882 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



[June 30, 1894. 



A JUNE PASTORAL. 



ON my grandfather's plantation in North Alabama 

 there lives a colored servitor familiarly known as "Ches," 

 who is, perhaps, the happiest darkle in Dixie. A patri- 

 archal family of sons and daughters "hoe de cotton an' 

 plow de corn," relieving him of all responsibility for the 

 present, and no well-constituted negro has a future this 

 side "o' kingdom cum." 



But, "what ye shall eat, and wherewithal ye shall be 

 clothed," is not a serious matter in the South, especially 

 when one goes barefoot three-fourths of the year and be- 

 holds in a spread of corn pone and possum a feast for the 

 gods. The accident of numerous progeny, therefore, is to 

 Ches only incident to unlimited opportunity for leisure, 

 ■wherein to luxuriate in the four-fold popularity he enjoys 

 anent his prowess as a hunter of "varmints," his skill at 

 fishing, the voodoo incantations he chants for the relief of 

 his unfortunate countrymen who are "hurted" (i. e., pois- 

 oned with that greatest of mysteries, African poison), 

 and the powerful sermons he preaches for the salvation of 

 souls. 



Previous to the late war, Ches was the most refractory 

 of slaves, idle to a degree, and sure to run away every 

 year so soon as blackberries were ripe and it was warm 

 . enough to sleep comfortably in the woods. During that 

 memorable sectional struggle, when society was anarchy, 

 and fear abode an unrelenting guest with his master's 

 fanily; when slaves were demoralized and insurrection 

 imminent, none was so faithful 1o every trust. When 

 peace and freedom came together, Ches married his wife 

 according to the goppel and remaintd in his cabin. As 

 his children multiplied and waxed great in stature, he 

 added other rooms, m a row, each smaller than the last, 

 until now his dwelling resembles a monster telescope, 

 long drawn out. 



When I was a boy Ches was my oracle. From him I 

 imbibed the love of field and stream, and learned the 

 fables and traditions of his race. He held me on my 

 horse when 1 learned to ride, and also taught me where 

 to seek for game and how to load and shoot the single- 

 barreled 6ft. fowling piece of a long-gone age, contemptu- 

 ously left in the house as worthless by the proscription of 

 two invading armies. Armed with this antiquated instru- 

 ment of destruction, supplemented' by a goodly supply of 

 rocks, in Ches's hands still more deadly weapons, we sal- 

 lied forth almost daily in search of game, principally rab- 

 bits, and, as the keen eyes of my dusky comrade seldom 

 overlooked one crouching in his form, our bags were 

 usually equal to the number he was willing to "tote." 



It was a proud day for us both when I at length suc- 

 ceeded in tumbling a rabbit running, as from that time 

 we hunted upon more equal terms — the shot, or throw in 

 the "bed," belonging to the man who discovered the 

 game, and as 1 was seldom so fortunate, Ches had a 

 chauoe at most of the game that we killed, and for many 

 a year killed most that we bagged. 



About the advent of my twelfth year rabbits began to 

 p.dl upon my taste for sport, and I burned for adventure 

 with nobler game, but it was long before I could win con- 



heill, fiuin Olive, t^Ko rc-tUicoa that roois would otaud bill 



little showing there, to plunge into the forests. Many 

 and gruesome were the stories he told me of savage "var- 

 mints," and still more fearful "whipsnakes," to deter me 

 from the venture, and when at length my young imagina- 

 tion no longer feared a painted devil," dire I ul were the 

 prognostications of evil with which his prophetic soul 

 marked our setting forth. 



"Sumpin sho guine ter happen, honey, ef we goes in 

 dar," he said when we reached the woods. "Dun't yer 

 heayr dat squitch owl holler? Dat's er sho sign er death; 

 an' sides dat yer did 'n' hab no raid string ter fling ober 

 yer shoulder when dat rabbit cross de rode. We ain't 

 guine to hab no luck, de Lord knows." 



