216 A MEDLEY OF SPORT 



sport, I retraced my footsteps towards Yantlett Creek, 

 picking up a redshank on the way. This proved to be the 

 last bird that day, for notwithstanding the fact that 

 I waited up in a muddy gut for more than an hour, in the 

 hope of obtaining a shot at curlew or other waders 

 as they passed down the creek on their way to the mud- 

 fiats and mussel-banks lying outside, not even an oxbird 

 came within range of my 12-bore, and I therefore re- 

 turned to the Seamew, where I found the captain busily 

 engaged frying bacon and eggs. 



" How about the stew ? " I asked. 



" Oh ! I rather fancied bacon, and saved the stew for 

 you ; you will find it in the saucepan," replied my gallant 

 and unselfish friend. I looked in the saucepan, and 

 found the cremated remains of what was a few hours 

 before an Irish stew, and I also had to fall back upon 

 bacon and eggs. 



" Well, you burned plenty of powder up the creek. 

 What did you kill ? " I next inquired of the captain, as 

 he sat down to a huge gammon rasher and fried eggs. 



" A pochard, a teal, and a redshank," was the reply. 



Our total bag for the morning therefore consisted of a 

 mallard, a widgeon, a pochard, a teal, three curlew, a 

 peewit, and a couple of 'shanks. 



