A FORTUNATE DUCK-HUNT.
The young hunters found Oscar's skiff where the owner had left it,
drawn high and dry upon the bank, and fastened with a lock and chain to
a tree that stood a short distance below Mr. Peck's boat-house.
Mr. Peck, who made a business of fishing and renting sail- and
row-boats for the accommodation of the village pleasure-seekers, was
standing on his wharf when the boys came up.
"Going ducking?" said he. "Well, I'll tell you what I wish you would do
for me," he added, upon receiving an affirmative reply. "I let one of
my boats yesterday afternoon to a stranger to go down to Cottonwood. He
was to have been back before dark, but I aint seen no signs of him yet.
Didn't look to me like a man who would be likely to run off with a
boat, because he wore a gold watch and gold spectacles and that showed
that he was able to buy a boat if he'd wanted one."
"How long has this fog been on?" asked Oscar.
"Ever since midnight."
"Then perhaps he became bewildered and tied up somewhere to wait for
the fog to lift," continued Oscar. "If he is a stranger, of course he
doesn't know the river."
"I don't see how in the world he could get bewildered," observed Sam.
"If he had rowed over to this bank, and come straight up stream, he
would have found the village without any trouble. He certainly knew
enough for that."
"Well, I aint so certain of it, neither, Sam," said Mr. Peck. "'Pears
to me, now that I think of it, that he didn't know much of anything. I
give him my best boat, too, for he looked as though he was able to pay
for it. I wish you'd kinder keep an eye out for him, and set him right
if he has missed his reckoning."
"We'll do it, Mr. Peck," said Sam.
Oscar unlocked his boat, turned it right-side up with his companion's
assistance, and pushed it into the water.
Here again Leon's description was at fault. Oscar's craft was not a
"leaky old scow"; it was a light, easy-running skiff. As he had built
it himself, of course it was not as finely modelled as some of Mr.
Peck's costly boats, but it answered the purpose for which it was
intended.
Leon had seen it come up to Mr. Peck's wharf almost filled with wild
ducks. It had more than once beaten his nice little boat in a fair race
up the river from Squaw Island.
It was named after Sam's sister Katie, the prettiest girl in the
village, who seemed to prefer Oscar's company to Leon's; and perhaps
these were the reasons why the latter could not speak well of it.
The skiff having been launched, the sail was put into it.
The game-bags were stowed away in a little locker in the bow, the guns
were carefully loaded and put in their proper places--one in the stern
and the other on the midship thwart--and then Sam shipped the rudder,
while Oscar got out the oars and rowed away into the fog.
In five minutes Mr. Peck's wharf and boat-house were out of sight,
and the boys found themselves enveloped in a cloud which concealed
everything that was more than twenty yards distant from their boat.
"How will this do, Sam?" said Oscar, resting on his oars.
"Do you hear that?" asked his companion, in reply. "I think we had
better go a little further out."
Oscar thought so too. He dipped the oars into the water again, and the
boat moved deeper into the fog.
The sound that had attracted Sam's attention was made by a solitary
whistle-wing as he pursued his way down the river.
Oscar pulled steadily for five minutes longer, and then the oars were
allowed to swing around by the side of the boat, and each boy, picking
up his gun, squared about on his seat and waited--for a quarter of a
minute only.
They had scarcely taken their positions before a flock of mallards
suddenly emerged from the fog, flying so close to the water that the
young hunters could have knocked them down with their guns if they had
continued on their way; but, of course, they did not.
The ducks arose in the air and sheered off the instant they discovered
the boat, and the boys sprang to their feet at the same time.
As the flock flew over their heads, they turned _away_ from each
other, and, when the birds had passed the boat, discharged their
double-barrels in quick succession. They pulled the triggers so nearly
at the same instant that the four reports sounded like two.
Learn two things here in regard to shooting on the wing, if you do not
know them already: Never fire at a wild fowl as he is coming toward
you. The thick feathers on his breast will glance the shot, and, if
some of them do not chance to hit him in the head, he will continue
on his way unharmed. Wait until he has passed you, then aim low and a
little in advance of him, keeping both eyes open, and holding so that
you can see daylight between him and the muzzle of your gun; then the
shot will pass under his feathers, and in a few seconds more you can
put him in your game-bag.
