146 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



[March 23, 1885. 



J know my bird and cannot be mistaken. They must have 

 wintered witli us, as I know of no one who has put out any, 

 These are the only ones that 1 have heard of around here. I 

 know where lhese are and can find them again. — B. C. Smith. 



Mink and Ferret. — A correspondent is anxious to learn 

 whether there is any case on record of the mink and ferret 

 interbreeding. Can any one tell us? 



f<m[£ §ag m\& 



BIRDS AT COBB'S ISLAND. 



TPTIS makes my second visit to this "lone isle by the sea" 

 during the winter. 



A few days before Christmas Jein Fox and your corre- 

 spondent found ourselves at Old Point Comfort en route for 

 Cobb's, and we spent a most enjoyable evening at the Hygeia 

 Hotel. This resort has been enlarged and improved year by 

 year, extensions, wings, new annex hotels have been built, 

 until the building has reached thestateliness, beauty and di- 

 mensions of a palace. The grand hotel is seven hundred 

 feet long, which two wide porches encircle, eleven spacious 

 parlors, half a dozen private dining rooms, eight hundred 

 bed chambers, most of them elegantly furnished, electric 

 bells, electric lights, telephones and every appliance of mod- 

 ern art go to make the Hygeia the most costly building on the 

 Atlantic coast. This property is owned by Mr. Harry 

 Phoebus, who has expended upon it over $300,000. Ho is a 

 self-made man. During the war he was a bright but penni- 

 less youth looking for odd jobs, and held horses for two dol- 

 lars a month, and now he is one of the most esteemed mag- 

 nates of the Old Dominion. 



Phoebus is still a young man ; in appearance he is thick- 

 set and fast developing into a rotundancy of Falstaffian pro- 

 portions. His head is well shaped, his face round and 

 covered with thick beard and mustache; liis ey r es are Ids best 

 feature, and are clear, searching and piercing. Indeed he is 

 such a good fellow and bears such a resemblance to certain 

 high cards in the pack that he goes entirely by the name of 

 the "King of Trumps." 



Sportsmen and tourists, whether on the way to Cobb's Is- 

 land, Currituck or Florida, will live to thank me for my ad- 

 vice if they follow it, by stopping at Old Point instead of 

 Norfolk. The Hygeia is incomparably superior to any Nor- 

 folk Hotel; it is a far more enjoyable place than the dreary 

 stay at the inns of either [Norfolk or Portsmouth. 



To get to Cobb's Island lake the steamer Northampton 

 that runs to Cherrystone, and which leaves Old Point every 

 Monday, Wednesday and Friday, Captain McGarrick, 

 who is 'a good type of a genial Virginian. The ride in the 

 boat to Cherrystone takes about two hours, and is pleasant 

 and exhileratfng if you happen to have about a hundred shells 

 loaded with No. 4 shot, for the ducks, loons and coots are in 

 myriads in the bay, and are so lazy that they won't fly until 

 the steamer's prow cuts its way through the flock. It is 

 beautiful sport, and the best practice an amateur eau have. 

 Shooting down at them from your elevation in the bow as 

 they fly across the prow, you can see where the shot hits in 

 the water, and can thus practice aiming and perceive the 

 laws of shooting ahead of the game, the velocity of the bird's 

 flight, and especial'y discover that a tough loon is as hard to 

 kill as a cat. 



Fox and myself got our hands in on our way and made 

 some handsome fancy shots. All the ducks killed are picked 

 up by passing schooners. There was a brilliant bridal party 

 on board, and the groom tried his hand with the breech- 

 loader, but whether from agitation or excessive happiness his 

 nerves were so unstrung that he did not touch a feather. 



