SKETCHES FROM NATURE.
I.
NATURE'S WEATHER PROPHETS.
Nature's barometers are the only ones of which most country-folk have
any knowledge. These they may consult at all times, and they know them
by heart. Almost all field-workers are "weather wise," and their
conversation on this head has no town conventionalism about it. The
farmer has been so beaten about by wind and weather that he himself is
scarcely sensible to changing atmospheric conditions; but that does not
prevent his observing its influence on the things about him. Before
rain his dogs grow sleepy and dull, the cat constantly licks herself;
geese gaggle in the pond, fowls and pigeons go early to roost, and the
farm horses grow restless. Abroad, the ants are all hurry and scurry,
rushing hither and thither; spiders crowd on the wall; toads emerge
from their holes; and the garden paths are everywhere covered with
slugs and snails. When the chaffinch says "weet, weet," it is an
infallible sign of rain. As the rain draws nearer peacocks cry and
frogs croak clamorously from the ditches. These are signs which almost
every one has heard who lives in the country; though one of the surest
ways of predicting weather changes is by observing the habits of
snails. Snails never drink, but imbibe moisture during rain and exude
it afterwards. They are seldom seen abroad except before rain, when
they commence climbing trees and getting upon leaves. The tree snail is
so sensitive to weather that it will commence to climb two days before
the rain comes. If the downpour is to be prolonged, the snail seeks the
under part of a leaf; but if a short or light rain is coming on, it
stays on the outside. There is another species which is yellow before
and bluish after it. Others indicate change by dents and protuberances
resembling tubercles. These begin to show themselves ten days before
rain, and when it comes the pores of the tubercles open and draw in the
moisture. In others again deep indentations, beginning at the head
between the horns and ending with the jointure of the tail, appear a
few days before a storm.
One of the simplest of nature's barometers is a spider's web. When
there is a prospect of wind or rain, the spider shortens the
filaments by which its web is sustained and leaves it in this state
as long as the weather is variable. If it elongates its threads, it
is a sign of fine calm weather, the duration of which may be judged
by the length to which the threads are let out. If the spider remains
inactive, it is a sign of rain; if it keeps at work during rain, the
downpour will not last long, and will be followed by fine weather.
Observation has taught that the spider makes changes in its web every
twenty-four hours, and that if such changes are made in the evening,
just before sunset, the night will be clear and beautiful.
Sleeping is characteristic of certain plants; and though it was at
one time thought that this might have reference to the habits of
insects, it is now believed to be more dependent on the weather. The
tiny scarlet pimpernel, the "old man's weather-glass," opens at seven
and closes soon after two. The daisy unfolds its flower at sunrise
and sleeps at sunset. Dandelions close up at about five o'clock; at
which time the white water-lily has been asleep an hour and the
mouse-ear chickweed two hours. The yellow goat's-beard opens at
four and closes just before twelve, and has for its English name
"John-go-to-bed-at-noon." Local circumstance influences the flowers
in their opening and closing, though they are pretty constant from
day to day. Many flowers close their petals during rain--probably to
prevent the honey and pollen from being rendered useless or washed
away.
Birds are admirable weather prophets, and from their number and
obtrusiveness have furnished many examples. In his "Paradise of Birds,"
Mr. Courthope makes one of them say--
"Besides, it is true
To our wisdom is due
The knowledge of Sciences all;
And chiefly those rare
Metaphysics of air
Men 'Meteorology' call.
And men, in their words,
Acknowledge the Birds'
Erudition in weather and star;
For they say 'Twill be dry,
The swallow is high,'
Or 'Rain, for the chough is afar.'"
Mr. Ruskin says that he was not aware of this last weather-sign; nor,
he supposes, was the Duke of Hamilton's keeper, who shot the last pair
of choughs on Arran in 1863. He trusts that the climate has wept for
them, and is certain that the Coniston clouds grow heavier in these his
last years. All the birds of the swallow kind fly high at the advent of
or during fine weather, and low before a storm. These facts are
accounted for by another. When the weather is calm the ephemeræ upon
which swallows feed fly high in air, but just over the earth or water
if it be rough. The cry of the chaffinch has already been mentioned; in
Scotland the children say, "Weet-weet [the cry], Dreep-dreep" [the
consequence].
