6S 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
I[JAN. 23, 1904. 
In Old Virginia, 
XV -In the Field. 
The small boy made good in the matter of prom- 
ised kicks, and there was early rising on my side of 
the house next morning. 
I heard two or three shots fired in the yard while 
dressihg, and questioned the boy, who came in to 
build the fire, about it. "Dot Marse Gawge," he ex- 
plained. "He shootin' at robins an' Billy whickahs 
wid you' gun. He say he des hat ter git out an' shoot 
at somfin wid dat fine little gun." 
"Billy whicker" is the name generally given to the 
yellow-hammer or flicker in Virginia. 
It was a glorious , day that was beginning when I 
got out into the yard that fnorning. The sun was 
sending long straight beams of golden light through 
the trees of the forest that lay east of the house, 
which broke against the buildings, stretched in nar- 
row paths across the lawn in front, and shot in and 
out of the orchard trees in the rear. The air was still 
and crisp, while a light frost whitened the grass where 
the sun had not turned it to dew. 
The cattle were lowing in the lot below the barn; 
the pigs were droning in dissatisfied contentmeat, as 
they scufHed over the few remaining grains of corn in 
their morning feed; the chickens and turkeys were 
busily engaged in foraging; a boy was swinging an 
ax at the wood pile, with moderation in his blows 
and excess in his grunts; a work-hand was hitching a 
teani of mules to the wagon with much mule talk, 
loud and fierce, amid the musical rattle of trace 
chains ; many bird voices could be heard from crows 
in the distance, to robins in the trees overhead, and 
amid it all there was peace and quiet. Not the peace 
of stagnation, nor the quiet of perfect stillness, but 
the better peace and quiet, the lack of strife and ab- 
sence- of' discord. There was harmony in earth, air 
and sky, and the beasts of the. field, fowls of the air, 
.and even the ingrate, man,. were moved upon to feel 
gratitude for the perfect day. 
We made no haste to get afield, preferring to wait 
until the sun had dried the cover and made walking 
more comfortable. 
It is never a good, plan to get out too early after 
quail, for though a great fellow to travel after he 
once moves, he is slow to get started in the morning, 
especially if the conditions under foot be not just to 
his liking. 
I felt a strong sympathy for the dog when he took 
the first two or three fences as though his legs were 
not geared up to the proper tension, for I had very 
decided symptoms of that next day after the first day 
out, disability, myself; but we were both soon limbered 
up and going smooth. 
We hunted out some very promising looking cover 
the first hour and a half without raising a bird. 
What I at first thought to be a very fine fat young 
rabbit jumped from under my feet in the first bit of 
stubble through which we passed, but I saw my mis- 
take after emptying my gun at it; it was old, very 
old, and tough — very tough. I felt sure of this as I 
watched it speed away and disappear over the hill. 
RosC'Oe worked well, but failed to find birds in the 
places where we felt sure they ought to be; but 
finally, in passing through a thin piece of pine woods, 
he struck a scent that, for the first time, looked en- 
couraging.' Back and forth he swung across the trail, 
gradually working out to the edge of the trees, and 
then striking the scent hot, roaded down into a little 
patch of sedge grass and came down fast and true. It 
was a small covey; not more than eight or ten birds, 
but large birds and speedy. . 
They were at full speed when they left the grass, 
and I was glad to see that one was stopped by my sec- 
ond barrel, although I had the humiliation of know- 
ing that my first shot went wide of the bird I had 
intended it for by about three and one-half feet. 
Following up this covey, we found them scattered 
on a sidehill in some small pines. 
The dog was down on a bird when we came up to 
him, which proved itself altogether too difficult a 
proposition for the man out of practice. It flew 
almost straight away, not in the least disturbed by the 
two ounces of chilled shot which poured through the 
trees in its wake. 
Roscoe Tan over the next bird, which rose from 
tinder my feet, startling me so that I accidentally 
■killed it the first shot. 
Another bird flushed at the shot, but did not scare 
me sufficiently, so escaped. Two more birds" re- 
warded the dog's honest ei¥ort, only one of which we 
':gQt; the other , one showed a, hard hit, .but, got away. 
I had done all the shooting, the Esquire backing me 
up with compliments' (undeserved) and' condolence, 
much needed. . 
- We- swung around in ;a circle, in the general direc- 
tion. .of -home, finding nq more birds- .until, near the 
house, when the dog broke in on a covey enjoying 
_a. , "siesta"- in ' a narrow thicket of "briefs' ''''and' scrub 
grcwth,' along where years "ago there had been a 
fence. They went out on the opposite side from us, 
not so much as offering a chance shot, and the dog 
sneaked back, drooping apologies at every angle of his 
body. He probably deserved the thrashing he was 
evidently expecting, but got off with a very stern 
rebuke. 
Taking their direction, we followed after the birds, 
and on the way jumped another rabbit. This one 
proved himself to be all that a rabbit should be by 
stopping short at the crack of my gun. 
We found the birds in a bottom near a branch, in a 
heavy growth of weeds and briers. They had not 
scattered, and rose all at once. I made a clean kill 
of my first bird, and got a second one down in the 
edge of the woods, to which they flew; but it was 
only crippled. 
We concluded not to try to follow them into the 
woods, but look up our wounded bird and go on to the 
house, get dinner and, start afresh. 
Roscoe soon located the bird,, which, though unable 
to fly, gave him a short race, but was soon brought to 
bag. ■ V 
On the way to the house we fell in with two brother 
sportsmen — the small boy and his little darky com- 
panion. 
"Oh, papa," squealed the former, "did you dit any 
buddies and wabbits? Me and F'eddy has been set- 
tin' us a twap, and we will catch j^ou all de wabbits 
you want." , . , . 
I am not an advocate of the "twap" as a method 
of taking game, but it occurred to me that unless 
improvement showed soon in my shooting, it would 
be necessary to supplement my efforts with something 
of the kind if the family was to enjoy a game diet. 
Taking the little f ellow , on my back, where he 
could put his hand on my gun, to the satisfying of his 
highest ambition, we jogged along to the house. The 
dear cousin, who spoiled young and old alike, started 
in to scold the little darky for taking her "dear little 
boy so far, out in the fields and wearing him out," 
but the accused made a good defense, as follows: 
"No, ma'm, I dinn' takfe him much fuh, an' he des 
vvould go. We only went down lil' way pas' de 
.turnip patch to set a hare trap, an' I t-ote him all de 
way down on my back, an' he pappy tote him all de 
way back, an' now how he goin' git ti'ed?" 
I had intended offering my services for the de- 
fense, but concluded it was ably , and sufficiently 
represented, so left the mistress afid little man to 
have it out. 
It was by no means unwelcome news to hear that 
dinner was about ready, as we wepe beginning to 
adopt the volunteer fire company's motto, as re- 
gards all meals, to wit: "Always ready." And what 
full, finished, well rounded repasts thdsc dinners were, 
day in and day out. Your Virginian of the old school, 
when pressed by stringent times, gives up every 
luxury, and many necessities; but when the last panel 
of fence is down, the last head of stock gone, and his 
wardrobe reduced to units, and fractions thereof, his 
table will delight an epicure and satisfy a gourmand. 
Everything which the country affords or importation 
can furnish, is seen, in season and out of season, on 
these tables, although the tax fund may be about one 
or two-thirds shy. 
If there is anything produced in that coantry which 
excels the justly famous ham, it is the lamb. The 
sheep are pedigreed, and are F.F.V.s as v/ell as the 
shepherds. And the most elaborate function on the 
plantation is butchering a lamb. And so, instinctively, 
you begin, in Virginia, to do as Virginians do, eat 
often, and the limit each time; and instead of trying 
to remember where you put the pepsin bottle, or what 
you did with the soda mints and charcoal tablets so 
soon as you leave the table, you are so busy following 
those around who have actually eaten more than 
you — watching to see them die— that you positively 
forget to have the awful attacks of indigestion, which, 
in your case, usually follow such indulgence.^ Then 
after a while, when you remember what is due you, 
and begin to canvass your anatomy for symptoms, 
you find a clue, which you work out, only to discover 
that you are very hungry again. 
It "is a great country, is dear old Virginia, the 
nation's cradle, and full ' of good fellows who are proud 
of it. ■ 
You can kill every good impulse, instinct, and 
emotion, in some men, all but the pride of his origin, 
in a Virginian. 
Well, we 'did finally get back into the fieMs again, 
feeling as though — by token of quantity and quality 
of meat taken— we had strength to go far and fare 
hard. ■ ,. . . i 
There was heavy timber to the north and east of 
the house, and our hunting ground lay to the south 
and' we'st. -''This 'time' 'we went due south, 'a'nd^ found 
a G6vfey''of birds in; a . stubble- field o:n a hillside, •! 
..w.g,s. a little slow with my fi.rs,t b.arrel, .and undershot 
rriy bird; .iDU.t quicl^ening my action, "got on it with 
my second,, making a kill "quf of bounds." 
' ' The birds .sifted -'down ■ through a heavy growth of 
bJ-ush- and briers, which promised all"softs- .of , diffi- 
cult' shooting, but -following them up, we found they 
had gone on through this and scattered on a level bit 
of ground between two forks of a branch among some 
tall, straight pines, an ideal shooting cover, and here 
we had a veritable warm corner. They lay well, and 
we worked out the ground at our leisure, flushing 
them one by one, with an occasional double. The 
dog steadied down and his work was perfect, except 
for the fault of trying to be under each dead bird 
when it fell. The first bird up was a straightaway, and 
was clean killed, with the first barrel. 
The next went around to the right, and in a hurry,, 
so that I never caught up with it, although having 
two fair tries. Then the dog pointed by a bit of 
brush, and it proved a double. One bird went straight 
away, flying low, and the other high around to the 
left. I knew I was on the first bird when I pulled, 
but had my doubts about the second, but got them 
both. 
I now began to feel that I was getting my hand in, 
and the rest would be easy, but the next one flew 
straight as a gun barrel, and went off without a 
feather ruffled. It is when you begin to think that 
you can kill anything that flies that you' are develop- 
ing symptoms of that pride which immediately pre- 
cedes a miss. The next bird was considerate, giving 
me my favorite shot, around to the left, and was 
bagged. Then we crossed the ground two or three 
times without finding any birds, and were about to 
give up and go on when the dog came down out near 
the bank of the brook. Here we found two more 
birds, one of which got behind a tree immediately 
on the flush, and the other proved so tough that, 
though showing hard hit, flew some distance before 
falling, and gave us a troublesome search before we 
found it. 
The sun was low, and we had enjoyed sport enough 
to satisfy any reasonable man, so we turned our steps 
toward home, with pleasant anticipations of the cheer- 
ful fireside and supper. Lewis Hopkins. 
Life in the Woods. 
I.— Alexander Sampson. 
I CAN recall him now, after the lapse of many years, 
as vividly as if he stood before me or as if I had the 
capacity of a camera to reproduce with perfect truth- 
fulness not only his form in general, but every detail of 
leature as well" as of figure. Short, thick set, but withai 
well proportioned ; of dark complexion, the predominating 
shade of which was brown ; his dress of modest make, 
with blue and brown invariably the colors, and they so 
chosen as to harmonize and always appear in perfect keep- 
ing with all the other external attributes of his character. 
Of frank and open countenance wherein no guile or deceit 
was ever seen, a quiet, unobtrusive way was alw-ays with 
liim, and yet in his make-up strength was displayed in all 
lis essentials, and there lurked behind a consciousness of 
power that was infectious, that created voluntary respect 
and even prompted admiration. Faithfulness, too, was 
there portrayed, and steadiness, all calculated to win sup- 
port, to cause confidence in him, and create self-reliance 
in his companions. There was a modesty and sedateness 
about him that was becoming, and though they seemed 
to indicate a quiet demeanor, yet they were accom- 
panied by plain evidence of an abundance of reserved 
power. He was neat in appearance, and always care- 
ful about every detail of dress. A silent fellow who never 
spoke., without sufficient reason, and this trait was so ex- 
treme that, , although he had abundance of experience 
and often seemed most competent to decide, yet he never 
vouchsafed a word unless called upon to act. On such 
occasions he never failed to speak up promptly and de- 
. cisively. He was successful in life, and his whole carriage 
indicated it,- but in, a way that was entirely free from 
that obnoxious quality which has been labeled "conceit." 
He was of a responsive nature, too, when one came to 
know him, which added another charm to his person- 
ality. With all these traits, is it surprising that; he 
should make a good companion? Fle had his faults, and 
so have all of us, and many of them, too, are common 
to us all, but we learn to overlook them, the more readily, 
too, when we scan those which we ourselves possess. 
Who is Alexander Sampson? 
Before I answer this question I want to add a word 
or two to that which I have already said. I have told you 
he was faithful, and he was. He was ever ready to share 
activity or quietness, fatigue or rest, sorrow or joy. He 
took everything that came with a quiet indifference that 
. was a. balm- to irritability or an incentive to enthfi-siasm, 
as the case might be. Praise or censure seemed alike .to 
him, and I can truthfully say that during all ,my acquaint- 
• ance I never kne'w him to lose his -temper. How, then, 
- can-- I - call ':him 'aU-ght but a -faithful' friend,, and by that 
term does not man accord the highest rneed of praise that 
is in. his power. to bestow?. Aye, good friend, you are 
and aKvays"'have been ! Often ' have you stood" by me. 
Often Rave you be'eii tried 'and are 'willing to- be tried 
again;; but never have you failed rne. You : have shared 
with -me. -.my pleasures; and my pains,- -my joys. and. my 
so'rrows. You have tiorn . fatigue Jand , hardsh.ips., ' You 
