irds 
 
 and tkeir jjaunts 
 
 B 3 
 
 %A Son of the Marshes 
 ^/ 
 
THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 PRESENTED BY 
 
 PROF. CHARLES A. KOFOID AND 
 MRS. PRUDENCE W. KOFOID 
 
WITHIN AN HOUR OF 
 LONDON TOWN 
 
WITHIN AN HOUR OF 
 LONDON TOWN 
 
 AMONG WILD BIRDS AND THEIR HAUNTS 
 
 BY 
 
 A SON OF THE MARSHES 
 
 AUTHOR OF 'ANNALS OF A FISHING VILLAGE,' 
 
 'ON SURREY HILLS,' ETC. 
 
 EDITED BY 
 
 J. A. OWEN 
 
 SECOND EDITION 
 
 WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS 
 
 EDINBURGH AND LONDON 
 
 MDCCCXCII 
 
 All Rights reserved 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAP. PAGE 
 
 I. HAUNTS OF THE FERN OWL, .... I 
 
 II. DRIFT, ....... 9 
 
 III. BIRDS OF NIGHT, . . . . .26 
 
 iv. THE FARMER'S FEATHERED FRIENDS, . . 48 
 
 V. THE FINCH FAMILY, . . . . .68 
 
 VI. OUR THRUSHES, . . . . .88 
 
 vii. IN "THE GOOD OLD TIMES,". . . . 106 
 
 VIII. BY THE MILL-STREAM, . . -134 
 
 IX. ON FOWLERS AND WILD-FOWLING, . . .152 
 
 X. THE GREAT BLACK-BACKED GULL, . . . l8o 
 
 XI. AUTUMN LIGHTS AND SHADES, . . 1 90 
 
 XII. WINTER SHIFTS, . . . . .215 
 
 XIII. THE FAMILY OF WADERS, .... 24! 
 
 XIV. THROUGH FIRS AND HEATHER, . . . 278 
 
 JVJ36691 8 
 
WITHIN AN HOUR OF 
 LONDON TOWN. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 HAUNTS OF THE FERN OWL. 
 
 OFTEN heard, but little seen, is the strong-winged, 
 large -eyed, wide -mouthed night - swallow, or fern 
 owl. Here and there you will see him in the course 
 of your evening rambles ; but to find his stronghold 
 and hunting-ground you must range far afield. 
 
 Out of the town of Dorking along green lanes, a 
 good walk will bring you to Leith Hill, and thence 
 to the common. The sun is high up yet, and as 
 we wish to find our owl in his night haunts first, 
 we have plenty of time to look about us. Skirt 
 the bog covered with cotton-grass and rushes. 
 
 A 
 
2 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 " Gock," "Gock-whir," there goes a blackcock; 
 they breed here near water-pools on the highest part 
 of the land in the hot summer weather. Wild 
 ducks rear their young here also ; the cottagers 
 find the mother and ducklings in the dipholes some- 
 times when they go for water in the early morn- 
 ing. Poultry they keep on the hills, but not ducks. 
 ." Snakes ? " Yes, large ones too. No fear of 
 treading on one, they are off like a flash ; any one 
 not accustomed to them would wonder what that 
 shining streak meant. Butterflies of many kinds 
 are flitting about- here and there and everywhere. 
 Prominent from the others by their flight are the 
 strong-winged fritillaries. 
 
 Now, from the common through the woods, we 
 reach the moor. Up through firs, their trunks 
 blazing red in the sunlight, another mile, and we 
 are on the camp ground, rightly so named, for on 
 it are the traces of a Roman fortress. In a line 
 from this is Farleigh, dearly beloved by the anti- 
 quarian community for the treasures it has given 
 them. 
 
 Fern owls, not Roman coins or vases, are what 
 we have come in search of. But look round, before 
 
HAUNTS OF THE FERN OWL. 
 
 the light leaves, at the firs, mile after mile of them ; 
 rough ground and heather of two kinds pale 
 pink and purple. Furze, ferns, and whortleberry 
 bushes, knee-high. Bushels of fruit have the chil- 
 dren gathered ; the birds, too, have their bills 
 stained deep purple. Plenty there are for all, and 
 to spare. 
 
 We near our resting-place, the low mounds in 
 front, which are the refuse from stone quarries 
 that have been worked and left many years ago. 
 Summer and winter have done their work in crum- 
 bling the stones. The dew blackberry, mixed with 
 tufts of wiry grass, covers the surface. Exposed 
 to the full blaze of the sun all day, you can feel 
 a warmth from them at night, hot as this evening 
 is. Moths congregate here, with other flying things ; 
 the fern owls also. Our feet touch something on 
 the green sheep-track, the remains of a blackcock : 
 and up from the ferns a few steps further on springs 
 a large grey bird, which has just finished his supper. 
 He looks like a gull, but is the full-plumaged male 
 hen-harrier. 
 
 Chur, chur, chur chur. The first rattling of the 
 fern owl. It is answered from twenty different 
 
4 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 quarters. It is their dinner signal ; they have 
 fashionable customs, and dine late. Here they 
 come, the whole place is alive with them. With 
 the exception of the hitting of the back of the wings 
 together at times, like a pigeon, their flight is noise- 
 less. "Chur" and "squeak," they are in full work 
 now. The different flights of the moths cause the 
 bird to tumble and dart in a very peculiar way. 
 Some moths fly straightly, others archwise ; the 
 skip-jacks van dyke about; that clip of the owl's 
 wing when he seems to tumble hits the moth down ; 
 the return stroke from the other wing brings him 
 alive into his enemy's mouth. 
 
 We do not intend going home before morning 
 breaks. The heather makes a good couch on a 
 pinch ; and if you want a pillow pull up a good arm- 
 ful of the frieze moss, which is all round about. It 
 is light enough to read, almost, and it is warm ; 
 what more could any one want ? The scent from 
 the fir-trees is enough to make you feel glad to be 
 alive ; the heather gives its share, so do other small 
 things. We doze a little but wake up with a start, 
 for the ground seems to shake. Two or three of the 
 fern owls have settled close to us, and are having a 
 
HAUNTS OF THE FERN OWL. 
 
 concert. " Chur-er-er-chur " to any amount, while 
 overhead you can see them tumbling, wheeling, and 
 diving like a flock of pigeons. The fern owl is not a 
 shy bird in his proper home ; he will fly round your 
 head or settle within six feet of you if you keep quiet 
 and let him alone. 
 
 A slight rustle, and on looking down some small 
 creature is seen moving close to our resting-place, a 
 toad of aldermanic girth. He is going home. A 
 very lucky thing for him that the creature who picks 
 him up is not on entomological thoughts intent, or 
 the " bee-snapping Gabriel " would have a rap on the 
 noddle, and his stomach be turned out next into a 
 basin of water. For a collector of rare and valuable 
 specimens of the beetle tribe is the toad. 
 
 It is noon, and we are slowly walking over the 
 tops of the stone-heaps near our resting-place of last 
 night. Flitting over the stones and running on them 
 are legions of the insect tribe. Lizards are there, 
 for a better feeding-ground you could not find ; the 
 common heath lizard, and now and then a specimen 
 of the green species ; not an escaped Jersey lizard, 
 mind you. 
 
6 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 One continual hum there is no other word for it 
 sounds all round you. Insect-life is in full swing 
 in the air and on the ground. 
 
 And now for the haunt of the fern owl by day. 
 Keep the green sheep-track. There is a nearer way 
 through that long stretch of whortle-bushes here 
 called hurts but vipers are numerous and remark- 
 ably active. We have found that out long ago ; the 
 colour of burnt sienna, with black markings, they are, 
 here. If they do not hurt you, you might hurt them, 
 poor things. If you accidentally put your foot on 
 one of them it gives you a turn, that curl round the 
 leg. The boys are very clever in catching vipers 
 with a cleft stick. 
 
 In the short space of a mile you will find, if you 
 look, three kinds of the same species red with black 
 markings, among the whortle-bushes ; bronze-green 
 and black markings, under the fir-trees ; bronze-red, 
 on the sandstone littered with dead bramble-leaves. 
 
 Now we clear the fir- wood. Look up the long 
 valley in front, three miles in length : the sides are 
 covered with junipers of every size, from splendid 
 specimens that would ornament the grounds of a 
 prince, if he could get them to flourish, down to little 
 
HAUNTS OF THE FERN OWL. 
 
 beauties that would go in a flower-pot. Down the 
 whole stretch runs a little stream, in places only a 
 foot wide, in which there are splendid trout, for it is 
 not the quantity but the quality of the water which 
 makes them thrive. Where a water-rat can live a 
 trout will get fat if the water is suitable. 
 
 Not a sound is to be heard, saving a tinkling 
 sheep-bell. It is very hot, the very firs seem to be 
 asleep. Mind where you place your feet, for the 
 fern owl breeds on these sunny slopes. 
 
 Flip ! the bird has gone. Look on the bare stones 
 where a rabbit in play has scratched the thin fine 
 turf off, forming a slight hollow. 
 
 On a bit of dead fern and a blade or two of 
 withered grass lie two beautiful eggs, marbled over 
 in a way which matches the surroundings, to a degree 
 that sends you off in a brown study. Pick them up, 
 you cannot find them very often, and if you left 
 them for a little while the bird would come back, 
 and taking them one at a time she would carry them 
 away in her capacious mouth and place them else- 
 where. Quick ! Where shall we put them so that 
 they may be safe until we return ? We have it. 
 Close by, on a drooping juniper-branch, is a chaf- 
 
8 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 finch's nest. Pick up a little of that velvet-like 
 moss, wrap the eggs in it, and place them carefully 
 in the nest. Now we can jog on. 
 
 Up we go to gain the moor. On a bare space, 
 over which the dewberry trails here and there, 
 and bits of peat and fir-twigs lie scattered amongst 
 fragments of red stone, from under our very 
 feet as it seems, " Flip, flip, flip," and a squeak, 
 and two birds rise and drop again in the heath. 
 Fern owls they are ; stand quiet, they have young 
 close to you. Crawl under that large juniper, where 
 the boughs sweep the ground. We have not long to 
 wait. Here they come and settle close to what looks 
 like a bit of stone with a patch or two of yellowish 
 grey lichen on it, and a dead leaf by the side. All 
 at once the seeming stone and dead leaf move and 
 prove to be two young fern owls. Leaving your 
 hiding-place you go to look at them, the parents 
 tumbling about the while near you. There they 
 squat, two blinking, gaping, noodling lumps of fluff. 
 
 Taking one in our hand, it winks, opens its mouth 
 and then noodles down in the hand, sleepy. After 
 a good look at the young Evejars as the children 
 call them we leave them to grow and prosper. 
 
DRIFT. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 DRIFT. 
 
 A COTTAGE in which I had my lodging for some 
 time, was close to a stream. After the work of the 
 day was over I often sat outside till late in the 
 night, when all was quiet around, save the night- 
 ingale that sang close to me, his whole heart thrown 
 into his sobbing song. There was a little fall. in 
 the stream, caused by the broken branch of a tree 
 and a few large stones a little tinkling fall, which 
 you would not notice by day, because of the songs 
 of the birds ; but at night, the sound of the water, 
 and the voice of that solitary singer fell on my ears 
 by turns. Water running over stones has, at night, 
 notes that make one wonder. There is a rise and 
 a fall : a succession of murmurs, sometimes very 
 
io WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 low, sometimes louder. And now and again these 
 notes seemed to mingle and harmonise with those 
 of the bird. 
 
 On the wall of this home, in the leafy heart of the 
 woodlands, a bunch of sea-weed hung as a weather- 
 gauge ; a few shells picked from the beach orna- 
 mented the mantelshelf; a sea-gull stood in solitary 
 state in a glass case. The good old dame with 
 whom I lodged " Mother" she was always styled 
 would tell you they were brought to her by one of 
 her " gals as lived in sarvice near the sea." And 
 as I looked at them, I felt that I, like them, was 
 drift from Longshore. 
 
 It was a well-built old English thatched cottage, 
 the front covered with roses and honeysuckle, 
 standing in a good old-fashioned garden. In the 
 borders were stocks, carnations, sweet-williams, and 
 between the hives splendid white lilies. The leaves 
 of these, preserved in spirits, form the universal 
 remedy for all cuts and bruises that affect the 
 household. Or, if the cut be only slight, a bruised 
 leaf from the geranium stops bleeding ; homely rem- 
 edies, but good ones. A thick privet hedge closes 
 the garden from the common ; beyond are the firs. 
 
DRIFT. 1 1 
 
 Chipsey-wee-wee-wee ! A little bluetit settles on 
 the entrance to the master's beehive. Two taps 
 with his bill bring out a bee to see what is the 
 matter. He soon finds out. Chip ! and off Master 
 Bluehead goes. If a charge of shot did not stop 
 him he would thin the hive out. Presently out 
 comes a toad. 
 
 " What do I kill 'em for ? " says the master. " Do 
 good, do they ? You'd say so if you kept bees ! 
 Artful ain't no name for their moves; they just 
 scrapes a hole with their paws, and lays there quiet 
 if anybody is about right in front of the hive, mind 
 you ! When all is still he just gets on them hind- 
 feet o' his and opens his mouth, and them there 
 bees go slap into it ! He can't help it ? I thinks, 
 master, you'd be very fond o' toads, you would, if 
 you kept bees ! " 
 
 I have seen "Bee-snapping Gabriel," 1 as they 
 
 1 "Bee-snapping Gabriel" is a very old local Surrey name for the 
 toad. The sounds which come from a mixed flight of white-fronted and 
 Bernicle geese, high up in the air, in stormy weather, which is like that 
 of a pack of hounds in full cry, is also called ' ' gabble retchet " ; and the 
 local idea is that the sound always forebodes death and misfortune. 
 "Gabriel's hounds ! " or "The hell-hounds are on the hunt ! " the old 
 crones mutter, as they cower over their cottage fires on wild, stormy 
 nights. 
 
12 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 call him, lie covered with only the eyes to be seen, 
 and then rise suddenly bolt-upright on them hind- 
 feet o' his. Swallows, too, like bees, and all the 
 large moths, the hawk tribe particularly, will force 
 an entrance into the hive, if possible, to feed on the 
 honey. You can tell by the commotion amongst 
 the bees when they are inside. 
 
 Night has come, the humming-bird hawk-moth 
 has paid his visits in the heat of the day ; the hotter 
 it is the better he likes it. We take a small bull's- 
 eye lantern and walk quietly round the hives. A 
 hum ; another and another. In front of the lilies 
 something shines before you like moving emeralds. 
 They are the eyes of the privet hawk-moth. By 
 gently moving the light you can see his long trunk 
 at work. 
 
 We will have no net banging about. Here is 
 a bit of bark that has been ripped from the stem 
 of a fir the very thing for us. Procuring a cup 
 of honey from our good old landlady, we coax a 
 mug of that most extra cider beyond compare 
 from the master. We mix some of it with the 
 honey, smear it on the bark, and leave this near 
 the hives. The master grins, and asks, " What 
 
DRIFT. 13 
 
 game are you up to now?" After supper, he is 
 told, we will show him. 
 
 Supper over, we go out again. On the bark, 
 dazed and incapable, are privet-moths with crimson 
 under-wing, a lime-hawk, and two enormous grey 
 slugs. 
 
 A pair of very bright eyes catch the light. On 
 looking we see our old friend Bee-snapping Gabriel, 
 reared up on his hind-feet. He has not come to 
 imbibe, but to eat the insects that cover the bark. 
 
 With our captures and a muttered "Well, well, 
 of all the capers that ever I seed played," from the 
 master, we retire to rest. 
 
 The next day the mistress is informed confiden- 
 tially that I am "a mortal curious customer; no 
 harm in him, though, Dame." 
 
 I have never had any desire, as yet, to leave my 
 own country ; here my lot has been cast, and here 
 lies my work ; but I have often thought that if 
 any one had a longing for the emigrant's wild, free 
 life, he need only visit our Surrey highlands in 
 the winter time, and pitch his tent in their most 
 populated parts say, the Redlands, Leith Hill, or 
 Holmbury. Or, if these are too populous, let him 
 
14 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 make tracks for Farleigh Heath, Black Down, or 
 Hind Head. He need not go to the backwoods of 
 America for isolation and loneliness ; the possession 
 of land is another matter. In my wanderings I have 
 often come upon habitations, where men lived and 
 died, that were far from coming up to the level of 
 a backwoodsman's hut. 
 
 During weeks of enforced leisure I indulge in long 
 ramblings on the moors, and in the woodlands, 
 during one of which I was lost for a time in a 
 blinding snowstorm. As a rule, I like best to 
 wander alone, but I honestly confess " Number 
 Two " would have been welcome on that occasion. 
 All day I had been on the look-out for wild things, 
 with very little result ; for they knew what was 
 coming, and they were hugging shelter very closely. 
 Snow had fallen on the previous day. About four 
 o'clock in the afternoon, masses of snow-clouds 
 showed up, driven by the wind from the South coast. 
 The wind soon rose to a hurricane, and the snow 
 travelled with it. There, on a portion of the high- 
 lands, I was fairly caught in it. Fortunately I got in 
 a well-known track ; but it was as much as I could 
 do to keep in it staggering along, blinded with snow 
 
DRIFT. 15 
 
 and wind, no house or living creature near. Some- 
 how I managed to dash into the fir-woods, where I 
 could see better. But the wind caught the tops of 
 the firs, which were loaded with snow, and bent and 
 twisted the trunks till they snapped and fell, splin- 
 tered like matchwood. The wind rushed, howled, 
 and groaned through them, bending the great stems 
 like so many fishing-rods, and the ground at their 
 roots heaved up and sank again as if an earthquake 
 was taking place. It was grander than any organ 
 recital, in its own wild way ; but it was as danger- 
 ous as it was fine. 
 
 What strange memories and similes flash across 
 our minds, taking us from the sublime to the ridic- 
 ulous ! Although I felt the greatest anxiety to be 
 safely out of reach of the storm when the wind 
 snapped the great trunks, leaving their tops a mass 
 of ribbon-like splinters, they reminded me of the 
 little wooden mops we laboured industriously to 
 make, as children at school, by chewing pieces of 
 stick, which, when ready, we used to dip in ink, and 
 with them ornament the too clean pinafore of some 
 other good little boy. This mischievous piece of 
 schoolboy's fun, though from that day to this I had 
 
1 6 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 never thought of it, came back to me, a grey-haired 
 man as I looked at the havoc made on the fir-tops 
 by the storm. 
 
 I cleared out of the wood, and managed to stag- 
 ger on four miles farther, until I reached shelter, 
 thoroughly exhausted, though I can stand as rough 
 work as most men. 
 
 Perched on a topmost twig, with his breast to the 
 wind, the missel-thrush sings. There he is, swayed 
 to and fro by the high winds, as he sings his bold 
 song to his mate who is somewhere close at hand. 
 Although it blows hard, and the cold rain-drops hit 
 you smartly in the face like sleet, it is the best time 
 to listen to his song ; the rougher the wind and the 
 colder the rain, the louder he sings. 
 
 The wind drops, the rain ceases, and the shout 
 of the storm-cock stops for a time his is a song of 
 bold defiance. In its place you hear now the song- 
 thrush, a softer singer. There he sits, about mid- 
 way up the tree, on the end of one of the outside 
 branches, singing to his mate below. She has her 
 nest in the stem of a stunted tree, about two feet 
 from the ground, close to primroses, wild irises, and 
 wood-anemones. Often have I watched her when 
 
DRIFT. 17 
 
 she was sitting there on her eggs, the dark eyes of 
 the bird looking up into mine all the while. 
 
 There was a time, before I knew better, when I 
 thought the gun was necessary to make a man ac- 
 quainted with wild creatures ; but the destructive 
 spirit has left me now both gun and fishing-rod 
 have been laid aside. They are very good things 
 in their way too, and to naturalist sportsmen the 
 public are indebted for the authentic information of 
 the present day. It must be remembered that wild 
 animals and birds are not shot or captured easily ; 
 so if the sportsman watches and studies the ways and 
 means of the creatures he is in search of as he must 
 do if he hopes for success the public reap the benefit 
 of his observations. Men and women are carniv- 
 orous too, and fish, flesh, and fowl well cooked are 
 very acceptable to most people. I did once know 
 a man well, who anathematised all sportsmen ; he 
 was no worshipper of Nature. Yet he was a true 
 belly -worshipper. Fishing he regarded as sinful 
 and the essence of cruelty, but he dearly loved a 
 well-cooked salmon. He posed as a philanthropist, 
 and sent tin plates and pinafores out to the South 
 Sea Islanders ; but the poor man shooting a rabbit 
 
 , B 
 
1 8 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 for his children's dinner was outside the pale of his 
 sympathies. 
 
 But I am drifting from my subject. To come 
 back to our wild hillsides. Evening is near at 
 hand ; warm showers have fallen at intervals all 
 through the day, alternating with sunshine. Just 
 now the sun is low down, gently sinking ; the rain 
 has ceased, but the drops glitter everywhere, rain- 
 bow-tinted. The trees, with their young foliage 
 and yet unopened buds, look as if they were covered 
 with precious stones, flashing in the light from the 
 setting sun. Look where you will there is a mass 
 of glittering, changing colour. It has been what 
 the rustics call "a growin' day, you ken actually 
 see things growin' ! " It is good and healthful to 
 stand in the midst of all this growth, and to in- 
 hale the smell of the earth, and the scent of the 
 woodlands. 
 
 The linnets pass overhead, as we stand still for 
 a while ; they are giving out their last twitters before 
 settling in the furze for the night. Furze - chats 
 flicker on the tips of the furze-bushes, with their 
 heads to the setting sun ; chack ! chack ! chacking 
 their good-night before the orb finally disappears 
 
DRIFT. 19 
 
 from sight. A pair or two of whin-chats, or stone- 
 chats, go through the same ceremony. And now 
 the black-coated flute-players of the woods strike 
 up, singing their full-toned hymn of praise as the 
 sun goes down. Whilst we listen to the rich notes 
 of yon blackbirds, a line of that hymn we sang so 
 lustily in our childhood comes back to us 
 
 " Praise Him all creatures here below." 
 
 These senseless creatures of the woods, as some 
 would call them, who do that without our bidding, 
 might well rebuke man for his forgetfulness. Sun- 
 worshippers some would call the birds ; but they 
 surely praise the Power that makes the sun to shine. 
 They hail him before he rises with their early hymns; 
 thousands and thousands of glad voices, fresh and 
 clear; and they sing, without telling, their vesper 
 song. The lark begins his in the morning before 
 we can see any sun ; but the bird high up in the air 
 can see it. At early dawn and late in the evening, 
 his joyous music will make some of us feel it is a 
 good thing to live. 
 
 In an out-of-the-way spot, completely off the 
 the beaten track, I once stumbled on a long strip 
 
20 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 of glade between two hills, the sides of which were 
 covered with firs a place where the black game 
 sported and crooned. There, in a rustic -looking 
 dwelling, I found a grim-looking man whose upright 
 carriage and face clean shaven save for the grey 
 moustache told that he had known military ser- 
 vice. He was well on in years, but they had not 
 weighed heavily on him. He told me he had 
 served as a sergeant in the early Kaffir wars ; that 
 he had been wounded and left for dead on the 
 field, but recovered, thanks to his good natural 
 constitution. Having been discharged with a pen- 
 sion, he had married a young wife and settled down 
 in this out-of-the-way nook. A number of children 
 were scuttling about in the brake and underwood, 
 as merry as larks. He said he was well contented 
 in the prospect of ending his days, and resting, 
 where he then was. They had a cow, poultry, and 
 a good garden ; a stream of the purest water ran 
 close to their door ; what more could they desire ? 
 he asked. 
 
 In another of my rambles, I found a man digging 
 stone. That and woodcutting are the usual occu- 
 pations of any you may chance to come across in 
 
DRIFT. 21 
 
 most of these wilds. Tall and gaunt he was, over 
 six feet high, with dark eyes and hair, apparently 
 in the prime of life. His return greeting told me 
 he hailed from Scotland. 
 
 The offer of tobacco proving acceptable, he and I 
 sat down on the side of his overturned barrow, and 
 settled down for a talk. 
 
 " You are not a native of this part of the country, 
 I fancy ? " he remarked, giving me a keen look. 
 
 " No ; like you, I have drifted this way not so far 
 from home as yourself, though." 
 
 We soon found congenial topics for conversation ; 
 his speech and manners showed he had once led a 
 very different life from his present one. Christopher 
 North, Wilson the great American ornithologist, 
 Burns, and the Ettrick Shepherd we discussed 
 pleasantly together. 
 
 He had been head - forester on some estate in 
 Scotland, he told me ; had shot the red deer and 
 the eagle, the seal too, and caught the salmon in 
 the far North. The Bass Rock with its host of sea- 
 birds he had been very familiar with, when catch- 
 ing gannets "gants," he called them. He had 
 springed " tammy nories " or puffins in plenty, 
 
22 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 and taken the eggs of the scart or cormorant for 
 the gentry to eat. (I have a book in my posses- 
 sion which states that the Greenlanders refuse to 
 eat these ; but the writers of books are not always 
 to be relied on.) 
 
 From his native mountains and straths the man 
 had come to this southern county as head-keeper ; 
 but his determined course and straightforward hon- 
 esty had only made enemies for him ; false tongues 
 found a too ready listener in the gentleman who had 
 tempted him away from his own country, and he 
 had lost his situation. Just now, for want of some- 
 thing better to do, he was digging stone. 
 
 Another specimen of " drift " I came across in the 
 shape of a sailor, who had anchored amongst these 
 hills. He had served in the Naval Brigade, and 
 seen some rough work. 
 
 At the top of one of the highest hills, in a mere 
 hut of the roughest description, standing on a little 
 clearing surrounded by firs, a solitary keeper lived 
 with his dog. Magnificent scenery lay all about, 
 but none shared the sight with him ; the sun rose 
 and set on his loneliness. Yet he told me he did 
 not in the least mind that, only when the storms 
 
DRIFT. 23 
 
 roared through the trees, and the branches rubbed 
 and crunched upon the roof of his hut, he felt it to 
 be rather dreary. He had been married, but his 
 wife was dead when I knew him. He must once 
 have been wonderfully strong and active to judge 
 from his appearance ; his bearing was still full of 
 vigour. The New Forest was well known to him, 
 every part of it. He was in and on it before the 
 order to destroy the deer was given ; he had shot 
 them in his official capacity. When the railway 
 was in course of construction, scores of them, he 
 said, were killed by poachers ; and when the line 
 was completed and in full working order, the deer 
 would get on it and were run into like sheep. I 
 asked him if he knew Grantley Berkeley. 
 
 " Knew him ? Yes, I should think I did ; knew 
 him well, and his bloodhound Druid. He was or- 
 dered to kill 'em all off, was Grantley. What he 
 said he meant, did Grantley. Folks round about 
 couldn't make him out, nor his ways either ; but he 
 had lots o' good qualities about him, I knew that." 
 
 Then we talked of the salmon, and the number of 
 otters, and the great size they reached. " No won- 
 der," he said ; " they fed well." Many a fine otter 
 
24 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 had he taken from the traps. I spoke of the flesh- 
 eating propensities of the animal. "Ah," he said, 
 "do you know that you are the first one I've come 
 across that believed it ? Why, when I have told 
 people I have seen a great dog-otter take a rabbit 
 from his seat, catch him like a dog does, and lope 
 off with him to his hold under the roots of trees 
 in the river, they have laughed at me and thought 
 I was lying." 
 
 " 'Tis true enough," I rejoined ; " and the otter 
 will have other things besides rabbits birds too and 
 poultry, when he can get at them. Being caught in 
 the act is surely proof enough." 
 
 However, natural history is advancing in the right 
 direction ; children's publications of the present day 
 might be well substituted for some of the old stand- 
 ard works, full of mythical humbug, that have 
 reached a third and fourth edition. As the keeper 
 went on to observe, some animals that were sup- 
 posed to eat only flesh, will eat vegetables and 
 fruit; the badger, for instance, and the otter too, 
 at times. The marten, which is eminently carnivor- 
 ous, will eat fruit, raspberries in particular. 
 
 Snipe, he said, he had watched, and had found 
 
DRIFT. 25 
 
 the nests of both snipe and woodcock. Referring 
 again to the Honourable Grantley Berkeley, he 
 said the simple rustics wondered, at him and his 
 ways ; his influence over birds and animals ap- 
 peared to them little short of magic. They said 
 "outlandish things follered him about; they seed 
 wild creatures come and feed out of his hand." 
 
 His power with them was truly marvellous. I 
 will not say that because a man loves all wild things 
 he comes up to the Exeter Hall standard of a good 
 man ; but this I do aver, that a man who loves the 
 beings created to take their place in the same world 
 with himself, cannot be a bad one. A most kind 
 and considerate man Grantley Berkeley was; and 
 as a sportsman and naturalist, second to none ; he 
 claimed the respect and admiration of all who knew 
 him. He, too, has drifted away, beyond our ken. 
 
 Some day we trust a still brighter light will shine 
 on the true relation that the dumb creatures as 
 canting ignorance has styled them bear to the 
 so-called lords of creation ; brutes we might often 
 more fitly style these latter. 
 
26 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 BIRDS OF NIGHT. 
 
 " WHAT you can find to look at in that lot of var- 
 mints beats me. You may look at 'em for a week 
 if it's any good to you. I wish there wasn't so many 
 of 'em, I do. All that lot's bin killed this year. 
 That one you seem most struck with was knocked 
 over last autumn." 
 
 Half to myself, I mutter, " Poor things ! not 
 much harm have you done." 
 
 " What ! you mean to say a good word for them 
 owls ? Surely, man alive ! you must be going daft." 
 
 "I do; and what's more, if this estate belonged 
 to me, not one of these birds should be spread-eagled 
 out here." 
 
 "Well, all I can say, Mr Whoever-you-are, is, 
 
BIRDS OF NIGHT. 27 
 
 you don't know nothing about it. They're var- 
 mints. Owls or hawks, or nothing of that sort 
 never did any good nor never will ; but you can 
 look at 'em, and keep on lookin' at 'em. You won't 
 get any good out of that lot." These were the 
 sentiments on the whole family of raptores birds 
 of prey which the keeper shared with nearly all 
 of his calling. 
 
 As a field naturalist, I will pass over the eagle 
 and snow owls they are fare visitors to England, 
 their home being in other lands and will try to 
 give some description, from personal observation, 
 of the members of the owl tribe more commonly 
 found in this country. 
 
 The sun has gone down, leaving an after-glow 
 which throws a flood of soft light over the land- 
 scape. The old farmhouse and buildings, sur- 
 rounded by large elms, are enveloped in a purple 
 haze, which affords much enjoyment to the lover 
 of nature, whose reverie is undisturbed. Silence 
 is only broken by the tinkling of distant sheep-bells 
 and the occasional barking of the shepherds' dogs. 
 With measured flapping flight, out from the farm 
 comes the beautifully buff- marked, white-breasted, 
 
28 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 dark - eyed barn owl, with his curious elongated, 
 almost heart - shaped face. He is now overhead, 
 and you can hear his hissing scream as he passes 
 into the meadows, where he works the fields like 
 a pointer. Shortly he is joined by his mate. They 
 have not long to hunt for a meal : for, suddenly 
 dropping down, he has a mouse in his claws and 
 his mate has another. Back they go to their young 
 ones that are not quite able to fly, and are looking 
 out for their parents like so many cats, to which 
 indeed they bear a striking resemblance. Their ap- 
 petites are good, but they have not long to wait, for 
 mother and father owl are off and hunting again, 
 almost immediately ; and nearly through the whole 
 night long they thus continue to fulfil their pater- 
 nal duties. 
 
 Only those acquainted with country life would 
 credit the number of different kinds of mice to be 
 met with in the grass fields. The short - tailed, 
 stout-bodied meadow-mouse, called by the country- 
 people the dog-mouse, in size resembling a young 
 rat, the wood-mouse, and the shrew-mouse are all 
 found there. These, together with the barn or 
 house-mouse, are the chief source of food for owls 
 
BIRDS OF NIGHT. 29 
 
 and their young all the year round. I cannot say 
 that they form their exclusive diet, for, as you can 
 see from the owls' castings, they occasionally eat 
 birds. 
 
 If you come upon a barn owl in the daytime, 
 perched on a rafter in some out-building, or sitting 
 on the grate of your bedroom, as you are dressing 
 some morning, which haven he has reached by flying 
 down the wide old-fashioned farmhouse chimney 
 this is not of so unfrequent occurrence as you might 
 think he will look at you in a wonderfully wise 
 manner, and if you steadily return his gaze, it is very 
 comical to see what strange antics he will play, bob- 
 bing up and down and twisting his head from side 
 to side. Should you try to make a nearer acquaint- 
 ance with him, he will look at you for a moment 
 and then deliberately turn over on his back, with his 
 claws drawn upon his breast, looking the very pic- 
 ture of helpless innocence. Do not pick him up 
 unless your hand is protected by a stout leather 
 glove ; for, in spite of his appearance, he is a brave 
 bird and a determined fighter, and like a cat, is no 
 foe to be despised when he is on his back. 
 
 If you catch him, and tame him by kindness and 
 
30 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 patience, you will find him a most amusing pet when 
 you have obtained his confidence, as I have done, 
 and as you can do, if you realty have an interest in 
 the matter. Birds are not slow to judge whether 
 you have or no. 
 
 The bird that by daylight looked a humped-up 
 bunch of feathers, stands before you in the evening 
 a bright, active creature, with his breast shining like 
 satin, and his beautiful dark eyes watching all your 
 movements. He will then come at your call, and 
 perch on your hand or chair, and is quite fond ot 
 having his head stroked like a cat. 
 
 I am glad to know that farmers regard barn owls 
 with favour, and will not have one of their best 
 friends molested if they can help it. 
 
 Summer is gone. The wind sobs and sighs 
 through the bare branches of the trees which have 
 lost their leaves. Evening comes quickly upon us. 
 It will be a wild, gusty night, for the setting sun is 
 surrounded by heavy masses of storm-cloud. This 
 is the best hunting-time for the brown owls, and 
 they choose as their hunting-grounds grand, park- 
 like, fern-covered stretches, which have dotted over 
 
BIRDS OF NIGHT. 31 
 
 their surface, singly or in clumps, the remains of fine 
 old oak and beech trees, made grey and hollow, torn 
 and twisted by the ravages of time. These wrecks 
 of the monarchs of a forest of former ages, serve as 
 homes and resting-places for that feathered Friar 
 Tuck of the woods, the bold brown owl and his rela- 
 tive the long-eared owl. Both of these frequent the 
 same haunts ; where you see one you may expect to 
 find the other. 
 
 There he sits, low down, close to the trunk of that 
 old beech. He has just come out from his bedroom, 
 and is not yet quite wide awake. Look at him well. 
 He is a bird of sturdy make ; his head, which is 
 more rounded than those of the other kinds of owls, 
 being large and well set on his shoulders. 
 
 His brown, grey colour, flecked here and there 
 with white, harmonises well with the trunks and 
 branches of the gaunt, weather-beaten trees ; one of 
 his eyes is wide open, the other completely closed. 
 He glances up and down. The next moment he 
 stretches one leg out as far as he can, and the wing 
 over it to the fullest extent, and then he repeats 
 these movements on the other side. So far good, 
 but his toilet is not yet complete. Next, raising 
 
32 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 both his wings well up over his back, he fans them 
 backwards and forwards for a few seconds. Then 
 he shakes himself with his feathers puffed out, mak- 
 ing himself look double his natural size; and he 
 puts on the finishing touches by running his wing- 
 feathers through his bill. 
 
 He is now ready for action. His blue-black eyes 
 are wide open, and he is off on the forage. Clearing 
 the tree-tops, he flits here and there, to right and 
 left, over the more open parts, now high up, now 
 close to the ground. He has caught sight of some 
 creature and hangs for a moment in his flight. 
 Down he goes with outstretched wings, and the 
 next moment rises with a young rabbit, whose 
 mother's warning stamp came too late to save him. 
 His squeak when the owl gripped him has warned 
 the others, who dash off to their burrows at the top 
 of their speed. The owl returns to his mate, who 
 salutes him with a loud hoot. After they have 
 finished that slight repast they will both hunt 
 through the night, and keep on calling to each other. 
 
 In suitable localities their hooting can be heard 
 far and near, as the brown owl is a common bird. 
 They store up for future use all that they catch, ex- 
 
JSIRDS OF NIGHT. 33 
 
 cepting what is necessary to supply their immediate 
 wants. In some weathers I am positive they cannot 
 hunt, for if any member of the owl family gets its 
 plumage wet it is in a sorry plight. The poor bird 
 is wretched, and will not eat till it has loosened out 
 its matted feathers. 
 
 When they are dry, and shake themselves, a pow- 
 dery dust flies out from them. They dust themselves 
 like poultry, rolling first on one side and them on 
 the other, kicking and striking with their feet in the 
 very height of enjoyment. I give my pets about a 
 quart of sifted road-sand on a thick sheet of brown 
 paper. As a rule the early morning is the time for 
 their dust-bath. They drink very sparingly, only 
 taking one or two sips at a time. 
 
 A keeper's lad that I knew said, " I has orders 
 from the head un to kill every varmint owl I comes 
 across. He says they comes on the coops of a night 
 when we've got the young pheasants." 
 
 " How can they get at the young birds when they 
 are closed up in the coops for the night ? " 
 
 " I never thought of that. I don't see as they 
 can. No, it ain't in reason." 
 
 " Have you got any mice about ? " 
 c 
 
34 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 " Yes, and rats too. I can't put my grub down 
 anywhere but what it gets nibbled. Drat them 
 things ! After they've been messing it about I can't 
 stomach it, noways ; and we has 'em most when the 
 bird season's on." 
 
 "Just so, my young friend, of course you do. 
 There is plenty of food scattered about for them 
 to pick up. The owls visit your coops for the rats 
 and mice, not for your birds." 
 
 " Well, I'm jiggered if you ain't about right. I 
 say, mister, what do you reckon he does with them 
 owls ? We never has 'em nailed up on the shed 
 now." 
 
 " Did you ever see a bird screen ? " 
 
 " What's that ?" 
 
 " Why, the head of a bird with the wings spread 
 round it, fixed to a fancy handle." 
 
 " Oh ! I see'd one up at the house. They said 
 master had shot it in furrin parts, and had it done 
 up for the missis like that." 
 
 " Well, listen to me." 
 
 " All right, my ears is open." 
 
 "Just now owls are the fashion for ladies' fire- 
 screens, I am sorry to say, and your head un, 
 
BIRDS OF NIGHT. 35 
 
 as you call him, knows where to take them to 
 market." 
 
 " Have you got any idea what he'd get for 'em ? " 
 
 " The very least would be a shilling each." 
 
 " Botheration ! you don't say so. He ain't give 
 me a brass farden. I say, mister." 
 
 " Well, what is it ? " 
 
 "The next owl I shoots at I misses. You under- 
 stand." 
 
 The long-eared owl, or horned owlet of the coun- 
 try people, is a lighter made bird than the brown 
 owl. He is more hawk-like in his movements, and 
 has more dash. With his feather-tufts erected, and 
 his bright, orange eyes wide open, he is a very im- 
 posing-looking gentleman. His livery is a bright 
 fawn-brown, dashed here and there with grey and 
 white, so mixed and blended together that it is 
 impossible to convey a correct impression of it 
 unless he is before you. 
 
 A gusty night after a day's rain is the time that 
 suits him. On such nights he comes from the 
 woods down to the woodland farms. I have often 
 watched him at work there. 
 
 A gentle breeze comes over the woodlands just 
 
36 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 strong enough to move the clouds, still heavy and 
 dark with moisture, across the face of the moon, 
 which at one moment shines brightly, and the next 
 is obscured. The mice come out of the stack by 
 ways and means known only to themselves, to drink 
 of the raindrops hanging on the thatch. The long- 
 eared owl knows of this. It is not drink that he 
 requires, but food, and this is how he gets it. 
 Dashing with hawk-like flight from the woods into 
 the rickyard, like a snipe, he twists and turns in 
 all directions, upwards, downwards, and sideways. 
 The quantity of mice he destroys must be very 
 great ; with a gulp one is gone. Perhaps the tip 
 of its tail may be seen wriggling out of his mouth, 
 nothing more. 
 
 It is my firm opinion that mice are at times a 
 vital necessity to owls. Those that I have had 
 have receive4 every possible attention ; they have 
 not been caged, but have been allowed to have 
 their liberty inside the house. This has been their 
 bill of fare : perfectly fresh raw beef, not too much 
 of it ; half-cooked liver and lights, rats, mice, and 
 birds, principally sparrows, young and old. To 
 them, any of the finch family have been accept- 
 
BIRDS OF NIGHT. 37 
 
 able food, but they have not seemed to care for 
 starlings, thrushes, or blackbirds ; and of these 
 would only eat the head, apparently under protest. 
 
 If you ever have an owl as a pet, do not get 
 tired of it, or slight it after you have gained its 
 confidence. It will look for and expect the atten- 
 tion and caresses it has been accustomed to ; it 
 is quite an easy matter to break the heart of a 
 bird. I would rather kill with my own hand any 
 pet of mine than give it up to any one, unless 
 he was a greater lover of wild creatures than my- 
 self: and such a one, I fancy, would be hard to 
 find. 
 
 Scapegoats have always existed, and will con- 
 tinue to do so as long as the world spins round. 
 The owl is blamed for much mischief, the real 
 author of which is the murdering, thieving, crafty 
 rat, whose evil deeds are laid to ^he door of a 
 dozen creatures. 
 
 How much cruelty is perpetrated by the bad 
 shot, who is not above letting drive at cheepers ? 
 I cannot understand how such sportsmen ever get an 
 invitation to shoot. As retrievers are not infallible, 
 his victims are not always brought to bag. They 
 
38 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 conceal themselves and are forgotten : that which 
 cannot be counted is not missed. In the cool of 
 the evening these poor creatures, tortured with 
 pain, crawl from their hiding-places to die in 
 agony, or to be more mercifully despatched by 
 some animal or bird of prey in search of a meal. 
 Of all this no notice is taken ; but if any portion 
 of one of these is found in the owl's larder, how 
 roundly is he abused! Fair -play is a jewel too 
 often kept locked up. 
 
 The short-eared owl, or woodcock of the marsh- 
 men, in the general tone of his colouring, his form, 
 and his flight, much resembles his near cousin the 
 long-eared owl ; and their eyes are much alike, but 
 he is still more hawk-like in his movements, and his 
 habitat is very different. 
 
