Sept. 14, 1912 
FOREST AND STREAM 
331 
automatic gun. The reasons why we did not 
make a better record were-—first, the broken 
coveys, and second, the fact that being unused 
to the country, we did not mark the flights well. 
The ground was ideal for quail shooting, con¬ 
sisting of pine forest with trees from twenty- 
five to fifty feet or more apart, the space between 
being generally covered with scrub palmetto, but 
sometimes with clumpy grass. Owing to the re¬ 
cent rains the walking was wet, but that cut 
little figure; in fact, in one sense it was an ad¬ 
vantage in that the dampness enabled the dogs 
to find without difficulty. With one exception 
the conditions were perfect, but that was an 
important one, for we were in a rattlesnake 
country where both the little sand rattlers and 
the big diamond backs abound, and it is certainly 
unpleasant to have to watch continually for 
snakes, knowing that a bite from one of them 
almost certainly means death. They say that 
one can recover sometimes from the bite of a 
sand rattler, but that when a diamond back hits 
one, he is doomed. We had provided ourselves 
with canvas leggings, but we knew that they 
were likely to prove ineffective, because we were 
informed at Bartow that the only material which 
can be relied upon for turning a rattler’s fangs 
is tin, and as there was no armor for sale in 
that district, we had to content ourselves with 
canvas. Fortunately for us (at least as far as 
snakes were concerned) the weather just pre¬ 
ceding and during the larger part of our trip 
was such that no self-respecting rattler would 
during its continuance be found away from home, 
consequently we were not troubled much with 
them during the trip. A few of them were en¬ 
countered, but of those more anon. 
One feature of this shooting was most satis¬ 
factory. We did not have to walk from one 
covey to another, because the dogs were so 
trained that we could drive till they found game, 
then we got out and shot till the covey was either 
bagged or too scattered to warrant further hunt¬ 
ing. Occasionally when the dogs winded old 
scent, we got out, hitched the horses and helped 
the dogs locate the bunch, but this was neces¬ 
sary only once in a while. Ordinarily a good 
bird dog knows better how to find birds than 
its master does, but Mr. R. had had such a wide 
experience in Florida quail shooting that some¬ 
times he knew better than the dogs. 
At 5 o’clock we had to cease shooting and 
make for camp. We struck the sandhills about 
dark, but as there was a full moon, the drive 
was a pleasant one, although a trifle cool. Owing 
to our wheels sinking into the soft sand, we had 
to travel at a walk, the load per buggy of two 
men and two dogs being somewhat heavy for 
the horse. In respect to horses we were very 
fortunate, for they were absolutely unafraid of 
the shooting and would stand when left, al¬ 
though we generally took the precaution to tie 
up at the nearest tree, but the mules were an 
“ornery” pair, requiring two men to hitch them 
to the wagon. Our mule, a big, powerful beast, 
had a habit of standing on end for a few 
moments each morning when starting out, but 
she soon settled down to business and took us 
over the ground in good shape. 
We passed several watering places and must 
have traveled seven miles in the sandhills be¬ 
fore we found our teamster, and even then we 
nearly missed him. He had turned off the road 
and we did not discover his camp-fire until after 
we had passed it, having mistaken the camp of 
another party for his. The fire was welcomed, 
as we were a trifle chilled, and we soon had a 
good supper, consisting of boiled gritz—termed 
hominy in the North—potatoes baked in the 
ashes, bread, butter, coffee and a dozen fried 
quail which our thoughtful friend, Mr. W., had 
plucked while Leonard and I were shooting. 
As a camp cook John, the teamster, proved 
himself second to none. He knew exactly how 
to season things, how much to cook game to 
suit the taste of each member of the party, and 
how to make everything taste good, but it was 
not advisable to watch too closely his methods 
of manipulating the utensils and food, unless one 
were blessed with a strong stomach. John was 
certainly the best working negro that I have 
ever run across. It seemed to me that on this 
trip John was working constantly from daylight 
till bed time. Not only did he cook for the 
party, which after our arrival at the ranch gen¬ 
erally numbered nine or ten, but he groomed, 
watered and fed the horses and mules, gave 
the dogs their meals, cut and hauled firewood, 
plucked—not skinned—some fifty or more birds 
per day, mended harness, and made himself gen¬ 
erally useful in various little ways to all mem¬ 
bers of the party. In spite of all this work, no 
one from start to finish heard him make a 
single complaint or say an unpleasant word. 
Moreover, he looked after our belongings with 
the same care as he would have employed had 
they been his own. In short, he was an ideal 
servant—barring the sole item of cleanliness in 
cooking—and I fear that I shall never look upon 
his like again. 
After supper we were visited and serenaded 
by several young men and women from the 
neighboring camp. We enjoyed listening to their 
music and talking to them for a half hour, then 
we turned in for the night, W. and I as the 
elders of the party being given the two cots, 
and the others sleeping on the ground. As the 
supply of bed clothing was ample, and as fortu¬ 
nately for us it did not rain, we all passed a 
very comfortable night, arising shortly after day¬ 
break to take a wash at the shore of the little 
lake and to enjoy a bountiful breakfast of oat¬ 
meal, porridge, gritz, coffee and the remainder 
of the two dozen quail, which we all had jo ned 
in plucking before we retired. 
The day promised to be fine, hence we made 
haste to pack our belongings and get across the 
remaining three miles of sandhills to reach the 
shooting ground. We had no sooner turned the 
dogs loose than they found a broken covey of 
four, but as there was a house nearby, the 
owner of which objected to our shooting, we 
flushed the birds and passed on without firing 
a shot. In order to comply with the Florida 
laws, which permit of the shooting of only forty 
quail per day per party, we divided that day 
into two parties, Mr. W. and Leonard compos¬ 
ing one and Mr. R. and I the other. And what 
a day’s shoot we had! The dogs worked to 
perfection, the weather was clear and cool, the 
timber was open, the underbrush was seldom 
dense, the walking was good though quite wet, 
the birds were fairly plentiful and lay well to 
the dogs, we shot creditably, and—thanks to R.’s 
experience and trained eyes—we were able to 
mark down the birds, not only after the first 
flush, but often once or twice more, enabling 
us to bag occasionally as many as ten birds out 
of a covey and on the average about-seven. The 
dogs retrieved the dead birds and the cripples 
in fine style, and everything tended to as per¬ 
fect a day’s sport as I have ever enjoyed Mr. 
W., who is an ardent fisherman, but not so keen 
on shooting, left most of the sport to Leonard, 
and as between us we put up all told a dozen 
coveys, we succeeded in bagging the limit. 
Mr. R., who was using my full-choke double 
gun, proved himself to be a good shot, and not¬ 
withstanding the handicap of the choke, he could 
easily have outshot me, but he was courteous 
enough to give me the best of the shooting and 
generally contented himself with taking the long 
shots; in truth, he had to do so or else blow 
the birds to atoms. I was using my little open 
gun with its 26-inch barrels that I had had made 
to order some sixteen years previously, and with 
which I have done most of my shooting ever since. 
[to be continued.] 
WILD DUCKS AT FORT MEYERS, FLA. 
Photo by Thos. H. Jackson. 
