412 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



[June 2, 1887. 



time to notify the Martins by mail, and consequently no 

 conveyance awaited me at the station. I stepped into the 

 adjoining tavern , where one Antoine Fortin presides over 

 a sliining array of cut glass and long-necked bottles, the 

 only indication to the public of the existence of a hostlery, 

 being the quaint announcement in French that the pro- 

 prietor is "Authorized to sell all kinds of liquors." I 

 asked Fortin if he could provide me with a team and driver 

 to take me to Martin's. He was very doubtful about 

 it; the roads were terrible — mud a foot deep. We went to 

 sup over the question, however, and after imbibing an 

 extraordinary amount of cabbage soup Fortin's heart 

 warmed, and he assured me that I should be set down at 

 Martin's door within an hour. Ten minutes later I was 

 on my way thither, with a sociable young fellow, a friend 

 of Fortin's, as driver. The wheels fairly wallowed in the 

 mud and slush, and sank every now and then nearly to 

 the hubs in some miry slough. But on we plunged. Our 

 team of Canadian horses was a good one, tough and why, 

 and after about an hour of tugging and floundering they 

 landed us safe at Martin's door. 



In five minutes more I was toasting my shins before the 

 kitchen fire. Romauld sat opposite me. The grizzled 

 veteran dozed on the bench beside the stove. The good 

 wife and her sister sat at a little table busily engaged in 

 sewing, while their tongues were busier still with the 

 swift-flowing Canadian patois. 



"Well, Romauld," I asked, "how are the ducks?' 



"Scarce, very scarce. You should have written me." 



"True enough. But I would have come if there were 

 not a duck flying from sunrise to sunset. Do you suppose 

 I could let a season pass without coming back to the old 

 place?" 



Romauld laughed. "We will try the cabin just below 

 the island in the morning," he said. "Never mind: we 

 shall hava some ducks." 



Up to the little room under the eaves— my room I had 

 learned to call it- — I climbed when the fast-moving hands 

 of my watch said 9 o'clock. "At 5 o'clock, remember, I 

 will call you," cried Romauld, as he went creaking down 

 the stairs. "Good-night." 



"Good-night, Romauld. Don't oversleep." 



What's this, a sound of stockinged feet at my door, a 

 rap. "Five o'clock, time to be starring." 



Ugh, it was chilly as I crawled out of bed, and so dark 

 that I had to light my lamp to dress by. Into my thick 

 corduroys I plunged, drew on my cardigan , my coat and 

 my overcoat, thrust my feet into the depth of my rubber 

 boots and made my way down the rickety, almost perpen- 

 dicular flight of stairs to the room below. Romauld was 

 tossing my Bonehill to his shoulder and aiming it at an 

 imaginary duck. "You ought not to miss," he said, fond- 

 ling the gun. 



"If I do it won't be the gun's fault, at any rate," I re- 

 plied, filling my pockets with shells. "Well, shall we be 

 off?" 



We stepped out into the cold morning air and made our 

 way down to the boats. Heavily clad as I was a shiver 

 ran through me as the raw southwest breeze came sweep- 

 ing over the white fields. Romauld placed a cushion in 

 the stern seat of the boat and then spread a rubber coat 

 over the cushion. He placed in the boat a dozen wooden 

 decoys and a live decoy drake; and then, laying his gun 

 across the thwarts, pushed the boat away from the rude 

 little wharf, seized the oars and we were off. 



With rapid and powerful strokes Romauld sent the light 

 boat flying down the river. "We must try and be the 

 first to reach the cabin," he said, "this is a good morning 

 and there will be many out." Past the black mdistinct 

 shore we rapidly sped, past Isle le Noir, with the lonely 

 chimneys of the old ruined fort showing dimly against 

 the sky; out into the bay beyond where the river widened 

 like a black gulf stretching "out into the night. Romauld 

 never turned his head, but rowed, as if by instinct, 

 straight to the rushy point where the "cabin" was hid. 

