Brant Shooting with Cap’n Sam. 
“If they stool good, you’ll get some shootin’,” 
Cap’n Sam said, as he poled the unwieldly 
sharpie toward the sloop that I could barely dis¬ 
cern in the dim morning light. “ ’Member what 
I told you ’bout kickin’ ’em up,” he called out 
as the distance gradually increased between us. 
“When they’re flyin’ low and ain’t payin’ ’ten- 
shun to nothin’, jest flatten out an’ wave your 
leg in the air once or twice. That’ll make ’em 
raise up an’ look ’round.” 
I answered with an affirmative wave of the 
hand as I busied myself arranging my belong¬ 
ings with a view to comfort and convenience. 
The old coat that I had thoughtfully brought 
along made an excellent head rest when rolled 
compactly, the bag containing fifty or so shells 
was opened and placed just where I could reach 
it easiest, the twelve-gauge loaded and with 
safety on, laid with muzzle projecting an inch 
or so over the foot of the box and conveniently 
near my right hand, and lastly I filled my pipe, 
and lighting it, enjoyed a puff or so as only the 
confirmed smoker does, especially when it is 
the first since breakfast. 
As I finished these preparations, I heard, off 
in the distance, the muffled explosions of a gaso¬ 
lene motor, and looking in the direction where 
I had last seen the sloop, was unable to locate 
her. Then I knew that Cap’n Sam was aboard 
and was heading up to windward where he would 
anchor, a quarter of a mile away, within easy 
signalling distance, but at the same time not 
close enough to keep any birds from coming to 
me were they so inclined. 
Soon even the companionable chug-chug of 
the Fannie F.’s 'exhaust was stilled, and in the 
foggy, quiet morning not a sound broke the 
silence if I except the lapping of the water as 
it softly rolled up on the wings of the battery, 
and this but served to accentuate the loneliness. 
If you have ever experienced the sensation you 
will understand my feelings far better than I 
can describe them. Nothing but water as far 
as I could see. On all sides a gray wall of 
mist that effectually shut off my view of land 
or boats. I might have been in mid ocean, float¬ 
ing on a raft, the sole survivor of some ship¬ 
wreck, and in fact I could appreciate how one 
would feel were he unfortunate enough to be 
so placed. 
I reflected, however, with comfortable cer¬ 
tainty that I had sounded the depth of the water 
about me while Cap’n Sam was throwing out 
the decoys, and was satisfied that if the worst 
came to pass such as shooting a hole in .the 
battery, or capsizing it, or losing my balance 
if standing up and falling overboard, or doing 
some other equa'ly foolish and unnecessary thing 
that all I would then have to do was stand up 
and yell for help, as the water would no more 
than reach my waist. 
All of which seems remarkably childish and 
cowardly to you, no doubt, but a man can think 
of a great many silly things when oppressed 
with the spirit of loneliness, and it was with 
relief that I saw the east gradually redden and 
finally caught the first rays of the morning sun 
as they filtered through the low-hanging fog. 
As the mists were gradually dispelled, I began 
to catch glimpses of boats here and there about 
the bay, some with smoke arising from the stove 
pipe that projected from the cabin roof, an in¬ 
dication that the crew had no intention of start¬ 
ing the day’s work without the customary pan¬ 
cakes and coffee, others just weighing anchor 
and paying off before the light breeze that 
scarcely filled, the sails, or gathering headway 
in response to the rapid explosions of the gaso¬ 
lene engines which many of the more progres¬ 
sive baymen have installed in their craft. 
But what was that black line off to the south¬ 
ward in range of the beach hills? As I watched 
it intently it gradually assumed a V-shaped for¬ 
mation and rapidly approached until I could dis¬ 
cern the individual birds that composed it. 
"Brant, sure as shooting.” I flattened out in 
the battery and nervously fingered the stock of 
my gun as they swept steadily nearer. Soon I 
qould see the white breasts of the leading birds 
and distinguish the long snake-like neck and 
head. Were they going by or not? There was 
certainly no necessity of “kickin’ ’em up,” as 
Cap’n Sam described it. If they could have 
seen me half as plainly as I saw them they 
surely would not have come nearer, but I lay 
perfectly still, hardly daring to breathe, and 
rolled my eyes around in an endeavor to follow 
their flight without moving my head. 
