DUCK SHOOTING ON THE GREAT SOUTH BAY. 



P. M. CUSHING. 



One evening in the latter part of October 

 I was sitting in my office when a telegram 

 was brought in by the office boy. 



It read thus: "Large flight. Come 

 down to-morrow. John." 



Accordingly, the next morning found me 

 on my way to John's place. I reached the 

 station at 2.30 p. m. and found John wait- 

 ing for me with the team. After a ride of 

 a mile we reached the house, situated about 

 100 yards from the Great South bay of 

 Long Island. 



We spent most of that afternoon in 

 mending our broken decoys and getting 

 John's duck boat in trim. At 9 o'clock we 

 were in bed. 



I had hardly closed my eyes when I felt 

 a hand on my shoulder and an impatient 

 voice saying, "Come, get up, if you want 

 to go snooting." I groaned sleepily and 

 rolled over, preparatory to going to sleep 

 again, but that time a pitcher of cold water 

 did the business. I sprang out of bed, 

 pulled on my shooting togs, and we walked 

 down to the boat. 



I shoved her off while John rowed. In 

 about 20 minutes we reached Mud island. 



We had hardly settled ourselves in the salt 

 hay blind which John built when 2 blue- 

 bills circled over the decoys. John made 

 a clean kill, while I missed with both bar- 

 rels. I soon redeemed myself, for while 

 John was picking up the bird and right- 

 ing 2 of the decoys which had turned bot- 

 tom upward 4 redheads flew over. I killed 

 2 and wounded another, which we after- 

 ward found. 



The next birds were old squaws. That 

 was John's turn and he downed 2 of them. 

 We had about an hour's good sport when 

 the flight slackened. John said we might 

 go up Hyde's creek in hopes of getting 

 some black ducks. I volunteered to row, 

 while John stationed himself in the bow. 

 We had proceeded about 200 yards up the 

 creek when there was a loud quack and a 

 whirr of wings and 2 large black ducks rose 

 out of the marsh at the edge of the creek. 

 John dropped both with a pretty shot. 



Deciding that we had killed enough 

 birds we rowed toward home. On the 

 way I secured a fine specimen of a surf 

 scoter. I now have it mounted and it oc- 

 cupies a prominent place in my den. 



AMATEUR PhOTO Br T. H WELTY, 



ON THE SOUTH BRANCH OF THE POTOMAC. 

 268 



