Sept. i, 1894.] 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
188 
refreshments and a smoke, then rolled up in our blankets 
and went to sleep. 
The following forenoon we loitered round the two 
ponds, examined the signs of hoof marks on the ground 
of the previous night's adventure, speculated over the 
same and drew such lessons for future benefit as the oc- 
currences seemed to teach. Later in the day we started 
stream downward and in the evening were back at 
Hathorn's, ashamed of our want of luck, and therefore 
preserving silence with regard to it. New Jersey. 
CHICAGO AND THE WEST. 
[prom a Staff Correspondent.] 
A Tennessee Dove Shoot. 
Chicago, 111., Aug. 25.— In most of the Northern States 
it is unlawful to shoot doves (the bird commonly known 
as the "mourning dove," or "turtle dove") at any season 
of the year, there being a sort of superstitious belief that 
this bird is too sorrowful to want to die, or something of 
that sort, because it sits around and grieves for its 
absent mate. My own personal belief, which I do not 
advance as scientific, is that if the average turtle dove 
had lost its mate it would not be grieved beyond the 
point of consolation, and I believe it hollers because it 
can't hold a peck of stolen wheat instead of half of peck. 
But n'importe, as we say in Chicago. 
In the South the touching legends which have long 
enshrouded this able-bodied wheat thief with an unusual 
forbearance have not been retained in full force. In 
some of the Southern States the dove is not protected at 
all. In others it has a regular close season like any 
other game bird. These protective laws are usually local 
or county special laws, of the sort which make the editor 
of the Game Laws in Brief grow gray. "When you want 
to go shooting in Tennessee, Marylafad or some other of 
the Southern States, you should take the advice of the 
long-suffering individual above mentioned and carry 
along a copy of the statutes in brief, also a county map, 
an indexed gazetteer and a theodolite adjusted to the 
local dip of the magnetic needle and the chronological 
variation of the longitude. In this way you may be safe, 
provided you can prove whether or not the turtle dove is 
a song bird, an insectivorous bird,| a game bird, or that 
sort so generally and generously mentioned by legislative 
enactments as "other bird." If it isn't one bird, of that 
same sort or another sort, then probably, or perhaps, it 
is an "other bird." And there you are. The actual 
shooter knows very well that, all sentiment aside, the 
dove is a game bird of no mean sort. It cannot bo 
worked to dogs, but it has sagacity, caution, toughness, 
courage and speed locked up in its person enough to 
make it one of the hardest of flying things to bring to 
bag. In this it is altogether different from the robin, 
the thrush, the lark, etc., which naturally need and 
deserve protection. The dove should be called a game 
bird, if for no other reason than that pass shooting at 
doves is three-to-one harder shooting than any sort of 
duck shooting. As to the dove being a song bird, it is 
not so much a song bird as Bob White, and goodness 
knows Bob White could pose forever as a prima donna 
and not be safe from the final farewell tour which at 
length corrals all sweet singing things. 
Anyhow, at Memphis, in early August, I was informed 
that it was then legal to shoot doves, and though I have 
since been unable to find any law protecting that bird 
there at any season, I saw my way clear to accepting 
the invitation to go out and kill all the doves in West 
Tennessee. Mr. Irby Bennett was the immediate instiga- 
tor of this nefarious project of depopulation, and he in- 
cluded in the conspiracy Mr. Ferd. Van Dyke and Mr. W. 
R. Hobart, also beside himself, representatives of the 
Winchester Repeating Arms Co. i think I was to go 
along and tell the story of how not one dove escaped to 
tell the tale. 
The Cedars. 
Along in the early 60s, when there were two kinds of 
money in Tennessee, of which you could take your choice, 
and of which everybody had two or three trunks full, the 
owner of a certain fine plantation came to Mr. Edmund 
Orgill, of Memphis, and offered to sell it in exchange for 
a certain sum of money of the kind marked C. S. A. , in con- 
tradistinction to the sort marked U. S. A. I don't know 
how much the amount was, maybe $50,000, maybe $500,- 
000, but anyhow Mr. Orgill opened a trunk or two of 
money and bought the place, which lies only sixteen 
miles from Memphis. Upon it he built a vast plantation 
house, with lofty pillars and wide halls, and rooms whose 
ceiling are high as those of the dining hall of any city 
club house. He improved the 3,000 acres in every way 
cut wide avenues through the woods, and made of it a 
place partly Southern plantation house and partly English 
country house, for Mr. Orgill is of English descent. The 
beautiful place is now known far and wide as "The 
Cedars." 
