May it, 1895.] 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
367 
ing cloud. The string of fowl extended over quarter of a. 
mile in width and was twice that deep or more. They 
were coming very low, milling up and down and talking 
in a constant deafening chorus over some subject which 
appeared to have the greatest interest to them. I could 
see that some of the great flight was bound to pass 
directly over me, and as they came on I dug myself into 
the hard ground as far as I could, lying flat on my back 
and not daring to move even an eye over in the direction 
of the birds, though I had the hardest sort of work to 
keep from turning my head over to peep at them as they 
came on in their wavering flight, the great noise of their 
calling growing nearer and more thrilling at every 
moment. They seemed to me to be within 300yds., but 
I dared not move. Now they were within 200, I said to 
myself, and now perhaps 150. I was clutching my gun 
hard, and doing all I could to keep down till the moment 
I should see the birds right over me. It was just before 
the instant when I was about to sit up and fire that, right 
above and between me and the oncoming flight of fowl, I 
heard a faint, soft, deliberate whispering of great pinions, 
and then heard, almost at my ear and startling in its vol- 
ume and its nearness, a great, deep, melodious, trumpet- 
like note, which I can only say sounded sweet and sad at 
the same time. At the instant this note sounded , I saw 
two great white swans passing over me, they having 
started to cross from the bay to the lake directly at my 
point, and having crept up on me without my having any 
suspicion of their presence. In the half- flash of an instant 
I made up my mind what to do. The Canadians were 
almost on me, and I was sure of a brace of them at least; 
but I had killed enough of geese. I would try for the 
swan instead. On the moment of this resolve I sat up and 
fired at the nearest swan. Already it had seen me, and 
with a great sweep of its strong wings was attempting to 
rise. Its body was at an angle, and its left wing, the one 
furthest from me, was strained beneath its body, slanting 
down, as the bird tried to get up and away. This sudden 
turn and the tense straining of the bones and muscles of 
the wing to lift the heavy body gave me my swan. I 
heard the strong load of No. 4 shot cut into the body of 
the bird, and saw a great sad splash of red stain its side as 
it fell. The left wing bone, the one furthest from me, had 
given way close up at the shoulder. As quick as thought 
could work I fired at the other swan, which was now on 
level pinions, and it paid no sort of attention to it, but 
sailed off apparently slowly and undisturbed. My crippled 
swan seemed close to me when I fired at it, but when it 
struck the water I saw how very deceptive the great size of 
these birds makes them.* I ran to the edge of the water, and 
into it as deep as I could go, and fired eight loads of No. 4 at 
its head and neck, but I could not make it bob its head. 
I saw the shot spread wide around it, and knowing how 
admirably the gun I was handling shot tha,t particular 
charge, I knewthen that the bird was no doubt 75 or SOyrtp. 
from me- It was only a lucky chance that brought it 
down. Moreover, it was not yet mine, for with wild and 
melancholv callings to its mate the poor creature " as 
swimming out 'rapidly into the middle of the lake. One 
often hears of the song of the dying swan, and one al&o 
hears that idea ridiculed as an absurdity, but I am ready 
to say that the saying has excellent foundation. I have 
never heard a more mournful note than that poor bird 
gave as it tried in vain to rise and join its mate. Surely 
it spoke of grief, put-prise and despair in its soft clarionet 
reiterance. Could I have made it whole at that moment 
I gladly would have done so. 
