362 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[Nov. 5, 1898. 
"Mascots." 
Home they come from Cuba Libre; 
And they march with hastening feet 
Underneath the floating banners. 
Up the thronged and ringing street. 
When you cheer your sunburnt heroes, 
Don't forget their pensioners small, 
Led along, or perched on shoulder, 
Four-foot, furry "mascots" all! 
Comrades of the march and bivouac, 
Sharers of the cup and can. 
All unconscious of their portion 
In the drama played by man — 
All unconscious, did they bring good fortune 
(As they brought their owner joy)?^ 
Ask the youth who owns the "mascot" — 
For a soldier's but a boy! 
Edith M. Thomas. 
Pet Life in Camp. 
The keeping of pets in the army was almost entirely 
confined to the privates. Once in a while, perhaps, a 
general or even a colonel might have a captive bear, or a 
paddock deer; but these were rather trophies to be sent 
home, for the enjoyment and wonder of relatives and 
friends. The real vital interest in recently tamed wild 
animals could be "found in its perfection only in the 
younger soldiers of the rank and file. Prominent among 
these were the drummer boys, almost every one of 
whom managed to possess himself, during campaign, of 
some small and inconspicuous pet, such as a flying squir- 
rel, which he could quarter upon his person, and whose 
transportation caused no embarrassment. 
It has been suggested that many of the characteristics 
of the private soldier, as distinguished from the officer, 
were mainly due to the youth of the soldier. Our army 
consisted, for the most part, of country boys, fresh from 
farm and village; boys whose homesickness was wont 
to be assuaged by any incident or habit which might re- 
call the life at home. Domestic animals were as a rule 
out of the questions. Cats or monkeys do not take 
willingly to travel; and while a few stray dogs might 
be seen in camp or on the march, these were usually to 
be found at the heels of some officer, who had adopted 
them on the road (or, still more likely, whom they had 
adopted). Then again, so often were these canine pets 
not to be found when wanted, inasmuch as any search 
for the missing quadruped would be fraught with much 
danger in a hostile country, that the numbers of these 
four-fpoted camp followers were diminished as the cam- 
paign advanced. 
But when we went into winter quarters, the soldiers, 
after building themselves habitations resembling those 
of the beavers, would naturally fall back upon the habits 
which the}' left at home when they donned the uniform. 
One of the prime' delights of this kind of life was the 
forming of a domestic family out of the local fauna. 
The coon occupied a prominent place in this category. 
There was something in the owlish wisdom of his ex- 
pression, something in the conscious grotesquery of 
his moments, which would set the boys laughing with 
the ready merriment that greets a comic actor or 
clown before he has opened his mouth. I have seen 
whole groups of young fellows following a coon, and 
shouting with laughter at the originality and eccentricity 
of his performances. The coon seems to have no habits; 
and thus every action was a delighted surprise to the 
youthful eyes which followed his antics. A prominent 
characteristic of the coon, which gave great delights 
in times of plenty, was his appetite. I have often been 
reminded of the famous guardsman who, at the mask 
ball, astonished the feasters at supper by his prowess 
in eating, until it turned out that the whole regiment 
had been passed in one by one. In similar manner would 
Mr. Coon go from tent to tent, appearing with new 
hunger and virgin appetite to each group; while his 
gusto in devouring whatever was set before him seemed 
to make good his hungry pretensions. The coon is a 
sociable animal; and the boys had a theory that his 
multiple feastings came less from mere gluttony than 
the desire to be sociable; and I well remember that, on 
the return of the First Regiment, after the initial cam- 
paign, the public were surprised and delighted by the 
goodly assortment of coons and foxes perched on the 
shoulders of their masters, and being fed afresh from 
every peanut stand. 
Field mice, which were often caught in the neighbor- 
ing pastures, were loving and docile favorites of the 
boys. There is something in the fact of minuteness which 
appeals to many natures; and the bright-eyed "cunning" 
little mouse often found his way to the heart of a drum- 
mer boy when that heart would have been impervious 
to coons and foxes. Even rats, objectionable as they 
are, were sometimes tamed; though they suffered a de- 
gree of ostracism due to the prejudice in the minds 
of the neighbors — a condition which must have made 
their young lives dark. Rabbits were genial pets, and 
were highly esteemed by trie more sedate youngsters, but 
there was such frequent allusion to rabbits in other 
capacities (mainly of a culinary description) that their 
owners would become frightened, and attribute every 
absence to an untimely taking off. 
