into a green screen that rises from a green sea. Indeed, April is here, borne on mild yellowish wings — April, the month of the blue cuckoo and the red-backed shrike — for they often come over the water plains together. Indeed, I have heard the red-backed shrike called the " cuckoo's mate," though wrongly, that name being reserved for the " wry-neck," which is rare on the marshlands, where the red-backed bird is not unfrequent, as you may prove for yourself; for he is often to be seen in early spring with his slow lapping, fulfar-like flight going across the marshes, uttering his whistling note as he makes his journey through the blue to the old hedgerow by the green loke leading up from the marshes. He knows it well, for he has nested there for several years in succession, and there has been no one to disturb him. See how he alights on the familiar old hawthorn "sprag," as the fenmen call a spray. Perchance a brother has sought his old nesting home in the cool retreat of an osier carr — a home rich with insect food for the expected family. As you go along the loke, gay with yellow broom, you see the pair sitting upon the bending " sprags " against the blue — for they never alight or sit in a hedgerow, but always upon some outstretching " sprag," whence they can view the flat wastes around them. Up they fly and away they go down the loke to that out- lying " sprag " of bramble ; and if you " hide up " in the hedge you will see one hunt majhap, for the evening shades are 82 BIRDS, BEASTS, AND FISHES calling forth the moths, and droning beetles begin to fly and drum ; and as you watch him, suddenly a little brown moth may come down the road, and you see his crest rise, you hear him utter a peculiar call — ivhorrt — and, darting from his look-out, capture the soft-winged little thing in his hard bill, returning to his perch to devour him. Moths and beetles and flies are his favourite food, and he always captures them in this way all through the summer. When the end of May has clothed the hedgerows with verdure, the butcher-birds begin to weave their large slovenly nests of old grass, roots, moss, wool, and sometimes horse- hair ; placing them either in a thorn bush, an osier, a bramble, or even in the hole of a tree — one once built in an old apple- tree I knew well — the hen there laying five eggs ; but more often six. The old birds never go far from the nest, and you may see them perched aloft on a rocking " sprag " at eventide, or in the day hunting for their prey, which, unconscious of them, swims by in the airy stream before them. And when the nestlings leave the nest, you may see them huddled five or six together on a short branchlet, the old birds feeding them, and the cock calling from time to time with a voice like that of a small hawk. The cock is the chief caterer to the happy family ; and should you capture one and place it on the ground, and bring your finger up to its bill, it will hop backward ; and should you for fun put him into a yellow fulfar's nest close by, he will unceremoniously bundle his hosts out. And if at such season a cuckoo pass that way, the cock will dart boldly at him and drive him oft". Indeed, he will turn birds from their nesting quarters if he have a mind, and cares not one jot for any intruder when there are young in the nest. The great grey shrike I have seen once or twice in Nor- folk, but it was a brief vision — a momentary hovering like a kestrel and a jay-like flight into the winter greyness, just as one sees a bright meteorite on a clear November sky. CHAPTER XXIX THE SPOTTED FLY-CATCHER THE irises are high in the dikes when the fly-catchers come over the seas to build their mossy nests of moss, cobwebs, horse-hair, and wool in the thick ivy climbing round the old elm-trees surrounding the fenman's garden ; nor do they ever leave their nest far. I have heard them early in April, but the end of the month is a surer date for them to appear; nor are they long about the little gardens abutting on the Broads. Often they begin to build their nests in the cosy corner between an elm sprig and the mossy, green, ivy-clad trunk — green with the rain-paths of years — paths where the soft water has run down from the spreading topmost branches for many a season. Both these serious-looking sober little birds build the nest, and both sit by turns. From incubation-time all day long through the breeding season you will see his speckled little bosom flitting about the elm branches, or else sitting like a red shrike upon an elm sprig, he watches with his big solemn eyes for flies and moths flying in and out of the ivy, and suddenly darts upon them as does a bird of prey, seizing them and returning to his perch to look for more. Indeed, I think he builds in the ivy round the elms