BURIES THE WILD DUCK.
“I could not help thinking, as I looked at her, how deep and striking an example she afforded of maternal affection. The ruthless blast had swept, with all its fury, along the lonesome and unsheltered hill. The snow had risen higher, and the smothering drift came fiercer, as night drew on; yet still that poor bird, in defiance of the warring elements, continued to protect her home, and the treasure which it contained, until she could do so no longer, and yielded up her life. That life she could easily have saved, had she been willing to abandon the offspring which Nature had taught her so fervently to cherish, and in endeavouring to preserve which she voluntarily remained and died. Occupied with such feelings and reflections as these, I know not how long I might have sat, had I not been roused from my reverie by the barking of a shepherd’s dog. The sun had already set,—the grey twilight had begun to hide the distant mountains from my sight, and, not caring to be benighted on such a spot, I wrapped a piece of paper, as a winding sheet, round the faithful and devoted bird, and, forming a hole sufficiently large for the purpose, I laid into it the mother and the eggs. I covered them with earth and moss, and, over all, placed a solid piece of turf; and having done so,—and being more affected than I should perhaps be willing to acknowledge,—I left them to moulder into their original dust, and went on my way.”
Having thus related an instance of maternal affection on the part of the wild duck, let us cite a still more remarkable instance of brotherly sympathy and help on the part of the common Tern (Sterna hirundo), called Pickietars in the neighbourhood of Banff.
THE PICKIETARS.
“Being on the sands of Boyndie one afternoon at the end of August, I observed several parties of Pickietars busily employed in fishing in the firth. As I was in want of a specimen of this bird, I loitered about on the beach, narrowly watching their motions, and hoping that some of them would come within range of my gun. The scene around was of no common beauty. In the azure heaven, not a cloud was to be seen as far as the eye could reach; not a breath of wind was stirring the placid bosom of the firth. The atmosphere seemed a sea, as it were, of living things; so numerous were the insects that hummed and fluttered to and fro in all directions. The sun, approaching the verge of the horizon, shot long and glimmering bands of green and gold across the broad mirror of the deep. Here and there several vessels were lying becalmed, their whitened sails showing brightly in the goldened light. An additional interest was imparted by the herring-boats which were congregating in the bay; their loose and flagging sails, the noise of the oars, and the efforts of the rowers, told plainly enough that a hard pull would have to be undergone, before they could reach their particular quarters for fishing, in the north-eastern part of the firth.
THE PICKIETAR FISHING.
“While I stood surveying with delight the extended and glorious prospect, and witnessing with admiration the indefatigable evolutions of the Terns in their search for food, I observed one of them break off from a party of five, and direct his course towards the shore, fishing all the way as he came. It was an interesting sight to behold him as he approached in his flight,—at one moment rising, at another descending,—now poised in mid-air, his wings expanded but motionless, his piercing eye directed to the waters beneath, and watching with eager gaze the movements of their scaly inhabitants,—and now, as one of them would ever and anon come sufficiently near the surface, making his attack upon the fish in the manner so thoroughly taught him by nature. Quick as thought he closed to his side his outspread pinions; turned off his equilibrium with a movement almost imperceptible; and, with a seeming carelessness, threw himself headlong into the deep so rapidly that the eye could with difficulty keep pace with his descent. In the least space of time he would be seen sitting on the water, swallowing his prey. This being accomplished, he again mounted into the air. He halts in his progress. Something has caught his eye. He lets himself down; but it is only for a little, for his expected prey has vanished from his sight.
“Once more he soars aloft on lively wing; and having attained a certain elevation, and hovering kestrel-like for a little with quick repeated strokes of his pinions, he rapidly descends. Again, however, his hoped-for victim has made its escape; and he bounds away in an oblique direction, describing a beautiful curve as he rises without having touched the water. Shortly after, he wings his way nearer and nearer to the beach: onwards he advances with zigzag flight, when suddenly, as if struck down by an unseen hand, he drops into the water within about thirty yards of the place where I was standing. As he righted and sat on the bosom of the deep, I was enabled distinctly to perceive that he held in his bill a little scaly captive which he had snatched from its home, and which struggled violently to regain its liberty. Its struggles were in vain: a few squeezes from the mandibles of the bird put an end to its existence.
THE PICKIETAR SHOT.
“Being now within my reach, I stood prepared for the moment when he should again arise. This he did so soon as the fish was despatched. I fired, and he came down with a broken wing, screaming as he fell into the water. The report of the gun, together with his cries, brought together the party he had left, in order that they might ascertain the cause of the alarm. After surveying their wounded brother round and round, as he was drifting unwittingly toward the shore with the flowing tide, they came flying in a body to the spot where I stood, and rent the air with their screams. These they continued to utter, regardless of their own individual safety, until I began to make preparations for receiving the approaching bird. I could already see that it was a beautiful adult specimen; and I expected in a few moments to have it in my possession, being not very far from the water’s edge.