264 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



[Oct. 24, 1889. 



It wa3 a very trying position that the Major had as- 

 sumed, one that very few sportsmen had the x^atience, 

 the nerve or the ability to fill. To make the sinkbox 

 water-blind a success, one must remain absolutely motion- 

 less, lying flat on his back, and only moving when the 

 ducks crossed the decoys, frequently so close as to brush 

 him with their wings, and then to'rise to a sitting posi- 

 tion by a muscular motion of his body alone. He must 

 pick out his particular bird coolly and fire as quick as a 

 flash. Frequently he has to slue himself around and 

 shoot in a most inconvenient position. Added to this every 

 movement must be guarded, for a nervous or violent 

 change of position causes the wings of the sinkbox to dip, 

 thereby allowing the water to roll in; and once in, there 

 is no possible way to bale it out. It often happens that 

 sufficient water is shipped to sink the trough, and then 

 the shooter has to hang on to the platform and shout for 

 help. 



It was cold, bitter cold, waiting for the sun to rise, but 

 at last the monarch of the day raised his ruddy face 

 above the rim of the waters of old Pamlico, and its beams 

 made every detail of our work visible, and showed how 

 comprehensive and cunning was the work of man. op- 

 posed to the wariness and instinct of the waterfowl. There 

 in the midst of a placid calm was the flock, with not a 

 sign of anything else, the decoys hid the edge of the plat- 

 form entirely, and the sinkbox, weighted by the shooter, 

 had sunk to the level of the water. The illusion was 

 simply perfect, and had a hunter rounded the point sud- 

 denly he would undoubtedly have seized his gun and 

 blazed away on what he would have thought was a rick 

 of unsuspecting ducks. 



See! across the silvered and golden waters there comes 

 a stream of baldpates, heading directly for the decoys, 

 around which they circle fearlessly; some even seemed 

 to light on the platform. We held our breath; where was 

 the Ma jor? was he asleep, or what? Suddenly he rises 

 up, two puffs of white smoke are followed by the report 

 of the gun, and the astounded, frightened fowls scatter 

 in every direction, giving us a chance to bring down a 

 couple as they headed across the point. The waterfowl 

 now came in quick succession, singly, in pairs, and in 

 scores, and we sat there and beheld some of the prettiest 

 fancy shooting we ever witnessed in our lives. The 

 Washingtonian took all sorts of shots, in all sorts of dis- 

 torted positions, but his unerring aim rarely failed to 

 bring down his bird. We on shore, Boreas and myself, 

 for the Professor would not rise before light to kill every 

 duck on the sound, were kept busy in collecting the dead, 

 and dispatching the wounded. 



Just here I want to add a word to sportsmen going to 

 Currituck and the vicinity, and that is, by all means, if 

 you belong to a club, add the Potomac skiff to your col- 

 lection, and the great labor of poling a keeled boat along 

 shadows and over flats wdl be dispensed with. There is 

 no craft ever built that can get along in low water as well 

 as the skiff, and as a double paddle is employed, it can be 

 handled with perf ect ease. This little boat, which is used 

 entirely by the duckers of the Potomac and its tributa- 

 ries, is 12ft. long by 2-J-f t. wide, both bow and stern com- 

 ing to a sharp point, and it is flat-bottomed. It pasily 

 carries two men, and with their double paddles they can 

 make it fairly fly through the water. It is safer than a 

 canoe, and can be used in deep water, provided a high 

 wind is not blowing. Care must be taken not to let the 

 waves strike, broadside, for it is easily overturned in that 

 way. For noiseless traveling and still-hunting ducks 

 along shore, or drifting up to flocks with the creeping 

 paddles or following crippled ducks, the Potomac skiff is 

 incomparable, and yet I never saw one south of Point 

 Lookout. 



