ON MOORLANDS AND ROUGHS.[1]
In a previous volume, dealing with bird-life in a southern county,
we expressed disappointment not only with the miniature moorlands of
Devonshire, but with their lack of feathered inhabitants. Tame these
lands must ever seem by comparison with the typical moors, and from an
ornithological point of view wanting in interest to persons familiar
with the grand expanse of heath and mountain waste in the north. For
many years we lived within little more than an hour's walk of the
Yorkshire and Derbyshire moors. At one period we used to visit them
several times a week in quest of ornithological information, varying
our experience by occasional much more extended excursions over them.
We know them in the heat and the brightness of spring and summer; in
the autumn, when their rolling expanse is aflame with a glow of purple
and brazen bloom from the heath and gorse; as well as in winter, when
the wind sweeps across them in resistless fury, and the snow covers
them with a dazzling pall, levelling the hollows and drifting into
fantastic wreaths. We retain vivid memories (supplemented with copious
notes) of the constantly changing aspects of bird-life upon them.
Farther afield we are well familiar with some of the wildest and
grandest of the Highland heaths. Monotonous as these vast wastes may
seem, relieved by little or no sylvan variety, a detailed examination
will not fail to reveal that the impression gained by a casual scrutiny
is an erroneous one. The configuration of their surface is subject
to as much diversity as more pastoral or arboreal country. We find
lofty eminences, spacious valleys, rolling billowy tracts, extensive
plains, hills, and dales--all for the most part devoid of timber, yet
presenting considerable variety in the vegetation according to the
nature of the soil. The heather (of various kinds) is of course the one
predominating shrub, but mingled amongst it are more or less extensive
tracts of bilberry and kindred plants, of bracken, bramble, briar, and
a host of others, the botanical names of which we need not stay here to
specify. This is upon the drier ground; where marshy conditions prevail
we find grasses of various kinds, rushes, large patches of sphagnum,
variegated here and there with sundew and clumps of bell-heather,
the latter easily identified by its large pale-pink blooms. Here and
there the monotony of the moors is relieved by lofty crags and ridges
of millstone grit, the slopes below them studded with boulders of
varying size right down to the stream. In some parts the soil is deep
and peaty, almost black; in others it is scanty, and the bed-rocks peep
through the stone-strewn ground, where the sturdy ling and wire-like
bilberry have a hard struggle to maintain themselves. Roughly speaking,
each description of moorland ground has its own peculiar birds. Some
species there are, it is true, that distribute themselves more or
less universally throughout the moorlands, but others are confined to
well-defined limits. Then, again, these moors are inhabited by two
very distinct avifaunæ--a limited one which is practically sedentary,
and a more extensive one composed entirely of migratory species. As
might naturally be expected, the birds that can exist upon these
bleak storm-swept moorlands during winter are extremely few; possibly
we might reduce the number to a single species, and even this is
occasionally partially driven from its heathy haunts by the inclemency
of the northern winter. Of the avine visitors that flock to the moors
each recurring spring-time, and just as surely depart in autumn, there
are close upon thirty species--a goodly list, and which is slightly
increased by a few passing migrants. From this it will be seen that
these uplands, with their universal reputation for barrenness, are
by no means devoid of bird-life, and that in summer especially they
abound with interest to the ornithologist. The lover of birds, however,
will in many, if not in most cases, find that his quest for knowledge
is hampered by not a few restrictions. Almost everywhere these moors
are jealously guarded from the intrusion of strangers, however harmless
they may be. Keepers are ever on the look-out to warn intruders off the
sacred breeding grounds of the Red Grouse; the hillsides and plains are
systematically swept by the keeper's telescope in quest of trespassers;
innumerable notice-boards threaten the innocent wayfarer with all
the rigours of the law should he chance to wander from the scarcely
discernible footpath or the public highway. To ornithologize in comfort
one must make our peace--usually purchasable at a certain price--with
the custodians of the moors, and then all is plain sailing. There is
much to be said both for and against such restrictions. On the one hand
the Grouse represent vast sums of money to the owners of the moors, an
income in not a few cases to many an otherwise impoverished landlord;
considerable expense is incurred in maintaining a staff of keepers
and watchers, and there is no small outlay in many other directions.
On the other hand, there are those that argue that the public have
a legitimate right to wander at will over these noble expanses of
heather, that they should be free to all, and that no vested rights
should be allowed in such an utterly wild bird as the Red Grouse.
Unfortunately there can be little doubt that if the bird were not
strictly preserved, and its shooting an expensive luxury, there would
soon be no Red Grouse left. Of the two evils we would prefer the former
after all, for every naturalist worthy of the name would deeply deplore
the extermination of such an interesting species, found as it is in no
other part of the world except on the British moorlands. Let us keep
the species strong and vigorous and abundant, by whatever means, rather
than see it meet the same wretched fate as the Great Auk and scores of
other interesting avine forms that have vanished from this world for
ever as a direct result of man's crass stupidity and wanton slaughter!
[Illustration: The Red Grouse.]
