

FOREST AND STREAM. 



: 12, 1907.] 
ighting with teeth and claws, overwhelmed by 
1umbers this unconquerable Ishmael of the forest 
wilds dies, game to the last breath. 
The next morning was cool and bracing. The 
frost and spewed up through the damp earth 
Stalagmitic images on the lake shore. It was 
fjust the morning for a’still hunt, and this was 
the season when the old bucks in their shining 
coats were playing the gallant among herds of 
timid does. Picking up my rifle I wandered off 
into the swamp, and had not gone far before I 
'found a fresh buck scrape. This is a sign the 
bucks make at this season. They scrape the 
\earth with their sharp hoofs while they rub their 
fantlers against some overhanging bough. I sat 
‘down under a cottonwood to windward of the 
jopen woods. I had not waited long before a 
mice fat doe came loping along. She stopped, 
ismelt the scrape, flopped her ears, stood a few 
‘seconds with her head down, listening, then 
jlooked around and walked off with the stately 
(dignity of a queen of the forest shades. I let 
iner pass on, as I did not wish to kill a doe, and 
sat watching her. I remained half an hour 
longer and began to grow impatient, as I was 
chilly and weary; but remembering that the first 
quality of a good hunter is patience, and the 
surest way to success is never to tire waiting, I 
sat still and watched and waited, imagining the 
\quaintest images etched on golden leaves, and 
jold brown logs by the artist frost, upon whose 
‘tracing the morning sunshine was painting new 
ictures in kaleidoscopic figures, as its bright rays 
forced their way into the cold depths of the 
‘forest. 
| Suddenly I heard a twig snap. Long training 
jaad taught me to overcome the temptation to 
ae my head quickly to see whence the sound 
rame. In a-moment my patience was rewarded, 
itor there in forty yards of me stood one of the 
prandest bucks of the forest, with antlers rival- 
ng an elk’s, and the sheen of his velvet coat 
xlistening in the morning beams. He walked to 
jis scrape, smelt the earth, threw up his haughty 
nose, and curled his aristocratic lip, stamping 
the earth as if he disdained to tread on common 
joil. Ah! he was a beauty. Every movement was 
jrrace and dignity. He scraped the ground with 
his sharp feet as he dashed his antlers against 
the bow overhead, then bending his head low 
jvhistled through his nostrils, and taking the 
;rack of the doe started off in a trot. I whistled 
\harply and he stopped, exposing his side. I 
lighted my rifle for his heart and fired. He 
;prang high in the air, and fell with a crash. 
; sounded my horn and Balaam responded with 
\. horse to carry the deer to camp. 
i “Captain Hobson,” said Mac Wheeler, after 
jupper, “let’s go and shoot woodcock to-night. 
| saw quite a number flying into that field over 
onder this evening just at twilight. I have 
joticed, too, they have bored a good deal about 
Ihere.”’ 
4 “All right,” 
vith you.” 
The rest of us concluded that we would enjoy 
fire hunt too, and proposed to join them. Hav- 
ig brought from the hills a few fat light wood 
r pine knots they were split up for torches. 
sesides I had a large hunting lamp with a re- 
ector, which, with the torches carried by the 
jegro, gave us all the light necessary. Our shells 
frere loaded very lightly, for the birds, con- 
bised by the bright lights, would lie close, and 
ihen they arose would fly around overhead in 
t dazed manner, offering fair shots. We soon 
l-ruck their feeding grounds, and Bill Poss, look- 
fig at the numerous holes in the damp earth, 
jemarked: 
| “What a wonderful instinct the woodcock has 
‘ know where to bore for a worm!” 
said Captain Hobson; “I will go 
“Nothing remarkable in that,’ replied Col. 
lodman, “because he hears the worm and bores 
by the sound.” 
f “What sound can a worm make, 
ft earth?’ asked Bill Poss. 
“Have you never noticed the woodcock feed- 
o?” asked Col. Rodman, “and how it turns the 
ide of its face to the ground and stands motion- 
ss. listening?” 
} “What is he listening for?” asked Bill Poss. 