"Come on, Ches," I pleaded. "Squitch owls can't hurt 

 us, and you made a cross mark and spit in it when the 

 rabbit crossed the path— that broke the charm." 



"Ah, I'm er guine, honey; but I's pow'lul jubous 'bout 

 hit." 



We had not gone far before a squirrel frisked out of a 

 brier patch and ran chattering to the top of a tali gum, 

 where Ches soon espied his shining eyes peering at us 

 from a leafy covert, and tried in vain to point them out 

 to me. When my neck would no longer stand the strain 

 of looking upward I allowed myself to be persuaded that 

 the rodent would escape, and sadly relinquished the gun 

 to my companion, who quickly brought him down. 



I saw the next squirrel that was found, but missed him. 

 Ches "turned" him for me again and again, but I missed 

 him every time, until finally, the poor little fellow, almost 

 scared to death, took a flying leap for another tree, mis- 

 calculated the distance and fell to the ground, where he 

 lay stunned for an instant. I ran to pick him 'up, but he 

 recovered before 1 could reach him and ran up'a small 

 willow near by. I insisted I had killed him, or, at least 

 had wounded him so badly that it was /mpossible for him i o 

 i scape, and prevailed upon Ches to climb the tree to catch 

 liim. When he was about half way up the squirrel ran 

 out, and as he swung upon a pliant branch I blazed away 

 and Ches hit the ground with a yell and' a thud, his legs 

 i ull of shot. Fortunately he was more scared than hurt 

 but that ended the hunt for that day. 



For more than a week following this adventure Ches 

 was too stiff and sore for tramping, and not being allowed 

 to hunt alone, enforced abstinence from my favorite 

 amusement was sufficient retribution for my recktessness 

 and made me so thoroughly careful for the f uture that no 

 other accident ever befell us afield; but it is needless to 

 add that I could never again indue; Cues to climb for 

 game so long as a loaded gun remained in my hands 

 l elow. 



My departure for college put an end forever to all famil- 

 iar intercourse between us. For the most part my vaca- 

 tions were spent from home, or were engrossed bv the 

 pleasure of society, and when my school days were over 

 i branched out into the world, and it was not until several 

 y ears had flown that I located permanently amid the 

 scenes of my youth. When I did return, however I re- 

 ceived no more cordial greeting than that accorded me 

 by this much-imposed-upou and long-suffering associate of 

 my early sports-. 



As I i.ave *aid, Ches has developed into a mighty fisher 

 of nshea as well as ot men, and it seems that the perfect 



advent of the present June brought back to hira, in con- 

 n ction with his favorite pastime, some tender reminis- 

 cence of our adventures together, as he tramped several 

 miles, under some mystic influence, to bring me the joy- 

 ful tidings that fish were biting at one of our old haunts, 

 a pond in his neighborhood, famous for the multitude of 

 its finny denizens, and to urge me to accompany him 

 upon an excursion thereto on the following day, "des fur 

 de sake ob ole times." 



"Why, boss," he said, "dey fa'rly makes de water bile, 

 dar's so many ob dein." 



"Pond fish are nob good at this season of the year, 

 Ches," I urged, "and besides, I have no minnows." 



"Dat's all right, boss; yer cum, an' I'll fine de minners, 

 an' eat de fish too ef yer don't want 'em. 'Sides dat, y r er 

 don't need no minners; dey bites at craws an' wurms." 



"I don't care to fish for that kind, Ches." Some recol- 

 lection of the piscatorial desire of my boyish days that 

 was content with anything that could bobble a cork, 

 evidently flashed through his brain; but he was too polite 

 to express his astonishment in words— he only said: "I'll 

 sho hab de minners; you des cum, dat's all I asts yer." 



"Very well," I at length consented. "I will go out to 

 the 'old place' to-night so we can get an early start." 



That Ches's idea of early differs materially from mine, 

 had escaped me, and it was with a malediction upon all 

 fishermen that I rolled out of bed at daybreak in response 

 to his announcement that it was time to be off; that he 

 had routed out the cook, and that breakfast awaited me 

 in the dining room. 



