Oct. 8, 1904.1; 
FOREST AND STREAM, 
301 
rear up on its haunches, evidently as much surprised as 
myself at the meeting. Rooted to the spot? No, sir, not 
a bit of it. I was never freer to move in my life. As the 
bear was at the side of the way, it was as hazardous to 
retreat as to advance, and I had the best of reasons for. 
going that way. ' It would seem absurd to stand in the 
cold and argue points of etiquette with a bear. Besides, 
as the hour was late, I had a strong desire to be home. I 
accordingly ordered an advance in about the fortieth part 
of a second, and, shades of memory's winged heel, how 
I went ! Those tight boots hindered me not, for I struck 
nothing but high places in that road for about two miles, 
convinced that at least a quarter ton of bear was reaching 
for my coat-tails at every leap. 
The flight at last had an ending, and I reached home 
somewhat ahead of schedule time. My story, of course, 
was received with incredulity, and nods and winks were 
plentiful whenever I repeated my experience. 
Two or three days later, however, a baker, who was, 
and is still, well known in those parts, started out with a 
full load of wares, his business being to supply stores 
along the coast near which there was no bakery. He was 
driving a team of spirited young mules. That night a 
neighbor took him home, minus cakes, wagon and mules, 
and in a bruised and badly dejected condition. His ex- 
planation was : "A bear walked right out of the swamp in 
the face of those mules, and, mule-like, they turned round 
as though they were hung on a pivot, upset my wagon, 
smashed it to smithereens, and spread destruction and 
cakes everywhere. They are somewhere down in the 
cedar swamp, cuss 'em !" 
Here, then, was the beginning of proof that I had not 
mistaken a stump or some wandering domestic animal for 
a bear. 
The mules were found next day, tangled by the harness, 
in the heavy underbrush, and unable to go any further, 
and standing head-to-tail, as though keeping a lookout 
for that bear in both directions. 
And now comes the tragedy in the story. Several days 
after these incidents, two* lads gunning near Vineland, N. 
J., found in the woods the mangled remains of . a man 
which had lain a long time, and were identified as those 
of a wandering Italian who had exhibited a performing 
bear in the autumn through the lower portion of the 
State. The animal had evidently ended his master's life, 
and, freed from restraint, had wandered a long time 
alone. After the finding of the body, a general hunt was 
organized. The trail was struck, and on the second day 
bruin was brought to bay and shot by E. H. Height, 
familiarly known throughout the State as Hart Height, 
a famous trap and field shot. 
My revolver? I found that in my pocket all right, 
when I found time to search for it. 
Now I have never found cause to blame myself for 
abruptly parting company with that bear. I did not know 
it was longing to be caressed and sung to. It is true, I 
was not a. long distance from home as distance is or- 
dinarily regarded, but five or six miles is quite a stretch 
when one is alone in the woods with a bear, even though 
it may have a ring in its nose. Leonard Hulit. 
The Sportsman's Plea* 
It is getting to be a very generally accepted idea that 
the love of shooting, fishing and kindred sports is just 
a relic of barbarism, persistently cropping out in civil- 
ized man; a cruel thing, to be fought against and over- 
come; a savage phase of boyhood, indicative of an un- 
developed nature, which may perhaps be pardoned for 
tke time being in those who find pleasure in killing, pro- 
vided they exhibit a decent sense of shame and sincere 
desire for reform. The present-day school of humanity 
seems to have developed a somewhat morbid and un- 
natural view of death in any sudden form, apparently 
forgetting that since life first began this has merci- 
fully been the natural ending of a great majority of all 
living things. The only unnatural death is the slow, 
lingering death from old age, one of the unavoidable 
penalties of civilization. 
Now, to destroy any living creature in wantonness 
or in hate is an evil thing to do, and something which 
no true sportsman likes to be guilty of. 
It is perfectly true that he goes to the woods with 
the direct object of killing for pleasure, offering no 
excuse of necessity or profit. Yet he scorns to kill any 
creature that may be used for food, unless it has proved 
itself in some manner an enemy to man's welfare. He 
simply desires some well-founded reason for the killing 
of the wild creatures which he takes equal delight in 
watching or pursuing. For my own part, I feel a 
genuine fondness for all hawks, the wide-winged hen- 
hawks in particular, as they circle, screaming, high 
above the pasture. Their whistling in early spring is 
as welcome to my ears as the first bluebird's note, and 
the exultant cries with which in June they invariably 
announce the first appearance of the young hawks in 
the nest among the pines. 
