242 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



For Forest and Stream, 

 THE NOTTOWAY REGION. 



WEKE I asked to describe the wildest and most deso- 

 late section of this State, I would unhesitatingly 

 name this part of Virginia, which lies on the Nottaway 

 River, commencing at Stony Creek Station, on the Weldon 

 Railroad, and continuing to Southampton county. These 

 two counties — Sussex and Southampton — beat anything in 

 the way of desolation and solitude that I ever saw. The 

 celebrated slashes of Hanover is a dreary place; so is the 

 famous Wilderness, where the surging lines of blue and 

 grj>y crimsoned the thin soil with their blood. The Wil- 

 derness! What a scene does that word conjure up, and 

 many a veteran, as his eye rests on these words, will in 

 imagination recall that dark, forbidden place, that ground 

 of horror, where, when the order to advance was given, 

 the officers had to charge at the head of their men, not 

 with drawn swords, but with a compass, for not a rod in 

 advance could they see. Yet this region was not always 

 so. Before the war Sussex was a wealthy county; there 

 were many large landholders, who, owning many slaves, 

 raised large crops of cotton, and lived in baronial state, 

 kept open house, lived generously, rode fearlessly, and 

 gave liberally. They were then the keenest, and probably 

 the most accomplished, sportsmen in the world. With 

 horses of the finest strain, dogs of the best breed, and a 

 large pack of hounds, the Virginia gentleman lived an easy 

 and genial life. Much of their time was spent in sporting, 

 and they would take extraordinary pains to protect and 

 multiply the game, and during the sporting season their 

 hospitable doors were thrown wide open and throngs of 

 city huntsmen would assemble to participate in the slaugh- 

 ter of the game. As I sit by the tire and listen to the tales 

 told of the glorious deer drives, the exciting fox chase, and 

 the rollicking coon hunts in those happy ante helium days, 

 I am tempted to wish that, unlike Ponce de Leon, I could 

 find the waters of age, and sitting before , a hickory fire, 

 like an old gentleman I wot of, live in the past, dream of 

 other days, and take no thought of the ills of the present. 

 This place I am writing from, "Tower Hill," used to be 

 a famous rendezvous once for the gentleman sportsmen far 

 and wide. Many a noted statesman and naval officer used 

 to bring their dogs and guns and have rare sport in the vast 

 cotton patches and wheat stubble fields, and the woods and 

 clearings resounded with the loud report of the double-bar- 

 rel, the sharp crack of the rifle, and the stirring blast from 

 the master of the hounds. Alas! all that is changed now! 

 The once well-tilled cotton and wheat fields have grown 

 up again in their primeval wilds; the hospitable mansion, 

 once the picture of comfort, has now gone to wreck and 

 ruin ; the shutters hang by one hinge, and the clap-boards 

 drop off; the stables, once full of garnered grain, now stand 

 with open door, the abode of bats, and the well-kept 

 grounds are grown up in broom sedge. The negro quar- 

 ters, where I remember when a boy seeing the groups of 

 contented slaves basking in the sunshine or dancing by the 

 sound of the banjo on moonlight nights, are falling down, 

 and the roof tree gone, and it only needs an old superan- 

 nuated Uncle Ned to sing in feeble tones the song — 



'"Old times come again no more," 

 to make the scene complete . 



This is the picture of every large estate in this section of 

 Virginia without a single exception. Of course in such a 

 thinly settled and rarely hunted country there must be 

 much game. Well, I assert from actual observation, that 

 there is more game in this section of Virginia than any- 

 where in the Middle States. There are, it is true, many 

 negroes who squat on land and till their small patch of 

 corn and cotton, and all of these have guns, generally an 

 old army musket, and they have pretty nearly thinned out 

 all the turkeys, rabbits, and squirrels, but they do not have 

 a pack of hounds— they cannot afford to keep them— so 

 they cannot drive, and the deer are safe from their hunt- 

 ing. Neither do they possess pointers, and the partridges 

 roam at will undisturbed by the report of a single gun. 

 Speaking of this reminds me to write that there is not a 

 single pointer in Sussex county, and the birds are in pro- 

 fusion. Hook a two hours' hunt yesterday after breakfast 

 in the fields surrounding Tower Hill, and within an area of 

 about one mile found eight large covies. To sportsmen 

 with good dogs, a breech loader, and moderate skill it 

 would be difficult to enumerate the amount of birds that 

 could be killed. I well remember the first partridge hunt 

 I ever took; it was just after the war, and the birds were 

 as tame as barnyard fowls. I had to make my own shot, 

 for I was too poor then to buy any, and my powder I ex- 

 tracted from the last supply of cartridges that the Confed- 

 erate Government ever issued. I had a double barrel, which 

 had been hid beneath the floor during the war, and I rode 

 ten miles to borrow a pointer, who was the only one left in 

 the region, and he could in truth cry out in his dog lan- 

 guage with a melancholy howl — 

 "I am the last of my race, 

 Friends and kindred have I none." 



