John F.L.S. Watson
Poachers and Poaching
III.
OUR HERONRY
The herons have just returned to the heronry after an absence of many months. At the end of September the old and young birds flew off together, and dispersed themselves over the low-lying mosses which margin the estuary of the river. Here they stayed during the winter, feeding but little in the bay, but making long flights either to the quiet tarns among the hills or to the neighbouring trout streams. Like the poacher, the heron pursues its silent trade by night, and loves the moonlit ones best. Now that the birds are breeding, their habit and daily routine are ordered quite otherwise than during the winter months. This year they returned to nest during the last week of March, and immediately sought out the trees in the most elevated part of the wood. By the middle of April but few nests remained unfinished, while the majority contained eggs. The trees selected for the huge burdens of sticks are oak, ash, elm, and silver firs; and the nests themselves are flat platforms with just the slightest depression for the pale green eggs. Close by the home of the herons is a rookery; and although it has not always been so, the two species now dwell together in perfect amity. Nests of the herons and of their sable companions are not unfrequently found in the same tree. Any threatened invasion of the two colonies of brooding birds produces a very different result on their respective denizens. The rooks get off their nests and circle, crying and cawing, until the disturber has vanished; the herons fly silently and straight away. During a stormy spring like the present6 many of the eggs are blown from the nest and destroyed—a fate which often befalls the young herons themselves in autumn. Now that the birds are breeding it is easy to see by the aid of a binocular that they sit upon their nests with their legs under them, and not (as was once supposed) either pushed through the sticks or thrust behind them. In its domestic relations the heron is both amicable and honest. If a nest is blown down the birds go to work in the precincts of the rookery, but never touch the rooks' sticks. The heron's nest is a rude, wide-spreading platform constructed of beech-twigs, and not lined with wool as generally stated, but with the fine shoots of the larch. The appearance is that of a ringdove's nest on a large scale, and so open in texture that the sitting bird or eggs may be seen through the foundation. The heron breeds both early and late, and has often three or four broods in a season. At this time they are rarely seen fishing in the bay, and seem to prefer round fish upon which to feed their young, probably on account of the narrowness of gape and swallow. To obtain the requisite food the herons move off at evening to the quiet tarns and streams which abound in trout and eels. As the young birds come to maturity they are driven from the nest, and in a few days a new clutch of eggs is laid. The incubation of these is performed by both parents, one sitting during the day the other at night. As soon as young herons are able to look about them they have a habit of standing erect in the nest, and, not being very stable, are not unfrequently blown to the ground. If no harm befalls them, they are here fed by the old birds, though they never attempt to regain their lofty nests. Everywhere beneath the heronry there is an ancient and fish-like smell; and this by the warm days of summer becomes almost unbearable.
When nesting operations are over, they leave their summer haunt among the tall trees and make down to the bay and low-lying marshes. At this season the birds are gregarious, and their daily movements afford material for pleasant study. If the fishing ground in the channel is fruitful, sport goes on harmoniously; but if otherwise, chase is given to the successful fishers by the lesser black-backed gulls; these birds invariably cause the herons to drop their game, catching it as it falls. See, on a calm sunny day in September, the Stacy-Marks-like group waiting patiently in the channel for the flow. Some are erect, with heads settled gracefully over their backs; others are exposing their breasts and outspread wings to the autumnal sun; while some few, like geese, may be seen settled on their legs with necks elegantly arched. It is not less interesting to watch an individual fisher than a group when the retiring tide has left the channel. It wades cautiously with lowered head and out-stretched neck, each step being taken by a foot being drawn out of the water and as quietly replaced in advance. By gentle movements the heron is often enabled to strike and secure a flook at once. If a fish is missed, a sharp look-out is kept for its line of escape, and then a stealthy step is made in that direction. Should the distance be beyond reach of the bird's vision, a few flaps of the wings are tried in the eagerness of the pursuit. Sometimes a heron may be observed, when wading, to stand still suddenly, when no doubt its pectinated toe prevents the escape of a flat-fish or other victim.7 A characteristic of flight may also be mentioned. When a heron rises from the ground the legs hang down, but as soon as it has acquired a settled flight they are extended backwards. These and the retracted head and neck adjust the equipoise of the body. The slow languid flaps of the wings would seem to indicate the heron as a slow-flying bird; but this impression is quite erroneous. If timed by a watch, it will be found that no fewer than two hundred and fifty separate wing movements are made per minute, counting the upward and downward strokes. The literary legacy as to the heron's varying altitude of flight foreboding fair weather or foul would seem to have no foundation in fact; at least, years of observation have yielded no indication of this. The altitude of flight is regulated according to the distance of the bird's fishing ground. If the place is near, the flight is slow and sluggish at only a few yards above the surface; if lower down the bay the flight is higher; while if to a distant spot, more vigorous and rapid wing-movements indicate the intention.
