226 
For Forest and Stream. 
BROWN, JONES AND ROBINSON’S HUNT 
N O one enjoys field sport so much as a man who is en¬ 
gaged in active business, and who once in a while 
* teals a day, and with gun or rod tramps the woods and 
fields, or saunters along the trout brook 3 . The entire change 
and absence from dull routine makes the “being out” a 
treat, even if game is scarce and one’s bag or basket looks 
as though an “elephant had stepped on it-” as an impecun¬ 
ious Bohemian has expressed it in regard to his purse. 
Often ha%your humble servant started at daylight, walked 
all day, and at night when ravenously devouring the meal 
thoughtfully “kept” for him, in answer to the fond inquiry 
of liis better half as to what luck, answered “splendid,” 
with no doubt as to the i crict accuracy of the fact until some 
thoughtless suggestion of said better half as to the useless¬ 
ness of calling upon the butcher the next morning, has ob¬ 
liged him to reconsider che matter carefully and sadly 
acknowledge that one snipe, two woodcocks or perhaps a 
pair of squirrels would not be sufficient to satisfy the ap¬ 
petites of even a small family. There is always a quiet 
smile on the face of my wife when I state my purpose of 
going shooting, that I thoroughly understand; it implies 
fliat there are no great anticipations of game dinners to 
allow. The exception, which happens once in ^ w hile, is 
the more enjoyable. 
The ardor is never abated, however, else how could one, 
as we did, deliberately persuade two brother enthusiasts 
hat the “-marshes” were swarming with wild ducks, 
and that our respective families and friends would have 
-muse to remember us long for favors in the way of red 
neads, blue bills, widgeons, whistlers, &c., <&., &c.,”if only 
we carried cartridges enough. 
The day was set, and that genial and thorough sports¬ 
man,Brown, who has hunted moose in Nova Scotia, caribou 
in the backwoods of Canada and deer in the Adirondacks, 
a young college student, Jones, full of anticipations, but 
somewhat inexperienced, as is proven by the fact of his 
wearing on the trip French calf-skin gaiters instead of 
rubber boots, and myself, Robinson, after getting all the 
necessary traps together, including a box of thirty-two 
decoy ducks, appeared at the railroad depot “armed and 
equipped,” as the law directs. 
To the sarcastic baggageman who innocently asked if he 
should secure an extra wagon to carry home the game on 
our return, we quietly smiled, and his delicate satire slid 
from our backs like the rain drops from a goose, (which, by 
the way, is not an inappropriate simile.) 
The place to which we were bound, although on the line 
of railroad, is distant about four miles from a regular 
station, but having heard that a certain hermit flagman had 
a shanty directly on the hunting grounds where we could, 
stay, with two or three good boats, and that an affable 
“sporting” conductor would kindly “slow up” and let us 
off, we based our plans accordingly 
Off we are at last in fine feather. Mr. Conductor ap¬ 
pears—our wishes to stop are stated—he frowns and simply 
remarks: “Can’t do it,” and berates us soundly while 
punching our duplex tickets, for entertaining such an ab¬ 
surdity. Here is a quandary. We well know that there is 
no wagon road from the station to the marsh, and our backs 
fairly ache at the mere possibility of having to carry that 
great box of decoys four miles on the railroad track. We 
hand over our fare to the implacable official and silently 
smoke. At the first stopping place get out and moodily 
examine the train that “won’t stop,” and think of the many 
times that a “hot journal” has brought us up, when in a 
hurry to get to our destination, and seriously think of open¬ 
ing one of the iron boxes and deliberately emptying cotton 
waste and oil, and make it hot for said journal at about the 
hunting ground and get those wicked decoys and cartridges 
off while things are cooling. While these thoughts are 
floating through our brain we hear a cheery voice, “Hallo 
Robinson, where are you going?” and upon taking a good 
look recognize an old frieud in the person of the engineer. 
We at once tell him where we want to go and how we can’t. 
He itnmediav.-ly puts a new phase upon matters by saying: 
“Get the tlii gs all ready and we will slack up enough to 
let you off .” We on the spot ask the street and the number 
of his house, and warn him that half a dozen of the best 
ducks that swim will be found there with our compliments 
immediately on our return. He looks very much as did the 
baggageman, but considerately says nothing, his faith 
evidently was greater, perhaps so much “as a grain of 
mustard seed.” 
The train duly slacked up and Brown in his hurry to get 
off, and forgetting the philosophy of jumping from a run¬ 
ning body, rolls over and over with gun, game bag and 
other traps, sometimes on top and sometimes the reverse, 
finally fetching up on his feet smiling and good-natured as 
he always is, brushes the dust from his clothes and nimbly 
limns to help the collegiate Jones get out those thirty-two 
decoys. 
