Feb. 26, 1883.] 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



and came across. Their dogs looked as bedraggled as the 

 cock in the barnyard in living's "Wet Sunday at a Country 

 Inn." While the baggage was passing the window where I 

 sat, I saw on a box the name of one of the parties, ajld cull- 

 ing the attention of my friend Dit to it, he stated that the 

 name was borne by a Pbiladelphian who had made a visit to 

 the house of his brother Joe, who lives on the border of "tho 

 Meadows" for the past, several years during the hunting sea- 

 son, and indulged himself in " the earnest effort to bag the 

 birds which were generally quite abundant in that neighbor- 

 hood. Sure enough, when they entered the coach it was 

 seen that they were respectively Mr, J. C. W., of Philadel- 

 phia, and Mr. H. G., of Wilmington, Delaware, and that 

 they were going to the same place which we were seeking, 

 and we soon became somewhat acquainted. 



After leaving Danville, the route of the railway, for some 

 seven or eight miles, after leaving the track of the Richmond 

 & Danville road, is in North Carolina, and then it gets into 

 Virginia. A branch of it leaves the main stem, just as the 

 road goes back into North Carolina, and at present extends 

 to Leaksville. The other turns to the right, enters Virginia, 

 and is completed to Patrick Court House. We were on the 

 Virginia train, and after passing through a lonely country, 

 especially inviting to those who are fond of wing-shootiug, 

 we reached Byrdsville, the place of our destination. It rained 

 all night when we were at Danville, and was still raining 

 when we left the cars at the station, and were conveyed to 

 the house of our friends. Joe and Bud, the hospitable gentle- 

 man whom we were to visit, came with the vehicles, and 

 gave us all, a cordial welcome, the reception we felt sure we 

 would meet. In about a half hour Teceel and I were seated 

 before a crackling fire in the parlor of Bud, while the others, 

 no doubt, were warming themselves around the capacious 

 ingle in the library room of Joe. So soon as her household 

 duties would permit, Mrs. Bud made her appearance and 

 greeted us with that genuine hospitality which a true womam 

 soon exhibits to the friends of her husband. Our entire stay 

 was brightened by acts of unaffected kindness, on the part 

 of the families of both of these gentlemen. The only fault I 

 had to find with the treatment was that the good woman gave 

 us too much to eat, in both variety and quality of food, which 

 rather severely taxed my digestive powers. All of us, except 

 Teceel, paid the hostesses the highest of all compliments— the 

 free stowage of the victuals which were so generously pro- 

 vided. I shall cherish the few days passed under their 

 hospitable roofs as very green spots in the journey of my life. 



The afternoon of the first day was rather uupropitious 

 for field sports, and we deferred the effort until the following 

 day. Bud's gun was broken beyond any power to remedy — 

 for f had my tools and tried it — and Joe's had been patched 

 up so as to make it possible to use it. It failed entirely, 

 however, before we left, and my mechanical genius was suc- 

 cessfully applied so that it may perhaps last during the bal- 

 ance of the season, provided he does not stumble into a ditch 

 nor meet with a mishap similar to the one which caused the 

 disaster. 



As a sporting region, this country was not in its holiday 

 attire. A prettier one for bird shooting I never saw; but the 

 valley had been so parched by the droughts of the preceding 

 summer that not a drop of water was in any of the small 

 streams, and the birds were forced to go to where it could be 

 found. Besides this it is a favorite place for the sportsmen 

 and others of Danville, and the few birds which remained 

 have.fallen victims to their almost incessant fusilade during 

 the months of November and December. In one of our 

 rambles outside of the most inviting fields, we found quite a 

 number of coveys of fair size, but such was their fear of us 

 that they took refuge in so dense cover that it was folly to 

 pursue them. Dr. E., the owner of the estate where we 

 hunted, was with us aud showed us all proper courtesy. He 

 was simply a spectator, for gunning is not his profession. 

 This was the most successful day we had, and we bagged, 

 I think, thirty-four birds. My score was, as I expected, the 

 smallest of the three, for Teceel and Bud are among the most 

 expert shooters I know. 



