892 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



[Deo. 4, 1890. 



WILD TURKEYS IN THE OVERFLOW. 



" AN you write a brief diary of our turkey hunt last 

 \J March, for a letter to Forest and Stream? I 

 want to write it up, and have forgotten the routine of 

 each day's doings myself, and want your aid to freshen 

 my memory," 



"Doubt whether I can recount it," replied Lawrence. 

 " We went to so many places, in various ways and at dif- 

 ferent times, can't recount it in its regular order, but I'll 

 try." 



"Well, you recollect what took place on that ridge at 

 Howlett Lake, don't you— how you bumfoozled around 

 there among a drove of big turkeys and killed the littlest 

 hen in the bunch? You also recollect no doubt what 

 took place on the west bank of the river below camp on 

 a very narrow unsubmerged strip of land, where you 

 took a stand at the lower end, while I went above to work 

 down on a drove of turkeys that had been seen mid way? 

 You recollect also about that drove working down in 

 your •vicinity, and how you banged away and killed 

 another puny hen, and how I threatened to do something 

 desperate to you for not killing a gobbler, and how you 

 mimiced a crying booby, which you can do admirably, 

 saying you shot the first turkey you saw and didn't see a 

 gobbler at all?" 



"Now look here — hold on — if you write that up in your 

 piece, I'll tell about that shot you made at the finest 

 gobbler in the woods at 15yds., and shot a hole through 

 a sapling and never touched the turkey. What d'ye think 

 of a shot like that. Why, I could have killed that turkey 

 with a club." 



"All about shot shall go in, Lawrence; I tell that 

 always on myself when recounting that trip." 



"Never beard it before," puts in one Conway from 

 behind the counter, who had been overhearing the dia- 

 logue. 



"Now, Lawrence, let's try the first day in the woods; 

 what did we do?" 



"Oh! you went up the ridge above camp, flushed fifteen 

 turkeys, and had them in trees around you for an hour 

 in full view, while you waded and splashed around 

 among them with that superlatively fine .38cal. telescope 

 and didn't even get a shot, returned to camp at 10 A. M., 

 swore you had been among a tremendous drove of turkeys 

 all morning, but didn't kill any because, as you said, 'it 

 was so early in the hunt.' This, in addition to your state- 

 ment that you had seen 5,000 rabbits, which had been 

 run on the ridge by the overflow, is what occurred up 

 your way, and i think it was enough for your part the 

 first morning." 



"Lawrence, you talk well. Your memory is freshen- 

 ing. Now, what occurred in the afternoon? Try that." 



"Let's see — let's see — I have it! We got three turkeys 

 that afternoon. The last one killed was the hen I shot 

 from the roost by moonlight." 



"Not much, my boy, not much! You're a leetle too 

 fast. That roosting hen was not quite so soon; it was two 

 or three days after that when that little episode happened. 

 Reflect, my child; reflect!" 



"Am reflecting, and reflecting right, too/' 



"Betcher nickel." 



"Bet you a nickel." 



Money is put up and Conway holds the stakes. 



"Lawrence, we'll settle that bet by the moon. We sat 

 up that night waiting on the moon for light to shoot by. 

 We went out for the turkeys about 10 o'clock, the moon 

 then being about one hour high. 



"Correct— all right— we'll leave it to the moon." 



An investigation of the almanac was made, and next 

 day the scribe was leaning across the counter of Warner 

 & Seaiies, with Lawrence on the opposite side with a 

 look in his eye indicating restlessness, evasiveness or some- 

 thing of the kind. Before he could evade or elude he 

 was asked: 



"Did you write that diary?" 



"No, 1 didn't. I just em't do it. Can't arrange it— 

 couldn't do it to save my life. Haven't got time, any- 

 way." 



"And I believe you, since your grand break on that 

 roosting turkey. Where's Conway? I want those nickels. 

 They're mine, That moon settles the bet. You admit 

 the moon was an hour high when the turkey was shot, 

 and that the shot was made about 10 o'clock." 



"About half-past 9 — well, go on." 



"We left Vicksburg for our hunt early Thursday morn- 

 ing, March 6, 1890, reaching the grounds at dark that 

 evening. Friday was our first day in the woods when 

 you claim said turkey was killed. On Friday the moon 

 rose at 7:04, Saturday 8:00, next day at 8:58—" 



"Hold on! That'll do. You are having that turkey 

 killed powerful close to Sunday night. You can't put 

 that on me. I never did it. Something wrong about 

 that count. Get a fresh almanac. Guess you killed that 

 turkey yourself. Conway, give this miserly and con- 

 tentious old quarreler those nickels. Let's have peace." 



