CHAPTER SIXTEEN.
A DUCK-SHOOTING ADVENTURE.
During our next day's journey we again fell in with flocks of the wildpigeon, and our stock was renewed. We were very glad of this, as wewere getting tired of the dry salt bacon, and another "pot-pie" fromLanty's _cuisine_ was quite welcome. The subject of the pigeons wasexhausted, and we talked no more about them. Ducks were upon the tablein a double sense, for during the march we had fallen in with a brood ofthe beautiful little summer ducks (_Anas sponsa_), and had succeeded inshooting several of them. These little creatures, however, did notoccupy our attention, but the far more celebrated species known as the"canvas-back" (_Anas vallisneria_).
Of the two dozen species of American wild-ducks, none has a widercelebrity than that known as the canvas-back; even the eider-duck isless thought of, as the Americans care little for beds of down. But thejuicy, fine-flavoured flesh of the canvas-back is esteemed by allclasses of people; and epicures prize it above that of all other wingedcreatures, with the exception, perhaps, of the reed-bird orrice-hunting, and the prairie-hen. These last enjoy a celebrity almostif not altogether equal. The prairie-hen, however, is the _bon morceau_of western epicures; while the canvas-back is only to be found in thegreat cities of the Atlantic. The reed-bird--in the West Indies called"ortolan"--is also found in the same markets with the canvas-back. Theflesh of all three of these birds--although the birds themselves are ofwidely-different families--is really of the most delicious kind; itwould be hard to say which of them is the greatest favourite.
The canvas-back is not a large duck, rarely exceeding three pounds inweight. Its colour is very similar to the pochard of Europe: its headis a uniform deep chestnut, its breast black; while the back and upperparts of the wings present a surface of bluish-grey, so lined andmottled as to resemble--though very slightly--the texture of canvas:hence the trivial name of the bird.
Like most of the water-birds of America, the canvas-back is migratory.It proceeds in spring to the cold countries of the Hudson's Bayterritory, and returns southward in October, appearing in immense flocksalong the Atlantic shores. It does not spread over the fresh-waterlakes of the United States, but confines itself to three or fourwell-known haunts, the principal of which is the great Chesapeake Bay.This preference for the Chesapeake Bay is easily accounted for, as hereits favourite food is found in the greatest abundance. Hound the mouthsof the rivers that run into this bay, there are extensive shoals ofbrackish water; these favour the growth of a certain plant of the genus_vallisneria_--a grass-like plant, standing several feet out of thewater, with deep green leaves, and stems, and having a white and tenderroot. On this root, which is of such a character as to have given theplant, the trivial name of "wild celery," the canvas-back feedsexclusively; for wherever it is not to be found, neither does the birdmake its appearance. Diving for it, and bringing it up in its bill, thecanvas-back readily breaks off the long lanceolate leaves, which floatoff, either to be eaten by another species--the pochard--or to formimmense banks of wrack, that are thrown up against the adjacent shores.
It is to the roots of the wild celery that the flesh of the canvas-backowes its esteemed flavour, causing it to be in such demand that veryoften a pair of these ducks will bring three dollars in the markets ofNew York and Philadelphia. When the finest turkey can be had for lessthan a third of that sum, some idea may be formed of the superiorestimation in which the web-footed favourites are held.
Of course, shooting the canvas-back duck is extensively practised, notonly as an amusement, but as a professional occupation. Various meansare employed to slaughter these birds: decoys by means of dogs, duckboats armed with guns that resemble infernal-machines, and disguises ofevery possible kind. The birds themselves are extremely shy; and a shotat them is only obtained by great ingenuity, and after considerabledodging. They are excellent divers; and when only wounded, almostalways make good their escape. Their shyness is overcome by theircuriosity. A dog placed upon the shore, near where they happen to be,and trained to run backwards and forwards, will almost always seducethem within shot. Should the dog himself not succeed, a red rag wrappedaround his body, or tied to his tail, will generally bring about thedesired result. There are times, however, when the ducks have been muchshot at, that even this decoy fails of success.
