222 
FOF^EST AND STREAM. 
'[STAROH^20,ti89r, 
RECOLLECTIONS OF IOWA.— II. 
"And did the dust 
Of these fair solitudes once stir with hfe 
And burn with passion? Let the mighty mounds 
That overlook the rivers, or that rise 
In the dim forests crowded with Old oaks, 
■ Answer : A race that long has passed away 
Built them. The red man came-^ 
The roaming hunter tribes, warlike and fierce— 
And the moimd builders vanished from the earth. 
The solitude of centuries untold 
Has settled where they dwelt. The prairie wolf 
Howls in their meadows, and his fresh dug den 
Yawns by my path, * * 
TflEBE was plentjf of novelty and romance in my early life 
in Iowa in the long, long ago. Now Iowa is regarded as one 
of the old States, and, if my memory serves me, statistics 
show that she produces more hogs and corn than any other 
State in the Union. Really it doesn't seem possible, for 
■when I was a boy it was about all we could do to get' hog 
and hominy enough to keep us through the winter. But 1 
presume times are changed. Well do I remember the time 
when there wasn't a house or other evidence of civilization 
for a hundred miles northwest of our house. But then that 
was a long time ago, and the world keeps moving along, I 
suppose. Even the traditionary mound builders were forced 
to give way to the plundering red man of later times, and 
now the red man has given place to his pale-faced successor. 
Yes, he and his night of ignorance and superstition, in which 
lie so delighted to reveh have given place to the light of in- 
telligence and civilization. 
ISTovel indeed, and in a sense romantic, were the early days 
in Iowa. Even going to mill in those days, when there were 
no roads, no bridges, no ferry boats, and scarcely any con- 
veniences for traveling, was no small task where there were 
so many rivers and tieacherous streams to be crossed. Such 
a trip was often attended with, great danger. But even 
under these circumstances some of the more adventurous 
and ingenious ones in cases of emergency found the way and 
means by which to cross the swollen streams and make the 
trip. At other times again all attempts failed, and they were 
compelled to remain at home until the waters subsided, and 
depend upon the generosity of their more fortunate neigh- 
bors. The Ellis boys had been on their claim but a few 
months when it became necessary to go to mill, for although 
hominy was a pretty good substitute for bread, the corn thev 
had brought with them was about out; and not only had they 
to go 100 miles to mill, but they had first to work to buy the 
gram. It was not unusual to be gone three or four weeks on 
sucb a trip. At the start, in this instance, North 'Coon, then 
out of its banks, had to be crossed. There was no 'ferry 
boat, not even a canoe, and wagons, yokes, chains and camp 
furniture had to be taken over on log rafts. The current 
was too deep lor setting poles, and swept them a lono- way 
down stream. The wagon had been crossed and debarked 
in shallow water, the four oxen driven across, yoked and 
chained together, the traps loaded in, when the'osen, true to 
thtir reputation for stubbornness, took it into their heads to 
return to their stalls on the west bank. When they struck 
the mala current it swept them, of course, down stream and 
tbey soon became entangled in their chains and the flood- 
wood. They struggled and strangled for a long time, until 
in fact they all save one seemed to have a through ticket 
Old Ben would paddle for the west bank whenever he came 
up. Isaac Ellis, the youngest, finally stripped and swam to 
them, and with his pocket knife cut the bow keys unyoked 
the oxen, and got them safely to land. About this time 
Isaac Ellis went west of the Missouri, hunted with the In- 
dians, and supplied for some time several stations of the 
overland stage comjiauy with deer, buffalo and other wild 
meat. When last heard from he was with the Indians in 
British America. But hcie was an example of the difliculties 
and dangers to be encountered and overcome by those hardy 
frontiersmen of the early days in their efforts to supply 
themselves and their families with the very necessaries of 
life and keep the wolf from rhe door. Although too young 
to engage in any of these hazardous undertakings of pioneer 
dajs, It was one of my chief delights to sit quietly in a 
corner and listen to the stories and discussions of my elders 
regarding tliem. It has never been satisfactorily explained 
why it is that scenes and incidents of comparative insignifi- 
cance transpiring in one's youth remain fresh in the memory 
indelibly impressed upon one's brain for scores of years- 
yes, even until death— when incidents of greater importance 
transpiring quite recently vanish from memory as if they 
had never occurred at all. Possibly it is because "the morn- 
ing of life is like the dawn of day, full of purity, of imagery 
and harmony," and while we shut the door against the set- 
ting Sim 
"In our remembrance blossom 
The images long forsaken." 
