288 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



[Oct, % 1890. 



footing and went over with them. The ledge was cov- 

 ered with a thick carpet of rock brake (Polypodium vul- 

 gare) for 30ft. down its steep side. Gus caught hold of 

 the upper edge of this carpet, when it slowly parted from 

 the ledge, and, doubling over itself, swung him 30ft, be- 

 low; from thence he dropped a distance of 10ft. on to the 

 dogs and coon, and the blanket of rock brakes fell and 

 completely covered the lot. 



By this time I was down the tree, and running round 

 with the boys to the foot of the ledge, saw the blanket in 

 violent motion and heard unearthly yells and terrified 

 cries, mingled witb smothered execrations. We pulled 

 the blanket one side and Gus crawled out, stiff and sore, 

 but no much the worse for his rough experience. He was 

 covered witb blood and dirt, but when we found he was 

 unhurt we laughed until we nearly split our sides, or till 

 Gus himself stopped laughing long enough to shout, 

 "You dangod fools, let no guilty coon escape!'' But it 

 was too late. The coon had fought his way to the ledge, 

 in spite of the dogs, and as we made a rush for him be 

 disappeared in a hole and was lost to us forever. 



After this we lit our pipes, and while waiting for the 

 clogs to st art another coon, each told his experience of the 

 fight. Two of the boys had smashed their lanterns, and 

 in explaining the matter each claimed that he had hit the 

 coon a terrific blow over the back. They were proud of 

 the exploit and disposed to brag. To tell the truth , I was 

 envious until Fred and Gus rolled up their trousers legs 

 and disclosed two black and blue welts, arfd sarcastically 

 called the company's attention to the fact that said welts 

 might have been "made by the sharp edge of a lantern 

 bottom. And so the lantern smashers got left. And so 

 we all got left. Hermit. 



Down on Cape Ann. 



The Cape Ann Breeze, of Gloucester, Mass., reports 

 Aug. 20: "On 'Saturday night eight of the sturdy coon 

 hunters of the Lower Parish, reenforced by the redoubt- 

 able 'Ben,' started in search of a monster coon which 

 one of the party had dreamed of the night before. After 

 hunting about for an hour, Ben struck a hot trail and soon 

 a coon was denned in the quarry back of Mr. Gardner 

 Herrick's. The united efforts of the Whole party were 

 found necessary to persuade his coonship that he was 

 wanted outside. When at last he came out, Ben tackled 

 him and a royal battle ensued, in which Ben finally put 

 his antagonist hors de combat. Ben was covered with 

 scratches from the sharp claws of Mr. Coon: but Ben did 

 not mind them. With nose on the ground, he soon struck 

 another trail and denned another coon near the old farm 

 road, where the coon of Thursday evening was captured. 

 This one was not captured, however, all efforts to get 

 him out of his den were unavailing, and at last the tired 

 but happy hunters started on the homeward journey, Ben 

 enlivening them by his .joyful barks. The coon is the largest 

 of the season, weighing Solbs. His skin is nailed up in 

 James's barn and measures 34ft. from tip to tip, 3in. 

 across the forelegs and 21in. across the body," 



Editor Forest and Stream: 



You ask if the coon hunters have been idle or unsuc- 

 cessful. I think we are killing a few down this way in 

 the little down of Fiskdale. It is a town that holds but 

 a few coon hunters, but what there are of us are doing 

 good service. We have two dogs; one is a beagle hound, 

 the other a foxhound, but they cannot be beat. We 

 divide up into two 'parties. Stanley Wight is the owner 

 of the beagle hound. George Stover owns the foxhound. 

 We have killed 28 coons, the largest one weighing 18|lbs,, 

 the smallest Sfibs. The best luck we have had at any one 

 time was last week Friday night. We got 4, the largest 

 l7lbs., the smallest 14ilbs. I don't think you can go a 

 coon better, not in Worcester county. We hope to get 

 several more before the fall is over. I guess I will close 

 my letter for this time, because we must start by 9 

 o'clock to see if we cannot get some more. M. 



Fiskdale, Mass. 



AN ALL-ROUND RIFLE. 



Editor Forest and Stream: 



Perhaps I might contribute something to the pleasure 

 of other lovers of the rifle by telling how I have managed 

 to arrange the best "all-round rifle" it has ever been my 

 fortune to use. It is a Marlin repeater, using the .33-40 

 cartridge, and mounted with Lyman sights. I find this 

 cartridge sufficiently strong for any game not larger 

 than deer, and for range and penetration it can hardly 

 be excelled by any other of like weight. I have hardly 

 ever known a bullet from this cartridge to stop inside of 

 a deer, no matter how it struck. 



