FIELD AND COVERT POACHERS.
As compared with the doings of human "mouchers," there is a class of
field poachers whose depredations are tenfold more destructive. These
are nature's poachers, and their vigils never cease. In season and out,
by night and by day, they harry the things of the field and wood.
Playing as some say a questionable part in the economy of nature, they
play a very certain part in the economy of our game, both winged and
furred. Strange anomaly it is, that whilst our game stock could not be
preserved a year without their agency, the hand of every one is against
them. So long as nature is founded on its present beneficent plan, so
long will the swallow be speared by the shrike, and every wood be the
scene of plunder and prey. Nature is one with rapine, and the close
observance of every woodland way only emphasises the fact. Every sylvan
thing is but a unit in a possible chain of destruction. The bee-bird
captures the butterfly, and is stricken down in the act by the hawk;
the keeper kills the raptor, and the keeper's hobnobbing with death is
delayed but a while.
The greatest and smallest murder but to live, and whilst the eagle
kills the lordly stag, the merlin is lark-hawking on the down. Only
those whose harvest is gleaned in the open, who have observed in all
weathers and through every hour of the day and night, can form any
adequate conception of how dependent is one form of life upon another.
The way of an eagle in the air is one of those things concerning which
Solomon professed himself unable to understand, and the scythe-like
sweep of wings of the majestic bird is one of the most glorious sights
which nature has to offer. Just as the eagle is the largest, so the
merlin is the smallest British bird of prey, and to see this miniature
falcon rush past on the breast of a mountain storm gives an idea of its
almost marvellous velocity of flight. Within the whole range of animate
nature, nowhere is the adaptation of means to an end more strikingly
exhibited than among the raptors--the plunderers. The furred poachers
are not less appropriately fitted with their weapons of destruction;
and so perfectly adapted is the otter to its environment that its
movements in the water are as the very poetry of motion.
Let us follow these poachers of the field and covert to their haunts,
and there observe them in their wild home. The sparrow-hawk is a roving
arab of the air and the most arrant of poachers. Ask the keeper to
detail to you the character of this daring marauder, and he will record
a black and bloody list of depredations against the bird. He knows
nothing, however, of the laws which govern the economy of nature, and
if he did, or would, what are they compared to the shilling per head
for those he can display on the vermin-rails.
The kestrel or windhover acts in quite a different fashion to the
sparrow-hawk. It is persecuted less, and confidently approaches human
habitations. And yet at certain seasons the kestrel is as destructive
in the covert as its congeners. When the pheasants represent little
more than balls of down he clutches them from out the grass as he
clutches a mouse or cockchafer. Coming from out the blue, one hears the
pleasant cry of kee, kee, keelie, and there he hangs rapidly vibrating
his wings, yet as stationary as though suspended by a silken thread.
Presently down he comes, plump as a stone, and without touching the
ground sweeps a "cheeper" from off it, and soars high above the covert.
The depredations are only committed, however, when the game is
exceedingly small, and the benefit which the kestrel confers on the
woods by its presence far outweighs any harm it may do. The artificial
methods of game-rearing now in vogue are most conducive to disease. In
extenuation of the thefts of our little marauders it may be pleaded
that they invariably pick off the weak and ailing birds, and therefore
tend to the survival of robust and healthy stock.
The presiding spirits of the moors are the beautiful little merlins.
They work together, and quarter the heather like a brace of well-broken
pointers. Not an object escapes them. However closely it may conform to
its environment, or however motionless remain, it is detected by the
sharp eye of the merlin and put away. The miniature falconry in which
the merlin indulges on the open moorlands, where nothing obstructs the
view, is one of the most fascinating sights in nature. The "red hawk"
is plucky beyond its size and strength, and will pull down a partridge,
as we have witnessed repeatedly. The young of moorfowl, larks, pipits,
and summer snipe constitute its food on the fells. It lays four bright
red eggs in a depression among the heather, and about this are strewn
the remains of the birds indicated. To be seen to advantage this
smallest of British falcons ought to be seen in its haunts. It is
little larger than a thrush, and in the days of falconry was flown by
ladies, its game being larks, pipits, pigeons, and occasionally
partridges. On the moorlands it may be seen suddenly to shoot from a
stone, encircle a tract of heather, and then return to its perch. A
lark passes over its head, and its wings are raised and its neck
outstretched; but it closes them as if unwilling to pursue the bird.
