[Illustration: THE ANGRY DUCK-HUNTER.]
_ROD AND GUN SERIES._
THE
YOUNG WILD-FOWLERS.
BY HARRY CASTLEMON,
AUTHOR OF “THE GUNBOAT SERIES,” “BOY TRAPPER SERIES,” “ROUGHING IT
SERIES,” ETC.
[Illustration]
PHILADELPHIA:
PORTER & COATES.
COPYRIGHT, 1885,
BY
PORTER & COATES.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
CHAPTER I.
AT EGAN’S HOME 5
CHAPTER II.
THE MAN IN THE SINK-BOAT 26
CHAPTER III.
BARR’S BIG GUN 46
CHAPTER IV.
AT SCHOOL AGAIN 69
CHAPTER V.
LESTER IS WAKED UP 89
CHAPTER VI.
A DINNER IN PROSPECT 111
CHAPTER VII.
A SURPRISE 133
CHAPTER VIII.
A DESPERATE UNDERTAKING 155
CHAPTER IX.
LESTER BRIGHAM’S STRATEGY 176
CHAPTER X.
AN ALARM AND A STAMPEDE 198
CHAPTER XI.
A TREACHEROUS COACHMAN 219
CHAPTER XII.
“FALL IN FOR DINNER!” 241
CHAPTER XIII.
THE BIG-GUNNER’S CABIN 264
CHAPTER XIV.
“I’LL TROUBLE YOU FOR THEM THOUSAND” 287
CHAPTER XV.
A SWIM FOR LIBERTY 309
CHAPTER XVI.
LOST IN THE MARSHES 331
CHAPTER XVII.
CONCLUSION 354
THE YOUNG WILD-FOWLERS.
CHAPTER I.
AT EGAN’S HOME.
“What was that noise, Bert?”
Don Gordon raised his head from his pillow, and supporting himself on
his elbow, looked out at the open window toward the surf that was
rolling in upon the beach, and listened intently.
It was a clear, cold night in October. The fresh breeze that came in
through the window from the bay made blankets comfortable, but neither
Don nor Bert would consent to have the windows of their sleeping-room
closed. This was the first night they had ever passed within sight of
salt water, and they wanted the waves to sing them to sleep. In company
with Egan and Curtis they had been spending a few weeks with their fat
crony, Hopkins, while awaiting the arrival of the water-fowl, which
generally make their appearance in numbers in the northern waters of the
Chesapeake, about the middle of October. They had ridden to the hounds,
and shot quails and snipes until they were tired of the sport, and this
particular night found them at Egan’s home, impatiently waiting for a
chance at the far-famed canvas-backs.
They had been there but a few hours, having arrived just at supper-time.
Egan’s father and mother extended a most cordial greeting to them, and
Mr. Egan, who, as we know, was an old soldier, and who never grew weary
of hearing Gus (that was the ex-sergeant’s Christian name) tell about
that fight at Hamilton Creek Bridge, would not let the visitors go to
bed until he had heard their description of it.
Knowing that her son’s guests would want to see all they could of salt
water during their stay in Maryland, Mrs. Egan had furnished for their
especial benefit a large back room, which looked out upon the bay, and
supplied it with beds enough to accommodate them all. Here, when night
came, they could lie at their ease and talk over the day’s exploits
until the music of the surf lulled them to sleep. On the night in
question their tongues had run with amazing swiftness and persistency
until nearly twelve o’clock; then they began answering one another in
monosyllables, and finally Don Gordon, who was the last to stop talking,
placed his pillow in the open window, in front of which his bed stood,
laid his head upon it, and was fast losing himself in dream-land, when
suddenly a sound like a single peal of distant thunder came to his ears,
and brought him back to earth again.
“Are you all asleep in there?” exclaimed Don, drawing in his head, and
speaking to nobody in particular. “What was that?”
“What was what?” asked Egan, drowsily.
“Why, that noise I heard just now. It sounded something like the report
of a cannon.”
“Well, it wasn’t a cannon; it was a duck-gun,” replied Egan.
“Oh!” exclaimed Don. “Those poachers are at work, are they?”
“Yes; and you will probably hear that gun a good many times during your
stay, if you take the trouble to listen for it,” said Egan. “It is
harvest-time with these pot-hunters now, and in a few days they will
make the ducks so wild that you can’t get within rifle-shot of them.”
