242 THE PEAT ISLE. 



much horrified at this account, and used to picture a sort 

 of half-demon, half-maniac, breaking into the house, the 

 inmates flying right and left, while he marched to the 

 water with his smoking booty. 



I will now recount the adventures of eight days' duck- 

 stalking, beginning Friday, January 21st, 1848. Frosty, 

 but not very hard. Took the Luss beat, the loch not being 

 low enough for Mid-Eos s shores, attended by gamekeeper, 

 with a little wiry hairy retriever that looked as if he could 

 stand as much cold as a Polar bear. No fowl of any kind 

 on Luss shores, so embarked for the islands. Detected the 

 whole mass of tufts, dun-birds, morillons, &c., diving and 

 feeding together on the Inch Tavannach side of the straits. 

 Saw it would be a most difficult stalk, and, from the 

 nature of the ground, that I could only get a flying right 

 and left. So it turned out: a long circuit brought me 

 within a distant run could get no nearer, so chose a 

 pair of tufts, as being closest to shore. Watched their 

 simultaneous dive. Made my run, and dropped both. 

 Took boat for Inch Moan, as the straits were now cleared 

 of fowl for this day. Only three moss-ducks on a green 

 point of the south side. A long stalk, and distant chance. 

 Dropped a pair ; one, however, rose again, and made off. 

 Came round to north coast of the island. Nothing but a 

 dab-chick, which I shot for a specimen. In the far dis- 

 tance, to the west, keeper spied what we thought a 

 morillon diving, but when I advanced I saw it was a male 

 tuft. Dropped him dead; a long shot. No more fowl 

 seen to-day ; total, five head. 



