But In June, He Said,
When The Daws Brought Off Their Young, The Doves Entered Into
Possession Once More, And Were Then Permitted To Rear Their
Young In Peace.
I returned to Salisbury about the middle of May in better
weather, when there were days that were almost
Genial, and
found the cathedral a greater "habitacle of birds" than ever:
starlings, swifts, and swallows were there, the lively little
martins in hundreds, and the doves and daws in their usual
numbers. All appeared to be breeding, and for some time I saw
no quarreling. At length I spied a pair of doves with a nest
in a small cavity in the stone at the back of a narrow ledge
about seventy feet from the ground, and by standing back some
distance I could see the hen bird sitting on the nest, while
the cock stood outside on the ledge keeping guard. I watched
this pair for some hours and saw a jackdaw sweep down on them
a dozen or more times at long intervals. Sometimes after
swooping down he would alight on the ledge a yard or two away,
and the male dove would then turn and face him, and if he then
began sidling up the dove would dash at and buffet him with
his wings with the greatest violence and throw him off. When
he swooped closer the dove would spring up and meet him in the
air, striking him at the moment of meeting, and again the daw
would be beaten. When I left three days after witnessing this
contest, the doves were still in possession of their nest, and
I concluded that they were not so entirely at the mercy of the
jackdaw as the old man had led me to believe.
It was, on this occasion, a great pleasure to listen to the
doves. The stock-dove has no set song, like the ringdove, but
like all the other species in the typical genus Columba it has
the cooing or family note, one of the most human-like sounds
which birds emit. In the stock-dove this is a better, more
musical, and a more varied sound than in any other Columba
known to me. The pleasing quality of the sound as well as the
variety in it could be well noted here where the birds were
many, scattered about on ledges and projections high above the
earth, and when bird after bird uttered its plaint, each
repeating his note half a dozen to a dozen times, one in slow
measured time, and deep-voiced like the rock-dove, but more
musical; another rapidly, with shorter, impetuous notes in a
higher key, as if carried away by excitement. There were not
two birds that cooed in precisely the same way, and the same
bird would often vary its manner of cooing.
It was best to hear them during the afternoon service in the
cathedral, when the singing of the choir and throbbing and
pealing of the organ which filled the vast interior was heard
outside, subdued by the walls through which it passed, and was
like a beautiful mist or atmosphere of sound pervading and
enveloping the great building; and when the plaining of the
doves, owing to the rhythmic flow of the notes and their human
characters, seemed to harmonize with and be a part of that
sacred music.
Chapter Twelve: Whitesheet Hill
On Easter Saturday the roadsides and copses by the little
river Nadder were full of children gathering primroses; they
might have filled a thousand baskets without the flowers being
missed, so abundant were they in that place. Cold though it
was the whole air was laden with the delicious fragrance. It
was pleasant to see and talk with the little people occupied
with the task they loved so well, and I made up my mind to see
the result of all this flower-gathering next day in some of
the village churches in the neighbourhood - Fovant, Teffant
Evias, Chilmark, Swallowcliffe, Tisbury, and Fonthill Bishop.
I had counted on some improvement in the weather - some
bright sunshine to light up the flower-decorated interiors;
but Easter Sunday proved colder than ever, with the bitter
north-east still blowing, the grey travelling cloud still
covering the sky; and so to get the full benefit of the
bitterness I went instead to spend my day on the top of the
biggest down above the valley. That was Whitesheet Hill, and
forms the highest part of the long ridge dividing the valleys
of the Ebble and Nadder.
It was roughest and coldest up there, and suited my temper
best, for when the weather seems spiteful one finds a grim
sort of satisfaction in defying it. On a genial day it would
have been very pleasant on that lofty plain, for the flat top
of the vast down is like a plain in appearance, and the
earthworks on it show that it was once a populous habitation
of man. Now because of the wind and cloud its aspect was bare
and bleak and desolate, and after roaming about for an hour,
exploring the thickest furze patches, I began to think that my
day would have to be spent in solitude, without a living
creature to keep me company. The birds had apparently all
been blown away and the rabbits were staying at home in their
burrows. Not even an insect could I see, although the furze
was in full blossom; the honey-suckers were out of sight
and torpid, and the bloom itself could no longer look
"unprofitably gay," as the poet says it does. "Not even a
wheatear!" I said, for I had counted on that bird in the
intervals between the storms, although I knew I should not
hear his wild delightful warble in such weather.
Then, all at once, I beheld that very bird, a solitary female,
flittering on over the flat ground before me, perching on the
little green ant-mounds and flirting its tail and bobbing as
if greatly excited at my presence in that lonely place.
Enter page number
PreviousNext
Page 39 of 81
Words from 38721 to 39736
of 82198
