172 
FOREST «A]ND STREAM. 
[Feb. 28, 1903. 
Langstroth and Joe Dalzell are left, and though both 
have owned good dogs since, they will readily ad- 
Yuit that Nell's sagacity and fine action in the field 
could not be surpassed and have rarely been equalled. 
Good Old Nell! The fortunate man who owns your 
peer may well be a proud man! The Octogenarian 
has never seen field-dogs at work in England; but he 
is assured by those who have, that Setters there follow 
their instinct and training, and "set" close to the 
ground when game is winded. All those he has seen 
in America, even when trained in England, as Nell 
was, either stood rigid on all fours or raised one paw 
Jike the Pointer, as Nell did. He is credibly informed 
that this change of habit is almost universal in Amer- 
ica, and that most American Setters "point." Any rea- 
son for this change of instinctive habit he has never 
heard. 
The Octogenarian learns with grief that in the West- 
ern States nous avons change tout cela, and that the 
jcunesse dore now use ponies and flunkies to shoot grouse. 
The Sportsman shoots from the pony's back, while his 
"guide," on another pony, hands him a loaded gun, 
taking the discharged one to reload. If this is true, 
there will soon be a "Shootmg Trust," as there is an 
Anghng Trust, and none but Millionaires can go-a- 
gunning, as none but they can go-a-fishing for salmon 
with rod and line. The writer recently read with pain 
in a periodical devoted to American Sport, unaccom- 
panied bj' a single word of deprecation, a long descrip- 
tion of a battue a la English, in the private preserves of 
an American Millionaire, which had been well stocked 
with imported and acclimatized English Pheasants and 
Partridges. In all particulars was the perverted Eng- 
lish idea of sport followed with slavish accuracy, even 
to the flunkies in livery to carry and load the guns; 
the drivers with sticks to beat the coverts and drive 
the tame birds towards the Sportsmen and Sports- 
ladies — to coin a word not yet, thank God, in the dic- 
tionaries — even the . lunch al fresco and the "bags" 
made by the females of the party. The number of 
pheasants killed was given and the party had what the 
admiring editor of the Sporting Mag. called a "good 
time," and parted with lively anticipations of the same 
kind of sport next aututnn. To the growing class of 
real sportsmen among Americans, this must be sad 
reading; but its saddest feature is that it is printed in 
an American Sporting Organ without a single word 
of deprecation or denunciation, and the whole disgrace- 
ful thing called a "good time!" 
The word battue, adopted into English from the 
French tongue, has, unfortunately, the highest idea of 
sport the average Englishman can form. It is thus 
described in the dictionaries: "The surrounding of a 
preserve by a number of men, who, by cries and beat- 
ing, drive the game towards the sportsmen." Who- 
ever has "seen an English battue can add to this cor- 
rect general description the following details: In 
these preserves pheasants and partridges are bred as 
domestric fowls are on a poultry farm. They are regu- 
larly fed to keep them from straying out of bounds in 
search of food; they are carefully guarded by game- 
keepers, who protect them from hawks and foxes, 
polecats and poachers, until they are full-grown and 
strong of wing. When the opening day comes — gen- 
erally the first of October — the host and his guests 
who have been "invited for the shooting." sally forth, 
clad in the orthodox "shooting-coat and leathers," and 
are posted in places usually allotted by ballot, so that 
all may have a chance for the "hot corners" and best 
stands. An army of beaters with sticks now enters at 
one end of the preserve, and in a long line, drive the 
half-domesticated birds towards the concealed gunners, 
each of whom has his flunkey in livery to carry and 
load his guns. Neither the beaters nor the flunkeys 
show the intelligence of well-trained Pointers and 
Spaniels, and the crackest of the "crack shots" are far 
inferior to the ordinary expert at an American "pigeon 
shoot." They achieve the acme of skill, and the ne plus 
ultra of sport when they bring down a pheasant with 
each barrel; but he is a perfect Nimrod— a marvel of 
marksmanship — who can snatch the second gun and 
wound or knock some feathers from another "rocketer" 
before he has flown out of range. After a morning of 
this sport, with only the exercise necessary to move 
from one covert to another, the "shootists" adjourn 
to an elaborate lunch, at which the women (should 
those who take part in such sport be called ladies?) 
preside. The afternoon is spent as was the morning, in 
shooting half-tame birds again driven to the sportsman 
by beaters. Some thousands of birds are slain; the 
bulk of these are sold in the London markets to help 
defray the expenses of the battue. After the spurt the 
flunkeys and beaters are sent over the ground to kill 
with their sticks and put out of pain the hundreds of 
wounded and maimed birds that the miilfs have all but 
missed, among which are often found as many hens as 
cocks, and these go with the rest to swell the ''bag" 
and the financial returns of the sport. This is a fair de- 
scription of what is now considered sport in England; 
at which old gunners, who, in their youth, were accus- 
tomed to carry and load their own guns; to shoot 
over pointers or setters, and to walk miles after their 
game, look with a sorrowful shake of the head at 
changes which have left them so far behind the age. 
