290 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[Oct. 8, 1898. 
Proprietors of fishing and hunting resorts will find it profitable 
to advertise them in Forest and Stream. 
Where to go. 
One important, use r -jl and considerable part of the Forest and 
Stream's service to the sportsmen's community is the information 
given inquirers for shooting arid fishing resorts. We make it our 
business to kno'w where to send the sportsman for large or small 
game, or in quest of his favorite fish, and this knowledge is freely 
imparted on request. 
On the other hand, we a-re constantly seeking information of this 
character for the benefit of our patrons, and we invite sportsmen, 
hotel proprietors and others to communicate to us whatever may be 
of advantage to the sportsman tourist. 
In the Louisiana Lowlands.— III. 
BY FRED MATHER. 
[Continued /rem las! week.\ 
It was well along in the morning when Col. B. arrived 
at Alexandria in an old-fashioned carryall, driven by a 
darky boy. He greeted me cordially, and the boy took 
my satchel and gun in front with him. and off we started. 
The road was in fair condition, for there had been no 
recent rains, but the jolting of the antiquated carryall 
made conversation difficult, and we journeyed in silence 
past fields of corn and sugar-cane, interspersed with 
stretches of forest land where enormous trees almost 
shut out the daylight; but from the winding of the road 
an occasional glimpse of a stream was seen, and we were 
going up a small tributary of Red River, which joined 
it at Alexandria. Soon we came to a large white house 
with great pillars in front, in the Colonial style, and 
stopped. A brace of fine setters and several cur dogs 
welcomed the Colonel, and a superannuated hound 
limped from the stable to take part in the greeting. 
With a rub on the head and a kind word to them all, we 
entered the house, but not before the younger dogs had 
sniffed at the stranger's legs in order that they should 
knenv him again. 
A Hospitable Southern Home. 
The boy had surrendered the team to two other boys, 
and had brought my luggage into the great hall, and the 
Colonel directed him to show me to the guests' room in 
the northwest corner, '"for." he said, "the sun will not 
trouble you there if you wish to sleep some morning." 
I followed the boy up stairs, wondering why I had been 
the recipient of all this courtesy from a stranger, and 
especially from one who. as Sam had told me, had lost 
two sons in a war which had also wrecked him finan- 
cially, and from the troubles which followed it he had 
only just recovered his ancestral estate. Pondering on 
these things, I gave a few finishing touches to my toilet 
and joined my host in the large drawing room. 
As he shook my hand and again welcomed me, I had 
a chance to see him fairly for the first time. That night 
on the steamer, when he first repulsed my advances 
toward conversation and then invited me to his room 
after I had dived overboard to save a little girl, there 
was little chance to note his personality, or if there was 
a chance it was neglected, as we neglect to size up men 
whom we never expect to meet again. Here was a man 
of sixty-five, of large but fine mould, erect, with white 
hair worn long, and a white beard not neglected by 
the shears. His kindly face was careworn and seamed 
with lines of suffering, but his dark eye was ufidimmed 
and pleasant to meet. 
''Pardon me." said the Colonel, "I have your card 
containing your name and address, but you intimated that 
you had some official position which I have forgotten, 
will you— ? 
"Certainly: I am collecting fishes and reptiles for the 
U. S. Fish Commission, and fortunately I had for guide 
one of your old-time servants, Sam, who spent a week 
with me on Catahoula Lake, and the old man took good 
care of me." 
The dinner bell rang. In the long dining room a cur- 
tain cut off a large portion, for the family was smaller 
than in former days. The hostess was his niece. Mrs. 
H., evidently a widow, and her two boys. George, six- 
, teen, and Jack, fourteen, comprised the family. I felt 
out of place. Here was a widower who had lost his two 
sons, and a widow with two fatherless boys who might 
have been made fatherless in a fratricidal war in which 
I was on the other side. I felt out of place until the 
soup came on, when Mrs. H. began discoursing on 
turtles and hoped that I would enjoy one of my own 
catch; for old Sam had sent them the largest of the soft- 
shelled turtles that we had caught. This, and her ex- 
quisite tact in leading the conversation in the direction 
of Sam and our trip on the lake, banished all embarrass- 
ment, and as the dinner proceeded the conversation be- 
came general, and after the lady had retired the boys 
wanted to know if there was to be a shooting trip on 
the morrow, and if they would be included. 
in the Colonel's Room. 
