44 



KNOWLEDGE 



[Februaky 1, 1897. 



nearer, until the rhythmic " swish, swish, swish," of wings 

 is plain. We look up, and soon the form of a ducli appears, 

 but, alas ! too high up — out of shot. The flight has begun. 

 Ducks, singly and in flocks, pass over continually, but 

 all out of shot, for the morning is calm and clear, and 

 birds generally fly high in such weather. 



And now the sun is above the horizon, and the flight is 

 over, so we get up and stretch our cramped limbs, and 

 look towards the river. The tide is far out, and away over 

 three dreary, desolate miles of wet and shining mudflats 

 the water can j ust be distinguished , shimmering in the light 

 of the rising sun ; and far beyond, the further shore looms 

 mistily in the early light. But there is plenty to delight 

 the eye of the naturalist even in this great waste. 



Little flocks of dunlin and ring plover, or osbirds, as 

 they are called, collectively, are feeding not far ofif; a 

 great " bunch " of knot and plover are wheeling and 

 whirling over the mud, and the cry of "curlew, curlew," 

 comes from the distant tide. Gulls are soaring overhead, 

 and there, on a little colony of mussels, working hard to 

 obtain their food, which will soon be covered by the tide, 

 is a conspicuous flock of black and white oyster-catchers, 

 or sea-pies, as shorefolk call them ; and thus that which 

 seemed at first glance a desolate expanse of mud is in 

 reality a vast feeding ground for birds. 



... . Wild Dick ii-vinu i hom the I.am^. 



Reproduced from a pninting by " A Son of the Marshes.' 



The birds are there in plenty, but how can we get at 

 them ? We know by experience that one might tramp up 

 to the knees in that mud for a day without getting 

 near a bird. The only thing to do is to wait for the 

 tide to rise and drive in the birds. Meanwhile we employ 

 our time — most profitably, too — in watching. 



A great flock of knot and plover first absorb our attention. 

 It is a curious fact that many shore birds which form into 

 flocks in the winter appear to take exercise, and, one might 

 perhaps say, find amusement, in performing the most 

 wonderful evolutions on the wing. As we watch this flock it 

 suddenly splits into several companies, which separate and 

 settle down upon the mud, and we begin to think that the 

 play is over. But no ! Without warning, the biggest flock 

 ascends with a noise like the distant roar of the waves as they 

 break on the sands. This seems a signal, for up get the 

 other flocks and join the first — all save one, which flies up 

 higher and over the main " bunch," then with a head- 



long rush it dashes down as one, into the midst of the 

 black mass below. We start, for surely some birds 

 have collided and will fall dead upon the mud ; but before 

 we can rise, the flocks have joined, and the whole fly on, 

 like a monstrous swarm of bees. 



This is but the beginning of the manoeuvres. The birds 

 have their sides to us and the whole bunch looks black, 

 when, in a moment, it becomes a glistening white, then 

 black again. The whole sis thousand or more have turned 

 together and shown their silvery undersides. Now they are 

 tailing out into a line half a mile long with a bunch at the 

 head, taking the form of a gigantic snake. The line is, 

 perhaps, thirty deep in the thinnest part, yet it is waving 

 up and down and from side to side like a pennant in a 

 gusty gale. Not a bird is too fast or too slow. They 

 might be tied together, so even is the line. Tired of this, 

 they form a V, then a square, then a circle ; and so, with 

 endless changes and surprising tactics, they fascinate us 

 for an hour or more, and finally settle down by the tide 

 to feed and rest. 



To those who have not watched these wondrous 

 evolutions all this may read as a fable, and to those who 

 have, comes the question, What guides and directs these 

 sudden but perfectly unanimous movements ? Does one 

 bird act as leader ? and since that in a large flock not half 

 the individuals would be able to see the leader, is the 

 motion transmitted from one to another ? We think not. 

 Birds, no doubt, have vastly quicker perception, and can 

 act upon this sense much more rapidly, than ourselves ; 

 but could a transmitted motion, however quickly it was 

 performed, account for six thousand birds turning over on 

 their sides at the same moment ? Currents of air may 

 have some effect, but the problem has yet to be solved — 

 and it is an engrossing one. 



But let us return to the birds on the mudflats, or slubs, 

 as they are called in some parts. The tide is coming in 

 now, and the birds are moving in too, so we hide up in 

 little creeks about a hundred yards apart from each other. 

 This is wet and dirty work, sitting on one's gamebag in the 

 mud and crouching low, with slush over the ankles ; but 

 it is the sort of position that comes naturally to the shore- 

 shooter, and is not thought anything of. 



The curlew are the first birds to move. Rushing 

 over our heads to the land, they give us some very difiicult 

 chances, and at last we drop one in the mud. We wade 

 through the slush and pick him up. What a lovely bird, 

 with his long downward-curved bill, his white breast 

 streaked with brown, and his brown back streaked with 

 black I 



The curlew, or whaup, is indeed a prize, for of all 'long- 

 shore birds he is the wariest and most difiicult to shoot. 

 You cannot stalk him, and the only successful way is to 

 hide and wait for him to fly over you ; and many a 

 time has he got the best of it when he has been right 

 overhead and I felt sure of him. As soon as you move 

 the gun he sees you ; however fast he is flying he will 

 dash off at right angles and be out of shot before your gun 

 is on him, for you cannot turn quickly when your legs are 

 held fast by the mud. 



The knot and plover have now risen and are flying up 

 and down the stream. A small flock pass within shot, and 

 we bag a couple of knot and a grey plover. The knot at 

 this time of year are dark grey with whitish breasts. In 

 summer one would hardly recognize them. Their breasts 

 are a lovely chestnut, their heads and necks are reddish 

 brown, and their backs blackish. There is a mystery 

 about these birds. In autumn and winter they frequent 

 our shores and tidal rivers, in tens of thousands ; but their 

 breeding;haunts no man knows ! It is true that the young 



