370 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



Crossing over on the dam, -we examined the tracks on the 

 edge and tlitn sat down to rest and speculate on the wisdom 

 of the. creatures in thus artificially preparing a retreat from 

 their foes. J cannot remember his exact expressions in re- 

 gard to ihe work of the beavers then before us. bul he in- 

 terested me exceedingly by his quaint ideas as to the won- 

 derful instinct displayed by animals that, to use his expres- 

 sion, "seemed to reason like a man." The squirrels with 

 their Winter's store of food, the duck or partridge leading 

 him away from Iter young; the dumb language in the ex- 

 pression of his dog's eye at certain limes, and the cunning 

 of the creatures he trapped, were all commented upon, ami 

 although my study and different life made me feel and 

 know more distinctly that influence upou brute and man, 

 to the source of which there is but one path and no return, 

 vet 1 could but let his shrewd questions and statements re- 

 main unanswered, for his simple metaphysics were even 

 stronger than mine. 



"Suppose we cut across the meadow and take a peep at 

 yon lake," said he, rising; "its a pretty a piece of water as 

 we have hereabouts; be ready with your gun as we go up 

 the creek— (using a Yankee' word)— if there's any decrs 

 they'll jump away mighty quick." 



The grass in .some spot's reached to my waist, and as we 

 picked "our way across the little hummocks, I looked more 

 to where I was to take my next step than along the sedgy 

 stream. 



"Ah !" exclaimed Ned, under his breath, as there was a 

 rush in the grass, and stooping down, bowed his head 

 nearly to his knee, "shoot quick," (to mo,) but before I 

 could" get my rifle into any kind of aim, into plain view 

 came a noble buck that, without a halt, loped gracefully 

 away over log.-, and ground to the shelter of I lie aider brush 

 beyond. As he reached the cover I heard the shrill whistle 

 from Ned's fingers in his mouth and instantly the deer 

 stopped, and 1 could just see the red patch of hide 1 among 

 tin- leaves; the distance wastoagreal for me,and I fully ex- 

 pected Ned would try to get nearer, for he was iu advance, 

 but his rifle was raised to his cheek, and with the light 

 crack that a Ballard makes, the spot vanished, as I thought, 

 unharmed. Sliding iu a cartridge Ned sprang across the 

 brook, alighting in a lout of water, and called to me to 

 follow. 



"What's the use !" cried I. "The deer's gone." 



"No, sir-ee," answered he. "That fellow's so dead he 

 never moved; come across ami let's look at him." 



Returning to the dam. I crossed again, and following the 

 line of his shot, found the deer doubled up under the hush, 

 having literally dropped in his tracks; there was the small 

 hole back of tiie shoulder, from which blood was oozing in 

 LroUS, find the beaUtiMI object that five minutes before whs 

 full of life was now lying with glazing eye and protruding 

 tongue— dead. How quick the transition had been ! 



"Will you believe me now," laughed Ned, drawing Ids 

 Knife over the deer's throat and turning the head down. 

 "You kin see he never turned round by the track; that 

 blood's too black fort-hat; one, two, three — (counting) — four 

 spikes, and look how his hoofs are worn; this meat won't 

 be very tender, Frank; he's been run too hard by something 

 or other; its an old deer, for all of his spikes. Lay still there 

 now till we come back from the lake, old man, and then 

 we'll cut you up." 



•'How about the axe, now?" said I. "You were to bring 

 that and let me kill the deer, and you've done neither, but 

 if you hadn't shot he'd been running yet, I think; let's go 

 ou." 



We were soon out of grass and among the tall pines that 

 skirted the shore of the lake; the ground was covered with 

 quantities of "needles" that made it verv slippeiy, and Was 

 so free from underbrush that, it seemed the work of art; 

 the water lapped the beach softly, uniting with the low hum 

 of the pines in one of nature's best duets, praising her own 

 charms. The air was cooler there in the shade and laden 

 with delightful fragrance, for the day had been warm and 

 still. How w ild everything seemed, and yet how natural ! 

 A pair of toons were floating, within easy shot, as uncon- 

 cerns of my presence as wooden decoys would have been. 

