Oct. 12, 1895.] 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



813 



my light 12-bore, A whirr, a whiz, a boom, a bang, 

 bang, and the darkness deepens (caused partly by Sam's 

 power explosion) as I retrieve a magnificent cock hand- 

 somely ruffed. 



The lightness of heart partly relieved me of the weight 

 of my boots. I found the Doctor in camp changing his 

 clothes and telling the natives that Ben Hadad was the 

 greatest dog on earth. 



The third day gave us some fine sport with many points 

 and flushes, and some birds in the bag. more left in the 

 wood, dogs' feet so sore they could scarcely stand, the 

 breaking of camp, packing the wagon, the twenty-five 

 mile drive out of the wilderness, and some comforting 

 conclusions, we had all had a good time. The Doctor 

 had only had use for his Hebrew and Greek in getting 

 over and under Pike county logs, and while weary and 

 worn many times I don't think his "chair" ever occurred 

 to him; and Ben Hadad had opened his second season 

 handsomely. 



And as for me — well, had my best customer asked me 

 the price of an eigh teen-twill henrietta or the extent of 

 the advance in mohair I should have told him I was out 

 of the business and didn't know. And Jennette don't 

 understand me to infer or claim that she was perfect, 

 only awfully near it. Her mistakes were only those of 

 want of judgment born of lack of experience; the heart 

 was always right and more than willing, and no one 

 error was committed twice in one day. I would rather 

 witness one good day's work of the well-broken dog than 

 a pass to all the playhouses in America and the time to 

 take them in. 



Eirly night found us once more at the Doctor's cot- 

 tage. Next day early forenoon again at business, full of 

 vigor and anticipation of the next trip two or three weeks 

 later, and again I call for "woodland echoes" while I 

 recall the mountain brooks. Thomas Elmer. 



Nsrw York, Sept. 21. 



FOREST AND STREAM CONTRIBUTORS. 



O. H. Hampton. 



From my earliest recollection guns and explosives fas- 

 cinated me, and the hunting tales told by my uncle fed 

 an inherited love of shooting. Father's youngest brother 

 was but five years my senior and a born sportsman, so he 

 became my teacher and companion in all manner of 

 ways to capture the wild creatures of the woods that sur- 

 rounded our homes, but we pursued them under many 

 difficulties, for it was a hard struggle to wrest the means 

 for subsistence from among the roots and stumps of the 

 newly cleared lands, and there were no idlers in either 

 of our homes. Two or three half holidays a year was all 

 the time that could be spared from work, except such odd 

 hours as bad weather gave us. Of money we had none, 

 except from 25c. to $1 earned each spring helping neigh- 

 bors plant corn after our own was done. 



Our first weapons were cross-bows, which we made 

 ourselves at odd hours and of evenings. The stocks were 

 made of black walnut fence-rails, and white oak saplings 

 made good bows. One of my uncles was a wagon maker, 

 so we had plenty of tools, and as both of us were natural 

 mechanics we turned out goods that were quite credit- 

 able; in fact, they would have been worthy of a place in 

 the recent Sportsmen's Exposition. At a distance of two 

 or three rods our best arrows seldom missed the center 

 more than an inch , and flew hard enough to penetrate 

 an inch board. Many chipmunks, woodpeckers and an 

 occasional gray squirrel came to grief from these arrows. 

 Grandfather had two guns — an old-fashioned rifle and a 

 single barrel, brass-mounted shotgun, with heavy barrel, 

 36in. long. It was an Eaglish make, and a good gun. 

 Properly charged, it seldom failed to bring a squirrel 

 from the top of the tallest tree, but grandfather did not 

 believe in encouraging boys in anything but work, so we 

 got no good from those guns until I was 12 years old, 

 then we began to steal them out when grandfather was 

 away from home. We knew very well that dire punish- 

 ment would follow if we were found out, but the tempta- 

 tion was so strong that we would have risked almost any- 

 thing for two or three hours in the woods with those 

 guns. Dear old grandmother said we must not do so, 

 but we knew she would not tell on us. and she cooked 

 many a squirrel for us that grandfather never knew 

 about. 



Father had a rifle also, and I remember the first time he 

 ever knew of my using it. While he was gone to town 

 and I at work in the sugar camp, I saw a fox squirrel, the 

 first one I had ever seen, and probably the first that ever 

 Visited that part of the country. Running to the house, I 

 got the rifle and made haste to the big ash, and saw the 

 squirrel lying flat on a big horizontal limb 80ft. from the 

 ground. He hugged the other side of the limb, so there 

 was but little chance for killing him, and when I went on 

 the other side he slipped away from me. This was re- 

 peated a number of times, and it looked like that squirrel 

 was going to be too smart for me. At last I thought of a 

 long string in my pocket, and hanging my hat and coat 

 on a bush, tied the string to the bush and went to the 

 other side of the tree, taking the end of the string with 

 me, the squirrel slipping round the limb as usual. Then 

 I got all ready to shoot, and jerked the string, shaking 

 the coat and hat on the bush; the squirrel instantly 

 slipped to my side of the limb, and got a bullet through 

 his body. I was too proud of this trophy not to show it, 

 and did not believe father would frown on such success. 

