THE ROOKERY--BUILDING NESTS--YOUNG BIRDS--ROOK-SHOOTING--STEALING
ROOKS--ANTICS IN THE AIR--MODE OF FLIGHT--WHITE ROOKS.
The city built by the rooks in the elms of the great pasture field (the
Warren, near Wick farmhouse) is divided into two main parts; the trees
standing in two rows, separated by several hundred yards of sward. But
the inhabitants appear to be all more or less related, for they travel
amicably in the same flock and pay the usual visit to the trees at the
same hour. Some scattered elms form a line of communication between the
chief quarters, and each has one or more nests in it. Besides these,
the oaks in the hedgerows surrounding the field support a few nests,
grouped three or four, in close neighbourhood. In some trees near the
distant ash copse there are more nests whose owners probably sprang from
the same stock, but were exiled, or migrated, and do not hold much
communion with the capital.
In early days men seem to have frequently dug their entrenchments or
planted their stockades on the summit of hills. To the rooks their
trees are their hills, giving security from enemies. The wooden houses
in the two main streets are evidently of greater antiquity than those
erected in the outlying settlements. The latter are not large or thick:
they are clearly the work of one, or at most two, seasons only; for it
is noticeable that when rooks build at a distance from the centre of
population they are some time before they finally decide on a site,
abandoning one place after another. But the nests forming the principal
streets are piled up to a considerable height--fresh twigs being added
every year--and are also thick and bulky. The weight of the whole must
be a heavy burden to the trees.
Much skill is shown in the selection of the branches upon which the
foundations are laid. In the first place, the branch must fork
sufficiently to hold the bottom twigs firmly and to give some
side-support. Then it must be a branch more or less vertical, or it
would swing with the wind too much up and down as well as to and fro.
Thirdly, there should be a clear or nearly clear space above the nest to
give easy access, and to afford room for it to increase in size
annually. For this reason, perhaps, nests are generally placed near the
top or outer sides of the tree, where the boughs are smaller, and every
upward extension reaches a clearer place. Fourthly, the bough ought not
to be too stiff and firm; it should yield a little, and sway easily,
though only in a small degree, to the breeze. If too stiff, in strong
gales the nest runs the risk of being blown clean out of the tree.
Fifthly, no other branch must rub against the one bearing the principal
weight of the nest, for that would loosen the twigs in time, and
dislocate the entire structure. Finally, rooks like an adjacent bough
on which the bird, not actually engaged in incubation can perch and
`caw' to his mate, and which is also useful to alight on when bringing
food for the young.
It may be that the difficulty of finding trees which afford all these
necessary conditions is one reason why rooks who settle at a distance
from their city seem long before they can please themselves. The
ingenuity exercised in the selection of the bough and in the placing of
the twigs is certainly very remarkable. When the wind blows furiously
you may see the nest moving gently, riding on the swaying boughs, while
one of the birds perches on a branch close by, and goes up and down like
a boat on the waves. Except by the concussion of branches beating hard
against the nest, it is rarely broken; up to a certain point it would
seem as if the older nests are the firmest, perhaps because of their
weight. Sometimes one which has been blown down in the winter--when the
absence of protecting leaves gives the wind more power on them--retains
its general form even after striking against branches in its descent and
after collision with the earth.
Elms are their favourite trees for building in. Oak and ash are also
used, but where there are sufficient elms they seem generally preferred.
These trees, as a rule, grow higher than any others ordinarily found in
the fields, and are more frequently seen in groups, rows, or avenues,
thus giving the rook facilities for placing a number of nests in close
neighbourhood. The height of the elm affords greater safety, and the
branches are perhaps better suited for their purpose.
After building in an elm for many years--perhaps ever since the owner
can remember--rooks will suddenly desert it. There are the old nests
still; but no effort is made to repair them, and no new ones are made.
The winds and storms presently loosen the framework, about which no care
is now taken, and portions are blown down. Then by-and-by the discovery
is made that the tree is rapidly dying. The leaves do not appear, or if
they do they wither and turn yellow before Midsummer: gradually the
branches decay and fall of their own weight or before the wind.
