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FOREST AND STREAM. 

[DEc. 21, 1907. 

The Southern Squad. 
WILMINoTON,~ Del.—Editor Forest-and Stream: My last 
letter closed with the wonderful squad record made by 
the Winchester squad up to and including the shoot at 
Ocala, Fla., on Nov. 22. I told also how Crosby and 
John Taylor, of the squad, and Col], Anthony, the U. M. 
C. Co,.’s expert, who had been with us since we met him in 
Augusta, Ga., on Nov. 3, had left for their several homes 
on Sunday, Nov. 24, 
It was then with somewhat subdued feelings that we in 
turn started that same evening for Waycross, Ga., where 
the next shoot was scheduled. We got into Waycross 
about 10 o’clock, and the way we all hunted our beds 
showed plainly that everybody had some sleep coming to 
him. The night was a cool one, and, lordy! how cold 
the rooms felt after the warm weather of southern 
Florida. 
Monday, Nov. 24, was a lovely day—cool enough to 
start in with, but rapidly warming up as the sun rose 
higher and higher, until in the middle of the day shirt 





sleeves were once more quite comfortable. 
The grounds were some little distance out of town, 
and the background was rather a curious mixture of 
single pines here and there, with a few blackened snags 
sticking up out of the ground here and there. The 
attendance both of spectators and amateurs was surely 
a big disappointment, both to the management of the 
club and to us, but the explanation was not hard to 
find. The money stringency had struck Waycross pretty 
hard and had resulted in the closing of the doors of 
one of its banks for a time at least. This, of course, 
upset things, and Mr. J. T. Watt was not properly re- 
warded for the time he had put in promoting the shoot. 
Hawkins again shot splendidly, and so did Gilbert. 
The former scored 197 out of .his 200, while Fred had 
196; Harry Taylor with 192 was the only other one to go 
better than 199. Harold Money had 189, Barkley 184, 
while I got only 178. As I used John Taylor’s shells— 
i. e., those shipped to him for his use had he been at 
this tournament—anybody can easily see why I didn’t 
break more targets than I did. John never could do 
anything with his shells—only got about 97 per cent. of 
his targets with them, that’s all. Gilbert chalked up a 
run of 136 straight, while Hawky went to bed that night 
wondering how many he could add on to his run of 123 
unfinished. (And he did add something to it at Tusca 
loosa, Ala., on the 27th, our next shooting point.) 
Among the amateurs, F. Brewer did the best work 
with 19 out of 20 in events 2 and 8, and an 18 in No. 7. 
His total was just 80 per cent., and he ended quite a 
good bit in advance of his nearest competitor, 
After the programme had been completed Harold made 
a race with Gilbert and Harry Taylor, at 25 targets per 
man, losing team to pay for the targets, and he did me 
the honor of selecting me as his partner. It would have 
done you good to see the greedy way in which the 
Iowan and the South Dakota expert swallowed the bait. 
You would also probably have been equally delighted at 
the graceful but insistent way in which we landed that 
pair of hunters-after-soft-snaps. Before the race was half 
over we had Fred talking, but when it was finished, 
there was but little heard from the back seats, and more- 
over, while we rode home the vanquished pair pre- 
ferred to walk. We broke 49 out of our 50, and I know 
Harold will forgive my calling your attention to the 
fact that I did not lose that one target. Our opponents 
broke 46. 
That night we were booked to leave Waycross en 
route for Tuscaloosa, Ala., where the team was scheduled 
to shoot _on the 27th (Wednesday). It was a night’s 
tun to Montgomery, Ala., where we had a lay-over 
long enough for us to go uptown and get a good square 
meal in the way of breakfast. On our return to the 
station to take the train on to Tuscaloosa, Gilbert passed 
a rifle gallery, and early though it was, he could not 
resist the chance of showing the proprietor how little he 
(the proprietor) knew about gallery work. The first 
rifle handed Fred was sighted about “low 7 o’clock,” and 
never a spot on the target could Fred make. And neither 
could the proprietor when Fred told him to take the 
thing and try his hand. That settled it. They gave 
him a rifle guaranteed to be. O.K., and the mess Fred 
made of the rear end of that rifle gallery in about two 
minutes was a shame. 
The distance from Montgomery to Tuscaloosa over the 
Mobile & Ohio is 107 miles, according to what the con- 
ductor did to my mileage book, and I guess he knew. 