The Marlin rifl e has an arrangement of the action by 

 which a cartridge shorter than the regular size may be used 

 without clogging, so I have prepared some shells so that 

 they can be loaded with a light charge of powder and a 

 round ball (patched and pushed down into the shell like 

 loading a muzzleloading rifle) for hunting small game. 

 The only trouble about loading these shells thus is that 

 they are wedge-shaped, being larger at the base and tap- 

 ering to the .32 size at the point, so that a round ball 

 pushed down into the shell to the bottom would be loose; 

 so I filled some of the shells about two-thirds full of lead , 

 setting a large wire nail, filed to a tapering point, into the 

 shell, the point of the nail filling the hole to the primer 

 chamber, then melting the lead and pouring it into the 

 shell, then drawing out the nail and the shell is ready to 

 load. A rifle using a straight shell would be some advan- 

 tage for loading in this way, as they could be loaded 

 without any special preparation, and the same shell could 

 be used for either light or heavy charges. But I like the 

 tapering shell, as it is practically impossible for them to 

 stick in the gun. The Marlin rifle is the only one that I 

 know of that will use these short cartridges. 



Or I can fill the magazine of my rifle with full cart- 

 ridges and then load through the top of the action with 

 these light-loaded shells and hunt small game as long as 

 I choose, without using any cartridges in the magazine, 

 but if I find larger game at any time, all I have to do is to 

 throw the lever down as far as it will go, and out comes 

 the squirrel load and a full cartridge is brought up from 

 the magazine and inserted in the bairel, and when the 

 lever, comes back to place I am ready. These light 

 charges shoot slightly higher at short range than the full- 

 sized cartridges do, so I have two marks on the Lyman 

 sight, one for each charge, But the difference is so slight 

 that in making a quick shot at running game it works 



very well, as there are more shots made too high than too 

 low in doing that kind of shooting. This makes a very 

 convenient rifle for all kinds of hunting where there is no 

 larger game than is found here. Lew Willow. 



Arkansas. 



THE NINE BARR'L CLUB, 



SOME four 3'ears ago a Cape bound train bore out of the 

 Old Colony depot in Boston four men, four dogs and 

 four guns. There may have been other dogs, guns and 

 men on the train. If there were, I certainly don't remem- 

 ber them, so they could not have been of any importance. 



It was when we descended from our chariot, amid the 

 sand dunes of the Cape, that the club received its name. 

 Our good and generally rational friend Bert bore on his 

 off shoulder, in addition to his handsome double Daly, an 

 ancient and very awful singlebarrel, presumably a relic 

 of his boy days, and doubtless as dear to his heart, as it 

 proved to his reputation on this occasion. Uncle Zeke 

 saw that line of gunners coming— dogs, guns and all— and 

 was duly impressed thereby. The first thing we heard 

 him say was: "Wall, I swan, ef here an't four boys and 

 nine barrl's!" 



That settled it. We four were the original Nine Barr'l 

 Club, and the Nine Barr'l Club we are to-day, though 

 "we" are more than four now you maybe sure. Our 

 shooting was mostly "just going to" on the Cape that 

 time, but we won a name, and for the lack of birds we 

 have more than made up since. 



The Nine Barr'l Club's specialty is gunning right here 

 at home where there is "nothing to shoot." Individually 

 we may wander off to Maine, Minnesota, Georgia and 

 the like. But the Nine Barr'l Club, as a club, shoots 

 right here at home in Massachusetts*. And though the 

 universal croak is no birds, "'we get there just the same," 

 and to some purpose too. 



In the verv heart of a huge wild marsh not twenty 

 miles from Boston stands a little cedar-covered club 

 house, in front of which the litte fleet of deceitful blocks 

 floats in a way that makes one's finger jerk. By the way, 

 some of those blocks are well shotted— the old story of 

 "the early morning," etc. Here the club has its head- 

 quarters, and ropes in the wily black duck, wood duck, 

 widgeon and teal to some purpose almost every squally 

 morning in the autumn. It shall be my task to tell all 

 about one of our good sample mornings one day soon, but 

 meantime I rather want to put on record one of our big 

 days with the snipe last autumn; a clay not often to be 

 equalled here or anywhere else that I have been, and I 

 have shot over "pretty considerable ground in my day." , 



There were three of us on hand when we pushed the 

 canoe off that morning. Not the great original four, but 

 about as good. There was Bert and his big blue belton 

 Whit, a strong team at any time; there was Jim the Reck- 

 less with his wild red Irishman, Dan; and lastly, there 

 was the Prof, with the liver and wdiite Jud, borrowed 

 from Fred, one of the original four — poor bow-wow, he's 

 gone to dog's heaven now. 



There was a woirderful sorting of cartridges, filling of 

 belts and wiping of guns that morning. All through the 

 early gray before the sunrise we had heard the sharp 

 teek tweek of the snipe coming in, far overhead, and 

 making for the mud flats a mile up river. 



