286 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



[May 6, 1886. 



ALONG THE TENNESSEE. 



"f~} ANO arma viruinque," arms, men and dogs. The men 

 \J were John Jones (his real name) and the writer. The 

 arms were a twelve-bore Remington for Joues and a ten-bore 

 E. James & Co. for the writer. The dogs were Jones' Nel and 

 her pup Jennie, and T. J. Lattner's Nel, distinguished as big 

 Nel and little Nel, Lattner's being little Nel — all good 

 lively Irish setters, but their lineage is almost as little known 

 as that of Melchizedek. Chattanooga was our starting 

 point, and a boat twenty-five feet long and six feet wide, 

 with a cabin six by fifteen was our means of conveyance. 

 A large step stove with its accompaniments, ample bedding, 

 provisions, ammunition etc. , being stored within, we set sail 

 (without sails) on Dec. 20, down the river. 



Next day we hunted on Rankin's farm opposite Shell- 

 mound, and had royal sport shooting birds over level stubble 

 and sedge grass. The first covey was found by Jones' Nel 

 and he scored a double. The writer fired once and missed. 

 Bagging his birds, Jones motioned on and in a minute she 

 was on a dead point again. The writer scored a second 

 miss as the second bird went off. Having shot prairie 

 chickens in Kansas, sage hens and blue grouse in Oregon, 

 how strange it seemed that a little quail should unnerve me. 

 Subsequent shots were more effectual, and from 10 A. M. 

 until 4 P. M. we bagged thirty-six quail, Jones having 

 twenty-two and the writer only fourteen. We had three 

 days' fine shooting at that place (Mr. Rankin having kindly 

 allowed us to hunt his place), and averaged about thirty -five 

 birds per day without much fatigue. 



Our next point was four miles below Bridgeport, Ala., 

 and there we had royal sport for three days, shooting over 

 large level fields of sedge grass. If any of your readers 

 have never hunted over sedge grass, allow me to suggest to 

 them to make a trial hunt of the kind, and they will not re- 

 gret it, if they hunt where birds are moderately plentiful. 

 This kind of shooting, however, must be done when the 

 weather is dry and cold. 



We stopped two days at Caldwell's Ferry, about forty 

 miles below Bridgeport, where we carried a light canoe to a 

 lake about a quarter of a mile from the river. Up to this 

 time duck killing had only been occasional, here they were 

 in flocks of a hundred or more. We explored the lake pretty 

 thoroughly and found it covered with heavy timber, except 

 an area of deep water about one hundred yards wide and 

 six hundred yards long. Half an hour before sunset the 

 writer took position in the forks of an ash tree, and Jones in 

 the canoe went about four hundred yards away. In a few 

 minutes the ducks were flying over very high, and only 

 about three were killed before sunset, after which they com- 

 menced whizzing by, in small groups at first, but later in 

 bunches of thirty to fifty. For fifteen minutes the woods 

 resounded with the terrific roar of 4 drams of ducking pow- 

 der giving deadly momentum to 1£ ounces No. 4 chilled shot. 

 I held up'when darkness came on, and Jones arriving just 

 then wanted to know "how many Indians were there," 

 "which side whipped," and so on. Paddling around we 

 found sixteen dead ducks and divers others fluttering around 

 on the water, but the night being very cold and dark, we 

 left at once. Returning next morning, we found four more 

 dead and the remains of some that the coons or other animals 

 had eaten. Two more evenings of such noise and firing in- 

 duced them to seek more quiet resting places. Jones had 

 killed six from the boat, and the writer had used twenty- 

 eight shells, killing all but three on the wing, and all singly. 

 Quail were plentiful in the bottoms, but generally crossed 

 water when flushed, therefore our bags of quail here were 

 small. Our next halt was at Buck Island, where Jones killed 

 a turkey and ran himself out of breath after one that he had 

 winged. Here we killed a large swamp rabbit that weighed 

 seven pounds and a few ducks, and pulled out again for 

 Guntersville, where the thermometer showed eight below 

 zero, but our cabin and stove were equal to the occasion, and 

 we did not suffer. The water having frozen when the river 

 was high and then receded, left acres of ice upheld by sap- 

 lings and small trees. Under this ice ducks would go out to 

 feed in large flocks, and around Henry's Island, while the 

 weather was so cold, we had fine sport for several days. 

