Jan. 13, 1888.] 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



483 



boy, then about five years old, Yo bad seen in a camp of 

 Mountain Crows twelve years before on Big Spring Fork 

 of the Judith. The Indians said that he was a full- 

 blooded Crow, but Yo did not believe their statement, 

 but thought the child a captive, and as he talked with 

 tbis boy he wondered whether he might not be the fair- 

 haired child of 1875. Silvertip had left the Crow camp 

 two years before, and had now been living with white 

 men for some time. He seemed remarkably bright and 

 intelligeiat. 



It was dark when a shout from the other side of the 

 clump of willows by which the camp was situated caused 

 Steve to remark. "There's Jack, now we'll get supper." 

 Presently out of the darkness Jack appeared, and with 

 him a couple of Bloods that he had picked up somewhere 

 during the day. lie said that he had hunted along the 

 foothills of Chief Mountain for most of the day, but had 

 seen no game, in fact no tracks. Supper was soon under 

 way, Jack cooking the fish, Steve baking bread and Yo 

 watching the coffee, and before long the three were eat- 

 ing heartily. When they were through, Silvertip and the 

 Bloods fell to and finished the eatables. Then sitting 

 about the cheerful fire all sorts of topics were discussed, 

 until at last the increasing chill warned them all to seek 

 their blankets, and they all slept under the brilliant 

 moon. Yo. 



DUCKS ON LAKE BISTENEAU. 



ON Sunday of the last week of October a very heavy 

 rain fell." On Monday I rode to Knox Point to have 

 a deer hunt with Mr. James Atkins and Mr. John Graham 

 of that place. Mr. Atkins was too unwell to accompany 

 me, but he sent several negroes with Graham and myself . 

 We found deer in abmidance, yet failed to get a shot. 

 Ducks were numerous along the ponds and sloughs of 

 Lake Swan, indicating that a good duck hunt could now 

 be had on Bisteneau. I returned home that night worn 

 out, but resolved to load a number of shells the next 

 morning and go for a three days' outing on Bisteneau. 

 Up to this time the long drouth had prevented the ducks 

 and geese from coming to the lake. Bird shooting had 

 been very poor, as the heavy post oak mast had attracted 

 them to the woods, without a bevy being found in the 

 old worn out fields on Bossier Point. 



I was busy loading shells the next morning, when who 

 should come rushing into my room but my shooting 

 companion, Mr. Will Hodges. "Good morning, Colonel," 

 said he; "John Lot has just come in from the Hills, and 

 reports duck shooting to be splendid on Bisteneau. 

 Can you accompany me?" 



"Yes," I replied. "See, I am loading to get ready, 

 and was on the eve of sending for you to join me in a 

 three days' camping." 



"Get ready as fast as possible, and let me have y r our 

 pony to take back to my house, to hitch to my dog cart 

 with my pony, and I will send up for you in less than an 

 hour. I have been loading shells all the morning, and 

 will finish by the time you arrive, and we will drive to 

 Carter's Point by sundown. Put up some rations and 

 bed clothing. It will not be necessary to carry food for 

 the horses, as we can put them in Bill Hogan's stable and 

 get him to feed them. It looks as if we shall have fair 

 weather, and there will be no necessity to take a tent; 

 should it rain, we can go into Hogan's cotton press and 

 keep dry." 



"All right, Will," I replied, "send for me and I will be 

 ready by the time the dog cart cornea." 



It came in time, and I put in both of my hammerlcss 

 guns, some 500 shells loaded with 3fdrs. of King's quick- 

 shot powder and l^oz. of No. 5 shot. The eatables, 

 with sufficient bed clothing, waterproof overcoat and a 

 hunting coat, with the Allan duck-call, completed my 

 outfit. Will was ready when I arrived. Our route took 

 us eight miles through Red River bottom. It was very 

 deep pulling, and we did not make over three miles per 

 hour. But when we reached the hills our ponies made 

 the seven miles in less than an hour. John Lot, a worthy, 

 industrious freedman, a tenant on one of Hodge's plan- 

 tations, accompanied us. We went by Bill Hogan's house. 