The pond in questic n is a miserable hole, about 100ft. 

 in diameter, that is supposed, by the negroes, to be bot- 

 tomless owing to an underground connection that causes 

 it to rise and fall with the Tennessee River. It is subject 

 to overflow, and the receding floods leave it teeming 

 with fish — more, usually, than it can support during the 

 summer's stagnation. In July and August, countless 

 numbers come to the surface for air, falling easy victims 

 to clubs in the hands of those insufficiently epicurean to 

 eat them, mud and slime betainted as they are. 



Early as we were, we found a goodly number of dusky 

 anglers already reveling in large and rapidly increasing 

 catches of mud-cat, suckers and perch; and by noon I 

 counted no less than thirty -nine poles over the water, 

 upon which rested the hope of twenty individuals. I had 

 noticed when we started that Ches carried a bundle of 

 rods that would have burdened a burro, and had silently 

 wondered how he expected to attend to so many lines if 

 fish bit as he expected. So soon as he had routed two or 

 three usurpers, as he seemed to regard them, from a 

 famous trout hole under a spreading oak and had in- 

 stalled me in their seat, he proceeded to bait his hooks 

 and distributed them at regular intervals around the 

 pond to my increased amazement; but I soon found there 

 was method in his madness, as will appear. This business 

 attended to, he seated himself upon a root near my side 

 and undertook my entertainment and his own by ques- 

 tioning me upon my travels, and by involving me in theo- 

 logical disputes upon points as intricate and no less meta- 

 physical than the heresy of Nestorius. 



Every few minutes some bne would yell, "Run, parson, 

 run! yer got er bite!" 



"Des pull 'im out fur me, honey," he would reply, with 

 never a move unless the catch was of unusual size, in 

 which event he would boatir himself sufficiently to add 

 it- to his string in the water, provided always that some 

 accommodating youngster had placed it in his hands. 



At the beginning of this extraordinary exhibition of 

 ideal still-fishing, I paid but little attention; but as the 

 day wore on I saw through its frequent recurrence, and 

 could but admire the ingenuous rascal's cunning expedi- 

 ents for indulging his constitutional aversion to motion. 

 I marveled at the stupidity of his friends, thus tamely 

 submitting to be put upon ; finally concluding that African 

 good-nature is unlimited, when one of the "sisters." not 

 20ft. away, drew in for the reverend gentleman a small 

 cat not more than 3in. long, that flopped from the hook 

 and went rolling down the bank only to be desperately 

 r pursued by the woman, upon all fours, who hardly effected 

 its capture just at the water's edge, and not until she had 

 floundered a foot deep in mud and slime. She came up 

 wet and dripping, but radiant, holding aloft the fish in 

 triumph and exclaiming with a grin: "Bless de Lord, I 

 saved 'im fur yer, parsen!'' 



"Thank yer, Sis' Jane, thank yer! Des' bait de hook an' 

 set hit out ergin, won't yer?" and then turning to me he 

 resumed his interrupted conversation: "Yas sah, boss, es 

 I wuz sayin', dat trout yer des cotch am er buster!' Speck 

 he am de same one dat broke my line las' week — bran'- 

 new line at dat. Cos' me ten cents in town, an' de on'list 

 store lin I had. Ise sho glad yer got 'im fur er fac'. My 

 king! des look at dat pole ben'. Ef dat ain't er scaly-cat 

 de ver'st fines' fish dat swim. Sah? Yer don't eat'im! 

 des teck an' cut 'im up thin, an' fry 'im brown an' yuther 

 fis ain't in de same bilin' wid 'im. White folks am sho 

 cur'ous." 



I had carried my small-bore rifle along, hoping to kill a 

 squirrel, and by and by a bullfrog popped up his head 

 near the middle of the pond. I threw up the gun, intend- 

 ing to put a bullet between his eyes, but such a chorus of 

 groans and shrieks, and such a scampering from the 

 other side of the hole greeted my aim that I did not fire. 



"What's the matter with those negroes?" I asked Ches. 



