BIRDS OF THE CAMBRIDGE REGION. 



37 



ber, when the first Teal, Wood Ducks and Mud-hens (F/i/ua) arrived frum the 

 North, and was at its best during tlie month of October, when there were always 

 numbers of Ruddy Ducks and a variety of other water-fowl. I remember many 

 of the experiences of those years as vividly as if they had happened only yesterday. 

 It was necessary to be early on the ground, — or rather water, — and, as we lived 

 nearly a mile from the pond, we were accustomed to start an hour or more before 

 daybreak and to make our way, as best we could in the darkness, to the place 

 where our boats were kept. Sometimes we followed Vassall I^ane, stumbling 

 over its deep ruts and other inequalities of surface, but when there was a moon 

 we often struck directly across the open fields, skirting the marshy spots and pas- 

 sing the dimly outlined forms of recumbent cows sleeping under the wild apple 

 trees. There were few sounds save the drowsy creaking of crickets in the dew- 

 laden grass, the faint lisping notes of migrating Warblers or Sparrows coming 

 from the starry heavens above us, or the distant barking of alert watch dogs. 

 On reaching the boats we had first to sponge out whatever water had leaked or 

 rained into them, or perhaps to scrape off the hoar frost that had incrusted the 

 seats overnight ; then, after making sure that the guns were loaded and every- 

 thing in its proper place, we pushed off and rowed briskly across the pond. As 

 we entered the deep shadow of the trees that fringed its western shores we were 

 likely to be greeted by a gruff but friendly salutation warning us that the partic- 

 ular point or beach for which we had been steering was already occupied by one 

 or another of the young farmers living in the neighborhood. Several of these, 

 including Jacob and Frederick Hittinger, Charles E. Chenery, Howard Richard- 

 son and the Barker brothers, were keen and persistent gunners who seldom 

 missed a morning at the pond whenever there was any prospect of a flight of 

 Ducks. The first comers had the choice of positions, while by common consent 

 and for obvious reasons each man, after reaching his station, kept close in under 

 the land until the first Ducks appeared and alighted, usually sitting motionless 

 in his boat, his sculling oar in place and his gun within easy reach. During this 

 period of waiting, which often lasted for half an hour or more, our fingers fre- 

 quently became benumbed with cold, our feet like clods of ice, and our bodies 

 chilled to the bone despite the thick clothing that we wore. But these minor 

 discomforts were seldom heeded, for we were all filled with eager anticipation, 

 and those of us who took an interest in nature were also constantly diverted 

 and not infrequently thrilled by the sights and sounds that heralded and accom- 

 panied the on-coming of the dawn. 



For a time the pond remained shrouded in gloom so deep that one could 

 scarce trace the circles left by the rising fish or the silvery furrows that the 

 muskrats were forever ploughing from point to point across the shallow coves. 

 Every now and then the wailing of a Screech Owl came from some grove or 