At any rate, nearly all the scenes and incidents &t our 
youth are as fresh and well defined to-day as if they had oc- 
curred only yesterday. 
I remember hearing William Ellis telling father how he 
and George Haworth set out to follow the Raccoon River 
on the ice from Fort Des Moines up to Stump's cabin, about 
twenty miles by land. After a hard day's travel of about 
twenty.five miles, they found themselves, when night over- 
took them, not more than half way to their destination 
They attempted to cross the country, but for various reasons 
had to give it up, and they had to camp for the night. They 
had neglected to take matches (unpardonable in frontiers- 
men) and they had to either walk or in some way get a fire 
They got a fire after the expenditure of a good deal of 
patidDce and powder by firing their guns into dry grass, and 
then they carried their fire to the timber a half mile away 
where they spent the night with a reasonable degree of com- 
fort: The relation of the incident made a lasting impression 
Tipon my young mind, and I cannot now recall ever being 
caught without matches. 
There was game in abundance in that country during the 
time of which 1 write. Deer and elk were quite plentiful 
for some time after the first settlements were made, and 
there were some great hunters in those days as well' men 
who enjoyed the sport too as well as any of us do at the 
present time. The capture of elk calves was, in those early 
lays, a favorite pastime. In these adventureiB John Wright 
was the leader. The outfit consisted of teams and covered 
wagons sufficient to convey provisions, camp equipage, etc., 
and to bring home the proceeds of the chase. Cows were 
taken along to furnish milk for the young elk, and sometimes 
the expedition would be gone a month or more. From 
Gtreene county to the headwaters of 'Coon was the favorite 
hunting ground. The hunting was done on horseback. 
First the old elk were found and then, with the aid of dogs, 
the calves. These were generally found in the tall grass sur- 
rounding the ponds that abounded in that part of the State, 
When the calf found that he was observed he would spring 
from his hiding place and run for dear life, and if he was 
two or three weeks old it took a good horse to overtake him, 
among the bogs and ponds. Many a good horse was ruined. 
Sometimes a calf, if very young, was captured by springing 
upon it in its bed. On one of these excursions John Wright 
saw a dark object in the distance, which he, true to his 
nature, proceeded to interview. It proved to be a half- 
grown black bear, which took to immediate flight. John 
came up with it and, by a flying leap from his horse, at- 
tempted to grapple with it. As John landed the cub turned 
and received him warmly. John was now in his true ele- 
ment, and after a long struggle, in which one of his hands 
was badly lacerated, besides sundry other bites and scratches, 
he bound his captive and took him to camp. On this par- 
ticular trip John captured at least twenty young elk besides 
his bear. The last heard of John Wright he had followed 
the footsteps of Isaac Ellis and disappeared among the 
Indians of the far Northwest. These elk were a sad 
disappointment to the settlers. They had theorized 
upon the subject and concluded that they could be 
made most useful domestic animals for the plow and 
cart, and possibly for the dairy. In size, form and gen- 
eral characteristics they were cousins to the reindeer. Their 
speed and bottom had been proven, and their meat was 
equal to or better than the ox. They could winter where a 
mule would freeze, and were easily domesticated. Take a 
young elk that never before saw the face of man, carry it in 
your arms a short distance, and it would follow you through 
fire and water. The theory was fine, but in practice the elk 
turned out to be unmitigated nuisances. They would not 
work at all, and wouldn't play only in their own way. In 
the early fifties much valuable time was spent by father and 
the others in breaking them to harness and saddle, Elisha 
Morris harnessed a span of two year-old bucks to a light 
buggy and started for some of the Eastern cities, where it 
was thought the out&t would command a good price. Eight 
days' drive took him to Oskaloosa, where he swapped the 
whole outfit for a horse, which he sold for $80. Lish said 
said they wouldn't work — "they were too much like an In- 
jun." 
Around home they were regarded as outlaws, going at 
their pleasure into fields and gardens and doing much mis- 
chief just out of pure wantonness. They seemed to know 
that a horse would stampede at sight of them, and they had 
lots of fun out of it. They would curve their necks, throw 
up their great horns, set their hair forward, and snort to 
make it more interesting, and runaways were very frequent. 
I well remember how Bilderback's elk over on South 'Coon 
scared father's team one day when we were going to mill, 
and how the horses in their fright tried to straddle a big jack 
oak, demolishing the whole outfit except father and me. When 
we saw the inevitable right in front of us father and I slipped 
out over the hind end gate and escaped injury. 
