262 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



[Mat 1, 1884. 



ful one, yet it has been thought best not to combine them for 

 the present. We have been waiting and watching the 

 habits of this alleged trout with great interest in order to 

 learn if its habits might not show it to be in some respect dif- 

 ferent from the steelhead. The evidence of the Commission 

 tends to show that it is a migratory fish, and if so it may 

 escape to sea and be lost, as the other California salmon was. 

 We believe that Mr. Roosevelt has not seen the rainbows 

 which he planted in streams emptying into Great South Bay, 

 Long Island, since they were yearlings. 



AN ELK HUNT. 



11TOST things are relative, they say, 



•^*- Some put it in a stronger way; 



But sure I am in 'Sixty-three, 



When Meade and Hooker fought with Lee, 



When for the rights of States or slaves 



Brave thousands slept in bloody graves; 



When by the dun Missouri's stream 



Still flashed the Pawnee camp-fires' gleam, 



And bison 'round the Rocky chain 



■Shook with their march the darkened plain, 



The world was younger. I don't mean 



Some twenty years. That's quickly seen. 



Nor in a geologic sense. 



Where dreary ages yawn immense, 



But that the human race we'll say 



Was twice as young as 'tis to-day. 



I own I have a friend who winks 



When I say this, and clearly thinks 



That the world's age, by my account, 



Tallies quite closely in amount 



With my own wrinkles. Nay, declares 



The youngest man the planet bears, 



After a year of Kansas chills. 



Can patronize the eternal hills. 



But one fact surely's not in me, 



For all observers must agree 



That since the 'Sixties, noble game 



Is mucli less plenty, and less tame; 



Yet every hunter knows that ground. 



Where over night great droves were found, 



May he for months silent, forlorn, 



(Jn visited by hoof or horn. 



This truth some prospectors once proved; 



It seemed that all the game had moved, 



Warned by the autumn winds that blow, 



Loud threats of high-piled smothering snow; 



Their cabin rose among the hills, 



Where, gathering up a thousand rills, 



With every streamlet gaining force, 



The Tampa speeds its headlong course. 



Hastes to the Green with eager leaps, 



Joins with the Grand and onward sweeps, 



Down through the deep-split, rock-walled gash, 



Where Colorado's currents dash. 



Their food was gone, and all around, 



A wide, white waste. No living sound. 



Save when on swirling wind-gusts float, 



The yelpings of the far coyote. 



But two brave comrades volunteer 



To hunt once more some God-sent deer, 



And so start out in swinging tramp, 



To feed the starving, freezing camp. 



The web-shoed wanderers plod along, 



Feeble in limb, in purpose strong, 



To the low foothills, spreading wide 



Around a rugged mountain's side, 



Channelled by storm, and seamed with scar, 



Called, from the top that showed afar 



Its steep black ridge's lowering frown, 



"The mountain of the iron crown." 



Warm from his bed the elk arose. 



Though nested 'mid November snows, 



His long, thick coat, and mighty heart 



Defied the ice-king's sharpest dart. 



He swelled his neck, sniffed the light breeze. 



And starting downward through the trees, 



With horns thrown backward to his haunch, 



Sixfoot long points on either branch, 



Struck out in reaching trot, where grow 



The aspen thickets far below. 



On fragrant twigs the dainty beast, 



Still makes his aromatic feast, 



When grass lies deep beneath the sheet 



Of frozen drifts and crusted sleet. 



The hunters spy the fresh-made track, 



Their hearts heat fast, their strength comes back: 



Panting, they strive, though stiff and lame, 



To get to leeward of the game. 



At last their caution gets its due, 



And the great victim stands in view, 



Feeding below them at his ease, 



Among the leafless aspen trees. 



A breathless pause; then, with firm rest 



On an old log that topped the crest, 



The hunters pull.. The rifles crack, 



And the bull throws his antlers back, 



Jumps wildly to the dizzy edge 



Of a steep boulder-breasted ledge, 



Where wind-bared rocks showed sharp and brown, 



Goes clattering, sliding, crashing down. 



Far, far they traced the trail of blood, 



Till in the depths of a dark wood, 



Whose crowded pine boughs scarce let through 



A glimpse of heaven's upper blue. 



They found the great brown graceful form, 



Amid the trampled snow, still warm, 



While the gored wolf that lay beside, 



Showed how in brave defense he died. 