No doubt if anyone had carefully examined the tree he would have
observed signs of decay long before the rooks abandoned it; but those
who pass the same trees day after day for years do not observe minute
changes, or, if they do, as nature is slow in her movements, get so
accustomed to the sight of the fungi about the base, and the opening in
the bark where the decomposing touchwood shows, as to think that it will
always be so. At last the rooks desert it, and then the truth is
apparent.
Their nests, being heavy, are not safe on branches up which the
strengthening sap no longer rises; and in addition to the nest there is
the weight of the sitting-bird, and often that of the other who perches
temporarily on the edge. As the branches die they become stiff, and
will not bend to the gale this immobility is also dangerous to the nest.
So long as the bough yields and sways gently--not much, but still a
little--the strong winds do no injury. When the bough becomes rigid,
the broad--side or wall of the nest offers an unyielding surface, which
is accordingly blown away.
The nests which contain young are easily distinguished, despite the
height, by the almost continuous cry for food. The labour of feeding
the voracious creatures must be immense, and necessity may partly
account for the greater boldness of the old birds at that season. By
counting the nests from which the cry proceeds the condition of the
rookery is ascertained, and the amount of sport it will afford reckoned
with some certainty. By noting the nests from which the cry arose last,
it is known which trees to avoid in the rook-shooting; for the young do
not all come to maturity at the same time, and there are generally a
dozen or so which it is best to leave a week or a fortnight later than
the rest.
When the young birds begin to quit the nests, and are observed perching
on the tree or fluttering from branch to branch, they must not be left
much longer before shooting, or they will wander and be lost. A very
few days will then make all the difference; and so it has often happened
that men expecting to make a great bag have been quite disappointed,
notwithstanding the evident number of nests; the shooting has been held
a day or so too late. The young birds get the use of their wings very
quickly, and their instinct rather seems to be to wander than to remain
in the immediate vicinity of their birthplace.
Some think that the old birds endeavour to entice them away as much as
possible, knowing what is coming. It may be doubted if that is the case
with respect to the very young birds; but when the young ones are
capable of something like extended flight, and can cross a field without
much difficulty, I think the parents do attempt to lead them away. When
the shooting is in progress, if you will go a little distance from the
rookery, out of the excitement of the sport, you may sometimes see two
old rooks, one on each side of a young one, cawing to it with all their
might. The young bird is, perhaps, on the ground, or on a low hedge,
and the old birds are evidently endeavouring to get it to move. Yet
they have not learned the only way in which that can be done--i.e. by
starting themselves and flying a short distance, and waiting, when the
young bird will almost invariably follow.
If you approach the trio the two old birds at once take flight, seeing
your gun, and the young bird in a few seconds goes after them. Had they
the sense to repeat this operation, they might often draw the young one
away from danger; as for their cawing, it does not seem to be quite
understood by their offspring, who have hardly yet learned their own
language.
To appreciate this effort on the part of the old birds, it must be
recollected that immediately after the first shot the great mass of the
old rooks fly off in alarm. They go to some distance and then wheel
round and come back at an immense height, and there, collected in loose
order, circle round and round, cawing as they sail. For an old rook to
remain in or near the rookery when once the firing has commenced is the
exception, and must be a wonderful effort of moral courage, for of all
birds rooks seem most afraid of a gun; and naturally so, having
undergone, when themselves young, a baptism of fire. Those that escape
slaughter are for the most part early birds that come to maturity before
the majority, and so leave the trees before the date fixed for shooting
arrived, or acquire a power of flight sufficient to follow their parents
on the first alarm to a safe distance. They have, therefore, a good
opportunity of witnessing the destruction of their cousins, and do not
forget the lesson.