“We don’t have any market-shooters in my State—or at least in the county
in which I live—and I am very glad of it,” said Don. “Why don’t the
farmers who live along these shores wake up, and put a stop to this
night-hunting by capturing the guns? I suppose it would put the poachers
to some trouble to get others?”
“Well—yes; and to some little expense also,” replied the ex-sergeant.
“How much do you suppose one of those big guns cost?”
Don replied that he had no idea, having never seen one of them.
“I saw one last summer that cost six hundred dollars in England,”
continued Egan. “It was captured by a detective who was sent here by
some Baltimore sportsmen. You see, some of the rich men who live in that
city, and in New York and Philadelphia, pay high prices for the
exclusive use of a portion of these ducking shores, and they get mad
when the market-shooters come around with their howitzers, and scare all
the birds away to other feeding-grounds.”
“I don’t blame them for getting mad,” said Don.
“Neither do I. If a man pays four or five hundred dollars a year for a
shooting privilege, it is because he thinks he and his friends will have
some sport out of it.”
“You don’t mean to say that these shores rent for any such sum as that!”
exclaimed Don.
“Don’t I, though?” replied Egan. “Father has been importuned time and
again to lease his shores to different clubs, and he might as well make
five hundred or a thousand dollars a year as to let it alone; but he
likes to shoot as well as anybody, and he likes to see his visitors
enjoy themselves, so he keeps his ducking-points for his own use.”
“Do the big-gunners ever trouble you by shooting over your grounds?”
“Not to any great extent. You see the ducks don’t bed in these narrows;
they want plenty of elbow-room.”
“What do you mean by ‘bed’?” inquired Don.
“Why, when the ducks gather in large flocks and sit on the water, either
during the day-time or at night, they are said to ‘bed’ or ‘bunch.’ When
a market-shooter finds one of these beds in the bay, he watches it to
see that it does not break up, and when darkness comes to conceal his
movements, he goes out and shoots into it. He sometimes gets as many as
eighty ducks at a single discharge of his blunderbuss.”
“How large a load does that blunderbuss carry?”
“Half a pound of powder and two pounds of shot.”
“Good gracious!” exclaimed Don. “How heavy is it?”
“The one I saw weighed a hundred and sixty pounds,” replied Egan. “It
was ten feet long.”
“There ought to be a law prohibiting the use of such weapons,” said Don,
indignantly.
“There is a law which says that you not only shall not use them, but
that you must not have them in your possession,” answered Egan. “If you
violate that law, you render yourself liable to a fine of two hundred
dollars or imprisonment; but who is there about here who is going to
complain of you?”
“Why, the men who own these shores,” replied Don.
“They dare not do it,” said Egan.
“Well, I would do it if I lived here,” declared Don, with a good deal of
earnestness.
“Then you would find yourself in trouble directly. These big-gunners are
a desperate lot of men, the first thing you know, and they will not
submit to any interference in their business.”
“If the law says they shan’t follow that business, I don’t see how they
are going to help themselves,” said Don.
“They can take revenge on any one who incurs their displeasure, can’t
they? They can and they will. If a person renders himself obnoxious to
them, the first thing he knows some of his buildings will go up in
smoke, or his boats will be smashed, or the rigging of his yacht cut, or
his oyster-bed will be fouled. Why, they don’t hesitate to make a fight
with the police, if they are surprised at their business. That Baltimore
detective, who worked his way into their good graces and joined them in
their night excursions, said that the smack he went out in was as
thoroughly armed as any little pirate.”
“I’d like to go out with them just once in order to see how they
operate,” said Don, in whom the love of adventure was as strong as it
ever had been. “They must see plenty of excitement.”
Egan, who was more than half asleep, replied that they probably did,
especially while they were dodging the police-boats; but he did not
believe that his friend Don would ever learn by personal observation how
the big-gunners conducted their business. Well, he didn’t; but there
were others of our characters who did, and who they were, and how they
came to be permitted to accompany the poachers on one of their nocturnal
expeditions, shall be told further on.
Don would have been glad to hear more of the big-gunners, but a gentle
snore coming from the other side of the room told him that Egan had gone
to sleep again; so he rearranged his pillow and prepared to go to sleep
himself.
