A Bird Hunt in North Carolina. 



309 



out to see whether there was a man in 

 Danville who would be willing to at- 

 tempt to ford the creek at "Wal- 

 ter's " crossing. We had an idea there 

 was just such a man in the town and 

 that we could find him. The man we 

 struck was hanging to the stove in the 

 stable office. We told him what we 

 wanted and he smiled as if it was a 

 good joke; said there wasn't money 

 enough in the county to get him to try 

 to cross the creek at " Walter's"; tried 

 it last year with a pair of bays he had 

 refused five hundred dollars for; both 

 were drowned and he was pulled out in 

 a half -drowned condition. "No more 

 Pumpkin's creek forme, if you please. " 



This little chat had a decided ten- 

 dency " to bear " our feelings, but we 

 had left home to go to North Carolina, 

 and we were going. At the next stable 

 we met with about the same success, 

 only the man said he would take us 

 around instead of across the creek, 

 making the distance seventeen instead 

 of four miles. This wouldn't do, as 

 the hack would be, in the language of 

 uncle Pete. " chuck full " of men, dogs, 

 guns, etc., and we preferred running 

 the risk of getting a ducking to being 

 put into any such close quarters for a 

 drive of seventeen miles in a pouring 

 rain. 



A little depressed, we started for the 

 last stable in the town, and in it we 

 found just the man we had been gun- 

 ing for all day. He not only agreed to 

 take us out but guaranteed to land us 

 at Travers' inside of two hours. We 

 were too much delighted to ask any- 

 thing about the danger of crossing the 

 creek, but took a "bee-line" for the 

 hotel, paid our bill, listened to the old 

 gentleman about the great risk we were 

 running, saw the young ladies crying 

 at the thought of our never coming 



back alive (didn't know we were mar- 

 ried), we promised them to be ready to 

 jump as soon as the carriage turned 

 over. Our "glass fronts" soon pulled 

 up in front of the house, drawn by two 

 noble looking greys. We were packed 

 in like sardines, and in a few minutes 

 were at the head of Main street. From 

 there it was just one mile to the dread- 

 ed spot. We determined to have a talk 

 with the driver on the bank of the 

 stream, and if he thought the danger 

 was very great we were to take the long 

 route. 



However, this plan was "knocked in 

 the head " by his not waiting a second. 

 He sent the two greys into the muddy 

 stream as if they had been shot from a 

 cannon, and licked it into them at every 

 jump. The water soon got into the 

 carriage, the dogs had to be put on the 

 seat and the gun casings held up at 

 arm's length. In fact, things generally 

 assumed a serious aspect, but there was 

 no getting out of it. We either had to 

 stand still or go ahead. It might have 

 been better to have stood still, as we 

 knew just where we were, while to go 

 ahead might have been to go into a 

 twenty feet hole about which the driver 

 knew nothing, as it had been washed 

 out since the creek got up. No such 

 thoughts as these seemed to enter the 

 driver's head, as he was going through 

 at about a 2.30 gait, and in less time 

 than I can tell it, we were safely 

 landed on the other side of "Pump- 

 kins." 



From this point to the journey's end 

 nothing of any interest transpired. 

 Theo. had never traveled this route 

 before, so I had to show him where the 

 celebrated Wise- Ayleth diiel was fought. 

 The spot is about 160 yards beyond the 

 boundary line between Virginia and 

 North Carolina. I was told about ten 



