MY FATHER’S LAST SHOT AT DUCKS 
ANYWHERE FROM ORTLEY’S TO TOMS RIVER FATHER SAID HE COULD GET 
THEM WITH HIS GUN AND HE CLOSED HIS SHOOTING CAREER WITH AN ACE 
A S father and I descend from the 
train at Ortley’s, we found Peter 
Johnson waiting for us on the plat- 
form, with his honest, rugged counte- 
nance wreathed with smiles. After a 
heartj^ hand shake, he tossed my duffle 
bag to his shoulder, as if it were a 
feather, and taking one of the gun cases 
in his other hand, led the way down the 
track toward his cozy cottage. As I 
brought up the rear, I could but note the 
two men walking before me. My father 
then in his eighty-third year, walked as 
erect as most men of fifty, with his broad, 
square shoulders, his narrow waist and 
hips, six feet one inch of bone and sinew. 
In his prime, his was the figure of a 
Roman gladiator. Peter was a Civil 
War veteran, about sixty years of age, 
and but little short of a giant in stature, 
rather coarse in build, but very broad 
and heavy. A genuine “Two-Fisted 
Man.” What a pair they made. They 
do not breed that type of men these days. 
Arriving at the house, and after greet- 
ing Mrs. Johnson, we went to our room, 
and soon came forth clad in battle array. 
Walking over to the landing, we unlocked 
the boathouse and soon, with Peter’s 
help, had the sneak-boxes in the v/a- 
ter. The decoys were then overhauled, 
and placed in the racks on the stern 
of the boxes; the oars and other appur- 
tenances placed in them, and we were 
ready for the morrow. As we walked 
back to the house, we talked over the 
shooting prospects with Peter. He said 
there were very few ducks in the bay, 
and he thought our chances were very 
poor, but the shooting had fallen off so 
much of late years, that we were not 
surprised at the report. 
As we sat around the stove that even- 
ing, we talked over the good old times, 
when the game was plenty, and the John- 
sons had first come to the old house at 
the beach, with their six children. How 
time does fly. Those children were men 
and women now. and all had left homo. 
Then Peter grew reminiscent, and told 
tales of his three years service in the 
Civil War, and I said to him: “Peter, 
why have you never applied for a pen- 
sion?” Stretching forth his great hands 
he said: “Never, while I have my health 
and strength, and these to woi'k with. 
Taking a pension would make me feel 
like a pauper.” 
E ating our breakfast by lamp light, 
the next morning, we soon walked 
to the landing, and entering our 
boats, rowed to Stooling Point, arriving 
there before sun-rise. Our decoys were 
soon placed, our sneak-box pulled on the 
meadow bank, and well covered with 
reeds and duck grass, then taking our 
places in cur boats, father who was an 
inveterate smoker, lighted his cigar, and 
declared himself ready, A moderate 
By WIDGEON 
breeze was blov;ing from the west, and 
it was not cold for October. Slowly the 
sun rose from its briny bed, and cast its 
golden rays over the dancing waters be- 
fore us. Very few ducks were flying. 
Presently a single duck came in from 
the southwest; a drake mallard. He paid 
no attention to the decoys, and flying 
very low, disappeared behind the reeds 
along the shore south of us. Father 
said : “I believe he has gone on shore, 
on the south side of the island. You 
walk ai’ound and scare him up. You may 
get a shot, and if not, he may come to 
me when he comes out.” So walking 
Widgeon, Senior, at eighty-three years 
back from the shore, I made a wide de- 
tour. Reaching the meadow bank, I 
came back as quietly as possible. Just 
at the water’s edge, when from a little 
notch in the shore, up he sprang, at 
about thirty yards distance. His green 
head glistened in the morning sun-light, 
as I drev/ a quick bead on him, and he 
dropped dead at the report of the gun. 
When I arrived at the blind, father 
held the drake in his hand, and smooth- 
ing its beautiful plumage, said: “I al- 
ways like to kill the first bird in the 
morning. I believe this will bring us 
good luck.” 
Before entering the blind again, I step- 
ped out among the decoys, to re-arrange 
them a little, where we had placed them 
too thickly in the early' morning. As I 
■walked back toward the meadow bank, 
I stopped in front of the blind to look 
it over; linen adjusted a reed or a whisp 
of duck grass here and there. This is 
one of the great essentials in the fine art 
of duck shooting. To make your decoys 
and blind look perfectly natural. Your 
blind must harmonize in color and struc- 
ture with the shore line, without a dis- 
cordant note, in these days of educated 
wild-fowl. 
Father, still enjoying his cigar, sat 
watching me, while I arranged every- 
thing to my satisfaction. “Well,” he 
said, “I see you have not forgotten the 
lessons I gave you as a beginner on 
this very point, when you were a boj% 
over forty-five years ago. Who would 
have thought then, that we would still 
be shooting together. Just think of the 
changes on the beach since that time; 
the railroad, automobiles, breech loading 
pump and automatic guns, fixed ammu- 
nition, etc. No wonder the game has 
almost disappeared. Certainly there 
were one hundred ducks fifty years ago, 
where there is one now. God has been 
good to me, and permitted me to enjoy 
the sport at its best, and you will have 
your share, and perhaps your sons may 
see a little, but your grandsons will 
hardly know what a goose or duck is, 
unless they see them in a museum.” 
A bout four hundred yards from the 
point, along the westerly side of 
the channel, a large flock of crow 
ducks were feeding, making the water 
fly in their diving and splashing, utter- 
ing the while their peculiar feeding cry 
“cruck, cruck.” As father sat watch- 
ing them, he said: “Here comes another 
duck hunter, and I guess he is after those 
crow ducks. Looking up the bay, I saw 
a large bald-headed eagle approaching. 
As he came nearer, all the real ducks in 
sight made a quick departure, and pres- 
ently the crow ducks saw him, too. The 
main bodj' of them took wing, making a 
great splattering roar as they rose, for 
they really run swiftly, for several yards 
on top of the water before rising in the 
air. A few, however, sought safety in 
diving. The eagle gave his attention 
to these, hovering over them high in the 
air, while they were frantically diving 
to escape him. Having selected his bird, 
he made a feint to strike, and the duck 
instantly dove. The eagle then dropped 
a few feet nearer the surface of the wa- 
ter and as the duck arose, the eagle 
made another feint, the duck again div- 
ing, and the eagle again coming lower. 
This manoeuvre ■was repeated a number 
of times ■wdiile the duck’s dives became 
shorter and shorter, for the eagle gave 
it no time to breathe. Finally the eagle 
hung on extended wdngs, about fifteen 
feet above the doomed bird, then one 
more f(!eble dive, and the exhausted crow 
duck popped up like a cork. Gracefully 
the great bird swooped down, and grasp- 
ing its helpless victim in its ’>owerful 
talons, rose in the air, and swiftly 
winged its way to its eyrie ir. tho dis- 
tant pines. Twice each day during our 
