AMONG THE FLAMINGOES. 103 



flamingoes have nested irregularly in various parts of 

 Europe — even in France (in the marshy Camargue, the 

 delta of the Rhone), and in Southern Spain. 



In the latter country several efforts have been made by 

 naturalists to obtain more precise knowledge of the breed- 

 ing habits of the flamingo, especially by Lord Lilford and 

 Mr. Howard Saunders, but, from various causes, without 

 definite results. " The heat on those plains in June, when 

 the flamingoes are said to nest," wrote the latter, "is 

 something tropical, and it is no joke to wander for days 

 over a district as large as our ' Eastern Counties,' on the 

 chance of stumbling upon a colony of flamingoes some- 

 where or other." The element of chance, however, is a 

 potent factor, and it eventually fell to the writer's lot to 

 discover that for which other and better naturalists had 

 sought in vain. The following is a narrative of our ex- 

 plorations in the marisma in the spring of 1883 : — 



The first encounter with flamingoes that year had a 

 somewhat ludicrous result : after riding all day across 

 the wastes, we had arrived towards sunset within sight 

 of our quarters for the night, when a herd of these 

 birds was observed feeding in a reed-girt creek. They 

 seemed unusually favourably placed for a stalk — for these 

 wary fowl seldom approach within shot of the slightest 

 covert ; but on reaching the outermost rushes, the pack 

 was seen to be at a hopeless range, and rose immediately 

 on my appearance. To my surprise, a "treble A" wire- 

 cartridge nevertheless dropped four — three falling direct to 

 the shot, and a. fourth " towering " and falling dead a little 

 further out. One tall fellow was only winged, and seeing 

 that he was walking right away from me, and getting into 

 deeper water, Felipe took my horse and rode round to cut 

 him out. Meanwhile the short twilight was over, and 

 darkness overtook us some distance out in the dreary 

 marisma. In the gloom I mistook the bearings, and only, 

 after splashing about for a time that seemed eternal, 

 managed to reach the shore, laden with three huge birds, 

 wet through, hungry, and hopelessly lost. For a mile or 

 two I struggled on through thorn and tangled brushwood. 



