370 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[ 2 \Iarch 6, 1909. 
A'Possum Hunt in the South 
By PIOUS JEEMS 
“W HAVE often heard of the negro’s love for 
^ opossum,” said Col. Rodman, “and I would 
really like to witness an opossum hunt with 
“Your curiosity can be easily gratified, 
Colonel,” said I, “and if you like, I will arrange 
a hunt for to-niglit.” 
“Good!” said Bill Poss, “I vote for ’possum 
and taters.” 
After supper the men were called out into 
the back yard to inspect a regular specimen of 
the Southern negro, of the Pompey Squash 
order, whose name was Thrasher. He was ac¬ 
companied by Buzzard Bill and several smaller 
negro boys. Col. Rodman was amazed at the 
appearance of Thrasher, who was about fifty 
3’ears old, five feet high, bow-legged, with arms 
like an ape’s, a flat head covered with unkempt 
wool, a flat nose, and a mouth that extended 
almost across his face. Thrasher grinned from 
ear to ear, delighted with the attention he was 
receiving from the distinguished-looking men 
who crowded about him; and as his thick lips 
parted, he showed a set of ivory fangs that 
would have done credit to one of his cannibal 
ancestors. 
“Where are your dogs, Thrasher?” I asked. 
“Here dey is, sah,” he answered, as he 
whistled and snapped his fingers, which brought 
four hard-looking specimens to his side. Three 
of them were yellow and the fourth brindled. 
One long-bodied nondescript was a pale yellow, 
with short, crooked legs, like a dachshund, the 
most ordinary looking one of the lot; but 
Bone’em was, we soon found, his master’s 
favorite. 
Col. Rodman inquired if Thrasher knew 
enough of the classics to give his dog a Latin 
appellation, supposing the word was the Latin 
adjective, bonum —good; but learned that Bone¬ 
’em derived his name from a habit he had of 
crushing opossum bones in his heavy jaws. 
Ringgold was the name of another one of his 
dogs, not given as we learned in honor of the 
gallant officer who fell at Palo Alto, but so 
called from a white ring around his neck, the 
rest of his body being yellow. The third dog 
was called Bob from his having been denuded 
of all but an inch of his tail. The brindle was 
called Soapsticks, because of his long, slab 
sides and thin legs; “dey looks like soapsticks,” 
remarked the owner in explanation. 
Around Thrasher’s neck hung a ponderous 
cow’s horn, and although his clothing was 
covered with many colored patches, and hung 
in tatters, there was a look of pleasure in his 
eye, and a general expression of freedom from 
care in his demeanor that made him quite a 
wonder to Col. Rodman. Thrasher tooted his 
horn, as we started for the hunt, and then he 
and the negro boys sang in chorus: 
My dog- barked, and I went to see, 
O carve him to his heart, 
I found a ’possum up a tree, 
O carve him to his heart. 
Chorus: O carve dat ’possum, 
• Carve dat ’possum, 
Carve dat ’possum. 
1' O carve him to his heart. 
I reached out to bring him in, 
O carve him to his heart. 
And den de ’possum begun to grin, 
O carve him to his heart. 
I carried him home and dressed him off, 
O carve him to his heart, 
I laid dat ’possum in de frost, 
O carve him to his heart. 
Chorus. 
De way I cooked dat ’possum done, 
O carve him to his heart, 
I first parboiled, den baked him brown, 
O carve him to his heart. 
Laid sweet pertaties in de pan, 
O carve him to his heart, 
’Tis de sweetest eatin’ in de Ian’, 
O carve him to his heart. 
Chorus. 
’Possum meat am good and sweet, 
O carve him to his heart, 
’Possum meat am good to eat, 
O carve him to his heart. 
If you want to see a nigger eat, 
O carve him to his heart. 
Jest set him down to ’possum meat, 
O carve him to his heart. 
Chorus. 
As the song closed, Thrasher shouted, 
“Hoop-peel go erlong, dogs!” and the curs 
that had hung so listless and spiritless at his 
heels, darted off into the darkness. As we 
walked along, a quick, sharp bark broke forth 
as Ringgold and Bob dashed by in chase of a 
hare. Thrasher yelled his displeasure, to which 
the curs paid no attention, but kept on in the 
darkness until the hare took refuge in a hollow 
tree, where Ringgold and Bob kept barking 
until we reached them, and Thrasher kicked 
them away. Buzzard Bill, against Thrasher’s 
remonstrance that Vhe’d spile his dogs,” cut a 
long hickory switch, and running it up the 
hollow, twisted it into pussy’s fur, and dragged 
her down from her retreat. 
“Thrasher,” said I, “your dogs are no ac¬ 
count, they are nothing but rabbit dogs.” 
