April 3, 1897.] 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
263 
wallBrd is conceded to be the progenitor of our domestic 
duck, yet its natural characteristics apj^ear to be more widely 
separated from the habits of their domestic descendants than 
any of the duclc species. While the domestic progeny of the 
mallard are more genfe and fearless of injury than any 
other of our fowls descended from a wild race, they, on the 
contrary, a.re continually apprehensive of dttnger, exceediosly 
waiy, and as alert as Scottish clansmen in expectation of an 
attack; and at the slightest alarm will rise from the water, 
or apparently bounce nearly perpendicular until reaching an 
elevation above the eunounding trees. 
This pocoson was also a famous resort for those consum- 
mate pirates of the duck species, the widgeons, commonly 
called bald-pates, which obtain a portion of their food by 
open brigandage. They are fond of the marine olant, which 
constitutes the principal food of the canvasback and red- 
head, which these wildfowl obtain by diving to the bottom 
to secure the roots. As diving is not amon'e the widgeon's 
accomplishments, they are compelled to report to drastic 
measures to gratify their epicurean desires. Therefore they 
repair to the adjacent feeding grounds of the superior fowl, 
and mingle with them (apparently socially) during their feed- 
ing hours; and when one of the divers rises from the bottom 
with the fruit of its enterprise grasped in its bill, one of the 
nearest social visitors seizes the coveted morsel without cere- 
mony before the victim could shake the water from its eyes. 
That quality or mode of acquirement appears to be inherent 
in this species of feathered brigand. A<? this quality is im- 
planted by nature, I suppose it is all right, and although not 
in accord with our system of justice, yet we find some hu- 
man bald-pates in perfect syuipathy and practice with their 
congeners, and many of them seem to occupy reserved seats 
in the front row. 
The beautiful little green-winged teal was an annual vis- 
itor, arriving in October to participate in the bountiful feast 
which nature provided for the feathered species, particular- 
ly those of the aquatic classes. Here they reveled amid the 
ripe seed falling from the wild oats and various other plants 
indigenous to the locality. This beautiful little duck, 
although quite numerous here on each returning autumn, 
never congrearated in large flocks, either in flight or at rest. 
They were clannish rather than social in their habits; I 
seldom saw over fifteen or twenty assemble toaether. I have 
frequently watched from a secluded spot their little assem- 
blages and gazed with admiration on their brilliant plumage 
and graceful evolutions, apparently indulging in social en- 
joyment after suoplving their bodily requirements from 
nature's prolific fields around them. Thfir annual sojourn 
here was short, but it was during the beautiful season of 
Indian summer, when the scene (in mv estimation) was 
more fascinating than at any other time; the surrounding 
landscape presenting a picture of matchless inanimate 
beauty. The foliage crowning the adjacent forest, and also 
the shrubbery and isolated trees alona: the margin, and inter- 
spersed through this pocoson, painted as nature only can, in 
all the colors of the rainbow, in conjunction with her nu- 
merous species and families of animated productions, pre- 
sented to the sportsman and ornithologist a picture enchant- 
ing and ineffaceable. 
Amid this magnificent scenery I have gazed with delight 
(oblivious of passing time) upon the graceful and erratic evo- 
lutions indulged in by a family or clan of this small but 
magnificently clad fowl, the green-wineed teal, whose every 
movement or change of position under the glistening rays of 
the sun would present to the sight corruscations in conform- 
ity with the various tints and colors of their splendid plu- 
mage until we could imagine their drapery an aggregation 
of jewels 
On those occasions I would shelter myself in some secluded 
spot, from which I could observe their movements entirely 
unobserved by them. And when I wished to retire I would 
cautiously creep from my concealment to avoid disturbing or 
alarming them. 
As I invariably carried my gun on these expeditions, no 
doubt the mental question may present itself to some who 
read this: "How many did you kill?" I have never yet 
killed one of those beautiful little fowl which have afforded 
me so much pleasure. If asked how many bald pates I 
killed after watching (not with admiration) their piratical 
operations, my answer might be somewhat different; but 
modesty (that inherent quality universally prevalent with 
sportsmen) admonishes me to beware of numerical state- 
ments, thereby preventing some oflicious game warden from 
insinuating that I was indulging in hyperbole— and perhaps 
prove it on me. 
In addition to those mentioned above, there were other 
feathered visitors belonging to the ultra aquatic class of 
water fowl, but time forbids me delineating further in that 
branch. Within the precincts of this pocoson or feeding 
resort could be found at that time all the grades and classes 
forming a complete chain of connecting links between the 
ultra water fowl and those living and feeding exclusively on 
the land. 