Then we had some carrier pigeons, followed by base 
imitations, which were not carriers. These latter glad- 
dened the hearts of their owners until an order from 
headquarters declared these private messengers to be 
illegal, inasmuch as carrier pigeons were beginning to be 
used in the service; and these amateur carriers in their 
unofficial capacity were found to promote confusion. 
For instance, the adjutant-general, awaiting an important 
order, received instead a maudlin love letter signed 
Jerusha, and coming from a remote country. 
Among the various experts of an infantry regiment 
was one individual who had been a bee hunter. For 
some reason, which he declined to state, bees would 
never sting him. So, one Sunday morning — at Center- 
ville — in the presence of General Sherman, he captured 
a large old-fashioned bee hive, like those we see in 
pictures. This was made of twisted straw, and was 
literally crammed with honeycomb. He bore the hive 
triumphantly on his head. "Let him go," said General 
Sherman, who had just issued an order against all 
marauding; "he has taken his punishment into his 
own hands!" And, sure enough, the bees followed in 
angry swarm. But such was the magic of our bee-tamer 
that the hive arrived in safety; and its contents were 
divided among the company ;' while not a sting bore out 
the prophecy of the general. 
On the morning of the battle of South Mountain, a 
bevy of quail were started by a regiment advancing in 
line. Many were caught, and several of the birds flew 
for refuge to the breasts of the soldiers, hiding 
under the blouse. I trembled for their future; 
but so strong is the petting instinct in the young sol- 
diers that these quail were all tamed and kept as house- 
hold pensioners in the rude huts which were to be our 
winter quarters. I was greatly shocked, however, to 
learn that the cock birds were often pitted against each 
other in fight, following a well-known (Chinese) cus- 
tom, which prefers quail to game cocks. 
One of the most extraordinary incidents that I remem- 
ber of pet life in camp was the infatuation which our 
big California Major inspired in the fluffy bosom of a 
young rooster (or cockerel, as they called him in Vir- 
ginia). This ungainly bird, with waddling gait and 
ragged plumage, would follow the object of his devo- 
tion with an assiduity as absurd as it seems incredible. 
One night, an alarm of pickets having awakened the ■ 
camp — we were in bivouac, and General Early was in 
front of us — this young rooster was discovered sitting 
on the toe of the Major's boot, head under his wing, fast 
asleep. It was the famous attack by Gordon's division 
at Cedar Creek, when Sheridan was "twenty miles 
away." All who were aware of the chaos and confusion 
of that day. which made Sheridan famous, can realize 
how that little cockerel was lost in the fray, and doubt- 
less fell into the ruthless hands of the Confederates. 
The reader will bear in mind that what we have to say 
about pets must necessarily refer to the wild creatures 
our boys succeeded in taming, and among so many 
thousand men it was not remarkable that occasional 
peculiar aptitude in dealing with the local fauna should 
have been found. Our bee-tamer, for instance, had all 
his life been a specialist in that line. A yet more danger- 
ous style of pet, and requiring for its subjection certain 
inherent qualities of temperament, is the snake. It is 
well understood that certain families in snake-infected 
districts possess the gift of immunity, much of which is 
doubtless derived from long association with these crea- 
tures, and familiarity with their habits. Captain Mc- 
Grath belonged to no such family. He was a city-bred 
Irishman, whose love of snakes was an eccentricity de- 
veloped only during campaign. He gathered from time 
to time a considerable assortment of the more danger- 
ous varieties. But these specimens were usually scat- 
tered in the hurry and stress of campaign life. It was 
his fortune to be stationed at a loolb. battery at the top 
of the Blue Ridge. And here, besides reveling in the 
abundance and novelty of his writhing predilections, he 
made special conquest of a large and handsome rock 
snake, deemed peculiarly poisonous in that mountin 
region. The snake could coil itself about the Captain's 
neck of his own playful motion: would wind in and out, 
around and between his ankles, making a display like 
that known among soldiers as counter marching, and 
perform other feats of a like hazardous character — all 
which constituted the favorite amusement for Sunday 
