The Marismas of Guadalquivir 103 



farther away. The harrier's hope was clearly to find a wounded 

 bird among the crowd — the massed multitude none dared to 

 tackle. 



It is nine o'clock, the pile of dead has mounted up, but the 

 " flight " is slackening. Already I see our mounted keepers 

 (who have hitherto stood grouped on an islet two miles away) 

 separate and ride forth to set the ducks once more in motion. 

 At this precise moment one remembers two things — both that 

 wretched breakfast at 3 a.m., and the luxuries that lie at hand, 

 almost awash among the reeds. Ducks pass by unscathed for 

 a full half-hour, while such quiet reigns in " No. 1 " that tawny 

 water-shrews climb confidingly up the reeds of my screen. 



Meanwhile the efforts of our drivers were becoming apparent in 

 a renewal of flighting ducks ; but we would here emphasise the 

 fact that these second and artificially-produced flights are never 

 so effective from a fowler's point of view as the earlier, natural 

 movements of the game. For the ducks thus disturbed come, 

 as the Spanish keepers put it, ohligados and not of their own 

 free-will. Hence they all pass high — many far above gunshot — 

 and not even the attraction that our fleet of "decoys" (for 

 we have now stuck up the whole of the morning's spoils to 

 deceive their fellows) will induce more than a limited propor- 

 tion, and those only the smaller bands, to descend from their 

 aerial altitude. 



The " movement" of these masses nevertheless affords another 

 of those spectacular displays that we must at least try to describe. 

 For though none of their sky-high armies will pass within 

 gunshot — or ten gunshots — yet one cannot but be struck with 

 amazement when the whole vault of heaven above presents a 

 quivering vision of wings — shaded, seamed, streaked, and spotted 

 from zenith to horizon. Then the multiplied pulsation of wings is 

 distinctly perceptible — a singular sensation. One remembers it 

 when, perhaps an hour later, you become conscious of its recur- 

 rence. But now the heavens are clear ! Not a sinorle flio-ht crosses 



o o 



the sky — not one, that is, within sight. But up above, beyond 

 the limits of human vision, there pass unseen hosts, and theirs is 

 that pulsation you feel. 



The passage of these sky-scrapers is actuated by no puny 

 manoeuvre of ours. They are travellers on through -routes. 

 Perhaps the last land (or water) they touched was Dutch or 



