398 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



[Nov. 9, 1895. 



UNCLE LISHA'S OUTING. 



HI.— Along the Shore. 



The campers were astir betimes in the silver dawn that 

 they counted of greater worth than a golden day for their 

 use. After a hasty breakfast, Sam and Antoine embarked 

 in the canoe at the landing above the Slab Hole, where 

 the boats were unloaded the night before; but Uncle Lisha 

 and Joseph pref erred the stable land to the fickle waters, 

 and prowled westward along the lake shore as slowly and 

 almost as stealthily as a couple of aged mud turtles might 

 have gone over' the same ground. 



Peering out upon the bay through loopholes of the 

 cedar-clad cliff, tbey saw great flocks of ducks riding safe 

 and far on the glassy water. The nearest were a triple 

 gunshot out of range of this shore, while many were so 

 tantalizingly close to Garden Island that the dusky lines 

 cut the reflected brightness of the island's autumnal 

 splendor. 



"Good airth and seas!" Uncle Lisha whispered, as he 

 and Joseph crouched on hands and knees, peering through 

 the branches with longing eyes at the distant flocks, "ef 

 we was on'y jest on that 'ere islan'. I wonder if we 

 hedn't better go an' git thescaowbwutan' go 'way raound 

 an' come up on t'other side?" 



"Wal, I do' know 'baout it," Joseph whispered dubi- 

 ously. "It's a good way off "seem's 'ough it was, an' the 

 weather might change consid'able 'fore we could git back. 

 I hain't no gre't appetite for water, not sech a sight on 't, 

 an' I don't b'Jieve 1 want tu go aout 'mongst so much on 't, 

 not Bca'cely, anyways, not tu-day." 



"Wal, I wish the wind 'ould change an' come aouten 

 the north, an' blow 'em over here er suthin'." 



"Ef we hed us some corn an' kinder hove it over the 

 bank, mebby it 'ould call 'em up tu us." But as they had 

 not the means at hand for trying this experiment and as 

 no favoring gale blew the ducks within range, but they 

 on the contrary began to waddle out by dozens upon the 

 shelving shore of the island to bask in the sun, the two 

 sportsmen reluctantly withdrew from their point of obser- 

 vation and pursued their way along the cliff to where it 

 slopes to the low shore of a shallow bay. Here grew some 

 hickory trees bearing a profusion of nuts as foreign to 

 Danvis as the fruit of a cocoa palm. As Uncle Lisha and 

 his companion were filling their pockets with the fallen 

 nuts, they surprised a gray squirrel who was rasping out 

 his breakfast on a lower branch and now retreated to a 

 hiding place among the topmost leaves. They were at 

 once filled with a desire to secure him as a trophy and a 

 toothsome addition to camp fare, and so with guns at a 

 ready they went slowly around the tree, scanning every 

 branch and intricacy of leafage, often fooled almost to 

 the point of firing at some semblance of the object of their 

 search, but never quite discovering it. 



_"WaL" said Uncle Lisha at last, grounding the butt of 

 his gun and leaning on the muzzle while he gazed wist- 

 fully up into the tree, "the critter's up there somewheres, 

 sartain, fer he hain't got no wings an' the' hain't no tree he 

 could jump off intu. Naow, Jozeff, I b'lieve if you'd go 

 down there tu the lake an' git a han'f'l o' stuns, I c'id 

 fling 'em up in there an' start the critter aout so's't we 

 c'ld shoot him. I use 'ter be tol'able hendy flingin' stuns." 



Accordingly Joseph set his gun against a tree and made 

 for the Bhore with all speed, which he did not abate till 

 he had crashed through the fringe of cedars and come 

 out upon the stony beach. Then to his intense disgust a 

 great flock of teal arose almost at his feet in a flurry of 

 alarm at the noise and sudden apparition, and went 

 whistling away far over the bay. Joseph stared after 

 them open mouthed but speechless, till surprise and chag- 

 rin took audible expression in a long exhaled "Gosh," 

 and then, with eyes following the swiftly retreating 

 flock: 



"Who in Sam Hill 'spected you was here? Wal, there 

 goes one lot o' M'ri's feathers." 



