DA YS ON THE ILLINOIS. lOQ 



dark line of blue-bills pouring out of what is left 

 of the night? 



The flight generally increases with every new 

 beam of light that struggles through the misty 

 morning. No longer the wild-fowl pounce upon 

 you from the sky as in the evening flight, nor 

 do they come out of the north more than from 

 any other direction. From every point they 

 stream, with less uproar but more majestic march. 

 Over the cat-tails around you they pour in dark 

 masses, long wedge-shaped strings or crescent 

 lines at tremendous speed, while single ducks in 

 all directions hammer seventy miles an hour out 

 of the rising breeze. 



When dawn has fairly set in, the ducks travel 

 higher and farther off, though the flight may 

 continue strong and steady for an hour or con- 

 siderably more. The gun must now be loaded 

 as heavily as your shoulder will permit, and held 

 farther ahead of crossing shots. As a flock of 

 mallards makes the air sing, so near that you can 

 plainly mark the shading of their gray bellies 

 and see the light of the coming sun shine on the 

 burnished green, it seems as if you had only to 

 aim at the tip of the bill. But to your surprise 



