“Men, boys, and girls
Desert the unpeopled village; and wild crowds
Spread o'er the plain, by the sweet phrensy driven.”
--Somerville.
From this time to the close of April the weather continued to be a
succession of neat and rapid changes. One day the soft airs of
spring seemed to be stealing along the valley, and, in unison with an
invigorating sun, attempting covertly to rouse the dormant powers of
the vegetable world, while, on the next, the surly blasts from the north
would sweep across the lake and erase every impression left by their
gentle adversaries. The snow, however, finally disappeared, and the
green wheat fields were seen in every direction, spotted with the dark
and charred stumps that had, the preceding season, supported some of
the proudest trees of the forest. Ploughs were in motion, wherever those
useful implements could be used, and the smokes of the sugar-camps were
no longer seen issuing from the woods of maple. The lake had lost the
beauty of a field of ice, but still a dark and gloomy covering concealed
its waters, for the absence of currents left them yet hidden under a
porous crust, which, saturated with the fluid, barely retained enough
strength to preserve the continuity of its parts. Large flocks of wild
geese were seen passing over the country, which hovered, for a
time, around the hidden sheet of water, apparently searching for a
resting-place; and then, on finding themselves excluded by the chill
covering, would soar away to the north, filling the air with discordant
screams, as if venting their complaints at the tardy operations of
Nature.
For a week, the dark covering of the Otsego was left to the undisturbed
possession of two eagles, who alighted on the centre of its field, and
sat eyeing their undisputed territory. During the presence of these
monarchs of the air, the flocks of migrating birds avoided crossing
the plain of ice by turning into the hills, apparently seeking the
protection of the forests, while the white and bald heads of the tenants
of the lake were turned upward, with a look of contempt. But the time
had come when even these kings of birds were to be dispossessed. An
opening had been gradually increasing at the lower extremity of the
lake, and around the dark spot where the current of the river prevented
the formation of ice during even the coldest weather; and the fresh
southerly winds, that now breathed freely upon the valley, made an
impression on the waters. Mimic waves began to curl over the margin of
the frozen field, which exhibited an outline of crystallizations that
slowly receded toward the north. At each step the power of the winds
and the waves increased, until, after a struggle of a few hours, the
turbulent little billows succeeded in setting the whole field in motion,
when it was driven beyond the reach of the eye, with a rapidity that was
as magical as the change produced in the scene by this expulsion of the
lingering remnant of winter. Just as the last sheet of agitated ice was
disappearing in the distance, the eagles rose, and soared with a wide
sweep above the clouds, while the waves tossed their little caps of
snow in the air, as if rioting in their release from a thraldom of five
minutes' duration.
The following morning Elizabeth was awakened by the exhilarating sounds
of the martens, who were quarrelling and chattering around the little
boxes suspended above her windows, and the cries of Richard, who was
calling in tones animating as signs of the season itself:
“Awake! awake! my fair lady! the gulls are hovering over the lake
already, and the heavens are alive with pigeons. You may look an hour
before you can find a hole through which to get a peep at the sun.
Awake! awake! lazy ones' Benjamin is overhauling the ammunition, and
we only wait for our breakfasts, and away for the mountains and
pigeon-shooting.”
There was no resisting this animated appeal, and in a few minutes Miss
Temple and her friend descended to the parlor. The doors of the hall
were thrown open, and the mild, balmy air of a clear spring morning was
ventilating the apartment, where the vigilance of the ex-steward
had been so long maintaining an artificial heat with such unremitted
diligence. The gentlemen were impatiently waiting for their morning's
repast, each equipped in the garb of a sportsman. Mr. Jones made many
visits to the southern door, and would cry:
“See, Cousin Bess! see, 'Duke, the pigeon-roosts of the south have
broken up! They are growing more thick every instant, Here is a flock
that the eye cannot see the end of. There is food enough in it to keep
the army of Xerxes for a month, and feathers enough to make beds for the
whole country. Xerxes, Mr. Edwards, was a Grecian king, who--no, he was
a Turk, or a Persian, who wanted to conquer Greece, just the same as
these rascals will overrun our wheat fields, when they come back in the
fall. Away! away! Bess; I long to pepper them.”