Heaving another sigh he turned his back upon the lake, 

 and picking up an armful of stones returned to his 

 companion, inwardly berating himself at every step and 

 groaning over the lost opportunity. 



Uncle Lisha's arm still possessed enough of the strength 

 and skill of youth to dislodge the squirrel with a few well 

 directed missiles, and Joseph brought it down after a pot- 

 tering aim of the long gun. 



"You done well, Jozeff, an' your father'd be'n praoud 

 on ye if he'd seen ye," said Uncle Lisha as he picked up 

 the squirrel and held it forth for the successful sportsman 

 to feast his eyes upon. 



"Father!" cried Joseph ruefully, "Gosh, ef he'd ha' seen 

 what I done er ruther what I didn't du, he'd kick me 

 higher'n Gilderoy's kite, if 'fc wa'n't for the rheumatiz in 

 his laigs. I went a kerflummuxin' daown yunder through 

 the bushes right slap ontu a snag o' ducks 'at I might jes' 

 's well crep' up tu an' shot if I'd on'y 'spected they was 

 there. I bate ye the' was more'n ten paound o' feathers 

 on 'em. But haow easy they did kerry 'em off, though." 



Uncle Lisha lamented the chance which had deprived 

 both of distinguishing themselves, but consoled Joseph 

 by assuming an equal portion of the blame. "An' naow, 

 who knows but what the critters '11 come back there arter 

 they git over their scare. What fetched 'em there oncte 

 '11 fetch 'em ag'in. Le's go an' sed daown there an' 

 wait." 



Joseph readily assented to a plan which required so 

 little exertion, and the two sat down behind the screen of 

 evergreens where through an opening in the bushes they 

 could command a view of the snore and the rushy border 

 of the bay in front of them, and so for half an hour they 

 sat enjoying their pipes and a whispered conversation no 

 louder than the stir of the breeze among the tree tops, the 

 patter of the falling leaves and the break of the ripples 

 on the beach. Suddenly these dreamy sounds were over- 

 borne by a pulsing, sibilant beat, prolonged in a whistle 

 of set wings, which ended with a resounding, fluttering 

 splash, as a flock of twenty of more teal settled upon the 

 water within 40yds. of the ambuscade and swam to and 

 fro in busy inspection of their surroundings, 



"Aim int' the thick on 'em, an' when L caount three, 

 fire," said Uncle Lisha in a trembling whisper as he and 

 his companion cautiously poked their guns through the 

 bushes and took deliberate aim. 



"One— tew — three," Uncle Lisha counted, and with the 

 sharp expiration of the last word his ancient queen's arm 



belched forth its mighty voice. Joseph Hill pulled lustily 

 at the trigger of his half-cocked piece, shutting both eyes 

 tighter as the pull became more desperate and bracing his 

 nerves for the inevitable recoil which must follow such a 

 reluctant discharge. 



"Sam Hill!" he ejaculated when at last he desisted and 

 opened his eyes to see a half dozen victims of Uncle 

 Lisha's shot floating belly up and the affrighted survivors 

 scurrying away in wild flight. "It don't seem's 'ough 

 this plagued ol' gun was use to shootin' ducks. It don't 

 'pear tu want tu go off at 'em." 



"It wants tu be cocked fust, Jozeff," Uncle Lisha re- 

 marked, as he cast an eye upon the unready weapon, and 

 they rushed from cover to secure the game. "Cock her 

 an' let flicker at that waounded one. It's a-floppin' clean 

 aouten reach." 



Joseph stared a moment in chop-fallen dismay at the 

 lock of his gun, then cocking it and leveling the long bar- 

 rel to careful aim, put a merciful end to the struggles of 

 the wounded duck. By the aid of a pole and a favoring 

 breeze the sportsmen were able to gather their booty- 

 seven plump teal in all, which they ranged side by side 

 and gloated over with as completo satisfaction as if the 

 green beauty spots on each wing had been as many emer- 

 alds. Then they tied the birds in two bunches, to the 

 smaller of which the squirrel was added, and these Uncle 

 Lisha magnanimously permitted his less successful com- 

 rade to carry as if it were his rightful trophy. 