As the crow flies, the distance must be much less, for 
standing on the platform of the observation car, it 
really looked as if the parties who surveyed the road 
had in mind getting out of its prospective passengers 
as much mileage as possible between the two given 
points. One moment the sun would be glaring into 
one’s right eye; the next winking at us away off to the 
left; and. occasionally it went ahead to smile at the 
doused headlight of the engine. It was an interesting 
ride, however, and as the roadbed was good, and the 
scenery something very different from what he had been 
looking at for about five weeks past, the time in transit 
between Montgomery and Tuscaloosa went rapidly. 
When we reached our destination, we were quickly 
taken charge of by W. A. Hilbish, a prominent factor in 
the well-being of the local gun club. Mr. Hilbish, to- 
gether with some of his club mates, made our stay in 
their iittle city most enjoyable, visiting us at our hotel 
and generally making things pleasant for us. 
And by the way, we were not the only visitors to 
Tuscaloosa that day. I was told that a clerical con- 
ference was booked for the morrow, and there was cer: 
tainly an ultra-solemn air about most of those who 
placed their names on the register of the McLester 
House. Hawky and Harry Taylor, both of whom wore 
soft felt hats, and had clean shaven faces, felt quite at 
home with the brethren. Harold and I are still of the 
opinion that Hawky, by reason of his well-rounded form 
and contented visage, was frequently mistaken for a 
bishop or some other high official of the church. 
It was at Tuscaloosa that Lee Barkley got a telegram 
from Mrs. Barkley telling him of serious sickness at 
home, and urging his prompt return. What else would 
he do but take the first train for Chicago, so he left us 
at about 4 P. M., accompanied by the best wishes ot 
all whom he left behind for the speedy and complete 
reeovery of his little boy. 
The next day, Nov. 27, was about as nice a day for 
target shooting as one would wish to order. Sunny and 
bright, with practically not a breath of air. It was not 
until toward 2 P. M. that the sky began to be overcast 
and promise given of the wet Thanksgiving Day that 
was in store for us. 
An early start was made, as a good crowd of shooters 
was expected, and in fact, there were eighteen amateurs 
who took part in the ten events on the programme. 
The traps worked well, and the background was about 
the best of all we had struck so far, barring of course 
that at Tampa, Fla. 
With Lee Barkley’s 
enforced absence, Manager 
Hawkins was up against it, 
as he needed a fifth member 
for his squad. Thus it was that I at last got a chance 
to be a real star, or at least a member of what had 
been an all-star aggregation. Gilbert got off on his right 
foot, ran his first 60 odd straight, then dropped-a target 
in each of the next two events, finishing with 198 out of 
200 and an unfinished run of 108. Hawky, who, it will be 
remembered, had an unfinished run of 123 at Waycross, 
Ga., on the 25th, our last previous shoot, also got off in 
good style, and added 98 more to that run, making it 221 
all told, the longest run of the entire trip. Harold 
Money had a run of 102 unfinished, his total score being 
198. Hawkins’ total was 195. I had 189, and Harry 
Taylor, whcse gun has given him much food for thought, 
came along with 186, a good big bunch when all his 
troubles are taken into consideration. 
There was rather an amusing episode connected with 
those two unfinished runs of Gilbert’s and Money’s. 
When he had shot through half the programme and 
had adjourned for lunch (which, by the way, was ex- 
cellent and provided on the grounds), Gilbert went up 
to Hawkins and said: ‘Mr. Manager, if any of us run 
this last 100 straight can we have a holiday and free 
turkey to-morrow?” “Sure,” said the captain. ‘That 
goes.’ And you can just imagine how Fred counted up 
each event as he and Harold put straight scores on 
record until the programme was finished, and they had 
both earned their freedom and the bird. When but 
19 targets remained to be shot at, there was a ceaseless 
chatter going on between Harold as No. 2 in the squad 

and Fred as No. 4, as each target was smashed and 
recorded on the sheet. In more senses than one, they 
had both gone crazy. 
