During wet winters in Spain, when marismas and submerged marshes form miniature seas, the customary methods of wildfowling are no longer of any avail. Opportunities of employing the cabresto are few and far between: while flight-shooting on an area indefinitely extended is profitless and uncertain to the last degree. But the marismas, with their myriads of winter wildfowl, appeared to offer, during such seasons, an exceptional—indeed an ideal field for the use of the gunning-punt, and stanchion-gun.

During the wet winter of 1887-8, when we were constrained helplessly to contemplate floating flotillas, all, in effect, inaccessible to our guns—these tantalizing spectacles urged us to seek "some new thing." A gunning-punt with its artillery appeared to be the one thing needed, and with it, we felt confident that from fifty to a hundred duck might often be secured at a shot. Accordingly, in the autumn of that year (1888), we sent out from England boat, gun, and gear—in short, the complete equipment for "the wildfowler afloat."

The little craft duly reached the Guadalquivir in September; but here an unexpected difficulty arose. The Spanish custom-house took alarm. True, the little vessel was an entire novelty and an innovation; even in the Millwall Docks she had created some surprise, and here, she was incomprehensible. No such vessel had ever before floated on Spanish waters, and the official mind took time to consider. That oracle, after several weeks of cogitation, ordered the removal of the tiny craft from the obscure port of Bonanza to the full light of the custom-house at Seville. Here, after many more weeks of delay, it was solemnly declared that that white-painted six-foot barrel was "an arm of war"; that "the combination of boat and gun savoured of the mechanism of war"; and, lastly, that "the boat could not be permitted to pass the Customs until it had been registered at the Admiralty as a ship of war," thus forming an integral part of the Imperial navy of Spain.

We were informed, in reply to a respectful protest, that a high official of the Admiralty at Madrid—the Deputy Chief Constructor, we think, was his title—would "shortly" be visiting the arsenal at San Fernando, where a new war-ship was nearly ready for launching, and that he would then take the opportunity of inspecting our impounded gunboat at Seville.

The measurements of this "British Armada" were: length over all, 22 feet, breadth of beam, 3 feet 6 inches, by 9 inches depth of hold; her armament a gun of eighty pounds weight, throwing sixteen ounces of shot. Not a very formidable vessel, yet a hostile fleet off Malaga would hardly have aroused more official fuss.

Six or seven months elapsed before these difficulties were smoothed away, as difficulties in Spain, or elsewhere, do dissolve when prudently and properly treated; but the wildfowling season was over, the ducks had disappeared, ere the "Boadicea" was released from official durance and allowed to proceed to the scene of action.

The first obstacle was now surmounted, but a second, and more insuperable difficulty arose, one which forms the real "pith" of the present chapter. From the first our local wildfowlers reported badly of the new craft; her trial cruises were not satisfactory, for, while the pateros experienced no difficulty in approaching the less wary birds, such as flamingoes, herons, and the like, yet ducks of no sort could be outmanoeuvred; at any rate not on the open waters. On the return of the ducks in autumn following, the fowlers still reported that they found the large packs wholly inaccessible, nor could they secure more than a paltry half-dozen or so at a shot.

These reports, however, did not disturb us greatly; we attributed the failure of the pateros to lack of experience and technical knowledge in handling the "Boadicea"; for, despite their skill in fowling, the art of working a big gun afloat was one of which they could know nothing. It was, therefore, with unabated confidence that the writer embarked on board the trim, light craft, and shoved off on his first Spanish punt-gunning campaign.

An exhilarating prospect lay before us; nowhere in British seas could such aggregations of wildfowl be seen, nor so favourable a spot be found: there was no tide or current to fight against, no deeps where one loses bottom, no hidden shoals nor shifting sand-banks to bar one's course; and, as too often happens in our tidal waters at home, to snatch success from one's grasp in the very moment of its realization.

