864 



Bow - Shooting. 



great deal of hunting among the hills and along the fine streams of 

 North Georgia had made real archers of us, we spent three winters 

 there, shooting over some of the finest water and land region for 

 sporting to be found in the world. My note- books are full of inci- 

 dents, some of which are fresh to me as I read them over. But I 

 cannot do more here than pick out two or three of the most striking. 

 The reader must not expect to get even a glimpse of the dark side. 

 One does not care to write or read about failures, disappointments, 

 vexatious delays, worrying accidents, and ill-luck generally, — these 

 things come frequently to every sportsman. Some days he can find 

 no game ; some days he finds everything and can hit nothing ; 

 sometimes he breaks a bow, sometimes he loses all his arrows. The 

 successful day, the "brilliant shot," the exciting chase ending in 

 capture, the long-range hit when I expected to miss — these are all 

 down in my field-books, along with rough drawings of the birds, 

 curious plants, strange insects, 

 notable trees, and whatever 

 happened to strike me as worth 

 future thought. 



Our party in Florida con- 

 sisted of three, — Will and my- 

 self and Caesar — an inky, mid- 

 night black man, who acted 

 as cook, washerman, boatman, 

 everything except sportsman. 

 Caesar was a source of amuse- 

 ment to us. In fact, his face 

 was so comically dull and heavy, 

 and yet so plashed over with 

 evidences of a keen sense and 

 keener love of the ludicrous, 

 that a single contortion of its 

 outlines was enough to make 

 one laugh. 



We camped once for a week 

 on Lower Indian River, and it 

 was there that I made a shot of 

 which I have some hesitancy in 



