A COLD FOWLING CEUISE 213 



ready to handle at a moment's notice, I laid me down to 

 await the advent of the widgeon. After what appeared 

 to be a week's sojourn in the snow, I saw the birds enter 

 the creek, and, as I imagined would be the case, they 

 kept under the bank on my side of the same, it being 

 well sheltered from the biting nor'-easter, and wild fowl 

 hating to have their plumage ruffled by wind. Gradually 

 the company approached nearer and nearer, and I began 

 to think that I should get a couple of barrels into it, when 

 suddenly the ugly bluff bows of a cockle-boat appeared 

 round the point. The next moment up got the widgeon 

 with a great to-do, and instead of bagging half-a- 

 dozen, I had to content myself with a single bird, which 

 dropped with a wing down to my second barrel as the 

 company winged their way up the creek like a streak of 

 lightning. To run to the dinghy and launch her was but 

 the work of a very few minutes ; but I had to expend a 

 cartridge upon the widgeon to prevent him creeping into 

 the harbourage afforded by the dense growth of saltwort 

 and other salinacious herbage indigenous to the salt- 

 marshes. 



I had just taken the widgeon from the water when 

 one of the crew of the cockle-boat shouted : " Look out, 

 master ! " Turning quickly to the rightabout I saw a 

 single mallard flying down the creek at about forty yards' 

 distance from me. Snatching up my gun, which was 

 fortunately loaded in both barrels, I pulled, as I thought, 

 well before the mallard, missed him clean with my right, 

 and only succeeded in winging him with my left barrel : 



