96 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[JAN. 20, 1906. 

or all of our residents would be only too glad to 
testify. Last evening, while returning from my 
place of business to my residence, a distance of a 
mile, between 7 and 8 o’clock, I heard seven gun 
shots in the marshes and on the Sound. This 
was not an exception, but a sample of the condi- 
tions here. My place of residence is only a few 
hundred yards from Coinjock Bay, which, were 
it properly protected, would be among the best, 
if not the best part of Currituck Sound for duck 
shooting, as the grass upon which our wild game 
feed is very abundant there; but the night shoot- 
ers begin fire-lighting the ducks in Coinjock Bay 
on the first night of the open season and continue 
to shoot them until when the season is half ad- 
vanced all the ducks give that part of the Sound 
a wide berth. I wish to say that we fully realize 
the evils of night shooting and its injury to our 
interests. We heartily approve of the present 
game laws that govern this section of North 
Carolina. Winton ises, 
The difficulties of protecting these waters are 
admittedly great, but gunners, resident and non- 
resident alike, are entitled to know whether this 
work is or is not being done. 
Camp Surgery. 
BY HERMIT. 
TWENTY-ONE years of camp life in the woods 
of Cape Ann have exposed me to many incidents, 
none of which could be called serious. I have 
had narrow escapes in my dooryard from reck- 
less shooting, and many, very many, narrow es- 
capes in the surrounding woods. One such was 
a close call indeed. I was passing along a hill- 
side in open woods, my head just at the crest of 
the hill. A friend on the other side saw some- 
thing gray moving along and raised his gun to 
fire. I saw the act and shouted. That shout 
saved my life. It did not prevent my friend from 
pulling the trigger, but it caused him to give a 
jerk that pulled the gun to one side. The shot, 
double Bs, hurtled by just in front of where I 
was standing. My friend was nearly overcome 
by the shock and was sitting on a boulder when 
I reached him. He said that when he saw my 
head he was positive that it was a raccoon. I 
told him that I was glad he had not taken me 
for a skunk, but it was my province to tremble 
instead of his, so he would better brace up. The 
habit of going bareheaded had nearly ended my 
camp career. 
In relation to camp surgery I must say that I 
have been dismayed by the large number of in- 
struments and medicines thought necessary in 
camp life. If one should take along all the things 
recommended he would be well equipped to prac- 
tice on the bloody battlefield. 
My medicine chest, which has answered all 
purposes for twenty-one years, is a very simple 
affair. It contains just three articles. A can of 
pure tar, one bottle of a strong decoction of hem- 
lock bark, and one of sweet fern (Comptoma) 
leaves or bark. The hemlock decoction is used 
for chafing, and the sweet fern for ivy poison, 
etc. Needles and silk and an old shirt for ban- 
dages are always at hand. F 
Of course, my outfit would fall short in case 
of a broken limb, but up to date I have escaped 
such a calamity. As a dressing for flesh wounds 
pure pine tar ranks ahead of anything within my 
knowledge. I have had occasion to use it a great 
many times but will briefly call attention to three 
cases. 
A rusty nail split while I was driving it and 
entered the hand at the base of the thumb. It 
tore through the flesh making a ragged wound 
about one inch in length and a half inch or more 
in depth. I let the blood run for a while then 
washed out the wound with salt water and ap- 
plied the tar. The wound healed without pain 
and caused me no inconvenience whatever. 
A slash, made by a thin knife blade, laid open 
the flesh at the base of the forefinger. Dressed 
with tar the wound healed in a few days and did 
not prevent me from cutting fire wood. I used 
the hand about my work without thought of the 
wound. Such a wound, under the usual treat- 
ment, would have been painful a week or more 
and the use of the hand out of the question. 
Ten years ago, while cutting fire wood, I 
missed a stroke and the blade of the ax entered 
the calf of my right leg. The wound was about 
four inches in length and gaped an inch or more. 
As no artery was severed I tied a handkerchief 
below the wound and twisted it until the bleed- 
ing stopped. After stitching the wound I plas- 
tered it with tar. The tar dried out so I was 
obliged to renew the dressing three times. The 
wound healed without pain except a twinge now 
and then. I walked to the city every day for 
my mail, a good five miles, and did my house- 
work as well. 
I suppose the reason why tar aids nature is 
because it keeps the microbes of putrefaction 
from entering a wound, thus preventing inflam- 
mation and the consequent pain. Scientific investi- 
gation has proved that the white blood cor- 
puscles flock to a wound and engage in the de- 
fense against the microbes of putrefaction by 
killing and devouring the invading germs. Tar 
prevents the microbes from entering the wound 
and gives the white cells an easy task. 
It will be noticed that my medicine chest con- 
tains no internal remedy whatever. It is a fact 
that I have no use for internal remedies, prob- 
ably owing to my mode of life. Outdoor air and 
food have much to do with my good health. My 
food consists of a minimum of meat and a maxi- 
mum of beans and peas. 
Five years of newspaper work followed by four 
years of bookkeeping while confined to city life 
I had reduced my flesh until I became a walking 
skeleton. For two years I was afflicted with 
dyspepsia, catarrh and a persistent cough. I had 
to select my food with great care, and was ob- 
liged to use a douche every morning for catarrh. 
Two weeks after I began to camp out my cough 
ceased and in a short time dyspepsia and catarrh 
disappeared for good. I would say that my lungs 
were not affected at any time. 
Time and again I have known city people with 
a seated cough to be cured or relieved while 
taking an outing. Usually five days out and the 
cough disappears. 
Lady. 
