262 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[Apkil S, iS^t. 
TALES TOLD BY THE CAMP-FIRE.-Il. 
BY AMATBUE. 
After our guide had ended hie yarn we finished arrang- 
ing the cabin so that we would be comfortable during his 
absence; but his story had cast a feeling of discomfort over 
the whole of us, and our feelings were not soothed by the 
grewBome reflection that we were camping in the very 
cabin that had been occupied by the two hunters, and to 
which the body of the one killed by the panther had been 
brought. At last the old fellow took his leave of us, and 
we were left to our own devices. 
"Why do you suppose that old villain told us that tale?" 
asked one of our number, addressing no one in par- 
ticular. 
"I don't believe the yarn, not a bit of it," said another. 
"I was up North a few winters ago with a friend, and we 
had an old fellow for a guide who took the greatest pleas- 
ure in life in telling us all manner of horrible stories about 
men having been killed or injured in different ways. He 
seemed to have a longing to see us shiver. But one'day my 
companion remained at the camp, about which our guide 
had told us some blood-curdling story, while the guide and 
I went out into the woods, and in two or three hours came 
back with a brace of fine wild turkeys. As we got within 
about a quarter of a mile of camp we heard a tremendous 
racket, somebody whooping and yelling at the top of 
his voice, though we couldn't distinguish any words. 1 
gave an answering whoop, and then everything quieted 
down. 
" 'What do you think 's the matter, Charlie?' said I to 
the guide. 
" 'I dunno,' said he; 'sounds as if Jo'd got drunk.' 
"I rejected this proposition at once, but the guide shook 
his head, and we quickened our pace for camp. As we 
drew near we saw that there was a good fire, but Jo, my 
companion, was nowhere to be seen. But suddenly we 
heard a voice, Jo's voice, saying: 'Here, you fellows! drop 
yoiir guns and throw iip your hands.' 
"Charlie's gun slid to the ground and so did mine, and 
both our hands went up into the air, when Jo again s'aid: 
'Now, Charlie, I've got the head of my Winchester square 
on your heart, and if you don't swear by all you hold 
sacred that all those tales you've been telling George there 
and me are lies made out of whole cloth — nothing in 'em 
at all — I'm going to shoot you dead right where you 
stand. No back talk liow. Are you going to swear Qr 
not?' 
"I need scarcely say that Charlie took his oath to the 
utter falsity of all the local history he had imparted to 
us during the trip, and further, that he would confine 
himself strictly to the truth on the remainder of the 
journey. 
" 'Now, you let those guns lie just where they are, un- 
less George says they're not loaded, and come on into 
camp,' said Jo. 
"I gave him the assurance he required, when we took 
up our guns and marched up to the fire. 
Charlie was the maddest man I ever saw, but along 
toward 10 o'clock he cooled down and laughed over the 
adventure. 
"We had a glorious time, got home all right, and have 
been together with Charlie since, but I couldn't help think- 
ing that if some one of us should try Jo's trick on that old 
fellow that did all he could to make us all feel miserable, 
we would have obtained a similar result to what Jo got 
from old Charlie." 
The next day we had fairly good luck in the woods, but 
at night by the fire in the cabin several of the party com- 
plained of missing what they thought fair and easy shots. 
One of our number spoke and said: That reminds me of 
a Uttle tale that I've heard my grandfather tell when I 
was a child, and to pass the time away I'll tell it to you for 
what it's worth. 
My grandfather was born in what is now Greene 
county. Pa., in 1780, and was a woodsman and hunter 
from the time he could look through the sights of a rifle. 
Ezra Engle was married to an older sister of my grand- 
father, and Ezra Engle was the gunmakerand gun repairer 
for a large scope of country between the Laurel Ridge and 
Pittsburg. His guns had iift. barrels, flint locks, were al- 
ways full stock, and sometimes, but not often, silver- 
mounted. His initials, E. E. in script letters, are always 
on them just back of the hind sight, which is always ele- 
vating. The front sight is always copper, and stands well 
up from the barrel, into which it is fixed without a base. 
A few years ago at a sale I bought one of his guns, beauti- 
fully mounted, with the original flintlock, all in good con- 
dition, and I wouldn't take any money for it to-day. This 
is the story as told me by grandfather: 
One time, said grandfather, I suppose it was along in 
1805 to 1810, I took my gun, a rifle that your uncle Ezra 
Engle had made for me; it run sixty to the pound, was 
flintlock (there were no cap locks in those days) and had 
a single trigger. Ezra didn't put double triggers on his guns, 
but he had a way of fixing them with a screw so they'd go 
as easy as any double-triggered gun and never creep, or as 
hard as an old musket. [The gun I have has this pecu- 
liarity, but I don't understand it.] I went out to kill a 
deer or two, or something like game. I had several nice, 
easy shots, and missed them all. At last I became dis- 
couraged and mad, and went home feeling badly over my 
bad luck. 
