On April 8th the Pratincoles arrived, and thenceforward their zigzag flight and harsh croak were constantly in evidence all over the dry mud and sand, where they feed on beetles. In 1891 we observed a "rush" of these birds, some arriving, and others passing over high, almost out of sight, on the 11th of April. Sometimes a score of these curious birds would cast themselves down on the bare ground all around one, some with expanded wings, and all lying head to wind, much as a nightjar squats on the sand. Pratincoles resemble terns when standing, but run like plovers, and on summer evenings, with the terns, they hawk after insects like swallows. Their beaks have a very wide gape which is bordered with vermilion.
Another conspicuous bird-group in the marisma are the herons, of which seven or eight species are here, more or less numerous. Besides the Common and Purple Herons, the Buff-backed, Squacco, and Night Herons, Egrets, Spoon-bills, and Glossy Ibis are also found, and several of one kind or the other can generally be descried on the open marsh—the first-named often perched on the backs of the cattle or wild-bred ponies of the marisma, ridding them of the ticks and "warbles," or embryo gadflies which burrow in the poor brutes' hides. The rush-girt arroyos, or stagnant channels, were dotted with these most elegant birds, some actively feeding, plunging their heads under to catch the darting water-beetles as they dive, others resting quiescent in every graceful pose. Here is a description of such a spot:—April 29th. Lying this morning in the punt, well hidden among thick tamarisks, in the arroyo del Junco Real, we had no less than twelve interesting species within 200 yards: ducks of four kinds dipped and splashed on the open water, viz.:—Mallards, Garganey, Marbled Duck, and one pair of handsome, heavy-headed "Porrones" (Erismatura leucocephala). Sundry Stilts, Egrets, and four Squacco Herons stalked sedately in the shallows—one of the latter presently perching on a broken bulrush within ten yards of the boat. A group of Avocets slept standing, each on one leg, on a dry point; and further away, two Spoonbills were busy sifting the soft mud with curious revolving gait. Coots and Grebes (Podicipes nigricollis) kept dodging in and out among the flags and aquatic plants, and a Marsh-Harrier, whose mate was sitting in an adjoining cane-brake, soared in the background. This is not counting the commoner kinds, nor several others which we afterwards observed close by: the above were all in sight, mostly in shot, at one spot.
The Coots and Mallards have eggs in March, the Purple Heron early in April: on the 9th we found the first nest, merely an armful of the long green reeds bent down, and containing one blue egg. The other herons nest very late—in June.
One other bird-group remains to be briefly mentioned—the Larinæ. In so congenial a resort they are, of course, in force: but in early April few gulls, beyond the British species, are noticeable[20]—of others, anon. The Whiskered Tern (Hydrochelidon hybrida) came in swarms during the first days of April, followed on the 13th by the Lesser Tern, and at the end of the month by H. nigra, the Black Tern, all of which abound, gracefully hovering over every pool or reed-choked marsh. The larger Gull-billed Tern (Sterna anglica) is also common in summer in the marisma, where we have taken the eggs of all four species.
The utter loneliness and desolation of the middle marismas are a sensation to be remembered. Hour after hour one pushes forward across the flooded plain, only to bring within view more and yet more vistas of watery waste and endless horizons of tawny water. On a low islet in the far distance stand a herd of cattle—mere points in space: but they, too, partake of the general wildness, and splash off at a galop while yet a mile away. Even the horses or ponies of the marisma seem to have reverted to their original man-fearing state, and are as shy and timid as any of the feræ naturæ. After long days on the monotonous marisma, one's wearied eyes at length rejoice at a vision of trees—a dark green pine-grove casting grateful shade on the scorching sands beneath. To that oasis we direct our coarse: but it is a fraud, one of Nature's cruel mockeries—a mirage. Not a tree grows on that spot, or within leagues of it, nor has done for ages—perhaps since time began.
Upon a dreary islet we land to form a camp for the night: that is, to arrange our upturned punts around such scanty fire as can be raised from a few armfuls of tamarisks and dead thistles—all that our little domain produces—assisted by a few pine-cones, brought for the purpose in the boats. Dinner is cooked in the little block-tin camp-stove, or sarten prusiano, as the Spaniards call it, which only demands a modicum of lard and a sharp fire to reduce a rabbit or a duck to eatable state within a few minutes. The fare which can be obtained by the gun at this season is meagre enough: ducks or plovers are sorry food for hungry men, though a hare, shot on a grassy savanna, is acceptable enough; nor are the eggs of coot or peewit to be despised. Later, we experimented on many oological varieties, especially Stilt's and Avocet's eggs. The latter are excellent, boiling pale yellow and half opaque, like those of plover: but the Stilt's eggs are too red in the yolk to be tempting. Our men were not so squeamish: but then they did not even stick at the eggs of Kites or Vultures. After all, it is safer to rely in the main on Australian mutton, tinned ox-tongues from the Plate, or indigenous "jamon dulce;" but the difficulties of transport in tiny lanchas forbid one's being entirely independent of local fare.
The memories of our earliest experiences in the Spanish marismas, in April, 1872, do not fade. The glorious wild-life fascinated and exhilarated, while youthful enthusiasm ignored all drawbacks. But in later years it is perhaps excusable if a slight doubt of the bliss of campaigning in winter may temporarily arise when one is awakened in the middle watches of the night by sheer penetrating cold, finds the fire burnt out, the trusted Españoles all asleep, and the tail of a big black snake sticking out from under one's bed, or the poke of straw which is serving the purpose.
The night of April 10th we spent at Rocío, a squalid hamlet clustered around the chapel of Nuestra Señora del Rocío, an ancient shrine visited yearly at the vernal festival by faithful pilgrims. We were tired of the cold and comfortless nights sub Jove in the marisma, where upturned punts afforded scant shelter from the piercing winds of the small hours, and where the chill exhalations of night kept one awake listening to the chorus of frogs and flamingoes and the melancholy boom of the bittern. It was hardly a change for the better, for a more wretched ague-stricken spot we have seldom beheld, and in the dirty little posada man and beast were reckoned exactly equal in relation to the "accommodation" they require. The bed provided was a dirty mat of esparto grass, six feet by two, unrolled and laid on the bare ground: but the mosquitoes and other insect plagues made sleep impossible, and the night was spent in skinning the day's captures. The four-league tramp, however, through sandy, scrub-covered plains, was a relief from the monotonous marisma, and there were fresh birds for a change. The low, soft, double note of the Hoopoe was ubiquitous; brilliant Bee-eaters, Rollers, and Golden Orioles flashed like jewels in the sunshine, amidst the groves of wild olive and alcornoque: Southern Grey Shrikes (Lanius meridionalis) mumbled their harsh "wee hāte" from some tree-top or tall shoot of cistus, and Turtle-doves actually swarmed—all these birds (except the shrikes) newly returned from African scenes. We also observed a pair of Lesser Spotted Woodpeckers, and a single Azure-winged Magpie—the only occurrence of the latter we had then met with in this district, though further inland it is common near Coria del Rio, and towards Córdova it becomes plentiful. Near Rocio, also, we obtained the Red-backed Shrike, a species not previously recorded from Southern Spain.
Another interesting bird seen and shot this day for the first time was the Great Spotted Cuckoo (Coccystes glandarius), and shortly afterwards, while sitting at lunch during the mid-day heat, a female Hen-Harrier, which slowly passed within very long shot, and caused me to upset my last bottle of Bass. This was the latest date on which we saw this strictly winter-visitant to Andalucia, none remaining to breed, though it is plentiful enough in winter, and frequently observed while snipe-shooting.