Feb, 16, 1888. J 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



68 



rainy days they will be plentiful and shooting will be 

 good, while during that beautiful weather which tender 

 gentlemen choose to bunt them, they will nearly every 

 mother's son of theni be gone. Those that are to be seen 

 are generally away out on some broad expanse of water 

 where the glowing sun has full play; and if a gun goes 

 out in that direction they take wing a long way off, and 

 for all that is known, go to the north pole, for that is the 

 last seen of them until bettor duck weather is had. 



One thing more that is essential to success in this 

 locality is to have the proper stage of water. During the 

 summer and fall the Mississippi River is generally low, 

 as also are its tributaries. The numerous bars and coves 

 become coated with a luxurious coat of grass prolific in 

 seed. When the rising water begins to enter these grassy 

 places the ducks move in and take possession. Indeed, it 

 would seem that sometimes they precede the water by a 

 few hours and appear to wait for an opportunity to pad- 

 dle in among the tangled grass and have a fine time. At 

 least they are rarely behind time, and by keeping a 

 record of the stage of water at which favored localities 

 become submerged, *a sportsman can often so time his 

 visit as to promptly meet the ducks as they come in for 

 their first meal. 



But bow seldom it is that a sportsman can get all the 

 conditions right at one time for a successful hunt. Busi- 

 ness, river, weather, Sundays (when we prefer not to be 

 out) work in together with perplexing perversity. Nine 

 times in ten, if indeed not ninety-nine in one hundred, 

 some one if not more of the conditions will be wanting. 

 But it is not without its lessons, for it teaches the sports- 

 man patience and forbearance, and puts him to no incon- 

 siderable watchfulness to pitch his trip at the most oppor- 

 tune time. Even then he will often fail in his calcula- 

 tions and be on the ground at the wrong time. 



Twice this winter Mr. W. and I went out in anticipa- 

 tion of cold stormy weather, but each time the bright 

 sun came out and warmed up the atmosphere to a 

 wretched temperature, and what few ducks we did kill 

 were mostly fly blown, and had to be thrown away. 



Not so, however, on the 16th of last January, when a 

 party of three of us determined to have a few days among 

 the mallards, greenwings and butterballs. The wires 

 gave reports of extreme cold weather over the great 

 Northwest, and at that time its chilly breath was even 

 being felt in the extreme Southern States. A north 

 wind with sleet and ice prevailed as we stood around a 

 glowing store of Warner & Searles and talked the matter 

 over. The junior partner being off on a business trip 

 Mr. Warner could not go, so his son Lawrence was dele- 

 gated to take his place, while Mr. Peatross, a salesman 

 in the house, was an invited guest. The party was not 

 wholly destitute of redeeming traits, as L. was a fair 

 trap shot and had previously shown some symptoms of 

 developing into a good shot at game; while P., though on 

 his first duck hunt, was full of industry and enthusiasm. 



A small steam launch, the Greenwing, was at anchor 

 in the lake one and one-half miles above the town and 

 was to be our means of making the trip. Ordinarily she 

 was a good little craft and had previously given us a 

 number of delightful trips, but occasionally she would 

 get into the tantrums and behave in a very unbecoming 

 manner for a nice little boat, belating us at the ducking 

 grounds and causing us to be annoyed and vexed at her 

 capricious ways. On this trip she was not altogether 

 innocent and once or twice put our temper to a severe 

 test. Three constituted a full crew, consisting of pilot, 

 engineer and fireman, though two could run" the boat 

 comfortably, by the engineer doing double duty, and in 

 case of emergency one man could hustle around and keep 

 the vessel under way if he was spry and the boat did not 

 kick up much. 



