126 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
Feb. 16, 1895. 
and their identity was lost in the tide of Bohemian bird 
life as it ebbed and flowed through the fall and winter— 
another winter of discontent — for when the spring days 
prompted the parent birds to come back to the old pear 
tree they found that decay had been at work, assisted per- 
haps, by fungoid growths, and perhaps by an inquisite, 
thieving crow, for there was a large hole in the roof — the 
scar of the sawn off limb — through which came the sun- 
shine and the rain, conditions not at all favorable to the 
development of hole nesting birds. But the same skillful 
hand that had repaired so acceptably the damages of the 
year before came to the rescue, and this time fitted a tin 
roof- over the whole scar, making a habitation as obscure 
from the inclemency of the weather as any chicadee ever 
possessed . 
In the light of former experience, it is perhaps needless 
for me to add that the hole was occupied as before, and 
in just sixteen days from the day they commenced to sit, 
five more little titmice burst their shells and commenced 
to tax the industry of their brave little parents to supply 
the cravings of their very prominent appetites, and finally 
to go out as many others had gone before, perhaps to tell 
of one man at least who is a friend of tlu birds. 
Massachusetts. Chas. E. Inoalls. 
Winter Robins in North Latitude. 
Lake Champlain, N. Y. — In Forest and Stream of 
Jan. 12 I noted the appearance of a bunch of robins at 
Chestnut Hill, Philadelphia. On Jan. 12 I saw two 
robing on the lake shore road, and one on the 13th. The 
mercury has been here 20 degrees below zero this month, 
but on the 12th and 13th rose to from 30 degrees to 38 de- 
grees. These birds rimsr be winter residents, perhaps 
from the deep woods of the Adfrondacks, venturing out 
during the thaw. Guy Ferguson. 
A Winter Red Bird. 
Carthage, Ohio, Feb: 1. — After several weeks of sharp- 
ly defined winter weather, with snow and ice accom- 
paniments, and the promise by the weather bureau of an- 
other cold wave coming, you may imagine my surprise at 
hearing a red-bird giving out his choicest strains from 
his perch on the upper limb of a larch on the morning of 
Feb. 1. Is it a harbinger of an early spring, or has he 
"lost his reckoning" and appeared too soon? Time will 
tell. E. S. Whitaker. 
;."That remiuds me." 
B The "boys," young and old, were collected around the 
stove in the tavern one winter evening, when the talk 
turned upon fishing in general, and catching bullheads in 
particular. "Say, Uncle Jess, didn't you catch an all- 
fired big pout down in Massapoag a few years ago," said 
Cy Smith, addressing one of the elders of the party. 
"Wal, yes; I did, fer a fact; the biggest pout I ever see, 
or anyone else, I guess," replied the veteran. "Haow 
much did he weigh.?- cried several voices. "Wal, fact is 
I never weighed him, but he was a whopper, an' I believe 
he was old enough to be the gran'ther 'f all the bullheads 
raound here. Mighty curis tiring abaout that pout, tew," 
said the old man, gazing at the upward curling smoke of 
his pipe in reminiscent mood. "Tell us abaout it," said 
Cy. The old man hitched uneasily in his chair, knocked 
the ashes from his pipe on the stove-hearth, and taking 
his jack-knife and a plug of tobacco from his pocket, be- 
gan to prepare a fresh charge. 
"Wal," said he, after a few moments of silence, "yer 
see, durin' the winter, Ivory Damon had be'n cuttin' ice 
on the pond fer Joe Goodrich. Naow yer know Ivory 
was a kin' o' queer critter, alius studyin' over mathe- 
matics or phrenology or some sech stuff, didn't know 
what he was doin' half the time. Wal, he was cuttin' 
ice there all alone with a cross-cut saw — that was 'fore 
those ice-plows had been got up — an' the first thing he 
knew, he sawed off the very cake he was standin' on, and 
down he went. 'By Cracky,' said he, 'I thought I was a 
goner, but I c'd just reach the ice ladder and pull myself 
out; but the saw went to the bottom.' Wal, 'long next 
May, I went daown there one evenin' with one of the 
Walker boys — Art, I b'lieve 'twas — thought we'd get a 
mess o' pouts We had pretty good luck for a while, 
then they stopped bitin'. 'Guess thee's an eel araoun',' 
said Art, 'Wal,' said I, 'I'll have him if thers' one here.' 
