540 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[ApRIL 7, 1906. 

on an immense chestnut tree that stood in the 
middle of a big swamp. Jake, who was a won- 
derful climber, had insisted on climbing the tree, 
in spite of the fears of his companion. He could 
reach only partly around the tree, and after 
swarming up its bare trunk in some manner for 
about sixty feet, he came to a large bump which 
he could not climb over. He was too much ex- 
hausted to go back down the tree or to climb 
around to the other side; and his account of how 
he and the man at the foot of the tree discussed 
in the dark how he would fare if he let loose and 
dropped was something thrilling. Finally he 
found that he was sufficiently rested to work 
around to the other side; and he seemed to think 
that it showed no unusual nerve or grit when he 
told how he continued to the top, from which he 
‘finally shook the ’coon, to the delight of the wait- 
ing dog below, who promptly finished it. 
Then Uncle Jim told his ’coon story, which put 
them into a frame of mind more likely to bring 
pleasant dreams. “Aaron Smith had a ’coon dog 
by the name of Bull that could tell the day of the 
week. I know this to be a fact, because Aaron 
and I always went hunting on Saturday night in 
order that we might sleep some on Sunday, and 
if I missed a Saturday night during the season 
Bull would invariably come to my house and 
scratch on the door until I got up and let him in. 
One Saturday night Aaron and I started about 
7 o'clock to go back into the hills to find a ’coon. 
Aaron had a son Pete about twenty-five years 
old, who would occasionally get tipsy, much to 
the anxiety of his father, who was strictly tem- 
perate and a consistent church member. Pete 
had been off to town that day and had not yet 
returned when we left the house, but after we 
had gone about three miles he joined us. How 
he found us I could never tell, for he was still 
far from sober. About Io o’clock we treed a ’coon 
on a very large pine that stood in a little patch 
of woods on the edge of a cornfield. The tree 
was too valuable to cut, and we were starting 
away when Pete said he would climb it. Aaron 
was angry and was for going home immediately, 
but I got under Pete and gave him a good boost 
and he climbed hard for about twenty minutes 
and then was sitting flat on the ground strad- 
dling the tree. You see he was climbing down 
all of the time. Pete insisted on giving it an- 
other trial, and I went to the fence and got a 
rail with which I boosted him up as far as I could 
reach. This time Pete climbed harder than ever, 
but always down the tree and at the end of a 
half hour was again flat on the ground. Then we 
started home. On the way back we crossed a 
field of corn standing in shocks on a steep hill- 
side, and here Pete got started down hill at such 
a gait that he could neither stop nor guide him- 
self, and finally went head first into a corn shock. 
When Aaron and I passed him without a word, I 
could see with the tail of my eye that Pete’s head 
was sticking out on one side and his boots on 
the other, and it is as true as preaching that he 
didn’t get out of that corn shock until 9 o’clock 
the next morning.” 
_ Uncle Jim put in the middle of each day shoot- 
ing black and gray squirrels, that seemed fairly 
to run riot among the beech and chestnut in the 
hollow. Sometimes a half dozen of the big plump 
fellows would be in sight at one time, and with 
his double-barrel that would kill a squirrel at 
sixty yards he had no trouble to bring in a string 
of a dozen or fifteen each day. One afternoon 
while following the little run through the hollow 
and watching the trout that were lying in every 
pool, he found a tangle of grape vines, and from 
signs that meant much to him he decided that 
pheasants were still feeding on the grapes. It 
was a matter of little work and short time for 
him to select a place and build a blind of little 
spruce trees at a point that would command not 
only the greatest number of vines but the ground 
as well, and by 4 o’clock he was ready for them. 
He had not long to wait before he heard a pheas- 
ant walking down the mountain side in the dead 
leaves, a few steps and then a pause, and this 
one he killed on the ground before it had begun 
to feed. Then two came sailing down into the 
hollow and lighted in a vine within easy reach. 
He first killed the lower one with one barrel, and, 
in spite of the nervousness that the second bird 
showed, he took time to aim deliberately and to 
kill it so dead that it fell without flutter. But 
now they were coming by twos and three until 
the vines ali around seemed to have birds on 
them, and their ceaseless “quit, quit” was enough 
to excite a reasonably cool head. But he was a 
man of much experience at this sort of thing and 
well hidden, where he could reload without being 
seen, and before they had become enough alarmed 
to take flight he had killed eight; and he went to 
camp that evening with a load of squirrels and 
pheasants that weighed half as much as Jake’s 
deer. 
But the week was drawing to a close. The 
weather had changed and grown colder, the pro- 
visions were nearly gone—even Tolbert’s crock 
of wurst that he had stolen from his wife’s pantry 
was nearly finished—Charley was homesick and 
very anxious to get out of the woods; Jake and 
John were tired out with their endless tramping 
over the mountains, and even Uncle Jim had had 
his fill and was beginning to think of his snug 
shop at home. So Saturday morning early the 
team was brought in, the camp stripped and the 
start made. But now in spirits the party was re- 
versed. Charley was lively and full of talk be- 
cause he was going home. Tolbert, in his most 
solemn manner, would ask John what he sup- 
posed his wife would say when she heard that 
John had slept with the hogs, and would then 
twit Jake about the size of his deer and how nar- 
rowly he escaped missing it. Jake and John sat 
like stumps and took it all. They were too tired 
to spit, John said. And Uncle Jim at each turn 
of the road looked back at his beautiful moun- 
tains and counted the weeks until trout fishing 
would bring him back to them again. 
CHARLES LOSE. 
Cornwallis’ Road. 