Then it flies, skimming low over the furze and heather, and alights on
a granite boulder similar to the one it has just left. As we approach,
the male and female flap unconcernedly off, and beneath the block are
remains of golden plover, ling birds, larks, and young grouse.
At night the waterside is productive of life, and here it is most
varied. Like most poachers, the heron is a night fisher, and there is
one equally destructive which carries on its nefarious trade under the
full light of day--the kingfisher. And the kingfisher is a poacher in
another respect. It never constructs the hole in which its young is
reared, but takes possession of that of some small burrowing rodent, or
even that of the little sand-martin.
The buzzard is another bird of the moorlands, but can hardly be
convicted of poaching. When it takes moor-game these are invariably
found to be diseased or late hatched birds, and it certainly has not
speed to pull down a full-grown grouse. Many times during whole summer
afternoons have we seen the buzzards wheeling about when the young
grouse have been following the brooding birds, but never have we seen
them swoop at one. And seeing that as many as sixty mice have been
taken from the crop of a single bird, surely the buzzard ought to be
protected. During times of severe frost the buzzard often performs
deeds of daring to obtain a meal. When a lad, Wordsworth was in the
habit of setting "gins" for woodcocks, and one morning on going to
examine his snares he discovered a buzzard near one which was struck.
The bird of prey attempted to escape, but being held fast could not. A
woodcock had been taken in one of the snares, which when fluttering had
been seen and attacked by the buzzard. Not content, however, with the
body of the woodcock, it had swallowed a leg also, round which the
noose was drawn, and the limb was so securely lodged in the latter's
stomach that no force that the bird could exert could withdraw it.
In the glades and woodlands the garrulous blue-jay is a sad pilferer,
to say nothing of its poaching propensities. In the spring it sucks
innumerable eggs, and makes free right and warren of the peas and beans
in the keeper's garden, and those sown in the glades for the pheasants;
and so the old man's whole knowledge of woodcraft is directed against
it. In addition to this, the jay does indirect harm, which multiplies
the cunning engines devised for its destruction. For by pilfering the
crops before mentioned, which are planted with the object of keeping
the wandering pheasants on the land, a poor show of birds may be the
result when October comes round, and the keeper's reputation suffers.
Even the audacious pies steal both pheasant and partridge chicks, and
consequently each find a place in the "larder." The brown-owl is mostly
a rabbit poacher, but its congener, the barn-owl, poaches to good
effect, as a subsequent statement will show. Almost all the birds of
the crow-kind are persistent poachers, and are generally shot down.
It is probable that the number of grouse on the higher hill ranges is
very much kept in check by the great number of carrion-crows which
everywhere exist among the fells. They impale the eggs of the red
grouse upon their bills, and carry them away to eat at leisure. Under
some wall or rock great numbers of egg-shells may often be found,
testifying to the havoc which these sable marauders commit. This bird
is one of the great features of the northern fell fauna, and is well
known to the dalesmen and shepherds, who give it a bad character. In
spite of much persecution, however, it is still a common resident,
keeping to the sheep-walks in search of food, and breeding among the
mountains. Although a great carrion-feeder, it will kill weak and
ailing lambs, picking out the eyes and tongues of these when they are
reduced to a helpless condition. They are resident birds in the north,
and only the snows of winter drive them to the lowlands in search of
food. As the hooded crow is only a seasonable visitant, it is but
little felt as a poacher. The keeper has the shrikes or butcher-birds
in his black list, but these do little harm, as their shambles in the
blackthorns abundantly prove.