So I put on an all-fired big bunch o' worms, and flung 
her over. In abaout tew minutes I felt somethin' take 
hold an' bear daown hard. 'By George,' says I, 'I've got 
him.' Wal, I tell yer we had a tussle, but we hawled in 
the biggest pout I ever see. We had to hit him with the 
oar 'fore we could keep him in the boat. I thought ther' 
was suthin mighty curis 'baout his maouth, but I didn't 
pay much 'tention tew it till I come ter dress him nex' 
mornin', an' as trew as I live, that ole feller had got 
Ivory's saw cross ways in his maouth an' was a-wearin' it 
fer a set o' false teeth. " Catacoonamug. 
A Feline Catastrophic Coincidence. 
Nearly thirty years ago when I was stationed in Cana- 
da -with a battery of royal artillery, the building in which 
the officers lived was greatly infested by cats, which fre- 
quently awoke us at night by their hideous squallings. 
We used to get out of bed, and fling our boots in the 
direction of the sounds, down the dark passages into 
which our doors opened, and on two occasions I even 
fired a pistol loaded with small shot at where I guesspd 
the cats to be. The other officers objected to that, be- 
cause they feared being hit by a stray bullet, if they hap- 
pened to be in the act of throwing a boot, but we all 
agreed that the cats must be reduced in numbers. 
I borrowed a rifled air-cane which carried 120 round 
balls to the pound and kept it, ready pumped, in a corner 
of my room. A few days afterward, seeing a cat walk- 
ing across the ground at the back of the building, I 
snatched up the air-cane, rammed home a bullet, and, 
aiming at the back of the cat's head, pressed the trigger. 
The bullet struck between the ears, and went out at the 
chin — so the animal rolled on his back dead without a 
kick. 1 thought he had strayed from some house at a 
distance but discovered shortly afterward that he be- 
longed to a major, who had retired from the army and 
was living near us. 
By a remarkable coincidence, at the exact instant that 
I shot the cat, the owner and an officer were standing at 
the window of another room, and engaged in conversa- 
tion. The major remarked: "That is my old Tom cat 
walking there. I have had him since the Crimean War, 
and he has become such a nuisance in the house that I 
am going to borrow a gun and shoot him. By Jove, he's 
dead! But what on earth can be the cause!" 
The noise) made by the air-cane was so slight that they 
had not heard it, and could not account for the sudden 
death. 
On hearing afterward to whom the cat belonged, I 
wrote to the major apologizing and explaining how the 
mistake occurred. He replied that he was very glad I 
had saved him the trouble of killing the old wretch. 
J. J. Meyrick. 
\mi\e j§HQ Htfd 
IN WILD PIGEON DAYS. 
Your recent notes on the wild pigeon of America were 
interesting and recalled some of my own experiences with 
this noble bird some years ago, before the murderous net- 
ters had quite succeeded in exterminating them. 
In the fall of 1875 we hsfl in this section of mountain 
country the heaviest beech mast within the recollection 
of the oldest inhabitant; it could be scooped up in double 
handfuls anywhere under the beech timber and as that 
kind of timber prevails here to a considerable extent, 
some idea of the quantity of mast can be conceived, in a 
year that it "hits," as We say. The wild pigeons came in 
countless numbers, and by good fortune, this being a 
somewhat out of the way locality, the enterprising net- 
ters did not get word in time to get in their work. 
I was using at that time as my "all around gun" a ten 
-bore double muzzle loader. A windfall in the game line 
does not come often and this one was by ho means to be 
despised. Providing myself with a bottntiful supply of 
ammunition, 1 Would get out ih a favorable spot in the 
evening, as the hosts would be flying to their roosting 
ground. Many a time I have fired until the old gun be- 
came so hot I could scarce bear my hand on the barrels 
and was forced to cease for awhile to allow them to codI 
before I dared reload again. The flocks was so dense 1hat 
I literally made it rain pigeons. FatI Did you say? Well! 
The wild pigeon is generally poor in flesh, and blue look- 
ing as to meat— the old ones pretty tough. But ail the 
birds that year Were a squab of fat. When dressed they 
looked as yellow as gold and were very juicy and tender. 
Upon striking the ground, many of them would burst 
open, the crop being gorged with the beech nuts. My 
wife and oldest child, a girl of eight, would generally go 
out with me, as this shooting was convenient to the 
house, gathering the dead in a large basket we took for 
the purpose. We had pigeons for dinner all the winter, 
and did not waste a single bird; for besides supplying 
some of my less fortunate neighbors, we salted down over 
four bushels of nicely dressed birds. We had pigeon 
pie and pigeon served in every style we could think of, 
galore. 
