Sept. 13, 1896.] 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
SOS 
STORIES OF JOHN GOMEZ. 
Naval Station, Port Royal, S C.—My dear Mr, Forest 
and Stream: I suppose that you think I am no longer in 
the land of the living. Well, you do your part anyhow; 
for your dear old paper comes along with great regular- 
ity, and is the joy and delight of our little community 
down here. I am not dead, but wilted. When a man 
for his sins or otherwise is a prisoner on an island, in 
such heat as we have wallowed through during the two 
months last past, and furthermore when the aforesaid 
man tips the scale well up toward the 3001b. mark, then 
with the thermometer at 100° he wilts. No other word 
expresses it. Now in a chronic condition of wilt how is 
a man to use a pen ? Trickling streams run off his finger 
ends and wrists. Little rivulets send creeping drops to 
the end of his nose, whence they fall on the paper, and 
aU the exercise of a seething brain, all the result of the 
working of a massive and fiery intellect, all the sentiment 
that would crystallize on the wUling paper, become 
soaked, pulpy and semi-liquid, and only fit for the waste 
basket- So, dear brother, when I have seen the words 
written by the toiling and sporting brotherhood, that 
have caused my heart to burn within me, and have 
brought to my recollection many scenes that would in- 
terest the vast and genial assembly of your readers, I 
have felt myself helpless in the surrounding deliques- 
cence and barely able to keep my mouth above the sur- 
face of the prevalent liquidity. 
But this state of things could not last forever, and now 
we have a glorious change. It is a little cooler, a little 
dryer, a little more possible for one to exist in some sort 
of comfort. Therefore. I desire to renew to you all the 
assurances, etc., and say "howdy." 
We are a small community of Uncle Sam's servants 
down here, but every man has a gun and knows how to 
use it; every one smokes blessed tobacco in a wooden 
pipe and enjoys it, and each one has one or more accom- 
plishments connected with a free life in God's out o' 
doors which give harmonv and community of tastes 
which is very pleasing. People such as these do not 
quarrel, but dwell in blessed unity and peace together, and 
swap yarns about fish seen and caught in Alaska, about 
the slow and ponderous rising of the cinnamon bear from 
the long grass, about pheasants shot up the Yang-tse- 
Xiang, the Pei-Ho, and in the country around Newchang 
and the Great Wall of China, as well as at the mouth of 
the Eiver Plata; relate wonders about the wildfowl at 
the Falkland Islands and the big-tailed sheep at the Cape 
of Good Hope. These people aforesaid steadfastly regard 
each narrator of tales with a fixed simplicity and an ab- 
solute reliance on his veracity, else how shall each in his 
appointed time be faithfully believed when his turn of 
narration shall come. Trouble can only arise in such a 
convention when some incredulous home-plodder express- 
es doubt or asks inconvenient questions. Such are sum- 
marily dealt with. The darkening frowns on brows that 
have braved the battle and the breeze in many climes 
should warn such doubting Thomases that "fools rush 
in," etc. , and the end of it all is that hurricane speech or 
a withering sarcasm generally metajjhorically wipes the 
floor with the doubters. Oh! when will such people learn 
wisdom to avoid the fate that is so richly their due ? 
I cannot tell you now about our spring shooting, which 
was abundant. Some time I hope to tell you the story, 
but at various times and seasons we have an irruption of 
thfe good people of Beaufort, who come down here to try 
to teach us something about shooting the wary and de- 
ceptive clay pigeon. Of these people I can only say that 
their fate is sadness and misery enough. We hope later 
in the season to give them a few easy lessons in the prop- 
er method of shooting rice birds, quail, plover and deer, 
with other incidental game thrown in, and in due course 
of time, if they follow directions implicitly, they will prob- 
ably become fair amateur shooters. 
I have recently seen mention in your paper of John 
Gomez, a citizen of the world, and more especially of the 
west coast of Florida. Long years ago, say in the sum- 
mer of 1863 (that seems a long time, does it not?), I be- 
came the proprietor of John Gomez. The Commander- 
in-Chief of the East Gulf Blockading Squadron (there was 
war in those days) selected me for the command of the 
U. S. schooner Two Sisters, familiarly called the Two 
Shysters. This lofty vessel was a Baltimore "pungy" of 
about 40 tons, drawing about 9ft. of water aft and 4ft. 
forward, as some suggested, so that she could climb hills 
like a kangaroo. She carried under my command one 
12-pounder howitzer, and was manned by twelve seamen, 
three petty officers, one master's mate and a pilot. When 
I proceeded on board to take charge of this my first com- 
mand in the Government service, I found sitting on deck, 
smoking silently and diligently, his knees near his chin, 
his back rounded like a bicycle scorcher, his old straw 
hat covering his head, from the nape of the neck to his 
eyebrows, John Gomez, Pilot, XJ. S, Navy — a man swar- 
thy, silent, and looking like an Indian, but when once 
opened up, like an oyster, with considerable meat in him. 
