When thus hovering motionless the wings are seen to beat rapidly for a few seconds, then to become fixed and rigid for a moment or two, after which the beating motion is renewed. A short time ago I watched a kestrel thus hovering in the face of a very violent wind, and it struck me that this suspension of the wings’ motion in such circumstances was very extraordinary and hard to explain. One can understand that, even in the face of a violent gale, the bird is able to maintain its motionless position by sheer muscular power; but how happened it that in the short intervals, when the outspread wings became fixed and motionless, the bird was not instantly blown from its position?
In its breeding habits the kestrel, like the starling and jackdaw, has a partiality for towers and lofty ruins, and it also nests in holes in rocks and hollow trees. In woods it frequently takes possession of a disused nest of a crow or magpie. The eggs are four or five, blotched with dull red on a reddish white ground; and in many eggs the ground-colour is quite covered with red.
The kestrel, among British birds of prey, is a favourite with the ornithologist in virtue of its interesting habits; and it deserves to be equally esteemed by the farmer on account of its usefulness. It is, indeed, the only bird of diurnal habits that wages incessant warfare against the prolific and injurious mice, and thus carries on by day the task of keeping down a pest which those ‘feathered cats,’ the owls, so efficiently pursue at night.
The kestrel is easier to tame, and, when tame, more docile and affectionate, than most hawks, and many accounts have appeared in print of the bird and its ways in the domestic condition; but, to my mind, not one so interesting as the history of a pet kestrel kept a few years since by some friends of mine. The bird was young when it came into their hands, and was lovingly cared for, and made free of a large house and park, and of the whole wide country beyond. And it made good use of its liberty. As a rule, every morning it would fly away and disappear from sight until the evening, when, some time before sunset, it would return, dash in at the open door, and perch on some elevated situation—a cornice, or bust, or on the top of a large picture-frame. Invariably at dinner-time it flew to the dining-room, and would then settle on the shoulder of its master or mistress, to be fed with small scraps of meat. This pleasant state of things lasted for about three years, during which time the bird always roosted in, or somewhere near, the house, flew abroad by day, to return faithfully every evening to his loving human friends to be caressed, and fed, and made much of; and it might have continued several years longer, down to the present time, if the bird’s temper had not suffered a mysterious change. All at once, for no reason that anyone could guess, he became subject to the most extraordinary outbreaks of ill-temper, and in such a state he would, on his return from his daily wanderings abroad, violently attack some person in the room. Up till this time he had preferred his master and mistress to any other member of the household, and had shown an equal attachment to both; now he would single out one or other of these his best friends for his most violent attacks; and, very curiously, on the day when he attacked his master he would display the usual affection towards his mistress, but on the next day would reverse the process. And his hostility was not to be despised: rising up into the air to a good height, he would dash down with great force on to the obnoxious person’s head, often inflicting a lacerating blow with his claws. More than once, the lady told me, after one of these cutting, ungrateful blows on her forehead her face was bathed in blood.
It is pleasant to be able to relate that no feeling of resentment or alarm was excited by this behaviour on the part of the bird; that he was never deprived of his sweet liberty or treated with less gentleness than before. It was hoped and believed that he would outgrow the savage fit, and if he had confined his virulent attacks to his master and mistress it would have been well with him. Unfortunately for him, he attacked others who were made of poorer clay. One evening at dinner, the butler, while occupied with his duties, was struck savagely on the wrist by the kestrel. Like a well-trained servant, he did not wince or cry out, but marched stolidly round the table, pouring out wine, anxious only to conceal the blood that trickled from his wounds. But on the following day the bird was missing, and was never afterwards seen or heard of.
Osprey.
Pandion haliaëtus.
Feathers of the head and neck white with dark centres; on each side of the neck a streak of blackish brown, extending downwards; upper plumage generally deep brown; under parts white, tinged here and there with yellow, and on the breast marked with arrow-shaped spots; tail-feathers barred with dusky; cere and beak dark grey; iris yellow. Length, two feet.
The osprey, like the sea-eagle, hen harrier, and kite, is one of the species that linger with us on the verge of extinction; and it may linger for many years, as in the case of the avocet, the black-tailed godwit, and the ruff, after these species had been reduced to a few breeding pairs; and, on the other hand, it may be gone to-morrow. That it will remain permanently as a member of the British avifauna is scarcely to be hoped.
The osprey, like the peregrine falcon and the short-eared owl, has an immense range, and inhabits Europe, Africa, the greater part of Asia, Japan, Formosa, the Australian region, New Guinea, and America. With us it appears in autumn as a migrant in small numbers; but the birds of the British race are now reduced to one or two pairs that breed annually in the Highlands of Scotland, and are strictly protected in their summer haunts.