356 DUCK SHOOTING. 



given below are taken. To the gunners of the present 

 day, this picture may seem too vivid and highly col- 

 ored, but many men have seen flights of fowl as great, 

 and can confirm Mr. Van Dyke's account, if such con- 

 firmation were needed. This is the story, as he tells it 

 — a storv of the last days of the muzzle-loading shot- 

 gun : 



It was a bright September afternoon, the day after 

 my arrival at Henry, that my friend and I were pad- 

 dling up the crooked slough that leads from Senach- 

 wine to the Illinois River. Wood ducks, mallards and 

 teal rose squealing and quacking from the slough ahead 

 of us, but he paid no attention to them, and I soon 

 ceased dropping the oar and snatching up the gun and 

 getting it cocked and raised just as the ducks were 

 nicely out of range. When we reached Mud Lake — a 

 mere widening and branching of the slough at the foot 

 of Senachwine — we drew the boat ashore. Huge flocks 

 of mallards rose with reverberating wings from the 

 sloughs all around us and mounted high, with the sun 

 brightly glancing from every plume. Plainly could I 

 see the sheen of their burnished green heads and out- 

 stretched necks, the glistening bars upon their wings, 

 the band of white upon their tails, surmounted by 

 dainty curls of shining green. 



There were already in sight what seemed to me 

 enough of ducks to satisfy any one. Long lines of 

 black dots streamed along the blue sky above Senach- 

 wine. up the Illinois and over Swan Lake — between 

 the river and Senachwine — while from down the 



