332 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



[April 21, 1894. 



ARKANSAS FRUIT, FISH AND GAME. 



I would like to sing a little about Arkansas, if you 

 please, particularly about that portion of the State that 

 lies directly beneath the shadow of the line separating it 

 from Missouri, so close in fact, that five minutes' walk 

 will put me where I can stand with one foot in each State. 

 Mammoth Spring is the name of the town and Fulton the 

 county, lying among the foothills or rather footsteps of 

 the Ozarks, for this range of so-called mountains is only 

 an upheaval of big hills, stretching across southern Mis- 

 souri and northern Arkansas, at least that is the impression 

 one gets in riding through it, the greatest elevation between 

 Springfield and Memphis being about 1,700ft., from which 

 point the eye sees no peaks, only a vast billowy wooded 

 panorama — I say "the eye," but perhaps I should say my 

 eye, for it may be that other persons can see, or have seen 

 peaks "in the mind's eye, Horatio" if nowhere else. When 

 the foliage is on the trees the view must be a beautiful 

 one, but now the tints are sombre and the leafless branches 

 of the oak which everywhere covers the hills and valleys, 

 give little promise as yet of umbrageous drapery. This 

 whole region is underlaid with minerals of almost every 

 description, lead and zinc predominating, but it has been 

 prospected only in spots, and it is the mineral that makes 

 this country so exceptionally valuable for fruit growing. 

 It is attracting the attention of fruit growers far and wide, 

 and hundreds, yea thousands from the Northern and 

 Western States have come down into the two lower tiers 

 of Missouri counties, and the two upper tiers of Arkansas, 

 within the past few years, and are still coming, clearing 

 the forests and setting out orchards, largely of apple and 

 peach, for it is proven that this is to be the orchard of 

 America. The thrifty growth of trees, and flavor, size 

 and beauty of fruit, are phenomenal. The big apples and 

 peaches which carried off the blue ribbon at the Columbian 

 Exposition, came from this vicinity. A prominent fruit 

 grower told me a day or two ago, that he had any number 

 of peaches last year that when measured were as large 

 around as his neck, and then I walked around said neck, 

 and as I couldn't see that his neck had gone down any) 

 concluded that the fruit niust have been about Sin. through.' 

 What he said was, that the gauge of those big peaches was 

 the same as his neck, as shown by the calipers. When 

 apples are big they weigh from 18 to 24oz., and are as crisp 

 and delicious as they are big. I have seen plenty of peach 

 trees here, three years old from the planting of the pit, that 

 were over 2in. through at the butt and 8 to 10ft. high, and 

 in bearing. Maybe budded trees bear as soon as they are 

 set out. I shouldn't be surprised. Apples bloom regularly 

 the third year from setting out, and frequently the sec- 

 ond. All fruits flourish like the proverbial green bay 

 tree. I suppose maybe I ought to except the cocoanut, 

 orange and bread fruit, but I'm talking of fruits of the 

 temperate zone now. The hills and valleys of this country 

 are for the most part just covered with stone, a whitey- 

 gray conglomerate of flint and limestone in chunks up to 

 the size of a half bushel, and the strangest part of it is the 

 fact that they are all on the surface, loose, none in the 

 soil beneath. These rocks are plainly igneous, or largely 

 so, and continually disintegrating, furnishing plant food 

 ad lib. Of course I'm no rock sharp, and so geologists 

 needn't feel obliged to accept my opinion, but how these 

 stones came to be spread all over the face of south Mis- 

 souri and northern Arkansas, a vast rocky coverlet, with 

 the foot or two of rich soil beneath resting on ten or more 

 feet of strong red clay loam, is a nut that the sharpest of 

 geologists can pound on to their heart's content. I'm glad 

 the correct solution of the question don't devolve on me. 

