422 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



[Nov, 17, I892i 



A NOVEMBER TRAMP IN INDIANA. 



In "Cumberland's" article of Oct. 30 his allusion to the 

 wrong eide of 40 and the rapidly approaching time when 

 our shooting will all be of the retrospective kind, has 

 touched a very tender chord in myself, and no doubt in 

 many others on the "down grade." While there is sadness 

 in the prospect there is no doubt but what we old fellows 

 enjoy our field days better than we did when we were 

 so young that old age was not in sight. It is like the In- 

 dian summer days that are doubly enjoyed because we 

 know that the drear days of winter crowd close behind 

 them and wiU soon drive them away. So we who have 

 outlived so many of our youth's companions, feel that 

 every day we now get is just one more than we had rea- 

 son to expect, and that perhaps the "next time" will 

 never come. We enjoy it better, too, because we know 

 so much better how to do it, and are provided with such 

 good and pleasant imijlements, and it takes less game to 

 satisfy us. 



For twenty consecutive seasons I have shot quail over 

 the same familiar ground; and it seems to me that what 

 little shooting I've done this season has been the most 

 enjoyable of all, although the birds are not so plenty as 

 usual, the cover unusually heavy, and the ground very 

 dry indeed, 



in the younger periods of life a big bag was the one 

 thing sought for, and the glorious weather, the gorgeous 

 foliage of the trees, the rich plumage and the cute ways 

 of the birds, were altogether overlooked in the eagerness 

 to kill. Now, all these things furnish their quota of en- 

 joyment, Joe, as well as his master, has outgrown his 

 puppy ways and is a mighty comfortable dog to shoot 

 over. He don't have to be watched to keep him from 

 chasing rabbits, nor switched for breaking after a falling 

 bird; in fact he understands his work and attends to it. 

 The nitro powders, too, have made the shooting much 

 pleasanter. The noise is so slight that it don't disturb 

 nervous people, and the absence of smoke gives the 

 shooter many more opportunities for using the second 

 barrel. 



Since writing the above, heavy rains have fallen, the 

 weather clearing up yesterday with one of those rare 

 days, entirely free from smoke, dust or wind— a day 

 that was all sunshine. Joe evidently thought it was a 

 good day for quail, for he was very uneasy and kept a 

 close eye on me during the fornoon,and when I came out 

 with the corduroy suit and the gun, his delight was 

 boundless. He scattered the chickens right and left, 

 planted the cat on top of the fence with arched back and 

 reversed fur, and sent the hogs blowing and snorting to 

 the back side of the orchard. A walk of half a mile to 

 the west brought us to the edge of the Green Fork valley, 

 a mile wide with gently descending slopes on either side, 

 its bottom level and showing squares of yellow cornfield^ 

 green wheat, and gray stubbles grown up with ragweed, 

 which affords both food and cover for the quail. One of 

 the fields just over there to the right has been in corn, 

 but it has been cut for ensilage and many weeds now 

 cover it. Joe points very suddenly before he gets into it 

 100yds. Eight or nine birds get up and whiiT away 

 toward a field of high corn. I do my best to get in a 

 right and left, for there will be no'chance to shoot them 

 in that high corn. They will run before the dog, and 

 when they fly will not top the corn, but fly between the 

 rows. Both shots scored. One tumbled into the weeds, 

 and the other fell, fluttering, into the hedge. After get- 

 ting the dead birds, Joe wanted to go into the cornfield 

 after the others but I told him it was no use; but to hunt 

 for some more in the field. Less than 75yds. away he 

 made another point, or rather dropped flat on the ground 

 and lay there. On going to him a rabbit scurried away. 

