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FOREST AND STREAM. 
[Ave. d4, 1884. 
RELOADING AMMUNITION.—Hdilor Forest and Stream: 
Your correspondent ‘'C. D.” has had bad luck loading rifle 
shells. I sngeest that ‘‘C. D.” first buy a rifle of which the 
breech will hold a shell without swelling it. Then the 
Bridgeport G. I, Co,’s reloading outfits will do the work. 
“O, D.” is right about bullets; no one can mould a bullet 
equal to the U. M. ©. pressed bullet, I had considerable 
trouble about swelled shells until I got a .40-caliber that held 
the cartridge tight, and since then I have thrown away my 
reducers and now use nothing but a cap punch, a ve-capper, 
powder measnre and mallet. Tf you want the shell crimped, 
the Bridgeport G, I. Co,’s screw crimper will do it. I don’t 
reload a repeater cartridge, as to save the shell in quick 
shooting does away with all advantages claimed for it. 
Tused a double-barreled Rigby 40 express, with 125 grains 
of powder, four years, and had but 200 cases. I must have 
shot each case as often as twice a week, and ‘I never had a 
_ hung shell. I never had a reducer, The only use I ever 
found for such a tool was for a poor gun that was loose in 
the breech. Antelope are plentiful around this town, and I 
take them in once a week, and shall continue it till the 1st of 
September.—Atmo (Henrietta, Tex., Aug. 1). 
Norte CAROLINA CoAst SHootine.—We have received 
the following memoranda from a gentleman who spent a 
fortnight last fall at the points named, wildfowl shooting. 
Chincoteague Tsland—Reached via Old Dominion line of 
steamers, twenty-four hours from New York; Chincoteague 
Hotel, Matthews, proprietor; board $1.75 per day; guide 
$2.50 per day. Two best guides are Capt. Jeffreys and Jack 
Snede. Jeffreys has sloop, would meet a party at Franklin 
and go down the island. Offered to go with two for 2.50 
each per day. Currituck—Church’s Island. Write to E. B. 
Midgett, post office address, Coinjock, Currituck county, 
North Carolina. Reached by steamer Bonito (beastly boat) 
or by rail to Snowden’s and then team. Board at Midgett’s 
$2 per day; man $3 per day. Ammunition can be had there. 
English snipe shooting good in season, 
New Hampsarrn Woopcock.—Lancaster, N. H., Aug 5. 
—This is the third year that woodcock have been seen in 
this vicinity. Three years ago a few were observed near 
here, but not until this scason have they received any atten- 
tion, and it is well that they have not, for they would cer- 
tainly have been destroyed. Already several have been 
killed, and apparently the remainder are doomed. How 
much better it would be to wait a year or two longer, shat 
We may be assured of a lasting sport.—Coos. 
To THE YELLowsTone Parx.—The Union Pacific Rail- 
road has a system of excursion rates to the National Park 
based upon the number in the party. Individual tickets 
cost $90 each forthe round trip from Council Bluffs or 
Kansas City to the Firehole Basin and réturn. The rate is 
graded down to $65, according to the number of persons 
golug together, September is the best month in which to 
see the Park, 
Doves 1y Grorera.—Macon, Ga., Aug, 6.—Macon sports- 
men have had but little sport with doves this summer, I 
went on one occasion and had a very pleasant day; shot very 
well indeed, bagged forty-three birds, killing a fraction better 
than three out of five shots.—I. H. J. 
BEARS ARE PiLentTy in Pike county, Pa., this year. 
Several have been killed in Green township. 
Camp Sire Hlicheyings. 
a a ee 
“That reminds me.” 
130. 
if had rained, rained, rained all day; not in torrents, not 
spasmodically, but in a steady, persistent drip, drip, drip, 
without a single intermission or even the promise of one. 
Everything was thoroughly soaked inside andout, The fish- 
ing had been bad, the supper worse; gloom was in the air 
and had cast its dull mautle on everything and everybody. 
The ‘‘Spoonhill” ganye crawled early into their shelter, soggy, 
despondent and moody. Silence had the floor, also the 
chair, in fact supreme command, were it not for the con- 
tinual patter, patter of the rain drops. The fall of a house 
or the scream of a steam whistle could have been easily and 
distinctly heard. The thickness of the stillness was becom- 
ing intolerable when the shrill shafp voice of Black was 
heard: ‘Dad, if you don’t tell us a story or do something to 
route this hideous nightmare, to shatter this pall of gloom, 
your gray hairs and respected position shall not save 
you from destruction. Out upon thee, old man, if you do not 
rouse up, lend us a willing hand and wunloosen that nimble 
tongue of thine, I'll denounce thee from this camp to the 
mouth of Grand River, as a morose, dyspeptic old fraud fit 
ouly tor the early cornfields or crossroads, your rods as 
miserable twigs, your lines as rotten delusions, your spoon 
baits as revolving glittering cheats! 