Mention of the noble peregrine marks a poacher of the first water. As
the bird sits watching from the jag of a mountain crag, it is the very
emblem of passive speed and strength. Nowhere but in the birds' haunts
can these attributes be seen to perfection. A trained falcon is slow of
flight and uncertain of aim as compared with a wild bird. Its symmetry,
its stretch of wing, its keen eyes and cruel talons, all speak to the
same end. While some of the larger hawks are treated with indifference
by the bird-world, not so the peregrine. A pair of buzzards pass over,
but the cheep and chatter of field and hedgerow go on. A peregrine
sails, down dale and all is hushed! A strange experience this at noon
in the heyday of summer--but the shadow of the peregrine stills all
life. A terrified screech is heard, and bird life seeks the thickest
retreats. The depredations of the peregrine are greatest, of course,
during the breeding season; and at this time it even carries off the
newly-born lambs of the small, black-faced mountain sheep. Now hardly
anything comes amiss. Partridges, ducks, pheasants, hares, grouse,
plover--each is taken in turn, and the birds forage over a wide area. A
barndoor fowl sometimes supplies a meal, or a dead sheep (so long as
the flesh is sweet), thrushes, pigeons, gulls, and a number of water
and shore-haunting birds. Once scrambling among boulders in search of
Alpine plants, a large bird of prey was seen advancing on the wing. At
a distance the under-parts appeared white, but the bird, coming
directly over, enabled us to recognise distinctly the dark bars across
the feathers of the abdomen. Its flight under these circumstances was a
sort of flapping motion, not unlike that of a ringdove; and its head
turned rapidly in various directions, the eye peering into the rocks
and crannies of the ghylls in search of any skulking prey. Soon this
silent hunting was all changed. Above us was a ledge covered with
blood, bones, and feathers. We were close to the nest. Just as we were
discovered one of the falcons went "whizz" past our face, almost
touching it. Then it gives a wild yelp, as in one gyration it shoots
upwards, and screams round the crag. Again the bird dashes along the
cliff, and is joined by the female, who from her nest has been quietly
watching us. The peregrine's outstretched wings measure three feet, and
it makes a velocity of fifty-seven miles an hour. One at the above rate
flew one thousand three hundred and fifty miles. So great is its power
and speed of flight that a bird belonging to Colonel Thornton was seen
to cut a snipe in two in mid-air.
Falcons will occasionally search after their prey when it has been
driven to seek shelter from the closeness of pursuit. The goshawk,
which falconers use mostly for taking hares and rabbits, frequently
does this, and will watch for hours when its game has taken to cover.
As well as ground-game the goshawk poaches pheasants and partridges,
numbers of these being killed by the bird in its wild state. Through a
wooded country it pursues its quarry with great dexterity; and it
possesses great powers of abstinence. During the day it remains
solitary in dark fir-woods, coming out to feed at morning and
evening....
We advance over the heather; and there, skimming towards us, is a large
hawk--a harrier. As it flies near the ground, working as a pointer or
setter would do, the species cannot be doubted. Now it stoops, glides,
ascends, stoops again, and shoots off at right angles. Rounding a
shoulder of a hill, it drops in a dark patch of ling. A covey of young
grouse whirr heavily over the nearest brae--but the marsh harrier
remains. It has struck down a "cheeper," and is dragging its victim to
the shelter of a furze-bush. A male and female harrier invariably hunt
in consort, and afford a pleasant sight as they "harry" the game,
driving it from one to the other, and hawking in the most systematic
fashion. They thoroughly work the ground previously marked out,
generally with success. In hawking the quiet mountain tarns their
method is regulated according to circumstance. In such case they not
unfrequently sit and watch, capturing their prey by suddenly pouncing
upon it.
At one time the golden and white-tailed eagles bred not uncommonly in
the mountainous environment of the English Lake District. Most majestic
of the winged poachers, they held sway over a wide area, and suffered
no intrusion. The eyries were perched high upon the almost inaccessible
fastnesses of the mountains. It is asserted by the shepherds of the
district that the eagles during the breeding season destroyed a lamb
per day, to say nothing of the carnage made on hares, partridge,
pheasants, grouse, and the water-fowl that inhabit the lakes. The
farmers and dalesmen were always careful to plunder the eyries, but not
without considerable risk to life and limb. A man was lowered from the
summit of the precipitous rocks by a rope of fifty fathoms, and was
compelled to defend himself from attack during his descent. The poet
Gray in his _Journal_ graphically describes how the eyries were
annually plundered, upon one of which occasions he was present.
