84 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



[Aug. ao, 1891. 



ashore in triumph and cut its throat with a pocket knife. 

 One of the party was so elated that he gave a long 

 " Whoop-ee-ee, boys. This ain't the game we started for 

 this morning, but it's a heap better 'n none." 



Another occupant of tiie skifE just smiled all over his 

 face, not because we had caught the doe, but because he 

 was once more safe and sound on dry laud and not on the 

 bottom of the Mississippi with acres of ice running over 

 him. He showed the white feather from the first, and 

 violently, even pitiously, protested against the "foolhardy 

 scheme; he didn't want to be drowned for any blanked 

 deer that ever lived." He couldn't see where the fun 

 came in. He was told to keep cool as there was no dan- 

 ger, that we were after venison and we would have that 

 doe if we chased it till sundown, and that he could have 

 his choice, either to stay on board or get out and walk to 

 shore. 



If ever a poor creature had earned its life and liberty it 

 was that poor doe. It had probably been hard pressed by 

 the hunters and hounds the greater part of the day, and 

 as a last desperate chance for life had plunged into the 

 river, trusting rather to its treacherous currents and 

 grinding ice than to the mercy of its human foes from 

 whom it was trying to escape. But its perils were not 

 over, for after fighting its way through a mile of ice and 

 drift, it fell into the hands of foes less merciful if possible 

 than those it had left behind. 



It was exciting sport for the men in the skiif , but look- 

 ing at the other side of the picture it was cruel sport for 

 tbe doe. It was a sight that might well call for pity, to 

 see five unfeeling men trying to snufi out its harmless 

 life when it was battling so gallantly against such fear- 

 ful odds. No matter which way it turned there was no 

 chance to escape, death was certain, the drifting ice was 

 everywhere, and its pitiless pursuers were pressing it 

 close, ready to take every advantage of its failing 

 strength. Its helplessness excites no sympathy. 



Is there not in all of us a trace of the original savage 

 that dwelt in caves, that has come down through the 

 ages tainting each succeeding generation: that centuries 

 of civilization cannot eradicate nor repress, but only gloss 

 over with thin film of custom, waiting only the oppor- 

 tunity and occasion to burst forth like a consuming fire? 



The doe was a large one and in prime condition. We 

 found a slight flesh wound on one of its hips, probably 

 made by the hunter's farewell shot as it took the river for 

 happier hunting grounds. As we had lost at least an 

 hour's time in this adventure, we loaded our quarry into 

 the skift' and commenced the remaining ten miles of our 

 trip in better spirits. 



When the sun went down we were still paddling our 

 way through the ice, and it was nearly midnight when 

 we'reached our homes, cold, hungry and fatigued, but 

 late as it was that doe must he hung up and dressed, and 

 as we had with us an expert in that line this feat was 

 soon accomplished. The next morning we breakfasted on 

 venison steak and fought the battle over again. 



Elsah, ni. Cameron. 



AGAIN IN BRIAR LAND. 



MAN is prone to return to his first love, despite his 

 lively memory of scratches from her sharp-pointed 

 claws. Si we sought again the briars in Thanksgiving 

 week of 1890, and were once more torn, pierced and muti- 

 lated— aU for undying love of Uame Grouse and Bre'r 

 Rabbit, I have told Forest and Stream something of 

 two of our previous trips, hence this letter may be 

 regarded as in the nature of a serial story. 



Had the reader stood on the whai'f at daylight of Sun- 

 day, Nov. 33, he might have seen a party of four, Jesse 

 M., Tom T., E. H. and the writer, pulling and hauling 

 like tars at a hawser, on the ropes and chams of six dogs, 

 all setters save one, a noble hound of uncertain age and 

 African descent. That we got the resisting brutes on 

 board the boat and safely tied them in the forecastle or 

 some other place, goes without saying, but that we left to 

 the roustabouts the loading of our heavy boxes of am- 

 munition, etc., is a compliment to our foresight and ex- 

 perience. Then the noble Mattano— a slow, filthy, dis- 

 agreeable side-wheeled scow — cast off, blew whistle, and 

 puffed slowly, then faster and faster, till the muddy A^ir- 

 ginia Rhine was churned into foam and great waves were 

 sent ashore to endanger the castles en route. The officers 

 of the scow are polite gentlemen, but how they tolerate 

 the shell is the mud-tm"tle's own problem. 



