Jan. 30, 1890.] 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



2 3 



very much miss the crop of good hard dollars left them 

 each year by sportsmen from abroad; and it seems that if 

 thev knew their own interests they would not try tbeir 

 level best to destroy all those things which make this 

 region attractive to "these men, but would rather try and 

 preserve, for future reference "the goose that laid the 

 golden eggs." Perhaps they will see things in this light 

 some day themselves, but I doubt it, for very likely when 

 the last deer has been hung up and the last fish has yielded 

 his life to dynamite, the judge and the editor will call an 

 indignation meeting at "McGinty's saloon," and the popu- 

 lar verdict will be, "'Twas the foreign hunters did it." 



Chippewa. 



RUFFLES IN NEW JERSEY. 



THE melancholy days had come, the saddest of 

 the year, especially for the birds and cottontails. 

 We had been looking forward to these days with a 

 great yearning, and as we read the glowing accounts 

 of other contributors to the Forest and Stream, 

 did not our hearts burn within us? At last the appointed 

 day came. The evening previous was spent in carefully 

 loading shells and packing our paraphernalia. The alarm 

 clock is carefully set: and fearing lest it should neglect 

 to do its duty we stay awake to see that it goes right. 

 After a time the steady tick-tock of the little clock lulls 

 us to slumber, and we sleep the sleep of the just, when 

 suddenly a driver from somewhere goes bur-r-r, and gets 

 out of bounds before a shot can be fired. To jump out 

 of bed on to the pup, who has come up-stairs to see me, 

 is but the work of a moment, and to jump off again an 

 even less time. I pick up his pupship and proceed to the 

 window, and examine the starry nrmament above me, 

 while the pup gently chews my hands, oh, so gently. 

 After satisfying myseif that it won't rain unless it wants 

 to, I proceed to dress and to breakfast. I try to eat, but 

 make a dismal failure of it. The fact that I was going 

 to leave home for two days was too much for me. At the 

 train I find my partner in distress waiting. At last the 

 train came, we get aboard and are whirled along at the 

 dizzy speed peculiar to milk trains. 



We had nearly reached our destination by rail when 

 two hunters boarded the train with a hound. As the 

 train started up again the hound concluded he would 

 rather walk than endure our society: so he jumped off. 

 The hound stands irresolute for a moment, but in response 

 to the whistle of his master his pedal extreineties are set 

 in motion and he follows as hard after us as the wraith 

 after Tarn o' Shanter. For the first mile it was an even 

 thing with odds in favor of the hound, when we strike a 

 down grade and the faithful hound begins to fade in the 

 distance, and keeps fading, still fading. The two men 

 on the platform exchanged objurgations at each other 

 and at the hound. The hound was steadily losing ground; 

 and his master, fearing he should lose him altogether, 

 jumped off. I saw the faithful creature reach his mas- 

 ter, and when T saw the caress with which he was greeted 

 I said to myself: " Old man, you have gone up in my esti- 

 mation a good deal." At this point the train rounded a 

 curve and we Saw them no more. 



Now comes the grandest part of our ride. The train 

 wheels down a steep grade on the side of a mountain. The 

 valley lies stretched out below us. It is a beautiful picture; 

 and for a moment our thoughts wander back to the valley 

 where a merry, tow-headed boy used to fish for pumpkin- 

 seeds in the old mill pond. But we are litei-ally jerked 

 back to the sterner present by a sudden lurch of the train, 

 and soon the door opens and the brakeman calls out the 

 name of our destination. 



Dinner over, the batteries are unpacked and we take a 

 short run in the brush: but, besides flushing several birds 

 wild and shooting at a woodcock and trying to shoot a 

 partridge with seven pink-edge wads and l^oz. of shot, 

 the afternoon was eventless. After breakfast the next 

 morning the forces are marshaled on the back stoop. 