 "Now Joseph," said I, "aren't you big enough and old 

 enougli to know better than"— TF/iiVr/ whirr! about fif- 

 teen great plump, strong- winged birds get up all round 

 us, part of them going to the big corn, and the rest 

 toward the farm buildings. The first barrel didn't shoot 

 within 2ft. of the bird, but the second winged one. Most 

 of those going toward the buildings found a soft place in 

 the berry patch, too close to the house to shoot without 

 annoying the inmates, but a few of the birds dropped in 

 the weeds before they got out of the field. Joe was put 

 after them, and found four single birds. Two were 

 killed, one missed and the other flew toward the home, 

 '^Now Joseph," said I, "this is great sport; we've bagged 

 five birds in ten minutes, and it is a good atternoon's 

 sport if we don't shoot any more; but we will go across 

 the Suga.r Camp and try Study's farm, and then swing 

 round to the left and take in Da Witt Bond's place." 



We put in a full hour on the Study place scouring two 

 big weed fields and a weedy cornfield, but did not find a 

 bird. Another hour was spent exploring some other 

 likely-looking ground,, so it was nearly 4 o'clock when 

 the Bond farm was reached. Here was an ideal place for 

 quail. A brushy woods bordered on the south by a gently 

 sloping strip of ground, covered with rag weeds and 

 bounded by a brushy slough on the further side. Joe 

 soon found them and they flew into the woods, except 

 one that was shot. A short distance in the woods a single 

 bird was put up which flew back to the open, giving a fair 

 shot, but it was a clear miss. Mark him! There, he is 

 down, in the cornfield 30ft. to the right of that bush. 

 The next bird that got up was killed, as was another that 

 rose at the crack of the gun. The next one was missed 

 by both barrels, but was marked down. Now we con- 

 cluded to go for the two birds that were marked, for if we 

 had too many marks to remember, we would forget some 

 of them. 



The last bird was found at once and killed, but the one 

 in the cornfield had run away, and the dog had a good 

 deal of trouble to make it out, but finally got it. It was 

 missed by the first, but the second wounded it, so it flew 

 but a short distance, and Joe caught it before it could get 

 above the weeds. 



Next we went back in the woods and ,'Joe flushed one 

 which I ought to have killed, but missed it. Next I 

 flushed one which tried to fly around and behind me 

 The bushes were very thick and the bird not over 4ft. 

 above the ground, but I swung myseK and the gun 

 around and knocked the bird into pulp before it was 30ft 

 away. I don't know how I did it, but I did it, and have 

 done It many:;other times; in fact, rarely miss that kind 

 ot a shot. It seems as if I don't know anything till I see 

 the floating feathers and the falling birds. If I am con- 

 scious of anything it is of intentlv watching the bird. I 

 know that I pay no attention to the gun. Shortly after 

 this Joe pointed in a fallen tree-top and that bird got 



away, After another thorough search Joe found one 

 more bird which was missed by the first, but tumbled 

 into a brush pile to the second barrel. 