Practically there is but one species confined to the moors all the
year round, absolutely indigenous to them, and found in no other
localities. This is the famous Red Grouse, a species familiar by
name if not by appearance to most people. The abundance of this bird
in the game-dealers' shops from the 12th of August onwards to the
middle of December renders it familiar enough with the multitude; but
comparatively few people know the bird in life amidst its wild and
breezy upland haunts. Not that it is a species that takes much finding,
or that secretes itself in the remoter parts of its wild home; it is
obtrusive enough, by no means shy, and may generally be seen in plenty
from the highways. Very frequently half a dozen or more Grouse may
be seen sitting upon the top of the rough stone walls that separate
the heath from the road; tame enough, too, to allow an observer to
approach them within a few paces before they take wing with noisy cries
and hide themselves among the brown heath. Or again, the wanderer
over the moors who keeps a sharp look-out may detect plenty of Grouse
among the heather, craning their necks above the vegetation, ready
to fly off to safer quarters if too deeply alarmed. Then, in spring
especially, their very peculiar and unmistakable notes never fail to
arrest the attention; and not unfrequently the birds will startle one
as they rise, calling loudly, from the herbage at our very feet by
the wayside. Or very often the big brown birds may be approached very
closely during a fog. In these districts fogs frequently come on with
absolutely startling rapidity. Not the yellow soup-like abominations
that are so familiar in London and other big cities, but dense shrouds
of white vapour that chill one to the very marrow, obscure every
landmark, and render the moors practically impassable for the time
being. Often have we been so caught in these moorland fogs and been
compelled to wait amongst the heath until they cleared. On other
occasions they have overtaken us upon the highways across the moors,
and then we have remarked the apparent stupidity of the Grouse amongst
the mist. We have approached the birds as they sat bewildered in the
stunted thorn and birch trees by the wayside, or upon the walls, and
often remarked how loth they were to take wing, allowing us to come
within a few feet of them without showing the slightest concern. The
poacher would make the most of such splendid opportunities, but his
fraternity are scarce upon the moors, and the keepers are not much
bothered by such gentry. He has perhaps the most to fear from the
wandering gypsy--that curious mixture of itinerant tinker, hawker,
horse-dealer, and romany, that scours the country-side nomad-like,
with a retinue of scraggy horses, dirty children, tilted wagon and
tent. This man takes every Grouse egg that he can with impunity, and
every bird that comes in his way. We well remember how one of the most
disastrous moorland fires in South Yorkshire was attributed to these
gypsies. Some of their number, we believe, had been prosecuted for
poaching or egg-stealing, and out of revenge the moors were fired. For
days the heather burned in all directions in spite of every effort to
subdue it, and vast numbers of Grouse were destroyed in the flames, and
their ancient strongholds reduced to a blackened waste. The fire, which
we could see from our residence at Heeley, was a most impressive sight
by night, and must have cost the owner of the moors a large sum even
in the mechanical labour of arresting its progress, to say nothing of
the destruction of the long heather which takes years to replace and
become suitable cover for Grouse. As some readers may be aware, the
heather is systematically fired, usually in spring, so that a supply of
tender shoots from the resprouting ling may be furnished as food for
the Grouse. Great judgment and care are required, or vast tracts of
cover may be ruined for years. We have known farmers so destroy many
acres of valuable Grouse cover purely to secure pasturage for sheep.
The Grouse loves to frequent this long, well-matured ling; it affords
a splendid shelter during winter, whilst the buds and tender tops
form favourite food. Next to the Ptarmigan, the Red Grouse is by far
the wildest of British game birds, and the least dependent upon the
protection of man. Owing, however, to the ever-increasing value of the
bird for sporting purposes (a sovereign per brace shot being considered
by no means an exorbitant price), the preservation and propagation of
Red Grouse now receive more care and consideration than ever. Grouse
breeding is becoming as important in one direction as Pheasant and
Partridge breeding is in another. The birds are not kept up to their
present numbers, notwithstanding the inroads of the sportsman and the
periodical epidemics of disease, without the exercise of great care and
skill, not only in the preservation of a necessary amount of breeding
stock, but by the improvement of the moors by surface-draining,
burning, and so on.
The Red Grouse is much more of a ground bird than the Capercailzie or
the Black Grouse, although it may be seen perched in trees from time
to time. This is all the more interesting because its near ally, the
Willow Grouse--the Lagopus albus of ornithologists--is greatly attached
to trees, roosting in them, and is chiefly met with amongst birch or
willow thickets. Another interesting fact concerning the Red Grouse
is its strictly monogamous habits, and, as is almost universally the
rule in such cases, the male resembles the female in colour much more
closely than in Grouse where polygamous instincts prevail. Marvellously
protective in coloration is the plumage of the Red Grouse in both
sexes and at all times of the year. The birds are seen only with
the greatest difficulty as they skulk amongst the heath and other
moorland vegetation; the sitting bird upon her nest is one of the most
impressive object-lessons in protective coloration that we have, whilst
the eggs and chicks themselves are tinted in colours that harmonize
most beautifully with the objects around them. Very early in spring
the crow of the cock Grouse proclaims the approaching breeding season.
