1616 



ZOOLOGICAL SOCIETY BULLETIN 



A BAKRAUK UK HAIL STONES 

 A typical storm of hail in the Himalaya Moi 



groups of wood pigeons sleeping peacefully 

 through the excitement — heedless of the noise 

 of planes and star-shells, shrapnel and mitrail- 

 leuse, sirens and bugles. 



One of many interesting instances of birds 

 close to the lines is that of the swans at Ypres. 

 A chateau still nearer the Boche lines had been 

 under intermittent fire literally for years. The 

 building itself gradually became a mass of 

 ruins, the woods were torn and splintered and 

 the great moat became little more than a half- 

 filled ditch. Yet a pair of swans continued to 

 live here month after month, through gas shells 

 which made masks absolutely necessary for a 

 half hour at a time. Every soldier hereabouts 

 knew of the birds, and the Anzacs especially 

 never tired of feeding them. Their ultimate 

 fate I never learned, but the marvel of their 

 continued existence under such terrible condi- 

 tions of gas, shrapnel and shell fragments will 

 forever remain a mystery. 



One of my last memories of the trenches had 

 to do with a wild bird. Early one morning I 

 was leaning against the soft mud of the back 

 of the trench looking up at the strange sight of 

 blue sky overhead, with half a dozen Xieuports 

 and Spads swooping and rolling as if they felt 

 the exhilaration of the crisp air in their canvas 

 skins and spruce skeletons. Three poilus were 

 near me, idly looking up, when suddenly all 

 ducked and doubled over, then looked sheepish- 



ly at me and laughed. I 

 saw the cause, but did not 

 know enough, or rather 

 stupidly knew too much, to 

 follow suit. A house spar- 

 row, or as we call it. an 

 English sparrow, had flown 

 up and over the parapet 

 and alighted on the heaped 

 sandbags piled at the back, 

 and its sudden appearance 

 was a close imitation of a 

 hand-thrown grenade. I 

 had had little experience 

 with such missiles, but 

 from my life work. I re- 

 acted instantly to the sight 

 of the bird and did not give 

 it a second glance. So 

 there was no incentive to 

 flinch as I should certainly 

 have done, had I known 

 "%^-Vi what it might have been. 



■— **"-** ■' '■ 'I'd the soldiers, experi- 



enced in this sunken war- 



ltains. fare, the appearance of any 



object from that direction 



meant death : but to me it was only a male house 



sparrow, still in the veiled winter plumage. 



A KASHMIR BARRAGE OF HAIL 



By William Beebe 



Illustrations from photographs ijy the author. 



IN battle we use such similes as, a storm of 

 bullets, a rain of shells, but the strength of 

 this comparison lies usually in the thought- 

 less acceptance of the figure of speech, rather 

 than in any actual similarity. Once or twice 

 in my life I have experienced natural storms 

 which, in intensity and power of destruction, 

 equalled any temporary hell which man. with 

 the aid of gas or high explosive, has been able 

 to achieve. 



A month ago in Trafalgar Square, London, 

 where there was literally a hail of shrapnel 

 from the British anti-aircraft guns, there came 

 to mind the most terrible hail-storm I have ever 

 experienced, on the border-land between Garh- 

 wal and Kashmir, in the western Himalayas. 



I was camped in a wonderful hanging valley 

 with the last outpost dak bungalow snuggled 

 in the center, surrounded by a host of tall 

 spired silver firs and deodars. Spring was at 

 its height, and the open spaces were almost 

 paved with a mass of white strawberry blos- 

 soms, with roses and pink-flowered raspberries 



