26 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



["July 31, 1890. 



ON THE NEPEAGUE SHORE. 



INTO every well-developed, vigorous life there comes at 

 times an almost irresistible longing for broader fields 

 and unrestricted breadths of wood or seas, where the eye 

 can look over uninterrupted areas of green, and find per- 

 haps one little iota of this restless feeling soothed by clear 

 blue sky and f resb, untainted winds. Those of us whom 

 fate has made unwilling atoms in this great pulsing 

 throb of life in great cities, where harsh necessity, the 

 tide of unalterable circumstances, keeps them bending 

 over books or desks and behind office bars, have one 

 leasure left — a delight, quiet and mild, yet none the less 

 eep-seated and intense — the pleasure of visiting again 

 those places, hallowed now by the memory of all the 

 young dreams and happy fancies that these same old 

 scenes were wont to call up when the sun of life was but 

 half-way toward the zenith. Is there not some dim old 

 woodland path, some leafy nook on the edge of the forest, 

 or perhaps a stream bubbling through the moss-bound 

 rocks, dearer to us than any others? Spots where we 

 lingered watching the glory of declining day, where the 

 lovely arbutus or low-nodding violet first called into 

 active being a desire to investigate further into the mys- 

 teries surrounding their growth— places associated in the 

 present with days believed to have been the happiest we 

 ever knew. How clearly some scenes and incidents are 

 photographed upon the mind, remaining long distinct 

 and sharp, undimnied by the lapse of years. Time is not 

 so harsh out it allows some peaceful hours to come to all. 

 It is of these rifts I would tell, through which eunligh't 

 has gleamed and broken the monotony of life, for one 

 who loves the gun far more because it brings him closer 

 to the secrets of nature's heart than for the birds which 

 fall before its flame. 



The first impression of Good Ground is one of disap- 

 pointment. There is absolutely no suggestion of even a 

 village. The station with its inevitable accompaniment 

 of a miscellaneous country store just across the "street" 

 looks lonely, and a low stretch of dwarf oak covered 

 country, so limitless that the eye circling the horizon for 

 some break rests with a sense of relief upon a thin column 

 of red* visible away to the sou'eastward above the rim of 

 pines. The town itself is laid out upon that generous 

 disregard for the commercial foot value of real estate 

 characteristic of all South Side hamlets. 



Late in September toward the close of a warni Saturday 

 afternoon I found room underneath the seat in the spring- 

 board for a collection of traps and space enough along- 

 side the driver for myself. The prevalent custom of keep- 

 ing roads in good repair by compelling every resident to 

 give so many days per year grading and leveling has not 

 been productive of very satisfactory results in this par- 

 ticular village. However, complaint is not quite in order 

 at present, and I am slightly sensible that I would be the 

 first to condemn another gunner for noticing such noth- 

 ings. A little depression throws your side of the buck- 

 board down a couple of feet. Your arms reach out and 

 grasp_ the stoical driver with an earnestness and mute ex- 

 pression of affection in their pressure that he actually 

 smiles. Then on the upward movement of the wheels 

 mayhap you are unwise enough to attempt regaining 

 your center of gravity by extending a leg. After the tire 

 has deposited a large section of mud and sand along your 

 trousers you realize your lack of foresight. Fun! whv, 

 certainly. What do you care about "them city clothes" 

 now. This is a place where shoes are kept in the same 

 box with "meetin' suit" and hats, "boiled shirts," collars, 

 etc. , are at a heavy discount. What difference does it 

 make when the festive horse's hoofs decorate your phiz 

 with various G-sized bits of mud? None at all! Offer 

 your taciturn companion another weed, which he con- 

 descendingly tells you is "middlin' fan," and smile, and 

 laugh and joke. So that cigar is "purty good," is it? 

 thought I to myself. Such back-handed, qualified thanks 

 are all I get for it, is it? Why, you old vandal, that was 

 one of the same identical cigars for which I, in the reck- 

 lessness of my anticipated trip, "blew in" as much "gold 

 dust," as would buy six of the "kill-me-quicks" retailed 

 "up ter ther store." 



The first handshake with "Cap'n" Forster makes one 

 feel perfectly at home. He is not a captain by courtesy, 

 like so many South Bay skippers, but comes by the title 

 honestly, for in the old days when the harbors of New 

 London, New Bedford and Providence were alive with 

 whaling craft, the big Petrel sailed under his command. 

 Continual companionship with the broad, free ocean and 

 piping winds leaves its impress upon men whose lives lie 

 within those lines. Fishermen and baymen all have that 

 rugged expression of good nature and sterling honesty 

 widely different from their less fortunate brothers toiling 

 within the narrow walls of cities. Where is there a more 

 genial, open-handed, happy crowd of fellows than the 

 brave boys of our Life- Saving Service. 