because in the long spring and summer days this cool green winding- sheet of the elm swarms with moths and flies, and the young and old fly-catchers find they will not have far to seek for their dinner. And in summer you may hear them singing their sweet wren-like song, but more especially in the thick sultry noontide or afternoon, when not a breath 83 S4 BIRDS, BEASTS, AND FISHES stirs the gorgeous yellow irises in the green dikes, and never a reed tosses its rich black tassel beneath the hot blue sky. Listen, and you may every half-hour, sure as the castle- watchman's call, hear him burst into song for a short period, and cease again to hawk for flies until his watch is up, and the song is given forth again ; or you may hear him calling •egyp) egyP> as ne feeds his brood, be it the first or second family, for he builds twice if robbed. In sooth, the voices of the buntings, whitethroats, and fly- catchers may be called the voices of the summer-tide, for when they grow silent we know that chill autumn and dreary winter are nigh — know that the iris seed-cases are bursting in the dikes, and the pike seeks the deep water. And go if you can, with the fly-catcher to some sunny clime, where, in the thick hot noontide, you may there hear his sweet little song, and forget that it is winter anywhere. CHAPTER XXX THE SWALLOWS ALL four of the " swallows " (as the fenmen call swallows and martins indiscriminately) frequent the Broadland, and by their form and flight and gentle twitterings add life and grace and elegance to the Broads and marshlands. The first to come over is the swallow, a few stragglers appearing early in April, each bright bird's arrival being passed on from mouth to mouth, for he is an earnest of spring, a promise of flowers and love and hawthorn- sprinkled lanes. He is the most patent outward and visible sign of coming spring, though the seer has been expecting him for some days; for has he not noticed the midges dancing over the dikes and sappy marsh plants, and the swallow never comes before they appear. It is remarkable how regularly a few swallows and house-martins arrive, and then follows a lull of a fortnight before the main body come over, and begin hawking for flies over the still waters of the lagoons, whence the lily leaves are rising and the young reed-cases peeping forth. And often after his arrival a cold wave sweeps over the face of the land, filling the thrushes' nests with snow and sleet, cutting down the flies, and so starving the swallows, whom you can find lying dead by the roads and dikes, or see flying numbly a few feet over the hard resounding rimy marsh. And daily in early spring, as you sail through these quiet waters, you will see the handsome swallow flying over the water in search of midges; and as the sun gains strength and 85 86 BIRDS, BEASTS, AND FISHES insect life increases, they leave the rivers and hawk over the marsh grasses for moths, or along the white roads. And towards the month of May you see pairs flying through the air twittering— courting — ere they begin to build their daub -and -wattle cradles beneath the bridges across the dikes, or under the bridges over the water-mill outlets, secure from wet. You may watch both birds in the clear, bland air, carrying bits of dead rush, straw, and soft pellets of ooze, plastering the nest together in primitive form ; and as you watch the tame birds flying to and fro, making a sound like the shutting and opening of a fan, by his smaller size and greater blueness you may know the cock. All through hawthorn-blossomed June and into July they are nursing — for they raise two broods — on the pleasant marsh ; or later they take to old sheds on the sandhills, for flies are plentiful there ; and their five spotted eggs are laid in a curious bed of feathers, and the final sitting begins, both birds taking turns at incubation. Whilst one is sitting the other is abroad feeding on moths startled by the mowers from the coarse swathes of marsh grass, on flies hovering over the reed-beds, on dead flies blown into the water and washed to leeward by the wind, or upon flies darting over the hot sand-hills. At these seasons, too, when the young are hatched, you may watch them hawking all day, often attack- ing insects too large for their wide throats — victims they are forced to let escape after all ; or flying low over the water, dipping into it, and at times dipping so deeply that they cannot get out and are drowned; or gathering "blight" from the reed- beds — or you may hear their little pheet-a-pheets as late as half-past nine on a summer's night as they hunt along the dozing trees and hedgerows. And the young remain in the nest until they are good fliers, when they adventure the unknown; but not alto- gether, for some leave the nest