 A November gale sweeps over the marshes from 
 the north-east, causing the alder and willow branches 
 to crack and snap. The green plovers are all hud- 
 dled up in a bunch with their heads to the wind. 
 The wiry bent grass growing on the sea-wall bends 
 and switches like so many whips. The lap of the 
 tide on the saltings, the shriek of the curlew, and 
 the twitter of the dunlins tell you plainly birds will 
 
BIRDS OF NIGHT. 39 
 
 keep close to cover if they can get it. A dunlin 
 shoots over the wall, then another, at last a whole 
 flock. What is driving them ? See, there comes a 
 short-eared owl. He catches sight, and throwing 
 himself up in the air he makes for the marshes; he 
 is not affected by the gale. A little to leeward a 
 shore shooter is making his way towards the salt- 
 ings. A snipe springs from a clump of rushes in 
 front of him. He fires, and wounds the snipe ; only 
 the tip of its wing is injured, so it does not drop 
 at once, but wavers in its flight, crying, " Scape ! 
 scape ! " The owl raised by the shot sees this and 
 takes in the situation at once. With a dash he 
 catches it and is off, elated with his success, and 
 none the worse for the anathemas hurled after him 
 by the disappointed shore shooter. 
 
 Where the woodcock owl makes his home he can 
 take enough and to spare to supply his wants. You 
 can see him hunt by day; and, judging by his 
 actions, he is a successful hunter. His light frame 
 and swift flight enable him to catch birds that few 
 would give him credit for. 
 
 The last owl that I will mention, the little owl, is 
 very rare in our islands. Perhaps I may be allowed 
 
40 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 to give some account of his "tricks and manners" 
 in the following history of my bird " Patch." 
 
 "Will you come and look at a small owl I have 
 caught ? " I was asked one day. 
 
 " Certainly I will." 
 
 Sitting mournfully in a cage suspended from a 
 rafter, I saw a little fellow not more than eight 
 inches in length, with his wise-looking yellow eyes 
 wide open. It was a naked-footed night-owl (Strix 
 passerina). Knowing something of his own lan- 
 guage, I gave the little bird his salute by sounding 
 one of his call-notes. Bending his head down he 
 replied directly. 
 
 Something about him interested me, and I paid 
 him many more visits. Till one day his owner said, 
 " You know how to treat that bird far better than I 
 do ; will you accept him, cage and all ? " 
 
 " On one condition." 
 
 " What is that ?" 
 
 " That you accept his portrait, life-size, in return." 
 
 " A bargain ! " was the answer ; " and, from what 
 I have seen, you will get tired of him in a week." 
 
 I took him home with me at once, a mournful- 
 looking little object. In the evening, as I sat by 
 
BIRDS OF NIGHT. 41 
 
 the side of his cage, he tried his best to make me 
 talk to him, which I did. Then I opened his cage- 
 door, and putting my hand in, very gently stroked 
 his head with my finger. His low, complaining cry 
 stopped instantly. After a little while I took him 
 out from the cage and placed him on my hand. 
 Settling down on it, more in the position of a par- 
 tridge than a bird of prey, he closed his eyes and 
 slept. There was comfort for him at last. I un- 
 buttoned my waistcoat, and, placing him inside, 
 let him sleep there for two hours without disturbing 
 him. That good long sleep and the warmth, with 
 proper food, brought him round, for I could plainly 
 see that he would soon have joined his tribe in a 
 shadow flight elsewhere if he had not come to me 
 when he did. He was then quite a wild bird, for 
 his wing and tail feathers were perfect a sure 
 sign. 
 
 By degrees he lost some of his shyness, and with 
 returning strength began to give me some little 
 insight into his character, and to talk in his own 
 way to my wife as well as myself. A gentle, in- 
 telligent, fearless bird he is ; no bite or scratch have 
 we had from him. As much care and attention have 
 
42 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 been given him as to a little child, and he has 
 repaid it by his quaint and most amusing ways. 
 
 Regularly, when evening comes, he is let out to 
 play in the cellar whilst his cage is cleaned, and 
 real play it is, a proper game at hide-and-seek. Up 
 to a certain point he sits close to me and watches 
 the proceedings, until, whilst I am placing the 
 clean straw in his cage, he will suddenly vanish. 
 I look for him, but where he has gone it is for me 
 to find out. No easy business, for his colour 
 well, it is no colour at all ; his feathers are a dingy- 
 grey-brown, flecked with white here and there. 
 Presently I spy a pair of eyes shining out from a 
 corner, and, turning the lamp in that direction, 
 I see, drawn up beside the leg of a stool, with one 
 wing thrown sideways and his head looking over 
 it, my bird Patch. Finding himself discovered, 
 with a loud, shrill bark, as loud as a terrier's, he 
 is off again. I move a broom, and see something 
 peering up at me, squatting and looking exactly 
 like a toad : my bird again. He darts away, and 
 I am not able this time to find him for a long while ; 
 but after moving one thing and another I come 
 to a box resting on four bricks. I move this, and 
 
BIRDS OF NIGHT. 43 
 
 then, stepping back, cautiously watch. Is it a rat ? 
 No, it is Patch stretched out and flattened just 
 like one. I want him now, but he does not choose 
 to come, and starts on the war-path. Running like 
 a partridge, and as quickly, out from his hiding- 
 place, he stands and defies his master. Yell upon 
 yell comes as if from some infuriated cat. In snaps, 
 barks, and pig-like squeaks, all mixed up, he vents 
 his little grievance. I sue for peace, and any one 
 not knowing what it was would think it a mortal 
 combat going on. 
 
 After being placed in his cage he is taken up-stairs 
 to his mistress to be soothed down. To hear his 
 chatter then you would think it came from some 
 injured magpie rather than from a little owl. The 
 end of it is that he is let out, and at once he perches 
 on her hand. He is as happy as a king and as 
 proud as a peacock when there : and then is the 
 time to see Patch in his glory. He draws himself 
 up to his full height, raises the feathers on his head 
 to a crest, and looks at me like a demented owl ; 
 yelping presently, he looks at me next with the 
 eyes of a dog ; at other times an expression almost 
 human comes into them. I should like to know 
 
44 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 what his opinion about myself is, and the only index 
 I have to it is in his eyes, which at times seem 
 to speak volumes. I do think in some way or other 
 my various moods influence him, he looks at me so 
 strangely. It is not fear, for he is a spoilt pet 
 but sometimes I fancy he takes me to be a giant owl 
 who knows everything, for I talk to him in his 
 own tongue. There is a totally different expression 
 in his eyes when he looks at my wife, that of 
 confidence. 
 
 Why Patch should be called a night-owl I do 
 not know, for he feeds by day and runs about then 
 too ; and barks, crows, and chatters by day as well 
 as by night. The ringing bark is stated to be 
 peculiar to the coquimbo, or prairie owl. That 
 is not so, it is also Patch's bark, which is the same 
 as that of the great eagle-owl, and equally loud. 
 One is the giant, the other the dwarf of their tribe. 
 Another peculiarity I note is, whilst as a rule my 
 bird and others are often represented in illustrations 
 in a stooping posture before fixing their prey, in 
 reality this bird draws his body up to the full height, 
 throws the head back, and then strikes with bill 
 and foot. A wonderful hand -like foot it is. He 
 
BIRDS OF NIGHT. 45 
 
 can cling to a brick wall or any rough surface like 
 a bat and pick up a mouse or a bird ; dead ones 
 here, of course, which are brought to me for him ; 
 I do not give him live creatures ; and taking the 
 mouse from my fingers he will hold it out at the 
 full stretch of his very long leg for my inspection, 
 and then throw, not drop the mouse to the other 
 side of his cage. 
 
 During the day Patch stays in my painting-room. 
 After tea I fetch him down to our sitting-room, 
 where I am busy, beside my wife, with my books 
 or writing. He is no sooner placed on his stand 
 opposite the table than he asks to be let out. The 
 cage-door being opened, he is off on a tour of 
 inspection and a game. Nothing escapes his 
 notice. Running with the speed of a partridge 
 or quail over the carpet, he inspects all things, 
 particularly myself. No matter how he is engaged, 
 he will come from time to time in the most quiet 
 manner to have a look at me. His wings have 
 never been clipped, so that he can move very rapidly, 
 At times he compels me to catch him and put him 
 in the cage. Getting hold of him very gently, I 
 turn him over back downwards in the palm of my 
 
46 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 hand. Patch at once draws his feet up to his 
 breast, rolls his eyes at me, and gives full vent 
 to his grief in awful sounds. Some one being 
 choked, and trying to protest against the process, 
 one might fancy it to be. I place him in the cage 
 in the same position ; when he gets up on his perch 
 he looks at me in a very demoniacal manner. We 
 are friends again directly, however. Like his master, 
 he has a will of his own, and it generally ends in his 
 having his when he pleases, and I mine when I can 
 get it. 
 
 Tea being over, Patch watches the proceedings 
 as all things, myself included, get settled down 
 from under a chair or table. Then, with a run 
 over the room, a jump on to a chair, and from 
 that to the table, thence to the top of his cage, 
 Patch remains on his throne for the rest of the 
 evening his game in the cellar excepted. 
 
 During the evening he will condescend to address 
 a few sentences to me, just to let me know he can 
 see me, nothing more. His mistress has his un- 
 divided attention. From the top of his cage he 
 holds forth with great and untiring eloquence, crest 
 raised, body upright, looking like one of those 
 
BIRDS OF NIGHT. 47 
 
 pepper-box owls. He walks about from one side 
 to the other his joy is great and loud ; and with 
 a low, chattering cry, he calls to his mistress. She 
 holds out her hand, and Patch steps daintily on 
 to it ; trims his feathers, turns his head upside down 
 to have a look at me, and then goes to sleep. 
 
 As a man I have given years of study to the 
 birds of prey, so named, who were my first loves 
 as a little lad. Falcons, hawks, and owls stand 
 alone for intelligence and affectionateness, unmixed 
 with a particle of fear ; but if there be any difference 
 it is certainly in favour of the owls. 
 
48 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE FARMER'S FEATHERED FRIENDS. 
 
 FIRST on the list stands that much-abused friend, 
 the rook. Forty years ago he had a rough time of 
 it in some counties : from morning to night there 
 was little peace for rooks on any farmer's ground. 
 In the flat counties they are called crows. Very 
 few of the rising generation have ever seen a pair 
 of the old-fashioned " crow-clappers," or heard their 
 deafening din. I was very familiar with them in 
 my youth, and have often played on them. 
 
 A " crow-clapper " was a long-handled machine 
 like a small shovel, the broad part of it about the 
 size of a schoolboy's slate. To this was looped 
 loosely a second piece of the same size. When 
 this instrument was flourished vigorously the 
 
THE FARMER'S FEATHERED FRIENDS. 9 
 
 music (?) could be heard at a great distance ; the 
 greater the distance the better for the ears of the 
 listener. Nor was this all : there was a vocal part 
 besides, which it was expected the "crow-keeper" 
 or rather rook-scarer, should sing most lustily. 
 
 These simple country functions are almost things 
 of the past ; many of them have gone, never to 
 return. Those of them that belonged to our boy- 
 hood are apt to recur to the memory as life ad- 
 vances, when much that occurred in our early 
 manhood is forgotten. 
 
 That doggerel verse sung by the crow- keeper I 
 remember well, having shouted it myself hundreds 
 of times : 
 
 " Fly crow, eat your spoil [spile], 
 While I sit down and rest awhile ; 
 For you know if master happens to come, 
 You must fly and I must run ! 
 Away crow ! away crow ! " 
 
 Now as this, when properly done, was sung to a 
 quick-march tune, the clappers marking the time 
 most energetically, we leave the reader to imagine 
 for himself the uproar. What rook with any self- 
 respect could eat his meal within sound of such a 
 
 D 
 
50 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 combination ? He was fain to quit those large 
 fields, forty acres though they measured, and be- 
 take himself to the less guarded upland pastures, 
 although even there he had an uncertain footing. 
 
 No weak -chested lad had the least chance of 
 getting that musical post of crow-frightener. 
 
 " Dang them warmints ! " old Farmer Wills was 
 wont to exclaim, " they pulls the turf up. If some 
 on 'em ain't settled, there wun't be no feed fur the 
 sheep. Go an' git the old double, an' kill some on 
 'em off." 
 
 The worthy man had not the faintest notion that 
 the birds were feeding on the larvae of the cock- 
 chafer that was devouring the roots of the herbage. 
 "Give a dog a bad name," &c. Thanks, however, 
 to the writings of recent field naturalists, these 
 creatures that have been so long unjustly treated, 
 now enjoy many of them, at least comparative 
 security. 
 
 The rook is a specially industrious bird ; he is up 
 early, and he does not roost until dusk ; and when 
 we consider that from his first flight in the morning 
 until he roosts at night, he is continually clearing 
 the fields and pastures from insects that would 
 
THE FARMER'S FEATHERED FRIENDS, 51 
 
 injure the farmer's produce, we must recognise him 
 as one of the greatest unpaid benefactors of man. 
 He steals some fruit, it is true. Nearly all wild 
 creatures take a small tithe from man ; it is only 
 their due, for by their unwearied exertions they 
 destroy those enemies, whose name is legion, that 
 he could not combat without their aid. Only those 
 who have lived with the birds all their lives, roam- 
 ing about in the woods, over the fields and the 
 waste lands, can form any opinion how much man 
 is indebted to his feathered friends for his welfare 
 and comfort. 
 
 Next to the rook comes the jackdaw, the shep- 
 herd's assistant. Whenever a farmer shoots one of 
 these bright little fellows, he kills a sanitary inspector 
 of, we might say, two or three sheep. The woolly 
 creatures are his particular charge. Where you see 
 rooks you will most likely see or hear jackdaws 
 not far from them ; not invariably, but generally. 
 With the jackdaws you will find the beautifully 
 marked starlings. "That is never a starling," 
 exclaimed a friend of ours, on being shown the 
 faithful portrait of one of these birds; "I thought 
 starlings were all black." And so think many who 
 
52 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 have not noticed them closely. If they were not 
 such common birds they would be highly prized 
 on account of their beauty and their aptness in 
 acquiring various accomplishments. No British 
 bird, not even the kingfisher, surpasses in its 
 plumage the metallic beauty of a cock starling at 
 his best. He is a glorious fellow, as he puffs out 
 the feathers of his throat, drops his fluttering wings, 
 and sings a love-song to his mate. His yellow bill is 
 almost as bright as a blackbird's. A mimic of the 
 first order, too, he is. 
 
 For several consecutive years a pair of starlings 
 built in a corner of a room, in one of my homes. 
 It was wonderful to hear the fine fellow sing to his 
 mate in that corner, unheeding me, as I often sat 
 quite near, busy at my easel. Apart from his own 
 melodious whistling, he would run over parts of the 
 songs of other birds for her delight, giving now some 
 of the flute-like notes of the blackbird, as he sings 
 in the spring evenings after a shower, just before 
 the sun sinks low; and then again two or three 
 notes of the storm-cock or missel-thrush would ring 
 out, just as they come from his throat as he sits on 
 the top twig of some wind-tossed tree, shouting in 
 
THE FARMER'S FEATHERED FRIENDS. 53 
 
 glee when the gale is at its highest, and other crea- 
 tures are hushed in fear. 
 
 After that would follow the " spink-pink-pink ! " 
 of the chaffinch, and next the winter-song of the 
 robin, his farewell to the dying year. All sung 
 truly without one false note. And then the odd 
 bird would finish up by mewing like a cat. This 
 was, of course, a wild bird ; the starling in a state 
 of nature is a thorough mocking-bird, as all know 
 who have made a study of him in the country. 
 The young ones are dull brown at first, of a peculiar 
 shade. In spite of their vast numbers, and the very 
 easy opportunities of observing them, some ornithol- 
 ogists have described them as solitary thrushes. 
 
 A large flock of starlings comes as a blessing to 
 farm -lands where the stock are pastured. They 
 delight to be on the backs of the animals, on their 
 heads, round their feet, pecking and dibbling round 
 about their muzzles as they feed. Here, there, and 
 everywhere are the starlings ; as the insects come in 
 sight they have them, running on the ground or fly- 
 ing ! I have often watched these birds hawking for 
 insects in mid-air. The amount they destroy in a 
 single day when they have young ones to provide 
 
54 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 for must be enormous : as one watches them come 
 to their nests their mouths and bills appear to be 
 crammed full. A nest of young starlings will keep 
 both parents very busy from morning till night. 
 When the cherries are ripe the starling will cer- 
 tainly have them if he has the chance, as indeed 
 will blackbirds, thrushes, sparrows, chaffinches, and 
 others. Insect and grain eaters, all like cherries 
 more or less. If you look at the bunch of birds 
 a cherry-minder has in his hand when he leaves 
 the orchard at night, you will be surprised to see 
 what different species visit the trees. Those that 
 are not able to swallow a cherry whole peck at it ; 
 the starling is not alone in this matter. 
 
 Looking at the matter all round, and weighing 
 the harm these fruit-stealers do against the services 
 they render in our fields and orchards, I say con- 
 fidently the good outweighs the evil ten times. 
 
 Thank God ! the woods and the fields are open 
 to the poorest working naturalist to study in ; so 
 is the highroad. Printed books are good, and 
 helpful too; but the three greatest books given 
 by God to man are free and accessible to the 
 poorest student the book of nature, the book of 
 
THE FARMER'S FEATHERED FRIENDS. 55 
 
 humanity, and one other book. And in them a man 
 may read freely, as he has leisure, and be earning 
 his daily bread at the same time. 
 
 To return to our feathered friends. You will see 
 scattered about at various distances, wagtails 
 or dish-washers, as they are locally termed the 
 inseparable companions of the cattle and starlings. 
 The common black and white, or pied wagtail, 
 it is, as a rule, that you see in the pasture-lands. 
 Occasionally you may come across the beautiful 
 yellow - breasted species, but not often ; you will 
 see fifty of the former for one of the latter. These 
 pretty, nimble little creatures, so "peart," as our 
 country folks would say, and lively in their motions, 
 are fly-catchers. They trip and run in all directions 
 round about the great helpless cattle, catching their 
 small tormentors on their legs, bellies, and even 
 from about their heads and ears. The stock would 
 suffer tortures if the birds did not clear their ears out. 
 Many of us know how a poor pony's ears will be 
 sometimes literally black with winged blood-suckers. 
 
 The wagtails brush and flick about with their 
 wings as the creatures graze, and snap the flies 
 that come out in all directions. Sometimes half- 
 
56 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 a-dozen busy wagtails will gather round, about one 
 cow or horse. Birds and animals understand each 
 other, without a shadow of doubt. The friendly 
 and practical little wagtail generally builds his nest 
 in the farmer's fagot-stack. 
 
 The wild pigeons come next on our list. These 
 include the common ring - necked wood - pigeon, 
 stock-pigeon or stock-dove, rock-dove or pigeon, 
 also the turtle-dove. All four visit the cultivated 
 lands more or less. I have heard men grumble 
 about the harm done by these ; but if you ask what 
 definite mischief there was to complain about, you 
 will fail to elicit anything worth listening to. I 
 have kept close records, for many years, of their 
 comings and goings in the heavily timbered and 
 well-cultivated southern counties, more particularly 
 Surrey and Sussex, and have noted little harm done 
 by them worth speaking of. 
 
 " They aims tu the fields, they gits in the corn, 
 they gits all over the place, an' they spiles the 
 turmits." This the farmer tells you as he stands 
 inside the copse waiting for a shot at the pigeons. 
 He knows where they come ; but he is very far astray 
 as to their behaviour. 
 
THE FARMER'S FEATHERED FRIENDS. 57 
 
 Two of the wild plants that are the farmer's worst 
 foes, as weeds, are charlock by him called chadlock 
 and the wild-mustard plant. The pigeons search 
 out and feed on these and on other ill weeds ; but 
 "they cums to my fields," and that is enough. So 
 do the butterflies and other beautiful creatures, but 
 not to feed on the produce of his labour. The bill 
 of a pigeon is weak compared to that of other 
 woodland birds ; not at all fitted for digging or 
 pecking to any great extent. Their swallowing 
 power is very great, but most of their food is 
 picked up from the ground. Of course the true 
 reason so many are shot is because they are good 
 birds to eat. 
 
 The turtle - dove is a bird of passage ; he is 
 common enough in some parts of Surrey. I have 
 seen from ten to thirty of them rise from the 
 standing oats, or from the long grass in the hay- 
 field, at one flight. One of my friends shot a 
 couple as they were rising from the oats, and 
 opened their crops. Not a single grain of oat did 
 he find in them. They were full of a little vetch 
 that grew abundantly at the roots of the oats, or, 
 to express it in true rustic agricultural phrase, " at 
 
58 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 the stam o' the whuts." I was with the man at 
 the time ; after that examination of the birds' 
 crops he declared he would never shoot another 
 pigeon. 
 
 Facts are subborn things to deal with. Any one 
 fond of wild creatures can soon form a most accurate 
 and impartial estimate as to the amount of good 
 and harm they may do, although the knowledge 
 may not be gained in a year. Of course one would 
 not say no harm at all is done. The amount varies 
 according to circumstances over which the poor 
 bird has no control weather, or shortness of food, 
 such as acorns and beech-mast. The trees do not 
 always bear equally well, and then the creatures 
 are driven to fill their crops with any green food 
 that is not absolutely injurious. But wild pigeons, 
 as a rule, get their living in the woods and on the 
 outskirts of the fields. They form one of the most 
 pleasing and familiar sights in our rural districts ; 
 and to many of us, as to one of our best women 
 poets, the "cushat's cry" is dear. 
 
 The white rumped rock-dove, or rock-pigeon, is 
 not a common bird in the southern counties. In 
 the rocks by the sea they have their favourite homes. 
 
THE FARMER'S FEATHERED FRIENDS. 59 
 
 In the north, where the land in some places only 
 grows oats in scanty patches, pigeons may do harm, 
 for the very reason that they can get oats or nothing ; 
 but in the south of England it is different. 
 
 The sparrow, or " spadger," is a friend to the 
 farmer, although he has from time immemorial 
 done his best to exterminate that small bird. Hap- 
 pily for his lands, he has not succeeded in doing 
 this. Although the commonest of our common 
 birds, his ways of getting a living are still not very 
 clearly understood. 
 
 He is caught in thousands for sparrow-shooters, 
 and by the trap. Then the farmers' sparrow clubs 
 claim their host of victims. Besides which, sparrow- 
 pie, sparrow-pudding, and roast sparrows, spitted 
 closely on long sticks or skewers, are farmhouse 
 delicacies long remembered by those who have en- 
 joyed them. It is not very often that the good 
 dame can be persuaded to give her men-folk a treat 
 of this kind ; for she very justly observes, " Drat 
 the little things ! it do take such a lot o' time to 
 get 'em ready." But if once she makes up her 
 mind for the job, all hands have to set to work to 
 help her, both men and maids ; and when the pie, 
 
60 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 with its light golden crust well bulged up with 
 sparrows, tender and juicy, is placed on the table, 
 eyes are wont to glisten and mouths to water and 
 twitch in a state of delightful expectancy. 
 
 The town and country sparrow are the same 
 species, but there is as much difference between 
 the plumage of the two as there is in the outward 
 appearance of the chimney - sweep and the well- 
 to-do mechanic. Philip Sparrow's surroundings in 
 town smirch and blacken his plumage. As to his 
 habits, to begin with, he picks up almost any small 
 trifle he comes across nothing seems to come 
 amiss with him. The hardy little fellow knows 
 well how to take care of himself and to make him- 
 self comfortable. During severe winters in past 
 years I have seen many birds that have been 
 starved to death or perished with cold, but never 
 a single house-sparrow. He attaches himself most 
 pertinaciously to man, and, badly though he is 
 treated, he will not leave him and his surround- 
 ings. "Them there sparrers rewins things; them 
 guseberries wun't hev' a pint o' fruit on 'em the 
 cussed things hev' pulled off every fruit -bud as 
 showed : mother wun't hev' no jam this year, cuss 
 
THE FARMER'S FEATHERED FRIENDS. 61 
 
 them ! " Such were the sentiments expressed by 
 one of our farmer acquaintances in my hearing. 
 Strange to say, when the fruit season came round, 
 that particular year he had a much heavier crop 
 and larger fruit on his gooseberry-bushes than he 
 had gathered for years. When I twitted him with 
 the fact, he simply replied that " he couldn't mek it 
 out, nohow." 
 
 Philip Sparrow bears no malice and sticks to the 
 farmer. He even builds in his thatch or under the 
 tiles of his house. If you have ever lived in one 
 of those old farm homesteads, very early in the 
 morning, if it is summer-time, almost before the 
 dawn, you will have heard him begin his monot- 
 onous and exasperating conversation " Chip-chip- 
 chip ! chisic-chisic-chisic ! chip - chip - chip !" By 
 degrees the whole colony joins in. In the stillness 
 of early dawn, when the farm is dead still, the noise 
 to one unused to it is most irritating. 
 
 When they have their young, the sparrows are 
 most persevering insect - hunters. All the day 
 through, from morning till night, the cock bird 
 continues bringing his mouth full of insects to feed 
 his mate as she sits on her nest, or their young 
 
62 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 ones. For them he hunts the fields, the hedges, 
 and the gardens. At the time they most need it, 
 insect-life in all stages, mature and immature, forms 
 food for himself and his family. The aphides, those 
 garden pests, he diligently hunts for, and he carries 
 off a mouthful at a time. In the hay - fields he 
 forages before the grass is mown ; and when the 
 long swathes lie there on the ground is the time 
 to see the sparrows at their best. They go to the 
 fields in flocks to capture the insects that swarm 
 in and about the newly cut grass. There is a small 
 chubby brown beetle, locally known as the hay- 
 chaffer, that they seem remarkably fond of. They 
 will not leave the hay-fields so long as there is a 
 chance of getting one. 
 
 When the corn is ready for cutting, the farm lads 
 are shooting all day long round about the outskirts 
 of the fields, to kill the sparrow and keep him off 
 the wheat, as they say. Now, one harvest time I 
 owned a falcon and two owls. To keep these birds 
 is a matter of care and no small expense, if you wish 
 to see them as they ought to be, in full health and 
 perfect plumage. My pets were not caged ones. 
 To one of those sparrow-killing, or sparrow-scaring 
 
THE FARMER'S FEATHERED FRIENDS. 63 
 
 lads I applied, and I struck a bargain with him. He 
 undertook to supply me with shot birds at so much 
 a dozen, and to deliver them to me every evening 
 at the feeding time. He brought me bunches of 
 birds regularly enough, but there was never a 
 sparrow in the whole lot. Nearly all were insect- 
 feeding birds a wheat-field swarms with insects at 
 all times but not one of them was in any way in- 
 jurious to the wheat. There is air, sunshine, and 
 great warmth in a large corn-field things which 
 all insects need to bring them to perfection. The 
 flocks of birds that rise from it are not there after 
 the corn; it is the insect-life that attracts them. 
 Fly-catchers and willow-warblers do not eat corn ; 
 and yet, with the exception of one or two young 
 chaffinches, it was of those two species the bunches 
 of birds were composed. 
 
 Is it not possible for the beings that have been 
 created with man as his companions to have fair- 
 play in God's world ? 
 
 The sparrows, with other birds, throng the fields 
 in hosts just before and after the corn is cut. They 
 pick up the unnumbered grains that drop from the 
 ears in the field. That is their opportunity and they 
 
64 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 make use of it. If the Jews of old were forbidden 
 to muzzle the great ox that treads the corn, shall 
 boys be allowed to wantonly or unreasonably destroy 
 the little creatures whose fall we are told the All- 
 father notes ? 
 
 Even after a month or six weeks have been passed 
 by them in picking up the scattered grains, sharp as 
 are those thousands of eyes, they do not pick up all, 
 as you may prove by looking at any wheat-field that 
 has lain fallow for any length of time after it has 
 been reaped ; the blades will be springing up in 
 all directions. 
 
 And so we think we have made out a fair case 
 for persecuted Philip Sparrow. 
 
 The green plover, or lapwing, is another of the 
 farmer's good friends. He not only forms a beauti- 
 ful and interesting feature in the landscape, running 
 over the fields and meadows, but, by his incessant 
 search for those creatures that infest some lands, he 
 confers on their cultivators more benefits than they 
 appreciate. Being a very wide-awake bird, happily 
 for himself, he does not get interfered with as 
 a rule. To get the blind side of a flock of peewits 
 wants, as they say, " a lot of o'nooverin' " (man- 
 
THE FARMER'S FEATHERED FRIENDS. 65 
 
 oeuvring) ; nine times out of ten the experiment ends 
 in failure. So much the better for those on whose 
 lands they come at various seasons. Plovers are 
 largely affected in their movements by the weather. 
 
 The kestrel, the mouse-killing falcon, not only 
 gets shot, but insult is added to injury, for he is 
 nailed up to the end of the barn. The falcon glides 
 and hovers all the day, and until late in the evening, 
 catching mice and other small deer. The numbers 
 of large short -tailed field-mice, or voles, in some 
 chalky upland pastures, are simply startling. They 
 are vegetable feeders, and when full-grown are as 
 large as a half-grown rat ; if you examine the mouth 
 of one you will see it is like that of the hare. These, 
 with the fawn-coloured long- tailed field or wood 
 mouse, work sad havoc in farm gardens. The 
 kestrel kills them day by day, as he hovers and fans 
 over field after field. For this service he is made 
 heartily welcome to a charge of shot. I have a dim 
 recollection of a sage warning that formed a copy- 
 slip in my school days, " Put not temptation in the 
 way of youth." It applies to all ages, I fancy. 
 If the farmer's wife had not placed her brood of 
 chicks with their mother under the coop in the short 
 
66 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 mown grass in the paddock away from the house, 
 the kestrel would not have spied them out, running 
 to and fro, as he fanned over his mouse-hunting. 
 The sight rouses his hunting instincts at once, and 
 they are too strong to be held in check, choice 
 Dorking chicks though these be. And if he is seen 
 in the act it is enough to doom him and all his race 
 for years to come ; one chick that might never have 
 attained maturity weighs down the balance of slain 
 field-mice in hundreds. 
 
 There is one thing to be said, if one of the rap- 
 tores gets killed another takes up his beat very 
 quickly ; so that in spite of himself the farmer has 
 his winged mouse-hunter over his fields as usual. 
 We have yet much to learn about bird-life. 
 
 To the owls the farmer's feathered cats we might 
 call them after all, we give the palm for usefulness 
 and intelligence, although we have purposely put 
 them last on our list. Without them all his efforts 
 might be useless, for they prey on those creatures 
 that work him harm in the night-time. Besides 
 what they kill and eat on the spot, or take to their 
 young, they set by a store for some future time. By 
 watching any pair that have settled on some farm, 
 
THE FARMER'S FEATHERED FRIENDS. 67 
 
 you will find that from sunset to sunrise they go 
 to and fro continually ; and they never come to the 
 nest without a quarry of some kind. The tide of 
 public opinion is turning in favour of the owl at 
 last ; let us hope it will bring protection to other 
 creatures also. 
 
68 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE FINCH FAMILY. 
 
 " WHAT are you in such a hurry to get your gun 
 for ? " I ask one of my friends, who fills the position 
 of man -of- all- work in the place where I am staying 
 for a time. His post, however, is rather a nominal 
 one, for most of his time is spent in gardening. 
 
 I often have a chat with him, for I enjoy his 
 quaint, original remarks, and although, as a rule, 
 he is not expansive, when he does choose to talk 
 he is always worth listening to. Besides this, he 
 keeps his garden in excellent trim, and if there 
 is one crop in it on which the old boy prides him- 
 self more than another, it is his peas. " No one 
 ken come up to 'em round about here," he has told 
 me more than once, with pardonable pride. 
 
THE FINCH FAMILY. 69 
 
 "What do I want with the gun? Hawfinches; 
 they hawfinches in my peas ! " he grunts. 
 
 As he leaves the tool-house I quietly follow, and 
 place myself with him behind a low fagot -stack 
 which stands in a line with the peas. 
 
 "Jest hear 'em! ain't it cruel?" he whispers. 
 " I hope the whole roost of 'em may git in a lump 
 so that I ken blow 'em to rags an' tatters. If you 
 didn't know what it was you'd think some old cow 
 was grindin' up them peas. Ain't they scrunchin' 
 of 'em ? All right now, I ken see you grindin' var- 
 mints ! Now for it ! " Bang ! 
 
 Three birds fall young ones in their first plumage, 
 which has a strong likeness to that of a greenfinch. 
 
 After picking the birds up, we examine the pea- 
 rows. There is no doubt as to the mischief the birds 
 have done. The old fellow's own expression, "grind- 
 ing up," is the best to convey any idea of the de- 
 struction that has taken place. Where the birds 
 have been, nothing remains but the stringy portion 
 of the pods of his precious " Marrer fats." 
 
 There is enormous power in the bill of the haw- 
 finch, when the size of the bird is considered. The 
 pea-pod is simply run through the bill, and the con- 
 
70 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 tents are squeezed out in the state of green pulp and 
 swallowed. 
 
 " Varmints I call 'em, an' nothin' else," is the 
 remark my old friend makes, as he goes towards 
 the tool-house and takes from a shelf a hen haw- 
 finch and two young ones, the former probably the 
 mother of some of the birds that are about, if not, 
 indeed, of the whole brood, her plumage showing 
 that she has been sitting. 
 
 " People wants me to git 'em full-feathered old 
 birds for stumn', but bless ye, ye might as well 
 try to ketch weasels asleep. A cock hawfinch is 
 about one o' the most artful customers as I knows 
 on. The only time to get a clip at 'em is in winter, 
 under the plum and damson trees. They gits there 
 after the stones, any amount o' stones lays jest 
 under the ground, an' they picks 'em out an' cracks 
 them easy. I gits plenty o' young ones when peas 
 are about the old ones lets 'em come, but they take 
 precious good care they don't come off the tops 
 o' the tree themselves afore they knows there ain't 
 anybody about. Some says they're scarce birds. I 
 knows they ain't leastways not when my peas are 
 ready to gather." 
 
THE FINCH FAMILY. 71 
 
 In those districts of Surrey where peas are grown, 
 hawfinches are a perfect plague, more especially if 
 wood or copse lands are near. 
 
 The hawfinch, once seen, will be remembered. 
 He is a stoutly built bird with a very large and 
 powerful bill. A child friend remarked he had a 
 very large nose. His appearance reminds one at 
 times of a small parrot, and again, he looks exceed- 
 ingly pedantic. The delicate tints of his plumage 
 (light reddish-brown, dark brown, grey, black and 
 white) are well blended. The wings when open are 
 beautiful, some of the feathers being in the form of 
 an ancient battle - axe, reflecting tints of blue and 
 green. 
 
 Before field naturalists became so common, the 
 hawfinch, or " haw grosbeak," was considered a 
 rare bird in many localities. It is certainly a very 
 shy and retiring one, watchful and quick in all its 
 movements. For this reason it is seldom seen by 
 those who search for it for ornithological purposes. 
 It breeds freely round the neighbourhood of Dork- 
 ing a fact which is continually being proved by 
 the great number of young birds that are found 
 there in various states of nestling plumage ; some 
 
72 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 with the wing and tail feathers fully grown, others 
 only just able to fly from the tree and back again. 
 Much patient watching and a quick shot are needed 
 to secure a pair of old hawfinches in full breeding 
 plumage, but they fetch a price quite sufficient to 
 encourage the attempt. 
 
 Although numbers of young birds are shot and 
 buried in almost every garden where peas are grown, 
 not half-a-dozen pairs of the old birds come into the 
 hands of the bird-preservers in the course of the 
 year. Their keen light-grey eyes glance in all direc- 
 tions, no matter where they may be. I have often 
 watched them in the winter months before the 
 mania arose for destroying the fine old trees that 
 lined the sides of some of our highways. There, 
 amongst the crab - trees, bullaces, pickets, wild 
 plums, and sloes, I have perhaps chanced upon 
 a pair of hawfinches in the course of a five-mile 
 walk; but then you can only see one side of the 
 hedge as you go along. 
 
 My pleasure in watching them at work on the 
 stones of the plums, or the pips of crab - apples 
 was brief: in spite of the care I took not to startle 
 them, they would suddenly fling themselves on to 
 
THE FINCH FAMILY. 73 
 
 the road, perhaps to pick up gravel, and then as 
 quickly jerk themselves back to the hedge. 
 
 The hawfinch is the quickest' and most suspi- 
 cious member of the finch tribes to be found in 
 Great Britain. In winter his large bill is a light 
 pinkish-brown, while in summer it changes to slate- 
 blue. His nest, compared with that of other birds 
 related to him, is simple in construction ; but as it 
 is of the bird I am writing, and not of his domestic 
 arrangements, I will not venture upon a description 
 of it. 
 
 The greenfinch, called sometimes green grosbeak, 
 and more often green linnet, is one of our common 
 birds. His plumage shows shades of green, yellow, 
 and grey, with a touch of black. Of a less retiring 
 and suspicious nature than the hawfinch, he builds 
 his nest in gardens or shrubberies. Such confi- 
 dence is, however, often misplaced, for if found by 
 the gardener it is sure to be destroyed. Like the 
 sailor, who is said to whistle for a breeze, the green- 
 finch calls for one, flying to the top of a tree at mid- 
 day in the hottest summer, when other birds are 
 dumb, and calling out at intervals in long-drawn 
 notes, " Breeze breeze breeze." 
 
74 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 " Oh yes, you shall have a breeze," says the gar- 
 dener ; " I'll make one on purpose for you," and he 
 shoots him dead. Of the justice of this act the 
 gardener must be allowed to be the best judge. He 
 is probably bound in self-defence to protect his pro- 
 duce from the mischief wrought by birds of this sort. 
 From my own experience, I may say that many of 
 the most innocent-looking creatures are really the 
 most destructive of the gardener's labour. When 
 it is found that injury is done, and that in consid- 
 erable quantity, the sentimental side of the question, 
 to which our pity inclines, must give place to the 
 practical. 
 
 The greenfinch is associated with my earliest 
 childhood. On the wild sea-coast where we lived 
 then, he was a great favourite as a cage-bird. Pets 
 of that kind were much sought after at a time when 
 books and amusements for the young were scarce, 
 and any boy whose parents allowed him to keep 
 a green linnet was considered lucky indeed. The 
 birds were carried about by the boys in their 
 pockets when out of school. They w r ere docile 
 and affectionate creatures, and I remember well 
 that amongst them was a tame sparrow, which 
 
THE FINCH FAMILY. 75 
 
 for intelligence and liveliness was not outdone by 
 any of the others. Perhaps it is these early recol- 
 lections that make me feel kindly disposed to the 
 greenfinch whenever I see him or hear his well- 
 known call for a breeze. If he is only wise enough 
 to remain away from the garden, there are but few 
 who will molest him. Fashion changes, and now- 
 adays not many would keep the greenfinch as a 
 cage -bird. Setting on one side the fact that he, 
 like others of his tribe, occasionally falls a victim 
 to the sparrow-hawk or the kestrel, he has, I think, 
 less to complain of than any of the finches. 
 
 A description of the bullfinch is hardly needed, 
 so well is this beautiful bird with its brilliant scarlet 
 breast known to dwellers both in country and town. 
 The black, red, grey, and white tints of his plumage, 
 peculiarly pure and bright in his wild state, make 
 him conspicuous as he flits about from one side of 
 the hedge to the other, his soft and slightly mourn- 
 ful pipe betraying his presence in the distance. 
 Beautiful as the strains from some wood fairy's 
 flute might be is the soft sweet little song, all 
 his own, with which the bullfinch cheers his mate 
 as she sits on her nest. At such times he shows 
 
76 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 to the greatest advantage, with the jet-black feathers 
 of his head raised, his breast puffed out, and his 
 white tail-coverts showing to perfection. 
 
 In a captive state the bullfinch is affectionate and 
 intelligent, well repaying care and attention. The 
 timidity natural to him in his wild state vanishes 
 when once he has gained one's confidence. He 
 will follow any one about the house, up or down, 
 and will go into his cage of his own accord, when 
 he has had his range about. 
 
 One fine fellow I presented to my wife would sit 
 on her shoulder and sing all breakfast-time. When 
 I held out my hand to take a cup of coffee, he would 
 fly off her shoulder, scuttle over the table, and, get- 
 ting in front of me, would scold his very loudest, as 
 much as to say, " How dare you bring your hand 
 near my mistress ! " This little performance over, 
 he would fly back to her shoulder and sing his song, 
 as if to assure her such behaviour would not be re- 
 peated. In keeping the bullfinch as a pet it is well 
 to keep no other creature in the same room, for his 
 sensitive, affectionate nature can bear no rival. He 
 gives you his whole affection, and his distress if he 
 sees you talking to another pet is painful to see. In 
 
THE FINCH FAMILY. 77 
 
 cases where his rival has been persistently noticed, 
 he has been known to pine and die. 
 
 If the bullfinch would but confine himself to the 
 woods, fields, and hedgerows, where, except for 
 hawks and bird-catchers, he is safe, all would be 
 well w r ith him ; but his favourite place of resort is 
 the garden, and that just at a time when the fruit- 
 trees are beginning to bud. 
 
 It is nonsense to assert, as some have done in 
 works on birds, that the buds of which bullfinches 
 and other birds make such havoc have insects in 
 them. It is romancing; garden trees, fruit-trees 
 especially, are tended with the greatest care. No 
 insects are allowed to gather on any of the leaves,, 
 either outside or in. The care taken with them 
 is carried to such an extent that I have known men 
 employed in conservatories for weeks in sponging 
 each individual orange and lemon leaf. 
 
 The outside trees, especially the plum and cherry, 
 receive the same care, though in a different way. 
 These are the trees to which the bullfinch pays his 
 most unwelcome attentions. Not satisfied with the 
 buds of the wild cherry and the plum to be found in 
 the hedgerows, he deliberately seeks those of the 
 
78 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 cultivated fruit, and in that way is a terrible hin- 
 drance to the gardener. 
 
 As a lover of birds from childhood, and now, 
 at an advanced age, credited by some of my friends 
 with having a severe attack of " birds on the brain," 
 I would gladly exonerate my favourites from all 
 blame. But the conclusion at which I have arrived, 
 and which experience tells me is the true one, is, 
 that some members of the finch tribe do a great 
 amount of mischief in a garden. The bullfinch, 
 in spite of his ruddy breast and his dainty flute-like 
 song, is one of the gardener's special enemies. He 
 gets shot down without mercy, and is left to rot 
 beneath the trees which he has plundered of their 
 buds. 
 