Wordsworth says that the eagles built in the precipices overlooking one
of the tarns in the recesses of Helvellyn, and that the bird used to
wheel and hover over his head as he fished in the silent tarn. Now the
spot is occupied by a pair of patriarchal ravens--the sole remaining
relics of the original "Red Tarn Club."
Among the mountains an instance is related of an eagle which having
pounced on a shepherd's dog, carried it to a considerable height; but
the weight and action of the animal effected a partial liberation, and
he left part of his flesh in the eagle's beak. The dog was not killed
by the fall; he recovered of his wound, but was so intimidated that he
would never go that way again. Subsequently the owner of the dog shot
at and wounded one of the eagles. The bird, nearly exhausted, was found
a week afterwards by a shepherd of Seatoller; its lower mandible was
split, and the tongue wedged between the interstices. The bird was
captured and kept in confinement, but it became so violent that
ultimately it had to be destroyed. On the eagles being frequently
robbed of their young in Greenup they removed to the opposite side of
the crag. At this place they built for two years, but left it for Raven
Crag, within the Coom, where, after staying one year only, they
returned to their ancient seat in Eagle Crag; here they built annually
during their stay in Borrowdale. On the loss of its mate the remaining
eagle left the district, but returned the following spring with
another. This pair built during fourteen years in Borrowdale, but
finally abandoned it for Eskdale. At the last-mentioned place they were
also disturbed, and the female eagle being afterwards shot the male
flew off and returned no more.
The white-tailed sea eagles bred upon the rocks of a towering limestone
escarpment overlooking a recess of the sea, and fed upon gulls and
terns. The vast peat mosses which stretched away for miles below them
abounded with hares and grouse, and among these the birds made
devastation. Year after year they carried off their young from the same
cliffs, and now return only at rare intervals when storm driven. The
peregrines have the eagles' eyrie, and are only eagles in miniature.
The sea-fowl form their food in summer, as do wild ducks in winter. At
this latter season the osprey or "fish-hawk" comes to the bay and the
still mountain tarns, adding wildness to the scenes which his congeners
have left never to return.
Those who have recently advocated a close time for owls have,
fortunately, been forestalled by legislation. The Act of 1881 affords
protection to all wild birds during the breeding season, and, although
exemption is allowed in favour of owners and occupiers of land, owls,
being included in the schedule, may not be destroyed even by them or
with their authority. It was a wise step that granted this double
protection, for of all birds, from the farmers' standpoint, owls are
the most useful. These birds hunt silently and in the night, and are
nothing short of lynx-eyed cats with wings. The benefit they confer
upon agriculturists is most incalculable, which is susceptible of
proof.
It is well known that owls hunt by night, but it may be less a matter
of common knowledge that, like other birds of prey, they return by the
mouth the hard indigestible parts of their food in the form of
elongated pellets. These are found in considerable quantities about the
birds' haunts, and an examination of them reveals the fact that owls
prey upon a number of predacious creatures the destruction of which is
directly beneficial to man. Of course, the evidence gained in this way
is infallible, and to show to what extent owls assist in preserving the
balance of nature, it may be mentioned that seven hundred pellets
examined yielded the remains of sixteen bats, three rats, two hundred
and thirty-seven mice, six hundred and ninety-three voles, one thousand
five hundred and ninety shrews, and twenty-two birds. These truly
remarkable results were obtained from the common barn-owl, and the
remains of the twenty-two birds consisted of nineteen sparrows, one
greenfinch, and two swifts. The tawny and long-eared owls of our
woodlands are also mighty hunters, and an examination of their pellets
showed equally interesting results. It must be remembered in this
connection that Britain is essentially an agricultural country, and
that if its fauna is a diminutive one it is not less formidable. We
have ten tiny field creatures constituting an army in themselves, which
if not kept under would quickly devastate our fields. These ten species
consist of four mice, three voles, and three shrews. Individually, so
tiny are these that any one species could comfortably curl itself up in
the divided shell of the horse-chestnut. But farmers well know that if
these things are small they are no means to be despised. Now that the
corn crops are cut and the hay housed, the field vole and meadow mouse
are deprived of their summer shelter. Of this the barn-owl is perfectly
aware, and at evening he may be seen sweeping low over the meadows
seeking whom he may devour. And with what results we already know.
