THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 PRESENTED BY 
 
 PROF. CHARLES A. KOFOID AND 
 MRS. PRUDENCE W. KOFOID 
 
PICTURES IN PROSE 
 
DUCAT AMOR DEI 
 
1 
 
 
PICTURES IN PROSE 
 
 OF 
 
 NATURE, WILD SPORT, AND 
 HUMBLE LIFE 
 
 AUBYN TREVOR- BATTYE, B.A. 
 
 F.L.S., F.Z.S. 
 MEMBER OF THE BRITISH ORNITHOLOGISTS' UNION 
 
 LONDON 
 LONGMANS, GREEN AND CO. 
 
 AND NEW YORK : 15 EAST i6th STREET 
 1894 
 
>/c 
 
 To 
 
 MY EARLIEST TEACHER IN NATURAL HISTORY 
 MY MOTHER 
 
 The voice that led me at the first 
 To follow Nature where she moved 
 
 In .lips of orchis lightly pursed, 
 Or ripples that the swallow loved; 
 
 In jewelled web, in glittered sky, 
 
 In painted poppy princely raised, 
 In flashings of the dragon-fly, 
 
 Rings yet its music. God be praised. 
 
 Then this, dear Lady (this that brings 
 
 No reasoned lore, and erudite t 
 Nor any deep imaginings, 
 
 But only picture-touches light 
 
 As songs of summer tossed about 
 From forest breath to forest breath 
 
 Of gentle peoples playing out 
 The fateful round of life and death) 
 
 This, Lady, on thy birthday take, 
 
 And love a little shall achieve 
 For all the gracious days that make 
 
 The radiance of a golden eve. 
 
PREFACE 
 
 THIS book goes out with no other pretensions beyond 
 an aim at accuracy and truth. 
 
 The ways of some wild creatures, followed now 
 through many years, are here dropped back into their 
 proper places, so to say, as readably as I can contrive 
 to do it. I have tried not barely to catalogue facts 
 as facts, but to mirror something of the many-sided 
 life of Nature where it beats through the seasons in 
 this and other lands. I have tried, too, to keep 
 touch with an influence there is out of doors, 
 comparable with that of the beautiful in Art, but 
 deeper-reaching, wider, finer a star for a crimson 
 lamp. 
 
 If in this I had perfectly succeeded, he who 
 read would be for that time "in league with the 
 stones of the field," the wind moving in the grasses, 
 the sun playing on his face. And as this cannot be, 
 I am content to hope that here may be found a 
 
 M313387 
 
x PREFACE 
 
 pleasant companion, to be carried perhaps in the 
 fishing-basket or read by the winter fire. 
 
 And yet I am sure that there must be mistakes 
 in it. Perhaps many. It is only after long and 
 patient watching that one can at all venture to 
 generalise from the things one sees. Often, too, the 
 results arrived at one day seem clean contradicted the 
 next. But this is good for every one, if only because 
 it tends to foster that attitude by which alone is 
 learning possible. So that no wise man will be 
 self-satisfied the more because he seems to see any- 
 thing clearly, whether a law of the universe or a 
 secret of the humble-bee. 
 
 Quite distinct from this is the rewarding delight in 
 learning some new truth, and such consolation for 
 imperfect vision as may be cozened out of that old 
 saying, " In the kingdom of the blind the one-eyed 
 is king." 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 WITH CARL OF THE HILL I 
 
 THREE FISH ....... 49 
 
 MEMORIES ........ 69 
 
 A CHILD OF THE PEOPLE 93 
 
 CANVEY ISLAND IOI 
 
 IN THE LAND OF THE GREAT SPIRIT. . . 113 
 
 IN NORFOLK BY THE SEA 155 
 
 THE WITCH IN KENT 175 
 
 OXFORD: THE UPPER RIVER .... 189 
 
 UPON A DAY 2O7 
 
 THE PROCESSION OF SPRING .... 227 
 
 VESPER 245 
 
ADVERTISEMENT 
 
 WHERE it has seemed well for the sake of clear- 
 ness to add scientific names, they are put in foot- 
 notes. In these cases the names of the British 
 birds are those in the Ibis list : of the British plants 
 those in Bentham and Hooker's " Flora." 
 
 I take leave to thank the proprietors of " Long- 
 man's Magazine" and of the "Saturday Review" 
 for permission to reproduce such of these papers 
 as originally appeared in those publications, though 
 in slightly different form. 
 
 Also I gratefully acknowledge the kind help of 
 my friend, Mr. W. H. A. Cowell, in the revision 
 of these pages. 
 
WITH CARL OF THE HILL 
 
WITH CARL OF THE HILL 
 A SKETCH FROM LIFE. 
 
 Carl. 
 
 IN the very heart of Scandinavia lies a great forest. 
 In this forest is a clearing ; in the clearing a hut ; and 
 here hunter, farmer, timber-cutter here lives Carl 
 of the Hill. 
 
 Carl's little holding is of so simple a kind you 
 would scarcely know it for a farm. Here are no rows 
 of yellow corn-stacks, no comfortable range of well- 
 tiled buildings, no stockyards knee-deep in sweet 
 straw-litter, none of the signs of well-to-do circum- 
 stances that mark an English homestead. The log- 
 made hut has only three compartments dairy, 
 living-room, and bedroom. Outside, in a sort of 
 compound, is ,a cow-byre, a stable for the two horses, 
 a wooden frame on which elk-skins are stretched and 
 dried, and a pit covered with boards and rubbish 
 
4 WITH CARL OF THE HILL 
 
 contrived to keep the potatoes from the frost and to 
 hold the store of aspen branches which serve as winter 
 feed for a few black sheep. 
 
 Carl's family consists of his wife and seven boys 
 the youngest but a baby, the eldest a lad of about 
 nineteen. Physically Carl is the perfection of a type 
 not uncommon among the forest Swedes. Tall, 
 broad-shouldered, and deep-chested lean in the flank 
 but perfectly proportioned his athletic frame betrays 
 in every shift of poise and movement a daily training 
 to deeds of activity in the open air. His also are the 
 light blue eyes of his fathers, the old Norse. One is 
 struck at once by a remarkable difference between his 
 moustache and hair the first tawny, the second silvery 
 white. It is not a handsome face, but a fine face 
 quiet and strong. 
 
 Carl never laughs, though this you find out but 
 slowly because of a certain sunniness that clothes the 
 man. It rings in his voice, it is echoed in his footstep, 
 it plays about his keen blue eyes. Better than this, his 
 eyes shine with lovelight (a beautiful old word) the 
 light of an exceeding kindness for all fellow-things, 
 strongest perhaps towards childhood and old age, 
 towards everything that is weaker and more helpless 
 than himself. And now and then, looking at Carl, 
 
WITH CARL OF THE HILL 5 
 
 you are aware of an expression that is harder to define. 
 It is wistful, it is concentrated, it is a touch more 
 spiritual than the look of every day the look as of 
 one who sees again an object that holds all his heart, 
 passed now beyond the range of voices or response, 
 beyond the aegis of his tenderness and care. So 
 guessing you would not be wrong. But wait. 
 
 One is not prepared to find fine feelings in a squatter 
 in a forest waste? No? Well, at any rate there is Carl of 
 the Hill Karl-i-berg, as the people call him who will 
 be our host and our companion for the next few days. 
 
 It is already sunset, and there is much to be done 
 before bedtime. The two yoke of steers who have 
 been loose in the little meadow since they finished 
 driving oats must be housed for the night. The 
 black sheep must be brought from the forest into the 
 little compound. The horses have to be rubbed and 
 littered down, the drying elk-skins stretched and 
 turned, and what with one thing and another the 
 evening is well on before, supper over, we are talking 
 in front of the big pine fire, the wife busy with house- 
 hold offices, the small boys in the background swinging 
 bare legs over the sides of their little wooden cribs and 
 listening heart and eyes, and the baby fast asleep. 
 Carl has heard of the moose, though he has, of course, 
 
6 WITH CARL OF THE HILL 
 
 never seen one (he has never left his own country), and 
 in all that can be said about its habits and the ways of 
 hunting it, his interest is prodigious. 
 
 Of what did we not talk that night ? Of birds and 
 beasts and flowers, of skiddor versus Indian snow- 
 shoes, of ways of life in this and other lands. 
 
 " Sleep well," said Carl as he bid me good-night ; 
 "remember, to-morrow we hunt the elk." 
 
 As if I was likely to forget it. 
 
 The Elk. 
 
 How big the forest is one cannot say. For days a 
 man may wander there and never see its outer rim. 
 There are no roads none, that is, except here and 
 there a cart-track cleared between the trees. 
 
 The elk is not a mountain creature ; his part of the 
 forest, taken as a whole, is flat, lying round about the 
 risings of the sudden hills. 
 
 We are out this morning, September lyth, just in 
 time to see the sunrise at a quarter to six. " An elk," 
 says Carl, "must be killed to-day, for it is the last 
 day of the season, and we shall want this winter all 
 the food we can get." The reports about wolves, 
 the movements of waterfowl, the early flocking of 
 
WITH CARL OF THE HILL 7 
 
 northern birds, the brilliance of the rowan berries 
 on signs like these he grounds his belief. 
 
 Carl, his preparations over, finds me awaiting him 
 in the opening of one of the little forest paths that 
 radiate from the clearing. " Not that way," he says, 
 " I do not go that way." He spoke these words with 
 a shiver as of cold I did not know it until afterwards 
 for the involuntary shudder of a sudden pain. 
 
 The left barrel of Carl's gun is rifled for an express 
 bullet; the right may be used either as a i6-bore shot 
 gun or for a spherical . ball, "because," as he says, 
 " sometimes you can get fairly close to your elk and 
 then the big bullet is best." My own rifle is a 450 
 Express. Carl takes old Rappe in a lead, while the 
 young dog, Talle, is entrusted to me. Rappe, the best 
 elk-hound to-day in the centre of Sweden, won a 
 reputation in the forests of Norrland that still keeps 
 his memory green. In a land where a man's life hangs 
 on the intelligence of his dog, the dog that is perfect is 
 never bought or sold, for it cannot be valued in terms 
 of money. But it chanced on a day that the old Lapp, 
 Rappe's master, overreached himself in schemes and 
 cunning, and' Rappe passed to Carl in payment of a 
 debt; and Rappe in that kind companionship does 
 not regret the change, and, without Rappe, Carl would 
 
8 WITH CARL OF THE HILL 
 
 not be Carl. A really good dog is born, not made ; 
 and during Rappe's lifetime, Carl has tried more dogs 
 than he can count, till at length the days brought 
 Talle, son of Rappe, a wonderful young dog, steady, 
 observant, and wise, only just not Rappe himself. 
 
 For perhaps two hours we walk twenty yards or so 
 apart, keeping chiefly to the paths of the forest 
 creatures which for long distances tend in a given 
 direction following the lie of the land. The sun 
 is behind us, in our faces the breeze. Silence is 
 imperative one never knows how near an elk may 
 be. We have seen already many signs of elk old 
 slots, broken branches, beds where they have lately 
 lain but nothing fresh. But now Talle begins to 
 pull on the lead. He is picking something along 
 through the scrub, and I whistle Carl to my side. As 
 soon as we reach soft ground we can see plainly 
 enough the footprints of an elk of a small one 
 only, and we want no cows nor calves. Talle, young 
 and eager, is straining on the lead, but Rappe 
 after one good examinatiou, nose and eyes looks 
 up to Carl for orders, for he has sampled that 
 elk to a fraction ; he will go if he is bidden, but 
 clearly does not ask to go. 
 
 Old Rappe, you are right. So, still with the dogs 
 
WITH CARL OF THE HILL 9 
 
 in hand, we move quietly on. And now it is Rappe's 
 turn. Carefully we follow Rappe, as, nose down, 
 he takes us through a patch of blaeberries and 
 down to the edge of a moss, and lo ! before us is the 
 slot of a big bull, leading right across the moss. 
 Rappe looks up into his master's face as who should 
 say, " It is right enough this time, come along." 
 I was fairly astonished. The trail was clearly at 
 least twenty hours old such a trail as no moose- 
 hunter would have lo'oked at twice ; but then we do 
 not use dogs when we follow the moose. So we 
 go on, slowly at first, but with a gradually mending 
 scent, until at last we are fairly running. It is quite 
 difficult in that rough ground to keep one's feet, for 
 both the hounds, though mute, are pulling all they 
 know. After some time at this we come suddenly 
 on a bed among some rushes where the elk has 
 lain. Beyond this point the track is fresh, and 
 then we slip the hounds and stand in silence, 
 waiting what shall fall. I look at my watch it is 
 one o'clock. 
 
 Presently the deep tongue of Rappe is brought 
 back upon- the wind with Talle's higher voice. 
 " Elgen " (the elk) says Carl below his breath ; and 
 then we follow on. 
 
io WITH CARL OF THE HILL 
 
 Now an elk, in an ordinary way, will not pay much 
 attention to a well-trained dog. He will just move 
 slowly along, stopping now and then, as he finds the 
 dog in front, to butt, or strike at it with his feet. 
 For a good dog never bites or hurries the elk ; his 
 duty is only to try and engage its attention till the 
 hunter comes up. Nor does the woodman's axe, 
 the noise of a fowling-piece, nor any sight or sound 
 of every day alarm the elk. It is only when, 
 putting two and two together, he concludes that 
 man is after him that he is really startled and then 
 he goes ! When that happens the hounds return 
 at once to the hunter, for a frightened elk will go for 
 thirty miles or more at a swinging trot, taking timber 
 in his stride and even crossing lakes. 
 
 Our elk is not exactly startled, but he is uneasy. 
 He has probably been hunted before ; so he keeps 
 drawing away and drawing away, and still the day 
 wears on. 
 
 A stern chase is a long chase, and though we 
 might have shot the elk earlier but for the denseness 
 of the trees, it is not till late in the afternoon that, 
 turning the corner of a small watercourse, we come 
 upon him standing knee-deep in the stream, perhaps 
 eighty yards away. It is a fine sight. For all his 
 
WITH CARL OF THE HILL 11 
 
 quaint old-world appearance, he seems wonderfully 
 fitted to his actual surroundings, as indeed every 
 wild animal always does. Born of the forest, it is 
 his beyond all challenge: his cradle, his birthright, 
 his realm. So there he stands in the majesty of 
 his size and strength, lowering at intervals a scornful 
 head to meet the feints and shiftings of his tireless 
 foes. Lightly flows the tinkling streamlet by moss 
 and boulder down to his feet ; and away behind 
 him stretches the narrow glen in yellow of aspen, 
 and scarlet of maple, and sombre background of 
 the mournful pine. A beautiful sight indeed, one 
 to linger over and to dream about. But we are 
 here not to look at pictures but to get the winter's 
 food. So the elk must fall, and fall he does, but 
 not before he has travelled halfway up the glen 
 with a ball in the shoulder and a second in the 
 withers, and then, receiving Carl's big bullet behind 
 the ear, he pitches head first against a boulder and 
 so he lies. 
 
 " Now," said Carl, " we must gralloch this animal, 
 then make our way back as well as we can, and 
 to-morrow we will bring the sleigh." No sooner 
 were the words out of his mouth than the same 
 thought struck us both. For there was a rumour 
 
12 WITH CARL OF THE HILL 
 
 that wolves had been seen in the district.* So it 
 was agreed that I should remain to do the gralloching 
 and mount guard over the slain, while Carl made 
 the best of his way back to the clearing, and to- 
 morrow he would come with the sleigh. But the 
 elk had fallen in an awkward position. Carl therefore 
 helped me to turn him about ; and not until I saw 
 him handling the colossal creature that had stood 
 at the shoulder all sixteen hands, not till then had 
 I realised Carl's prodigious strength. And so Carl 
 left ; and with him went Rappe the wise and faithful, 
 while Talle, at his master's bidding, stayed with me. 
 It did not take long to gralloch the elk, and 
 then it was time to think of supper. Fortunately 
 I was not doomed to eat a tough elk-steak, for Talle, 
 who while elk was in the wind had kept strictly 
 to business, now condescended to tree for me a 
 hjerpe or hazel grouse. I was afraid of smashing 
 it with an expanding bullet, but was lucky enough 
 to blow off its head, so that my supper did not 
 lose. The bird, plucked and stuffed with elk-fat, 
 
 ~ :f I feel pretty certain now that this rumour was incorrect. 
 The fact that one stray wolf had been killed there the pre- 
 vious winter proves nothing. Thirty years ago wolves were 
 not infrequently found in severe winters as far down even as 
 
WITH CARL OF THE HILL 13 
 
 was soon swinging before a pine-wood fire at the 
 end of Talle's lead. The result, at any rate, was 
 food ; and after groping a dessert of lingen and 
 blaeberries I felt that I could last it out. 
 
 So presently, tumbling down a boulder from 
 under the overhanging branches of a pine-tree, I 
 lined the hollow with ferns and brushwood and made 
 a bed like the nide of a bear ; remembering the 
 name I had borne among the Crees Mcquah, " the 
 Bear " because of this habit which I had. For a Red 
 Indian on the hunt will prepare no bed, but squats over 
 his fire all through the night. But I knocked my fire 
 to pieces, hoping that the wolves would come. For a 
 long time I lay there, listening to the night voices and 
 waiting for a shot. There was no moon, but it was a 
 perfect night. High up in the heavens hung Jupiter, a 
 silver globe, and lower down burnt Mars the lurid just 
 above a line of pines. And a tide of trembling stars 
 seemed to gather up to roof the span above me, 
 closing in the glen to its very fringe as though it were 
 the sanctuary of the world. 
 
 Scane. But now, speaking generally, the wolf is extinct in 
 the centre of 'Sweden, though wolves had really appeared 
 early in September 1892 on the fjells near Roraas, across 
 the border. 
 
14 WITH CARL OF THE HILL 
 
 I had plenty of time for marvel and reflection, for, 
 though my rifle was ready to cover the hollow below 
 me, no wolves came. Once I fancied I could catch 
 a long-drawn howl upon the night wind, and once it 
 seemed that Talle turned and growled ; but whether 
 I was awake or sleeping then I could not say, for 
 the next thing I knew was that the sun was showing 
 between the maples and the forest was ringing like a 
 cathedral choir. 
 
 Carl had twenty miles to go and come, and he 
 did not arrive with the grey horse and the sleigh 
 (wheels are useless in that rough country) till the 
 middle of the day. Then we loaded the elk's big 
 carcass, and after a difficult and devious journey 
 reached the clearing at the fall of night. 
 
 The Safer in the Hill. 
 
 Now as I write these words in England, on the 
 iyth of November, the sparrows, stirred by a sun- 
 shiny morning, are busy above my window building 
 hard at their nests. And many birds, as any one may 
 notice, repeat in a fine autumn the love-passages of 
 the spring. The capercaillie or tjeder does so, 
 and according to Carl it is his almost daily practice 
 
WITH CARL OF THE HILL 15 
 
 between* September i5th and the end of the month. 
 At these times this great bird, usually so shy and 
 difficult of approach,, may be secured with com- 
 parative ease when engaged in his grotesque ex- 
 ercises. And one of the best grounds for tjeder 
 in these parts is Carl's hill or perhaps it would call 
 itself a mountain, for it is about two thousand feet 
 high. Over this hill Carl, because of his timber 
 dealings, has all the forest rights ; and as business 
 was taking him up that way he proposed that I 
 should go with him. I would go anywhere where 
 Carl would take me, but I was the more inclined to 
 the project because I should then see the rock on 
 which a pair of eagle owls breed every season, and 
 possibly see the birds themselves. I should also 
 have time to study the ways of the crested titmouse, 
 whose acquaintance I had made in Spain. So it was 
 arranged that we should start the following morning, 
 taking Nora, the brown mare, in the four-wheeled 
 cariole, and working on by forest ways till we hit 
 the landvagen or high road, should follow this up and 
 reach the home of a friend of Carl where the cariole 
 might wait. 
 
 Then we went by the winding roads of the forest, 
 shooting what we could and stopping often to observe 
 
16 WITH CARL OF THE HILL 
 
 the ways of things about, till we came out at last on the 
 landvagen, one of the wildest roads and certainly the 
 worst that ever presumed upon the distinction " high.' 
 And after much tough work on the collar we found 
 high up a little cluster of wooden houses, grouped 
 about one of greater pretensions with a flagstaff and a 
 store. The holder of all this vested interest was 
 Olaf Christens, as he took the trouble to make it 
 clear. A Dane by birth and rotund by training, he 
 had originally been a whaler in the Arctic seas. 
 But, induced by the profits of two good seasons, he 
 had exchanged his boat for an inland store ; and, still 
 retaining some interest in the seal and blubber line, 
 had come to be a considerable person in those parts. 
 He was busy taking to pieces an al fresco platform 
 hung with evergreens and gaily decked about, for 
 there had lately been a wedding and festal doings and 
 much dancing of the lads and girls. 
 
 But as soon as Carl appeared, all work was 
 dropped. From all sides the neighbours gathered 
 in, and great was the health-drinking, hand-shaking, 
 hugging, and doffing of hats. The enthusiasm of old 
 Olaf at meeting an Englishman was beyond all hold- 
 ing. Yes, yes, he had been to England, he told me, 
 though that was long ago. It afterwards turned out 
 
WITH CARL OF THE HILL 17 
 
 that this referred to a visit to the Kyle of Tongue, in 
 which, driven by a storm, he had lain three days. 
 But time was pressing, and we had hard work to get 
 away. We only escaped at last under promise to 
 come on our return to a feast, that " Engelsman " 
 might see that the Swedes were his friends, and that 
 Carl might relate his adventures since last he was 
 that way. 
 
 From this point, then, we struck on foot into the 
 forest where it was settled up in parts ; and the 
 wonders of that eventful journey I have no space to 
 tell. It was like moving through a fairy story, so 
 aptly things fell out. Whether Carl had really con- 
 trived to send a herald on I never could make sure ; 
 for when I asked him he only smiled and answered 
 that " in all savage countries news travelled very 
 fast.' 7 But in one house the floor had been strewn 
 with fresh spruce branches, and coffee-berries had 
 just been roasted on the hearth. The mother gave us 
 a cheery welcome, but the daughter only smiled from 
 the corner a blushing greeting and would not leave 
 her wheel. And I remembered how I had said to 
 Carl, that I hoped I should see some spinning, for 
 that in our own country it was dying out. And once 
 we came in sight of a mountain lake and I wondered 
 
 E 
 
i8 WITH CARL OF THE HILL 
 
 how we should cross it. And lo ! as we got nearer, 
 an old man was waiting in a queer crank boat and 
 took us in. Very silently he rowed us, I remember, 
 and with head bent down, as though he were sad at 
 heart or pondering many things. At another point 
 out ran some bare-footed children to give us bunches 
 of sweet Linnaea which they had found in flower 
 in some warm corner among the pines, crying, 
 " Linnaea, Linnaea," as they came along. And 
 though I had seen much of this plant I had 
 never seen as yet the flower, which only blossoms 
 fully in the early summer, though afterwards I saw it 
 many times. And about that small, sweet, bell-like 
 flower there is a little story, so pretty as it seems to 
 me that, even if well known and whether true or 
 untrue, I must tell it here. 
 
 Old Linnaeus lay upon his death-bed. The winner 
 of secrets, the magician of nature, the reformer of 
 science would soon have passed away, All that he 
 had brought to the information of the centuries 
 and the equipment of his age would be a memory 
 and no more. Now true greatness is ever humble, 
 and Carolus Linnaeus was truly great. And so it 
 had come about that he had connected his name 
 with not one of his many discoveries, being only 
 
WITH CARL OF THE HILL 19 
 
 concerned with the one thing Truth. But his 
 friends, jealous for his honour and mindful of how 
 short is the memory of the world, prayed him that he 
 would let his name be given to which ever one of his 
 discoveries himself had valued most. And then the 
 old man raised himself to say in his sweet simpleness, 
 " There is the little northern plant, long neglected, 
 trailing low, that blooms with downward petals in the 
 early year. Let it then be this." So Linncea borealis 
 the plant was named. And alone of all wild plants it 
 has no local other name ; for as Linnaea it is known 
 alike to the learned and to the cottage children 
 wherever it grows. 
 
 But now we had passed the last small settlement 
 and were fairly up among the hills. Not very fast did 
 we travel, however, for on the way we hunted hares 
 till one of the dogs fell badly lame. This in its 
 turn again delayed us, so that we did not reach the 
 point of our wanderings till the sun had set and night 
 was closing in. 
 
 The spot where we founji ourselves was a grass 
 patch some fifteen hundred feet up on the side of 
 a conical hill. On this patch were four buildings 
 two were cow-byres, two were saters. One of the saters 
 was closed and deserted, as you might see by the big 
 
20 WITH CARL OF THE HILL 
 
 stone that covered the top of the chimney, the other 
 had a fire burning inside. 
 
 It may interest those who only know Norway, 
 to hear what a sater in the Swedish hills is like ; 
 for they are all of a pattern and a size. Built of 
 rough-hewn pine-trees, the cracks filled in with daub 
 and heather, their outside measurement is perhaps 
 eighteen feet by twelve. There are two compart- 
 ments ; in front the living-room, behind the dairy. 
 There are no windows, properly so called ; just a little 
 hole on either side screened by a movable board. 
 Round the room runs a wooden settle on which the 
 occupants sleep and sit. In the corner of the door is 
 the big hearth, over which hangs a large projecting 
 hood, all built of stone and plastered in, up which 
 there is perfect ventilation through the low, wide 
 chimney, so that the air in a sater is always fresh. 
 But uncomfortable place as it may appear from this 
 description, it is not really so. With its floor be- 
 spread with sweet shoots of the fir-tree, with the red 
 light of the fire twinkling on the polished surfaces of 
 the copper vessels that hang around, and lighting up 
 the kind honest faces of its homely occupants, it is 
 not uncomfortable then. 
 
 During the summer months the cattle are sent 
 
WITH CARL OF THE HILL 21 
 
 from the farms in the valleys up to the mountains to 
 feed. Each small herd is in charge of its dairy- 
 woman, and for her the sater is built. It is lonely 
 enough during the week, but on Saturdays and Sun- 
 days their friends come up to see them, so that, what 
 with this and their knitting and dairy work, they get 
 along pretty well. Now September the iQth is the 
 day on which the mountain feeding is over and the 
 cows return to the farms. One of the women had 
 therefore left that very morning, but the other, as if 
 apprised of Carl's coming, would seem to have agreed 
 to remain till the Monday to give him welcome and 
 see to his wants. And yet when we entered the sater 
 its only occupant was a man. A lazy sullen-looking 
 fellow he was, who informed us that he had come up 
 to see his sister, but that at present she was out. 
 
 Now, as we found out later, it was out of no love for 
 his sister that he was there, but because he had 
 arranged to meet a companion at this place and do 
 a bit of poaching on Carl's ground. Owing, how- 
 ever, as I imagine to the scent of Carl's coming, this 
 precious plan fell through. He told us, then, that his 
 sister had only that evening discovered that her cows 
 had followed the others in the morning when 
 they left. The girl would therefore have to trudge 
 
22 WITH CARL OF THE HILL 
 
 a Swedish mile and a half (about ten English 
 miles) till she reached the neighbour's farm it lay in 
 the opposite valley and then, unaided and alone, 
 bring the cattle back through the lonely forest at 
 night. 
 
 "And why did you not go instead of her?" asked 
 Carl ; " were you not ashamed to let a woman take 
 that journey and you sitting idling here ? " " They 
 ain't my cows," was all the answer the man vouchsafed. 
 "Well, you had better go after her now," said Carl. 
 The man replied that he did not know which way she 
 had gone. There was a dangerous glitter in Carl's 
 blue eyes, but he only said, and very quietly, " Then 
 you had better go and find out." But the man, 
 deceived perhaps by the calmness of Carl's voice, 
 made no response. " You had better go and find 
 out," repeated Carl in just the same slow measured 
 tones. And still the man moved not. And then up 
 rose Carl, and in one stride had crossed the room. 
 And before the other had realised what was coming, a 
 huge right hand had closed about his neck. And so, 
 feet trailing on the floor, Carl bore him, lifting the 
 latch with his free left hand, and out through the 
 doorway and on to the little potato patch in front 
 And there he dropped him, saying as he did so, in the 
 
WITH CARL OF THE HILL 23 
 
 same dispassioned tones, " You had better go and find 
 out," and so returned to the house in the quiet good 
 temper of every day. The man appeared no more 
 that night nor thereafter so long as we remained : but 
 at three o'clock the following morning, I, who had 
 crept out to look at the wonder of Venus in the 
 heavens which then was flashing like the star of old, 
 saw in a cow-byre a light ; and lo ! the woman had 
 returned from a forest tramp of twenty miles, and came 
 on to the sater without a sign of weariness, but 
 singing as she came. 
 
 It was on the evening after this that Carl took me up 
 to the top of the hill, under solemn promise that I 
 would not look behind until he gave me leave. So 
 we climbed till we came to a huge and jagged 
 boulder that seemed the end of all things ; for below 
 it was the vast of mountain and forest, and beyond it 
 was the sky. And then we turned and looked. 
 " There," said Carl ; " often when I have been hard 
 at work all day in the forest below, I come up here to 
 look at that, and so I do not feel tired." 
 
 And indeed it was a beautiful scene. 
 
 Around us lay the cold grey shapes of the lichened 
 boulders, and among them a single dying pine-tree 
 reared its bare gaunt form the sentry-post of the 
 
24 WITH CARL OF THE HILL 
 
 birds of prey. Below this on a shred of green velvet 
 were the lonely saters and the smoke wreathing up 
 into the amber sky. After this there was nothing 
 rugged, all was very soft. For beyond them three 
 little lakes were lying steel-blue in the inlets, white 
 under the finger of the shifting breezes, red in the eye 
 of the sun. And again one caught the glitter of 
 winding water in the passes and the hollows of the 
 hills. On the left the scene rose to a sublimer 
 beauty in line upon line of pine-fringed ridges, piled 
 as the steps to a stupendous temple, till they lost 
 themselves in the summit called the Cap of Odin, 
 cold cut against the eastern sky. 
 
 The day following we left the sater, and after the 
 promised feast at Olaf Christensen's, started with the 
 cariole for the drive home. It was a drive I shall 
 never forget. 
 
 Nora was a very fast and very beautiful Norwegian 
 mare, with a mouth of iron, and the temper of a fiend. 
 As she was a confirmed kicker and bolter Carl had 
 bought her for a song, for, as her owner was wont to 
 say, " It was only a question of time and she would 
 kill a man some day." And this was the animal we 
 were to sit behind, going back to her stable on a 
 down-hill journey with a two days' rest and her belly 
 full of corn. 
 
WITH CARL OF THE HILL 25 
 
 I am free to admit that it was not without a feeling 
 of concern that I noticed Carl starting on the journey, 
 the reins lying loose on Nora's back. During the 
 whole of that long distance Carl never once took a 
 pull at the mare's mouth, nor do I remember that he 
 ever once so much as stirred the reins except when 
 we had to turn to right or left. Then he would just 
 raise a rein, letting it fall again on the creature's back. 
 And little time had he to bestow on any remarks of 
 mine, for he was talking almost continually to Nora in 
 a low .voice as we went, along. And the mare as if 
 stirred by the magic of sympathy would shake her 
 pretty head, and seem to answer every word. And 
 sometimes when, getting beyond herself, she would 
 begin to reach out and extend herself into a slashing 
 stride, Carl would only say in his quiet accents, 
 " Gently, Nora ; gently, you dear Nora." And then 
 the mare would drop back into paces self-contained, 
 though the sweat was streaming down her flanks and 
 she shook her bridle till the foam flew again. 
 
