WILD LIFE IN SEVERN ESTUARY 19 



But now it is borne rapidly in the opposite direction, 

 on a heaving breast of waters, with a view stretching 

 far to the horizon on both sides and with pulses 

 which have drawn from out the ocean bounding 

 under our keel. 



As we ascend into the land on a tide almost at the 

 flood the long lush grass at the full sides streams 

 in the salt sea-water. One after another we pass 

 the mouths of shallow creeks which bifurcate into 

 the marsh country. Entering one of these and 

 following it for some distance the boat drifts in 

 the sunshine level with a waving sea of flowers and 

 herbage, out of which the tumbling and crying 

 lapwings rise. Almost at one's elbow one of the 

 birds furtively takes wing, and its nest with the 

 eggs chipped, in the last stage of incubation, is 

 plainly visible from the water. A little further a 

 beautiful and graceful grey-brown bird with long 

 legs showing bright orange-red rises. It is the 

 redshank, a bird that loves to sit close to water, 

 and the nest with four pear-shaped buff eggs flecked 

 with dark brown is in the grass almost at the edge 

 and not a dozen yards from that of the plover. The 

 boat brings to where the green surface, studded 

 with cowslips, reaches to the tide. It rocks gently 

 as it rests, and the soft swish of the water as it 

 rises and falls amongst the grass sounds almost 

 like regular breathing. It is the pulse of the far 

 distant Atlantic losing itself here at last among the 

 summer herbage. 



We are in the ancient land of Damnonia, the local 

 kingdom of that name of the Britons before the 

 coming of the English. It is the country of King 

 Arthur and his knights of story and legend. It 