In this wish both Marmaduke and young Edwards seemed equally to
participate, for the sight was exhilarating to a sportsman; and the
ladies soon dismissed the party after a hasty breakfast.
If the heavens were alive with pigeons, the whole village seemed equally
in motion with men, women, and children. Every species of firearm, from
the French ducking gun, with a barrel near six feet in length, to the
common horseman's pistol, was to be seen in the hands of the men and
boys; while bows and arrows, some made of the simple stick of walnut
sapling and others in a rude imitation of the ancient cross-bows, were
carried by many of the latter.
The houses and the signs of life apparent in the village drove
the alarmed birds from the direct line of their flight, toward the
mountains, along the sides and near the bases of which they were
glancing in dense masses, equally wonderful by the rapidity of their
motion and their incredible numbers.
We have already said that, across the inclined plane which fell from the
steep ascent of the mountain to the banks of the Susquehanna, ran the
highway on either side of which a clearing of many acres had been made
at a very early day. Over those clearings, and up the eastern mountain,
and along the dangerous path that was cut into its side, the different
individuals posted themselves, and in a few moments the attack
commenced.
Among the sportsmen was the tall, gaunt form of Leather-Stocking,
walking over the field, with his rifle hanging on his arm, his dogs at
his heels; the latter now scenting the dead or wounded birds that were
beginning to tumble from the flocks, and then crouching under the
legs of their master, as if they participated in his feelings at this
wasteful and unsportsmanlike execution.
The reports of the firearms became rapid, whole volleys rising from the
plain, as flocks of more than ordinary numbers darted over the opening,
shadowing the field like a cloud; and then the light smoke of a single
piece would issue from among the leafless bushes on the mountain, as
death was hurled on the retreat of the affrighted birds, who were rising
from a volley, in a vain effort to escape. Arrows and missiles of every
kind were in the midst of the flocks; and so numerous were the birds,
and so low did they take their flight, that even long poles in the hands
of those on the sides of the mountain were used to strike them to the
earth.
During all this time Mr. Jones, who disdained the humble and ordinary
means of destruction used by his companions, was busily occupied,
aided by Benjamin, in making arrangements for an assault of more
than ordinarily fatal character. Among the relics of the old military
excursions, that occasionally are discovered throughout the different
districts of the western part of New York, there had been found in
Templeton, at its settlement, a small swivel, which would carry a ball
of a pound weight. It was thought to have been deserted by a war-party
of the whites in one of their inroads into the Indian settlements, when,
perhaps, convenience or their necessity induced them to leave such an
incumberance behind them in the woods. This miniature cannon had been
released from the rust, and being mounted on little wheels was now in
a state for actual service. For several years it was the sole organ for
extraordinary rejoicings used in those mountains. On the mornings of
the Fourth of July it would be heard ringing among the hills; and even
Captain Hollister, who was the highest authority in that part of
the country on all such occasions, affirmed that, considering its
dimensions, it was no despicable gun for a salute. It was somewhat the
worse for the service it had performed, it is true, there being but a
trifling difference in size between the touch-hole and the muzzle Still,
the grand conceptions of Richard had suggested the importance of such
an instrument in hurling death at his nimble enemies. The swivel was
dragged by a horse into a part of the open space that the sheriff
thought most eligible for planning a battery of the kind, and Mr. Pump
proceeded to load it. Several handfuls of duck-shot were placed on top
of the powder, and the major-domo announced that his piece was ready for
service.
The sight of such an implement collected all the idle spectators to the
spot, who, being mostly boys, filled the air with cries of exultation
and delight The gun was pointed high, and Richard, holding a coal of
fire in a pair of tongs, patiently took his seat on a stump, awaiting
the appearance of a flock worthy of his notice.
So prodigious was the number of the birds that the scattering fire of
the guns, with the hurling of missiles and the cries of the boys, had no
other effect than to break off small flocks from the immense masses that
continued to dart along the valley, as if the whole of the feathered
tribe were pouring through that one pass. None pretended to collect the
game, which lay scattered over the fields in such profusion as to cover
the very ground with fluttering victims.
Leather-Stocking was a silent but uneasy spectator of all these
proceedings, but was able to keep his sentiments to himself until he saw
the introduction of the swivel into the sports.