Tuis habit the heads of our households—yclept 
helpmeets—have of dispensing largess in the 
shape of our treasured possessions, especially of 
comfortable old shoes, hats and clothing carefully 
laid aside for use on contemplated shooting or 
fishing trips, has caused much real suffering 
among the guild. 
“Why, did you want them? I thought you 
needed the room in your closet for your new suit, 
and I gave them to the poor man who cut the 
grass,” is the innocent explanation made to your 
impatient query as to what in the ever-so-many- 
things has become of your so-and-so and so-on. 
It is a great thing to the glad recipient of our 
gone-but-not-forgotten-treasures, as I now know 
by recently getting for once on the right side of 
the transaction, for thereby I became the owner 
of Lady, the most promising young dog I have 
ever known in many years’ association with man’s 
best friend. 
I was all but overcome with (spurious) grati- 
tude, and the author of much high-grade faceti- 
ousness, when the wife of one of my good friends 
told me that there was a beautiful litter of pup- 
pies down at their country place—offspring of 
the famous Verona B. Gladstone, No. 68960—one 
of which should be mine, if I really would like 
to have it. 
This chronicle has nothing to do with the con- 
versation between my friend and his generous 
wife, which probably ensued when he first learned 
of her promise to me, but good fellow that he is, 
he stood by his wife and sent me the puppy. 
The small boy of the house raced the maid for 
the honor of answering the bell, the day Lady ar- 
rived, and as it was the lunch hour, I was on 
hand to respond in person to his excited call. 
“That’s a nice little pup,” said the express- 
man, slipping a finger through the slats of the 
box to touch her head as he turned to go back to 
the wagon. The poor little thing was worn out 
with her trip on the cars and in the jolting 
wagon, and evidently lonesome and homesick. She 
was only five months old and had never before 
been away from her mother and the other little 
ones, and it all was so new and strange. 

She knew me at once for her new master, and 
the earnest, anxious gaze with which she re- 
garded me while I pulled the slats from the box 
was pathetic. Free, she raced across the yard to 
limber up, and then came to me, laid her head in 
my outstretched hand, looked long and earnestly 
into my face, and when I called her by the only 
name that a man of judgment could give her, we 
were friends. Unimportant things like business 
suffered neglect that afternoon, and I hurried 
home early with collar and chain and wire to 
make a trolley. ' 
I sincerely regretted the necessity for the lat- 
ter, but living in a no-fence section of the city, 
and being regardful to the point of sensitiveness 
of my neighbors’ rights, I determined upon it. 
Collar, chain, trolley and all she took like a little 
philosopher, and although unusually spirited, was 
yard broken in a week, Some misguided heathen 
probably wearing my shoes and clothes having 
carried off all my chickens, the hen house was 
given Lady for sleeping quarters, and out of this 
arrangement grew our only serious difficulty. 
Domiciled in a house built and used only for 
chickens, and knowing that a thoroughbred 
chicken is a “bird,” she promptly concluded she 
was “it,” and acted accordingly. Each night, 
when provided with supper and shut in, she bolted 
her food and burst into song; her clear operatic 
soprano voice pervading the neighborhood. I 
stood a night or two of it without violent protest, 
as did my neighbors—their patience probably 
being due to lack of exact knowledge of the 
whereabouts of the disturbance, and then I re- 
monstrated. Armed with a switch and carrying a 
light, I visited the theater of action about the 
third night, when the performance was at its 
height, and although I have seen some famous 
artists play difficult roles, I never saw a character 
better sustained than Lady’s bird. She had 
climbed the narrow cleated plank which led up to 
the roosts some eight to ten feet above the floor 
perched herself upon the highest one, and there, 
with nose pointed heavenward and throat swell- 
Ing, she was joyously caroling. 
With the aid of a long pole I pushed her off 
the perch, breaking her fall by catching her in 
my arms. She seemed wonderfully glad to see 
me, and not at all put out by the interruption, I 
thrashed her mildly and retired, and was glad to 
observe that she was intelligent enough to take 
the hint and cease, for that night, being a bird. 
Several times thereafter she vocalized, and I 
scolded a little and switched a little, but one even- 
ing, when it did not suit my convenience to re- 
spond to her call, she kept up her singing until 
my neighbor on the left knocked me up and 
lodged a violent protest. There was a rough 
house in the “hennery” after his departure, and 
Lady has never played bird since, day or night. 
The small boy, who is a chip out of the very 
heart of the old block, in the matter of affection 
for sport and all the accessories thereto, was the 
devoted friend and champion of the little dog 
from the beginning, and was the happiest little 
feliow in the world when promised that he might 
go on the first hunt with Lady. 
We got away for the momentous trial trip one 
day soon after the season opened, and the little 
fellows were both as wire-edged as a dollar razor. 
When all but worn out with hard going we 
walked up a small covery of birds. The young 
ones were both hopelessly entangled in a bit of 
very thick cover when they flushed, and scarcely 
knew what was going on, 
I gladly noted the fact that the little dog 
showed only a surprised interest in the report of 
the gun, the first she had ever heard. 
What was it, Papa,” the boy shouted, and 
when I told him “Quail,” he wanted to know how 
many I had killed, and then why I had killed 
none; and then what I had fired my gun for if 
not to kill a bird, etc., etc., as a small boy will. 
The birds flew over on to the neighboring farm 
and it being “tabooed” territory I reluctantly 
turned back and left them there. 
_ After wandering about for some time and eat- 
ing our lunch, the small boy developed an acute 
attack of thirst—such as always attacks a boy 
when no water is accessible—and we started for 
the house of my friend on whose farm we were 
hunting. Lining him out on a straight course, I 
swung around down through a_ likely looking 
