University of Virginia Library

3. THE PARTING DRINK.

Breakfast concluded, the next morning we pulled our fen boots
on, and on the instant up rattled Timothy, who had disappeared a
few minutes before, with the well-known drag to the door, guns
stowed away, dogs whimpering, and sticking out their eager noses
between the railings of the box—game bags well packed with lots
of prog and of spare ammunition.

Away we rattled at a brisk pace, swinging round corner after
corner, skillfully shaving the huge blocks of stone, and dexterously
quartering the deep ravine-like ruts which grace the roads of
Jersey—crossing two or three bridges over as many of those tributaries
of the beautiful Passaic, which water this superb snipe-country
—and reaching at least a sweep of smooth level road parallel to a
long tract of meadows under the widow Mulford's. And here,
mort de ma vie! that was a shot from the snipe-ground, and right
on our beat, too—Aye! there are two guns, and two, three, pointers!—liver
and white a brace, and one all liver.

“I know them,” Harry said, “I know them, good shots and
hard walkers both, but a little too much of the old school—a little
too much of the twaddle and potter system. Jem Tickler, there,
used, when I landed here, to kill as many birds as any shot out of
the city—though even then the Jersey boys, poor Ward and Harry
T—gave him no chance; but now heaven help him! Fat Tom
here would get over more ground, and bag more snipe, too, in a day!
The other is a canny Scot,—I have forgot his name, but he shoots
well and walks better. Never mind! we can outshoot them, I believe;
and I am sure we can outmanœuvre them. Get away! get
away, Bob,” as he flanked the near-side horse under the collar on
the inside—“get away you old thief—we must forereach on them.”
Away we went another mile, wheeled short to the left hand through
a small bit of swampy woodland, and over a rough causeway,
crossing a narrow flaggy bog, with three straight ditches, and a
meandering muddy streamlet, traversing its black surface. “Ha!
what's John at there?” exclaimed Harry, pulling short up, and
pointing to that worthy crawling on all fours behind a tuft of high
bullrushes toward the circuitous creek—“There are duck there for
a thousand!”—and as he spoke, up rose with splash and quack and
flutter, four or five long-winged wild-fowl; bang! went John's long
duck-gun, and simultaneously with the report, one of the fowl
keeled over, killed quite dead, two others faltering somewhat in
their flight, and hanging on the air heavily for a little space; when
over went a second into the creek, driving the water six feet into
the air in a bright sparkling shower.

The other three, including the hit bird, which rallied as it flew,
dived forward, flying very fast, obliquely to the road; and to my
great surprise Harry put the whip on his horses with such vigor

that in an instant both were on the gallop, the wagon bouncing and
rattling violently on the rude log-floored causeway. An instant's
thought showed me his object, which was to weather on the fowl
sufficiently to get a shot, ere they should cross the road; although
I marvelled still how he intended to pull up from the furious pace
at which he was going in time to get a chance. Little space, however,
had I for amazement; for the ducks, which had not risen high
into the air, were forced to cross some thirty yards ahead of us, by
a piece of tall woodland, on the verge of which were several woodcutters,
with two or three large fires burning among the brush-wood.
“Now, Tom,” cried Harry, feeling his horses' mouths as
he spoke, but not attempting to pull up; and instantly the old man's
heavy double rose steadily but quickly to his face—bang! neatly
aimed, a yard ahead of the first drake, which fell quite dead into
the ditch on the right hand of the causeway—bang! right across
Harry's face, who leaned back to make room for the fat fellow's
shot, so perfectly did the two rare and crafty sportsmen comprehend
one another—and before I heard the close report, the second
wild-duck slanted down wing-tipped before the wind, into the flags
on the left hand, having already crossed the road when the shot
struck him. The fifth and only now remaining bird, which had
been touched by Van Dyne's first discharge, alighting in the marsh
not far from his crippled comrade.

“Beautiful! beautiful indeed!” cried I; “that was the very
prettiest thing—the quickest, smartest, and best calculated shooting
I ever yet have seen!”

“We have done that same once or twice before though—hey,
Tom?” replied Harry, pulling his horses well together, and gathering
them up by slow degrees—not coming to a dead stop till we had
passed Tom's first bird, some six yards or better. “Now jump out,
all of you; we have no time to lose—no not a minute! for we must
bag these fowl; and those two chaps we saw on Mulford's meadows
are racing now at their top speed behind that hill, to cut in to the
big meadow just ahead of us, you may rely on that. You, Timothy,
drive on under that big pin oak—take off the bridles—halter the
horses to the tree, not to the fence—and put their sheets and hoods
on, for, early as it is, the flies are troublesome already. Then mount
the game-bags and be ready—by the time you're on foot we shall be
with you. Forester, take the red dog to Van Dyne, that second
bird of his will balk him else, and I sha'nt be surprised if he gets
up again! Pick up that mallard out of the ditch as you go by—he
lies quite dead at the foot of those tall reeds. Come, Tom, load up
your old cannon, and we'll take Shot, bag that wing-tipped duck,
and see if we can't nab the crippled bird, too! come along!”

