Hawks Hunting 



By WILLIAM COGSWELL CLARKE. New York City 



MANY years ago, I happened to see a Hawk catch an Enghsh Sparrow. 

 The driven Sparrow dashed into a wire fence a few feet from where 

 I stood, and the Hawk simply picked the bird off the netting. The 

 business-like manner of the Hawk and the helplessness of the Sparrow, as if the 

 occurrence were predestined, made a vivid impression on my mind. Though 

 I have seen many parts of such a tragedy since, I have not seen the whole repeated 

 until last summer, when I twice witnessed how birds of certain families are 

 captured by Hawks. 



Late in August, a male Marsh Hawk, apparently hunting as usual for mice, 

 flapped slowly over the meadows of the Housatonic valley, in northern Con- 

 necticut. As he passed me, I casually noted his snow-white rump, definitely 

 confirming his identity. As the big bird wheeled, thirty feet in the air, across 

 a field of fresh rye stubble, several little Chipping Sparrows scattered in haste 

 from beneath him. I saw the Hawk mount a little and stop, then deliberately 

 drop for a moment into the stubble. When he passed us, neither my companion 

 nor myself could see that he carried anything in his talons. We both thought 

 he had missed what he had tried for. We were surprised, therefore, to see him 

 alight in the field a short distance away, and tear at something he held in his 

 claws. I ran over to the spot as soon as he flew away, which was within two 

 minutes after he lit, and found two or three wing and a few breast feathers, all 

 that remained of a Chipping Sparrow, which, not over four minutes before, 

 had been eating weed seeds with its summer companions. The Hawk was still 

 in sight, flapping over the fields, his appetite apparently unsatisfied. When 

 I came back to my companion, the Sparrows that had been frightened away had 

 returned, and were again eating weed seeds, as if the whole thing were a matter 

 of course. 



In early September, I stood on a roadside in Sandwich, New Hampshire, 

 when suddenly a Cooper's Hawk, flying with great speed, darted obHquely in 

 my direction. Just as it reached me, it dived into the further side of a clump of 

 alder bushes and hurled itself through the dense mass of branches. I saw then 

 for the first time a Song Sparrow which, followed by the Hawk, flew out of the 

 bushes; both dropped into the grass beside me. The Hawk, a never-to-be-for- 

 gotten picture, with its big tail marked with black bars, stood sidewise, anxiously 

 looking for the Sparrow, when it saw me. I sprang forward to save the Sparrow, 

 and the Hawk took a hurried departure. The Sparrow was wedged in the grass, 

 with one wing outstretched, and her head tucked out of sight in an attempt to 

 hide. I picked up the Sparrow, which was entirely passive and unresisting. 

 For several minutes it gasped for breath, while I held it in my hand with no re- 

 straint, but, finally, realizing that its turn had not yet come, it struggled to be 

 free, and, when released, flew ofi" with great speed. If I had not been at hand, 



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