Each summer Mr. Orgill takes his wife and some mem- 
bers of his family to England, thus escaping the heat of a 
long warm season. This summer Mr. Joe Orgill and Mr. 
Will Orgill were left alone at home on the great place, with 
,no feminine hand to engineer the Lares, the Penates, and 
,the nigroes. Such being the case, Mr. Irby Bennett, his 
wife and mother moved out to the Cedars and were in- 
stalled as part of the family. In Tennessee, if you like 
another man's house better than your own, you just go 
over there and live, and it's all right. Mr. Bennett is 
,building a new house. When he gets it done, if Mr. Orgill 
; likes it better than his own, he will just move over in 
i there and live with Mr. Bennett, and it will be all right. 
•We all having discovered that we liked the Cedars pretty 
'well, we just moved in one evening, and for a day or so 
. owned the place, including the eight or ten drags, carts, 
v wagonettes, etc., all the trotting and thoroughbred 
] horses, the Jersey herd, the beagles, the fox-terriers, the 
.bird dogs, the Berkshires and the nigroes. There isn't an 
: animal (excepting the nigroes) allowed on the place which 
isn't a thoroughbred of its kind and which hasn't a pedi- 
.gree running back to the Conquest. Even the doves, of 
which there are thousands, are thoroughbreds, as we will 
.testify. 
The Beginning of the Holocaust.' 
In the South, when a guest arrives at the house, the 
immediate presumption is that he is hungry, and noth- 
ing affords the real Southerner more pleasure than to 
see his guest eating something. On this basis, I feel 
sure that we Northern men pleased our host perfectly, 
for we did full credit to the hearty luncheon which was 
instituted as the initiatory to the programme. After that 
we climbed into the wagonette, and with two negroes on 
the driver's seat started off through the old woods to the 
vheat fields, where we were to make the holocaust which 
should complete the extermination of the dove family 
in West Tennessee. There were six guns of us, Mr. Ben- 
nett, Mr. Will Orgill, their young friend Mr. Frank Mur- 
phy, Mr. Van Dyke, Mr. Hobart and myself. The more 
guns the better on a dove shoot, as it keeps the birds 
moving. 
In the middle of the day the doves take to the shade 
of the woods. They feed in the early morning and late 
evening, using on wheat stubble for that purpose when they 
can find it. At sundown they go to water. Water-hole 
shooting is the commonest sort in dry localities. Some- 
times a fly-way or pass can be found along a hedge. In 
our case we were to take stands at different points about 
the wheat fields to get our shooting as the birds came in 
to feed. No blinds were used. We simply crouched down 
low under the trees or stood close up to the shrubs which 
made our stands. Mr. Bennett assigned each his station, 
and unselfishly assigned to himself the unwelcome task 
of walking about the neighboring fields and stirring up the 
birds. We could see some bunches of birds flying about 
as we crossed the fence, and it was predicted we would 
have some sport. 
The Holocaust Continues. 
Mr. Hobart was to take a tree near the middle of the 
field, and Mr. Van Dyke and I were to go to the apple 
trees on the far side of it. As I walked on, opposite to 
Hobart and abreast of Van Dyke, I saw the latter cut 
down two birds which rose from the cornfield at his left, 
and also saw Hobart hit a bird hard which was quartering 
toward me. As this bird was about to get away I fired at 
it, and managed to worry it down with a very poor shot, 
though we could never find it in the stubble. Then all at 
once the firing became general, like that of a skirmish 
line. We were putting up some birds on the stubble, and 
they circled about, giving all of us long chances, out of 
which only a bird or so materialized. I found in about 
three seconds that I wasn't going to kill every bird I shot 
at, by several. Hobart marked down two birds on the 
stubble, and walking them up got a handsome double on 
them, but the rest of us had not one chance of that kind, 
and were shooting at the blue streaks which were whiz- 
zing this way and that in singles, whisps and bunches. 
It transpired that Van Dyke and I had the best end of 
the game, over by the apple trees, as the birds drew in 
best at that point. As we first went in Van Dyke had 
several shots, most of which he improved handsomely. I 
missed an easy double with a swiftness and precision 
which startled me, and then repeated the thing with sang 
froid and aplomb. This gave me misgivings about my 
gun, which was a brand new Parker just out of the tissue 
paper. As it only weighed 6f lbs. it was a baby gun. I 
thought it should do baby shooting, but it wouldn't. After 
a while I learned that its idiosyncrasy was for birds about 
50yds. away, and that it couldn't begin to shoot much 
under 40yds. After that I regularly killed all the hard 
birds, and missed all the easy ones, never killing a close 
cross shot, and not killing one bird with the left barrel. 
