Wild Ducks

1895

The breeding places of the Chesapeake ducks are in Canada, where they are being destroyed in vast numbers by the cutting away of the forests which shelter the lakes and pools where they harbor and by the use and sale of their eggs. Thousands of these eggs are annually marketed, and by these methods, rather than by numbers actually shot, they have been greatly diminished.

This condition of things seems to be beyond remedy, since a state cannot make a treaty with a foreign power, and the general government is not likely to interfere on behalf of what is practically a Maryland industry or to provide such compensation as Canada might see fit to ask if a proposal were made to her to protect the ducks in their native habitat.

So the prospect is that 50 years will see the extermination of the finest wild fowl in the world, and one of the most prized delicacies of the table. — Lippincott's.

Shoots Wild White Duck

1919

LANSDALE, Pennsylvania — Right in the center of the town under the rays of an arc light, Fire Chief John _. Detwiler shot a white duck. The chief was on his way to the firehouse when he saw three snow-white fowls huddling in the center of the street. He saw they were ducks, but thought they were domestic fowls until he took a closer look and found they were wild. Going home he got a 22-caliber rifle and bagged the one.

He thinks they were of an Arctic species.

—The Saturday Blade, Chicago, Jan. 3, 1920, p. 8.

Note: John's middle initial isn't discernible. It has to be either B, P or R. But I saw another source that, I believe, had it as H. But it's not an H in this particular article.

Wild Ducks Freeze in Ice, and Fly Away with the Lake

1919

Hunter Catches One of Struggling Birds by "Hind" Leg and Pulls It Down — Then the Whole Flock Becomes Exhausted and Falls Into His Eager Hands.

NEW YORK, N. Y. — Here is a real duck story. It is from South River, N. J., and the correspondent swears to its truthfulness. He walked five miles to deliver it to a South River editor, but has since been missing. The story follows:

Mayor-elect George L. Burton is never happier than when aiming his shotgun at a flock of ducks. However, according to a friend, he has never been known to bag a single duck until the recent zero weather. Here's how it happened: He was snugly stowed away in his houseboat when a flock of ducks flying over the bay with loud squawking awakened him at 10 a. m.

He rushed on deck and discovered he was surrounded by a flock of ugly ducklings, who threatened to carry away his boat. The leader of the squawky tribe decided, however, to take a swim in the icy water.

No sooner had they alighted than they were frozen fast by the zero weather. George noticed that the ducks were struggling to get away, but could not force themselves from their icy mooring.

This is my chance to get one, murmured Burton. Seizing his trusty gun, he jumped on the meadows and set out to bag a few. His approach frightened them, and with one supreme effort they struggled into the air, carrying with them a heavy sheet of ice, which bound them together. They flew directly over his head and were so low that George caught one of them by the "hind" leg and pulled it loose.

The loss of this duck — a large one — made the ice too heavy for the rest of the flock, which began to settle slowly. As they were circling over the houseboat, the old drake became exhausted. He could not hold up his end and, with a resounding crash, the entire flock fell through the cabin door.

When George returned he found he had captured a whole flock of ducks without the use of his gun. He is now telling his friends that he shot them.

—The Saturday Blade, Chicago, Jan. 3, 1920, p. 8.

Tame Ducks Display Rare Homing Instinct

1920

Three Gift Birds Fly Thirty Miles to Former Owner's Farm

OMAHA, Nebraska — Sophus Neble presented three tame "wild" ducks to County Surveyor Lou Adams when Lou was out at the Neble farm south of Springfield. Lou brought them in his Buick to his home here and put them in the chicken house.

The next day Mrs. Adams turned them out in the yard. When Lou came home that evening he couldn't find the ducks. He searched high and low in the chicken house, but no ducks. Then he asked Mrs. Lou.

"Why, I turned them out in the yard," said she.

"Well, they're gone," said Lou. "We'll never see them again."

But he was half wrong. Gone, that ducks were, without a doubt. But that evening came a telephone call from the Neble farm.

"Your ducks are down here," was the message. "They arrived this morning and are in their old pens."

The ducks, by the mysterious sixth sense possessed by birds, had found their way from the Adams home in the midst of the city to the Neble farm, 30 miles away.