About noon the ducks ceased to fly, and the Major sig- 

 naled us to take him to land. He said he felt as if every 

 member of his body was asleep, but a run along the 

 strand soon made "Richard himself again." Upon count- 

 ing the spoils we found he had killed fifty-seven, counting, 

 of course, the crippled ones, and had only fired about 

 seventy shells. Both Boreas and myself were fair shots, 

 but this performance was so far ahead of anything that 

 we could do, that we simply acknowledged that this 

 sporting Crichton was way ahead of us. Among the 

 spoils was a magnificent sea fishhawk, whose keen eye 

 had not detected the cheat, and skimming along the 

 water had dropped among the decoys intent on securing 

 his breakfast, but received a reception he little bargained 

 for. He fell near shore with a broken wing, and fought 

 his captors with beak and claw, defiant to the last. 



As there was no way of shipping our game to our 

 friends at home, we lived on ducks cooked in every 

 imaginable manner, roasted, stewed, fried, broiled and 

 hashed, until they became as unpalatable as the tradi- 

 tional partridge eating every day for a wager. 



Several days of rainy, cold, foggy Aveather now ensued, 

 which kept all hands closely confined to the house; our 

 provisions were exhausted, and we started one evening to 

 Goose Creek Island, some five miles distant, to replenish 

 our store. There was a heavy head wind blowing, and 

 soon the rain came down in torrents; the sails had to be 

 lowered and we went to work with the oars; it was hard 

 palling and we made slow progress against both blast 

 and tide, and not until night came did we make the land- 

 ing. Then there was a tramp of two miles in our heavy 

 rubber boots, along the causeways of the swamp and ox 

 road through the pines. In single file our party stumped, 

 slided and waded along the miry route, at one time 

 almost stalled in the quagmires, another time up to our 

 hips in some deep hog wallow. It was tough work, and 

 when we finally reached the store wet and miserable, we 

 were panting from our intense exertion like the winner 

 of a four-mile steeple chase. 



We found the store closed, so we hunted around for 

 some place to get lodging. Tim led us to a house not far 

 off, and in response to our knock we were civilly invited 

 in. The picture in that room was full of interest to us, 

 one of strong lights and shadows, such as painters of 

 the Rembrandt school would have loved to have protrayed 

 on canvas. 



The apartment occupied the whole length of the cabin, 

 the floor was of dirt packed hard, a large fireplace oc- 

 cupied one side, and the smouldering pine knots would 

 occasionally flare up into a bright blaze, alternately 

 glooming and lighting up the interior. A high four-post 

 bed fronted the fireplace, which was half concealed from 

 the rear portion of the room by a bed quilt suspended 

 from a rafter. The walls within" had been adorned with 

 illustrated papers tacked to the logs, not only to keep 

 out the wind, but also as art decorations. 



On the bed sat one of the most aged beings that ever 

 mortal eyes rested upon. Her stockinged feet rested 

 upon a chair, her long disheveled white hair being in 

 tangles down her back, but her face was one not soon 

 forgotten; it was like "She" when her charm had failed, 

 and looking every day her age. The visage was plaited 

 with wrinkles, covered and entwined with lines, furrowed 

 with creases and corrugated with crows' feet. Her age 

 was subject for wild conjecture; she looked like the 

 actual Cumaaan Sibyl, to whom Apollo granted her prayer 

 that she might live as many years as she had grains of 

 sand in her hand, but as she neglected to ask for health 

 and youthful bloom, she shows her antiquity very 

 plainly. 



Her wasted figure was clad in homespun, and she 

 rocked her body to and fro like Sycorax uttering a curse, 

 or Meg Merrilies invoking a tempest. Her eyes were still 

 sharp and bright, and her glances elfin-like and uncanny. 

