February, 1922 
59 
was snoozing in those bays ? Why, your 
old cornfield buck, as big as life. He 
came so close to me that I could pretty 
nearly have caught him by the tail. I 
did not let him see me, and he wasn’t a 
bit scared. But oh, his horns ! I have 
seen antlers in my day, but not like his. 
If you don't get him before this month 
is out, you're disinherited ! By the way, 
after the buck, that took the pasture fence 
as if it were play, what should come out 
on a dead run but a red fox. I was curi- 
ous to see how he would manoeuver the 
fence, which, as you know, has four feet 
of woven wire, then a break of eight 
inches, and then two strands of barbed 
wire. The rascal simply shot up in the 
air, turned his lithe body, and slid 
through the opening just as accurately as 
you please. He could get a long lead on 
dogs by that clever kind of a stunt. I 
would have shot him just when he fig- 
ured he was getting away, but I did not 
want to give the old buck anything to get 
anxious over. I don’t want him to sus- 
;pect that somebody is trying to write his 
epitaph. 
Look here, your mother has been busy 
for a week making and icing the biggest 
Christmas cake you ever saw. She tells 
me to keep out of the way ; that this fes- 
tive preparation is all for you. Well, I 
can add humbly yet solidly to your ma- 
terial enjoyment, for my sweet potatoes 
and rice are this year abun- 
dant ; and even now there are 
hanging in the dark room a 
row of smoked hams that are 
■just waiting for some orte to 
come along who likes them. 
My guess is that that some- 
,body is you. 
T he turkey-blind that you 
have been asking me to 
build has now been operating 
for ten days. I made a kind 
of a pen with green pine 
boughs, just at the forks of 
the old road near the river. 
.For bait I use rice. Two days 
after making the blind I went 
down there to wait and watch. 
I had no gun with me, but a 
book. And do you know that 
I had not read a page before I 
rheard them. I peered through 
■my screen. O boy ! Hurry up 
and come on down here, or I’ll 
be carrying a gun to that blind 
at double-quick. Four or five 
young gobblers, about seven 
hens, and the two old birds — 
they breakfast there every 
morning ! The old gobbler 
looks as if he might have been 
here since Audubon’s day. He 
made me feel like a stripling. 
1 hope you’ll be able to make 
ihim feel somewhat. 
For blind shooting, all you 
need is 6’s. Some men use 4’s, 
but at the right distance a man 
can kill a mastodon with chill- 
ed 6’s. I have warned the ne- 
groes not to whoop near the 
iblind; and there is nothing else 
to disturb the birds. Remem- 
ber, too, that this is not the 
only flock. Great days are 
FOREST AND STREAM 
surely ahead for you and your old dad. 
An invitation has come for you to 
hunt down on Curlew Island, where there 
are droves of deer, shore birds in clouds, 
and all the ducks that a man wants to see. 
I hope you can accept, for the hunting 
on this coastal island is of a unique sort. 
It will give variety to your visit at home. 
Well, in a few days now you will be 
boarding the old A. C. L. in Washing- 
ton, in a snowstorm, perhaps ; and next 
morning you will wake up among the 
pines and the bayheads and mocking- 
birds and negroes and sweet potatoes 
and the like. If these things do not con- 
vince you that you’re South again, the 
relaxation of all your nervous tension 
will. Come along, son. We are waiting 
for you. To us Christmas means your 
coming home. 
T his is the time of the year when 
those of us planters who have corn 
growing on the edges of swamps or deep 
woods have to expect visits from rac- 
coons. These moonlight nights they come 
into the cornfields and have regular frol- 
ics ; they eat a lot of corn, but they pull 
down a lot more. Some men claim that 
for every ear they eat they will tear down 
a dozen; they must be searching for just 
that ear that suits their appetites. Others 
say that coons have moonlight picnics in 
the corn, throwing the ears at one an- 
Photograph by George Sbiras, 3d 
A raccoon in a cornfield 
other and cutting up generally. One 
morning last week the young hound that 
I gave Johnny Wethers in payment for 
the sheep-killer that I slew treed Pvc 
’coons in one small birch tree near the 
cornfield. Johnny has knocked off work 
now for a week. And how do we 
fight raccoons? Well, at no other time 
of the year and for no other game do I 
really encourage the negroes to hunt. 
But somehow the ringtail seems to be 
the negro’s legitimate prey. Of late, 
nearly every night we have had hunting 
parties, and Will tells me that they have 
caught about twenty in all, some of them 
very large ones. He said that every one 
of the old ’coons was a three-legged crit- 
ter. In this neighborhood now it is prac- 
tically impossible to catch one in a trap. 
You may find his gnawed foot there, but 
the owner will have gone glimmering. 
For his size, the raccoon seems to me one 
of the most intelligent of all wild animals. 
Mr. Sam King, down on Islington 
plantation, has had a regular Gettysburg 
campaign with the ringtails this summer. 
But he might have expected a fight. Be- 
hind his pasture he drained a hundred- 
acre swamp. The land was wonderfully 
rich ; but it had never produced anything 
but swamp-briars, cypress trees, deer, 
and raccoons. When he had the land in 
shape, he put it in corn. That crop is a 
sight to behold. I have ridden through it 
on horseback and could hardly 
touch the tops of some of the 
tassels with my riding-whip. 
But as soon as the ears began 
to form the raccoons started 
their raids. King, having no 
colored hunters on his place 
as I have on mine, sent out a 
call for help ; and now, for 
two weeks past, there have 
been almost daily and nightly 
frolics down at Islington. A 
’coon is a hard critter to keep 
out of a cornfield, because he 
can do everything but fly : and 
from the way that some have 
got away from me when I 
thought I had them cornered, 
the blamed things may take 
wings sometime, for all I 
know. 
Down here now, in the early 
morning and the late evening, 
the woods are fragrant with 
the rich aroma of ripening 
muscadines. One of the ne- 
groes went up Y'^ampee Creek 
on Monday and returned with 
nearly two bushels of the fine 
grapes. People used to make 
wine out of these things, but 
to speak of those days would 
make us sad. 
D ESIDES the ripe grapes, 
■*-' we have another sign of 
autumn here, and one that is 
not welcome. This is the 
coming of the rice birds, or, 
as they are called in the 
North, reedies or bobolinks. 
These birds are a grand pest 
in the rice field. They arrive 
when the rice is “in the milk,'’ 
that is, after it has shot its 
{Continued on page 93) 
