102 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



[March 1887. 



lit ^orkn\mt %ounnL 



Address all commimieattom to the Forest and Stream Pub. Co. 



THE TURKEY SHOOT AT HAMNER'S. 



THE morning of the day before Thanksgiving was 

 bright and still, promising such a day as a rifleman 

 would wish for target shooting, and before the middle of 

 the forenoon almost every man in Danvis who owned a 

 rifle, and some who did not, but were enough in favor to 

 borrow one of owners too old to use one, or too impe- 

 cunious to share in a sport that called for a "York 

 shillin' " a shot, was at Hamner's hostelry, or hurrying 

 toward it across lots or • along the rough frozen roads. 

 And as many or more than these were those who went 

 with hands in pockets, otherwise empty, to look on 

 enviously, and rugged-faced old mountaineers whose dim 

 eyes could no longer sight a rifle and whose palsied hands 

 had shaken off all their cunning, to criticise the younger 

 shooters and tell marvelous tales of what they could do 

 and had done in bj T gone years; and also penniless and 

 stingy topers who scented' occasional free drinks among 

 the possibilities of the meeting. One of them, standing 

 in the middle of the road, slowly spelled out the words 

 on the sign which the proprietor had lately hung out 

 under the eaves of the smart and flimsy new piazza, 

 "II, a, m, Ham, n, e, r, s, ner's, h, o, t, hot, e, 1, le, bottle! 

 Hunrph! I wonder if the rum-m-m, [his lips clung 

 fondly to this comprehensive name for all alcoholic in- 

 toxicants] in a bottle is any better 'n what it uster be in a 

 tarvern? I'd a darn sight druther see the ol' sign stuck 

 up on the post aout there, 'Tarvern — ent'tainmint for 

 man an' beast.' " 



"Wal, it sartingly did look more horsepitiful," said 

 Solon Briggs, turning his critical glance from the new 

 sign to the old post still standing, though uncrowned, by 

 the roadside. "But this is a age of reprovement, 'Niram, 

 an' ol' things is dis-pearin' an' new things is a-pearin'." 



"Say, 'Niram," cried the most smartly dressed young 

 fellow in the crowd on the piazza, "Du* you ever drink 

 anything naow-er-days?" 



"Wal I du," thirsty Adoniram promptly responded, 

 "When I can't git snowt' eat!" and casting out his quid be 

 bent his steps in the direction of the prospective treat, 

 following close at the heels of the young man as he led 

 the way into the barroom. When Adoniram had poured 

 his gill of raw spirits down his throat, his entertainer 

 called his attention to a showily-trimmed rifle standing 

 within the sale precincts of the bar. "There, 'Niram, is 

 what you may call a linger gun. Reach it aout here, 

 Hainner. That's the weepon 'at's agoin' t' pop the tur- 

 keys to-day! Haint it a steeple-picker?" brushing its Ger- 

 man silver ornaments with his coat sleeve and sighting- 

 one of the tack heads which held a horse advertisement 

 to the wall. "Thirty-five dollars in money I paid Varney 

 for niakin' on it, an' he warr'nts it t ; fetch 'em every time! 

 The' haint nob'dy livin', you know, 'at c'n beat Varney — 

 BmTnt'n, you know — a niakin' a rifle. Naow,' look a 

 here," seating himself on the bunk, which was the prin- 

 cipal article of furniture in the room, and motioning 

 Adoniram to a place beside him, and lowering his voice 

 to a privately confidential mumble, "when they git a 

 turkey sot up, an' I'm a goin' tu hev a shot, I want you, 

 'Niram, tu kinder gwoup half way er so, an' kinder drop 

 yer hat off, sorter aceident'l, so 's *t I c'n see haow much 

 wind the' is a stirrin' aout there. 'F you'll be clever 

 'nough t' du that much for me, 'Niram, you sha'n't suffer 

 none f'ni bein' dry t'day!" 



"I will du it, .Mister Putnian!" said Adoniram, empha- 

 sizing his promise with a strike of his fist upon his knee, 

 "not 'at I keep a darn for hevin' a drink er tew gi'n me, 

 but aouten clear frien'ship! Me an' yer father was alius 

 frien's, went t' school tugether, 'n' got lickin's, 'rr fit 'n' 

 eat one other's nutcakes, 'n' everytliing, an' I'm a goin' t' 

 du his son a good turn whence ever I git a chance, I be! 

 Yes, sir! Ahem! Seems 's 'ough that 'ere spoo' f'l o' rum 

 was a f eelin' kinder lunsome in my in'ards, Mister Put- 

 man." 