Off we set without further parley; within five minutes I had
bagged Tom's first, a rare green-headed Drake, and joined Van
Dyne, who, with the head and neck of his first bird hanging out of
his breeches pocket, where, in default of game-bag, he had stowed
it, was just in the act of pouring a double handful of BB into his
Queen Ann's musket. Before he had loaded, we heard a shot

across the road, and saw the fifth bird fall to Harry at long distance,
while Shot was gently mouthing Draw's second duck, to his unutterable
contentment. We had some trouble in gathering the
other, for it was merely body-shot, and that not mortally, so that it
dived like a fish, bothering poor Chase beyond expression. This
done, we re-united our forces, and instantly proceeded to the big
meadow, which we found, as Harry had anticipated, in the most
perfect possible condition—the grass was short, and of a delicate
and tender green, not above ancle deep, with a rich close black
mould, moist and soft enough for boring everywhere, under foot—
with, at rare intervals, a slank, as it is termed in Jersey, or hollow
winding course, in which the waters have lain longer than elsewhere,
covered with a deep, rust-colored scum, floating upon the stagnant
pools. We had not walked ten yards before a bird jumped up to
my left hand, which I cut down—and while I was in the act of
loading, another and another rose, but scarcely cleared the grass
ere the unerring shot of my two stanch companions had stopped
their flight forever. Some ten yards from the spot on which my
bird had fallen, lay one of these wet slanks which I have mentioned
—Chase drew on the dead bird and pointed—another fluttered up
under his very nose, dodged three or four yards to and fro, and
before I could draw my trigger, greatly to my surprise, spread out
his wings and settled. Harry and Tom had seen the move, and
walked up to join me; just as they came Chase retrieved the snipe
I had shot, and when I had entombed it in my pocket, we moved on
all abreast. Skeap! skeap! skeap! Up they jumped, not six
yards from our feet, positively in a flock, their bright white bellies
glancing in the sun, twenty at least in number, Six barrels were
discharged, and six birds fell; we loaded and moved on, the dogs
drawing at every step, backing and pointing, so foiled was the ground
with the close scent; again, before we had gathered the fruit of
our first volley, a dozen birds rose altogether; again six barrels bellowed
across the plain, and again Tom and Harry slew their shots
right and left, while I, alas! shooting too quick, missed one! I
know what I aver will hardly be believed, but it is true, notwithstanding;
a third time the same thing happened, except that instead
of twelve, thirty or forty birds, rose at the last, six of which came
again to earth, within, at farthest, thirty paces—making an aggregate
of eighteen shots, fired in less, assuredly, than so many minutes,
and seventeen birds fairly brought to bag. These pocketed,
by twos and threes Van Dyne had marked the others down in every
quarter of the meadow—and, breaking off, singly or in pairs, we
worked our will with them. So hard, however, did they lie, that
many could not be got up again at all. In one instance I had
marked four, as I thought, to a yard, between three little stakes,
placed in the angles of a plat, not above twenty paces in diameter
—taking Van Dyne along with me, who is so capital a marker that
for a dead bird I would back him against any retriever living—I
went without a dog to walk them up. But no! I quartered the
ground, re-quartered it, crossed it a third time, and was just quitting
it despairing, when a loud shout from John a pace or two behind
warned me they were on wing! Two crossed me to the right, one
of which dropped to John's Queen Ann almost as soon as I caught
sight of them, and one to my left. At the latter I shot first, and,
without waiting to note the effect of my discharge, turned quickly
and fired at the other. Him I saw drop, for the smoke drifted, and
as I turned my head, I scarcely can believe it now, I saw my first
bird falling. I concluded he had fluttered on some small space, but
John Van Dyne swears point blank that I shot so quick that the
second bird was on the ground before the first had reached it. In
this—a solitary case, however—I fear John's famed veracity will
scarce obtain for him that credit, or for me that renown, to which
he deemed us both entitled.

Before eleven of the clock we had bagged forty-seven birds;
we sat down in the shade of the big pin oak, and fed deliciously,
and went our way rejoicing, toward the upper meadows, fully expecting
that before returning we should have doubled our bag.

But, alas! the hopes of men!—Troy meadows were too dry—
Persipany too wet—Loise's had been beat already, and not one
snipe did we even see or hear, nor one head of game did we bag;
the morning's sport, however, had put us in such merry mood
that we regarded not the evening's disappointment, and we sat
down in great glee to supper. What we devoured, or what we
drank, it boots not to record; but it was late at night before the
horses were ordered, and we prepared for a start.

After the horses were announced as ready, somewhat to my surprise,
Harry took old Tom aside, and was engaged for some time in
deep conversation; and when they had got through with it, Harry
shook him very warmly by the hand, saying,

“Well, Tom, I am sincerely obliged to you; and it is not the first
time either.”

“Well, well, boy,” responded Tom, “I guess it 'taint the first
time as you've said so, though I don't know right well what for
neither. Any how, I hope't won't be the last time as I'll fix you
as you wants to be. But come, it's gittin' late, and I've got to
drive Hard's horse over to Paterson to-night.”

“Oh, that will not be much,” said Harry. “It is but nine miles,
and we are twenty from New York.”

“Any how, we must take a partin' drink, and I stands treat. I
showed Beers Hard how to make that egg nog. Timothy—Timothy,
you darned critter, bring in that ere egg nog.”

This was soon done, and Tom, replenishing all the glasses to the
brim, said very solemnly, “this is a toast, boys, now a raal bumper.”

Harry grinned conscious. I stood, waiting, wondering.

“Here's luck!” said Tom, “luck to Harry Archer, a land-holder
in our own old Orange!”

The toast was quaffed in an instant; and, as I drew my breath, I
said,

“Well, Harry, I congratulate you, truly. So you have bought
the Jem Burt Place?”

“Thanks to old Tom, dog cheap!” replied Archer; “and I have
only to say, farther, that early in the Autumn, I hope to introduce
you, and all my old friends, to the interior of

MY SHOOTING BOX.