SHOOTING MALLARDS FROM A SCULL BOAT. 55 



and the current will cany us, when I am tired of 

 sculling. 



There ! now she's all right. I never trim a boat for 

 sculling without thinking of my shooting companion 

 and old friend, Ben Woodward. He is the most par- 

 ticular man I ever saw ; and the best sculler. After 

 trimming the boat he always made some excuse to walk 

 toward the woods. Usually, to get a little more plunder, 

 but really, to see how the blind would look from a 

 distance. He would examine it critically ; as carefully 

 as a woman does her hair before going into a reception 

 room ; and then, if it suited him, it was a smart duck that 

 he couldn't scull. Get in the bow and turn your back to 

 me. Those little places along the side are made to put 

 shells in. Fill them up. Have plenty handy. They 

 won't spoil if you have all those racks full ; besides, I 

 am liable to call on you for some. She doesn't loom up 

 much, does she ? Only about three inches, not counting 

 the four inch combing that hides us. You thought 

 that a large place decked over on the bow ? Apparent- 

 ly it is, about four feet \ still it's essential to make a 

 good blind, 



We are now right in a splendid duck country. Par- 

 don the plainness of my speech, but it is absolutely 

 necessary not to talk, and you must keep your eyes 

 open and your mouth shut. Consider yourself at 

 liberty to speak when spoken to, but be assured you 

 will have plenty of time for reflection. Shove that 

 shell-box out of your way and sit on the bottom on the 

 hay. On ducks on the water give them the first barrel, 

 the other when they rise. Don't wait for me, they 

 won't get away without hearing from me. This is a 

 spot fox- them in these young 1 willows. Mark. 