In Hampshire swans are believed to be hatched in thunderstorms; and it
is said that those on the Thames have an instinctive prescience of
floods. Before heavy rains they raise their nests. This is
characteristic of many birds, which add piles of material to their
nests to prevent swamping. When rooks fly high, and seem to imitate
birds of prey by soaring, swooping, and falling, it is an almost
certain sign of coming storms. Staying in the vicinity of the rookery,
returning at mid-day, or coming to roost in groups, are also said to be
omens to the like effect. Various proverbs would seem to indicate that
the cry of the owl, heard in bad weather, foretells a change. The
constant iteration of the green woodpecker's cry before a storm has
given it the name of rain-bird, rain-pie, and rain-fowl. Storm-cock is
a provincial name shared by this bird and the missel-thrush, the latter
often singing through gales of wind and rain. Storm-bird is also
applied to the fieldfare. The abhorrence in which the mariners hold the
swallow-like storm-petrel is well known; its appearance is believed to
denote wild weather. This little bird is the Mother Carey's chicken of
sailors, and is also called storm-finch and water-witch. Herons, says
an old author, flying up and down in the evening, as if doubtful where
to rest, "presage some evill approaching weather"--a legend as old as
Virgil, though probably devoid of foundation. Concerning gulls in
general, children who live by the sea say "Seagull, seagull, sit on the
sand; It's never good weather while you're on the land;" and fisherfolk
know that when the seamews fly out early and far to seaward fair
weather may be expected. To Scotch shepherds the drumming of snipe
indicates dry weather and frost at night; and Gilbert White remarks
that woodcocks have been observed to be remarkably listless against
snowy foul weather; while, according to another author, their early
arrival and continuance "foretells a liberal harvest." In Wiltshire the
coming of the dotterel betokens frost and snow, and there is a proverb
that the booming of the bittern will be followed by rain or worse. In
Morayshire, when the wild geese go out to sea they say the weather will
be fine; but if towards the hill, stormy. The saw-like note of the
great titmouse is said to foretell rain; that of the blue-tit, cold. In
the south of France so much store is set by the wisdom of the magpie,
that if it builds its nest on the summit of a tree the country-folk
expect a season of calm; but if lower down, winds and tempests are sure
to follow. When a jackdaw is seen to stand on one of the vanes of the
cathedral tower at Wells, it is said that rain is sure to follow within
twenty-four hours. Wells must be a wet place! In Germany, dwellers in
the country lack faith in the skylark's song as announcing fine
weather; but when the lark and the cuckoo sing together they know that
summer has come. The robin, buzzard, lapwing, starling, and a number of
other birds are said to foretell weather changes.
We have, however, noticed that in nearly all the species named the
various cries and calls are closely connected with the bird's food
supply.
II.
FERRETS AND FERRETING.
The ferret commonly used in this country is an animal of the weasel
kind, belonging to a large genus and having its true home in the
Tropics. Unlike its British congeners, it shows its southern nature in
being unable to stand any great degree of cold, even an English winter
being sufficient to kill it if not properly housed. This may also be
seen in rather a remarkable manner, as probably no one ever saw a
ferret enter a rabbit-hole without its peculiar "shiver." Like the cat,
it has a decided objection to wetting its fur, and especially does it
show this upon being transferred from a warm pocket or bag to the damp
soil of a burrow. Zoologically the ferret is one of the most
interesting animals of the group to which it belongs; and this from the
fact that it is a true breeding albino, having the white fur and pink
eyes peculiar to this variety. Under domestication it breeds more
frequently and is more prolific than in its wild state. It is somewhat
smaller than the polecat, but readily breeds with that animal, and
produces young intermediate in character between the parent species. It
is owing to this fact that we have now two well-defined varieties--one
of a brown colour, and known as the polecat ferret, the other the more
common white variety. The first is said to be the more hardy and
vicious; and it is to secure these qualities that keepers on large
warrens cross their ferrets with the wild polecat.
