A Turkey Hunt in the South. 
1 here were four of us, to say nothing of 
Rodex, the dog, and Aleck, the cook. For sev¬ 
eral weeks we had been planning for our annual 
outing, and had decided on this trip to go in 
quest of the wariest of all game birds, the wild 
turkey. After much discussion we agreed that 
Open Lake, on account of its diversity of sports, 
was the most desirable place. For it is veritably 
the fisherman’s paradise, and if you chance to 
happen there some season when the mast is plen¬ 
tiful, you can get -more than an average bag of 
greenheads, while the woods along its shores 
usually furnish very good sport of the kind we 
W'ere after. 
Open Lake is one of many, but one of the 
largest, lying adjacent to the Mississippi River 
on the 1 ennessee side. On account of easy ac¬ 
cess, although away from the railroad, it is much 
frequented by hunters, as well as fishermen. But 
the man with the gun has done his work well, 
and each year the scarcity of game is more per¬ 
ceptible. A few days before we were to leave 
I happened to meet an old trapper, a typical 
specimen of that class of wanderers who ply 
their vocation up and down the muddy Missis¬ 
sippi, stopping now and then along its banks 
where they find signs plentiful of fur-bearing 
animals. I told him of our projected trip. 
“Waal,” he. said, “if it’s turkeys ye be after, 
go to Rony Pond, The woods around there is 
chock full of ’em, an’ you’d think there was a 
passel of hogs a-rootin’ up the bottom where 
them turkeys is a-been scratchin’. I been trap- 
pin’ up and down the Mississippi goin’ on nigh 
erbout ten year, an’ I hain’t seen as many tur¬ 
keys, nor hearn as many at no one time, as there 
is aroun’ Rony.” 
I knew from former experience that informa¬ 
tion from such a source was usually not very re¬ 
liable; in this instance, however, I was impressed 
with the truth of his statement, making due al¬ 
lowance for the average American’s exaggera¬ 
tion. 
Now, Rony Pond was not on my map; in fact, 
I had never heard of the place before. It was 
just a small water hole, simply used as a pointer 
to mark a certain place in the Mississippi bottom. 
I took out my note book and began to jot down 
the directions as he gave them to me, as to how 
we should reach there. According to his reckon¬ 
ing it was not much further from our starting 
point than the place on which we had decided. 
But I saw that it would take a chart and com¬ 
pass to follow the directions as given me by the 
old trapper. 
I had, however, grown enthusiastic from the 
talk put up by the old fellow, and was willing 
to take any kind of a chance to reach Rony, even 
without a guide; for it was not at all probable 
that we could procure one. I at once reported 
to the boys and told them an old hunter, a 
; special friend of mine, had given me this in- 
fonnation, and that they could depend on it as 
being perfectly reliable, as I knew he would not 
j hand me out any that was bogus. My enthu¬ 
siasm was not contagious. It took a good deal 
of persuasion—and the promise of a fine pointer 
pup to one of the party—for them to allow me 
to dictate as to the place where we should pitch 
our camp. 
Uncle Ben, the veteran of the crowd, who has 
killed deer on the land he now cultivates— 
then a wilderness, now showing the subsoil from 
long cultivation, the fence corners filled with 
sassafras bushes and golden rod—spoke up and 
said: “Reckon we’ll have any trouble in getting 
there? You know there are not many places 
where we can go down the bluff, and Cole 
Creek, that winds along at its foot, is mighty 
treacherous, not many bridges and very few 
fords, and usually them bottom roads is mighty 
indistinct, and most a-time not at all.’* 
I assured him there would be no trouble on 
that score, that the way was perfectly plain; in 
fact, a child could follow the directions as given 
me by my friend. So the matter was settled. 
1 he day for us to go dawned at last; a glorious 
day, such as can only be found in the autumn in 
.the south. After luncheon John, Fat, Uncle Ben' 
and I climbed into a two-seated hack, behind 
a spanking good team, while Aleck and Rodex 
had charge of the commissary wagon following 
on behind. 
That drive was one to enjoy. We drove 
through winding lanes, bordered on either side 
with great plantations of bursting cotton that 
looked like fields of snow, out of whose depths 
you could hear the piping of scattered quail and 
the soft flute-like notes of the meadow lark. 
Black kinky heads, at work picking the fleecy 
staple, some covered with a red bandana, would 
bob up at our approach, bowing and waving as 
long as we were in sight. We passed through 
groves of fine old forest trees, whose leaves were 
beginning to take on the kaleidoscopic tints of 
autumn, the purple foliage of the oaks, the golden 
hickories, and the crimson gum, seemed but a 
reflection of the setting sun that was falling be¬ 
hind a bank of flaky clouds, penciling them with 
all the colors of the rainbow. Myriads of feath¬ 
ered songsters, some from a colder clime, come 
to spend the winter with their southern cousins, 
were bidding good-bye to the departing day with 
a flood of melody, while out of the gloom of the 
forest could be heard the boisterous hoot of the 
owl welcoming the coming of night. By and 
by, at the foot of a hill, we came to a little 
brook that was catching the falling leaves and 
hurrying them on to enrich the heart of the 
delta. There was a beech grove along its banks, 
a most tempting place for a camping site; so 
here we stopped for the night. 
