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SHOOTING

ON

UPLAND, MARSH, AND STREAM.

A SERIES OF ARTICLES

WRITTEN BY PROMINENT SPORTSMEN, DESCRIPTIVE OF HUNTING THE UPLAND BIRDS
OF AMERICA, EXPOSING THEIR FLIGHTS, HABITS, RESORTS, AND THE MOST SUC-
CESSFUL MANNER OF PURSUING THEM WITH THE GUN; AND TREATING
ESPECIALLY OF THE SCIENTIFIC METHODS OF SHOOTING DUCKS,
PRAIRIE CHICKENS, GROUSE, WILD TURKEYS, WILD GEESE,

WILD PIGEONS, SNIPE, QUAIL, WOODCOCK, AND PLOVERS.

EDITED BY

WILLIAM BRUCE LEFFINGWELL,

(HORACE )

AUTHOR OF “WILD FOWL SHOOTING.”

PROFUSELY ILLUSTRATED,

 

CHICAGO AND NEW YORK:
RAND, MCNALLY & COMPANY, PUBLISHERS,

1890.
Copyright 1890, by Rand, McNally & Co.
Thy
To the Sportsmen of America
This Book is Dedicated,
While We Convey to Them that Fraternal Love,
that Always Has, and We Trust Always Will,
~\ Dwell in the Hearts of True Sportsmen,
One for the Other.

NY ffmsgrretl

le ee:

 

JIE Cla oer

ao
INTRODUCTION.

 

The flattering reception with which ‘‘ Wild Fowl
Shooting’’ was received throughout the United States,
and portions of the Old World, was the incentive for the
publication of this book; for, acting on the solicitations
of many of the sporting fraternity, who love the fresh-
ness of the field and the purity of the prairie winds, I
bring into the world another book, which I trust and
believe will be equally acceptable and enjoyable, and one
that will teach to this and to the coming generation that
there is a nobility of character in the true sportsman,
that will ever show itself, whether at home or in the field,
and that our love of field sports does not arise from the
desire to slaughter needlessly the feathered game, ‘or
mercilessly to extinguish animal kind, but leads to the
protection of game; and that, when the law is open to us,
our pleasures are equally divided between bagging the
birds, and seeing the dogs, filled with animation, bound-
ing over hill and dale, or standing entranced and _ petri-
fied as they point the hidden game. To see the whir-
ring birds, that cause our hearts to throb in fluttering
excitement, to wander over the fields in the warm, bud-
ding spring-time, when the earth is clothed in bridal
raiments, or when the golden summer, rich in her harvest,
has dotted the earth with sheaves of ripened grain—this
is our enjoyment.

Let not the reader labor under the delusion, that the
capturing of a large quantity of game is the extreme
desire of the true sportsman; for the more adept one

becomes in the capturing of the animal species, the less
(7)
8 INTRODUCTION.

he cares for the game, one of his greatest delights being
in the secret satisfaction of knowing that the birds, no
matter how wary they may be, are not keen enough to
circumvent him and his well-trained dogs. Knowing
this, he desires that when he is afield all should be pro-
pitious. The day, the fields, the streams, should be in
their perfectness. All thoughts of business banished, he
would be away from the din and bustle of city life, and
would, in their stead, have Nature furnish him with
refreshment and music. This refreshment: the bloom-
ing meadows, the cool springs, the sweet incense of the
prairie grass, the sensuous perfumes of the marshes—
his music: the mild soughing of the winds, the piping
of the quail, the drumming of the grouse, and the thou-
sand and one sights and sounds of wild life, all of which
will be seen by appreciative eyes, and heard by willing
ears, as he wanders over the fields and through the moist
valleys, interfered with by no sights or sounds of human
activity.

