About five in the evening we arrived at the mouth of the river, and had generally to wait some time there to allow the wind, which always got up in the evenings, to subside, as the lake was too rough to cross while it was blowing. Even when we did cross, two hours later, the waves kept breaking into the boat, and we had to set to work to bale the water out. I don’t think I shall ever forget the first time I saw the lake. We did not arrive till late, and the moon was high up in the heavens, shedding a glorious silvery light on the broad expanse of waters, and making the islands, each one a small mountain in itself, appear shadowy and far off. Far above our heads’ flew strings of wild geese going off to feed, and uttering their strange hoarse cry as they flew. Here and there as our boat shot past some sheltered nook or tiny islet two or three ducks would paddle out, scenting danger, and curious water-birds would rise from the swampy ground and noiselessly disappear in the far distance. But the stillness on all around us, and the beautiful lake, whose surface the now dying wind still gently ruffled, had a great effect upon one’s imagination, and I was quite sorry when we shot through a narrow creek and came suddenly upon the camp. Our tents were pitched on one of the largest and most beautiful islands, under a big tree, and at the end of a long village, which was built picturesquely on the shore of the lake. The villagers and our servants came down to help us out of our boats with torches and the inevitable bugler, who played us up to our tent in grand style. We were very glad to get in and find an excellent dinner awaiting us, and still more pleased to get to bed. Every day we used to start out at six in the morning, before the mist had cleared—I in one boat, and my husband in another—and creep round the little islands after duck, and we generally returned with a large bag. In two days once my husband got eighty-two ducks and thirty geese. He did great execution with an eight-bore he had, and generally knocked over half a dozen or so at a time with it. Duck-shooting is very exciting, and hunting wounded birds a lengthy operation. They let you come quite close to them, and you think you have got them safely, when they suddenly dive under your boat and appear again yards off; and by the time you have turned your boat and gone after them again they are still farther away. I never liked it when we had caught them and they used to be consigned to my husband’s boat, as I could not bear to see them killed. Sometimes they were so tame that we let them alone, as it seemed butchery to shoot them.