August 23, 1883.] 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



65 



ti i urging inland, it anon fills them, and hnrstipg its 

 bounds, the sen-green fluid flushes over the meadowBanaaantl- 

 bars, upon whose firy surface millions of fiddler crafts scurry 

 to and fro. The surrounding's change as if by magic. In 

 minacious billows the incoming tide spreads itself over the 

 level surface- as fast as erne can walk, and soon the eye rests 

 upon a vasl unbroken sheet of water that seems a part of 

 the ocean itself. 



Borne portions of tho.se flats are by the drifting sand more 

 i [i fated than the others, and it is upon these higii plateaus 

 the sportsman builds his blind and spreads his decoys. He 

 Waits patiently, well knowing that when the bay birds I by 

 Unit denominating all kinds of snipe, curlew, willet, yellow- 

 legs unci gravbacks) will be driven from their feeding 

 ■mi. i I by" the tide, and fly to higher latitudes. 

 The sportsman must have two requisites: coolness, and 

 capacity to endure, added to this it is absolutely necessary 

 Ihiil . he 'should know how to call the birds, for this accom- 

 plishment will decide the size of his bag. A good caller can 

 make either flock or vagrant wanderer head for the decoys, 

 and bv a few notes bring them circling around the blind. 

 Nay. "mote; he can, after a flock has been demoralized and 

 stunned by the volley poured into them, and are flying fran- 

 tically away, utter the call and bring them back again and 

 again, for the birds seem to lose their heads, and return to 

 !i. tatal spot, uttering shrill cries that are heard above the 

 noise of tho guns. 



It is a bright sunny morning, with just enough breeze to 



ripple the water in miniature waves, when Captain George 



ditchings, and Sao ford Spady appeared on the beach at 



Cape Charles with their boat. They had everything packed 



,i ready for the hunt. 



VVe soon are under way, and as the boat moves along the 

 channel the marsh hens" rise from the. ridge on either side 

 and wing their ungainly flight up the stream. There on the 

 tell on the flats are a dozen "cranes making their meal off of 

 the fiddlers that are incautiously running out of their holes 

 to i if the tide is making: the'ir curiosity costs them dear, 

 lor they are gobbled up and go down theiong throats; one 

 canuitljielp wondering what kind of stomachs these birds 

 have, not to feel sick when there are some fifty little restless, 

 aggressive crabs, each armed with a huge claw, in their mid- 

 dles. 



It is high noon now, and the sun beats down with a blind- 

 ing glare, VVe pass a tall heron, who stretches his long neck 

 above the high rushes to watch the boat as it glides along; it 

 is so ho! . and il takes him so long to rise and take wing that 

 he remains stationary, but ducks and hows his head in the 

 i,' i i id iculous manner, and reminds one of an awkward 

 Fellow bowing in the minuet. 



The tide is rising rapidly, and the boat shoots along the 

 current with redoubled force, and soon the highest point of 

 the marBtl is reached. We disembark, and all hands go to 

 work to construct a blind; cedar bushes are set upright in a 

 circle, leaving a small place for the entrance, bunches of sea 

 erass are thrown over all, thus making an effective screen. 

 A rough seat is improvised, the bags of cartridges are opened 

 and suspended from a stout twig. The guide now runs 

 slicks in a half circle around the blind aud places the decoys 

 mi them; generally about fifty decoys are used; care is 

 taken to plant sonic in the pools of water in the vicinity, 

 where they can be better seen from a distance than upon the 

 >rt j rnss. 



All being in readiness, the boat is carried a short distance 

 down I he. stream, and fastened to the bank, then all hands 

 creep into the blind, and possessing their souls iu that great 

 virtue of patience, await further developments. 



Whew, how hot it is; the blind keeps out every particle of 

 breeze, and you are imprisoned, as it were, in a tight box 

 with the top off, exposed to the direct rays of a torrid sun. 

 The thermometer is doubtless about 100' in the shade, if such 

 u place could be found, but you feel as if it were up to blood 

 and level' bed; the perspiration pours in copious streams 

 from face and body, until your clothes are as wet as a bath- 

 ing suit alter a dip in the briny. 



