30 The PVater-fowl Family 



over the decoys. We both fired, and not a bird 

 stopped. How many times this happened I do not 

 know. My one recollection of this day was a 

 continual flight of ducks. It was simply impos- 

 sible to shoot. Choppy water and a leaky boat 

 kept one of us busy continually. We took turns 

 holding the skiff still while the other man fired. 

 We tried holding on to the stake with one hand 

 and shooting with the other. It was hopeless ; the 

 sleet and snow were blinding as we faced the 

 wind. Wet cartridges stuck and the guns would 

 hardly open and shut; but ducks there were, a 

 steady stream, small strings leading over the point, 

 coming with the wind, swooping by the decoys and 

 dropping among the stool. The birds were mostly 

 broadbill, occasionally black duck. From out a 

 flock of mallard a single green-head circled in, 

 and hovered, close in front, the first we had seen. 

 " That mallard's mine," and gathering together the 

 little strength left, I let him have both barrels to 

 find I'd lied, — he didn't even leave a feather. As 

 I remember, the next bird was a black duck. He 

 didn't come in, but just manoeuvred around about 

 a gunshot and a half off. By one of the most 

 unholy shots I ever saw, my cold partner in the 

 other end of the skiff let him down ; he fell with a 

 broken wing. Wat finished him. There was no 

 cessation in the shooting ; we had probably in our 

 crippled condition shot away fifty shells apiece. 



