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The Eagle: Habits; Greediness; Anecdotes of; Killing Eagles; Trapping;
Food of — The Peregrine Falcon: Manner of Hunting — Tame Falcon:
Anecdotes of — Guinea-Hen and Ducks — The Osprey —The Kite: Trapping —
The Buzzard: Nests and Habits of.
I SAW an eagle to-day
passing southwards, apparently on his way from the mountains of Sutherland
or Caithness to the more southern heights of the Grampians. The bird was
flying very near the ground, making his way against the wind, and pursued
by a whole squadron of grey crows, who had found out that he was a
stranger, and taking advantage of the unconcerned contempt with which he
treated their attacks, kept up a continual clamour and petty warfare
against the royal bird. The eagle, as he came over the more enclosed part
of the country, flew higher, as if suspicious of concealed foes amongst
the hedges and enclosures. I have almost every year during my stay in
Morayshire seen the eagles occasionally passing, at the beginning of
winter invariably going southwards, and again early in the spring on their
return northwards ; in windy weather flying low, but when calm, cleaving
the air at a great height. The eagle's flight, when passing from one point
to another, is peculiarly expressive of strength and vigour. He wends his
way with deliberate strong strokes of his powerful wing, every stroke
apparently driving him on a considerable distance, and in this manner
advancing through the air as rapidly as the pigeon or any other bird which
may appear to fly much more quickly.
Notwithstanding the
facility with which he flies when once fairly launched, like many other
heavy birds, a very slight wound disables him from rising into the air
when on level ground. Even after having gorged himself to excess (and
there is no greater glutton than this king of the air) the eagle is unable
to rise, and falls a victim occasionally to his want of moderation in
feeding. When in Sutherlandshire, I twice fell in with instances of eagles
being knocked down when unable to rise from overeating. On one occasion a
curious kind of character, who acted the part of hanger-on to me in my
deer-shooting excursions, brought home an eagle which he had killed with
his stick before it could rise from the ground. This man, who was dumb,
and was supposed (very erroneously) to be half-witted also, had a great
penchant for assisting in beating the woods for roe or deer ; and from
long acquaintance with the country; and from a propensity (very common to
people similarly afflicted) for wandering about, he had a perfect
knowledge of every corner of the extensive woods on the property, and also
a most shrewd guess as to where the deer would be lying, and in which
direction they would break cover. Though generally of a most morose and
even malicious temper, Muckle Thomas, as they called him, entertained a
great affection, in his way, for me ; and every morning was to be found
seated in front of the windows, smoking a solitary pipe, and waiting to
see if I wanted him. Though dumb, he was not deaf, and understanding what
was said to him, could make himself quite intelligible by signs, assisting
my comprehension by drawing, in a rude way, figures on the ground with the
long staff which he invariably carried. One morning I had sent him to look
in a certain part of the woods to see if any deer's tracks were visible.
In an hour or two he returned with something large bundled up in his
plaid, which he opened, and cast down his load at my feet with a look and
grunt of triumph. After some explanatory signs, etc., I found out that he
had come on the eagle, who had so completely gorged himself with a rotten
sheep in the wood that it could not rise.
Another instance occurred
in the same country. A shepherd's boy found an eagle gorging itself on
some drowned sheep in a watercourse, and being, like all herd-boys, as
skilful as David in the use of sling and stone, he had broken the eagle's
pinion with a pebble, and had actually stoned the poor bird to death. In
this case the eagle was taken at peculiar disadvantage, being surprised in
a deep rocky burn, out of which he would have had difficulty in rising
quickly, even if he had not dined so abundantly. When wounded by shot, or
even after escaping (but maimed) from a trap, the eagle is often unable to
rise. A curious anecdote was told me by a friend. An eagle had been caught
in a vermin-trap, and, by his struggles, had drawn the peg by which the
trap was fastened to the ground, and had flown away with it. Nothing was
seen for some weeks of eagle or trap, till one day my friend, seeing some
strange object hanging from the branch of a tree, went to examine what it
was, and found the poor bird hanging by his leg, which was firmly held by
the trap. The chain and peg had got fixed amongst the branches, and the
poor eagle had died miserably from starvation in this position, suspended
by the foot. Though certainly the eagles in some localities commit great
havoc amongst the lambs, and also destroy the grouse when no larger game
offers itself it would be a great pity that this noble bird should become
extinct in our Highland districts, who, notwithstanding his carnivorous
propensities, should be rather preserved than exterminated. How
picturesque he looks, and how perfectly he represents the genius loci, as,
perched on some rocky point or withered tree, he sits unconcerned in wind
and storm, motionless and statue-like, with his keen, stern eye, however,
intently following every movement of the shepherd or of the sportsman,
who, deceived by his apparent disregard, attempts to creep within
rifle-shot. Long before he can reckon on reaching so far with his bullet,
the bird launches himself into the air, and gradually sweeping upwards,
wheels high out of shot, leaving his enemy disappointed and vexed at
having crept in vain through bog and over rock in expectation of carrying
home so glorious a trophy of his skill. When intent on his game, the eagle
frequently will venture within a short distance of the grouse-shooter or
deer-stalker. I have seen him pounce (no, that is not the proper word, for
he rather rushes) down on a pack of grouse, and, with outspread wings, he
so puzzles and confuses the birds, that he seizes and carries off two or
three before they know what has happened, and in the very face of the
astonished sportsman and his dogs. The mountain hare, too, is carried off
by the eagle with as much apparent ease as the mouse is born away by the
kestrel.
