204 
FOREST AND STREAM 
Aug. 16, 1913. 
Snipe Shooting in Virginia. 
(From issue of Aug. 28, 1873.) 
Hog Island, Va., Aug. 23 , 1873 . —Editor 
Forest and Stream: The precise locality from 
whence I date my letter, is not, I think, very 
well known, I therefore trust such information 
as I may give may be of interest to your read¬ 
ers. How to get to Hog Island, is I suppose 
first in order. From New York I took the Nor¬ 
folk steamer. O11 board I met several fellow 
sportsmen, bent on the same errand as myself, 
to shoot bay snipe and curlew, intending to 
make Chincoteague and Mockhorn Islands the 
manufacture of decoys went was not pre-emi¬ 
nent, therefore our stool-birds were of the most 
peculiar ornithological character, though Jake 
said they would do. From his manner I 
thought he had some surprise in reserve. After 
a bite of bread and ham we took to the beach, 
and about a mile from the shanty we com¬ 
menced digging our blind. The stools Jake 
planted quite artistically about twenty-five yards 
from our blind; then Jake chuckled as he drew 
from his pocket no less than three live willets 
and two small marlins, which he declared were 
well “educated birds.” These he had tethered 
with a bit of leather and a piece of string and 
AS THEY LOOKED TO THE BIRDS. 
center of their operations. All these islands are 
situated within a few miles of one another, 
lying near Capes Henry and Charles. Arrived 
at Norfolk, 1 took steamer to Cherry Stone, 
some sixty-five miles distant. At Cherry Stone 
I hired a small fishing smack to carry me to 
Hog Island. I happened to get a good boat and 
a fair breeze, and a pleasant sail of two hours 
landed me on the island. On the way I had a 
chance to try my Snider Allen, on a flock of 
curlew flying near the boat, and killed eight. 
Hog Island is not a paradise, though old 
Jake may be the colored Adam. The island is 
a sandy waste, with a few sand dunes, and some 
occasional trees, rugged specimens of the red 
cedar. Jake, the landlord of the locality, has a 
rough shanty, and makes you welcome, for the 
reasonable price of $1.50 per diem, throw¬ 
ing in his valuable services for the money. I 
had provided myself against all contingencies, by 
laying in a stock of bread and ham, and after 
having arranged my baggage for the night, I 
turned in early, in order to be up the next 
morning before the dawn. Long before day¬ 
break, Jake had me out. Though an ardent 
sportsman. Jake's imitative faculty as far as the 
they were packed among the wooden shams. 
Now Jake showed himself a master of his art, 
and piped the willet’s cry with a skill which was 
inimitable. The tide now was rising rapidly, and 
the decoys fluttered and whistled away. Soon 
in the distance loomed a flock of willets. Com¬ 
ing strong with the wind they Overshot the de¬ 
coys, but flew low enough for me to let them 
have both barrels; then returned undismayed, 
apparently recalled by the cries of some of the 
winged birds. 
“Let ’em have it again, Massa,” said Jake, 
and so I did. These four shots gave me some 
thirty birds. The wind then became so fresh, 
piling in the sea so far on the beach, that we 
had to pick up the decoys and make another 
screen further inland. Again came the willets, 
and by ten o’clock I had bagged eighty-six 
snipe. The shooting then ceased for the day, 
ebb-tide putting an end to the sport. 
Next day I tried the curlew on the other 
side of the island. This time Jake’s stools, if 
not perfect as to form, were better as to color, 
having been fresh painted. Jake again gave me 
the benefit of his acquaintance with the curlew, 
using a bandana handkerchief tied to a stick 
which he waved to and fro, attracting the birds. 
I had seen this particular dodge tried before, 
but never with the same success. I shot for 
about three hours, killing some thirty-two birds. 
They weighed on an average one and one-half 
pounds each and the longest bill measured pre¬ 
cisely twelve and one-half inches. On the third 
day I varied my sport by spearing sea-eels. I 
must confess that my first experience was an 
unfortunate one, as I fell overboard from the 
boat, in my eagerness to kill my prey. But 
gaining courage and address, after having 
speared a bushel basket full of eels I had 
enough of it. Sincerely yours, C. B. 
P. S.—Having lost my pen, I write this with 
a bill of a curlew. I softened it first with vine¬ 
gar, then split and nibbed it nicely, and it makes 
quite a good stylus. Jake is a master in cooking 
snipe and curlew, and has a stock of excellent 
Southern red pepper, but if any of your friends 
have the least bit of gourmandism about them, 
tell them not to forget the lemons, the juice of 
which enhances the flavor of these birds. 
Cooking Game. 
(From issue of Sept. 25, 1893.) 
Henry Watterson, of the Louisville Cour- 
rier-Journal, has been writing some very clever 
letters from abroad. Among the many good 
things he says, paraphrasing the well known 
quotation of “painting the lily and gilding fine 
gold,” in regard to cooking game, he uses this 
terse apothegm: “Truffles do not improve 
woodcocks.” Sentence fraught with wisdom, and 
worthy of a Brillat Savarin! The Louisville 
editor does not relish on the whole the French 
cuisine, and takes Edmund Yates as an authority 
about our American cookery. Of Yates, he says: 
“I heard Edmund Yates remark last winter— 
and whatever you may think of Edmund's novels, 
if you have ever met him, you would allow that 
he has a belly of unqualified culture and genius 
—I heard him say last winter that the Brevoort 
House, meaning, of course, the kitchen, is the 
best hotel in the world.” 
In subtle gastronomic discriminations you 
can find no more able analytical powers than 
those possessed by literary men. That delicate 
shading between the gourmand and the epicure 
they fully appreciate. If the immortal Thack¬ 
eray w ? as illustrious as a novelist, incomparably 
great was he in his table dilettantism. Think of 
his saying, as he ate his first oyster at Fulton 
Market, in the presence of the late departed 
Dorlon, who, on asking him how he liked them, 
replied, in a Johnsonian way: “Sir, I feel as if 
I had swallowed a baby.” 
What more just than Mr. Watterson’s re¬ 
marks on the bad taste of eating spoiled game, 
and we may properly quote Churchill, who says 
that “the sooner a bird or fish is eaten after 
it is taken, the better.” 
A salmis de bccasse, of course, is a thing 
not to be despised; only it is an ingenious method 
