SPORT ON MARSH AND FORESHORE 261 



I had not long to wait, when the whistling sound of 

 pinions gladdened my ears, and very soon a bunch of a 

 dozen or so mallard passed between the doctor and my- 

 self, flying comparatively low and within easy shot of 

 my stand. Holding, as I thought, well before the lead- 

 ing mallard, I pulled, but, to my surprise, he went on 

 his way rejoicing, while the bird flying next him a 

 young duck of the year dropped with a sounding splash 

 into a sedgy dyke, and my second barrel accounted for 

 a fine old drake in magnificent plumage. 



The firing by this time had become pretty general 

 along the line, for the evening flight of the duck had 

 commenced. But, with the exception of a small spring 

 of teal, which I missed clean with both barrels, nothing 

 further came my way, and I was beginning to think 

 that my sport, for that evening at least, was done, when 

 the far-reaching and unmistakable trumpeting of pink- 

 footed geese sounded above the muffled thunder of the 

 white-capped coamers, breaking upon the treacherous 

 sand-bar, and the calls of the waders assembled on the 

 ooze-flats. 



The hound-like music of the geese approached nearer 

 and nearer every moment, and, although it was impos- 

 sible to see any great distance ahead through the rapidly 

 gathering darkness, one gazed instinctively towards the 

 direction whence the music proceeded. At length a 

 great fanning of wings to the left of my stand caused 

 me to look skyward, when I saw a number of hazy forms 

 passing seawards at a great racket. 



Now, flighting between the lights is purely a case of 

 snap-shooting; indeed, many old flight -shooters, guided 

 entirely by sound, will often fire into a bunch of passing 



