Adrift in the Ice-Fields

by Charles Winslow Hall

"We had a rather narrow escape," remarked Kennedy, picking up one of the decoys; "and it was well thought of to secure a retreat to our boat, in case we had failed to reach the shore."

Little time, however, was lost in conversation. The "boat" and "box" were to be cleared of the snow which had drifted inside, and concealed by fragments of ice, in place of those which the rain had melted away. The decoys were to be rearranged, heading to windward, and at least half an hour was consumed in making these necessary arrangements. At last all was ready, the guns, ammunition, &c., were placed in the boat, and La Salle had gone to hide the sledge behind a neighboring hummock, when, turning his head, he saw Davies and Creamer running hastily to their box, and Kennedy frantically gesticulating and calling on him to do the same.

With the best speed he could make on such slippery footing, La Salle crossed the intervening space, and threw himself down into the boat, panting and breathless with exertion. After a moment's breathing space, he slowly raised his head so that his eyes could just see over the edge of the shooting-boat. To the east he heard the decoy-calls of Creamer and Davies, and, somewhere between himself and them, the low, questioning calls of the wished-for geese.

"They are near us somewhere, Kennedy," he whispered, "and, I guess, coming in to our decoys. Don't fire until I tell you. Here they come. No, they sheer off. Yes, there's one scaling down; there's another. They're all coming. We've got them now."

The goose is far from being the silly fowl which popular belief supposes him to be, even when tamed and subdued, and, in a state of nature, is one of the most wary of birds. The flock in question, flying in from the narrow, open channels of the Gulf, had seen the decoys, and heard the calls of Ben and Creamer, who had not yet completed their preparations. Swooping around the box at a safe distance, the wary leader decided that all was not right there, and swung over the leading decoys of La Salle, and doubtless wondering at the apathy of the strange geese which refused to answer his calls, gave a signal which caused his flock to describe a circle around the boat, full forty rods away. Still nothing could be seen which could warrant a well-founded suspicion; and one or two of the younger birds, impatient of restraint, and anxious for rest and food, set their broad pinions, and, with outstretched wings, scaled down to the decoys, alighting on the ice not twenty feet from the muzzles of the concealed guns. Their apparent safety decided the rest, and in twenty seconds as many geese, with clamorous cries, were hovering over the heads of La Salle and his companions.

It takes a quick eye, steady hand, and good judgment, to kill a partridge in November, when, with a rush of wings like an embryo whirlwind, he gets up under your feet, and brushes the dew from the underbrush with his whizzing wings. It is not every amateur that can kill woodcock in close cover, or well-grown snipe on a windy day; but there are few, who can do these things, who can kill with both barrels in their first goose-shooting. The size and number of the birds, the wary and cautious manner of their approach, the nice modulations necessary to "call" them successfully, and the reckless sweep with which they seem to throw aside all fear, and rush into the very jaws of death,—all these combine to unsettle the nerves and aim of the novice.

All this Kennedy experienced, as he saw above him twenty outstretched necks, with jetty heads, whose eyes he felt must discern the ambush; twenty snowy bellies, against which as many pairs of black, broad, webbed feet showed with beautiful effect, and forty broad pinions, which seemed to shut out the sky from view, and present a mark which no one could fail to hit. At the word he pointed his heavy gun at the centre of the thickest part of the flock and fired. At the first barrel a dead bird fell almost into the boat; but the second seemed without effect. La Salle "lined" four as they flapped their huge wings hurriedly, striving to flee from the hidden danger, killing three and breaking the wing of a fourth, who fluttered down to the ice, and began to run, or, rather, to waddle rapidly away.

Kennedy seemed about to go after the wounded bird, but La Salle laid his hand on his arm.

"Don't move, Kennedy, and he will get us another bird," said he, reloading his heavy gun with a long-range shot cartridge. "We can get that bird any time; and there is his mate flying round and round in a circle."

"You won't get a shot at her," said Kennedy, as she warily kept out of ordinary range, and finally alighted near the gander, which, weak with pain and loss of blood, had lain down on the ice about one hundred and fifty yards distant.