SNIPE SHOOTING ON THE -EASTERN SHORE." 



NORMAN PRENTICE. 



The train was late, as usual, when it 



reached the little station of E , on the 



Eastern shore of Maryland, one evening 

 in the spring of 1898. Right glad was 

 Harry Burton to leave the stuffy, smoke- 

 filled cars after a 4 hours' ride from Phila- 

 delphia, for the freshness of an April even- 

 ing amidst the pines of Maryland. With 

 his gun slung over his shoulder, and lead- 

 ing a beautiful pointer, he jumped off the 

 train and shook hands with his old friend, 

 the Captain, who was waiting for him in a 

 carriage. 



Stowing the dog, Darby, and the lug- 

 gage away behind, Harry jumped up, and 

 off they went some 6 miles to the Captain's 

 place, on an arm of the Niles river. 



According to promise, Harry had come 

 to try the snipe which were reported on 

 the meadows. As the Captain had found 

 the marshes too dry the day before, they 

 concluded, on the morrow, to drive around 

 the country trying the different little 

 springs and spring heads. There the water 

 was fresh, and probably the birds would 

 frequent such places until a heavy rain had 

 sweetened the larger marshes along the 

 river. 



The following morning gave promise of 

 an ideal April day, as the friends jumped 

 into their wagon and drove at a slashing 

 pace for the nearest meadow, some 2 miles 

 away. 



Arriving there, Harry got out to see if 

 the birds were on, and had scarcely entered 

 the meadow when a snipe rose. At the 

 report of his gun 8 or 10 flew up and 

 pitched farther in the marsh. As soon as 

 the horse could be hitched, the Captain 

 joined Harry and they made a long, careful 

 detour through a field to get to the wind- 

 ward of the birds. 



The ground was a small piece of marsh, 

 at the head of a creek. It was 34 mile long 

 and not over 50 yards wide. Not a bird 

 could rise from it without offering a fair 

 shot to one of 2 men, walking abreast of 

 each other, downward along the marsh. 



Harry was the first to flush a bird, which 

 he killed. The next fell to the Captain, 

 at the report of whose gun 2 more flushed 

 and were neatly dropped. Before the last 

 were picked up another bird was killed, 

 and so they went slowly down the meadow 

 shooting almost incessantly, driving the 

 birds before them only to be flushed again 

 farther down the spring, until the men had 

 traversed the meadow, killing in a few 

 minutes 17 birds. 



Well satisfied with their work, they drove 

 to the next meadow, 5 miles farther on, eat- 

 ing their lunch on the way. 



But though they tried many a beautiful 

 little spot they found only an occasional 

 bird. At last they turned their horses' 

 heads toward home, believing their shoot- 

 ing done for the day. But no — there was 

 one little place the Captain had been saving 

 as a last resource, and there they stopped 

 about 2 hours before dark. 



Discouraged and tired, they entered the 

 last meadow, hardly hoping to find a bird. 

 They had hardly entered it when the familiar 

 " scaip " was heard, and a long-bill rose 

 from a clump of cat-tails. Another fol- 

 lowed and Harry, slow in deciding which 

 to shoot first, missed both. 



By this time the Captain, not so easily 

 excited, had killed a bird or 2, and soon 

 had 4 down. Then Harry bagged one, and 

 between them they picked up 7 birds out 

 of 8 or 9 flushed. But now the day was 

 done, and stiff and tired, but jubilant, they 

 drove homeward. 



SIX GEESE BEFORE BREAKFAST. 



J. J. HUNTER. 



It was about the middle of October, and 

 potatoes were being harvested in the coun- 

 try between the Platte rivers, in Western 

 Nebraska. A few flocks of geese were leav- 

 ing the river every morning at daybreak. 



As a rule the small geese come South 

 first and the Canada geese about 3 weeks 

 later. They feed close to the river, until 

 hunted, and move a little farther back ev- 

 ery time they are disturbed. 



Working in the fields from dawn to 

 dusk, I could note the movements of every 



flock of wildfowl within 2 or 3 miles. In 

 this way I located the favorite feeding 

 ground of several flocks of geese, in a stub- 

 ble field, a mile away, and determined to 

 try my luck with them. 



I left the house just as a red streak of 

 light appeared in the East. When I en- 

 tered the stubble field, flocks of mallard 

 and teal rose in front of me within easy 

 range. I did not try to shoot any, for it was 

 still too dark to see clearly. In wet sea- 

 sons mallard and teal breed here in great 



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