 There are some things that stand out above all 
 others when I look back on those days with Carl of 
 the Hill. I remember the first sight of the clearing in 
 the forest, I remember the elk-hunt, I remember the 
 wonderful drive. But oftenest I recall that evening 
 on the- hill above the sater, for there Carl told me the 
 
26 WITH CARL OF THE HILL 
 
 story of Little Sunlight that follows hereupon. There 
 are sorrows that are too sacred for words. There 
 are sorrows which a man must carry in his own con- 
 sciousness and none else may know them in this 
 life. But there are also times when men are thrown 
 together under the compelling influence of a great 
 danger, or the divine touch of a beautiful solitude 
 when, for league upon league of distance, and between 
 them and the circling horizon, there is no other 
 human life, only they two of all the world and then 
 the heart will speak. 
 
 Very simply and beautifully Carl told his story and 
 in far fewer words than I. But I must tell it as I may 
 be able, since I cannot tell it in Carl's way. 
 
 Carl did not seem to be telling a story, he seemed 
 only as a man remembering aloud. And often his 
 voice would sink to accents so quiet and contem- 
 plative I had much ado to gather what he said. And 
 sometimes he paused for long together, and in those 
 silences I could glance up at his face. And upon it 
 was the wistfulness I have spoken of before. And 
 he ended very gently, but with a face so rapt and so 
 illuminated he was as one who was conscious of no 
 earthly thing that lies within his range of vision, but 
 sees beyond the golden doors of the sunset, beyond 
 
WITH CARL OF THE HILL 27 
 
 the bourne of the spangled stars, where children play 
 in the gardens of the morning that never grows to 
 noon or night. 
 
 Such is the power of love. 
 
 The Story of Little Sunlight. 
 
 Carl, as I said before, is by profession a timber 
 merchant, or more correctly a lumberer. He also 
 does a trade in furs. There is no more practised 
 hunter and trapper in all the district round than 
 he, no man more versed in all the detail of 
 device for taking wild things, from the horsehair 
 noose at the end of a bender to the heavy log which, 
 propped up across a forest track, is known as the 
 dead-fall trap. But this form of trap he does not like, 
 and has not set at all during the last few years. 
 
 To say that Carl is a naturalist is to speak but half 
 the truth. Say rather that he is a very priest of 
 nature. It is not only that he knows the names and 
 life-history of every flower and bird about him oh 
 yes, he knows that ; they are his friends and his com- 
 panions, and as such he loves them but it is more. 
 It is as though Nature, the Great Mother, has com- 
 missioned him her own. No breath that comes from 
 the gates of the morning but brings to him its 
 
28 WITH CARL OF THE HILL 
 
 message from her throne; no star that looks over 
 the top of the mountains but tells him something 
 wonderful and new. The falling leaf, the rushing 
 stream, the mist that writhes over the mosses at 
 evening, speak straight to him in accents that he 
 knows. 
 
 Carl's father was the penniless pastor of a 
 neighbouring cure. Having educated his boy in the 
 High School and finished him off at the University 
 of Upsala, he married him at the age of nineteen to 
 the only child of a Carlstad timber merchant. He 
 felt then that he had done his duty, and preached 
 the next Sunday with fuller grace. 
 
 Carl himself raised no objection, The girl was 
 pretty, he loved her, and loved a forest life. But her 
 father, who had not been consulted, and had always 
 schemed that she should marry the Jagmastare, was 
 beside himself with rage. He vowed that if any man 
 thought he was going to get money by marrying 
 his daughter he was very much mistaken. All of 
 which was fair enough. However, he had sufficient 
 penetration to be conscious of Carl's worth and made 
 him foreman and manager in the forest. By-and-by 
 he relented somewhat : and presently having made 
 a will in which he left to Carl the farm-holding with 
 
WITH CARL OF THE HILL 29 
 
 certain forest rights, but every penny of capital to a 
 second wife he died happy. 
 
 Carl's wife, who was older than himself, very soon 
 lost her good looks. She was a stupid, badly 
 educated woman, though a good and dutiful wife. 
 She understood the art of making cheese and butter, 
 was very handy with her needle, and bore Carl four 
 sons who would be useful on the farm some day. 
 All these things she did very well. She knew 
 nothing of the difference between her husband and 
 herself indeed, she cpuld not have understood it, 
 and therefore could not know. As for Carl, he was 
 never impatient with her, and never wronged her 
 by word or thought. 
 
 He was fond of his boys and worked hard at trying 
 to educate them. But they, unfortunately, seemed to 
 have their mother's want of wits and were not com- 
 panionable as some boys are. And Carl would come 
 home from his work in the beautiful forest, only 
 to be thrown back upon himself as he crossed 
 his threshold by the hopelessness of the common- 
 place he found inside. And more and more 
 there took shape in his being the demands of 
 a great need that would not be denied. The 
 need of an object of love and sympathy that 
 
30 WITH CARL OF THE HILL 
 
 could exhaust all homage under God, in the absolute 
 abandonment of his strong soul. 
 
 At last it came. 
 
 It had been a time of gloom and leaden skies. The 
 winter had been no milder than Scandinavian winters 
 usually are. But at length there were signs that 
 spring was not far off. And Carl, who had been 
 hunting northwards, felt it was time to go. There 
 were other reasons, too, which urged him home. So 
 the sleigh was laden with the spoils of CarPs labour, 
 furs of the bear and ermine, of marten and lynx, and 
 he started away over the frozen snow-fields. 
 
 South he came till he passed by Siljan, where in 
 summer the wild swans nest. It was a long and 
 lonely journey, and it took much time ; but at last 
 he reached the head of Fryken and then he felt he 
 was at home. A week later the day broke in a flood 
 of sudden sunshine and spring had come. That 
 morning a little daughter was born to Carl. 
 
 They have in Swedish a beautiful old word that 
 means sunshine, or more properly sunlight, and Carl 
 by an instant instinct fixed upon this as the name for 
 the child. The mother did not like it. It was not 
 a fit name for a Christian, she said, and it was so 
 fanciful that every one would laugh. But Carl had 
 
WITH CARL OF THE HILL 31 
 
 his own reasons, though he kept them to himself. 
 He only repeated in his quiet way, "Yes, we will call 
 her Sunlight : it was sunlight when she came." 
 Sunlight therefore the child was called. 
 
 Perhaps I need not dwell so lingeringly as Carl upon 
 those early days of little Sunlight's life. Imperial 
 babyhood its history is one; differing in nothing 
 from that of all autocracies, but in the willing service 
 of its slaves. But for Carl a new vision of life was 
 opened up. 
 
 It was not only the interest, which the boys shared 
 with him, in the little helpless presence that seemed 
 to make all gentler in that rude home ; it was not 
 even love parental, deep though that was and strong. 
 It was far, far more to Carl. 
 
 For Carl of the day-dreams would look beyond the 
 present ; beyond even that happy time of her childhood 
 that was coming when he should mould and teach her 
 and give her all he might. He looked over this again 
 into the years that lay beyond when Sunlight should 
 have come to the majesty of maidenhood. He saw 
 her in touch with bird and flower and evening star 
 the perfect expression of Nature's aim. He saw her 
 beautiful the crown and music of all that forest's 
 life. She should be an artist, he would think, and 
 
32 WITH CARL OF THE HILL 
 
 the magic of her art should arrest the shifting 
 wonders of lake and sky that his poor blundering 
 hand had sometimes tried to paint. And Carl, who 
 had a poet's soul, had tried at times to shape his 
 utterance into something like an echo of the thoughts 
 that were in him; but oh yes ; he knew it in such 
 halting numbers. But then there would be no more 
 failures ; for hers would be the inspiration, till the 
 world would listen to their song. Further, nothing 
 sorrowed or bewildered Carl more than the mystery 
 of pain and suffering. The spectacle of a being of a 
 child especially in distress was always a shock to 
 him as of actual physical pain. He had plenty of 
 room in the little settlements about him for the 
 exercise of a relieving kindness, where simple 
 gratitude welcomed him and blessed his name. But 
 after all he was but a clumsy man as was often 
 his reproachful reflection ; and then he would think 
 of Sunlight moving round in her sweet gracious- 
 ness, "a voice of comfort, and an open hand of 
 help." 
 
 So every day, and earlier than had ever been his 
 wont, the great strong man returned from his labour 
 to rock a cradle with his foot. His wife said little. 
 She was only too glad to find him so domestic, 
 
WITH CARL OF THE HILL 33 
 
 though she took it for a sign that he was beginning 
 to feel old. 
 
 So the summer wore to winter and the next 
 spring came and the seasons followed thereupon, 
 and like a flower grew the child. And it seemed, 
 indeed, as if Carl's dream were coming true. Sunlight 
 was now in her eighth year : straight as an arrow, 
 graceful as a deer. Quick as were her instincts and 
 wonderful her loveliness, there was nothing pre- 
 cocious, nothing elfin, about her character or face. 
 The child of nature was she, but in its fairest and 
 breeziest sense. In her the poet's thought seemed 
 realised, 
 
 A nd beauty born of murmuring sound 
 Shall pass into her face. 
 
 For it was as though each element in Nature's 
 hand had given her something of itself: the sun 
 her hair, the heaven her eyes, the stream her 
 laughter, and the birds her voice. But better far 
 than all was the child's sweet disposition and her 
 gentle ways of love. 
 
 It was wonderful to see how the influence of one 
 little child could radiate even through a district so 
 thinly settled-up as that. Yet so it was Carl's hut 
 
 c 
 
34. WITH CARL OF THE HILL 
 
 became a rallying-point for all the forest round. 
 The Sunday would bring down friends from Olaf s 
 settlement, for all that they had to be back at 
 work by the first thing the following day. Rough 
 wood-cutters would frame any clumsy excuse so they 
 might take Carl's hut on their way from work. And 
 there they would sit without a word to say for 
 themselves, gazing at Sunlight with great foolish 
 faces, happy in her lightest word. Their poor 
 silent homage they gave her as of right : she was 
 their queen, and any one of them would have died 
 for her had there been need. 
 
 Carl, in any moments he could snatch from 
 his occupation, would devote himself to the child. 
 And sometimes by doing double work one day 
 he could contrive a holiday the next, and these 
 were Sunlight's festal days. For then she could 
 go with him a whole long day into the forest, and 
 when she was tired he could carry her on his 
 broad shoulder many and many a mile. Under 
 him the forest became to her a palace of living 
 wonders, for he taught her all he knew. He 
 showed her how the speckled spider made its web ; 
 and how the dew hung there like gems of light, 
 and why. How, too, the dew was there some 
 
WITH CARL OF THE HILL 35 
 
 mornings, and on others not; the meaning of 
 the rainbow he showed her and why the west 
 grows red. He gave her reasons for all these 
 things ; the deep yet simple reasons that there 
 are, though people commonly never trouble 
 their heads about them because they are happen- 
 ing every day. He showed her the best places 
 in which to find Linnaea where it grew thickest 
 and flowered finest when the spruces were first cut, 
 and he told her why that was. They went to see 
 the stone deep under which the foxes had their 
 litter, and then lay down in the fern with the wind 
 in their faces and watched the little cubs tumbling 
 and rolling one over the other like kittens at 
 their play. They came upon an old fir-tree one 
 day with a big hollow at its roots, and Carl told 
 Sunlight how an old bear had slept there all last 
 winter and that his skin would be ready next 
 winter for the sleigh. 
 
 Those were days indeed. And Sunlight, with her 
 cheek against her father's as he strided on, would 
 think that no little girl had ever had such a wonder- 
 ful father before. And Carl would answer he was 
 quite sure that they all had a wonderful Father 
 who was Carl's Father too. That He had made the 
 
36 WITH CARL OF THE HILL 
 
 beautiful forest and made everything, and why he, 
 Carl, thought it had been made. And that though 
 she could not see Him she must never forget Him, 
 for He saw her always and guided all His children 
 with His eye. He never spoke, He only looked, 
 but then we knew exactly what He wanted, and 
 whether we were doing right or wrong. 
 
 Sunlight had a remarkable influence over all 
 dumb creatures. Gralle, the grey horse, who 
 was queer tempered with every one else, would 
 nestle his old muzzle down against her cheek, and 
 Rappe's predecessor, a cross-grained dog, was always 
 gentleness itself with her. Carl had built for 
 the child a sort of bower of spruce fir branches up 
 among the arms of an old pollard near the hut. 
 She called it her castle, and went up and down 
 by a little ladder. Here a red squirrel used to 
 watch her, and watch her with bright black eyes. 
 Each day he would come and look, venturing a 
 little nearer a little nearer and Sunlight would 
 keep as still as a mouse, moving not so much as 
 an eyelid. At last his confidence grew so assured 
 that he would come and take bits of mushroom 
 from her fingers, and sit there close with his tail 
 over his back, nibbling the dainty with absolute 
 
WITH CARL OF THE HILL 37 
 
 unconcern. But if one of the boys were in there 
 with her the squirrel would not come. He would 
 give one glance round the corner and, seeing the 
 intruder, hurtle away backwards up the tree in a 
 
 series of jerks and angry " chucketings," his resent- 
 
 * 
 ment was so great. 
 
 New Year's Eve was a great occasion at the hut. 
 Then Olaf Christensen, Sunlight's godfather, would 
 come down to spend the night, and Sunlight the 
 one day in all the year could hear the midnight 
 clock strike twelve. And then they would sing the 
 old hymn that runs 
 
 It is gone across the snow, 
 
 A II the old year that I knew ; 
 It is gone for weal or woe, 
 
 Good or evil, false or true. 
 With the new year, Saviour mild, 
 Make me as a little child ; 
 
 and then all would go to bed. But until twelve 
 o'clock they used to sit round the fire, while Carl in 
 his wonderful way was telling sagas. And once as 
 they listened to the story of the Great King Olaf, 
 Sunlight sitting on her father's knee, her head on his 
 shoulder, following half asleep some train of childish 
 thought, broke in suddenly with, " Father, dear, when 
 
38 WITH CARL OF THE HILL 
 
 you get very old will you have white hair like Uncle 
 Olaf s is ? " " Uncle " Olaf roared aloud ; he did not 
 feel so very old. Carl also laughed and answered, " No, 
 little Sunlight, Uncle Olafs hair was black, my yellow 
 hair will never grow white." Sunlight's face fell at 
 this sudden blow, but she only said resignedly, " Oh, 
 I wanted so to stroke it when you are telling sagas." 
 
 Sunlight's birthday came to be a sort of festival in 
 the clearing. It was always kept on the first of June, 
 (though well after the date of the real event) because 
 the weather was sure then to be safe. The Linnaea, 
 too, was well in bloom, and the children could make 
 a wreath of it and crown Sunlight, just as here 
 in England the children crown a Queen of the 
 May. 
 
 It was now the last day of May, and to-morrow 
 they would celebrate Sunlight's eighth birthday. 
 Carl's wife went off early in the cariole to buy presents 
 and some stores for the morrow. Carl, who meant to 
 make a double holiday, had promised himself a long 
 day with Sunlight in the forest. But just as they 
 were starting some one arrived to say that one of the 
 men had met with an accident the day before, and 
 was lying in a hut a long way off in the hills and 
 greatly in need of help. Carl at once determined 
 
WITH CARL OF THE HILL 39 
 
 that he must go and see him. He would have taken 
 Sunlight with him but the cariole was gone, so there 
 was nothing for it but to mount the other horse and 
 journey off alone. He consoled Sunlight for her dis- 
 appointment, saying he should try and be back by the 
 middle of the day, and he left her in the care of her 
 eldest brother, then a lad of about fifteen. The two 
 youngest boys, both much younger than Sunlight, the 
 mother had taken with her. 
 
 For a long time the children played about the 
 clearing. They stormed and defended Sunlight's 
 castle and amused themselves in many ways. At 
 last it was proposed that they should play at hunting 
 elk. So the eldest boy went off with a start as the 
 elk, and giving him a few minutes' law, the others 
 presently followed. Sunlight, who was as active as a 
 young roe, had no difficulty in keeping up. But, 
 catching sight of some butterfly or flower, for a few 
 moments she was left behind. When she followed on, 
 she took in her eagerness a wrong turning and soon 
 found that she had lost the boys. This mattered 
 little to her, she knew that part of the forest by heart, 
 and was soon back at the point where the footprints 
 of her brothers showed she had gone wrong. Here, 
 she thought, she would wait till they returned. So 
 
40 WITH CARL OF THE HILL 
 
 she sat and waited. But after a bit, hearing no sound 
 of returning voices, she found her way back to the 
 hut. The boys had not come home. 
 
 It was now about the middle of the day, and Sun- 
 light thought she would go and meet her father. So 
 she tripped off across the clearing and took the forest 
 path up which she had seem him ride. It was one 
 of the most beautiful of early summer days, and 
 you may fancy how light the child's heart was. 
 To-morrow would be her birthday, and a splendid 
 time it would be. So singing a little song she went. 
 It was the quaint jingle of a children's game ; the 
 children had sung it last year, and would sing it 
 again to-morrow : 
 
 Where does our lady keep house, I pray ? 
 
 Out in the forest so pretty and green. 
 What shall we do when she comes this way ? 
 
 We'll crown her with flowers and make her our queen. 
 
 And then under an arcade of little joined hands the 
 queen would pass along. That was how the game 
 went, and the tune had been running in Sunlight's 
 head all day. I think that sweet young presence as it 
 came along must have seemed the very genius of that 
 fairy scene. I think even the little stupid lemming 
 
WITH CARL OF THE HILL 41 
 
 must have popped his round head out of the grass 
 tufts wondering at the brightness of this new sunbeam 
 that fell across the path. Yes, Sunlight was very, very 
 happy. Every moment she expected to see her 
 father come riding round a turn in the path, and she 
 laughed as she thought how surprised and pleased he 
 would be to find his little daughter come to meet 
 him ; and how he would catch her to the saddle and 
 she would ride with him home. 
 
 Presently she found a little bird a crested tit- 
 mouse that had a broken wing. And thinking she 
 would take it home and make it well, she picked it up 
 and held it very gently so as not to hurt its wing. 
 
 But Sunlight in reality had wandered much farther 
 than she had ever been before alone. And now, 
 with head bent down, and crooning to the bird, 
 she took, quite unawares, a narrow side track one of 
 the paths of the forest creatures. And coming to a 
 huge tree limb that crossed the path, one end on the 
 ground, the other reared up among the undergrowth of 
 the opposite side, she stooped beneath it. 
 
 Meanwhile the boys had come back to the clearing. 
 They were surprised at first at not finding Sunlight 
 there. And for some little time they ran about look- 
 ing for her and shouting out her name. But getting 
 
42 WITH CARL OF THE HILL 
 
 no answer they thought she was probably hunting for 
 butterflies or flowers, for she had always been a self- 
 reliant little creature. And as they were hungry they 
 presently had dinner and then went out to play 
 again, forgetting all about her. It was not until the 
 evening was drawing on that they began again to 
 wonder where she was, and then to feel really 
 unhappy. 
 
 Carl came back soon after sundown and found his 
 wife was just arrived. " Where was Sunlight ? " The 
 boys could not tell him, though they told him all they 
 knew. He thought it very strange, but fancying she 
 might only be hiding in play, or perhaps preparing 
 some pretty surprise for him, he shouted out her name, 
 saying it was getting too late for little girls to be out 
 and that she must come in at once. To all this there 
 was no answer. So then he brought out his hunting- 
 bugle and blew clear and long the supper-time call 
 which the children and the foresters knew quite well. 
 Through the clear air that sound would travel a mile 
 and more; but neither to this though he waited 
 through an anxious half- hour was there any re- 
 sponse. And then he thought she must be lost, 
 though he could not understand it : she knew 
 the forest for a mile around so well. Though 
 
WITH CARL OF THE HILL 43 
 
 greatly distressed and unhappy he did not feel any 
 terrible anxiety nothing could hurt his little Sun- 
 light ; of that he felt quite sure. But still he ate no 
 supper, and taking a lantern, and giving another to 
 his eldest boy, they started in different directions for 
 the search. The lad returned about one o'clock, 
 completely tired out and with nothing to report. 
 
 As for Carl, he visited every spot where he thought 
 there was the faintest chance of her having gone. He 
 went to a particular bed of Linnaea, the last and finest 
 he had shown her. where he thought she might have ' 
 gone to gather flowers for to-morrow's fete. He went 
 to the old aspen-tree where was the nest of the black 
 woodpecker that Sunlight had been watching, as he 
 knew. He went to the stream where the young otters 
 were, and a horrible dread for the first time overtook 
 him as he thought she might have fallen in. He 
 swept the pool with the light of his lantern, and once 
 a terrible cry escaped his lips as he fancied he saw the 
 glimmer of a child's white frock. But it was only the 
 foam where it was caught by the willows, and again 
 he turned to try elsewhere. About two o'clock he 
 returned to the hut to see if there was any news. 
 And hearing " none," he said never a word, but started 
 out again. 
 
44 WITH CARL OF THE HILL 
 
 So without a moment's pause he hunted till dawn 
 and then a sudden inspiration struck him. Of course 
 she had gone to meet him ! She had gone by the 
 way he went. With that he flung the lantern 
 down and ran as he had never run before. He 
 reached the entrance to the pathway. There were 
 the marks of his horse's hoofs, and there sure enough 
 were the tracks of the child's footprints leading right 
 on down the path. They were very slight, but plain 
 enough to the practised eye of the hunter. So he 
 went on hunting like a hound : running sometimes, 
 and sometimes, where the ground was hard, picking it 
 along with painful care. Presently in his eagerness 
 he lost the footprints altogether and so stood quite 
 at fault. He harked back. He found the tracks 
 again at the point where a little crooked path left 
 the other, and into it he bounded like a stag. At first 
 he could make out nothing, the ground was so dry 
 and hard. But now he came to a soft and reedy 
 patch, and there sure enough was again the print of a 
 tiny foot. He panted on with redoubled speed and 
 then, all in a moment, he stopped and reeled while 
 the sweat burst in great beads from his forehead. 
 He remembered his dead-fall trap ! Nothing, he 
 knew well, that had passed beneath that dropping 
 
WITH CARL OF THE HILL 45 
 
 weight of timber had ever come out alive. He held 
 his hand in front of his eyes with a convulsive clutch. 
 Mastering himself, he went on slowly. He knew the 
 exact turn in the path from which he could get the 
 first glimpse of the trap. Well enough he knew it 
 had he not often crept up there, all interest, to see 
 what luck was his ? He reached that point. Perhaps 
 his head was beginning to go : at any rate he turned 
 his back and laughed. " Impossible ! as if any harm 
 could ever come to Sunlight, his darling, his gift from 
 God." And then he began to sing the first thing 
 that came to his lips : 
 
 What shall we do when she comes this way? 
 
 We will crown her with flowers, and make her our queen. 
 
 How long he stood so no man may say. But 
 at length with a strong effort he swung himself 
 and turned. Then, for one moment, his heart 
 stopped, and, with a terrible crash, he fell and 
 swooned. 
 
 They found Carl at last. They helped him to 
 stagger homewards, bearing in his arms the form of 
 little Sunlight, in her left hand a bunch of sweet 
 Linnaea, in her right a little living bird. 
 
 
46 WITH CARL OF THE HILL 
 
 But Sunlight was to live no more in the forest. She 
 had gone to the Father of all the children the 
 Father, too, of Carl. 
 
 The grey horse Gralle took Sunlight to her funeral. 
 It had been a very beautiful birthday, though there 
 had been no singing as in other years none, at least, 
 that mortal ear could hear. Little Sunlight's blue 
 eyes were closed, but on her face was such a smile as 
 seemed to fill the room with light ; as though she 
 caught the echo of a children's choir : 
 
 We will crown her with flowers, and make her our queen. 
 
 The little bird was there. At first the boys 
 had tried to feed it, but could not for their tears. 
 So they just put it by her hands in a fold of the 
 coverlet and there it nestled, locking with bright 
 eyes at the children as they came. For one by one 
 they came and kissed her, and, in the silence, crowned 
 her queen. 
 
 Where Carl was no one knew out in the forest 
 somewhere, anywhere, wrestling with his grief. 
 
 The grey horse took Sunlight to her funeral. 
 Above Sunlight's bower the squirrel sat. He had 
 never seen so many flowers on any birthday. Every 
 
WITH CARL OF THE HILL 47 
 
 day he had sat there waiting, and wondering why she 
 did not come with food. 
 
 Down the long forest track the train of mourners 
 crept and the neighbours joined it as it went along. 
 
 Close behind the cariole walked a man bareheaded, 
 whom none could recognise, though they knew it 
 must be Carl. But it seemed to be the figure of 
 an old, old man, for the broad back was bowed 
 and the hair was snowy white. And men looked 
 at one another with awe-struck faces. " It will kill 
 him," was what they said. 
 
 But it did not kill him. For a whole year he was 
 as one dead to every interest of life, hopeless, crushed. 
 And then the time of Sunlight's birthday came round 
 again. For two whole days and nights he was seen of 
 none. Out into the forest he went, and what 
 happened there who can tell? But he came back 
 again with a light in his eyes and a smile upon his 
 features a man transformed. And from that moment 
 he straightened himself up to take again his part in 
 the common battle of life. 
 
 What happened in the forest who can tell ? None. 
 But a great love is wonderful in its strength and 
 patience Carl could wait. 
 
THREE FISH 
 
THREE FISH 
 
 THERE is nothing in the trivial facts which follow 
 beyond this. Last night I happened to be putting 
 some tackle together and fell to musing on three 
 fish. These. 
 
 Fish the First. 
 
 I had been idling at beautiful Monterey on the 
 Pacific Coast, where all day long the humming-birds 
 are glancing about the heliotrope, and the great 
 white fishing pelicans taking headers in the bay. From 
 there I moved up into the Sierra Nevada, to hunt 
 the bear and black-tailed deer. 
 
 And one day, returned from hunting, I chanced 
 upon an encampment of Digger Indians by the 
 side of a clear running stream. They fed me with 
 fish. Good fish. Trout.* 
 
 I was up and down at that place a good deal 
 
 * Salmo funtinalis. 
 
52 THREE FISH 
 
 one way and another, and always the Diggers got 
 me fish. The boys caught them. I did not 
 trouble about them, for I had no rod, and have never 
 cared much for bottom-fishing. And this was really 
 bottom-fishing ; for the boys would hunt for a certain 
 white grub that lived in the roots of the reeds, and 
 this they used as bait. 
 
 Now a bear, going nightly to some place of his 
 affection, crossed the stream near the bottom of the 
 valley at about the same point each time. So I 
 had good hopes of intercepting him with a bullet, 
 and went out one night with that intent. The 
 August moon was full. And before I had gone 
 very far I saw in an opening between the trees a 
 bit of a tree-trunk, upon which I thought to sit 
 and smoke my pipe and listen to the owls. But 
 as I prepared to do this the trunk gave a grunt, and 
 was not a trunk any more, but an old Digger Indian 
 wrapped in his blanket and lying out full-length 
 upon his back. I apologised and passed on. 
 
 I have mentioned this occurrence for nothing else 
 in the world but to explain my introduction to the 
 old Digger, whom I saw again next day. He had 
 seen something of civilisation in the Yo Semite 
 Valley, so we patched up a conversation fairly well. 
 
THREE FISH 53 
 
 I happened to have in my cap a trout-fly one 
 usually has ; they rest there from season to season. 
 I tried to explain that in England we caught trout 
 with these. The Digger looked derision, and the 
 more when I told him it would catch his trout all 
 right. "No, no good. Only Indian," pointing 
 to himself. " Well," I answered, " / will catch you 
 one." 
 
 So borrowing a line (such a line !) from the boys, I 
 cut down a willow bough, put on my fly with its five 
 or six inches of gut collar, and, feeling that the 
 honour of England hung upon me, got to work. 
 
 The only way, of course, in which anything could 
 be done was by letting the line run out on the top 
 of the water, so that the stream took it under the 
 bushes, and then the fly could be worked a bit. 
 
 Of course the trout wouldn't look at that fly. It 
 scared them. They fled from it. At first the 
 Digger boys looked on. But they soon grew tired 
 of watching a lunatic at work, and left. I will not 
 trouble to give any details of the performance ; 
 they would not pass the columns of The Field in 
 the very dullest season. But the one constant 
 feature of the day was my old Digger. He never 
 left. He shadowed me. Sitting always just behind 
 
54 THREE FISH 
 
 and puffing at his pipe, he never spoke; he only 
 watched and waited, only waited and watched. No 
 Sphinx ever looked across the desert with more 
 persistent, more eternal eyes. He grew to seem 
 the very Genius of the place, muttering spells below 
 his breath. 
 
 Well, I fished on till the evening, but it was ever 
 the same story ; fish were everywhere, but not a fish 
 would come. One hates to confess oneself beaten, 
 and the triumph of the old wizard of a Digger would 
 have been bad to bear. But it really seemed a 
 hopeless waste of time ; and I had just determined to 
 chuck it up, when behind a stone I saw the waving of 
 a tail. How I sighed for my old " Farlow " and just 
 two yards of fine-drawn gut ! Well, I pulled myself 
 together for a final try. A ridiculous idea had 
 come into my head. 
 
 But I would not begin yet ; for at that moment 
 there was a sound of horse's hoofs, and riding down 
 the valley came a loafer from the gold diggings ; 
 his long legs straddled down on either side of a 
 rat-tailed screw. He pulled up to look. So I 
 moved down a yard or two and feigned to be trying 
 for a fish. Impatient for him to go, and not in 
 the best of tempers, the cheer I gave him was 
 
THREE FISH 55 
 
 not great. He watched for a few minutes and 
 then rode off with the laconic summary, "Guess 
 you want a finer pole." 
 
 But he was gone. Now for my pis alter my 
 forlorn hope. 
 
 Cholmondeley Pennell, in the delightful book 
 that was my fishing oracle as a boy, remarks that 
 the black chub fly may be improved by threading 
 a bit of white kid on the bend of the hook. Perhaps 
 the fish take it for a gentle. Well, this was my 
 idea. If, I thought, I could only put on a bit of kid 
 perhaps this fish would take it for the Digger boys' 
 grub. But white kid-gloves were optional in that 
 valley. I had not brought mine. So it was the 
 resource of despair I snipped off a tiny piece of my 
 pocket handkerchief, put that on, fell on my face, 
 wormed my way to the edge, dropped the fly on the 
 water, worked it down, down, till it was caught by 
 the little current that played round the further side of 
 the stone. Well, what possessed that fish I do not 
 know and didn't care. But he took it ! By Jove, 
 he took it! It was ticklish work the getting him out, 
 but after a minute or two of wading and grabbing 
 and careful wiles, he was out on the grass and 
 he was. mine. He was not a big fish, but a fish 
 
56 THREE FISH 
 
 he was. What cared I what his size might be 
 Enough that the charm was broken, the wizard was 
 beat. 
 
