Forest and Stream. 



A Weekly Journal of the Rod and Gun. 



ta ' s V K Y M E ^°g s - AC0PY 1 NEW YORK, SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 14, 1895. \ No . s^^Ir^W 



For Prospectus and Advertising Rates see Page Hi. 



The Forest and Stream is put to press 

 on Tuesdays. Correspondence intended for 

 publication should reach us by Mondays and 

 as much earlier as may be practicable. 



SEEING THE RACE, 



It was a poor heart that didn't quicken its beats some- 

 what at the magnificent naval pageant presented on Sat- 

 urday morning last by the procession of gaily decked 

 craft, steam and sailing, that passed in an endless stream 

 down the Narrows and out toward the Hook between the 

 hours of 8 A. M. and noon. 



Large iron steamboats, packed from stem to stern on 

 every deck with eager passengers; trim little steam 

 yachts, making no fuss, but getting there in the majority 

 of cases as fast as the best of their bigger brethren; the 

 floating palaces Valiant and Nourmahal; ocean-going 

 tugs that puffed and snorted asthmatically in their 

 endeavors to keep up with the procession; schooners and 

 cutters bound out under tow — they were all there; not 

 one was missing. It was a glorious spectacle, and one 

 calculated to make an American swell with pride as he 

 looked upon a sight that could not be duplicated any- 

 where on the face of the sea. 



Little wonder was it then that the English crew, which 

 mans Mr. Laycock's Valhalla, grouped themselves on the 

 forecastle of that great yacht, and gazed open-eyed at the 

 scene which greeted them as the early morning mists 

 floated away from the vicinity of the Sandy Hook Light- 

 ship, where the Valhalla had anchored this morning after 

 a race across the Atlantic to see the meeting between the 

 Defender and the Valkyrie. For that was the cause of all 

 New York and a large portion of tbe United States going 

 down to the sea in ships on this morning. 



If the interest taken in these now almost annual at- 

 tempts to wrest from our grasp the silver mug, known as 

 the America's Cup, is to be gauged by the crowds that 

 were present at the first race of the series of 1895, then it 

 is plain that the ownership of that Cup is felt to be of al- 

 most national importance. Surely never was such a fleet 

 of pleasure craft before assembled in the neighborhood of 

 Sandy Hook's dull red boat, known as the Sandy Hook 

 Light. 



The start itself was inspiriting enough. For a few min- 

 utes it began to look as if the Cup was in danger. The 

 Valkyrie was apparently vindicating what is supposed to 

 be her claim as a light-weather boat. The gap between 

 her and the hope of all America was widening percepti- 

 bly, and in Valkyrie's favor. It was an anxious time just 

 then. Field glasses were closed viciously by many an old 

 "sea dog," as the daily press delights to term a yachtsman 

 who has seen some service, and who knows the main sheet 

 from a tow rope. 



It was just then that the yellow dog would have been 

 lynched had the public had their way. On all sides rose 

 a wail: "Throw the yellow dog overboard!" Many — that 

 is, all who could — retired to the fleshpots, and were en- 

 joying life as best they could under the then existing con- 

 ditions as they supposed them to be. If the Defender was 

 to lose, let them at least be thankful that they could eat, 

 and let them pour out some libations to Bacchus in order 

 that we might have better luck next time. 



Some half hour later a mighty and spontaneous shout 

 went up from the fleet. The Valkyrie, which had ap- 

 peared to unnautical eyes to be far ahead, had tried to 

 cross Defender's bows and had had to give it up, failing 

 in the attempt. The Defender was ahead and the people 

 recognized that fact. "What's the matter with the 

 yellow dog?" "He's all right!" So quickly was the Da- 

 fender's mascot once more enrolled as an honorable 

 member of an honorable ship's crew. The cheers which 

 greeted the crossing of the Valkyrie's bows by the De- 

 fender a few minutes later were hardly less enthusiastic 

 than those given previously. They were the natural 

 effervescence that resulted when it was seen that the 

 American craft and crew were once more in the lead. 



