May 26, 188*.] 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



391 



BEE HUNTING. 



ONE warm and sunny afternoon, while swinging in 

 my hammock under the shade of a wide-spreading 

 maple, partly dozing, partly meditating, I was aroused 

 by a cheery voice, "Capt, do you want to go bee hunting?" 



I sprang out on the lawn and looked at my interrogator 

 and answered ' 'yes" in an instant. Six t eet and over, 

 tall and straight as a poplar, hawk-eyed and sinewy, and 

 one of the best shots with a navy re volver I ever met, 

 Morris Brandigee was a man you would delight to look 

 on. I had met him in the woods wliile hunting not long 

 before, and the attraction was mutual. He was out after 

 rabbits, and had two in his game bag when I met him 

 and had nothing in his hand but an old navy revolver — 

 not much of a hand. "Do you shoot rabbits' with that 7" 

 "Oh, yes; I walk them up;" they're quite plenty round 

 here: after they get under headway I give a whistle, the 

 rabbit stops and I pop him through the head." Though I 

 did not tell him so, I imagine my face expressed incredu- 

 lity. "Do you see that knot on that tree? ' he said, point- 

 ing to a gnarled oak 15yds. away. He drew his revolver, 

 cocked and fired on sight, and the ball struck it square in 

 the center. "That's the way I kill my game." "Well, 

 Morris seeing is bebeving." 



So we sat down on a log and had "a multiplicity of 

 talk." I had said "I don't mind hunting rabbits, but I 

 never hunt foxes." "Why not, Capt?" "It sounds very 

 captivating," I replied, "to talk of the brilliant throng of 

 horsemen, the high mettled steeds, the music of the 

 hounds, the rush and sweep of the men over a five-barred 

 gate, the dash of the dogs, reynard straining every nerve 

 in his gallant fight for life, and all that; but I was hunted 

 down by hoimds near Savannah, Georgia, in the last un- 

 pleasantness, and I have never seen a pack of hounds 

 since without a curious sort of sensation coming over me, 

 nor a fox without feeling a genuine sympathy for him." 

 "Well, come and go bee hunting Avitii me," replied nry 

 guide. And so it all came about. Making our way 

 leisurely over t3 a field abounding in wild flowers not far 

 away, and bounded on its we tern slope by an extensive 

 wood, Morris produced a sardine box partly filled with 

 honey, laid it down on a rock near by and awaitedresults. 

 "It won't be long before you'll see one of the little fellers 

 tackle it." And so it proved. Buzz, buzz. We watched 

 the busy worker fill himself up, wliich he soon did, and 

 the next instant he was off like a flash. But the keen 

 eye of the hunter followed him in his flight, as he said, 

 "We will watch Mm when he comes back," 



"When he comes back? Why how can you tell one bee 

 from another? How do you know he will return?" 



"He will be back before long Capt, and he will bring 

 isome of his friends with him. Catch one and dust a little 

 flour on him and you will easily distinguish him." 

 "He'll get up and dust," I answered. 

 "Yes, that's it." 



In a few minutes several bees were humming around 

 the box and going through the same process of loading 

 and flying off, Morris watching them intently all the 

 while and noticing the direction in which they flew. 

 Presently he took up the box and moved forward a hun- 

 dred yards toward the woods, then put the box down and 

 again awaited the result. I became very much interested, 

 for I have always been a great admirer of the "busy bee," 

 though practically I know more about "double Bs." 

 There was a continuous line of workers coming and going, 

 and I myself could p ainly rnark their flight now for some 

 distance. 



"They're over in those woods and I guess we had better 

 be moving," said Morris, so we took up our line of march, 

 crossing the meadow over the fence and into the woods 

 we plunged, my guide stopping occasionally and watch- 

 ing the flight of the bees. Finally he stopped , and point- 

 ing up to the top of a high tree, said: "There they are. 

 Confound it! I hate to disturb the little fellows" — a feel- 

 ing in which I heartily shared. He made his arrange- 

 ments for the attack. First he made up his mind where 

 he would "lay the tree," which he exrflained to me was 

 cutting it in such a way as to make it fall as he desired; 

 then he prepared his smudges to smoke them out, and 

 then he set to work. What an axeman he was, to be sure. 

 In an incredibly short time the tree nodded, tottered and 

 came down with a crash. The smudges were lighted and 

 applied, and springing up on to the fallen tree and show- 

 ering down blow after blow, surrounded by swarms of 

 the insects whose habitation he had so ruthlessly destroyed, 

 he worked away as calmly and expeditiously as if their 

 presence was unheeded, and soon laid bare a large amount 

 of honey. For my part, as I looked on this scene of whole- 

 sale destruction I felt sorry enough for them. 