Christmas eve we reached the island ; and on this day that 

 the whole civilized world was celebrating, when radiant looks, 

 hearty greetings and especially the exuberant joy of child- 

 hood was visible on every hand, making the poor feel more 

 content, the sorrow-stricken happier and the rich more char- 

 itable, the island looked desolate in the extreme. Warren 

 and Nathan Cobb sauntered down to meet us, and gave us a 

 warm greeting; and a few children stood by the wharf and 

 celebrated our arrival with great curiosity; but, unhappy 

 infants, thej T didn't bother their heads about to-morrow, nor 

 gleefully speculate if we were not some emissary of that 

 hooked-nosed, pot-bellied divinity that comes down the chim- 

 ney and gives every good boy and girl exactly that which it 

 most wants. Christmas to these simple and stolid islanders 

 meant a day like Sunday — that was all. No ecstatic visions 

 of mauunoth turkeys and plum puddings made them lick 

 their lips; and even the ubiquitous street Arab and his deton- 

 ating fire-cracker was wanting, and the day was as still as in 

 the desert. It was rather disheartening to our spirits — but 

 we had come to hunt, and not to sentimentalize over the 

 Christmas chimes. A clear day was of more importance to 

 us than the sound of the pealing bells, and we shook off the 

 momentary feeling of depression and entered the house. 



We were the only sportsmen on the island; so we ate our 

 dinner in solitary style. It was an unorthodox Christmas 

 eve, for the weather was as mild and gentle as a May day. I 

 could not help contrasting it with the proceeding Christmas 

 that I spent here, when the whole island was hid in snow and 

 the ice, brought in by each incoming tide, was piled up in 

 layers on the beach until the whole place was surrounded in 

 a glittering rampart at least twelve feet high, as regular in 

 design and height as if it had been the work of trained en- 

 gineers. 



That night, as Fox and myself sat by our solitary fire, Tom 

 Spady came up with a bottle of Madame Clecquot under 

 each arm, and insisted on us drinking a glass in honor of the 

 day. We drew the last drop, and then gave as a toast Mrs. 

 Spady and the Twins, for Tom is the happy father of the 

 lustiest, most marvelous favored duplicates that ever were 

 •seen; they were boys, about four years old, and so much alike 

 their own mother can't tell them apart. Of course, she claims 

 she can. 



Shortly after, and just before midnight, we had the first 

 touch of Christmas. A noise was heard on the stairs, and 

 Bill Johns entered, as happy as a lord. Everybody who 

 ever was on Cobb's Island knows Bill; he is Nathan Cobb's 

 henchman and right-hand man, and, while sober the rest of 

 the year, yet gets tight as the allegorical and metaphorical 

 brick on every Fourth of July, Easter and the holidays, on 

 principle. His drunks were What is known as bloody. A 

 good talc is told of Bill's adventure at Hog Island last sum- 

 mer, He is a bachelor and, withal, a great admirer of the 

 fair sex. There was a ball given by the natives there, and a 

 delegation from Cobb's went over in a row boat. After 

 dancing all night to the music of one cracked ninety -nine cent 



fiddle, the party prepared to embark. AH got safely in ex- 

 cept Bill, who, standing on the wharf, singing out lustily the 

 refrain of the "Jolly Mariuer," that goes something in this 

 wise: 



"Here's to the wind that blows— the ship that goes, 

 And the lass that loves a sailor. " 



"Jump in Bill, and stop that confounded hollowing," said 

 Warren, holding on to the pier with a boat hook. 



"Steady her boys," ordered Tom Spady. "Now Bill, in 

 you go!" 



Bill took Ids position on the extreme end of the wharf, and 

 straightened his limbs. 



"Are you ready?" he hiccoughed. 



"Yes!" was the reply. "Nowl" 



Bill let out to the best of his ability; but he miscalculated 

 the distance and jumped clear over the boat, and striking the 

 blue waters disappeared beneath the depths; a few bubbles 

 appeared on the surface, and then after what seemed as an 

 interminable waiting, the head of Bill himself appeared spout- 

 ing water like a whale; a half a dozen hands grasped him, 

 and pulled him dripping into the boat. 



Bill coughed and threw up about a gallon of salt water, 

 and then spluttered out as he raised himself: 



"By George, boys; how this darned old boat does leak." 



