CHAPTER XCVI 



GREAT NORTHERN DIVER 



When the March winds rustle the frayed, sere, amber reed- 

 stalks surrounding the blue waters of the broad, and each par- 

 ticular reed stands bright and clear, and the lifeless tree-forms 

 bite sharply as an etching into the hard blue sky, and the land- 

 scape is hard and metallic, the fine great northern diver makes 

 his appearance upon the cold waters, for then the fish are in 

 the finest condition for man and bird. At this hard, cold 

 season of the year, though the spring equinoxes hurl the 

 cold sea- water upon the wet sea-beaches, and the stars glitter 

 hungrily by night, and the winds howl, still, above the noise 

 of the storm, is heard the melancholy howl of the great 

 northern diver — a wild voice of defiance to the wilder voice 

 of March. And by day, if you watch him, you will see 

 him fishing for silvery roach and red-finned rudd, diving 

 into the hard blue waters, and taking fish several inches 

 in length, as you may prove by shooting him and holding 

 his spotted, heavy body before you, and shaking him, when 

 the fish will come streaming from his bill — rudd and roach. 

 I have known sixteen counted from one bird's stomach. 



But the wariest of gunners will tell how difficult he is to 

 shoot — that is, after he have "been over" a little, and got used 

 to the artful ways of the craft. When he first arrives on 

 these inland waters he is tamer and more confiding, and all 

 he asks is to be let alone — to poach. And his brother poacher 

 knows this, but he will none of him, so he shoots at him upon 

 the first fair opportunity; but should his "old Emily" miss, 

 and it sometimes does, the great bird is not going to give 



