4B2 



cloud I ever saw, the upper part barely above the tree- 

 tops, tumbling over aud over toward us, like the surf on 

 the beach, but without the noise. Every few seconds we 

 could see the glare of lightning behind the cloud which 

 was moving toward us with frightful velocity. 



Soon our wind was gone, and we lay rocking on the 

 long swells In perfect silence, save for the slatting of the 

 sail as the boat rolled. The oppressive silence was broken 

 by the skipper, "Down with jib! Let go throat and peak 

 and down with that mainsail! There's wind there, and 

 lots of it." 



The jib was soon stowed, the mainsail tied up, and 

 with an oar the boat was hove around for the squall, 

 which by this time was close aboard. Now comes a low 

 rumble of thunder, the clouds bend toward us, the light- 

 ning is almost incessant, big scattering drops of rain 

 patter on the water. The clouds bend lower and lower, 

 between the flashes of lightning the darkness is intense, 

 then for an instant a hush like death, and then the very 

 firmament seems torn asunder. A blinding flash that 

 seems to tear the eyeballs, a rending, rattling crash of 

 thunder, and the squall was on us. Lucky for us that 

 our sail was down and that we had headed the boat for 

 the squall , for had it struck us abeam we would have 

 been olown out of the water or under it. 



Right on the heels of the wind came the rain. And 

 such a rain. Nothing could withstand it. We had rub- 

 ber coats, but they were aB useless as cobwebs. We 

 were drenched in an instant and for perhaps five minutes 

 were nearly smothered. One could not tell spray from 

 rain, the air was full of both. 



But though intense the squall was soon over, the wind 

 dropped almost as soon a3 it came, the rain grew less, 

 pattered feebly here and there, then ceased altogether. 

 The sun, brighter and hotter than before, shone with a 

 new beauty, and the face of nature, wet, but smiling, was 

 once more ours. 



But what a drenched crowd we were, we were not only 

 wet, we were soaked. Everything in the lunch basket 

 was soaked to a pulp, except some hard, boiled eggs, and 

 they were beginning to be soft. 



•''Boys," says one, "do you want to go to the island 

 with that mess of water-logged grub, I don't." And the 

 rest of us thought so too. 



Sadly we took our poles and slowly headed back to- 

 ward the river. It was ebb tide and low water, but hard 

 work took us wearily up the river. Time wi 11 accom- 

 plish any thing, and an hour or so later we reached the 

 dock, and wet, hungry and discouraged we plodded our 

 several ways home. 



"No, we didn't get any fish." Tabpon. 



Tabpon Spbings, Florida. 



OVER THE OLD "SQUIRREL ROUTE." 



HPHE late Frank Forester, in one of his breezy deiinea- 

 JL tions of the glories of autumn shooting, rather went 

 out of his way to attack Bryant for inaccuracy in his 

 beautiful little poem on "The Death of the Flowers." 



He quite forgot that Bryant wrote of a later season, of 

 "wailing winds and naked woods, and meadows brown 

 and sere," and of "the cold November rain," and not of 

 the bright October with its clear, crisp mornings and 

 balmy days, and its woodlands yet gorgeous with the 

 many colored livery of the ripening foliage. Had Herbert 

 lived to this year of grace, 1890, and passed it in New 

 England, the slur on Bryant would hardly have been 

 written, for of all the Octobers I remember, and they are 

 many, I had hardly recall one so generally wet" and 

 cheerless. There were two or three bright days in the 

 first week of the month, and one or two more sandwiched 

 in about the middle, but I was busy during the first ones, 

 and the latter ones came in so unexpectedly that I did 

 not take advantage of them, and my gun has never left 

 its case in the closet this year. 



I did take a tramp, however, on the 18th, when a bright 

 afternoon broke out of a dark, foggy morning, over a 

 favorite old "squirrel route" among the hills, which many 

 long years ago I was wont to follow with my brother 

 when we were both young, and which, twenty years 

 later, I often traversed with my sons. 



