Dbo. 32, 1894.] 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
68B 
HOW WE WENT DUCKING. 
It was just about this time four years ago that my 
chum, Tom Miller, and I were enjoying a few days duck 
shooting at Markell's Cove, a small indentation in the 
west shore of Lake Cayuga, twenty-five miles north of 
Ithaca, N. Y. There were so few ducks flying, that we 
were compelled to go home comparatively empty-handed, 
but before leaving we had an experience which was 
novel iu the extreme. 
We had put up with Mr. Barkell, a jovial old farmer, 
who seemed to think it his imperial duty to entertain us 
in the evenings. One night while sitting by the stove 
cleaning our guns he suddenly said, "How would you 
fellers like to go coonin' ?" 
In the afternoon we called our dogs and tramped 
through the woods, Though rather late in the season we 
bagged five plump partridges and two rabbits. And had 
it not been for a farmer getting after us with a gun, we 
might have had some quail. 
That evening while cleaning our guns, Farmer Barkell 
entertained us with marvellous stories of coon hunting, 
concluding by saying, "If you young fellers want'r go 'n' 
ketch one, I know who'll take yer; en maybe yer kin go 
t'night." 
Ted and I, ever ready for a new experience, jumped at 
this proposition, and promptly replied that we would like 
nothing better than to go then and there. 
"Wal," continued Mr. Barkell, "ev you'll be git'n' yer- 
selfs ready, I'll go hitch up th' old mare; en we'll then go 
'long up th' road a piece 'n' git Possum Joe. He allars 
knows war th' coons uses 'n' he's got a couple of good 
dogs that'll find 'em every time." 
Within half an hour we were behind the "old mare," 
and on our way to Possum Joe's. The ride seemed short; 
beguiled as it was with amusing tales of local gossip. 
"In that house over yonder by ther cross road," said the 
farmer, pointing with the end of his whip, "a sweetheart 
o' mine lives. She's an old maid because o' loven me; 
and she loves me now as much as she did forty years ago 
when I was a-court'n her," this last, with a wink and slap 
on the knee. "When I fust began to cast my eye 'round 
fer a gal I didn't know which t' take; her or the old 
woman to-hum, and I ain't altogether made up my mind 
yit, nuther. I like em both now as much as ever 'n' 
when my old woman don't want to go ter meeting, I 
allers stops and takes this air one. When ther both want 
t' go I takes em — one on either side; I've got two arms, 
and with the reins throwed over the dash there, I kin put 
an arm round each. Yer needn't think I don't know how 
to enjoy a bit o' fun. We're go'n t' have a 'social, 
t'morrer night; ? n' ev yer'll come 'long with me I'll show 
yer that I kin kiss a gal or two as quick as eny o' you 
youngsters." 
"What do you do at these 'socials'?" I asked. 
"The young folks play 'Wink-en-catch em' mostly; 'n'. 
the old ones, too, for that matter." 
"What is 'Wink and catch them' "? Ted asked, as much 
puzzled as myself. 
Farmer Barkell threw back his head with a hearty 
laugh and said: "You city folks don't play no sech 
games, but jest yer come along with me t'morrer night 'n 
I'll show yer what 'Wink-en-catch-em' is. You," 
turning to Ted, "kin hev the little Dutch gal that lives 
near, 'n' we'll give our friend here the schoolmarm." 
"The schoolmarm?" I exclaimed, "I don't want a 
schoolmarm; give me a young girl that can dance." 
"The school marm ain't old; she's only eighteen and as 
pretty as a pictur'." 
"I'll match you for her," put in Ted. 
"Why," continued our driver, "she's called the 'Vil- 
lage Beauty,' 'n' yer'll fall dead in love with her as soon 
as you set eyes on 'er. But there won't be no dancing, 
though; we're all Methody's round here. The folks don't 
dance, play cards, nor ev'n drink hard cider; but, oh, how 
th' gals kin kiss; thet's what 'Wink-en-catch-'em' is; yer 
kin kiss all th' gals yer kin ketch. I'll show yer how ter 
play it t'morrer night ef yer'll come." 