Well, we got there at last, after men and dogs had 

 almost lost patience and hope. Shallow water compelled 

 us to seek the sandy beach by means of a 7x9 float, which 

 was dancing a hornpipe some thousand feet out on the 

 waves of the two-mile broad river, with boxes, trunks 

 and baskets "too numerous to mention," with sighing and 

 howling dogs scattered here and there on, among and 

 under them, with terrified women and some maudlin and 

 noisy men, andan accompaniment of much "chin music," 

 we got fairly ashore safe and duly grateful, 



Ouj host's ox team awaited our baggage as usual, and 

 at nightfall we weie gathered around the supper table, 

 all talking at once and each sure his talk was the only 

 one worth listening to. Next day we began the hunt, 

 with pancakes, pork and coffee, prepared by our host's 

 selfsame pretty daughter, whose black eyes had shot so 

 many darts into our hearts the previous years. In this 

 connection it may be stated incidentally that E. H., the 

 youngest member of our band, found his week's stay 

 pleasurable and much too short. At first we couldn't 

 understand why he retired reluctantly and late and rose 

 cheerful and early (against his wont at home), but gradu- 

 ally the mystery cleared away, and after the manner of 

 men we forgave him, for to use a modern classic, "we 

 had been there too!" 



Breakfast over and dogs fed, we sallied out conquering 

 and to conquer; but alas for the fond hopes of mortal 

 men! There comes sometimes, even in King George 

 county, Virginia, a killing frost — of meanness and 

 malignity — which nips the bud of promised birds and pros- 

 pective rabbits, So it was that memorable Nov. 24.. 



The leading actor in our band was one known as G, G, 

 About noon, as we were eating the bread, bacon and 

 herring lunch earned by the sweat of our brows, he, the 

 aforesaid G. G., appeared mounted on a fat charger and 

 in commanding tone demanded to know what manner of 

 men we were. We told him in somewhat haughty style. 

 Then he announced himself the proxy lord of the manor 

 by virtue of a duly acquired right to its hunting privileges, 

 and insisted we were trespassers on said manor. This so 

 astonished us that we remained seated on a log, but 

 offered a placating symbol— in the form of a brown bottle. 



Then we arose and girded ourselves, and said unto him 

 that the true and good lord of the manor had permitted 

 us to hunt theron lo! these many years, and had also indi- 

 cated he had no objection for this one; consequently we 

 should hunt, hunt, hunt. 



With doubts, denials, demurrers, etc, our noble friend 

 rode away, and we feared he was forever lost to our fond 

 gaze. But it was not so to be, for next morning an ami- 

 able constable appeared through the mist that enveloped 

 the hillsides, and "warranted" us in the politest manner 

 to appear at a country store, half a mile away, at 10 A. 

 M. Upon appearing there we found bilious G. had rid- 

 den miles upon miles the night before, to seek a magis- 

 trate and hound us with King George county law. The 

 magistrate was a polite, kind, reasonable and well-in- 

 formed man — a true gentleman — whose memory we shall 

 cherish. He read to us the special act of the Virginia 

 Legislature, applicable to that county alone, by which an 

 "informer" can become complainant, and if a huntsman 

 has no "written license" to gun on a particular estate, he 

 may be fined and his gun and dog confiscated. As in 

 other years, we had no "written license," and hence 

 were technically trespassers, being thus at the mercy of 

 any maliciously-minded person who might choose to 

 become "informer," 