It would not do, however, to leave the swan alone to 
perish on the water, and I could not get near it to finish 
its sufferings. It was a mile back to the landing, and it 
would be a two miles' pull to get a boat around into the 
lake from the Novice anchorage. This latter was a ne- 
cessity, anil though it was now nearly time for us to leave 
for home, the others said they would wait, and Johnnie 
volunteered to take the sinkb'ox around in and get the 
swan, Dick Merrill and I walking along shore to watch 
the rushes where the crippled bird might have hidden. It 
was nearly an hour before Johnnie got around, the wind 
being bad for him, and when Dick and I came to the 
place where I had left the swan we found a flock of about 
300 other swans that had lit in there. I had taken a rifle 
along this time, to kill the cripple if it was lying out far 
from shore, and I fired a few shots at this flock, thinking 
of course to see the cripple remain when they flew. To 
our surprise the water was left entirely bare. My swan 
wai gonel 
Dick was a little disgusted at this, and maybe thought I 
hadn't any swan, but we proceeded to hunt all along the 
shore for nearly half a mile. Johnnie came up then with 
the boat, and at length, after we had about, given up the 
search, we saw a low mass of white feathers lying among 
the rushes about a quarter of a mile from the place where 
the swan had fallen. The great bird crouched close 
among the foam bubbles, using its last artifice to save its 
life, but we saw it as it tried to hide, and I called Dick to 
kill it with his gun, as I did not want to spoil the body 
with a bullet. Dick stepped back about 25yds. and fired 
at the swan with a load of No. 6, shooting at the neck of 
the bird, but the impact hardly seemed to jar it, 
and it continued its heavy crawling toward the water. 
He ran up closer and fired again, and even then when I 
picked the great bird up it was not dead, though dying. 
Then for the first time we saw how large it was. We 
could not weigh it, but its beak was high as my head as I 
lifted it just clear of the ground, and it made a good tug 
to hold it up at arms' length. Thus we secured one of 
our most considerable trophies. Later I learned that the 
skinning of a swan is one of the hardest operations in the 
preparing of trophies. The fat was thick and soft and 
oily to an unbelievable extent, and the butts of the quill 
feathers came clear through into it, so that it was hard to 
keep the skin whole and clean of grease. 
North-Bound. 
We left these last happy hunting grounds with very 
much regret, for we had found no prettier place to shoot 
than this, yet our icebox was well stored with game as it 
was — so well that we gave much to friends at stopping- 
places in Texas and still had some fat geese aboard the 
good car "202" when we reached St. Louis and came to 
break the last links of our party. 
We had said good-by to Mr. Geo. Fulton before we left, 
and now we had to say good-by to his brother and the 
others of our acquaintance at Rockport. We resolved to 
pass a day at Sau Antonio, and Dick Merrill, who had de- 
termined to ispend the entire winter on the coast at Rock- 
pOrt, concluded to VW l*p W|% W to Han Antonio to see 
the last of the party. We wired Oscar Guessaz to meet 
us at the afternoon train, and so at last begun to undo the 
fetters that had so pleasantly bound us to the coast 
country and headed north for our return. 
Beware the Jaguar. 
Osca-r Guessaz of course had a long programme of enter- 
tainment for us in the city, and the first part of it was in 
evidence when he showed up at the depot with a spank- 
ing team and carriage to take us out to the old mission, 
the barra.cks, the grounds of the rifle club, the sulphur 
springs, the San Pedro springs, etc., etc. — there is a world 
of interesting features all around San Antonio, and it is 
well called the best of the American winter cities. The 
springs are fitted up as show places, with features of 
museums and menageries. At San Pedro springs, where 
the lovely little Sau Antonio River comes rippling up out 
of the ground, there is a very notable collection of native 
wild animals — including a live and very active jaguar, 
which can reach about 25ft. with his arm and is quicker 
than a streak of lightning. I was going to pat this fellow 
on the nose, but he didn't look at it that way, and swiped 
a piece of skin off my hand befoi'e I could see he was 
going to do anything. You can't pat jaguars any. Talk 
about boxing kangaroos! If I know anything about box- 
ing, that speckled misanthrope at San Pedro Gardens 
could give all the kangaroos or other two-legged boxers 
in the world a lioeral education on sparring for scientific 
points. Man, who makes his living nowadays by gun or 
by theft, is no longer much good as an animal, and has 
lost all the quickness of the animal of prey. 
We all called of course at the Aransas Pass Railway 
offices, where Mr. Peabody made thanks to General Man- 
ager Montserrat for the many courtesies that had been 
shown his party in Texas by the Aransas Pass Road — no 
doubt the most obliging railway on earth. General Pas- 
senger Agent Martin and his pleasant assistant, Mr. Lup- 
ton, we also thanked for many kindnesses, such as trav- 
eling shooters do not always receive in the colder -hearted 
north country. Enough cannot be f=aid for these gentle- 
men, or for all those who so signally entertained us all 
through the great State of Texas. 
