SUNDRY INCIDENTS OF FOWL AND FOWLING. 269 



vagrant particles of mussel-spawn drifted on to the uncon- 

 genial sand. Of course such increases are counterbalanced 

 by denudations elsewhere the tide here and there sweeping 

 away the superstratum of mud, and laying bare the non- 

 productive sand below. Sand is proverbially a shifty sub- 

 stance, and every year its local geography alters more or 

 less ; the old channels disappear, and new ones open up 

 through the midst of what was before quite solid ground. 



Wildfowling is essentially a "waiting game," and the long 

 hours one often has to spend in the creeks " waiting on " for 

 the tide, or for the fowl to appear, give one plenty of oppor- 

 tunity of becoming tolerably -well acquainted with, at least, 

 the superficial features of the bleak spots around. Just 

 examine the space that lies within arm's length of the boat 

 what a wonderful microcosm exists in every yard of ooze ! 

 The profusion of marine life is bewildering, and a multifarious 

 struggle for existence rages as keenly here, out on the deserted 

 oozes and sand-flats, as on the thronging Stock Exchange or 

 the precincts of Lombard Street. What are those little 

 coteries of Dunlins finding on the bare sand what is it that 

 impells them to dart hither and thither, as alert and active 

 as frightened mice ? Apparently there is sand, nothing but 

 sand. But to them that sand is a perfect mine of wealth, 

 in the form of countless tiny insects, crustaceans, sand- 

 worms, and the spawn of an infinity of minute forms of life. 

 The mud too has its swarming population. Those holes 

 which everywhere perforate the banks of its creeks are the 

 homes of the clam ; its surface is traced in every direction 

 with the trail of the wandering periwinkle the objective of 

 the " popular pin." These in warm weather lie scattered 

 broadcast ; the mussels cluster in dense groups. But why 

 are all these empty shells strewn around ? Examine one 

 against the light, and there will be observed a tiny circular 

 hole in its side. This is the work of the dog- whelk, a very 

 cannibal among molluscs. With his strong- toothed pro- 

 boscis, he drills a hole right through the hard calcareous 

 armour of poor mytillus, and proceeds to feast on his 

 succulent interior. But the whelk, too, has his enemies ; for, 

 on picking up half a dozen shells, several are found to be 