Joe. Dit and Mud went in a different direction and got 

 niore birds than we did. Of course they fouud more and in 

 better places, for I know I can, at least, equal either of them 

 in skillfulness. The gentlemen from the North met with 

 less success than we did. Both of them have high-grade 

 Westley Richards guns — one a 12-bore hammer gun, with that 

 ugly break which "that gunmaker sometimes uses (I have one 

 of them), and the other a pretty little hammerless, by the 

 same maker, 16-bore and weighing 6£ pounds. It is choked. 

 I was astonished to see that both of these guns are loose in 

 the joints. Mine, which has been used much more, is as 

 tight as when it came from the shop. Their dogs are of the 

 patrician blood, aud have had, as I learn, full education in the 

 highest canine curriculum; but, so far as I saw or was told, 

 they were in no respect superior to our unpretending, 

 common-blooded mongrels, without any pedigree, and who 

 got all their learning in "old field schools." 



This reminds me of a story which Mr. G., one of the gen- 

 tlemen, told, illustrating the very sensible ideas which some 

 men entertain. A believer in fine blood was the owner of a 

 dog of "high degree," whose ancestors were known for 

 many generations and held a prominent place in the "Stud 

 Book. " He had a market value, because of his lineage, equal 

 to that of a first-class roadster. On one occasion he hunted 

 with a brother sportsman, whose setter was of peasant 

 stock — 



"His gaueie tail, wi' upward curl, 

 Hung ower his hurdies wi' a swirl," 



like Luath in "The Twa Dogs." It so turned out that the 

 red blood found all the birds, set them stanchly and retrieved 

 them nicely. The blue blood did nothing but exhibit ' 'style" 

 in his movements. When the facts were stated by him to 

 his friends, he admitted that the other dog beat his badly in 

 the field, but he had no blood, and, therefore, was valueless. 

 His dog, to be sure, found no birds, but then he had blood 

 and "style!" Was this fellow a fool? Let the story answer 

 the question. 



By some unaccountable association of ideas I am led to 

 relate one of the many peculiarities of our friend Mud, the 

 man who is the hero of the "Gun Swab." On his way to 

 "the Meadows" he found it convenient to get a pair of can- 

 vas breeches in Charlotte. Going into a store he made in- 

 quiry for the needed article. He was told that the merchant 

 had but one pair on hand which he had purchased for him- 

 self, but which were too small, and he could not use them. 

 If they would fit he could take them at cost. "What size 

 are they, Mr. O'Dowell?" inquired Mud. "Thirty-two in 

 the waist and thirty -four in the leg." Mud, though a vora- 

 cious eater, has apparently but little stowage capacity, and 

 measures at the belt, only twenty-seven inches. He replied, 

 "They are too large, I want only twenty-nine. They will 

 not do." He was urged by Teceel to try them on, and they 



might, answer his purposes. To this he consented, and was 

 soon inside, of them. The fit was perfect. He told his friend 

 and companion that they were exactly right, "but they will 

 not do. for they are thirty-two and I wear twenty-nine." 

 "Still they fit, 'don't they?" "Why, yes, but they are thirty- 

 two and I wear twenty-nine. So they will not answer; if 

 they were twenty-nine I would take them." Isn't he a queer 

 one? But he is a good fellow with all his eccentricities, and 

 always man ages, through sympathy, I suppose, or flattery, 

 to get on the good side of all the wearers of crinoline whence 

 he goes. 



Notwithstanding we had a pleasant time socially, our suc- 

 cess in the sporting line was rather a failure. So when 

 Monday afternoon came, after a most excellent late dinner, 

 w T e bade our kind friends farewell, receiving from then an 

 invitation to come again, when, they hoped, the birds would 

 be more abundant. Teceel, Mud and I took the train for 

 Danville, and reached home the following day, findiug our 

 families well and glad to see us. We left Dit on the soil of 

 his birth. He expected to remain several days longer, with 

 his brothers, Jim, Joe and Bud and his daughter, who re- 

 cently married a most estimable gentleman, an ardent sports- 

 man, who has a beautiful residence on a fine estate, adjoin- 

 ing the possessions of the parties whose special guests we 

 were. To those and others whom I have not named, as 

 well as the visitors from the North, we extend our thanks 

 for the courtesies shown us, and express the hope that we 

 may meet again, and enjoy ourselves abundantly in the house 

 and field. Wells* 



Rockingham, N. C, Jan. 19, 1885. 



