372 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



[May 19, 1887. 



RIFLES AND BULLETS. 



Editor Forest and Stream: 



The lessons of the trajectory test appear to he many and various, 

 and each rifle expert seems to draw encouragement or consolation 

 from its study. What I, toget her With a great many others, don't 

 know ahout rifles would doubtless make a good size primer, yet I 

 cannot avoid the conclusion that the advocates of the muzzleloader 

 arc slightly off their base. Because the Homer muzzle-loader beat 

 the Bland Express less than IMin. in trajectory over the 300yd. 

 range, while using 20grs. more powder and 40grs. less lead than the 

 Bland, to claim that the muzzleloader is consequently proved to 

 have a flatter trajectory than the breechloader, appears to me very 

 like boasting because John O. Heenan in his prime could doubtless 

 have carried a 101b. weight further than a 10-year old schoolboy could 

 carry a sack of flour. The Merrill muzzleloader should never ho ve 

 been iuciuded in the report, as its owner appears to have been the 

 only contestant who "crawfished" when it came to the 200yd. test, 

 while the little Hunter's Pet, with its pitiful 9grs. of powder to drive 

 85grs. of lead, (ye gods! what a cartridge) comes bravely to the 

 scratch at any and all distances. Let a. test be instituted between 

 breechloaders and muzzle-loaders of the same weight, length, bore, 

 groove, powder and ball, and then the rifle that comes out ahead 

 can fairly he regarded as the best in trajectory. Aside from the ques- 

 tion of trajectory there can of course bo no comparison whatever. 



Every old boy in America who has served an apprenticeship in 

 deer hunting with one of those abominable old war clubs called 

 the muzzleloader, will bear me witness that when (thanks to the 

 Inevitable buck-ague of American boyhood) he has missed the 

 biggest buck he ever saw in a fair shot at 75yds., the great brute 

 wiU stand motionless as a staue through all that agony of sus- 

 pense while the little fellow with cold stiffened fingers' fumbles 

 through four jackets for his powder bottle with newspauer cork, 

 spilling half bis small store of powder on the snow and the rest in 

 his trembling hand, sifting at last about 300 grains of powder 

 down the little bore a trifle bigger than a rye straw and rams the 

 squirrel skin patched bullet furiously down the long barrel (skin- 

 ning his knuckles shamefully in the excitement). All this time 

 that buck will stand gazing curiously at the busy pantomime, but 

 no matter how many times it may have been tried.no one ever 

 sawthebuck that would wait until the villainous little "G.D." cap 

 could be fitted upon the tube. Should he live a thousand years 

 that boy will never know a pang to match his sinking of the heart 

 as the great white tail waves him a final adieu. "Faro ye well, 

 Brother Watkins!" I shall always remember this against the 

 muzzleloader. No doubt the mistake we all made was in not tit- 

 ting the cap on first. 



Since coming to this Territory in 1881, 1 have killed with the 

 rifle 85 deer and 20 coyotes. During that time I have bought two 

 new Winchesters, .45-60, three new Marlins, .45-70, and the "Old 

 Reliable" Sharps, .45-110. The last named now hangs on the hooks 

 in my bedroom. 1 have been induced to change rifles, partly 

 because of my own experiments, and partly because of the perusal 

 of the record of the experiments of others in the sportsmen's 

 papers; and right here I wish to acknowledge my indebtedness to 

 editors and correspondents, who have so kindly aided me in my 

 difficult search for the best hunting rifle. That carefully written 

 article of your valued correspondent "P.," entitled "Nights with 

 the Grizzlies," set me to experimenting with the express ball, and. 

 consequently, led me to sell my .15-70 Martin at the first oppor- 

 tunity. As I doubted my ability to get just the right shaped 

 bullet-mould by correspondence, 1 took my old K)5grs. buliet-mould, 

 and with a three-cornered file, a piece of a small iron bolt, a little 

 inherited Yankee ingenuity and the leisure hours of a rainy day, 

 fashioned a pair of bullet-moulds to cast just the right shaped 

 express ball 1 wished, weighing about 3S0grs. The next step was 

 to purchase a new Sharps, ,45-eal., 2Jgin. shell. After using it just 

 about a year, I have" proved, not only that it will do all that "P." 

 claimed for it, but that I never saw the combination to be named 

 in the same breath with it. For long-range shooting 1 use the 

 solid ball. 



A few of the. shots this gun has made for me I wish to record. 

