Yet notwithstanding this general want of presence of mind, the woodcock displays some cunning in extreme danger,--such as when the shot is whistling past its feathers, or when the hawk is wheeling about in the air above its head; its faculties then seem to awaken, its blood circulates more freely, a spark of intelligence seems to flash across its usually obtuse brain, and the magnitude of the peril suggests an excellent means of escaping from its enemies. During the daytime, for instance, when, snugly ensconced in its hole, and with its ear close to the ground, the woodcock hears you approach from afar, instead of rising and taking refuge amongst the trunks of the surrounding trees, it first reflects solemnly whether it is worth while to disturb itself for so slight a noise, and quit its leafy bed, where it lies so warm and comfortable. After all, it may be only a hare running past--or perhaps a roebuck grazing in the neighbourhood--so the woodcock waits, then listens, then stands up and begins to move; on hearing your thick shoes trampling the withered branches, it stands motionless, not daring to stir, nor can it make up its mind to fly until it feels the breath of your dog. Then it rises rapidly enough. It flies straight, but its flight is not even, and at the distance of about fifty paces, and just as you are going to fire, the woodcock, well aware that the sportsman's eye is upon it, and shrewdly guessing that thunder and lightning is about to follow, changes his tactics, and lowering its flight, so as to avoid the mortal aim, suddenly plunges down behind a bush. The sportsman, who, not aware of this specious manoeuvre, fires at this juncture, thinks the bird has fallen dead, and forthwith runs to pick it up, but no woodcock can he find; for on raising his eyes, lo! and behold, he sees the provoking bird some five hundred paces distant, cleaving the air with sails full set; and as his eyes follow it still further, he perceives it flying with all its might, ever and anon prudently ducking down to avoid the second barrel. This is one of the woodcock's best stratagems, and it succeeds ten times out of twelve, at least with the tyros among sportsmen. When fairly tired by its flight, the woodcock drops into the underwood, and is then completely lost to the sportsman; for, once on the ground, it runs with the greatest celerity, its wings working rapidly like a couple of paddles, and vanishing beneath the leaves, falls fainting into some snug corner.