Very soon Aleck had a roaring camp-fire, for 
the November nights are cool. After enjoying 
a ^ hearty supper we spread our blankets and' lav 
down to recuperate for the day that was be- 
fore us. Somewhere from out of the grove the 
queen of songsters, the southern mockingbird, 
was filling the night with its liquid music, sing¬ 
ing us into a dreamless slumber from which we 
did not awaken until aroused by Aleck, calling 
to us that breakfast was ready. 
After a repast of bacon and coffee we were 
soon on our way. We got along nicely until in 
the afternoon. I then had to consult my notes 
several times. There was one that read this 
way: “On reaching farmhouse where you will 
see several large shocks of hay in front lawn, 
drive, on and turn first road to left.” Unfor¬ 
tunate^ for us, the old farmer had seen fit to. 
move his hay, so we drove about three miles 
beyond the place we were to leave the main 
road, when we happened to meet an old darkey 
who set us right. There were then some sug¬ 
gestions of mutiny, but the outbreak did not 
occur until we. reached the bluff that divides the 
hill land from the bottom. According to my 
notes this was called Davenport Ford. It ought 
to be called Devil’s Ford, for nothing without 
claws could ever climb such a precipice. 
Uncle Ben, John and Fat did not enjoy the 
panorama spread out before them, for from this 
point we could see over the tops of the tall 
Mississippi bottom timber, as far as the eye 
could reach. An imposing sight that should.have 
stirred the artist soul in any man. and inspired 
him to say pleasant things, but my companions 
were stifling such sentiments, and had drawn 
apart by themselves, holding a caucus in an un¬ 
dertone, while I was anxiously awaiting their 
verdict. Finally, turning to me, Uncle Ben very 
cruelly said: 
“Well, what are you going to do about it?” 
I at once suggested that we go in search of 
a . c .°tJ on gin. I knew there must be one in that 
vicinity. “Get a block and tackle, a .few field 
hands, and go to work and get our outfit down 
the bluff.” 
My suggestion was acted on. Aleck went in 
search of assistance, returning with six or eight 
negroes, who, for the modest sum of one dollar 
apiece, which I had to pay, managed to get our 
teams down in safety. I made up my mind then 
and there to get a negro to pilot us to the pond, 
if there was one among them that knew the way. 
As it happened one of them said he knew the 
bottom well. When I asked him if he knew the 
way to Rony Pond he said: 
‘ I s’pecks I do, boss, but dare ain’t no mo’ 
road ober dar den de is up in de Hivins yonder, 
and I s’pecks you’d better get de ax’ out’n yo’ 
waggin, kase I knows I’m a gwyne ter have ter 
cut my way thru’.” 
John and Fat had gotten'their .22 caliber rifles 
out and with Uncle Ben were walking in front 
with the negro guide, leaving me in charge of 
our team. We still had a seven mile drive-be¬ 
fore us, and a-slow and laborious one it was, 
especially for the negro with the axe, as it had 
to be brought into use a number of times. When 
we got within a mile of the pond we struck an 
old road; after that we got along nicely. About 
this time we heard Rodex give mouth out to 
our left. John and Fat went out to where he 
had made the flush. Uncle Ben got up in the 
hack with me and we drove on. Just before 
reaching our camping place our guide, who was 
ahead of us, came running back saying he had 
flushed a big gang of turkeys right at the place 
we were to pitch our camp. 
After reaching there we got out our guns and 
went several hundred yards in the direction the 
negro said the turkeys flew before making our 
blind. After waiting a few minutes Uncle Ben 
began to call. At once there was an answering 
yelp. Uncle Ben, turning to me, said: 
Have your gun in readiness and keep your 
eve on that clear place to your left, for a turkey 
will not make his approach through heavy 
cover.” 
Very soon there was another yelp, and a fine 
young gobbler walked out into thg open. I 
promptly brought him down with a charge of 
No. 6 chilled shot. 
It was by this time near sundown, so we 
thought it best to go and assist in fixing camp 
and give Aleck a chance to prepare supper, for 
we were all nearly famished after such a long 
and tiresome trip as we had made that day. 
John and Fat came in with two fine young tur¬ 
keys, having brought them down with their .22 
caliber rifles. They were very much excited", 
both wanting to talk at once, saying that Rodex 
had Hushed two large droves, and the woods was 
literally torn all to pieces, as I had pictured 
it to them. They then passed a resolution, ex¬ 
tending me a vote of thanks, saying there was 
no obstacle they would not be willing to over¬ 
come to reach such a territory. 
That night, while sitting around the camp-fire— 
the most enjoyable part of a trip of this kind— 
we heard the honk, honk, of several droves of 
wild geese on their flight to the feeding grounds 
in the south. Soon from out the silence of the 
forest the notes of “Annie Laurie” were borne 
to our ears, from a calliope on one of the pleas¬ 
ure steamers on the Mississippi, more than two 
miles away. It sounded indescribably sweet to 
us_ at this time. The intense stillness, the flick¬ 
ering camp-fire casting weird shadows on the 
dense foliage around us—alone with nature—at 
such a time the senses more fully appreciate 
sentiment and sweet, sounds. 
After a refreshing sleep and a most appetizing 
breakfast, with turkey steak on the menu, each 
of us felt, as if we would keenly enjoy the day’s 