At certain seasons of the year the males were as dangerous 
as mad bulls. A son of Dr. Rush at Fort Des Moines was 
attacked by one, his abdomen ripped open so that his bowels 
protruded, and for a long time his life was despaired of; but 
he finally recovered. 
I cannot remember when I first began trapping prairie 
chickens. It must have been at least forty years ago. There 
were myriads of them. They were in the cornfields, in the 
wheatflelds, in the buckwheat fields, in the grass — every- 
where. During the autumn and winter they would gather 
in flocks of thousands. The first telegraph wire that was 
strung across the State passed our place. Only a single 
wire, it is true, but many chickens lost their lives on it by 
flying against it, and us boys used to go out along the line 
after school hours and gather up numbers of them. Father 
had large fields of various kinds of grain which I appropri- 
ated as my exclusive chicken preserve, and compelled the 
other boys to respect my rights, often by force and arms. 
I sold my chickens at the corner grocery at 50 cents a dozen, 
and was regarded by the other boys as the chicken king of 
the country. I did make lots of money, and to the best of 
my recollection never missed a circus that visited Fort Des 
Moines from the time I was out of my swaddling clothes. I 
remember one winter in particular. I think it was in the 
winter of '59 and '60. Father had a ten-acre buckwheat 
patch right by the house that did not mature properly, or at 
least it was not harvested, for some good and sufficient rea- 
son. During almost the entire winter that piece of ground 
was one living, moving mass of prairie chickens. And rest 
assured that I was not slow to reap where others had sown. 
I made the best that a nine yeai-old boy could of the oppor- 
tunity. Most of my traps were made of lath with figure 4 
triggers, and four or five chickens at a clip in each trap was 
nothing unusual. But I had one trap made of rails with a 
wide shingle on a pivot at the top and an ear of corn 
suspended over it. The chickens would jump up on the trap 
and walk out on that shingle to reach the corn, when it would 
tip, let them down inside and fly back to place. I took 
twenty-three chickens out of that trap at one time. 
It was about this time that I shot my first chicken. The 
incident is still quite fresh in my memory for various and 
obvious reasons, and I guess I will have to relate it. 1 have 
fired many, many thousands of shots _ at various kinds of 
game since that time, but I cannot now recall one that made 
a more lasting impression. Father had a No. 14 muzzle- 
loader (of course it was a muzzleloader) that 1 had been 
taught to look upon as forbidden fruit. It generally hung 
high up on the wall — ^to lessen the temptation, I suppose. 
Well, on that auspicious day I had started out to my traps, 
when I came upon a vast flock of chickens on the side hill 
above the barn. They were very tame and manifested no 
disposition to fly, and it occurred to me that if I only had 
father's shotgun I would fix them plenty. It has been said 
that he who hesitates is lost. I hesitated. Then I stole 
back to the house, got up on a chair when no one was observ- 
ing me, and took that shotgun down from the rack. Doubt- 
less I felt somewhat as Adam must have felt on that inaus- 
picious day when he took down the first apple in the Garden 
of Eden. But I had the gun at last— at last. The chickens 
were still there on the side hill, and very accommodatingly 
tame. I squatted down, slipped the gun well back under mj 
arm so as to get my eye as near the rib as possible, aimed at 
the nearest chicken, shut both eyes and pulled, * * » it 
bursted both my lips, knocked my nose out of place, kicked 
me clear down hill, jumped on me and kicked me some more. 
1 did not look for either gun or chicken, but gathered up my 
face and ran for the house. Of course mother sympathizsd 
as mothers do, and relieved me as only a mother can, but fa- 
ther said nothing. He simply put on his hat and went out. 
Presently he returned with the gun and a chicken, and re- 
marked that I had made a good shot, 1 said nothing, but 
wondered then anil have often wondered since whether it 
was really the chicken I had shot at. Father was a man of 
pretty good sense, and he saw that I felt that it was time for 
me to learn to shoot. So he proceeded to teach me how to 
load and handle the gun, and from tbat time on of course the 
gun was mine. As a matter of curiosity I wish that I knew 
how many chickens, quail, pheasants, ducks, geese, sandhill 
cranes, squirrels and rabbits fell by that old gun before it 
met its ignominious fate. Several years after 1 had assumed 
fall and complete possession and ownership of the gun I was 
helping the hired man haul corn fodder from the field one 
winter's day, and had the gun along to shoot chickens off 
the com' shocks. It was part of my business to open and 
shut the gates, on which occasions I would leave the gun 
lying across the sled. Its time had arrived. The breech fell 
through between the cross bars of the sled, and before the 
team could be stopped it was twisted all out of shape and 
totally ruined, Guns were scarce iu those days, and my 
lamentations were correspondingly profound and prolonged. 