Activity and enterprise have never been predominant 

 traits in the make-up of the average Long Islander. He 

 takes matters with an even philosophy, slightly aggra- 

 vating when you want to catch a train, but otherwise 

 tolerable. In fact, it would require no acute observer to 

 deduce this lack of energy from the air of lassitude and 

 desertion pervading the towns. The reorganization of 

 the L. I. B, E., and the enormous increase in values of 

 property following this improved railway service, has 

 stimulated somewhat whatever latent industry there is 

 within them. Summer boarders are not profitable 

 enough to enable a famly to live throughout a winter on 

 the surplus; so the men still follow in the footsteps of 

 their fathers. Winter and summer you can pee the oyster 

 sloops making westward through Fire Island Inlet, 

 skirting the shores of Long and Eockaway beaches, 

 bound for the fish markets of New York. Daring, fear- 

 less, experienced old sea dogs they are, too, caring as little 

 for the tossing ocean as we do about the broad, level road 

 which we traverse: steering their staunch singlestickers 

 with an infallible certainty born of lifelong acquaintance 

 with the sea and the fluctuating, uncertain breaths that 

 sweep over its surface. Oystering and eeling are the two 



Erincipal industries on the South Side, and always will 

 e until the time— I hope never — when the power of the 

 broad Atlantic shall crush with its never ceasing blows 

 the thin breakwater of the Great South Bay, mingling 

 the waters and making the South Bay a thing of the 

 past. 



The pleasantest charm in the broad pine forests is that 



atmosphere of peace and tranquillity found only in the 

 dark shadows of their inter-twisting limbs. A subtle 

 witchery broods there — a nameless enchantment, sooth- 

 ing the spirit of those over whom the rolling years pass, 

 but to add to their burden of care — with a hand unde- 

 fined, yet tangible, the invisible, sympathetic touch of 

 that wondrous mother, to whose heart we all return. 

 Even on bright days, cool shadows continue here, and in 

 the long vistas between upright trunks lingers an air of 

 coolness and content. But it is only when the soft moon- 

 light falls above that the full beauty, the indescribable 

 romance, impresses you most deeply. 



I wandered for miles that night through noiseless path- 

 ways, checkered with shafts of moonlight sifting down- 

 ward from the interstellar foliage. Perfect quiet — such 

 a silence as reigned above the entire earth when moon- 

 light was reflected from interminable areas of ice in the 

 dawn of time. Absolutely no sound — not even the echo 

 of a footstep, for on the elastic carpeting of pine needles 

 the foot falls as lightly as upon snow. Later in the 

 evening, the night wind came faintly across the shining 

 stretch of moonlit water. Wandering breaths, searching 

 for hidden paths among the trees call into life their 

 sleeping music. The throb of nature's heart never ceases, 

 even in the tranquillity of a, September night, for as I 

 passed along the edge of a meadow, from concealed nooks 

 among the reeds arose the myriad minor voices of the 

 marsh; and at times from the darkness above comes the 

 soft whistle of some bird. 



It was late when I returned; and, after getting the rig 

 all laid out and ready to "jump into" and clearing a small 

 space for the watch and matches on the chair, I ""turned 

 in." Whatever sleep did come my way came in very 

 short instalments, and this was distorted by a varied as- 

 sortment of spectacular hallucinations. Awaking from 

 one of these private entertainments I struck a match. 

 "Four o'clock! Come, tumble out ! " says I to myself. 



Of the rather remarkable fact, that although the room 

 contained but two chairs, both were encountered before 

 the lamp was lit, of the activity of doors coming too with 

 a bang loud enough to rouse the entire house, of the 

 sudden dawning on your mind that your shoes were never 

 made to descend even one flight of stairs in the dark, of 

 these and sundry other little nothings I'll "draw it mild," 

 for I know "you've been there before" yourself. But the 

 end amply repaid all these petty exasperations. The 

 front door lock mystery was undergoing intent considera- 

 tion, assisted by a "prayer not loud but oh ! so deep," 

 when I heard a knob turned at the other end of the hall 

 and the next instant the rays of a lamp gleamed down the 

 passage, I was in the shade of a doorway and, having 

 desisted operations, everything was quiet. Mustering up 

 courage she stepped out into the hall and asked, with a 

 voice in which alarm could not hide the sweet intonation : 

 "Who's there?" I think I shall always remember that 

 pretty picture — so fascinating that my artistic instincts 

 conquered politeness; I remained silent, watching the play 

 of sharp light and shade as she stood there with the lamp 

 held above her head. She discovered that it was not a 

 tramp trying to force an entry, about the same time that 

 she remembered the white and linen nature of her attire. 

 A suppressed scream, a slammed door; and then came 

 blackness, deep, intense, Stygian gloom, with the problem 

 of getting out of that door still before the house. 