No; here we had smooth shallow water, uniform in depth, practically stagnant, and with a firm level bed of mud. And everywhere on its surface, and in the clear atmosphere above, floated or flew those wild and graceful forms so dear to a fowler's eye—the duck-tribe in endless variety. Half a mile away, the opposite shores of the sound, the Lucio de los Caballeros, were dark with multitudes of duck: fresh files kept streaming in to alight among their fellows, and at intervals the roar of wings, as some bird of prey put their battalions in motion, resounded like the rumble of thunder. Close overhead hovered graceful Little Gulls (Larus minutus), adults whose dark under-wing contrasted with the snowy breast, others in the marbled plumage of immaturity. As the punt shot forward, hidden amidst islanded clumps of rush and sedge, we passed, almost within arm's-length, the weird-looking grebes and singular long-legged stilts in every posture of repose and security—more rarely in those of suspicion. Rather farther away waded half a dozen spoonbills, revolving on their axis at each forward step in their peculiar fashion; a purple heron or two, and sedate storks seeking a feast of frogs. A pack of avocets swept by in chattering flight: ruffs and redshanks, green sandpipers, and others of that class, with whole troops of plovers, splashed and preened in the shallows. All these we passed silently by. Even a "bunch" of the beautiful garganey teal would not tempt us this morning, for ambition soared high.

Gradually we stole round the flank of the ducks—a long way off, for it was necessary to save the wind and get to leeward. In this we succeeded, and there now only remained between us and the black streak that represented thousands of keen eyes, some 300 yards of open water: surely no very formidable obstacle with a well-handled craft. So we thought, and so a fair experience of ducks and their ways at home justified us in thinking. Alas! for misplaced confidence: hardly had our bows shot clear of the last sheltering fringe of rush than the nearer birds began to rise, and spread the alarm through the deep ranks beyond. Quickly the danger-signal was communicated to the furthest outposts: the roar of wings increased, and in a few seconds the whole mass lifted off the water as one might lift a carpet by the corner—not a living thing remained afloat, while the heavens grew dark with quivering pinions and gyrating clouds, and resonant with a babel of bird-music.

Thus ended the first attempt in conspicuous failure; and a second, third, and fourth shared a like fate: we were never within measurable distance of succeeding, and began to realize that what our native fowlers had reported was only too near the truth. It is fair to add that Vasquez's handling of the punt, after a few preliminary trials, left little to be desired; his aptitude for the new work was surprising. He held a capital course, steered accurately to signal, and got a "way" on the boat that would have satisfied Hawker.

The very numbers of the ducks proved, to some extent, a safeguard; the smaller packs could occasionally be outmanoeuvred under cover of some reed-bed—but this only with thirties, forties, or fifties; the area covered by the larger bodies outflanked even the most extensive juncales. On the open water we have never yet succeeded (though we have tried a hundred times) to approach these main armies of duck, and believe now that it cannot be done. Why this should be so is another question, and a curious one. The nature of the duck-tribe is the same in Spain as in England: wherever they are found they are among the wildest and most wary of birds. Here, however, we had them in numbers surpassing anything we have seen on British waters, and frequenting, too, a region which seemed pre-eminently adapted for the use of punt and big gun. Yet we found them, on the desolate Spanish marismas, many-fold more inaccessible to a punt than on the harassed and heavily-shot harbours of England. The only reason we can suggest is that, these waters never being traversed by boats of any kind, the fowl are inclined to avoid a gunning-punt as readily as they do a human being.[73]

The impossibility of obtaining a good shot by fair means being demonstrated, as a final resource we laid up the punt among the sedges, at a point where the fowl were wont to congregate. Here, at the end of two hours, we had about a thousand birds before the gun: wigeon, shovelers, and a few garganey, all mixed, with about a score of pintails and three or four gadwall; but, whether purposely or by accident, they kept at very long range from our sedgy shelter, and when at last, owing to a leaky seam and evening coming on, we were obliged to risk a long shot, only some six or eight duck were secured.

Plate LI. "A HUNDRED AT A SHOT—NOW OR NEVER." Page 400.
Plate LI. "A HUNDRED AT A SHOT—NOW OR NEVER." Page 400.

"THE BITER AND THE BIT."
"THE BITER AND THE BIT."

