420 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



LNov. It, 1892. 



IN WEST VIRGINIA MOUNTAINS. 



Do you remember seeing in Fokest axd Stkeam within 

 a year mention of the Capon Iron Works, West Virginia? 

 Well, that's where we went, J. P. H. and his friend, 

 for a fortnight's hunt, fish and general relaxation 

 from business, for we are very busy men, J. P. in doing 

 the work and I in watching him. Then, he had a new 

 Parker hammeriess which he wanted to break in. These 

 are sufficient reasons for going most anywhere in the fall. 



We got away early in the morning. Our train was late 

 into Philadelphia. We had a mile to go to reach the B. 

 & 0. station, and just 13 minutes to go it in. We tum- 

 bled into a cab, impressed the facts in very few words on 

 cabby, and told him to push on the lines hard. When he 

 drove into the station the engine bell was ringing, the 

 gateman was closing the gates, porters picking up their 

 stools and the conductor cried, "All aboard!" 



"Settle the fare," said I to J. P. as I shot for the ticket 

 office, and as I ran I shouted to the conductor, "Hold 

 'eri" hardly expecting he would, for the train was a Royal 

 Blue Flyer, New ^ork to Washington. In a jiffy the 

 agent wrote two excursion tickets to Capon Road, which 

 I seized, and the gateman slid back the gate as I dashed 

 through, picked up all the grips J. P. hadn't been able to 

 corral, and with the assistance of the porter climbed 

 aboard as the wheels revolved, and we were off for the 

 West, panting nearly as hard as the locomotive. Now, I 

 don't like such haste as that. A man can't go through 

 the motions gracefully, and I am graceful or nothing, but 

 it was that or getting left at Harper's Ferry, so we 

 scrubbed and felt better after we cooled off. 



After a pleasant journey via Baltimore and Washing- 

 ton we left the main line at Harper's Ferry, noted for 

 chicken sandwiches, as being the scene of John Brown's 

 mad exploit, and stirrine events later, '61 to '65. Part of 

 the gateway of the old U. S. Arsenal and its chimney are 

 still left, but "John Brown's Fort," the little engine house, 

 has gone to Chicago to visit the exposition, along with 

 Libby Prison. 



It was now after noon, and kindly waiting for us to 

 tackle a sandwich, the valley train pulled out southward, 

 the romantic Shenandoah on the left just begging us to 

 come out among the rocks and sample its bass. Through 

 Charlestown we went, where John Brown's soul took 

 wing from the scaffold, then through Winchester, now 

 and forever linked with the name of the immortal Sheri- 

 dan, and so on down the beautiful valley in sight of the 

 famous pike, where hosts of Blue and Gray alternately 

 in victorious pursuit or sullen resistant retreat choked the 

 white road and overflowed into the fields, while the ' 

 booming cannon and sharp crack of rifle snuffed out life 

 and sent mourning all over the land. We pass Middle- 

 town, near which, in surging ebb and flow the famous 

 battle of Cedar Creek was fought with "Sheridan twenty 

 miles away," and at Capon Road, fifty miles below Har- 

 per's Ferry, we leave the ti*ain. 



Here we had hoped to find Mr, Thos. B. WUaon await- 

 ing U8, to take us to his home among the beautiful moun- 

 tains which loomed up in the west, but to our disappoint- 

 ment he was not there, though we had written him of our 

 coming on that train. It was Saturday evening and there 

 was no hotel, though we had been informed by the con- 

 ductor that Mr. Williams, the store keeper, who had a 

 large, roomy house, usually entertained travelers. He 

 refused, however, saying his wife was ill. So there we 

 were in a pocket, no game pocket either, or it might have 

 been endurable. But there was a hack or stage or wagon 

 jast about starting for Capon Springs, a summer resort 

 sixteen miles out, three miles off the Iron Works road. 