"I can't see why they didn't join the big flocks of ducks now flying north," said Lou. "But they didn't. They just went straight home, arriving there within an hour or two after their probably departure from my yard."

A Deadly Boomerang, Made and Thrown With Precision

1898

He Learned the Secret From the Natives of Australia

Civilized people, especially of the English speaking races, pride themselves upon their discoveries in electricity with which they now operate the guns of great ships of war, and they point with fear and trembling as well as satisfaction to the perfection in all sorts of dynamite bombs and explosives which they may, on occasion, use to kill people by the hundreds; but with all their cleverness, says the Detroit Free Press, they have never learned to make what a savage can fashion out of a crooked stick. It has been stated that there is nothing made of wood which a Yankee boy cannot copy with the aid of his jackknife, but the man who said that had probably never heard of a boomerang.

Horace Baker of New York, who spent several years in Australia, and went "boomerang crazy," is said to be the first white man who ever made boomerangs that would "go," and he learned to make them by almost living with the savages and watching them as they sat whittling away at a piece of wood with their crude stone hatchets and sharp shells.

Besides those which he has made himself, Mr. Baker has the largest collection of real Australian black man's boomerangs in this country. There are almost a hundred of them, and a queer lot they are. Some of them are haggled as if the savage had used his teeth to make them, yet as true to the boomerang principle as the perfectly carved specimens which decorate his walls. He keeps them hung up in clusters as some men have their guns and pistols arranged with a view to proud display before their friends. A few of these date away back to the time when Captain Cook landed on the coast of Australia.

"Why is it so difficult to make a boomerang?" said this connoisseur of the crooked stick. "Well, because it is so delicately balanced that the least divergence from the proper angle will alter its course in the air and prevent the perfect revolution which is necessary to its flight. When correctly made, a boomerang should balance exactly on a knife blade held at its centre, if it doesn't balance, some more whittling must be done on the heavy end. That seems easy enough — to whittle a piece of curved wood into a flat shape — so that the ends balance exactly — and if that were all there is to it, any boy could make one. The hard part of it is to cut the edges in such a way that they will strike the air at a certain angle in one part of the curve, and at another in another part, and so on until every line of both edges contributes to the perfect revolution of the weapon. Then, when it is whirled, it has two motions, the rotary one, which is a result of its shape, and the forward one, given it in the throwing. It's a pity that the baseball players cannot 'get onto' those black fellows' 'curves.' A pitcher who could do it would make his fortune.

"The quality of wood used has a great deal to do with the excellence of a boomerang. The Australian brave will tramp miles to find a branch of the right shape, and a wood of the proper density. Gnarled trees are at a premium there, and the heaviest wood is the best. Our lignum vitae corresponds the nearest to the tree they like best. The piece for the boomerang is usually cut where a branch curves out from the tree trunk, for this is the most natural crook in the tree's formation.

"In throwing a boomerang, the savage holds it by one end over his right shoulder, his body turned to the right, then without straightening the arm he whirls the body back to front position, bringing the weapon with the arm still bent, with it, then suddenly lets go, straightening the arm at the elbow as he does so. This adds the force of the whole body to the momentum of the weapon, instead of depending entirely upon that of the arm. It will go whirling around, keeping straight ahead for a certain distance then gradually swerve to the left and at last return to the thrower.

"When a savage wants to kill or disable a kangaroo, he throws it so that it will strike the ground at a stated distance from him and then begin turning somersaults until it reaches the kangaroo, striking him even then with such force as to break a leg or kill him, if it strikes on the head.

"Or suppose he sees a flock of ducks swimming about on the river. He creeps up softly behind a clump of trees, throws his boomerang swirling over the tree tops in a curved line which he can calculate as well as a civilized gunner sights a straight one, and down comes the flying stick among the ducks flopping like a live thing, and killing or disabling everything within reach of its wooden wings. It really looks very much like a bird in its flight through the air.

"The savages have many different varieties of these weapons. The average length is twenty-four or twenty-six inches. Such as these are used in hunting birds, rabbits and other small game, and none of them weighs over three-quarters of a pound. There are immense hunting and war weapons which are as much as three feet long, but they are rarely used, and nobody has sufficient strength to throw them so that they will return."