 There are four of us. G. , the senior member of the party, 

 i6 a crack shot, and uses a 10 gauge Greener. J., his 

 brother, shoots a 12-gauge Lefever; and a partridge that 

 sits still under a bush is liable to feel very unhappy if J. 

 finds him, .and if he gets out he runs big chances of get- 

 ting badly demoralized. C. is noted for the length of his 

 stride and the rapid rate in which he gets over the 

 ground: it is enough to make a fat man weep even to 

 think of following him, to say nothing of actually doing 

 it; he shoots a 12 gauge Clabrough. F. , the writer, shoots 

 a 12-gauge L. C. Smith. We are off, headed for the tam- 

 arack swamp, and reaching it we start to beating the 

 cover: we have do a good deal of that ourselves, as we 

 only have one dog, the two old dogs having died some 

 time before. The sprouts on the edge of the swamp fur- 

 nish good cover, and we expect to find some birds there. 

 Nor are we disappointed; but they flush wild and fly into 

 the swamp, and we are then compelled to let them 

 severely alone. Thick tamarack trees and mud and 

 water up to your neck are a bad combination for a man, 

 unless he has a vein of "mud turkle" in his composition; 

 none of us being built that way the buds were safe. We 

 shift our quarters a little, when the dog makes signs of 

 game, roads for a short distance and draws to a point. G. 

 walks up and flushes a partridge; the gun springs to his 

 shoulder; the chicken caller calls its wandering chicken, 

 and it strays no further, but obedient to the call drops 

 prone to the earth from which it had so recently departed. 

 Failing to find any more birds in this piece, we proceed 

 toward more promising grounds, and have scarely touched 

 it, when a bird flushes wild, followed a moment later by 

 a. second. We mark them down as nearly as possible, 

 and proceed to work the remaining cover. Suddenly, 

 without even calling "pull," outgoes a bird near Jim; and 

 the Lefever rises to the occasion; crack! and 349 little 

 messengers of death, more or less, are hurled after the 

 fleeing bird. Stranger, you need not ask, did he kill? 

 Cannot you see the fog is dispelled in his vicinity? It is 

 no new luminary that has sprung into existence* 'tis but 

 the naturally bright smile of Jim now brighter than 

 ever. 



Some time has elapsed and we have killed nothing 

 but time, when the writer flushes a bird, and soon Ms 

 form is seen gliding over the rocks and through bushes. 

 Like a fiend incarnate he nears his victim, who lies 

 closely hidden by yonder boulder. The ruthless Anglo- 

 Saxon approaches, when whirr, out darts a brown streak 

 and the gun sounds twice. A long silence succeeds, 

 broken only by that long sigh that would roll up from 

 his boots, though oft depressed. "Did you get him?" 

 some one calls, "No. Which way did he go?" "He 

 went home." "Shall we follow him?" "Yes." Soon 



we near a likely place: the dog strikes a trail, roads, 

 points again, roads and points again, this time freezing 

 in his tracks. Evidently the bird is a pedestrian. The 

 game is on George's territory, so Jim and I back him. 

 He walks up to flush. No bird is to be found. He turns 

 to us and says: "Fooled." Whirr! bang! thud! Set 'em 

 up in the other alley ! That bird would stand anything 

 but having a man tread on the tail of his coat. We 

 move on. Soon from the ledge of rocks on our right 

 comes the report of Jim's gun, and when he once more 

 heaves in sight the formerly attenuated left game pocket 

 sticks out in an unusual manner, and the last faint 

 glimpse of a departing smile is seen. About this time 

 the scribe is in the valley of humiliation. He has missed 

 ingloriously; and the good-natured banter of "Throw 

 away your gun and buy a Lefever," makes him vow to 

 exterminate the next bird that dares to come within range 

 of his L. C. Smith. Like Hamlet, he stalks along brood- 

 ing, brooding, brooding, when lo! a change cornea over 

 the spirit of his dream. The dog crosses his territory, 

 and as it catches the scent of the hidden bird, stops and 

 then draws slowly on and points. I speak "Steady, boy, 

 steady." Whirrfcrack! "Dead; go fetch!" The obedient 

 animal retrieves nicely and then the smile returns. 