Sadie, The Chile Queen. 
In the evening we met a great many of the hearty craft 
of shooters in old Santone, and were busy visiting these 
with the indefatigable Guessaz, who knows everybody 
SADIE, THE CHILE QUKEN 
and is known of all, up till the hour of the last detail of 
hospitality he had arranged for our pleasure. For there 
remained yet one point of interest to be visited, one lead- 
ing citizen to be seen, one more friend to whom we must 
say farewell. Need I mention Sadie, the Chile Queen? If 
Sadie be not one of the features of interest of San Antonio 
and one of the leading citizens of the town, to what or to 
whom shall we ascribe that honor? 
Of course a chile supper at Sadie's casa was to be the 
close of ceremonies at San Antonio. Sadie was going to 
give us this supper herself, but we couldn't allow that. 
Sadie, was still doing business at the old stand, and so was 
her Mexican cook Pancho. 
"Pancho is so funny when he is drunk," said Sadie, 
philosophically. "To-day he got drunk, and he went out 
in the yard and climbed up in a tree to go to sleep. I had 
to get up on the ladder to wake him up. He looked so 
funny, asleep up in the tree!" And then Sadie called 
Pancho in to see the gentlemen he was to cook for, all of 
whom regarded with a certain curiosity the gentleman 
whose habits lead him to go to sleep in trees when under 
the weather a bit with auguardiente. But Pancho could 
cook blanquillas and chile con came and all the other chile 
things just as well as ever. And Sadie could be charm- 
ing as ever as chile hostess. She is probably the last of 
the long dynasty of chile queens, the modern San Antonio 
looking with reproach on the picturesque old ways of liv- 
ing which once obtained. I have already told how the 
chile stands once lined the markets, making the night 
bright with their flaunting torches, and enlivening the 
street with the charms of varied costume and vivid out- 
door life. Then came the change by which the chile busi- 
ness lessened and went within doors. Sadie has long had 
her restaurant in a shop of her own. To her no worthy 
successor has ever appeared, and it may be she is the last 
of the chile queens, as she has been one of the most nota- 
ble and historic of her unique class. Marriage is 
usually the end of the chile queen, and Sadie 
now is married. Indeed, if I am not mistaken, 
Sadie said that she had married one or two men since 
we were last there, and that she intended to keep 
on marrying until she got a good man, and then intended 
to stop. This I take to be proof of a strong common sense 
quite worthy of a ruling sovereign. But maybe Sadie was 
joking, for any way she was as debonair e as ever, and as 
fetching, and as ready with repartee. In a few moments 
Sadie wa? addressing the bead of our party as -BUI,' 1 
somewhat to his surprise and therefore to her own enjoy- 
ment. And this time, although there were several of us, 
she decorated each with a fine fresh flower for his button- 
hole when we said good-by. Sadie is not to be misunder- 
stood. She is simply unique, the last type of a vanishing 
class which has no precedents, which suffers no compari- 
sons, and needs no comment. In presenting the portrait 
of Sadie, the Chile Queen, Forest and Stream offers a 
unique feature, and introduces personally to each sports- 
man of the land the j oiliest, squarest and best-natured 
fellow in the world I After this, where else in all the 
world shall one buy his chile supper! 
Where but in the South? 
And where else in the world shall one go for his winter 
voyagings if not to this sunny South about which I have 
been trying to tell? It is a land too little known, too little 
understood. Its customs, its institutions and its attrac- 
tions are but dimly grasped by those who have not visited 
it. To those who have done so they cannot fail to appeal 
most strongly. The Sunny South is the coming land for 
sportsmen to know, When they know it — as one may say 
the sportsmen of this country have through Forest and 
Stream had their first and almost their only chance to 
know it in sporting journalism— they must love it, as all 
do who have seen it, and having loved it, they will pray it 
never may be changed. These things we spoke of as the 
wheels bore us to the North, we having almost in sadness 
said good-by to the last of our many new-found friends. 
Of these, in Tennessee, in Louisiana, in Mississippi, in 
Texas, we still hear^ and of course having met them we 
cannot deny ourselves the pleasure of at least hoping to 
meet them all again, either in the South or in the North; 
and if it be in the latter locality, we can only hope to 
emulate to the best of a poor ability the customs of the 
land of the ever-open door. B. Hough. 