 Never a word said the old Digger, nothing beyond 
 a grunt. Only he wrapped his blanket round him 
 and strode away to join his squaws. 
 
 Fish the Second. 
 
 Through a garrison town on the south coast runs 
 a little stream. Showing now, now running on 
 beneath the streets, it empties at last into the 
 harbour by a small sluice-gate. But above the 
 town, away up among the chalk hills, it is a 
 beautiful trout stream, though the fish do not run 
 very large. 
 
 At one point of its progress is a big mill-pond. 
 When the mill is not at work, the stream runs by 
 other gates right beneath the miller's house. And 
 here the water is deep ten feet deep perhaps but 
 so clear that in the sunshine everything upon the 
 bottom may be plainly seen. And two big fish were 
 always lying here, one with a broad white scar upon 
 his shoulder. Many had tried to take them, but 
 without success. Apparently they never moved. I 
 tried them myself with the worm; letting it gently 
 
THREE FISH 57 
 
 down and watching till it hung in front of and even 
 touched their noses. But only once did the white- 
 scarred fish condescend to take the worm, and even 
 then, before I could strike, it was shot out of his 
 mouth to a distance of several inches, so great was 
 the scorn of the fish. 
 
 An Irish regiment was quartered in the town just 
 then, and belonging to it were three or four keen 
 fishermen. Their luck with the fish was no better 
 than my own. 
 
 About five o'clock one evening, at the Club, these 
 anglers' conversation turned on the white-scarred fish. 
 I suppose I had been going it a bit, for one of 
 them presently came out with a " Look here, I'll lay 
 five to one you don't catch him before we leave." 
 
 " Done," was my answer, " and I'll lay the same 
 odds that I catch him within the next four-and-twenty 
 hours." The bet was taken. 
 
 The regiment was going in a week's time ; so that 
 if I lost my money, I 'might still win it back before 
 time was up. 
 
 I felt certain that both these were very old fish, 
 who in all probability never moved at all in the day- 
 time nor ever touched a fly, but went roving round at 
 fall of night to feed on smaller fish. 
 
58 THREE FISH 
 
 Now it was impossible to work a minnow properly 
 in this pool, especially at night, because the water was 
 full of vernal water-starwort that everywhere stood up 
 from the bottom in great solid pillars of emerald 
 green. 
 
 But I had a small but heavy silver minnow the 
 name of the pattern I forget, but every one knows it. 
 If you sink them rapidly they spin freely by their own 
 weight. This I took and slipped off to the pond, 
 which was three miles or so away. 
 
 The short remaining time of daylight was spent in 
 studying as minutely as possible the geography of the 
 weeds. Every little channel I tried to learn by heart, 
 and every lump of weed all round the immediate 
 spot. And then I sat on the wall and waited. 
 
 For there was a wall round the mill end of the pool, 
 and from the foot of the wall a stoned escarpment 
 followed down, curved to the water-edge. By the 
 wall ran the cart-road, and across this was the miller's 
 house, not seven yards from where I sat. I could see 
 the miller's wife and daughter working at their sewing 
 machines by the light of two paraffin lamps. 
 
 It was dark now time for the deed to be done. 
 Lightly the minnow was swung out over the wall and 
 dropped upon the pool. 
 
THREE FISH 59 
 
 Well, it was the work of a second. For as the 
 minnow touched the water there was a rush, a tug, and 
 a fish was on. It was too dark to make out much, 
 though I could feel he was a biggish fish. But there 
 was little or no fight in him, and he never travelled 
 far. And it was not long before I could just see his 
 belly turn up white. 
 
 He was safely on, but how to get him out ! He 
 was far out of reach, and to climb down that 
 slippery wall in the dark, hampered by rod and 
 landing-net, with any chance of success was clearly 
 impossible. 
 
 I shouted, I yelled. But do you think those 
 women could hear? Not a bit of it. What with 
 their sewing machines and the rush of the water 
 through the gate, my voice was lost. 
 
 But the high-road ran behind the mill, and so it fell 
 that Policeman X, passing that way on his beat, heard 
 loud cries and, suspecting murder, came to see. 
 
 I always remember that policeman with gratitude. 
 He was indeed a friend in need. Tips ? I don't 
 believe it crossed his mind. He was a true sports- 
 man, and could not see a good fish lost. He took in 
 the situation at a glance. " You just wait a moment, 
 sir," he said, " and 77/get 'im out." 
 
6o THREE FISH 
 
 He knocked at the door, he borrowed the two 
 lamps, he placed them on the wall on either side, 
 he took the landing-net, he clambered down some- 
 how (a very nasty undertaking), he whipped up the 
 fish, and returned safely. By lamplight, by a con- 
 stable on duty was ever a trout so landed before ! 
 
 We weighed him in the mill. Three pounds and a 
 half and rather more, with a white scar on his 
 shoulder. I bore him off in triumph and tramped 
 back to the Club. 
 
 My friends as I entered were busied in a game of 
 pool. In the mouth of the fish I fixed a small coach- 
 man fly, broke off the trace and sent the fish in by the 
 waiter on a dish ; then I lay low to watch the 
 tableaux through the peephole of the billiard-room. 
 My rival's initial exclamations were not meant for 
 publication. But I can hear now the supreme disgust 
 with which he ended up his comments "and a 
 coachman too ! " As if it were adding insult to injury 
 for such a menial to have done the trick. 
 
 Well, the fish was cooked forthwith, and we had 
 him for supper with as much of " the boy " as the 
 stakes would run to, and in the safety of after supper 
 I confessed to the minnow. 
 
 Should any of those good fellows ever chance to 
 
THREE FISH 61 
 
 come across these lines I hope they will recall 
 with as much pleasure as I that evening at the 
 Club. 
 
 We duly toasted Policeman X. 
 
 Fish the Third. 
 
 Six grilse in two hours, and all in one long pool, 
 would be good work anywhere. But that was my 
 record nevertheless one day on a tributary of the 
 Tweed. 
 
 Only two were clean -run fish. The others were red 
 fish that long had lain in the pools below waiting for 
 a spate. For we had been suffering from weeks of 
 drought. But at last the storm had burst upon us, 
 and for days the river had been raging down as red 
 and thick as coffee-grounds. The fish had run up 
 madly ; throwing themselves up over the caul in 
 hundreds a beautiful sight to see. But now the 
 water had fined down nicely, the pools were quiet, and 
 the fish were taking well. 
 
 I had begun fishing at three o'clock. At five or so 
 I had landed my sixth grilse, and by half-past five was 
 into a big fish! 
 
 He had been rising all the afternoon more or less, 
 and very quietly, close to a willow bough off an island 
 
62 THREE FISH 
 
 half-way across the stream. Forty yards above was 
 the big salmon leap, and some sixty perhaps below, a 
 smaller fall with a very nasty run of boulders and 
 broken water. 
 
 A man who had been trying hard for this fish, 
 without any luck, had gone up at five o'clock for tea. 
 My chance had come. I gave the fish a good rest of 
 nearly half an hour and then threw over him. It was 
 a poor, moth-eaten looking fly the body of claret 
 with a twist of varnished tinsel, and a dirty speckled 
 wing. But I chose it for two good reasons : it was 
 the exact opposite of the fly my neighbour had been 
 using, and, better still, it had often brought me luck. 
 
 At the very first cast I moved the fish, but he came 
 short ; at the second I saw nothing of him ; at the 
 third there was a swirl, he took it under water, turned 
 and hooked himself. 
 
 A good deal has been written about the proper 
 time to stike a salmon. It is all a waste of words. 
 A salmon, of course, moves more deliberately than a 
 trout, as becomes the heavier fish. Others have their 
 own experience, mine is this. Nine times out of ten 
 if you strike at a salmon you whip the fly out of his 
 mouth. Nine times out of ten, if you leave him alone 
 and he means taking it, he will hook himself. " An 
 

 THREE FISH 63 
 
 artist would have taken that tenth fish, and that is 
 just where it comes in." Well, possibly. I am not 
 an artist. Let us get back to our fish. 
 
 For some time I saw nothing of him. Keeping 
 deep down, he headed up straight for the fall. Stop 
 him? Not a bit of it, though I butted him all I 
 knew. Bang into the white water he ran and lay still 
 as a log beneath the foam. Indeed, he might have 
 been a log for all the response I could obtain to my 
 best efforts. I hung on and shouted for help. 
 
 This was the village .pool. At the side of it was a 
 big flour-mill employing a good many hands. Pre- 
 sently some one noticed the situation, and out came 
 the miller with offers of help. Well, we exhausted all 
 the usual devices, from jarring on the rod to throwing 
 of stones. All to no purpose. Move he would not till 
 it suited his lordly will. But at last he moved a little 
 and began boring about, and then the pull on him 
 told, and like a flash he was down the stream. Out 
 ran the line like lightning till the reel shrieked 
 again. 
 
 I could not follow him, because trees, growing on 
 the edge of the pool, prevented me. He headed straight 
 for the lower fall, and was now close upon it. Only a 
 yard or two of line was left on the reel. Once over 
 
64 THREE FISH 
 
 that fall, once among the rocks, and I might say good- 
 bye to him for ever. It was a tug of war and chance 
 it ! But nothing gave and he was stopped. Right 
 in the smooth water at the head of the fall he was 
 stayed and then came working back, but up and down 
 a bit, giving me a chance of reeling up. And then 
 like a race-horse he started again, making hard for 
 the upper fall. And as he came he flung himself 
 clear of the water more than once a glorious, silvery, 
 clean-run fish. 
 
 Most of the village was there by that time, and the 
 excitement was immense. Thirty pounds, five-and- 
 thirty, at any weight they guessed him, but who ever 
 guessed rightly yet ? 
 
 He did not reach the upper fall : I brought him 
 back instead. And then when opposite me he 
 ploughed straight down and lay behind and beyond 
 a stone a biggish lump and very well known. You 
 might make it out at low water. 
 
 From this position nothing would induce him to 
 move, and every moment I expected the line to come 
 back in my face, frayed through by the rock. But it 
 held. 
 
 About ten minutes of this, and a thunderstorm 
 came on which drove my supporters for shelter. 
 
THREE FISH 65 
 
 Fortunately it was short, but it was very sharp and 
 left me wet to the skin. One by one the village again 
 turned up with lots of advice, as is always the way, but 
 no sensible action. Would no one wade in for me 
 and move that fish ? No one, of course. Indeed, 
 by general consent there was only one person at all 
 capable of tackling such a difficulty a downright 
 good fisherman and no mistake, and that was Mick, 
 the mole-catcher. But Mick was away at his traps. 
 Somebody thought he could fetch him. 
 
 It was seven o'clock, and Mick was long in coming. 
 There was nothing for it but to hang on. I was stay- 
 ing at a house some five miles off, and that evening 
 there was a rather particular dinner. Anyhow, I was 
 wet and cold and wanted that fish out. 
 
 At last there was a shout and a crowding round 
 that told of the coming o'f Mick. He was a long, 
 foolish-looking chap, evidently flattered by his dis- 
 tinguished reception. 
 
 But Mick was not such a fool as he looked. 
 Wade in there ? Not he. Not for twenty salmon : 
 he knew that pool too well. So there was nothing for 
 it. I must go, and Mick should take the rod. 
 
 Hanging up on a tree was a huge landing-net with 
 a good strong handle, not the sort of thing I should 
 
66 THREE FISH 
 
 care to leave by my salmon pool, but still with this 
 they were wont, as they said, to land "the gentlemen's 
 fish." Taking this I started in. "Whatever you do, 
 keep the point of the rod up." This was my parting 
 injunction to Mick, and Mick grinned a ready reply, 
 for he was a great fisherman. 
 
 Well, it was horrid. The water was running very 
 strong and deep, and even with the help of the 
 landing-net handle I had much ado to keep my feet. 
 I could only move sideways and move by inches 
 with my face towards the stream. And even when the 
 stone was reached, it was worse than ever. For it was 
 a pretty ticklish thing standing without support, while 
 with the landing-net an effort was made to stir the 
 fish who lay so awkwardly beyond the stone. 
 
 It was done at last. For one instant the line 
 flashed off like lightning, 'and then, singing past my 
 face, came the loosened fly and all was over. 
 
 Mick the mole-catcher had lost his head and 
 dropped the point of the rod ! 
 
 What they said to Mick I do not know. A village 
 is rightly jealous for the good name of its heroes. 
 The only word I caught was the parting slow remark 
 of the old miller as he turned to go, " Ay, lad, but it 
 was a braw fish." 
 
THREE FISH 67 
 
 I don't think I said much. It took some time for 
 me to work my way back to the bank, and by the 
 time I reached it rage had given place to settled 
 sadness. There are times when words can help you, 
 but there are times when words can not. 
 
 This was one. 
 
MEMORIES 
 
MEMORIES 
 
 Down the Brook. 
 
 A COUNTRYMAN shut up in the heart of a great city. 
 Yes, an anomaly. But it has happened before, and 
 will happen again. 
 
 What is left him ? What but memory ? Think for 
 one moment of this subtle thing. Not a physiologist 
 of them all can explain its methods or say even, 
 "Here it lies." "White matter," "grey matter," 
 " molecular changes " ? Are they laughing at us ? 
 Where have they all been stored, these facts of years 
 ago? Unsuspected, hidden away, keeping quiet, 
 evading all detection, not to be apprehended by any 
 conscious grasp. But there all the while alive, 
 potential, to start, perhaps years hence, into life, and 
 challenge us once again with the problem of memory 
 that laughs at time and space : memory that is never 
 really far away, but sometimes drives us, sometimes 
 follows where we call ; that may be commanded but 
 
72 MEMORIES 
 
 may not be bound ; man's master and man's servant, 
 his blessing and his curse. 
 
 It is still August, and the days are intolerably hot. 
 Not a breath moves in the pitiless, shelterless streets. 
 Hot air, hot pavement, hotter dust that makes the in- 
 frequent water-cart a sound from heaven. Opposite 
 my window there is a forge. I have scarcely noticed 
 it before to-day. There it is, with its open doorway 
 all red inside like a wizard's cave, with the hammers 
 ringing on the anvil and the sparks showering out of 
 the big flue. And sure enough as if there were no 
 heat outside there are children crowding round the 
 doorway the little old-faced children I pass so often 
 in the streets, but coloured and transfigured by the 
 glow. 
 
 And now I notice that a mighty oak-tree hangs its 
 branches over the forge. Something about this tree 
 makes it seem strangely familiar. I fancy it must be 
 that long black scar, curiously shaped and jagged, 
 that shows where lightning has been at work. That 
 indeed it is. I am standing opposite the forge of my 
 childhood. It is four o'clock on a summer afternoon, 
 and the children are coming down the hill from 
 school. 
 
 The forge was thatched when first I knew it. The 
 
MEMORIES 73 
 
 sparrows used to drill this roof with holes, flying 
 away with long straw streamers to their nests. 
 "Thatcher Dick" was always patching and casing it, 
 and it never had a whole new suit of thatch. 
 
 But after a time the place changed tenants. The 
 new man had been a smith in Woolwich Arsenal. 
 " Arsenic " was as near as the carters could get to it ; 
 and none of us knew where it was, and few of us 
 what it meant. It was enough that he had made 
 cannons for the soldiers. For on still days you 
 might hear a heavy booming over the hills, which 
 some said were " cannon-guns, they reckoned. " 
 Anyhow, we stood in awe of him as a very Vulcan, 
 and were not surprised when the thatch was replaced 
 by a beautiful roof of new red tiles, and a second fire 
 and bellows placed inside. 
 
 There was a good trade going in those days before 
 the dawn of cheap machinery. Old turn-rice ploughs 
 lay about round the door waiting for their newly 
 pointed shares. Big horses would stand with heads 
 down, in a brown study, lifting at intervals a heavy 
 foot for the trying-on of shoes ; and everything told 
 of regular and ready custom. 
 
 At the top of the hill beyond the forge rises the 
 church spire a beautiful, tapering shingle spire, as 
 
74 MEMORIES 
 
 many are in Kent. On the walls inside the tower are 
 the " charity boards," scored all over with those 
 strings of chalked figures which express the art- 
 language of the bell-ringers. Overhead is the thud of 
 the constant pendulum, ponderous and slow. 
 
 The sexton was head over the ringers in those 
 days. He was a long and lank old man, and this, 
 I suppose, was why every one called him "Spider," 
 for his real name was John. Many a time have I 
 stood by him in the tower while he tolled out the 
 bell. There was a varying scale of pulls, so that one 
 might know whether a man, woman, or child had 
 died. In each long interval Spider would settle 
 himself upon a trestle, puff at his pipe, and become 
 oracular on bobs and singles. He was always oracular 
 - it was his style as became the leading politician of 
 the White Horse over the way. He was loyal to the 
 Church as far as his lights went, and honoured her in 
 her servants after his own fashion. " He had buried 
 three parsons," Spider used to say, "and from what 
 he could see of the gout and other ailments he 
 reckoned he should live to bury four ! " 
 
 Spider was mole- catcher to the parish generally, 
 and a very clever one he was. Many a lesson we 
 had as boys from him. He taught us not to set the 
 
'MEMORIES 75 
 
 traps in the open field, but in banks, and especially in 
 gateways where the ground is hard. You must probe 
 about until you hit off a " run," and then, should you 
 find the inside smooth and round, you may be sure it 
 is a main one and much frequented. In such a 
 place as this, Spider, in February and March, when 
 the moles were running, would sometimes take two 
 dozen before he lifted his traps. He despised the 
 new spring traps, preferring a wire noose and a hazel 
 or ash " bender," which would fly up and swing the 
 victim clean out of the ground, where it would hang 
 like the fish outside the tackle-makers' shops, and 
 soon the bushes all about would become filled with 
 spitted moles. 
 
 I am afraid as boys we did not take very kindly to 
 church. We were not allowed to walk in the puddles 
 by the way, and there was a rigidity, generally, about 
 Sunday that oppressed us. Sometimes, however, 
 it was a bit better. When there were friends stay- 
 ing in the house we were turned loose into a big box- 
 pew. This gave grand chances for the making of 
 paper pellets. We usually confined ourselves to 
 flipping these at marks inside the pew, but in 
 moments of great daring we chose a more tempting 
 target. The clerk sat immediately in front of the 
 
 
76 MEMORIES? 
 
 pew, and the round bald patch on the back of 
 his head offered a mark few boys could long 
 resist. 
 
 And then there were minor diversions. One 
 Sunday in each year we knew as " Starling Sunday." 
 It was a movable feast, but usually fell about 
 Whitsuntide. 
 
 It was that first Sunday in the year on which the 
 young starlings were to be heard chirruping under the 
 eaves. Every few minutes the arrival of an old bird 
 with a grub was hailed with a chorus of clamour. 
 Sometimes a bat " flittermice " the people call them 
 would wheel up and down and round and round 
 till the eye was giddy with watching. And then a 
 robin or a swallow would become imprisoned, and in 
 early spring the hybernated tortoiseshell butterflies 
 would flutter up and down the royal arms in the east 
 window. Our most constant visitor was a little toad, 
 who lived beneath the stone step of the side door. 
 He used to come out when the stones got very hot, 
 and sit winking a thin film over his red eyes, medi- 
 tative and composed. 
 
 Every few years some of the shingles used to slip 
 down from off the spire, and then " Steeple Jack " 
 was sent for. He only asked a good stout rope, and 
 
MEMORIES 77 
 
 there he would swing by the hour at a dizzy height 
 like some big spider. 
 
 But "Steeple Jack" never mended the broken 
 iron cross beneath the vane. It had lost a bit of 
 floral work, which Peter Yeo, the gamekeeper, had 
 knocked off as a lad with a shot from his cross- 
 bow. 
 
 Peter was our daily oracle : our deus ex machina 
 in every strait. If a pike ran off with a trimmer, 
 Peter fished it out ; if the puppies were ill, Peter 
 put them right; and though I must own to a feel- 
 ing, come upon me since, that gunpowder and 
 tobacco were but a limited pharmacopoeia, still the 
 greatest discoveries are ever the simplest, and 
 nothing succeeds like success. He was privileged 
 to keep a cow, which he had won as a calf one 
 Boxing-day at the " Spar Shoot." For Peter, though 
 an old man, had an eye as keen as a hawk's. They 
 used to say that Peter young was a match for any 
 five men about. " Knock one down, t'other come 
 on," was how they used to put it. Be that as it 
 may, he was a huge man of immensely powerful 
 frame, and seemed to us boys a very Colossus of 
 Rhodes as he stood in his favourite attitude as 
 umpire at the village cricket-matches. 
 
78 MEMORIES 
 
 The real old Kentish dialect survived in Peter 
 and in many of his day. 
 
 " Why, Peter, what ever has happened to old 
 Chum ? " we asked him one day, as the old dog 
 came along bleeding from sundry scars about the 
 muzzle. 
 
 "Well, sir, it was like o' this 'ere," said Peter. 
 "I was a-coming past the farm geate, when all at 
 onst I be bothered if that rusty-coout ship-dog 
 didn't roosh out at my old Chum, and firedly 
 mass&creed him sure/fe ! " 
 
 The natives, generally, showed a remarkable 
 ingenuity in supplementing a limited vocabulary by 
 words most aptly coined. 
 
 "No, sir," remonstrated the bailiff's wife with 
 the curate, " my boy he wouldn't get into no trouble 
 by hisself : 'tis the other chaps as coyduckses him 
 away." The same woman excused herself for 
 sending up bad eggs to the House on the plea that 
 " the hens were getting so very old." 
 
 To return for one moment to Peter Yeo. We 
 came back from school one summer day to find 
 poor Peter ill in bed. He said it was only "the 
 jandrers " ; that he had netted us some new flams 
 for ferreting, and would soon be about again. But 
 
MEMORIES 79 
 
 his face was as yellow as a guinea, and the next 
 day but one he died. Peace to thy shade, dear 
 Peter ; I shall never know a truer or a kindlier 
 friend. 
 
 Just below the forge a little brook runs under 
 the road. One field higher up it is scarcely to be 
 distinguished from the bog, which earlier in the 
 year is one golden wealth of marsh-marigold. The 
 bog water is quite red, for there is iron in the soil. 
 Long ere the days of Sub-wealden exploration the 
 ore was worked, and such local names as " Furnace 
 House," " Iron Mill," point back to foundries that 
 long have ceased to be. The king was wont to 
 get his cannon from these foundries, and there is 
 a quaint old field-piece on the rectory lawn which 
 was found when the dam of the big pond broke 
 one year, and all that summer the pond lay dry. 
 
 But here the brook goes tinkling on about the 
 roots of alder-bushes whose leaves meet overhead. 
 The redpoles love these alders when they come in 
 later summer, and twitter there in little parties all 
 day long, hanging back- down wards, and pecking 
 into the old seed capsules for what little they may 
 find. Between the alders the stream is spanned 
 by bramble and dewberry and boughs of guelder 
 
8o MEMORIES 
 
 rose, and roofed so close that only by the most 
 curious peering may one see the chequered sun- 
 light playing on the stones. There ! that was a 
 trout. You will not see him again he has flashed 
 himself into a rat's hole after the manner of his 
 kind. Very different are the ways of these little 
 troutlets from those of the full-fed aristocrats of the 
 larger streams. Both are salmo fario, but this is 
 one whose tale of doubtful dinners gained on worms 
 and caddises is plainly told by his eel-like body 
 and his head like a miller's-thumb ; and the other 
 is what this would be, could they change places 
 for a year or so. Many a long day of the summer 
 holidays would we boys spend in the taking of these 
 trout. Sometimes we tickled them ; but when the 
 pool was too deep for this we, with great labour 
 of childish arms, would throw a dam across the 
 pool's head and bale the water out ; and so, catching 
 the fish, transfer them to the big pond above. 
 When, lo, a wonder ! A year or two gone by, and 
 we would retake them with fly or minnow, noble 
 trout of two and three pounds weight. The trout 
 were our noblest quarry, but the brook held, 
 besides these, some store of fry, stone-loach and 
 miller's-thumbs. The kingfishers, too, from their 
 
MEMORIES 81 
 
 favourite perch on the dead roots of a fallen alder, 
 used to catch the minnows, and even sticklebacks 
 in spite of their spines. 
 
 Here the brook widens to a little shallow, where 
 the cattle come to drink. In one of the hollows 
 which their feet have trod an unwonted splashing is 
 going on. A pike, scarce three inches long, has 
 caught a minnow. Small as he is, there is the same 
 cruel look in his ugly little head, and the same 
 ferocity in his attack as if he were a twenty-pounder. 
 He has caught the minnow by the middle, and jerks 
 him from side to side as a robin jerks an earthworm 
 on the lawn. A larger pike would have no need to 
 shake his prey ; he would seize it in the same fashion 
 and, retiring to his hole, bolt it head foremost, as every 
 angler knows. 
 
 Below the shallow is a flight of little terraces formed 
 of sandstone flags that marks the position of a 
 worn-out water-gate; and then the river and the 
 weir. 
 
 The farmers say that, what with the river choking 
 up and summer floods, they have no need of water 
 on the land. Be this as it may, the gates are gone, 
 and only the posts and terraces are left. The water, 
 by its constant working between the stones, has 
 
 F 
 
82 MEMORIES 
 
 hollowed out quarters for a family of water-shrews. 
 By peeping motionless between the stems of an alder- 
 bush we may see them at their play. As they chase 
 one another about the pools they look like streaks of 
 silver light from the bubbles entangled in their fur. 
 Round they go, and in and out, in the mazes of the 
 water-shrew quadrille ; now out of sight beneath the 
 flags, and now popping up in the most unlooked-for 
 corner. Every now and then one will land upon the 
 stones, and, giving himself a single shake, sit there 
 for a moment basking in the sun, not wet one 
 whit, but with a coat as soft and dry and shining as a 
 mole's. 
 
 By the River. 
 
 It is the sun that shows us Nature's face to-day, 
 and tells the story of her children's lives. It is the 
 sun which sped the tiny feet upon the hill, and joyed 
 them so they could not choose but play. It is the 
 sun that set the shrew-mice dancing in the pools. 
 It is the sun that is filling all the air with a sense of 
 music the sound of myriad insects that you cannot 
 see. It is the sun that draws the big pike from the 
 depths, and leaves him lying atop of the weeds, as 
 still and ugly as a crocodile on banks of Nile. 
 
 i 
 
MEMORIES 83 
 
 It is the sun that, laying a broad hand upon the 
 stream, smoothes all his eddies out and sends him on 
 between his banks of glistening goss, not babbling 
 loud as is his wont, but murmuring softly in his 
 sleep. 
 
 Yes, the river is very sleepy to-day. Truth to tell, 
 however, it never really hurries save at flood. It 
 lacks the boulders and the rapids of the North and 
 West. A dipper flying here from mountain burns 
 would lose all joy of life in the slow reaches of this 
 southern stream. 
 
 Yet the sleepy river has its share of living interests, 
 not few and not unvaried, and all especial to quiet 
 valleys such as this. 
 
 There, resting on the end of a bough of half-sunk 
 willow, is a moorhen's nest. The water-rats use it as 
 a dinner-table now, for the dusky babies tumbled 
 out of it and into the water full six weeks ago. 
 
 No water-rat makes those circles that come from 
 under the willow stub. They are too wide and 
 heavy. No ; it is the water-hen herself. She dives 
 with a quiet splash, and a chain of tell-tale bubbles 
 marks her way to the opposite bank. There is little 
 shelter on the further side, so she will not scramble out 
 till we are gone. But, keeping still and looking closely, 
 
84 MEMORIES 
 
 the surface of the stream is broken ever so gently by 
 one tiny wavelet that circles round some red thing 
 like a winter hip, that was not there before. It is the 
 scarlet patch upon the moorhen's head. This is all 
 that we can see, close as we may look. But bright 
 and keen are the eyes that watch us, and will watch 
 until we go. And then if, ere the distance grows too 
 great, we just glance back across our shoulder, we 
 shall see the bird creep upwards from the water, 
 threading deftly the thin low sedges, with white and 
 flirting tail. A beautiful bird is the water-hen, and 
 well-beloved of fishers and such as move by streams. 
 
 More life can be seen in an hour by the river than 
 a whole long day upon the hills. Look up, and you 
 will notice that birds that fly inland high overhead 
 follow the river as a blind man feels a clue. 
 
 Above the broad flat meadows the peewits are 
 twisting in eccentric circles, crying all the while, for 
 their first eggs were crushed by the roller and the 
 dredge, and their second broods are not long hatched. 
 They always run some dozen yards or so before they 
 rise, and will not light beside their young lest these 
 should be discovered, and so they tumble and twist 
 above our heads with sounding wings, and "peewit ! " 
 without pause, and so reproachfully that innocence, 
 
MEMORIES 85 
 
 with no designs on eggs or young, feels shame to 
 have approached so dear a spot. 
 
 A little black-pated bird whips out from under the 
 bank and flits ahead. He perches on a bit of 
 waving rush, raising his top-knot, and seeming to 
 defy the world ; but as we approach he flies off, to 
 settle again some few yards further on. He will do 
 this a dozen times or more. The bird is the reed- 
 bunting, and this is his own little manoeuvre for the 
 safety of his nest. 
 
 Do you see that little grey-brown, bright-eyed 
 bird, slipping mouse-like about the sloes? It is 
 the sedge-warbler. It seems almost incredible that 
 from so small a throat could come such a torrent 
 of sound ! Yet so it is. For a song which, without 
 being strictly music, is indeed a joyful noise, 
 commend me to the sedge-bird. All day long he 
 sings, and often far into the night, and though he 
 should have settled into sleep a sudden noise will 
 wake him into song again. 
 
 Be silent now, for we are nearing sacred ground. 
 Here the str.eam divides, to join again at a point 
 a little higher up. But, so circling, it closes in a 
 fair round island, known this many a day as "The 
 Swan's Nest " a good name, for . it lies indeed like 
 
86 MEMORIES 
 
 some big nest, deep down here in the heart of this 
 unfrequented valley; and all around stretch the 
 broad water-meadows, where the black, long-horned 
 cattle fare so well. On the first slopes of the rising 
 ground beyond is many a furrowed garden, frothed 
 by the yellow spray of hops that top the poles ; 
 and then wave on wave of purple heather rolls on 
 and on, to break at last and lose itself among the 
 sheep-fed hollows of the thyme-scented Surrey hills. 
 
 The backwater itself is jeweiled about with flowers 
 of every hue tall spikes of purple and yellow loose- 
 strife, whole beds of blue forget-me-not, and that other 
 violet-blue of meadow cranes-bill, with purple comfrey 
 and giant water-dock. 
 
 On the other side flows the stream itself in pool 
 and shallow, by steep banks where the gnarled roots 
 of the pollard oak-trees make a hiding for the 
 otters. Wide they stretch their arms across the 
 island and wide across the stream, and underneath 
 them lie the big chub, taking with sounding lips 
 the drowning moths. Chub-fishing is not reckoned 
 for much as sport ; and yet, to throw a fly without 
 fouling among those boughs, and so deftly that it 
 shall drop lightly as an insect from the leaves, is 
 no mean test of skill. And many a practised hand 
 
MEMORIES 87 
 
 on Test or Itchen owes all its prowess to 'prentice- 
 days in this so small a school. 
 
