180 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[Aua. 19, 1905. 
At the Home of the Uneasy Club. 
This visit to the birthplace of the Uneasy Club> on the 
shores of Honey Creek Lake, Iowa, was one full of inci- 
dents which brought floods of delightful memories from 
away back in the early existence of the club when the 
lake was an ideal one for waterfowl. 
Dispatches from the resident member brought the in- 
formation that for the first time in about five years the old 
lake was full of water to the brim, the feed for the birds 
seemed to be fairly good, and there had been, during the ' 
first few weeks of the open season, enough ducks to sug- 
gest something good later when the flight from the north 
was on. 
When I made my last transfer on the trip of 500 miles 
to our happy hunting ground, the weather was mild and 
anything but suggestive of ducks, but when I reached the 
final railway station, six miles further, there was a stiff 
wind blowing from the north, and before the club house 
vyas reached we were pulling the wraps about us and 
flinching from the penetrating and sleet accompanying 
blast. 
“This weather must have been ordered for the occasion,” 
said Ed., who had come up to the lake from Omaha a 
few days before, and drove over to the station for me. 
“We have had some little shooting,, but nothing to what’s ’ 
coming, for the past hour thousands of ducks have been 
in sight, most of them, however, seeming to have pressing 
business further south, but there’ll be shooting to-night 
or I don’t want a cent.” 
At the turn of the road, where the first view of the lake 
and the shack of the old Irish couple on whose land the 
club house is situated, breaks upon the view, a feeling 
of sore disappointment came over me, for the shack had 
gone and a new two-story house, of trim appearance, was 
there in its place, and a big red barn standing beside the 
little modest old one which had done such good service 
for so many years. I had heard of the changes, but still 
was not prepared for them, and did not feel right until 
I had turned my back upon that view and looked in the 
direction of the club house and out upon the inviting ex- 
panse of water and rushes. There all was the same as in 
the olden times. The house looked as though we had said 
farewell to it only a few days before, instead of several 
years, and the air was full of the swish and whistle of 
wildfowls wings. 
What a delight it was to push open the door and have 
it stick, half-way, upon the same strip of warped flooring 
that used to interfere with its further progress and which 
we never had time to fix on account of the ducks. There 
was the old-fashioned box stove into which we used to 
throw big logs and gather about after a day’s hard hunt- 
ing to relate to one another experiences of the day or 
other days, and absorb the comforting waves of heat and 
tobacco smoke. The same general arrangement of 
trophies and adornments upon the walls prevailed. 
However delightful the home-coming and the silent 
welcome of that old resting place of the Uneasy Club 
( every board of which its five members had put into place 
during a summer of hard figuring and scraping together 
of the small stock of building knowledge possessed by 
each) very little time was lost in getting into, hunting 
coats and waders and out into a blind, for the birds were 
coming off the river into the lake for protection from the 
fierce north wind and sleet which was increasing steadily. 
By the time we had placed a large bunch of decoys in 
good position our fingers were too cold and numb to 
handle our guns at all, and some minutes had to be con- 
sumed in thrashing our hands to restore 'circulation. 
Flocks of ducks were in the air all this time apd occa- 
sional chances for a shot, too tempting to resfs't, would 
be offered, and some one would drop a paddle or oar or 
wooden duck and take a shot at a passing bird or flock, 
but with rather unsatisfactory results on account of the 
cold, the unsteady boats or fierce and uncertain wind. By 
the time we were in shape to shoot, the birds were com- 
ing in like unto ye olden times, which was the highest 
praise of which we were capable, and it seemed as if 
ninety per cent, of all the birds which came down over 
the line of trees topping the ridge which separated the 
lake from the Big Muddy set their wings and came 
straight down to our decoys. The river was covered with 
travelers which had come down ahead of the storm, and 
when the wind got too high for them they came into our 
lake for shelter, and the way they set their wings and 
came down over us was without a parallel in my whole 
duck shooting experience. We kept our guns hot until 
too late to see to shoot with any degree of accuracy, and 
until we were so cold that we could scarcely distinguish 
between the rush of wings and the chatter of our teeth. 