Lawrence may have faults, but shooting on Sunday is 

 not among them. On that day he knows how to obtain 

 a certain amount of enjoyment by quietly resting about 

 a comfortable camp. I have often wished I could stay 

 in camp on that day, but when camp is in the heart of 

 the virgin forest all my moral resolutions go to pieces. 

 The dense woods and the wild life in them are too much 

 for my poor weak humanity. 



Lawrence has one fault, I might as well tell it now. 

 He can't correct it, or at least don't. It has annoyed me 

 often. His attention has been frequently called to it. It 

 is one of no small moment in the woods. It has been the 

 occasion of the loss of more than one turkey. His face 

 is as white as a sheet. It glares and reflects light fright- 

 fully in the woods. On a hunt he could be stained a nut 

 brown, but he won't submit to it, preferring to go on 

 frightening game. 



And once he deceived me. Not that exactly, but he 

 failed to tell the whole truth. We had been turkey 

 hunting that season in a region occupied by a panther. 

 This animal had signified his presence near our camp on 

 more than one occasion. The teachings of the older mem- 

 bers of the party were that this animal, like all others, was 

 a coward, and would flee on the approach of man. Law- 

 rence, then in his teens, apparently acquiesced in this 

 view. At least he did not controvert it, and left that to 

 be inferred. This panther had a habit of making some 

 ferocious and blood-curdling screams along with the first 

 streaks of day. We were generally getting out about 

 that time, and would separate and go in different locali- 

 ties. On our return to camp about 10 or 11 o'clook we 



would naturally comment #n these panth«r aotes. No 

 one, however, suggested the idea of being turned back. 

 It took Lawrence two years to get up courage to do that. 

 He had one morning early paddled down the bayou alone. 

 At a favorable spot he entered the woods, leaving the 

 boat securely tied on the bank. There was yet insuf- 

 ficient light through the timber, with its dense under- 

 growth, to see well for walking. The vines or leaves 

 were rattled, and the panther near by, probably being- 

 disturbed by the intrusion, pierced the woods with one of 

 those distressing screams. Lawrence had immediate use 

 for the boat, which he got into and pushed to the middle 

 of the bayou promptly. It was not a bad thing for a boy 

 to do, in fact, it was natural — would have done the same 

 thing myself under similar circumstances. That is not 

 what is complained of. The ground for complaint is that 

 it took this boy two years to tell it. It is not friendly to 

 keep back experiences so long from boon hunting com- 

 panions. But to our trip. 



For two months hardly a day had passed without a 

 visit to the store and a short talk had on the subject. Mr. 

 W. generally kept one ear open for this conversation, the 

 other being diligently lent to his numerous customers, for 

 while he could not go along he was interested in the 

 pleasures of his boy, and he loves the. woods dearly him- 

 self. Even in January he had gone with us to our favor- 

 ite locality, not so much for game as to look over the 

 ground and see if the birds were there. Not being gob- 

 bling time then we had indifferent success, but it was a 

 delight and revelation to be in the midst of a dense forest 

 even though but little game could be had. The turkeys 

 were found to be there in fair numbers, In places the 

 woods were being literally scratched to pieces. A few 

 large flocks were seen and four killed. This lent a rosy 

 appearance to our March trip. 



Weeks before the turkey calls were brought out and 

 practiced on. The tone not suiting was altered, made 

 worse, and altered again and again, until approximately 

 satisfactory, Other kinds were made and tried, though 

 none were ever obtained that would perfectly imitate all 

 the notes. Some sportsmen claim to be able to make the 

 note perfectly and to call up the sly old chap without 

 fail. We have tried the bone from the turkey wing, the 

 quill, horn, box and slate. At times we would think we 

 had it down fine, but in the woods on an old gobbler it 

 would make a break. Somewhere the glossy feathers 

 would drop, the head and neck shoot up straight and 

 high for an instant only, and a quick put, put, put with 

 amazing suddenness ended the controversy. 



This year an unexpected and undesired factor forced 

 itself upon us in a flood stage of water in the Mississippi 

 River. Our hunting ground on the Little Sunflower 

 River is a low swamp, and at extreme high water every 

 foot of it becomes overflowed. Especially is this the case 

 when a break in the long line of levees, extending almost 

 all the way from Memphis to Vicksburg, occurs, when 

 the Little Sunflower swamp goes under too deep to talk 

 about. Up to the time of our hunt this year no such 

 break had occurred, though it was daily feared, not only 

 by us hunters who had but an insignificant interest com- 

 paratively in the result, but by the thousands of people 

 who were living in the vast delta, extending two hundred 

 miles in length by fifty in width, whose plantations 

 would be submerged, property destroyed and planting 

 seriously delayed if not altogether prevented. 



