FOREST AND STREAM 



[Feb. 9, 1888. 



NIGHTS WITH THE COONS. 



I. — THE TENDERFOOT'S COON HUNT. 



DID you say something about coon hunting. Yes! Well, 

 I've been there! up to my ears in it, yon bet! and 

 come back alive, and was able to tell of it. How was it? 

 Well, this was the how of it. You see I was visiting my 

 friend, Mr. Norman, who has a weakness for coon hunting, 

 coon dogs, climhers, daTk nishts, and all the rest of it, and 

 he proposed a coon hunt. Having made due preparations, 

 we started. We drove about four miles, to where we ex- 

 pected to take in a third companion, a Mr. B., who, accord- 

 ing to Norman's account, was perfectly crazy to go cooning. 

 But on arriving at Mr. B.'s house we found him sick and 

 therefore unable to go. Norman, who went to the door, 

 came back shortly to the buggy where I was trying to quiet 

 his refractory dogs, with the information, "He can't go; he's 

 sick; but there's another fellow over here a little way who is 

 just as crazy to go cooning as he is, and there are lots of 

 coons over there, too. We'll drive over, 'twon't take but a 

 few minutes. 11 And we drove off. 



Half a mile brought us to the foot of a hill, which proved 

 to be a mountain by the time we had reached the top. Up, 

 up, we climbed, and still I could not see any signs of the 

 top. Up and on we went, until we must have gone at least 

 four miles, and four miles, too, of the very steepest kind of 

 road. My patience was almost gone, and I gently inquired 

 if we were anywhere near the end of that "little way" he 

 had spoken of. "Oh, yes," he said, "we are right here now. 

 Just a minute or two and we'll be there. Why, I drove 

 clean over here one day in just twenty-seven minutes by the 

 watch, and 'twau't much of a day for driving, either." An- 

 other mile of climbing and not a house in sight yet. It was 

 getting late, 9 o'clock at least. 



"They will be in bed and fast asleep," I said, "long before 

 we get there." Norman looked around at me as if to take 

 the full calibre of my meutal ability, remarked, "Never you 

 fear; they'll wake up easy," and on we jolted. The road 

 was evidently a trifle more level, and we jogged along across 

 what seemed to have been in bygone days a corduroy road, 

 for now and then we would strike a log lying across the 

 way that would give us a fearful hoist, only to get settled in 

 time to meet the next one. A repetition of the first, and so 

 on for half a mile, when we came to our destination. 



They were all in bed. Not a light was to be seen. "Well, 

 you hold the horse and I'll go and wake them up," said 

 Norman, Thump, thump, thump! on the door. No answer. 

 Thump, thump, thump, thump! Again I held my breath. 

 They have all gone away. Yes. No. There is a light. 

 "Halloo! what's wanted?" There was some one home after 

 all and Norman was likely to wake them up "easy," I thought, 

 by the racket he was setting up. In a few minutes he came 

 back with a strong robust farmer, whom he introduced to 

 me as Mr. Meetinghouse. If his name was saintly he was 

 not a saint, as will appear later. Mr. Meetinghouse looked 

 me over from head to foot and mentally set me down as the 

 veriest tenderfoot alive, and he would give me a jolly time 

 following them whether they got any coons or not. 



About half a mile back on the road we had just passed 

 over, was a most impenetrable bog swamp, running off to 

 the north about three miles, where it terminated at the foot 

 of high ledges on one side and level barrens on the other. 

 This swamp was, at different points, from a few yards to a 

 mile and a half wide, and was the ground of our proposed 

 hunt. The whole surface of the ground was covered with a 

 kind of bog grass, which gave it a level appearance; but it 

 was chock-full of deceitfulness, when investigated by any- 

 thing that had to walk on solid ground. To make it still 

 worse, there was a thick growth of alders leaning in every 

 direction, interspersed here and there with laurels of the 

 thickest and most crooked growth; and further, there was 

 scattered through and among the bogs and brush a running 

 creeper covered with long catclaw briers, and which for want 

 of a better name were locally dubbed "Mowhawks" or "Mow- 

 hawk briers." They are the most tenacious scratch ers it 

 has ever been my misfortune to encounter: and they bid 

 defiance to any kind of cloth material as covering for pro- 

 tection against them. 



This anything but lovely spot was to be the scene of our 

 night's exploits. 



