My friend warned me of this, as the season for good sport was already passed, though only the nineteenth of November, and he did not wish me to be disappointed.
We landed on the Point about half-past four P.M., and immediately prepared for mischief, though those who had been there during the day gave us little encouragement.
The _modus operandi_ is very simply told.

You dress yourself in the most invisible colours, and, armed with a huge duck-gun--double or single, as you like--you proceed to your post, which is termed here a "blind." It is a kind of box, about four feet high, with three sides and no top; a bench is fixed inside, on which to sit and place your loading gear.
These blinds are fixed in the centre line of the long point, and about fifty yards apart.

One side of the point they call "Bay," and the other "River." The sportsmen look out carefully from side to side, and the moment any ducks are seen in motion, the cry is given "bay" or "river," according to the side from which they are approaching.

Each sportsman, the moment he "views the ducks," crouches down in his blind as much out of sight as possible, waiting till they are nearly overhead, then, rising with his murderous weapon, lets drive at them the moment they have passed.

As they usually fly very high, their thick downy coating would turn any shots directed against them, on their approach.