When I went in your grandmother said, "Why, Een, 
Where's your deer?" [Grandfather's name was Aaron, but 
my grandmother always called him 'Een.'] 
"In the woods," said I, very much out of humor. "I 
never had such hard luck; missed every shot I had." 
Your grandmother seemed surprised, but said nothing; 
but at this an old Indian, very old, who had the liberty of 
every house about there, got up and said: "Een good shot- 
no can miss if gun all right. Let ole Nosey see him gun if 
po load in him." 
I don't know the old Indian's name; everybody called 
him Nosey, and I had his name Nosey put on his tomb- 
stone, for he died at my house, and I had him buried. 
[My grandfather would always put in at this point.] I 
handed my gun to old Nosey, who threw back the frizel 
■wl4cb coY©r§(i the pan, an4 loolved at the towch-l^ole awd 
pan, and then blew into the muzale of it, and looked again 
at the pan, when he said: 
"Gun much heap sick, no can shoot. Gun need um 
physic. You give gun physic, him git well, then gun shoot 
heap much good." 
Your grandmother and I both laughed, but I asked, 
"What makes you think the gun needs a physic, Nosey?" 
"Look at um touch-hole, look at um pan," said he, "you 
see water come out of him like lead. When gun do so him 
sick, and no can shoot till him git physic." 
"But I don't know how to physic a gun, Nosey. Do you 
mean I am to clean it?" 
"No, clean um do no good, gun sick," said! Nosey. "White 
man no kin physic gun, no kin find out how, but ole 
Nosey tell white equaw. Een squaw, she mus'n't tell Een, 
but kin tell nudder brave, her son if her wants to, and he 
kin tell little squaw, him sister, an' she tell Een. Squaw 
no kin tell squaw, brave no kin tell brave. Squaw tell 
brave, but not her brave. Brave kin tell squaw, but not 
him own squaw. If Een willin'. Nosey tell squaw, squaw 
git stuff; Nosey make big medicine and give gun physic, 
but Een must kick um squaw before she start and Een 
must say nothing, nothing 't all." 
Your grandmother and I were much amused at this, but 
finally agreed to try the treatment. Nosey took your 
grandmother out of my hearing and told her what he 
wanted. I administered the kick. Before I did so, how- 
ever. Nosey said: "Squaw no mus' laugh when Een kick. 
Squaw mus' look much heap sorry, an' came back and do 
what Nosey tell him." 
Your grandmother went out, and after a time came back 
and put a lot of roots and leaves and twigs into a kettle 
filled with running water. While she was gone I had un- 
breeched my rifle and taken out the breech- pin, and Nosey 
had plugged the muzzle tight with a wad of tow. He 
waited until the stuff in the kettle had boiled, when he 
filled the gun-barrel with the boiling watet and stuck the 
breech end of the barrel into the kettle, into which he 
threw the breech-pin, and left the barrel in the kettle 
until the plug flew out of the muzzle and a lot of dirty 
foam ran out of the gun-barrel. When this stopped run- 
ning he took out the barrel and wiped it thoroughly, and 
then wiped the breech-pin. He then'took a lump of deer's 
tallow and greased the barrel all over the outside, and 
greased the breech-pin with the marrow from a deer's leg 
bone. He held the barrel up for me to look through and 
it was as bright as silver inside. He put in the breech-pin 
and put on the stock, first cleaning the lock thoroughly. 
After he had finished he handed me the gun, saying: 
"Now, Een, gun well. Now can shoot." 
I went hunting next day and killed five deer and two 
turkeys without missing a shot. 
Your grandmother told your Uncle Jake, he told 
your mother and your mother told me; but I can't tell 
3'ou, your mother or your grandmother must tell you what 
old Nosey's receipt is. It won't do for a man to tell a man. 
Your grandmother told Ezra Engle and he used the receipt 
a long time, but I had to tell his wife — my sister Charity— 
so they could use it. Along after 1815 your Uncle Ezra 
Engle concluded to go to St. Louis with his family, and 
told his brother Barnes, who Was a gunsmith, and Barnes 
told his wife and aftierward tried to use the receipt; but he 
never could make the plug fly out of the muzzle, and 
rusted all the guns he ever tried it on. But I can take the 
worst old musket, if the lead color shows about the touch- 
hole, and your grandmother or your mother will get 
the stuff after I've kicked her, without speaking, and 
make it like a looking-glass inside. 