Promising we would go with him the following night, 
we arrived at Possum Joe's cabin. Possum Joe, seated in 
the chimney corner with feet cocked high above the 
stove, was fiddling away on a three-string violin. His 
son, a shock-headed boy of twelve, sat on a box on the 
other side, vigorously playing a mouth organ. The wife 
and mother, with arms bared to elbows, stood at the 
table kneading bread, punctuating her shrill admonitions 
to the children who were playing on the floor with an 
assortment of dogs, cats and chickens, with emphatic 
thuds in the dough. 
"How air yer, Joe," said our friend Barkell, "here's a 
couple o' fellers from C'rnell that wants yer to take 'em 
coon'n'; kin yer take 'em out fer a run?" 
"What! yer don't want'er. go t'night, gen tl' men? 
Ruther bright fer coon'n'," replied Joe, as he unlimbered 
himself from his position at the stove. "These moonlight 
nights is bad fer hunt'n' coons; the rabbits cross-tag 'em 
'n' throw ther dogs off th' scent. But sence yer cum 
from the city, genti'men, I 'spose yer want t' go 'n' I ain't 
go'n' to disapp'int yer. We'll see what we can do genti'- 
men; we kin hev a try anyway," pulling on his boots 
while speaking. "Here, Sam, you git th' ax from th' 
woodpile while I'm lightin' th' lant'n." 
Possum Joe ready, we returned to the wagon, and tak- 
ing the dogs in with us, were driven to the upper end of 
a gorge, about two miles distant. There Mr. Barkell 
turned us over to Joe, who, bidding Ted carry the ax and 
me the gun, took the lantern and led the way into the 
woods. 
Filling our pipes, we sat down on a log to wait until we 
should hear from the dogs. Twenty minutes later, the 
long-drawn bay of one of them reached our ears. "Listen, 
genti'men, listen," said our guide, "thet's ole Megs a-talk- 
in'; ther'll be some fun now, genti'men, I bet; she don't 
never say a word 'cep'n' when she's on ter somethen. Now, 
genti'men, jist keep clost ter me, V we'll foller th' dogs 
es fast es we kin." 
With arms before our faces as a protection against the 
switching of the twigs, stumbling over logs, running into 
trees, and now and again pitching headlong into beds of 
leaves, we followed. At last, breathless and panting from 
our run, we came to a standstill at the brink of a gorge. 
"Thar ain't no way o' git'n' acrost thar, genti'men," said 
Joe, "so we might es well build a fire here ter keep warm 
til' th' dogs bring th' coon roun'." So saying, he collected 
an armful of leaves, and in a few minutes we were stretched 
out at full length by the side of a roaring fire. 
"I hope," continued Joe, filling his pipe, "that yerwon't 
be disapp'inted t'night, genti'men. I've been coon'n' 
roun' here fer n'y on ten years now, 'n' I 'most allers gits 
somethen when a-hunt'n' 'em. One night 'bout a year 
ago, I follered th' dogs n'y all night 'n' last foun' they hed 
holed a blamed skunk, which made me so 'tarnal mad 
that I dug th' varment out 'n' shot 'im dead. 'N' ef I 
hedn't taken a club 'n' battered 'im all up, I might 'av' got 
some'n' fer his pelt." 
"But why did you club after he was dead?" asked Ted. 
"Because I wanted thet partic'lar skunk ter know thet 
ther war retribution arter death fer sech as him." 
Entertained thus by Possum Joe's yarns, we had almost 
forgotten the dogs till we hea,rd their deep-mouthed music 
in the distance. Catching up gun, ax and lantern, we 
plunged into the darkness, when, upon running through 
the underbrush in the direction of the sounds, we found 
them yelping with baffled rage at the base of a half dead 
tree. 
