236 
FOREST AND STREAM 
May, 1920 
twisting his head sideways, look at them 
with his bright black eyes as if he knew 
almost enough to talk. Closing the door 
of the shack, they made their way down 
the path to the shooting box on the 
point. When they came into dinner, 
Hank had left his number ten Parker 
and the big number eight in the box, but 
Scouse had brought his twelve bore with 
him. As they reached the reeds behind 
the blind, Hank, who was in the lead, 
said : “Let’s go in quietly for there might 
be some ducks in the decoys,” for by 
hard labor with their ice hooks they had 
kept a hole open on the point, and the 
decoys were set. Silently they crept 
through the reeds, and when Hank 
peeped over the box, he excitedly whis- 
pered: “Good Lord, Scouse, there are 
all of fifty ducks in the decoys.” As 
Scouse crawled up and peeped also, he 
saw the open water of the air-hole filled 
with ducks, and a large number sitting 
on the edge of the ice. Hank cautiously 
reached into the box for the big gun, 
and when he had it safely in his hand 
he said: “Now, Scouse, you crawl around 
the north end of the box till you can see 
to shoot, for we won’t try to get into 
the box, they might see us. When you 
are ready we will try them on the water 
and then on the wing.” But alas! “The 
best laid plans of mice and men gang 
aft agley,” for when Scouse poked his 
head around the north corner of the 
box, two black ducks that were feeding 
close along the meadow bank saw him, 
and sprang up. with loud quacks of 
alarm, but fell as suddenly to a quick 
double from the boy. Instantly at the 
alarm, as if a bomb had exploded under 
them, the great flock took wing, each one 
for himself, then up came the great gun 
to Hank’s shoulder, and at its “boom, 
boom,” it rained ducks in that air-hole. 
Seven big red-footed black ducks, and a 
drake mallard (the only one in the 
flock) was its toll. What the score would 
have been had they got in the sitting shot 
as well can very easily be imagined. 
N EXT morning they were again in 
the blind but the birds were not 
flying, and about eleven o’clock 
Hank went in to prepare the dinner, 
leaving Scouse alone in charge. Sitting 
on the “Deacon Seat” contentedly eating 
his dinner, Hank saw through the north 
window, a great flock of geese come in 
from the sea over Lavelette, seventy-five 
or more of them. They lowered down 
and swung over Nigger House Cove, on 
around West Point, and headed for 
Stooling Point. Settling lower and low- 
er, on they came. Soon they heard 
Scouse’s decoys, and curving their great 
wings they came right in. Such a 
clamor there was then with the decoys 
and in-coming geese, each trying to honk 
the louder. Trembling with excitement, 
Scouse reached for the big gun, and as 
the great flock came tumbling pell mell 
in over the decoys, he rose and fired into 
the thick of them, and never touched a 
bird. With a gasp of astonishment, he 
swung quickly on an immense gander, 
that towered from the middle of th£ flock 
and killed him clean. Tumbling through 
the air he struck the ice with the crash 
of a pile driver. Quaking with excite- 
ment and disappointment he gathered his 
gander, and now mark what happened: 
No geese had been flying for days, but 
within twenty minutes, another flock 
came from the same direction, exactly 
like the first one, about twenty-five of 
them. Again the decoys began to call, 
and the flock to answer. Again they 
lowered down on curved wings, and came 
rocking in over the decoys. Again 
Scouse arose and gave them both barrels 
of the big gun, and never killed a goose 
with either barrel. In anger and disgust 
he shouldered his gander, went to the 
house and would shoot no more that day. 
I could never account for his poor shoot- 
ing, unless the great number of the geese 
rattled him. I have known him to be 
alone in the blind with two guns, when 
four geese came in, and he made a double 
with each gun, killing the entire flock. 
A FTER his great fiasco with the 
geese, Scouse had but little appetite 
for supper, and spent a restless 
night, but with the coming of another 
day, his youthful spirits rose and he 
was ready to try again. A change of 
weather had come in the night; the wind 
was shifting from south to westerly and 
it looked like a heavy blow coming. They 
cleared the air-hole of the ice that had 
accumulated in the night, and decided 
they would not put out any live decoys 
for fear f the ice moving. After break- 
fast they placed a few wooden decoys in 
the air hole and a few more on the ice, 
but the few birds that were flying did not 
act well, so Scouse went back to the 
shack and, putting four ducks in a crate, 
among them Black Jake, brought them 
out to the point and staked them on the 
meadow bank, a pair on either side of 
the blind. The prospects were poor and 
Hank had not brought out his guns, but 
he got into the box with Scouse, and 
lighted the oil stove and made things 
comfortable. Although Scouse had killed 
a number of hen mallards, he had never 
yet killed a drake and he wanted one 
badly. As they sat there waiting, Hank 
said: “Scouse, here come your drake 
mallards from the south, three of them.” 
On came the mallards while Hank and 
Scouse crouched low, but they were 
wary and suspicious, and when almost 
within range sheered off and circled the 
blind. As they came over the ice again, 
Hank called softly to Black Jake: “Talk 
to ’em, Jake, talk to ’em,” and Jake, as 
if he fully understood, gave his rasping 
call, then standing on his toes, he vigor- 
ously flapped his wings. This started up 
the other decoys who quacked loudly, and 
now all doubts set at rest, the mallards, 
with wings curved and feet extended, 
came right in over the decoys. Scouse 
rose to shoot, and two of them lapped 
and dropped to the first barrel. At the 
report the remaining drake sprang up in 
the air like a rocket, but Scouse kept cool 
and, holding well over him, killed him 
clean. They were big red-footed winter 
mallards, in full plumage and made a 
beautiful picture as Scouse brought them 
into the blind, with his face all wreathed 
in smiles. “Here’s where I get even with 
the mallards,” he said, “and say, Dad, 
did you hear Jake talk to ’em? Ain’t 
he a dandy?” “Yes,” said Hank; “I 
wouldn’t take twenty-five dollars of any 
man’s money for him.” 
S O, talking and smoking, the time 
passed. The wind steadily working 
westerly and blowing harder until 
finally it blew a regular gale and Scouse 
said: “Dad, do you think there’s any 
danger of the ice moving?” “Naw,” said 
Hank; “why its ten inches thick and solid 
for miles, and the wind on shore. Just 
then the decoys began to quack loudly in 
alarm, and Scouse, looking up, said: 
“Here she comes.” Gun in hand he 
sprang from the box, while Hank quick- 
ly followed him, and each rushed to un- 
snap the chains of the decoys. Jumping 
up on the advancing ice Hank got his 
decoys loose, when with incredible veloc- 
ity the solid ice, pushed by the hurricane 
(continued on page 279 ) 
Hank — master bayman and best of duck hunting companions 
