422 
[Nov. 17, 1894, 
FOXES CLIMB TREES. 
In the northern part of New York city (which is city 
only in name) is a certain long strip of woods, through 
which runs a brook that converts the woods into almost a 
swamp. The brook is the stream which feeds Van Cort- 
landt Lake. This lot of woods by reason of its inaccessi- 
bility in parts, seems to be, or have been, a favorite nesting 
place for crows and probably hawks, although the New 
York & Putnam Railroad runs close along" the eastern 
edge thereof. ? 
About seven years ago (the incident was published in 
detail at the time in an obscure quarter; the publication 
not being at hand, I write from memory) I was passing 
through this place, particularly to find some early hawk's 
nest. I found a large nest in an oak tree about 35ft. (a 
low estimate) from the ground. The tree was an oak, 
about a foot in diameter at the butt, and was one of sev- 
eral that grew from a common base. I was examining 
the nest with a field glass, when I observed something 
fur-like, it seemed, softly waving in the wind. I hadn't 
the most remote idea what it was, so I began to pound the 
trunk. Evidently it was not a bird, for it did not stir. 
Then I commenced to thrash the shrubbery about, making 
all the noise at my command. But in vain. Then 1 
resolved to climb the tree. I cut. a green stick a yard 
long and started up— not the tree with the nest, but one 
of its fellows, which was so close that I saw that when I 
got there I would not be over 6ft. distant from the other. 
The green limbs of any size did not begin short of the 
altitude of the nest, but along the whole length of the 
trunks were dead limbs about as big as one's thumb. 
These limbs grew at short intervals, except at the bottom, 
so that the level of the nest was reached without trouble. 
It was a little exciting, for I didn't know what I may 
have run up against. When I reached the level I saw 
nothing but a big round mass of red fur. It was the 
color and appearance of a red fox. but not even a foot 
or a bit of tail was visible to me. Then I climbed a few 
feet higher until I could look down upon the situation, 
and mapped out a plan of procedure. I saw that I could 
not use the club effectively, because several limbs grew 
over the nest so as to prevent a blow being struck from 
my position; so preparing for anything to happen I 
reached over the length of my arm and gave the thing a 
poke with the stick. It was a rude awakening or else the 
most magnificent piece of bluffing I ever saw. The fox — 
for such it was — rose upon its feet with the most aston- 
ished look. It all happened quicker than I can tell. The 
fox simply jumped up with the aforesaid look of aston- 
ishment and then to my dismay, without apparently wait- 
ing to think of the consequence, it sprang out of the nest 
or rather it tumbled into the air, and fell with a smack, 
not upon the ground, but fortunately into a large pool of 
water (for the woods were partially overflowed). Then I 
watched it slowly crawl out of the Bhallow pool with 
dragging brush, apparently none the worse for its long 
fall. The fox crawled into a thick place, and I came 
down, I am sure, as astonished as the fox. 
That old crow nest undoubtedly had been the fox's 
home, to which it was accustomed to ascend. I could 
easily understand how it got out, but how it commonly 
got down it would be interesting to know. Hardly less 
extraordinary is the fact that the railroad track was but 
a hundred feet away, and many trains were passing 
daily. 
But from the very day when I cautiously ventured to 
tell some intimate friends what I had seen, my reputation 
for accuracy of statement (which may never have been 
too good) passed beneath a cloud, I am sure. I feel that 
a person has no business to observe extraordinary things 
like that when alone. It certainly hurts his reputation. 
Even now, when I am telling some little yarn to a 
friend, without the requisite affidavit and witnesses, I 
fancy I see a pained expression in his face, or else a cer- 
tain absent-minded look in his eyes as if he were perform- 
ing the necessary mathematical calculations to determine 
how much to shave off. 
Now at length a gentleman, in Forest and Stream of 
Nov. 10, has come to the rescue, and he has done nobly, 
in having at least vouched for chasing a gray fox up a 
tree — strangely enough at a spot only a few miles distant 
from the scene of my own alleged discovery. 
And now I learn that it is not uncommon for gray foxes 
to take to such trees as they can climb when hard pressed 
by dogs. Tappan Adney. 
Some Unnatural History. 
