A CALL TO THE MARSHES 23 



congregate. To-morrow at dawn of day we are to take 

 tithe of the broods of young mallard bred thereon. 



A wrack-festooned beacon surmounted by an iron 

 triangle indicates the but-little-used cart track that leads 

 to Dunlin Island. An old ruddy-complexioned farmer 

 comes out of the reed-thatched homestead as the rattle- 

 trap chaise draws up before the door. While discussing 

 a mug of powerful beer of local brew the farmer informs 

 us that a masterful lot of young mallard with " scarce 

 a real flapper among 'em " are awaiting our attention on 

 the reedy fleets and dykes. 



" Up with the lark " should be the duck-shooter's 

 motto, and the first tokens of dawn had scarcely broken 

 when we four " guns " set out accompanied by as many 

 marshmen and a team of old-fashioned water spaniels 

 such as our ancestors were wont to shoot over, and quite 

 a different type from the short-legged long-barrelled 

 spaniels which one sees benched at the principal dog shows 

 nowadays. Nine out of ten of the latter would prove 

 utterly useless in the field. Our aim is to work along the 

 main dykes first and so drive any duck that may be 

 harbouring therein to the big fleet lying on the further 

 side of the island. In most cases these dykes or drains 

 are fringed with belts of tall sedges, which afford splendid 

 cover for duck, coot, snipe, and other birds. In no case 

 are the dykes of greater width than twenty feet, and one 

 gun with a dog to hunt the sedge belts is therefore suffi- 

 cient to shoot them. Each of the big drains runs parallel 

 with the next, and smaller dykes run at right angles to 

 these. At a given signal off we all start, the spaniels 

 threading in and out of the dense beds of reeds. 



A little whimper, hardly audible above the rustle of the 