So I and Stokes started. We soon reached a large field 

 and Stokes pointed. I made him "hie on," and a tremen- 

 dous covey rose up and I banged away with both barrels, 

 hut didn't touch a feather. Loading up I sent my dog on, 

 and before he had gone twenty yards Stokes came to a 

 stand beautifully. I thought, of course, it was a single 

 bird, but instead a whole covey arose with a whirring 

 sound, and the old gun roared out a salute, hut the birds 

 must have been made of cast iron, for not one dropped. 

 Old Stokes, as he trolled off to find the birds, cast back & 

 reproachful look, and I loaded up. This time I increased 

 the charge of shot, and poured a handful of jagged pellets 

 in each barrel. Soon my trusty pointer was standing, over 

 a quarter of a mile away, and going at double quick, I 

 soon had up a fresh covey. This time the gun nearly kicked 

 mv shoulder off; where this immense amount of shot went 

 I can't tell but not a bird dropped, and Stokes deliberately 

 walked off home with utter disgust written in his hanging 

 head and drooping tale. "Well, never mind," I said, "111 

 get my hand in presently, and then I'll kill every bird." 

 There was no need of a dog— the birds were too thick for 

 that-and I fired as fast as I could load. I tried every way; 

 I made snap shots and long shots, cross shots and single 

 shots: I fired with one eye open, then both and finally in 

 desperation I trusted to blind fortune and pulled trigger 

 with both eyes closed tight. Vain hope! Not one bird 

 filled my bag, and I then got superstitious, and feared the 

 devil either was in me or the quail, and that it was useless 

 to shoot anv longer. However I persevered, and late in tne 

 evening, after shooting innumerable covies, I got only one 

 partridge, and he flew against a pine tree and killed himself. 

 The topography of this section is entirely of a fiat coun- 



try, covered by large forests of pine mostly, and a little 

 oak, with' here and there a mill pond of several miles in 

 extent. These ponds are the most desolate, weird, and 

 utterly forlorn places I ever was in. They are the Dismal 

 Swamp over again on a small scale. As you paddle up one 

 you can easily imagine it was a fitting entrance to one of 

 the hells in Dante's "Inferno." The water varies from five 

 to twenty feet, and looks as black as ink. Huge cypress 

 trees raise their gnarled trunks from the water and tower at 

 an altitude of five-score feet. The silence is intense and 

 profound; not a sound breaks the dread stillness, save per- 

 haps the dip of the fish hawk in the unruffled water, or 

 the splash of a sliding turtle in the calm depths. There is 

 good fishing in these ponds in the Summer, both by line 

 and bobbing, for chub. The darkies kill many pike in the 

 moonlight nights by prowling along the shores and cutting 

 them with an old sabre as the fish lie in the shallow water. 

 These mill ponds are surrounded by swamps and lowlands, 

 and it is extremely difficult to reach them on foot. There 

 is no game to be shot within them; they are the haunt of 

 the coot, the crane, and the heron, whose nests can be seen 

 on the tops of the- lofty cypress, and whose shrill cries can 

 be heard as the boats advancing startle them from their 

 patient watch after fish. The wary fish hawk breed in 

 these inaccessible haunts, and turtle known as the snap- 

 ping turtle or "loggerhead" are here in countless numbers. 

 I have counted hundreds ot them basking in the sun on the 

 fallen trees on a Summer day, many of them as large as a 

 bread tray. They can be caught in any quantity by tying 

 to a stout cord of about three feet in length a stout hook 

 baited with a toad frog — that kind of sociable toad which 

 we see at twilight hopping around our houses. Many epi- 

 cures prefer them for soup to the large salt water turtle. 

 In these ponds and marshes are more snakes than the 

 worst patient afflicted with the mania a potu or delirium 

 tremens ever dreamed of. They are as numerous as the 

 turtles, and are the water moccasin; some of them are mon- 

 sters, fully five feet long; every fallen tree is covered by 

 them, and their bright^gleaming eyes are all around you, 

 and their forms are seen glancing in the sunbeams hanging 

 to every bush, and you feel as you paddle up the black 

 waveless waters that you are really in the land of shadows. 