 But here are the rocks, and if you should tell a Northern 

 fruit grower that these forbidding, white, stony hillsides 

 grow the best fruit in the country, probably you'd have to 

 flee his presence and he'd flee the country. Now don't 

 understand that every square rod of land is so covered. 

 Oh, no. Sometimes it is only every other rod. The fact 

 is that there is a considerable area, scattered around, 

 where the stone is so small that it does not interfere at all 

 with cultivation, and other areas where only here and 

 there the stone is so large that picking it off is necessary. 

 Some tracts have none to mention, but taking the country 

 over the majority of the land is stony. Clear the surface 

 and the labor is done forever, as far as stone is concerned, 

 and being so rich in mineral elements the soil produces 

 amazingly, and the fertility would seem to be permanent, 

 So much for soil. There isn't much in this letter so far 

 relating to sport, but it's just possible that one of your 

 readers somewhere will be interested in something besides 

 sport. 



The town of Mammoth Spring is so named because of 

 the existence of a spring here that is a veritable Jumbo. 

 It boils out of the ground at the rate of 50,000 cubic feet 

 a moment and makes a river from the word go— a river 

 of beautiful greenish blue water clear as crystal that 

 ripples and rushes down grade 28ft. to the mile (first mile 

 anyway) over a gravelly bed, among rocks and under 

 steep bluffs in a wholly captivating manner. Half or 

 three-quarters of a mile below the spring the river (Spring 

 River) is over a hundred yards wide. A dam of solid 

 masonry has been built just below the spring, affording- 

 power for a cotton mill of 3,000 spindles, and a flouring 

 mill with capacity of 300 to 500 barrels a day, both mills 

 m constant operation, the latter day and" night. The 

 water above the dam covers an area of twenty-nine acres 

 The spring at its boil is 70ft. deep. It is said to be the 

 largest spring in the world. In the river are fish of many 

 kinds, mud cat, blue cat, goggle-eyes, "sun perch," bass 

 jack salmon (pike), suckers and eels, and the man tuat 

 isn't satisfied with that list wants to have his pole and 

 line taken away from him. Near the dam is situated a 

 fish farm, a hatchery with a capacity of a million and over 

 and ponds and tanks proportionate. They hatched about 

 a third of a million eggs this season. I went down a 

 morning or two since and saw the man in charge feed the 

 trout, which are largely rainbow, only a few speckled 

 In the stock pond, 600 X 200ft., there are 800 breeders, and 

 about 100 more in the spawning race, *00x30ft., which 

 have not been returned to the big pond. In the yearling 

 pond, 200x100ft., there are 6,000 trout, and there ari 

 eight rearing tanks 4 x 30ft. with dirt bottom. The oldest 

 fish are five years old, remainder one to three. Largest 

 trout about 2ft. long. Besides these, there are 1,100 carp 

 scale and mirror, in a long pond, largest 20 to 251bs./three 



years old. This seems large to me, but I give the state- 

 ment of the colored man in charge. I saw several large 

 fish, but they were evidently several pounds less than 

 twenty. The man said that the carp would weigh 4 to 

 61bs. at one year old. In addition to the trout and carp, 

 there are gold fish, some 800 yearlings, which sell for fifty 

 cents apiece. 



The trout bring 40 cents, the carp 10 cents per pound, 

 and the demand cannot be supplied. The facilities are 

 excellent, an unlimited supply of the purest water at a 

 temperature of 60°, and I judge in the hands of a practical 

 fishculturist there is a bonanza in it. The present owner 

 is a lady living in Little Rock, who of course cannot give 

 it that supervision which is imperative. I hear the plant 

 is for sale. 1 walked to the edge of the different ponds 

 and saw the fish churn the water to foam as the attendant 

 threw the feed (cooked flour and chopped liver mixed) 

 in, and it was a sight to make the blood leap to see thou- 

 sands of trout rushing back and forth, leaping from the 

 water a seething mass of whirling beauty; but when the 

 big fellows in the stock pond got started and the piscine 

 acrobatics was at its height, the bottom fell out of the 

 language tank, and speechless admiration and tingling 

 nerves held sway. I want to remark that it was a great 

 sight. 