afternoon callers, as well as for the officers and men of 
the post. The snake was confined in a wooden cage, 
built like a chicken coop, with the bars just close enough 
together to prevent him from escaping. One Sabbath 
day the commander-in-chief was visiting the out-of-the- 
way posts with his staff. Having heard of the snake- 
charming achievements of Captain McGrath, he asked 
if he could see something of them. The Captain, in re- 
sponse, drew the slide through which the snake usually 
came out to its master. This time, for some reason, the 
serpent, like a naughty child, refused to be exhibited 
before corhpany; and not appearing, the Captain stooped 
down and looked in, to see what was the matter. At a 
glance he saw that something had gone wrong with his 
pet. who was coiled up in a fighting attitude, quite 
unusual with this good-humored contortionist. The 
Captain was on his mettle; the eyes of his chief were 
upon him; he hesitated a moment; then thrust his hand 
in, intending to draw the beast out. Before he could 
reach the creature it had turned and struck him on 
the hand, after which it uncoiled and slowly glided out 
to the open air, where it proceeded to make its way 
down the mountain side. The Captain had a dog, a 
collie, with the intelligence and devotion common to 
that species. Seeing that his master was hurt, he sprang 
with a yelp to his assailant, when the snake again turned 
and struck its fangs into the dog's throat. The effect 
seemed to paralyze the dog, which rolled over as though 
struck by lightning. The Captain started in pursuit, and 
pausing long enough for some words of sympathy with 
the dog, now in convulsions, he overtook and actually 
caught the dangerous reptile by the tail, and brought it 
back to its cage. The snake was completely cowed, and 
an hour later went through the performance for which 
it had been cast, meekly and without a fault. But the 
poor dog had been struck in a vital place, and died dur- 
ing the night. The redoubled Captain declined to have 
his own wound dressed by the army surgeon, and con- 
tented himself with drinking something over a pint of 
what the medical officer called hydrated oxide of ethyl 
and which the obliging dealer had translated into whisky' 
After this he lay down and slept for some hours. Whe'n 
he awoke the commander-in-chief and his staff were 
gone, having seen more than they bargained for; and on 
some one asking why he did not kill the snake after it 
had bitten him and his dog, he replied: "It was all my 
fault. I shouldn't have monkeyed with Jim when he's 
out of sorts. Snakes has the dyspepsy as well as men 
and don't feel like foolin'." "Yes, but the dog?" "Self- 
defense," briefly ejaculated the Captain. "The do°- 
would certainly have killed him, an' I always like to be 
fair." 
Captain McGrath always did see both sides of every 
question; and there may indeed have been something 
in his utter reasonableness, which commended him to 
the good will of all Wild creatures, even snakes. 
(Dr.) S. R. Elliott. 
West New Brighton, Staten Island. 
Lost. 
Sportsman friend, did you ever lose a chum — one 
whom you have had the companionship of for years in 
your tramps through the woods and over the fields; one 
who has been at your side in a duck blind on the nor'- 
west point at Chadwicks many a time, and in a double 
battery on the Great South Bay, and has camped with 
you on the seashore, cooked by day and lulled to sleep 
at night by the wash of the waves of the grand old At- 
lantic Ocean? 
We met first in a gun shop, or store, where we had 
both gone to see a new pattern of breechloading gun. 
This was about the year 1868. Whew! that figures almost 
thirty years ago! We were about of the same age; he 
of a quiet disposition, saying but little, but taking notes 
in his mind of the good points of the new weapon, and 
deliberate in all his actions. We were introduced by the 
salesman. The next day, after business hours, found 
us again at the same place. Our acquaintance ripened 
into friendship. I was not much of a hand to visit, so 
my friend came to visit me. We sailed on the waters 
of Long Island Sound; Ave fished and shot pistols and 
rifles at a target, and took our shotguns and made 
targets for patterns and penetration. Hundreds of shots 
were fired, and at last we became satisfied that we had 
found the load for our respective guns that would be 
sure to bring down all the. wildfowl that should come 
within range of us in our contemplated trip after ducks 
at Barnagat the next fall. 
