42 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
In Old Virginia* 
Part 1, 
There are a few old-fashioned darkies left in the South, 
both big and little. 
The best specimens are to be found "way down south 
in Georgy" and in "Old Virginia."' 
They live on the plantations lying back in the interior a 
distance from towns and railroads. These facts I learned 
some few years ago, when the handsome matron, who 
now sits across the table from me, talking "Sanscrit" to 
a future president, was an occasional resident on a plan- 
tation of large value in southeastern Virginia, six miles 
from town and three miles from the railroad, which had 
been in the family for generations. 
My first visit to her country home was fraught with 
many pleasures, aside from the delight of basking in the 
sunsliine of her smiles. The plantations comprised a thou- 
sand acres of cultivated and forest land, surrounded by 
much that had not been cultivated since the war, and 
made an ideal place for enjoying iield sports; as game 
was most abundant. 
The negroes were the real old-timers, many of them 
having lived all their lives on that or neighboring planta- 
tions, as had their ancestors before them, proudly bear- 
ing the names of many F. F. Vs. My advent had neces- 
sitated preparations that had put the darkies on notice, 
and they had questioned a little, surmised much, and 
finally concluded thus : "Mis' Lady's young man is comin' 
from the city to visit we all." No one visits exclusively 
the family in the "big house" on a plantation where the 
old-time darkies are found; and he comes to grief who 
attempts it. 
"Weighed and found wanting" is the verdict returned 
by the loyal attaches against the visitor who, like 
the frog, "a-wooing goes," laboring under the de- 
lusion that his suit is won or lost in the parlor, 
and needs only to be pressed there. Every darky 
on the place that could be spared from his or her work 
was peeping around one side or the other of the house 
when the carriage that liad been sent to meet me at the 
station drove up to the front gate. 
They made no effort at concealment, but simply went 
through what they consider the proper form on such oc- 
casions, standing far enough out to see well, while pre- 
tending to make an effort to hide behind the angles of 
the porch, corners of the bay windows or convenient 
shrul)bery. 
Southern born and knowing my audience, I stiffened 
up like a drum major and strode up the walk with as 
near the air of a "conquering hero" as I could command; 
feeling sorry that my silk hat was not on my head, where 
it would have made' me almost an assured success, in- 
stead of in my hat box. 
Uncle Ben, the driver of the carriage, coming in -for al- 
most as much attention as myself, as he struggled along 
in the rear with a heavy load, composed of my baggage, 
gun and shell boxes ; his profound dignity an exaggeration 
of my own, To have shown by word or sign any knowl- 
edge of the fact that the crowd of servants were watching 
and audibly criticising me would have b»en — in their opin- 
ion — a serious breach of etiquette, and would have re- 
sulted in grave doubts of my being "real quality." So 
with bold, but discreet, looks to the right and left, I 
mounted the broad front steps, struck the old-fashioned 
knocker, and turned to dismiss Uncle Ben, who had fol- 
lowed and placed my baggage on the porch. The old- 
fashioned coachman does not enter the house where there 
are house servants ; but stops at the entrance, if indeed he 
leaves his team at all, which he only does with those to 
whom he wishes to pay marked attention. 
As he backed down the steps, bowing his thanks, and 
showing bv unmistakable signs that my genuineness was 
firmly established in his mind, the door^ opened and my 
fair hostess welcomed me to "The Elms." 
Within twentv-four hours of my arrival I was ac- 
quainted with all of the "boys'' and "girls" and "uncles" 
and "aunties," as they are there classified, on the place. 
All of the male darkies being boys until they reach the 
stage of uncle; and all of the females girls until age and 
dignity puts them in the class of aunties. 
All of the field hands learned my name at once, and 
never failed to show their ivories to the remotest molar 
as they bowed and pulled at their old hats when we met. 
The oracle of the big house on the plantation is the cook. 
She moulds and forms the opinions of the other servants, 
and influences in a greater or lesser degree that of the 
family she serves. 
She is nearly always an "auntie,"^ and is aggressive, 
bigoted, uncompromising, kind, faithful and efficient. A 
dear old paradox, alternately beloved and feared by the 
entire household. I knew her well, and respected her 
accordingly, and always sought an opportunity to pro- 
pitiate her as soon as possible after my arrival at the 
various hospitable Southern homes it had been my happy 
lot to visit. . . , r i J ^? 