“You jis wait till yer hears Bone’em,” replied 
Thrasher. “When he open his mouf, you may 
jis bet dar’s a ’possum in a tree ’bout dar for 
sho.” Then turning to the negro boys, he said, 
“You all jis come erlong now, and quit foolin’ 
erway yer time arter rabbits. De moon git up 
arter while, an de ’possums will all hustle for 
home.” 
“What has the moon to do with the opos¬ 
sum?” asked Col. Rodman. 
“Got heap to do wid ’em,” answered Thrasher, 
“ ’possum be skeered ob his shadder, he likes 
dark best.” We wandered on across the hills 
and hollows, and as we entered the edge of an 
old field, along whose border the wild grape 
and muscadine hung in luxuriant clusters, we 
heard the quick, sharp bay of a dog. 
“Hoop-pee! dat’s Bone’em. Dat’s er ’possum 
sho! he, he, hi, hi,” laughed Thrasher, cutting 
the pigeon wing as he danced with deli ght. 
We proceeded in the direction indicated by the 
barking and found Bone’em baying furiously 
in a thicket of small trees covered with vines. 
It was quite dark in the dense forest, and we 
could hear the clamor of the dogs, but see 
nothing. 
“Which tree is he in, Thrasher?” I asked. 
“De one Bone’em bark up. He dar for sho, 
jis wait till I strikes a lite,” said Thrasher. 
And drawing from the pockets of his patched 
coat some splinters of fat pine, he struck a 
match and lighted a torch, and holding it above 
his head, we saw a ’possum clinging to a tall 
sapling. “Hole de lite. Buzzard Bill,” said 
Thrasher, “till I shakes him out.” Bill took 
the torch, and Thrasher began shaking the 
sapling vigorously. The opossum clung to the 
tree; then he let one foot loose, then another, 
and another, until all four feet were shaken 
loose, and the “varmint” fell head downward, 
but still did not drop, for its prehensile tail 
was twisted around a branch, and it took still 
more vigorous shaking to break his tail hold. 
Finally the beast fell and was seized upon by 
the dogs; and notwithstanding they were 
kicked off by Thrasher and Buzzard Bill im¬ 
mediately, when brought to the light the 
opossum was apparently quite dead. It made 
no effort to defend itself from the dogs, al¬ 
though armed with a very formidable row of 
teeth. 
“I am sorry it is dead.” said Col. Rodman, 
“as I wished to examine it alive.” 
“He’s not dead,” said Thrasher, “he jis playin’ 
’possum; see me tickle him up!” Taking the 
precaution to get a good hold on the back of 
the animal’s neck, Thrasher began to tickle it 
in the flank and belly with his fingers. It made 
a sudden grab at his hands with a savage growl, 
which the sable hunter was watching for, and 
guarded against. “Yah, yah, he, he!” laughed 
Thrasher, “see dat? I 'Knows ’possum. Cat 
got nine libes, ’possum got twice dat many. 
Bone’em mash ’em and kill cat turrectly, but he 
no hurt ’possum.” 
Thrasher then cut a sapling the size of a 
man’s wrist, and having split one end of it with 
his ax, inserted the opossum’s tail in the open¬ 
ing, and then removing the ax, the wood closed 
tightly upon the tail. Throwing it over his 
shoulder, he tooted his big cow’s horn and 
started in search of another opossum. 
We had walked perhaps half a mile, when 
Bone’em’s quick, coarse bark rang out upon 
the still night air. “Dat’s another ’possum!” 
exclaimed Thrasher. “Hoop-pee! talk to him, 
Bone’em!” And Bone’em, thus encouraged, 
made the woods resound with his barking. The 
other dogs gathered to the sound of their 
leader’s voice, and the baying at the tree was 
quite enlivening. We hurried on and found an 
opossum in a persimmon tree, where it had 
been surprised by Bone’em, as it was regaling 
itself with this luscious fruit, which, when ripe, 
is much esteemed by the natives, but when 
green is harsh and astringent, puckering the 
lips so that the urchin seldom needs a second 
lesson to teach him to wait patiently until the 
frost ripens it. 
By this time the moon had risen above the 
treetops, and as we looked up, we could see the 
opossum clinging closely to one of the top¬ 
most boughs. Buzzard Bill climbed the tree 
as nimbly as a cat, and soon shook the opossum 
out. At it fell, it was seized by the dogs, and 
when rescued by Thrasher was apparently life¬ 
less. “Ha, ha, ha, what a fat ’possum!” laughed 
Thrasher, as he held the beast up by the tail. 
It WPS, indeed, a very fine fat opossum. Col. 
Rodman had a fire made, so he could examine 