In this country ferrets are kept more for work than as pets, and are
used for making rabbits bolt from their burrows. To do this scarcely
any training is necessary, and three young ferrets which we used the
other day worked as well as their more experienced parents. There are
various reasons why white ferrets are to be preferred as opposed to the
brown polecat variety. They are usually more docile and pleasant to
handle. A brown ferret is apt to be nipped up by a sharp dog in mistake
for a rat or rabbit, while a white one is always apparent, even when
moving amongst the densest herbage. This specially applies to night
time, and hence poachers invariably use white ferrets. Gamekeepers who
know their business prefer ferrets taken from poachers to any other.
The poacher carefully selects his ferrets, and from the nature of his
trade he cannot afford to work bad ones. Some ferrets cause rabbits to
bolt rapidly, while others are slow. Sometimes a ferret will drive a
rabbit to the end of a blind burrow, and after killing it will not
return until it has gorged itself with blood; and more trouble is added
if the ferret curls itself up for an after-dinner sleep. Then of course
it has either to be left or dug out; if the former, it is well to bar
every exit and to return with a dead rabbit when hunger has succeeded
the gorged sleep. Ferreting is mostly practised in winter; and it is to
guard against such occasions as these that working ferrets are
generally muzzled. A cruel practice used to obtain of stitching
together the lips of ferrets to prevent their worrying rabbits and then
"laying up." But the most humane method of muzzling is with soft
string; a muzzle constructed of which may be quite effective and at the
same time not uncomfortable to wear. Care must be taken not to hurt the
ferret, as if the string annoys him he will do nothing but endeavour to
get it off. Occasionally ferrets are worked with a line attached; but
this is an objectionable practice. There may be a root or stick in
which the line may get entangled, when there will be digging, and no
end of trouble in getting it out.
From what has been already said, and from the uncertainty of ferreting,
it will be understood why the poacher can only afford to use the best
animals. Of the many modes of taking the "coney," ferreting is the most
common. Of course this is the poacher's method; but it varies little
from that of the gamekeeper or the legitimate "sportsman." When the
rabbits can be induced to bolt freely very good sport can be had; but
in this respect they are most capricious. They bolt best on a windy day
and before noon; after that they are sluggish, and often refuse to come
out at all. As the rabbit "darts across a narrow ride like a little
brown shadow, quick must be the eye and ready the hand that can get the
gun to the shoulder and discharge it in the brief second that elapses
between the appearance of a tiny brown nose on one side the path and
the vanishing of a little snow-white patch of down on the other." Those
that have ferreted much have probably seen strange revelations while
indulging in the sport. A mound or brae sometimes seems to explode with
rabbits, so wildly do they fly before their enemy. We have seen twenty
rabbits driven from one set of holes. When the ferrets are running the
burrows, stoats and weasels are occasionally driven out; and among
other creatures unearthed we remember a brown owl, a stock-dove, and a
shell-duck, all of which were breeding in the mounds.
To many persons ferrets are objectionable pets; but if properly kept
they are among the cleanest of animals. Playful as kittens, they are
harmless if properly handled, and much fondling tends to tame them.
Ferrets not only soon get used to handling, but like it. They ought
always to be seized boldly and without hesitation, for if the hold has
to be adjusted a bite may be the result. And a bite from a ferret,
especially to a person in bad health, is sometimes a serious matter. If
a ferret is inclined to be vicious attract its attention with a glove
in front, bringing the other hand down with a rapid sweep, grasping it
firmly by the neck and shoulders. Food has much to do with temper, and
confined under favourable conditions ferrets will be cleanly and sweet
as in their natural habitat. They require to lie dry and have a roomy
abode. Pine shavings are better than straw to bed them, and pine
sawdust ought to be sprinkled about. The resinous matter in these acts
as an antiseptic, and as a deterrent to vermin. Closely-confined
ferrets become weak and tender, and are susceptible to cold. Bread and
milk ought to be the prevailing food, with a good meal of flesh weekly.
These combined will keep them in good condition and perfect health. The
common diseases to which ferrets are liable are owing to unsuitable
food and damp or dirty housing.
