began reloading the empty barrel. The captive did not remain quiet long, but seemed to change his 
mind, and made such warlike demonstrations that I was obliged to drop my gun and take him by the 
neck, but before I could cut his throat, with spurs and nails, he riddled my clothing and tore the flesh 
on my arms and sides so that the cicatrices remain to this day, a permanent record of the fight. My 
curiosity was excited to know how this great native of the forest, and princely bird, so suddenly lost his 
locomotion, and then so soon regained his strength and vigor, and I had the feathers removed carefully 
for examination of his body, but could find no wound or mark excepting the one I made with the knife. 
It is stated by good authority,* that “during winter many of our real hunters shoot them by moon- 
light, on the roosts, where these birds will frequently stand a repetition of the reports of a rifle, although 
they would fly from the attack of an Owl, or even perhaps from his presence. Thus sometimes nearly a 
whole flock is secured by men capable of using these guns in such circumstances.” But I frankly admit, 
after testing this matter many times, many seasons, and in many places, that I am no real hunter, or 
that it is no easy matter to shoot them in this way, having never been able to find a Turkey for a tar- 
get, although in the full enjoyment of good moonlight, and abundance of birds in the timber. It is al- 
most impossible to see one of them by moonlight when roosting, for the reason the mere presence of a 
person at night, near their roosting place, is sufficient cause of alarm to give to such as have favorable 
locations, concealment by position, while others more exposed seem aware of their danger, and leave be- 
fore the hunter approaches within seeing distance. And upon the arrival of the sportsman, and during 
his movements through the woods, there is nothing to be seen, as they are all well concealed or driven 
away. This statement is founded upon personal observation and experience, and every attempt of the 
writer to set it aside by assistants, by increased knowledge, and by additional care, always ended in a 
delusion quite as ludicrous as driving and bagging snipe by lamp-light. However, upon the principle that 
if you do not succeed, try, try again, I was persuaded by an old Turkey-hunter to accompany him to a 
place where he marked the birds going to roost. The night was still, cold, and bright moonlight ; the 
timber consisted principally of sycamore and hickory and was free from foliage. With all our caution, 
as soon as we entered the timber, Turkeys began flying, and continued to do so far in advance, as long 
as we followed them, and for a mile or more. Frequently, after scanning a tree most carefully and see- 
ing nothing, a bird would start from the top with an alarming racket. Being easily discouraged, from 
previous failures of this kind of hunting, I turned my steps in the direction of our wagon, looking all 
the time for something to shoot at, but seeing nothing ; and, when near the place we entered the timber, 
I sat down on a log to await the return of my companion. He lingered, and, after calling a number of 
times without an answer, I fired my gun at random up into the limbs of a tall sycamore tree standing 
on the bank upon the opposite side of the creek, when, to my utter astonishment, a Turkey came flop- 
ping and bumping down through the boughs and brush into the water. My partner soon made his ap- 
pearance, and after hearing my story and seeing my dead bird, agreed that this was the most successful 
way to shoot Turkeys by moonlight. One other bird which, at another time, I killed by a snap shot 
while flying across a river, are the only Turkeys I ever succeeded in getting after night. Hunting them 
in this way may have been quite successful in the early settlement of the country, but in later years, 
and with me, it has most certainly proved all “ moonshine.” 
* Audubon. 
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