aes 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[May 19, 1906. 

$600 for them, provided they are turned loose in 
Tennessee. Colonel Acklen has agreed to take 
charge of releasing them, provided the people will 
contribute this small sum for such valuable prop- 
erty. Many public-spirited citizens of Nashville 
have already signified their willingness to contri- 
bute to this fund, and little trouble will doubtless 
be experienced in raising it. 
“The Banner hereby subscribes $25 to the fund 
and agrees to receive contributions. It is up to 
the public to say whether or not this splendid 
herd of deer shall be released to go to the hills 
and wooded bottom lands of Tennessee, or else 
be slaughtered because their room is needed and 
the public does not care.” 
Under date of May 10 a Nashville correspon- 
dent writes of the success of the plan: 
You will, perhaps, be interested to know that a 
movement begun by ‘the Nashville Banner for the 
liberation of the large herd of deer at famous 
Belle Meade is now an assured success, as sufh- 
cient funds have been donated by the public to 
insure the payment required by the administrator 
of the Jackson estate. The inclosed article from 
the Nashville Banner is explanatory, and the 
spirit animating Mr. Richardson, the administra- 
tor, in agreeing to liberate the deer for a nominal 
sum, in preference to selling them for market at 
a very much higher price, is appreciated by every 
one with a love for these noble animals, and a 
ready response to the Banner’s request for dona- 
tions is evidence that the sentiment for the pre- 
servation of large game in this State is strong. I 
am sure that our efficient game warden, Col. J. 
H. Acklen, will see to it that these deer will be 
fully protected after they are turned loose; and 
the mountains of Tennessee will again be ten- 
anted by the now altogether too scarce larger 
game. J. J. DANNAHER. 
Hunting Bob White on Historic 
Ground. 
Hickory, N. C—If you go afield just for meat, 
or just so many coveys raised, so many shots, 
counting hits, eéc., this article will not interest 
you. But if you like to “hark back,” like to 
look at the trace of* hunting done in other 
times, and mix it with your own, you may find 
here the shadow of the substance which leads 
the old and newer unter afield. 
With Jim, the acing horse, in the shafts, 
Coxey, the big setter from South Dakota, 
curled at my feet, I went over the road, at a 
merry clip, headed for the home of J. Robinson, 
one frosty morning before sun and soon reached 
my destination. The place is worth a little more 
than mere mention. In the front yard stands 
a monster oak tree; step round it, and your 
steps number thirty-three; you are forced away 
by the roots a little which rise out of the ground. 
It is easily ten feet through the trunk; and the 
red hunters before and after the white man 
came painted its trunk red in war time. John 
Robinson holds this home of his from his an- 
cestors by right of wills. His title in the 
original comes from George III., and he can 
show you the old original deed or grant. No 
other has ever passed. 
On a little hill nearby rest the ashes of the 
first white hunter who pressed moccasined foot 
on this soil. Henry Viedmer came all the wav 
here on foot from Philadelphia with his old 
seven-foot flintlock, smooth bore gun, which is 
yet in existence. On one occasion, when the 
Cherokees chased him and John Warlick, and 
Warlick’s horse got mired down and the rider 
was killed and scalped, Viedmer saved his own 
scalp when he sent the round once—ball and 
three buckshot—into the redskin who was upon 
him. There was plenty to shoot those days 
with that old flintlock. It was open country 
then; only the watercourses had timber on 
them. Buffalo, bear, deer, turkey, wildcat and 
‘coon and other varmits went down at the roar 
of that old cannon. Shuford Whitmer, they 
spell it now, has shot many a squirrel with it 
since 1880. 
My hunting over the same ground was with 
a gun not 84 inches long, but only 26. His 
load was a handful; mine a pinch. He had a 
two-fold object in view. First, meat, or fur; 
second, the fun of it. I put the fun first and 
last. He watched out for Indians all the time, 
and even built his house over a spring of water; 
while I only had to watch out for the sign 
posted on other land than the Robinson’s. J. 
R. was busy, so I hiked over to his brother 
Abel’s place. Going over I flushed two coveys, 
but pushed on, not liking to fire a gun near the 
house. Coming back I scored nine birds with 
eleven shots. Then I took off my hat, and 
wondered if the old hunter resting under the 
trees on the hill ever had a day when his shoot- 
ing made him feel so elated as did mine. 
We crossed the bottom and climbed a hill. 
At the top there was Coxey lying down in the 
little field. I scored and missed also. 
Why, in the name of reason, can’t a chap 
get two birds every time on the rise. I can 
double on a pair often enough to suit me any- 
where else, but not in the covey every time; 
and I have seen many cracking good shots ball 
up on this same proposition. 
“You know a man that can.” Of course you 
do; but can you do it four, or even three times 
out of five all day long? Bet you a row of 
houses on the sunny side of the street to a gill 
of buttermilk you can’t do it. 
Next we got a covey that strung along a 
thicket about a ditch in the bottom. Each of 
us took a side, and we certainly had a happy 
time going down that ditch. At the far end 
the last bird boiled out and the “pinch” got him 
and made him “snow” his feathers. Abel 
Robinson shouted out, “Stand still until I come 
OVeGia: 
I waited, and he came over and pointed out 
_ the outlines where once stood the house of one 
William Mull. The Indians killed his children 
and scalped them, hanged him to a rafter to 
make him tell where his money was. His wife 
ran to Viediner’s, and they all put out with the 
old hunter for South Carolina. My quail had 
fallen almost in the boundary where the house 
stood. 
