There were a great many points of interest which we had passed on our downward trip, the boatman assuring us that, with the wind we had, and which might cease at any moment, the great object was to reach Jupiter as soon as possible, and that we would stop at the interesting places on the way up.  But now the wind, according to his reasoning, made it necessary that we should again push forward as fast as we could; and, as I said before, the irresistible attraction of the Northwest so worked upon the Paying Teller that he was willing to pause nowhere, during the daytime, but at a post-office.  At one place, however, I was determined to land.  This was Pelican Island.  The boatman, paying no attention to his promise to stop here and give me an opportunity to shoot one of these birds, declared, when near the place, that it would never do, with such a wind, to drop anchor for a trifle like a pelican.  The Paying Teller and Quee also strongly objected to a stop; and, while the teacher had a great desire to investigate the subject of ornithology, especially when exemplified by such a subject as a pelican, she felt herself obliged to be loyal to her “group,” and so quietly gave her voice to go on.  But I, supported by Euphemia, remained so firm that we anchored a short distance from Pelican Island.

None of the others had any desire to go ashore, and so I, with the gun and Euphemia, took the boat and rowed to the island.  While we were here the others determined to sail to the opposite side of the river to look for a little post-office, the existence of which the boatman had not mentioned until it had been determined to make this stoppage here.

As we approached the island we saw hundreds of pelicans, some flying about, some sitting on trunks and branches of dead trees, and some waddling about on the shore.

“You might as well shoot two of them,” said Euphemia, “and then we will select the better one to take to Rudder Grange.”

The island was very boggy and muddy, and, before I had found a good place to land, and had taken up the gun from the bow of the boat, every pelican in sight took wing and flew away.  I stood up and fired both barrels at the retreating flock.  They swerved and flew oceanward, but not one of them fell.  I helped Euphemia on shore, and then, gun in hand, I made my way as well as I could to the other end of the island.  There might be some deaf old fellows left who had not made up their minds to fly.  The ground was very muddy, and drift-wood and under-brush obstructed my way.  Still, I pressed on, and went nearly half around the island, finding, however, not a single pelican.

Soon I heard Euphemia’s voice, calling loud.  She seemed to be about the centre of the island, and I ran toward her.

“I’ve got one!” I heard her cry, before I came in sight of her.  She was sitting at the root of a crooked, dead tree.  In front of her she held, one hand grasping each leg, what seemed to me to be an ungainly and wingless goose.  All about her the ground was soft and boggy.  Her clothes were muddy, her face was red, and the creature she held was struggling violently.