Ah! I drew a long breath of relief as I saw 
the leader swerve from his course, scale swiftly 
down to leeward, and with his flock following 
him, come slowly winging over the water to 
hover, finally, with legs outstretched, over the 
decoys. 
As I rose in the battery, gun to shoulder, I 
could but wonder if Cap'n Sam was watching 
my actions through thosfe battered old marine 
glasses of his, and inwardly prayed that I would 
not make a fizzle of my first opportunity, for 
I had talked about my shooting abilities the 
night before over the after dinner pipes. But 
confidence returned as I glanced along the bar¬ 
rels and saw a bird crumple up and splash into 
the water at the sharp crack of the nitro. “Now 
to double up on a pair,” flashed through my 
mind, and my gun followed t,he frightened birds 
until two came into line, and then I pressed the 
trigger. “Three down. Not bad for a green¬ 
horn,” I thought, and looking around toward 
the sloop saw Cap’n Sam tumble into the dory 
floating astern and pull down to retrieve the 
fallen birds. 
As the old fellow rowed by, I inquired of 
him with a jocular air, “How’s that for shoot¬ 
ing?” 
“Purty fair,” he growled; “purty fair. You 
didn’t ’member what I told you las’ night, 
though, ’bout waitin’ for ’em to bunch up. 
That’s the way to*kill birds. Ketch ’em at jest 
the right minit an’ rip it into the thick of ’em.” 
“That’s a whole lot easier to tell about than 
do,” I thought to myself as I watched him 
glance over his shoulder at the dead birds drift¬ 
ing to leeward and alter the course of the dory 
to bring them within reach. As he threw the 
third bird into the boat I noticed that he was 
looking intently at me and wondered what I 
was doing to so attract his attention. Then he 
disappeared, evidently dropping down on to the 
bottom of the. dory, and but for the words that 
he hurled at me over the water, “Git down! 
Git down!” with something that was more forci¬ 
ble appended, I would have been at a loss to 
account for his actions. 
I got down so quickly that my head missed 
the coat that was doing duty as a pillow and 
thumped upon the bottom of the box. There 
was something in sight, that was evident, and 
without doubt it was brant or the captain would 
not have become so exercised as to swear at his 
guest, so I lay there, momentarily expecting to 
hear the whistling wings of the birds, but not 
a sound came to my ears, and finally I risked a 
peep over the edge of the box. 
Possibly there were 200 brant in the flock that 
I then discovered not over gunshot outside the 
decoys, but if I had been called upon to make 
an affidavit as to their numbers at just that 
moment, I would have unquestionably sworn to 
a thousand. 
In they came, as Cap’n Sam would have put 
it, “jest like chickens,” and I mentally declared 
that I would let them “bunch up” and kill about 
fifty with each barrel. Jostling each other, so 
close were they together as they prepared to 
settle among the decoys, I did not have the least 
doubt of a most successful shot and arose with 
a certainty of wholesale slaughter. 
True to orders I aimed where they were 
thickest and pulled trigger, but greatly to my 
surprise not a bird fell. Hardly changing my 
aim, for the air seemed so full of brant that I 
could not believe it possible to miss, I fired the 
left barrel and one lone bird fell from the flock. 
How two shells, each loaded with an ounce and 
a quarter of No. 3 shot, could be fired into the 
midst of so many birds without doing more 
execution than those two did will always re¬ 
main a mystery to me. I almost believe I could 
have stood up in the battery and killed some of 
them with a stone had I been provided with such 
ammunition, and as I looked at the single brant 
that floated just clear of the decoys, I did not 
feel too proud of my performance. 
“Blame this shooting at the bunch,” I exclaimed 
in disgust. “Hereafter I'll be satisfied with a 
bird for each barrel and let some other fellow 
do the ‘kill ’em all’ act.” 
Cap’n Sam’s wave of the arm as he reseated 
himself upon the thwart of the dory seemed 
unnecessarily hilarious, and I vowed I would 
show him some shooting before the day was 
over that would open his eyes. 
I did not break any records for battery shoot¬ 
ing in the next two or three hours, but I did 
not waste many opportunities, and made two 
particularly neat kills, swinging around with 
feet out of the box and cutting down two dif¬ 
ferent birds that scaled across the head fender 
