FOREST AND STREAM 
83 
Shooting and Gaming Along Southern Waters 
A What to Take and How to Use it Article 
By Dick Swiveller. 
PUR, kase de golden gate ull be 
shut afore yo gits thar.” 
“Yass,” said Alex, “an in dat 
crowd on de outer side ob the 
gate whar dey is a walin’ an’ a 
wepin’ an’ a nashin’ an’ a 
cussin,’ I spect I’ll hear yo voice 
amongst de big hips. (‘Mass’ 
Dick what is dat, I want ter say? “HipOcrits, 
dat’s hit, in de loudest lammingations. Dunno 
what dat is, spect hits sumfin wuss.” 
The religious argument was continued for 
some time much to our amusement and ceased 
when the dark belligerents began their breakfast. 
Both then naturally grew mellow and good 
natured, and even confidential. 
We smoked, watched the fire, the rain and the 
dull sky, hoping for a break in the clouds, for 
there was no use to go further down the river 
until the wind changed and the weather cleared. 
The manner of shooting ducks on the Savan¬ 
nah is somwhat different from any practiced in 
other parts of the country. The weather should 
be clear and cool, and then the water fowl will 
be found feeding and preening themselves under 
the bending willows and bushes close to the edge 
of the water; or as the boat rounds one of the 
points of this notoriously crooked river, flocks 
of mallards, teals, broadbills, widgeons and 
occasionally black ducks and Canada geese will 
suddenly he met with in the open water, some 
distance from the bank, within range of the gun, 
offering fine shots and good sport as they take 
wing. 
All day long it rained hard, and when night 
closed in there appeared to be no signs of it clear¬ 
ing up. Flocks of ducks and occasional bunches of 
geese were observed from time to time during 
the day high in the air flying southward, caus¬ 
ing anticipations of sport ahead. Sam and I 
spent the time talking on a variety of subjects, 
among which guns and ammunition were in¬ 
teresting topics. On this trip we were using 
12-gauges instead of io-gauges as heretofore on 
ducks, having realized that for this shooting and 
work generally the 12-gauge was in all respects 
the most satisfactory—using a 12, 30, 7% for 
heavy work and 12, 28, 7 to 7% for upland shoot¬ 
ing. I remember we agred that notwithstand¬ 
ing the then popularity of 10-gauges for all 
kinds of shooting, the 12-gauge would eventually 
become the standard gauge, and the 10-gauge 
relegated to extra heavy work, and in most sec¬ 
tions not used at all. This prophecy has come 
true. One scarcely hears of a 10-gauge now, 
and there are many of the younger shooters 
who never saw a 10-gauge, and a greater number 
never saw a muzzle-loader. There are many, 
too, who never shot a double-barrel breech¬ 
loader, their experience being with the pump and 
automatic guns. Our 12-gauges were all we an¬ 
ticipated; it was delightful to handle a 7% pound 
(Continued from the January Forest and Stream .) 
12-gauge for this shooting, instead of a 914 
pound 10-gauge. Never since that time have I 
used any but the 12-gauge. 
We talked shells and loads and patterns. We 
has done a good deal of targeting. Then we drift¬ 
ed to game 'laws and the ethics of true and good 
sportsmanship, both deploring that the word 
“sport,” was often confounded with the word 
“sportsmen.” We agreed that the word “sport” 
has been more abused, ill treated and misapplied 
than any other word in our langauge. Of a high, 
noble and keen signification, it is often misap¬ 
plied and debased to unworthy objects. Of a re¬ 
stricted and refined significance, it has been ex¬ 
tended to a mass of improper matters, and from 
its natural elegant appropriateness it has been 
degraded to vulgar and dishonest associations. 
The creature who lives upon the most contemp¬ 
tible passions and with practiced skill creates all 
who may come his way, be they sharpers or 
honest men, winning by unfair means and rules 
in so-called games of chance into a certainty, 
calls himself a “sporting man” and should not be 
mentioned with a “sportsman.” There is as much 
difference between the sportsman and sporting 
man, as there is between the brightest day and 
darkest night. 
