WILD-FOWL IN SANCTUARY.
TUST before the opening of spring, when the biting winds drive the shepherds down from the hill, and send even
the gypsies to the shelter of the towns, wild birds and beasts seem almost to vanish from the open country, except the March hares ; and they, we know, are mad.
- Yet there is no time at which the rare and beautiful water- birds, now so scarce in England, are more tame or more easily observed than when they seek sanctuary for rest and pairing, before their long journey to their breeding-places in the high latitudes of the North. The scene on the few inland lakes and waters of any size in the South of England, where the fowl are unmolested, is at such times full of interest even to the least observant eyes, though a few weeks later the surface will be deserted by all but the nesting swans, and the few coots, dabchieks, and water-hens which remain throughout the summer. The lake at Blenheim, always beautiful from its setting and surroundings, afforded last week a pleasing pic- ture of the Lenten rest and quiet which the wild-fowl now enjoy. This lake, formed by the waters of the Gleam— all the tributaries of the upper Thames, the Coke, the Wind- rush, and the Evenlode, have harmonious names—winds for -some two miles between low but steep hills, and naturally attracts to its quiet surface most of the wild-fowl of the Oxford vale. At the first glance it was evident that their -numbers were as yet hardly diminished by departures for the North. Much of the surface was still covered by ice and snow, and just off the edge of the ice some twenty swans were feeding ; while from all parts of the open water were heard the constant musical whistle of widgeon and teal, the quacking of the mallards, the hoarse snort of the swans, and the croak of coots and moorhens,—sounds more suggestive of Poole Harbour on an August night, than of a Midland lake in March. On the further bank, sunning themselves on the sloping turf, and sheltered from the -wind, were a score of mallards and their mates, which rose with much angry • quacking and protest as a herd of deer came trotting down to drink at the very spot which they had chosen for their chilly siesta. It was, however, no wanton intrusion by the -deer, for at that spot only was the shore free from ice, where some land-spring broke the frozen boundary. Meantime, the aun came out with a warmth which could be felt, and a .second flock of wild ducks broke into sudden ecstasy at such .an earnest of the coming spring. Beating its wings upon the -water, each mallard rushed across the lake ; then diving, they reappeared beside their mates, and went through a kind of water-tournament, with much splashing and noise. In the -course of this amusement, one of the performers came up from the depths almost under an old cock-swan, which was sleeping with its bead "under the blankets "—that is to say, its wing- -coverts—and resented the disturbance by a vicious bite which -called the whole company to order. Most inland lakes, except -those Surrey pools where the water seems to be held naturally .upon an ironstone bottom, are river-fed, and shallow and • sedgy at the head where the stream enters. Blenheim Lake is no exception to this rule, and some acres at its upper end are -covered by yellow reeds, through which the Gleam cuts a winding channel of deep-green water. This is natural cover for the fowl, and, though frost and snow had beaten down the eredge, it was alive with coots and snipe and moorhens. There, from behind a tree, we watched for some time a snipe courting,
at least so we judged, for the object of its attentions was -concealed in a little tuft of sedge. The snipe ran round this bower setting up its wings, and flirting its tail in 'very gallant fashion, turning round and bowing with all the airs and graces of a pigeon making love. At the extreme ?head of the lake, in the swift, narrow current of the Gleam, a fleet of swans were feeding, one behind the other, an old cock-sivan taking the post of danger—and of profit—next to the conduit from which the water enters. By hiding behind the bridge-parapet for some time, and then carefully peering -over, it was possible to observe exactly the way in which a swan feeds in water just deep enough to make it necessary for -it to invert its body in order to reach the bottom. The neck was partly bent, and the crown of the head touched the 'bottom, its head and neck being used exactly like a bent- 'handled hoe to search among the gravel and stones. Its head
was deeply tinged with red, from the iron in solution in the water andmud. The result of stillness and partial conceal- ment in watching wild animals was well illustrated during the ten minutes spent in observing the swan. Water-hens seemed to spring from the flattened sedge by magic, as if rising from the ground, and launched themselves on the stream, or tripped about feeding among the sedges, where the ground was rapidly thawing.
The head and western bank of the lake are fringed with a narrow belt of young plantation, made partly with a view to sheltering the wild-fowl, partly to screen the guns when the birds are shot in the winter. The lake-keeper, whose cottage stands at the head of the water, quoted as an example of the number of fowl that collect in severe weather at Blenheim, that on one occasion three guns shot a hundred and twelve snipe, and between forty and fifty wild duck and teal. But the birds are seldom shot, and at the time of our visit seemed quite aware that no harm was intended; and as we passed close to the water on the opposite side to that from which we had approached, partly screened by the belt of young trees, they showed little inclination to leave the water, with the exception of a solitary heron, which, after watching us uneasily for some time, rose with a croak, and after flapping some way, with its dangling toes touching the ice, rose high into the air, and flew steadily in the direction of Wytham Woods, where the hen-birds are already sitting on their eggs. Viewed from the western shore, the scene was in bright contrast to the prevailing steely monotony of an English landscape in March. The tops of the overgrown osiers which fringed the lake wore the polished scarlet bark of early spring, and shot up in a stiff line of red rods. Beyond them lay the surface of the lake, under the sun, in three zones of colour, following the sweeping bays and curves of the ice. Next to the shore, the ice was dazzling white with snow, which had melted on the earth, but still lay deep on the thickest ice; and against this white background stood up the thousands of scarlet osier rods. Next to the snow was a zone of clear ice, blue-grey and snowless; and beyond the margin of the ice-fringe lay the deeper waters of the lake, of the deep translucent green of jade, on which some fifty shining swans were floating in every attitude of motion or repose. Beyond, on the hill, the long colonnades and shining cupolas of Blenheim stood solemn and severe, like some "Palace of Silence," against the sky.
A great number of duck and teal, and a flock of widgeon, were floating near an evergreen-covered island, in separate groups ; and a score of coots, conspicuous by their white heads and velvety black bodies, were feeding near the shore. At the sound of a stick struck upon a paling, all but the coots rose from the water, the mallards showing to the greatest ad- vantage as they spread the fanlike white feathers below the dark-green tail, and mounted high above the lake. The widgeon kept in a compact flock, turning and wheeling like starlings, and passing and repassing in a symmetrical and monotonous course exactly the same evolutions in the air to an accom- paniment of melodious notes. The teal soon settled down in pairs, some dashing boldly into the water, others alighting with rapid backward beats of the wing upon the ice. A careful stalk brought us near enough to see that the teal, like most of the ducks, had evidently paired for the summer, as the cock-birds were swimming round their mates in a restless, fussy fashion, and did not allow any other bird to come within the circle of water so appropriated. The view of the lower lake which we caught through the wide and beautiful arch of the stone bridge, showed that the fowl were there even more numerous than on the upper waters. From the parapet of the bridge, we counted seventy-four duck sleeping on the edge of the ice. Under and upon the steep and sloping bank near Rosamond's Well, quite three times that number
were crowded together, and as a sudden snow-squall came
over the hill, they all rose with a loud roar of wings, and, Joined by the flock from the ice, settled on the open water, preferring, apparently, to endure the squall on their native element than on the ice or firm land. No doubt the numbers of wild-fowl on the tidal harbours of the coast in winter are many times greater than those collected at Blenheim and on similar lakes in March. But such opportunities for watching them in their happiest moods cannot be obtained by the sea, or anywhere except in places where man combines with Nature to protect them in the season of sanctuary.
Previous page
