A MORNING ON THE MARSHES 335 



as the Totanus family alone know how to scold and 

 shriek. 



To snatch up my gun and spring to the top of the 

 wall for firmer footing was but the work of a moment. 

 Once more, however, the powder in my right barrel was 

 " crooked," but — probably more by luck than judgment 

 — I succeeded in stopping one of the birds with my left, 

 which dropped into the creek and immediately com- 

 menced swimming for all he was worth towards a dense 

 patch of sea-lavender and salinacious plants growing on 

 the far side of the waterway. The retriever was slipped 

 and over the sea-wall in a trice, and a few moments later 

 he brought the beautiful and still lively wader to me, with 

 scarcely a feather of its delicately pencilled plumage 

 ruffled. " One more owd varmint of a tuke the less to 

 go a -shrieking and a -cussing up the cricks and over the 

 sludge flats, to tell all the curloos and ducks for miles 

 around that the gunners be a-coming," grinned Togood, 

 who, as an ardent shore-shooter, hated the redshank most 

 cordially, for the very simple and sufficient reason that the 

 bird has an unhappy knack of warning every feathered 

 inhabitant on marsh, creek, or ooze-flat of the approach 

 of a punt-gunner or shooter. With the exception of a 

 wary old grey coot, which rose from a clump of sedges 

 far out of shot, not a " feather " was moved during the 

 remainder of the beat along the dyke, and my bag up to 

 this time was a very meagre one. 



Soon after arriving at the head of the big fleet, H 



joined me, and upon comparing notes I found that he 