 It was nothing but a rudely constructed blind of sticks, 

 intertwined with rushes, oblong in shape, three-sided, 

 with one end opened to admit the boat. 



Romauld first set out the decoys, disposing them in two 

 small flocks with an open space between. While doing 

 this the sound of approaching oars was heard, and pres- 

 ently a boat appeared in the dusk. Romauld chuckled 

 audibly as the occupant of the boat, turning his head and 

 seeing the favorable point already taken, uttered an im- 

 precation in French and pointed the bow of his craft for 

 the next cabin. But judge of our amusement when, as 

 the boatman approached the next blind, a gruff voice 

 issued from the darkness, "Keep off my decoys!" and the 

 belated duck hunter again sullenly shaped his course down 

 the bay. 



But now it was getting gray in the east, and objects at 

 hand began to be more clearly seen. We pushed the boat 

 into the blind, took our seats facing the decoys, dropped 

 some shells into our guns, and patiently awaited the 

 beginning of the flight. Nothing was to be heard but the 

 ratcle of oar locks from some distant boat and the oc- 

 casional muffled quack of our drake as he drifted about, 

 now this way, now that, over his shallow anchorage. 



By and by, like elfin music away up in the air, we heard 

 the sound of the ducks' wings as the earlier flocks passed 

 over us, far out of sight. "I am afraid they will fly high 

 this morning," said Romauld, shivering and. slapping his 

 hands against his shoulders to warm his fingers. Then 

 there was a long silence as we sat waiting for the daylight. 



We waited, shivering, for ten minutes, fifteen minutes, 

 twenty minutes. High up in the ah the ducks were still 

 flying over, with that tantalizing, shrill whistle of rapjidly 

 moving wings. But none came low enough to decoy. 

 Occasionally a gun boomed out of the reeds, but not 

 often. The flight was a poor one. 



Suddenly I felt Romauld's hand pressing heavily on 

 my shoulder. I crouched down low upon the gunwale of 

 the boat. Romauld was peeping through a small gap in 

 the blind. I knew by the glitter of his eye that the birds 

 were coming. "Down!" Down!" he whispered. "Now!" 



Suiting the action to the word, Romauld sprang to his 

 feet. I sprang up too. A flock of eight or ten widgeons 

 was just whirling over the decoys. The Bonehill cracked 

 — not a feather! Then Romauld's old gun boomed out, and 

 one of the pair f e 1 wing-tipped into the water. Boom! 

 again, and the other duck fell stone dead on the edge of 

 the rushes. Once more the Bonehill cracked, and this 

 time successfully, as the hindmost of the rapidly disap- 

 pearing flock closed his wings and set tire water splash- 

 ing as he came down. But see! Romauld's wing-tipped 

 duck is skittering off at a lively rate over the surface of 

 the water. In a few seconds it will be out of range. 



Hastily dropping a shell into the right barrel of the Bone- 

 hill I cover the fugitive, and at the report he lies still on 

 the surface of the water. 



"Three out of the first flock is not bad!" cries Romauld. 

 "But we must pick them up right off, or the wind will 

 carry them off." We push our boat out from the blind 

 and retrieve the ducks with all dispatch. Then, safely 

 ensconced behind oux rampart of rushes, we watch and 

 wait again. Half an hour passes and no ducks. Romauld 

 get? up and scans the horizon on every side. Not a speck 

 against the sky. It is nearly 8 o'clock. We wait another 

 half hour, but not a bird comes near us. Concluding that 

 the flight is over, we are just pushing out to gather up 

 our decoys when two little butterballs come darting 

 around the point. Scarce seeming to notice us, they 

 wheel to the outer edge of the decoys. 



"I'll take the leader," I exclaimed. Bang!— bang! The 

 leader keeps right on, but the other is down. Before, 

 however, Romauld can "wipe my eye" I fire my second 

 barrel, and the remaining duck comes down. We now 

 have five birds bagged before breakfast, which is not so 

 bad as we feared. 



