A number of the larks were
on the wing, others sat on the rail fence rolling out cadenzas in
concert in a gush of melody from their downy throats. The men moved
cautiously nearer under cover of the weeds. Raising their long clubs
to their shoulders they gazed along their narrow points a moment.
Without exactly knowing why, we took alarm, and larks, bobolinks, and
cowbirds sped upward like the wind. At the same instant something
bright shimmered in the sunlight, and with it a horrid burst of noise
and a puff of smoke. We did not all get away, for some of the
beautiful larks fell to the ground pierced by the sportsman's deadly
hail.
Again and again, all through that long, sad day we heard the ominous
booming crash, and knew the savage work of killing was going on.
Among our acquaintances was a lame redbird who at one time had been
trapped and made a prisoner, confined behind the bars of a wire cell
for many weeks and months. Luckily he made his escape one day when his
grated door was accidentally opened, and he speedily made his way back
to his dearly loved forest.
During the period of his imprisonment in the city he had picked up a
great deal of information regarding the bird trade, and some of the
facts recited by him of the terrible cruelties perpetrated and the
carnage which had been going on for years, almost caused our feathers
to stand upright in horror as we listened.
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