CHAPTER NINETEEN WILD GEESE 



time has my utmost caution been of no avail in attempting 

 to approacli these birds; either a careless step on a piece of 

 gravel, or an eddy of wind, however light, or letting them 

 perceive the smallest portion of my person, has rendered 

 useless whole hours of manoeuvring. Whenaflock of geese 

 has fixed on a field of new-sown grain to feed on, before 

 alighting they make numerous circling flights round and 

 roundit.and theleast suspicious object prevents their pitch- 

 ing. Supposing that all is right, and theydoalight, the whole 

 flock for the space of a minute or two remains motionless, 

 with erect head and neck reconnoitring the country round. 

 They then, at a given signal from one of the largest birds, 

 disperse into open order, and commence feeding in a toler- 

 ably regular line. They now appear to have made up their 

 minds that all is safe, and are contented with leaving one 

 sentry, who either stands on some elevated part of the field, 

 or walks slowly with the rest — never, however, venturing 

 to pick up a single grain of corn, his whole energies being 

 employed in watching. The flock feeds across the field; not 

 waddling, like tame geese, but walking quickly, with a firm, 

 active, light-infantry step. They seldom venture near any 

 ditch or hedge that might conceal a foe. When the sentry 

 thinks that he has performed a fair share of duty, he gives 

 the nearest bird to him a sharp peck. I have seen him some- 

 times pull out a handful of feathers, if the first hint is not 

 immediatelyattended to, at the same time uttering a quer- 

 ulous kind of cry. This bird then takes up the watch, with 

 neck perfectly upright, and in due time makes some other 

 bird relieve guard. On the least appearance of an enemy, 

 the sentinel gives an alarm, and the whole flock invariably 

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