Nov. 5, 1904.] 
FOREST AND STREAM 
888 
to understand talk which refers to these objects of in- 
tcrcst. 
" St. John in his "Wild Sports of the Highlands" says: 
"The dog that lives with his master constantly, sleep- 
ing before his fire instead of in the kennel, and seeing 
and- hearing all that passes, learns, if at all quick- 
witted, to understand not only the meaning of what 
he sees going on, but also frequently, in the most won- 
derful manner, of what is being talked of." He then 
mentions the instance of his retriever, which understood 
all that was going on as to the sporting plans of the 
day. If he remarked at breakfast: "Rover must stop 
at home to-day; I cannot take him out," he never at- 
tempted to follow him; while if he said: "I shall take 
Rover with me to-day," he was all excitement. But 
the most curious example of a (probably) polyglot 
dog's understanding of conversation was shown him by 
a shepherd. Like the dogs of modern Greece, which 
keep watch along the little banks which inclose their 
masters' barley fields, the sheep dogs "watch their 
masters' small crop of oats with great fidelity and keen- 
ness, keeping off all intruders in the shape of cattle, 
sheep and horses. A shepherd once, to prove the 
value of his dog, which was lying before the fire in the 
house where we were talking, said to me in the middle 
of a sentence concerning something else, 'I'm thinking, 
sir, the cow is in the potatoes.' The dog, which ap- 
peared to be sleep, immediately jumped up, and leap- 
ing through the open window, scrambled up the turf 
roof of the house, where he could see the potato field. 
He then, not seeing the cow, ran and looked into the 
byre, where she was, and finding that all was right, 
came back to the house." The shepherd said the same 
thing again, when the dog once more made its patrol. 
But on the doubt being uttered a third time, it got up, 
looked at its master, and when he laughed, growled and 
curled up again by the fire. 
It is greatly to the credit of canine intelligence that 
dogs seem able to understand not only orders given in 
any pure language, but also those given in debased or 
mixed languages. Is this, perhaps, the origin of the 
phrase "dog Latin?" The dog teams used when the 
Klondike was first discovered were worked in a kind 
of "pidgin French," a mixture of old Canadian-French, 
English and Indian. The order to start was "Macharn!" 
which all the trained dogs understood. This _ the 
English miners turned into "March on!" Its origin, 
and the form in which the first sledge dogs had heard 
it, was "Marche, chien!" Probably most English 
hounds were addressed in a bastard Norman-French 
long after the language was entirely dropped in speak- 
ing to persons. It is just possible that the familiar 
"War hare!" and "Eloo in!" are the remains of the 
ancient foreign hunting terms. — London Spectator. 
A Tornado's Path. 
Editor Forest and Stream: 
I was riding south in the Choctaw Nation, Indian Ter- 
ritory, about twenty miles below the Arkansas River, and 
not far from the line of the State of Arkansas, when I 
came to a place where a tornado had passed only a year 
before this in 1881. The road I was following passed 
through heavy timber for miles, and the tornado, coming 
from the west, had crossed the road, keeping on straight 
east. The trees in its course all lay with their heads point- 
ing east, and lay almost as straight as if they had been 
felled with an ax. The open space that had been left by 
the fallen trees was not more than forty feet wide. It 
looked exactly as if it had been cleared off for a rail- 
road, except that the trees were still lying where they 
had fallen. Some of these trees were all of two feet 
through at the butt, and those that had not been uprooted 
were broken off in most cases only a foot or two above 
the ground. 
Just to the left of the road I was on, standing in 
among the timber that still stood, and not over ten feet 
from the place where the tornado had passed, was an 
old log cabin that looked as if it had not been occupied 
for years, but not a shingle on the roof seemed to be 
missing; the wind had not touched it. I wanted very 
much to see where the tornado had begun or where it 
ended, but it would be almost impossible to follow its 
track on foot, much less on a horse. 
I was afterward told that the tornado had cut straight 
across this strip of timber twenty miles or more, begin- 
ning in it when it first met the timber and leaving at its 
eastern end, then keeping on through the State of 
Arkansas. It followed through a country where there 
were not many settlers, so about the only damage done 
was to the timber. Cabia Blanco. 
Beats on an Iceberg. 
Seattle, Oct. 17. — Lars Hansen, a member of the crew 
of the whaling schooner Barbara Hernster which arrived 
in Seattle harbor recently from the Arctic Ocean, tells of 
a strange sight he saw while returning to the vessel from 
a lively chase after a big whale. The small boat, with 
three men in it, was passing the face of a monster ice- 
berg when three polar bears were seen. All of them were 
frozen in solid ice, two cubs nestling against their 
mother. Hansen says that the berg stood out of the 
water fully 10 feet, and that the ice wherein the bears 
were entombed, was clear as crystal. How long the ani- 
mals had been locked in their winter palace is a matter of 
conjecture. They were, at least, twenty-five feet above 
the water. Portus Baxter. 
Partridge Drumming in the Fall. 