Leaving the village about 3 P. M. with no weapon but 

 an Alpen stock I struck out on a long disused rood at the 

 base of the hills, said to have been used in the early days 

 of the settlement, when the roads through the meadows 

 were impassable from mud in the spring, and climbing a 

 steep, stony pitch goon reached one of the few bits of 

 "old woods" left near the town. Half a dozen tall pines, 

 as many big butternuts, a score of chestnuts and a hun- 

 dred oaks, with a few small hemlocks and minor trees, 

 have been spared to cover six or seven acres and to afford 

 a, pleasant and convenient woodland retreat for visitors 

 in the summer days. Beyond them a "pair of bars" and 

 the remnants of an old farm gate, open to a long stretch 

 of pasture land, which separates the steep wood-covered 

 ridge on my left from the level meadows 200ft. below. 



Down through this pasture the old road makes its way, 

 slowly climbing the hillside, until two miles away it 

 turns a branch sharply to the left and crosses the ridge 

 to some farms behind, or rather it did once, for it has 

 not been used for years, and is now obstructed by rail 

 fences and stone walls. Heave the road, however, after 

 passing the bars, and bear sharply to the left up a rough 

 ravine or gully, which comes down from the northerly 

 crest of the ridge, and down which trickles a little brook, 

 lost in the summer among the broken stones which form 

 its bed, but full enough now to make it necessary to keep 

 up on the slope, stepping among the wet leaves, over the 

 broken stones, which are half -covered with soft vegetable 

 mould and moss. I soon reach a point where the major 

 part of the little brook comes pitching down 60 or 70ft. 

 over a precipice to the right, first with a clear leap of 

 some dozen feet and then shattered into spray, tumbling 

 over the broken stones in foam till it meets its compan- 

 ion and partner coming from the left at the bottom of 

 the gully. Climbing the steep walls of the ravine I come 

 to an old wood road, which once followed up the little 

 brook to its source behind the ridge, but it xs so grown 

 up with witch hazel and swamp maple I can hardly fol- 

 low it, and now I meet the brook coming down the road- 

 way. A broken pine branch, thick with its clusters of 

 leaves, has fallen across the channel at a narrow gorge 

 between two big stones, and other twigs and leaves have 

 been stopped by it until it has made a complete dam and 

 turned the waters into the path. 



The hook of my staff soon removed the obstruction, 

 and the waters return to their course, while I go on mine. 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



Here at the foot of the ridge is a well-remembered spot, 

 A great white stone at the foot of a huge pine recalls the 

 mornings when I have sat on it and listened to the bark 

 of the gray squirrel, or the "swish" which marked his 

 spring among the branches of the surrounding beeches 

 and chestnuts, or the nestle and patter of the grouse 

 among the dry leaves. But I cannot stop here now, I have a 

 long walk laid out and must keep on. My way leads me 

 right along the foot of the cliff, where here and there I 

 see the last decaying rails of an old rail fence, once a 

 favorite "runway" for game, but it is almost gone, and I 

 have often to diverge from the old path, where the 

 branches of some old chestnut on the ridge, shattered by 

 storm or lightning, has come crashing down across the 

 way. 



Now I reach another old landmark. An old chestnut 

 "stub," 4ft. in diameter and 40ft. high, long stood here, a 

 favorite hiding place for the gray squirrels when dis- 

 turbed among the surrounding beeches. Ho w many years 

 ago its top went I can't remember, but now the whole 

 trunk lies across my path, split open by the fall. The axe 

 marks at the butt show that it has been cut down, and 

 the deep hollow disclosed tells the story, "coons or honey," 

 I do not know which, for wild bees are occasionally found 

 in New Hampshire and tracked by the local "Sam Lov- 

 els" in the same way as so well described by Mr. Robin- 

 son. 