This, however, varies to some extent, the birds on the highest and most
exposed moors being later to nest than those dwelling on more sheltered
heaths. Late snow-storms often destroy many nests, even on the English
moors; and we have seen nests in April in South Yorkshire buried in
snow and the eggs frozen. Farther north, on the Scottish moors, the
young birds sometimes suffer considerably from late snow-storms, whilst
persistent wet is almost as fatal to them. The nest is scanty enough,
and always made upon the ground amongst the ling and heather, being
merely a hollow scratched out by the hen bird and lined with a little
vegetable refuse, such as bents, withered sprays of heath, and fern
fronds. Many nests are made quite close to the highways and footpaths.
We have known nests within half a dozen yards of the turnpike road
along which traffic of some kind was continually passing. The number
of eggs varies a good deal according to the season, age of the hen
bird, and situation of the moor. Few of our British eggs are handsomer,
being cream-white in ground colour, thickly marked with brown of
varying shades from red and crimson to nearly black. The colour,
however, is by no means a "fast" one, and may be easily washed off, so
that they require to be taken as soon as laid, and handled and kept
for some weeks at least with care, if their beauty is to be preserved
in the cabinet. Although the Red Grouse is not polygamous, the cock
bird does not assist in the duties of incubation, still he assists
the hen in bringing up the brood. During autumn and winter the life
of the Red Grouse is by no means a happy one, that is to say in some
ways. From the 12th of August to the 10th of December he has to run the
gauntlet of the gunner; and now that the deadly practice of "driving"
is almost universally resorted to, on the Yorkshire moors at all
events, even the wary old birds are shot down practically at will. Then
when the shooters are done with him the Grouse has all the hardships
of a northern winter to go through. Snow-storms of unusual severity
often drive Red Grouse from the moors to the lower and more sheltered
valleys, even to the nearest farmyards, where we have known them search
for food with the poultry. During some winters the Grouse have been
so hard pressed as to quit the heather in numbers, and we have then
known them actually to be taken in the streets of Sheffield! With a
moderate winter, however, the birds manage fairly well, snow-storms
being always the most fatal to them. Upon the return of spring, given
an absence from disease, the birds soon get into prime condition again;
most of the weakly ones have been weeded out, and the surviving stock
of vigorous birds are ready to propagate their kind.
But we must now leave the Red Grouse crowing so lustily to each other
amongst the heather, and devote a portion of our space to the many
other feathered dwellers upon the moors and heaths. Perhaps it may be
best to clear off the few Passerine species first. These are all birds
of migratory habits, although some are greater travellers than others.
Beginning with those that journey the shortest distance, we may notice
first the Meadow Pipit. Although by no means an exclusively moorland
bird, the Meadow Pipit is almost universally distributed over these
wastes between spring and autumn, wherever the ground is wet. Almost to
a bird these Pipits leave the South Yorkshire moors during September
and October. We used sometimes to meet with odd birds on the rough
grounds below the moors during winter, but, speaking generally, the
migrational movement is pretty complete. Meadow Pipits always give us
the impression of being somewhat sad little birds, taking life very
seriously, as even human dwellers on these moorland solitudes are apt
to do. We may illustrate this by a comparison of the cheery Wren with
these Pipits, and then the reader will quite understand our meaning.
The melancholy complaining note of the Meadow Pipit is one of the most
characteristic small-bird notes on the moors between April and October.
Every marshy spot is almost certain to contain a pair or more of them,
and their nests are the favourite nursery of the Cuckoo. The song of
this species is a pleasing one, uttered as the bird descends from a
short flight into the air. All through the genial days of a moorland
spring the birds may be watched rising and falling, shuttlecock-like,
from the heath and cotton-grass. Then, when the nesting season is
past, the young and old join into flocks of varying size and betake
themselves to the lower ground, appearing in autumn in large numbers
in turnip-fields and potato patches. The breeding season of this Pipit
varies considerably according to latitude. On the southern uplands, in
Devonshire for instance, the nest is made in April; in the Highlands
it is from one to two months later. The migrational movements are
about the same date in Yorkshire as they are in Devonshire; and the
journey extends in both localities from the high inland moors down
to the marshy meadows and saltings of the coast. We have found nests
of this Pipit in the Rivelin Valley built absolutely in shallow pools
of stagnant water, the moss of the foundation being saturated with
moisture. These nests contained the usual complement of eggs and the
birds were sitting upon them.
[Illustration: The Twite.]
Another characteristic bird of the moors, and one with almost exactly
the same migrational movements as the Meadow Pipit, is the Twite. This
unassuming species is the one Finch of the wide undulating expanses
of heather. It may be readily identified by the merest novice. Like
a Linnet in general appearance, but wanting the exquisite carmine
flush that adorns the more homely bird, as well as the ruby-coloured
patch on the crown, its distinction is its bright yellow bill. The
Twite, most appropriately called in many districts the "Heather
Lintie", is but a bird of summer amongst the heather, retiring in
autumn to the lowland fields, where we shall meet with it again amidst
much more pastoral surroundings. Usually one meets with it sitting
on some tall twig of ling, uttering its monotonous note, which the
imagination of ornithologists has syllabled as _twa-ite_; hence the
bird's trivial name. It will thus sit and call monotonously until our
nearer approach disturbs it, and it rises and flits in a drooping
manner just above the heather to another perching-place a little
farther on, to repeat its call and again to await our advance, when
once more it rises to drop upon some twig and renew its plaint. The
Twite gains an additional interest when we remember how rare a bird it
is in the south; we know it as a by no means common winter visitor in
Devonshire, notwithstanding the fact that there are many localities
where one might expect to find it in summer; whilst even in treeless
Cornwall--a wild rugged land enough--the bird is so rare that Rodd
knew of but a single example, and that was obtained near Penzance.