"You see, boss, er nigger 's er plum fool erbout powder 

 — don't lack ter smell 'im burn nohow. Las' summer 

 sum po' white trash wus er projekin' roun' heayr shootin' 

 mus'rats, an' hit er 'oraan in der laig, an' since den yer 

 des pint er gun at de water an' dese niggers scatter same 

 as er gang er pa'tridges when yer fling er rock at 'em." 



That reminded me of our old hunting. "Do you still 

 kill rabbits with rocks, Ches?" 



"Who, me? No, sah! I'se got er gun now." 



' 'Breechloader?" 



bottum. 



"Ever been shot for a squirrel, Ches, since I ruined 

 your pants for you?" 



"Now see heayr, boss, I 'lowed yer dun furgot dat. 

 Twant de shot dat spilt dem breeches, hit war fallen out'n 

 de tree when yer shot me. I came down so hard dat hit 

 des natu'ly bus' 'em wide open. Man! I wus sho skeered 

 dat time— skeered wus den I eber wus in my born davs 

 ceptonct." J 



"When was that, Ches?" 



"Dat wus 'fore de wah, honey, 'fore yer wus borned. 



I'd dun run erway one sum'er ober heayr in San' Moun- 

 tin. Ole marster wus rite behin' me wid de dorgs an' I 

 wus meckin' tracks fur de fur kentry. Folks dun tole 

 me better stay offen dem mountins at night, dat de var- 

 mints would ketch me, but huh! I wus fur gitin' plum 

 erway twell de crap dun laid by, an' night wus my time 

 fur guine. Wal sah, hit wus er putty night, sho. De 

 moon wus shinin' same es day, when all ter onct I heard 

 er fuss right afore me. Yer nebber heard sich er racket. 

 Seem lak de 'ternal hills wus er tum'lin' in an'' I 'lowed 

 er catermountin had me sho. I had two ob ole ma rater's 

 pistols I dun stole, but I wus skeered so bad dat I plum 

 furgit I had 'em an' I couldn't run ter save me. De 

 racket cum closer an' closer, an' dar I stood er tremTin' 

 an' prayin' ter de Lord ter help me, an' what yer reckon 

 hit wus, boss?" 



"Can't imagine, Ches, what was it?" 



"Nufen 'tall 'cepin' two ole he coons er fitin' dar in de 

 rode, an' I des tuck en cotched 'em boff soon es I made 

 out what dey wus. An', boss, I wus dat skeered dat hit 

 knocked all de foolin' plum outen me. I wanted ter go 

 home, crap er no crap, so I des flung dem coons on my 

 shoulder an' lit out on de back track. 'Bout sun up I met 

 ole marster an' de oberseer at de foot ob de mountin. Ole 

 marster lowed, 'Whar yer bin, Ches?' 



" 'Bin coon huntin', marster!' 



" 'Coon huntin', yer brack raskil! Yer bin gone two 

 days an' heayr yer es forty mile frum home.' 



" 'Yas sab, marster! Yer see de dorg kep'er trailing' 'n' 

 trailin', an' I kep er guine, twel I cotch 'em 'bout mid- 

 night las' night.' 



" 'Whar yer strack dat trail?' 



" 'Down in de botum by de horg pen, marster.' 



" 'Look heayr, nigger, how dem coons cross dat riber 

 an' hit a mile wide?' 



" 'I ain't dun think erbout dat, boss,' an' I des had ter 

 stop an' scratch my haid fore I 'turned de answer. 'Yer 

 got me dar, marster; I des 'lowed ter ast yer dat, when I 

 got home.' 



"Ole marster laff at dat, he did, an' he neber let dat 

 oberseer strack me narry lick, sah; narry single lick; but 

 he up tole me ef eber I foler er nuder coon 'cross dat river 

 he'd lam me plum home." 



During this recital the "parsen's" hooks had many a 

 bite, so many in fact that he developed sufficient energy 

 to go upon a collecting tour around the pond, and the 

 harvest he garnered increased the. length of his string to 

 more than a yard, and sent his enthusiasm up" to a 

 hundred in the shade. 