Then we laid the guns down and pulled across to the 
very welcome quarters in the club house, and with a won- 
derfully handsome string of ducks of all varieties, from 
bluebill to canvasback. 
How good it did seem after an appetizing supper, the 
preparation of which everyone had a hand in, to gather 
around the old heater in the same old home-made easy 
chairs (more comfortable than anything ever put together 
for city use) , and with the sparks a-flying and the chimney 
sighing, to recount the many joyous days that so clearly 
were brought to our minds. 
“You know that bunch of bluebills that came almost 
intO' our faces coming like the wind and so low that it 
was impossible to see them until they were too close for 
a shot, except at their retreating forms? The trick’ was to 
turn about in the very unsteady boat, handicapped by 
heavy, stiff clothing and breast waders or mackintoshes, 
and do it quickly enough to get not only a glance at the 
bunch of feathers which is disappearing at the rate- of 
something like 200 feet every second, but to get an ac- 
curate line on it with one’s gun barrel. 
“That reminded me very forcibly of the similar ap- 
proach of a flock of redheads years ago, when the mighty 
hunter and writer Bill and I were in the boat. Bill was 
standing up to enable him to see a little better over the 
high rushes, when a fine flock of these junior canvasbacks 
came right at him, so low and close before they came into 
view that it was an utter impossibility to draw a bead on 
them before they were overhead and past and getting out 
of harm’s way with redoubled speed. Bill made one her- 
culean effort to make the quick change of position in the 
boat, and so intent was he in getting his gun-sight on the 
retreating flock that he never realized that he was not 
succeeding until his back and the surface of the lake came 
in contact. I can see him now, in my mind’s eye, as he 
disappeared under the water, his arms and legs pawing 
the air trying to get a line on the ducks still, I reckon. 
Of course he got out all right. You can’t keep a good 
man down. 
“And then — as Bill was not there to defend himself— 
do you remember that morning when Bill got into such 
a glorious flight of teal down near Mrs. McCune’s hog 
pasture, that for a brief period Mrs. McCune and her 
hogs were completely forgotten until that amiable Irish 
lady suddenly appeared with blood in her eye, pointing an 
old relic of ’61 at his head through the fence? It was said 
that this was the only occasion known when Bill said 
his prayers. It was a difficult matter to convince the old 
lady that when pellets made her pigs squeal with pain 
and rqttled upon the roof of her house, the occasion was 
not ripe for getting down to business with the old mus- 
ket, but finally they were apparently good friends and 
drinking out of the same bottle. Bill would let anything 
drink out of his bottle- — if it would save him from a rak- 
ing fore and aft with a smooth-bore.” 
Mrs. McCune was a character and a terror to all of 
the boys who had had the pleasure of meeting her on 
some of their expeditions to her territory in which the 
excellent teal grounds of the south end of the lake were 
situated, but Bill was ever afterward a privileged char- 
acter there, and added to his reputation as an Indian 
charmer that of a tamer of wild Irish women — but Mrs. 
McCune had admirable characteristics which we were 
made aware of upon better acquaintance, and I regretted 
exceedingly to learn, a few days since, that she had gone 
to join that innumerable caravan who have sought their 
chamber in the silent halls of death. 
So passed the evening in the interchange of reminis- 
cences and the morrow came with milder air and cloudless 
skies and very little to suggest (except a little flurry of 
ducks in the early morning) the splendid shooting of the 
day before. 
That perfect shooting seems to have been prepared as 
a farewell- to the old club house and lake, for the en- 
croachments of a railway are ruining the shooting there, 
and George, the resident member, has gone to take up 
his abode in the irrigated districts of Idaho, where Bill 
is likely to follow him soon, and Burt finds that the pres- 
ence of wife and babies now makes a nearer hunting 
ground desirable. So passes the stamping grounds of the 
Uneasy Club. Burt. 
The Hungarian Partridge. 
One does not have to be a very acute observer of the 
times ,from the sportsman standpoint to recognize the 
wave of advancement creeping over the people of this 
country in all matters pertaining to game, its propaga- 
tion and hunting. More magazines are devoted to out- 
door life and more people read them with interest. Notes 
on natural history that would have been “turned down” 
by the majority of readers a few years ago now find more 
than a passive interest. With each year there is an in- 
crease in the number of business men who recognize the 
“call of the wild” to the extent of arranging a certain date 
when the gun and dog for the moment usurp the place of 
dollars and cents. 
This digression from the title is called forcibly to mind 
by a paragraph from the report of Dr. T. S. Palmer in 
his review of the game protection for 1904, printed in the 
Year Book of the Department of Agriculture. In 
speaking of the importation of foreign game into this 
country, he says, that among the consignments were 192 
Hungarian partridges. Go -back five years and ask your- 
self how many readers of Forest and Stream could have 
given you any information coricerning the Hungarian 
partridge, the capercailzie and other birds of same stamp? 
I do- not mean by this that .they are now as common as 
the barnyard fowl. Quite the reverse. The propagation 
of these imported birds is carried on with great difficulty. 
That these difficulties are worth, the -effort to overcome is 
weir proved by those that have shown the patience and 
skill in overcoming them. I do not feel embarrassed nor 
open to the charge of advertisement if I give the history 
of the Hungarian partridge as seen through the eyes of 
our game preserve, namely, the Essex Park Game Pre- 
serve, situated on the Rappahannock River in the State of 
Virginia, since our place is not open to the hunter. 
In shape, color and characteristics the Hungarian part- 
ridge can be well called the big brother to our native Bob 
White. His size would correspond with twice that of the 
latter. The taste and color of its meat is the same. In 
coloring there is one difference found in the Hungarian 
cock. A splotch of maroon feathers forms a shield on 
his breast. With erect head he constantly hovers near 
and around his mate during the time of courtship. The 
hen, apparently unmindful of everything except the ordi- 
nary duties of household life, goes placidly along about 
her business, nor does she appear to see her lord and mas- 
ter, who keeps pirouetting in front of her, first on one side 
and then on the other, with his chest thrown well out. He 
is not polygamous like the English pheasant. His tem- 
perament is extremely pugnacious to any other cock that 
invades his quarter during this period. One or the other 
must retire or pay the penalty. 
In this country the breeding season starts with the end 
of May, the same as in the old country. The pairing-of: 
process occurs a month before this, however. Left to he; 
own device the hen will make a setting on about twenty 
four eggs. She may bring out a second hatch, but this i’ 
doubtful. If during the laying season her eggs are sur, 
reptitiously removed she will lay as many as sixty. Ii; 
this connection, she shows a trait in this country whiclj 
she has never exhibited in her native land or in England 
where she has been propagated ; namely, to cover her nes; 
with leaves and twigs. In the old country the nest i 
always left exposed and the small olive colored eggs blenl 
in color with the sward underneath. ' 
Before the Essex Park Game Preserve started its at 
tempt at rearing this bird, it went to some trouble in find 
ing out the previous efforts of other preserves in its im; 
portation and propagation. It could only locate four at 
tempts, and each had ended in failure. Two were mad 
on the part of private individuals and the other two b 
Western States. In trying to determine the cause of fail 
ure on the part of these four the following causes weri 
found. In two cases the land was unsuitable for the bir: 
to thrive in, being of a mountainous nature, in the othe: 
cases the birds were turned out in the wild at once wit; 
little or no protection. i; 
Most amateurs who dabble in the propagation of gam|‘ 
rarely take into account the natural history of the bir;, 
they intend to cultivate. They buy from catalogue as th- 
fancy dictates, regardless of everything except thei 
knowledge or raising chickens or possibly squabs an 
pheasants. The three are largely advertised as grea 
money-makers. They start at the wrong end of the hor, 
by trying to force the bird to adapt itself to new condi; 
tions and environment instead of making diligent searc;, 
into the bird’s habits on its native heath, informing him 
self correctly as to its accustomed climatic conditions an 
range. Having made himself thoroughly conversant wit 
these things his next step is to find as near as possible it 
counterpart in this country. This counterpart can alway 
be found somewhere in these broad States and thei 
stretches from ocean to ocean. Most failures in rearin 
game can be ascribed to the above reason alone, all othe 
conditions being carried out to the letter. 
I once met a man who had a few acres situated near 
little town in New Jersey. He told me at great lengt: 
of his plans for raising the canvasback duck in confine 
ment. I believe his place was something like a hundre; 
miles from any water except an artificial pond of stagnar 
■water on the place. Up to the present I have hardly no 
ticed any diminishment in the table price of duck in ques 
tion, although at the time I believed he intended a revolu 
tion. A few years ago there was a man from the sam 
State that had a market price on all wing-tipped wil 
ducks shot on Currituck Sound. I was anxious to lear 
how these wounded birds thrived in their new quarter 
and found out from one informed. In almost every cas 
the ruddy, redhead and canvasback dropped away t 
feather and bone and then gave up their ghost. It i 
generally a question of how long they will live and i 
they can be sold to some prospective breeder before th 
time arrives. This does not apply to the common duel 
such as the mallard. They are easily domesticated, bu; 
the taste is no longer that of the wild. A rose by an 
other name does not apply to the case. 
To return to the subject in hand, the nature of thi 
Hungarian partridge craves for a big stretch of open land 
His flight when flushed may be as great as a quarter of 
mile. In all probability it will be less than this, but sti: 
he wants the open field. The importer that drops thesi 
birds in the mountains will find them running as fast a! 
their legs can carry them, and this at a pretty high rat 
of speed, for just such open land. On their journey o 
investigation they will be caught up one by one till non 
are left to reach the desired goal. Fox, hawk and do,i| 
will complete the work of destruction that the man wit: 
the gun haA missed. He likes hills and wants wood cove'i 
but there must be open space where he can stretch hi 
wings and whirr to- his heart’s content. ; 
Like the quail, he follows by preference the tiller of tb' 
soil. Any wheat field will appeal to his appetite, th 
clover patch will be visited during the day, and if there i’ 
any millet to be found he will be the boy to find it. Th| 
newly plowed land will be gone over carefully and insec 
life pursued and devoured. During the heat of the da;,; 
the covey will rest in the shade of alder or willow dow;-* 
near a lazy stream. If dog or man happens near they wiJ 
all seek cover and hold their position till the last possibl' 
moment. With a tremendous whirring of wings the scat- 
tered covey will act the same as his brother Bob White 
each for himself and the devil take the hindmost. ' 
In captivity they retain all the wildness of their nature- 
as long as they are given the privilege of their wings' 
This is in contradistinction to the pheasant. After th 
latter bird recognizes his handler it no longer flushes ir 
its run when he approaches. 
This tameness goes to the extent of feeding out of th- 
hand sometimes. It is highly desirable to the breeder o' 
wild game that it be tamed as much as possible, otherwis- 
it is impossible to go near without throwing it into i 
panic. Very often in cases of sickness it is imperativ; 
that the bird be handled. If the bird is not tamed the exl 
citement caused by your attempts to touch it will mak 
the condition much worse. Where the wings of the Hun 
garian are pinioned or flight feathers are removed, thi 
bird will become very docile and domesticated. This i= 
the way it should be to successfully propagate. Needles- 
to say that the runs during breeding season, or in fact an;: 
other, should not be open for public instruction or amuse 
ment. No one should ever See them except their handler 
This tameness in, confinement is lost almost instantly a'; 
soon as the bird gains control of his wings. The younj; 
chicks, whether raised under bantam or mother bird, wil' 
be as “wild as the rest of them.” y 
In looking over causes of death, for this preserve makei 
i 
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