THE SHORE PATROL 
207 
habit of certain species — naturally enough the Phalaropes, 
and notably the Golden Plover and the Eskimo Curlew. One 
of the most fascinating possibilities of the fall flight time 
— late in August and during September — is that a violent 
easterly gale may occur and deflect to our shores great num¬ 
bers of these fine birds, which are of particular interest because 
of the halo of mystery and romance — we may say — which 
surrounds them. These exciting occasions, alas, are becom¬ 
ing more and more rare, yet I keenly enjoy the remembrance 
of some of them, especially of one which I shall now describe. 
The twenty-ninth of August, 1883, according to my journal, 
was the date of the first autumnal hurricane. For nearly two 
months I had been camping, with friends, at Chatham, 
Massachusetts, studying the birds of sea and shore. Our tent 
was pitched on a grassy slope, a few rods up from the bay. 
During the previous afternoon the wind had freshened from 
the northeast, and masses of stratus cloud and fog, rolling in 
from the sea, began to underlie the high cirrus streamers 
from a contrary direction. At bedtime, making everything 
fast, we sought our blankets. But at midnight there came to 
our ears a crv. It was the roar of the storm which threatened 
our frail shelter, while the sea had risen to our very door. 
After a disturbed, uncomfortable night, the day broke gray 
and wet. Looking out, we saw the waters, even of the bay, 
a mass of raging foam. The rain was driving almost parallel 
with the ground, while ever and anon came a terrific blast 
that would almost carry one away with the helpless raindrops 
flving before it. Out on the open sea great waves followed 
one after another in cjuick succession, and thundered in on 
the beach, bringing, it seemed, the ocean bottom along with 
them, for, as far out as one could see, the ocean was mingled 
with sand and masses of weed, trophies of the violence of the 
storm. 
