FOREST AND STREAM. 
438 
Nov. 25, 1905.] 
iiore deer would be shot. No dogs are allowed and still- 
lunting on a carpet of dry leaves is an unprofitable pur- 
uit. 
The ruffed grouse is certainly a hard bird to bring to 
)ag at this season of the year. It can fly at top speed 
hrough the thickest covers and in more open woods rises 
t long .-range or entirely out of shot. One sees only a 
irown streak against a brown background and is apt to- 
OSS up the gun and . fire without proper aim or allow- 
nce for speed on cross, quartering or rapidly rising shots, 
"he difference between a good and a bad shot is some- 
hing less .than one second, but that makes all the differ- 
nce between a. kill and a clean miss. Deliberate prompt- 
less is the word. 
Woodcock seem an easy mark when found in grouse 
hooting unless yo.u coihpare them with the occasional 
>ird, which rises close at hand and crosses an open space, 
n dense thickets the woodcock prefers to climb like a 
kyrocket to get above the alders, and small timber, and 
in the first flight seldom does. his level best. He has been 
njoying a. siesta, and probably feels tired and lazy. If he 
las been shot at and badgered before he will show you 
chat he can do. Then, indeed, he whistles through the 
.ir as if on a special mission, and if missed on the first 
ise may never be seen again. Woodcock have a large 
irain which they use to good effect if . wide awake. I 
lave marked woodcock down to a yard and waited with 
ny eyes upon the spot until the dogs could be brought 
ip. ..The dogs made game and trailed but could not find 
he birds. . The reason being that the woodcock had run 
.t once on striking ground and, then had quietly taken 
ring again .when at a safe distance. I have proved this 
o my own satisfaction. The strange part of it is that 
hese birds are never found again on the same. day. 
What a. charm there is about this bird and how hard 
ve work to find It if. we only hear that well known 
rhistle. Do. you... know how this sound is made? I do 
iot know that I ever heard it mentioned. Examine the 
lext woodcock. you kill; turn .up. the wings and note the 
)rim.ary feathers. The first in the; end of the wing (I 
orget how many) are not like, feathers at all. They re- 
emhle long.,, narrow little .sabres, and these are the 
vhistlers. When flying out to feed in the evening the 
voodcock moves -quite rapidly, and in making a quick 
urn you will note that the whistle rings out clearly. The 
freater., the speed the louder the whistle. This bird 
nakes some odd sounds at the breeding season, but is 
i.sually mute at. other times. He has also the strange 
iabit of dropping straight down after rising to a con- 
iderable. height. I never saw this done during the day, 
)Ut think the sound then made is due to the rapid pas- 
;age of the air between the quill feathers, and that they 
ire turned more or less on edge to allow the bird to 
Irop.. Woodcock are queer customers, and when thor- 
oughly aroused are surely wiser than Mr. Owl, for all 
he latter’s big. .eyes and boasted wisdom. Both are night 
feeders. ,. Theodore Gordon. 
A Beefsteak Memory. 
In the course of my duties as a salesman for a large 
manufacturing company I struck a small town on Long 
Island noted as a resort in summer and a great place 
to shoot ducks in the fall; and as has been my custom 
when visiting places that have a reputation for good 
shooting, I made inquiry as to the condition at that 
time, and found I was late for the best of it. One mer- 
chant, however, who had at one time been a bayman 
and guide, told me that he had been so busy at his 
store he had not been out after duck once that season, 
and that he had the duck fever so bad that if he only 
had sQme one to go with him he would go, and was 
not afraid but that he would get his share, as he had the 
use of the best ducking rig on the bay. All this sounded 
good to me, and we arranged to go the following Mon- 
day, rain of shine. One Sunday I left New York with 
my outfit, which was no small affair, and consisted of 
an old but war.m light-colored suit, a suit of extra 
warm underwear, a heavy tan sweater, a knitted hood 
and hip boots, all packed in a telescope. I also had with 
me a ,12,-gauge Winchester shotgun, one hundred shells 
loaded, with 3)4 drams of good smokeless powder, i)4 
ounces' .of No. 4 chilled shot, and wadded with white 
felt wads one size larger than the shells. This is not a 
crank load, but a good load, the best I know for duck 
in a 12-gauge gun. 
I arrived at the town after dark, and my good friend 
the storekeeper met me at the depot and surprised me 
'by asking if I was ready to start. I said I was, but 
I certainly stretched the truth, as I had not had any- 
thing to eat since dinner, and was expecting to get 
supper before starting. But he said, “Get in. We’re 
off!” and we were on our wa}^ before the train had left 
the station. I did not know where we were going, but 
it did not take long to find out that we were bound for 
the beach, where he had a relative who was going to let 
,us liave his boat and decoys. We arrived there at 
about 10 P. M., and put the horse in the stable and got 
the guns and traps on the boat, which was a sloop-, 
rigged affair about thirty feet long and twelve feet 
beam, and supposed to draw about two feet of water. 
Aft, it had a small cabin eight feet long with a bunk 
on each side and a small stove in the center up against 
the centerboard trunk. On the floor was a box of 
provisions, such as buckwheat flour, maple syrup, 
canned peaches, bread, butter, pepper, salt, and a nice 
large steak. My friend explained that he had sent 
them down during the day, and that they were for sup- 
per and breakfast. At the sound of the word supper a 
strange feeling came over me, and from that minute 
I was “on the job” and commenced to take some in- 
terest in the trip. 
After changing clothes he said, “We will now get the 
decoys." I asked him if we would have- to carry them 
far. “No, we don't carry them at all. We will float 
them around.” he said. That seemed rather strange 
to me,- but I felt sure he knew what he was about, so I 
said nothing, but followed him to the barnyard, where I 
found there was a pen that went down the hill to a 
small creek, and was fenced with wire netting. We 
had only one lantern to see by, but the sight I saw 
made me forget supper for a minute. There were ten 
live wild geese and over twenty black ducks, the most 
of which, I afterward found, were trained decoys. Some 
of these we caught and put in a long box built like a 
flat boat with a slat top. We only took four of the 
geese. He opened a gate at the creek and floated the 
box out to a small skiff; and while I sat in the stern 
and held the short rope that was attached to the duck 
box, he poled the skiff out of the creek around to the 
big boat, and we pulled the box . with the ducks and 
geese on to the deck. Everything being on board, we 
pulled up the anchor and poled the boat out in the 
bay. So far so good. By this time my new friend and 
myself were calling each other by our first names — I 
called him Henry and he called me Ed. Away we went. 
Looking at my watch I found it was 11:30. There was 
quite a breeze blowing, and the night was dark and 
cold; I could not understand how he could tell where 
he was going, and I think j^et that he did some guessing. 
Soon after we started, he suggested that I take the 
lantern in the cabin, and I would find some kindling- 
wood and coal and a small lamp, which I had better 
light, then build a fire and cook' some supper. It did 
not take me long to get in action, and how good that 
steak looked, and how good it did smell when I put but- 
ter, pepper and salt on it, and turned it over in the pan. 
I had cut some bread, and was about to, call to Henry 
to stop the boat for supper, when the boat suddenly 
stopped itself, so suddenly that the lamp fell off the 
box, the centerboard flew up and knocked all the dishes 
I had put on top of the trunk to the floor, spilled the 
coffee all over one of the bunks, and made a great mess 
of everything but the steak. I held on to that, and 
started on deck with the pan, when I heard Henry say, 
"We must have struck a sandbar.” “Yes,” said I, “I 
reckon we did, but I saved the steak.” I heard him say 
something that sounded like “chuck the steak,” then he 
said, “We have got to get this boat off right away; the 
tide is running out fast, and if we don’t get her off now 
we may have to stay until 8 o’clock to-morrow morn- 
ing.” 
I looked at the steak, then at Henry, and carefully 
put the pan under the stove and went on deck for in- 
structions. 
We poled and pushed and gybed her, but finally gave 
it up.- All this time Henry was saying things not fit to 
print. Then we held a meeting, as it were, and decided 
that we would move all the ballast aft; and Henry said 
he would go overboard and pry her nose around. . It 
was then my conscience smote me, to think I was the 
cause of the trip and had not volunteered to do the 
overboard stunt. Still, it was December, and it was a 
dark and cold night; and I thought that as long as he 
was captain, it was not my place to interfere, so I let 
him have his own way. And, sure enough, over he 
went. There was only two feet of water,, but the wind 
was kicking up a sea that soon had him wet through. 
After a lot of hard work, we got her off, and when we 
found the channel again, we dropped the anchor. I 
looked at my watch and found it was 2:10 A. M. So 
far we had had a strenuous time. 
Henry came down in the cabin and changed his 
clothes. I put the steak, which was now cold, back on 
the stove, but he said, “There ain’t any use of your 
bothering with that steak. We have got to get out of 
here at once. We must be fixed by 4 o’clock, so as to 
be settled before daybreak, and we have two. miles to 
go yet. I want you to stand up near the bow and 
sound for bottom, and when you get four feet or less 
let me know.” 
I gave one more look at that steak, and under the 
stove it went again, and I on deck with a long pole 
wet with icy water sounding for bottom. Then again 
did I muse with myself and say, “Why did I come duck 
shooting, anyway? I ought to have better sense. I 
could be at home now in my good warm bed and not 
be freezing out there on the bay.” Then, too, I waS 
hungry; I was really getting sick; and how glad I was 
when he said, “Throw over the big anchor. We will 
leave her here.” And we did. 
The first I said after we got the sail in was, “How 
about supper?” And what do you think he said? 
“AVhat kind of a duck shooter are you, anyhow? It 
seems to me you don’t want to do anything but eat.” 
That remark was the unkindest cut of all. I was too 
far from home to talk back. And I had formed such 
a good opinion of Henry. It did not seem possible he 
could say anything like that and mean if. But I thought 
it would be best to talk gently to him, so I said, “Now, 
see here, old pal, I have had nothing to eat since yester- 
day noon, and I have just got to eat.” 
“Well, go and eat that steak and be quick about it. 
We must get fixed out, and there is no time to lose.” 
It was then I went at that steak. It was cold, for the 
fire had gone out while I was. on deck looking for 
bottom; but it was good. He said he would not eat 
until we were all fixed; then, if we had time we would 
have some breakfast; if not, we would wait until about 
8 o’clock, or when the morning flight would be over. 
So we started to fix. First we pushed overboard the 
box with the decoys, and fastened the rope to the stern 
of the skift, and started to pole for a dark streak which 
I afterward discovered was the shore of an island. 
When we got near enough to wade we got out. I 
pulled the skiff up in the grass, then went back to hold 
the lantern v/hile Henry put out the decoys. It was a 
very interesting sig'ht, as I had never seen live decoys 
put out in a scientific manner before. Every bird had 
a leather band sewed around the leg just above the 
foot, aud each band had a small iron ring attached. 
The hobble consisted of a piece of codfish line about six 
feet long, with a snap tied to one end and a sharp stick 
about twelve inches long tied to the other. He would 
catch the snap in the ring, and with his foot push the 
stake in the sandy bottom; then let the duck or goose 
swim around. This was done until all were put out. 
The geese were in a' bunch by themselves on the left. 
After putting out a few wooden decoys with the live 
ones, we pulled the empty box to the edge of the grass 
at the point, banked it up with weeds, grass and any- 
thing handy; then taking the bottom board out of the 
skiff, put it in the box, where it seemed to fit nicely; 
and then with a few more finishing touches to the 
blind, we were ready. Henry said we would have a 
half hour to eat breakfast; so we got in the skiff and 
poled to the sloop, started a wood fire '.and mixed some 
buckwheat; and in that half-hour my appetite was gone, 
so were half a package of buckwheat and a bottle of 
maple syrup. 
Now for the ducks. We got back into the skiff and 
poled it away around the point some two hundred yards 
from the blind and covered it up with grass, which we 
cut with the butcher knife. Then we waded to our sink- 
box, got in and lay down on our backs and waited for 
the ducks to come. We had not long to wait, as we had 
hardly got comfortably fixed, when we heard the swish 
of wings and the deep, long-drawn quack of a drake 
mallard. We could not see them, although they seemed 
to be within fifty yards of where we lay. It was then 
our decoys began to do business. It seemed as if each 
one got up and flapped its wings, and all quacked at 
once; even the geese honked. But the spasm did not 
last long, and things quieted down to a quack now and 
then. It was long before I felt Henry nudge me, and 
heard him whisper, “Just look at that!” I looked, but 
could see nothing, and told him so, when he said, “Look 
off to the left, the other side of the geeSe.” And sure 
enough, there was a big bunch of ducks swimming up 
to our decoys. He whispered not to shoot until he gave 
the word, and “don’t shoot anything in the water; re- 
member those decoys don’t belong to me.” So I waited, 
hardly daring to breathe, first looking at the ducks then 
at the bos.s — I had come to look on him as such by that 
time — but he said not a word. I could stand it no 
longer, and whispered to him, “Let’s get up and give 
it to them.” But he said, “No,” in a way I knew he 
meant it. Then I took another look and lay back and 
shut my eyes. I was mad; good and mad. I could not 
understand why we should not take advantage of the 
opportunity. The clouds had now gone by, and the 
sun just commenced to show, when my dear Henry said, 
“Now get ready, and take those on your side. Don’t 
pay any attention to those on my side of the box.” We 
rose up, and it seemed as if there were ducks all around 
us, some even in the grass as close as thirty feet from 
the box. And what a fuss they did make when they saw- 
us. They must have been swimming in from all direc- 
tions; but the reason he would not shoot sooner was 
because it was illegal to shoot before sunrise, so he 
.said; but I thought that was drawing it mighty fine. 
Well, I got three and he got two dead and two cripples, 
which I wanted to finish then and there; but he -said 
we must drive them out of the decoys first, which he 
did, and I shot them. It was a good start — seven black 
ducks tO' our credit. 
We had pretty good shooting for about one hour, 
then they commenced to quit flying. There were only a 
few in sight, and they would not stool, no matter how 
much our decoys would call. I was just about to get 
up and stretch, when Henry took me by the arm and 
said, “Get down, down close! Don’t move! Here 
comes a bunch of geese.” And sure enough there they 
were, about twelve of them, coming up against the wind 
straight for the decoys and just above the water, 500, 
400, now 300 yards away. It looked as if nothing could 
happen to keep us from getting a good shot. In fact, I 
had begun to pick the ones I was going to shoot at. 
They now seemed to be about 75 yards away, and I 
turned over on my side so I could raise quickly; but 
they saw me move, and that was enough. Up they 
went over backward, and off to the side in all direc- 
tions but ours. We shot six loads after them, and only 
■tipped the wing of one, and by the time it struck the 
water, it was a quarter of a mile away. I did not dare 
look the boss in the eyes. I don’t know if he looked 
at me or not; but I felt guilty of a great crime. He 
did not have to tell me it was my fault, I knew it. All 
he said was, “Come on, get in the boat, let’s go and 
get him.” And away we went. The faster we went the 
faster the goose went, It was then I realized what a 
wild goose chase meant. But we finally got around him 
and drove him in a cove, and he was ours. When we 
got back we found that two of our duck decoys had 
pulled up their stakes and had swum around the point 
of the island. So we had to go after them; and it took 
such a long time to catch them, the boss said we might 
as well quit and go home, as it was so late there would 
be but little shooting during the day — the wind was 
wrong, or something. He knew I didn’t. I was satisfied 
anyway. So we started to pull up. 
First we took the bottom board out of the box and 
put it in the skiff where it belonged. Then we pulled 
the box out in the water and commenced to put the 
decoys back in it. Henry would go up to some of them 
and pull up the stake, then let them go, and they would 
swim for the box and try to get on top, anxious to get 
inside. But there were others that made a great fuss 
if we went near them. These, he said, were . young 
ducks, that had not been handled much, and he said 
that if the two that had got loose had been old ducks 
they would not have left the rest. He said they need 
lots of experience to make good decoys, of them, and 
some never get good. Often a young inexperienced 
duck will be drowned the first time it is out when there 
is much of a sea on; but the old-timers can stand most 
any kind of a sea if the line is not too short. If a duck 
gets scared and turns tail to the wind, it is all over with 
it if the . water is rough, for when their feathers get 
wet they can’t keep on top of the water, and are soon 
down and drowned. The geese are always more or 
less nervous when any one goes near them, and pull 
hard at the stake, trying to get away. I asked him 
why he only brought four geese, when he had so many; 
and he said he could get much better work out of them 
when he took one. of a pair, for the old geese were 
nearly all. mated, and when separated they would call 
better, I found it so, for I noticed one old gander we 
had out would call every time a gull or any bird would 
come in sight. 
At last we g;ot them all in the box, and fastened down 
the top, pulled it to the sloop and got it on deck. 
Then Henry went into the cabin and came up with a 
tomato can full of corn, which he threw into the box for 
the decoys. We picked up the anchor and started for 
home. While Henry was steering the boat I counted 
the ducks we had killed, and found we had nineteen 
ducks and one goose. 
It did not take long when we arrived at the mouth of 
the creek, to get the decoys back in the pen, I had 
changed my clothes TS we sailed along, ati4 Wf SOQfi 