John was my property actually for about six months, in- 
cidentally until the war closed. He ate and drank with 
me, and slept, when he did sleep, somewhere near at 
hand. He knew a good many things not generally 
known, and when he chose to talk he could be very inter- 
esting. The duty on which I was employed was of great 
interest and frequently very exciting — that of the in- 
shore, shoal water cruising, and blockade of the west 
coast of Florida. Gomez was in his way a perfect pilot. 
I think he knew familiarly every shoal, rock, oyster bed, 
creek, inlet, mud bank, fishing ledge, roosting place for 
birds, deer track and channel from Key West to Pensa- 
cola. It is my impression that moat of our living came from 
his directions about where to find fish, game, shellfish, 
etc. , and it was a most fascinating species of yachting 
and hunting combined, where the game was primarily 
blockade runners and men generally, and secondarily 
everything edible that waved a wing or wiggled a fin. 
John came originally from Central America — Hondu- 
ras, as I remember now — or had lived there many years. 
His age was apparently between forty and seventy. Over 
that range of thirty years you could guess at will. There 
were no fences on the range. After he had warmed up 
so as to talk, he related strange stories. He had lived 
many years in Florida, had an intimate knowledge of the 
Everglades, and an acquaintance with the Indians resi- 
dent there. He had apparently made his headquarters at 
or about Tampa. When the war broke out he was there- 
abouts, but a time soon came when he found it convenient 
to cross the lines, and also not to be too slow about it. So 
he "took to the bush," and found rest for his wandering 
feet at Key West. It will be almost impossible for me to 
reproduce his picturesque language, but, as far as I can, I 
will tell the story in John's own words. It seems that 
John had a family in Tampa. I do not know whether it 
was his own family or one that he had adopted, but it 
seems that one day a troubadour, returning for a brief 
season from the wars, had, or fancied he had, some rights 
in the case, so he attempted to enter the precincts of the 
homestead occupied by Mr, Gomez and the family afore- 
said. John said, in telling the story: 
"I yere talk in town, that man Willums come back. 
He say he kill me. One day I see Willums come 'long the 
road. I take my gun. I say, 'Willums, I no wanta you 
come in here.' He say, 'I come in. I killa you.' I say, 
'Willums, don'ta you come iU da gate.' Willums, he 
coma in da gate, 1 shoota him, an' he staya there. I coma 
'way." 
That seemed to me to be good and sufficient cause for 
John's hegira, and later his family joined him in Key 
West. He found employment as pilot on Government 
ships, but he did not like to serve on the steamers or 
larger ships. Once when employed on one of the fast 
steamers running up the coast for Tampa, close inshore, 
the night being very dark, John did not make out how to 
go slower, as he desired to do, and unaware that he 
should tell his fears to the officer of the deck, he wan- 
dered about until he found the engine room, an4,said to 
the engineer on watch: "Mista Engineer, don'ta b'ily 
your water too hot!" which was his idea of going slower. 
To tell of the fish we caught and the game we shot 
under John's direction and guidance would be "another 
story." He was a new and unique type to us. He was a 
compound of Spaniard, Indian, hunter and fisherman all 
in one. He carried, somewhere about him, a flint and 
steel and a horn full of tinder, and produced fire from it 
to light his pipe. He was always perfectly clean and 
neat, but his clothing was tropical and free; I do not 
think he liked to wear shoes. Squatted on deck with his 
old pipe was his usual posture. His language was calm 
and slow; I rarely saw him vehement. But there was a 
secret, somber force about the man which savored of 
helpfulness and power, and I have rarely met a man 
whom I would tie to, for outing or danger, ashore or 
afloat, with more confidence than I would to John Gomez. 
He told me a story once about a deer hunting expedi- 
tion of his in the Everglades below Punta Rossa which 
has left a picture in my mind which will never leave it. 
He was trying to creep up to a spot where he had seen a 
deer. He was standing for an instant in a flat place, peer- 
ing cautiously through the bushes in search of his game, 
when he felt something strike him gently on the inside of 
each leg. He cautiously looked down, moving as little as 
possible, and saw an enormous rattlesnake between his 
feet, head erect and ready to strike if he moved an inch. 