sooner than others, and at this season you may see four or five young swallows sitting together on a bramble or old rail. Still the old birds hunt THE SWALLOWS 87 for them, and you see the young fly up to meet their parents, taking the food from them in the air amid much twittering, returning to their perches, where they wait in solemn silence whilst the parents hunt about, filling their crops with flies. And so from daylight till late at night they eat and grow, and by the time the equinoctial gales begin to blow they are prepared for the sea- voyage, and in September you may see hundreds of them on the lee-side of a house or barn waiting for a suitable wind ere they launch upon their journey, often flying straight up into the cool, clear air ere they steer for foreign shores. Some old fenmen declare the young birds leave a fortnight before the old birds, but I cannot tell. But after the main migration some of the young linger. I have seen swallows every month of the year except January and February, but I think these lingerers often pay dearly for their tardiness by death ; but I should not be surprised to hear that some " hide up," and remain over winter in this country. Indeed, I am inclined to think they do. The swallow is not such a lover of the water as the sand- martin ; indeed, after early spring he does not hunt so much over the water, for flies are more plentiful inland. If his nest be robbed, he will build a second and a third, but as a rule he is content with two broods a year. The bird's flight seems ever a joy ; he seems to contract his wings with delight, giving a few quick beats and leaping into the air, which he seems to embrace with passion. As a decorative bird the swallow is one of the most charming, and I know of no more joyous vision than to watch a little flock of freshly-arrived swallows with their brilliant metallic blues and greens, blacks, whites, and chestnuts, describing beautiful figures over a still lagoon as they hawk for flies, and filling the soft genial spring air with soft musical pheet-a-plieets, pheet-a-pJieets, now dipping into the warm waters, now darting this way and that; visions of joyous and beauteous life one can sit and behold all through the spring day. One wants nothing when thus 88 BIRDS, BEASTS, AND FISHES occupied, and the world is young and green and full of promise, a deep contentment possessing the beholder's mind. Of all dancers, the swallows, the aerial dancers, are the most graceful, the loveliest. Yet men and cats kill them, the one for " sport " or to decorate their womenkind's hats, the other for "sport" too, for they do not eat them. CHAPTER XXXI THE MARTINS THE house-martin is rarer in the Broadland than the swallow, but his white rump is frequently to be seen some three weeks later than the swallow's burnished colours, hawking over the green marshes, calling with his soft preet- a-preet. But this brief period of fly-hawking lasts but a fortnight, when they break into pairs, and seek the beam eaves of some shed or mill or the rafters of some high-level wood bridge; for, unlike the swallow, they seem to prefer higher and loftier nesting-places ; for which reason perhaps their nest is more protected, being cup-shaped with a small port-hole for ingress and egress ; and in that rude chamber the white eggs are placed on feathers. But there is often con- siderable noise and fighting before the pairing is satisfactorily settled, and even then they have to fight that thief, the cock- sparrow, who sometimes quietly appropriates their nest and ejects them. Altogether they seem more pugnacious than the swallow, as you may see when one has captured a moth too large for his wide mouth ; for immediately another will be on his track and try to seize it, and what a preeting there is then. But they do not remain long on the marshes ; as I have said before, they go up to the houses to build their coarse cradles of grass and mud, which they collect from the dikes, ponds, and roadsides, preferring always a dark ooze of a clayey nature, to a yellow loam. And they are wise, for the nests made of this ooze do not crack so readily with the heat, and last for years, the birds often returning season after season to the same nest. Indeed, the swallow uses the same ooze, and he too returns to his nest year after year 90 BIRDS, BEASTS, AND FISHES if it be undisturbed whilst he is rearing his family ; but if the nests be broken down after they are gone, they will all com- mence building on the ruins of the old house. The house- martin is more persevering than the swallow, and if an urchin take it into his head to knock the half-finished nest down, it will build it again and again unto the fourth or fifth time. And in this cosy warm bed of feathers — for the swallow's bed