[fourth tale to be told next week.] 
QUAIL SHOOTING IN EGYPT. 
The temple of Komombos is one of the most imposing 
in Egypt. This is not due to its great size, but is owing 
rather to its commanding position. It stands on a broad 
curve of the river, where the Nile makes a sharp turn, and 
the broad, steep wall descending from the yfide part&i're in 
front of the ruins to the water brings the massive columns 
into majestic relief against the intense blue of the sky. 
We were lazily floating down the river yesterday, about 
four miles above Komombos. The surface of the water 
was glassy, excepting where an eddy sent the water swirl- 
ing into silent circles, or one of the large Nile fish leapt in 
air in pursuit of its shiny little smelt-like prey. We were 
floating now sidewise, now stern foremost, and the sleepy 
monotone of our boatmen chanting as they used their un- 
wieldy oars, or the sing-song cries of the shadoof fellaJmn 
(peasants engaged in supplying water to the irrigating 
ditches) as they raised and lowered their goat skin buckets, 
were the only sounds. Moving with the current we were, and 
making about three miles per hour. It was Very warm, but 
Selim, our dragoman, suggested that we go ashore in the 
felucca and walk down to the temple, through the lentil 
fields, and shoot some quail. * * * The Messina quail 
is a curious little bird. Hatched in Europe in June, he 
grows up on the fat of the land, and in October, when the 
nights become chilly, he travels southward, getting strong 
of wing and plump of body from the grain fields of France, 
Italy and Greece. He then crosses the Levant, making as 
many stops as there are islands in the extreme eastern 
Mediterranean. He makes short stays at Crete, Cyprus 
and Asia Minor, and, tired out, he at last comes to the Delta 
of the mighty Nile and travels up its fertile valley. On 
and on he flies, past the first cataract into Nubia, past the 
second cataract into the Soudan, past the now unknown 
country of the Mahdi and the Khalifa, on and on to Abys- 
sinia. There he spends the early winter months and re- 
turns by the same route in February to spend his summer 
in Europe absorbed with his family cares. On the way 
down the valley in February he grows very fat upon the 
ripening grain. His favorite food, however, is the lentil or 
small bean. 
When at last he drops exhausted on the shores of Greece 
or Italy he is so "done up" that he can be snared or often 
picked up by the thousand, and is served za petit cmlle in 
every hotel and restaurant in Europe, 
Oii landing we found no trouble in securing the services 
of a local sliikin or guide de la chcme. His name was 
Achmed Nass, and he soon had six youthful beaters of 
ebon hue engaged at ^ piastre each (2^ cents), and wes 
started down the fields. I took my position in the center 
of a line covering perhaps 50 or 60yds. Selim, having a 
gun, guarded the right wing. Achmed walked at my right, 
The signal to start is given and our little army moves for- 
ward. And now the air is filled with the shrill cries of 
the beaters. Each boy pitches his cry in a different key, 
and the resulting sounds from end to end of our line are 
quite comparable to the chorus made by a number of tree 
toads at home, rolling out their shrill calls before or after 
a thunderstorm in summer. Soon the little birds begin to 
buzz up. They rise singly or in pairs and occasionally 
three at a time. They have a rather swift, low flight, and 
rarely fly far, dropping into the wheat or lentils with a 
sudden tumble, resembling quite forcibly our sora or rail 
{Porzana Carolina). In fact, this shooting strongly reminds 
one of rail shooting, if imagination but substitutes boats 
for men. These fields are completely submerged at "high 
Nile" or during the inundation. As the water recedes the 
mud dries and cracks, and as little or no cultivation is 
necessary before planting, the ground is left very rough 
and the walking is disagreeable. 
The guns are cracking now right, now left. At every 
few steps one, two or three birds flip up, and we pass over 
many which rise behind us, but are allowed to escape on 
account of the danger, as quite an army of men and boys 
follow us as rear-guard and in the hope of getting a little 
hacJcsJieesJi '(money). 