The ride over the plantation and supper passed into 
history. An hour or two in the drawing room was spent 
with the family, and when they retired for the night the 
Colonel asked me to his room. A glance showed the 
tastes and character of my host; here was a well-filled 
library, in which books on shooting, fishing and natural 
history were prominent. There was a gun rack contain- 
ing fowling pieces and rifles of various patterns and 
surmounted with a splendid pair of antlers, while rugs 
of deer, bear and coon skins lay about the floor. There 
was a grateful odor of lemon and other things, a silver 
kettle swung over an alcohol lamp, and all those little 
things which in the aggregate proclaim the gentleman 
sportsman, who is always a man of taste, were in evi- 
dence. His cigars accorded with the character. 
I have said that there were "fowling pieces" in the 
rack, and I love lo repeat that title, which is nearly, if 
not quite, obsolete. There is poetry in the name, "and 
I love it as much as I dislike that abominable name of 
shotgun, which has displaced it. Confound the shot- 
gun! I will never use one, but when I go forth for 
woodcock I will take down my fowling piece. So much 
for poetry, harmony, euphony and all other things that 
lend a charm to field sports. Call my fowling piece a 
shotgun? As well call my rifle a bullet gun, my dainty- 
trout rod a pole, or say that the silver-tongued hound 
on yonder hill is barking when he is baying on track 
of fox or deer! There is much in a name. Juliet to 
the contrary notwithstanding, for a delicate ear is of- 
fended to hear the arbutus termed a May pink, a peony 
dubbed a piney, or a pond-lily called a spatterdock. 
Such names are degrading, and with apologies to Juliet 
I will assert that "a rose by any other name" might 
smell as sweet, but call it skunk cabbage and it loses 
something which is not tangible, but has lost much 
with its good name. A shotgun seems to be a coarse 
tool for a market-shooter, and may be made of gas pipe, 
but when we speak of a fowling piece the elderly sports- 
man pricks up his ears and recalls the famous hand- 
made marvels of bygone years. But I think I have some- 
how slipped my trolley. 
After we had smoked and the Colonel had put hot 
water on a lemon he said: "That bear story you told 
me on the steamer, after some men had killed a bear that 
was swimming in the river, was very funny, and I want to 
hear it again. I had asked you to my room on the 
steamer after you had changed your wet clothing, for 
I admired the promptitude in which you went to the 
rescue of the girl." 
The story was one in Irish dialect, too old to repeat 
now, but the Colonel venjoyed it more than at the first 
telling, and finding that he had a keen sense of humor 
and Only needed some one to rouse him from brooding 
over the past I told him -other stories while he brewed 
the lemon, and when the time to retire came he asked: 
"Will you kill a deer to-morrow, chase a bear or shoot 
woodcock?" 
"Of the three propositions the last seems most at- 
tractive, and if you agree we will try the woodcock." 
"Very good, but the season is early and the birds may 
not be plenty, yet we will try for them. Good night." 
On Woodcock Ground. 
Early October in the far South differs from the "brown 
October days" of the North in several ways: The leaves 
of the deciduous trees have not begun to take on 
autumn tints, and will not do so for a full month. At 
the North there is a popular belief that frost has a hand 
in tingeing the maples and other trees with faint yellows, 
which deepen and change to bright reds, and then in a 
blaze of glory die into a faded brown, and expire, to be 
trodden under foot. The frost has nothing whatever 
to do with this leaf-painting, for it goes on in the South, 
where frost, if it comes at all,' comes after the leaves 
have ripened and dropped. Leaves ripen and assume 
the colors of ripeness just as our fruits do before falling 
to earth, and as a halo of white hair encircles the head 
of man when he nears the three-score-and-ten mark and 
is also nearing the day when he shall also drop- — but the 
dogs were awaiting our movements and were im- 
patient. 
I had been out on the porch, "armed and equipped 
as the law directs," and the setters had discovered me. 
