Dec! 6, 1888.] 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



385 



substitutes for good beef and mutton, canned tomatoes 

 for fresh, and blackberries for strawberries, would stay 

 there long. Beef there is, and mutton; but to speak my 

 best word for it I can only say that it is not quite so bad 

 as that of South Florida. Luxuries are exuensive. 



PlSECO. 



[TO BE CONTINUED.] 



\atwi<il l§iBtorg. 



DESTRUCTION IN MIGRATION, 



IT is now well known to ornithologists that thousands 

 of birds are annually killed by flying against light 

 stations, telegraph wires and other obstructions, but I 

 have never before had opportunity to learn what a great 

 mortality a single storm will bring among our smaller 

 species during their migration. In Chicago, May 11 was 

 a bright clear day, the temperature reaching 64°, but 

 early the following morning a cold wave from the north- 

 west reached us accompanied with a gale of wind, which 

 attained a velocity of thirty-four to thirty-eight miles an 

 hour, continuing with gradually less force till the 18th. 

 As the gale approached the thermometer sank rapidly 

 until it reached 44°, and the following two days touched 

 :r. and 38°. 



On the morning after this sudden cold snap I was sur- 

 prised to see redstarts, black and yellow warblers and 

 black and white creepers hopping about on the window 

 sills and doorsteps of my house, which is situated in a 

 somewhat thickly settled locality. They appeared half 

 stupefied and could almost be taken in the hand. Later 

 in the day I saw several in the heart of the business 

 portion of the city, flying about as if lost and hunting 

 f or food. 



A few days following all the daily papers had short 

 articles on the subject, one paper statiug that "hundreds 

 of small buds had mysteriously fluttered to the earth 

 hereabouts benumbed with cold, many of them dying. - ' 



I visited the shops of several taxidermists and found 

 that for some days specimens of redstarts, Canada fly- 

 catchers, black, yellow and black- throated blue warblers, 

 Wilson blackcaps, black and white creepers, and other 

 species, had been brought to them to mount, having been 

 picked up dead in gardens and on the streets, in a few 

 instances caught alive in houses, having flown in through 

 the open door or window. 



My friend, Mr. C Frean Morcom, informed me that in 

 Lincoln Park, situated on the north side of the city, he 

 saw for several mornings a large number of warblers of 

 several species searching for food on the ground and in 

 the low bushes. 



In the Chicago Evening Journal of May 15 I read the 

 following: 



"A dispatch from Racine, Wis., dated May 14, says: 

 'A farmer arrived in this city from North Point, a few 

 miles distant, this morning, having with him a large box 

 completely filled with dead birds of a species unknown 

 in this locality. The birds are of a dozen different varie- 

 ties, and the farmer states that the ground at North 

 Point is covered for miles with thousands of the dead 

 bodies. The strange birds have a very fine plumage; red 

 and yellow breast with black wings. The supposition is 

 that the birds were driven here by the wind storm Friday 

 night, and, being overcome with the cold, perished. 

 Where they came from is unknown, none of then kind 

 ever having been seen here before.'" 



I then addressed a letter to Dr. P. R. Hoy, of Racine, 

 Wis., situated about sixty miles north of Chicago, refer- 

 ring to the above note, and asking if his attention had 

 been called to this unusual devastation of birds, and his 

 reply in detail is most interesting, from which I quote 

 the following: 



"Friday, May 11, was a beautiful day. A cold wave, 

 however, reached us at midnight, accompanied with a 

 high wind from the west, which continued unabated 

 until Sunday morning. During this gale the ther- 

 mometer sank rapidly into the thirties; the lowest re- 

 corded was 34°, the highest 42° during the gale. This 

 remarkably cold wind occurred just at the time when the 

 greatest number of small birds were migrating north. 

 It is not necessary to say that nearly all land birds and 

 many waders migrate only during the night, resting and 

 feeding during the day. On Saturday morning the 12th 

 hundreds of birds, mostly warblers, were found on the 

 ground, they not being able to remain on the trees; 

 they were suffering from cold and hunger, and many 

 were caught with hands alone. They entered houses of 

 every description, regardless of noise or confusion. The 

 ignorant many supposed they were blown here from some 

 unknown region, that they were newcomers such as had 

 never been seen here before, when in fact they are always 

 found in numbers at this season during the May migra- 

 tion, but as they remain on trees they were not noticed 

 by them. On Sunday morning, May 12, hundreds of 

 birds were found dead; they were brought to me by the 

 basket full by several persons. I give the name" and 

 number of each species so far as I personally saw and 

 inspected them: 



Scarlet tanager 8 specimens, golden-crowned thrush 30, 

 ruby-crowned thrush 40, least flycatcher 20, wood pewee 

 10, redstart 60, Canada fly-catcher 30, Maryland yellow- 

 throat 25, Nashville warbler 30, Wilson's blacklegs 20, 

 black -throated blue warbler 125, black-throated green 

 warbler 75, black and yellow warbler 50, bay-breasted 

 warbler 20, golden-winged warbler 10, Tennessee warbler 

 8, blackpoll warbler 35, Cape May warbler 8, yellow 

 warbler 15, chestnut-sided warbler C, yellow redpoll 

 warbler 15, yellow-winged warbler 2, black and white 

 creeper 5. 



