SPORT IN CUBAN HILLS. 



A. AGRAMONTE, M.D., 

 Acting Assistant Surgeon, U. S. A. 



After the surrender of Santiago, my 

 duties in the army at the front were of such 

 a nature that they permitted me some rec- 

 reation now and then, and certainly an early 

 morning hunting trip never interfered with 

 them. My laboratory was located at Fir- 

 meza, a town of perhaps 60 houses, about 

 4 miles from Siboney, Santiago Province, 

 in the depths of the Juragua mountains, a 

 chain of hills extending 30 or 40 miles East 

 ■of Santiago City. 



When I had barely got settled in my 

 temporary quarters, I was informed that 

 guinea-hens were running wild through the 

 cocoa-nut groves, in flocks of 100 or 200 

 sometimes; and that a peculiar kind of 

 snipe was plentiful along the river Carpin- 

 tero, especially near its mouth, although 

 many had been frightened away since the 

 arrival of the Americans, who shot all the 

 time and at everything that looked like fresh 

 meat. 



At Siboney, or in fact, all along the coast 

 for miles in either direction, wild doves, a 

 grayish brown species, are found in flocks 

 of 8 or 10. They feed on coast-grapes 

 and seeds, which grow in great profusion 

 on the coral rocks. There is another com- 

 mon species which the Cubans call ali blanca, 

 white winged, but this is found more often 

 in the valleys away from the sea and in 

 small numbers. Deer are to be found in 

 the higher mountains in the interior of 

 Cuba, and have increased in numbers dur- 

 ing the 3 years of war. It appears that the 

 insurgents have not hunted them for fear of 

 attracting attention, or for want of am- 

 munition. 



Several times, during my stay of 6 weeks, 



1 saw deer browsing on short grass near 

 the mountain tops. On one occasion, 

 through a field glass, I saw 3 deer less than 



2 miles away, quietly feeding along the side 

 of a mountain. Unfortunately for me and 

 fortunately for the deer, my duties pre- 

 vented a protracted stay away from head- 

 quarters, or I should have endeavored to 

 study the effect of Mauser or Krag-Jorgen- 

 sen bullets on their bodies. I neverthe- 

 less shot small game, and several times 

 went into the woods in the early morning, 

 searching for guinea-hens or doves with 



varying success. I particularly remember 

 a day in August. 



We started, my orderly and I, when the 

 sun had barely kissed the summit of La 

 Gran Piedra (Great Rock), the highest 

 mountain in that part of the country. I had 

 procured an old La Fouchet shot gun, from 

 a dealer in Santiago, and my companion 

 had borrowed one of English make from a 

 native in the neighborhood. The foliage 

 was wet with the heavy dew of the night 

 and every contact was extremely disagree- 

 able. We went down the mountain along 

 the tracks of the Juragua Iron Company's 

 Railroad, selecting this route as the most 

 convenient one by which to reach the hunt- 

 ing grounds about a mile from camp. It 

 was half an hour before we saw or heard 

 anything worth shooting at; then, to our 

 left at a distance we reckoned 100 or 150 

 yards from us, we heard the cackling of 

 guinea-hens. 



We were then following a narrow trail 

 through a field of high grass, principally 

 guinea and parana grass, which almost en- 

 veloped us. No sooner did we hear the 

 hens than we bravely pushed forward in 

 the direction of the sound. I say " bravely," 

 for, with the thick and thorny weeds en- 

 tangling our feet and the tall grass wetting 

 us through, it required much fortitude, and 

 more than usual enthusiasm for sport, to 

 enable us to plod for any length of time 

 in that Cuban field. The cackling stopped 

 as soon as we started into the grass, but 

 we had already located our covey, and 

 continued to advance as cautiously as pos- 

 sible. 



Suddenly with a whirring noise, not un- 

 like the flight of grouse, directly before us, 

 almost under our feet, there raised a flock 

 of as plump and fine feathered game as I 

 ever expect to see. There must have been 

 20 hens in the flock, most of them young 

 ones. We managed to take a shot each 

 just as they were again disappearing into 

 the grass, for their flight is short and they 

 do not rise very high. Only 2 hens fell 

 under our fire, or at least they were the 

 only ones we found after a diligent search 

 which made us so wet and tired that we 

 decided to return to camp. 



Employer — " I see you have a glass eye, 

 Pat." 



" Yes, yer 'anner; but it's a swindle, sir. 

 I can't see nothin' out of it." — Tid-Bits. 



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