On account of the high price the canvas-backs bring in the market, theyare pursued by the hunters with great assiduity, and are looked upon asa source of much profit. So important has this been considered, that inthe international treaties between the States bordering upon theChesapeake, there are several clauses or articles relating to them thatlimit the right of shooting to certain parties. An infringement of thisright, some three or four years ago, led to serious collisions betweenthe gunners of Philadelphia and Baltimore. So far was the disputecarried, that schooners armed, and filled with armed men, cruised forsome time on the waters of the Chesapeake, and all the initiatory stepsof a little war were taken by both parties. The interference of thegeneral government prevented what would have proved, had it been left toitself, a very sanguinary affair.
It so chanced that I had met with a rather singular adventure whileduck-shooting on the Chesapeake Bay, and the story was related thus: "Iwas staying for some days at the house of a friend--a planter--who livednear the mouth of a small river that runs into the Chesapeake. I feltinclined to have a shot at the far-famed canvas-backs. I had ofteneaten of these birds, but had novel shot one, or even seen them in theirnatural _habitat_. I was, therefore, anxious to try my hand upon them,and I accordingly set out one morning for that purpose.
"My friend lived upon the bank of the river, some distance abovetide-water. As the wild celery grows only in brackish water--that is,neither in the salt sea itself nor yet in the fresh-water rivers--I hadto pass down the little stream a mile or more before I came to theproper place for finding the ducks. I went in a small skiff, with noother companion than an ill-favoured cur-dog, with which I had beenfurnished, and which was represented to me as one of the best`duck-dogs' in the country.
"My friend having business elsewhere, unfortunately could not upon thatday give me his company; but I knew something of the place, and being_au fait_ in most of the dodges of duck-hunting, I fancied I was quiteable to take care of myself.
"Floating and rowing by turns, I soon came in sight of the bay and thewild celery fields, and also of flocks of water-fowl of differentspecies, among which I could recognise the pochards, the canvas-backs,and the common American widgeon.
"Seeking a convenient place near the mouth of the stream, I landed; and,tying the skiff to some weeds, proceeded in search of a cover. This wassoon found--some bushes favoured me; and having taken my position, I setthe dog to his work. The brute, however, took but little notice of mywords and gestures of encouragement, I fancied that he had a wild andfrightened look, but I attributed this to my being partially a strangerto him; and was in hopes that, as soon as we became better acquainted,he would work in a different manner.
"I was disappointed, however, as, do what I might, he would not go nearthe water, nor would he perform the trick of running to and fro which Ihad been assured by my friend he would be certain to do. On thecontrary, he cowered among the bushes, near where I had stationedmyself, and seemed unwilling to move out of them. Two or three times,when I dragged him forward, and motioned him toward the water, he rushedback again, and ran under the brushwood.
"I was exceedingly provoked with this conduct of the dog, the more sothat a flock of canvas-backs, consisting of several thousands, wasseated upon the water not more than half a mile from the shore. Had mydog done his duty, I have no doubt they might have been brought withinrange; and, calculating upon this, I had made sure of a noble shot. Myexpectations, however, were defeated by the waywardness of the dog, andI saw there was no hope of doing anything with him.
"Having arrived at this conclusion, after some hours spent to nopurpose, I rose from my cover, and marched back to the skiff. I did no
teven motion the wretched cur to follow me; and I should have rowed offwithout him, risking the chances of my friend's displeasure, but itpleased the animal himself to trot after me without invitation, and, onarriving at the boat, to leap voluntarily into it.
"I was really so provoked with the brute, that I felt much inclined topitch him out, again. My vexation, however, gradually left me; and Istood up in the skiff, turning over in my mind what course I shouldpursue next.
"I looked toward the flock of canvas-backs. It, was a tantalisingsight. They sat upon the water as light as corks, and as close togetheras sportsman could desire for a shot. A well-aimed discharge could nothave failed to kill a score of them at least.
"Was there no way of approaching them? This question I had put tomyself for the twentieth time without being able to answer it to mysatisfaction.
"An idea at length flitted across my brain. I had often approachedcommon mallards by concealing my boat under branches or furze, and thenfloating down upon them, impelled either by the wind or the current of astream. Might not this also succeed with the canvas-backs?
"I resolved upon making the experiment. The flock was in a position toenable me to do so. They were to the leeward of a sedge of the_vallisneria_. The wind would carry my skiff through this; and thegreen bushes with which I intended to disguise it would not bedistinguished from the sedge, which was also green.
