^04 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



A GREAT DAY FOR BEACH BIRDS. 



August is a crack month foi' beach birds. So I infer, 

 at least, from the fact that my friends at Martin's Point, 

 in Virginia, and down Currituck way shoot more dough- 

 birds, graybacks, dowitchers and shore waders in that 

 month than at any other time of tlie year. Besides, I 

 have seen Mr. J. B. White, of Norfolk, and other club 

 men down there, publicly credited with as many as 600 

 brace of birds in one brief outing of a fortnight. 



Bearing these facts in mind when I was at the South 

 Beach or Martha's Vineyard one day last week, I was on 

 the qui vive for movements, especially on the day after 

 such a storm as was experienced on the 22d of the month, 

 when there was reason to expect something of a flight. 

 It was a calm gray day, as you may remember, somewhat 

 overcast, with intervals of sunshine and occasional whiffs 

 of wind from the west. The surf at the beach was not 

 running as high as was anticipated by the summer so- 

 journers at Vineyard Haven and Cottage City, and the 

 consequence was that whole train loads of excursionists 

 who ran down on the narrow-gauge railway to see the 

 sights returned quite disappointed. Old sea dogs, how- 

 ever, like the retired captains and whalers at Edgartown, 

 had said that an easterly blow like that of Monday would 

 not be likely to i-aise much surf, and the weatherwise 

 took their "afBdavy." 



Nevertheless the meteorological conditions seemed to 

 be imusually favorable for shore birds, and therefore, 

 when I walked back from the beach to the hotel at 

 Katama, which is scarcely a mile distant, I carefully 

 scrutinized the bits of marsh and margins of the fresh- 

 water ponds which lie just inside the cordon of sand 

 dunes by the seaside, though with hardly satisfactory re- 

 sults. On one mud flat which was covered with water at 

 high tide, I did flush a brace of graybacks and three sand- 

 pipers, but they rose wild. The two graybacks hastily 

 slipped over the crown of a saad dime and were lost to 

 sight, while the three peeps circled 

 around the pond twice and then settled 

 again near where they first showed up. 

 A little further inland I heard a familiar 

 sound overhead, and looking up I saw 

 three fine snipe high in the air steering 

 due south , straight for Nantucket, though 

 all of a sudden they tacked and flew 

 nor'nor'west by north, as the seafaring 

 men would say. 



'Scaip! 'Scaip! they all : cried, and it 

 might liave seemed a narrow escape to 

 them, though to tell the truth under 

 breath, I had no gun with me. To me 

 it did not seem such a very close call. 

 Later on I saw a flicker fly out of a patch 

 of scrub oaks and light on the top rail 

 of a neighboring fence. It was the only 

 fence in sight, and I remarked to my 

 female companion that it was a capital 

 shot, and it was a pity that we had not 

 come prepared, adding that it was a 

 mighty good day for beach birds and 

 the woods were full of game. However, 

 to my disappointment, we did not see 

 any more birds of any kind as we 

 traversed the upland, except a robin and 

 a chewink, which we flushed near the 

 hotel verandah. These did not excite 

 any great amount of enthusiasm of 

 themselves, and as we slumped down into the great arm- 

 chairs on the porch I could not help deplore the loss of 

 opportunities in consequence of having no breechloader, 

 and the lady herself (which was my wife) allowed that it 

 was human nature to do so. At that time it was about 

 4 o'clock and our team was to leave at six. 



Just at that juncture we happened to descry the figure 

 of a man clad in black emerging from behind an adjacent 

 point of scrub oak woods with a gun on his shoulder and 

 a doubtful sort of dog following, headed for the beach. I 

 could not repress an outburst of envy at the sight. 



"There now," I exclaimed, "the birds are afield sm-e 

 enough, and that man is bound to have some rare sport. 

 These island gunners know a good day when it comes, 

 and they let no opportunity slip that they know of. You 

 heard me?" 



Even while I spoke the figure halted and the dog in at- 

 tendance sat down. Then a puff of blue smoke was pro- 

 jected into the atmosphere. 



"He's got one already," I said. 