The morning dawned bright and clear, and with just enough frost in the
salt air to make it invigorating, and to send the blood coursing through
one’s veins with accelerated speed. The visitors, who had not been given
much opportunity to look about them the night before, were up at the
first peep of day, and their host led them out to show them what there
was to be seen. As he opened the door and stepped upon the porch, he was
greeted by four large, shaggy dogs, which fawned upon him with every
demonstration of delight, but showed their white teeth to the other boys
when they attempted to scrape an acquaintance with them.
“They are as ugly in disposition as they are homely in appearance,” said
Curtis. “Egan, why do you keep such worthless brutes about you?”
“They are not worthless,” answered the ex-sergeant. “They would sell
to-day for two hundred dollars apiece to any one of a dozen men whose
names I could mention.”
“What makes them so valuable?” asked Curtis. “They don’t look as though
they are worth feeding.”
“I know they are not handsome, but they are very useful,” replied Egan.
“They are called Chesapeake Bay dogs, and they belong to a breed that
are considered to be the best retrievers in the world. You don’t need a
boat to pick up your wounded ducks when you have one of these fellows in
the blind with you, and neither do you have to tell him when to go out
after a bird. If you kill half a dozen ducks and wound one, he will swim
straight through the dead ones and take after the wounded one; and he’ll
have it, too, before he comes back to the shore. That one,” continued
Egan, pointing to the largest of the dogs, “once swam more than three
miles through floating ice in pursuit of a wing-tipped canvas-back.
Father was in the blind with me, and he was so very much afraid that he
was going to lose the dog, that he sent me out in a boat to pick him up.
When I overtook him he had the bird, and was striking out for the shore,
apparently none the worse for his long cold swim. Dogs of this breed are
very enduring while they last, but in the end they are laid up with
rheumatism, just as a man would be who spent his life as they do. Now,
come with me, and I will show you the swiftest and handiest little boat
on the bay. I call her a cutter for short, and that is what almost every
one else calls her; but she isn’t a cutter—she’s a yawl.”
The boys followed their host along a broad walk, through an extensive
and well-kept flower-garden which, in the proper season, must have been
one solid mass of bloom, and down to a little stream that flowed into
the bay a short distance from the house. On the bank they found a snug
boat-house, which was used as a place of storage for two or three
canoes, oyster-dredges, lobster-pots, and various other things which
none of the visitors, except Hopkins, knew the use of. One of the canoes
having been shoved into the water, the boys got into it, and pushed off
toward a couple of little vessels that were riding at anchor in the bay.
One of them was an oyster-boat—Don and Bert were sure of that, for in
rig and model she corresponded with the descriptions they had read of
such vessels; but the other one puzzled them. She was not a sloop, for
she had two masts; and yet she was not a schooner, because the mizzen
mast, if that was the proper name for it, was stepped close to the
stern. But she was a beautiful little vessel they found when they
boarded her, and very roomy, too, although she was only seventeen feet
in length, with five feet beam. She had a house or hatch on deck, which
proved to be the top of the cabin, and a small cock-pit, in which the
boy who managed the helm stood or sat while he steered the vessel. The
cabin was spacious, owing to the deep, straight sides of the boat, and
was provided with two berths, one on each side, which could be turned up
against the bulk-head, or let down at pleasure, like the berths in a
sleeping-car. Behind the foremast, which came down through the forward
end of the cabin, was the alcohol stove, on which the captain and owner
cooked all his meals while he was cruising about the bay—that is, when
he didn’t feel in the humor to go ashore to cook them, or couldn’t get
ashore on account of the surf. There were two water-tanks, plenty of
lockers in which to stow food, clothing, and hunting and fishing
accoutrements—in short, she seemed to be perfect in every particular;
and Don and Bert, who, as we know, took almost as much delight in a
sail-boat as they did in their ponies, were prompt to say so.
“Yes, I am rather proud of her, because she was built according to my
own ideas of what a boat for single-handed cruising ought to be,” said
Egan, as he led the way out of the cabin, and seated himself in the
cock-pit. “First and foremost, you can’t capsize her. If the Mystery had
been built after this model she would have weathered that gale without
shipping so much as a bucket of water.”
(It will be remembered that the Mystery was a yacht belonging to Mr.