But, to return to story. Bill sat down in the chair, and 

 shouted in a hoarse, indistinct voice, "Hurrah for Chris- 

 urns; hurrah!" He continued to repeat these words at 

 intervals, and then went fast asleep, no doubt dreaming of 

 the time when he was a barefooted boy living on the main, 

 and kept his pennies in an old battered tin savings' bank, 

 which was only to be opened at Christmas. 



Finally, just as wc turned in, we called Tom, a colored 

 major doruo, who acted in any capacity that the guests might 

 order, and told him to lead Bill out." 



Tom came back laughing — "Mr. Bill is a strange man; he's 

 got some idea in his head, and wont go home; he's standing 

 up by the draw-bars, and says he's a fence-post, and if he 

 leaves go, the whole fence will fall down and the cows will 

 get into the cabbages." 



We went out and there was Bill as erect and determined 

 as the Roman sentinel on guard at the city gates of Pompeii. 

 Neither entreaties or reason could rule him. It being a clear, 

 warm night, we left him. 



Hanging our stockings up first for luck, Tom and myself 

 were in the land of dreams. 



The next morning when Tom burst in the room with the 

 congratulations of the day, we asked him: 



"Where's Bill; has he got sober yet?" 



Tom scratched his head and laughed, " 'Pears to me he's 

 gone and got more liquor, fur he's a still standing; Mr. Nathan 

 has gone to get him away." 



When we went to breakfast he was gone. Good, simple 

 hearted, obliging Bill Johns; to thy thousand virtues thou 

 hast but this one fault and, like the profanity of Uncle Toby, 

 we pass it lightly by ; and know the recording angel blotted 

 that little record out. 



Christmas Day was warm, bright and sunny. The ocean 

 lay in all its majestic beauty, as calm, still and smooth as a 

 lake hid away r in some mountain fastness; stately ships de- 

 corated with bunting appeared motionless on the surface, and 

 earth, air, water, harmonized in one grand anthem in honor 

 of the nativity. 



"It's too calm for ducks," said Nathan, whose opinion on 

 all sporting matters is as unanswerable and unappealable as 

 the laws of the Medes and Persians, "but it's a perfect day 

 for snipe." 



"Why?" we asked. 



"Because bad weather scatters the large flocks in every 

 direction, and they are very shy, but on a calm warm day 

 they unite and become lazy and will let a man walk almost 

 up to them. I'll make the boy get the cart and carry you 

 where there are acres of them." 



In a short time we were on our way along the beach to- 

 ward Hog Island. Going about five miles, our island gradu- 

 ally contracted, until a narrow strip of sand some fifty yards 

 wide, over which the waves at high tide dashed, showed 

 where the possessions of the Cobbs ended. On this sandbank 

 the snipe were feeding in countless numbers, and I am not 

 exaggerating when I say that the bar running into the sea 

 was so thick witli them that there was not a bare spot dis- 

 cernable. Creeping up on our hands and knees to within 

 forty yards we sighted, along the fluttering mosaic lookiug 

 floor and pulled trigger. Two long swaths of dead and 

 dying marked the track of the shot. The vast flock rose and 

 swept away, and then turning came back literally hiding the 

 sky. Four sudden reports, a shower of birds, and the flock 

 swirl to the right and divide. One half goes further down, 

 the others again turn to the fatal spot. Yet again the minia- 

 ture thunder peals out in the still morning air, and with 

 affrighted whistles the snipe fly away out of sight. 



Fox goes one way, I another, after the dead. For every 

 one killed there are two wounded, and we have a lively chase 

 in the water after them, dozens and scores escape us, for the 

 tide is rising and the crippled birds can swim like a duck, 

 and they soon reach deep water and are safe from us, but 

 not from the sea hawks, who come out in force and swoop 

 down on the wounded as certain and relentless as fate. We 

 gather up the dead and pile them in great heaps; we have 

 nearly gotten through when we stop work for further sport. 

 Look ! isn't that a beautiful sight? a nock of snipe fully a hun- 

 dred yards long and thick, performing the most beautif ulevolu- 

 tions' that it is possible to conceive. A leader marked the 

 way, and with unerring precision each bird followed and 

 kept his proper space. There was no confusion, no jostling 

 as they spun through the air with the speed of the wind. 

