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Updated: June 5, 2025
All this while Billy Widgeon lay snoring loudly, but by degrees, as Mark watched the stars that seemed to float over the jungle, the heavy breathing became less heavy, and by slow degrees softer and softer till it quite died away, and all was perfectly still to Mark Strong as he lay watching there.
"What do you call fowling nets?" Merrick asked. "Why, what they catches the birds in," the rustic explained. "Thousands and thousands of duck and teel and widgeon they catches at this time of year. There's miles of nets along the road great big nets like fowl runs. Ye didn't happen to see any on 'em as ye came along in the train?" "Now I come to think of it, yes," Merrick said thoughtfully.
"Tie up the boat and we'll go after widgeon." They landed and stole softly over the larger reach of marsh-land, Isabel in the lead as she knew every hole. It was ten minutes before she raised her hand and pointed to a wilted but still effective screen. Under cover of this they crawled towards a large pond on which ducks were resting but by no means asleep.
"Yes, to tie the dog in; we mustn't leave him." Widgeon went up, his mates followed one by one, for the cotton rope stood the strain, and then a big white table-cloth was dropped into the boat. "Now, Bruff, my lad, you've got to go up like a bundle. Will you go quietly, or are you going to betray us?"
"Begging your pardon, sir," said Billy Widgeon respectfully; "me and my mate here's willing, and he won't weigh heavy in the boat."
"Look at that," cried Billy Widgeon suddenly, as the light flashed out as quickly as it had appeared, the glowing scene changing instantaneously to the most intense darkness, while now a peculiar odour began to pervade the air, a suffocating hot puff coming from the land, charged with sulphurous vapours.
And the widgeon began to go up the river in great companies, all whistling, and then would suddenly wheel and all go down again.
Widgeon and their friends, who prepared to rush into the fray trusting to Heaven for speech and parliamentary law. O for a leader now! Horatius is on the bridge, scarce concealing his disdain for this puny opponent, and Lartius and Herminius not taking the trouble to arm. Mr. Bascom will crush this one with the flat of his sword. "Mr.
Our prejudice against selling game does not exist in Europe, and this same ornithologist told me he often shot 200 ducks in a day at his shooting-box, sending to the market what he could not use himself. On November 1, 1910, he shot 82 ducks, and on November 8, 103, chiefly widgeon and teal." An "ornithologist" indeed! A "sportsman" also, is he not?
Mark said no more, but trudged on, and struggled through the trees, with the ground growing higher and higher, till at last they came upon a sight which made Billy Widgeon try to throw up his cap; but he only struck it against a bough, and then made a dash forward in the direction of something which quite for the moment overmastered all his feelings of dread.
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