Of course the sport was not encouraging, and the accidents were numerous; several sportsmen fell overboard, one upset his boat, and my man came so near it—his pole slipping at the moment he was exerting his utmost strength upon it—that his efforts to recover his balance reminded me of dancing the hornpipe in a state of frenzy. He kicked up more capers, and indulged in more contortions on the little platform, scarcely a foot square, which he occupied, than I supposed possible without dislocation of a limb; but he managed, however, to regain his equilibrium, and neither fell overboard nor upset the skiff.
These little incidents, and the shooting, such as it was, kept the party, which was numerous, interested until the time came for recrossing the river to our hotel. There was no stopping-place on our present side of the river, which presented one apparently endless view of waving reeds; and the alternative was simply to cross the open river, or pass the night in our boats. The swell had increased into high waves capped with snowy foam, and threatened destruction to our low-sided, short, and narrow boats. Many were the consultations between the various punters, and grave were the doubts expressed of a safe crossing; but as there was no help for it, the trial had to be made.
Selections were chosen of favorable starting-points, and most of the party put out at about the same time—the sportsman lying on the bottom at full length in the stern, and the oarsman timing his strokes to the violence of the sea. The waves broke over us continually; it was necessary to bail every few minutes, and several had to put back when they met with some more than usually heavy wave, and take a fresh start, after emptying the superfluous water. Of course we were drenched to the skin, but found a species of consolation in knowing that no one had the advantage of another. Had any of our boats upset, although we might have clung to them and drifted back among the reeds, we could have effected a landing nowhere, and would probably have terminated our career then and there; had this happened to a certain little skiff that held two men and very few rail, this account would probably never have been written. However, fate ordained otherwise, and we reached our destination in safety.
The best locality for rail-shooting is along the marshy shores of the Delaware River, above and below Philadelphia; many birds are also killed on the Hackensack and the Connecticut; they are abundant on the James River, and doubtless further south, but are not shot there; and they are found scattered over the fresh as well as the salt marshes throughout the entire country. I have killed them in the corn-fields of Illinois while in pursuit of the prairie chicken, and have bagged several and heard many among the wild rice of the drowned shores of Lake Erie. They are a migratory bird, and pass to the southward in the early fall rather in advance of the English snipe, and alight at any damp spots for a temporary rest wherever the growth of plants promises nutriment.
They are often flushed by the snipe-shooter, together with the larger fresh-water rail, rallus elegans, and their curious cry resounds along the reedy marshes where the wild-fowler pursues the early ducks. Nevertheless, they are difficult to flush and kill where there is no tide to drive them from their muddy retreats, and where the ground is too heavy for a dog; and, comparatively speaking, on fresh water, unless the wind shall have caused a temporary rise, they are safe from injury.
Their voices reply with the guttural “krek-krek-krek” to the noise of the boat, and tauntingly boast of their abundance and their security. Moreover, in a new country, where larger game is still plentiful, the excellences of the tender but diminutive rail are lost sight of by comparison with his more profitable compeers; and except along the Atlantic coast, he is known as a game-bird neither to the sportsman nor the cook.
From the fact that he is rarely seen in the spring, and does not at that season give his enemies a chance to prevent his reaching his nesting-places at the far north—but only visits us during a few short weeks in the fall, and then is not much exposed, except in certain localities—his race will be preserved in undiminished numbers for many generations; the light skiffs will carry the eager city sportsman along the shores of the Delaware, the Hackensack, and the cove on the Connecticut, and the rapid reports will continue to reverberate over the reedy marshes.
There are two varieties, the short-billed or sora-rail, rallus Carolinus; and the long-billed, or Virginia rail, rallus Virginianus, which are easily distinguished by this peculiarity, and differ, also, slightly in plumage. The sora-rail are by far the most numerous, especially along the sea-coast, and are usually referred to as “the rail,” but both are shot and eaten indiscriminately. Their habits, mode of flight, and gastronomic qualities, appear to be identical, but I think the Virginia rail are proportionally more numerous at the West, having a slight preference, perhaps, for the fresh water. Their food must be, however, essentially different; for while the sora, on account of its short bill, must be confined to the seeds of its favorite reed, zimosa, or the grains of the wild oats, the Virginia rail, with its longer bill, also draws much of its nourishment from snails and aquatic insects, and is considered by some less delicate in flavor than the former variety.
About the fifth of September, before the English snipe are numerous, although their taunting “scaip” may be occasionally heard on their broad, open feeding-grounds; ere the ducks have marshalled their legions in retreat from the chilly blasts of the north, after the bay-birds, with the exception of the “short-neck,” shall have mainly passed to the southward, and before the quail are large enough to kill—the sportsman arms himself with his breech-loader, and driving to Hackensack or taking steamboat from Philadelphia, embarks in the slight skiff usually called a “rail-boat,” and practises his hand—possibly out of exercise since the woodcock days of early July—upon the tame and languid rail.
His cartridges are prepared for the occasion; as he does not intend to devote more than a day or two to the amusement, he takes with him a light suit, appropriate to the boat and the weather, gaiter shoes, flannel pants and shirt, and his waterproof, to meet a temporary shower, and he lays in sufficient liquid for himself and his man, knowing that salt air produces thirst and country inns bad liquor. Thus armed and equipped, if he is fortunate enough to have high tides, he is almost sure to enjoy fine sport, and bring home a bag of game that will furnish forth his table right handsomely to a goodly company, or go far and spread much satisfaction among his friends who may be the fortunate recipients. The heats of the summer solstice are over, the birds will keep several days with care, and the sportsman has not to dread either the burning sun of August or the freezing blasts of winter.