FOREST AND -STREAM. 
[Jan. 3, 1897. 
SIMILAR EXPERIENCES. 
I HAVE beea greatly interested in reading Mr. Mather's 
articles. Some of the incidents he relates are very similar 
to some things in my own experience. 
I well remember my first eating muskrat with Indians, 
When I was seventeen years old I went hunting very 
early in the spring with an old Indian named Polis Stan- 
islaus. I well remember him as being the only Indian 
whom I ever saw wearing a beard. We had started in 
our canoe early in the morning to look our traps, 
Noon found ug at the head of some falls in a blinding 
snowstorm. Polis sent me down stream to look some 
traps, while he attended to some nearer by. On my re- 
turn I found him in a sheltered place among some low 
pines. He had built a fire and made a partial shelter by 
spreading his oiled jacket on two poles, and was roasting 
a muskrat on a stick. While it was cooking he ate the 
liver and lungs, which he had broiled on the coals. 
When he thought the muskrat done, he stuck the stick 
it was on in front of him and with his fingers tore off a 
hindleg with the black foot attached, and offered it to 
me, saying, "Here some one good piece." It smelled 
good, and I was very hungry. It is said, "As it was in 
the beginning so it has been and ever shall be." The In- 
dian tempted me and I did eat. Having tasted once, I 
wanted more, and he kept pulling off pieces, eating some 
and handing me some, with the remark, "Here some 
'nother one good piece," till all was eaten except the head 
and tail, which he reserved for himself, carefully picking 
every particle from the bones. Although a muskrat 
roasted on a stick and eaten without salt or anything else 
would not look very tempting to me now, my greatest 
trouble then was that we had not more of them. 
Some years after I was hunting in the spring with an 
Indian named Lawie Tomah. The second day out we 
overtook a party of seven other Indians and camped with 
them. After we had looked our traps in the morning 
Lewie volunteered to get breakfast, while I skinned and 
stretched our catch. At length I heard the usual Indian 
call ndhe hesatbert, pronounced nay- hay-kays-art- been 
cooking Ib ready. Going to the tent, I found that Lewie 
had made tea by putting some of the hemlock boughs on 
which we had slept into the kettle, and had made a stew 
of musquash, putting in the head, legs, feet and tail. It 
was literally thickened with bits of moss and fir needles, 
which, singed off by the fire, had fallen into the open ket- 
tle. The water for this compound he had dipped from a 
little nook where we all had been washing our bloody 
hands, in addition to which I found considerable of black 
hair much larger than grows on a muskrat. The noted 
scout^ old Jack Long, used to say, "You ain't a pastry 
cook or a hasty cook, nor a tasty cook, but for a dog- 
goned nasty cook I'll back yer ag'in the hull Pacific slope," 
but I would back Lewie against any cook old Jack ever 
saw. I remember when on an expedition in 1861, where 
our cook was not over neat, that Prof. A. S. Packard one 
day said to him: "Cook, cook, you are the nastiest man I 
ever saw. Tell about a man's eating a peck of dirt, I've 
just finished my fifth peck." I certainly thought that I 
had eaten all I needed of my peck at this one meal, and 
after that I did the cooking myself, till I exchanged 
Lewie for his nephew, who was a nice, neat fellow. 
Although Indians eat the heads, feet and tails, they are 
neater in dressing musquash for cooking than most white 
men. In skinning they never take them between their 
knees, as white men do, but cut a stick as large as one's 
finger, which has a fork. This they cut so as to leave an 
inch of each branch at the fork, and sharpen one fork. 
They cut off this stick 18in. below the fork and sharpen 
the end. This is called a skinning stick. In skinning a 
rat they stick this up in the ground between their legs as 
they sit flat on the ground, and hang the rat on it by the 
gambrel cord, so that the nose is just clear of the ground, 
and so keep the meat perfectly clean, When the rat has 
been skinned and disemboweled, they not only remove all 
the musk glands, but cut into the thick part of the inside 
of the thighs and forearms, and take out a small white 
substance which resembles the treadle of a hen's egg, and 
which if cooked would impart a strong musky flavor to 
the meat. Tbey are also careful to remove the eyes and 
a yellovr substance at the inner corner of the eye, which 
would give a musky flavor. Indians prefer muskrat to 
almost any other meat except beaver, and will always 
exchange partridge for ntaiskrat, as they say, "Pa'tlidge 
too dly." If asked if muskrats were good I should say 
yes, in the abstract; but having once been obliged to live 
on them several days, I have not for many years eaten 
them unless no other meat could be obtained. 