 The squirrel was a curiosity to him, and perhaps he was a 

 little proud of the boy's shot too. Besides that, it would 

 be a hard-hearted parent that would punish such a happy 

 boy as I evidently was; so the reproof was a very gentle 

 one indeed. 



When I was fifteen years old one of my cousins bought 

 grandfather's shotgun for $3, but soon tiring of it offered 

 it to me for $3 15, and I bought it, going in debt 50 cents, 

 as I had but $3, and must have some cash to buy ammu- 

 nition, This was in the early summer, and we worked so 

 hard that father had a good deal of trouble to get us out 

 of bed in the mornings; so we asked him if we might have 

 Saturday afternoons if we would get up at 5 every morn- 

 ing, and he agreed to it. This was on Sunday evening, 

 and the following week was a mighty long one. 

 Every day during the noon hour that gun was oiled, 

 wiped and touched up generally, and on Friday 

 night I hied myself to the store with my 35 cents 

 and two bottles, in one of which I got Jib. of pow- 

 der and S^lbs. No. 3 shot in the other, buying no 

 caps, as I had found some G. D.'s in father's shot pouch. 

 Saturday afternoon, at last, At 1 o'clock on that after- 



noon there might have been seen a freckled boy going 

 across the cornfield toward the woods. He was dressed 

 in blue cotton shirt and trousers. An old straw hat cov- 

 ered his head and his feet were bare. In his pockets were 

 those bottles of shot and powder, and in his shirt bosom 

 were some newspapers for wadding, while across his 

 shoulder is that shotgun, which he fully believes to be the 

 best gun in the world. If it isn't, why did grandfather 

 own it? That boy has done a man's work for thirteen 

 hours every day this week, all the clothes he has on him 

 coBt less than $1, and his shooting outfit was about as 

 primitive as could be imagined. He knows that next 

 Monday he will have to take up the drudgery again, but 

 now, just now, he feels that he has earned his half holi- 

 day, and has it before him, and has the means to make it 

 enjoyable. His soul is filled with anticipation till there is 

 no room for the memory of past hardships or trouble 

 about future ones. How little, how very little it takes to 

 make us happy if it is just what we want! 



At the edge of the woods th» boy stands on the fence a 

 moment watching some neighbor's boys bending over 

 their hoes in a cornfield, then with a long-drawn breath 

 of pure happiness he slips from the fence and begins a 

 noiseless tramp through the cool, shady woods. Wood 

 pewees here and there sing a lazy note, bees hum drow- 

 sily about the poplar blossoms, and woodpeckers cling 

 idly to the sides of dead trees; everything seems to invite 

 repose, and if that boy only knew it, he is tired enough 

 from his week's drudgery to lie down and sleep till sun- 

 down, but he never felt less tired or sleepy in his whole 

 life. Not once during that long afternoon does he sit 

 down or abate his watchfulness in the least, but at dark, 

 when he reaches home and throws down two squirrels 

 and a monstrous horned owl, he suddenly finds himself 

 faint with hunger, weariness and collapsed excitement, 

 but mother has saved some fried chicken (the rest of the 

 family had supper at S^o'clock), and gives him a cup of 

 coffee, a rare treat in tnose days, so hunger is' gone and 

 weariness subsides into a feeling of perfect comfort. 

 Father comments on the unusual size of the owl, says 

 they are very hard to get, and asks how the boy managed 

 to get him. Then the boy, with eyes bright enough to il- 

 luminate the freckles on his face, recounts in detail all 

 the exciting events of the hunt, not omitting mention of 

 a crippled one that got into a hole before the gun could 

 be reloaded. Father says the boy did pretty well, but 

 mother says, "I'm sorry for that crippled squirrel; it may 

 suffer lots of pain;" and the boy mentally resolves not to 

 let mother hear about any more cripples. 



Excitement subsides ones more, and drowsiness over- 

 powers him till he twice falls asleep while washing his 

 feet. He thinks he has not been in bed five minutes when 

 father's voice at the foot of the stairs says, "Come, come, 

 boys, get up." Every day of the following week he 

 reviews that shoot and plans for the one to come, and the 

 second half holiday is anticipated with even more eager- 

 ness than the first. Doubtless there are some people who 

 can see no enjoyment in such (what are to them) trifling 

 matters. If so, it's just because they were not built that 

 way, while this boy was built that way. He was born 

 with the hunting instinct in him as strong as it ever was 

 in any setter or pointer, and the enjoyment of it all was 

 keener because it could be so seldom indulged, and 

 because it was such a contrast to the drudgery of a new 

 farm in a forest country. 