 The Springs had just cloHed house for the season, but the 

 driver said the proprietor was still there and would take 

 care of us, so as there was nothing else to do, and hoping 

 to meet Mr. Wilson en route for us, we tumbled up and 

 were off. The horses, wagon and road were in fair con- 

 dition, and aa the "culled gemman" who handled the 

 ribbons and was custodian of the U. S. mail wanted to 

 reach the Springs in good season, we made very good 

 time. Our course led northwest across the valley to the 

 first range. Little North Mountain, thence across it into 

 the valley of Cedar Creek, just at the ford of which, eight 

 miles out, we found Mr. "WiJson and his son Peter— ao 

 called because his name is Henry— and a two-horse team 

 on the way to the station to meet us. To say we were 

 glad to see them is to tell the honest truth, and in a jiffy 

 we had changed teams and the horses' heads were turned 

 westward. So the second time this day we hit it when 

 we expected to get left. 



This Cedar Creek is the same on which the battle was 

 fought, or for which it was named, flowing here northeast 

 between Great and Little North Mountains, until it can 

 get around the north end of the latter, when it turns 

 southeast, and flowing irregularly across Shenandoah 

 Valley empties iuto the North Fork of the Shenandoah 

 near the battlefield and the north end of Massanutten 

 Mountain. It would be a lovely stream where we forded 

 it but for a large steam tannery just above, which, in ad- 

 dition to leather, tans the hitherto limpid water a dirty 

 brown, and takes the romance and trout out of it. Along 

 the road we move on, from far away nooks among the 

 mountains come daily many wagons, two, four, six-horse 

 or mule, loaded with tan bark for the tannery, for this 

 bark business is a big one, affording a not very remunera- 

 tive employment to a goodly number of people. It is all 

 oak bark, and it seems as though the end of any profitable 

 hauling to this tannery was near at hand, so denuded 

 have the mountains become. Indeed we learned that the 

 owners had already begun the erection of another further 

 back in the range. Three dollars a ton was the price for 

 hauling a distance of fifteen miles or so, taking two days 

 for the round trip, crossing and recrossing the mountain. 

 It doesn't seem at first glance, or if you have time, at 

 any other, that there is sudden and bewildering wealth 

 in this, but it is probably better than loafing at the cross- 

 store. 



We jogged slowly along, for Mr. W. had already come 

 sixteen miles, not over a race track either, and the same 

 back would make a pretty good day's trip, not, of course 

 as Hank Monk drove in Nevada, but as they drive in 

 West Virginia, where to-morrow is just as long as to-day. 

 We were now ticketed through to the Iron Works with- 

 out change, had a large six-spring wagon with more room 

 than we could use, good company, glorious scenery, if 



one could see it (which they couldn't for the night had 

 come down), so what more would yoti have. No need of 

 haste. We leaned back at a comfortable angle, and as 

 the moon sailed into the sky concluded that our intro- 

 duction to West Virginia was about the right thing, the 

 more so as Mrs. Wilson had thoughtfully provided a 

 bounteous lunch which we duly considered. We ap- 

 proached Great North Mountain through something Gap, 

 where on theright, tilted up on almost perpendicular edge 

 a couple of thousand feet or so into the heavens was a 

 Titanic toboggan slide, from which no slider would ever 

 return. With many a question and answer, including 

 many incidents, chiefly hunting, from the life of our host 

 who 'has lived as did his father and grandfather, in these 

 mountains all his life, we slowly pulled up the mountain, 

 slipped over the crest, made better time down the other 

 side, and over a very good road slid down arotmd the 

 bends into Capon River Valley, turning southward into 

 the Winchester pike, which we kept for a couple of miles, 

 leaving it at a point about three miles from our destina- 

 tion, and zigzagging up the valley of Wait's Creek east- 

 ward, fording the beautiful trout stream occasionally, at 

 11 P. M. pulled up at the front door of the house, which 

 is tucked away here in the mountains rising all about, 

 and which gleamed white in the moonlit clearing as we 

 approached from the wood-shaded road and splashed 

 through the pretty stream that skirts the yard and sings 

 now in pianissimo cadences, for a protracted drought had 

 reduced the streams to nearly their lowest terms and cut 

 short the crops. 