So laden, and quite content to try their fortune no 

 further, they set f oi th toward camp. As they drew near 

 it Joseph broke a long interval of sdence. 



"I've kinder be'n a-thinkin' on't over in my mind, 

 Uncle Lisher, 'at like 'nough, mebby, it 'ould be jes' 's 

 well not tu say nothin' 'baout my not cockin' my gun, I 

 do' know but mebby it 'ould be full better not tu, An- 

 t wine's so kinder aggervatin'." 



"Good airth an' seas, Jozeff, I won't say nothin'. Ef 

 the ol' fuzee hedn't sot back so, I shouldn't knowed 

 whether it was me or you 'at fired, an' I sh'd thought you 

 hed if you hadn't said nothin'. It's lucky you didn't er 

 we wouldn't ha' got that 'ere waounded one. Pshaw, I 

 won't say nothin', Jozeff." 



The camp was silent and deserted but for a chipmunk 

 that sat clucking contentedly on the rock table after a 

 feast of crumbs. The fireplace gave forth neither smoke 

 nnr warmth, but only the faint breath of new-made ashes 

 and freshly-charred wood. The slovenly array of frying- 

 pan, pot and tin plates stood cold and untouched since 

 breakfast, and it was evident that Sam and Antoine had 

 not returned since the morning departure. 



"My sakesl" said Joseph, as he viewed the unhouse- 

 wifely scene with a kind of a shame-faced satisfaction, 

 "I'm glad M'ri' hain't here to see aour housekeepin'. 

 She'd have a tantribogus fit, 'most seem 's 'ough she 

 would." 



"Wal," said Uncle Lisha, "the 1 is a diff'ence'twixtmen 

 folkses haousekeepin' an' women folkses, as a gen'al 

 thing. Where the' hain't, the's suthin' wrong wi' the man 

 er the womern. If it's a womern a keepin' haouse like a 

 man, she's a reg'lar sloven, you may depend; an' if it's a 

 man 'at keeps haouse as a womern ort tu, he's jest as sar- 

 tain ter be a he ol' maid. Naow le's eat a col' bite an' 

 then light up a fire an' heat some water, an' kinder git the 

 thick on't off'm these 'ere dishes. It's tew bad Drive ain't 

 here tu help us." 



After fortifying themselves with cold potatoes, raw 

 pork and onions, they set manfully and unskillf ully to the 

 task of dishwashing, which was in a manner accomplished 

 in the hour which intervened before the return of their 

 friends. Rowland E. Robinson. 



IN JONES'S BAYOU.-III. 



The hunting season was now on in earnest. We had 

 been waiting for a heavy frost so that we could go bear 

 hunting, as it is more comfortable in these dense jungles 

 and canebrakes when the weather is cool and the fleas 

 and mosquitoes— and especially the gnats— are all dead. 

 It is almost beyond human endurance to stand the poison- 

 ous insects that attack one in the months of June, July 

 and August in some locations in the Mississippi and 

 Arkansas swamps. I have wet a towel and kept it tied 

 over my mouth and nose many a time to rid myself of 

 the buffalo gnats, and I have known them to kill cattle 

 by the score. 



My rod man, Julian Fleming, had left me and returned 

 to his home in Chattanooga, so I had a new man with 

 me, I was now doubly lonesome since Fleming's depart- 

 ure, as he and I were almost like brothers. I now felt 

 like the fellow who was "alone on the wide, wide sea," 

 and almost as disconsolate as Enoch Arden, who returned 

 home and found his wife married to another fellow. I 

 would go over to Uncle Zack Jones's house and "spark" 

 one of his sandy-haired "gals" once in a while, and also 

 talked love to a young and very handsome widow who 

 was a niece of Uncle Taylor and lived with him. This 

 was not done by proxy, d la Miles Standisb, either. 