Then again the bird is confined during the breeding season exclusively
to the British moors, with the exception of the coast districts of
Norway. From the midlands of England northwards to the Shetlands,
the Twite has its only summer residence with us. We fear that we
never appreciated the Twite sufficiently when we lived so close to
its haunts and considered him too common for any special notice or
admiration. It is only after we have dwelt in districts where he is
unknown that we have begun to regard him with exceptional attention;
and now, profiting by past experience, we never see him flitting about
the heather without giving a thought to his localness. After all, he
is a most interesting little bird; and his pretty nest, cunningly
concealed amongst the tangled heath, possesses a rustic beauty that
well rewards one's patience for the often toilsome search. It is a
cup-shaped structure, made externally of grass bents, twigs, and moss,
the inside warmly lined with down from willow catkin and cotton-grass,
wool from the sheep that graze upon the moors, and feathers. The five
or six eggs are very similar to those of the Linnet, pale bluish-green
spotted with reddish-brown and gray. The Twite gets back to the moors
in April, and its domestic duties, accompanied by its weak little
song, are performed in April and May. In the Highlands the birds
nest later than in Yorkshire, but not much, for we have seen flocks
of young birds strong on the wing in Scotland in June. The moorlands
are finally deserted for the winter during September and October--a
vertical migration as interesting, if not so extensive, as the
Swallows' flight to Africa. A passing glance should also be given at
the Wheatear. This bird is by no means confined to the moors, yet it
is very characteristic of many parts of them, especially in the far
north. In Yorkshire it is by no means uncommon about the old quarries
and pits on the moors; farther north it becomes more numerous, although
scarcely attached to the heather in the same way as the Twite. Like
its congeners it is a dweller among the stones, a trait which has not
escaped the notice of the Highland peasants, who call the Wheatear a
"Clacharan", a "Stone-clatter", or a "Little Mason". This may possibly
be because his note resembles the clicking noise made by two pebbles
struck together, as well as from his propensity for the rocks and
stones. On the Scottish moorlands we have found this bird specially
common about the peat-pits and stacks, and in these latter we have
often found its nest--a somewhat untidy structure made of dry grass and
sometimes lined with hair and feathers, usually containing five or six
pale-blue eggs. The migrations of the Wheatear must be performed very
quickly. In Devonshire we note its arrival towards the end of March,
and yet by the first half-dozen days of April it has penetrated even
as far as the Orkneys and the Hebrides! Passing mention should here
also be made of the Sky-lark and the Stonechat--neither bird strictly
a moorland one, yet both found in the locality. The Stonechat, we
remember, used to be, and may be now, fairly common on the rough broken
ground, not exactly true moorland, in the valley of the Rivelin at
Hollow Meadows, half a dozen miles west of Sheffield.
Our last moorland Passere is the Ring-ouzel, a prime favourite with
us, and a species with which we have been exceptionally familiar from
boyhood's days. This bird always impressed us to a remarkable degree,
possibly because it is such a bold and assertive one. With a lifelong
experience of this handsome Ouzel--he is known to the country people
in South Yorkshire and North Derbyshire as the "Tor Ouzel", _i.e._
Mountain Ouzel--we should unhesitatingly state that it is commonest
in the district of the Peak. He breeds upon the Cornish uplands, and
in Devonshire upon Dartmoor, as we have repeatedly remarked; then we
find him on the uplands of Somerset, and increasingly common over the
Welsh mountains northwards to the vast solitudes of the Pennine chain.
Farther north in Scotland he is found, but our experience is that the
bird is local, and common nowhere in the latter country. The moors
west of Sheffield, for some reason or another, are specially sought by
the Ring-ouzel; and nowhere in that district is the bird more abundant
than in the Rivelin Valley and between Stanage Edge and Derwent Edge,
and on the Bamford and Bradfield moors. South of Sheffield we may meet
with this Ouzel in fair numbers about Dore, Owler Bar, and westwards
over the Hathersage uplands.
[Illustration: The Ring-ouzel.]
As most readers may know, the Ring-ouzel is a spring migrant to the
British Islands, and the only migratory Thrush that comes to that area
to rear its young. Like some other northern migrants, its passage is
by no means a slow one. It arrives in South Devon sometimes as early
as the end of March, more usually the beginning of April, and what is
rather remarkable, this date is practically coincident with its arrival
in South Yorkshire. For many years we paid special attention to the
migrational movements of this bird, and should give its date of arrival
as the first week in April in that district. This seems to indicate
beyond question that Ring-ouzels migrate direct to their breeding areas
after landing on our southern coasts. They journey in flocks, often
of considerable size, and several seasons we were fortunate enough to
observe them in companies numbering several hundreds of birds, on the
very day of their appearance in the Rivelin Valley. These flocks soon
disband; in a day or so they break up, and the birds scatter themselves
in pairs over all the suitable breeding-places. The cock bird is not
only a handsome one, but very distinctively marked, easily recognized
as far as the eye can reach by his pure white gorget; otherwise he very
closely resembles the Blackbird in general appearance. The resemblance
does not end here, though, and in its habits and movements generally,
as well as in the nest and eggs, we have an equal similarity.
