L

NOTES OF A NATURALIST

BY THE SAME AUTHOR.

Crown 8vo. 5$.

FOREST TITHES; AND OTHER STUDIES
FROM NATURE.

' The book should be read. It is full of the spirit of the South
Country, and as we read it we seem to hear again the clack of the
mill wheel, the cry of the water-fowl, and the splash of fish.'

THE SPECTATOR.

London: SMITH, ELDER, & CO., 15 Waterloo Place.

AND STREAM

BITING THE

NOTES OF A NATURALIST

THIRD EDITION

LONDON
SMITH, ELDER, & CO., 15 WATERLOO PLACE

1896

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PREFACE

THESE sketches of natural history, which it has been
a pleasant task to me to edit, are from the hand of a
friend of ours, a skilled workman, who has made the
study of wild creatures in their native haunts the
passion of his life and the exclusive occupation of his
leisure hours. His work has led him amongst the
most beautiful parts of Surrey and along the line of
Kentish coast where Turner loved to paint. The
observations are all fresh from nature ; he tells of
( what he has seen and known.'

J. A. OWEN.

2091243

CONTENTS

PACK

HOW I BECAME A NATURALIST I

A WINTER'S DAY IN THE MARSHES 13

A STORM IN THE MARSHES 28

HAUNTS OF THE OTTER 37

THE BADGER ' • 59

THE Fox 70

THE HERON AND ITS HAUNTS 77

AN AUTUMN RAMBLE IN SURREY 102

ROOKS AND THEIR RELATIVES 115

BIRDS OF PREY 133

MARTENS, POLECATS, WEASELS, AND STOATS . . . 180

FRESH-WATER FISHES 200

WOODLAND, MOOR, AND STREAM

HOW I BECAME A NATURALIST

MY home as a boy was in a quaint old fishing village
close to the edge of the North Kent marshes. The
place had an odd, irregular look ; one would think
its inhabitants had begun building from the shore
up inland to a certain point, and then come back
and finished along the water's edge. The top rooms
of the houses generally projected over the pavement,
with queer gables which were ornamented with gro-
tesque figures. By the water stood old mills, ware-
houses, and shipyards, all having a decayed look.
That business of some kind had once been carried
on there the old wharves and fine houses showed,
but when that was no one about the place in my time
knew. It was entirely isolated from any other town
or village. Railroads and steamboats were things
known only by name to the general community.

D

2 WOODLAND, MOOR, AND STREAM

The odour of fish pervaded the place ; whichever
way you went, inland or along shore, you saw fish
not only outside but in the houses as well. To this
day it is no favourite diet of mine. It is sometimes
possible to have too much of a good thing. Nearly
all the people got their living on the water. Poor
they were, but a contented lot, and, as this world
runs, honest. Now and again it would be gently
hinted that they smuggled — who can say ? the vir-
tuous have enemies ; they, perhaps, had theirs. One
thing I can testify ; if at any time a little medicine
was needed, it was sure to come out of a very short-
necked dark-green bottle, holding more than a pint,
and that medicine was certainly made in Holland.
The fishermen and their lads passed our house on
their way to and from their fishing-boats which lay
at anchor below in the marshes. On the return
journey they were sure to have something in the
shape of fish or wild fowl — for you would find a
duck-gun on board all the boats— and to catch a
sight of these was my principal hobby. When they
found out this, they never passed the door without
showing ' the boy ' what they had got. To this day
that is my title with the few that are left who knew
me as a child. Many were the questions I asked
them about bird and fish. I tried to draw on my

HOW I BECAME A NATURALIST 3

slate a dead curlew they had shown me one evening.
The next time the net was brought and opened for
me to look at I showed them my curlew. From that
time dates my roaming in the marshes where the
birds lived. I never rested until the kind-hearted
fisher-lads had taken me with them to see for myself
the birds they talked about Fortunately for me I
could read well as a child, and any book I saw that
contained animals or birds I read if I could possibly
get at it. Very limited, however, were the publica-
tions of those days — at least, for the general public ;
the children now have books that you could not
possibly have bought then for any money ; they did
not exist.

I was often missed at home ; no one knew where
I went, and many were the reproofs that I drew
upon myself — some of them very forcible ones, for
coming home in the pickle I did. At last they let
me have my run ; the only question asked would be,
'Are you going in the marshes or into the creek?'
Many a time have those fishermen brought me home
on their shoulders, giving me a string of goggle-eyed
flounders or other booty to take indoors, saying
' Tell 'em you've bin with us.'

Before long I knew where to look for the birds,
and could mimic their cries : the shriek of the curlew

B2

4 WOODLAND, MOOR, AND STREAM

and his mournful whistle ; the pewit, and the note of
the stone curlew or thickknee— called in the marshes
the king of the curlews. Placing the fingers in the
mouth and whistling like the boys do in the street
gives one of the bird's cries. I had plenty of room
to move about, and no one interfered with me or the
birds. It was not necessary. The Bird Preservation
Act was not thought about at that time. The
plover's eggs were left for the bird to hatch, and if
the young were seen they might be picked up just
to look at and be let go again. Bird and egg col-
lectors had not reached our neighbourhood.

The miles of marshland teemed with bird-life.
When the gun was used it was for the wild-fowl
proper — geese, duck, widgeon, teal ; but the waders
that gave life to the dreary-looking pools were little
troubled, for powder and shot with the fishermen
meant money. When they fired at a bird they shot
at something that would do for dinner. Fish may
give you intellectual power, so some learned men
say ; I know for a fact overmuch fish-diet does not
put much power into the body, and continued for
any time it is a delusion.

The wild lands reclaimed in times past, foot by
foot, here from the sea would be again under water
but for the sea-wall which runs mile after mile, and

HOW I BECAME A NATURALIST 5

looks just like a railway embankment — very broad
at the bottom and narrow on the top, where there
is just room for one person to walk comfortably.
Well do I remember the time when the sea broke
over it like a waterfall. The men had some trouble
with their cattle then.

I have watched the life on the marshes at all
hours of day and night ; in the early morning, when
the mist rolled over the lands and the scattered
poplars and stunted willows took strange shapes,
while the red hares flicked the wet off their hind feet
as they sat on the mole hillocks ; at midday, when
the gulls left the sea to come to the shallow marsh
pools to bathe and rest — a pretty sight. Mixed
with them you would see the pewits and red-legged
sandpipers ; you would hear them too — the cackle
of the gulls, the ' pewit-pewit ' of the green plover,
and the scream of the redshank.

In the evening flight after flight of starlings made
their way over the flats to meet in one vast host, in
order to go through their drill before settling for the
night in the reeds. They rose up and sank down
again, turned and twisted as one bird ; sang their
evening hymn, with chatter and whistle, rush and
roar of wings ; while from the beach sounded the
wailing scream of the curlew.

6 WOODLAND, MOOR, AND STREAM

The marsh lands are bare, with the exception
of the rich green grass ; and you would not find
water-lilies, only reeds and a sort of short flag in the
dykes which intersect them in all directions, and
which are inhabited by large eels in great numbers.
In search of the reed- wren's nest I got into mud as
well as water.

At one particular hour of the afternoon in
summer — between five and six o'clock — the marshes
shone in a golden light which tinted all things far
and near — just such a tone Cuyp gave to his marsh
scenes ; and, to complete the picture, one saw the
men-of-war, frigates, and sloops off the mouth of the
Medway in the distance. Turner visited our marshes
and painted some of his famous pictures from what
he saw there : to wit, ' Stangate Creek,' ' Shrimping
Sands/ and ' Off Sheerness.'

On the seaward side of the wall, a strip of land
ran, about one hundred yards in width from the
water's edge when the tide was out — called the
Saltings. It was covered with a tough low shrub
having grey-green leaves, Suceda — ' Seablite,' they
named it — with coarse wiry grass and the seapink ;
and this was cut up with runs and hollows caused by
the rush of the tide. In these, birds would come to
feed ; my fisher friends moored their boats near the

HOW 1 BECAME A NATURALIST 7

spot, and if they thought a bird would please me it
was sure to be got for ' the boy.' One day a lad
made a sign to me ; I knew what it meant, and
followed him to his home. Opening the door, he
pointed to something in a corner, saying, 'There,
mind he don't nip ye ! '

It was a black-backed gull, one of the largest of his
kind, quite capable, if I had given him the chance, of
wrenching one of my small fingers off.

' Father 's just winged him ; he ain't hurt you ?
Come an' draw his pictur.'

I did draw its picture, to his great satisfaction, if
not to my own, and made him a present of it.

One day I was missing, for early in the morning
a lad had whispered to me, ' Father's boat will come
in on the next tide ; he's bin away all the week on
the fishing ground. Coin' to meet him, ain't 'ee,
eh?'

In the evening something was seen moving up the
street in front of the fishermen covered with wings
What it was the folks could not at first make out.
Coming a little nearer some one shouted, ' It's the boy
with his birds ! '

The boy went to bed that night in a reflective
mood ; for he had been corrected in the very forcible
manner before hinted at. The next day found him

WOODLAND, MOOR, AND STREAM

in the creek with a fork tied on to a stick, spearing
flounders and catching crabs. The creek was wide,
and very shallow when the tide was out ; not more
than a foot in depth, and the water clear. When the
tide was in, there was twenty feet of water in the
middle.

In our small village each one knew the other ; my
companions at times were what the present more
refined state of society might term ' doubtful.' They
lived by the gun. But they were good to me. Many
a time have I been with them over the Saltings, close
to heel, ready to drop or crawl at a motion when the
water spaniel got the scent of fowl. Sure shots and
true field-naturalists, they knew them all, and where
to find them. I owe my early insight into bird-life
to these men, and to an inborn love of all living
creatures. Coming past the long shallow pools, my
companion would point out the various waders, their
bodies reflected in the clear water by the light of the
setting sun, and the tern, with his shuttlecock flight,
catching insects and small fish. On one strip of
beach I have watched the dotterels for hours ; they
nested there — if the spot on the shingle where they
laid their eggs could be called a nest.

The man with whom I went out oftenest told me
of a struggle he once had with a great sea-eagle that

HOW 2 BECAME A NATURALIST g

was shot in the wing on the rabbit links in the marsh,
just enough to prevent his rising. Many a time have
I gazed on that bird ; they made no fuss over him, he
was not the first of his kind which had visited our
shore.

I remember well the day one of my school com-
panions, not much more than a boy, went out with a
borrowed boat and a gun, and shot a wild swan —
a fine Hooper — dead with the first shot, on a rising
tide.

Wandering over the marshes, wading in the creek,
exploring the reed beds and swamps, together with
having the run of the sea-shore, will go a long way in
giving a boy an amount of self-reliance which may be
of use to him in the future. Some kind friend sent me
a box of water colours, paper, and brushes, and a good
lead pencil — a precious gift to me, and a source of joy
to my companions, the fisher-lads.

They said the boy could make them ' real good
picturs ' now, coloured ' nateral as life.' They knew
nothing better in the way of art, and I no greater
pleasure than to reproduce in my rough fashion the
creatures that were a never-failing interest to me ; so
we were all satisfied.

A good mile from our village stands the grand old
parish church, with its massive square tower built of

io WOODLAND, MOOR, AND STREAM

flint stones, a prominent object, which can be seen
from far over the water. The churchyard is full of
fine old walnut trees ; it looks more like a wood than
a burial-ground, and it has enough room wherein to
bury the dead of twenty parishes. The interior of
the church is beautiful ; arches supported on pillars
rise to the roof in the centre and side aisles. The
windows of rare old stained glass throw many varied
tints on wall and pavement, in which are slabs inlaid
with beautiful brasses of a bygone day — of knight and
lady, with hound at foot and hawk on wrist. Suits
of armour hang from the walls. The ends of the
farmers' stalls are carved in odd and familiar devices,
a fox and goose, a pig in a sitting posture, and others
equally comic and grotesque. The pews in which we
sat were so high-backed that you could not see the
occupants of the next one to your own without stand-
ing up. Why so large a church should have been
built where so few people were, no one knew. To
solve that question one would have to go many
generations back. Like the other churches on the
coast, it fronted the sea. Many a fisherman has re-
joiced at hearing the chimes ring out over the water
on a Sunday morning, whilst his boat was making the
harbour tide.

In that same church as a boy I got in a pretty

HOW I BECAME A NATURALIS7 II

pickle. We all went there, rich and poor. There
was no organ in it in my days. The mixed choir sang,
accompanied by clarionet, viol, and oboe, and real
good old-fashioned singing it was. In the same pew
with me and my folks sat a shoemaker, a little man,
who came in a swallow-tailed brown coat and a stiff
stand-up collar reaching to his ears, knee-breeches,
worsted stockings, and low shoes. He took snuff,
and what a nose he had wherein to put it He got
the nickname of ' Grunter,' because he went to sleep
in church as a rule, and snored. Never shall I forget
one particular Sunday afternoon. About the middle
of the service two starlings had come in and perched
on one of the pillars, where they had whistled and
chattered their loudest, but no notice had been taken
of so common an event as that. But later on the
Grunter fell asleep. From hard breathing the sounds
in his corner gradually increased until they became
pig-like grunts and whines, whilst his nose went
working and twisting like a mole's.

I saw a head rise up from the next pew, and a
strong hand grasped the Grunter's collar. One good
shake, and then the shoemaker's voice was raised
loudly, ' For evermore, amen. Eh ! What ! '

Forgetting the solemnity of the place and time,
I burst out in a perfect yell of laughter, which some

12 WOODLAND, MOOR, AND STREAM

kind soul smothered as soon as he could by cramming
his silk pocket-handkerchief into my mouth. Then
they ungently led me out. Oh dear !

When I was about twenty years of age, domestic
changes caused me to leave my old marshland home.
I parted with my old companions and kind friends
with sorrow. Just as I was going a hamper was
brought for me. It was a parting gift, and contained
water birds and waders, beautiful creatures captured
by the fishermen and their lads, as a last gift to ' the
boy,' as they still called me.

A WINTER'S DA Y IN THE MARSHES

SOME time after I had settled in Surrey I revisited
my old marshland home. Such a welcome I received
from my boyhood's friends as does me good to think
about.

Shooting was the order of the day ; and I knew
how to use a duck-gun. If I live to be very old, I
think I shall never forget the sight of the marshes
as they looked in that unusually severe winter-time.
For mile upon mile the grass, hedges, dykes, and
reed-beds were covered with snow frozen hard on the
surface. So deep it lay that it formed an unbroken
plain, and it was impossible to tell what you were
walking over. The fowl, driven off the water by the
fierce north-easters, sought the shelter of the creek,
where great masses of ice were crunching together ;
wild duck, golden-eye, widgeon and teal, with the
divers — all tamed by the frost, so that you could get
within shooting distance of them. The dunlins flew
in clouds over the flats. A splendid sight they were

14 WOODLAND, MOOR, AND STREAM

glittering in the sun like silver at one moment, the
next becoming invisible as they turned in their flight.
The birds were of little use for eating ; they were poor
as poverty itself, almost starved. Tons of good fresh
fish were used as manure on the fields ; there was no
market for them. They were placed in heaps of
about a bushel each at given distances, all over the
land. The gulls soon found it out, and the food they
could not get on the water they got on the shore.
Black-backed gulls, grey, common and black-headed
gulls, came with the hooded crows and fought, gorged,
and cackled all day long.

The vegetable-feeding wild geese, wariest of birds,
flew overhead with slow flapping flight ; they were
hardly worth shooting ; the mud froze on the flats as
the ebbing tide left them, so that the sea grass and
other marine plants were not available for food. The
curlews, mere frames covered with feathers, shrieked
and wailed continuously. Such was bird life on the
marsh during this terrible winter by day. A hard
blue sky formed a background to the long glittering
plain.

By night the scene was grand and weird ; the sky
deep blue, the wild fowl uttering call notes, as they
passed and repassed over the stretch of marshland all
white and level, on their way to their feeding grounds.

A WINTER'S DAY IN THE MARSHES 15

Now and again came the subdued quack of the wild
duck at the report of the gun and the fall of his
mate, mingled with the whistling of the widgeon
and the scape-scape-scape of snipes on the wing ; and
last, not least, the hoarse cry of the hungry heron.

All at once, yet far off, a cry comes over the
flats, as though from a pack of hounds in full cry in
the air. Grasping my arm, my companion, a grey-
haired old man, says, ' Do yo' hear that, boy ? '

Yes, I hear. Nearer and nearer it comes ; and
now is heard the rush of many wings with strange
unearthly yelp and bark. The sounds pass over us
and then die away in the distance.

' Let the fowl be for to-night, and we will get
home ; there's bad luck about when the Hell hounds
are on the hunt : l you know what took place here ?
They heard them then ; we are standing on the very
spot ; let us move.'

And the old man drags me on in nervous haste.

I knew the story well. A father and his son — I
knew them both — had gone down for the night
shooting. The son, unknown to his father, moved

1 The strange cries heard in the air, I have no doubt, proceeded
from a mixed flight of white-fronted and Barnacle geese, rare visitors
on that part of the coast. During that fearful winter birds of a feather
did not at all times keep to their own company.

16 WOODLAND, MOOR, AND STREAM

from his standing-place. Taking the worsted ball
on his boy's cap for the head of a bird, in the dim
uncertain light, the man fired and killed him. And
there, where we stood and listened to the cry of the
air-hounds, above all the cry and clang of wild fowl,
the father's terrible cry of agony rang out, ' My son,
oh my son ! '

The next morning found me in my old haunts
again. A hard blue sky was overhead, without
a vestige of cloud ; the wind blowing bitter keen
from the east, and the marshes covered with frozen
snow, so deep in many places that few travellers
would dare venture out there ; but I wanted birds
as specimens, and the long-continued cold had made
them tame.

The tide is running up, and the birds are on
flight from place to place. There are very treacherous
traps for the unwary in the Saltings — that meadow-
like space left between the salt water and the sea
wall. To look at it you would think it easy travel-
ling ; but the thick growth of the sea-blite and coarse
grass and rush conceals the runs and dykes made by
the rush of the tide, some of which lead to the
sluice-gates in the sea wall. The force of the tide
opens these in flowing up, and fills all the dykes ;
when the ebb takes place the gates close again.

A WINTER'S DAY IN THE AfARSHES 17

Four, five, to eight feet in depth these runs and dykes
are ; only a marshman can go safely over these
places.

Nothing is to be seen yet but a few hooded
crows on the prowl. It is no use to think of shooting
the Saltings just now, so we turn into the marsh
to look about for a bit : and the curlews screaming
will let us know when the tide has turned. What a
long dreary space it is, covered with glittering snow !
Here and there the reeds and flags along the dykes
have been bowed right over, and form a rough kind
of tunnelling roofed with snow. It is not of the least
use to exercise caution, for the crunch, crunch of the
foot tells its tale. But the cold is fearful, and a bird
will not leave shelter if he can possibly help it ; so
we tramp on in the hope of a chance shot.

A dark patch shows on the snow ; reaching it we
find it is a marsh spring not frozen. Here and there
you come upon such ; also the footprints of the
heron, for the snow is soft round the margins of these
springs. There are no signs of the web-footed or
hen-footed fowl here ; only the heron is about.

The other birds do not like him ; for he is always
hungry, and his stomach is very accommodating.
Near some pollard willows some starved-out fieldfares
are bunched up. They utter a feeble 'chuck' at

C

1 8 WOODLAND, MOOR, AND STREAM

times ; their feathers are puffed out, making them
look twice their natural size. A gull comes flapping
over on the hunt, for a dead or wounded bird is a
nice meal for him. From a bunch of dead flags,
with a scape-scape-scape up springs a snipe with that
twist-and-turn-about flight peculiar to himself and
his relatives. He is not fired at, for if there are any
fowl in hiding anywhere in his line of flight that cry
will move them. It has done so ; three mallards rise
from a dyke ; they are low down and fly straight
to where I am standing by the willows ; three in a
line, their green heads glistening in the sun, and the
red-brown of their breasts showing distinctly. They
are near enough now, I think, two of them at any
rate. ' Bang ! ' ' Quack, quack ; ' a twist and turn of
their necks and bodies tells that they have been hit,
but neither bird falls. It serves one right, for it is
almost useless firing at fowl coming right at you :
the breast feathers are so thick. It is a warning to
resist temptation for the future. As we near the
Saltings something springs from a patch of dead
flag ; which we shoot, and it proves to be a fine
specimen of the short- eared owl or 'woodcock owl'
of the marshmen. His light body and hawk-like
flight often lead folks to take him for some other
bird. He hunts by day as well as in the evening ;

A WINTER'S DAY IN THE MARSHES 19

any hen-footed fowl, not too big for him, is his prey.
The ' shore-shooters ' know him well ; they see him,
just as the light begins to fade, come skimming over
the flats, now high up, the next moment close to the
ground. All at once he stops, and fans with his
wings like a kestrel over a tuft of rushes. That fan-
ning of the wings is remarkable ; it causes a current
of air, much stronger than any one would imagine,
which rattles and stirs the dry rushes, so that any
creature that has sheltered there come? out and
the owl gets it. His near relative, the long-eared
owl, has the same tactics on the heaths and commons
which are his hunting-ground. He makes the leaves
and twigs rattle with the fanning of his wings in the
same way. They do not eat all that they catch at the
time, but hide it till wanted, and the contents of their
larder would surprise many people.

As we near the sea-wall something shoots over it :
a male sparrow-hawk, in full plumage — a fine little
fellow. We crouch down in between the hillocks and
observe his movements ; the bird he was after has
taken cover. After a sharp turn or two he settles on
a clod of broken-up turf — a perfect study ; if you
had not seen him perch you might pass close, and
not notice him. That tuft of grey sea-blite matches
his grey back, and a stem of broken bulrush, reddish-

C2

20 WOODLAND, MOOR, AND STREAM

yellow, tallies with the hue of his barred breast. To
all intents and purposes he is invisible. There is a
quick movement, for he has just caught sight of what
he had lost for a time ; one rapid motion of the head
and neck, and the hawk is on the wing. A little
' cheep ! ' and you see him fly past with a dead pipit
in his claws. We do not stay to fire at him now, for
the curlews are heard crying, a sure sign that the tide
has turned. The wind has changed, too, from east
to north-east, and blows against the tide, sending the
salt-drift driving over the flats, and making the eyes
run ; a blinding salt-drift is not pleasant anyway.

Gaining the foot of the sea-wall, we crouch down
for shelter, and listen for the notes of the fowl, driven
by the fierce wind off the open sea to seek harbour in
the bays and creeks. The curlews are heard above
all the rest ; then comes the screaming of the red-
shanks, the cackle of gulls, and the cry of tern ; all
combined with the peculiar chatter of thousands of
dunlins or oxbirds. The fowl are coming up with the
wind, so, crawling up the bank, we peep very cautiously
out over the Saltings and down the creek. The whole
place is alive with hen and web-footed fowl ; about a
mile away a line of birds is to be seen coming over
from the opposite shore ; we get quickly back to the
bottom of the wall and wait for them. The whistle

A WINTER'S DAY IN THE MARSHES 21

of their wings is first heard, and then we can distin-
guish them. Widgeon they are, the feathers under-
neath shine like white satin. Picking out the leader
as he passes by, and aiming a yard in front, we bring
him down with a thud, dead. And now the fowl are
on the Saltings; their scream, chatter, quack, and
whistle all mixed up together, while from the other
side of the water comes the sound of the heavy duck-
guns hard at work. We slip over the wall, and begin
to crawl on hands and knees to the fowl feeding on
the very edge of the ebb tide. Curlews are not to be
thought of; they know exactly how far a gun will
reach, and keep just the right distance out of harm's
way. Besides, they post one of their number for
sentry duty. The redshanks are nearly as bad, for
they kick up a noise and let all the other birds know
that something is crawling along.

A winged curlew, when he runs screaming and
wailing over the ooze, will disturb all the birds for a
mile or more. Strange to say, they do not fear the
fishing-boats, and, concealed from sight by the nets,
the men kill them from the deck as they feed on the
edge of the tide. If one drops on the water and goes
off with the tide, they have him, for a skiff with oars
in her is always in tow. In the autumn the curlews
visit the turnip-fields in quest of snails, worms, and

22 WOODLAND, MOOR, AND STREAM

slugs. One of my old friends has frequently shot
them before his pointers, as well as the thick-knee, or
stone curlew. A large flock of dunlins have settled
on the edge of a pool left by the tide, and look pretty
little creatures as they run nimbly about, picking up
the small things it has left behind it ; a few more
yards and they will be near enough to hit, but just
as the gun is raised to my shoulder, and my finger
touches the trigger, I feel myself very gently sinking.
The water has undermined the frozen snow and let
me through. The hole forms a hiding-place, leaving
my head and shoulders free. Pulling myself together,
I look first to see that my gun is right, and fire. Five
dunlins and three sanderlings to the shot, while one
bird flies out to the water's edge and drops. He is
not allowed to stop there long, for a grey gull drops
down by the side of the bird and swallows him whole.
These gulls are continually beating up and down on
the ebb and flow ; their bills can dig and tear like a
raven's. When wounded they will throw up all they
have eaten, and fight for their life on a light stomach.
They require careful handling ; folks not used to them
will put them down quicker than they picked them up,
and give them the butt-end of the gun on the head
for nipping their fingers. These large gulls, the
great black-backed, the lesser black-backed, and the

A WINTERS DA Y IN THE MARSHES 23

grey or herring-gull are not numerous here. They
work up and down singly or in pairs, knowing well
how to take care of No. I. As a rule, they only
get shot from the fishing-boats. The common and
the black-headed gull are all over ; that is to say, the
black-headed gull in winter plumage. The fishermen
catch as many as they require with hook and line ; it
is like spinning for pike, as the boat sails along. The
line is played out with a small fish on the hook, the
gull pounces down, and is caught in the upper man-
dible. The hooks are made of soft iron, so that they
bend freely, and beyond the slight touch of the hook
the bird is not injured in the least. The fishermen
know exactly when to pull, so that the bird shall not
swallow the hook. They eat them, after having
buried them for twenty-four hours to take the fishy
taste out of them. I have known hooded crows shot
and treated in the same manner, and a farmer once
told me they were as good as his fowls. His farm-
lands faced the sea, and when the dun crows paid
their visits to his fields he would take his old flint-
locked fowling-piece down from over the chimney, and
bring home a couple. I dined with him many times,
but prejudice is strong, and I always declined crow
with thanks.

Getting under the shelter of the wall, I made my

24 WOODLAND, MOOR, AND STREAM

way lower down to the tide, where, crouching under
the remains of a stack of reeds, I found a ' shore-
shooter ' — one who makes his living by means of his
gun. By some unlucky chance he had forgotten to
fill his powder-flask. The birds are well up on the
Saltings, and he has only enough for another charge
for his duck-gun. Could I oblige him with a charge ?
he asked.

' Certainly ; with half a dozen, if you like,' was
my reply.

' I can't afford to shoot them little hen-footed
things, he remarked ; ' powder and shot cost money.
Are you after something to stuff? You seems to
have some little things done up careful like.'

' Well, yes ; something in that way.'

' Ah, I fancied you was by your shootin'. You
let some fowl go by that I should have pulled at.
You don't shoot for a livin' ? '

' No, I do not.'

'Shall you be down this part any more, think
you ? '

' Yes, I may, for anything I know.'

' Well, there's some of your sort of birds about
here, what you're after, and I could knock a few over
for you. Would this one be any good to you ? If
it is, take it.'

A WINTER'S DAY IN THE MARSHES 25

I was glad to have it, for it was a fine specimen
of the Kentish plover, or dotterel — a rare bird even
here.

4 Can you live by your gun ? ' I asked.

' Sometimes ; last winter I did well, though it was
by chance like. It come about this way. I had to
go to the marshes at the back of the island, Sheerness ;
you don't know it, do you ? '

' I know it well.'

'What, the cliffs and the bays? Well, just out
from the cliffs, a sort of cloud was movin' about, and
then goin' out of sight for a time. Never in my life
had I seen such a lot as that ; and by the way they
flew I could tell they was black geese.' (Brent geese
he meant.) ' Well, I said never a word, but went
home and thought about it. Things was lookin'
rather glum with me just then, for there was precious
little to do. Next mornin' I starts early with my
gun and somethin' to eat, and gets there about eight
o'clock. You know the place, do you ? '

' I know it, a shallow part, covered over with sea
grass and weed, and a good nine miles from here.'

' Ah, that's it ; the geese was well sheltered there,
with plenty of food, and they'd gathered from all
parts. I brought home three couple that night and
sold 'em. Then I bought myself powder and shot

26 WOODLAND, MOOR, AND STREAM

and a few other things, and went to work. Of
course, the farmer what rented the marsh near the
place got as many as he liked to have ; he lived five
miles from there. I used to leave them for him as I
passed on the way home at night, and sometimes
ducks for a change. There was a rare lot of coots
as well ; they are good to eat, they are, but they
clapper-claw and scratch like cats if they ain't shot
dead. Well, all through the winter I managed
middlin' ; rough work at times, mind you, but I lived,
and that's somethin'. Mind your own line of work
and keep your tongue between your teeth is the best
plan when you drop on a lot of fowl like that. If
you let out one half a word, you'll have plenty to
help you do the work. My line of work is shootin'
fowl, an' I don't want anybody to help me.'

The Kentish plover, he told me, was shot acci-
dentally when he fired at some fowl that had pitched.
The wind was blowing a gale when I bade him good-
bye ; I had my back to it, which was some little
comfort.

Presently I heard a little twittering chatter, and
some small birds darted past and over the sea-wall
into the marsh. There was just light enough to see
them as they stood huddled up by the withered flags.
I fired my load off at them, and killed two stints.

A WINTER'S DA Y IN THE MARSHES 27

On my way home, I met the flight-shooters
coming down for the night shooting. They carried
guns of wonderful make and length, from the very
long duck-gun to the short bell-mouthed musquetoon.
One would think they had ransacked some old
armoury. These are handed down from father to
son ; many of them have flintlocks. They are
regarded with the greatest respect, and their killing
power is considered wonderful. If they go off — a
thing that is by no means certain — when the trigger
is pulled, the men do kill fowl with them ; but they
never fire at a single bird ; they would term that
throwing away a charge. To see the way they are
wrapped up you would fancy their owners were afraid
of their getting the rheumatics or ague — which evils
the guns escape, but their owners do not. No man
shoots the flats for any length of time without
scraping acquaintance with the bailiffs of Marshland
— ague and intermittent fever.

28 WOODLAND, MOOR, AND STREAM

A STORM IN THE MARSHES

' THERE'S some hen-footed fowl in the marsh, some
of your waders as you call 'em. I see 'em pitch last
night when I left the boat. If you want to see 'em
you can come down in the skiff with me ; or if you'd
sooner walk, come through the churchyard on to the
downs, for they pitched the Medway side.'