Hunter Finds Penny Inside a Duck

Pennsylvania, 1915

COIN IN CRAW

Find Lincoln Penny inside of a Duck

Charles Kuhn, of Cashtown, killed a duck on Thursday and in cleaning the craw found a Lincoln penny that must have been there for some time. The edge of the coin was much worn and it was very thin and as bright as a new piece of money.


BOY PAINFULLY HURT

Little Son of Mr. and Mrs. Rummel Has Leg Broken.

Jumping from a pile of straw to the ground, a distance of scarcely more than four feet, John Rummel, the five-year old son of Mr. and Mrs. I. H. T. Rummel, sustained a broken ankle. The little fellow was playing with his sister, Florence, on Thursday afternoon when the accident occurred. It is believed the fracture was caused by the ankle turning, which threw the full weight of the boy on the side of his foot. The family live along the Bonneauville Road about two miles from town.

—Adams County News, Gettysburg, Pennsylvania, January 2, 1915.

Bird Dog, All Alone, Shoots Wild Game

1920

Bird Dog, All Alone, Shoots Wild Game; Pulls Trigger of Gun with Hind Foot

Clever Animal Bags 111 Ducks During Present Season

PIERCE, Neb. -- What is declared to be the most intelligent and remarkably trained hunting dog in the country is owned by a hunter of this village, Bruce J. Boyd. "Cognac," for that is the animal's name, is a large, spotted bird dog. He not only searches out his own game, but also shoots it and brings it home to his master, who is proprietor of a local grocery store.

An automatic shotgun was made to order for Cognac by an Omaha gunsmith and is strapped to the dog's back by means of a cleverly arranged harness. The gun is arranged with a patent trigger, which is pulled by the animal's hind foot.

"Aiming the gun doesn't bother Cognac at all," declared Boyd. "The dog seems to depend upon his instinct and gets just as good results as a human being would by carefully sighting before he shoots."

Brings All His Game Home

Cognac also carries a wicker basket strapped to his side, in which he puts his game after he kills it. He bears the game back to his master at the conclusion of a day's hunting.

In the past few weeks, during the local duck hunting season, along the north fork of the Elkhorn River, Cognac has bagged no less than 68 mallard ducks, 43 teal and a number of wild geese. During last winter's rabbit-hunting season, the dog killed more than 300 cottontails. Boyd, who is in his store all day and has little time for hunting, thus has his table always supplied with fresh game, and declares that it has reduced his living costs more than 40 per cent.

"It was about a year ago that I got the idea of training Cognac," says Boyd. "Up until that time he had been merely an ordinary hunting dog, with no especial talents. But I always noticed that he wasn't the least bit shy of a gun and I evolved the scheme of teaching him to shoot.

"I tied my automatic shotgun to his back with ropes and then pulled the trigger. Cognac just wagged his tail in glee. The next time I went hunting I fastened the gun to his back with a harness and shot at least twenty times. After a little more of this training, I had the special shotgun made which Cognac now carries.

"It took several weeks to train him to pull the trigger with his hind foot, but he never had any trouble at aiming. For a time I was afraid to trust him out alone, but I soon learned that he understood the danger of possible accidents, and was really more careful than a human being.

"So each morning, during this duck-hunting season, Cognac comes to my bed about 3 o'clock and awakens me. I strap the gun to his back and he trots out. By 8 o'clock he is back with all his ammunition gone and one duck or more for every shot he has fired.

Will Teach Dog to Reload

"When I have more time this coming summer I expect to teach Cognac to reload his gun. As it is now, he is done for the day when he has fired the six shots in the chamber and magazine."

Other hunters have become familiar to the sight of the lone dog and do not interfere with him.

"I have been offered several thousand dollars for Cognac by eastern sportsmen," declares Boyd, "but millions couldn't buy that dog. Aside from his value as a hunting animal, he takes care of the baby, wheeling the carriage about the streets, and is a willing helper about the house."

--The Saturday Blade, Chicago, March 27, 1920, page 9.