 There upon the shallow stands a heron waiting till 
 an eel shall move in the mud. Gaunt and still he 
 stands a grim magician brooding some new spell. 
 
 But now a single bubble rising is followed by a 
 tiny cloud of mud. Slight as is the symptom, it is 
 all the watcher needs. A half-step, a lightning 
 stroke, and that sharp beak has transfixed an eel, 
 But even then, the bird, warned by some unwonted 
 sight or sound, rises into the air on slow and 
 labouring wing, the eel writhing in fruitless efforts 
 to escape. 
 
 Behind the island stands an old man telling 
 sheep. He wears the smockfrock and moleskin 
 breeches of his day. It is old John Roffey, the 
 hero of many a ploughing-match in earlier years. 
 A bit too stiff to manage ploughing now, he looks 
 as hard and hale as an old oak. 
 
 " I was a-wondering whatever that 'ere bird had 
 got in his mouth," says the old man ; "I could see 
 as there was somethin' a-twizzlin'." 
 
 " Why, John, what good eyes you have got ! 
 That is because they are blue eyes. They are always 
 the best. All the best rifle-shots have blue eyes." 
 
88 MEMORIES 
 
 " My wife's brother's son," returns the old man, 
 losing the point, " is a hem-an-all fine shot with a 
 rifle, they tell rne. Lives down at Radio w," jerking 
 his thumb over his shoulder. 
 
 " Ah, I suppose he is in the volunteers ? " 
 
 " No," says John very deliberately, "no, I doan't 
 know as he was ever anything-m. But, there," he 
 adds sententiously, " he must have been something 
 somewfon or he couldn't never have been nothin'." 
 
 There are truisms which defeat us by a sense of 
 hopelessness. I suppose it was just the appeal from 
 this state of paralysis which herewith shook me 
 from my reverie. But even as ,1 woke memory 
 wove itself into a rhyming measure, and thus it 
 ran: 
 
 THE SWAN'S NEST. 
 
 I knew in the days that are long ago, 
 
 In the land that I love the best, 
 Of a cradled spot in a slumberous vale 
 
 Called ever " The Old Swan's Nest." 
 
 And never an island lay more dear 
 
 In the purple of Indian seas ; 
 For all that it was but a tangle- space 
 
 And a score of pollard trees. 
 
 
MEMORIES 89 
 
 Old oaks whose arms at set of sun 
 
 Wove pictures weird and black, 
 Whose roots crept feeling round the sides 
 
 Like the folds of a python's back. 
 
 For the sand was fretted and hollowed about 
 
 By the stream's unresting play ; 
 Except where the eddies, gone tired to sleep, 
 
 In silence and shallow lay. 
 
 And here like lamps the lilies shone, 
 
 And king-cups gemmed the spot, 
 All fringed to the side with the ruby bell, 
 
 And the turkis forget-me-not. 
 
 And here the crowfoot bloomed, who folds 
 
 Her beauty from the moon, 
 And feathered milfoil here that holds 
 
 The dew until the noon. 
 
 Low-circling have I often seen, 
 
 About the fall of night, 
 The white owl hunt the mouse, so soft 
 
 You might not hear her flight. 
 
90 MEMORIES 
 
 And then the blue wood-dove would come 
 
 To rest ; and squirrels bring 
 The last nut in ; and with the dark 
 
 The black mole-cricket sing. 
 
 An old grey fox had his kennel there ; 
 
 And never a hound so fast, 
 But he led him the best of a ten-mile point, 
 
 To beat him by craft at last. 
 
 When his bark rang out in the moonlit night, 
 
 Away on the open moor, 
 The sheep-dog moved in his sleep and growled 
 
 At his post by the hen-house door. 
 
 He would seize the feeding water-fowl 
 
 By creeping in the sedge, 
 When the moon was hid by a long black cloud 
 
 With a silver-crested edge. 
 
 I have met the dawn as it touched the stream, 
 And whitened the dew in the dell, 
 
 But the dove was abroad in the beanfield then, 
 And a heron stood sentinel. 
 
MEMORIES 91 
 
 And hares were running rivalries 
 
 About the. island grass, 
 And lazy kine would hardly rise 
 
 And let the angler pass. 
 
 It lay in a nameless peace alway, 
 
 As a deep enchanted dale 
 Lies under a spell, at a wizard's will, 
 
 In some old fairy tale. . 
 
 But this no fairy wand had touched, 
 
 No wizard charm was there, 
 But only Nature's, at the will 
 
 Of Him who crowned her fair. 
 
 And He unseen, as seen of yore, 
 
 Walks still the thronging street, 
 But here it seems there comes more clear 
 
 The echo of His feet. 
 
 Where never woodman swung the axe, 
 Nor ploughshare turned the sod, 
 
 But Nature smiles as Eden smiled 
 New from the touch of God. 
 
92 MEMORIES 
 
 And when the shadows deepen down, 
 
 And light dies in the west, 
 Were it mine to tell ere the passing-bell 
 
 Where I should lie at rest : 
 
 Not where the city's agony 
 
 Goes up the city's prayer ; 
 Not in the Minster's reverent pride, 
 
 For all the heroes there ; 
 
 But when the shadows deepen down, 
 
 And evening calls to rest, 
 I could choose to lie beneath His eye 
 
 In the peace of "The Old Swan's Nest.' 
 
A CHILD OF THE PEOPLE 
 

A CHILD OF THE PEOPLE 
 
 WHERE lies the charm of running water? In the 
 play of light and movement certainly, but chiefly, 
 I think, in sound. The loveliest, sweetest sound 
 in all Nature is the tinkling of a little stream. Only 
 two musical instruments besides can give you this. 
 One there is and you must guess it ; and another 
 and that other the throat of the starling. It is at 
 sunrise and at sunset that the starling chiefly sings. 
 Even on the chimney-pots of grimy, grim old 
 London he will sit and sing for all you cannot hear 
 him. Only you know by his ruffled feathers and 
 tremulous wings that he is singing the song of the 
 rippling water. 
 
 And in London, too, the water sings its song. 
 
 Under the iron streets the water comes, and 
 through miles of leaden pipes and hidden windings, 
 but always saying over to itself, it cannot so forget 
 it, the music taught it of the streams, till at last it 
 
96 A CHILD OF THE PEOPLE 
 
 plashes in the marble basin with its message of love 
 for the hurrying crowd. " Stay," it says, " stay 
 with me. Why do you pass so fast and heedless, 
 with downcast eye and troubled, careworn brow? 
 What is gold but a mocking phantom, and the 
 seeking it but sorrow and death in life ? Look up, 
 up between the housetops ; look away from the ugly, 
 'breathless pavement, to where the sun is shining and 
 the sky is blue. I have something to tell you about 
 that ; I have things to say of beauty and purity and 
 love. Stay and listen. Stay ' But no one stays ; 
 or only the children stay yes, the children stay. 
 
 Under the walls of St. Paul's Cathedral is a 
 drinking-fountain of some pretensions, It is all of 
 marble and is fair and round. It is in that corner 
 where the pigeons are. They are so tame, you 
 know, that they will settle on your shoulders when 
 you bring them bread to eat. I know a curious 
 person from the country who keeps a little grain 
 or bread-crumbs in his pockets, and feeds the 
 pigeons that he meets with in his rounds. And 
 one day it chanced that, after he had fed these the 
 Pauline pensioners, he fell to leaning against the 
 rim of the marble basin, and musing as he leant. 
 Something, I suppose, in sight or sound awoke a 
 
 
A CHILD OF THE PEOPLE 97 
 
 note of pleasant memory that grew reflected in his 
 face. For presently a voice said beseechingly 
 beneath his elbow : " Let me see too." And looking 
 down he was aware of the piteous figure of a hump- 
 backed child. " Let me see too," repeated the little 
 crooked thing, holding out its hands to help its 
 prayer. 
 
 What a face it had ! Such a thin, wan face, 
 with a nameless expression that was not pain but 
 told of it. A history of pain of pain that began 
 long, long ago, in father, in grandfather, in 
 generations back perhaps. Of hunger, of cruelty, 
 of but it is a stale and well-worn story you may 
 read it by the drinking-fountains any day, and I be 
 saved the telling. 
 
 Its name, it said, was Pete. Not a pretty name, 
 but still, that was it Pete. "Let me see too," 
 said little Pete. 
 
 The curious person lifted little Pete, and raised 
 him to the fountain's rim. Pete, it seemed, 
 had expected to see something new and bright 
 and strange. And so at first he showed a little 
 disappointed, but only just at first. Then the 
 fancy of the child was caught by the limpid jet, 
 and it clapped its thin small hands and held 
 
 G 
 
98 A CHILD OF THE PEOPLE 
 
 them in the tinkling water, while such a smile lit 
 up its face ! So that the curious person longed to 
 say : " Come with me, little Pete, and I will take you 
 to the music's home. I will show you such a pretty 
 purling streamlet. I know it well. Out of the 
 quiet hill it comes, and down the cradled valley 
 passes, over beds of golden pebble, and into the 
 clearest of crystal pools. In these the silver fish 
 are glinting, and blue forget-me-nots grow round 
 about, and high overhead meet the pink wild roses 
 in arch and tangle and woven growths. And the 
 stream like a glistening skein of silk goes on and 
 on, till it comes to the ford below the cottage, 
 and there the children play. And as it goes it 
 sings a little song, and this is the burden of it. 
 Only the song is far, far prettier than this, which is 
 only its prose and sense : 
 
 See ! I was born of a silver cloud 
 That moves about the morning star; 
 
 And I go singing soft or loud 
 Where any children are. 
 
 Mine is the touch of the dewy grass ; 
 
 The golden sunrise sent me here 
 To greet the children as they pass, 
 
 And tell them love is near. 
 
A CHILD OF THE PEOPLE 99 
 
 Mine is the peace of the quiet hill. 
 
 I left the forehead of the day, 
 When all the storms of night were still, 
 
 To kiss a child at play. 
 
 Mine is the gift of the power to live, 
 Of the well of life all-clear, all-true 
 
 And life, and all that life can give, 
 Dear child, is given to yon. 
 
 Something of this the curious person would have 
 said, could little Pete have stayed to hear it. But 
 it was scarcely half a minute before he was suddenly 
 seized and carried away from the fountain and out 
 through the iron gates with words of cursing that 
 were worse than blows. A woman carried him so. 
 
 In the cathedral the organ is pealing, for the 
 afternoon service is half-way through. It is the 
 solo of the anthem. Listen : " shall lead them 
 unto living fountains of waters." Ah ! there is 
 something for little Pete. Think of that, little Pete 
 "living fountains." Just the ford to cross, and 
 the other side to reach, and there the children play. 
 
 Happy as you were that moment by the fountain, 
 as happy always. Oh, but happier far. For only 
 where the living fountains are is life completely 
 happy, for only there is life itself complete. 
 
CANVEY ISLAND 
 
CANVEY ISLAND 
 
 CANVEY ISLAND is only thirty miles from London, 
 yet the two places are but little acquaint. Most 
 Canvey Islanders have never been to London, and 
 most Londoners have never heard of Canvey unless, 
 indeed, in connection with the problem of the 
 disposal of London sewage. Yet its history may 
 interest the curious, and the island itself will well 
 repay a visit, for it is a quaint, old-world sort of place, 
 and oddly un-English in many ways. It lies down 
 the Thames, between Gravesend and Shoebury on the 
 Essex shore. It is about five by three miles in extent, 
 is as flat, and for the most part as treeless, as the 
 Haarlem Lake, and like it has Dutch traditions, and 
 is beloved of the Dutchman of to-day. Not that 
 Canvey ever belonged to the Dutch ; their connection 
 with it came about in this way. 
 
 The Romans who embanked the Medway and the 
 Thames doubtless did the same for Canvey, for they 
 
io 4 CANVEY ISLAND 
 
 overran all the land about, and evidence of their in- 
 dustry may be found in the broken pottery which was 
 often, until lately, washed up upon Leigh Beck, its 
 extremest point. The Saxons have left ample evidence 
 of their existence in local nomenclature, and the Danes 
 of theirs in ruins which may still be traced ; for here, 
 under their leader Hasting, they were beaten in a great 
 battle by Alfred, who took from them their fortress 
 "Beamfleel" i.e. Benfleet on the mainland, "with 
 deep and wide trenches," as Camden says. But the 
 mighty engineers were gone, and things in Canvey went 
 from bad to worse ; until, in Camden's time, the tides 
 had so far worked their will that all the arable land, 
 of which there had been much, was ruined, for the 
 island, he says, " is oftentimes quite overflowne, all 
 save hillocks cast up, upon which the sheep have a 
 place of refuge. For it keepeth about four hundred 
 sheep." In 1621 (about eight years after Camden 
 wrote) a principal owner, Sir Henry Appleton, with 
 others interested in the soil, agreed, as appears by the 
 records, to hand over one-third of the lands to one 
 Joas Crappenburgh, a Dutch engineer, on condition 
 that he should " in " and embank the island, ensuring 
 it against future inroads of the sea. The land so 
 
CANVEY ISLAND 105 
 
 made over is still called " Third-acre land." 
 Crappenburgh's work was followed by a considerable 
 immigration of Dutch, who sustained severe loss at 
 the hands of their own countrymen during the Dutch 
 incursions in the year of the Plague, and most of 
 them then left. But if a pure Dutch name would be 
 hard and a pure Dutch pedigree impossible to find, 
 the round face, the heavy, square figure, and the 
 stolid temper are characteristic of the Canvey 
 Islander of to-day. As Lindisfarne, in short, is 
 essentially Scandinavian, so Canvey is essentially 
 Dutch. 
 
 Crappenburgh did his work conscientiously enough ; 
 but exceptional storms and spring-tides upset his 
 calculations, and in 1735 so great was the damage to 
 live stock from these causes (Canvey then fed near 
 four thousand sheep) that the Third acre land was by 
 Act of Parliament saddled with a first charge limited 
 to los. an acre towards the expenses of the wall; the 
 remaining two-thirds were only to be rateable should 
 more money be wanted at that time a remote 
 contingency. But the storms of 1881 wrought such 
 frightful havoc that this land was charged as high as 
 i per acre, a sum equal to the value of its rental. 
 
106 CANVEY ISLAND 
 
 The wall is finished now, and a solid bit of work it is ; 
 but the area it encloses is sadly contracted, and acres 
 away over its eastern limit one may trace the old 
 Dutchman's handiwork running down to the point, 
 and see even now the remains of old fleets and 
 ditches when the tide goes down. The point itself, 
 indeed, has entirely gone to sea to the extent of half a 
 mile within the last few years. 
 
 " The Lobster Smack," some time " The Sluice," 
 Canvey's principal inn (she has, by the way, only 
 two), lies just under the wall by Hole Haven, a little 
 creek where barges and bawley-boats can ride. It is 
 pleasant to lie in bed and watch the lights as the 
 great steamers feel their way down Thames. Here, 
 too, are rare chances for studying Dutch character, for 
 the light that shines from the windows of the inn is a 
 spell few Dutchmen can resist. And as the small 
 Scheldt trading-boats come up the Thames, one by 
 one they lay-to in the creek till morning light. 
 London and Amsterdam have done many a stroke of 
 business in a quiet way at this retired and convenient 
 half-way house, for a bargain is wonderfully helped by 
 a glass or two of old schiedam. This house has seen 
 some curious doings in its time, before the white 
 coastguard station put in an appearance, with its trim 
 
CANVEY ISLAND 107 
 
 flower-beds, its flagstaff, and its handful of steady 
 men. Mine host has often reason to be glad of the 
 society of these useful allies when emergencies arise. 
 For your Dutchman, stolid and phlegmatic in his 
 sober moments, genial and somewhat noisy later on, 
 has a tendency by ten o'clock or so to become wildly 
 unmanageable and to run amuck at everything and 
 everybody when closing time begins. Fortunately for 
 himself the landlord is a strong and a plucky man, 
 and is moreover ably seconded by his better half. 
 There is an old flight-shooter, too, who can always be 
 relied on in a row. Like most of those about the 
 " Lobster Smack, 77 he is honourably scarred. The 
 loss of two fingers is the form it takes with him. Ask 
 him how it happened, and he will say, " Well, sir, you 
 see it was just like this 'ere. We was a-heftin' out a 
 Dutchman one night, and I went for to hit his head, 
 and he dropped sudden, and blest if I didn't drive 
 right at that there beam." 
 
 Canvey contains about three thousand acres of land 
 in all, and this was divided among eight different 
 parishes, and was titheable to them. Whether the 
 clergy of any of these parishes ever collected their 
 tithes in person on this island I cannot say ; but it 
 is certain that for centuries no other consideration 
 
io8 CANVEY ISLAND 
 
 ever brought them there the Church left the 
 islanders absolutely alone. For marriage they had to 
 trudge to their respective parish churches on the 
 mainland, often a weary way; for burial they took 
 their dead to Benfleet. A little chapel put up by the 
 Dutch colonists in the seventeenth century was the 
 first place of worship on the island. But the Dutch 
 left, and the chapel fell into decay. It was rebuilt by 
 one who held a small farm there, which he charged 
 with ;8 for a few sermons. This was slowly improved 
 upon, and in 1715 a wooden chapel was consecrated 
 by Compton, Bishop of London, " for 20 sermons a 
 year." After a long interval some of the neighbouring 
 clergy provided by contributions for a few more 
 sermons, which were supplied in fine weather by the 
 chaplain for the time being. Things have gradually 
 improved, and for some years now Canvey has 
 been happy in the possession of a vicar, a wooden 
 vicarage, and a wooden church ; while more recently, 
 by a crowning and an almost superhuman effort, the 
 island has been semi-parochialised. All the houses 
 in Canvey are of wood, any heavier material is con- 
 sidered liable to disappear beneath the soft alluvial 
 soil. 
 
 The cause of law and order was further promoted 
 
CANVEY ISLAND 109 
 
 a few years ago by the introduction of a policeman to 
 the island for the first time. It would be impossible 
 for those who have become familiar with " the bobby " 
 to conceive the storm of scorn and indignation 
 aroused by the arrival of this humble guardian of the 
 peace. " Canvey don't want no p'lice," insisted a 
 parlour orator ; "let 'em keep to the mainland, /says. 
 Ain't we already got the Clesiasticals ? " The 
 Ecclesiastical Commissioners having been compelled 
 by bad times to take some land in hand themselves at 
 the other end of the island, were regarded by the 
 islanders as in some dim way an expression of 
 authority and interference, and as the authors of all 
 their woes. An abstraction known as " Guv'nment " 
 has the same significance in the minds of rustics in 
 other parts. "Fust chance I has," interposed our 
 friend the flight-shooter, " I leads him down in the 
 evening to the marshes beyent the fleets and takes the 
 planks up" a Christian determination which was 
 much applauded. The fleets are deep and wide 
 ditches which bisect the flats in all directions ; they 
 are crossed by narrow planks at rare intervals, and a 
 stranger left down there on a cold winter's night 
 would fare badly indeed. 
 
 Indiscriminate shooting has been the ruin of the 
 
i TO CANVEY ISLAND 
 
 winter sport which once made Canvey so attractive to 
 the wildfowler. But a visit to it in summer-time will 
 well repay the lover of Nature. The bearded tit has 
 long been driven away, and the prowling plant-stealer 
 'has hunted there unchecked, but what remains of 
 flora and of bird-life is singularly characteristic and 
 interesting. The trees of the island are mostly dis- 
 posed in one small group, but this can boast a 
 rookery. 
 
 One word as to the name " Canvey." Camden 
 talks of " the island Convennos, which is also 
 called Kwovwos," which, he says, Ptolemy men- 
 tions in his Geography. This name, he adds, is 
 still retained in " Canvey." Had Ptolemy seen the 
 island from a balloon, his use of the term would have 
 been more intelligible, fo.r the general shape of the 
 island as then seen would be that of a pear ; but given 
 to a place as flat as a pancake it is an obvious 
 misnomer. Further, the Canvey Islander would not 
 have been careful to have preserved Ptolemy's word 
 had they ever even heard of it. It has been suggested 
 that Canvey, which often appears in records as 
 " Canwe," " may possibly be a British name, since 
 'Can we' in Welsh means bright, shining, glistening," 
 and that this would fitly describe the appearance of 
 
CANVEY ISLAND in 
 
 the place, partly from the vast bank of shells on its 
 eastern point, and more so from the fleet by which it 
 was bisected as late as the time of Elizabeth. There 
 are difficulties in the way of this derivation ; but we 
 will leave it as it stands, for want of a better. 
 
IN THE LAND OF THE GREAT SPIRIT 
 
IN THE LAND OF THE GREAT SPIRIT 
 
 Moving Up. 
 
 IN the vernacular of the settlers, it is " Manitoba," but 
 this is surely wrong. For it was named of the Indians 
 away down the ages, centuries perhaps before the 
 settler put foot in the land. To the Indian, with 
 his small ambitions, his little needs, it was a perfect 
 world. All that he could want lay there ready to his 
 hand. The birch-tree gave him bark for canoes and 
 drinking vessels, the pine-tree its roots for sewing- 
 thread and string. Everywhere were fish, deer, 
 buffalo, hare and grouse for food. From the moose 
 he got skin for clothes and moccasins, and the 
 sinew with which the squaws might sew them into 
 shape. 
 
 It was too the land of mighty influences the limit- 
 less prairie, the dark-hollowed forest, the lake to him 
 like an inland sea. On the waters of the Assiniboine 
 
ii6 IN THE LAND OF THE GREAT SPIRIT 
 
 his canoe was tossed like a gopher-nut. Never so 
 fiercely beat the sun upon the forest but suddenly it 
 was Fall with poplar yellow and maple red ; and then 
 on the land fell the grip of winter and bound it in 
 iron from farther south than he could wander to the 
 ice-fields of the Hudson's Bay. From all this then 
 there was no appeal. The Indian knew it. He con- 
 fessed it in the name he gave his home Manitou Ba, 
 the Land of the Great Spirit. 
 
 It was in autumn, late September. I had come 
 up from California to hunt moose. A seven days' 
 journey or so brings one from San Francisco to 
 Winnipeg. And about Winnipeg itself lie stretched 
 the great prairies where the bison used to roam. 
 There are at least two points about these prairies 
 worth noticing viz., the slews and the trails. 
 
 These slews are curious. They are about as wide 
 as the dykes in Holland, and often run for a consider- 
 able distance quite as straight. And yet they are of 
 course absolutely inartificial. They originate, it would 
 seem, in springs, and then, as the action of the water 
 wears away for itself a bed, they become in time the 
 drains ot the prairie. When they are damp or filled 
 with water they are often of great service as obstacles 
 which a prairie fire cannot pass. But when they are 
 
IN THE LAND OF THE GREAT SPIRIT 117 
 
 dry, they sometimes act in an exactly opposite 
 manner. For they may form channels up which the 
 fire creeps and spreads, often most insidiously, from 
 place to place. 
 
 The trails are simply tracks formed on the grass by 
 the passage of the Red River carts, or the horses of the 
 old buffalo-hunters from point to point. 
 
 Even at night you can distinguish the trail from 
 the surrounding prairie, for the trail shows up white 
 in the darkness. And in the daylight you see why 
 this is. The trails are covered with buffalo grass. * It 
 is an oat grass. But whether it is the same as our 
 own t I do not know. 
 
 Sometimes, although all the trail may be thick with 
 buffalo grass, you will not be able to find any of 
 the same kind in the prairie round about. Horses 
 and cattle are very fond of this grass, and perhaps 
 therefore we may explain its presence by supposing 
 that it is by means of horses and cattle that the 
 seeds become conveyed along the trails. But useful 
 as the oat- grass is as a guide at night, it often proves a 
 delusive one. Not seldom the track takes you right up 
 to the side of a quite impassable slew, and away on 
 
 * Stipa spartea. t Avena pratensis. 
 
ii8 IN THE LAND OF THE GREAT SPIRIT 
 
 the other side you may see the oat grass stretching on as 
 if to mock your helplessness. These trails are very, very 
 old, and some of them can only be used, if at all, in 
 the driest time. The fact is that not only is the bed of 
 the slew constantly changing in depth owing to silting 
 and deposit of vegetable growths, but that in this 
 alluvial prairie soil the actual position and direc- 
 tion of the slews tend to alter. And the points of 
 passage correspondingly change until in time the 
 original crossing-place is quite forsaken. But still the 
 oat grass goes on growing, a trap for the unwary in 
 the years to come. 
 
 This, then, is the prairie where the boys ride on 
 the beasts. The " rolling " prairie is mostly a mis- 
 leading term, excepting in so far as it expresses 
 the effect of waving summer grasses. It is only 
 about the foot-hills that the prairie " rolls." Chiefly 
 it is a flat of incalculable area where nothing but 
 distance defeats the eye. In late autumn its 
 colouring is monotonous and sombre, but in spring 
 and summer it is ablaze with flowers from end to end. 
 The flowers of the prairie are strikingly beautiful, 
 varying greatly of course from place to place with 
 altitude, latitude, and conditions of soil. A lovely 
 
IN THE LAND OF THE GREAT SPIRIT 119 
 
 and sweet-scented rose* that grows about six inches 
 high ; the purple aster ; the Philadelphian lily that 
 colours acre after acre in orange-red ; anemones of 
 many kinds ; purple pentstemon these are a few of 
 the plants that flourish in the open. A low scrub 
 and bush grows here and there in patches ; and just 
 as here in our own New Forest we read the different 
 growths as a book because they show the nature 
 of the ground, so there one learns very quickly the 
 different kinds of scrub and what each can tell us 
 as we go to hunt. The low-bush cranberries! and 
 tamarac warn us of peat bogs ; the wild strawberry 
 tells that the forest is near ; the silver berry bush J 
 is a sure find for prairie chicken ; the buffalo berry 
 and the wild raspberry are beloved by the bear. 
 
 Wherever there is a large tract of land lying at 
 a level the springs and drainage go to form a 
 shallow lake. Not far from Winnipeg there is 
 such a lake, some fifteen miles long, perhaps, by ten 
 miles across, and of this I have something to say. 
 
 * R. blanda. 
 
 f V actinium oxy coccus and V. macrocarpon. 
 
 { Eld gnus ar gen tea. 
 
 Shepherdia argentea. 
 
i2o IN THE LAND OF THE GREAT SPIRIT 
 
 Travellers are expected to tell tales of hair-breadth 
 escapes and exciting adventures. Now, although 
 every man who has pushed far by himself in a wild 
 country must have had some experiences of this kind, 
 he will, if he is wise, keep them to himself. Only 
 those who have been themselves in the same 
 circumstances can appreciate them fairly ; and for 
 those who stay at home, or whose travels are con- 
 fined to the well-beaten tracks of the Continent, they 
 are only travellers' tales. 
 
 But almost every day some little thing comes 
 about of which, as it ends well, little is thought, but 
 which very easily might have been worse. Here 
 is one that just goes to show how easy it is to be 
 caught. 
 
 Touch and Go. 
 
 The horns of the moose were still in the velvet. So 
 we dawdled along over the prairie, shooting prairie 
 chicken, and the mallard and blue-winged teal that 
 rose out of the slews. It chanced, then, that we 
 went into camp by the side of the lake of which I 
 have spoken, a famous lake for ducks. Out in the 
 lake was an island where the pelicans bred. 
 
 Our tents were pitched on an open spot where 
 
IN THE LAND OF THE GREAT SPIRIT 121 
 
 the dry grassy plain ran out in a little point right 
 to the water's edge. But right and left of this there 
 lay immense beds of reeds. They enclosed the 
 lake on almost every side, and were in places some- 
 thing like two miles through. These reeds from 
 top to water-line were about the height of a man's 
 head. 
 
 The water, only a few inches in depth at the out- 
 side, grew deeper in the direction of the middle of 
 the lake ; but so gradually that a man might wade 
 for perhaps a mile before the water reached his 
 waist. Enclosed in the reed beds were numerous 
 creeks and stretches of open water, too deep for 
 any growth of reeds. 
 
 To wander then in these reed beds was to wander 
 in a water-forest that completely shut out land or 
 sky on any side. Around you reeds and water 
 the reeds far higher than your head. Directly above 
 you your only bit of sky. 
 
 These reeds were the haunt of innumerable 
 waterfowl, and into these reeds I went one evening 
 to shoot. At first I skirted the edge of the reed 
 beds. There were many things of interest all about. 
 The American bittern skulked there almost until 
 trodden upon. Beetles, allied to our Dytiscus, flying 
 
122 IN THE LAND OF THE GREAT SPIRIT 
 
 by and dropping into the water, would rise again 
 presently and fly off. 
 
 The quaint antics of the musk rats interested me 
 very much. This creature is common in the marshy 
 grounds of Manitoba. In general appearance it is 
 like a miniature beaver, excepting that its tail is 
 flattened from side to side and not from above 
 downwards. When the lakes are frozen it still 
 manages to keep its breathing holes open, by 
 stuffing them with mud or moss. But it has the 
 most extraordinary power of remaining for a long 
 time under water. And I have more than once 
 seen a startled musk rat come up under the clear 
 ice, and remaining there for a few seconds dive 
 down again. Under these circumstances it is 
 supposed to exhaust the air in the lungs, breathing 
 it in again as soon as it has been "converted by 
 the oxygen in the water." But surely a suffi- 
 cient explanation is this simpler one, that under 
 the ice are many air bubbles to which the beast's 
 instinct directs it. This animal builds from the 
 bottom a large structure of reeds in the top of which, 
 clear of the water, is its nest. There are no galleries, 
 but only an entrance and a pophole. 
 
 But we wanted ducks for the pot, so presently, just 
 
IN THE LAND OF THE GREAT SPIRIT 123 
 
 stopping to notice that the camp was on my left 
 hand, I struck into the reeds. As I went on I broke 
 off and bent down a reed here and there, as a clue for 
 the journey back. Having shot as many ducks as I 
 wanted, I turned to go home, for a flush across the 
 sky told of sunset. At that moment I heard some 
 way off what I believed to be the call of the 
 summer-duck.* I was very anxious to get this bird 
 for my collection, so I crept off in the direction of the 
 sound. But sound travels a long way over water on 
 a still evening, and it was some time before, having 
 waded in water that was gradually getting deeper, 
 a beautiful drake rose in front. I fired, and the bird 
 fell. But though it lay still for a moment, it only 
 had a broken wing, and presently it dived. And now 
 I did a very foolish thing. Anxious to have the bird 
 undamaged for mounting, and thinking that in that 
 shallow water I could sooner or later run it down, I 
 started in pursuit. 
 
 A stern chase is a long chase, especially after a 
 crippled duck. He would dive ten yards or so, and 
 I could trace him fairly well. Sometimes I was so 
 close I almost grabbed him, but not quite, and then 
 he would gain on me, reappearing disappointingly some 
 
 * Aix sponsa. 
 