It was therefore with real trepidation that 1 heard the 
evening of my arrival the laughing remark of one of 
the older ladies of the household, addressed to my fair 
jroun-:^ friend, for the purpose of teasing her, which was 
to the effect that : "Aunt Ellen (the cook) had told Mil- 
lie (the maid) that that town man was not near big 
enough nor half good looking enough for her Mis' Lady." 
I made up my mind that Aunt Ellen and I must become 
better acquainted at the very earliest opportunity Wak- 
ing early next morning, and having learned the night be- 
fore that the woods near the house was fairly well stocked 
with gray squirrels, I slipped into my corduroys, and 
taking a handful of shells loaded with chilled sixes, and 
my gun, quietly left the house before any one was astir 
for a trv at them, still-hunting. _ 
It was just gray dawn when I got well down in the 
heavy timber, and the woods was oppressively silent. 
There is something awe inspiring about the breaking of 
day in a forest that causes one to carefully avoid, as far 
as possible, any disturbance of the solitude. In the fields 
or open the desire is to whistle, sing, or shout aloud at 
daybreak, but not so in the woods. 
Stealing along, listening for a sign, it soon grew light 
f rioiigh for me to see to draw a bead on the first tinwarv 
imitator of the "early bird" discovered, and I was glad to 
hear that regular old herald of the approach of day, the 
ivory-billed woodpecker, making the woods ring with his 
rattling strokes on a dead limb. 
He is the first fellow out in the morning, and his first 
act is to kick up a fearful row, that everybody may be 
apprised of the fact. My strained senses of sight and 
hearing were both soon rewarded by the sound of a nut or 
bit of bank falling, and a limb swinging in a large white 
oak near. The leaves were heavy on the ground and 
rather dry, but fortunately a path that was tolerably clear 
led within good shooting distance of the tree. Moving 
up carefully, near enough to command the tree, I soon 
had a glimpse of fur, while at the same time a limb shook 
in another part of the tree, showing a pair treed. I soon 
had them located so that I could have a fair shot at either 
one, but the survivor would be so situated that he could 
take cover at once without giving me a chance for a shot, 
so I concluded to wait a few moments and see if they 
did not change and locate as I wanted them. 
My patience was soon rewarded by getting one well out 
toward the end of a long limb, and the otber down near 
-ft'here it joined the trunk. I shot for one first and took 
the second in the air as he jumped for the body of the 
tree, killing them both dead. 
Slipping in fresh shells, I heerd a sound behind me, and 
turned just in time to see a squirrel making out on the 
limb of another oak toward a poplar, with the thick 
foliage that looked as if it might be a den tree. 
It was a long shot, but I chanced it, and succeeded in 
knocking hinivGUt pf the .tree with my first barrel, but he 
lit running. 
Expecting this from the way he fell, I had sprinted a 
little myself in his direction, while he was .sailing for 
"terra firma," and getting close enough for more effective 
work, knocked the run entirely out of him with the second 
barrel. As I gathered up iny three squirrels — all young 
and in fine condition — it occurred to me that I was in a 
good squirrel country, that it was a good day for squir- 
rels, and that it was not a debatable question as to 
whether or not life was worth living. 
The sun was not yet up, but I could hear a bell ringing 
at the house that sounded like the old bell on the school- 
house, where I shirked through my first few years of 
weary wayfaring on the road to knowledge when a boy, 
and that I knew to be the manager's signal to the field 
hands who lived at what was still known as "the 
quarters." 
Noticing a rail fence near by, I concluded to work 
down that a short distance, and then return to the house. 
Before I had gone looyds. along the fence a squirrel, either 
going to or from breakfast, and in a desperate hurry, al- 
most ran over me. I turned him back and killed him on 
the run. His speed was so great as he turned the sharp 
angles of the fence, it was almost equal to shooting jack- 
snipe. My shooting coat feeling heavy with its load, I 
turned toward the house, which I judged to b» less than 
one-half mile distant. I hunted along carefully, but with- 
out expecting any further success, and was just debating 
in nay mind whether I would not shoulder my gun and 
strike straight for the house, when, from a thicket a 
short distance ahead, came a sharp put ! that froze me in 
my tracks. It was a turkey sure, but wkether wild or 
tame I did not know. It seemed close to the house for 
that wary bird, the wild -turkey; and yet it was far from 
the house for that discreet bird, the tame turkey, that is 
considering the woods. The tame turkey will range the 
fields for miles, but fights shy of the thick woods. 