We did not see him pick up anything at the moment, 

 and the dog appeared not interested or else absent- 

 minded. At all events, he kept quite still. At first we 

 were inclined to wonder at this, but when the man with 

 the gun presently shot a second time, and again, without 

 moving from his position, we decided that he understood 

 his business thoroughly, no doubt of it. 



"The birds always come around back to the same place 

 if you wait," I explained. "After he has shot again he 

 will gather up the game." 



"Don't the sportsman's dog usually retrieve the bird?" 

 madam asked. 



"Why-er— well, yes; that is, when they fall into deep 

 water, out of reach, or into tall grass, where the man 

 cannot find them himself." 



This explanation did not seem to be accepted as a postu- 

 late by madam, who presently dropped into a brown 

 study. Directly the brown became a shade lighter, and 

 she remarked with some vigor: "For my part I don't see 

 of what use the dog is any way." 



"Neither do I," said I. 



Just then the man shot again. He was so far off that 

 we could see the smoke from the gun an instant before 

 we heard the report. The air was still and the report 

 distinct, and the glow from the western sun threw the 

 figures of the sportsman and his dog into sharp silhouettes 

 against the sky whenever they skirted the sand ridges. 

 Wife said the dog's outline looked like a mastiff. We 

 noticed that whenever the man raised his gun to shoot, 

 the dog sat down. 



"He is trained to drop to shot," I explained. 



"That's all right," retorted madam, "but I don't see 

 any birds dropi" 



At this juncture the fusUade increased, and I insisted 

 with much vehemence that where there were so many 



shots there must be some birds. "That man cannot af- 

 ford to waste ammunition so recklessly," I contended. 

 "Why, those cartridges cost at least tsvo and a half cents 

 apiece, and he has fired at least a dozen times." 



Then for at least ten minutes we watched the proceed- 

 ings in silence. There were no other persons except our- 

 selves on the south verandah. All the hotel guests seemed 

 to have gone to the shady side. The air was so still that 

 we could hear the pulsations of the surf upon the beach, 

 and we gratefully sniffed the odor of the salt sea. air, 

 which seemed fresher and more invigorating every time 

 a wave broke. At the same time, the reports of the gun 

 were distinctly heard a mile away. Sometimes both bar- 

 rels went off in quick succession. We noticed also that a 

 second sportsman had taken the field. 



"That's business!" I said. "Now they will keep the 

 birds moving. They will drive the birds to each other, 

 I dare say the day's sport wiU discount old Currituck 

 itself." 



I began to grow yellow with envy — which presently 

 changed to a pale green, I never felt 'so restless in my 

 Kfe, 



"Just my beastly luck not to have my gun!" I mur- 

 mured. "Never had a gim at the right time. Here is the 

 best day for shore birds I ever saw, and my gun five 

 hundred miles away in Newberne, North Carolina! But 

 who would have thought of bringing a gun at this season 

 of the year? Such a chance don't happen once in a dog's 

 age. You see, yesterday's hurricane has just covered the 

 coast with flotsam, and the whole landwash is lined with 

 food. Don't you notice the mackerel gulls a-flying? 

 That's a nice sign. Fishermen always swear by the guUs. 

 Of course, we were too early at the beach at noon. It was 

 the wrong time of day. Birds don't begin to fly until the 

 middle of the afternoon; and that is the reason we didn't 

 see more. These sportsmen have just hit it. They know 

 when to take them. Island gunners are hard to beat. 

 There they go againl Another shot! two more! three 

 together! Dear me! The beach must be alive with them." 

 Thus I remarked and brooded,nursing my disappointment. 

 Wife looked sympathetic, but was silent and serene. Fin- 

 ally I could bear no more. 



shot. Don't think the gun scattered enough," he added, 

 after a pause. 

 "Choked?" I suggested. 



"Well, I don't know about that. It was given to me 

 for a good gim," 



Evidently the term "choke" was new to him. He 

 seemed to think it an affection similar to strangulation, 



"Did the other fellow who was shooting get anytliing?" 



"I believe he picked vip one. Am not altogether sure." 



"Did you see any beach birds when you were out? any 

 graybacks, snipe, dowitchei-s, or dough birds?" 