is scantier and open to the air, for he is hardier — the martin often mixes horse-hair and grass freely with layers of feathers and wool. And both sit, and the young are fed in the same manner as the swallow. When they are suffi- ciently strong, they crowd, as do the swallows, to the edge of the nest, and the old birds hang upon the nest and feed them so. But the martins remain in the nest till they are very strong on the wing ; indeed they often return to their nests after their first flights from the cradle. This short flight in ascending curves with quickly beating wings leads them to a height whence they seem to swoop down a curve, and so fly on up and down. And they never leave their birthplace far, hovering round about their cradle, being fed on the wing until the golden harvest-days are over, when they collect into smaller flocks than do the swallows, and generally leave the country before them ; for they are not so hardy, as I have said, and they are wise to flee the chill grey fogs of England whilst their bodies are still strong. THE SAND-MARTIN. The greatest lover of the Broads is the hardy little sand- martin. He is often the first to arrive ; a swallow or sand- martin heralding the coming spring in turn, and when he does come, he is nearly always to be seen by the water-side sitting on old gladen stalks, gracefully resting on a bent reed, or hawking over the rippling broad for flies — flies that are born and bred in the reed-beds. But the flocks soon break up, and seek some sand or gravel-pit or the clay-pits THE MARTINS 91 in brickyards on the edge of the marshland, returning year after year to the same holes. These dark tunnels they have burrowed deep into the bank, where they place their floating basket-like nest of fowls' feathers, upon which the milk-white eggs, known to every schoolboy, are placed and the young hatched, and where the young are fed on flies and moths till they are pretty .strong on the wing, when they go in a body to the Broad, and all day long from dawn to sundown you may see them skimming just over the reed during rain or thunder-squall. In the still oppressive noontide or at dusk or early dawn, it is always the same, there they are always hawk- ing and twittering, the old feeding the young on the wing, and consuming enormous numbers of flies ; for these birds are far more numerous over the Broadlands than either the swallow or house-martin, as may be seen when they congre- gate in large flocks of thousands, sitting by the sounding sea, or lining miles of bending telegraph wire, or covering the reed or gladen beds preparatory to starting forth ; and as they fly up, on the start, darkening the air, it is difficult to conceive how they do not dash against each other, so black is the flock. SAND-MARTINS AND BURROWS. CHAPTER XXXII THE GREENFINCH OR " greenulf," as the Broadsmen call him, is the dirtiest bird alive — he fouls his own nest, always a stupid achievement. But you shall see ; for this is a beautiful April day, and the bland new leaves of the hawthorn have covered the gnarled stems ; for the greenfinch is wise enough not to build till the thorny skeletons are clothed with verdure, and oftener with beautiful "may," that perfect flower, that catches the eye of many a courting greenfinch. Let us walk under the blue sky, flecked with soft, snowy cumuli, passing some geese sleeping upon a rushy marsh, the sentinel on his grassy hill calling doubtfully as we pass up the white road towards the village, whence comes the fish- hawker calling through the green hedgerows, sweet with the voices of the whitethroats and yellow-buntings. As we near the village, the cottagers, in tucked-up dresses, pop into their doors with mops and buckets, peeping shyly from their diamond-paned windows at the " foreigners." We are overtaken by a heavy field-cart as it jolts along the village street, the driver sitting sideways, his hob-nailed boots dangling down against the rich bay skin of his strong horse, and as he leaves one end of the village we leave the other for the haunt of the greenfinch — a grassy loke bordered by very tall whitethorn hedges — a loke leading down to the marshlands. Directly we enter the cool retreat, so fresh and bright in its greenery, we hear the sweet voice of a yellow- hammer, and also the chuckling, loud and shriller linnet- 92 THE GREENFINCH 93 like calls of the greenfinches, and as we go along the loke a darker patch of green, calls with the voice of a sedge- warbler across the light green background, 'tis the "greenulf " himself, and this is greenfinch-land ; here the hardy green bird loves to build his green mossy nest in the crooked fork of the whitethorn some few feet above the bank. And he, like the starling, is careless of the prowling village cats, for