To be fined and lose some valuable guns and "no-price" 

 dogs would have been something more than an equiva- 

 lent for two hours' trespassing, with not a dead bird or 

 rabbit, nor even a chipmunk to attest our skill. The 

 proxy lord, G. G., swore he had an exclusive verbal per- 

 mission to hunt on the estate in question, yet admitted 

 there was no consideration given. Here was then a 

 nudum pactum that would have raised even Blackstone's 

 massive wig. We quickly demurred, while adnuitting a 

 technical trespass under the statute. The wise magistrate 

 said we might pay the lowest possible costs, $4.20, and go 

 our way, which we did after treating all hands to cigars, 

 save always the good G. G. He averred that he was 

 prompted solely by hostility to our host, and had abso- 

 lutely no purpose to injure us. He was simply determined 

 to make it pleasant for our host by attacking his friends 

 and guests. Our host was a hard-working, thrifty, pros- 

 perous farmer, who had moved there from Maryland 

 some thirteen years before. And these things made him 

 obnoxious to G. G. , who had never moved (save when 

 the Confederate army took him along), had never worked, 

 and was neither thrifty nor prosperous. 



Subsequent to the magisterial seance we received invi- 

 tations from more than one of our host's neighbors to 

 hunt on their farms, and every disposition was shown to 

 prove that G. G. did not I'epresent Virginian hospitality. 

 For G. G. himself nothing but anathemas were heard, 

 and we learned that he had long been one of the most 

 unpopular men in the county, so that his last es-^ay had 

 merely confirmed his undesirable title to notoriety and 

 dislike. 



It is a great stretch from G, G. to innocent birds and 

 rabbits, but it must be made, even though the latter sub- 

 jects be summarily dismissed after a brief interview. 

 My friends M. and T, "shot lo kill," while I wandered 

 o'er hill and dale, in forest and meadow, observing nature 

 "in her loveliest mood." 



The large basket trunk which they took home filled 

 with dead birds was their coveted testimony to skill, 

 which I naturally envied. But after all I got more out 

 of the trip in fun over this and that in the way of ludi- 

 crous happenings, and for years to come I can tell with 

 pleasure of my adventure with "that nigger's hound," 

 which had so queer ideas and ways, was so indifferent to 

 the change of masters, localities, sleeping quarters and 

 diet, so stubborn and opinionated, so stupid and yet sly, 

 and always so hungry and hollow even when stuffed 

 with corn bread and rabbits, I can recall how he de- 

 clined to hunt squirrels, though "warranted'" for them, 

 how he always refused to come to a trail, how I once 

 threw liim in a "briar patch," vi et armis (translated, by 

 his tail), and after a rabbit that calmly awaited him 

 therein; how he emei'ged with a sang froicl which com- 

 pletely unnerved me, and must have surprised Bre'r 

 Rabbit himself, and I can always explain my lack of luck 

 by stating the fact, namely, that the hound always raced 

 the rabbits into a hole, but suppress the concomitant fact 

 that the said hole was his own throat. (It was not till 

 the last day of my stay in Briar Land that I learned 

 where the hole was.) So sly and "past fijiding out" are 

 the ways of a hound educated in an Amei-ican Ethiopia. 



One week from our going we gathered again on the 

 sandy bank of the river in the bright morning sun, and 

 four hours thereafter the good steamer Wakefield bore 

 us to Alexandria, whence Mr. T,'s smart team quickly 

 took us to Four-Mile Run. There our good friend Charlie 

 P, awaited our coming, and at dusk we sat once again 

 around Mrs. T.'s groaning table; everything was cooked 

 to perfection, and we ate and ate like starved men of 

 turkey and "fixings" too numerous to remember. The 

 reader will not blame us if, remembering the most notable 

 experience of our trip, we sang: 



"Old Grymes should be dead, 

 That bad old maB, 

 May we never see him more." 



Potomac. 



