UFE HISTORIES OF NORTH AMERICAN WILD FOWL 139 



place in the line, anchor our several strings of wooden decoys, and 

 then anchor our dorj'^ within easy gunshot of the nearest decoys, 

 which if correctly placed are the smallest and most life-like; the 

 largest decoys are merely to attract the birds from long distances. 

 Perhaps before our decoys are set we have seen a few shadowy forms 

 flitting past us in the gloom, or heard the whistle of their wings in 

 the dark, the beginning of the morning flight ; occasionally the flash 

 of a gun is seen along the line and the day's sport has begun. As 

 the gray of early dawn creeps upward from the sea we can clearly 

 distinguish the long line of boats, perhaps a dozen or fifteen, an- 

 chored at regular intervals, a little less than two gunshots apart so 

 that birds can not slip through the line, and extending for several 

 miles offshore, an effective barrier to passing flocks. Every eye is 

 turned northward, looking up the coast and straining to discover 

 the minute specks in the distance, as the first flock appears several 

 miles away. " Nor'ard," the warning signal is passed along the 

 line, as some keen eye has made the longed-for discovery, and every 

 gunner crouches in his boat to watch and wait and hope for a shot. 

 Soon we can make them out, an irregular, wavering bunch of black 

 specks, close to the water and well inshore. The boom of distant 

 guns tells us that other gunners up the coast have seen them and 

 perhaps taken their toll. On they come, now strung out in a long 

 line headed straight for us, big black birds with flashing white wing 

 patches, " bull white wings," as the males of this species are called ; 

 we shall surely get a shot. But no, they have seen us and swerved, 

 flying along the line seaward; a shot from the next boat drops a 

 single bird and they pass through the line beyond, dropping two 

 more of their number. A bunch of young surf scoters, "gray coots," 

 is headed for the next boat, and we try to attract their attention 

 by imitating the whistling of their wings; they turn and swing in 

 over our decoys, dropping their feet and preparing to alight; four 

 barrels are fired in quick succession and three of them drop in the 

 water. Two of them will die as they are lying on their backs with feet 

 kicking the air, but the other has its head up and is swimming 

 away. We throw over our anchor buoy and give chase, but cripples 

 are hard to hit in the water and we have a long pull and plenty of 

 shooting before we land him. Meantime we have missed a magni- 

 cent shot at a large flock of " skunk heads," surf scoters, which 

 circled over our decoys and escaped through the gap, and on our 

 return we find only one of our " dead " birds. 



A temporary lull in the flight gives us a chance to rest and admire 

 the beauty of the scene around us ; the delicate blush of dawn deepens 

 and brightens as the gorgeous hues of sunrise spread from the eastern 

 horizon over the broad expanse of sky and sea, a rapidly changing 



