A CALL TO THE MARSHES 25 



cries our henchman, pointing towards a number of tiny 

 specks twisting and fleeting over the marsh like a flight 

 of erratic rockets. The teal head straight towards us, 

 and crouching amongst a bed of dry rushes we await 

 their coming. Ye gods, how a teal can travel ! A snipe 

 is an easy bird to shoot in comparison. On and on come 

 the beautiful little duck, falling and rising, twisting and 

 screwing, in their flight. Now or never. Singling out 

 the leading bird we pull, and he continues on his way as 

 though he rather enjoyed the salute. With the left, 

 however, we manage to stop the tail bird, which drops 

 into a pond hole with a splash. The teal proves to be a 

 young male in immature plumage, and the brood must 

 have been hatched very early, for they appear to be quite 

 as useful with their wings as the old birds. Two or three 

 pairs of these charming little ducks breed annually on 

 Dunlin Island, there being splendid nesting sites for all 

 kinds of fowl. Partridges nest mostly amongst the rank 

 herbage growing on the inner face of the sea-walls, and 

 snipe, redshanks, and lapwings in considerable numbers 

 build on the enclosed marshes. 



Not another feather is moved from the dyke until the 

 big fleet is reached, when a nice lot of young mallard get 

 up just out of gunshot. A council of war amongst the 

 guns now takes place at the head of the fleet, and a coin 

 of the realm is tossed to decide who shall shoot the left 

 and who the right shore of the long lagoon-like piece of 

 water. This knotty point settled, the dogs are sent 

 into the dense reed cover that fringes either side of the 

 fleet, while the marshmen beat the sedges with their 

 leaping-poles. Brood after brood of duck with here and 

 there a coot or moorhen rise from the aquatic jungle, and 



