In autumn, rabbits receive special attention from the long-net poachers. On a night not too dark or windy, yet windy and dark enough, the long-netters find all omens propitious. To begin with, the rabbits are now in prime condition. Then there is no fear of a hard frost to make the fixing of net-pegs a difficulty, or to allow the sound of footfalls to be carried far through the silence of night. And rabbits are plentiful; as yet their ranks have been thinned by no serious covert shooting. To crown all, the market is ready and expectant, for the chance of a sale of stolen rabbits has not been spoilt by the large surplus bags of genuine sportsmen. A warm night best suits the poachers' object, with the wind blowing towards the side of the selected wood—enough wind to prevent a panic among the rabbits through sound or scent of danger while the gear is fixed, yet not enough to deter them from turning out in goodly numbers, and journeying some distance from the wood to feed. The nets are set up all along the side of the wood, then poachers with dogs or drag-lines make a circuit and drive the feeding rabbits home, and to their doom.
Training Rabbits
Keepers have found it more or less possible to train rabbits to a mode of life which shall baffle the long-net poachers. By giving them regular courses of driving-in at night they will take to feeding chiefly by day, and will grow very suspicious of the sound of a footfall after dark. Where there are not enough rabbits to justify special precautions and continual watching, long-netting may be made difficult by turning cattle at night into the grass fields bordering the woods. Not only will the cattle be sure to take an inquisitive interest in the long-netting, but they will have something to say to the dogs used for driving in, and will quite upset their work. In one place some poachers were baffled after a curious fashion. A local gang had set up some seven hundred yards of new netting, worth about ten guineas, and had gone off to round up the rabbits, when another gang from a distant part of the county arrived on the scene. The curses they heaped on their luck soon gave way to blessings—at any rate, they were quick to see the chance of poaching something more valuable than rabbits. They rolled up the new nets and fled. Then the men of the first gang returned in the wake of the rabbits, which had found nothing to impede their rush to cover. Curses were deeper and stronger than those breathed before. The men decided in the end to put their case and themselves unreservedly into the hands of the police, who telephoned to the nearest railway station, and captured the poachers with their poaching brethren's gear and their own rolled up in blankets.
Why Birds Flock
Why birds and beasts flock, no doubt, is for mutual protection from natural foes. One has heard of swallows nesting on a cliff beneath an eagle's eyrie, yet having nothing to fear from the eagle's attack because of their combination; and every one knows how a party of small birds will defy a hawk, or will mob and rout a cuckoo or a day-flying owl. Possibly the reason for the great congregation of sparrows in one chosen tree in a London square is mutual protection from cats. Food is a most important factor in flocking; the keeper knows that the scarcer the food of partridges the greater is their tendency to pack. Birds may pack at night for mutual warmth—as when titmice snuggle on branches, and wrens, to the number of ten or twenty, crowd a hole in the thatch. Partridges gain something in warmth in snowy weather by their habit of jugging at night—a good covey on a yard of ground. But examination of the spot where they have passed the night shows that the main pack has been divided into comparatively small parties, in the same way as there were small parties among the great herds of buffalo that travelled as one column across the plains of America. Sheltered hollows are naturally chosen for jugging, where the keen edge of the wind passes over the birds' heads. There is not always safety or benefit in numbers; a flock may attract foes where individuals would pass unnoticed, or may make short work of food which would keep an individual for many days. With insects, great congregations may be harmful, if an advantage to their bird enemies. Presumably, flocking is a matter of general convenience.
During the first fortnight of October little parties of fieldfares from Scandinavia drift over the fields, chuckling in their throaty way, redwings are seen, our wood-pigeons are reinforced by countless thousands from overseas, snipe come in, woodcock will soon be here, parties of goldcrests, newly arrived, cry their sharp notes among the larches, and the winter flocks of tits, with goldcrests, tree-creepers, and nuthatches busily move in the woods. Everywhere birds are in flocks. Chaffinches, greenfinches, and sparrows move in vast congregations, plovers circle in clouds above the fallows, flocks of rooks unite in the evening and thousands upon thousands of starlings rise, fall, and circle in perfect unison, filling the air with the rushing noise of wings.