But for all that I could not, if I would, suppress a kind 
of gladness which I feel whenever one of them declares 
war upon the poultry yard, a promise of long walks 
over rough hillsides with rifle or shotgun, stalking the 
wily freebooter from tree to tree with an occasional 
long shot as he perches erect on the top of some 
weather-beaten pine, or sails past overhead clear cut 
against the blue and white of the sky. 
When at last a lucky shot brings him tumbling to 
earth, my exultation may perhaps be mingled with some- 
thing of regret, but not with pity. 
You may pity the plover or hare that you have shot; 
but it is like offering an insult to the hawk to pity him 
who asks for no pity and has himself killed his thous- 
ands in perfectly fair and open hunting. There must 
be no motive of revenge or punishment, for the hawk 
has done no wrong in following the law of his nature, 
but when it appears right that a hawk should be shot, 
be honestly glad if you can feel the hunter's joy in do- 
ing it, fairly and without treachery or hatred. 
I know of but two classes of animate things which I 
hate, without reason — spiders and, to my own shame, 
some dogs. There are hideous fat-bodied, gray spiders, 
with crooked, grappling legs, that swing their webs in 
stables and out-buildings. I have smashed and drowned 
hundreds of these, and with excellent reason to back 
rne in doing it, for their stout webs obstruct doorways 
and passages; yet I can never kill one of them without 
a genuine feeling of self-contempt and disgust, for I 
know that I hate them without reason and destroy them 
in hatred. 
It is far pleasanter to go out into the fields of a 
bright morning and shoot down the little Bob White, 
whose merry whistling has cheered me all summer long, 
for this I can do without loss of self-esteem, so long- 
as no wounded bird escapes to die a lingering death, but 
little better than that which comes by sickness or old 
age. He has had his summer of happiness with his 
fellows amid green fields and blossoming hedgerows, 
and now to meet death quickly in mid-air on the wing 
calls for no pity or regret. 
The real sportsman does not add to the general sum 
of necessary pain' and suffering in nature; he abstains 
from shooting in the mating and breeding season when 
the wild creatures have the long summer to look for- 
ward to and are grouped in families dependent on one 
another; for him the shooting season opens only at the 
approach of cold weather after the game has reached 
maturity and each is dependent only upon itself for a 
livelihood. He makes every effort to allow no wounded 
creature to escape, though in so doing he must let 
go by many an easier shot. He is contented with a 
moderate bag, and when, as even now occasionally hap- 
pens, an unusual flight of game birds offers opportunity 
for unlimited slaughter, the sportsman's unwritten code 
restrains him even at those times when his greed is 
unappeased with a moderate number of birds. Being 
only human, he cannot always be consistent, thus he 
scorns the pot-hunter who shoots his birds on the 
ground, though shooting on the wing must necessarily 
mean a greater proportion of wounded birds; but he 
is not hypocritical, his frankly avowed object being 
sport, he endeavors to derive as much pleasure as 
possible with the least destruction of life, and this he 
finds in the successful pursuit of wild swift-winged game 
with the hazard of chances in its favor. Shooting at a 
motionless bird within easy range of his gun may be 
merciful, but savors too strongly of murder or execu- 
tion, and leaves a bitter taste in the mouth. 
Those species which have been greatly reduced in 
numbers in years past by persistent hunting should not 
be shot at any season, even though the law permits; 
yet the temptation to add these rare birds to his bag 
when the occasion offers is one which every sportsman 
finds almost impossible to resist. Many species now 
show a decided increase in numbers from season to 
season, and it is pretty certain that their numbers may 
be reduced more mercifully by the gun in the autumn, 
than by their natural enemies accustomed to hunt in- 
discriminately at all times and seasons. 
If permitted to multiply unchecked for any number of 
years, sickness and famine would finally thin them out 
in a manner vastly more painful. 
If deer continue to increase at their present rate, they 
are certain, in a comparatively short time, to become 
nuisances; then the law, which now protects them, will 
have to be repealed until their numbers are reduced. 
