More about Wildfowl 87 



voices. Duck and teal begin to hurtle over our 

 heads, but we heed them not, while other flights 

 of wildfowl, disturbed by the beaters, show dark 

 and silver as they wheel about like the flash of 

 shoals of fish. The clamour grows louder, and 

 still louder. They must surely be up soon. 

 Again there comes that low thunderous roar, 

 like a mighty wave breaking on the sands, a 

 sound that as we listen changes into a new note, 

 the voices of thousands and tens of thousands of 

 geese merged into one tremendous, indescrib- 

 able scream. Above all, we can distinctly hear 

 a great hum, or boom, the sound of the air being 

 struck by their wings. With hearts going a 

 hundred and fifty to the minute, we huddle down, 

 and, peering through the grass, can just see the 

 dark cloud moving steadily down on us. It is 

 a general advance in line ! 



Now no more peering till they are in shot. 

 Keeping head and gun as low as possible, we 

 just wait and listen, with what feelings it is 

 difficult to describe, for in the whole realm of 

 sport I know no more thrilling moment. 



The clangour grows deafening. Now it seems 

 to be right over our heads, and I become aware 

 of a line of geese straight above us. Conceal- 

 ment is now at an end. Bang ! bang ! is followed 

 by phrrt, phrrt, as the shot strikes two stalwart 