That evening we left Tuscaloosa after supper for 
Birmingham, 55 miles north, expecting to have a shoot 
at Bessemer, a few miles south of Birmingham on 
the morrow. The weather clerk, however, decided that 
the holiday (Thanksgiving Day) should be wet, and that 
no shooting should be done by the squad. I cannot 
say how much it rained down in Bessemer, but it was 
certainly a wet rain that fell in Birmingham, and the 
enforced day of rest was rather welcome, although all 
of us would have enjoyed going out to the grounds and 
meeting what would surely have been a big crowd had 
the day been fine. Fred said that it was rather hard 
that all of us should have a holiday after he and Harold 
had worked eso hard for theirs. And he told me later 
that he had not seen Hawky buy him any free turkey, 
according to promise, 
There was a choice of going on to Decatur, Ala., that 
afternoon or staying in Birmingham all night and getting 
up about 5 A. M. for the shoot at New Decatur on 
Friday, the 29th. As we were all pretty comfortably 
located, the vote for staying where we were was unani- 
mous. Consequently an early start had to be made the 
next day, our train leaving at 6:15, and no earthly chance 
of getting anything to eat after leaving Birmingham. 
The trip was only 87 miles, but we took about four 
hours to do it. 
No time was lost when we got to Decatur, as we 
opened our trunks at the station and got out guns and 
shooting coats. Then we took the car to New Decatur, 
not much more than a mile away, I should judge, and 
were on the grounds by 11 o’clock. Mr. Crow, of Crow 
& Brittain, had met us at Decatur, and had then gone 
ahead to get things ready. Hence there was little to do 
on arrival at the grounds except to put guns together 
and meet some of the boys. There was a good crowd 
present, eighteen amateurs taking part in the shoot, while 
as for spectators there were surely enough of them to 
please both the visitors and the home club. There may 
have been more school children present than Mr. Crow 
and his friends possibly desired, but they did no harm 
and passed comments on the shooting that showed some 
of them knew what they were talking about. “That 
gray-haired old duck” (and will you believe it, they meant 
me) came in for much attention, and the ease with 
which he missed targets seemed to meet with approval, 
while the question of his age is, I feel sure, stil] a de- 
batable point with many of Decatur’s youngsters. 
And, oh, how cold it was out at the grounds, with 
nothing but a small tent to shelter us from the raw 
wind that blew a perfect gale at times. It seemed as if 
one never would get the airculation started again in 
one’s extremities. We probably felt the cold all the 
more on account of the extreme warmth of the previous 
week when we had been down in Florida. The traps 
and pulling apparatus did not work any too well, and an 
occasional stop had to be made to put them in shape. 
It must be remembered, however, that the arrangements 
for the shoot were only temporary ones, and that the 
day before had been one of incessant downpour. The 
club therefore must not be blamed in the least for the 
mishaps that occurred. Necessarily, with the little de- 
lays, the shoot dragged a bit at first, and we naturally 
felt the cold more than we would have done had we 
been busy all the time. 
After Fred had shot at 75 targets and had broken 72 
of them—as good a piece of shooting as he ever did in 
his life-—it. was felt that it was risking his health too 
much to ask him to stand the exposure any longer. With 
the consent of Mr. Crow and his fellow managers, Fred 
therefore withdrew and took the afternoon train to. Nash- 
ville, where he could get a good night’s rest and keep 
warm. Harold Money, after breaking 94 out of his 100, 
also begged off and fled from the grounds in the hopes 
of catching Fred and the afternoon train for Nashville, 
which he was lucky enough to do, 
Only, 120 targets of the 200-target programme could be 
shot at, owing to the aforementioned delays and the poor 
light of the dull afternoon. Of that number Hawkins 
broke 115, running his last 86 straight. Harry Taylor, 
who was experimenting with his brokendown firearm, 
consented to tie me with 107. Right after us were O. W. 
Stenson and W. Wyker, both amateurs, with 105 and 
103 respectively. HH. Hamilton, a traveling representa- 
tive of the Birmingham office of the Dupont Company, 
came next with 191. I should not omit mention of the 
tr ee Gilbert had a run of 58 and Harold Money one 
of 57. 
The shoot at New Decatur really closed the southern 
tour of the experts, although they were invited to shoot 
at the Cumberland Driving Park at Nashville on the 
following day, Saturday, Nov. 30, a date we had all been 
looking torward to for some days past, as that night we 
were slated for a start homewards. If anybody thinks 
such a trip as we had is all fun, particularly after hav- 
ing waded through the letters I have sent you, I must 
have sadly misrepresented things. It was a hard trip, 
but of course, it was by no means without its many 
compensations, Each town or city visited meant so 
many good fellows met that it was hard to keep track 
of them, for is it not a fact that about all the fellows one 
meets at trapshooting contests are of the best sort? Then 
again, it is not pleasant either to dwell upon or write 
about petty unpleasantnesses, such as we occasionally 
met with in the way of hotel accommodation and poor 
and hurried meals. 