124 IN THE LAND OF THE GREAT SPIRIT 
 
 way ahead. Presently he took right up one of the 
 open creeks. I followed. The water was about up 
 to my waist. Up the length of the creek we went, 
 but the water was all in his favour now, and I could 
 move but slowly. There was no help for it. The 
 next time he showed he was stopped by a shot and 
 picked up. And then I turned to go home. But by 
 this time it had grown sensibly darker, and with the 
 change of light the whole aspect of the place had 
 changed. Closely as I might look, I could not hit off 
 the point at which I had entered the creek. At last 
 finding something that looked like the opening, I 
 struck into it. But it was a delusion. There was no 
 track at all. In the excitement of the chase I had 
 completely lost my bearings. I had no compass, and 
 began to have doubts as to the direction of the camp. 
 I had another good try to find the trail, and then 
 stood still to think. My reflections did not help 
 me much. For there was no doubt about it, I 
 was lost. 
 
 All the red light had died out of the sky, and the 
 stars were coming out. It was cold work in the water, 
 and I did not like it much. I was pretty hungry 
 too, and when you are hungry you feel the cold the 
 more. I wandered about there in that reed forest for 
 
IN THE LAND OF THE GREAT SPIRIT 125 
 
 some hours longer, never certain where I was going, 
 whether towards the lake or from it (for the water 
 deepened or got shallower so very gradually) until I 
 really was about beat. Suddenly something caught 
 my foot, and stumbling forward, I fell full-length 
 right on to the top of a mound. This mound was a 
 musk rat's house. Up this musk rat's house I 
 dragged myself and presently stood on the top. And 
 then I could see. There was the lake and there was 
 the camp fire twinkling, but very far away. Over 
 the camp but high up in the sky above it a big quiet 
 star was hanging. Slipping very warily and slowly 
 from my perch, I found that I could just manage to 
 keep that star in view above the reeds. And so I 
 followed it. Sometimes from looking at it so long 
 and anxiously it seemed to change, and then I even 
 wondered if it were the same. Sometimes for a 
 moment I lost it altogether. It was one of the worst 
 walks I ever took. But perseverance won at last. 
 Beneath my feet was the solid prairie with the camp 
 not very far away. It was about an hour after mid- 
 night when I tumbled into the tent. 
 
 This was the more remarkable because as a rule 
 the musk rats do not build very far from the 
 bank. But either the lake had been much lower in 
 
126 IN THE LAND OF THE GREAT SPIRIT 
 
 the summer, or the nest was really near some small 
 island which in the darkness I could not see. 
 
 But soon it was time to be moving on if we were 
 to be ready for the moose. And as we shall now be 
 alone with the Indians, it may be worth while to say 
 a little about them. The following, as a general 
 impression, will not, I fancy, be very far out. 
 
 The principal Indian tribes of Manitoba are 
 the Crees, Swampy (Cree), and Chippewa. But 
 among them, members of many other tribes are found, 
 as, for example, Sioux, and Tuskororas. For few if 
 any of the tribes really occupy their old territories, 
 the system of reservation introduced about twenty 
 years ago having changed all that. A distinction is 
 always drawn between plain and forest Indians. It is 
 not easy to see much difference between them in the 
 North, though the Indian of the lower plains is no doubt 
 of an inferior type. In the old days there was no doubt 
 a difference in habit; the plain Indians living largely on 
 the bison, the forest Indians on fish, birds, and rabbits. 
 But the disappearance of the bison and the Government 
 subsidies have reduced them, on the whole, to a level. 
 
 From the recent report of the Mounted Police, it 
 appears that the Indian is showing some signs of 
 improvement in agricultural industries and in 
 
IN THE LAND OF THE GREAT SPIRIT 127 
 
 civilisation generally. But this must be necessarily 
 a very gradual and slow development, and although I 
 can only write of the Indians as I knew them a few 
 years ago, I suspect that the estimate I then formed 
 would on the whole hold good to-day. Among the 
 settlers a proverb obtains to this effect, " God never 
 created any better thing than a dead Indian." My 
 experience is quite opposed to this. The Indian 
 is not bad until he has been spoilt by the whites. I 
 am afraid there is no escaping from this fact, and the 
 story of native races all over the world confirms it. 
 Away out in the lonely forests, away from the towns, 
 away from the ranches, the Indian is not bad. He 
 is grateful, he is not murderous, he is not a thief. 
 If feats of horse-stealing are tests of prowess with the 
 young braves of certain tribes the Crows, the Bloods, 
 the Blackfeet, for example does that prove any- 
 thing? Such feats of daring are points of honour, 
 and as such are fully recognised among those tribes. 
 Petty pilfering is not an Indian's fault. Individual 
 thieves are found in any society. But you may leave 
 your tent open and unguarded by an Indian camp and 
 not a thing will be touched, You may trust yourself 
 alone with the Indians night after night and day after 
 day where no human hand could help you if attacked, 
 
 
128 IN THE LAND OF THE GREAT SPIRIT 
 
 and you shall be as safe as in St. James' Street at 
 home. It is so. 
 
 But the Indian is quick at reading character. If a 
 white man plays fast and loose with him, if he says one 
 thing and does another, if he treats him as a creature 
 inferior to himself, then there will be trouble. And, 
 without going into particulars, this fact may be taken 
 to explain why, on the whole, we succeed in our 
 management of the Indians, and why, on the whole, 
 the Americans do not. 
 
 I think the Indian's power of physical endurance 
 has been overrated. I have hunted with some of the 
 leading Indian hunters of certain districts, and I think 
 an Englishman in training could always wear them 
 down in pace and staying power. But the redskin is 
 very, very lithe. I have by me now an old pair of 
 Hudson Bay Co.'s handcuffs that a London constable 
 would mock at as far too small. And there are three 
 points and three only in which no Englishman I 
 think could ever hope to approach the redskin's skill. 
 In the "homing" instinct, in ability of tracking, in 
 moving silently and rapidly over difficult ground, here 
 he is quite alone, as I think we shall agree when we 
 come to the moose ; and we are moving out with this 
 object now. 
 
 
IN THE LAND OF THE GREAT SPIRIT 129 
 
 Two trackers Kakikapo, a Cree, and Tiah, a Sioux 
 an old half-breed who can talk a little French, to 
 cook and be camp-man generally, and a boy, Paupukhi, 
 who seemed to have no tribe, these are our following. 
 Kakikapo and Tiah ride each a pony, there are two 
 light wooden carts drawn by a pony apiece, and an 
 extra baggage pony or two for loading moose-heads, 
 and against emergencies. 
 
 We cross a narrow arm of the lake, swimming 
 where we cannot wade, or rather floated over at the 
 ponies' tails. Here the Indians stop to examine their 
 nets. These lakes are full of white fish and pickerel 
 and pike. The white fish * is considered in America 
 one of the very best fish they have. It has no qualities 
 as a sporting fish, but there is no doubt whatever that 
 as a form of food it has most remarkable properties. 
 It seems to be the one form of fish-food upon which 
 human beings can live the whole year through in 
 perfect health. Unfortunately, the great Indian 
 harvest of this species is in autumn, at the spawning 
 time, just when the fish are at their worst as food. 
 Netted then and dried, it is kept for winter use. 
 This fish averages- from three to four pounds in 
 weight. 
 
 * Coregonus albus. 
 
 I 
 
130 IN THE LAND OF THE GREAT SPIRIT 
 
 And now we are entering the forest lands. For 
 mile upon mile we trudge on through the region of the 
 balsam poplar, that in spring scents all the air, and 
 at time of seeding floats far and wide a white and 
 downy pappus like soft-falling snow. And now we 
 have left the alluvial flats and are travelling over 
 higher, sandier ground, where the shiver of the aspen 
 sounds even in the stillest hour like a ceaseless, steady 
 rustling breeze, or voices of a million cascades play- 
 ing somewhere in the hollows out of sight. There is no 
 track here, and so closely grow the aspens that more 
 than once the black pony's packs are swept off his 
 sides as he passes between the trunks. For the black 
 pony is a bit pigheaded, and takes instant advantage 
 of any inattention by running off by himself at a 
 tangent, so that the old half-breed curses him in French 
 and Indian, muttering dire invectives against " Le 
 coureur." Poor Le coureur, we lost him altogether in 
 a bog at last. 
 
 For three days we travel so, sleeping by the fire at 
 night and moving off at earliest dawn. But now the 
 evidences of moose begin to grow more frequent. 
 More often do we come upon the great fresh slot in 
 the soft places, more often upon the freshly eaten 
 branches, more often upon the lairs in the grass. So 
 
IN THE LAND OF THE GREAT SPIRIT 131 
 
 reaching a knoll crowned by a few stunted oak-trees, 
 we go into our first camp. 
 
 * 
 Snowy Owls and Moose. 
 
 Even off-days in camp-life pass very pleasantly. 
 When actually on the hunt the excitement and con- 
 centration of attention on the one object leave small 
 room for other studies ; but an off-day now and then 
 is absolutely necessary, or the camp would go to 
 pieces. And then, when .there is nothing more to be 
 done when you have finished skinning, mended 
 moccasins, looked to the horses, cleaned up the camp 
 then is the time to go quietly out among the birds 
 and beasts. 
 
 There is no want of animal life in these wild 
 parts. Along the lake-side one morning went flying 
 five white geese with black-tipped wings. The guns 
 were in the tent; but they were probably, like 
 two that we shot later, the smaller snow-goose.* For 
 this bird breeds on the Alaskan peninsula, and as 
 winter approaches moves eastwards across the 
 continent ; while 'the larger species the " wavy " f 
 seems rather to follow the coast-line. 
 
 * Chen hypoboreus (Pal.). t Chen albatus. 
 
132 IN THE LAND OF THE GREAT SPIRIT 
 
 Another morning there was a sudden excitement 
 among the Indians, for out of a hole in a stub popped 
 an ermine in winter dress right between their legs as 
 they sat at breakfast. 
 
 Our most beautiful visitors perhaps were the snowy 
 owls.* At one place a pair of these birds haunted 
 our camp for a week on end. Often when the 
 Indians were sleeping and the camp was still, and 
 I had gone out to see to the ponies and make the fire 
 up, I could catch a glimpse of these white wanderers 
 sailing along low down in the splendid moonlight. 
 One time I especially remember. It was later on 
 then, and the land lay wrapped in snow. A sound 
 behind the tent awoke me a scratching, scraping 
 sound. Peeping cautiously round the tent corner, 
 I made it out. Three coyottes were gnawing at 
 a moose's skull and horns which we had that day 
 cleaned and left lying in the snow. I drove them 
 off. There was no moon, but I piled timber on the 
 fire till it blazed again. So I staye/1 for a space, 
 listening to the sounds of night the barking of foxes, 
 and the belling of the elk. And as I stood two 
 snowy owls came into view, like great white moths, 
 
 * Ny-ciea scandiaca (Linn.). 
 
IN THE LAND OF THE GREAT SPIRIT 133 
 
 attracted by the shining of the light. At least I 
 suppose they were attracted so, for they did not seem 
 to be on the hunt, but only flew backwards and for- 
 wards, backwards and forwards, now nearer, now 
 farther off, and sometimes they almost brushed my 
 face. I have never heard these birds make any sound 
 when on the hunt. But this pair, when startled from 
 their resting-place, almost invariably took wing with a 
 loud half-croak, half-wheeze. For they spent all the 
 hours of daylight for several days down on the ground 
 in the scrub by the edge of a lake, and I never saw 
 them hunting during the day. I do not say they 
 never hunt in daylight; no doubt, when pushed for 
 food, they do. But all the snowy owls I saw, and I 
 saw several, were only diurnal in so far as they sat 
 about and occasionally moved from point to point in 
 the daytime. 
 
 On November the 25th, driving home from a 
 sleigh journey I saw, at about two o'clock in the 
 day, a snowy owl sitting on a telegraph-post by the 
 side of the high-road not two miles from Winnipeg. 
 I pulled up underneath and sat looking up at him. 
 Judged from below he was, I think, the whitest 
 specimen I ever saw ; I could not detect a single spot 
 upon him. He remained there perfectly unconcerned. 
 
134 IN THE LAND OF THE GREAT SPIRIT 
 
 He was so beautiful a specimen that I could not 
 resist the temptation to secure him. But the horses, 
 a very spirited pair of trotters, could not be 
 trusted. So I told a half-breed who was with me 
 to shoot. The man took a deliberate pot-shot 
 at the bird, and either missed clean, or else some- 
 thing was wrong with the charge ; for the snowy, 
 with a cry of mockery, skimmed grandly off across 
 the flats. The hawk owl,* on the other hand, is 
 diurnal in every sense. It will even sometimes cut 
 down like a peregrine at a wounded spruce partridge. 
 
 There need never be a want of food in camp, 
 for the grey haref is always with you more 
 or less. Some districts literally " crawl " with these 
 creatures. By the beginning of November they 
 are turning white, and lose their colour first up their 
 sides. Any Indian boy can bring in as many of 
 these as you want. For the grey hare is exceedingly 
 stupid. If it hears any sharp sound, a sudden tap or 
 a sharp whistle, it will stop dead and allow its pursuer 
 to come up close enough even to knock it over with a 
 straight-thrown stick. 
 
 It would take far too long a time even to quote 
 
 * Syrnia f^^nerea. t L. Amencanus. 
 
IN THE LAND OF THE GREAT SPIRIT 135 
 
 from a note-book half the birds and animals met 
 with even in a single day. But I think perhaps some 
 little account of the principal creature we have come 
 out to hunt should not be quite left out. I cannot 
 pretend for a moment that all that follows is the 
 immediate outcome of my own observation. But I 
 think I shall not be found to have stated anything 
 here that is not well ascertained as fact. Statements 
 by the Indians, reports of other hunters, written 
 accounts which I believe to be reliable, and my 
 own observation these are the sources from which 
 the following is drawn. 
 
 The moose* is by far the largest of all the family of 
 the deer. A big bull will measure at the shoulder 72 
 inches, or, as we should say of a horse, 18 hands. I 
 have never had one weighed, but I have seen it stated 
 somewhere that such an enormous weight as twelve 
 hundred pounds is not unknown, and I can quite 
 believe it. Well, that is more than eighty stone, or, 
 speaking generally, about four times the weight of a 
 fine Highland stag. Readers of Gilbert White will 
 remember how greatly he was struck by the length of 
 the leg (of the tibia especially), the shortness of the 
 
 * A Ices Amtricanus. 
 
 
136 IN THE LAND OF THE GREAT SPIRIT 
 
 neck, and the prolongation of the upper lip or moufle. 
 And it is just these points that give the moose its 
 quaint and rather ungainly character. 
 
 When in the full vigour of life, the bull moose has 
 a curious process of hairy skin some four or five 
 inches long, called the " bell," hanging from its throat. 
 It is not believed that this functions as a gland. I 
 have heard that this is also occasionally seen on 
 females, but I never remember to have myself seen 
 one that had it. The colour of the moose is very 
 variable, but always in some tone of black or grey. 
 I have never seen the slightest tinge of red in any 
 adult. 
 
 There is by me as I write a magnificent robe or 
 skin which has not been stretched at all. Kakikapo's 
 squaw prepared it, scraping it clean with an old axe- 
 head and tanning it in the smoke of the wood-fire. 
 This skin measures from the scut to the front of the 
 withers eight feet six. 
 
 Its colour is a beautiful glistening black, with here 
 and there the slightest suspicion of grey. But this is 
 the early winter skin of a bull in his prime. Later 
 on in the year this coat would have turned grey. 
 Females and young are grey, and very old males 
 incline even to white. A second small skin, also in 
 
IN THE LAND OF THE GREAT SPIRIT 137 
 
 my possession, which I believe to be the skin of a 
 fawn of this species (the Indian from whom I 
 obtained it assured me it was), may be thus described : 
 Sides and shoulders the dark sable-brown of the 
 British water-vole. A stripe three inches broad of 
 lighter sable down the back, widening over the 
 quarters and fading to chestnut towards the hocks. 
 From the neck to the lumbar region down the centre 
 of the back a dark mule-mark. This skin measures 
 from the origin of the neck to the end of the scut 
 twenty-six inches, and is thirteen inches wide across 
 the flanks. 
 
 The palmated horns of the moose are too well 
 known to need description. They are shed about 
 mid-winter. The coat is shed twice viz., in May and 
 September. The rutting season,- which begins in 
 September, is at its height by October, and the calves 
 are dropped in May. 
 
 Unlike the wapiti, or our red-deer, the moose is 
 monogamous, although the bull seems to pair with a 
 different cow each season. Each family holds to- 
 gether through the year, so that a big bull is not 
 often found alone, unless his powers are going back. 
 
 The moose, because of his long fore-legs, can only 
 eat grass with great difficulty. Personally I have 
 
138 IN THE LAND OF THE GREAT SPIRIT 
 
 never seen any evidence of their eating grass at all, 
 and probably they seldom do in the natural state, 
 except perhaps in summer when the grasses are long. 
 But Gilbert White's account of the Duke of Rich- 
 mond's female moose (1768) is worth quoting on this 
 point : 
 
 " With this length of legs, its neck was remark- 
 ably short, no more than twelve inches ; so that by 
 straddling with one foot forward and the other back- 
 ward it grazed on the plain ground, with the greatest 
 difficulty between its legs." A colt does the same. 
 
 It ordinarily feeds on leaves and twigs. A very 
 favourite food is the red dog-wood, called by the 
 Indian " kinikinik." (It is the dried bark of this 
 shrub that the Indians smoke, instead of or mixed 
 with tobacco.) In winter, you will often come upon 
 a large area in which every tree has been barked by 
 the moose. And you will find many spruce-trees 
 whose young shoots have been bitten off by the 
 creature to an astonishing height from the ground. 
 They must raise themselves on their hind feet in order 
 to accomplish this. But the very fact of their eating 
 spruce at all is curious. Turpentine is, so far as my 
 observation goes, avoided by almost all animals 
 except squirrels. 
 
IN THE LAND OF THE GREAT SPIRIT 139 
 
 In winter the moose have a well-known habit of 
 congregating together and forming a yard, probably 
 for the purpose of protection from wolves. These 
 yards have been often described as if almost 
 made with the accuracy and precision of a Danish 
 camp as being perfect even-sided entrenchments. 
 I have never had the good fortune to see the 
 animals in their yard. But one of the so-called 
 yards themselves I have seen. Of a most irregular 
 and imperfect formation, situated in the closest part 
 of the forest, it showed no features that would not 
 naturally result from a number of large animals being 
 collected together in one place. The snow, trampled 
 down and scraped together here and there, lent some 
 colour to the idea of a fortification, but that was all. 
 Irregular paths ran from this centre for a short dis- 
 tance in many directions, and this plan or principle (if 
 so it can be called) was always traceable in the yards 
 of the previous year one came across in the autumn. 
 For old yards are easily recognised, because every bush 
 and twig has been killed down by the moose. The 
 caribou is said to have the same habit, but to this I 
 cannot speak. 
 
 Moose are killed in various ways. Sometimes they 
 are taken by the Indians by means of a noose and 
 
 
140 IN THE LAND OF THE GREAT SPIRIT 
 
 running block fixed up in the paths along which they 
 travel. Again, in time of deep snow when, under the 
 influence of the sun and frost, the snow is covered 
 with a hard skin, the Indian hunters, and I am sorry 
 to say others also, pursue them on snow-shoes. The 
 hard surface of the snow bears the hunter well enough, 
 but the moose, sinking deep at every plunge and cut 
 about the legs by the knife-edge of the ice, soon 
 succumbs and is despatched. Indians, I have heard, 
 also kill the moose in the water when he goes in 
 summer to bathe and feed on lily roots. 
 
 But all these are contemptible and most unsportsman- 
 like ways. There are only two plans, so far as I am 
 aware, which can be classed as honest sport that is, if 
 judged by the only test which a sportsman should 
 admit viz., difficulty and the fair outwitting the wild 
 creature by skill alone. The first is the call. This 
 is, they say, much practised in Nova Scotia, chiefly 
 in the early half of the rutting season. The bull is 
 attracted to the hunter by a call blown on a trumpet 
 of birch-bark. Everything here depends on an intimate 
 knowledge of the animal's habits and of the perfect 
 imitation of its voice a most difficult accomplishment. 
 I have never seen it done, but it must in the moonlit 
 night be most exciting work. 
 
IN THE LAND OF THE GREAT SPIRIT 141 
 
 But no form of moose-hunting, I think, is 
 worthy to be compared with still-hunting. The 
 still-hunt must make greater demands upon a 
 man's power of endurance, readiness of resource, 
 knowledge of animal habit, quickness of sight, with 
 all the other qualities that go to make the success 
 of the big-game hunter, than all the other methods 
 put together. 
 
 The particular hunt that follows has not been 
 chosen because it was one of the most successful, for 
 indeed it ended badly. Moose hunts sometimes do, 
 and this was only the third moose I had seen. 
 
 We have all heard and read of the man who never 
 misses. Have you ever met him personally ? I never 
 have, and perhaps I never shall. But I know this, that 
 big as the moose is, it is easily possible to miss it. And 
 the instance that follows is a case in point. After all, 
 the interest of a hunt lies not always, nor chiefly, in 
 the kill ; and this, full though it was of disappointment, 
 was a very memorable hunt. 
 
 A Still Hunt. 
 
 Just a sense of coming day was beginning to feel 
 over the forest as Kakikapo and I left camp. We rose 
 at first a gradual hill covered with white shining 
 
142 IN THE LAND OF THE GREAT SPIRIT 
 
 poplar, and then dropped down to a land of black 
 spruce and scrub and " muskegs " or bogs. 
 
 Kakikapo cut a comical figure. An old grey shirt, 
 a pair of trousers made in the Hudson Bay Co.'s 
 best manner, moccasins, round his waist a red and blue 
 "ascension" scarf into which his fire-bag was tucked, at 
 his back an old meat-tin for boiling tea in, and a 
 single-barrelled gun these were his leading features. 
 
 To-day it seemed we really were in luck. For less 
 than thirty yards along the muskeg's edge we came 
 upon a slot an immense slot, and apparently no other 
 near it. For me this was enough. It was a perfectly 
 fresh track, the merest tyro could have told that ; 
 it was the track of a big bull, and it pointed right into 
 the wind. What more could we possibly want ? I 
 re-tied my moccasins with great care, I slipped in the 
 cartridges, I was ready to move on. But Kakikapo 
 was not ready yet. Along the side of the muskeg he 
 walked some fifty yards or so and back on either 
 hand. And then he came back, looking puzzled, 
 and stopped to think. This was perhaps how his 
 reasoning went. " This is the foot of a big bull. But 
 he is alone. Where is his cow? He should be 
 paired by now. Is he an old supplanted bull ? If so, 
 we lose time by following him. He will have no 
 
IN THE LAND OF THE GREAT SPIRIT 143 
 
 head. Is he a travelling bull? If so, is it worth 
 while to follow him? How comes he so near our 
 camp? Have our shots or voices frightened him? 
 What pace is he going? Let us see." The Cree's 
 reflections evidently brought him to some such point 
 as this, for now he began following on the spoor. 
 
 It took us straight to the middle of the muskeg. 
 Here was a large piece of open water, and this the 
 moose had crossed. That a creature of the moose's 
 enormous weight can easily cross the softest bogs has 
 always been a wonder to me. But he does it. His 
 great splay feet bear him up sufficiently. But you, 
 if by any carelessness you should step in a moose's 
 footprint, find your own leg dropped three feet 
 into a hole from which you have much ado again to 
 clear it 
 
 But there was nothing for it now but to retrace our 
 steps. " Nipi " (water), said the Cree, and there was 
 no denying that. So back we went, and round the 
 muskeg till we came at last on that point where the 
 creature had come out. And then away into the 
 forest the great slot led. He had stopped a little 
 further on, had done a little feeding on the kinikinik, 
 and then had moved on more slowly right through a 
 thick grove of larches. And here, right and left, and 
 
144 IN THE LAND OF THE GREAT SPIRIT 
 
 very high up, were the broken branches, and once in 
 passing between two trees quite wide apart he had 
 scraped right and left with his horns. He had horns 
 then, and, goodness, what a width they must have 
 been ! No wonder Kakikapo put his gun down here, 
 drew himself up slowly to his full height, stretched 
 out his arms on either side his head, and said im- 
 pressively below his breath, " Tcheh api " big bull. 
 
 Following a moose is a serious matter, and nothing 
 is gained by hurry. We had had breakfast before 
 daylight, and now it was half-past ten. So we drew 
 off a little down the wind, lit a tiny fire, and made 
 some tea in Kakikapo's tin, while he munched at 
 his dried moose-meat, I at a luncheon biscuit. 
 And then the Cree almost undressed and dressed 
 himself again. I can see him now, hitching here, 
 tying there ; he seemed all strings and patches. 
 But the result was satisfactory to himself. Not 
 a loop, not a loose end anywhere, nothing that could 
 catch a twig or make the slightest noise. And then 
 he looked me over. I had put on that day over my 
 grey shirt for the first time a jacket bought at a 
 Hudson Bay Fort. It seemed just the thing, for it 
 was made of yellowish canvas lined with cloth. Its 
 colour, that so exactly matched the dead grasses, 
 
IN THE LAND OF THE GREAT SPIRIT 145 
 
 pleased me very much. But Kakikapo was not 
 pleased. For he picked a little twig and brushed it 
 across my sleeve, and sure enough that noise, though 
 slight, was more than we could risk when after moose. 
 I turned the jacket inside out, and then all was 
 ready ; and we began to take that spoor along. 
 
 The breeze, so very light when we started, had 
 freshened up and was now blowing pretty strong. 
 And this perhaps was just as well, for about twelve 
 o'clock we entered upon a bit of hunting just about 
 as difficult as anything I have ever come across. We 
 had all but come upon our moose. But he had 
 begun to suspect something was wrong. Whiskey 
 Jack, I fancy, put the notion in his head. A word or 
 two before I forget it about Whiskey Jack. 
 
 There is a little grey bird with a black head whose 
 place is somewhere between the jays and shrikes. His 
 proper name is Perisoreus canadensis^ but to the Indian 
 he is known as Wiskachan ; and thence passes, by an 
 easy transition in settler language, through Whiskey 
 John to Whiskey Jack. This little bird is most 
 sociably disposed towards human beings. Some 
 Whiskey Jack ' of days gone by made the grand 
 discovery that, when hunters stopped and lit a fire, 
 there was commonly food about. This information 
 
146 IN THE LAND OF THE GREAT SPIRIT 
 
 spread through all the forest lands of the Territory ; 
 and now, when any hunter stops for food, it is ten 
 chances to one that, before he has finished his 
 first hunch of bread, Whiskey Jack will be there, 
 with one or two more, to see him eat it and help 
 him through. So amazing is the audacity of this 
 bird that, when there is time to spare, it may 
 be drawn nearer and nearer by well-considered 
 devices, until it makes bold to snatch food from the 
 hand itself, as on one occasion it snatched it from 
 mine. But W. Jack's ways are not all prettiness. For, 
 like our English jay, he is a terrible alarmist in the 
 woods. 
 
 Whether or not it was he that put the big bull 
 on the look-out it is impossible to say, but the creature 
 began to grow suspicious and took to walking in semi- 
 circles, trying to get our wind. It was a curious per- 
 formance. Now and then we heard him, more often we 
 only saw the slot. We tried hard to head him at his 
 points. But no sooner did we begin to draw up to 
 him than he would turn again and come right round 
 on the other side. If he had once fairly winded us, 
 he would have gone. But he never did. Only now 
 and then he thought he caught some half scent or 
 heard some doubtful sound, and, besides, the wind 
 
IN THE LAND OF THE GREAT SPIRIT 147 
 
 made him uneasy, for he could not listen well. We 
 dared not go straight on, or we should soon have 
 had him on our flank and all would have been up. 
 
 Excepting the fact that the growth was very thick, 
 nothing could well have been worse for us. For over 
 large areas here and there the bush had been broken 
 down some time, and lay, so to say, a thick stratum of 
 " spelicans." Through this we had to pick our way, 
 lifting at each step the foot over some obstructing 
 bough and feeling carefully down among the dry 
 branches against any twig that might be lying in the 
 moss, before one dared to trust one's weight on some- 
 thing that might snap. At this game the Cree sur- 
 passed me altogether. Over and over again he forged 
 ahead and disappeared from view. We never saw 
 the bull, but for five hours by my watch this game 
 of hide-and-seek went on. And then at last the 
 moose seemed satisfied and began to draw straight 
 on. And now the wind, blowing half a gale, was all 
 in our favour, for we were out again in open country, 
 only kinikinik and willow patches here and there and 
 the rest all bog and grass. Right on through the 
 willows the moose had passed, feeding on the young 
 shoots as he went. Presently we passed through a 
 belt of larches, and there lay before us a flat open tract 
 
148 IN THE LAND OF THE GREAT SPIRIT 
 
 of white grass high as the knee, over which the wind 
 came rolling like waves upon the sea. Through this 
 on hands and knees we crept very, very warily. 
 
 About every two hours a moose lies down. He 
 usually begins to move irregularly when he is thinking 
 of resting, and often comes back a little and throws 
 off, as it were, a bit to the side, and there he makes 
 his bed. He likes just such a place as this for his 
 siesta, and at any moment now our moose might be 
 springing to his feet. But no. Straight on went the 
 track, and then, when about seventy yards from the 
 edge of the covert, inch by inch we raised ourselves on 
 our hands and looked. Shall I ever forget it ? Never. 
 
 Immediately opposite us was a small point covered 
 thick with willow scrub. Behind this an impenetrable 
 background of black spruce fir-trees and of golden 
 larch. And there, topping the foremost willow-bush 
 of all, were two gigantic horns. That was the first 
 impression, gigantic. To me it seemed indeed the 
 veritable head of an Irish elk, so long was the beam, 
 so wide apart the extreme ends of the antlers. The 
 moose's head was raised to its full height, and straight 
 at us he looked. I could see his neck, I could see 
 his chest; his body was out of sight, his legs were hid 
 by the willow. It was a great moment. 
 
IN THE LAND OF THE GREAT SPIRIT 149 
 
 Well, I was a fool. I was new then at the work, and 
 did the wrong thing. Slowly I rolled over on my back 
 and round till my feet were towards the moose. 
 Then, little by little, I raised myself, and aiming at 
 the point where the neck meets the chest, I fired. 
 For the space of a moment there was no result. 
 Then the moose swung round, and as he turned I 
 fired again at his shoulder. He dropped, recovered 
 himself, and crashed into the forest. A hurried in- 
 spection showed that the first ball had touched a 
 willow twig and turned. What had the second done ? 
 
 We followed up to see. There was blood along 
 the track, and the moose was going on three legs. 
 Surely he could not travel very far like that, we 
 thought, and in that belief we hunted on. 
 