The right barrel was a "cylinder," about as much as a 
milk funnel is a cylinder. I haven't any idea what the 
left barrel was, but it was a lot too good for me. 1 killed 
5 doves straight at about a quarter of a mile, which made 
my highest run and half my bag. If the pesky things 
hadn't kept on coming so close up to me, I'd have killed 
about a million of them, and so helped on our proposition 
of exterminating the supply. As it is, there are several 
thousand left down there. 
Meantime Ferd Van Dyke, he of the long legs and quiet 
habits, was doing some very beautiful shooting a little* 
further down into the field, and making the record of the 
day. Van Dyke's bag was sixteen birds, and he got them 
very clean and regularly, using his old Smith gun. Of 
course Mr. Bennett could shoot nothing but a Winchester 
repeater, and we could hear him slap in three or four bar- 
rels every once in a while in the cornfield back of us. Mr. 
Hobart moved over to the edge of the corn, and got a 
number of shots, but mostly long and hard ones. Our 
other friends had less shooting, but still enough to keep 
them busy. I presume the six of us fired nearly 200 shots, 
say 150. We brought in just thirty-five doves! No one 
need be sure that he can do a great deal better than this 
until he has shot doves under just such conditions. We 
found the game very swift and wild, and at long range 
they made a hard mark, and were, moreover, demons to 
carry off shot. 
The Holocaust Has Conditions. 
As we saw it, dove shooting was a pleasant, companion- 
able sport, easy in its environments, but difficult in its 
execution. I should call the dove, flying at full speed and 
well under way, a harder bird to hit than a wild duck 
and proportionately harder to kill. I would rather 
kill two quail over points than one dove flying full tilt 
over a wheat field. One does not shoot all day at doves, 
but he has furious sport for a couple of hours or so, pro- 
vided he be as fortunate as we were at the Cedars. ' One 
does not walk. He puts his shells conveniently near 
makes himself comfortable and waits for the birds to 
come. When he knocks down a bird the attendant 
colored boy goes out and picks it up, and says, "Golly I 
dat was a mighty good shoot, sah." Then you give the 
boy a quarter. It is worth a quarter to be told you are 
shooting well, when you know you aren't. A man's con- 
ceit in himself is something he will not willingly let die. 
After we had shot for a time in our wheat field, until 
the birds were pretty well scattered, Mr. Bennett thought 
we would better go over to a pond hole where sometimes 
the birds came to water in numbers in the late evening. 
We piled into the wagonette again and .Tim, the driverj 
soon had us over. We deployed as skirmishers and 
waited till dense dusk, but the birds had changed their 
minds and we got only a very few shots. The last shot of 
the day was also the most spectacular one, Ferd. Van 
Dyke folding up nicely a rocketing bird that came in over 
the pool at a great distance from him. This we voted 
good enough for a finisher, and so went in for dinner. 
Dove Shooting as a Sport.; 
I never had so good a dove shoot before and cannot 
hope to have another so delightf ul in every way. We did 
not kill quite all the doves we shot at, and left the exter- 
mination incomplete, but under the circumstances I felt 
as-though we had had a fair sort of sport at a fair game 
bird. I don't know that I ever got tangled up at any 
harder sort of shooting in my life. 
By this I would not seem to advise Northern men to 
shoot this bird to any general extent. In the North bird 
life of any sort is not so prolific. Moreover, the dove is 
absolutely protected by law in most of the Northern 
States. It is protected thus in Illinois, and can not be 
Bhot at any season. Perhaps, as our game shooting 
diminishes we shall some day come to give this bird a 
season. It is very generally shot illegally in Illinois. In 
the central and lower part of the State it is very numer- 
ous. Along the latitude of northern Illinois it is not 
numerous and should not be shot. In the South it exists 
in such numbers that I know of no reason why it should 
not be considered proper game of the field. 
In no other sort of shooting, unless one excepts snipe 
shooting or good duck shooting, does one get so much 
shooting to the square inch as in dove shooting under 
proper conditions. Bags of 50, 60, and even 75 are some- 
times made, and I don't know of any man on eaith I 
would back to kill that many on a stand out of twice or 
three times that many shells. In the dryer West and 
Southwest, in Texas, New Mexico, Arizona and I be- 
lieve Calif ornia, the water-hole shooting is the usual form 
of the sport, and the shooting is sometimes prodigious. In 
New Mexico I have seen a little wet tank in the moun- 
tains visited by thousands of these birds in an evening. 