There is not a sound except the swish of the ivater as it 

 rises around the grass and bushes. It is too hot u> talk, too 

 hot tn whistle, to hot even tothiuk aloud, so you droop and 

 cowci beneath the glancing beams of golden fire. You get 

 cramped and tired sitting iu a constrained position, and your 

 limbs go to sleep, and your backs get cramped, you indulge 

 iu a few muttered expletives under your breath, and shift 

 vim ii' seat to and fro. 

 At last the guide, who is always scanning the horizon, 

 i . a succession of loud, clear whistles, and from afar off 

 comes a faint reply. You crouch low in the blind, and cock 

 belli barrels Of your gun, then looking up, you see some 

 I. wciitv birds flying right for the decoys. A nervous excit- 

 able nature would at this critical moment knock the fat in 

 the lire by moving and trying to get his aim before the time. 

 A single 'incautious gesture, and the approaching flock will 

 be apt I" open right and left, and instead of having a double 

 shot in the bunch as they settle over the decoys, you will 

 have to be content with a wild long shot that would nine 

 times out of ten miss. 



The a uide is whistling fast and quick now, and the sports- 

 man sits motionless, nor does he move until the curlew and 

 willet hover for a second stationary. 



Now is the time; as quick as lightning he throws up his 

 piece, takes a hasty sight and pulls the trigger. He does 

 not stop to look at' what he kills, that is the guide's depart- 

 mciil. His business is to reload as last as possible, so he 

 slips fresh shells in the chambers, and as the birds circle 

 :i i. m -again and again empties his gun. Sometimes when 

 tin- birds are young they will return a half a dozen times 

 until the last one is wiped but. 



The guide new rushes out to secure the birds, and fre- 

 quently as he is picking them up a flock swoops down, and 

 he is considerably in danger if a nervous shooter occupies 

 the blind. A few years ago Postmaster-General Cresswell 

 put nine No. 10 pellets in Nathan Cobb's stern, who has not 

 tjone picking them out yet. 



Hot, hotter! ThO water jug is uncorked, and the half- 

 boiletl fluid is poured down the parched throats. 



The tide during ad this excitement has stolen impercepti- 

 bly in until it covers the ankles, and a curious picking sen- 

 sation on the boots causes the owners to look down. A 

 dozen crabs have entered the blind on a voyage of discovery, 

 and are engaged in investigating the singular objects in the 

 water, They sound, tap, pull and shake with their claws 

 the smooth rubber of the boot b, lookiug like Mr. Pickwick 

 and the members of the Antiquarian Club examining Bill 

 Stump's mile stone. A stamp of the foot sends these crus- 

 taceans sideling through the entrance, only to return as soon 

 as the commotion ceases. If the birds don't fly freely and 

 frequently, you can in a second turn from gunning to fish- 

 ing: i ■rush one of 1 he unwary crabs with your fool, tie - 



portion of the dismembered carcass to a string, or to the end 

 of your handkerchief, and iu ten minutes a basket full can 

 be caught. 



Two o'clock, and it is broiling hot, you can feel the skin 

 on the bridge of your nose crack from the heat, while the 

 sweat runs in streams down your body; the sun's rays glanc- 

 ing on the mirror-like surface of the water, is reflected, and 

 strikes you with its double rays, making two suns shine 

 upon you instead of one. 



You glance around. Hie meadows are covered, and with 

 the exception of your blind, there is nothing to break the 

 vast expanse. You feel as if you were in the center of the 

 ocean, away from all human "kind, shipwrecked as it were, 

 and waiting for a rescue. 



But to work! the birds arc now coming in pairs 

 in dozens and in flocks, the tide is at its highest' 

 and they are seeking for some place to feed. for a 

 half an hour -you are shooting at lightning express speed, 

 and the fun is fast and furious." The curlew's sail overhead, 

 and you tire, the willets quiver over the wooden birds, and 



you shoot while the yellow-legs settle boldly down among 

 the decoys, aud you blaze away, knocking over the real and 

 imitation alike, there is uo time to thinkdr pick your aim. 

 the air is filled with screaming birds, and you fire until your 

 shoulder is sore, and arms are stiff. 



