CHAPTER 22

“Men, boys, and girls
Desert the unpeopled village; and wild crowds
Spread o’er the plain, by the sweet phrensy driven.”-Somerville.

From this time to the close of April the weather continued to be a
succession of neat and rapid changes.  One day the soft airs of spring
seemed to be stealing along the valley, and, in unison with an
invigorating sun, attempting covertly to rouse the dormant powers of
the vegetable world, while, on the next, the surly blasts from the
north would sweep across the lake and erase every impression left by
their gentle adversaries.  The snow, however, finally disappeared, and
the green wheat fields were seen in every direction, spotted with the
dark and charred stumps that had, the preceding season, supported some
of the proudest trees of the forest.  Ploughs were in motion, wherever
those useful implements could be used, and the smokes of the sugar-
camps were no longer seen issuing from the woods of maple.  The lake
had lost the beauty of a field of ice, but still a dark and gloomy
covering concealed its waters, for the absence of currents left them
yet hidden under a porous crust, which, saturated with the fluid,
barely retained enough strength to preserve the continuity of its
parts.  Large flocks of wild geese were seen passing over the country,
which hovered, for a time, around the hidden sheet of water,
apparently searching for a resting-place; and then, on finding them
selves excluded by the chill covering, would soar away to the north,
filling the air with discordant screams, as if venting their
complaints at the tardy operations of Nature.

For a week, the dark covering of the Otsego was left to the
undisturbed possession of two eagles, who alighted on the centre of
its field, and sat eyeing their undisputed territory.  During the
presence of these monarchs of the air, the flocks of migrating birds
avoided crossing the plain of ice by turning into the hills,
apparently seeking the protection of the forests, while the white and
bald heads of the tenants of the lake were turned upward, with a look
of contempt.  But the time had come when even these kings of birds
were to be dispossessed.  An opening had been gradually increasing at
the lower extremity of the lake, and around the dark spot where the
current of the river prevented the formation of ice during even the
coldest weather; and the fresh southerly winds, that now breathed
freely upon the valley, made an impression on the waters.  Mimic waves
began to curl over the margin of the frozen field, which exhibited an
outline of crystallizations that slowly receded toward the north.  At
each step the power of the winds and the waves increased, until, after
a struggle of a few hours, the turbulent little billows succeeded in
setting the whole field in motion, when it was driven beyond the reach
of the eye, with a rapidity that was as magical as the change produced
in the scene by this expulsion of the lingering remnant of winter.
Just as the last sheet of agitated ice was disappearing in the
distance, the eagles rose, and soared with a wide sweep above the
clouds, while the waves tossed their little caps of snow in the air,
as if rioting in their release from a thraldom of five minutes’
duration.

The following morning Elizabeth was awakened by the exhilarating
sounds of the martens, who were quarrelling and chattering around the
little boxes suspended above her windows, and the cries of Richard,
who was calling in tones animating as signs of the season itself:

“Awake! awake! my fair lady! the gulls are hovering over the lake
already, and the heavens are alive with pigeons.  You may look an hour
before you can find a hole through which to get a peep at the sun.
Awake! awake! lazy ones’ Benjamin is overhauling the ammunition, and
we only wait for our breakfasts, and away for the mountains and
pigeon-shooting.”

There was no resisting this animated appeal, and in a few minutes Miss
Temple and her friend descended to the parlor.  The doors of the hall
were thrown open, and the mild, balmy air of a clear spring morning
was ventilating the apartment, where the vigilance of the ex-steward
had been so long maintaining an artificial heat with such unremitted
diligence.  The gentlemen were impatiently waiting for their morning’s
repast, each equipped in the garb of a sportsman.  Mr. Jones made many
visits to the southern door, and would cry:

“See, Cousin Bess! see, ‘Duke, the pigeon-roosts of the south have
broken up! They are growing more thick every instant, Here is a flock
that the eye cannot see the end of.  There is food enough in it to
keep the army of Xerxes for a month, and feathers enough to make beds
for the whole country.  Xerxes, Mr. Edwards, was a Grecian king, who—
no, he was a Turk, or a Persian, who wanted to conquer Greece, just
the same as these rascals will overrun our wheat fields, when they
come back in the fall.  Away! away! Bess; I long to pepper them.”

