354 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



waning moon— on a high branch — sits the doomed mar- 

 supial, grinning a horribly ghastly smile, which he will 

 wear even after he is baked ; he is clutching the branch 

 with his hand-like paws, and. as Jake says, "Wid his tail 

 wrapped 'round de lim'." "Clime for him, Jacob," says 

 the old man, and Jake, divesting himself of a combination 

 of shreds and patches, which he dignifies by the name of a 

 jacket, ascends into the branches. Instantly all are on the 

 lookout. The dogs, with glaring eyeballs and stiffened 

 sterns, await the fall . The torches are trimmed, and throw 

 out a ruddy light. The boy in the tree commences a vigor- 

 ous shaking, but he has a hard customer to dislodge — 

 holding on as he does with feet and tail. Presently his 

 fore paws are shaken from the branch; still he holds on 

 with his hind ones and his tail; waving to and fro, head 

 down, he holds on, like grim death to a sick nigger; his 

 feet are shaken loose, and still he clings with his tail. The 

 dogs are wild with excitement, and the darkeys capering 

 around, yelling like demons." "Shake him loose, Jake." 

 He gives the branch a sudden jerk, and the varmint, with 

 outstretched legs, comes flying down. Old Bose catches 

 him on the fly, and as Tige makes a grab for him, he closes 

 his jaws on the dog like a steel trap, and holds on like a 

 snapping turtle. 



"Don't let 'em chaw him up," says old Amos, and 

 the 'possum is snatched from the mangling curs. He is 

 seemingly dead, but still smiles and smiles — be he villain 

 or not; but if you should lay him down and go off a 

 few yards, he would be up and off in a twinkling. 

 His tail is now thrust into a cleft stick, and one of the 

 darkies laying it across his shoulders he is borne in triumph 

 at the rear of the procession. 



Such was 'possum hunting in the long ago. Mr. 

 Fifteenth Amendment thinks it infra dig to indulge in such 

 pastimes now. He has to attend "church an' de perlitical 

 meetin's, and call on de cullud ladies." So the opossum 

 is given up to "poor white folks," and a few low-down 

 country niggers. 



I don't know how Mrs. Glass, or Miss Leslie, or Soyer, or 

 Brilliat Savarin would cook a 'possum, but old Aunt 

 Dinah, or Chloe, or Philiis, used to "bake 'em wid 'taters," 

 and I can assure you they were good. Guyon . 



November 20th, 1876. 



For Forest and Stream. 

 SHOOTING AROUND ST. PAUL. 



* ' T X THAT a pity," said my visiting friend Eilburn to 

 VV me, "that you have so far to go for your shoot- 

 ing now; a perfect hunter's paradise this must have been 

 in days gone by, when only Indians pursued the game." 

 "You are quite correct in your remarks," said I, game is 

 becoming scarcer every year in the immediate vicinity of 

 St. PaulT but in spite of all that, what would you say to a 

 little shoot less than a mile from here, at some very fine 

 game, too. I can give you a shot, I think, in less than an 

 hour's time; how would that suit you?" "Nothing would 

 please me better, Z., but I am really afraid you cannot 

 make good your promise," said he, looking out from the 

 windows upon our busy streets. "Leave it all to me," I 

 remarked, "it is now four o'clock, and before five o'clock 

 you shall be gratified in your wish and I make my promise 



good." 



Taking him into my hunting den, for the confusion 

 reigning in my sporting room precludes my calling it by 

 any other title, I bade him array himself in one of my 

 hunting suits and hip boots, while I followed his example. 

 He looked incredulous still, but obeyed with such good- 

 natured alaciity that in five minutes' time we were off, and 

 in another minute were crossing the bridge that spans the 

 "Father of Waters" at this point, and the West St. Paul 

 flats lay before us scarcely a rifle shot distant. While the 

 rattle of teams over the "Nicholson" still rung in our ears 

 I called K's, attention to a distant puff of smoke darting 

 out of a clump of wild rice on the flat; in a moment after 

 the report came clear and distinct, sending a pleasant thrill 

 to our hearts. My companion's face brightened, and he 

 was about to speak to me when my ears caught the sound 

 of wings. From the direction of Pickerel Lake came a low 

 flying flock of mallards, barely clearing the top of the 

 bridge overhead. On the impulie of the moment I sang 

 out sharply, "Mark!" Up went K's. gun. "Don't shoot," 

 I yelled, "you will be hauled up for shooting in the city 

 limits." "Sure enough," said he, looking rather cheap, 

 and taking down his gun, "we are hardly out of your prin- 

 cipal street. What a shame that I could not let them have 

 it," he added, his face flushed with excitement. 



