146 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
Feb. 33, 1895. 
was hurled at my unoffending friend, who, happily, ow- 
ing to his deafness, heard not a word, merely saying, in 
reply to the furious landlord, who was now calling for 
our names, in order to institute legal proceedings — "I beg 
your pardon, sir." Having given the enraged landlord 
ample opportunity to explode and exhaust his sufficient 
supply of strong language, my friend, who had retained 
his habitual coolness, in happy ignorance of cause or 
probable effect of the strange scene, quietly picked up 
my snipe, and, having rejoined me, we proceeded in our 
shoot in our unpreserved route, amid a "feu de joie" of 
adjective^. 
i could go on and fill many a page with accounts of 
mixed bags on the grouse mountains and moors of 
Southern Ireland, where both pointers and setters are as 
necessary as their absence is desirable in a snipe bog, 
where we carefully worked every inch of ground, and 
where brother vied with brother in scoring high. 
In the evening count of game on the cottage floor we 
with pride laid out grouse, partridge, snipe, duck, with 
an occasional hare, the result of our day's sport with dog 
and gun; and in those happy days tenant vied with ten- 
ant in showing the young landlord and his friends the 
spots where sport could best be obtained. 
How sad the contrast between past and present, not 
only as regards the relations between landlord and ten- 
ant, but as to quantity and quality of sport. Legislation 
has been so busy with land improvement act and land- 
lord and tenant act, that snipe and wild duck, grouse and 
partridge, have been improved off the face of the land; 
and Boycott and Boycotting have been so busy that fox- 
hounds and harriers have only the half-hearted support 
of the community. 
May we not hope that there is yet a good time coming 
for dear old Ireland in its every industry and its every 
sport. MlCMAC. 
THE CAMP OF NINETY-FOUR. 
Although Western New York was at one time a para- 
dise for game, the time has long gone by when the deer 
and turkeys were computed by comparison with the 
leaves on the trees, and the man who would make a bag 
these days must know the country thoroughly and work 
hard. Likewise, Western New York has many pleasant 
spots toward which the toil-worn worker may direct his 
steps in vacation; but he who would camp where the 
"madding crowd" does not interfere with his going 
around with no wearing apparel but a pair of pants and 
one suspender, must hustle around right smart, or he 
won't find it. 
One such spot do I know of, and there have we camped 
for the past seven years, each succeeding season adding 
more pictures to memory's wall, wherewith to beguile 
our winter evenings and strengthen our resolve to return 
next year. And it is a lovely spot. Where the blue 
waters of old Ontario spend their time trying to lick the 
beach, midway between two small lake shore villages, 
lies a forest stretching for half a mile along the shore, 
and for an eighth of a mile inland, divided about mid- 
way by a tributary of the lake. In summer this creek is 
closed by a sandbar across the mouth, and there is no 
cm-rent. It is simply a lagoon— an arm of the lake, full 
of weeds, and rushes, and pond lillies. Around this 
creek the trees stand like sentinels; here a mighty chest- 
nut, there a pine, or a dead hemlock rearing its black 
and leafless branches a,gainst the sky. The whole effect 
is of solemn beauty. Up around the bend, the effect is 
livened by clumps of birches, standing on the steep banks, 
back of the deep-green rushes. On the whole, it is very 
pretty, and is an elegant place to go after breakfast, and 
kick yourself for the naughty words you said when you 
dropped your pipe in the oatmeal. 
The season of ninetj'-four was drawing on toward Sep- 
tember, when we found ourselves in camp once more. 
The party consisted of N. N., the Deacon, his Brother Bill, 
and myself. 
There is great charm in getting under a canvas roof 
again, and consequently it was a very merry party that 
stood on the shores of the "Beautiful Water" when we 
first arrived in camp. Even the dog was glad — and we 
(i. e., the dog and I) didn't even fight with each other to 
see who was going to be pillow for the night. One of us 
was always pillow, part of the time, anyway. When 
we'd go to sleep, the dog would be pillow; but when we 
woke up, I generally found that there had been mutiny 
during the night, and that I was now filling the position 
of combined feather bed and pillow. Then the dog and 
I would carry on a little conversation with ourselves, and 
the dog would get behind a trunk and put her paws in 
her ears. 