So spoke one of my old fisher friends. I preferred
to walk, and passed through the old churchyard under
its fine walnut trees, the great branches of which were
now bare and leafless ; recalling, as I looked at many
a name I was once familiar with, some of my com-
panions in the expeditions and adventures of my
boyhood. After leaving the churchyard I crossed
over a few fields which brought me to the downs —
gentle elevations, covered with fine short grass.

The bird life here is represented by magpies in
small parties, now chattering and scolding at being
disturbed. Besides these are a couple of hooded
crows and a few green plovers. From this point a

A STORM IN THE MARSHES 29

splendid view is seen ; marsh-lands, sea, and shipping ;
green fields and distant woodlands ; whilst right
opposite is the Essex coast. From the downs I went
straight to the edge of the marsh below, to try and
find out where the hen-footed fowl had pitched. The
day was bright and warm, even sultry.

And now I am in the marsh, which is covered by
countless old mole hillocks, and clumps of rushes, and
cut up by pools and dykes ; making my way by a
track known only to few, through the swamps to the
opposite sea-wall, close to where the Medway reaches
the salt water. Little has been seen yet except great
hares, which start up from the hillocks where they
had squatted ; red, rough-coated creatures, which look
like greyhounds as they speed away. Drawing near
to a shallow pool of some extent, fringed round the
edge with reed and short flag, I crawl along on the
ground to inspect it. Something moves the reeds,
and out steps the heron — the Jack-ern of the marsh-
men — with a cat-like movement ; neck stretched a
little forward, he slips away on the look-out for what
he can get. Nothing comes much amiss ; eel or
flounder, rats, mice, or birds, all comfort his stomach.
Catching sight of me as I rise, he gives a hoarse croak
and moves off to fresh quarters. Further on, near a
clump of rushes in a swamp, a water-rail runs, jerking

30 WOODLAND, MOOR, AND STREAM

his tail ; and close by him a spotted crake or rail.
They are not alarmed, for no one meddles with them.
In the eyes of the marshmen they are worthless hen-
footed things. Not many birds have met my view
as yet ; a mile more and the vegetation begins to
change ; wild celery, samphire, and sea-kale, or wild
cabbage, shows all round about, a sure sign that I am
nearing the sea, in fact, close on the sea-wall.

And then I saw a sight which I have seen only
once in my life, a sight more often heard of than wit-
nessed, and one to be remembered — namely, a cloud
of sea-gulls fishing. The bright sky, and the dancing,
sparkling wavelets, the birds, with their pearl-grey
and white bodies, as they rose from the water and
dipped down again, and their noise of happy clamour,
made a scene which was worth going a long way to
see. They had found the smelts, and they like good
things when they can get them. A pair of ring
dotterels tripped along with their family just in front
of me — pretty, gentle creatures ; they are regarded by
the coast dwellers in much the same light as the
robin is inland. I have never seen a shot fired at
them. They are so trustful as they stand and pipe
close beside one. After a good look all round, I
turned my back on the sea again to wander over the
marshes by a different way.

A STORM IN THE MARSHES 31

In that part there are gullies worn by the rush of
the tide ; well inland they go, forming creeks like
railway cuttings, half full of water bayed up at one
end. In one of these I expected to find the birds ;
and I was not disappointed. The cry of the red-
shank—'pool snipe' as they call them — comes from
a creek with the whistle of the curlew. Crawling to
the edge of the gully through the sea-blite, I look over
and see curlew, and whimbrel, or Jack curlew, sander-
lings, red-shanks, gulls, and other birds feeding,
washing, and running about, with the tide coming up.
On a post, used for tying boats to, a kingfisher is
perched, on the look-out for shrimps and other small
things. He is a common bird near the Saltings.
Close to my feet is a dabchick, or little grebe, a very
common bird here. The salt-water pool he is at work
in is clear as crystal. He is up and down, and round
about the sides of it, like a little harlequin ; he looks
to me as if he were flying under the water. Such a
gathering of fowl in that part of the marsh I had
never seen before. I soon knew the cause of it.
Leaving the birds, I made my way over the marsh,
for it was well on in the afternoon, past five by my
watch. As I passed the weeds a shiver ran through
them, making their stems rattle, then all was still. It
seemed to grow suddenly gloomy ; where did that

32 WOODLAND, MOOR, AND STREAM

puff come from ? Looking back seaward, I saw the
whole sky in that direction inky in tone, with a
coppery glare over it. The water looked black.
Against this tone of colouring the war-ships and the
dismantled hulks stood out in clear relief, looking like
spectre ships. A low growl of thunder, as yet far off,
but coming over the sea, a weird flash, and the wind
rose. I must seek shelter somewhere, but where is
the question, in that wild, wide, and grassy place. At
some little distance, a low reed stack, standing be-
tween a few pollard willows, catches my eye ; and
for it I go at my top speed. The cattle have made
tracks long before, knowing what was coming.
Fortunately for me, it is reached in time, for with a
roar the storm sweeps over the marsh. The starlings
have just swept over, flying very low, only clearing
the ground ; and have dashed into the reeds anyhow.
The poplars bend and sway, and seem as if they
would be torn up by the roots, while the branches of
the stunted willows cut and lash like whips, sending
the leaves flying. The curlews, driven over the marsh,
come shrieking and wailing in doleful fashion.
Strong-winged and swift birds at all times, they shoot
past now like meteors ; while the hooded crows are
blown and drifted all over the place. The little hen-
footed things are close hid in grass tussocks or

A STORM IN THE MARSHES 33

clumps of rushes. Not far from my place of shelter
stand two herons, in a little splash sheltered by some
willow stumps and rushes ; looking very cheerless,
their heads drawn on to their shoulders ; they know
better than to trust to their wings in a storm like
this.

With racing speed the homeward-bound fishing-
boats are making the creek, the water lashed to foam
by the wind, and a fierce high tide running up.
With one mighty clap of thunder which seems to
shake the whole marsh, and the roar and whistle of
wind, the storm passes over, and the evening sun
floods with a golden light both land and water. On
a molehill a meadow pipit steps and trills his little
thanks that the storm has gone by, and one thinks
involuntarily of 'the still small voice.'

Leaving my shelter I made then for home, three
miles distant. One solitary figure was to be seen,
crossing the marsh in a side direction from me.
When I overtook it I found it was the friend who
had brought me the information about the fowl. He
had left his boat safely moored in a snug corner ot
the creek.

' Did ye get shelter ? ' he asked, ' and have ye sin
the fowl ? '

' Yes, in the back creek.'

D

34 WOODLAND, MOOR, AND STREAM

' Ah, I fancied you'd see them there. They was
on the ooze this morning round about the boats,
hollerin' to one another might and main ; terrible
uneasy they was all the mornin'. I don't like to see
'em like that ; there's sure to be something in the
wind, and the fowl knows what it is better than we
do — leastways that's what I think.'

Like all his class in that fishing village, my friend
had an amount of true religious sentiment about him ;
no cant or humbug, but a manly feeling of veneration
for what the Bible taught them. Superstition some
would call that now. They gained their living on
the waters, and many lost their lives there ; and they
had family histories and traditions from far-back
generations ; a class by themselves, they rarely mixed
or intermarried with other people.

' Are you goin' back to your new home next
week ? '

' Yes.'

' You won't forget them hell-hounds. Oh, it was
terrible, it was, when them two we know of heard em
for the first, and one of 'em for the last time. What
are they, think ye? Birds, do ye say? I don't say
that they ain't, but they never made that noise that
night for nothing ; the first time as them two had
heard 'em.'

A STORM IN THE MARSHES 35

Reaching the sea-wall we left the marsh and
walked along the top, which enabled us to look over
the saltings and into the creek ; the tide now being
nearly down. A little distance off, a quarter of a
mile it might have been, something was to be seen
lying by the water's edge, with some gulls flapping
to and fro and cackling over it.

* What can it be ? ' I asked my companion.

No need for an answer, on getting nearer ; we
had both seen a drowned man before.

' Stand here, boy,' he says, ' for a minute, while I
go to it.'

I stood for a moment and then followed quickly
after him.

' Keep back, boy, if you don't want ugly dreams.'

Dreams or no dreams, I looked on the pitiful
sight. That poor upturned face ! and, alas, it was
the face of one of my old school companions. Every-
thing round about me seemed misty just then, I
fancied ; something got into my eye ; anyhow it
required a wipe or two.

After a while my companion spoke. ' The waters
had his life, they took him away, and now they have
brought him back in the storm. His mother will be
a bit easier in her mind, poor thing, for she'll know
where he lays when they bury him.'

D2

36 WOODLAND, MOOR, AND STREAM

I say nothing. I am out of tune for once.

Talking to himself more than to me, he went on,
' I knowed there was somethin' in the wind, and the
fowl knowed it too ; when they hollered so, they
knowed a body was comin' home in the storm.'

That night, passing down the street to visit a
friend, I heard the measured tread of the fishermen
coming ; and looking back, saw a grave, silent little
procession. They were bringing him home ; all that
was left of her son to his mother.

I followed my poor friend to his grave beneath
the walnut trees, and his upturned face comes before
me distinctly as I write this, just as it looked when I
saw him lying by the water's edge.

37

HAUNTS OF THE OTTER

A VILLAGE clock strikes four as I stand putting my
rod together on an old weir which reaches across
the river Mole, a spot noted as a rare place for fish.
The water runs quietly over the sloping moss-grown
boards, causing that gentle dribbling current in the
pool below which all true anglers value ; for the fish
head up to it in quest of the food which it carries
down to them. It is a quaint-looking spot, pic-
turesque in the full sense of the word. The water-
wheel is covered with dark-green moss, and the roof
of the house and its old walls and woodwork with
lichen. It is not a mill, but the point where the
water is carried up from a splendid spring close at
hand to the mansion of a great estate on the left
hand. High banks covered with grand old beech
trees rise abruptly from the river. The roots of the
trees show like network all over the surface, and
they are covered with velvet-like mosses. In front,
and reaching right across the river, is a beech which

33 WOODLAND, MOOR, AND STREAM

the water has undermined and the wind blown down.
On the opposite side of the river is moist meadow
land and alder copse ; from that cornfields reach to
the foot of Boxhill, and the range of hills which
runs the whole length of the beautiful Holrasdale
valley.

The vapour is gently lifting from the water, and
the sun lights up the tops of the trees with the soft
golden light that belongs to early summer mornings
only. From the fine old avenue of lime trees which
run up to the ruins of the ivy-covered castle, comes
the cawing of rooks mingled with the sharp chatter
of jackdaws, and now and again the yikeing laugh
of the green woodpecker. Across the fields, floating
along like a lump of thistledown, comes the barn-owl
on his way home to some nook in the ruins. Often,
in the days gone by, the pilgrims on their way to the
tomb of Thomas a Becket must have paused on the
track at the foot of the hills which still bears their
name to look over that glorious stretch of wood-
lands.

The wheel is not yet going. There is a trickle
of water from the sluice, which is just what I require.
Baiting the line with a well-scoured dew-worm, I
gently drop it over some piles that have been driven
in to keep a portion of the gravelly bank from being

HAUNTS OF THE OTTER 39

\vashed away by the rush of water from the wheel.
Twelve feet in depth or more it is here ; many a
header have I taken into that rush of water, and
come up again, otter- fashion, somewhere a long way
down. A regular perch-hole this is.

Not a nibble ! What can it mean ? Impossible
to have a better morning ; the wind southward, too.
Must have a change of bait. Very likely Mr. Pike
is there, upsetting the Perch family. Selecting the
finest gimp trace, I remove the perch tackle, and
then take a bright, lively gudgeon from the bait-can.
Temptation in this case will be placed in the way
of Mr. Pike, for I intend to spin for him. The cast
is made ; well spins the bait ; once, twice, three times,
and never a run. What can be the matter ? They
may be at the other side of the weir. No sooner
thought about than acted on ; but I spin and spin
there, until, disgusted with my want of luck, the rod
is laid on the edge of the weir, and a mild invitation
is given to the fish to take the bait when they think
fit, and no need to hurry about it.

The angler's consoler, the pipe, is brought out.
After a few whiffs, just to compose myself in order to
think this matter out, I hear a footstep coming in the
direction of the weir, and looking round I recognise
one of the oldest workmen in this grand domain.

40 WOODLAND, MOOR, AND STREAM

We have known each other for many years, and his
sons have been my companions in many a fishing
adventure in all weathers, by night as well as day.
His gruff voice is abrupt to a degree, but a kinder
heart one would hardly find.

' What luck, my boy ? '
. ' Not a touch of any kind.'

' I don't wonder at it. Now you just look here.'
And taking his basket from his shoulder, he drew out
the remains of a pike which weighed about five
pounds, he said, when captured. The belly and
shoulders had been eaten. ' That ain't all ; look
here ! ' added he, showing me the tail and head of an
eel a good two pounds in weight. ' I found 'em in
the medder just above. Them otters have just about
harried the water both above and below the weir
this last night. It ain't often they do it here. They
mostly goes further down or up to fish, and comes
back to their home under the bank close to that 'ere
big beech what lays across the river ; but when they
does take it in mind to chivy this 'ere bit o' water,
they makes a job of it and no mistake. By what I
can track, they ain't come home yet ; most likely
they've slip through the alders and 'cross the river.
If you bide here quiet-like, round that corner by the
wheel, you may get a glint of 'em, for they suns

HAUNTS OF THE OTTER 41

themselves a bit on that beech stam at times. I've
sin 'em. My job fur to-day is close handy, so you
can come and tell me if they show up. The back-
water would be my pitch, if I was you ; that ain't bin
worked, I know, for the bream was showin' well up
there. Some of 'em looked as big as a pair of
bellows. If they ain't much to eat they give good
sport, an' I reckon you like that.'

I put my pipe away as a first precaution, for a
scent of tobacco will give the alarm at once to wild
creatures whether furred or feathered, and then sit
down, nearly hidden by the timbers of the weir, keep-
ing very quiet, and my eyes wide open. There is
hardly a ripple on the surface by the fallen beech ;
the river is deep and narrow here just now. A few
days' rain alters the whole look of things,, and the
now sluggish Mole, pent close by the hills, receives
all the water from their sloping sides, and rushes like
a mountain torrent over meadows and paths, beside
mills and bridges, making many of them impassable
for a time. The high banks in some places close
to the edge are only held together by the roots of
the trees above. You could swim in under the banks
and look up at the network of roots and tangled fibre
if you are curious that way. There are some uncanny-
looking places of the sort. Then, too, you can get a

42 WOODLAND, MOOR, AND STREAM

better notion of the haunts of the otter — that king
of fishers.

Once, after being out fishing all day without
getting a bite, I came on a nice perch-hole when the
fish were on the feed. The water was deep but clear,
and my seat on the mossy bank all that could be
desired. Visions of a full creel rose before me ; at
last my patience was to be rewarded ; but alas ! it
was not so, the treacherous bank gave way, and
through the roots I shot, rod and all, into that 'deep
perch-hole. I went to the bottom and frightened
the perch out of their wits, and, when I came up to
the top again, made hurried and wet tracks for home.

Nothing is to be seen yet in the water or on the
banks. A flash of bright blue shoots over the water
and vanishes in a hole in the bank. It is the king-
fisher, who has made his nest in a spot secure from harm.

The bird has taken my attention from the tree
in the water for a few moments. There is the otter
sitting on the grey trunk in the warm sunlight. He
is near enough for me to study his appearance and
all his movements well. Like a large cat he looks,
which has been thrown in the water and crawled out.
Some people think that the fur of the otter throws
the water off like the feathers on a duck's back.
That is not the case ; his fur protects his body in a

HAUNTS OF THE OTTER 43

different way. Any one who has seen a water-rat
come up on a bank after a dive will have a good idea
of the general appearance of the otter's fur. Now he
gives his coat a shake and combs his fur a bit with
his short webbed feet. That powerful tail of his
hangs half out of the water, and his head is turned in
my direction, looking for the moment just like that of
an infuriated tiger in miniature, as, with ears drawn
close to his head, he snarls and shows his teeth.

When properly treated the otter is easily converted
into an affectionate and playful pet. For those who
may not be familiar with him, let me describe his
appearance more exactly. He is a trifle larger than a
cat, having a very cat-like head, only flatter, which is
provided with a fine set of teeth, and he can use them
with terrible force for his size. On his lip he has a
lot of strong bristles. His eyes are small and have a
watchful look about them ; the neck is almost as thick
as his chest ; his body is long and round ; the legs
are very short, strong, and flexible ; the toes webbed
for a great part of their length, and the claws on them
sharp. The tail is thick at the root and tapers off to
a point ; it is very powerful, as I said before, and is,
in fact, his swimming machine. In colour he is dark
brown as a rule, with the sides of his head and throat
brownish grey.

44 WOODLAND, MOOR, AND STREAM

He has been sitting in the sunlight whilst I have
sketched his portrait, now he thinks he will get a
little more into the shade ; so, with a peculiar loping
gait, he moves further up the trunk and rests by the
side of a large limb. Now he shows himself to per-
fection, and I have managed to slip down on the
boards of the weir, where I lie, flat as a flounder, and
can study the animal, where an animal shows himself
most naturally, in his own home.

There is just a little swell in the water, and his
mate shows her head above the surface. She has her
feet on the trunk, and is just about to join her lord
and master, when a moorhen flies from the meadow
into the river, squattering with her feet in the water.
That is enough ; with one gliding plunge, leaving not
a trace on the surface, they are under the bank in
their own quarters.

Getting up from my flat posture I pick up my rod
and walk into the water-meadows. There I come on
my old friend, tackling up a gate.

' Have ye sin anything ? ' he asks.

' Yes, the pair of them ; they are at home.'

' Ah, it's strange, ain't it, that shy things like them
should git so near where work's goin' on. Ye see
there's only the bank and just a strip o' sward betwixt
them an1 the work-sheds. Make the most on it, it

HAUNTS OF THE OTTER 45

ain't more than a dozen yards away, and there's
waggins and carts goin' back'ards and forrards most
days, and dogs very often with 'em. There's some-
thin' about that air bit o' gravelly bank as suits 'em,
and they wun't budge. My mate clapped a trap
down ; it warn't baited, ye know ; he just sets it
under water, only just under, ye know, where they
lands, and he had one quick. Well, the other one
knowed she was fixed and tried to get her away.
They could see by the prints of his feet what he'd
bin tryin' at. She was dead when my mate got her
out. In the night, when he was comin' home, as he
passed by the place he could hear him blowin' and
whistlin' for her to come. They're cu'ous outlandish-
lookin' creeturs to my eyes, but they're mortal fond
o' one another, that I be sure of. Are ye goin' to
have a try for any o' they big bream ? '

' No ; bream are no favourites of mine. You and
I will have a chat, and then I will take a stroll
through the alders and willow holts to the back of
the old ruined castle.'

'Ah,' he replied, ' that was a place once. There
ain't such a drive for miles round as that between
they lime trees in double rows, what used to go right
up to the hall door. The parties as lived there
thought a lot of 'em. I've sin the gardeners sweepin'

46 WOODLAND, MOOR, AND STREAM

in it of a mornin', right from the top to the bottom.
They did keep a lot o' folks round about 'em, of one
sort or another ; it was a fust-rate place to go to. I
reck'lect goin' there as a youngster an errand for
some one, an', as I come away, the butler he sings
out to me, " Young man, have you had your ale and
somethin' to eat?" "No, sir," says I, "my job didn't
take me a minit, an' I never give a thought about
anythin' like that." " Come into the kitchen," he sez,
" and make the buttons of your weskit tight. Why,
man alive, you would bring disgrace on the house if
you left it without refreshment." Ay, it was a sight
to see the carriages with their lamps lighted come up
and down they limes when they'd one o' their gran'
dinner parties on. The castle it was always called, I
dun know why. There was sore hearts about, I can
tell ye, when they gentry went away, and the old
squire what bought all this land round about give the
order to pull it down ; for they was good to all the
poor roun'. No one 'd think it was done in my time
for to look at it now, covered with ivy, and the trees
that have shot up all about it. The order was giv'
to pull it down to the first floor, and then leave it.
Folks said he done it because he couldn't abide a
place like that near his own house ; for the castle,
mind ye, was a fine place. Anyway, he giv' the

HAUNTS OF THE OTTER 47

order for it to come down, and another place with it,
over the far side of the park, and about the same
distance from his house as it was. The people round
about didn't hackle to the squire much for having 'em
pulled down ; for the gentry that lived in 'em was
beliked by all. But they was forgot too, after a time,
mind ye ; and, when all's said an' done, a man can
do what he likes with his own. And, oh massey,
wasn't that old October what they brewed there real
Stingo !

'The old squire's house is reckoned one o' the
finest in the country, inside and out. He laid out
a mint o' money on it, and they've kept a lot at work
ever since the estate came to his hands, and folks,
rich people too, come a long way to see the picters
and marble figgers in the big hall, what the squire
brought from furrin parts. Now he's dead, I fancy
changes '11 be comin', and not for the better. I've
passed nearly all my life on this estate, an' I don't
like new-fangled ways. But they wun't trouble me
much, for my sand-glass is nearly run out. I'm
getting old and feeble, boy.'

'Have you seen any large pike lately?' I ask
him.

His eyes twinkle at the question. ' No ; not since
they two come to grief. Warn't they big uns ? You

48 WOODLAND, MOOR, AND STREAM

\vun't forget that one in a hurry. He did look
mortal spiteful as he laid there close to the spring.
But that charge o' shot in the head settled him, and
if one o' the haymaker's rakes hadn't been handy
he would a' gi'n us some trouble. Twenty pounds he
weighed, if you reck'lect. His teeth was like a dog's
more than a fish ; he was grand to look at, but no
good to eat, for he was dry as a chip. Big fish nor
big folks isn't allus the best. Where there's one big
un there's mostly sure to be another. Two days
after that, mind you, there was a flood. Jim went
home the weir way, and on the cart bridge he see
another lay, just that minute washed up, for the
water was runnin' over the boards. So he took his
stick and give him a crack over his noddle to keep
the great brute quiet-like, and put him in his basket
and brought him home. We found out why the
flood washed him on to the boards when we looked
down his gullet. He'd got another there of his own
sort, that had only just been bolted. That one
weighed three pounds good weight. It had half-
choked him. He weighed nineteen pounds, he did.
They two was a nice pair to have put in a glass
case.'

Telling my old friend that I would give him a
call in the evening and smoke a pipe with him, I left

HAUNTS OF THE OTTER 49

him at his work, and entered the swampy alder copse.
A few oaks, ashes, willows, and aspens are there ;
but it is always called the alder copse. The ground
here is, as a matter of course, peat bog. The floods
have worn great hollows and rifts in all directions ;
and narrow, shallow streams run through it to fall
in the river again farther on. Here and there great
tree trunks lie half buried in the bog. All about are
grass tussocks, some of them dry and withered, others
look green. Clumps of sedge, stiff, and with long
sword-like blades, breast-high, bright green in colour,
meet you at every few steps. Some caution is neces-
sary in passing through them, for they cut like a
knife if the contact is made in a certain direction, as
I have often proved to my cost.

Inside this little jungle of aquatic vegetation it
is hot and stifling, with a disagreeable moist heat.
Very quietly we thread our way through the tangle,
treading when we can on the soft dead grass tussocks,
and peering through the boughs on either side for
some traces of the otter.

A moorhen flits up from a tuft in a little pool,
with the usual crippled-leg flight of nesting-time.
The young are somewhere about. Close by, on a
half-buried alder trunk, steps cautiously a water-rail.
Often have I watched the movements of this bird

E

50 WOODLAND, MOOR, AND STREAM

both in summer and winter. He is the feathered
image of caution as he glides in and out. Sometimes
you may see him fairly for a full minute ; then again
you will only just be able to catch the jerk of his
short tail, and to barely distinguish the form of the
bird. As a rule it is the tail that you see most of,
for he is off like a flash at the least movement on
your part.

Proceeding with great caution, we come to a more
open part of the copse. The water-runs from the
river have formed a shallow pool here, over which a
large alder has fallen, years ago, and gone to decay.
It is hollowed out to a mere shell in some parts, and
from the decayed portion tufts of sword-grass have
sprung up in bunches, and droop heavily over, the
tips of the blades touching the shallow water.

Here is a bit for a painter — a glimpse of blue sky,
the play of light and shade on the alders round the
pool, the dark trunk of the old tree gone to decay
brightened up by the green tufts, and the reflections
on the smooth surface of the water. And there, close
to the edge of the pool, under the trunk, is the im-
pression, the seal of the otter. He shows a refined
taste in all his habits of living. When he takes his
rambles, it is in pleasant places by the river and in it,
and by woodland meadow and stream. Less refined

HAUNTS OF THE OTTER 51

creatures can dine on what he leaves on the banks.
This copse is one of their roads and playgrounds.
But for one drawback one could stay here for a long
time ; at every step one takes swarms of midges rise
up and give one notice to quit by stinging severely.
It soon becomes torment unbearable, so without
any more cautious stepping, I dash into the meadow
and bathe hands and face to relieve my wounded
feelings.

Gently jogging on after this through one or two
meadows, and skirting the edge of the willow holts, I
reach a portion of bog meadow. On the edge of this,
close to the river, is a clump of bush cover mixed up
with rough clumps of rushes. Through this runs a
spout — in other words, a disused bog-land drain.
Some old decayed posts and rails, covered with moss
and lichen, are scattered about the entrance to th~
spout. The meadow is dotted about with yellow iris,
and the golden flowers of the kingcup blaze out from
their cool-looking rich green leaves. Other flowers
there are, but the irises and the kingcups stand out
from all. Some grand oaks stand close to the water's
edge, and some which have been felled and barked in
the spring lie close to them, making a good fore-
ground. The midges fortunately are not present
here.

E2

52 WOODLAND, MOOR, AND STREAM

Now for a pipe and some reflection on the ways
and means of living — also on the so-called instinct of
animals. How the closet naturalist, who pores over
dried skins and preserved specimens, takes refuge in
that term instinct \ From my earliest childhood I
have had some one creature or another for a com-
panion ; they have taught me much, and will teach
me yet more I trust. By carefully studying their
needs and inclinations, one is well rewarded with their
confidence and affection.

I am roused from my day-dreams by a whining
cry, something like the whining of a young pup. It
comes from the old drain. I leave my seat on the
tree trunk ; and my hat quickly off, I peer over the
butt of the tree, my eyes fixed on the spot whence
the sound comes. Again the cry is repeated ; now it is
louder, and the cause of it is soon apparent ; for from
under the old rails comes a full-grown otter, not wet
this time. Her coat shines in the sun. The cry
sounds again. She bends her head down low for a
moment. When she raises it she has a cub not quite
half grown in her mouth. Holding it as a cat would
a kitten, she places it on the grass, where it begins at
once to skylark with its mother's tail. Once more
the action is repeated with another cub. Then the
mother and her young play in the sun like a cat with

HAUNTS OF THE OTTER 53

her kittens. It might be long before one came upon
such a sight as that again.

Suddenly a shot is heard coming from some place
of concealment near at hand. One cub falls over on
his back, dead, with his feet drawn up as if still at
play, shot through the heart. Mother otter knows
that sound, she has heard it before, but to the little
ones it is new ; and the other one thinks the brother
is only at his gambols, and plays about round him ;
the mother grips him by the nape of the neck, but it
is in vain, for out from the cover runs a man. Only
when he rushes at her and raises his gun to strike her
with the butt-end does she let go her hold and dash
into the river. The poor little cubs had never seen a
human being before, and the remaining one does not
attempt to bite when his captor picks him up ; he
only cries most piteously for his mother. The whole
proceeding is distasteful to me, but I must not say
so, as I am only here on sufferance, the other by
right.

' I'll have her ! see if I don't, before many minutes
are over.' Taking a piece of string from his pocket
he ties it round the cub's neck, and tethers the poor
little animal to a peg in the ground. ' You come this
way into the bushes.'

Left to himself, the cub gives free vent to his

54 WOODLAND, MOOR, AND STREAM

sorrow. ' Look ! see that plough-up of the water,
just under ; she's heard him and is coming fast,'
whispers the man.

With a rush, she shoots from the river to the
meadow, and is at once shot. Her love for her cubs
has cost her her life.

' They will make a good case for the House when
they are set up, won't they ? '

' Set up,' indeed ! No doubt they will. Any talk
of setting up and stuffing of wild creatures generally
gets my dander up. It takes a man that is familiar
with the animal in its native haunts, and an artist to
boot, to make the poor dead things look natural and
lifelike.

' How do you account for the number of otters
about here ? ' I ask the man presently.

' Why, this way. They have always been about
the river, but not just in this part till late years. You
see, before the old squire died there was a good lot of
keepers and lookers-out, for he kept up a good head
of game. So if an otter come down here, he had a
hot time of it. Some of the gentry up the river that
had ponds on their lawns, with gold-fish in them,
knowed they was about, for though there was plenty
for 'em in the river they would come out of it and get
the gold-fish. The old squire's going off made a great

HAUNTS OF THE OTTER 55

difference ; the family went abroad, or somewhere
away, after his death, and things went on very quiet
for years. The establishment was mostly closed.
The game was killed off and no more reared, and the
keepers found fresh places. The principal hands
on the estate just give an eye to things to see that
no mischief was done. Well, the otters found out
they could come here without being harried about,
and back they come with a vengeance. You see, for
one thing, there's cover for 'em. All the sides of the
banks are undermined and matted with the tree roots,
and the water is very deep. If they had otter hounds
they would be of no use here, for fifteen or twenty feet
of water in places, and a long stretch of it, to say
nothing of the network of big roots, would break the
hearts of the best pack in England. It's wonderful
the distance they'll run at times — their holes, I mean.
Rabbits work the banks in all directions ; then, when
the otter finds a spot that suits him, he gives the
rabbits notice to quit in his own fashion. It wants
little altering to make his home ready for him.'

' Ay, he's pretty cute.'

' You know that gravelly bank yonder ? Well, one
flood-time we was hunting the rats that the water had
drove out. It had drove the rabbits too, but it was
rats we was hunting. We had got the ferrets and the

56 WOODLAND, MOOR, AND STREAM

dogs. The ferrets worked well, and went into all the
holes as free as rain, till we come to a couple on the
top of that particular bank. We turned 'em down,
but they wouldn't work them. All they did was to
just poke their noses in and sniff, and then run round
the holes, uneasy like. The dogs, too, sniffed and
scratched about strange like for them, quieter than
they was used. We jumped about and poked into
the holes, wondering why the ferrets would not go in.
The river was rushing almost bank-high to where we
stood ; when all at once something was heard whining
like, and somebody said, " Look at that ! " It was a
sight ! for in the river was a fine otter. She had her
cub by the nape of the neck, and was swimming
across with him. It was hard work, but she tore
through that rush of water from the weir in fine style.
There was nothing above water but the alder stems
on the other side, and she made for them. She was
not twenty yards away from us the whole time.
Well, when she reached them, she got her cub on to a
limb and left him. He did cry. And then we lost
sight of her for a bit. The whine come again, almost
close to our feet, and the dogs stood with ears pricked
up and one fore-foot lifted, just quivering with excite-
ment. She dashes out from the bank with a second
cub. The dogs rush to the water's edge, but they

HAUNTS OF THE OTTER 57

dare not plunge in, plucky as they are ; for they
knovved they'd be washed down and dashed into
the limbs of the fallen trees that lay in and across the
river. She got him over all right, and then they three
made for the alder copse. That's how I come to know
the distance they'll lay up in a bank.'

