246 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



[March 17, 139S, 



'A* SpwtentBto tourist. 



DIANA'S REMINISCENCES. 



EAGERLY as a maid of sweet sixteen looks forward to 

 her first beau, do my husband and I look forward 

 each week to Thursday evening, when Forest and 

 Stream is a most welcome guest in our little home. 

 When the paper is opened the odors of the forest seem to 

 pervade the air, 



"And the cares that infest tho day 

 Shall fold their tents, like the Arabs, 

 And as silently steal away," 



The very walls seem to recede and melt away, and we 

 find ourselves beside some trout stream or out with a 

 party of hunters, missing a fine shot here or bringing 

 down a big buck there; and now we are sitting by a 

 camp-fire listening to some quaint, old-time hunter tell- 

 ing big tales of bigger game of bygone days. Thus all 

 too quickly the evening goes, but how we do enjoy it all! 

 How many new ideas we have gotten for our next vaca- 

 tion, and who can blame me if I give my guns and rod a 

 little caress before I sleep. 



The Boyhood Number of Forest and Stream, we en- 

 joyed very much, but I searched in vain for some remin- 

 iscence of "girlhood days." Why should not some woman 

 who, when a girl, used to shoulder a gun and trudge off 

 with her favorite brother for a two or three days' hunt, 

 come forward and tell about her first shot, and'describe 

 her emotions when she landed her first 4-pound fish that 

 would only tip the scales at If lbs., or when she brought 

 down her first bird? It may be because the invitation 

 was not extended to her. Surely it is not because she 

 has become so engrossed with other things that she has 

 lost interest in hunting and fishing. But be that as it 

 may, I shall, all uninvited, tell my story: for I have been 

 stirred to the depths by the reminiscences of "boyhood 

 days," everyone of which I read in Forest and Stream. 



I shall not go back to the old days when, a wee tot of 

 3 girl, I used to cry for my father's gun, shut my eyes 

 when I pulled the trigger and then cry again when the 

 gun went off, because the noise frightened me so: but I 

 will tell of my first shot when I took hold of a gun all 

 alone, aimed at something and shot— nothing. 



I had gone with my brother and two cousins to the 

 '•new ground," where the boys said there was some fine 

 bird shooting. We had ridden over on our ponies, and 

 after we had dismounted and were climbing a five-rail 

 fence my brother said, "Lucy, you are a girl, and girls 

 can't shoot." I waited to hear no more, I just slipped to 

 the ground, mounted my pony, gave him the bridle and 

 in a short time was back home again. 



On going to the gun rack, to my dismay, I found only 

 a heavy old-fashioned shotgun, which was' always spoken 

 of as the "kicker." I did not long hesitate to take the 

 "kicker," for T was fully determined to learn to shoot. 

 What matter if T did get a kick or two? Was that half 

 so bad as to be told, "You are a girl, and girls don't 

 shoot." I could not load the gun and I dare not ask any 

 one about the house to do it for me, lest it should be 

 taken away and I forbidden to touch it again, I was in 

 despair when I bethought me of "Uncle Sam," a super- 

 annuated negro who lived with his wife in one of the 

 cabins which belonged to the old negro "quarters." 

 This old negro had been a slave of my father before the 

 war and was 3till a pensioner on the family. He was 

 very fond of me and would do anything for me. 1 took 

 the "kicker," all the powder and shot I could find, and 

 made a bee-line for "Uncle Sam V cabin. I found him 

 outside praying most lustily: "Oh Lord, chicken is 

 mighty good, but po' ole Sam doan want no chicken, he 

 jes' wants a ham bone. Oh Lord, please jes' sen' ole Sam 

 a ham bone" — with much stress on the bone. Long since 

 we had all learned that when "Uncle Sam" was calling 

 so loudly on the Lord for a ham bone he was doing so to 

 drown tlie noise of chicken sizzling in his frying-pan, 

 hence I did not hesitate to interrupt his devotions by 

 asking him to load the "kicker" for me. 



He obeyed my injunction to "put in a big load," but 

 hesitated before he gave it to me, saying, "Honey, what 

 is you gwine to shoot?" I was stumped. My thoughts 

 had been so busy with the pleasure I should experience 

 at my brother's surprise when I had proven to him that 

 girls could shoot, that I had not thought about what I 

 was going to practice on. I confided my ambition to 

 Uncle Sam and he said: "Down in dese woods jes back 

 dar is a ole fatnur pen whar is a hog what is gwine to be 

 killed in de monin\ Now you jes go down dar and shoot 

 dat ole hog, den young rnarster will hear all de niggers a 

 laffin an' a talkin about how you done shot de ole hog. 

 and ef he doan take all dat he said back, den I ain't no 

 nigger." 