Here for many years has Mr. Wilson entertained sports- 

 men, fishers in the spring, for there are divers trout 

 stu-eams hereabouts, and hunters in the fall who would, 

 but don't always, cruelly slay the timid, graceful deer, 

 the wary, suspicious turkey or the hurtling grouse, for 

 as Mr. W. wrote me, "You can't sit in my back yard and 

 kill game." Mr. W. is a man of truth. There is game in 

 these parts beyond a doubt and also beyond reach of the 

 gun (some guns)— deer, bear, turkey, grouse and squirrel, 

 some plentiful, others scarce, but the stranger needs to be 

 a tramper, a stayer and a good shot, as well as to know 

 the habits of the game, to be able to bag it; even then, 

 not being thoroughly acquainted with the country he 

 is apt to come short of his expectations, which is more 

 or less true of all localities, but especially tiue of moun- 

 tainous regions, where you have to climb for all you get. 



We spent two very pleasant weeks there, and undoubt- 

 edly would have scored better on game had we been a 

 fortnight later, for the leaves were still on the bushes, 

 but we could not go later. We can, however, comfort 

 ourselves with the thought that we left more game for 

 late comers. As an outing simply, it was a success. 

 With new experiences, perfect weather, the loveliest 

 views from jutting crag or wind-swept clearing on the 

 mountain side or crest, charming rambles in shady old 

 back i-oads, long in disuse, leading everywhere and no- 

 where in particular, near the sides of which, in the thick 

 undergrowth, the watchful grouse sat silently until you 

 passed and tlien sped awa.y to safety under cover of his 

 thunder, watching the gracefully poised trout in limpid 

 pool, or far aloft in the upper deep the soaring buzzard, 

 swinging and wheeling, symbol of grace and power. 



With such adjuncts to enjoyment, with a little game 

 now and then, together with the efforts of the whole 

 family to make our stay pleasant, the foitnight was 

 quickly and happily passed. We were up betimps in the 

 morning, before daybreak, perhaps, and off to the moun- 

 tains for equirrel, turkey or a deer drive, and the climb, 

 the quickened pulse, the day's existence in the open air 

 with hearty enjoyment put us in fine trim for Mrs. Wil- 

 son's table of good things when we got back, and a rest- 

 ful sleep thereafter. 



Deer dogging is prohibited by statute in West Vir- 

 ginia, but driving by men is not. There didn't seem to 

 be much "driving" while we were there, although efforts 

 were not Avanting, for the deer in thick cover could 

 skulk or dodge while the beaters went by, Standers are 

 posted at the crossings and drivers go to suitable dis- 

 tances and come down toward the stands in skirinish 

 style, trusting to driving the deer before them; and later 

 this is often successfully done, for then the vision of 

 bunted and hunters is not so Tmited, Mr, W. and 

 several of his neighbors tried faithfully on several occa- 

 sions to drive a deer into danger, but without success. 

 One day a deer crossed just above J. P.'s stand out of 

 sight, and getting his wind whistled, which attracted 

 the hunter's attention and a load of buckshot; but in the 

 thick brush the buck was not shot, which was not strange, 

 for he was very nimble on hi'? pins and the cover was 

 heavy. Deer tracks could be found without difficulty, 

 wildcat sign was common (a half-grown one had been 

 killed the week before we were there by Henry and the 

 dogs) and bear range the mountains, one having been 

 killed since we were there. 