 Ned lingered behind examining some sign he had discovered 

 and 1 had the picture to myself. At the upper end, where 

 the pads and weeds grew, I was not surprised to see another 

 deer wading, nibbling liere and there, and seldom raising 

 his head. It seemed perfectly in keeping with the. place for 

 him to be there, and it wanted only an Indian iu his canoe 

 to complete a picture I had seen years ago in my book at 

 school representing the wilderness, drawn from the artist's 

 imagination, and that I had thought ex isled there alone. 

 but here it Was before me ! 



" 'Aim it a pretty pond V" said Ned, coming up behind. 

 "Very few have been here, and it's a grand place for deer; 

 see yon's one in the water,and likely there's more round the 

 point; mind the loons here to the left, and see the flappers 

 in the cove across," pointing to some young ducks. "If 

 you want that deer you can get him as he comes around, 

 but you must go now." 



"See here, Ned," said I, "I'm not going to lug 

 more than a quarter of that venison we've got already, 

 through that confounded brush back to Shesheep, and you 

 can't curry more than two, so what's the use of killing 

 another; let's start him up and let him ruu, it'll be one more 

 for next year." 



"Just as you say," replied he. "I never like to kill 

 more than I want, but you'll never miss him next Summer. 

 1. supposed you'd like to kill him anyway, but let's go back 

 and dress mine." 



Back we. went to where the buck lay, and together 

 dragged him to a limb strong enough to bear his weight, 

 (hitting some inner bark of a young cedar, Ned twisted a 

 strong rope, and passing one end through his "gambrels," 

 we knotted it and hoisted him up head downward. I rested 

 tny gun against a tree, and while Ned attacked the deer, 

 dropped down on some moss near by to rest, for my walk 

 hail tiled me and the day had been very warm; the air was 

 laden with the incense of the forest and made one feel dis- 

 inclined towards exertion of any kind, so I lay on my back 

 with half shut eyes watching the trees and running over in 

 my mind the events id' the day. 



"since 1 hist took to the woods, years ago, when a boy, I 

 have delighted in the forms of trees; their diversified 

 characters repeal what we see iu our own human lives every 

 day, and the simile never seems unnatural to me. Who- 

 ever is reading ihis has no doubt often stood as I have 

 i ,e iu the trunk of some giant of the forest, and 

 looking upward has seen its hundred arms stretch in every 

 i ion to catch the sunlight and the rain that will feed 

 aad give it the sap, the stall of its life to strengthen and 

 '■Minn it for the Winter's trials. How wonderfully it tapers 

 from the massive trunk to the topmost little spray, and yet 



it has hern scientifically proved that trees grew as some 

 men die— from the lop downward ! Did you ever read Ihe 

 lover's story in Tennyson', "Talking Oak" without feeling 

 how little it was removed from reality? When you are 

 deep in the woods on some of your excursions have von 

 never thought of those expressive lines of our own Long- 

 fellow ?— 

 "Tins is the forest primeval, th<- aiiuiimrine pine* uud the hemlocks, 



Bearded with motesti eun ludii it in thi urn ■•in 



stund likedrnid-of eld tvi-h ™i,-es sad ml! i i,.n, 



Stand like harpers hour with beurdu that roBton their bosoms " 



