The American Ampler. 



A volunteer corps was at once organized 

 to assist in the launch, and a procession, 

 with the canoe ahead, like a corpse at a 

 funeral, with the mourners bring-ing- up 

 the rear carrying sundry guns, bundles, 

 blankets, frying pans, etc. 



The start was soon made. The ship's 

 company consisted of the doctor, Jose 

 and myself. Jose was a clean-limbed 

 savage of dusky hue ; some twenty sum- 

 mers had passed o'er his head. He 

 would work hard if he could be per- 

 suaded that it was play. He had 

 shipped for the voyage as guide, cook, 

 packer and retriever, in consideration 

 of una pesta daria y la comida (25 cents 

 Mexican money a day and grub). 



The ditch was four feet wide and the 

 canoe three and one-half, giving ample 

 sea room for our craft. The drinking 

 cattle kindly lifted their heads from the 

 ditch to let us pass, musing in bovine 

 wonder at what manner of turtle it was 

 that invaded their haunts, swimming 

 on its back, with three heads and two 

 flippers. 



A mile of ditch and then the swamp, 

 cut in all directions with little water 

 courses. As we entered, a flock of 

 cuervillos came flying over. These are 

 a bird like a large plover, in deep 

 mourning, w^hose spindle legs and 

 crooked neck give them the appearance 

 of being in an advanced stage of con- 

 sumption. Just as the}^ bunched to 

 light, about forty yards distant, I let 

 go both barrels of m}- ten bore, and, 

 for a few seconds there was a shower 

 of ebony birds. " Ho there ! Yoii Indian 

 savage ; precipitate yourself in the mud 

 and collect the quarry." Jose went 

 overboard with a splash, and wallowed 

 through the biillrushes to the scene of 

 the massacre, presently returning with 

 a back load of spindle shanked waders. 

 He then went after the wounded, and, 



talk about fun; now perched on a hum- 

 mock for a leap, the next moment sub- 

 merged in the slimy mire, floundering 

 behind a flapping bird with a game leg 

 or a broken w4ng, encouraged by our 

 shouts and aided by our advice, he was 

 a retriever well worthy of the name. 

 Four more cuervillos fell to our bag. 

 We scraped him off with a shingle and 

 rubbed him down with a bullrush 

 before allowing him to re-enter the 

 canoe. 



It is now high noon, as the sun and 

 our appetites advised us. "Let's go 

 ashore, make a camp, broil a bird, and 

 take a rest. " 



"Jose, are cuervillos good to eat?" 

 " Pues seiior segun el hambre que 

 tanga vino." (That depends on how 

 hungry you are, sir). We soon found 

 that we were not hungry enoiigh. Our 

 consciences, however, w^ould not allow 

 us to throw them away, so we compro- 

 mised by presenting them to a passing- 

 Indian, together with fifty cents (coin 

 of the realm), in consideration of his 

 promise to feed them to his starving 

 family. 



The proper way to shoot ducks is 

 to stalk them. The shooter that 

 hides behind the blind and kills the 

 unsuspecting bird as it flies by, is 

 an assassin. What matters it whether 

 it be a biped clad in feathers or 

 clothed in corduroy that he lays in 

 wait for. The principle is the same. 

 Deer stalking is fine ; duck stalking 

 is finer. In the one, you tramp over 

 hill and dale with aching shoulders 

 from the gun and blistered feet from 

 the boots. In the other, you loll 

 in your canoe, rocked by the gentle 

 waves while the Indian at the stern 

 does the work, stealing through nar- 

 row channels and across open water to 

 the feeding grounds of the quarry, and 