The man who loves the woods, waters, moun¬ 
tains and deep forests; whose whole being is in 
sympathy with Nature and her works; who loves 
the dog used for sport; who pursues game for 
pleasure and not for profit, and shoots on the 
wing, taking in moderation of the game that 
Nature offers—such a man is a “true sports¬ 
man.” 
“That is the way I look at it,” said Sam, “and 
I only wish the whole country knew the differ¬ 
ence and did not confound honest men with 
black-legs.” 
Well, Sam,” said I, “you and I understand 
it; we are pretty good sportsmen and we will 
teach others the real meaning of the word 
sportsman.” 
Snug in our blankets that night we were lulled 
to sleep by the incessant drumming of the rain on 
the canvas, little thinking that before dawn our 
camp would witness the greatest stampede and 
fleeing before the rush of water within our 
memory and experience as duck shooters. It 
does not take long for one of these narrow 
southern rivers to rise beyond its banks, and 
those unfortunate enough to be in its path have 
little time to save life and property. 
We slept, all unconscious that the river was 
rising, stretching out its long, watery arms, 
nearer and nearer, hungry to engulf and ex¬ 
terminate us. 
It was about 2 o’clock a. m., when Sam awoke 
and was at once aware that the river was up by 
the sound of rushing water, known only too well 
by him. Springing from the tent and toward the 
river a glance at the nearness of the water, im¬ 
perfectly seen through the rain and darkness, 
showed the peril of the camp. 
My first intimation of danger v/as when I was 
seized by the arm and dragged from the 
blankets. 
“Dick! Dick! for heaven’s sake get up and put 
on some clothes. Alex, Joe, Joe, Alex, Alex. 
Confound those niggers; can’t they awake?” 
I was by this time thoroughly aroused from 
sound sleep and frightened. Jumping on the 
poor darkies, I called: “Get up, get up! Tumble 
out! the river, men; the river. Secure the boats.” 
Ah, the boats! What will we do if they are 
gone? Lose our property and maybe our lives. 
The boys realized the situation and terror- 
struck, sprang toward the river in the direction 
of where the boats had been made fast. Sam 
lighted the lantern. It gave but faint light in 
the darkness. There w r as a half minute of sus¬ 
pense as Alex and Joe disappeared in the 
gloom. 
“Are the boats safe?” 
No answer. 
A moment more and perhaps our worst fears 
were realized. 
Can you reach the boats; if not, hurry this 
way. 
Then through the storm and darkness came the 
cry: “We’s got ’em both; an we’s waste deep in 
de wata. Mighty good dem stakes wuz drove so 
good or we’d nebber seen dese er boats no mo. 
We’s a acomin’; we’s acomin!” 
Presently the brave fellows came, towing the 
little ships. I had started a fire; and kept add¬ 
ing fuel. The blaze leaped up lighting the scene 
and showing us a maddened, seething stretch of 
water advancing rapidly upon us. The tent was 
struck, and two men working to each boat, piled 
the camp plunder and “duds” generally into 
them. It was quick work; the wa^er was already 
up to the camp fire. I boarded the shooting 
boat and seized a paddle. Joe followed me. At 
this moment the bulky form of Sam, armed with 
a frying pan and a pair of boots (the last load), 
waded to the bottom and stepped in. We were 
comparatively safe now. As the water rose we 
pushed the boats toward the bank of the corn¬ 
field as near as we could calculate until they 
grounded, constantly watching that we were not 
carried into rapid and deep water and swept 
down the river and to almost certain death. Thus 
we held out until daylight, which found us a 
short distance from the bank and a hundred 
and fifty feet or so from our camp site. 
Safe in the boats the paddling and pushing 
toward the cornfield bank began. We were not 
long in discovering the ridiculous position in 
which we found ourselves. 
Here we were pressed by a dangerous flood 
in the middle of the night in open boats, in a 
torrent of rain, in darkness, clothing soaked 
through and awaiting anxiously the dawn. Who 