I've been an old soldier in my day, 

 And taken part in many a fray, 

 And in the "on to Richmond" light, 

 Put in and fought with all my might: 

 But when these bees in countless horde 

 Buzzed round my head, upon my word, 

 I might as well own up and say 

 My first tho\ight was to run away . 



"Captain, you've got good grit," said the old hunter as 

 he pegged away. "Before now I've seen many a feller 

 take to his heels." 



I thanked him and said: "I proposed to fight it out on 

 that line. But do they never sting you?" 



"Oh no, Capt, I don't know when I've been stung. 

 Never, well, hardly ever. I don't get 'net up, 5 and the bees 

 don't attack me." 



He was so cool, so quiet, so self-contained, that I do not 

 doubt his way of accounting for it was the true. one. 

 Taking off the covers from two large tin pails which he 

 had brought, and* working in the same quick and quiet 

 way he soon transferred the contents from the tree to the 

 pails, and gatheri ig up axe and revolver, we made our 

 way out into the clearing. Twenty or thirty pounds of 

 honey were the result of the hunt. ' I wish I could recall 

 all the incidents he told me about bee hunting. When 

 he had found a bee tree, as he often did out in the woods, 

 he would mark the tree with a large M. B. , and accord- 

 ing to the law of the woods, no man would touch it. 



"Well, yes, I have had a man steal my honey, but not 

 often." Once out in the woods he came across a swarm 

 of bees flying overhead. On the impulse of the moment 

 he fired off his revolver and the whole swarm circled 

 around and. lit. "Some feller from York" had been out 

 with the old hunter and had overpowered him with ques- 

 tions, not being able to see how the thing was done at all, 

 at all. "I told them I generally carried a spool of thread, 



which I tied to the bee's hindleg, and then paid out on 

 him, as a boy flies his kite." "You don't say so! I should 

 think the bee would get entangled." "Ah, you don't 

 know their wonderful instinct. Besides, they fly in a 

 bee line." "Oh, yes." 



"Well, Morris, old fellow, I owe you a thousand thanks. 

 I have been very much interested in this novel hunt, and 

 I can now say I've hunted bees, bears and butternuts," 



"Yes, and been hunted, too. Captain." 



By this time the shadows were creeping over old 

 Showangonk. Beaching home, my friend gave me as 

 much honey as I could carry. I did not insult him by 

 thinking of offering him any compensation, and with a 

 "Confound it, Captain, I hate to destroy the little fellers," 

 and a hearty good-night, we parted. 



Captain Clayton. 



Hyde Park, N. Y. 



CONCERNING HERBERT. 



IT has been said that of the dead no evil should bo 

 spoken. Yet, if anything is said, the truth should be 

 told, for overpraise is as mischievous as dispraise. 



One who will always be held in high esteem as an 

 honorable sportsman and a graphic delineator of sporting- 

 scenes, seems sometimes overpraised by those whose 

 youthful enthusiasm was first kindled by bis glowing 

 descriptions of field sports, and whose oracle he became. 

 Indeed, he is almost deified by some of them, who deem it 

 rank heresy to speak of him a word that is not laudatory. 



He was assuredly an honorable sportsman, a man who 

 despised pot-hunting and scorned to kill game or fish out 

 of season, or by means that he thought unfair.. And 

 with all the strength of his pen he endeavored to make 

 Americans understand that field sports were no vagabond 

 pastime, but good and wholesome recreation, and to con- 

 vince our people of the wisdom and justice of game and 

 fish preservation. For these things let all honor be ac- 

 corded him. 



But as a writer on field sports and all pertaining thereto, 

 he was almost always dogmatic .and prejudiced; often 

 superficial and inaccurate. What he asserted no man 

 must presume to gainsay; what was not in accordance 

 with English usage was unworthy his approval. By force 

 of circumstances he became a bookmaker, and as book- 

 maker's work is apt to be, his books on game, fish and 

 kindred subjects are inaccurate, superficial and contra- 

 dictory. His arguments against the possibility of breech- 

 loading shotguns ever coming into general use and favor 

 are amusing reading in the light of these days, and so is 

 his unfavorable opinion of the finest game bird of the 

 Eastern States, the ruffed grouse, of which he evidently 

 really knew but little, though a little more than of the 

 Canada grouse, judging from the alleged portrait of that 

 bird in his "Field Sports." One would think that at the 

 time this book was written he might have informed him- 

 self better concern ing the Rocky Mountain goat than to 

 have confounded it with the bighorn, and that by taking 

 ordinary pains he might have given a portrait of so com- 

 mon a fish as the pike-perch that he would not have been 

 obliged to acknowledge in the appendix to "Fish and 

 Fishing" as grossly inaccurate. But he had set about 

 making a book of so many pages, apparently with very 

 little care for the real worth of its contents. The nine 

 pages of "Jasper St. Aubyn" given in "Fish and Fishing" 

 remind one most unpleasantly of the advertising chapte s 

 put forth by the story papers, "for the continuation of 

 this thrilling story see' Graham's Magazine!" In "Game 

 Birds in their Seasons" he says that the bittern, known 

 in some parts of the country as the "bluttery bump," 

 " ever booms, blutters nor bumps," when there is not a 

 Yankee boy born within a mile of a marsh who has not 

 heard the strange note of this bird in the spring! 