I made up my mind in a minute to follow Uncle Sam's 

 advice. I grew happy and confident. In less than no 

 time I was at the "fatniiv pen," where my career as a 

 sportswoman was to begin. 



My idea was to sit on the top rail of the pen, and when 

 the beast looked up at me to shoot it in the head, never 

 for a moment doubting I should kill him. I climbed up, 

 seated myself on the top rail facing the inside of the pen. 

 The hog looked up; I stilled my throbbing heart, pulled 

 the trigger and— found myself lying on the ground out- 

 side of the pen, and that pig still alive looking at me 

 with as much curiosity in his face as it was possible for a 

 pig to have. I picked myself up and hurried home as 

 fast as I could. I met the boys at the gate, but try as I 

 would I could not smile. My whole body ached and my 

 heart was sad. The boys were all smiles. I knew they 

 saw me with the "kicker," but never dreamed they had 

 taken a short way home and had seen me from the top 

 rail of the pen until my brother whispered as he bade me 

 good night: 



"But some guns so contrive it, 

 As oft to miss the mark they drive at. 

 And though well aimed at p'g or plover, 

 Bear wide and kick their owners over.'* 



My cup was full. The tears I shed that night were 

 bitter tears indeed. Before I slept, however, my mind 

 was fully made up that before many moons came and 

 went I would at least wing a bird. I confided my 

 ambition only to my eldest sister. 



At Christmas Santa Glaus brought me a shotgun and 

 one of the prettiest boy's rifles I had ever seen, and with 

 them a little note from my father saying, "I shall grieve 



much should my daughter shoot herself. I know girls 

 can shoot — sometimes better than boys." 



After this the other girls saw very" little of me, I was 

 my brother's constant companion. No mother duck ever 

 took more pains to teach her duckling to swim than my 

 brother took to teach me all about the art of hunting. I 

 was 12 years old when I shot at the pig, and was 13 and 

 nearly a half when I shot my first deer. 



It was in that section of Kentucky known as " Jack- 

 son's Purchase," which includes Trigg and several adjoin- 

 ing counties, that I killed the first deer. My brother and 

 I were stopping at a rather picturesque old farmhouse 

 one night, intending on the morrow to push on into the 

 next county where, as we had heard, there was a famous 

 "deer lick," for now "keen ambition spurred me on" to 

 add a pair of antlers to my collection of coon skins, rab- 

 bit hides, wild turkey wings and other "trophies of the 

 hunt." 



After supper, as we sat with our host and his wife by a 

 bright wood fire where the flames danced merrily and 

 played hide and seek among the logs, my thoughts were 

 so busy with the deer I was to shoot the next day that I 

 paid little attention to what was being said by those about 

 me until I heard our host saying, "I think I ought to 

 know this 'black jack' country pretty good, and if I can't 

 show you some deer before to-morrow night, I'll chaw my 

 ole hat. But," he added in a stage whisper, "you mus' 

 leave that thai- tow-headed gal at home with my ole 

 'oman. Gals can't shoot." My brother's rather long 

 drawn out "C-a-n-t they?" as he smiled at me, put an end 

 to the matter and nothing more was said. Soon after we 

 retired for the night. 



The next morning I was up early and forgot to bathe 

 my face in my haste to see the one "hired man" who 

 worked on the place. After a few words with him I 

 struck off through a dense "blackjack" woods that was to 

 the left of the house, and about a half mile away. I 

 carried my brother's rifle, as it was a larger bore than 

 mine, and I wanted to kill my deer, not merely wound 

 him. I had almost cleared "black jacks," when my 

 heart fairly stood still, for just beyond me a little to the 

 right was an antlered buck. He stopped, raised his head 

 and sniffed the air, and while I stood well to windward 

 of him. within easy rifle range, half paralyzed with joy, 

 he took two or three steps, stopped again with an air 

 which seemed to say, "This time I am off for good." I 

 took aim, fired, and fell in a half faint upon the ground. 



"Wall, by the e-tar-nal hoecake," said my host, as he 

 loomed up in front of me, "ef you didn't fetch him." 

 And he pulled off his old hat and stood before me hold- 

 ing it in his hand. I was on my feet by this time, but so 

 weak with joy that I had to lean up against a tree. My 

 brother now came up, lifted me in his strong arms, car- 

 ried me to where the deer lay dead, set me on my feet 

 and said: "Well done, little sister. This is the largest 

 buck I ever saw. Father will be proud of you." 



They told me later that the hired man was frightened 

 half to death when he saw me start out alone to shoot 

 deer, and hastened to let the "men folks" know, and 

 they followed me as quickly as they could ; but I had 

 about ten minutes' start of them, and so I shot my deer 

 before they came up to me. 