 He was not at home, but I told his wife to tell him to 

 come to Carter's Point to our camp that night, and to be 

 prepared for waiting on me while I remained on the 



As we neared our objective point we heard the guns of 

 other campers booming in every direction, and we could 

 see clouds of ducks darkening the sky all over the grand 

 lake. Whm we got within naif a mile of the point I got 

 out, took my gun and proceeded in all haste to the lake. 

 As I did not have my rubber boots on I could not get out 

 sufficiently far from the banks to shoot. It was dusk 

 when I got there, and I shot but once at a great horned 

 owl that came sailing along the shore. He fell dead in 

 the current and floated away. The fire that Will had 

 kindled enabled me to get to his camp through the briers 

 and young cypress trees. It was so dark when Will drove 

 to the point that he could make no selection of a good 

 spot to spread our bedding. There was a dead tree fallen 

 on an open piece of ground that was suitable for making 

 a fire, and there he proceeded to kindle it. Of all the 

 places I ever camped on that certainly was the worst. 

 Bamboo briers covered the entire place, and thorn bushes 

 were thick over it, John soon had a pot of coffee made, 

 and Will and I broiled sundry pieces of raw breakfast 

 bacon, stuck on forked sticks. No sweeter meat in the 

 world than breakfast bacon broiled in this manner, and I 

 know I never eat more and enjoyed it so much as I did 

 this meal. By the time supper was oyer Bill Hogan 

 came to our camp. I engaged him to bring his sktff the 

 next morning and take us over to Peggy's Island, as also 

 to wait on me during the camping. He reported a num- 

 ber of parties camped on the lake, some on both sides, 

 one party from Haughton, not far from us, as we could 

 see their camp-fire and hear their boisterous laughing 

 and talking. A half mile below were camped my parti- 

 cular friends, John Skaunal and Maury Bryant; and be- 

 low them, Andrew Moss and Dr. Kimball. John and 



Bill cleared the ground as well as possible, and then took 

 our ponies to Hogan's stable, where they were well at- 

 tended to during our stay on the lake. They returned in 

 time to spread out bed clothing for sleeping, and to bring 

 us some sweet potatoes and a water bucket, with other 

 necessary implements for cooking. Bill went back home 

 80 as to get his skiff down in time for the morning's sport. 

 About midnight we lay down to try to sleep, or at least 

 to rest. No sleep there was, neither rest for me. Thorns 

 stuck me no matter how I twisted and turned. The sky 

 was brilliant with innumerable stars, twinkling in the 

 blue vault of heaven; not a twig overshadowed us, for 

 Will was afraid lest some of the great cypress trees 

 might fall on us. It was very cold, almost freezing, and 

 our bed clothes were covered the next morning with a 

 heavy frost. It was so cold that we repeatedly made John 

 Lot get up and replenish the fire. Will slept like a log. 



My uneasy position brought most forcibly to mind the 

 bitter cold night I spent on the §ide of the mountain lead- 

 ing up to the little town of Bath Springs, previous to the 

 night I lost my arm, the 4th day of January, 1862, while 

 with Stonewall Jackson on his memorable Romney ex- 

 pedition. We had been ordered to fall down in line of 

 battle that night of the 3d, so as to be ready before 

 daylight to storm Bath. My regiment had a position on 

 1 lie road that led along a rapid stream on the left, with 

 the steep mountain on the right. Snow was about 2ft. 

 deep. We were not permitted to kindle fires. My men 

 had either to cling to the cedar bushes and jump up and 

 down to keep from freezing, or if they fell asleep the 

 chances were they would slide into the rushing waters. 