 From Guntersville we went to within four miles of Decatur, 

 and found birds very plentiful, Here we killed sixteen 

 woodcock, the first, except one, on our trip. Only two that 

 we saw got away. This was the end of our journey, and we 

 stopped hunting there. 



We learned some things worth knowing on the trip : First, 

 our cabin was about eight feet high, seven would have been 

 better for width of boat; second, always have a steering oar, 

 whether used or not; third, do not be very strict with a 

 timid, untrained young dog; fourth, dogs stand hard service 

 better on corn bread diet than on wheat bread; fifth, if your 

 gun is an E. James & Co. ten-bore, four drams Orange duck- 

 ing powder is better than less, and one and an eighth ounces 

 of shot is better than one and a quarter ounces; sixth, do 

 not think to kill three-fourths of the ducks you shoot at in 

 group forty to fifty yards off : seventh, always feel more 

 confident of killing a duck on the wing forty yards away 

 than on the water the same distance; eighth, do not expect to 

 have all the sport we had without some troubles, little hurts, 

 feet wet, ravenous appetites, crippled game escaping, etc., 

 etc. ; but these the true sportsman expects and prepares him- 

 self for them. Fifth Ward. 



Hard to Kill. — Tallahassee, Fla. — A short time ago, 

 while driving through the pine woods near this place, I dis- 

 covered two red foxes that had been driven from their home 

 by a fire which was raging through the woods. It was the 

 work of an instant to slip a couple of shells in the No. 10. 

 One was loaded with 32 small buckshot, and the other with 

 1 ounce of No. 8. Reynard stood about 30 yards distant 

 watching the process of loading with the utmost composure. 

 At the report of the gun and on receiving the contents, he 

 tore through the woods at fearful pace apparently unhurt. 

 After running 300 yards he sprang several feet in the air and 

 fell dead. On examination, it was proven that the humerus 

 of the right front and the femur of the left hind leg was 

 shot entirely off, and two more shot had passed entirely 

 through his body. His mate, after receiving the charge of 

 shot, went like a flash, and as a friend remarked atthe time, 

 is probably going yet. It seems wonderful that any animal 

 should be able to run such a distance after being so badly 

 shot. — H. A. Kline. „____ 



A Reminiscence. — Ashtabula, O. — Editor Forest and 

 Stream: I find many things that are useful in your valuable 

 paper. I try them when I have an opportunity and retain 

 those of value, discarding the rest. The shotgun has long 

 been my solace and joy. Having learned to shoot on the 

 wing when but few shots of the kind were in the country, I 

 have followed it more or less for years, and could tell of 

 many a bag of "Bob Whites" which would make lovers of 



the gun and dog eager to imitate, and when the first fall of 

 snow comes and whitens the ground, I would with some 

 chosen few hie off to the mountains and in our snug cabin that 

 we had built in the fall away from the haunts of men and the 

 trouble and turmoil of the busy mart, seclude ourselves, 

 and each night bring to camp the trophies of the chase, and 

 after supper with pipes aglow would hunt the forest over 

 again. There is music in the deep and silent forest which 

 none but they who love it know. There is but little game 

 where my lines of life have now been cast. The quail have 

 all disappeared before the murderous pot-hunters, a few 

 squirrels in the interior of the county, very few ducks and 

 an occasional grouse, and to get trout we go to the tributa- 

 ries of the Alleghany River, where they are fairly plenty 

 yet, by going back from the haunts of civilization. We will 

 soon have fair fishing here at the harbor and out in the lake, 

 and next month black bass will be on hand. I look for the 

 return of snipe every day if the weather holds, and then I 

 will see what virtue there is in powder and shot. It will 

 soon be time to overhaul my tent and traps to see if they are 

 in order for the summer camping. — G. 