Now we retrace our steps in the direction of home for 

 dinner. After dinner we take a new direction. Charley 

 has to go home, so our little circle is broken. We strike 

 out for the mountains; and soon are at it again; and the 

 woods are full of feathers, falling limbs and powder 

 smoke, with three bipeds with guns gesticulating wildly. 

 We gather up the slain and count fhem; two birds, one 

 to Jim's gun and one to George's. 1 was too tender 

 hearted to kill one of the little innocents. We now hunt 

 up the scattered birds. Presently the dog scents one: and 

 marches straight to him; points and turns his head for a 

 moment toward us as much as to say, "Come, shoot him. 

 I have got him foul," and then resumes his point. We 

 do our best, but he puts a ledge between us and we fall 

 to connect. We follow him down a ravine, flushing a 

 steer in the thicket, that almost runs over the bird, but 

 fails to point it; but as the steer was going down wind 

 we excuse him and flush the bird ourselves; but fail to 

 get a shot, as we were busy with all our might trying to 

 keep our balance on a wet log. We do succeed even in 

 this, but slip off and get a jab in the neck with a pro- 

 trading snag. With some difficulty we tear ourselves 

 from the embrace of the berry vines and proceed. I hear 

 George whistle softly, and answer; I go in his direction. 



I found him wdth a bird in a ledge of rocks. At his 

 request I go in to flush, when the bird bursts out almost 

 in my face and skips over my head in a twinkling. The 

 sharp report of George's gun rings through the woods, 

 and sounds the death knell of one of its most noble 

 denizens. I turn quickly to get a shot, slip on the rocks 

 and descend rapidly, reach the bottom safely and turn 

 round and gaze in a pensive manner upon the destruction 

 I have wrought on the face of nature. The soft, velvety 

 moss that once covered the rock has been sadly disfigured, 

 a little sapling that had clung to its rugged side has been 

 ruthlessly torn from its hold and lies at my feet, my feel- 

 ings have been hurt, but thanks to a kind providence 

 and a strong pan of pantaloons no further damage is 

 done. While I am practicing this pantomime and arrang- 

 ing the scenery for the next act, my companions have 

 gathered the bird and we are ready to move on. This 

 country is mountainous and very rough. The timber 

 that once clothed its rugged side has mostly been cut off, 

 and in its place the second growth has reached the height 

 of from 6 to 15ft. This cover is thickly strewn with 

 boulders, ledges and small stones in endless variety and 

 numbers, with here and there a small grove of the native 

 forest trees stand pitiful mementoes of former grandeur. 

 Ever and anon a mountain stream is seen dancing down 

 among the boulders. Some of these streams once con- 

 tained trout, but they have yielded to the deadly angle 

 worm, as the forest has to the axe. The water from all 

 these streams is pure and sweet. A dog, to be a success 

 in this country, must have bird sense. His range may 

 be ever so nicely regulated, but without bird sense he 

 will be more or" less of a failure, while a dog that will 

 hunt with his head as well as his nose will fill the bill 

 exactly. 



After hunting for some time and failing to find any 

 more birds, we strike lower down the mountain, on the 

 edge of some cleared fields, where we find three more 

 birds. They flush wild, but we shoot at them to make 

 them lie more closely, and then follow them up. Jim 

 flushes one and kills it, and George, beating back over 

 the ground I had just been over, shoots ones over a point 

 within five feet of where I crossed the brook. 



The other bird, having gone in a different direction, we 

 take his line and follow, but do not find him, but we do 

 find a tree on whose bark are cut these words: " Found 

 Dead," with day and date. At the foot of this tree, about 

 five years ago, there lay down to sleep the sleep that 

 knows no waking an old and homeless wanderer, with no 

 covering but the snow and no one to minister to his last 

 earthly necessity but the mother of us all, on whose bosom 

 he sleeps his last sleep. We turn from this spot more 

 sober if not better men: and as the lengthening shadows 

 tell of the coming night we turn our faces homeward. 

