32 A YEAR OF SPORT AND NATURAL HISTORY. 



their feathers. Then the old man develops his generalship. I am 

 unable to see him, or make out what he is about, but a feeling of 

 uneasiness is somehow communicated to the swans, and they begin, 

 without being positively alarmed, to swim and drift over in my 

 direction. The moment for action has at last come ; the birds are 

 within thirty yards of the shore, and I dare not put off any longer. 

 Putting in fresh cartridges, I utter a low call taught me by my pre- 

 ceptor, on hearing which the birds cluster together ; then I let 

 drive with both barrels, snatch up the second gun and rush forward 

 to the water's edge. There is a scene of wild commotion, five birds 

 are left dead or dying on the loch, and their much-alarmed com- 

 panions are getting under way as quickly as may be, lashing the 

 surface of the water with their great wings, and uttering their 

 wild, sonorous cries. With the first barrel of my second gun I am 

 lucky enough to bring down a bird in the act of clearing the water ; 

 but the next shot is a longish one, and its object gets away for 

 the time being, to be picked up, however, later on. Bob now puts 

 in an appearance in huge delight, for seven swans to the shoulder 

 gun constitute a decidedly red-letter day, and we proceed with 

 " Garry's " assistance to retrieve the game. This is no easy matter, 

 as two of them are very lively cripples, and give a lot of trouble 

 before they are secured ; but at length a dose of big shot terminates 

 the struggles of the last bird, and enables " Garry " to bring it 

 ashore. There is no time to be wasted, as the short winter's day 

 is far advanced ; the birds are hidden under the peat bog until to- 

 morrow, and once more we start off across the swampy wastes for 

 the cottage, where we arrive an hour after sundown, pretty well 

 tired out, but highly pleased with our day on the Black Lochs. 