The waters arc now receding, aud the flight of the birds be- 

 comes less and less frequent. "The tops of other bars show 

 above the falling waves, and the birds are scattered over a 

 wide expanse. 



At last they cease coming altogether and the boat is 

 brought up. and the decoys are taken up, the sail raised, and 

 the craft beats its way back home with the tired guns lying at 

 full length al. the bottom. 



Prom fifty to two hundred birds constitute the day's aver- 

 age, and the sportsman is so tired out that, after he arrives 

 home, takes a good wash, eats a big dinner, smokes a sooth- 

 ing pipe, he can go to lied while the sun yet lingers in the 

 heavens and sleep 'undisturbed and soundly until the next 

 morning. Yes, he can sleep with a soundness and restful 

 ness that he never knows in the city, and though he may be 

 dead tired, dead cramped, and completely played out." yet 

 the next day will find himself as bright as a dollar, and 

 ready for anything. 



As for appetite, he can eat a flock of birds at one silling, 

 and the.. , ish he were like a camel and had three stomachs. 



CllASSKIli. 



AN UNVARNISHED TALE. 



AUGUST 14 — Afternoon. — Wonder what, sportsmen are 

 doing this afternoon. Overhauling guns, hunting 

 traps, etc., well 1 should think so! What makes the dogs 

 so uneasy V Don't you think they know what is coming? (It 

 seems to me that my dog has looked at me with more than 

 usual interest for a week hack.) How many have their 

 cartridge cases packed, and how many will talk over old 

 times to-night as they mark out the course for to-morrow? 

 As for me, 1 have it all arranged. 



Friend Bob is as good a fellow as you ever met; none of 

 the "squeal" about him. Always ready to do you a good 

 turn, and can laugh when you "wipe his eye" as loud and as 

 long as you can yourself. 



We arc to so over almost the same ground that we did 

 last year, audi have no doubt the incidents of last lath will 

 be bright in the minds of both of us. 



Aug. 10. — At 5 o'clock A. M. yesterday morning I 

 hooked my team to the buggy, and drove' to town for Hob. 

 This was not out of the way. as f have to go through the 

 village to get to the "chicken ground," or what used tj be 

 "chicken ground." Now 1 propose to give you an unvar- 

 nished account of this hunt, which we had been looking for- 

 ward to for months back. 



1 found Bob just up, and he was for going right away 

 without his breakfast, but I hitched the team to the fence 

 and went in, and it wasn't long until his good wife had 

 breakfast, after which we drove out four or five miles south 

 west to a field, wdiere I at least had killed c de-kens before. 

 My dog Plunkett, a Irish red, was fresh, and he quartered 

 that field of sixty acres or more, faithfully hack and forth, 

 but it was a blank, not a chicken there. Our next stop was 

 almost the same. The next was abeautiful place, com and 

 oats in strips and patches. Just the cover for chickens. 

 Here, we got our first shot: Plunk came down splendid, and 

 when we walked up away went an old hen, aud 1 scored a 

 miss. Then three young "ones got up and we each scored a 

 miss. Then the dog hunted around a little and down he 

 came on another. It was a little fellow, and I— well I dis- 

 graced myself by killing it. Could have kicked myself for 

 ft afterward, but the deed was done. Bob tried to smoothe 

 things over by telling me it was all right; good to encour- 

 age the dog; and "w T ell we won't shoot any more." etc.; 

 but 1 really felt bad about it. 



The dog had gone over the hill to tae right. I walked up 

 to wdiere I could see all the ground. There was no dog in 

 sight and I supposed he had gone into the corn or slough 

 to get. water. I wailed a reasonable length of time and not 

 seeing him blew a loud call, at which he sprang to his 

 feet about fifty yards away; at the same instant an old 

 grouse flushed about two rods ahead of him. I was so 

 startled by the whole performance that I don't think my 

 charge of shot went within three yards of her. At the crack 

 of the gun another one got up nearer to me; I had the. salis- 

 satisfaction or rather mortification io sec him drop both 

 legs at. the report, of the left barrel aud see him go skimming 

 away over the corn with ids legs dangling. We tried to find 

 him but it was no use. 