“Belay there, youngster; clap a stopper on that silly 
tongue of thine or you will not have wind enovgh left to 
blow the candle out. It’s ballast you need, not tales; found- 
ation, not stories; although for that matter | might perhaps 
‘a tale unfold’ if any of you will give me a reminder or a 
starter.” 
“Byer catch a grizzly on a Hill spoon?” ‘‘Were you eyer 
drowned?” ‘‘Hver see au artificial bait equal to the Spauld- 
ing?” ‘Ever lost inthe woods?” ‘These were the ejacula- 
tions fired at the old man instanter. 
“Wo, | never was lost in the woods, nor drowned in a 
single shower; but I must confess I am all at sea and nearly 
dazed in this crowd of silly-pates who cannot stand up under 
the infliction of one dull, rainy day, and no fish, without 
whining like a whipped puppy or scolding like an old 
washerwoman, But did I ever tell you how Spaulding got 
lost on Grand River?” _ 
“Wo, you never did; soif there is any line on that reel, 
ease up on the pressure and let her whirl.” 
“Tate in the fall of ’82,” said the old man, “‘our party was 
camped at the mouth of Bass River. On this particular day 
the weather was raw aud windy; an occasional flurry of 
snow, and the low, dull gray clouds plainly denoted an ap- 
proaching storm. In the afternoon the strength of the 
breeze obliged us to haye out two good-sized anchors, one 
astern to keep us from swinging into the reeds, along the 
edge of which we were fishing, When we left camp after 
dinner, it had been decided that S. should go over to East- 
man’s, a distance of ahout three miles, to replenish our stock 
of groceries, About 8 o’clock he pulled up and started. The 
provisions were in due time obtained, but several valuable 
hours were spent in gossip with some old fishing friends, and 
darkness was upon them when, after helping §. load the 
necessaries intg the boat, his friends gave him a good send 
off, wishing him a good time in rowing to camp. 
“While $8. and his friends had been making the most of 
their time, the gathering storm had not been idle, and was 
now fairly started on a regular jamboree. The wind was 
blowing a stiff gale, the snow was falling thick and fast. 
Had the arch fiend gathered the universal goose crop, picked 
the feathers by machinery, and fired them down with Gat- 
ling guns, they could not haye been more abundant nor 
hurled with any greater force. §. went at his task briskly, 
and with a determination to get there and that soon. He 
was a good rower, had a snug boat, and literally had plenty 
of yim aboard. For half an hour he pulled vigorously and 
without halting, then, thinking he should be nearly across, 
Iet up and looked around. No eye could penetrate more 
than a boat’s length in any direction; there was nothing to 
be seen but the scurrying, pelting snow, the black water 
and the whitecaps which were breaking, rolling and 
tumbling over one another in their wild and crazy race for 
the shore. 
“The steam which had generated during the story telling, 
was now very much condensed. and as §. rather nervously 
strained his eyes and peered as far as possible into the snowy 
darkness, he concluded that the outlook was rather obstructed 
that it was a very wild night, and wished that he was safe 
and sound in camp. But how to get there, or the direction 
to take, was the question. A division of the question was 
had without debate, which resulted, that the ‘how’ was to 
pull for it, while the direction could only be guessed at. 
Hastily considering the direction of the wind, then the cur- 
rent in the river, he jumped at his course and applied bhim- 
self to the oars with all his mipht andmain. But how to 
guide his course by the wind was a puzzler, for it blew from 
every direction—first on one side then on the other, some- 
times it was dead ahead, then square in the stern, and again 
it seemed as though it was blowing from the four quarters, 
and that he was the center of grayity with a lateral section 
down through the center. Manfully he struggled on for 
another thirty minutes—it seemed as many hours—and then. 
stopped from sheer exhaustion. He stood up in the boat 
and hollered, yelled, screamed himself hoarse, Bah! he 
might as well have stuck his head under the water; his little 
insignificant noise was slapped back into his face ere his breath 
was cold. No sound could be heard but the howling of the 
storm, the swash of the whitecaps, and the slap, slap, of the 
Waves against the side of his boat, Herolled up a hard wad 
of paper and dropped it overboard tosee which way the cur- 
rent was setting. Before it fairly touched the water it was 
caught up by the wind and whirled out of sight. A piece 
of board went over for the same purpose; a wave caught 
and dashed it against the side of the boat, another seized it 
and it was gone foreyer. He was confused, discouraged and 
was either growing dizzy or seasick. He bowed his head, 
covered his face with his hands and endeavored to steady 
himself. Which way to go? What to do? Where am 1? 
