58 



WILD FOWL SHOOTING. 



the trees, goes a flock of blue-winged teal. Look out ; 

 right in front of you, a pair of mallards. Try and get 

 them both, draw on the drake, then the duck. Two 

 deep reports, and both are dead, almost at our feet. 

 What a sight ! The loud report of the gun roars, echoes, 

 and reverberates, through the deep woods, and from 

 their depths spring up mallards in almost countless 

 numbers. We see them indistinctly through the timber ; 

 first, just off the water, the bright spot on their tails 

 conspicuous by its purple surroundings, then we catch 

 faint glimpses of them through the dense trees ; and 

 last, set out by the strong light of the clear sky, we be- 

 hold them rising above the tree tops. What a noise 

 they make ; so slight at first, at the start a faint " Whew," 

 then a loud flapping of strong wings, until all merges 

 into a deep roaring, like distant rolling thunder. 



We scull around the small peninsula, and go through 

 the long grass and scatter dead grass over the bow and 

 sides of the boat, that it may correspond with the sur- 

 roundings. The ducks return to feed ; we kill them, 

 singly, in pairs, make difficult and seemingly impossible 

 shots, then with both barrels, score clean misses at one 

 almost in our face. Thus the time passes quickly away. 

 The flight ceases. Our constant shooting has driven 

 them away. The dead are picked up. A nice bunch they 

 are, fully twenty and all mallards. A pleased smile is 

 noticed on your face, as you seat yourself again in the 

 boat. ' Down the little bay we go ; the light northwest 

 wind slightly stirs the smooth water, causing it to up- 

 heave many ripples. Out in the center of the bay a 

 small flock of blue-bills are unsuspectingly floating on 

 the water. When from the fringed and willowy shore 

 we emerge silentty, noiselessly, they arise in dire alarm. 