' Had you a gun with you ? '

' No ; and if I had, it should never have gone to
my shoulder to fire at her, when she'd been so plucky
like. It 'd just have seemed like murder to me, for
all I killed them two just now. But you see it's like
this ; the head uns walk round and see some of their
leavings on the ground, and make a bit of a fuss about
it ; for some of 'em are fond of fishing. So just to
keep matters quiet, you must know, I'm obliged to
settle one or two when I have the chance. I don't
want to brag about my shootin', but if I do get a fair
sight at 'em they don't suffer much, for I always use a
cartridge. As far as myself is concerned, I should
never meddle with 'em ; but, you see, where there's
more 'an one master to please, you must mind your
P's and Q's, as they say.'

' Just so, my friend ; that is the philosophical way
of looking at things.'

He smiles, and bids me good-day. We have had
many a chat together, he and I, before this.

58 WOODLAND, MOOR, AND STREAM

When the harvest-moon floods the river and trees
with light, and his day's fishing is over, the otter plays
about in the meadows bordering the river-side to his
heart's content. Where the steep sides of the hill —
called the Whites — shoot down to the river, he is at
home. Gnarled roots and fallen trees find him a safe
refuge. The hill-side is claimed by the fox and
badger, but the river is the domain of the otter ; he
holds his own there, and is likely to do for many a
dav to come.

59

THE BADGER

OF the few animals which now inhabit the woods
and the hill-sides, perhaps the badger is the least
known to the general public. He is nocturnal, in the
first place ; and his colouring, being in broken tones,
does not readily arrest the eye. His head, chin, and
neck are white, with brownish-black bands running
on either side from the nose over the eyes and ears.
His upper parts are light grey sprinkled with black,
the lower parts brownish-black ; his fore-feet are
long and stout, his limbs muscular, his jaw powerful,
and his teeth sharp ; in fact, he is well set up as far
as these formidable weapons are concerned. The
usual length of the animal is a little over three feet,
but in his family, as well as in the human race, there
are large and small individuals. Take his general
appearance as he jogs along, and a small bear is at
once suggested to your mind. Many of his ways,
too, are bear-like ; he will lie up in the winter, and
eat vegetable as well as animal food. Some other

60 WOODLAND, MOOR, AND STREAM

creatures, that are supposed to be strictly carnivorous,
will eat fruit when they can get it

The badger, poor beast ! is getting scarce ; more's
the pity, from the animal collector's and the naturalist's
point of view. He generally manages to dispense
with the observation of the latter ; for, unless his
ways are well known, he will escape from a place
that might have been supposed strong enough to
hold a rhinoceros. All his family have been ex-
cavators from the beginning, on the most scientific
principles. Unless you take the greatest possible
precautions, he will dig himself out and get away in
quick time. He is a most quiet and orderly being,
and a contented one too, if let alone ; for, as a rule,
he is fat.

His persecutors are many, from the keeper down
to the rat-catcher's lad, who boasts that he has ' the
best dog at any varmint as ever run on four legs.'
Some of our common expressions require alteration,
being founded on ignorance. For instance, folks
say, ' Dirty as a badger ' ; whereas a cleaner creature
in its home and surroundings would be hard to find.
A very wide-awake individual he is ; and he need
be, for the hand of both man and of boy is against
him, and utterly without reason.

If the badger had but the same privileges ex-

THE BADGER 61

tended to him that the fox has, he would not be so rare
an animal as he is now. Why should he be so worried
by dogs ? It is to he hoped that badger-drawing
has nearly had its day. This very practice, brutal as
it is, testifies to his determined courage and fighting
qualities ; you could not find a more determined
antagonist than he is when on his mettle.

With regard to his food, the greater part of it
consists of such small deer as may fall in his way,
when he wanders here and there in the evening after
leaving the hole where he has lain dormant all the
day. That long snout of his will poke and root out
all manner of things, from a wild bees' nest to a
field-mouse. He will eat young rabbits when he can
get them, and old ones do not come amiss to him
when the chance offers. A sporting character I knew
once, procured a fine badger for the express purpose
of having him baited by all the fancy dogs in his
locality. Amongst other creatures he kept rabbits,
and his particular fancy was to have the very best of
the lop-eared variety that could be procured. One
doe he valued most highly, because, setting aside her
own qualities, she had a fine lot of young ones, well-
orown, and as beautiful as herself.

o *

The badger had only been caught the same
evening on which it was brought to this individual.

62 WOODLAND, MOOR, AND STREAM

Not having a place ready for it, he placed it for the
time in an empty hutch just over the one in which
his favourite doe and her little ones were. Fastening
the door securely, he left the animal to his own
devices for the night, little thinking what these might
be. Next morning he found, to his horror, that the
badger had torn up the floor of the hutch where he
had been placed, and got into that of the doe, where
he had slaughtered the whole family. Their bodies
lay dead there, the badger curled up in the middle of
them, fast asleep, and very full of rabbit. His first
impulse was to kill the beast, there and then, but on
thinking it over he remembered that he had paid a
considerable figure for it ; so he got the badger out and
sold him to one of his friends as a pet, telling him that
it was ' quite harmless, would live on bread and milk,
and in a very short time would follow him about like
a dog.' Very soon, indeed, he was requested by this
friend to take him back again, but he refused.

I will describe one of his homes, which I have
visited many times. At the bottom of a glade, by
the side of the chalk hill, is a dip or hollow, not deep,
but a kind of basin about twice the size of one of my
living-rooms. Round this, old beeches, growing close
by, have pushed forth their great roots in all direc-
tions ; on one side of the hollow a gnarled oak stands,

THE BADGER 63

not any great height, but of vast bulk, the great limbs
reaching far over the open space. In the middle of
the hollow, under the roots of this oak, our " friar of
orders grey " has made his home, and a very secure
and pleasant one it is.

When the moon is high up in the sky, and throws
a soft silvery blue tone on the tops of the firs which
line the side of the glade, the glade itself showing
like a bright blue-green stripe, and nothing is heard
but the jar of the fern-owl as he flits over the glade,
or the drone of some beetle as he flies along, then is
the time for our friend the badger to come out and
see how the world looks in the moonlight.

He has left his hole, and there he stands in the
full light of the moon, the great limbs of the oak
throwing chequered shadows around him on the
greensward and on the exposed surface of the chalk
here and there. The greater portion of the sides of
the hollow nearest his home is covered with foxgloves
and trailing bramble. He looks round about him
for a few seconds, and sniffs, just to find out if any-
thing peculiar is in the air ; then, finding matters all
right, as he thinks, he gives himself a scratch or two
and a good shake, and deliberately waddles off to
get something to eat ; a very easy matter at this time
of the year, for on a warm summer night all kinds of

64 WOODLAND, MOOR, AND STREAM

creatures are about, and he makes their acquaintance
much to his own satisfaction, if not to theirs.

Little does he think that he is wanted on this
particular evening. Whilst he goes plodding along,
picking up a little bit here and there, the keeper and
his lad are holding some conversation about him. I
happen to come across them ; my sympathies are
with the badger, but it is not my business to interfere.

' Have ye got the bag and sack, Jim ? If ye
have, jest make yer way, quiet-like, over t'other hill,
an' cum down the side on it — on the quiet, mind ; fix
yer bag, an' when 'tis done, give three hoots, one
arter t'other, to let me know as things is all right ;
ye minds what I tell ye ; I'm goin' back to get
Ginger an' Nipper. They'll hussle him up, an' no
mistake. They ain't big uns, but better tarriers than
what they be never cum inter this 'ere wurld. Now-
then, off ye goes, an' before ye gits yer job done I
shall be near to ye, fur to hear ye hoot : he's sartin
sure to be on the ramble.'

Arriving at the spot, Jim produces the bag, or
rather a small sack, from his jacket pocket, and places
it in the entrance to the badger's burrow in such a
way that should the animal rush for home, as he
generally does when alarmed, he will go right into it.
The string that runs round the mouth of the sack will

THE BADGER 65

be pulled tight by the force of his rush, and there he
will be like a pig in a poke. The string of the bag is
secured, of course, to a peg. Having arranged all this
to his own satisfaction, Jim picks up the large sack —
he had two, a large and a small — walks out of the
hollow on to the moonlit greensward, and hoots like
a brown owl, three times. After this musical effort
he stands quite still, and listens intently, but for some
time the humming jar of the fern-owl, chur-chur-er-er-
er-er-chur, is the only sound that reaches his ear.
Suddenly he places his empty sack on the ground
beside him, and is on the alert, for a sound of quickly
moving feet at a distance makes itself heard. He
knows what that means : Ginger and Nipper are close
on the badger's track ; and like the well-bred, well-
trained little fox terriers that they are, they run him
mute, save for the mere ghost of a whimper now and
again, just enough to show they are eager to close
with the poor beast.

That, however, is far from the keeper's intention ;
he would not let his two little beauties, game though
they are, close with such a desperate antagonist as an
old dog badger, if he could help it ; for he knows well
enough that dogs and badger would fight to the death.
His plan is that they shall drive him to his burrow,
and into the sack.

F

66 WOODLAND, MOOR, AND STREAM

The best laid plans do not succeed always, how-
ever, as is proved in this case. Nearer and nearer
comes the sound of pattering feet at full speed, and
behind that the heavy tread of a man who is putting
his best foot foremost. Nearer they come ; they will
break into the moonlight in another moment ; we can
hear them pant, for they have run him through the
cover at top speed. The lad is ready to dash down
into the hollow — in fact, he has already moved to
do so, when the sound of running feet stops dead ;
and then, in the thicket, a desperate tearing scuffle is
heard going on, for Ginger and Nipper have run into
and closed with him before he could reach home.

The sounds make Jim wild with excitement, and
he shouts his loudest to the keeper, who is now close
at hand and purring like a steam-engine with running
so hard.

' Can't ye git a badger in a sack without hollerin'
like murder ? ' he asks angrily. ' I'm a good
mind '

What he'd a good mind to did not transpire, for
the boy yelled out, ' I ain't got him ; they'se got him ;
don't ye hear 'em worryin' of him ? '

Making use of some very strong expressions, such
as he would not make use of at a chapel tea-meeting,
the keeper dashes into the thicket, followed by Jim ;

THE BADGER 67

quickly they reach the spot, where they see a confused
mass of living matter, turning and twisting, growling,
whining and snapping, at their feet.

' I'll murder ye, you old varmint ! Look out,
Jim ! Cuss an' hang him ! I can't git a stroke at

him ! Why the here they are ; what's up now ?

Ginger ! Ginger ! loose him ! Ginger ! he'll rip ye up
in bits. Let me smash him ! '

' Here he is ; hold hard, master ! ye nearly had
'im; hold hard!'

* Well, if ever I take my tarriers ! Oh dear ! oh
dear ! if there ain't Nipper ; he's done for. Hold
him, Jim ; don't ye let him out o' yer arms, fur mercy
sake. Now then, here they are ; now fur it, one way
or t'other. This is the wust night's work as ever I
come across. Jim ! Jim ! where be ye?'

' In this 'ere tangle ; I'm comin' fast as I can.'

* Have ye got Nipper ? '
' Yes, I got un.'

' He's a dunner, ain't he ? '

' No, he ain't ; it's tight work fur me to hold him ! '
' Don't ye let him go ; here they be, dead as
herrin's ! Oh dear, Ginger ! if I ain't wound up
clean ! Never agin will I see your feller. If it
waunt fur the shame on it, I could fairly beller ! I
be cut up, an' no mistake.'

F 2

68 WOODLAND, MOOR, AND STREAM

' Pick him up, master ; you'll hev to loose his holt,
for dead as he be he's got him under the ear. This
'ere night's work about winds my pig up, I can tell

ye.'

Picking Ginger up, and holding him in his arms,
the keeper stood in silence. Presently a slight move-
ment took place in the body of the terrier, and with a
low whimper and one long-drawn breath he opened
his eyes, and then licked the face of his master.

'Jim! hoora ! houra! Ginger's alive; oh, my
precious Ginger ! oh, ain't you tore about ! Give us
Nipper, an' shove that cusnation warmint in the sack
an' let's git back fur to doctor these 'ere poor things.
We'll git 'em round, if 'tis to be done. — Look 'ere,
Jim, did ye ever? they ain't hurt much ; they're try in'
their werry hardest ter get out o' my hands ter hev
another go at him ! I don't think as there's sich
another pair o' tarriers as these 'ere two, no, not
nowheres : there can't be ! Ye've got that murderin'
warmint ? '

' Yes, he's in the sack.'

4 Then look sharp ! we'll cut out o' this ; come on !
an' next time as master wants a badger fur one o' his
friends, somebody else's tarriers '11 hev to drive un.
The fust one as we got out was that old warmint's
missus an' her cubs. That was a diggin' job, as we

THE BADGER 69

wunt forgit in a hurry ; 'twas desprit work. But this
'ere bit o' business sets that aside clean. Jim ! what
are ye sniggerin' about? what's in the wind now,
ticklin' yer fancy that way ?

' Oh, nuthin' pertickler. Is Ginger and Nipper
quiet ? '

' No, they ain't ; I thinks as they'd like ter fall
foul o' that 'ere sack.'

' Well, I dessay they wud ; for this 'ere warmint
has cum round agin, an' is tearin' an' scratchin' like
mad. It do take a lot to wind a badger's clock up,
that it do ! '

' Jim, when we've sin to the dogs, you come up
an' hev a pint o' the best cider.'

70 WOODLAND, MOOR, AND STREAM

THE FOX

I FEEL it almost presumptuous on my part to say
anything about that wonderful animal the fox. So
much has been written and said about him, both by
sportsmen and some of the greatest of our literary
geniuses. My account of him will be brief; not
having the fox-hunter's feeling of veneration for him
nor the hatred natural to the poultry-keeper, my
views will at any rate not be one-sided. Nor have I
ever had the least wish to possess Master Reynard
embalmed as a mummy, or to see the wily gentleman
in a glass case, lean and hungry-looking, with squint-
ing cunning in his eye. He is known to me as a
clean, swift, strong, and handsome creature, full of
courage. He is also universally credited with a very
large amount of intellectual power, although it is
always said to be employed exclusively for his own
benefit. To call an individual of the human family
an old fox is certainly not a compliment, for it
implies that he is crafty and selfish.

THE FOX 71

His usual length is four feet, but he varies in size
according to food and locality. In the Highlands
of Scotland he is almost like a wolf in size and
strength ; and he is not regarded in the same light as
in England, for he is shot down without the least
compunction there. The proper place to see all wild
animals to advantage is in their own home. May I
be allowed to say that, in this respect, they are unlike
many individuals of the human species ?

It is just after four o'clock on a soft May morning,
and the sun lights up the tops of the trees, bringing
the tender foliage out in sparkling relief against the
hill-sides. At the foot of the one nearest us Reynard
and his vixen partner have their home. Numbers
of fine beeches grow here ; the chalky soil is well
suited to them. A large one has been blown down
at some time, but it has been sawn from the roots
long ago. For a long distance the soil was loosened
in its fall, and Reynard has taken advantage of this
to form an earth for himself and family among the
loosened chalk, stones, and old tangled roots. The
surface round about is covered with the finest and
greenest turf. Many hawthorn bushes are there,
giving out their delightful fragrance to perfection, for
the morning is warm. On the end of a long beech
bough, which reaches far out over the earth, a cuckoo

72 WOODLAND, MOOR, AND STREAM

sits, and flirts his tail about, shouting ' Cuckoo !
Cuckoo ! ' The entrance to the earth and a small
space about it is bare, for the little foxes are playful
animals, and are at high jinks often, capering about.
At present they are, comparatively speaking, quiet,
for all their bellies are full. Father Reynard is sitting
in the bright warm sunlight, winking in a most know-
ing manner, while two of his cubs play with his
bushy tail to their heart's content, tossing it from one
side to the other in a most comical fashion. Mother
vixen has a rabbit in her mouth, which she tosses
up and catches, and then lets drop for one of the
young ones to nibble at its ears, while the darling of
the family torments a poor frog that has found his
way there. The whole lot look as though they had a
touch of dropsy, their bellies stick out so. The
feathers and feet of pheasants strew the ground, and
other remnants, for Reynard's motto is, ' Other
creatures' young ones can cry for food if they let 'em ;
but mine don't, if I know it.'

At some distance the alarm note of a blackbird
sounds. Reynard opens his eyes, pricks his ears, and
the cubs leave off playing with his tail. The next
moment a jay squeaks out, and comes flying overhead.
That is enough ; he is up on his feet, ears erected,
eyes gleaming, and his brush held almost in a line

THE FOX 73

with his back, his fore feet well to the front, the hind
ones on the spring. Squeak ! squeak ! and another
jay flits past. With a rush the cubs dash to earth,
followed more leisurely by their worthy parents. The
cause of their stampede is soon explained, for up the
side of the wooded slope a man is seen coming ; it is
the keeper on his early round.

Reynard is very accommodating as to his food ;
nothing nice comes amiss to him : game of all kinds,
furred and feathered ; fish, when he can get the run
of them in spawning time, when they are on the sides
of the shallows ; field-mice, and his especial dainty, a
well-fed barn rat. There is no lack of these in the
harvest time, and up to the commencement of the
winter months. Then they troop back to their old
quarters for the cold season. He has a taste for
poultry ; ducks he values most highly. Perhaps no
one but a miller would expect to find a fox in a
swamp ; but he knows his tricks and likings, and
though he curses him most heartily, yet lets him go
free, for is he not St. Reynard ? The miller's landlord
hunts him in the orthodox manner.

On the tussocks, covered with flag and rush
spread all over the swamp, the fox makes a most
comfortable retreat. Getting into the middle of one,
he twists himself round and round, dog fashion, and

74 WOODLAND, MOOR, AND STREAM

there he lies on a nice bed, soft and dry, completely
hidden from view, remaining there until the miller
informs his landlord's keeper that a fox is there ; then
the huntsman comes round — and the sooner he does
this the better, or there will not be a duck left on the
pond.

Reynard can hear them nozzling and softly quack-
ing at the edge of his hiding-place ; with cat-like steps
he creeps closer, looking through the flags. When
he finds that he is near enough for a jump, there is a
splash, and one low quack and the drake is in his
mouth. In pictures you may see him represented
with his quarry slung over his back. This is not
correct ; he carries what he has caught in front of him,
like a retriever. More than once, when in search of
wading birds, have I come on the retreats of the fox
and the otter very near to each other. For cool im-
pudence match him if you can. I have known a dog
fox, when the vixen had the care of a family, enter the
yard of the keeper's house, take one of his game hens
from under his living-room windows, march off with
it across the road and to his home, give it to his
family, and then come back for another. A pointer
was in the yard at the time, chained to his kennel.
Driven off at his second visit, he coolly re-crossed the
road to the turf, squatted on his haunches there, and

THE FOX 75

looked over at the yard, and the game hens used for
hatching out the pheasants' eggs. It was too much
for the keeper to put up with. Slipping a cartridge
into his gun, he swung it up to his shoulder and let
drive at the fox, saying, ' there's notice to quit, you
thund'rin' sweep ! ' Then did Master Reynard play
some extraordinary antics. First he jumped off the
ground several times in the most lively manner, then
he cuffed his ears vigorously with his fore-feet, gave a
bit of a yelp, and bolted at top speed. His skin is
thick, and what would knock other things over would
not cripple him.

When the hunters and the hounds chevy him
across the fields honest farmer Giles complains most
bitterly. ' Dash my old gaiters, if I doan't wish as
every warmint of a fox as ever run was cold and stiff,
that I do ; an' 'tis a pity as some folks ain't got better
work for their bosses than ridin' over other people's
craps an' breakin' fences an' gates. Tis wonderful
what a likin' most of 'em have fur blunderin' thru a
fence an' knockin1 the padlock off a gate. Why doan't
they jump over 'em ? ef their hearts was as big as
their hosses hap they wud. That there field of tur-
mits will be punched inter sheep feed, they wunt want
to go inter no cuttin' machine. Cuss all fox huntin ',
I sez ; 'tis ruin for farmers ! '

76 WOODLAND, MOOR, AND STREAM

It was wonderful how quickly Farmer Giles was
brought to modify these strong opinions on fox-hunt-
ing by the appearance of a two-gallon bottle labelled
Old Irish, ' with the Hunt's compliments.' He un-
corked the bottle, smelt and tasted it more than once,
with and without sugar, ejaculating between each sip,
' Massy, oh alive ! ' Then he walked to those fields
again over which they had ridden. Could it have
been the softening influence of the Old Irish, or had
he been making mountains out of molehills ? for when
he got back he told his ' missus,' with a beaming
smile of benevolence on his face, that, ' Raly, con-
siderin' the lot o' gentlemen as 'ad rid over the craps,
the little harm as he cum across waunt wuth speakin'
on.'

THE HERON AND ITS HAUNTS 77

THE HERON AND ITS HAUNTS

THE heron — the Jack Hern of the marsh-men — was
at one time a common bird in those localities which
were suited to that bird's habits and means of living.
His being a notable figure in history has been, and
is still, a disadvantage to him, for he has suffered
from an ill reputation which clings to him to this
day, but which he only gained through being mis-
understood. His appearance and bearing are remark-
able, and have always commanded attention. Hungry
as a heron, lean as a heron, long-shanked as a heron,
are common expressions with people who do not take
the trouble to investigate his character more closely.
Much has been written about him from an able and
a more scientific point of view than I care to take
here, but a great deal of nonsense also. One author,
speaking of the heron and his habits, calls him 'a
picture of wretchedness, anxiety, and indigence, com-
demned to struggle perpetually with misery and
want ; and sickened by the cravings of a famished

78 WOODLAND, MOOR, AND STREAM

appetite.' Fine sounding words these, but there is
no sense in them. Such a description is noways
applicable to my old acquaintance, the common grey
heron. He is a bird of many qualities, patient,
strong, and brave. Very rarely does he put himself
in a temper ; when he indulges in that luxury it is
the same with him as with some people who are
usually quiet, and the further you get away from him
the better.

But why men and boys should rush for a gun to
shoot him down as though he were some dangerous
animal I cannot tell. That mark of attention has
been paid him for successive ages ; but in the olden
time only the great could deal with him, as he was
then in grace of sanctuary. The monks might
grumble when they saw him round their fish-stews,
but they were compelled to let him be. A cast of
jerfalcons or peregrines used to bring him to earth,
and then the falconer had to be quick to prevent
mischief, for, if his neck was free, that long bill would
be used with deadly effect, and his claws would clutch
like a cat's. When living he was held in the highest
estimation, and when dead also. For the heron, and
his near neighbour and kinsman, the bittern, graced
the abbot's table as well as that of the nobility. A
royal bird of those days one might style him, for

THE HERON AND ITS HAUNTS 79

royalty itself framed laws for his protection and
special benefit.

Even now they will kill him for eating in the
wild marsh-lands when they can get him. I have
seen him hanging up in the poulterers' shops for sale
as an article of diet. He commands a good price in
some places. A clean feeder he is, and his food is
fresh, for he has it alive.

From my childhood I have known the bird well,
and all his habits and characteristics. With an
inborn passionate love for all wild creatures, I was
left as a boy to my own devices in that wild marsh-
land district which I have already written about ;
and I knew practically as much about the birds that
frequented our shore then as I do now. My know-
ledge was gained by wading through reeds, crawling
between hillocks, lying flat and wriggling like an eel.
to watch the waders and gulls feed and wash in the
pools from morning to night. A lonely boy, I tried
to scrape acquaintance with the creatures about me,
and it grew to be the delight and pastime of my
youth, and the interest and pleasure of maturer
years.

Jack Hern, as I called him then, is a bird of
sober-coloured plumage, grey, black, and white. The
bill has a yellow tint, and the legs are a dull light

8o WOODLAND, MOOR, AND STREAM

olive-green. These tones are so disposed, however,
that the eye is satisfied. Every one who has studied
birds and animals in their haunts must have noted
how the colouring of the creatures harmonises with
their surroundings. So much the better for them.

I have studied him in many different places since
my boyhood — on the moorlands, by river and stream,
in the meadows and ploughed fields ; among the lush
tangled herbage of a bog swamp, and in the trees ;
and my affection for the heron has strengthened with
my knowledge of him and his ways.

Let us observe him where I knew him first.
Morning, noon, and night, according to the flow and
ebb of the tide, you will find him on the sea-shore.
Speaking from my own experience, the herons are
more numerous there in winter than in summer. The
parts of the shore close to the marshes left bare by
the tide are singularly lonely. The sun shines hotly
on the dreary flats, and the pools flash and glitter.
With the exception of a pair of Ring Dotterels piping
about, not another sound is to be heard. The hot
air quivers over the flats and saltings ; not even a
gull is to be seen, for they are having a rest by some
shallow pool, clear as crystal, in the marshes near at
hand. Mud flats and pools mingle together in a
blue flickering haze in the distance. There is no life

THE HERON AND ITS HAUNTS Si

overhead, but you will find plenty close to your feet.
The mud flats here are hard slub ; you can walk over
them without fear of quags to swallow you up to the
knees, and deeper, unless you throw yourselves back-
wards and scratch out somehow. Winkles are all
over the place, crawling slowly like snails, and leaving
their tracks behind them. Here is a pool left by the
tide ; so clear the water is that the most minute crab
or fish can be distinctly seen. What a collection of
creatures dart about hither and thither as we lift
up a mass of snapper-weed in the pool : small fish
of various kinds, the greater part young plaice and
flounders, with the common green crab of the saltings,
from the little nippers no larger than a shilling to
those near the size of your closed fist, which con-
gregate in hosts, thousands upon thousands of them,
in some parts of our coasts. Some would imagine it
to be a wild-goose chase coming to look for the heron
on these bare, hot, steaming flats, but we have found
him here before, and shall do so now.

Mussel scalps, as they are called, abound here.

There is a fitness in local terms which strikes one
more forcibly than pleasantly, as you would find if
your bare shins were to scrape an acquaintance with
the sharp edges of the shells, which cut like knives.
These scalps vary in height from that of a gallon

82 WOODLAND, MOOR, AND STREAM

to a bushel measure. Advancing with slow steps
between them and the pools, we startle a heron from
behind one of the larger ones. Up he springs, with
rough, croaking scream, and flaps away with a lazy
flight, for his stomach is full, and he has been dis-
turbed from a nap in the shade of the mussel scalps.
Presently another rises, with a small eel about a
foot long wriggling about in his bill, and this gives
the alarm to a couple more who were near at hand.
It would seem strange to a casual observer that so
large a bird could escape notice on the bare flats, but
the reason he so often does so — and they are rarely
seen until you get close to them — is that the slub is
grey in tone of colouring, also the white breast of the
bird falls in with the bright flash of the pools lit up
in the sunlight ; one is blended into the other, and
the instinct of self-preservation, which is very fully
developed in him, saves him often from harm. Like
the rook, he has some means of knowing if it is a
gun you are carrying, or merely a stick. I have
proved this to be so, over and over again I cannot
account for it in any way, but the fact remains : if
you point a stick at him in gun fashion, he does not
mind it in the least ; but a gun presented is the
instant signal for speedy flight.

Like other living creatures, he finds change

THE HERON AND ITS HA UNTS 83

necessary to him at times, and he quits the marshes
for the sea-shore at his own time and pleasure. He
finds the pools about the right depth for wading, and
altogether convenient ; for, as a rule, they are merely
depressions in the slub, a few inches deep. The
flounder may scuttle down, leaving only his head
and eyes exposed, the head slightly raised, looking
more like the head of the cobra than anything else
in nature. What curious likenesses we find at times
in creatures whose mode of life is so utterly different !
Well hidden as Mr. Flounder thinks himself, it is not
enough, for Jack Hern's quick eye has seen him.
The bird's neck is drawn back for one moment, and
the stroke is made. Far better than any large fork
lashed on to a stick is the bill of the heron. The
fish may kick and wriggle as only a flounder can, but
he will not get away from that grip. This victim is
some three inches in width ; watch it in the process
of disappearance. The fish is tossed up and caught
head foremost, and he gulps him down as far as his
neck. That is long and thin, but its power of expan-
sion is very great. The passage of the fish can be
plainly seen, for the neck becomes fan-shaped where
the fish sticks for a moment on its way to the bird's
stomach. However, the matter is soon over, as the
fish folds in on both sides, and the devourer is ready

G 2

84 WOODLAND MOOR, AND STREAM

to repeat the process with something else. Small
tender crab, shrimp, prawn, or sand-hopper, also sand-
worms, and many more little pickings are there for
him. He lives well in summer, but he does not get
fat any more than the great marsh-hares that often
sit up and look at him as he prowls about, especially
when the tiny leverets are located in some slight
hollow between the mole hillocks. Fat is not found
on either them or him — not in the proper sense of
the word.

Let us have a good look at him after he has been
shot, dead ; certainly not till we are sure of that fact,
for I have a profound respect for the fighting capa-
bilities of the heron. Falcons, hawks, and owls can
use their bills and claws with effect — I can speak
feelingly on that subject — but I would rather deal
with the three of them together than with Master
Heron when he is only wing-tipped by the shot and
his temper is roused.

There he is dead at our feet, however. Pick him
up and examine him. Begin with his dagger of a
bill ; it is six inches long. Feel the tip and its ser-
rated edges. Look at the gape he has. Pass your
hand down his neck to the shoulders ; there is muscle
there. Press the eyelids back with the ringer tip and
look at his keen hawk-like eye. Notice the bend of

THE HERON AND ITS HAUNTS 85

the wing from the shoulder, and feel the muscles that
move his broad wings in flight Grand wings they
are. Take the tip of one flight feather and stretch
the wings ; or, better still, hold them out in front of
you with both hands. You will be surprised at their
length and width. Now finish with his legs and feet
Wonderful feet they are, and the same may be said
of the other members of his tribe. Surely the stilts
of the marsh- men, with the flat pieces at the ends to
prevent their sinking and sticking in the soft surface
of the marshes, had their origin in the first instance
in a close examination of the heron's legs and feet.
Feel his long toes. How lithe they are ! You can
bend them at your will, up and down and sideways.
So could the bird when alive, and in twenty different
directions to your one ; for he could climb and cling
to anything with them, perch on trees, step about
as gingerly as a cat, wade anywhere, and, when he
thought fit, swim also. He is a bird of varied accom-
plishments, and they are all useful to him, serving his
purpose each one in its turn, which is more than can
be said of the accomplishments of some members of
the human family.