I mount the fallen trunk, light my pipe, and look 

 around me. There, on that huge beech, are four sets of 

 initials, somewhat grown out of shape; for they were cut 

 twenty years ago by my sons and their comrades. Thank 

 heaven, the boys are all well yet; but how they are 

 scattered! One is at the head of a large machine shop on 

 the shore of Lake Erie, and another in a like position in 

 INew Jersey; one is superintending the U. S. Fish Hatch- 

 ing House in Oregon ; and the other is exploring in Alaska! 



"The world do move," and so must I, for I have loitered 

 along till the dark clouds are coming up in the west, and 

 as I emerge from the woods into a long stretch of open 

 pasture sloping to the south, the distant hills are losing 

 their color. 



I hasten on, still keeping the ridge to my right, under 

 the lee of the last really big oaks and chestnuts left in 

 town, till I reach the other end of the old road on which I 

 started out, and climbing the wall follow it into the woods. 

 But the woods do not last long, for soon after I cross the 

 summit I come to a great clearing, cut in from the river 

 side last spring apparently. The big oak logs lay around 

 in huge piles, ready to be "sledded" down to the village 

 and worked up into furniture and baskets as soon as the 

 snow comes, and the piles of firewood made from the tops 

 and branches are thickly studded between them. 



Some of the trees are old enough to cut, and I do not 

 care if the owner will only let the land grow up again to 

 wood, and not burn it over for unnecessary pasturage. 



The Vermont hills opposite are in deep shadow now; 

 the river bank, full from the autumn rains, sparkles in 

 the fading light, which shows its sinuous course through 

 the meadows, up all the swales and low places, of which 

 it sends long "setbacks" of quiet water, and the village 

 shows two miles away in the distance. It, is all down 

 hill work now, and I strike a racing gait down the old 

 road, splashing through the little rivulets which trickle 

 from every spring on the hillside, trusting to my hob- 

 nailed shooting boots to keep my feet dry, and coming 

 out where I went in at the "Old Gate," and reach the vil- 

 lage just as the lights are beginning to sparkle in the win- 

 dows, with my legs well stretched and my lungs well 

 filled with the mountain air, just in time to put on dry 

 shoes, pick the cockle burrs out of the legs of my trousers, 

 and be ready for a hot cup of tea and a hearty supper. 



Von W. 



OCTOBER 18. 



Woodcock in the valley, 



Grouse upon the hill, 

 O, take your trusty dog and gun 



And your game pockets fill. —Pennyson. 



HiSADQUAUTERS, Alma Association Knights of 1he Trigger, 

 Oct. 17, 1890.— Comrade Sir Knight: information has just been re- 

 ceived at this office that a deiachment from the main army of 

 Philohela Minor, in its annual migration, has swooped down upon 

 the lowlands to the west of .the town and is boring the ground full 

 of holes and otherwise affecting the property of the honest yeo- 

 men. You are therefore required to present Yourself armed and 

 eqnipped for duty to-morrow morning at 7 o'clock. (Signed) 

 Bisbal, High Muck-a-Muck. 



r I^HE members of the association are all officers, num- 

 X bering three ; and besides the official signing the above 

 order, there are Stephens, Muck-a-Muck; and the writer 

 hereof, just plain Muck. 



We had been anxiously awaiting the order for some 

 time, knowing that our superior "kept tab" on several 

 likely pieces of cover; and bright and early the following 

 morning we repaired to the rendezvous — the Wolf's Den 

 — and from the lookout discerned Hisral far down by the 

 river advancing stealthily, gun in hand, toward an old 

 stump for a shot at what appeared to be an otter sitting 

 motionless behind it. Now he is in short range, and 

 raising the gun to his shoulder, stands erect to sight the 

 quarry. No booming gun salutes the rising sun; no otter 

 dangles at his belt. It was the cat. 



Sparing his blushes as he joins us in the wagon, and 

 with old Dan, a pointer of shady pedigree but good field 

 record, under the seat, we bowl along in the crisp autumn 

 air, each moment adding to the feelings of relief from 

 business cares and anticipations of a rare day in the woods. 