The way we scrambled into that canoe, and the kindly 

 condsiderate manner in which each man (having shot 

 more than the other boys) instructed each other man 

 "how to shoot snipe," was distinctly typical of Yankee 

 gunners in an amiable mood. Corkscrew— though we 

 are strictly non-alcoholic— was one of the most frequent 

 words to be heard. One fellow ventured to say that he 

 never had seen a snipe "corkscrew" yet, whereupon all 

 hands said he never had seen a snipe anyway; and the 

 unfortunate Prof, requested to be allowed to "get out and 

 swim." 



Long before the flats were reached, however, all were 

 silent as death, the dogs trotted along the banks, or 

 splashed in the river as best they could, now and then 

 flushing a rail, and looking wistfully af ter it, but not 

 chasing, unless perhaps the "wild Irishman" broke his 

 parole once or twice, coming back panting after a time, 

 with tail down, to the tune of a shrill dog whistle. 



A long swift sweep of the paddles sent the boat's nose 

 up on to the mud bank, and, pulling up our long boots, we 

 all tumbled out and pulled the boat away up, the dogs 

 meantime charging obediently in a half-inch of chilly 

 water. 



Before us stretched the flats, an ideal snipe ground— a 

 good mile of black mud, with thinly scattered clumps of 

 marsh and sword grass, a ditch here and there, with its 

 ever present "greenhorn-catching," blue- joint, and honey 

 pots ad infinitum— we all know a good deal about those 

 honey pots! 



Then we spread fifty yards apart, Jim and the red dog 

 on the extreme inside, the Prof, next him in center 

 field, with Fred's dog J ud adorning him (a very handsome 

 liver and white "borrowed plume"). Next the river, in 

 the mud and spatterdocks, stalked the two "big-uns," 

 Bert and his massive blue belton Whit. We gave the 

 dogs, ranging fast and furious, fifteen yards law, and the 

 procession moved. Not a thing to be seen, not a bird in 

 air. A few steps and, tweek! tweek! out of the nothing- 

 ness of the mud, at the very nose of the Irishman, rose 

 Longbill number one with a quick dart to windward. 

 Jim was on him, the gun spoke, and there was no bird in 

 the air. But a strange and beautiful thing was happening; 

 as he fired, out of the ground at his heels rose another 

 snipe, Jim whirled completely around, the left barrel 

 barked, and a wonderful double had been made on snipe. 

 Not a bad start? 



Another bird rose to Dan, went across to Prof , and car- 

 ried his charge of No. 10 for 50yds., dropping in the river 

 to be retrieved by Whit. 



A moment more and Bert killed two birds in rapid suc- 

 cession, one of them a king rail, by the way. And then 

 the fun began, such fun as I never had seen and never 

 may hope to see again. 



The birds whirled, up from everywhere, lying perfectly 

 to the dogs, waiting for us every time. The setters went 

 mad and, tell it not abroad, I fear we very nearly did too. 



The guns got hot and we began to miss scandalously. 

 We fell into "honey pots*' up to our waists and scram- 

 bled out again, with both boots full of black mud, with- 

 out even knowing it, till afterward. 



We walked across that flat in the clouds (smoke), ac- 

 companied by three insane dogs. It was the noisiest 

 walk I ever took, 



There ought to be a big crop of ' 'Rivals" springing up 

 there now, but there isn't. I picked up a decaying shell 

 there the other day, it bore the mark of my left striker. 

 I should know the trail of that plunger anywhere. It 

 fairly gave me the blues, that shell did. 



Well, we crossed the flat and sat down on the tussocks, 

 and thought and counted coups, and emptied the mud 

 from our boots and wondered where we got it, anyway. 

 Then we beat back over the meadows, sta.rting a few 

 stray birds here and there, and knocking over a suprised 

 clapper rail at a good 80yds. Then down stream, stop- 

 ping at the shanty for some shells and a bite to eat. and 

 pushing on further down to the lower flats. 



Here the birds were shyer and mud holes plentier, but 

 it was a noisy session for all that, and when we got back 

 to the shanty that night, and the bacon was frizzling and 

 the coffee bubbling, and we all had got our dry clothes on, 

 we talked it over quietly . with the dogs' heads bet ween our 

 knees, and unanimously agreed that it was the biggest 

 thing any of us had ever been in. 



Out along the front of the shanty that night hung a 

 big bunch of birds, over sixty of them aud almost all 

 snipe, witb a teal or two, a mud hen and a few rail- 

 That was all! And one does not hit snipe every time. 

 All this within twenty miles of the Hub, in the flight 

 of eighty-nine. Prof. 



WHERE BOSTON SPORTSMEN HUNT. 



EVERY Maine paper from anywhere near the back- 

 woods is embellished with bear items. It would 

 seem that this class of game is more plenty than ever, or 

 else the papers are giving more attention to the subject. 