He sneers at "the prowling backwoods gunner," abomi- 

 nates wild turkey hunting, reviles, as he ought, the 

 wretches who crust-hunt deer, but writes pages in praise 

 of the noble sport of killing yarded moose as practiced 

 by the officers of Her Majesty's troops then in Canada. 

 Calling a turkey within shot of an ambushed hunter is 

 characterized, as pot-hunting too mean for a sportsman to 

 engage in. Perhaps it is; but if it is, why is not the call- 

 ing of moose to an ambush, and why not a word in con- 

 demnation of the practice? The killing of more turkeys 

 than a "backwoods gunner" knows what to do with is 

 wanton butchery. Not so the killing of ninety-three 

 moose "during a short hunting torn" by a party of twenty- 

 three officers, nor the killing of seven moose in one day 

 by a friend of Herbert's. "On these occasions immense 

 sport was realized!" In short, his prejudices are so un- 

 reasonable, his inaccuracies and misstatements so frequent 

 as to almost destroy one's faith in him on any point. Yet 

 people who ought to know this continue to proclaim him 

 the great and shining light of sportsmen's literature, and 

 demand that all shall acknowledge him as such. They 

 have given him too exalted a place, and they ask too 

 much when they ask that all sportsmen shall join in un- 

 qualified praise of their idol. 



In his writings concerning the outdoor life with which 

 his memory is most intimately connected, there is not 

 much that shows him to have been the close observer of 

 nature that his opportunities should have made him — and 

 that he should have been before attempting to write with 

 any authority of the fives and habits of beasts, birds and 

 fishes. The example of his own life is one that it would 

 profit no man to follow. That troubled life is ended; let 

 him rest in peace, by no means dishonored, but not more 

 honored than his works and life deserve. Veteran. 



The Massachusetts Snaring bill was introduced for 

 votes, not "farmers' boys," and before long the woods 

 will be full of snares and empty of game, and we must 

 turn off into other States or else hire the right from these 

 boys to shoot over their land and pay them net to snare. 

 As long as votes can be gained and poli icians sustained 

 just so long will our laws be a farce and game will be at 

 the mercy of every jackanapes who wants a seat on Beacon 

 Hill. With the present low prices for guns and the exist- 

 ing tendency toward still lower prices, why can't these 

 much abused farmers buy guns for their boys and teach 

 them how to use them? The short-sighted land owners 

 only see one side of the matter, and have not the wit to 

 encourage the increase of game and charge so much per 

 gun that shoots over their land. A well-stocked farm in 

 this way would gain more pin-money for the boys in five 

 years than all the snares in ten. — E. B. (Boston). 



Andrews dll cnvuMimications to the For&Ht and Strmm Pub. Go. 



prairie dog Habits 



TO those who have never traveled over the prairies of 

 the great West, a prairie dog vill ge would be a 

 curious and interesting sight. To begin with, the ordi- 

 nary prairie dog of Montana is a species of rat (a mem- 

 ber of the rodent species), is about 13in. long, with tail 

 4in. more, and a most interesting little creature consid- 

 ered in every way. The color is a light reddish, cinna- 

 mon brown, of different shades, which will be found 

 quite handsome upon investigation. 



Prairie dogs are always in fine condition, fat, healthy, 

 and prime for broiling. Nobody ever saw a lean prairie 

 dog. They are an exceedingly social set, always living 

 together in large families, and always carrying on some 

 sort of gossip or conversation from the tops of their dirt 

 mounds. They feed on insects, plants, grass and prairie 

 clover. By the Crows and other Indians in this latitude 

 they are called "wish -ton-wish." They build up little 

 conical mounds around the entrance to their domiciles, 

 on which they sit and chatter to passers-by in the most 

 nonchalant and independent style. When danger ap- 

 proaches they tumble helter-skelter into their holes and 

 disappear from sight. These little fellows are active, 

 playful as kittens and very prolific. Some of the villages 

 run up into the tens of thousands, notwithstanding the 

 ravages of rattlesnakes and wild animals, who live for a 

 great part on prairie dog diet. The flesh of these rodents 

 is fat, tender and juicy; excellent food, as most of the 

 Indians hereabouts will testify. I remember in the sum- 

 mer of 1881, while traveling over the Powder River 

 country, of passing through a single prairie dog village 

 which extended for 18 or 19 miles in length, not to speak 

 of width, as on either side the village stretched out as 

 far as the eye could see in the distance. This particular 

 colony must have contained a million or more inhab- 

 itants. 