I often look back on that boy's life, not as my former 

 self, but as some other boy whom I knew very intimately, 

 and there is always something pathetic about that freckled 

 barefooted boy with the old Bingle-barrel, and even that 

 could be used so seldom. I wonder if that boy would 

 have gone crazy with happiness if somebody had given 

 him a modern hammerless ejector and an unlimited 

 supply of shells loaded with nitro powder, though I guess 

 he would have prefered black powder; the loud report 

 would have harmonized better with his exuberance. 



The Saturday afternoon shoots continued through this 

 summer, but the following winter there came an enthu- 

 siastic teacher for our district school. He boarded at 

 father's and roamed with me. Before spring he had so 

 enthused me on the subject of getting an education that 

 the gun was almost forgotten, and the following spring I 

 became practically che foreman on the farm, in which I 

 began to take an interest, as from it had to come the 

 means to pay my way through college. We also got some 

 machinery which made some of the hardest work com- 

 paratively pleasant. From this time until my 27th year 

 I was too much occupied with other things to have much 

 time for field sports, though hunting occasionally; some- 

 times borrowing a gun, but owning none after the old 

 single- barrel. I cannot remember how long I kept it nor 

 what became of it. 



In the autumn of 1870, being about to remove to a 

 region where there were plenty of squirrels, and engage 

 in a business that would allow some time for sport, I 

 bought a double 20 gauge gun for $15. One of my 

 neighbors in the new place had a setter dog and quail 

 were very abundant. I could do some wing shooting, but 

 had never seen a dog point a bird. This neighbor invited 

 me to go quail shooting with him. I shot fifteen quail 

 on the wing that day, and came home a confirmed dog 

 and quail crank. For the next three years I never 

 neglected a chance to go quail shooting and often made 

 chances to go, if they did not come along of themselves. 



The 20-gauge gun not being very satisfactory, I sold it 

 and got a new lsi-gauge, W. More, for $35. It was 

 an excellent cylinder bore, a muzzleloader of course, 

 and did service until '74, being then displaced by a 

 breechloader. 



In Sept. , '73, 1 went to Dallas county, la. , to shoot prairie 

 chickens. At that time there were vast reaches of wild 

 prairie there, and chickens, ducks, geese and cranes were 

 abundant on all the prairies, while quail were numerous 

 along all streams where there was timber. The shooting 

 was so fine, the country so pleasant, and my recovery 

 from a recent severe illness was so rapid and complete, 

 that I decided to stay there. During that autumn I shot 

 1,200 chickens, 600 ducks and 600 quail. What did I do 

 with them? Sold them. You see I did not begin to read 

 Forest and Stream till a year after that, and it did not 

 say much about market-hunting at that time. 



The following summer I got a 12-gauge breechloader 

 of one of the prominent American makes. The advertise- 

 ment said it was bored to throw shot "thick, even and 

 with great force." As I had seen a few breechloaders 

 that made a closer pattern than my muzzleloader I ex- 

 pected this one would, but it did not, and shot no harder 

 either, Quick loading and easy cleaning were its sole ad- 



vantages over the muzzleloader. The firm's advertise- 

 ment in Forest and Stream caused me to buy the gun; 

 not only that one, but several others. 



For three years I remained in this section, shooting 

 much of the time during the shooting seasons. They 

 were years of great enjoyment, for I had good health, 

 few cares and abundant shooting. They were the best 

 three years of my life. 



Business interests in another part of the country made 

 it necessary to leave there in the autumn of '76. After 

 everything was ready for our departure my wife said: 

 "Let me go, and you go out on the prairie and shoot till 

 you get enough of it, for you can't shoot where we are 

 going." As I sorely regretted leaving such happy hunt- 

 ing grounds, I saw her safely started East, then I and 

 Flora, my favorite dog, started for Uncle Benny Hoyt's, 

 way out on the north prairie, and stayed there twenty-one 

 days. Every day we hunted from sunrise till dark, and 

 were often two miles from the house when dark came. I 

 do not remember that either of us ever stopped once to 

 rest, except an hour at noon each day. Flora's feet were 

 worn till they bled every dav, but she never let up nor 

 stopped except to point birds. She traveled more than 

 2,000 miles in those twenty-one days, galloping at least 

 ten hours every day. She ate an incredible amount and 

 grew very thin and so did her master, but a tougher, bet- 

 ter seasoned pair seldom go into the field. On the twenty- 

 second day I sold the gun, gave Flora to a friend, and 

 with keen regrets turned my face away from what had 

 been the happiest spot on earth for me. 



