96 BROADLAND SPORT 



board, we take a careful observation of wind and weather ; 

 wind north-east by east, moderate breeze, and flowing tide 

 very good. Our course is immediately decided upon, and we 

 head for " Devil's Bank," well known to our skilful companion 

 as the widgeon's favourite haunt, which, with these auspicious 

 omens in the weather, should surely be found there now, or 

 else not at all. Half an hour's hard rowing and then our oars 

 are rested upon, and our auricular organs resorted to. Nothing 

 ahead yet ; on we go, cautiously listening the while ; another 

 stop with perfect silence. Yes, there they are, sure enough. 

 " Weoh ! we-o-oh ! " those, to .us, sweet notes, come faintly 

 over the water and touch the right string in our hearts; 

 our oars are carefully and deliberately unshipped, one being 

 placed in the sculling crutch, the other stowed away. Our 

 scientific man takes possession of the scull and directs his 

 other hand to lay the gun. Then, getting daylight sky behind 

 the fowl, with wind on the port bow, we glide slowly and 

 stealthily nearer and nearer to the unsuspecting birds, listen- 

 ing every few minutes to ascertain that their suspicions are 

 not aroused. Large bunches often, when they have the 

 slightest cause for alarm, are as silent as the grave for as 

 much as five minutes at a time ; or, perhaps, they break into 

 a " charm " when an entire flock, guided only by the whistle 

 of one old cock, accompanied by the clucking of the hens, 

 burst into music all at once, which sudden outburst is called 

 the " charm." 



We are now within 150 yards, but the bank is not 

 sufficiently covered to mass our birds, so we relinquish the 

 scull and wait for what is in reality only half an hour longer, 

 yet, seemingly, ages. But the daylight is rapidly developing ; 

 we dare not remain much longer for fear of detection, so, with 

 one last look to the gun and boat, we make for where that 

 greedy, squabbling crowd seems thickest. One hundred yards 

 eighty yards sixty yards up goes a forest of heads, and 

 as part jump, a pound and a half of single " B " is nicely 

 landed into their very midst. In an instant the sculls are 

 out and the cripple-stopper in the hand ; one rows whilst the 



