204 A MEDLEY OF SPOET 



of sea -wrack, which forms their staple food. But I 

 warrant there were wakeful sentinels enough among those 

 sable ranks to give timely warning of the approach of 

 a punt-gunner. Those tantalising brents have been in 

 the neighbourhood ever since the early part of December 

 last, and Heaven only knows how many big-gunners 

 (myself included) have attempted to outmanoeuvre 

 them with swivel gun and punt by day and night. Be 

 this as it may, so far as I know only seven of those wary 

 black geese have been accounted for up to the present ; 

 and those seven were shot by a deaf old gunner who set to 

 the fowl in a single-handed punt one fine moonlight 

 night as they were feeding on the half-flooded ooze- 

 flats. There is but little doubt that the solitary brent 

 which appears on our own list of fowl killed up to date 

 (January 28) had been hit by one or two pellets of " BB " 



from old W 's antiquated swivel gun before we put 



it hors de combat. 



But to return to the duck - hole. The flood - tide 

 began to drive the waders towards the inlying flats, 

 and several small " trips " of redshanks passed just 

 out of shot of me, as I sat, with Micawber-like patience, 

 in the gunning-pit, " waiting for something to turn up." 

 A grey heron sailed over my head at no great height, 

 and it would have been an easy matter to have brought 

 it down, but not possessing any predilection for roast 

 heron, and still less for killing for the sake of killing, 

 I refrained from pulling. 



Next, a couple of oyster-catchers flew within thirty 