The different classes or grades relatively connecting the 
extremes of the feathered race in one family were as numer- 
.ous, and the gradient or change so slight between the 
intermpdiate members, it was difficult to decide to which part 
of the line of progression each belonged. In fact, there 
were two classes, annual visitors in that vicinity, and I have 
never been able to decide which part of the chain of connec- 
tion they formed the links. Their visits were in the spring, 
during the advent of immense schools of fish, with which 
the rivers and creeks were plethoric, and which also consti- 
tuted the principal food for these birds, the kingfisher and 
fish hawk. Where to place them in the lex'con of orni- 
thology I am unable to decide. At any rate, they were 
there, obtained their food from the water, and were expert 
divers, yet I never saw one swimming or resting on the 
•water even momentarily. Their mode of capturing their 
food is interesting and really exciting. As this communica- 
tion is becoming lengthy, I will close with a description from 
personal observation of the modus operandi of the fish hawk 
in capturing its prey, with its exciting sequel, on this special 
occasion. 
While standing on the dike separating the pocoson from 
Hunting Creek my attention was attracted by an unusually 
large fish hawk slowly flopping along about 15 or 30yds. 
above the surface of the creek, apparently oblivious of sur- 
rounding objects, but evidently his vigilant eye was search- 
ing every spot beneath for a suitable victim. When he had 
marked his anticipated prey his previoHS sluggish movements 
disappeared, and instantly his momentum was arrested and 
suspended in mid air with outstretched wings and no evi- 
dence of life except a slieht tremulous vibration of his pin- 
ions. This position was maintained until his unerring eye 
had measured the distance and range of his quarry ; then, 
swift as the lightning's^^flash, he plunged with closed wings 
beneath the surface of the water, from whichhe emerged in a 
few moments (yet I was somewhat alarmed for his safety), 
when he arose with a struge-ling caotivp grasped in histalonn, 
and with an air of triumph started in the direction of a dead 
tree on the opoosite side of the creek, on which the fish 
hawks frequently perched to enjoy their lunch, as it was iso- 
lated and consequently could not be approached unseen 
by their enemies. Alas! his anticipations of a quiet meal 
were doomed to disappointment. He had proceeded about 
halfwav across the creek, exerting himself to the utmost to 
reach his destination, when he uttered a piercing scream and 
vigorously exerted his power to escape some imminent 
danger, the cftme of which I had not yet discovered. And 
as it was the first time I had beard, when witnessing an in- 
cident of this nature, such a piercing scream of alarm (which 
was an interlude to the impending contest at the sequel). I 
watched with intense interest for further developments. 
Upon sweeping the horizon closely I discovered a dark snot 
rapidly apm'oaching, which proved to be the unrelenting 
enemy of the hawk, the bald eagle, which no doubt had 
been watching the movements of the hawk from an elevated 
perch until the time arrived to strike. From the moment 
the hawk discovered the approaching winged conqueror he 
made desperate attempts to escape by ascending in wide 
circles, the eagle pursuing the same tactics. It was exceed- 
ingly interesting to watch their gyrating movements until 
the eagle srained the ascendant, when he plunged upon the 
hawk, who in his terror abandoned his fish, for which the 
eade plunged again with indiscribable velocity, secured the 
falling fish in his talons before reaching the water, then 
gliding away with inconceivable celerity made throuffh the 
air one of those matchless ascending curves for which the 
kinar of birds is celebrated, without flap of wing or flirt of 
feather. .Iames Norkis. 
Harfobd County, Maryland. 
RECOLLECTIONS OF IOWA.— IV. 
"Ab, happy hills; ah, pleasioj? .shade; 
Ah, fields belov'd m vain, 
Where once my careless childhood stray'd." 
To those who have reached the crest of the hill from 
whence they can survey the beginning and the end of the 
journey of life, one of the sweetest pleasures is to sit down 
and muse over the course they have traveled, and silently 
contemplate the joys and sorrows, the pleasures and pains, 
the successes and mistakes that stud its devious way. And 
yet how prone we are to forget the miseries and remember 
only the delights of our boyhood days. Some way the 
clouds seem to have all floated away and left only the sun- 
shine. Nature, for some occult reason, smooths the folds 
of memory, making ns forgetful of wintry skies, dead 
leaves, yellow grass, cut fingers and cold feet, and permits 
us only to recall bright skies, pretty green leaves and grass, 
birds, songs and happiness. Yes, "nature can soothe if 
she cannot satisfy," and for this, if nothing more, she is 
entitled to a first mortgage on our gratitude. Even in 
those cases where pleasure and distress got so badly mixed 
up that we were in doubt then as to which bad the better 
of the other on the general proposition we find no room in 
our hearts for doubt in after j^ears. Memory has digested 
all the distresses and permitted pleasure to assimilate 
them. 