In this wish both Marmaduke and young Edwards seemed equally to
participate, for the sight was exhilarating to a sportsman; and the
ladies soon dismissed the party after a hasty breakfast.

If the heavens were alive with pigeons, the whole village seemed
equally in motion with men, women, and children.  Every species of
firearm, from the French ducking gun, with a barrel near six feet in
length, to the common horseman's pistol, was to be seen in the hands
of the men and boys; while bows and arrows, some made of the simple
stick of walnut sapling and others in a rude imitation of the ancient
cross-bows, were carried by many of the latter.

The houses and the signs of life apparent in the village drove the
alarmed birds from the direct line of their flight, toward the
mountains, along the sides and near the bases of which they were
glancing in dense masses, equally wonderful by the rapidity of their
motion and their incredible numbers.

We have already said that, across the inclined plane which fell from
the steep ascent of the mountain to the banks of the Susquehanna, ran
the highway on either side of which a clearing of many acres had been
made at a very early day.  Over those clearings, and up the eastern
mountain, and along the dangerous path that was cut into its side, the
different individuals posted themselves, and in a few moments the
attack commenced.

Among the sportsmen was the tall, gaunt form of Leather-Stocking,
walking over the field, with his rifle hanging on his arm, his dogs at
his heels; the latter now scenting the dead or wounded birds that were
beginning to tumble from the flocks, and then crouching under the legs
of their master, as if they participated in his feelings at this
wasteful and unsportsmanlike execution.

The reports of the firearms became rapid, whole volleys rising from
the plain, as flocks of more than ordinary numbers darted over the
opening, shadowing the field like a cloud; and then the light smoke of
a single piece would issue from among the leafless bushes on the
mountain, as death was hurled on the retreat of the affrighted birds,
who were rising from a volley, in a vain effort to escape.  Arrows and
missiles of every kind were in the midst of the flocks; and so
numerous were the birds, and so low did they take their flight, that
even long poles in the hands of those on the sides of the mountain
were used to strike them to the earth.

During all this time Mr. Jones, who disdained the humble and ordinary
means of destruction used by his companions, was busily occupied,
aided by Benjamin, in making arrangements for an assault of more than
ordinarily fatal character.  Among the relics of the old military
excursions, that occasionally are discovered throughout the different
districts of the western part of New York, there had been found in
Templeton, at its settlement, a small swivel, which would carry a ball
of a pound weight.  It was thought to have been deserted by a war-
party of the whites in one of their inroads into the Indian
settlements, when, perhaps, convenience or their necessity induced
them to leave such an incumberance behind them in the woods.  This
miniature cannon had been released from the rust, and being mounted on
little wheels was now in a state for actual service.  For several
years it was the sole organ for extraordinary rejoicings used in those
mountains.  On the mornings of the Fourth of July it would be heard
ringing among the hills; and even Captain Hollister, who was the
highest authority in that part of the country on all such occasions,
affirmed that, considering its dimensions, it was no despicable gun
for a salute.  It was somewhat the worse for the service it had
performed, it is true, there being but a trifling difference in size
between the touch-hole and the muzzle Still, the grand conceptions of
Richard had suggested the importance of such an instrument in hurling
death at his nimble enemies.  The swivel was dragged by a horse into a
part of the open space that the sheriff thought most eligible for
planning a battery of the kind, and Mr. Pump proceeded to load it.
Several handfuls of duck-shot were placed on top of the powder, and
the major-domo announced that his piece was ready for service.

The sight of such an implement collected all the idle spectators to
the spot, who, being mostly boys, filled the air with cries of
exultation and delight The gun was pointed high, and Richard, holding
a coal of fire in a pair of tongs, patiently took his seat on a stump,
awaiting the appearance of a flock worthy of his notice.

So prodigious was the number of the birds that the scattering fire of
the guns, with the hurling of missiles and the cries of the boys, had
no other effect than to break off small flocks from the immense masses
that continued to dart along the valley, as if the whole of the
feathered tribe were pouring through that one pass.  None pretended to
collect the game, which lay scattered over the fields in such
profusion as to cover the very ground with fluttering victims.

Leather-Stocking was a silent but uneasy spectator of all these
proceedings, but was able to keep his sentiments to himself until he
saw the introduction of the swivel into the sports.

