“And now, Tom, what are you after?” said I, as soon as we were ten yards from the lighter.
“A’ter, Jacob, going to have a little shooting on Wimbledon Common; but father can’t bear to see a gun in my hand, because I once shot my old mother. I did pepper her, sure enough; her old flannel petticoat was full of shot, but it was so thick that it saved her. Are you anything of a shot?”
“Never fired a gun in my life.”
“Well, then, we’ll fire in turns, and toss up, if you like, for first shot.”
We landed, carried the sculls up to the public-house, and left the bottle to be filled, and then, with Tommy bounding before us, and throwing about his bushy tail with delight, ascended Putney Hill, and arrived at the Green Man public-house, at the corner of Wimbledon Common. “I wonder where green men are to be found?” observed Tom, laughing; “I suppose they live in the same country with the blue dogs my father speaks about sometimes. Now, then, its time to load.”
The bowl of a tobacco pipe, full of powder, was then inserted, with an equal dose of shot, and all being ready we were soon among the furze. A half penny decided it was my first shot, and fate further decided that a water-wagtail should be the mark. I took good aim, as I thought, at least I took sufficient time, for I followed him with the muzzle of the gun for three or four minutes at least, as he ran to and fro; at last I fired. Tommy barked with delight, and the bird flew away. “I think I must have hit it,” said I; “I saw it wag its tail.”
“More proof of a miss than a hit,” replied Tom. “Had you hit it he’d never have wagged his tail again.”
“Never mind,” said I, “better luck next time.”
Tom then knocked a blackbird off a furze bush, and loading the gun, handed it to me. I was more successful than before; a cock sparrow, three yards distant, yielded to the prowess of my arm, and I never felt more happy in my life than in this first successful attempt at murder.
Gaily did we trudge over the common, sometimes falling in with gravel-pits half full of water, at others bogs and swampy plains, which obliged us to make a circuit. The gun was fired again and again; but our game-bag did not fill very fast. However, if we were not quite so well pleased when we missed as when we hit, Tommy was, every shot being followed up with a dozen bounds, and half a minute’s barking. At last we began to feel tired, and agreed to repose a while in a cluster of furze bushes. We sat down, pulled out our game, and spread it in a row before us. It consisted of two sparrows, one greenfinch, one blackbird, and three tomtits. All of a sudden we heard a rustling in the furze, and then a loud squeal. It was the dog, who, scenting something, had forced its way into the bush, and had caught a hare, which having been wounded in the loins by some other sportsman, had dragged itself there to die. In a minute we had taken possession of it, much to the annoyance of Tommy, who seemed to consider that there was no co-partnership in the concern, and would not surrender his prize until after sundry admonitory kicks. When we had fairly beaten him off we were in an ecstasy of delight. We laid the animal out between us, and were admiring it from the ear to the tip of his tail, when we were suddenly saluted with a voice close to us. “Oh, you blam’d young poachers, so I’ve caught you, have I?” We looked up, and beheld the common-keeper. “Come—come along with me; we’ve a nice clink at Wandsworth to lock you up in. I’ve been looking a’rter you some time. Hand your gun here.”