We had been fishing the trout1-stream that empties itself into the cove2, and were resting on the boulders3 near the bridge before turning homewards. Ned is a good all-round sportsman, but his knowledge of birds is remarkable4, and the reason is not far to seek. His father was a taxidermist who was regarded as an authority on British birds by Rodd and by Gould. For some twenty years Ned assisted him in his work; but his delight was, and is, to wander over the country in search of sport and specimens5. To this is, perhaps, chiefly due the knowledge he possesses of the avifauna of Cornwall.
To understand the birds of Cornwall, said he, you must know that, besides those always with us, and the migrants that reach us regularly in the spring and autumn, many kinds of wild-fowl visit us in hard winters and remain whilst the frost lasts. This corner of England, owing chiefly to the warm sea about it, is milder than any other except the Scilly Isles6, and when birds are frozen out elsewhere, they can pick up a living here. A good feeding-ground is the Land’s End district—what with its beaches, its boggy7 ground and pools on the moors8, and above all the overgrown, marshy11 valleys, which mostly run north and south, and are sheltered from the bitter east winds. Birds of gay plumage have been shot in these bottoms which you would expect to meet with only in a tropical forest—such as the hoopoe, the waxwing, the roller, the bee-eater, and the golden oriole. Of the four hundred birds comprised in the avifauna of the British Isles two hundred and ninety have been observed in Cornwall, so you see that our bird-life is as rich as the fish-life in the sea about the promontory12, or the flora13 that makes the face of the country so beautiful.
Now it’s out of the question my attempting to talk about nearly three hundred different kinds of birds, so I’ll pick out a few things that may interest you. Look! that’s a starling on the cottage chimney, and I’ll begin with him. A few years ago you might search West Cornwall over without seeing one—I mean in the month of August, though they came in tens of thousands in the winter. I’ve seen the osier beds along the Eastern Green and the reeds at Marazion Marsh10 black with them; and when I was a boy I used to fire at passing flocks with a bow and arrow, as with a great whirr of wings they skimmed over the Well field on their way to roost. I believe that starlings have regular lines of flight, as they seldom failed to pass over that field about sundown. To come to the point, no sooner was winter over than they all went up-along; but now some remain all the year round, and breed. The cause is to be found, I believe, in the enormous increase of this bird.
Then the daws—I mean the jackdaws—are ever so much more numerous than they used to be. In my young days they were scarce, and I used to be let down over the cliffs with a rope round me, to get their eggs. Now you can see them everywhere, about the old mine-ruins, about the farmhouses15, and even about the villages.
The green woodpecker is also more plentiful16 than it used to be. Considering how bare of trees the country is, this is perhaps more surprising than the increase of the starling or the daw. It is true that some new plantations17, such as those at Tregavara and Bijowans, are growing up, and who can say but that in time we shall have jays and nightingales, and perhaps squirrels?
The country-people say that the “tinner,” that is the “dishwasher” or water-wagtail, is scarcer than it was before the blizzard19, which must have caused the death of tens of thousands of birds. They call it the tinner, because it builds its nest in the mouth of the old mine-shafts.
Now I’ll tell you about the last Cornish choughs I ever saw alive. It was away on the Rinsey Cliffs, a lone21 place between Pra Sands and Porthleven; and of course I wanted to get them. I had a gun with me—as indeed I always had, for there was no close season in those days. The birds were on a splat of fine turf near the edge of the cliff, and within gunshot of an old engine-house that lay beyond them. There was no chance of my getting near enough to these birds—shy as hawks22 through persecution—not even by crawling; for the surface was nearly as smooth as a bowling-green, with only a patch of vernal squill here and there. Lying in a dip of the ground, and all hidden up to my eyes, I could see every movement of the two birds—a cock and a hen they were—and more, I could hear every note they uttered. “Daw, daw,” they kept calling, a kind of bleat23, a pitiful little cry I should call it; and yet I wanted to kill them both. Instead of getting closer to me, as I hoped, they were, if anything, moving nearer to the engine-house. Then, thinks I, why not get round and come at them from behind the building. This I set out to do, making a long circuit, and at last the ruin lay between me and them. I reached it without having seen the birds fly away, though I could no longer hear them calling. All of a tremble with excitement, and with the gun at full cock, I crept through a hole in the wall, made my way round the edge of the shaft20, and peeped through a chink in the wall opposite. No choughs could I see. They were gone; and I was disappointed, sir, I can tell ee. I went to the edge of the cliff, and looked down. Not a bird was to be seen; nothing but a few shags on the rocks in the white water. As I said, I never saw a chough alive again. They were, I believe, the last of their race. It’s a pity they’re extinct. Handsome birds I call them, with their black glossy24 plumage and vermilion bill and legs. I can hear that “daw, daw” now as I sit here; plaintive25 it was for a love-note.
