THE REFERENDUM 



[89 



were the Fourth and all of us in the States. 

 Now, the geese kept flying thicker, but I 

 shot more carefully, not making any but 

 those I knew would be in range. There 

 were about a half dozen geese in the shallow 

 marsh-end where I was, and a half dozen 

 canvasbacks, so I quit shooting. Occasionally 

 I could hear the long pole Jackman was using 

 whack on the side of the scow as they pushed 

 forward. The geese were well disturbed by 

 the time they reached my end of the marsh, 

 and many of them headed south and east. 

 The kill was thirteen, and more than a dozen 

 canvasbacks. We hauled the scow high up 

 and were starting for the ranch shack in a 

 few moments. 



Sing Wong knew as much about baking a 

 goose as any chef I ever knew of. He had 

 five served up for supper, and all hands to 

 the number of ten laid to and did them every 

 justice imaginable. More were used for din- 

 ner next day, and we three who set off south 

 with the buckboard next morning were well 

 supplied with goose for lunch. 



The cayuses Jackman was driving were 

 full of fire or the devil, I know not which, 

 but they could reel off the miles swiftly. 

 Three hours nearly froze up our systems, 

 plumbing, if you like, but we thawed out at 

 Bill Partridge's. Bill lived a mile, about, 

 from the near end of the big marsh. He had 

 cared for every team, horseman, cayuse or 

 steer that came his way, so he boasted. And 

 he put up the team we drove, demanding 

 that we make his shack home till we started 

 back. He talked as though there was a hun- 

 dred ranch shacks in the flats, when, the 

 fact was, that his own was the only one for 

 twenty miles. 



We warmed up and set out for the marsh. 

 Bill said they were "sticking to the weeds." 

 The sun shone clear and bright, and a good 

 wind was in the north. We could see noth- 

 ing flying. Bill's boat, or tub, as he named 

 it, held two easily. He took Crary, placing 

 him in the bow, then grasped his paddle and 

 pushed off. A sort of cannonading began 

 when they were well out, and geese began 

 swinging and circling before I had reached 

 the point I had chosen as a blind amongst 

 the deep weeds and tall grass. Jackman 

 followed the marsh's edge towards the left. 

 He began shooting before I did. In a mo- 

 ment we were all at it. Geese by the thou- 

 sands, coming and going, honking and splash- 

 ing. Such shooting was never equaled, and 

 in an hour we were through. Bill began 

 picking up, for he had concluded that 

 enough was a-plenty. He pushed up gradu- 

 ally to where Jackman's skill, had dropped, 

 then to mine. Crary easily brought them 

 into the boat. 



Twelve geese in a couple of hours from 

 going and returning to camp is what I call a 

 good kill. Bill would not take more than 

 six, so we drew the balance before they froze. 

 After lunch in the ranch shack the team was 



hatched and we headed for Jackman's, 

 straight over the trailless prairie W<- hung 

 out on the stables twenty-five of all our best, 

 and they were well frozen and kept perfectly. 

 The ranch hands hung another goodly string 

 out for themselves-. After supper pipes were 

 lit and stories gone over again. We started 

 early next morning for the barracks, Jack- 

 man sending a buckboard along to carry the 

 geese. There were forty strong men made 

 happy when we arrived at that barracks. 

 "Something better'n bull beef," they all 

 agreed. And it did not take the men long 

 to have them well dressed, turning to and 

 helping the cooks and kitchen workers. From 

 beef to juicy, young goose was a far stretch 

 of real facts, but not an M. P. among them 

 that could not make it. 



The antelope makes great sport in his sea- 

 son in Canada the chickens entice many there 

 also, but to Crary and I nothing calls like 

 the Canada goose. We've gone after them in 

 blinding snow, fighting the wind for our 

 breath; we have paddled over marsh after 

 marsh and never a goose, but when the sea- 

 son is on again they lure us as easily as be- 

 fore. Canada, without her goose, would not 

 often be mentioned in sporting circles nor 

 history. 



WITH THE FISH COMMISSION 



BY HENRY WARNER MAYNARD. 



On the southern shore of Massachusetts, 

 at the very tip of the peninsula which sepa- 

 rates Buzzard's Bay from the ocean, is the 

 quaint old town of Woods Hole. Once in- 

 significant, it has become well known as an 

 important station of the United States Bu- 

 reau of Fisheries, and is famous among sci- 

 entists for its biological laboratories, both 

 government and private. It is # seventy-two 

 miles by rail from Boston, and is the termi- 

 nus of the Old Colony Railroad, whose tracks 

 stop almost at the water's edge, at a dock 

 where touch steamers from New Bedford, 

 which carry the traveler on to Vineyard Ha- 

 ven, Cottage City and Nantucket. 



As one steams into Great Harbor the first 

 thing ashore that catches the eye is the group 

 of large buildings and docks to the north- 

 west of the landing; this is the Fisheries 

 station, A little farther inshore is the Ma- 

 rine Biological Laboratory, where biologists 

 from the colleges of the East came # on sum- 

 mer vacation for class work and original re- 

 search. 



Moored to the Fisheries wharf, if it be 

 summer time, one may perhaps see a white 

 vessel, blunt of bow and with square ports, 

 the U. S. S. "Fish Hawk," the steamer which 

 dredges up strange fishes and queer "slimy 

 things with legs" from the bottom of the 

 sea. In 1871 the Fish Commission was or- 

 ganized for the study of "the reasons for the 

 decrease of food fishes," and the little town 

 of Woods Hole, Massachusetts, was selected 