When fishing in a trout stream the heron stands looking more like a lump of drift-stuff caught in the bushes than an animate object. Gaunt, consumptive, and sentinel-like, the bird watches with breast depressed and poised upon one leg. Woe to the tiny trout or samlet that comes within reach of its formidable pike, for it is at once impaled and gulped down. This impalement is given with great force, and a wounded heron has been known to drive its bill right through a stout stick. Nothing from fry to mature fish comes amiss to the heron, and the young consume great quantities. Sometimes they gaff an individual which is difficult to dispose of. It is related that a heron was seen one evening going off to a piece of water to feed; the spot was visited next morning, when it was discovered that the bird had struck its beak through the head of an eel, and the eel thus held had coiled itself so tightly round the neck of the heron as to stop the bird's respiration, and both were found dead. An authoritative statement has been made to the effect that the heron's services in destroying pike, coarse fish, rats, and water-beetles may be set off against its depredations in trout streams; but from this we must dissent.
IV.
PLOVERS AND PLOVERS' EGGS
In April and May thousands of plovers' eggs are annually sent to the London markets from all parts of the country. The gourmets' appreciation of this delicacy causes an ever-increasing demand, which, however rapid its growth, will always be met. For the green plover is one of the commonest of British birds, and is greatly on the increase. It flocks during the winter, and according to the severity or openness of the weather indulges in short local migrations from the plashy meadows and uplands to the sea-coast. Upon the approach of spring the flocks break up and resort to their breeding-grounds. These are usually at some elevation, and in the north the bird builds at an altitude of one thousand five hundred feet. Probably one of the reasons of the plover's great abundance is the readiness with which it adapts itself to local circumstance, and the clever manner in which it conforms to the environment in which it finds itself. For although a great many birds may be found breeding at a considerable elevation, numbers nest in the sea marshes, among the plough and upland fields, and along the marram-covered flats.
The lapwing is an early breeder, and eggs may often be found by the middle of March. It is these first captures which fetch such fancy prices in the market, and as much as fifteen shillings has been paid for a single egg. So anxious are the poulterers to obtain these, that one of them recently informed Mr. Howard Saunders that if he were assured of having the first ten eggs, he would not hesitate at giving five pounds for them. Of course, as the season advances the price rapidly decreases, and the normal price per dozen when the supply becomes general is about five shillings. As an instance of the difficulty which an untrained eye has in detecting the eggs of the green plover when in the nest, it may be mentioned that a person unaccustomed to birds'-nesting was sent up a furrow in which were six nests, each containing eggs, and these were to be collected. By the time that the end of the furrow was reached the collector had put his foot into one nest and had failed to find the other five. This is not always the case, however, and persons who study the habits of the plover experience but little difficulty in finding the nests. In fact, shepherds and others often walk straight up to them. They watch the movements of the parent bird, and know from the conformation of the ground to a yard where the nest will be. When you come upon a breeding haunt of green plovers, it will be noticed that many of the birds fly straight and silently away. When this is so it will be certain that the bird is the female and that it is sitting upon eggs. The bird does not rise immediately from the nest, but runs for a distance of some yards before it takes wing. If it allows a near approach, and rises low, the probability is that incubation is far advanced, and the eggs, of course, will not be worth taking. There are two ways, however, of determining this. Three or four eggs are the usual complement, and if there be fewer than three, or they are not warm to the hand, the bird has not begun to sit. Partly incubated eggs when placed in water float with their large end uppermost; if fresh they sink on their sides. The conduct of the male is very different from that of his mate. If a person approach the nest, he flies crying and calling overhead, and tries to lure the intruder from the vicinity. His peculiarly rounded wings beat the air, causing a loud humming sound which in France has given to the lapwing its name of vanneau, a fan. One characteristic of birds of the plover kind is that they lay from three to four eggs; and this holds good with the lapwing. These are so well known as not to need description; but there is one peculiarity which may be remarked. The eggs are beautifully pyriform in shape, and when the female leaves the nest deliberately it will be found that the smaller ends of the eggs are together, thereby taking up but little room in the nest. When the young are hatched they run about immediately, often with the shell upon their backs. Although they must remain upon the ground for two or three weeks, they are admirably protected by the assimilative colouring of their down, which renders them most difficult to detect.