“This comes of settling a country!” he said. “Here have I known the
pigeon to fly for forty long years, and, till you made your clearings,
there was nobody to skeart or to hurt them, I loved to see them come
into the woods, for they were company to a body, hurting nothing--being,
as it was, as harmless as a garter-snake. But now it gives me sore
thoughts when I hear the frighty things whizzing through the air, for I
know it's only a motion to bring out all the brats of the village. Well,
the Lord won't see the waste of his creatures for nothing, and right
will be done to the pigeons, as well as others, by and by. There's Mr.
Oliver as bad as the rest of them, firing into the flocks as if he was
shooting down nothing but Mingo warriors.” Among the sportsmen was Billy
Kirby, who, armed with an old musket, was loading, and, without even
looking into the air, was firing and shouting as his victims fell even
on his own person. He heard the speech of Natty, and took upon himself
to reply:
“What! old Leather-Stocking,” he cried, “grumbling at the loss of a few
pigeons! If you had to sow your wheat twice, and three times, as I have
done, you wouldn't be so massyfully feeling toward the divils. Hurrah,
boys! scatter the feathers! This is better than shooting at a turkey's
head and neck, old fellow.”
“It's better for you, maybe, Billy Kirby,” replied the indignant
old hunter, “and all them that don't know how to put a ball down a
rifle-barrel, or how to bring it up again with a true aim; but it's
wicked to be shooting into flocks in this wasty manner, and none to do
it who know how to knock over a single bird. If a body has a craving
for pigeon's flesh, why, it's made the same as all other creatures, for
man's eating; but not to kill twenty and eat one. When I want such a
thing I go into the woods till I find one to my liking, and then I shoot
him off the branches, without touching the feather of another, though
there might be a hundred on the same tree. You couldn't do such a thing,
Billy Kirby--you couldn't do it if you tried.”
“What's that, old corn-stalk! you sapless stub!” cried the wood-chopper.
“You have grown wordy, since the affair of the turkey; but if you are
for a single shot, here goes at that bird which comes on by himself.”
The fire from the distant part of the field had driven a single pigeon
below the flock to which it belonged, and, frightened with the constant
reports of the muskets, it was approaching the spot where the disputants
stood, darting first from One side and then to the other, cutting the
air with the swiftness of lightning, and making a noise with its wings
not unlike the rushing of a bullet. Unfortunately for the wood-chopper,
notwithstanding his vaunt, he did not see this bird until it was too
late to fire as it approached, and he pulled the trigger at the unlucky
moment when it was darting immediately over his head. The bird continued
its course with the usual velocity.
Natty lowered his rifle from his arm when the challenge was made, and
waiting a moment, until the terrified victim had got in a line with his
eye, and had dropped near the bank of the lake, he raised it again with
uncommon rapidity, and fired. It might have been chance, or it might
have been skill, that produced the result; it was probably a union of
both; but the pigeon whirled over in the air, and fell into the lake
with a broken wing At the sound of his rifle, both his dogs started from
his feet, and in a few minutes the “slut” brought out the bird, still
alive.
The wonderful exploit of Leather-Stocking was noised through the field
with great rapidity, and the sportsmen gathered in, to learn the truth
of the report.
“What” said young Edwards, “have you really killed a pigeon on the wing,
Natty, with a single ball?”
“Haven't I killed loons before now, lad, that dive at the flash?”
returned the hunter. “It's much better to kill only such as you want,
without wasting your powder and lead, than to be firing into God's
creatures in this wicked manner. But I came out for a bird, and you know
the reason why I like small game, Mr. Oliver, and now I have got one
Twill go home, for I don't relish to see these wasty ways that you are
all practysing, as if the least thing wasn't made for use, and not to
destroy.”
“Thou sayest well, Leather-Stocking,” cried Marmaduke, “and I begin to
think it time to put an end to this work of destruction.”
“Put an ind, Judge, to your clearings. Ain't the woods His work as well
as the pigeons? Use, but don't waste. Wasn't the woods made for the
beasts and birds to harbor in? and when man wanted their flesh, their
skins, or their feathers, there's the place to seek them. But I'll go
to the hut with my own game, for I wouldn't touch one of the harmless
things that cover the ground here, looking up with their eyes on me, as
if they only wanted tongues to say their thoughts.” With this sentiment
in his month, Leather-Stocking threw his rifle over his arm, and,
followed by his dogs, stepped across the clearing with great caution,
taking care not to tread on one of the wounded birds in his path. He
soon entered the bushes on the margin of the lake and was hid from view.