' S. H. Gkeene. 
FoRTtiAND, Oregon. 
fro BE COSTINTJED.] 
PODGERS'S COMMENTARIES. 
San Fkancisco, Feb. 28. — ^I read the other day in the 
Forest and Stream an article discussing whether fish had 
memories, I don't suppose it makes any very great" difler- 
ence to the community whether they have or not, but 
there are a great many readers of Forest and Stream 
doubtless who will take an interest and give their experi- 
ences, for there is precious little above the waters or imder 
them that the said readers do not know something about, 
and are full of "wise saws and modern instances," and we 
should like very much to hear from the cow counties what 
is known, pro or con, on this subject. For myself, to lead oti' 
in the discussion, I am inclined to think that fish have 
memories, and very good ones; for many a time when I 
have pricked a trout, notwithstanding all my eSorts, chan- 
ging flies and reporting to bait, trying all the allurements 
possible as he lay in his hole visible in the clear water, 
slowly vibrating his tail, and saying as plainly as a fish 
can say, ' No, you don't, my love; you can't play that game 
on me twice; that hook was not pleasant." It was ho use 
while he was cogitating over it to fool away the time, but 
next day, when I hoped he had forgotten all about it, and 
probably with a better appetite he would try it again; but 
it always seemed to me that he went very gingerly about 
it, showing very possibly a lingering recollection of the 
previous experiment. 
Again, I have noticed in artificially raised trout in fish 
ponds that when the person who was accustomed to feed- 
ing them passes near the edge of the pond they would all 
rush toward him and follow him around, but did not do so 
when I walked along the path. They certainly recognized 
the man, and did not know me. Was it memory, or in- 
stinct, or reason? 
To recognize is memory. Many people argue that all 
examples of intelligence in animals is instinct, wherein 
they are wrong. Do not horses, for instance, remember 
the hours at which they are accustomed to be fed, as is the 
case of every animal in a menagerie. I have seen instances 
where, when fish in an artificial pond are fed at noon, they 
would gather at the particular spot where they were fed 
some minutes before the time, awaiting their dinner. So, 
on the whole, I am of the opinion that fish have mem- 
ories. 
Our Legislature is again in session, and I see that the 
crank of a granger is attempting to get in his work, as 
usual. One bill was introduced giving permission to shoot 
quail at all seasons of the year; another to kill all the mead- 
ow larks, assigning as a reason that they ate all the grain 
and grapes. Why they did not include the boys who eat 
grapes, and apples as well, must have been overlooked. 
The granger begrudges the birds the waste of grain that is 
left after gathering, presumably, as that is the only time 
they do. Liberal-hearted are these gentlemen who intro- 
duce such bills. No wonder the Lord gives them short 
crops occasionally as a punishment for such meanness. 
But to the credit of the Legislature these bills were thrown 
out, and they passed a bill forbidding the shooting of rob- 
ins at any time, which is commendable. Another bill 
was introduced repealing the close season on salmon, but 
that was squashed also, so we have hopes that the poachers 
are not going to have things all their own way this time. 
They are the lowest order of foreigners, Greeks and Aus- 
trians, who decry all laws, and are the roughest element 
we have; yet they find politicians who pander to their 
votes, regardless of the interests of the decent community. 
It is a source for congratulation that the present Legislature 
is starting oflF so well, and we hope our game laws will not 
be tampered with this session. 
The legal fraterhity is generally accused of possessing a 
superabundance or what in American parlance is termed 
"cheek," and they don't seem to deny it; but if proof were 
wanting of the hardness thereof, it was in evidence in 4 
case that a few days ago occurred a short distance from the 
city. A lawyer and friend were driving along the country 
road in a buckboard where the quail were very abundant, 
when whack! came a stunning blow on the legal gentle- 
man's cheek that made him see stars, and a small object 
dropped into the bottom of the wagon, which proved to be 
a quail, and as stone dead as a quail was ever seen. In 
flying across the road it had struck the gentleman fairly on 
the cheek and dro_pped dead, killed by the concussion. 
But what about the gentleman, say you. There is where 
the joke comes in. Beyond a brief lesson in astronomy 
and view of the constellations, it never phased him; but 
the quail paid for his ignorance of the predominating char^ 
acteristics of the legal profession. A case somewhat paral- 
lel to that of the snake that bit the old woman, resulting 
in a dead snake, I may add that the quail met the usual 
fate of a client—liad his bones picked, 