Many and long are the tramps I have taken with my 

 brother since then; many a wild turkey and duck have 

 we bagged: not a few deer has my loved rifle laid 

 low, but never shall I forget that deer that I killed among 

 the "black jacks." 



1 agree with Ben .lonson when he says: 



"Hunting is the noblest exercise, 

 Makes men laborious, active, wise; 

 Brings health aud doth the spirits delight. 

 It helps the hearing and the sight; 

 It teacheth arts thatcanuot slip 

 The memory, good horsemanship, 

 Search, sharpness and defense. 

 And chaseth all ill habits hence." 



L. P. S. 



A DAY IN THE TIERRA CALIENTE. 



WHEN I was in Angostura last Don Luis and I talked 

 of a trip we were surely going to make down 

 toward the Oulf after Mexican tigers, cougars, deer, 

 turkeys, etc. It then seemed certain that we should be 

 able to get off for a week some time in December last. 

 But we couldn't. He got into the toils of a lawsuit about 

 some boundary question, a slow business anywhere, but 

 worse here, and I— well, between one thing and another 

 I found myself but little better off for time than he. One 

 of my chums for some years has been a botanist from 

 Vermont. He spends the summer and fall in Mexico 

 collecting plants, and has traveled the land from end to 

 end. Since the opening of the road from here to Tampico 

 on the Gulf that line has been his favorite field. It tra- 

 verses the whole range of Mexican vegetation, and was 

 such a virgin region scientifically that a large proportion 

 of his collection there last fall was entirely new. 



Now P. is something of a Quaker, and has given me 

 more than one lecture about the cruelty of killing the 

 innocent little birds and pretty animals. But that did 

 not keep him from inflaming my mind with accounts of 

 how the woods were full of deer, how the turkeys were 

 about as thick and tame as chickens in a barnyard, the 

 scenery magnificent, and how there were no drawbacks 

 except an occasional overplus of beat and a few million 

 ticks. The fact is he has a pretty tough and lonesome 

 time on his trips. He is out more than half the time, 

 passing many monotonous hours aboard trains, camping 

 under the stars, or clouds, as it may happen, with no 

 tent but that one which stretches over us all; and so, 

 though by past experience he knew that I would shed 

 blood, he was willing to tempt me out and let it be upon 

 my own head. This year be had with him as assistant a 

 canny Yankee boy who before coming had never seen a 

 wild deer, but was as keen a sportsman as you will meet 

 in a day's journey. Jud had already got his first deer, 

 and was anxious for me to go along some time so that he 

 could knock off work and try for another. 



Time pressed, and a long trip with dogs, tent and other 

 paraphernalia seemed impossible this year. So I broke 

 away for a short one. The run from here to Tampico, a 

 little less than 30© miles, is made in about eighteen hours. 

 The train leaves this place at midnight so as to have day- 

 light for the more striking scenery on the lower end of 

 the road. Travel is not very heavy yet, but when in a 

 few months more there is deep water on the|Tampico bar. 

 then the only harbor on the east coast of Mexico will 



make itself felt at once. A line of passenger steamers 

 will be put on from Mobile to that point, and any one 

 having occasion to come to Mexico could not choose a 

 more interesting route. 



Monday night, Dec. 7, we started for Micos, a point 

 about two-thirds of the way to Tampico and well down 

 into the hot country, being only about 1,000ft. above sea 

 level. Daylight dawned upon us as we were crossing Don 

 Luis's broad hacienda. The road runs through an immense 

 cedar thicket here, a famous place for turkeys and not 

 without deer. The hills are dry, however, and remind us 

 of the dry plateau above from which we had descended 

 to the first mesa. At Cardenas — a hacienda belonging to 

 the governor of this State, who by the way is a hunter, 

 and happening to be on the train gave me a cordial in- 

 vitation to come there to shoot deer — we begin another 

 rapid descent. For awhile the hills are still rather bare, 

 though apparently of excellent soil for fruit trees, At 

 Canoas we stop to get water from a lovely mountain 

 stream, examine brakes, and prepare for the plunge. 

 Some get out and take a hand car, on which they are to 

 follow the train, moving almost without propulsion down 

 the long grade, and securing thus an tininterrupted view 

 of the scenery of the famous canon. Following the 

 pellucid little stream a few hundred yards the road by a 

 sudden turn avoids a tremendous gulf that drops away to 

 invisible depths beneath the very wheels of the train. We 

 creep along the mountainside on the right. The vegeta- 

 tion grows thicker and thicker until above us and below, 

 and hiding the rough stones of the towering mountain 

 opposite, is a jungle so dense that to penetrate it on level 

 ground would be no light task, while on these steeps it is 

 reserved for the panther and the wildcat. I do not recall 

 anywhere in my travels a scene more essentially and im- 

 pressively wild. Even the born hunter, who loves nature 

 in proportion to her wildness, shrinks instinctively here 

 and turns his eye with a sense of relief to the sturdy 

 engine that treads cautiously the narrow line of territory 

 conquered from this rugged realm. His next thought is 

 of the men who formed the advance guard of this conquer- 

 ing road. What a skirmish they must have had. 