"BANK-GRASS KNOLL." 



Editor Forest and Stream: 



In your issue of July 30 "Sand Hill" dropped on the 

 writer of this quite heavily; but as a small boy once re- 

 marked to me when a bigger one knocked him down, "It 

 did not hurt much." Firstly because it was done in a 

 gentlemanly and courteous manner, secondly, taken in 

 the abstract, what he says is quite cori-ect; thirdly, judged 

 as we are by standards at best arbitrary and uncertain, 

 there are few of us whose conduct as sportsmen is not 

 open to criticism, and lastly, I have a perfectly clear 

 conscience. 



About two miles from here lives old Oliver F, , a man 

 who some years ago discovered that seasoned shingles 

 make good kindling and proceeded to strip them off his 

 house for this purpose. As the shingle line gradually re- 

 ceded it was necessary to use a sharpened stake to punch 

 the kindling, and it became the duty of George Tom, 

 Oliver's eldest son, to see that the stake was in its place 

 within reach of the door. One night he neglected to do 

 this. Next morning, on his way in from the barn, he 

 met his paternal parent in no very pleasant frame of 

 mind. "See here, George Tom," says he, "what do you 

 mean by neglectin' of your business in this way. There, 



I had to go out in my sock feet this mornin' to bunt up a 

 stake to git kindlin's. After this, when you have any- 

 thin' to do, you tend to it. No one '11 ever hire you 

 when you git to be a man if there's no dependence to 

 be put in you; and you're shiftless, I tell you, boy, shift- 

 less, and if there's anythin' under the light of this here 

 heavens I hate, it's shiftlessness." 



Similarly we all hate unsportsmanlike ways, hut they 

 are mostly George Tom's ways, not our own. The sen- 

 tence in my former communication, upon which your 

 correspondent founds his objection, is, perhaps, somewhat 

 loosely written; it certainly is open to a more extreme in- 

 terpretation than is consistent with strict accuracy. The 

 reader might possibly think that I lost four nights' sleep 

 out of every week for three open seasons and killtd 

 thousands of ducks. This would be incorrect. I was at 

 that time engaged in a brain-worrying, nerve-exhaustine 

 business. My day's work was usually finished by 4:30 

 P.M. Then, with gun and a couple of dozen cartridges, 

 I strolled down to the Dugway, adjacent to which there 

 is a large tract of intervale and marsh abounding in 

 ponds, puddles and duck food. I would walk up per- 

 haps half a dozen snipe, killing some and missing the 

 rest, A little before sundown I would hide in my blind 

 on. the "Bank-grass Knoll" to wait for the ducks, 'Before 

 long they would come. Some would pitch down far 

 from any shooter and go to feeding, others in circling 

 around would get killed or missed. Then, when dusk 

 came and there was danger of failing to find if we killed, 

 we left our stands— the Parson, Samuel, Chase and I— 

 and walked home in the gloaming. One duck was a fair 

 bag, two good, three extra and four a "whopper." The 

 Parson and I killed less than 50 each a season, the other 

 two exceeded that figure slightly. 



The ducks would come quite early Monday evenings, 

 and a little later each day till Thm'sdHy, by which time 

 there would only be a few stray ones before it was too 

 dark to shoot. Then we would leave them alone till the 

 following Monday, when the shooting w-ould again be 

 good. Unquestionably the ducks came there to feed, and 

 many of them did so. I have seen ducks feeding com- 

 placently in a little pond just north of my stand, paying 

 no attention to the shooting in a blind idOOyds from them, 

 but if I, at about half that distance and in plain sight, 

 fired, they woidd leave in a hurry. 



If I was a sinner then, I am one still — an unrepentant 

 one. For I expect to occupy the old stand on Bank-grass 

 Knoll again this fall for a few days after the opening of 

 the season. I will i>robably enjoy it, even if I don't kill 

 many ducks. Of the many pleasant memories associated 

 with those threp years, the ones clinging around Bank- 

 grass Knoll are what I would care least to have eliminated. 