Norwich Rod and Gun Club.— Norwich, Conn., April 

 29.— Editor Forest and Stream: The Norwich Rod and Gun 

 Club was organized March 18 under very favorable circum- 

 stances. Its object is the protection of fish and game and 

 rifle and gun practice. The following officers were elected : 

 J. D. T. Blackstone, President ; Archibald Mitchell, Vice- 

 President; Z. R. Robbins, Treasurer; A. M. Cutler, Secre- 

 tary; L. B. Aling, Jas. H. Arnold, Frank E. Patterson, 

 Directors; Frank T. Brown, Attorney. The club started 

 with 75 members and has now 125. They have secured 

 ample grounds, conveniently located. Thursday Is the club 

 day, and as they have the most approved traps for ball and 

 clay-pigeon shooting, as well as rifle ranges of 100, 300 and 

 500 yards, they are prepared to extend a cordial invitation 

 to the members of other clubs to join them in shooting on 

 any Thursday during the season. They also ask the co- 

 operation of other similar organizations in the enforcement 

 of the game laws, the protection of game and fish being the 

 main object of the club.— J. D. T. Blackstone. 



'm md j§ivtt fishing. 



CAMPS OF THE KINGFISHERS. 



CARP LAKE, MICHIGAN.— X. 



"VX7E -went to bed early that night to escape the mosquitoes, 

 V Y the pests having taken advantage of a break in the rain 

 to come in from all directions in swarms and clouds until, as 

 DickM. once remarked on Black Lake about the "croppies," 

 (punkies) "there was no sich consistency as livin' with 

 'em." The girls, however, were better prepared to resist 

 the attacks of the blood suckers than were the rest of us, 

 and for the benefit of any sister of the craft who may take 

 a notion to go to the North Woods, I may here write how 

 we circumvented the "varmints." 



Our girls were each provided with a piece of headgear in 

 shape of a straw hat with a good wide brim to it, as every 

 woman should be in a summer camp. From among the 

 calamities was fished out a strip of musquito netting which 

 was cut into squares of about two and a half feet. One of 

 these squares hung over the hat and the loose folds drawn in 

 comfortably tight about the throat with a piece of cord or 

 fish line completes the circumvention and the festive skeeter 

 is barred out, much to the pleasement of the wearer of the 

 hat and the disgust of the skeeter. This contrivance will 

 be a source of much comfort also to the opposite gender, 

 always provided they don't smoke or "chaw tobacker," and 

 will allow about the same time to elapse between drinks as 

 did the two governors of the Carolinas— a good while. The 

 device is not new perhaps nor patentable, and all are wel- 

 come to use it without fear of a suit for infringement, and 

 I venture they will say it beats "smears" and "fly unguents" 

 out of sight. It may be noted, however, that its usefulness 

 would depart before fishing three rods through the "bresh" 

 along the banks of an average trout stream. 



The morning dawned cloudy and windy and cold, with 

 some more rain, a fact which moved Hyperboler Jones to 

 remark, as he cast a weatherwise look up and down the mist- 

 covered lake, "Reminds me o' Californy; guess the rainy 

 season has set in fur a fact." This promised another lazy, 

 sleepy day in the tent for the girls and another day of per- 

 sistent pegging at the cribbage board on the part of Muller 

 and old Danny, the score having closed the evening before 

 with Dan enough games ahead to make him ' 'sassy. ' ' Break- 

 fast over, a fresh fire was started in front of the big tent and 

 business resumed at the old stand : the girls laughing and 

 chatting or reading a book or magazine brought along especi- 

 ally for rainy days, while Dan and Muller began where they 

 had left off, with a freshly sharpened pencil to keep the score. 



Jim hid himself in a big rubber coat and wandered aim- 

 lessly off up toward the woods, as Ben guessed it, "to hev a 

 little cussin' match on his own hook on account o' the 

 wether, an' he wanted to git out o' earshot o' the gals so he 

 wouldn't disturb the meetin'," but more likely he wanted to 

 console himself with a surreptitious smoke, out of the range 

 of Mother Jim's gentle eye. He came back after a while 

 and balanced himself on a camp stool to watch the game, 

 but tiring of this soon he stretched out on a blanket aud re- 

 lapsed into one of his periodical spells of reticence to ponder 

 no doubt on the sweets of matrimony as a salve to the smarts 

 and snubs incident to the engineering of a "weakly news- 

 paper" largely devoted to the interests of "the party" — and 

 Jim. 