They reasoned that I was a friend of their master; I 
had a gun and was waiting for him to join me, there- 
fore there would be a hunt. They pranced around, licked 
my hands and showed their anxiety and impatience in 
many ways, and I talked to them as well as I could 
without knowing their names. But when the Colonel 
came out in his hunting suit and with his fowling piece 
they assaulted him in force. The boy drove up the 
carryall, and off we went just as the sun rose. 
It is usual that every respectable white man who is 
nearing middle age in the South is given a title, either 
judiciary or military. I at first attributed the one the 
Colonel gave me to that fact, when he said: "Major, 
we are going to work some ground that is sometimes 
good woodcock ground as early as this, and sometimes 
it is several weeks later; I will not promise you a 
single shot at your favorite bird, because the weather at 
the North regulates its migration, but we may pick up 
a few snipe,* and they are not in the least inferior to 
the woodcock, except that they are a trifle smaller. 
What do you think?" 
"I think that they are the only bird that should 
be called 'snipe.' but what I think will not affect the 
men who shoot sandpeeps and call them snipe. That 
looks like a good bit of woodcock ground in the early 
season." 
My guess was right, and when we stopped and the 
boy hitched the horses I was surprised to see him 
gather bunches of either mint, spearmint, peppermint or 
some plant of that family, and rub the horses from ears 
to hoofs. Never' before nor since have I seen a horse 
so protected from flies, even when tied beside a bed of 
mint. Such thoughtful care I could not credit to an 
ignorant darky boy; it must have been taught him by a 
master who truly loved his dumb servants, and little by 
little I was becoming aware that my new friend was an 
exceptionally thoughtful and kind-hearted man. The 
perfuming of the horses with an odor hateful to insects 
was proof < nough of that. 
All gunners know that as a migrator the woodcock 
is the most uncertain of all quantities. Where you made 
a good bag yesterday, there is not one to-day. There- 
fore our setters. Bob and Dan, started into the bog with 
more confidence than we had. The Colonel was fully 
20yds. to my left, and shot three times before Dan 
made a point in my front, and I started a multi-colored 
flash which dodged about in a puzzling way for a sec- 
ond or two in front of my gun. and somehow it dropped 
dead as the trigger was pulled without anything like an 
aim or even a glance along the barrel, and Dan brought 
me the most beautiful bird that exists. I say this ad- 
visedly: I have bred golden pheasants and other gaudy 
birds, wood ducks and pea fowls, and while willing to 
admit that the form of the woodcock is not a model of 
symmetry, and that its head, with its great eyes in the 
* There is no more misused name than that of snipe. All the 
hule sandpeeps, teeters, sandpipers and many shore birds are 
dubbed snipe. Of course the whole family Scnlopacidtv are in- 
cluded in the term "snipe," and the woodcock is in the family; 
but as the Mahomedan says: "There is but one Cod and Mahomed 
is His prophet," so the sportsman says, "There is but one snipe 
and that is Wilson's, the snipe par excellence. 
back of it, is not beautiful, yet where in all bird life, 
are such dark reds, browns and faint yellows to be 
found combined as they are in the plumage of a wood- 
cock? 
Early as the season was we mustered six brace between 
us when we turned the horses' heads home. 
Cooking "Woodcock. 
There are men who love to shoot, but do not care 
how their game is served at table; they would permit a 
canvasback duck to be stuffed with the same "dressing" 
which is supposed to be proper to inject into a barn- 
yard fowl. And there are men who never shoot, but 
who know how game should be cooked to bring out 
its distinctive flavor. Beefsteak is good and ham is 
good, but no man wants his steak fried in ham fat, nor 
does he wish his chops to have a flavor of fish. The 
cooking of game has never been written; there is no 
work on the subject. The consequence is that much 
game is ruined in cooking; the housewife does her best, 
but she fails in bringing out the distinctive flavors of 
the different kinds of game. A white-meated ruffed 
grouse, or a quail, should be as well done as a domestic 
chicken, but any dark-meated bird, prairie chicken, 
woodcock, wild duck, etc., should be served as rare as a 
beefsteak in order to get the distinctive flavor; else one 
might as well turn to the barnyard fowl and be con- 
tent with that. 
Next morning my host asked: "How do you prefer 
to have the birds served?" 
"Since you have asked for my preference, I will say, 
that in the home of a sportsman I prefer to have wood- 
cock served in the manner in which his trained ser- 
vants have been accustomed to prepare them for him." 