Tuesday afternoon the Engineer and Fireman went up 

 to the Greenwing. and in a driving, cold wind, one got 

 on the roof, took off the safety valve and put a funnel on 

 the pipe, while the other passed up bucket after bucket- 

 ful of water until the boiler was full. In order that air 

 might leave the boiler as the water entered, a passage 

 was made through the cylinder and steam chest by open- 

 ing the drain cocks. Generally on previous occasions air 

 was admitted through the whistle, but on this occasion 

 the whistle was sealed up tight with sleet and ice. This 

 little affair led to trouble the next morning after we had 

 raised steam and opened the throttle to leave our anchor- 

 age. The pipe which supplies steam to the engine con- 

 nects just above the boiler with the pipe leading up to the 

 safety valve where we put in the water, and in filling up 

 a certain quantity of water wasted down this supply 

 pipe and entered the steam chest, which we expected the 

 drain cocks in the steam chest and cylinder to void. But 

 they did not do it, and the water must have frozen in 

 them as the boiler was being filled. Suffice it to say that 

 the rushing steam as the throttle was opened the next 

 morning developed a burst ed steam chest, when conster- 

 t nation overspread the countenances of the crew of three 

 as they viewed the open rent in the casting, which was 

 deemed to end all possibility of making the trip. 



It was with no little mortification that the situation, 

 was viewed. There we were with all our traps on board, 

 only awaiting the launch to do her part, and she had 

 kicked up her heels and said she would not do it. Our 

 I bedding, provisions, guns and ammunition were snugly 

 stowed away, while the two little lapstreak boats, the 

 Boss and the Amateur, containing the oars and seventy 

 I decoys, one on either side of the Greenwing, slapped the 

 ripples as they passed under their respective bows. The 

 local paper the evening before had blowed us off on our 

 trip and said in anticipation of our coming the festive 

 mallards in mass convention assembled had made it 

 unanimous to leave the country. And then the boys at 

 home would have the laugh on us at the sudden termina- 

 tion of our trip. One would like to know in an insinuat- 

 ing way if ice was bigger than water; another inquire 

 about the kind of flight there was at McKee Pocket and 

 how many miles an hour the Greenwing would make up 

 Steel's Bayou, while still another would walk about, 

 smack his lips, wink to the gentleman at his elbow, and 

 remark naively that those ducks we brought him had a 

 savory smell and taste; couldn't we get Mm some more? 

 In the mean time the crew of three did some tramping 

 around and cogitating. It was hard to have to haul that 

 "duffle" back to town. The throttle was opened again, 

 but was closed quickly, for the steam hissed through the 

 ragged seam in a great volume. The Engineer went to 

 the stern of the boat, sat down, took off his hat and 

 fanned himself, and it was not a hot day either; in fact, 

 the ice gleamed all along the shores, and a cold wind was 



fanning down great dark clouds from the northwest. 

 But the blood of the Engineer was at a high pressure and 

 his mind was in a state of turmoil bordering on anarchy. 



It was a desperate case. Again the throttle was opened 

 and again as quickly closed. "The jig is up," paid the 

 Pilot. "We are done for," said the Fireman. The 

 Engineer groaned. After a while he goes to the steam 

 chest and views it dubiously. Could it be fixed tem- 

 porarily? Would it be safe to try? Could it be bolted , 

 clamped, or braced in any way? 



"Boys, what is the use of giving up this hunt. We are 

 already off, as it were. We have provisions to eat and a 

 bed to sleep on and coal to make a fire; let's stay aboard 

 and see if this thing can't be fixed to go to-morrow, if 

 not to-day." Thus spoke the Engineer, whose duty it was 

 to look after the machinery ; and so it was resolved. 



The decoys in the Amateur were speedily placed in the 

 Boss, when the Fireman and Engineer got into the Ama- 

 teur and with a couple of blades pointed the prow down 

 the lake for Vicksburg, leaving the Pilot on the launch in 

 charge. 



"Is there any danger on here?" demands the Pilot as 

 the other two paddle away. 



"Not a bit," retorts the Engineer. "Keep a slow fire, 

 and if steam gets too high put up the damper. As long 

 as the boiler is full of water you're all right." 