Some years since a big freshet came sweeping down the 

 valley, and, owing to inadequate waterway, backed up 

 into the hatchery and washed a hundred thousand fry or 

 so out into the river, where for some years they were occa- 

 sionally caught, and even now I understand one is now 

 and then caught; but it is thought they are gradually dis- 

 appearing. There are some huge beauties in the dam, 

 however, that refuse to be taken out. 



For game hereabout there are some fox and gray squir- 

 rels on the hills, more in the bottoms, hares, numberless 

 quail all through the woods, a good many turkeys back a 

 little from the settlements, and in the sparsely inhabited 

 sections many deer. I saw a young fox squirrel yester- 

 day which a hunter had killed, that was nearly as large as 

 a gray squirrel, and this is April 8. Walking through a 

 large fruit orchard the other day with the owner, I saw 

 just ahead of us on either side the peach rows twenty or 

 thirty quail trotting along at a moderate gait, seemingly 

 little alarmed. The proprietor said he never shot them 

 nor allowed any shooting on the place, and that there 

 were hundreds of birds probably scattered over the farm. 

 It was a very pretty sight, and I wished I owned the 

 quail — wouldn't object to the farm. 



For birds there are the bluejay, and pewit, and tom-tit, 

 and robin, redbird, great crested woodpecker (ivory 

 billed ?) and two or three other varieties, and the "mock- 

 ingbird makes music all the day," especially in the even- 

 ing. 



I am surprised to find no grouse in these hills. It would 

 seem that this would be the very country for them, but 

 though I have inquired diligently I am unable to learn of 

 any. It would be a good plan to try stocking the Ozarks, 

 the only drawback 1 see is that the thickets are rather 

 scarce, at least in this vicinity, and that leads me to re- 

 mark that there is no very old timber in this region, nor 

 ever has been, at all events there are no old stumps, and 

 the oldest settlers say that when they first came to this 

 country there was no good-sized timber and much of the 

 land that is now covered with oaks 6 to lOin. through was 

 perfectly bare of trees, and tall grass covered the land. I 

 chink I am safe in saying that nine-tenths of the timber is 

 from 6 to 12in. in diameter. 



This is a queer country, long neglected, there being 

 twelve counties in northern Arkansas without a railroad, 

 but with fresh blood and capital it will yet blossom as the 

 rose, for it is budding even now. The natural advan- 

 tages in various lines are here, and people who have 

 struggled in Kansas, Nebraska and the Dakotas with 

 grasshoppers, droughts, blighting winds, snow, ice and 

 misery, are coming down into this land of short winters 

 and fruit by the thousands. O. O. S. 



Mammoth Spring, Ark., April, 1894. 



REVERIES OF A DISMAL MAN. 



As I have been a Dismal Man for many years, it is but 

 natural that the cheerful, gushing and effervescent style 

 generally adopted in shooting sketches should be distaste- 

 ful to one of my nature. As a rule a shooting trip is a 

 serious affair and a great strain upon one's nerves and 

 digestion, and therefore should not be treated in a light 

 and vivacious vein. 



Sportsmen's reveries are described generally as taking 

 place in a cosy "den." The sportsman sits before a blaz- 

 ing open fire, tilted back comfortably, with feet high 

 above the head. The old and trusty pointer dozes upon 

 the hearth. Outside the storm roars and the wind beats 

 fitfully upon the casement. The smoke from the sports- 

 man's Havanna (never domestic) curls lazily upward in 

 fantastic shapes, etc., etc., etc. 



