Dick, when he found anything, barked loudly; and this drew attention to the fact that there was game in that quarter.  Sometimes, of course, he drove the game away; at others he drove it towards me.  At all events he went to places where I never could have gone.  On one occasion I heard a great noise among some long reeds near a lake were I was duck shooting—­Dick barking, some other animal making a strange noise.  This went on so long that at last I went to see what was the matter.  After much trouble I got into the reeds and approached the noise, which was momentarily getting worse.  On coming close I found an animal about Dick’s size standing on its hind legs and fighting with its fore paws, Dick covered with blood, fighting hard and watching an opportunity to close with his enemy.  On my approach the animal dropped on to fore paws and endeavoured to escape, on which Dick jumped on to him, thus making it very difficult for me to use my gun.  However, at last, by watching my opportunity, I fired a shot which disposed of the fighting powers of the beast, which turned out to be a very large badger.  I never could understand what he was doing so far away from his place of refuge.  Was he after ducks, or what?  The animal was at least a quarter of a mile away from dry land, being in the middle of a marsh, overgrown with reeds.  Another of Mr. Dick’s adventures ended more unfortunately for him, as I fear he never got over its effects.  I again, as on the last occasion, heard him evidently furiously engaged with something in a thick wood.  After crawling on my hands and knees for some time, I found Dick and two other of my spaniels in furious combat with an enormous wild cat, who when I came up was holding her own against the dogs.  The beast got her back against a tree, and was fighting all three dogs, keeping them at a respectful distance.  My man seized a piece of wood, more like a little tree than a stick, and made a blow at the cat, which blow unfortunately came down with great force on Dick’s head.  The poor dog lay senseless for some time, and then crawled away, seeming to say, ‘I’ll have nothing more to do with you.’  He never recovered that blow, and became quite a different dog, dying some months afterwards.

The feathered game shooting is very good in the neighbourhood of Constantinople.  Pheasants, though rare, may be obtained five or six in a day.  I have killed fifteen to my own gun, and with a party of three we bagged sixty-six in three days.

Snipe shooting is also very good.  An idea of the bags that may be made will be seen when I say that at Besika Bay, close to the Dardanelles, I killed in three days three hundred and three snipe, an average of one hundred and one a day.  When there is snow lying on the hills there are plenty of cock; myself and two friends having killed in three days two hundred and ninety-eight long bills.