He was forced to stand immovable until the snake low- 
ered its head and uncoiled its length, when a great leap 
took him clear of its attack. At this moment he heard a 
low laugh and saw an Indian in a tree, who had been an 
amused spectator of the scene. The rigid John, the 
wrathful snake and the chuckling Indian would make a 
picture if they could be painted or drawn. That would 
have been the chance of a lifetime for the camera fiend. 
The last time I was in Key West I inquired for John 
Gomez, but could not learn his whereabouts. I am glad 
he is still alive. All true sportsmen would fully appreci- 
ate this son of nature. At first sight he would be passed 
by, but if once one could penetrate beneath the bark 
there was the rich yield of a life of adventure to gather 
sap from. The species is fast dying out. Soon there will 
be no more. Pioneer, hunter, sailor, fisherman, all in 
one, the school is closed that made them, the books are 
out of date from which they were taught, and the railroad 
shrieks where they hunted, and the bicycle whirls where 
once the deer paths ran. Good bye, old John; we shall 
cruise together no more, unless there are happy hunting 
grounds and smooth seas where we are both bound. 
C. H. Rockwell, Commander U, S, N. 
THE MARTHA'S VINEYARD HEATH HEN 
Boston, Aug, 11. — Editor Forest and Stream: Will not 
some of your readers who know tell us about the prairie 
chickens on Martha's Vineyard and also whether they, as 
I suppose, once existed on Nantucket and the mainland 
of Connecticut, also Long Island and the Pine Barrens of 
New Jersey? During the last four or five summers I 
have used such opportunities as occasional brief visits to 
Martha's Vineyard afforded to ask about the prairie 
chickens. I have generally heard what seemed to me 
credible accounts of the existence of these birds on the 
island, but whether they are the original stock or a late 
importation from the West, or descendants of both, I can- 
not ascertain. 
I have heard that the bird was indigenous to the island, 
but that at one time it was nearly, if not quite, extermi- 
nated, and that some birds from the West were liberated 
on the island. I am certain that there are prairie chick- 
ens there now,' for friends of naine have seen them this 
year, but I am anxious for an authentic history of the 
bird on the island and feel confident that there are those 
living who could give one. 
Mr. Manly Hardy, of Brewer, Me., the well-known 
ornithologist and careful student of natural history, once 
showed me a skin of a prairie chicken which he was fully 
assured was of one of the original Martha's Vineyard 
stock. 
It was very interesting to me, as being decidedly of a 
more red or ruddy color than the prairie chicken of the 
West. 
I called some years ago at a fishing hamlet near Gay 
Head, and on inquiry learned that prairie chickens — 
there known as "hethens," e., heath hens — were well 
known on the island. Their habits were described to me 
in terms thnt left no doubt whatever in my mind that 
genuine prairie chickens were referred to, I am greatly 
in hope that my inquiry will bring out — through your 
friendly columns — full account, not only of the original 
prairie chicken of Martha's Vineyard and such other por- 
tions of New England as it inhabited, but also of what- 
ever importations of Western stock may have been made. 
Will not some one tell us also of the game preserve of 
the island of Naushon, and of the other islands of the 
group, all of which have such musical Indian names. As 
my boat swept by Nonamesit the other afternoon I heard 
from it the musical pipe of a quail, I have heard that 
the covers of Naushon are plentifully stocked with deer 
and many other kinds of game. The island is to me the 
most favored of private and princely domains, and I 
would gladly learn what its honored and high-minded 
owner has done in the way of game propogation and 
preservation. 0, H. Ames. 
[The Forest and Stream of Sept. 25, 1890, has a two- 
column paper from the pen of William Brewster on the 
heath hen of Martha's Vineyard. The species, which is 
indigenous to the island, is closely allied to the pinnated 
grouse or prairie chicken of the West, but the two are 
now generally considered by ornithologists to be distinct. 
The Vineyard bird is identical with that once found 
at various points along the New England coast from Bos- 
ton to Connecticut, on Long Island, and in New York, 
New Jersey, Pennsylvania and Virginia. The area cov- 
ered by the range of the heath hen Mr. Brewster esti- 
mated as forty miles, and the probable stock of birds in 
the autumn of 1890 as 500.] 
Another Hornless Bull Caribou. 