Mr. Meetinghouse, or John, as Norman called him, wore 

 light duck overalls, and went at a rattling gait; and when 

 he struck one of those thorned creepers tliere was a change 

 of base and a concentration of profanity. I soon learned, as 

 I followed in the rear, to turn aside and go around those 

 places where profanity seemed to be the densest. In this 

 way I escaped most of the trouble that d ohn seemed to have 

 with the briers. But the brash and bogs made it fearfully 

 bad w r alking, and after an hour of steady tramping I began 

 to inquire if there was any better walking in that whole 

 region. John's answer was invariably "Yes, there is a path 

 just ahead. We'll get over into it in a minute." But that 

 path was a delusion and snare, or else it was a very lively 

 path, for we never got nearer than "right ahead; we'll be in 

 it in just a minute." This was what John told me more 

 than a score of times, till I came to the conclusion that we 

 had been chasing that identical path all the time and had 

 not been able with all our exertions to overtake it. It still 

 kept just ahead of us about a minute or two, and when last 

 I heard of it at 5 o'clock the next morning it was right ahead 

 of us the same distance it had been all night; but I did not 

 see the path just the same. 



Having been educated for a civil engineer, I became on all 

 nightly excursions naturally much interested in the north 

 star, and on this particular "night I found and kept my eye 

 on the star as usual; and after about two hours of hard 

 tramping I noticed that John kept leading us off to the 

 right continually. I mistrusted he was getting "turned 

 around," as old woodsmen say, but I said nothing and fol- 

 lowed on after a time. We came to a halt by a little brook 

 to listen for the dog, which all this time seemed to have no 

 success in finding coons. A consultation was held as to the 

 proper way to go next. This resulted in finding that John 

 thought the north was off toward the southwest, and Nor- 

 man toward the east; while I still held to the old star that 

 had guided me home so many nights before. Here was a 

 pretty kettle of fish; but luckily one of us had a pocket com- 

 pass, which set everything right in a few minutes, and upon 

 investigation we found we were but a short distance from 

 where we entered the swamp. Then followed a long tramp 

 of perhaps three or four miles, through bogs and brush, 

 sometimes crawling under and through the laurels, which 

 grew very thick in that locality; over ledges and rocks, and 

 rurally back by another way nearly to the house— and no 

 coou yet. . ■ . 



"I hate to give it up without a coou; don't you ?" This 

 was what Johu said. "We ought to start one right over 

 across the road." "Go ahead, then," said I, though I am 

 free to confess that I was not very urgent about going. I 

 had begun to lose faith in his ability as a coon hunter, but 

 I did not propose to back out till I was obliged to. So over 

 the fence we went; and sure enough in a few minutes the 

 dog had struck a trail. Yes, we would have a coon yet. It 

 was an old trail, but the dog was good for it, and we could 

 hear his slow melancholy baying as he followed out the 

 devious and tedious windings and turnings of the trail, and 

 we sat and shivered a ad listened, till after an hour of almost 

 frozen happiness we heard him "bark up." Then followed 

 a scramble to get there as quickly as possible. Away we 

 went across an old coal bush, with its parallelograms of 

 brush and stubs, down through a laurel run until near the 

 bottom, so thick that even Johu was troubled to find his 

 way through, and yelled out as he disappeared in a bunch of 

 laurel, "You can follow me or take your choice elsewhere." 

 I espied an opening in the brush that even John's sharp eyes 



had passed unnoticed— perhaps intentionally— and slipping 

 through I found myself in the bed of a dry brook. Follow- 

 ing down with what haste I could make, I soon came to 

 open land, and running across an old barren field I was at 

 the foot of the tr^e. Yes, the tenderfoot got there first. 



The coon was up a great birch, at least 75ft, from its base 

 and out on a limb, which hung over part of a broken up ledge, 

 adding perhaps 25ft. more to his elevation. 



The reader to more fully understand what followed must 

 imagine a broken up ledee, falling oft' in rapid drops of 

 eight and ten or more feet at a time, and rocks of all sizes, 

 from that of a small barn to common sized rocks one on 

 another in the most reckless manner conceivable; and 50 to 

 75ft. up this steep incline of rocks and moss a great tree, 

 towering into the darkness, with a dark object out on one 

 of its limbs 100ft. from the rocks beneath. That was the 

 coon! To add to the weird fantasy, imagine three excited 

 individuals, each with lanterns, which cast great shadows 

 in all directions; the howling of the dog. the hooting of a 

 distant owl, and with all the excitement of expectation; aud 

 you have the picture. 



John cuts a club and Norman gets into position away up 

 among the rocks with gun in hand to shoot him out. John 

 gets upon a shelf of rock with club in hand to help the dog, 

 while I am placed upon a point of rock with two lanterns 

 to light the scene of butchery. Norman shoots. Immedi- 

 ately I see a dark object leave the limb and fall straight as 

 an arrow from an Indian's bow for John's upturned face. 