The editor of this work is cognizant of the fact, that
most excellent books can be obtained treating on the sub-
ject of game birds. But the majority of such works
treat of them scientifically and ornithologically, and the
average sportsman does not care to delve so deeply into
the subject, tiring his brain over scientific terms. The
editor desires, therefore, rather to speak of the birds as
others speak, to see them as others see them, avoiding
terms that will mystify or confuse his reader. Asa hunter
is born, not made, so only he can write of game birds
who knows them, and loves their dwelling-places; for,
unless he has watched them from birdlings to mature
growth, he knows them not—simply knows of them. His
experience must have been of years, and his study, not
one of necessity; but the knowledge obtained, the result
of favorable opportunities and through love for the sub-
INTRODUCTION. 9

ject. For one to become proficient in any calling, one
must, as we say, inherit it; but even if not inherited, the
passing years increase a man’s ardor, and the amateur
speedily becomes an expert, provided his heart is in what
he does. These things were evident to the author when
he first contemplated the publication of a work of this
kind, and his aim and desire has been to give to the world
a book simple in words, pure and elevating in tone, and
so permeated with the invigorating recollections of days
spent afield, that the reader can read, then lay aside, and
at once recall just such scenes witnessed at some time of
his life. It seemed, then, that it would be far better to
enlist with him in the preparation of this book, men who
were possessed of the requisite knowledge of the habits,
resorts, and peculiarities of the different birds treated of,
a knowledge obtained, not from books, but from years of
actual experience in the field.

The writers selected are all known to the sporting world,
and have been recognized for years as among the ablest in
America, or in the world, on field sports. In this book,
each writes of his bird, treating on the subject of his own
selection—writing of birds studied and hunted for years.
No one man has had the varied experience displayed in
this book. Every hunter of experience has a choice of
birds—some one bird he likes to hunt best. There is
occasion for regret that many of the writers were neces-
sarily restricted in space in preparing their articles.
Were they not so restricted, it would have been necessary
to publish two volumes, instead of one. There is a vein
running through the many articles in this book, which
commingles in free accord with the views of this writer—
that is, the desire for the protection of game and the
observance of existing game laws.

No experienced hunter can read this book without
having brought to him scenes he has witnessed with
10 INTRODUCTION.

delight, and causing in his heart a secret longing for
their return; while, by the inexperienced, especially by
the young man, lessons can be learned instructive in all
those secrets which make hunting a success, teaching
him how to take advantage of the wary birds in all their
wanderings, and instilling into his mind a love for out-
door life, which will add to his strength and make the
world the better for his living.

The supplemental chapter, ‘‘Greyhound Coursing,”
supplies a fund of information, and creates in the reader
a desire to participate in this exciting sport. Lovers of
the chase, of racing, of exhibitions of speed and endur-
ance, can not fail to have their hearts throb faster, when
they follow the writers in their glorious runs, and imagine,
as they can not help imagining, that they are present and
see the spirited running of the lithe and supple grey-
hounds, trained with all the skill and watchful care
which characterizes the development of speed in the
blooded horse. The hounds enter the contest leashed
together, straining eyes and every nerve, anticipating the
prey which may spring from the grass at any moment.
The level prairie, the chase, the excitement, the success-
ful pursuit, the cool October day, the thousands of
enthusiastic spectators, the ground beautified and chas-
tened by the presence of ladies and children, all flushed
with excitement as one of the hounds, with a magnificent
burst of speed, passes his competitor and seizes the fleet-
footed ranger of the plains. Then the return, the crown-
ing of the victor with a floral wreath by some fair lady,
the ovation,—ad/ these things cause one’s blood to tingle,
and we are willing, for the time, to lay aside our rods and
guns, and with our wives and children enjoy sports so
pure and exhilarating as these.

In the preparation of a work like this, one is placed
under special obligations to many. I am thus indebted
INTRODUCTION. 11

to the writers who have so generously and brilliantly con-
tributed to this volume, and especially to Dr. N. Rowe, of
the American Field, the Forest and Stream Publish-
ing Co., John M. Tracy, and J. B. Sword. I can assure
the sporting fraternity that the generous reception with
which my former book has been received, has touched me
deeply; for, though thousands of copies have been sold,
there has never as yet been an adverse criticism printed.
Should this volume be accepted with equal friendliness, it
will demonstrate to the world, as it has demonstrated to
me, that my labors have not been in vain, and that we have
helped to elevate field sports by producing works of so
ennobling a character that a father is proud to place them
in the hands of his sons, knowing that they contain pure
and chaste thoughts, and are ripe with the fruits of man-
liness, unselfishness, kindness, and generosity.
FULL PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS.