"The thing was feasible. I deemed it so. I set about cutting someleafy branches that grew near, and trying them along the gunwales of mylittle craft. In less than half an hour, I pushed her from the shore;and no one at a distance would have taken her for aught else than afloating raft of brushwood.
"I now pulled quietly out until I had got exactly to windward of theducks, at about half a mile's distance from the edge of the flock. Ithen took in the paddles, and permitted the skiff to glide before thewind. I took the precaution to place myself in such a manner that I wascompletely hidden, while through the branches I commanded a view of thesurface on any side I might wish to look.
"The bushes acted as a sail, and I was soon drifted down among theplants of the wild celery. I feared that this might stay my progress,as the breeze was light, and might not carry me through. But the sward,contrary to what is usual, was thin at the place where the skiff hadentered, and I felt, to my satisfaction, that I was moving, thoughslowly, in the right direction.
"I remember that the heat annoyed me at the time. It was the month ofNovember; but it was that peculiar season known as `Indian summer', andthe heat was excessive--not under 90 degrees, I am certain. Theshrubbery that encircled me prevented a breath of air from reaching mybody; and the rays of the noonday sun fell almost vertically in thatsouthern latitude, scorching me as I lay along the bottom of the boat.Under other circumstances, I should not have liked to undergo such aroasting; but with the prospect of a splendid shot before me, I enduredit as best I could.
"The skiff was nearly an hour in pushing its way through the field of_vallisneria_, and once or twice it remained for a considerable timemotionless. A stronger breeze, however, would spring up, and then thesound of the reeds rubbing the sides of the boat would gratefullyadmonish me that I was moving ahead.
"I saw, at length, to my great gratification, that I was approaching theselvage of the sedge, and, moreover, that the flock itself was moving,as it were, to meet me! Many of the birds were diving and feeding inthe direction of the skiff.
"I lay watching them with interest. I saw that the canvas-backs wereaccompanied by another species of a very different colour fromthemselves: this was the American widgeon. It was a curious sight towitness the constant warfare that was carried on between these twospecies of birds. The widgeon is but a poor diver, while thecanvas-back is one of the very best. The widgeon, however, is equallyfond of the roots of the wild celery with his congener; but he has nomeans of obtaining them except by robbing the latter. Being a smallerand less powerful bird, he is not able to do this openly; and it wascurious to observe the means by which he effected his purpose. It wasas follows: When the canvas-back descends, he must perforce remain somemoments under water. It requires time to seize hold of the plant, andpluck it up by the roots. In consequence of this, he usually reachesthe surface in a state of half-blindness, holding the luscious morsel inhis bill. The widgeon has observed him going down; and, calculating toa nicety the spot where he will reappear, seats himself in readiness.The moment the other emerges, and before he can fully recover his sightor his senses, the active spoliator makes a dash, seizes the celery inhis horny mandibles, and makes off with it as fast as his webbed feetcan propel him. The canvas-back, although chagrined at being plunderedin this impudent manner, knows that pursuit would be idle, and, settingthe root down as lost, draws a fresh breath, and dives for another. Inoticed in the flock a continual recurrence of such scenes.
"A third species of birds drew my attention. These were the pochards,or, as they are termed by the gunners of the Chesapeake, `red-heads.'These creatures bear a very great resemblance to the canvas-backs, andcan hardly be distinguished except by their bills: those of the formerbeing concave along the upper surface, while the bills of thecanvas-backs exhibit a nearly straight line.
"I saw that the pochards did not interfere with either of the otherspecies, contenting themselves with feeding upon what neither of theothers cared for--the green leaves of the _vallisneria_, which, afterbeing stripped of their roots, were floating in quantities on thesurface of the water. Yet these pochards are almost as much prized forthe table as their cousins the canvas-backs; and, indeed, I have sincelearnt that they are often put off for the latter by the poulterers ofNew York and Philadelphia. Those who would buy a real canvas-backshould know something of natural history. The form and colour of thebill would serve as a criterion to prevent their being deceived. In thepochard, the bill is of a bluish colour; that of the canvas-back is darkgreen; moreover, the eye of the pochard is yellow, while that of itscongener is fiery red.
