IN THE HIGHLANDS 127 



wounded swan — another boat was returning in the dusk 

 from setting their long lines. The crew turned the 

 swan, and we captured it. I had it put in a room, with a 

 tub full of water into which I threw a lot of barley. For 

 five or six days the barley was never touched, but at 

 last one morning we found the grain all gone, so I took 

 courage, and a fortnight later I sent the swan in a crate 

 to the London Zoo, where the whooper lived eighteen 

 years, and had an easy, if not quite a happy time. 



The only good shot I ever had at swans was on Loch 

 Kernsary. There were three whoopers out in the middle 

 of the loch, when a very violent squall came on, with 

 sleet and hail. We noticed the swans come in for 

 shelter under a promontory that jutted out into the 

 loch, so we ran off to circumvent them, and I killed one 

 on the water and wounded another as it rose. The 

 latter we had to chase in a boat, and whilst we were doing 

 so the third one passed high over the boat, and I brought 

 it down. With this swan story I now end the tale of my 

 early sporting days. 