 The first deer killed with it was a large, five-pronged buck, lie 

 was lying in his bed, 40yds. distant, looking intently at me as mv 

 head showed above the tops of the bushes. The ball struck him 

 just between the nostrils and of course his head was a wreck. The 

 next was a buck at 70yds., standing broadside nipping the twigs of 

 a bush. Aim was taken at his neck and he fell in his tracks. No 

 bone was touched, the ball passing just above it. The solid butt 

 of the bullet passed through, while the rest of the ball flew into 

 fragments, and wh^n the skin was stripped from the neck my 

 unclenched hand was easily passed into the hole, where the ball 

 went out, and my hand is doubtless la rger than "P.'s" 



Because a single buckshot can kill a deer it does not follow that 

 a small-bored gun is best for deer hunting. Many a time deer are 

 met with on the top of a mountain ridge where it is all important 

 that they be killed instantly, for oven though mortally wounded 

 they are apt to jump down the wrong side of the ridge and run in 

 canons, where, when found, they are not worth carrying out, and 

 many times deer are badly hit a trifle too far back, bleeding freely 

 at first, but the flow of blood soon checking, the baffled hunter is 

 forced to return empty-handed to camp, where on making his 

 report he is consoled by some "Jobs' comforter" of a comrade with 

 the assurance that of course the deer will probably die if it lives 

 long enough. Small comfort to him when, a week after, the buz- 

 zards guide him to the carcass a few hundred yards beyond where 

 he left the trail. 



Not a single deer struck in the body by the big Sharps has yet 

 escaped me, and twenty-seven deer have already fallen before it. 

 The trajectory is lower than that of any muzzleloader I ever 

 owned, and its accuracy appears perfect. Seeing a band of mule 

 deer on a ridge while looking for meat, I crept within 125yds., and 

 when about to take aim, with a solid ball in the rifle, not having 

 any express balls with me, I observed another deer standing 

 directly beyond the one I wanted, and as I did not wish to be both- 

 ered with the meat of two. waited until one stepped out of the 

 way, when 1 fired and killed— two. A third deer, that i had not 

 seen, was standing just beyond, and had I fired at first am confi- 

 dent That the solid ball would have killed three, for it went through 

 those two deer without upsetting or striking any large bones. 



A few days since, having a few express ball cartridges that were 

 slightly defective, I concluded to use them in killing a kind of 

 ground squirrel or diminutive prairie dog, which hibernates for 

 seven months of the year, and works havoc with our crops during 

 the other five. One of them sat on level ground, on grass lin. 

 high, with his right side presented, when I fired at his body at 

 40yds. As the smoke blew away nothing was seen of the squirrel, 

 and I walked down to examine. A large, black spot of earth 

 appeared where the bullet struck, and two or three specks of red 

 Bhowed upon the black dirt, which upon inspection proved to be 

 bits of flesh. Noticing still another in the very bottom of the 

 hole made by the bullet, I picked it out, brushed off the dirt, and 

 found the complete heart of the squirrel. Nothing else appearing 

 I walked on in the direct line of the flight of the ball, and just 16 

 paces distant from where the ball struck 1 found the ribs and 

 flesh of one side, but without the skin, spread out on some weeds. 

 I now returned to the house to ask my wife to come and sec the 

 effect of an express ball in the big Sharps, and accompanied by 

 three of our children we walked back and began the search anew. 



Twelve paces to the left front lay the head with most of the 

 skin hanging in strings. Nine paces directly to the left of the 

 point where the ball struck, at a right angle with the flight of the 

 ball, lay one shoulder, while 11 paces directly to the right lay the 

 tail and part of one hindleg. Thrown directly apart, right and 

 left, lay fragments 60ft. apart. 



Possibly the reader may think that this story is misplaced, and 

 that it belongs in the "That reminds me" column, along with that 

 of the sturgeon that wore the deer horns, yet I can assure him of 

 the fact, verified by more than one. witness. I have no idea that 

 that squirrel felt a pang. The front sight of my rifle is a niece of 

 the tooth of a mountain lion, the whitest ivory 1 could find. The 

 rear sight is copied from T. S. "Van Dyke, author of the "StUl- 

 Hunter," and the best and most practical gun sight I have yet 

 found. Made of vulcanized rubber, level on the top, without a 

 niche in the center, and with two projecting spurs, one at each 

 side, Min. higher than the center, to take the friction given by 

 touching other objects, and preventing the top of the sight, in the 

 center, from becoming polished; the object being to secure a dull, 

 black surface to the rear sight, When a better gun is made,! want it. 



