280 



BIRD-LIFE OF THE BORDERS. 



second with the trigger-string (for "tipping" a punt-gun is 

 no child's play) ; then up goes the long barrel, and afar across 

 the darkening waters resounds her thunderous boom. Ye 

 gods ! I'm among 'em ! right in the thick of them ! Mark ! 

 three five six seven eight fall all round us ; fall in 

 curving lines, each with a sousing " flop " into the sea, 

 while at least two more slant away, body-struck, to fall dead 

 a little further out. It was a glorious shot for a tipped one. 

 But there is no time to revel in the triumph of the moment, 

 for only one of our Geese lies actually dead, and " clear the 

 decks for the cripple-chase " is the order of the day. Then 

 for a long half-hour we pole and shove, as no galley-slave 

 ever toiled before ; we toil till the perspiration half blinds us, 

 banging away the while with the cripple- stopper till all 

 our "pensioners" lie stretched and prostrate on the sea. 

 Then, with joyous hearts and a full forepeak, we set our sprit- 

 sail, out centre-boards, and spin away homeward with wind 

 and tide at eight knots through the gloaming, delighted 

 with the final success of our eighteen hours' toil, and its 

 reward in the best shot of the season. 



A PENSIONER.' 