Now, I haven't a den. I don't keep a pointer, for they 

 come high and are expensive to keep, to say nothing of 

 the constant worriment of mind over their evil doings. I 

 do not smoke, for it makes me sick. I dare not extend 

 my pedal extremities in the comfortable mariner of the 

 musing sportsman above, for at my time of life I find it 

 extremely difficult to unhinge them after remaining long 

 in that position. Outside, the storm is bad enough for all 

 p ractical purposes, and I am reminded that my mackintosh 

 id a delusion and a snare, though purchased in good faith 

 from a seemingly honest house. I have no open fire to 

 sit before, simply a radiator in my office. But I can 

 "reverie" just the same, for there is no business to attend 

 to. My thoughts run riot; and again I am visiting the 

 scenes of many a southern shooting trip. 



December. Blowing, freezing, and anything but the 

 ideal sunny South. A long, tedious sail down Currituck 

 Sound, and I arrive at my destination and spend the rest 

 of the day and evening before a pine wood fire. At times 

 roaring hot, then dying down till cold chills race up and 

 down the spine. Then Jim "totes" in more wood, at the 

 same time leaving the door open, letting in blasts of cold 

 air. I bake one side, while the blood congeals in the 

 other, and thus alternate until I retire. I sink into a 

 feather bed and keep on sinking until my backbone rests 

 upon the bed cords beneath. I arrange the few feathers 

 in the tick on each side, and make a mental resolve to 

 suggest to my host that he use larger bed cords, as they 

 cut into the flesh less. An ancient and musty smell pre- 

 vails. Why shouldn't it? Have not the feathers been 

 imprisoned in the tick since time primeval? 



After a few hours of fitful slumber I am aroused, and 



don several layers of heavy clothing, and descend at an 

 unearthly hour to breakfast. To be sure, the coffee is 

 boiled, and the chicken dough called hoecake would be 

 better if done more. Less grease would be more pleasing. 

 I long ago learned that it is useless to try to reform such 

 customs, so 1 partake of that which is set before me, 

 endeavoring to feel thankful that it is no worse. 



The skiff is ready. The cold sweet potato lunch is 

 aboard. At the risk of bursting blood vessels the heavy 

 boxes containing the live geese decoys are hoisted 

 in, and we are off. Down the creek we pole. Dark- 

 ness and silence reign and nature still sleeps. Brightly 

 shines the morning star. The blind is soon reached, 

 and as the water is too deep for the live decoys a clod 

 from the marsh is cut for each goose and placed 

 in the water, and ere long our birds are staked out. 

 After a good bath each goose mounts his clod and con- 

 verses with his neighbor. We get into the blinds and 

 thrust feet and legs into the half barrel sunk in the marsh, 

 and until daylight I am employed in efforts to shrink 

 myself into the smallest possible compass. The guide 

 possesses this art to perfection, and at will can collapse 

 into the half barrel. This I am unable to do, owing to 

 length of limbs, and therefore "loom up" much too con- 

 spicuously. LordI how cold it is. Is there a bleaker 

 spot on earth than this hole in the marsh with but a few 

 short reeds and water bushes to break the chilling blasts? 

 How warm and comfortable that almost featherless bed 

 was after all. 



At last the eastern sky grows pink. Old Sol soon peeps 

 up from behind the sand hills and begins his daily journey. 

 Large flocks of ducks, and gangs of geese and swans rise 

 from their feeding grounds to seek new quarters for the 

 day. The boom, boom, boom, of heavy guns comes from 

 every point, and at times one might imagine a heavy 

 battle going on. Suddenly the guide whispers, "Ducks 

 coming. Lie low. I will tell you when to shoot." I 

 squeeze every possible portion of my anatomy into the 

 barrel and await orders. The guide nudged me. "Here 

 they are; jump up and let them have it." I now find 

 that I am cast in my barrel; but finally, after a terrific 

 struggle, get on my feet and manage to pour the contents 

 of both shells after a fleeing bunch of redheads entirely 

 out of range. 



