The Peewit or Green Plover (Vanellus cristatus) is another common victim to this form of death, sometimes in great numbers. Three winters ago, large flocks of plovers used to frequent particular fields at night-time, flying to and from the coast morning and night. In these daily migrations they had to pass, at one particular place, a perfect network of wires; and though odd birds had been got from time to time, yet great was the astonishment of the signalman at a box near at hand, when daylight broke one morning after a stormy night, to see the ground near his box strewn with Peewits. I should not like to say how many there were, but it took him at least twice to carry them to the nearest gamedealer’s. Golden Plovers (Charadrius pluvialis) occasionally fall victims to the same means; and I have seen a young bird of this species killed, while on its way to the coast, as early as the 9th of July, and many miles from the nearest breeding-ground. The Missel Thrush (Turdus viscivorus) in its short autumnal migrations often shares the same fate; and at the same period I once saw that hideling bird, the Spotted Crake (Porzana maruetta). I know of no instance of any of the hawks being done to death in this manner, though other observers may have been more fortunate as regards these birds. Instead, the Kestrel (Falco tinnunculus) often makes use of the wires as a post of observation, mice being very plentiful as a rule along railway sides; and in winter they often come out of their holes to feed on the horse-refuse on the highways. Wild-ducks also escape, as far as my knowledge goes, and we might naturally expect to see them occasionally; but that may be accounted for by their flying too high in their passage from coast to coast or to inland feeding-grounds.
Of the orthodox bird, as Sydney Smith called the Pheasant, it is in some places a very common victim. I think I could pick out one stretch of railway which at certain seasons of the year produces for the surfaceman who goes along it in early morning a never-failing supply of wounded and dead birds. On one side of the railway is a long belt of plantation, where the birds are turned into after being hand-reared, on the other side a river with cornfields stretching down to it; and it is in the passage from the covers to the cornfields, when the grain is ripe or standing in stook, that the accidents occur. Partridges also often fall victims to the wires, as also did the Red Grouse where the telegraph crossed their native heaths. In more than one instance have the wires been laid underground, where crossing grouse-moors, to prevent the birds killing themselves; but even when crossing these moors in the usual style from post to post, grouse after a time get to beware of them, and deaths through this cause get fewer and fewer. One instance of this peculiar adaptation of themselves to new circumstances came very forcibly under the writer’s notice. A wire-fence was put across a very good grouse-moor in Cumberland, dividing the fell into two allotments. For some time after this was done, dead or dying birds were picked up daily, until it was well known that whoever was first along the fence was sure of a grouse-pie. It was amusing to see the different stratagems employed by the shepherds and others to get along the fence without seeming to do so. Indeed, I have seen two farmers meet at the ‘Townfoot,’ and after a short gossip, separate, going in different directions and away from the fell; and an hour after, I have heard of them meeting about the middle of the fence, both intent on dead or wounded birds. While for some time this slaughter of grouse went on, another fellow put in his appearance, this time with four legs, and made a track by the side of the fence to replenish his larder; and Mr Stoat had even the temerity to dispute the claim in one instance with the two-legged hunter. But the grouse in time got to know the dangers of the fence, and now the victims, like angels’ visits, are few and far between.
The ‘vermin,’ as weasels and stoats are generally called, have often a regular track beneath the wires, for the purpose of looking for dead and wounded birds. The other day I found beneath the new wires I have already mentioned a lot of scattered feathers belonging to a Redwing (Turdus iliacus), but no bird. Thinking it might only be wounded, I set to look for it, and after some patient hunting, found a few more feathers farther on the common. These traces I followed diligently, finding them every four or five yards apart, till in a hedge-bank fifty yards from the wires I found them thick about a small hole—no doubt the burrow of a weasel, not an uncommon animal in that same old hedge. One would have liked to have seen the weasel carrying or dragging its prey, whichever it was, the former more likely, from the traces of the feathers being left at such regular intervals. A friend informs me that he has seen the Carrion Crow regularly hunting along the wires in his district.
Another victim has just come to hand in the shape of a young Guillemot (Uria troile) in its first year’s dress; and in the month of May I saw a Sanderling (Calidris arenaria) which had partially put on its nuptial garb, and was no doubt making north to the arctic regions as fast as wings could carry it, when arrested by the stretched wire.
If it were possible to get authentic statistics of all the different species and numbers of birds ‘telegraphed,’ we should have a mass of information which no doubt would greatly assist our ornithologists in their study of the migration of the feathered tribes. This, I am afraid, is impossible, as birds mostly fall during the hours of darkness or semi-light; and there are others, both quadrupeds and birds, which have the advantage of the genus homo in hunting propensities, and who are at work before he is out of bed. They are not in search of information; their hunting is prompted by something keener than even a search for knowledge. The cravings of an empty stomach must be satisfied if possible, and who can tell how many a rare bird—which an ornithologist would have tramped miles to see—has formed a breakfast dish for a lot of hungry young weasels, or swelled out the crop of some gaunt carrion crow!
Any one living near a line of wires will find something to interest him, if he is an early riser, by searching underneath the wires in his morning walk. And when a specimen is found, a note should be taken of its name, the date, direction of wind during night, and weather; and thus in time a quantity of information would be gathered which would materially assist our migration committees. The death-rate through being ‘telegraphed’ is generally greatest during the spring and autumn migrations.
A FRIEND OF THE FAMILY.
CHAPTER IV.—THE BURGLARY.
The noise of the disturbance in the library had already attracted the attention of the Squire and his guests, who had just then reached the door of the drawing-room. When Parker announced that Major Dawkins was arrested for burglary, there was a general exclamation of incredulity; but the mention of the handcuffs elicited a little scream from Miss Euphemia and an exclamation of indignation from the Squire.
‘This is too absurd. It is some rascal’s practical joke; but it is one that I shall punish, for it is a disgrace to me that such a thing should be perpetrated on a guest of mine.—Friends, come with me.’ He led the way to the library; and the ladies, unable to restrain their curiosity, followed the gentlemen. Perhaps they also felt some timidity at the idea of being left alone; for the numerous burglaries committed of late during the dinner hour at country-houses were trying the nerves of everybody who had property to lose.