April, 1918 
F O REST ANI) S T R E A M 
205 
Carefully covering the ground, I picked 
up now and then a rabbit until I came near 
the wood lot fence, when with a startling 
roar of wings a large brown bird burst 
from a brier bush and made for the woods. 
I was surprised, but kept my head. 
The little Manton came to my shoulder 
and as my finger pressed the trigger, I 
knew the bird was mine, and it fell with a 
thud on the farther side of the fence. 
Quickly I clambered over and just as I 
stooped to pick up the dead bird up sprang 
another in my very face; for an instant I 
was badly “rattled,” then with an 
effort I pulled myself together, and 
covered the fleeing bird, which was 
going like a rocket through the tim¬ 
ber. At the crack of the gun the 
stricken bird made a long “slant” and 
striking the ground bounced like a 
ball, and I had the pleasure of hear¬ 
ing its wings beating a tattoo on the 
dry leaves. I had killed my first pair 
of ruffed grouse under rather trying 
circumstances, and was, of course, 
greatly elated. How I smoothed their 
plumage, and admired their dark 
ruffs will be understood by all “Boys,” 
both old and young, who are ad¬ 
dicted to the shooting habit. I now 
turned my steps toward home. Near 
the wood’s edge was a little “springy” 
spot grown up with alders. As I en¬ 
tered this, with a musical twitter up 
sprang a woodcock, a full grown Oc¬ 
tober bird; swiftly as an arrow’s flight 
he threaded the alder tops, and was away 
for the wood behind me. Turning quickly 
I held well above him, and the puff of 
feathers that floated back at the report of 
the gun told me I had aimed correctly and 
I found him just at the wood’s edge, a fine, 
fat, magnificent specimen. Hurrying down 
the lane I reached the house just at sunset, 
and from my hunting coat laid out for 
John’s inspection seven rabbits, two ruffed 
grouse, and one woodcock, killed without 
a single miss, and the stock of the little 
Manton went up to par. 
After supper John and I walked down 
the winding road to visit neighbor Nathan¬ 
iel Knapp, or “Than” as he was generally 
called, to make final arrangements for a 
shooting trip on the morrow. It was a 
beautiful October evening, a hint of frost 
was in the air, and in the vast dome above 
us a myriad stars twinkled brightly, while 
in the west over the crest of Mount Eve 
hung the thin golden crescent of a new 
moon. At Knapp’s I met Tom Baird, the 
son of another neighbor, who was to be one 
of our party in the hunt. Matters were soon 
talked over and it was decided to start 
next morning right after milking time. 
During our call John had done considerable 
“blowing” about my gun and my shooting 
ability and on our way home he informed 
me that Than was a noted fox hunter and 
considered one of the best shots in Orange 
County, and also informed me that he ex¬ 
pected me to beat him shooting next day. 
This prospect was a “facer” but I mentally 
decided to do my best. We were around 
early next morning, the milking was soon 
done, and the milk in cans taken to the 
“spring house” and plunged in the spring to 
cool, then a hearty breakfast and we were 
off. Than and John were in the first 
wagon, with the hounds Bessie and Bugle 
back of the seat, while Tom and I in an¬ 
other wagon brought up the rear. We fol¬ 
lowed the road around the base of Mount 
Eve, then headed east to the little village 
of Florida. Here just east of the village 
on the edge of the great swamps, we in¬ 
tended to hunt in the morning, and in the 
afternoon finish our day, in the sloping 
woodlands east of Tompkins Pond (now 
Glenmere Lake). 
We left our horses in the barn of one 
of Than’s friends, and were soon on our 
hunting ground, where the dogs soon had 
a rabbit going which Than quickly brought 
to bag. We found the “bunnies” fairly 
plentiful, and it soon became evident that 
Knapp was a good shot, familiar with the 
ground, and shooting ahead of his own 
dogs, and if I hoped to make any showing 
against him, I must work hard, and depend 
entirely on my own efforts, so I kept a 
little to one side and “got busy.” We were 
hunting on the edge of the great swamps 
that stretched for miles on either hand. 
All that great extent over which we beat 
that morning has since been reclaimed, and 
hundreds of acres of onions and other veg¬ 
etables are growing where “Bessie” and 
“Bugle” trailed the cottontails. 