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 present[6] 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.
[6] 1890.
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.
[7] Dr. T. Gough.
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.
VI.
ADAPTATION TO HAUNT.
The process of natural selection, tending to the survival of the
fittest, would almost invariably seem to use colour as its main working
factor. The exemplification of this law is, perhaps, nowhere better
seen than in the colouring of animals and birds. In the keen struggle
for existence, the creature which conforms most nearly to its
environment is the one most likely to survive, and therefore perpetuate
its characteristics. For upon the fact that the peculiarities of the
parents are reproduced in their offspring depends the whole theory of
evolution. This may at first suggest that the generality of animals and
birds closely conform to the type of the parent stock, and that
therefore there is little chance of variation. But while this is so, it
is equally true that when any "sport" occurs this is tenaciously
retained providing it possesses any advantages over its neighbours in
the struggle for existence. In this way a new type may be set up,
differing so far from the original as in time to rank as a species.
The great power of variability in animals and plants is probably not
yet fully comprehended. We know, however, from Darwin's experiments how
many distinct varieties in the case of pigeons have been produced from
the wild blue rock, each showing profound modification, not in colour
alone, but also in bone structure. Then there are those which show the
development of hoods and frills, and others, again, which have within
them the homing instinct to an almost incredible degree. All this, of
course, has been brought about by man, mostly by selection, and it
serves to show how pliable nature is. What has been done to pigeons
applies to domestic animals. Given a few years, any monstrosity can be
produced, however extravagant; our shorthorns and blood horses have
been produced out of the very sorriest material, and now stand as the
idealised types of their kind. And what man does artificially, nature
is doing daily, but by slow and sure methods of her own. None but those
who have dipped beneath the surface can conceive of the struggle which
is going on for existence. Nature's competition is of the keenest kind;
the strongest survive, the weakest go to the wall. Even an object so
low in the scale of animal creation as a chrysalis assumes a red coat
when it is attached to a bright brick wall, and a grey one when it
affixes itself to limestone. This inherent power it has in itself, and
those individuals which can most cleverly practise deceit in hiding
from birds and other enemies survive and reproduce their kind.
With regard to instances of variability which come under our immediate
notice, the red grouse of our moorlands as already mentioned is a
striking example. There can now be no doubt that this is the "willow
grouse" of the Scandinavian Peninsula. Our indigenous bird found itself
in an insular position, and has changed from white to speckled red so
as to conform to the colour of the heather; it has also modified the
colour of its eggs to suit the changed conditions of its existence. Had
it remained white, it would soon have been wiped out of existence by
the peregrine and other of the large falcons. There can be no question
that bird and animal or insect dons the colour and form best calculated
to protect it. Whether this change is conscious to the creature that
practises it is beside the main question, and hardly enters into the
issue. The process is invariably slow, but if any "accidental sport"
occurs which is likely to be of use, it is tenaciously retained, and
progress is made at a bound.
Many of our British birds exhibit capital instances of protective
colouring, and it is a somewhat striking fact that birds of sombre
plumage build open nests, while the brilliantly coloured birds either
have covered nests or build in holes in trees.
Returning to sexual colour, the dull summer female plumage which
characterises so many ground-feeding birds is all the more remarkable
as they are the mates of males for the most part distinguished by
unusual brilliancy of plumage. The few exceptions to this rule are of
the most interesting nature, and go eminently to prove it. In these
exceptions it happens that the female birds are more brightly plumaged
than the males. But the remarkable trait comes out that in nearly the
whole of these cases the male sits upon the eggs. Now this fact more
than any other would seem to indicate that the protection afforded by
obscure colouring is directly intended to secure the bird's safety
during the long and most critical period of its life. This law of
protective colouring, it will be seen, most influences those species
which build on the ground, and one or two examples may be adduced from
our own avi-fauna, as in the case of the rare dotterel, which breeds on
the fells. In winter the colouring of the sexes in this species is
almost identical; but when the breeding season comes round, the female
dons a well-defined and comparatively conspicuous plumage, while it is
found that the dull-coloured male alone sits upon the eggs.