 Suddenly she stopped rocking, felt around the bed with 

 her skeleton fingers 'or her tin tobacco box, opened the 

 lid, and then took out from the bosom of her dress a 

 stick about the size of a lead pencil with one end chewed 

 fine, this she rolled around in the snuff, next she lifted 

 her lips with the fingers of her left hand, while with her 

 right she rubbed the stick all along her blackened tooth- 

 less gums, wiping the grains of tobacco from the outside 

 of the orifice with her long, fexible, discolored tongue, 

 then she wiped the saliva from her mouth with the back 

 of her hand, which in turn was cleaned by rubbing it on 

 the bed clothes. She then gave a sniff of content, and 

 sat, sat, her senses steeped in a dreamy repose. This was 

 the first time I ever saw the practice known as "snuff 

 dipping," and the performance was simply sickening. 



At the foot of the bed a little boy sat rocking a cradle, 

 in which was an infant not over a week old. Thus the 

 cradle and the grave were cheek by jowl. 



The owner of the house of course placed his house at 

 our service, but finding that we would ha^e to sleep in 

 the same room we were sitting in, the Professor demurred 

 at remaining over night, saying that it was against his 

 principles to sleep in the same room with a lady, even if 

 she was a little elderly. Boreas demurred, too, because 

 the infant would certainly cry, and its mother (who re- 

 mained during our visit in a dark corner) would not be 

 able to keep it quiet, besides a crying baby always made 

 him lose his night's rest. 



We all decided to try further, the real reason being 

 that the atmosphere in that apartment was appalling and 

 nauseating. 



We met with success at the next house, and though 

 they are mostly all alike, this one was clean. A huge 

 fire was made, and our host sold us a gallon of Catawba 

 wine. We decided to stay, though behind a hanging 

 blanket was a trundle bed, wherein four daughters of 

 the host, aged from about sixteen to twenty-five, lay 

 snugly tucked in. Even the Professor, who was broken 

 down and tired out, was fain to yield to the urgency 

 of the case and crawl beneath the blanket of his shake 

 down. 



In the morning, before we awoke, the girls got up, 

 dressed, and cooked the breakfast, and after we had 

 made our ablutions at the branch just below the house, 

 we found on our return the beds made, the floor swept 

 and a hot meal of Johnny cakes, bacon and coffee await- 

 ing us. 



Goose Creek Island is one of the most inaccessible, un- 

 come-at-able places to be found in the South. Its area com- 

 prises several thousand acres, and its soil is unusually 

 fertile and admirably adapted for the raising of cattle. 

 The island is surrounded for many miles inland by 

 almost impassable swamps; access by water is had through 

 a narrow, tortuous channel only navigable by the small- 

 est of craft. For miles around the water outside of the 

 passage way is only a few inches in depth, and a man 

 in rubber boots could wade dry shod all day long this 

 worthless stretch of water, which is too shallow" for fish 

 and too deep for agriculture. Hence the islanders lead a 

 very retired and isolated life, practically as much shut off 

 from the world as if they were in the midst of the Atlan- 

 tic. There are about 250 houses on the place, mostly 

 cabins, though there are several well to do planters who, 

 educated and refined, keep aloof socially from the poor 

 and illiterate inhabitants. The women of the latter class 

 are buxom, but with no form to speak of. Nore of them 

 wear corsets, their complexion is of the same muddy, un- 

 healthy color as the men's. The girls are shy and retir- 

 ing, but still they are daughters of Mother Eve, and in 

 their way strive to keep up with the latest fashions. 

 Their principal dress is of calico cut strait, and many of 

 them use bustles, and as newspapers are scarce they 

 employ dried sea grass bunched in a knot, and as their 

 dress is not fashioned long behind, it tilts up in a most 

 comical manner, and displays to a looker on an expansive 

 view of their homemade yarn stockings. 



The women are immeasurably superior to the men in 

 everything, they are good, modest and hard working, 

 and labor from morning to night; all of them have pecu- 

 liar pathetic mournful-looking eyes, and all of them use 

 snuff. These are the same people that Col. Byrd, of 

 Westover, Virginia, wrote about, who first discovered 

 them when he surveyed the Great Dismal Swamp over a 

 hundred and fifty years ago. Col. Byrd, after exploring 

 that veritable terra meoynita, published an account of hiB 

 adventures in what is known as the "Westover Manu- 

 script," one copy of which is still preserved in the State 

 library in Richmond, which was written in 1725. Col. 