In addition to these were a few sparrows and swallows 

 and doubtless many other specimens which I did not see. 

 Nearly all were males in perfect plumage, the females 

 not yet having arrived, as in most birds the males precede 

 the females. This disaster, which destroyed so many 

 thousands of these birds, is interesting; nature has been 

 cruel to these beauties, and may such a calamity never 

 again be knowm." 



From several localities along the lake shore I learned 

 that numbers of small birds had been found dead, washed 

 up on the beach, having been overtaken by the storm 

 while migrating across the lake, beaten to the surface and 

 drowned. Yet this is not unusual, and several similar 

 instances have already been recorded. 



Union Club, Chicago. Rtjthven Deane. 



THE WAYS OF SNAKES. 



Editor Forest and Stream: 



In your last number "Chokebore" states that a Mr. 

 Caswell "came upon a black watersnake in a sunny sand 

 hole," and after killing the snake "found in the sand 

 about a dozen eggs," and hence it is definitely settled that 

 some snakes lay eggs. 



I can confirm this statement from personal observation. 

 While hunting for woodcock in a bog meadow a few 

 years ago, I came upon two watersnakes. One moved 

 off very slowly and the other lay tightly coiled over a 

 space about 3 or 4in. in diameter. I approached so near 

 that it finally uncoiled and very slowly and reluctantly 

 moved off, when I found in the grass, elevated a little 

 above the ground, a beautiful soft round nest made of 

 dead grass about 3in. in diameter, filled with eggs, over 

 which the snake had been coiled and hatching. It looked 

 just like a bird's nest, and I at first thought it was a bird's 

 nest into which the snake had crawled. 1 feltof the nest 

 and eggs and found them warm. The eggs were splashed 

 With reddish spots and were, quite large, about the size of 

 those of ruffed grouse. I broke some of the eggs and 

 found that they contained young snakes nearly hatched. 

 My son and another young man were with me and also 

 saw what I have stated. It is therefore certain that the 

 watersnake lays eggs and hatches out her young by the 

 heat of her body, the same as the barnyard fowl. 



Kingston. N. Y., Nov. 12. J. E. VAN ETTEN. 



Editor Forest and Stream: 



I am one of those few who have seen the young snake 

 go down the throat of the mother on her giving her 

 young notice of danger. J. O. 



BfCACIO, 111- 



A GLIMPSE OF DEMERARA. 



MR. WADE inquires about Charles Waterton and his 

 works. When a boy Waterton's "Wanderings in 

 South America" was my favorite book. It is full of curi- 

 ous and useful information. His delightful style in nar- 

 rating his adventures in the equinoctial regions of South 

 America filled, me with a longing to go over a part of the 

 same ground. In December, 1876, 1 was able to gratify 

 my wish, and sailed from Baltimore for Demerara. It 

 was an unlucky journey for me all through. We were 

 ice-bound in the bay for two weeks, and would have 

 abandoned the brigantine had we been able to get away. 

 Several vessels were driven ashore and we had many nar- 

 row escapes, as our anchor chains had broken and we 

 were at the mercy of the tide. After a two-days' rain we 

 finally cut our way into an open space of water, and, 

 having a stiff breeze, managed to push through the ice 

 fields into clear water. The sight that we beheld upon 

 our arrival well repaid our arduous voyage. 



The monotony of a low, flat country was compensated 

 in our Northern eyes by its luxuriant flora. Flowers 

 everywhere; by the roadside, in the gutters, creeks and 

 rivers: air, earth and water rival each other in bloom, 

 and even the donkey driver urges his slow-going beast 

 with a branch of oleander. Kids, the indispensable 

 property of the poor man here, rub their lean sides against 

 a jessamine hedge, a mother goat nibbles the branches of 

 an almond tree, bananas hang ripe in clusters and orange 

 blossoms scent the air, above wave the plumed heads of 

 the stately palm, and still nearer heaven the cotton tree, 

 which the Indians worship, spreads its broad branches, 

 while the blue sky and hot sun look through. The sun is 

 here at home and seems to have lavished his best on his 

 dwelling, where the scene appears a dream and the lan- 

 guid air recalls the Land of the Lotus Eaters. Such is the 

 country Waterton has written about in his inimitable 

 style. 