WooDcock-SHOOTING,

RUFFED GROUSE SHOOTING,

In THE Marsa AT BREAK OF DAY—DUCK-SHOOTING,
Bos WHITE SHOOTING,
SHARP-TAILED GROUSE,
SNIPE-SHOOTING,

PRAIRIE CHICKEN SHOOTING,
SHOOTING GEESE OVER DEcoys,
THE POINTER,

THE SPEED LinzEs (POINTERS),
THE Big GOBBLER,
CaNnvVAS-BACK Dtck,
‘GREYHOUND COURSING,

PAGE.

45
95

. 129

135
170
251

. 295

333
377
385

- 867

413

. 469
CONTENTS.

PAGE.

INTRODUCTION, : : ‘ ,

Bay Snipe, Coot, anD OTHER WiLp Fow. SHOOTING ON THE
Atiantic Coast.—Isaac McLellan,

THE Woopcock.— William Jarvis,

Tue Quatts of CaLirornia.—T. 8. Van Dyke,

Tue RuFFED GRovsE.—C. A. Cooper,

InLAND DucK-sHOOTING IN THE UNITED StatEs.—John G. Smith,

Bos Wuite.—Amory R. Starr, : ‘ ot

SHARP-TAILED GROUSE, SPRUCE GROUSE, AND PTaRMIGANS.— Walter
M. Woife,

PLover-sHooTine.—Z. Hough,

Tue WILD Picron.— William Bruce Leffingwell,

SNIPE AND SNIPE-SHOOTING.—Thomas C. Abbott,

WESTERN FIELD Sports In Earty Days.—Samuel C. Clarke,

FreLp Eriquettrt.—F. #, Pond,

PRAIRIE CHICKENS—PINNATED GROUSE.— Wiltiam pa Lefingwoelt,

THE WILD GoosE.—C. R. Tinan,

Wiip TurKEY SHootTina.—George W. Baines,

CoNcERNING PoINTERS AND SETTERS.—John UM. Tracy,

Tue Canvas-Back Duck.— William Bruce Leffingwell,

Guns.—Arthur W. Du Bray,

Coursine.—G. Irwin Royce, M. D.,

4

15
31
61
79
119
139

- 171

197

- 217

2387

. 259

273
279
311

. 343

375

. 403

421
443
BAY-SNIPE, COOT, AND OTHER WILD FOWL
SHOOTING ON THE ATLANTIC COAST.

 

By Isaac McLELuan,
Author of ‘‘Poems of Rod and Gun,” Ete.

   
  
 
   

 

UTUMN is the sportsman’s carnival. He
then explores the woods, marshes, and
meadows in pursuit of game, or lies in his
yy ambush blind, with his fleet of decoys set
out around him, awaiting the approach of
| hovering flocks of bay-snipe or soaring
legions of wild fowl. October is brilliant -
with its autumnal scenes, and November is
often attractive with panoramic glories of the
declining year. In this fair season is com-
mingled all the gorgeous combinations of the ‘‘ Flowery
Bow.’’ The sky itself then seems to lose its heavenly
azure, and the smoky vapor that then ascends its domes
and reposes in its cerulean chambers seems to have
caught the variegated hues of the emblazoned earth
beneath. Every mountain pool and lonely pond, every
brimming river and lapping brook, seem tinged with hues
borrowed from reflected wood or sailing cloud. In the
dim depths of forests, the pine, fir, spruce, and other ever-
greens may still retain their verdure, the wild grape-vines
and ivies have but partially lost their greenness, but else-
where the eye is dazzled with the tintings of scarlet and
purple, of orange and of gold. And these rich blendings

of color in the thick drapery of the woodlands is very
(15)
16 UPLAND SHOOTING.

lovely, whether it is tossed by the crisp mountain breeze
or sleeps motionless in a universal calm, so profound that
no sound is audible, save, perhaps,
“The sound of nutshells by the squirrel dropped
From some tall beech, fast falling thro’ the leaves.”