 The largest and rarest of the finch tribe is the 
 pine bullfinch a bird rare even in the pine-woods 
 of Scotland, where it is supposed to breed, though 
 about this I am not prepared to give an opinion. 
 In plumage it rather resembles the crossbill. Being 
 a Northern bird, it is probably migratory. All our 
 common birds are more or less so, according to 
 weather-changes. Vast numbers come to us from 
 the Continent, and return again if they escape the 
 
THE FINCH FAMILY. 79 
 
 snares of the army of bird-catchers on the South 
 Downs. The amount of small birds captured to 
 supply the bird-markets is almost 'beyond belief. A 
 bird-catcher with whom I had friendly relations for 
 some time, and the accuracy of whose statements 
 and observations I had no reason to doubt, gave 
 me the number of dozens of birds caught and sold 
 by him. He showed me his book where these 
 numbers were duly entered, and side by side the 
 receipts from them. I had much enjoyment in 
 this man's society. Finding me to be a great 
 lover of birds, but not a bird-catcher, he taught 
 me all the secrets of his trade without reserve. 
 These I keep religiously to myself. One day he 
 told me of a strange bird he had picked up from 
 the tangle on the beach. It was a turnstone 
 I recognised it at once from his accurate description, 
 and my friend was as much surprised as pleased 
 when I presented him with a portrait of the bird 
 I had painted for him. That completely won his 
 heart. 
 
 " Twink-twink, twing-twing, twink-twink ! spink- 
 spink-spink ! " and then a joyous little song. There 
 sits the singer, the handsomest chaffinch of them 
 
8o WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 all, or, as he is called in Germany, the " noble 
 finch." It is unnecessary to describe the plumage 
 of this bird, so common and so well known, the pet 
 of the schoolboy and the favourite of the coster- 
 monger, who will have his " bloomin' chawfinch." 
 Many are the singing-matches in which he takes 
 part, and the time and order kept by the chaffinches 
 when singing together might be imitated with ad- 
 vantage by many a musical assembly 
 
 The chaffinch is the bird of the Dials ; and he 
 really seems to enter into the spirit of the thing. 
 No other bird used by the fowler calls so heartily in 
 order to bring others within reach of net or limed 
 twigs as the chaffinch. 
 
 He is a bird of high spirit, and, like a game-cock, 
 answers a challenge directly. The green lanes and 
 the elm-trees by the roadside are his resorts. I 
 have seen him captured there many a time. 
 
 A man comes along the road with a small cage 
 under his arm tied up in a handkerchief. In his 
 hand he has a stuffed chaffinch in the attitude of 
 challenging. Hearing the song of the chaffinch 
 from the trees, he proceeds to fix his stuffed bird 
 on a sloping portion of the trunk of one of the elms. 
 
THE FINCH FAMILY. 81 
 
 A couple of feet or so below this he places some 
 bird-limed twigs or whalebone, on the ground close 
 by his little cage. He then gives out a rattling 
 challenge, answered at once by the bird in the tree, 
 whose quick eyes search in all directions for his 
 supposed rival. He soon discovers the singer, and 
 his excitement at any other bird having the impu- 
 dence to come and sing near his perch is extreme. 
 Once more the challenge rings out ; he can bear 
 it no longer. Down he dashes, strikes the stuffed 
 bird, causing it to sway up and down with the force 
 of his stroke ; and falling on the limed twigs below, 
 finds himself at the foot of the tree, a helpless 
 captive. 
 
 I have known country lanes, before the Bird 
 Protection Act came into force, cleared of chaf- 
 finches, to the great disgust and anger of the 
 country people. Though obliged for the protec- 
 tion of their crops to shoot them at times, they 
 are far from willing to see them captured in this 
 wholesale way. 
 
 Real country folk are very tender in their deal- 
 ings with the birds that live near them. In the 
 course of my experience, extending over many 
 
 F 
 
82 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 years, I have never known a case of wanton cruelty 
 occur in regard to wild birds. The labouring man, 
 whose work so often lies far from the haunts of 
 men, seeks companionship with the birds. Of these 
 none is more friendly than the robin, who is sure to 
 appear, however lonely the place. 
 
 Often in my own haunts, when watching for days 
 together the movements and habits of some furred 
 or feathered creature, the robin has come and made 
 friends with me, becoming at last so intimate as to 
 sit on the toe of my shoe and share my meal. 
 
 Birds are not the only creatures to be found thus 
 fearless of man. An artist friend of mine, painting 
 at his easel in a secluded spot in the Surrey hills, 
 saw a large viper come and curl itself up close to his 
 colour-box, too close by far to be agreeable. On 
 looking round he saw another coiled up near to his 
 easel. They would have done him no harm, but he 
 thought it safer to put a greater distance between 
 them and himself, and so left the spot. 
 
 Vipers are known to feed on young finches at 
 times, for which reason no country lad will put his 
 hand into any nest built in a tree before first looking 
 into it. 
 
THE FINCH FAMILY. 83 
 
 But to return to our birds. The large thistles 
 that used to grow on the waste lands were the 
 favourite haunt of the goldfinch, who, as he hovered 
 and flitted about, looked more like some tropical 
 butterfly than a bird. The waste lands with their 
 thistles are gone, and so are the goldfinches that 
 fed on their downy seeds. A large portion of the 
 common land is gone too. The moneyed class, 
 who have bought up the copyholders by some ar- 
 rangement best known to themselves, secure parts 
 of the real common land to themselves by buying 
 up and throwing it into land that never belonged to 
 it. Of late years the commons have become little 
 more than tracts of ground given over to game-pre- 
 serving. Notice-boards warn people off the ground 
 that is legally their own in the most arbitrary way. 
 Nay, I have even known people summoned before 
 a magistrate for no other crime than that of using 
 what from time immemorial has been their right. 
 In many cases they have pleaded their own cause 
 and won it. I have heard them tell their grievances 
 with tears in their poor old eyes. 
 
 " Yes," some of the old country folk will tell you, 
 " goldfinches is scarce now. They used to be about 
 
84 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN, 
 
 in hundreds one time o' day. You may go now for 
 a month and not get a glint o' one." I have asked 
 them the reason of this, and they have answered, 
 with a shake of their grey heads, " They grups up 
 the thistles" (with a forked thistle spud) "what the 
 birds live on, and flies in the face o' natur', to turn 
 it inter medder land more fools they fur their 
 trouble ! " I know that such is the case : a small 
 flock of goldfinches is a rare sight on a common in 
 these days. Their true home is where stone-heaps 
 and thistles are plentiful ; where the flintgetter's old 
 Flemish mare hangs her drowsy head, whilst the 
 sun is high, in the shade of some clump of bushes ; 
 where the sandman's donkey rolls, and rasps the 
 whole length and breadth of his tough hide on the 
 sandy road of the common. In any tract famous 
 for the growth of weed and tangle they lived and 
 multiplied. Such spots are hard to find now, and 
 the best place to look for goldfinches and siskins is 
 near London, some five or six miles beyond the postal 
 district, where the weeds thrive on land that has 
 been cleared for building purposes. There, amongst 
 stone-heaps and thistles, he still lives and breeds. 
 The bird-catchers, particularly those of the South 
 
THE FINCH FAMILY. 85 
 
 Downs, capture them in thousands at the time of 
 the out- and in-coming migrations. The men are 
 well acquainted with a' variety of goldfinch known 
 by the name of " cheval." These birds I have seen 
 frequently. One which I had in a cage showed but 
 little difference in colour and habits to those gener- 
 ally caught, though it was very much larger in size. 
 
 This large variety is well known in the Southern 
 counties as the " cheval goldfinch." They are not 
 as numerous at any time as their smaller brethren. 
 They used to be much prized by the bird-catchers, 
 who would ask half as much again for a cheval in 
 good plumage as for any of the other birds. The 
 price was not grudged, for they were fine specimens. 
 
 My own opinion is, that they are visitors from the 
 Continent, where, under favourable circumstances, 
 they have developed to their utmost limit. The fact 
 that they are to a certain extent local strengthens 
 this theory. The line of the Southern counties 
 seems to be their limit, and the extent of their 
 travelling, beyond which boundary I have never 
 found them. It is to be hoped that in time the 
 migrations of our most common birds will be more 
 systematically worked out than they are at present. 
 
86 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 Amongst those birds who cross the sea are thrushes, 
 larks, finches, and the tiny goldcrest, so tender that 
 it dies if you hold it in your hand too long. The 
 fisherman of the North Sea and of different parts of 
 our dangerous coasts tell of birds taking shelter on 
 and about their vessels when the weather is rough. 
 They are left unmolested, and continue their journey 
 as soon as the storm is over. 
 
 The bramble -finch, very like the chaffinch in 
 shape, though more sturdily built, is a bird of a 
 more Northern clime. In severe winters it migrates 
 southwards in vast flocks, and is often seen associ- 
 ated with the chaffinch in the beech-woods, where 
 the mast is his chief food. The winter plumage of 
 the bramble-finch, or brambling, is coloured with 
 shades of orange, brown, black, yellow, and white, 
 with here and there a touch of grey. His appear- 
 ance in the country is very uncertain, his visits de- 
 pending probably on the food to be got. Though 
 the bramble-finches eat insects and seeds, their 
 favourite food seems to be the beech -mast, and 
 as there is not a full crop of these every year, their 
 visits are consequently irregular. Unlike the school- 
 boy, who hunts for beech-nuts when they first fall, 
 
THE FINCH FAMILY. 87 
 
 the brambling waits until they have lain under the 
 leaves for a month or two, when the outer covering 
 has softened. I have known numbers of these birds 
 visit the neighbourhood of Dorking and the Tilling- 
 bourne, and especially the woods of Wotton. Of 
 late years they have become scarcer. 
 
 I kept a pair once, to observe their change of 
 plumage in breeding-time. It was remarkable, the 
 head and back of the cock bird turning jet-black. 
 They were birds of a somewhat unpleasant disposi- 
 tion, so after a time I gave them their liberty. 
 
 The finches are bright and intelligent birds, very 
 useful in their proper home the woods and the 
 fields ; but those who value a full crop or, in some 
 cases, any crop at all will be careful to exclude 
 them from the garden. 
 
WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 OUR THRUSHES. 
 
 THREE species only of these are known to the gen- 
 eral public ; we have six in this country. Three of 
 them are regular migrants, visiting and leaving us 
 again as the seasons come round. All coast-dwellers 
 who are anything of field naturalists are well aware 
 of this fact. I have seen the sand-hills and the 
 drier portion of the flats in the North Kent marsh- 
 lands covered with birds about to migrate, waiting 
 for a right wind to take them over the Channel. 
 
 " Ah, poor things ! " an old boatman would say, 
 " they be waitin' for a right breeze, an' then they'll 
 get out o' harber quick." After the breeze had 
 come, hardly a bird would be visible until the next 
 army of travellers arrived. My own intimate ac- 
 
OUR THRUSHES. 89 
 
 quaintance with them has been made in the fertile 
 and well -wooded counties of Southern England, 
 where the whole family can be 'heard and studied 
 to the best advantage. 
 
 On the hills, and about the moors in the season, 
 you will find that shyest and most wary member of 
 the whole family, the ring-ouzel, called by the rustics 
 the " white-throated blackbird." 
 
 Great clouds sweep over the hills, casting, as they 
 travel, moving shadows on the heather and bright 
 green turf of the moor. It is green, for summer's 
 fierce heat has passed ; rain has fallen at times just 
 enough to let us know that we may expect no more 
 settled summer weather. We need not regret this, 
 for autumn is clothing the hillside and the moor 
 with the richest broken tones of crimson, olive, 
 orange, grey, and buff. Rough gullies intersect the 
 moor in many parts, flanked on either side by high 
 banks; although these can hardly be called roads, 
 yet they are used for that purpose. They are, in 
 reality, huge masses of stone, covered with a thin 
 crust of peat soil. Changes in the weather have 
 affected some parts, causing them to crumble, 
 and laying bare a cliff of greystone covered here 
 
90 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 and there with the creeping vegetation of the 
 moors. 
 
 Here the sparrow-hawk comes to perch, after one 
 of his flights ; but he takes wing again with a scream 
 of mingled rage and fear, as his eye catches sight 
 of the roaming naturalist, who lies crouched in 
 the stunted juniper and luxuriant heather. The 
 sparrow-hawks come here at stated times through 
 the day, and here, too, they roost at night. The 
 stunted form of juniper I allude to you will find in 
 certain parts of the moor; on the open hilly por- 
 tions you will find splendid specimens of the juni- 
 per-tree whole thickets of them, such as would 
 be considered priceless ornaments in a gentleman's 
 grounds. They would not live there if they were 
 transplanted ; so much the better they beautify 
 the moorside, which is free to all. It is in such 
 spots as these we have seen the ring - ouzel : he 
 feeds to a certain extent on the juniper-berries ; 
 but the richer crop of berries of the mountain-ash, 
 flashing out in crimson patches on the hills, have a 
 far greater attraction for him. To this bill of fare 
 is added vast quantities of other berries that are 
 found all over the moor, together with insect-life in 
 
OUR THRUSHES. 91 
 
 profusion. The white - throated blackbird of the 
 moors has a good table spread for him, that is why 
 he stays here for a time before 'he returns to the 
 lands which he left, to come up to higher ground. 
 To the rustic dwellers of the moors and hillside 
 he is a bird of great interest : I have never known 
 one of them shoot or trap him : I believe it is "the 
 white strap round his neck," as they term it, that 
 saves him. It may not be that alone : his visits are 
 irregular and mysterious ; at least so they seem to 
 the simple country folks, who, although they are 
 usually familiar with the habits of the creatures 
 that live near them, do not understand the varying 
 influences that at times affect the migrating move- 
 ments of birds. In spite of the light that has been 
 thrown on the subject by the keepers of lighthouses 
 round the coast of Great Britain who have, at the 
 request of some of our zealous ornithologists, saved 
 one wing of each species that, being attracted by the 
 light, had struck against the glass or been captured 
 fluttering round the lighthouse this varying in the 
 migrating habits of the birds remains a vexed ques- 
 tion with the most earnest students in natural his- 
 tory. In spite, too, of the statement in Holy Scrip- 
 
92 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 ture, that " the stork in the heavens knoweth her 
 appointed time." The most accepted theories are 
 apt to break down, and so-called learned men have 
 been found to be in error occasionally on simpler 
 matters even than this. At the present time, 1890, 
 it has been universally acknowledged by our greatest 
 field naturalists men who have visited all parts of 
 Great Britain, even the remote Shetlands as well as 
 the Continent, in their earnest researches that the 
 breeding-place of a few of the small waders that 
 crowd some of our shores in the fall of the year 
 remains to this day unknown, although the young 
 ones are seen with the nest-down still among their 
 feathers. Why the ring -ouzel comes and goes, 
 sometimes singly, sometimes in flock, is also a 
 mystery. 
 
 The name of "storm-cock" has been fitly given 
 to the missel-thrush, which is the largest member 
 of the thrush family. He is more a bird of the 
 woods, except in breeding or nesting time, than 
 any of the others. To a certain extent he is a 
 more showy bird than his very near relative the 
 song-thrush ; his breast is more brightly coloured, 
 and the spots on it are larger and darker. He is 
 
OUR THRUSHES. 93 
 
 a bold bird, and he looks it ; we hear him loudly 
 singing in the storm, and when all other birds, the 
 robin excepted, are silent. 
 
 The rain falls in torrents, the wind blows as early 
 March winds do blow at times, bunching up the 
 clouds in mountain-like heaps which sail slowly 
 along, being far too heavy to move quickly. Hail 
 rattles down also, but there is a short lull after 
 a time, and a small piece of blue shows in the 
 sky, about the size of a child's pinafore. It is 
 enough to start our storm-cock. The wind is still 
 blowing a gale ; nature's own organ pealing through 
 the woods. That suits our bird well ; he dashes 
 out from his cover and up on to the highest twig 
 of that old ash ; grasping it with his strong feet, 
 he swings to and fro in the rushing wind, and sings 
 as he sways. It stirs one's blood to hear his wild 
 clarion notes, now high, now low, and again almost 
 shrieking in wild glee as he tosses and swings. The 
 road may be very wet and slushy, and the wind may 
 send a drenching shower of drops over you as it 
 stirs the twigs and branches of the trees under 
 which you walk, but who cares for that when 
 watching that brave bird, and listening to his joy- 
 
94 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 ous, defiant song ! When the missel-thrush is nest- 
 ing, no bird is more pugnacious in defence of his 
 home and what it contains. Whether it be hawk, 
 owl, crow, cat, stoat, weasel, or rat that comes near 
 with sinister intent, he and his mate will go for it 
 with a will. 
 
 If it be a feathered enemy, they will make the 
 feathers fly in a surprising fashion ; if it be a four- 
 footed one, they will dash down and buffet the 
 creature. I have seen cats bound off at top speed, 
 glad enough to get to cover out of reach of a pair 
 of injured missel-thrushes. But the courage of the 
 bird frequently causes it to lose its own life. For 
 if a stoat comes on to the velvety lawn of a country 
 house, and the bird, usually shy and wary, happens 
 to have built in one of the trees there, a duel has 
 been fought, which has ended in the death of the 
 brave bird. 
 
 Some of our readers may not be familiar with 
 stoats and weasels in a state of nature. It is 
 very certain that specimens in zoological collec- 
 tions, even the most artistically mounted ones 
 that our museums contain, will not give you 
 the least idea of their beauty and extraordinary 
 
OUR THRUSHES. 95 
 
 agility when free and at large. Stoats or weasels 
 are not desirable visitors on a lawn ; mice of various 
 kinds, however, are more destructive to flower-beds 
 than all the other pests put together ; and the 
 weasel family are the sworn foes and exterminators, 
 if permitted, of mice and rats, so their visits may be 
 fairly tolerated. 
 
 Some gentlemen that I know will not allow guns 
 to be used near their dwellings ; they are quite will- 
 ing to allow nature's own police to keep order, and 
 they are wise in this. To see a weasel with a short- 
 tailed mouse or vole, almost as large as himself, 
 carried retriever -fashion in his mouth, is a very 
 interesting sight. I have seen it, and bid him good 
 luck in his hunting many a time. There are at the 
 present time far too few of his kind about. He will 
 dart from a flower-bed on to the lawn, a perfect 
 model of strength and activity; his bright eyes 
 glisten as he looks round about in all directions 
 before he begins to play. The most skilful acrobat 
 is a clumsy pretender compared with that little 
 fellow; he rolls, vaults, and tumbles in all direc- 
 tions, enjoying himself to his heart's content. From 
 one of the trees on the lawn two missel-thrushes, 
 
96 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 with angry, grating screams, rush down at him. 
 He is ready for the assault, with his head up and 
 his fore-feet well together; as he stands perfectly 
 quiet, he might be photographed. In one instant 
 the scene is changed, and you see a confused lot 
 of wing and tail feathers, dashing now up, now 
 down, and then sideways ; some brown object 
 mixed up with them, while the screams and shrieks 
 from the birds are nearly deafening. The row will 
 stop as quickly as it began ; for one bird with a 
 chattering note of fear flies off, leaving the cock 
 bird in the stoat's mouth. The creature stands 
 as still as possible for a few moments, and then 
 he takes his prey into one of the flower-beds to 
 eat him. 
 
 Lately, in one of my rambles, I came on a brood 
 of missel-thrushes that had just left the nest. They 
 were foraging for food in one of the upland meadows 
 close to the woods, and I stood in the midst of them 
 as they fed. It was a pretty sight ; as one or the 
 other got near me, they would look at me with 
 their bright eyes, open their mouths, appear to 
 chide me for my presence, and then go on search- 
 ing for food. Both parents were close at hand, 
 
OUR THRUSHES. 97 
 
 now and again sending out a ringing note of warn- 
 ing, as one or other of their brood looked up. He 
 seems to tell us when he sings that winter is past ; 
 and so he is always welcome to us. 
 
 That universal favourite, the blackbird, with his 
 jet-black plumage and orange-coloured bill, is well 
 known to every little toddler that lives in the 
 country. " Blackie," as they call him, is the 
 favourite, as a rule, in preference to the thrush, 
 with the country people. Independently of his 
 own rich song, he has a natural talent for mimicry, 
 which dogs and cats find out to their cost. Rustic 
 children think much of him ; they will tell you that 
 he knows them all ; and indeed to credit the intelli- 
 gence displayed by him you would need to live in 
 some country house for a time, where one has been 
 reared in a cage. All the sounds that he hears, 
 especially if they are of a squeaking or whistling 
 nature, he repeats to perfection ; if he sees the dog 
 in the garden or about the house, he will whistle 
 for him exactly as his master does, and in so 
 vigorous a tone that he would lead the dog to 
 suppose that his services are required in the most 
 urgent manner. Away rushes the dog round the 
 
 G 
 
98 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 house, out into the meadow ; and back he comes 
 with his tail and ears depressed, for he feels that 
 he has been made a fool of. Then the youngsters 
 will shout and clap their hands in glee, to think how 
 clever their favourite " Blackie " is. The blackbird 
 cocks his head on one side, taps the bottom of his 
 cage with his bill, spreads his tail out and dashes 
 over his perches to and fro, at a most furious rate, 
 quite pleased at his own performances. I have 
 known large figures offered for a talented blackbird, 
 belonging to a country lad, such as a brand-new 
 suit of clothes and five shillings as well, all to no 
 purpose. His clothes were the worse for wear, 
 his shoes were as bad as they could be ; but for 
 all that, "he warn't a-goin' to let Blackie go." 
 
 The rain has ceased falling, and the wind that 
 brought it has died away. All is quiet ; things are 
 resting. A light vapour rises from the meadows 
 by the river and floats away ; it is the steam from 
 the hot, thirsty earth ; the sun is sinking, and the 
 light in slanting rays shines on the wet young 
 foliage, and illumines the rustic spire close at hand. 
 The cattle are quiet ; they are enjoying the precious 
 coolness to their hearts' content. Not a sound is 
 
OUR THRUSHES. 99 
 
 heard save the "chirrup" of the partridge as he 
 calls to his mate in the furrow. Without one single 
 preparatory note, some feathered creature has burst 
 out into glorious song. It is the blackbird, and now 
 from over the river another joins him. As we lean 
 over a field-gate to listen to him, the scent of the 
 fresh-turned furrows comes to us, bringing a feeling 
 of life and health with it. The bird's song rises 
 and falls, to ring out again, if possible, sweeter 
 than before ; it brings back to us many memories 
 of happy boyhood and childhood's careless days. 
 
 Pepys in his Diary has mentioned the blackbird. 
 On May 22, 1663, he has this passage entered : 
 " Kendall, the house carpenter at Deptford, hath 
 sent me a fine blackbird which I went to see. He 
 tells me he was offered twenty shillings for him as 
 he came along, he do so whistle." On the 23d 
 there is another entry : " Waked this morning 
 between four and five by my blackbird, which 
 whistled as well as ever I heard any ; only it is the 
 beginning of many tunes, very well ; but then leaves 
 them and goes no further." He is best in his native 
 thickets, that is his proper place and home, but to 
 those who keep him and treat him well, he is as 
 
ioo WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 clever and amusing as any Indian mynah. I prefer 
 him, for more reasons than one ; it is impossible to 
 teach a blackbird naughty things, such as a mynah 
 acquires very easily. 
 
 The song-thrush, or mavis, is so well known that 
 we need not enter into details to any great extent 
 about him or his ways. As a destroyer of snails 
 we place him in the first rank. He is a gentle bird, 
 and his song is as well known as that of the lark. 
 He, too, like the blackbird, sings after a shower; 
 but his note is a very different one ; besides this, 
 he sings far more frequently than the blackbird, 
 and there are more of the former birds about than 
 of the latter. Taking the year all round, we have, 
 at a rough computation, considered that you would 
 see four thrushes to one blackbird. I do not state 
 this as a fact ; blackbirds are more hideling birds 
 than thrushes, and far more wary in all their actions ; 
 it is only my impression in a general way, after years 
 of observation. The blackbird likes fruit ; the song- 
 thrush will have it when there is any ; strawberries, 
 raspberries, currants, gooseberries, he will have at 
 any risk if he dies in the attempt, which is frequently 
 the case ; cherries, too, he loves dearly. 
 
OUR THRUSHES, 101 
 
 It is no light task to look after fruit, even when 
 it is all netted and pegged down ; for the thrush 
 will peck and scratch a hollow out and step under- 
 neath the bough ; where one has gone others will 
 follow, and work sad mischief. If a blackbird is 
 under the net, he yells out his frantic alarm as 
 usual : the thrush only clucks. In some gardens 
 from twenty to. thirty thrushes are often captured 
 during a day. As at this time they are first-rate 
 eating, they atone for their sins by making a dinner 
 now and then. It is only natural that they should 
 have fruit if they can get it ; but one thing I must 
 say, dear lover of birds though I am, if the fruit 
 were not protected and well watched, the blackbirds, 
 thrushes, and missel-thrushes would clear the lot. 
 It is a wonder where they all come from, directly 
 it is ripe, and some even before it is so ; they turn 
 up in numbers from all quarters. No more hunting 
 about the meadows and hedgerows for such common 
 things as worms and snails when there are these far 
 more tempting dainties about. It would never do 
 to fire into a tree or bush loaded with fruit ; so the 
 gun is not used, only netting. No doubt, poor 
 things, they think if they get in they can get out, 
 
102 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 but that is another matter entirely; in nine cases 
 out of ten they never do. Other birds will come to 
 the fruit, but the three we have particularly men- 
 tioned are the chief culprits, and they suffer for it. 
 There is not the least fear of their getting scarce ; 
 we receive hosts from the Continent each season ; 
 they fly to and fro across the Channel. 
 
 Thrushes are essentially the choristers of the 
 woodlands, but they will desert their quiet retreat 
 for a tempting gooseberry-bush in a cottage garden. 
 
 The fieldfare, or felt, is the dandy of the tribe ; 
 for a member of the thrush family, he has a coat 
 of many colours. He is a migrant, shy and wary 
 to a degree, and the favourite game bird with all 
 young sportsmen. At any rate he gives them op- 
 portunities of acquiring the cardinal virtue of pa- 
 tience. They must indeed wait for him unless the 
 weather is very severe ; and that alters matters 
 considerably. I, and my companions, have tramped 
 many a mile after him in our young days, and 
 brought the gun home safely, without having come 
 to grief, but also without fieldfares. 
 
 It is a well-known fact now, or it ought to be 
 
OUR THRUSHES. 103 
 
 so, that there is a larger and smaller variety of the 
 same species, in some of the bird tribes. I will 
 state one instance, that of the common wheatear; 
 this is well known to the dwellers in the downs that 
 these birds frequent. In our young days we used 
 to shoot, when we could, two varieties of fieldfares, 
 the fieldfare common, and what we in our juvenile 
 fashion called the pigeon fieldfare, or felt; the 
 larger varieties are the rarest. I know opinions 
 are divided on these points, and the matter has 
 been set aside as doubtful, but the facts remain all 
 the same ; even now we hear of pigeon felts from 
 some of our old rustic friends. One habit the 
 fieldfare has, which is a very strange one for a 
 thrush, he will roost on the ground ; I know this, 
 because I saw a lot once caught in a lark net. 
 
 For the gentle redwing, who in his native wilds 
 is called the Norwegian nightingale, we have a 
 tender regard. He is, we think, more dependent 
 on a supply of insect-food in some shape or other, 
 than any other member of his family; the conse- 
 quence is that in the inclement seasons he suffers 
 severely. I have seen him hunting for a bare sub- 
 
104 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 sistence round the edges of brooks in the low-lying 
 water-meadows, and pitied him many a time. He 
 suffers silently; there is no rush and flutter with 
 him, or any struggling to secure the scanty food ; 
 he only flutters from one spot to another, gets what 
 he can and makes the best of it. Sometimes he 
 will stay long enough to sing ; this takes place very 
 rarely, but he has done so, to my knowledge, in 
 some water-meadows. The bird was perching on 
 the willow-boughs when he sang. It was a wild 
 sweet note, different in all respects from that of the 
 others of his family; it might not have been the 
 full song of the bird ; he did not stay there, so no 
 definite conclusion could be arrived at. In one or 
 two instances he has bred in England ; this has 
 been proved in the most practical manner, but 
 these instances have been extremely rare. Some 
 winters the redwings are far more numerous than 
 others ; in mild winters, we have seen, compara- 
 tively speaking, few. No doubt the food -supply 
 influences them to a great degree, for I think our 
 favourite, the gentle redwing, is the most tender 
 of the thrush family. 
 
OUR THRUSHES. 105 
 
 With White's thrush, the gold-breasted thrush, 
 and the nightingale-thrush, we have nothing to do ; 
 for they can barely be called visitors in our land. 
 I have only given a short account of our British 
 thrushes proper. 
 
106 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 BEFORE so much machinery came into use, in the 
 days when labourers were precious in the sight of 
 the farmer, he and his, with the men - servants, 
 usually constituted one large family in our part of 
 the country. How I delighted in "The Coombe," 
 as one of these old-fashioned farmsteads was fitly 
 called, sheltered as it was from the north winds 
 by a hill that rose immediately behind it ! The old 
 house was a large, substantial, rambling building. 
 The huge chimney-stacks alone were worth going 
 far to see. Age had given them that peculiar tone 
 of colouring which only the brush, not the pen, 
 can give any idea of. Starry lichens, small patches 
 of stonecrop, larger ones of house-leek, and other 
 
IN " THE GOOD OLD TIMES." 107 
 
 plants that love to fix themselves on ancient brick- 
 work, grew there in luxuriance. As for the brick- 
 work itself, it was all weather-beaten and stained 
 in greys and browns, varied by the vegetable growth, 
 the whole showing a scale of colouring that would 
 drive an inferior artist wild. For the true painter 
 it was a mine of wealth, so far as rich broken tones 
 were concerned. 
 
 Day after day a friend of my younger days stood 
 near the old house, adding touch to touch, with 
 skilful hand, on his canvas. I am glad to say that 
 his picture was afterwards hung on the walls at 
 Burlington House, and that it attracted much notice 
 there. 
 
 Changes have come some say for the better 
 but we are not all carried away, thank God ! by 
 those interested agitators who, in their crass igno- 
 rance, speak of our true agricultural population as 
 if they were down-trodden serfs. Ranting, empty- 
 headed windbags these intruding strangers have 
 been called by some of us rural folk. In past times, 
 at any rate, there was a stubborn spirit of inde- 
 pendence among the genuine sons of the soil that 
 forbade oppression and resented interference. The 
 
io8 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 new order of things was no doubt inevitable, but 
 it has thrown the working parts of the old machin- 
 ery completely out of gear. The older members 
 of many of our rural communities speak regretfully 
 of past times. Quite recently I was talking with 
 an old fellow who had served the master of The 
 Coombe for many years. Memories came thick and 
 fast as we smoked a pipe together ; and this is how 
 the faithful old farm labourer talked : 
 
 "Ah, you knowed him well; you were about here 
 times enough. Now you'd hardly think it, but I 
 never growed afore I went to live there at The 
 Coombe. It waun't tu be expected as I could shoot 
 up much, seein' as I on'y got two shillin's a-week 
 rook-mindin', though I wus at it from mornin' tu 
 night. Bread, mind ye, wus a terrible price then ; 
 an' many an' many a time hev I gone rook-tendin' 
 with on'y a hunch o' bread an' a injun or two in 
 my sotchel fur tu last me all day. When I got 
 home at night, there wus taters an' hard puddin', 
 an' glad enough we wus tu git that. 'Twas a hard 
 scratch tu git much in the shape o' vittles fur the 
 lot on us there wus. The young uns nowadays 
 don't know the meanin' o' hard times. 
 
IN " THE GOOD OLD TIMES." 109 
 
 " Well, I heerd as a carter-boy wus wanted at 
 The Coombe, an' I goes there an' asks fur the 
 place. The master, he looks down on me, -an' he 
 eyes me all over. He wus just six foot two in his 
 stockings, you 'member. 'An',' sez he, 'you be 
 a little chap ; ken ye eat ? ' I told him I jest about 
 could ef I could git it. He stood thear, 'siderin' 
 me, when the missus a good un she wus sez, 
 'Try him, father; I think 't is on'y belly timber 
 the poor little chap wants. If he is but little, 
 it ain't no fault o' his, poor chap ! an' 't is a fault 
 he'll soon grow out of here.' They wus the werry 
 words she said. 
 
 "So he took me inter his sarvice, an' I 'members 
 his fust words after I'd cum jest as if 'twas yester- 
 day. ' Now boy/ he sez, ' eat an' drink as much 
 as ye want, but waste nuthin'. Mind what's said 
 tu ye an' do yer work. Then ye'll git on.' I did 
 git on an' no mistake ; an' I growed. He brewed 
 reg'lar, one lot under the other. Two pints a-day, 
 year in an' year out, we got ; an' more in harvest- 
 time. It wus good too ; real malt an' hops ; no 
 swishet, mind ye. An' he killed lots o' pigs, an' 
 cured his own pork an' bacon ; but we had butcher's 
 
no WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN, 
 
 meat allus twice a-week, an' he made no difference 
 in the livin'. What we had in the big kitchen 
 he had on his own table. He said he waun't a- 
 goin' tu hev two cookin's. Waun't these 'ere big 
 chines what hung up in the big chimbley in the 
 bacon-room prime an' tasty ! Many a time would 
 he cum an' bring his knife an' fork an' cut himself 
 a thumb-piece off our chine, cos, he said, he waun't 
 a-goin' tu hev the missus git the cloth laid a purpose 
 fur him when she wus busy. He thought a deal o' 
 the missus an' his darter. As tu rabbuts, we did hev 
 a lot o' them, and we got tired on 'em, though I be 
 'most 'shamed tu say it. 
 
 " I shan't never forgit one mornin' as he had his 
 breakfust off our table in the kitchen ; we allus had 
 bacon, an' this 'ere bacon wus brought on fur ye 
 with the rind on, an' you had tu eat it rind an' 
 all; he'd never 'low the rind tu be took off. But 
 that 'ere mornin' two on us waun't in the humour 
 fur it. So we takes it off an' pokes it on one side, 
 thinkin' as he'd not see it. Jest afore we got up 
 tu go tu work again he gits up an' comes round 
 to us. Without a word he gives me a rattlin' 
 clap on th' ear, an' my mate anuther. It med our 
 
IN "THE GOOD OLD TIMES." in 
 
 eyes twinkle, fur his hand waun't a light un. Then 
 he sez, ' You wasteful young dogs, you've bin 
 chuckin' away the werry best part o' the bacon. 
 Don't ye iver do it again in my house.' More we 
 didn't, I can tell ye ; he wus heavy-handed, but he 
 wus a real good un, bless ye." 
 
 I could fully endorse this ; a true specimen of 
 the honourable old school was the master of The 
 Coorhbe farm, considerate to man and beast. He 
 never went to bed, winter or summer, before making 
 a last inspection of the stables and the cow-stalls 
 to see that all the stock was properly cared for. He 
 never shirked work himself, and he would suffer 
 no evasion of it on the part of others. I will give 
 an example of the sterling honesty that characterised 
 all his actions. After the wheat had been threshed 
 out, when the measuring took place, if the odd 
 quantity amounted to half a bushel, he would allow 
 the thresher a bushel for it ; if it only reached a 
 peck, he claimed it. Then, after the wheat had 
 been placed in the large bins before being put in 
 sacks for the market, he would go up to any one 
 of them haphazard, turn his back on it, put his hand 
 behind him, and take a handful of the grain from the 
 
ii2 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 first lot he touched, walk out of the barn with it, and 
 then not sooner it was placed in his sample-bag 
 ready for the morrow's market-day. " If you take it 
 in that way," he would say, "the bulk on it will be 
 sure to tally with the sample." 
 
 Pheasants were not so plentiful, round our out- 
 lying farms at least, in those days as they are now. 
 Partridges, however, were ; and it was the pride 
 of the master of The Coombe to pilot the old squire 
 round his farm to the best coveys when he came 
 to shoot over his fields with his favourite Spanish 
 pointer. Once during the season, in any case, there 
 was a visit paid ; for The Coombe farm and lands 
 were rented from the squire. 
 
 On one of these occasions the farmer and his 
 landlord had worked back to The Coombe after a 
 good morning's sport. "They should have sent 
 some lunch to meet me," muttered the squire, half 
 to himself. 
 
 " Mother will be proud to find ye something, 
 squire ; 'tis plain but wholesome." 
 
 " Mother " and " darter " were somewhat flustered 
 at having to provide a " snack " for this guest at 
 so short a notice. Not so the master. "What he 
 
IN " THE GOOD OLD TIMES." 113 
 
 gits here wun't hurt him. We've thruv on it, so 
 brush about like good uns." 
 
 The snowy cloth is laid in the quaint, cool par- 
 lour, with its large china cupboard on one side, and 
 on the other an old oak table with the ponderous 
 family Bible, upon which always lies " father's " 
 spectacle-case. A few bright flowers gathered by 
 " darter " give a bright finish to the restful look ol 
 the room, which feels cool and pleasant to the old 
 squire after the morning's work. 
 
 In and out flit mother and daughter, just showing 
 themselves for a moment, as they hope their guest 
 can put up with farmhouse fare. No doubt as to 
 that, the squire assures them heartily. When the 
 cloth has been removed, the master of The Coombe 
 appears in his church-going clothes, carrying a tray, 
 on which is a bottle and a long, deep glass. 
 
 " Squire," he said, " I consider yer do me an hon- 
 our in eating an' drinking in my house. Will ye 
 oblige me by tasting my own special cider ? " 
 
 This was manufactured entirely under the mas- 
 ter's eye ; in fact, mainly by himself from choicest 
 fruit that came from special trees, the pride of 
 Coombe orchard, carefully gathered. He always 
 
 H 
 
ii4 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 bottled .and rebottled it ; and the result was that it 
 was styled in our district "beyond compare." 
 
 The cork was drawn gently, the neck of the bottle 
 tilted over the long glass ; a gentle gurgle, and then 
 the amber fluid filled it, clear and sparkling, count- 
 less bubbles rising to the surface. 
 
 The squire sipped, his eyes twinkled, then he 
 drained the glass. With a long "Ah!" followed 
 by " Splendid ! " he denoted his intense admiration 
 of the generous liquid. 
 
 Afterwards, at his own dinner-table, that lunch- 
 eon, and especially the cider, was expatiated on 
 fully, and in order to mark his appreciation, one 
 of his daughters was despatched next day to The 
 Coombe. She arrived unattended, delivering with 
 her own kindly hands two brace of birds and a 
 bottle of the squire's old port, with his com- 
 pliments. 
 
 I have given this little instance, as one among 
 many, to show the excellent understanding that 
 existed often between good landowners, gentry 
 of the olden time, and their farmer tenants. If 
 anything needed talking over together, they had 
 opportunity for doing so ; and it was rarely the 
 
IX "THE GOOD OLD TIMES? 115 
 
 case that a satisfactory arrangement was not ar- 
 rived at. 
 
 As for the agricultural labourers, masters and 
 men were not so far apart. Long service was a 
 common thing in those days ; it is unusual now. 
 Farms change hands now at short notice, and, 
 owing to eventualities that no amount of forecast 
 can provide against, great numbers of the fine old 
 homesteads have been pulled down to make room 
 for modern mansions, built by capitalists who have 
 bought up the properties that were once owned by 
 old gentry of the type I have sketched. I, for one, 
 fear that, if this rapid way of living and of doing 
 things continues, there will be little rest and com- 
 fort left, and little good work produced. In the 
 old days there was time for everything, and folks 
 lived their life. 
 
 The old order of things is passing away, day by 
 day ; the changes come, ever faster. It is a rare 
 thing now to hear the sound of the flail on the 
 threshing-floor; a flail will soon be only regarded 
 as a curiosity. Townfolk, who know little or noth- 
 ing about the country, talk of the " yokel " or 
 countryman in a sneering manner : but, as a rule, 
 
ii6 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 he is strong and hearty, rising early and going early 
 to bed ; plain in speech, prompt in action where 
 help is needed, and kind so far as his means will 
 allow him to be. Once gain his confidence and he 
 will never forget you ; go where you may, he will 
 welcome your return. His consideration and deli- 
 cacy where the feelings of others are concerned 
 would surprise many a so-called lady or gentleman 
 of our towns. 
 
 Even some of the "Wussers," as they called 
 them down our way, are really good-hearted at the 
 bottom. One ne'er-do-weel I remember, whose 
 only social fault was shooting at all the game he 
 came across, without a licence ; for which offence 
 he was detained and well looked after at one of 
 his country's model institutions for that purpose. 
 We had passed each other often in the pursuit 
 of our several avocations with a pleasant greeting, 
 and this was the extent of our mutual acquaint- 
 ance. 
 
 One evening a thunderstorm came on suddenly, 
 and the rain fell in torrents, so that I had to seek 
 shelter under some trees. As I stood there, wonder- 
 ing how I should get through it, my friend came 
 
IN "THE GOOD OLD TIMES." 117 
 
 along in a great waterproof coat. Catching sight 
 of me he said : " Ye're in a fix ; I know it wun't 
 leave off; we're in fur a night's' rain, an' ye'll git 
 soaked through an' through, an' git laid up per'aps. 
 Ye don't look as if ye could stan' it like me ; take 
 this 'ere coat o' mine we're both on us near the 
 same size." 
 
 I bade him keep it ; he would get wet himself. 
 
 " Well, an' if I do, it wun't hurt me, fur I'm 
 handy home, an' you've a good six mile to go afore 
 you gits there. I don't know yer name, but I knows 
 where ye're stoppin'. Ye can bring it back in the 
 mornin' ; I'm sure to meet ye." 
 
 After that we became better acquainted, and he 
 gave me many bits of his personal history. 
 
 " I don't let my old folks know my movements," 
 he said ; " fur ye see it works 'em if they thinks I'm 
 arter anything. Somehow or other I can't help it, 
 not when I thinks I'll hev a turn. When that fit 
 comes on I hev it, an' take my chance as a matter 
 o' coorse. They've had me a time or two, not 
 often, but quite enuf. Last time they med it a little 
 bit warm, just to mek a sample of me, as they said. 
 Them places ain't much to stop at ; the grub ain't 
 
ii8 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 nothin' pertickler, an' there ain't none too much on 
 it, nor yet no baccer nor no beer. The old folks 
 wud ha' paid the fine, but I said ' No.' I was bad 
 enough as 'twas, without their payin' fur it, poor old 
 souls. I was sorry fur mother, fur I knowed she'd 
 fret all the time I was away ; but 'tain't no good 
 cryin' over spilt milk. I ain't done nothin' wuss 
 than a bit o' poachin' now an' agin. There's a lot 
 does that, an' a good many as you'd hardly think, 
 on'y they doesn't git cotched." 
 
