Terms, Four Dollars a Year. J 

 Ten Cents a Copy. ) 



NEW YORK, THURSDAY, AUGUST 31, 1876. 



( Volume 7, Number 4. 



> 17 Chatham St. (City Hall Sqr.) 



For Forest and Stream. 



\obVn ^zhnd iq Rummer. 



* 



Standing beside the sea I said, 



"Oh, sea! and billows blue 



Its time to shoot the sad bay-bird, 



The snipe anu shy curlew."— After Tennyson. 



IT is about this time that those who call themselves 

 sportsmen are furbishing up their guns, buying their 

 ammunition, and making up their plans for the summer 

 shooting, and I know your readers will thank me for 

 sketching a route which is not so very distant that some 

 cannot find their way to the place I am writing of, and 

 where those who delight in true sports — the devotees of the 

 rod or the gun, can find good fishing and gunning to their 

 heart's content. A score or so of years ago, there lived an 

 ancient mariner, named Cobb, who, like Kingsley's "Three 

 Fishers," fished for a living, and also unpoetically caught 

 crabs and hooked oysters to fill the hungry mouths at 



home. 



"For men must work, and wives must weep, 

 For there's little to earn and many to keep, 



And the harbor bar is moaning." 



There was a small sand bank off the coast about eighteen 

 miles from Cape Charles which lay in the midst of the 

 bleak ocean, and the fishermen desirous of building a log 

 cabin upon it, and having a place for his nets and boats, 

 found out the owner and offered to buy it. The bargain 

 was quickly made, and the price paid was a mere song— a 

 few sacks of salt and $20, I believe. Mr. Cobb put up 

 his humble dwelling, and soon found that his investment 

 was a good one; such profusion of fish, oysters and clams 

 was nowhere to be found, and he steadily added to his gains. 

 And now a singular and wonderful change took place — his 

 bank began to grow perceptibly larger day by day and 

 hour by hour; as it by magic the area of the place in- 

 creased, and insatiable Ocean, who often swallows up so 

 much of our treasure and precious wealth, being in a gen- 

 erous mood, now gave a royal gift to the simple fisherman, 

 even as the genii in the Arabian Nights tales gave to the 

 caster of nets— Abou Hassan. In a few years the barren 

 flat was changed into a firm solid island of such varied 

 attractions that a king might covet it, a miniature 

 principality set, as it were, daintily in the blue ocean, 

 where trees spread their waving branches, flowers grow, 

 and birds sing— a thing of beauty, as grateful to the sight 

 of the storm-tossed mariner as ever the green oasis to the 

 view of the desert traveler who has lost his way amid the 

 sea of sand. On the spot where the log cabin was built 

 twenty years ago there now stands a hotel and many cot- 

 tages, and from being merely a fishing station Cobb's Island 

 has grown to be a famous sea-side resort, and a spot where 

 the votaries of the rod and gun can find more sport than 

 any other place in a thousand miles around . To a person 

 fond of the grand in nature it is an endless pleasure to re- 

 main here and watch the ocean in all its changing moods. 



In the rear of the island are numerous fiats, shoals and 

 mud banks through which the sea forces its way. These 

 flats extend sixteen miles from the mainland, and are 

 marked in the chart as the "Broadwater." They belong 

 to the State of Virginia. At high tide most of these flats 

 are covered by the sea, and are totally submerged by the 

 rising waters; as the tide ebbs they are left high and dry. 

 It is on these shoals that oysters and clams are taken in 

 uncounted numbers, there being some 400 men in and 

 around the island engaged in that traffic, these bivalves are 

 nearly all sent to the New York market. When the tide 

 ebbs and these flats are left dry the oystermen land and 

 simply gather them up in baskets, and they say the supply 

 is inexhaustible. It is on these places also that the curlew, 

 willet and snipe are shot, and often these flats are literally 

 alive with them; along these creeks and channels that King 

 of water fowl, the brant, congregates, and its feeding 

 grounds, in the fall are immediately around the island. 



