^4 WATER FOWL. 



swing- to one side or the other, but immediately after re- 

 turn and continue on their original direct route. If they 

 see anything unusual in their line of flight the leader im- 

 mediately slightly alters his course, closely followed in 

 regular order by the birds that succeed him. When a 

 Swan is killed in the air, he doubles all up in falling; head 

 neck, wings, and legs appearing to be mixed up together; 

 and on striking the water, unless this is very deep, the 

 weight of the bird and the impetus acquired by its fall 

 will frequently carry it quite to the bottom. I have 

 known them to fall where the water was fully three feet 

 deep, and rise to the surface covered with mud obtained 

 from the bottom. When mortally wounded in the air, 

 the Swan will usually set its wings and sail slowly toward 

 the earth or water, whichever it may liappen to reach. 



The song of the dying Swan has been the theme of 

 poets for centuries and is generally considered one of 

 those pleasing myths that are handed down through the 

 ages. I had killed many Swan and never heard aught 

 from them at any time, save the familiar notes that reach 

 the ears of everyone in their vicinity. But once, when 

 shooting in Currituck Sound over water belonging to a 

 club of which I am a member, in company with a friend, 

 Mr. F. W. Leggett of New York, a number of Swan 

 passed over us at a considerable height. We fired at 

 them, and one splendid bird was mortally hurt. On re- 

 ceiving his wound the wings became fixed and he com- 

 menced at once his song, which was continued until the 

 water was reached, nearly half a mile away. I am per- 

 fectly familiar with every note a Swan is accustomed to 

 utter, but never before nor since have I heard any like 

 those sung by this stricken bird. IMost plaintive in char- 

 acter and musical in tone, it sounded at times like the soft 

 running of the notes in an octave. 



