222 BIRDS, BEASTS, AND FISHES 



to-day to bag yon mallards rocking up and down close together 

 in a bunch by yon reed-bed. So far the chances are for 

 him ; for in still weather they sit scattered over the water. 

 He draws up noiselessly; you suddenly hear a tap on his 

 boat-bottom, his iron toe-plate, and the birds rise frightened, 

 heads to wind, the old drake calling loudly, signalling the 

 company. Still the patient and experienced gunner does not 

 fire, but, raising his swivel-gun, keeps them covered as they 

 come together, and when they have risen some thirty yards 

 from the water, a bright flash lights up the alder cars, a 

 loud rumble, mingled with quacking and squawking, followed 

 by the sharper reports of the shoulder-gun, settles the busi- 

 ness, and you see mallard lie dead on the water. 



The gunner is a patient man and full of restraint; for though 

 he saw a feeding marsh as he came along that morning, the 

 feathers, pulled grass, and trails betraying one of their 

 favourite tables a flooded marsh bottom still he fired not 

 at them ; he only flushed the birds, but came on to meet 

 them on the water, which he has done to some purpose. 



But behold he is pushing to the hover, and in the gloom 

 you see him, like a ghost, peering into the tall, silent, dead 

 reed-stalks. In a twinkling his gun is to his shoulder, and 

 the report echoes over the misty waters, and by the rising 

 winter's sun you see him push into the reed and recover a 

 wounded bird, now dead. And when he shows it you, he 

 points out where the creature has plucked feathers from 

 her breast and stanched her breast-wound, as is their prac- 

 tice; and as he tosses her into his well-filled punt he 

 mutters, "They allus do that, they allus leave the water 

 when hit. Tears as though they was afraid of bleeding to 

 death in the water." 



And such is the case ; for if not too badly wounded, mallard 

 " tarn fish " and dive, and swim under water to " onsight " the 

 gunner ; and they invariably make for the shore, swimming 

 with their bodies just under water, only half of their heads 

 showing on their outstretched necks, until they reach a 



