September, 1919 
FOREST AND STREAM 
467 
about the old muzzle-loader and its equip- 
ment that was utterly lost with the ad- 
vent of the breech-loader. There was a 
subtile fascination connected with the 
old powder-flask, shot-pouch and game- 
bag when they were hung over the shoul- 
ders that we shall never know again. 
And then when a-field there was an 
allurement in the reloading of the gun, 
with the dogs lying at one’s feet, rest- 
ing and watching with intense interest 
the careful measuring of the shining 
black grains, setting the wad, which may 
have been a piece of the morning news- 
paper, and ramming it repeatedly until 
the ramrod leaped from the barrel; and 
then pouring in the shot from the brass 
scoop of the pouch, and pressing the 
wad lightly but firmly over it; and last 
of all, blowing away any chance or imag- 
inary dust from the “G D” percussion 
cap before placing it on the nipple; and 
then with the lock at half-cock — which 
was the signal for the dogs, ever alert, 
to rise with eager expectancy. Then with 
the gun over the shoulder to again sally 
forth, while the dogs responsive to every 
motion of the hand, proceeded to range 
far and wide. In the meantime the 
alarmed covey had become somewhat as- 
sured that the danger was not so 
imminent, until found again by the 
unerring scent of the faithful dogs. 
All this is now but a pleasant 
and cherished reminiscent dream of 
former joys and bygone days that 
we shall never know again ; for 
with the modern breech-loader un- 
der one’s arm at “safe,” and with 
pockets filled with cartridges, we 
must be fully awake and alert to 
every movement of the dogs, while 
we tramp, tramp over the deci- 
mated uplands, deserted coverts 
and forsaken stubble fields. 
B efore parting with banjo 
and accordion in exchange for 
Andrew’s gun my father had 
given me a violin as a reward for 
passing to the high school, but with 
commendable thoughtfulness he also pur- 
chased a mute or muffler for the bridge, 
out of consideration and compassion for 
the neighbors. I was now able to lead 
the band with the violin, and as Andrew 
had become quite competent and even 
skillful with the accordion, the banjo 
fell to Johnnie, to his great delight and 
satisfaction. 
During the Christmas and Easter holi- 
days our “orchestra” became quite pop- 
ular and was in frequent demand for 
neighborhood parties and dances. We 
also volunteered to play at Sunday 
School exhibitions and picnics. Our re- 
pertoire was now considerably augmented 
and consisted mostly of dance music, 
such as waltzes, polkas, hornpipes, reels 
and negro melodies, taken from a popular 
collection of music for the violin. Some 
of the negro airs were syncopated plan- 
tation jigs which were the progenitors 
or stepfathers of modem rag time. 
Johnnie had acquired a way of slid- 
ing his fingers along the strings of the 
banjo, which at that day had no frets, 
with very pleasing effect, somewhat sim- 
ilar to the Hawaiian ukelele now so much 
in vogue. He also, by sliding his thumb 
up the bass string produced an amus- 
ing variation not unlike the queer slid- 
ing notes of the trombone in the Jazz 
band, now so popular, all of which goes 
to show that there is nothing new un- 
der the sun. We were wedded to our 
music and practiced dilligently, for as 
Johnnie, who was something of a wag, 
said: 
“Music hath charms to soothe the savage. 
Melt a rock or split a cabbage.” 
A ndrew was fortunate enough to 
have an uncle who owned a large 
plantation on the Patapsco River 
not many miles from Chesapeake Bay, 
where he and his mother spent part of 
the summer months each year. So after 
talking the matter over with our parents, 
and after the consent of Andrew’s uncle 
had been gained to camp on his place, 
we planned an outing of two weeks dur- 
ing our school vacation in August. Our 
parents were quite 'willing, having con- 
fidence in our ability to take good care 
of ourselves, but stipulated that we 
should each take a grain or two of 
quinine at night as a prophylactic against 
“chills and fever,” which was prevalent 
along the river. Another stipulation was 
that we should not altogether neglect 
our studies, especially Latin; so we 
agreed to take along Csesar’s Commen- 
taries, of which we were all very fond. 
We arranged with our friends, the 
market fishermen of Spring Garden, for 
the charter of a twenty-foot catboat with 
center-board, a clinker-built rowboat, a 
short seine for soft crabs and terrapin, 
a wall tent and other necessary articles. 
We got together a lot of culinary utensils 
including a Dutch oven, a supply of 
groceries and a generous amount of am- 
munition for the shotgun. 
At the beginning of the second week 
in August, Johnnie and I left our moor- 
ings at Bailey’s wharf at daylight for 
an all-day sail down the Patapsco; An- 
drew and his mother ha'ving preceded us 
a week before. As the wind held fair 
and blew quite fresh we arrived at our 
destination just before sundo"wn, with- 
out mishap. 
Andrew, anticipating our arrival, had 
selected a fine camping site in a shady 
grove of young trees and had collected 
a large wood pile of oak, chestnut and 
light-wood for the campfire. The camp 
was very convenient to the outdoor 
kitchen presided over by Aunt Miranda, 
who brought us a pan of hot biscuits and 
another of steaming corn-pone every 
morning, for our breakfast. And under 
her skillful tuition we soon learned to 
prepare and cook fish and game, and 
oysters, crabs and terrapin. She also 
saw to it that we were liberally supplied • 
with sweet potatoes, green corn, toma- 
toes, peaches, canteloupes and water mel- 
ons, which were all then in season and 
very abundant. 
Aunt Miranda was not only autocrat 
of the breakfast table, but of the dinner 
and supper tables as well. She not only 
ruled the “kitchen cabinet,” but held 
sway over the white folks and house 
servants at the big house and was law 
and gospel to the field hands. Her power 
was absolute ; “From the center all ’round 
to the sea her right there was none to 
dispute.” Her scepter was the basting- 
spoon, and woe to the culprit who fell 
under her displeasure. 
It has been shown in the late cruel 
war that the fate of nations could be 
controlled through the stomach, so in 
much less degree did Aunt ’Randy con- 
trol her subjects through the same sen- 
sitive organ. Aunt ’Randy possessed 
a commanding physique, stout and 
buxom; her visage was broad and 
beaming and shone like polished 
ebony. Her usual expression was 
pleasant and cheerful, with a mer- 
ry twinkle in her large, bright eyes. 
She was always neat and tidy, even 
in the kitchen, and wore a red and 
yellow bandana neatly coiled about 
her head, a snow-white kerchief 
encircling her throat and crossed 
over her broad bosom. She wore 
large hoops of gold in her ears, 
and altogether was quite a figure. 
Aunt ’Randy was very proud of 
her city quality folks, as she called 
us, and was always on hand, with 
the white folks from the big house, 
around the camp-fire at night, for 
whose accommodation we had im- 
provised rude seats. But Aunt ’Ran- 
dy was too dignified to sit on a 
log of wood, so she always brought 
from the kitchen her big split-bottom 
chair. She enjoyed our banjo playing 
and listened with marked delight to the 
recitals of the day’s adventures and 
laughed immoderately and 'with the ut- 
most abandon at the amusing stories of 
Johnnie the racounteur. And when she 
finally took her leave, ■with the rest of 
our guests, she would say: 
“Tank yo,’ my young marsetahs, Ise 
had de bestes’ time eber heard of; and 
soon’s yo’ heah’s me shut de cabin do’, 
strike up Sugah in de Gourd, and De Ole 
Coon Dawg, and by dat time I’ll be fas’ 
asleep and dreamin’ of de angels playin’ 
on dar hawps!” 
Good old Aunt Miranda. She is now 
in heaven where there is no distinction 
on account of race or color or previous 
condition of servitude. Peace to her 
ashes! But her spirit, I feel sure, has 
joined the celestial choir, and with the 
rest of the white-winged angels she is 
“playin’ on de hawp” in that happy home. 
(continued on page 501 ) 