However, this did not satiate my longing for something 

 —that inexplicable longing for fellowsnip and social 

 intercourse with the outside world. I did long to see a 

 good theater, or hear a nice band play, or listen with 

 rapturous ear to a grand concert once more. But alas! 

 the song of the katydid, the chirp of the cricket, the 

 croak ot the tree frog, and the monotonous "giggerum, 

 knee deep," of the bullfrog, mingled with the sad and 

 plaintive cry of the whip-poor-will and screech owl, were 

 destined to be the sole music for my ears for twelve 

 months to come. I did get desperate every two or three 

 months and rode fifty miles through the cane to Green- 

 yille, just to see a steamboat and hear the sound of wheels 

 rattling on the hard streets. But Greenville was a small 

 town and did not afford much entertainment to a stran- 

 ger, so I would go back to Jones's Bayou and plunge into 

 the forest with rifle in hand, determined to drown my 

 sorrow and lonesomeness in hunting. And I usually suc- 

 ceeded, because just as soon as I killed a deer I would 

 forget all about my lonesome and forlorn existence. 



One day about the middle of October Uncle Taylor sent 

 me word that he was going to take a stand at one of his 

 favorite water holes the next day, and would be glad to 

 have me accompany him. Of course I went, as I never 

 refused an invitation to hunt, unless there was very press- 

 ing business on hand. Two hours before daybreak I was 

 at Uncle Taylor's house mounted on Selim, Mrs. Beaver's 

 old family horse. Uncle Taylor was watching for me 

 and the moon was shining almost as bright as day. We 

 struck into a cattle trail leading in the direction of the 



Sunflower River. We traveled very slowly, as the matted 

 vines often caught us under the chin and almost unseated 

 us before we could stop our horses. Finally we arrived 

 at the water hole, which was a shallow pond 50 ft. wide 

 and of some length. It was, of course, in the bed of a 

 bayou, and Uncle Taylor said it was one of the few places 

 in that whole country that never went dry. We had 

 traveled in an opposite direction from Snake River and 

 were probably twelve miles from that stream. 



We now dismounted, and leading our horses back on 

 the trail for about a quarter of a mile tethered them and 

 fed them so tbey would keep quiet. We approached the 

 pond very cautiously, as Uncle Taylor said there might be 

 game there now, although the first streaks of dawn had 

 not lit up the horizon yet. There was no game in sight, 

 however, so we both climbed up into his blind. The 

 blind consisted of a board about 4ft. long planted firmly 

 in the fork of a tree and a very comfortable back had been 

 made to this bench, so that a person could rest there for 

 hours without becoming in the least cramped or tired. I 

 was very sleepy, so I told Uncle Taylor to keep watch 

 while I took a nap. He said, "Wal, go to sleep, jist so 

 you don't tumble out o' the tree an' skeer all the game 

 off." So I fastened my rifle so I could not drop it, and 



fetting into a comfortable position was soon fast asleep, 

 think Uncle Taylor was very willing for me to go to 

 sleep, as he was afraid I would talk and that would have 

 spoiled everything. 



I do not know how long I had been in "Nappy Land," 

 but the first thing I remember is that Uncle Taylor gave 

 me a punch in the ribs with his elbow, and as I opened 

 my eyes he put two fingers to his lips. I understood him 

 and did not speak. He pointed in the direction of the 

 sun, which was just rising, and I could distinctly hear 

 some heavy animal approaching. Whatever it was, it 

 certainly did not try to walk away, and was entirely un- 

 conscious of the danger that awaited it. We did not 

 have to wait long. The cane kept on popping and crack- 

 ing as the animal would step on dry or dead stalks, and 

 in a few moments a large black object emerged from the 

 dense wall of cane on the opposite side of the water hole. 

 It stopped, raised its head and sniffed the air, as if trying 

 to smell danger. It was evidently satisfied, and went 

 straight to the water's edge and began to drink. We 

 were within 40ft. of it and up over the animal, so we could 

 both see it perfectly. It was a good-sized black bear. 