Mr. Mather tells of his nearly firing at an Indian which 
he thought was a bear, I once bad a similar experience. 
I was looking up traps on a dull day late in November. 
It was cold and spitting snow, although the ground was 
bare. I was traveling in some quite thick spruce and fir 
grpwth where there was no path. Suddenly I thought 
that I had seen a glimpse of something black disappear be- 
hind a low fir windfall, as far in advance as I 
could see, perhaps 25 or SOyds. I brought up 
my rifle and waited till tired; and not see- 
ing anything, advanced softly, holding my rifle 
ready for a quick shot. Again I saw it, and was sure that I 
saw coal black hair, such as no animal but a bear could 
have. Again it disappeared, and I advanced. The next 
time I could see the liair plainly, as I was not ten paces 
off; but the thing looked as it had done before, smooth 
and rounded, but showed no trace of ears or the browx^ 
nose, which I felt sure I must have seen if it had been a 
bear. I was now so close that it had very little chance 
to escape, but I was more than before puzzled as to what 
it could be. Creeping up carefully, I looked over and 
was surprised to see a very small old Indian known by 
the white people as Little Poses, but known among the 
Indians as Pah-dook-seh, or Very Sleepy. On my saying 
"Qutf ' (how do you do?), his head flew up as if it went 
with a spring. He told me that he had come there to dig 
a particular kind of root for medicine, for an Indian doc- 
tor with whom he lived, and did not know of anyone 
being near him till I spoke. 
He was sitting fiat on the ground, digging with his 
fingers, and when he bent forward to his work his head 
was below the windfall, but whenever he rose to take a 
rest the top of his bare head could be seen above it. I 
had first seen him just as he was bending forward. I 
should certainly have shot him if I had not long before 
resolved never in any case to fire at anything until I was 
certain what it was. Oae never knows where he may 
meet men who may be sitting or lying down to rest, I 
have known a number who were shot in this way, and 
the only safe way is never to fire unless absolutely certain 
what one is firing at. H. 
Maine, 
THE DAYS OF THE MUZZLELOADER- 
Reminiscences of an Old Sportsman. 
It is always a pleasure for the veteran to fight his bat- 
tles o'er again, and the more so when from age or illness 
the beloved gun becomes a burden and one is no longer 
able to follow the pleasures of forest and field There 
also comes a time when the sportsman's recitals begin to 
tire with repetitioin among his friends and even in the 
home circle, and he feels obliged to seek fresh listeners. 
So I wish to trust my early experiences to those of my 
fellow sportsmen who are in sympathy with the pleas- 
ures of outdoor life, and who look back with the keenest 
pleasure to the days when no tramp was too hard and no 
journey too long to take in search of sport. In those 
days the deadly and destructive breechloader, which is 
responsible, more than anything else, for the decrease of 
our game supply, had not yet been invented. In fact, 
the percussion system had only just replaced the flint 
lock. Then every bit of cover held its quota of game 
and it was not necessary to travel hundreds of miles to 
kill a few birds or a deer. An hour or two's drive into 
New Jersey or up to Westchester county would land one 
where fair sport could be enjoyed and the sportsman be 
enabled to return home the same day. Railroads were in 
their infancy, and market gunners with their breech- 
loaders had not swept the covers of Rockland, Orange 
and Sullivan counties bare of game. 
My first recollection of sport was way back in the 
fifties, when, as a lad just out of boarding school, I be- 
came the delighted owner of a little 20-gauge German 
double-barrel muzzleloading gun, with all the delightful 
accessories of Dixon's pouches, flasks, cardboard wads, 
etc, This little weapon was suffilcientlv deadly to kill a 
chipmunk or red squirrel at SOyds, distance. A few 
years later I became the proud owner of an old-fashioned 
rifle carrying 120 balls to the pound, and I began to feel 
that I was already a mighty hunter, particulurly one day 
when I accomplished the slaughter of my first ruffed 
grouse early one morning when just starting out for a 
squirrel hunt, and with which I promptly returned 
home, too proud and happy to hunt any more that day. 
The woods and coverts around Oanandaigua, where we 
then lived, were well stocked with game. Ruffed grouse, 
quail and woodcock were fairly abundant, and squirrels 
and wild pigeons could be found everywhere, I remem- 
ber well an English snipe which I "found on the low 
ground in front of my father's house; day after day I fol- 
lowed that tantalizing bird, which knew the range of my 
little gun to a foot, I do not know how many pounds of 
shot I fired at that snipe, but it must have been many, 
I never hurt him, and, as far as I know, he may be alive 
yet. From these youthful sports I soon graduated, how- 
ever, and with my father's 13-gauge muzzleloader began 
to do some execution. 