Bidding him be patient and follow me, we struck into a 

 cow path at the foot of the bridge, and leaving the vil- 

 lage of West St. Paul, our sixth ward, on our left we 

 reached a little red cottage from which a hay roa 1 led to- 

 ward the lake. On getting over the bars a boat, mounted 

 midway on two wheels, blocked our paih. 



"If we only had that," said my friend, pointing at the 

 boat "We would be fixed." "You shall have it," I inter- 

 rupted; "it is mine," and taking out my whistle I blew a 

 loud blast. Out of the bottom of the boat from among a 

 pile of decoys, gun and paddles, arose an apparition in the 

 form of Ed., our printer, whom I had sent ahead to save 

 .time and put the boat in readiness. After doing so he laid 

 , down and took a nap. "Behold!" said I to K., "the in- 

 ventor, Eddie S. To him belongs the credit of the con- 

 struction, and to myself and friends the use of this novel 

 craft, which runs on land or water with equal facility." 



Placing our guns and ammunition in the boat to proper- 

 ly balance her, we laid hold and trotted to the water's 

 ©dge; While Ed unshipped and hid the wheels in the wild 



rice, K. and I. launched the boat together. Embarking 

 ■we paddled out into the open lake, and being fairiliar 

 with the different channels through the wild rice, were 

 shortly in position in the narrows, the spot chosen for our 

 evening's shoot. Overboard went the decoys. Ed and I 

 busied ourselves placing them in good position, K. being 

 told to keep his eyes open and mark east, undertook his 

 part with commendable zeal and patience. Though intent 

 upon my work I managed to keep an eye on K., and when 

 I felt him give an excited start I knew what was coming. 

 Bang, bang! went his gun— splash, splash! into the water 

 went a pair of black ducks (Fuligula rufitorgues) throwing 

 the water into my eyes, and fairly blinding me. Through 

 my tears I roared at K., "pull out your watch!" He did 

 so, and it lacked eight minutes of five. From the lower 

 lake there came a scattering volley, and presently it was 

 repeated in our front. I had just time to sing out "Mark!" 

 when the ducks went whizzing by like lightning; a pair 

 fell to K. and myself, while Ed sat in the stern of the boat 

 looking after the flock. 



"Why didn't you shoot?" I queried. "Shoot!" said the 

 astonished and discomfitted boy, scratching his head, 

 "they did not wait long enough." The deepening shad- 

 ows brought the ducks on us. Fast and furious from 

 every point of the compass they whizzed by, every now 

 and then leaving one or more of their numbers behind 

 them, victims to our shots, until the water about us was 

 dotted with our game, and we hastened to retrieve before it 

 became too dark. "Count them," Ed, said K, "as you 

 throw them into the boat." He assorted them as he did 

 so, and the result was as follows: Eleven blacks, five teal, 

 three widgeon, one red head and a spoon-bill, lat and 

 plump all of them, and in the best condition. 



"What wouldn't I give," K. remarked again 8nd 

 again, "to take this bag home with me where we seldom oi 

 never see a duck, and rabbits and grouse claim our atten- 

 tion. If you ever come our way I'll give you a taste of 

 that kind of sport, and if lucky, throw you in the way of 

 a shot at a deer." 



On reaching home, after a hasty tea my friend Ben. W. 

 Kilbum left on the avening train for his home in the 

 White Mountains, where his name is a household word, 

 and his pictures of the rugged hills as much esteemed as 

 heis himself for his many noble manly qualities. May 

 the reader have the pleasure sometime of meeting him. 



Alsace. 



• «+♦♦" 



For Forest and Stream. 

 DUCK SHOOTING ON MOREDOCK LAKE. 



FOR some fifteen years or bo, it has been the wont of 

 your scribe, with four or six choice spirits, all 

 hunters true, and adepts in the use of gun, oar or paddle, 

 when November steps around, to let business and Ls cares 

 wag awhile on their own hook, and skip away to some lake, 

 and enjoy the exhilarating and tonic sport of duck shooting. 