But I was not destined to follow the footsteps of the 

 famous naturalist; a raging fever cut me down and nearly 

 carried me off. In two weeks I was a skeleton and as 

 weak as a cat. Under the circumstances I decided dis- 

 cretion was the better part of valor. As soon as I could 

 leave my bed I had myself driven to the wharf and took 

 the first vessel for the United States. Twenty-two days 

 later, after an exceedingly rough voyage, in which our 

 compass was broken and rendered useless, we managed 

 to land in New York. 



I envy any man the delightful treat in store for him 

 who has never read Waterton. The autobiography of the 

 good old man is charming. Every bird and animal on 

 his beautiful place knew liim and came to him without 

 fear. 



Mr. Waterton is the author of several books and essays, 

 all of which are well worth reading. His works can be 

 obtained through the New York book importers. 



MlLFOHD. Del., Nov. 26- VICTOR M. HALDEMAN. 



znd 



A HUNT ON GRAPE CREEK. 



"VfEW YORK. Nov. 16.— Editor Forest and, Stream: I inclose a 

 1A copy of a letter from an old subscriber to your paper. Per- 

 haps some of your readers may like to hear of his hunt in Texas. 

 So I send it to you as it is. — N 



San Angelo, Texas, Nov. 15. — My Dear O.: Your let- 

 ter of the 1st (with the Wood Notes and Dewey's Camp 

 Tales) was handed to me just as I was climbing up into 

 the canvas-covered wagon that was to be our home for a 

 week's hunt on the plains. So, while Fred drove, I read 

 aloud the story of your wanderings and adventures in 

 Canadian wilds. I could almost imagine myself with 

 you in those big woods and on those clear waters (don't I 

 wish I had been!). I am so glad you kept those notes. I 

 was very much interested in reading them over. I bewail 

 with you the loss of that buck caribou, and rejoice over 

 the capture of that tandem of big trout. Dewey cer- 

 tainly was out of luck. It was an outing, however, and 

 brought its pleasures. It reminds me somewhat of my 

 hunting trip just finished; so I will go right on and tell 

 my little story. 



"Wednesday, Nov. 7. — A pleasant warm morning, like 

 a day in June, Fred and I started off in a covered wagon 

 with two horses, and pointer dog Fred, a load of blan- 

 kets, provisions, camp outfit, saddles, etc., bound for the 

 head waters of Grape Creek, and the plains northwest 

 of San Angelo. About five miles out we passed by a 

 slough of the Concho River, and stopped to shoot four 

 mallard ducks, which dog Fred handsomely retrieved. 



The ducks we sent back to our wives by a passing ranch- 

 man. Then on some five miles more to a waterhole, 

 were we lunched. After that, through miles of mos- 

 quite, over dry barren plains, whereon flourish the 

 prairie dog and jack rabbit, to Crape Creek, twenty miles 

 from Angelo. It was dark when we got there, so we 

 cooked our supper, some blue quail shot en route, and 

 fried bacon, Fred made biscuits, boiled the coffee, and 

 with sundries, we supped well. Horses tethered and 

 fed, over our pipes we enjoyed the camp-fire, sitting in 

 our flannel shirts, and remarking on the warm evening, 

 when, phew, jip, bang, came down an icy blast from the 

 north, blowing our fire in, scattering cinders all over the 

 prairie, lifting our wagon bodily and starting it rolling 

 toward the equator, and raising havoc with our cooking 

 utensils and camping outfit. Oh, then and there was hur- 

 rying to and fro. The norther was on us; and it was a 

 norther. We backed the hack to the wind, fastened 

 down curtains, anchored the wheels, boxed up provi- 

 sions, etc., on with cardigans and overcoats, spread our 

 blankets in the hack, with cushioned seat for a pillow; 

 and with chattering teeth turned in to try to sleep and 

 get warm. Sleep was out of the question. The wind 

 howled, the hack rocked like a ship m a storm, the dog 

 shivered and moaned; we had him lie on the blankets at 

 our feet to keep us warm. The hack was so narrow we 

 were wedged in like sardines. And so we waited for 

 morning. It was a cold night, and we were left. 



Thursday, Nov. 8. —Morning broke with sleet, rain, 

 wind and cold. Everything was covered with ice. Our 

 breakfact was an apology. Then we drove due north- 

 west ten miles in the face of the gale to Phillips's ranch, 

 on the canons of the Colorado, which we reached at 1:30 

 P. M., cold, wet and hungry. But a hearty welcome, a 

 good fire and dinner, with a drop of "red eye," fixed us up 

 shortly; and in the afternoon the rain stopped, though it 

 still blew hard and cold, and we hunted the canons for 

 deer. I didn't get a shot nor see one; but a fine fat doe 

 fell to Fred's rifle, and we were fixed for red meat. We 

 cleaned the deer and toted it on a pole three miles back 

 to the house. My shotdder is lame even now over that 

 tote. That night we slept on a bed. 