The close line of hills at last opens upon a sweep of 

 green tropic forest far below, and with curve on curve 

 we swing through the long descent, every tree and shrub 

 a stranger to the eye, till in the midst of a great forest 

 we stop and are informed that around us is a coffee field. 

 The dark green shrubs are full of berries about the size 

 and appearance of small cherries. It is thought they do 

 better in the shade, and hence they are planted in a vir- 

 gin forest, or other trees are planted to shade them. I 

 doubt the correctness of the theory, as those along the 

 opening of the railway track seem to be decidedly health- 

 ier than those most shaded. Here we are in the most 

 fertile belt of the descent, where the clouds rolling west- 

 ward from the Gulf strike the cool bosom of the Sierra 

 and pour their treasures of moisture on the soaked soil. 

 Only a few months out of the year can even natives live 

 here. It is far more unhealthy than down at the sea. 

 level. If ever there was a vegetation that could justify 

 the much overworked adjective of lush it is here. The 

 trees are not large, however, as a general rule. The 

 undergrowth is something wonderful, and is green the 

 year round. 



The grade we have been coming down is mostly four 

 per cent. From here on it is lighter. The vegetation is 

 not so dense, and palm trees begin to mix with the wild 

 43g, gum, etc. At Rascon we stop in a palm grove for a 

 late breakfast. Two stations below is our destination. It 

 is a beautiful country, but insufferably warm a large 

 part of the time. We fortunately had cool weather. 

 Thickets of palm and other growth alternate with lovely 

 glades stretching up the curving hills. Our conductor is 

 of the craft and pulled up to drop Jud and me in an ideal 

 spot, about three miles before we got to the station. It 

 was a flat valley thinly wooded and overgrown with 

 grass waist deep, lying between hills covered with dense 

 thickets. 



It was exactly noon when the train slipped away east- 

 ward and left us to the new experience of hunting in the 

 "sure enough" tropics. The first thing was to protect 

 ourselves from being hunted. In spite of P.'s sentiments 

 about killing game he has a most sincere and unaffected 

 hatred for all "bitux bugs." And Mexico abounds with 

 them. The houses are full of fleas, the woods of ticks, 

 and most of the people of one or two varieties of that 

 wingless, hemipterous, non-metamorphic hunter, known 

 to science as Pediculm, but whose plain every- day En- 

 glish name it would not be good form to put down here. 

 All these are P.'s game, and he hunts them day and 

 night, neither does his eye pity nor his hand spare them. 

 Jud had a bottle of "medicine," a gruesome compound of 

 oil of cloves, petroleum, turpentine, etc., which smelled 

 to heaven. We soaked our cuffs, stockings, necks and 

 other vulnerable points with it and set out. 



It was a lovely place. We waded through the high 

 grass a mile or so, taking in the sights and listening to 

 the screams of parrots and other strange birds. Among 

 them was a sort of brown jay, as impudent, persistent 

 and noisy as the rest of his roguish family. In about a 

 mile we found a sort of swamp, overgrown with mesquite 

 and cut up by stock paths. Here we separated, I keep- 

 ing near the hill and Jud, with the recklessness of youth, 

 plunging into the thorny thicket. There was a lot of 

 wild cattle around that looked at me much as if they had 

 never seen a man. I was a little apprehensive that some 

 old patriarch would charge me and I should have him to 

 shoot, which I should have done with great promptness. 

 There is no use fooling with a Mexican bull. If you 

 climb a tree with one after you he will keep you up it a 

 week unless driven off. I came upon two who were 

 roaring splendid defiance at each other, and slipped into 

 the bushes, thinking I should see a free fight. But one was 

 afraid and the other was glad of it. Here I found my 

 first jjinolillo. I had heard of him from afar. He is 

 considered the pest of that section. The most courageous 

 and well armed hunter quails before him. From various 

 accounts I thought I should recognize him, but had not . 

 made out exactly what he was. Gentle Teader, he is just 

 a plain seed tick. When I saw a brigade of them advanc- 

 ing up my ducking coat sleeve I just smiled to think of 

 the big name and reputation my old friend had got down 

 this way, and reaching for a twig brushed them off and 

 went ahead, 



I circled around the swamp, whistling occasionally for 

 Jud and watching rather sharply the big rocks and trees 

 that overhang the water-holes where the cattle came to 

 drink. I didn't exactly expect to, find a panther, but T 



