Ted was waiting for them to gather together more before he fired.
Now they are in closer formation and Ted slightly elevates his gun, and, with his hand ready to strike the trigger, gives a loud whistle. Up spring a cloud of widgeon and the half hundred or so grey duck that were amongst them, but they hardly clear the mud when Ted’s gun booms forth. The shot charge at that distance, between seventy and eighty yards, opened beautifully and cut a lane through the black mass; birds dropped like hail on to the spot where they had but just risen from feeding, as the shot was perfectly timed, only allowing the flock to get on the wing and with no time to rise or spread themselves out. Making vigorous use of the paddles we soon had the punt up against the mud bank and proceeded to gather the slain; the mud, without the cumbersome mud-boards on, would just bear us, and I got out with the 10-bore and stopped two or three very lively “cripples” that were fast making good their escape towards the creeks. Ted knocked over one or two others that were swimming around with wings broken, with a punting pole, and as soon as these were disposed of we began to turn our attention to the main lot of dead or nearly so, strewn over the foreshore.
Ted was delighted and so was I when we realised what a pretty shot he had made, and we forgot the numbing cold that we had so grumbled at a short time before, and thought our sport worth all the discomfort. We picked up seven mallard and nineteen widgeon altogether, or twenty-six head as the result of the shot, and no doubt there would be some others in the flock hit very hard having strength to fly some distance but would afterwards drop. These were out of count, but we were well satisfied, and felt compensated for many previous failures, when, after laboriously setting up to birds we had the mortification of seeing them rise just as we were on the point of getting within range.
This time it had “come off” and our show of fine plump mallard and widgeon made quite a sensation when we returned to the village that evening.
Herbert Sharp.
Cricket Notions.
There is a movement afoot to present a testimonial to Mr. S. M. J. Woods upon his retirement from the captaincy of the Somerset County Cricket Club, and it is to be hoped that a very substantial compliment will be paid to this great athlete.
Certainly the debt which his county owes to him is immeasurable, for ever since he first played for Somerset, whilst still a school-boy at Brighton College, he has been the mainstay of the team, and it is scarcely too much to say that without “Sam” Woods, Somerset could never have for even a brief season escaped from mediocrity.
His first appearance for his county was in 1887 against Warwickshire upon a new and rough wicket at Birmingham, which caused his very fast bowling to create quite a sensation, and Mr. Woods will always remember the game, from the fact that for the first, and probably only, time in his life he failed to score a run in either innings. During his four years at Cambridge he was a perfect terror to Oxonians, and his side proved thrice victorious, the other game being drawn, through rain. The combination of Mr. Woods bowling and Mr. Gregor MacGregor keeping wicket was an exceptional feature for a ’Varsity team, and one that was frequently seen also to great advantage for the Gentlemen against the Players. Mr. Woods, by right of birth, played for Australia against England in a memorable match at Lord’s in 1890, when his side won a fighting match on a sticky wicket, and upon other occasions his compatriots were only too anxious to seek his assistance. Indeed, the range of Mr. Woods’ cricket career is probably the widest of any man. He has played for Australia, for Brighton College and Cambridge, Somerset, the Gentlemen, the South, the West, and in every other sort of match; whilst he has twice visited America and Canada, and toured in the West Indies and South Africa. A winter or two ago, moreover, he was in his native country and taking part in some Australian cricket.