Take him for all in all, he is a feathered Moss-
Trooper. Luxuriously as he fares in summer, in
winter the tune is changed. No more lazy flappings

86 WOODLAND, MOOR, AND STREAM

over the marsh from pool to pool, and from one dyke
to another through an atmosphere bathed in the soft,
hazy, golden light of sunset — bird and sky, land and
water, alike glorified in its long slanting rays. How
often have I gazed on such a scene in my old marsh-
land home ! A few more years and it will be a rarer
sight ; for the marshes have been drained in many
counties, and where the heron had his home you will
soon see cornfields and fruit orchards.

Winter has come, but no snow has fallen yet ; the
air is too cold for it to come down. Marsh and dykes
are frozen hard ; the keen winds from the sea cut
bitterly, making the reeds and flags, now dry and
withered, clash and rattle again as they rush over the
flats. In that clump of tangled reed, flag, rush, and
coarse bents is the heron, standing on one leg, warm
and snug, his head and neck drawn in to his shoulders.
The wind may blow its hardest, but it only knits the
tangle closer. It is no trouble for him to make a
way in and out as he requires it. The tide is just
near the ebb turn ; when it is fairly on the ebb he
will be moving. Although there is no town clock to
tell him the time, he knows, in some way or other, to
a minute when the tide has fairly turned. And now
he rises from his place of refuge, right in the middle
of the tangle in which he had been hiding. His long,

THE HERON AND ITS HAUNTS 87

limber, clinging toes enable him to grasp the reeds
and flags in order to climb sufficiently high to give
room for his wings to play. His cousin the bittern
is more expert in the art of getting up out of cover
than is the heron, but then he is also more given to
hiding himself.

Now he is well up, and he comes on with some
more herons after him. This is the time to note his
play of wing, for the wind blows strong. The birds
try to beat to windward, but the blast catches them
turning them fairly up on one side. They thresh and
flap vigorously to recover their balance, and succeed
in doing so after a time, to be caught again in the
same manner. Over the sea wall and on over the
saltings they flap, and they drop down close to the
edge of the ebbing tide. But what a change is this
from their summer haunts. The haze that flickered
over the slub and softened the distance has given
place to the keen clear air of winter, when the dry
black frosts hold the marsh and dykes in their icy
grip. Sails of ships can be seen in the offing, and the
minster tower stands out in clear relief against the
sky. About a mile away a dark cloud appears to
hang over the water, towards which it falls and rises
again. On the water a long line of black shows. It
is a gaggle of Brent geese, part of which are on the

WOODLAND, MOOR, AND STREAM

water, paddling on the ebb ; the rest have risen on
wing and are dipping and flapping up and down,
impatient for the long sea grass to show bare for them
to graze on. Other birds rush up for their share from
the shingle of the beach five miles away — dunlins,
sanderlings, and knots. The curlews are there as
a matter of course ; where the lug or sandworm is
abundant you will find those birds in great numbers.
The heron has no longer the shore to himself, as he
had it in summer ; others share it with him, as well
as the food that the tide leaves. The dunlins run
nimbly over the surface left bare, busily pecking and
dibbing at something in or on the slub. If you rouse
a flock of them and look at the place where they were,
you will see thousands of little depressions left by the
tips of their bills. Their prey must be very small —
minute crustaceans, probably, or the spat of some
mollusk. The sanderlings and knots keep more
apart. The tangle round stones finds favour with
them. They will mix with the dunlins at times, and
with curlews in close company, but not one of them
will get within reach of the heron. One blow and a
grip, a dabble in the water to wet the poor victim's
feathers and make them lie closer, and little Master
Dunlin, or any other bird of his size, goes down his
gullet at a gulp. Look at them following the tide,

THE HERON AND ITS HAUNTS £9

with neck stretched out and bill a little open, ready
for anything. Now and then it looks as if a squabble
were going on, as some one heron, more fortunate than
another, gets a better find ; of course, the one next to
him wants to share it, and then ensue sundry flappings
of wings and extraordinary dancing movements.
One or two rise and drop down again a few yards
away to continue their search. What they feed on
could only be found out by first shooting one, and
then examining the contents of his stomach. Scores
of birds of all sorts are shot, skinned, and stuffed, and
their bodies eaten, but in ninety-nine cases out of a
hundred the stomach is never inspected. It is very
convenient to say this bird, or that small animal, feeds
almost exclusively on such and such a diet, but that
proves nothing : you can only really tell what a
creature feeds on, as the seasons vary, by the contents
of its stomach.

I will give a few of the favourite morsels of the
heron. Eels, being a standing dish with him, must
come first : after these the young of land and
water birds, water rats, mice, frogs, fish of all sorts,
shrimps, and small crabs. And if any little bunny
happened to be dotting round a mole-hill — having
come out of the burrow for the first time just to see
how large the world was — when the heron was gliding

90 WOODLAND, MOOR, AND STREAM

near with his noiseless step, it would certainly never
see its mother again.

Now our birds have neared the ferry, and that is
the extent of their feeding ground ; they will soon fly
back into the marsh.

They are on wing. Very slowly they make
headway, for the wind is against them, and they are
low down. A shot is heard from the base of the sea-
wall close to a sluice. A great commotion follows,
for the leading bird, a fine cock heron, is hit in one
wing. He loses his balance at once, and drifts back
on his companions. The others are alarmed, and for
a moment there is a flapping and whirl of wings in
dire confusion, the fierce wind huddling them up one
on the other. It lasts only a few minutes ; they get
clear and fly over the marsh in different directions.
The wounded bird tries with all his might for a time
to keep up, for he is only tipped ; soon he begins to
wobble and flap, and at last drops on the marsh.
The shooter has a water spaniel with him ; the dog
has been intently watching the effect of the shot, and
seeing the bird drop, makes for it at once. The
shooter tells me his dog is a young one, and his
training is not yet finished. * Come back, Nep ! come
back, Nep ! Come back, I tell you ! Ah, by Jove,
he's got it ! pretty hot, too ; hear him yelp.' He had

THE HERON AND ITS HAUNTS 91

got it, and no mistake, for the bird, half raising him-
self on the ground with his sound wing and feet, had
let drive as the dog rushed in to fix him. The first
stroke, aimed at one of his eyes, missed, and took
effect on the forehead, making a wound you could
put the tip of your finger in. The second stroke
crippled a foreleg, and the dog needed no more
calling, but limped back to his master.

' Come here and let's see the mischief. Well,
you've got something to remember this time. It's
been a precious near squeak for you, Nep, but you'll
get over it, and you'll not try to pick up a live
Jack Hern again ; you'll let 'em alone as long as you
live, I'll warrant.'

The bird lay with crest raised, his long neck
moving snake-like from side to side, and the feathers
of the breast spread out, all ready to do battle. Walk-
ing up to him, the man said, ' No, you don't ; not
with me, at any rate ; take that ! ' hitting him a crack
on the head with the butt-end of his gun. The heron
raised himself for a last stroke at his enemy's legs.

A keeper once said to me, ' No ; I never lets a
retriever pick up one o' they hungry varmints unless
they're dead. If they only gets winged I give 'em a
cut across the neck with a stick — a thund'rin' good
un, mind ye, and that settles 'em.'

92 WOODLAND, MOOR, AND STREAM

' And what do you do with them then ? ' I asked.

' Nails 'em up on the side o' the old barn along
o' the hawks an' the owls ; because, don't you see, in
my mind they belongs to the birds o' prey ; if they
don't they ought to ; they kills anything, and so I'll
do for they.'

To have a stuffed heron is the ambition of many
would-be gunners, to put in a case and to be able to
say they shot it. One man I knew had a perfect
craze for it, amounting in time to an attack of heron
on the brain. Many were his plans and schemes to
gain his desire. If you happened to mention you
had seen a heron you were buttonholed at once.
' Eh ! what ! Seen one ? Why, bless my soul,
where ? Eh ! Here, come and have a glass of
something and tell me all about it. Ah, it's always
the case ; anybody can see 'em but me ! '

A dozen could have been brought to him, but that
would not do ; he must shoot one himself. At last
news reached him that a heron came regularly, night
and morning, to a fishpond near a lonely farmhouse.
' Could he see it ? ' Certainly he could.

He went post-haste to the place, and sure enough
up rose the bird. Over unlimited grog, and amidst
the smoke puffed forth from long 'churchwardens,'
the question ' how to get him ' was discussed with the

THE HERON AND ITS HAUKTS 93

farm bailiff, who was a good-hearted fellow, and in
comfortable circumstances.

Many plans were made and tried, but all failed.
As a last resource it was suggested that this sports-
man should have some kind of rough shelter made,
and should watch for his heron all night, the bailiff,
nothing loth, agreeing to sit up with him there till
eleven o'clock, the moon being full and bright. A
square dumpy bottle, holding a quart and hailing
from Holland, together with some first-rate tobacco
that had come with it, which the enthusiast had pro-
mised to supply, probably made the companionship
a congenial one. Near midnight the bailiff took his
departure, after shaking hands with our friend many
times over, remarking as he did so that the moon
twinkled a goodish bit, and things looked hazy round
about. ' Steady does it, old boy, steady does it.
When he comes, hold your powder straight an'
knock him over. Steady does it, old boy. Good-
night ! Good-night ! '

Early in the morning the heron passed overhead
and settled on the opposite side of the small pond,
almost in front of the sportsman. It ought not to
have been very hard to hit the bird ; but the contents
of that queer-shaped bottle, or may be only the ex-
citement of the moment, made his hand shake, and

94 WOODLAND, MOOR, AND STREAM

when his finger touched the trigger he only winged
the coveted prize. Down went his gun, round the
pond he rushed, and, not knowing the nature or
tactics of the bird, he knelt down to pick him up.
At the same moment the heron made one of its
lightning-like strokes at one of his eyes. Luckily for
him the bird's neck came in contact with his arm,
spoiling the aim. As it was, the bill cut a shallow
furrow on the cheek-bone under the eye aimed at.
Undaunted, he made a loop with one end of his hand-
kerchief and placed it round the neck just below the
head. The other end he tied round the heron's legs.
In fact, he haltered him. Then he tucked him under
his arm like a goose, and picking up his gun, marched
home, a proud and happy man, arriving just as the
village folks were going into breakfast. Seeing a
friend coming down the street he exclaimed, ' I've
got him ! ' 'I see you have ; but what is that cut on
your cheek ? ' replied the friend, adding, when he had
been told how it occurred, ' Why, man alive ! never
do such a thing again ; why, if that bird had made
his stroke good, you would certainly have lost your
eye, if not your life. You have had a very narrow
escape.'

' Eh ! what ! bless me ! you don't say so ? Really
now, dear me, dear me, eh ! ' Then, in a tone of voice

THE HERON AND ITS HA UNTS 95

evincing great determination, he said, ' I'm going to
have him stuffed ; expense no object' The bird was
stuffed, I have seen it many times ! a wondrous work
of art it is. The bird stands in a case about the size
of a large clothes-box, which is painted black outside
and bright ultra-marine blue inside, in order to show
him up well. At regular distances are tufts of flag
three inches high. Close to his feet on the asphalt-
looking gravel is a bit of stone tinted in many colours.
Great efforts seem to have been made to give a natural
effect to the whole, but, strange to say, the bird does
not look happy ; he squints for one thing, and he
has the gout in his legs, for the wire used in the myste-
ries of stuffing would have supported an Australian
emu.

But that matters not : the genial old fellow is
happy, for he imagines nothing better, and his friends,
to their credit be it spoken, have never undeceived him.
When he invites them to his house, as he frequently
does, to spend a sociable evening, at a certain point
of the proceedings he invariably gives them for about
the fiftieth time the account of his scuffle with that
heron. It is so much enjoyed, that many go to sleep
over it, but he does not observe it, for his eyes are
fixed on the black box and its inmate — memory is
busy with him, and it is very late.

96 WOODLAND, MOOR, AND STREAM

On the wild moorlands you will find the heron
close to the rills which have communication with the
trout streams. An autumn evening is the time to
look for him there, when the mists are rising from the
low meadows and floating round the woods on the
hill sides. Over the tops of the trees, which are in
all their warm bright colouring, you will see him
coming leisurely along. No sound is heard save the
hoot of the brown owl ; and, with the exception of a
woodman returning home after his day's work, there
is no one to be seen. The air is so quiet that the
distant slamming of a gate, the bark of a dog, and
now and again the lowing of cattle in the distance
falls on the ear with singular distinctness. The heron
knows well the time best suited to him ; slowly he
flaps over the meadows, his form showing dim through
the rising mists of evening. He does not settle yet ;
he has a recollection of a shot having been fired
at him from the cover of the woods close by, when
the shot knocked some feathers out of him, without
further damage. ' Once bit, twice shy ' is his motto
now. Rising again he makes for the upland moor,
where he has a good look-out. It is not needed,
for, with the exception of the owls, hooting out their
jubilate, he will have no company, unless another of
his family joins him. Sometimes you will see two of

THE HERON AND ITS HAUNTS 97

them together, more rarely three, oftenest a solitary
one. The moor rills are full of small trout about the
size of gudgeon. If a fly tumbles into the water or
rests on it, twenty rush for him at once. They will
rush, too, for shelter in shoals when alarmed — in droves
one might say. Just the size for Jack Hern they
are, and he finds them a dainty morsel. No angler
would take the trouble to catch these. So many
mouths too, though small, require a great amount of
food to fill them. You will not find a fish the size of
a herring in the rills that run down from the moor.
Besides which, the bottom is peaty, and large trout do
not run up to spawn there ; they want a gravel bot-
tom, and a clean one for that. There is a certain
amount of policy in allowing the heron to fish un-
disturbed in these rills. Better it is for him to visit
the moor rills than the streams below where the trout
are larger ; for very few trout of a pound in weight
and larger ever recover from a stroke made by the
heron if they do manage to escape at the time. Some
gentlemen, through whose property these little streams
trickle, have made them wider in places, and formed
ponds. Where this has been done the small moorland
trout have vanished, you will not find one. Large
trout have come in their place, much to the satisfaction
of the gentlemen fishers, but not to that of the heron.

II

98 WOODLAND, MOOR, AND STREAM

The large fish give him more trouble, he is not able
to fill his belly so quickly. All manner of destructive
work is attributed to him, some of which he is quite
innocent of. Such things as fish spears are made at
home, in view of trout capture. Occasionally the fish
will slip off one of these spears after being struck,
and it is found dead or dying in the pond or stream. If
that intelligent person the keeper catches sight of it,
he exclaims, ' Them mischiefful varmints has been
here agin; workin' the trout' And so they have, but
it was not the herons in this instance. Clever and
quick as the bird is, he is not able to give three wounds
at one stroke and all in a line. He will pick at a fish
too large for him to swallow whole, but as a rule he
feeds on the smaller fry. Necessity knows no law,
however, and there is no reasoning with an empty
stomach. When that troubles him he will fill it with
the first food that presents itself. Any one who has
seen a mole-hill heaving near the top of a hillock
knows how the earth rises up and down and rolls
down the sides. The heron knows the meaning of it,
for he makes a dart, and has the mole between his bill
in an instant. This he will only do when very hard
up for a meal ; he is bound to have something then.
Nearly all his food, however, is taken from the edge
of the water or from shallow pools. He can swim,

THE HERON AND ITS HAUNTS 99

but he never does that when fishing. His attitudes
are varied, like his diet. The usually accepted position
for him is standing with his head and neck drawn
down on to the shoulders, with both feet on the ground
or in the water, as the case may be. Though repre-
sented thus in most illustrations, you will find him so
but rarely. His usual position is, neck held upright,
head, bill, and body carried horizontally, one foot on
the ground, the other just raised off it with the toes
bent inwards. When the heron is after his prey, and
moving, the head and neck are stretched out, and the
body carried in a line with them. A curious-looking
bird he is, when he squats down to rest ; and he looks
still more grotesque when standing, if seen from
behind, after he has partaken of a good feed. His
shoulders are lumped up, and his head and bill are not
visible, for they are sunk in his shoulders, the bill
pointing a little downwards. But see him when and
where you will, and in whatever position he may place
himself, he is a most interesting bird to all true lovers
of life in a state ot nature, and must always command
attention.

If a field has been ploughed and left fallow for a
season anywhere near his haunts, he and his com-
panions— if he cnance to have any — are certain to
visit it, for he is sure of safety and food there ; but

H 2

ioo WOODLAND, MOOR, AND STREAM

catch him within gunshot of the hedge, or trees that
surround it, if you can. On the ploughed field he has
a view all round him. The food he picks up there
consists of plump fieldmice and frogs.

Speaking of frogs, it is generally supposed, and
the supposition is accepted, that the proper place to
look for them is in or near the water. Excepting in
spring, when all the shallow pools are well stocked
with them at spawning time, I have only found a
very few, at rare intervals, near water ; but never one
of the kind which I have seen so often a long dis-
tance from it.

Reptiles have a great attraction for me, and, as
far as our English ones are concerned, I have made
close acquaintance with them all, and handled them
freely — the viper not excepted.

It is possible that we have a variety of frog that
has not been generally recognised — which is to be
found in places supposed to be unlikely, I mean.
The heron knows all about that matter. Large,
bright, and plump fellows with beautiful eyes, their
colour a warm Sienna yellow, spotted with warm
brown spots. A kangaroo-like leap they have, and
they conceal themselves under any tuft of grass or
plant large enough to give them shelter — not hap-
hazard fashion, but in regular homes. If you examine

THE HERON AND ITS HAUNTS 101

the place where one has sprung from, you will find
the depression where the frog squatted ; and if you
catch sight of him before he springs you will see that
his back is just on a level with the ground, and he is
completely hidden by a plant or tuft of grass. A
footstep will start him or make him move uneasily
and betray his whereabouts.

Mice make their shallow runs and holes a few
inches deep in the same locality ; they are in first-rate
condition, plump and sleek ; you may see them run-
ning up the stems of different plants to get at the
seeds, and then follow them to their holes. Other
small things besides mice and frogs there are about
the field frequented by our heron, but his attention
is principally directed to these. Very few creatures
in a wild state, furred or feathered, that are in the
least carnivorous, can resist the temptation of making
a meal of a mouse, or including it in one, whenever
the chance offers.

Jack Hern nests rook-fashion in the trees, where
these and the locality are suited to his taste. In some
parts which are treeless, he will make a virtue of ne-
cessity and nest in the fern or stunted cover on some
rock or island ; for a bird of many resources is the
common heron.

102 WOODLAND, MOOR, AND STREAM

AN AUTUMN RAMBLE IN SURREY

' THE birds are flighting over the moor and in the
junipers ... I have seen some birds about very
much like blackbirds and near their size, only some
of them have a white ring round the neck and they
are very shy. If you can make it convenient to come,
get here about three in the afternoon.'

It is not often you can see the ring-ouzel in the
south of England, so on receiving my friend's note
I set aside everything else for the day, and putting
note and sketch-book in my pocket, set off, ten
minutes later, my trusty ash stick in hand, for a good
eight miles swing through woodland lanes and pas-
tures, and along roads planted with great elm trees,
varied here and there by an old oak and an occa-
sional ash. The trees are changing from the green
of summer to the more brilliant colouring of autumn.
The distant hills, covered with beech and oak, show
rich reds and yellows, broken up by warm olive.
Nearing the moorlands the paths are broken at the

AN AUTUMN RAMBLE IN SURREY 103

sides, exposing fine fibrous roots. Heather grows in
patches, and firs are clumped about ; a mountain ash
flashes out with its load of crimson clusters — a treat
for the birds. They will soon be gone, for the
missel thrush, song thrush, and blackbird dearly love
these berries. I have eaten them myself often when
roaming the woods. In Russia they are put in spirits,
as we do cherries, to make a warm winter cordial ;
jelly, also, to eat with game, is made from them.
Rather bitter their flavour is, but decidedly aromatic.
Furze in full flower is dotted about. Right in front
of me is a giant fir, struck by lightning in a late
thunderstorm. Great limbs of it, as large as some of
the surrounding trees, are twisted like ropes ; a few-
limbs have escaped and show in weird contrast by
their dark green foliage against the others which are
scorched to tinder. From the trunk where the bolt
struck the bark and ripped it off, long strips hang.
A tree such as Gustave Dora's pencil would have
reproduced : twisted, tortured limbs like those in
Dante's ' Inferno ' ! Close to is heard the ripple of a
trout-stream.

A peculiar feature of this road leading to the
moorlands is, that in sheltered nooks and hollows you
come on many very old manor farm-houses, covered
with mosses, lichens, and house-leeks, standing in fine

104 WOODLAND, MOOR, AND STREAM

old fashioned gardens and orchards, the whole sur-
rounded by great elms. They have many windows
with lead lights ; and porches which would seat a
whole family ; walls shut them in, grown over with
every coloured lichen, silver grey, pale green, and
orange. Ferns and mosses spring from between the
stones. The very look of these homesteads brings a
feeling of rest and quiet Inside are large rooms with
beams across the ceilings, and wainscot panelling runs
right up to the top. The doors open with a latch,
and passages lead to all manner of strange nooks and
corners, and cupboards abound. If you are fortunate
enough, as I have sometimes been, to be located in
one of these old-time farm-houses, you will feel the
blessed rest of a land of sleepy hollow, grateful
sometimes after beating along the hard highroads.

The hedges are a tangled mass of vegetation ;
wild clematis, bryony, nightshade, ferns, and grasses.
Briars display their red berries ; hawthorn, sloes, and
nut-trees complete the show. In a tree just over my
head a scolding chatter makes me look up. It pro-
ceeds from a family of young squirrels, this year's
brood. They have come from the firs on a nutting
expedition. Three of them there are, and very
comical little fellows they look with their dormouse-
like tails, for they are not yet bushy. They stamp,

AN AUTUMN RAMBLE IN SURREY 105

scold, and chatter at me, and, instead of retreating
higher up the tree, come lower down to have a look at
me. They are young and innocent, but will be wiser
before the winter is over. Young squirrels are pets I
should not care to keep ; they cry so pitifully for their
mother.

With the exception of a kestrel hovering over a
meadow, and a covey of partridges dusting in the
road, I have not seen any bird-life yet. The reason
of that is, in the beginning of the fall of the year,
birds, with very few exceptions, frequent the open
fields, which abound in food of all kinds. Sparrows,
even, take a holiday then. Those that come about
my door to be fed at breakfast-time leave me at this
time for about six or eight weeks. They have just
now returned from their holiday, as hungry and as
impudent as ever.

We have reached the moor ; but it is a Surrey
moor, rich in vegetation and green turf, not a bare
waste. The blue sky overhead is flecked here and
there with fleecy clouds, and a soft breeze, just strong
enough to whisper through the firs, comes from the
south. A stretch of thirty miles across the weald
shows the South-down hills, with many chalk
quarries in their sides and hollows. That flash of
soft light between the distant hills is the open sea.

106 WOODLAND, MOOR, AND STREAM

The heather and furze are in full bloom, while the
bramble and whortleberry shrubs, clothed in every
shade of green, russet, and crimson, are brought into
relief by the peculiar grey-green of the juniper trees.
Here and there are clumps of rank rushes with stems
of cotton grass, and a few bushes of black alder, the
gunpowder wood of the foresters. This patch of
treacherous ground, which is covered with verdure
and feels like a floating sponge when you step on it,
is where the wild ducks bring their young to feed
after they have hatched them among the heather. I
have known the cottagers drive them out of the springs,
where they have gone to fetch water, without molest-
ing them.

A call-note sounds in the air. I look up ; birds
are passing over at the top of their speed, so as to
make the South downs before the light fades away.
The light creeps along the sloping hill-sides where
they will rest for the night before crossing the water.
I gather from their notes and their manner of flight
that they are nearly all finches. They keep passing
for about half an hour. Now is the time for looking
out for the ring-ouzels. They will soon begin to
roost up in the hilly portion of the moor. I am
among the juniper trees, most of which are covered
with berries. I generally eat a few of these in

AN AUTUMN RAMBLE IN SURREY 107

passing ; they are not unpleasant and are considered
wholesome. The ring-ouzel is very fond of them.
Some years this bird is not seen on the moors ;
sometimes only a pair or two pay them a visit, and
another season they are very common. They do not
tarry long, but seem to be resting to regain strength
for a long journey.

A note something like that of a blackbird, only
harsher, near at hand, makes me conceal myself. The
hen shows herself ; the cock will not be far away ;
there he is, sitting twelve yards in front of me,
feeding on the berries ; I can see him as I peer
through the branches. His gorget is a pure white ; he
is very like the blackbird in many respects, but is a
stronger bird, and his actions are wilder. His quick
eyes have caught me, and his suspicious nature is
aroused. Giving the alarm to his mate, he is off and
away. I now turn towards the fir woods at the edge
of the moor. On my way there I come across a
hollow at the side of the bog, thick with fern, rushes,
and tangle. A sound of water trickling catches my
ear. This is just the place for blackcock, if there are
any about. Drawing up very quickly I begin to poke
about with my stick. There is nothing here. Stay,
right from under my feet there is a rush, with a
clap ! clap ! Whirr ! gluck ! gluck ! gluck ! and a

io8 WOODLAND, MOOR, AND STREAM

splendid blackcock, in full dress, flies away. Why
they will sometimes allow one to come so very near
them is a mystery to me. As a rule they are the
most wary of game birds, and at the sound of foot-
steps are up and off. I have actually known them to
be captured by hand when the plumage has been
saturated with the dew which the bird has brushed off
the cover in ranging for his food. As I trudge on, a
rabbit now and then dots across the path till I reach
the main track through the woods. Here I fall in
with one of the woodmen, on his way home.

' So you've come to have a look at us agin, have
ye ? I was lookin' at somethin' from my house the
other night that was going on over this way.'

'What could you see from that distance? '

' Why, the forest on fire again. I could see the
flames travelling high up at racing speed, and knew
by the direction where it was burning. It warn't
only here, 'twas on the other hills as well, about the
same time too ; but bless ye ! 'twas only a lick just
to clear the tangle off.'

' Is that long stretch in the valley below where it
raged ? '

' Yes, but it ain't nothin' of any account. Why
'tis all tuffety a'ready with fresh feed for the stock.
As 'twas, and had been, 'twas nothing better than a

AN AUTUMN RAMBLE IN SURREY log

harber for them crawlin' varmints — you knows 'em.
Why the young uns was afraid to come up this 'ere
stripe for worts ; for they was hissin' and crawlin'
all over the place. It's cleared 'em off for a time,
I reckon.'

' What was the cause of that fire, do ye think ? '

' An uncommon good un, if I could just get them
words out what some gentleman said as was paintin'
picturs about here. 'Twas spon — somethin' or other.
I know it was a spon.'

' Was it spontaneous combustion ? '

' Yes, that's it ; don't it sound gran' ? ' Turning
round and looking me full in the face, he continued :
' You knows us, and we knows you ; yes, it was just
that ere spontaneous combustun ; and I reckon there's
more on it comin' before long. 'Tain't a bad name
for it Maybe there's another, but spon — sounds
best. One thing I'm going to tell ye, and most mortal
strange 'tis too. 'Twas a dark night, as you knows ;
well, when the fire was tearin' full speed, we hears
a noise overhead what brought all on us to a stand.
'Twas a sort of cryin' whistle like ; on'y there seemed
to be no end to it. Sometimes 'twas just over-
head, then 'twas high up, and then it come from
the firs. It was a row, and no mistake. Some on
'em said it warn't a nateral noise. Whatever it was

no WOODLAND, MOOR, AND STREAM

gets over me. I've been bothered about it ever
since.'

' Well, now, listen ! Was the sound anything
like this ? ' I asked, as I imitated the cry of the golden
plover.

' That's it ; what was the meanin' on it all ? '

4 Why, some flocks of golden plover going to the
coast,' I replied, for I had seen them myself that same
night. ' They were bothered by the flames and
smoke, and for a time lost their reckoning.'

' Ah, well, I've learnt somethin'. These 'ere
lights in the sky o" nights '11 soon stop. Things '11
soon come to a better level ; they're bound to. We
has our rights o' common, pasterage in cover for
cleftfooted stock, and range o' woods in mast and aker
(acorn) time for swine, and grazin' for geese. Now,
you gets rummagin' about a good bit, an' I want to
ask ye if ye knows what these 'ere village greens
was kept for, and why they're in the middle o' the
villages ? '

' They were used as goose-greens. It is a well-
known fact that stock do not care to feed where
geese have been grazing, for they foul the pasture.
In an old-fashioned village you will find first the
church, with the stocks just outside its gates, then
the alehouse facing the goose-green and pond, round

AN AUTUMN RAMBLE IN SURREY in

which the houses are, so that each cottager might
have an eye to his geese.'

'That's as used to be ; but just you let a goose
waddle on to the green now, and see what a chouter
they make. You has to let 'em nib by the road,
and if you has a Neddy you must take 'tickler care
as he don't walk about on the roads o' nights croppin'
thistles. But bide a bit ; peaceable folks we be, an'
always have been ; we want nothin' but our rights,
such as they be, and we means to have 'em. Like
the badgers what hides in yonder hills, we never
meddles, and don't want to be meddled with. They're
quiet and means no harm, but if you drives 'em in a
corner they fights tooth and nail desprit ; and a quiet
fighter is the wust un to tackle.'

If one can inspire sufficient confidence in men of
our friend's stamp and class to cause them to open
out their minds freely, one becomes aware of a fast
gathering spirit of discontent and dissatisfaction
which will make itself openly felt some day. These
cottagers and labouring men one might call Conserva-
tive Democrats. They are dimly conscious that the
world is fast moving on ; the old landmarks are
being removed, but others are set up. In the old
days, though their wages were less, there were
privileges and ' pickings ' to be got from the old

Ii2 WOODLAND, MOOR, AND STREAM

gentry, who had been amongst them from time
immemorial, which they miss now. Their homes
and the land they till are owned by new men of
capital, who do not dress or walk like the traditional
country gentleman, and the picturesque spots are
haunted by an artist class who get workmen from
London to build their ' furrin-looking ' bright red
villas, and whose provisions come, as their goods and
chattels do, from great firms in town. The cottagers
hate to see them painting on their commons, and will
often surlily refuse to let themselves be put in a
picture. ' They does us no good,' they say, ' an'
they wants to get our common from us.'

Two graves, one on the hill and one in the valley,
I was wishful to revisit. The first was that of my

friend George , a fine fellow who had faded

gradually away after taking a severe cold in the
forest. I remembered his funeral well.