They probably came from over a great strip of country. 
We never shot them there, as the rifle was the only arm 
used, except the six-shooter. In Tennessee the best way of 
getting sport was formerly to go to some wheatfield, 
which was pretty sure to be visited every day by numbers 
of birds. Lately more wheat has been sowed in that 
State, and as the fields become more numerous, the birds 
scatter more and so afford less shooting, though we 
luckily found a good flight at the Cedars. 
Every Western chicken shooter will remember that he 
usually puts up a dove or so on every piece of stubble he 
crosses. Perhaps if we had fewer wheat fields we would 
see more doves on each, and so come to hold the dove as 
a game bird, which indeed it should be on quality. In a 
country like the North the habits of the bird scatter it in 
such way that it can rarely be pursued in any systematic 
form of sport. In the South its habits are such that it 
becomes a game bird, capable of sportsmanlike pursuit. I 
can't quite agree that anybody ever ought to kill a fox 
with a shotgun, but that is because I am sectionally pre- 
judiced. I can, however, see that it might possibly be 
sportsmanly wrong to shoot doves in the North, while it 
remained quite right, on the other hand, to shoot them 
under the widely different conditions of the South. 
At least, we had no qualms of conscience over our 
dove shoot at the Cedars, because we deliberately set out 
to kill all the doves of west Tennessee, and only brought 
in 35 of them. This grieved us a good deal, but did not 
spoil our appetites. E. Hough. 
909 Security Bcildino, Chicago. 
California Doves and Quail. 
Los Angeles, Aug. 4.— Editor Forest and Stream: The 
dove season for this county opened on Aug. 1, and all day 
on the first and for several days thereafter, there was a 
continual booming of big and little guns from the grain 
fields and "waterholes" of the San Fernando Valley. 
During July the doves were very plentiful, more so than 
they had been for some years, but there have been com- 
plaints from many sportsmen that the season opened too 
late, as a great many of the birds had flocked up. This is 
no doubt owing to the extremely dry year, there being 
no late rains to destroy the young ones or the eggs. 
Some very fair bags have been made. Two parties 
bagged thirty-nine dozen in the first four days. They 
were market-hunters, and I sincerely hope that by next 
dove season their occupation will be gone so far as market* 
shooting is concerned. 
Messrs. Ed. Tufts and E. K. Benchley, of this city, 
bagged 72 and 90 respectively on the first. Other parties 
report bags of from three to six dozen birds. 
Dove shooting on a "flight" affords good sport and 
taxes the skill of the best of them. 
The quail this season are more fully grown at this date 
than they were when the season opened last September. 
This also is due to the exceptionally dry season. For 
some reason a great many quail did not nest this year, 
but have remained banded in flocks all summer. 
Culpepper. 
Stockton, Cal., Aug. 15. — The dove shooting has been 
something grand this season, and many large bags have 
been made. My two boys, Earle and LaRue, age eleven 
and thirteen years, bagged sixty in two hours. This is 
the first year the boys have had shotguns, and they did 
some fine shooting. I anticipate much sport with them 
this fall and winter goose shooting. I have just received 
an invitation from "Billy" Mershon, of the Saginaw 
Crowd, to join them on their annual pilgrimage to the 
Bad Lands. Business prevents my accepting, much to 
my sorrow. Mershon and Brigg?, of that Crowd, are 
old. hunting friends of mine, and I have been with them 
on two or three of their annual trips to Dakota. 
Trout fishing in our mountain streams has been un- 
usually good this season. At the Big Trees Mr. Simpson, 
a fishing friend of mine, caught fifty one morning weigh- 
ing f to l^lbs. and one or two of 21bs. 
I have taken the Forest and Stream almost continu- 
ally since 1874, and will probably do so until I am too 
old to shoot or fish or cannot see to read. S. N. C. 
Miss Delaney Shoots a Bear. 
Saratoga Springs, N.Y., Aug. 23.— Miss Alice Delaney, 
while at Saratoga Lake this morning with a party of 
friends, shot a bear. The people at the lake say it is six 
years since one was killed there before. D. J. 
CHAINED 
to Business? 
Can't so Shooting? 
Do the next best thing- 
Read the 
JFprest and Stream., 
