A MORNING ON THE MARSHES 329 



the marshland island upon which we were that day to 

 shoot. The old Irish mare that drew us knew how to use 

 her legs, however, both in the hunting-field and on the 

 road, and the sun had only just commenced to rise above 

 the eastern sky-line as we crossed the headland or en- 

 trance to the vast stretch of perfectly level sands, across 

 which, guided thither by a line of beacons, we had to drive 

 a distance of five miles ere Reedly Island was reached ; 

 but, fortunately, the receding tide had left the beacon- 

 road high and dry, thereby enabling us to proceed on our 

 way without delay. 



The rising sun heralded in a glorious autumnal morning, 

 and a magnificent seascape lay before us as we entered 

 the sands. To south, east, and west, almost as far as 

 one could see, stretched mile after mile of yellow, 

 treacherous sands, upon the serrated edge of which broke, 

 with a sound of thunder, the white-capped combers of the 

 North Sea. Far away to the southward the hazy blue 

 heights of Kent were dimly visible, and those noted land- 

 marks, the Reculvers Towers, loomed high and gaunt 

 above the distant coast-line. 



Stately liners, lofty-sparred sailing ships, and rusty- 

 sided tramp steamers, were to be seen passing up and down 

 the fairway, homeward or outward bound. The rich- 

 tanned sails of innumerable coasting vessels and fishing 

 craft, together with the snowy canvas of yachts of 

 different rigs and ratings, dotted here and there over 

 the blue tide, all lent their touch of colour to the beauti- 

 ful panorama: and the lights and shades of the early 