 But it takes a good deal to stop a moose, and twi- 
 light found us still pursuing. With the last gleam of 
 the sunset we had come to the side of a smallish 
 muskeg. In the middle was a bit of open water, and 
 near it lay a fallen tree, its bare roots all sharp against 
 the whitening water. Nothing could be done by going 
 on that night ; w,e decided to stop and try to make out 
 Dmething in the morning. As we stood for a moment 
 listening, for the wind had dropped, Kakikapo 
 suddenly drew my attention to a sound that came 
 
150 IN THE LAND OF THE GREAT SPIRIT 
 
 from across the swamp. It was, as I heard it, very, 
 very slight. I think I should not have noticed it at 
 all but for the Cree. He described a circle on the 
 ground with his hand and said softly "moose," 
 meaning that a moose was making his bed. It seems 
 very wonderful now, but I believed him, and still feel 
 certain he was right. But suddenly, while I was lis- 
 tening and trying to make this out, another incident 
 befell that one could not choose but understand. 
 Crash ! smash ! as though two giants fought with 
 willow trees for clubs. Two bull moose were charging 
 one another in the bush well, certainly not a 
 hundred yards away. I picked up my rifle and was 
 moving off. It was almost dark, but it would surely 
 be easy enough to follow to that sound. But 
 Kakikapo protested with signs and mutterings, 
 " It was too dark. I should never see them. I 
 should spoil all. The first thing to-morrow morning 
 we should go." Well, I weighed chances. Most 
 reluctantly I resigned the chance of seeing a fight 
 between two bull moose. But resign it I did. 
 
 So we drew off down wind some half a mile or so, 
 and then by the edge of the muskeg, in a hollow where 
 a tree had some time grown, we made a fire, and 
 dried our moccasins in the smoke. 
 
IN THE LAND OF THE GREAT SPIRIT 151 
 
 We had no tea left, but Kakikapo finished his 
 dried moose meat, and I, who had nothing to eat, 
 smoked my pipe. The Cree prepared some kinikinik 
 in the usual way. Taking a piece of the young wood, 
 he skinned off the red outer bark and then scraped 
 the inner bark till it formed a frill round the stick 
 like the paper frill of a ham. This, stuck in front of the 
 fire, was soon dry enough for smoking. But it was slow 
 work watching Kakikapo blinking at the fire, and I 
 could not get those fighting moose out of my thoughts. 
 It struck me that possibly in the morning they 
 might come down to drink, so I took my rifle and 
 crept off in the darkness till I found the fallen tree, 
 and there I lay, comfortably enough for a bit, out of 
 the wind behind the big uplifted roots. But things 
 went wrong. 
 
 I had fallen asleep, and awoke at 11.30 to hear the 
 muttering of thunder. It looked black and threaten- 
 ing, and a storm was evidently coming on. Creeping 
 back I woke up Kakikapo and made him understand 
 the need of shelter. Very reluctantly he moved, but 
 at length muttering " pineah " (pine-trees), he led the 
 way. I remembered having seen the pine-trees, 
 they were right across the swamp. Before we 
 had gone a hundred yards the storm burst upon 
 
152 IN THE LAND OF THE GREAT SPIRIT 
 
 us and the rain came down in torrents. By each 
 lightning flash we ran as far as we could see and 
 then waited for the next. For a muskeg is not a 
 good place to walk in in the dark. Several times we 
 dropped a leg into moose-foot holes, and had a wretched 
 scramble to get out. But at any rate it ended 
 amusingly for me. For the Cree, in making his final 
 effort on the other side, tumbled bang into something 
 that looked like an elder-bush, and sat down in the 
 middle of it swearing Indian oaths. I roared with 
 laughter, it was so comical, and this made him worse. 
 However, at last we reached the pineah, and there we 
 spent a most unpleasant night. We were literally wet 
 to the skin, and could only find an odd spruce twig or 
 so that was dry enough to light. But we slept at last, 
 and woke to find the storm gone, the sky clear, and a 
 sharp white frost. This was bad and delayed us for 
 some hours, for it was hopeless to think of a still hunt 
 with the grass and leaves dry and crackling. So I 
 filled up the time by picking berries, cranberries, and 
 " muskegomin," or bog-cranberries, and made what 
 meal I could. 
 
 There is little more to add. We found the place 
 where the fight had taken place, and a wonderful 
 mess it had made. Broken branches torn-up ground, 
 
IN THE LAND OF THE GREAT SPIRIT 153 
 
 lumps of hair lying all about. We did not follow the 
 animals, but took up the old spoor. We felt pretty 
 certain that our big bull would be too stiff to travel 
 much, and that sooner or later we should bring him 
 to book. And this we should have done but for an 
 untimely performance on the part of the Cree. It 
 fell on this wise. 
 
 The bull was still trying to travel. But not being 
 pushed, he took it as easily as he could, lying 
 down at frequent intervals. Closer and closer we 
 drew upon him, and about twelve o'clock there were 
 unmistakable evidences that he was not far off. I 
 had hung back for a moment to tighten a moccasin. 
 Kakikapo in front, by some unaccountable careless- 
 ness, caught his toe in a stump or something, fell 
 forward, and in recovering swung round the stock of 
 his gun, which hit upon the tin he carried at his 
 back with a loud clash. Instantly there was a crash 
 in the bushes as the big bull, who had been lying 
 down not forty yards away, rose and went pounding 
 off among the trees. 
 
 It was a sad journey home and a weary one, for 
 nothing tires like disappointment. 
 
 But I shot my first great grey owl* that evening by 
 * Syrnia cinerea. 
 
154 IN THE LAND OF THE GREAT SPIRIT 
 
 a device of Kakikapo. For the owl flew from top to 
 top of the pine-trees as often as I tried to approach. 
 Whereupon the Cree hid in the grass and, squeaking 
 like a rat, threw his cap away in front of him. Down 
 on to this the owl pounced, and I dropped him as he 
 was carrying it off. 
 
 For we did not reach the camp till dark, and I got 
 back pretty hungry. 
 
 But that was the end of Tcheh Api. 
 
IN NORFOLK BY THE SEA 
 
IN NORFOLK BY THE SEA 
 
 ON the east coast of Norfolk lies a little town whose 
 people, for rough manners with good intentions, are 
 distinct from any in England. There is nothing 
 worse than this about them, and very much that is 
 better. Their town is charming, 
 
 It is set in a little from the sea lying there with 
 its back to the cornfields and its face to a waste of 
 marsh. But at flood the sea makes in by the creek, 
 lifting the boats that lie upon the mud-banks and 
 lapping against the stones of the little quay. The 
 town, with its couple of big windmills and its long 
 low line of wharves and old red-tiled houses, looks 
 very, very Dutch. From the sea-front inwards it is 
 bisected by a series of long passages which, sometimes 
 approached by an arched entry bored through the 
 houses, begin by being extremely narrow, but end by 
 being fairly wide begin as " yards " and end as 
 streets. The commerce of this seaboard has moved 
 
158 IN NORFOLK BY THE SEA 
 
 westward now, and a hundred years ago the town, they 
 say, was nearly twice as big. But this merely means 
 that the population has fallen from four thousand 
 souls to little more than half that number, not that 
 the town is any smaller than it was. It covers the 
 same area ; only many of the houses are coming, as 
 many have come, down. And it is this growth of 
 open spaces that gives the town much of its peculiar 
 charm. For up and down the streets are high walls 
 pierced with doorways through which you glance in 
 passing, prepared to see the squalor of a court. But 
 instead of this the eye strikes in on gardens ablaze 
 with roses and honeysuckle, and touched with every 
 shade of green. So and strangely for a society 
 centred on cockles and mussels its kitchen middens 
 are kept out of sight. 
 
 And these means to existence are always with it 
 the mussels brought in and formed in beds, the 
 cockles picked up when any tide is low. For its 
 people are not ambitious ; they have come to realise 
 that happiness lies not in gain of hard-earned money, 
 but rather in ease and contemplation ; a philosophy 
 which they owe perhaps to the School Board. Even 
 as the old harbour-oracle, asked one day for his 
 opinion about education, with slow emphasis defined it 
 
IN NORFOLK BY THE SEA 159 
 
 thus : " My 'pinion ? My 'pinion is this. Eddication 
 is schemirt to live without warkirf" 
 
 The land all round is rich in suggestions of the 
 Danes. A little way inland lies a Danish camp, as 
 perfect its double bank, its double ditch, and its 
 three causeways as perfect now as in those first days 
 when the old raider kept sentry there and watched the 
 surrounding country with eyes as keen as the hawk's. 
 Only now the creek up which he brought his ships is 
 narrowed to a trout-stream; only now the chalk is 
 thick with grasses in which the titlark makes its nest. 
 
 For either by natural processes or under the re- 
 claiming hand of man, tidal creeks everywhere 
 traceable have been dried or silted up. And here 
 where the ships rode at the foot of another camp there 
 once survived a bit of fresh water used as a decoy 
 pond ; and still it keeps the name. But the fruit-trees 
 of the decoy-men's garden have long gone back to a 
 wild condition, and the big pond has shrunk to a 
 little swampy hollow where the nest of the reed- 
 warbler swings in the sedge. And here is a shallow 
 brackish mere that still fills by narrow ditches when 
 the tide runs in, where the wildfowl lie quiet from 
 storm and billow. And the mere is known as 
 " Jacob's Rest." 
 
160 IN NORFOLK BY THE SEA 
 
 It is not at every tide that the little vessels which 
 venture here can get in or out of the harbour. And 
 often a grain-bearing Danish schooner will be a 
 month or more just off the point, tried by the local tug 
 from time to time, for even at the spring tides there 
 is little more than twelve feet of water by the quay. 
 And a mile or so out seawards round the point 
 stretches a long sand and shingle bar on which many 
 a good craft has gone to pieces. But if there must 
 be wrecks, then wrecks are very welcome here, for 
 they bring a little easy money to the town. Inside 
 the bar at low water is a fine expanse of ooze, then 
 the long line of the sandhills, and closer in the 
 marsh. 
 
 The marshes are never so dreary even in wild 
 winter-time but that they have one great abiding charm, 
 their beauty of bird-life. For in winter the place is 
 alive with wildfowl, with casual small parties of bean 
 and white-fronted geese, and with pink-footed geese in 
 thousands from the polar seas, while Iceland sends a 
 contingent of snow-white hooper swans, moving away 
 down south. By March the scene is changed. Only 
 some belated widgeon or shoveller and the home pro- 
 portion of mallards remain, but from then on till the 
 middle of May there are daily arrivals of birds moving 
 
IN NORFOLK BY THE SEA 161 
 
 northwards to nest. Golden plover, grey plover, 
 small groups of whimbrel, an occasional reeve these 
 and many others, in varying states of plumage, drop 
 in from day to day. But by about the first week 
 of June things have settled down pretty well into 
 their places. And it is any day in this first week 
 of June that we are now to spend with a field-glass 
 out among the sandhills, seeing a little of all there 
 is to see. 
 
 It is easy now the tide is running down to get out 
 in a small boat to the eastern point. An old man 
 takes us there who has been a notable gunner in his 
 day. He is full of quaint old memories, and is most 
 anxious to get an opinion on the nature of some 
 wonderful bird he met with one night or early 
 morning on his way back from the flats. But his 
 description is vague. This is it. "I thought as I 
 could hear somethin' a biblin', and, before I could 
 get my gun up, that scouted, and went off like a 
 shimmer of ice. That did, bor," repeats the old 
 man with serious emphasis, "that went off like a 
 shimmer of ice" 
 
 But this is "the Point"; the point, that is, of the 
 eastern sandhills, where they sink first to broken tufts 
 of grasses and then to a shingle bed. About this 
 
 L 
 
 
162 IN NORFOLK BY THE SEA 
 
 shingle are nesting some twenty pairs or so of little 
 terns.* They arrived, perhaps from the Mediter- 
 ranean, in the middle of last month and laid their first 
 eggs on the 26th. They are not shy, and lying here 
 in the grass it is easy enough to watch their ways. 
 At first they circle round and round, uttering all the 
 while the chiding note from which they get the local 
 name of " chits " or " chit perles " ; a " perle " being a 
 tern. But soon they return to their several duties, 
 the female settling down on to her eggs, the male 
 sitting by or coasting off to look for food, now 
 skimming swallow-like up the creek, now hanging 
 poised like a kestrel on vibrating wings, to drop like 
 an arrow into the water and take a fish.f And then 
 follows often a performance which must be described 
 somewhat particularly because it does not seem to be 
 noticed in the books. 
 
 Returned from its quest, the bird with a fish in its 
 bill circles round and round and lower and lowe 
 over its mate, and presently drops down beside her 
 
 * Tringa minuta. 
 
 t I have assumed these sexes from the birds' behaviou 
 only. I do not know that the male takes any share in hatch 
 ing of eggs. As a matter of fact, closely as sexes may 
 resemble each other as in this case it is always, I think 
 possible to determine them from habits. 
 
IN NORFOLK BY THE SEA 163 
 
 Then he begins a series of extraordinary evolutions. 
 With head thrown back, wings drooping, and tail 
 cocked straight up, he struts no other word expresses 
 it he struts about in front of his mate. The attitude, 
 a most comical one, is exactly that assumed by the 
 " laughing jackass " kingfisher when laughing. He 
 jumps at his mate as if daring her to take the fish. 
 Then he will fly round for a bit only to settle again 
 and repeat the play. I have seen on several occa- 
 sions a female " chit," before she has settled down 
 on her eggs, get up, fly off, settle on the shingle off and 
 on for a considerable time, followed persistently by 
 her fish-bearing partner, but always avoiding him as if 
 coqueting or really annoyed. Sooner or later the 
 fish is either relinquished or, as I suspect, taken by 
 the female bird, though this I have not seen. 
 
 One is led at first to wonder how the rabbits 
 which swarm in these sandhills can manage to thrive 
 without any water to drink. For there is no fresh 
 water within their reach, and it is clear that they 
 cannot drink the salt water of the tidal creeks. But 
 the rabbit is not, perhaps, by nature a creature that 
 requires much water, and doubtless its wants are 
 sufficiently supplied by dew and the juices of the 
 herbage. At the same time, the extent to which 
 
164 IN NORFOLK BY THE SEA 
 
 animals can adapt themselves to adverse circum- 
 stances is sometimes very remarkably shown. Thus 
 it is a matter of common observation in this country 
 that rats and mice are among the very thirstiest of 
 creatures. Yet it is well known that a race of mice 
 supports itself and thrives among the stones of the 
 Egyptian desert. And Darwin long ago remarked 
 how "in Patagonia, even on the borders of the 
 salinas, where a drop of fresh water can never be 
 found, excepting dew, these little animals swarm."* 
 
 From the foot of the sandhills right away to the 
 creek by the town stretches the waste of marsh, which 
 at the high spring tides is greatly under water. There 
 was a timet when much of this was under cultivation. 
 But the sea found out a weak place in the sandhills 
 and flooded in ; yet still the remains of ridge and 
 furrow can be plainly seen. 
 
 Many and varied are the flowers that grow upon 
 the marsh. In the softer places grows the glass- 
 wort t the favourite food of the mallard and every- 
 where, where the grass is short and dry, the 
 
 * Journal of Researches, Edition 1890, p. 384 
 f Probably during the great war, when wheat fetched loos, 
 a quarter. 
 { Salicornia herbacea 
 
IN NORFOLK BY THE SEA 165 
 
 beautiful little pink sea-glaux. Here are acres and 
 acres gay with thrift and green with the strong 
 leaves of the common sea-lavender. And another 
 sea-lavender is there, one with matted, net-like 
 leaves and white bracts to its flowers.* All about 
 in this the common terns nest, as well as on the low 
 tables of the sandhills, in the wrack along high-water 
 line, and in the scratchings of the rabbits which swarm 
 about the hills. They make slightly more pretence at 
 a nest perhaps, than do the little terns ; not only 
 dropping in the bits of shell, but often fringing the 
 cup round with bents and bits of seaweed, or anything 
 else that comes easily to hand. 
 
 But the terns have so many foes that often they are 
 sore put to it to bring their young ones off. In spite 
 of all efforts at protection the boys sometimes will 
 leave their cockle-gathering to slip up over the bank 
 and take the eggs. In a dry season, too, when food is 
 scarce the rooks are dreaded visitors. If a rook can 
 settle at once and not lose his head, he can walk from 
 nest to nest and pilfer finely, for the terns, though 
 they fly round and cry, do not touch him then. But 
 
 * Statice reticulata. There are but two other English 
 counties Suffolk and Cambridge in which this plant is 
 found. 
 
166 IN NORFOLK BY THE SEA 
 
 once on the wing and it is a different story. Down 
 at him drop the terns one after another, stooping and 
 cutting at him till they beat him off. And even the 
 big herring gulls when they fly over are followed far 
 and mobbed by the terns. But there is one foe with 
 which the terns sometimes forget to reckon, and this 
 foe is the tide. It happens by a timely dispensation 
 that the smallest spring tides in all the year fall just 
 at nesting-time, so that they are called the " bird- 
 tides " in this place. But, low by comparison as they 
 are, even so they sometimes catch many eggs, foolishly 
 laid on the lowest spots. 
 
 Lucky indeed it is for the terns that the arch-robber, 
 the hoodie crow (called here the " Densh," i.e. the 
 Danish crow), is absent now. It is in autumn and 
 winter that the hoodie comes to feed on the big 
 mussels smashed by being dropped on the stones from 
 a height. 
 
 Many of the little green crabs that sidle round 
 in the creeks lose their lives to this bandit crow. 
 These little crabs have queer quaint ways well 
 worth the studying if we had but time. We shall 
 cross several small creeks as we go to the sandhills 
 from the marsh, and there one cannot but notice 
 how the crabs travel from point to point in beaten 
 
 
IN NORFOLK BY THE SEA 167 
 
 tracks. Here, where the mud is dry and cracked, 
 these little crab-paths are well defined. And there in 
 all likelihood they will now remain until the end of 
 time. For the tides that follow will each in its turn 
 lay over the track a deposit of mud from the washings 
 of the muddy banks. And then as time goes on, 
 and pressure is added and clay-stone formed, and the 
 land raised up perhaps above the sea-level well, then, 
 hundreds of thousands of years hence, an old pro- 
 fessor may come with .his hammer and lecture on 
 these remarkable crustacean evidences. Why should 
 it not be so ? It has happened before. The very 
 oldest tracks known (they are there in the Cromwell 
 Road) are those of a crab allied to Limulus the 
 king crab, who had a tail which dragged. And 
 because he lived so early and made as he walked 
 even little impressions on either side of his tail-mark, 
 they named him Protichnites septemnotatus^ though 
 no actual remains of him have ever been seen, or had 
 not when Sir Richard Owen wrote the facts which I 
 have given. 
 
 Over there, -where the sandhills are planted with 
 various kinds of pine, a pair of thick-knee or Norfolk 
 plover * nested this year, for the first time on record. 
 * (Edicnemus scolopax (Gmelin) . 
 
168 IN NORFOLK BY THE SEA 
 
 This bird, quite apart from its own very quaint 
 appearance and habits, must always have a great 
 interest for British ornithologists, as it is the nearest 
 surviving link we have with the great bustard, now, 
 alas ! extinct in this country. It is nocturnal in its 
 habits, and is extremely wary and shy. Although on 
 its arrival in spring it keeps well away in the open, it 
 generally lays its eggs not far from a covert or belt 
 of trees. The pair of which I speak had chosen the 
 middle of a gravelly space among the pines. By 
 creeping up on hands and knees under cover of a 
 bank one could gain a position, just fifteen paces 
 away from the nest, without being observed : so close 
 that with my glass I could see the light shine through 
 the crystal prominence of the sitting bird's great 
 yellow eyes. At intervals one bird would relieve 
 the other on the nest. When disturbed the birds 
 always ran for shelter to a bank beneath the pines. 
 And here the bird that was not sitting always stood 
 as sentry. When its turn came to relieve its mate it 
 would walk pretty deliberately across the first part of 
 the open, where it was more or less screened by a 
 fringe of trees; and there, having reached a point 
 that was commanded from a long way off, it would 
 suddenly lower its head and run as fast as a red-leg 
 
IN NORFOLK BY THE SEA 169 
 
 to the nest. When it was about a yard away the 
 sitting bird would slip off and, staying for no greet- 
 ings, run past and away to the pine-bank. Though 
 I watched these birds for many hours on several 
 days, I never but once saw any change in this pro- 
 cedure. It was interesting to notice that the bird 
 alway rose backwards off the eggs, so that its long 
 legs should not disturb the eggs ; and that the new- 
 comer did not turn the eggs immediately, but squatted 
 perfectly still for perhaps a minute, as if to make sure 
 it was not observed. And after the eggs were satis- 
 factorily bestowed, and all the coast seemed clear, the 
 bird would close its eyes in the hot sunshine and 
 appear to go to sleep. But even then I could scarce 
 move so much as a finger above the grasses, but 
 instantly it was off its nest and away. 
 
 I never but once heard these birds make their well- 
 known night-call, and that was in the daytime, and 
 before they had fairly begun to sit. But they often 
 made another little noise a short, clear note of 
 warning. And so I tried experiments, crawling round 
 to another point from which the nest was out of sight, 
 but from which I could see the sentry bird standing 
 at its post. Then I could make never so slight a 
 movement but with that the watcher gave his quiet 
 
170 IN NORFOLK BY THE SEA 
 
 piping call, the first sound of which sufficed to lure 
 the sitting bird away. 
 
 And as they stood together on the bank, it was 
 curious to see the different behaviour of the two. 
 For the bird whose turn it was to sit was all anxiety ; 
 walking irresolutely a few feet or so and back, ruffling 
 its feathers, looking eagerly out in the direction of the 
 nest, evidently unable to shake itself together for the 
 passage of that open ground. But the other took a 
 different line ; standing still and preening its feathers, 
 and giving its partner a dab of the beak from time to 
 time, as if to say " Hurry up, now ; what a nervous 
 fidget you are ! Those our two eggs will be getting 
 quite cold." 
 
 Is it not marvellous that any plant, not being a 
 cactus, should find life and growth in this dry sand ? 
 Yet many do. The vigorous little sea-purslane* gets 
 a footing anywhere ; elder-bushes flourish and flower 
 finely, and make good hiding for the brown linnets' 
 nests ; deadly nightshade in rank tufts points to where 
 a hut has some time stood ; maram grasses and 
 glaucous blue-grass bind the sands together with their 
 roots. 
 
 And now in the very pulse of the sun where it 
 * Annaria peploides. 
 
IN NORFOLK BY THE SEA 171 
 
 beats upon the sandhills we will lie with the glass for 
 a last long look. 
 
 Look eastward over the sea. By sunset this 
 evening there will be nothing there but a single 
 distant tower and a thin low line of coast, But now, 
 in the quivering heat, the mirage has lifted the tower 
 up high against the sky, has brought into view the 
 craft lying hidden in the pool, and changed the 
 thin coast-line into lofty cliffs. 
 
 The breeze, for all the heat, is blowing in our 
 faces from the north. Yes, in our faces; for look 
 straight out to sea and you are looking north. More 
 than that. Look out and try to realise that, excepting 
 the blue sea, there lies absolutely nothing between 
 yourself and the white lands of the Polar world. The 
 map will tell you there are but three places on our 
 eastern English coast of which this saying could be 
 true ; and this is one of the three. The blue sca- 
 the ships upon its bosom the white wings of the 
 wandering gulls and then the first awakening of 
 that short summer that lies about the borders of the 
 everlasting ice: 
 
 The glass cannot, alas ! show us this, but it 
 does make our watch more interesting. A small 
 group of birds sitting out there on the rnud are 
 
172 IN NORFOLK BY THE SEA 
 
 seen to be shelducks, called also " burrowing " 
 ducks, from the habit of their nesting. For this 
 bird nests underground, usually in one of the rabbit- 
 holes of the sandhills. With its crimson bill, and gay 
 magpie and chestnut plumage, it is a very beautiful 
 bird. It is not always safe to conclude that every 
 rabbit-hole which betrays the tracks of the shelduck 
 holds a nest, for the birds usually try several burrows 
 before making a final choice. But by lying down like 
 this, especially at early morning when the sitting bird 
 has been off to feed, it is only too easy to follow 
 her to her nest ; too easy, because in this way the eggs 
 are found and stolen. And of those birds now out 
 there on the ooze, only one or two are males whose 
 ducks are sitting, the remainder are pairs who have 
 lost their eggs and have not yet gone again to nest. 
 But at least one brood got off successfully on June ist, 
 and they are now busy chasing insects in the quiet 
 of " Jacob's Rest." At a week or so old these little 
 black and white ducklings are most accomplished 
 divers, able when alarmed to travel under water for 
 many yards. No haven more perfect for young water- 
 fowl could possibly be found than this peaceful bit of 
 shallow water, where scarce a human being passes, 
 but only the nesting redshank runs piping along the 
 
IN NORFOLK BY THE SEA 173 
 
 cattle-rails, and glorious marsh orchis* makes crimson 
 all the grass. 
 
 But the summer day is drawing to its close. Two 
 months hence the story will again be changed. Even 
 earlier than that the sea-lavender will make of all 
 the marsh an amethystine sea. And then going 
 south again will come the nesting parties of the 
 birds godwits, knots, stints, curlew-sandpipers, and 
 all their following some already putting on their 
 winter plumage, but many still in summer dress. 
 
 And so will wear the season on until once more the 
 winter falls and brings again the whistling swans. 
 
 * Orchis latifolia. 
 
THE WITCH IN KENT 
 

THE WITCH IN KENT 
 
 LYING, as it does, almost under the shadow of the 
 great metropolis, whither the excursion train will 
 carry a labourer's family from its remotest corner at 
 the price of the wages of a single day, Kent at any 
 rate, it might have been thought, would have been 
 the first to free itself from the hold of a superstition 
 whose doom was sounded long ago. None the less, 
 faith in witchcraft, if dying, is not dead, and some 
 may perhaps find interest in a contemporary record, 
 compiled from the material afforded by one small 
 country parish only, of one phase of its decay. 
 
 As far as one can gather, there has never been a 
 time when this parish was without its witch; and, 
 though there is only one now, a generation ago there 
 were three, if not four, women in it all credited with 
 strange powers. If the superstition takes here a 
 milder form than that which exerts so baneful an 
 influence on the Devonshire poor, the difference is 
 
 M 
 
178 THE WITCH IN KENT 
 
 one only of degree. "I says to him," remarked a 
 woman to me not long ago who had been having a 
 difference with her son on the subject, " I says to him, 
 c Doant you blef your Book, then ? You knowd the 
 Book says as there were witches ; yes, and wizards 
 too ; and as it was in the beginning, it says, it is now 
 and ever shall be.' " 
 
 Many were the evils laid at the door of Mother 
 Becket, who, as the folk will tell you, " did just lead 
 them sad lives as she used to terrify." For witches 
 (and the reflection is not without comfort) have not 
 the power of terrifying i.e. troubling everybody ; 
 their power is limited. It was a real relief to the 
 afflicted when Mother Becket retired to a neighbour- 
 ing almshouse, where, a very old woman, she is living 
 still. Before her retirement, however, while she was 
 still able to get about, one of her victims found 
 release in the following manner. The malevolence 
 of this witch displayed itself in the death or illness of 
 the cattle, poultry, or other animals of those who had 
 incurred it, and one day but let the writer's infor- 
 mant speak for himself. " Faather, he used to take 
 in ship for Mr. Smith. One day when he comes in 
 to breakfast he says to mother, he says, c Mother, Mr. 
 Smith's black ship has got just a pretty little lamb ; I 
 
THE WITCH IN KENT 179 
 
 don't know as ever I did see one quite so pretty ; 'tis 
 all over curls.' Well, he hadn't been gone out again 
 not ten minutes afore back he comes running. 
 6 Mother,' he says, 'give me the knife quick; Dame 
 Becket's got at that lamb j he's a-lying on his back 
 now a-kickin' his legs up.' Faather, he run out with 
 the knife, and cut that lamb's head off quick^ he did. 
 You blef Dame Becket went off to the doctor with a 
 hem ari all bad throat, and she didn't terrify him no 
 more. You see, sir," adds my informant, by way of 
 explanation, " you see, sir, he killed that afore it was 
 dead." But the force of the instance lies in the fact 
 that it illustrates a prevalent belief that witches have 
 the power of entering into animals, and that by 
 destroying or wounding the thing possessed, you in 
 some measure weaken them. 
 
 Akin to this idea, but distinct from it, is another 
 namely, that it is a common resource with witches to 
 change themselves into animals. A dog (usually a 
 " spannel dog "), an owl, a hare many are the forms 
 of metamorphosis, the last perhaps the commonest. 
 You will be told of a hare running in and out 
 among the haymakers as they sit at dinner, and of 
 how they all try to hit it, but in vain ; and " they 
 know what that means," and know, too, that if 
 
i8o THE WITCH IN KENT 
 
 they strike it without drawing blood they will 
 have to suffer for it ; but that should they draw 
 blood, ever so little, "she won't trouble them no 
 more.' 7 
 
 Barely forty years since there lived in the parish an 
 elderly woman, who had built herself a little furze hut 
 in a lonely field which lies in among the woods. She 
 was a witch. One day, when the men were rabbiting, 
 the dogs started a hare. They followed this hare all 
 day, and finally ran it into Mother Smith's hut and 
 killed it there. The story goes on to say that from 
 that day the witch was never seen again Probably 
 no very searching inquiry would have been made, for 
 she was " a bad un," and had given a lot of trouble 
 in her time. This field has long been called "The 
 Terrible Downs," and the reputation of its mysterious 
 inhabitant owed, no doubt, not a little to the name 
 and the isolation of her abode. Less mysterious, if 
 more tragic, is the end of another witch at a still more 
 recent date, who was found in bed with her throat 
 cut. No one was ever brought to justice for the 
 crime, though local suspicion pointed to one of whom 
 it was well known that she used to "terrify" him a 
 great deal, and that he had lost many animals " along 
 o' her." 
 
THE WITCH IN KENT 181 
 
 A few years ago the child of a labourer in a cottage 
 hard by was subject to chronic fits. A neighbour 
 a gardener by profession was describing to me the 
 symptoms. " And the doctor doesn't seem to do him 
 any good ? " I asked. " No," said the man with an 
 expressive jerk of his thumb, as he sank his voice to a 
 whisper, "no, and no doctor wunt do him no good; 
 she's overlooked him" " She " in this case was the 
 person upon whom the mantle of the weird woman I 
 have spoken of may be supposed to have fallen; in other 
 words, the present witch. The mention of this woman 
 naturally suggests the question, " How far does she 
 herself lay claim to strange powers ? Does she by her 
 profession or practices lend any colour to the popular 
 belief? " The answer, disappointing as it may be,- just 
 emphasises the point in its decline at which witch- 
 craft has arrived. I have known this person for 
 many years, and she is, for any evidence I have been 
 able to collect to the contrary, a hard-working, straight- 
 going old woman. It is true she possesses those quali- 
 ties of savoirfaire which make her services desirable 
 at births and deaths, and is a proficient in the art of 
 herbs and simples. But beyond this, and the fact 
 that she has a strong individuality and much force of 
 character, which would naturally give her an ascend- 
 
i82 THE WITCH IN KENT 
 
 ency over many of her neighbours, I can discover 
 nothing. None the less a witch she is, if local testi- 
 mony may be believed. Not long ago a young man 
 whose child was given to screaming at night, unable to 
 explain it in any other way, became convinced it was 
 bewitched. Thenceforward he kept his razor by him 
 at night, as a weapon of attack, fully persuaded that, 
 could he only strike a light sufficiently quickly when 
 the screaming began, he should find our witch stand- 
 ing in his room. Prevention, however, is better than 
 cure, and those who are much troubled keep a prayer- 
 book under their pillow, a thing a witch cannot abide. 
 Witches, apparently, do read the Bible, but they read 
 it backwards a fact which is sufficient of itself to 
 remove all doubt in the popular mind as to their 
 connection with the Evil One. In spite, however, of 
 this disreputable association, kinship with a witch 
 gives one a certain social status, and an old game- 
 keeper of our acquaintance undoubtedly derives much 
 of his credit as a local oracle from the circumstance 
 that his mother was a notorious witch. It is related 
 of this woman, that one day, furious at seeing a coach- 
 man who was driving his master, a magistrate, to 
 Quarter Sessions, whip round at her boys who were 
 running behind the carriage, she warned him that 
 
THE WITCH IN KENT 183 
 
 "he'd remember that" the next time he came that 
 way. Accordingly, when on the return journey they 
 had reached this self-same spot, the wheels locked, 
 and the carriage suddenly stopped. Not all the 
 efforts of the horses, who tugged till they were white 
 with lather, could move it one inch. The blacksmith 
 was sent for, but he could not make the wheels go 
 round, "and that didn't move till the sun set, and as 
 soon as ever as that was set, off it went, quite easy, of 
 itself." 
 