 Byrd says: 



"The men for the most part are just like the Indians, 

 and impose all the work on the women, they make their 

 wives rise out of bed early in the morning, at the same 

 time they lie and snore until the sun has risen one-third 

 of its course and dispersed all the unwholesome damps. 

 Then after rising, and stretching and yawning for half 

 an hour, they light their pipes, and under protection of a 

 cloud of smoke venture in the open air, tho' be it never 

 so little cold they quickly return shivering to the kitchen 

 corner. When the weather is mild they stand leaning 

 with both arms upon a com fence, and gravely consider 

 whether they had better go and take a small heat at a 

 hoe, but quickly find reason to put it off for another time. 

 Thus they loiter away their lives like Solomon's sluggard." 



The author of the novel called "Annals of a Quiet 

 Neighborhood," should come here for inspiration. An 

 occasional bark of a dog, or the cawing of a crow high in 

 the air, is the only thing that breaks the stillness, even 

 echo is silent. Around the village store the male denizens 

 sit in the sunshine and solemnly puff at their pipes, as 



imperturbable as ever were the old Dutch burgers with 

 Governor Wouter Van Twiller in their midst in the tavern 

 porch at Nieuf Amsterdam, smoking their long calumets, 

 and discussing the probable appearance of the English 

 fleet off Spuyten Duyvil Creek. 



One is apt to conclude that after all these listless people 

 are the happiest of their kind, and barring chills then- 

 existence is one of passive content. 



Nearly all the able-bodied Goose Creek Islanders own a 

 boat, and nearly all of them have hidden away under the 

 bow a box of some two feet square, one side of which is 

 closed with a sliding lid; an inspection of its contents 

 will reveal a kerosene lamp and a tin reflector. 



A dark, calm night is chosen, and the boat is noise- 

 lessly propelled by a pole along the estuaries and creeks 

 where the ducks congregate to sleep; the gunner sits in 

 the bow, with his ears open, and so keen is a trained pot- 

 hunter's hearing that he can detect the swimming of the 

 ducks as they move away. The pusher sends his craft 

 along with hardly a ripple, the gunner now opens the 

 slide and a dazzling glare flashes over the water; the 

 ducks, bewildered by the light, mass together and swim 

 slowly in a circle, blinking at the blinding gleam. The 

 gunner fires at point blank range, and dozens are killed 

 at one discharge and as many more crippled, that flutter 

 away and die on the marshes. The balance fly aimlessly 

 away and the next morning migrate to distant parts. 



Hunting waterfowl by firelight is a grave offense 

 against the State laws, and heavy penalties are exacted 

 if the offender is caught. But, ah! there's the rub. It is 

 almost impossible to capture these pirates, for as soon as 

 the shot is fired and the dead ducks gathered, the lid of 

 the fire-box is closed, the craft glides away in the dark- 

 ness, and the reflector is not used again until some remote 

 point is reached. It is needless to add, this kind of 

 shooting drives all the ducks from the neighborhood. 



The creed of the Goose Creek Islander is that the wood, 

 the water and the wilderness is free to all. In the late 

 falrtiearly every able-bodied man among them starts off 

 to Currituck and other shooting grounds where toe 

 Northern sportsmen most abound, to serve as guides and 

 hangers on. Most of the Northern club men are very 

 wealthy and they scatter their money lavishly, and the 

 Goose Creek Islanders receive so much for so little ser- 

 vice, that they become spoiled, and charge enormously 

 for everything they are called upcn to do. They never 

 hesitate to ask for what they want, and have about as 

 much idea of delicacy as a Piute Indian. 