To all lovers of Nature, these royal autumnal scenes are
full of enchantment. The bright river, shining in the
mid-day light, and belted in with its girdle of orange,
purple, and scarlet foliage, painted by the lavish brush of
Autumn, seems to the eye like a mirror of silver set ina
frame of clouded gold, studded with effulgent brilliants.
Above, leaning against the sky, the rough brown hosts of
pine-trees shoot upward their lofty shafts and heavy mass
of umbrage, while beneath the ground is moist and russet-
stained with the accumulated needles of ages. As the
sun shoots its level rays through the open glades and
vistas of the wood, it enkindles the myriad sparkles of
dew that glisten on grass and thicket. The gossamer
feather of the thistle, the flaky down of the milk-weed,
and the fine-spun thread of the spider’s web, extended
from tree to tree, or floating loose in air, are then all
strung with dewy beads of pearls and lucent gems.
From tree-top to tree-top, the gossiping blue jays
fly merrily past, as if hastening to circulate the morning
news; and from grove to grove the cawing crows flap their
black pinions, clamoring to their mates. The golden
robins, admonished by the chilly airs of the season, are
piping their melodious notes in the sunny pastures, as if
sounding the warning notes for the flocks to collect for
their annual migration.

Along the breezy surface of rivers, the blue-winged
teal and the painted wood-duck are swimming, or dress-
ing their plumage, or diving beneath the surface in joy-
ous frolic. At times the hollow ‘honk’ of the wild:
goose will resound like a trumpet high in air, and the
BAY-SNIPE AND OTHER WILD FOWL SHOOTING. 17

melancholy wail of the speckled loon will float by with
musical cadence. Anon a riotous brook of wild ducks
will raise their scolding chatter; and anon a frightened
rabbit will scurry along with nimble leaps, or, sitting
erect on its haunches, will pause to gaze at the passer-by.
Anon a merry old squirrel will scamper up the trunk of
a tree, or, perched upon some bending twig, will chatter
to his mates, or nibble the hickory-nut held by its little
furry paws. These fair scenes are familiar to us all, and
it is pleasing to recognize them pictured in verse.

’Tis autumn time--
The golden, mellow autumn time,
When skies are radiant, rich and warm,
The air delicious with its balm,
With laden branch and leafy spray,
Bright-colored by November day,
Magnificent, rare autumn time;
With honeyed. fruits and leaves embrowned,
And gay blooms o’er thy forehead bound,
With scarlet vine-leaves crowned ;
All day the rosy-cinctured hours
Prolong, in the grand forest bowers,
Their festival of fruits and flowers,

A carnival sublime;

And now fowlers at the shore
The marsh, the cove, the bay explore,
So, hid in grass or yellow reed,
Seek out the haunts where wild fowl feed.

The noblest fowl, and the one that affords the best
sport along our coast-line, is the brant. It does not pass
into fresh bays or brackish rivers, but confines itself to
the sea-board and to salt waters, where it finds its natural
food. In the spring it is abundant along the coast, when
migrating to northern feeding-grounds, but its stay is
then very brief.

In the fall season it makes its welcome appearance in
the bays of Long Island and Jersey, below Barnegat

Inlet, and the birds are there killed in great numbers.
2
di

L

UPLAND SHOOTING.

They abound on the eastern coast of Virginia, and there,
we think, are to be found the best places for brant-shoot-
ing on the coast.