 On the way we come to a murmuring rill, whose crystal 

 waters reveal the sandy bottom with its ever-shifting 

 sands, As the water is not deep, George steps in, when 

 he found that the sand was but a mask that covered the 

 treacherous mud beneath. He comes up out of the water 

 a sadder but wiser man, sits down on the bank, and we 

 help him off with his boots. After this episode we reach 

 home without further accident. The evening is spent 

 much as the preceding one in pleasant conversation and 

 singing. The morning dawns bright and warm; and as 

 this is to be the last day of our stay, we intend to get the 

 most of it and get an early start. Breakfast over, the 

 dog called up and fed and" we are off. Again the fog 

 hangs low in the valley below us, but the day is as clear as 

 a bell above. A short ten minutes' walk brings us to the 

 ground; and soon the sharp whistle of a woodcock's wings 

 causes us to bring our guns to a ready ; but no one gets a 

 shot and we pass on; and soon the report of George's gun 

 peals out on the morning air, but without effect. We 

 follow him up, and soon the dog pins him along a stone 

 fence surmounted by a rail one. We both make up to- 

 gether, when out flies a beauty; two quick reports; two 

 little puffs of smoke; and a bird vanishes in the dim dis- 

 tance. How did it happen? Both too quick. Cause, 

 both wanted to get there first. Result, neither got there. 

 Moral, take your time. 



Pursuit being useless, we turned our steps toward pas- 

 tures new, when the scribe struck it rich. Suddenly two 

 partridges, not liking my warlike look, burst from the 

 cover in front of me. I killed those birds and then sat 

 down on a rock and figured out the proper distance I 

 should have held ahead of those birds, and left it there 

 for the benefit of any hunter who might find it. After 

 this I had great difficulty in keeping my hat on, I had 

 hardly gone a hundred yards when out went the birds 

 again. One came down on the left; feathers floated in 

 the. air on the right, some of them fast to the bird, some 

 of them floating aimlessly with the wind. Then I made 

 a beeline for the brook and flopped myself down among 

 the water cress and leaves, regardless of what my wife 

 will say to my bedraggled condition. My canine friend 

 acting on the principle that medicine should be stirred 

 before being taken jumps into the brook above me. Did 

 you ever see a dog that would go below you? A dog that 

 will do this is one of the seven wonders of the world. 



After a good drink and a short rest, we follow the 

 wounded bird, which George finally brought to the 

 ground. But to Jim we must yield the palm. We were 

 on our way home when he saw a cottontail vanishing in 

 the distance; to cover that retreating flag of trace was 

 the work of a moment: and as the report of the gun 

 broke the stillness, a partridge flushed and without tak- 

 ing his gun from his shoulder Jim killed it. One shot 

 penetrating its head, caused it to go up like a rocket only 

 to fall at last after a vain struggle. 



Our vacation was over and soon we are home, busy 

 again in struggle for the things that perish; but who 

 shall say those days were wasted. I am firmly convinced 

 that these days of recreation will add years to our lives 

 providing they he properly spent. We killed thirty birds 

 in the two and one-half days of hunting; and some of 

 our friends can bear testimony that they were good to 

 eat. Ruffles. 



AIMING THE SHOTGUN. 



WHILE in the employ of Mr. Neumann, the famous 

 gunsmith in Aix-la-Chapelle, I had occasion to 

 manage a good many glass ball and pigeon shooting- 

 matches. That year (1880) there were among the visitors 

 to the famous bathing place an unusually large number 

 of expert shots. Among these was Mr. Charlier, a gen- 

 tleman who was noted not only for his scores at glass 

 balls as well as live birds, but the rapidity of his aiming 

 and firing, the snap shot par excellence. 