Hunger insures a quick passage home. And then that 

 breakfast! Shall I ever forget how good it tasted? Bull 

 pouts, fried as only a French -Canadian knows how to fry 

 them; eggs, fried' oi pork; potatoes, baked; coffee and 

 cream (at least cream is what we should call such milk in 

 the city); rye bread, dark but sweet; doughnuts, and 

 plenty of that same rich, creamy milk to drink. Under 

 the circumstances, I am not ashamed to confess that I 

 outdid even Romauld on the viands, to make up for bis 

 superior skill in shooting. As for the general greasiness 

 of the repast, why, take the appetizer that I took, you 

 dyspeptics and people of fastidious tastes, and see how 

 you will be disposed toward grease! 



After breakfast the fragrant weed. A wonderful di- 

 gester is tobacco, when indulged in with moderation and 

 in connection with plenty of outdoor exercise. Then to 

 the boat once more. We rowed down the river three 

 miles, and put out our decoys in front of a blind built 

 parallel with the water and curved in at the ends to con- 

 ceal the boat. There we sat until 3 o'clock in the after- 

 noon, for the sake of six shots! Romauld was anxious to 

 try the Bonehill, so I exchanged guns with him for the 

 time being. The result was that he missed his first bird 

 and I "wiped his eye." Then he got possession of bis 

 own gun again and wiped my eye twice. Two flocks of 

 widgeons came in to the decoys, and one pair of red- 

 heads. We got one bird out of the first flock, two out of 

 the second and one of the redheads. Then we hastened 

 home, to carry consternation to the larder again. 



With the evening came the most romantic and delight- 

 ful experience of the day — shooting black ducks by moon- 

 light. Fortunately, the moon was near its full at tli3 

 time, and as we pushed our boats into the great South 

 River marsh, shortly after dusk, Luna's great round orb 

 was just coming up over the distant hills. South River 

 mai'sh is the place where thousands of black ducks come 

 to spend the night, flying from the Mississquoi Bay in 

 Lake Champlain. fifteen miles distant. Hiding our boats 

 in the rushes, we waited, Romauld and I in the skiff, 

 Gamash and Joe in the canoe. 



Hark! A sound like a heavy wind blowing in the woods. 

 Look out, the ducks are coming, hrmdreds of them, 

 thousands of them. Like flitting shadows the flocks pass 

 over us in the moonlight, one after another, a long proces- 

 sion of phantoms. We wait until a flock whistles directly 

 over the boat. Then the guns crack, and away off down 

 the slough — so swiftly are the ducks flying — comes splash, 

 splash. Two of them are down. Now lines of fire shoot 

 skyward from the canoe, and we hear a bird drop on our 

 companion's side, 200yds. away. The flight lasts only 

 fifteen minutes, then stops as suddenly as it began. The 

 ducks are all down, here and there, among the rushes. 

 We can hear them quacking and rustling in the stillness 

 of the night. Each boat has had, perhaps, a dozen shots. 

 Some have taken effect, some not; for it is a much 

 more difficult matter than might be supposed, to hit even 

 a flock of ducks flying at more than railroad speed in the 

 deceptive moonlight. 



Now to retrieve our birds. Romauld has brought his 

 little black retriever dog with him, for without this valua- 

 ble member of the party Ave might as well have shot at 

 the moon, for all the ducks we would have actually 

 brought to bag. But now the intelhgent little animal 

 begins his work, half wading, half swimming around the 

 boats. One by one he finds and retrieves the birds, most 

 of them stone dead. Now and then there is a wounded 

 one, which the dog, after an exciting chase, catches and 

 brings in alive. Our total bag for the two boats is nine 

 birds— a pretty good showing for fifteen minutes' sport. 