Although the young birds upon getting out of the nest under ordinary
conditions seem to like to wander, yet if they are driven out or
startled by the shot they do not then at once endeavour to make for the
open country or to spread abroad, but appear rather to cling to the
place, as if the old nests could shelter them. After a while they begin
to understand the danger of this proceeding, and half an hour's rapid
firing causes the birds to spread about and get into the trees in the
hedges at some distance. There of course they are pursued, or killed
the next day, three-quarters of a mile or more away from home. It is
rare for old rooks to get shot, for the reason above stated: they rise
into the air out of reach. Those that are killed are generally such as
have lingered in the hope to save a young bird, and are mistaken and
shot as young themselves.
Young birds may be easily distinguished by their slow uncertain flight
and general appearance of not knowing exactly where to go or what to do.
They are specially easy to pick out if you see them about to perch on a
tree. They go at the tree anyhow, crash in among the branches, and
rather fall on a perch than choose it. The old bird always enters a
tree carefully, as if he did not like to ruffle his feathers, and knew
precisely what sort of bough he preferred to settle on. Close to the
rookery there is no need to wait to pick out the young birds, because
they are all sure to be young birds there; but, as observed, old birds
will linger with young ones at a little distance, and may then be
mistaken--as also on the following day, when sportsmen go round to pick
up the outsiders, and frequently come on old and young together. The
old bird will not sit and let you aim at him perching; if you shoot him,
it must be on the wing. The young bird will sit and let you pick him
off with a crossbow, and even if a cartridge singes his wing he will
sometimes only hop a yard or two along the boughs.
Though hard hit and shattered with shot, they will cling to the branches
convulsively, seeming to hang by the crook of the claw or by muscular
contraction even when perfectly dead, till lifted up by a shot fired
directly underneath, or till the bough itself is skilfully cut off by a
cartridge and both come down together. The young feathers being soft,
and the quills not so hard as in older birds, scarcely a rook-shooting
ever goes by without some one claiming to have made a tremendous long
shot, which is quite possible, as it does not require many pellets or
much force behind them.
On dropping a rook, probably at some distance from the rookery, where
the men are whose duty it is to collect the slain, beware of carrying
the bird; let him lie, or at most throw him upon a bramble bush in a
conspicuous spot till a boy comes round. Rooks are perfectly infested
with vermin, which in a few minutes will pass up their legs on to your
hand, and cause an unpleasant irritation, though it is only temporary;
for the insects cannot exist long away from the bird.
The young birds are occasionally stolen from the nests, notwithstanding
the difficulty of access. Young labourers will climb the trees, though
so large that they can scarcely grasp the trunk, and with few branches,
and those small for some height; for elms are often stripped up the
trunk to make the timber grow straight and free from the great branches
called `limbs.' Even when the marauder is in the tree he has some
difficulty in getting at the nests, which are placed where the boughs
diminish in size. Climbing-irons used to be sometimes employed for the
purpose. As elm trees are so conspicuous, these thieving practices
cannot well be carried on while it is light. So the rook-poachers go up
the trees in the dead of night; and as the old rooks would make a
tremendous noise and so attract attention, they carry a lantern with
them, the light from which silences the birds. So long as they can see
a light they will not caw.
The time selected to rob a rookery is generally just before the date
fixed for the shooting, because the young birds are of little use for
cooking till about ready to fly. The trick, it is believed, has often
been played for the mere pleasure of spiting the owner, the very night
previous to the rook-shooting party being chosen. These robberies of
young rooks are much less frequent than they used to be. One reason why
those who possess any property in the country do not like to see a
labouring man with a gun is because he will shoot an old rook (and often
eat it), if he gets the opportunity, without reference to times or
seasons, whether they are building or not.
The young rooks that escape being shot seem to be fed, or partly fed, by
the old birds for some time after they can fly well and follow their
parents. It is easy to know when there are young rooks in a flock
feeding in a field. At the first glance the rooks look scattered about,
without any order, each independent of the other. But in a few minutes
it will be noticed that here and there are groups of three, which keep
close together. These are formed of the parents and the young bird--
apparently as big and as black as themselves--which they feed now and
then. The young bird, by attending to their motions, learns where to
find the best food. As late as July trios like this may sometimes be
seen.
