July i, 1905.] 
FOREST AND STREAM 
7 
' Reminiscences of a Dog Trainer. 
! West Point, Miss. — Imagine a beautiful country, 
[ ;amed with narrow, fertile valleys, bordered by low 
[ ills, whose sides are grown up to sedge grass, plum 
lickets and sassafrass saplings, with here and there a 
jea patch or sorghum, also small bodies of woodland 
t ow and then, and the reader will have a very fair idea 
, f the country where, twenty odd years ago. Uncle Nat 
lesbitt and the writer located to do our winter’s 
. -aining. * 
, Having been entertained at the beautiful and hos- 
I itable home of that gifted Mississippiart Pious Jeems, 
was due to his kindness and courtesy that we were so 
I leasantly situated in a section of country abounding 
i ith quail. 
; Remote as we were from the railroad (having only 
: VO mails per week), and the town consisting of a few 
■ ross-road stores, we soon became acquainted with 
, lany congenial spirits, some of which have remained 
retime friends. 
It was our custom after supper to gather at the 
:ores, where the evening was spent in having a good 
me. Looking back now, I wonder at Our being able 
I ) walk all day long and still be aWe to enjoy a social 
I vening after our tramp" but we did, and such a thing 
5 complaining of being tired was unthought of. 
Training dogs in those days was a more serious mat* 
' X and attended with much greater physical labor than 
i; the present day. . 
I Now a trainer gets on a horse, takes Out a braee of 
. Dgs for a half hour to an hour’s tun, attended by a 
agon to haul the dogs, a driver, and often ail extra 
lail to help. When the “workout” is finished, the 
ainer hies himself to town, leaving the dog wagon to 
ime in at leisure, and the assistant to put up the dogs. 
Uncle Nat and myself had no such snap. Routed 
Jt of a cold morning to dress in a room without fire, 
y the time it was good light, we were eating our 
••eakfast, after which we cleaned the kennels, exercised 
few dogs that might require it, and were then ready 
)r our day’s work. This meant taking a dog each 
id striking out for an all-day hunt, our objective point 
ften being ten miles or such a matter away. It was 
unt out and hunt back, always on foot, and as we 
elieved in those days in killing plenty of birds to a 
bg, we were loaded with shells when we started, and 
ill heavier burdened with game on our return, for 
lere was abundance of quail everywhere, though we 
ad some favorite spots where they seem to us to be 
lore plentiful than others. 
Many an evening at sundown we have come out on 
3 the public road ten rniles from home, _ and with dogs 
t heel, in swinging stride walked the distance quickly, 
a ting our supper by lamp light, feeding and caring for 
le dogs when done, adjourning afterward to the store 
ir an hour Or two liefore we Were in a humor for bed. 
One of our diversions evenings at the store was to 
old kangaroo court, and much sport it afforded us. 
'.mqng our many efforts in the way of amusement was 
laying ghost occasionally on the negroes. One night 
he ghost, who, by the way, was very fieet of foot, with 
efloured face and flowing robes, surprised a negro 
readier at a particularly lonesome place in the road, 
he preacher gave one glance of horror, and with a 
3ud “woof,” started up the road at his best pace, the 
host right behind him. The race continued until 
^ant of breath compelled the preacher to sink gasping 
n a log by the roadside. The ghost took a seat by 
im. The preacher edged to the far end of the log, 
he ghost hitching along after him. It was pretty 
ark, but the white face and sheet of the ghost were 
ot hard to see. 
Finally, the ghost addressed the preacher, remark- 
ig, “We come some, didn’t we?” The ^preacher rolled 
is eyes in mortal terror, and replied, “Yes, Gawd, ari^ 
oon as I gets mah bref, Ise gwine to go some mo . 
uid he did. . . 
We tried possum hunting at times. Just imagine 
ramping all day and then going out possum hunting 
util midnight. We did it, with -the only result that 
here was an increase in our appetites. 
One morning I proposed to Nat that we go down to 
he old Rogers field, where I had been told birds were 
ery plentiful and a good open country. Nat agreeing, 
ve' started after breakfast, laying our route through 
oe Reeder’s field, where we always found four or five 
evies of birds. 