Much unnatural history has been written of the owls, and unfortunately
most people have their ideas from the poets.
The barn-owl, when she has young, brings to her nest a mouse every
twelve minutes, and, as she is actively employed both at evening and
dawn, and both male and female hunt, forty mice a day is the lowest
computation we can make. How soft is the plumage of the owl, and how
noiseless her flight! Watch her as she floats past the ivy tod, down by
the ricks, and silently over the old wood. Then away over the meadows,
through the open door and out of the loop-hole in the barn, round the
lichened tower, along the course of the brook. Presently she returns to
her four downy young, with a mouse in one claw and a vole in the other,
soon to be ripped up, torn, and eaten by the greedy snapping imps. The
young are produced from April to December, and not unfrequently both
young and eggs are found in the same nest. If you would see the mid-day
_siesta_ of the owls, climb up into some hay-mow. There in an
angle of the beam you will see their owlships, snoring and blinking
wide their great round eyes. Their duet is the most unearthly,
ridiculous, grave, like-nothing-else noise you ever heard. Here they
will stay all day, digesting the mice with which they have largely
gorged themselves, until twilight, when they again issue forth on their
madcap revellings. This clever mouser, then, this winged cat, has a
strong claim to our protection. So let not idle superstition further
its destruction.
The keeper's indiscretions are fewer in fur than in feather. His larder
abounds in long-bodied creatures of the weasel kind. Here is the
richly-coloured dark-brown fur of the pine-martin; that of the polecat,
loose and light at the base but almost black at the extremity; and
there are many skins of weasels, reddish brown above with the sides and
under parts white. For each of these creatures he has quaint provincial
names of his own. The pine-martin he calls the "sweet-mart," in
contradistinction to the polecat, which is the "foumart," or
"foulmart"--a name bestowed on the creature because it emits a
secretion which has an abominable stench. Also, we have the stoat or
ermine, which even with us is white in winter, brown in summer; but the
tip of the tail is always black.
The beautiful martins take up their abode in the rockiest parts of the
wood where the pines grows thickly. They are strictly arboreal in their
habits; and, seen among the shaggy pine foliage, the rich yellow of
their throats is sharply set off by the deep brown of the thick glossy
fur. With us they do not make their nests and produce their young in
the pine-trees, but among the loose craggy rocks. Martins rarely show
themselves till evening. They prey upon rabbits, hares, partridges,
pheasants, and small birds; and when we say that, like the rest of the
mustelidæ, they kill for the love of killing, it is not hard to
understand why the keeper's hand is against them. Sometimes they do
great harm in the coverts; and the old man shoots them, traps them, and
does them to death with various subtle engines of his own machination.
To-day the martin is rare; soon it will be extinct altogether. Weasels
do much less harm. They are the smallest of our carnivorous animals,
and will probably long survive. They frequently abound where least
suspected, in the cultivated as well as the wildest parts of the
district. They take up their abode near farmhouses, in decayed
outbuildings, hay-ricks, and disused quarries; and may often be seen
near old walls or running along the top of them with a mouse or bird in
their mouths. These things form the staple of their food; but there is
no denying that a weasel will occasionally run down the strongest hare,
and that rabbits, from their habit of rushing into their burrows become
an easy prey. But this does not happen often, I believe. To rats the
weasel is a deadly enemy; no united number of them will attack it, and
the largest singly has no chance against it. Like the polecat the
weasel hunts by scent. It climbs trees easily and takes birds by
stealth. The keeper has seen a brooding partridge taken in this manner,
and on winter evenings the sparrows roosting in holes in a hay-rick.