With a parting wave of the hand from the clever engineer 
the train moves off, and we survey the surroundings. First, 
; i, large lake, evidently much above the usual watermark, 
for the familiar flags and rushes that make it usually a 
marsh, are all covered, suggesting doubts at once as to our 
ability to get within half a mile of the thirty-two decoys 
when set out on the feeding grounds, but a fiock of about a 
dozen ducks passing overhead at about' the altitude of 
Mount Washington, throws our fears to the winds, and not 
doubting but that we can circumvent the game some way, 
we secondly observe the hotel which is destined to lodge and 
feed us. We dub it immediately the “Fifth Avenue,” and 
knowing that a certain apparent familiarity with the land- 
lord often secures the best the house affords, greet the pro¬ 
prietor who is advancing towards us with a cheerful Hallo, 
Uncle John,” and proposed the question, “Can you give 
us boats, something to eat and a place to sleep?” He quietly 
answers, “We’ll see,” and leads the way loaded down 
with our guns and baggage to the hotel. W e find our host 
is the flagman guarding the railroad bridge; his house con¬ 
sists of the usual switchman’s box shanty, only somewhat 
larger, and divided into two compartments, each about six 
by seven, the one containing a cook stove, a portable shelf, 
which we find is used as a dining table, a wooden bench, 
and the other a bed; all neat, cozy and comfortable enough 
for enthusiastic sportsmen. All this he says we can have, 
hold and enjoy, unless two other gentlemen, at present 
guests of his, should decide to remain another night, but as 
he further states that they have signified their intention of 
leaving during the day, we give ourselves no uneasiness. 
The-only other shelter in sight is a steam-dredge anchored 
on the opposite shore across the bridge, and an old baggage 
car stranded by the side of the track. 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
When we left home the weather was wild and comfort¬ 
able, but with the perversity of April had suddenly changed 
and a cold and penetrating north-west wind was blowing 
strong. We gathered around the cook stove and munched 
a lunch of cold meat, crackers and cheese that the provi¬ 
dent and experienced Brown had brought along, prepara¬ 
tory to making a raid on the fated ducks whose brethren 
we had noticed a few minutes before. 
Shortly Uncle John informed us our boats were ready, 
and although the wind had increased to a perfect gale Jones 
and myself proposed to start. The courteous Brown said 
he would wait until it calmed down a little and then follow 
us. So pitying somewhat his lack of enthusiasm off we 
went, straining every muscle, the water falling in sprays 
around us from the numerous “crabs” caught by our oars. 
After working long and not seeing any perceptible in¬ 
crease of distance between the boat and shore, we began to 
have serious doubts as to the wisdom of our proceeding in¬ 
stead of waiting with our friend until it calmed down, but 
the sight of another flock of ducks passing overhead added 
new strength to our arms and fortified our waverning reso¬ 
lution. We called to Jones and bade him not give up but 
follow us and we would soon be “amongst them.” 
Our destination was a point jutting out into the water about 
a mile from the shanty, where we had been advised was 
“just the place to slaughter them.” We pulled and pulled, 
and after more physical exertion than would take to keep 
a small family in fire-wood for a long winter, reached the 
“point.” No place to hide, the water was so high that the 
rushes were entirely covered,and as ducks have an insuper¬ 
able objection to coming wi'hin gun shot of an open boat, our 
chances looked slim. However, we had reached the place 
where the slaughtering was in the bill to go on, and go back 
we would not until we had made an effort. So after a 
short council of war we decided to set out our decoys and 
proceed to business. Oh, the work of setting those wretch¬ 
ed things ! but it was finally accomplished, and we then 
worked ourselves up to the beach and pulled the boats be¬ 
hind a clump of bare bushes, which, for all purposes of 
concealment probably might have deceived a blind duck, 
but certainly nothing else. We were somewhat warm after 
our exertions, and now being compelled to keep quiet, and 
exposed, as we were, to the cutting wind, our teeth soon 
commenced to chatter and our-bodies to shiver—and to add 
to our vexation, we noticed that most of our decoys were 
upside down; it blew so strong that it had toppled six or 
eight of them over, and their remaining brethren were evi¬ 
dently on the point of following suit. The utter absurdity 
of our position put us in good humor; the mere idea of a 
duck ever daring to come within range of us was prepos¬ 
terous. Still, with the confidence only given to a non-pro¬ 
fessional sportsman, we waited, fondly hoping that some 
lunatic blue-bill would drop down to us from one of the 
stray flocks that at long intervals passed high above us. 
In the meantime nothing had been seen or heard of Brown, 
as there were no signs of its “calming down.” We agreed 
he must have remained behind hugging the shore; but, to 
be sure that he was not stranded somewhere on the marsh, 
we determined, being nearly stiffened by this time with 
cold, to pull up and take a row down the shore and see if 
we could get any track of him, and at least get warm. 