Five, ten, fifteen minutes I stood in my tracks, every 
muscle tense, and^ my eyes sweeping the general direction 
from which the sound had GOjtne, wntching for the slight- 
est movement. ' • i i 
A wild turkej', when really startled, is only a faint, dark 
streak when it concludes to change its location in the 
woods ; and the man that stops him on the ground is in- 
deed true of eye and quick of hand. 
I finally concluded that as nothing further was heard 
from the one that had startled me, it was probably just 
concluding a century run in some adjoining counties, so 
moved on. My hunt was not over yet, however, for a 
few moments thereafter a hickory tree loomed up just 
ahead, and it seemed to be full of squirrels. Ten, at least, 
I thought ; and would think so yet had I not approached, 
killed and bagged them every one, and found the grand 
total two. They were thrashing down nuts like a pair of 
town boys with bushel .sacks to fill, and let me Avalk right 
up to the tree before they desisted. 
The first one gave me no trouble, but the .second got 
into the thick leaves and cost me three cartridges, sent as 
range finders, before he developed. I was now six 
squirrels to the good, and Old Sol was not chin high over 
the eastern horizon. 
Not over an hour and a half had elapsed since 1 had 
awakened, with the sense of freedom that always comes 
to the enthusiastic sportsman whose vacations are few 
and far between. Reaching the edge of the woods, I 
found myself in the rear of the house, and concluded to 
go in by way of the back gate in hopes of seeing Aunt 
Ellen as I passed the kitchen. Two boys were at the 
woodpile working out enough wood to get breakfast. 
One was chopping while the other sat on a log waiting 
until there was an armful to carry in. The average boy 
will never prepare more wood than enough for immediate 
necessities, unless closely looked after. They will chance 
having to dig wood from under 3ft. of snow m the morn- 
ing rather than chop a double quantity the night before. 
To my "Good morning, boys," they both replied re- 
spectfully. The chopper then said : "Has you been after 
de squ'ls, suh?" „„. , , , . j: j • 1 
I replied in the affirmative. "Right smaht of dem m de 
woods, suh; did you see many?" 
I replied that I had seen six. , , , 
My questioner paused a moment as I moved slowly 
off as though fearing to embarrass me, but his curiosity 
overcame his scruples, so he .said: "How many of em 
did you git, suh?" 
As I intentionally hesitated a moment before replying, 
for the purpose of dramatic effect, the kmdhearted fel- 
low looked as though he was sorry that he had asked the 
question of me ; fearing that I had failed to bag any game. 
When I finally answered : "AH six," his first look was 
one of profound surprise, which shortly changed to one 
of incredulity. . 
But his politeness stood the strain, and he replied. 
"You got 'em all six? YoU didn't let nary one git away? 
Well, suh ! Sholy you raus' have a s'archin' gun" ; "and," 
added his companion, "know how to shoot her too, suh." 
T knew that their politeness was struggling with their 
doubts to accept my statement, and therefore was not 
surprised when they both grabbed up a few sticks of wood 
and followed me to the kitchen, where they hung around 
until they had ocular deroonstration of the truth of my 
story. 
Aunt Ellen was moving around in the kitchen jiist be- 
ginning her preparations for the family breakfast. As 
she heard my approach, she came to the door. "Good 
morning, Aunt Ellen," I said. 
"Good mawnin', suh," she replied, and added quickly: 
"How you know my name?" 
"How do I know your name, Aunt Ellen? Why, I have 
known your name and much about you for a long time. 
Miss Lady often tells me about you in the letters she 
writes me; and she told me how glad she would be to 
get back to you when she started down here on this visit. 
I feel like I had known you a long time." 
During this rather long speech Aunt Ellen was look- 
ing me over carefully from head to foot in a furtive man- 
ner. When I concluded, she was silent for a moment and 
then said : 
"Did Mis' Lady reely write in a lettah 'bout me, suh?" 
"She did. Aunt Ellen, several times," I replied. 
"Where you bin, suh?" she suddenly asked. 
I told her. 
"Did you git any squ'ls, suh? Miss Lady- mighty fon* of 
squ'ls." 
For reply I reached in a pocket and pulled out a squirrel 
and handed it to her. 
"Now, dat's a nice fat squ'l," she said. 
I handed her another one. 
