The weekly herald. [volume] (Cleveland, Tenn.) 1876-1888, 1879-04-24
CLEVELAND, TENN, APRIL "a. 1879.

] geese that have been captured or wounded
in previous seasons, and the young raised
from them, are likewise used as decoys
One of them is placed on the beach at the
waters edge. A hoop like a croquet wick
ct few feet behind the fowl, through
which line passes from the fetter on its
leg to the inside of the Blind, keeps the de-
coy in place, and, should the bird squat
upon the beach, vigorous jerk of the line
enliyens it. A little distance from the
goose duck is anchored, who stands, or
swims, his six hours tour Of duty with the
regularity of a sentinel; and shey are the
best Of sentinels for the sportsman, on ac-
count of their peculiarly formed eyes,
which never fail TO catch the slightest
movement of leaf, insect or other object
long before the goose has craned his neck
at it. To the rear of the cabin, on the
shore, in crate or box, is the gander, the
mate of the goose on the beach. Within
the hut are the sportsmen busy at their
cards, with one watcher at the window.
All are warmly clothed in readiness to creep
out into a sleet storm-the best weather of
wild goose shooting. The sentinel duck
utters "A cry, the goose cranes its neck and
slants its head, the watcher at the window
carefully scans the sky with his glass, and
discovers a thread-like line far away against
the clouds Guns are seized hurriedly, the
blind window closed and the hunters hug
the ground closely as they creep up to the
stand and hide themselves. One of the
hunters has taken basket in which Cos
lings are kept, and, huuying to an cmi-
nence he throws the goslings into the air
They start with cries for the centre of the
lake aud are answered by the old goose on
the beach, while the gander, separated from
her and shut close in the crate at the rear.
adds his hoarse call to the concert. The
cry Of the old decoys arrests their young in
their flight and they whirl toward the shore.
and pitch down among the wooden dunn
mics ont in the cove. Meanwhile the dis
tant thread draws nearer, and the geese be-
come more visible. The goslings make for
the shore, but are easily called into the blind
by corn fed to them through the apertures.
Now the wild geese are in the water, but it
is hard to bring them within glmshot.
Great care must now be exercised. The
swapping of twig or the careless poking
of hat crown above the blind by some ner-
vOus novice has often been taken into CON
sderation by the gander-the commanding
officer of the battaion-and that flock lost
to the hunter. In an hour or so they can
be brought into range, and, if they are very
stubborn, the goslings can be thrown again.
After little chattering among themselves
the goslings start for the dcftly-shaken
grain within the stand Sometimes the
wild geese follow them to the very edge of
the blind, but it is the flock and not the
single ones they want Fresh caps are put
upon the heavy double-barreled fOwling-
pieces, and upon the lighter guns, which
are set near by, ready cooked, to use after
the first volley. The flock of wild geese
is now only few rods away, and the muz-
zles of the guns are placed through the
twigs of the blind. A dry twig is snapped
to bunch the flock, and, by never-varying
rule, the right-hand man covers with his
gun as many as he can of the neeks of the
right of the flock, and so on down the line
Waiting until the geese are most favorably
punched together, he counts ''One, two
three, and at the last word the large, dead |
ly shot from both barrels Of the guns crash
into the flock There is a cracking of |
bones, cries of pain and amazement and
Hopping of wings as the fatally wounded
spread out on the water The gunners
jump to their feet, seize the other fowling
pieces as the remnant of the flock rises and
more of them are brought down. The boats
are then taken to hunt up the crippes that
are making for the swamp. If not hurt
too badly the fowl is kept for service as
decoy, and for breeding purposes.