Oct. 21, 1899-] 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
329 
In a South American Forest. 
From a. letter written by a young friend of mine, Mr. 
Samuel M. Klages, who has been for the last year and a 
half in the wilds of Venezuela, collecting natural history 
specimens, I select the following extracts, which I believe 
will be interesting to readers of Forest and Stream. 
The letter is written from Suapure, in the valley of the 
Caura. F. J. Chapman. 
"This place is in striking contrast with the neighbor- 
hood of Ciudad Bolivar. There the soil is arid, and low 
woods— and little of that — arc to be found. The hills are 
particularly barren, being little else but piles of stones, 
sand and boulders, supporting a rank growth of weeds 
and sand-loving mare and chaparral trees. Birds are, as 
I found, few in species (we took 95 or 100 kinds only) 
and not at all striking in appearance or typically ti'opical, 
except the few kinds of parrots and parroquets, and 
some water birds. The mammals were scarcer in pro- 
portion than the birds; the only families found to be 
represented are the felidce, the opossum, rats, rabbits and 
sloths. With insects it was the same way. There were 
a few of the gorgeous things peculiar to the torrid 
zone, but the great mass of the species were small and 
dull in hue. 
"Here the face of the country, the vegetation and the 
animals are almost totally different. The little house we 
live in for the present is situated on a steep hillside over- 
looking the beautiful, mirror-like Caura River and the 
ma.gnificent_ forest on the other side. Fifteen or twenty 
miles west is the beginning of a mighty chain of moun- 
tains, the peaks of which reach high above the clouds. , 
These mountains — and indeed the whole countrj' — are 
clothed with a truly ti-opical forest, the grandeur and 
luxuriance of which are indescribable. The trees grow 
so close together that there is a continual struggle to 
reach the light and live. Consequently the soil being 
of marvelous fertility, we have not only a forest of thick 
trees, but the latter are extremely tall. Between the 
trees the ground is occupied with much vegetation of 
smaller size * and adapted to the shade. Countless vari- 
eties of plants, some of them of great beauty, make the 
sylvan depths a veritable paradise. Palms, giant ferns 
and many plants with large dark-green, shining leaves, vie 
with each other to excite the admiration of the be- 
holder of these marvels of God's creation. From dizzy 
heights, from the branching-out place of low palms, from 
tile rough bark of trees — everywhere that a foothold 
o-fifers — hang orchids, many of rare loveliness, and many 
of amazing size. 
"Nor is this forest a place replete with vegetable life 
alone. The ear informs one of the presence of innumer- 
able birds. One species whistles a bar of three notes 
m the most entrancing silvery tones, and loud enough 
to be heard a quarter of a mile. The vast arches of these 
forests resound with the songs of this species; but it was 
a long while before I learned to detect the whereabouts 
of the mysterious whistler. It sits perfectly still, except 
for a jerking of head and tail while whistling at great 
heights, and being of a dull gray color and little larger 
than a robin, one is apt to find himself completely 
baffled in the eiifort to discover the bird, although it 
•repeats its cry very frequently. Quite startling is the 
booming, hoarse scream_ of the great blue and scarlet 
ntacaw, as it wings its way above the tops of the Titanic 
trees or perches far aloft on some fruit-bearing branch. 
It is a good gun that will kill these big parrots at such 
heights. 
"Occasionally the woods are made to re-echo with a 
sound which is the m.ost hideous ever heard in South 
-America. Indeed, in volume and horribleness of tone it 
excels the roar of lions, as I have heard them roar in 
menageries, far beyond comparison. The sound can be 
heard distinctly for miles. This is produced by the 
howling monkey, an animal with long, gaunt limbs; ugl}^, 
bristhng, reddish-brown hair; a large skull, and jaws 
furnished with sharp, canine teeth. I have a skin of this 
animal hanging over my head drying, and the skull 
is close by on a drying cage. The vocal organs of this 
creature are really wonderful. The larynx alone is as 
large as a man's fist, and in the throat, placed so as to 
catch, reverberate and intensify the noise formed in the 
larynx, is a great cavernous formation of bone, nearly 
spherical in form, and having an opening large enough 
to admit three fingers at a time. The size of this bone 
is about the same as that of the larynx. The noise he 
makes is about like that made by boys in the States 
with a 'devil's fiddle' at a country wedding. Imagine a 
dozen or fourteen strokes of the 'bow' and then a wind- 
up consisting of a prolonged hollow roar, such as the 
howl of a whirlwind were it confined in a great cavern. 
