12 
LAND & WATER 
September 14,-1916 
wood in Blighty, and listening to the birds' waking the 
woodland echoes. Alas, the boom of a gun punctuating 
the blackcap's song, recalled one to the present, with 
all its horrors. 
Nests in Extraordinary Places 
Throughout the summer that, has passed the birds 
have nested in the most extraordinary places. Wire 
entanglements have attracted chaffinches, who evidently 
consider them Ixtter than brambles. Skylarks have 
occupied tiny tufts of grass, and soared with full-throated 
song to heaven's gate, while below them men fought in 
deadly conflict. Quails have called to each other while 
shells exploded close at hand, while on taking up our 
position on a piece of captured ground, a covey of par- 
tridges scattere<l with a loud outcry. Vet the battle 
had raged backwards and forwards over the land for 
many hours, and the dead were still unburied as we 
unlimbered the guns. 
Two kestrels had their nest in a certain historic slag 
heap, occupying a crack on the British side of the heap. 
The (".ermans periodically shelled the place. The kestrels 
would fly out of their nest when a shell burst too closely, 
but a few minutes later they would be back again, 
apparently not in the least bit disturbed by their ex- 
perience. At another place three kestrels were extremely 
fond of perching on the posts that held the barbed wire 
entanglement, and would preen themselves in happy 
disregard of our presence. Although the British machine 
guns and artillery kept up a constant din during the 
greater part of the day, none of the kestrels showed the 
least sign of alarm, even when the guns suddenly opened 
fire after remain^ing quiet for some time. We might 
jump at the imexpectcd sound, but not so the kestrels, 
they would continue preening themselves as if nothing 
had happened. 
Often at night, when the guns are active, the air 
• seems full of numberless bats fluttering about, catching 
insects ; great greyish owls, slip noiselessly past on 
silent wing, dodging from side to side in a manner 
pecuHar to this bird. It is noticeable that all live 
creatures who have experienced the blast from a gun 
appear to avoid passing in front of one. The great 
owl is no exception to this rule. He flutters from side 
to side, Hke a huge moth, and as I move my arm, darts 
downwards, the swish of his great wings fanning my 
face. I do not know the reason for this manoeuvre, 
except that perhaps he mistakes the glimmer of the eyes 
for some eatable creature. It is, however, a very common 
one with him, and it is repeated pretty frequently during 
the night. Just as dawn comes up, this particular owl 
vanishes in the direction of the German lines, which 
apparently he crosses on his way home. 
Another owl inhabits the ruiii of a barn, which also 
shelters an anti-aircraft gun. and when this is fired the 
wl rushes out, to be mobbed by all the small birds in the 
place. The country around our gunpits is alive with 
mimal life during the night. There is a continual rustle 
jf small feet, the squeak Of playing mice, mingled every 
now and then with one of deadly terror, for a black cat 
that only visits us at night is a mighty hunter, and the 
mice she captures are many. Her wild untameable 
kittens, in the barn, are as fat as butter with the produce 
of her hunting trips to our pits. 
The weasels harry the rats night and day, and as a 
star shell bursts, lighting up the country with a lurid 
glare, I catch a glimpse of a weasel in close chase of a 
rabbit. I cannot see the sequel, but the weird sound of a 
terrified creature crying to the night tells me that the 
wea.sel has succeeded in running her quarry down. I 
think there is nothing so suggestive of real active terror 
as the last sudden cry of a rabbit. It seems to pierce 
the night as nothing else does. Another weasel is popping 
in and out of the rat holes in the gunpit, and the noise 
in the rats' dwellings is appalling, as the terrified rodents 
run out seeking to escape from the foe. 
There must be hundreds of creatures wounded and 
killed by bursting shrapnel, but one rarely sees the 
bodies. I suppo.se they are immediately eaten by the 
numberless armies of vermin that swarm about the 
country. I watched a wood being shelled by the Ger- 
man-s who evidently thought they had got our position. 