If you are hunting with a companion, don't turn toward him when you
are getting ready to shoot, but turn away from him. Then, if you
accidentally discharge your gun in your excitement (but remember that
you must not allow yourself to become excited), the shot will go up
into the empty air and no one will be injured.
"That will do for a beginning," said Sam, when the smoke had cleared
away so that the boys could see the effect of their shot. "How many
ducks were there in that flock?"
"About thirty," said Oscar; "and they were all mallards, too."
"Well, we've got two--four--hold on, there!"
Sam fell to reloading his gun with all possible haste, while Oscar
quickly resumed his seat, picked up the oars, and turned the boat's
head down the stream. Three of the ducks had come down with broken
wings and were now swimming rapidly away into the fog.
It did not take Sam much longer to charge his old-fashioned
muzzle-loader than it would take you to charge your new-fashioned
breech-loader. He never used loose shot during a hunt. On rainy days,
when he had nothing else to do, he put up a lot of cartridges.
He first made a number of paper bags, a little smaller than the bore
of his gun, and glued a wad fast to one end of them. When they became
dry, he filled them with different kinds of shot, putting bird-shot in
one and duck-shot in another, closed the bag and fastened another wad
at that end. Then all he had to do, when he wanted to load his gun,
was to pour in the powder from his flask, drive home a couple of these
cartridges, which he carried loose in his coat-pocket, put on the caps,
which he carried loose in his _vest_-pocket, and the weapon was ready
to be discharged.
All this he did in the same space of time that Oscar occupied in
turning the boat around. He made sure work of two of the wounded
ducks, and the other, which seemed too badly hurt to dive, was knocked
on the head with an oar.
They secured seven ducks that time, and twelve more out of three other
flocks which passed over their heads within the next twenty minutes.
"Now, let me row awhile," said Sam, when the last bird had been picked
up. "You are doing all the work, and I am having all the fun."
"Yes, you have had all the best of it," answered Oscar, as he exchanged
places with his companion. "It is going to blow now, and this fog will
all be gone in ten minutes. I think we had better go down to the head
of the island and put out our decoys."
It turned out just as Oscar said it would. The breeze, which had sprung
up since they left the shore, grew stronger every minute, the fog
rapidly faded away, and in a quarter of an hour the young hunters had a
clear river before them.
The village was out of sight behind the point, and Squaw Island--their
favorite camping and shooting ground--was in plain view and about two
miles away.
Oscar directed the boat toward it, and Sam, after taking off his coat,
laid out his strength on the oars. The wind came up the river in
strong, but fitful gusts, and finally raised a sea that made the little
boat dance about right merrily.
"I don't think we are going to have such a splendid day, after all,"
observed Sam, who had grown very weatherwise during his numerous
excursions down the river. "I wish this wind would hold up and let the
fog settle down again. I don't like it."
"Neither does that fellow," answered Oscar, looking over his
companion's shoulder toward some object further down the river. "The
wind must be cutting up some strange shines down there, or else he
doesn't know what he is about. Just look at him."
Sam released his hold upon the oars, allowing them to swing back
alongside the skiff, and, facing about on his seat, directed his gaze
down the river.
Off the head of Squaw Island, he discovered a sail-boat, which was
acting in a very singular manner.
The wind was blowing straight up the river, and it would have been
no trouble at all for one who understood his business to make rapid
headway against the current. But it soon became plain to Oscar and Sam,
both of whom were as good sailors as boys ever get to be who have had
no opportunity to try their skill on deep water, that the man who was
seated at the helm of the sail-boat did _not_ understand his business.
Instead of letting out the sheet, as he ought to have done, he had
drawn it taut, at the same time holding the bow of his boat up the
river. The consequence was that the sail was shaking violently, and he
was making no headway at all.
"That's the boat Mr. Peck is looking for," said Sam; "and if that is
the way she has been handled ever since she left the village, I don't
wonder that she didn't get back last night."
"Perhaps we had better go down there," replied Oscar. "That man
doesn't seem to be quite up to--my gracious! There he goes! Give me an
oar, quick!"
Before the words had fairly left Oscar's lips, one of the oars was
unshipped and placed in his hands.
The sail-boat had been upset through the ignorance or carelessness
of her skipper. The latter, becoming dissatisfied with the very slow
progress he was making, had brought his craft around upon the other
tack, but he did not change his own position.
