SHOOTING 13 



the Norfolk marshes, when the latter happened 

 to be badly stung by a wounded snipe. His 

 companion rushed to his rescue, beat off the 

 infuriated animal, and sucked the wound for 

 several hours, thereby in all probability saving 

 Sir Noel's life. As the sportsmen were some • 

 six or seven miles from home when the accident 

 occurred, as also the wound was unfortunately 

 situated in my uncle's chin, and the gallant 

 Colonel insisted upon applying continual suction 

 to the poisoned puncture until medical aid could 

 be summoned, the return journey was fraught 

 with difficulties which may easily be imagined. 



In his youth Colonel Vipont had been a crack 

 military shot, and he was never able to grasp 

 the fact that methods which had once proved 

 successful on the rifle-range were utterly un- 

 suited to the covert-side. Being short-sighted, 

 he relied solely upon his sense of hearing for 

 notice of the approach of game, and if he thought 

 he heard the sound of a rabbit rustling in the 

 undergrowth he would at once " prepare to 

 receive cavalry." Lying flat upon his chest, 

 he would raise his gun to his cheek, close the 

 left eye, and deliberately rake the surrounding 

 countryside with volley after volley, evincing 

 a total disregard for the safety of his neighbours, 

 and displaying a childlike belief in the old adage 

 which declares that "every bullet has its billet." 

 The rabbit usually esc aped scot-free, but scarcely 