"Ex-cuse me, Niram, I was jest a goin' to ask ye 'f you 

 wa'n't a gettin' dry. Set aout yer best, Hamner; 'taint 

 none tu good for my frien's." 



"Hamner's rum an' the river is putty clust neighbors," 

 Adoniram remarked, remembering to smack his lips only 

 when the last drop of his generous potation had passed 

 them. "This 'ere don't seem to take a holt much." 



"That's the clear quill, 'Niram," said the publican, pour- 

 ing a spoonful into a glass and smelling and tasting it. 

 "The clear quill, fourth proof, cost me — le' me see — " 



"Clear quill!" Adoniram broke in on his calculations, 

 "Duck quills an' geese quills, I guess like 's not. Thev 

 was a tellih," bestowing impartial winks on the son of 

 his friend and the proprietor of the hotel, "haow sorne- 

 b'dy 'nuther faound a minny alive an' kickin' in Ms sper- 

 its here t'other day!" 



"Hello, Jeerns! Hello, 'Nirum! well named, wa'n't ye? 

 Alius nigh rum when it's araound!" cried a big bluff new- 

 comer with a heavy rifle lying as lightly as a reed in the 

 hollow of his arm. "Come, Hamner, set up them 'ere 

 poultry an' le's hev a crack at 'em!" 



"Wal, it is about time we was at it," young Putnam 

 assented, hauling out a gold-plated watch 'and consulting 

 it ostentatiously, "seven minutes t' ten!" 



"Sartinly, sartinly, Mr. Dart; I was only awaitin' for 

 the folks tu rest 'em an' stiddy the narves an' re-fresh 

 'emselves up. You're a lee-tle faster 'n what I be, Mr. 

 Putnian," said Hamner, looking at the barroom clock. 



"I sot my watch by Austin's t' V'gennes last week, an' 

 he reg'lates the sun," Putnam asserted. 



"Pshaw, Hamner!" said Dart, after looking at the tall 

 clock and listening attentively a moment, "yer pleggid 

 ol' m'chinc 's stopped runnin'! Ttou'd orterheva crank 

 stuck int' yer ol' minute mill an' take a day an' grind aout 

 time anough t' last ye a week ! But I see yer idee. Y ou 

 wanter git us so 's 't we can't see a hole through a ladder 

 'fore you let us shoot! Wal, le' me speriment wi' yer 

 pison, I'll resk one drink. Come Jeems an' 'Nirum, le's 

 die together. Here 's a hopesin' 'at we'll pass away kinder 

 conxf'table. There, Hamner, 's a nimep'nee, an' that 'ill 

 pay for aour drinks, bein' 't we're all light drinkers, 

 'specially 'Nirum. Naow, Hamner, you take it an' don't 

 ye grumble. You c'n buy a pint o' proof sperits wi' nime- 

 p'nee, 'n' that'll make a gallern o' sech nourishment 's 

 this. Say, boys, hev another an' I'll give him a quarter. 

 Little haint much, an' twicte haint often! No? Wal, 



then, le's go 'n' kill one of Hamner's chickadees 'fore we 

 die." 



The outbuildings of the tavern straggled along the bank 

 of the intervale, on the broadest part of which was room 

 enough, too much, some thought, for the range. Beyond 

 the stable was the stand, which was simply a plank with 

 one end resting on a horse, the other on the ground, and 

 out toward the furthest curve of the little river stood a 

 dry goods box on which the turkeys were to be placed. 

 "Thunder in the winter!" Dart ejaculated, as he looked 

 over the range with a half shut, calculating eye, "you 

 call that forty rod, Hamner? M'asured it with an injin 

 rubber string, didn't ye, V pulled like a yoke o' stags? I 

 sb' like t' buy the interv'l 'cordin' to that m'asure. But 

 set one up!" 



The long, lank, sharp-faced publican directed an assist- 

 ant to bring out a turkey, and after a fluttering commo- 

 tion in the stable he reappeared with a half-grown one 

 under his arm, and took his way across the flat toward 

 the dry goods box. "O, what a turkey!" Dart shouted, 

 "Haint ye got no aigs ter set up? Wal, Hamner, you be 

 tough, tougher 'n a biled aowl! But nev' mind, I 'm a 

 goin' ter shoot — that's what I come here for. But a feller 

 might jes' 's well shoot at the moon — 't aint much furder 

 off, an' it's bigger." 



"Wal, yes, some bigger, John," said Joseph Hill, taking 

 off his hat and scratching his head meditatively, " least- 

 ways when it's full, which it don't seem as 'ough that 

 turkey was." 