He pushed the boom over his head as it swung around, and, instead of
moving over to the windward side, he kept his seat on the leeward
gunwale, and his own weight, added to the weight of the sail and the
pressure of the wind against the canvas, overturned the boat before he
could think twice.
"If you ever pulled in your life, pull now!" exclaimed Oscar, as he
shipped his oar and tugged at it until he fairly made things snap.
"You're stroke; do your level best!" cried Sam. "You'll not drive your
end of the boat ahead of mine, I'll promise you that."
Oscar's skiff had never travelled so rapidly under the "white-ash
breeze" before. The boys being both good oarsmen, knew how to make
every stroke _tell_, and they brought all their strength and skill into
requisition.
Guided by Sam, who sat in the bow, and looked over his shoulder
occasionally to make sure of her course, the _Katie_ flew over the
waters like a wild-fowl, on the wing, and in much less time than the
boys had expected, she came up with and passed the overturned boat,
which was floating, bottom up, with the current.
The young hunters ceased rowing, and, springing to their feet, looked
in every direction. They could see nobody, and the fear that, after all
their efforts, they had arrived too late to save the luckless skipper
of the sail-boat was already half formed in their minds, when a shrill,
piping voice called to them from the water:
"This way, if you please. I have met with a most untoward accident, and
I believe I am in need of a little assistance."
"Well, he is a cool one, whoever he is," said Sam, in a low tone. "If
I were in his situation I should think I stood in need of a good deal
of assistance."
[Illustration: JUST IN TIME.]
Sam quickly shipped the oar, which his companion handed to him, and
pulled toward the disabled boat, while Oscar threw off his coat, pushed
back his sleeves, and, jumping upon the stern-sheets, showed Sam, by
signs, how to guide the skiff.
A few of the latter's long, sweeping strokes brought them around the
stern of the sail-boat, and there, clinging to the swaying rudder with
both hands, and apparently so nearly overcome by his sudden immersion
in the cold water that he was on the very point of letting go his hold,
was a bald-headed old gentleman in spectacles.
As the boys came up he extended one hand toward them, and at the same
instant the other slipped off the rudder. He went down like a piece of
lead, and in a second more would have been out of sight, had not Oscar
dashed forward, plunged his arms into the water up to his shoulders,
and seized him by the collar.
This action on his part would have overturned the skiff in an instant,
or else Oscar would have gone overboard, had it not been for an equally
prompt action on the part of Sam Hynes.
The latter, who never lost his head under any circumstances, threw
himself as far as he could over the opposite side of the boat to
counterbalance Oscar's weight, at the same time bracing his feet firmly
and seizing his friend by the waistband of his trousers.
"Hang on to him," he shouted, "and I can trim the boat and heave you
both in!"
Sam was noted among his fellows for his strength, but on this occasion
it seemed that he had undertaken more than he could accomplish. The
skipper of the sail-boat was so completely benumbed with the cold, and
so nearly strangled, that he could not help himself.
Oscar was pretty large and heavy for a boy of his age, and Sam found
that it was not so easy to haul them both into the boat. But, after
pulling and tugging until he was red in the face, he succeeded in
bringing Oscar to an upright position, so that the latter could use
some of his own strength, and then the work was quickly done.
The old gentleman was pulled over the side and placed on the bottom of
the skiff, where he would be somewhat protected from the wind.
Sam's hat was put upon his head, and Oscar's coat was snugly wrapped
about his shoulders. He had had a very narrow escape; but, to the great
amazement of the boys who had saved him, he did not seem to be at all
disconcerted.
He wiped the water from his face, coughed once or twice, and said in a
shrill voice, addressing himself to Oscar:
"This is neither the time nor the place, young gentleman, to thank
you for the gallant service you have rendered me, but I assure you
it shall not be forgotten. I have to-day received a new insight into
meteorological phenomena, of which I have been a close student for a
life-time. Winds, as I now know, are----"
How long the rescued man would have continued to talk in this strain
it is hard to tell; but just then he began to shiver all over, and his
teeth chattered so violently that he could not utter a word.
The boys, who had listened to this speech with the greatest
astonishment, exchanging significant glances the while, were recalled
to themselves by these signs of suffering.