THE AMERICAN SPORTSMAN'S JOURNAL. 



[Entered According to Act of Congress, in the year 1879, by the Forest and Stream Publishing Company, in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington 



NEW YORK, THURSDAY, JULY 8, 1880. 



CONTENTS. 



answers to Correspondents ,.,, 453 



Archkry :— 

 Tournament of the Michlg-au State AsBOoiation 462 



Orickkt:— 

 Matches and News Notes 4(K) 



Editorial:— 

 Tim FortEsi A.ND STREAM Award; Indian Curiosities ; Sum- 

 mer Woodcock Shootui«-: Vulu's Victory j The Team 

 Abroad; Te.vu? Jack ; I'on cspondenoe : Studies in Alaskan 

 Natural History 454 



Fisn Cultckk.— 

 The llerliu International Fishery Exhibition 450 



Game Hao and Gun :— 

 The •• Blood Snuffers' Corner ; " Maine Shooting ; New Jersey 

 Quail Shooting-, A Tann: WooJcock , Minnesota; Cali- 

 fornia ; Shooting- Matches - 450 



Game Protection.-— 

 Migratory Quail; English Pheasants 455 



The Kenned :— 

 Our Friend the Water Spaniel ; Mr. Godeffroy's Reply ; News 

 Notes , 453 



MrSOtLLANV :-- 

 A Relic of Waterloo ; Three Weeks in the Woods 447 



N A TIT R A L 1 1 ISTO RT :— 



Do Srinkcs Hiss? Man-eating- Sharks ; Winter Pelage of Le- 

 $09 Campestria 449 



PtiBUSBtms' Department 453 



The Bzinas— 



Range aud Gallery; The Trajectories of Sporting Rifles 458 



Sea and Hiver PrsHraa J— 

 Tront Fishing In Oregon; A Note from Nessmuk: Pike 

 County Re-sorts ' 451 



Tacbttno and Canoeing:— 



"■' : Vacht Club; The Polynia 459 



JJ ffelic of ^^Ut[loo, 



m — 



" Some Guns I Hare Owned."-S-r. Clair. 



FOR the amusement of the readers of the Forest and 

 STREAM each ought to contribute occasionally a 

 song, a story, or a toast ; something that will lead us 

 back to our boyhood's thoughtless, happy days ; to the 

 times when a gun— no matter how ancient or ugly — was 

 a gun, and we rejoiced hi the ownership thereof ; and I 

 am fully satisfied that nearly every reader of your far- 

 reaching paper can look back with a certain amount of 

 pleasure to the time when he shouldered his first gun 

 and went forth to frighten every cow-boy, bird and 

 beast in the country side. 



Alter reading St. Clair's experience with his pot-metal 

 gun, and enjoying a good hearty laugh at the mishaps of 

 the darkey and the ducks, I leaned back in my rocker and 

 fell into h sweet reverie, retracing life's checkered path- 

 way until I reached my boyhood— there I handled anew 

 my first gun, climbed the heath-covered hills of my na- 

 tive land, scented the sweet perfume of the broom, the 

 heatherbell and the hawthorn, heard the warbling notes 

 of the lintey and the thrush as I wandered amidst the 

 whins and the brackens, or watched for the rabbits and 

 I he hares amongst the bent hills; in fact found myself 

 in the midst of the scenes of my youth, and the central 

 figure around which all clustered was my first, my bent 

 gun. It is the awakening of such memories as these 

 that endear the Forest and Stream to its thousands of 

 readers in this and the mother country. 



Born in the Highlands of Scotland, an only son, and 

 the almost constant companion of a doting grandfather, 

 who was chief forester, or, as the tenantry usually 

 called him, "head gamekeeper," on the estates of Lord 



M , in the North of Scotland, under whose guiding 



hand I drew my first inspiration and love for the gun 

 and the field, how often I have watched the well- 

 trained dogs, heads erect, quartering the ground, then to 

 a stanch point, then the flush, and the old gentleman 

 dropping brace after brace until Simms, the under 

 keeper, would grunt under the load. Then, returning to 

 the castle at evening, grandfather would doff his flask 

 and pouch, throw them across my shoulders, hand me his 

 gun, and I would follow Simm3 to the gun-room as 

 Ltd as if 1 had been the huntsman of the day. I had 



often begged to be permitted to carry an old double- 

 barrel flint-lock that stood at one end of the gun-rack 

 unused, but without success, and 1 became impatient un- 

 der the restraint, I must have a gun, must learn how to 

 shoot ; so I put my wits to work to accomplish that end. 