"Oh you shet up, Joe Hill!" Hamner snarled, "Turkeys 

 is what's called for, an' that 'ere 's a turkey, haint it?" 

 and he glowered a sidelong glance at the giant Dart, who, 

 good-natured as he was, looked too big to quarrel with. • 



"Sartinly, Mr. Hamner," said the amicable Joseph, 

 "that's the name on't, I haint no daoubt. A turkey 's a 

 turkey soon 's he's hatched." 



"Say Bill!" Dart shouted after the bearer of the turkey, 

 " got any lunchern in yer pocket? You'll git hungry 

 'fore you git there. An' say, Bill, holler when ye git 

 yer gobbler set up, so 's 't we'll know. He's most aout 

 o' sight now!" 



At last the poor bird was placed in position, Bill re- 

 treated to a safe distance and the cover of the river bank, 

 and Dart lying down on the plank rested his rifle across 

 the end of it. After much sighting and squinting he 

 cocked his piece and taking careful aim, fired. 



"Sol', for a nimep'nee!" he proclaimed as the turkey was 

 seen to flutter and fall from upon the box. 



"Don't b'lieve ye teched him! He's only scairt!" Ham- 

 ner snarled, unwilling to believe that his turkey had 

 gone for, so little money. But all doubt on that score was 

 removed when Bill took it down and began his journey 

 toward them, a dozen of the party running out to meet him. 



" 'T won't take 'n more half on y e tu bring in that turk ey , ' ' 

 Dart called after them. "Naow, Hamner, you be ketchin' 

 another tu set up. I want a mess whilst I'm 'baout it an' 

 got my band in." 



"Not by a gol darned sight you don't hev another shot! 

 You s'pose I'm a goin' tu hev the bread took aouter my 

 maouth that way? One turkey 'b 'nough for anybody but 

 a darned hawg!" 



"You're, jest right, Hamner. One turkey 's as much as 

 anybody 'd pit tu eat tu oncte, an' all I want is one a- 

 piece for the fani'ly. The' 's five on us, none on us very 

 hearty t' eat only gran'maw 'n' the baby, an' five turkeys 

 is all *'t I want. But the' haint nothiii' small 'baout me 

 only my feet," holding out a No. 12 "stogy" for inspection, 

 "which you may not think they be, but a feller's boot 

 haint his foot. Mine 's small, but a big boot tits 'em best. 

 I don't push for the nex' shot. Here's Mr. Putnian, which 

 he's got him a rifle 'at cost iiirn tliir-ty-five dollars in 

 money, an' Yarney made it, which that means all you've 

 got t' du is tu show it a turkey an' it fetches him! An' 

 Mr. Putnian wants a few. 'N' here's Peltier Gove, he's 

 got the Widder Wiggins's rifle, which it was Pete's, an' he 

 give Hatch the price of a ye'rlin' colt for it, an' the' 's some 

 'at says haow Hatch c'n make jes' as good a gun as Varney 

 any day, an' Peltier wants tu find aout. An' here is Jozeff 

 Hill; he's a luggin' 'raound one o' Seaver's ol' fewzees 

 which they say he lies hit a barn with it, bein' 'at he was 

 on the inside on 't an' all the doors shet. An' the' 's lots 

 more on 'em 'at hes tu heng on t' the' guns tu keep "em 

 f'm goin' off arter turkeys. I'm willin' for half on 'em 

 tu hev a chance whilst I rest my gun a spell, for it's tur- 

 rible strainin' on a gun t' shoot so fur. Wal, here's Bill 

 mos' tuckered aout a luggin' of that turkey aout there 'n' 

 back 'thaout restin' much 'n' nothin' t' eat all the time. 

 Le' me see where I hit him. Eight in the butt o' the wing! 

 That's where I alius hit 'em — when I don't miss on 't. 

 Haint he an ol' sollaker! Sary Ann '11 hefter put the 

 stuffin' on the aoutside — the' haint room 'nough on the 

 inside." 



Presently Bill went out with another turkey across the 

 flat, the light snowy covering of which began to show a 

 dun path in tile direction of the target. Following him 

 went 'Niram with unsteady footsteps till he got half 

 way across the range, where he halted and threw up his 

 hat with a lusty, if obsolete, cheer for "Tippy canew an' 

 Tyler tew!" As the hat dropped beside him, hardly 

 slanting to the light breeze in its fall, in the exuberance 

 of his spirits he kicked at it, and missed it, and too top- 

 heavy to balance himself, found himself suddenly seated 

 by it. Regarding it for a little with tipsy solemnity as if 

 wondering ' 'how came we here:" he picked it up, knocked 

 the snow off it, set it upon his head, slowly got himself 

 upon his feet and meandered back to the stand. The 

 turkey was in iiosition and the foppishly dressed young 

 man of the name of Putnam got himself upon the plank 

 with a great flourish of preparation. 