were his mental ejaculations, ‘Perhaps 1 have rowed down 
with the current and am now drifting out into Lake Michi- 
gan, Horror of horrors! If so, nothing can save me from 
a horrible death.’ The howling storm raged and roared 
around him, eager to engulf him. He made a dive for his 
hat, which the wind had hurled into the stern of the boat; 
seized if with one hand and grasped with the other—what? 
A line as taut as a high-strung bow string. What was it? 
Why, simply his stern anchor rope, which his friends had 
jokingly dropped into the water when they gave him such a 
cheerful send-off. For over an hour I had been rowing as 
for life and death in the face and eyes of that screaming, 
blustering, bitter storm, vainly trying to drag that infernal 
anchor through the mud, snags and rushes which cover the 
river bottom,” 
‘Hi yi! Hold ox, old man; how is that? 
said it was Spaulding,” 
‘So 1 did; so I reiterate.” 
“Bat you just let out that you had been doing the rowing,” 
“Did 1? Well, it must haye been a slip of the tongue, or 
I have got two stories mixed. But never mind. The rope 
was cut, for the anchor was so badly fouled I could not get 
it aboard. The faint scream of a locomotive and the low 
rumble of a train on the D. & M. gave me my bearings, 
Ten minute’s rowing and I saw the glimmer of the fire the 
boys had built on the bank to guide me to camp, Late a 
hearty supper and for the next twelve consecutive hours 
slept the serene sleep of the innocent and just.” 
GRanD Rarips, Mich, 
Thought you 
131. 
We were floating down a certain river in Arkansas—M. 
and I—in our small shanty boat, about the first of November. 
We had yery carefully placed our guns where we could grab 
them at a moment’s notice, for ducks and squirrels were 
plenty; and we had seen a deer on the bank, and no gun 
within reach. As we rounded a bend I espied a large object 
ina tree overhanging the river. ‘Look what a big nest,” I 
exclaimed, ‘‘Hello,” said M., ‘‘I want that nest. Ill take 
it home and hang it up on my porch,” and up went his gun. 
Thinking he was joking, I paid no altention, but he fired, 
and down came the nest, falling right in front of the boat, 
and the next moment a swarm of red hot hornets attacked 
us on all sides. ‘I didn’t know it was loaded,” groaned M., 
covering his face. I followed his example, and we at last 
got through all right, THREE-BARREL, 
sd 132. 
My boyhood days were spent in the neighborhood where 
President Arthur first saw light, North Fairfield, Vermont, 
and a short distance from our house was a deep, sluggish 
stream called Black Creek, which was full of hornpouts, or 
bullheads, as they are called there, and many an evening, with 
one of the farm hands for a companion, have I spent in my 
youthful days on the banks of that stream ‘tyanking” those 
fish owt. One evening I had with me a fresh ‘‘chip from the 
auld sod,” whom I had rigged up with a stout pole and 
tackle, with the necessary ‘‘wurms for bait.” I gave him a 
stand a short distance from me, and told him that when he 
felt a bite at his bait to yank with all of his strength, but 
to be careful of his fish. ‘‘Sure,” he said, ‘I'd not be alarmed 
to saze hauld of any fash that would grow in that strame, even 
if it was the Auld Nick himself.” Ina few minutes I heard 
him give a tremendous grunt, and a heavy thud on the ground 
behind him proclaimed a landed pout. He seized hold of the 
line close to the fish with one hand and held it up toward the 
struggling fish. 
spines, back his hand would go with a flirt and a howl, 
while he would execute a miniature war dance. 
clear sky, and with his other hand attempted to handle the 
As his hand came in contact with the sharp 
““What’s the trouble with you, Anthony?” I cried. 
‘Holy murther! What’s- the trubble!” he howled. ‘‘But 
this is a quare counthry and it’s a quare,lad that ye are. 
Furst ye had me mouth an’ throte in purgatory with yer hill- 
fire wild Amirican thurnip (turnip); thin ye had meatea bloody 
grane buthernut that was so bither that it wud drive a saint 
to distraction; thin have me hunt of an avening a kitten that 
was a murthering, stanking polecat, that kilt me stamick in- 
tirely and made me slape in the barn for a wake away from 
Ann, and now it’s a fash that ye have that’s so tied up wid 
se that wud borther the divil himself to lay a hand to 
im, » 
STANSTHAD. 
