DUCK SHOOTING. 231 



traversing the single, straggling street, reached 

 the scow at Wilmer's wharf, where we found 

 the helmsman and the boy waiting for us on 

 board. The fastenings were cast off, and getting 

 clear of the rafts, we run up the jib, and with 

 the wind fresh from nor'-west, stood down along 

 the shore, which is bold, and could be just seen 

 from the scow, with here and there the white 

 front of a dwelling, looming up above the town 

 in the dim glimmer of the star-light. It was our 

 intention to set the battery on Devil's Island, so 

 called, though in reality it is nothing but a 

 sunken shoal, lying nearly south-west from 

 Havre de Grace, and on the western side of the 

 swash, or channel through the submerged flats. 

 These last, be it understood by the general rea- 

 der, extend for eight miles or more from the 

 mouth of the river to the island of Spesutia, and 

 are the feeding grounds on which tens of thou- 

 sands of the choicest species of ducks, are annu- 

 ally slaughtered by the market-shooters of Havre 

 de Grace. Below Spesutia the water is deeper, 

 but from the island to Havre de Grace the ship- 

 channel is, so to speak, but a mere " swash." 

 This entire ground, from the slight rise of the 

 tide, and from the fact of its being thickly 

 covered with grass, which is the food of the 



