WILDFOWLING AFLOAT 91 



not particularly encouraging, and, although there should 

 have been an excellent " fowhng moon " later, such 

 unbroken masses of dark snow-clouds floated threaten- 

 ingly overhead that we entertained but httle hope of 

 using the punt in New England Creek, wherein we had 

 elected to anchor for the night. Good luck, however, 

 often falls to the lot of the wildfowler when he least 

 expects it. 



It was nearly six o'clock when the skipper, who was 

 keeping a sharp look-out from the bows and feeling the 

 way carefully, with the lead-hne across the treacherous 

 sands, suddenly cried, " Bear up a bit, sir, and you'll 

 fetch the mouth o' the creek bootiful." 



The dim outline of the snow-clad sea-walls surround- 

 ing the marshland island of New England now loomed 

 through the uncertain light, and, thanks to a high 

 spring tide, we managed to escape the many mudbanks 

 and shoals with which our haven of refuge was well 

 endowed, and to find a comfortable berth almost abreast 

 the island homestead. 



M. and myself had finished our frugal dinner, and 

 were discussing plans for the morrow over a pipe and a 

 glass of reeking grog, when the skipper came into the 

 cabin and opened as follows : — " It'll be a masterful good 

 night for gunnin', and I can hear fowl a-calhn' hke a 

 farmyard at feedin'-time. Would ye take it amiss, 

 Maister Jack, if I wor to take the dinghy and my owd 

 gun down to the P'int Salts to see if I can pick up a 

 bird or two ? " 