"I don't think it. I don't think I shoiild have known 

 them if I did." 



This was painfully candid. After a little he explained 

 that he had never done much gunning. Indeed, he did 

 not remember of ever hitting anything in his life. He 

 thought he would just try it to-day to pass time. 



"Could you tell me how many cartridges you fired?" I 

 asked, anxiously. 



He felt in his coat pocket and counted with his fingers. 



"I hardly know," he said, "I have four left. I must 

 have had fifty in all." 



Then I drew a long breath. My mind experienced an 

 indescribable relief. I could almost have hugged the 

 man for his candor. So it was not a good day for birds 

 after all! Then I was glad that I had brought no gun. 



Charles Hallock. 



Fig. 5. Richardson's Grouse. 

 ( Bendragapus i-ichardsonii.') 



"Come!" I said. "Let us go down to the inner shore 

 and gather shells. Spent shells are better than no ammu- 

 nition, even if they be but sea shells, I will wind sea weeds 

 upon my hat, forsooth. Alas! more than one poor widow 

 has donned weeds for sailors shipwrecked in yesterday's 

 storm. Depend upon it, lives have been lost — lots of 'em. 

 There will be sad tales of disaster when the reports 

 come in," 



Hand in hand we went to the land-locked beach of Kat- 

 ama Bay, where no angry sea ever disturbed its sands, 

 all unconscious of a second storm which was so stealthily 

 gathering for the morrow. We did not know that the 

 deceitful calm was what the seamen call a "weather 

 breeder," For our own enjoyment it was perhaps as well. 

 Beautiful marine mosses and parti-colored pebbles lined 

 the margin of the shore just where the wavelets lapped. 

 Succulent algte clung to sunken bits of wreck, long since 

 tempest- tossed, and spread their long filaments to the rising 

 tide. Limpets and razor clams traced their furrowed trails 

 upon the ooze which the receding waves had bared. Out 

 in the channel quahaugs and giant clams peacefully re- 

 posed until the tong-men lifted them out with long forceps 

 which reached to the bottom. We passed an hour in 

 quiet abandon, gathering trophies which we did not want, 

 until the whistle of the locomotive in the distance admon- 

 ished that the train approached. Then we climbed up the 

 blirff to the hotel verandah, and while we waited for the 

 hour of departure a sportsman drove up in a buggy with 

 a coach dog behind him. It was the same man we had 

 been watching with so much interest. His face was 

 flushed with exercise, and the sun had burned him to a 

 red hot tan. He had a heavy lO-bore English gun with 

 him, and as I approached him with eager curiosity to 

 ascertain what success he had, he complained of being 

 badly pounded. He said his shoulder was lame. "You 

 fired many times," I suggested. "Yes; quite a few." 



He looked so cheerful that I at once credited him with 

 a very large bag. At the same time I did not see him lift 

 any birds out of the wagon. Neither did the hostler, who 

 came to take the wagon to the stable. The dog went 

 away with the wagon, and the gentleman walked toward 

 the verandah, I offered him a seat and he sat down 

 beside me, readily. It was natural, I thought to myself, 

 A fellow feeling makes us congenial. Birds of a feather, 

 etc. Two hearts that beat as one, and all that sort of 

 thing. Proverbs came pat and apropos. 



"What were you shooting at?" I ventured to ask, 



"Sand peeps," he answered. 



Then the bottom fell out of aU my sentiment. It fell 

 with a thud, like dough, 



"You must have seen a great number?" I pursued, 

 gloomily. 



"Yes. Quite a few." 



"Get any?" 



"I hardly think I bit a single one. I aro not much of a 



SEPTEMBER LIGHTS. 



September brings Tidewater Virginia a charm and 

 beauty of natural scenery which no other month of tiie 

 year can excel. It is in the threshold of the great winter 

 change, the season when the rank summer luxuriance of 

 field and forest receives the first impressions of its beauti- 

 ful dissolution. 



