


FOREST AND: SPREAM:. 




GANIE BAG AND GUN 



Jones Bayou in Time of Flood. 
Memputs, Tenn., Sept. 1.—Editor Forest and 
Stream: Having given an account recently of 
a turkey shoot in the Jones Bayou Settlement, [ 
will now endeavor to describe the overflow. 
I never think of that overflow but what my 
mind reverts to Old Noah, and I cannot help 
thinking what a sensible man Noah must have 
been. There are hundreds, yes thousands, ot 
poor people in the Mississippi swamps that 
wish for an ark or some kind of a boat during 
one of these dreadful floods; and how any one 
can have the courage to continue residing in 
the overflowed district after having passed 
through one ‘of these floods, is beyond compre- 
hension. However, every one to his taste; a 
man can get used to almost anything. 
At Jones Bayou, things went on in their usual 
way. -When Lem and Beavers were not en- 
gaged hauling cotton to Greenville, we were 
hunting. Both Lem and John were good shots, 
and excellent companions, and I enjoyed hunt- 
ing with them. I managed to keep my work up 
on the railroad and look after the contractors 
a deal more than they wanted to be looked 
after -and still have plenty of time to hunt. 
Fortunately, I had a rodman who did not enjoy 
hunting, so I made him go over the work 
every day and watch for cribbing and logs in 
the embankments, and I did the office work 
and watched some also. I always took my rifle 
with me when I went out on the works, and 
when I got through, I would take a short cut 
through the swamp for home, and it was an 
unlucky day if I did not kill a deer, or a 
turkey, before I came out into the clearing. 
There was no danger of getting lost, as I al- 
wavs carried a reliable pocket compass with 
me, and when I got ready to go home, ie 
was puzzled or confused, I would go east or 
west as the occasion required, and strike the 
cleared right of way of the railroad somewhere. 
This ran due north and south, hence, I never 
had to lie out in the swamp at night but once 
or twice during my eighteen months’ stay in 
the cane brake, although I have been miles 
back into an almost impenetrable wilderness 
and alone. ; 
About the first of February the Mississippi 
River began to rise. The old settlers did not 
pay much attention to it at first; but as each 
cotton wagon returned from Greenville and 
reported the river eight or ten feet higher than 
it was the last trip, they began to prepare. So 
did I. I sent to Greenville by the cotton 
wagons and bought several thousand feet of 
rope and stopped all the men working on the 
grade and began tying bridge timbers to the 
trees. The railroad company had trestle tim- 
ber delivered over the whole twenty miles of 
work that I had charge of, and thousands of 
cypress cross ties. It was a fight to save it, 
too. I had all the ties snaked and carried up on 
top of the embankments, where they were com- 
pleted, and tied the balance and weighted them 
down with green logs and stumps. 
The county officials had men patrolling the 
levee with rifles and guns, under orders to shoot 
the first man they caught trying to cut the em- 
bankment. It is a very common thing, during 
high water, for men to come over to Mississippi 
from the Arkansas side in the night and cut the 
levee. In doing this they relieve the opposite 
side at once. 
About the 15th of February the levee broke, 
and the water began to rise back in the swamp 
at the rate of two or three feet per hour. Woe to 
the man who was not prepared! Most of the 
Jones Bayou settlers had been out for a week 
driving in their hogs and cattle, and the ridge 
along Jones Bayou was one stream of cattle 
and swine, as there were a great many in the 
country. Hundreds were still in the swamps, 
however, and unless they could find high 
ground somewhere and food during the flood 
they were gone. Every man in the swamp owns 
at least one canoe or pirogue, and he ought to 
have a half dozen if there are that many in 
his family. So in every direction could be seen 
a man sitting in the stern of a pirogue making 
the little boat fly with the long sweeping strokes 
of a light cypress paddle. I was busy picking 
up ties and trestle timber, and keeping my men 
constantly patrolling the entire twenty miles of 
the right of way, retying and refastening and 
watching what was already fastened; so I did 
not notice many of the lamentable catastrophies 
that were transpiring all around me. Severa 
men were drowned in the railroad camps, and I 
hardly knew it. The settlers were penetrating 
far into the swamps, looking up their cattle and 
carrying boat loads of corn to high ground. I 
received an earnest request from Uncle Martin 