Mr. Wallace has pointed that the bee-eaters, mot-mots, and
toucans--among the most brilliant of tropical or semi-tropical
birds--all build in holes in trees. In each of these cases there is
hardly any difference in the plumage of the sexes, and where this is so
the above rule is almost invariable. Again, our native kingfisher
affords an illustration. Woodpeckers, many of which are brightly
coloured above, build in the boles of trees, and our own titmice, with
their exquisite tints, construct domed nests. Visitors to the
Zoological Gardens in Regent's Park will have noticed that the
orange-plumaged orioles have pensile nests, which is a characteristic
of the order to which they belong, most of the members of which are
conspicuous. Bird enemies come from above rather than below, and it
will be noticed that the modifications referred to all have reference
to the upper plumage. Protective colouring, having for its object the
preservation of the species which adopt it, will be found to enter more
or less into the economy of every animal and bird and insect in a state
of nature; and therefore it will be seen that there is a general
harmony between the colours of an animal and those of its habitation,
of which fact almost every living natural object furnishes evidence.
There comes periodically to this country a bird of the starling kind,
known as the rose-coloured pastor. It has the back, breast, and sides
of an exquisite pale pink; and it is perhaps this bright plumage which
prevents it from establishing a residence here. In its continental
haunts the bird is observed to affect trees or shrubs bearing
rose-coloured flowers, such as the blossoms of the pink azalea, among
which the birds more easily escape notice. This is an instance of what
is known as adaptive or protective coloration, which we need not go
abroad to observe.
The struggle for existence among plants and animals is a hard one, and
every point gained in the direction tends to survival. The modification
in the forms and colours of insects, and the successful shifts thereby
made to elude their enemies, provide the striking facts of the case.
Birds modify and rearrange the colours of their plumage, adapt the
coloration of their eggs, and the structure and material of their
nests, all to the same end. We know that the more highly organised
flowers have changed form and colour to satisfy their insect visitors,
while the insects themselves have modified their organs so as to enable
them the better to visit certain flowers. In Sumatra Mr. Wallace found
a large butterfly, its upper surface of a rich purple and with a broad
bar of deep orange crossing each wing. The species is found in dry
woods and thickets, and when on the wing is very conspicuous. Among the
bush and dry leaves the naturalist was never able to capture a
specimen; for, however carefully he crept to the spot where the insect
had settled, he could never discover it until it suddenly started out
again. But upon one occasion he was fortunate enough to note the exact
spot where the butterfly settled, and, although it was lost sight of
for some time, he at length discovered it close before his eyes. In its
position of repose it exactly resembled a dead leaf attached to a twig.
So in our own country we may observe that the purple emperor butterfly
affects certain of the brightly coloured wild geraniums, upon which, in
repose it is almost impossible to detect it. The brown-spotted
fritillaries of our birch woods also offer examples of this class, it
being difficult to detect them against the fungus-pitted leaves of
every shade of brown and dun and yellow.
VII.
HOW THE WORLD IS FERTILISED.
In approaching the subject of the geographical distribution of animals
and plants, one is struck with the marvellous methods which nature
adopts for the dispersal of her types. If the seeds of forest trees
were merely shed to the ground immediately beneath, they would be in an
environment precisely the least likely to further the reproduction of
their kind. Instead of this, many of the seeds of forest trees are
furnished with wings, an adaptation which allows them to be easily
wafted by the wind, and thus fits them for wide dispersal. It is only
by possessing some such advantage as this that certain species could
survive at all. It is true that acorns and other kindred fruits do not
possess this advantage, but then they are largely fed upon by birds,
and birds, as will presently be shown, are an admirable means of
dispersal. The crop of a wood-pigeon, which burst when the bird fell to
the ground when shot, was found to contain sixty-seven acorns, besides
a number of beech mast and leaves of clover. In this connection imagine
the possible rate of multiplication which would follow the accidental
dissemination of a single head of red poppy. If left undisturbed it
would, under ordinarily favourable circumstances, ripen forty thousand
seeds, each capable of producing a successor. It has been stated by a
competent authority that one red poppy could produce plants enough in
less than seven years to occupy every inch of the thirty and odd
million acres of the United Kingdom.