Packard, a brother of Judge Packard, who was General Gordon’s nearest
neighbor. Accompanied by his wife and child, and two or three friends,
the Mystery’s owner set sail from Newport for Bridgeport, but was
overtaken on the way by a terrific storm, which wrecked his yacht, and
sent her to the bottom. Her entire crew would have gone with her, had it
not been for the fact that Enoch Williams and his crowd of deserters,
who had run away in the Sylph, were close at hand. Enoch and Lester
Brigham went off in a small boat, and saved the yacht’s crew at the risk
of their own lives, and when they were captured by Captain Mack and his
men, who were following close in their wake in the schooner Idlewild,
and taken back to the academy under arrest, they were looked upon as
heroes rather than culprits. Their act of bravery did not, however, save
them from a court-martial. They lost every one of the credit marks they
had earned during the term, and that took away their last chance for
promotion. Egan and his friends could recall all the incidents connected
with the wreck and the rescue, and they became excited whenever they
thought of them.)
“What do you mean by ‘single-handed cruising’?” asked Curtis, continuing
the conversation which we have for the moment interrupted. “Can one
person handle this boat in all kinds of weather?”
“Certainly; and there is where the beauty of her rig shows itself. If I
want to beat in or out of a narrow channel I run up the mainsail only,
and then she works like a cat-boat, never missing stays, but keeping her
headway clear around. If I am caught out in a gale, I drop the mainsail,
and scud along under the jib and mizzen. I have stayed out on the bay
alone, fooling around, when boats that were twice as big as this were
running for shelter. I expect to lose her some day, but it will be
through no fault of my own.”
“What do you mean by that?” asked Bert.
“Why, I am accused of having assisted that detective in running those
big-gunners to earth last fall,” answered Egan. “I didn’t do it, but
some of their friends saw me talking with the detective on several
different occasions, and they know that I detest their business, for I
have often said so when perhaps I ought to have kept my tongue still. It
is very plain that somebody gave the detective all the information he
wanted, and, as I said, these poachers lay it to me. They have sent me
word that they intend to get even with me, and that’s why I expect to
lose my boat.”
“Can’t you head them off in any way?” asked Don, whose chivalrous nature
revolted at the mere mention of so cowardly a way of “getting even.”
“You are not obliged to stand still and see your property destroyed.”
“Of course not, and I don’t intend to do it, either,” said Egan, in very
decided tones. “These boats are guarded every night, and have been for a
year. One of our darkies sleeps on board the oyster-boat, and he has two
of the retrievers and a loaded musket for company. It will be a cold
season when those dogs get left, for they are all ears and nose, and
would rather fight than eat when they are hungry. Now, perhaps, we had
better go ashore. Breakfast will be ready directly, and then we will
take a run down the bay, unless you can think of something else you
would rather do.”
The boys hastened to assure their host that they couldn’t think of
anything that would afford them so much pleasure as a sail in his neat
little cutter, and so one day’s sport was provided for. We may run far
enough ahead of our story to say that they thoroughly enjoyed their
boat-ride, but whether or not they saw any fun in some things that
followed close upon the heels of it, is another matter altogether.
Having drawn the canoe high and dry upon the beach, the boys went into
the house and up to Egan’s room, which contained his small but
well-chosen library, his hunting and fishing outfit, and a few specimens
of his skill as a sportsman and cabinet-maker; for Egan understood the
use of tools, and spent every stormy day when at home in his shop.
Prominent among his specimens was a magnificent white swan which, after
being so badly wounded that it could not take wing, had led him a two
hours’ chase in the teeth of a fierce gale, and through water covered
with huge cakes of ice, that every now and then were thrown by the waves
against the sides of his yacht with force enough to make her tremble all
over.
“I had a jolly time, but a wet one,” said Egan, whose eyes sparkled with
excitement when he spoke of the circumstance. “But didn’t father scold
me when I came ashore? Well, I deserved it, for it was a careless trick,
going out in all that wind and ice when not another boat would venture
away from the shore; but I wanted the swan, and I desired to test my
yacht, which had come into my possession only a week before, and that
was the reason I did it. By the way,” added Egan, pointing to something
which, enclosed in a frame of his own construction, hung suspended from
the swan’s long, white neck, “do you know what that is?”