"Look here, boys, I don't know a thing aboxit this 

 machinery," comes again from the Pilot. 



"It can't hurt you, keep quiet," goes back from the 

 Amateur. 



And so the Firenian and Engineer went down to town 

 in the trim little Amateur. John B. Smith, the machin- 

 ist, was consulted at his shop, and the Amateur was soon 

 splitting the water up the lake with an ample supply of 

 bolts and clamps. Boarding the launch, 501 bs. of steam 

 remained, and the fire was freshened to increase the 

 pressure. A clamp was put over the steam chest and 

 tightly screwed up. The seam was noticed to close in a 

 measure. Then the throttle was opened and the leak was 

 not nearly so great. "Good," says the Fireman. "Better," 

 says the Pilot. "Best," says the Engineer. "Boys, we 

 will get lOOlbs. pressure and try that, if she will stand 

 that we will drop the buoy and leave here." 



When lOOlbs. pressure was raised the Pilot and Fireman 

 were noticed to go around behind the boiler as the En- 

 gineer went to make the final test. The steam that hissed 

 through the seam was a shade bluer and hissed louder, 

 but the repairs were deemed sufficiently strong to make 

 the fracture safe, so with light hearts again the buoy was 

 made fast to the anchor line and thrown overboard, the 

 Pilot blew a shrill blast of the whistle, the engine was put 

 in motion and the Greenwing was at last under way. 



Three miles brought us to West Pass, which connects 

 Centennial Lake, lying in front of Vicksburg, with the 

 Mississippi River, and half a mile further to the coal fleet, 

 where we landed alongside a coal barge to take, on coal 

 for the trip. The coaling whistle was blown, but it was 

 quite a time before any one came. In the mean while 

 one of the large tugs usually in attendance on the coal 

 fleet came up and rounded to with a large barge in tow. 

 A little craft bike the Greenwing is never in the way of 

 one of these powerful vessels with its ugly, lumbering 

 old barge in tow. Oh, no. It is get out of the way, 

 Mrs. Greenwing, with your twin boats, or you will 

 get smashed, and that, too, in short order. Business is 

 business, and we can't bother with a small chap like 

 you. The launch backs out and awaits events. 

 The big barge is shoved up to the coal barge, a 

 huge line is tossed over and made fast, and then 

 the tug begins to get in her work. She backs, then goes 

 ahead strong, then drifts, then she goes ahead again, and 

 backs and drifts. In the meantime the whole fleet is set 

 in motion, each individual barge in the fleet gyrates about 

 over the water much after the manner of a full set in a 

 square dance at the call "Promenade all." The Green- 

 wing just simply backs out a little further until the jubi- 

 lee is over. It is no new experience wdth the little craft. 

 It is the usual performance served up to her when she 

 rounds to for coal, and it is one of the greatest annoy- 

 ances she is subjected to when she makes a trip. In pre- 

 paring a schedule for her, it is safe to allow about two 

 hours to take on about ten boxes of coal. This time we 

 took on eight boxes, and when at last we were straight- 

 ened up the river it was already growing late in the day; 

 and on getting out the timepiece, it was realized that we 

 could not reach our first shooting point that day, conse- 

 quently the night and the next morning's shoot were lost 

 to us. It was a sore disappointment, for the water was 

 just right for McKee Pocket, and in twenty-four hours 

 the water would be too deep, as the river was rising 

 nearly two feet a day. 



Six miles above Vicksburg we left the Mississippi Riy,er 

 and entered Old River, and two miles above this, it being 

 sundown, and having no signal lights aboard, we steamed 

 over toward the east bank until the sounding rod showed 

 about 7ft. of water, when the Chester anchor was thrown 

 overboard and our first stop was made. The curtains 

 were let down and fastened, when the interior of the 

 Greenwing assumed quite a snug appearance, with a 

 temperature from the heat of the boiler as comfortable as 

 a parlor. 



