WILD LIFE AMID THE SHELLS.
NEVER does one realize the extraordinary indifference of wild life to mechanical sounds so much as when starlings wheel and circle above the turgid masses of smoke and fumes that hide the combat of the battlefield below them or skylarks sing entrancingly to the tune of booming guns. I remember one night in particular. The moon was shining vividly bright ; the shattered tree-trunks looking weirdly fantastic, and casting dense black shadows upon the ground ; while at measured intervals the guns boomed out Slowly replying to the strafe of the German guns. A crested lark sang sweetly as if anticipating the dawn, while a blackcap in the withered saplings that screened our gun-pit trilled forth his lay, punctuated by the boom of the guns beneath him. The effect was very quaint, as during each pause in the gunfire the blackcap's song echoed sweetly over the shell-riven earth. A German shell, better aimed than usual, scored a direct hit upon our gun, but the din of the explosion apparently did not trouble the bird, for he only fluttered away to the next sapling and eontinued his song.
At another time, when billeted in a chateau surrounded by exten- sive grounds and an extremely green and smelly moat, I listened to a nightingale, thrush, and blackbird piping for all they were worth, ww Idle not a hundred yards away the German shells were pounding to moms some sheds and a barn. Even in the trenches the birds do not appear to trouble about the sounds of war, and the wire entanglements of No-Man's-Land are a happy hunting-ground, and, front a bird point of view, an ideal place for nest-building. Last year I found a blackbird's nest in a tangled corner, while at another comer a kestrel would perch and preen her feathers utterly regard. less of the flying bullets and shells. At another place we were much amused at the nightly visit of a great brown owl. He would perch on a stump about four hundred yards behind the front trench, every now and then flitting about seeking prey, but would always return to his tree. If snipers were busy, he would reply to the whiz of the bullet by calling loudly. He never failed in this, yet the moan of a high explosive would send him hurriedly from the Scene, only to return again when all was quiet.
One bird uranceuvre is rather surprising. A company of email birds, sparrows, chaffinches, and other members of the same family, may be feeding quietly in the road, or around a barn, when suddenly they will fly up and scatter at right angles. For a second or two there is nothing to be heard, then the sound of a shell comes faintly. Now what instinct has taught the birds to disperse and fly in this way from the direct path of a shell f In the early days of the war they were not so wily, or perhaps their hearing was not so acute, for sparrows would remain in the ivy covering a house until the shell actually exploded, then they would whirl out and upwards, like so many pieces of shrapnel. Other birds do not appear to have learned to do this, for in an orchard that the Germans were shelling the young swallows remained perched on the branches until the trees fell. Then they flew up and whirled about, actually hawking for insects over the ruins of their former remains-plane. Yet the parent swallows were most anxious over the welfare of their young brood, and kept them together for a long time after they had left the nest. It is a wonder that they have not learnt the danger that lies in the whine of an oncoming shell.
But what struck me most was the insouciance of the swallows and house-martins. They twittered and circled in and out of the ruined barns and houses, and frequently appeared to think that shell-holes were made particularly for their benefit. I have watched them using a shell-hole as an entrance and exit within an hour of its having Ivan made. At one place the corner of a barn had been blown away, and the roof pierced by a shell, yet the parent swallows, the owners of a nest upon one of the rafters, paid no heed to the smother of dust nil falling debris, but continued feeding their young ones as if nothing had happened. It was a most fascinating ocoupation to watch two families of swallows when the nestlings came out of the nest. The two parent pairs had built side by side on top of a rafter, and now both the families kept together—ten delightfully pretty little oreaturee. They were very shy and nervous at first, and sat cuddled up to each other on a length of telephone-trim that stretched from the barn to the house. The parents fed them most impartially, and every night convoyed the young ones back to the rafter in the barn. It was funny to see the anxiety of the parents; they knew every one who used the barn, and a stranger created much excitement. After a few days the little swallows-would fly off on short excursions, the parents feeding them in the air, but the whole family always returned to roost on the rafter, and the-parent birds would not rest until every little one was safe under cover.
The partridges that nest in No-Maria-Land also show no signs of sensitive nerves. Two pairs used to oome in front of our O.P. and feed as if nothing like war was in the air. You might have imagined them feeding in a quiet country lane in England. In fact, the part- ridge is as ubiquitous as the sparrow. The Pattie and noise of transports, the constant passing of bodies of soldiers, the rattle of machine-guns, and the roar of artillery do not drive them from their favourite haunts. If the falling shrapnel is too insistent, they whir off for a few yards and continue feeding. Fairly large and healthy broods are to be seen on No-Man's-Land, but how they escape the many foes that lurk there is a mystery.
