238 
THE MALLARD. 
raise him from the ground. But the free-born, the untamed Duck of the 
swamps, — see how he springs on wing, and hies away over the woods. 
The Mallards generally arrive in Kentucky and other parts of the Western 
Country, from the middle of September to the first of October, or as soon as 
the acorns and beech-nuts are fully ripe. In a few days they are to be found 
in all the ponds that are covered with seed-bearing grasses. Some flocks, 
which appear to be guided by an experienced leader, come directly down on 
the water with a rustling sound of their wings that can be compared only to 
the noise produced by an Eagle in the act of stooping upon its prey, while 
other flocks, as if they felt uneasy respecting the safety of the place, sweep 
around and above it several times in perfect silence, before they alight. In 
either case, the birds immediately bathe themselves, beat their bodies with 
their wings, dive by short plunges, and cut so many capers that you might 
imagine them to be stark mad. The fact, however, seems to be, that all this 
alacrity and gaiety only shews the necessity they feel of clearing themselves 
of the insects about their plumage, as w r ell as the pleasure they experience 
on finding themselves in a milder climate, with abundance of food around 
them, after a hard journey of perhaps a day and a night. They wash 
themselves and arrange their dress, before commencing their meal ; and in 
this other travellers would do well to imitate them. 
Now, towards the grassy margins they advance in straggling parties. See 
how they leap from the water to bend the loaded tops of the tall reeds. 
Woe be to the slug or snail that comes in their way. Some are probing the 
mud beneath, and waging war against the leech, frog, or lizard that is 
within reach of their bills ; while many of the older birds run into the woods, 
to fill their crops with beech-nuts and acorns, not disdaining to swallow also, 
should they come in their way, some of the wood-mice that, frightened by 
the approach of the foragers, hie towards their burrows. The cackling they 
keep up would almost deafen you, were you near them ; but it is suddenly 
stopped by the approach of some unusual enemy, and at once all are silent. 
With heads erected on out-stretched necks, they anxiously look around. It 
is nothing, however, but a bear, who being, like themselves, fond of mast, is 
ploughing up the newly fallen leaves with his muzzle, or removing an old 
rotting log in search of worms. The Ducks resume their employment. But 
another sound is now heard, one more alarming. The bear raises himself on 
his hind legs, snuffs the air, and with a loud snort gallops off towards the 
depths of his cane-brake. The Ducks retreat to the water, betake themselves 
to the centre of the pool, and uttering half-stifled notes await the sight of 
the object they dread. There the enemy cunningly advances, first covered 
by one tree, then by another. He has lost his chance of the bear, but as he 
is pushed by hunger, a Mallard will do for the bullet of his rusty rifle. It is 