The days in camp pass along more than smoothly. You 
begin to get fat and feel your oats, and you don't care 
whether school keeps or not. Sometimes you take your 
gun and go after woodcock, which you don't get, owing 
to a peculiar habit this bird has of flying in a different 
direction from that taken by the shot. Then again, on a 
calm evening, when the sun is setting, and you see the 
shiners jumping out of the water, you think there must 
be bass out there; so you get out your fishing-rod, bait 
with a piece of bologna, and proceed to fool around in the 
boat, pretending to fish, while some of the rest of the gang 
get supper. One day Deacon and I did catch a fish. Poor 
fellow. He'd been disappointed in Jove, probablv, and 
wished to commit suicide. We hit him with the "flat of 
an oar-blade, and the subsequent proceedings interested 
him no more. 
After supper we swing the kettle— that dear old kettle. 
Some man ought to write an "Old Oaken Bucket" song 
about it— we swing the kettle off the fire, and pile on 
more wood. Then we light our pipes, and settle down to 
solid comfort. Stretched on the ground, watching the 
sparks which flew from the fire into the black void from 
whence no spark returns, beyond where the nearest 
bushes toss phantom arms in the fire-light, I conjured up 
fancies of the time when all this country was an un- 
broken wilderness, when, instead of the barges which 
now plow the waters of old Ontario, no craft but those 
of birch-bark had ever rested on its bosom; when the 
only sotmds that disturbed the quiet of the forest were 
the cries of wild animals and the shouts of the Indian; 
when the Ongweehonwee danced their war-dance, cele- 
brated their victories, and scalped their Algonquin ene- 
mies with reckless abandon. Musing thus on the past, I 
am suddenly made aware of a stir on the other side of 
the fire, and, looking up, I see that the Deacon has pre- 
pared himself for a speech. He turns a round-eyed, 
good-natured face, imported direct from Germany and 
guaranteed genuine, upon the rest of the crowd, and 
with the air of a man bestowing a wealth of thought 
upon some poor individual, he says, "Just think, boys! 
Perhaps this very log is one upon which old Pathfinder 
sat, when he held his council with Ching-ach-gook!" 
"Yes," responds the unimaginative N , with a 
slight tinge of sarcasm. "Or perhaps it's the one old 
Christopher Columbus brought over from Spain, to build 
a shanty with!" 
This remark meets with the approval of the gang, but 
the Deacon's expression changes to one which might be 
called a "sardonic grin," and "Look here, you," he says. 
"What d'ye mean by insulting a gentleman? Don't you 
know that I'm the only man in the gang that you can't 
insult without getting hurt? You've got to fight; see?" 
"All right, Julius," says N , calmly. "Any time 
you wish to meet me in combat, you will find me right 
here, with my sleeves rolled up and spit on both my 
hands!" 
At which the Deacon utters his well-known war- 
whoop, and advances upon the enemy. Not to be out- 
done, Bill and I likewise sail in, and for the next few 
minutes the air is full of flying blankets, pillows, and 
such-like weapons. The result is that we have to turn 
to and make the beds again, and eating everything eat- 
able around camp, we turn in for the night, lulled to 
sleep by the monotone of the surf on the beach, and the 
wind in the trees. "Bill attends to his last duty, which 
is that of adjusting his patent snorer, with which he pro- 
ceeds to say nothing and saw wood. 
Happy days! They come but once a year, but when 
they do we try and make up for lost time. Our camp- 
kit is all ready for next season, and our dishes still repose 
in a blissful state of uncleanliness. May they never be 
otherwise! Mac. 
WINTERING BOB WHITE. 
Editor Forest and Stream:— Several times I have 
noticed articles in Forest and Stream on the propagation 
of quail. 
I am prompted to give you a minute description of my 
experience, hoping that it may enable some of my broth- 
er sportsmen to have good shooting almost at their doors, 
if they live in a quail section of country. The expense 
and trouble are small. 
About three years ago I bought eighteen Southern 
quail, eight cocks and ten hens. Their cost, delivered, 
was about five dollars. 
I confined them in a box four feet square and ten inches 
high. The top of it was taken out. A strip, one inch 
wide, was sawed out of one side one inch above the bot- 
tom. This slot was three feet long, running from one 
corner to within a foot of the other corner. Through this 
slot the birds were watched and fed. To afford a water 
supply, an ordinary tin bread-pan was inserted in an 
aperture in the side of the box n^ar the ground, the 
aperture being of the correct size for the pan to fit in 
nicely and securely. 