 Mr. John Atwood's store, on Commerce street, Boston, 

 was ornamented with the carcass of a very fat bear last 

 week. The beast, a two-year-old, was shot in Washington 

 c mnty, Maine, where bears are reported very plenty. 

 Mr. Atwood is an old bear hunter himself, and his friends 

 in Maine send him the results of their hunting to sell. 

 This was his second this season. Bears are reported 

 plenty in Franklin county also. John Sargent, with his 

 son Herman, captured a fine two-year-old bear in Madrid 

 the other day, and they report that there is an "old 

 ranger" in that section, that is making havoc with the 

 sheep. They believe that this old fellow will seek some 

 other locality, if the hunters turn out and frighten him. 

 This corresponds with the old idea of "The Old Ranger" 

 of years ago. It was then believed that old male bears 

 were great travelers. If they took a notion to tramp, 

 they might turn up any day fifty miles from where they 

 hud last inhabited. They generally followed the moun- 

 tains in their wanderings, though frequently swimming 

 lakes and rivers. There is a legend of an old bear with 

 only three feet, one having been taken off by a steel trap 

 in the days of his youth. He was a great traveler, and 

 was frequently seen in several counties in Maine. He 

 finally came to his end in a trap that was set in the town 

 of Rumford, in Oxford county. At the least it is true 

 that a very old bear was taken there that had only three 

 feet. 



"Venison is plenty in Maine. It hangs in all the mar- 

 kets at Bangor and the towns further north and east. 

 It is also seen at Portland and Lewiston, and it is said 

 that the price is low. I have not seen it in the Boston 

 markets yet. It began to come into the Maine markets 

 as soon as the season opened. Maine sportsmen are get- 

 ting deer, though the best of the season is not reckoned 

 to have come till the first snows and cooler weather are 

 at hand. A veteran at this sport tells me that it is rare — 

 like no other sport. The weather is cold, with the ground 

 just covered with snow, and walking is not difficult nor 

 very fatiguing. The hunter should wear moccasins, in 

 order that he may travel as "still as death." If the morn- 

 ing be still, the snow having fallen the night before, a 

 deer can be tracked in a very short time in a good 

 locality. The real business begins then. The deer may 

 be within a very few rods or he may be half a mile away. 

 Not a twig must be snapped. Not a fallen tree approached 

 till the hunter is certain that the game is not behind it. 

 The deer are not wild in Maine, and a good deal of the 

 theory about their "winding you" or scenting you, more 

 properly, is nonsense. There is far more danger that 

 you may approach within a few feet of some old log or 

 windfall, and first be aware that your deer is lying be- 

 hind it by his seeing you and bounding into the air and 

 away. If he is not badly frightened he may turn and 

 look at y'ou when he has placed a few rods between you 

 and himself. But if he is badly frightened he may run a 

 couple of miles. Deer that have never been dogged will 

 surfer the hunter to come within a very short distance, 

 but where hounding has been tolerated they are up and 

 away at the slightest alarm. 



You need a hard-hitting gun, well loaded, and your 

 aim cannot be too sure on a deer. Small rifles are not to 

 be desired. The missile is not heavy enough. No matter 

 how well the small rifle is loaded, the larger bones of a 

 deer are sufficient to stop the lead. A party of gunners 

 from Andover, Maine, went on a deer hunt in the vicinity 

 of the lakes last winter. The morning was a good one. 

 They soon tracked a fine buck, and following him only 

 a quarter of a mile he gave them a shot. One of the 

 hunters had a .22cal. rifle, and he was the first to shoot. 

 The buck stood sideways. The aim was a good onp, and 

 the bullet struck the deer in the side just behind the 

 shoulder. It passed through the lower and hindmost 

 portion of the lungs, and went slightly forward till it 

 struck the other shoulder blade on the other side. Here 

 the bone was hard enough to stop the ball. The deer ran 

 five miles, and three days afterward he was found on the 

 shore of the lake. He had bled internahy till he fell, and 

 the meat was good for nothing. On the same day the 

 other hunter also tracked his deer. When first seen he 

 was head on, looking at the man. His rifle was .38cal. 

 The shell was a Marlin, with 55 grains of powder. He 

 aimed at the head of the buck. The missile struck plumb 

 between the eyes. The deer fell almost in his tracks. 

 The bullet penetrated the brain, passed through the head 

 and out at the back of the neck, completely severing the 

 spinal chord. Small rifles are not fit for heavy game, 

 and indeed buckshot, unless the shooter is very near, 

 will more often wound than kill. 



The shooting advantages of the South are attracting 

 the attention of Boston sportsmen more and more every 

 year. The good sport they are having, together with the 

 fact that the best hunting comes at a season of the year 

 when it is too late for good shooting in New England, are 

 among the features that draw. A strong team of promi- 



