236 THE BIRDS OF IONA AND MULL. 



answering cries of attention, and at a second confirmatory louder 

 warning, all take wing with tumultuous screams of alarm, and disap- 

 pear over the crest of the hill. 



When instinct tells them that the rocks and sands are beginning 

 to be laid bare by the refluent tide, they rise in noisy chorus and pour 

 down upon the seashore, where they spread themselves along the coast, 

 to commence the important opei'ation of feeding. At this time a few 

 shots may be got by any one lying in ambush awaiting their arrival, 

 though even then they are as wary as ever, and never begin to feed till 

 they have scanned the horizon round to make sure that the coast is 

 clear. The flocks then disperse and line the shore in ones and twos 

 or little groups, keeping up a frequent interchange of intercommuni- 

 catory screams, some expressing that "All's well," others of content 

 and satisfaction, varied with occasional cries of caution, starts of 

 alarm, or the sudden rending screams of undoubtful imminent danger. 

 At this time they may be successfully stalked, as they are occupied, 

 have no look-outs, and may be come upon in situations favouring a 

 stealthy approach ; but a small boat is generally the most successful, 

 and certainly the least laborious means of getting shots, either by sail- 

 ing in upon them, or paddling along the rugged, broken shore. Like 

 other shore birds which feed by feel and not by sight, the curlews are 

 as active by night as they are by day whenever the tide serves, and 

 their wild cries are borne in upon the breeze, accompanied by the 

 hoarse murmur of the distant waves, when the window is opened 

 during a dark, quiet night at such a time. Various cries and whistles 

 are continually being interchanged amongst them as they keep calling 

 to each other through the darkness ; then comes a sudden, shrill, 

 querulous note of alarm, followed by an outbreak of shrieks and 

 screams, which ring all over the distant scaup banks and sand-flats, 

 and gradually subside again into quiet, only broken by an occasional 

 musical ringing cry, expressive of satisfaction, a long, quavering, 

 gurgling, exceedingly wild note, which has given it its Gaelic name 

 of Guilbinn, the musical wailer or lamenter. From their great 

 abundance, the curlew forms the staple of our wild-fowl shooting, 

 and from the difficulty of getting within shot, there is a keen feeling 

 of exultation in outwitting such an excessively wary creature by 

 superior strategy. A Gaelic saying runs to the effect, " When a man 

 has shot six herons, six wild geese, and six curlews, he may call him- 



