26 WILD LIFE ON A NORFOLK ESTUARY 



thinkin' to have a rest, and, of course, a smoke ; and what 

 d'yer think? to my surprise, on strikin' a fusee on the breech 

 of the gun, with a terrific whir and whiz, hundreds of fowl 

 took to wing all around me. They'd been quietly feedin'. I 

 went to the houseboat and waited till the tide began to lift, 

 and then pushed off to see if they'd kinder settled again. By 

 the aid of my glasses I could see two or three ' ridges ' 

 loomin' up black against the light of the town, and made 

 towards these, puttin' up several single fowl within almost 

 oar's length as I went along, frightenin' them, of course, by 

 the hissin' noise on the sides and bottom of the boat rubbin' 

 against the shells {Hydrobiadce) on the grass (Zostera). I 

 ventured a shot at one of the thick black ridges, and guessin' 

 my aim by the elevation of the gun, pulled the trigger. 



" Well, 'bor, what with the roar of the gun, and the rattle 

 and clamour of their wings and throats, I thought for a 

 minute the world had come to an end ! I stuck an oar into 

 the mud, and hung my oily frock on to it to mark the position, 

 and tried to find the fowl, but was baffled by the darkness and 

 tide. Early in the morning, though, I fell in with the fowl 

 I'd shot, which amounted to a score wigeon and mallard ! 



" Ah ! we useter get big shots sometimes ; you see, the 

 birds useter come in such flocks that you couldn't help 

 hitting 'em. I once saw a tremenjuss lot of stints (dunlins) 

 sittin' huddled up on a huge floatin' piece of ice ; I had some 

 difficulty in gettin' to it through the pack as was floating all 

 round, but I did, somehow, and pulled trigger. I managed 

 to recover two hundred and eighty-five of them, and what is 

 more, I got five wigeon at the same shot, as was sittin' on a 

 hummock a little way behind 'em. Of course, it wasn't easy 

 to get all the cripples, and I didn't. I remember how the 

 Kentish crows chased 'em as they hopped and fluttered about 

 them wounded ones. Brutal, you say? Well, them sort 

 of thoughts never useter trouble me. What's the differs be- 

 tween that and calf-stickin' ? Don't both butchers do it for 

 what they can make of their slaughter ? " 



I can well remember, as a lad let loose from school, how 

 I used to haunt the quayside approaches to Breydon, looking 

 curiously into the snow-sprinkled punts, and viewing with 

 wonder the dead fowl lying on the bottom-boards, or spread 

 on the foredeck. 



