IN EARLY DAYS. 



GEO. IIAYDEN. 



The accounts of " clever boy shooters " 

 interest and please me; for they take me 

 back to boyhood days. 



In 1844 I lived in the Territory of Wis- 

 consin. I was then 8 years old. The only 

 gun our family owned was a little single 

 barrel muzzle-loader. My father often 

 showed me how to handle it. He told me 

 to select some small object, 30 or 40 yards 

 away, and to look straight at it, bringing 

 the gun up at the same time. I continued 

 this practice until the barrel of the gun 

 would come in line with the object the in- 

 stant the gun was at my shoulder. 



I never shot the gun, until one day when 

 my parents were away. Hearing the farm 

 dog running rabbits, in the thickets near 

 the house, I loaded the gun with powder, 

 but there was no shot. 



I found some screws, and put them into 

 the gun, then went to the nearest thicket. 

 Walking along a path, I saw a rabbit com- 

 ing toward me, the dog after it. The rabbit 

 ran past, almost touching me. I turned, 

 brought the gun to my shoulder and fired. 

 One of the screws struck the back of the 

 rabbit's head, nearly taking it off. 



About 2 years after this, a boy visited me. 

 One evening, as we were going for the 

 cows, I asked father to let me take the gun. 

 After we found the cows, we went to a 

 patch of buckwheat, where a single prairie- 

 chicken was flushed. The gun was brought 

 to my shoulder in an instant, and I fired. 

 Down came the chicken. My friend was 

 greatly pleased and said he would drive the 

 cows home and carry the chicken while I 

 hunted. 



I went to another patch of buckwheat on 

 the brow of a hill and looked over. A 

 prairie-chicken stuck up its head. As I 

 fired, a covey rose. I ran into the field 

 and picked up two dead birds. Then I 

 started for home, in a hurry. On going a 

 short distance, I looked back and saw my 

 dog following, with another chicken in his 

 mouth. 



After this the gun was given to me. I 

 have it yet, in good condition. It is a 20 

 gauge, 24-inch stub twist barrel, weight 4 

 pounds, 2^-inch drop, and a good bar lock. 

 When new it cost $25. 



When I could get the ammunition I killed 

 considerable game: pinnated and ruffed 

 grouse, ducks, quails, wild pigeons and rab- 

 bits. It was just the gun with which to 

 shoot ruffed grouse in thickets. 



My mother used to tell me not to kill 

 more game nor catch more fish than we 

 could use, as it was wicked to kill it and let 

 it spoil. Game was plentiful at that time. 

 One day I had no ammunition, and the wild 



pigeons were flying in countless numbers. 

 I had to stand oil a field of corn, just com- 

 ing up, to keep them off. i\ allowed to 

 alight they would pull up acres of the young 

 corn in a few minutes. 



When about 11 years old I had a little- 

 rifle given to me. At every opportunity I 

 practiced, on the same principle as with the 

 gun. At the age of 14 I became quite ex- 

 pert with rifle and gun, but was a surer shot 

 with the rifle, never shooting at the body 

 of game at short range. 



My father used to tell me if I missed 

 twice in succession not to shoot any more 

 that day. It was not easy to get money in 

 those days, so I did not want to waste am- 

 munition. When I was 9 years old, I 

 worked 6 days for a neighbor; driving 2 

 yoke of oxen, breaking ground, and re- 

 ceived a shilling (12^ cents) a day. I in- 

 vested the proceeds, 75 cents, and 10 years 

 later realized enough from this investment 

 to give me a start in life. 



By the time I was 10 years old I had 

 caught a good many small fish but had 

 never taken a pickerel. I wanted to catch 

 one but had no line. One day I asked a 

 neighbor if he would let me have his pick- 

 erel line. He said he would. ' You will 

 find it at Pickerel bay, on Eagle lake, hid- 

 den under a piece of bark." I found it 

 where he said it was. 



I got into a boat and shoved out to a 

 floating bog, where the water was 10 or 12 

 feet deep. My brother, who was with me, 

 was opposed to my trying for pickerel, for 

 there was no chain on the hook, but I was 

 determined. This being my first attempt I 

 could not throw the line far. 



After throwing and pulling in several 

 times, I felt a jerk. I commenced to shake 

 and my knees smote together as the line ran 

 through my hands. I did not wait for the 

 fish to stop, but jerked and pulled until it 

 broke loose. I thought then I never could 

 catch a pickerel. 



My brother did not want me to try again, 

 but I did, and after throwing for some time. 

 I felt another jerk. This time I let the fish 

 run until he stopped. When he started 

 again, I jerked, and pulled him in. He was 

 a large pickerel. I beat him on the head with 

 the anchor stone, until he was dead. Shov- 

 ing the boat to another bog. I began fish- 

 ing again. I saw 2 pickerel run for the bait; 

 one of them got it and ran back under the 

 bog. I waited until the fish moved, then 

 pulled him in. I did not have to throw 

 many times before catching the third. The 

 fish were about equal in size. 



We strung them on a stick, and. partly 

 carrying, partly dragging, got them home. 



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