Nat was hunting a black and white setter- puppy, by 
)ash III — Countess Vesta, owned by Luther Adams, 
nd I had a red Irish setter. The dog Nat had, which 
,'as named Fred, was the most remarkable roader of 
unning birds that I ever remember to have seen, 
ligh-headed always, it for him only required to cross 
he scent of birds, no matter how much they had fed 
iver the ground, when up would go his head to the 
•ody scent, and then at a gallop he would dash up and 
Dcate them. Often when they kept running I have 
een his body turned so he was going sideways, while 
,is noseVC^as pointing to the running birds like a needle 
o the pole. So fierc was his onset when he went up 
0 his game, one who did not know him would have 
lelieved he would flush them, but he had no intention 
if doing so. I always believed that his swooping down 
s he did on running birds had the tendency to alarm 
hem so they quit running and hid, for I always noticed 
t was seldom that he failed to get them pinned the first 
vild dash he made,_ and if the first failed, the second 
vas almost a certainty. 
It is strange that we do not see this class of work 
,t the present day. Possibly the habits of birds have 
;hanged so it is not possible; but I would like to see 
)ld Fred, or many other dogs I can call to mind, give 
.11 exhibition on running game and locating it. 
We did not hunt the birds close that we found in 
:^eeder’s field, as it was convenient to home. In the 
sadler place, the Irish dog pointed a bevy. Fred could 
lot be seen, so we put the bevy up, each bagging a pair, 
['he bevy split, part going in a thicket, the balance over 
1 hill. In the thicket we bagged a couple of birds, and 
ollowed the others over a hill. The slope on the far 
.ide was covered with sedge grass, and sticking up 
.bout half-way down w.as the black head of Fred. The 
scattered birds from the bevy we had flushed had lit all 
around him, we putting up and killing several before 
we flushed the bevy he was pointing, out of which_ we 
scored another brace each. This bevy went to a piece 
of woods behind us, so we did not follow them. At 
noon we crossed the Pontotoc road and swung back 
toward the Rogers old field, arriving there about the 
middle of the afternoon. 
To hunt a dog all day in those davs was customary, 
and our dogs were as eager to hunt as at the start. 
When we had gone but a short distance in the field — 
which consisted of many hundred acres which at one 
time had been in cultivation, but now turned oiit to 
grow up ill sedge grass and thickets except the branch 
bottoms which were still in cultivation, the fertile soil 
producing fine crops of corn and peas — the dogs found 
the first bevy. This bevy, when flushed, crossed to the 
opposite hillside and lit in the open in the sedge grass. 
In going to it we flushed another bevy, which took the 
same course and lit a little further on. Such an abund- 
ance of quail I never anticipated, or expect to see 
again. The dogs made point after point, until we were 
surfeited with the sport, and decided to trudge home- 
ward. 
Crossing a high hill covered with sedge, the. dogs 
pointed. We walked up to flush the birds, deciding 
not to shoot, when up darted a woodcock, which_ Nat 
knocked over. A little further on the dogs pointed 
aiiotli€r, which I killed. Further hunting discovered 
others, until we had added to our bag a dozen longbills. 
Leaving the field, we took the road, distributing a 
mess of quail here and there as we wended our way 
homeward past the farmhouses, until we had disposed 
of all our surplus birds. Arriving home, we found sup- 
per waiting us, after which we fed the dogs and made 
all comfortable for the night. Then we walked down 
to the store and related to our friends an account of 
the delightful day we had enjoyed. 
While we had enjoyed to the fullest a rare day of 
shooting, we had also given both dogs, which were 
being finished up in retrieving, the experience that they 
needed to make them the useful sort. In those days 
we had better retrievers than is possible now, as they 
had more opportunity to learn. 
Our method was to order the dog to retrieve from 
where he remained steady to shot, without rendering 
him any other assistance than a motion in the direction 
where we had marked the bird down, after finding 
which the dog came to us on a gallop, sat up and de- 
livered the bird to us at the place where we had fired 
the shot, 
A bolting dog in those days was unknown, because 
a dog got an opportunity to hunt all he desired, which 
removed all inclination to bolt. It is a mistaken idea 
that the dogs of the present day are any different in 
this respect (at the time their training is begun) 
from what they were then; the difference is in the 
method of training. 
