21) WILD FOWL SHOOTING. 
erest of the big “ white caps ~; have stranded on sunk- 
en logs, while the swift running current of the Wapsi- 
pinicon river would spin the boat round and round 
like a top, have had the current swing me into fallen 
trees; have had the boat bump against logs and banks 
with a force that would threaten destruction to the 
whole outfit,—and yet, I never had an accident. The 
boat is broad and low, the water may break over the 
bow, and run in a stream over the bow and sides, but 
the combing of the cock-pit will keep it out, and a little 
sprinkling is the most inconvenience I have experi- 
enced at any time. 
My attention was first called to the absolute safety 
of these boats when a boy. Having atthat time implicit 
confidence in my abilities as a swimmer, I would often 
court an accident in one of them. It would be in the 
warm summer time, when dressed in linen pants, shirt 
waist, and bare-footed. At that time, with a companion 
equally as reckless, we would go out in the roughest 
part of the Mississippi, in the highest winds, greatly to 
our pleasure, but to the terror of kindly disposed old 
ladies, who watched us from the shores or steamboats. 
These boyish excursions bred in me a spirit of confi- 
dence in the sea qualities of these boats that I have 
always remembered. 
In my experience, they are far ahead of any 
style of hunting boat yet discovered, except in thickly 
tangled wild rice—then they are bunglesome, and of 
little account, because of their great width. They 
are not a speedy boat, but row easy; their shortness 
rather holds them back, and they do not follow the 
stroke like longer boats. 
We see advertised “hunting skiffs,” “ bow-facing 