Ossining, N. Y., Oct. 27.— -Editor Forest and Stream: 
Replying to L. F. Brown's inquiry regarding the drum- 
ming of partridges in the autumn months, would say that 
in Alaska, between the 5th and the 15th' of October, after 
the thermometer had registered 15 degrees below zero, I 
have heard grouse drum. There was no illusion, as I 
have shot birds at this time of the year by following lip 
the sound, and in each case found the drummer standing 
upon a log. 
In the Province of Quebec, north of Lake Quinze, I have 
heard ruffed grouse drum after the middle of October. 
Previous to this there had been frequent snowstorms and 
ice had formed along the edges of the rivers. 
On some days one may not hear the sound of drum r 
ming at all, on others it will continue throughout the 
day and late into the night. This is said to foretell a cold 
snap. Before a storm, ruffed grouse may be heard feed- 
ing in the bushes on dark nights, thereby enabling them 
to keep under shelter until after the storm. John Poison, 
a well-known half-breed guide of North Temiscamingue, 
Quebec, states that in drumming the bird beats its wings 
together in front of its body. I have no doubt that a 
letter to Poison at the address given above would be 
promptly answered, and if John is in a communicative 
mood the information therein contained would be very 
complete and reliable. Edward F. Ball. 
Toronto, Oct. 31. — Editor Forest and Stream: Refer- 
ring to the inquiry in last week's issue of your paper 
made by L. F. Brown as to whether partridges drum 
in the autumn months, I have hunted these splendid 
birds in practically all parts of northern Ontario, where 
they are probably as plentiful as anywhere in America, 
and can say positively that they do drum in the autumn; 
but whether it is the old or young bird I do not know. 
Thomas A. Duff. 
A Pigeon Leader of Ducks. 
St. Paul, Minn., Oct. 26. — One of the strangest sights 
ever seen by sportsmen was witnessed last Saturday on 
the duck pass owned by Uri Lamprey, of St. Paul. Mr. 
Lamprey and a friend had been shooting for some time, 
when they observed a flock of ducks coming along from 
the north. The ducks were teal— blue-wing teal — and at 
their head was a white bird. "That's queer," said Mr. 
Lamprey. "I'll take the white bird and see what it is." 
Both sportsmen fired, both bringing down their bird. 
Upon examination it was found that the leader of the 
ducks was a tame white pigeon. If anyone has ever be- 
fore seen a flock of ducks led by a pigeon, it is time to 
rise and say so. L. E. Cavalier. 
BirJs that Pass in the Night. 
If our vision would permit us to see far into the air 
above us on favorable nights during the spring and fall 
migrations of our birds, we would be amazed at the num- 
ber and variety of our feathered friends at times at an 
altitude of a mile or more above the earth, which are tak- 
ing their long journey to their winter homes in the 
South, some flying as far as Central America, Cuba, and 
South America, and others spending the winter in our 
Southern States. Returning in the spring and early sum- 
mer, some remain with us in New England, while others 
go on to the far north to rear their young in Canada, 
Labrador, and in the case of the brant and some other 
species, to the Arctic Circle in places unknown to civilized 
man. 
The timid or weak-winged birds, it is thought, migrate 
by night, seeking food and rest by day, while the bold, 
strong-winged birds like the swallows, hawks and eagles, 
migrate mostly by day. 
One of the most interesting of our birds, and which 
for the most part passes by night, is our prince of game 
birds, the woodcock, whose ancestors were pure native 
Americans, and claimed a residence here long before the 
white man came from over the sea. So exclusive are 
they that, except to the sportsman, they are very little 
known, only as their name is seen upon some bill of fare, 
or as they are brought upon the table served with the 
highest culinary skill. Few feel that they can afford this 
dainty morsel, which costs a dollar a pound and upward. 
If you inquire of the farmer in the country whose ten- 
ants they are, you would most likely be directed to some 
old trees in the forest, the haunts of the golden-winged 
woodpecker. But the woodcock is never found on trees. 
You must search the hillside covered with sapling pines 
and birches, or the alder-covered meadow, where a stream 
runs down between the hills, the banks covered with rich 
loam, where they love to feed and rear their young. Our 
bird is much prettier than its cousin the woodcock of 
Europe, though from a quarter to a third smaller. The 
average weight of our bird is from seven to eight ounces; 
and a ten-ounce bird is a large one. Having shot and 
weighed a great many woodcock, I have seen few that 
would reach that weight. The -largest bird I ever shot 
weighed just eleven ounces, and was the largest I have 
ever seen; it looked when flying nearly as large as a 
ruffed grouse. I well remember what a hunt I had- that 
day among the thick alders covered with a dense foliage. 
At the report of the gun I had seen the bird fall, and I 
and my dog searched the ground in the vicinity for a 
long time in vain ; when, looking up among the branches, 
I discovered the bird lodged in the forks of an alder 
about eight feet from the ground. 
W1ien disturbed by • dav • the birds take Wilis' -with a 
sharp whistle, which lias been the subject of a great deal 
of discussion in the columns of Forest and Stream, as 
to whether it is caused by the wings or by the vocal 
organs. Good arguments were brought forward on both 
sides, and I think the facts adduced went to prove that 
the sound is produced by both the wings and the vocal 
organs. When they fly by night, they can pass through 
the air as silently as an owl ; and often in a summer even- 
ing I have seen them dart across my path noiseless and 
swift on their way to their favorite grounds. 
Summer shooting has been abolished in Massachusetts, 
as it should be everywhere. I know of no shooting so 
enticing and exciting as for woodcock when the season is 
right for it. Take a day in October, when the morning 
is cool and bright and the air is like champagne and the 
frost of the night before whitens the fence rails and 
grass — 
When the maple boughs are crimson 
And the hickory shines like gold, 
When the noons are sultry hot 
And the nights are frosty cold. 
This is the time when the woodcock is in good form, in 
full dress fall suit, and full of active life; if you flush 
him now, his sharp whistle will thrill you like an electric 
shock. He is up and away like a flash, and you never 
know to which point of the compass he will direct his 
flight. It requires cool nerve, good eye and quick action 
to stop him in his rapid flight. 
Most of my knowledge of the bird has been obtained in 
this State, about thirty or thirty-five miles northwest of 
Boston. In this latitude the flight birds from the north 
may be expected about the middle of October or from 
the 10th to the 25th, depending on weather conditions. 
The favorite covers for the birds are known to sports- 
men by such a hill, swamp, run, pasture, alders, etc. 
The old Smith pasture, with its dense growth of alders, 
where I secured my 11-ounce woodcock, Forge Pond 
Run, and Gilson's birches are well known to sportsmen. 
Town Farm Run for many generations has been a well- 
known resort for the bird, as well as for sportsmen. 
Sandy Meadow Swamp will be remembered as the place 
where I shot my first woodcock. When as a boy with a 
muzzlcloading gun and a gun-shy cur dog, I entered this 
swamp, covered with a small growth of maples and 
birches, one October afternoon, the birds began to spring 
up at every step, going in all directions; and in all my 
hunting I have never flushed so many birds from _ so 
small a cover. I. soon coinenced shooting and missing 
until: I began-to get one out of four or five shots. After 
securing three or four birds my ammunition was ex- 
hausted, and the dog had left me. I started for home 
with my first woodcock more proud with my success than 
of any day's shooting I have since known. I had struck 
the fall flight. On my return the next morning,_ not a 
bird was +0 -be feting; they had passed in the eight -'te 
warmer climes. 
The late Warren Hapgood, whose interesting articles 
have entertained so many readers of Forest and Stream, 
was familiar with, and an annual visitor to, most of the 
covers I have named, even after he had passed his four- 
score years. 
The sportsman may lose all his earthly possessions, but 
the pleasure he has enjoyed afield will abide with him, 
and from the storehouse of his memory will come the 
bright visions of those autumn fields and forests_ that 
gave him health and strength for days to come, while in 
pursuit of those interesting birds that pass in the night. 
Geo. L. Brown. 
Boston, Mass 
A Polander in the Brush. 
Editor Forest and Stream: 
On the editorial page of October 15, mention is made 
of a game warden who was shot by two Greeks whom he 
had caught in the act of killing song birds. The warden 
should have had his gun with him and should have tried 
to do the shooting first. It is dangerous for a warden or 
anyone else to have anything to do with these men unless 
he first "gets the drop on them." 
I once took a hand in arresting one of these song bird 
shooters. He did not try to shoot me. I had taken the 
precaution, not having my gun with me, to get his before 
I began to ask him any questions, but he did, after I had 
taken pity on .him and had let him go, try to have me 
arrested, because, as he said, I had interfered with him 
and I was not "a police." I was across at the . head of 
Misery Bay one afternoon when I heard the report of a 
shotgun, and started out to investigate, and found a 
Polander with an old muzzleloader that he was just now 
reloading. Waiting until he had it reloaded, I went up 
to him and asked to look at his gun. He must have sus- 
pected me, for he drew the gun back, but I made a grab 
for it and got it. "What do you find out here to shoot?" 
I asked. He had only fired at those little birds— robins. 
"How long have you been in this country?" He spoke 
very good English for a Pole. He said he had been here 
ten years. "Well, then, you must know that it is against 
the law to shoot those birds." Yes, he knew it was, but 
there were no police over here ; that was why he had 
come here. "Any citizen can arrest you; he does not 
need to be a policeman. Now, I can ta1<e you over to the 
city myself. Have you a permit for this gun?" No, he 
did not need any ; this was a free country. 
"Yes, it is supposed to be; but you must get a permit 
before you use this gun again. Then you can't shoot 
robins with it, either. That permit will cost you $10. It 
is hardly worth that to you. You might as well throw 
the old gun away. ■ Now, I can take you to town and pre- 
fer three charges against you. The fine for each will be 
Jio, -md I v. ill get half of it. But I do not want to take 