Weasels also kill toads and frogs; and their mode of killing these, as
well as of despatching birds, is by piercing the skull.
The polecat, or fitchet, keeps much to the woods, and feeds mostly on
rabbits and game. But in the northern fell districts it often takes up
a temporary abode on the moors during the season that grouse are
hatching. Then it not only kills the sitting birds but sucks the eggs,
and thus whole broods are destroyed. Many "cheepers" of course fall
victims. Knowing well the ferocity of the polecat, I believe the damage
done to grouse moors where this blood-thirsty creature takes up its
abode can hardly be estimated. Like others of its tribe, the polecat
kills more prey than it needs. Sometimes it makes an epicurean repast
from the brain alone. Fowl-houses suffer considerably from its visits;
and it has been known to kill and afterwards leave untouched as many as
sixteen large turkeys. In the nest of a fitchet which was observed to
frequent the banks of a stream no fewer than eleven fine trout were
found. The gamekeeper persistently dogs this creature both summer and
winter. In the latter season every time it ventures abroad it registers
its progress through the snow. It is then that the old man is most
active in his destruction, and most successful. He tracks the vermin to
some stone fence or disused quarry or barn, cuts off the enemy's
retreat, and then unearths him. Trapped he is at all times.
The stoat or ermine is as destructive to covert game as the animals
just mentioned. Upon occasion it destroys great quantities of rats, and
this is its only redeeming quality. Partridge, grouse, and pheasants
all fall a prey to the stoat, and hares when pursued by it seem to
become thoroughly demoralised. Water is no obstacle to the ermine, and
it climbs trees in search of squirrels, birds, and eggs. A pair of
stoats took up their abode in a well-stocked rabbit warren. The
legitimate inmates were killed off by wholesale, and many were taken
from the burrows with the skull empty. The stoat progresses by a series
of short quick leaps, which enable it to cover the ground more quickly
than could possibly be imagined for so small an animal.
Enough has been said to sketch the characters of these creatures, and
to justify their presence in the larder. Interesting in themselves as
wild denizens of the woods, they would be fatal to game-preserving.
Vulpecide is no great crime in the north. Foxes abound in the
fastnesses of the fells, and the little wiry foxhounds that hunt the
mountains in winter account for but few in a season; and so it devolves
upon the shepherds and gamekeepers and farmers to deal with them. This
they do irrespective of season; if allowed to live, the foxes would
destroy abundance of lambs in spring. They are tracked through the snow
in winter, shot in summer, and destroyed wholesale when they bring
their young to the moors in autumn. It therefore happens that even the
bright red fur of the fox may be seen on the keeper's gibbet.
Hedgehogs are taken in steel traps baited with a pheasant's or a hen's
egg. At times squirrels are killed in hundreds, but they do not grace
the larder, neither do the spiny hedgehogs. Squirrels bark young trees,
especially ash-stoles and holly.
Occasionally a creature more rare than the rest adorns the larder. The
old keepers remember a white-tailed eagle and a great snowy owl.
Sometimes a peregrine is shot, and more rarely, in autumn, a hobby or a
goshawk. A miscellaneous row on the vermin rails comprises moles,
weasels, and cats. The mole is libelled by being placed there; he is a
destroyer of many creatures which are injurious to land. Domestic cats
soon revert to a semi-wild state when once they take to the woods, and
are terribly destructive in the coverts. They destroy pheasants,
partridges, leverets, and rabbits. The life of these wild tabbies is
wild indeed. Every dormant instinct is aroused; each movement becomes
characteristically feline; and when these creatures revert to life in
the woods it is impossible to reclaim them. Climatic influences work
remarkable changes upon the fur, causing it to grow longer and thicker;
and the cats take up their abode in stony crevasse or hollow tree. In
summer, when kittens are produced, the destruction of game is almost
incredible.
Under the dark slab by the river the otters breed; but it is impossible
to dislodge them. Iron-sinewed shaggy otterhounds have tried, but never
with success. The fishermen complain of the quantity of fish which the
otter destroys. Trout are found dead on the rocks; salmon are there
bitten in the shoulder but only partially eaten.