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A Sportsman’s Paradise.—I. 
Percy often comes clown with me to shoot 
ducks in the Great South Bay, on our old boat 
the Macy. Now and then we have had good luck, 
but always a happy time. He often regaled me 
with tales of the wonderful shooting he enjoyed 
at the Santee Club below Georgetown, S. C., 
on the Santee River, and gave me the best 
Christmas present I have ever had by asking 
me to go down there with him for two weeks 
on the 15th of January. 
Percy is an extravagant man, I fear, for he 
bought an extra share in the club solely that 
he might take a guest with him, and I am quite 
certain he did it for my special benefit. I ac¬ 
cepted with alacrity, and the eventful Saturday 
morning arrived at last when Percy and I, with 
three of his English retrievers and seven live 
call ducks, boarded the train at Jersey City 
bound for Georgetown. The dogs traveled in 
the baggage car, but the ducks we surrep¬ 
titiously smuggled into our stateroom. How 1 
laughed afterward when shooting over these 
same ducks to think -how anxiously I wanted 
them to all talk at once, for on the train we 
were frightenecj every time there was a sound 
from the basket, but our fellow travelers were 
a good natured lot and we were allowed to 
bring them safely through to our destination. 
We changed cars at Lanes on the Atlantic 
Coast Line and took the branch road to George¬ 
town, arriving there on Sunday morning at to 
o’clock. There we boarded a twin-screw house¬ 
boat belonging to the club and soon were steam¬ 
ing down the North Santee. Everything on this 
boat was as nicely arranged as on any steam 
yacht; an expert cook, a we’l trained steward 
and a bountiful larder made it seem almost too 
good to be true. 
We entered the Government canal connecting 
the North Santee with a branch of the South 
Santee, and after leaving that we steamed 
through the most fascinating creeks and small 
rivers until we emerged in the South Santee. 
Then we held our course down the river to¬ 
ward the ocean for some eight miles more, 
where we took a short canal leading to the 
wharf near the club house. We were met at 
the wharf by another horde of black servitors 
who were so eager to welcome us that they al¬ 
most insisted on carrying us up to the house 
on their backs. We had come twenty-eight 
miles from Georgetown in a little less than four 
hours and I never enjoyed a sail more. The 
country consisted of patches of wood and low 
lying rice fields with canals and small creeks 
running through them, and I thought I had at 
last been permitted to see the country Provi¬ 
dence had designed for the mallard duck. 
We found the club house a modern country 
house such as one would see on any gentle¬ 
man’s estate in the North, with every comfort 
and convenience, bathrooms with hot and cold 
water, a great living room down stairs with a 
billiard table in the center, a brick fireplace that 
burned logs six feet long, separate rooms for 
the lockers of members, and in short all that 
one could imagine necessary for one’s creature 
comforts. There were four members at the 
club and they came in shortly after our arrival, 
having taken the launch for a trip down to the 
inlet, and they brought back with them a bounti¬ 
ful supply of fresh fish. We sat down to din¬ 
ner at 7 o’clock and never have I tasted better 
food. We go to the famous restaurants of the 
world to dine, but nowhere can one dine as at 
Santee. We began with oysters taken that day, 
then came diamond back terrapin caught in the 
rice fields and creeks on the club property, then 
broiled filet of striped bass, after that roasted 
wild turkey, and to complete the feast a de¬ 
licious saddle of prime venison. I will remem¬ 
ber that dinner all my life, not because it was 
the only one I have ever had so good, but be¬ 
cause it was the first of thirteen others, for the 
thirteen days I was there after that night we 
had dinners just as good as that one. 
After dinner the head guide came into the 
living room and announced the stands we were 
to shoot from the following morning, and each 
member chose the place he wished to shoot in 
his regular turn. We having arrived last, 
were put at the foot of the list and we had 
the last choice. The member having the first 
choice one day goes to the foot of the list the 
next, and each day moves up a peg. We un¬ 
packed our shooting clothes, guns and car¬ 
tridges, and went to bed early, ready for an 
early call in the morning. 