Mr. W. A. Baillie-Grohman tells, in a Fohjsst and Stheam of 

 last year, that he has often seen the old Hudson Bay Company's 

 musket beat the Sharps rifle. I had, in consequence, some 

 thoughts of selling the Sharps and buying one of these wonderful 

 muskets; but reflecting that I had nowhere seen the list of prizes 

 won by the Hudson Bay Company's musket in the shooting 

 matches, I delayed the sale. Possibly Mr. Baillie-Grohman will 

 kindly furnish the list for publication. A growing suspicion, that 

 the last issue of Fotoest and Stream confirms, inclines me to the 

 belief that, after all, it was probably an English sort of a match 

 (k la Tankerville Chamberlayne's yacht racing "conditions") that 

 Mr. Baillie-Grohman refers to when the Sharps rifle was so igno- 

 miniously beaten. Probably the Sharps had 10 per cent, "added 

 to its rating;" that is, it had to make ten bullae ves to one with the 

 musket, and was prohibited from "using its centerhoard," or, iu 

 other words, file Englishman insisted t hat, the Yaukeo should put 

 no bullets in the Sharps. 1 hope to try the Old Reliable on big- 

 horns and white goats the coming fall. Uncle FtTU/EK. 



Thetis, Washington Territory. 



m nnd ^iver fishing. 



Address aJl conimunic.ations to the Forest and Stream Pub. Co. 



PEAK O' MOOSE. 



"And goodness gracious bless me, 

 What a deal of good it does 

 To have such recollections." 

 "/CAPTAIN, if you want to catch trout, I'll take you 



\y up to Peak o' Moose." Now Peak o' Moose is the 

 highest pinnacle of a spur of the Catskills, some twenty 

 miles west of Kingston. Within the memory of the old- 

 est settler the lordly moose might have been found in its 

 well nigh impenetrable fastnesses, and even now ona 

 might perchance encounter the timid deer, though this is 

 doubtful; or occasionally run across a bear. 



"Of course, Billy," I said to my guide. "By all means 

 let us start to-morrow morning early." 



Four o'clock on a balmy June morning found us fully 

 armed and equipped with Conroy's best, and rattling 

 away seven miles an hour over the Laekawac road toward 

 the scene of our labors. A slight wind from the south- 

 ward and a cloudy sky betokened just the day for trout- 

 ing. Fourteen miles rattled off, we pulled up at Joe 

 Porter's. A bite of sandwich and a drop "of the dew 

 that shines in the starlight," a good-bye to Joe, and off 

 we go, up a rocky mountain road for the headwaters of 

 the Laekawac. Sawmills to right of us, sawmills to left 

 Of us, sawmills in front of us, where can trout live, we 

 wonder. The road soon became so rough we had to walk 

 the horse. Old Sol shows us his glowing face as if he 

 1 tad been making a night of it, and then as if in com- 

 passion for us, veils himself under a cloud, while Peak o' 

 Moose, seven miles off, towers up in solitary pride. And 

 on we go, winding along through wood and ravine till 

 we bring up at Hill's Mills, unhitch, stable, get out our 

 rods and tackle, and ask the squire what's the chance for 

 sport. "Waal, Capt'in, three of them fellers from York 

 here yesterday, six the day before, more the first of the 

 week — " "Hold on, Squire, that'll do." 



Billy looked grave; he had fished every stream around 

 Old Peak, man and boy, for twenty years, and didn't want 

 the captain to be disappointed. Now I had thought the 

 thing over, and on the supposition that the trout had had 

 flies offered them until they were sick of the sight of 

 them, I had quietly provided myself with a quart of nice 

 worms carefully put up in moss. Just here I expect a 

 howl to go up from those sarcastic fishermen who thank 

 God they never caught a trout with anything but a fly, 

 and not many at that, oh no! We old fellows have heard 

 lots of such talk and value it accordingly. The youthful 

 yachtsman "never deserts the tiller in times of danger, 

 thrashes her through it," and loves the howling waves 

 and mighty winds, wasn't frightened a bit, oh no, proba- 

 bly scared 'to death ! The tyro visits the ranch, gets a shot 

 at an elk, sees a bear in the distance, which is all he does 

 see, and comes home with heart-rending stories of "Old 

 Ephraim," and wouldn't cross the road to shoot any 

 other kind of bear. Oh yes. Well, we know these "ten- 

 der shoots." 



Let not the men who fish with flies 

 The man who uses worms despise. 

 The chances are as ten to one, 

 He gets more fish and has more fun. 



The result fully justified my expectations, and I refer 

 the fly-fisherman to Thos. Todd Stoddard. Eight by the 

 sawmill, where the water came tumbling and foaming 

 over a fifteen-foot dam into a pool, rock-bound, deep and 

 impenetrable to a fly-fisherman, I began operating. 

 Billy, a hundred yards below me, had already waded in. 