Now in many places they have already lost their fear 
of man to such an extent that no one with the instincts 
of a sportsman could bear to think of killing one of 
them, only the pot-hunter with his shotgun and buck- 
shot will profit by their abundance. Even from an 
aesthetic point of view it would be better that their in- 
crease should not be allowed to continue indefinitely. 
At first thought it is delightful to cherish the idea 
of these beautiful soft-eyed creatures nibbling and 
browsing unafraid everywhere along country road-sides; 
but familiarity, though it cannot breed contempt in this 
instance, certainly lessens the enchantment, and in a 
little time we barely notice them as we drive past, only 
taking the same casual satisfaction in their beauty that 
we get from seeing a drove of handsome cattle grazing. 
As a matter of fact, deer seen under these conditions 
are but little more beautiful than are Jersey heifers that 
have lived all summer in the open air. It is only when 
really wild deer dash away in the distance startled by 
your approach, that your nerves thrill and your eyes 
grow dim with the intense pleasure of their wild beauty. 
As regards their own state of happiness, fear is not 
necessarily akin to unhappiness; human beings who are 
seldom or never called upon to face danger or flee be- 
fore it are certainly not the ones to be most envied, 
and judging- from careful observation I am pretty 
thoroughly convinced that few. wild animals really suffer 
from the fear of death in any form. 
It is greatly to be desired that the woods through- 
out the country shall become stocked with deer to a 
certain extent, even from the most practical stand- 
point; so long as the law permits of their being hunted 
for a certain number of .weeks each season they will 
hardly become so tame as to destroy the farmer's crops 
to any great extent, while the flesh of those that are 
killed will furnish healthful and delicious meat for those 
who have a taste for venison, and this venison raised 
without care upon leaves and wild forest-growth will 
actually be more cheaply produced than any beef or 
mutton. The farmer who protests that it is unfair that 
city sportsmen should kill the deer raised at the farmer's 
expense, has the privilege of posting his land and legally 
keeping off all trespassers, though in so doing he must 
take his chances of making bad feeling and getting 
himself disliked. 
The game laws in this country are on the whole ex- 
cellent, their chief fault being that they lack simplicity; 
it is useless to attempt to adapt the law perfectly to 
each species of game. I find that outside of the ranks 
of enthusiastic sportsmen not one in ten manages to 
keep posted on the varying open and closed seasons of 
the different sorts. The farmer or business man who 
likes to take a day off for gunning now and again, as 
the occasion offers, is puzzled to . know just when he 
may lawfully shoot certain kinds of game. 
An example of the impracticability of endeavoring to 
vary the opening of the season to suit the habits of each 
species, was the attempt made here in New England 
a few years since to allow the shooting of woodcock to 
begin a few weeks before quail or grouse. Woodcock 
nest and mature very early, and by mid-summer the young- 
birds are as well able to take care of themselves and as 
difficult to shoot as are grouse in September, or quail 
in October; before the latter are well grown, practically 
all the native woodcock have left the region unless 
the weather should prove unusually cool and wet. It 
seemed, therefore, only fair that the gunners should be 
allowed to go after woodcock in August. 
But it soon developed that the market-hunters were 
tempted to fill their pockets with half-grown partridges 
which were easily killed and sold readily under the 
name of "short-billed woodcock;" even sportsmen who 
should have known better occasionally yielded to the 
seduction of a tempting shot at some old grouse when 
woodcock were difficult to find. 
Bird lovers, including the sportsmen, are not a little 
disturbed over the possible extinction of our most 
beautiful species of wildfowl, the summer duck, and it 
has been proposed that a law be passed forbidding the 
shooting of this bird at any season. It would seem that 
any one who knows anything of duck shooting must 
realize the utter futility of such a law. Duck shooting 
is commonly at its best in misty weather and in the 
twilight of morning and evening; at such times it is 
out of the question to expect the duck hunter to dis- 
tinguish _ between summer duck, widgeon and teal as 
they whiz past overhead or rise splattering from among 
the rushes in the uncertain light. To be in any way 
effective the law must apply alike to all species of ducks 
in any region. If the existing laws are properly re- 
garded and spring cluck shooting put a stop to in all 
parts of the country, I can see no reason why summer 
ducks should not multiply and have their nests in all 
parts of the country where the conditions are favorable, 
for they are unquestionably as well fitted to look after 
their own safety as any species, being expert divers 
and swift fliers, extremely difficult to hit on the wing, 
and in spite of the brilliant plumage of the drake, the 
smallest tuft of grass or pickerel weed serves to hide 
them completely. In the closed season they throw off 
much of their wildness and nest as contentedly in parks 
and beside mill-ponds as in the wilderness. 
There is chance for immense improvement still, both 
in the enforcement of the existing game laws and in 
the unwritten code which sportsmen acknowledge, and 
these will undoubtedly come in good time. 
But shooting and fishing call for no excuses and will 
always continue to keep our race sound in mind and 
body and free from morbid over-sensitiveness and mis- 
placed pity; despite the protests of those who persist 
in associating these sports with wanton cruelty, and 
would, we must suppose, prefer to remake the fixed 
laws of creation and either do away with death entirely, 
and so allow each creature to continue in its present 
state indefinitely, or, if it must die, give it the privilege 
of suffering a slow death from old age or sickness. 
For those who protest at the natural love of hunt- 
ing in man, also shudder at the idea of the sudden death 
of the song, bird in the claws of the hawk, and, to be 
consistent, must of necessity continue their fault-finding 
down through every stage of the struggle for existence 
in nature. 
Frank Bullen, in "The Cruise of the Cachalot," gives 
a_ pitiful account of the dying of old age of the frigate 
birds on their native islands, where, with no natural 
enemies to put them out of their misery, they are 
doomed to a lingering end. Even should their younger 
companions have taken pity on them and brought them 
fish, it would merely have dragged out their suffering 
a little longer. W. E. Crane. 
Denuding Mountains and Lowlands 
Editor Forest and Stream?" 
I have read with interest the communication of Mr. 
McCandless. As long as a man can secure Government 
scrip, so long will such things continue. Our land laws 
certainly need revision, and the stone and timber act, no 
doubt, -in time will be repealed. Fifty years from now 
volumes will be written upon the shortsightedness of our 
legislative bodies in neglecting to safeguard our timber 
interests. 
Perhaps in no part of the public domain has such high- 
way robbery and such fraud been perpetrated as in the 
public timber lands. To prove this, it is only necessary 
to show by statistics the lumber manufactured for fifty 
years past, and then compare the records of actual timber 
sales made by the Government. The disparity is startling 
and astounding. 
They tell a story of a prominent Michigan lumber 
operator who invested his all in a 40-acre tract of Gov- 
ernment timber land, and then commenced logging opera- 
tions. He cut timber for ten long years and became a 
millionaire several times over, and when he quit it is 
stated that the original "forty" which he bought and paid 
for was yet standing intact, and curious to relate, the 
records showed no other transfer of timber land to the 
operator. 
Things are of course a little different now, but yet there 
is much perjury in connection with timber holdings. The 
stone and timber act is one that needs repealing, and no 
doubt_ something definite will soon be done in that 
direction. 
On this subject there is perhaps no better posted man 
than Prof. Pinchot, of the Bureau of Forestry. I, for one, 
would like to read a paper from his pen upon this subject. 
Many of the acts of our worthy President, Mr. Roose- 
velt, in time, will be forgotten, but the work of his hand 
in saving to the nation the forest reserves, put into effect 
during his administration, will outlive in man's memory 
and overshadow in importance all the other good things 
he has done. He certainly is building better than he 
knows, and better than he can ever know. Future genera- 
tions will have cause to be thankful for what he has done 
to keep safe a few of our remaining timber growths. 
Within the past ten years forestry and reforestation 
have gradually assumed a tangible, practical shape. It is 
a matter of regret that the strong sentiment existing to- 
day in favor of perpetuating our forests was not in exist- 
ence fifty years ago. But the pine forests were counted 
as the buffalo — beyond extermination. The buffalo went 
the way of all flesh, and unless the men who rule the 
destinies of the country see to it in the repealing and bet- 
tering of our timber laws, our forests will follow in the 
wake of the buffalo. 
Millions of acres of sandy, stony soil, once thickly 
covered with white and red pine, turn their unproductive 
faces to the sun and become as worthless desert spots 
