Tales of the birds

by W. Warde Fowler

She looked up and saw a large bird hovering just at the edge of the cliffs above them. Its great wings were spread out, as it sailed round and round for a while, looking to see that the coast was clear: and their sharp eyes could see that it carried something in its talons. Then, seeing nothing to disturb its solitude, it wheeled slowly down the cliff, and perched on a projecting bit of rock, not very high above their heads, and stood there, proud and fierce, with one foot still grasping its victim, which they could now see was a young leveret, bleeding and struggling in its last agony. When the last struggle was over, and not before, the sharp, cruel, beak was driven like a knife into the leveret’s neck, and the fur torn from its back; and when the butcher’s work was complete, the great bird slowly rose on its wings, and sailed into the air once more with the bleeding victim.

Harold slowly changed his position in the boat, and watched the falcon closely and silently. Wheeling once or twice, as it rose against the cliff, and uttering a chattering cry as if to announce its coming to its young ones, it passed within a narrow cleft in the rock, about a third of the way down the precipice, and disappeared. The boy was on his feet in an instant, and, springing out of the boat, he took off his blue jersey, and threw it to Molly to take care of; then he took a long look at the rocks above him, and rapidly made up his mind as to the line he would take in climbing. The first part was easy enough; but at the height of about a hundred feet from the sea the rocks suddenly became steeper. Still there was nothing to prevent an active lad from scaling them, if the hold for hand and foot were only firm; but the red rock was sometimes loose and brittle, and would need great care in handling. If he could pass safely along the face of these higher rocks by a little ledge which gave room for a few rock-loving plants to grow, he would reach the cleft into which the falcon had disappeared; once there, he must trust to luck, for he could not see further from below.

He quickly passed up the lower and more broken part of the cliff, Molly watching the easy motion of his supple form with pride and confidence. No shade of anxiety for him crossed her mind; she had often seen him climb both rocks and trees before, and had even sometimes climbed with him. She too was strong and active, and knew the delight of swinging herself from rock to rock or from bough to bough, with the perfect confidence that young heads place in the resources of their hands and feet. She would have been quite willing to dare even these cliffs with him, if he had asked her; but Harold knew very well that this would be the roughest climb he had ever yet tried, and had all the morning spoken as if he were going alone; so Molly quietly acquiesced, as she always did on such occasions. She sat in the boat, her hands playing with her blue worsted cap, but her eyes intently fixed on the climber.

When he reached the steeper rocks, he went more slowly; and she could see him testing the firmness of his foothold by a kick, or loosening a stone with his hand, which went leaping downwards and fell into the sea with a splash, almost too near the boat to be pleasant. Once or twice he picked up the egg of some Guillemot or Gull which had flown off as he approached, and held it out for Molly to see; and once he stopped to examine the skin of the leveret which the falcon had left behind on the projecting bit of rock. At last he safely reached the ledge, and began to walk carefully along it, steadying himself against the rock above him with his right hand. Just before he reached the cleft to which the ledge was leading him, Molly saw the falcon sail out of it again within a few yards of him; but Harold stood perfectly motionless in the shadow of the rock, and the magnificent bird, too busy to search for intruders, failed to see him, and rising slowly, passed over the beetling brow of the cliff and disappeared inland.

Then he went on again slowly, to the corner where the ledge passed into the cleft and out of Molly’s sight: and now she first began to wonder whether he would after all be able to reach the nest. The corner projected sharply, and in rounding it, the ledge seemed almost to come to an end; no grass grew on it at that point, and the rocks above and below were cut sharply and steeply. She saw him stop for a minute or two when he came to this corner, and put his foot forward to try the footing; her blue cap dropped out of her hands into the boat, and she sat up gazing with eager eyes and parted lips. Then she saw him rest his left foot on the jutting bit of rock he had tested, kneel down on his right knee, and slowly work himself along with the help of his hands. As he turned the corner, he seemed to get into easier quarters, for he rose to his feet again, and passed in a moment out of her sight into the dark cleft.

A few minutes later she heard the cries of the young falcons, and a loud shout from Harold told her that vengeance was being done for Snowdrop’s death. Sticks and rubbish began to fall down the rocks; he was razing to the ground the falcon’s rockbuilt refuge. And then he emerged again, with a young bird in his hand, which he proceeded to tie up in his pocket-handkerchief, and button inside the breast of his shirt. When all was ready, he again knelt down, this time with his left knee, using his right foot to support him below wherever it could find a firm support. Molly watched her hero now impatiently; she wanted him to come down quickly and show her the young falcon.

The difficult part was almost over, when some bit of stone on which he had rested his right foot gave away, and rolled down the precipice. He had nothing now to hold by except his left knee, and Molly, now standing up in the boat in real anxiety, saw him keeping his balance with difficulty by pressing his unsupported leg hard against the rocks. Then she saw him make a spring—such a spring indeed as one can make with nothing to spring from but one’s left knee—and try to catch at a big red knob which lay just at the end of the perilous part of the ledge. His hands caught the knob, and he turned with his face to the rock struggling to bring his feet up once more to the level of the ledge. But the stone was treacherous and gave way, and the boy, after another moment’s effort to save himself, fell after it down the steeper part of the rocks, till he was caught by another ledge below, and there lay quite still.

Molly uttered an inarticulate sound as she saw him fall; she did not cry or scream, but she trembled all over. A cold feeling went down her back, and her heart beat so violently that for a moment she was obliged to sit down panting. She looked all round to see if any boat was in sight, but the fishermen did not often come so far at that time of the year, and the sea was unbroken by an oar. Only far out in the offing lay the huge form of the ironclad; and for an instant there flashed through Molly’s mind the picture of Harold in his young strength sitting opposite her with his oars, turning to watch the firing of the big guns, then holding her face in his hands, and bidding her not be silly. Something told her that now an effort was needed from her, such as she had never had to make in her life before; and, strong and healthy as she was, she felt her faintness passing, and her will growing strong. She was quite alone; she must act; what should she do?

At first she thought of rowing back for help, but she knew that the tide had not yet turned, and that she would be a much longer time getting back than they had taken in coming. And then she would have to leave Harold all that time, and he perhaps dying, or at least badly hurt. He might indeed be dead; but at none of these possibilities did she quail again, now that she had fully nerved herself for action. She must climb and reach him; and she set about it instantly. With a woman’s instinct she took what was left of the cold tea that they had brought with them, tied Harold’s blue jersey round her neck by the sleeves, stepped firmly out of the boat, and after marking the spot where he fell, began to climb.

Once at the top of the easier rocks, she found herself not far below the shelf upon which he must be lying, and called to him. No answer came. Panting with effort and excitement, but with firm limbs and steady head, she began to ascend the steeper rocks, and presently reached what seemed to be a faint track, made perhaps by some animal, which led her easily upwards to the shelf. When she reached it her strength failed for a moment, and her eyes seemed dim; but mastering herself again she advanced, and suddenly came upon Harold, lying on his back in a little bed of rough grass and samphire. She saw in an instant that he was alive, and spoke to him, but he did not answer. Then she knelt down beside him, folded up the jersey and put it under his head; opened the bottle of cold tea, and moistening her fingers with it, rubbed his temples and wetted his nostrils. She gave his forehead one kiss; but there was work to be done, and this was no time for kisses: she felt half ashamed even of this one. She searched for wounds, but could find none; only she feared that one arm on which he was lying must be badly hurt. But she could not move him, and must wait till he came to himself; and she went on rubbing and chafing, yet sparing the tea till he should wake and be able to drink some. It was quite an hour before he came to himself.