Providence, R. I., Aug. 25. — Editor Forest and Stream: 
Among the deer at Roger Williams's Park here is a four- 
year-old buck caribou without antlers. He has been here 
since the spring of 1894, is thin and small and lacking in 
vigor. I notice that the deer — of which there are several 
in the same inclosure — seem much in fear of him. F. T. 
On receipt of this letter we wrote our correspondent, 
asking him if possible to make a physical examination of 
this animal in order to determine, first, whether it was 
entire, and second, whether it bore on its head the horn 
pedicels which were to be expected. Our correspondent's 
report is given below: 
Providence, R. I., Sept, 1, — Editor Forest and Stream: 
As suggested in your favor of the 29 bh ult,, I have care- 
fully examined the deer at our Roger Williams's Park. 
This animal is a State of Maine bull caribou, four years 
old last spring. He has been here since the fall of '94, 
has not been castrated nor in any way injured, and has 
never grown any antlers. On his head are the pedicels or 
bases on which the antlers would grow if he had any, but 
these are covered with skin and hair the same as the rest 
of his skull. He stands 40in. high at the shoulder and 
measures 41in. around the body just back of the shoulders. 
At the time he came here his size was about the same as 
now, and evidently his growth has been stunted, as his 
weight does not exceed that of a wild yearling. 
We found considerable difficulty in catching and holdi- 
ing him, for he is timid, though not vicious. F. T. 
Audubon Plates Sold for Junk. 
Boston, Sept. 4. — Editor Forest and Stream: I notice 
in your last issue you announce you propose to publish for 
the benefit of Forest and Stream readers some of the 
Audubon pictures, and it reminds me that over twenty- 
five years ago our house had sent them from New York 
six of the original copper plates of Audubon's birds as 
sample of the lot, which were to be sold for old metal. 
They were in very good condition, and by a very little 
retouching could have been used again. We thought it a 
shame to destroy them and tried to get some of our Bos- 
ton publishers to purchase them for legitimate use, but 
failed in so doing, James R. Osgood almost was per- 
suaded, but we finally sent them back to New York, as 
we would not consent to be instrumental in their final 
destruction. Whatever became of them eventually I 
never heard, or if I did have forgotten, 
I remember one of the sample plates we had was the 
bald eagle, and I managed to take a hand rubbed copy 
from it. These plates were the Elephant edition. I think 
our correspondents in New York at that time, of which 
there is one still living, might remember where they went 
to, for the senior took the same views of our house and 
thought it vandalism to destroy them; but as there were 
several tons in all, their value then for old metal, copper 
being so high in price, amounted to a good sum. 
Reignold, 
Yearling Doe with Favm. 
It has been said, I think, that some handwriting is 
divine, and that there are other sorts which are devilish. 
My handwriting is not of the divine kind, but I am pre- 
pared tcswear that if 1 am given sufficient time I can 
write the word one so it will not look like two. This 
evening a friend came in to see me with a smile on his 
face and a copy of Forest and Stream In his hand. 
"What is the answer to this puzzle you have given in 
Forest and Stream of Aug. 29 under the heading, ' 'Breed- 
ing of Deer?" 
"That is not a puzzle. What I wrote, or think I wrote, 
or intended to write, was that a female fawn born in 
1895 gave birth to a fawn of her own in 1896." 
That is the point of the note, but when the types said, 
"Two years ago a female fawn was born in the park, and 
this year that fawn is the mother of a fawn," the point 
was blunted or broken off. A. N. Cheney. 
Mr. W. S. Hills. 
Boston, Sept. 7.— W. S. Hills, the blind fisherman, of 
whom the readers of Forest and Stream have heard be- 
fore, is still in the land of the living, though sickness, as well 
as the total loss of his sight, has conspired to keep him in- 
doors more than formerly. But his love for the rod and 
reel has continued, and though totally blind, he takes 
every opportunity to indulge in the sport. Hampered as 
he is, salt-water fishing affords him more satisfaction 
than his old love, the Maine lakes and streams. He is 
summering, as usual, off the Rhode Island coast. With 
his boatman and attendant he goes fishing whenever 
the weather permits. The other day, unaided, he landed 
150 mackerel with hook and line. He is justly somewhat 
proud of the achievement. Is there another blind fisher- 
man in the country who has done as well? Mr. HUls does 
not fish for a living, but for recreation and for the mo- 
mentary feeling, when a fish is on, and he feels the thrill 
along the line and up the rod, that he has his sight again 
and is on the Maine waters, where trout and salmon are 
wont to hide. A lover of Forest and Stream and other 
fishing literature, he derives great comfort from being 
read to, Spectal, 
