98 A BIRD COLLECTOR'S MEDLEY. 



set quite close to her. The gin went over the cliffs and the eggs into Morton's 

 pocket, and one can hardly doubt that but for this fact the bird would have 

 eventually been caught on the nest, and, together with its eggs, have become 

 the spoil of the unknown setter of the gin. As it was, the nest was sure to 

 be deserted, and I went a few days later to see if I could get a glimpse of 

 the birds. I had never seen any Peregrines alive, and I shall not readily 

 forget this, my first view of them. 



As we rounded a corner near the lighthouse the Tiercel, who was acting 

 as sentinel, flew off the cliff about half-way up, and with shrill screams and 

 rapid beats circled round us within easy range of a gun. Some seconds later 

 the Falcon followed him, and for quite five minutes we enjoyed the splendid 

 spectacle of a pair of Peregrines wheeling round our heads, mingling wdth, but 

 apparently quite unnoticed by, a crowd of equally distracted Gulls, which were 

 breeding hard by on the lower portion of the cliff. The Peregrines seemed this 

 time to have selected a nesting-site quite unapproachable from either top or 

 bottom. What struck me most about them was their tremendous wing 

 power. They were not as large as I had expected, not looking any larger 

 than Kestrels, but the breadth of wing across the secondaries was sufficient 

 to distinguish them at a glance, even when high up and with their colours 

 undiscernible. Their flight, too, was different ; strong rapid beats propelled 

 them through the air in a manner very unlike the indolent and erratic glide 

 of the Kestrel. Their tails also appeared shorter, and, generally speaking, 

 they were less elegant but sturdier birds there was a sort of "rugger" build 

 about them ; they were of the type that goes through anything. 



I went again, shortly afterwards, to have another inspection, but the 

 whole place was bathed in sea fog, and as the coastguard was firing off a gun 

 every five minutes for the guidance of passing ships, all the birds had been 

 disturbed. We did see a Peregrine, nevertheless; high over our heads it 

 passed out of the mist on one side, and was buried again in a few seconds on 

 the other, but there was no mistaking the beat of its pinions, even in that 

 deceptive light. 



The final scene in the history of this attempt on the part of the Peregrines 

 to bring off a brood at Beachy must, if I have been rightly informed, have 

 been a dramatic one. Some unknown persecutor perhaps the owner, or 

 rather ex-owner, of the gin set out in the early morning equipped with a 

 gun, a Pigeon, and a string. Arrived opposite the eyrie, he loaded the gun, 

 tied the string to the Pigeon's leg, and flew it temptingly before the face of 

 the cliff. The answer to this challenge was instantaneous. The Peregrine 

 stooped at it like a thunderbolt. The gunner lost his head, and hurriedly fired 