 Hearing that Moredock Lake was brimful of water, and its 

 surface covered with many kinds of wild fowl, and being 

 but twenty-five miles below St. Louis, we concluded to 

 take our outing on its classic banks. Accordingly friend 

 R., self and henchman, acting as vanguard, J. W., N. B., 

 and Col. E, were to join us three day's later. Shipped 

 on board the good packet Emma Elliot at four o'clock, and 

 at seven were safely landed at Harrisonville, were kind 

 friends took charge of us for the night, the next morning 

 forwarding us to our destination— the head of the lake. 

 Arrived at our camping place, our first care was to launch 

 the boats, then pitch tents. In the meantime our cook 

 had started a rousing fire, dressed and cooked a pintail 

 duck, killed by R. irom the waggon as we drove along the 

 edge of the lake, the same shot giving us also a lively mule 

 race of some two hundred yards. Our innerselves and 

 minor details of camp being set to rights, and there being 

 some two hours of daylight left, we took to our boats, and 

 pulled to a bunch of young willow trees that had grown 

 up in mid-lake, forming a splendid natural blind, from 

 which we opened a brisk "feu de joie," as we were shoot- 

 ing for meat; everything in the shape of duck that came, 

 in and out of range, was duly saluted. Night coming on 

 we cried halt, joined boats, took a smile, gathered our 

 birds, then pulled for camp at a racing stroke. I should 

 mention that our boats are rigged with the Lyman patent 

 rowing gear, giving perfect satisfaction in all respects. 

 Three days later our friends joined us, getting all the 

 shooting they could desire, with any amount of fun, 

 frolic, and good health thrown in. The result of our ten 

 day's hunt was three hundred birds thrown across the pole. 

 Moredock precinct, Monroe county, Illinois, in which 

 Moredock Lake lies, has an interesting early history. In 

 1780, Shadrach Bond, with a few Americans, settled in 

 this locality, and gave it the name of American bottom, 

 which it has ever retained. Several forts also were built 

 in this locality, the most noted being Fort Charters, the 

 headquarters of the commandant of Upper Louisiana, at 

 that time the center of business and life in the valley of 

 the Mississippi. The aborigines of the country were the 

 Kaskaskia's, who maintained their foothold long after sun- 

 light had been let into the forest by the clearings of the 

 early settlers. From their tombs and relics found in 

 them, we get some idea of their progress in civilization; 

 the arts and their epoch — the polished stone age. The 

 relics unearthed are, hard limestone hoes, tomahawks, 

 axes of diorite or green stone, arrowheads of flint, cor- 

 nelian spearheads, flint knives, and shell money, or prob- 

 ably medals worn as ornaments, or distinctive marks of 

 individuals. The pottery found are, wide-mouthed jars, 

 small round pots narrow- mouthed, burnt black on the 



under side, the color dark gray, sometimes black, seldom 

 red. Their dead were buried in rude boxes, with bottom, 

 sides and top, of rough slabs of limestone, and but for this 

 fact these souvenirs of an extinct people, probably never 

 would have come under the eye of our modern archaeolo- 

 gists, and a link in human civilizatien. 



To return to our birds. Moredock Lake was so named 

 in honor of Col. John Moredock, a man of great personal 

 merits, a good hunter, crack shot, warm and true friend. 

 The variety of ducks bagged by our party are the following: 

 Scaup, duck (Fuligula mania), hunter's name blue-bill; 

 abundant. G-ad w all (Anas sirepera), gray duck. Widgwon 

 (A. americana), bald pate; Zinzin of Louisiana. Pintail 

 (A. acuta). Green winged teal (A. carolinensis). Shoveller 

 duck (A. elypeatea). Shovel bill duck, micoine, canvas g 

 back (F. xalisneria), largely on the increase in this section 

 since three years. Red head (F. ferina). Golden eye 

 (F. clangula). Black jack, mallard, (A. boschas). Coot 

 (Fulica atra), "poule d'eau." Marsh hen. 



With compliments of the season, and good wishes for 

 the continued success and prosperity of Forest and 

 Stream. ' Toujours, Perdrix. 



8t. Louis, Bee. 28th. 



— ->♦«*- — 



"TOMMY JONESES." 



• ' 



A SKETCH OP THE NEW JERSEY COAST. 



