A WINTER'S DA Y IN THE MARSHES 27 



On my way home, I met the flight-shooters 

 coming down for the night shooting. They carried 

 guns of wonderful make and length, from the very 

 long duck-gun to the short bell-mouthed musquetoon. 

 One would think they had ransacked some old 

 armoury. These are handed down from father to 

 son ; many of them have flintlocks. They are 

 regarded with the greatest respect, and their killing 

 power is considered wonderful. If they go off a 

 thing that is by no means certain when the trigger 

 is pulled, the men do kill fowl with them ; but they 

 never fire at a single bird ; they would term that 

 throwing away a charge. To see the way they are 

 wrapped up you would fancy their owners were afraid 

 of their getting the rheumatics or ague which evils 

 the guns escape, but their owners do not. No man 

 shoots the flats for any length of time without 

 scraping acquaintance with the bailiffs of Marshland 

 ague and intermittent fever. 



