A CRUISE BEYOND SUNDAY. 



HARRY M. EVANS. 



I have been a lover ot gun and rod as 

 long as I can remember, dating back to the 

 days when clouds of wild pigeons darkened 

 the sky during their morning and evening 

 flights. I used to run away from school 

 and follow a market hunter day after day 

 through the beech woods of Hardin coun- 

 ty, Ohio, to carry the game and get licked 

 at night when I went home. I was a 

 proud boy when I got my first gun — an 

 old army musket. It would make more 

 noise, kick harder and kill less than any 

 other gun in the world, but I loved it while 

 it lasted. 



In 1879 failing health sent me to the 

 Western plains and mountains. I spent 2 

 years roaming with experienced com- 

 panions in that land of game. I have also 

 hunted and fished in Canada and North- 

 ern Michigan. 



In 1885 I was permanently injured while 

 hunting in Pennsylvania. Since then I 

 can not tramp the woods, and now indulge 

 only in such sport as fishing or shooting 

 from a boat or blind. I also practice taxi- 

 dermy for pleasure and in order to have a 

 collection of my own. 



Reduced, as I have said, to boat shoot- 

 ing, and seeking a new field, I determined 

 to spend the winter of '94 in Florida and 

 add some new birds to my collection. I 

 went to St. Andrews bay, on the North- 

 west coast, on January 1st, chartered a 

 sloop and outfitted a party of 6. We 

 cruised the various arms of St. Andrews 

 bay. Crooked Island sound and St. Joseph 

 bay. Black bass were abundant in the 

 fresh water lakes, and sea trout and 

 sheepshead in the bay and bayous. There 

 were deer and turkeys in the woods 

 ashore. St. Joseph bay was a fine place 

 for gathering shells, and I brought home 

 several barrels. 



This first winter's sport was so delight- 

 ful that I spent 3 winters there. I decided 

 to cruise the entire West coast of Florida, 

 and in 1896 had a boat built at St. Andrews 

 expresslv for the cruise and outfitted 

 there. Our boat was only 27 feet long, all 

 cabin, and jigger rigged; made for safety 

 rather than speed. The trip is long and 

 dangerous, but a most delightful one. 

 None but experienced sailors should at- 

 tempt it. We had many narrow escapes 

 from wreck, and once nearly starved. 



On that occasion I indulged in a pot 

 shot which under other circumstances 

 might have classed me as a game hog. At 

 Hunter's pass, a few miles below Tampa 

 bay, we were held 4 days by a fearful storm 



which made it impossible to move. We 

 were out of provisions and could not re- 

 stock until we reached Tampa. On the 

 evening of the 4th day the wind died out 

 entirely. I was sitting on the cabin gazing 

 over the water, when suddenly I saw a 

 buck walk out on the beach. He was 

 about 300 yards away and evidently had 

 not seen us. All was excitement on board; 

 we were hungry and wanted meat. Four 

 of us dropped into the skiff and pulled 

 ashore in a little cove out of sight of the 

 deer. Two went ashore to stalk the game, 

 while the mate and I pulled back up the 

 beach in the opposite direction. We rowed 

 in among the numerous little mangrove 

 islands, and stopped under some over- 

 hanging boughs, waiting for a shot at 

 ducks. None came within range, how- 

 ever, and we were on the point of return- 

 ing when a whizzing sound overhead 

 caused me to look up. There, about 40 

 yards away, was a perfect cloud of shore 

 snipe settling on a bar. I was hungry and 

 desperate, and regardless of sporting 

 ethics, I cut loose with a single charge 

 of No. 6's. When the flock left we picked 

 up 73 snipe. I was a little ashamed of this, 

 but the other boys did not get the deer, 

 and so no one reproached me for the 

 slaughter. 



The mate and I had congratulated our- 

 selves as we rowed back, that we could 

 have a big feast on Sunday, which we 

 were almost certain was next day. We 

 were to have fried snipe for breakfast, pot- 

 pie for dinner, and cold snipe for supper. 

 When we tossed the pile of snipe on deck 

 we laid our Sunday programme before the 

 crew. 



Captain Hand asked. "When is Sun- 

 day?" 



Grizzly Hank said he thought it was day 

 before yesterday. Sam was certain it was 

 day after to-morrow. Pilot Billy Out ton 

 said he didn't remember having seen a 

 Sunday for 2 weeks. We at lasl decided 

 to ask the captain of a boat lying near by. 

 When we propounded our question the 

 old fellow looked first at hi- wateli ami 

 then at the sun. Then he said: 



"Well. I'm a stranger in these part- and 

 hardly feel safe in saying. If- my im- 

 pression, though, that this is Sunday, for 

 my mate shifted his shirt to-day for the 

 first time this change <>' moon " 



So we had to do without a Sunday until 

 we got to Tampa: but we decided, unani- 

 mously, that any day was good enough for 

 eating snipe. 



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