22 A BIRD COLLECTOR'S MEDLEY. 
must be the rst of September, his look became still more serious, and, 
gathering the whole family together, he proceeded to give us what he said 
might prove useful information. 
’ 
“To-morrow,” he began, ‘“‘ will come the shooters, and it will be a 
dangerous day for all of us. Still we Dunlins need not be so much afraid as 
some. We are neither large enough nor toothsome enough to provide a meal 
for the pot-hunter, who, though he may rake a flock of our larger and more 
numerous cousins with an eye to a pie, will hardly think us worth a cartridge, 
if we rise singly. We have most to dread from schoolboys out for the first 
time, and from the collectors—I mean the more dull-visioned collectors; there 
are many who shoot at all single waders in the hope of getting an American 
stray, and we, being smaller and brighter than ordinary Dunlins, may be easily 
mistaken for something rare. I advise you if you do get cornered by a 
collector—you can generally tell them by their field-glasses—to rise quite 
slowly, and utter our note as distinctly and as soon as you can; their ears may 
be better than their eyes, and the note may save you. As for schoolboys, 
heaven help you! if you meet any of them. Two of them pursued my wife 
last year with such inconsiderate ardour, that when they fired, the greater 
portion of the charge, after missing her, fairly smothered a collector, who was 
coming the other way. Poor fellow! After the dose he went and sat down 
for nearly half-an-hour on a buoy to recover his senses, and then limped 
painfully home; I felt quite sorry for him. But above all things keep clear of 
the professor; neither note nor plumage will avail you there. Did he not in 
one day slaughter eighty Redstarts in the hope of killing a Bluethroat 
amongst them ?”’ 
This sort of talk was not such as to make one look forward to the morrow, 
and I think we all passed a somewhat agitated night. I dreamt about that 
poor collector that the boys potted, and wondered how it felt. Long before 
sunrise I was awake, and drawn by some irresistible attraction I made my 
way to the smack to have a look at my friends the Turnstones. There they 
were, quite a dozen of them, just awakening from their slumbers and 
preparing to get their breakfast among the stones. The sun rose, and shortly 
afterwards a commotion was observable on the smack, and mindful of father’s 
warning I flew off at once to a more distant bank, vainly trying to warn the 
Turnstones as I did so. From here I watched six figures carrying guns, and 
one bearing a sack, creep cautiously off the boat and steal towards the 
unsuspecting flock. Bang! bang! again and again went the guns; the work 
of destruction had begun. Six out of the dozen already lay dead or dying on 
the sand; four more shared the same fate as they flew wildly round the slain. 
