Ward Eight has been cursed by a State law. Rockport and the seven wards of Gloucester, on the east side of Annisquam River, and the town of Essex on the west, were given a close time on all kinds of land game for five years. Ward Eight was the only outlet for the gunners in a population of forty-five thousand. Every living thing wearing fur or feathers was shot at, song and insectivorous birds as well as lawful game. Almost total extermination has been the result of this unwise legislation.
One of my first ventures was a flower garden. I had trailed a few vines over the cabin, and had planted a small bed of favorite garden flowers. The summer visitors offered to buy the flowers, and I saw an opening for another year. I cleared away a small spot for a garden, and made me a hotbed, so the next year, and for the seven following years, I drove a thriving trade in cut flowers. This flower business did not leave me much time for gadding the woods.
The care and sale of flowers, and my last trip to Ipswich Bay, decided me to discard my gun. The study of the wild things at the muzzle of a shotgun did not give me the satisfaction I thought I could obtain in some other way. I found the Bay shooting was expensive, and the birds, which were mostly coots, were not edible so far as I was concerned.
My last trip to Ipswich Bay convinced me that I did not care for such unsatisfactory dangerous sport. I had engaged a young man, and he had hired a gunning boat and decoys for one day. We embarked at the Cut Bridge about midnight. We rowed down the stream, and at daylight crossed the bar at the mouth of the river. While we were crossing the bar I saw several boats returning. I hailed the nearest to find out why they were coming back. "Too much wind," was the answer.
"I SHOT TWO DUCKS."
I should have turned back with the crowd, but like most any other tenderfoot, I did not understand the danger. We anchored in the Bay, and put out our decoys. I was pleased to see that we had the shooting to ourselves. Not a boat was in sight. I shot two ducks, and we slipped our anchor and picked them up inside of five minutes. When we essayed to return to our decoys, I found that the wind was kicking up a rough sea. I think we were over an hour getting back to the decoys. After this the wind increased, and the choppy sea begun to look ugly. The boat took in water, and we realized that we were in danger of being swamped at any moment. The young man wanted to leave the anchor and decoys, and make for the bar. I was ready to go, but refused to leave the decoys. I knew that I would have them to pay for, and there was a good reason for taking them on board: they would help to keep the boat afloat. The young fellow bailed the boat, while I pulled in the decoys. We got under way, and for two hours we had all we could do to keep our boat from going ashore on the rocks. We did not get to the bar. At the end of two hours there came a lull in the wind, and we gradually worked the boat toward the bar. When we saw a big wave coming, we swung the boat bow on, and thus kept from being swamped. After a terrible struggle, we crossed the bar and made fast to a boat-landing in the river just in time to escape from a fierce tornado. If we had encountered such wind while in the bay, some other fellow would have told this story.