Interlaohen, Fla. —Editor Forest and Stream: I send 
you a rather curious bear story in case you might like to 
print it: 
The garden of a Florida cracker was visited qmte regu- 
larly by a bear early in the. mornings. He seemed to wish 
for his breakfast at about the same time each morning, 
and would swim across a stream of water running be- 
tween a thick hamak and the cracker's garden. Several 
mornings a big alligator tried'to head him off and catch 
him, and those mornings the bear would turn around, 
swim back and disappear in the hamak and go without 
his breakfast. For several mornings he was watched by 
some of the settlers in hopes that there would be a fight 
between bear and alligator, but each time the bear pre- 
ferred to lose his breakfast rather than to fight. Finally 
one morning the watchers were rewarded by seeing an 
alligator appear behind the bear soon after he entered 
the stream, apparently to keep him from turning back, 
and another alligator at about the same time appeared 
swimming toward him in front. The bear started to 
turn, but seeing an alligator behind he decided to keep on 
and fight the one coming to him in front. When they 
met the bear at once hugged the alligator and they sank 
together. The people watching saw bubbles coming up 
and quite a disturbance of the water. Suddenly the bear 
appeared neat the garden shore of the stream,walking on 
his hind legs on the bed of the stream with the alligator 
hugged tight to him by his front paws. After the bear 
had walked to dry land he threw down his burden as 
violently as possible in disgust, and would have entered 
the garden, had he not been disturbed by the report of a 
gun which killed the alligator. The next shot brought 
down the bear as he started hurriedly back. Pretty rough 
on the bear, I think, after his victory, R. L. 
But Was It Suicide? 
New Orleans, La., Oct. 24. — Editor Forest and Stream: 
Some time ago I read with interest in your paper the 
account of the suicide of a snake, and I have often won- 
dered since then if animals do commit suicide. Last 
Monday I became convinced that they do. 
A party of four of us left this city the other Saturday 
evening on the cutter yacht Elaine for a trip across Lake 
Pontchartrain to Mandeville, and reached that port a 
little before sunrise. After breakfast four of the party 
went fishing in a bayou near by, but caught nothing 
except an opossum, which they had treed and smoked 
out. The opossum was brought on board, dangling from 
a small pole, his tail having been passed through a split 
in one end of the pole. 
After loafing around for several hours we decided to 
start for home, and the opossum was placed in the yawl 
boat for safety. We arrived at West End at 1 A. M. next 
morning, and tied up to the revetment in the new canal. 
The next morning when we came to look at the opos- 
sum he was, found hanging on the side of the yawl with 
his head under water; and on the side of the boat furthest 
from the revetment. He was dead, of course; but why 
he had allowed himself to drown I will leave to your 
readers to determine. 
I consider that suicide is the proper verdict in this case, 
for I cannot see why the opossum should have taken the 
wrong side of the boat if he was trying to get to land, 
and even though he had done it through mistake and 
had fallen into the water, the pole held him in such a 
way that he could easily have climbed up on to the gun- 
wale of the yawl. 
We had supplied him with plenty of pecans and water, 
so neither hunger nor thirst could have driven him to 
^desperation, and I do not think the pressure of the split 
pole could have hurt him very much as we had seen him 
asleep or "playing possum" the previous afternoon during 
our sail_home. H. Harrison. 
A Peculiar Partridge Trap. 
While out for a day's gunning recently through some 
favorite cover of mine that extends to the shore of Belfast 
Bay, I canie out on the bank after having worked over most 
of the cover and meeting with fair success in getting what 
birds I found. I had six points from my dog and got five 
woodcock. Two partridges got up very wild, but a lucky 
shot stopped one of them which was handsomely retrieved 
by Victor. It was a lovely October day, quite cool in the 
early morning, but as the sun got well up overhead it 
became rather warm for rapid work, and as I came out to 
a small clearing on the bank overlooking the bay, I could 
not resist the temptation to sit down and rest, and 
admire the beautiful scenery. There was hardly a ripple 
upon the water, and the atmosphere was so clear that the 
hills in the distance and the villages and farm houses 
could be clearly seen, although many miles away across 
the water. While I was sitting there enjoying the bright 
sunshine, my attention was attracted by the action of 
my dog. He seemed to be trying to tear to pieces, or get 
into some lobster pots that had been left along the bank 
about 100yds. from where I was sitting. I called him away 
but he soon went back again. After watching him for a 
while I got up and went over where he was, thinking 
perhaps he had seen a squirrel or some other animal go 
in among the pots: but when I got there I was surprised 
to find a partridge in one of them. It was dead. It 
could have been dead but a short time. It was very poor, 
and evidently been starved to death. How it happened 
to get into the trap is a mystery to me. 
