318 THE BIRDS OF HELIGOLAND 



scene. From ten at night till daybreak the birds sped steadily from 

 east to west past the lighthouse, appearing under the bright glare of 

 the lantern like so many real snowflakes driven by the wind. By 

 daybreak the whole island was literally covered with the birds, but 

 by ten o'clock in the morning the majority had again proceeded on 

 their journey. 



It must not, however, be assumed that a migration of this kind 

 consists of a narrow stream of birds attracted by the glare of the 

 lighthouse ; or that it is because Heligoland happens to lie in one of 

 the supposed migration-routes ; for such is not the case. The birds 

 observed here under these conditions were only a fraction of the 

 migration-column of the species, covering a breadth from north to 

 south equal to the latitudinal extent of its nesting stations. This 

 is proved by the fact that, throughout the whole of October of that 

 year, a similar unprecedented migration of the same species, re- 

 peatedly increasing to vast hordes like those seen in Heligoland, was 

 reported from all stations on the east coast of Great Britain from 

 Guernsey northwards to Bressay, the central island of the Shetland 

 group ; representing a migration-column of nearly 680 geographical 

 miles in width. 



So astonishing an accumulation of individuals as is displayed 

 by the migration phenomena of these birds could, however, only 

 originate from a breeding area of an enormous extent, as that of the 

 Golden-crested Wren really is, extending from the north of France 

 and England through central and northern Europe up to the limit of 

 the pine forests, and in the same parallels of latitude through Asia 

 as far as Japan. 



During the night above referred to countless numbers of these 

 birds took rest on the Upper Plateau of the island, many of them 

 sitting for a time on the window-bars of the lighthouse, and quite 

 confidently preening their plumage in the sunny brilliance of the 

 light. The night was generally overcast and very dark, like all 

 prominent migration nights in autumn. 



Of how different a character is the spring migration. Imagine 

 a mild and clear evening in spring : the sun has set long since, and 

 the voices of all the feathered wanderers are hushed in sleep the 

 last soft ' pitz ' of the Redbreast has long since died away, and for 

 some considerable space no sound has disturbed the scented still- 

 ness of the air. Suddenly through the silence, like half in a dream, 

 the clear fine note of our little wren is heard, and soon afterwards 

 the bird is seen rising from the neighbouring bushes, through the 

 still luminous evening sky ; at measured intervals its call-note ' hiit 

 hiit hiit ' is heard as it flies off, in slightly ascending spirals, 

 over the neighbouring gardens ; then from every bush here, there, 