In the village lived an old pensioner, Sergt. Doug- 

 lass, who had served in the Forty-second Highlanders 

 through the Napoleonic wars, and was discharged on ac- 

 count of three wounds received at Waterloo. I was a 

 great favorite with this old soldier, and, when not in the 

 field or at school, I could be found stretched on the grass 

 in front of his cottage, he, with an old musket across 

 his lap, tell me thrilling stories, of the scenes he had 

 passed through, Waterloo was the pride and glory 

 of the old hero's life ; there he would sit for hours, 

 describing the battle, and the prominent part his regi- 

 ment took in it, how the French horsemen would 

 ride up within a few feet of the square, and by 

 squadrons fire their pistols at the infantry, trying to 

 make a gap through which they could spring to cut 

 down the regiment, but with but little effect, as the men 

 would close up the gaps as fast as made, knowing that 

 then- safety and existence depended on keeping a close 

 front. Then the bugle would sound the retreat, and the 

 regiment open up, fire one volley, when back the French 

 would come in full charge to find the squares reformed 

 to receive them. How at the end of one of those fierce 

 charges the Duke of Wellington rode up to the Forty-sec- 

 ond, and pulled the star from his breast, threw it in the 

 square, telling them they deserved to wear it better than 

 he. How the old veteran's eyes would sparkle,and his bent 

 figure become erect as he would tell of the last charge of 

 the "Old Guard," led by Marshal Ney, how the Iron Duke 

 sat camly on his horse behind the Highland Biigade 

 which held the center, watching the approach to the 

 flower of the French army, led by their bravest general, 

 while the French cannon, concentrated on the devoted 

 Highlanders,plowed broad furrows through every exposed 

 part as they lay flat on their faces awaiting the dreaded 

 encounter. And when the head of the column, led by Ney, 

 began to climb the ridge behind which the allied lines lay, 

 Wellington gave the never to be forgotten order " Up 

 Guards, and at them." Then the old war-worn hero would 

 spring from his chair, grasp the old musket, go through 

 the motion of loading and firing, until when his strength 

 was exhausted he would stop breathless and press his 

 right side on the spot where the third French bullet had 

 entered and prostrated him to the ground. How little 

 did I think, while listening to the old soldier, that I, too, 

 would pass through a fearful conflict, in a distant land, 

 in defense of the flag of my then unknown, but now 

 dear adopted countiy. 



After one of these evenings, I proposed to purchase the 

 old musket, offering all my wealth — live shillings. The old 

 man shook his head ; he would not sell. After a long si- 

 lence he said : ' ' My son, I am growing old and have no chil- 

 dren. If you will promise me chat you will never disgrace 

 your flag, or bring discredit on your country, my old com- 

 panion is yours as a gift." The promise was given, and, I 

 trust, thus far faithfully kept, the musket placed in my 

 hands : four feet and a half of it was an inch in length ! 

 fifteen pounds of it was an ounce in weight ! sixty-two 

 caliber of it was a hair breadth ! and as to the lock, once 

 a flint, now a percussion, it was the very embodiment of 

 soudity and strength. 



My eyes opened to their fullest extent ; I wa3 the 

 owner of a gun, but such a gun 1 I could scarcely carry it. 

 1 stammered out a thanks and started off, the undisputed 

 owner of a gun ' 'to have and to hold " (St. Clair, is that quo- 

 tation right ?), but afraid to carry it home. After thinking 

 it over, 1 resolved to take Simms into my confidence, and 

 went to his lodge and handed him my prize. He, after 

 inspection, said : " Why, Alec, this is Old Waterloo." 

 After a parley she was placed in the gun-rack. I slept 

 but little that night, thinking how I could lighten my 

 gun, A. happy thought struck me ; I would cut. her oil, 

 and with that purpose I was at the gun-room bright and 

 early, just as Strums was started on his morning rounds. 

 He left me in possession of the gun tools. I took the 

 musket to pieces — a big job — measured twenty-eight 

 inches, and with a file cut the barrel olf ; cut two inches 

 from the end of the stock, aud shortened it to one foot in 

 front. This had taken me the greatest portion of the 

 day. I had forgotten ail about dinner. Grandfather, 

 who had been searching for me, dropped into the gun- 

 room. He picked up the barrel, looked at it, then at me, 

 while a dark frown gathered on his face. He then took 

 up the stock : the frown grew deeper and darker I 

 moved toward the door. At length he placed the barrel 

 in the stock, raised the piece to his shoulder several 

 times, and slowly a pleasant smile took the place of the 

 frown and I waB safe. He said : " W-e-1-1, go on, you 

 will have a gun after a while," then left me. 



Next day Simms proposed to go to the blacksmith with 

 me to have a thimble and a catch for the barrel put on, 

 which was done, and the mainspring weakened and tube 

 filed down to fit a common cap. I iound an old ramrod, 

 which took the place of the iron one, and after a 

 week's rasping and scraping I brought the stock down to 

 reasonable proportions, and finally ended by having a 



short, heavy, compact gun, that fitted my shoulder to 

 perfection. Simms was my instructor. I was an apt 

 scholar, and was soon at liberty to enter the rookery, 

 where I could shoot crows to my heart's content, but I 

 was denied the fields under the plea that I would frighten 

 off the partridges. 