The churchyard where George was buried is on
the top of a high hill. The church and its surround-
ings are sheltered by grand old trees and upland
meadows. Two miles down in the valley, at the
foot of the firs, he had his home. Round the door
and on the little grass plot the neighbours gathered
from far and near to pay the last mark of respect to
him. There was no lack of bearers, though the

AN AUTUMN RAMBLE IN SURREY 113

distance was long and the ascent heavy, before they
reached his last resting-place. The coffin having
been brought out they fell back on either side for
his relatives to pass, and then the inhabitants of more
than one scattered hamlet fell in to form a long
procession, and proceeded on the road through the
firs. Others joined them from various forest tracks,
and presently the assemblage was complete. Even
the children from the moorland school were there,
walking two-and-two, hand-in-hand. George was
beloved by all ; he had lived all his life in their
hamlet, and married a wife from it ; and his manly,
gentle bearing and generous nature had endeared
him to all.

No fashionable mourning garb is to be seen here.
The lasses have their Sunday dress on, and some of
the men are in their working clothes, having thrown
down the axe and billhook to join the procession.
There is nothing out of place in their mixed garb,
the surroundings are in harmony with it, and the
whole forms a most impressive scene.

When the churchyard is reached, the followers
arrange themselves in a circle round the grave. The
lasses have little bunches of flowers— those of them,
at least, who have been able to get some ; the others
have sprigs of fir, juniper, and heather.

I

H4 WOODLAND, MOOR, AND STREAM

And now the clergyman is heard saying, ' I am
the resurrection and the life,' there are the mournful
sounds of the earth falling on the coffin and the sobs
of the mourners.

Slowly, two by two, they file past ; the women
and the lasses drop their sprigs and flowers in the
open grave and depart as they came, to discuss in
sober-faced groups the good qualities of him who has
gone

On his tombstone is graven —

I'm a pilgrim and a stranger,
Rough and thorny is the road,

Often in the midst of danger ;
But it leads to God I

ROOKS AND THEIR RELATIVES

THAT fine bird, the raven, will soon be a lost link in
England, unless some ardent lovers of the ornaments
of our woods and hills procure protection for him in
some way or other. Some years back he was fre-
quently to be seen. I have known him breed within
half a mile of a country town on a gentleman's estate ;
a pair built their nest in a great ragged Scotch fir.
.but after their young ones had been taken from them
twice to be kept as domestic pets, they deserted their
quarters and were not seen there again.

The raven is a handsome bird ; his jet-black
plumage shows flashes of blue and purple ; and when
a little excited the feathers on his throat are puffed
out, the wings drooped, and he half hops, half walks
round his dwelling-place, crying ' cruk-cruk-croak ! '
continually cocking his head, first on one side, then
on the other, if any one stops to admire him. His
bright eyes will take in all the surroundings in a
most wide-awake manner ; you will not catch him

I 2

Ii6 WOODLAND, MOOR, AND STREAM

off his guard, nor will it be safe for any one but his
owner to attempt to stroke his plumage. That
pickaxe of a bill can give a blow not soon forgotten.
The worst of keeping a raven as a pet is — and the
same thing applies to crows, rooks, and jackdaws
when in a state of captivity — he will carry off and
hide away any article that takes his fancy. Other
birds and animals will hide their surplus food, and
nothing more ; but the raven secures anything that
takes his fancy, a watch and chain, a pocket-knife,
a silver spoon, or a hymn-book ; and he will plan out
the job some time before he attempts to execute it,
In nine cases out of ten he manages to carry it oui
successfully. I once saw a raven's curiosity-shop
overhauled. It was in a large heap of garden refuse ;
the bird stood watching them turn it out ; after there
had been long and vain dodging of his wily move-
ments, and as one article after another was brought
to light, he made several most determined attempts
to recover what he evidently considered his individual
property. Being foiled, he ' cut up rough,' to say the
least of it, and refused comfort of all kinds. Day
after day they found him hopping round his beloved
hiding-place, croaking like a feathered demon. I am
not prepared to give any opinion as to the harm the
raven may be supposed to do by some people — I can

ROOKS AND THEIR RELATIVES 117

only say that in my own neighbourhood, which is
surrounded on all sides by the Surrey hills, I have
never heard any complaints about him ; not even in
breeding time. Probably a pair or two would be
very useful in some places where birds have been cut
down by disease and lie rotting all over the land.
One thing is against him, he is considered a bird of
ill omen ; if one or a couple make up their minds to
settle down near any habitation, a charge of shot is
their certain welcome.

It is a wonder that any are left in the country ;
it is said some are still to be found in the wild parts
o" Sussex, but I cannot vouch for the fact, though I
think it is very likely to be true.

The crow, or carrion crow, is to all intents and
purposes a dwarf raven. In shape and plumage he
resembles his giant relative, and he is even more
reviled than the raven. Tell any gamekeeper that
you consider the crow a bold and handsome bird, and
he will either answer you with some highly seasoned
observations, or look at you with an expression of
wondering pity, and then try to enlighten your dark
mind as to that bird's capabilities for evil and mis-
chief. He hunts them from morning to night, often
with very little success ; a good old carrion crow is
not got at very easily. If a pair of them hunt to-

ii8 WOODLAND, MOOR, AND STREAM

gether, the chance of knocking them over is very
slight indeed, for one will watch while the other feeds.
On hearing the least sound, or at the sight of a sus-
picious object, there is a dip up and down of the body
a flirt with the outspread tail, and ' croake-e, croake-e ! '
— the keeper may turn his attention to some other
matters, for he will not see them again during the
next hour or two. As a rule he is put out of the way
by trap or poison ; he is in such bad odour with
game preservers that one crow will keep three or four
on a large estate on the look-out for him.

In a confined state he resembles the raven very
much in his manoeuvres and method of feeding.

The hooded crow, or grey crow of the coast-people,
is in shape like the carrion crow, but his habits are
very different He likes the sea-shore and the downs
gently rising from the edge of the water arms of the
sea ; and the creeks that run inland for miles are his
favourite places of resort when he pays his visits, for
he is more or less a bird of passage. I have watched
him there many a time as he moved about continually.
You will not find numbers of them, but single pairs
dotted along the coast close to the water's edge in
autumn and winter. The black-backed gull and
herring-gull range the coast-line, the common gull the
creeks and flats. Feeding near, and sometimes with

ROOKS AND THEIR RELATIVES 119

them, you will see the hooded crow. Sometimes he
is shot miles inland, where he has certain favourite
places of resort ; in the large tracts of uncultivated
country that fortunately still remain to us he is quite
at home, and he does his best to live honestly there.
There is much insane raving about cultivating the
' wastes ' for the benefit of the community at large, but
I should like to see the babblers try the experiment ;
the ground is so poor in the best portions of some of
these ' wastes ' that it will not grow enough nourish-
ing vegetation to fatten the rabbits — called hedgehog
rabbits — that swarm in the barren spots. If one
wished to offend a person, one could not do it more
effectually than by inviting him to dine off a pair of
these pinwire vermin.

The hooded crow will walk round the sheepfolds,
perch on the top of the fold-stakes, and examine the
sheep with a critical eye, especially if there is any
disease about. He is constantly flapping from one
spot to another ; I do not think I have ever seen one
quiet for five minutes together. The grave charges
preferred against his near relative are not extended to
him ; he seems to be a useful picker-up of uncon-
sidered trifles, a grey-cloaked scavenger of the line of
downs and sandhills bordering on the sea-shore.

The common rook, common though he is, is very

120 WOODLAND, MOOR, AND STREAM

little known or understood by a great many of the
people who see him fly overhead or walk behind the
plough. For twelve years I have lived close to a large
rookery, and have had the birds about, within a few
yards of my house door, at all seasons. In the spring
his plumage glistens in the sunlight as he walks about.
Any one seeing him bow to the object of his affections,
puffing out his feathers and making a fan of his tail,
would call him a handsome fellow. He is a most
intelligent bird, devoted to his wife and family, and
has an excellent character for early rising. There
are differences of opinion as to his qualities among
agriculturists ; but I should say the verdict must be
in his favour, for among twenty sorts of birds shot you
will not find one rook, and he is a difficult bird to get
if you want one as a specimen.

About the middle of February they are busy
inspecting their nests of the previous season. Long
and loud are the discussions as to the amount of repairs
needed for their airy cradles. These continue for
some days, the birds going back, as evening draws
near, to the roosting-places where they have slept all
through the winter months. One such place, heavily
timbered, and well sheltered, and having a southern
aspect, is near my house. It holds them in vast
numbers, and thence the congregated rookeries spread

ROOKS AND THEIR RELATIVES 121

in all directions , each lot of rooks going to the same
line of country that they had been in the habit of
frequenting during the previous breeding season, and
all returning to the grand old roosting-spot at night.
I watch their movements morning and evening with
great interest. Directly it is light they are high up
in the air, looking no larger than blackbirds. As
they come over their famous breeding-place in the
old lime avenue of the park, they fly round and
round in circles, cawing loudly. Then they commence
a series of tumbling and darting movements of the
most curious and rapid nature. Those who have not
seen it would not think them capable of so great a
command of wing. After these gyrations they look
at their old nests and then fly off to feed ; and some
break off from the main body and visit the elms that
have not been blown down at the Court Lodge farm.
Others go to some elms in one of the hedgerows
where a small colony has started a nesting-place.
After a heavy gale of wind they are sure to be seen
very closely inspecting the nests, directly it is over.
It is wonderful how long these will last, and what
hurricanes they will bear the brunt of without being
seriously damaged. Constructed in the first instance
of green and pliant twigs, they are laced into the
pliant forked and topmost branches of the trees, and

122 WOODLAND, MOOR, AND STREAM

the whole fabric swings backwards and forwards as
the wind blows. They are not often blown out of the
trees, but once I did see this happen, just at the time
when the young ones were beginning to call to their
parents. A terrible gale cleared the lot from the
trees and drove the old birds all over the place. On
the following day, when all was very quiet again, they
sat about in the trees, looking most dejected, their
heads drawn into their shoulders, mere black bunches
of misery.

They are very fond of their young, and pay them
the greatest attention. May and June are the months
to watch their domestic economy, for the rookery is
in full voice and activity then, and father rook is busy
digging from morning till night

The bare space under the bill and round it is a
natural feature of the bird, and not caused by his
digging operations as some might suppose. He looks
after his mate well when she is sitting, and when the
young are lately hatched and she is not yet able to
leave them. Then the pouch which is under his bill
comes into requisition. He collects all kinds of
dainties, beetles, grubs, worms, and other small trifles,
until a good-sized pellet is formed, larger than a
walnut. This he bears up to her, and perching close
to the nest he cackles to her in the most affectionate

ROOKS AND THEIR RELATIVES 123

manner, which she responds to in the same way ; then
she opens her mouth and her mate places his collec-
tion of dainties in it and flies off at once for another
stock of provisions. She does not swallow the whole
at first, but twists the pellet over and bites it about ;
all the digestible portion is then devoured, the rest
she lets fall to the ground. This process goes on all
day, from the early morning till late in the evening ;
father rook filling his own stomach at the same time.
It is a very anxious time for him and his partner
when the young ones leave the nest and begin to
perch a little on the branches ; for then rook-shooting
commences. This sport is not so much followed as
it used to be. At the first two or three discharges
the whole rookery is in a cawing uproar. Then, as
the young ones fall, one after another, with a thud on
to the ground, they can put up with it no longer, but
rise in a black cloud and ring round and round, gradu-
ally getting higher and higher until they are at an
immense height, looking like small black spots, their
clamour sounding very faint on the ear. It is only
when the day is drawing to a close that they will
come down and count the living.

In exceptionally hot and dry summers, like that
of 1887, the rook suffers as much as he does in a
severe winter, for the ground is too hard for them to

124 WOODLAND, MOOR, AND STREAM

get anything out of it ; the worms and other things
have gone low down where they can find moisture.
I have seen them all through the summer, driven
by hunger, throw off their natural caution and come
boldly into the gardens of the populous town for the
fruit and vegetables. They would pull the half-ripe
cherries off the trees in bunches, within a few yards
of one. As for the new potatoes, they would have
dug them all up if they had not been shot at all day
long. They hunted over low-lying water-meadows,
and water-courses, and rubbish-heaps for what they
could pick up. Many of the birds had only just
enough life in them to flap along. When things
were at the worst a change set in for the better, and
warm rain fell in the neighbourhood at intervals during
twenty-four hours.

Close to the rookery is a recreation-ground, like a
small common, and used for grazing purposes. It is
covered with fine turf. Upon this is my house, and
close to it is the rookery. When the rain was falling
their manifestations of delight were great ; they
perched thick on the bare branches of the dead trees,
and cawed and cackled to their hearts' content,
shaking the water off their feathers like half-mad
things. The rain brought the worms out of their
holes in thousands all over the burnt-up surface,

ROOKS AND THEIR RELATIVES 12$

Down flew the rooks, and for the first time for many
weeks they made a hearty meal. Some of them, in
fact, gorged to such an extent that they flew up on to
the drying-posts scattered over the ground, and sat
there without taking notice of anything or anybody.
The next day not a rook was to be seen near the town.
Hard times were over for them, and they were
scattered far and wide over the surrounding fields.

In the autumn when the nuts are ripe the rook is
busy. Walnuts are his especial favourites. You will
not see a bird near the place until they are ready for
thrashing down ; but when that time has come a soli-
tary pioneer will appear first, high up, inspecting the
tree or trees. The next day he will be joined by one
or two more. After wheeling about and over the
place they will settle and examine the state of the
crop. If the outer rind is loosened from the shell of
the nut, a problem soon solved by the birds biting a
piece off, they will fly away and give information to
the rest that luxuries are to be had. Then a number
come, nipping the nuts off in the most wholesale
manner and flying off with them. In the first field or
meadow they dine ; with a dig or two of the powerful
bill they split off the outer covering, and then with
one more dig open the nut and eat the contents.
They are quickly back for more.

126 WOODLAND, MOOR, AND STREAM

' Hi ! Gip ! Rooks ! ' cries a man's voice, and a
fine old dog dashes over the lawn a dozen times a
day, barking his loudest to scare them off, for if left
to themselves they will clear the heaviest crop from
the trees in a very short time. It is no use thinking
of shooting them ; you may point a stick at them
and flourish it about as much as you like, and it will
not disturb them in the least. A gun is a different
matter ; only let them catch sight of one, and instead
of committing their robberies in an open and delibe-
rate manner, as is their usual way, they will clatter
into the trees like hawks when they get a chance, nip
off the nuts and fly away. The only effectual plan is
to trap one. I once saw the experiment tried. One
of them hopped into a common trap, set openly, only
so secured that the bird could not fly off with it.
Finding himself in trouble the rook yelled out his
note of alarm. Up the others clattered, cawing their
loudest and dropping some of their plunder. All
their friends round about came to see what was the
matter and to join in the uproar. Flying round and
dashing down to him as though to get him out, and
finding this no use, they were frightened out of
their wits by their comrade's frantic shouts, and
mounted high up in the air, cawing their loudest.
When the captive had his neck twisted, and he was

ROOKS AND THEIR RELATIVES 127

spread-eagled out on a stick for his companions' in-
spection, the business was settled ; not a single rook
has been near the place from that time. I have often
proved the fact that shooting some does not affect the
rest in the least ; but trapping one upsets the whole
rookery for a long time. When that calamity has
once taken place it is put down in their note-book,
and no matter what may be the attractions of the
locality, it is shunned with the greatest caution.

Unli'ke the ravens, the rooks are supposed by
many to bring peace and prosperity about a place of
abode. It is easy to understand the reasons for this
idea. When Bishop Selwyn came from the Anti-
podes to succeed Bishop Lonsdale in the diocese of
Lichfield, he did not choose to make his home at the
palace, two miles away from the centre of his work,
but preferred to return to the large residence in the
Close. Bishop's Court in Auckland had always been
the home of the Anglican missionaries when in town,
and the bishop wished his English clergy to have the
same feeling about his house in Lichfield. For years
the rooks had forsaken the fine old elms which
partially surround the Close. The year the old
house was again inhabited by that true shepherd of
his flock, the rooks returned to remain, and their
coming back was commemorated in a very pleasant

128 WOODLAND, MOOR, AND STREAM

poem written by Mrs. Curteis, the wife of Canon
Curteis of Lichfield.

Nearly thirty years ago there were some great
elms in Brunswick Square, which is about the centre
of the city of Bristol ; these had been taken possession
of by a colony of rooks. This square was built at
the time when the old merchants had not yet begun
to forsake their dwellings over their offices to go out
to homes in the suburbs. On the north side of the
square was a chapel, and immediately opposite to
this, across the square, a fine old mansion, which had
for many years belonged to one of the old Bristol
worthies and his descendants. In it, at the time of
which we speak, there lived an old lady who had been
for many years an invalid, and who was confined to
one room which overlooked the square. To relieve
the monotony of her days she always amused herself
by watching the people go in and out of chapel ; and
when the rooks occupied the old elms she observed
and noted all their proceedings with great interest,
and found that they always returned after the winter
— to inspect before rebuilding their nests for the
breeding season — on a Sunday. Just after the bells
had ceased ringing for morning service, and the con-
gregation had gone into the chapel, the pioneer rook
appeared and perched on one of the elms. After

ROOKS AND THEIR RELATIVES 129

peering about and cawing, he hopped on to two or
three more trees, and then flew away, to return soon
with a few more of his companions. These went
through the same tactics, until by the time the people
had come out from service the whole colony of rooks
were in the trees examining their nests of the
previous year. The following morning they were
busily engaged repairing the old, and building new
ones.

The poor lady grieved much when it was decided
that the fine old trees were dangerous to the surround-
ing buildings, and the edict went forth that they were
to be cut down and young ones planted in their stead,
in spite of many remonstrances from the inhabitants
of the houses in the square. So one November, when
the rooks had gone away with their young, the work
was begun.

The following February, on Sunday morning, the
pioneer bird appeared, settled on the ground, gave a
disconsolate caw, and flew away ; and no rook was
ever seen there again, much to the sorrow of their
friend in her lonely sick room.

The jackdaw is a compact and lively bird ; he
aptly proves the truth of the proverb, 'birds of a
feather flock together,' for he flies about with the
rooks and feeds with them. He is a pleasing bird to

K

130 WOODLAND, MOOR, AND STREAM

look at as he steps nimbly about ; the grey cowl on
the back of his head, and his keen, knowing grey eye
distinguish him at once from his larger companions.
His note is different, and tells that he is with them,
even when flying at a distance ; it is a sharp chatter-
ing ' Jack ! Jack ! ' Where sheep are pastured suits
him best as a hunting-ground ; he pays them great
attention, and performs a useful office for them. I
have seen rooks do the same service occasionally, but
the jackdaw makes it his business to look after the
comfort and welfare of the flock. I have often
lingered to watch his proceedings ; it is most amusing
to see the busy, methodical way in which he sets to
work to rid an animal of its insect tormentors. All
over its back and sides he hops and clings, the sheep
standing quiet all the time, and knowing perfectly
well that what the bird is doing is for its benefit.
The animal only stirs when the other sheep have
moved on, and then it and the jackdaw go together.
The bird finishes off the top part of his woolly courser
with the head ; first one ear is examined, then the
other ; even the eyelids are investigated. That being
done, he devotes himself to the legs and under parts.
Having finished this self-imposed task of sanitary
inspection, he flies off to find and comfort another
suffering member of the flock.

ROOKS AND THEIR RELATIVES 131

Much has been written about two African birds
with the unmanageable names of Textor Erythro-
rhynchus and Buphaga Africana, which attend the
game of Africa and give the alarm on the approach
of any suspicious object. There is nothing remark-
able about that, for close to my own door can be seen
rooks, jackdaws, and starlings doing the same thing,
and they sound their alarm note in the same manner.
If any one when passing through pasture lands looks
about him, he will frequently see horned cattle, sheep,
and horses feeding on the same land, and he will see
four birds busy feeding in their midst, close to their
noses and hoofs, namely, rooks, jackdaws, starlings,
and wagtails On the Surrey and the Southdown
hills scores of sheep are saved in one year through
the good offices of some members of these four
families. Unlike the rook, Jackup prefers to build in
the boles of trees. I have watched a pair this season
from one of my windows. When breeding-time
comes round, they are very quick and sly in their
movements. Where chalk is quarried from the hill-
side for the purpose of lime-making, Jack will build
in a crack or cranny, and chatter all day long, the
men being busy at work below him. In some localities
he will build in a rabbit-hole like a puffin.

As a pet he is well-known in the country. A

K 2

132 WOODLAND, MOOR, AND STREAM

most familiar creature he is, but not of a confiding'
nature, though towards his master or mistress he is
most affectionate, and he takes care to be on the most
friendly terms with the children. No meal-time comes
round without his making one of their party ; he plays
with them, and if any mischief is going on, he and
they are sure to be equally mixed up in it together.
He thoroughly enjoys getting into mischief on his
own account too. I have see him tucked up under a
child's arm and borne away without his making the
least fuss about it. If any stranger tried to do the
same thing with him, their fingers would surely suffer.
Jack puts no faith in any one outside his own home circle.
The cottagers do not clip his wings unless he becomes
what they term ' too owdacious ' in his tricks, like one
of my own that used to make away with one or two
tubes of colour, and even my palette knife, if the
window of my painting-room chanced to be left open
whilst I was absent for a few minutes. On my return
he would fly up on to the window-sill and stick there ;
no coaxing would bring him down, and now and
again he would remind me he was not asleep by
shouting at the top of his voice, ' Jackup ! Jackup !
Jack-e-e !

133

BIRDS OF PREY

BIRDS of prey are objects of interest and considera-
tion from three widely different points of view —
the gamekeeper's, the bird collector's, and the true
naturalist's.

Very few gamekeepers are naturalists, although
one might suppose their calling would have the effect
of making them very keen ones. Now and again a
keen and intelligent observer is to be found in that
fraternity, but he is the exception. As a rule he is
prejudiced against all birds of prey, as was his father
before him ; he considers it his duty to kill anything
he thinks to be injurious to the creatures committed
to his charge, and he discharges that duty with zeal,
although many of his nailed-up collection of birds
were guiltless of some of the mischief attributed to
them. Sometimes, too, I have seen amongst them
specimens in a state of decay which would have
fetched him a good day's pay had he been aware of
their market value. The bird collector is wiser so far
as that is concerned. He knows the exact market

134 WOODLAND, MOOR, AND STREAM

value of the creature he requires, and exactly where
to place or dispose of it when procured. We have all
seen and admired collections belonging to men of
means ; well set-up by artists the birds often are ; for
a man must be an artist to be able to make a dead
creature appear truly lifelike. And over the trim
cases with their labels in Latin and English, the gun
with which their owner is supposed to have shot them
may be seen suspended on the wall. No doubt some
were shot as the visitor is led to suppose ; but my
pleasure in several such collections is often disturbed
by the remembrance of a gaunt, hollow-eyed man with
a hacking cough which was never cured, in scanty,
dilapidated clothing, and shoes much the worse for
wear. His gun was rust-eaten, but it was a very sure
one in his hands. Peregrine or bittern, heron and
rail, all fell before his aim. He had one terrible
weakness, however, poor fellow — he drank too freely,
and whenever he had procured a good specimen his
money went freely too.

When he had anything good his steps were
always bent in the direction of the collections afore-
mentioned. The poor fellow is dead now ; a fit of
coughing, which caused the rupture of a blood-vessel,
ended his life. Silver shot never fails in killing, be the
bird what it may.

BIRDS OF PREY 135

If the wholesale and, from our standpoint, wanton
destruction of the most interesting class of our British
birds continues, those who like to observe them in
their native haunts may have to go a long distance
to do so. In many localities where they were once
numerous not a single specimen can now be dis-
covered, to the sorrow of the true naturalist, who
believes that no creature was created in vain ; each
one has its own work and place in the Great Father's
universe.

On the list of Raptores, the first by right is the
golden eagle, a noble and very powerful bird. Sports-
men-naturalists have described him and his habits
accurately ; St John, Colquhoun, and the Highland
keepers of the deer forests, besides that practical and
reliable authority Macgillivray. This eagle is a bird
of the mountains ; he does not often leave the rocks
for any other purpose than a foray for food. My
acquaintance with him has only been in a state of
captivity. Even in that condition, unfavourable as it
is to the development of his faculties, I have seen
enough of his courageous spirit and enormous power
of muscle to give him plenty of elbow-room. With
his master or keeper he may get on a friendly footing,
but even then his mood is not to be relied on ; his
fierce nature will break through and manifest itselt

136 WOODLAND, MOOR, AND STREAM

dangerously at times, and it will never be safe for a
stranger to get very near him. Chained to a stand
he may be, but if the chain is as long as it ought to
be, it will give him the opportunity of showing some
of his capabilities.

The sea eagle has also been described by the
above writers. With this bird I am better acquainted.
He has sometimes visited the rabbit links near the
sea-shore close to my home, and lost his life by so
doing, for no device was left untried by the warrener
in order to compass the grand bird's death. His fee
for that business was a guinea. The sea eagle is a
trifle larger than the golden eagle, and not so neat in
his build ; in fact there is something of the look of the
vulture about him. He wanders further afield ; it is
when his plumage is immature, and the tail brown
instead of white, as is the case when the plumage is
perfect, that he is confused with his nobler relative.
When seen side by side the difference is great. The
golden eagle has a compact muscular form and close
plumage, a hawk-like bill, his legs are covered as
far as the toes with feathers, and the toes, with the
exception of a few large scales next the claws, are
covered with small scales. The sea eagle is more
lumpish in form, and his plumage is looser ; his bill is
long, and decidedly vulture-like in shape, but powerful.

BIRDS OF PREY 137

His legs are covered with scales instead of feathers, and
large scales cover the toes also ; his tail is white. It is
impossible to make a mistake between the two birds at
any period, if one single trait is remembered, namely
that the golden eagle is feathered down to the toes,
whereas the sea eagle's legs are covered with large
scales.

I have seen the sea eagle when his temper was
roused ; he was a fine fellow then ; the feathers on his
head were raised, and the hackled feathers on his neck
bluffed out, his body in a crouching position, and his
wings working ready for a spring. His appearance
then, combined with his yelp, gave one notice in very
plain language that it would be wise to quit and give
him room to get better tempered. The two that the
warrener shot did not die without a fierce struggle, for
they were only hit in the wing.

In a state of captivity the sea eagle is as little
to be trusted as the golden, especially when out of
temper. It is pleasant to know that at the present
time a few gentlemen who have large properties where
both species are found have given strict orders for the
protection of these noble birds ; and so the greatest
ornaments of the mountain side and the dizzy sea cliff
may yet be saved from extermination. A price has
been set on their heads for many years, and a good

138 WOODLAND, MOOR, AND STREAM

one too, but not from any protective point of view so
far as the deer forests are concerned, but because they
have been in demand as ornaments to decorate the
halls of sportsmen, or such as were ambitious of being
considered sportsmen. Forty years ago they were,
comparatively speaking, unmolested. In 1832, how-
ever, Maxwell's ' Wild Sports of the West ' appeared,
followed in 1 844 by that author's ' Sports and Adven-
tures.1 In the same year Charles St. John's 'Wild
Sports and Natural History of the Highlands ' came
out, and after that 'The Moor and the Loch,' by John
Colquhoun. These works all contain truthful and
graphic descriptions of the wild creatures in their
native haunts amidst the grand scenery of Scotland
and Ireland. More particularly to Scotland was the
interest directed, and deer forests rose in value to
figures never before looked for. Things were done
also in the way of moving whole families with their
sheep and wild Highland cattle, in order that these
forests might be left in possession of the red deer and
the golden eagle, which would sound strange if told now.
Any sportsman who had killed a red deer, stag
with royal antlers, a golden eagle, seal and salmon,
was entitled to the full honours of the hunter's badge.
The first-named two gave him the privilege of ranking
among the first order of sportsmen.

BIRDS OF PREY 139

It was noticed that after the appearance of the
works I have mentioned stuffed eagles or their heads,
with the heads and antlers of the red deer, were
indispensable decorations of a gentleman's hall if he
made any pretensions to be a sportsman. Some there
were who could by no means lay claim to that title,
but whose walls were well covered with trophies not-
withstanding. I have a very vivid recollection of such
a one. He had money and a fine house, and, to do
him justice, he was certainly much given to hospitality.
He lived in rather a lonely district, and the few there
were to visit him were somewhat unsophisticated. He
was a man of taste so far as colour was concerned,
and the walls of his hall would have satisfied the
fastidious taste of the present day, with their soft-
greenish-grey tint and dado of polished oak. A few
stained-glass windows gave a rich touch to the whole.
On the walls, on oak shields, were hung trophies of
the chase ; on a stand in the centre of the hall was a
fine eagle, well set up. Fronting the entrance door,
in the place of honour, were a magnificent pair of
antlers, whereon hangs a tale.

After dinner, where the wines were good and
generous, he would invite his guest or guests to look
at what he termed his wild beast show. He was a
most genial showman, and always took pains that

140 WOODLAND, MOOR, AND STREAM

everything should be made plain to the most limited
capacity of mind. When he got in front of that fine
pair of antlers he would look up at them and say,
' Ah ! well do I remember the day when the stag that
carried those noble antlers fell to my rifle on the
rugged heights of the mighty Ben Voirlas. Though
mortally wounded, he did not fall at once, but came
to bay in a most determined manner near a huge
fragment of rock. My gallant Oscar, a deerhound of
undaunted courage, was killed on the spot — in attempt-
ing to pull him down — by one terrific stroke from
those antlers. Poor Oscar ! I have never been able
to replace him. Sadly dispirited, I was compelled to
leave both — as evening was near — until the follow-
ing morning. Just as day broke over the mountain
tops, with a couple of gillies I arrived at the spot,
and found that monarch of the clouds which you see
over there standing on the body of the dead stag.
To level my rifle and fire was the work of a moment ;
and he fell dead to the shot. They are fine trophies,
each in their way. You will observe that the eagle
is a grand old bird, for the winters and summers
of nearly one hundred years, at the least computa-
tion, have bleached the feathers of his noble head
white.'

When the reader is informed that the noble pair

BIRDS OF PREY 141

of horns were those of the Wapiti, the elk of North
America, and that the eagle was the white-headed
eagle from the same country, he will certainly give
the owner of those priceless trophies the credit of a
very fine and poetical imagination. The fact was,
the whole collection was purchased. The last time I
had the pleasure of looking it over the owner was
telling a mild and succulent-looking individual of an
encounter he once had with a gigantic African ele-
phant, the skull of which he possessed with a fine
pair of tusks in it ; and he was in the full swing of
his narrative.

