MY FIRST SHOOT 33 
it was a glorious morning, and everyone seemed in 
good humour. I quickly put the guns together, 
shouldered a burden of cartridge-bags, and off we 
went. 
For the first beat we spread out over a big field 
consisting mostly of stubble, the right-hand gun 
forward under a long belt of beeches, which was 
the boundary. The object was to push the birds 
—if there were any—into a very long narrow strip 
of ripening rye-grass, on the far side of a high 
hedge. This grass was the only piece of holding 
cover; still, it provided not only cover, but food 
for the birds, which therefore took to it the more 
readily. I cannot explain how great was my relief 
when the first covey was flushed, almost at the feet 
of the right-hand outside gun. The birds probably 
were dusting on the margin of the belt. Only one 
bird was bagged. We saw one good covey and 
two small lots on all that wide field, probably over 
sixty acres. If I did not feel disappointed, I very 
nearly did. Had we seen another covey or two, 
it would not have been so bad, even if they had 
risen miles out of shot. All I knew for certain 
was that my fate hung on that strip of rye-grass. 
But, as it turned out, hundreds of birds must 
have run on through the hedge into the grass, or 
have been there before we began shooting. The 
strip was only wide enough for one beat, but it 
must have been a third of a mile long, so that 
3 
