WILD-FOWL SHOOTING ASHORE BY NIGHT. 287 



" bang- !" roared a couple of g-uns from the shore, plump at Ted 

 Steele, who, m most indescribable -frig-ht, and smarting- with 

 pain, roared out lustily — " Oh ! God, you have killed me ! You 

 have done for me outrig-ht, you villains! I'm killed from head 

 to foot !" 



" Good heavens, Ted, what's that you ? We thought it was the 

 wild-fowl we shot at !" said one of the men behind the mound. 

 Having- somewhat recovered from his frig-ht, Ted began to look 

 about him, and found he was not seriously hurt, thoug-h severely 

 stung-; by the peas scattered about the punt he immediately sus- 

 pected the hoax, and, thirsting for vengeance, pulled ashore, and set 

 off in pursuit of one of the offenders, who, as pre-concerted, ran off 

 as hard as he could on being- pursued by the punter. The other 

 man concealed himself; and, taking- advantage of the opportunity 

 thus afforded him of inspecting Ted Steele's punt, jumped into 

 it, and rowed away from the shore ; on Ted's return from the 

 pursuit, the saucy shore-gunner coolly wished him " a good night, 

 and pleasant walk home," adding, that he intended having- a 

 night's punting at Ted's expense, by way of change from shore- 

 gunning. 



It would not be correct to follow the highly-exasperated Ted Steele 

 through the catalogue of curses which he heaped upon the heads of 

 the shore-gunners, or to accompany him in his disconsolate walk 

 home — a distance of no less than six miles ; the scene of action 

 having taken place, unfortunately, on the opposite bank of the river 

 to that of Ted's cottage ; so retired, too, was the locality, that no 

 boat could be had along the coast, in which to cross the river; 

 the nearest bridge was a long- way distant, and the walk tedious and 

 rugged, particularly for one clad as Ted Steele was, with heavy 

 water-boots and thick double woollen clothing, which the inclemency 

 of the season rendered necessary. Poor Ted waited at the mound 

 some little time, thinking the man would return with the punt ; but, 

 finding there was no probabihty of his so doing, he set off to walk 

 home; and after many slips and slides in the snow, and other 

 obstacles, weary and tired, he reached his cottage home, when he 

 threw himself on his bed, and slept as soundly as his rage, disap- 

 pointment, and annoyance would admit. Next morning he shoved 

 off in a small boat to search for his punt and gun, which he 

 ultimately found carefully made fast to a stake on the shore, 



