December, 1921 
FOREST AND STREAM 
535 
Our arrival was the signal for every duck to take instantly to wing 
and run back to our sheltered creek. In- 
stead, we expressed the cheering belief 
that we’d seen the worst of the blow. 
With sheets flattened again to retrieve 
our lost windward position, we pointed 
the Noah’s nose in the wind, relashed the 
tender across decks, and plunged gayly 
on our way. 
For the better part of that morning 
we battled against the wind. I still 
think we would have made our intended 
port if we hadn’t encountered ice. A 
great field of it lay directly to windward 
of us, cutting off our line of advance as 
effectually as a mountain might have 
done. We ran close up to its jagged 
edge with some faint hope of finding an 
opening, but in this we were disappoint- 
ed. It stretched away, apparently for 
miles — an impenetrable plain of dazzling 
white, with never a crack to be seen. 
We were destined, in time, to have bet- 
ter acquaintance with that ice. At the 
moment it was simply a barrier that 
spread between ourselves and Amityville, 
and prevented us, for the time being, 
from getting that much needed coal. No 
choice was left us but to bear away along 
the boundary of ice and hunt harbor on 
the easterly side of the bay. A very 
arctic breath seemed to blow across that 
field of ice! Wet, chilled to the bone, 
we slackened sheets on the sharpie and 
ran for the outer beach. Every flaw 
seemed to gain in strength as we plunged 
and rolled, ducked and wallowed toward 
the distant line of sand. In the end we 
lowered our after sail and found that 
we still had plenty — yes, plenty, and a 
little to spare. 
So we came to Oak Island. We didn’t 
know that it was Oak Island then ; we 
didn’t take time to look at our chart. 
To us it was merely land — good, dry 
land which would afford us a lea from 
the howling gale. Hazzarding shoals 
and sand bars, we shaved the westerly 
point of the island, ran a hundred yards 
through the blessedly calm waters, and 
hastily dropped our hook. Then we ran 
down our drenching sail, and only taking 
time to twist a stop about it, tumbled 
pell mell through the Noah’s companion 
and took the stove in our arms. 
A picture of that cabin still lives in 
my memory. Never have I looked upon 
a more dispiriting sight ! Crockery, 
glassware, shoes — grub — all lay inextri- 
cably mixed together. Fragments from 
our morning meal had drifted about and 
lodged in divers unfortunate places. 
Pete’s hair brush was in the frying pan 
and a can of syrup had emptied itself 
into one of my buckskin slippers ! Thaw- 
ing out by slow degrees, we decided it 
made not the slightest difference what 
havoc the wind and seas had wrought 
so long as we were once more warm. 
O AK ISLAND, a high little stretch of 
land, lies northwest of Fire Island. 
In the days of which I write a row of 
tiny cottages — summer camps, might bet- 
ter describe them — extended the length 
of the high ground, facing out upon the 
Inlet and the great light which throws 
its rays for many miles to sea. The 
Oak Island Life Saving Station nestles 
among the rolling dunes of the outer 
beach, its roof barely visible above the 
mountains of sand. 
In the light of later events Pete’s first 
remark next morning when we turned 
out for a look about was, perhaps, pro- 
phetic : “Well, there’s the light house” ; 
quoth Peter, “and I guess that’s the Life 
Saving Station way off there behind those 
hills. We’re in fair shape to be taken 
care of if the worst comes to the worst.” 
“Oh, we’ve had the worst,” I answered. 
“That old blow yesterday was our in- 
itiation ; we’ve come through now ; here’s 
where we begin our fun.” 
Our fun, as planned by Pete and my- 
self, embraced the slaughter of ducks and 
geese ; brant — even a swan or two if they 
happened to come our way. We were 
quite impartial as to species, only elect- 
ing that there should be a sufficiency and 
of recognized market worth. Inasmuch 
as I have already stated that these plans 
and hopes were hardly realized I shall 
not attempt to set down the details of 
each and every hunt. They were inci- 
dental, after all, to various other matters. 
I do. recall, however, our first day with 
the ducks. That stretch of marsh — all 
purple and gold in the morning light ; 
our hasty breakfast ; the hustle and 
bustle to get away before the first of the 
flight ! And the marsh when at last we 
reached it ! It was fairly alive with 
ducks ! Our arrival, it seemed, was the 
signal for every duck for miles around 
to take instantly to wing. 
An experienced duck shooter, taking 
stock of the weather, would have banked 
far less than Pete and I did on all those 
ducks. Straight out for the broad At- 
lantic they flew ; line on line of them, 
squads and companies and regiments of 
them — and we watched them go, happy 
in the thought that they soon would re- 
turn and drop to our decoys. How could 
we know that those darned ducks would 
sit calmly outside the surf line all day 
while we kicked our heels in the marsh? 
Yet this is precisely what they did. 
There was no wind to keep them moving. 
The norther had blown itself out in the 
night, the bay lying mirror-like in its 
calm, and reflecting the distant shore line 
as far as eye could reach. 
Three black-ducks, at intervals, hon- 
ored me. Two I killed, missing the 
third like a veritable dub. Pete, sta- 
tioned at a nearby point, was even less 
fortunate. His bag consisted of one 
small broad-bill. He had winged it early 
in the proceedings, and the better part 
of the day — and most of his ammunition 
was consumed before giving it the coup 
de grace. We were not elated, to say 
the least, by our first day’s experience. 
Reality fell far short of our glorious 
speculations. Of course, there were 
other days to come — wonderful days 
when conditions would be different, but 
— well, we were hugely disappointed. 
We pulled back to the sharpie at sun- 
set, just as the ducks were swarming in 
from the ocean and the Fire Island Light 
blinking out its first warning to all whom 
it might concern. The bitter chill of the 
winter night was creeping in to our very 
bones. Wanly remote the mainland ap- 