one morning to get into his boat with him 
and kill some ducks. 
airth air nuthin’ but ducks over 
yonder ’about a mile o’ here,” said he. 
I knew he was telling the truth, for I had 
seen thousands of them flying over and oc- 
casionally the wind brought a faint sound of 
their many wings. We climbed into his twenty- 
foot pirogue, he in the stern and I in the bow. 
He had his rifle and I was armed with Lem 
Beaver’s muzzleloading shotgun. ‘ We paddled 
down the main channel of Jones Bayou until 
we came to a cross bayou, then took up this 
open pathway. The whole country was a solid 
sheet of water, and we only used the bayous 
because we could get along easier, as_ they 
were open and free from cane and brush. After 
going up this cross bayou about a mile, we 
came in heaiing distance of the ducks. They 
were feeding on some pin oak ridges, where 
the water was from one to three feet deep, div- 
ing after the small acorns and other mast that 
covered the ground. 
When we got near, Uncle Martin whispered. 
“Now Ill just scull along kinder easy, and 
when you git in range, give ’em both barrels 
while their air sittin’ on the water.” 
I nodded, but had no idea of following his 
instructions. When we got within fifty yards 
of the main drove, an old mallard drake sprang 
out of the water, with a quack. In an instant 
the air was full of ducks, and it sounded like 
the rush of a mighty cataract. I have never be- 
fore nor since seen as many ducks. I knew my 
chance had arrived; so leveling at the thickest 
“The whole 
bunch, I let drive with both barrels. Some 
tumbled heels over head, others came down 
with a slant, while one old drake flew up 
straight as a rocket, and when he reached the 
top of the timber he came tumbling down, all 
in a heap. This one had received a single shot 
through the head. Uncle Martin fairly 
snorted, “Ef that air old drake hed a sot still 
one minute more, we'd ‘a loaded this boat right 
heah.” 
“Why, Uncle Martin, you old hog, how many 
more ducks do you want a man to kill at one 
shot?” 
We had picked up eleven ducks 
prospects of finding several more. He was not 
satisfied, however. We concluded that it would 
be better to tie up in the brush near where we 
were than to try to follow the ducks; so we 
hid our boat in the bushes. We had not waited 
over ten minutes when we caught the sound of 
approaching wings. A band of two or three 
hundred circled over us several times, then 
came down with a slant. Just before they 
struck the water I gave them one barrel, and as 
they deflected upward, let them have the other. 
I never could enjoy shooting a duck and it 
sitting motionless upon the water. This netted 
seven ducks. Another band came in. I gave 
them one barrel, and dropped an old drake at 
and had 
long range with the second. Thus we sat in 
the boat and for an hour I had fine sport. 
Then I gave Uncle Martin the shotgun, and he 
took several shots at ducks on the water after 
they had settled. le would not risk wasting 
his shot and powder on the wing. Finally | 
asked him if he did not think we had enough, 
and strange to say, he said yes. We then 
gathered in our game and had a motley collec- 
tion of all kinds, the larger portion mallards. 
We had exactly fifty-six ducks. 
I asked Uncle Martin what we should do, as 
the morning was not yet gone, and he said we 
would paddle up the bayou until it ran into 
Snake River, and when we reached the ridge 
or bank of Snake River, he wanted to look after 
his cattle. He had some salt and several bags 
of corn in his boat to give to the cattle and 
hogs. When we reached the ridge, we found 
only a small portion of it out of water. The 
dry ground comprised a strip of land about 500 
yards long and thirty yards wide. As we ap- 
proached we saw quite a number of cattle, 75 
or 100 head of hogs, and several deer on the 
ridge. Uncle Martin chuckled. 
“I ‘lowed I’d git some o’ them fellars on this 
trip,” he said. 
The deer rushed out into the water at our 
approach, swam around for a while, and finally 
huddled at the far end of the island. Uncle 
Martin turned his canoe toward them. I begged 
him to kill only two, as that was all we could 
possibly carry home in the canoe. He grunted 
his assent, but said he would come back next 
day “and git the balance of ’em.” 
As we approached, the deer took to the water; 
there were five bucks and four does. Uncle 
Martin quickly shot two of the bucks, and we 
dragged them to the island and bled and 
cleaned them. The others swam to the other 
end of the island. After salting the cattle and 
giving them the bags of corn, we got our two 
deer and paddled home. On the way I killed 
several more ducks, taking only single wing 


shots. When we arrived at Jones Bayou, we 
said nothing about where we had killed the 
deer. Uncle Martin took one, and half the 
ducks, and I half the remainder. I divided my 
ducks and venison between my friends among 
the settlers, and sent some to the foremen and 
contractors in the railroad camps. Uncle 
Martin sold his share to the railroad hands, 
and the next day, true to his word, he and an- 
other man went back to the island and killed 
the last one of those deer and sold them at 
the camps. When I abused the old man for this 
wanton butchery, he said, “Wal, Wiaingfield, 
you city cusses thinks you kin come out in 
the swamp an’ tell us settlers how to do. Ef 
you don’t like our doin’s, you kin go home.” 
There was no use trying to educate this man 
to a sportsman’s standard. He’ was case 
hardened, just as every pot-hunter in America 
is. The only way to reach these fellows is to 
make it unlawful to sell game. As long as 
game brings money, it will continue to be 
butchered, netted, potted and secured by fair 
or foul means. It makes my heart ache to see 
the thousands of netted birds sold every week 
in Memphis. We surely must have a wonderful 
supply to stand this drain upon it and exist at 
all. 
We had excellent duck shooting for two 
weeks or more until the river got back into its 
banks again. I went out every day, as duty 
as well as pleasure prompted me, and always 
secured as many as I wanted. There were only 
a few shotguns in the settlement, so I had the 
pleasure of keeping my friends in the camps 
well supplied with ducks. All communication 
with the outside world was cut off, for the time 
being, and the bill of fare in the railroad camps 
was not very diversified, and my ducks were 
quite acceptable. A. B. WINGFIELD. 

