58 Wild Birds and Timm Haunts 



in shore, and the sea-horses look angry. It will be a wild 

 night. So much the better ; the higher the wind, the 

 lower the birds. The powdered snow drifts sharp on the 

 wind. Heavy clouds partially blot out the moon's rays 

 and the "whe-oh" of the widgeon has something almost 

 eerie in it. Now for the 12-bores, wire cartridges, and 

 No. 4 shot. The cutting nor'-easter makes us glad 

 enough to crouch under the old sea-wall. The widgeon 

 call grows nearer and louder ; swiftly some dark blots 

 frame in the sky ; the guns speak, and there is that heavy 

 " splosh ! " so loved of the shooter. It is not a widgeon, 

 when retrieved, but a fine mallard. First blood to the 

 gun ! Then follow in rapid succession a gaggle of bean 

 geese, too high, a leash of pintail, two of which pay forfeit, 

 and the trumpet call of an invisible Hooper. Then, fast, 

 and furious, for twenty minutes, teal, pintail, mallard, 

 widgeon, and curlew succeed. It is hard work to load, so 

 rapid is the succession ; and, as is always the case, a lot 

 of unlucky shooting occurs, as in the deceptive light a 

 judgment of pace and distance is all but impossible. 

 Twenty minutes of hot work, and the flight is over, 

 ceasing as suddenly as it began. 