909 Security Building, Chicago. 
THE ART OF TAXIDERMY. 
"The best man can be beaten." This is certainly true, 
at least so far as taxidermy of the present day, and the 
art of reproducing nature in the animal, the bird, the fish 
and the reptile are concerned. 
In an article published two years ago, entitled "High 
Art in Taxidermy," I spoke severely in reference to the 
generality of mounting (more properly termed stuffing), 
where the unfortunate specimen is simply stuffed with 
some cheap material, such as straw, excelsior, old rags, 
newspapers, etc., to the fullest extent of the skin, the 
result being a shapeless mass, without meaning and with- 
out any attempt whatever at anatomy or life-like expres- 
sion. The true taxidermist can produce an exact counter- 
part of the living specimen itself from a fresh or properly 
treated skin. I refer more particularly to mammals, as in 
these is found the better opportunity to clearly define the 
anatomy and show the skill of the taxidermist in the 
development of muscles, expression and action, even to 
the reproduction of the more important veins. The skill- 
ful artist can reproduce the wonderful poses of life, show- 
ing how action can be put into the specimen by proper 
positioning and modeling of the bones and muscles, the 
study of expression by developing every wrinkle of the 
skin on the face. In fact the art is fast reaching that 
standard where I have long wished to see it placed, that 
is on a level with sculpture and painting. 
The true naturalist and taxidermist must possess the 
best qualities of sculptor and artist, as well as be master 
of natural history and of anatomy, not alone of the 
human body, but of the mammal, bird, fish and reptile. 
There are but few such in this country, but it is simply 
for want of encouragement, Fine art in this country was 
in its infancy fifty years ago. Wm. Hart was one of a 
few American artists who at that time struggled hard to 
interest American people in American pictures. Look at 
the position of fine art here to-day; scores of brilliant 
painters are making or have made their mark. Wyant, 
Innis, Church, Wm. Hart, and many others now rank 
with some of the best foreign artists, and their names and 
works will live forever. 
France is far in advance of other nations in the art of 
taxidermy. Germany and England have more recently 
developed the fine scientific school for mounting, the 
latter within about fifty years. The lion group in Central 
Park Museum was mounted by Verreau, an old French- 
man, in Paris, twenty-five years ago. It is still fairly 
well preserved and would to-day certainly put to shame 
many of the outrageous caricatures stuffed by some of 
our so-called American taxidermists. Encouragement is 
what we need. It is an elevating and worthy art. In 
most of the colleges and schools of France it is taught as 
a regular branch of study. They all own their collection 
of specimens for the study of natural history. Give us 
the same opportunities and we will soon lead the world. 
Sportsmen and naturalists in this country have become 
discouraged and disgusted with work received from men 
who are simply in the business for the dollars and cents 
they can make. But this class is found in all profes- 
sions. There are cheap musicians, cheap pictures, cheap 
everything. One artist can obtain one hundred times 
the price of another for a painting. The same with the 
sculptor. Then why not so with the taxidermist? Ameri- 
cans are not yet educated up to paying the price neces- 
sary to encourage the finer class of work. For instance, 
three years ago, when in London, I had the pleasure of 
seeing a group of two lions mounted in fighting attitude. 
It was a grand piece of work; the fearful straining of 
the muscles, the eyes fairly bulging from their sockets, 
with mingled fierceness and pain, the claws and teeth 
sunk deep into each other's flesh, and blood oozing from 
the fresh wounds. No picture or statue could represent 
so much with the same subject. There was the natural 
skin,_i teeth and claws mounted; so real in appearance 
that it was almost life itself. 
That group had been mounted for an English lord, and 
the price paid for the labor was about £1,000, or about 
$5,000, and it was well worth the sum as a work of art. 
What profession requires more knowledge, more skill? 
For example, where the sculptor leaves his work as fin- 
ished, the taxidermist is but half through. By far the 
most difficult and scientific part is yet to be accomplished. 
When the model or manikin is ready for the skin, every 
muscle properly developed, a§ in life, in, the condition: the, 