From this place we started to another stubble half a 

 mile down the creek. In the middle of a cornfield, in 

 very small corn, and no weeds, Joe pointed, I saw a 

 single quail within three feet of his nose; here was a 

 temptation to shoot the bird's head off and make sure of 

 it, and I confess that before I became a reader of Foeest 

 AND Stream, it would have been done that way, but the 

 lessons in true sportsmanship learned in its columns 

 decided the case in the bird's favor, so it was flushed, flew 

 straight toward a house, and got away. That quail should 

 thank Forest and Stream that it is alive to-day. When 

 we reached the lower stubble field I was pretty tired, so I 

 told Joe to "hunt 'em up" while the old man sat on the 

 fence. The fence was on the top of a hill and the stubble 

 lay mostly in the "bottom," Joe went racing down the 

 hill and at its foot ran over a rabbit. He stopped and 

 looked at the running rabbit for a few seconds, and then 

 turned and looked at me. A wave of my hand sent him 

 in an opposite direction from the rabbit and he galloped 

 in wide circles through the weeds, occasionally stopping 

 and throwing his nose up to windward. After fifteen 

 minutes of this kind of work his nose went to the ground, 

 and after a few 8nifl[s he began drawing, stopping every 

 few feet and looking toward me. The man on the fence 

 forgot that he was tired, and went to the dog. The dog 

 led him almost in a circle. It was nearly sundown and 

 the birds did not want to get scattered, so, as the cover 

 was heavy, they tried to get away by running, but by 

 urging .Joe we out- walked and flushed them, and a fine 

 lot they were. Not less than twenty great big strong- 

 winged fellows. I got all mixed up and fired both bar- 

 rels right at the "brown of 'em," but didn't get a 

 feather. They came down in the thick brush on the hill 

 side. "Well, Joe, it's a mighty bad place to shoot, but we 

 will get above them and they will probably scatter next 

 time and some of them will come back in the field, for 

 they want to roost there," 



They got up rather wild and scattered badly, but I saw 

 three go down in the field and three more along the 

 edge, in some wiUow bushes. We went for those in the 

 field first, and got them at three shots, but they gave us 

 quite a chase, for they were running, and Joe would not 

 traU them fast enough to put them up. • After getting 

 those three Joe found where the others had run from the 

 willows into the field and ^ot them up. Two were killed 

 but the third one got up wild. The rest of them had not 

 been marked down, and it was getting too dark to shoot, 

 so we started up the creek to cross on Bond's foot bridge. 

 Eight on top of the bluff, and close to the edge, Joe 

 pointed one, which flew over the creek and dropped into 

 the water. It was a pretty cold swim but Joe got it in 

 very short order. 



Near the house I met Mr. Bond's little daughter and 

 gave her a half dozen birds. As I passed the barn Mr. 

 Bond greeted me with "Get out of here, I don't allow any 

 man to shoot on my place." "Well," said I, "you're 

 rather late about it; I don't object to being ordered off at 

 this time of day." "Come in the house and have supper, 

 and rest awhile," said he, but as it was late and some- 

 body was waiting for me at home, and would be uneasy 

 till I came, the invitation was declined and Joe and I 

 tramped home, both thinking we had had great sport, 

 and another day of pleasant memories to fall back on 

 when we can do no shooting. It would hardly do to tell 

 the truth about the supper Joe and I ate that night. It 

 would exceed the Kekoskee bullhead story. 



I have been at home fourteen dnjs since the open sea- 

 son began, and have killed 157 quail. What did we do 

 with them? Ate all we wanted (and that was a good 

 many) and gave the rest to our friends. 



Am expecting to go after ruffed grouse soon, and may 

 have something to say about it. O. H. Hampton. 



WiTjLIAMSBnHQ, lud., Nov. 7. 



IN A MAINE HUNTER'S CAMP. 



[Concluded from' jmae Aoo,] 



The carrying of loads by the Maine guides and woods- 

 men was a new experience to Mr. Coggin and his friends. 

 Here was this sturdy young fellow— he hardly seemed 

 more than twenty — with his deer across his back, making 

 such time down the hill, over rocks, logs and fallen 

 trees, that Mr. Coggin could scarcely keep up with him. 

 " He declined my oft'er to carry his rifle," says Mr, Cog- 

 gin, " and actually wanted to'help me over some of the 

 bad places. When we got into camp you should have 

 heard the boys shout. It was but the work of a few 

 minutes to skin the deer, and sooner than it takes to tell 

 the first deer of the hunt was ready for cooking. The 

 guides and lumbermen of the Smith Brook Camps dress 

 a deer with the facility of experts. This deer was the 

 beginning of venison every meal, when we wanted it. 

 The other boys were soon off hunting, but as for myself. 

 I had had enough for one day." 



