WILD-FOWLING AFLOAT BY NIGHT 21 i 



seems strained to its utmost. The splashing and 

 dabbling of the fowl, together with the continual 

 chatter of widgeon music, creates a perfect pande- 

 monium almost bewildering to our senses. Still we 

 go forward, and whilst my fingers instinctively clutch 

 the trigger halyard, we pass the coveted rocks and 

 leave them astern. Suddenly all is still. The stragglers 

 on the outside have seen us, and the alarm has been 

 sounded. Up they spring, clean and lightly from the 

 water ; but it is too late for the main pack, as I 

 instantly pull at the big round patch in front of us. 

 A bright flash, which momentarily dazzles the eye, a 

 mighty report as the sound of our gun echoes and 

 re-echoes round the shore, and through the dispersing 

 smoke we see a long lane of floating bodies lightly 

 reposing on the water with their upturned breasts 

 glistening white in the moonlight. A few strokes 

 with our paddles and we begin to gather the victims 

 to right and left of the punt. It was a close shot, and, 

 cripples being few in number, we have little difficulty 

 in accounting for them. 



' By this time the tide has gone off fast, and the 

 crest of the dark mud is visible in many places, so we 

 must perforce retire at once down the tortuous creek 

 astern into open water. Fate, however, has yet other 

 favours in store for us. On our way down harbour 



p 2 



