MORE POACHERS AND POACHING. 339 



I said that I would, and then Scott told me 

 that a very rum set lived where Monk hailed 

 from, the women being worse than the men — 

 they would take up the poker, tongs, or 

 anything else that came handy, and fetch 

 you down. 



I would mention here that Monk and his 

 two comrades shot six times at my false 

 wooden pheasants, which I used to nail up 

 to the trees in places where poachers would 

 be likely to see them. They fired three 

 double shots at one bird, and then climbed 

 up the tree to see if old Satan was there, for 

 they had shot it full in the breast, then in the 

 right side, and then in the left, and still the 

 bird kept sitting serenely on. Then they gave 

 in and left, having fired off six barrels, and 

 getting nothing for their pains, but loss of 

 time and waste of powder and shot. Jack 

 got something, however, in the shape of six 

 months in Chelmsford gaol. 



Inspector Scott — he was only a constable 

 then, not being created an inspector until 

 afterwards— said that, as the people we were 