Editor Forest and Stream: 



Four weeks of the hunting season last autumn were passed 

 in Milford, Va. As yet the place is little known to the sports- 

 man. It is on the R. P. & P. R. R. , seventy miles south 

 of Washington, and only twelve hours' ride from New York. 

 One of the best features of the country there for a sportsman 

 is that it is well watered for both man and dog. Only a 

 sportsman who has hunted in a region where this is not the 

 case can understand the full meaning of this. To carry 

 water for the dogs, or to be obliged to leave the shooting and 

 wandet about in search of it, as was the case this fall in the 

 majority of the hunting grounds, will try the zest of even 

 the most enthusiastic sportsman. The hotel is right on the 

 hunting grounds, you step from the cars into the hotel door, 

 where you will find Capt. J. W. Gill, the proprietor, and a 

 thorough sportsman. The Captain keeps two fine specimens 

 of the Gordon setter. We w T ent there to shoot and we did 

 shoot. Never was a month more pleasantly passed. We 

 killed about six hundred quail, a good many woodcock, and 

 a few wild turkeys; and yet if I was to say what constituted 

 the chief pleasure of the trip I should not say it was the 

 abundance of birds, but rather the nature of the shooting 

 ground. The country is open and game easily found. As 

 Mr. S., from Baltimore, said, "I would rather shoot twenty 

 birds a day at the Captain's, than fifty birds elsewhere." 



Staffobd. 



SOME REMARKABLE SHOTS. 



Editor Forest and Stream: 



In boyhood in old Maryland, one fine morning when hick- 

 ory nuts were ripe, Gus and I betook ourselves to the field 

 for a quail hunt. On our way home we ventured into what 

 was know 7 n as "Shoemaker's Bottom," noted for being the 

 best squirrel ground in the country. Mr. Shoemaker also 

 prohibited any hunting there. Nevertheless Gus took one 

 side of the woods and I the other. In a few minutes I heard 

 Gus fire four shots as fast as he could load his singlebarrel. 

 I hurried to him and saw a large gray squirrel high up in 

 the end of a hollow limb. Gus said he could not even make 

 him wink, much less kill him. I tried two shots with no 

 better success. A fire in the tree would smoke him out, Gus 

 suggested, and in a minute the tree was smoking, and seemed 

 inclined to burn down, as it was partly dead and dry. It 

 struck me just then that the squirrel might be dead, though 

 in such a position as to look alive; also that Shoemaker 

 would have us brought before the Squire for burning his 

 tree. There was no time to think more — we dashed to a 

 spring close by — I off with my boots — Gus took one, I the 

 other— and after a half hour's work packing water in my 

 boots we extinguished the flame. Then I ascended the tree, 

 to find the squirrel dead, killed by the first shot. H. A. S. 

 Butte City, Montana. 



Editor Forest and Stream: 



One day last fall while hunting ducks among a group of 

 small lakes where there was little or no cover, I rested my 

 gun ou a fence and fired, killing three and woundbag a fourth. 

 On measuring the distance found it to be" 102 yards to the 

 shore, and the ducks were about three yards out in the water. 

 I used at the time a 12-gauge gun, 8 pounds weight, 30-inch 

 barrels, loaded with 1^ ounces No. 4 shot and 3-J drams pow- 

 der. During the winter while hunting jack rabbits, I fired 

 at a jack sitting in the mouth of his hole, and on going up 

 found two dead rabbits instead of one. They had been lying 

 side by side. I used a Sharps military rifle at the time. 



M. L. H. 



Denver, Col. 



