Ducks, GEESE, AND SWANS. 247 
in spring, we have a high freshet in some river valley 
and a general flooding of the lowlands. At sucha 
time single ducks of several species are very sure to 
make their appearance. I once spoke of this to an 
old gunner, and he told me that these “odd birds 
were mostly drakes.” But where are they in ordi- 
nary stages of the water? They are not seen at all 
times, and so can scarcely be included with the “‘ pen- 
sioners,” or slightly wounded ducks we see occasion- 
ally in Chesapeake Bay,—birds just enough crippled 
not to be able to migrate. 
When for some undeterminable reason wild ducks 
venture upon our rivers, close to the danger-line of a 
town’s limits, they exercise a wonderful deal of inge- 
nuity, and would not be detected by the ordinary 
passer-by. The keen-eyed duck-hunter spies them 
out occasionally and outwits them; but the tables 
are as often turned, and every one escape. It is 
really remarkable how many ducks come and go, up 
and down our rivers, unseen by the people living on 
the bank of the stream. The gunners bring into 
the town many a duck that is known only to the 
inhabitants as a dead bird; the living one they 
never saw; and yet a flock of ducks feeding on a 
broad expanse of water is well worth seeing. The 
glossy green heads of Mallards, the bald pates of 
Widgeon, the great loose-feathered topknot of a 
Butter-ball, the delicate gray plumage and tapering 
tail of a Sprig-tail, the parti-colored Shoveller, to 
gether, or singly, give a picturesqueness to some wide 
reach of the river that is worth a long journey to see. 
The extreme timidity of these birds makes this well- 
