ON CROATAN. 



283 



" Well, how many shells left? The sound 

 must be full of dead ducks," he said. 



" Let's see; I'll go with you. I've 

 enough for to-day; " and the Captain 

 whistled. In with the blind and decoys; 

 and before the wind we sailed to pick up 

 the dead ducks, the Captain and I in the 

 bow. " There's one! " ' There's 2! " And 

 down we sailed, picking up the dead, float- 

 ing on the waves, the idle sport and toy of 

 the wind beating and driving them to the 

 leeward. 



A bath and a rub down, and then I can 

 hardly wait for my dinner. Overhead is 

 the clank of windlass and the noisy tramp 

 of the men getting sail on the Brant. 



" White wings aloft! " The yacht must 

 wing her flight to Roanoke, for I want to 

 dine on terrapin, at the Club House, to- 

 night; and on the morrow geese and swan 

 on the II lump. 



Yonder lies Kinnakeet and thither — not 

 over a few hours' sail — is Hatteras; but our 

 way is Northward, to the narrow stretch 

 of waters uniting the great sounds. We are 

 bound to the waterway under the cloudy 

 path of the myriads of waterfowl, winging 

 their flight down the coast edges; over the 

 keys that run from Virginia down the Caro- 

 lina coasts. 



On the deck is spread the result of the 

 morning's work, with smoothed plumage, 

 wings folded and heads carefully arranged 

 so that no beauty of pinion or feather may 

 be lost when they are viewed at home in 

 the North. 



The stars are out and Bodie's Light is 

 aflame when we pass the Southern point of 

 Roanoke island. The little cannon booms 

 our arrival as, a little later, we drop anchor 

 off the Club House, which is ablaze with 

 light. 



Hello! That's curious. I didn't know 

 of any members likely to drop down, and 

 I rejoiced to think of good company as the 

 lantern, on the flagstaff of the club house, 

 returned the signal. 



Telling the Captain to send my traps after 

 me in eager haste I picked up a half dozen 

 ducks and my favorite gun, and jumped in 

 the dingey. I was in my gray Scotch 

 sweater (no beauty) with an old canvas cap 

 (no style), old shoes (a tramp's), no coat, 

 in one hand the ducks and in the other my 

 gun (a sight). 



I threw open the door of the hall with 

 a jolly, " Here's how to you and your 

 feed," when astonishment struck me dumb; 

 for around the huge fireplace, which roared 

 and crackled with oak and pine logs ablaze, 

 sat 3 ladies and 2 club members, who 

 greeted me with a yell directed as much at 

 my appearance as at the individual. Well 

 that was the unexpected. 



"Why, old man, no you don't;" and 

 dragging me back they made me sit down 

 and tell of the sport. 



After the introduction, and before the 



gossip was ended, supper, for which I had 

 come, was announced and as we lingered, 

 the others over the coffee and I over the 

 indispensable cup of tea, the talk ran on. 



" Bring in the dice, Bob." 



" Do nothing of the sort; you can take 

 your pick." 



" Indeed, you won't. You'll take your 

 cast." 



" I'll take the III lump." 



" What's the need of gambling for choice 

 of the lumps? I'll take my chance at the 

 III, whatever it may be." 



" Well, let the girls toss the die." 



Between " you first," and " I have no 

 luck," and " you had better cast yourself," 

 and " I'm sure I'll lose," and such ilk, the 

 die was finally thrown. 



The luck of the toss gave me the last 

 and the tears of the tosser made amends 

 for the probable ill luck; for II lump 

 meant a sure bag and III meant hope, 

 prayers and an early return; and there was 

 only the " North lump," a long way off; 

 and the South lump which was rarely used. 



The II and I were quickly taken, with as 

 many jibes from the guests, at my unfort- 

 unate champion, and mock congratulations 

 to me from the others, over the rest of the 

 labor that awaited me on the morrow. 



" Well, what are you really going to do 

 now, honestly? You had better drive over 

 to the North lump if you want any shoot- 

 ing," said Jack; but I kept silent as I 

 thought of the 12 mile ride, at midnight, 

 and that I would have to start the decoys 

 at once, in the skiff. 



I went outside and looked at the skies, 

 the drift of the milky way and a long, low 

 haze in the Northwest; and the recollection 

 of the early drift of the first tide down the 

 sound, and the weather sayings in that re- 

 gard, made a lump rise in my throat as the 

 thought followed desire. 



" Is that you, Spence? " 



" Yes, sir; I have your traps." 



"Wait; 2 lumps are gone, and I don't 

 want to ride to Uncle Bill Basnight's this 

 evening." 



Spence gave a low whistle, probably re- 

 flecting on a change of my mind in antici- 

 pation of the mellow scuppernong wine, 

 that outrivals Yquem, and the ripe yams 

 that savor of the South Sea isles, to be had 

 over at Uncle Bill's, both of which I wor- 

 shiped equally with Spence. "No; I 

 think — I'm looking at that haze." And 

 Spence's laugh breaking out almost be- 

 trayed us as the voices from the inside 

 called me to come in. 



" Well, well, now old wiseone, what's 

 up?" 



" Only the South Hole for me," I an- 

 swered. Such derisive laughter; such sar- 

 casm and banter as I had to bear; for all 

 knew what a forlorn chance I had unless it 

 blew half a gale, banking up the water 

 against the keys. 



