wildfowl-shooting in the Marisma 109 



turn out and by the dim light of a hmtern embark in a cajoit 

 (punt), serenaded by the croaks and gabbling of flamingoes 

 somewhere out in the dark waters. My wild companion, Batata, 

 kneeling in the bows and grasping a punt-pole in either hand, 

 bends to his work, and away we glide — into the unknown. 



A weird feeling it is squatting thus at water-level and 

 watching the wavelets dance by or dash over our two -inch 

 free-board. We make but three miles an hour, yet seem to 

 Hy past half-seen water-plants. A myriad stars are reflected on 

 the still surface ahead, and it is by a single great Luccro (planet) 

 that our pilot is now steering his course. 



Batata presently remarks that we have "arrived." One 

 takes his word for this. Still that verb does conditionally imply 

 some place or spot of arrival. Here there was none — none, 

 at least, that could be differentiated from any other point or spot 

 in many circumaml)ient leagues. But this was not an hour 

 for philological disquisition, so we mentally decide that we 

 have reached "nowhere." A few hours later when daylight 

 discovers our environment, that negation appears sufticiently 

 proved. There are visible certain objects on the distant horizon. 

 One — that behind us — proves to be the roof of the choza 

 wherein we had spent the night — " hull-down " to the eastward. 

 The others a lengthened scrutiny with prism-binoculars shows 

 to be a trio of wild camels feeding knee-deep in water. Now 

 where you see such signs you may conclude you are nowhere. 



We skip a few hours, since we have no intention of inflicting 

 on the reader the details of a morning's flight-shooting. Suffice 

 that at 9 a.m. B. reappears poling up in his punt, the spoils 

 are collected (forty-nine in all, mostly wigeon and teal, with a 

 few pintail and shoveler and one couple of gad wall), and the 

 plan for the day discussed. To remain where we were (as this 

 lucio had yesterday attracted a fairly continuous flight of ducks) 

 had been our original idea. But a shift of the wind had rendered 

 a second lucio, distant two miles, a more favourable resort 

 for to-day, and thither accordingly we set out. Here a new 

 puesto is promptly prepared and the forty-nine decoys deftly set 

 out, each supported by a supple wand stuck in the mud below. 

 Hardly had these preparations been completed, than the inter- 

 mittent (or secondary) flight had commenced, file after file of 

 ducks heading up from distant space, wheeling over or dashing 