"Old man Cobb," as he is called— the founder of this 

 place — is a weather-beaten, time-hardened, and salt-pre- 

 served old fellow of some sixty or seventy winters. He is, 



of course, a thorough seaman, and what he don't know 

 about fishing and gunning isn't worth considering. He 

 has done what every good father ought to do, made his 

 property over to his sons, three in number, and has reserved 

 only a small slice for himself. He amuses himself by sail- 

 ing his boat, smoking his pipe, and telling long forecastle 

 yarns about the times he has had, and the things he has 

 seen. His three sons run the island, and are running it as 

 a green engineer runs an old rickety train en the down 

 grade, with all the steam up and the brakes open. Warren, 

 the oldest, is a rough ana ready fellow — kindhearted and 

 jovial, fond of his grog and his pipe. He is the best pilot 

 on the coast, and knows these dangerous shores better than 

 the nautical chart. He is very liberal, rather different 

 from his brothers, who, unlike Banquo's ghost, all have 

 speculation in their eyes. Warren, a second edition of Mark 

 Tapley, give him two pulls at your pocket flask, and like a 

 jolly sea-dog that he is, he will take a long and a strong 

 pull together; then let him light his old briarroot and 

 take the tiller of his little craft, and the waves may dash 

 madly against his boat and "the winds blow until they 

 have awakened death" without affecting his spirit or vex- 

 ing his soul. If you go to the island get Warren as your 

 guide. He is not only an entertaining companion, but 

 very reasonable in his charges, and don't go for your last 

 cent like some other guides I wot of. Nathan, the second 

 son, is quiet and taciturn, but is a thorough sportsman and 

 a crack shot. Albert is the youngest, and runs the island 

 as a watering place, assisted by Mr. Segar. Albert has the 

 brains of the family, and if his liberal, far-seeing policy js 

 carried out Cobb's Island will in a few years be matchless 

 as a sea side resort. 



I cannot resist saying a word about the great abuses that 

 exist and that are patent to every guest, being particularly 

 hard upon the sportsman. In the first place, the price 

 charged visitors is entirely too high, being the same as at 

 the White Sulphur Springs and other first-class resorts 

 where they have superb music, drives, promenades, 

 daily mails, telegraph wires, elegant ballrooms and a 

 perfect cuisine; there are none of these at "C®bb's." If 

 the price was reduced from $60 to $40 per month it would 

 treble the number of guests. But the crying evil is the 

 wrong inflicted on the sportsman; he is turned over to the 

 tender mercy of the guides, a class who live by mild 

 extortion. When you start out to shoot birds you fur- 

 nish your own gun and ammunition, then you pay $2 to 

 the guide for his services, and worse than all, after killing 

 the birds you actually have to give one- half of them to 

 the guide. Such a course is well calculated to kill the 

 goose that lays the golden egg, and but few sportsmen can 

 stand the drain. The fishing and shooting in and around 

 the island is all that the heart could wish for, and in such 

 a variety and abundance that it is intensely exciting. 

 Those who love fishing can pull up fish as fast as they can 

 drop their lines. Each season has its particular kind of 

 game. In August curlews, willets and graybacks (a kind 

 of snipe) abound. At low tide the sportsman takes his 

 position concealed in a blind, which is rudely made of 

 bushes, and generally constructed on the highest point of 

 the flats; wooden decoys are then placed about thirty 

 vards from the blind. As the tide rises it covers the feed- 

 ing ground of the birds and they fly back where the 

 ground is higher, seeing the decoys, and hearing the 

 answering Cry they swoop downward — but rarely alight — 

 and all the shots must be taken on the wing. It is aston- 

 ishing to note from what a long distance they can be lured 

 to the decoys; sometimes they are but a speck in the air 

 when the guide whistles, and they almost always answer 

 the signal. As the waters advance the birds fly thick and 

 fast, and you can shoot as fast as you can slip shel's into 

 your breech-loader. It is glorious sport, the advancing 

 waters silently cover the green sward, and steal around you, 

 covers your feet, your ankles, rises to your knees, but you 

 heed it not, for the birds now swarm around the decoys, 

 and you drop them every time you pull the trigger, and 

 are totally oblivious of everything else in the world; and 

 not until th.e water laps the very seat you are sitting on 



do you think of resting, and then you wander to your boat, 

 your cartridge bag empty and your game-bag full. 



