232 AMERICAN GAME BIRD SHOOTING. 
at the romantic hour of half past four o’clock on a cold No- 
vember morning, and waited anxiously for daylight, as we 
could hear the occasional creeaunk of some sturdy gander, 
or the trumpet blast of a swan—sounds which caused our 
blood to tingle and our hands to involuntarily grasp the 
guns. After waiting an hour or more without getting a 
shot we commenced running up and down in order to 
warm our blood, and imprecating the natatores that would 
not oblige us by coming near enough to be killed. While 
we were anxiously waiting for the birds to approach us, 
we heard the shrill whistle of a steamer, which was loudly 
echoed by the woods and mountains, and on turning round 
we saw the white form of the craft some distance down the 
river. We were anything but pleased at its appearance, 
as we thought it would send the birds bedded on the 
river inland, but, instead of that, its scream caused them 
to rise en masse, and to come towards us with a rush 
that augured well for sport. On they came towards 
the island with as much confidence as if they had 
no foe on earth. The swans being arranged in a queue, I 
aimed at the head of the first when it was about twenty 
yards away, and brought it down with a heavy charge of 
No. 1 shot, and before the others could turn about, I 
bagged the second, and scared the remainder so badly 
that they began to blow their trumpets as they hastened 
away. I picked up the dead birds with the aid of a boat, 
and having placed them at the foot of a miniature cot- 
ton-wood tree, I gave my companion a look of mingled 
triumph and contempt that would have withered another 
man, but he seemed to be indifferent to it, and merely 
said :-— 
“Sho; I wouldn’t have fired at the swans with a shot- 
gun at that distance. Now, if you had hit them in the 
eye with arifle, you might call it passable shooting.” 
“How could I see their eyes at that distance?” 
**T could; 1 saw one wink back at the other when you 