I went to several small covers after this and managed 
to pick up three more woodcock and one more partridge. 
I got home about 4 o'clock in the afternoen, having passed 
one of those enjoyable days that long live in memory. 
Eight woodcock and two partridges are a fair day's bag 
for this section, Bob Black. 
mt[t §ag m\& 0nn. 
WISCONSIN WANDERINGS. 
On the steamer going from Green Bay to Sturgeon Bay 
a gentleman at my elbow pointed to a tiny steam yacht 
covered with wild rice stalks and remarked, "There is a 
law-breaker." Then a few more remarks established the 
fact that both of us were fond of field sports, and also 
both lovers of Forest and Stream. I learned later that 
the gentleman was Mr. Geo, F. Peabody, Wisconsin's Fish 
Commissioner, and a most genial companion. A remark 
that I intended to look after some partridge at Sturgeon 
Bay brought on a talk of them, their habits and the sport 
of hunting them, which lasted an hour, and at the end of 
it Mr. Peabody declared that we had had a very fine par- 
tridge hunt right here on the boat, better, perhaps, than 
if we had been having it in the woods, and I answered 
that at any rate we did not have to regret leaving any 
crippled birds in the woods. 
At Little Sturgeon Mr. Peabody left the steamer to look 
after the State's whitefish interests, and intended to drive 
tp Sturgeon Bay that evening, saying he would expect 
partridge of my shooting for breakfast. Arrived at Stur- 
geon Bay business was first and partridge next, but in ten 
minutes the business was arranged, and in thirty minutes 
more I was behind a good team and beside a driver who 
said he knew where the birds were. 
We drove out four miles and stopped at an abandoned 
house. The driver got out and went a rod or two toward 
the stable, when up went three partridges. I was still at 
the buggy and could not see them, but knew what direc- 
tion they went and started after them. Just after passing 
the spot where they rose one got up nearly behind me 
and flew back. Turning quickly I had a most beautiful 
shot, and the king cock partridge of that woods thumped 
the ground and bounced ten feet. The driver yelled 
"Good boy!" threw his hat in the air and let off a whoop 
that filled the woods with noise. I verily believe that fel- 
low enjoyed it more than I did. He had a gun, and was 
so enthusiastic that I really was not "in it" any more. 
He put me in mind of a wild setter that scares up every- 
thing in the country, but the fellow enjoyed it so im- 
mensely I hadn't the heart to call him down. He told 
me where the two flushed birds went, and while I was 
looking them up he flushed two more a hundred yards to 
one side. I think he knew just where they were and 
wanted a shot at them himself. It was impossible to fol- 
low them, for the ground was so covered with logs and 
fallen tree tops, and the bushes were so thick and tangled 
that nothing but an axe could make its way. 
The old logging roads were the only places we could go. 
Following one of these for half a mile we came to an 
abandoned field somewhat grown up with bushes. At its 
further edge six birds got up wild. The driver, as usnal. 
was ahead, and had the pleasure of two shots at them. I 
tried one shot to no purpose, so they were six good birds 
yet. 
The driver plunged into the brush after them, while I 
walked along the road, hoping he might scare one my 
way. I had just turned into a side road, when one flew 
from the side of the road I had been walking in. Had I 
come ten steps further on this road, there would have 
been a fair, open shot, but as it was there were lots of 
bushes between me and the bird, but I remembered to 
not see the bushes and use both barrels, and cut some 
feathers out of the bird, but did not stop him. 
Passing through a narrow strip of woods we came to 
another field, and walked along the edge of it, staying in 
the field, because walking in this tangle of brush could 
not be done. Presently two birds arose from the short 
grass 50ft. out in the field and 30yds. in front, flying off 
to the right, clear above the brush. Now for a double to 
be proud of, thought I, as the gun was thrown up 2ft, 
ahead of the foremost one, but I led him too much and 
only hit him -in the head, whereat he turned and flew 
back, fallingjdead 40yds. out in the field, In anxiety to 
get this bird I did not shoot at the other one. It seems 
that in partridge shooting the unlooked for is always 
happening, and nearly always to the partridge's advan- 
tage too. Back yonder I had just stepped aside from an 
easy shot, and here, holding about 6in. too much, had 
lost me another good shot. I felt a little bad over it, but 
took comfort in the thought that I was not a game ex- 
terminator, and that two partridges were a very nice bag 
any way. 
