The greatest destruction had fallen on
the wild birds. Before the storm immense numbers of golden plover had
appeared and were in large flocks on the plain. One of our native boys
rode in and offered to get a sackful of plover for the table, and
getting the sack he took me up on his horse behind him. A mile or so
from home we came upon scores of dead plover lying together where they
had been in close flocks, but my companion would not pick up a dead
bird. There were others running about with one wing broken, and these
he went after, leaving me to hold his horse, and catching them would
wring their necks and drop them in the sack. When he had collected two
or three dozen he remounted and we rode back.
Later that morning we heard of one human being, a boy of six, in one
of our poor neighbours' houses, who had lost his life in a curious
way. He was standing in the middle of the room, gazing out at the
falling hail, when a hailstone, cutting through the thatched roof,
struck him on the head and killed him instantly.
CHAPTER VI
SOME BIRD ADVENTURES
Visit to a river on the pampas - A first long walk - Waterfowl - My first
sight of flamingoes - A great dove visitation - Strange tameness of the
birds - Vain attempts at putting salt on their tails - An ethical
question:
