Dec. 30, 1905.] 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
B31 
“What are you going to have for breakfast, Joe?” asked 
Mr. Mac from in the tent. 
■“Dunno, Marsa Mac, I spex ” . 
“Scaip, scaip, scaip.” 
“Snipe by all that’s, good, over there in the old corn- 
field. Snipe for breakfast.” . . 
I rushed in the tent and uncased my 12-gauge. Alex, 
opened the ammunition chest and supplied us with cart- 
ridges loaded with No. 10 shot. All three of us tumbled 
up the bank and over the fence, Alex, to assist working 
the birds down. 
Twenty steps from the fence three birds flushed. Mac 
made a fine double shot, and I missed with my right 
barrel, but knocked the bird over with a second shot. 
We separated 150 yards, the birds rose within fair range, 
and by the time the field was crossed we had bagged 
eight and a half brace of fine fat birds. Had our dogs 
been with us we could have worked the ground thor- 
oughly and added more to our score. Returning to the 
camp we found breakfast about ready. 
Assisted by Mac and myself, Joe presently had half a 
dozen birds spitted before the glowing coals, and not many 
minutes elapsed before they assumed that tender and 
beautiful brown color which pronounced them cooked. 
Although the rain still came down, the camp presented 
a cheerful appearance. A roaring fire in front of the tent 
gave a genial warmth. Our wet canvas coats had been 
exchanged for dry cord jackets. The mess chest, con- 
verted nito a table, was placed just inside the tent open- 
ing. Mac and I seated ourselves to discuss broiled snipe, 
fried potatoes, breakfast bacon, hot coffee and waffles. 
Then we smoked, watched the fire, the rain and the dull 
sky. wishing most heartily the rain would cease, for the 
situation was such as to make it of no use to go further 
down the river until the wind changed and the weather 
cleared up a little. 
The manner of shooting ducks on the Savannah is dif- 
ferent from any method practiced in other parts of the 
country ; the weather should be cold and clear. The 
waterfowl will be found feeding and preening themselves 
under the bending willows and bushes close to the edge 
of the water, or, as the boat rounds one of the points of 
this notoriously crooked river, flocks of mallard, teal, 
broadbills. widgeons and occasional black ducks will sud- 
denly be met with swimming in the open water, or close 
to the bank, and often twenty to thirty-five yards from 
the boat, thus offering fine shots and good sport as they 
take wing. 
All day long the rain continued to pour, and when 
night closed in there appeared to be no signs of a clear- 
up. Flocks of ducks and occasional bunches of geese 
were observed from time to time during the day, high in 
air, flying southward, following the course of the river, 
causing anticipation of sport ahead. 
Snug in our blankets that night we were lulled to sleep 
iby the incessant drumming of the rain on the canvas, 
little thinking that before cock crowing our camp would 
witness the greatest stampede and fleeing before a rush of 
■water within our memory and experience as duck shoot- 
ers. It does not take one of those narrow Southern riv- 
ers long to get well on the rise, and those unfortunate 
■enough to be in its path have little time to save life and 
property. 
We slept on, all unconscious that the river was rising, 
stretching out its long, watery arms nearer and nearer, 
hungry to engulf and exterminate us. 
It was about 2 A. M. when Mac awoke and was in- 
stantly electrified by the sound of rushing water, known 
only too well by him. Springing from the tent and to- 
ward the river a glance at the nearness of the water, im- 
perfectly seen through the rain and darkness, showed the 
peril of camp and inmates. 
My first intimation of danger was being seized by the 
feet and dragged from the blankets. 
“Dick, Dick, for heaven’s sake get up; get on some 
clothes.” 
“Alex, Joe! Alex, Joel Alex, Joe! Alex — confound 
those niggers ; can’t they awake ? Get a club and pound 
them !” I was by this time thoroughly aroused and 
frightened; jumping on the poor darks with pile-driving 
force I called : “Get up, get up, tumble out, the river, 
men! the. river! Secure the boats if not too late! Ah, 
the boats! what will we do if they are gone?” The dar- 
keys realized the situation, and, terror-struck, sprang to- 
ward the river in the direction of the boats. Mac lit the 
lantern ; it gave but a faint light in that great darkness ; 
the confusion and excitement was tremendous. A min- 
ute of breathless suspense as Alex and Joe disappeared 
in the gloom. 
“Are the boats safe?” 
No- answer. A moment more and our worst fears al- 
most realized. 
“Can you reach the boats?” 
Then through the night and storm came the cry; “We’s 
got ’em bof, an’ we’s wase deep in de wata, mighty good 
dem stakes wuz druve so good or we’d nebba seen des 
ere boats no mo, we’s cornin’, we’s a-comin’.” 
Presently the brave fellows came towing the little ships. 
I had started a fire and kept adding fuel, the blaze leaped 
up lighting the scene and showing us a maddened, seeth- 
ing torrent advancing quickly on us. 
The tent was struck and two men working to each boat 
piled camp plunder and duds generally into them. It was 
quick work necessarily, the water was already up to the 
camp fire, I jumped into the shooting boat and seized a 
paddle, Joe followed suit. At this instant the bulky form 
of my friend, armed with the frying-pan and a pair of 
boots (the last load) waded toward the batteau and 
stepped in. We were comparatively safe now. As the 
water rose we pushed the boats toward the bank of the 
cornfield as near as we could calculate until they 
grounded. This operation was repeated until morning. 
Daylight found us a short distance from the bank and 
T50 feet from the site of our camp. 
Safe in the boats, when the paddling and pushing to- 
ward the cornfield began. We were not long in discov- 
ering the ridiculous position in which we found our- 
selves. 
Here we were, pursued by a dangerous flood, in the 
middle of the night in open boats, in a torrent of rain, in 
pitch darkness, soaked to the skin, waiting anxiously for 
the dawn. Who would not give up all he hath and go a 
duck shooting? Rugged men, frail men, weak men and 
strong men face dangers by sea and river jn open boats, 
irTall kinds of weather, day and night, under the most 
trying circumstances, and all for the pleasure and excite- 
ment of duck .shooting; go year after year and grow more 
rugged as they are exposed to the weather and breathe 
the pure, life-giving air. On the bosom of the river, on the 
heaving sea, in the grand old forests and the fields, 
bathed in the sunlight, fanned by the breezes; _ blown and 
tossed hither and yon by the gale. In all this is found 
the elixir of life — the true fountain that old Peter Parly 
looked for in vain, in which he might bathe and renew 
liis youth. _ , . . 
Yes, here we were awaiting the dawn, and the morning 
that would bring a cup of hot coffee, and, we hoped, clear 
or clearing weather. The boats were a few yards apart , 
.steadily the water rose, and steadily pushed toward the 
high bank of the cornfield. The rain had almost^ ceased , 
at 4 o’clock the wind had changed around to nor west by 
nor’. Soon a star appeared ; presently a number of them. 
We filled our pipes with renewed hopes, smoked and 
chatted. The muse of music moved Alex, and he began 
one of his unrivalled plantation melodies, keeping time 
with his hands and feet. We all joined the chorus, and 
the dark Southern forest away across the waste of waters 
caught up and re-echoed the sound in a multitude of re- 
verberations. 
By dozens the stars came out, the clouds drove on and 
away until at last the blue firmament of heaven reigned 
supreme over the storm king. As the millions of lights 
began to pale in the heaven we turned our eyes toward 
the east and beheld the first faint streaks of dawn. Push- 
ing the boats to a landing, a fire was started. Joe, as- 
sisted by Alex, proceeded to get breakfast, Mr. Mac and 
I the while getting things in the boats in some sort of 
order. Soon Joe served us with coffee, hot biscuits and 
broiled ham. After the “darks” had eaten and all camp 
plunder made ship-shape, guns were limbered up, am- 
munition bags filled, the boats pushed off on the hurrying 
waters, and in an instant we were whirling southward on 
the bosom of the flood. 
My friend and Joe in one boat taking the lead, Alex 
and myself in the other 300 yards to the rear. Perched 
on the mess-chest with my .12-gauge comfortably and 
handy across my knee I watched the heavily-wooded 
shores as we hurried on and on; it was grand, the speed, 
the situation, and the spice of danger exhilarating. At 
times our craft would pass near the shore; the great 
swamp oaks loomed up, stretching out their long arms, 
covered with funereal moss hanging from every stem and 
branch in long, mournful festoons swaying to and fro 
with the wind. 
Hundreds of cypress knees could be seen, many cane 
brakes, and deep, dismal swamps, places that suggested 
reptiles of every description in the hot days of summer. 
Again the river broadens, and we would be floating 
on a lake; looking at the extent of land under water, 
told how many acres of rich bottom land were available 
to- the cotton planter, land dear to his heart and eyes— 
land that no white man can work — or even stay over 
night on in the summer — without contracting a fatal 
fever. So interested was I in this boat ride I had almost 
forgotten about shooting until Alex’s sharp, quick cry 
of “Mark um dey iz cornin’ down the ribber.” One, two, 
three, four — nine mallards. Alex’s strong arm guided the 
boat inshore; on they came, evidently looking for a place 
to rest. Now their green heads can be seen glistening 
in the sunlight. Aiming w^ell forward of the leader I 
pulled, killed the duck next to him and missed com- 
pletely with my second. Away down the river came the 
muffled boom of a gun. “There, Alex, Mr. Mac has an 
unlooked-for shot, and I reckon he has a bird or so. Sel- 
dom he misses a fair shot.” “Ship ahoy! Where away?” 
“How many ducks did you kill?” “One,” said I. “How 
many have you?” “Three.” “Good enough. A bird 
apiece for dinner.” 
“I reckon, Dick, we had better go into camp now, there 
is no use to try for even decent shooting at this stage of 
the water, the ducks are away back in the woods and 
will not appear until they are obliged to follow the reced- 
ing water. If we go further good ground ■v\nll be passed 
over.” 
We camped at once on a high bank, a pleasant spot, 
with plenty of firewmod handy. An hour or so later we 
tvere discussing toothsome mallard and eating only as 
hungry shooters can eat. 
Saturday, Sunday and Monday found us in camp wait- 
ing for the river to go down. Sunday evening there was 
a very perceptible diminution in the water. Monday 
morning showed us we must make ready for an early 
start on Tuesday. Tuesday morning, shortly after day- 
break found us under way; Mr. Mac, Alex and myself 
in the shooting boat and Joe in the batteau loaded with 
the camp plunder, half a mile back. 
Mr. Mac took his seat forward with his 12-gauge lying 
in his lap; Alex seated in the stern, paddle in hand, 
ready. I stepped in and seated myself behind Mac and 
gave Alex the word. Smoothly and silently the craft fell 
down with the easy current skirting the willows close to 
the bank. Everything was propitious for a good day’s 
sport, water and weather. Silently for half a mile we 
floated when Mac’s sharp eyes detected a bunch of mal- 
lards forty yards away under the willows, an instant after 
I saw them. Alex’s ■ strong arm kept the boat on her 
course with scarcely a ripple, like a phantom we glided 
on toward the birds ; twenty-five yards was reached and 
the ducks, alanned, sprang from under the willows pre- 
senting their sides, a fatal position. Quickly selecting a 
bird I fired, and instanly covering another to my left, 
towenng up among the water oaks. As I glanced along 
the rib of my gun there were two ducks in line, as the 
trigger was pressed two fine mallards pitched forward 
and down (takes a long time to describe a few seconds’ 
work). In the same glance around I saw Mac make a 
beautiful shot with his second barrel. The duck, a fine 
mallard drake, flew straight away forty yards perhaps, 
and curved into the left. At the report the bird fell, 
killed dead in the air, and lay motionless on the water, 
showing perfect aim of the shooter. Scores of ducks 
were now flying, mallard, teal, spoonbills, wood ducks 
and an occasional black duck. 
We hugged the point we had now reached and well 
screened took the wing shots as they were presented. A 
bunch of teal flying low and thirty yards away left seven 
of their number behind; next a flock of mallards boldly 
charged our position, and in the confusion of the retreat 
forgot to carry off the field three dead and two wounded. 
An old mallard drake flying down stream fifty miles an 
hour bowed an humble obeisance to Mac’s left barrel, and 
was retrieved by Alex — a splendid shot. A very large 
flock, of mallards, twenty or so, next made an aiicmpt to 
dislodge us by a flank movement from the shore side-;- 
we Saw them just in time. For an instant the situation 
looked serious for us, but. alarmed at the close proximity 
of the enemy, our fire was delivered with such elfcet as' 
to destroy their line and place six of their number hors 
du combat. Mac and I both made fine double shots on 
this flock. It was magnificent sport, and continued for 
half an hour or so. 
A lull now occurred in the firing, and as \yo liad al- 
most made up our minds to drop down the ri\ er to the 
next point opposite — “Irlark! Mark! to’ de Ian’ .sake 
flatten out; Mark, down de ribber,” came in a nervous 
whisper from Alex. 
We looked and counted seven Canada geese coming 
straight up the river, twenty feet or so above the water, 
and by all indications looking for a good spot to alight. 
We had all crouched low, and witli suppressed excite- 
ment watched the great birds fly up within a hundretl 
yards of us and strike the water with loud honks of 
satisfaction. That they had not seen us was evident. 
