FLOOD-TIDE ON BEAULIEU RIVER.
FLOOD-TIDE on Beaulieu River is like nothing else in the South of England. The rising waters flow not over salt-marshes and mud-banks, or between level flats and marshes, but up into the heart of the Forest, fringed by hoary woods of oak and sound meadows bright with flowers, between banks from which the iris-leaves droop into the tide and catch the floating seaweed on their spikes, until the whole river channel is filled brimful with salt water as far as the pool which sleeps by the foot of the Abbey of Beaulieu.
As the flood moves on, all kinds of sea-migrants come up by air and water, flying or floating between the oaks that fringe the river on either hand. Over the water the cormorants come flying high, on their way to Hatchet Pond on the heights of Beaulieu Heath, and gulls and terns flap over the surface, following the fish that follow the flood. Sailing in a beat down against the tide one sees the sea creatures travelling from the Solent into this contrasted region of inland forest and fields. In the centre the channel is black and deep, marked by " booms " at the curves and turnings. There the main current swells onwards fast and strong, and the fish follow it. There one dimly sees the sea-trout travelling up- wards, flinging themselves now and again from the dark water, and hurrying up to the Abbey pool, where they play under the sluices till the tide begins to turn, or linger and are caught before the waters once more deepen. With the sea-trout come shoals of those fair impostors, the grey mullet, beautiful to look upon, but poor and tasteless to eat, for they live on vegetables, and, like most vegetarian fish, are lack- ing in flavour. Not that the fishers of the South Coast will agree to this, for to them a mullet is a mullet, whether grey or red, and they would gladly persuade others to adopt their view, for grey mullets are large and plentiful, while red mullets are small and scarce. With the mullet come also the sea-bass, big, lusty fish, sometimes of 10 lb. weight. Flounders go foraging over the flats, and dart back into the deeps as the boat's shadow approaches, and a host of smaller fry coast along the shallower waters and pry into the creeks and land streams. But perhaps the strangest sight in this forest- beset river, over which the larks sing and pheasants make long flights from shore to shore, is the procession of huge tnedusw—jelly-fish—swimming gently up with the flood. lost people look on a jelly-fish as something which stings people when bathing, or as a nasty wet lump lying on the beach. Bathers naturally avoid them ; they are shapeless and 4inintereating on shore, but things of beauty when swimming lap the Beaulieu River. In the darkest water one sees -opalescent, half-transparent creatures, like the half-globes set on modern lamps, just below the surface, some deep and scarcely seen, some floating a foot below the water. At the bottom of the globe are rings of orange, sometimes in double S's, sometimes in more complicated patterns. The creature does not merely float with the current, but " breathes " itself along, alternately opening its translucent body like a wide bell, then contracting it, and gaining impulse which enables it either to swim ahead or to rise and sink at will. Round the mouth of the bell is set an almost invisible fringe of glutinous threads, sweeping the waters for the invisible atoms of food, living and dead, which swarm in the shallow waters of the tidal stream. At three-parts flood, when the mullet are running up the central channel, the month of each little forest rill or brook becomes itself a tiny model of the big river. Instead of oak woods, on one side is the white-thorn hedge, and on the other meadow-grass and sweetbrier bushes. But in its channel the salt waters rise to meet and overwhelm the sweet waters from the Forest, and with the salt water comes the vanguard of the sea-fishes and sea-creatures following the tide. The great jelly-fish, with the sea trout and bass, do not come exploring up these tiny creeks ; but there are plenty of other migrants from the deep which are more adventurous. Thus in the clear pools, over- hung by branches of hawthorn in blossom, and set round with land flowers, crabs are prying for food among the sub- merged roots and grasses, and smelts and young bass cruise about within a few feet of the buttercups and daisies. The fish come up exploring, and mainly from curiosity ; but the crabs, large and small, are there mainly on business. They have to get all their meals in the last hours of the flood and the first of the ebb, or there is a chance of being left stranded. At the same time they are very vigilant, and rush off to hide the instant any one appears on the bank. Then they gradually emerge, and are soon busy exploring their temporary quarters, and tasting all the striking novelties in the way of food which a land rill temporarily raised to double its usual depth by salt water affords. Into one pool, some four feet deep and as clear as crystal, a steel rail, from a brickyard near by, had fallen, and lay sloping from the mouth of a culvert to the bottom of the pool. It lay sideways, and the hollow between the two flanges was just the right gauge" for the average estuary crab to ran up and down it sideways. The crabs had made this rail into a combination of a "parade" and a road for heavy traffic, some running up and down it for amusement, while others dragged bits of rubbish which struck them as valuable, from the pool to the shelter of the culvert. On the bottom other crabs of all sizes, from that of a saucer to a sixpence, were scuttling about. Then the sea-fish came cruising up this yard-wide river, beautiful little opal-sided smelts, and small lance-shaped fish of the same size, with bright eyes and brown scales of the tint of the red-bronze alloy used in Japanese metal-work. The banks of these brooklets are steep, and their beds deep, cut in the clay by floods. But by the side of the main river, where the high-tide overflows the levels of the mowing-grass, in the little flats between the oak woods, there is a margin of "debateable land" with a separate vegetation of its own, lying between the mud and glasswort of the tidal channel proper, and the buttercups and clover in the mowing. grass. This " salted " zone is covered with myriads of flowers of thrift, looking like great beds of pinks, on which flowers grow so close that their petals almost touch. On these pink couches the swans and wild ducks sit sunning themselves when they leave the water by the little channels which wind among the thrift, and on the margin by the stream the peewits wash and dry their feathers. Swans which have had their first clutch of eggs destroyed nest among the thrift. Each pair has one of these smooth savannahs or "flower prairies," in which they pile up a big nest of seaweed gathered in the stream. The hen sits on this, while the cock bird keeps guard in the river. Some of these nests are raised to a height of more than 3 ft. above the level of the marsh, and are entirely surrounded by water during a high-tide.
At other points the oak woods fringe the river for miles, with great trees drooping over the deep channel where the main stream curves to the bank. There the transition from the bird and insect life of the shore and salt-marsh to that of the English woodland is most marked. Brilliant fritillary butterflies dance down the glades, and all the minor woodland birds swarm among the copsewood and oaks. The writer watched what were probably two successive broods of long-tailed tits united and hunting through the wood. They were crossing a road of some width from one side of the wood to the other, and no less than thirty-four passed the boundary. They shot across the side like blunt- headed arrows, their long tails straight behind them, and though the party took some time to complete their transit, not 'lie was left behind. This would give an average of sixteen :oung ones in each brood, while the two old birds made up the total. Close to the river a pair of nuthatches have devoted unusual care to the outer appearance of their nest, or rather of the hole, inside which the young ones are now nearly grown up. The hole, not more than 1 in. in width, is in an apparently sound oak-trunk. It is hollow, but the bark is still sound, and the entrance-hole must have been made by some accident, by which a small knot was torn from its socket and with it some 6 in. square of bark. Below this lies sound wood ; but the nuthatches were not satisfied with the appearance of the tree where the bark was torn away, though the wound had " weathered " and was just assuming the grey colour of the bark. The birds had plastered the whole of the exposed wood over with " compo " made from sand and mud, and brought up to the level of the bark on either side, so that the surface of the tree was almost the same as it had been before. This plaster was as hard as brick, made of some gritty material into which a pin point would not penetrate, and which could only be separated from the wood by putting a knife in between the plaster and the foundation. Our experiments were of the non-destructive order, but as soon as we left the tree the two old birds ran down the trunk, head downwards, to examine the nest and see that all was safe and in order.
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