The flight now keeps up in good earnest and I blaze 

 away at the birds instead of ahead of them. Result, 

 only now and then a bird killed by me, though Jim 

 repeatedly wip es my eye and cuts them down at long 

 range after escaping my fire untouched. This state of 

 affairs is anything but soothing to one's nerves and 

 after each shot I make a mental resolve to hold well 

 ahead, but make but little progress in that direction, the 

 excitement proving too much for me, to say nothing of 

 the disturbing influences caused by my frantic efforts to 



. unlimber from my cramped position. 



The weather, which early in the morning promised to 

 be fine, changed, and a beastly drizzle and sleet set in, 

 and for the rest of the day I sat hunched up and miser- 

 able while the rain slowly percolated the seams of my 

 sham of a mackintosh; and I can think of no greater 

 punishment for the wretch who sold it to me than to 



I wish he were in my position. 



; Just before leaving the blind a gang of geese came over 

 ! us. They evidently were suspicious and would not light, 

 but with loud honking sailed overhead some fifty yards 

 1 or more high. Slipping in a B.B. shell I for once hold 

 ■■ well ahead of a large gander and let drive, and have the 

 ; satisfaction of seeing him wince, rnak« a few frantic 

 attempts to keep his wings going and fall, striking the 

 marsh with a terrific crash, killed dead by the little 12- 

 gauge. It is surprising what a change comes over 

 one after making a good and successful shot. 



For the rest of the day I heed not the wretched rain. 

 When, as I helped take up the decoys, I stepped over 

 the top of my wading boot and let a pint of water down, 

 I neglected to pour forth the usual volley bewailing my 

 luck, though I knew it would take a week to dry that 

 boot. In quite a cheerful mood I sat in a pool of water 

 while Jim paddled home, and after eating a large and in- 

 digestible supper I sit by the fire and toast my shins, 

 close my eyes and see that goose come down again," and 

 for the nonce forget I am A Dismal Man. 



WILD GEESE IN THE FOG. 



Boston, April 8. — Editor Forest and Stream: One year 

 ago the 1st day of this month, I was nearer to a bunch of 

 wild geese than I ever expect to be again. 



Arthur Cahill and I were exploring for trout, and bein^ 

 unsuccessful were resting a while. Presently my ears 

 were greeted by the calling or honking of the geese, who 

 were bewildered by the dense fog. Gradually they drew 

 towards us until they were directly overhead and not 

 more than 25 or 30ft. above us. 



To say that I was thrilled would be talking mildly. 

 The only chance in my life and not a gun at hand. Oh 

 opening day this year Mr. Cab ill and I took a trip to one 

 of the noted brooks in the vicinity of Sharon. We were 

 unable to discern anything that resembled a trout, although 

 we were assured by some of the knowing ones that they 

 were waiting to be caught. Later we hoped for more 

 success. 



Mr. G. J. Brann and I have been enjoying ourselves 

 very pleasantly during the past winter with the whistlers 

 and old squaws. And right here on Revere marsh, too. 

 No need of going off to the great Horicon marsh Mr. 

 Hough tells about, to have a little fun, though I know 

 that Mr. Hough would not consider our shooting as. 

 worthy of his consideration. When he can take Roll 

 Organ's gun and knock down a pair of big fat redheads 

 out of a bunch of 19, of course no common old squaws 

 would have any charms for him. 



Black duck (so-called) have been fairly plentiful tins 

 spring. We averaged about two dozen each during the 

 first two weeks of the arrival. They are very wary fal- 

 lows and do not seem to decoy readily. During the day 

 they spend their hours on the flats off Nahant, feeding, etc. 



At dusk they wend their way into the many small 

 streams that abound through the marshes, and if allowed 

 will remain till morning. But they do not obtain much 

 rest, as they are kept on the go all the time by rapacious 

 man. They are very poor in flesh and hardly worth, the 

 getting. Our fish dealers had some very faded looking 

 trout on last Monday morning, April 2, evidently not 

 more than three or four days out of water. 



John P. Wallace. 