I forgot to say that the magpie26 is more common than it used to be, though the farm boys “strub” every nest they can find. Interesting birds I call them, and a feature of the country, a homely27 feature, like the pigeons I saw about the Abbey up in London, only wilder.
Yes, a magpie on a wind-clipt thorn bush, a yellow-hammer on a furze spray, gulls29 behind a ploughshare, a cormorant30 on a rock in the green water, and jackdaws about a broken mine-stack, are pictures downright Cornish; and they are always with us.
Dear me, how everything comes back when you begin to talk.
If anything would make me laugh again, it would be what I once saw at Nancothan. I was looking through a window of the farmhouse14 into the orchard31. Perhaps it was the peculiar32 behaviour of a magpie that attracted my attention. There he was with his neck drawn33 out and head thrown back, making tremendous thrusts with his beak34 at something on the ground. After lunging two or three times, he turned his head on one side and looked at whatever lay there, first with one eye, then turning his head, with the other. It’s a comical sight is a magpie looking with one eye at anything. Well then, he began to dig, dig again, and after a final critical examination with each eye, flew up into an apple-tree. I ran out to see what he had been pecking at so vigorously. What do you think I found? why, a china nest-egg! I see that it amuses you, sir, as it used to amuse me. It’s the funniest thing in bird-life I ever saw.
The Home of the Cormorant.
There’s more tragedy than comedy however about bird-life. Many young birds are stolen from the nests, to say nothing of finches, warblers, linnets, and chats killed by hawks. Of course, all this is part of the plan of nature, though to my thinking there’s a deal of cruelty in it. What crueller thing can you imagine than a falcon35 cutting down a hern winging home, say to Trevethoe Park, where they breed, with food for its young? I never saw this; but one day, when lying up in Bosigran Cliffs watching for seals, I saw a fight between a peregrine and a raven36, in which the raven got the worst of it. The falcon wanted the whole cliff to itself, and in the end he had his way, for the ravens37 forsook38 their nest.
A bird with a royal mien39 is a peregrine falcon, an ornament40 to the wild cliffs where he breeds. I have seen him soar till he looked like a speck41 in the blue, but I have never seen him stoop.
Now and again I’ve had glimpses of what is most beautiful in our bird-life—say of a kingfisher flying low over pools left by the ebb42, when the sun catches its breast and back feathers; or what I once saw, and only once, a hern in full breeding plumage standing43 still as a statue in the shallows of a sparkling pool. I remember how lovely he looked. It was on the moor9 above Lanyon Quoit, when the early furze was in bloom; and both the hern and myself were after the trout.
For gulls, you won’t find a better place than Newlyn harbour. I have shot the great black-back there, and the little gull28, a bird no bigger than a turtle-dove; and from the pier-head I shot a “Bonaparte” gull, a bird that breeds in the Great Salt Lakes of America. You may ask if it came from there. I do not know, but I believe it did. Governor Augustus Smith of Scilly once brought my father an Esquimaux curlew. Where did that little stranger come from, what frozen seas lit by “Northern lights” had he flown over?
I say, there are wonderful things in bird-life, especially in their migratory44 movements. Take the red-breasted flycatcher that once reached here from the far East, or the snow-bunting whose home is within the Arctic circle, and probably at the Pole itself. But no, you will realise better if I take a bird you are familiar with. Consider the willow-wren or the golden-crest. One would say that either of them is incapable45 of long flights. Yet these little creatures, whose weight you can hardly feel in your hand, cross hundreds of miles of sea without putting their foot down, except, it may be, on a passing ship’s rigging. It’s not only the distance covered that’s so astonishing; what guides them in their long journey under the stars? Man navigates46 the ocean with the help of a compass, but how do the myriads47 of migrating birds find their way? I’ve puzzled my head many times to solve the problem, but I admit I’m beaten; unless they possess a sense of direction such as cats and dogs undoubtedly48 have, and which even the savage49 in the pathless forest is said to have developed.