Now commenced a season of patient waiting and 
watching on our part for the geese to swim within 
range, and a tantalizing indifference on their i>art as 
to how long we should wait. Ten, fifteen, twenty 
minutes passed; still they swam, dove, fussed and 
washed themselves. At last the leader gave the signal, 
“Shoreward,” then, with heads erect and stately motion, 
they made for a point not- forty yards below. 
The old gander was leading. 
Suddenly, as if overcome 
With a feeling of fear or wonder, 
Like as if the dread presence of death 
Hovered in the air, 
He paused, 
and gave a brief and penetrating glance over our way; 
the wary birds had discovered us — discovered something 
that bid him stretch his pinions and at the same instant 
give the alarm note that sent the whole flock into the 
air. 
Something impelled me to look back at the instant the 
birds left the water, and there was Alex, partially ele- 
vated on one of the boat seats, in the excitement, to 
observe the movements of the geese he had allowed 
himself to be seen. 
Slowly we drifted, and some distance further on we 
crossed to the opposite side ; rounding ti.e point further 
down we came on a flock of greenwing teal and bagged 
five. Keeping to this shore for half a mile further we 
boated eleven ducks, six mallards, two woodducks and 
three black ducks, and had a number of shots that we 
failed to score. Drifting, looking for a good camping 
place, we rounded a sharp turn and came upon a linck of 
broad bills, swimming at the mouth of a small creek. 
They rose from the water only twenty yards distant. 
Mac killed two in beautiful style, right and left barrels, 
as they flew straight away right and left quartering. I 
missed an easy single bird with my first and killed two 
with my left. At this instant turning to give Alex some 
instructions, he was staring at the sky, mouth open, eyes 
glistening. I turned and in time to see Mac make a 
magnificent shot and bring down a Canada goose. 
Retrieving our game, we landed and prepared for camp. 
Nine o’clock found Us in our blankets sleeping a sleep 
not enjoyed under a roof. 
I now can hear the soughing of the wind in the pine 
tops and the rippling of the river that lulled me to 
sleep that night. 
The next morning, invigorated by such perfect rest, 
walking to the margin of the water, bathed head and 
neck and watcl»ed the sun rise gloriously, giving tokens 
of another fair day. 
Dropping further down the river, we had some good 
point shooting, after which a landing was made on the 
Esty plantation, Georgia side. While Joe was getting 
dinner the rest of us selected and prepared the ducks 
we wished to send up the river by the next boat. The 
little steamer was expected at the landing below us by 
6 or 7 o’clock. 
We had just finished dinner when she rounded the 
point in a cloud of resinous smoke. Alex and Joe put 
off and delivered the ducks, the steamer moving up 
for the purpose of receiving them. 
Quiet once more reigned in camp; pipes were filled, 
the right kind of a camp-fire made up that would last 
until bedtime; lounging on our blankets we gave up to 
the, solid enjoyment of the hour, recounting the exploits 
of the day. 
A week or so longer we had fine sport, and when a 
few miles above the city of Savanab we disembarked 
at one of the steamboat landings and with the ne.xt 
steamer north loaded boats, camp equipage homeward 
bound. 
Brown as berries, strong and hearty, we returned to 
the prose of life. Dick Swiveller. 
Prince Lotiis in the Canadian C mp- 
The following is the text of the letter received by 
Harry V. Radford, secretary of the Canadian Camp, 
from H. S. H. Rear Admiral Prince Louis of Batten- 
berg, written from Gibraltar, announcing the latter’s ac- 
ceptance of active membership in the Camp : 
» 
REAR ADMIRAT.’S OFFICE, 
Second Crui.ser Squadron, 
H. .M. S. “Drake.” 
Gibraltar, 1th December, 1005. 
Sir: 
I beg to acknowledge with Ih.inks the receipt of your com- 
rhunication of 20th ultimo, informing me that 1 had been elected 
a member of the Canadian Camp. 
I request that you will be good enough to express to the 
Advisory Board the pleasure I feel in accepting the honor thus 
conferred upon me. I am. Sir, 
Yours faithfully, 
Louis Battenberg. 
Harry V. Radford. Esq., 
212 E. 105th Street, 
New ■y'ork, U. S. A. 
Prince Louis, who is an ardent sportsman, has camped, 
fished and hunted big game in Canada. He was invited 
to join the Camp during his recent visit to this coumry, 
and his informal acceptance was received at that tii^q 
fhrcfugh Presidep^ Q. D.euox Cprtis. 
