THE CULF COAST OF FLORIDA. 225 



tions in hopes of surprising the flock and getting another 

 shot. Presently I heard both barrels of Jack's gun and went 

 toward him. I found him loading, with a fine gobbler lying 

 dead at his feet. He had buckshot in one barrel and num- 

 ber six in the other. He had bagged this bird with the buck- 

 shot, but the one he put the number six into, although badly 

 hurt, had gone away. We went on down the river some 

 three miles farther, but failed to get another shot. The 

 woods are literally alive with squirrels here, but no one shoots 

 them ; they are considered too small game to kill in this 

 country. Consequently they are as tame as the English spar- 

 rows in our streets. They frequently sit and bark saucily at 

 us while we pass within ten feet of them. It is no uncom- 

 mon thing to see five or six on a single tree. About ten 

 o'clock we got hungry and I picked off three of the little 

 fellows. Jack made a fire while I dressed them, and we had 

 them on toasting sticks almost before they had quit kicking. 

 They were soon nicely browned, and on these, with the bis- 

 cuit we had brought with us, we made a sumptuous breakfast. 

 We then returned to camp, and when we arrived there, found 

 the fire we had lighted in the hollow log the previous night, 

 to smoke the 'possum out, still burning. 



It had burned the top of the log off, leaving a large 

 trough-shaped cavity which was a mass of live coals, and 

 which served as a capital oven in which to roast our turkey. 



We dressed the turkey, put a stick through him, drove a 

 fork on either side of the log, and laid the stick in the forks, 

 so that the fowl rested over the hottest part of the fire. As 

 one side baked done, we turned him over. There was no 

 smoke, and our oven was a perfect success. Soon after we 

 put the turkey on, we heard two shots about a mile west of 

 our camp. We knew at once it was Will, who had promised 

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