To furnish a supply of sand and gravel, a board two 
inches wide and long enough to reach from side to side, 
was nailed across, one end being at the end of the slot 
described hereinbefore, thus fencing off a space one foot 
wide and four feet long. A small auger hole in the side, 
just over this space, afforded means for pouring in fresh 
sand, which was supplied through a funnel every few 
days. A piece of pasteboard was tacked over the hole 
when it was not in use, to prevent the birds from making 
frantic efforts to escape. They will endeavor to go 
through any opening above them, but not below them. 
Then the box was covered with cheese-cloth drawn taut 
and tacked securely around the edges. This covering 
gave plenty of light and air, and kept the birds from 
dashing their brains out in their struggles to escape 
whenever the cage was approached. They always try 
to fly up. 
They were fed regularly twice a day, morning and 
night. Their diet was varied — cracked, corn, wheat, 
buckwheat, and two or three times a week, cabbage, of 
which they are very fond. Watercress or anything 
green obtainable was also given them. I would some- 
times slip in a large sheet of pasteboard covered with 
hayseed, and they would scratch and pick in it as if on 
their native heath. They were kept well supplied with 
sand and fresh water. I was particular to wash clean 
the watering pan every morning. The cage was kept in 
a large, any, unused room where rats and cats could not 
enter. The temperature was kept at about 50 degrees, 
rarely below 32 degrees. Once in about every three or 
four weeks the cage was well cleaned and aired. 
A small box, covered with burlap, having a sliding 
door at the bottom is used in removing the birds from 
the cage. The sliding door of the small box is placed 
against a similar door in the cage, the birds are driven 
into the small box, and thus the cage can be cleaned 
when necessary. 
Some people may consider this method a great deal of 
trouble, but let them try it once, and if they have any 
sporting blood in their veins, they will soon become so 
interested that the care will become a pastime. At least, 
it was so with me. 
As a result of my efforts, I had, on April 1, sixteen fine 
birds, two hens having died. Arrangements had been 
previously made with a farmer for the shooting privileges 
of his farm, about one hundred acres of which was com- 
paratively dry bog meadow with plenty of cover. There 
were also in it two wooded islands of from five to ten 
acres each, surrounded by fertile grain fields. On one of 
these islands the cage was placed one night after dark in 
early April. A good supply of food was scattered about 
it, and the sliding door was drawn. Bright aiul early 
the next morning the quail walked quietly out into the 
woods. There was nothing to disturb or frighten them, 
and they forthwith selected that spot as their home. 
Food was kept on the grounds, and they could be 
flushed within a short distance of it almost any day be- 
fore they mated. Even then, they seemed to depend in 
part on seeming their food from the supply furnished. 
We observed that they did not pair off so early as our 
native birds. 
There were hatched five or six bevies from these birds 
that season. We shot part of them. The next season 
they were more abundant and more were shot. Last fall 
"the woods were full of them," so to speak. As late as 
last Thanksgiving Day we flushed at least seventy-five 
birds within the limits of our domain. 
Do not think that we left them to shift for themselves 
during the winter. In warm, sunny spots, with South- 
ern exposures, on each of the islands, a low hovel or two 
was built by driving crotches in the ground. Palings 
were laid across and covered with straw, then brush was 
laid on to keep the straw from blowing away. In these 
little "quail houses," gravel was put and a good supply 
of grain was kept in them all winter. The quail soon 
discovered the shelter, and fed there regularly every clay. 
When the weather turned very cool and the snow lay 
deep over the surrounding country, they fed and re- 
mained under these protecting covers nearly all the time. 
On two occasions, after a severe snowstorm, I blessed the 
thoughtful farmer who visited the covers and found the 
birds completely snowed in. Of course, they would have 
perished if he had not shoveled them out. 
To repay us for these little attentions, we have each 
spring plenty of good strong birds for seed. From the 
little nucleus of sixteen quail, we not only get plenty of 
shooting for ourselves, but we have stocked the whole 
Surrounding country. I have shot many birds, which I 
am satisfied were from our lot, at least two miles away 
from the original habitat. 
One peculiarity I have observed: They have adapted 
themselves to this climate, and each succeeding season 
they nest nearer to the nesting time of our native birds. 
They grow to be much larger and finer than the original 
Southern stock. 
