was not vocal, but was as well understood as if he had been able to speak. He began to quarter a belt of rushes, so tall that we could follow him only by the waving of his bushy tail. As he crossed an opening he came to a point before a tussock of grass. “What is it, Bang?" I asked. He looked back, saw that my gun was ready, made a step or two forward, when with the note, "seep-seep," so seldom heard, two English snipe were flushed and one of them fell. Then followed what I have only seen upon one other occasion. Instead of going off at a tangent the remaining bird rose in a circular flight, uttering his "seep-seep." He was answered by others, which rising described similar circles until there were a dozen in the air. We got in our four barrels upon those that were within range, when the whole flock started together in a southerly direction. We well knew that snipe-shooting for the day in that locality was ended.

We reached the hotel in time for the twelve-o'clock dinner, after which we laid out our work for the afternoon. P. with Bramble was to go to another creek just below the old fort at Ticonderoga, where no guns had been heard, and whence if any ducks were started they would probably fly down the lake to East Creek. I, with a French neighbor of Bramble's, was to take my chances under a point which projected into the lake from the Vermont shore about half-way between the two creeks.

We left the landing, going in opposite directions. P. had passed out of view around a bend of the lake, when my Frenchman, who was rowing with his face to the south, exclaimed: "Voila! Canards! canards!" Turning, I saw a small flock of broadbills

coming from that direction, and two of them fell before I heard the report of P.'s gun. The four remaining birds came on, flying well apart. Standing in the boat, I dropped the only one that came within reach. The Frenchman exclaimed: "Load him you gun so quick you nevaire can. Maybe he come back dis way." And come that way they did, two birds flying so high that I scarcely supposed they could be reached. But one fell with a broken wing, and Bang caught it in the water after a lively pursuit. The other was killed by P., making the entire number of that little flock.

There were no birds in Ti' Creek, though P. managed to pick up a couple on his way back to the landing. I remained at my post until nightfall and was beaten by one bird. For supper we had some of our We retired early, for we were very weary and had planned for an early start, so as to reach Bullwagga Bay in the morning as soon as it was light enough to see a bird on the wing.

young birds roasted.

CHAPTER XX.

A COLD MORNING ON BULLWAGGA BAY.

WE loved the sport in those, days of youth and vigor, or we would not have endured the hardships of the next day. We were called at three o'clock in the morning. It was so cold that the falling rain threatened to turn into snow. Bramble and P. looked after themselves. I was seated in the stern of the little Frenchman's boat. His teeth were chattering and he observed that "le matin vas leetle beet froid, vat you say cold, but the sun mak' more hot bam-by." Sharp work at the oars restored his circulation, and vigorous use of the paddle did the same for mine. The bay lies between the peninsula of Crown Point and the New York shore. We landed well south of the extreme point. For the last halfmile the loud quacking of the ducks across the peninsula indicated that they were holding a debate in unlimited numbers. Suddenly Frenchy stopped. "I tink I be fool pretty bad," he said. Dat all one famlee, les canards noir." "You mean black ducks?" I asked. "Dat ees eet, dat ees eet," he exclaimed. "Black duck-canards noir. one time.

He fly all one way, all

Bam-by quand le soleil, le sun come

zweet, he all gone quick, you don't see no more dis day."

I gathered from his jargon that at daylight the flock would all leave. Bramble was of the same

opinion. We decided to land and draw our boats over to the bay. Then we could at least get in all our barrels when they rose. We crossed the land and were fortunate enough, in the darkness, to find a shelter of rough boards covered with branches which some one had constructed for a blind to shoot from. There we shivered, Bang the coldest of the party, and waited for the dawn. The noisy quacking of the ducks indicated that they were not more than forty or fifty yards away. It was loud enough to render our steps inaudible and indicated their presence in great numbers. Their proximity stirred our blood so that we did not quite perish with the cold.

The antics of Frenchy were amusing. "He's got more as ten tousan' black ducks on de bay," he whispered; "mais, he's de meanes' duck for stay you never see it. You shoot one tam-he's gone for Wite Hall, you don't nevaire see him some more. He's got one sacré ole duck on de watch-out dis minute-more as feefteen year old. He know so much as man, dat ole duck-he see, he hear, he smell. Af de wind blow nudder way he smell you an' pff! he go quick. You shoot queek's yer see one duck. Put you gun on dis leetle hole-da's de way; you get one shot-no more, aujourd'hui."

Did you ever see a flock of ducks asleep on the water? It is a very funny sight, especially when the wind blows their bodies in contact and wakes them to an angry quacking. As the light slowly increased we first made out a piece of open water infront of the blind, surrounded by rushes; then dark patches upon the water came into view which seemed to be moving. These were the ducks asleep, not

withstanding the quacking all around them. We arranged to fire the first barrel from the inside of the blind, then to step outside and fire as they rose. It was now light enough and we gave them the first two barrels. When we stepped outside it was a land rustling, if not shadowy with wings. All over the bay there was a sound like the rushing of a storm through the branches of a forest. I never heard the like before, I have never heard it since. As arranged, we stepped outside and fired our second barrels into the thickest of the risen flock.

Bang had obediently waited until he got the word. He now dashed into the water to retrieve the dead and wounded birds. I thought the Frenchman had gone crazy. He was leaping about and almost screaming: "Load you gun! load you gun! Don't you see! Les canards he's start for Canada. He's mak' meestake. He come back. Ah, mon Dieu! Ah, load you gun two, tree, six times! you get more ducks, plenty more!"

We had shot from the southward of the entire flock, which had consequently first moved northward. What Frenchy meant was that they would return and go south. Then a breech-loader would have been invaluable. Return they did, but not before we had charged our barrels. We let the single birds pass, and when the thickest of the flock was almost over us we again fired the four barrels. "He is rain some snow, much more black duck," shouted the Frenchman. "He's got no more black duck to-day," he said as the last of the flock went past. Bramble agreed with him. The last duck had risen from the bay and departed. Our duck-shooting for the day

was over.