As we row home in the moonlight Gamash sings a 

 French-Canadian ditty, in a weird yet melodious mono- 

 tone, keeping time with his paddle to the rhythm of the 

 song. The moon sails higher and higher in the now clear 

 and star-sprinkled sky. A light breeze steals across the 

 water out of the northwest. Romauld poises his dripping 

 oars for a moment and says, "It will be colder to-morrow." 

 I shiver apprehensively. Gamash's song has died out 

 with the final chorus, and as the beacon light from the 

 window of our home and shelter shines over the bay, oar 

 and paddle are plied more vigorously. The light craft 

 come gradually together and shoot forward side by side. 

 A few more strokes and we glide alongside the little 

 wharf, and a day's ducking at Martin's is over. 



Paul Pastnor. 



Caribou Notes.— Fredericton, N. B.— Henry Braith- 

 waite, the Canadian hunter, who resides here, says that 

 caribou are abundant within fifty miles of this city, at no 

 great distance from the highway, and that from Septem- 

 ber to February he can secure one at any time. They are 

 certainly much more plentiful in the green woods on the 

 Southwest Miramichi and its branches than they have 

 been before for a long time. The flesh of caribou which 

 feed in the hardwood forests is much more palatable than 

 that of those which frequent the barrens. These animals 

 change their locations at night when the moon shines 

 bright, but when the nights are dark they travel during 

 the day. During March weather, when the sun shines 

 bright and clear , they become very sleepy and stupid, and 

 frequently lie down and sleep on" top of the crust. Dur- 

 ing the hot summer months they seek the still waters and 

 lakes to get rid of the flies which are then so troublesome. 

 At this time they feed largely on the broad leaves of the 

 water lilies, which grow abundantly in such places. — 

 Edward Jack. 



Address* all communications to the Forest and Stream Pub. Co. 



FLORIDA BIRD NOTES. 



HERONS, EGRETS AND SPOONBILLS. 

 (Continued from Page UU.) 



IN the morning we concealed the boat in the rushes, and 

 hiding ourselves in the bushes, began our watch for 

 the spoonbills, which we knew flew over the island every 

 morning and sometimes stopped there. After waiting 

 patiently for almost an horn:, a solitary one was seen 

 coming toward the island. As he passed within thirty 

 yards, a charge of No. 6 caused him to reel in the air; but 

 catching his balance, he started to move on, when a 

 charge from the second barrel brought him to the earth. 

 I shall never forget how we admired him as he lay dead, 

 his bright rose-colored wings, delicate pink breast and 

 back, snowy-white neck, bald head and wondrous bill. 

 Many a time have ladies in looking over my birds here 

 exclaimed, "Oh, how lovely you have got that pink bird 

 colored!" The morning sun had just risen over the bay. 

 My companion, tired of his cramped position, arose for a 

 moment to look around, but gave an exclamation and 

 quickly jumped back under cover. On my inquiry of 

 "What's up," he replied, "Keep still, there comes a whole 

 string of those red fellows." And sure enough, about 

 200yds. to my right, flying very low and headed directly 

 toward us, came a triangular-shaped scarlet fine of fifteen 

 spoonbills. But their watchful eyes had discovered him, 

 and they turned sharply off and started in the direction 

 of Rocy Island, another of their feeding grounds. We 

 were now getting hungry and thought of returning to 

 camp. The black-headed gulls were now flying around 

 the island In large numbers, and after each of us had 

 killed three of them, we packed everything in the boat, 

 shoved her from the rushes, hoisted the sail and brought 

 her about. She hesitated a moment while the sails filled, 

 then cutting the waves like an arrow sped over the bay 

 like a thing of life; and in twenty minutes we were landed. 

 After breakfast the cases of tools were brought out and we 

 spent the remainder of the day in preparing our bird skins 

 and fighting sand flies. After replenishing our larder 

 with some prime fish and snipe we retired for the night. 