And now let me ease my spirit of a burden; for it is 

 written that "an honest confession is good for the soul." 

 Ye stoical sportsmen who demand an account of every 

 shell fired; who when you go a-hunting could tell how 

 every minute of time, 'twixt sunrise and sunset, was 

 spent searching the cover or field; considering him who 

 employs the day otherwise as an unworthy brother. 

 Though I disclaim any sympathy with such rigid rules, 

 finding no pleasure in headlong pursuit, still it is before 

 the bar of your decision I stand, knowing that the others, 

 the great majority, would have done even as did I. Every 

 afternoon birds were forgotten, and the Irene carried 

 precious freight (1581 bs.) over the rippling waters, So 

 powerful was this attraction that even when the morning's 

 shoot was good and I felt certain it would be still better 

 later in the day, I would gather up stools, hoist the big 

 mainsail and slip away from the "hole in the wall" across 

 the bay in time for dinner. After that the same one who 

 as a vision of loveliness had appeared the first morning 

 would join us, and we were a very merry company — the 

 Mainsail, the Vision and I. Maybe she would take the 

 tiller for a while and amuse herself experimenting how 

 closely the Irene would run into the wind, while I sat 

 alongside explaining some of the principles of sailing, 

 etc. One good point about the Irene's sailing qualities 

 I never appreciated until both of us were afloat. She 

 would lay up into the wind on a course, without a hand 

 on the tiller, and it was a very good virtue, for although 

 there was a crew of two aboard, Irene was sometimes 

 left to herself. Occasionally there would arise within me 

 a feeling of condemnation at my lack of indifference to 

 "the light that lies in woman's eye," when the gun was 

 on the other side of the balance. And having summed 

 up the defense, before you pass judgment, remember — 

 look backward on your own young days — and perhaps 

 you will find a'leaf almost similar there. 



But enough said — of course, any fool would know 

 there was a catch 2in. above the floor on that door— at 

 least, after he haB wasted no insignificant amount of 

 concentrated suppressed vocal energy before discovering 

 the fact. 



The moon has set, and the impenetrable darkness pre- 

 ceding the coming dawn lay over field and water. 

 From the grass, covered with its satin-finished coating of 

 hoar frost, arose a cool revivifyng ah. The Dipper, 

 Pleiades and kindred constellations have sunk further 

 into the south. Brilliant and sparkling, just above the 

 horizon, shines Venus— another world, our morning star. 

 Beautif ully gleams this etherial electric light, shining with 

 her trail of silvery splendor above the dark wide reach of 

 bay, and in its glassy depths, reflected, are mirrored the 

 myriad worlds and suns of which man has no ken. The 

 weirdness and majesty of the starlit, fathomless purple 

 dome throw their influence over the solitary figure stand- 

 ing on the shore, and there comes over me that overpower- 

 ing penetrating sense of the presence of the night, famil- 

 iar to all who wander much alone on water or through 

 forest. Is this a dream, or reality? No hum of cities 

 with their eager quest, nothing but a dim memory of 

 theh thousands, while I lie looking upward at the stars 

 and the great looming sail amid silence, save from the 

 faint swish of divided water at the bows, telling we are 

 afloat. 



The east flushes and grows brighter, flecks of rose-tinted 

 cirrus clouds rise from the bosom of the sea, mount up- 

 ward and fade away toward the west. Before the sun 

 rose above the sandy domes I saw his rays touch the 

 lighthouse, and give warmer coloring to the far away 

 Shinnecock Hills, while I was still in shadow. With his 

 coming came the wind, increasing steadily, but ever 

 shifting, now east, nor'east, north, finally settling out of 

 the nor' west. 



Sitting there upon the sand, my pipe smoke curling off 

 in swirls, the clamorous, steady roar of the sea brought 

 to me a picture of decades ago and tales of the wreckers 

 of this shore. Back, way back in the 40's, before the 

 broad shaft of the "fight" threw its cheering glare across 

 the wintery sea, the hardened spirits of this sandy soil 

 practiced dastardly tricks upon unfortunate skippers 

 driven upon a lee. In wild sou'easters, when spray from 

 salt water froze along the sand, in the winter nights, 

 these wreckers led donkeys across the beach with lanterns 

 fastened to their saddle, deceiving sailors by the up and 

 down motion as the animals crossed the hills; they mis- 

 taking them for another vessel's lights and shaping a 

 course to destruction. Even now skeletons of these ves- 

 sels refuse to be buried by shifting sand, remaining mute 

 evidence of half savage times on the Nepeague beach. 