The specimen at hand was espied as it was clambering 
along the topmost boughs of a gigantic tree, whose 
branches interlocked with those of the surrounding trees. 
Manifestly the animal Avas alarmed, for it ran from limb 
to limb, edging toward some dense foliage, and I made 
haste to prevent its escape; but the No. 10 gun belched 
forth three times before the big, heavy beast let go and 
crashed through the branches to the ground. 
"Butterflies of gorgeous and strange appearance, and a 
great many kinds, flit about in the forest and hover along 
tlie banks of the little streams. There is an ox-cart road 
which runs through miles of the richest part of the 
neighboring forest, and it is my great delight to wander 
along this path with Ed, now shooting a new and 
tetrange or beautiful bird, and anon catching a butterfly 
of rare loveliness or oddity. Every day in the "vvoods 
means the acquisition of some new species and new and 
interesting facts. The people here are not uncivilized, as 
I had expected, although the preponderance of the popu- 
lation are Indians. About the only industries are the 
raising of sugar cane and the manufacture of rum and 
sugar." ^ 
American Woods. 
Part VIII. of Romeyn B. Hough's series of "Ameri- 
can Woods" has been issued and is ready for delivery. 
It is a continuation of the species of the Pacific Slope, and 
among the interesting woods represented in it are those 
of the CaHfornia fan palm- iWcfshingtonia filamentosa) and 
the mission cactus (Opimtia tuna), which are objects of 
s^-eisi i;xterest to 3II interested in woods. 
Birds and Agfriculture. 
Gloucester. — Editor Forest and Stream: I note your 
editorial referring to birds as seed and insect destroyers 
in aid of agriculture. 
I am sorry to state that I cannot agree with your con- 
clusions. In my observations of birds I have failed to 
find any proof that they are beneficial to agriculture. 
Thus far I have refrained from publishing my views 
for fear that it would lessen protection. Birds should 
be protected for sentimental reasons, and the time is 
not distant when this idea will prevail. 
Scientists fall into many errors when reporting the 
food of birds. 
While farming in Maine I had 10,000 head of cabbage 
destroyed by the green worm, the larva of the cabbage 
butterfly. A large flock of robins lived on the chrysalids 
for many days, but enough were left to start business the 
next spring, and I lost my cabbage as before. That fall 
the ichneumon fly that now keeps the cabbage in check 
made its appearance. Nearly every chrysalid contained 
the larva of the fly. The robins were now destroying 
my allies, but if a scientist had killed and examined 
robins he would have found the cases of the chrysalids, 
and would have published to the world how many 
thousand chrysalids a robin would destroy in a season. 
Then he would have figured the eggs that would have 
been deposited had there been no robin, and the result 
would have surprised the natives, while the whole thing 
would have been a farce. 
As to weeds: Nature provides seeds for the birds, and 
enough more to enable every kind of weed to occupy 
every nook and corner of the earth. 
Any weed would take possession of the world in spite 
of birds if it was not crowded out by stronger plants or 
by cultivation. 
Turn out to common a gfa'sS field atid weeds will 
crowd out the grass: shrubs will crowd out the weeds 
and forest trees will crowd out the shrubs. Birds do 
not keep weeds in check, but instead help the increase 
by scattering undigested seed. M. A. Walton. 
Eagle and Child. 
Editor Forest and Stream: 
I find in one of my newspapers this: "An incident 
which recalls the wild stories of Switzerland and Tyrol 
occurred last week near Mansfield, Conn. A very large 
eagle swooped down upon a party of children, fastened 
its talons in the clothing of an infant and actually suc- 
ceeded in carrying the child some distance, when it 
alighted, apparently for the purpose of securing a better 
hold. The other children followed and attacked the 
bird, finally beating it off after several of their number 
had been badly scratched and torn by its beak and claws." 
Anything in that? Aztec. 
'dnie md 0m. 
Sport with a Friend. 
"Hello, old man." 
"Al, how are you?" 
"Fine as ever" (giving my hand a wrench), "and just 
crazy to go gunning. Got a few days ofif and thought I'd 
drop over to see if you didn't want to take a trip with 
me. If you don't want to go" 
"If I don't want to go! That's good. Thought you 
knew me better than to make such talk as that." 