, ‘Listening to hear the worm’s heart beat,” an- 
boring in 
vered the Colonel, with an imperturbable ex- 
‘ession, as we all burst out laughing. 
have 
wasn't 
said Bill 
from old 
it from you.” 
feet further on a woodcock arose. 
bird was in mid air Mac fired and 
down, and as we went forward two 
started. ‘Col. Rodman and ‘Bill Poss 
but only one bird fell which Bill 
claimed. While they were contending sover. it 
another got up and Bill cracked away, but the 
bird kept on, and as it darted past I fired and 
Poss. “I might 
Pious, but | 
“Sold again!” 
expected a sell 
looking for 
A few 
When the 
brought it 
more were 
both shot, 
killed it. A few steps further on we saw a 
couple sitting on the ground which Bill Poss 
fired into, killing both of them. “Why didn’t 
yer let me kill ’em wid my brush,” said Balaam. 
“What's de use of wastin’ ammernition when 
yer ken kill ’em wid er stick?” 
“So say I, Balaam,”’ said Captain Hobson. 
As we went on we flushed quite a number, and 
as they arose, blinded by the lights, they met a 
fusilade of small arms. In a patch of stubble 
we found a covey of quail at roost, and we all 
stopped to admire them as they sat in the low 
grass with their tails all together in a compact 
body, keeping each other warm, and at the same 
time guarding every direction. The narrow 
. white stripes on thé heads of the cocks, and the 
brown of the hens, over their little jet black 
eyes that sparkled in the bright light, made them 
look like snake heads, but my admiration was 
cut short by Balaam’s stick with several prongs, 
coming down with a whack upon the feathery 
heap, killing several and flushing the rest which 
sailed away, regardless of the bright lights under 
a fire that did them little harm. 
“What did you do that for, Balaam?’’ I asked. 
“To keep Marse Poss from shootin’ ’em on de 
groun’. Dat’s what yer call pot huntin’, ain’t 
it?’ said he grinning. “I got seben of ’em, an’ 
your shootin’ sticks didn’t git nary one.” 
After spending an hour or more among the 
woodcock, the negroes occasionally killing a hare 
or a lark with their sticks, we returned to camp. 
Pious JEEMS. 
William Edward Brodnax. 
BEAUMONT, Texas., Sept.. 26.—Editor . Forest 
and Stream: At his home, The Hermitage, in 
Brunswick county, Virginia, William Edward 
Brodnax passed away on the night of Sept. 2, in 
his eighty-first year. For many years a_ sub- 
scriber ‘to this journal, his name will be familiar 
to numbers of your old-time readers who will 
recall the many charming aceounts of runs with 
the Byron hounds, written by the late Thomas 
Goode Tucker a score of years ago. I would 
my pen were able to do justice to the memory 
of this most lovable man. Born and reared in 
affluence, a scholar of attainments, a graduate 
of Yale University, he preferred the quiet sim- 
plicity and dignity of rural life to the strenuosity 
of a business or professional career. Residing, 
a bachelor, on his plantation, he had ample leisure 
to indulge in his love for swift hounds and noble 
steeds, and until feeble health compelled him to 
part with them they were his constant com- 
panions. When the Civil War broke out he 
tendered his services to his native State, and 
served throughout that fateful struggle with 
honor and distinction. Possessing great practical 
as well as scholarly ability, he readily adapted 
himself to the changed condition of affairs, and 
returning from the battle field to his home, he 
continued his agricultural pursuits with profit 
and success. 
Of a tall and commanding figure, his was in- 
deed a noble presence, and the quiet dignity of 
his bearing inspired the respect, as his courteous, 
and kindly manner gained the love of all who 
came in contact with him. Especially was he 
popular with younger men, in whose pleasures 
he took a kind and sympathetic interest. Few 
purer, better men have ever lived than William 
Edward Brodnax, and few have left a greater 
circle of friends to mourn their loss. At a ripe 
old age he went to his long home, probably the 
last of the old régime who rode to hounds of 
his own raising, upon a thoroughbred of his own 
breeding. FoxHALL A. PARKER. 

THE Forest AND STREAM may be obtained from 
any newsdealer on. order. Ask your dealer to 
supply you regularly. 
