DUCKS 287 



that nothing is to be done in the morning. In a cer- 

 tain part where pochards, among other ducks, are fairly 

 numerous, I well remember spending several days on 

 one occasion trying to discover their line of flight. At 

 length I was successful, and quite by accident. Coming 

 home along the sea-wall one morning from a duckless 

 quest, I met a fisherman. He was a stranger to me, 

 but could of course see by my gun that I had been out 

 for the early flight, and with the promptitude character- 

 istic of his class, at once got to business. " They bards 

 came right over me this morning, sir," he cheerfully 

 remarked. " What birds ? " I inquired. " They dun- 

 bards ; there was a mighty big shuft of 'em down by the 

 B. afore it came light this marnin'." This was precisely 

 what I wanted to know, and having spent several morn- 

 ings in the futile endeavour to hit off the line taken by 

 these fowl, I gladly gave him a little reward for the 

 information. The next morning, fully half-an-hour be- 

 fore daylight, I was down at the point indicated by the 

 fisherman. It was still rather dark when I heard the 

 rushing sound made by a big lot of pochards passing 

 quickly through the air. I could just make out a dark 

 mass of fowl, but they were too far away to risk a shot. 

 Again I came away without firing a shot, and, although 

 disappointed, I was not discouraged, but determined to 

 try again on the following morning. A more formidable 

 weapon than the 12-bore I had previously had with me 

 was then taken, for on seeing the pochards flying in 

 such numbers and so closely together, I decided to 

 make the most of any chance which might offer by 

 taking a double 8-bore. Early the next morning I 

 concealed myself behind a gate-post, 100 yards or 

 more from the sea-wall, but directly under the line of 