Being questioned, "Do you take aim?" he would always 

 reply, "Certainly." Yet, not being a talkative man, he 

 did not care to explain. But it was done by hard work 

 only. He would take small rubber tips, similar to those 

 which are placed on the ends of fencing foils, place them 

 over the plungers of his gun and then practice aiming, 

 cocking his gun each time and pulling the triggers, the 

 rubber tips over the plungers preventing any injury to 

 the gun. I have seen this gentleman do this for half an 

 hour, commencing slowly and aiming deliberately, then 

 aiming quicker, and finally snap shooting in his gar- 

 den, taking any chance object he might see. And he 

 told me that if he failed to practice he was sure to miss 

 it in the actual match. 



One day I asked him, "Is there any difference between 

 aiming a rifle and aiming a shotgun?" No, sir," was the 

 prompt reply. "To take aim is to bring three points, 

 namely, your rear sight, front sight and your object into 

 a line with your eye, and that is and must be done 

 with a rifle as well as a shotgun in order to make a good 

 shot." "Do you see anything of the barrels in aiming a 

 shotgun?" "Nothing whatever; I have all my guns 

 stocked to suit me, so that when I aim, I take the high- 

 est visible point on the breech, as the rear sight, using a 

 large ivory front sight" — the same which Mr. Lyman 

 advocates. "But do you not shoot low that way?" "I 

 will answer that question by an actual test." 



The test was made as follows: In a circle, the radius 

 of which was 40yds., were dug four holes 25yds. apart, 

 large enough to admit a frame 10ft., 3ft. wide, provided 

 with two sliding targets, and the same affording good 

 shelter for a man to handle the targets. For targets were 

 used sheets of white paper 3ft. square, with a black cen- 

 ter of about 2in. diameter. Then Mr. Charlier shot at 

 the four targets, taking deliberate aim. Those targets 

 were taken off and brought to us by men manipulating 

 the frame. Then each man took back with him a thin 

 rope, the end of which I kept in my hand, and which 

 they fastened to a bell hung on the frame. Having the 

 four ends in my hand, and standing about two feet be- 

 hind Mr. Charlier, he first made four snap shots at the 

 targets, all four being_ together. Then he made four 

 snap shots at targets as 1 pulled the bells, imitating glass- 

 ball shooting as close as possible. When we gathered 

 the targets and compared them, I found that Mr. Charlier 

 had answered my question very effectually. In fact the 

 snap-shot targets were, as to pattern, a trifle better than 

 the targets at which he had deliberate aim. And Mr. 

 Charlier was not only an expert shot at the trap, but also 

 in the field. 



Practical experience has shown me that the success of 

 using a shotgun is largely dependent upon the way the 

 gun is stocked. I have often seen two men do very well 

 with their own guns, but when changing guns neither of 

 them could do anything. Now, I cannot agree with Mr. 

 Lyman on the subject of stocking a gun. If you want to 

 aim, and especially if you want to aim quick, it is neces- 

 sary to have the gun stocked so that when you bring it 

 to your shoulder you do not have to do any twisting or 

 craning, or bending of the neck; but that cannot be 

 avoided in a gim stocked too straight for the person using 

 it. In fact, I think that too much bend is the lesser fault 

 of the two. 



Especially in cross shots I have seen the effect of a 

 suitably stocked gun. Among the great number of 

 shooters, whom I have had occasion to observe while in 

 the act of pulling the trigger, the majority did not swing 

 the gun to a cross shot, but brought the gun to the hip 

 while whirling around, and, when seeing the object, 

 brought the gun to the shoulder and fired, aiming ahead 

 of course. While both ways are difficult, both are made 

 easier by practice, and especially practice at home. 



Louis Hartmann. 



Fohest and Stream, Box 3,832, N. Y. city, has descriptive illus- 

 trated circulars of W. B. Leffingwell's book, "Wild Fowl Shoot- 

 ing," which will be mailed free on request. The book is pro- 

 nounced by "Nanit," "Gloan," "Dick Swiveller," "Sybillene" and 

 other competent authorities to be the best treatise on the subject 

 extant. 



