THE SPURN 45 



succession; alike in wind or calm the stream flowed on 

 towards the south. Many times we counted, and found 

 that the average rate of passage was about fifty birds per 

 minute, or, for eight or nine hours per day, 3,000 per hour. 

 Whence came they ? Whither bound ? Who shall say ? 



Redwings, a few fieldfares, many blackbirds and song 

 thrushes occupied the red-berried bushes all one day, 

 but by^ evening they were restless. At dusk several 

 parties rose, mounting higher and higher as they circled 

 round, but finally, when a mere group of specks, heading 

 for the south. On the same evening the woodcock came; 

 they had been anxiously watched for by men with guns, 

 for they gather a woodcock harvest at times. Only a 

 few arrived, however; the big passage, so I was informed, 

 came later. As I crossed the ridge that night, stumbling 

 in the dark and the momentary blinding beam of light, 

 I heard the curious paper-ripping sound of their wings 

 as they rose at my feet, and occasionally, before the light- 

 house beam swung round and pitchy darkness followed, 

 caught a glimpse of the shadowy retreating forms. A few 

 snow buntings haunted the beach, and a brambling or 

 two accompanied the chaffinch flocks round the farms, 

 forerunners of later immigration. 



Round the landmark, where the tide has left a wide 

 stretch of sand, the waders gathered, ringed plovers and 

 dunlins in countless packs, restlessly swinging to and fro 

 in mazy aerial evolutions, or packing closely on the sand, 

 every bill tucked into back plumage, and hopping forward 

 on one leg when the water reached them. Early in 

 September, when the last of the terns were passing, the 

 knots monopolised this beach, covering it as with a grey 

 carpet, so closely do they crowd together. In that 

 month, too, warblers, pied, flycatchers, redstarts, and 

 other summer visitors were trailing south; but in October 

 the winter visitor was more in evidence. 