Ned has not finished the fleer yet. LetuB eoftlittle 

 further. Longfellow's name brings tip to us t be most beauti- 

 ful story, taken in all, of our American continent. What 

 — "Evangeline!" in a country, almost on a parallel with 

 our camp on Sheesheep was her home before the exile be- 

 gan. She grew up there the pride of Grand Pre, and just 

 when the world was bright and full of promise to her, per- 

 secution came, and the agony of her life began. Her 

 father is at rest, with the. sea nearly covering his grave, and 

 with the affection that "hoped and endured, ' and was 

 patient" to keep her heart from breaking, she wanders 

 on her fruitless search for the lover she' never saw again 

 until the plague was taking his life away, and her'swas 

 very near ils end. She must have passed near l his spot in 

 her wanderings, for rumor said that Gabrielle hid become a 

 "bour-des-Boise," and we will imagine she came here on 

 her search. How these old trees must have grieved to 

 have seen the streaks of gray on the yet youth fid lorehead, 

 for what could have been a sadder sight ! She has been 

 away up iu the Michigan forests and 'found nothing but 

 the ruins of the hunting lodge, and with utter despair in 

 her heart is now striving to find rest under the veil of the 

 Church in Philadelphia. Were not the birds with their 

 songs and the beauties of the earth ami skv but mockery 

 to her with her sorrow, and the goodness of all t lungs bitter- 

 ness to her hearty Your spirits and mine, friend, are bur- 

 dened with little care in tlie wilderness, and it is well that 

 it is so, for there are few places that a person wishes less 

 to be in when bowed with care and grief than in the shadow 

 of these great trees. You and I might have been tempted 

 to cure God and die, but the mists of her own desires have 

 fallen from her eyes, and with the resignation and peace 

 learned iu her childhood from Father Ecltcian, she is going 

 where she can find rest in alley ial ing the sufferings of others 

 that she can understand so well. 



Her wanderings o'er land mid water are over, and she is 

 waiting for the release that is unconsciously so near. Hem; 

 fjChlane is dead, and with him all the friends of her youth, 

 and if at all remembered, but as a .dream. What a world 

 of feeling la in that cry of anguish and Ihe clasp of the 

 dying man when it can bring to his last hour the vision of 

 his early days with her iu old Acadia, and peace to her 

 eventful' life ? 



The trees in the BpabfOUS yard of the hospital at Fourth 

 and Spruce were whispering and nodding to each other 

 this Summer the same as when thai cry went out, and I 

 never pass the spot without stopping for a moment to look 

 ou the few that still stand anil think of the Changes since 

 then. They are older and stouter, and have kept their 

 places in the city, as perfect specimens as Iheir lellowsthat 

 were whispering above me when I lay resting near the 

 Beaver Dam. 



Evangeline's story is but Ihe Imagination of a gifted man, 

 but in how many way* it can be applied to our advantage. 

 Sonic men see nothing in Utile things, while others rind 

 beauty and thought even iu a single leaf; but there is noth- 

 ing more interesting to me in the study of the book (if 

 nature than the wonderful tree tonus, from the slender 

 delicate sprout a fool high, to the immense oak or pine. I 

 wonder how (hey will look centuries hence if undis- 

 turbed ! 



"You take the shoulders and go first; I'll follow villi the 

 quarters," called Ned. bringing me to my left, "We'll 

 have to leave Ihe rest unless 1 come back, which 'aim 

 likely. Go easy, and mind you hold your gun ahead. It'll 

 be heavy walking back." 



"I should say so. ray friend," rejoined I, remembering 

 our coming in, and no'w I had twenty-live pounds or more 

 additional.' The lake was reached in safety, except that I 

 fell once, luinginu- the shoulders down on my own head 

 with a force that made me think Ned had shot me; and 

 with the venison stowed and skimming "camp .yard" in our 

 boat, I felt belter for the sights of the day, and was amply 

 rewarded for all toil by my "experience at" the Beaver Hani. 



Music 



HUNTING IN ALABAMA. 



SEEING in one of the late numbers of Foni-jST and 

 Stream that attention i> being drawn to the wilder- 

 ness regions of Alabama, and OS 1 have lately relumed 

 from the above mentioned locality, I have thought that a 

 tew jottings on the subject, might prove interesting and 

 useful to sportsmen at 'large, and to those in parlicultar 

 who contemplate hunting in Alabama during the present 

 Winter. 



Choctaw county, Alabama, lies between the Tombigbee 

 River and the Mississippi line. The famous Sninpter 

 county lies just north of it, and Washington county on the 

 south. Marengo county is east of it, on the other side of 

 the Tombigbee'Kiver, and all these counties are equally 

 wild and as sparsely settled as Choctaw. The lower 

 of the county is about eighty miles north of .Mobile, 

 crow flies. The county town is Butler, which lies 

 tie to the north and east of tim centre of the count; 

 nearest railroad and telegraph station is at York, fc 

 county, Alabama, distant thirty-eight miles. Th 

 several other towns of very moderate size in Choctaw 

 county, the principal of which are Bladon Springs, Mount 

 Sterling, and Tompkinsville. 