 Only when an outing is the fruition of days of hope does 

 one experience the full witchery of such a morning ride. 

 Each wayside clump of alders invites, and every rushy, 

 willowy margin of meadow brook pleads to be explored; 

 but we tarry not, knowing that a short half-hour will 

 find us on ground which last year yielded ample satisfac- 

 tion to dog and gun. 



Stabling the horse with a farmer friend we are soon 

 three abreast and Dan quartering before, beating up the 

 margin of a woodland stream. Up jumps a woodcock 

 and twists away on whistling wing, as Stephens opens 

 the ball with both barrels; and the rest of the line con- 

 tinues the volley as he again flushes wildly, but as he tops 

 the alders a shot directed more by faith than sight drops 

 him in the bosom of the brook, whence Dan retrieves to 

 our satisfaction but not to his own, for he hopes to mouth 

 it outrageously as soon as he is out of the water, but we 

 anticipate that jittle "aside" and relieve him of his burden 

 at the brink. How like some people— commendable when 

 deprived of the opportunity to be otherwise. Then we 

 did just what you would have done— took the bird by the 



[Dec. 25, 1890. 



bill, shook the glistening drops from drooping wings, 

 watched for an instant the bright eye lose its lustre, 

 snioothed the ruffled plumage and admiring his unusual 

 size, consigned him to the deep recesses of the shooting 

 coat. A "ground keeper" sure, and full eight ounces. 

 Finding no more birds for a few rods, we traverse the 

 chord of an arc made by a big bend in the stream, and 

 strike it again in a neighboring meadow. What a strik- 

 ing contrast is presented by the woodlands in June and 

 October! Then each blade and branch was clothed with 

 living green and fragrant flower, and every bough melo- 

 dious with the song of birds. Now, gone the floral train 

 and forest choir, and the silence in nature's great cathe- 

 drals would be oppressive were not the eye, and through . 

 it something within, satisfied with a glory of sunshine 

 and varied foliage. fSee that maple robed in yellow 

 plush, that sumach in crimson hue, and there by the 

 river bank a lang syne king among forest kings has lost 

 his crown, his stalwart trunk and broken arms entwined 

 by a vine of rainbow tints, whose tendrils swinging grace- 

 fully soften the outlines of the rjicture mirrored at his 

 feet. What a rich possession is a taste for that sport 

 which makes a man a lover of forest and field and all 

 that is in it. 



Having reached the meadow brook almost concealed by 

 rank weeds and graceful willows, Stephens and I take 

 the outer edges of the cover, while Hisral takes old Dan 

 to beat close to the brookside. Soon a cock flushes and 

 as 1 pull the trigger the report of his gun assures me that 

 I might have saved my ammunition, for the bird falls 

 ere the recoil in felt. Then a wily fellow tried to sneak 

 off through the bushes, but a charge of No. 10s through 

 a patch of briers sent him to grass. Passing on the dog 

 stood staunchly by an old log some distance from the 

 margin of the stream and we all drew up in company 

 front about 10yds. apart, every nerve strained in momen- 

 tary expectation of a flush and each counting on getting 

 in a shot instanter. That bird might just as well walk 

 out and say, "Don't shoot, but put me in your little bag 

 and reserve your ammunition for my sisters and my 

 cousins and my aunts." 



What a picture! Three men and a dog motionless, 

 breathless, fingers on triggers, intently regarding an old 

 root at the end of a decayed log! There we stand, and 

 stand and stand, till the suspense is painful and a blue- 

 jay laughs discordantly as he flits overhead; he must 

 have been sounding the key note for the symphony in Q 

 that followed. Hisral can stand it no longer, and as he 

 steps in front of the dog the cock springs from his very 

 feet and straight as Tell's arrow comes directly for my 

 head. Shades of Herbert defend us! If I move not that 

 long bill will bisect my right eye. My companions dare 

 not shoot, as the bird is directly be'tween us, and as a 

 wing brushes my face I dodge and strike with the gun 

 which discharges at an angle of 45° with the horizon, and 

 whirling, the other charge is thrown away as he disap- 

 pears in the brush. 



Something funny must have happened, as my friends 

 gave free rein to explosive merriment, offering as a reason 

 therefor that in the scene above described, facial expres- 

 sion, attitude, action and result were too much for human 

 nature to view unmoved. And when it was intimated 

 that the grand old forest aisles, fit temples for druid or 

 fairy, should not be profaned by such boisterous mirth, 

 they danced in fiendish glee, waking the echoes with a 

 perfect rage of laughter. "Et tu, Brute f 



"Chickens will come home to roost" was thought deeply 

 but breathed softly, as following the sinuosities of the 

 little stream soon brought us to the edge of the woods 

 and into an old swine pasture of possibly two acres grown 

 up to patches and clumbs of alders, with cow paths wind- 

 ing in and out, making a perfect picnic ground for wood- 

 cock; and there they were in numbers exceeding any- 

 thing we had ever seen before in grounds of like extent. 



Frank Forrester says in his "Field Sports" that he never 

 found a flock of them but once; and happy is the man 

 who thus finds them once in his lifetime! 



After two or three had been properly perforated and 

 my companions were by themselves in a little cripple, the 

 cock began springing about them, one, two, three, six, 

 ten, a dozen on the wing at once, and what were these 

 erstwhile hilarious hunters doing? There they stood like 

 animated weather vanes, each succeeding instant point- 

 ing their guns at different points of the compass as the 

 birds jumped from their feet in front, at the right, left 

 and behind them, and never firing a shot. 



What's the matter with Stephens? him of the un- 

 bridled merriment and "light fantastic toe" on the green- 

 sward, rattled? Yea, verily, shattered. 



And was Hisral rattled too? He of the explosive 

 laughter, who in bygone days in these self- same glades 

 wooed the wild turkey to his doom with a leaf of ever- 

 green brier, and from yonder knoll dropped a buck of 

 seven points as he cleared this stream at a mighty bound; 

 Hisral, who flinched not when old bruin turned on him 

 at ten paces; was he unnerved by the whistle of a dozen 

 woodcock? "Tell it not in Gath." Yes, Hisral was rat- 

 tled too. 



Under such circumstances was it not pardonable to re- 

 tire behind a huge tree and quietly chuckle ? And a little 

 red squirrel on a branch overhead jerked his tail toward 

 those marvelous marksmen and chuckled too. Honors 

 are easy. 



A council of war was now held, and one was stationed 

 at a pass formed by a wood road between the aider swale 

 and timber, and one proceeded to systematically hunt the 

 swarm by keeping them moving back and forth; and as 

 old Dan drew gingerly and stood staunchly on bird after 

 bird, the currency of the realm — No. 10's — was put where 

 it would do the most good; and bird after bird came to 

 bag until only one out of sixteen escaped to carry the 

 tidings to his fellows in the sunny South. Woodcock 

 rarely take wing after a death shot, but as we were going 

 quietly along about 50yds. apart, Stephens called out 

 "There goes a woodcock, and he dropped in near that 

 large beach tree just in front of you." Hisral stepped, to 

 the spot and there lay a plump bird in the last gasp, ai 

 drop of blood at the base of the bill indicating that he 

 had bellows to mend. 



Just before us was a fallen treetop, and as a bird 

 flushed he was quickly cut down not Oft. above the 

 ground. Stephens saw him fall and ejaculated, "By the 

 powers at Lansing, it's a short-billed woodcock! Who 

 would have expected to find one here!" A strange diffi-l 

 dence seemed to have seized us all; no one claimed it, but 

 Dan did a very pretty piece of work, trailing with the re- 

 lentless persistence of a life insurance agent, through 



