Monday morning came, and in the little cove, abreast of Captain Rhines’s door, lay moored a “gundelow,” containing some hay, an ox cart, plough, scraper, pot and tea-kettle, and provisions, raw and cooked. Just as the sun rose, Ben came down the hill with a yoke of oxen, and an axe on his shoulder weighing fourteen pounds. Joe Griffin made his appearance on foot, and Isaac Murch on horseback, with his wife (who had come to take the beast back) riding behind him on a pillion. It was a bright October morning; the fields were white with frost, which was just beginning to melt as the sun rose.
“Halloa!” cried Joe, as he caught sight of Ben’s head over the rising ground; “this is the weather for the woods; the frost puts the grit in.”
Hannah Murch, saying that she was going to see Sally Rhines, that is to be, and would meet them at four o’clock Saturday afternoon, rode off.
They put up a boat’s sail in the forward part of the “gundelow,” and, as the wind was fair, made good progress. Ben steered, while the others stretched themselves at full length upon the hay.
Joe was half asleep, when he felt his leg grasped by Ben, who motioned him to crawl to him as easily as possible.
“There’s a flock of coots to leeward; steer her right down on them, and when they rise I’ll give it to them.”
He carefully lifted a board, under which lay a gun, with an old flint lock, with a stocking leg over it to keep off the damp of the sea and the mist of the morning. Ben crawled forward behind the hay, where he lay with his finger on the trigger. The unsuspicious fowl kept diving and chasing each other over the water: at length they seemed to take alarm, and began to huddle together.
“They’re going to rise, Ben,” whispered Joe.
“Well, let them rise.”
Coots, when they are fat, cannot well rise from the water, except against the wind. As they rose and flew towards the “gundelow,” exposing their most vital parts to a shot, five fell dead, and four wounded.