288 CASUALS IN THE CAUCASUS 



often absent. Maybe he tried so hard to acquire the 

 knack that he lost the art. And, to my mind, every- 

 thing in snipe shooting depends on whether the art is 

 left — or left out. 



Our i2-bores only weighed 6 lbs each, and we found 

 a charge of 2|- drams of powder and | ounces of No. 8 

 shot just right. The Prince preferred No. lo and 

 consequently lost a lot of birds, which, just riddled 

 about the wings, flew away and were never seen again. 

 He did not seem to have grasped the undoubted fact 

 that, unless you hit a vital spot, it takes more than a 

 mere touch to kill a snipe. 



A glorious time of thrills was ours when the Prince's 

 retainers beat the forest for us. 



I hate these drives, drives are for crippled hunters, 

 but I did not express my adverse views, or perhaps 

 the ragged henchmen would not have thrown their 

 hearts into the business, which they certainly under- 

 stood better than they did the driving of ibex on the 

 mountains. 



I placed myself on a jungle path, wide as a turnpike- 

 road, clear of timber and undergrowth, and waited 

 events. Cecily was stationed in the next green tunnel, 

 a narrower way, parallel to mine. 



First came the birds, in distraught disarray, flying 

 wide and wild. Woodcock, breaking cover at many 

 points, in zigzag course ; pheasants with plumage 

 flashing in the sun ; sleepy, blinking owls, pigeons and 

 hawks, in fellow-feeling strangely akin ; and beautiful 

 vari-coloured starlings clustering together in a rosy 

 cloud. 