The morning dragged on to near 10 o'clock, and still rain- 

 ing; the philosopher of the kitchen whistled cheerily under 

 the big fly, despite the weather, as he industriously burnished 

 up the silverware (?) or scoured the knives and forks by jab- 

 bing them repeatedly into the sandy soil, and Ben and I 

 stood around the fire, swapping sides now and then to keep 

 out of the smoke, hatching a scheme to fool the other big 

 trout in the pool above the school house, after giving him a 

 day or two in which to get over his scare. 



"Kit, ain't it about time for our morning lunch?" came 

 from the back part of the tent in Bob's mellow tones, and 

 directly the twins came out under the shelter of one rubber 

 poncho and tripped over to the kitchen to wheedle the phil- 

 osopher into building them a ham sandwich, or teasing him 

 till he disclosed the last hiding place of the maple sugar. 

 Then little Top came out and scudded across with shawl 

 over head, and then Miss Annie, and last Fanny and Mother 

 Jim seemed to realize that it had been a good while between 

 meals, and soon they had the philosopher^ surrounded and 

 he was fain to surrender and open up his store of "cold 

 wittles" and impart the "combination" that led to the sugar 



During the "rainy season" when the girls could not fish, 

 this performance took place with frequent regularity, twice 

 a day or oftener, besides the three square meals, and the 

 keeper of the f ryin' pans was kept busy hustling around to 

 meet the oft recurring demand for "lunch." But Al was 

 good-natured and obliging, and with all the trouble the tor- 

 ments put him to he was always ready to open his depart- 

 ment and wait on them with cheerfulness. 



"Tell ye what, Hickory," said Ben, and then he stooped 

 and pulled a burning splinter of wood from the fire, with 

 which he proceeded leisurely to light his pipe, blinking 

 solemnly at each puff as though weighing in his mind some- 

 thing of great import; "tell ye what, ef them gals keep on 

 destroyin' grub like they hev in the last few days, you an' 

 me'll hev to take a couple o' boats an' go down to old 

 Cootereye's (Couturier's) after some more provender, or git 

 him to move his grocery up here where it'll be a leetle more 

 handier. When one of 'em hollers lunch the rest 'pears 

 to git hungry in less'n a second, and they make a raid on the 

 sutler. But, bless their hearts"— here another raid was made 

 on the fire for a burning brand, as the brier root had gone 

 out while he was talking — "it does me good to see the Joneses 

 a-livin' so high, fur they never was used to the very best o' 

 everything nohow," and the twinkle in his old eyes pro- 

 claimed that all the solemn blinkings and deliberate puffings at 

 the "source o' comfort" were only premonitory symptoms of 

 a mild attack of "the Jones family," these attacks, however, 

 always taking a new form. 



The girls were having a merry time over their lunch under 

 the big fly; Jim had struck a balance between matrimony 

 and politics and gone to sleep: "it's a go," came from the 

 seat of war at the crib board in Muller's baritone, and Hyper- 

 boler and the skipper stood around the fire in the rain, with 

 watery eyes, changing places frequently, that neither might 

 get more, than a rightful share of the suffocating smoke that 

 pursued us no matter on whichever side of the fire we might 

 come to a temporary anchor. 



The chatter (or chi-r-r-r, as brother "Bigosh" writes it) of 

 a kingfisher bowing to us from his perch on a lirnb of one of 

 the birches hanging over the water a few yards above the 

 camp, seemed to start Ben on a new trail, and as he dodged 

 a puff of smoke from the fire he opened on it with ' 'Hickory, 

 'pears that you an' me haint got sense enough to go in out 

 o' the wet, an' as it looks like we're about the only two old 

 loons in the camp that's tough enough to shed rain, 1 move 

 we go a fishin'." As a sensible motion of this kind was 

 never lost in a camp of the Kingfishers for want of a second 

 it was at once before the house and carried unanimously, 

 and there was no need to resort to the "Cincinnatti method" 

 of counting votes, as there was only two to count. While 

 Ben bailed out one of the boats I got the rods and a bucket 

 of frogs, hastily collected a few scraps of cold comfort from 

 the provender box for a lunch, and we were off up the lake 

 before the Joneses were fairly aware of what we were about. 