Mr. Coggin's next ambition was to get a moose. With 

 his guide the next day they went well up and over the 

 side of Mooselick Mountain. Soon the guide called the 

 hunter's attention to moose tracks. " He is a big one !" 

 was the only remark. The guide soon begun moving 

 with the utmost caution. He would step so as not to 

 make a sound in the fallen leaves. Not a twig did he 

 break. The hunter followed his example as nearly as 

 possible. They crept on for a while, when the guide 

 stooped down, untied his himting shoes and took them 

 off, Mr, Coggin did the same. Neither spoke a word, 

 scarcely in the lowest whisper. The guide listened, with 

 his ear to the ground. Mr. Coggin did the same. The 

 footfalls of the great moose could be heard. " Pat, 

 pat, patter, pat!" slowly, "He is only walking," 

 whispers the guide. The "pat, pat" suddenly stopped, 

 when " gersh, gursh, gish ! " the sound the moose makes 

 when stripping off the branches of his favorite browsing 

 trees and twigs. " He is feeding," whispers the guide, 

 " I think you will get a shot." Our hunting friend's hair 

 almost stood on end. He peered into the thicket, in the 

 direction of the browsing sound, and the guide did the 

 same. Neither could see the game. Very cautiously 

 they crawled into the thicket. They could see no moose. 

 Again the guide put his ear to the ground, and the 

 hunter did the same. "Pat, pat, pat!" on the soft 

 eai-th. " He is ti-otting," whispers the guide, as a shade 

 of disappointment steals over his ruddy young face. 

 " But he isn't frightened yet." They crawled a little 

 further, peering cautiously over a little rise just ahead of 



them. They could now smell the moose very plainly — 

 that peculiar odor that only the moose hunter has ex- 

 perienced. Gently as possible they parted the twigs of 

 the thicket and worked towards the game. He must be 

 very near! Not more than ten rods away, and yet they 

 cannot see him, so dense is the wood, A little further — 

 very cautiously. " Crash! crash! ! smash! ! ! A railway 

 train off the tracks could scarcely have made more noise. 

 It seemed as though the whole woods were coming down. 

 The moose had either scented or seen the hunters, and 

 had taken the alarm. Away he went over the moun- 

 tain. The hopes of our friend the hunter fell forty de- 

 grees. The guide jumped up in disgust. They quietly 

 put on their shoes. There was not time that day to 

 further follow the moose. 



Rather crestfallen they returned to the camp. That 

 evening Jim McGinn, the oldest guide assigned to the 

 party, was rather inclined to sneer at the ill success of 

 our friend Coggin and Nat Smith, the boy guide. He 

 would go moose hunting himself with any one of the 

 party the next day. He could "call." From his bunk 

 he took his birch-bark horn and blew a blast. It was 

 decided that Mr. Parker, the Bangor salesman, should 

 accompany him on a three-days' hunt. The next morn- 

 ing Jim loaded some blankets on his back, with some 

 food tied up in a bundle, and, with a rather lonesome 

 look on his face, Mr. Parker, rifle in hand, followed him 

 into the forest. The following day Parker returned, 

 thoroughly tired out. He had killed no moose. Jim had 

 called in the night and got a response, but the moose did 

 not come. He was very silent at supper time, and all 

 the early evening. When questioned about his success, 

 "TJm!" was his only answer. Only short expressions 

 and sighs could be drawn out of his mouth. Early he 

 went off to his bunk. The boys who watched him the 

 closest say that he almost shed tears several times ; he 

 felt so badly that he had not got a moose for the hunters. 

 He had followed the bull that had responded the night 

 before, but had failed to get a shot. 



There were other characters at the camp besides Jim, 

 the elder guide, and Smith, the younger guide, assigned 

 by Mr. Nason to our friend Coggin. Smith is really 

 clerk for Mr. Nason. Indeed, among ninety men, the 

 full crew at these camps, when in full operation, there 

 should be some characters. The camp blacksmith, Moses 

 Fleming, a sturdy fellow, strong as an ox, is a genuine 

 sample of a thorough woodsman. No distance was too 

 great for him, no load too heavy. The boys called him 

 " The Distance Exaggerator," but distance reducer would 

 have been better. He is guilty of many of the State-of- 

 Maine-woods miles in that section. Jinks, the cook, is 

 also a character that greatly interested the hunters. His 

 " All upI^All up! !" in the morning was worth hearing, at 

 four o'clock, especially if one was not obliged to turn 

 out, as the lumbermen were. 