Ocean currents have not unfrequently been the means of connecting the
floras of different continents, and seeds and fruit are sometimes
picked up on the western coasts of Britain which have been wafted
across the whole Atlantic Ocean. It is also known that certain birds of
long and sustained powers of flight cross the Atlantic unaided, and
what this may possibly mean will presently be shown. Even land animals
are known to cross straits between island and island upon
rafts--drift-wood or bits of floating bark.
A quaint instance of transportation of fish spawn is given by an old
writer. Izaak Walton believed that pike were bred from pickerel-weed;
though he seems to have had some suspicion of this piece of unnatural
history, and qualifies his statement by saying that if it is not so
"they are brought into some ponds some such other ways as is past man's
finding out." But one of his contemporaries attacks this heterodoxy,
and "propounds a rational conjecture of the heron-shaw." He thinks it
quite likely that while fishing the heron might "lap some spawn about
her legs", in regard to adhering to the segs and bull-rushes near the
shallows, as myself and others without curiosity, have observed. And
this slimy substance adhering to her legs, and she mounting the air for
another station, in all probability mounts with her. When note, the
next pond she haply arrives at, possibly she may leave the spawn behind
her, an observation now known to be strictly accurate. Herons are not
the only birds which are aids to dispersal. Although the feet of birds
are generally clean, Darwin in one case removed sixty-one grains, and
in another twenty-two grains, of dry argillaceous earth from the foot
of a partridge, and in the earth there was a pebble as large as the
seed of a vetch. The same naturalist had sent to him by a friend the
leg of a woodcock, with a little cake of dry earth attached to the
shank, and weighing only nine grains; this contained seeds of the
toad-rush, which not only germinated but flowered. But perhaps the most
interesting case of all was that of a red-legged partridge forwarded by
Professor Newton. This had been wounded, and was unable to fly; and a
ball of hard earth adhered to it, weighing six and a half ounces. The
earth had been kept for three years, but when broken and watered, and
placed under a bell-glass, no fewer than eighty-two plants sprang from
it.
American passenger pigeons are frequently captured in the State of New
York with their crops still filled with the undigested grains of rice
that, according to Mr. Howard Saunders, must have been taken in the
distant fields of Georgia and South Carolina, apparently proving that
the birds had passed over the intervening space within a few hours. It
is known that at certain seasons thousands of these beautiful pigeons
are killed, not only by man, but by predatory animals and birds; and
their long migratory journeys as a possible means of dispersal becomes
at once evident. As bearing on this particular subject, Darwin has
proved that the hard seeds of fruit pass uninjured through even the
digestive organs of a turkey. In the course of two months he picked up
in his garden twelve kinds of seeds out of the excrement of small birds
which seemed perfect, and some of them germinated. The crops of birds
do not secrete gastric juice, and consequently do not in the least
injure germination. Darwin forced many kinds of seeds into the stomachs
of dead fish, and then gave them to fishing eagles, storks, and
pelicans in the Zoological Gardens. The birds, after long intervals,
either ejected the seeds in pellets or passed them; after which several
kinds still retained the power of germination. In the tropics countless
swarms of locusts sometimes suddenly make their appearance, and as
suddenly vanish. They cover every leaf-bearing thing, and occasionally
denude whole districts of their greenery. So great are their powers of
flight that they have been seen at sea nearly four hundred miles from
nearest land. In Natal the farmers, rightly or wrongly, believe that
the locusts introduce injurious seeds upon their grass lands, and the
following would seem to show that their belief is well founded. A Mr.
Weale, who was in their way of thinking, collected a packet of dried
pellets and sent them to England. When closely examined under the
microscope they revealed a number of tiny seeds from which plants of
seven kinds of grasses were ultimately raised.
