April 5, 1913 
FOREST AND STREAM 
433 
ferent occasions killed between twenty-five and 
thirty blackducks in a day's shooting in the fall 
of 1911. Hags of fifteen were no rarity at all 
and were frequently made this past fall. 1 also 
know of two days’ shooting at broadbills this 
past fall that 1 can verify. One bag made in a 
single day was composed of fifty-seven ducks, 
mostly broadbills, and the other forty-seven all 
broadbills. Of course these figures may seem 
large for this part of the country, and indeed 
they are. I do not want to give the impression 
that such bags can be made every day, for such 
is not the case, but 1 do want to show clearly 
that these strings are by no means uncommon. 
I am almost daily made aware of the pres¬ 
ence of wildfowl hereabout. I can look from 
the window of my home and see ducks, mostly 
mergansers, almost any time, sporting and feed¬ 
ing in the openings in the ice of the cove, and 
by venturing out and exploring unvisited places, 
I can see them almost without number. Just 
before this last cold spell, or to be more concise, 
on Jan. 26, I sallied forth in a canoe to see how 
many ducks were stopping in Lord's Cove, a 
large bay and marsh on the east side of the 
river. I had heard that large numbers were 
stopping there, but had no idea so many would 
be seen. It is no exaggeration at all to say that 
there were hundreds and hundreds, mostly black- 
ducks and broadbills, with a few mergansers and 
golden-eyes. It is highly gratifying to see such 
large numbers around and to realize that the 
abolition of winter and spring shooting has 
brought about such splendid results. 
I hardly think the sensible sportsmen of the 
State will ever stand for the repeal of the pres¬ 
ent excellent law we now have, for anyone of 
an observing nature can readily see that it is 
working too well to be tampered with. Never¬ 
theless there must be a vigilant watch kept by 
the friends of the birds till we have a better 
and more comprehensive law, which I truly hope 
the IMcLean bill will be. 
George W. Comstock. 
The true sportsman does not quit the field 
because he missed the first shot. 
The “Red Gods.” 
Aitkin, Minn., March i. — Editor Forest and 
Stream: Jn your issue of Feb. 15 1 see Chas. 
Cristadora refers to the "Kipling or Red 
Gods" controversy in Forest and Stre.-\m some 
years back. Air. C. says it was the field against 
Browne, which was nearly the case. Mr. C. 
also says the controversy hinged on shod or 
‘‘shodless’’ canoe poles, which is an error. There 
was much random talk about canoe poles, but 
the final outcome turned on what Kipling meant 
by "Red Gods.” 
The trouble started when Browne said Kip¬ 
ling wrote much of meaningless jargon, or words 
to that effect. As Mr. Kipling's press agents had 
been working overtime on this side of the water 
at about that time, the over-excited multitude 
swarmed out in defense of him. 
“When out the hellish legion sallied, 
As bees buzz out in angry fyke, 
When plundering herd assail their l)yke.” 
The controversy raged long, and the car- 
na.ge was somewhat fearful, but did not seem 
to lead anywhere. I finally suggested, in the 
columns of Forest and Stream, that each one 
of the Kipling defenders tell what he meant by 
"Red Gods,” and if he were a clear and lucid 
poet, they would all agree as to his meaning. 
The belligerents fell for the idea and the 
editor of Forest and Stream set a time limit 
for all answers to be in. When these were all 
in, no two agreed on any particular. This would 
seem to have left the victory with Browne, but 
the mob would not see it, and by that time Mr. 
B. was in hiding somewhere in the wilds of 
Canada, and has never been heard from even 
unto this day. E. P. Jaques. 
Taking the 0 Out of Odor. 
Washington. D. C., Alarch 9. — Editor 
Forest and Stream: If your skunk-infected 
correspondent will cover the “spots” of tent and 
clothing with fresh chloride of lime, all odor 
will be removed. This is the way the French 
make skunk furs marketable, free from all offen¬ 
sive stench. Timothy E. Wilcox, U. S. A. 
The Spirit of the Eagle. 
BY PAIL BRANDRETH. 
Half wakened by a moonbeam’s farewell kiss, 
1 he pool within the forest meadow lay 
And smoked with early mists. O’er night’s abyss 
The errant breezes of arriving day 
Brushed with their fairy hands the sleeping pines. 
Hailed forth the ruddy legions of the sun 
To fill the Bast with ruby of old wines. 
And called the jeweled birds out one by one. 
Till presently within the wood there fell 
A thrush’s chiming, like a crystal bell. 
That sylvan note in elfin echoes ran 
From hill to hill, from grove to honeyed grove, 
And as a dream voice in the ear of Fan 
Presaging day, its liquid music strove 
To rouse the slumbrous god. Fragrant and cool 
The respirations of the quickening dawn 
Breathed o’er the W'ood; then lo! beside the pool 
Blushing and ivory-limbed, white nymph and Faun 
Heaped joyously; or borne on shaggy brute 
Trafficked in cherry blooms and wood-sweet fruit. 
The low moon set. Ihe wood folk brave with song 
Romped wildly in their Bacchanalian glee 
Till one among this gallant festive throng 
Blew the shrill silver horn that bade them flee. 
And even at the warning, from the glade 
The voice of something sorely wounded cried. 
Headlong they fled as from the pine tree’s shade 
A white dee h.roke the thicket. In her side 
An arrow drove her on with bitter pain. 
And flecked her silky flank with crimson stain. 
Straight to the pool she blindly made her way. 
Ah, piteous sight to those bright morning skies! 
For reaching it she stumbled, fell and lay 
Half in the w'ater, with soft dewy eyes 
In terror backward gazing toward the wood; 
And when the Fast was bathed in golden light. 
Came Acteon and in the meadow stood. 
Searching with eager glance to left and right. 
He saw her! gave a loud triumphant cry. 
And plucked an arrow from his war-girth thigh. 
But there he paused. Out of the morning blue 
Swift as a pHimmet dropped from Zeus’ throne 
ith sword-shaped pinions dipped in sunrise hue, 
A great gold eagle plunged, a living stone. 
Ah, then it was the hunter stayed his hand. 
For with its mighty wings spread dark and wide, 
T'he bird in cooling shadow gently fanned 
The stricken deer; and hovering by her side 
Wrenched at the arrow that had laid her low. 
And filled the air with screams of fiercest woe. 
Oh, Acteon, be gone ere yet the dawn 
Hath dried from vine and leaf the crystal dew; 
Go, go! ere Dryad, Nymph and bearded Faun 
Come to avenge the death of her ye slew. 
But look! Fate holds him and he waits too long. 
The meadow seethes in anger and dismay; 
The eagle claps his wings, ten thousand strong 
Flash creatures of the forest forth to slay! 
And he who reaped the life blood of the doe. 
The king of birds strikes earthward with a blow! 
So are the weaker championed by the strong; 
So doth the hunter with the hunted bleed; 
And so the eagle’s battle ringing song 
Doth voice for man a brave immortal creed! 
Belgian H ares. 
Boston, Mass., March 17 .—Editor Forest 
and Stream: I note your item about a revival 
of interest in Belgian hares. Now, I'm just 
back from Maine, where Holman Day lives, and 
he knows a thing or two about that bug. Large 
factories often rely on their main work for 
support, but on by-products for profit; and Mr. 
Day claims that at least one lilaine farmer made 
a complete failure of it with that same Belgian 
hare because, being a prohibition State, he could 
not sell their hops for beer. 
IMoral: Some things are geographical in 
their profit chances. 
The German carp is a case in point. 
John Preston True. 
WILD DUCKS IN SODUS BAY. 
Fed all winter by the Conservation Commission, New York State. 
