Eve of Christmas 149 



PART II. 

 "THE EVE OF CHRISTMAS." 



IT was the memorable eve of Christmas and I was 

 desirous of celebrating the event by a wild fowling 

 expedition to new grounds. The weather was 

 sharp, the air keen, and the ground hard with frost — in 

 fact a typical Christmas Eve. I hastily packed up and 

 made for the nearest station to convey me by train to the 

 required rendezvous, which I had, as it were, momentarily 

 chosen. I at length reached my destination, and 

 essayed forth unaccompanied, preferring to go on my 

 "wild goose chase" alone. I was serviceably clad, 

 high boots, and the customary paraphernalia, with, of 

 course my invaluable twelve bore, being on this occasion, 

 content with what sportsmen would call light artillery, 

 I made perforce my own way from the quaint hotel, my 

 new headquarters, to traverse a couple of miles of frost- 

 covered mudflats, to what is locally known as ' ' the 

 slakes " or swad — to be more correct and understand- 

 able I was in short making for the vicinity of the 

 ' ' Zostera Marina," the feeding grounds of the host of the 

 winged tribe. The windswept area of the estuary bore a 

 truly desolate aspect — mile upon mile of perfectly level, 

 tide-lapped sand, intersected by estuarial tributaries, 

 and bordered in the distance, by cultivated land rising 

 gently from the shore. Not a human being was to be 

 seen, and the only sounds discernible were the rippling 

 waters of the remaining ebb, and tne different 

 notes of the waders — curlew (predominating), grey plover, 

 knot, redshank, dunlin, gulls, and some herons, the latter 

 perched like sentinels along the margin of the different 

 streams. In deeper water some duck were floating on 

 the tide, and I discovered a big bunch approaching over 

 the flats. 



I remained motionless, and as they swung round 

 I rose and fired, dropping one not far away. With the 

 lowering of the wind came the snow, and a somewhat 