- Hieuaats, Vt., July 15. 
Sea and River ishing. 
SALT-WATER FISHING. 
Editor Forest and Stream: 
My communication on “‘Salt-Water Fishing,” published 
in your issue of July 17, was not for the purpose of opening 
a controversy on that subject, but ‘‘Fontinalis’’ seems to 
think it was, and after calling attention to me by name, mis- 
construes my language, and says that it is only when Mr. 
Scolt writes about trout and salmon fisbing that he is poetic- 
ally inspired. I did not intend to assert that fishing in the 
salt water made any one write poetry, but what I did say 
was that ‘neither Mr. Scott nor Mr. Roosevelt was lacking in 
inspiration or poetry of expression wh n writing on salt- 
water angling. There is a difference beljeen poetry of ex- 
pression and writing poctry. However, upon referring to 
Mr. Scott's ‘Fishing in American Waters,” you will find 
that Mr. Scott wrote poetry as well as made use of poetry of 
expression, when on the subject under discussion, and J have 
inclosed herewith the following selections, taken from the 
book referred to, as the best argument that ‘‘Fontinalis” 
labors under a false impression, Mr, Scott also freely imter- 
sperses poetical quotations throughout his work, but the 
selections here given are his own production. The first is 
from his book at page 84: 
“At mouth of river, or where deep 
O’er mussel beds the bay tidessweep, 
The bulky sheepshead loves to hie 
When summer suns ride hot and dry; 
And there, for hours, in anchored boat, 
Hopeful, the patient anglers float, 
Only too happy if a score 
OF dainty fish enrich their store.” 
Again, on page 94; 
‘Where inlet of the Barnegat 
Opes to the boiling surf its gate, 
When the young flood tide washes in 
Limpet and crab, a luring bail, 
Then, where the affluent current pours 
The deepest o’er its mussel floors, 
The greedy sheepshead hidden lie, 
To seize whatever may float by, 
And there, in dancing boat that swings 
At anchor in the floating tides 
The angler line and plummet flings, 
And takes the robber where he hides.” 
Aguin, on page 98: 
“To anglers who dwell near the coast 
The kingfish is a peculiar joy; 
And among all the scaly host, 
This they choose as their favorite toy.” 
On page 103 Mr, Scott gives this: 
“When twinkling icicles depend 
From woods that with the bright freight bend, 
When salty stream and open sound ; 
With adamantine ice are bound, 
Then o’er the solid frozen stream 
The tents of the smelt fishers gleam; 
Each opes with axe the crystal floor, 
Then patient watches at the door,”' 
On page 105 he says: 
‘Where low the level Jersey shore 
Spreads out its ribbed and sandy floor, 
At break of day the fishers launch 
The little skiff. so swift and staunch ; 
Spread the white sail, forsake the strand, 
To dare the ocean miles from land. 
Full well by shore-marks they may know 
Where reefs of weeds are hidden low; 
There, anchored at the dawn of day, 
They rob the marine banks of prey.” 
And on page 112; 
“Whereyer kelp and seaweed cling 
To ramparts, form’d of rugged rock, 
The tautog finds a dwelling place, 
Deep down in waters at their base; 
Ov where a passing boat hath met 
Its fate along the rocky shore, 
And, with its broken ribs and Keel, 
Lies rotting on the ocean floor, 
There, where the clinging shell and weed 
Gather, and barnacles abound, 
The blackfish, seeking out their feed, 
In numbers by the hook are found.” 
Also see pp. 122, 126 and 137. 
Had I the time to look over my old files of the Spirdt of the 
Times, Turf, Field and Farm and Wilkes’ Spirtt of the Times, 
T could furnish more proof on the same subject. And will 
add, further, that a personal acquaintance with Mr. Scott, 
when I lived in New York city, warrants mv in asserting that 
he felt quite as much interest in salt-water as in fresh-water 
angling. I was sorry to see the spirit in which “Fontinalis” 
criticises the article contributed by ‘‘Knebel,” who is evi- 
dently an angler of no small parts, judging bim by his en- 
thusiasm and success. Anglers are proverbially gentle, 
being votaries of a gentle art, and it does not become us to 
cast reflections on one another, no matter to what branch of 
the craft we belong. We may be “‘salt,” we may be “‘fresh;” 
but we. are all ‘‘children of one family,” My striped bass 
rod, my fly-rod and my bait-rod for general use, my gaff 
+ - _ 
_—s 1] —_- 