At this time center-fire breechloading guns were just 
beginning to take among the shooters. We both had 
muzzleloaders. My friend had a .10 bore 32m. that 
weighed nibs., made by the finest gun workman in the 
country, the late Patrick Mullen, then at" No. 95 Fulton 
street, New York City. I had a .10 bore 32in., weight 
lo^lbs.. made by a foreign maker. Five drams of Cur- 
tis & Haney powder, No. 6 grain, was though to be the 
proper caper in those days, with ij4 or i^oz. of No. 3 
shot, for point shooting, and double W. P. caps of Ely's 
make, and felt wads with a Baldwin wad over shot. 
At that time our American make of powder, wads and 
caps was not thought to be as good as the foreign 
make. 
We waited patiently for the day to arrive for our 
start for "Bill's" at Squan Beach. Then you could not 
go to Sandy Hook on fast steamer and take rail down 
the Jersey beach as you can now, but we had to take the 
Pennsylvania Railroad at Jersey City for Monmouth 
Junction, then a branch road to Farmingdale, then by 
team on the sandy roads through the pines to Charley 
Maxim's, at Point Pleasant, at the head of Barnagat 
Bay: got dinned there — how good it did taste — and after 
a good smoke the team was hitched up and a long drive 
over the hard sandy beach for about seven miles brought 
us to Billy Chadwick's gunning house about sundown. 
We had a royal welcome, as all good gunners do that 
go to that place. After a good supper, we adjourned to 
the bar room, sitting room, office — all in one — to hear 
about how many ducks had been brought down by this 
and that gunner. After the reports were in, the "bay 
men" would begin to spin yarns about the hard storms 
they had experienced, and the wrecks that had come on 
shore. When it was time for bed, the names of the 
different points and blinds would be marked on a card 
and all the cards put in a hat. The drawing took place. 
We got the nor'west point. This was good luck, as it 
was one of the best stands. James Loveland was our 
guide, and a good one at that. After putting our shoot- 
ing togs where we could find them handy in the morn- 
ing, into the feather beds we got — feather beds so soft 
arid deep that when in them you could see nothing but 
the ceiling of the room. After talking of what we 
expected to do in the way of slaughtering the wildfowl, 
we fell asleep, and in a few minutes, as it seemed to us, 
we were awakened and told to turn out for breakfast. 
Jumping out of the warm beds, we found it to be 3:45 
A. M. After a wash in good, eold water, we were soon 
dressed warmly and down to breakfast. Buckwheat 
cakes 6in. in diameter, done brown, with old-fashioned 
New Orleans molasses, country sausages from Toms 
River, and a plenty of good strong coffee, made us a 
breakfast fit for a ducker, after which we got into our 
shooting toggery and left for the nor'west point. Ar- 
riving there, the blind was overhauled a bit, and spread- 
ing our rubber blankets we lay down to wait for the first 
ducks to arrive. 
A faint tinge of gray was showing in the eastern hori- 
zon. Squan Beach lay to our left: it was blowing north- 
east, and old ocean was pounding its billows on the 
shore as if to wash the beach away and to travel on to 
the mainland. To the south'ard Barnegat Light was 
flashing, on our right was the smooth bay. Our gunner 
had placed about forty decoy ducks at a distance of about 
30yds. away, and was now reclining on some sedge grass 
back of our blind. Bang went a big gun to the south of 
us. The birds are on the move. Now, look sharp. 
Here come two from the south. I say, "Take them, 
chum." "No, you take them." "No, you take them." 
"We'll both take them." Bang! bang! rang out our 
guns at once, and down they came, two redheads, and as 
the wind was off shore, our gunner went and picked 
them up. Mark left, here come three more. Bang! 
bang! bang! One' down, a clear miss with both bar- 
rels by the writer. After the last shot I thought I 
could not miss, but by over-confidence and carelessness 
got nothing. 
The sun was now up, but wallowing in a bank of 
thick clouds. Just the morning for ducks to fly well, so 
we shot with varying success until about 9 or 10 o'clock, 
when the birds came to our decoys at long intervals. 
About 11 o'clock we went to the house and walked up 
and down the beach; at 3 P. M. we, went back to the 
