Oct. i 8, 1913. 
FOREST AND STREAM 
493 
they have made the turn, thus allowing the wind 
and waves to do all the retrieving. Ten minutes 
later found us wishing for action, and we had 
strained our eyes for the hundredth time, when 
Frank thought he saw something coming from 
the “south’ard.” The elapse of a few seconds 
told us plainly that it was a cock sheldrake, and 
a beauty. It was Frank’s bird, he having seen 
it first, so I drew back both hammers of my 
gun, in case he should miss. He was coming 
slowly but prettily against the strong quarter¬ 
ing wind, his manner of flight reminding me of 
a bee. Almost before we knew it, he scaled 
for the decoys, and as Frank’s gun roared out 
its measure of black powder, he crumpled and 
fell. Not quite dead, though, for he swam 
around for a moment, describing small circles, 
with his head under water. We let him drown, 
and presently his black and white form reposed 
becomingly beside that of the other, at our 
feet. Frank slipped a fresh shell into his 
gun, and winked. “Some shot.” he remarked. 
I nodded, inwardly hoping that I might be 
called on to display my ability next time. 
’Tis said the prayers of the wicked availeth 
nothing, still a cog must have slipped somewhere, 
for within five minutes I had spotted another 
single bird approaching from the direction of 
Nigger’s Ledge. He was flying low over the 
water, the tips of his wings seeming to touch 
the crest of an occasional wave. Appearing 
and disappearing behind the combers, he drew 
nearer, until he, too, like the previous one, was 
scaling for the decoys. I think I must have 
been over-anxious, for I shot ahead of him by 
a foot, and shearing off, he leaped straight into 
the teeth of the gale. Swinging on him again. 
I pulled, and he seemed to shrink in mid-air, 
then he fell end over end, receiving almost the 
whole charge of No. 4s. I turned to Frank and 
winked solemnly, but when I said “Some shot,” 
I felt I had made an inexcusable miss with the 
first barrel, and Frank, good sport that he was, 
allowed that he couldn’t have done better him¬ 
self. 
The wind was abating to some extent, and 
I felt easier about the long pull home. It's fun 
to shoot ducks, all right, but the thoughts of a 
long row to windward in a small craft takes 
away some of the “tang.” 
Suddenly Frank stiffened; he had sighted an¬ 
other bird. Most of the birds there come in 
singles and pairs, not furnishing a large amount 
of excitement, yet a deal of practice. Frank’s 
bird proved to be a hen sheldrake, and as its 
swiftly-moving, gray form loomed nearer, we 
thought it had not seen the decoys. Then when 
it had pased almost beyond the Point, it turned 
suddenly and came straight in. Rising hastily, 
I*rank emptied both barrels, only to.be followed 
by mine a second later. The duck did not stop 
with us, however, it was a clean double miss for 
both of us, one of those inexplainable, yet un¬ 
deniable and frequent performances always to 
be encountered in duck shooting. Frank said 
something softly to himself, and I commended 
in the same strain. One had done as poorly 
as the other, otherwise there might have been 
some “joshing.” We blew the smoke out of 
our barrel and replenished them with fresh 
shells. 1 he wind had slackened to a marked 
degree, now, and a ray of sunshine burst 
through the clouds. Yet the pound of the surf 
was ever dominant, and an occasional billowy 
swell, the pulse of the mighty Atlantic, told us 
in its own great way that Old King Neptune 
still held the master hand. 
Things had been moving rather slowly, I 
having knocked down three ducks and lost two, 
in the past half-hour, with Frank's score much 
the same, when suddenly I caught a glad light 
in Frank’s eyes, and tracing out the line of his 
gaze, the happy light was doubly reflected in 
my own. A bunch of “whistlers” (American 
golden eye), the prettiest duck that flies Casco 
Bay, was wending its way in steadily from the 
southward. There was not a whistler decoy in 
our string, yet so closely are they associated 
with the sheldrake, we felt that there was a 
bare possibility of their "hooking on.” 
Breathlessly we watched the approaching 
flock, noting with admiration the beautiful 
play of sunlight upon their black and white 
markings. They were coming almost straight 
for the decoys, although I don’t believe they 
had sighted them. When at possibly a distance 
of one hundred and fifty yards, the leaders 
sheered a few degrees, and they came straight 
on. Forty yards I should say they were in the 
air and flying as prettily as anything you ever 
saw. They did not settle toward the decoys, 
yet they came directly over head, and with the 
whistle of their wings dinning in our ears, we 
cut loose. If I could only write the way it 
looked to me then—a “whang” of guns, a cloud 
of smoke, the mighty whir of wings, the splash 
and splatter of falling birds and the keen sense 
of satisfaction that goes with it all. 