Birds enough, some good shooting, some 
awful good, and some awful poor, too; a drink 
from a gourd at the only hunter’s spring, where 
a little of the stone wall and the chimney still 
stands; a hearty hand shake all round; and soon 
Jim, the pacing horse, was carrying me swiftly 
home; dog asleep at my feet, and I musing 
with pleasant thoughts over my day on historic 
ground. PINK EDGE. 
In North Carolina. 
Raveicu, N. C., April 26.—These are very 
busy days at North Carolina’s great State 
Museum, and Curator Herbert Brimley, so 
clever a taxidermist, is being very ably as- 
sisted by Mr. Addickes, of Raleigh, who is turn- 
ing out some very good work indeed. The col- 
lection will soon cover every animal and bird 
in the State, much care being given to the mount- 
ing, preparation, grouping, etc. Nothing south 
of Washington now at all approaches the show 
made of the fauna of this State. The last arrival 
is of a young raven from Cherokee county, 
along the line of the Great Smoky Mountain. 
These birds are rare in this State and live very 
solitary lives. This one, though quite young, 
is far larger than any grown crow, and the cry 
is different. Near him is a cage of rattlesnakes, 
who have come out of their winter slumber and 
seem to feel a delight in giving the music of 
their rattles, no matter whether any one is 
nearby or not, they apparently seem to derive 
pleasure from the sound, which at a little dis- 
tance is remarkably like the noise made by 
grasshoppers. I have observed this when in the 
vicinity of rattlers, and three years ago listened 
to a rattler a few yards to the left and to a 
grasshopper a few yards to the right, each imi- 
tating the other very well indeed. 
I had my last snipe hunt yesterday, and found 
that the birds had departed northward. The 
meadows were lush with grass, cattails were 
bright green and over a foot high. Most of the 
birds were here during the unusually bad 
weather in March. The best bag made here 
was thirty-two about the middle of that month. 
All along the marshes the king rail is heard 
giving out that funny sound of his like “chunk 
chunk! chunk!” I was very much amused in 
talking to some darkies who were cutting wil- 
lows in part of the marsh. One of these was 
somewhat superstitious about this bird and de- 
clared it was a frog. Another, when asked what 
it was that made the noise, replied, ‘““We calls 
"um stump-pullers, but I hain’t never seen none. 
Dey ain’t birds; I know dat.” This darkey, no 
doubt, if he lived in Virginia would hold the 
same view as the tide-water negroes, who firmly 
believe that the sora turn to frogs. The negro 
view as to many kinds of birds is certainly 
strange. All of us have heard the noise the 
birds make at night as they pass northward or 
southward in their migrations, the latter being 
extensive here, but nothing to what they are 
along that great bird highway, the Mississippi 
River, which they often follow to all its length. 
One night last autumn I was standing in a park 
here talking to quite an old negro, when, all of 
a sudden, there came quite a clamor out of the 
sky above us, and out of it I picked the notes 
of the curlew and willet, the plover and the 
little sea chickens, though there were many 
other bird notes. When the darkey was asked 
what made the noise, he said, “I don’t rightly 
know. I have hearn um in the night. It’s 
something up in de elements, some folks thinks 
it hants. I hain’t never seed what makes de 
noises.” When told that it was birds, he shook 
his head and looked most doubtful, he had no 
faith in that. 
Hon. Thomas R. Jernigan, for many years 
prominent in public life in this State, but for a 
dozen or more years a resident at Shanghai, 
China, at first in high position in the service of 
the United States Government and since as a 
lawyer of much prominence, writes me a letter, 
which is mainly about sporting matters, and 
hence a part of it is sent you for publication, 
since it contains some hints for our own gun 
makers, and also-upon the advisability of propa- 
gating pheasants in this State and indeed in 
other parts of the country. It would really seem 
that these grand birds would thrive here as 
well as on the Pacific coast. Here are the ex- 
tracts from the letter referred to: 
“SHANGHAI, China, March 30.—I read your let- 
ters to Forest AND STREAM and am interested in 
all the subjects. Nature made me a sportsman 
but that feature did not develop until I arrived in 
China. Here I saw so many pheasants, partridges, 
deer and wildfowl that I had Greener build me a 
first-class gun, and I am now a fair shot on the 
wing and an average angler. I would like to go 
on a rabbit hunt with you, but if you and Gov- 
ernor Glenn wil] come to China I will place you 
in the finest shooting field in the world, There is 
no sport like that of shooting pheasants, and in 
China they are wild and strong. One afternoon 
last January I shot seven large pheasants and 
winged four, The better shots bag from thirty to 
forty per day, but I never thought it true sport 
to kill so many. To me the interest is in a rea- 
sonable success, and 1 never grieve over a miss 
but congratulate myself on the hits. Why don’t 
you insist more upon stocking our State with 
pheasants. They are the game birds of the world, 
and would thrive well in many parts of North 
Carolina.” Frep. A. OLps. 
AN experiment that mav prove of some eco- 
nomic importance is the planting of salt-water 
animals from the Gulf of Mexico in a large nat- 
ural salt lake at Palestine, Tex. The lake was 
examined by the superintendent of the San Mar- 
cos (Tex.) station, and was found of such a 
character that an attempt to utilize it in this wav 
was thought to be warranted. Accordinolv there 
were planted in it March 14, 10905, fifty-seven sea 
mullet, twenty squeteague, twelve redfish, thirty 
croakers, and thirty-eight silver perch, all adults, 
together with twentv-four crabs and one barrel of 
oysters. 
ON another page is reported the gratifying dis- 
position of the large deer herd of Belle Meade 
Farm by contributing the entire stock to the game 
supply of Tennessee. Mr. Richardson is desery- 
ing of credit and gratitude for his public-spirited 
action in the matter. 