Whilst in flocks the birds are wary and wild enough, but when breeding
they become bold and venturesome to an astonishing degree--in these
respects exactly resembling their ally, the Missel-thrush. We remark
this Ouzel's habit of elevating the tail after alighting, just as
the Blackbird does; we also cannot fail to notice its exceeding
noisiness just prior to seeking a roosting-place; neither shall we
fail to observe its very Blackbird-like way of feeding, ever alert
and watchful. Soon after their arrival, but never, so far as we have
observed, before the flocks or travelling parties have disbanded,
the cock birds regain their vernal music characteristic of the love
season. With the resumption of song the bird loses a good deal of its
wariness, a fact we may notice in not a few other species. He will
sit and warble on the big boulders of granite or millstone grit, or
when perched on the top of a rough wall or some bending spray of ling
or gorse, just as sweetly as when sitting in the higher branches of
some birch or mountain-ash. His music is not of that rich excellence
that marks the song of the Blackbird, nor has it the variety so
characteristic of the Thrush; yet there is a wild beauty in harmony
with the surrounding scene that makes ample recompense for its failings
in other ways. Unfortunately the bird continually spoils his music
by introducing a series of inharmonious harsh notes. Like that of
the Blackbird the song is all too short, and even lacks the redeeming
feature of continuous flute-like melody, short as it is, that saves
the Blackbird's from being classed as commonplace. To our mind, the
Ring-ouzel always increased in interest during the breeding season.
Many scores of nests of this bird have we kept under observation, not
a few of them from the time the first twig was laid until the four
or five nestlings left them for ever. The birds are much attached to
certain spots, and return to nest in them with wonderful pertinacity.
Then, again, how often have we remarked their absurd attachment to
a nest in the course of building. We have known Ring-ouzels show
more concern for a handful of nest material--by no means a finished
nest--than scores of other species display over the absolute loss of a
nest and eggs. The Ring-ouzel is the Stormcock of the moor--ready to
do battle with much noisy clamour the moment its nest is approached.
This nest is not always made amongst the ling and heather; numbers are
placed in low bushes on the outskirts of the moor, and on the banks
of the streams and by the sides of the roughly-formed cart-tracks,
especially where the banks are steep. In early autumn Ring-ouzels
again become more or less social and gregarious; they then begin to
wander off the moors to the nearest fruit-gardens, and so gradually
work south in parties and flocks. Gilbert White, whose pleasure at
his discovery of the migrating Ring-ouzels across the Sussex Downs
may easily be surmised by the reader of his ever-charming letters,
tells us that he used to see these Thrushes--more than a hundred
years ago--in little parties about Michaelmas, and again in April,
and remarked their tameness. The birds are not so common in that area
now; times have changed and many species are gone, for in the same
letter (No. VII) he tells us that there are Bustards on the wide downs
near Brighthelmstone! Perhaps we might here take the opportunity
of mentioning that flocks of Snow Buntings sometimes appear on the
Highland moors, but our own experience of this charming arctic stranger
relates to more southern shires, and where we hope to meet with it
again later on in the present work.
[Illustration: The Merlin.]
The birds of prey that haunt the moors are all more or less migratory
in their habits, as might naturally be expected, because the species
upon which they depend for food are non-resident too. The Red Grouse,
it is true, is sedentary, but no raptorial bird frequents the moors
that preys exclusively upon that species, and it chiefly suffers
during the breeding season when the young chicks and poults are about.
The Merlin is the most deadly enemy of these. It is a spring migrant
to the moors, and is not known to breed with certainty south of
Wales. It may just possibly do so on Exmoor, but certainly does not
on Dartmoor; in fact, to Devonshire it must be regarded as a rare
visitor in autumn and winter. We have always found the Merlin to
be fairly common throughout the moors of North Derbyshire and South
Yorkshire. It is ruthlessly persecuted by the gamekeeper, and its
numbers consequently have declined almost to the vanishing point in not
a few districts. We never saw much of the Merlin on the moors between
Castleton and Sheffield before April. There are many favourite haunts
on these moors in which the bird may be found breeding every summer;
and curiously enough, although pair after pair may be destroyed, others
come and settle in the district the following season. We are glad
to be able to record that the bird has not been so severely hunted
down in one or two places, and consequently its numbers seem to be on
the increase. The spirited dash of this pretty little Falcon is not
exceeded by that of the Peregrine itself. Times without number have we
witnessed its fatal chase of the smaller birds of the moor--Twites,
Ring-ouzels, Meadow Pipits, and less frequently of Plovers, Grouse,
and occasionally Cuckoos. In the higher valley of the Rivelin, we once
watched an exciting chase by this bird of a Common Sandpiper, which
had been flushed from the heath-clad bank of one of the reservoirs at
Hollow Meadows. Pursuer and pursued strove their utmost, the Sandpiper
doubling, rising, and turning from side to side, and the relentless
Merlin following closely every movement as though each bird were
guided simultaneously by a common impulse. The chase was continued
over the large reservoir, and we had a fine uninterrupted view of each
bird's powers of wing. The Sandpiper, after the water was crossed,
gained a brief respite by hiding amongst the rushes on the opposite
bank; but the Falcon, undeterred, hovered above the spot and once more
flushed its quarry. The poor little Sandpiper wheeled rapidly round
and then flew off across a rough bit of rock and heath-strewn ground,
but its strength was exhausted; the Merlin's superior powers of flight
and endurance asserted themselves, and the Sandpiper, with a piteous
_weet weet_ of terror, was struck down. But the various birds of the
moorlands are by no means the Merlin's only food. Like most, if not all
the smaller Falcons, it subsists largely on certain insects. Whether
the bird's good offices in this direction counterbalance its tax upon
young Grouse we need not stay here to enquire. Perhaps in this case
they do not, for the insects caught can do little or no damage in such
localities; but on the other hand, we must remember that the Falcon
assists in keeping up the Grouse to a strong and vigorous standard by
killing off--if amongst others--a certain percentage of weakly and
unfit birds. There is some evidence to show that Grouse disease appears
in regular cycles on most moors--say every seven years--and competent
observers have attributed it to old birds spreading the contagion.
