636 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[Deo. 22, 1894. 
bites, little fish, sculpin and a little chap called blackfish, 
nibbles, and at last tbe Skipper started a monster from 
the bottom, pulled him up a fatbom or two, and then the 
hook broke and the fish escaped. The Skipper knew it 
was a great bass — he knows it now — he would be prepared 
to aver that it was the largest bass caught this season, 
but alas ! even for a reputation as a teller of fish stories, 
he cannot lie. G. Washington and the Skipper were cast 
in the same mould. He just can't he, so that fish has 
gone off with a sore jaw, and the Skipper says that he 
weighed probably several pounds if not more. 
The tide began to slack, and nothing but little fish; so 
leaving the large hooks near the bottom to tempt any 
stray members of the deep who might come along, Bmall 
hooks and lines were rigged, and as the balmy see breeze 
began 'to come in gentle zephyrs from the south they 
caught small' fish, crabs, small skates, sculpin, etc. , until 
it was time to start for home. So the anchor was raised 
and the party bade an affectionate farewell to the bass 
that they had left behind them . They ran into Bay Point, 
and the Skipper landed on the smooth sand and bagged 
about a dozen little shore birds, and managed to get stuck 
in the mud in a soft spot while chasing a wounded bird. 
Then began a struggle. As the Skipper would pull on one 
foot it would come out of the boot, and it would be neces- 
sary to insert the foot again and pull boot and all out for 
another step. It was hard work, and the people in the 
boat afar off were striving to come to the Skipper's assist- 
ance. At last he extricated himself and regained the 
boat, but with no wind left, and it took a large dose of 
the kangaroo antidote to revive him. N. B. — The bird 
got away. 
After this there was nothing to do but square away for 
home, which the balmy sea breeze wafted them to before 
the sun dropped out of sight, tired, sunburned, but de- 
lighted with the day's outing and impressed with the 
belief that the recent Democratic defeat had temporarily 
depressed the sea bass, uud that it was not a very good 
day for bass anyhow. C. H. Rockwell. 
ADIRONDACK DEER 
And a Maine Camp Hunt. 
Editor Forest and Stream: 
Your correspondent "Matterhorn" complains that he 
has been called a pot-hunter because he hunts partridges 
with a rifle. I can fully sympathize with him, being in 
the same boat, as I, too, hunt partridges with a rifle, but 
I use the .38cal., for where I hunt there is large game 
also, and I must be prepared for emergencies. But I 
only aim for the head or neck. Were I to hunt grouse 
where there is no chance of seeing larger game, I should 
use the small-bore rifle. There is no doubt that shooting 
partridge on the wing is sport if one can do it, but I be- 
lieve it is equally as much sport and as worthy the art of 
a true sportsman to hunt up the game and then pick off 
their heads with the rifle; or if too far away for such fine 
shooting to plumb them through the body with a small- 
bore rifle. 
I, too, have been dubbed a pot-hunter, because I choose 
to still-hunt the deer in his own home, and to match in- 
telligence, skill and experience against the quick ear, 
keen eye and cunning of the wary game; rather than to 
get into a boat and let the hound do the hunting; and 
when in obedience to instinct the deer plunges into the 
water, where at least he thinks he is safe from his enemies, 
but finds when too late this instinct has been perverted to 
his destruction; and as he sees my boat approaching his 
eyes seem starting from their sockets from fright; he 
plunges frantically this way and that in his efforts to 
escape, but all of no avail; I am soon on him and at close 
range send a bullet through his head — why, I would as 
soon call it sport to go into a sheepfoid and butcher an 
innocent lamb as to murder a deer in this way. 
It is true that I can kill twenty deer by hounding where 
I can kill one by still-hunting, and that, too, without any 
tramping or skill in woodcraft or shooting. But I do not 
gauge the sport of hunting by the killing. The securing 
of game is but a small part of the pleasure I derive from 
tramping in the woods (nature's temple), following the 
game with cautious step, and peering into every nook and 
thicket in anxious hope and expectation. 