Why tell of the birds I killed, or give a detailed ac- 

 count of each shot. There are "reminiscences" enough 

 of that character already, and take it not amiss if I say 

 such descriptions do not interest me very deeply, and 

 maybe it would not be assuming too much to think you 

 are of the same mind. He who sees nothing after a day's 

 outing but the ragged mass of feathers in a bag deserves 

 not sympathy, but pity. What snipe I did drop were 

 nearly all single or double shots, some easy, some not 

 quite so sure; but the result was much more satisfactory 

 than had I filled a basket of the long-legged little fellows. 

 A "high boy" (great blue heron) was unlucky enough to 

 allow me to stalk him, and he with three or four hawks, 

 were all the outside victims I gathered in. 



The day that broke so fair ends in clouds. The warm 

 light breaking through gray nimbus in the west grows 

 fainter, the gloom deepens, and gathering night mists 

 shut out the waters. Long rollers break upon wet sand, 

 the twilight darkens, and through all comes the change- 

 less, deepening voice of the waves across the swales and 

 long meadows. Changeless; yes, changeless as eternity. 

 Perhaps long years hence in the sunset of our lives we will 

 travel back to these same climes, listen to the old famil- 

 iar lonely song and gaze with dimmed eyes over sparkling 

 summer seas, remembering the old memories and long- 

 ings of these days. Perhaps we shall then understand 

 better this vague sense of the infinite we feel in the pres- 

 ence of the vast expanses of beach and wave. We who 

 have loved the scene from of old, through our years of 

 youth and strength— when we have changed and grown 

 weary and returning again, how will we find the echo of 

 numberless surges driving landward? Still changeless! 



Rex B. 



A PLEA FOR MODERATION. 



Editor Forest and Stream: 



I have shared the fare, the camps and the tramps of 

 hunterfin most of the regions of this country where 

 large game iB followed, and oftener still where the game 

 is not very large. I like real hunters, as I do all real 

 out-of-door people, and I would go further to listen to a 

 man who knows things about the ways of birds and 

 beasts from having seen them himself, and not from 

 having read about them in books, than to hear a learned 

 professor explain the phenomenology of Schopenhauer. 

 But I fear we shall soon have to depend altogether on 

 invention and ancient history for our stories of animals. 

 It is queer that while we are exterminating all the most 

 interesting wild creatures as rapidly as possible so many 

 people wish to read stories about them, but do not care 

 enough to try to preserve any of them for material for 

 future stories. 



I have a feeling that it is wicked to "make up" stories of 

 the behavior of animals, that is, to circulate false reports 

 about them, I think it wotild be much better for us if 

 we had a better understanding of the minds and ways of 

 beasts and birds. All true accounts by competent observ- 

 ers are valuable, but I do not care for stories which show 

 that their writers know no more of the habits of the 

 creatures they describe than they do of the conditions of 

 | life on the moons of Mars. Fiction or invention regard- 

 , ing the conduct of animals is confusing and misleading, 

 \ however interesting it may be. 



\ Your remarks on the excessive slaughter of game, and 

 I its rapid diminution everywhere, remind me of one thing 

 | which I have observed and heard of wherever I have 

 (been, and which real hunters everywhere say is true, 

 ' and that is that the excessive and wanton butchery of 

 I game, from mere greed or lust of killing, is not often, if 

 it is ever, the work of the rough, outlandish men of the 

 woods. They are generally' more humane and reason- 

 able. The killing of game out of season, and of that 

 which cannot be used, the slaughter without scruple or 

 limit, for the mere sake of slaughter, is, I believe, nearly 

 everywhere the act of men who are supposed to be intel- 

 ligent, cultivated and refined, and from whom we have 

 a right to expect better things. In the Siskiyou Moun- 

 tains I once saw an old hvrnter who went across the plains 

 in '49. and soon took to the wilds with his gun. He said: 

 ' 'Of late years all kinds of men come here to hunt. Those 

 that act the hog the worst of all, and try to butcher every- 

 thing right away, are the very men that think they know 

 what's right better than anybody else. I've seen some of 

 them kill bears when my sympathy was decidedly with 

 the bears." I have heard the same thing in the Adiron- 

 dacks and in Maine, in Texas and Arkansas, in the 

 Judith Basin and along the Similkameen Eiver and 

 around the Klamath Lakes. 



I wish to ask whether there is not something that can 

 be done to bring the pressure of public sentiment to bear 

 on these butchers. If the public sentiment has yet to be 

 created, let us begin to do that. Of course such men 

 should be punished for all violations of the game laws, 

 but, besides that, they ought to be made to feel, in society 

 at home, that such conduct in the woods is disgraceful. 

 Many things indicate that unless we change our present 

 methods of action and management very decidedly, we 

 are likely to destroy all orders of living things except 

 ourselves and mere vermin. When all game birds are 

 extinct, the song birds which may then remain will be 

 killed for the sake of having something alive to shoot at. 

 Then the planet will be given oyer to insects, and a battle 