So fell the elk, and back again, 



With meat to feed the hungry men, 



The hunters toiled, and thought the road 



Seemed shorter for the welcome load. 



The mountain monarch's antlered head 



Still guards the memory of th« dead, 



Showing, where glasses shine and clink, 



Where thirsty miners crowd to drink, 



And sodden vice and folly lurk, 



The majesty of nature's work. H. G. Dutoo. 



CHARLESTON TO CAPE ROMAN. 



A BARREN mud flat, with standing pools of water, In 

 and around which plover and curlew are standing and 

 feeding. A solitary diver, softly whistling, a few rods off, high 

 and dry, with a list to one side, a tug, on the deck of which, 

 in various attitudes, is a group of men, sprawled out in 

 sleep, while over and around all is a canopy of dense thick 

 fog. At the stern, with his number eights, and about a foot 

 of his legs projecting over the side, lying with a satchel for 

 a pillow and tne deck for a bed, was Deerslayer, dreaming 

 of the manner in which he would seal up the ends of his 

 legs, which he imagined were cut off, and hesitating between 

 sealing wax and rosin as the remedy. On the port side, some 

 six feet and a half off, humanity was stretching its length 

 with a capacity for hominy and butter simply stupendous, 

 and from its cavernous mouth came, ever and anon, gentle, 

 tender murmurings, that made one think of purling rivulets 

 in spring time, or some other time. 



On the starboard side, with his genial face looking up to 

 the skies, was our pilot and quondam host, owing to whose 

 skill and guidance we were now tranquilly resting upon the 

 oozy bosom of Palmetto Flat, in Bull's Bay, South Carolina, 

 on a cold morning in mid-December, 1883. 



In the boiler room was the engineer; curled up below deck 

 in the bow was Jenkins, our colored boy, whom I w r ould 

 back to get into more trouble and do more things wrong in a 

 given time than any one of his inches in the country. 



Forward of the boiler and below decks, Ollie and Jack 

 were lying spoon fashion, the first our Captain, the latter out- 

 shifting ballast, while wedged between the afterbitts and 

 the house, with his head in a basket and iis feet on the 

 rails, was the writer. This comprised the party, and this 

 would have been the scene presented could an observer have 

 reached the spot on the morning of Dec. 20. 



It may be wondered why we did not go into the pilot 

 house or cabin to take our interviews with the dream god. 

 Alas! her cabin was the hold and boiler room, her pilot 

 house was but a sham, four feet wide by about &ie same in 

 length. 



No bulwarks protected her, and it were hazardous, in- 

 deed, for one to pass another on her decks without holdiBg 

 on to the rail that graced the house covering the boiler and 

 engines. 



She was no beauty, but well had served the purpose re- 

 quired of her, and had towed many hundred thousand feet 

 of timber during the past year from its home on the Wando 

 River down to the island where rest the bones of Osceola, 

 whence it went to be hidden from human sight forever be- 

 neath the waves of the Atlantic that roll their surges over 

 Charleston Bar. 



It had been a long talked of and cherished plan with my 

 partner and myself that when our works were completed we 

 should take a trip by the inland route from Charleston up to 

 Cape Roman and the South Santee on one of our tugs, but 

 the larger ones drawing too much water for the passage we 

 were compelled to fall back on the little Bull River, with 

 the spacious accommodations described. 



We had invited one of the county officers and a friend of 

 his, who was to bring four hounds, to join us, but at 11 

 o'clock the night previous to our start we received word that 

 business of importance would compel him to go to Columbia 

 to represent his county's interests, and that neither his friend 

 nor himself would be able to go. 



We determined to go, however, and as the sun was begin- 

 ning to rise over the distant sandhills, steamed away from 

 our wharf, filled with brightest anticipations of the most 

 glorious sport among the ducks and deer, but with a feeling 

 of disappointment that oar expected guests could not be 

 with us. 



As we entered the creek that wound its way tortuously 

 among the marshes, we left behind us the beautiful harbor of 

 Charleston, its forts, its beacons, and its_historic and roman- 

 tic interest. 



Opposite the Catholic church on Sullivan Island we catch 

 a glimpse of Fort Moultrie, under the shadow of whose walls 

 lies a marble slab with the simple legend "Osceola, Patriot 

 and Warrior," and next his grave a plain wooden railing 

 incloses the spot where rest the bones of several sailors and 

 soldiers who were sunk in their ships in the harbor during 

 the war. 



