42 A BIRD COLLECTOR'S MEDLEY. 



out regularly after their day's work is done, and the size of Herons, Curlews, 

 and Whimbrels is sure to draw the fire of an old muzzle-loader. They shoot, 

 of course, mainly for the pot, and there are those who aver that a young 

 Heron makes a savoury dish, though I suspect it requires a good, strong sauce 

 to help it out. 



Perhaps the most annoying thing connected with flight-shooting is the 

 difficulty of retrieving the spoils. In winter, you can solace yourself with the 

 reflection that, if you don't manage to retrieve them, the Grey Crows will. It 

 is part of their regular routine work to poke into odd corners and lurking 

 spaces on the chance of unearthing a cripple ; but in September these tireless 

 scavengers have not yet arrived, and unless you have a dog with you a bird 

 that is not killed dead will probably baffle your pursuit. I have recently been 

 regaled with two flighting stories, worthy, I think, of being recorded. The 

 first hails from Littlestone, where, in the autumn of 1903, there was a mighty 

 visitation of Teal. They came in one evening in such numbers, flying low 

 over the ground, that a local shooter, after browning them right and left until 

 he ran short of cartridges, was disgusted to find the flight still continuing, while 

 he was impotent to avail himself of it. 



Being a man of resource, he at length hit upon a plan ; he planted 

 himself firmly on a neighbouring hillock, and, grasping his gun by the barrels, 

 whirled the butt round and round his head like an Indian club until the 

 muscles of his arms gave out, at which point he had succeeded in braining no 

 fewer than five extra birds. 



But perhaps the experience of the second sportsman was still more 

 extraordinary. He was riding on a bicycle across Pevensey marshes, prepara- 

 tory to concealing himself for the flight. Suddenly there was a whirring of 

 wings around him and a smash in front, and amidst discordant " quacks " he 

 found himself in total darkness on the ground. He thought at first that the 

 Ducks, instead of waiting for his assault, had taken time by the forelock and 

 assaulted him ; but the more rational explanation that occurred to him, when 

 he had sorted himself, was that the birds had been attracted by his bicycle 

 lamp, and had flown into it much as they might have flown into a lighthouse. 