 A dull thud, a groan, and man, coon, dog, club, lantern and 

 all disappear among the rocks below. They have fallen off 

 the shelf down some 6ft. into a kind of trough betwepn the 

 rocks, and there they lie a conglomerate mixture of man, 

 dog, coon, lantern, etc. 



1 saw the fearful blow he had received, and knew within 

 my heart that John's neck was broken and that he was dead. 

 He lay there motionless as the rocks by his side, till I had 

 clambered down and had reached his head, and then I saw 

 that he still breathed. He was badly injured. I must get 

 him into a better position. Besides that the dog and coon 

 were having a fight on top of him, Blood was running in 

 streams from his eyes, nose and mouth. He could live but a 

 few minutes. I would get him down to the flat rock that I 

 stood on. I could bring nim water in my hat from the spring 

 brook below. All this flashed through my mind as I lifted 

 his head and said, "John, you are hurt, are you not?" If a 

 dead man had come to life I could not have been more sur- 

 prised than I was at what happened at this moment. The 

 dog made a pass at the. coon and both fell on to and over 

 John, down among the holes and rocks in front of me. John 

 bounded to his feet. Another bound and he was by the side 

 of the dog; grabbed the coon by his hindlegs, just as he was 

 slipping into a hole to be irrevocably lost among the rocks; 

 pulled him out and dashed his brains out against the rocks 

 at my feet. And I, well, I just looked on and saw him do it. 

 He was not so dead as I had thought. But he was hurt 

 though he was loath to admit it. In a few minutes one eye 

 was so badly swollen that he could not see out of it, and 

 otherwise his face was disfigured. It was a narrow escape 

 and one long to be remembered. We were a short half mile 

 from his house, and after John was hurt we h ad good going 

 all the way. We had tramped ten or a dozen miles of the 

 worst kind of going, only to come back close by home and 

 get the coon. 



This was my tenderest experience in coon hunting, but I 

 went again, but will tell of that another time. 



The Tendeefoot. 



[Further coon hunting experiences, °ent by other corres- 

 pondents, will follow from week to week.] 



AN EVENING AT THE RENDEZVOUS. 



THE weather has been so intensely cold the past ten days 

 that members of the Fur Company have ventured out 

 very little, and, so far as reported, only four foxes have been 

 added to the list since my last letter. 



The fraternity gather nightly in "Lisha's" store, where 

 they smoke their cigars and talk over the latest chase and 

 all matters pertaining to their favorite sport. Were there 

 ever a jollier, happier set of fellows than a company of fox 

 hunters? Would that I could faithfully portray the scene 

 as the group are seated in this pleasant resort discussing the 

 coming bunt, which is just now the all-absorbing topic. 

 The aim chairs are all filled, and seats are improvised for 

 the others by bringing out boxes, and one or two are perched 

 on the counter, while still another sits on a ton of shot 

 which is stacked in the corner. Lisha has finally exhausted 

 his hospitality by giviner up his high chair at the desk to 

 Webb Thayer, whohas come in a little late. 



Unele Nathan sits in his accustomed place, serenely smok- 

 ing his cigar, hale and hearty at the age of seventy-three, 

 and just as full of it as a boy, the very essence of good nature. 

 He can take a joke, no matter how hard it rubs, and takes 

 offense at nothing short of actual insult. He is a recog- 

 nized authority on all that pertains to fox hunting; has 

 owned some dogs as good as ever chased a fox, and has in- 

 dulged in his favorite pastime in and about Worcester for 

 nearly fifty years. Loud, the dog he now owns, is not quite 

 up to the mark, though he is well bred and was raised with 

 great expectations. I shall have more to say of this dog 

 later on. 



Mr. B. T. Balcom, another old timer with white hair and 

 portly form, sits opposite. He is rather too infirm to take a 

 hand in the chase very often, though he did attend the last 

 grand hunt, and if he feels pretty well proposes to go again 

 this year. He likes to come in every evening and hear what 

 the boys have to say, but is content to rest on his laurels 

 and tell what old Towse and Flora did years ago, when he 

 used to "hang up about a dozen of em" in a season. 



Billy Dean sits on one of the boxes with eyes and ears wide 

 open. He is an unfledged fox hunter; started in this season 

 with a pair of hounds, and has bet three boxes of cigars that, 

 he kills a fox before the first of March. He proposes to at- 

 tend strictly to business, is chuck full of "sand," and the 

 best judges predict that he will win. 