they love the flesh of neither of these dirty birds. Should the winter linger late in the land, however, he chooses a glossy prickly "hulver" tree or the intricate re- cesses of ivy bushes, for cover he must have, but the cover of the bland young hawthorn leaves is his favourite dwelling- place ; and mayhap he may wait upon the lingering spring, for I have seen their nests when the dipping mowers were felling the golden corn on the uplands; but more likely these were the last feeble efforts of a many-time robbed couple, for the speckled white eggs in the mossy nest are dear to the village youth ; but the custom of raising two broods a year, numbering four or five in a brood, remains. Now let us work into their home, blue with the delicate eyes of the speedwell, and watch. Ha ! the fluttering and chattering! it is a fight, a fierce fight between two cocks, who dart at each other with their powerful bills, more powerful than that of the house-sparrow ; and if you will but let him try, either of these cocks will raise a black blister on your finger with his weapon. There they go with droop- ing wings and tails erect ; their feathers bristling ; away they go down into that thorn by the yellow broom. Look ! here comes another, his bill full of seed for his young ; he is early, but then the season is early, and he follows it. He has just come from that lonely piece there. Let us watch him. There he goes into that tall well-grown white- thorn, and there is his green mossy nest. Climb up and see. Oh ! there he goes back, flying as if he had lost all his strength, to decoy you away from his young ; but as you look into the horse-hair nest, the edges dirty with dung and 94 BIRDS, BEASTS, AND FISHES scales, you learn that the birds are of great size, for the old birds carry the sacs of meconium away until the progeny is large, when they dung where they list — dirty birds that they are. Now seize one. As you hold him screaming in your hand, all the rest have blundered out of the filthy nest and run away, for they cannot fly ; and indeed it is their custom to leave the nest before they fly, so it is no startling innovation. And if the naturalist hunt the hedges well, he may find a dozen nests, as I have done, in a short hundred yards ; but the young are best left alone, for they are useless as songsters, though the farmer likes them to feed his ferrets, for he has scarce a greater enemy than the greenfinch. And if you watch, you will know why. Any day in summer, if you frequent greenfinch-land enough, you may suddenly come upon a chattering crush of birds sitting on some long thin branch, eagerly reaching their open mouths to another bird sitting on a higher branch. Tis the greenfinch feeding her nestlings upon the farmer's turnip-seed. And such a com- motion they make in the tree-tops, all greedily fighting for a turn at the mother's crop, feeding upon the turnip-seed mash like pigs. Then go you to the turnip-seed patch, that feed ing- ground of the linnet tribe, and mark the flocks upon flocks of them feeding ravenously upon the farmer's ripe seed — their favourite dish — and rejoice that their end is often to fill a ferret's long lean stomach. Later on, you may see flocks of them with other thieves in the wheat-fields — pairs here and there fighting fiercely for their food, for they are pugnacious, quarrelsome birds, especially in the hard, black days of winter, when food is scarce, and they scour the country-side with chaffinches, bramblings, and buntings, hens and cocks all together, as is the custom of the finches and buntings, all hunting over the stubble and " new-lays " for food. At such season, so intent are they on fighting, that they will allow you to approach within a yard of them. THE GREENFINCH 95 Indeed, they are a constant terror to the farmer, for from his turnip-seed they go to his corn, and thence to his bean- fields, champing up the ripe beans with their powerful bills. They care not whether the beans lie open on the black plants or be left scattered near the farm-house by the harvester — they are sure to get them. And when they have champed the last bean, they flock to the lonely stacks, turning them green with their glossy bodies, covering the rich, lovely heap with a murrain evil as locusts ; but they are more easily affrighted, for many a shot is fired into the living green and a score or a score and a half of mangled green balls are left behind, food for ferrets. Still the nuisances return again and again, until mayhap the flock is thinned, when they often fall victims to the wide-mouthed sparrow-nets. And then comes the pinch in dead winter, when the grain is all housed and eaten. Then in the pale sunny mornings of early winter you may see flocks of them drop softly from the blue grey