Now, had the larger Raptores not been so ruthlessly exterminated in
these localities, surely it is only reasonable to suppose that they
would have thinned out many of these birds, not perhaps preventing an
epidemic, but thus assisting in rendering it of a milder character than
otherwise prevails. Depend upon it, man seldom or never meddles with
the delicately-adjusted balance of nature without unfortunate results
in some direction. But to return to the Merlin and its economy. Like
the Sparrow-hawk and many other raptorial birds, this pretty species
selects some spot or spots in its haunts to which it conveys its
captures to devour them in peace. The nest is almost invariably made at
no great distance from these "dining-tables" or "larders", where the
bare and often rock-strewn ground is sprinkled with feathers, bones,
pellets, wing-cases and wings of insects, the remains of the Merlin's
food. These haunts, as previously remarked, are tenanted yearly with
wonderful regularity, and the nest each season is made in much the
same locality as in previous years. This nest is of the simplest, and
always, so far as we know, upon the ground. "Nests" have been recorded
in Scotland in the old nest of some other bird in a tree;[2] whilst in
some foreign countries a ledge of a cliff is said to be selected. Our
experience is that it is invariably upon the ground, and generally on
a rather bare spot amongst the heather or ling, often on an eminence
of some kind. Here in a slight hollow, with no lining as likely as
not, the four or five pretty red eggs of the Merlin are laid. They are
absolutely indistinguishable from those of the much commoner Kestrel,
but their terrestrial resting-place should prevent the novice confusing
them _in situ_. In autumn the Merlins quit the moors. It is difficult
to say how far these birds indigenous to our own moorlands migrate;
there is evidence to suggest that the movement is limited to a trip
to the lowlands, extending even to the coast. On the other hand, the
bird is certainly a species with a strongly marked and regular passage
in most parts of its extra British range. A word as to the plumage
of this interesting Falcon. The cock bird, with his slate-gray upper
parts, rufous nape, more or less distinctly barred tail, dark wings,
and rufous under parts streaked with dark brown, is possibly familiar
to most readers. The hen bird, so far as we can determine, is not only
slightly bigger than her mate, but much less handsome in colour. She
is dark rufous-brown on the upper parts, each feather with a paler
margin, the buff nape patch is paler and much less distinctly defined,
the tail is browner, and the under parts are dirty white streaked with
brown. This plumage closely resembles that of the young male. During
the past quarter of a century we have examined a great many skins of
the Merlin, and almost without exception the sexual differences in
colour were as described above. There are authorities, however, that
maintain that the adult plumage of the female of this Falcon is very
similar to that of the male. In this we are disposed to concur, for we
have examined an adult female obtained by Dr. Scully in Gilgit (and
his sexing of specimens is most reliable, as every naturalist who has
had the pleasure of seeing them will agree, the sexual organs being in
most cases sketched on the labels attached to the skins), in which the
sexual differences of colour were most trifling. It is said that the
females are shot off in this country before they can obtain their fully
adult dress. In fairness, however, we must state that there is always
the possibility of very old females assuming the male plumage, and
their apparent rarity may be due to this fact.
Unfortunately the other moorland birds of prey are now rare almost to
the verge of extinction; indeed, we regret to say the Merlin itself
in not a few localities is fast approaching the same condition. The
species that we shall allude to here is the Hen Harrier. This bird,
like nearly all the other birds of the moors, is a migratory one,
although there is some evidence to suggest that in our islands the
movement is to some extent confined to a journey to the lowlands and
the southern counties. Formerly this Harrier was a fairly familiar
bird on the moors of the south-western counties, where, however, its
local names of "Blue Hawk" and "Furze Kite", indicative of old-time
abundance, are nearly all that is left to us. We may remark in
connection with this bird that a century ago the male and female (being
so much unlike each other in plumage) were almost universally regarded
as two distinct species, the latter known as the "Ring-tail" Hawk.