ON a certain Sunday in November I find myself alone 

 in the "setting- room" of a two story frame house 

 situated on the crest of the bleak and desolate stiip of 

 sand known as Long Beach, which, stretching northeast 

 and southwest for twenty miles, saith unto the mighty 

 ocean "thus far and no farther." 



From the balcony I have been watching 1he ships go 

 sailing by "freighted," in the words of the Western rhap- 

 sodist, "with ah, how many hopes, and fears, and longings, 

 and shingles, and petroleum, and tobacco!" Tiring of 

 their protean monotony I have turned my gaze westward 

 to the bay, Egg Harbor Bay, where sit a "power 'o brant" 

 noisily feeding with a manifest sense of security which is 

 very aggravating. The cunning rascals seem to be per. 

 fectly aware that it is Sunday, and that therefore they are 

 safe from molestation. Flesh and blood are weak, co I 

 have removed the temptation from my sight by descending 

 to the sitting room. 



As I said, I am alone; not fr3m choice but from neces- 

 sity. Not a man among my chums could I find who was 

 able to "get away," so I shouldered my number nine, and 

 here I am at "Tommy Joneses" for a week's sport among 

 the wildfowl. Should the reader care to follow me, let 

 him leave the N. J. S. 11. R, at West Creek, and find Job 

 Parker, who will furnish him sneak-box. and stools, take 

 him over to the beach and "gun" for him for $2.75 a day, 

 and earn it, too. Job is a good man, a good honker, and a 

 good shot. 



But where was I? Oh, yes, in the sitting room. Having 

 nothing to do (churches are scarce on the beach), I turn 

 my attention to my surroundings, and find no little food 

 for observation if not f®r reflection. The "setting room" 

 divides the "bar-room, (so called I know not why, for no 

 liquor is sold), from the kitchen. It also does duty as a 

 diniug-room. The floor is covered by a rag. carpet, 

 which in windy weather undulates with every gust that 

 finds its way up through the chinks and rat-holes. Cheap 

 paper of a gaudy and vexatious pattern adorns the walls 

 seamed in regular parallel cracks by the shrinkage of the 

 wide boards which form them, and in putting it on there 

 is displayed a lofty disregard of the exigencies of the 

 figure which redeems it from utter lack of interest. 



Hung here and there, and nowhere straight, are pictures 

 whereof the choice was dictated, let us hope, rather by 

 means than by taste. One of these is a glaring lithograph 

 of our Saviuor, with the subscript "Sacred Heart of Jesus," 

 in English, French and Spanish. A companion picture is 

 supposed to represent the Blessed Virgin, also in three 

 languages, and another, over the title of "The Southern 

 Beauty," is calculated to give the credulous observer very 

 erroneous impressions of the Southern type. Opposite 

 this hangs a work of art entitled "The Watchers," appro- 

 priately, be it observed, from the fact that the little boy in 

 blue and crimson is fast asleep on the doorstep, and the 

 overfed poodle, whose head is twice the size of the boy's, 

 is gazing at nothing out of the corner of his eye with much 

 intensity. The usual family photographs and ambrotypes 

 are placed conspicuously in the best light, and present the 

 several members, together with the uncles, aunts and 

 mothers-in-law, in a number of ingeniously awkward 

 attitudes and uncomfortable positions which, as a rule, 

 show off their hands and feet to the greatest advantage. 



In the centre of the mantlepiece stands the big eight- 

 day clock, nearly touching the low whitewashed ceiling 

 which is merely the floor of the room above. On either 

 end is a gorgeous bouquet of impossible flowers cunningly 

 fashioned of feathers and wool, the like whereof hath 

 never existed, and ranged along are several gilded China 

 motto cups and useless regulation vases. 



The furniture consists of half a dozen painfully new 

 (and hard) wooden chairs and a couple of tables whereon are 

 a few books, not recent and much bethumbed. This library, 

 if not extensive, is select and varied, embracing the "Holy 

 Bible," "Peterson's Magazine," "Pilgrim's Progress," 

 "Herrick's Almanac," and a hymn book. These are the 

 solid volumes, but for light literature we may turn to the 



•'Converted Jewess: A Memoir of Maria ;" or "An 



Account of the Experience of Hester Ann Bogers and 

 Her Funeral Sermon by the Bev, Dr. Cooke." 