' Ah well, yes, my dear sir ; I must allow that
nerve is required, and a certain amount of coolness
too, in that sort of encounter. As you observe, a
man must have his wits about him ; but you soon
get used to that kind of thing, my dear sir, you soon
get used to it. I had lost sight of him, you see, in
the dense jungle, and I could not for the life of me
tell whether my first shot had told on him. These
creatures, huge in bulk as they are, move noiselessly,
and conceal themselves in the most cunning manner.
The one whose skull we have before us was an in-
stance of that ; for before I knew anything of his
whereabout he crashed out of the jungle and made
straight for me, his trunk uplifted and trumpeting

142 WOODLAND, MOOR, AND STREAM

most fiercely. There was no time to lose. Throwing
my rifle up, I aimed at one of his eyes ; the shot told,
for it entered his brain, and he fell with a mighty
crash almost at my feet.'

According to Eastern tradition, it is the last straw
that breaks the camel's back. I fled from the pre-
sence of that mighty hunter, for I knew the skull had
been bought in Wardour Street

To return to our birds of prey, the noble jerfalcon
is only a rare visitor of ours ; and when he is seen it
is only, as a rule, in a state of immature plumage.
Why he has not been used so much as the peregrines
we do not know. At the time ' Falconer's Favourites '
was published, he was not with them, and that work
states that all the falcons used in falconry at that
date were represented in the volume. I once had the
pleasure of seeing a grand female jerfalcon ; quite
white she was. The man who carried her had a
crimson hawking-glove, richly embroidered, on his
hand ; it showed off her pure plumage to great ad-
vantage. She was not hooded, and merely held by
the jesses attached to her legs. She sat very com-
posedly as he carried her through the main street of
a small fishing village. I fancy she had been flown
in the marshes close at hand. It seems to me people
were not so inquisitive in those days as they are now ;

BIRDS OF PREY 143

the boys were certainly not so noisy, and her tran-
quillity was not rudely disturbed by them.

The peregrine ranks with the jer irt the falconer's
estimation. He is certainly a more tractable bird to
deal with than the jer ; he is better known, and, from
what I have been able to gather, is preferred to the
jer by those who are competent to judge. As to his
depredations on the grouse moors, that is a matter of
opinion about equally balanced. There are as many
for him as against him just now. My own vote is in
his favour. I would let him and others have free
range over all the grouse moors in the kingdom.
When so-called wise men try to improve natural
laws, they generally make a bungle of it I know it
to be a fact that in some remote districts rarely
visited, and not preserved in any way, where eagles,
peregrines, and other members of the tribe are
common, the grouse are strong and in good packs ;
and that dread scourge of the moors, the disease in
grouse, is not known.

The peregrine is also in request for natural history
purposes, and he fetches a good price, as one can tell
from the number one sees set up.

That beautiful falcon, the hobby — a peregrine in
miniature — is rarely seen From my own slight
acquaintance with the bird I should say he is more

144 WOODLAND, MOOR, AND STREAM

confined to certain localities than the other falcons.
Well-timbered districts, partially surrounded by
meadow lands, are his favourite hunting grounds,
but when seen he ought certainly to be made a note
of, for he is a most uncommon bird, even in suitable
localities.

That dashing little fellow the merlin, or stone-
hawk — a pigmy falcon in comparison with others of
his famiiy — frequents the moorlands, and prefers the
northern counties to the southern ones. If he is
small, yet his courage is high, for he will kill birds
you would not think him capable of mastering. I
have found the small falcons and the sparrow-hawk
show a decided preference for birds of the finch tribe.
The hobby and the merlin will kill the skylark, and,
when hunger pinches, any bird they can master ; but
from choice they prefer finches when they can get
them.

The orange-legged hobby is very rare ; it can
only be classed as a very occasional visitant.

Last on the list of falcons is the neat-looking
kestrel, or wind-fanner, which is as well known to the
country children as the cuckoo is. 'Look at he
fannin' away up there ; don't he winner just about,'
you will hear them say sometimes. I know him
thoroughly well, both in a wild and a domesticated

BIRDS OF PREY 14 5

state. He makes a nice pet, for he does not attack
your hands ferociously with bill and claws like some
of the others do, and when he is in full feather, as
one looks at him, perched on one's finger, he is a
handsome-looking bird — a true falcon, every inch of
him, although some writers have placed him on the
lower form. A great deal has been written about
him to little purpose. I am sure of one thing — he
had in times past the honour of being carried on the
fist for hawking purposes. He is a good mouse-
hunter, but it must be remembered it is not always
a mouse that he clutches when he drops down. His
diet, like that of the other members of his tribe, is
a varied one. It is a convenient way of settling the
question to say that certain of these birds of prey
confine their pursuit almost exclusively to a few
creatures of a particular class : and probably it is
satisfactory to those who state it to be so. That the
kestrel does a great amount of good, no one well
acquainted with him and his habits would doubt for
a moment ; but the time comes round when mice
are to be found few and far between, and the lizard
has gone to ground ; and then he must have something
else.

A curious thing about the mouse tribe is that
there is sure to be a very abundant supply where

L

146 WOODLAND, MOOR, AND STREAM

they are not wanted. Just now, although I am living
in the heart of the country, surrounded by woods
and fields, I am not able to procure mice for one of
my pets, although I have offered to pay a penny a
head for them. The men that thrash the stacks out
with their thrashing-machines have been enlisted in
this service, but to no purpose. I went to one lately,
as a forlorn hope, but he said : ' I ain't had no luck,
master ; I wishes I had, for 'tis a rare price to offer for
'em, an' our job is a dusty one, so a drop o' beer
comes oncommon handy to the likes o' us, I can
tell ye. No, we ain't had no luck at all ; you'd
hardly believe it, but the last lot o' stacks as we
thrashed lately, there warn't a mouse or a rat in
them. As to traps, they ain't no good this time o'
year.'

I have proved that, and not to my satisfaction in
this case, for I want mice badly.

What the kestrel does at certain times is to take
toll from the large flocks of birds that congregate in
the fields late in the autumn, when the acorns are
falling, and the beech-mast lies thick on the ground,
The woodpigeons come then in flocks for their pro-
vender ; the outskirts of the woods bordering on
the bare fields are their favourite feeding-grounds.
They are good birds for the table where their feed is

BIRDS OF PREY 147

good, and they fetch a fair price in the market.
Some of the men who can be trusted not to meddle
with ground game, nor to get into the covers, get
permission from the farmers to shoot all they can on
their grounds — leaving a brace or two now and then
for the owner's use when required.

That most wary bird, the woodpigeon, is decoyed
within shot in this way. Close to the edge of the
wood a rough shelter is made, looking much like
u heap of copse trimming, thrown together in as
scrambling or loose a fashion as possible. In a line
with it, and within reach of the man's heavy gun,
a little corn is dropped — just enough to make a show
— Indian corn, also peas. About midway, or perhaps
not quite so far, a tame woodpigeon is secured by
a string tied round one of his legs, and fastened to a
peg in the ground. Food is placed there, and water
given him ; and then the shooter gets into his hiding-
place. There will have been a frost in the night,
probably, the sky is clear and bright, the air bracing,
and there is a light breeze, causing the laded leaves
to fall in showers of varied tints all round. The
decoy bird is very comfortable — the position '*s not
new to him ; he walks about as far as his tethnr will
allow him, bows his head, struts and coos. Here
comes a flock for their breakfast ; they see him, and

L 2

148 WOODLAND, MO OK, AND STREAM

know by the bird's movements that food is there.
After a ring round, they pitch, and begin to walk up
to him. Now they have found the food ; nearer they
come, they are within range. Bang ! three brace lie
dead on the field.

Gathering up his birds, the man places himself
in hiding again, and the bird, perfectly unconcerned,
presently goes through his performance again for the
allurement of another flock.

And now another actor appears on the scene,
flashing out into the field like a brown streak, and
striking the decoy. It is a sharp stroke and an
effective one, for the bird falls over on his side dead.
Recovering himself in the turn, the hawk swoops
down on his victim. Once more a shot is heard,
and the hawk, too, is dead. Muttering unheard-of
blessings backwards on the author of the mischief,
the shooter finds, when he reaches the spot, a male
kestrel, which, although quite dead, still grasps tightly
in one of his claws the head of the decoy bird, which
he had taken off clean when he swooped down.

A pigeon-shooter I knew well used a stuffed
vvoodpigeon, fastened to a piece of board, as a decoy.
This bird was once pounced on by a female kestrel,
and she cluttered off with it over the stubble.
Another of her family joined her, and the pair fought

BIRDS OF PREY 149

like furies for the dummy pigeon. He shot both at
one shot ; they were not knocked about, the stuffed
pigeon received the brunt of the charge, and was, to
use the man's own expression, ' completely ruinated
between 'em/ The other choice morsels of the
kestrel are turkey poults of some considerable size,
the young of pheasants and partridges, and young
chickens and ducklings. I have seen it stated in very
positive terms that he is almost guiltless of bird
slaughter. That may be so where there are no birds
— perhaps such places are to be found — though I do
not know of any. The kestrel will single a pewit out
from a flock, chase him in grand form, and kill him.
I admire him greatly, but he is certainly a bird
slaughterer.

That fine bird the goshawk is almost extinct in
this country now : he was common enough once.
According to the old works on falconry the very
qualities which made him highly prized in those days
have been the cause of his destruction in modern
times. He is a bird of most determined disposition,
large and powerful. Hares, rabbits, grouse, and
other creatures of the woods, moors, hillsides, and
heaths, found in him a most ferocious enemy. He
looks exactly what he is, a freebooter. Those I have
had the opportunity of observing were brought over

150 WOODLAND, MOOR, AND STREAM

from the continent, where the woods and forests are
more suited to his particular method of capture than
ours are. He is very swift for a short chase — in com-
parison, that is, with the flight of the jer and the
peregrine falcons. He has a knack of striking side-
ways at his quarry, so as to catch it under the side
of the wing when in full flight ; a most deadly kind
of proceeding. Hares he grapples and clings to with
the grip of a vice. Puss may jump and rush with
frantic mad calls of 'Aunt! aunt! aunt!' — the cry
of the hare in fear and pain — but it is to small pur-
pose, for the fierce bird bites at the back of the neck,
and it is all over. Sometimes if the hare is near thick
cover the hawk gets the worst of it, for she rushes
into thick stuff and the hawk is knocked off and has
a job to get free from the tangle. He is in use at the
present time by the few gentlemen who have revived
the ancient sport of falconry.

Next on our list comes that dwarf of a goshawk,
the well-known sparrow-hawk. If any one curious
in the matter will compare them together, he will see
at a glance how very like they are in all points, with
the exception of size ; their habits and hunting
localities are very similar too. In one point they
differ ; the goshawk being very rare, whilst the
sparrow-hawk is a very common bird. You will find

BIRDS OF PREY 151

him about everywhere, and certainly more free than
welcome.

It is feeding-time for the poultry at the farm
which lies snugly between the hills and close to the
woods. What a commotion ! The geese sound their
cackling trumpets, ducks quack, the guinea-fowls
scream ' Come back ! come back ! ' turkeys gobble
and the hens cackle, while their lord and master, bold
chanticleer, claps his wings and crows his loudest.
Master Hawk has heard the row as he was hunting
for his early evening meal, and he intends if possible
to profit by it He does not come flying up openly,
for caution is very necessary here ; but he glides from
tree to tree and along hedgerows, until he perches on
one of the boughs of an old ash close to the trunk,
that leans over the cart-shed in the yard.

Here comes the dame calling to her feathered
charges. What a fluttering ensues! She gets the
hens that have chicks just in front of her, and then
she begins to feed, throwing first to the larger poultry
behind. Very choice the old dame is about her
chicks, for they are the last she will have this season.
They are a nice size now and strong, and she can
reckon on a nice little sum when she sells them as
fine spring chickens in the beginning of the year.
She calls them her ' pretty creeturs,' and praises their

152 WOODLAND, MOOR, AND STREAM

mother, as they run about her feet, for doing so well
by them. Swish ! comes something, almost brushing
the old lady's nose. A chick is clutched from before
her very feet, and that something in the shape of a
sparrow-hawk is away again.

' Drat that 'ere thing ! If I don't knock the life
out on it ! ' Dropping the remaining food she grasps
the broom that is lying close to her, and brandishes
it about in a very warlike manner. That the hawk
is now half a mile away is no matter to her ; she is
taking imaginary vengeance, and giving tongue in
fine style at the top of her voice. ' Father ! father !
"are ye deaf? Don't ye hear me calling ye ? '

' Yes, I kin hear ye, 'twud be a wonder if I didn't.
What in the name o' airthly goodness be the matter
with ye ? '

' That 'ere varmint have snappered up another o'
them 'ere chicks ; there's nearly four shillin's gone ;
leastways I should ha' had it. 'Tis clear ruin, that it
is. Why in the name o' mischief don't ye shoot the
dratted thing ? But there ain't a bit o' good talking,
for that 'ere old gun o' yours as ye talks so much on
at times wants a week's notice give her before she
goes off.'

' Well, dame, there be other things besides the old
gun as don't go off; for I ain't heard that 'ere scrub

BIRDS OF PREY 153

broom go off with a bang yet, though ye did shoulder
it so mighty perky like. No, it ain't gone off with a
bang yet, or I'd ha' heard it.'

' Now, don't ye, father, run on in that 'ere maudlin',
aggrewatin' way, as if second childishness had got ye
by the nose, or you'll riz my wool up, an' git a bit o'
my mind, so I tell ye.'

'Well, I dunno as that 'ud be an onusual treat,
seein' I gits it pretty often as 'tis.'

' Keeper shall shoot the varmint ; I'll git him to
do it.'

' Ay, he shot one before, leastways he showed ye
one, an' you asked him in, an' giv' him a tumbler o'
that old mead. Arter that I took notes as he'd allus
got a sparrow-hawk that he'd shot on this 'ere bit o'
a farm. They was allus either comin' to it or goin'
from it, one or t'other ; 'twas cur'ous what a lot on
'em there was about all the time that 'ere mead
lasted. When the stone bottle giv' out there warn't
one to be sin about for love or money. No, dame,
'tain't very often as I makes up my mind to hev' my
own way, but when I does I has it, and that 'ere
keeper don't shoot no more hawks here. There's
on'y this 'un comes, an' the wust he kin do is to
snapper a chick ; certin sure I be he can't drink a
gallon o' old mead. Tell ye what, I'll get shepherd's

154 WOODLAND, MOOR, AND STREAM

lad to snap him, he's mortal clever at that sort o'
thing, an' I'll pay him fur doin' it He'll have him,
an' he wunt want to git roun' ye fur any old mead.'

The sparrow-hawk is certainly a sad plague to
the poultry yard. If there is a pigeon-cote in it and
the female hunts with him, the birds will not escape
very easily.

As pets I can say but little in their favour. I
had a pair — good specimens of their tribe — but they
caused a little bother at times. They had first-class
appetites, and if their wants were not attended to
promptly, shriek on shriek would follow in quick
succession, rousing other folks besides my wife and
myself. Now and again we received gentle intima-
tions from our neighbours that if people kept hawks
they had better feed them and not let them yell with
hunger. These hints did not disturb me, for my
birds were well fed and never neglected in any way.
Sometimes the pair pounced on my hand when I
introduced it into their cage with a bird and some
meat. If only one portion went in, there would be
a fight and awful yelling. They would never be
credited with the power they have in their slim-look-
ing legs and toes. It is certainly a case of tooth and
nail with them.

The sparrow-hawk is a bold, courageous bird

BIRDS OF PREY 155

when at liberty, and he has a most evil temper when
in confinement. It is most annoying to find that
he will perch on your finger one moment — a clean,
compact, bright-looking bird — and the next he will
fall backwards, a frantic yelling heap of feathers,
hanging and flapping by the jesses on his legs.

My two had a particular weakness for doing
mischief. The last escapade on the part of the
female caused me to give them their liberty. My
near neighbour cultivated flowers ; he had some very
choice ones and a splendid show of them ; his little
conservatory was a mass of blooms. One unlucky
morning, when I was making some little alterations
in her jesses, she dashed off and away, out of sight
like a flash. Before I could guess where she had got
to, we heard a voice calling most earnestly to us to
come and catch something. The door of my neigh-
bour's little paradise was open, the morning being
warm, and the feathered evil had dashed in. Before
I could reach the place she had done a great amount
of damage, for finding herself in close quarters she
had dashed about and cut with her strong wings in
all directions fuchsias, geraniums, carnations, and
lilies, completely ruining them for the season. Words
are inadequate to express the look on the face of
their injured owner. ' Catch her, will you, as quick

156 WOODLAND, MOOR, AND STREAM

as you can ! ' Then he added in an aggrieved voice, ' I
don't think I could keep anything that might annoy
a neighbour.'

I could say nothing in reply, for he had certainly
just cause for anger. After a skirmish the bird was
caught, and, tossing her into the air, I recom-
mended her to make tracks for a warmer climate.
Then I begged to be allowed to make good to my
neighbour the damage the bird had done, but he
behaved generously and declined that. ' No,' he
said ; 'you have got rid of her, and are going to let
the other loose when you go in, so we will not say
any more about the matter. I do not think you will
regret them, from the noise I have heard them make
at times.'

I quite agreed with him ; as pets I had found
them a failure.

The common buzzard, puttock, mouse-hawk, or
mole-catcher, all which names are given to the same
bird, might be more properly called the uncommon
buzzard. When on the wing he is a very imposing-
looking bird. When seen at a distance he has
occasionally been taken for an eagle — even by those
who ought to be acquainted with the birds of prey.
If tamed he is sociable and amusing, when kindly
treated. A noble-looking bird I consider him, but I

BIRDS OF PREY 157

have seen fine specimens stuffed out of all shape by
local bird and animal preservers. The mothers that
hatched them would tear them in pieces as abortions
could they see them. I feel I have borne much in
this way, but really when my attention has been
directed to a case about the size of a small chest of
drawers, containing a buzzard sitting on the same
branch with a woodpigeon, beneath them a teal faced
by a squirrel with a white tail, and then right in front,
in the place of honour, a dropsical cock-pheasant with
a white stoat looking up at him in a most amiable
manner, the whole decorated with tufts of dyed reed,
grasses, and everlasting flowers, my wrath has burst
all bounds ; I have bestowed anything but a benedic-
tion, and departed.

A man would have to take a pretty long railway
journey nowadays before he could get sight of a
buzzard, unless he were satisfied with looking at one
in the Zoological Gardens. In the wildest parts of
the forest lands of Sussex he might possibly find one.
They know him in Somerset, and expect to see him
on the downs and in the hollows just before rain
comes ; for then the moles heave in all directions, and
the buzzard watches their mounds until a mole heaves
close to the top, then grips him. He is a clever bird ;
so is his relation, the rough-legged buzzard. I give

158 WOODLAND, MOOR, AND STREAM

my notes upon the whole tribe we are now considering,
not from any scientific point of view, but simply from
my own personal acquaintance and observation.

The rough-legged buzzard looks like a small eagle.
I am at a loss to understand why some have called
these birds ignoble ; he certainly does not look it
when he has a rabbit in his claws. The rabbit, by
the way, seems to have come to the front with a rush.
I can remember the time when you could have your
pick of the best at the rate of three for one shilling,
and customers were hard to find even at that price.
They were looked on as mere vermin. And at that
time the two buzzards above named were to be found
on the same estate. A kite, too, once located on
it, and was shot ; his forked tail brought him into
notice. He is a bird of the past as far as England is
concerned. At the time of migration, which is per-
formed more or less by the whole tribe, a solitary one
might be seen, but very rarely. Even in Scotland he
is rare, and when trapped or shot his fine tail is
eagerly sought for by flyfishers as a most important
item in the manufacture of salmon-flies. I have seen
them in captivity as pets ; their owner told me he
found them gentle birds. They had been sent to
him from the continent.

The harrier comes next Why he should be

BIRDS OF PREY 159

called a harrier I do not know, for he does not
persecute the objects he feeds on more than the other
Raptores. The name has been given them, however,
and it sticks to them. I know the marsh and the
hen harriers best. Never were two birds more unlike
than are the male and female hen-harrier. The male
has a grey and white plumage, which makes him,
when in the act of flying, look very like a gull, and
his flapping kind of flight increases the likeness. He
can move as quickly as a dart when he thinks fit to
do so. The female has a brown-coloured plumage of
different shades, and her tail is barred sometimes-
They hunt in couples, pointer fashion, and at other
times singly. A grouse would very surely come to
grief if either male or female caught sight of him
By the word grouse I mean black game, male or
female. At one time I should have doubted that fact,
but the longer folks live the more they will see if
they keep their eyes open. One evening, tramping
over a moor, I rose a hen-harrier from a grey hen
that he had just finished picking. It was the female
of the blackcock. The ranger shot him the same
evening, and to my disgust nailed him up in such a
manner that he was ruined as a specimen. He had
not been hurt by the shot in a way to disfigure him
at all, but there he was, on the shed, spread-eagled,

160 WOODLAND, MOOR, AND STREAM

one nail through his head and one through each of
his wings. ' I reckon he'll bide where I've put him,
mister,' he said, as I looked at him.

The marsh harrier, or duck-hawk of the marshmen,
is to be found in the marshes. Other birds of prey
are to be seen there, but the duck-hawk is conspicuous
above the rest by his size and flight. Visit the grey-
green flats when the sun is glimmering through the
mist, his form will be seen gliding here, there, and
everywhere. Woe betide duck, coot, moorhen, or
young hare that comes in his clutch, for he is hunt-
ing for his breakfast. At mid-day you will find him
high up in the clear blue sky which is flecked here
and there with light fleecy clouds.

Large cattle and sheep, peculiar at one time tc
the marshlands, are dotted all over the great level
flats. In the distance can be seen the sails of vessels
which seem in places to be sailing right over the
marsh. Reed-stacks are scattered about, looking
like hay-stacks when seen from far. The dome-
shaped objects near at hand are the halves of fish-
ing-smacks ; some are too old for use, others have
been confiscated for smuggling, sawn asunder, and
sold. These are used by the watchers of the marshes
as temporary abiding places when the cattle require
watching in case the floods are expected, or when

BIRDS OF PREY 16 r

the weather is more than usually severe. They also
serve the purpose of concealment for the long-shore
shooters when fowl are on the flats, for the watchers
thatch them roughly over with reeds. The word
fowl, of course, includes geese and ducks of all kinds.
All waders are styled hen-footed fowl, and to the
hen-footed tribe the duck-hawk directs much of his
attention, for they are excellent eating as a rule. A
coot or moorhen is good eating from my point
of view, let alone the plovers and curlews. When
ducks and teal come on the flats for the season, then
he is busy. Ducks are on the marshes all the year
round, and breed there. The young ducks, called
' flappers,' are nearly as large as their parents, and
very tender. If the duck-hawk can catch one out of
the reeds, he interviews him at once ; but winter is
the best time for that — the early part of it, if not too
severe, for the ducks do not desert the marshes then
for the coast, as they will do in the hard weather.

Winter has set in, and the fowl are on the flats,
flying in various directions ; so is our hawk. Here
comes a spring of teal that a watcher has just put
up from a reedy dyke as he crossed the plank bridge
with some fodder for the sheep on his back. The
hawk rings round and manages to come in the nick
of time for him. He takes one moment, just behind

M

162 WOODLAND, MOOR, AND STREAM

them, to recover position. There he goes, he is in
the middle of them, and comes out with a teal in his
claws.

Francis Barlow, the English painter who was
born in the moist country of Lincolnshire, and died
in 1702, has left behind him some grand pictures of
bird life in the marshes. I have gazed at one of
them I know, in a private collection, for hours. The
size of the canvas, to the best of my recollection, is
about twelve feet by ten. The painting represents a
marsh harrier dashing into a team of wild ducks.
They are painted to the life. These sportsmen
painters know what they are about when they take
the pencil in hand. Francis Barlow must also have
been a most accurate observer, for the bird repre-
sented is in the adult plumage.

Some might take positive exception to the state-
ment that a marsh harrier has been seen on the flats
so late as the early winter months, for the bird is
considered by some to be a regular migrant ; others
believe him to be only partially one. They must
settle that among themselves. Most birds move or
migrate more or less. They may leave one portion
of a county, and you might think there was not a
single one to be found ; and then you will acciden-
tally come on them in great numbers in some corner
of that same county.

BIRDS OF PREY 163

There have been long discussions about -the
changes in his plumage. Why do not the people
interested in that matter keep them as pets ? That
would soon settle the question.

All the birds of prey are some time in arriving at
full plumage, and even then they do not retain it all
for any length of time. Fresh feathers, a few at a
time, are always replacing old ones. If such were
not the case the birds would starve, for how could
they manage to exist if they moulted like other
birds? It must be remembered they have to get
their living by pursuing other creatures. It is a rare
thing not to find stub feathers somewhere about a
hawk or an owl when you shoot it, if you examine
his plumage. With regard to the stay or departure
of certain classes of birds, you cannot take the par-
ticular set time which has been laid down for them
as a rule for granted ; for instance, the common red-
winged thrush or redwing, the Norwegian nightin-
gale, I know, has been found in full song, perched
on a willow hanging over a mill pool, within five
minutes' walk of a town, long after his race had been
generally supposed to have gone for the season.

To see the duck-hawk at his best go to the flats
after a scorching midsummer day when a thunder-
storm is coming up. Most creatures feed sharp

M 2

1 64 WOODLAND, MOOR, AND STREAM

before a storm, and he is not an exception to the
rule. Heavy dim clouds have gathered, and the sun
throws a flash of brilliant light low down over a
portion of the marsh lands. The sails of the vessels
show brightly as they sail into the light, and are lost
in the shadow when they pass out of it. There is-
more than an hour before the sun sinks, and the
storm is not yet near — it is only coming up. Making
for a wide, shallow pool, surrounded by the vegeta-
tion peculiar to the salt tide flats, we sit down
between two old mole-hills and look about us.
Close to the edge of the pool some pewits are
dabbling and splashing, while further out wild ducks
are swimming, the young ones nearly as large as
their mothers. One or two herons are flapping over
to some fishing-ground they know of; and a couple
of terns are dip, dip, dipping up and down all over
the pool, making circling ripples that shine low
down like golden rings in the light. The whole
makes a quiet and very interesting picture ; but its
tranquillity is soon disturbed, for the marsh harrier
sweeps over the flats, tips over the flags, almost
brushing them with his wings, and pounces at the
ducks. Quack, quack, sing out the old ones, their
heads flat on the water and their eyes looking all
ways at once, whilst they strike the water up in a

BIRDS OF PREY 165

shower with their wings. The flappers give tongue
as well, and try to dive ; but the water where they
have been dabbling is too shallow for them to do i
effectually. The hawk clutches one by the tail and
lifts him clear off the water. The tail comes out,
and down goes the poor flapper with a squattering
splash. The others have scuttled to cover, and this
unfortunate one tries to do the same by flapping
over the surface. The hawk has recovered position
again, and the feathers are released from his grasp
to come floating down on the water. With a
dipping pounce he comes for the poor thing just as
it is close to cover, grips it between the shoulders,
and has it for supper. The terns, although quite
able to baffle the intruder by their shuttlecock flight
have vanished at the top of their speed, and the
pewits also have gone to finish their toilet elsewhere.
Not far away, however, for we can hear them calling
uneasily to each other, and soon they rise from the
ground by twos and threes with a short jerky spring,
to settle again directly.

The reason for their restlessness is soon apparent,
for overhead is the mate of the harrier that captured
the flapper. Lower down comes she, just over the
pewits. They can bear it no longer ; up they start
in a tumbling, hurry-scurry flight, flying close to the

i66 WOODLAND, MOOR, AXD STREAM

ground, and screaming like mad things. It is no
use ; she makes a dash at one of the outsiders and
grips him under the wing. Pewit — pewit — pewit!
and all is quiet ; for, like her mate, she has her
supper.

Where there is plenty and to spare, a trifle is not
missed. At one time those teeming marshes had a
far greater supply of fish, flesh, and fowl than there
was any demand for ; and no one ever thought of
trapping or shooting any of the birds of prey that
hunted there, unless they happened to be in request
as specimens by friends of the well-to-do farmers and
graziers who rented the marshes. My feeling on the
matter is such that, if large tracts of land of any
kind; whether cultivated or not, were under my own
supervision, I would not have one of the whole tribe
injured. They should hunt, kill, and range scot-free.

Game preservers may have different views on the
subject. When nearly all the creatures not game
are classed as vermin, it is just possible to make a
mistake and overlook something far more dangerous
close at hand.

The harriers are more owl-like about the head
than the rest of the Raptores we have mentioned.
They look like a link between the owls and the hawks.
Of Montagu's harrier I can only say that it is a rare

BIRDS OF PREY 167

bird, and the same of the honey buzzard, for I have
seen only a single specimen, and that was a dead one,
which was under the hands of a bird preserver.

History informs us that owls were regarded with
a feeling of superstitious awe, as a rule, by the nations
of old. They were certainly considered birds of
omen, generally evil. The feeling exists still, more
or less, amongst certain classes and in certain localities.
To make a pet of one I have found quite enough
to cause a man to be set down as a peculiar being.
' What a pity some people have not something better
to employ their spare time in than talking to a winking,
blinking owl ! ' is one of the milder remarks I have
survived in my character of a lover of some birds
which are not usually regarded with affection. I
plead guilty to a feeling of admiration for the most
quaint, and in my opinion the most intelligent,
members of that family of the birds of prey which
we call owls.

The eagle owl, or Grand Duke, as he is named
sometimes, is certainly the prince of his tribe in his
native land ; here he is only a rare visitant. He preys
on hares, rabbits, and grouse — the great wood-grouse,
or capercailzie, included ; also on the other smaller
creatures of the forest. He is a bird of grand aspect
and great muscular power. When seen in this

168 WOODLAND, MOOR, AND STREAM

country it is because he has been driven out of his
course by contrary gales. Some very remarkable
instances of birds coming to grief in this manner
have fallen under my own observation. He will live
and thrive in captivity with ordinary care and attention.
One fine fellow I knew had a very great affection for
his master, who had much spare time on his hands,
and gave a great deal of it to his bird. He was well
repaid for his attention. How the rustic population
used to stare when he walked through the place with
the grand owl perched on his wrist, and still more
when he drove through with his favourite perched on
the seat beside him ! Many a wrinkled and mob-
capped dame and grey old father would wag their
heads after he had passed, and say, ' 'Tain't nateral
nohow ; can't be, 'tain't in reason. Tell ye what, 'tis
a fermilliar sperrit o' some sort. Mussy oh alive !
did ye ever ! ' For anything I know to the contrary
that bird is still living.

A gentleman I knew made pets of eagle owls. He
had a fine place to keep them in ; all that could be
desired it was. There was also a man kept specially
to look after these birds. I had no idea of this, or I
might have hesitated when invited by the owner to
look at them before giving advice as to their manage-
ment. A fine commotion I made by so doing. I

BIRDS OF PREY 169

heard all about it later on. The man sent a message
to the keeper, saying he wanted to see him at once.