 These swamps were the great rendezvous for the slaves be- 

 fore the war, and many a stolen banquet of hog, hominy, 

 and chickens have they witnessed. In these wildernesses, 

 it is surmised, that the great "Negro Insurrection," organ- 

 ized by Nat Turner in 1833. was concocted. Nat was an 

 ignorant cornfield hand, but he was a fanatic, and so se- 

 cretlv was the plot carried on that not a single suspicion 

 was aroused until the cloud burst, and then Nat, with a 

 score or so of followers, mounted on stolen horses and 

 armed with guns, knives, pitchforks, and scythe blades, 

 commenced their bloody work. Neither age nor sex was 

 spared, and they rode rapidly from house to house commit- 

 ting their murd'erous deeds. Their first check was at the 

 house of Mr. Blount, who was away, but his eldest son, a 

 lad of sixteen years, defended his home and drove off the 

 gang, after killing the leader with a double barrel shot gun, 

 for which gallant act he was presented with a cadetship at 

 the Naval Academy, and rose to the rank of Captain in the 

 United States Navy. Nat Turner was, as I said, an igno- 

 rant slave; the secret of his power was that he was a 

 preacher, and induced the credulous blacks to believe that 

 he had, like Mohammed and the Mormon Smith, received 

 his command direct from heaven, and that his mission was 

 to slay all the whites. Just about that time a most won- 

 derful natural phenomena took place. One night the very 

 heavens seemed ablaze with shooting stars that crossed and 

 recrossed and left long lines of light in their trail; it was, 

 in fact, a great meteoric shower, and Nat told his supersti- 

 tious followers that this was the sign that he was waiting 

 for, and so the insurrection began, in twenty-four hours 

 the' rising was put down, and the actors fleeing for their 

 lives; but several families were massacred, and the country 

 rose as one man. A large reward was offered for Nat Tur- 

 ner, and as he was not seen it was thought he was lying 

 concealed in a swamp. Hundreds and thousands of citi- 

 zens were searching for him night and day, and he was 

 found near his home hid in a cave in the ground. Of course 

 all the conspirators met speedy and prompt punishment. 



There was more excitement over this in Virginia and>in 

 the Southern States than over the John Brown raid. It 

 was thought that this was but the muttering of a tremen- 

 dous storm that was to burst in all the Southern States, 

 and throughout the South for many long days afterward 

 the citizens kept watch and ward over their homes, and 

 mothers pressed their children closer to their breasts and 

 trembled in the night at the bark of a dog or any unwonted 

 noise. This rising took place in Southampton county, a 

 short distance from where 1 write, and around every hearth- 

 stone you will find some venerable member of the family 

 who will Mng the conversation around to the old times of 

 Nat Turner's insurrection, and narrate with never-failing 

 garrulity the traditions of that terrible epoch. The swamps 

 I have described seem a fitting place for the hatchiug of 

 such dark and damnable plot3, more worthy of the bloody 

 and merciless projects than even the wasted heath where 

 the witches met Macbeth. I hope if any sportsman comes 

 in this vicinity he will spend a couple of days in these 

 swamps, especially the Dismal Swamp, and then say if my 

 description is overdrawn. They will doubtless agree with 

 the words of the poet— 



" If there's a place that's hell below, 

 More damned and full of horriiuess, 

 Where devils stay and villains go, 

 That place must needs be this." 



The great sport of this section is deer hunting, and as 

 strange as the assertion may seem, it is nevertheless a true 

 one that there are more deer now than ever before. There 

 are many theories to account for this, but the two princi- 

 pal and certainly the true ones, are that the farmers are 

 too'poor to keep a pack of hounds; nor have they time to 

 hunt them, and then again two-thirds of the cultivated 

 lands have since the war and the emancipation of the slaves 

 been turned out to run wild, for with their limited means 

 and impoverished condition under a new regime the farm- 

 ers have had to concentrate their labor on a limited area, 

 and the land left uncultivated has speedily grown up in 

 nine thickets that are impassable, and in these safe retreats 

 the deer breed and bring forth their young in undisturbed 

 security The country fairly swarms with them. The 

 owner of Tower Hill is Capt. Blow, and he is the only one 

 around here that has a pack of hounds. The Captain used 

 to be an inveterate sportsman in the ante belhcm days, but 

 now he hunts only when out of meat, and generally kills 

 between twenty-five and thirty every season; his porch is 

 covered with scores of anthers, the fruits of his prowess of 



the chase. When he puts his hounds out he is as certain 

 to start a deer as he is to jump a jack rabbit. I went out 

 the other morning to a drive and was placed on a stand 

 alongside a road with a dense pine wood on either side 

 and within one hour four deer were started and crossed the 

 road in plain sight, but too far away for a shot. Waiting 

 on a stand for deer is not my idea of sport, and I infinitely 

 prefer shooting over my pointers, but to those who choose 

 big game let them come up here and hunt with the Captain 

 and they can shoot deer in abundance. The only method 

 ever practiced here is by driving the deer with hounds, and 

 as they either cross the road or river at certain points, the 

 chances are always in your favor of bagging the game! 



Fox chasing is "the sport of this part of the world. Abont 

 Christmas there is a grand meet, and the farmers rendez- 

 vous at some mansion and bring their hounds, and the 

 whole of the holidays are generally spent in this most ex- 

 hilarating sport; it requires the hunter to be well mounted. 