 It is a little strange that not even the shadow of a 
 tradition remains of the burning of witches and in 
 place of ducking we have simpler tests and remedies, 
 in many of which pins play a prominent part, probably 
 only because a pin is the most handy of domestic 
 implements. Thus, should you be desirous of finding 
 out whether So-and-so is a witch, watch her as she 
 comes along, and when she has passed, stick a pin 
 into the track left by the heel of her boot. Then, 
 await her return. Should she be a real witch, she will 
 never come back that way. Should she even get as 
 far as the pin, she cannot pass it ; she must turn round, 
 and go some other way. 
 
 Or, again. Mrs. Davis had a beautiful brood of 
 strong healthy chicks. Each morning as she was 
 
1 84 THE WITCH IN KENT 
 
 feeding them one would suddenly fall over on its back 
 and die. She had lost several in this mysterious way, 
 when one morning, just as a chick was in the act of 
 tumbling over, she snatched it up, and took its liver 
 out This she carried indoors, and, sticking a pin 
 through it, set it up on the mantelshelf. Then she 
 told the boys to watch, and tell her if they should 
 see Mother Pocock coming that way. Presently, 
 " * Mother,' they says, * here she comes ! ' >!> She came 
 along till she got to the bottom of the lane, and then 
 she stopped, and turned back. She could not come 
 any further, and she never came that way again, nor 
 did any more of the chickens die. 
 
 Another remedy consists in burning a bottle contain- 
 ing portions of the victim. For instance, the following 
 story is gravely told : " Farmer So-and-so's daughter 
 was terrified uncommon by old Dame White. She 
 couldn't get no peace nohow. So he goes to the 
 cunning man, and he tells him what to do. Says he, 
 'You get a little bottle, put some water, some pins, 
 and some of her hair in it, and then set it in the fire, 
 and watch that till it's burnt. Mind you close up every 
 chink, crack, and keyhole, and don't you say nothing 
 to nobody while that's agoing on.' Well, he did as he 
 was bid to, and closed up every chink, as he thought, 
 
THE WITCH IN KENT 185 
 
 and put the bottle in the fire. And all the time that 
 that was a-burning this 'ere old Mother White she kept 
 on a-running round the house screaming and trying to 
 get in. At last she did find a crack somewhere, and 
 came in like a little spannel dog, and set her fore feet 
 up on the hearth, and then that wasn't no good." 
 " Cunning men " are sometimes very useful. Should 
 you lose anything, and fancy it is stolen, the cunning 
 man will make an image of the article appear on the 
 face of the thief. 
 
 Belief in the mysterious shows itself in many startling 
 stories. One woman, when a girl at school, picks up 
 a bag of feathers which she finds in a wood. As she 
 carries it away it gets heavier and heavier, until she can 
 no longer mount the hill. So she turns, and, with 
 exceeding difficulty, begins to carry it back. And now 
 the bag gets lighter and lighter, until at last she restores 
 it to its original position with its gravity unchanged. 
 As she tells the story now, many big, strong boys were 
 unable to lift the bag from the ground ; but, this 
 deducted, we may remember that she was a child then, 
 and conscience is a potent witch. Another woman, 
 after letting in, as she supposes, her drunken master 
 on a dark night, turns round, to find, not her master, 
 but a big black dog. She gives it a kick, and, to 
 
186 THE WITCH IN KENT 
 
 use her own words, "that goes up like a bunch of 
 feathers ! " 
 
 Just below the church lies a moated manor-house 
 fronted with a beautiful Tudor keep. Once the home 
 of two ill-fated Queens of England, it has now, sad to 
 say, long been used only as a farmhouse. In the 
 thirties of the present century the tenant of the time, 
 riding home one night from market, was set upon 
 and shot. The murder was not brought home to 
 any one, though a farmer who was married out of 
 hand by the dead man's widow was commonly 
 believed to have been guilty of the crime. So far 
 the facts. Now for the sequel, as told to me by an 
 old woman, living still. She assured me it was 
 matter of common knowledge when she was a girl, 
 and that she had heard her father, a farmer of some 
 standing, speak of it himself. We will have it with 
 a change of names in her own words. 
 
 "Well, do you blef thisyer Nat Bramber could 
 rest? He couldn't. He wur always bad, though 
 some times he wur wurser nor some. He would 
 come back whiles at night, and be that troubled to 
 get in at the castle geate. ' I will come in I will 
 come in' the men used to hear him saying. That 
 was thisyer dead un withstood him. At last there 
 
THE WITCH IN KENT 187 
 
 was no bearing with it ; thisyer ghost was for to be 
 laid. So the ministers came from all round, and each 
 brought a candle. In the middle of the big hall was 
 set a basin, and that was filled with Red Sea water. 
 And they each said his prayers for to lay this dead 
 un's ghost. And first one's candle went out and then 
 another's, and then he was bet. At last none of 'em 
 couldn't go on, 'cept Muster Cowley. That's faather 
 of old Muster Cowley " alluding to an old clergyman 
 since dead. " He kep on, though his candle was 
 getting lower and lower. At last, just when that 
 was a-going right out, thisyer dead un was druv into 
 the water. He didn't want to't ; he was druv. ' And 
 mussy,' I've heard my faather say, ' didn't that ere 
 steam and fizzle ! ' " 
 
 Superstition dies hard. And, if it should seem 
 strange to some that, though living in the country, 
 they have never heard of these things as a matter of 
 present belief, they must remember that the poor are 
 extremely sensitive and reticent on any points about 
 which they feel they are likely to be laughed at. They 
 will tell you nothing till they know you well, and, if 
 directly challenged, next to nothing then. 
 
OXFORD : THE UPPER RIVER 
 
OXFORD : THE UPPER RIVER 
 
 OXFORD, like Central Africa, has a strange fascina- 
 tion over her sons. Like Central Africa, too, she 
 offers a boundless field. to observation and research. 
 A many-sided man may live in Oxford half a dozen 
 different lives, and keep them all distinct. But the 
 typical man, asked for his most pleasant recollection 
 of Oxford life, would probably reply, if he belonged 
 to the later development, " footer," or "socker," or 
 " togger " (names he would trace to obsolete deriva- 
 tions), or, if he were a wag, "the proggins." One 
 can imagine the howl of contempt which would 
 greet such an answer as "the upper river." The 
 "smug's" river. What, by the way, exactly is a 
 smug ? Men belonging to other colleges would pos- 
 sibly suggest "a man." But that, of course, is 
 
 no definition. 
 
 Yet the upper river has a charm that is all its 
 own. The lower river is a training course ; it flows 
 
1 9 2 OXFORD: THE UPPER RIVER 
 
 below and away from the town, and drains it of 
 boating men from every quarter. Men go on the 
 lower river for business purposes, and not to look 
 about ; and this is just as well, as for a long way below 
 beautiful Iffley there is little to be seen. Even spires 
 and towers have disappeared, so high are the banks on 
 either side. Nuneham is very pretty, no doubt, but 
 with a prettiness of the tea-tray order that is to say, 
 Nature here is prim and over-aided. Nuneham is 
 always quite tidy and in her company manners, she 
 requires red parasols and bright dresses, and without 
 them she is incomplete. 
 
 One natural feature of interest there is indeed at 
 Nuneham. This is a pool sacred to the water-soldier. 
 Not a Royal Marine, but a plant* which you will not 
 find growing everywhere. This plant resembles in 
 general appearance the top of a pine-apple. During 
 the greater part of the year it lives under water, burying 
 its roots in the mud. But under a summer impulse it 
 weighs its anchors one by one, and, rising to the 
 surface, courts the sun. And now it sends out many 
 suckers, which bear young plants at their extremities 
 like the young plants of the strawberry. Each of these 
 gives rise to a stalk, from the middle of its whorl of 
 * Stratiotes aloides. 
 
OXFORD: THE UPPER RIVER 193 
 
 leaves, which in due time bears a fair white flower. 
 The seed is ripened under water, for, their flowering 
 over, the plants, now grown mature, descend to their 
 muddy bed. 
 
 The upper river stops short of the town. Pure and 
 clean it comes, from its rising at Thames Head away 
 up in the Gloucester hills, past Tadpole Weir, and a 
 dozen other points of interest, to New Bridge, where 
 the Windrush has carved itself a sparkling mill pool 
 as it comes in from Witney Town. And so the river 
 runs on to beautiful Bablock Hythe, where is one of 
 the few remaining ferry-boats built large enough to 
 take over a team of horses, their waggon, and its load 
 of hay. At Pinkhill Weir, just below, is another, a 
 broader and truly magnificent pool. Many a noble 
 trout has been taken out of " Pingle " Pool, and many 
 a phantom minnow has been lost in its curling eddies, 
 for there are treacherous logs and moss-covered 
 boulders lying hidden there in places. When the 
 floods are out in winter over the broad flat meadows, 
 the ducks come there in some numbers ; and the old 
 lock-keeper wilj tell you the story of how he once 
 stalked five wild swans. And now past Eynsham the 
 river runs Eynsham, which can boast the most 
 beautiful bridge, Shillingford's excepted, on all the 
 
 N 
 
194 OXFORD: THE UPPER RIVER 
 
 upper Thames. Old Dick Treadwell (pronounced 
 Treddle), the tollgate-keeper, is worth a visit in 
 himself. He is an enthusiast on the fiddle, as his 
 father was before him ; he remembers how his father 
 once took him into Oxford to hear the " head fiddler 
 that ever lived," and how his father told him that this 
 wonderful performer got as much as "two pun a 
 night ! " Ah, you may wonder, but his father told 
 him, so he knows it must be right. A curious camp- 
 like prominence looks down upon the bridge, and 
 round the shoulder of the hill lie the great woods 
 that stretch away to Witham without a break. On the 
 left the meadows widen back, and Cassington spire 
 and Yarnton tower stand out sharp in the sunlight. 
 Presently a turn of the stream brings distant Oxford 
 into view. But Oxford is five miles further yet, and 
 the river has many a long reach to pass, and an island 
 where the otters eat their dinner, a bed of flowering- 
 rush where the swans nest, King's Weir, and Godstow 
 Abbey, and more long reaches before it comes to 
 Medley Lock and ends as the upper river. 
 
 This, then, is a bird's-eye view of the upper 
 river. It is early yet ; we will take a dingey at 
 Bossom's and spend a day up stream. Before 
 evening ("Vincent's" derision notwithstanding) you 
 
OXFORD: THE UPPER RIVER 195 
 
 shall surely be convinced that the smugs have the 
 best of it. 
 
 There, we are not going to pull against time. You 
 may light your pipe and lie back in the stern of the 
 boat, and I will paddle you up stream and talk to you 
 about the upper river. 
 
 How far shall we get ? One cannot tell. It will 
 depend entirely upon what there is to see and hear. 
 
 Close under the tow-path the stream is running 
 swift and strong. But in only a narrow channel, for 
 clean across to the other bank the river is one big 
 shallow. Everywhere you may see the sunlight 
 playing on the golden gravel. Myriads of tiny fish 
 fry, minnow, and bleak ("bly" in the language of 
 Thames-side) are darting about in shoals. Nature 
 creates them in their millions because they have so 
 many enemies. They carry their life these little fish 
 in their fins, so to speak. Life would be unendur- 
 able could they anticipate; but I think they are 
 always taken unawares. Now a thing that they took 
 for a mussel-shell starts up, opens, and sinks again 
 into the mud, a,nd two or three of their number are 
 missing for an eel had been lying with his evil head 
 just clear of the mud. Now a rainbow-coloured thing, 
 flashing like Excalibur, comes headlong in from 
 
196 OXFORD: THE UPPER RIVER 
 
 another world, and a kingfisher has carried off a 
 gudgeon. And then all of a sudden, with a rush and 
 a dash, a great spiny perch comes charging along, 
 scattering the shoal in all directions, and when it 
 closes up again there is a further gap in its numbers. 
 There are many other enemies, and one that comes 
 from far. When the common terns are moving 
 overland on their way to nest by other waters, and 
 when they are going back again, one or two will stay 
 behind and fly sometimes for a couple of days 
 together up and down this favourite reach. Very 
 lovely they look, these white sea-swallows, and just a 
 little strange, like angels " visiting the green earth " ; 
 they seem to bring a sound of far-off breakers, and it 
 is hard at first to recollect that this is big Port 
 Meadow, and we but half a mile from Medley 
 Lock. 
 
 Have you ever seen tame geese fly? Not more 
 than a few yards at a time, perhaps. Well, then, 
 these Port Meadow geese can fly almost the whole 
 length of the meadow without once touching ground. 
 You may see them do it almost any evening. 
 Use has kept their muscles trim. Darwin has 
 told us how the vultures flock to their prey from 
 amazing heights, each taking his cue from the next 
 
OXFORD: THE UPPER RIVER 197 
 
 .n order. And just so, when the cottagers open 
 their back garden gates to feed the geese in the 
 evening, the news spreads as if by magic, each little 
 party hurrying up to its supper ; those nearer run- 
 ning with outstretched wings, those down in the 
 meadow not to be forestalled rising clear of the 
 ground and flying right away to the top. They 
 seldom get up higher than four feet, partly because 
 they have no time to waste upon trajectories, and 
 partly so that if their wings should give out they will 
 not have far to fall. 
 
 Here the shallow suddenly deepens, and opposite 
 these willows is the hole known as Black Jack. Ask 
 a waterman about Black Jack, and he instantly 
 becomes mysterious ; he predicts that " we shall 
 never know all that there is down there," and 
 " reckons there are some things down there it's a good 
 thing we can't see. Don't you, Bill?" And Bill 
 confirms the suspicion. Tradition says that Black 
 Jack is fathomless, and so it is by sculls and 
 boat-hooks. 
 
 The sandpipers are not here to-day, they are away 
 nesting by the Gloucester streams ; very soon they 
 will be back with their young, and hunting for 
 shrimps along low- water mark. As you approach 
 
198 OXFORD: THE UPPER RIVER 
 
 they will circle out over the stream with plaintive 
 piping, to settle a few yards further on a manoeuvre 
 they repeat a dozen times. Their place is taken now 
 by the yellow wagtail, whose tactics are much the 
 same. As beautiful as a humming-bird is Ray's 
 wagtail, and almost as quick upon the wing. They 
 are the constant companions of the Port Meadow 
 cattle, attracted by the swarms of insects that come 
 where cattle feed. 
 
 Let us fasten the painter to this little bridge and 
 explore for a few yards this tiny stream. We have 
 not time to examine it minutely, but must just 
 notice these two plants. They are not rare, but 
 are worth noticing because, like the water-soldier, 
 they are local plants. Among the primulas is one 
 genus which includes two species only. One is a 
 North American, the other an English plant. Here 
 it is Hottonia, the water-violet, and is flowering very 
 late this year. The other we shall not find so easily. 
 There, you see that hairy-looking weed floating about 
 in thick bunches. It is Utricularia, the bladderwort, 
 in some respects one of the most interesting of all our 
 British plants. Not because of its flowers, which are 
 yellow and ordinary, but because of a curious habit. 
 It is a carnivorous plant. The little bladders inter- 
 
OXFORD: THE UPPER RIVER 199 
 
 spersed among the leaves are each provided with a 
 trap-door. Should any prying larva or inquisitive little 
 fry look in at the door in passing, his fate is sealed. 
 He is caught, and drawn into a chamber of death 
 from which there is no escape. A plant if kept in an 
 aquarium will soon catch in this way most of the small 
 things about for instance, tiny fish, the larvae of gnats, 
 and even Daphnia, in spite of his shell. Drosera^ the 
 sundew, drains the insects of their juices as soon as 
 they are caught. The bladderwort, on the contrary, 
 simply holds its prisoners captive till they die, and 
 then, it is said, feeds on the products of decay. 
 
 Now we must get back to our boat. 
 
 Look at that gaunt grey sentinel watching us from 
 over the meadow. There are always a few herons' nests 
 in Witham Woods, and this bird has come from there. 
 He is waiting for frogs, and perhaps for a water-rat 
 As soon as we are safe away he will turn to his task 
 again : lowering his head, rounding his shoulders, and 
 watching on. Here we have reached the first ford (as far 
 as I know) on the Thames. A man can walk across here 
 in summer without getting wet above his knees. The 
 ford is white with beds of water-crowfoot a common 
 flower, but, like many common flowers, with its own 
 special interest. Nature has adapted it remarkably to 
 
200 OXFORD: THE UPPER RIVER 
 
 the conditions of its life. It has two distinct forms of 
 leaves. On the top of the water it bears stout, flat, 
 ovate leaves, which serve the double purpose of buoy- 
 ing it up and of presenting a wide surface to the action 
 of the air and sun ; but those which are swaying in the 
 current underneath are modified to simple bunches of 
 hair-like filaments. Over these the current has little 
 power, since they yield to every impulse of the stream. 
 And here at last is Godstow Abbey, beautiful even 
 now in its decay. Not so very long ago, when the 
 navvies were making the new cut to let the floods off, 
 they dug up some stone coffins and many mouldering 
 bones ; and before authority had time to intervene, 
 hese bones were hawked about for sale by the loafers 
 of the bridge. Were some of those Fair Rosamond's ? 
 I cannot tell ; but the old chroniclers have it that she 
 was laid to rest at first within the chapel walls, till, in 
 obedience to Hugh of Lincoln's stern command, the 
 remains were removed elsewhere perhaps just outside 
 the walls. But, wherever the place, we may be sure 
 the good nuns laid her lovingly, for until that fatal day 
 when her peace of mind was broken by the glitter of a 
 Court, she had been ever welcome within the abbey 
 walls, where all were the brighter for her fairness and 
 her wit. 
 
OXFORD: THE UPPER RIVER 201 
 
 And now here is something that seems more vividly 
 even than the grey walls themselves to put us in touch 
 with that old time. These good nuns were no cloistered 
 mystics they were the ministers to the poor for miles 
 around. And do you see this curious plant growing 
 under the wall, with the heart-shaped leaf and the 
 yellow trumpet flower ? It is not a native of England, 
 but was planted here by the nuns. Why ? Because 
 it is Aristolochia, the birthwort, and was useful as a 
 medicine in certain cases, as its name implies. 
 
 What a little way we have come ! and there is 
 ever so much more to see and hear. It is getting so 
 late that all we can do now is to leave the boat and 
 hurriedly walk to King's Weir. You will seldom see 
 finer silver poplars than those that grow in Godstow 
 Wood. Do you notice how the trees are riddled by 
 the goat-moth caterpillar ? This is a favourite wood, 
 too, for lime and poplar hawks and other Sphingidce. 
 Had we time we could easily find a nightingale's 
 nest. There are always one or two in this wood, and 
 the sedge-warblers nest here in numbers. The reed- 
 warbler also makes its lovely pendant nest in the 
 reeds that flank the edge. In the matted roots of that 
 fallen poplar which we can just see from here a pair of 
 kingfishers have nested for many years. The boys 
 
202 OXFORD: THE UPPER RIVER 
 
 cannot reach the nest because of the deep pool of 
 water which the torn-up roots have left. And hobbies 
 breed here every year. Fortunately for themselves, 
 they do not come to this country until the leaf is on 
 the trees. Sometimes they nest in an old kestrel's 
 nest, and sometimes in that of a crow. They have a 
 pretty habit of toying about just over the tops of the 
 trees like large moths. Even an inexperienced hand 
 may know them by their white throats. They live 
 almost entirely on insect life, though the keepers will 
 not credit this. 
 
 All those holes in the bank are made by the cray- 
 fish. The Thames-side loafers catch them in a flat 
 muslin net baited with bits of meat. 
 
 We must particularly notice this still backwater, not 
 only because of the beautiful lily-like Limnanthemum 
 (it has, I think, no English name) and Ranunculus 
 lingua, the noble water-spearwort, but because it is 
 the home of one of the most fascinating creatures in 
 all the range of animal life namely, Argyronetron, the 
 water-spider the first who made the diving-bell. 
 Watch it at its work. First of all it makes the bell : 
 weaving it round and round, closer and closer, till the 
 web is air-tight all throughout ; then it lashes it firmly 
 to the neighbouring plants, and so begins to fill it. 
 Now comes the most wonderful part. Swimming to 
 
OXFORD: THE UPPER RIVER 203 
 
 the surface of the water, it turns tail upwards, and with 
 its two hindermost legs takes literally a piece of air, 
 which it carries as a bubble down below. Conveying 
 the bubble to the mouth of the bell, it lets it go. The 
 bubble floats up inside the bell, and the first move- 
 ment is complete. It only remains to do this again 
 and again, until gradually the bell is full of air, and 
 hangs there as large as a silver thimble, and as bright 
 as a ball of mercury. 
 
 And here is King's Weir, and there is a large trout 
 on the rise. You may put any common brown trout 
 into the Thames, and soon they shall be as big as 
 this. The Thames men say it is from feeding on 
 the bly. 
 
 There, now, we must be getting back to Medley 
 Lock. Medley itself belonged to the abbey ; it was 
 given to the nuns by Robert of Witham. The old 
 writers say it was the " middle-way " that is, between 
 Godstow and Oxford ; and that it was a place of great 
 resort for " divers pleasures." 
 
 Now you have seen a little of the upper river by 
 day, but you must not think you know it yet. When 
 you have seen it in the dawn when you have felt 
 your way at night, round every winding reach, and 
 listened to and learnt the meaning of some of the 
 night-voices then, and not till then, may vou fairly 
 
204 OXFORD: THE UPPER RIVER 
 
 claim to know a little of the upper river. Yes, here 
 are the verses. It is early morning. Listen. 
 
 KING'S WEIR. 
 
 Hung in the hand of dawn a few 
 Chill stars are paling to their death 
 
 Above the meadows white with dew, 
 And heavy with the orchis 7 breath. 
 
 Where bees protest a drowsy tale, 
 And plaintive peewits fall and twist, 
 
 And in the mowing-grass the rail 
 A strident-voiced ventriloquist 
 
 Cieeps between challenging and fear, 
 And the small bat eccentric flits 
 
 Taking the moth and on the Weir 
 A single yellow- wagtail sits. 
 
 And, wakened by the wakening morn, 
 The herald breeze begins to blow, 
 
 But now a doubtful murmur born 
 Of shivering hill-side beach, and now 
 
 
OXFORD: THE UPPER RIVER 205 
 
 It makes the silver poplars gleam, 
 
 And fans the thistles into play, 
 And whitens all the stiller stream, 
 
 And passing sighs itself away. 
 
 But it has left the water glad, 
 
 And made the big trout plunge and hurl 
 His length into the foam, and add 
 
 A breaking circle to the swirl. 
 
 And now down all the roads of dawn 
 Comes in the tide of gold, the same 
 
 That lights the diamond on the lawn, 
 Or rages till the prairies flame. 
 
 I see it draw the wreathed woof 
 
 Of veiling mist across the plain ; 
 I see it glinting on the roof 
 
 And burning on the burnished vane ; 
 
 Lighting the sedge-bird's secret place, 
 Lifting the windflower's tired head, 
 
 Blushing upon the briar's face 
 And laughing in the iris-bed ; 
 
206 
 
 OXFORD: THE UPPER RIVER 
 
 And the great soul of earth, that moves 
 
 In all I see or cannot see, 
 Springs, radiant at the touch it loves, 
 
 A nameless ecstasy. 
 
UPON A DAY 
 
UPON A DAY 
 
 THE tent is pitched some ten feet above the river, just 
 in the point that is made by the meeting of the river 
 and the brook. The river here forms a horseshoe, 
 and from the tent door you have a clear view down 
 either curve. A lock connects the two heels of the 
 horseshoe, so there is no traffic past the tent It is 
 impossible, indeed, to pass up this way into the river 
 above, because of a tumbling bay. 
 
 Our little promontory is the extremest point of a 
 meadow that is quite remarkable in itself. It is full 
 of grand old trees ; sycamore, chestnut, oak, and lime 
 none more noble than two mighty elms that rear 
 themselves up high into the sky, and widen out below 
 into a rugged platform, on which several persons may 
 sit. Further ,on are three magnificent cedars of 
 Lebanon, whose arms stretch right across the brook. 
 They belong not of right to an English scene. They 
 were planted long ago, perhaps to commemorate a 
 
 o 
 
2io UPON A DAY 
 
 royal visit. For this was then the inclosure of a 
 religious house. But little of the abbey is remainin 
 now. You may trace the foundations here and there, 
 and in the farmhouse across the meadow are one or 
 two old mullioned windows that have evidently seen 
 better days, and that is all. I should have said that 
 the whole of the space included in the horseshoe is 
 filled by a large osier-bed a roddam, as it is called 
 on the Thames. But the willows are so wide apart 
 that there is plenty of room for a jungle-growth of 
 nettles, comfrey, and giant water-docks. 
 
 Such, then, are, roughly speaking, the surroundings 
 of the tent. Men in houses, where wooden shutters 
 and close-drawn blinds shut out the day, sleep heavily 
 and late. But here, though sleep is sound, there is 
 no slow returning to consciousness. Lightly plays 
 the breath of morn with the loose canvas of the tent- 
 door, and as lightly the sleeper awakes from sleep. 
 He was asleep, he is awake ; and that is all. At once 
 alert, conscious, himself, he is looking out upon the 
 infancy of a new-born summer day. 
 
 It is an enchanting scene. The sky (how far away 
 it seems !) is some cold, clear tint of palest green, 
 more subtle than any painter ever put on canvas yet. 
 In the south a single star is twinkling to the dawn. 
 
UPON A DAY 2ii 
 
 High up among the fleecy clouds the young moon 
 rides a silver gondola. Low in the east, just 
 topping a line of elms, stretches a long black cloud, 
 shaped like some dragon of the prime. Glassily 
 smooth flows the river, excepting where the breeze 
 has caught it, and turned it into silver light. 
 
 And this tent-dweller has nothing to do all day. 
 Think what it means. A whole long day to be idle 
 in ! Never mind the grammar. Grammar was made 
 for those who have to work : for there are persons 
 who are obliged to work. There are some poor 
 things, who, even on this very day, and when the sun 
 is at its hottest, and Throgmorton Street is for all the 
 world like the furnace-rooms of Woolwich Arsenal, 
 will be swarming like blackbeetles out of all the 
 cracks in that stone-built oven, happy in the know- 
 ledge, or delusion, that they see their way to gold. 
 
 But our tent-dweller has little time to spare for 
 thoughts on such sad themes. In a very few minutes 
 now dawn the half-light will be over : day the 
 sunlight will be here. It lasts, this border-time, but 
 some brief half-hour; but that half-hour is full of 
 interest, for it closes in the little hidden dramas 
 of the night. The tent-dweller is setting out; let 
 us go too. We must not go with him, because 
 
212 UPON A DAY 
 
 we should see nothing then. Nature, believe me, is 
 not so easily seen. To all the blackbeetle Throgmor- 
 ton Street swarms she rolls herself up like a hedge- 
 hog. They repel her as " with a pitchfork." " Gently, 
 and one at a time," is her motto. So we cannot go 
 with the tent-dweller; but still, you shall not lose, for I 
 will be your Diable boiteux and show you what he 
 sees, and how he manages to see it. 
 
 See his dress. How carefully its colour is chosen ! 
 It is hard, indeed, to say what its colour is. It is 
 neither drab, nor grey, nor green, but something 
 perhaps of each of these. It is indefinite, but it 
 harmonises so cleverly with any surroundings that it 
 needs a quick eye to detect the wearer at the distance 
 even of a hundred yards. The tent-dweller knows 
 that the first principles for the study of all wild 
 animals, from tigers to water-rats, are three in 
 number, and are these 
 
 Keep out of their sight. 
 
 Keep out of their hearing. 
 
 Keep out of their field of smell. 
 
 Wild creatures have an instinctive dread of any- 
 thing white. You cannot stop out your rabbits more 
 effectually, if the days and nights are quiet, than by 
 the simple plan of placing pieces of white paper in the 
 
UPON A DAY 213 
 
 mouth of their holes ; an envelope fixed into a split 
 stick and stuck up at the end of the hedge will keep 
 the cock pheasants in, and spare the need of human 
 stops, as every keeper knows. 
 
 The hearing of wild creatures is marvellously acute ; 
 and, of all possible noises, nothing alarms them half 
 so much as the sound of the human voice. This 
 particular sound travels a long way, and the wild 
 animal with its ear close to the ground has timely 
 warning of any coming danger. It is no exaggeration 
 to say that the voice of ordinary conversation will put 
 on the qui vive any creature within a radius of a 
 quarter of a mile, and much further even than this in 
 hilly districts. We have all seen, at some time or 
 other, an elderly sportsman's gesticulations as he 
 inveighs in early English against the wildness of the 
 " beastly birds," quite blind to the fact that his own 
 voice has long ago put up the heads of every par- 
 tridge on the place. 
 
 Whether the sense of smell of birds is as acute as 
 that of mammals is a disputed point. There are 
 good grounds for supposing that it is comparatively 
 but little developed; and that the decoy-man who 
 carries a bit of burning turf when he visits his decoys 
 is the victim of a baseless superstition. 
 