An old companion of Frank Forester, one Andrew L. 
Williams, of Newark, then residing in Canandaigua, 
took pity on my ignorance and began my education as a 
sportsman. He was an excellent and thoroughly good 
sportsman himself, and under his tuition I rapidly im- 
proved as a wing shot. Our principal game was ruffed 
grouse and woodcock, though now and then we would 
run across a bevy of quail or a wisp of snipe, but the 
quail were to me the hardest bird to kill on the wing of 
all game, and after an experience of over thirty years I 
stick to that opinion. At least twice a week during the 
season Williams and I would drive to all the good cover 
within a radius of five or ten miles of Canandaigua. In 
this way we picked up many a good bag of birds. Wil- 
liams scorned to shoot pigeons, squirrels or hares, but now 
and then a stray wood duck or mallard would be brought 
to bag, much to my delight. Those were happy days 
when, accompanied by our brace of spaniels or setters, we 
tramped from morning until night through the beautiful 
autumn-tinted forests and fields of Ontario county, stop- 
ping at every promising bit of swamp and cover and gen- 
erally taking our share of whatever game it contained. 
Jolly were the lunches we ate under the shade of the 
trees and lovely were the drives home in the frosty, cool 
moonlight evenings, enlivened with pipe and story, and 
the cheerful welcome home and delightful game supper 
after our hard day's work added greatly to our enjoyment. 
The scene of my next sporting trips after leaving for New 
York was Barnegat Bay. How well I remember my first 
visit to dear old Squan Beach, the home of Bill Chadwick 
and innumerable wildfowl and bay birds. Visited in 
those happy days by such famous sportsmen as Uncle Gil. 
Davis, known as the Governor of Coney Island; Robert 
Barnwel Roosevelt, Benjamin Lilly, Bob Robinson, 
Staples, Palmer, Rodman and a host of others, many of 
whom, alasl have joined the great majority in the happy 
hunting grounds. Billy's old ranch was built chiefly of 
wreckage cast up on the beach, which at Chadwick's is 
only a couple of hundred yards wide, and frequently 
during the fall storms the ocean makes a clean breach 
over to the bay, and the house becomes an island. The 
big flash light at Barnegat can be seen blinking away 
down the bay, and it was not unusual for visitors to get a 
shot from the end of Billy's old piazza. Here during the 
summer and early fall I had glorious sport with the bay 
birds, and later in the season with the wildfowl. I hope 
no sportsman will be tempted by these lines to now visit 
Chad wick's in search of sport. An infernal, screeching 
railroad now runs past Billy's hotel. Chadwick has sold 
enough sand lots to cottage builders to become well off, 
wears a plug hat, and no longer calls the passing broadbill 
to stool. The old-fashioned, smoky, low ceiUng barroom 
is gone, and the glory of Squan Baach has departed for- 
ever, and with it the jolly crowd of sportsmen who used 
to make it lively there. The ocean still pounds and 
cracks on the beach, and Barnegat light still flashes out 
its warning; and now and then some unhappy city sports- 
man worries down a poor unfortunate sheldrake and im- 
agines he is having sport. Heaven save the mark ! About 
this time I accidentally visited Mansfield Center, the 
home of my father-in-law. I was agreeably surprised to 
find an abundance of quail there and a fair sprinkling of 
ruffed grouse. I immediately sent for my dog and gun, 
made the acquaintance of the village gunner up at the 
grocery store for the sake of his knowledge of the grounds 
and once more managed to enjoy some very good upland 
shooting. 
This local village sportsman was quite a character, and 
owned the wildest of wild dogs, but he knew just where 
the birds were located, and between us we managed to 
make some very good bags. My headquarters were then 
at my dear old mother-in-law's, and a right comfortable 
old-fashioned home it was. Right pleasant it was to re- 
turn to the old house after a long, hard tramp and find it 
a blaze of light, and to sit down to a New England sup- 
per; and everyone knows what that means, especially 
the pumpkin pies, and hers were unequaled. I shall 
always look back to those peaceful days among the Con- 
necticut hills as among the happiest of my life. The 
stock of game about Mansfield Center soon began to 
diminish. Every man and boy owned a breechloader, 
and between the shooting and snaring for market I found 
I had to look for fresh fields. These I found around my 
own new home in Hackensack, N. J. In the YOs the 
sport in northern New Jersey was by no means to be 
despised; of course it was not to be mentioned with that 
described by Frank Forester in his days, but I know very 
well we should be mighty glad to have as good now. 