Seven birds. We knocked down nine, losing 
two that dove, which we never saw again. 
And now as I sit here, idly dreaming of 
those good old days, I can seem to hear the 
howl of the northeaster down in Casco Bay. 
The Devil Dancers of Ceylon. 
Despite the advance of medical knowledge 
throughout India, says the Wide World, devil- 
dancers are still called into requisition in many 
parts of Ceylon for curing all kinds of sickness. 
When a native is taken ill his relatives first ap¬ 
ply medical treatment. If, after some days, this 
appears to be ineffective, it is concluded that the 
sickness is one incapable of cure in this manner, 
but is caused by some inimical influence, and 
must therefore be due to either a glance of the 
evil eye, the action of a demon, or some evil 
planetary action. The soothsayer is then sent 
for, and this worthy, after examining the patient, 
names the demon or spirit responsible for the 
malady. An offering is then made to the demon 
in the form of food, a coin, or a piece of cloth. 
Then follows the professional dance., carried out 
by the devil-dancers. Two men clad in gorgeous 
garments and wearing strange head dresses and 
masks go through a number of grotesque and 
extraordinary evolutions to the beating of the 
tomtoms, making weird noises the while. This 
is kept up for hours, sometimes all night, and 
is always performed within sight of the sick 
persons. In the complete ceremonies of the 
demon called Samni Yaka, who causes con¬ 
vulsions, severe toothache, headache, etc., no 
fewer than thirty-two different masks are worn 
in turn by the dancers. Curiously enough, ob¬ 
servers state that these strange ceremonies usu¬ 
ally have a favorable effect upon the patient’s 
illness. 
The Longest Patrol on Record. 
Six hundred and forty-nine officers and men 
compose the Royal Northwest Mounted Police. 
The other day four of them—-Inspector E. A. 
Pelletier, Corporal Joyce, and Constables 
Walker and Conway—got off a train at Regina, 
their headquarters. It is a raw unfinished 
prairie city about a hundred miles north of the 
border-line. These men had just completed the 
longest patrol on record—three thousand three 
hundred and forty-seven miles through the 
wildest and most desolate regions of the far 
North, a great part of which had never before 
been traversed by the foot of a white man. 
Yet, says the Wide World Magazine, there was 
no crowd to meet them, nor was there even a 
carriage for them to ride in. They attracted no 
particular attention, though they had accom¬ 
plished one of the most remarkable and daring 
journeys in the annals of travel and exploration, 
and had helped considerably to fill in the blank 
spaces on the map. They did not even receive 
a mention in the local newspapers, but what was 
regarded by them as far more gratifying than 
newspaper applause was the thanks of the Prime 
Minister. When the next map is issued from 
Ottawa these men could, if their modesty would 
allow them, point out certain things which have 
never appeared before and say, “We discovered 
that—and that—and that.” 
Game Leak into New York. 
Jeremiah Conners, of Oneida, N. Y., is in 
Little Falls, N. J., as a representative of the 
Conservation Commission of New York making 
an investigation into an alleged infringement of 
the wild game laws of that State. He has called 
on Sheriff Amos Radcliffe, of Passaic county, 
to help him. 
Mr. Conners has information that a poultry 
company which has branches in Virginia, New 
York and New Jersey has been trapping wild 
duck and other birds in Virginia, shipping them 
to this State and then transferring them across 
the State line, where they are killed and sent 
to New York city for sale. 
Mr. Conners has the affidavit of a former 
employe of the company, who says that in five 
months more than 15,000 pounds of game have 
been shipped into New York State in violation 
of the law. 
Fishing With Glass-Bottomed Buckets. 
Sicily is a land where the primitive still 
prevails to a great extent, in spite of the on¬ 
ward march of civilization. A very curious sight 
at Palermo is to see the fishermen spearing fish 
in the harbor by the aid of glass-bottomed 
buckets. There are many corners of the world 
where fish are speared, but perhaps the use of 
the glass-bottomed bucket in this connection is 
to be seen only at Palermo. The fishermen lean 
far over the side of their boats, and hold the 
bucket on the water with one hand, poking 
their heads into it as if engaged in the Hallow¬ 
e’en, game of ducking for apples. They hold a 
spear poised in the free hand, and thus await 
the arrival of their victims, who are sighted 
through the glass bottom of the bucket, which 
acts as a kind of telescope.—Wide World 
Alagazine. 
