320 AMERICAN GAME BIRD SHOOTING 



were so many, the scents so numerous and confused, 

 that the poor old dog entirely lost his head and gal- 

 loped about aimlessly until called in and made to fol- 

 low at heel. The birds got up, a dozen at a time, flew 

 a few yards ahead and alighted, and then a number 

 of others got up and did the same thing. The report 

 of the gun put a considerable number on the wing, 

 yet at first did not seem to make the birds wild. Mean- 

 time I could hear my companion, who had gone off 

 by himself, shooting very regularly, and felt that his 

 greater experience was now standing him in good stead, 

 and that he must be acquitting himself very much bet- 

 ter than I was. For the multitude of the birds, and 

 the way in which they were rising on every side, con- 

 fused and unnerved me almost as much as it did my 

 dog. 



Although that day I killed more snipe than ever 

 before or since, yet I do not look upon it as one of 

 the shooting days especially worth remembering. The 

 birds were too many, and I was not in condition to 

 take advantage of my opportunities. I have had more 

 satisfaction from a single ruffed grouse, neatly killed 

 as he darted away through the thick underbrush of the 

 swamp, than I did in that heavy bag of snipe, where 

 I loaded and fired all the afternoon, until my ammu- 

 nition was exhausted. 



Some such feeling as this, I believe, animates most 

 sportsmen when they reach grounds where birds are 

 so numerous that all the uncertainty of shooting is 

 taken away. Few of us, I think, care greatly to catch 