"I know thet tree, genti'men," said Joe, hanging his 
lantern on a neighboring bough, "thet's th' very same 
tree ez I shot a coon out of winter fore last; now we've 
got 'im sure. Ef you genti'men k'lect some wood we'll 
start a fire so's ter see ter shoot." 
The fire built, we peered expectantly into the branches 
of the tree, but could see nothing but a hole, in which 
the coon must have taken refuge. "Big job ter fell thet 
tree, genti'men, but ev we want'er git'im out, she's gofer 
come," said Joe, taking the ax and wielding it like the 
experienced woodsman that he was. 
The tree tottered and fell. With the crash came a cry 
of savage joy irom old Megs as she rolled over and 
over on the ground holding a large coon in her death grip. 
In the midst of the confusion came an agonizing howl 
from Meg's mate. Rushing to the spot, Joe found the 
hound vainly endeavoring to free himself from the vise- 
like jaws of another coon. With a blow of the ax the coon 
was dispatched. Ted, seeing the glittering eyes of still 
another coon peeping out of the hole at him, ran and 
clapped his cap over the opening. Then, calling to me, 
"Come here, old man, and help me 'wink-en-catch-'em." 
"Hold on, genti'men," cried Joe, "I'll show yer how ter 
git 'im; just mind th' hole a minute while I git a gimlet." 
Cutting a switch as large around as a man's thumb, and 
making a series of slashes on either side of one end, he 
inserted it into the hole. By twisting it continuously in 
one direction like a gimlet, he entangled the long fur of 
the coon in the slits of the stick, and pulled out one of the 
largest we had ever seen. 
The next day a severe [snow storm kept us within 
doors. Though disappointed in the weather, we were glad 
of the rest, and amused ourselves by writing letters and 
spinning yarns. By night the storm had worn itself out. 
And the time for starting to the social having come, 
Farmer Barkell went to hitch up. Ere long we heard his 
sonorous voice at the door, "geeing" and "whoaing" to 
the horses. Donning our great coats, and still wearing 
top boots and hunting jackets, we went out to view our 
conveyance. 
Imagine an ordinary four-wheeled wagon similar to 
those used for hauling sand or cobble stones, on the bot- 
tom of which was a sprinkling of straw and a half doz m 
robes and blankets of various kinds; at the front end, in 
place of the board that is generally used for the driver's 
seat, an old, closely-curtained buggy top, with ropes 
stretching from each of the upper corners to poles of 
equal height nailed to the tailboard, over which, and 
hanging down the sides to keep out the cold, an old sail— 
and you see the picture that met our eyes. 
Farmer Bump lived in a larger house than any of his 
neighbors. It was there that we were bound. Rattling 
along over the frozen snow, the springless wagon, aided 
by the intense cold, turned our teeth into castanets. 
After stopping at several houses on the road to pick up 
demure-looking, rosy-cheeked, well-bundled-up maidens, 
among whom was the schoolmarm, we came at last to 
Farmer Bump's, where Ted and I were to be initiated into 
the mysteries of "Wink-en-catch-'em." 
Entering the house and getting out of our coats, we 
were ushered into a large improvised supper room, where, 
on depositing five cents each at the doorway as our con- 
tribution to the feast, we sat down at a long, narrow, 
board table, and were shortly served with guinea potpie, 
store cakes and black coffee. 
As we were walking out of the room Barkell said, "Ef 
yer'll cum with me I'll make yer 'quainted with some o' 
th' folks." Leading the way to a bevy of bashful 
maidens, he duly presented us to those that we had not 
met on our way over. "These young fellers is friends o' 
mine," continued he with a broad grin, his eyes sparkling 
with merriment, "'n' they want er know how ter play 
'Wink-en-catch-'em;' let's all o' us go up stairs 'n' learn 
'em," 
Adjourning to a bare room over the kitchen whose 
sloping ceiling was festoonedjwith hams, ropes of onions, 
seed corn and cobwebs, and lighted at either end by odd 
looking lamps, the game began. Farmer Barkell, fairly 
brimming over with anticipations of fun to come, led one 
of the girls to the middle of the room. Having placed 
their hands on each other's arms just below the shoulder 
he called to the pretty schoolmarm to find a partner. 