 As we saw more of each other, Ralph and I found 
 we had much in common ; he was a first-class field 
 naturalist, and knew more about wild creatures than 
 many men whose names are mentioned with rever- 
 ence in that connection. A true type he was of 
 that large class of men born with an inherent passion 
 for sport. I believe myself that ninety out of every 
 hundred born and reared in the country are sports- 
 men at heart, and it is most hard to repress that 
 instinct. Speak to any one man who comes from 
 the woods and streams on the subject. Only men- 
 tion a rod or gun, and he will wax eloquent on the 
 subject. I venture to state the passion is natural 
 to any healthy subject who has the use of his 
 
IN "THE GOOD OLD TIMES." 119 
 
 faculties. I have the complaint myself to a large 
 extent still ; at one time I had it seriously. 
 
 Some, however, who live in ancl by the woods are 
 not destructive, although sportsmen and naturalists. 
 They watch the creatures more for amusement, 
 regarding them as the companions of their lonely 
 labour. If a particular bird or beast is required for 
 a definite purpose, they "hev 'em," as they say. 
 
 At one time I found much pleasure and interest 
 in the friendship of a fine old couple a woodman, 
 past -master in his craft, a fine specimen of his 
 class, over seventy years of age, but strong and 
 erect, with a clear grey eye that was always alert 
 and watchful ; the wife, every way his equal, a 
 genuine country woman, pure and simple. Their 
 cottage was clean as a new pin ; all its appointments 
 were in perfect order ; the fires made on the hearths 
 no grates ; and I can tell you, if you want to en- 
 joy a meal, go into the woods first to get an appetite, 
 and perhaps to catch your game ; then come home 
 and broil it over wood embers to my mind the 
 sweetest of all cooking. 
 
 They had reared a large family, who had gone out 
 into the world ; all but two, who, as the mother told 
 
120 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 me, were "laid in the chapel ground under the hill. 
 Father and me has gone there reg'lar fur many 
 years." 
 
 I had often met them there before I got to know 
 them. The congregation was a very earnest and 
 simple-hearted one ; a gathering for worship it was 
 which often made me think of the old Puritans one 
 reads of, in their American homes. Once during 
 the week, and twice on Sunday, the woodlanders 
 were to be seen coming through the tall firs and 
 along the woodland roads to their plain little 
 chapel; gathering in groups outside before the 
 time for service they might be heard exchanging 
 such greetings as "How are ye, neighbour?" 
 " How goes matters with ye ? " " Are ye at peace ? " 
 "That last sermon as he giv us left matters to 
 ponder on, mind ye ; 'twas stirrin' ay, to the 
 marrer o' yer bones. 'Twas a gran' sermon fur 
 one so young." 
 
 Then they greet their pastor as he comes up the 
 chapel path, and enter after him. The hymn hav- 
 ing been given out, the fresh, clear voices of a choir 
 of young women only lead the singing, the pure, 
 bell-like tones of one, who it is said will soon be 
 
IN "THE GOOD OLD TIMES." 121 
 
 the pastor's wife, sounding distinct above the rest. 
 I have never enjoyed the singing of any choir as I 
 did that, composed only of those women's voices. 
 
 The young minister preached in plain words and 
 a manly fashion the Word of God ; no fancies of his 
 own, no fine-spun theories, but the practical sense 
 of the words as applied to their condition of life. 
 No thunderings of the law; no excommunication 
 of the erring; with these he pleaded, holding up 
 to them the humanity that was Divine ; the One 
 who was human above all others, who said to the 
 woman " Go, and sin no more." He tried his best 
 to show them that religion was not a thing for one 
 day of the week, but part and parcel of their lives, 
 to be shown in their bearing towards each other, 
 and their every action. To the aged and the weary 
 and the suffering ones he talked of rest ; looking the 
 while into their faces as though he were their son 
 instead of their preacher. 
 
 They passed out of the chapel with a few remarks 
 on what they had heard ; there were friendly leave- 
 takings, and then the little congregation broke 
 up and lost itself in the woodlands. The young 
 pastor died before he had reached his prime, and 
 
122 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 the woman he loved followed him in the course of 
 a few months. 
 
 Old Maurice " father," as his wife always called 
 him and I had many a chat together over the wild 
 creatures, which he said were not so plentiful as 
 they were in his young days. " Little farms, ye 
 see, as used to be all round about, is throwed into 
 big uns. Them big hedges is grubbed up, and the 
 dykes, what run up most on 'em, are all filled and 
 levelled, and the shelter and feed for 'em is clean 
 gone. Another thing, more timber is thrown now. 
 They've made reg'lar havick of it on some estates 
 to git money. No matter where you throw timber, 
 all creeturs within sound on it will move on some- 
 where else ; 'tis just like pullin' the houses down 
 over people's heads. The place may be chock-full 
 on 'em, but soon as you begins to fall the trees they 
 tells one and another all round there's mischief about, 
 an' they leaves it, so as you wun't find one. 
 
 " Another thing is that in my young days the 
 gentry used to shoot the game with pineters 
 [pointers] or else setters ; now they're threshed 
 out an' knocked over in heaps. They was con- 
 tented in my time with a fair day's shootin' ; but 
 
IN "THE GOOD OLD TIMES." 123 
 
 now I reckons 'tis reg'lar slaughter, nothin' done 
 moderate. Folks and creeturs could both live then, 
 now 'tis reg'lar harrien', all trie lot on it. They 
 wants me to do too much at once nowadays, all 
 on it in a hurry. Now, to tell by yer face an' the 
 colour of yer hair ye've sin somethin' of the world ; 
 what do you think about these 'ere things ? " 
 
 I tell him that much as I deplore the loss of wild 
 creatures, and the breaking up of their haunts and 
 homes, I do honestly believe that, taking all things 
 into consideration, we have improved greatly, and 
 the present generation are reaping the benefit of the 
 changes. The laws are more strictly enforced, pro- 
 perty is more secure, and human life too. Know- 
 ledge is more accessible to all who wish to gain it ; 
 and in every way men and women are more free to 
 act and think than they were years ago. So that on 
 the whole we are in a state of improvement, and 
 things are working for the best all round. 
 
 "Ay, 'tis as you say, some of the changes is for 
 the better. When mother here was a gal, and I 
 was a young shaver, there was a desprit gang in 
 the forest. Banded together they was fur all that 
 was bad real desprit they was. Old Tom and me 
 
i2 4 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 knows the places where they used to hide their 
 plunder. It was no matter to them what it was 
 game, or sheep, or any mortal thing. All our folks 
 round here was in real dread of that lot, and if they 
 thought you'd said anything about what you'd seen 
 of their doings when you'd bin working in the forest, 
 they'd threaten to kill ye, and more than that, they'd 
 do it, when they'd the chance ! Mother recklects 
 one of the wust of 'em being warned off the medders 
 where the trout - stream runs through. He'd bin 
 after the trout and took a lot. The miller that was 
 there in those days was a mettlesome man, and he 
 didn't care a brass button fur the best man among 
 'em, if it came to a fair stand-up tussle ; but that 
 warn't their game; they was a murderin', skulkin' 
 lot, and what they did was done in the dark. A 
 week arter that lot had bin warned off, the miller 
 was woke up by what he took to be a woman's 
 voice screaming fur help under the winder of his 
 sleepin' room. He jumps out o' bed and opens the 
 winder, shouting out as he did it : * What is it ? 
 I'm coming ! ' 
 
 " It was that varmint he'd warned off his medders, 
 and as soon as the miller showed hisself he took 
 
IN " THE GOOD OLD TIMES." 125 
 
 aim and fired at him from where he was in hiding. 
 It warn't to be, however; 'twas a flint -gun he'd 
 got, same as they all had then in these parts, and 
 it flashed in the pan. By the light of that flash 
 the miller seed his face as plain as if 'twere day- 
 light. He kept quiet though, and never showed 
 that night as he'd seen him. Only next day they 
 had him, fur the miller was well liked by all the 
 folks round, high and low, and they was all up in 
 arms together. 'Twas proved agin him, and he was 
 sent to Botany Bay. There warn't no model prisons 
 in those days, and he was transported fur life, and 
 good riddance. The rest of his gang swore all 
 manner of vengeance on the miller, but the mill 
 was too well looked alter fur them to come sneakin' 
 round ; they knowed they'd shoot 'em down like 
 dogs, his men would, if they offered to molest the 
 master. 
 
 " But they could kill a man's stock or injure it 
 if they couldn't hurt himself. There was one of 
 'em I knowed well went by the name of Moocher. 
 They all had nicknames, and they called him that 
 because he was allus a-mouching round, like a hungry 
 fox, grabbing hold of anything he could. If ever 
 
126 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 there was a thief, he was one and no mistake. He'd 
 rob his own father and mother just as soon as he 
 would any one else. He was a terrible pill to one 
 farmer, as had a farm that was hemmed in all round 
 by the woods. One day he was catched where he'd 
 no business to be, and the farmer sez to him 
 
 " ' What are you after here, Moocher ? ' 
 
 "And he sez 
 
 " ' I'm watchin' my shadder go along in front 
 of me. Ain't it a long un ? And ain't it curous 
 yer shadder should go in front, eh ? And ain't it 
 curous what a lot o' things some people have more 
 than others. 'Tain't possible they can want it all. 
 Now jest you look at my shadder.' 
 
 " ' I expected to find you stealing around,' sez the 
 farmer. 
 
 " * Did ye now ? Ain't I glad I didn't disappoint 
 ye, then.' 
 
 " That just about did it. 
 
 "'Moocher,' he cries, 'ye thievin', sneakin' var- 
 mint, if I had my will I'd hound ye, an' the cowardly, 
 murderin' crew as ye belong to down, with blood- 
 hounds ! ' 
 
 " ' Everybody knows what a kind, tender-hearted 
 
IN "THE GOOD OLD TIMES." 127 
 
 critter ye be,' sez Moocher ; ' it's a wonder ye have 
 the heart to kill yer fowls before ye roast 'em. What 
 a lot ye have got, to be sure ! ' 
 
 " ' You shall have a notice writ, and brought ye by 
 the constable, to keep off my land/ roars the farmer. 
 
 " ' Oh, shall I ? Well, let it be writ big an' plain, 
 for I ain't no scollard. It ain't to be reckoned on 
 as I should be. 'Twere only t'other day some on 
 'em said I wurn't able to tell the difference 'twixt 
 what was mine an' what was other folkses ; but they 
 must ha' bin jokinV 
 
 " The farmer's lawyer sent him a note sayin' he 
 must keep off of his lands. Moocher said it was a 
 pictur', it was writ so plain. A week arter that the 
 farmer was woke up by the blaze of his rickyard all 
 afire. The horns was sounded, and the folks all 
 came helping ; but there warn't too many of 'em. 
 The farmer see a man marchin' to and fro in the 
 main road ; he runs out to ask him to help, and finds 
 it was Moocher. 
 
 " ' Now, then/ he sez, ' give a hand here ! ' 
 
 " He was flustered, ye know. Moocher grinned at 
 him like a devil, and sez he 
 
 " ' I jest should like to help, that I should ; but I 
 
128 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 don't dare. I've got the notes to keep off them 
 lands in my pocket, an' I don't dare. Ain't it a 
 nice fire ? Don't it warm a body ? Ain't it jest 
 comfortable ? I might ha' helped but fur this 'ere 
 note ; but I don't dare. Ye might get them blood- 
 hounds out arter me, bein' so tender-hearted as you 
 be. No, you jist go and have a flick at it yourself.' 
 
 " It was never proved as Moocher set the place 
 afire, but he had the credit on it. Soon arter that 
 he catched cold through bein' out o' nights, and he 
 died. 
 
 " Some of that crew smuggled, and they was allus 
 well primed with liquor afore starting on any of 
 their black work. The one that did most o' the 
 smugglin' was the best scollard among 'em, and 
 he'd got a nice smooth tongue on him. Night and 
 early morning mostly the smugglers come up on the 
 moor from the coast. Sometimes from Sussex way, 
 another time from Hampshire, with their pack- 
 horses, an' their tubs slung on each side on 'em. 
 Along the bottoms of the hills, in the hollers, I've 
 watched 'em come when I've hid up in the tangle. 
 There was other tracks they had, through gentry's 
 grounds as you'd little suspect. It don't do to say 
 
IN " THE GOOD OLD TIMES." 129 
 
 much about that, not even now. Arter a while a 
 man was found floating in a mill-pool, one as was 
 well known to ha' had some words with 'em. He'd 
 seen some o' their doings and spoken on 'em. No- 
 body never knowed rightly how the body come there. 
 One day mother here was standing at the door of 
 her father's house, when the fog lay thick on the 
 moor; it lifted an' rolled over in one heavy cloud, 
 and showed her the whole gang o' smugglers passing 
 by. She said she was jest upset with fear. Another 
 time I see 'em come down one o' the hollers, an" 
 I recklect I hid up till they was all gone. Now an' 
 agin they'd leave a little keg o' spirits at any one's 
 door they wanted to keep friends with. There'd 
 be a kick at the door in the evening when 'twas 
 dark, and when they knowed a man was alone ; 
 an' when he went to see who 'twas, he'd find the 
 stuff snug agin the door. 
 
 "At last one on 'em was cotched red-handed, 
 an' the man that owned the house he lived in 
 with another lot, was that mad, he said he'd pull 
 the place down. ' I'll unearth an' unroof the var- 
 mints,' sez he; 'they shan't have no hidin' -place 
 on any land o' mine.' So they mucked 'em out, 
 
 I 
 
130 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 neck an' crop. In the big kitchen fireplace they 
 found a large flagstone level with the floor, with 
 an iron ring let in the middle ; on the top of it 
 was another stone. Our fires is never out, win- 
 ter nor summer, ye know; we burns wood. The 
 fire burns flat on the hearth ; an' when ye comes 
 down in the morning there's allers live embers 
 there; all ye has to do is to put some spray on, 
 and rake them up a bit. That smugglin' lot kept 
 the embers over they stones, an' sometimes they 
 burned a bit ; but their regular fire was in another 
 place. 
 
 "The landlord had the stone grubbed up, and 
 underneath they found a cellar. The stuff they 
 got there they divided amongst 'em, and the gang 
 duresn't say nothing about it, for the gentry round 
 said as they should be hunted down like foxes ; 
 though, as a rule, they never meddled with them as 
 lived near : 'twas mostly the gentry's houses furder 
 as suffered. 
 
 " One o' they drove up to London in his car- 
 riage, an' he see the head people at Bow Street 
 his valet it was told us and a while arter that some 
 new, rough-lookin' customers was sin moochin' an' 
 
IN " THE GOOD OLD TIMES." 131 
 
 wanderin' round. To look at they was a more des- 
 prit-looking lot than the old uns. They got in tow 
 with 'em quick too, and told 'em as they could take 
 all as they could git, and would find 'em a better 
 price by a long way than what they'd bin gettin'. 
 They brought fast-trottin' ponies an' light spring- 
 carts to take the game an' other things away. 
 Some o' th' old gang, jist to see what stuff the new 
 chums was made on, in case a scrimmage came, 
 kicked up a row an' hit some on 'em. They was 
 soon satisfied, however, fur they hit out most ter- 
 rible, an' some on 'em they throwed up on their 
 backs, with a turn o' the foot like, enuf to bust 'em. 
 Arter that they would do anything to please 'em; 
 an' the new uns, jest to prove to 'em as all was 
 right an' square, turned gold over to 'em, as earnest 
 fur the jobs they had before 'em. 
 
 " When everything was ready for action like, they 
 planned a housebreakin' job fur one thing, an' a 
 game-harryin' bit fur another : all on it to come off 
 the same night. The night afore that, they'd done 
 some sheep -stealin'. They was bold over it, fur 
 they killed 'em in the fold an' they dressed 'em 
 there, an' left the skins. The night come, an' they 
 
132 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 was full swing at their bad work, with the ponies 
 an' carts close handy, when a whistle was blowed. 
 All at once the new mates collared 'em an' clapped 
 a pistol to the head o' each on 'em. Other men 
 rushed up from some hidin'-place, an' the handcuffs 
 was on 'em in a jiff, afore they knowed where they 
 was. 'Twas a rum lot o' game the carts took off 
 that night. They was missed but not wanted, and 
 nobody knowed whear they'd got to, till it leaked 
 out as they'd got 'em all right, an' meant a-keepin' 
 on 'em. 
 
 " Noosepapers was scarce in those days, and 
 noose travelled slow. Precious few could read if 
 they'd got the papers; this was an out-o'-the- 
 way sort o' place, and is now, for that matter. 
 Anyhow, we knowed later on as all the gang got 
 transported fur that night's work, an' fur what 
 they'd done afore. Two on 'em, thinkin' to get off 
 light, split on t'others. None on 'em was ever sin 
 round here agin, an' fur the fust time fur many 
 years the foresters could sleep in peace. 
 
 "Years has gone by since then, an' the families 
 as they left behind has growed up long ago, an' had 
 families o' their own. What's bred in the bone'll 
 
IN " THE GOOD OLD TIMES." 133 
 
 out in the flesh, an' the folks round the forest allus 
 looked cool on 'em, till they cleared out too, an' 
 went elsewhere. 
 
 " So that's a change for the better, as we've sin, 
 mother an' me. 'Tis no use savin' as times is wuss 
 every way than they was." 
 
134 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 BY THE MILL-STREAM. 
 
 OUR mill-stream the Tillingbourne, in point of fact, 
 at first a mere rill, having its source on the top of 
 the moor, hidden in many places by a tangled growth 
 of fern, heath, and rushes as it grows, forms here 
 and there small pools, clear as crystal dipholes, as 
 the cottagers call them. Almost from its source 
 you will see trout in it if you look well, small ones 
 but very lively, the largest weighing, perhaps, three 
 ounces. Where the run of water is clear of under- 
 growth, you may see them rush up in a shoal when 
 startled. Either from want of food, or perhaps 
 from overcrowding, they do not grow larger here. 
 With the exception of a black-cock or a wood-pigeon 
 coming to drink, and that not often, little of bird- 
 life is to be seen. 
 
BY THE MILL-STREAM. 135 
 
 At the bottom of the moor the stream widens into 
 a pond surrounded by fir-trees, noted for the size 
 and quality of its trout. Then through woods and 
 broken ground it runs a clear, sharp stream, follow- 
 ing which we come suddenly on the mill-house, 
 which is almost hidden among trees. In front the 
 stream has formed a lake, the sides covered with 
 rush and reed, the home of the water-rail, moor-hen, 
 and pike. Quack, quack ! a splash, and with her 
 head and body stretched flat out on the water, a 
 duck has just given the alarm to her young ones, 
 striking the water up with her wings. Helter- 
 skelter they scuttle for the reeds; one is too late. 
 A swirl in the water, a downward, vicious snatch, 
 and Mr Pike has duck for lunch. 
 
 A very good thing it is the miller did not see that 
 duckling go, it might have ruffled the sweetness of 
 his disposition ; and we intend asking permission to 
 walk through his meadows and look at the trout- 
 stream. 
 
 Before knocking at the mill-door we look round 
 for a moment at the perfect picture which presents 
 itself. The old mill is grey, its wheel covered over 
 with moss. As with most of the mills hereabouts, 
 
136 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 the water falls on the top of the wheel overshot is 
 the term for it. Lying below is the house, and the 
 garden full of fruit-trees, flowers, and vegetables. 
 Trees, house, and mill are all covered with moss of 
 many tints. 
 
 " Good morning," sounds from behind, and turn- 
 ing round we see the miller looking at us over the 
 half-door. Returning his greeting, we ask permis- 
 sion to walk along his stream. 
 
 " Well, I don't hardly know what to say about it ; 
 are you one of them artist chaps ? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 "That's all right, then, so far. I don't hackle to 
 'em much. Three of 'em come here last week and 
 asked me if they could paint the old mill. Well, of 
 course, I said they could if they liked. They was 
 youngish chaps to look at, but what puzzled me 
 was they all had glasses on and smoked big pipes. 
 I never see the pipes out of their mouths all the 
 time they was about here. It wasn't long they 
 stayed. First they walked all over the place to get 
 the best point of sight, as they called it. Then 
 they set to work for a bit, then got up and looked 
 at what the others had bin dooin', and begun to 
 
BY THE MILL-STREAM. 137 
 
 talk pretty loud about effect and tones all dog- 
 Latin to me ; more talk than work, a lump of it ! 
 It worked me a bit to hear so much jaw going on. 
 I thought to myself, If you go on at this rate you'll 
 paint the old mill to death, and no mistake about 
 it ! So I just went round to the yard and untied 
 my dog. When he come here, as it might be, I 
 throwed a stick in towards that lot, and he landed 
 close to 'em and shook himself. That ' toned ' 'em 
 middlin', and they used words which sounded rough 
 to me, considerin' they wore spectacles. They 
 haven't been here since." 
 
 Before I had time to reply to this, a man calls 
 the miller on one side and says something which 
 does not reach me. 
 
 Returning to me, he says, " Yes, you can go ; my 
 man knows you, and as he is going down some of 
 the way, he will show you where my ground runs 
 to." 
 
 "Thank you." 
 
 " Oh, you are welcome to go. or you would not 
 have got leave, I can tell you ! " 
 
 My new companion smiled, and said, " Yes, 
 mister, I have seen you before ; the people you 
 
138 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 have been living with since you came about this 
 part of the country are related to me. You have 
 kept the old couple pretty cheerful since they have 
 had you in the house, they tell me." 
 
 Presently he said, " If you see master when you 
 come round again, don't say anything to him about 
 trout." 
 
 " Very well. But why ? " 
 
 "I'll tell you. Did you notice the foot-bridge 
 below the wheel ? Well, just above that, close to 
 the wall, there was a big trout. He used to play 
 in a hole, and master used to feed him ; so did I. 
 He would come for it. He was a size, and no 
 mistake ! He would have weighed something by 
 this time if he had lived. Master was right down 
 proud of him, and no mistake ! He give us all 
 strict orders not to meddle with him. We let him 
 alone, but some one else come and interfered with 
 him a bit. It was like this : A young chap come 
 down here for his health and to study ; they said he 
 was going to be a parson. Well, our people go to 
 chapel regular; so did he. After a bit they got 
 acquainted like ; he used to come to tea, and so 
 on. I used to think he moved about middlin' 
 
BY THE MILL-STREAM. 139 
 
 sharp if his health was rather delicate. They give 
 him leave to fish anywhere below the foot-bridge. 
 So he did. Never used to catch anything worth 
 taking home for a cat to feed on ; we reckoned him 
 up as a poor hand at it. Thursday come round as 
 usual, master and the missus had gone to market, 
 and I was out with the cart. There was only a 
 boy in the mill, and nothing had been said to him 
 about that tame trout. The boy knew that he had 
 leave to fish, so he only looked out of the mill- 
 window at him. He walked up from the meadow, 
 rod in hand, and stood on the foot-bridge. One 
 throw straight as a line, and he had hooked him ! 
 That boy has seen a tidy lot in the fishin' way, but 
 he told me he never see such quick work with a big 
 fish as that young man in delicate health made with 
 master's big trout. From what he seed of him he 
 must have been over seven pounds weight. When 
 master got out at the station, comin' back from 
 market, the porter told him the young gentleman 
 had gone back to town. ' He was quite well again,' 
 he said ; ' and, if I'm any judge of a fish, by only 
 seein' the tail, he'd the biggest trout in a basket ever 
 I see in my life 1 " 
 
140 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 il I will say good morning to you here ; but, 
 mind you, don't say anything to master about 
 trout." 
 
 And now we are in the meadows, where the 
 stream runs through. You can see at a glance it 
 is only reclaimed moorland. The turf is mossy 
 and springs from under the foot ; if you pull up 
 some, peat shows at once, full of fine fibre. Alder- 
 bushes are dotted here and there, and clumps of 
 rushes all over the surface. From the stream run 
 little dykes in various directions through the mea- 
 dows, where some time or other water-cress has 
 been grown. Walking on we see something spring 
 up before us with a whip -whip- whip ! Our first 
 thought is that the place is alive with young snipe : 
 ridiculous idea ! for they are but frogs, the very 
 princes of their family, however : never before have 
 we seen such splendid specimens. They are of 
 a rich sienna yellow, spotted and streaked with 
 purple-brown, and very large in size, and they look 
 more like snipe than frogs as they leap from the 
 ground. They jump like kangaroos. Strange to 
 say, you do not find them near the water, but in 
 
BY THE MILL-STREAM. 141 
 
 the middle of the meadow, squatting like birds, in 
 the moss and peat -fibre, where it is very warm; 
 and they evidently find plenty to eat, for they are 
 plump for frogs. Why they prefer the middle of 
 the meadow to the water, where they are generally 
 supposed to be, is best known to themselves. I 
 certainly have never seen that variety of the frog 
 family near water in the heat of summer. 
 
 Let us examine one of the narrow dykes ; there 
 is a current running through all of them. As a 
 general rule they are about a foot in depth, except 
 where a wooden spout has decayed, and, being re- 
 moved, left a hole. Coarse grass grows in tufts 
 along the sides, and dips into the water in many 
 places. The bottom is clear from weeds, and only 
 a few stones are to be seen on it here and 
 there. Into one hole, deeper than the rest, we 
 look very cautiously for some time. A water-shrew, 
 or bubble - mouse, has been swimming across the 
 bottom, poking his sharp nose under all the little 
 bits of stone and stick in his way, and is now 
 making for the spot we are looking at ; he darts 
 back quicker than he came, as a trout swims- 
 out from the bank and goes back again, but not 
 
142 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 before he has shown himself sufficiently to let 
 us see he is a good fish a two-pounder, if not 
 more. 
 
 The dykes are not really so small as they look, 
 for the run of water has undermined the peaty 
 banks on either side as much as two and three 
 feet, making holes in some parts of considerable 
 depth, fine harbours for the trout. The large ones 
 come up these water-runs, where they find plenty 
 to eat, from the stream ; and make their homes in 
 them. Now and then, at night, they return to it 
 to play about a little. If alarmed, they rush up the 
 runs like a flash ; you might fish the stream for a 
 week and get nothing larger than herrings ; you 
 would not find even that size in the dykes, for this 
 reason, a large trout will not allow one smaller than 
 himself to come near the place he has made his 
 home. Knowing full well that where we find one 
 we can find more, let us cease our inspection of the 
 dykes, and walk over the last meadow towards the 
 road which takes us home. 
 
 Two kingfishers are flying up the stream, sound- 
 ing their curious cry ; and two shrikes are perched 
 on one of the alder-bushes, uttering their chac-chac- 
 
BY THE MILL-STREAM. 143 
 
 chac ! With these exceptions, few birds are to be 
 seen by the trout-stream. 
 
 We are now on the road, and stand looking up 
 the meadows ; all round there are woods and hills, 
 with farmhouses and cottages here and there, and 
 the old mill in the distance. These, with the green 
 meadows and the flashing trout-stream, make a pic- 
 ture you are not likely to forget ; it has been depicted 
 already by a well-known Royal Academician. 
 
 As we walk up a shady lane a man comes out 
 from a copse through a gate ; it is our old acquaint- 
 ance, the keeper, a keen observer of all living 
 creatures. 
 
 " I thought it was you in the meadow, somehow," 
 is the greeting. " Have you had a talk with the 
 miller ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Did he say anything about them three artist 
 chaps ? " 
 
 " Yes, a bit." 
 
 " Did he tell you about the beehive ? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 " I will, then. I see him this morning; he said 
 somebody that I knowed was in the meadows. One 
 
144 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 of them artist chaps walked round the garden, gun- 
 nin' about to get the best view, as he called it ; got 
 a umbrella and a lot of sticks, tied up under his arm 
 somethin' like a sweep's machine, only a different 
 colour. Well, he run right up aginst a hive with his 
 machine, anyhow ; didn't see where he was poking 
 to ; it was middlin' bad, by all accounts, for a time 
 made 'em downright mad ; bees can't bear to have 
 their hives knocked his wife heard 'em swarm out, 
 and come to see what was the matter. One of the 
 bees stung her on the side of the nose, that's why he 
 sent the dog in the water to move 'em. 'Prentices 
 to the trade out for a holiday, I should fancy. They 
 won't come round next week, or the week after, I'll 
 warrant. Have ye heard about his tame trout ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "That young fellow came down here for his 
 health, eh ? He corne for that fish, mister." 
 
 The keeper looks at me, bursts out into a hearty 
 peal of laughter, and continues 
 
 " I never told you what my lad Joe took you for 
 when you come here first, did I ? Well, you'll only 
 laugh, so here goes. Joe was getting ant's eggs for 
 the birds, up in the furze, and see you coming. He 
 
BY THE MILL-STREAM. 145 
 
 said you'd got a bird-nest in your hands and was 
 looking as pleased as a little kid. He watched you ; 
 presently he said you stopped and picked up a 
 feather, and looked at it for some time. Then you 
 sits down on a fir-log and begins to put somethin' 
 down in a book. He was middlin' curious ; you 
 frightened him, though you didn't know he was near 
 you ; for when he come across me he said, ' There's 
 a furriner or else a looneytic up in the firs ; for he 
 picks up feathers and then does somethin' in a book, 
 and what do ye think he'd got round his neck ? No, 
 it weren't no hankercher at all, it were a menjous 
 big snake, and he was a-chirpin' and a-whistlin' to it.' 
 Joe said he got away quick ; you remember, maybe, 
 about it." 
 
 " I do ; it was my tame snake." 
 
 Presently the talk ran on kingfishers. 
 
 " They can run up and down the stream and do 
 what they like now my fish are moved," says the 
 gamekeeper. " They very nearly got me in a bother 
 they would, too, if I hadn't stopped them. Here's 
 one, the last one from the place look at it ! " 
 
 It was a shapeless lump of feathers. " That's the 
 way to serve 'em out when they gets troublesome. 
 
 K 
 
146 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 The squire, you see, had some trout sent him 
 young ones from Scotland." 
 
 " From Lochleven, I suppose ? " 
 
 " Yes, that's the name. Well, he gives me strict 
 orders to put 'em up in the copse where the springs 
 are, for 'em to get big enough to turn out. There's 
 a open place about the size of a table, clean, sandy 
 bottom ; you could see a pin, it's that clear. The 
 bushes are all round it, a nice, quiet place. I turns 
 'em in there and looks at 'em twice a-day, sometimes 
 more. After a bit I misses some of them young 
 trout. I tackled Joe about it ; he told me he'd 
 never bin near the place, and there was no ducks or 
 moor-hens about. So one mornin' I gets in the 
 copse and watches made a hide for myself with 
 boughs close to the place where I turned the trout 
 in. I wasn't kept waiting very long before I heard 
 a kingfisher come up soundin' his rattle. He shoots 
 over the copse and perches on a twig right over the 
 trout. He cocked his head on one side and then 
 click ! and another was gone. It fairly bothered 
 me what to do ; presently a thought come into my 
 head like. 
 
 " I chanced to have some galvanised netting at 
 
BY THE MILL-STREAM. 147 
 
 home, smallish mesh to it. Off I starts to get it. 
 When I got back that kingfisher, or one like him, 
 flew by with another trout. So I just cut some pegs 
 and fixed the netting over the spring, close to the 
 water. Then I hid up. Back comes Mister King- 
 fisher, perches on the same twig, and down he goes, 
 bang. He got more than he reckoned for. After 
 hooking him off with a stick I came away. In the 
 evening there was another, that one you looked at 
 just now, makes five that have gone wrong. I've 
 heard gents talk before to-day about the balance of 
 nature, and all that ; but when such customers as 
 they kingfishers are likely to get you in a bother if 
 you don't stop 'em, the only thing you can do is 
 to upset the balance of nature, same as I have. 
 Kingfishers look well in a case, when they are 
 stuffed, mind you ; but to be where young trout are 
 they're not up to much, I can tell you. You can't 
 blame them because they're fond of trout, it's their 
 nature to be, and you'll find the only way to get 
 natur' out of anything is to knock it out, same as I 
 have out o' them. I believe all creeturs are made 
 for some purpose or other, or else they wouldn't be 
 about, mind you. These things pop in my head 
 
148 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 when I'm walkin' round at times. If they can get 
 what they want easy they'll have it. You catch any 
 wild creetur goin' away for a thing when they can 
 get it close to 'em, they know better than that ; and 
 the better it is the better they like it. Them king- 
 fishers might have got any amount of minners ; but 
 no, they must get at them trout. 
 
 " A gent that comes down here shootin' give me 
 one o' them nateral history books. It was kind of 
 him to do it, and I've read it ; and I'll tell you what 
 my reckonin' up about it is. The picters are the 
 best part of it. Here's a picter of a kestrel wind- 
 fanners we call 'em and a good un it is, too, but 
 the readin' seems to spoil it somehow, for the gent 
 that wrote the book says the windfanner feeds on 
 mice and cockchafers and don't interfere with birds ; 
 and he don't belong to the hawk tribe, because 
 he's a falcon. One of 'em has had three of my 
 young birds that was runnin' round about the coop ; 
 they was a good size, too. Joe told me he had all 
 three in one day. I knowed about the time he'd 
 be round, not before the birds was put out. He 
 come for another this mornin', but he got somethin' 
 that upset him a bit. I shot him dead as he was 
 
BY THE MILL-STREAM. 149 
 
 pouncin' down. He ain't knocked about, and you 
 can have him to draw in that book of yours. You 
 and I have a goodish bit of a chat at times when 
 we meet, and I find we looks at things pretty much 
 in the same way. One thing I know, so do you, 
 if gentlemen want to see sylvan ornaments that's 
 the name, ain't it ? about the place, it's no good 
 their grumblin', because they gets their livin' off it. 
 If they has strict views about the game the other 
 things must go. There ain't no help for it, that's 
 certain. They was made to catch things, and catch 
 'em they will." 
 
 Herons are spoken of. I ask if they trouble him 
 in the autumn months. Giving me a sharp look, 
 he says, " Yes, they give me a lot of trouble ; where 
 they come from gets over me. The trout run up 
 the dykes and the moor-stream, from all quarters, 
 to spawn. Then the varmints get 'em easy. Any- 
 thing of a herrin'-size goes down clean. The big 
 uns they drives a hole through, and gets 'em to 
 pieces after. I'm busy at that time, for my chap 
 Joe and some of the others goes round about the 
 place with a sort of water-cart the squire had sent 
 him from some society he belongs to, and they 
 
150 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 gets all the big uns out and puts 'em in the big 
 trout -pond. Every big varmint about the place, 
 what there is left of 'em, knows when the trout 
 run up. Foxes gets hold of the big trout easy 
 in some places where they run ; the water don't 
 cover 'em. They like fish when it comes handy 
 to 'em. 
 
 "Them herons are the worst of the lot. One of 
 the gents told me they was thought a lot of in 
 times gone by, and belonged to a ancient family, 
 and they ought to be protected. That is the way 
 he said it. And if herons was destroyed as they 
 had been the race would die out, and a connectin'- 
 link in nature would be lost. I only wish it was 
 lost, or that he had to keep that ancient family, as 
 he called 'em when the trout run up, anyway. It 
 reads nice in print when their friends reads what 
 they write ; but they don't do keeperin for a livin', 
 or they'd drop talk like that ! 
 
 "Joe told me you was goin' away from these parts 
 soon. Well, he'll miss you certain, for he's reg'lar 
 took to ye, if he did take ye for a looneytic first off. 
 So shall I, for the matter o' that. You draw in that 
 book of yours and put things down only to amuse 
 
BY THE MILL-STREAM. 151 
 
 yourself and a few friends because you're fond of all 
 live things ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Well, there's time wuss wasted than doin' that. 
 Did ye ever send any of it to be printed ? " 
 
 " Not a line." 
 
 " Quite as well perhaps ye didn't, the way you 
 looks at things. One place where I was keeper 
 before I come about here it's some time ago now 
 master used to have a friend come to see him, 
 a reg'lar nat'ralist, a big gun, no mistake ! Well, 
 he showed me some of his books. There was a lot 
 of it wrong ; I proved it to be so. What then ? I 
 got the sack. People that never see things, and then 
 give a full and pertic'lar account, knows more about 
 'em than men that have watched their movements 
 all their lifetime, you may depend on't." 
 
 I bid my friend good night, and promise to see 
 him again before I go. The old cottage comes in 
 sight, and I am glad of it, feeling a little tired after 
 my wanderings by the mill-stream. 
 
152 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 ON FOWLERS AND WILD-FOWLING. 
 
 FIRST on our list of wild -fowlers come that class 
 who shoot to fill the stomachs of those at home, 
 either with the fowl themselves or with the money 
 these bring when sold. When I was young, money 
 was much more hardly earned than it is now ; and 
 it required no small amount of manoeuvring on the 
 part of the fowlers, and a very accurate knowledge 
 of the different localities along our coast, with their 
 varying food-supplies, to meet with even an ordi- 
 nary amount of success. 
 
 In my native fishing village, wild -fowling and 
 fishing were almost inseparably connected ; even 
 the mechanics of our community were devoted to 
 both of these pursuits, so far as their daily callings 
 
ON FOWLERS AND WILD-FOWLING. 153 
 
 permitted. The men of the coast-line are a distinct 
 race. Whether they hail from Romney Marsh or 
 from the wild shores of Northumberland, they 
 quickly fraternise when they come across each 
 other ; and although their dialects may differ, their 
 mode of thought and habits of life are the same. 
 They change little. I have just returned from a 
 visit to the dreary flats, and found them swept over 
 by the storms that have lashed round our shores of 
 late. The men were just what they were in my 
 boyhood, in thought and action entirely unlike the 
 folks dwelling inland. 
 
 Naturalists they do not profess to be; but they 
 know all the fowl, web-footed and hen-footed, and 
 their plumage, sex, haunts, and habits, as well as 
 any farmer's wife knows the ways of her own 
 poultry. I have before me a list of the wild-fowl, 
 with their local names. To mention a few of the 
 family of the divers, we have the sprat diver, the 
 magpie diver this bird's plumage being black and 
 white, and again the little magpie diver, the mo- 
 rillon or rattle -wings, and the buffle-headed duck 
 called by our folks " the harlekin," because this bird 
 springs and dives like a flash. The " cussed " 
 
154 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 redshank or pool-snipe was dubbed the red-legged 
 yelper, with very good reason. Wild geese, the 
 Brent goose excepted, were all called grey geese, 
 a very comprehensive title with the shooters. 
 
 Our line of coast was, from its formation, pecu- 
 liarly adapted to all the fowl that visited our shores. 
 Where sea-grass grows and the succulent salt-water 
 algae flourish, the fowl congregated in past times, 
 and they do so now in diminished numbers, to feed 
 on these plants. A great amount of wild country 
 is still left to us ; I have lately returned from parts 
 where some who have challenged my statements 
 would have been found dead, if they had attempted 
 to travel over them in the gloaming. Quicksands 
 and morasses are still numerous enough within 
 thirty miles of London, to say nothing about wilder 
 country beyond. In fifty years' time these morasses 
 may be drained ; but the wild hillsides covered 
 with firs and heather will remain as they have ever 
 been, the feeding and playing grounds of our wild 
 creatures. Man has tried to cultivate some of this 
 wild ground, and has failed in all his efforts. The 
 marks of his ploughshare can yet be seen in 
 places, showing this. They must remain what 
 
ON FOWLERS AND WILD-FOWLING. 155 
 
 they have always been, health-giving to man, as 
 well as affording satisfaction to his craving for the 
 beautiful. 
 
 A bitter nor'-easter has been blowing all the 
 day ; the tide has flowed and ebbed again, but not 
 one shooter from the fishing village has been down 
 with his gun to the shore, although a few have taken 
 to the sea-wall the present writer with them to 
 see how things are looking. It is a very poor look- 
 out indeed, for the wind blows the water off the sea 
 in sheets, and delivers it to us in the shape of a 
 blinding salt spray, that makes the tears run down 
 one's face, and gives a sensation as if hot needles 
 were pricking one. There is no use in trying to 
 bear it ; if we do not leave the top of the wall we 
 shall be blown off it, so we crouch at its foot, to 
 the leeward side, of course. As we sit there, fowl- 
 ing reminiscences are brought up : " It wus jest 
 sich a day as this here," remarks one of the party, 
 "that old Splashey busted his six-footer." Splashey 
 was a sporting shoemaker, who owned the longest 
 fowling-gun in the village. He was also noted for 
 wearing the most dilapidated shoes. No matter if 
 it rained in torrents, out he would bolt, precisely at 
 
156 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 ten o'clock, to get his half-pint of porter in those 
 wretched " crab-shells." Flip, flop, splash, he went, 
 hence his nickname of " Splashey." When he went 
 out shooting, however, he always put on waterproof 
 fishing-boots. 
 
 "Yes, it wus jest about sich a day as this it 
 couldn't be a wusser, nohow thet old Splashey, 
 an' me, an' Josher Hulldown, an' Old Craft cum 
 down for sum geese. My boy Scoot brought the 
 noos up frum the boats. Well, they wus druv clean 
 up frum open water, blowed right off, smack ! On'y 
 the wust of it wus, they wus the Musson side o' 
 the Crick. Most o' the feed wus there, d'ye see. 
 Now and agin the wind 'ud clean wobble 'em up, 
 an' blow 'em up agin one anuther; an' you could 
 hear 'em jabber like mad ; an' then a lot of 'em 
 flapped over this 'ere side. 
 
 " There waun't no love lost 'twixt Splashey and 
 Josher, ye knows, not in the shootin' way, though 
 Splashey made all Josher's shoes an' boots ; but if 
 Josher could take the wind out o' Splashey's sails in 
 shootin', he'd do it. He's told me lots o' times 
 he wus bound to. Our guns had bin loaded, mind 
 ye, fur geese, afore we started. Well, we wus be- 
 
ON FOWLERS AND WILD-FOWLING. 157 
 
 hind the wall, listenen' tu the gabble o' they geese," 
 now an' agin pokin' our heads up tu see how near 
 they wus gettin', when all at once we misses Josher. 
 Splashey looks at me an' then he crawls up the side 
 o' the wall and looks over, an' we sees Josher, 
 crawlin' through the blite on his hands an' knees, 
 workin' up to them 'ere geese. Splashey looks at 
 me, fierce es a rat in a trap, an' sez he tu me, ' The 
 six-footer shell reach 'em fust ; I'm damned if she 
 don't ! ' 
 
 " I sees him take somethin' out o' his pocket an' 
 ram it down his old shooter ; an' he sez, ' Not this 
 time, Josher, you don't ! ' He lays his shooter on 
 the top o' the wall, draws his long her'n's shanks up, 
 and kneels down, takes aim at them 'ere geese, 
 an' off she goes : an' off goes poor old Splashey ! 
 Somethin' went by my head swish. Up went 
 Splashey's heels, an' then he rolled down the wall 
 into the dyke [ditch] at the bottom. Fur the time 
 I wus deaf an' silly-like. What in the name o' 
 mischief hed took place I didn't know, but I goes 
 down to him, an' then I sees as his six-footer hed 
 busted. She'd kicked a bit middlin' hard, an' took 
 Splashey a wipe on the head. The stock on her, 
 
158 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 an' a bit o' the barrel, hed gone down the wall with 
 him, t'other part on her hed gone by my head. Up 
 cums Josher, all in a blow-like, an' Old Craft, fur 
 he'd sloped off as well, an' there they sees him laid 
 out with blood on his face, an' his nose swell'd up 
 as big nearly as his paste-horn. 
 
