stay, this eagle or its mate, took toll 
from this hapless flock of crow ducks, 
and always secured its meal in the same 
manner. 
About an hour after the eagle episode, 
a single mallard came to us from the 
south, and lit some distance beyond the 
decoys, where he swam around for some 
time, but would not come in. Finally 
father said: “Neil, you try him sitting, 
and if you don’t kill him, I will try him 
when he gets up.” I was shooting a 
great favorite of mine, a twelve-bore 
Baker, that I had built to order for my 
eldest son in 1895. He, a boy in knick- 
erbockers, was just learning trap shoot- 
ing, and the gun was a combination trap 
and game arm. Father was shooting an 
eight-bore, weighing thirteen pounds, a 
veritable cannon. Taking a very care- 
ful sight at the distant mallard, and giv- 
ing the little gun several inches eleva- 
tion, I fired, and to my great satisfaction 
killed the drake stone dead. ^Father re- 
marked that I had a wonderful little 
gun and said he could have done no 
better. 
after sun-down each day, and flying 
away in the cove towards the landing, 
making a circle, and coming out again 
along the shore of Stooling Point, just 
out of shot for us, from our present 
blind. After this had occurred several 
times, we determined to give them a sur- 
prise, so one afternoon we moved our 
boats around, to what we thought would 
be the proper position, put out a few 
decoys, and waited for sun-set. 
The channel came quite close to the 
shore at our new blind, and several grebe 
or hell divers, as the baymen call them, 
were feeding in front of us. Presently 
one of them saw our decoys, and becom- 
ing very curious, swam in to see what 
it was all about. He edged in cautiously 
towards the outside decoys, nervously 
jerking his head from side to side, then 
stopped and gave a little chirping cry. 
Receiving no reply, he swam in a little 
closer, ruffling up the feathers of his 
neck in a very angry manner as he did 
so. At last, apparently in a perfect 
frenzy of rage, he swam up to the near- 
est decoy and gave it a vicious peck in 
the result would have been if they had 
come earlier, and father could have given 
them the contents of his cannon. So 
ended our last full day. We decided to 
try them until eight o’clock the next 
morning, which would give us ample time 
to put all things away, and be ready for 
the train at eleven. 
W E were on the point early next 
morning but not a duck came our 
way. The time passed quickly. 
Presently father, looking at his watch, 
said: “We have just five more mifiutes.” 
“Yes,” I said, “and here come our 
ducks.” Head on from across the bay, 
as they drew nearer, we saw they were 
a pair of black ducks, flying not over 
five feet above the water. “Father.” I 
said, “ ’guess we better raise on them 
and make them flare up, to make us a 
nice shot.” So when they reached the 
outside decoys, we rose, but they did not 
flare. This surprised me so, that I took 
a quick shot at one, head on, missed it 
clean, then threw myself backward and 
shot at it again, as it passed over me. 
We now had two fine ducks, and from 
time to time added another, until our 
score was eight, then about an hour be- 
fore sun-down, seven came to us, four 
black ducks and three mallards. They 
acted well and father said: “Let’s see if 
we can each make a double.” They came 
in low, right over the decoys, and as 
we rose to shoot, they flared up, making 
a dandy shot. I raised the sight of the 
little Baker, well above the head of a 
climbing mallard, and at its crack the 
bird wilted in the air. Quickly turning 
I killed a black duck with the second bar- 
rel. Now father w'as a man who never 
indulged in profanity, except under great 
provocation. As he covered his first bird, 
the shell snapped. With an explosive 
remark he pulled the other trigger, and 
as ^he cannon roared, the bird fell clean 
killed. This unfortunate mishap put 
father a little out of humor, and he 
lighted another cigar, and sat silent for 
some time. Finally he said: “How many 
birds have we?” I told him the last 
round made eleven. “My!” he said, “I 
wish we could make it an even dozen.” 
The sun sank in the west and the red 
glow was slowly fading out. when with 
a swish of wings a duck was silhouetted 
for a brief instant against the failing 
light. I swung my gun up quickly with 
a snap shot, and missed clean. Then 
father’s cannon boomed and the duck 
(another mallard) fell with a splash 
among the decoys, thus wiping my eye in 
great shape, and putting father in great 
good humor. This made a dozen splendid 
birds and we took up our decoys and 
started for the house. On our arrival, 
Peter expressed great astonishment at 
our success and we had a happy time 
that night around the old fire-place. 
T he weather continued plqasant, and 
could not be considered good for 
duck shooting. Still we continued 
to add a few to our string from day 
to day. We nad noticed a flock of about 
fifty of the smaller broadbills, feeding 
in the channel. They seemed to have 
iormed a habit of taking wing, just 
Widgeon and some ducks he hung in Nature’s cold storage — the shady side of the shack 
the side. It must have jarred him for 
he staggered back, and swinging his head 
to and fro, had such a look of complete 
astonishment, that father and I laughed 
heartily, w'hen he instantly dove and dis- 
appeared. Patiently we waited for the 
broadbills, but they did not come. The 
sun had long since set and it had become 
too dark to shoot, when father said: 
“Neil, I guess they have fooled us.” I 
answered: “I think so,” and started to 
lay down my gun, when with a roar of 
wings, a big flock of broadbills came 
out of the darkness, passed over the de- 
coys and were gone in the gloom. 
Throwing the gun to my shoulder, I fii’ed 
one shell into the dark mass before 
they disappeared. I heard the splash 
of falling birds, saw the flip of a crip- 
ple’s wing on the dark water, shot the 
other barrel at that, and then over board 
to see what I could find, for broadbills, 
unless shot dead, “stand not on the or- 
der of their going, but go at once.” 
Groping around over the ink black wa- 
ter, I gathered three ducks, delicious lit- 
tle fresh water broadbills. How many 
I shot down, I will never know, nor what 
not ten feet from my head and missed 
it again. Father did not shoot as they 
passed over, but held his fire. After they 
had passed behind us, they separated and 
swung back in a circle over the water 
again, one to the right the other to the 
left. 
As the one to father’s left came back 
over the bay, it was a very long shot 
away, but he put up the big gun behind 
it, and slowly swung it ahead. He dwelt 
so long, that I thought he never would 
shoot. Then the cannon thundered, and 
the duck’s sleek head di’opped back, the 
strong wings folded, and it dropped like 
a plumet; shot dead in the air, and at 
a tremendously long distance. With a 
broad smile on his face, father turned 
to me and said: “Neil, anywhere from 
here to Toms River I can get 'em wife 
this gun.” 
Dear father, it gives me a curiously 
warm glov/ around the heart to remem- 
ber that he hsould have ended his shoot- 
ing career with this magnificent shot, 
perhaps the best one of his life time. 
For, while he lived to the ripe old age of 
eighty-eight, he never fired a gun again. 