We pass many groups of the feUakmh) with their don- 
keys, camels and sheep. Their summer homes consist of 
a small inclosure made of corn stalks woven into walls, and 
set on end. The women and children spend their days 
squatted on the shady side of this wall, and at night all 
sleep inside. There is no roof, as there is never rain in 
Egypt. When the inundation begins again in June or 
July they betake themselves with their belongings to the 
mud villages, which are sufficiently elevated to escape the 
water. In times of exceptional flood the mud houses 
melt away like snow before the sun, and the inhabitanta 
live in boats and upon improvised rafts tied to the truhks 
of the palm trees. At such times one sees camels, donkeys, 
sheep, goats, chickens and dogs and people all crowded to- | 
gether. - i 
The sharp report of the guns goes on incessantly. A 
puff, a cloud of dusty feathers, and little Mamoud rushes 
forward to letrieve. A reload and on we sweep. If the 
quail are as plenty as this all the way down the valley what 
countless millions there must be! ^ 
The chief engineer of the railway now building tells me 
that he hunts these little birds with his fox terriers as 
retrievers. They are also hunted with pointers, and afford 
excellent sport. . : 
Hassah, our boy from the dahabeah, is kept busy sup- 
plying me with cartridges, and as his load grows lighter his 
giiabia bulges as the dead birds are passed from one or an- ' 
other of the beaters to his care. As we approach the 
great ruin of Komombos it is impossible not to 
think for a moment of the strangeness, the incongru- 
ity of the scene. Here stands an American, shoot- 
ing quail with a hammerless breechloader in the shadow 
of one of the grandest works of the hands of man. If 
on the eve of the twentieth century of the Christian era 
old Tothraes II. (1700 B. C.) could lift his mummified head 
from his sarcophagus and look about! What would he 
say^ He would rub his eyes for a moment and then, with 
Mr. Townsend's Chimmie Fadden, exclaim, "What fell!" 
The little quail, however, has never changed. In all 
the temples, in all the tombs, one sees the little fellow de- 
picted in all his colors with life-like fidelity. 
Our dahabeah, the Ammon-Ea, is found at the bank ' 
above the ruin. How good to get out of the broiling sun. 
We use up our last morsel of ice, brought on at Assouan, , 
and we sit and count our forty-five plump little birds. 
Incoo. 
ALONG THE POTOMAC. 
CGontinued frotn page ^oh.") 
1 cLosEti the first stage of my tour with a description of a 
favorite feeding resort for water fowl on Hunting Creek, 
and with a promise in the closing paragraph of a descrip- ' 
tion of the adjacent tract of marsh and Jungle, with its in- 
habitants. 
This immense tract of marsh was in earlier years subject 
to overflow at each recUrl-ent tide of the Potomac River. ■ 
CoDsequenlly it was useless for cultivation, and also detri= 
mental to the health of the surrounding country. The prO- . 
prietor therefore attempted to reclaim it by throwing un an i 
embankment along the margin of the river and creek. This ; 
was only partially successful, and left it in a condition called 
a podoson, by which name it was knoWn in the vicinity. Its 
partial drainage apparently produced the effect of changing : 
Its condition suSlciently to attract numerous families of the 
feathered face, in addition to those previously' domiciled , 
within its bordets. The altered condition also enabled some 
of the stnall fclass of quadrupeds, particularly that nocturnal 
toarauder, the crafty Coon, to make it their abode and unas- 
sailable fottress during the day, and from which they would 
make their sorties to plunder the surrounding cornfields. In 
short, at the time that I participated in its pleasures (about 
sixty years ago) it contained all the elements essential to con- 
stitute what a modern sportsman would consider the ne plus 
ultra of his desires. 
There were numerous small ponds, an occasional islet or 
elevated spot suflicient to sustain a cluster of bushes, oc- 
casionally a gum tree lifts its head above the surrounding 
foliage; and intersecting the tract in different directions 
small streams sufficient for the passage of a skiff present 
themselves conveniently for those who wish to pursue their 
mazy course in pursuit of game. And do not think I can 
be justly charged with exaggeration by saying there was not 
at tnat time another tract or division of land of similar di- 
mensions containing greater numbers of the various species 
of the feathered race in the classification of animated nature. 
Among the divers species which annually migrated hither 
to participate in nature's beautiful harvest we believe the 
wood duck, known as summer duck, is entitled to head 
the list, as its sojourn is longer. 'Ttiey come early in 
spring, propagate and raise their broods, and remain until, 
compelled by stress of weather to depart. Thev build, or, 
rather, deposit their eggs in the cavities of decayed trees 
(which were numerous around the margin of the poco^on), 
30 or 40ft. above tbe ground, from which elevation I have 
witnessed them transport their young to tlie water, which 
operation appeared to be by the mother grasping the neck of; 
the young one with ner bill. When placed on the water 
the young brood appeared to be as familiar with the use o^ 
their propellers as are young partridges with theirs on terr^ 
-firma The different varieties of the mallard family came 
annually in abundance; and as food was plentiful, and tbe* 
natural surroundings specially adapted to their instincts, their 
plumage acUoa covild ?)e mu perfeqtiou. Althougli tUe i 