 " Sez they tu me, ' She's wrecked him at last ; ' 
 but sez I tu them, ' Let's see ef he can't be roused 
 up.' So I breaks the ice at the edge o' the dyke 
 with my foot, takes off my red comforter, makes 
 a wet ' swab ' on it, an' while they mucked him 
 up I swabbed him down, like. A goodish bit on 
 it went inside his shirt, I kin tell ye; but it did 
 Splashey a power o' good, fur he begun tu make 
 the most desprit faces, thin he opins his eyes, an' 
 sez he, ' Where's them geese ? ' 
 
 " The long-shanked old fool hed actooally druv 
 a bullet down his shooter, an' it hed stuck three 
 parts down, unbeknown to him. So she busted 
 up." 
 
 Josher Hulldown got his title in this way. He 
 had vested interest in a certain trading barge called 
 the Hoy. We knew her well. She brought all the 
 commodities of civilised life, as they existed at that 
 
ON FOWLERS AND WILD-FOWLING. 159 
 
 time, into our village ; and she carried a few things 
 from our place to other parts. The things were not 
 bulky; but whatever was required a fender, a table, 
 groceries, or liquids the Hoy brought them. 
 
 At times Josher would be intrusted with special 
 commissions, about which the lively young women 
 who gave them were vastly concerned. Now the 
 Hoy had stated times for leaving port and for 
 entering it ; but the truth was, you did well not to 
 expect her till you saw her. To those damsels who 
 were anxious about the Hoy's prolonged absence, 
 Josher would hint vaguely at stormy weather, and, 
 with a long face, would say he hoped she was safe. 
 Taking into consideration that her avowed occupa- 
 tion was to navigate a tidal river, only up to London 
 and back again, he as part-owner had not much to 
 fear. This barge made long reaches from shore 
 to shore. 
 
 Josher broke and sold sporting dogs pointers, 
 setters, and water-spaniels : he always had the best 
 blood that could be got. To those who were in the 
 secret, it was great fun to get near him, if you could 
 do so without being seen, when Josher was training 
 his dogs in the ma'shes. If a thick hedge were 
 
160 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 between you and him, you were all right ; other- 
 wise your position was not a very safe one, espe- 
 cially if, in the exuberance of your joy, you made 
 some remark that Josher did not consider compli- 
 mentary. 
 
 His clothing, when not put with his dogs, did not 
 differ in the least from that of the poorest fisherman 
 in the village ; but when out with his dogs, Josher 
 was a transformed being, in a drab cord shooting- 
 jacket with capacious pockets, knee-breeches to 
 match, and with leggings called by his admirers 
 spattle- dashers. The whole get-up was crowned 
 by a drain-pipe hat. Superb the boys all thought 
 it, and only equalled by his language to the dogs. 
 One well -remembered morning, Old Craft, one of 
 our party of shooters, had business in the ma'shes, 
 as indeed every soul in the place had at times. He 
 told afterwards how from the thick hedge where he 
 had gone to look for something, he heard what he at 
 first thought was a drill-sergeant with a lot of raw 
 recruits, talking very high and mighty. On looking 
 through the hedge, behold Josher and his dogs. 
 " To ho oo o ! Dash h h ! Nellie. Down ! 
 Cha arge, cha arge ! Most zasperous you be 
 
ON FOWLERS AND WILD-FOWLING. 161 
 
 goin' on ! Stead y ! May Old Harry lay hold o' 
 the pair o' ye ! Now then, Nellie, down then, 
 cha arge ! " All this time, he was, as Old Craft 
 expressed it, waving his arms about like a merry - 
 andrew on a stage. 
 
 " Josher," cried out Old Craft, " do ye call your- 
 self a Christian man, trying to talk French to poor 
 dumb creatures thet can't noways onderstand it ? 
 Ye ought to be 'shamed o' yourself." 
 
 Going up to Old Craft with an expression of 
 supreme pity on his face, Josher replied, " Craft, 
 'tain't tu be expected thet you should onderstand 
 my speaking, seein' thet ye ain't hed no schoolin' 
 tu speak on ; but I'll ask ye one question. Ef I wus 
 tu speak tu these 'ere dogs in the same way as I 
 speaks tu you, how wud the critters onderstand the 
 language o' the Quality, arter I hev sold 'em to 
 'em?" That question proved a "poser" for Old 
 Craft. 
 
 I have seen it stated in the most decided manner 
 that there are no fowl in certain localities. For 
 those who have made this statement certainly this 
 is the case. Is it probable that local wild-fowlers 
 will, for a paltry pound, or a couple, if it comes to 
 
 L 
 
1 62 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 that, show the haunts of fowl to " tinkering duffers," 
 who would only frighten them ? No one has more 
 respect for the true sportsman than I have, but it is 
 for the genuine article ! 
 
 If under the most favourable conditions, with the 
 most intimate knowledge of the " gripes " and gullies 
 of the slub ooze, fowl are hard to circumvent, what 
 must it be under foul weather ? For, to the stranger, 
 the slub looks like a level flat ; but it is not one by 
 any means, for when the tide ebbs and flows, it 
 rushes up and down these gullies in the ooze like 
 a mill-race. Money earned by fowling is hardly 
 earned. If it were not for the sporting element, 
 the difficulties would be unbearable. 
 
 There is more traffic on the tidal waters now than 
 there used to be. Where at one time you would 
 only see one or two sleepy barges in a day, you 
 will now see fifty or more different craft. Steamers 
 and steam-launches have made fowl shy, to say 
 nothing about steam -tugs, with a heavy fleet of 
 barges behind them, churning all up from the 
 bottom and sides. 
 
 It is mainly owing to the danger attached to 
 fowling that it is so fascinating. A shore-shooter 
 
ON FOWLERS AND WILD-FOWLING. 163 
 
 is always alone. Pairs do not shoot together. 
 There would be endless squabbles if they did. If 
 he is on the slub flats, and the sea -fog comes 
 down on him, even if the shore-shooter is only a 
 quarter of a mile out and he has his dog with him, 
 his situation is not to be envied. He may come out 
 of it all right, and he may not. It is impossible to 
 tell at such times which is water and which slub. 
 More than one fowler has driven the barrel of his 
 long duck-gun into the ooze, and grasped the stock, 
 when he has found the water rippling over his boots 
 and the tide coming in, not going out. And he has 
 all but funked over the matter, when the fog has 
 been lifted as quickly as it fell. He has just been 
 able to reach shore after wading in water waist-high. 
 Others have thrown down their bunch of fowl and 
 rushed for their lives. I have been in this fix 
 myself, and know what it is like. To see the tide 
 rush round you, filling up hollows to the size of a 
 moderate mill-pond, in about five minutes, will make 
 you look alive. For it is a well-known fact that any 
 fowler caught on the flats by the tide, if he has 
 fishing-boots on, and he is not able to get them off 
 in time, goes down. 
 
1 64 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 All this is for the love of sport, the money 
 is a very secondary matter. Well, there is good 
 comradeship at such times. If the cry for help 
 is heard, rest assured it will be responded to ; 
 for they have bold brave hearts. But if it be too 
 late, the next day, or the day after, according to 
 the state of the wind and tide, the unlucky fowler 
 " comes ashore," as they term it. 
 
 The gale has lasted for two days. High rough 
 tides have rushed up the creeks and gullies from the 
 open sea, bringing up sea-weeds and fish which have 
 their usual habitat in deep water, far out. The fowl 
 have been flitting now here, now there, wherever 
 they could get grass to feed on. It has been far too 
 rough for a boat for fowling purposes, even in the 
 sheltered creek; and it is madness to aim at fowl 
 from a punt or skiff when the bow is playing seesaw, 
 now up, now down. Now, however, the gale is over. 
 The tide will be flowing up at flight-time, glorious 
 news for the fowlers, of which they will certainly take 
 advantage. I have been watching the fowl all day, 
 and my eyes ache. The salt spindrift is still in the 
 the air, and gathers on one's field-glasses. It must 
 be borne in mind that the very best binoculars will 
 
ON FOWLERS AND WILD-FOWLING. 165 
 
 not distinguish between closely allied species over a 
 certain distance. There is a vast difference, com- 
 paratively speaking, between a curlew and a plover, 
 when these birds are standing up ; but when the birds 
 have squatted on the hard dry slub, heads to wind- 
 ward, making the best of it until feeding-time comes, 
 it is almost impossible, unless some fortunate acci- 
 dent allows you to get very near, to tell the differ- 
 ence between them. It is hard also to distinguish 
 between sanderlings and dunlins in their winter 
 plumage, as they run about mixed up, even if you 
 are very close up to them, as I have been at times. 
 On their first arrival on our coast they are not shy, 
 if left alone and not harried. 
 
 Wild-fowl proper, the mallard, widgeon, pochard 
 the dun bird or red-headed pochard the long- 
 tailed duck or sea-pheasant, with the two species 
 of teal, constitute the fowler's ducks, as they are 
 called ; that is, the eating ducks. Almost all the 
 waders woodcock, snipe, and plovers excepted 
 are odd trifles for the bird -preserver. The loons 
 or sprat divers, grebes, gulls, and the diving- 
 ducks, scaups, and scoters, also find their way to 
 him. These are fancy ducks, some of them pro- 
 
166 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 cured at intervals few and far between. I spoke 
 of the effect salt pricking spindrift has on the eyes. 
 It now causes me to turn my back on it, and to get 
 on the top of the sea-wall and march homewards. 
 Before I have tramped a mile, I meet the fowlers 
 coming down for the flight-shooting. Nowhere else 
 could I see such a battery of guns, half-a-dozen of 
 them all told, some of them muskets from the army 
 and the navy, which the owners said " hed helped to 
 leather old Boneypart." The musket party proper 
 consisted of three. The fourth man had what he 
 called a Spanish musket, "one thet hed bin in his 
 fambly fur years," he said, some of his folks having 
 brought it home when they went there for fruit and 
 nuts. Number five had what his companions called 
 a musketoon, well named, for the muzzle was bell- 
 shaped, and quite as large as a small hand-bell. 
 The sixth had one of the finest fowling-pieces I 
 have ever seen or handled. Manton's guns were 
 not scarce in that locality. This one, like all other 
 good fowling-pieces, w r ould send a bullet straight to 
 the mark if properly handled. When the butt was 
 on the ground, the muzzle came up to his chin, and 
 the shooter stood five feet ten inches in his shoes. 
 
ON FOWLERS AND WILD-FOWLING. 167 
 
 Tradition said that he had on one particular occa- 
 sion cut one of his wife's clothes-props in half, 
 pointing the lower part of the forked portion, to 
 serve as a gun-rest. This was for a long shot. As 
 the subject had led on one or two occasions to some 
 remarkably hard hitting, given and received, it was 
 not often mentioned. 
 
 I knew the whole history of those six guns by 
 heart, for when one or the other could get me to 
 himself he would tell me what she would do. One 
 and all of them had miraculous killing powers, " ef 
 they could on'y get among 'em '' (the fowl). This 
 they certainly did at times. As to the very ancient 
 " musketoon," as its owner called it, she eclipsed 
 the lot. He would launch out about raking a lot 
 of widgeon, at feed on the slub. I should not like 
 to state how many times that tale has been told 
 by him, but I always listened to it with profound 
 respect. It was her wonderful spreading power, he 
 said, did it. He had taken her out one day and got 
 left in his punt, high and dry in a deep gully. There 
 he had to wait till the tide flowed. As he lay there 
 out of sight, some widgeon pitched to feed just in 
 front, and well within shot. He fired and got a 
 
1 68 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 dozen, for they were packed as close as they could 
 be, and had got their heads up. The distance the 
 slub was torn up was marvellous. But it was what 
 he did not get that grieved and worried him. The 
 sly old boy knew perfectly well that not one wounded 
 bird could he find when he floated out of the gully ; 
 but he would persist in believing that double the 
 quantity had been killed by that mighty spreader. 
 
 To give an instance of his affection for her. 
 When he had a bad miss-fire at a lot of fowl, at 
 close quarters, and got twitted over it, he would 
 say, " She ain't jest right to-day." It was a diffi- 
 cult thing to listen to the recital of these wonderful 
 qualities without smiling, and I have known punched 
 heads result through doubting that spreading power 
 of hers. The way in which the old shooting- 
 machine was coddled up by her owner was curious. 
 No child of tender years and delicate constitution 
 could have had more care bestowed upon it. 
 
 But this is only the light side of fowling; there 
 was a darker one. Many a sad accident has oc- 
 curred in those out-of-the-world localities, of which 
 the public has heard nothing. In spite of the great- 
 est care, misfortunes will take place at times. A 
 
ON FOWLERS AND WILD-FOWLING. 169 
 
 low punt of the old-fashioned sort, at night, with 
 the fowler stretched out flat at the bottom, his long 
 gun just over the bows, is not easily distinguished 
 from a lot of fowl. Fowl lift only a few inches from 
 the water. They are in one grey mass, if in close 
 order, and of the same tone as the punt. More 
 than one unfortunate has been towed home, lying 
 dead in his punt, having been accidentally shot by 
 a fellow-fowler. The fowling-punts now in use, for 
 those who shoot for sport only, are of different con- 
 struction. Those our shore-shooters used were chiefly 
 the flat punts, peaked fore and aft, and they were 
 made in many instances by the men themselves. 
 
 It is from this class that moneyed fowlers get 
 their information as to the fowl and their haunts. 
 Our ordinary shore-shooters are employed by the 
 latter as fowling and fishing guides. It would be 
 a rash venture to go on a strange coast without a 
 guide that could be trusted. Incompetent loafers 
 are to be found, go where you will; but a little 
 trouble and tact will lead you to what you require. 
 Then, weather permitting, if the fowl are there, 
 and the sportsman who is after them can shoot, 
 all will go well. 
 
170 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 Fowling appears to have been practised by the 
 ancient Egyptians, judging from their sculptures 
 and paintings. In England it has been carried on 
 to a vast extent, from the earliest times, in the Fen 
 counties. Nets, snares, and springes have been em- 
 ployed for the capture of the wild-fowl. I do not 
 intend to enter fully into this matter, but will refer 
 our readers to an admirable and exhaustive work 
 on duck-decoys by that keen sportsman and nat- 
 uralist Sir Ralph Payne -Gallwey, author of * The 
 Fowler in Ireland.' Nothing could be better, so 
 far as information on that subject goes. As re- 
 gards the capture of wild-fowl by decoys and other 
 methods, from the earliest date up to the present 
 time, it stands unrivalled. 
 
 By the way, the fowl that supply the London 
 market come principally from Holland^ the shores 
 of that country being very favourable to the hosts 
 that flock there for food and shelter. 
 
 Until quite recently the capture of fowl by decoys 
 or nets has been kept a profound secret by all those 
 who have practised it for a living. I have known 
 the time when, if a stranger received a friendly hint 
 from some quarter or other that his company or 
 
ON FOWLERS AND WILD-FOWLING. 171 
 
 his presence in certain localities was not desirable, 
 it would have been very unwise for him to disregard 
 that caution. To put the matter plainly, a sluice 
 might be turned on to flood a certain meadow that 
 he was in the habit of passing over, or a plank- 
 bridge pulled up and laid on one side of a deep 
 dyke on a dark evening, the natives in this way 
 giving him his choice between the devil and the 
 deep sea. This state of affairs is happily now 
 greatly altered ; but it is not yet altogether a thing 
 of the past. Rights, or supposed rights, in fowling 
 or fishing, have always been a very vexed question. 
 If the general public can claim these with any show 
 of reason, let them fight tooth and nail for them. 
 Great quantities of rough, broken marsh -grounds 
 have lately changed owners, and large estates have 
 been cut up. What has been the delight of one 
 owner may be detested by the next one. If due 
 allowances could be made on both sides in these 
 matters, between the general public and the owners 
 of the land, things would work far smoother than 
 they do. 
 
 From all I have been able to learn, however, and 
 that from the most reliable sources, the rights as 
 
172 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 regards fowling have been a bone of contention 
 from the very earliest times. The monks of old 
 had trouble over it in our fen-lands, and the matter 
 is not quite fought out yet. Some nonsense has 
 been written lately about the cruelty that must 
 exist in the natures of all those who indulge in 
 sport. In my humble opinion, to be a sportsman, 
 in the true sense of the term, you must be a man 
 first. The hunting instinct has been the greatest 
 blessing to England, for with it goes the spirit of 
 adventure. 
 
 Before I venture to speak about fowling from our 
 fine modern punts, which carry guns with all the 
 latest improvements, let me mention one instance 
 out of many hundreds, showing what vast hordes 
 of fowl have congregated close to London, com- 
 paratively speaking, for Essex cannot be said to 
 be far from it. They are plentiful enough there 
 yet. Folkard, in his * Wild Fowler,' written in 
 1875, has stated and I have heard the same fact 
 scores of times before I left the marshlands on the 
 opposite shore that on one or two occasions 
 within present memory the capture of pochards 
 or dun birds has been so great that a waggon with 
 
ON FOWLERS AND WILD-FOWLING. 173 
 
 four horses has been required to remove them. 
 These birds were taken as they rose from the pond 
 by means of high nets fixed on poles. I have seen 
 enough on the wing to fill a couple of waggons. 
 As to the amount of fowl captured in various places 
 and at different times on and about the Essex 
 shores, I have information that can be relied on 
 implicitly; but if the numbers were given, I fear 
 some would only smile incredulously. Facts are, 
 however, hard to refute. Men who have studied 
 wild animals lions, tigers, and leopards in zoolo- 
 gical gardens, with iron bars between the animal 
 and themselves, have ventured to doubt the ac- 
 curate statements of that prince of hunters, Sir 
 Samuel Baker. It is high time that indoor students 
 of zoology and ornithology kept their criticisms to 
 themselves. 
 
 Wild-fowling is, in my humble opinion, the very 
 cream of sport ; and all the money in the world will 
 not enable the sportsman to kill fowl unless he is 
 the possessor of three qualities accurate knowledge 
 of the fowl he is after, pluck, and patience. At 
 times the very patience of Job will be needed. 
 
 On some parts of our shores the shooters or 
 
174 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 fowlers think they have a prescriptive right to the 
 foreshore and the water beyond. Bullets have 
 been fired from fowling - guns most unpleasantly 
 near to the punt of one gentleman who is well 
 known for his fowling exploits on the tide and tidal 
 waters. Not only that, but they have been fired 
 also at the fowl he has been setting to, to put them 
 up before he could draw within range. At last 
 this was carried on to such an extent that he took 
 a repeating-rifle in the punt with him. As a rule 
 there is not much to hide behind, on a bleak fore- 
 shore, unless you dig a hole, and that is not done 
 in a moment ; so his hint was taken, and he was 
 troubled no more. The portrait of this gentleman 
 is before me as I write. In one of his own con- 
 tributions to a well-known work on sporting matters, 
 he states that foremost and unrivalled stands the 
 work of that father of wild-fowling, Colonel Peter 
 Hawker, the fifth edition of which was published 
 in 1826, failing to mention, from a modesty pecu- 
 liarly his own, a grand volume by himself on wild- 
 fowling. This he most generously presented me 
 with in 1884. I have read it through many times 
 from end to end, and always with increasing satis- 
 
ON FOWLERS AND WILD-FOWLING. 175 
 
 faction. Colonel Hawker did not pose as a natu- 
 ralist, but he wrote facts. The various mechanical 
 contrivances that he invented have, with slight 
 modifications to suit the present time, been uni- 
 versally accepted. He had a most accomplished 
 fowler and puntsman, whose name was Buckle. 
 For a time all went well with the Colonel and 
 Buckle. Then they began to differ, as employer 
 and employed will at times, and Buckle left him. 
 The poor fellow died in a workhouse a few years 
 back, aged eighty. 
 
 A proper fowling-punt is built from the very best 
 materials, light and strong. A single-handed punt 
 for paddling to fowl, to carry a swivel-gun of from 
 80 to 112 Ib. weight, together with a man of about 
 twelve stone, may be in total length a little over 
 18 feet, pointed stem and stern, decked fore and 
 aft, and flat - bottomed. A punt like this would 
 be propelled by short paddles, worked over the 
 sides, the fowler being flat on the bottom of the 
 punt. In the shallows a pole, called a setting-pole, 
 would be used, or the edge of a paddle, according 
 to circumstances. 
 
 When the fowler has found his fowl, he works 
 
176 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 up to them till within range, then he drops his 
 paddles, aims, and fires. If the shot is successful, 
 he next stops " cripples " as wounded fowl are 
 called with a shoulder-gun, and collects them 
 afterwards. The undertaking is not easy. All fowl 
 on open water rise and fall with the motion the 
 pulse, so to speak of the ocean, which on the 
 calmest day is distinctly felt. 
 
 Sportsmen of deservedly high repute have, we 
 know, spoken in disparaging terms about fowling on 
 the tide with fowling-punt and swivel-gun, but these 
 are such as have been mainly accustomed to inland 
 fowling. A double punt, one that carries two 
 fowlers and a heavier gun, is built on the same 
 lines as the one above described. 
 
 And in tempestuous wintry weather, when the 
 snow is lying deep on the ground and heaped up 
 in wreaths upon our window-sills, and when even 
 the most enthusiastic of sportsmen will think twice 
 before venturing out into the biting blast, what 
 better resource can he find than in the books de- 
 voted to his favourite pursuit ? Fowling has a se- 
 lect and picturesque library of its own, which may 
 well compensate for enforced confinement from the 
 
ON FOWLERS AND WILD-FOWLING. 177 
 
 pleasures of out-of-doors. Let me take down the 
 books that come nearest to my hand. 
 
 The author of * Bird-Life of the Borders,' Abel 
 Chapman, whose book ought to be in the hands of 
 every lover of bird-life, has left nothing to be desired 
 by the most captious critic in that work. He states 
 in his Preface that the illustrations, rough pen-and- 
 ink sketches by the author, reproduced by photo- 
 zincography, have no pretensions to scientific ac- 
 curacy. They are, however, all excellent. His fine 
 sketch of grey geese on the sand-bar> full sea 
 spring-tides is the best representation of geese I 
 have ever seen. From the Borders we may pass 
 to Scotland's fowlers ; and who that has read 
 " Christopher in his Sporting Jacket," in the * Rec- 
 reations of Christopher North,' but would give him 
 credit for being an inveterate fowler ? In * Chris- 
 topher in his Aviary,' we all see that he was a 
 most observant naturalist. These volumes, too, are 
 full of healthy vigorous life. Then we have John 
 Colquhoun, most accomplished of fowlers, as his 
 work, 'The Moor and the Loch,' proves. Mr 
 Charles St John also devoted himself to the wild 
 sports of Scotland. He, too, was a keen wild- 
 
 M 
 
1 78 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 fowler. So was William M'Gillivray, the author of 
 ' British Birds.' Whilst in the notes to ' The Lays 
 of the Deer Forest,' by John Sobieski and Charles 
 Edward Stuart, are to be found very fine descrip- 
 tions of wild creatures and wild scenery. 
 
 The last, but by no means the least, important 
 work that I turn to, is that by G. Christopher 
 Davies, who regretfully states in his Preface that 
 his book is positively the last descriptive writing 
 anent the Norfolk Broads. As I have said before, 
 the Fens have been generally considered to be the 
 great strongholds of fowl. They were this, at any 
 rate, before draining operations were commenced. 
 But the Broads, those vast expanses of pure and 
 comparatively shallow waters, have, from times 
 beyond record, been equally productive, in propor- 
 tion, perhaps, more so than those great Fens which 
 have now been drained. One great fact must be 
 remembered : the Broads, or fresh-water lagoons, 
 remain in almost their primitive condition, the haunt 
 of fowl and of fish as in former days ; whereas the 
 Fens have practically almost ceased to exist. On 
 the first page of his delightful and most accurate 
 work, the author places the bird-life of the swamps 
 
ON FOWLERS AND WILD FOWLING. 179 
 
 before one as graphically as though he had lived all 
 his life in the marshlands. Nothing has escaped 
 his notice. The various aspects of the Broads in 
 summer and winter, in bright sunshine and under 
 heavy storms, are represented as in so many beautiful 
 word-pictures. Wild - fowling, decoying, ordinary 
 marsh-shooting, and fishing are all discussed in the 
 most genial manner. Reading his descriptions is 
 like having a big crack with some old fowling and 
 fishing friend. The shooting of a particular otter 
 is one of the author's most charming sketches. 
 In fact, it is a work that all lovers of fur, fin, and 
 feather may read with pleasure and profit. A pe- 
 culiar interest is attached to this book, for it rep- 
 resents most faithfully and minutely nature where 
 man has not tried his improvements. I fear that 
 state of things will not be allowed to remain much 
 longer. 
 
iSo WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE GREAT BLACK-BACKED GULL. 
 
 WHEN I see a cob or a great black-backed gull in 
 a collection of stuffed birds, my thoughts fly to a 
 bare expanse of sands, the monotonous level broken 
 by the timbers of ill-fated vessels which stick up 
 here and there ; with these, the never-to-be-forgotten 
 sight of dead men's bodies, storm-tossed and bat- 
 tered from their contact with wreckage that had, 
 in our homely phrase, " come ashore." When the 
 same sands are sleeping under the hot sun, the gulls 
 daintily stepping along their edge, or floating light 
 as a cork on the calm water beyond, one can hardly 
 realise the danger of those treacherous deadly quick- 
 sands, the Goodwins, the name of which has struck 
 terror to the heart of so many a gallant sailor. 
 
THE GREAT BLACK-BACKED GULL. 181 
 
 I have seen them when a mass of foaming water 
 boiled and hissed over them, and the cry had 
 reached our homes that a vessel -had struck; and 
 have watched the grand sea-bird, as, beaten to lee- 
 ward, it made tacks to get up again, partly succeed- 
 ing, to be caught again by the wind, and blown like 
 a sheet of paper over the beach. Even then the 
 "cob's" courage never failed him. He would beat 
 back, and flap along the breakers just off shore, 
 marine vulture that he is, in search of some ghastly 
 prey. As a child, I looked on him with awe, when 
 he came on our dangerous coast from the open sea, 
 and flapped to and fro over the sandhills, with their 
 scanty vegetation sea-holly, creeping convolvulus, 
 and bents, diversified here and there with patches 
 of sea-kale and then flew into the salt flats close at 
 hand, where, on one leg, he would rest for a while 
 by the side of some pool that glistened among 
 tangled patches of sea blite and samphire, far 
 enough away from the sandhills to be out of reach 
 of all harm, even from a long duck-gun. When the 
 fishermen's wives caught sight of him they would 
 grow uneasy about their husbands and sons who 
 were away out at sea. They said the cob knew 
 
182 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 all about the storm that was brewing, and had 
 come into the quiet marsh to hearken as it came up 
 over the dreary flats. Then I would creep into 
 some old crone's dwelling, and sit listening with 
 fear, mixed with a gruesome delight, to the stories 
 of long-past storms and the havoc they had wrought 
 amongst our folk. And when the narrator paused 
 to take breath and some strong puffs at her short 
 black pipe, I thought of my friends Scoot and 
 Winder outside with their father's boats, and pic- 
 tured them drowned and driven up ashore to their 
 mothers' doors. 
 
 Somehow, in my boyish fancy, the idea of the 
 cob was always associated, too, with those daring 
 old sea-dogs, incorrigible smugglers, the heroes of 
 our lads, one or two of whom flashed only like 
 occasional meteors across our horizon, running 
 ashore at our port from time to time, then vanish- 
 ing and being unheard of for years. When such a 
 visitant was in our midst, his presence was felt in 
 every dwelling on the flats, and the social atmos- 
 phere seemed charged with an electricity that was 
 an unmixed source of joy, to the younger members 
 at least of the community. 
 
THE GREAT BLACK-BACKED GULL. 183 
 
 It had been a beautiful day on one of the loneliest 
 parts of our lonely foreshore. After the heat of the 
 sun had left the pebbly beach, a slight breeze had 
 sprung up, just strong enough to stir the sand 
 on the hillocks, and to cover up the prints of the 
 dotterels' feet and the traces of the lizards that 
 had revelled in the warmth and been running about 
 all the day long. The tide was coming in, and the 
 gulls beat lazily to and fro, looking for what it 
 might cast before it. Curlews were busy with their 
 sickle-like bills, trying to get a meal before the water 
 reached them. These, with a few dotterels that 
 piped as they ran, were all that was to be seen in 
 the way of bird-life. 
 
 Our community of fisher-folk was moved to the 
 core. The wildest and most daring of the sea- 
 rovers who hailed from ou'r port had come back to 
 die he was fast nearing the last moorings. His 
 noted grey brig, which it was said had only been 
 seen in the most fearful weather, dashing round 
 about the Goodwins, the Flying Dutchman of those 
 boiling seas, would never be sighted again. " He 
 was born when the tide was full, he will go at its 
 ebb, ?; they said. 
 
1 84 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 When the night came, and the moon silvered 
 the waters and lit up our sandhills, the man so 
 much talked of was close to his port, watched 
 only by a woman as brave as himself, one who 
 held many a gruesome secret in her keeping. 
 True to her past, she allowed no one to hear the 
 last murmurs from the lips of her husband. Yet 
 her head was bowed and her heart breaking. As 
 the tide turned on the ebb in the grey of the morn- 
 ing he passed from her. The great gull brings back 
 the scene of that morning, the sun shining in on a 
 dead, upturned face, and a lonely, weeping woman ; 
 two or three fishermen's wives standing on the 
 threshold of the open door, with children clinging 
 to their skirts and looking fearfully within. 
 
 Our men used to bring home in the boats young 
 cobs that had been taken from their breeding 
 stations. Great, brown, speckled creatures they 
 were, of most grave demeanour. One wing was 
 always carefully clipped. That grave bearing was 
 not at all confirmed by their tricks and manners, 
 as I have found to my cost. If you attempted to 
 stroke one he would bite most ferociously, lacerating 
 your fingers, and then setting up a querulous cry 
 
THE GREAT BLACK-BACKED GULL. 185 
 
 as though he, and not you, had been the injured 
 party. 
 
 I believe the men brought these young birds from 
 the north Scotland where our fishing-boats ran 
 at times for fish or other produce. A certain 
 man with a keen eye to business first introduced 
 the birds to our folks to be turned out into their 
 gardens, the cobs being such mighty hunters of 
 small deer. He had tried one first himself that 
 he had caught on a line and pinioned, and it had 
 proved so useful that in a very short time not a 
 snail or slug could be found in his garden, nor, said 
 he, dared a worm so much as show itself above 
 ground when that cob was about. Even the rats 
 and mice that had swarmed about his pigsties 
 vanished. One day a three - parts - grown rat was 
 seen going down the cob's throat. After that, all 
 the folks who had gardens wanted a young cob to 
 put in them. In the season we boys used to look 
 forward eagerly to the advent of the great birds 
 when the boats returned from the northern fishing- 
 grounds. They brought a good price in those days. 
 Not many, however, arrived at maturity. It takes 
 three or four years for them to do that in a state 
 
186 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 of captivity. Like most pets, some of them became 
 troublesome, and got into trouble, too. From hunt- 
 ing in the garden, they considered themselves in 
 time its sole guardians ; children, dogs, and cats 
 were neither required nor allowed from their point 
 of view. This idea they worked out at times by 
 their bills, vulture-like cutting- machines, to their 
 own satisfaction, if not to that of their victims. 
 Accidents occurred that did not always end well for 
 the cobs. If one of the young folks went to have 
 a look at the last litter of pigs, for instance, and 
 the cob slipped up behind and nipped a piece out 
 of his bare leg, a scrub broom was apt to be used 
 in retaliation at random about the cob's body. Or 
 a little maid just in her teens, rejoicing in a pair 
 of the substantial boots made by our local cobbler, 
 might have her leg bitten just above the tops of 
 them, which would draw on the unlucky bird such 
 a kick from the metal toetips that he would meditate 
 with ruffled plumage on the rough ways of the 
 world for the rest of the day. So our cobs were 
 short-lived generally, and had to be frequently 
 replaced. 
 
 On the boats they took fish freely from the hands 
 
THE GREAT BLACK-BACKED GULL. 187 
 
 of the fishermen ; the quantity they could stow 
 away was something marvellous. They are not 
 particular as to the nature of their food, so long 
 as there is enough of it ; a rat or a bird, a fish or 
 a snail, or bread and milk, will suit almost equally 
 well. Tradition said that in the early days of 
 our oldest inhabitants the great black-backed gull 
 bred on some of the wild flats of the Kentish coast 
 and in a portion of the lonely salt-marshes of Essex. 
 I cannot speak confidently as to this, but, as I have 
 myself observed him in these localities, I think the 
 fact is more than probable. 
 
 The shore-shooter regards him with unfavourable 
 eyes, for if he wounds a duck or pochard, and the 
 fowl drops out on the water, the cob will swoop 
 down, tear it to pieces and devour it. The rock 
 fowlers curse him most heartily, for he devours 
 both eggs and young. I do not know why they 
 should grudge him some of these, for there are 
 plenty for both him and them, and to spare. On 
 the grouse moors he is detested more than the 
 eagle himself. He not only eats the eggs and kills 
 the young there, like any raven, but the sitting 
 grouse herself is not safe from him. This is not 
 
i88 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 all; he has the credit, how far deserved I cannot 
 say, of killing and eating the young of the fierce 
 peregrine falcon, if the nest is left undefended when 
 the young falcons are in their down state. From 
 personal observation, I do not believe that he is 
 quite capable of this. If there is a trap baited 
 for any large, rapacious bird, and the cob is in the 
 vicinity, he is nearly certain to get into it. 
 
 Marine vulture though he is styled, I have a great 
 admiration for this bold bird, one of the greatest 
 ornaments of the waters and the shores. Like all 
 other creatures, he fills the place he was intended for 
 to perfection being one of the police that nature has 
 stationed in their appointed beats all over the earth 
 and the waters. He is a restless wanderer, for ever 
 beating to and fro, when not asleep. I have watched 
 him on the ocean, along the shores, and in the 
 marshes, flapping up arms of the sea inland, and 
 around the mighty three-deckers of past days. I 
 have seen him also calmly flying up a tidal river 
 with houses on both sides of it. See him where 
 you will, he is never put out or flustered ; there 
 is no rush or hurry about him. A bird of mark, 
 he is something to look at and to remember. They 
 
THE GREAT BLACK-BACKED GULL. 189 
 
 tell me he is now rare where I first knew him. I 
 should be sorry to know that he had left that coast 
 for good. Yet never again may I see him as I saw 
 him last, after a storm, tearing away at something 
 that was tangled in the wreckage left by retiring 
 waters on the sands something that caused me 
 to go quickly out of sight, both of it and the cob. 
 
190 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 AUTUMN LIGHTS AND SHADES. 
 
 THE fading foliage of the various trees in our woods 
 shows tones of maroon, crimson, orange, bright 
 yellow, russet, and that pale-greenish grey, so hard 
 one might say impossible to place rightly on 
 canvas or to give an idea of with the pen. For, as 
 the leaf-tissues get worn with the wear and tear of 
 the season, they become semi-transparent, and the 
 light shines through. 
 
 I have never seen a picture that seemed to me 
 to do full justice to what might be called this hum- 
 ming-bird scale of colouring. After most careful 
 mixing of the richest and most transparent colours 
 for those wonderful shadows that have a bloom like 
 that of grapes in their inmost depths, and after 
 
AUTUMN LIGHTS AND SHADES. 191 
 
 finding the clearest tones with which to touch in 
 the bright high lights crisply and lightly, so that 
 the colours may not be worked in the least degree, 
 it proves all to no purpose. 
 
 One look at the canvas, one more look at the 
 woodlands, with their living glorious colours, and 
 the palette-knife scrapes off all that has been so 
 carefully placed on. Easel and canvas are strapped 
 up, and the would - be painter departs, muttering 
 something about another time. 
 
 That time is still far away : no artist, dead or 
 living, has ever adequately represented the glow 
 of the fall. 
 
 The trunks of the giant beeches, flashing silver- 
 grey in the sunlight, as it falls now here and now 
 there, are spangled from their mighty roots, for 
 some distance up the smooth stems, with the richest 
 golden - green moss ; and the dead leaves on the 
 ground beneath, madder-brown in tone, throw the 
 whole up in fine relief. 
 
 There is a depth of three feet and more, in some 
 places, of pure leaf-mould ; generation after genera- 
 tion of dead leaves lies there. Where some great 
 tree, after living his life, has crashed down, huge 
 
192 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 branches from other beeches have swept over. 
 Trees, like humanity, must have elbow-room. The 
 sun shines in wherever the foliage is open enough. 
 That giant limb that springs from the main trunk 
 some thirty feet from the roots of the tree, bends 
 downwards until the branches touch the dead leaves 
 beneath. Then it sweeps up again in the full light 
 of the sun, the gold, crimson, and russet tones of 
 the foliage awaking a fancy that some splendid piece 
 of tapestry of the richest hues has been stretched 
 out in the woods to air it. 
 
 If the woods do not give all this variety of form 
 and colour, you have only to turn round at the 
 next break, and to look at the hills that rise directly 
 above you in all their various shades of green. The 
 colouring is very different there, but it is in perfect 
 keeping with the glowing woodlands. You will 
 find no jarring tone in Nature. The short velvet 
 turf that covers the chalk is very different in hue 
 from the junipers that stud the hillsides ; holly and 
 thorns help to vary the scale still more. The final 
 touches are given by the white breaks of the chalk 
 showing through, and the winding sheep-tracks that 
 lead hither and thither over the hillsides. There 
 
A UTUMN LIGHTS AND SHADES. 193 
 
 are little patches of mottled gold and crimson scat- 
 tered at intervals over the barest portions of the 
 turf. These are caused by the dying leaves of the 
 trailing brambles. It is very quiet here ; no foot- 
 step of ours can be heard on these soft, elastic, dead 
 leaves. 
 
 So still is it that the brown owl sits motionless, 
 asleep, close to the trunk of a Scotch fir which is 
 near to us. One look at him through the field- 
 glass, and we pass on. Bird-life is very scanty in 
 these woods in late autumn ; even the great green 
 woodpecker the yaffle leaves his stronghold of 
 the beeches for a season. He gives, however, proof 
 positive that he has not quite deserted them yet, 
 for as we slip quietly along, he catches sight of us 
 as he is busy on the stem of a decayed beech. 
 After scuttling round, we can hear the tick of his 
 claws on the bark distinctly; he just pokes his 
 crimson - patched poll round the other side, his 
 quick eye gives one glance at the intruder, then 
 he yells his loudest, making the woods ring with 
 his maniacal yikes ! I do not know any two birds 
 that can make more noise when startled than the 
 yaffle and the blackbird. You may occasionally 
 
 N 
 
194 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 hear both together, then the row is terrible. It is 
 wise, when out observing Nature, to do one's 
 utmost to avoid alarming either of these birds, 
 for the effect of doing so is most disastrous. 
 
 As you pass through these old beech-woods you 
 might almost fancy you were walking down the 
 aisles of some great cathedral. Not even a faint 
 rustle can be heard above or below; but walking 
 on, you chance to step on a dead branch which 
 had been concealed by the leaves it snaps, and 
 what a transformation that simple act of yours 
 has created ! From some cover in the under- 
 growth, where his bright eyes have been watching 
 you as you passed, out dashes the blackbird, and 
 shriek after shriek peals forth as he flies. Misfor- 
 tunes never come alone, and when the frightened 
 yells of the yaffle not his yikeing laugh join issue 
 with shrieks from the flute-player of the woods, 
 the observer of Nature may as well " make tracks" 
 at once ; that rotten stick has proved a marplot. 
 
 The wood, which had appeared deserted, be- 
 comes instantly full of life; wood -pigeons shoot 
 up from the tree -tops with loud claps of their 
 wings as they dash hither and thither, crossing 
 
AUTUMN LIGHTS AND SHADES. 195 
 
 and recrossing in all directions. You can see 
 through the breaks in the trees the under-coverts 
 of the birds' wings gleaming in the light like silver. 
 Rabbits, to whom you had been visible, although 
 you had not noticed one of them, start out in all 
 directions, showing their white scuts, from the 
 hollows between the moss -covered roots where 
 they had been feeding. Missel -thrushes screech 
 their loudest ; as to the jays, it is a continuous 
 squawk ! squawk ! squawk ! The chiding and chat- 
 tering of the wrens, as they hop alongside of us in 
 the undergrowth, suggest some fairy's rattle. As 
 to the robins, you will not go fifty yards without 
 seeing one, perched on a spray, looking at you 
 most intently with his large dark eyes. He has 
 come to see if it is a fox, polecat, weasel, or hawk 
 that has made the disturbance. Finding who the 
 real culprit is, he is not in the least - put out ; for 
 he has seen a creature like that many times before, 
 in the shape of a woodman who fed his family, 
 times without number, during the keen frosts of 
 the last bitter winter when they needed it so badly. 
 The worst sound of all is the cry of the cock- 
 pheasant, and the drum of his wings as he trees, 
 
196 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 alarmed by the cry of the other birds. Chuck ! 
 chuck ! chuck ! chuckup ! Chuckup ! chuck ! chuck ! 
 others take the alarm, and join in chorus with 
 the chucking solo. 
 
 Before you have gone three hundred yards you 
 feel sure in your own mind that you will come 
 across a keeper ; and you are not mistaken, for, 
 as you cross one of those mighty kissing - stiles, 
 at a place where rides or woodland paths meet, 
 close to the stem of a tree which you have to 
 pass, stands the guardian of the wood a stout 
 ash-plant in his hand, capable of fetching a man 
 or stray dog down at one blow with his retriever 
 by his side, man and dog motionless. He will 
 look hard at the field-glass in your hand, and at 
 yourself too ; and if you chance to turn round as 
 you go on your way, you will find that he is watch- 
 ing you still. If you thought fit to tell him that 
 you used that glass as a harmless observer of birds, 
 he might appear to credit your assertion, "jest to 
 obligate ye," as our country folks say; but in his 
 own mind he would associate that innocent double- 
 barrel with partridges marked down from the road, 
 jugged for the night, or pheasants marked to roost. 
 