A number of years ago J. B. Stoddard came into the 
neighborhood where I was training, and secured an 
assistant of mine, who began working for me when a 
mere boy, to help him manage some bolting dogs. 
Stoddard had five, which bolted every time he took 
them out. He led them into the field on chain. He 
brought the chain back. The dogs came in when they 
got ready, for they bade him good-by the moment they 
were turned loose. 
Stoddard turned the five dogs over to my man._ In a 
week he brought three back to Stoddard following at 
heel behind his horse, carried them out in the field, 
showed that they were stanch enough to 'flush birds to 
their points, steady, and would back. Another _ week 
put the other two in the same shape, accomplishing in 
two weeks what Stoddard failed to do in the best part 
of a season. So much for the old methods versus the 
new. W. W. Titus. 
Points of View. 
Editor Forest and Stream: 
The point made by Mr. Flint Locke is one 
that was needed, and that gives a valuable hint 
to some of the contributors to Forest and Stream. 
Forest and Stream, has some charming correspond- 
ents, of whom we can scarcely have too much. Cabia 
Blanco, Lewis Hopkins, Charles Francis Holder and 
such writers, who tell us something unmixed with 
egotism, are always delightful. But the man who 
imagines, because he feels a new emotion at sight of 
nature’s wonders, that he has discovered a new species 
of the genus homo, and who uses nature only as a 
background upon which to portray his own superfine 
sensations is a bore. Forest and Stream prints too 
much fine writing of that kind; and its editorial com- 
ment upon Mr. Locke’s article entirely misses the 
point. 
There is something fascinating in the stories of 
pioneer days, when the hardy settler journeyed into 
the trackless West to make a home for himself and 
his family, without other provision for their support 
tlian his rifle and well-filled bullet pouch and powder 
horn; and when he brings down a buck, a bear or a 
buffalo you rejoice with him in the bounty of the 
wilderness. But the man who slaughters one of those 
magnificent creatures, not from any necessity, but to 
demonstrate his own superiority over a brute and to 
bring home a hide or a head in proof thereof, is, to say 
the least, not more heroic than the savage Dyak head- 
hunter. The savage head-hunter creeps through dense 
tropical jungles, at night and alone, into an enemy’s 
village, armed only with a knife, to take the head of a 
man, his equal in power and cunning. The civilized 
head-hunter betakes himself in a sleeping car to the 
home of his victim, armed with a high power magazine 
rifle, employs a guids to lead him to the spot, point out 
the game and stand by while he assassinates an in- 
ferior creature safely at long range. 
The savage himself prepares his trophy by stripping 
it clean to the bone. Our hero resorts to a taxidermist, 
who takes the gruesome relic, cleans off the gore, ex- 
tracts the srmken eyes, inserts the painted glass, and 
almost re-creates tjie fires of life, for which work of 
art our hero assumes the credit. But who shall say 
that, as a specimen of nature’s divine handiwork, it 
excels the glistening white skull mounted upon the 
lintel of the Dyak hut? The difference, as the editor of 
Forest and Stream would say to Mr. Locke, lies 
solely in “the point of view.” Our critical editor reverts 
to the primitive man for his model of ethical and 
aesthetical excellence; the Dyak is, therefore, the better 
model. According to his philosophy, Solomon was not 
wise, but simply old. His “point of view” was too far 
removed from that of the primitive savage to be 
worthy of consideration. From this “point of view” 
the editorial strictures upon Mr. Locke’s logic seem 
to be unanswerable; and the editor’s system of ethics 
to be as accommodating as it is uninspiring. 
R. B. Stxmson. 
Terre Haute, Ind., June 19. 
Editor Forest and Stream: 
My college mate and very dear friend Charles Hal- 
lock. Esq., whom you well know, sends me a copy of 
your June 17 issue, with its first article on “The Sport 
of Hunting,” marked to express, I suppose, his senti- 
ments on a subject about which we have a friendly 
difference, and as the subject is of wide interest and 
importance, affecting the conduct even of our President, 
and as its discussion is in a line with your work, will 
you allow me to make my observations upon it through 
the medium of your always readable pages? 