That this description is not in any way exaggerated, 
will be shown by the following item from a late issue of 
the London Field: "A story which will go straight to 
the hearts of shooting men is told of a clerical gentleman 
who was invited to join a shooting mrtv. In the course 
of the day the host felt himself prodded in the back, and 
turning round found the amiable cleric poking at him 
with the muzzle of his gun. His look of interrogation 
was met by the question, 'Can you tell me how to let 
down these beastly things?' pointing to the hammers of 
the gun, which were at full cock and loaded." How ex- 
quisite is the satirical humor of Sir Conan Doyle, which 
■ is' doubtless pointed at this kind of sport, in his serial 
"The Adventures of Etienne Gerard," now appearing in 
the London Strand Magaz-ine: "It was during this time 
that I hunted the fox in their company, and showed 
them that amidst all their sportsmen there was not one 
who could outride a Hussar 'of Conflans. When I gal- 
loped h^ck >»|tp ti)e Fretjch \voe» witfi t)?« ^oo^^ oi th* 
creature still moist upon my blade, the outposts, who 
had seen what I had done, raised a frenzied cry in my 
honor; whilst those English hunters still yelled behind 
me, so that I had the applause of both armies. It made 
the tears rise to my eyes to feel that I had won the ad- 
miration of so many brave men. That evening there came 
a packet under a white flag addressed 'To the Hussar 
Officer who cut down the fox.' Within I found the fox 
itself in two pieces as I had left it. There was a note, 
also ; short but hearty, as the English fashion is, to say 
that as I had slaughtered the fox it only remained for me 
to eat it. They could not know that it was not our 
French custom to eat foxes, and it showed their desire 
that he who had won the honors of the chase should also 
partake of the game. It is not for a Frenchman to be 
outdone in politeness, and so I returned it to those 
brave hunters and begged them to accept it as a side-dish 
for their next dejeuner de la chasse." 
Deplorable as is this declension from the old ideas of 
sport on the part of Englishmen, it is much more lament- 
able that American millionaires have not only adopted the 
low and vulgar notion that the quality of sport is to be 
measured by the amount of slaughter accomplished; but 
have sought to improve on their English models and ren- 
der the sport still more brutal by encouraging women to 
take part in the cold-blooded murder of half domesticated 
birds which these ladies (?) have probably fondled as 
nestlings and fed as chickens. Chacun a son gout should, 
perhaps, rule in sport as in food and wine; but the true 
sportsman wn'll pity this depraved taste as the gourmet 
does that of the honest Scot who prefers brose and haggis 
to dindon aux truffes or galantine aux bechamel and 
small-still whislcy with the reek of the peat, to Amontillado 
or Veuve Clicquot. Wherein lies the sport of the battue, 
in which stupid flunkeys and beaters take the place of 
finely-bred and highly-trained dogs, is hard for the Old- 
time Sportsman to understand. The brutal desire to kill 
in vast numbers, with the least trouble and without skill, 
must be the predominating feeling, since at the battue 
the quality of the sport is always measured by the 
quantity of the game killed. In point of excitement and 
skill there must be more of the former in watching a 
flock of wild pigeons settling under a trap, and more of 
the latter in jerking the prop clear of the frame, than in 
passively waiting for tame birds to be driven towards 
sportsmen concealed in "hot corners." In point of hu- 
manity the trap is infinitely beyond the battue, for no 
wounded and mangled birds escape from it to linger out 
a painful death, or to be brutally dispatched by the sticks 
of hired flunkeys and drivers, who, so far as excitement 
makes sport, have the cream of it at the end, in gratifying 
precisely the same vulgar and brutal sentiment. That 
women can not only take part in such demoralizing sport, 
but profess to enjoy it, is one of the strangest and most 
lamentable traits in the fin de siecle leaders of fashion; 
and, alas ! the "girl of the period" is proving herself an 
apt pupil of this unfeminine taste. Strange indeed is it to 
find, in democratic America, that those who are loudest in 
expressing contempt for "an effete Aristocracy of Rank," 
should seek to introduce its worst traits into their own 
Aristocracy of Wealth. Well may the moralist exclaim, 
O tempora, 0 mores! V. 
[to be continued.] 
Trouting in Northwestern Waters. 
Some years ago I lived for a time in the extreme 
northern part of the British Columbia seaboard region, 
close against the Alaskan boundary, and when I first 
went there I was told by the old timers that if I would 
catch trout I must catch them with worm or beef or 
venison bait, and that I must discard and weed from 
my mind the memories of those pretty little feather 
lures so dear to the heart of the angler. 
Being fresh, and tender-toed, I hearkened and said 
nothing, but pondered deeply on the ways of the fickle 
trout. Then, after a while, I, like Thomas of old, 
doubted; and the more I doubted the madder I got, 
for again and again, straight-laced Reason would whis- 
per that the old-timers must be right; that they knew 
the wa3'^s of the far North trout; that the same tradition 
was told the length of the Alaskan coast, and that I, 
with an overweening sense of my skill as an angler, 
would get ignominiously skunked and put to shame 
the first time I tried to catch fish with feathered mock- 
eries. Still, hoping against hope, I ever hoped I would 
yet succeed in refuting the tale, and covering myself 
with glory in defiance of the old-timers. 
As the season was yet too early for fishing in that 
country, I had much time to think over all these mat- 
ters, and to get a wholesome and most unholy hunger 
for trout; so that by the time June had arrived — ^which 
is as early as fishing can be done there— I was then to 
try conclusions with the trout. 
Some time during that month, the United States 
Survey ship, C. P. Patterson, arrived at Fort Simpson, 
and a few days after her arrival, Lieut. C. C. Marsh, 
of that vessel, and I made up a trip to a small lake a 
few miles away. Choosing a fine day — when fine days 
do come in that North Coast country they are delight- 
ful—we took a boat and sailed down coast to where the 
stream flowed into a small bay of the sea. Here was 
erected a saw mill, operated by means of a large over- 
shot, driven by water flumed from the stream. After 
a chat with the genial millman, we turned upstream and 
walked to the lake, about a mile from the mouth, and 
as soon as possible began operations. Soon we be- 
gan to fear that the old-timers were right about the 
fly, and after a couple of hours' assiduous trial with all 
flies known to us, both as being good takers in the 
southern part of the Province and in the east, we de- 
jectedly sat down in the shade of a tree to eat our 
lunches. After eating and smoking, and incidentally 
killing about a million black flies, we walked to the 
outlet and got a skiff which was tied there, owned and 
used by the mill owner about his work on the lake. 
Paddling in this to various parts of the little sheet of 
water, we again tried our skill, but to no purpose; so 
after two or three hours of disappointing work, we 
pulled into the landing and again rested. 
Now up to this time we had tried principally light- 
coloreicl and bright flies, such as coachman, post-boy, 
ibis, professor, etc, and as I lay there on my back 
dreamily smoking and perfunctorily killing an occa- 
sional insistent fly, I bethought myself that it would be 
well, before acknowledgment of defeat, to try some- 
thing of a darker shade. 
Ransacking my book, without a word to Marsh, I ex- 
tracted a little fly which had been despised as utterly 
worthless in the past — a dark green body with dark 
turkey wing on No. 8 Sproat. This I tied on, and 
going to the edge of the swift water, where it broke 
away from the lake, I ca.st, at once hooked a fish, and 
set the pool alive with a score of others. They were 
not large, about half a pound, but gave us good sport 
tor a while, Marsh hunting out and getting to work 
with a similar fly. Anything larger than No. 8 was 
worthless, and Nos. 9 or 10 hooks were better than 
No. 8. When we left for home we were happy, and 
vowed that now we had discovered the proper lure, 
and had annihilated the pet fiction ot the old-timers. 
We would soon return for a happy day on the upper 
end of the lake. This second visit was destined never 
to be made together, bad weather, work and other 
things combining to interfere with our plans until the 
ship had departed. 
During this interval I had made use of the knowledge 
gained on our first visit, to tie several flies of various 
patters, all of which turned out well, and which I de- 
scribe here for the benefit of any brother angler an- 
ticipating a trip to Alaska or North British Columbia, 
so that he need not load his book up with useless crea- 
tions which may be ever so good in other places. _ 
No. I. Body dark green, no hair, ginger hackle, wing, 
brown mallard wing covert. Nos. 2 and 3. Brown and 
ginger palmer, both with peacock body. No. 4. Green 
dragon. Body flat, silver tinsel, wound on bare sharik, 
rib with dark green embroidery silk, followed with 
black hackle; partridge hackle under wing; wing brown 
mallard wing covert, with two strands of blue and 
yellow macaw. Tail three strands of same feather as 
mallard wing. 
All should be tied on No. 9 or 10 Sproat. The last 
is a most effective fly, but is more expensive than the 
others. A few March-brown, blue-dun and hare's- 
ear may be added, and the bee fly. It will be noticed 
that there is an entire absence of red or white in the 
make-up of the list, but with the ones named the angler 
will be fit for any ordinary trout fishing in the North. 
Some time after the outing I have just described I 
again visited the lake. This time alone. However, 
upon arriving at the mill, I found that institution idle, 
and the owner's brother ready to go with me for the 
fun of the outing. He took a rifle, but no rod, de- 
spising that sort of hunting. Well, that was a pleas- 
urable day! And one that I shall long remember. 
First of all, the September sun was warm, not tiot. 
The air was soft and balmy to a degree I have never 
experienced elsewhere. The lake was devoid of fishers 
other than ourselves, and its surface was just dap- 
pled with a soft, persistent breeze, while the clumps of 
willows and dark green firs cast patches of shadow in 
places for the delectation of ease-loving trout and 
ardent angler alike. On shore two fine dogs, part 
hound, sniffed each thicket as they lounged along in 
chance of scenting a stray deer, meanwhile keeping a 
watchful eye on their master of the mill, who idly 
pulled the boat just clear of the lilies. We had skirted 
one side of the lake, about one and one-half miles long, 
and were coming down the further side, catching trout 
at intervals, when a whimper from the dogs in the 
woods on the side we had just fished caused us to 
stop and listen. Then came another undecided sound, 
followed by a bay from both, a smashing of limbs and 
brush, and a beautiful buck deer sprang off the low 
bank into the lake. Then it was the fun began! Drop- 
ping the rod, I grabbed a rough paddle, and dug in 
for all I knew at the stern, while my companion strained 
at the oars. Crossing a quarter mile of water was soon 
accomplished, and a shot fired at the deer just as he 
was reaching shore again, he having turned upon 
seeing us. This shot missed, but a second, fired just 
as he reached cover, wounded him. In a few moments 
the dogs had again driven him into the water, and fear- 
ing he would sink if shot again, we pulled up along- 
side him and threw a rope over his horns; then, 
thinking to easily dispatch him, I reached down and 
tried to plunge a knife into his throat; but I foimd that, 
wounded as he was, he was quite as handy with those 
knife-like hindhoofs in the water as on shore, for at the 
first prick of the knife he reached, up and cut the back 
of my hand severely. A shot then ended the argument, 
and we towed the animal ashore. Then I began to 
think of my tackle, and found that in the haste I had 
thrown the rod down, leaving the flies to trail in the 
water, and upon reeling in, we discovered a fine trout 
attached to the end fly. He had hooked himself firmly 
and remained so through the affray with the deer. It 
being now well on in the afternoon, and feeling satis- 
fied with our fishing, to say nothing of the deer, we 
pulled the skiff to the lattding, and an hour later were 
at the mill, where the deer was skinned and the fish 
divided. There were seventy-five nice fellows from 
one-half to one and one-quarter of a pound. After 
bidding good-by to my hospitable hosts, and taking a 
quarter of fat venison, I started for home in the little 
decked canoe with my plunder, there to further divide 
with neighbors the welcome fruits of a successful and 
delightful outing. 
It was when on this fishing trip that I caught a 
trout which gave me a surprise. Pie was about a pound 
weight, and as I was taking him off the hook I noticed 
something which I took to be a bit of dead weed hang- 
ing from his mouth, but which, upon being pulled, 
proved to be the tail of a full-grown white-footed 
mouse, and attached to the body of the late lamented 
owner, which was firmly lodged in the fish's gullet, 
being too large to be entirely swallowed, the bulk of 
the body resting between the jaws of the fish, while 
the head had just begun to show signs of gastric ac- 
tion. Yet gorged as had been the fish, he had risen 
and taken the fly savagely. I dropped him overboard 
as a pirate, a criminal, and a gluttQU insatiate. 
BRrrigH Columbia. _ MAZAMA, 
