SEAFOWL SHOOTING SKETCHES. 



SEAFOWL SHOOTING AT MORECAMBE BAY (1869), 

 FLEETWOOD (1872), AND CROSBY (1875). 



I made my first essay at seafowl shooting- (when living- at Lees, 

 near Oldham), at Morecambe in August, 1868, and that day quite 

 settled me as to what I considered the " ne plus ultra " of 

 enjoyment. We had scarcely grot down to the beach when a shore- 

 loafer, in a red Garibaldi shirt, accosted us with, " Want a 

 little shooting-, gentlemen?" To this we replied in the affirma- 

 tive, and our guide consigned us to the charge of a weather- 

 beaten old fellow, in whose boat we soon made ourselves comfort- 

 able. 



We charg-ed our weapons, mine a double-muzzle loader, a 

 present from my father, while my friend, John Stephenson, had 

 an old single of mine, which I was proud of having- stocked 

 myself. In the course of an hour or two I bagged a couple of 

 gulls, and my companion a single one. Didn't we feel pleased 

 and happy when we landed for refreshment? 



Then, after a cup of tea, we set out to tramp along the shore 

 where we got a few smaller birds, having a long stalk after a 

 lot of rooks, which, rising, wheeled off over the water before 

 we could get within shot. We now took another boat, but I 

 only got one bird. 



Landing on a sandbank, we observed a lot of " baulks " with 

 nets attached to them, with a well in one corner of the concern. 

 Now there was a large fish floundering about in this place, and 

 my friend, leaping over the barrier of net-work, was about to 

 appropriate the said fish, when a man made his appearance and 

 claimed the spoil, asking if " We wanted to take the bread out 

 of his mouth?" We apologised, and passed on. Now, strange 

 as it seems, we did not know that we had been attempting a 

 petty larceny. How deliciously verdant we were. 



Our next proceeding was to fill our gun " stockings " with 

 shell fish, which we lugged to an hotel near the station. We 

 had a few glasses of wine, after which our spirits rose so much 

 that we threw away our loads of "fish," and, getting in the 

 train, soon were on our way home. 