Wonderfully enchanting as is the x-evivifying touch of 

 spring, starting into life and development the vast world 

 of verdure, and magnificent as is the effect of its creation's 

 midsummer maturity, at no period of its existence is this 

 same ci-eation more superbly glorious than in the succeed- 

 ing stages of its gradual decay. In early September 

 actual frost has rarely fallen, but the 

 vegetable world seems to possess an 

 intuition of its advent, and a correspond^ 

 ing impulse to exert every effort for de- 

 velopment before it is arrested by the 

 inevitable doom. 



So rankly and densely matted is the 

 cover of the field and meadow, and so 

 thickly interwoven are the masses of 

 forest leaves that we could almost fancy 

 nature making a matei-nal effort to 

 shield and screen with her completed 

 growth. The tender shoots and buds, 

 too, recently started upon a career 

 which can never be achieved. In this, 

 the season essentially of lights and 

 shadows, the highways afford vistas of 

 most striking effect and contrast. Hard 

 and dry the weU-beaten roadbed 

 stretches with many curves and bends, 

 now across partially cultivated fields,' 

 and now between forest growth border- 

 ing its edges. On one side arises the 

 densely columned pine wood, with its 

 thick carpet of green tags and solemn 

 roof of dark green. In the struggle for 

 light and air the lower branches have 

 all succumbed, and the straight rugged 

 barked trunks rise many feet naked into 

 the air, until they reach the heavy 

 shadow crowning their summit. 



Very little of the light green of deciduous growth 

 relieves the uniform style pecvdiar to the upland pine 

 forest, because the sun is too closely excluded, and the 

 contrast with the totally different aspect across the way 

 remains unimpaired. There the oak, the sassafras and 

 the sweet gum claim precedence, and rich is the effect of 

 the blended form and coloring of their foliage. The oak 

 appears in many varieties, from the fight gi-een of the 

 white oak, to the dark ghttering leaves of the red oak, 

 with their buff underlining of fuzzy coating. The sassa- 

 fras interspersing its deeply cut leaves with its purple 

 clusters of red-stemmed fruit, is already beginning to 

 glow with the rich scarlet tints which are soon to absorb 

 its verdure. But the sweet gum, the liquid amber of the 

 florist, this is the tree which in the September light 

 attracts pai-ticularly the attention of the observer. Tall 

 and stately in its growth it adorns its stai'-shaped foliage 

 of the deepest, glossiest green, with innumerable starry 

 pendants, hanging upon long, flexible stems. Even now 

 these leaves are darkening their edges, and each day will 

 add a deeper shade until they clothe the entire tree in 

 royal purple. 



Curving away from the upland scene the road now de- 

 scends into the meadow, with its brilliant beds of eupa- 

 torium and gayly bloommg creepers, interspersed with 

 the rich velvet crimson of the cardinal flower and the 

 stately plumes of the golden rod. 



A clear, rippling stream crosses the road, upon its firm 

 bed of sand and white gravel, and near its brink stands 

 the triumph of Virginia trees, the century numbering 

 beech. Broad and far reach forth its spreading branches, 

 each one as large as an ordinary tree in itself, and in 

 the shelter of its enormous crown are the abodes of an 

 entire animal kingdom. 



The squirrel has its hollows filled Avith a varied store of 

 nuts, and in the vast area of its branches finds ample space 

 for sport and exercise. The bluejay builds among its 

 leaves in summer and feeds upon its nuts in winter. The 

 little ground squirrel dwells in the subterranean palaces 

 of its roots and in delighted flights around his great cir- 

 cumference of the trunk trims its little sail like a boat 

 upon the water. Summer birds of many varieties and 

 exquisite plumage select the beech either for the actual 

 site of their architecturtil labors or Tor a favorite haunt 

 when weary with domestic cares or thirsting for a draft • 

 of the pure, clear water of the stream which bathes its 

 roots. Even the leather- wing bat; that outcast of the an- 

 imal creation, neither bud nor beast, selects the shadow 

 of the beech's canopy for its retreat from the light of the 

 sun, and adhering to the silvery bark of the great limbs, 

 slumbers through the long summer day until the shadowy 

 twilight restores its simstruck vision and enables it to re- 

 commence its wanderings of the night. The insect host 

 which shelters and feeds amid the leaves of the giant 