Montagu cleared up the confusion by rearing a brood (doubtless from
a Devonshire nest), and clearly demonstrated that the two supposed
species were in reality the opposite sexes of one. About the South
Yorkshire moors the Hen Harrier is practically unknown. Our limited
experience of the bird was obtained on the moors of Skye, where we
believe it still continues to nest. We have there seen it beating along
the hillsides in a slow deliberate manner just above the tall ling,
amongst which, in this island, it almost invariably makes its nest,
placing it upon the ground. The four or five very pale-blue eggs are
often destroyed by sheep; in fact, we were assured by an intelligent
keeper in Skye that to this cause alone its diminishing numbers must
be attributed. This Harrier reaches the moors in April or early May,
and nests during the latter month and the first half of June. The cock
is a beautiful bird, with gray upper parts, darker on the throat and
breast, the remainder of the under parts and the upper tail-coverts
pure white, the primaries black. The hen is somewhat larger, dark-brown
above, paler brown below, streaked with rufous-brown; the upper
tail-coverts are, however, nearly white as in the male, which fact
seems to suggest that they are a recognition mark (Conf. _Curiosities
of Bird Life_, p. 249). The principal food of this Harrier consists of
small animals, such as moles, mice; of frogs, lizards, and insects. The
bird is also a great egg eater, robbing the nests of other moorland
species. Although to some small extent it may prey upon birds, there
is nothing in its habits to cause uneasiness to the owner of a Grouse
moor; the bird's comparative harmlessness should secure for it greater
immunity from gun, trap, and poison than it at present receives. There
are one or two other Raptores we may just allude to here as dwellers
on or fairly regular visitors to the moorlands. On the South Yorkshire
moors the Kestrel is, we are glad to say, still a fairly common bird.
It is fond of the outskirts of the moors, the rough grounds often
crowned with ridges--ranges of low cliffs--of millstone grit, and
in these it habitually nests. Then the Sparrow-hawk is a frequent
visitor to the heath-clad wastes, but chiefly to the borderland and in
localities where there are plantations of larch and fir, in which the
bird can find seclusion and a suitable nesting haunt. We have often
remarked that these moorland Sparrow-hawks quit such areas during
winter when small birds are absent. The Rough-legged Buzzard passes
over many parts of the South Yorkshire moors on migration, especially
in autumn. We have examined many fine examples of this bird, obtained
on the Ashopton moors and about Derwent, chiefly birds of the year. The
two species of British Eagles must also be mentioned as visitors to the
Highland moors, although not exclusively indigenous to them. They are
better described as mountain birds, and shall receive more detailed
notice in our chapter devoted to the avine characteristics of such
localities. (conf. p. 81.) So also may we remark that the Raven will be
dealt with in the same chapter. In Devonshire the Raven is still to be
found on Dartmoor--one of the few inland localities that it frequents
in England nowadays; but elsewhere on the English moors, so far as our
experience goes, the bird is but a casual visitant.
[Illustration: The Lapwing.]
The moorlands, being as they are the least changed districts in the
British area, continue to be the resort of a large number of shy birds
of the Plover and Sandpiper tribe during the breeding season. In some
places no doubt the number of these birds is visibly diminishing, but
in the wilder districts there still remain sufficient to constitute
a decided ornithological feature. One of the best-known of these is
the Lapwing. Fortunately we can still class the Lapwing as a common
and even abundant bird in suitable districts, and now that its eggs
are protected by law in not a few spots we may hope to see a welcome
increase. This beautiful Plover--one of the handsomest of the entire
group--is by no means confined to the moors; it is a most adaptive
species, and makes itself at home on arable land as readily as in
wilder areas, still it is a prominent feature in not a few moorland
scenes. Who does not know the sad mewing cries and the restless
uneven flight of this Plover, as it rises startled from the ground and
commences its plaintive protest against our intrusion? Large numbers of
Lapwings breed on the North Derbyshire and South Yorkshire moorlands,
as well as on the rough grounds in their vicinity. We remember on one
occasion--we have a note recording the fact--seeing a pair of Lapwings
drop quietly to the ground just behind a stone wall that separated the
moor from the highway. Creeping carefully up to the spot we looked
through a chink in the wall and saw the two old birds with four chicks
which could not have been hatched many hours. The scene was a charming
one. The downy long-legged little creatures were running about picking
here and there, their parents standing guard, alert and watchful, yet
totally unconscious of prying human eyes not a dozen feet away from
them. After watching this family party for some time we intentionally
came into view, when the scene instantly became more interesting than
it was before. Both old birds rose into the air and commenced wheeling
and rolling about just above our head, the female by far the most
venturesome of the two. Then she alighted a yard or so away, and with
both her broad wings sweeping the ground dragged herself along for a
few paces, striving her hardest to get us to follow. But we confined
our attention for a time to the chicks. All four of these artful
youngsters at the first alarm scattered in as many different directions
and hid themselves amongst the heath and grass almost with the rapidity
of thought. Search as we might we could find but two, although we knew
full well the others were concealed on a patch of ground no larger than
an ordinary table. These two chicks we pocketed for specimens, but we
were so touched by the way the old Lapwings followed us over the moor
crying so plaintively that more humane feelings got the better of us,
and we returned to the spot and placed both young birds where we had
found them. Such little episodes as these go so far, we always think,
in making ornithology so very attractive.