 I could not now help remembering how I buckled myself 

 to a young cedar with my sword belt, and spent tke'rms- 

 erable night jumping and slapping my arms to prevent 

 freezing. Long before the stars went down the roar of 

 Jackson's advanced artillery roused us into action. It 

 was nearly dark when the enemy fled across the Potomac, 

 and ere the hour of 10 P. M. came I was lying wounded 

 in the forks of the Capon and Patomac rivers, with an 

 arm shivered to pieces, senseless and frozen. When I 

 awoke the next evening it was to bid farewell to my left 

 arm, ere it was consigned to a cave, because the ground 

 was too hard frozen to bury our dead. What hours of 

 happiness I have been deprived of by that empty sleeve! 

 How many deer, turkeys, ducks and birds have I not 

 failed to kill for want of that arm I Had it been a leg, 

 how much better off I would have been. Now, here I 

 was, 1,500 miles from that never-to-be-forgotten Capon 

 Bridge, sorely pricked with thorns and briers, yet plan- 

 ning murder for the waterfowl that quacked by thou- 

 sands all over the lake, and an endless whirr of thousands 

 more coming in from more northern parts. 



Quack! quack.' quack! with tumultuous roar of moving 

 wings could be heard in every direction. I could not 

 sleep. I was digesting the outlines of the morning's work. 

 Will was to be stationed on the left of Peggy's Island, 

 myself on the right; John Lot was to keep the ducks 

 moving above Will, while Hogan was to take his skiff to 

 a point below me and drive back the flocks that would 

 desire to settle on the wide part of the lake in front of 

 the long Stumpy Lake. The many gunners that would 

 fire on them along the shore from Catfish Point to Burr 

 Ridge would keep the flocks in continual flight and the 

 shooting around Peggy could be nothing less than 

 splendid. I had it all settled in my mind. It was grand. 

 Success was certain. Nothing under several hundred 

 would satisfy me. I could see Bill picking up so many T 

 ducks that his skiff would be too crowded for us to re- 

 turn to camp. A second or third trip across the lake 

 would be necessary. How pleasant are anticipated suc- 

 cesses. Alas I how often do they end in bitter disap- 

 pointments to the hunter. 



An owl hooted near our camp just at the right time for 

 John Lot to rise and make us a pot ©f coffee. Before the 

 stars disappeared we heard Hogan's horn, the signal that 

 he was coming with his skiff . Rubber boots were quickly 

 put on, plenty of shells stowed in bags to be taken to the 

 boat, the hammerless in its leather case swung to my 

 shoulder, and I was ready for the morning's work. A 

 wide slough ran before our camp, Avhich had to be 

 crossed, and beyond it a belt of grassy land some 300yds. 

 wide, to be traversed before we could arrive at the skiff. 

 It was impossible to get the skiff to the banks, as the 

 water was too shallow. We were compelled to wade in 

 water about 6in. deep, with sticky mud not less than 2ft. 

 deep, for some 200yds. By the time we got in the boat 

 with all our luggage it was daylight, and as we neared 

 the place vast flocks would rise up before us, too far to 

 kill. Guns were booming from every quarter. At the 

 points where we agreed to stand, both shore and water 

 were black with ducks. Himdreds of geese were feeding 

 on the goose grass and wild rice. I never was so fidgety, 

 so nervous, so excited, and so anxious to get to my 

 position. The channel of the lake, or rather deep water, 

 was over a quarter of a mile wide. I thought we never 

 would cross it. When the skiff got to shallow water I 

 could not contain myself any longer. I made Hogan 

 stop rowing and I got out to wade, and down I sank in 

 the* mud, almost over my boots. Had to make John Lot 

 get out and assist me back into the boat. I was cooled 

 down enough to wait until we could make a landing at 

 the nearest point. After we landed it was a long half 

 mile to our positions. 