Besides the young birds that have the good fortune to pass unscathed
through the dangers of rook-shooting day, and escape being knocked over
afterwards, some few get off on account of having been born earlier than
the majority, thus possessing a stronger power of flight. Some nests
are known to be more forward than the others; but although the young
birds may be on the point of departing, they are not killed because the
noise of the firing would disturb the whole settlement. So that it
becomes the rook's interest to incubate a little in advance of the rest.
After a few months they are put into another terrible fright--on the
first of September. Guns are going off in all directions, no matter
where they turn, so that they find it impossible to feel at ease, and
instead of feeding wheel about in the air, or settle on the trees.
The glossy plumage of the rook will sometimes, when seen at a certain
angle, reflect the sun's rays in such a manner that instead of looking
black the bird appears clothed in shining light: it is as if the
feathers were polished like a mirror. In feeding they work in a grave,
steady way--a contrast to the restless starlings who so often accompany
them. They do not put a sentinel in a tree to give warning of the
approach of an enemy. The whole flock is generally on the ground
together, and, if half-a-dozen perch awhile on the trees, they soon
descend. So far are they from setting a watch, that if you pass up
outside the hedge to the leeward, on any side except where the wind
would carry the noise of footsteps to them, it is easy to get close--
sometimes, if they are feeding near the hedge, within three or four
yards. Of course if a rook happens to be in a tree it will not be
possible to do so; but they do not set a sentinel for this purpose.
Rooks, in a general way, seem more at their ease in the meadows than in
the arable fields. In the latter they are constantly fired at, if only
with blank charges, to alarm them from the seed besides being shouted at
and frightened with clappers. The bird-keeper's efforts are, however,
of very little avail. If he puts the flock up on one side of the field,
they lazily sail to a distant corner, and when he gets there go back
again. They are fully aware that he cannot injure them if they keep a
certain distance; but this perpetual driving to and fro makes them
suspicious. In the meadows it is rare for them to be shot at, and they
are consequently much less timid.
At the same time they can perfectly well distinguish a gun from a
walking-stick. If you enter a meadow with a gun under your arm, and
find a flock feeding, they immediately cease searching for food and keep
a strict watch on your movements; and if you approach, they are off
directly. If you carry a walking-stick only, you may pass within thirty
yards sometimes, and they take little notice, provided you use the stick
in the proper way. But now lift it, and point it at the nearest rook,
and in an instant he is up with a `caw' of alarm--though he knows it is
not a gun--and flies just above the surface of the ground till he
considers himself safe from possibility of danger. Often the whole
flock will move before that gesture. It is noticeable that no wild
creatures, birds or animals, like anything pointed at them: you may
swing your stick freely, but point it, and off goes the finch that
showed no previous alarm. So too, dogs do not seem easy if a stick is
pointed at them.
Rooks are easily approached in the autumn, when gorging the acorns.
They may often be seen flying carrying an acorn in the bill. Sometimes
a flock will set to work and tear up the grass by the roots over a wide
space--perhaps nearly half an acre--in search of a favourite beetle.
The grass is pulled up in little wisps, just about as much as they can
hold in their beaks at a time. In spring they make tracks through the
mowing grass--not in all the meadows, but only in one here and there,
where they find the food they prefer. These tracks are very numerous,
and do the grass some damage. Besides following the furrows made by the
plough, and destroying grubs, beetles, wireworm, and other pests in
incalculable numbers, they seem to find a quantity of insect food in
unripe corn; for they often frequent wheatfields only just turning
yellow, and where the grain is not yet developed. Except perhaps where
they are very numerous, they do much more good than harm.
Rooks may now and then be seen in the autumn, on the hayricks; they pull
the thatch out, and will do in this way an injury to the roof.
Therefore old black bottles are often placed on the thatch in order to
scare them. It is said that they pull out the straw for the stray
grains left in the ear by the threshing machine. This seems doubtful.
It appears more probable that some insect found on the straw attracts
them.
If you are walking past a feeding flock, the nearest rook to you will
often exhibit a ridiculous indecision as to whether he shall fly or not.