Let me see, this makes seven .grouse we have Hushed and 

 only one poor little chap brought to bag. We drove hack 

 two or three miles, and, being quite hungry, we put our 

 horses in the stable of a friend and took a lunch. The 

 weather had been cloudy, with a little rain early in the morn 

 ing, and we concluded just to go ahead and hunt, although 

 ordinarily we would have laid over unli: ■ vemng After 

 walking for over an hour the dog came to a stand just at the 

 edge of an oat stubble; an old grouse got up out iu the corn. 

 both missed. Went a little further on, when up got an 

 other. Bob and f nulled together with right barrels, my 

 trigger finger slipped back on' to the back trigger, aud bang 

 vtifl tli it .barrel" Bob that n. your bird; I lav no el inns 

 to it. at all." A little further on we got up another; both 

 missed in good style, Then we tramped another hour: con- 

 cluded it was too hot; lay down in the shade of a tree aud 

 let the dog cool off in a pool of water near by. 



Alter resting for a long time we tried it again, It was no 

 go; not u chick could we find; tramped stubble after 

 stubble; and finally concluded to hook up the team and go 

 into another part of the country for the evening hunt — we 



could not call it a shoot ; because the proportion of shoot to 

 the amount of ground tramped over was too small to call it 

 anything but a hunt. About four o'clock P. At., we tied 

 our team to the fence, and got into the most likely looking 

 field for game we ever saw."' 1 was' off to the right, Bolt 

 about thirty yards to the left, ami the dog away to the left 

 of us. skirting the edge of a cornfield. When I walked 

 up two birds 7 flew right toward Bob; seeing him they 

 turned over his left shoulder. I fired at the first one and hit 

 him hard; but Bob killed him: fired at the second and 

 missed; Bob killed him, thus "wiping both of my eyes." 

 "Thank you, Bob; thai was well done." 



After a good laugh, we .vent on, and pretty soon saw the 

 dog standing away off; before we could" come up the 

 chicken flushed— 'twas a young one, too. Bob said it had a 

 wise mother that had told it thai there was more danger of 

 its being caught by the dog than of being shot by the sports- 

 men. 



There is no use for me to loll you any more, in fact there 

 is no more to tell : we saw no more chickens, although we 

 hunted faithfully the rest of the evening. The whole day 

 was a disappointment except as to the weather.which was ail 

 that a sportsman could wish. 



I have written this to show that prairie chicken shooting in 

 this part of Iowa is a failure. What it is in other beauties I 

 know nothing about, (leer this same ground. Boh and I 

 killed sixteen large plump chickens, and saw fifty or sixty, 

 this year we saw "just thirteen. ' ftlARfi." 



MOBHING Sex, lotva. 



FARMERS AND SPORTSMEN. 



JN the course of his address Mr. Orr discussed the relations 

 between the farmer and the sportsman at follows: 



"Without, the cooperation of the farmers the interests or 

 I he sportsmen must suffer. It is the farmers we look to, iu 

 a great measure, for that, protection to game absolutely ne- 

 cessary (assisted by such associations as burs) and it is by his 

 kind permission and approval we are enabled to trample 

 over his. fields and farm iu pursuit of our favorit" paslime. 

 But how many times these privileges are abused )y a class 

 of miserable fellows, so-called sportsmen, and which they 

 are not, in any sense of the word. Gates are left opert, 

 fences torn down, cattle frequently shot and maimed, 

 sometimes indeed, killed, aud worse than all. his property 

 and feed set on lire, generally through culpable negligence, 

 and sometimes, although I hope not often, by design, the 

 result I may say of pure cusseduess. This is frequently 

 what the farmer has to contend against with these quasi 

 sportsmen, and is it any surprise, then, that he becomes 

 incensed against all sportsmen as a body, not. making, or 

 caring to make, a distinction between tic true and the falsa. 