After the strafing was over, I walked through the ruins 
of the wood, hoping ^o see the effect ,upon the wild life- 
I found a dead partridge, two rats,, and a dove, quite 
warm, but terribly' wounded by shrapnel, and evidently 
killed outright. A mole, with a great wound in its back, 
was struggling to cross the path. It was a mystery how 
it lived at all. I have heard frequent reports of creatures 
killed by the bursting shells, but have not seen many^.of 
them myself. ■ '^ V 
When I was walking through the same wood, I startled 
three partridges and several rabbits, while the birds were 
twittering and singing in the bare branches, and the 
swallows were circling overhead in a great flock, evidently 
collecting for migration. Swallows are everywhere, and 
you see them rise in a body when a shell strikes the tree 
or roof on which they are perching. They frequently 
take advantage of the shell holes, and fly in and out of 
them, carrying food to their young ones. Nearly. all of 
the.se have left the nest, but there. are a few house martins 
feeding their late broods. 
This is an ideal country for bird and animal life. , Our 
position at present is on a slope, and just below are some 
marshy pools. Several families of moorhens are busy 
feeding and coquetting as if it was early spring, and the 
summer before them. The frogs croak incessantly, and 
make a hideous row both night and day, while when the 
sun sets the wild duck come home for the night, settling 
down with a splash on the surface of the pools. They are 
utterly indifferent to our presence, and the boom of 
our guns, firing over their heads, does not disturb them 
in the least. So they have gone to their feeding grounds, 
somewhere over the German lines, and so returned ever 
since we came, and during that time the roar and rattle 
of the guns has been terrific, but nothing has made them 
leave their sleeping ground, although to reach it they have 
to cross two immense armies engaged in a deadly fight for 
a strip of ground. The coots, too, stalk gravely about, 
jerking their tails for all the world as if peace and sun- 
shine reigned supreme. Herons pass slowly across the 
golden sunset sky,, but they do not hnger, and their 
\isits are rather rare. Green plover are also uncommon, 
but the other evening I saw six, wheeUng over the low- 
lying marsh and then seeking higher ground ; a. sure sign 
of rainy weather >vhen peewits sleep away from the 
meadows near the water. 
I ha\-e often wondered what happens to the birijs 
during the gas attack. Rats, mice, and beetles ar^; to 
be found dead by the dozen, but I have not seen any 
birds, although naturally the nestlings must die. The 
other day the gas attack was particulariy severe. Before 
the great white cicud drifted upon us the birds were 
chirping and twittering gaily, the robin trilling his 
autumn song and. the stariings singing in full chorus on a 
shattered tree. Then, except for the awful crash of the 
guns, nature was silent. Yet, when the gas cloud dis- 
persed, all the birds were singing just as gaily as ever, 
chirping and hunting food as if nothing had happened. 
I suppose they must flee before the gas cloud, just as 
birds flee before a bush fire, and, when it is over, return. 
In writing of the heroic action of Jack Cornwell of H.M.S- 
Chester at the battle of Jutland, L.-wd and Water observed : 
" England has never lacked heroic souls. They are. confined 
to no class of life. Now it is a private of the Buffs, again a 
fisher girl, to-day— a first-class boy." We are indebted to 
The War Dragon, the regimental Gazette of the Buffs (East 
Kent Regiment) for the exact particulars of the heroism of 
Private Moyse (to quote Sir Francis Dovle's ballad) : 
Who died as firm as Sparta's King 
Because his soul was great. 
It was in the China War of i860 Private Moyse was detailed 
to convoy some baggage wagons, the escort consisting only of 
a few Indian Camp followers. While on the march they were 
surprised by a roving band of Tartars, and the whole party 
captured. Private Moyse was bound hand and foot, and 
with the camp followers, taken in triumph to the Commander- 
in-Chief of the Tkrtar forces. He ordered Moyse and his party 
to prostrate themselves before him. in token of submission. 
The Indians, in fear of their lives, obeyed, but the British 
soldier indignantly refused, raying " he would rather die than 
disgrace his country." The Tartar General ordered him 
to be put to torture. Again, broken in body, but not in 
spirit, he was dragged before the General, and' again refused 
to sacrifice his honour. The grim tragedy of his death was 
enacted, and, at the hands of the headsman a gallant soldier 
gave up his life for the honour of his country. 