"It is kind to say that, but for my own information I 
will ask how the birds are served in the North? I have 
never been north of St. Louis, and have never eaten 
woodcock in the cafes there, but I have, eaten them in 
New Orleans, but there is only one place where they 
serve them to please me. I am asking for information, 
please do not put me off with a compliment." 
"Then," I replied. "I will say that in the North, and 
I don't doubt but the same can be said of the South 
and West, there are more good woodcock spoiled in 
cooking than are properly prepared, in the proportion 
of ten to one. The worst of all places' to order wood- 
cock in New York city are the celebrated restaurants 
where a French chef presides. He is perfection on all 
foods except game, and a 'salmi of woodcock a la 
chasseur' is his. masterpiece in that line." 
"I remember to have seen the name in New Orleans 
cafes, but have no idea what it is like, for I tired of 
experimenting in that direction." said the Colonel. "You 
seem to speak from experience: what is the dish like?" 
"Like a desecration. You know, Colonel, that the 
Deity is said to send us food, while an entirely different 
person sends the cooks, and the man who invented a 
'salmi of woodcock' was certainly sent from inferno 
and should be ordered to return to his station at once. 
It is a stew of woodcock with onions or garlic, mush- 
rooms and other things, in which the bird is smothered 
so that it might as well be a salmi of soarrows or 
bats, as far as one can discover. The mess may be 
good to some people, but to a man who has the sense 
of taste developed to the point that he wants his wood- 
cock to differ from a kidney stew, it is disappointing. 
To a man who thinks a clam chowder the perfection of 
the culinary art, this 'woodcock chowder' would be a 
grand dish." 
"You are right," said the Colonel, "but I have not yet 
learned how you prefer to have your woodcock served. 
You have told how they should not be prepared for 
the table, but have dodged the main question, if you will 
permit me to put it in that shape." 
Cornered in this way, there was no alternative; at 
the risk of running counter to the predilections of my 
host, I said: "There are epicures who hold that a 
woodcock should not be drawn, but cooked with the 
'trail' in; they carry this idea into the cooking of ter- 
rapin and cite the fact that we eat oysters, clams and 
whitebait without opening their stomachs, and ask why 
we should be averse to eating other animal life in the 
same way, especially such forms as those named, where 
they claim there is nothing objectionable. There can be 
no answer except: De gustibus non est disputandum, 
which is merely a latinization of the old Irish saying of: 
'It's no use av disputin' taste, as the ould wooman said 
when she kissed her cow.' I am free to say that I pre- 
fer that the birds be drawn, although I have eaten them 
undrawn, and I do not insist on the drawing." 
"Will you permit me to call attention to the fact that 
you have been very diplomatic and have parried my 
questions? You have told of the methods which you do 
not like, and it is evident that you have positive ideas 
on serving woodcock, but hesitate to give them words." 
"At home I have the birds drawn, saving the hearts 
and livers, truss up the feet, using the bill as a skewer 
after the skin and eyes are removed from the head; a 
thin slice of salt pork is laid over the breast, the hearts 
and livers are chopped, seasoned and buttered. Then a 
thick slice of stale bread is hollowed out to receive the 
bird. The bread is buttered and browned in the oven; 
the birds are roasted about eight minutes. While they 
are roasting fry the bread, drain it and cover with 
the hearts and livers, then place the birds in the cavities 
and serve hot." 
"Our own recipe exactly," said the Colonel, "ex- 
cept that you forgot to mention the Burgundy, served 
at the temperature of the room." 
"It was not forgotten, but was left for you to add. 
I have spitted them on a twig and broiled them over a 
camp-fire." I added, "but it is best in that case to split 
them down the back, broil not more than five minutes, 
butter liberally, and eat with closed eyes." 
"Excellent!" the Colonel exclaimed, "our old cook 
will. I think, serve them to your taste, and the Bur- 
gundy has been on the sideboard for twenty-four 
hours. Just step into my room a minute before we pre- 
pare Tor dinner." 
The Colonel's Bear Story. 
Such a dinner stands prominent among hundreds of 
good dinners; soft-shelled turtle soup, boiled bass, fillet 
of beef done to the Queen's taste, fried hominy and then 