The party staid at Smith Brook Camps six days. They 

 got five deer in all. These were mainly used at the 

 camps. It was too far into the wilderness to think of 

 bringing one out. The patridge shooting was something 

 to delight the heart of the amateur hunter. The birds 

 were almost as tame as chickens. The boys shot them 

 on the ground or on the trees with their rifles. They bad- 

 no shotguns with them. The two guides would take 

 their heads almost every time. " Shoot theu" heads off! " 

 suggested Nat Smith,' the guide, to Mi-. Coggin, the first 

 day out. That gentleman ti'ied it for a couple of days, 

 but found he was getting but few birds. Rifle shooting 

 was comparatively new to him. Liter he aimed at their 

 bodies, and had the satisfaction of getting almost every 

 one. He counted until they had killed eighty or ninety 

 birds, and then got tired of counting. The party must 

 have killed over one hundred ruffed grouse. Only one 

 spruce partridge did they see. The guides report that 

 these beautiful birds are becoming rare in the Maine 

 woods, They are so tame that they cannot stand up 

 against the great march of sportsmen that are invading 

 that State. They saw no bear, though the signs were 

 plenty. Mr. Coggin is confident that with a slight snow 

 for tracking they cotild have obtained both bear and 

 moose. The ground was very thickly strewn with fallen 

 leaves, making it exceedingly difficult to approach these 

 very wary animals within gunshot. 



At the end of the six days they bid good bye to the 

 kind 'Mi. Nason, who had done so much for their com- 

 fort and enjoyment. They left him, convinced that he 

 comes fully up to his reputation as one of the most hos- 

 pitable of lumber camp proprietors, and one of the most 

 successful lumbermen in that region. The two guides 

 were actually sad-hearted at parting with the sportsmen, 

 and the sportsmen shared the same feeling. " Be sure 

 to come again next year," were the parting exclamations. 



From Smith Brook Camps the boys tramped the long 

 twelve miles to Cape Sepomque, where they again 

 rested. The batteaux and the horses were down river at 

 the other end of the route, and that whole twelve mUes 

 had to be tramped. From Ox Bow they went six miles 

 northeast to the Military Road that runs from lower 

 Aroostook to Presque Isle, They were going out by 

 Presque Isle, to see the country. At the Military Road 

 they found a team, and started for the northeast. The 

 first night they put up at Ashland, where there are a 

 couple of good hotels. When within several miles of 

 Ashland they passed a log camp, quite a distance 

 from the road. Indeed they would scarcely have no- 

 ticed the camp but from the fact that a couple of men 

 ran out and hailed them. The men had rifles in their 

 hands and packs on their backs, and from their looks the 

 driver was scarce inclined to stop his horses, though the 

 party also had rifles. But these rifles were stowed away 

 in the bottom of the wagon. It scarcely seemed as 

 though the hunters wanted to be stopped by these new- 

 comers, but they ran on behind with a good deal of de- 

 termination. At last the driver concluded to stop, the 

 men seemed to be so much in earnest. They came up. 

 They could speak fairly good English, though evidently 

 French Canadians. They simply wanted the team to 

 carry their packs for them. The driver was inclined to 

 decline. His horses were light, and there were five men 

 and their luggage already in the wagon. But finally he 

 decided to accommodate them. He took the packs aboard 

 and drove on, leaving the men to come on foot. At Ash- 

 land Mr. Coggin happened to think that the packs might 

 be wanted before morning, and in the evening they took 

 the packs out of the wagon in the stable, and put them 

 on the piazza of the hotel. Then they had a chance to 

 find out why the men were so much in earnest about 

 having their packs transported. Each pack must have 