Editor Forest and Stream: 



In looking over my diary I find one remarkable shot to 

 my lot. While looking up into a large tree, I saw a crow 

 alight in the top. I pulled on him and three crows came 

 tumbling down. I thought the top of the tree was coming. 

 The friend at whose house I was staying said it was the best 

 shot 1 ever made, as the crows had been stealing his young 

 chickens all summer. R. F. 



Philadelphia, Pa. 



Editor Forest and Stream: 



A remarkable shot— remarkably disgusting to the shooter 

 —was that fired by my friend Eustis in the gray of an early 

 morning. He turned out of camp before any of the rest of 

 us, sneaked off alone and discharged a fusilade at what he 

 thought was a duck on the shore, but which proved to be 

 only an oval-shaped stone I had placed there for anchoring 

 a captive turtle. Scattbb-Gtjn. 



Iowa. 



Editor Forest and Stream: 



No person who has been in the habit of using a gun can 

 read your column of remarkable shots without being re- 

 minded of similar occurrences in which he was either a prin- 

 cipal or witness. That pulling a trigger is sometimes 

 attended with such surprising and not unpleasant results, 

 adds materially to the sport of hunting. There are, of 

 course, surprises that are not quite so agreeable, but they 

 seem to be decidedly in the minority. 



Once in my earliest hunting days, when I was first per- 



mitted to go alone, to the woods, armed with a real gun, a 

 venerable single barreled muzzleloader, I espied a black 

 squirrel seated on an ant hill devouring an ear of corn. I 

 crept up to within fifteen yards of the squirrel, and resting 

 ray gun on a rail of the fence, took as deliberate aim as my 

 somewhat excited nerves would allow, and fired. When the 

 smoke had cleared I was considerably surprised that neither 

 hide nor hair of that squirrel was to be seen. A glance at 

 the nearest tree was just in time to reveal a black tail being 

 withdrawn from view. I reloaded and soon discovered the 

 owner of the tail, but he was very active and ran from tree- 

 top to treetop, giving me a long, exciting chase, till finally 

 he escaped. On my way home in the afternoon, I thought!, 

 would review the scene of the action and ascertain if possible 

 where the charge of shot went that missed the squirrel. My 

 chagrin was changed to delight, when on going to inspect 

 the ant hill I found behind if the lifeless squirrel 



I once saw a mallard drake in the edge of some reeds on 

 the opposite side of a small poud to me, and as the distance 

 was a long one I was speculating as to the chance of killing 

 him if I were to shoot. He raised himself in the water and 

 flapped his wings, presenting his whole body to view. This 

 decided the queston and I fired, knocking him over. Going 

 round I waded out through the reeds to retrieve him, and in 

 so doing discovered two other mallards that had been killed 

 by the same discharge. 



A friend says he felt decidedly cheap when he aimed, as 

 he thought, well ahead of the leader of a flock of four ducks 

 flying in single file, and the fourth one fell to his fire. 



Another friend, who does not claim to be a wing-shot, had 

 been endeavoring for some time to kill partridge on the. 

 wing, but without success, till one day a bird started so near 

 him that his nerves were completely upset. Without raising 

 his gun he convulsively pulled trigger. Strange to say in- 

 stead of riddling his companion or the dog he killed the 

 grouse. J. M. E. 



Editor Forest and Stream: 



Many years ago, when a chunk of a boy, I was returning 

 from the swamps after a rather unsuccessful duck hunt, 

 afoot and alone. I was armed with a little, old, long, slen- 

 der, light, single-barrel shotgun, a 16-bore, I think. It was 

 heavily charged with, I think. No. 3 or 4 shot. I wished to 

 fire it off before reaching the house. There was a bunch of 

 wild geese sitting near the center of a forty acre field on my 

 right, 200 to 225 yards away. I pointed the gun in their 

 direction with an elevation of perhaps twenty to thirty 

 degrees above them and let go. The geese all flew but one. 

 it could not fly. I dropped the gun, boy like, and started 

 for it. It could nearly fly, but not quite; the ground was 

 freshly plowed, and the goose, with the help of its wings, 

 could run as fast as I could. A race followed that was long 

 and doubtful. When I thought I could run no longer I 

 stopped and shed my boots, then, after another long ex- 

 hausting tug I captured the goose. I found that I had 

 placed a shot iu the last joint of its wing, just under the 

 skin, but not out of sight. 