Friday, Nov. 9, — Cold and windy; saddled our horses 

 and with Phillips, an old hunter and frontiersman, we 

 cavorted over the plains after antelope; but luck and the 

 day were against us. Antelope are no fools, they know 

 when to stay at home; and at sunset we returned to the 

 house, empty-handed, with the exception of five blue 

 quail, which we shot in the sorghum patch near the 

 house. "Seven up" that evening with varied success. 



Saturday, Nov. 10.— "A pretty day." Fred and I out 

 at daylight through the canons after deer. No luck. 

 Back by 10:30 to breakfast, and started with Phillips after 

 antelope. By the aid of my field glass I soon saw four 

 feeding about a mile from us and wanted to stalk them; 

 but Phillips said "Creeping was a fool to driving; come 

 with me, and I'll show you a place where they are bound 

 to go when I drive them, and you can get a sure-enough 

 shot then." So back we went two miles or more to where 

 there was a break in his wire fence on a ridge or divide, 

 and down we squatted in the bush to wait. In about an 

 hour we saw them coming toward us, not four, but fully 

 seA^enty or eighty, a noble herd. On they came straight 

 for us. Through the glasses I could see then- horns and 

 their every movement. Now, my beautiful .40-60, you 

 are going to do yourself proud. And I sighted it in joy- 

 ful anticipation. But bad luck to it all; something turned 

 them; they swerved from their course, turned to the left, 

 were lost under the hill and passed us 1,000 yards below. 

 Then Phillips coming up, I w r ent with him to follow and 

 turn the antelopes if possible, leaving Fred to hold the 

 runway. We got ahead of them after some three miles' 

 hard riding; but they were wild and saw us, so I took a 

 long shot of at least 800 yards at them and had the satis- 

 faction of seeing one jump up, then fall down on its 

 knees; but soon it picked itself up and followed the herd, 

 which at my shot had turned, and were now making for 

 the runway — and Fred's rifle. On they trotted, filing 

 past his stand, through the gap in the fence. But no 

 shot. What did it mean? Fred had stolen away after 

 my shot, thinking it no further use to wait there, and had 

 gone to find fresh antelope. Hard luck again. How 

 often one has this experience. 



It now being late, we separated, Phillips going after 

 Fred, and I off alone to hunt. Just before sunset I heard 

 six shots away off to the left, and hope sprang up that 

 they at least had red meat to bring home. Fred, it seems, 

 had exchanged his rifle with Phillips for a shotgun, when 

 they suddenly came on a heard of 'lopes, some twenty 

 or more. Fred dashed ahead to prevent their turning 

 into the canon, and charged right among them. They 

 got under his horse's legs and tangled him all up. He 

 shot two with No. 8 shot, crippling them badly, but they 

 got away, and Phillips had four shots at them, long shots 

 on the dead run, and failed to score. Evening, more 

 "seven up" with varied success. Query! Was this the 

 hunter's usual bad luck or bad management? If I had 

 carried out my own plans and stalked the antelope when 

 we first saw them in the morning, we should have found 

 the four we saw to be but the guards of the big herd, and 

 I am positive we could have had a sure good shot at them 

 with a chance, and a good one, at the herd as they loped 

 away. But!!! 



Sunday, Nov. 11.— Pleasant but windy. We fooled 

 around the ranch; didn't see any game, but Phillips had 

 a shot at a big gray wolf, which he wounded in the hip. 

 P. jumped up and down laughing and hollering, "I've 

 got him, see him bite himself, he's worth $o to me; now 

 we'll have some fun." Fred, who was on horseback with 

 his shotgun, started ahead to see "the fun," Phillips fol- 

 lowing on foot, and I going back to where we had pick- 

 eted the horses. The wolf, when Fred had gotten to 

 within 20yds. of him, stopped snapping at himself, started 

 to run, then turned full face to Fred, Up goes the shot- 

 gun and a load of No. 8 is sent fan at his face. It knocks 

 him over and seems to freshan Irni up wonderfully, for 

 now he stretches himself out in a mighty effort to reach 

 his home in the rocks and bushes of a big gulch, some 

 quarter of a mile distant. Fred charged after him, yell- 

 ing like an Indian. For a while It looked like Nip and 

 Tuck, but Nip (the wolf) got there first, and. Tuck w T as left. 

 We hunted those rocks, caves and bushes in vain for him. 

 Moral — He laughs best who laughs last. 



Monday, Nov. 12. — Pleasant, but windy, as usual. Bade 

 Phillips and his ranch good-by and started after the ante- 

 lope in a hack on our winding w r ay home. Up divides, 

 i through gulches, and over the broad plains hunted we 