Walking up to me the "Village Beauty" said, "Will 
you catch me, sir?" As I stepped forward to comply she 
ran and took refuge behind Barkell. Instinctively feel- 
ing that I was to run after her, I started in pursuit. 
Around and around we circled, using the farmer's coat- 
tails and his partner's slim waist to aid our efforts. By a 
quick reverse I had her in my arms, when to my surprise 
in the most matter of fact way possible she turned her 
face to mine for a kiss. She then took the position vacated 
by Barkell's partner, while I went to ask the little 
"Dutch girl" to catch me. After going through the 
same gyrations as before, I let her catch me and took 
"another." It was then my turn to relieve Barkell, 
while the "Dutch girl" invited Ted to have a chase. 
Thus the game continued for an hour. Every chance I 
had I asked the schoolmarm to catch me, she returning 
the compliment. While standing alone for a minute° 
Farmer Barkell came up to me and said: "Say, yer 
wanter leave a lettle sweetness in that gal o' yourn. 
Don't yer see that every blamed feller in th' room is iel'us 
if yer?" 
"Well! perhaps I am monopolizing her; am I kissing 
her more than is my share?" I replied with a smile. 
"It ain't cuss yer kiss her so off en, but it's th' way yer 
kinder linger over them. I s'pose yer git so few in ther 
city, that yer like to eat 'em when yer have the chance. 
I guess I'll have ter start anuther game, whar yer'll 
have ter take the girls es th' cum," 
Bidding the girls join hands and form a circle, he 
called to the men to do the same around them. Passing 
beneath two archways, made by the hands and arms of 
men and girls standing at opposite sides of the double 
ring, the circles revolved in either direction, the players 
singing the following words to the tune of "Forty-nine 
Blue Bottles a- Hanging on the Wall:" 
Sailing on the ocean, when the tide rolls high, 
Sailing on the ocean, when the tide rolls high, 
Waiting for a pretty girl to come by-and-bye, 
Waiting for a pretty girl to come by-and-bye. 
Choose your partner, stay till day, 
Choose your partner, stay till day, 
For we don't care a rap what the old folks say, 
For we don't care a rap what the old folk3 say. 
The oars in the boat and they won't go round, 
The oars in the boat and they won't go round, 
Till you kiss the pretty girl that you have found, 
Then the oars in the boat they will go round. 
At the words: "Till you kiss the pretty girl that you 
have found," both rings stopped. The couples that found 
themselves nearest under the arched arms, kissed; while 
the others sang the last line of the song. 
Barkell spoke truly when he said that I would have to 
take the girls as they came. The fact is, I had but few 
opportunities to take them at all. One time, however, 
when over a kissing spot, I found myself facing a girl 
whom I had not met. Ted, seeing me hesitate, sang out: 
"Take another, dear boy, it won't hurt you." Thus en- 
couraged, I kissed her. 
When the game was ended, Ted came to me with a 
piece of court-plaster over his mouth, and said: "Let's go 
home; I'm shut down for repairs." 
Taking leave of our hospitable host, and several "others" 
without leave, we found Barkell and left. 
* * * * 
Among my mail this morning was a letter postmarked 
Hayt's Corners— cards to the wedding of the Village 
School Mistress. My face must have worn a tell-tale ex- 
pression, as my wife asked— "Sweetheart, why that retro- 
spective smile? " 
Then I told her the tale you have just been reading. 
H. M. Norris. 
THE VOYAGE OF THE SKIPPER. 
After Large Sea Bass. 