One hunter openly boasts that he killed eight deer in 
ten hours last fall. It is just such men as this who would 
brand the name of pot-hunter on the still-hunter because 
he does not avail himself of this easy method of killing 
deer, now sanctioned by law, to the shame of the State 
of New York. The last hounding season I was made the 
unwilling witness of the slaughter of deer that made me 
thoroughly sick and disgusted. Wagon loads were taken 
out of the woods almost daily. I was told that at one of 
the Fulton lakes two guides with their hounds drove a 
deer into the water. One guide stayed with the deer to 
keep it in the water, while the other went to a hotel near 
by and very kindly invited an invalid man boarding at the 
hotel to go out and shoot the deer. But he evidently did 
not possess the true water-killing instincts, for he declined 
with expressions of disgust. But what the man lacked in 
this subtle accomplishment, a woman possessed. A guide 
rowed her within a few feet of the deer, where with a 
charge of buckshot she put an end to its struggles for life 
and thus performed the great sportsman-like act. If this 
method of hunting is considered the "sportsman-like" 
way, then I say with "Matterhorn," "Deliver me from 
the ignominy of the sportsman, and class me with the 
pot-hunters." 
The last ten days of October, 1893, I spent in camp in 
a back place in the Adirondacks, hoping to enjoy a little 
quiet. But in this I was disappointed; for although it 
was the close season for hounding, dogs were running on 
the ground every day. I was lucky enough to kill two 
deer, but one of them proved to be unfit to eat, having 
within a few hours been run by dogs until the venison 
was black and had a nauseating taste. 
Last fall I resolved to try the Maine woods as I have a 
good winter camp there. I was accompanied by two 
guides, one engaged by myself, the other by the man who 
was to be my companion. But at the last moment cir- 
cumstances prevented his going. This was the greatest 
drawback of the whole trip; for he was the fife of the 
camp, genial, ever cheerful, enthusiastic over camp life 
in the woods, looking ever on the bright side of bad luck, 
and going into ecstacies over a good square meal of 
broiled venison; but out of the bigness of his soul he sent his 
guide just the same. These guides were true sportsmen 
according to my interpretation of the term. No water" 
butchers, no unfair way of bagging game for them, 
besides they were noted cooks. One did the pastry and 
the other the meats, 
We arrived at camp about 11 A. M., Oct. 24. A shout 
of joy went up as we opened the old camp door, looked 
in and saw everything as we had left it two years ago. 
We distributed our traps around on the shelves, took a 
lunch of crackers and butter and started out for meat, 
myself to hunt partridges and the guides larger game. 
During the afternoon I decapitated three partridges with 
my rifle, and flattered myself that I would be the only 
one, as I had heard no shots. Judge of my surprise when 
returning to camp, I saw a quarter of nice fat venison 
hanging on a pole. This was indeed good luck; plenty 
of venison was assured for the whole time in camp. I 
saw several deer, but they always got the first shot and 
were off. I followed a moose into the river but could 
not find where he came out, although I searched the 
banks in every direction. 
The following day the guides followed two moose into 
the same stream and followed them up the stream for 
two miles by their tracks in the bottom and where they 
would go over heavier dams and driftwood; and they 
were still in the river when they left. They did not start 
them. It suggested to me that this may be a habit of the 
moose. They could not have gone into the river to feed, 
as there is no food there. The stream had a gravel and 
rocky bottom all the way; and as neither of those three 
moose were started, for they were severaly hours ahead 
of us, I am led to believe that this is a habit peculiar to 
this animal. Can any one more acquainted with the 
habits of moose inform me? 
We also learned another bit of natural history. At our 
camp we had two pet Canada jays, or as they are called 
in the Adirondacks, tallow or venison birds, or meat 
hawks. They were so tame as to eat out of our hand. 
They are inveterate workers, and apparently never stop 
eating so long as they can find anything to eat, and are 
not very particular about the kind of food. I found that 
this gluttony was in appearance only. When we threw 
out a pancake to them, they would attack it at once even 
if we held it out to them in tbe hand, biting off several 
mouthfuls, and storing it away inside somewhere; and 
with the last bite in their bill they would fly away and 
deposit it; and in less than one minute would be back for 
another load. As soon as they reduced the pancake small 
enough, they would take it in their claws and fly away to 
deposit it in their storehouse. This they would work from 
morning until night. This peculiar habit, together with 
the large amount they stowed away inside their mouth 
until the neck seemed much distended, suggested to me 
that they may be provided with a sack opening into the 
mouth, like the chipmunk and some kinds of mice, as 
the long-tailed white-bellied woods mouse. Can any one 
inform me on this point? 
