WILDFOWL AND WILDFOWLING 
in every direction. At 4.30 a.m. (one hour before full-sea) we had, close 
ahead, a fine company, all “ in charm ” and in fair view under the lowering 
moon. Ten minutes’ flood would have taken us right in to them; when 
sudden commotion spread across the oozes and, for no visible cause, 
every bird lifted with a roar that reverberated like distant thunder. At 
that moment we were lying flat, and absolutely motionless — ^watching 
and waiting. What earthly cause could have set them all away ? At dawn 
we knew the answer. A second gunner, whom we met afloat at daybreak, 
had, at that fateful moment, been “ setting ” to the fowl precisely one 
mile to the northward of us (distance measured on map), and, having 
unwittingly gone to windward of a bunch of wigeon unseen in the dark 
loom on his left, had given them the wind, and, through them, alarm to 
all the rest ! By this misadventure something like two miles of wigeon 
had been set on wing. Just on dawn we had a little squandered shot (all 
swimming) that realized seven. Home to breakfast by 7.30 a.m. 
On February 28 (1896), My brother W. and I left before dusk for the 
evening -flight — unaware of an impending eclipse of the moon, which was 
full that night. The result was that for three bitter hours we were 
enveloped in a Stygian darkness — constrained to lie helpless on the mud ; 
for in such conditions, unable to see a yard’s length ahead, it was danger- 
ous to attempt crossing the treacherous ooze. Not a duck moved — nor 
could we have seen a thousand, had they done so. Still the fact was curious, 
since wigeon were in great force at the time, and had flown well both the 
two preceding nights. Clearly they recognized the lunar phenomenon. 
Whether their “flight” was merely postponed, we knew not; for at 
10 p.m., when the moon re-emerged from the penumbra, we at once set 
out for home — and dinner. It may, of course, be urged that we should have 
known of the coming eclipse; but no newspapers exist within fifty miles, 
and besides, when in full swing of fowling work, one has not time to 
read newspapers. 
The above extracts being expressly selected as illustrative of the pre- 
carious nature of this pursuit — its dependence on the vagaries of wind, 
wave, and tide — may induce an unduly disheartening impression. An 
entry of the opposite kind may therefore be added by way of contrast : 
January 26. Perfect fowling weather since the 15th. A grand show of 
geese, and a glorious week’s sport afloat. Inland the country is snowclad, 
403 