 Crawling along carefully to a ledge overlooking the pool, 

 and hanging on by teeth and eyelids, I tossed my worm 

 gently in a moment, and away went my line; the next, 

 out came a fine trout. So, baiting, casting and pulling 

 up, without stirring from my resting place, I captured 

 twenty-one nice fish; when, taking alarm at "the worm 

 with a hook in his tail," they beat a retreat. As these 

 trout had been taken out under the very noses of the gen- 

 tlemen "who could not let a worm come between the 

 wind and their gentility," with a grateful remembrance 

 of Tom Todd, I rejoined my guide, and we waded down 

 stream in company, through one of the wildest, roughest 

 and hardest streams to fish I ever encountered. The 

 water thundered down through rocky chasms and deep 

 ravines; tall pines towered up on either side; maples and 

 beeches overshadowed us, and on we toiled and fished. 

 Oh, that I had the wings of a dove or the buoyancy of a 

 balloon, or could turn myself into a fly — though I am not 

 much of a fly- fisherman — that 1 might better get through ! 

 Prone, extended full length, we could peer down into 

 some pool, reel off sixty feet of line, and drop in, but 

 without much success. I thought of Watkins Glen. 

 Here it was again, "linked sweetness long drawn out." 



Suddenly I missed my guide. Gnats, mosquitoes, 

 punkies swarmed around me; countless bills were 

 drawn on me at sight; and though born under a lean star 

 and thinking I did not offer much temptation even to a 

 mosquito, I found I was mistaken. But where was Billy? 

 Had some trout in rage and despair pulled him in? Had 

 he come Sam Patch over me? Had he — "Halloa, Cap- 

 tain!" and a hundred feet below me stood my guide, 

 laughing quietly and enjoying my perplexity. Stars and 

 stripes! he never could have slid down. "Keep to your 

 right, Captain, and climb up a little." Bless me, does the 

 man think I am a lizard or a fly? However, by climb- 

 ing, crawling, toiling, scratching and wriggling along 

 sideways and downward, breathless I at last reached my 

 guide. I had been an old sailor, and that stood me in 

 good stead. 



So on we went by fall and pool, with very moderate 

 luck, until at length we found all further advance 

 apparently barred by an impenetrable barrier. Billy 

 scratched his head. I scratched every part of me — 

 punkies, punkies; only that and nothing more. "Wait a 

 bit, I'll climb up on that rock and take a peep." So up 

 he went like a fly on a pane of glass, and reported, "I can 

 get through if you can. Taking our rods apart and "be- 

 laying," 1 follow* ed suit. There we stood, on a ledge of 

 rock just large enough to hold us, tall pines at our feet, 

 the stream like a silver ribbon below, and we perched up 

 in mid ah, like men on a royal yard. My guide worked 

 himself along like a snail, and I followed'hiin, though the 

 more I looked the less I liked it. Soon came what Fisher- 



men would call "the first drop." Billy let himself down 

 full length, and holding on like grim death, found he 

 couldn't touch bottom. No help for it, he had to let go, 

 and he struck solidly enough, in a short fall, to start half 

 the breath out of 'his body. My turn next, but being 

 "muchly taller," here's where I had the best of him. 

 Down I dropped, unharmed: and scrambling down 

 through brush and brier, we reached the stream, deposited 

 rods and baskets on a broad rock, baited, repaired dam- 

 ages, and getting out our pipes, sandwiches and concom- 

 itants, rested from our labors. 



After lunch I said: "Billy, where does that stream 

 come from?" pointing to a bubbling, rippling rivulet that 

 entered the water just below us. "Out of a small lake 

 just up there." The very mention of the word lake 

 aroused me. "Any fish there?" "Dunno. Three or four 

 years ago some fellers went in there with a seine and 

 scooped out three or four barrels full." "Any left?" 

 "Dunno." Boat on the pond?" "Guess not." "Well, I 

 am going to fish that lake. My soul's in arms and eager 

 for 'the fry,'" 



We headed up stream for a short distance, when sud- 

 denly there burst on our* view a lovely miniature lake, 

 reaching far back, thick wooded on both sides. Old hem- 

 locks fallen in on either side gave required shelter for the 

 fish. There were trout there, but how to get at them. 

 Face to face with them, no boat, how to begin the attack. 

 I advanced a step or two in the water, and sank quietly 

 down and quickly too, in the yielding sand; bah! this 

 won't do. Another glance revealed a bar of sparkling 

 gravel running out toward the channel way, and this I 

 deemed hard enough to hold me could T reach it. 