Whatever impression the morality of Natty made on the Judge, it was
utterly lost on Richard. He availed himself of the gathering of the
sportsmen, to lay a plan for one “fell swoop” of destruction. The
musket-men were drawn up in battle array, in a line extending on each
side of his artillery, with orders to await the signal of firing from
himself.
“Stand by, my lads,” said Benjamin, who acted as an aid de-camp on this
occasion, “stand by, my hearties, and when Squire Dickens heaves out the
signal to begin firing, d'ye see, you may open upon them in a broadside.
Take care and fire low, boys, and you'll be sure to hull the flock.”
“Fire low!” shouted Kirby; “hear the old fool! If we fire low, we may
hit the stumps, but not ruffle a pigeon.”
“How should you know, you lubber?” cried Benjamin, with a very
unbecoming heat for an officer on the eve of battle--“how should you
know, you grampus? Haven't I sailed aboard of the Boadishy for five
years? and wasn't it a standing order to fire low, and to hull your
enemy! Keep silence at your guns, boys and mind the order that is
passed.”
The loud laughs of the musket-men were silenced by the more
authoritative voice of Richard, who called for attention and obedience
to his signals.
Some millions of pigeons were supposed to have already passed, that
morning, over the valley of Templeton; but nothing like the flock that
was now approaching had been seen before. It extended from mountain to
mountain in one solid blue mass, and the eye looked in vain, over the
southern hills, to find its termination. The front of this living column
was distinctly marked by a line but very slightly indented, so
regular and even was the flight. Even Marmaduke forgot the morality of
Leather-Stocking as it approached, and, in common with the rest, brought
his musket to a poise.
“Fire!” cried the sheriff, clapping a coal to the priming of the cannon.
As half of Benjamin's charge escaped through the touch-hole, the whole
volley of the musketry preceded the report of the swivel. On receiving
this united discharge of small-arms, the front of the flock darted
upward, while, at the same instant, myriads of those in the rear rushed
with amazing rapidity into their places, so that, when the column of
white smoke gushed from the mouth of the little cannon, an accumulated
mass of objects was gliding over its point of direction. The roar of the
gun echoed along the mountains, and died away to the north, like distant
thunder, while the whole flock of alarmed birds seemed, for a moment,
thrown into one disorderly and agitated mass. The air was filled with
their irregular flight, layer rising above layer, far above the tops
of the highest pines, none daring to advance beyond the dangerous pass;
when, suddenly, some of the headers of the feathered tribes shot across
the valley, taking their flight directly over the village, and hundreds
of thousands in their rear followed the example, deserting the eastern
side of the plain to their persecutors and the slain.
“Victory!” shouted Richard, “victory! we have driven the enemy from the
field.”
“Not so, Dickon,” said Marmaduke; “the field is covered with them; and,
like the Leather-Stocking, I see nothing but eyes, in every direction,
as the innocent sufferers turn their heads in terror. Full one-half of
those that have fallen are yet alive; and I think it is time to end the
sport, if sport it be.”
“Sport!” cried the sheriff; “it is princely sport! There are some
thousands of the blue-coated boys on the ground, so that every old woman
in the village may have a pot-pie for the asking.”
“Well, we have happily frightened the birds from this side of the
valley,” said Marmaduke, “and the carnage must of necessity end for the
present. Boys, I will give you sixpence a hundred for the pigeons' heads
only; so go to work, and bring them into the village.”
This expedient produced the desired effect, for every urchin on the
ground went industriously to work to wring the necks of the wounded
birds. Judge Temple retired toward his dwelling with that kind of
feeling that many a man has experienced before him, who discovers, after
the excitement of the moment has passed, that he has purchased pleasure
at the price of misery to others. Horses were loaded with the dead; and,
after this first burst of sporting, the shooting of pigeons became a
business, with a few idlers, for the remainder of the season, Richard,
however, boasted for many a year of his shot with the “cricket;” and
Benjamin gravely asserted that he thought they had killed nearly as many
pigeons on that day as there were Frenchmen destroyed on the memorable
occasion of Rodney's victory.