It was March, 1862. We had passed a hard winter, with 
lots of cold, disagreeable weather. But now the leaden 
clouds were floating away, the grass was timidly peeping 
out from its cold bed, the bluebird was investieating the 
condition of its last year's quarters, the ice in the streams 
was breaking up, and the quack of the mallard and the 
honk of the wild goose were heard in the land. I got down 
.my shotgun, stuck a bottle of powder in one pocket, a bot- 
tle of shot in another, a wad of paper and a box of caps in 
another, whistled up old Cola— my bull retriever— and 
struck out for Coon Kiver for ducks. I wanted to get 
down the river two or three miles below Foster's, where I 
knew that some spring branches put in, and where I was 
sure that I would find plenty of ducks. Snow and ice 
were still with us, and we took the center of the river to 
expedite matters, and also for the advantage that it gave 
us over any unsuspecting birds that might be puddling 
along the banks. We had proceeded on our way a mile 
or so when I began to realize that the ice was unsafe. It 
seemed to be rotten, and disposed to quit business in that 
niSck of the woods. I had taken but a few steps shoreward 
when with a crack and a crash it broke and let me through. 
The water was deep and verv cold, but I hung on to my 
gun and put forth my most gallant efforts to get out. After 
letting me through the cakes of ice had readjusted them- 
selves, and when I came up I found myself under the ice. 
I thought I would surely strangle before I found a place 
that I could get my hand through to the surface, but I 
found one and tilted the cake so that I could get my head 
out. Then I tried to climb up, but the treacherous ice 
cakes would modestly give way to my weight, tilt up and 
let me down again. Eeallv I do not know how I did 
manage to get out, but I did after a long time. And when, 
half dead, I pulled myself up on the snowy bank, I still 
liad my gun and ammunition. The powder was all right, 
for it was in a corked bottle; and the caps were in a close- 
fitting tin box. Thank fortune, neither powder nor caps 
were any the worse for my ducking. My clothes were 
freezing on me, and the question at once presented itself: 
Should I go home? I felt that if I went home then my 
condition would call for an explanation, which said expla- 
nation would probably seriously aflfect my plans for the 
future. 
Old Cola had quietly slid ashore at the first intimation 
of trouble, and, while powerless to render assistance, 
seemed to be a deeply interested spectator, and ready now 
to condole with me and ofier some good advice if I could 
only understand him. And as a general proposition a boy 
and his dog understand each other. If a boy and his dog 
can't understand each other, who can? 
I construed Cola's manifestations of pleasure as mute 
suggestions that we go on with the hunt. He said as 
plainly as could be said without words: "Pshaw! that little 
ducking will not hurt you; you are too brave and manly to 
let a little thing like that spoil all our sport; come on, let's 
go on down the river and get some ducks." So we went 
oif out to a grassy place among the trees where we were 
somewhat sheltered from the wind, and I stripped ofi" 
every dud, wmng them out as well as I could, dressed, and 
,we proceeded on our way. We had good luck with the 
mallards at the spring holes, and old Cola worked with 
such unusual energy that I never lost a duck. Apparently 
he wanted to show me that I had done just the right thing 
in following his advice. We did not return home until 
night, and when we did get home my clothes were per- 
fectly dry, and I was comfortable and warm. One never 
takes cold from such mishaps or exposures if they keep 
their blood moving by proper exercise. 
When I was a boy in Iowa there wasn't a day of the 
year (except Sunday) that wasn't open season for some 
kind of sport with rod or gun. And, as with all boya, 
Sunday was open too if we could manage to give the old 
folks the slip. The only close seasons were such as our 
better natures suggested or felt disposed to recognize. We 
fished from early spring to late autumn and then speared 
the fish through the ice. We permitted the prairie chick- 
ens to hatch their young without molestation, but com- 
menced to shoot as soon as the young commenced to fly. 
No thought of any kind of protection for Water fowl ever 
came into our heads. Rabbits and squirrels were out- 
lawed by common consent, but there was a tender spot in 
all our hearts for poor little Bob White, Spring and 
autumn the prairie lakes were fuU of water fowl that 
sought refuge in the river during boisterous weather. And 
there in the river was where I most delighted to hunt 
them. And if I should undertake to tell of the countless 
nupabers I killed it would sound too much like a fairy tale 
to insure general belief. But, while I made some wonder- 
ful shots, I never succeeded in scoring as many at one 
shot as did my friend Mr. Baumgardner. He got twenty- 
seven mallards at one shot. 
Every autumn father and I would go with a covered 
wagon up to the northwestern part of the county and 
spend a couple of weeks or more with the water fowl, and, 
of course, we had great sport. The country had begun to 
settle up; and here and there were small patches of com, 
which were, for the most part, appropriated by the cranes, 
geese and ducks. And in these fields I had some of the 
greatest sport of my life. The majority of these fields 
were unfenced and therefore seldom harvested by their 
owners. The cranes would come by thousands, alight on 
the adjacent prairie and then walk over into the corn. By 
the time they were ready to go on south there wasn't 
much left of it, and it generally had the appearance of 
having been torn to pieces by hogs. But if the owner 
could manage to fence his little field the cranes were 
"leary" and regarded it with suspicion as being some kind 
of a trap. 
I remember one fall we made our headquarters at Mr. 
Francis's, up in Dallas township. There was a small field 
of corn about two miles north of our camp which the 
owner had fenced against the cranes, but the mallards 
gathered there nights and mornings in countless numbers. 
There was no house on it, only just a little, lonely prairie 
field, and I jumped the claim so far as mallard" hunting 
was concerned. Probably the owner would not have ob- 
jected any way, for mallards, in such numbers as I found 
there, were not calculated to increase his harvest to any 
perceptible degree. 
One evening as the sun was sinking in the west I took 
my dog and gun and hurried away to my preserve, climbed 
the fence, went out in the field a few rods, tied four hills 
of corn together at the tops for a blind, and commenced 
work. I kept the dog very busy bringing ducks until it 
became too dark to shoot, and must have had forty or 
fifty fine mallards. Then I hurriedly gathered up my 
game, climbed the fence near the corner, and struck out 
for camp. Now a prairie is much the same, no matter 
which way you go, and while I could not observe any 
strange or unfamiliar landmarks, it seemed to me that it 
was a very long way back to camp and that the mallards 
were unusually fat and heavy. It became dark, very dark; 
but I kept on walking, and after a couple of hours became 
painfully aware that in my hurry T had climbed out of 
the field on the wrong side and was to all intents and pur- 
poses lost. But I kept on walking, waded through prairie 
ponds to my hips, alarming sleepy water fowl and now 
and then starting some animal (presumably wolves) from 
the long grass, and making myself obnoxious generally. 
At last I discovered a light away off across the prairie 
and made for it. Somewhere about 11 o'clock I reached it, 
and found that it came from a settler's cabin on a little 
patch of unfenced new sod; but the settler had a dog that 
seemed to be savage and not at all disposed to let me ap- 
proach. Finally the dog's unusual conduct brought the 
settler to the door, and I inquired if he could tell me where 
Mr. Francis lived. I felt my heart sink a little when he 
replied, "Yas. about nine miles east o' here." Then I had 
to ask him which way was east, and he came out and gave 
me the general direction. I wanted to get to camp, for I 
knew that the folks would be uneasy, and so I pulled on, 
still hanging on to my ducks. And maybe you think they 
were not heavy by this time. 
After walking another hour or morel heard the faint 
report of a gun away oflF across the prairie, which I an- 
swered with both barrels. It wasn't very long before 
father and Mr. Francis came riding up, and what a relief 
it was to get rid of those mallards and astride of a horse. 
The best squirrel hunt I ever had was one October day 
in 1863. I had two chums by the name of Seth and Cicero 
Dodge, who lived down in the forks of 'Coon about four 
miles below us. The boys were hauling wood to town and 
they told me that the woods down in the forks were alive 
with squirrels, and that if I would go back with them that 
evening they would, get their father to let them have the 
next day off and we would have lots of fun. I went home 
and got my No. 14 muzzleloader, plenty of ammunition 
and my dog and went home with them. Father Dodge 
had built a new frame house, but it was not large enough 
to accommodate the family and any strangers, so Cicero 
and I slept out in the old log house. I shall never forget 
the scare we got that night. As boys will, we lay there a 
long time discussing the various propositions that suggest 
themselves to two boy chums who haven't seen each other 
for some time. Along toward midnight we thought we 
discovered the presence of somebody under our bed. To 
make it more certain we distinctly heard the ticking of his 
watch. We became uneasy, for the ticking of that watch 
was regular and incessant. At last Cicero quietly slipped 
out of bed, went over to the new house and called his 
father, who came and investigated. Much to our chagrin 
tlie old gentleman soon discovered that the cause of our 
dread and forebodings was only a deathwatch at work in 
an old log by the side of the bed. 