“This comes of settling a country!” he said.  “Here have I known the
pigeon to fly for forty long years, and, till you made your clearings,
there was nobody to skeart or to hurt them, I loved to see them come
into the woods, for they were company to a body, hurting nothing
—being, as it was, as harmless as a garter-snake.  But now it gives me
sore thoughts when I hear the frighty things whizzing through the air,
for I know it’s only a motion to bring out all the brats of the
village.  Well, the Lord won’t see the waste of his creatures for
nothing, and right will be done to the pigeons, as well as others, by
and by.  There’s Mr. Oliver as bad as the rest of them, firing into
the flocks as if he was shooting down nothing but Mingo warriors.”
Among the sportsmen was Billy Kirby, who, armed with an old musket,
was loading, and, without even looking into the air, was firing and
shouting as his victims fell even on his own person.  He heard the
speech of Natty, and took upon himself to reply:

“What! old Leather-Stocking,” he cried, “grumbling at the loss of a
few pigeons! If you had to sow your wheat twice, and three times, as I
have done, you wouldn’t be so massyfully feeling toward the divils.
Hurrah, boys! scatter the feathers! This is better than shooting at a
turkey’s head and neck, old fellow.”

“It’s better for you, maybe, Billy Kirby,” replied the indignant old
hunter, “and all them that don’t know how to put a ball down a rifle-
barrel, or how to bring it up again with a true aim; but it’s wicked
to be shooting into flocks in this wasty manner, and none to do it who
know how to knock over a single bird.  If a body has a craving for
pigeon’s flesh, why, it’s made the same as all other creatures, for
man’s eating; but not to kill twenty and eat one.  When I want such a
thing I go into the woods till I find one to my liking, and then I
shoot him off the branches, without touching the feather of another,
though there might be a hundred on the same tree.  You couldn’t do
such a thing, Billy Kirby—you couldn’t do it if you tried.”

“What’s that, old corn-stalk! you sapless stub!” cried the wood-
chopper.  “You have grown wordy, since the affair of the turkey; but
if you are for a single shot, here goes at that bird which comes on by
himself.”

The fire from the distant part of the field had driven a single pigeon
below the flock to which it belonged, and, frightened with the
constant reports of the muskets, it was approaching the spot where the
disputants stood, darting first from One side and then to the other,
cutting the air with the swiftness of lightning, and making a noise
with its wings not unlike the rushing of a bullet.  Unfortunately for
the wood-chopper, notwithstanding his vaunt, he did not see this bird
until it was too late to fire as it approached, and he pulled the
trigger at the unlucky moment when it was darting immediately over his
head.  The bird continued its course with the usual velocity.

Natty lowered his rifle from his arm when the challenge was made, and
waiting a moment, until the terrified victim had got in a line with
his eye, and had dropped near the bank of the lake, he raised it again
with uncommon rapidity, and fired.  It might have been chance, or it
might have been skill, that produced the result; it was probably a
union of both; but the pigeon whirled over in the air, and fell into
the lake with a broken wing At the sound of his rifle, both his dogs
started from his feet, and in a few minutes the “slut” brought out the
bird, still alive.

The wonderful exploit of Leather-Stocking was noised through the field
with great rapidity, and the sportsmen gathered in, to learn the truth
of the report.

“What” said young Edwards,” have you really killed a pigeon on the
wing, Natty, with a single ball?”

“Haven’t I killed loons before now, lad, that dive at the flash?”
returned the hunter.  “It’s much better to kill only such as you want,
without wasting your powder and lead, than to be firing into God’s
creatures in this wicked manner.  But I came out for a bird, and you
know the reason why I like small game, Mr. Oliver, and now I have got
one Twill go home, for I don’t relish to see these wasty ways that you
are all practysing, as if the least thing wasn’t made for use, and not
to destroy.”

“Thou sayest well, Leather-Stocking,” cried Marmaduke, “and I begin to
think it time to put an end to this work of destruction.”

“Put an ind, Judge, to your clearings.  Ain’t the woods His work as
well as the pigeons? Use, but don’t waste.  Wasn’t the woods made for
the beasts and birds to harbor in? and when man wanted their flesh,
their skins, or their feathers, there’s the place to seek them.  But
I’ll go to the hut with my own game, for I wouldn’t touch one of the
harmless things that cover the ground here, looking up with their eyes
on me, as if they only wanted tongues to say their thoughts.”
With this sentiment in his month, Leather-Stocking threw his rifle
over his arm, and, followed by his dogs, stepped across the clearing
with great caution, taking care not to tread on one of the wounded
birds in his path.  He soon entered the bushes on the margin of the
lake and was hid from view.