sky into the decorative alders by the cold riverside — they together with the long- tailed tits of sporting flight, and the garrulous redpolls, whose little wings em- brace the cold air as they fly more quickly in short curves from alder to alder. But the company of the tits, redpolls, and pick-cheeses is deserted as soon as the barley is sown, for they are off after the grain ; and once again the farmer curses their green limbs as he sees them running over the glistening clods like living plants, so green is their plumage in the winter sunshine. And such is the greenfinch, a dirty bird in his youth, yet loving a quiet paradise to court and build in, and a bold, quarrelsome thief in his manhood. And his end is to feed the rat-catcher's ferrets. CHAPTER XXXIII THE HA W FINCH OR COBBLE-BIRD * WHEN the yellow leaves have dropped like great pale dead butterflies through the low grey skies of autumn, and the canker-riddled cauliflowers and budding sprouts are eaten up, and the millman's garden is a slippery morass of de- caying vegetation, and dripping branches lie naked to the sky, the hawfinch deigns to visit the Broad district at rare intervals, and he is generally to be found in a deserted garden beneath a bare-branched, moss-stained bullace-tree, for he loves to crack the hard black cobbles with his strong bill as dearly as any schoolboy. Mere glimpses of this handsome bird against a grey back- ground is all we get in the Broadland, brief glances scarce worth recording, and the proud-looking bird with the curly feather is gone, so we know little of him and his ways. * I have seen but one living specimen of this bird in Norfolk, though two stuffed birds I know of — one shot at Reedham in 1890, and one at Hickling, 1891 — each one with bullace seeds in their mouth. In Surrey I have, as a schoolboy, frequently found the hawfinch's nest. 96 CHAPTER XXXIV THE DRAW-WATER THE goldfinch or " draw-water " is not a bird of graceful build nor sweet song, yet is he dear to the Philistine who loves variegated colours, because he satisfies a rude barbaric taste for colour; for he is a "gay bird," and he is great at parlour tricks, like his lover ; for cannot he draw his water and seed to his cage by a simple mechanical contrivance ? And so he delights the populace, as do the performing elephant and the contortionist. And of our cage-birds he seems most ill at ease, and is perpetually rushing from one side of the cage to the other, and if he be given half a chance he will escape, for he is quick and a swift flyer, and returns to the marsh, where in sooth he is seen at his best ; for at a distance, flitting rest- lessly with quick jumps from thistle to gorse-bush in the bright sunshine, he delights the eye, for 'tis an ever-shifting ball of colour flitting over the sere marsh-crops ; but when you come to regard him in a cage, you find him ill-shapen, restless, bad-tempered, an indifferent musician, a mounte- bank and imitator, and a lover of rude noises, for he sings never so sweetly as when a millman's engine is rattling, pumping forth the marsh water into the rivers. However, he has taste when building his nursery, for he generally chooses a fruit-tree, preferably an apple, covered with madder-tinged blossom ; for though he pairs very early in spring, he does not begin to build till the middle of May. In some mossy crook he builds his neat small cradle of moss, and he is a good husband, taking his turn at sitting and feeding the young with flies and maggots. 98 BIRDS, BEASTS, AND FISHES Though shy birds, if robbed of their young they are very bold, and I have known them go regularly into a cottage to feed the captive young in a cage ; but the cage was moved by degrees from the nesting-tree to the cottage table — an interval of a day elapsing between each stage. On the other hand, if captured when old, they will often sulk to death, or " die of skulking," as the fenmen say. There is a superstition amongst cottagers, that if the young birds die, the old birds have poisoned them ; but the mystery is generally to be explained by looking into the seed-dish, where pure hemp will be found — a seed fatal to young birds. In autumn they collect in small flocks, and may be seen beating the thistly marshes or flashing over the snow in mid- winter, when they look at their best, and indeed are then very tame, and can almost be taken by the hand. But they are becoming rare in the Broad district, and though they may be seen on the marshlands and in the elms and cars by the river-side, it is not an everyday picture. The sentimentalist, whose heart is often better than his head, often raises an outcry against caging birds ; but if the young bird is taken from the nest before it recognises its parents, there is no cruelty in the matter, for