198 WILD-FOWL 



Daniel Webster was fond of this sport, and was often 

 seen in an open boat off the Massachusetts coast in 

 the vicinity of his home at Marshfield, shooting in the 

 line. 



A short distance from New Haven, to the east, quite 

 near the town of Branford, Conn., there is a group of 

 small islands in the sound. These are called the 

 Thimble Islands, and on one of them there was, in the 

 writer's college days, a tavern where sportsmen who 

 desired to shoot coots and old-squaws were entertained. 

 Here these ducks came in goodly numbers in the fall, 

 and there were usually enough gunners present on this 

 island to form a line of boats. Each had his number 

 or place in the line, and those who shot from its outer 

 end were often far from shore. 



Starting early in the morning of a stormy day, I 

 pulled a heavy boat to my place far out upon the line, 

 and soon the ducks began to come. I tried a shot at 

 the first comers just as a large wave struck the boat, 

 and came quite near going overboard. The shot 

 went nowhere near the ducks, which were soon out of 

 sight. Others came in quick succession, and at the 

 hands of that best instructor, experience, I learned 

 enough sometimes to bring one down. A wounded 

 bird I found impossible to secure. Progress with the 

 heavy boat was slow, and the birds were fast not only 

 on the surface but below. Good shots were made by 

 sportsmen in the neighboring boats: old hands who 

 could preserve an even balance and often make a 

 double. The exhibition of good shooting down the 

 line was well worth coming far to see. 



Sometimes the waves increased, the wind ran high, 



