CHAPTER XXXIX. 



THE WILD-FOWLER IN A GALE. 



" With palaver and nonsense I'm not to be paid off ; 

 I'm adrift, let it blew then great guns : 

 A gale, a fresli breeze, or the old ge'mau's head off — 

 I takes life rough aiid smooth as it runs." 



DiBBEN. 



It is from no desire to make myself the hero of success and periloi;s 

 adventure that I am about to relate a stirring- scene which happened 

 to fall to my lot a few years ago ; but because it is my firm convic- 

 tion that there is not a better or livelier means of conveying- to my 

 readers a clear notion of this branch of the sport, with the spirit, en- 

 joyment, (and more especially the dang-ers) which sometimes attend 

 wild-fowling- adventures at sea^ than by a faithful narrative of indi- 

 vidual experiences on trying occasions. 



The wind had been blowing lightly from the south-east, snow and 

 sleet were falling with most dismal threatening, when I embarked at 

 eight o'clock one morning, in the month of Februar}^, aboai-d a small 

 shooting yacht of twelve tons admeasurement. A sporting friend 

 accompanied me^ in addition to my crew, which consisted of one man 

 and one boy ! I firmly believe my friend wished himself ashore 

 (though he pretended otherwise) before he had been aboard the 

 yacht five minutes, so cold, wet, and dreary was the weather. As the 

 day advanced, the wind moderately increased, the snow and sleet 

 ceased to fall, and my friend became more cheerful ; but the sky still 

 looked threatening — very threatening all around : it was freezing, 

 but not severely. The breeze was just the thing for the yacht, which 

 glided noiselessly, but rapidly, through the water, as a shooting- 

 yacht should do, and without dashing the spray about or making- 

 much disturbance at her bows. 



After making four or five very successful shots at Brent geese, 

 much to the delight and amusement of my friend, who was a 