214 UPON A DAY 
 
 But to return to the tent-dweller, who has suddenly 
 stopped as if frozen into stone. He is only looking at 
 a water-rat, but yet the common water-rat or, more 
 properly, the water-vole regarded from what point 
 you please, is well worthy of study. It is one of 
 our most interesting English animals. It is not very 
 easy to point to any great structural differences between 
 it and the rat. Those grinding teeth have no roots ; 
 and, for the rest, the distinctions are chiefly super- 
 ficial, and these you may notice for yourself. Its 
 head is broader and shorter than that of the rat ; its 
 tail is shorter, blunt, and covered with hair. Its ears 
 are also hairy, and not naked as the rat's. But it is 
 in habit that the great difference lies. The barn-rat 
 can swim well, but he is a land-lubber in comparison 
 with his aquatic cousin. The barn-rat is omnivorous, 
 as the housekeeper knows to her cost; the water-rat 
 is almost entirely a vegetable feeder. Not entirely, 
 for at certain seasons of the year he too acquires a 
 taste for meat ; but this is not his rule. Look at the 
 little creature. It is still, and almost of the same 
 colour as the alder stub on which it sits. It knows 
 this, and it is so still, not, you may be sure, because 
 it does not see the tent-dweller, but because it trusts 
 it is itself unseen. But the watcher stands there also 
 
UPON A DAY 215 
 
 motionless, and it soon forgets its fears, and begins to 
 prepare for breakfast. Slipping silently into the 
 water, it makes for a little patch of reeds. Suddenly 
 it dives, and one of the reeds begins to quiver. A 
 skilful woodman is at work below. Presently the 
 reed floats out flat on the top of the water, cut off 
 cleverly close to the root. Often the diver will 
 reappear at once ; but sometimes it will cut two or 
 three reeds consecutively, and then coming to the top 
 seize first one and then the others by the white 
 succulent end, and swim off with them to its seat. 
 When it has a great burden, or is in a hurry and it 
 is always in a hurry for breakfast it swims with all 
 its feet. At other times it uses its hind feet only, 
 carrying its fore-limbs at its side as the harbour seals 
 their flippers. 
 
 But see the tent-dweller. By that quick turn of his 
 head you may know that something has arrested his 
 attention, and he seems to be listening intently. Stay. 
 Do you hear that curious whistling sound coming 
 from the reed-bed beyond the cedars ? It is an otter 
 coming home from his travels of the night. To the 
 tent-dweller the sound is familiar as that of a human 
 voice. Off he sets at top speed, and does not stop 
 till he has reached the nearest cedar. Leaning there, 
 
216 UPON A DAY 
 
 almost hidden by the trunk, he knows he is safe from 
 discovery, for the breeze is blowing in his face. 
 Nearer and nearer comes the whistling sound, and 
 then for a minute all is still. Presently round a 
 corner of the stream comes, not the otter, to all 
 appearance, but a wave ; the otter is swimming under 
 the water. But now he is out upon a shallow, a 
 beautiful picture of activity and strength. In his flat 
 head, his powerful jaw, and his muscular shoulder there 
 is expressed, not cunning so much, perhaps, as pre- 
 cision and secrecy. If I wanted an agent to do me 
 some dark deed, I would choose, not the fox, I think, 
 but the otter. He would travel like a very power of 
 darkness, swiftly, secretly, and strike as surely as the 
 vendetta, not one single second too early or too late. 
 When he is on the hunt he has no need to chase the 
 fish ; he can scent them, even from the bank, and, 
 slipping into the water without a sound, is upon them 
 before they are aware. And our otter now has slipped 
 into the water, and is coming quickly down stream, 
 but with no more sound than if he were swimming in 
 oil. He emerges directly under the roots of the third 
 cedar ; a moment's pause, and in a single bound he is 
 up among the roots and out of sight. And now, if you 
 look closely, you may see a large dark hole, well 
 
UPON A DAY 217 
 
 guarded by the twisted roots of this old tree. Oh yes, 
 the tent-dweller knew it long ago, and has been on the 
 look-out ever since he first noticed the otter's seal or 
 footprint in the mud. But he has had long to wait, 
 for otters are great travellers, and one has not been 
 here for days. Why do not the hounds come here and 
 hunt? Because it is too near to the big river, and 
 once there the otter could laugh at his foes. 
 
 Now there flies past a beetle, larger than a dor- 
 beetle, but flying with less noise. Suddenly it drops 
 head foremost into the water; not into the brook, in- 
 deed, but into a stagnant ditch that opens out of it. It 
 is Dyticus, the great water-beetle, and this is its curious 
 habit. It is aquatic all the day, aerial all the night. I 
 do not find that any one has tried to explain this 
 strange contradiction. By all the laws of residential 
 life the water is his home. In the water lie all his 
 seeming interests, his food, his loves, his foes. He 
 was hatched under the leaf of the water-lily, and there, 
 or thereabouts, he passed from a long-bodied hungry 
 larva to a hunched-back helpless chrysalis ; and, by- 
 and-by, with torpedo-like body and swimming legs, 
 broke loose, a perfect water-beetle. How, then, can 
 we account for this irregular habit? Is it not just 
 possible that it may be connected with the process of 
 
2i8 UPON A DAY 
 
 respiration ? The water-beetle is a strong-swimming 
 creature, and needs a large amount of air for oxidation 
 of its blood. The beetles possess, in connection with 
 their trachaeal system, a series of air-cells analogous to 
 the air-spaces of birds until these are filled they are 
 unable to rise, and they, are filled by the motion of the 
 wings. May it not be that Dyticus retains this 
 collected air in these trachaeal dilatations, as in 
 reservoirs, as residual food for his tissues during 
 the day? 
 
 What hoarse, ill-omened scream was that ? It is as 
 if some old chiding witch were passing on her broom- 
 stick through the trees. 
 
 A white owl is going back to its hollow in the 
 sycamore. How dreamily soft is its flight ! The 
 whooping of a pigeon's or a peewit's wings would be 
 plainly heard at that distance. But this bird sails 
 noiselessly and soft, as down or feathers wafted on 
 space. He is one of the few owls that call habitually 
 when on tl\e wing. His cousin, the tawny owl, for 
 example, rarely utters his beautiful hoot excepting 
 when at rest. Do you notice that this bird is carrying 
 something in its talons ? One cannot see at this dis- 
 tance what it is, but the tent-dweller could tell us it 
 is a field-mouse, and that it is the last of many that the 
 
UPON A DAY 219 
 
 bird has been carrying to its young ones every few 
 minutes through the night. 
 
 In the sycamore now the babies are snoring, as you 
 
 may hear them at sermon-time in a country church. 
 
 For this is the owl of church towers and hollow trees, 
 
 while the tawny, like the long-eared owl, oftener nests 
 
 , in places quite exposed. 
 
 But the east is beginning to redden now. Dark, 
 almost to blackness, stands out our line of elms, clear- 
 cut against a band of crystal sky, that slowly widens 
 with the rising of the curtain of the night. And now 
 long, rose-coloured filaments begin to feel their way 
 up through the diaphanous haze of the lower zones, 
 and now the warm glow catching, slowly at first, leaps 
 from cloud to cloud, till the whole wide eastern sky is 
 ablush like the peach-gardens of the south. But the 
 elms and the broad meadows round them are not 
 lighted yet. Now turn round and see how great the 
 
 difference ; for 
 
 not by eastern windows only, 
 
 When daylight dawns, comes in the 'light, 
 In front the sun climbs slow, how slowly, 
 But westward, look, the land is bright. 
 
 Before he lights the fire for breakfast our friend will 
 have his morning swim. It is less a swim than an 
 exploration. Instead of amusing himself by taking 
 
220 UPON A DAY 
 
 noisy headers, he slips quietly into the water from the 
 stern of his boat, and with a few strokes, just to 
 stretch his limbs, sinks till there is little else but his 
 eyes above the water, and drops down stream. It is 
 an old ruse, and one which the West Indians practise 
 with a view to catching water-fowl. The hunter fits 
 over his head a calabash, and, surrounded by empty, 
 floating gourds, is borne right into the midst of the 
 unsuspecting wildfowl. Gourds or 'no, this is the way 
 'to study the habits of those birds that live where water 
 runs. And now a pair of swans are bringing their 
 brood of five up from the lower reaches, where they 
 have been all night. Stately and slow they come, the 
 male bird leading, and the young strung out in a line 
 behind him. The female brings up the rear. Quaint 
 jittle things are the soft grey cygnets, and when they 
 come to a bit of rapid water, it is funny to see them 
 all turn at exactly the same angle, so as, to neutralise 
 the pressure of the stream ; taking it slantingly, as a 
 brewer's horse takes the hill. 
 
 The sand-martins have drilled their tunnels into the 
 bank, where it is, from turf to water, not more than 
 five feet high. It is an impossibility for even the most 
 practised swimmer to remain absolutely motionless in 
 fresh water for more than a few moments at a time. 
 
 
UPON A DAY 221 
 
 But the sand-martins take no notice of the swimmer's 
 head. In and out of their nests they dart, twittering 
 cheerily all the while. Poor little birds ! They have 
 chosen a risky nesting-place. Sometimes there comes 
 a summer flood, and then all their nursery cares are 
 gone for nothing. It is true they may make a second 
 nest, but it surely must be weary work, unattended 
 though it seems to be with any sense of loss of interest. 
 Even the sharp eye of th kingfisher is deceived at 
 first. From his perch on a dead alder-bough he 
 flashes like a jewel into the stream, sending up a 
 little cloud of spray, as with a single movement he 
 seizes a minnow and returns to his vantage point. It 
 is only in the early morning that the kingfisher fishes 
 here : at other times of the day he is in seclusion up 
 the brook. Very beautiful is the brook in itself and 
 in all its surroundings. Every river feature is to be 
 found here in little. Here it flows in deep, dark pools 
 where the big white-lipped chub lie wary and expec- 
 tant, waiting for moth or caterpillar to drop from off 
 the soft blue willows that almost span the stream. 
 Here it tinkles fairy music over tiny waterfalls, and on 
 again past brown stones and golden gravel to where 
 broad beds of flowering crowfoot show up like snow in 
 the noonday sun. The very banks themselves are 
 
222 UPON A DAY 
 
 beautiful ; not only for the jewelling of the honey- 
 suckle or the pink dog-rose, but because of the 
 common nettle, water-dock, meadow-sweet, and yellow 
 ragwort that help to give the brook its own identity, 
 closing it in and screening it from the rude gaze of 
 things outside. 
 
 In one spot only is the luxuriance of plant life less 
 than tropical, and here there is none at all. This spot 
 is under the cedars. There is a solitude of majesty, 
 and no plants may flourish there. Only the rabbits 
 burrow round about, and the otter finds a home 
 beneath their overhanging roots. Close to them is 
 the tent-dweller's favourite post, and here he will lie, 
 sometimes for hours, in the hottest part of the day. 
 Idling ? Well, yes, I suppose it is idling ; at least, 
 that is what Throgmorton Street would say. He is so 
 still you might suppose him fast asleep. But, in truth, 
 every sense is strung to its highest pitch. Nothing 
 escapes him. Not the briefest shadow of a passing 
 bird : not the faintest rustle in the grass. He can see 
 and learn more in this way in a single hour than if he 
 were to walk a whole day up the brook. That is the 
 way to study Nature. Go a hundred yards away from 
 the house in any direction, and be still. Wild things 
 are all about you then. The way through the wood, 
 
UPON A DAY 223 
 
 that now seems so deserted, was an animated scene 
 just before you came along. It is your voice, your 
 tread, your shadow, and (forgive me, dear reader) 
 your smell, that have wrought the change ; even 
 though, as is most improbable, the jays did not see 
 you, and scream danger ahead. But, back to the 
 cedars. 
 
 Lie down with the tent-dweller flat on the ground, 
 and look steadily into this deep, dark pool deep, that 
 is, relatively. It seems at first to be quite empty 
 quite fathomless. But soon the bottom grows dis- 
 tinct, and certain little rays of light are seen glancing 
 on stones and roots, and water-grass that moves in 
 waving tresses. And presently a creature, scarlet and 
 blue, and of any and every tint between these two, as 
 the light takes it, comes into view. It is a male 
 stickleback. He is keeping guard over his nest that 
 small, irregular bunch of weed, in the middle of which 
 his partner and her eggs are hidden. It is only at this 
 season that he is gorgeous in his suit of scintillating 
 armour. And so he keeps his watch a perfect 
 Paladin and so he holds the field against all comers, 
 secure in his suit of armour and his bristling spines. 
 And then, with a sound of rushing wind, a wood- 
 pigeon drops down to drink. 
 
22 4 UPON A DAY 
 
 Of all the birds that haunt our woodlands, the 
 pigeon is perhaps most wide awake. You will not 
 easily catch him napping. He does not even drink 
 like other birds. He does not sip and hold his head 
 up to let the water trickle down his throat ; he just 
 takes one long steady pull, and then he is off again to 
 the bean-field. 
 
 Time would fail to tell of all or of one-half of the 
 incidents of humble life that come under the tent- 
 dweller's ken in even this one sleepy hour of a broil- 
 ing summer day ; of the cock-pheasant, radiant in 
 purple and gold, who comes down to drink, walking, 
 delicately as Agag, through the nettles ; of the caddis- 
 worm, architect and builder, collecting sticks and 
 shells for the castle he will bear about with him 
 through life ; of the caddis-flies, rising buoyant 
 through the water, and, dry almost at once, stretching 
 their wings to lose themselves forthwith in the quiver- 
 ing noonday heat. There is much indeed to see, but 
 the tent-dweller notes it all. And could we stay, we 
 too might come to see it with his eyes. But our holi- 
 day is all but over, and we have many a mile to go ere 
 night. 
 
 May I drop the historic present for all this 
 happened long ago and just tell you what the tent- 
 
UPON A DAY 225 
 
 dweller has himself said since of this same day ? He 
 said that on this day he did not find his way back to 
 the tent until long after the dew had settled down 
 upon the meadows, the summer moon had risen on 
 the river, and the barn owl had set out anew in quest 
 of mice ; that he remembered this day especially well 
 because of some lines which came to him while yet 
 he lay awake. They were these : 
 
 Brook tinkling clear, 
 The dose defences of thy woven bowers 
 Are sweet and spangled through. Here let me lie, 
 And win thy secrets from the careless flowers, 
 Who take them from thee all too easily. 
 No wiles of love shall cheat my tongue ; no fear, 
 None though the tidal sea itself should clamour here. 
 
 Sing, ripple, sing 
 
 But I have seen thy brown and seething flood 
 Rouse the big salmon out beyond the nets 
 A mile across the blue. And I have stood 
 Where floodgates fail and death his pleasure gets. 
 Though here so kind thy court the rudest thing 
 Is the small tyrant minnow deftly skirmishing. 
 
 And ere another verse could frame itself he was 
 asleep. 
 
THE PROCESSION OF SPRING 
 
THE PROCESSION OF SPRING 
 
 IN the heart of a big city there lived a very learned 
 botanist. Campy lotropous^ quintuplinerved, tetradyna- 
 mous, not a flower of them all could puzzle him he 
 was a very learned botanist. 
 
 None the less there was a great blank in his life, 
 and it was this. He had never seen the blue bird's- 
 eye speedwell. Brown and dry, indeed, he kept 
 within a book a thing that once had been that flower, 
 and he could look at that. But that is not to see the 
 bird's-eye speedwell. 
 
 The forget-me-not he had seen, for the forget-me-not 
 is sold in penny bunches in the street. Not so the 
 speedwell. Once plucked, the bloom falls off and 
 floats down at your feet. The speedwell loves the bit 
 of bank that bounds its home. It knows no other 
 world, nor cares to know ; and it is well the lark 
 knows where to find it when he drops from skies not 
 bluer than itself. 
 
230 THE PROCESSION OF SPRING 
 
 The forget-me-not's is "the higher mission," you 
 say ? It may be so. But we were speaking not of 
 missions, but of facts. And the fact remains that the 
 speedwell never left the bank, and so the botanist 
 had never seen the speedwell. For he had but 
 one holiday in all the year, and that was at Christmas- 
 time, when he went to see his old mother. 
 
 And as to missions : it is not given to every one to 
 have " high missions," if that means going far afield. 
 If Don Quixote had stayed at home, had looked after 
 the old women and tried the poachers, the world would 
 have been the loser, but perhaps he would have done 
 more good in his day. 
 
 I fear that could our botanist have seen the speed- 
 well on its bank he would have given it welcome only 
 as Veronica chamcedrys, an hypogynous, scrophularious, 
 monopetalous dicotyledon. " His line," as he said, 
 "was classification." So that, I suppose, was his 
 mission. And no unworthy mission either. For a 
 love of classification is a love of order, and that at 
 least is a function of the Mind Supreme. 
 
 The speedwell has its mission all the same, but 
 more of that by-and-by. 
 
 However firm the hold of winter on the land, even 
 that strong hand must at last grow weary, and one by 
 
THE PROCESSION OF SPRING 231 
 
 one slip out between its loosened fingers the laughing 
 spirits born of spring. 
 
 The loveliest pearls that ever pleased a king are not 
 more lovely than the bursting buds upon the willow. 
 In significance, indeed, not half so beautiful. For 
 the pearls that hold the yellow stamens in their folds 
 are presageful of life, while the others are a product 
 of disease. 
 
 Children love the budding willow. They call it 
 " palm," and pick it as they come to school. But very 
 soon they tire of its prettiness, and so the school-path 
 is often strewn with willow. A royal freedom is this 
 of childhood, that lays the whole round year under 
 impost for its play. It is enough that the willow has 
 ventured into the children's kingdom : childhood, im- 
 perious, claims it as of right. 
 
 Children, whose buoyant blood turns winter into 
 summer, think not of catkins as a sign of spring. But 
 suffering childhood and slow-moving age find here a 
 dear delight. They have looked on so long and wist- 
 fully through the weary weeks of winter to where the 
 sun is playing on the green and growing wheat. And 
 so a little country child, with hip disease in a London 
 hospital, cared little for all the hothouse flowers kind 
 ladies brought her (she had so sweet a face), but lay 
 
232 THE PROCESSION OF SPRING 
 
 always clasping tight a withered daffodil, and clasping 
 it she died. 
 
 From the shallows of the pool over which the 
 willow hangs there .comes a voice of spring. It is the 
 croak of frogs. There always seems something magical 
 in the way the frogs appear in the pool. Yesterday 
 not a frog was to be seen. There was the usual 
 sprinkling of beetles, effets, and water-spiders, but not 
 a single frog. This morning as soon as the sun began 
 to warm the water the croaking began on all sides. 
 The shallows are dotted with the brown heads of 
 many frogs. Make the slightest movement, and in- 
 stantly every head disappears. Presently from some 
 corner the croaking begins again in a tentative, inter- 
 mittent manner. It is not easy to detect the croaker, 
 because at first he keeps himself carefully submerged, 
 allowing only his nose and eyes to break the surface ; 
 reminding one of the pictures of the river-horse in 
 books upon African travel. But presently, grown 
 confident, he will raise his whole head, sending little 
 ripples circling away with every beat of his white dis- 
 tended throat. 
 
 Frogs, I fancy, are fond of music. If on this first 
 day of their arrival you sit quietly on the bank and 
 whistle low and plaintively, they will all turn in your 
 
THE PROCESSION OF SPRING 233 
 
 direction in apparent enjoyment. After a day or two 
 the charm of music fails, for the frogs are busied in 
 spawning. 
 
 When once the tadpoles are free they are beset with 
 many foes. So that of all the myriad tadpoles hatched 
 only a small number endure that change which is not 
 the less wonderful because so familiar the change 
 from a vegetarian tadpole with gills and tail, to a tail- 
 less, air-breathing, insect-eating frog. 
 
 The sallow is the only bush now growing by the 
 pool. Last year the underwood was cut, as it is cut 
 every seventh year. No sooner is the sunlight so let 
 in upon the pond than there comes up a thick growth 
 of some aquatic mossy plant, clinging to stub and 
 bottom. The dabchicks are very fond of the weed. 
 They feed upon it and build their nests with it. 
 These birds return with such regularity to these their 
 haunts, that "have the dabchicks come?" becomes a 
 standing question in the spring. The dabchicks may 
 be there for days before you notice them. Very shy 
 are they when first they come. So beware how you 
 approach the pond. At the first glimpse of water, 
 pause and glance carefully ahead, and you may chance 
 to see the dabchick appear as if by magic on the sur- 
 face of the pool. No diver ever dived for pearls so 
 
234 THE PROCESSION OF SPRING 
 
 unweariedly as he for bits of weed. As he rises to the 
 top he picks off the small crustaceans hidden in the 
 leaves, snaps off the young shoot of the weed, and then 
 he dives again. If at that instant you run forward at 
 your best speed some dozen yards or so, and then 
 again stay quiet as a stone, the bird on rising continues 
 unsuspecting its pursuit. But move never so little, 
 and like a flash it disappears, and, in a succession of 
 rapid dives, soon is far away. There are divers and 
 divers. The dabchick dives quite noiselessly, and that 
 is the test of a true diver. By this you may know that 
 it is accustomed to seek its food near the bottom and 
 in deep water. Some birds dive chiefly for purposes 
 of concealment and some for purposes of play. These 
 last are clumsiest of all. Thus, the waterhen dives 
 neatly but not noiselessly, the tame duck very clumsily 
 and with much flapping of wings. 
 
 There surely never seemed so uncomfortable a nest 
 as that of the dabchick. The guillemot who guards 
 its single egg on the ledges of a wind-swept precipice 
 is, one might suppose, cosily circumstanced by com- 
 parison. The nest itself is in not on the water, so that 
 the dabchick almost sits in water as it sits upon its 
 eggs. And whenever the bird leaves its nest it covers 
 up its eggs with wet weed, and the eggs, white at first, 
 
THE PROCESSION OF SPRING 235 
 
 soon become stained and brown. The nest is so 
 deceptive in appearance just a tangled mass of water- 
 weed that even the sharp eye of the schoolboy seldom 
 finds it out. 
 
 For the direct opposite of this, see the nest of the 
 waterhen. Fair and open, it is placed where the end 
 of a sunken willow-bough peeps out of the water. The 
 bird has just slipped off the nest. There are seven 
 eggs already ; it is easy enough to count them from 
 the bank. The schoolboys found the nest some days 
 ago. Next Saturday afternoon they will fish out all 
 the eggs with a scoop at the end of a stick. A " goord" 
 they call it ; by which they mean a " goad." Poor 
 moorhen ! Her eggs make such a gallant show when 
 threaded on a string. 
 
 Long before the moorhens began to build the rooks 
 and jackdaws were hard at work. A pleasant scene is 
 that of a rookery in early spring. Few sounds have so 
 much power to recall forgotten scenes as the noise of 
 building rooks. I think the caw of rooks would make 
 an English Sunday in the middle of a desert. But 
 grievous charges are brought against the rook, which, 
 sad to say, cannot be disproved outright. The practice 
 of shooting young rooks has been given up to a great 
 extent of late years. So that rooks, it seems, are 
 
236 THE PROCESSION OF SPRING 
 
 increasing in numbers, and northwards farmers have 
 combined for their destruction. Well, a return to the 
 rook rifle would soon thin their numbers to a sufficient 
 extent. Let us have no murderous strychnine sown 
 about the land. If rookeries must be destroyed 
 wholesale, let it at least be those that are removed 
 from dwellings, to save that stain on hospitality, the 
 charge of confidence misplaced. For I have even 
 known those that have ruthlessly destroyed this the 
 chief ornament a heronry excepted of an ancient 
 home. 
 
 But this is uncomfortable ground. It is pleasanter 
 to think of those who would pour libations to the 
 shade of Virgil if only rooks would come to their tall 
 elms. 
 
 And if conditions are suitable they may be induced, 
 by the following means, to come. Fasten up in the 
 destined trees some half-score of imitation nests. To 
 these bring nestlings from the nearest rookery. The 
 old birds will find them out, feed them, rear them; 
 and quite probably the next spring will see a rookery 
 begun. 
 
 There are two plants of very different species which 
 thrive exceedingly well under a rookery, and both are 
 among the earliest flowers of spring. The first dog- 
 
THE PROCESSION OF SPRING 237 
 
 mercury has a green-spiked flower; and the other, 
 that forms a thick carpet of dark green heart-shaped 
 leaves, has a flower that shines like a golden star, and 
 is known to every one as the lesser celandine. 
 
 So, in spite of cruel winds of March, life is feeling 
 its way on. Not these flowers alone, but coltsfoot, 
 barren strawberry, daffodil, and primrose come into 
 flower, and elder into leaf. 
 
 The tiny chiffchaff, our first bird of spring, hangs 
 like a humming-bird on shivering wings, taking insects 
 off the surface of the pool. The strange voice of the 
 wryneck sounds about the orchard trees. The country 
 folk call this the " snake-bird," because it scares the 
 schoolboys by hissing like a snake when they approach 
 its nest. The f ' cuckoo's mate " they call it too, though 
 " cuckoo's messenger " would be the better name, for it 
 always comes before the cuckoo. 
 
 The chirrup of the chiffchaff is cheery but monoto- 
 nous, and goes to make more welcome the wild, bright 
 song of the willow-wren, which comes in at the open 
 windows a few mornings later on. 
 
 Both these, birds build on the ground. Their nests 
 are domed, and worked in, like the nests of field-mice, 
 among the moss and grass of the pasture by the 
 woodside. Both line their nests with feathers ; but 
 
238 THE PROCESSION OF SPRING 
 
 this the wood-wren, whose nest, externally, is so much 
 like theirs, never does. 
 
 The wryneck, and all the tits, except of course the 
 long-tailed tit, may easily be induced to nest in boxes 
 fixed up in the garden trees. These tiny birds are 
 marvellously bold when nesting. You may carry the 
 box, nest, bird, and all from place to place, and 
 provided you do so quietly the bird will not take 
 wing. 
 
 About this time one begins to notice on the garden 
 paths many tops of spruce-fir branches. The squirrel 
 is the culprit. It is a pity he does this, as it prejudices 
 the gardener against him. And why he does so it is 
 hard to say, unless he has a taste for turpentine. The 
 squirrel displays a great degree of cunning in the 
 building, though none in the position, of its drey, or 
 nest. Instead of springing from branch to branch as 
 at other times, it runs with each load of moss or leaves 
 to the base of the next tree, and so ascends. So that 
 the drey is half finished before its presence is sus- 
 pected. Yet, when surprised, the little creature holds 
 its ground with a degree of boldness that would do 
 credit to a lion. It will stamp and " chuckut," ad- 
 vancing and retreating in angry jerks as if daring us to 
 attack. Like most nest-builders, it works hardest in 
 
THE PROCESSION OF SPRING 239 
 
 the early morning. I am inclined to believe that the 
 squirrel never moves at night. If this is so, it is the 
 only strictly diurnal animal we possess. 
 
 Poor little red squirrel ! I wonder when the day 
 will come when its present persecutors, worthy cobnut 
 persons in their way, shall have learnt to " be to his 
 faults a little blind." 
 
 A warmer day than usual brings out the grass-snake. 
 These reptiles are fond of entering the frames in 
 which the gardener raises his seeds. They go there 
 partly for warmth, and partly in search of frogs, which 
 are attracted hither by the abundance of insect life. 
 Later on the snake will lay its leathery eggs in the 
 manure. 
 
 The country folk in certain parts are firmly per- 
 suaded that the adder as it grows old develops a pair 
 of wings and flies about. They quite believe that they 
 have seen it flying. This diabolical accomplishment 
 intensifies the terrors of the " death-arder." Every- 
 thing that creeps and looks like a snake is a death- 
 adder. The idea arose in church, by mistake for 
 "deaf adder," long years before the School Board 
 came. 
 
 A glance at May, and we must bid farewell to the 
 garden and the pool. 
 
240 THE PROCESSION OF SPRING 
 
 Very beautiful and bright are the children's garlands 
 as they sing beneath the windows on the first of May : 
 
 This is the day, the first of May, 
 Please to remember the garland day. 
 
 So runs the couplet that exacts our pence. Re- 
 member it? No need to ask us that. The colonist at 
 the other side of the world remembers it, and dreams 
 of home. The convict as he picks his oakum remem- 
 bers it, and is the better perhaps for the thought. 
 
 It is not only birds and children that May-day 
 makes to sing. It beats a sort of song out of very 
 humdrum lives often but a clumsy rhythm, but 
 perhaps a little gain on the workaday prose. I once 
 knew a rhymer whose fancy it moved thus : 
 
 * 
 THE COMING OF SPRING. 
 
 An iron hand on a fettered land, 
 
 Had faltered in grip at last, 
 And he settled low in his throne of snow, 
 
 And his breath came hard and fast. 
 
 It powdered the mist upon rail and tree 
 It huddled the cows in the byre, 
 
 It buried the hares in a dusty drift, 
 And scorched the young ash as fire. 
 
THE PROCESSION OF SPRING 241 
 
 "They have cursed me long as the bringer of woes, 
 
 The parent of fogs and sleets ; 
 Did they know that I mellowed their land for the 
 grain, 
 
 And killed the disease in their streets ? 
 
 " But a reign that had been more mild, itself 
 
 Was ruled by a chance of birth, 
 When ^Eolus filled my lungs with breath 
 
 So keen that it scathed the earth. 
 
 " You will lighten the touch of my iron hand, 
 You will breathe where I would blow, 
 
 You will win more love from a thankless world 
 Than Winter was born to know. 
 
 " Speed on, speed on," and he died in a blast 
 That emptied the cells of the North ; 
 
 And then, as a meteor from the bound 
 Of heaven, the boy leapt forth. 
 
 He met on his way the whistling swans 
 
 And the wild geese going home ; 
 And laughed as he poised on his golden wings, 
 
 For he knew that his strength was come. 
 
242 THE PROCESSION OF SPRING 
 
 And sunshine flashed through the cold clear day 
 
 And reddened the willow's shoot, 
 And put a love-note in the song of the lark, 
 
 And a pulse in the violet's root. 
 
 He chanced on a child in a woodland path, 
 
 All quiet and still in the sleep 
 That only the hungry and frozen know, 
 
 And the boy was fain to weep. 
 
 His tears fell hot on the ice-bound earth, 
 And the mantle that Winter had spread 
 
 Ever grew less in the rain and the sun, 
 And the corn lay green in its stead. 
 
 And things that had been in hiding long 
 
 Crept out to the light of day : 
 The snake from the bank, the dreaming-mouse 
 
 From chambered leaves and hay. 
 
 The mountain brook, unloosed once more, 
 
 Went laughing to the flood, 
 And ferns hung nodding, damp and green, 
 
 Where only boulders stood. 
 
THE PROCESSION OF SPRING 243 
 
 For, as dead embers fanned, the earth 
 
 Grew bright beneath his wing, 
 Till a new world broke to a living flame, 
 
 And sang to the light in Spring. 
 
 Yes, Spring had come. Spring with its story of hope. 
 But even now Spring is yielding to a power fuller and 
 higher yet, for greater than hope is assurance. 
 
 And from the grass of the bankside looks up a sky- 
 blue flower, and seems to whisper, "Summer, dear 
 Summer, is here." 
 
 That is the speedwell's mission. 
 
VESPER 
 
VESPER 
 
 THE heron left her watch and hit the cloud, 
 
 And laboured homewards to her wood of pines ; 
 And, as the red west died, a wreathing shroud 
 
 Came feeling on in weft of silver lines. 
 The laughter died out of the village street ; 
 
 The anvil's echoes sank into the hill ; 
 The tower's challenging, low-tongued and sweet, 
 
 A moment lingered and the land was still. 
 
 So gently day his mantle round him drew, 
 
 You had not known the moment he was hid, 
 But that the shy stars, shivering wan and few, 
 
 Crept into place. And now the cricket chid 
 The chilling hours ; and now the wanderer moon 
 
 Moved into her blue sea with placid light, 
 And " Good-night " sighed the river's softened tune, 
 
 And from the ether came again " Good-night." 
 
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 London <^ Edinburgh. 
 
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