SHOT AT A LOON. 17 1 



vulnerable points. They sit so deep in the water, 

 and the quills on their backs are so hard and com- 

 pact that a ball seems to make no impression on 

 them. At least, I have never seen one killed by be- 

 ing shot through the body. Such are the means of 

 self-preservation possessed by this curious bird, whose 

 wild, shrill, and lonely cry, on the lake at midnight, 

 is one of the most melancholy sounds I ever heard 

 in the forest. 



This diver, of which I was just now speaking, I 

 wished very much to kill, in order to carry his skin 

 to New York with me ; and so, after firing at him 

 in vain, I asked Mitchell if we could not both of us 

 tos^ether manas^e to take him. He told me to land 

 him where the channel was narrow that entered Long 

 Lake, and paddle along towards where the fellow was 

 sitting, and drive him out. As I approached the bird, 

 he dived. Knowing that he would make straight for 

 the lake, I watched the whole line of his progress 

 with the utmost care : but though my range took in 

 nearly a third of a mile, I never saw him again. 

 After a while I heard the crack of a rifle around the 

 bend of the shore ; and hastening thither, I found Mit- 

 chell loading his gun. He said the rascal just raised 



