Edward had frequent mishaps when he went out on these nocturnal expeditions. One summer evening he went out moth-hunting. The weather was mild and fair; and it gave promise of an abundant “take” of moths. He had with him his collecting-box under his arm, and a phial of chloroform in his pocket. His beat lay in a woody dale, close by the river’s side. He paced the narrow footpath backward and forward, snapping at his prey as he walked along the path.
The sun went down. The mellow thrush, which had been pouring forth his requiem to the parting day, was now silent. The lark flew to its mossy bed, the swallow to its nest. The wood-pigeon had uttered his last coo before settling down for the night. The hum of the bee was no longer heard. The grasshopper had sounded his last chirp; and all seemed to have sunk to sleep. Yet Nature is never at rest. The owl began to utter his doleful and melancholy wail; the night-jar (Caprimulgus Europæus) was still out with his spinning-wheel-like birr, birr; and the lightsome roe, the pride of the lowland woods, was emitting his favourite night bark.
The moths continued to appear long after the butterflies had gone to rest. They crowded out from their sylvan homes into the moth-catcher’s beat. These he continued to secure. A little drop of the drowsy liquid, and the insect dropped into his box, as perfect as if still in Nature’s hands. Thus he managed to secure a number of first-rate specimens—amongst others, the Oak Egger moth, the Wood-Tiger moth, the Cream-spot Tiger moth, the Bee-Hawk moth, the beautiful China-mark, the Green Silver-line, and many other specimens. He hoped to secure more; but in the midst of his operations he was interrupted by the approach of an extraordinary-looking creature.
TERRIBLE ENCOUNTER.
He was stepping slowly and watchfully along his beat, crooning to himself, “There’s nae luck aboot the house,” when, looking along the narrow footpath, he observed something very large, and tremendously long, coming towards him. He suddenly stopped his crooning and came to a stand-still. What could the hideous-looking monster be? He could not see it clearly, for it had become dark, and the moon was not yet up. Yet there it was, drawing slowly towards him. He was totally unarmed. He had neither his gun nor even his gully knife with him. Fear whispered, “Fly! fly for your life!” but courage shouted, “No! no! stand like a man and a true naturalist, and see the worst and the best of it!” So he stood his ground.
FIGHT WITH BADGERS.
At length the animal gradually approached him. He now observed that it consisted of three large and full-grown badgers, each a short distance behind the other, the foremost being only about sixteen yards from where he stood. He had for some time been on the look-out for a badger to add to his collection, and now he hoped to be able to secure one. He rushed forward; the badgers suddenly turned and made for the river alongside of which his beat had extended. He wrapped a handkerchief round his hand to prevent the animals biting him, threw off his hat, and bolted after the badgers. He was gaining on them rapidly, and as he came up with the last, which was bolting down into the river, he gave it a tremendous kick; but, in doing so, he fell suddenly flat on his back in the midst of the path. When he came to himself he began to feel if his legs were broken, or if his head were still on. Yes, all was right; but, on searching, he found a tremendous bump upon the back of his head, as big as a turkey’s egg.
Such was the end of his night’s moth-hunting. But his head was so full of badgers, and he was so confused with his fall, that when he reached home and went to sleep, he got up shortly afterwards, loaded his gun for the purpose of shooting a badger, and, as he was in the act of putting a cap on the nipple, he suddenly awoke!