At a quarter to four o’clock the colored butler 
came to my room to light the lamp and in¬ 
formed me that the thermometer registered 48 
degrees, the barometer 30.3 degrees and the 
wind northwest. So each member is awakened 
and informed as to the weather conditions that 
he may dress accordingly, another instance of 
the care exercised for the comfort of sports¬ 
men at the Santee Club. I was soon dressed 
and went downstairs to find in the locker room 
the head guide and one colored guide for each 
of us. Mine took my shells, boots and extra 
things down to the houseboat. We all followed, 
being lighted on our way by two lanterns car¬ 
ried by the guides, and on reaching the boat, 
so well named Happy Days, we found a hot 
breakfast ready for us. The club members 
shoot only four days a week on the islands 
near the mouth of the river, and then only from 
daylight to noon, Wednesday, Saturday and 
Sunday being rest days, but it is permitted to 
shoot on the marshes and in the creeks near 
the club house at any time. 
It was about an hour’s sail to the shooting 
grounds, and as we came to the various stands 
the member shooting the nearest one would be 
dropped off in a small boat with his guide, and 
each in turn, as his place was reached, was drop¬ 
ped in the darkness, the boat anchoring where 
the last man got off and remaining there until 
12 o’clock, when she would get under-weigh 
and pick the sportsmen up in the same manner. 
I was deposited in one of the small boats with 
my traps, one of Percy’s retrievers, three live 
decoy ducks and my guide. We paddled up 
slough that ran between two grass islan 
landed at a little banked up place and tra, 
ferred ourselves and belongings into anoti 
boat across the embankment and began quit ; 
long paddle up a narrow canal to reach < 
pond where we were to shoot. This canal u 
from three to five feet wide and flanked 1 
either side with tall rushes that cut one’s f( 
or hands like a razor, and I found it wise; 
put on my woolen gloves and shield my fi 
with my hands. 
Just as dawn was breaking we reached u 
pond and set out our ducks about ten ysl 
from the blind, taking care to put the dn 
further off behind a little grass hummock wh 
he could not be seen by the two ducks. T’ 
call much more in this way than when b 
can see the drake, and it was one of the thi; 
I learned on my trip that I have found r 
useful since. We set out a few wooden deer 
-—blocks, as the guide called them—and t:i 
hid in our blind. I have had a great deal) 
experience shooting from a battery, and n 
considered a fair shot, but I was glad a 
morning that none of my friends was them 
witness the exhibition, and that “Bayden,” 1 
retriever, would never be able to tell abouil 
The mallards and black ducks came drawing a 
ward us in answer to my call ducks’ quachi 
or my guide’s efforts with his duck call, but a 
one ever really came to the decoys. They swi| 
around me about forty yards or more in 1 
air and I missed as many as I killed unt 
found I was shooting too far ahead of thn 
I can kill broadbills flying sixty miles an h 
with tolerable certainty, so you see I must a 
in the habit of leading my birds pretty wel 
habit that showed itself unmistakably aboutu 
hour after sunrise. Two mallards, one a i: 
drake and the other a duck, circled around e 
hind me forty yards high, and, as I swi| 
around and pulled the trigger to kill the dr e 
the duck swung into the lead about three e 
ahead and came tumbling down nearly in 11 
blind. I was so astonished that I forgoli 
try the drake again and I suddenly realized 11 
mistake I had been making. I killed s<1 
straight after that and felt my self-respect: 
turning rapidly. 
About 9 o’clock the birds stopped flyingu 
there was no wind, and I put in some time:' 
calling to “Bayden’s” mind the lessons of i: 
youth, for he had not been used since the ■ 
vious February. We took up our decoys*' 
II o’clock and slowly paddled through the c* 
to the embankment where we awaited the ci 
ing of the Happy Days. Percy and I H 
shooting against each other and it was a cur u 
thing that at the end of the two weeks he ( 
killed one bird more than I. We shot eacB 
a different place each day, sometimes twe* 
three miles apart, and we killed some t: 1 
hundred birds between us with a difference 
only one. 
We boarded the boat and had a good h 
on our way up the river to the club house, r 