In comparatively few years a small island in mid ocean had quite an
important addition to its flora, merely from the fact that the grave of
an officer was dug with a spade that had been used in England. The
seeds from which these sprang were embedded in the dry earth adhering
to the spade. Floating driftwood is quite an important means of
dispersal, as can easily be understood; and the natives of some of the
coral islands in the Pacific procure stones for their tools solely from
the roots of drifted trees, the stones being a valuable royal tax. In
this connection Darwin made the following interesting experiments. He
found that when irregularly-shaped stones were embedded in the roots of
trees, small parcels of earth were frequently enclosed in their
interstices or behind them, so perfectly that not a particle could be
washed away during the longest transport. Out of one small portion of
earth thus completely enclosed by the roots of an oak about fifty years
old three dicotyledonous plants germinated. It is well known that in
many cases a few days' immersion in sea-water is sufficient to kill
seeds, but a number taken out of the crop of a pigeon which had floated
on the water for thirty days nearly all germinated. Other aids to
dispersal already referred to are wading birds, which frequent the
muddy edges of ponds, and, if suddenly flushed, would be the most
likely to have muddy feet. "Birds of this order wander more than those
of any other, and they are occasionally found on the most remote and
barren islands of the open ocean; they would not be likely to alight on
the surface of the sea, so that any dirt on their feet would not be
washed off; and when gaining the land they would be sure to fly to
their natural fresh-water haunts. I do not believe," says Darwin, "that
botanists are aware how charged the mud of ponds is with seeds; I have
tried several little experiments, but will here only give the most
striking case. I took in February three tablespoonfuls of mud from
three different points, beneath water, on the edge of a little pond;
this mud when dried weighed only six and three-quarter ounces. I kept
it covered up in my studio for six months, pulling up and counting each
plant as it grew. The plants were of many kinds, and were altogether
five hundred and thirty-seven in number; and yet the viscid mud was all
contained in a breakfast cup. Considering these facts, I think it would
be an inexplicable circumstance if water birds did not transport plants
to unstocked ponds and streams, situate at very distant points. The
same agency may have come into play with the eggs of some of the
smaller fresh-water animals."
The manner in which the ubiquitous brown rat obtrudes itself everywhere
is only paralleled by the like qualities in the British sparrow. Our
weeds have migrated to the colonies, and certain kinds have almost
overrun them. In New Zealand the common dock is now widely
disseminated, the original seeds being sold by a lively British tar as
those of the tobacco plant.
THE END.
PRINTED BY NICHOLS AND SONS, 25, PARLIAMENT STREET WESTMINSTER.
"A pleasant little book for anglers and lovers of
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BRITISH SPORTING FISHES.
BY JOHN WATSON. Crown 8vo, 3s. 6d.
From the GLOBE.
"The papers it contains treat of salmon, trout, grayling, pike, perch,
and most fresh-water fish. There are pleasant chapters on silvers
streams and good practical essays on the depopulation and restocking of
trout streams, water and fish poachers, ephemeræ, and above all a
useful article on fish stews."
From the SPEAKER.
"Naturalists as well as anglers will find Mr. Watson's remarks about
'British Sporting Fishes' quite worthy of their attention. The book is
written by a man who has mastered the wily tactics of salmon, pike,
trout, perch, carp, and bream, and knows how to bait a tempting hook
for each and all of them. The 'small fry' of lake and river are not
forgotten by Mr. Watson, and two of the most interesting chapters in a
lively volume are devoted to roach, minnow, stickleback and other
little fish."
From the SATURDAY REVIEW.
"A pleasant little book for anglers and lovers of nature is Mr. John
Watson's 'British Sporting Fishes.' All fresh-water fish that afford
any sort of sport are sporting fish according to the author, who finds
room in his delightful sketches of the life-histories and habitats of
fish for the smallest of small fry, the roach, the minnow, the
stickleback, and so forth. Mr. Watson's sketches follow a downward
scale, from salmon and trout to the small fry of the pool and the
brook, and all are characterized by remarkable delicacy of
observation."
From the MORNING POST.
"'Sketches of British Sporting Fishes,' by John Watson, afford pleasant
reading interspersed with information, the result of practical
experience and close observation. Nor does the author confine his
remarks entirely to fish, but touches on such connected subjects as
fish poaching, some of the tricks of which he describes. The chapter on
grayling is written in the same easy and unpretentious style as the
rest of the book."