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THE AMERICAN SPORTSMAN’S JOURNAL. 
Vol. XIII.— No. 5. 
CHICAGO, SATURDAY, MARCH 13, 1880. 
$4.00 Per YeaJ 
THE REMINISCENCES OF A SPORTSMAN FROM 
THE CRADLE TO THE BEST PART OF LIFE. 
BY PLOVER. 
CHAPTER VI. 
The Sora Rail. 
The trip down stream was slowly made; the tide was running 
in strong, and we hugged the shore to avoid the rapid currents. 
The mist had risen from the river, and all nature was bathed in 
sunlight. The blackbirds wheeled in great clouds from place to 
place in the marshes, or hopped and chattered, feeding, among 
the wild oats. The ortolan or reed birds sped with their familiar 
clink, clink, and quick, springing flight over our heads — the 
somber swamps seemed lit up with a smile where the sunlight 
glinted on the trees far back in their recesses. The houses stood 
high and bold upon their greensward yards, and the cattle and 
geese were on the water’s edge, where all had been darkness and 
silence when we passed before. As we poled along past a piece 
of woods that overhung the water, Evans said, “ Now you can 
git a squrl ef you looks sharp.” I did look sharp with all 
my might, but what were my looks beside the keen search of the 
Indian? 
“Dar he, dar he, shoot him,” said he, as we came by a large 
hickory. In vain he directed my puzzled vision until remem- 
bering he said he wanted to “ shoot one of them new-fashioned 
guns,” I handed him the weapon, and we soon had the little 
nut cracker in the skiff. We reached the railroad bridge just 
before the train for Richmond passed, and stopping at White 
House depot, dispatched our ducks to their destination. It was 
too late to return to the house for breakfast, so we forged along 
to Sharplev’s, content with a supply of ginger-cakes bought at 
the little store. 
On our passage down, Evans told me much that was interesting 
as to the coming and going of the sora rail. This little bird makes 
its first appearance in the marshes about the 1st of September, 
sometimes later. Whence it comes has puzzled the ornitholo- 
gists, and is, I believe, still a disputed question with them. With 
the common folks the mystery of their appearance, their appar- 
ent feebleness of flight when among us, and the suddenness of 
their entire disappearance, have given rise to all sorts of fantastic 
notions. 
They are generally first discovered in the morning, in great 
numbers, not a bird having been seen the evening previous, or 
at any time since the previous Fall. When they first appear they 
are poor, and the marsh grasses being still green and vigorous, 
they are very difficult of access. By the time the grasses are 
sere, so that on the high tides boats can be shoved through them, 
the sora are as fat as blubbers, and more highly esteemed as a 
table delicacy than any bird which finds its way to our market, 
the partridge and woodcock not excepted. In the height of the 
season it is not an uncommon sight to see the marketmen upon 
the streets with immense hampers of sora in bunches of a dozen, 
hung around the edge, or with long poles over which are hung 
the little wretches, and they sell them from a dollar and a half 
to forty cents a dozen, according as they are scarce or plentiful ; 
for sell them they must, as they become tainted more rapidly 
than any bird I ever saw. 
What are known as “ paddled ” birds command the highest 
prices, because they have no shot in them. In the height of the 
season, when the flood-tide makes at night, two men will go out 
in a boat provided with lightwood, a pole with an iron basket at 
the end, a paddle and a shoving pole ; no gun is necessary. The 
flambeau is put in the bow leaning forward so as to drop the tur- 
pentine into the water as it burns. One man shoves, the other 
stands forward to feed the light and paddle the birds. The per- 
fect stupidity with which the little creatures, blinded and bewil- 
dered, run right toward the boat, or sit looking and tilting their 
little tails until they are smacked over with the paddle, is in- 
credible. Of course it is no sport, but it is bread and meat to 
maDy a poor fellow, no less acceptable than were the quails of 
the scriptures to the wanderers in the desert. The birds do not 
flock at all. Every bird must be gathered singly, unless, as is 
the case when they are very abundant, two or three cross your 
sights. The numbers annually shot and paddled in our marshes 
are beyond computation. I have known Delaware and Evans 
Bradby in one night, killing single birds, to paddle over three 
hundred. 