The next morning at daybreak found us busy cleaning 

 gun 1 ?, loading shells and getting our breakfast. A little 

 after sunrise, having everything in readiness we set off for 

 a day's cruise among the numerous small islands in the 

 bay. The white and brown pelicans had been seen daily 

 by us, but as yet we were unable to procure any. The 

 bay this morning was unusually abundant with bird life. 

 About 9 o'clock we saw seven white pelicans and a large 

 number of cormorants on a small island. The bank on 

 one side being high we saw that by making a long detour 

 we would be able to approach within a few yards. Ap- 

 proaching the island quietly and looking over the bank I 

 saw the seven sitting close together about thirty yards 

 distant. Slipping a couple of shells of turkey shot in the 

 chambers of the gun I fired. There was a loud commo- 

 tion among the cormorants, and after the smoke cleared 

 we found five pelicans and two cormorants. A pretty 

 good shot if it was a pot shot. Loading them in the boat 

 we once more headed for Shell Point. This time we had 

 to pull with oars as the wind had gone down and there 

 was a dead calm over the bay. We reached camp about 

 noon and spent the remainder of the day in preparing our 

 pelican skins. 



The next day our supply of water being all gone, we 

 set out in the boat to find Spring Creek, which emptied 

 into the bay about three miles from our camp. None of 

 us knew the exact place. After running up a number of 

 bayous we at last "entered one, and after following it a 

 mile through the rushes came to the timber at the edge 

 of which was an immense volume of water boiling from 

 the earth with such force as to rise several feet above the 

 surrounding water. Running the boat directly over the 

 spring or boil several times we were disappointed to find 

 it strongly impregnated with salt. About 50yds. to the 

 left of this we noticed a large stream issuing from the 

 woods. We followed this for 100yds. and came to a 

 second spring about 50ft. in diameter. There was no cur- 

 rent nor movement whatever in this spring and the water 

 was cool and fresh — better than any I ever drank in the 

 wel's at Tallahassee. The spring was overhung on all 

 sides with live oak and magnolia trees. On sounding, it 

 proved to be over 40ft. deep, Having a few hours to 

 spare we took the boat and ascended a small stream that 

 emptied into Spring Creek near the first spring. 



The channel was narrow and deep and overhung with 

 dark green boughs that formed an arch overhead. A 

 number of ospreys' nests were seen in this neighborhood. 

 Water turkeys, or snake birds, were also very numerous, 

 some sitting on snags or stumps just over the water, and 

 others in groups of half a dozen perched on some tall 

 dead tree pluming their feathers. The pileated wood- 

 peckers could be heard on all sides, making the woods 

 ring with their clear notes. Woodducks, with their 

 broods of young, were seen every few yards, a,ndan occa- 

 sional heron. The sportsman who wants to shoot alliga- 

 tors ought to visit this place, for on every pile of drift- 

 wood, fallen log or muddy bank they could be seen by 

 dozens, from the tiny lizard-like specimen a foot long to 

 the enormous fellows of 10 or 12ft. in length, with their 

 great ugly heads. Some would allow us to approach 

 almost close enough to strike them with an oar before 

 they went down. Cardinal grosbeaks and other small 

 birds were abundant around this stream. At one place a 

 horizontal limb overhung the water, and in this a pair of 

 cardinals were rearing their young. The nest was only 

 about a foot above water. Going down the stream we 

 shot a snowy heron, three water turkeys and a great blue 

 heron. Next day we added more tern and gull skins to 

 our collection, and after spending several more pleasant 

 and profitable days in the neighborhood, one bright after- 

 noon we bade good-bye to the charming place. We had 

 worked hard, but been amply repaid by the number of 

 fine skins we brought away. The bay was rough that 

 afternoon and the waves were just rolling high enough to 

 make it interesting sailing. We were soon near the fight- 

 house, but shortened the distance several miles by com- 

 ing through a narrow channel known as the Indian Pass. 

 An hour later we were in the harbor of St. Marks, where 

 we were to stay all night. St. Marks is not the tlrriving 