The Monday before we left had been selected for a deer 

 hunt on Paddy Mountain some miles away, but on Sunday 

 afternoon Mr. W. went up to the ridge field on top of a low 

 mountain, to look after his calces, and took his Spencer 

 shotgun to fend off the bull. Very unexpectedly he ran 

 over, almost, a gang of twenty-two turkeys in the edge 

 of the field— queer how such things happen— and away 

 they all went, with a couple of loads of shot, down the 

 mountainside, and away went Mr. W. to get below them* 

 which he did, after a big detour, and by dark had them' 

 well scattered, and came home. With a big flock of 

 turkeys scattered it wouldn't do to go away off some- 

 where else after deer, so the next morning, while vet the 

 stars sparkled through the frosty air, ere the first ilush of 

 day appeared over Great North Mountain, four of us filed 

 into the trail up the steep ascent, with considerable ex- 

 pectation and little noise. Mr. W. led us to the spot of 

 scatteration, nearing which a turkey flew from the top 

 of a big chestnut, and sailed away in the darkness. John 

 Thorpe, a neighbor and good caller, with J. P., took one 

 position, while Mr. W. and I went further down. As the 

 darkness faded, I heard a faint call, and while I was try- 

 ing to locate it, a bang from the rear broke the stilhiess 

 and a hen turkey's neck at the hands of J. P, , to whom it 

 had been called by Thorpe. I imagine my friend felt a 

 trifle " toppy " as he picked up his first turkey, America's 

 most royal game-bird. Not another shot did we get nor 

 bird did we see, though Mr. W. said he heard some below 

 us, and quietly intimated that I scared them away by my 

 calling. Perhaps that was so, for it is long since I had 

 practice, and then I was calling only for youno- green 

 birds, and didn't want any old sharps around to tal^ ex 

 ceptions. (I'm not referrjag to Mr, W.) The uext morning ' 



however, he surprised a lost hen in a field on the moun- 

 tain, and brought her corpse to the house. That was the 

 sum total of our turkey bag, though I saw eight streaking 

 it across the upper end of the same field one day, but 

 couldn't come up with them, and J. P. saw presumably 

 the same flock in another place, but the leaves were so 

 dry that it must have been a deaf turkey, indeed, that 

 couldn't locate a hunter a good way off. 



Scarcely a day passed that some one or all of the party 

 didn't bag equirrels, so that fried squirrel and cream 

 gravy grew to be quite familiar features of the dining 

 table. Mr, W. led the party I believe, in the squirrel 

 business, but then he was acquainted with them, which 

 was "diff'nt," 



Hunters can most generally always find good and sub- 

 stantial reasons for failure in hunting, that is, satisfac- 

 tory to themselves you know, however flimsy to others. 

 For instance : I shot at a turkey one day after Mr. W. had 

 tried his hand at it, and it wasn't more than 30yda. away 

 either, but then it was going like lightning you see, and 

 the brush was awfully thick you know, and I had to put 

 my shot through a hole in the brush not over Bin. square 

 you understand, and I wasn't well acquainted with thfe 

 country either, so what could you expect* 



Somewhat similarly the squirrels, they had different 

 manners and customs from any equirrels T have ever in- 

 terviewed. They hadn't any curiosity— not a mite. Now 

 in other places if you surprise a squirrel on the ground or 

 anywhere else, and you remain perfectly quiet, ten to one 

 in less than five minutes he will show "himself from his 

 hiding place and open up on that tail motion and bark he 

 has a patent on; while there, if you surprised one on the 

 ground, which was extraordinarily seldom, he never 

 stopped until he was clear out of eight or in his hole, and 

 there he staid and you might wait until dark for all he 

 cared. He wasn't curious about anything. If one barked, 

 it was with that long drawn diininiiendo, jnanismno 

 squeal which plainly said, "I'm in my hole now, or 

 mighty near it, and I'm on to your little game," and when 

 a squirrel got fairly straightened out for home on the tops 

 of the trees, with all that underbrush around your legs, 

 you might as well chase Nancy Hanks, The fact that 

 we killed what we did, proves our superior skill. 



One day J. P. and I went to the Capon River, four 

 miles away, for bass, but the stream was very low and 

 sport poor. We brought back a few small bass, sottie sun* 

 fish, goggle-eyes and the memory of a delightful day 

 along the crystal water that meanders northward through 

 the beautiful valley. 



Capon Iron Works is an institution of the past, though 

 the wreck of the machinery and buildings is there still. 