On one occasion, it being an overcast day (for bright sunlight 
rather drives them in the high thickly matted grasses) I went 
into the marsh, at Aiken’s Landing on James river with three 
friends and our scores were respectively as follows : J. G., 177 ; 
I. W., 176; J. F., 303 and 13 teals; W- H. (muzzle loader), 133. 
Total, 679. One would imagine that slaughter like this would 
have its effect in exterminating the breed, for these figures are but 
samples of many others, but in all sincerity, I have never per- 
ceived any appreciable diminution in the birds. They do not 
breed here, and return each season in swarms as dense as if a gun 
had never been fired at them. In appearance the sora rail is a dark 
chestnut on the back of head and neck, with bright yellow bill, 
the forepart of the neck being of a light bluish color as is also the 
fluff and belly. The back feathers are relieved by whitish bars, 
the head is small, the bill rather short, straight and pointed, the 
eye round, clear and bright, the tail short and turned upward as 
the bird sits or runs, but downward as he flies; the wings short 
and light and very close lying to the body, the legs long and thin, 
the feet delicate. The little creatures swim very well, although 
not web-footed. Held up by the bill, the bird has a long rakish 
look. Long neck, small bead, thin flat body, long legs, or as he 
flies with outstretched neck, and hanging legs, he has the same 
slab-sided look that belongs to the whole rail family; but, on the 
ground, when he sits trig and trim, with neck drawn in, with 
head set jauntily eyeing the intruder, with his little saucy tail 
turned high in air like a wren’s, bobbingand tilting with legs half 
squatting, he is as neat a little specimen of nature’s handiwork as 
one would desire to look upon. 
It is amusing to see the pell-mell rush of the class of city sports- 
I men who like easy shooting when a peculiarly good tide is ex- 
pected. The best spot in the state for sora shooting is at Aiken’s 
marsh, where McClellan’s army once quartered. At certain sea- 
sons one would imagine that McClellan’s army had returned and 
his whole skirmish line was hotly engaged once more. Occasion- 
ally things take a decidedly warlike turn, for in the excitement 
of the sport one gentleman sticks the skin of another gentleman 
full of shot, and thereupon the other gentleman retaliates in kind 
or makes the air blue and sulphurous with phrases not found in 
the constitution of any Young Men’s Christian Association. 
The morning was well advanced when we reached our destina- 
tion ; it was almost too warm and bright for the best of sport. 
As we passed along the higher portions of the marsh, Evans, to 
ascertain the prospects, raised his paddle and gave a vigorous 
slap with its flat side upon the water. At once arose from every 
direction the voices of the rail: “kick-kick-kick-kick-kick-ki-ki- 
ki-ki-ki,” resounded on every side. 
“ Ah ! dey’s here ; I knowed dey was here by dis time, do I 
ain’t bin here dis year befo’,” said he as he laid away the paddle, 
doffed his coat, and prepared to handle his shoving pole. 
“Now, lawyer, jest Stan’ right up in de head and kinder give 
in yer knees when we gits to tough places, and I think we’ll have 
fun alive befo’ de tide goes down.” We soon reached a low 
place in the marsh, and the head of the boat was shoved into the 
grass with a rushing, scraping sound. 
Squibs are provided for this shooting. That is to say two 
drams of powder and three-quarters of an ounce of shot, for a 
13-bore gun. Well wadded, it is surprising to see the power of 
such charges. We had not progressed far when I saw a sora 
daintily tipping through the weeds, and involuntarily up went the 
gun. “ Hi ! ” said my companion, “ you call yourself a sports- 
man and going to shoot sora on de ground ! ” The. rebuke was 
but too just. Ere time sufficed for reply up rose another, and 
with awkward, flapping flight he was widening the distance be- 
tween us rapidly, when the deadly missiles dropped him lifeless 
in the stream. “ Dat’s bisness,” said Evans, with an air of sat- 
isfaction. “ Stick to dat and we’ll load de boat.” The first bird 
was so easily found that I quite forgot the perfect identity of all 
portions of the marsh and liklihood of losing the spot where the 
bird falls. A few more of his shove, shove, shoves, and a few 
more of my give, give, gives in the legs, and the birds began to 
rise in rapid succession. Killing them was an easy matter, pro- 
vided the alert boatman saw the bird in time to stay his force in 
shoving so as to steady the boat, but now and 
then a lurch or snatch threw off the sight, and the 
shot went s pattering far beyond the lucky bird, or plunged 
into the grass and mud below. Whenever Evans marked the 
spot where a bird fell we were almost sure to get him. When-, 
ever we had several down he had recourse to a number of smah 
billets of wood which he would throw with great precision to the 
places he had marked, and then gather birds and billets at the 
same time; but when in hurried shooting, as was very often the 
case, I was compelled to designate the spot, he being engaged 
marking other birds, ridiculous was the inaccuracy of untrained 
sight and many the losses ensuing. He would mark by a crooked 
leaf, or a small clod of earth, or a little twig, and once marked, 
no matter how many changes of position occurred, there was 
seldom any difficulty about the locality. Sometimes a wounded 
bird would dive and be lost entirely to sight for many moments. 
Evans would stand motionless, peering over the side, watching 
with the eye of a lynx. “Let him ’lone, he dun dive and 
caught hold de grass. Be up presently.” Then would come a 
quick whack with the paddle and the little fellow, who had only 
stuck up the tip of his bill for a little air, would float up to the 
surface, be lifted on Evans’ paddle and dumped into the pile of 
victims that lay amidships. Thus we proceeded, blazing away 
right and left, and filling the basket. I was throwing up the gun 
at a sora when Evans exclaimed, “ Give me de gun a minit.” 
I handed it inquiringly to him and saw him stoop low for his 
aim and fire. “I raked three that time sure,” said he as he put 
the boat about. In another instant a large bird rose from the 
grass and I missed him. “Pity, pity,” said he, “dat’s a king 
sora.’’ 
“ What do you call a king sora, Evans?” 
“ ’Taint nothin’ but a big sora, two or three times as large as 
the others.” 
We watched the bird and saw it settle in the grass a hundred 
yards or so distant, and bending our course thither, bounced it 
again, with better luck this time, for he dropped at the flash of 
the gun. 
As to the scientific details of the king sora’s structure, 
habits, and classification, I refer the reader to Audubon 
and Wilson. All I can say of him is, that he ap- 
pears to be the “ big brother ” of the little fellows and not 
more than one big brother is found in a very large family of the 
small boys. Crossing the creek from one piece of marsh to 
another we roused a peculiar looking object that half flew and 
half paddled away from us with considerable commotion, the 
legs seeming to propel it by paddling in the surface as it skimmed 
a few inches above the water. This new acquaintance was like- 
wise saluted and succumbed to the mild persuasions of our 
Greener. “ Well, Evans, what’s that?” “Dat’s a blue pullet. 
Tain’t much account fur eatin’ ’cept you skin him and let him 
freeze.” This bird when held up looks more like a pop bottle 
than any other object to which I can liken it. The head and 
bill is not unlike the sora, the eyes are bright red ; the wings 
are very insignificant affairs, and the legs short, while the feet 
are half webbed, by flanges on either side of the toes. The 
slaughter of the innocents continued with unabated vigor until 
the fast-receding waters warned us that we must hasten to deep 
water or be left high and dry. Now and then the sport was 
diversified by a king sora, a blue pullet, or a sage heron giving 
us a shot. That sage heron is a bird of most excellent flavor, 
being nearly the same if not identical with the bird which in the 
olden time was pursued with the falcon. On this occasion I 
bagged a fine specimen which I took home, and after preparing 
it carefully, splitting and broiling it, it was as delicious a morsel 
as ever went on the table, and large enough for two persons. 
The mid-day duck shooting proved almost a failure in its re- 
turns, but was not one particle less fascinating in the silent 
communion with nature which it afforded. As we glided silently 
up one of those now sunlit creeks where no sound disturbed I 
the solemn stillness we were once aroused by the familiar cluck,! 
cluck, cluck of the wild turkey, which had taken alarm at ourl 
approach, and Evans springing to his feet saw two disappear ini 
the undergrowth with silent, stealthy tread, but beyond the range! 
of his “ Betsy Baker,” as he loved to call his weapon. 
We were disappointed in the evening-tide. It was not full I 
until sundown and even then not very high. The constant toil [ 
which had occupied us from four in the morning began to tell, l 
and we were very willing to bend our course homeward before | 
the ebb-tide set in strong. 
As we paddled homeward through Cumberland thoroughfare [ 
the evening glow of the Indian Summer filled the world around I 
us with that rich, mellow light that brings thoughts of peace and I 
rest, and quiet. Along the shores the cattle trudged, quietly re- 
turning from their watering, and now and then the tinkle of a I 
cow-bell, or far-off sound of fire-arms where the ardent sports- 1 
man still pursued his victims, alone broke the solemn stillness I 
of the scene. Evans once more bent to the oar, and as we sped I 
homeward, leaving a gleaming, rippling wake behind, he waked I 
the echoes of the forest with one of those weird semi-religious I 
negro melodies so familiar to the resident of the South. 
Darkness h^d settled over the face of nature when he once I 
more dragged the little skiff to her accustomed place and made I 
her fast. The round full moon was beginning to appear from I 
behind the ragged tree-tops of the swamp. And as we bent our I 
course, hungry and tired, toward the little cabin with its curling I 
smoke, I could not help feeling a deep sense of gratitude for a I 
day laden with so much of innocent, healthy, vigorous, manly f 
enjoyment. True, sora shooting was a murderous sort of busi- 
ness, and little skill was necessary to bag them, but it took pluck I 
and staying quality to stand to the guns from four a. m. to six I 
p. in., and what better could a fellow do at that season of the I 
year? The birds were soon strung. A little wing-feather run I 
through the nostrils of six and tied in the sailors’ flat-knqt made I 
beautiful bunches. Nine dozen and eight made a grand showing I 
for Tom Cooke as we trudged proudly through the town. And f 
last but not least, it was a great joy to think over the names of I 
those who could not afford to buy sora, and send them a dozen | 
with a kind message. 
Ah! brother sportsmen, let those who call us heartless fori 
slaughtering the game, and merciless in our pursuit of it, but I 
think how much pleasure the true sportsman can bring to thel 
home of the poor, or the bedside of the sick, if he but has a heart! 
in him, and it will be seen that the balance is not all on one | 
side. 
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