Webb Thayer, the gentleman who occupies the high chair, 

 is a young and talented lawyer; has been an application 

 member of the Fur Company several years, but Uncle 

 Nathan has always adhered strictly to the rule which pro- 

 vides that to enjoy full membership a candidate must have 

 killed a fox. This year President Kinney, by an elastic in- 

 terpretation of the rule, has decided that an applicant may 

 be admitted who has .shot at a fox; and Mr. Thayer is now 

 full fledged. Webb says Dan drives a fox well, and he also 

 hopes the poor dog will have a chance to shake up a fox be- 

 fore he dies of old age. 



Robert Colbert is perched on the counter. Robert is not 

 a thoroughbred foxhunter, and previous to the hunt last 

 year "took no stock" in the sport. He went out on that oc- 

 casion, shot at a fox and failed to connect. He says he is 

 going again this year and shall stand all day on the same 

 spot where he got a shot and also that he wants his name 

 put down for the supper at the Bay State House in the 

 evening. He comes in often, and when the boys are all 

 present, takes great delight in making Webb Thayer's life 

 a burden by asking in all seriousness, "Let's see, Webb, 

 how many have you killed this season?" 



Mr. Rand is the quiet member, a fine straightforward 

 gentleman, about sixty years, who has hunted foxes ever 

 since he was big enough to carry a gun, and says he shall 

 keep at it as long as he has the use of his legs. He nas 

 killed a great many and missed a great many more. He 

 don't smoke, in fact he has no bad habits. He is nearly 

 always present to hear the stories, but is no* a great talker 



himself. If the company ever elects a chaplain he should 

 receive every vote. 



Will Perry is the red hot member. He is a gentlery.an of 

 leisure and is fond of everything that means shoot, be it 

 trap-shooting, birds or foxes. With leisure and abundant 

 means he can go anywhere and hunt anything he likes on 

 the. habitable globe, and he has in his life time taken in a 

 pretty wide range. Will is a jolly good fellow, but very 

 critical on fox dogs; the boys say too much so. The fact is 

 the superior qualities of old Jumbo, the famous hound that 

 was lost a year ago, have spoiled bim for an ordinary dog, 

 and he can't seem to get fixed with one to his mind. He 

 keeps on trying them, however, and says he will find the 

 right one after a while if there is one in the country. 



Charlie Howe is in his place as usual. He is another 

 thoroughbred, always ready to make up a party for a fox 

 hunt, good-natured and accommodating; is a perfect athlete 

 and can outwalk an Indian. He leads the party so far this 

 season with six foxes to his credit. 



I now introduce the genius of the Worcester Fur Com- 

 pany, Johnny Slocum. He sits on pile of shot in the corner; 

 a genial, whole-souled, kind-hearted fellow whom every- 

 body is obliged to like. Johnny is absolutely original. Sen- 

 sitive as a child, he would no more make ah unkind or dis- 

 paraging remark about a brother fox hunter, or his dog, than 

 he would cut off his right hand. He is not a rapid talker, 

 but weighs every word, and when he has finished his story 

 you can safely bet your clothes that it is the exact truth. 

 Born and raised in New Bedford, the sailor's dialect still 

 sticks to him, and he has a peculiar way of relating the de- 

 tails of a fox chase, which is an entertainment that must be 

 listened to to be fully appreciated, for no pen could do it 

 justice. He came here about thirty years ago and must be 

 about sixty years old, though a stranger would not guess 

 him to be over forty-five. He has no occupation known to 

 the public but fox hunting, and he gives it his undivided 

 attention throughout the season. The boys say he can hold 

 a "royal flush" and never betray it by any facial expression. 

 Johnny "don't want the earth," give him a good foxhound 

 and a |10 note and he is satisfied. 



The entire party are in their places. Lisha learned a bit 

 of news during the afternoon that will make fun for the 

 evening. This noon as Uncle Nathan shoved his chair back 

 from the dinner table he remarked, "Loud has been gone 

 just three weeks to-morrow and I begin to think I shall 

 never see him again, Possibly he's broken through the ice 

 and is drowned, though I should hardly think it, for where 

 could he find any thin ice down round East Ridge, cold as 

 the weather has been? Well, I declare to goodness, if there 

 ain't Loud now!" And sure enough there he sat on the lawn 

 looking up wistfully at the window. A moment later and 

 the returned prodigal was in the arms of his master. The 

 past two weeks the boys have made it pleasant for the old 

 gentleman every evening by asking mean questions and 

 making sarcastic remarks. "Uncle Nathan, 1 didn't s'pose 

 Loud was a stayer, no doubt he's been driving a fox all this 

 time." 