AUTUMN LIGHTS AND SHADES. 197 
 
 That field-glass in his eyes is far more dangerous 
 than his own double -barrel. "Any tool as will 
 bring hares, rabbits, an' birds, a long spell off, 
 right under yer nose, waun't made fur nothin', 
 you may 'pend on't." 
 
 Leaving these woods and the chalk hills behind 
 us, we cross a trout-stream after a time, and find 
 ourselves in the fir and heather district a distinctly 
 different country to all appearance, yet only divided 
 from the former by a road and a stream. In front 
 of us the firs stretch away mile after mile. Heather, 
 broom, wortle - shrubs, and bracken cling, climb, 
 and hold on to any surface which their roots can 
 penetrate. 
 
 Sandstone crops up out of the light soil in all 
 directions. The banks and roads consist of a 
 light sandy loam; the whole face of the hill on 
 this side of the moor is composed of stone of the 
 toughest and most durable description. A walk 
 of three miles brings us to the highest ridge of 
 these hills, and down the further side of it we 
 look into the field lands, the hedge -sides being 
 lined for some distance with fine oak-trees. In 
 these the rooks are busy enough, cackling and 
 
198 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 cawing in high glee, as they thrash the acorns 
 down in showers, like flocks of pigeons. As the 
 day is hot and cloudless, and not a leaf or twig 
 is stirring, we can see all their movements to per- 
 fection, looking right down on them as we do 
 from the higher ground. A rook will have nuts 
 if he risks his life for them. During the last 
 fortnight I have watched these birds strip a large 
 walnut-tree, right in front of my painting -room 
 window. When they had finished amongst the 
 boughs they very deliberately searched the ground 
 at the foot of the tree for all the nuts they 
 had dropped. These amusing thieves, dressed in 
 shining black, are most wideawake and sagacious 
 birds. Filberts and cobnuts they have a weak- 
 ness for, as well as walnuts ; the shell of the fine 
 nuts being thin, they can split them open with 
 one dig of the pick-axe bill. It is only when he 
 can get no more of these by hook or by crook 
 that the rook condescends to visit the oak-trees. 
 In spite of all his astute calculations, he is a 
 little out of his reckoning at times, for pigs are 
 turned out in the fallow field in mast-time to get 
 their own living. Vicious, snapping, and chop- 
 
AUTUMN LIGHTS AND SHADES. 199 
 
 ping old mothers come with their large families 
 of small snorks. Little pigs are the funniest crea- 
 tures in existence ; as you stand watching them 
 feed on the mast no matter if it be acorn or 
 beech first one and then another will pluck up 
 courage to come and look, until the whole of 
 one family will be in front of you, their tails 
 wiggling, and their small snouts twisting in all 
 directions, whilst their little twinkling eyes ob- 
 serve you keenly. 
 
 Presently one will begin to frisk about, like that 
 little pig which the Irishman could not count. The 
 others follow suit ; then they face about, and you 
 will hear in rapid succession snork ! snork ! week ! 
 week ! snork ! and then away they will scamper 
 helter-skelter, as if they were flying for dear life. 
 
 If you stop long enough I make it a point never 
 to do that now you will hear the hazel stems 
 crash, and savage grunts issue, as some fierce sow 
 rushes out. She champs her jaws, and her wicked 
 red eyes look all ways at once to see who it is that 
 has upset her darling snorks. 
 
 We hear much about domestication of animals : 
 it has taken ages to get them in that useful condi- 
 
200 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 tion, but so strong are the laws of Nature that she 
 asserts herself at the first opportunity, and the tame 
 gets wild again. I know this to be the case as re- 
 gards pigs, at any rate. I speak from experience 
 dearly bought. 
 
 Even the farm lad who leads a family of snorks 
 from one part of a wood or field to another finds 
 them too much for him at times, though they are 
 so well used to him. The poor innocent sheep, as 
 he is called by those who do not know better, will 
 clear the floor at times ; and when a sheep runs 
 amuck, he is nothing less than a living catapult, 
 that, if he took you fair, would knock the life out of 
 you. We admire the rooks at their labours, which 
 to-day appear to be for the sole benefit of the 
 snorks and their mothers on the ground below, and 
 pass on. 
 
 The firs on the outside belt get larger and more 
 ragged, and the junipers show in great clumps on 
 the open spaces a sure sign that we are nearing 
 the crest of this hill. Soon we come to the great 
 stone quarry, which has been worked so deeply 
 that it looks like some sea-cliff. We can tramp on 
 without taking heed where we place our feet, for 
 
A UTUMN LIGHTS AND SHADES. 201 
 
 the vipers went to ground some weeks ago. I used 
 to wonder at the way the woodmen would shake 
 and poke about at their coats before putting them 
 on again, after they had been lying in the heather, 
 until I saw one of the reptiles found, coiled up 
 asleep, in a velveteen jacket that had been folded 
 up and laid on the ground. 
 
 We take the up and down track, over the inter- 
 vening hills, in order to reach the moor. No cot- 
 tages are here, with blue - grey smoke from the 
 wood-fires on the open hearths curling up through 
 the trees ; nothing but hills, high banks, and knolls, 
 with ragged firs on them, or birches perched on 
 the sides gleaming out from their dark surround- 
 ings. If your foot catches in the heather you 
 might as well be caught by a wire. Hollows 
 abound, with their splashy bits of coarse rush-cov- 
 ered flats; so thick is the undergrowth that it is 
 always cool and moist here in the hottest weather. 
 It is a dreary part to travel over, for you will not 
 see wild creatures about this district ; many places 
 on and about these hills are, for good reasons, 
 avoided by them. Some birds may fly over at 
 times, but they do not rest here. Up and down 
 
202 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 goes the narrow path, partly covered in places by 
 the tangle, and littered with stones, a most trying 
 path to follow. No sheep -bells tinkle here, no 
 sound from farm or snugly placed cottage reaches 
 you. Not even the distant crow of some lively 
 rooster makes itself heard ; for this is the very 
 centre of the hollows of the hills a district of fir- 
 trees, furze, heath, and old thorns, growing in a 
 mixture of stone, sand, and peat. 
 
 This growth is grey with moss. You will see no 
 bits of wool hanging from branch or stem, to tell 
 you that sheep graze here ; you will never find any 
 animal or bird, wild or domesticated, frequent a 
 spot that is not beneficial to it. If domesticated 
 animals are placed in pastures that do not suit 
 them, they are certain to make a way out of them 
 if it is possible for them to do so. This is now so 
 well understood that farmers grow just what they 
 know the stock will take to. You do not find 
 cattle breaking bounds as they used to do in past 
 years. 
 
 Where three or four cross roads meet, you will 
 often find the pound which serves for different scat- 
 tered hamlets ; and close to the pound the finger- 
 
AUTUMN LIGHTS AND SHADES. 203 
 
 post is placed, directing you which road to take in 
 order to reach a given point if you can only get 
 there. No doubt the number of miles is correctly 
 stated by these ancient guides, but I feel there can- 
 not have been the least stint in the measurement. 
 
 Three miles up a country track, called by courtesy 
 a road, the wheel -ruts eighteen inches and often 
 two feet in depth, the centre only a splashy track, 
 is trying to the temper especially if you happen 
 to slip in one of those ruts. The longest roads end 
 some time. We reach the top of the last hill 
 through the wilderness track, and then a view re- 
 wards our efforts that words give but a faint idea 
 of. On and on the landscape of woodlands, hill- 
 sides, and valleys stretches into the dim distance. 
 All the tones of colour that were ever spread on 
 canvas, or dreamed of, are there before us. The 
 light is so pure and strong on this glorious day that 
 the shadows are luminous, and the trunks of the 
 firs can be seen diminishing into the purple grey, 
 clear even in the distance, like the columns in a 
 cathedral when the sun shines, as it does shine at 
 times, through stained-glass windows of the olden 
 time. I could linger and gaze for hours, turning 
 
204 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 over in my mind the why and wherefore of the dis- 
 cord and jangle in this life of ours. The rush and 
 hurry, the fret and struggle for existence, so much 
 of which is needless, and simply the outcome of 
 human mismanagement. But we remember that 
 Nature and her unalterable laws are just now our 
 study ; and these will act for good and ill irrespec- 
 tive of man, with his surmisings, his doubts, and 
 his fears. 
 
 One thing is certain, when some of the mighty 
 forces that are part and parcel of this same beauti- 
 ful Nature act, as they do at times, disastrously, so 
 far as man is concerned, he and all he has made 
 are swept away, like ants off a path, by a gust of 
 the wind. 
 
 Moralising is very apt to make you take little 
 note of time or distance ; we find we have reached 
 the last spur that leads direct to the moor. I say 
 the moor, because this is one of the most beautiful 
 stretches of moorland that the eye of man, woman, 
 or child can look on. 
 
 After coming down the side of the hill our feet 
 are on soft, mossy, velvety turf, for which this spot 
 is noted. In point of fact this is a moorland glen, 
 
AUTUMN LIGHTS AND SHADES. 20: 
 
 closed in almost entirely by the hills. You are in 
 a spangled hollow, secure from all winds ; not 
 a sound, not even a chirp is to be heard. You 
 might fancy it a scene from some fairy tale. This 
 lovely moor is not frequented. It seems to be 
 unknown save to a few ; the destroyers of the 
 beautiful have not been here. May they never 
 come ! 
 
 You are not able to see to the end of this natural 
 paradise, for it extends to a long distance. Not 
 even a drip or a trickle can be heard, yet the water 
 is coming silently from the hill-top as it has done 
 for centuries. Under the golden-green moss, and 
 the dry grey hill moss, it runs through the matted 
 roots of the fir-trees that show for miles on both 
 sides of the moorland road, filling its hollows, even 
 where the moorland stock have left the impress 
 of their feet. Nature has done her own filtering 
 here, and the work is perfect. The heather is 
 still in full bloom in some parts ; where it has been 
 cut or eaten off, it is green, tender, and luxuriant : 
 it is new growth in this sheltered glen. I visited 
 this spot in the middle of last November, and at 
 first I fancied from the distance that the patches 
 
2o6 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 of fresh green were self-sown firs. The thorns, 
 both white and black, are ancient, covered from 
 root to topmost twig with lichen and grey moss. 
 The trees that line the road have, as I noticed 
 before, their roots above the surface, running in all 
 directions. 
 
 Each fir has its own circlet of roots, covered 
 over with mosses from the base of the trunk to 
 the finest root-end, that shows above ground. They 
 look like huge spider-webs spread about. The 
 never-ceasing run of the water from above is con- 
 tinually carrying minute atoms of the soil into the 
 trout-stream that rises here ; for this is the source of 
 the Tillingbourne. 
 
 On the hillside near the stream a luxuriant 
 growth of bracken droops over. It has not been 
 cut here, and it simply hangs, "nodding to its fall" 
 in great masses of rich brown and orange, the tones 
 brought up by the nearness of the dark foliage of 
 the firs. What it must have been in the bright 
 glad summer-time I cannot tell, but it is glorious 
 in November, in the time of the falling leaf. In 
 some parts, where the moor undulates, the stream 
 forms little pools. From these moorland mirrors 
 
AUTUMN LIGHTS AND SHADES. 
 
 it falls in miniature cascades into other pools ; then 
 it is a stream once more, and on it runs down the 
 moor. So clear is the water that the most minute 
 objects are reflected in these little lakes, fit for elfin 
 folk to sail on. There is a bottom of peat to all 
 of them, paved over with large dark-red stones from 
 the moor. 
 
 As the path we are pursuing is above the stream 
 and the pools, the reflection we see is perfect. 
 Birch-trees have a great liking for banks directly 
 over pools ; there is something in the mixed soil 
 and the surroundings that suits their growth admir- 
 ably. All is double ; we have the birch above, and 
 the birch reflected in the water below. The silvery 
 stems, the drooping branches hanging over the 
 pool, with the fading golden foliage, that ranges 
 from all shades of rich red gold, through the inter- 
 mediate changes, to a shimmering greenish gold 
 all are here. A small handful of leaves have 
 fallen on the mirrored surface, where they rest. 
 Not a bird comes, even to drink. Excepting for 
 the insect-life that is joyously disporting itself, all 
 is quiet ; if we did not know better we might fancy 
 there was little life here. Yet this place teems with 
 
208 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 it ; it is hidden from us, but we should not have 
 to look long before we found it, concealed near 
 to, in the luxuriant woodland growth. We are re- 
 minded that there is life in the pools at least ; for, 
 as we are looking at one of them, there is a very 
 gentle rise just enough to cause a few rings in the 
 water, but they proceed from a good trout. All 
 large fish rise gently, compared with small ones ; 
 a trout of two ounces will make more show in taking 
 the fly than a two-pounder. 
 
 It is their close season, however, now, and they 
 can dispose of themselves as they like. They will 
 run up the rills like water-rats at play a little 
 circumstance that the herons profit by. These 
 birds have been well acquainted with the quantity 
 and quality of the trout in this particular moor- 
 stream, and that of others round about these hills, 
 from past records. Generations after generations 
 of herons have, by means and ways known to their 
 family alone, handed the knowledge down, through 
 successive ages, that our moorland streams and 
 this one in particular in November are full of 
 trout. As we travel down the moor the stream 
 widens ; large rush - tufts, in rank luxuriance of 
 
AUTUMN LIGHTS AND SHADES. 209 
 
 growth, begin to line the stream, mixed with flags 
 and sword-grass. Alders also begin to show as the 
 moor widens, and the vegetation is swampy in char- 
 acter, but it is peculiar to the district. The alders 
 are old, and, like the thorns that we have left be- 
 hind us, grey with moss and lichens. Some of them 
 have fallen through sheer old age, others have been 
 caught in falling by those still flourishing. The 
 living and the dead alders are coated alike with the 
 same grey moss. On the knolls that rise here and 
 there above the course of the stream are clumps 
 of firs, self-sown ; fine trees, many of them, with 
 clean stems for some distance up, then a few limbs 
 run out, and there is a thick crown of foliage above, 
 No moss grows on their trunks, or " stams," as 
 they are generally called in woodland dialect. 
 
 We have passed through quite half the moor, 
 when the hills above us, we find, are silently sending 
 water down in great quantities ; in fact, the road 
 here is covered with the purest spring-water, and 
 we are very cautiously wading through. It is two 
 and three inches deep on the road, but if we stepped 
 off for one moment we might find two or three feet 
 of the same pure water under that golden-green 
 
 o 
 
210 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 moss which looks as smooth and level as a carpet. 
 We go through this clear but very cold water at 
 a snail's pace, so that we may not cause the least 
 splash, for round the next bend in the moor we 
 expect to find one or two herons fishing. If we took 
 the higher ground, on the side of the hill farthest 
 from the stream, to avoid that cold water, our 
 search would, we well know, be a fruitless one ; 
 for no bird living has keener eyes than Jack Hern. 
 Before we do actually come to the turn we slip on 
 one side, and skirt round and in between some 
 old grey thorns that grow on a line of moss-covered 
 hillocks ; more than once we find ourselves about 
 to sink through with one leg. Those only who have 
 travelled through bogs and swamps know the 
 peculiar gentle sinking, the final breaking of the 
 upper crust. There is a dull sob as the leg is 
 pulled out, and you see the hole filled with water 
 instantly. As the ground here is higher, and my 
 field-glass is a good one, I have from our ambush 
 a complete view of the trout-stream and all that 
 surrounds it. Sweeping the banks I get the alder 
 twigs fifty yards away, covered with moss, so near, 
 that the various tints are distinctly visible; the 
 
AUTUMN LIGHTS AND SHADES. 211 
 
 fallen leaves floating on the stream show even their 
 curled-up edges. No herons are to be seen yet; 
 I give my glasses an extra polish, and once more 
 look right before me, and then I see something that 
 completely staggers me ; for though the heron has 
 been a familiar figure to me for half a century, I 
 have never seen him as he shows himself now. 
 
 From the trunk of one of the grey alders, the very 
 tree that my glasses rested on, what appears like a 
 grey stump steps, or rather seems to drop down, 
 just as a dead limb drops from a tree. It walks, 
 and now a fine cock heron " stands confessed." He 
 is in full plumage ; his long black crest plumes 
 would be considered splendid trophies by any fal- 
 coner. I fancy there is not the least fear of my 
 losing sight of him ; yet I do, and with the glass full 
 on him ; for presently he springs up noiselessly from 
 the opposite side of the stream, into the firs. He 
 walked across, on a fallen limb, unseen by me, in 
 spite of my intent watchfulness. So very gently 
 does he glide along, and his sober yet beautiful grey- 
 white and black suit, touched slightly with grey- 
 green and yellow, harmonises so perfectly with his 
 surroundings, that as he stands on one of the limbs 
 
212 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 close to the trunk of the tree, no one would take 
 him for a bird, unless they had seen him fly up 
 there, or had observed him move on his perch. 
 
 There is a blue-grey light under all firs when the 
 sun shines on them. It creeps and quivers down 
 the warm red trunks, softly wandering, now here 
 now there as the sunlight falls on the foliage, peep- 
 ing through it in places. It is all a warm purple- 
 grey in the shadows. So is the heron. As he 
 stands there on one leg, though to all appearance 
 near enough for you to stroke his feathers, he seems 
 only a shadowy form. Never before in my life have 
 I seen him in such perfect mimicry of plumage, so 
 conformed to his natural surroundings, as I see him 
 just now. He soon wakes up again, glides along 
 the limb, and floats down, light as a single feather, 
 to our side of the stream. 
 
 And now I have him to perfection. Who cares 
 for wet feet when his blood runs hotly as mine 
 does now ! I can see the movement of his fish- 
 spear of a bill, which he gently moves as he glides 
 for his movement is too smooth to be called 
 walking. All at once, almost with the rapidity 
 of thought, up goes his crest, out go his neck and 
 
AUTUMN LIGHTS AND SHADES. 213 
 
 wings; with one spring he is in the stream and 
 out again upon the bank, as quickly as he went into 
 it. He has captured what he went in for, but what 
 the prize is we are not able to tell, we can only see 
 it passing down his gullet. Then he proceeds to 
 shake himself in a most unbirdlike fashion, exactly 
 as a dog does when he comes out of the water; 
 the long-pointed breast and dorsal feathers fly out 
 from each side of him, so does the water. 
 
 That the heron, like the rest of the waders, could 
 swim if necessary, I have known for many years ; 
 but that he would plunge from the bank for his 
 prey into water too deep for wading, I certainly 
 did not know before. In my eagerness to observe 
 every motion of his, hoping to be able to add to 
 my store another fresh trait in his character, I 
 moved slightly from the cramped position, where 
 I had been gradually sinking through a crust of 
 vegetation between the roots of two old thorns. 
 That slight rustle has made him suspicious, his 
 long neck is raised, and the bird looks exactly 
 like a pointed, decayed grey stake. The long light 
 stripe is wonderfully like bare decayed wood where 
 the bark has fallen from it. Then there is a change 
 
214 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 that long lithe neck swiftly writhes round in all 
 directions, and his quick eye catches the glint of 
 light on the field-glass. It is enough : slowly he 
 floats up, without, as it appears, the least effort on 
 his part ; and from the trees, where she has been 
 standing all this time unseen by us, floats his mate. 
 Golden clouds mass themselves, pile upon pile, 
 behind an old tower in the distance : it is a glorious 
 closing to a glorious day. The light falls for a few 
 moments on the whole length of that lovely secluded 
 moor, making gorgeous the tree-tops and the hill- 
 sides ; purple depths are in the valley. As the 
 light shifts, those level treacherous mosses look 
 like golden carpets. The light quivers, flashes, 
 dies out, and the day is done a cloud coming 
 gradually over all. It is grey and misty, and, 
 with the light, fade the herons far up in the distant 
 sky. 
 
WINTER SHIFTS. 215 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 WINTER SHIFTS. 
 
 THE wind, in long - drawn sighs, has passed over 
 the uplands, and died away in the hollows at 
 the foot of the hills. A long low line of cloud has 
 hung for days in the south-west, lifting slightly 
 from time to time, to settle again as before. This 
 belt of clouds reaches for miles. There is a 
 break in it now and again, caused by wind rushing 
 up fitfully from the sea, far away beyond the hills ; 
 but it is only for a short spell, then the cloud-line 
 is continuous again. The ponies, rough and long- 
 maned, are moving noiselessly with unshod hoofs to 
 certain hollows well known to themselves, where 
 they will stand sheltered and warm as if they were 
 stabled under the thick hollies. Rough - fleeced 
 
2i6 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 sheep as well as ponies have taken the notion into 
 their heads that white weather is coming. The 
 sheep, also, are making tracks, but in a different 
 direction from the ponies. Their food is the same, 
 but their habits and their choice of shelter are very 
 different. 
 
 Wild - fowl in companies of three and two, far 
 apart, rush overhead, high up, to certain points and 
 back again, wild ducks they are, so far as we are 
 able to determine from their flight. Where the 
 mast lies in profusion the birds are very busy on 
 and under the fallen leaves. Wood-pigeons, espe- 
 cially, are filling their crops in most business-like 
 fashion. There is no playing about, no rushing up 
 to the tree -tops to spread wings and tails and to 
 trim their feathers ; all that they are bent on now is 
 to stow away a good crop of food before the snow 
 comes and covers it in. They will still be able to 
 get something to eat when that happens, but it will 
 be under difficulties, for the birds will have to plough 
 the snow off with their broad breasts, unless it lies 
 too thickly for them to do this, and to flirt it to 
 right and left of them in white powdery puffs. A 
 large number of wild pigeons marching along on the 
 
WINTER SHIFTS. 217 
 
 feed, under these circumstances, may fairly be com- 
 pared to feathered snow-ploughs. It does not take 
 long to clear a space wherein to forage. The jays, 
 for a wonder, flit quietly from one tree or berry-bear- 
 ing bush to another, too busy to squawk unless you 
 frighten one out of its wits by quietly coming on him 
 from behind some clump of bushes, as he is stocking 
 away among the fallen leaves. In such case he is 
 seriously alarmed, and makes a tremendous noise 
 over it. The green woodpecker is just as busy as 
 the rest, only after a different method. Something 
 his instinct we say, for want of a better term 
 wherewith to describe a bird's faculties tells him 
 that after the sumptuous living he has enjoyed 
 through the spring, summer, and early part of the 
 autumn, ants or their eggs are essentially necessary 
 to his wellbeing, to tone things down a bit, possibly. 
 For the yaffle is positively plump just now. To pro- 
 cure pupae in a more or less advanced stage of de- 
 velopment, he leaves this belt of silver-grey beech- 
 woods and frequents the outskirts, where are open 
 spaces covered with fine grass and ant-hills, well 
 studded with gnarled old thorn-trees, both black and 
 white thorn, covered with moss and lichens. You 
 
218 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 will be pretty certain to find him, if you know how 
 to look for him, scuttling round some ant-hill : no 
 deserted one, though, he knows better than that. 
 
 There he is ! the yellow patch on the lower part 
 of his back betrayed him as he scuttled round, and 
 he is continually on the scuttle. Up he pokes his 
 long stout bill and a part of his head from the side 
 of the ant-hill that is farthest from us, a comical 
 bird, truly. He is listening to find out, if he can, 
 what that suspicious rustle was that he heard just 
 now. He is not quite satisfied, arid presently he 
 dives into the ferns at the stem of one of the old 
 thorns, a little farther away. Being well acquainted 
 with his antics, we look at once at the middle of 
 the tree, and there we have him, his head twisted 
 round the stem, looking in our direction. My glass 
 is full on him, and he appears a most extraordinary 
 fellow as he raises the crimson feathers of his head 
 and lets them fall again, the head well on the slant, 
 a red -capped, long-nosed, feathered harlequin. 
 On examining the ant-hill on which he has been 
 so busy, we find he has excavated into it sideways 
 driven tunnels, in fact. There has been no waste 
 of labour ; he has gone straight for the emmets 
 
WINTER SHIFTS, 219 
 
 and their domestic offices. Probably the insects 
 and their eggs have, as I have already suggested, 
 a corrective property which is fully appreciated by 
 the yaffle, and he means to have his fill of them 
 before the snow comes. 
 
 On the broad roads, or rides, cleared in the 
 beech -woods, where the wind, to a certain extent, 
 keeps the leaves from gathering thickly, large flocks 
 of chaffinches and tits gather: from the great tit 
 to the little blue tit, all are busy at the fallen mast. 
 There is a continual twink ! twink ! twink ! As to 
 the tits, they chide and chatter ; and mingled with 
 them you will find the beautiful bramblings, or 
 bramble finches, conspicuous at once, as they fly 
 up, by their white tail-coverts, as well as by their 
 scissors-grinding note. I kept a pair of these once 
 for a time, but had to give them their liberty or 
 they would have ground us out of the house. One 
 thing is very noticeable about all birds that have 
 luxuriated on beech -mast for a long spell, their 
 plumage gets the gloss of satin on it, doubtless 
 owing to the great amount of oil in the nuts. A 
 woodland friend brought me a couple once for pre- 
 serving: they were skinned with the greatest diffi- 
 
220 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 culty. In fact, the bird-preserver told me that if 
 I had not been a special friend of his, he would 
 have thrown up the job. The man who brought 
 the bramblings informed me " they bramblings hed 
 bin a middlin' good thing for him, fur a real gentle- 
 man as he knowed on took all he could ketch : he 
 said they wus as good as some birds as he'd eat 
 in furrin parts. I made bold," said he, " to ask 
 what they birds might ha' been, an' he told me they 
 wus ortlins. Queer names they has fur critters in 
 furrin parts." 
 
 Missel - thrushes, song - thrushes, and blackbirds 
 flock to the yew-trees for their luscious berries ; so 
 do other birds, but the thrush family contrive to 
 keep a monopoly of the yews. We have been taught 
 by some theologians that " birds in their little nests 
 agree " : they certainly do not do so when feeding. 
 I have been standing hidden in the middle of a bush 
 close to some yew-trees, and have witnessed a scene 
 of scolding, wrangling, and some battles-royal, not 
 to be surpassed in human life. The scarlet-vermilion 
 berries are in profusion on the trees, and they cover 
 the ground below in spots over which a more than 
 usually energetic struggle has been taking place. 
 
WINTER SHIFTS. 221 
 
 Where the boughs have had most light and warmth 
 there is, of course, more fruit, and the largest and 
 ripest, and the birds feed there voraciously. The 
 perfection of bird-diet they find it. On one heavily 
 berried branch three missel - thrushes settle : one 
 fine fellow screams defiance at the other two, who 
 will not see the matter in the same light. So a 
 conflict ensues : at it they go, feathers flying and 
 floating away in all directions. It ends in the fine 
 bully having the bough all to himself, but minus 
 quite half the berries, which have been threshed 
 off in the scuffle. He does not long enjoy his 
 position unmolested, for as he raises his head to 
 take a look round before feeding, showing a beauti- 
 ful spotted breast, a couple of robins, the fighters 
 of the woodlands, make a dash at him, knocking 
 him off his spray of yew. And so the game goes on 
 from morn till eve, screechings, duckings, chirp- 
 ings, and flutterings amongst those yew-trees. 
 
 The squirrel also appreciates the berries highly. 
 I have just seen one of the prettiest sights possible, 
 a squirrel feeding on them in most dainty fashion. 
 The pulp is of a sweet glutinous nature very sticky, 
 in fact. To see the way the little fellow glided over 
 
222 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 the thick dark foliage until he found a branch just 
 to his liking was a treat. Then he sat up, his fine 
 brush-tail well up to the back of his head, ear-tufts 
 erect, and those bright eyes glancing in all direc- 
 tions to make sure that all was right, before he 
 indulged in this luxury. Very neatly he picks off 
 a fine berry with his forehands, in spite of the 
 information one of our critics solemnly volunteers 
 us that squirrels do not possess hands, I cannot 
 bring myself to call them feet, places the fruit 
 in his mouth, eating the pulp and dropping the 
 seed. Just as he is reaching out for another berry, 
 two song-thrushes dash down on to his branch. He 
 gives one look of amazement at the intruders, then 
 makes a dash at them. This they by no means 
 appreciate, for they know that if they once get into 
 the clutch of the squirrel it will go hard with them. 
 He belongs to the gnawers ; but, like the rest of 
 that family, or at any rate most of them, he indulges 
 at times in other diet than a strictly vegetable one. 
 
 These sights are most interesting, but the inside 
 of a bush is not quite so comfortable as the out- 
 side of it. I burst out suddenly. Master Squirrel 
 chatters and is off. All I see of him is his tail. As 
 
WINTER SHIFTS. 223 
 
 to the birds, there is a flutter like that about a 
 pigeon -cot, so great is the number that fly from 
 those old yew-trees. 
 
 Snow is certainly about ; one or two small flakes 
 have been seen ; now some larger ones fall. We 
 shall not be long without more, for the flakes cease 
 falling just as suddenly as they began. The air is 
 too cold yet for it to come down. As the daylight 
 begins to get low, lurid streaks show, low down 
 beneath the long line of cloud -belt. There is a 
 murky light above that gets darker in tone, 
 for the belt is moving and appears to rise. The 
 winds moan as though heavily laden, and com- 
 plaining about all they had to carry and drive be- 
 fore them. Beside the hedgerows the blackbirds 
 are busy, tossing the leaves from side to side, peer- 
 ing under hollow places for snails or worms. In- 
 stead of their usual shriek of alarm they give only 
 a half-smothered cry as they slip through the hedge, 
 to get away from you. The hedge-sparrow, that 
 beautiful singer when other songsters are still, 
 glides in and out of the hedge, flirts and shuffles 
 with his wings, justifying one of our local names 
 for him, that of " shuffle-wing." He is silent now, 
 
224 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 however, for he knows that he, with others, will 
 have to hunt hard and to little purpose before 
 long. 
 
 " Chack-chack ! " muttered out overhead, tells us 
 that fieldfares are near. There they go, a flock ol 
 them, to roost on the ground in the " forey " grass, 
 like larks. A few redwings detach themselves from 
 the company, and with feeble clucks make for some 
 plashy hollows that are wooded and well sheltered, 
 there to find food with the woodcocks that frequent 
 the same locality. 
 
 " Peewit, weet, weet peewit ! " Here come the 
 green plovers from the large open fields of the up- 
 land farms. They wheel and flap, and twist and 
 wheel again. We think that they have decided at 
 last to go, but we are mistaken. They make once 
 more for the fields they had left, settle, run about, 
 and then rise, calling most mournfully, as they pass 
 over us, a flapping company of black-and-white, 
 making for the sheltered coombe, close to the old 
 farm where they have had their haunts and homes 
 "from beyon' recknin'." 
 
 The wind sinks as we reach the foot of the up- 
 land ; flakes of snow come on us : more fall, and 
 
WINTER SHIFTS. 225 
 
 we hurry on, for a blinding storm of snow at night, 
 in a rough, wooded district, is a serious matter, 
 fearfully misleading even to those who know the 
 country well. Rooks are sagacious birds they 
 have the faculty of self-preservation very fully de- 
 veloped ; but I have known them all at sea in a 
 snowstorm, and completely helpless in one of the 
 thick white fogs that are so very prevalent in the 
 woodlands, after a heavy fall, and a half-turn of the 
 wind to the southward for a few hours. In such 
 case they will drop in the first trees they come to, 
 or even on to the tops of hedges, flapping, flutter- 
 ing, croaking, and quarking in a most unearthly 
 manner, unable to reach their rookery until the fog 
 lifts. Their instinct, or reckoning faculties, fail 
 them, just as man's will fail him under similar 
 circumstances. 
 
 The leadings of instinct are by no means so un- 
 erring as some would have us believe. I have 
 known a kingfisher come to his death by plunging 
 down on to the roof of a low greenhouse, mistak- 
 ing the glitter of the glass through the shrubs for 
 water. Insects are continually fluttering against 
 the top - lights from inside, especially butterflies, 
 
 p 
 
226 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 and birds will attempt their capture from without. 
 Wild creatures often make fatal mistakes, and 
 catastrophes occur at times that exterminate hosts 
 of animals and birds together. After heavy snows 
 the remains of unfortunate creatures such as do 
 not of their own accord associate together have 
 been found involved in one common ruin. 
 
 Before we reached home the snow had fallen so 
 thickly that the footsteps of those who passed were 
 noiseless. On the morning following we find the 
 ground covered a foot deep in some places. Trav- 
 elling over it in one of my usual rambles, I find 
 that the birds are not affected by it. That is be- 
 cause there is no frost. Snow may lie for weeks, 
 if it does not freeze, without wild creatures being 
 punished through it. The robin, as we pass him, 
 looks at us with his bold dark eyes, warbling a 
 cheery song, as if he thought the wintry weather 
 most seasonable and enjoyable. There was never a 
 snowstorm yet that completely covered all places : 
 go where you will, countless spots of possible shel- 
 ter will catch your eye in every direction. The 
 snow may be lying on the hedges, where it has 
 drifted in such heavy masses as to bend them over 
 
WINTER SHIFTS. 227 
 
 to leeward, but the banks below will be free from it. 
 And as nearly all hedges have water-runs on one 
 side of them or the other, the ground is soft, and so 
 everything that lives in the banks can be got at by 
 the birds that live on snails, slugs, worms, and the 
 many various forms of insect-life in a torpid state, 
 mature or immature. The berry-eating species keep 
 more to the tops of the hedges. These are in the 
 best of spirits, for their food gleams out in the midst 
 of the snow in the most tempting fashion. Crimson 
 hips and the berries of the hawthorn are in profusion. 
 Fieldfares have gathered here, chacking and chatter- 
 ing, as they cling with their strong feet to the heavily 
 laden twigs : the snow flies off all round and about 
 them. The bullfinches that are feeding on the 
 privet-berries look like roses as you catch sight of 
 their brilliant breasts, while they cling and flutter 
 and pipe within a few yards of you. Wild fruit is in 
 the pink of condition when the cold weather sets in: 
 it becomes sweet and smooth, instead of being acrid 
 and rough as it was. 
 
 If by some rare chance any of the clustered berries 
 of the mountain-ash are left, they will be fiercely 
 fought for. The ring-ousel, the blackbird of the 
 
228 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 moors, will be sure to have his share of them if he 
 be in the district* So partial is he to this fruit, that 
 I have known him stay his flight and come close 
 to houses near Dorking town, where some of the 
 mountain - ash trees have been grown as orna- 
 mental objects on either side of the entrance-gates. 
 This was very late in the season. That ring-ousels 
 are about during the winter months I have had 
 most convincing proof, having seen some that 
 had been shot by men when out blackbird- 
 shooting. 
 
 It is the frost that punishes and kills our wild 
 creatures unless they are extremely hard to kill 
 not the snow, which protects and keeps them warm. 
 The hare that sits in her form of dry tussocky grass 
 and dead ferns, roofed over with stout trailing 
 brambles, which the weight of snow actually makes 
 to touch the ground just in front, is snug and warm. 
 Her food is close within reach, and, so far, she has 
 nothing to fear from the weather. It is very enjoy- 
 able walking across large unfrequented woodland 
 fields after a good fall of snow, providing there is a 
 public right-of-way through. There is no silence 
 that I know which is so impressive as the silence of 
 
WINTER SHIFTS. 
 
 a snow-covered country. A dim light is all round 
 about, no stars are visible, you can hear yourself 
 breathe. So far from being cold, one feels uncom- 
 fortably warm, A very slight shift in the wind 
 would cause it to thaw a little, but that shift does 
 not come. 
 
 Spots appear in the fields spots that move. 
 They are hares and rabbits feeding. They will soon 
 clear the snow off their nibbling-ground with their 
 fore-feet. Just now they are playing high-jinks, 
 the rabbits are cutting fine capers. Soft white 
 weather does not upset their arrangements, so far as 
 food is concerned. We can see something coming 
 towards us, making for the hares and rabbits right 
 across our path. It ploughs along at a rapid pace : 
 we crouch low to bring our sight on the snow, and 
 know at the first glance that it is that dreaded foe 
 of rabbits, the stoat. I have seen him on the hunt 
 in the snow before. He rushes along, leaving a 
 furrow behind him, where he has parted it in his 
 progress. Now he is close to, passing us sideways. 
 He catches sight of me, and bounds from out the 
 snow most actively, but in the direction of his prey. 
 If he gets near enough to them without being seen 
 
230 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 or winded, there will be short but very deadly work 
 for either hare or rabbit. 
 
 A change comes ; the winds get up in the north, 
 then shift to the north-east, whence they blow as 
 nor'-easters will blow, whirling the snow off large 
 fields, to deposit it in huge drifts in the roads, 
 blocking them up. At night the winds sink again, 
 and it is clear and dry; the stars twinkle merrily, 
 and a hard frost sets in. Next morning a hard 
 blue sky is overhead, the wind is keen and bitter, 
 it still freezes hard. Notice the robin now as you 
 pass along. His cheery song is over, and he weeps 
 and mourns so that it is positively disheartening to 
 listen to him. One of the things I cannot bear is to 
 hear the robin cry. 
 
 Fieldfares, redwings, and lapwings flit restlessly 
 about, at a loss what to do. Had the snow remained 
 on the fields with the root-crops left for sheep-feed, 
 it would have been all right, for the birds would 
 have found good shelter under the broad leaves as 
 well as food. But now the ground is hard, and 
 their food is under it. So they move to and fro, 
 loath to quit what had been their happy hunting- 
 grounds, until some of them, the thrush portion, 
 
WINTER SHIFTS. 231 
 
 get so weak that they are unable to extricate them- 
 selves from the hedges into which they fluttered 
 out of your way as you tramped past. 
 
 The plovers make for the lowlands, where they 
 wait for better times. Starlings betake themselves 
 to any uncovered grounds they can find near the 
 edge of tidal rivers, excepting a few that remain and 
 come with the sparrows to feed near our doors. 
 Keats's beautiful lines come into one's mind, sug- 
 gesting so much in so few words : 
 
 " St Agnes' Eve ah, bitter chill it was ! 
 The owl, for all his feathers, was a-cold. 
 The hare limped trembling through the frozen grass ; 
 And silent was the flock in woolly fold." 
 
 Here we have hard bitter weather in four lines of 
 poetry; and I could fancy Keats kept an owl at 
 some time or other as a pet, and that he perfectly 
 understood how the bird's plumage is disposed on 
 its body. The manner of this is somewhat remark- 
 able in long stripes, as it were. I have seen my 
 own favourite owl stand in front of me, and throw 
 his breast - feathers on each side of him just as 
 a waistcoat is thrown open and aside. The plum- 
 age is very loose on all parts of his body, so that 
 
232 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 if it were blown upon, the owl would, as Keats has 
 said, "for all his feathers be a-cold." 
 
 And then the limping hare, and the silence of the 
 sheep. So much is given here in small compass. 
 Hard black frosts frosts without moisture if con- 
 tinuing for any length of time, take the voices and 
 the life from all wild things. Little by little their 
 food - supplies grow smaller ; besides which, other 
 creatures, driven from their accustomed haunts, 
 come to share what little support there is. 
 
 After a time the wind changes suddenly dead 
 south, and heavy rain falls instead of snow. Bare 
 spots show in the meadows ; the blessed sight of 
 green grass is visible once more. Birds, poor 
 things, show their joy and thankfulness by soft 
 chatterings, chirpings, and whistling. Rooks, wag- 
 tails, and larks must be in dire straits when they 
 come to feed in the streets of a populous town, as 
 they have done. Now they are in the fields, hunting 
 by the half-thawed rills and in the meadow splashes 
 for anything eatable, either living or dead. The 
 change does not last long, however. As I come 
 home, about four o'clock in the afternoon, a signifi- 
 cant sight attracts my attention. A small herd of 
 
WINTER SHIFTS. 233 
 
 Bewick's swans the small wild swan six in 
 number, pass overhead, low down over the wood- 
 lands. My glass has been on them from the 
 time the rush ! rush ! rush ! of their strong wings 
 gave notice of their approach, and it follows them 
 until they are lost in the distance. They came 
 from the south, and at full migrating speed are 
 making for the north-east. On the darkest night 
 you can tell if a swan or swans are passing over- 
 head, if low enough to be heard. No other bird 
 that I am acquainted with in England gives out 
 that strong measured rush! rush! rush! that the 
 swans do, whether wild or domesticated. Our own 
 tame swan, the most graceful bird of the whole 
 family, exists in a wild state in Russia, Poland, 
 Italy, Persia, Siberia, and elsewhere, in exactly the 
 same condition as he does domesticated here. Many 
 of our tame swans visit the tide when frozen out 
 from their inland waters, either of their own accord 
 or decoyed away by the trumpet-calls of wild swans 
 the mighty whooper or elk swan, the Polish swan, 
 or the small Bewick swan passing overhead. 
 
 Our tame swans reach the tide, the open sea. 
 So far good : they see other fowl feeding on the 
 
234 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 succulent sea-grass, feed and fly with them, just 
 as they would with the geese and ducks on some 
 of their own inland mill-ponds. Now not one shore- 
 shooter in twenty carries a field-glass, and though 
 his local knowledge is in the main accurate, yet 
 he is often a little hazy where swans are concerned. 
 " It's a swan ; but if that bird was not a wild bird 
 it would not be there on salt w r ater," said one man 
 I knew. " Get the punt out ; I am going behind 
 the sea-\vall to fire off my charge of duck-shot, 
 it's too cold to draw it." Presently, as the punt 
 crept up, some fowl rose and flew close by the swan, 
 which began to make preparations for following 
 them. His wings flapped on the water. " Keep 
 her steady when I fire," says the shooter. The 
 report rings over the water, and the swan floats 
 dead on it, the bullet having passed through his 
 body, just below the joints of the wings, "This 
 one is different from the one I shot last week," 
 remarked the man to his companion, when the bird 
 was pulled on board ; " the other was larger, and 
 it had not got a nob on its bill like this one ; it is 
 like what our common swans have." It was, in 
 point of fact, just a domesticated swan that had 
 
WINTER SHIFTS. 235 
 
 visited the tide, whilst the first he had shot was 
 a real wild whooper. 
 