I spent a day at Monken Island, about six miles from 

 Cobb's. It hardly merits the name of island, for it mostly 

 comprises sea meadows which are under water at high 

 tide— it has a few acres of firm land, where large and 

 bushy pines grow. This is the famous breeding place of 

 the great sea crane, and their numbers beat anything I 

 ever dreamed of. In one tree I counted twelve nests, and 

 the young cranes were as thick on the tree as turkeys on 

 their resting places. They were around you by hundreds, 

 and so fearless that you could approach within ten feet of 

 them; and, after knocking one or two of them over, you 

 stop firing. Some of them are as thin as the Irishman's 

 turkey, but are very tall, frequently four and five feet high. 

 The willets breed at this place too, and the young ones 

 can be seen running in every direction. 



About ten or twelve miles from Cobb's is another island, 

 known as Hog Island, where the great lighthouse stands. 

 This island is much larger than any other on the "Broad- 

 water," containing some 1,500 acres. This island is not a 

 gift of Old Neptune. It has on it some ancient log houses, 

 over a century old, and has a superb forest of immense 

 trees. The lighthouse stands on a promonitory fronting the 

 ocean, and from its top a splendid view can be had. As far 

 as the eye can reach, it can see nothing but the wide waste 

 of waters bounded by the horizon — "bridal of the sea and 

 sky." The white- capped waves sparkle in the sunlight, 

 and off on the right you watch the dash of the billows 

 against the rocks, where the breakers and the white spray 

 rise high in the air. One never gets tired of watching 

 nature in her varying beauty ; the mighty ocean in her 

 gentlest moods. The surf mourning softly against the 

 beach, and even the roar of the breakers, come to the ear 

 mellowed by the gentle winds, and as softly as the memory 

 of a dream. Then the ships, those freighted argosies, out- 

 ward bound, the snowy sails gleaming against the far blue 

 sky like the wings of the sea gulls. The people of Hog 

 Island number, all told, some seventy souls, all of whom 

 are wreckers and fishermen — a class of humanity different 

 from what we see in our every day world, rough, uncouth, 

 and uneducated, but honest and hospitable. The prevail- 

 ing genius, oracle and general authority, is old Aunt 

 Harriet, and it is worth sailing twenty miles any day to 

 meet her. Those disciples of Lavater who believe in 

 physigonomy being the index of character, would find in 

 an acquaintance with this old woman a hard argument 

 against their creed. No frightened children who were 

 hushed into a shuddering silence by the wind, or strange 

 tales of the nursery-maid, ever imagined the face of an 

 ogress or warlock more fearful than hers; the forehead is 

 low, the eyes of a dark green, protruding from her head; 

 her nose flat, with wide open nostrils, and her mouth 

 cruel and savage looking, occupied half of her face, and is 

 garnished with teeth as large as those of a two-year ojd 

 colt. The countenance is that of a wolf, and her short, 

 squat body, completes the illusion. She is for all the 

 world like the Weir Wolf, with the grandmother's night- 

 cap on, who lay covered up with bed clothes when littl e 

 Red Riding Hood came home from her errand. Yet, look- 

 ing so bad, no more kindly heart ever beat than Aunt 

 Harriet's, and she probably never made an enemy in her 

 life; and were I to fall sick in a strange place, I know of 

 no one whom I would rather be tended by than the old 

 woman of Hog Island. The Ashing there is far superior 

 to that at Cobb's Island, but the hunting is inferior. 



I will end my letter by giving you the seasons for game 

 and the general average for one year at Cobb's Island: — 



Brant are shot in November and December; average 

 for a gun, 40 to 60. 



Bay -birds and snipes, October; 30 to 50 to a gun. 



Curlews and willets, October; 25 to 40 to a gun. 



Black ducks, October; 20 to 30 to a gun. 



Red breast snipe; 75 to 140 to a gun. 



Wild geese, December; 6 to 10 to a gun. 



Among the yachts that annually visit Cobb's Island to 