The 8th of May and the 11th of October or thereabouts are the times of arrival in West Cornwall, and many’s the time I’ve watched the sun rise over Mount’s Bay on those days. What pictures I’ve seen there! The east afire, the west aglow50 with rosy51 light, beyond the belt of furrowy52 sand the blushing sea, and on the edge of it the little strangers wading53 and feeding. The dates of their departure are just as definite; and as the time for leaving our shores draws near, the birds gather at certain rendezvous54 and display great uneasiness. I have heard my father say, “The warblers will be off soon, Ned.” He used to feed the birds in our aviary55 over the porch as regular as clockwork every morning, and he would notice how restless they were, even throwing themselves against the bars of the cage whilst instinct stirred them.
I don’t believe any man ever understood birds better than my father; he was that observant, and could imitate their cries so exactly, all but talk with them, in fact. Mr Gould, when he visited Cornwall, always came to see him, and used to hang on his words, so to speak; and that was no mean compliment. But there, sir, you’ll think me prejudiced.
Talking of my father brings to mind an incident I will tell you. My father was very fond of wandering about Morvah and Zennor, when he could spare the time. You know what a lot of waste land there is in those parishes. Scattered56 over the downs there are some lonely pools frequented by birds, and in one of them I shot the only phalarope I ever saw alive. Well, my father was stealthily approaching rather a big pool when, to his annoyance57, he saw a boy driving away some cattle that had been drinking there. Luckily he did not pass it by, for there on the bank, away from where the bullocks had been drinking, was a little bird that until then had never been observed in England. It was a buff-breasted sandpiper, and I could tell by his face when he returned home that he had shot something very rare. Whilst I was examining the bird by the lamp-light, my father took up the Western Morning News; and when I asked him where I should put the bird for the night, he made no answer. Tired as I knew he was, I thought this strange, because he was such a genial58 man. The bad news he had seen in the paper had upset him; that was it. The French had lost a great battle, I think it was called Sedan. My father was very fond of the French. After Colenso, and in the same week too with Magersfontein and Stromberg, I thought of this incident, and I understood what my father had felt. Around our fires the men were so quiet that the camp might have been asleep. It would seem that such times are for thinking, not for question and answer. Forgive me, sir, for getting so down in the dumps.
My happiest days after birds were spent on the Eastern Green and around Marazion Marsh. I have always been fond of small wading birds, such as sanderlings, dunlins, stint59, and turnstones. Shy and wild they are, and elegant they look, running about on the edge of the tide, following the ebb or advancing before the flow. Days and days I’ve watched them and returned home without firing a shot, but I’ve killed yellow-shank, dotterel, Kentish plover60, and pygmy curlew there; and once I found, after a heavy gale18, a stormy petrel washed up on the beach.
And now, perhaps I have said enough for you to understand why this little tongue of land, whose tip is the Land’s End, has got such a hold upon me. On the greyest day the moors are not dismal61 to me, nor the shores melancholy62. There’s hardly a square mile out of the hundred that isn’t full of associations. The cliffs, the wastes of furze and heather, the tangled63 bottoms, the open beaches and the little coves64, are all rich in pleasant memories; and the whistle of the curlew, the croak65 of raven or hern, the scream of sea-fowl, the piping of small wading birds and the song of the sedge-warbler are to me the music of familiar voices. Rolling veldt, mountain range and river don’t appeal to me like the downs, hills, and streams that I’ve got to know by heart.
The Land’s End.
“A treeless, barren waste” a man once called the Land’s End district to my poor father, who preferred the scent66 of its furze to the perfume of roses and the bell-heather before hothouse flowers. Everything wild he liked, ay, loved; the sea-pinks, the golden samphire, the sea-holly, the ferns in the zawns, the seaweed in the pools, the shells on the beach. And when he was unable to move out of the house—he lived to eighty-two—he used to sit up in the little bay-window, where he could see the sun set, and watch for my return, and then he’d ask what birds I’d seen, and about the flowers. The speedwell, the scarlet67 pimpernel, and the forget-me-not were especial favourites of his, and I’d always bring home one or the other in my fishing-basket. Touching68 it was to see him look at them.
If ever a man loved nature with his whole soul, my father did, but above everything he loved the birds.
But come! we must be moving. I see the gulls are winging home.
