84 
FOREST AND STREAM 
would not give tip all He hath and go duck 
shooting? 
Rugged men, frail men and strong men face 
■dangers by sea and river in open boats in all 
kinds of weather, day and night in most trying 
conditions, and all for the pleasure and excite¬ 
ment of duck shooting; go year after year and 
grow more rugged as they are exposed to 
weather and breathe the life-giving air. On the 
'bosom of the river, on the heaving sea, in the 
grand old forests and fields, bathed in the sun¬ 
light, fanned by the breezes, blown and tossed 
hither and yon by the gales. In all this is found 
the true elixir of life—the fountain of youth. 
You men who sit in your offices the year round, 
go about with bent forms; you men who can 
see nothing but dollars and continue to dig, 
delve, work and toil in life’s treadmill, will you 
not see the way open to a new and beautiful 
life physically? You men with narrow chest 
and drooping shoulders, with dark lines on your 
faces, with sunken eyes, weak limbs, all of you 
maphap hardly at the meridian of life. The 
majority of you were born in perfect health, 
why abuse this blessed boon, good health. 
Look at those whose occupations are out in 
the air; mark the fair, brown cheek, the bright 
eye, the free swinging gait, the general healthy 
tone. Does it pay to work indoors ten or twelve 
months in the year, and die at forty-five or fifty? 
Does it pay to work eleven months in the year 
and consume the twelfth in idling around a 
fashionable Summer hotel? Go out, be out; 
cultivate a taste for some out-door pleasure that 
will take you out. Make some sacrifice in the 
beginning of the outings of business and time, 
and very soon it will be found to be no sacri¬ 
fice, but on the contrary, when returned to busi¬ 
ness from the fields and forests, the whole sys¬ 
tem is rested, renovated, oiled; the cob-webs are 
swept out of the brain, the heavy head has gone 
and the eye is weary no longer. 
Parents should teach their children early—soon 
as they can understand—the value of keeping up 
all through life out-door recreation. The boy 
should be taught how to handle the gun. This 
taste once formed will take him out as a man 
when all other incentives fail. Let your boys 
and girls go out all they will; encourage in them 
a cultivation of field sports. The boy and gun 
of to-day is not the boy and gun of thirty years 
or more ago, so far as the danger of handling 
the gun is concerned. The breech-loader of to¬ 
day is safe, so safe indeed that the boy or man 
■who cannot be trusted with it should not be 
trusted with anything. The excuse that “it is 
dangerous’’ fails since the old muzzle-loader has 
disapeared, and is kept as a relic of the past in 
fond remembrance of the delightful days afield 
in the long ago. 
Yes, here we were waiting for the dawn, and 
the morning that would bring a cup of hot coffee, 
and we hoped, clearing weather. The water rose 
and the boats were pushed toward the high bank 
of the cornfield. The rain had almost ceased, 
at 4 o’clock and the wind changed around to 
southwest; soon a star appeared; presently a 
number of them. We filled our pipes with re¬ 
newed hopes, smoked and chatted. The muse of 
music moved Alex, and he began one of those 
unrivaled plantation melodies, keeping time with 
his hands and feet. We all joined in the chorus, 
and the dark southern forest away across the 
waste of waters caught up and re-echoed the 
sound in many reverberations. By dozens the stars 
came out, the clouds moved on and away, until 
at last the blue firmament of heaven reigned 
supreme over the storm king. As the millions of 
stars began to pale in the heavens, we turned 
our eyes toward the east and beheld the first 
faint streaks of the morning. Pushing the boats 
to a landing a fire was started. Your old camper 
knows how to do that in wet weather. Joe 
assisted by Alex proceeded to get breakfast, Sam 
and I the while getting things in the boats in 
some sort of order. Soon Joe served us with 
most welcome hot coffee, hot biscuits and fried 
ham. The recollection of that breakfast, par¬ 
ticularly the coffee, has lingered with me all 
these years. 
After the “darkies” had eaten and all camp 
plunder put in shape, guns were uncased, 
cartridge bags filled, the boats pushed on the 
hurrying waters and in a few moments we were 
whirling southward on the bosom of the flood, 
Sam and Joe in one boat taking the lead, Alex 
and myself in the other following some three 
hundred yards or so away. We did not ex¬ 
pect to get much shooting until the water was 
down but were looking for a good and pleasant 
place to camp. Perched on the mess chest with 
my 12-gauge across my lap, I watched the heavily 
wooded shores as we hurried on. It was grand, 
the speed, the situation and the spice of danger 
exhilarating. At times our craft would approach 
near the shore. The great swamp oaks loomed 
up, stretching out their long arms covered with 
that parasite, funeral moss, hanging from every 
stem and branch their long, mournful festoons 
swaying to and fro with the wind. Hundreds of 
cypress trees could be seen; many canebrakes 
and deep, dismal swamp places that suggested 
reptiles fn the hot days of Summer. 
Again the river broadened, and we would be 
floating on a lake giving the idea of the land 
under this flood of water. Rich bottom land 
dear to the heart of the cotton and corn planter. 
So interested was I in this nature panorama that 
I had forgotten the possible proximity of game, 
when Alex’s sharp, quick cry of: “Mark! Now 
■dey is a cornin’ down the ribber; one, two, three, 
four, nine mallards. Alex’s strong arm sent the 
boat in close to the shore. The birds were evi¬ 
dently about to alight. Now their green heads 
•could be seen glistening in the sunlight. Aiming 
well forward of the leader, I pressed the trigger 
killing the duck next to him, and brought an¬ 
other down with the second barrel wing-broke; 
a long shot. 
“Mars Dick yo’ didn’t spect dem ducks. Sort 
curus fer ducks to be flyin’ ’bout dis kind o’ 
wata. We’s git no good shootin’ till dis ribber 
goes down, and dat will take three days or mo.” 
Down the river came the muffled boom of a 
gun. “There Alex, that’s Mr. Sam’s gun. He, 
too, has an unlooked for shot, and I reckon has 
a bird or so. Seldom he misses anything like 
a fair shot.” Sweeping around the next point 
my friend’s boat was sighted. 
“Ship ahoy!” “Where away!” 
“How many ducks did you kill?” 
“Two,” said I, “how many have you?” 
“Three.” 
“Good enough, a bird apiece for dinner and 
one to spare.” 
“I reckon, Dick, we had best go into camp now; 
there’s a good place just below here a few miles. 
There is no use to try for any kind of shoot¬ 
ing at this stage of the water; the ducks are for 
most part away back in the woods and will not 
appear until they are obliged to follow the re¬ 
ceding water. If we go further now we will 
pass over what later will be good ground.” 
We camped on a high bank, a pleasant spot 
with plenty of fire wood handy. An hour or so 
later we were discussing toothsome mallard, pone 
bread, coffee and a desert of waffles and sugar 
syrup. 
We had just finished dinner and started to 
clean our guns, when we were startled to hear 
the tramp of horses’ hoofs in the woods behind 
the tent, and the next moment a gentleman on 
horseback appeared in the light of the camp fire. 
The reader can judge of our surprise. Here 