 Even when I killed nothing there was something com- 

 forting and restfixl in sitting there in the after-glow and 

 listening to the song of the wind through the bank-grass, 

 80 close to my ears. I think others have found it so, too. 

 No one would make me believe that the Parson came a 

 distance of two and a half miles for the sake of the ducks 

 he got. 



Perhaps we were sportsmen, perhaps not, but I think 

 if "Sand Hill" could have known our little clique he 

 would have pronounced us not too bad a lot. He would 

 have found us content with very little and never cursing 

 our luck, except when the guns mis-ed fire, and then the 

 woi'st the Parson ever said was "bother." 



In conclusion, I may say that I would not shoot a duck 

 on her nest; that's Geoi'ge Tom's way, and I despise it; 

 but I did shoot ducks between simdown and dark, and 

 would do so again. Twice I have fired at ducks after 

 dark, and will not say that I won't do so any more. This 

 may not be right, but we cannot all of u?« do right all the 

 time, L, I. Flower. 



McDonald's Cobner, N. B. 



AN ADIRONDACK SQUIRREL HUNT. 



THERE lies before me in my study a silvery rug made 

 of 16 gray squirrel skins, which, as my eye catches 

 it, turns my thoughts back to a cool bright October day 

 spent on the edge of the Adirondacks hunting squirrels 

 with a keen-nosed old hound. 



For many years near Lake George a now old man by 

 the name of Stevens has lived, and man's memory hardly 

 runneth back to when his companion, a liver and tan 

 hound, did not exist. The two are county characters, 

 and their reputation for knowing just where the game 

 was to be found was proverbial. 



At sunrise we climhed out of the wagon at his cabin in 

 the edge of the woods. The horse was placed in the little 

 shed with a bunch of corn stalks to feed upon. The old 

 hound, called from his kennel, barked and gamboled as he 

 saw the guns di-awn forth from the cases. We climbed 

 over the bars and followed the cow path np across the 

 white frost-covered pasture. It was a steep climb. Below 

 gradually came into view the valley of the Hudson, the 

 course of which was outlined, as the river wound across 

 the plain, by great wi-eaths of rising mist, the edges of 

 which the sun had tipped with rose. The old hound 

 scampered thi-oiigh the wood lot, where the bluejays 

 were crying and the chipmunks chattering around the 

 brush piles as though they were glad again to see the sun. 

 Pausing, pantingly, we gazed down upon the beautiful 

 panorama framed by the g;reat trunks and branches of 

 the few remaining trees while waiting for the voice of the 

 dog on a trail. The old hunter, as he leaned his 6ft, or 

 more of spare frame on his ax handle, with scraggy gray 

 beard and coon-skin cap, formed a strong picturesque 

 figure. 



The welcome bay came down the mountain side, and 

 the old man with face alert bent forward to mark the 

 direction of the running, A short "Come on!" and with 

 rapid strides he led toward the heavy timber. The ring- 

 ing music stopped, and an occasional angry bark told 

 plainly the game was "treed" or "holed," The latter it 

 proved to be, as we saw Ihe dirt flying from the paws of 

 the dog as he sought to reach his quarry under the roots, 

 A.11 the morning we tramped through the big timber. 

 Only a single gray was shot, and he came tumbling out 

 from the red leaves of a bough he was scampering along. 

 The old hunter had predicted squirrels in plenty in the 

 morning, and the keenness of his dog had been duly 

 lauded. As the hpurs wore on both master and dog were 

 chagrined, as their actions plainly revealed. About noon 

 he proposed lunch and thf n to try a different ridge. High 

 up on the mountain on a big mofcs-covered rock a tire was 

 built. Stretched out at full length in the grateful warmth 

 of sun and fu-e we rested. Down through the woods the 

 sunlight touched with silver every trunk, branch and 