"Naow Jeems," Dart advised as he was sighting his 

 rifle, "you'd better le' me onbutten the strops o' yer 

 trousers, erless you'll pull the tricker off 'm that thirty- 

 five dollar gun o' yourn er bust yer strops!" But Putnam 

 fired without taking this precaution, and the trigger and 

 straps came safely out of the ordeal, and so did the 

 turkey. 



' You 'd orter pulled harder, strops er no strops, an' 

 kinder pushed tew, mebby ; a bidlit needs helpin' sech long 

 shots. I gi'n mine a boost, 'baout ninety weight, nigh 's 

 I c'ld cal'late." 



"This 'ere John Dart a-pears tu be a very jokus indi- 

 viddywil," said Solon Briggs to Joseph Hill, "we bed ort 

 tu give him a invite tu jine aour sore-eyes up to Lisher's, 

 he would niake 'em more convivualler." Joseph hardly 

 understood him, but recommended an alum curd poultice 

 as the best remedy for sore eyes, "thaout 't was lobele 

 steeped intu sperits." 



"These 'ere half len'th rifles haint wuth a soo markee 

 f er long shots !" Gran'ther Hill whistled savagely, though 

 toothlessly, casting a scornful glance at the thirty-five 

 dollar rifle and its owner. "I wish 't I hed me my gun 

 here, 'at I hed tu Hubbar'ton an' Bennin't'n, I'd show ye ! 

 An' I would ha' hed it 'f I'd bed me a flint 'at bed any 

 more fire in 't 'n a hunk o' col' johnny cake. Couldn't 

 find nothin' in the haouse but a Injin arrer. Ye can't git 

 a decent flint naow-er-days sen these pesky cap locks 

 come in fashi'n. Flints is the thing tu tech off paowder, 

 I tell ye ! They burns it slow, an' yer ball don't git 

 started fer t' go ontwell the paowder 's all afire, an' then, 

 sir, it goes tu kill ! Fo' foot in the berril that 'ere gun is, 

 an" when it's pinted at a thing, you knows it, an' so does 

 what it's pinted at !" 



"It ort tu, 'f 'taint tew fur off," Dart said too loudly. 



"Fo' foot in the berril!" the veteran repeated, taking no 

 notice of the interruption but to frown on the speaker, 

 "an' it haint a inch tew long! Ethin Allin hes shot it, 

 an' so hes Seth Warner, an' so hes Remember Baker, an' 

 so hes John Stark! An' the' don't nobody 'at's here a 

 shootin' popguns tu-day 'at wants ter up an' tell me 'at 

 they wa'n't shooters an' men 'at knowed what guns was! 

 John Stark says he tu Bennin't'n, says he, 'Them red cuts 

 is aourn, boys, er Molly Stark 's a widder! Come on, 

 Josier!' An' tu Hubbartm, Seth Warner says he tu me, 

 says he, 'Josier, I want ye tu pick off that 'ere British 

 offycer wi' that long gun o' yourn.' An' sir, a minute 

 arterward that offycer was scase! I was in the fust bwut 

 'at went aouten Hand's Cove on the tenth o' May, in the 

 mornin' airly, seventeen hund'ed an' seventy-five, an' 

 Ethin Allin was a standin' in the bow, an' lie wa'n't a 

 mite afeard, 'cause I was a settin' right behind of him. 

 Beunydick Arnil was along, tew, the damned trailer, an' 

 I wish 't I bed a done what I wanted tu, chucked the 

 cussed hook-nosed hen-hawk int' the lake, blast him! 

 W at, sir, when we landed an' was drawed up inter line, 

 an' stood a waitin' an' a waitin' for the rest on 'em tu 

 come over, Seth an' mongst 'era , an' it begin tu grow 

 light in the east, an' a rwuster begin to crow up tu the 

 fort, Ethin he begin tu git tumble oneasy, an' at last says 

 he, 'If we wait for the rest on 'em any longer, daylight '11 

 spile aour plan. Every man 'at's willin' tu go f or'ad naow, 

 pise his firelock!' An' sir, every man jack on us did it, 

 quicker 'n ever hell scorched a feather! Then says Ethin, 

 says he, 'Is Josier Hill here?' 'I be', says I. 'All right,' 

 says he, 'f or'ad, march !' 'Fore we got tu the gate, the' 

 was some squabblin' 'twixt Ethin an' Arnil 'baout which 

 was a goin' in fust, an' Ethin come putty nigh a jabbin' 

 Arnil with his sword; but they finally fixed it up an' went 

 in 'long side o' one nuther, though I b'lieve I was a leetle 

 mite ahead on 'em, a chasin' the sent'nil 'at snapped at 

 Ethin." 