 Capt. Blow has a fine pack, and as I write their lithe, 

 sinewy bodies are stretched arouud the blazing fire, dream- 

 ing probably of many a dashing run. Do dogs ever dream 9 

 I often watch them growling and starting in their sleep, 

 and wonder if the brutes have imagination. Sir Walter 

 Scott, in the "Lady of the Lake," embodies the idea beau- 

 tifully.— 



" The stag houuds, weary with the chase, 



Lay stretched upon the rushy floor, 

 And urged in dreams the forest race 



From Teviot's Stone to E^kdale's Moor.'" 



The gray fox is the most common kind, and they have 

 so increased that they have nearly destroyed the rabbits. 



In the Nottoway River there is an abundance of beaver 

 and otter, and there have been, I am told, no professional 

 trappers in the vicinity for a long time. There is a»fine 

 opening for such a class. 



In conclusion I will say that I have written up this sec- 

 tion just as I found it, and I believe it is the paradise of a 

 ^sportsman who is willing to rough it. Capt. William Blow, 

 whose Post Office address is Littleton, Sussex county, Va., 

 will cheerfully answer all inquiries. He has lived in Sus- 

 sex county all his life, and what he says can be accepted 

 as the frozen truth. The Captain is a genial gentleman, a 

 true sportsman, and a gallant soldier, being a graduate of 

 West Point, and he can probably be induced to take as 

 boarders a few gentleman sportsmen, who either want 

 quail shooting, deer hunting, or fox chasing. The route 

 here is by Petersburg to Stony Creek Station, on the Peters- 

 burg and Weldon Railroad, from there twenty miles by 

 private conveyance. . Chasseur. 



— — • 



Massachusetts Anglers' Association .—The regular 

 fortnightly meeting of this society was held at their rooms, 

 in Boston, on Wednesday evening, 17th inst. The routine 

 business having been attended to, Hon. Daniel Needham 

 addressed the members upon the question and importauce 

 of the inland fisheries. He referred to the fact that there 

 were 200,000 acres of ponds in the State of Massachusetts 

 unprotected which, under the influence of proper protec- 

 tion and cultivation, might be made sources of income and 

 benefit to the people of the State. He urged the impor- 

 tance of educating the people to the fact that there should 

 be a close time during their natural spawning season for 

 all fish, and that during that season they should have the 

 full protection of the law. He believed the work of the 

 association to be an important one, and that it should he 

 their aim so to create public sentiment as to result in the 

 early accomplishment of its worthy objects. A special 

 committee was appointed to appear before 'the Legislature 

 and ask the enactment of laws for the further protection 

 of our fisheries, composed as follows : Hon. Daniel Need- 

 ham, B. P. Ware, and S. W. Hathaway. Remarks were 

 also made by Walter BrackeU, Esq., and others, after 

 which the meeting adjourned. 



. *+*+* 



The Yonkers Game and Fish Protective Society 

 intend, if the citizens of Yonkers give sufficient support, 

 to introduce the artificial culture of fish wherewith to stock 

 the streams and ponds of the country. Permission can 

 without doubt be obtained to stock their reservoirs, when 

 built, and allow fly-fishing therein under certain restric- 

 tions. The fish would also tend to purify the water by re- 

 moving impurities, vegetables or animal, which might 

 otherwise collect. The processes of hatching and rear- 

 ing the fish would also be open to public inspection, af- 

 fording entertainment and instruction. t t 



This is one of the most vigorous and active associations 

 in the country, and is doing much work of real practical 

 value. The Yonkers Gazette, which is edited by one ot its 

 officers, Mr. J. G. P. Holden, lends most efficient aid to 

 their efforts, and should be read by every one in Westches- 

 ter who is interested in Game and Fish Protection. 



Salmon Hatching in Connecticut.— The Westpor 

 Advertiser states that the 500,000 California salmon eggs 

 received at the trout ponds in that town are entirely hate 

 ed out and are looking finely. At other hatching places 

 this country they are very fortunate if they succeea i 

 hatching 60, 70 or 80 per cent., but in Westport more tna 

 95 per cent, of the eggs are hatched and the young try 

 away. These California salmon will be a great succe >. . 

 They are ready to go into the large rivers about the »mia 

 of December. Being placed down in the middle of AY nw > , 

 when all fresh water fish that might otherwise devours 

 young fry are in a state of torpidity, they escape a in 

 sand dangers, and when the warm weather comes they 

 become acclimated and are able to take care of themseiv 

 — *<» »» • — .« 



—A good work has been done the past week by Sbefl 

 Shaffer, in destroying some hundreds of nets and nsn 

 kets on the Susquehanna and Juniata Rivers. 



^ 