In feeding, which pigeons do in flocks quite dense and 
numerous, they form long lines along the ground, almost 
like soldiers in line; feet "and wings are in constant mo- 
tion turning the dried leaves, and they seem to roll over 
one another as tbey advance in line gathering the mast. 
Frequently, immense masses of them, as if actuated by a 
simultaneous impulse, move a short distance to a more 
favored spot, the flutter of this countless number of 
wings making a noise like rolling thunder. After gorg- 
ing themselves with mast, sometimes they will settle 
upon the adjacent timber, forming lines on the branches 
as close as they can well sit; thus perched they will emit 
a call or cry to passing flocks, which generally has the 
effect of calling these down to join their fellow brethren. 
The call does not at all resemble the cooing or call of our 
tame pigeon, but on the contrary, is more like the quack 
of some of our small ducks in tone, not prolonged like the 
duck, rather more harsh and very quickly repeated; 
once heard by the sportsman, never forgotten. 
In the pursuit of this bird, on this glorious hunt, ever 
to be remembered, I would often secure raking shots at 
them when perched in close masses on the timber. The 
wild pigeons, at least when they existed in these num- 
bers, do not appear to be at all shy and wary like most 
game; but will permit, generally with an apathy most as- 
tonishing, approach to close quarters, affording a most 
destructive fire. The slaughter on such occasion was 
prodigious. One evening I took a station in a low gap 
in the mountain, about a mile from home, and in direct 
line of the flight of the pigeons to- their roost. On they, 
came! More numerous than the fabled hosts of Xerxes — 
"Like the sands of the sea," 
I did not move a dozen steps from the spot I had 
selected, stood, loaded and fired with tremendous 
energy; utilizing the few minutes required ever and anon 
to allow of the cooling of the gun, by hastily gathering 
the game and piling it at my feet. The flight lasted 
till in the gloom and darkness of the approaching night; 
most of the heavy masses flew quite low, you could hear 
their wings strike in the branches of the surrounding 
timber. My last shots that evening were simply directed 
at the roar of wings overheard, as it was not sufficiently 
light to take any aim in particular. I strung my bird's 
on pieces of twine provided for the purpose, and was 
literally so hampered and loaded down with the game 
that 1 scarce made my way home in the gloom. Early 
next morning I returned to the spot and gathered quite a 
goodly number of cripples and dead that had escaped my 
belated search the evening before. 
Like most of the feathered tribe, the process of diges- 
tion is quite rapid in the pigeon. Birds shot in the morn- 
ing as they leave the roost for their feeding grounds have 
empty crops'; those killed later in the day. and especially 
upon their return in the evening, are literally gorged, 
and as the myriads fly over you, the sound of their 
droppings is like a shower of rain upon the surrounding 
foliage. 
After the pigeons left that season, I visited their roost- 
ing ground, some two miles from where I lived. It was 
a sight to behold! Great trees had been utterly denuded 
of their branches, some of the timber entirely broken 
down from the weight of the mass of bird life," Feath- 
ers, frames and debris of all kinds littered the ground. 
The manure from this host was actually two feet in 
depth. This is not one whit exaggerated, as the entire 
surroundings came under my personal observation. 
Four years after, the fall of 1879, we had a pretty fair 
mast crop, but it was not so general, nor in as great 
quantity as the above. Numerous pigeons put in ah ap» 
pearance, but not nearly one-fourth the quantity of the 
season spoken of above. From some cause they seemed 
restless, continually on the move, from no apparent rea- 
son. In some spots the mast was plentiful enough to 
satisfy the demands of even a pigeon, yet you could 
scarcely ever catch a flock feeding. I secured very few 
that season. 
Beech mast of late years is an uncertain crop. Some 
seasons it makes a fair start, but blasts before filling. 
Old'timers tell me that when they were young men, 
beech nuts nearly every year was the rule rather than 
the exception. Two years ago there was a sprinkling of 
this mast, but no pigeons; beyond hearing of a few 
stragglers, and the reports not very well authenticated at 
that, I have known of none for several years. 
.Six years ago this coming spring, early in the season, a 
bunch of several hundred of them put in an appearance 
quite early. They nested here, on what is known as the 
Sugar Ridge, on the headwaters of Greenbrier. I noticed 
on that occasion, they were sadly decimated in number 
to what I had formerly seen. I shot a few of them in 
their passages to and fro; most of them squabs fully 
grown, in good order and making quite a toothsome dish. 