The Valkyrie was still in the mists that were falling 

 when the Defender crossed the line and placed the first 

 heat for the America's Cup to her credit. Long and loud 

 did the whistles blow and the cannons roar. Everybody 

 knew everybody else and nobody felt lonely save here and 

 there a sympathizer with the Valkyrie, now looming up 

 as she, too — some 8m. behind — neared the line. The 



applause that greeted her was, if less prolonged, no less 

 hearty than that which had been given to her conqueror. 

 It was a tribute to English pluck, grit and skill, and as 

 such was well deserved. 



Then it was all over, and the enormous fleet began its 

 usual race for home. The event of the day was sailed 

 o\ er and over again on every boat in that fleet. Men 

 who prior to this race did not know the difference be- 

 tween a catboat and a schooner now talked glibly of 

 port tacks and luffing. It had been a great day's outing, 

 and the result had been satisfactory. 



The only thing that marred the day had been the behavior 

 of some of the steamboat captains, who in their endeavors to 

 give their passengers a near view of the racers had over- 

 stepped the bounds of reason and had bothered both boats 

 at different periods of the race. Strong words were said 

 about these captains, and they are answerable for more 

 than one bad mark on the pages of the books kept by the 

 recording angel. Fair play is a jewel, but those fellows 

 can't tell the difference between a brilliant and a crystal. 



SIDE-HUNTING. 

 The question of side-hunts is up again. Deputy Game 

 Warden Chas. Weiehsler, who sent us the report of the 

 Port Huron Fish Protective Club's fishing tournament, in 

 which two sides fished to see which could catch the most 

 fish tells us that these semi-annual competitions are the life 

 to the club. They stimulate interest in the organization , 

 give it the support of the increased membership and bring 

 to it influential and law-observing men. Here is one case 

 at least in which a side-fishing has for defense more than 

 a simple consideration of the fun there is in it. 



The Columbia Rifle and Pistol Club, of Rochester, N. 

 Y., held a side-hunt on Monday of last week, fifty-four 

 men on a side. The various animals and birds were 

 scored with credits from 60 points for a skunk or fox and 

 40 for a woodchuck to 5 for an English sparrow; 80 for 

 gray squirrel, 25 for partridge, woodcock, wild duck, 

 rabbit or red squirrel ; 20 for chipmunk, snipe or plover. 

 In its editorial comment on the tournament the Post- 

 Express suggested that the 108 contestants, who included 

 in their ranks "physicians, city officers, prominent busi- 

 ness men and professional men," could plan such a cam- 

 paign only through their thoughtlessness. "We suggest," 

 it said, "that they immediately strike from their listevery 

 bird and animal that may be classed as game and offer 

 points only for fox, weasel, skunk, crane, woodchuck, 

 hawk, crow, kingfisher, blackbird and sparrow. Let the 

 shooting be restricted to the birds and animals that are 

 outlawed. At a time when strenuous efforts are making 

 to protect game of all kinds a club of sportsmen ought not 

 to see how much game they can destroy in order to win 

 a supper." 



In reply to tbis Mr. C. M. McChesney, president of the 

 club, contends that every animal or bird named on the 

 list is properly placed there; that the scores for vermin 

 are larger than those for game; that as to the game varie- 

 ties, "we know of no just reason why the members of 

 this club are not as entitled to shoot them in season, as 

 provided by law, as any other sportsmen." He adds that 

 the record of the first side-hunt held last year proves 

 that the amount of vermin destroyed on such an occasion 

 is vastly in excess of the game. The only weapon allowed 

 contestants is a .22cal. rifle. In the hunt of 1894 not a 

 single black or gray squirrel was secured, nor a partridge, 

 woodcock, duck nor snipe; while scores of woodchucks 

 and hundreds of English sparrows were destroyed. And 

 he contends "that if this and many more clubs would 

 have such hunts more often under the rules and regula- 

 tions that govern the hunt of this club next Monday, the 

 strenuous efforts now being made to protect legitimate 

 game and song birds would meet with a greater degree of 

 success." 



