WILD-FOWL SHOOTING. 255 



success, for, from the continued fusilade I had kept up, 

 they must have become well aware of my hiding-place. 

 Still I could not resist admiring the scene, one not often 

 seen by British sportsmen : a vast expanse of frozen salt 

 water, here and there opened by air-holes, and the distant 

 tidal current covered with bergs of every shape, nearly all 

 affording resting places for the noble game. The Chesa- 

 peake never looked more attractive to me than that day ; 

 for, although the cold was intense, the atmosphere was 

 clear, so that the sharp points and rugged outlines of each 

 berg stood out clearly defined, while the distant swamp 

 pines, with their dark-green foliage, formed a charming 

 contrast to the other portions of the snow-and-iced-covered 

 landscape. With my field-glass, by the way a most 

 important part of all sportsmen's outfit, long and patiently 

 I watched the habits of the pure white beauties ; and with 

 what pleasure they appeared to enjoy their ablutions in the 

 frigid water, one moment splashing and throwing it far and 

 wide, at another pursuing rivals of whom they were 

 jealous, or cooing notes of love or admiration over mates 

 in whose favour they wished to establish themselves. 

 Again, they would rise and flap their broad pinions as if 

 to test that their exertions had not deprived them of the 

 powers of flight ; or, struggling on to some floating berg, 

 rest from exertions, with their graceful necks and heads 

 buried in their abundant snowy down. 



The place in which I was secreted was an isthmus 

 densely covered with dwarf water-alder, and connecting a 

 peninsula, almost an island, with a narrow, long promon- 

 tory from the mainland. Under ordinary circumstances it 