These were the iaSt I ever killed; so few in number Were 
they that I was content to secure shots at single birds 
when no better offered, as stragglers sometimes get be- 
hind their fellows of the main flock. Fly rapidly? I 
should think so! Given a wild pigeon a little behind his 
relatives, feeling quite well and having a determination 
within himself to catch up or die in the attempt, and the 
way he pulls out would startle even a Dr. Carver or any- 
one of those big match champions. It requires a quick 
eye, steady hand, and a liberal allowance of "holding 
ahead" to grass him. You don't do it, then, every time. 
It is deeply interesting to watch wild pigeons in their 
flight. They have a habit of suddenly swerving from a 
direct course, as if each individual bird at the same iden- 
tical instant of time was moved by the self-same impulse. 
Surprising, indeed, is the rushing noise of their wings 
when performing one of these curious gyrations. • Fre- 
quently when stationed on their line of flight, have I suc- 
ceeded in catching them as they bunch up in a dense 
mass with an impetuous rush; the havoc I have wrought 
in their ranks by a well-directed charge of shot, gratifies 
the pride as well as replenishes the game bag. 
"You don't catch any enemy twice in a scrape like 
this," was the remark of Napoleon, after a noted battle 
resulting disastrously to his adversaries. I cannot hope 
to see the wild pigeon in such numbers again. 
Backwoods. 
COMBINATION ARMS. 
Editor Forest and Stream: — As requested by "Cayuga" 
in Forest and Stream of Jan. 5 I have again read his let- 
ter respecting combination guns, and find that I did, to 
some extent, mistake his meaning. 
The chief sentences which caused me to do so, were: 
"I have looked for the all-round rod, boat, and gun, and 
express my belief that such a factor among the impedi- 
ments of sportsmen has not been produced. 
"The advocates of the three-barrel have hit the mark 
nearly, . . . but it is also an undesirable combina- 
tion when you are in pursuit of any one species of game." 
If Cayuga means by "an all-round gun," one which is 
as perfectly adapted for every kiud of game as a gun 
made for only one kind can be adapted to it, I admit, 
without hesitation, that no such weapon ever has been, 
or ever can be, made. If, however, we reflect, we shall 
see that almost every gun is the result of a compromise 
between various desirable qualities, in order that it may 
be adapted to t h e pursuit of more than one kind of game. 
A perfect gun for ruffed grouse or woodcock is by no 
means perfect for duck shooting, but a 12-bore of medi- 
um Aveight and choked in one barrel is very good for both 
kinds of game. 
Similarly, a perfect rifle for killing grizzly bears -would 
be very undesirable for small deer or antelope, yet a 
.45-90 repeater, with various modifications of powder 
and lead, is well adapted for killing either of these ani- 
mals. 
Cayuga seems to differ from me only in degree. He 
says that the three-barrel gun is good for certain pur- 
poses, and my object in writing was to show that, if 
made of the right weight and gauge, it can be adapted 
to act well for many purposes; its chief use being to kill 
both large and small game effectively, in places where it 
is impossible to know beforehand which kind of game 
will be met with. 
Without doubt, if feathered game alone is to be pur- 
sued, a plain shot-gun is a better weapon, and for large 
game alone, a double rifle or repeater is, on the whole, 
preferable. 
In the same number of your paper, Aztec writes of an 
unsuccessful trial of a 192 grains bullet in his .45-90 rifle 
loaded with 40 grains of powder. There would be about 
an inch space between bullet and powder, and I imagine 
some slight risk of straining the breech. If this space 
were filled with hard wood sawdust I think the results 
would be satisfactory. Two gunmakers in England 
have a special preparation for such purposes made, ap- 
parently, of sawdust soaked with a hard lubricant. I 
have not tried it, but a professional rifle and pistol-shot, 
who uses it, spoke highly of it, and told me that it keeps 
the grooves of a rifle perfectly clean after any number of 
shots; also that it acts well as a substitute for felt wards 
in shot cartridges. 
A sportsman would have no difficulty in preparing 
sufficient sawdust for his own use. ' „ ,, 
While the 192 grain bullet ought to act well lor the 
longer ranges at small game with, perhaps, 30 grams of 
powder, I doubt if it be so satisfactory as the round 
bullet for filling the pot when looking for large game. 
The chief advantages of the round ball are that it can be 
fired with hardly any noise, and that, loaded as formerly 
described, the trajectory is flatter than that of the short- 
est core, at the ranges within which grouse and rabbits 
are usually killed in the bush. 
Around bullet fitting a .45 caliber weighs about 140 
grains, and, *vith 7 graius, of qwck.-bwiung shot-gun 