We stayed in camp twelve days. The weather was 
fine, warm and sunny days, although it was unfavorable 
for hunting big game, as it was dry and noisy under foot, 
with little or no wind. The guides heard the moose when 
they started, but could not get near enough to see them. 
The guides killed three deer, which was all we wanted; 
and could have killed more, as they were plentiful. 
For my business, the weather was all 1 could wish. I 
went to the woods to have a quiet rest, to enjoy camp 
life and the pleasure of tramping in the woods, to shoot 
off a few partridges' heads, and to have a good time eat- 
ing venison not hounded to death. I got all I went for, 
and returned home with renewed strength and mind 
stored with pleasant recollections, and as well pleased 
with the trip as if I had killed a dozen deer. Musset. 
"SCANTOGREASE." 
Editor Forest and Stream: 
I believe that many interesting chapters might be 
written by sportsmen regarding the derivation of names 
of famous or favorite hunting or fishing grounds. Why 
can't Forest and Stream take the matter in hand and 
help history out a little. 
In my last ' ^Oregon Notes" I had occasion to mention 
the "Scantogrease" country. Now it might be of inter- 
est to the more intellectual class of sportsmen to know 
something about the origin of the name by which this 
now famous country is known to us. Many of our geo- 
graphical names sucn as Skamokawa, Seattle, Tacoma, 
Molalla, etc., are derived from tribes or famous war 
chiefs of tribes of Indians almost or quite extinct. "Scan- 
togrease" did not derive its name from any such proud 
source. 
In the early days a family settled in that country from 
Pike county, Mo. The mother soon acquired fame among 
her few neighbors and the hunters and trappers of that 
region for the very excellent quality of her pastry. But 
she was always offering excuses for its not being better, 
and her favorite excuse was that she was "scant o' 
grease." Any one familiar with the "hog and hominy" 
resources of the grand old State of Missouri will naturally 
sympathize with the good old lady who came from sucn 
a land of plenty (of grease) to settle in the wild and 
woolly West, where hogs were as scarce as hen's teeth, 
and hominy was an unknown quantity. But be that as 
it may, the interesting historical fact remains, that from 
the day when the good housewife left Pike county she 
was always so scant o' grease that her pastry never 
did quite suit her, and even the boys that courted her 
daughters came to speak of their prospective mother-in- 
law as "mother scant k o' grease." As time wore on and 
the country settled up the peculiar and suggestive appell- 
ation stuck to it as a descriptive and distinguishing name. 
It was the only place along the Columbia that carried the 
name, no matter how much others might have been en- 
titled to it. 
I don't think the name was ever copyrighted, but 
respect for the good old lady (or the quality of her pastry) 
protected it. 
All the river men knew where it was and no immigrant 
could miss his destination if he had sense enough to tell 
tbe captain that he was bound for "Scantogrease." And 
that name will stick to that country until time is bald- 
headed, notwithstanding the efforts now being made by 
some over-refined, sensitive people to change it. 
If it had derived the same name from some greasy old 
departed chief you couldn't trade them out of it. 
S. H. Greene. 
Portland, Ore. 
THE LYRE OF ORPHEUS. 
Editor Forest and Stream: 
Some memoranda in one of my notebooks lead me to 
ask about a subjpct on which some of your readers may 
be able to shed some light, and request them to write you 
of any observations they may have made on the point. 
All big-game hunters know that our wild animals 
depend for warning of the approach of danger on the 
senses of sight, hearing and smell. Of these the latter is by 
far the most important and certain. The animal that 
catches the hunter's scent never stops to investigate, but 
makes off at once. On the other hand a deer or an elk 
may approach quite close to a hunter who is motionless, 
not recognizing that the man is not some natural object, 
and sometimes small birds and animals will approach 
very closely or even run over parts of a person sitting 
perfectly still. It is evident, as said elsewhere, that 
these animals recognize danger only in life, and life 
only in motion. But sometimes large animals, such as 
deer, elk, antelope and even mountain sheep, to say 
nothing of buffalo and caribou, decline to recognize danger 
in moving objects, and it was a common experience in the 
West a few years ago to have these animals come up quite 
close to one in the effort to identify him. Much of the 
primitive hunting of the Indians was based on this well 
known inquisitiveness. 
But this is not the point I have in mind. I wish to 
inquire about the second of these senses, that of hearing. 
