The Shoveler 
65 
A brace of them were once nearly the cause of serious disaster to one of 
my friends, as will be seen from the following narrative — useful, perhaps, to 
some of my readers as showing how bog-shooting may not always be a safe 
and pleasurable amusement. 
In 1889 Mr. (now Captain) Murray and myself set out early one October 
morning from the barracks at Maryhill, Glasgow, to discover the whereabouts 
of a certain mire, known as the Apostle Marsh, which was supposed to be 
within a few minutes' walk of the barracks, and on the outskirts of the town. 
We had visions of displaying five or six couple of snipe before the eyes of 
other envious subalterns as they came yawning down to breakfast ; and, being 
called by the guard at 4 a.m., we set off along the canal, occasionally holding 
our noses to keep out the poisonous effluvia which arises from all waters con- 
nected with that otherwise attractive city. The marsh did not look promising ; 
it was entirely surrounded by reeking and roaring furnaces, now, even at this 
early hour, in full blast. One could hardly believe that any of those free, 
peace-loving birds of the air could find a refuge in such a pestilential and 
noisy spot, but there they were. We had just walked round the marsh, having 
seen nothing in the shape of bird-life, when along the edge of a small open 
sheet of water in the centre of the quagmire I caught sight of a little wave 
made by some water-fowl. Now, a water-hen and a duck leave different sorts 
of ' streak ' in the water behind them as they swim, and I felt sure that this 
was no water-hen ; so, retiring behind a bit of hedge that gave cover, I fired 
my gun off, well knowing that if duck were there they would rise, and seeing 
no one about would soon pitch again. This was exactly what happened. On 
pressing the trigger up rose a pair of Shovelers from the middle of the marsh, 
far out of shot, and after swinging round once they alighted again in a boggy 
spot that I thought would at any rate be well within gunshot. Well, to make 
the story short, we at once attacked, wading into the stinking slime, and when 
it had reached our knees, up rose the two birds within twenty-five yards, and 
each fell dead at once to the simultaneous discharge of our guns. We laughed 
now ; for though we were very, very dirty, we had something to show for our 
K 