Peggy's Island, so named from a girl whom some one 

 stole from her home, built a home for on the high land, 

 lived there with unmarried for a number of years, is the 

 best shooting spot on Lake Bisteneau. The high land is 

 about 200yds. wide and a quarter of a mile long. Once it 

 was cleared and cultivated by this runaway couple, who 

 left the tall oaks and pecans fringing the edges to stand 

 to keep their whereabouts concealed. Now it is all grown 

 over with vines and young trees, and scarcely a vestige 

 of former habitation remains. This high land is above 

 any high water of the lake. On the west side a strip of 

 land lies covered with goose grass in low water, extend- 

 ing to the hills of Bienville Parish on the north for some 

 balf mile. On the east side a similar strip lies, much 

 wider. Before reaching to the hills, all covered with tim- 

 ber, a wide slough, for the greater part of the year filled 

 with water, makes this strip of land an island. At this 

 time there was no water in it. In high water Peggy's 

 Island is a narrow strip of land, 200yds. wide by a quar- 

 ter of a mile long. 



My position is at one end of this slough and Hodge's at 

 the other, and we were about half a mile apart, yet could 

 see each other. Opposite my stand was a wide plat of 

 grass, now an island because of the low water, and be- 



tween it and Peggy ran a body of water about 300yds. 

 wide and some two miles long, in the form of a quarter 

 circle. In no place was the water over a foot deep, but 

 the mud in some places had no bottom, while in others it 

 could be crossed without sinking over the tops of hip 

 boots. The ducks and geese would fly from the great 

 lake around this circle of water and feed on the grass on 

 both sides. Many Cyprus stumps were standing in it, and 

 the sportsman, by wading to some central position and 

 standing beside one of them, could shoot all day when 

 ducks were plentiful and grass sufficient to attract them. 



Such was the position I selected. It was the first time 

 I visited Peggy's Island. It took one day for me to dis- 

 cover the best place to stand. After getting to the mouth 

 of the slough, and scaring at least five thousand ducks, I 

 waded to a stump about half way from each side, and 

 took my position. The flocks I scared flew over to Will, 

 and two guns in rapid succession drove them back to me. 

 They discovered me by the glitter of my gun barrels, and 

 veered around me. However, an old greenhead ven- 

 tured a little too close for his safety, and I cut him down 

 in fine style, not without a heavy recoil of the gun. I 

 never intend loading so heavily again. Throe and three- 

 fourths drams of powder with three wads over it, and 

 l£oz. of shot are too much for a No. 12 gun. Had I put 

 only two wads and loz. of shot, it would have been better, 

 or even foz. of shot. Holding the butt of the gun firmly 

 to the shoulder, I felt no recoil there; but the re-action 

 was felt in the wrist, and when I left my stand at night, 

 I was unable to hold my gun, or even put a shell in it, 

 and I was suffering great pain. 



I was in an uneasy position, the mud and water were 

 deeper around the stump than a few feet from it, no 

 doubt caused by turtles and buffalo fish. I dare not 

 move from the stump, lest the ducks would discover me. 

 They dreaded to pass by one, expecting every minute to 

 see a gleaming gun barrel, and hear a deafening report. 

 They would shy off at the least ripple of water, and one 

 dare not raise his gun until they were almost over him 

 for fear of scaring them. Then the mud was so sticky, 

 that I could scarcely turn enough to get a fair shot at 

 one flying on either side. I had to shoot at them flying 

 over me, or at long range, too far to reasonably expect J;o 

 kill, when on the side. There was no cessation of guns, 

 which kept the ducks flying very high all the morning. 

 I came to shoot, and shoot I did, whether far or near. I 

 must have shot some sixty times, bagging only eleven, 

 before Hogan and Lot returned to take me back in the 

 skiff to dinner. I had shot down perhaps as many more 

 that fell in places too deep to wade after them, and the 

 swift current bore them away before the freedmen 

 came. 