The marten and the wild cat
are favourite morsels. A tame eagle which I kept for some time killed all
the cats about the Place. Sitting motionless on his perch, he waited
quietly and seemingly unheeding till the unfortunate animal came within
reach of his chain. Then down he flew, and surrounding the cat with his
wings, seized her in his powerful talons, with one foot planted firmly on
her loins, and the other on her throat ; and nothing more was seen of poor
Grimalkin except her skin, which the eagle left empty and turned inside
out, like a rabbit-skin hung up by the cook, the whole of the carcass,
bones and all, being stowed away in the bird's capacious maw. The quantity
of meat taken from the stomach of an eagle killed on the mountain is
sometimes perfectly incredible. I regret not having taken a note of the
weight of mutton I once saw taken out of one I shot.
We are occasionally
visited, too, by the peregrine falcon, who makes sad havoc in the
poultry-yard when he appears here. There is a nest of these birds always
built in the inaccessible rocks of the Findhorn. Indeed, in the good old
days of hawking, when a gentleman was known by his hawk and hound, and
even a lady seldom went abroad without a hawk on her gloved hand, the
Findhorn hawks were always in great" request. The peregrine seems often to
strike down birds for his amusement ; and I have seen one knock down and
kill two rooks, who were unlucky enough to cross his flight, without
taking the trouble to look at them after they fell. In the plain country
near the seashore the peregrine frequently pursues the peewits and other
birds that frequent the coast. The golden-plover, too, is a favourite
prey, and affords the hawk a severe chase before he is caught. I have seen
a pursuit of this kind last ,for nearly ten minutes, the plover turning
and doubling like a hare before greyhounds, at one moment darting like an
arrow into the air, high above the falcon's head ; at the next, sweeping
round some bush or headland—but in vain. The hawk, with steady, relentless
flight, without seeming to hurry herself, never gives up the chase, till
the poor plover, seemingly quite exhausted, slackens her pace, and is
caught by the hawk's talons in mid-air, and carried off to a convenient
hillock or stone to be quietly devoured. Two years ago I brought a young
peregrine falcon down from near the source of the Findhorn, where I found
her in the possession of a shepherd's boy, who fed her wholly on trout.
For the first year the bird was of a dark brown colour above, with
longitudinal spots on the feathers of her breast. On changing her plumage
during the second autumn of her existence, she became of a most beautiful
dark slate colour above, and the spots on her breast turned into
cross-bars, every feather being barred with black ; her throat became of a
beautiful cream colour. With great strength, she is possessed of the most
determined courage, and will attack any person or dog whom she takes a
dislike to. Her poultry-killing propensities oblige me to keep her chained
in the kitchen-garden, where no other bird, except a tame owl, resides.
The owl she appears to tolerate with great good nature, and even allows
him to carry off any remains of pigeon or crow that she leaves after she
has satisfied her hunger. One day an unfortunate duck strayed within reach
of her chain, and was immediately pounced on and devoured, leaving a
numerous family of ducklings to mourn her loss.
A curious stepmother took
them in hand, however. A Guinea-fowl, whose mate had been condemned to
death for killing young poultry, took compassion on the orphan ducklings,
and led them about, calling them, and tending them with as much or more
care than their deceased parent. It was a most singular sight to see the
Guinea-fowl quite changing her natural habits, and walking about followed
by a brood of young ducks. She never left them for a moment, excepting
when she retired to her nest to lay ; and even then, if the ducks uttered
any cry of alarm, on the approach of dog or children, their stepmother
came flying over bushes and fences in a most furious hurry. Indeed she
became quite the terror of the children, running after them and pecking
their legs if they came too near to her adopted brood ; although at other
times she was rather a wild and shy bird. The ducks had a habit of hunting
for worms in the dusk of the evening, and the poor Guinea-hen, much
against her inclination and natural propensities, thought it necessary
always to accompany them. Frequently tired out, she used to fly up to
roost, but always kept her eye on the young ducks, and on the least alarm
came bustling down to protect them if she thought it necessary, at any
hour of the night. A pugnacious cock another time was rash enough to
attack the hawk, and was not only killed, but devoured. Frequently,
unlucky pigeons came within reach of her chain, and were also eaten. In
consequence of these depredations, she is exiled to the walled garden. One
day I was altering her chain, and she flew away. After flying three or
four times round the house and garden, she perched in a high tree and
would not come down. I was obliged to leave her at night, and in the
morning the hawk was nowhere to be found. For four days I saw nothing of
her ; but on going out early on the fifth morning, I saw her wheeling
about at a great height, with some hooded crows giving battle to her. I
stood out in an open place and whistled. As soon as she heard me, after
two or three rapid sweeps round my head, she perched down on my arm, and
immediately began caressing me, and as plainly as possible expressing her
delight at having found me again ; whether hunger or affection induced her
to return, I know not ; though I rather fear the former, as, on my giving
her a rabbit, she commenced devouring it as if her fast had not been
broken since she got away. In feeding on birds, 'I observe that she
invariably begins by plucking them of almost all their feathers, however
hungry she may be ; and when I give her a rat or rabbit, she always pulls
off most of the hair before commencing her meal. The only animal that she
appears unwilling to eat is a mole, everything else is devoured without
hesitation, and, when hungry, no bird is too large for her to attack.
