THE CROWS. 121 



vening comes on. When the total eclipse of the sun 

 occurred in January 1898, the Crows of Viziadroog, 

 where I was encamped, were quite taken in and all 

 gathered together in the sleeping-tree. When day 

 reappeared, almost before they had got their heads 

 tucked in, they all started into the air with a simul- 

 taneous shout of surprise and indignation. They 

 seemed to think that a practical joke had been played 

 upon them. I do not know why they sleep together. 

 It may be for safety, for, though Crows have not 

 many enemies, there is a large horned owl which 

 wrings their necks at night. I esteem the horned owl 

 for that. It may seem uncharitable in me, but I con- 

 fess that I cannot extend to the Crow those feelings 

 with which I regard all other birds, I have never felt 

 a qualm of conscience about taking a Crow's life. It 

 is not their depredations, nor their impudence, nor 

 their rowdy noises. I could endure all these. What 

 I cannot forgive is the constant and ruthless massacre 

 of innocents that goes on where Crows are allowed to 

 have their own way. They watch every little bird 

 to find out if it has a nest, they count the days 

 tilt the first young sparrow flutters out on its untried 

 wings, they pounce upon it and carry it to the 

 nearest tree and hold it under one foot and pick it 

 to pieces, absolutely callous to the shrieks of the 

 parents as they flutter round, distracted but helpless. 

 For this I shoot the Crow without remorse. 



Though they sleep together, the Crows do not 

 breed in company. Each pair makes its nest apart, 

 in a mango tree if there is one at hand. The nest is 

 a clumsy-looking structure, but very strongly put 

 together, and in the centre there is a neatly-made 



16 