The routes most favorable forgetting into this country 

 are, from the North and East, m'.< Montgomery. Alabama, 

 where you take the Western Alabama Kailroad 10 Selma; 

 change cars there, taking Ihe Alabama Central to Dcmopo- 

 lis, or, if the boat be not Iherc, lo York. Alabama, where 

 a team can be hired to carry you through the woods ami 

 swamps and over the hills to Butler. If the boat be at 

 Demopolis, stop there, and go down the river (Toinbighec) 

 to Tuskohoma, where a conveyance can be procured Lo. 

 carry you to Mount Sterling or Liutler, the former distant 

 four, and the latter eight miles. 



Erom the west you go to Meridian, Mississippi, which is 

 forty miles fromBuiler, and you can take the curs thence to 

 York, Alabama, or hire a carriage and drive over to But- 

 ler. 



llit- 



The 

 upter 



The most pleasant way is from the South. Go to Mo- 

 bile, and there fake the boat up the river "Bigbee," as thev 

 call it, to Bladon Springs Landing (Bladon itself is four 

 miles from the river; conveyance thither from the landing 

 can always bo procured from Mr. Heron, who owns the 

 warehouse there and keeps the landing), or on to Tusko- 

 homa Landing, as before. At Tuskohoma, Mr. Henry 

 Gaines, the proprietor, will give every information and 

 afford every facility to the visiter. 



If you stop at. Bladon, that staunch spoilsman and mag- 

 nificent shot, Mr. James T. Staples, will be sure to show 

 the sportsman plenty of game, and take pleasure in mak- 

 ing his stay agreeable. I must not, however, forget my 

 friend, Dr. J. S. Evans, late County and Probate Judge 

 of Choctaw. This veteran sportsman likes the music of 

 the hounds as well as ever, and although he has fallen back 

 upon the favorite double barrel and buckshot, the Doctor 

 can, with his glasses on, drop a buck as neatly as most of 

 his neighbors. The visitor will find him a cordial, warm- 

 hearted gentleman, who will do all he can to make his so- 

 journ agreeable and profitable. 



At Bladon there is a hotel, said to be a good one, for 

 Bladon is quite a place of resort for the pleasure seekers of 

 New Orleans and Mobile, its mineral springs being famous 

 for rheumatism and other ills that flesh is heir to. I be- 

 lieve Bladon boasts the only hotel in the county. If the 

 visitor goes to Butler he will have to depend upon the 

 kindness of the people. There are some who keep what is 

 called "a house of entertainment," wdiere the traveler can 

 obtain lood and lodging. But with the exception of Mr. 

 Spangeuberg, no one entertains except during court. After 

 a few days The sportsman will probably be taken in band 

 by the Members of the Hound Dog Cliib, all of whom are 

 gentlemen as well as sportsmen, and will take the pains 

 and have pleasure in making the stranger comfortable. 

 The most prominent of these gentlemen are Mr. Wm. Car- 

 nalhan, Dr. Brillling, Dr. Mills, and Mr. YYatrnan, the 

 editor of the Choctaw Herald. 



Speaking of the Hound Dog Club, 1 must give the origin 

 of the title, for there is no actual club in existence at But- 

 ler, though some dozen or so of the. gentlemen have a cabin 

 at "Bucksuort," some seven miles from Butler, where they 

 camp hunt every few weeks during the season. 



