278 WILD SPORTS OF THE HIGHLANDS. [cuap. xxxvi. 
Passing over a long tract of furzeand broom, I killed a couple 
of hares, and drove some partridges off down to windward ; but 
as they flew quite out of the direction in which I meant to shoot, 
I did not followthem. My pointer stood immediately on getting 
into an extensive piece of grazing-ground; his head high up 
showed me that the birds were at some distance. He drew on 
for some two or three hundred yards, when two large covies of 
partridges rose, and, unable to face the wind, drifted back over 
my head like leaves. Bang, bang—and a brace of them fell dead 
sixty yards behind me, though shot when nearly over my 
head, and killed at once, I marked down the rest, and got a brace 
more, when they went straight away, as if determined to make 
their next resting-place somewhere about Norway. But my line 
was to windward still, in order to hunt some ground where there 
was a chance (though. a bad one) of a brace or so of grouse. 
Picking up a snipe or two, and a hare, I worked up hill against 
the wind along a tract of wild heather and pasture-ground. In 
the midst of this was a small peat-bog, and, when passing it, I 
flushed a brace of mallards, who, after drifting about and trying 
to make their way to the sea, turned and alighted in a swampy 
piece of ground, where there were some small pools. By their 
manner I was sure that they had some companions where they 
alighted, so desiring the man who accompanied me to hold the 
pointer, I tried to stalk unperceived to the spot where they were, 
allowing my old retriever (who was well accustomed to duck- 
shooting) to accompany me. I had got to within a hundred 
yards, when an old mallard, whom I had not seen, rose at my 
feet out of a pool, and quacked an alarm that made six more rise 
out of shot of me. I avenged myself, however, on him, bring- 
ing him down quite dead at a considerable distance. Several 
pairs of ducks rose at the report, and all went off to the sea. 
I had scarcely commenced hunting again with the pointer, 
when he stood at something close to his nose, stopping dead short 
in the midst of his gallop. I walked up, expecting a jacksnipe ; 
when, out of a small hollow, or rather hole in the heather, rose 
eight grouse. They flew wild, but I killed one with my first 
barrel, and two with the second—the wind blowing them up 
into a heap just as I pulled the trigger: the rest flew over a 
height not far up, right in the eye of the wind. I knew the 