' Has anything broke loose this mornin', or is a
elephint comin' to live in one o' them cages, as you
wants to see me so perticklar ? ' he asked, when he
came in answer to the owl-caretaker's hasty summons.

' No, we ain't got to keepin' elephints just yet,' was
the reply, ' though we may get to that pitch in course
o' time — there's no sayin', for there's some wild boars
comin', that's certain. But what do ye think, I've
got orders for ye to ketch a hare an' bring it here by
twelve o'clock.'

' What for ? '

' Why, for these 'ere owls.'

' 'Tain't to be done. Master can have a dead 'un ;
an' that's a lot too good fur them goblin things.'

' Well, you knows your own business, I s'pose. I
kin just tell him what you say on the p'int.'

' Don't you be a fool ; you won't do nothing o'
the sort. Do you think as I wants to lose my place ? '

'Well, by the way you spoke I thought you
warn't perticklar about it. You just look thear —
you see them fresh perches, them pine boughs with
the bark on, and that thear lump o' dry sifted drift
sand?'

' Well, I see that. What do ye mean ? *

170 WOODLAND, MOOR, AND STREAM

' It means as I've took care to hev it all right, as
he's told me to hev it done. He's had some one here
that he's heard about to look at 'em.'

' Oh, has he ? Nobody o' any count, I lay a
shillin'. I should just like to fall in with him.'

' I dunno about that ; the under-butler knowed
him a little, leastways he'd heard on him ; an' from
what I could get at, he's one o' that 'ere sort as you'd
better fall in than fall out with. An' it wud be
handy not to forgit, as he come here as a visitor to
the master.'

' And what's that lump of sand for ? '

' That's for 'em to dust in, same as fowls do to
clean their feathers.'

' Well, if ever I heard anything so lunaticky as
that ! Owls rollin' in sand to clean theirselves, like
a charcoal-burner's jackass ! Well, I s'pose the hare
must be got, so here's off. The chaps must get the
nets pitched an' drive. But as for one o' them owls
killin' a hare ! Ha ! ha ! '

True to the time the keeper arrived with the hare.
The owls had not been fed that morning. ' Where's
the master ? ' he asked.

' He's had to go out, but he left word as you was
to stop an' see 'em kill that hare.'

'Then I reckons as my old ooman 'ull think I've

BIRDS OF PREY 171

gone an' listed for a sodger, if she don't see me afore
that takes place.'

' They've bin at that sand an' they've scuffled like
mad in it, an' made it fly all over the place ; so that
'un warn't fur out o' his reck'ning. Don't ye think
ye'd better let that hare have a look at 'em now ? '

' One o' them owls, nor two on 'em for that matter,
wun't kill him ; but here goes, 'twill soon be proved
one way or t'other.'

Both were on the alert as the hare dashed from
one side to the other. The female pounced on him
from her perch and killed him, and the pair ate him
between them.

Then their keeper chaffed the gamekeeper right
well. ' Are ye goin' to wait and see master ? ' he
finished up with.

' No, I ain't time, for the pheasant coops wants
lookin' arter ; ye kin tell him all about that 'ere go
yourself.'

Exit gamekeeper.

That splendid bird, the snowy owl, only visits
England when driven by stress of weather. At one
time he was a native of the Orkney and Shetland
Islands. Adult birds, and young ones that had
barely left the nest, were frequently met with in past
times ; I am not prepared to say what may be the

172 WOODLAND, MOOR, AND STREAM

case now. At the first glance the snow owl and the
jerfalcon might easily be mistaken the one for the
other, so far as size and plumage are concerned, if
both were seen together, and they both inhabit the
cold regions ; where one is found the other will be.
The snow owl is a bird of lighter make than the
eagle owl, and his flight is more hawklike. Daylight
does not affect him, for in his native wilds he hunts
by day. He preys on hares, grouse, &c., like the
eagle owl. The ruff or facial disk is hardly to be
seen. There is far more of the falcon than the owl
in his appearance. He is prized, living and dead ;
and although he is a very determined and dashing
hunter when in a wild state, yet when captured, if
properly treated, he will be as docile as a white pigeon.
This is all I can say of him, speaking from personal
experience.

The beautiful white owl is probably to be seen
wherever an old grey church tower stands, and is, as
some one else has said, the high churchman of his
tribe.

When white owls were many and boys were few,
I have known them to be quite at home in our own
grand old church, close by the sea, and a long way
from the town — a very long mile in fact. Service was
held there only once a week at that time. The

BIRDS OF PREY 173

presence of the white owls did not put any one out,
for the church was large, the population small, and
there was room for all. Their positions were quaint
enough at times, and yet their fancies seemed to me
to be quainter still. Sometimes an owl would be seen
sitting on the sill of one of the windows, gravely
examining one of the saints pictured in the fine old
stained glass. Then again you might see one resting
on the helmet of some long defunct old nobleman.
The plumes that once adorned it had crumbled to
dust, but it was graced once again for a brief space
by the pure plumage of the white owl. And more
than once have I seen one gravely considering the
Ten Commandments. In fact, they flew all over the
place and all over the people too.

The sermons were never of the fire and brimstone
description ; the people there were not supposed to
do anything wrong save smuggling ; and in that they
were all interested to a greater or less degree in those
days. The glebe-farm, with its barns and large well-
filled stockyards, was close to the church. Wheat
and oats, peas and beans were not thrashed by
machinery at that time, and the owls found plenty of
food in and about the farmyard, and a sanctuary in
the church. The fisher lads who used to come home
over the downs when the boats had not been able to

174 WOODLAND, MOOR, AND STREAM

make the harbour tide, would whistle and keep close
to one another when they left the open downs and
entered that long narrow stretch of graveyard.

I have seen it many a time by moonlight when
the great walnut trees threw fantastic shadows over
the graves and upon the long path, a large portion of
the yard lying in the mass of shadow thrown by the
church ; in the distance a weird flash of water, the
open sea. The hiss and snore peculiar to the owls,
with their surroundings, gave the old churchyard the
reputation of being haunted. And so it was at certain
times, for on dark gusty nights, when the branches
creaked and ground against each other, and the old
fishing crones who sat huddled up round the fire said
to one another that the devil was blowing the dust
out of his streetdoor key and getting cross over it,
the churchyard would be haunted by the living. The
owls on such nights screamed their loudest, and
ghostly-looking figures would glide through, each
carrying a burden. They moved swiftly and si-
lently, the burden being a tub which had come from
Holland.

To all who cultivate the land in any form white
owls are valuable allies, and ought not to be killed or
driven away from any spot where they make a settle-
ment. As a rule farmers recognise the fact that they

BIRDS OF PREY .175

are their friends, and they will not let them be molested
when they are found in or around the farm buildings.
A senseless freak of fashion has lately set a price on
their heads. It ought to be discountenanced.

The brown owl is a bird of the woods. He is a
sturdy fellow, and a powerful one considering his
size. The keeper shows his feelings towards him by
a charge of shot when he has the chance, for he has
a bad name. If all the accusations preferred against
him were true, they would prove him to be capable
of miraculous feats. I have known him to be credited
with unlimited mischief, such as it would be impossible
for him to do. When in confinement he takes things
very easily. A feathered philosopher of the Epicurean
school he is, for he eats, drinks, and sleeps to his
heart's content He is not so particular in his diet
as the white owl. Almost any animal food will suit
him, provided there is enough of it. His food when
in a wild state consists of any birds or animals he
can capture. It is the brown owl more than any
other that hoots ; he makes the woods echo with his
Hoo-hoo ! Hoo-hoo !

The long-eared owl is also a bird of the woods,
but lighter in make. He preys on nearly the same
creatures as the brown owl.

The short-eared owl is smaller, but very like his

i?6 WOODLAND, MOOR, AND STREAM

nearest relative. He prefers marshes, and rough,
broken, rushy ground, and he will fly about and catch
his food in the daytime.

The hawk owl, scop-eared or little horned owl, and
mottled owl can only be spoken of as visitors, few and
far between.

The little owl, last on our list, is one of these rare
visitors. He is well named, for he is the mannikin of
his tribe ! well shaped, active, and good-tempered, he
is a great favourite on the continent, for he makes a
most amusing pet. The Dutchmen are considered to
be a stolid, serious people, but under that gravity
there must be a strong undercurrent of humour, or
they would surely not choose the little owl as a pet
and companion. I have one of my own, and I set
him down as a bird of priceless value, for he has the
power to make me laugh when I should be least in
the mood for it.

In the exquisitely finished pictures of the Dutch
masters you will see him represented ; and we all
know that the domestic life of Holland is faithfully
depicted on those panels and canvases. Jan Steen
and Teniers have introduced him into their paintings.
In the painting of ' The Jealous Wife,' for instance,
there is the little owl perched on the window shutter,
contemplating that aged man holding sweet converse

UfKDS OF PREY 177

with a young woman, presumably his niece. The old
woman, his wife, has got her head in at the opening,
and she also is taking in the scene most wrathfully.
In the earlier ages, when paintings served the purpose
of books, bird life was frequently depicted. Ancient
and modern art have both drawn attention to owls,
and the poor birds have often got more of it than
suited them.

My own bird is at liberty. This he uses to the
very best of his ability, making the third member in
our small house. He is by no means the least im-
portant, for he claims and receives the greatest atten-
tion at meal times. He steps from his perch on to
the hand, sits on the place appointed for him, and
chatters all the time it is in progress. Sometimes, by
way of a change, he will run about inspecting all
things ; he is very swift of foot and most inquisitive.
Very affectionate too, he shows that plainly. He is
about more in the daytime than in the evening or
night, and he will sit in the full light of the sun ; all
through the hot summer of 1887 he has done so 35 a
matter of choice. His food consists of mice of all
kinds, birds of the finch tribe, old and young. Star-
lings, blackbirds, and thrushes he will not eat, nor
insects such as chaffers and others of a similar kind ;
he will not even look at them. It is not always

N

j;8 WOODLAND, MOOR, AND STREAM

possible to procure birds and mice for him ; then he
will content himself with tender lean beef, quite fresh.
He is so particular in that matter, though, that he will
not eat fresh pork. He seldom drinks water, and
never uses it for the purpose of washing, preferring
to roll and scratch about in a lump of drift sand like
a domestic fowl. In fine feather he now is, and he
keeps himself beautifully clean ! His legs are long,
and he uses his toes and claws with the dexterity of
a monkey ; in fact, when at his little games he is
more like a monkey than an owl. His conversation,
kept up continually, is a croon and chatter, and
when in high glee he will puff the feathers of his
throat out and look intently at me with his bright
yellow eyes, and treat us with a solo sounding like
the gobble of some unfortunate turkey. If I ask him
as a particular favour to change that tune, he will
give us a succession of shrill barks like a terrier. He
roars like a little tiger when his dignity is ruffled, and
squeaks like a pig. This does not occur very often,
and when it does the fault is my own. It generally
happens when he is introduced to strangers, which he
hates. As a rule he is most amiable. If I wanted to
cure a man of melancholy and never-smiling grief, I
would present him with a little owl, the Punchinello
of his tribe.

BIRDS OF PREY 179

Perhaps it is because owls are birds of night that
their good qualities are not appreciated. They are
active and most intelligent beings. In the strictly
nocturnal ones there is much difference in their bearing
by night and by day. The bird that is seen drawing
his wing over his body like a shield — a mere dazed
lump of feathers — when the sun is shining, leaves his
hiding-place and steps forth as bold and brave as an
eagle in the light of the moon.

i8o WOODLAND, MOOR, AND STREAM

MARTENS, POLECATS, WEASELS, AND
STOATS

THE marten, or, as he is sometimes called, the marten
cat, is the largest and most handsome of this family.
From the nose to the tip of his tail he measures
about 2 feet 7 inches ; his limbs are stout and strong,
his colour a rich dark brown, with either a patch of
white or yellow under the throat. In some parts he
rejoices in the name of Sweet Marten, because there
is not that peculiar odour about him which dis-
tinguishes the rest of his tribe, His general appear-
ance reminds one of a small, low-legged, dark-
coloured fox, his tail too being bushy. He is equally
at home on the ground or in the trees, and is a first-
rate runner and jumper. Sometimes he will make
his place of abode on the stony hill-side, where only
scrub thorns and brambles grow ; then again he will
make himself a home high up in the trees, in the old
deserted nest of a crow or a hawk.

According to some writers, he has been extinct in

MARTENS, POLECATS, WEASELS, STOATS 181

England for some years. I venture to doubt this
statement for very good reasons. It is wonderful
what the coin commonly called a ' sov ' will bring to
light at times in the rough broken ground of the
border counties — genuine British creatures too, not
caged ones imported and then let loose and killed.

His nimbleness and size and strength make him
a sad foe to game of all kinds ; to hares — the common
and the mountain hare — rabbits, and even to lambs,
the shepherds will tell you. They always put their
swift-footed collies on his track whenever they see
him. Capercailzie, black grouse, red grouse, and any
other bird that comes in his way, are included in his
bill of fare. In Scotland he holds his own in spite of
persecution which he undergoes from the keepers of
the forests right down to the herd laddie. He has a
violent affection for the capercailzie or cock of the
woods. Running out of his hiding-place under some
shattered fragments of rock scattered about, his
rounded ears listen most attentively. It is the call or
play of the cock of the woods, performed for the
exclusive pleasure of his female admirers, that the
marten hears. It must come from some spot in the
pine forest close at hand. Very quietly going to
work, he leaves the ground when he gets nearer to the
tree which the sound comes from, and, climbing the

182

great trunk of a fir with the agility of a squirrel, he
runs along the branches that touch and interlace one
with another. Presently he pauses and listens ; he is
now close to a dead fir, and on one of its bare limbs
a little below him a fine capercailzie cock sits, singing
his love-song, his head thrown up, wings trailed, and
his broad tail outspread like a fan and held well up
over his back. The whole of his feathers are ruffled,
those under his chin being raised and puffed out
His song is composed of harsh, grating gulps and
sounds, something like ' Peller! peller!' but it absorbs
him entirely, and his imagination has caused him to
forget his instinct of self-preservation, for the marten
is close up, hidden by some of the dead limbs.
Once more the bird holds forth, and, as he raises his
head and with half-closed eyes gives the last note —
or, rather, gulp — of his dreamland song, the marten
leaps on his back and has his teeth in his throat and
his powerful forefeet round it in an instant. The
great bird flaps off the limb where he has sung for
the last time and flaps down to the foot of the tree,
the marten still holding tight to him. Before the
startled ' Gok ! gok ! gok ! ' of his female admirers is
lost in the distance, the poor capercailzie is a dead
bird and a meal for the marten and his family.

Even the squirrel does not escape when he con-

MARTENS, POLECATS, WEASELS, STOATS 183

descends to notice such small quarry. To poultry
he is destruction itself ; once let him gain entrance
to the henhouse of some lonely glen farm, and he
will slaughter the lot for the mere pleasure of the
thing. Hares and rabbits he tracks and captures
without the least trouble. He is swift of foot, and
his agility is aided by the stupid terror these creatures
have when pursued by him or any other of his tribe.
Hares will run from foxes or dogs as only hares can
run ; rabbits are equally swift for a short run of a
few hundred yards ; but just let one of the weasel
family get on their track, as they are sure to do if
the chance offers, and the hare or rabbit, as soon as
he finds out what his pursuer is, becomes half numb
with deadly fear. In the case of most of the weasel
tribe it is the pungent scent which betrays them, but
this does not apply so much to the marten.

I have often watched rabbits hunted in this way,
and it is impossible to mistake their cry of terror if
you have once heard it, or to forget the bewildered
look of the creature and its limping gait. It will
pass close to you, shrieking as it disappears in the
cover. Close on its track follows the enemy, bounding
along in the chase, hunting, like the hound, by scent.
The end will soon come. The stoat has passed so
close that we could have kicked him up in the air

184 WOODLAND, MOOR, AND STREAM

as he went by had we felt inclined to do so. Listen !
He has closed with the rabbit. Two cries ring out
close at hand ; on reaching the place they proceed
from, we find the stoat has fastened on to him close
under the ear, and the rabbit is dead.

The beautiful fur of the marten is valued as an
article of commerce. The principal supply comes
to the furriers from the Continent, where he has his
stronghold and attains his largest growth and greatest
beauty of coat. The vast forests and rocks give him
shelter and provide him with food to his taste.
There he lives and multiplies, and is, comparatively
speaking, unmolested. In the winter his fur is in the
finest condition, when the howl of the wolf comes
from his stronghold and the quick yelping bark of
the fox sounds sharp on the ear. Then that very
wary bird, the full-grown, full-plumaged blackcock
will have to sleep with one eye open if the marten
finds out where he has perched for the night.

He varies his hunting tactics to suit his purposes.
In the depths of the forest some mighty pines, fallen
through decay, have formed a natural stronghold for
him. In their fall they have brought others down,
causing a considerable opening. Coming from his
home beneath one of the huge fallen trunks, he
climbs up to the top of one of the dead limbs and

MARTENS, POLECATS, WEASELS, STOATS 185

listens attentively for the slightest sound of any
living creature. Snow, the forerunner of winter, has
sprinkled the ground, and he knows that rabbits are
likely to find their way to these open spots between
the tangled limbs of the fallen trees. A gurgling
cackle comes to his ears through the clear night air
- -another unearthly solo, and again a bark. It does
not disturb him, for he has heard it many times
before. The cry of the eagle-owl it is, before that
hunter starts on the wing. The marten watches
most intently, for he expects to see the owl come
near where he is watching. His surmises are right
for here the bird comes, rising and falling on his
grand pinions, now gliding one way, then with the
next movement falling almost to the ground. He
seems now lost to view, but the marten does not
move from his seat ; he seems to listen more intently
than before. Again that goblin solo and the bark
are heard, and after that another sound — a scuffling
rustle — which moves him. He is down the limb and
on the trunk in an instant, his body crouched and
his sharp eyes peering out to catch a glimpse of a
possible supper.

Two rabbits come dotting into one of the open
spaces between the limbs. The marten could easily
make his way nearer to them ; but that is not his

1 86 WOODLAND, MOOR, AND STREAM

intention. The snow is just deep enough to show a
footprint, nothing more. In this state it suits the
rabbits exactly ; they bound over each other, and
frisk about, scuffling the snow up with their hind feet
in little powdery clouds ; sitting up now and then to
wipe the particles of snow from their faces and ears.
Now they are off again for a final frolic before settling
down to feed. Under and over the crushed limbs of
the fallen pines they jump and rush, making the twigs
crack and snap and rustle. The marten hears the
racket ; he has changed his position again, and instead
of crouching on the top he is at the bottom, his sharp
eyes and nose peering from between the dead twigs.
The unearthly solo sounds again from some tree near
at hand, followed by two barks in quick time one
after another echoed by the little owl perched on a
twig of one dead limb, where he has been gabbling
for some time as only a little owl can. The giant of
the same tribe sends his barking notes over the tree-
tops, shrilly answered by his dwarf relative, who, not
to be outdone in the matter, puffs out the feathers of
his throat, and yelps his loudest. This is too much
for the bunnies ; others of their family got into trouble
one night when that solo was heard, and they have
not forgotten it.

The play is ended ; they make for the open space

MARTENS, POLECATS, WEASELS, STOATS 187

at once, which was just what the eagle-owl intended
them to do, for he is perched on a limb close to the
place they have rushed to. Now he has a full view
of the pair as they sit upon their hind limbs and
listen, their ears cocked up and twitching. The owl
now crouches on his perch for one moment, his great
eyes blazing with the fiery excitement that he feels
at the sight of his expected prey. Swoop ! and he
has one. But that dead bough has balked him, and
he has the rabbit by his ears and poll, instead of that
fatal grip round the loins. He lifts the little animal
shrieking with fear off the ground however ; the
rabbit draws himself up bowbacked, and kicks out his
hardest with his hind limbs ; he will surely kick him-
self free. The marten thinks so, for he rushes from
his hiding-place, the hairs on his neck and tail bristled,
and makes for the two struggling creatures.

If the place was a more open one the owl would
lose his clutch, and drop his quarry in order to get a
surer hold, but the kicking jerks from the rabbit in
that small place of action have brought the pair
in collision with the tangled dead limbs already.
Swearing like a cat, the marten leaps and runs now
here, now there, as the great owl flaps up and down
with his unwilling captive. With a long shriek, and
one more desperate fling from his hind limbs, the

188 WOODLAND, MOOR, AND STREAM

rabbit frees himself, and drops to the ground to find
himself in the grip of the marten ! who, with one bite
at the back of his neck, kills him at once. Such
instances are not by any means rare. I have fre-
quently noticed that one creature flying or running
to save its life from one pursuer has met with death
from another that has not hunted it

The marten shares the forest with the wild-cat,
the lynx, the fox, and the wolf. General readers may
not be aware that up to this present year of 1 889 the
wolf is a most terrible foe to the flock of the Breton
peasant. Any one familiar with these diminutive
sheep, which are not much larger than a good hare,
may guess that more than one would be required to
stop a gap in the stomach of a grey, gaunt wolf as
large as a Newfoundland dog. During the dread
winter months they are taken into their shepherd's
hut for the night for shelter — one he has built for him-
self in the side of some bank, the sloping roof covered
with heath. Sometimes the wolves will even scratch
a hole through this, and kill and eat the small sheep
without attempting to attack the human inmates.

When they are pressed by hunger they will do
like other creatures, satisfy their cravings at some
considerable risk.

I remember once seeing a pack of foxhounds, in

MARTENS, POLECATS, WEASELS, STOATS 189

trying for a fox, pass through a rabbit warren of
great extent, and then not only I, but many others,
witnessed a curious sight. The hounds caught the
rabbits as they squatted in fear in the furze clumps.
A feeble squeak ; two hounds were at work, one
pulling at the fore, one at the hind part, and the
rabbit vanished out of sight like magic. A similar
performance takes place when three or four wolves
break through and clear off the small sheep .of the
unhappy Breton peasant ; some of them do not own
more than half a dozen of the tiny creatures. As to
poultry, it is quite out of the question in many
localities for him to keep any. The marten would
kill and drag' them off to his stronghold. The
peasants do not destroy these hungry persecutors,
because the wolf there, like our fox here, has an
acknowledged protection thrown over him. It is
a vague one, but it exists, or he would have been
exterminated in some districts long ago.

The Polecat, fitchet or foumart — the last name
certainly the abbreviation of foul marten — resembles
his relative closely in form and colour. The odour
of his fur is stronger and he is a much smaller
animal, only measuring one foot five inches in length.
He is, however, strongly made, very active, nocturnal
in his habits as a rule, and very ferocious. That

»9o WOODLAND, MOOR, AND STREAM

Country called ' no man's land ' suits him best. Bare
moorland with stone-wall boundaries running over
it in parts dividing different spots of sheep-grazing
ground ; loose stones placed one on the other without
anything to hold them beyond their own weight and
the way they are built. North-country hedges these
are pleasantly called. The cracks and crannies in
them are the favourite hiding-places of the polecat,
for, unless the shepherd's collies catch him away from
home or the warrener's terriers chance to find him, he
lives his life out, there, in peace and comfort. Any
one who has seen a large, dark-coloured ferret,
commonly called a polecat ferret, has seen a polecat
to all intents and purposes.

Strange to say, the localities where I have known
him to be fairly numerous were not game-preserving
localities ; the birds you saw there in the greatest
numbers were crows, hooded crows, jackdaws, jays,
and magpies ; in my own native country, flat and
damp as it is in many parts, he was, when I lived
there, only too common an animal. It was not
unusual to hear some one say, 'Terrible work in my
henhouse last night, neighbour, but I've got him.'
The walls there were called wet ones, dykes in plain
terms. On the northern upland moors and on the
sides of a wooded hill in a southern county he is quite

MARTENS, POLECATS, WEASELS, STOATS 191

at home ; and he is so too in the marshlands. He
can find food there in the greatest abundance ; game
of all kinds, poultry when he can get it, rats, mice,
birds, and fish at any risk. His fishing accomplish-
ments have been specially remarked ; why, I do not
know, for many other animals will kill and eat fish ;
the domestic dog and cat, also the fox and the whole
of the weasel tribe do it. He varies his diet, as all
creatures like to do. During the hot summer nights
the eels lie half out of the dykes on the wet margins ;
it is easy for him to get one when the dew is thick
on the grass, and it is rarely otherwise in the marshes.
The eels will crawl from one dyke to another like so
many snakes. One bite at the back of the neck,
enough to stupefy but not to kill, he gives ; and he
packs his fish with other things that are intended for
his larder, as he has a family to provide for at that
season. Some may ask how he gets eels in winter.
Easily enough ; any eel-spearer — and I must plead
guilty to having joined in that sport— can tell you.

The dykes at the flow of the tide are filled daily ;
if all goes well the eels bury themselves in the mud,
but if ice has formed, some of them are carried along
on the top of the ice instead of underneath it; and
these, when the tide ebbs, get numb with cold.
Eels will also gather at the air-holes where some of

192 WOODLAND, MOOR, AND STREAM

the dykes empty direct into the tideway, commonly
called drains ; there, as they gather half-numbed
for the sake of getting fresh air, the polecat is sure
to hook one out from under the edge of the ice,
perhaps not more than half an inch in thickness, but
more than sufficiently strong to bear his weight.
The fisher-lads often see his tracks in the ooze if they
do not see him, for the tide never flows up without
leaving something behind it. Besides which the
fisher-folk generally shake all worthless fish out of
their nets on to the flats, under the comprehensive
name of muck, before hanging up the nets to dry.
Sc the polecat is sure to get a bit of fish of some kind
01 other .vhen he hunts on the salt flats.

The marsh farmers, who hold very small grazing
farms, trouble little about him so long as he does not
work them mischief; but some morning on going to
the henhouse a farmer finds his black-breasted game-
cock or his duck-winged one dead on the floor and
some of the hens with him ; then he swears dire
vengeance on the polecat that has sneaked in some-
how, climbed the perches, and murdered them as they
slept. These birds are highly valued because, when
they are out on the run and the chickens are just
hatched out, no marsh hawk or gull will venture to
make a dash at them if their protector is there. The

MARTENS, POLECATS, WEASELS, STOATS 193

birds are from the best blood. And here I will
reveal a little secret : if a more than usually vicious
enemy is seen flying about, the game-cock has steel
spurs fixed on him when running with the fowls : on
reaching home his spurs are taken off. Any one that
has handled one of these courageous birds will under-
stand the simple process. The mischief in this case,
however, has been done, and the farmer means to
punish the offender, if possible, by killing him. Going
to a corner, he takes from it a long stout pole about
six feet in length, pointed at the thickest end, called
in this locality a stake. Grasping this by the middle,
he walks off with it, calling Bob. ' Hi, Bob ! ' A
rough-coated bob-tailed sheep-dog bounds up to him.
His master will tell you Bob can do everything but
speak to him. ' On to him, boy ! ' and Bob is on
after him, for he has hit the trail off at once.
Followed by his master, he runs and stops at a dry
drain under a log bridge used when the waters are
out. There he sniffs : the polecat has run through it
if he is not there now. ' Hi, Bob, look out ! ' No
need to tell him that. Now the use of that pole is
seen, for it is poked into the old drain, where it digs
and rattles at a rate that would bolt twenty polecats
if they were hiding in it ' On, old boy, find him ! ' The
dog makes for a low shelter thatched with reeds, close

o

194 WOODLAND, MOOR, AND STREAM

to the farm, which is used in hard weather for the
sheep that remain in the marshes. When the farmer
overtakes him there, he finds Bob at work with his
broad forepaws at a hole close to one of the inner
posts that support the roof.

'Speak to him, boy! What is it? Rat, eh?'
The dog pauses in his uptearing proceedings, and
looks out from the tangled hair which partly covers
his great brown eyes into his master's face, gives a
growl, as much as to say, ' Don't talk like a fool if
you can help it,' and goes on with his digging at a
furious rate. ' Steady, old boy, steady ! ' says the
farmer, as he goes to another hole a short distance
further on. He drives his stake into that and pro-
ceeds as he did at the drain. This time his energetic
movements are rewarded, and his nose — to use his
own expression — ' reg'larly abominated,' for, after
that gorging meal the farmer's poultry had afforded
the polecat, he does not like being disturbed in such
unceremonious fashion, and does his best to merit the
title Linnaeus gave him of Mustela putorius. Bob
now winds him and instantly stands perfectly still,
with his head a little on one side, listening intently.
That rattling with the pole from side to side goes
on, threatening to cause earthquake in the polecat's
burrow, so he decides to quit — not in a hurry, but in

MARTENS, POLECATS, WEASELS, STOATS 195

a businesslike manner. He pokes his vicious-look-
ing head out to find a larger one than his own
anxious to play a game of ' chinchopper ' with him.

Bob makes a snap and misses ; the polecat maKes
a snap in return, but he too misses. Bob gets some-
thing, however ; he snaps at a mouthful of litter that
is near the hole, and this does not at all improve the
old boy's temper. All at once Bob leaves the hole
and rushes, with a roaring bark of rage, to the other
end of the shed, for the polecat, perfumed up to his
eyebrows, has slipped out at another hole, and is
clawing his way up the rough boards of the side.
The farmer has seen it as quickly as Bob ; rushing
up, he swings his stake round his head and comes
down ' bang ! ' across the beast's back, making it drop
right into Bob's capacious mouth. Bob gives it one
worry and then drops it for his master to carry home
by the tail to the barn, where he will nail it up.

I have seen much of these sagacious dogs in my
wanderings over the marshes. Their thick woolly
coats, grey in colour, are a most complete protection
to them in the bitter winter time. The long hair
reaches down the legs as far as the toes. In the
summer their masters shear them as they do the
sheep, and then they stand forth in all their naked
truth— long, stout-limbed, bob-tailed lurchers. The

o 2

196 WOODLAND, MOOR, AND STREAM

breed is in existence now, to my certain knowledge,
though some may doubt the fact. They will herd
sheep or horned cattle, kill a rat or catch a hare,
stand at a snipe or plover, and for the purposes of
retrieving they are as good as the best water spaniels,
and far more powerful when they swim, at racing
speed, in the tide that runs on the flats. Under cer-
tain conditions and influences they are high-mettled
dogs, and slow to anger as a rule, but when roused
they are desperate fighters. Those who are versed
in dog-lore can give a shrewd guess how the breed
originated. I have known them run and kill hares
when their coats were at their thickest. It is a long
jump from the weasel tribe to the dogs, but I could
not introduce the death of this most vicious member
of his tribe and leave Bob out of the hunt. Between
him and me there was a great personal friendship.

