144 WILD FOWL SHOOTING. 
pass in perfect recklessness, the ‘‘ whewing ” of their 
set- wings vibrating through the air. No need of blinds 
now, no opportunity for calculating shots; but we see 
a dark meteor shoot hastily by, fire quickly, then listen 
for the expected splash we know the duck will make 
as it strikes the water. Unexpectedly one drops into 
the water within ten feet of us. We dare not shoot, 
knowing, if hit, the bird would be blown to pieces. We 
splash the water, still unseen and unobserved by the 
duck; then we speak. At the sound of human voices 
we see the water slightly ripple as the duck rises, a 
dark shadow for an instant, and the bird seems to dis- 
solve in the darkness. As we pick our way through 
the swamp you recognize your helplessness in this dark, 
strange place. But guided and directed by our never- 
failing friend—the North Star—we emerge after an 
hour’s hard and patient work on the Mississippi River. 
We cross over to Camanche, from there take the 
steamer for home, tired, hungry, and happy, well pleased 
with our day’s sport, and mentally deciding whoamong 
our friends will be favored when we make a division 
of our 112 ducks. 