"I was gratified in perceiving that I had at last drifted within rangeof a thick clump of the ducks. Nothing now remained but to poke my gunnoiselessly through the bushes, set the cocks of both barrels, take aim,and fire.
"It was my intention to follow the usual plan--that is, fire one barrelat the birds while sitting, and give them the second as they rose uponthe wing. This intention was carried out the moment after; and I hadthe gratification of seeing some fifteen or twenty ducks strewed overthe water, at my service. The rest of the flock rose into the heavens,and the clapping of their wings filled the air with a noise thatresembled thunder.
"I say that there appeared to have been fifteen or twenty killed; howmany I never knew: I never laid my hands upon a single bird of them. Ibecame differently occupied, and with a matter that soon drovecanvas-backs, and widgeons, and pochards as clean out of my head as ifno such creatures had ever existed.
"While drifting through the sedge, my attention had several times beenattracted by what appeared to be strange conduct on the part of mycanine companion. He lay cowering in the bottom of the boat near thebow, and half covered by the bushes; but every now and then he wouldstart to his feet, look wildly around, utter a strange whimpering, andthen resume his crouching attitude. I noticed, moreover, that atintervals he trembled as if he was about to shake out his teeth. Allthis had caused me wonder--nothing more. I was too much occupied inwatching the game, to speculate upon causes; I believed, if I formed anybelief on the subject, that these manoeuvres were caused by fear; thatthe cur had never been to sea, and that he was now either sea-sick orsea-scared.
"This explanation had hitherto satisfied me, and I had thought no moreupon the matter. I had scarcely delivered my second barrel, however,when my attention was anew attracted to the dog; and this time was soarrested, that in one half-second I thought of nothing else. The animalhad arisen, and stood within three feet of me, whining hideously. Hiseyes glared upon me with a wild and unnatural expression, his tonguelolled out, and saliva
fell copiously from his lips. _The dog was mad_!
"I saw that the dog was mad, as certainly as I saw the dog. I had seenmad dogs before, and knew the symptoms well. It was hydrophobia of themost dangerous character.
"Fear, quick and sudden, came over me. Fear is a tame word; horror Ishould call it; and the phrase would not be too strong to express mysensations at that moment. I knew myself to be in a situation ofextreme peril, and I saw not the way out of it. Death--death painfuland horrid--appeared to be nigh, appeared to confront me, glaring fromout the eyes of the hideous brute.
"Instinct had caused me to put myself in an attitude of defence. Myfirst instinct was a false one. I raised my gun, at the same momentmanipulating the lock, with the design of cocking her. In the confusionof terror, I had even forgotten that both barrels were empty, that I hadjust scattered their contents in the sea.
"I thought of re-loading; but a movement of the dog towards me showedthat that would be a dangerous experiment; and a third thought orinstinct directed me to turn the piece in my hand, and defend myself, ifnecessary, with the butt. This instinct was instantly obeyed, and in asecond's time I held the piece clubbed and ready to strike.
"I had retreated backward until I stood in the stern of the skiff. Thedog had hitherto lain close up to the bow, but after the shots, he hadsprung up and taken a position nearer the centre of the boat. In fact,he had been within biting distance of me before I had noticed hismadness. The position into which I had thus half involuntarily thrownmyself, offered me but a trifling security.
"Any one who has ever rowed an American skiff will remember that theselittle vessels are `crank' to an extreme degree. Although boat-shapedabove, they are without keels, and a rude step will turn them bottomupward in an instant. Even to stand upright in them, requires carefulbalancing; but to fight a mad dog in one without being bitten, wouldrequire the skill and adroitness of an acrobat. With all my caution, asI half stood, half crouched in the stern, the skiff rocked from side toside, and I was in danger of being pitched out. Should the dog springat me, I knew that any violent exertion to fend him off would eithercause me to be precipitated into the water, or would upset the boat--astill more dreadful alternative.
"These thoughts did not occupy half the time I have taken to describethem. Short, however, as that time was in actual duration, to me itseemed long enough, for the dog still held a threatening attitude, hisforepaws resting upon one of the seats, while his eyes continued toglare upon me with a wild and uncertain expression.