After cautiously rowing along for about half a mile we came 
in sight of another lot of decoys having the same intox¬ 
icated appearance that ours had shown. We drifted down 
upon them, but no one could we see till finally our per¬ 
plexity was ended by hearing a shivering voice away back 
in the woods on the shore hailing us, which we recognized 
as Brown’s. The poor fellow was tramping up and down 
swinging his arms, almost frozen. We joined him as soon 
as possible and had a laugh over our drunken decoys 
and our misfortunes well toT^k we couldn’t shoot we 
thought it might be ' •, j n } ®f^qre, and so decided upon a 
land excursion, which/ as Jf 0rt ' l^oved a very satisfactory 
expedition, principally? jjv® a]J got somewhat warmed up, 
and immediately as I party had the first and only 
shot at a wild duck during the trip. “Mark,” says Brown, 
“there comes a flock directly for us,” and sure enough it 
was so, only they were at such a height as to make it prob¬ 
lematical whether of not a rifle ball could have reached 
them. Still I gave them a barrel as they went over. Not 
seeing anything fall we quietly took our way to the shore, 
calmy pulled out and took up those wretched decoys and 
started for Uncle John’s. Upon reaching the house we 
noticed two men in corduroys. We experienced a shock, 
our “prophetic souls” told us they were the persons who 
were to have gone, and they hadn’t, and so it proved. 
They had the priority, and where was our lodging to come 
in? it was apparent that but two could occupy the bed and 
we might perhaps curl around the stove—quarters for three 
and we were five; and more than all we were faint with 
hunger, and. our empty stomachs were aching for food. 
“Boys,” says Uncle John, breaking in upon our gloomy 
thought, “go over to the dredge and get your supper; there 
is a family living there and I have made arrangements for 
them to feed you,” and he added, “come back and I’ll find 
a place for you to sleep.” This was cheerful news, and off 
we started over the railroad tressle-bridge for the steam 
dredge we had noticed in the morning; a smoking repast of 
broiled ham and boiled potatoes was soon set before us, 
and any hunter will understand how good it tasted and how 
much of it we put out of sight. 
Supper finished, we retraced our steps over the perilous 
tressle work; it was bad enough by daylight but now it 
was dark, and of course more dangerous. We momentarily 
expected a train would come along and force us to take 
refuge on one of the piers, but fortunately nothing of the 
kind occurred, and we reached our “Fifth Avenue Hotel” 
in safety and at once claimed Uncle John’s promise to see 
us taken care of for the night, although how he was to do 
it was a problem intricate enough for us. We saw no way 
to arrange matters, but to adopt the rule followed by the 
Irish trappers who succeeded by will to their father’s house, 
“One take the inside and the other the outside.” We were 
not forced, however, to this cold alternative; it seems the 
old baggage car spoken of before had been fitted up with 
some degree of comfort by a party of gentlemen, who, 
probably at some previous time, had found the “Hotel” 
crowded from top to bottom by a previous arrival, and 
were obliged to endure the discomforts we were threatened 
with; and under the circumstances, Uncle John, who had 
the key, said we might occupy it for the night. After in¬ 
specting our quarters, which we found contained a stove 
and bunks to sleep upon, we adjourned to the shanty and 
soon struck up an acquaintance with the other sportsmen, 
whose “not going” had so nearly proved our ruin, and 
although the accommodations were limited, a merry even¬ 
ing was passed. Hunting stories, always most interesting, 
wonderful escapes by field and flood were narrated and 
these, together with our pipes, made the hours pass quicklv 
until it came time to turn in. * 
Uncle John had started a fire in the stove, and the old 
car w r as nicely warmed. After showing us where to find 
fuel to keep it going he left us with his blessings. \y e 
locked the door, and stretching ourselves, were soon asleep 
Instead of taking proper care of the fire it was entirely neg¬ 
lected, and of course went out, and as a necessary sequence 
we began to grow cold, and shortly the temperature became 
unendurable. Jones, who went to bed with wet feet lie 
having got over his gaiters in a water hole nearly five 
inches deep, and whose bed-clothes consisted only of an old 
car cushion, gave out first and declared he “might as well 
attempt to keep warm covered with a hemlock board,” and 
started for the door to get out; but lo ! the lock had some 
way become broken, and it was impossible to turn the key 
Here was a pretty state of affairs, the thermometer, (if we 
had one,) kept going down. Jones sat on the stove,’ where 
some lingering degree of heat still remained, but soon that 
was gone. We walked back and forth, stamped and 
shouted “fit to raise the dead,” until we succeeded in at¬ 
tracting the attention of Uncle John. A screw-driver was 
passed in to us, the lock was soon removed and we were 
free once more. We huddled around the stove in his 
“shanty,” and thawed out for this probably the tenth time. 