Yes, the boys knew what it was as soon as they looked at it. It was the
five dollar bill that the paymaster had given him for the part he had
borne in putting down the Hamilton riot. Every boy who was in that fight
had received the same amount, and they had one and all declared that
nothing could induce them to spend a cent of it; but the pancakes at
Cony Ryan’s proved to be too strong a temptation for some of them to
resist, and our five friends were among the very few who had held to
their resolution.
Breakfast being over and a substantial lunch provided, the boys returned
to the cutter, which had been christened the “Sallie” by her proud
captain and owner. Hopkins declared that she was named after Asa Peters’
sweetheart—the one he had intended to take to the show on the day that
Don and Egan borrowed his clothes; but the indignant master of the yacht
affirmed that there wasn’t a word of truth in it, adding that if he had
been going to name his boat after anybody’s girl, he would have named
her after his own, who was by all odds the very handsomest one in
America.
Having stowed their guns and cartridge-belts away in one of the lockers,
the boys went on deck to get the yacht under way. Egan was the only
sailor in the party, but the others, who, during their cruise in the
Idlewild in pursuit of Enoch Williams and his band of deserters, had
learned to tell a halliard from a down-haul, were able to give him
considerable assistance, and in a very few minutes the Sallie was flying
down the bay with all her canvas set except the big topsail, which her
cautious captain did not think she could stand, seeing that there was no
boat for her to race with, and no wing-tipped swan scudding along in
front of her.
Being fairly under way, the boys began amusing themselves as live boys
generally do when they are entirely satisfied with themselves and their
surroundings—by singing songs and telling stories. Egan, who stood at
the helm, was roaring out (with little regard to time and melody, it
must be confessed), “I’m going to fight mid Zeigle,” when, just as he
was saying that he would like to have “sweitzer kase and pretzel” for
rations rather than “salty pork,” the Sallie shot around a low point
which jutted out into the bay, and bore swiftly down upon what appeared
to be an immense flock of canvas-backs and red-heads. They were floating
about among the waves with their heads erect, as if they were on the
point of taking wing, while about two hundred yards farther down the
bay, approaching on rapid pinion, was another and much larger flock,
which was already beginning to “swing” as if preparing to alight among
the ducks on the water.
“Great Scott!” cried Don, making a headlong rush for the companion
ladder. “Why didn’t I bring my gun up with me?”
“Well, that is rich!” exclaimed Egan, with a hearty laugh. “I thought
you had hunted ducks often enough to know the difference between a live
bird and a decoy. Don’t you see that sink-box right in the midst of
them?”
Yes, Don saw it, after he had taken another and a closer look, and he
saw too that the objects which he had at the first glance mistaken for
canvas-backs and red-heads, were wooden counterfeits, so closely
resembling live birds in form and coloring that almost anybody, except
an expert, would have been deceived.
The approaching flock changed its course as soon as the yacht rounded
the point, and having seen them well started on their way toward the
middle of the bay, Don turned to look at the sink-boat. It was in
reality a floating blind—an anchored box with hinged flaps to keep the
waves from washing into it. When these sink-boats are used the gunner
lies on his back completely out of sight, and shoots into the passing
flocks as they swing to his decoys. The birds he kills are picked up by
a confederate, who also skirmishes around in his canoe, putting up every
flock he can find, and trying to start them toward the gunner. If the
latter has all the sport, he likewise has the hardest part of the work
to perform. It is drowning work when the sea comes up suddenly and fills
his box full of water before his companion in the canoe can get him out
of it; it is freezing work when the wind chops around to the north and
drives the rain and sleet before it with cutting force; it is uncertain
work when that same wind drives the ducks off shore to the open waters
of the bay; and it is tiresome and unpleasant owing to the cramped
position the gunner is compelled to occupy. But, as a general thing, he
shoots plenty of birds, and those he doesn’t shoot he frightens away so
that no one else can shoot them.
As Don looked at the sink-boat he saw the occupant’s head rise slowly
above the side of it. He gazed in every direction to see what it was
that had frightened the flock for which he had been so long and
patiently waiting, and which he had hoped would alight among his decoys,
and finally he turned his face towards the yacht. It was a very savage
looking face, thought Bert, who was gazing at it through Egan’s
binoculars, and that the owner of it felt savage was made evident by the
first words he uttered.