As an example of what one has to undergo on trips 
of this nature, let me cite this one day at New Decatur. 
We had gotten up at 5 o’clock, had a hasty breakfast 
and ridden four hours or so on a slow train. Had 
then stood around in the cold at the shoot, after which 
there was a wait at Decatur for the midnight train for 
Nashville and the sleeper. Due at about 12:15, it sailed 
in about 1:30, so that it was just about a quarter to two 
when I got into my berth, only to be up again a few 
minutes before 7 at Nashville with an all-day shoot in 
prospect. And that all-day shoot calls for attention, for 
it was one of the most enjoyable on the whole trip, 
being marked with the best of good fellowship. When 
such men_as Irby Bennett, George Hillman, Andy 
Meaders, Charlie Gilbert and Orrville Ewing are around 
nothing is likely to become stagnant and dull. 
Hawky, who had caught cold the day before was seized 
with a bad chill while shooting, and had to be taken up 
to the club house and suitably coddled before being 
sent back to town and to the hotel. He was surely a 
sick man for a few days and needed the tender care of 
a trained nurse (which I certainly gave him) until I 
put him outside the gates of the Union Station at Bal- 
timore on the following Monday morning, Dec, 2. 
It will be of interest to state that he’is once more 
well in health, and by this time on his way South, 
wkere he will spend the winter months in the interests 
ef his company. 
The gun club had put up as prizes a gold scarfpin and 
a pair of handsome army brushes. The first was to go 
to the professional making high score on 200 targets, 
while the other went to the high amateur. Harold 
Money is now wearing the scarfpin by virtue of his 196 
out of 200, while Capt. Andy Meaders parts his hair in 
the middle and keeps it flat with the aid of the brushes, 
his total of 187 being 4 targets better than his nearest 
opponent could muster. 
Gilbert shot a good race, and finished with 194, I 
“slipped back to third’? with 190, Harry Taylor bagging 
188. _ C. M. Gilbert, Orr, Ewing and J. Campbell had 
183, F. W. Barton 181, and J. Hooper 179. Irby Bennett 
shot well, but showed lack of practice, and also de- 
veloped early on in the game a full-fledged flinching 
fit, which spoiled many a good effort at a straight score, 
His score of 84 per cent. was better than it looked—and 
that’s no joke either. 
The duck dinner at his city club, to which Cahrlie 
Gilbert invited a round dozen of us, was a delightful 
episode, which made a fitting climax to the trip. Like 
the much-abused pousse café, which leaves such a 
pleasant taste in one’s mouth, this gathering with Mr. 
Gilbert as host will linger in my memory for a long 
time to come. That we had to break up early was our 
misfortune, but Fred Gilbert’s and Harry Taylor’s train 
left at 7:45 P. M., while Hawkins and I were scheduled 
to sleep on board another train bound for Knoxville, and 
which left Nashville at 10 sharp. ‘ 
Before pulling down the shades and closing this letter 
I want to mention one little incident which I find I 
omitted in my report of the shoot at Leesburg, Fla., 
Nov, 21, when the boys made their new world’s record. 
It was, I think, about the sixth or seventh event on the 
programme, and we outsiders were all watching the boys 
smash their targets with an almost monotonous regular- 
ity, when, swish, down from behind swooped a big sharp- 
shinned pertridge hawk, being evidently minded to seize 
the fleeing clay target, which it mistook for something 
edible. I don't know whose turn it was to shoot, «but 
whoever it was, he broke the target just about 10yds. 
ahead of the hawk, which, whirled at the shot and be- 
gan to get away, having found out that something was 
wrong. The boys stood and ‘looked at the bird, as if in 
doubt that what they saw was really so. Some one 
yelled, “Shoot!” and then they let go, but it was too 
late. Whoever fired the first shot certainly made the 
hawk exclaim, “Stung,” but no one else seemed to do any 
damage. Harold Money, who kept his eye on the bird 
long after the rest of us, was of the opinion that it fell 
dead after flying a good way. In telling the above little 
incident, I have run, of course, a heavy risk of being 
looked askance at, but I have gotten accustomed to that, 
for such has been the fate of all true historians with 
whom I had the pleasure of an acquaintance. Seriously, 
however, the happening was a strange one, and suf- 
ficiently out of the ordinary to warrant special mention 
in your columns. 
In conclusion (doesn’t that sound like a dominie?) let 
me thank you for the kind manner in which you have 
bestowed on me practically the freedom of your past 
several issues, turning away the point of your blue 


