I 
Nov. 6, 1909] FOREST AND STREAM. 
The Hermit of Shell Island. 
Jacksonville, Fla., Oct. 28 .—Editor Forest 
and Stream: In a recent issue of Forest and 
Stream I made mention of the fact that George 
Quince had been appointed game warden for 
this county. I am sorry to have to state that 
the appointment was for only three months— 
August, September and October—and it was 
through the efforts principally of a few sports¬ 
men of this city who wished to break up the 
practice of “sooners” in shooting quail in Sep¬ 
tember and October that the appointment was 
made at all. Mr. Quince has been jn the woods 
four little foxes. He carried the little ones to 
his house and succeeded in raising all of them. 
When I was down on the dock a few days ago 
I went over to the house and saw three of the 
captives, one having been disposed of, and they 
seemed to be in the pink of condition. 
The following was clipped from the Evening 
Metropolis with the thought that possibly some 
of the readers of Forest and Stream may have 
made the acquaintance of Captain Cook during 
their visits to this section: 
“Captain Cook, the hermit of Shell Island, is 
dead!” 
with his pipe in hand and the suspicion of a 
tear in his eye, this lonely man one summer 
night, in broken words, let go the secret of his 
hermitage—the love that a strong man had for 
the one woman in all this world for him; the 
ambitions which she inspired, the hopes which 
came to him in her kisses and by her faith— 
and as the ashes fell from his pipe, and, weighed 
down by tender memories, his shaggy head 
came to his bosom, the old hermit’s pathetic 
story ended. 
I picked up a faded photograph which fell 
from his hand—the photograph of a sweet¬ 
faced woman, holding the hand of a little child, 
and written just under the photograph I read 
these words: 
“My wife and baby, who left me alone in the 
world, Oct. 9, 1858, A. D.” Geo. A. Irwin. 
THE RETURN TO CAMP. 
Courtesy Mrs. R. D. Millholland. 
laily, and the result is that there has been little, 
f any, quail shooting by “sooners,” especially 
n the sections shot over by them last year. Mr. 
Quince says there is a good supply of birds this 
/ear and the hunters are looking forward to 
Nov. 1 with impatience and the hope that the 
veather man will keep them in mind and have 
little cool weather on tap. 
A night watchman on one of the lumber docks 
n the river front and who lives in a house just 
ff the dock, had been losing his chickens dur- 
ig the summer with a frequency that was dis- 
ouraging, and he finally decided to catch or 
ill the marauder. His second night’s vigil was 
ewarded by a visit from the sly thief, which he 
hot, and which proved to be an old fox. Notic- 
ig that she had been suckling young, he re- 
lembered seeing chicken feathers at the end 
f a pile of lumber on the dock and the follow- 
ig morning started in with some workmen to 
:ar down the pile. In an open space was found 
den lined with feathers and in it snuggled 
This message from Shell Island, an Indian 
mound in the Sister’s Creek, a tributary of the 
St. John’s River, caused many a follower of the 
rod and reel to pause in his pursuit of material 
things and passingly measure the meaning of 
life. 
By some termed a social derelict, by others 
an accomplished tramp, this mysterious man in 
his unique home far from the commercial grind 
of other men, and commonly known to the 
Jacksonville fishing fraternity as the “Hermit 
of Shell Island,” went down into the wreck of 
death surrounded only by the ebbing and flood¬ 
ing tides which he had loved so long and so 
well. 
No legal ceremonies to come after the clos¬ 
ing scenes of this hermit life. The executor of 
the hermit’s will must administer upon a sub¬ 
ject matter known in professional terms as the 
winds, the waters and the sands. 
Back into the years on whose grave the grass 
of time has long since lost its verdure, a 
woman’s face rung down all material ambitions 
in the heart of John Cook, aged twenty-one, 
and he became a self-constituted exile. This 
college-bred American citizen, just entering the 
race for the loaves and fishes, went down and 
out. 
Sitting in his cabin on his desolate island, 
Deer in California. 
Rescue, Cal., Oct. 26. —Editor Forest and 
Stream: A party consisting of Will C. Wulff, 
of Green Valley; John and Hector Williamson 
and George Williamson, Jr., recently had some 
very exciting sport while hunting some of the 
large game of this county. The evening of the 
18th it commenced to rain and until the 19th 
about 2 p. m. we had a very heavy rain, which 
made deer hunting very good. The old tracks 
were all washed out and that morning the new 
ones were very plain. Will C. Wulff had the 
pleasure of killing a nice fat fork horn buck 
which weighed seventy-five pounds dressed. 
The most exciting time was the evening of the 
20th when the party was getting tired out. We 
were all right in among a band of six deer in 
the greasewood and chaparral. As it happened 
there was a forked horn buck in the bunch and 
it was on a steep hillside above Webber Creek, 
and when it was seen the two batteries rang out. 
John and Hector were near the deer. John 
knocked him down, but he got up and started 