The writer of the article in question assumes that 
the objection to killing wild animals in sport arises 
from the objector’s “organic decay,” from individual 
dogmatism and from “the declining appetites’’ and 
mature age. But, in this assumption, he goes directly 
counter to one of the most firmly established principles 
of Darwinian evolution. It is a great law of nature 
set forth by Darwin, Haecket and other leading scien- 
tists with wonderful significance, that the individuals 
of each animal species, including man, pass normally 
in reaching their maturity through all the preceding 
forms and phases, alike physical and mental, that their 
ancestral tribe in its evolution has passed through. 
Human beings, the same as all others, begin with a 
single cell, pass in the embryo stage through the adult 
forms of the animals below them — mollusk, fish, reptile, 
amphibian and lower mammal — and after their birth, 
through all the stages from the animal up that the 
human race has passed through. As infants, they go on 
all fours and utter only inarticulate sounds; in boy- 
hood have their anthropoid stage of climbing trees 
and indulging in all manner of monkey tricks; arrive 
later at the period of savage superstitions and a savage’s 
delight in the use of weapons and in killing other 
creatures; and only in their full maturity reach the 
stage of the highest civilized humanity, that of love 
for all God’s creatures and of finding their highest 
enjoyment in the pursuits of peace. 
Now, each of these stages is healthy as a transition 
stage — no evolutionist denies that, or “views it con- 
temptuously” — but what he does assert is that each 
one is normally left behind as fast as the one above it 
is entered upon. There are some abnormal individuals, 
however, who stop in their growth all along the way, 
some at one place and some at another, and who never 
get to the highest one of their adult species, a short- 
coming which is known to science as “arrested de- 
velopment.” When it takes place before birth the result 
is human monsters; when in infancy, idiots; when at 
the boy stake, practical jokers; and when at the savage 
and half-civilized stage, the criminals, fighters, super- 
stitionists and animal killers of civilized society. 
The hunter’s instinct, therefore, instead of being in 
our day the characteristic of the perfected man, is 
simply a case of arrested development, meaning thereby 
not that its possessor is undeveloped in his whole 
nature — for it is well known that one taste and one 
faculty may stop in its growing, while the others go on 
to maturity — but that the special part of him which 
takes delight in hunting is an arrested part; and while 
its gratification was all right ages ago, at our ancestral 
stage, as savages, and is right now among savage tribes 
and perhaps in half-grown boj^s, it is what the fully 
civilized man ought now to have got beyond, or at any 
rate, ought now to repress. , 
On the other hand, if science is right in this matter, 
and, as you see, my argument here is based on science 
rather than on sentiment, then the opposition to hunt- 
ing for sport, instead of being the result of “organic 
decay” in civilized man, or “individual dogmatism,” or 
of “declining appetites” coming with age, is, rather, 
the result of man’s organic growth, is the attribute not 
only of the individual, but of the race, and is the man- 
ifestation of his evolved appetites — is “the verdict” to 
which the evolutionary as well as “ethical weathercock” 
through all the ages has been pointing. 
A few words about its relation to nature. Of course, 
as your writer says, “the killing of wild animals is a 
racial instinct implanted in man by nature,” and as he 
again says, “nature has implanted in our nature the 
capacity to hunt and kill with pleasure.”^ But this is 
no defense, either ethical or scientific, of its indulgence 
now, no ground for asserting that “to denounce man 
as he exists naturally is to denounce the Omnipotence 
which gave him birth.” There is no vice or crime 
which nature and Omnipotence have not irnplanted in 
us the capacity for, none which somewhere in the past 
they have not made a virtue, not even robbery and 
murder. Men are continually falling into the mistake of 
supposing that nature is a fixed condition, and that be- 
cause an act has been natural and right at some stages 
of development and amid some surroundings, it must 
therefore be natural and right at all stages and amid all 
surroundings. 
The very word, nature, however, means not what has 
been or is, but, as the future participle of nascor, that 
which is about to be, or about to have birth, is a word 
of progress, of evolution, of an ever better coming 
state. To know what is truly natural and Divine, 
therefore, we must look not into the past, or wholly 
into the present, but forward to see that toward which 
things are tending. The really natural man, the one 
who conforms in the highest degree to nature’s laws, 
is not the savage fipding his pleasures in the pursuits 