"I des tell yer, boss," he exclaimed, exultingly, "dese 

 niggers goes fishin' an' goes fishiu', but I beats dem all." 



"Dat's de truf, parsen, dat's de truf sho," said the 

 woman who had rescued the cat, "an' I des mirates how 

 yer does it. I bleves yer cunjurs wid 'em." 



"I ain't got er fish, nary single fish," chimed in another 

 "sister" who had also overheard the "parsen's" boast. 



"Does yer spit on yer bait. Sis' Ann?" asked Ches. 



"In co'se I spits on my bait, an' I rubs camfire an' asfe- 

 dity on my hook, too," replied Sis' Ann. 



"Anybody step ober yer pole?" 



"Yas, parsen; dattriflin' blue gum nigger Sam, he so 

 figity, lie step ober my pole when I fus' cum." 



"I 'lowed sumpin' done sp'iled yer luck — Dar! yer 

 gittin' er bite now! Run, Sis' Ann, run!" 



Sis' Ann made a frantic rush for her pole, and then she 

 gave a jerk that brought the quinine bottle stopper, that 

 served her for a float, out of the water with a report like 

 a yacht cannon, and sent the poor little cat that so unfor- 

 tunately nibbled 20ft. into the air, tearing the hook from 

 his mouth and allowing him to fall back with a splash. 



"Never mind, Sis' Ann," said Ches, consolingly, "de 

 'postle Paul ses, 'Unto dem dat hab shall be giben,' but 

 I'm guine to 'verse de tex' an'- gib yer mos' ob my leetle 

 ones when I quits." 



"Come Ches," I said, "divide with Sis' Ann, and let's 

 go home. You can have my fish; I don't want them, but 

 I've had fine sport, and will come with you again some 

 other June." Will Scribbler. 



Greenbrier, Ala. 



"Forest and Stream's" Yellowstone 

 Park Game Exploration. 



No. 6. 



MIDWINTER IN THE MOUNTAINS. 



The morning following our first night at the Cafion was 

 bright and clear, thermometer 2° above zero. John Fol- 

 som went upstairs to see about something and took his 

 skis along, He found it easier to slide out of the second 

 story window than it was to walk down stairs. The snow 

 was 25ft. deep on one side of the house, and its level at 

 the lowest part caught the downstairs windows at about 

 the middle. Back of the kitchen a great drift 10 or 12ft. 

 high rose up sharply and we had to cut steps in that to 

 get over it. Every way from the hotel the sheer white 

 covering sloped sharply down in steep rolls and pitches of 

 descent. To the falls of the Cascade Creek, at the bottom 

 of the hill, was a good mile. To the left of that point the 

 black line of timber swept, and down in that somewhere 

 was the Grand Canon of the Yellowstone. From the 

 hotel top we could see away across the Cafion, could see 

 the steam of the Falls, and that of the geysers beyond the ■ 

 river,. the latter rising white and sharp in the winter air. 

 To the southwest we could see out over the Hayden Val- 

 ley, and with the glasses could see that it was storming in 

 the valley, the snow blowing in blinding drifts. We 

 could see the direction of the great natural game trail 

 across the Park, which the elk follow in going from the 

 Hayden Valley to the Soda Butte country in the northeast 

 corner of the Park. Folsom showed me where the U. S. 

 troops in the Nez Perce pursuit crossed the Yellowstone, 

 warping their wagons down into the gorge by ropes. 

 Some of the trees that were skinned by the ropes can still 

 be seen scarred up to to-day. To man unskilled in moun- 

 tain travel it would seem impossible to get any sort of 

 vehicle through here. 



Nature's Cold Storage for Thrills. 

 The Haynes party were expected to arrive that day 

 from the Lake, and Billy started out to meet them on 

 Hayden Valley, hoping to join forces and locate the 

 buffalo. He went quite alone, not a very desirable thing 

 to do in that climate and country. I wished to see the 