Of course I am only speaking of that class known as 

 "low downers," as for the plant ers and farmers of eastern 

 North Carolina, a truer-hearted, higher toned and more 

 generous people never lived. They are famed all through 

 the South for their State pride, their kindness and their 

 unstinted hospitality. I think every sportsman who ever 

 shot over the blinds at Currituck or vicinity will indorse 

 every word I write about the grasping rapacity of these 

 islanders, and I know that those who are yet to go there 

 will be glad they have read these lines, that show them 

 what to expect. To those contemplating a trip to these 

 famous ducking grounds, one word of advice. Estimate 

 the expense of your jaunt, then multiply the total by 

 three, and you will then have enough left, if you are 

 economical, to get back home. 



Two of our par ty, the Professor and Major Clam, had 

 had enough of sporting, so they, in company with the 

 ex-keeper, took a boat bound for Newberne, N. C, and 

 bade Boreas and myself a sad farewell. As the Professor 

 is writing a novel, and wont on this expedition to collect 

 materials, we may in the course of time see the character 

 of the Goose Creek Islander drawn to the life. 



Having purchased our provisions our trio now put back 

 to the light house. The wintry weather, interspersed 

 with storms, kept us on the Point, and we found that our 

 anticipated sport of brant shooting was illusive as a 

 dream, for every one of them had suddeidy disappeared. 

 The solution was an easy task, some of the islanders had 

 been shooting them in the night, and scared them off for 

 good and al I. t 



In a few days our situation grew desperate, our stock 

 of food, thanks to Tim. was well nigh exhausted, bacon, 

 hard-tack, flour, sugar, coffee, were all gone, and we were 

 living on cornbread, rain-water and ducks. Oh, those 

 ducks; we were sick of such diet. We felt like the Welsh 

 vicar, when he said grace : 



"For ducks hot, and ducks cold, 



For ducks youug, and ducks old, 



For ducks tender, and ducks tough, 



We thank the Lord, we've had enough." 

 The shipwrecked mariner, or lonesome mariner, was 

 never more anxious to leave his abode than my comrade 

 and myself to get off this desolate sandbank, but the 

 winds still held high carnival, and a sail some twenty 

 miles out in the sound to catch the Newberne boat was 

 more than Tim wag willing to undertake. 



One morning we saw the U. S. tender Violet beating 

 to windward, so we hastened to the top of the tower, and 

 made frantic signals by waving a blue mantle to send a 

 boat ashore. We could see by the spyglass the officers 

 consulting on the quarter deck, but evidently the waves 

 were too high for them to think of launching their 

 pinnace. 



At last, when our cupboard was almost as bare as 

 Mother Hubbard's, and we were living on fat meat, meal 

 and rain-water, the welcome sound of the steamer's 

 whistle was heard, and we joyfully collected our traps 

 and made ready to go. What was our astonishment, 

 when Tim absolutely refused to sail about a half a mile 

 out to meet the Manteo, unless we paid him fifteen dol- 

 lars. 



"Well," said Boreas indignantly, "if this don't take the 

 rag off the bush, these people don't know what gratitude 

 is. Just to think what I have given that man, all my 

 spare underclothing, boots, hat, handkerchiefs, ammuni- 

 tion to last him half of his life, tobacco that will keep 

 his jaws moving, and his pipe full the balance of the 

 year, fed him like an alderman, wined him like a lobby- 

 ist, and now to be blackmailed in this manner, I won't 

 pay, that's flat."' So we sat there looking at each other too 

 mad to speak. How I wished for the sandals of Vidar 

 which sustained equally on the earth, air and water. 



But it was no use to kick, Tim held the trump cards, 

 and he knew it, for he reclined on the seat of the boat 

 with an air of supreme indifference. We could not 

 afford to remain, it would be days before another steamer 

 would pass the placp, and we were threatened with an ab- 

 solute famine. All this time the boat was approaching 