On the prairie back of this fort, at the base of a group 

 of bluffs rising perpendicularly out of the plain, is a large 

 prairie dog town. It is quite a flourishing community 

 and has been increasing in population every year. As 

 this particular village had selected a bare and. e rid plain 

 for a home — fully two miles from the river and no water 

 in sight — I was curious to learn in what manner they 

 obtained moisture; if, in fact, they needed or obtained 

 moisture at all. Two or three of us started in one day to 

 investigate the matter; but before getting half started 

 found it a harder job than anticipated. We dug down some 

 18 or 14ft., but still there seemed to be no e id to the tun- 

 nel. Upon going a few feet further, however, we found 

 the descent sloping off into a subterranean horizontal 

 channel, and in a few minutes more the mystery of the 

 water question was solved to our entire satisfaction. We 

 came upon a well, which proved that the industrious 

 little rodents actually dug for water like any other wmite 

 man. This also answered the puzzle why rattlesnakes 

 always. seek out the prairie-dog holes for a home — first, 

 because the snake is too lazy to build a home for h mself ; 

 second, rattlesnakes must have wat r, as they perish with- 

 out it; so, when far back on the prairie; distant from 

 river, creek or water hole, the lazy rattler discoveis the 

 hole and takes this means of satisfying the necessity; 

 third, nothing suits a rattlesnake better than to sup occa- 

 sionally on nice young, tender prairie dog pups, and so 

 that explains why the rattlesnake and prairie dog inhabit 

 the same dwelling. The burrowing owl is another loafer 

 who lives at the expense of the industrious prairie dog, 

 and, like the rattlesnake, does his part in looking after 

 the census of his landlord. It is an interes ing and in- 

 structive sight to watch these animals while at work 

 building a home. One family occupies each "hole in the 

 ground," and all assist in the general work of preparing 

 it for habitation. One of the party (usually the oldest and 

 father of the family) will commence with his forepaws 

 and scrape away with such vigor and vim that it will be 

 sent in a perfect shower above and behind him. When 

 he gets down a little way he steps aside, sits on i is 

 haunches much like the domestic dog, and another takes 

 up the job where he left off. Each takes a turn at paw- 

 ing. When the dirt begins to pile, some of the others 

 gathers it in then paws and throw it further to one side. 

 These underground galleries often connect, so that a 

 large village maybe in perfect communication below the 

 surface. They are somewhat like the bees in laying aside 

 stores for a rainy day, so to speak. 



If investigation were to be instituted, no doubt it would 

 be found that these underground warehouses contain hun- 

 dreds of tons of hay, roots and grasses. In nearly every 

 village, too, there is one dog larger than the rest (some- 

 what like the queen bee of a hive or the horse mackerel 

 of a school), who is the president of the republic. He 

 bosses the rest and lives by the fruit of their labor. With- 

 in a mile or two of Miles City (on the other side of Tongue 

 River from here), in fact, on the site of the old town 

 where the Yellowstone steamers used to land, is one of 

 the largest and most progressive prairie dog villages in 

 the whole Northwest. This village goes on thriving and 

 prospering notwithstanding its proximity to civilization. 

 The citizens of Miles City pay little heed to this curiosity 

 almost at their doorsteps, because they are too busy roll- 

 ing up wealth for themselves. Any one visiting Miles 

 City should make it a point to visit the spot and see how 

 a real, live prairie dog village looks. 



It is now settled beyond all question that the prairie 

 dog hibernates. That they migrate annually is not so cer- 

 tain; yet a circumstance that came under my own personal 

 observation not long since would perhaps throw a little 

 light on the matter, I have heard that there is a colony 

 of black prairie dogs somewhere down in Nebraska or 

 Colorado, or possibly Wyoming. Now I have been pretty 

 well acquainted for some years past with the individuals 

 composing the dog town back of this fort, yet I never saw 

 until this year a sable prairie dog in all my life. I dis- 

 covered one this summer and only one among all the hun- 

 dreds who inhabit our neighboring town. This little fel- 

 low is almost jet black, though on the flanks the color is 

 a rich dark brown, while under the belly it fades into a 

 dirty cream shade. The tip of the tail is white and the 

 tip of the chin is grizzled or gray, showing our new-comer 

 to be rather advanced in years. I have never seen or 



