THE WHISTLER 345 



travel ninety miles an hour. For my part I 

 have a very high regard for Mr. Whistler's 

 abilities, both of wing and wit. I have seen 

 him outrun many a charge of shot, and I know 

 of no waterfowl so crafty except a black duck. 



The New England gunner kills most of his 

 Whistlers during the coldest weather of the 

 year when not only the fresh waters are closed 

 but the ice has formed solidly in the bays and 

 arms of the sea, leaving only a breathing hole 

 here and there where the swift currents will not 

 be held in the grip of winter. The gunner, 

 dressed in a white suit, — even his gun barrels 

 chalked, — lies flat upon the snow-covered ice at 

 the edge of some such an opening, behind a 

 slight blind of ice cakes, or in his float dragged 

 over the floe and launched upon the water 

 within. He places decoys at the proper dis- 

 tances, arranging them in the water and along 

 the edge of the ice, and takes what his fortune 

 may send him in the way of sport. 



The Whistler is said not to decoy well, but 

 that has not been my experience. I do not 

 know a more certain method of bringing a flock 

 of these ducks to the decoys on a whistlerless 

 morning than for the sportsman to lay down his 