It was there that Marion, the Swamp-Fox, once held com- 

 mand, and there it was that General Sherman held his first 

 commission, and on his hunting trips from that place gained 

 such valuable knowledge of the country. 



Game ahead ! 



Thoughts of generals, conquests, romance and beauty 

 vanish. 



The gun is seized, and. as a bunch of ducks go whizzing 

 by, one is picked out, and with the report still goes whizzing 

 on, leaving a very much astonished gunner ; not astonished 

 at the miss— used to that sort of thing too long — but the old 

 gun, after years of steady use, had gone back on me and 

 flew open. This was a cheerful prospect for my partner, 

 who was not used to my Lefevre hammerless, and had elected 

 to use my hammer gun, as more to his taste. 



Rubber bands around the barrels failed to prevent the gun 

 opening, so it became virtually a single barrel gun, as the 

 second barrel was almost invariably useless. The fault was 

 afterward discovered to be caused by the wearing of the 

 bolt. 



After making three consecutive missee, flinching every 

 time, I changed guns, and then made a twenty-five cent "pot" 

 on shots. My record was unimproved for some time, but 

 at last I retrieved my reputation and stopped even. 



Passing Long Island and Swinton's, we at length reached 

 Deweese's Inlet, where on a pleasant day last May Deer- 

 slayer Ollie and I caught fifty -seven splendid sheepshead in 

 about four hours, and as two of us, at least, were novices 

 at landing the crafty bait-stealers, we felt very proud of our 

 record. 



Saluting old Mr. Jones, whose hospitality we had enjoyed 

 on previous trips, with three blasts of the whistle, we passed 

 back of the island, and there I succeeded in killing a loon 

 with my Winchester, intending to use his breast as the cover 

 to a chair bottom; but neglecting to skin it that day, the nest 

 saw it a subject for the buzzards, and an odor pervaded the 

 air that might have even moved a New York City Board of 

 Health officer. 



As we steamed along we started up great flocks of cormor- 

 ants, or as they are here called, "nigger geese," but they 

 were very wild, and we did not succeed in stopping any with 

 either shot or rifle, though I wanted one for my collection 

 and did my best to secure a specimen. 



_ Hearing a sigh from Deerslayer, and inquiring the cause, 

 it seemed that his fingers were cut at every discharge of the 

 gun, and were fast swelling out of shape, for as his avoirdu- 

 pois is something over two hundred and eighty, with fingers 

 in proportion, there was not a superabundance of room be- 

 tween guard and flesh, 



With fingers lame and bleeding, and a gun that opened 

 continually, poor Deerslayer was becoming rapidly discour- 

 aged, and as all the ducks we saw were so wild that they 

 speedily put as much space between themselves and the tug 

 as was possible, it began to dawn on us that our duck supper 

 would be more a matter of fancy than reality. 



After a discussion between the engineer and captain as to 

 the proper channel to select of the many that opened to view 

 one was chosen which the captain had tried before and knew 

 to have sufficient water, although the distance was greater 

 than by one that was much less crooked, but in which on a 

 shrinking tide, we would be more than liable to be stranded 

 on an oyster bank. 



Trying an occasional shot with the rifle at great blue 

 herons, or "Po' Joes," as the darkies call them, taking snap 

 shots at helldivers as they ducked from sight, occasionally 

 getting one as it rose from the water, watching the buzzards 

 as they rose and circled above the distant land, and with a 

 thorough enjoyment of our position, but not of our luck, we 

 wound our way through the narrow channel, now and then 

 meeting great lumbering-looking sloops, loaded almost to the 

 guards with rice going to the Charleston market, the boats 

 propelled along with poles when the wind was ahead and 

 the course too narrow to tack. 



After an hour more we reached the upper end of Capers 

 Island, and on the wharf found Mr. Magwood, who had in- 

 vited us to be his guests. 



Dropping anchor in the stream we went ashore in one of 

 our small boats and received a most hearty welcome. 



Learning that we had brought no dogs, he dispatched one 

 of his servants to the mainland to borrow two of Mr. White- 

 side's hounds, in order that we might have a run on Capers 

 the next morning. 



The house where we were entertained was on an oyster 

 reef with marsh land around it, the inlet from the sea on one 

 side, and a deep creek separating it from Capers on the other, 

 while a walk elevated on short piles led to the wharf. 