The aame glorious weather continuing, it was too much 
for the Skipper to sit still and see it go by, and not get out 
into the open and enjoy it. Although a cold wave was 
over the land, and some reports were current about a 
thin film of ice seen on small pieces of water in the neigh- 
borhood, still the sun in the cloudless sky tempered the 
sharp air soon after 9 o'clock in the morning, and made 
things very pleasant out of doors. The sailboat was ac- 
cordingly hauled in on the sand, and certain changes and 
improvements made, and on a glorious Tuesday prepara- 
tions were completed for a trip down the bay after sea 
bass. 
On the previous Saturday evening men and brethren 
had appeared at the back door of the house with a noble 
fi3h. He must have weighed fully 201bs. and was still 
alive. Held aloft and displayed in all his noble propor- 
tions, he was a grand sight, and a section of him boiled for 
the Sunday dinner, and served with drawn butter and 
egg sauce, fell apart in juicy flakes under the fish knife, 
and caused enthusiasm in the digestive organs, and made 
the sense of taste a feeling of joy. Now it is all very fine 
to see a great fish brought in, and it is an exquisite pleas- 
ure to feast on him, with a bottle of good claret in evi- 
dence, but the joy of having one struggling at the end of 
a strong line on a sufficient hook, playing him until he i3 
tired, and just as his nose breaks water gaff him into -the 
boat safely, is something to create ardent enthusiasm, and 
to be long remembered. And this reminds me of the first 
time that "Piseco" visited the Skipper at his home on 
Cape Cod. The morning after his arrival was cold, windy 
and cloudy, with a fresh east wind. After breakfast 
over the pipes "Piseco" asked the Skipper if there was 
anything worth seeing about the. place. They walked to 
the shore and there met Hiram Watts of happy memory, 
as many of the Forest and Stream readers know, and 
the party thus augmented trudged through the sand to 
an old fish house. Throwing open the door there reposed 
nine beauties of the water, caught the night before in a 
net, the nine aggregating 6501bs. Noble sea bass every 
one. But this is not the Skipper's fishing trip. 
The boat being sufficiently completed to be navigable, 
she was dropped down to the landing, and the lading com- 
menced. Elliott and Lawrence, two reputable colored 
members of the staff, went along to do the work, and 
navigate the forward end of the craft, and aft was the 
Skipper, the Clerk who went after birds with the mule in 
the first narrative, and the housekeeping daughter. The 
latter with a vivid recollection of many trips on the water, 
and the great appetites there engendered, had prepared a 
mighty lunch. There was galore of grub, and the gentle 
fizz of Appollinaris and ginger ale. The Skipper and the 
Clerk, aware of the deadly nature of kangaroo bites, had 
each provided a small flask of antidote in case of being 
attacked. Lawrence had provided small mullet for bass 
bait, and shrimp for smaller fish. Lines and sinkers, 
hooks, large and small, were passed in, and all was in 
readiness. The gentle daughter was first stowed in a safe 
place, then the Clerk embarked, and at last the Skipper 
trimmed the boat fearfully by the stern, as he took his 
place at the tiller. It was a dead calm with a strong ebb 
tide. The destination was a point between Hilton Head 
and Bay Point, where once a great squadron sailed round 
and round firing on forts on either point as the guns bore, 
until both were silenced and captured, no more to fire on 
the Old Flag while the war should last. Here on the last 
of the ebb the bass was supposed to be, and here the Skip- 
per and his crew hoped to fill the boats to the thwarts 
with the silvery beauties. As there was no wind there 
was nothing to be done but to invoke an "ash breeze," so 
Elliott and Lawrence worked away with the oars, and the 
tide assisted with its resistless ebb. 
Down by the Quarantine Station, and buoys red, black 
and striped, on down by the beacon lights and all the 
creeks and banks the tide bore, aud the oars advanced 
them, until where certain marks and. ranges indicated 
the right spot, the anchor was let go, and a strong salt- 
water craving demanded lunch. Then pipes and hooks 
and lines seemed mingled, and the fishing began. Little 
