32 WOODLAND, MOOR, AND STREAM 



puff come from ? Looking back seaward, I saw the 

 whole sky in that direction inky in tone, with a 

 coppery glare over it. The water looked black. 

 Against this tone of colouring the war-ships and the 

 dismantled hulks stood out in clear relief, looking like 

 spectre ships. A low growl of thunder, as yet far off, 

 but coming over the sea, a weird flash, and the wind 

 rose. I must seek shelter somewhere, but where is 

 the question, in that wild, wide, and grassy place. At 

 some little distance, a low reed stack, standing be- 

 tween a few pollard willows, catches my eye ; and 

 for it I go at my top speed. The cattle have made 

 tracks long before, knowing what was coming. 

 Fortunately for me, it is reached in time, for with a 

 roar the storm sweeps over the marsh. The starlings 

 have just swept over, flying very low, only clearing 

 the ground ; and have dashed into the reeds anyhow. 

 The poplars bend and sway, and seem as if they 

 would be torn up by the roots, while the branches of 

 the stunted willows cut and lash like whips, sending 

 the leaves flying. The curlews, driven over the marsh, 

 come shrieking and wailing in doleful fashion. 

 Strong-winged and swift birds at all times, they shoot 

 past now like meteors ; while the hooded crows are 

 blown and drifted all over the place. The little hen- 

 footed things are close hid in grass tussocks or 