they never know the doubtful sweets and dangers of bird liberty, and will at times, if they escape, return of their own free will to their " prison." Should you wish to take young birds for the cage, you must watch your brood every day, and so long as these formless creatures upon your appearance stretch forth their ugly necks and open their mouths for food on your approach, so long they are ignorant of their parents, for 'tis a merely reflex action. For when they begin " to take notice," the ugly maw is no longer opened at your approach. You must not, however, wait for that period of development, but take them just before, when they are fledged. Seize them boldly, forgetful of the sentimentalist, and cage them, THE DRA W- WA TER 99 placing the cage on a stout branch near the nest, and the old birds will feed them. A few hours later you may move them up the whitethorn decorated lane for a couple of hundred yards, and so on up to half a mile, but no farther, in one day — that is a young goldfinch's infant day's journey. So by degrees you decoy the parents to your garden. When the parents get tired of feeding your captives, make pills of eggs and flour, and give them together with plantain-seeds and thistle-tops, and so you shall educate them to sing when you blow your slender fire with the bellows ; and, if you be a woman, destitute of human lovers, you may teach the brown-billed bird to kiss you ; but a man's kiss is preferable. Unless you wish him to sing another's song, for he is of the mean tribe of plagiarists, keep him when young out of hearing of other birds, as he, like many a human parrot, pre- fers the songs of others to his own. But for any purpose whatsoever, I do not think his company is worth his keep. CHAPTER XXXV THE SISKIN IS 'not a bird of the fens, though in spring his song there recalls the sedge-warbler, and his peculiar little call, like that of a miniature guinea-fowl, may be heard among the plantings. But he never stays by mere or river to cradle his young, and 'tis a pity ; for a dearer, coyer little fellow never lived. Bright and quick as are most insect-eaters, he is one of the most attractive of pets. Running over the bars of his cage, his little sedge-warbler-like head darting this way and that, creeping about his quarters like a mouse, yet affectionate withal; stopping to eat seed from your finger, and anon playing at hide-and-seek through the nest- ing cubicles, then diving down to his pond and chirping so prettily ere he begins again to flirt with you, as first he would and then he wouldn't — for he is typical of lovely woman — willing, yet unwilling; giving, and yet refusing; leading you on, then throwing you off; affectionate one moment, inconstant another, he is the very maiden of birds, and the most desirable to keep by you. CHAPTER XXXVI \ '_ r ; -, ; J j* "! jj> y */ ^ j.,j THE COMMON SPAR&'()W, A PLAIN little burgher, greedy, pugnacious, and harmful, and would that all sparrows had one head, and that I might be allowed to silence for ever the infernal chattering of that commonplace pest. He is in no hurry to nest — often waiting for that artist, the house-martin, to finish his cosy cradle, when, with his strong predatory beak, he will drive the beautiful bird from his house, and you see his devilish leer as he peeps forth from his stolen shell, and prepares to perpetuate his under- bred progeny. Indeed, do you but try conclusions with him yourself, and he will try his sparrow-best to nip a piece out of your finger ; for he is vengeful, like the low type he is. Indeed, I know of a case where a rat-catcher sent a puppy to retrieve a winged sparrow, and the little beast bit the puppy's lip, and would not let go, so that he ran back to his master, who took the bird away from his hold, when the little vixen fixed on his finger, and he had to crush its useless head to make it let go. When he does not rob an artist of his nest, he will pile some straw carelessly in a rain-spout, forgetful of the thunderstorm ! — under the eaves, or in a hole made by pull- ing out long reeds from the thatch, where the hen will lay her speckled eggs and raise her harsh-looking youngsters. And so much is she in love with her progeny, that she at times begins to lay fresh eggs — in all, six — whilst the young are still living. You see she is a willing conquest, and fond of her lover's embraces, though she does pretend 102 BIRDS, BEASTS, AND FISHES to purify herself with dust-baths. At times they prefer to make an unsightly nest in the ivy on an old elm-tree, but this is not a common practice. In the early morning the garden is filled with their infernal chatter, and they are busy pulling off buds or splitting them oiDen wjtl\ their hard bills, or else they are robbing the green peas, cr\pk