In later years, one day riding up a gentle slope in my 

 buggy I saw a covey of quail in the road ahead of me, they 

 ran into the hedge at the side of the road. Having a ,22 Bal- 

 lard rifle with me I stepped forward to see if I could get a 

 chance to nip one of their heads off. Following carefully 

 along, directly I saw one hop up on the edge of a square 

 stick of timber lying end to me beside the road. Dropping 

 on one knee, which brought my rifle about on a line with 

 the log, I fired from the other knee as a rest, very carefully 

 so as to clip off the quail's head; it was 20 yards away. I 

 did it nicely as I could see by the way it bounced around. 

 No quail flying I slipped iu another cartridge to try for 

 another. After some time by careful strategy I got another 

 shot and a bird ; I then went back to gather the bird, found 

 it, and then for some reason or other stepped to the log 

 where I had shot, when to my great surprise I found three 

 other quail dead beside it in a row, all shot square through 

 the body. The strange thing about it to me was how these 

 three other quail could jump on the log while I was sight- 

 ing and I not see them, which they evidently did. Five 

 quail in two shots with a .22 rifle is certainly good pot-luck. 



Byrne. 



Lacon, 111, 



REYNARD'S WAYS. 



OF sleeping foxes, a Swanton, Vt, correspondent writes : 

 "One morning after a heavy fall of snow, myself and 

 friend on a fox hunt, were riding through land grown up to 

 bushes and small timber. Old Reliable, our hound, was 

 following behind the sleigh, when suddenly he was missing. 

 Going back, we found he had left the road evidently in a 

 hurry. The wind was blowing strong from direction he 

 went. We followed his track, but soon met the hound, 

 seeming well satisfied with his short hunt. We found fully 

 eighty rods from where the dog had left the road at the 

 bottom of a narrow ravine about"fifteen feet deep, as fine a 

 specimen of red fox as I ever saw, which the dog had evi- 

 dently caught asleep and killed, as we found where he had 

 been lying on top of a stump a few feet below the edge of 

 ravine. The fox only made one jump from his bed when 

 the hound lit on him. The hound must have scented the 

 fox from the road where we were driving, as there was no fox 

 track in that direction. I see an Allegany county man 

 makes a business of hunting sleeping foxes. Well, all right, 

 if they are too much for him when awake, who can blame 

 him for hunting to catch them asleep. Wonder if this is 

 the way he has to kill all his game. I, however, yet prefer 

 to kill my foxes when they are wide awake." 



"Park" reports from Athens, Pa., that Nick Nasboro of 

 that town recently discovered a fox asleep and shot it. 



AMiddletown, Conn., correspondent, "J. W. T." tells of 

 finding a gray fox in a tree. The animal was killed and its 

 skin presented to Dr, J. W. Alsop, president of the Middle- 

 sex Game Association. The gray fox of the South ( Urocyon 

 cinereo-argentatus) is well known as a tree climber. 



A New York correspondent, "A. H. H. ," says: "An uncle 

 of mine, living in Vermont, on his way for the cows one day 

 about sunset, discovered a fox asleep on a stone pile. He 

 approached the fox very cautiously, and grabbing him sud- 

 denly by the back of the neck, had him secure. It so hap- 

 pened that another gentleman had been running a fox all 

 day. At night, tired and hungry, he returned home with 

 his dogs, but without his fox. Hearing of my uncle's cap- 

 tive, he came up the next morning to demand the fox, 

 claiming that this was the identical fox which his dogs had 

 run and tired out the day before. However, my uncle re- 

 fused to relinquish his claim, and so the other brought suit 

 to obtain this fox. 



"A young man who had just been admitted to the bar (now 

 one of the most prominent lawyers in New York State) and, 