TuereE still remains in Virginia evidences of 
the march of Lord Cornwallis through the Vir- 
ginia peninsulas, and one which, perhaps, has 
never before been mentioned in any publication 
is the road—made by him and bearing his name— 
thtough which his army passed in reaching York- 
town. The situation of this road is in the county 
of Mathews (so named after General Mathews 
of the Colonial Army) between East and North 
Rivers, and it passes directly through the middle 
of the woods, beginning at Piankitank River and 
extending southward about ten miles to Mobjack 
Bay. This road marks the lines of the land own- 
ers through which it runs, and separates them 
one from the other. Many conjectures have been 
made about this road, and strange stories told of 
its origin. It is a noticeable fact that it has never 
been used as a cart road, and yet no tree or sap- 
ling was ever known to grow and thrive on it. 
The writer recently had occasion to walk 
through a portion of this road well known here 
as Wallace’s Road, in company with an old colored 
man and ex-slave, who has spent all of his days 
in this locality, who seemed to know every tree 
which marks the lines of each respective owner 
of the land, and much of his story is vouched for 
as truth. He tells of having built a boat from 
trees taken from this wood, which boat was used 
by him in running the blockade to get provisions 
for the family during the war, and was never cap- 
tured or molested. Of how the woods afforded a 
safe hiding place for Confederates during raids 
of the Union Army, and that no Union soldier 
was ever seen to enter it. It was the former home 
of the wild turkey and the quail, raccoon and 
opossum, some of which are frequently seen here 
to this day. 
As we proceeded down the woods a clump of 
very large old beech trees on a slight elevation 
was pointed out as the location of Lord Corn- 
wallis’ headquarters, where he encamped with his 
soldiers en route to Yorktown. It is said that 
this road was made for the purpose of transport- 
ing troops under cover of the woods, which at 
that time must have been very dense. 
There seems to have been great precaution 
taken in cutting his way through the middle of 
the woods, lest he might be attacked before 
reaching his: destination. 
The place of embarking on his boats was evi- 
dently at a point near the mouth of East River, 
as the terminus of the road would seem to 
indicate, which at present is a landing of the 
Old Dominion Steamship Company. There are 
no means of ascertaining the exact time of this 
occurrence, but it is supposed to have happened 
just before the surrender at Yorktown, Va. 

Days in Uncle Lisha’s Land. 
For a number of years the writer and his 
friend, J., in company with Colonel, a setter dog, 
have spent a part of the month of October 
among the wooded hills and alder runs of Ver- 
mont, in pursuit of the gamy grouse and its 
more mysterious and fascinating neighbor, the 
woodcock. 
That we three should be together last October 
at one time seemed very doubtful, for early in 
the year J. was in a Boston hospital, suffering 
from an operation occasioned by that dreaded 
disease, appendicitis. But when the time came 
in which we usually made our plans for our 
annual outing, J. wrote that he was feeling some 
better and should come, but that his hunting, 
at least, would have to be done “at short range.” 
as he expressed it, which meant that we must 
be located very near the game covers, for he 
was able to walk but very little. 
To meet this necessary condition we decided 
to camp, and invested in a small portable house 
8 by 10 feet with floor. A Io by 12 tent con- 
nected with the house served as a dining room 
and kitchen, and we found we had more com- 
fortable quarters than the country hotel had 
ever given us. Our camp was made in the edge 
of a sugar woods, midway between two wood- 
cock covers. Nearby in the adjoining field was 
a fine spring, and above the spring stood a 
bunch of lilac bushes, which, with a depression 
in the meadow, marked the site where a farm- 
house once stood and alone remained to suggest 
to us a home of the early days. 
Looking toward the east from the camp, our 
eyes met the main ridge of the Green Moun- 
tains rising rather abruptly only a few miles 
away, with Mansfield’s nose and chin more 
prominent that the other peaks and already 
touched with gray of winter. In this place, with 
the maples and beeches close behind us and the 
hills and mountains before us, we were to “take 
our one day’s rest.” 
I cannot report any great kills. I hope we 
did not entirely deplete the covers; but as is 
usual in such expeditions, certain days and 
events recur more often to one’s memory than 
others. I well remember the first bird we got. 
We went down to a favorite grouse cover of 
ours, a run just below our camp. J. was obliged 
to sit down and rest every few rods. When we 
reached the bed of the run J. sat down on a 
log, while I, with the dog, circled out and came 
into the run some distance below him. Colonel 
soon made game and two grouse got up, one 
going straight up the run as we had planned. 
I heard the report of J.’s gun, and on coming 
up, saw him still sitting on the log, but looking 
very well pleased. He motioned Colonel up the 
run, and he brought in the dead bird. This one 
circumstance, I think, more than any other, 
helped to restore J.’s nerve and to give him that 
courage which enabled him in two weeks’ time 
nearly to overcome his weakness and tramp al- 
most as well as in previous years. 
A bag of woodcock often comes to mind. A 
half mile to the east of our camp was a wood- 
cock cover which we had named “‘the alders.”’ 
Nearly a mile beyond and above this cover to- 
ward the mountain was a small field, of perhaps 
one-third of an acre, covered with blackberry 
bushes, sumacs and a few small poplars. This 
little spot for some unknown reason was the 
chosen sunning ground of the woodcock. It 
had been a cold night. Everything was covered 
with white frost. The big beech trees, when 
touched with the first rays of the sun, without the 
assistance of a breath of wind, began dropping 
its leaves silently on our roof. We had a theory 
that on such a morning as this the cock, which 
in the alders had often escaped us, would be up 
in. the “Bell lot”. getting warm in the sunshine; 
and we started out early over the glistening 
fields to prove that our theory was correct. 
We worked up through the alders without 
starting a bird, and then went = on _ straight 