Another allied species breeding on most of our northern moors (and
in some few instances in the south-western counties) is the Golden
Plover. There are few more handsome birds of this order than the Golden
Plover in wedding plumage. The upper parts--as they are all the year
round--are thickly spotted with golden yellow on a dark-brown ground,
the under surface is black as jet. We begin to see these Plovers back
upon their moorland breeding-places in March; in April they become more
numerous. Like most of the other birds found on these moors in summer
they spend the winter upon the lowlands; in this case frequenting
the flat coasts and marshy meadows and saltings near the sea. They
love the swampy portions of the moors--the spacious hollows between
the hills, where the wet ground is clothed with a dense growth of
rushes, cotton-grass, and sphagnum, amongst which the heath and ling in
scattered patches mark the drier portions of the ground. At the first
alarm the ever-watchful Plovers rise one after the other from all parts
of the waste, and then begins a chorus of flute-like whistling cries,
bird after bird taking up the chorus and alarming all other and less
demonstrative species within hearing. Here and there a Golden Plover
may be seen quietly standing upon the spongy ground. But it needs sharp
eyes to see them, so closely does their spangled backs harmonize with
the golden sphagnum and other vegetation. May is their breeding season,
and their four large pear-shaped eggs are deposited in a scantily-lined
hollow, often beneath the shade of a tuft of rushes or cotton-grass.
These eggs are very much the same in general appearance as those of
the Lapwing, but the tints are richer and brighter. Of the Sandpiper
or Snipe tribe there are at least half a dozen more or less common
species that visit the moors in spring to breed. Most of them are
never met with on our south-western uplands at this season, although
the Snipe, the Curlew, and the Dunlin are more cosmopolitan in their
choice. The two former species are by far the commonest and most
widely dispersed on the Yorkshire moors, the remaining four or five
are rarer, more local, or absent altogether. The peculiar drumming or
bleating of the Snipe is one of the most characteristic of avine sounds
upon these moors in spring; the quavering whistle (uttered always, or
nearly so, whilst the bird is upon the ground), or the better known
and somewhat mournful _curlee_ (heard whilst the bird is careering to
and fro in mid-air) of the Curlew is little, if any, less familiar.
On the Hebridean moors, as well as on those of Orkney and Shetland,
in the neighbourhood of the sea, the Whimbrel breeds sparingly. It
is extremely local, but its habits and economy generally are very
similar to those of the larger and better known Curlew. It differs,
however, in its migrations, and is a summer visitor only to the British
Islands, the greater number passing over them to still more northern
breeding grounds in the Faroes, Iceland, and elsewhere. The Dunlin,
notwithstanding the fact that it nests on some of our south-western
uplands, finds its favourite breeding grounds on more northern moors
up to the Orkneys and the Shetlands. Here again we have a species
donning a jet-black belly for the nuptial season. It also displays a
very decided preference for the swampy portions of the moors in which
to perform its nesting duties. Then there are the two species of
Totani, the one easily distinguished by its orange-coloured legs (the
Redshank), the other by its green legs and slightly upturned bill (the
Greenshank). The latter, however, is much rarer than the former, and
is only known to breed in the Highlands. The Redshank is fairly common
during summer on our northern moors, but this species, like one or two
others, is as much at home in more lowland haunts. You may meet with
it during summer amongst scenery of a directly opposite character--the
fens and broads of the eastern counties. Redshanks are alert and noisy
birds, rising from their moorland haunts when alarmed, and keeping up
their shrill double note with almost irritating persistency. As numbers
often breed in the same district, the din from the frightened birds
soon becomes general. The Greenshank visits its breeding grounds in
April and May, coming from over the sea like all our strictly summer
visitors, and departing in September and October with its young. This
bird again is a noisy one when disturbed, and careers about the air in
excitement until left in peace. All these birds breed upon the ground,
lay four eggs possessing very similar characteristics in colour and
shape, and their nests are found with some difficulty, owing to the
protective tints of their eggs.
Of the Duck family the Mallard is by far the commonest and most widely
dispersed. It loves the pools and streams and marshy spots upon the
moors, but as it breeds as generally in more lowland localities we can
scarcely describe it as a typical moorland bird. The same remarks may
be said to apply to the Teal, the Wigeon, and some few others. Then
in the moorland fastnesses of the Hebrides, and in some parts of the
mainland Highlands, the Gray-lag Goose still finds a haunt sufficiently
seclusive, although we are assured that its numbers are decreasing.
We know from personal experience that it breeds amongst the ling and
heather on some of the Outer Hebrides, making a huge nest of branches
and twigs, rushes, and other dry vegetation which is finally lined
with down. The six to eight eggs are creamy-white in colour. This bird
again is by no means a typical moorland one, for it formerly bred
in the fens of East Anglia, and would do so to this day had it not
been exterminated. Of the Gull tribe, perhaps the most characteristic
moorland species are the Skuas, two species of which are summer
migrants to certain of our wildest Highland moors. Where the moors
extend down to the coast in various northern districts, such birds as
Terns, Sheldrakes, and Eider Ducks may be found breeding upon them, but
we can scarcely regard such species or such localities to come within
the scope of the present chapter.