It would be interesting to know just when lapwings' eggs became a marketable commodity. Pennant as early as 1776 quotes them at three shillings a dozen; and thirty years later Daniel states that their price was four shillings. There would appear to be but little organisation in connection with the collecting of plovers' eggs, and this is probably why the price is kept up. The majority of the eggs are gathered by shepherds, keepers, and labourers, who are assisted by women and children; but the latter find comparatively few nests.
Not unfrequently the early clutches are covered with snow, and more than one set of nests have been known to have perished in this way. But the species is a hardy one, and the birds persevere until they are successful in rearing one nest of young. Hence there is no ground for the apprehension expressed in some quarters lest so useful a bird (as this is stated to be to agriculturists) should be destroyed by taking a few of the first layings. That the peewit evinces considerable attachment to its nest and eggs the following example will show. On an evening about the middle of May a gentleman found a lapwing's nest containing four eggs. Three of these were completely covered with a cake of dry dung, which had accidentally been kicked over the nest by the cattle and which the birds were unable to remove. The eggs were chilled, but the gentleman took them home, placed them in an oven over-night, and at six next morning replaced them in the nest. The old birds were hovering about, and the hen went immediately to the nest. Three of the eggs hatched the following morning, the remaining one having been accidentally cracked.
It must not be supposed that all the so-called plovers' eggs exposed for sale have really been laid by that species. The eggs of rare wading birds have frequently been selected from among them, and those of the snipe are not at all uncommon. In cooking, it is discovered that numbers of eggs are far advanced in incubation, when, of course, they are useless; and it is not always easy to apply tests to determine this while purchasing. At table the eggs are usually served hard boiled. Sometimes they are shelled and served up with Béchamel sauce; though their more frequent use is as decoration for salad, the beautiful colour of the "white" admirably setting off the dish.
Not only are plovers' eggs delicacies, but some of the birds themselves are highly appreciated at table. Of all the species known to naturalists, however, two only are recognised by gourmets. These are the green and gold: the first the common kind, which produces the plovers' eggs; the second a handsome bird, somewhat rare, and larger than the former. It has beautiful golden markings, a soft liquid eye, and breeds upon the tops of the highest mountains. The golden plover fetches a much higher price than the green, and living the two are easily distinguishable. When cooked the difference in size is not appreciable, though the former may always be known by the absence of the hind-toe. Lapwings were formerly "mewed" for the purpose of feeding, and fatted upon liver. A thousand birds, supposed to be of this species, were served at a feast on the enthronisation of Archbishop Nevill. In Ireland the birds are netted in autumn in very considerable numbers; though, strangely enough, the eggs are neither appreciated nor collected as they are here. A new phase of the trade in lapwings' eggs is that of preserving them for use during the winter months.
V.
BROWN IN SUMMER, WHITE IN WINTER
Of the protective colouring exhibited by several birds and quadrupeds in countries that remain during a greater part of the year under snow, Britain furnishes several interesting examples. Amongst these are the ptarmigan, variable or Alpine hare, ermine, Greenland falcon, snowy owl, Lapland bunting, with other less marked instances. The very existence of each of these creatures depends upon the closeness with which it conforms to its environment; and just as it does this effectively so it is robust as a species and flourishes. The inherent variability in some cases is great, and definite changes can be brought about in comparatively short periods. In other species, however, modification is slow, and only obtained by the long process of natural selection. As an instance of the first, we have the change from dark brown to purely white of the stoat or ermine; of the second, the indigenous red grouse of the British Isles is an example. This bird is found nowhere else in a wild state. With us there is no reason why it should assume the white winter plumage like its congeners, and yet there can be no question that our bird is the local representative of the white willow-grouse, which ranges over the whole of Northern Europe. There are absolutely no structural differences between the two. Here is a species, then, which has lost, through disuse, the power of turning white in winter with the absence of the necessity for doing so.