The old Second Corps was famed for flanking "Butter- 

 nuts." Why not trout? My plan of action was instantly 

 decided on. Noticing some 20yds. above an old hemlock 

 stretching out into the lake, Billy crawled out quietly to 

 its end and gleefully signaled to me the presence of the 

 enemy. Making a detour, I gained the wished-f or sandy 

 reach and waded in, tossing the bait some 50ft. to them. 

 What sport I had! Up to my waist in water, my ammu- 

 nition stowed away aloft to keep dry, tossing and playing 

 and retossing and capturing, I stowed away twenty or 

 more fine fat trout, Billy also doing a good stroke of 

 business and keeping his end of the log up, until a gen- 

 eral alarm sounded, away went the fish up the lake, and 

 away we went down the lake with baskets full enough to 

 satisfy any reasonable fisherman. 



On coming out on the wood pond. Billy, who was tired 

 somewhat, sat down and counted the fish, while 1, calling 

 out "Legs, legs, do your duty," trotted off two miles up 

 stream, hitched up, bid the 'Squire good-day, and picked 

 up my guide and traps, with seventy fine trout. Not a 

 bad day's work over a stream whipped to death. We 

 fished from 11 o'clock to 4 o'clock. 



Ten miles ride over a rough road found sunlight fol- 

 lowed by twilight and night succeeding. Here and there 

 as we passed a farmhouse, smudges were in full blast, 

 while urchins kept continually calling out to us, "Say, 

 Mister, give us a fly." Of course we did. I had a supply 

 of flies on purpose to give away. Past Bear Hole, 

 past Bull Run, at last we reached the hospitable inn. 

 Out came our worthy landlord. "Come in, boys. What 

 luck? By George, you have done well." Off came old 

 toggery and wading boots, on went our dry rig; and sit- 

 ting down to supper with an appetite that many a New 

 York millionaire would have given a fortune for, we 

 pegged away, until obliged to call for quarter. Striking 

 out for home, on a good road, we set sail. A rapid ride 

 in the cool of the evening refreshed and rested us, and 

 midnight found us home. Everything stowed away 

 safely. Seventy trout present and accounted for. Forty- 

 five miles traveled. Our duty accomplished we slept the 

 sleep of the just. Capt. Clayton. 



MONKS GOES FISHING. 



THE following letter was read to the jury in a big 

 divorce suit in the Supreme Court, this city, last 

 week. It made the judge, jury and all the lawyers want 

 to drop business and start for the woods with fish poles: 



"My Own Dear Robekt — By your telegram, just re- 

 ceived, I knew you must have the one I sent you, but it 

 was my good fortune to find out the name of the hotel 

 you would stop at, and not the address you gave. Now, 

 Mr. Humbug, you were very smart to fool me the way 

 you did, for I fully expected you back Wednesday eve- 

 ning, as in saying good-bye you were so uncertain, and 

 just as likely as not you would be back, and all the time 

 you intended to go. Well, I will know you next time. 

 But there won't be any next time. You can make the 

 most of your free foot, now that you are away, because 1 

 will not let you go ever again on business or pleasure. 

 This I mean — no more until after February is over, and 

 then we will see in the future. 



"Monks, I forgot to give Katie your clothes' brush and 

 whisk, also your soap, and it has worried me ever since 

 that you had not them with you. I guess you have every- 

 thing else you want. Do you think of going to Mea chain 

 Lake, now' that you are so near? You are such a funny 

 boy to have your way, with everything so uncertain. 

 You did not give me the name of the place Mr. Harts- 

 horne gave you to go to. How do you suppose 1 can 

 write to your 



"I suppose you will not see the day's paper giving the 

 account of the terrible storm all over the country and so 

 many people killed by lightning. You can just watch 

 out when you see the storms coming up, and keep from 

 going under trees; any place is better than trees. If I 

 were with you I woidd stay on the lake and not go ashore 

 for shelter, as we did when we were together. I hope 

 you will have a perfectly grand time, catch lots of fish, 

 and eat them and grow fat, drink very little and eat a big 

 lot, and look like a big, strong, hearty Monks, to stand the 

 business months and winter storms. 



"As for hunting, your chief delight, I wish you no end 

 of good fortune. I hope you will shoot deer, and I guess 

 by this time there must be other game to shoot, such as 

 quail and partridge. If you get any you shoot yourself , 

 like when we were in Branchville, if it is possible to send 

 it, why, Monks, would like some. Forget everything 

 and everybody and just see what an awful good time you 

 can have. Be careful you don't catch cold, and that is 

 all. I am all right, and will be as good a girl as I can with 

 my Monks away. * * * This letter is terribly written, 

 but I have a cramp in the palm of my hand. Mamie joins 

 in love to you, all my heart's love, and oceans of kisses. 

 Your devoted little wife, Josephine. 



