522 
FOREST AND STREAM 
September, 1918 
THE MISSOURI SLOPE FIFTY YEARS AGO 
NO PLACE IN THE UNITED STATES THEN AFFORDED SUCH OPPORTUNITIES FOR WILD¬ 
FOWL SHOOTING AS THE NUMBER OF DUCKS AND GEESE RAN WELL INTO BILLIONS 
By CHARLES H. BABBITT 
OW dear to this heart are the 
scenes of ray childhood 
When fond recollection presents 
them to view.” 
In these opening lines of “ The Old 
Oaken Bucket’’ Samuel Woodworth has 
expressed a sentiment entertained by al¬ 
most every civilized person. 
My earliest recollection carries me back 
to the days of infancy, in a little log cabin 
on the west (right) bank of the Des 
Moines River in what afterward became 
Marion County, Iowa, at about the middle 
of the lifetime of the territorial form of 
government of that now great and pros¬ 
perous commonwealth. 
There lived my father with his family— 
wife, daughter and son—three miles from 
the nearest white neighbors and, to all in¬ 
tents and purposes, among the Sac and Fox 
Indians. We were on most intimate terms 
with these noble red men from whom we 
received many visits. Frequently as many 
as a dozen of them, paddling up or down 
the river in their big basswood canoes, 
would land at our door, come in and say 
“How!” and partake of the corn bread, 
bacon and beans which, supplemented by 
the game meats procured by the handy 
rifleman of the house and vegetables from 
the garden, constituted our commissary. 
My father (Lysander W. Babbitt) was a 
native of New' York State; w'as brought up 
on. the “Old Ridge Road” not far from 
where roll the waves of Lake Ontario. 
He learned the trade of gunsmith at Lock- 
port and, upon completing his apprentice¬ 
ship, anticipated Horace Greeley’s advice— 
“Go West, young man”—by removing to 
Cleveland, Ohio, where he set up his shop. 
After a brief sojourn in the lakeside city 
he hied him onward to the little town of 
Flint Hills, on the west (right) bank of 
the Mississippi (now Burlington, Iowa), 
and established himself in business. 
This little hamlet soon became too met¬ 
ropolitan for him, however, and he sought 
relief in the wilds. Leaving his shop and 
his family in the care of friends, accom¬ 
panied by two adventurous companions, he 
went on expeditions of exploration to the 
headwaters of the River Des Moines— 
away up into the unceded Indian country 
where few white men had been before, and 
for tw'o winters engaged in hunting and 
trapping with St. Louis as the market for 
the products. It was in this manner that 
he became acquainted with and learned to 
speak the language of the Sacs and Foxes 
and laid the foundation of the friendship 
heretofore mentioned. 
When the lower Des Moines country was 
opened to settlement he trekked westward 
and built the little log cabin upon a site 
which he had much admired during the 
visits to the section. He carried his tools 
with him and frequently used them in jobs 
of ordinary blacksmithing as well as in re¬ 
pairing the firearms of the pioneers. 
Charles H. Babbitt 
HE reader of these interesting 
reminiscences is referred to the 
editorial columns of this issue 
wherein is republished Mr. Babbitt’s 
friendly comment on the first issue 
of Forest and Stream, nearly half 
a century ago. [Editors.] 
W E removed from the cabin to a point 
selected as the site for the seat of 
justice for the proposed new county 
(presently named Knoxville), where for 
a time he plied his trade but soon became 
interested in merchandising, milling and 
manufacturing, though he never lost his 
love for the gun. He was one of the best 
rifle shots in the region and frequently 
killed ducks, wild pigeons and other feath¬ 
ered game in flight. The double shotgun 
was then an unknown weapon in that lo¬ 
cality. The old flintlock army musket, the 
heavy smoothbore, and an occasional bell¬ 
mouthed yager were the guns most com¬ 
monly in use. 
While living in the cabin on the Des 
Moines River, out of touch with other peo¬ 
ple, there was little to occupy my father’s 
leisure moments; so he amused himself by 
hunting and practicing target shooting with 
rifle. Before I was two years old he used 
to aim the piece for me, tell me when to 
pull the trigger, and compliment me on my 
markmanship. My first shot at a living 
object was in the early part of 1845. An 
old jim crow, upon a dry limb not far 
from our cabin, was “caw, caw, cawing" 
himself hoarse when, taking down the rifle 
my father called me and said: 
“Now, Boy, let’s kill that fellow.” 
Carefully sighting the gun he told me to 
pull. I pulled, and the crow departed in 
great haste. 
“Ah, we missed him,” said my father. 
“Yes," I said, “but we made him quit the 
place.” 
Afterward “made him quit the place” 
became a sort of by-phrase in our family 
whenever occasion arose where it might 
be aptly used. With such a daddy and 
such training it was but natural that I 
should become devoted to the gun and a 
lover of all out doors. 
After a few years at Knoxville we again 
moved westward over the beautiful rolling 
prairie land, flecked with the flowers of 
May, to the Mormon town of Kanesville, 
on the Missouri River, within the recently 
vacated “Pottawattamie Indian Country,” 
the name of which had a few months be¬ 
fore been decreed to be Council Bluffs City. 
There, at a little more than ten years of 
age, I became the proud owner of a double 
shotgun and was carefully instructed in 
regard to handling it. ■ It was not until 
three years later, however, that I was al¬ 
lowed to go hunting unless accompanied 
by my father, though in the meantime 1 
had become a fairly expert wing shot. 
W ESTERN IOWA or, as we called it 
the “Missouri Slope,” was a great 
natural habitat for wild animals and 
birds of game and other species. In the 
northern part elk (wapiti) were found in 
herds in the winter; the common red deer 
was plentiful the year round; rabbits and 
squirrels were there in numbers beyond 
reasonable requirements; wild turkeys bred 
by thousands; prairie chickens (pinnated 
grouse) covered the entire open country; 
but the ruffed grouse was unknown. Dur¬ 
ing twenty years of gunning in that region 
I never saw one of the latter nor heard of 
one being killed there, though they were 
common in other parts of the State. Quail 
were as numerous as they were toothsome, 
and the wood pigeon was there in great 
flocks. We had some black bear; many 
wild (bob) cats; now and then a panther 
(puma, cougar or mountain lion, choose 
your own name for him) ; occasionally an 
ordinary lynx, and wolves of several varie¬ 
ties (mostly coyotes) more numerous than 
desirable. The streams and lakes abound¬ 
ed with fish and afforded homes for beaver, 
otter, mink and muskrats, while the ring¬ 
tailed raccoon was omnipresent. 
I think that it may be said without fear 
of successful contradiction that, except in 
the more northerly breeding ground? or the 
far southern winter quarters, no place in 
the United States then afforded such oppor¬ 
tunities for wild-fowl shooting as did the 
Missouri River valley. Even now, when 