"Two," she cried, "dat sho is fine." 
I drew out another. 
"Three," she almost shouted, "why, dat's enough for a 
Brunswic' stu." 
When the fourth appeared she seemed too surprised for 
further speech, and simply ejaculated, "De good land 
sakgs !" 
She looked on in silence as the fifth and sixth squirrel, 
appeared, and then seeing that my pockets were empty, she 
broke forth into speech again. 
"Why, where has you dun bin to, suh, to git all dem 
nice fat squ'ls, an' hit not sun up hardly yit. Why, you 
sholy do beat all de shootens dat ever I seed. Day ain' no- 
body ever come on dis plantation smaht enough to git six 
squ'ls before sun up in de mawnin. You sho mus' be ti'ed, , 
suh. Set down an res' an' lem me git you a cup of coffee 
an' a snack to stay yo stummic 'til breakfus' is reddy." 
I sat down on the steps while she bustled off to prepare 
the "snack." 
When she returned with it, I soon had her going on 
the subject of the "Fohmost famblies of Vuhginy," in 
whose inmost circles we had mutual acquaintances; a 
subject that your real old-fashioned darky, male or female, 
never tires of discussing. Thanking her most cordially 
for her hospitality, I finally took leave of her to prepare 
for breakfast, but not until .she had again assured me 
that my morning feat was unparalleled, and that I must 
come by for a snack whenever I was out early in the 
morning. My morning so far had been a success from 
every point of view. 
While smoking an after-breakfast cigar on the veranda 
I again heard a remark of Aunt Ellen's quoted 
to my fair young friend by the same elderly lady 
who had caused my uneasiness the night before. 
It was plainly audible, and to the following effect: 
"Aunt Ellen says that if you do want to get married you 
can't ever have any better chance than that nice city 
man who has come visiting you, as he is a good provider 
and real quality too." 
Just then I heard Aunt Ellen answer some One in the 
most peremptory manner, from the neighborhood of her 
domain, "You can't have Cicero now, nor foh a long time 
vit; he skinnin' my squ'ls. Lewis Hopkins. 
Just About a Boy.— XVL 
"So that's the Dismal River, eh?" said the boy, as we 
drove up to the edge of the sand dunes, where the road 
pitched its yellow length down toward the stream. • 
"Less stop here a minute an' look at things," he con- 
t'inued. "Seems 's if all these rivers out here just kinder 
got lost like 'n' go galavantin' 'round through th' coun- 
try 'thout no speshul reason 'tall. They ain't as nice as a 
river with trees all 'long th' bank, are they? Is ever' river 
'n this country here this same way, juss nothin' but a 
sort o' ditch like, a runnin' crost th' prairie when they 
ain't more sand than they is water?"* 
"Well, they are a good deal alike," 1 answered, "most 
of them being a ditch as you say, down in a wide level 
valley like this one, and all of them are full of sand, more 
or less— quicksand too, by the way, and it is apt to make 
travel anything but a dream of pleasure, if you happen 
to get dowH. in it with the outfit. 
"Do you see that little bunch of cabins away up the 
valley there, on the right bank of the Loup? No, here, 
away up above the mouth of the Dismal, up this other 
valley— that's the middle Loi^), and this river right here 
in front is the DLsmal." 
The boy looked slowly up the second valley with the 
glass, and then said : "Uh, huh, I see 'em— sort of a farm, 
"Weli, that is Farmer's ranch, seven miles from here, 
and the 'last ranch but one between us and Pine Ridge. 
The next is Stem's ranch, forty miles further up stream 
and only a little way from where the Middle Loup rises in 
Dock Lake, which is just this side of the Niobrara divide. 
I think we had better cross both rivers and camp 
at Farmer's to-night, then go on up to Stem's to-morrow." 
"What's the matter with goin' down below th' mouth o' 
th' Dismal, 'n' crossin' th' Loup down there — won't haff 
to cross but one river then, 'n' it 'd be easier, seems t' me." 
"That's where you lack wisdom, my son, and show that 
you are a sure tenderfoot in this country. You must re- 
member that the banks of these rivers are straight up and 
down, and from 4 to 40 or 50ft. high. You can't drive a team 
up and down such places very easily, can you ? Then you 
must remember that this trail we are following was picked 
out by the cow-puncKers up here as the best route to haul 
supplies in to camp oyer, so don't try to hunt a new rojid 