Black-backed gull or cormorant is instantly seized and plucked ; and one
day, a Skye terrier going too near her chain, she instantly flew at it,
and, had I not come to the rescue, would probably have killed it, as,
perching on the dog's back, the hawk commenced immediately tearing at its
head and eyes. The male peregrine is considerably smaller than the female,
and of a much lighter colour ; their nest is built in some inaccessible
niche or shelf of a lofty cliff or rock, and both birds assist in the
business of incubation. The quantity of game killed by a pair of these
birds to feed their young is immense ; and, from their great courage and
strength, no bird of the game kind in this country has any chance with
them.
Occasionally an osprey
comes sailing down the course of the river, but does not breed anywhere in
our immediate neighbourhood. This very beautiful bird drops like a stone
on any unlucky fish that its sharp eye may detect in the clear pools of
the river, and I believe she seldom pounces in vain. Having caught a trout
or small salmon, she flies with it to land, or to some rock, and there
tears it up. When the river is too high and black for the fish to be
attainable, no dead carcass comes amiss to her ; and in floods on the
Findhorn there is seldom any dearth of food of this kind. Mountain sheep
or wounded roe are frequently swept down its rapid course, when swollen
with much rain or by the melting of snows on the higher mountains from
whence this river derives its source. This winter, a young red deer (a
calf of about eight months old) was found in the river. The animal had
been shot with a slug through the shoulder, and had probably taken to the
water (as wounded deer are in the habit of doing), and had been drowned
and carried down the stream.
That beautiful bird the
kite is now very rare in this country. Occasionally I have seen one
wheeling and soaring at an immense height ; but English keepers and traps
have nearly extirpated this bird, as no greater enemy or more destructive
a foe to young grouse can exist. Their large and ravenous young require a
vast quantity of food, and the old birds manage to keep their craving
appetite well supplied. Not only young grouse and black game, but great
numbers of young hares are carried to the nest. Though a bird of
apparently such powerful and noble flight, the kite appears not to be very
destructive to old grouse, but to confine her attacks to the young broods.
During the season of the year, too, when she has no young ones to provide
for, carrion of all kinds forms her principal food. In consequence of her
greedy disposition, the kite is very easily trapped. From her habit of
following the course of streams, and hunting along the shores of the loch
in search of dead fish or drowned animals of any kind, one of the most
successful ways of trapping the kite is to peg down the entrails of some
animal in the shallow part of the water, and then to place the trap either
on the shore immediately adjoining; or, what is often done, to form a
small artifical promontory close to the bait, and to set the trap on this.
The garbage catches the sharp eye of the bird, as she soars at a great
height above it, and the clever trapper seldom fails in catching her in
this manner.
The buzzard is another of
the hawk tribe, which is gradually becoming rarer and rarer, and from the
same cause. Like the kite, too, the buzzard is a carrion-feeding bird,
find seldom kills anything but small birds, mice, or frogs, excepting
during the breeding season, when it is very destructive to game ; at other
times the buzzard lives an indolent lazy life. After having satisfied her
hunger, this bird will sit for hours perfectly motionless on some withered
branch or on a projecting corner of rock, whence she commands a good view
of the surrounding country, and can easily detect the approach of danger.
A cowardly bird, except when excited by hunger, she submits patiently to
the attacks of the smaller birds, and flies from the magpie or jackdaw.
Like the kite, the raven, the eagle, and all birds who feed much on
carrion, the buzzard has a lofty flight when in search of food. Soaring
high up in the air, and wheeling in circles, she appears to examine the
surface of the land for miles and miles, in hopes of detecting some dead
sheep or other carcass. The buzzard evinces little cunning in avoiding
traps, and is easily caught. I have found their nests, containing from
three to four large and nearly white eggs, in different situations ;
sometimes built on rocks, and at other times in the branches of a tree, at
no great height from the ground. She sits close, and will allow the near
approach of a passer by before she leaves her eggs. Though she is one of
the most ignoble of the hawk kind, I have a lingering affection for this
bird, in consequence of her being connected in my remembrances with the
rocky burns and hanging woods of the most romantic glens in the Highlands,
where I have frequently fallen in with her nest and young. In this part of
the country the buzzard has become very rare, and is only seen as an
occasional visitor.
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