 Now skimming along the surface of the water, then in a 

 second up in the blue vault with the suddenness of a rocket, 

 next a slanting curve, then a concentric circle iu every move- 

 ment. Each bird would seem to turn its body, and the 

 bright sun shining on the mass that shifted in color every 

 moment, the result was indiscribable. Now the moving 

 space would whirl through the air; it was as white asthe 

 snow, then by a sudden turn only the backs of the birds 

 would be. visible, and they appeared a huge grayish cloud 

 flying through space. Like the shifting light thrown from 

 prisms, the colors are always changing. For a short time I 

 doubt whether the fair disciples of Oscar Wilde ever received 

 more pleasure from watching the delicate tints of the lily or 

 the gorgeous crimson and red of the sunflower, than did we 

 in looking at the bright glancing of the sun or the exquisite 

 gloss and sheen of the feathers. But when the branching 

 cloud bore down upon us again, our aesthetic taste vanished 

 and the sporting spirit assumed its sway. Our trusty breech- 

 loaders we grasped and we waited. 



"Don't fire until they turn," whispered Jem, and just then 

 they swept to the right not ten yards away. "Give it to 

 them," shouted my companion, and four triggers were 



pressed, and the sound swept over the placid waters, searing 

 a flock of geese who were feeding a full mile away. 



All that morning we had splendid sport, and not until the 

 tide fell and left all the fields bare, did we stop, We killed 

 hundreds, and they were in fine condition. 



Our stay on the island was only a week, and wc waited so 

 long for a favorable day to shoot brant from the decoys in 

 vain. We could look through Nathan's powerful spy "glass 

 and see thousands feeding on the banks and shoals, but any 

 attempt to shoot them was worse than useless. There have to 

 be three elements, all favorable, before you can have auy 

 luck over the decoys. The tide has to be 'just right, that is, 

 falling, on the ebb at daybreak. The sun must come out 

 brightly and the wind blowing. Tu all of our stay these 

 three things did not assimilate together. If a wind was blow- 

 ing, the tide was wrong. If the tide was right, there was a 

 perfect calm. If the wind was blowing, the sun wasn't shin- 

 ing. Or if the sun was shining and the wind was blowing, 

 the tide was on the Hood. Or if it was not on the flood and 

 the wind was just right, then the clouds were hanked up in 

 the sky. In fact these three uncertainties, iuall making one 

 harmony, was as risky a thing to count on, as a call in faro, 

 and everybody knows how uncertain that is. 



In a crowd, awaiting the pleasure of the elements, the true. 

 character of the man would show itself. One would take 

 the matter philosoplu'cally and coolly, read a ten cent novel 

 with all the absorbing interest of a bibliomaniac perusing a 

 rare volume at a book stall. He takes things as they come, 

 and nothing can daunt his spirits. If the shooting Is good, 

 he enjoys it to the top notch. If the sport is bad, 'he accepts 

 it with the same equanimity of temper, and if it rains, he 

 can pass long hours in the mysteries of old sledge or draw 

 poker. 



What a contrast is that restless, miserable looking being 

 who yawns, looks at his watch every ten minutes, gazes out 

 of the window a dozen times in an hour, and grumbles, 

 grumbles, grumbles, until even his best friends wish that 

 some miracle would strike him dumb. 



Then there is the gloomy sportsman who always indulges 

 in dark forebodings— something's going to happen to prevent 

 good shooting. In his life, the "something" is like the re- 

 morse of Macbeth, it poisons his every cup of wine. 



My comrade was of the first, sort; a born Bohemian who 

 could take the fat and lean of life with as much nonchalance 

 as any man I ever met. 



Our duck shooting was a failure — we left without a single 

 good day's sport. 



This second trip I came down with a party of three — the 

 others were not shootists, but capitalists, or representing 

 capital, whoiutend buying Cobb's Island with a view to build 

 up a grand watering place, a charter to that effect having 

 been rushed through the Virgiuia Legislature. 



