1 70 WILD SPORTS OF THE WEST. 



of these birds were congregated in a small circle, scream- 

 ing, and rising, and dipping over a dense mass of fry, 

 which appeared at times breaking the surface of the water, 

 while grebes and puffins of many varieties were perse- 

 cuting those unhappy sprats underneath. As we bore 

 down I fired at a few straggling puffins. Some were 

 missed, some disabled, but not a clean-killed bird ! 

 The great body of sea-fowl appeared so much engrossed 

 with their predatory pursuits, as to neither attend to the 

 reports of the gun, or notice the approach of the hooker, 

 until the boat's bolt-sprit seemed almost parting this 

 countless host of floating and flying plunderers. 



Bent on destruction, I waited until we cleared the ball, 

 and reached that happy distance when the charge should 

 open properly. Pattigo estimated the shot would, 

 moderately, produce a stone of feathers. I fired ; a 

 solitary gull dropped in the water, and half-a-dozen 

 wounded birds separated from the crowd, and went 

 screaming off to sea. The failure was a melancholy 

 one. I sank immeasurably in the estimation of the 

 crew as an artiste. Pattigo 's bag of feathers was but 

 an unrealised dream while my kinsman muttered 

 something about the best single he ever possessed and 

 I, to cover my disgrace, occupied myself with 

 reloading 



'' I can't congratulate you on your gunnery," said 

 my cousin, " although I must admit that it required some 

 ingenuity to avoid accidents among the crowd. But 

 give me the gun. and here comes a victim," he con- 

 tinued, as a huge, grey gull, reckless of danger, wheeled 

 as they will do, round and round a wounded companion. 



" I would not be in his coat for half the hooker," 

 said Pattigo, in a stage whisper. 



