The traveller may then pass under them unnoticed; or, if regarded, a mere sham of flying off is made. The bird slowly recloses its wings, looks at the person as he passes, and remains there until hunger again urges him onwards. This takes often times more than a day, when gradually, and very often singly, each vulture is seen to depart.
They now rise to an immense height; cutting, with great elegance and ease, many circles through the air; now and then gently closing their wings, they launch themselves obliquely, with great swiftness, for several hundred yards, check and resume their portly movements, ascending until, like specks in the distance, they are seen altogether to leave that neighbourhood, to seek elsewhere the required means of subsistence.
Having heard it said, no doubt with the desire of proving that Buzzards smell their prey, that these birds usually fly against the breeze, I may state that, in my opinion, this action is simply used, because it is easier for birds to sustain themselves on the wing, encountering a moderate portion of wind, than when flying before it; but I have so often witnessed these birds bearing away under the influence of a strong breeze, as if enjoying it, that I consider either case as a mere incident connected with their pleasures or their wants.
Here, my dear Sir, let me relate one of those facts, curious in itself, and attributed to mere instincts but which I cannot admit under that appellation, and which, in my opinion, so borders on reason, that, were I to call it by that name, I hope you will not look on my judgment as erroneous, without your further investigating the subject in a more general point of view.
During one of those heavy gusts that so often take place in Louisiana, in the early part of summer, I saw a flock of these birds, which had undoubtedly discovered that the current of air that was tearing all over them, was a mere sheet, raise themselves obliquely against it, with great force, slide through its impetuous current, and reassume above it, their elegant movements. The power given to them by nature of discerning the approaching death of a wounded animal, is truly remarkable. They will watch each individual thus assailed by misfortune, and follow it with keen perseverance, until the loss of life has rendered it their prey. A poor old emaciated horse or ox, a deer mired on the margin of the lake, where the timid animal has resorted to escape flies and musquitoes, so fatiguing in summer, is seen in distress with exultation by the Buzzard. He immediately alights; and, if the animal does not extricate itself, waits