Huge rats, far bigger than any pre-war animal, inhabit every foot of the ground. Weasels and stoats hunt boldly, seeming the on- looker, man. Hawks and owls are to be found in dozens, besides other birds that love to rob nests of their contents ; yet, in spite of these marauders, the little partridges thrive, and grow up astonishingly healthy birds.
In the marshes to our right, families of mallards squabble all through the night, but with the dawning they fly off to some place behind the German lines, returning just at sanest. One particular fleck numbered just a baker's dozen, and regularly flew over our position. The number never varied throughout the winter, but in March the flock was joined by half-a-dozen more wild ducks, and among these was a beautiful albino. 'could not make out whether it was a duck or a drake, but as it seemed to prefer the company of a drake I concluded it was a duck. The othem did not appear to mind the unusual colour of its plumage, and treated it as one of themselves.
A few days ago I was watching a weasel carrying a mouse along a track in the grass leading directly to some wire netting. When the weasel came to the netting, it tried to creep through, trying again and again, each time in a different place. At last the creature paused, and surveyed the obstruction with an inquiring look. Laying down the mouse, it ran along the bottom of the wire netting until it found an opening; then, retrieving the mouse, it dashed through the hole and vanished like lightning. Another weasel was about to pass in front of a gun-pit. A gun was just about to fire, and the animal appeared to understand, for it suddenly dashed behind us and jumped into the next gun-pit. Later on I heard a commotion in the rat-holes behind the dug-outs, so no doubt the weasel was leading the rats a life. At any rate, they were squealing in abject terror of some danger unseen by ma
I suppose there must be millions of rats destroyed by the gas ; one sees them lying dead in every direction, together with beetles and mice. Apparently they rush to the surface when they smell the fumes and die by thousands, yet before twelve hours are over the beggars are swarming just as thick as ever. They are more than bold, and are ready to attack anything. The sandwiches in one's pocket are never safe, and one Captain tolls a story of being out on a listening patrol, and not daring to move owing to the proximity of an attentive sniper. All the time a huge rat was nibbling his packet of bread and cheese, and making indignant remarks to another rat that wanted to sham in the feast. He fully expected that if he had remained in that particular shell-hole much longer the rats would have endeavoured to sample his flesh.
Mice are as numerous as the rats, and I think every variety is represented on the Western Front. Dainty field-mice scamper across the tracks made by the wagons, and build pretty little nests in the bushes that screen the gun-pits. Often on the rare gunny days in early spring I would see a wee brown mouse sunning itself on a mass of leaves under a bush. This particular brown mouse built the most delightful of nests in the heart of dried tussocks of grass, and ! suppose slept in it when the weather was cold, or perhaps hibernated through the worst of the winter. The nests were made of numberless dried leaves, rolled into a sort of cocoon. They did not look very large, for the leaves were laid neatly together until they were the size of a small lemon, but when unwrapped the quantity of material seemed never-ending. The outer shell of leaves was lined
with grass bitten or chewed until it was as soft and as fine as down. I should think it would be impossible for either the cold or rain to penetrate into the snug little retreat, which I imagine the brown mouse must (don) after him, for there never seemed to be an opening, and the mouse simply dashed wildly out when disturbed.
Insects are very numerous ; some we could dispense with, but there are others of wonderful beauty. Giant -.;onfliee dash with
lightning speed over the smelly moats and ! or flit across the marshes and rivers, making a vivid splash of cote r. Butterflies are gaily fluttering over the flowers that are now g..1 • 'mg wild in the deserted gardens. We seem to have all the English but; tellies, and many more besides. On a quiet day, when the ne:rer gnus ale silent and the Germans cease from strafing, the scene is very peaceful. There is nothing to tell one that a thousand guns are hidden somewhere within is very narrow space. The undulating hills and trenches hide both friend and foe. There are shell-holes, to be sure, and riven masses of brick and stone, but Nature, always gracious, is concealing all war ravages with a delightful mantle of greenery and flowers. Pansies and forget-me-note cluster in the shell-boles, end reach out over the lips, and circle the water lying at the bottom of the widest craters. To a superficial observer there is nothing violently warlike in the outlook. The sun is shining, the summer breeze rustles the leaves that conceal the rent and riven trunks of the poplar-trees. The undulating country is a waste, it is true, but grass and clover, with numberless poppies, have turned it into a semblance of a grazing land. Behind us a lonely cow is grazing, tended by a blue-frocked mite of six. She may be older, but her size says six, although her ways am those of an old woman. Then suddenly through the scented air comes the whine of a shell, and Marlette and her cow vanish over the hill to the rear.
GUNNER.
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