"Oh, go on and abuse Loud all you want to," said the old 

 man as ne smoked his cigar contentedly. "1 shan't get mad." 



On this evening of the dog's return John Thayer had 

 hardly got inside the doorwhen Lisha broke out with, "John, 

 Loud has got home." 



"Loud— got home! Oh, Nathan, another affliction; how 

 one trouble does follow another. I did hope you would be 

 spared this, and he had been gone so long I really began to 

 think he never would show up. When did he come?" asked 

 John. 



"This afternoon. T saw him sitting on the lawn when I 

 got up from dinner," said Uncle Nathan, calmly. 



"I noticed Uncle Nathan looked unusually happy when he 

 came in, this acoounts for it," said Lewis Divoll. 



"What's his condition?" asked Mr. Raud. 



"Oh, he's a wreck, a perfect wreck, thin as a herring and 

 feet all torn to pieces; the poor fellow has suffered terribly." 



Will Perry could hold in no longer. "I guess the cats 

 have suffered down round Shrewsbury, and as for his feet 

 he's probably torn them clawin' meat but of that old frozen 

 dead horse. Talk about Loud, why I've seen him hunt at 

 least twenty-five days and I never yet saw him drive a fox 

 ten minutes. I want to bet that no living man can hunt 

 him and start a fox in a solid week. Nathan, you know 

 that new dog I'm trying, he aint good for anything, and 

 I'm going to send him back. Asa and I were out to Holden 

 with him the other day, and I was cussing him right and 

 left, when Asa said, 'I think he's better than Loud.' I never 

 was so insulted in my life." 



Johnny Slocum 's sensitive heart bleeds for Uncle Nathan, 

 and he comes to the rescue. "Wall, now, I dunno why ye 

 should run down 'nuther man's dog. I've seen Loud do 

 pooty good work— most allers seems bizzy and try in' ter du 

 suthin'. Nathan, 'member the day when ye killed the fox 

 on Rattlesnake Hill? I'll never forgit when he took that 

 turn ter the east'erd how he claw'd it 'cross that little fresh 

 medder over by the rezervorey. He did jest as good day's 

 work that day as enny body's dog, didn't he, Nathan?" "I 

 thought so," was the modest reply. 



"Going to sleep with him to-night ?" asked Lisha. 



"Well, I told Conuelia to make the bed for two, and now 

 if you've all abused Loud enough I'll go home, but I just 

 want to say that I shall nurse him" up and have him in con- 

 dition for the grand hunt, and I'm going to tie a pink rib- 

 bon in his collar that day to identify him. I hope I shall 

 get him started with the fastest pack there is in the hunt, 

 and along in the afternoon you will find the little cuss there 

 or thereabouts." 



"Come, boys, it's 9 o'clock, and Lisha wants to close up," 

 said Mr, Raud, and with a pleasant good night the happy 

 company go home. E. Sprague Knowles. 



Wobcesteh, Mass., Jan. 27. 



FIELD TRIALS CHALLENGE. — Mr. A. B. Truman, of 

 San Francisco. Cal., sends us for publication a challenge to 

 all California dogs, including the field trial winners, for a 

 two days' trial on quail, points only to count, and names 

 his pointer dog Rush T. The race to be for 8200 each. He 

 states that he has deposited $50 forfeit with the editor of 

 the Breeder and Sportsman. 



THE PHILADELPHIA DOG SHOW.— We are requested 

 to state that a kennel prize will be awarded to fox-terriers 

 at the coming Philadelphia dog show. It was inadvertently 

 omitted from the premium list. The regular classes for 

 fox-terriers will be changed to correspond with the collie 

 classes. Mr. J. Otis Fellows will judge spaniels. 



A SYRACUSE KENNEL CLUB.— Several prominent 

 owners of dogs are contemplating the organization of a ken- 

 nel club on a liberal basis, at Syracuse, N. Y. We believe it 

 is their intention to hold field trials and bench shows. There 

 are.so manv excellent dogs in that city and vicinity that the 

 promoters of this movement will find abudant material for 

 a creditable showing. 



POINTER DOG STOLEN. — Editor Forest and Stream: 

 On the night of Feb. 2 my liver and white pointer dog 

 jVIoffit of Naso, by champion Nick of Naso ex champion 

 Patti M., whelped Aug. 8, 1887, was stolen from my kennels 

 in Jersey City. 1 will not offer a reward for the return of 

 the dog, but will pay 6100 for the conviction of the thief.— 

 C. J. PESHALL. 



MR. A. 0. KRUEGER has removed to Pittsburgh, Pa, 

 His address for the present is 808 Filth avenue, 