 To return to the herd of Bewick swans I saw pass 
 over, there is nothing uncommon in sea-birds flying 
 over woodland districts ; and they will frequently 
 settle to rest there, if an open bit of water catches 
 their keen eyes. The force of circumstances some- 
 times compels them to take routes that they would 
 scrupulously avoid if they had any choice in the 
 matter. The razor-bill auk, to my own knowledge, 
 has been picked up in a ploughed field thirty miles 
 from salt water, where he was sitting up like a rabbit 
 in one of the furrows, no doubt lost in wonder as to 
 where he had got to. Close to the woods this was. 
 One of the plough-boys went to see what curious 
 creature was there. The auk returned his look 
 freely. Then the boy made a grab at the razor-bill, 
 which by no means belied its name, for it bit its 
 would-be captor, not once but twice, severely. For 
 this the poor auk got such a kick from the toe of 
 a very heavy boot as killed him. 
 
 I had remarked to my wife that the sight of swans 
 moving was not reassuring ; and the next morning 
 my fears were justified, the country being ice-bound, 
 
236 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 and the roads like glass. Many of the birds that 
 had been feeding in the damp meadows lay dead 
 beneath the trees in which they had roosted for 
 the night, frozen to death. There was a week ol 
 this, and then a partial thaw came, followed by 
 snow. A desperate time it was for all wild things. 
 I saw the weasel hunt the long-tailed wood-mouse, 
 coloured like himself fawn and white, and nearly 
 as large as himself, from the snow-covered brambles 
 to not a yard from my feet. That was a fine oppor- 
 tunity for observing the tactics of the hunter and 
 the hunted. The mouse flattened itself out like a 
 bit of light leather : not even a particle of snow 
 was disturbed from the bramble-stems over which 
 he crawled to get beneath the loose flints. On 
 one side of the low trailing branches was the 
 mouse ; on the other the weasel, ferociously search- 
 ing for his prey. He did not get the mouse the 
 small creature baffled him. Had it been a rabbit, 
 he would have had it most certainly. Mice are 
 not frightened when hunted by the weasel as rabbits 
 are. 
 
 Strange news of creatures being about that have 
 not been seen for years has been brought to me 
 
WINTER SHIFTS. 237 
 
 this season. Farmyards, hen-roosts, duck-ponds, 
 and sheepfolds have been visited by "something" 
 that has left curious footprints in the snow, in 
 coming and going, resembling a long hand with 
 a dent like that of a long nail in front of it. These 
 were the marks of the badger ; but so much did 
 this strange track disturb one old dame who keeps 
 a large quantity of poultry in a lonely district, that 
 she talked to those who passed by about the Witch 
 of Endor and " Satan walking the airth agin." It 
 was in vain to try to explain the matter to her, 
 telling how the badger, being unusually hard 
 pressed, had come to her fowl-house, had tried to 
 get in all round, and, finding himself foiled, had 
 prospected in a general way all round the farm- 
 yard. I pointed out to her where his belly had 
 touched the snow, making a smooth trail; and 
 again where he had ploughed it up with his snout 
 like a pig ; then farther on I showed her his tracks 
 to the cover under the hill, but all to no purpose. 
 The old dame refused both comfort and explana- 
 tion. "Massy, oh alive!" she cried; "things like 
 thet 'ere waun't about when I wus a gal, an' I wishes 
 they waun't now thet I do." 
 
238 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 Of the depredations committed by the fox under 
 sore stress we shall say little ; yet they have been 
 beyond all credit, save by the sufferers from his 
 audacious plundering. It says much for the sport- 
 ing sympathies innate in the true Briton that, in 
 spite of the heavy losses foxes and their families 
 have entailed on the farmer, it has only been in 
 certain instances, where it has become a direct 
 necessity, that one or two have been killed : they 
 have been allowed to plunder as a rule. Extra- 
 ordinary devices have been employed, however, in 
 secluded woodland districts, to keep foxes away 
 from poultry-farms, by day and by night. Not 
 one case of fox-poisoning have I heard of: when 
 it was necessary to kill one, it was done openly, 
 and by those who had the right to do it. 
 
 I know of some pheasant-aviaries that are not far 
 away from fox-earths, where there are rare pheas- 
 ants from the mountains of India and China, the 
 gorgeous monals and the curious horned pheasants. 
 These are far too costly to serve as food for the 
 fox; but if he does not get into the aviary he 
 rushes round and round, in his cat-like fashion, 
 and frightens the birds horribly. The golden 
 
WINTER SHIFTS. 239 
 
 pheasants cry and dash in their swift flight, more 
 like scarlet macaws gone mad than pheasants. A 
 most exasperating sight it is for their owner to see 
 bruised and broken tail-feathers on the ground, 
 magnificent ones, too, four and five feet in length, 
 from the tail of Reeves's pheasant the birds look- 
 ing like a lot of frightened scarecrows, compared 
 with their wonted brave appearance, one or two in 
 a dead or dying state from battering themselves 
 against the wire-netting. The aviaries are neces- 
 sarily large, both long and broad and high, so as 
 to give room for the magnificent plumes. I have 
 seen one of these glorious birds dashing itself with 
 a thud against the bars of its perches, frightened by 
 a sneaking fox in the day-time. At night it will be 
 far worse. 
 
 This villanous conduct on the part of the fox is 
 forced on him by the shifts to which he is reduced. 
 Rabbits are supposed to be a legitimate food for 
 him ; but as they fetch in this neighbourhood, in 
 the heart of the country, from sixteen to eighteen 
 pence without their skins, foxes are not able to 
 get all that they require at times. One must look 
 at things from many sides. I have seen wild crea- 
 
240 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 tures in smooth and in hard times, but it has only 
 been after spring has come in, and we have found 
 their bleached skeletons in all kinds of places where 
 they had crawled to die, that we can fully realise 
 how desperate their winter shifts have been. 
 
THE FAMILY OF WADERS. 241 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 THE FAMILY OF WADERS. 
 
 BEAUTIFUL, happy creatures are the waders. They 
 know nothing of distance as we estimate it, for 
 their wonderful wings, which speak so plainly of 
 the wisdom and foresight of their Creator, carry 
 them at a marvellous rate of speed round and 
 across the whole world. To them four or five 
 hundred miles is only a pleasant flitting. No gale 
 stops them, knowing well, as they do, how to take 
 every advantage of all air-currents, through which 
 their strong wings cut as if they were knives. Our 
 shores and the wide edges of our tidal rivers would 
 be desolate indeed without their enlivening pres- 
 ence. In summer and winter, in fair weather or 
 foul, the waders come, and in countless hosts they 
 
 Q 
 
242 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 rush up and down the coast-lines according as the 
 weather compels them. They do not come to grief 
 in the same way as the sea-ducks and divers that 
 I have seen washed ashore, beaten or blown to 
 death by wind or water. I have never known this 
 to be the fate of any members of the family we are 
 now considering. 
 
 As a rule, they are good birds for eating ; in fact, 
 many of them are considered delicacies, and so, as 
 a natural consequence, they receive the very best 
 attention from the fowlers. If one of my readers 
 should happen at any time to pick up a dead wader, 
 he would find, on carefully examining the bird, a 
 shot-mark or some other trace of accidents to which 
 such birds are subject. The very impetuosity of 
 their flight is at times the cause of their death ; for 
 when travelling at top speed, low down, as they 
 frequently do, just to clear the shingle or the sand- 
 dunes, if they come in contact with a thistle-stem 
 or a dried tangle of sea-holly, it is enough to kill 
 them. One of the finest female sparrow-hawks I 
 have ever seen lost her life through a trivial shock 
 received when at full speed ; for the strongest birds 
 have about them that subtile vital principle so little 
 
THE FAMILY OF WADERS. 243 
 
 understood by us, an injury to which results surely 
 in death, and that an instantaneous one. I have 
 examined many a bird that has been killed by 
 shock, but have never been able to find any injury 
 sufficient to account for this. They have all been 
 in good condition and fine plumage, not one feather 
 out of place, nor a single drop of blood oozing 
 from the mouth ; yet for all that, one and all were 
 killed by what to me has appeared a most trifling 
 accident. 
 
 In hard weather that is, in real hard times the 
 larger members of the family are somewhat hard 
 set, but the small waders manage to pull through. 
 The case must be desperate, indeed, if these get 
 in poor condition; for their food -supply consists 
 of the smallest creatures : these their wonderful 
 nimbleness and activity enable them to capture 
 as they follow the ebbing tide or trip along the 
 edge of fresh - water rivers, lakes, and streams. 
 Their attractive forms always fascinated me as a 
 boy, so did their wonderful legs and feet. Most 
 admirable and perfect studies they will be to the 
 end of my life, showing how admirably every crea- 
 ture is fitted with the exactly suitable means of 
 
244 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 gaining a living, and of living happily. In all 
 weathers and in all kinds of places have I watched 
 their comings and their goings, their swift flights 
 and their restless trippings, now here, now there ; 
 and they are to-day as fresh and fair to me as in 
 the days of my childhood. Still I would again 
 remind my readers and my critics that I never 
 attempt to write from a scientific point of view, 
 but only aim at describing clearly what I have 
 plainly seen. 
 
 The tide has gone down, leaving the salt-marsh 
 a steaming ague-breeding flat. There is a shallow 
 run of water in the wide creek, the navigable 
 channel. Into this hundreds of rills and gripes 
 trickle, the drainage of the ooze. So level is the 
 coast-line here that it takes a long time for the 
 water to run off the flats. The harvest is nearly 
 over, but the weather still keeps hot and dry. A 
 real sweltering marsh harvest, our old folks call it. 
 So hot is it that the whole region has fairly steamed 
 all through the day. And now the sun has gone 
 down just low enough to throw a peculiar rosy 
 golden hue over all that its light rests on. A rich 
 light this is, one that is only seen in the fen and 
 
THE FAMILY OF WADERS. 245 
 
 marshland districts one of the compensations, of 
 which every form of life is full. It turns all the 
 reed-stems into fairy golden pillars, or purple ones 
 crowned with beautiful plumes. And the foul ooze 
 is transformed before one's eyes, becoming a vast 
 purple carpet, having the daintiest touches of rose 
 colour, whilst the rills that drain it show like threads 
 of gold. Under this light the noisome marsh, the 
 breeding- place of fever and ague, has the same 
 deadly beauty with which some poisonous snakes 
 are endowed. Here, under the grip of the fell 
 disease, I have lain 'twixt life and death, praying 
 in the daytime for night to come, and when night 
 was there, longing for the morning. 
 
 But what is poison to some creatures is life to 
 others. These spots suit that long fish -spearing 
 heron to perfection. Eels, crabs, flounders, and a 
 host of other small deer take refuge in the rills 
 when the tide goes down. Whilst you are looking, 
 one or two grey shadows move over the slub, then 
 suddenly stop ; and you wonder what throws those 
 shadows, as no living creatures can you see. The 
 mystery is soon solved, however, for from one of 
 the rills a streak of light shoots up with startling 
 
246 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 rapidity. Then follows a waving of broad wings, 
 also most extraordinary movements, as of some 
 creature possessed. It is a heron that has speared 
 a fair-sized eel one, in fact, a size too large for 
 him. The fish objects to being swallowed whole, 
 as only eels can and do object ; that is the cause 
 of the bird's capers. With raised crest, and the 
 feathers of his breast pluffed out, he goes for the 
 fish that is squirming and wriggling about on the 
 mud, digs at him, picks him up, tries to swallow 
 him ; but without success, for the eel will not have 
 it. Then, changing his tactics, the heron picks 
 him up once more and thrashes the mud with the 
 fish right and left. This has apparently a bene- 
 ficial effect, for he soon joints the eel up and eats 
 him. So closely at times, as I have observed be- 
 fore, under certain aspects of light, does the heron's 
 plumage fall in with his surroundings, that if he 
 would let you, he could be walked up to without 
 being seen. Before leaving him, I would remind 
 my readers that it is never wise to take any heron 
 up, to look at him, before you are quite sure that 
 he is dead. These birds take a lot of killing, and 
 when one seems really gone, even then you will 
 
THE FAMILY OF WADERS. 247 
 
 do well to keep his dagger of a bill and his long 
 neck away from your face. So-called dead herons 
 have been known to revive with very disagreeable 
 results. 
 
 That noble bird the curlew comes next on our 
 list. His plumage, mottled, speckled, and cut up 
 with broken tones of brown, grey, white, and light- 
 red, makes him look like a plover when squatted, 
 unless his long sickle-shaped bill can be detected, 
 a most difficult matter when in that position. He 
 is wary in the extreme morning, noon, and night 
 on the alert. That he is brought to bag at times 
 is certainly no fault of his, but is mainly due to his 
 surroundings. 
 
 " There's a flood-tide to-day, Master John," said 
 one of the farm hands of an old friend of mine, 
 whose extensive fields ran clean down to the salt- 
 flats facing the Essex shore. " It strikes me that 
 if you brings your old double, and Don, you'll stan r 
 a rare good chance fur a clip at curlews in the 
 swede-fields. I've sin two mobs on 'em pitch in at 
 half-flood time. You gits here, 'twill be full flood, 
 the ma'shlands will be flooded right up to the field- 
 grounds. They curlews is bound to come an' pick 
 
248 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 about in the swedes. They're whole curlews, not 
 jacks." 
 
 "All right," said John; "I'll be here and see 
 what can be done with them." 
 
 Two hours later, John and I were in the farm- 
 yard talking to Ned. "They're in the swedes, a 
 lot on 'em," he told us, "a reg'lar mob, an' no 
 mistake. They pitched about the middle o' the 
 field." 
 
 Our plan was soon formed. I very quietly slipped 
 round the old, thick, black-thorn hedge at the far 
 end of the field, directly opposite to the point where 
 my friend would enter it. 
 
 Then John set to work. One wave of the hand 
 to Don, his old Spanish pointer, was sufficient. 
 Through the hedge we could see him drawing 
 cautiously on and on ; for the dog winded them 
 very quickly. He stops for a moment, draws on 
 again, and then stands like a statue ; a full point, 
 and no mistake about it. Very quietly his master 
 nears him, and for a few moments man and dog 
 are alike motionless. Presently, what from our 
 hiding-place looks like a cloud of wings blots out 
 both. Then two reports ring out and two birds 
 
THE FAMILY OF WADERS. 249 
 
 fall, a capital right and left, a kind of performance 
 John is rather noted for. As he comes back with 
 the birds, their fine wings flick and brush the tur- 
 nip-leaves at each step he takes. This slightly 
 puzzles Don, for they are very different from the 
 partridges, to which he has been more accustomed. 
 Ned or, as he is usually called, Neddy has 
 bolted across the road from the farm, with a broad 
 grin on his face, to meet his master, congratulate 
 him on his luck, and pat old Don. 
 
 " You've got 'em, Master John ; I said that you'd 
 clip 'em." 
 
 " Yes, they are clipped right enough, Neddy," 
 replies John ; " and you can have the pair for the 
 missis and youngsters," adding, when we were out 
 of sight and hearing, " They will get through the 
 job right enough; but, so far as I'm concerned, I 
 decline curlews that have fed on the ooze for any 
 time." 
 
 And yet no bird is more eagerly sought after 
 than the curlew, for the bird's bump of self-preser- 
 vation is so largely developed that it is considered 
 a feather in a shooter's cap to take the rise out of 
 one neatly. All coast lads are born with fowling 
 
250 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 and fishing instincts. No matter how young they 
 may be, they are on the paddle for fish or on the 
 look-out for fowl. These two subjects, when I 
 formed one of the community, were all folks had 
 to talk about. No wonder the boys entered fully 
 into them. When we little fellows bathed or 
 paddled, it was if big lads from thirteen to fifteen 
 were not with us usually in one of the gullies that 
 ran from the creek, up the saltings to the sluices 
 in the sea-wall. Directly the tide turned, some 
 of us would be sure to slip down and peep round 
 the mouth to see if fowl were feeding. On one 
 well-remembered afternoon a lad that was with us 
 whose age was fourteen, which circumstance caused 
 him to be looked up to by the younger fry, together 
 with the fact that he had killed a gull with his 
 father's duck-gun, came wading up from the mouth 
 of the gully and quietly told us that he should just 
 like to see some one on the wall with a gun. As 
 he craned his neck to look up, to his great delight 
 a shooter did appear there. Crawling out as quietly 
 as a dyke-eel, the lad beckoned to the gunner. 
 Then he slipped into the water again, about three 
 feet deep in the middle of the gully. Cautiously the 
 
THE FAMILY OF WADERS. 251 
 
 gunner crawled through the blite, and looked down at 
 us lads, whispering, " What is it ? " 
 
 " Curlew," whispered back the sage of fourteen ; 
 "they're feeding round the mouth of the gully on 
 the ooze. Lend us yer gun, I ken knock 'em over. 
 I knows I ken do it." 
 
 " But she'll kick and bruise ye terrible." 
 
 " Oh no, she wun't ; fur I shell put my weskit on 
 an' stuff my worsted stockin's in front, an' button 
 up tight. If she do kick, she wun't hurt me." 
 
 As the waistcoat was of the then very fashionable 
 material called nankeen, the boy, after completing 
 these arrangements, did certainly look a very odd 
 figure. The gunner, besides giving him careful 
 directions, told him he looked like a toad with the 
 dropsy. All this was of course spoken in the most 
 subdued tones, for fear the curlew should " shank " 
 or "flight" it. Then we boys proudly watched our 
 companion cautiously wade down the gully, his 
 gun well away and in front of him. Presently a 
 bend hid him from our sight, and we waited with 
 eyes and ears open for the shot. With a roar off 
 she went, and we tore down the mud and water 
 of the gully like so many mad bull-frogs, the shooter 
 
252 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 running on the edge through the blite. When we 
 reached him, there sat " Billy " in the ooze, com- 
 pletely smothered in it, his " weskit " unbuttoned, 
 and the worsted stockings hanging over his knees 
 in the most comical manner. The gun he held 
 upright, " To keep her out o' mischief," he said. 
 
 " She ain't hurt, I ain't hurt; she did kick, thet's 
 how my weskit got loose. I'd 'a had him all right 
 if it waun't fur that cuss'd yelper of a redshank, as 
 made him git up afore I wus ready-like. Them 
 yelpers is the wust birds livin'." 
 
 The curlew is a most interesting bird, see him 
 where you may, on some upland with the sheep, 
 in the grass-meadows, or on the shore, when huge 
 dark storm-clouds roll in from open water, a gale 
 blowing, and the white parts of his plumage showing 
 like large snow-flakes as he and his companions are 
 driven shrieking and wailing in all directions ; or in 
 the calm, still days of early autumn. As I lazily 
 drifted down the swale in a fishing-smack I have 
 watched him probing for lug-worms, running nimbly 
 or walking sedately on the mingled sand and ooze. 
 When the birds are feeding you can get a good view 
 of them on either side, if you conceal yourself in 
 
THE FAMILY OF WADERS. 253 
 
 the nets. So close to them have I been that my 
 glass has not been needed. This was in past years, 
 when that part of the swale was seldom visited ; for 
 the grass grew rank in the main streets of our old 
 fishing borough, that lay as though sleeping, wrapped 
 in a shimmering haze of the autumn. 
 
 The whimbrel, half curlew, or, as he is more fre- 
 quently called, jack-curlew, is very like his larger 
 relative in his habits and food, and quite as wary I 
 have found him to be. There is about the same 
 difference in size between them as there is between 
 the full snipe and the jack-snipe, hence the name of 
 jack-curlew. 
 
 Curlews allow themselves to be blown or drifted 
 only when waiting over some favourite feeding- 
 ground, before the tide has left sufficiently for them 
 to feed. I have watched mobs of them, repeatedly, 
 waiting for the tide, when a heavy gale has been 
 blowing. The birds know that their food is just 
 below them, so they merely flap to and fro, and put 
 up with the inconvenience of being blown about. At 
 any other time they would shoot clean through, in 
 the teeth of the gale. Only those who have seen a 
 frightened curlew go up or down a creek lined with 
 
254 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 shore-shooters, shrieking as he flies, can form any 
 idea of the bird's swiftness. I have known a bird 
 of this kind ' fly the gauntlet ' for three miles, and 
 there has been bang ! bang ! bang ! from every 
 shooter that he passed, good shots too. He es- 
 caped the lot without being touched. Swift fliers 
 at all times, their ordinary speed is as nothing com- 
 pared with what it is when they are frightened. 
 
 The oyster - catcher, sea - pie, or sea - magpie, 
 paddles on the hards, the sands, and the ooze. 
 Where mussels, cockles, and other small shell-fish 
 abound, there you will find the sea- magpie. The 
 name of oyster-catcher is not well applied to this 
 bird. I have carefully examined the bill. It is 
 certainly well fitted for picking and wedging open 
 small shell-fish, but the oysters have nothing to fear 
 from him. Any one who has opened them knows 
 that some considerable force is necessary for that 
 operation. There is another circumstance to be 
 taken into consideration. Oyster-grounds or beds 
 are mostly rigidly protected both by day and night. 
 No game-preserves are more closely looked after. 
 If the bird was in any way injurious to these, the 
 owners of the beds would at once take measures for 
 
THE FAMILY OF WADERS. 255 
 
 its extermination, at least on the oyster-beds. This, 
 on the coast that I am writing of, would have been 
 a very easy matter, for they were not numerous 
 there. Some of my own relatives, since gone down 
 to old Davy's locker, owned at one time the largest 
 native oyster-beds in the district. Through them 
 we were well acquainted with the oyster's foes, but 
 the so-called oyster-catcher was not one of them. 
 The bird is very handsome, the black parts of his 
 plumage showing blue, purple, and dark bronze- 
 green reflections, the tones all brought into vivid 
 contrast by the pure white of the rest. The orange 
 of the bill and his purple -red legs complete his 
 brilliant colouring. 
 
 The waders get their living in the slub ooze, in 
 the reeking, rotten swamp, about the marshes and 
 the foul marsh -drains ; yet their plumage is pure 
 and glossy, not one speck or stain will you find 
 on the bill, feathers, or feet. A lot of waders feeding 
 on the slub at dusk are easily moved forwards by 
 those who know how to do it, in the direction of 
 a long fine net which is stretched on stakes ; but 
 they must be moved, not frightened. If alarmed, 
 they fly low and dash at full speed into the meshes 
 
256 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 and hang there. Now, although they may have 
 been feeding on such quaking bog-land that a stone 
 the size of your fist would bury itself therein of 
 its own weight, no dirt-stains will you find on the 
 meshed birds. 
 
 That curious wader, the avocet or cobler's awl 
 duck, as he was called, from the shape of his bill, 
 was not considered rare in my own time. This 
 we believe he now is ; for the greater part of the 
 spots he frequented have been drained. Godwits, 
 or red-breasted snipes, as they were called by our 
 shooters, were considered, in our immediate neigh- 
 bourhood, as out of the common. Romney Marsh 
 flighters, they were styled, a name very much to 
 the point, for at that time Romney Marsh was 
 their abiding-place. 
 
 Then we have the redshank, pool - snipe, teuke 
 or took, sandcock, red-leg, red-legged horseman; 
 all these names are given to him, as well as another, 
 which exactly expresses the main characteristic of 
 the bird, the cussed yelper; and he certainly does 
 yelp. If wild-fowl possess the virtue of gratitude, 
 they must quack, bark, whistle, shriek, and grunt 
 untold blessings on the redshank's head, for the 
 
THE FAMILY OF WADERS. 257 
 
 yelper is their feathered sentinel. Whether he acts 
 the part exclusively for their benefit, or for him- 
 self alone, the fact remains, he rouses them all 
 thoroughly. This I have proved to my cost many 
 a time. 
 
 When the tide is up, all is level on the flats ; even 
 the blite is covered until the tide goes down. To 
 all appearance the blite is left dry ; but this is not 
 the case, for thousands of small pools are left at 
 the roots of the blite shrubs. These cannot be 
 seen, because the thick grey -green leaves cover 
 them. Most of the fowl feed in the numerous 
 gullies that run through this salt vegetation. Some 
 of the smaller kinds feed in the pools under 
 it. If any web -footed fowl are about, they are 
 sure to pitch in one or other of the gripes and 
 gullies. 
 
 One morning early I was out with a trusty fowling 
 companion, when, from our hiding-place behind 
 the sea-wall, we saw some widgeon pitch in a gripe, 
 followed by a couple of curlews. The gripes, as a 
 rule, were about two feet in depth, and completely 
 overhung by the blite, so they were concealed from 
 us and we from them. My companion looked 
 
 R 
 
258 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 at me and whispered, " How far is it for a 
 crawl ? " 
 
 "About fifty yards, I think," was the whispered 
 answer, through the blite. No more was said. On 
 hands and knees we went at it, a dirty, evil-smelling 
 crawl, through that wet, slimy, salt, sodden tangle. 
 We were like a couple of tortoises. Just as we 
 were about to rise for a shot, up started a redshank, 
 yelping at a fearful rate. There was not the least 
 chance of a shot, for he simply threw himself out of 
 the blite-pools into a gully close to the gripe. We 
 did not rise, we simply looked at each other and 
 said nothing. No words could express our feelings 
 as we saw him shoot out of the gully, perch himself 
 on a tussock out of shot-range, and bob up and 
 down like a large thistle-bloom all the time. It 
 was too much, and we at once decided that he 
 must die. We would blow him to atoms and make 
 thistle-down of him to punish him for his mis- 
 deeds. That was our intention, one we were de- 
 termined to carry out ; but the yelper had views of 
 his own on the matter, and he was equally deter- 
 mined that we should not kill him. The ugly chase 
 he led us was enough to disgust even an alligator. 
 
THE FAMILY OF WADERS. 259 
 
 He knew where all the yelpers lived, and they 
 answered him. They flew together, and yelped 
 together. They also disturbed all the fowl for 
 miles, and sent them to open water. We did not 
 get a shot that day, and, what was far worse, we 
 did not get that redshank. Yet I like the bird. 
 He has been associated with our shore and swamp 
 wanderings for so many years ; he is the fitting 
 ornament to the place he frequents ; and his wild 
 cries fall in well with the howling winds and the 
 lap of the waves on those bleak shores. Wild, 
 noisy, and suspicious, he is far above any other 
 wader, according to my own experience ; but, like 
 other wild creatures, he reverses the order of things 
 at certain seasons. Quite recently that is, three 
 years ago and we have every reason to think that 
 it is the same now, several pairs of redshanks 
 were building and hatching in some rough ground 
 close to a Government dockyard in fact, close to 
 a populous town only one hour's journey by rail 
 from London Bridge. 
 
 With the dunlin or ox-bird will close this short 
 account of some of the waders that live principally 
 on the edge of salt water. It is only such as can be 
 
260 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 seen almost daily that we have described. The 
 forms that frequent fresh waters we shall mention 
 presently. It is simply under stress of weather that 
 some families visit the tide. A large cloud of dun- 
 lins is one of the most interesting sights that a 
 naturalist can look on. They are such pretty, 
 innocent-looking birds, no matter where you see 
 them, on the wing or tripping along over the 
 slub. 
 
 One little memory of them comes up before me. 
 We are looking down a reach of the creek, a mile 
 or more in length. The tide is out. There are 
 the mud-banks on either side, the channel in the 
 middle ; and above and around, as far as the eye 
 can reach, snow, nothing but deep, frozen snow. 
 A dreary look-out it is, and it makes one feel melan- 
 choly ; for the wind rushes up the creek and cuts 
 like a knife. In the distance something is coming 
 up with it that looks like the smoke from the 
 funnel of a steamer ; it waves and streams as smoke 
 will do in a rush of wind. Now the smoke has 
 vanished. Again it shows thick as at first, and 
 then it breaks up in patches. Presently the dark 
 cloud becomes a light one, a great flash of silver. 
 
THE FAMILY OF WADERS. 261 
 
 It consists of dunlins coming up with the wind at 
 full speed. We can hear the rush of the thousands 
 of wings, and their soft chatter some time before 
 they reach us. Now they are here : with a humming 
 roar they pass below us up the creek, shoot up, 
 showing black and white as they turn, dive down into 
 the creek again, pass us, and take a sweep over the 
 snow, where they are invisible, for their white under- 
 plumage, caused by the turn, is in the light. Another 
 turn, and a dark cloud is passing over the snow and 
 into the creek. One turn more and we see that 
 cloud of dunlins drop below us on the slub a vast 
 host of living silver dots moving rapidly over the 
 dark-brown mud and grey ooze. As they throw 
 their wings up, as they flirt up from one spot to 
 another, all busy chattering and dibbing, now here, 
 now there, for we can see all their actions, so 
 close are they to us, I thought that it was one of 
 the most interesting sights I had been privileged to 
 witness. 
 
 No one could be in the company of shore-shooters 
 one half -hour before hearing ox -birds dunlins 
 spoken of. There are some out-of-the-world spots, 
 once well known to me, which are unchanged to the 
 
262 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 present time, 1892. They have remained just the 
 same as I left them forty years ago ooze-quags, 
 where a man is smothered in less than a minute, 
 if he gets into one and no help is near; quick- 
 sands, and rotten swamps abound. Ague and fever 
 are there too, as of old, also clouds of dunlins and 
 other fowl, for those who know these spots. 
 
 Bitterns or French herns herons were fre- 
 quently met with. This was nothing to be sur- 
 prised at, when the fact of their nesting one time 
 in a vast swamp on the opposite shore is taken 
 into consideration. The inhabitants of those 
 drowned districts were, from the peculiar run of 
 the land and water, completely isolated. Hun- 
 dreds of rare birds, at least they would have been 
 thought such elsewhere, shared the fate of com- 
 moner ones. They were eaten, or, if they were 
 not fit to eat, thrown away after being shown to 
 the general community as curiosities in fowl. The 
 bittern is the bird of desolation. It is in desolate 
 places you will find him, if he is about at all. All 
 his habits are secretive ones. As a rule, he comes 
 out with the marsh -owls. His plumage mimics 
 the swamp-tangle perfectly, and the bittern draws 
 
THE FAMILY OF WADERS. 263 
 
 himself up by the side of that tangle, his danger- 
 ous bill pointing upwards in a line with the great 
 rush-stems, so that you might be within a yard of 
 him and yet not see him. Frequently it has been 
 the case that shooters have had these birds clutter 
 up close to their feet. The postures that the 
 bittern and his dwarf relative will put themselves 
 in to avoid detection, is simply marvellous ; for 
 the little bittern was found in the same locality, 
 one that is little known even now. So well were 
 these strange postures understood, especially when 
 the birds were wounded that is, wing -tipped 
 that the shooters called them "jipeses." As this 
 very peculiar marsh -word, "jipe," was always ap- 
 plied by them to anything monkey-like, the term 
 was a very suitable one. Both birds, the great bit- 
 tern and the little bittern, can climb like cats, the 
 little bittern being an adept at it. Yes, birds that 
 are thought rare now were common enough at that 
 time ; but the three R's, reading, writing, and arith- 
 metic, in their most simple forms, were uncommon 
 in those days. As to the science of ornithology, the 
 very mention of the word would have ostracised you 
 as a "furriner." Still, as I have said before, they 
 
264 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 knew all the fowl and their habits most thoroughly 
 well. As a boy I became proficient in two things. 
 I could read fluently, and patiently study the birds 
 from morning to night. Also I tried to draw them. 
 This last accomplishment, I can assure my readers, 
 was at times a source of disheartening trouble to 
 me, both as regarded my comfort with the home- 
 folks, and my disappointment when I could not 
 do it to my own satisfaction. They were loyal to 
 the very backbone, those dwellers in the marsh- 
 lands and along the shores. " For God and the 
 King" and "for Queen and Country" have been 
 promptly responded to when the call has been made, 
 by my own people especially. Men and women, 
 married and single, all were quickly up in arms for 
 their country and their sovereign, a hot-blooded, 
 hard-handed people, but their hearts in the right 
 place. How often memory recalls that wiry, long- 
 legged, kind -hearted friend, that prince of bog- 
 clearers, dead long ago, Baulk, who was a man in 
 the full sense of the word ! With his musket slung 
 at his back, like that of old Hulldown, " one thet 
 had bin fet with, in the wars with the Frenchers," 
 and his long ash leaping-pole, he was the admira- 
 
THE FAMILY OF WADERS. 265 
 
 tion of my younger days, and a naturalist to the 
 tips of his fingers. Where we have been together, 
 others have given us a widish berth. No matter, 
 in the water or out of it, round the swamp or stuck 
 fast in it, anywhere would I have gone with Baulk. 
 
 He knew where the French " her'ns " were to be 
 found when they came on the marshes. One day 
 he told me that he "wus goin' fur a 'jipes' " ; but 
 he would not allow me to go with him, for he said, 
 " 'Tis too shaky a place fur you, boy; I shell on'y 
 jest be able tu git in an' out of it. I shell see ye 
 to-night 'bout six." Between six and seven he 
 made his appearance, plastered over with swamp- 
 mud and water, a Barnaby Rudge kind of figure, 
 with the bittern slung at his side. His hands were 
 covered with blood, as if he had been trying to 
 keep some wild cat away from her kittens. To a 
 host of questions, all poured out at once, he replied 
 that he had " threshed him out o' the Dead Man's 
 Lantern ma'sh, poked him out with his pole, out 
 o' a great clump o' flags an' brush -willers. Then 
 he had shot at him, an' winged him. When he 
 went to pick him up, the bird had turned over on 
 his back an' spread-eagled himself, with his legs an' 
 
266 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 claws drawed up like a ma'sh-hawk, a reg'lar jipes 
 o' a thing he looked." Very cautiously had he 
 tried to get hold of the bird's legs, for he well 
 knew the fighting capabilities of the bittern, but 
 the " her'n " was too quick. He grappled Baulk 
 like a cat, the claws of both feet going to work, 
 and the bill as well. If he had got his bittern, 
 he had also got something to remember. 
 
 Some places Baulk had permission to visit, those 
 that belonged to my own friends, who grazed on 
 the marshes ; but leave or no leave, nothing stopped 
 him. He and his musket, with the help of his 
 trusty leaping - pole, swung all over the district 
 with a rapidity that was amazing. One grazier, 
 a fresh comer, on seeing him on his marsh, told 
 his looker to catch him. The man could hardly 
 believe his ears. When the full sense of the order 
 broke on him, he simply looked at his employer, 
 and slowly said, " Ketch him ! ketch him ! why 
 it's Baulk ! " There was a lot of dry humour about 
 the man which found vent at times among his 
 acquaintances. "Joyful" Price, the little baker, 
 was one of these. "Joyful" was a nickname given 
 to the man because he was continually on the 
 
THE FAMILY OF WADERS. 267 
 
 grunt about something. " He reckined he'd got 
 the ager comin', he must get sum ager med'cin'." 
 This Baulk supplied him with, direct from the 
 marshes. The little man made good bread and 
 kept a lot of fine rabbits. Now there was not a 
 lad in the place but what had heard of Ostend, 
 or, as they called it, Oast-end, for some of the 
 larger vessels were constantly trading there, back- 
 wards and forwards. One or two of the captains 
 hailing from our port had brought their sons home 
 some enormous rabbits from Ostend, not the kind 
 that comes from there now. These fine creatures 
 were the admiration and envy of all who kept 
 rabbits. "Joyful" saw them, and so he grunted 
 worse than before. To such an extent did he 
 grunt and inquire after "ager med'cin'," that 
 Baulk at last told him he thought he could get 
 him a beauty somehow. About a fortnight later, 
 as the baker was in his little back sitting-room, 
 smoking his pipe and sipping his " med'cin'," in 
 walked our friend Baulk with a good-sized hamper, 
 and with the words, " I've brought him, I can't 
 stop now," he departed in haste. Closing the door 
 of his little room, the baker cut the string that 
 
268 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 kept the hamper-lid down, put the lid back glee- 
 fully, and looked at his coveted treasure. There 
 sat a great rough-coated marsh-hare looking hard 
 at "Joyful"; but only for a moment, for with 
 one loud cry of " Aunt ! " he was out and about, 
 a very whirlwind of a hare ! It seemed to " Joy- 
 ful" he saw hares in all directions, so rapid were 
 the creature's bounds. Flying to the window, he 
 opened the casement. Out went the hare down 
 the long garden path, and from thence into the 
 marshes, leaving "Joyful" in a condition not to 
 be described. 
 
 Those who have never been on the flats of tidal 
 rivers at night and early morning, for the purpose 
 of listening to bird voices, would be astonished at 
 the perfect Babel of cries, all going on at the same 
 time. I mean in such places as where the Thames 
 and Medway meet the tide. The fowl call when 
 on flight, and keep up a conversation with each 
 other when feeding. No wonder the superstition 
 about hell-hounds exists even now. Many of the 
 folks believe that spirits are rushing through the 
 air, wailing because the hounds are in fierce pur- 
 suit of them. The flats themselves must pass away 
 
THE FAMILY OF WADERS. 269 
 
 before their wild traditions are lost. But when 
 geese, widgeon, pochards, ducks, curlews, oyster- 
 catchers, redshanks, dunlins, plovers, snipes, herons, 
 and gulls are barking, quacking, whistling, wailing, 
 and cutting the air with their strong pinions, the 
 concert is what might well be called an uncanny 
 one. 
 
 Plovers, the green or lapwing plovers, unless 
 driven by stress of hard weather, confine themselves 
 to marshy districts, and the fringes of the flooded 
 lands ; and when they are compelled to visit the 
 tide, they leave it again the first opportunity that 
 offers. Golden plovers are far more frequent on 
 tidal flats ; when they are seen there, it is, as a 
 rule, in considerable numbers. The heavy plovers 
 "heavy as lead" is the gunner's term for them 
 the grey plovers, keep to the tide. This is the 
 species of which individual members are so fre- 
 quently mistaken for very fine specimens of the 
 golden plover. The mistake is an excusable one, 
 for the two species, in their winter plumage, to an 
 ordinary observer are very much alike. 
 
 In my wanderings I have met with the green 
 sandpiper, and this beautiful bird at once claims 
 
270 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 attention. When I have seen one I have made 
 the best use of my eyes, for he comes and goes like 
 a flash. Five minutes sums up the longest time 
 that ever I have had the pleasure of observing him 
 at one time, for the bird seems literally to fall from 
 somewhere. When you are in the least expecting 
 or looking for him, there he is before you, and the 
 next moment the bird and his whistle are gone. 
 This restless spirit of activity is not confined to 
 time or place. The green sandpiper is the Wander- 
 ing Jew of his species, for ever moving on. I have 
 seen him on the very tops of the hills, with nothing 
 near him but myself, and I kept well hidden in the 
 tangle. Again I have known him stop close to 
 where a dozen men were moving gravel, just long 
 enough to wonder at the stranger near to them, 
 and then he flashed off. Only once have I seen 
 him, just where one would expect to find him. So 
 far as my experience goes, with the slight oppor- 
 tunities I have had of examining him living, he is 
 the most erratic in his movements of all his family. 
 Most birds, no matter how shy, can be got at by 
 crawling, hiding, and with the aid of good glasses ; 
 but the three combined will not secure you a good 
 
THE FAMILY OF WADERS. 271 
 
 sight of the green sandpiper. He is for ever moving 
 on. Something impels him to constant haste. In 
 two places I have most unexpectedly met him, the 
 first time it was on a breezy upland common, with 
 just enough wind blowing to carry the white clouds 
 along without blowing them to pieces ; a few sheep 
 were wandering about, their bells tinkling. On 
 one side of the common are a number of old black- 
 thorns, with wisps of wool sticking on their rough 
 stems, then comes the long highroad, and close 
 to the road is a small pond, gravel-edged, where 
 the cattle that graze on the common come to drink. 
 A shrill whistle, and in front of us is a beautiful bird. 
 He runs a short distance, his feet just in the water, 
 picks at something, whistles, and is off over some 
 old beech-trees. I have examined him dead, and 
 have seen him and his mate exquisitely set up by 
 a naturalist and bird-stuffer, but you must see him 
 alive to form any idea of the dashing vitality of the 
 bird itself. 
 
 Another sight of this, to me rare bird, I recall. 
 I have left Surrey Hills behind me to wander in 
 another county, in the forest districts of Hampshire 
 for a time. It is wild there, very wild and beautiful. 
 
272 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 You are continually coming on spots of fairy-like 
 beauty in hollows among the heather-covered hills, 
 away from everything and everybody. Coming 
 home to my resting-place in one of the hollows, 
 I found a small lake, with a margin of the whitest 
 glistening sand all round it, then came green turf, 
 heather-sprinkled, and a belt of old firs surrounded 
 this. All above the hollow was purple with heather- 
 bloom. As I make it a rule never to approach 
 any place openly when I am on the look-out for 
 wild creatures, I cautiously peered about. It was a 
 charming picture, the old firs mirrored in the water, 
 the belt of sand round it, and the whole lit up by 
 the soft light of early evening. Nothing was to be 
 seen or heard from any living thing, and the very 
 stillness seemed to add to its beauty. Suddenly 
 from over the tops of the firs the peculiar whistle 
 sounded. A flash of black and white shot over the 
 water, and there stood the sandpiper on the sandy 
 margin, for a little time, a few minutes only The 
 bird ran quickly here and there, and then he shot 
 up and went over the firs in the same direction that 
 he had come from. When in the hand the upper 
 part of the plumage is greenish brown, speckled 
 
THE FAMILY OF WADERS. 273 
 
 and mottled, the lower part white, so that when 
 flying, he looks like a black-and-white bird. 
 
 The common sandpiper, summer snipe, or fiddler, 
 as the country-people call him, because he is con- 
 tinually moving up and down, can be generally seen 
 in the proper season by those who know where to 
 look for him ; for the bird frequents trout-streams, 
 the rills that run through water-meadows, and the 
 margins of ponds ; in fact, any place that will keep 
 a minnow or stickleback in good health suits the 
 merry little fiddler. He runs and flits in all direc- 
 tions, now and again sounding his cheerful pipe. 
 This species you can watch for any reasonable time, 
 if you do not alarm the elegant little fellow. He 
 likes a nice strip of sand on the edge of a gudgeon- 
 stream, fringed by old pollard-willows, which when 
 the sun is shining brightly, throw innumerable 
 pointed shadows in the pure sand, if the wind 
 moves their leaves ever so lightly. A spot like 
 this, only one out of the many to be found, is the 
 place to see the little wader to the very best ad- 
 vantage, for one of the old willow-trunks will easily 
 conceal you. If you choose, you can get inside 
 of one of them, so decayed are they. There he 
 
 s 
 
274 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 is, running on the margin, now for a moment he 
 perches on one of the willow-boughs that hang over 
 the water, the next he is minutely inspecting the 
 moss - covered top of one of the stones that rise 
 just above the surface of the rippling stream. But 
 no matter where the bird may be, he is never quiet, 
 always flirting, dibbing, bobbing, as restless after 
 a fashion as the green sandpiper. There is, how- 
 ever, this great difference, the fiddler has not re- 
 ceived that imperative migrating order to move on 
 that his larger, and, as far as plumage goes, more 
 handsome relative seems to obey. This sandpiper 
 breeds with us. The young, covered with down, 
 grey on the back, with a dark -brown stripe and 
 white underneath, are the prettiest and most inno- 
 cent little fellows that can be imagined, nimble also 
 to a degree. The birds swim and dive well too, 
 when there is any necessity for it ; they are sprightly 
 creatures, that by their incessant activity give life 
 at times to places which, without them, would be 
 lonesome. 
 