 There is iron in the mountains, with limestone for flu3c, 

 and wood for charcoal, but it would seem that the period 

 for utilizing it is past, at least with the machinery of 

 many years ago, for it was established 40 or 50 years 

 since, and only abandoned since the war. Perhaps with 

 modern appliances iron might yet be profitably manufac- 

 tured, though it is far to the railroad. 



Mr. Wilson's house is the post-office for several families 

 in the little valley, with daily mail to and from Wardens- 

 ville, four and a half miles distant, on Capon River, with 

 Miss Maggie as carrier, who drives a two-year-old colt to 

 road cart just as easy as you please. 



Mr. W, has two belled does that roam the forest during 

 the summer and are penned up in his park in October for 

 the winter. This park contains four acres, is partly on 

 the level and partly on the slope of the mountain, about 

 100 rods from the house, with a fence eight feet high in- 

 closing it. On the hillside a rail or two is pulled off' the 

 top, allowing bucks to jump in, but not always out, 

 though Mr. W. says buclis have jumped even that high 

 fence on the level. Several have been killed in the park, 

 which contains plenty of timber and grass, in addition to 

 which a portion of the flat is plowed in the fall and rye 

 sown. Dozens of fawns have been raised in years past 

 and given away or sold. Cold weather brings the does to 

 the house, and one morning the mercury stood at twenty- 

 four, while we were at breakfast, the tinkle-tinkle of the 

 different- toned bells announced the arrival of the wan- 

 derers, which staid around the yard for a couple of hours, 

 allowing us to pet them and witness their graceful move- 

 ments, after which they wandered off leisurely to the 

 hills again, and that day while after squirrels I heard the 

 musical jingle of their bells, and sitting down watched 

 them approach me unwittingly, daintily moving about, 

 stopping to pick up an acorn or nip a choice bit of grass 

 or weed, occasionally lifting their heads and throw- 

 ing their ears forward as they listened to some 

 sound suspicious, or sniffed some odor faint and illusive 

 to other nostrils, causing them to forget for the nonce 

 that it was unnecessary to flee for safety to their loved 

 mountains. Sometimes, indeed, some vagabond dog 

 strikes their trail, and then the sacred beauties have need 

 of all their speed, cunning and endurance, but woe to 

 the dog if he comes within reach of Mr. Wilson's rifle. 

 By law if a belled or collared deer is killed by a dog the 

 owner of the latter is liable for the value of deer. Two 

 or three days before we left the does were penned, and 

 the afternoon before we left J, P. and I went up to the 

 park to bid them good-bye. After somg little search we 

 found them on the highest ground lying down under 

 the trees, watching us with eyes not altogether void of 

 fear as we approached, yet permitting us to come within 

 a few feet before they rose, the younger coming up to 

 us gingerly and permitting us to stroke her, while the 

 elder at the gentlest touch sidled off suspicious. They 

 would not touch the apples we brought, though cut in 

 pieces, but walked about close by. nipping a plant morsel 

 here and there, while we sat and watched them as they 

 lay down again and began chewing the cud in their 

 funny mincing way. It was a very pretty picture, for 

 which we needed a Kodak; and as we left them, thinking 

 we; had been lying in wait only the day before to kill 

 their kinfolk, our consciences pricked us just a little, 

 and we resolved we wouldn't kill another deer— this 

 year. 



The two weeks were all too quickly gone, and the next 

 morning at 3 o'clock after an unconscionably early break- 

 fast or late supper, we bade Mrs. Wilson, Misses Maggie 

 and Lou, and Henry good bye, and drove away into the 

 darkness under the motionless oaken canopy, which here 

 and there revealed the aging moon and sparkling stars in 

 a cloudless sky. As day broke we had left the pike and 

 Capon Valley, and were slowly ascending the moua- 

 tam from the upper slopes of which was revealed to our 

 delighted gaze a gigantic panorama of such regal splen- 

 dor as, I am sure, two of ue mYdV witneesed before, lancl 