It seems that a certain Methodist brother — a good man, 

 and very zealous, but, somewhat indiscreet — once took oc- 

 casion lo say that if the money spent in feeding worthless 

 hound dogs iu the neighborhood was contributed to the 

 church, that both the pastor and the building would be 

 kept in better trim. Now as the gentlemeu who owned 

 hounds were the very ones who had contributed all, or 

 nearly so, of the funds which had actually- been paid in, 

 they 'felt hurt. Of course, they said nothing; but the 

 Church hits come lo a stand still for lack of means, for they 

 worship elsewhere. The tiling finally became rather a jest, 

 ami one of the parties proposed that Ihey should hereafter 

 be known as the Hound Dog Club, and it has been so ever 

 since. Every sporting visitor becomes a member, by cour- 

 tesy. There are no fees, no officers; only members, and 

 Ihey will all welcome any gentleman who goes thereto 

 hunt, 



My welcome to Butler was not so pleasant as 1 have de- 

 picted above. One chilly night in September last, tit Ihe 

 head of a cavalcade of some forty soldiers and half a 

 dozen learns, 1 arrived in Butler about eleven o'clock P. 

 M. We had had a very hard, inarch, lor the roads were 

 bad ami the men had to push every wagon up each hill, 

 and by Ihe time we had made thirty miles all bauds were 

 pretty well used up, and my men were so iitctloulib.it 

 they would not even build a'iire to make themselves some 

 co lice. 



.) list as I arrived. T saw some dozen or more nicely dressed 

 lailies, each one ileftly escorted by a cavaliel'/weudiog 

 their way homeward from a dance '"'at the academy," and 

 the clear, sweet laughter of the ladies, and an occasional 

 note of the violin, were quite a change front the gloomi- 

 ness and loneliness of Ihe forest, through which we had 

 for some hours been making our toilsome way by the aid 

 of pilch pine ("liirht-ud") torches. Knowing" that Butler 

 was a county town, and never having heard of any county 

 town in Ihe South which did not possess some kind of a 

 hotel, the undersigned had made no arrangements for the 

 cuisine, though he fortunately had brought his blanket. 

 After awhile, having escorted Ibn ladies home, the revellers 

 returned to see what w<ts up, and I made inquiries as to a 

 place to sleep ami a chance to get a mouthful lo eat, for 

 we had lusted since eight o'clock A. M. A rather chilling 

 negative was all the information WO could obtain— evi- 

 dunlly blue coat-s were not favorites. .Meanwhile, the men 

 had bivouacked ou the porch of an old store, and my lieu- 

 tenant, spying the door of a store opened for a moment, 

 rushed iu and purchased two small cans ol oysters and 

 ditto of sai dines. 



Finding we could obtain lodging nowhere, we pitched 

 our tent by the roadside, and proceeded, with the aid of 

 some execrable water from the "public well" in the court 

 house square, lo make a supper ou canned oysters, un- 

 cooked, and sardines, for we were out of bread. We then 

 hud our blankets 'on the ground, and slept "the sleep of 

 the just," 



With the first beams of the morning sun, the reveille 

 was sounded, and the rat-tat-tat of the drum awoke the 

 stillness of the crisp, chilly air. We soon had breakfast 

 COOkeri and eaten; it was .simple, but good, and relished. 

 We then went inlo camp. I soon got things iu order, and 

 did nicely, and was independent." After awhile, finding 

 that if we were soldiers we were very respectable people, 

 a change came over the spirit of their dreams, and 1 know 

 Ihey regretted their want of hospitality. 



As 1 have spoken of food, perhaps some of your city 

 readers would like to know the price of provisions in But- 

 ler, so I will give a short schedule. Elegant beef, live lo 

 six cents per pound; Spring chickens, ten cents, and full 

 grown Ones fifteen cents apiece; eggs, ten lo lit teen ceuls 

 per dozen; rresh butter, twi nty-five cents per pound; wild 

 lurkeys, $1 So (if they were big ones) apiece; venison 

 ham:-; fresh, from seventy-five cents to a dollar; dried and 

 smoked, from $1 to $1 35, elc, etc. 



What do you think of thai? There is not imich likeli- 

 hood of starvation in that country, is there; And yci.it 

 is very much the same as was the case when the American 

 askedthe Englishman, who grumbled at the -prices in this 

 country, "Why he came over here if articles only cost six- 

 pence "in England," and received the reply, "Because the 

 Sixpence was not there." So in Butler, and all through 

 that part of Alabama, money is scarce and food is cheap, 

 except meat—;', e., pork and' bacon. The favorite food of 

 hat part of the country is bog and holiday, bacon and 