To complete this sketch of Spanish punt-gunning, we will briefly narrate the incidents of two other days' sport, as follows:—February 28th. Started at daybreak, taking both the punt and a cabresto pony. The first shot was at eleven teal, of which eight fell to the two barrels (12-bore); the second shot realized seven more teal and a marsh-harrier. The latter capture afforded rather a curious incident: six teal lay dead, the seventh, being a lively cripple (which could fly some distance), I sent Vergara after him in the punt, while we proceeded along-shore with the pony. A large hawk, however, had at once "spotted" the cripple, and an exciting chase ensued—the hawk making stoop after stoop, the teal as often escaping by diving. But the dives grew shorter and shorter, and at last we observed that the bird of prey had prevailed, for he remained suspended betwixt wind and water and was evidently making good his hold. Then with heavy flight he bore his burden straight towards where we crouched, watching, behind the pony, and settled on the shore. Him we then approached in the customary way, and as the fierce-looking aguilucho stood on his victim, crushing out what remained of life, a charge of No. 4 secured both the biter and the bit.

Harriers are so numerous in the open marisma that four or five may often be seen at once, slowly drifting about over the waste, and marvellous is the speed with which they detect a disabled fowl. With a lively cripple, it is often a race between the human and the feathered raptor for rights of possession, and in flight-shooting the wounded are carried off under one's very eyes.

After another cabresto-shot, which added ten wigeon to the bag, we reached the broad Arroyo de la Madre, which was "paved" with wildfowl in numbers that we cannot estimate. Mere numerals convey nothing—unless it be a suspicion of exaggeration—and any other attempt would only involve the use of inadmissible superlatives. Suffice to say that for leagues that broad water was a living carpet of birds. We now entrusted our fortunes to the "Boadicea" and her big gun. The boat lay near the junction of a creek with the main channel; the nearer water was dotted with teal, garganey, and wigeon; a little further off, the white livery of the shovelers was conspicuous, and beyond again, with the glasses, we could distinguish, among acres of wigeon, a sprinkling of pintails, gadwall, and a few white-eyed pochard and mallard. On the slob-land in front, fed nine spoonbills; a small herd of flamingoes on the left, and near them a grey line of geese, whose sonorous clamour was distinguishable above the medley of bird-notes. Ducks, however, of all kinds are silent enough by day.

Once more the punt proved a failure. No sooner had she emerged from the cover of the armajos (samphire), than the nearer teal and wigeon began swimming out, scattering away to right and left in lines all radiating from the focus of alarm. Ere anything like fair range was reached, not a single solid point presented itself to our aim. Opportunities there were to kill, say, a dozen or more, but these paltry chances were declined without second thought. In the result, some two or three hours' careful work—"flattened" on our chests all the time—were not rewarded by a single shot from the big gun.

Towards evening we observed flights of duck—chiefly wigeon—pouring in constant streams towards some low mud-islets which afforded cover for approach. Behind these we lay for an hour, awaiting the gloaming, but the short southern twilight proved a serious obstacle. In the few minutes occupied in "shoving out" from our shelter towards the floating phalanxes in front (we had awaited the last possible moment) the light had disappeared, and it became impossible to distinguish objects on the water, though those in air were yet clear enough. There were, we knew, hundreds of ducks before the gun; but the shot—like nine-tenths of those fired at haphazard—was a failure. Fifteen wigeon and two pintails lay dead; the cripples, if any, it was impossible to recover in the gloom; and we sadly started to "pole" the long leagues homewards, reflecting on the singular uncertainty of sports mundane.

This day thus realized 42 ducks—17 to the punt and 25 to the cabresto: though, had we followed the latter system alone, the total would have been much heavier, while every available chance was given to the punt-gun, which never, until after dark, produced a feather.

As a contrast we will briefly outline the results of our next day's shooting, employing the trained pony alone. The artillery used was a single 4-bore and a double 12: six shots were fired, and the net result was 82 duck, besides minor spoils. The day was perhaps more favourable, since, March having now commenced, the fowl were congregating into those closely-packed corros, or hordes, which mark the preliminary stage to departure. Thus, one broadside to-day realized 32 wigeon, and another should have done better, but for a "hang-fire." Still there was nothing exceptional about the day's results. We have often much exceeded the total named, but select this particular day merely because it followed in immediate sequence to that last described.[74]

Since writing the above, the experience of two more winters has served to confirm its correctness. From a dozen or fifteen up to twenty ducks may occasionally be secured at a shot, but the huge bodies of wildfowl on open water remain actually inaccessible, and the visions of heavy shots—80 or 100—of which we had dreamed, no longer disturb our midnight slumbers.

Plate LII. LA MARISMILLA—A SHOOTING MORNING. Page 405.
Plate LII. LA MARISMILLA—A SHOOTING MORNING. Page 405.