It was with no little zest that the crew set about prepar- 

 ing for "a good square meal." You see an early breakfast 

 had been had and the busy day that had been before 

 them kept all from a thought of eating. Now that things 

 had been gotten in good shape for the trip and night had 

 come on, the appetites returned with renewed keenness. 

 The coffeepot was rinsed and the coal oil stove lighted. 

 "How much coffee is wanted," is asked. The Pilot is 

 prompt and says, "Two cups for me." "Two for me," 

 chimes in the Fireman, and "One for me," comes from 

 the Engineer. "Look here, boys," says the last speaker, 

 "if we drink too much coffee not much sleeping will be 

 be done here to-night." "I must have my two cups," 

 says the Pilot, "always drink that at home." "Same 

 for me," persists the Firenian. "All right, boys, five 

 cups of coffee for the crew and one for the pot." 



"One, two, three, four, five, six," counted out the Pilot 

 as he reached under the raised curtain and dipped from 

 the abundance in the old river. The pot goes on the 

 stove and the wicks are turned up. The provision box is 

 uncovered, and plates, cups, knives, forks and spoons are 

 taken out and spread over the small area in the stern of 

 the launch. Good bread, cold pork roast, fresh milk, 

 sugar, warm boiled potatoes with fresh butter, salt and 

 pepper, sausages, mango pickles, peach sweet pickles, 

 1 delicious canned peaches (not factory stuff) plum pre- 



serves, cake, cold baked chicken, oyster loaf (and broiled 

 duck if desired after the first day) were the chief articles 

 of diet that this crew fed on during the trip. Was the 

 coffee good? Of course it was. Lid you ever hear of 

 camp cooking that was not good? or boat cooking either 

 for that matter. The coffee was so good that the Fire- 

 man wanted to get up and make a speech over it, but 

 was prevented by the Engineer, who sat on his coat tail. 

 The Engineer manifested his appreciation of it by drink- 

 ing his cup and calling for another before the others were 

 through with their first cup. This came near creating 

 discord, for when the Pflot and Fireman called on the 

 pot for their second cup it was not there; the Engineer 

 was in ahead with two cups when he ordered but one. 



"Hark! What's that? Listen!" Quack, quack, quack, 

 quack! "Goodness, boys, if that old mallard isn't down 

 here inspeting o\ir outfit." The Engineer pops his head 

 through an opening in the curtain and bespeaks the 

 aquatic visitor in a lusty tone. "Meet us on Goose Lake 

 to-morrow afternoon and we'll converse with you." 



After supper the dishes were washed, wiped, and with 

 the provisions stowed away. The Pilot then drew forth 

 his briar root and loaded and soon after fired. Nothing 

 was equal to a smoke with him, and as it was not offen- 

 sive to the others, he filled up the boat. But wouldn't he 

 have been a prime fellow to have had along in fly or 

 mosquito time. No bars would have been needed, the 

 atmosphere surrounding him would have been speedily 

 vacated by all such obnoxious pests. 



After a bit came bedtime. Now, the Greenwing has a 

 bed, and dou't you forget it. Up to this time a good 

 sized black roll, 5ft. long by 2ft. thick, had been occupy- 

 ing space across the stern of the launch. Light boards 

 were laid across from seats, fitting snugly on cleats placed 

 for the purpose, then the bundle was unrolled and the 

 7x9 oilcloth spread on the boards. Next came a cotton 

 mattress about 4in. thick, and then followed a single 

 blanket for bottom sheet, and then two or three pairs of 

 double blankets for covering, with a couple of pillows. 

 The Pilot being guest was elected to sleep in the middle, 

 where he could be kept good and warm. He innocently 

 coiled down while the Fireman and Engineer grinned 

 across his prostrate form, and he was kept warm. Every 

 half hour he would call out to turn over. "Mr. Fireman, 

 I am mashed; Mr. Engineer, I am squeezed until my 

 tongue lolls out." But the Fireman had gone to sleep, 

 and the Engineer only nudged up a little closer. You 

 see it was a tussel between the Fireman and Engineer for 

 cover, and the Fireman kept a good clinch on his side and 

 the Engineer held on tight on his side. And ever and 

 anon the Pilot would call out to turn over, and the trium- 

 virate turned. 