There were no ducks. The brant had all been driven 

 away by the Jersey oystermen who flocked down to Cobb's 

 and Hog Island like the lice in Egypt. They played the 

 mischief, violated the oyster law, and coolly' took thous- 

 ands of bushels of oysters without leave or license, and 

 worse than all, commenced to shoot the brant in the night 

 time with the aid of light and reflectors. Whole flocks can 

 be slaughtered in that way. The dazzling gleam of the 

 lamps confuse the ducks. They make no effort to get away, 

 but swim together in as tight' a lump and in as compact a 

 mass as they can get, and then sit stupidly and blink at the 

 brilliant glare. A discharge of a heavy gun, and dozens are 

 killed at a shot, many more are wounded, and the others, 

 bewildered and scared,- fly aimlessly about, and in the morn- 

 ing migrate to distant parts. The wounded swim off 

 unnoticed in the obscurity of the night, and die bngering 

 deaths in the sedges and grass of the flats, 



The owners of Cobb's and Hog Islands are indignant, nay, 

 they are almost frenzied at this unpardonable spoliation, and 

 if they could catch the vandals in the act they would never 

 trouble judge or jury. But it is almost impossible 1 to capture 

 the scoundrels, for when the islanders catch the gleam of the 

 lights and hear the heavy report of the gun they man their 

 boat and put out in pursuit. It is like hunting for the 

 proverbial flea in a tar-barrel, for the reflector is extinguished 

 and the pot-hunter rows silently and quietly away. 



Thus it is that a half dozen vile wretches have utterly 

 ruined the brant shooting in the vicinity of this island, and 

 have destroyed to the local legitimate gunners a source of 

 heavy revenue, and to the gentleman sportsmen, the finest 

 shooting that this coast offers. Is there any fate too severe 

 for such miscreants? Oh, that they could only lie caught, 

 and tried by a jury of sportsmen, 1 wot well what the verdict 

 would be. 



There being no duck shooting I took advantage of a bright 

 sunny day and went up to the beach and had tolerable sport, 

 killing one hundred and twenty-eight snipe. 



Now, a word about hunting here. The best time of the 

 year is in May, when the robin snipe comes in uncounted 

 numbers, and the shooting is superb. I doubt for the time — 

 two to three weeks — if there is any spot on this continent 

 where better sport can he had than at Cobb's, the bags aver- 

 aging from sixty to a hundred and fifty per da}'. Board on 

 the island is two dollars a day, and first-rate fare. 



1 cannot refrain here from thanking the Forest and 

 Stkeam for the finest gun I ever handled. It was an adver- 

 tisement I saw in the FOREST and Stream that induced me 

 to get if, and though the "ad", was doubtless paid for," still, 

 if there had been no Forest and STREAM there would have 

 been no advertisement, and I wouldn't have possessed my 

 weapon; don't you see the logic of the thing? Well, I own 

 several guns and was never exactly satisfied until 1 got a No. 

 10 Greener trap gun, full choke. It is tin; best piece I ever 

 handled, and for partridge, turkey, ducks and snipe, it is 

 simply perfect. I have consigned my other guns to their 

 covers, where they will hereafter rust out, and not wear out, 

 and use my "Greener" alone, and I can say of my favorite 

 what Selwin wrote of his fiancee, Miss Bread: 



"While toasts women's graces spread. 



And fops around them flutter— 

 I'll he content with Annie Broad, 



And won't have any but-lier." 



Writing on this topic reminds me of the controversy in 

 the Forest and Stream in regard to rust iu gun barrels. 



I asked Nathan Cobb how he kept his double-barrels so 

 clean and bright and free from rust. He has five. Just here 

 lean say that there is no man in Virginia that has shot as 

 much or killed as much game as he, or knows as much about 

 gun and ammunition, all practical knowledge, too, Which he 

 has gained by close application and unremitting observation. 



"I don't waste no time on them," he said, "and 1 don't 

 take pi-ide making 'em shine inside, but the best preventatiou 

 from rusting is the caked powder inside. That keeps the 

 salt air from moulding the barrels, and when I clean them I 