What effect do strange sounds have upon wild animals? 
Do they alarm them, or merely arrest their attention, or 
do they actually attract them? 
I have known several cases where men who went out 
from camp in the early morning to drive in their horses 
found a bull moose among the horses and close to the 
bell mare. I know of one case where a small band of 
mountain sheep were discovered standing huddled to- 
gether at the edge of the horse herd, all apparently star- 
ing at the bell mare and wondering what the strange 
sound was. In all these cases the observers believed that 
the animals were attracted by the sound of the bell. 
Some years ago a vagrant Scotchman in the Yellow- 
stone Park, who was the possessor of a clarinet, conceived 
the idea of learning to imitate on that instrument the 
bugle call of the bull elk. He stationed himself as near 
as possible to a whistling bull and began to imitate his 
call. Whether he succeeded in learning the notes or not 
I do not know; but it was said that all the elk in the 
neighborhood collected about him to listen to his per- 
formance. 
I am told of a prospector who was very fond of playing 
on what is called a harmonica or mouth organ, and who, 
while traveling through the mountains, stopped to rest and 
refresh himself with a little music. Af ter he had been play- 
ing some time he saw emerge, one after another, from the 
brush, three white-tail deer, which slowly drew nearer 
and nearer to him, watching him with an appearance 
of great interest. They finally approached so close that, 
as he said, he could "almost touch them," and only went 
away when he ceased playing. He had no gun and was 
careful to avoid alarming them. 
We all know that it is often possible to stop a running 
deer or elk by a whistle or by the call of a fawn. 
The facts that I have mentioned are isolated and prove 
nothing, but others may have made observations which 
may be of interest in connection with them. Can any of 
your many readers help me? Old Man. 
WILD PIGEONS. 
Lockport, N. Y., Dec. 10. Editor Forest and Stream: 
I notice in your issue of Dec. 8, a report of the occurrence 
of wild pigeons near Borne, N. Y., which reminds me 
that while stopping at Theresa, N. Y. , from Aug. 13 to 
Oct. 20 last, the local paper reported that parties had seen 
a large flock of pigeons near Ked Lake, which as the 
crow flies is about four miles from the village. I did not 
succeed in seeing the parties that saw them, to corrobo- 
rate the observation. I have but little doubt of the occur- 
rence. The last pigeons I shot was on the east side of 
Red Lake some twenty years ago, while visiting at 
Theresa, wh ch was my boyhood home, and well do I 
remember the immense flocks of these birds fifty years 
ago, and recall one particular occasion during the spring 
flight when tens of thousands flew directly over the main 
street and within ten rods of the center of the village, 
when hundreds of them were killed with guns, clubs and 
fishpoles. They flew directly up the river, which at that 
point is at least seventy-five feet lower than the street. 
Their flight was so low that they had to rise to clear the 
street. On the north side of the street were large piles of 
wood, on which other boys and 1 climbed armed with 
fishpoles, and killed many birds. At that time I saw the 
first single bird shot on the wing by my oldest brother 
who was armed with the old muzzleloading gun which had 
been carried through the War of the Revolution and of 
1812 and 15, and which had been cut off at least 15in, and 
changed from flint to percussion cap lock. During a lull 
in the flight one single bird came up the ravine, which 
was shot by my brother; and from that day he was con- 
sidered the best shot of the town. 
Since the pigeons that I killed twenty years ago I have 
seen but one wild pigeon that was shot in this State, and 
that was taken by Mr. Arthur Lerch about three miles 
north of this city, May 10, 1883; and was the only one 
seen at the time. I have it in my collection of mounted 
birds. There is a small patch of blue on the back and 
just a tinge on edge of wings, the rest of the plumage is 
ashy brown. At first I could hardly believe it was a 
passenger pigeon (Ectopistes migratorius). 
J. L. Davison. 
New Book on Shore Birds. 
Sportsmen as well as naturalists will be interested to 
learn that there is in preparation a new and completely 
illustrated volume on the shore birds of North America. 
Its author is Dr. D. G. Elliott, the ornithologist, whose 
beautifully illustrated monograph of theTetraonk aa ought 
to be in the library of every sportsman in the land, whue 
his volume on the hummingbirds and on other groups 
have made his name familiar to all students of bird life. 
The volume in question is entitled "North American 
Shore Birds," and will be published by Francis T. Harper 
