DUCK-SHOOTING. 224 
ter, to watch the flight of the birds, I noticed that 
they frequently crossed a reedy island in the middle 
of the channel, and consequently proceeded to con- 
ceal myself in what among our association is called 
the Little Bunker. It was an admirable location; 
the channel on each side did not exceed one hun- 
dred yards in width, and the weather having be- 
come thick, with an easterly wind blowing and a 
slight rain driving, the promise of sport was ex- 
cellent. 
Once fairly hidden, and my work commenced; 
bird after bird and flock after flock approached, 
and although the boat, even while pressed in 
among and steadied by the stiff reeds, was far 
from firm, a goodly number was soon collected. 
How much more exhilarating is this noble sport as 
it is pursued in the West than upon our Atlantic 
coast, where, stretched upon his back in a coffin-like 
battery, the sportsman has to lie for hours cooling 
his heels and exhausting his patience! There he is 
not confined to one position; but, after shooting 
down a bird, has the excitement of pushing after it, 
and, if it is only wounded, of following it, perhaps 
in a long chase before it is retrieved ; and then he 
must make all haste to return to the hiding-place, 
over which the birds are flying finely in his absence, 
and thus he keeps up a glow and fire of activity 
and exercise. 
It is a glorious sight to see a noble flock of ducks 
approach; to watch them with trembling alterna- 
tions of fear and hope as they waver in their course, 