 The wonder to me is that the farmer under all circuuistauecs 

 is as lenient and indulgent as be is. 



"The true sportsmen does none of these things. He 

 respects the farmer's interests and his ownership of the land, 

 has a feeling in common with him, and is the first to denounce 

 any abuses on the part of the so-called sportsmen alluded to. 

 Before entering upon the farmer's property he secures his 

 permission to do se, and it is rarely indued that, the privilege 

 is not accorded him and an invitation extended to put his 

 horse and wagon up in the Stable or barn, in all ray travels 

 throughout the various parts of this State, where my'shootiug 

 excursions have called me. extending over a period of fully 

 twentv-five years, I can scarcely recall to mind more than 

 three br four instances where 1 have been positively denied 

 the privilege of entering on and shooting upon a man's 

 land, and on occasions where 1 first met with prompt refusal, 

 by dint of a little persuasion and a pleasant talk. 1 have 

 overcome the objection and finally been permitted to shoot,' 



"1 therefore appeal to every sportsman within the sound 

 of my voice, and all throughout the State, to advocate and 

 practice the principle of being thoughtful and considerate 

 of the farmer's interests; to treat him kindly and well, and 

 iu almost every case you will be repaid for your considera- 

 tion. If we do not do so we might as well give up our 

 importation of fine dogs and guns, our bench shows and 

 field trials, for we should really have but little use tot any 

 of these. Let us do unto the farmer as we should wish him 

 lo do by any of us, and all will go smoothly ami well, other- 

 wise, not." 



Treating of the same subject in his address, Mr. Ramon E. 

 Wilson, the secretary, said: 



"The farmer is on important per-ioniige with sportsmen 

 aud can be the instrument of putting an end to all field 

 sports. The case between them has become a cause celSbri 

 ill many of the older States, and wherever the issue has been 

 tried, like a hung jury, the result has been a draw, and that 

 il should be. There are. two sides to the case, bill 

 unlike most cases that I have- met with in my professional 

 experience, both sides are in many r specls right and equally 

 in many respects wrong. When wrong is sifted from each 

 side and the right alone remains they will be found to com- 

 pletely harmonize with each other. 



"In thefirst place, the farmer has a prejudice against the 

 sportsman, growing generally out of some particular cir- 

 cumstance, and therefore he must condemn the whole I'ra- 

 b-i-nity. Some fellow with a gun and dog. without, leave or 

 permission, has entered upon Ids premises and played haven 

 with his pet. flock of quail or has torn down hi- fence or 

 carelessly or wantonly I ratupled down his grain, OT sel lire 

 to his brush or stubble, or wounded an animal. Unjustly, 

 but naturally, he says sportsmen arc a bad lot. Do you 

 blame him? No. How shall we set to work to overcome 

 this prejudice? Easily enough. First of all, respect his 

 rights. Remember that you have uo right to enlet upon 

 hi- land for any purpose whatever, uninvited, than he has 

 to enter your ho, i— without, your invitation, ami that his 



,"-..ii _\: - and animals are as much entitled to protei 

 it hi'- premises from Intrusion by strangers, as your 



house, and the books in your library, your p- til 



furniture hi your parlor." 1 ;im sure if the farmei ■•■ ite< 



inspect your hOUSO or stable he would hi 



and if you want to hunt or fish upon hi- land it' is natural 



that he should expect the same piviUty and courtesy from 

 you which you not only expect, hut demand, und tii 



ca IS I d ten the permission will be given i 



class are not dilfcivnt from oilier men. There ..n ih,,i- 

 among them that are mean and siiugv , just as th s are il 

 every station or walk of life, but i heir uuinugr ib.so small 

 fliattheyare hardly worthy Of i ' lantioi 



"Again are farm ■■ ! 



■ ■ i i in I i - - m in thi gi 



You who read my the last 



.,: , •• .. ..,i tin in ■ ■ i gavi v. iii h eame under 



my own observation, illustrative of this fact. Am I 