"Golly blue ! Father '11 be a takbi' Canady 'f he gits 

 another underjawful o' Hamner's fightin' rum !" said the 

 veteran's son in mild alarm, and such an exploit seemed 

 not unlikely to be undertaken by the ancient wairior, for 

 he now began to sing in a voice half croak and half 

 whistle, to a small but appreciative audience; 



" 'We're a tuarchin' on tow-wards Quebec, 

 "Whilst the drums Is loudli bea — tin, 



For Amerioay hes gained the day 

 An' the British is retrea— tin !' " 



"Bah gosh ! Ah'll goin' help it!" cried Antoine, who 

 had been prancing from group to group in search of 

 listeners to what he had to tell concerning shooting. "Dat 

 mek me rembler one tam dey have it shoot-turkey in 

 Canady, an' dey'll ant let you see dem turkey, bah gosh, 

 no ! Dey'll have it 'hind a hill of it, an' you'll gat for 

 guess where he'll was an' den shoot. Yes sah ! Well, 

 boy, Ah'll was be dere, an' Ah'll se' dawn an' listen for 

 hear, an' bombye pooty soon Ah'll hear dat turkey bee- 

 gin for gobbler. Houkle, houkle, houkle! Den Ah'll 

 pont up ma gun up bo Ah'll tink de ball was drop off 

 where he'll hit dat nowse, an' Ah'll shot off, pluck ! 

 'Squowk !' Ah'll hear dat turkey said, an' bah gosh ! 

 You'll ant b'lieved me, dat ball stroke it raght bit-tween 

 hees backs !" 



"O, beeswax!" said Dart, "They never bed no turkey 

 shoot in Canady ! They uster shoot -peas at a kittle, an' 

 the one 'at got the most peas into 't 'ould hev the pot o' 

 pea soup made aouten on 'em I" 



"Bah gosh, you'll ant know ! You'll never was be dere. 

 You'll gat so far from Danvis you'll can' smell spruce 

 gum, you'll ant never fan your way back ! Hein ! boy?" 

 Antoine retorted. 



Putnam made several ineffectual shots, with each his 

 pride in his gun and his faith in its maker falling and 

 failing. Then Pelatiah tried his luck with the work of the 

 rival maker, but its famed killing qualities seemed to 

 have departed with its deceased late owner, much to the 

 sorrow of poor Pelatiah, whose slender weasel skin held 

 but one half dollar, the proceeds of his fall trapping in 

 the Beaver Meadow Brook, and two more shots would ex- 

 haust his scant hoard. 



Meanwhile Sam Lovel was out in the woods, where he 

 had been long before the shooting began, in pursuit of 

 Uncle Lisha's promised partridges. The frozen leaves, 

 showing a crinkle of brown and here and there a streak 

 or patch of yet unfaded October red and yellow through 

 the light powdering of snow, were noisy under the light- 

 est tread. The squirrels scampering over them in quest 

 of their Thanksgiving fare, could be heard thirty rods 

 away, and a dozen partridges went whirring and crashing 

 away unseen through the naze of gray branches and dark 

 clouds of evergreen boughs before Sam drew a bead on 

 the head of an old cock who strutted an instant too long 

 on his last spring's drumming log and then verified the 

 truth that pride goeth before a fall as he tossed up a flurry 

 of leaves and snow in his death struggle. So our hunter 

 went on through this range of wooded hill, exhausting 

 its present possibilities of game when he had killed an- 

 other partridge, but all the while enjoying his solitary 

 tramp. He heard the intermittent popping of the rifles at 

 Hamner's and in soliloquy mildly anathematized the shoot- 

 ers as "a pack o' dum'd fools. " In a different spirit Joel Bart- 

 lett, hearing the frequent reports as he foddered his cattle 

 in the barnyard, sighed loudly and sorrowfully and said 

 in the sing-song tone that would now certainly be heard 

 next day m the Fifth Day meeting, ' 'A snare of the evil 

 one, an' a-nuther pitfall digged for the feet of the on- 

 wary! These men a shootin' at innocent faowls of the 

 air, is a follerin' of a custom, an' a practyse, an' a observ- 

 ance o' them 'at hung Mary Dyer, an' grieviously pusse- 

 cuted many formerly. " 



When Sam had come to the top of the hill the shortest 