 As we pulled away from shore we heard Bob say, "there 

 they go again, two of the biggest old fish cranks in Michi- 

 gan," and Ben in his dry way, as he reached for the frog 

 bucket, " 'stonishin' how near the truth that gal kin come 

 once in a while when she's away from home," 



We took a short cut across Horton's Bay, and when just 

 off the point where a patch of big "bush weeds" grew up 

 from the bottom, where the old mossback told us he lost his 

 spoon, line and float, Ben said quietly, "Whoa, Hickory, 

 stop 'er," as a sudden jerk took two or three yards of line off 

 his reel, "there's a fish back there that's never heerd o' me, 

 or he wouldn't be so brash in tamperin' with that frog. Look 

 out there ole fellow" — to the fish, as Beti stood up and the 

 boat came to a stop— "when I tech ye up with ole 'quintes- 

 sence' here [a name he had given his rod] yc'il think yer 

 jaw's come onsoddered." 



The line had stopped running and Ben said, "Pickerel, I 

 reckon; an' as ole brother King used to say, he's jest a layin' 

 there a 'demasticatin' that frog to git the taste o' sunfish out 

 o' his mouth." 



As I pulled the boat out in the lake two or three lengths, 

 an advisable move always when a fish is struck near a belt 

 of weeds or grass, Ben let the line run free till the fish started 

 again when "he brought "ole quintessence" around with a 

 sweep that must have loosened all the joints in the fish's 

 frame, and the fun began. 



He came to the surface with a great swirl and started 

 straight down the lake toward camp, but Ben's dander was 

 up, and jamming his hat down on the back of his head that 

 the wind might not get a lift on it, he set to work in dead 

 earnest to hold him up, at the same time proffering the ad- 

 vice, "You'd better wait a while ole hoss, fur the Joneses 

 aint a lookin' fur company jest now." 



A stroke or two of the oars sent the boat further out, and 

 with a pull that caused "quintessence" to take the shape of 

 a new moon, the fish was pulled up and swung around away 

 from the big weeds and "musrat grass," heading in our 

 direction at a pace that took the liveliest kind of turning to 

 keep the line tight enough to be sure he was still on the 

 hook. 



When near the boat the sight of Ben seemed to bewilder 

 him and instead of going under it, as Dick M. says "they 

 almost always invariably do," he sheered off and went for 

 the grass inshore and quintessence was again called on to 

 avert a catastrophe. And the rod was equal to the emer- 

 gency — a sprout of Japanese cane nine feet long, tough as a 

 splinter of swamp hickory, jointed in two piece and weigh- 

 ing about nine ounces; the best of all rods, as I believe, for 

 honest reliable work on bass, pickerel and maskalonge that 

 was ever fashioned. I have one of the same material under 

 my eyes as I write this, weighing but five ounces, that I 

 would not hesitate a moment to risk in a clear, square fight 

 ("bitin' an' gougin' barred") with a forty pound maskalonge, 

 and be reasonably sure of coming out on top. But there are 

 rods and rods, the pliant waud to flip the feathered sham 

 when trout are sought; the twenty-foot cane pole, beloved of 

 the pensive catfish slinger; the native rod, the sapling of un- 

 graspable butt, the dude rod, the Henshall rod and a score 

 of others — and every angler to his own notion. 



As the fish went by we caught a glimpse of him, but he 

 was swimming so deep and the water was so rough that we 

 could not make out whether it was a pickerel or maskalonge 

 but sure it was not a bass. 



"Like as not it's the same feller that walked off with the 

 ole mossback's whole outfit the other day, an' he's swallered 

 the float jest to keep frum towin' it around," said Ben, as he 

 straddled the after thwart and balanced himself for the 

 coming struggle. 



When a strong fish makes a rush for a bank of weeds a 

 cool head at the butt end of the rod is better thau main 

 strength, and as the tip of old quintessence came down 

 alarmingly near under the unusual strain, Ben said quietly, 

 "Yank the boat up the lake a piece, Hickory; so's I kin git a 



