306 The Water-fowl Family 



the intervals, when larger shore-birds were not 

 forthcoming, the attention was attracted by the 

 countless terns on tireless wing, everywhere about, 

 diving at the decoys, screaming whenever any 

 bird met its fate ; now and then dark-colored 

 jagars chased the terns and robbed them of 

 their food, or often a clumsy heron squawked out 

 a protest at the desecration of its favorite marsh. 

 These sights and sounds of the shore were ever 

 present ; now even the gulls are gone. 



That summer at Monomoy was a first experi- 

 ence and like all such, the pleasantest of all. 



There are one or two points in Shinnecock 

 Bay, Long Island, from which now, with favorable 

 winds and weather, good bags of birds can be 

 made. For the past two summers a gang of 

 market hunters have lived on the best point, 

 sleeping in their boats and watching decoys from 

 dawn to dark, all summer long. Here, on several 

 occasions, some years since, I enjoyed a good day's 

 shooting. A Shinnecock Indian, Bunn was his 

 name, generally went with us. We spent the 

 night before at Southampton and drove over; 

 Bunn was on the point, stools set and ready ; it 

 was some time before light, and mosquitoes were 

 in swarms. We hunted them for a while until the 

 clear note of a yellowleg called us to order. At 

 Shinnecock nearly every bird leads by this par- 

 ticular point, so we counted on one yellowleg 



