“They was so many wild ducks an’ geese ’round ’ere in the fall, that you didn’t ’ave to shoot ’em at all. You c’d go down on that sand-spit whar the river runs out o’ the marsh, jest ’fore daylight, w’en they was comin’ out, an’ knock ’em down with a stick. They’d fly so low, an’ they was so thick you couldn’t miss ’em, an’ you c’d git all you c’d carry.”
“Gosh! Let’s give ’im another drink!” whispered Sipes.
“Them days is all gone. Sometimes you see ducks hereabouts, but the sky’s never black with ’em like it used to be. Thar was millions o’ wild pigeons ’ere too. They’d set on the dead trees so thick that the branches busted off, an’ thar was eagles ’ere that used to fly off with the young pigs, an’ I’ve killed rattlesnakes over in the hills as thick as yer arm, an’ eight feet long, but they’ve been gone fer years.
“Thar was tall pine all through this country then, but it’s been cut out. Pretty near ev’ry mile ’long the big lake thar’s old piles stick’n’ up. Them was piers that the logs was hauled to with oxen an’ bob-sleds. The logs was loaded from the piers onto schooners that carried ’em off on the lake. I used to work at the loggin’ in the winter.
“Ev’ry now an’ then we’d git a b’ar, an’ we used to find lots o’ wild honey. The wolves used to chase us w’en they was in packs, but w’en one was alone ’e’d always run. Thar’s been some awful big fires through ’ere. Once it was all burnt over fer fifty miles.”
“That ol’ mossback knows a lot, don’t ’e?” whispered Sipes to me, as the narrator paused to light his pipe.
“Them pearls you fellers er fish’n’ fer reminds me of a story. Thar was a lot o’ Injuns lived ’ere at this end o’ the marsh long about sixty-three. Thar was an’ ol’ medicine-man that ’ad gathered about a peck o’ them things, big an’ little, an’ kep’ ’em in a skin bag. Thar was a bad Injun ’ere named Tom Skunk, an’ ’e stole ev’rything ’e c’d lay ’is hands on. He didn’t know the bag had much value, but ’e carried it off one day w’en the old man was gone. The Injuns got so mad ’bout all the meat an’ skins this feller kep’ takin’ that they fixed it up to drill ’im out o’ the country. They caught ’im an’ made ’im give the ol’ Injun back ’is bag. Then they told ’im to vamoose. He stuck ’round fer a few days, an’ one night ’e paddled down the river in ’is canoe. The ol’ Injun was pretty mad. He peeked out of ’is wigwam an’ seen ’im comin’. He got ’is ol’ smooth-bore rifle out an’ rammed a handful o’ them little pearls on top o’ the powder. [Groan from Sipes.] W’en Tom Skunk come by ’e let loose an’ filled ’im full of ’em. Tom got away somehow, an’ that was the last seen of ’im in these parts. We heard afterward that ’e went to a govament post, an’ the surgeon spent a week pick’n’ out the pearls an’ sold ’em fer a big price.
“We used to have snapp’n’ turtles in this river that was two feet across, an’ they’d come out in the night after the hens. We cut the head off o’ one once, an’ ’e lived a week after that. He had a date, seventeen hundred and sump’n, on ’is back. He was all caked up with moss an’ crusted shell, so we couldn’t quite make out the year. Somebody must ’a’ burnt it on with a hot iron.
“All the ol’ settlers in these parts are dead now, ’ceptin’ me, an’ I’m git’n’ pretty feeble, an’ don’t git ’round like I used to. I’m eighty-four an’, damn ’em, I’ve buried ’em all!”
He reached for his hickory cane and rose painfully.