At some future time I may give you a description of 
some of my pleasant and successful outings among them. 
Wawayanda. 
Orange County, New York. 
Editor Forest and Stream;— Out of six pair of quail 
which I let out in April last, and which belonged to our 
gun club, there are left six bevies certain. They have 
been fed by a number of different persons here in town. 
The dozen I kept laid three nests of eggs, thirteen to sev- 
enteen in a nest. None of them hatched, so I let the birds 
out. I do not think they will thrive or propagate when 
shut up. But the law protects quail this season, which 
wdll make a big difference in our quail shooting next sea- 
Bon, if the winter is not too severe. 
C. F. Bobbins, Fish and Came Warden. 
Oxford, Mass. 
WILDFOWL BREEDING GROUNDS. 
Editor Forest and Stream: — In your issue of Jan. 2(5 is 
an interesting article by "Coureur des Bois" upon the 
canvas-back duck supply. In the conclusion arrived at — 
viz.. "that the time limit of the extermination of the can- 
vas-back supply of the United States may be indefinitely 
extended," I am inclined to agree with the writer, so far 
as the Canadian conditions have to do with that supply. 
There is, however, one statement made by "Coureur 
des Bois" that is inaccurate. One would infer from the 
general tenor of his article that the canvas-back did not 
breed within t he line of settlement in Canada Seton in 
his pamphlet upon the birds of Manitoba and the North 
West Territories quotes Hines as saying that the canvas- 
back breeds in the vicinity of Lake Manitoba. Be that 
as it may, I know that it breeds in Muskago Lake at the 
head of the Qu'Appelle chain. Last summer I also saw 
an occasional canvas-back in the great Cumberland 
Marsh; but as I was there in the breeding season, and 
kept in the main channels of the river, I naturally did 
not see many ducks of any kind, as at that time they re- 
main very quiet and do not fly much. 
Reverting to the Qu'Appelle Lakes again — in the spring 
the first ducks to arrive are the golden-eyes and the large 
mergansers, followed very closely by bluebills. Then 
come the mallards, redheads, widgeons, gadwalls, spoon- 
bills, etc., and, nearly last of all, the canvas-backs. Of 
course, I am now writing only in general terms of the 
arrival of the main flight of each species. I have seen 
several hundreds of canvas-backs upon the surface of 
Wyosung Lake, between May 1 and 15, busily feeding 
upon the tender roots of certain water plants, which they 
brought up from the bottom, or playing, or courting. 
By this time all the golden-eyes and most of the bluebills 
and other ducks have gone farther north, to be followed 
about May 15 by the great body of the canvas-backs. 
Every year, however, a number of the latter breed and 
rear their young in Muskago Lake, the next above Wyo- 
sung Lake. In '83 and '84 I saw a number of canvas- 
backs breeding in the sloughs and small lakes upon the 
prairie north of the Qu'Appelle River, bat since then 
most of the water has disappeared from our prairies, and 
with it the ducks. Jack Leader, who first came to this 
country in '79 as a member of the N. W. Mounted Police, 
and who is a shooter of considerable repute, told me a few 
clays since that he has seen canvas-backs breeding in the 
sloughs and lakes in many places between here and the 
international boundary, but he never saw one west of the 
Cypress Hills. 
The Indians and their squaws were in the habit of go- 
ing about in the lakes and sloughs in Assiniboia, and 
with their dogs locating the nests of the ducks, or chas- 
ing the flappers out of the long grass. The latter they 
clubbed to death, and the eggs they gathered and liter- 
ally carted them away in thousands. These they used 
for food for themselves. No eggs were sold, however, for 
the practice of gathering the eggs and killing the flap- 
pers was discountenanced by the white people. Last 
year an Act of the Dominion Parliament came into 
force, which made the Indians south of the North Sas- 
katchewan River and certain bands north of it amenable 
to the Territorial game laws, which prohibit the taking 
of eggs and the killing of game in certain seasons. The 
result has been that many thousands of our ducks have 
been allowed to raise their broods, that a couple of years 
ago would never have got farther than the laying of the 
eggs. 
Spring duck shooting is still allowed by law here, and 
great numbers of, principally mallards and bluebills are 
murdered every year. Of course, the most of them are 
never used as food for the reason that worn out by their 
long flight, and from other causes, they are miserably 