The house itself consisted of two rooms with a half-loft 

 overhead. In one room a table an,d some stools comprised 

 the furniture, and a broad fire-place, in which fat pine knots 

 were blazing, added a cheerful aspect to the whole. The 

 other contained a bed and a stand. 



This house was used by the men engaged in planting and 

 watching the oyster beds belonging to Mr. Magwood. 



After a hearty lunch, in which roast oysters, fresh from 

 their beds, played the principal part, I crossed the inlet to 

 Bulls Island with Mr. M.'s brother, who makes his home 

 there and attends to the stock and superintends the business 

 of getting out palmetto logs, making them into rafts and 

 shipping them to Charleston, which destination they reach 

 by poling and drifting with the tides, it sometimes taking 

 ten days or more to make the trip. 



I went to Bull's for a still-hunt, having been told that there 

 were plenty of deer and that they were very seldom hunted. 

 Having never been on the island before 1 knew nothing of 

 the lay of the land, hut first tried a hammock (a word whose 

 spellinghas been discussed in Forest and Stream, I think). 

 Although sign was plenty and the ground carefully gone 

 over, nothing was started, and a ridge was explored with 

 the result of starting up a wild sow with a litter of pigs, 

 which ran off with grunts and squeals, but the old lady, 

 w ith a bristling back and a regular whistle, charged with 

 fire in her eye, and reminded me very much of a similar 

 charge made on me by an old bear, whose cub I had killed, 

 in the Adirondacks. The Magwood brothers have a large 

 number of hogs that run semi-wild, and I was uncertain 

 whether this was a wild one or one of theirs, so held my 

 fire, mentally resolving that if the sow came any nearer 

 than a sapling about twenty feet off, to let the Winchester 

 talk, for both gentlemen had cautioned me not to let either 

 boars or sows come too near, as they were often very dan- 

 gerous when startled, and only the week before two men 

 had been treed for over an hour by an enraged boar. As if 

 warned by intuition, she stopped as her nose reached the 

 sapling, just as my finger was pressing the trigger, and with 

 a snort tore off through the bushes at a great rate, leaving 

 me somewhat relieved, as I had come for venison, not pork. 



A heavy wind springing up, and as the creeping vines, the 

 brush and saw palmetto was almost impenetrable, I decided 

 to return to Capers and hunt there with the dogs and reserve 

 my still-hunt until I was more familiar with the island and 

 could learn where one would be most liable to find the game. 



A still-hunt in a Southern jungle is vastly different from 

 one in our Adirondack forests, for the thickest cedar swamp 

 cannot compare with the density of some of the thickets I 

 tried and which were a perfect net work of perplexities, 

 where sound would have to avail more than sight, but hav- 

 ing been told that the deer resorted to them during the heat 

 of the day, and that when "jumped" sought the more open 

 land, or the sandhills, I resolved to get them out it there 

 were any there. 



After tumbles innumerable, hopeless tangles with vines 

 and creepers, and having made more noise than a train of 

 cars, and raised row enough to paralize any deer in his right 

 senses, I made my way out and concluded that as a still- 

 hunter in that sort of place, "Onondaga" was not a success. 



Thanking Mr. Magwood for his proffered hospitality 'and 

 bidding him adieu, a brisk walk of some four miles brought 

 me to the inlet where a couple of shots from the rifle brought 

 a boat from the other shore, where boiling coffee and steam- 

 ing oysters awaited me. 



After a short game of "draw" we all sought sleep, and 

 some found it, as the rolliag thunders of heavy rest pro- 

 claim d, that two at least, had ears unmoved by sound. 



For medicinal purposes Deeslayer had placed in his satchel 

 a bottle of gin, and before going' to rest thought he would 

 take a "wee sma' drop," but hard was the luck, for the cork 

 had come out and his extra trousers ?aeld in solution a quart 

 of the choicest Holland, and he was left the choice of chew- 

 ing a piece of his breeches or sleeping without his toddy. 



At early dawn the next day we were all assigned stands 

 on Capers Island, by universal vote giving Deerslayer what 

 was thought to be the best, for be it known that he had 

 earned the illustrious title by five years' hunting, and as yet 

 had never had a shot at a deer, but with a true hunter's 

 patience said his turn must come in time. 



The weather was cold and dry and but one hound was to 

 be had, the other having slipped his collar and tried a lone 

 hunt of his own on the mainland the night before. 



Our drive was not a success, for after spending six hours 

 without a deer being seen, we returned to the oyster house 