This was my first gun, and many were the hares, 

 rabbits and birds that bit the dust before it. I hava 

 owned and do own some fine guns, but not one of them 

 could or can throw the shot further, harder, or closer, 

 and not all of them put together can awaken such pleas- 

 ant memories as dear " Old Waterloo." 



Toward Christmas I had to return home. Major Cum- 

 mons Gordon owned a fine estate a few miles northwest 

 from Elgin, known as Rosevalley, well stocked with small 

 game. It was a custom of the Major to give his tenan- 

 try each year one week's hunt, between Christmas and 

 New Year's day ; a custom by the way that every landed 

 proprietor in Great Britan would do well to adopt, as it 

 would draw their tenants closer to them and make them 

 their friends, and would be the means of preserving much 

 game now destroyed ; while the amount that they would 

 shoot would be but small, as none of the farmers are ex- 

 pert shots. I had looked forward to this annual, hunt with 

 much anticipated pleasure. I was on the ground early. 

 Mr. Finley, the local keeper, assigned me with George 

 Hutchenson. John Laing, Eric Grag, John Hutchensou 

 and James Forsyth. We started from the bridge between 

 the plantations at the outlet, thence through the whins 

 to the " Clarkley knows," thence east along the hills to- 

 ward the "Old Granary," th-mce through the Charles- 

 ton farm to the starting point ; a circuit of about five 

 miles. 



We formed an open skirmish line, preceded by a lot of 

 cur and colley dogs and followed by a " drop shot gang " 

 — St. Clair must excuse me for drawing on him — bent on 

 seeing the sport. Hares and rabbits were plenty, and 

 my companions kept up a constant fusilade, bringing 

 down no game however. I kept my place inline; Old 

 Waterloo looked her best, but saying nothing. We had 

 climbed half way up the face of the knows, when a large 

 hare started down to the left of the line, makiug straight 

 for the hill, as hares always do, running the gauntlet of 

 four guns, which were duly discharged at it without ef- 

 fect. As it passed in front of my stand, some forty 

 yards distance, my eye caught the springing object ; I 

 raised Old Waterloo and fired ; the hare doubled up and 

 lolled like a wheel for twenty feet, when it fell dead; the 

 dogs barked, the boys shouted and the men gathered to 

 see the dead with as much interest as if it were a grizzly 

 bear. They looked at me and at my gun in wonderment. 

 Perhaps I was not the proudest being on that bill. It 

 was the first thing killed by me on the run, and I was 

 happy, and I think of it even to-day with pleasure. 



A new start was made. During the afternoon I got 

 a fair shot at a partridge on the wing and dropped it. 

 That made me the hero of the day. Toward evening we 

 reached the bridge, the game was counted and I was the 

 only person who had killed two. The grand hunt was 

 wound up by a big supper and a dance at the " Old 

 Granary," to which I had the pleasure of escorting Miss 

 Annie it., a spruce little maid of some twelve summers, 

 and the belle of the valley ; this as a reward for success 

 on my first grand field day. Can I ever forget it, or the 

 clumsy old gun that I carried ? Never while memory' 

 holds its sway. Cape Rock. 



Cape Girardeau, Mo. 



THREE WEEKS IN THE WOODS. 



THREE eventful weeks had Dornas and I passed in 

 the wilderness. Like hoys we had roamed and 

 revelled in the wild woods, gaining stores of strength 

 and health from the clear balsamic air, the pure spring 

 water and our close contact with nature primeval. 



Comfortably domiciled at "Uncle Tom's Camp"— lo- 

 cated near the shore of a beautiful forest-bound lake — we 

 had taken it in an easy sort of way : exploring, collect- 

 ing, hunting and fishing, as the mood suited, making 

 daily excursions, whatever the weather, and nights we 

 " slept the sleep of the weary." 



Nowaday devoted to botanizing, when numberless 

 specimens of the charming boreal flora would be col- 

 lected, followed by an evening's work in analysing and 

 in " putting to press " the rare species. The next a long 

 tramp through the tangled forest, piloted by Edward, 

 the. best of guides, to a secluded mountain stream, still 

 inhabited by that always interesting animal, the beaver, 

 finding astonishing evidences of their strength and sa- 

 gacity in the extensive "cuttings," curious houses and. 

 succession of strongly-built dams, which met our view, 

 a sight vouschafed to but few sportsmen of the present 

 day and soon to be a thing of the past. 



Ornithology claimed a share of our time, as a list of 

 over seventy species of birds seen and carefully iden- 

 tified will testify. Dornas spent many anxious hours in 

 perfecting this list, and many more in patiently prepar- 

 ing and preserving the skins of sundry strange looking 

 fledglings, which will doubtless receive proper attention 