 We both took aim and fired almost simultaneously. The 

 bear gave a snort or snarl, stopped a moment to bite its 

 side, where one of the bullets had struck it, and then 

 with a roar that almost froze my blood made a break for 

 the cane. We were too quick, however, and before he 

 reached the cane my rifle spoke again, and a second later 

 Uncle Taylor's No. 8 shotgun barrel roared out its message 

 of death. As the smoke cleared away we saw the bear 

 on the ground. We now got down out of the tree, and a 

 shot from my Winchester through its head finished it. I 

 now turned to Uncle Taylor, who stood exultantly over 

 the carcass of the fallen beast, and said, "Now, Uncle 

 Taylor, don't you feel ashamed of yourself?" "An' fur 

 what mout I be 'shamed of, pray?" "For murdering this 

 poor beast without provocation," said I, "and without 

 giving it a ghost of a chance to either escape or defend 

 itself." I had forgotten that I was one of the murderers 

 and did not notice the inconsistency of my remarks to 

 Uncle Taylor. But Uncle Taylor was too busy in his 

 mental calculation of how much that bear would bring 

 him to notice me much. 



Every shot fired had struck the bear, and I think that 

 any one of them would have caused his death. 



After securing our horses, I climbed up in a slender tree 

 just over the body of the animal, and securing a rope to 

 the top of it swung myself down again. By pulling on the 

 rope with all of our strength and combined weight we 

 succeeded in bending the tree down partially. Then 

 securing the other end of the rope to the bear's hindfeet 

 we turned the tree loose, In this way we lightened up the 

 load until we were able to lift it up on old Selim. We 

 then tied the bear very securely on the horse, and about 

 8 o'clock were ready to start homeward. I walked and 

 led old Selim, and Uncle Taylor rode home, as he was old 

 and not strong enough to walk six or eight miles. The 

 bear weighed nearly 3001bs. without anything being taken 

 from him, and old Uncle Taylor got about $15 or $20 for 

 that day's work, as bear meat sold like "hot cakes" in the 

 railroad camps at 10 cents per pound. I took one ham 

 and the skin as my share. I despise bear meat, however, 

 and I do think it is the nastiest stuff I ever put into my 

 mouth. It always makes me think of the Eskimo drink- 

 ing oil, it is so fat and greasy. 



That mode of hunting did not suit me, and I did not try 

 it again the whole time I was in the swamp, although I 

 had numerous invitations to accompany both Uncle Tay- 

 lor and Uncle Martin. I had just as soon shoot one of 

 Barnum's bears in his cage and call it sport as to murder 

 one at a water hole or salt lbk. There was no use to ex- 

 postulate with Uncle Taylor or Uncle Martin, however, 

 as they were both pot-hunters of the worst type, and were 

 after meat the easiest way that it could be obtained. 

 Uncle Taylor used to say to me after I got through berat- 

 ing him for trapping turkeys and water-hole hunting, 

 "Why, Wingfielu, you air a durned fool. Hain't you 

 larnt afore this that you kain't break an ole houn' o' 

 suckkin' eggs?" "Well, blame your old skin, I wish you 

 would get hold of a rotten one once in a while, then," 

 said I. Old Uncle Taylor would then throw his head 

 back and "haw, haw" as only a backwoodsman can. 



He used to accuse me in a good-natured way of break- 

 ing up his turkey pens. I denied it with all my might, 

 and held up my hands in horror at the idea of my treat- 

 ing my old friend that way; but it was true. Uncle Taylor 

 really thought it was an old fellow named Coleman, who 

 lived up the bayou five or six miles, and who had once 

 had a big lawsuit with Uncle Taylor about some cattle 

 that Coleman had branded with his own brand when the 

 cattle really belonged to Uncle Taylor. It took the good 

 advice and gentle counsels of the whole of the Jones's 

 Bayou settlement to keep Uncle Taylor and old man 

 Coleman from shooting each other about the cattle busi- 

 ness. And the hatred was still very high against each 

 other; so, whenever Uncle Taylor lost a turkey pen he 

 always swore that that eheu rascal John Co'eman did it. 

 I always said, "I guess he did; as nothing but a mean 

 man would tear another man's turkey pen up anyway." 

 But inwardly I was enjoying Uncle Taylor's rage and 

 chagrin. He always imagined that the pen was full of 

 turkeys and that John Coleman had stolen the turkeys 

 and then torn the pen up, and I do believe if he had seen 