Shooting had taken too mujh of my time and I deter- 

 mined to abandon it altogether, and succeeded fairly well 

 for nearly four years, but the season of '80 found me at 

 Wall Lake, la., equipped with a new gun, a spring wagon 

 and pair of horses, and knocking down chickens right and 

 left. Once more the gun was sold and dog given away. 

 (I've owned thirteen dogs and never sold but two.) For 

 the next two years but little shooting was done. Then 

 my shooting brother came to live with me, bringing his 

 pointer, and I bought another gun, and quail began to get 

 scarce in our neighborhood. Since then I have shot in 

 eighteen different States. I was never fonder of shooting 

 than now, but in these later years a moderate amount of 

 time and ordinary bags are entirely satisfying. It is a 

 matter of regret that a complete diary of all my shooting 

 has not been kept, so that in the winter of old age I might 

 live it all over again. 



[When we wrote to Mr. Hampton for a portrait to go 

 with this story of his shooting days, he wrote: "I will 

 furnish the desired picture, but am sorry to say it will 

 hardly be one that does me justice (and you know I've no 

 good looks to spare), for the reason that some time last 

 June I undertook to keep the garden, the potato patch, 

 the strawberry plants, the sweet potatoes and the melon 

 patch clear of weeds, as well as repairing fences, mowing 

 fence corners and trimming the orchard, in addition to 

 which a good many miles have been tramped in search of 

 squirrels that were very hard to find. All the above, 

 combined with very hot weather, has got me in very thin 

 condition and not in good shape for being photo'd. 

 However, the grass is still very green, apples and pears 

 are ripe, we have bacon and string beans for dinner, had 

 fox squirrel for breakfast, and Jack Cates says he knowj3 

 where there are twenty woodcock and is going to-day to 

 see if he can spot them for me. A hundred watermelons 

 are absorbing juice and sweetness from the moist earth 

 and the hot sunshine, and we will begin to shuck them in 

 about two weeks. All previous invitations to help roll on 

 the grass still hold good." The photo has not been re-, 

 ceived; we shall give it some other time.] 



EHEU. 



Editor Forest and Stream: 



I was an earnest and tireless admirer of O. O. S. prior 

 to reading his "eheu" effort in Forest ajsd Stream, Oct. 

 5. And why the change? Because in that pleasing 

 sketch he assumes to be historical, and everyone knows 

 that a historian is nothing if he is not accurate, impartial 

 and full— not too full. 



In treating a biographical chapter of that noble and 

 talented sportsman, Uripides, sometimes erroneously 

 spelled Euripides, or in diminutive Rip, as his friends 

 were wont to call him in moments of endearment, he 

 left out several important essentials of the story. More- 

 over, he is wrong in circumstance and inference, as I 

 will proceed to show. I boldly contend that Rip was 

 neither the inventor nor discoverer of the compressed 

 composite exclamation now coming into vogue. He did 

 not properly identify Rip as the bona fide all-round per- 

 sonage who rode three days on a bicycle to a river bank 

 merely to say "Eheu!" when he found that he had no 

 worms. 



Rip only had the advantages of a common school edu- 

 cation, and his real name was Willie, and he was so 

 known till his ninth year, when he was spontaneously re- 

 named after the following curious manner: He was 

 basking in the springtime of life and also taking his 

 schooling. His precocity and ceaseless study won the 

 interest and approbation of his tutor, a grave man with s. 

 low, narrow brow, but with much back head and ears. 

 While the latter sat one day with his pupils silently 

 grouped around him, thinking an hour or so perspicacity- 

 ishly over the possibilities of eheu, as they did twice each 

 pleasant day, the teacher suddenly looked at Willie and 

 said, "Willie, D-rip-i-des out of your head as a carpenter 

 rips shingles off an old house," then he relapsed into 

 silence. At this they all pondered earnestly to discover 

 the meaning concealed under such simple words, for the 

 wise tutor often spoke mystically in parables, or epilogues, 

 or dialogues, or even in the house. But the solemn say- 

 ing took root, and Willie was known as Rip thereafter. 

 At a much later period in his life, when he had bestowed 

 his name, or what was left of it, on a helpmate, his eldest 

 daughter asked permission one morning to buy a sealskin 

 jacket; he curled his patrician lip3 and said, "Naw." 

 Her uncle, who was standing by, interceded and said 

 pleadingly, "Let her, Rip," and this terse saying is in use 

 till this day. 



As Rip grew older his natural proclivity for fishing and 

 shooting could not be repressed. He could often be seen 

 seated on the peak of Parnassus, hia feet hanging repose- 

 fully on the side, and that thoughtful, serious look on his face 

 which fishermen affect when they are thinking of nothing. 

 Although the p o ak was as sharp as a toothpick, as may be 

 verified by reference to the illustrations in any atlas — 

 he would sit, I say, on the peak in the idea of March, pul- 