"Well, how the deuce did I know but you'd changed 
some in a year? But where can I get a gun?" 
"Bother the gun; I'll look after that." 
"And shells?" 
"Plenty of shells. Plenty of everything except game, 
You'll find little enough of that." 
"Well, never mind the game. We can have a good time 
without it. Parade the fixings, now, and we're ready." 
It was but a smafl job to "parade the fixings," and 
twenty minutes after my friend had so unexpectedly 
bounced in upon me, when I thought him forty miles 
away, we were off for the woods, guns on our shoulders. 
Our first objective is a swampy corner, adjoining a big 
strip of pine on the opposite side of the river. Entering 
this after a brisk walk, we separate to cover as much 
ground as possible, for we have no dog. A few years 
ago many a bird had fallen to our guns in this same cor- 
ner. But now how changed. In those few years the 
breechloader has been busily at work, leaving a broad 
wake of death behind it. Foot after foot is passed over 
without raising a single bird. At length we find three 
near the upper end of the cover, but they separate and 
fly wildly, no one can tell where. 
It is useless to try to follow them, so we make for a 
woodcock run near by. One ought to have a dog to hunt 
such a cover as this; but we have none, so in we plunge 
ourselves, Al on the right, I on the left, moving slowly, 
as before. Slowly? Well, I rather guess! The idea of a 
man hurrying in a place like this! A network of stems 
and twining vines in all directions, thick canopy of foliage 
overhead, and little boggy spots, soft as pudding, waiting 
for you at every step. Just as you get knee-deep in one 
of these, or are worming your way through en extra thick 
clump, your hat coming off and your barrels caught in a 
regular Japanese puzzle of stems and branches, whizz! 
up goes a bird, and you might as well be handcuffed as for 
getting a shot. 
Between us, we probably flush a dozen birds in moving 
the length of the thicket, but without firing a shot until 
we near the upper end, when, warned by a sharp "Look 
out!" from Al, I see one coming and bring it down. This 
raises our courage so that we determine to try the thing 
over again, Al declaring he shall do some firing this time 
if he has to go wholly by sound. 
Sure enough, we hardly go ten steps after turning, when 
I hear him let go. I begin to get excited and make the 
wildest kind of a snap at the next one that rises on my 
side.. Over toward Al she goes unharmed, aiid -he salutes 
hef, A moment later, and bang! again. "I don't expect 
to get 'em, but I'll make a few clearings in this beastly 
run," I hear him mutter. He has my brpther'§ hesyy fox 
gun, loaded 4j^dr., if^oz. With this charge it always re- 
minded me of Mark Twain's "Old Allen" revolver: "If 
you didnt' get what you fired at, you generally brought 
something else." This hadn't proved the case with my 
friend thus far, howevei", if a big swath of alder tops at 
each shot be excepted. 
But down toward the lower end of the patch Al scores 
a kill. Then, as we step out in the open, a bird rises, af- 
fording the first clear shot. I fire too quick and tear a big 
hole in the air behind her; but Al's shot brings her down. 
We now have two and one respectively, and under the 
circumstances we decide that we don't care for any more. 
Taking an old road leading off through the pines to- 
ward the river, we move leisurely along it, keeping a sharp 
eye out for "drummers," which are often found here cross- 
ing the road. None are seen to-day, but presently we 
hear a gray squirrel barking not ^ar ahead. Al creeps up 
and gives him a stiff charge of 61, which stops his chatter 
but doesn't bring him down. When I reach Al he is 
standing imder a small clump of pines among which we 
both plainly saw him disappear. 
"It's a regular pudding," said Al; "step around thereand 
scare him out and I'll soon have him in with my long- 
bills." And as I move around to the opposite side of the 
clump he stands ready for him when he comes out. But 
the fellow doesn't seem in a hurry to come out. Several 
minutes I smash noisily back and forth in the underbrush. 
Still no squirrel. Evidently he is on to the game, and, 
still keeping on opposite sides of the clump, we move 
slowly round it, once, twice, half a dozen times, straining 
our eyes into the thick tops in a vain effort to discover his 
hiding place. It begins to look as though that if there 
was any "pudding" in the scrape it belonged to the 
squirrel. 
Not to go into details; this squirrel proves to be one 
of the kind that knows a good thing when he has it, and 
no amount of pounding and clubbing those trees, supple- 
mented by half a dozen shots that tear great holes up 
through the branches, is sufficient to drive him out. After 
fully half an hour of this sort of thing, we are forced to go 
off beaten, and the last letter I got from Al he wanted to 
know if I "supposed that squirrel had come out of those 
pines yet?'' 
It is now near noon, and as we have, brought no lunch 
we conclude to go home for dinner. A bridge spans the 
river near by, and crossing this we push down the other 
side of the river. Paying our respects to a bushy patch 
that lies in our way, I bring down another long-bill, while 
Al knocks over an old drummer that has been hanging 
around the spot for years, after which we set off at a dou- 
ble-quick for home, reaching there in time for dinner. 
After dinner we strike out in aji opposite direction. 
But I think my readers will agree with me that this story 
is already too lengthy, and the account of our afternoon 
experiences, if this escapes its deserts and doesn't pick 
up in the waste basket, had better be reserved for a future 
number. Templar. 
Cornish, Me. 
Capturing a Buck on Foot, 
A JOLLY party of men were drawing in the last load of 
hay from the 'deerfield on the Moore place, at Chilson 
Lake, Ticonderoga, the other day, when a good story 
was told my the pitcher, old Amasa Hall, one of the 
Hall boys, famous in this locality fitfty years ago for their 
success in hunting and skill as lumbermen and river 
drivers. Alanson Moore was on the load, and the two 
hands engaged in "raking after" were his brother 
Herbert and the writer, one of their summer guests, who 
was trying to hurry up the haying, so that the boys 
would have more time for fishing with him. Both the 
Moore boys are well-known sportsmen, 'Lanson caring 
lor hunting and trapping, while his brother seems to 
prefer the pursuit of the wily black bass in his lair down 
among the mossy rocks in the clear waters of the lake. 
The writer having observed that he had seen a fine buck 
crossing the road the day before, the talk drifted to 
hunting subjects, and Alanson said: "Anrasa, tell how 
you caught a deer on foot once, and beat a hound 
running." 
"Well," said that worthy, resting for a moment on his 
pitchfork handle, "it was this way: I was out one day by 
the mills on Chilson Hill, and saw a fine buck cross the 
road on the dead run. He was headed right over Bear 
Mountain, and somehow the crazy idea struck me that I 
could catch him. I was a pretty good runner in those 
days, and once made a half a mile on a track in two 
minutes and five seconds. Well, the buck kept along the 
ridge for a while, and finally got near Andrew Stowell's 
big sugar orchard. There I met a fellow neighbor with a 
gun, and said to him, 'Let me take that rifle and I'll get 
the deer.' He ripped out something like 'I don't allow 
no man to ghoot my gun; I'll kill him myself.' With 
that he too started on a dead run, gun in hand; but, 
I,and o' Massy, it wasn't no kind of use for him to try 
with me, for I just run right away from him, and I'll 
bet I went down that old mountain 20ft. at a jump. 
"The buck kept giving me a pretty good chase, but I 
knew the ground, and felt sure that he was headed for 
a big tamarack swamp over by Put's Creek. 
"Finally some one came along and told Anson Moore, 
the boy's father, you know, that I was having a time of 
it after a deer on foot all by myself, and he, like a kind 
neighbor, put out his old hound on the track to help me. 
Well, the dog finally got along my way, but I soon ran 
ahead of him, because I hunted by sight, and was catching 
a glimpse of the game every few minutes. I ran by 
sight and the dog by scent, and he would sometimes 
lose the track for a few minutes altogether. 
"Finally I saw that the deer was getting 'tuckered out,' 
and that gave me more ambition. It seemed to me that 
if I could run that deer down alone there wouldn't be 
much more left to live for. 
"As I said, the buck began to weaken a little, and 
finally I headed him oft', and drove him straight into a 
big swamp, where he got stuck in the mud up to his 
shoulders. He was an ugly fellow, and had big horns, 
but by clambering out on some old logs I got him by 
the horns and held him fast. I hadn't even a jack-knife 
with me, and coulcjn't do anything, but just hang on' like 
grim death, hoping that some one would follow the dog. 
Finally the hound came along, and he tried to tackle 
the buck, but I kicked him off and sent him heme 