"How many ducks have you got?" said I to them, as I 

 deposited mine in the bottom of the boat. John replied, 

 "Mr. Will got 7 and Hogan and I have killed 10." "That 

 makes a total of 28 for the morning's shoot: a very poor 

 beginning, men," I remarked. "It will be better shooting 

 this evening," said Hogan. "The ducks are flying too 

 high to kill this morning, but to-night they will come in 

 to roost and feed, and we will have a splendid time." 

 "Bill, take the skiff back for Will to go to dinner; I will 

 not return until it is too dark to shoot. Be sure and bring 

 me some more shells and some dinner also. I will wade 

 over the other side and shoot some of those curlews that 

 have been exciting me all the time I have been here." I 

 dreaded to leave my stand lest I should miss a good op- 

 portunity of bagging an old mallard. I started across the 

 arm, but the freedmen waited to see the result. Hogan 

 called to me to come back, stating I would be swamped. 

 Paving no attention to his remark, and with eyes intent 

 on the curlews, I stumbled and fell, not flat, for the stock 

 of the gun fell on a log buried in the mud, and supported 

 me until I could rise. Was I not furious, as a gallon or 

 more of water filled each boot? "I guess you will come 

 now," shouted John Lot. "No, I'll be hanged if I do. I 

 won't be able to get my boots on to-morrow, and I intend 

 making the most of this evening," was my reply. 



Fortunately I was using brass'shells, so they did not get 

 we 1 } when I sank in the water. The freedmen began 

 rowing back and I waded on to the curlews. They were 

 very gentle, let me get as close as I wanted for several 

 shots, then realized the fact that there was something- 

 dangerous in me, rose and flew across the lake, but left 

 thirteen of their number to gladden mv old eves. Wbat 

 beauties they were; so fat and plump." With the excep- 

 tion of the sora I never shot such fat birds in my life. 



The bottom was firm on that side of the arm of the 

 lake, covered with short grass, and with not over Gin. of 

 water on it. I felt assured the ducks would come there 

 to feed, and I would have grand success to repay tire 

 unlucky fall and wetting. I selected a stump, with a 

 projection on which I could rest my gun. Lighting a 

 cigar, I felt considerably better as the clouds of smoke 

 cm-led around my mouth, and I was getting into a happy 

 frame of mind, when honk! honk! honk! a half mile off 

 roused me to action. Hastily taking out the No. 5 shells, 

 I inserted two more, each loaded with 21 small buckshot, 

 and then I scanned the horizon to see where the geese 

 were. I saw three rounding Peggy, and making a bee- 

 line for my stump. Holding my gun to the hip, so as to 

 be ready for the shot, calmly I awaited their approach. 

 Straight as a line they came, one behind the other, and 

 buck ague suddenly struck me: my heart was beating so 

 fast and loud I imagined the geese heard it. I was afraid 

 to even bat my eyes. Straight they flew toward the 

 stump; the gun came to its right position; they saw it 

 and shied slightly to the left. They were about 100ft. 

 high. Sighting the foremost, with the second in close 

 proximity, I pressed the right trigger. There was a 

 ringing report, and down came the grand old gander 

 with a heavy splash into the water nearly at my feet. 

 The next to him was also badly w^ounded. At the shot he 

 mounted upwards, but the left barrel belched its charge. 

 As it struck him he gave his death cry and fell head- 

 long to the water not far from his mate. What would 

 I not have given for a third barrel to have killed 

 the last, a goose, that flew round and round me 

 several times, too far to shoot. I had slipped in the gun 

 two more shells, ere she took a last fond look at her dead 

 mates. W T as I not happy? I would rather have killed 

 those two ganders than two of the biggest bucks in Bos- 

 sier Parish. I was so eager to get them and feast my 

 eyes on their lovely plumage and graceful forms, that I 

 did not use cuss words, as I made a false step and fell a 

 second time, with one knee in the water. I was so happy 

 that after picking them up and hanging in the game 

 carrier to a projection on the stump, I missed several 