O N rounding a thicket I flushed a covey 
of quail making a double, and as they 
crossed Than, he killed one also; and 
again from a dense brier bunch a grouse 
burst forth, and I killed him with the second 
barrel. Occasionally from the alders would 
rise a woodcock, to be bagged or missed by 
some one of the four, so we kept steadily 
on. From time to time, I would start a 
rabbit, some of which the little Manton 
stopped. Once in a while the dogs would 
bring one my way to be added to my score, 
so when we stopped by a cool, bubbling 
spring for lunch, I felt fairly well satisfied 
with results. After lunch we headed back 
for the woodland by the pond. Here the 
dogs started a fox and made the welkin 
ring with their music as they chased him 
from ridge to ridge. It took Knapp nearly 
an hour to whip them off. The road ran 
near the woods on my beat, and I saw an 
apple tree over the fence on the other side 
with the ground covered with large yellow 
apples that looked good to me so I crossed 
the road, clambered to the top of the stone 
wall, and, jumping over, landed astride of 
the biggest snake I have ever seen outside 
of a museum. I have a great antipathy 
for snakes and feel sure that my hair 
raised my hunting cap, but this snake was 
dead, stretched out by some joker to scare 
apple loVers. It was a black snake at least 
eight feet long, with a white ring around 
its neck; they call them “Racers” in 
Orange County, and father had told me of 
one chasing him across a stony pasture, one 
evening when he was a boy bringing home 
the cows, not many miles from where I 
then stood. 
The last turn across the woodland 
brought me next the shore of the pond. A 
little distance in front of me was a notch 
in the shore line, making a little “cove,” 
whose surface was covered with lily pads. 
On the shore were several oak trees whose 
acorns fell at the edge of the pond 
and whose limbs overhung the water, 
acorns fell at the edge of the pond 
and a tangle of alders and brush. As 
I passed this spot with a roar of wings 
a flock of wood ducks crashed through 
the alders and oak branches and away 
across the pond. Instantly the little 
Manton came to my shoulder and two 
crossing ducks fell to the first barrel, 
but alas! the great purple headed 
drake swerved to the left as my finger 
pressed the trigger of the second bar¬ 
rel, and I missed him clean. With a 
dead branch from an oak, I clambered 
out on a rock and retrieved the dead 
ducks and was again on my way, call¬ 
ing from time to time to my com¬ 
rades, to keep in touch with them. 
Now and then a shot and shout from 
them told me they too were adding 
to the score. Occasionally a burst of music 
from the hounds would warn me that an¬ 
other rabbit was started, and a few came 
my way and gave me a shot. From a dis¬ 
tance, the strident voices of the blue jays 
gave notice of their objections to our in¬ 
vading their preserves, and a shadow fall¬ 
ing in front of me, and the harsh “caw” of 
a crow informed me that black marauder 
was keeping watch and ward over the 
woodland and its denizens. 
Down the path before me stood a large 
moss covered rock; as I neared it, with a 
noise like muffled thunder, a large grouse 
took wing and with an “auger” twist 
whirled behind a large hemlock. Throwing 
the gun well ahead of what I believed 
to be his line of flight, I fired through the 
drooping branches, and as the severed 
twigs came rattling down, heard a thud on 
the opposite side of the tree and the tat¬ 
too of stricken wings. It was a magnifi¬ 
cent cock with a great dark brown "tippet” 
around his neck. A few paces farther on 
and away went his mate; with a whirl she 
was behind a large oak. Springing quickly 
to one side, I covered her, when just as I 
pressed the trigger she swerved again and 
the whole load of shot was embedded in a 
chestnut tree, and she had outwitted me 
and escaped. 
We were now nearing the end of the 
wood, and the sun was low in the west, 
when far in front of me I heard the bark 
of a gray squirrel; cautiously I stalked him, 
and at last there he was, perched on a limb 
in a large chestnut tree, furiously scolding 
something. Slowly I brought the gun to 
my shoulder, when just as I was about to 
press the trigger I saw a gleam of red at 
the base of the tree and like a flash a red 
squirrel mounted the trunk and rushed 
upon the gray, who instantly took flight. 
Around and around the top of the tree 
they went, so swiftly that the eye could 
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