Nelson on the Black Brant. 
x 33 
gr-r-r-r rises in a faint monotonous matinal whose tone a week 
later may waken the weird silence in unknown lands about the 
Pole. 
Reaching the knoll before mentipned, we pitch our tent and 
after tieing the dogs to keep them within bounds we separate to 
take positions for the morning flight. Each of the party is soon 
occupying as little space as possible behind some insignificant 
knoll or tuft of grass that now and then breaks the monotonous 
level. The sun rises slowly higher and higher, until, at length, 
the long narrow bands of fog hovering over the bare ground are 
routed. Now we have not long to wait, for, as usual at this 
season, the lakes, which are frozen over nightly, open under the 
rays of the sun between seven and nine in the morning and start 
the waterfowl upon their way. The notes which, until now, 
have been uttered in a low conversational tone, are raised and 
heard more distinctly and have a harsher intonation. The cho- 
rus swells and dies away like the sound of an asolian harp of one 
or two heavy bass strings and, as we lie close to the ground, 
the wind whispers among the dead plants in a low undertone as 
an accompaniment ; but, while we lay dreaming, the sun has 
done its work ; the lakes have opened, and, suddenly, a harsh 
gr-r-r-r^ g r . r . r . r ^ g r . r . r . r causes us to spring up, but too late, 
for, gliding away to the northward, the first flock goes unscathed. 
After a few energetic remarks upon Geese in general and this 
flock in particular we resume our position but keep on the alert 
to do honor to the next party. 
Soon, skimming along the horizon, flock after flock is seen as 
they rise and hurry by on either side. Fortune now favors us 
and a large flock makes directly for the ambush, their complicated 
and graceful evolutions leading us to almost forget why we are 
lying here upon our face in the bog with our teeth rattling a 
devil’s tattoo in the raw wind. On they come, only a few feet 
above the ground, until, when twenty or thirty yards away, 
we suddenly rise upon one knee and strike terror into the hearts 
of the unsuspecting victims. In place of the admirable order 
before observed all is confusion and, seemingly in hope of mutual 
protection, the frightened birds crowd into a mass over the centre 
of the flock, uttering, the while, their ordinary note raised in 
alarm to a higher key. This is the sporstman’s time and a double 
discharge as they are nearly overhead will often bring down from 