The contest of last week was marked by a big score of 

 English sparrows, which in number so far exceeded the 

 other classes of game, that the side-hunt was practically a 

 vermin-destroying campaign. The club is made up very 

 largely, we believe, of men who never shoot in the field, 

 and who upon an occasion like this can not be expected 

 to pot much true game with their small rifles. From 

 this it might be argued that the printed criticisms on the 

 club's hunt are more just in their application to the abstract 

 question of side-hunts than they are to this case. In 



general, side-hunting is an unworthy form of sport, be- 

 cause unquestionably it does encourage the spirit of 

 indiscriminate killing. A certain proportion of game 

 shooters— it is, of course, impracticable to determine just 

 what the proportion may be — do kill whatever they come 

 upon, whether it flies or runs or crawls; if it moves they 

 bang away at it. Nothing is too large or too small — from 

 a barnyard rooster to a peewee — they pot it. Such shoot- 

 ing may be sportsmanlike in Europe — it is not in America. 

 We do not mean to imply that side-hunters go to such 

 extremes in their contests, but that the influence of side- 

 hunting is to beget extremely hazy notions as to what 

 constitutes legitimate game. 



BULLETS AND BRONZE. 

 On the summit of Mount Mitchell, in North Carolina, a 

 bronze monument marks the grave of Prof. Elisha 

 Mitchell, who lost his life while engaged in an exploration 

 of the peak. The monument was intended to commem- 

 orate the life and services of a good man; it has been 

 perverted into an enduring memorial of the littleness 

 and vulgarity of human nature, for it has been defiled by 

 the scrafcched-in names of visitors to the spot, and its sides 

 are defaced with indentations made by bullets, which it is 

 charged have been fired at the monument by sportsmen. 

 It is not to be believed for a moment that any sportsman 

 is guilty of the offense. Definitions of just what consti- 

 tutes an individual's claim to the title of true sportsman 

 differ very widely, but never yet have we heard the term 

 defined in a way that would include among the ranks of 

 sportsmen the empty -noddled, coarse minded and irrever- 

 ent desecrators of memorials to the illustrious dead. 

 The bullet marks on the Mitchell bronze predicate rifles 

 or revolvers, and men to shoot them, but not sportsmen. 

 The individuals who have worked this abomoinable dese- 

 cration belong with those who in the National Yellow- 

 stone Park thought it a smart thing to steal from the 

 summit of Mount Sheridan the autographs of Sheridan 

 and others deposited there by them to commemorate their 

 visit. 



OUT OF THEIR PLACE IN HISTORY. 

 Jerry Greening, the famous bear hunter of Pike 

 county, Pennsylvania, is dead. From time out of memory 

 he had been a picturesque figure of the community, or 

 more strictly speaking of it not. For Greening came 

 elosely to classification among men out of their place in 

 history; individuals who have come upon the stage at a 

 time when their peculiar genius is a bit belated. Green- 

 ing belonged rightly to the bear-fight era of the progress 

 of civilization; he should have lived in the days of Boone 

 and Crockett, and might have made a name and fame 

 with them. As it was he got here just after the country 

 had ceased to require frontier bear fighting and deer 

 killing. 



There are scores of Jerry Greenings left. You may in- 

 clude in the category every man who brags of his prowess 

 with the gun and preaches the doctrine that the game 

 laws were not made for him to keep. Bannock Indian, 

 Jackson's Hole hide hunter, Princeton student poaching 

 in Wyoming, these and scores of other folks much nearer 

 home than Wyoming, all are out of their place in history. 

 The proper time for them and for their activity with pow- 

 der and bullet has long since passed away. 



The best thing such people can do is to try to adapt 

 themselves to the world as they find it to-day. 



THE THREE STAGES. 



These are the three stages of man's life on the waters. 



First, the fishing of boyhood, a care-free pastime of the 

 days of youth that know neither responsibility nor worry. 



Second, the fishing of older years, when one must wrest 

 a holiday or vacation — when he can, not always when he 

 would— from a calendar full of hamperings, of work and 

 responsibility. 



Third, the fishing of those who have earned the oppor- 

 tunity along with the other good things of the world by 

 having accumulated the means to enjoy themselves, or 

 by having passed beyond the years of drive and applica- 

 tion, and have come to the days of rest and enjoyment of 

 the good things of life. 



Happy is he who has had or is to have his share of fish- 

 ing in any one of these three stages. 



Thrice blessed is he into whose life fortune has decreed 

 a generous measure of all three. 