The driver said we would now follow the path that 
led to the Lake Michigan beach, then along the beach a 
quarter of a mile to a road that would take us to the 
team, but he did not know as much about it aa he thought 
and could not find the road, so we walked along the 
beach for a mile and a half to a road that led back to 
the team. By this time dark came on and we drove to 
town. Mr. Peabody had arrived and it was worth some- 
thing to see his enthusiasm when he was shown the big 
cock partridge. It was evidently an old patriarch, for we 
tried to eat it next morning and found it too tough to be 
chewed. 
The Bight of the birds and my acconnt of the af ter^ 
noon's sport, stirred Mr. Peabody up so that when I 
offered to lend him some clothes and get him a gun for 
to-morrow, he could not resist the temptation, and we 
had a very nice day together over the same ground of the 
afternoon before, though very few birds were seen; Mr. 
Peabody getting one and I none; 
NoW, to the man who never does kill enough to satisfy 
him, this looks like a mighty poor hunt, and if killing 
was all there is to shooting, it would have been a poor 
one, but to the true sportsman, the man of manly senti- 
ment, killing is very little of what there is to shooting; 
Verily, there is a wide difference between the killer and 
the sportsman. The killer goes out simply to kill. If he 
don*t kill, and lots of it, he isn't satisfied, atld 1 doubt if 
he is even when he does. What did I go for? To get 
away from the clang of locomotive bells, the everlasting 
rush and roar and strife of the city, to rest a brain tired 
with the battles of business competition, to get away 
from artificialities and be with nature, to be filled with 
pleasant expectations, and perhaps to make a shot or two, 
on which I may reflect with pride while 1 sit dreaming by 
the winter evening's fire, or even as 1 aril whirled, along 
in railway trains— and I had all I went for, though only 
two partridges were killed. I really think now that I am 
better satisfied than if I had killed two dozen. During 
that long walk along the beach, the killer would have 
fretted, and perhaps swore, at the loss of time and the 
long walk for nothing, while the sportsman would have 
fallen into the same train of thought and enjoyment as 
if he had come out on purpose for a ramble along that 
wild shore. Whichj think you, enjoys his outings most, 
the killer or the sportsman? 
Mr. Peabody and myself left on the boat for Green Say 
that night, and there were two men on that boat whose 
wave-rocked sleep was sound and dreamless, and while 
they awoke a little sore in body, they were refreshed and 
strengthened mentally. 
At Green Bay I called on and introduced myself to Mr. 
John Hanlon and his good setter dog. They both love 
shooting and are great on woodcock and partridge, both 
of which have been reasonably plenty this fall within a 
few miles of town. John regretted (and so did I)-that his 
foreman was away on a deer hunt, so he could not spend 
two or three days with me. 
Eighty miles west of Green Bay is Wood county, 
almost in the geographical center of the State. The 
southern half of this county is an almost unbroken wil- 
derness of hardwood forest and marshy prairie. A year 
ago I had good reports of many partridges and sharp- 
tailed grouse in this region, but at Grand Rapids, in the 
same county, I was told that fire had swept everything 
and there- was no hunting there. It is supposed that 
many of the birds perished, as in more than c ne instance 
they we re seen to get bewildered in the smoke and fall 
apparently into the burning grass. 
I was told there were many partridges at Arpin, eigh- 
teen miles northwest, and that George Goodman had a 
good partridge dog and was acquainted at Arpin. After 
a long walk I at last found George in the woods chopping 
poles, and told him what I wanted. He said he would 
like to go but could not spare the time. I asked him if 
he meant that the work must be done, or that he must 
have the wagts; he said the wages were all that he was 
after. "Then shoulder that axe and get ready to go to 
Arpin on the afternoon train," said I. A big smile broke 
out all over his face and he shouldered the axe; evidently 
the proposal just suited him. At train time George and 
his dog were at the station. The clog looked to be some- 
what on the spaniel order, but his legs and body seemed 
to be misfits. He was 8in. high and 2ft. long, not includ- 
ing his tail, George must have thought that I looked at 
the^dog rather disparagingly, for he said, "Topsy ain't 
much for looks; but if there's any pa'tridge in the woods 
he'll tree it." On the way I asked George if there was a 
hotel at Arpin. George said "No, only the saw-mill 
boarding camp; but there's a house ha}f a mile from 