On the day of our departure, March 6, the gauge at 

 Vicksburg marked 46.4ft. Raftsmen and others familiar 

 with the swamp predicted for us the entire overflow of 

 the Little Sunflower country. However, we had an idea 

 of our own, born probably in the hope that some land 

 would still be left to us in that cherished locality. We 

 would go there anyway, and if we could not find hunting 

 ground on the high ridges we would raise steam on the 

 little launch and proceed twenty-five or thirty miles 

 further, through the upper end of Little Sunflower, into 

 Indian Chute, said to be* the shortest river in the world, 

 about 100yds., and then into Big Sunflower River, where 

 steamboat men had assured us there was ample land not 

 overflowed, and wild turkeys in abundance. This would 

 put us into unfamiliar territory, but it was vastly better 

 than no territory at all. 



At 9 o'clock on that Thursday morning the anchor line 

 was made fast to the buoy and thrown overboard with a 

 splash, the gong was made to clang once by L., as pilot, 

 as a signal to the engineer to come ahead, and soon the 

 Greenwing was under way in the waters of Lake Centen- 

 nial. Passing the north end of Desoto Island, a stiff 

 wind is encountered, and rather rough water for the 

 heavily loaded little launch, with her over 3,0001bs. of 

 coal and a liberal supply of "duffle'' for a stay of two 

 weeks in the woods. 



It has never been our creed to leave anything behind 

 that might add to our comfort in camp. A list of the 

 articles taken would astonish some sportsmen who, from 

 necessity or other cause, have made a study of how to 

 travel and hunt lightly equipped. Our boat enables us 

 to carry all we may need without special inconvenience, 

 and it is rarely that our needs while out even to the 

 smallest article go unsupplied. It is easier to take than 

 do without. 



Among the things in store were 3001bs. of ice, which 

 had been put up in three sacks packed in sawdust. These 

 packs had been stowed in the canoe Amateur, that the 

 already crowded launch might be relieved to that extent. 

 The thick wadding of sawdust made the ice stand rather 

 high in the canoe, and she was a shade unsteady, but she 

 seemed to follow along very nicely, even in the choppy 

 water of Centennial Lake, until we had traversed two- 

 thirds the length of the lake, when the engineer dis- 

 covered that the ice had been dumped and was floating 

 200yds. in the rear. We turned back, and, after con- 

 siderable tugging, two sacks of the ice were dragged into 

 the launch, the other sack having lost its cake through a 

 hole, both were left rather than suffer further delay in 

 securing them. With the additional ice aboard the Green- 

 wing had all she could comfortable carry, and it was with 

 some relief that the Mississippi River was reached, and we 

 turned up that grand old stream, protected from the high 

 wind by a heavy bar of willows which extends down the 

 north shore from Bang's Point. 



Five miles up we enter Old River, a former bed of the 

 Mississippi, but now a channel for the lower end of Yazoo 

 River. We are now in dead water from the back water 

 of the flooded Mississippi. It is yet seventy miles to our 

 destination, and back water will extend all the way. On 

 either side the lands are principally overflowed, only a 

 ■mall portion of the highest lands on the front being out. 



Her© and there stand cabins of the tenants with water 

 over the floor, others are entirely surrounded by water. 

 In most of the latter the tenants still live, with a skiff or 

 other boat tied conveniently to the door frame or gallery 

 post. 



We pass through McKee Pocket in Old River, a famous 

 ducking ground. The Greenwing has had some enjoyable 

 sport here, but there are no ducks to be seen at this sea- 

 son, and she steams on with only the memory of exploits 

 in that line. Two miles further and Old River is left 

 and Yazoo River entered; and two miles above the mouth 

 of that enters Steel's Bayou on our left. That is a glori- 

 ous stream for game, especially wild turkey; and it is 

 always with more or less misgivings it is passed, fearing 

 that we may travel further and get less. But civilization 

 is beginning to secure too strong a hold up there now for 

 us. Ten years ago we could hunt there all day long 

 without hearing the sound of any but our own guns. 

 Now the tenant's cabin stands on some of the most favor- 

 ite spots, and if the sportsman calls turkey along that 

 stream to-day a turkey is no more apt to answer that call 

 than a negro with his old musket or rusty shotgun, and 

 as some of them shoot at the shake of a bush it is not 

 strictly safe to hunt there. 



The trip itself is monotonous enough. It is through 

 sombre dead woods on the left, vegetation not yet show- 

 ing perceptibly in the trees of the cold swamp lands, 

 though on the right the prospect is more cheerful, with 

 the Warren county Mils looming up well in the distance, 

 from its warmer soil showing a verdure grateful to the 

 eye. 



