SUNDRY INCIDENTS OF FOWL AND FOWLING 429 



was flood-tide shortly before dusk, and the geese had just 

 gone to sea in a solid body, several thousand strong, when 

 a sudden and severe gale came away from south-east, 

 driving us for safety into the southern (and most distant) 

 corner of the harbour. Here we had hauled the gunboat 

 ashore and were trying to keep ourselves warm by running 

 up and down the narrow interval between sea and snow — 

 literally " between the devil and the deep sea ! " — and with 

 no very cheery feelings as to our prospects for the night in 

 that desolate spot amidst snow-covered sand-hills. Just 

 at dusk, however, we observed a coble coming across to 

 our relief. To her we transhipped gun, gear, and fowl, 

 and taking- the punt in tow, commenced, with all reefs in, 

 to beat back to windward. Suddenly the whole army of 

 geese reappeared — driven back from sea to the shelter of 

 the harbour. It was a grand chance to "Up helm, and 

 run in under them!" but prudence forbade. The punt 

 astern, light as a cork, has no steerage when in tow, and 

 had we executed any such manoeuvre, would have filled, 

 broken adrift, and been lost. 



On another occasion (February 23rd), during very 

 bitter weather, wind and sea having prevented our going 

 afloat for three days, I went, about 1 p.m., to a salient 

 point separating two bays, at which a few flight-shots 

 may sometimes be obtained at daybreak. At the hour 

 mentioned there was no such prospect, and I went thither 

 more for exercise, and to watch the fowl, than in any hope 

 of securing any. Yet within an hour-and-a-half, by 3 p.m. 

 (when the rising tide drove me off the rocks), I had fairly 

 bagged nine geese and a wigeon. The wild weather, 

 combined with heavy seas outside, and another reason 

 given below, had kept the fowl restless, and, as it were, 

 "flighting" at that abnormal hour. An incident that 