A Pleasant Day Afield. 
CUMBERLAND, Md.,. Sept. 29.—Editor Forest 
and Stream: One fall about six years ago 
I had an opportunity to enjoy a fine day’s 
shooting in company with my father-in-law, 
Captain M. J. Billmyer, on his farm near 
Shepherdstown, W. Va., the memory of which 
lingers as one of the most enjoyable hunts of 
my experience. 
Captain Billmyer was an excellent shot and 
probably killed more birds from the close of the 
war until the time of his death, which was men 
tioned in Forrest AND STREAM a few weeks ago, 
than any other man in the county. 
I reached the Captain’s home one night. dur- 
ing the hunting season and we made prepara- 
tions to hunt partridges the following day. At 
breakfast the next morning I made an excuse 
for the hearty meal I had eaten, saying that as 
I expected to “wipe the Captain’s eye’ I knew 
I had a hard job to perform and wanted to 
fortify myself with a square meal. He laugh- 
ingly remarked that he thought I had better wait 
until after dinner before we commenced the hunt, 
as that would give me the advantage of two 
meals and make my chances sure. 
We left the house about 8 o’clock, the Cap- 
tain taking a hammerless which was an ex- 
tremely close shooting gun, and I a new 28-inch 
16-gauge. We had old Bill, an excellent setter, 
notwithstanding his peculiarities. He was a good 
hunter, but when he found we would sit on the 
fences and rest as we went from field to field 
he would watch us closely and lie down in the 
field and would not move until we did. When 
standing birds, if we were behind him and did 
not come up promptly as he wished, he would 
back away from his point, take a wide circle and 
make another point so as to face us and see 
what we were doing. 


We found the birds along a stone fence. They 
were large ones and strong flyers. The first 
shot I had was at one which flushed on the 
opposite side of the fence and came across like 
a bullet. Holding well ahead, I dropped him 
nicely. The Captain made a long shot at one 
which flushed at the report of my gun. This 
brought us to a small stream flowing through 
the place. I took the right bank and the Cap- 
tain the left. We had gone but a short distance 
when a bird flushed on the Captain’s side and 
flew up the stream. Bang! went his gun and 
he scored a miss. Making a long shot, I had 
the good fortune to make a nice clean kill and 
dropped the bird on his side of the stream. He 
said nothing, but I saw him smile. I had “wiped 
his eye’ as the saying goes. 
I remember well one big cock partridge. I 
flushed him on top of a hill. He started off at 
lightning speed flying directly toward the sun. 
I sent a load of No. 7s after him, but he only 
flew the faster. Taking careful aim with the. left 
barrel, which was choke bored, I thought I would 
surely get him, but he seemed to put on more 
steam and flew faster still. The Captain laughed 
and said. “Well, you hurried him up some.” I 
surely did, and as far as I know he is going 
yet. 
hunted all the morning with good success 
and at noon decided to quit. I had twelve birds 
to my credit, all the law allowed, the Captain 
giving me most of the shots. 
At the dinner table the Captain said, 
IT had something happen to me to-day for the 
first time in all my hunting experience. Ed. 
wiped my eye, but he could not have done it 
ten years ago.” Epw. C. DRAWBAUGH. 
“Well 
Deer Hounding Favored. 
ELIZABETHTOWN, N. Y., Oct. 3.—Editor Forest 
and Stream: Herewith find copy of resolution 
which I was requested to send to you: 
“Resolved that it is the sense of the Republi- 
can party in convention assembled that safety to 
men, humanity to deer and sport for hunters 
would all be furthered by a revision of the game 
laws to provide for two weeks’ hounding of 
deer, and that our nominee be asked to aid in 
the revision of the same; that a copy of this 
resolution be forwarded to Forest AND STREAM 
and to J. Whipple, Commissioner of Forest, 
Fish and Game.” GrorGE L, Brown 













































