He stretches his neck and leans forward as if about to spring, stops,
utters a questioning `Cawk?' then watches you a moment and gives a hop,
just opens his wings, shuts them, and descends within a couple of feet.
`Cawk!' again. Finally, if you turn from your course and make a step
towards him, he rises, flaps his wings three or four times, extends
them, and glides a dozen yards to alight once more.
Sometimes a flock will rise in the air, and silently wheel round and
round after each other, gradually ascending and drifting slowly with the
current till they reach a great height. When they soar like this it is
said to foretell fine weather. At another time a flock will go up and
wheel about in the strangest irregular manner. Every now and then one
will extend his wings, holding them rigid, and dive downwards, in his
headlong descent wavering to and fro like a sheet of paper falling edge
first. He falls at a great pace, and looks as if he must be dashed to
pieces against a tree or the earth; but he rights himself at the last
moment, and glides away and up again with ease. Occasionally two or
three rooks may be seen doing this at once, while the rest whirl about
as if possessed; and those that are diving utter a gurgling sound like
the usual cawk prolonged--`caw-wouk.' These antics are believed to
foretell rough winds.
The rook, like other broad-winged birds, often makes much leeway in
flying, though there be only a moderate wind. The beak points in one
direction, in which the bird is apparently proceeding, but if observed
closely it will be found that the real course is somewhat sideways. He
is making leeway. So it is that a rook which looks as if coming
straight towards you--as if he must inevitably go overhead--passes some
distance to one side. He appears slow on the wing, as if to go fast
required more energy than he possessed, yet he travels over great
distances without the least apparent exertion.
When going with the wind he sails high in the air, only flapping his
wings sufficiently to maintain balance and steering power. But when
working against the wind, if it is a strong gale, his wings are used
rapidly, and he comes down near the surface of the ground. He then
flies just above the grass, only high enough to escape touching it, and
follows the contour of the field. At the hedges he has to rise, and
immediately meets the full force of the breeze. It is so powerful
sometimes that he cannot overcome it, and his efforts simply lift him in
the air, like a kite drawn against the wind. For a few moments he
appears stationary, his own impetus and the contending wind balancing
each other, and holding him suspended. Then he rises again, but still
finding the current too strong, tacks like a ship to port or starboard,
and so works aslant into the gale. Shortly afterwards he comes down
again, if the field be a large one, and glides forward in the same
manner as before, close to the surface. In crossing the lake too,
against the wind, he flies within a few feet of the water.
During such a gale a rook may often be seen struggling to get over a row
of trees, and stationary, though using his wings vigorously, suspended a
little way above the topmost branches. Frequently he has to give up the
attempt, turn back, and make a detour.
Though rooks usually go in flocks, individuals sometimes get separated,
and may be seen flying alone on the way to rejoin their friends. A
flock of rooks, on rising, occasionally divides into two or more
parties. Each section wheels off on its own course, while sometimes a
small number of those who chance to be near the centre of the original
formation seem at a loss which company to follow, and settle down again
on the field. So a dozen or more become separated from the crowd, and
presently, when they rise, they too divide; three or four fly one way to
join one section, and others take another route. Individuals thus find
themselves alone; but that causes them no uneasiness, as they have their
well-known places of rendezvous, and have only to fly to certain fields
to be sure of meeting their friends, or at most to wait about near the
nesting-trees till the rest come.
It must not, therefore, be supposed that every one flying alone is a
crow. Crows are scarce in comparison with rooks. In severe weather a
rook will sometimes venture into the courtyard of the farmstead.
Two rooks marked with white resided at the rookery here for several
years. One had sufficient white to be distinguished at a distance; the
other seemed to have but one or two feathers, which were, however,
visible enough when near the bird. As they have not been seen lately,
they have probably been shot by some one who thought it clever to
destroy anything out of the ordinary. Most large rookeries can either
show a rook with white feathers, or have well authenticated records of
their former existence; but though not rare, people naturally like to
preserve them when they do occur, and it is extremely annoying to have
them wantonly killed.