THE NORTH KENT MARSHES BY NIGHT.

Nelson Evening Mail, Volume XXVII, Issue 286, 5 December 1893, Page 4

THE NORTH KENT MARSHES BY NIGHT.

0 We passed through the silent streets of our fishing village, keepiug the middle of the road to prevent our footsteps from waking the sleepers, for _ea boots rattle terribly on cobble stones and pavements. Past the great sluice wo go, over a marsh on to the sea wall, .steadily makiug for the beach. A couple of miles of very Mary travelling bring us to tbe beacb, where for some moments we are lost in wonder at the sight that presents itself. A_ fur as we can sec nothing but huge hillocks of shingle are visible, quite as large as good-sized cottages, with regular lanes through each ; they had been thrown up by tbe waves during the late gale. " What do ye think on it '. Looks queer at night, don't it r Jist hear them birds holler in, ' remarked one of my companions. '• The tide Hows in a hour's time ; we ken git further down, an' look at things afore it llows. All the birds is out on the slub a mile off; there want be a chance fur a shoot yet." It was a wild tramp under that clear, dark blue midnight sky, and one which I shall never forget. How far those heaps extended we did not know, for after we had tramped about a mile, we collected a

large armful of dry seaweed and placed it in a hollow, where we sat on it. A deathlike stillness was all around, save when the fowl called to each other. We sat in silence for some minutes, each occupied with liis own thoughts. Presently a hissing whisper reaches us ; it is the tide coming in over the sand flats a mile away. Now is the time to hear the voices of the night ; for, as each swift wave bears food of some kind before it, all sand-loving creatures hasten to meet the flow. Hosts of fowl are passing overhead, far out of sight, but not out of hearing ; from the great marshes, ten miles away, they come to meet the tide. Now we can hear the break and lap of the waves, lor the tide rushes in here like a mill race. Nearer and nearer come the babel of bird voices. Then my friends break the silence in excited undertones, as they check off the various species according to their call notes. " Hark at them pigeons, we-homg about. You shall hey ive-oh, my pretty boys, directly ! Hear that ?" "Well, what is it '?" " Why, that 'ere screamin' holler on the water ; there 'tis again ; you surely hears it now ?" Over the fast flowing tide comes a cry, which if once heard is not soon forgotten. It is the half-human cry of some sprat divers exulting over a good meal after the storm. Snipes pass over, not quietly, but shouting their loudest, scape, scape, skep, sleep ! These birds are certainly full of conversation when feeding on the tide. The curlew 1 s cry is heard continually, whistle and wail, wail and whistle, easily distinguishable above all the others. A solitary oyster-catcher, so far as we can judge from the notes, can be heard at intervals, A mixed crowd of dunlins and sanderlings fly chattering by us, very close as we know, though we cannot see them yet. There are plenty of geese about also, but as they can see in the dark, and according to fowling tradition never sleep, the chances are very much against the gunners. The common gulls cry shrilly, and the cobs bark in harsh, hacking notes ; they are awake like the rest, for birds in stormy weather feed when they can. — A Son of the Marshes , in " Macmillarts Magazine."