After a while the wind arose. First it could be heard 

 gently through the treetops. Directly it grew stronger, 

 until the Avater began to splash. The current of the old 

 river was one way and the course of the wind was at 

 right angles to it. That set things to contra vies and a 

 rumpus was speedily kicked up. The Engineer grew 

 restless, and the Pilot grew restless, and the Fireman slept. 

 The Engineer got up and retired to the twin boats, and 

 lay down again. The wind rose a little higher and he 

 got up again and went forward to examine the anchorage. 

 It was good, but a little more line was let out. He lay 

 down again, and presently again got up to look after 

 something else. All the time the Pilot was watching 

 bun with one eye. Neither could sleep. The water 

 slapped and slapped under'the stern of the boat, and the 

 Boss would go" over and bump the Amateur, and the 

 Amateur would come around and bump the Boss. It was 

 music of a certain kind, but it was not of that soothing 

 kind that puts the Pilot and Engineer to sleep. They 

 blinked at each other and the Pilot called out again to 

 turn over. Coffee bad something to do in this wakeful 

 affair and the Engineer was punished for that extra cup 

 of his. About one o'clock the Pilot went off and half an 

 hour later the Engineer followed suit in spite of the 

 splashing and slapping of the water and the bumping of 

 the twins. And all was well with that crew^ during the 

 rest of that nighty W. L. P. 



THE HUNTING RIFLE. 



Editor Forest and Stream: 



I read with great interest the communication from Gen, 

 Cecil Clay upon the hunting rifle, which appeared in 

 your impression of the 9th. Though I have not a per- 

 sonal acquaintance with this gentleman, I know of him — 

 not only as a sportsman in the true acceptation of the 

 word, but a gallant soldier of the late war, who left an 

 arm on the field at Gettysburg, and who, notwithstand- 

 ing that loss, is still one of the most successful shots and 

 hunters of big game in the country. In view of what is 

 stated above, his opinions touching a matter of which he 

 is so well informed must be read with unusual interest 

 and consideration. 



In speaking upon the hunting rifle, a great deal de- 

 pends upon what you want to do with it. For what our 

 English friends call "all round" work the weapon he 

 mentions might do, but it cannot be as effective in kill- 

 ing qualities as one taking a heavier charge of powder 

 and ball. 



Let me tell you something of the best "hunting rifle" 

 of the breechloader pattern I ever saw. It began its 

 career in the form of a 131bs., 32in., .45-cal. Sharps of the. 

 1874 model, double triggers and all. You remember 

 what they were. Not very pretty to look at, but at the 

 time — and still, perhaps — the very best single-shot breech- 

 loader that American skill had produced. 



The owner of this rifle saw it could be improved, 

 and he thought he would give it a chance. He was a 

 Mississippian gentleman and scholar, a brilliant cavalry 

 officer under Forrest, and rich enough to indulge him- 

 self in whatever he fancied. So, knowing I was go- 

 ing abroad, he said, " , take the Crowbar" (his pet 



name for the rifle) "to the best man you can find on the 

 other side and have it remodeled." And he gave me his 

 views. 



I took it to one of the most famous riflemakers in 

 Europe, the man who makes the deer rifles used in the 

 Scottish Highlands to perfection. I suppose there is no 

 reason why I should not say it was Alexander Henry, of 

 Edinburgh, and told his foreman what I wanted. 



Three months thereafter you should have seen it t It 

 was a thing of beauty, to dehght the soul of the rifle 

 lover. But its father would never have known it. 



I told you it was the old octagon-barreled l3lb. Sharp. 

 They had cut 6in. off the barrel, which left it 26in. long. 

 It was made half octagon. All except the upper side, the 