Twenty- five miles above Vicksburg we reach the sus- 

 pension bridge of the L. N. O. & T. railroad. No need to 

 swing the great span for the diminutive craft; she passes 

 under with two feet to spare. The bridge tender only 

 comes out and gazes after her as she puffs and frets on 

 up the river, with her babes, the Boss and the Amateur, 

 in tow. 



Eighteen miles further and the Little Sunflower is 

 entered,|the Greenwing now being the only boatthat plies 

 on that stream. For the first five miles up the ubiquitous 

 cabins are plentiful enough, but most of them are now 

 standing in water, and the clusters of negroes that come 

 out on the little galleries curiously to gaze after us look 

 sufficiently forlorn and distressed to invite a passing 

 sympathy. Still as a rule they are fed and sustained 

 during these overflows by the owners of the land they 

 till, and they pass through a disaster of this kind com- 

 paratively free from trouble. Among these laboring 

 classes, taking the negroes all in all, they comprise the 

 happiest race of people on earth, caring only for the 

 mouthful they eat to-day and the few clothes they wear 

 on their backs. 



Ah! here is the mound, and we yet have twenty-five 

 miles to go and the afternoon is well advanced. At this 

 mound we enter a low swamp, and not a speck of land 

 nor a splinter of a habitation will be seen before reaching 

 the hunting grounds, and then no cabins, and it may be 

 not a speck of land. 



As to land above we could only conjecture. The 

 general inundation below gave us ominous forebodings 

 of disaster to the turkey ridges on the Little Sunflower. 

 Still it was a case of hope, and a high pressure of steam 

 was kept up in order to gain our destination before dark. 

 One thing was assured, there was sufficient depth of 

 water, and the Greenwing would bump no logs or snags 

 on the way this time, 



After a bit the drift is reached, the pilot clangs to the 

 engineer to hold up and the damper to the furnace is 

 closed to keep down the steam. It being not a thousand 

 yards to the bow of the launch the engineer is soon along- 

 side the pilot, and an old bald head and a thick-haired 

 young man are together prospecting for a favorable route 

 through this miscellaneous mass of rubbish. This drift 

 has been in the Little Sunflower for years and every time 

 we go up that way a new road has to be worked through 

 it. The spike pole and cross-cut saw are brought into 

 use, and by dint of hard pulling and pushing, this way 

 and that, and working the engine occasionally to assist, 

 in twenty minutes or half an hour we are through and 

 again under way. 



William fired. I came near leaving him out. I have 

 never felt altogether able to delineate him exactly. He 

 is twenty years old and nearly black. Usually L. and I 

 ran the machine alone, but this time we determined to 

 indulge in the luxury of a servant, though our boy was 

 not fully up in the acceptation of the word. At routine 

 work he would do fairly well, doing what he was shown 

 as near as he could and no more. He neither had as- 

 sumption nor originality. In one way he was a comfort, 

 he never got "too fresh" and did too much. He took no 

 interest whatever in the trip so far as we could see. He 

 could make the fire, boil potatoes, cut wood, in a limited 

 way, wash dishes, and hold the fort when L. and I were 

 in the woods. But if we were out unusually late, beyond 

 the regular meal hour, for the life of him he could not 

 anticipate oar needa sufficiently to have dinner or supper 

 under way on our return. We had to be there to tell 

 him. 



Nevertheless he afforded us no small degree of comfort 

 and pleasure before we reached home. If he got any out 

 of us or the trip we never found it out, and I don't know 

 to this day whether he would like to renew the experi- 

 ence. My wife, who is a better judge of human nature 

 than I am, especially as developed in those of "colored 

 pursuasion," says he would. 



After the mound had been passed William's attention 

 was called to the fact that no ground was visible, that 

 water, water everywhere covered all the land for miles 

 and miles around; that for twenty-five miles no land 

 would be seen, and may be none then; that probably we 

 would sleep that night in mid-stream, and couldn't get to 

 land if we wanted to. William only grinned in answer, 

 and we were at a loss to know whether he had been duly 

 impressed with the solemn situation, but we suspected he 

 had not. 



The mouth of Coon Bayou looms up on the left. At 

 this point it is wider and more prominent than the river 

 we were navigating, but up a short distance it narrows, 

 becomes very crooked and full of logs and drift. It leads 

 up through a swamp even lower than that bordering the 

 most uninhabitable part in the Little Sunflower. At cer- 

 tain seasons its banks abound in deer and bear and prob- 

 ably in turkey, but at this time all the regions contiguous 

 to it were inhabited by the festive catfish, cadaverous gar 

 and ungainly turtle. 



At Eun Out, flye miles below our destination} we had 