"I remained for some moments in fearful suspense. I was half paralysedwith terror, and uncertain what action it would be best to take. Ifeared that any movement would attract the fierce animal, and be thesignal for him to spring upon me. I thought of jumping out of the skiffinto the water. I could not wade in it. It was shallow enough--notover five feet in depth, but the bottom appeared to be of soft mud. Imight sink another foot in the mud. No; I could not have waded. Theidea was dismissed.
"To swim to the shore? I glanced sideways in that direction: it wasnearly half a mile distant. I could never reach it, cumbered with myclothes. To have stripped these off, would have tempted the attack.Even could I have done so, might not the dog follow and seize me in thewater? A horrible thought!
"I abandoned all hope of escape, at least that might arise from anyactive measures on my part. I could do nothing to save myself; my onlyhope lay in passively awaiting the result.
"Impressed with this idea, I remained motionless as a statue; I movedneither hand nor foot from the attitude I had first assumed; I scarcelypermitted myself to breathe, so much did I dread attracting the fartherattention of my terrible companion, and interrupting the neutrality thatexisted.
"For some minutes--they seemed hours--this state of affairs continued.The dog still stood up, with his forepaws raised upon the bench; theoars were among his feet. In this position he remained, gazing wildly,though it did not appear to me steadily, in my face. Several times Ithought he was about to spring on me; and, although I carefully avoidedmaking any movement, I instinctively grasped my gun with a firmer hold.To add to my embarrassment, I saw that I was fast drifting seaward! Thewind was from the shore; it was impelling the boat with considerablevelocity, in consequence of the mass of bushes acting as sails. Alreadyit had cleared the sedge, and was floating out in open water. To mydismay, at less than a mile's distance, I descried a line of breakers!
"A side-glance was sufficient to convince me, that unless the skiff waschecked, she would drift upon these in the space of ten minutes.
"A fearful alternative now presented itself: I must either drive the dogfrom the oars, or allow the skiff to be swamped among the breakers. Thelatter would be certain death, the former offered a chance for life;and, nerving myself with the palpable necessity for action, I instantlyresolved to make the attack.
"Whether the dog had read my intention in my eyes; or observed myfingers taking a firmer clutch of my gun, I know not, but at this momenthe seemed to evince sudden fear, and, dropping down from the seat, heran backward to the bow, and cowered there as before.
"My first impulse was to get hold of the oars, for the roar of thebreakers already filled my ears. A better idea suggested itselfimmediately after, and that was to load my gun. This was a delicatebusiness, but I set about it with all the caution I could command.
"I kept my eyes fixed upon the animal, and _felt_ the powder, thewadding, and the shot, into the muzzle. I succeeded in loading onebarrel, and fixing the cap.
"As I had now something upon which I could rely, I proceeded with moreconfidence, and loaded the second barrel with greater care, the dogeyeing me all the while. Had madness not obscured his intelligence, hewould no doubt have interrupted my manipulations; as it was, he remainedstill until both barrels were loaded, capped, and cocked.
"I had no time to spare; the breakers were nigh; their hoarse `sough'warned me of their perilous proximity; a minute more, and the littleskiff would be dancing among them like a shell, or sunk for ever.
"Not a moment was to be lost, and yet I had to proceed with caution. Idared not raise the gun to my shoulder--I dared not glance along thebarrels: the manoeuvre might rouse the dangerous brute.
"I held the piece low, slanting along my thighs. I guided the barrelswith my mind, and, feeling the direction to be true, I fired.
"I scarcely heard the report, on account of the roaring of the sea; butI saw the dog roll over, kicking violently. I saw a livid patch overhis ribs, where the shot had entered in a clump. This would no doubthave proved sufficient; but to make sure, I raised the gun to myshoulder, took aim, and sent the contents of the second barrel throughthe ribs of the miserable brute. His kicking ended almost instantly,and he lay dead in the bottom of the boat.
"I dropped my gun and flew to the oars: it was a close `shave;' theskiff was already in white water, and dancing like a feather; but with afew strokes I succeeded in backing her out, and then heading her awayfrom the breakers, I pulled in a direct line for the shore.
"I thought not of my canvas-backs--they had floated by this time, Ineither knew nor cared whither: the sharks might have them for me. Myonly care was to get away from the scene as quickly as possible,determined never again to go duck-shooting with a cur for my companion."