After all these perils we decided the--marshes was no 
place for us, and learning that a hand-car would shortly be 
along on its way to the next station, we determined to have 
our traps sent on by it, while we would foot it along the 
track and take the first train for home. 
Here was where Jones’ light gaiters pioved themselves 
valuable, and Brown and I, with our heavy top-boots 
stumbling along, envied our light-footed friend. So we 
left the ducks, having inflicted damages upon them in 
about the same way John Phoenix did upon his adversary 
The sarcastic baggageman said nothing, evidently being 
good enough judge of human nature to keep quiet, but the 
clever engineer received at once his brace of ducks, they 
being the best that could be bought in the market. We are 
all in good spirits, and undoubtely will take lots of the same 
kind of trips, each time starting off with undiminished 
enthusiasm. 
For Forest and Stream. 
LONG RANG E RIFL E PRACTICE. 
E VERY one who has had much experience in long range 
shooting must have found that next to a steady hand 
and a true eye everything depends upon good judgment as 
to the allowances to be made for elevation and windage. 
I speak from personal observation when I say that the su¬ 
periority of our best shots depends very much upon their 
careful attention to these particulars. 
In one of your late issues you direct attention to a re¬ 
mark made by Beaton, which made a great impression on 
me at the time when I read his book. It is now some years 
since, but I believe I am correct in stating that he affirms 
that at 400 yards an object will vary in its apparent eleva¬ 
tion to the extent of four feet. It should be borne in mind, 
then, that the target is rarely exactly situated where it ap¬ 
pears to be, but on the contrary will seem to vary its height 
from day to day, or even during the same day, in conse¬ 
quence of varying conditions of light and shade, of hu¬ 
midity and dryness, of heat and cold. 
I can call to mind some striking instances of sudden vari¬ 
ation. One I will mention to illustrate my statement. 
Our club had been practicing one afternoon, and had been 
making excellent shooting up to 500 yards. The day had 
been dull and the sky overcast, when suddenly a sharp 
thunder storm came up, which drove away the majority of 
the club. It was soon over, however, and when the sun 
came out bright and clear five or six of us resumed our 
practice. Up to this time we had been making bulls eyes 
or centres, but afterwards each of us fired three rounds 
without one shot striking even the target, and before we 
found out that all the fifteen or sixteen had struck just be¬ 
low it, and had penetrated the soft earth below without 
giving any sign, corresponding elevations of sights at once 
enabled us to return to bulls eyes and centres. 
A rifle may then be ranged to any given long range for 
what may be called average atmosphere, but may still re¬ 
quire considerable allowance to meet daily, or even hourly, 
atmospheric changes; and, moreover, what may be con¬ 
sidered an average for one locality or country may require 
modification to adopt it to another locality or country. 
Knowing these facts, it seems strange that no systematic 
attempt has hitherto been made, so far as I know, to re¬ 
duce them to some precise, I might say to some scientific, 
basis. Knowing ones have a sort of “rule of thumb” to 
guide them, but these shrewd guesses they keep to them¬ 
selves, lest by communicating them lo competitors they 
should lose some advantage, and rifle clubs have generally 
prevented the diffusion of such shrewd guesses by offering 
annual prizes for the highest aggregate scores made during 
the season, instead of bringing all the experience which 
each individual might contribute to the determination of 
the question, What variations of elevation are required by 
varying atmospheric conditions? 
The same result applies to the question of lateral devia, 
tions or windage. More or less accurate guesses are made 
according to each individual’s sagacity, while no advantage 
has been taken of the scientific apparatus which has long 
been in use for estimating the force of the wind, so as to 
educate the rifleman to a correct estimation of its effects in 
rifle practice. 
I hope I have made sufficiently clear the necessity of the 
adoption of some means to reduce rifle shooting to some 
scientific, practical basis, and if so I would point out the 
plan which I think would conduce to this desirable result. 
In the first place, it follows that in order to insure uni • 
formity the members of each club should be armed with 
rifles of the same, or nearly the same, trajectory. 
Second. All prizes for annual aggregate scores should 
be abolished, so as to take away all incentive to conceal¬ 
ment of knowledge. , 
Third. On every club ground there should be erected 
some stationary apparatus (which need not be expensive or 
elaborate, however,) at a moderately long range, say at 50U 
yards, which should be trained by observation on the centre 
of the target for average atmospheric conditions. 
Fourth. Before commencing practice each day, the at¬ 
mospheric conditions should be carefully noted, along witn 
the position of the ground and the direction on the com¬ 
pass of the range, and also, the apparent deviations from 
the average elevation as shown by the stationary sighting 
apparatus in some properly arranged register. 
Fifth. Each member should then he required to make 