Whatever impression the morality of Natty made on the Judge, it was
utterly lost on Richard.  He availed himself of the gathering of the
sportsmen, to lay a plan for one “fell swoop” of destruction.  The
musket-men were drawn up in battle array, in a line extending on each
side of his artillery, with orders to await the signal of firing from
himself.

“Stand by, my lads,” said Benjamin, who acted as an aid de-camp on
this occasion, “stand by, my hearties, and when Squire Dickens heaves
out the signal to begin firing, d’ye see, you may open upon them in a
broadside.  Take care and fire low, boys, and you’ll be sure to hull
the flock.”

“Fire low!” shouted Kirby; “hear the old fool! If we fire low, we may
hit the stumps, but not ruffle a pigeon.”

“How should you know, you lubber?” cried Benjamin, with a very
unbecoming heat for an officer on the eve of battle—” how should you
know, you grampus? Haven’t I sailed aboard of the Boadishy for five
years? and wasn’t it a standing order to fire low, and to hull your
enemy! Keep silence at your guns, boys and mind the order that is
passed.”

The loud laughs of the musket-men were silenced by the more
authoritative voice of Richard, who called for attention and obedience
to his signals.

Some millions of pigeons were supposed to have already passed, that
morning, over the valley of Templeton; but nothing like the flock that
was now approaching had been seen before.  It extended from mountain
to mountain in one solid blue mass, and the eye looked in vain, over
the southern hills, to find its termination.  The front of this living
column was distinctly marked by a line but very slightly indented, so
regular and even was the flight.  Even Marmaduke forgot the morality
of Leather-Stocking as it approached, and, in common with the rest,
brought his musket to a poise.

“Fire!” cried the sheriff, clapping a coal to the priming of the
cannon.  As half of Benjamin’s charge escaped through the touch-hole,
the whole volley of the musketry preceded the report of the swivel.
On receiving this united discharge of small-arms, the front of the
flock darted upward, while, at the same instant, myriads of those in
the rear rushed with amazing rapidity into their places, so that, when
the column of white smoke gushed from the mouth of the little cannon,
an accumulated mass of objects was gliding over its point of
direction.  The roar of the gun echoed along the mountains, and died
away to the north, like distant thunder, while the whole flock of
alarmed birds seemed, for a moment, thrown into one disorderly and
agitated mass.  The air was filled with their irregular flight, layer
rising above layer, far above the tops of the highest pines, none
daring to advance beyond the dangerous pass; when, suddenly, some of
the headers of the feathered tribes shot across the valley, taking
their flight directly over the village, and hundreds of thousands in
their rear followed the example, deserting the eastern side of the
plain to their persecutors and the slain.

“Victory!” shouted Richard, “victory! we have driven the enemy from
the field.”

“Not so, Dickon,” said Marmaduke; “the field is covered with them;
and, like the Leather-Stocking, I see nothing but eyes, in every
direction, as the innocent sufferers turn their heads in terror.  Full
one-half of those that have fallen are yet alive; and I think it is
time to end the sport, if sport it be.”

“Sport!” cried the sheriff; “it is princely sport! There are some
thousands of the blue-coated boys on the ground, so that every old
woman in the village may have a pot-pie for the asking.”

“Well, we have happily frightened the birds from this side of the
valley,” said Marmaduke, “and the carnage must of necessity end for
the present.  Boys, I will give you sixpence a hundred for the
pigeons’ heads only; so go to work, and bring them into the village.”

This expedient produced the desired effect, for every urchin on the
ground went industriously to work to wring the necks of the wounded
birds.  Judge Temple retired toward his dwelling with that kind of
feeling that many a man has experienced before him, who discovers,
after the excitement of the moment has passed, that he has purchased
pleasure at the price of misery to others.  Horses were loaded with
the dead; and, after this first burst of sporting, the shooting of
pigeons became a business, with a few idlers, for the remainder of the
season, Richard, however, boasted for many a year of his shot with the
“cricket;” and Benjamin gravely asserted that he thought they had
killed nearly as many pigeons on that day as there were Frenchmen
destroyed on the memorable occasion of Rodney’s victory.