The End
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
trout
|
|
| n.鳟鱼；鲑鱼(属) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
cove
|
|
| n.小海湾，小峡谷 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
boulders
|
|
| n.卵石( boulder的名词复数 )；巨砾；（受水或天气侵蚀而成的）巨石；漂砾 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
remarkable
|
|
| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
specimens
|
|
| n.样品( specimen的名词复数 )；范例；（化验的）抽样；某种类型的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
isles
|
|
| 岛( isle的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
boggy
|
|
| adj.沼泽多的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
moors
|
|
| v.停泊，系泊（船只）( moor的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
moor
|
|
| n.荒野，沼泽；vt.(使)停泊；vi.停泊 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
marsh
|
|
| n.沼泽，湿地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
marshy
|
|
| adj.沼泽的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
promontory
|
|
| n.海角；岬 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
flora
|
|
| n.(某一地区的)植物群 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
farmhouse
|
|
| n.农场住宅（尤指主要住房） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
farmhouses
|
|
| n.农舍，农场的主要住房( farmhouse的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
plentiful
|
|
| adj.富裕的，丰富的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
plantations
|
|
| n.种植园，大农场( plantation的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
gale
|
|
| n.大风，强风，一阵闹声（尤指笑声等） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
blizzard
|
|
| n.暴风雪 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
shaft
|
|
| n.(工具的)柄，杆状物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
lone
|
|
| adj.孤寂的，单独的；唯一的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
hawks
|
|
| 鹰( hawk的名词复数 )； 鹰派人物，主战派人物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
bleat
|
|
| v.咩咩叫，(讲)废话，哭诉；n.咩咩叫，废话，哭诉 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
glossy
|
|
| adj.平滑的；有光泽的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
plaintive
|
|
| adj.可怜的，伤心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
magpie
|
|
| n.喜欢收藏物品的人，喜鹊，饶舌者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
homely
|
|
| adj.家常的，简朴的；不漂亮的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
gull
|
|
| n.鸥；受骗的人；v.欺诈 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
gulls
|
|
| n.鸥( gull的名词复数 )v.欺骗某人( gull的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
cormorant
|
|
| n.鸬鹚，贪婪的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
orchard
|
|
| n.果园，果园里的全部果树，(美俚)棒球场 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
peculiar
|
|
| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
drawn
|
|
| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
beak
|
|
| n.鸟嘴，茶壶嘴，钩形鼻 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
falcon
|
|
| n.隼，猎鹰 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
raven
|
|
| n.渡鸟，乌鸦；adj.乌亮的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
ravens
|
|
| n.低质煤；渡鸦( raven的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
forsook
|
|
| forsake的过去式 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
mien
|
|
| n.风采；态度 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
ornament
|
|
| v.装饰，美化；n.装饰，装饰物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
speck
|
|
| n.微粒，小污点，小斑点 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
ebb
|
|
| vi.衰退，减退；n.处于低潮，处于衰退状态 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
standing
|
|
| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
migratory
|
|
| n.候鸟，迁移 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
incapable
|
|
| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
navigates
|
|
| v.给（船舶、飞机等）引航，导航( navigate的第三人称单数 )；（从海上、空中等）横越；横渡；飞跃 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
myriads
|
|
| n.无数，极大数量( myriad的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
undoubtedly
|
|
| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
savage
|
|
| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
aglow
|
|
| adj.发亮的；发红的；adv.发亮地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
rosy
|
|
| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
furrowy
|
|
| adj.有沟的，有皱纹的有沟的，多皱纹的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
53
wading
|
|
| （从水、泥等）蹚，走过，跋( wade的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
rendezvous
|
|
| n.约会，约会地点，汇合点；vi.汇合，集合；vt.使汇合，使在汇合地点相遇 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
aviary
|
|
| n.大鸟笼，鸟舍 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
scattered
|
|
| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
annoyance
|
|
| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
genial
|
|
| adj.亲切的，和蔼的，愉快的，脾气好的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
stint
|
|
| v.节省，限制，停止；n.舍不得化，节约，限制；连续不断的一段时间从事某件事 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
plover
|
|
| n.珩，珩科鸟，千鸟 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
dismal
|
|
| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
melancholy
|
|
| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
tangled
|
|
| adj. 纠缠的，紊乱的 动词tangle的过去式和过去分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
coves
|
|
| n.小海湾( cove的名词复数 )；家伙 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
croak
|
|
| vi.嘎嘎叫，发牢骚 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
scent
|
|
| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
scarlet
|
|
| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
touching
|
|
| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |