AmL 7, 1900.]" 
L^OREST AND STREAM. 
267 
gurgle or two, an appreciative smack, the remark of 
"that's great," and Sherman looking past me says; 
"Lrreat guns ! look back of you." 
I do, and if there is one flock of ducks in sight, there 
are fifty. Some high, some low, all flying northwest to- 
ward the big Hall] day Marsh, about six miles above us. 
The flight is on in full force. Our decoys call. We use 
our whistles, but the course seems to be away from us. 
However, they keep on coming. Here comes a flock 
of about thirty. The first in the entire flight to notice our 
decoys. One hen separates herself from the rest and 
comes straight for us, and with terrific squawking lights 
squarely among the decoys. Look at that pet drake of 
mine trying to court her. The balance of the flock turn 
and come over out of range, turn again, and now facing 
the wmd, start to lower themselves, setting their 
wings. 
Ihere is no prettier sight than seeing a flock of mal- 
lards come toward you, setting their wings preparatory 
to settling in front of your blind. The compliment they 
unwittingly pay you pays you for all your privations and 
is the acme, of joy for a duck hunter. 
Ah, the little devils are frightened. They start up- 
ward, but still continue to come over our decoys, and that 
within range. A splendid cross shot. I let them have 
it and get one duck with each barrel. 
That makes seven birds, and all mallards. 
Just as we are comfortably settled, a flock of at least 
forty bluebills fly over us. These saucy little imps fear 
nothing. Ihey turn against the wind and come with the 
velocity of a hurricane, directly in the center of the river, 
not more than 20 feet from the water. They are bunched 
thickly, and as they go past, I hold about 4 feet in ad- 
vance, give them both barrels, and have five bluebills added 
to my string of seven mallards. 
Two I had to shoot over. Bluebills will stand as much 
shot as a hell diver; they are hard to kill. 
The flight is still on. but it seems our blind is about a 
quarter of a mile south of the line. Eleven o'clock finds 
us with not another bird added to our string. 
I did shoot at twelve mergansers. I dislike to have 
fish ducks or savvbilts around my blind. I consider them 
unlucky. 
Now I join Sherm in an antidote for the stomach 
ache, then we eat our lunch. Nearly six hours since 
breaKfast: thermometer at about 42; our appetite is a 
little better than normal. Luttch tastes good. All this 
time Sherm is is talking low, 1 answer him likewise, I 
suggest stamping round for about half an hour. We 
look at all points of the compass and not a bird in sight. 
Pulling up my rubber boots, I pick up my gun, and getting 
out of the boat stand up in water about 18 inches. It is 
splendid exercise, tramping in this manner. Puts your 
blood into circulation and tires you quicker than sawing 
wood. 
Even when standing the marsh grass thoroughly con- 
ceals my form. I look down the river and there, not 
over three gun shots away, sit twenty-two green-wing 
teal, feeding and skylarking. They must have sailed past 
me on the other side of the river and lit while we were 
eating our lunch. 
1 motion to Sherm and ask him what to do. He sug- 
gests my standing still. My decoys are tired by this 
time, do not squawk, and three of them, with their heads 
under their wings, are sleeping soundly. Sherm takes 
the hen out of the box, holding her by one wing. She 
sets out some unearthly "quacks," The drakes are awake 
instantly, answering. The hen above the point joins in 
the chorus, and the family of twenty-two teal now take 
notice. I think they are frightened, btit Sherm quickly 
puts the hen back in the box, and the confusion ceases. 
The teal come a little closer, but very, very slow. It 
seems like an hour has passed, and still they are out of 
range. 
Look, something has frightened them. The whole lot 
take to wing and iiy away, with never a chance for a shot. 
"There, Sherm, I told you we should have sneaked 
on them," says I. 
"Never mind; they'll come back. You couldn't have 
got anywhere near them," says Sherm, 
But they never came back. So I had my half-hour 
walk and got back to the boat at exactly i :30 P. M. 
No ducks flying yet, and it begins to rain just a little. 
We put on our gum coats (dead grass color) and begin 
our watch. 
Here comes six butterballs. I let them have both 
barrels and score a miss. Sherm looks astonished, but 
I don't say a word. He keeps watching the butterballs 
and directly he says; "You crippled two of them. I'll 
go get tliem." 
I make no answer, but after he has gone I look up the 
river, and there are two birds swimming, one bobbing her 
head as if gasping for breath. Sherm follows the shore 
for about twenty rods, and in a few minutes I hear his 
pump gun crack twice. Both birds topple over, and 
float to a point where they lodge against some grass. 
Sherm comes out, picks them up. When he returns he 
says nothing. 
So we sit and wait. Not another shot in store, ap- 
parently. Four o'clock, and I suggest going home. We 
agree to wait until 4:45. In a few minutes Sherm ex- 
claims : 
"Lordy, there is a lot of redheads." 
Sure enough, coming straight for us come nine fine, fat 
redheads. They are going to decoy. They do, and plum.p 
down into the water before you can say Jack Robinson. 
My heart is beating like a trip hammer. Think of it. 
Nine redheads, bunched together, ijot eight rods from 
the end of ' my gun. 
I will confess I fell from grace then and there, and 
Sherm.an Hyatte never moved a finger to stop me. 1 
lowered m.yself, so that when aim.ing my gun would be as 
nearly parallel with the water as possible. 
Bang" bang. Glorious! Only four flew up Five lay 
on the placid bosom of the water, stone, stark dead. Oh 
how sorry I was — nit. 
For the next half-hour Ave continued to have that royal 
soort you sometime read about, but seldom experience 
The evening flight was on. and bunch after bunch came 
over our decoys. Fourteen more mallards we brought 
down, and then we nulled up stakes and decovs and 
started for home with thirty-three birds, and enough good 
air and sport to otir credit to add ten years to_ nur life. 
Tbiii is an ordinary Kankakee Marsh experience, and if 
you would like to hear some more of this kind, I have 
some more in stock. 
To all doubters I extend a cordial invitation to go with 
me at any time during the season. Paul Tarbel. 
The Right and the Wrong of . 
Hunting. 
Teach your boys that hunting is a sport. That to fairly| 
kill bird or beast is right and proper, but to take unfair 
advantage of them is just as wrong as though persons' 
were interested. That there is a right and reasonable; 
way to do all things. 
For instance, in regard to the feeling some have against ' 
the farmer for posting "No Hunting" notices, some 
parents allow their boys who are just beginning to handle 
a gun to go about in parties who have no regard to the 
rights of others. ; 
On one of my recent excursions I found the grounds 
upon which I was hunting were posted with notices that 
no hunting would be allowed. Looking across the field 
I saw the owner of the farm husking corn. I approached 
him and apologized, saying I had but just discovered 
the notices, and had ignorantly been shooting quail. He 
was very courteous, saying I could, at any time, shoot 
anywhere upon his farm. The notices were to prohibit 
boys and irresponsible persons from roaming over his 
place at will. He said : "As I was husking corn out 
here the other day I heard shooting, and simultaneously 
felt the shot, which came about me in a shower, and saw 
my sheep running across a near field with a dog among 
them. Following came some half-grown boys with guns.. 
They had been snooting at the birds, and I being in range 
might have been more damaged than the birds had I been a 
little nearer. Not wishing to needlessly risk life or limb, 
nor caring to lose any of my stock, I posted the notices, 
hoping to keep such parties from my grounds." 
The city sportsman will, I feel sure, find the farmer 's 
gentleman if he will treat him as one, and if a polite re- 
quest for permission to shoot be made the farmer will 
often as kindly grant permission. Nearly every day last 
fall sotne farmer would invite me to come out and bring 
my dog and gun. "There are lots of qiiail, and I'll go out 
with you," he would say. 
One of my friends, who is posted on sporting matters 
and something of a gunner himself, told mc he liked to 
see sportsmen who are honest. He said: "They want 
laws protecting game, and yet last fall they used against 
quail a lo-gauge gun with 4^2 drams of powder, 1^4 
ounces shot. What law can protect a covey of quail from- 
such fire ? Why, the charge would cover the broad side of 
a barn and scarcely leave a space for a chickadee. It is 
nothing but slaughter to hunt quail with such a charge, 
killing a whole flock at a shot." He said, too, if the 
parties happened to be hunting woodchuck they would 
sometimes use a .30-30 ball ; any one within range at a 
distance of three miles was as apt as not to receive the 
ball. Real hunting was to use a gun and charge so that 
some skill was required on the part of the hunter, 
In the Forest and Stream I see many letters telling of 
men who are not accompanied on sporting excursions with 
their sons. To give boys a day's outing with the father 
occasionally will be to do away with their desire to go 
out with boys or inexperienced persons, whose hunting is 
at the best but bungling luck. 
When my two boys were at home they had no desire 
for other conpany than mine. Evening after evening I 
entertained them with stories of adventure, ranging from 
my own deer shooting to the exploits of Daniel Boone and 
other frontiersmen. No poolroom or street entertainment 
could entice them from their evenings at home. 
One fall morning the boys said, "Let's take tlie canoe 
and go down the river." No sooner said than done. 
There were plenty of wood ducks, mallards and green- 
winged teal, and after launching the canoe we started in 
for a day's real sport. 
The Paw Paw River is about 40 yards wide, 3 feet 
deep and with high banks. It is overshadowed with beech 
trees, and beech nuts lined the bottom of the river. 
My boys were both well skilled in the handling of a 
canoe, and the youngest said: "Father, you take your 
place in the bow of the boat and I'll paddle until you get 
three shots." We had passed but a few bends in the 
river when, rounding a sharp point where a big sycamore 
leaned so that its top touched the opposite bank and 
partially shut out the view, Ned said: "Look!'' From 
behind the roots of the tree there swam out into the 
stream four mallards. At the first crack of the gun 
three of the birds keeled over, and the second barrel 
brought down the fourth before he had risen 6 feet. Ned 
said: "I guess mother will think it is a good day for 
ducks. See those beauties?" 
One more shot and it would be my turn to paddle. 
Around the second bend several ducks were seen at long 
range, and changing from, fine to coarse shot, the boy sent 
the^'canoe straight as an arrow at them. When they 
rose there were two reports The range was long and but 
one duck stopped. 
Running the bow of the boat unto a sand bar, Ned 
took his place in the bow with his short, Hght muzzle- 
loader, and after the boat had rounded two or three 
bends, out from under the roots of a leaning tree swam 
a flock of wood ducks. The boy fired hastily and the 
birds went on unhindered- But a few bends below another 
flock of mallards was sighted at very long range for the 
light gun. I told him to have his gun ready to fire as. 
soon as they rose from, the water, so that he m.ight have 
the advantage of their spread wings. He fired, and one 
bird fell with a broken wing and skulked. . After a short 
search we found it hiding in some brush along the water's 
edge, and one more shot, finished it. The boat was again 
run ashore, and the boy took the paddle, EaA'ing it was 
more sport to see me shoot than to do it himself. 
With my trusty gun ever ready, we went down stream 
some distance to' where a bluff 40 feet high covered with 
stunted hemlock and sassafras rose on our left. Ju?t as 
we were passing we saw about half way up the bluffy a 
partridge sitting on the ground. The river is very rapid, 
and before I could get a shot we were out of sight of the 
bird. We turned the boat back to a point above where 
we had seen it. but I coitid not locate it. The boy did 
so, and pointed him out, and a shot sent the bird roJling 
down the bank. He was placed beside the ducks, and 
we were again on our way down stream. 
At one place where the willr w - dipped into the water we 
had to make a detour. Sproi f vvere very thick there, and 
looking through them we saw several mallards swing out 
into midstream. I aimed quickly, and was about to 
pull the trigger when the boy whispered, "Hold on 1" and 
)Ut from the bank swung twenty or thirty more mallards. 
A sharp report and five lay dead on the water, and as 
the balance rose the other barrel dropped two more, 
making seven to add to our already nice bag. A short 
distance further, and a large flock arose and a right and 
left placed three more to our credit. Then the boat sped 
on to the shore at Watervliet. 
Ned said: "There's as nice a lot of ducks as will 
j (1 ever be shot on Paw Paw River ; fifteen ducks and one 
partridge." 
I'lj Several years have passed since then. Recently, while 
; l^taking dinner with my son — who is now foreman on a 
I i 240-acre farm — several persons who were present were 
j: discussing their boyhood days, when Ned said : "Father, 
i' I can't see a single mistake you ever made with us boys.'' 
Sportsmen, that was the proudest moment of my life! 
Think of it, you who have sons. Make them your 
companions and some day you too may enjoy what I did 
after this remark of my now grown-up i=on. Then you 
can truly say, it is not all of hunting to kill. 
Sullivan Cook. 
Hartforo. Mich. 
Hard Times in India. 
L.^TE in the sixties I was quartered at a station in Cen- 
tral India, 140 miles from the nearest railway, and in the 
month of November was sent, on temporary military duty, 
to a place nearly 250 miles distant. 
Owing to an almost total failure of the rains there had 
been during the preceding hot season a terrible famine 
over a tract of the country several hundred miles wide 
and long. Many of the smaller streams and the j heels 
or lakes from which the land, in some places, was irri- 
gated, had dried up, and the crops, together with the un- 
cultivated grass, had totally failed. Myriads of cattle and 
sheep had died from starvation, as well as numbers of the 
natives; the want of means of transport rendering it im- 
possible to send sufficient food from other parts of India. 
The road along which I had to go was very rarely 
used by Europeans and the only available means of 
travelling was by a palanguin in which I was carried all 
night, stopping during the day at the dawk bungalows, 
or Government rest houses, for travellers. I arrived at 
one of these about sunrise, and after taking a cup of 
strong coflee, which I carried with me, to prevent malari- 
ous fever, I began to inquire what there was for break- 
fast from the Khansamah (a Mahometan in charge of the 
bungalow). As only three or four European travellers 
passed that way in a year, I did not expect anything bet- 
ter than a half-starved fowl and some chupatties, or thin 
unleavened cakes made with flour and water; but soon 
found that no meat at all was procurable. The following 
is a translation, as literal as possible, of my talk with the 
Khansamah: 
"Oh! Khansamah, what have you for me to eat?" 
"Anything which the Presence may be pleased to 
name." 
"Very good. I want some beefsteak." 
"Sahib, no one ever kills a bullock in this country" 
(alluding to the peGj.ie being Hindoos). 
"Then bring soT.e mutton chops." 
"Sahib, there are no sheep left in this country." 
"Never mind. Make ready a curried fowl." 
"Sahib, I had four dozen fowls, but they all died from 
the heat of the sun." 
"Then send a coolie to the village for some eggs and 
make a currv with them." 
"Sahib, the villagers had plenty of fowls, but they killed 
them all for food during the famine." 
"Verv good; show me what food you have in the bunga- 
low." 
In a few minutes he brought in a cup of rice, only par- 
tially husked, and some brown flour; so I thought it 
would be better to look for something in the shape of 
game, although the surrounding country appeared very 
unpromising. The land in front of the bungalow was 
all cultivated, with a large village at its edge. That in 
the rear was covered with broken pieces of rock, in the 
crevices of which grew thin tufts of grass, and in a few 
spots there were small clumps of bushes, mostly babool, 
a kind of acacia. There seemed little chance of anything 
worth shooting except peafowl, and as the Hindoos of 
that neighborhood had no religious objection to their be- 
ing killed, I loaded my gun. a i6-bore, with 2^^ drams of 
powder and an ounce of BB shot. In some parts of India 
the natives consider peafowl to be so sacred that they will 
mob any man who kills one. The full-grown peacock 
is too tough to be good for anvthing except making mulli- 
gatawny soup, but a young bird is as tender as a guinea 
^owl. 
I hired a coolie to. carry any game that might be shot 
and walked for a mile or two without seeing anything. At 
last, when .going cautiously throup-h some babool bushes. 
I noticed a large buck gazelle (Gasella benuetti) about 
thirty yards distant. He saw me at the same instant and 
crouched ready to spring away, when I took a snapshot 
at his shoulder and he dropped in his tracks dead, as sud- 
denly as if hit in the brain. 
The coolie and T carried h=m to the bungalow, ard on 
openine- the chest T found that five or six of the nellets 
of BB had struck the heart. He had been VilVd by the 
shock alone. T l-'ad some srareVe chor>,<; for brpal'fa';t and 
part of a haunch for dinner before contir";""^ ionrney 
in the evening. J- J. Meyrick. 
BuDLEiGH Saltekton, Snuth Pevon. March 15. 
Fof the ParJs ExposHtrn. 
Utica. N. Y., April 2. — Mr Vrt-lmr W. S^vaff Icnves 
for the Paris Exoo.<:ition on the Ocean"c. saiUne Anni iR. 
He will be absent about (ive weeVs. He goes to inaugu- 
rate the exhibit of the Savage Arm.<; Co. 
The Forest anh Strtam is -p"* to pres* esich wrrk fm Tne^fte*. 
Correspondence interided f^r -Mih'iration chouM "-ach ua « th« 
latest by Msaday sad aa mneh earlier u pnetieahle. 