 With that brown and grey impersonation of bird- 
 craft, that swimmer, diver, runner, and climber, 
 the water -rail, my chapter on the waders, a brief 
 
THE FAMILY OF WADERS. 275 
 
 one from necessity, will close. I possessed a couple 
 of water-rails recently. Any one who has examined 
 the structure of a water-rail would cease to wonder 
 at the marvellous travelling powers of the bird. 
 It is formed expressly for the purpose of gliding 
 through tangled swamp vegetation. The bird is 
 very courageous ; in fact, the thin, drawn-out creature 
 is decidedly of a pugnacious disposition when he 
 thinks fit. I have seen him on the war-path once, 
 and once only. Then he certainly feared nothing. 
 This was in the breeding season. I have heard 
 him groan, grunt, and squeak in a fashion pecu- 
 liarly his own, when I have been in the thick reed- 
 beds ; have heard also the heavy slush - up of a 
 pike, and for a moment the flick and flutter of 
 wings. What that boded one could only guess at, 
 for it was impossible to see. One thing I know, 
 and that is, when the feathered inhabitants of the 
 swamps have their young, large pike work them- 
 selves right up in the thick of the reed-roots and 
 stems, and there they remain, from motives of their 
 own. 
 
 From the nature of the localities these birds, the 
 waders, frequent, it is very difficult to know much 
 
276 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 about them. Conjecture as to facts is worse than 
 useless, it is mischievous. Whatever I have stated 
 in these pages about the birds is from personal 
 observation. It is not much, certainly, but what 
 little there is, is all from the life. 
 
 The admirable groups of British birds with their 
 natural surroundings, left by the late eminent natu- 
 ralist, E. T. Booth, to the corporation of Brighton, 
 are all that could be desired or wished for. In 
 the Natural History Museum at South Kensington 
 we have, too, the series of groups composed of 
 British birds, set up in the same manner as those 
 contained in the Booth collection at Brighton. To 
 all those who may be interested in birds, without 
 having the time or opportunity of searching for 
 them in their own habitats, either of the places we 
 have mentioned would give all they could wish to 
 see, the life of the creatures alone excepted. The 
 rising generation those, we mean, who admire 
 bird -life can form no opinion of the difficulties 
 field naturalists had to struggle with under forty-five 
 years ago, whereas now princely and lifelike collec- 
 tions are open for study and instruction free. 
 
 Those who seek for wild creatures in their haunts, 
 
THE FAMILY OF WADERS. 277 
 
 must be out in all seasons and in all weathers. 
 Some of my most valued insights as to the ways 
 and haunts of wild -fowl notably swimmers and 
 waders have been gained in such rough freezing 
 weather that for very pity's sake, for a merciful 
 man must be considerate to dogs, the rough-coated 
 water-spaniels have been left at home. If the bird 
 aimed at came to hand, well and good ; if it did 
 not, the great gulls, the black -cobs, ate it almost 
 alive. 
 
278 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 THROUGH FIRS AND HEATHER. 
 
 WINTER has not left us for good and all, but there is 
 a change, that something so hard to explain in mere 
 words, that I may call life in the air. For many 
 years I have greeted and watched the first signs 
 of this fresh life, and their effect on our wild crea- 
 tures and their haunts. I have already written about 
 the Surrey Hills, at least of a great part of them. 
 Holmbury, and as far as Hindhead, my readers have 
 explored with me. Beyond this region there is a 
 wilder country, a vast hollow flat, that lies between 
 and at the back of the hills, which is the borderland 
 of three counties, Surrey, Sussex, and Hampshire. 
 A land of stunted firs and stunted heather it is, and 
 of silver sand and bogs, a barren, hungry district, 
 
THROUGH FIRS AND HEATHER. 279 
 
 where man and his dwellings are remarkably scarce, 
 and when found they yield nothing to cause you 
 much joy. A fresh face is a novelty there, and the 
 speech is strange. A short, courteous question, 
 however direct to the point it may be, finds no 
 ready answer. Often I have been nearly out of 
 sight and hearing before a reply has been shouted 
 at me, and then it was to little purpose. Now 
 and again there are exceptions to be met with, 
 but they are few and far between. The foresters 
 are good fellows, when you know them and they 
 know you ; but a stranger, whether well or roughly 
 dressed, is regarded with suspicion. Before the 
 native can make up his mind as to what brought 
 you into the wilds, what you want there, and what 
 you are going to do now you are there, you will 
 probably be out of sight and hearing, leaving him 
 something to ponder on for a week at least. But 
 for all that, be sure he has looked you well over, 
 and he would be able to give a most accurate 
 account of your dress and features, of the stout 
 ash staff you carry in particular; and it will be 
 matter of conversation with him for months to 
 come. 
 
280 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 My time is my own just now, there is nothing 
 to trouble about beyond clearing these cotton-grass 
 bogs before the gloaming comes; and I feel confident 
 that we shall strike on a main road leading to a 
 village or hamlet somewhere. The buds on the 
 trees in the distance, where they cover the hills 
 no leaves are out yet give a tone of purple grey 
 which is in fine contrast to the green turf on the 
 hills. We have left nearly all the oaks and beeches 
 behind us. Now and again one shows, but only 
 as a straggler here and there, where a patch of 
 soil is suitable for their growth. Although we 
 have entered the hollows of the hills, mile after 
 mile of broken ground extends in all directions. 
 Huge hillocks, conical in shape and well wooded 
 from base to crown, stand up and out from the 
 heather, or, as they term it here, the " heth." 
 Away in the distance two huge mounds face each 
 other, with a vast gap between them. This is 
 the " Devil's Jump," and the hollow between the 
 mighty mounds or hills is the " Devil's Punch- 
 bowl." Some very strange traditions linger about 
 the hills and hollows yet, and they will do for 
 centuries unless some extraordinary circumstances 
 
THROUGH FIRS AND HEATHER. 281 
 
 alter the character of the country and the country 
 people. 
 
 The fields we have passed have been very large, 
 those at least which are under cultivation. It must 
 have taken centuries to have prepared them to 
 yield corn as they do now ; for adjoining them, 
 with only a fence to keep cattle off them, is bog- 
 land, full of running water, about two feet below 
 the level of the corn - lands. The difference in 
 the soil must have been taken advantage of in 
 the earliest times for the growth of corn, to judge 
 from the old records. This district must also 
 have been under monastic sway at one time, for 
 the pilgrims to Canterbury travelled over these 
 hills and through the hollows. I have known 
 many instances where bogs have been drained 
 and converted into corn-fields ; but when ground 
 is left as it always has been from the first, de- 
 pend upon it there is a reason, and that a good 
 one, for not trying to cultivate it. The draining 
 of the fens has from the time when the monks 
 held sway there proved costly work, and it is not 
 completed yet, having ruined many in past times. 
 It will be for coming generations to see the end 
 
282 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 of it; either to see them all corn -lands, or, if 
 the seasons change, as they have been changing 
 of late, the fen country may once more be drowned 
 lands. 
 
 One circumstance we may note as we walk along, 
 all the cottages, the old ones, dotted here and there 
 half a mile or a mile away from the main roads or 
 paths leading to them, appear to have been built 
 just where a strip of land cropped up that could be 
 cultivated. Evidently the country-folks had hunted 
 for the ground to suit them, and then built a house 
 upon it. All around these homesteads was too poor 
 to grow a thistle. No doubt a geologist could ac- 
 count for the few and widely scattered patches of 
 spade- tickling ground existing in a waste of shining 
 silver sand and dwarf-stunted heather. One thing 
 is very certain, the soil was not carried there. 
 
 There are some new cottages dotted here and 
 there on the edge of the forest-road, which looks 
 itself as if it had been newly made. Many of these 
 are empty, and those that are occupied do not 
 look at all cheerful. Two enterprising individuals, 
 with that reckless courage which leads men on to 
 conquer or to die, had opened shops some time ago. 
 
THROUGH FIRS AND HEATHER. 283 
 
 One was a butcher's shop, the other a baker's. 
 They had since closed them, for reasons best, known 
 to themselves. 
 
 It may have been in this wild land that some 
 political wanderer, seeking rest and health after 
 arduous parliamentary duties, first conceived the 
 idea of giving the tiller of the soil and the foresters 
 three acres and a cow. There are acres here, quite 
 enough and to spare, for all the inhabitants; but 
 the land would not keep cows, even if whole herds 
 were distributed. There is something pathetic in 
 the look of those two new shops, with their blinds 
 down, torn, and mildewed. To all appearance no 
 one had ventured to repeat the experiment. The 
 rustic population will go to shops in their own 
 immediate neighbourhood, or to a general shop, 
 where you can get anything from birch-brooms to 
 pickles, only when they are obliged to do so. The 
 town tradesmen take the greater portion of the 
 country money, because the people firmly believe 
 that they can get better value for their money 
 where articles are sold in large quantities, on the 
 principle of moderate profits and quick returns. 
 The country is well solicited for custom in all 
 
284 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 directions now. Wherever it is possible for any 
 light cart on two wheels to travel, even if the 
 wheels sink into the bog up to the boxes on its way 
 there, you may be very sure that smart cart, with 
 the firm's name on it in gold letters they are all 
 firms and companies now will manage to come. 
 They have good horses of stout build in the shafts, 
 animals with blood in them, for many of their 
 owners use them for hunting. One of these horses 
 I knew, when going his rounds, heard the hounds 
 in full cry. That was enough ; he was off, light 
 cart and all, before the man in it could get hold 
 of his mouth. It was rough from the start ; but 
 when the cob charged a low sand-bank that bor- 
 dered on a fir-wood, then came the climax. The 
 cob rose at the bank like a deer. He not only 
 cleared it, but he cleared himself from the harness 
 as well, and shot clean out of it like a rocket, 
 leaving the cart behind with the driver in it, or 
 rather out of it. He was not hurt, for he jumped 
 on his legs and used language which would by 
 some be considered profane. The cob was brought 
 back in the evening, with small portions of harness 
 decorating him here and there ; and, to judge from 
 
THROUGH FIRS AND HEATHER. 285 
 
 the brightness of his eyes and his frisky demeanour, 
 he appeared to have enjoyed this hunting on his own 
 account immensely. Now, when one of these gaily 
 decorated carts draws up at a lonely cottage to 
 deliver a list of goods with prices attached, and 
 the man in charge tells the folks they will have 
 good value for their money if they honour him 
 with their custom, the master or the " missus " 
 believes "there must be a summut in it, and reckins 
 as they wun't go to that 'ere little pokin' shop down 
 in willage no moore." Besides this, they flock now 
 to the towns on Saturday nights from all quarters. 
 Six or eight miles are considered as nothing in view 
 of all the advantages set forth in the list of goods 
 and prices. The master says, " It's a bit o' a 
 change like fur mother an' the gals." The girls, 
 fresh-coloured, healthy lasses that they are, cer- 
 tainly enjoy it thoroughly. "To be waited on as 
 if they wus ladies, an' showed heaps o' things 
 to pick an' choose from, an' talked to nice by 
 real gentlemen as waited on 'em, and thanked 'em 
 for their money, an' bowed to 'em when they left 
 the shop that's the place for their money when 
 they has any to lay out, an' no mistake about it." 
 
286 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 The next time they have occasion to go the village 
 emporium for some small article, where the shop- 
 man and general - utility man serves behind the 
 counter, his hair shining with pomatum, such as 
 is used on country shop-assistants' hair only, "the 
 gals " manage to convey the impression to him 
 before they leave the establishment that he is a 
 fraud, not the genuine article at all, and quite 
 unworthy of their notice after the gentleman that 
 waited on them in the town. After a visit of the 
 kind you may notice that when the country dealer 
 takes off his coat, leaves the counter, and goes 
 into the yard to wash the cart before going his 
 rounds with it, he does it in a vicious manner. 
 Country lasses they may be, but they are true 
 women, and they possess the peculiar faculty that 
 has descended to their sex from the first, that of 
 bringing the so-called sterner one to book, if they 
 think it necessary, in a pretty sharp manner. Let 
 me at once confess that I am a married man, and 
 up to the present time, as all my friends none 
 too many, by the way can affirm, I have gone 
 well in double harness. 
 
 I trust my readers will pardon me for this long 
 
THROUGH FIRS AND HEATHER. 287 
 
 digression. We have mentioned the huge mounds 
 that jut out like buttresses from the hillsides. 
 There is one near to the cottage where I stay. On 
 reaching the base of it from the moor road, we find 
 a gate in the thicket that is at the bottom, which 
 leads to what looks like a bridle-path running 
 through the stunted firs and birches. Slender- 
 stemmed oaks are scattered about, but they are not 
 numerous. The soil here consists of sand of vari- 
 ous tones of colouring, from buff to silver, with 
 dark peat-mould in some places. This has appar- 
 ently been washed down from the top of the mound, 
 for small rills are running from the top to the bot- 
 tom in all directions. So slight is the covering of 
 leaf-mould in some places, that we lift the mosses 
 and stunted heath clean off the loamy gravel mixed 
 with sand, just like lifting a carpet off a floor, and 
 lay it down again. Delightful, indeed, it is, wan- 
 dering about here ; for paths, or rather tracks, run 
 in all directions, up and down and round the hill 
 or mound. The glass shows us hollows sparkling 
 with the first shoots of bog-vegetation, overhung by 
 slender birches, which are perched here, as we after- 
 wards find they are throughout the whole district, 
 
288 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 on sandy knolls. Go where you will, if there are 
 sandy bits jutting out, you will see birches of vari- 
 ous sizes on them. Decayed and decaying stumps 
 of trees are dotted about in the hollows in all direc- 
 tions. Beautiful objects, these; for the decaying 
 wood is rich red-brown in colour, beaded over with 
 a film of moisture, and spangled with the vivid 
 green vegetation, that flourishes only in such locali- 
 ties as the one we are trying to describe. A track 
 runs by the side of one of the rills. This we follow 
 upwards, to find that we are looking at a lot of tiny 
 cascades, caused by large stones in the loamy gravel. 
 There will be a trickling run for a few feet, and 
 then a stone crops up. The water shoots over this 
 in a tinkling splash, a fairy fall, which has in the 
 course of time hollowed out a small pool below the 
 stone, containing it may be a gallon, or two gallons, 
 of pure spring -water. In some of the hollows on 
 both sides of these water -runs is dark leaf-mould, 
 the accumulation of decayed leaves that have fallen 
 from one season to another from who can say how 
 long? Green mosses, tiny ferns that the winter 
 has not cut down, with quantities of various twig- 
 brush, cover the banks of these runs. Presently we 
 
THROUGH FIRS AND HEATHER. 289 
 
 stop and look intently, for on the leaf-mould edge 
 we see some holes bored, some being smaller than 
 others. Other signs also there are, which tell us 
 these rills are the dining-places of woodcock and 
 snipe. As to the water-courses at the bottom into 
 which these rills empty themselves, they are full of 
 trout. About the trout I have a few words to say, 
 or rather about their travelling habits, and this con- 
 cerns all the trout family. The small ones, about 
 the size of sprats, leave the main water-courses and 
 shoot up these small hillside runs. They are in 
 clover there, unless some creature, furred or feath- 
 ered, goes for them ; for they shoot into the first 
 small pool the descent is very gradual dart out 
 of that up the run a few feet, and in some parts 
 only a few inches, into the next hole ; have a rest, 
 and off they go again. In this manner they will 
 work half-way up the hillsides. It is actually 
 startling at times, when turning over a pool in 
 the runs with your stick, in order to find how deep 
 the mould at the bottom is, to see a small strip 
 of gold and silver flash up out of it with a leap, 
 wriggle down the run into the next hole, and 
 spring from thence again, to proceed as before, 
 
290 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 showing you plainly that he can go down quicker 
 than he got up. They have many enemies to 
 contend against, these small spring-jacks of trout. 
 The brown owl is one of them, the crow another ; 
 and when the heron drops off one of the trees, 
 where he has been standing unseen, floats down to 
 the bottom of the runs, and then proceeds to walk 
 up them in the most deliberate manner, fishing hole 
 after hole as he works upwards, there will be, the 
 next day, plenty of room for fresh comers. They 
 are very handsome little fish, but they do not grow 
 larger. Bird-life here is not abundant. We have 
 as yet only seen one hawk, a male sparrow-hawk, 
 two wood-pigeons, and a few jays. Our glass tells 
 us that just below, in a dry, sheltered, sandy hollow, 
 there are some signs of animal-life, for a great heap 
 of sand has been freshly turned over. We find this 
 out presently, for as we turn westwards the light in 
 the sky tells us the sun has got low down. This 
 decides us to make for the top at once, to see where 
 we are, for we have lost all trace of the way by 
 which we got here. On reaching the summit, we 
 find that by simply walking off the top, so to speak, 
 of this hill or mound, you are at once on the high- 
 
THROUGH FIRS AND HEATHER. 291 
 
 lands of Surrey ; and if you followed the tops or 
 crests of the hills, no matter on which side of the 
 bog- hollows or valleys, you would come to other 
 huge projecting mounds, the mighty buttresses of 
 the hills. They are all named, but it is not neces- 
 sary to give their names here, as my description is 
 not intended for a topographical one. Here, as in 
 other out-of-the-world places, they give his Satanic 
 Majesty the credit for most of what is wild or grand 
 in nature, as well as very much that is exceedingly 
 beautiful. Legends, wild and strange, have been 
 handed down from generation to generation. They 
 remain now as firmly rooted as they have ever 
 been. The two great powers of good and evil still 
 carry on strong warfare within those who live under 
 the shadows of these hills ; the blood of the wild 
 nomads who first settled in the vast hollow was hot 
 and intemperate. One might fancy their ancestors 
 had drunk pretty deeply of the devil's own brew, and 
 that its effects are still visible in the features as well 
 as in the habits of the present race. 
 
 We are on the borders of what was the home, 
 a few years ago, of the wild red-deer. How many 
 stags and hinds have been killed in this district, 
 
292 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 without leave being asked of any man, it would be 
 impossible to say. The quantity of spirits too, 
 and of other small matters, free from all duty, 
 provided in some mysterious manner to wash the 
 venison down, on the principle that good eating 
 requires good drinking, is also only known to those 
 who live here. If it is possible to get at woodland 
 records, faithfully told by word of mouth, you can 
 rely on their truth implicitly. The difficult thing 
 is for you to get these Folks generally have a 
 few official records concerning the deer and other 
 things, and those who killed them ; but if that which 
 is only known to their descendants could be told, 
 it would make a stirring record. Knowing this 
 to be a locality where you will get on only by 
 strictly minding your own business and keeping 
 your mouth shut, I look and listen intently, but 
 say little beyond " yes " and " no." Looking round 
 now with my glasses, I spy two woodmen at work 
 at the bottom and make my way quickly down 
 to them. " Can I get out on the road if I skirt the 
 bottom of the hill? " I ask. 
 
 "Yes," one replies, "you ken git there, but 'tis 
 soft." 
 
THROUGH FIRS AND HEATHER. 293 
 
 Its softness meant tufts of tussock-grass over a 
 quaking bog. This I do not feel drawn towards, 
 so I come back, telling my informant that it is too 
 soft for me at any rate, and as my smile evidently 
 propitiates him, he tells me to take a path, not often 
 used except by the foresters, which will bring me into 
 the road quickly. 
 
 " By that heap of fresh turned sand ? " I ask. 
 
 " Yes, right by there. That's where I hucked a 
 badger out a short time back." 
 
 In about twenty mirrutes I am once more on the 
 main track or forest-road, evidently at the back of 
 the spot where I turned in to explore the mound. 
 After walking up a track between low firs, I see 
 some one coming towards me, and getting near the 
 figure, it proves to be a grizzled old man, with a 
 large bundle of " heth " on his shoulders. Through 
 this he has driven a pointed birch pole or stake, 
 both hands clasping the long end of it. As the 
 light is getting a little dim, I ask the venerable 
 heth-cropper if I am in the right direction for the 
 
 village of F , and how far I have to go before I 
 
 can get there ? 
 
 Very deliberately placing his pole on the ground 
 
294 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 and resting the weight of his " heth " bundle on it, 
 he peered out from underneath his eyes, winking 
 and blinking. By no means dull eyes they were, 
 like those of some old, pot-bellied dog-fox at the 
 mouth of his earth, very wideawake, yet restless 
 winkers. After he had looked me well over, with 
 most exasperating deliberation he said, " I dessay 
 as how you knows all about it." 
 
 I promptly assure him in the most emphatic man- 
 ner that if I did know, I would not have stopped to 
 ask him. 
 
 Oh ee woudn't eh ? " 
 
 " No. Am I in the right road, if you please ? " 
 
 " Well, I dun know ef ee be in right road er no, 
 but I ken tell ee one thing, if ee gets off this ere 
 road, ee'l goo wrang." 
 
 Giving that aged fox-like winker a silent but hearty 
 back-handed blessing, I left him with his " heth." 
 
 We certainly have " to goo off that 'ere road " for 
 a considerable distance before we can get into the 
 right one, the people themselves are a little bit hazy 
 as to the locality of certain villages and hamlets 
 which we would consider to be quite in their own 
 neighbourhood. As to distance, one of their so- 
 
THROUGH FIRS AND HEATHER. 295 
 
 called miles means two good honest ones. This 
 appears to be one of the few unpleasant peculiarities 
 of this very rustic population. After a course of 
 questioning, we do at last reach the spot inquired 
 for, but not a bit too soon. Thankful to rest for 
 the night, we mentally resolve to clear out early 
 next day and go farther afield. ' The morning is a 
 bright and fresh one, and we jog further, making for 
 the heart of this wild land. On a lonely road we 
 pass two inns, or what in the old coaching days, 
 when they ran from London to Portsmouth, used to 
 be inns ; now public-houses would be the correct 
 name for them. There is one on each side of the 
 road. That they have been there for very many 
 years the exteriors plainly show. They have the 
 look of past generations stamped on them. Directly 
 opposite to the larger of these, divided by a narrow 
 road only just wide enough to let two vehicles pass 
 each other, stands a most incongruous-looking build- 
 ing, a brand-new, spick-and-span coffee-tavern, built 
 in the so-called Gothic style, the outside woodwork 
 painted with the latest aesthetic green colour. The 
 plate-glass windows, the lower ones, were intended 
 to be highly artistic. No words of mine could 
 
296 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 adequately describe the oddness of the thing, the 
 incongruity of that old-time inn and this new-time 
 coffee-tavern facing each other. And then the two 
 public-houses, with the coffee-tavern and three or 
 four miserable-looking cottages, comprised all the 
 buildings within sight. But the problem is, Was 
 that coffee-tavern built by some well-meaning person 
 with too much money, or by some company of total 
 abstainers from London town ? Good intentions 
 go wrong at times, and moneyed people's fads there 
 is no accounting for. 
 
 I spoke of the large size of all the fields, cultivated 
 either for corn or hops, in the district we are pass- 
 ing over. These must of necessity employ a great 
 amount of agricultural labour. The homes of the 
 people may be scattered, but they are somewhere 
 about. I know those who till the soil fairly well, 
 and have been familiar with the class of agricultural 
 labourers a class distinctly by itself, with all its 
 sturdy independence from my boyhood. It is for 
 that very reason because I do know them so well 
 that I have so little to say about them in print. 
 One thing I do know, they will never take kindly to 
 coffee so called, or to coffee-taverns. In past times 
 
THROUGH FIRS AND HEATHER. 297 
 
 the farmers' landlords were gentlemen of the old 
 school. That school is, they say, broken up now 
 the more's the pity. Some who were trained in 
 that old school are, we are happy to say, still left to 
 us ; but none too many, only enough to show those, 
 of whom we have plenty, what they ought to be. 
 One thing is evident, that from the time the tillers of 
 the soil have had voting power in their hands, politi- 
 cal philanthropists have been exceedingly anxious 
 about their welfare aesthetic coffee-taverns, to wit, 
 versiis the public-house. But I am also very certain 
 that when once the agricultural labourer knows 
 what he ought to do he does not quite know this 
 yet he will do it and make no mistake about it. 
 
 When he does wake up, it will be to keep awake. 
 If as a class the agricultural population appears easy 
 to lead, it is only in appearance and due to the force 
 of circumstances. The time may come when they 
 will be leaders, but this is a question that will hardly 
 bear thinking about by those who know the real 
 state of the case. 
 
 Thinking passes the time away, and we find that 
 we are nearing water. A bridge of considerable size 
 is before us spanning a river, one that holds good 
 
298 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 trout, if I am any judge of such matters, as I believe 
 myself to be. Here it is a broad, pure, swift stream ; 
 so clear is it that we can see all the pebbles and 
 weeds at the bottom, from the bridge, for a long 
 distance up and down stream. This, I think, must 
 be a branch of the Wey, rising in the eastern part 
 of Hampshire, bordering on Surrey. If it were not 
 so early in the spring we should expect to see some 
 good fish rising here. The Wey, we know, holds 
 good fish of a large size and of excellent quality 
 where it has not been polluted, and it is pure here 
 at any rate. A flock of green plovers or peewits are 
 flapping and drifting over one rough field. No 
 doubt they are going to nest there, or have nested, 
 if their preparations for that purpose merit the name 
 of nest. Appearances are very deceptive, as far as 
 these birds are concerned, they have so many wiles 
 of their own. One way of settling the matter is 
 very sure ; if you see a crow or rook struck down by 
 peewits in a field, they are certain to be nesting 
 there. Both crows and rooks rob peewits of their 
 eggs in the most determined manner. 
 
 As we proceed the country gets wilder. If we 
 wish to look for old churches and houses we must 
 
THROUGH FIRS AND HEATHER. 299 
 
 look behind us in the direction whence we came. 
 Low sand-banks are on either side of us, honey- 
 combed with rabbit-holes, those of the pinmire 
 "warmints" of this hungry land. About a mile 
 through these low banks brings us to the firs and 
 heather, and we are quite off the roads. Ragged, 
 stunted firs, that look as if they had had much to 
 contend with before they could grow at all, their 
 stems covered with long grey moss, weird trees torn 
 and ragged, reach mile after mile over hills and 
 hollows, far away into the purple distance. A stiff 
 breeze is blowing, carrying great mountains of silvery 
 clouds, through the deep blue sky. There is a tone 
 of sky-colouring which is seen at this time only, the 
 early spring. But there is only a gentle drowsy 
 hum here, for these stunted firs have no long arms 
 to wave and mourn as the wind rushes through their 
 needles. They are, as a rule, flat-topped, bristly 
 trees, regular hedgehog firs. The heather is low, 
 brown, and stunted, growing in solitary tufts and 
 patches. Small dwarf birches show on any knob of 
 sandy soil that may be about the size of a small 
 table, with just enough twigs in each to make a 
 garden broom of. 
 
300 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 No bird-life is to be seen or heard, and I do not 
 wonder at it. Even the rabbits are not to be found 
 here. A little silver sand, slightly discoloured in 
 places by dry, crumbly fir-needles, may be good for 
 their digestive powers, considering what they have 
 to feed on, but it will not fill their stomachs ; so the 
 rabbits avoid living on the belt of the firs where it is 
 impossible to procure green food. One group of firs 
 rises above the others in front of us, different from 
 those we have passed through ; fine trees these are 
 and well shaped. The track we travelled over led 
 up to them. We find that we have been ascending 
 for some time, and on reaching them the matter is 
 plain, these self-sown firs had a considerable extent 
 of sandy loam to flourish in. The trees are clean 
 stemmed, no grey moss is hanging from them, and 
 as the sun is shining warm and bright just here, we 
 go up to have a look round. Directly we reach 
 the top, however, we slide down again ; for under 
 the trees there are small heaps of fir-cones pulled 
 all to pieces, also a lot of the green tassel-shoots 
 from the extreme end of the branches, some of them 
 six and eight inches in length. It looks quite green 
 under the trees, so many here scattered about. I 
 
THROUGH FIRS AND HEATHER. 301 
 
 fancy that we are in luck, that we are going to watch 
 a flock of crossbills feeding ; so we creep and crawl all 
 round, examining all the fir-branches, but to no pur- 
 pose. Knowing the habits of the crossbill, that he 
 uses both bill and feet in climbing, and that he is not 
 at all particular in what position he hangs, we are 
 patient, watching with our glasses, but not even a 
 tit can we see. Presently we hear a slight rasping 
 sound and a scale from a fir-cone falls, and peering 
 round, we see a squirrel, not a crossbill, nibbling at 
 a cone. He is not alone, there is quite a small 
 family of the little creatures in that clump of firs. 
 I am disappointed a little, but the incident proves 
 what large landed proprietors in Scotland have re- 
 peatedly stated, that the squirrel is very injurious to 
 young fir-plantations. As concealment is no longer 
 necessary, we at once minutely examine the heaps 
 beneath the trees. The stems of the fir-cones are 
 all sticky with turpentine resin, so are the outer 
 scales of the stripped cones. They stick to our 
 fingers when we pick them up. As to the tassels, 
 the resin is oozing from the bitten part, where the 
 animal's little ivory chisels had cut them from the 
 branches. The resinous perfume from their wreck- 
 
302 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 age is so strong that you might easily fancy .turpentine 
 had been thrown down there. Leaving the firs and 
 the squirrels, we gain the top of this hill and travel 
 downwards for a long distance, coming out on a flat 
 extent of moorland bog. There is the bog for us to 
 cross, then the hills again with their scrubby heather 
 to climb, and then more fir-woods come. We find 
 that there is a stiff jump in the shape of a water- 
 course before we get on to the moor. This we clear 
 all right, then our work commences in real earnest. 
 To clear that bog without coming to grief is no easy 
 matter, water shining underfoot and around the 
 little bunches of bog-growth, perched on peat-hum- 
 mocks. When you step on these, they topple over 
 and break off, proving nothing but a snare and a 
 delusion. I probe and poke with my good ash staff 
 and then stand quite still and use my glasses, with- 
 out which no one who studies wild life should ever 
 stir out. What endless bother and trouble they save 
 one ! To the left we can see a line of white running 
 right over the bog, on one side of it, which we 
 cautiously make for. It proves to be a hard strip 
 of white sand running through the bog, and passable 
 when not overflowed by the water. We can see that 
 
THROUGH FIRS AND HEATHER. 303 
 
 it has been covered quite recently. There are no 
 signs of flourishing vegetation, only one or two 
 cotton - grass bents here and there. No ragged 
 ponies, no rough cows, not even a heth- cropper's 
 donkey can we see, or a hut or low house ; nor is 
 there a bird to be seen or heard far or near. We 
 are in the quiet of the wild brown moors : wild it is, 
 but very beautiful, for we are face to face with some 
 of the loveliest works of the Maker of all. Huge 
 cloud-shadows flit over the moor and up and over 
 the fir-covered hills opposite, then bright flashes of 
 sun come out, lighting up the moor with silvery 
 splashes and streaks where the water lies in the bog. 
 To see a mountain of clouds throw their shadows 
 over the hills, closely followed by light, appears to 
 chase away all gloomy thoughts and morbid fancies. 
 The young shoots of the fir-forest that clothe the 
 hills show bright golden green in the light, warm 
 light and purple grey in the shade, so that as you 
 look, they appear like mighty waves of golden green 
 and purple beating up and over the hills. 
 
 If only some creature would cry out, it would give 
 some sense of life ; but no curlew, plover, snipe, or 
 blackcock is here. That bird-life is abundant in this 
 
304 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 district I know well, but if it is seen just here, it is 
 only when they are flying over. Certain districts 
 are avoided by animals and birds, for reasons known 
 to themselves only. 
 
 Once more we enter the firs, but this time it 
 proves too much for us, though we fancy we can 
 put up with something. The late Charles Kingsley 
 found the same thing happen to him once. What 
 we at a distance thought solid ground, proves to be a 
 tussocky, or, as it is called here, a hummocky grass 
 swamp, with firs growing over it. Disreputable 
 objects the trees are, covered with the longest 
 trailing grey moss I have ever seen. Even the 
 sickly, spindly seedlings that had somehow managed 
 to struggle through the tussocks are draped with it. 
 If you caught up a great bunch, and pulled at it with 
 both hands, you would pull up the knob of peat-soil 
 that it grew on with it. We try this and in flows 
 the water between all the hummocks, water the 
 colour of coffee. 
 
 How many gripes we jump or blunder over 
 through that abominable grass I am not able to 
 say. We get lost in it. Places that we had not 
 
THROUGH FIRS AND HEATHER. 305 
 
 the least intention of visiting begin to get near 
 to us. So we turn, as we think, by the way we 
 have come, jumping, blundering, and tripping 
 through the moist desolation. After a bit we see 
 light, and find ourselves on the open moor in quite 
 a different direction from what we had expected. 
 Here also we have to go through some kangaroo 
 exercise before we can travel properly. In the 
 distance on the moor a large cottage looms out, 
 the only one we can see, so we make for that in 
 order to seek information. Some children at play 
 in the garden a rough one it is, but still a garden 
 tell us we are seven miles from where we wish to 
 go, seven miles over the hills, up and down through 
 the heather, not under the firs. When we have 
 gone about half the distance, in a hollow that we 
 dip into suddenly we find a large piece of water, 
 which is a mere or large pool in the wet season. 
 This must be a paradise for all the waders that 
 migrate backwards and forwards, surrounded as 
 it is by the moors, treeless here and wild. There 
 are no rushes, reeds, or water-lilies, only the water 
 with a rim of white sand round it, just the very 
 
 u 
 
306 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 racing-course for the waders. We are told by one 
 we meet that this large sheet of water is "the little 
 pond," that if we keep going over the hills, we shall 
 find " the big pond." The one we have been looking 
 at, according to his account, is only a duck-pond 
 compared with the other. When we have almost 
 given up all thoughts of seeing the "big pond," we 
 come upon it so suddenly that it startles us. One 
 turn round a sandy road places us in front of this 
 mere. For many years nay, from boyhood the 
 name of this place has been familiar to me. This 
 pond has indeed a grand ornithological record that 
 goes very far back. I do not for one moment 
 imagine that one half of the birds procured here 
 have been recorded, but even those that have been 
 recorded make a fine list. The big pond is like the 
 little one first seen by us, quite bare at the edges, 
 and the hills that surround it are treeless. From 
 one end to the other there is not enough cover to 
 hide a teal, so far as rush or reed is concerned. 
 There are no banks, the water and the moor-turf 
 are level. As the water is perfectly pure and very 
 clear, we can see the grass growing underneath it 
 
THROUGH FIRS AND HEATHER. 307 
 
 for a long way out, not weeds, but bright green 
 grass, on which we shall tread presently. Under 
 the spring light it looks like a plain of silver. The 
 breeze is blowing up the pond, causing a considerable 
 wash, that we could hear very distinctly before we 
 saw the water. 
 
 It is a noble bit of water. Perhaps I am not 
 wrong in calling it one of those pieces which are 
 styled in Scotland " a grassy loch." You might 
 fancy it one, for all the surroundings are so appro- 
 priate, the brown moors and the firs. Over this 
 water the osprey has wheeled and plunged ; a fine 
 spot it is for his fishing. He was very successful 
 in his fishing, but so also was the sportsman who 
 watched his sport, for the grand bird was shot in 
 the act of eating a fish he had captured. Here also 
 the great northern diver's yelling cry has rung out 
 over the heather as he fished in the pond. Wary 
 as the bird was, he never saw Christ Church Bay 
 again, but ended his life here. More have been 
 killed here since then, five all told. Rare waders 
 visit the edges of this water, where they find all that 
 they require ; for it is more like some arm of the 
 
308 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 sea running inland than what it really is pure and 
 fresh water. Fish of good size and quality live in 
 it pike, perch, carp, tench, and roach. I have seen 
 a pike from the big pond that weighed fresh from 
 the water 28 Ib. No wonder the osprey, or fish- 
 hawk, visited it. I have also seen a cormorant, a 
 merganser, and one of the finest golden-eye drakes, 
 pure in adult plumage, got from that pond. Gulls 
 and terns also visit it ; the common tern, the black 
 tern, and the roseate or rosy tern, I have known 
 all shot there, and seen the wild ducks and widgeon 
 come in considerable numbers. From fifty to a 
 hundred are seen on the water at one time, besides 
 other fowl. But the rarest specimens, I think, go 
 and come unseen. Although no cover for fowl is 
 round the pond, the heather runs down to the edge 
 of the water, in fact, in many places the water touches 
 the roots. There is a thick grey dry moss mixed 
 with the heather. The moss and heather appear 
 about equally divided ; rare cover it is for any wader 
 to hide in. Any of the wild geese would be sure 
 to take advantage of this sub-alpine cover, if they 
 left the water voluntarily, which they frequently do, 
 
THROUGH FIRS AND HEATHER. 309 
 
 after pitching down. The open nature of the water 
 will not allow a boat to be used, not at any rate for 
 fowl, unless it was a fowling-punt with punt-gun. 
 From reliable information I gathered that the fowl 
 when put up from the big pond take a line of flight 
 from there to the little one, so called. To reach 
 this they have to fly over a line of hills that divide 
 two villages. Then many come to grief; for those 
 who shoot know exactly where to place themselves, 
 and where to go, as the fowl never deviate from 
 their habit of flight they always fly in one particu- 
 lar line. My informant told me he had recently 
 shot a whooper on the pond with a rifle, hitting the 
 bird clean through the head, and putting the skiff 
 out for him afterwards ; also, that he had repeatedly 
 killed fowl on the pond, both duck and widgeon, 
 when fired at to put them up. This statement we 
 had not the least reason to doubt; for submerged 
 grass must be the perfection of widgeon-food, and 
 there is any amount of short, sweet grass close to 
 the water's edge. Not one half of the birds shot 
 are recorded; those who get them, and the wild 
 sport inseparably connected with them, keep all 
 
310 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 fowling localities, inland ones especially, to them- 
 selves. They are wise, and quite right also, in 
 doing so. I told my courteous informant that I had 
 been used to fowling on the shore, but that I cer- 
 tainly did expect to have seen some fowl on waters 
 like this; to which he replied, "So you would, if I 
 had not put them up from both ponds this morning. 
 When they go they take others with them. It is 
 when they leave the ponds, and when they come in, 
 that we get them. We do not care about their 
 being here in the daytime." As he had the right of 
 shooting and fishing the ponds with some thousands 
 of acres of the moorlands surrounding both of them, 
 this gentleman was able to communicate much val- 
 uable information, which he freely gave, and for 
 which I heartily thanked him. The reason that 
 we had seen no fowl or bird was that we had, we 
 found, been wandering all round his shooting-ground, 
 from which he had already caused the fowl to be 
 raised. 
 
 There are many large extents of water within 
 a few miles of .each other in this district. When 
 raised from one, the fowl go direct to another, 
 
THROUGH FIRS AND HEATHER. 311 
 
 without the least hesitation. If they find that 
 matters do not suit them they make for the open 
 sea, where they stay for a time, to return later 
 on. The gentleman whom we met said there was 
 good flight-shooting morning and evening, and that 
 a great number of the birds never saw the tide 
 again. When the red-deer roamed these wilds, 
 many of the fowl bred here, and they would do 
 so again if circumstances were in their favour. 
 Even as it is, they come where others have come 
 for ages before them ; for, independently of its being 
 within flight of tidal waters, it is within the limits 
 of one of their ancient migrating lines. These lines, 
 something tells them, they must ever follow. We 
 do not know what this law is, for it is entirely be- 
 yond our knowledge. All the scientists in the world 
 cannot read the riddle. Some unknown power 
 tells them they must follow that particular line 
 of migration or bird-travel, call it what you will, 
 and they obey the behest, braving all weathers. 
 Many of them, the large divers, drop down in the 
 heather exhausted before their haven is reached. 
 This is one of their resting-places on the way. As 
 
312 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 the great northern diver and the black - throated 
 diver are unable to walk, they push along on the 
 thick feather cushions on their breasts, as a seal 
 moves himself, and make good progress. They 
 are capable of taking fish with the greatest ease; 
 for their swimming powers under water surpass 
 those of the fish they feed on, and swift of flight 
 as they are when well on the wing for they go at 
 express speed they are in reality out of their 
 element on land. 
 
 In other papers I have stated that local names 
 for fowl and names in scientific books on ornithology 
 will not always agree. The same bird has different 
 local names in different places. For instance, one 
 out of many that I could mention, the golden-eye 
 or golden-eyed pochard, is called here the black- 
 headed duck. This is a very appropriate name. 
 Those who are not practically acquainted with 
 fowling would think that a bird the size of a duck, 
 with magpie plumage, pure black and white, would 
 be a most conspicuous object on the water ; but it 
 is not so, just the reverse, for the bird, like all 
 divers, swims low in the water. When the bird is 
 
THROUGH FIRS AND HEATHER. 313 
 
 in the hollow of the small waves that are generally 
 seen here, the water being so much exposed, the 
 feathers on his back are invisible. When he rises 
 on the crest of the waves, his pure white breast 
 falls in with the sparkling light ; so that this bird, 
 so conspicuous when in a case, is to all intents and 
 purposes, when on the water, invisible, even with 
 the aid of good glasses. Very frequently the fowler 
 only knows he is near by his shooting from the 
 water like a rocket, high up and far out of shot, and 
 away. 
 
 There are old men living in the district we have 
 visited that remember the last of the wild deer. 
 The forest laws were keen in the old days, and they 
 have been no less keen in the present century; 
 But those who killed the deer without asking any 
 man's permission had wits as keen as the forest 
 laws that were made for their protection. Poor 
 men have loved the wild deer equally as well as the 
 Red King did, who lost his life hunting by a deer- 
 arrow. The whole of this country was at one time 
 a vast deer-forest, reaching from Hampshire to 
 Surrey and Sussex. It is deer - country, it has 
 
314 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 
 
 always been such from the earliest records ; and 
 it would be this again if deer were permitted to 
 live here. I have heard a little about deer-poaching 
 in this land of fir and heather, and I hope to learn 
 more about it. I hope also, when the cotton-grass 
 blooms, to listen to the crooning of blackcock and 
 the bleat of snipe in this same wild region. 
 
 THE END. 
 
 PRINTED BY WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS. 
 
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