April i, 1911.] 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
483 
SHOOTING ON AN INDIAN LAKE. 
Our camp was pitched 011 the huge bund 
which was the origin of Lake Dull's existence. 
Fifty yards across the top, twenty feet above 
the water’s surface, and three hundred yards 
in length, this massive feat of engineering skill 
must have silently watched the centuries of time 
roll by since its formation stone was first laid. 
The gigantic mango and peepul trees growing 
on tbe bund and immediately below it are Silent 
witnesses of its great age. Right in the center 
of it rises a silk cotton tree—a tree of pro¬ 
digious proportions. The tree tells the story 
of Mohammedan invasion and conquest, for 
wherever the Moslem conqueror fought and 
won a great battle he planted a silk cotton tree 
to commemorate a victory accorded to the 
True Faith. All over India the track of the 
Mohammedan invasions are clearly marked by 
these magnificent trees. The age of the tree 
fixes the year of the victory, and the year will 
give the invader’s name, for the tide of in¬ 
vasion has swept over the land not once or 
twice, but many times. 
The bund has stood the greatest test, namely, 
the test of time, and has withstood for centuries 
the strain of imprisoned waters. The camp lay 
silent and ghostly in the bright moonlight. The 
silence of sleep held everything in its grip, 
broken only now and again by a pony rattling 
a head chain, by a distant jackal s cry rising 
suddenly on the air, wavering a moment and 
dying down as quickly, or by the gurgling 
bubbles of a native hookah, followed by the in¬ 
evitable suppressed cough—the village watch¬ 
man’s efforts to chase away sleep. At earliest 
dawn commenced the many calls of waking life. 
From land and water, from stony ridge and 
marshy jheels, rise the varied cries of birds, of 
insects, and of beasts. Before breakfast 
Malcolm and I each caught a decent fish 
(sanwal) from the cool depths of the lake. 
Sammy, armed with a light rifle, bagged a buck, 
and Charles, with his shotgun, added to the bag 
seven quail, one green and two blue pigeons, a 
hare, two black and one painted partridge. At 
to a. m. Charles let off his gun, a signal to com¬ 
mence firing. We were all in our appointed sta¬ 
tions by then, and soon the fusilade began. 
Up rose the ducks on all sides, and hurried here 
and there, across the lake round the edges, 
some packs going right-handed, others left, but 
ever and anon leaving behind them a comrade 
here or a brace there as they came within range 
of the guns, hidden amidst the rushes at the 
most strategic points. 
Gradually the smaller scattered packs join 
forces with others of their own kind, and slowly 
rise higher and higher into the skies; some 
packs vanish on the horizon, apparently off to 
other distant waters, but they reappear later, 
hurrying back from some other point of the 
compass. Although the various packs keep 
circling round and round, the different species 
never mix. The mallards, pochards, pintails, 
teal, widgeon, and cotton teal each keep in their 
own packs, separate and distinct, and easily dis¬ 
tinguishable the one from the other by their 
peculiarities of shape, flight, and speed. The 
air is sibilant with the swish and rush of the 
thousands of rapidly moving wings. 
The guns are heard less frequently as the 
birds rise higher and keep out of range. Oc¬ 
casionally a right and left resounds on the air, 
as an unwary brace, weary of the heat and the 
bustle above, separate from their pack, and, 
seeking the cool shelter of the rush-grown bank, 
come within range; or a single shot rings out 
as a solitary drake flies noisily round the edge 
of the lake,_ calling to his mate, and whom he 
seeks in vain to join. 
Out of chaos comes order. The terror- 
stricken ducks circling high are feeling the heat 
of the tropical sun, the guns are silent, and from 
their high point of vantage the position of the 
sportsmen is plainly seen. They have noticed 
that the guns are only at these points. Pack 
after pack descend and drop with a splash and 
flutter into the bosom of the lake, right out into 
the middle of the water, far from the sports¬ 
men’s reach. Here they lie at rest, disturbed 
only by the swoop of a hawk, who, spotting a 
wounded bird on the fringe of the pack, dashes 
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When writing say you saw the ad. in “Forest and Stream.” 