Hackensack was then small and old-fashioned, and 
there were not over three or four sportsmen in the place, 
but it was near New York and growing rapidly, and 
presently there were ten gunners to every bird, and it 
was the same old story over again. 
My next experience was in the Southern States, partic- 
ularly Virginia and North Carolina. Here certainly I 
found game enough, but of course it was far from home 
and home comforts, and everyone who has visited the 
South knows that while their hospitality is beyond ques- 
tion, their home comforts and conveniences are not to 
be compart d to ours in the North. Quail and wildfowl 
are to be killed there in great abundance, also a few 
woodcock, but no ruffed grouse. Now and then the 
lucky sportsman will happen on a wild turkey, but quail 
is the principal game, and as there is no shooting for 
market allowed the supply of game is likely to last for 
years to come. Wakbman Holbeeton. 
AMONG THE MOONSHINERS. 
In the fall of 1883 I was detailed by the general super- 
intendent of the company to go to an isolated little settle- 
ment in the wUds of Somerset county, Pa,, to look up a 
former employee, whose knowledge of certain facts in a 
case then pending in court was considered of great im- 
portance. 
It was not certain that his testimony would be favor- 
able to the company, and I was instructed to sound him 
and act upon my best judgment as to his value as a wit- 
ness; nor was it certain that I would find the man, but 
my instructions were to exhaust every effort to do so, and 
to go to other places where he might be if necessary. 
Thus it was that I came to be landed at a lonely watch- 
man's shanty at the intersection of a still more lonely 
mountain road about 4 o'clock one afternoon in Septem- 
ber. From the one-legged watchman, whose simple duty 
it was to flag trains in the event of a landslide where the 
bank was out away, I learned that the settlement was 
five miles away, and the only way for me get there was 
to walk, which fact was not less cheerful than the 
thought that I was in a moonshine district, where stran- 
gers were cautiously watched, and sometimes murdered 
on suspicion of being Government spies. But there was 
no remedy, and after lighting my pipe I proceeded. The 
day was beautiful and the road quite romantic, which to 
some extent served to dispel disagreeable thoughts; and 
before my journey was half over without meeting any 
one I bf^gan to enjoy it, and was almost sorry when a 
little before sundown I arrived at the summit, and beheld 
the little settlement but a short distance below. 
It was a typical backwoods settlement of not more than 
a dozen scattered houses and a small tavern beside the 
road. Here I arranged for food and lodging, which I 
found both clean and comfortable. Upon inquiry I 
learned that my man still resided in the place, but was 
away from home, and the time of his return was uncer- 
tain, although he might turn up at any moment. 
I retired early that night; the exercise of the walk and 
a good bed combined to bring peaceful and dreamless 
slumber, 
I waited paitiently all the following day, passing the 
time in getting acquainted with the natives, who, though 
lude in manner and appearance, seemed mostly hospita- 
ble and good-natured. 
The front room of the tavern contained a small bar 
over which was served to occasional customers a light- 
colored liquor, which I rightly guessed was moonshine 
whisky. The price was five cents a drink, the glasses 
large, and I saw nothing else sold. In the evening I 
loafed in the barroom, hoping my man would turn up, 
as that was said to be his' customary resort, but he did 
not. I amused myself by watching and studying the 
various characters and listening to their desultory gossip, 
which interested me, and the presence of a stranger 
seemed also to interest them; for I frequently detected 
sly glances cast in my direction, and once two men who 
stood apart appeared to notice me more particularly, for 
one said something to the other which caused him to look 
quickly at me, and after a few earnest words they de- 
parted in company. One old man whom I had treated 
with a drink at the bar during the day in return for his 
sociability, probably in expectation of further favors 
gave me his attention, and from him I learned that game, 
especially ruffed grouse and wild turkey, was quite abun- 
dant in the neighborhood, and I wished for my gun. 
The next morning my men had not returned, and the 
thought of spending another idle day in that monotonous 
place made me cast about for some means to while away 
the time. I had noticed a good-looking double muzzle- 
loading gun behind the bar, one barrel over the other, 
the top barrel a rifle and the under one for shot, which, 
after a good deal of persuasion, I induced the landlord to 
loan me for the day, and, when fully accoutred with 
powder horn and pouch slung over my shoulder, I sallied 
forth, feeling much of the delight of the days when as a 
boy I went into the woods similarly equipped, but not 
until I had received the mysterious caution to keep on the 
right side of the road and by no means go into the woods 
on the left, I thought nothing of the words at the time, 