That beautiful and active little animal, the stoat
or ermine, is I foot 3 inches in length from tip of
nose to end of tail as a rule, though his size varies a
little. In the summer his fur is a warm red colour
above and cream-white below, the tip of his tail
black. If the weather is hard he will change to a
creamy white, the tip of his tail excepted. In that
condition it forms the ermine fur of commerce. He
is as bold as his larger relatives, and far more dash-

MARTENS, POLECATS, WEASELS, STOATS 197

ing and active than the polecat. Stony places
covered with thorns and brambles suit him best,
and before those grand old hedges were grubbed up
to make way for our modern scientific system of
farming the ermines used to make their home there
in small colonies. Mice, rats, and our common birds
of the fields and hedgerows must have formed the
principal portion of their food. I have never heard
any complaints from the small farmers and cottagers
about them, and, considering the numbers I have
known hunt round about some spots, the mischief
done by them was very inconsiderable. The ermine
will kill game if it comes in his way, but the rabbit
is more to his taste, and he must have been a friend
to the farmer before the Ground Act came into force,
for a rabbit that has been killed by a stoat is good
eating and very white in flesh — that I can answer
for. He kills them neatly too, and cleanly. He is
quite at home on the limbs and branches of trees ;
many a nest will he rifle and then curl himself up in
it to sleep off the effects of a meal of tender young
birds. He is apt to gorge to excess at times. His
prey he hunts with the ' go ' of a foxhound. Shoot
him dead as he comes bounding along, and his fur
will be as sweet as you could wish it ; get him into
close quarters, as I have done more than once, and

198 WOODLAND, MOOR, AND STREAM

you will feel inclined to quit him. The far-famed
?kunk of North America is not the only animal that
can make you wish that you had let him alone. If
you kill any of the tribe when they are enraged and
at close quarters, the fur will retain the abominable
odour for months — that of the marten alone excepted.

The nimble little weasel is the smallest of his
tribe, only measuring ten and three-quarter inches.
His colour is like that of the stoat, except that his
tail is always the same colour as his upper parts, and
red. White varieties have occurred, but I have never
seen any white weasels in the hard winters.

There is a small kind of weasel called the Cain,
Kane, or mouse-killer, that I have often seen. The
rustics have called him by that name from my earliest
recollections, which go a long way back. He is very
small, not much longer than the short-tailed mouse
that he feeds on. Naturalists have not yet deter-
mined what he is — a variety, or a small separate
species ; it does not matter. I have seen him and
the common weasel come on to the velvety lawn of a
country house, and play there the most extraordinary
antics, their sole object being the capture of some
wagtails that were running nimbly about, catching
insects at every tumble and vault. They managed
to pet nearer to the birds, and their movements were

MARTENS, POLECATS, WEASELS, STOATS 199

so rapid that they looked like strips of india-rubber
being thrown about. Their little game was success-
ful, for when one had got near enough he vanished
behind a clump of flowers until the bird tripped by ;
then he had him in a flash, while his companion
played the same little game with another. All the
weasel tribe practise more or less the little ruse of
so taking up the attention of their quarry by their
strange antics that they may get near enough for a
final rush when their prey is in any open space.

Small as the weasel is, he is just as destructive,
considering his size, as that largest of the family, the
marten. The whole tribe are bloodthirsty, and yet
I have been surprised, in a long and close acquaint-
ance with them, to see the little harm they do,
bearing in mind their great destructive powers. In
all the barren spots covered with loose stones that I
have examined, I found mice were abundant, and so
were certain birds and other creatures. And yet
polecats, stoats, and weasels were found there too, in
numbers varying according to the locality. Game, as
I said before, was not preserved then, and it was only
occasionally that you heard of mischief being done
at any of the outlying cottages or farms. They fed,
undoubtedly, on mice, rats, and birds, and in some in-
stances on vermin more to be feared than themselves.

200 WOODLAND, MOOR, AND STREAM

FRESH-WATER FISHES

THE reader must not expect any scientific description
or minute detail. I give only a few sketches from
life, from notes made by river, lake, pond, and stream
as I wandered rod in hand. First on my list I find
the pike or jack, a fish well fitted for the life he leads,
a life of almost indiscriminate swallowing. It would
be hard to say what he will not take into that mouth
of his when he is hungry. If you were to fish for
him with the bowl of a teaspoon he would snap it ;
half-a-crown properly used is a sure bait. He will
swallow a frog or a dead kitten ; he is not at all
particular except under certain circumstances, which
shall be explained further on. His form tells you at
a glance his mode of life ; swift and strong he is
when in good condition and in good water. The
colouring of his back and sides is mottled green of
two shades, dotted with bright yellow spots, and
white on the belly. The pectoral and ventral fins
are pale brown, and the dorsal, anal, and caudal ones

FRESH-WATER FISHES 201

darker and mottled with dark .green, yellow, and
white. Round his eye the ring is yellow.

So much for his points : now for his habits.
Where the waters rush from the floodgates of a mill
or weir, forming a swirling eddy at the side, you will
find him. At the mill tail, where it is fringed with
flags and rushes and shaded by great alder-trees, he
is certain to be caught if you feel inclined for a spin.
In deep and sluggish waters, through which the
barges creep along, the water looking like thin pea-
soup, he will be, not far from the bank. He is
generally of a good size there. A large mill-pond
'suits him, if it is supplied from a clear stream, and
better still if a brook runs through it. The masses
of beautiful green water weed always found in such
ponds afford him a hiding-place and a shelter. The
best and handsomest fish I have ever caught came
from such a pond. Good food, with a luxuriant
growth of weed, makes a greater difference in the
colour and flavour of the fish than the unlearned in
such matters would credit.

I remember one lake well which was supplied
with water from a moorland trout stream. Rustic
tradition said that pike of giant size ' lived in that
'ere bit o' water, but they can't ketch one on 'em,
Keeper told we as how the Squire wud give a gold

202 WOODLAND, MOOR, AND STREAM

suvrin to no matter who if so be as one o' they big
'uns cud be grabbed. That 'ere boat hev bin out
day arter day with gents in it, arter they big 'uns ;
but never no luck. An' what riles the Squire is jist
this 'ere : them big 'uns snaps them 'ere furrin ducks
up, an' no mistake. I've sin that 'ere go : 't is quick
work, jist a bit o" splash, that's all. Do ye know
where the boathouse is ? Well, jist there 't is most
menjous thick, twenty feet, may be more. They big
alders hangs out over the water, dips in like ; an' if
any o' they furrin ducks gits swimming near there,
them big 'uns snaps 'em ; 't ain't no use fishin' for
'em, not a bit. They knows the smell o' hook an'
line afore it goes in the water.'

I had designs on some of 'them 'ere big 'uns,'
time and chance permitting, and, although I did not
tell my rustic friend so, I knew why they refused live
bait in the shape of fish. The stream that supplies
the lake swarms with roach, gudgeon, and stone
loach, to say nothing of the trout. The pike swim
up to the mouth of the feeding stream, gorge them-
selves, like the gluttons they are, and then swim
lazily back to the deep water of the boathouse.

' Are the family down yet ? ' I asked.

* No, they ain't. I jest wish as they was, fur I
has summut ter du most days when they is ; an' I

FRESH-WATER FISHES 203

gits a drop o' beer then an' a bite. Tis a rale good
old family, an' has good old-fashioned ways like in
the matter o' eatin' an' drinkin', I ken tell ye.'

' But are you sure the pike swallow the ducks ? '

' Sin 'em do it with both my eyes open,' he
snapped out, irritated by my apparent unbelief.
' Ain't I told ye ? ' and off he went

Patience and a silver coin will accomplish much.
At last I had permission to try and catch ' one o' they
big 'uns,' the ruling power in the velveteen coat, with
the double-barrelled gun, assuring me "Tis sheer waste
of time, but you can please your fancy ; and you can
tell me by-and-by what sport you have, for I am
going up in the copses.'

A breeze ruffled the lake into tiny choppy waves,
just the way to suit my purpose. The trolling-rod
was put together ; the line run through the rings, to
see that all was in working order, and then I took
from a nest in the shrubs close to me a young thrush
almost ready to fly. Round his body I placed an
elastic band, and the hook was inserted between the
elastic band and his back, and then I was ready.
The band did not hurt him, for he hopped, fluttered,
and chirped when I placed him on the grass. The
rod was raised and the cast delivered. As the young
thrush touched the water he kicked and paddled with

204 WOODLAND, MOOR, AND STREAM

his wings in fine style, but not for long. He had not
fluttered a yard's distance on the surface before a
swirl was seen in the deep water, and a vicious snap,
like that of a dog, heard ; I had hooked ' one o' they
big 'uns.' My tackle was strong and the hook of a
particular pattern called ' snap.' Knowing by his
tearing pull that I had hooked him firmly, I pro-
ceeded to punish him, and before five minutes were
over he was landed. He was a fine fish, but not
really 'a big 'un.' It is wonderful what a size
creatures that live in the water are said to be, parti-
cularly fish.

Much has been written about playing fish. The
play for the angler is when the fish kicks on the
grass. When a good fish is hooked the sooner you
get him landed the better.

I once fished a bit of water well stocked with
pike ; in fact, the pond was full of them ; and I did
not get a run. As I was about to pack up, having
got impatient over my ill-luck, a man in the dress of
a farm labourer sauntered up.

' Have ye had any sport, master ? ' he asked.

' Not a run.'

' I doan't wunner at it a bit ; an' I reckens as ye
wunt hev, if ye fishes for 'em in the fashion ye hev
bin.'

FRESH-WATER FISHES 205

'Look at the live baits. Is there anything the
matter ? ' He looked at them, then said :

'They there gudgeons is the biggest an' most
prankt'uns as I've sin fur many a day. They never
cummed out o' any water round about here, I knows.
They be too big fur these 'ere parts. Nuthin' wunt
ketch them 'ere jacks but a caaf-tailed fly.'

' A calf-tailed fly ? '

' Yes, I mean what I sez. Did ye never see one
o' that 'ere sort ? '

I assured him I had never come across that rare
insect.

' A fly of that 'ere sort cud soon be got, werry
soon ; and ye can ketch as many jack with it as ever
ye likes.'

' And where did you make acquaintance with that
remarkable fly, my friend ? '

' In the Crimear, when I was a sojerin'. There's
lots o' fish out in them parts. I bin wounded ; I ain't
fit fur much now, an' I ain't got no pension. So I
bides about like, best way I ken ; does odd jobs like
if they ain't too heavy.'

' What would be the price of one of those rare
insects ? '

' Half-a-crownd, an' ye ken have it in a couple o1
days' time.

206 WOODLAND, MOOR, AND STREAM

I gave him the order and marched off home, rather
out of temper at my want of success.

At the time appointed I went to meet my ento-
mological rustic, and he produced the fly from his
pocket. There was not the least pretence about it
for it was literally the tuft of hair off the end of a
calfs tail, with two large green glass beads fixed as
eyes, one on each side. One glance at the way the
hook flight was arranged told me he was a true
brother of the gentle craft. To my astonishment he
declined the proffered half-crown, saying : ' Doan't ye
niver buy a pig in a poke, 'taint healthy. Arter ye've
tried 'un ye ken pay 'un ; I shan't be fur off. I ain't
got no leave ter fish, so I'll jest clear out. Them
there jacks lays 'twixt the runs in the weeds. Let
'em hev it'

That rare fly was thrown into one of the runs, and
gently drawn on the surface towards us. Splash ! and
jack number one was fixed and soon landed. Four
times this process was repeated, with the result that
four nice-sized fish were landed : more than enough
to satisfy one who never cared for fish diet On
leaving the pond I was met by our rustic flymaker. I
smiled at him.

' 'Tis all right, I knows, master. That 'ere fly hev
jest done the trick clean.'

FRESH-WATER FISHES 207

When he had received his half-crown and a little
over, he said in the fulness of his heart : ' When that
'ere fly gets the wuss fur wear I'll jest mek ye anuther
fur nuthin', dang my brass buttons ef ah doan't ! '

I never had occasion to profit by this generous
offer, for the fly was, by reason of the material of
which it consisted, almost indestructible. I sometimes
see that clever rustic, and always greet him, having a
respect for men of genius, amongst whom the making
of that fetish-looking insect the ' caaf-tailed fly ' fairly
places him.

I will relate one more anecdote connected with
pike-fishing before dismissing this subject. Old
memories come thick and fast with it and make me
feel young again. Why do those who never fish
themselves, and yet have waters full of fish running
through their grounds, so strongly object to other
persons catching one of them ? I tried to settle that
question for myself once in my youth, but failed in
some degree.

There was one very secluded spot on the river
crossed by a weir which was a famous haunt of pike.
They would head up the river for a long distance to
reach the shelter of the old weir with its masses of
old timber and brickwork. It was never used, but the
water rushed through the gaps in the old weir-gates,

2o8 WOODLAND, MOOR, AND STREAM

causing a continual fall into the deep pool below.
Round the sides, where the eddies swept, many pike
were sheltered by the great flags and rushes. The
owner of that place had a pious horror of fishing and
of those who fished. The place haunted my imagina-
tion to that degree that nothing would satisfy me
until I had visited it rod in hand ; but how was I to
manage that? It would not do to cross this fine
domain, for one or other of his workmen or keepers
was sure to be afoot, morning or evening. The
river was narrow right up to the basin of the weir.
At that spot it formed a circular pool. The other
portion was covered in by high banks on either side
and trees. If any person on the river kept very quiet
he might escape observation, so I decided to go up
there in a boat, a good mile and a half from the part
where I had leave to fish ; and started early one fine
morning with a companion.

Autumn had just begun to change the colours
of the leaves. By farms and meadows dotted with
cattle we quietly pulled, under rustic bridges, through
more meadows, by the manor farm, under the bridge
which carried the road to it ; and then we were fairly
in the bend of the river that led direct up to the old
weir. The rods had been got ready before starting, so
as to be in order for action directly we reached the spot

FRESH-WATER FISHES 209

Past the haunts of moorhen and water-rail we
proceed in silence : now we can hear the rush of the
water through the old gates. One more bend of the
river, and we are there. The boat is fastened to
a stout alder branch close in shore, and then we
exchange significant looks, meaning, ' the left-hand
pool for you, the right for me.'

Two bright dace fly in different directions, and we
are both into a good fish at once, for they are on the
feed. Soon they are in the boat, and with beaming
countenances we are on the point of taking another
pair of dace from the bait-kettle when a voice from
the foot-bridge over the weir asks us, in the name of
a certain place noted for the extreme warmth of its
climate, what we are doing. On looking up who
should we see but the owner of the property in rather
a negligent sort of morning costume ! For one thing
he wore a dingy white hat, and he had a Bardolph
nose that suggested port wine in plenty. He did
not know us, but we knew him well, for a more gruff
and cantankerous individual, when a bit riled, it
would have been hard to find.

' Who are you ? Where do you come from, eh ?
Do you hear me ? Confound you ! are you deaf?
You shall remember this as long as you live, for you
shall receive the very utmost that the law permits.'

P

2io WOODLAND, MOOR, AND STREAM

Failing to get any answer riled him up to a burst-
ing-point, and caused him to bestow titles on us that
we certainly did not merit. The oars were grasped,
our boat shot out into the stream, as he once more
shouted out : ' Confound you ! what do you want ? '

' Your nose,' was the reply shouted back, ' and
when I get it I shall wear a blue veil.'

Our boat then shot through his part of the river
at top speed, and we never tried to get his pike again.
Ah ! we were young in those days !

The perch is a handsome fish when in good condi-
tion ; amid favourable surroundings he runs from two
to three pounds in weight. Much heavier ones than
this have been caught, but they are exceptions to the
general run. He is a bold biter, and not particular in
his food. The schoolboys hold him in the highest
estimation, for he can be captured with the rudest line
and bait. There is hardly a lad to be found within
reach of a brook or a pond who does not catch perch
of some size or other. He likes company, and swims
in shoals of twenty, thirty, or fifty. The place to fish
for him is where the water runs sharply from the mill
into the meadows under the old grey one-arched
bridge. The brook has a general depth of about two
feet. Where it flows through the meadows it is
deeper, and there are rare places for perch, holes from

FRESH-WATER FISHES 21 1

four to five feet in depth, where the trees that once
grew close to the edge of the water have been rooted
up in a storm and have torn portions of the bank
away ; the whole length of the brook, in fact, is a
succession of holes and shallows. Green weeds wave
in long bunches to and fro, as the water runs merrily
on to the next mill, causing that nice curl round the
holes that both fish and anglers like. There are
gudgeon and roach as well as minnows in the stream,
rare feed for the perch when they can be caught ; but
the small fish avoid the deep holes as much as possible
in a very knowing manner, as though well aware of the
fact that large mouths are there, ready to swallow
them.

I am lingering on the old bridge to see what
sport that lad who is coming across the meadow from
the farmhouse will get. His rod is a bean-stick, the
line thin water-cord, and the hook of the kind called
' gimp.' I know this because he produced them from
his pocket to get my opinion on them this morning
early. He is only twelve years old, but he has a most
decided aptitude for fishing. His float is a wine-
bottle cork, and his bait worms that he has just dug
up from the garden. Before beginning he walks very
quietly along the edge of the brook, peering over into
one hole r.nd then into the next. This one suits him,

P2

212 WOODLAND, MOOR, AND STREAM

for he throws in : and in a very short space of time he
fetches out a plump, nice fish. That comes down on
the grass, whack ! Perch after perch he keeps land-
ing, until my fingers begin to itch for fishing-tackle.
Presently he shouts out, in a state of great excite-
ment, ' I got 'un ! ' and then, ' I shell lose 'un t I knows
I shell. No, I shan't — I got 'un \ ' and he flops a
splendid crimson-finned beauty on to the grass,
weighing a good pound and a half. In being taken
off the hook Master Perch lets the boy know what
that back fin of his can do, for which he gets a crack
on the head with the butt-end of the bean-stick.
Then the boy goes on fishing, and two more come to
grass, his tackle is strong, and it matters not to him
how they come out He has a fine lot soon, but
does not think of leaving off, for he has warmed to
his work.

' Ah've got anuther big 'un ; he's bigger than
t'other, I know he is — he do pull so. Out ye cums ! '
Just as the perch is lifted clear of the water, he falls
off the hook and is in again — splash ! The boy looks
first at the end of the line and then at the spot where
the perch dropped in ; then he yells out, ' Ah shan't
fish no more to-day. Ah've had enough on't. Ah'm
sick on't ! That there fish was a sight bigger than any
of they, an' ah've lost he.'

FRESH-WATER FISHES 213

One often sees good anglers, with the best rods
and finest lines that are to be bought, go home with-
out a fish, and a little lad such as this one will get as
many as he cares to carry home in his little cow-
gown, and from the same brook.

At the foot of a hill a little rill rises up ; through
the boggy moor it runs, and through copse and wood,
pasture and ploughed lands ; by farms and cottages ;
through more meadows fringed round with woods,
and then it forms the trout stream. The waters
from the hill that run the whole length of it have
worn a deep channel After heavy rains the water
from the slopes rushes down the stream like a mill
race. Its action has cut through all that opposed
it Great oak and ash trees line both sides, sprinkled
here and there with copse growth. At the more open
spots you find rustic bridges, bearing the cart-roads
from the meadows up to the old-fashioned farmhouses
which nestle amongst the trees. Cattle of all kinds are
dotted over the fresh green meadows, and come down
to drink at the shallows, where they stand knee-deep
under the boughs which reach from bank to bank,
when the sun is so hot that the lark squats by the
side of a withered tuft for shade. Kingfishers flash
up and down the stream like blue rockets. You can
hear one sounding his curious note before he comes

214 WOODLAND, MOOR, AND STREAM

round one of the numerous bends, or you may see
him perched on a twig that grows over some deep
hole. The shadows from the trees make the water
look dark green, bringing out his bright orange breast
and the brilliant blue stripe on his back in fine relief.
He will not move unless we startle him. His know-
ing head is cocked on one side ; presently he says
' Dick ! ' — plunges, and for the moment you see a
splash of rainbow hues, as the light falls on the
rippled water and the bird. Wagtails — the pied and
yellow ones — trip and peck on the sandy sides, pertly
wagging their long tails, whilst that otterlike little
creature, the water-vole, cleans his fur as he sits on
the edge of the stream. This nimble little swimmer
has his home on the banks ; so have some other
creatures. One notes these little things in sauntering
along, as part and parcel of the stream. Beautiful
trout — two-pounders, fine in form and bright in colour
— have their abiding-place by the old grey bridge.
There is quite a pool, and the cattle have worn the
banks almost down to the water's edge on both sides.
A few old posts are in the water on one side, the
remains of a plank foot-bridge that has come to grief
some time when the flood-waters rushed down. A
few yards further down is a shallow, covered with
sand and pebbles. Below this is another pool, of

FRESH-WATER FISHES 215

considerable depth, laced and interlaced with the
large roots of trees that grow on either side — rare
holds for the trout Once let him rush into that net-
work, and your line will come back minus the best
portion. He is likely to get it twisted round the
posts, too, in trying to get to his home under the
bridge. The silvery minnows are on all the shallows.
When the trout are hungry they rush out of the
holes and gorge themselves, and then return to
digest the meal. Sometimes they will feed well on
the shallows in the daytime ; but the evening is the
best time for the larger ones. Eels come then
also ; there are good silver-bellied ones here, as well
as trout.

I was there once the whole day without getting a
single fish, and could not make out what was the
cause of it, for everything looked just as it had done
the day before, when I had met with better luck. As
I laid the rod on the grass for a wind up, I chanced
to look on the shallow. There I saw a rush, and the
minnows flash out of the water like tiny silver strips.
My rod was snatched off the grass, the line run
through my fingers, and a fresh minnow put on.
Very gently I crawled along the ground to where
the trout was feeding. I could just see him by
craning my neck to the utmost

216 WOODLAND, MOOR, AND STREAM

Now for it ; a side cast, the minnow drops gently
on the water about two feet from his nose, and with a
rush the trout has it Feeling the hook he turns for
his stronghold, but we stop that. Then he springs
off the shallow and comes down on his side, smash,
making the water fly. He is humoured to his heart's
content, and after a game fight on his part he is
landed, a beauty weighing a pound and a half.

The carp is a fine-looking fellow with his golden
olive-brown back and sides. The edges of his scales
are golden yellow and his belly is yellowish white ;
the fins are dark brown. Still water suits his rumi-
nating disposition ; the place to look for him is a
pool or pond with great clumps of flag round about
it, and masses of water weeds, with channels running
between them, which lead out to the open spots of
deep water. I say to look for him ; to catch him is
a very different matter, for he is crafty as a fox in
regard to bait. On a warm summer evening you
may see the carp moving about in all directions ;
their great back fins showing above the water. Some
of them weigh four, and some as much as seven
pounds. One peculiarity about hooking a carp is
that you are almost sure to do it when you are fish-
ing for some other fish which differs entirely in its
ways and habits. He is a strong creature, and

FRESH-WATER FISHES 217

requires judicious treatment to bring him to grass.
And when one has got him there, what to do with
him is a question, at least to myself, with whom he
is not the favourite he was with the monks of old,
who were supposed to be good judges in the matter
of eating. After admiring him as a fine bit of fish
study I have generally restored him to his native
element, very little the worse for what he has under-
gone, for he is a regular die-hard of a fish.

The tench is beautifully coloured in tints of
greenish gold, light salmon colour, brown and olive.
I used to know a rare hold for tench, and many a
nicely cooked three-pounder has made a toothsome
meal for me and mine. The Valley Farm lies back
a meadow's length from the river where it flows over
broad shallows, although here and there pools of
great depth occur. The farm is old and picturesque-
looking ; great fronds of fern flourish in the cracks of
the old wall that surrounds it, while moss clothes the
sides, which are quaintly quartered with great oak
timbers, worn silver grey with age. The roof is
covered with large stone slabs, weather-beaten, and
of varied hues, ranging from browns to greys,
and dotted over with patches of house leek. The
chimneys are rare specimens of good old-fashioned
brickwork, such as is not often seen in these days

218 WOODLAND, MOOR, AND STREAM

of hurried work. A fine old grape vine runs up one
end of the building and over a portion of the roof;
some of its arms run over and shade the old lead-
light windows in front. At the back stand noble
elms, their long branches interlacing ; fine trees these
for the rooks that have nested there for years ; no
one can tell when they first settled there. Large old
outbuildings are scattered round, and the fowls and
ducks wander all over the place. At the back of one
cluster of sheds is a large space of broken ground ;
gravel has been dug here in years past, and the pits
and hollows were never filled up. A small run of
water, a mere drain, flows from the river to this
broken ground, and in floodtime the water rushes
over the meadows and fills the hollows, leaving them
full when the river falls. Aquatic growth of all kinds
has covered the hillocks, and the hollows and pits are
covered with water-lilies mingling with fine weeds.
The edges are fringed with a thick growth of bulrush
and flag, varied by clumps of the yellow iris. Most
congenial homes for the tench are these pools ; he
got there years ago, and finding the locality to his
liking, he increased to such an extent as to monopolise
the quarters. A rude plank bridge crosses one of the
widest and deepest pits, placed there for the con-
venience of the workmen — who were busy at repairs

FRESH-WATER FISHES 219

— when coming from the meadows to the farm. I
have often taken my stand there on an early mid-
summer morning when the light vapour floated like
smoke over the meadows and water, having had leave
from the farmer to fish there. As the sun got up
and cleared the light vapour away you would see
large back fins show above the surface of the water?
and the leaves of the lily plants move up and down ;
then broad tails as the fish nozzled in the weeds for
their food. Tracks are made in the weeds by the
movements of the fish, so that there are nice openings
to drop the line in.

I get well-scoured red worms for bait ; nice and
lively they are ; my line for the first part is made of
gut, for about three yards ; the other portion is twisted
silk, the float a small piece of cork about the size and
shape of a large acorn. Now I am ready ; the lively
worm is gently dropped ; it descends between the
weeds, and the float rests lightly on the water,
trembles, bobs once, twice, thrice, and then goes
under ; I strike and find I am into a good one.
Steering him clear of the heavy masses of weed, after
a few sharp turns I bring him to the edge of the pool,
and soon place him in the basket. Presently there
are a couple of brace of large ones there ; as many as
I require ; for fishing, not slaughter, is my object. I

220 WOODLAND, MOOR, AND STREAM

had been favoured by the farmer as being a friend of
his son's ; others who crossed the planks had often
looked with longing eyes at the golden-green fish
rolling about and feeding in the summer evenings.
The pools were connected in places by water runs,
and the tench roamed from one to the other at
pleasure ; but the spot below the rough bridge was
the one most tempting to the workmen. As they sat
in the shade, close to the hayloft, one day, eating
their dinner, the question of a net was discussed, a
casting-net ; and, as their job would be finished in a
couple of days' time, the last day after dark was fixed
on for their little game.

Ike, the carter's boy, had gone up in the hayloft
to put some nay down to the horses. Having done
that he had stretched himself on the sweet old clover
to have a five minutes' rest. There he overheard their
plan, and told his young master of it. The boy was
bidden to keep his mouth shut and to come to him
again about seven in the evening. The workmen's job
being completed, the young master invited them into
the kitchen to have some of the home-brewed. The
beverage being of the genuine malt-and-hop sort, and
of a generous quality, worked on their feelings, so
that they told him that if they could ever do anything
to oblige him at any time he had only to say the

FRESH-WATER FISHES 221

word. He thanked them, adding, Father and I have
to go to the village on business ; and I don't suppose
we shall be home till late ; so as you have finished
your beer I'll bid you good evening.' As they passed
over the bridge he saw them pause, and heard them
chuckle softly.

Directly they were out of sight he whistled, and
Master Ike mad his appearance with a plank on his
shoulder. This he placed across the middle of the
pool. Then he and the young master returned with
a rusty and broken old-fashioned iron grate, having a
cord attached to it ; this they lowered into the middle
of the pool, throwing the end of the rope in the flags
to hide it. Having done that they marched off with
the plank.

'Ike!'

' Yes, master.'

' You go in the kitchen and tell Mary to give you
a good supper and a pint of beer. After that go and
hide near the pits, and when you hear them coming
let me know by giving a few taps on the window.'

At about half-past ten the lad heard footsteps in
the meadow, and at once communicated with his
master. From their hiding place in the shadow of
the old outbuildings they saw two figures come and
stand on the plank bridge, and then a splash was

222 WOODLAND, MOOR, AND STREAM

heard, and Ike called out, ' They're up to summut
now, master, with they tench ! ' A tearing and
scuffling of feet sounded for a moment, and then the
two figures vanished into the night again.

On hauling up the old grate next day the remains
of a good casting-net were found, hopelessly entangled
in the jagged iron-work, a net which no one ever
claimed.

The chub is a well-made and powerful fish ; his
upper part brownish-black, darker at the edges of the
scales ; bluish-white the sides are, and the belly is
white. If you once hook him there is small chance
of escape for him, his mouth being tough as leather.
He will take natural or artificial flies, live bait and
worms. As a fish for the table he is worthless ; the
fight he shows before he can be landed is his chief
attraction for the angler. Dace and roach haunt the
same waters as the chub, and one can say little in
favour of any one of the three. Quality of water and
difference in food may make a great difference in
some. The bream I have no admiration for, either ;
but I must say something about that bright and
delicious fish the gudgeon, which is known to every
youngster who is capable of fixing a bent pin on a
piece of packthread. Gudgeon are so plentiful that
one can see the yellow sand on the bottom of a clear

FRESH-WATER FISHES 223

running stream completely covered with them. They
swim there leisurely along, bite well, and, for their
size, are strong. Pike love to feed on them, so do
chub and eels and the crimson-spotted trout ; what
with predaceous fish, boys, and men, he has a lively
time of it, being in demand in summer and winter in
some way or other for food or for bait. In the winter
months he retires into holes ; then the cast-net
captures him.

One bright frosty day in January gudgeon were
in demand for pike-fishing, and a couple of lads I
knew well started to procure some in a sort of ' no
man's-land ' locality. One had the net, the other the
can. They had never been interfered with before at
that particular spot, but on the morning I speak of
a great lout in velveteen coat and leather gaiters
slouched up and told them he'd got them.

' Got who ? ' demanded the lads.

' Why, the pair on ye ; an' I'm goin' to have that
nice net of yours,' said the bully.

' We are on waste ground, an' you touch us or the
net, if you dare ! ' cried the lads. ' You are not a
keeper, and if you were you've no right to interfere
with us on this bit of ground.'

' All very fine ! I shall jest leather the pair on ye
for your owdacious cheek, and have that there net too.'

22* WOODLAND, MOOR, AND STREAM

With a yell of rage and indignation the lad that
had the net on his shoulder threw it over the self-
constituted guardian of the waste, twisted the line
twice round his neck, and then both gave him what
they called ' beans.' When they considered he had
had enough of these, they unwound the net and
jogged off with their canful of gudgeon, leaving him
in a very miserable condition. He has not yet been
able to take his revenge.

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