Let us see how the adoption of protective colouring holds as applied to these species—all of which are brown in summer, white in winter. The Iceland falcon and the ptarmigan have pretty much the same habitat, the one preying upon the other. The ptarmigan's plumage during the breeding season is dark brown, even approaching to black; but in autumn, during the transition stage, it is grey, this being the general tint of the mosses and lichens among which it lives. Suppose, however, that the summer bird never changed its plumage, what chance of survival would it stand against its enemies when the ground was covered with snow? Remaining, as it would, a black speck on the otherwise white surface, it would in a few years become extinct. The ptarmigan, then, furnishes an example of the assumption of three different states of plumage, each assimilating to the physical conditions by which it is surrounded. Of course the same rule applies to the falcon, which is also white. Precisely the same set of facts operate in the case of the large snowy owl in the fir countries which it inhabits. Here its food consists of lemmings, Alpine hares, and birds, particularly the willow-grouse and ptarmigan. The balance of nature would be slightly against it, however, in the capture of animals which have assumed protective colouring, and hence we are told that "it has been known to watch the grouse-shooters a whole day for the purpose of sharing the spoil. On such occasions it perches on a high tree, and when a bird is shot skims down and carries it off before the sportsman can get near it." Yet again the same reasoning applies to the beautiful silver fox, which structurally in nowise differs from its red-furred cousin of more southern counties.
Hares, according to the altitude of their range, show almost every degree of variableness between red and white. Our common hare is widely distributed, and to such an extent do varietal forms differ that several distinct species (so called) have been evolved out of one. The extreme forms do seem widely separated, until we connect them with the many intermediate links. It then becomes evident that these differences are, after all, such as may be accounted for by conditions of climate and geographical range. The northern form has thick fur, which inclines to white in winter; the central variety has fur of only moderate thickness, becoming grey in winter; and the southern, thin fur of a deep rufous tinge. The calling of these varieties "species" is simply scientific hair-splitting; though this hardly applies to the true variable or mountain hare. This Alpine form is distributed over the countries within the Arctic Circle, though with us its southern haunt is determined by Scotland and Ireland. Again in this species we have three forms, each mainly characteristic of certain latitudes. The first inhabits warm low-lying countries, and does not change colour in winter; of this the Irish hare is a type. The second, the variety common to Northern Europe, which is grey in summer and purely white in winter; while the third is the Arctic form—white right through the year. The six types are probably all varieties of one species, which, for protection, conform to their own environment; and so successfully do they do this, that the progeny of two pair of mountain hares which in 1854 were turned down in the Faroes might long ago have been counted by thousands. The Scotch variety of this species, which does not change the colour of its fur in winter, is there called the blue hare.
Another interesting example of creatures which are brown in summer and white in winter is the ermine. This is still a fairly common British fur animal, and the change may therefore be watched without going far afield. In the fur countries of high latitudes the change is universal; while here, except in unusually severe winters, it is only partial. In the Lake District, where we have observed a considerable number of these animals, a purely white one is exceedingly rare, though pied specimens are not at all uncommon. The nearest general approach to whiteness was during the prolonged severity of the winter of 1880-81. The last colour about to vanish is usually a brown stripe, prolonged posteriorly down the back; though when the weather is of extreme severity the whole transition can be brought about within a fortnight. It is not that the summer fur is cast and a new one substituted for it, but that each individual hair changes colour. Cold artificially applied will in time bring about the same results as a naturally severe temperature.
There arrive every year in this country, from the north, flocks of pretty little birds called snow-buntings. They come from within the Arctic Circle, and are so variable in their plumage that naturalists almost despaired of ever getting a characteristic description. Indeed, so much a puzzle did these little strangers offer, that for long they were described by the older naturalists as three different birds. Of course, we now know that the mountain, tawny, and snow bunting are one; and this because they have been obtained in almost every possible stage of transition. They breed upon the summits of the highest hills with the ptarmigan; and like that bird regulate their plumage according to the prevailing aspect of their haunts. In this they succeed admirably, and flourish accordingly.
