CHAPTER LXXXVII 

 WOODCOCK 



IN the October moon, when the reed-cutter has begun his cold 

 work, standing amongst the icy crops with his meak cutting 

 and binding the yellow sheaves of reed amid the roar of the 

 sea, thinking of his old herring-fishing days on the North 

 Sea mayhap, the swift-flying woodcocks come over with a 

 fair east or north-east wind and a moonlit sky for these 

 birds always prefer to see their way, which may perhaps 

 account for so few of them colliding with lightships or the 

 garish lighthouse windows. And when the marshmen go 

 to their work in the chill mornings, they come upon the 

 woodcock close by the sea, in the sandy roads, on the 

 marshes, in the stubbly uplands. 



The gunners' flashing guns resound on all sides above 

 the cry of the sea, for they arrive in fair condition, some 

 indeed being quite plump; but the woodcock, as soon as 

 rested, take to the shelter of the many-coloured plantings, 

 where the cry of the jay, or the croon of the pigeon, and 

 the challenge of the cock-pheasant is still to be heard. These 

 grotesque-looking birds often make their way from the sea- 

 beaches to the upland coppice under the cover of the hedge- 

 rows the marshmen as they go to and fro to their work 

 knocking them out. Indeed few woodcock are seen on the 

 wing down by the sea. They are a skulking bird, and 

 should you see one sitting under the lea of an autumn 

 hedgerow bright with scarlet berries, if he see you, he 

 will squat, and nine times out of ten, the gunner who 



knows this trick of his can walk within shot, and the 



282 