We have seldom seen them on the New England
shores, when engaged in coot-shooting, and we presume
they do not follow that line of coast, but pass far out at
sea. and first fall in with the land on the south side of
Long Island, and there stop for rest and food. In
former years, they were quite abundant at Montauk,
and in Gardiner’s Bay, on the east part of Long Island,
but now they are much more scarce. They are shy of
passing over a point of land, so that a battery-gunner,
concealed in his small boat, far out from shore, and sur-
rounded by decors. has great advantage over the fowler
who shoots from shore. It is a bird that easily falls to
shot, and does not escape by diving, or it does not
plunge for food, feeding on bars at low water on a broad-
leaved plant called the sea-cabbage. The first flocks to
arrive remain but a few days. and then, collected in large
flocks. rise high in air, and after describing wide aerial
circuits, they start ont in a direct course over the sea.
avoiding all projecting points. and traveling night and
dav. They are soon succeeded by other flocks, which
remain until the severe weather of December compels
them to a southern flight. The brant-geese are more
wary than the Canada geese. and are shy of approaching
the ambushed gunner. They will often, however. alight
beyond the decoys, and then slowly swim into the
wooden flock, mistaking them for their feathered breth-
ten. A favorite way to kill them is to have a boat-like
box on some open sand-bar which the fowl frequent,
and the unsuspecting birds fall an easy prey. The best
location for the sport that we know of is on the eastern
coast of Virginia, in the ‘* broad waters’? between the
outlying sandy islands and the main-land. We have
BAY-SNIPE AND OTHER WILD FOWL SHOOTING. 19

passed several seasons there on the main opposite Cobb’s
Island, where we found the bay-snipe shooting most excel-
lent, especially for the big siche-bill curlews. On those
‘‘broad waters,’ during the summer months, numerous
tree-blinds are planted in the water by the fowlers, and
between these they hide themselves and boats until the
brant arrive, latein the season. These blinds are formed
of small cedar-trees, stuck into the soft mud of the bot-
tom, and make with their bushy tops a thick screen
some five feet above the water. Numerous decoys are
anchored all around these blinds; the gunners take posi-
tion in the boats, the hovering flocks approach the snare,
the guns explode, and the surface is overspread with the
slain. These are quickly gathered up, the guns reloaded,
and all is ready for another flock. The victims are easily
disabled, and you are sure to retrieve with your boat all
that you shoot down. The black duck (Anas obscura) also
is abundant at those places, as indeed it is along the
whole coast from Montauk to Hatteras. Though it fre-
quents salt bays and inlets, it seems also to be fond of
fresh waters, and is found in swamps, marshes, ice-fields,
and the margins of rivers. Though called the black
duck, that is a misnomer; for the black duck of science
is the spectacle-duck, a species of coot (Fuligula perspi-
culata), and is properly the dusky duck. We have
enjoyed much better bay-shipe shooting on the eastern
peninsula of Virginia than on Long Island, New
Jersey, or North Carolina. The scenery on the Chesa-
peake Bay side is very lovely, and we have never seen
‘more picturesque spots than the old plantation sites.
along the bay shore; there green slopes dip down into the
crystal-clear water; noble trees droop their greenery of
foliage, engarlanded with the trailing vines of wild grape,
woodbine, ivy, and the splendid trumpet-flower. Broad
plantations outstretch for miles their fruitful acres of
20 UPLAND SHOOTING.

corn and grain, and the dingy white house of the planter
gleams through its bower of fruit-trees, twinkling amid
the embowering elms, locusts, and oaks. There the mock-
ing-bird builds and sings and other sweet songsters
assemble, and every stubble-field repeats the soft whistle
of the quail; but there pervades the blight of malaria; but
on the sea-coast side it is much healthier, where the salt
breeze, blowing in fresh from the Atlantic, fills the lungs
with healthful inspiration. In such latter place the bay-
snipe shooting can not be surpassed, and we have never
seen the curlew in such great numbers, while the willet,
plover, yellow-leg, and dowitch are ever abundant. These
haunt the meadow-lands that line the shore, and the
boundless acres of salt marshes, intersected with tidal
creeks, between the main-land and the sea; there also
resort the ducks in late fall, and a good boat, good gun,
and good aim are all that is requisite for good and ample
enjoyment. We have found the broad-bill (blue-bill) very
numerous in the lower parts of Chesapeake Bay, where
they are called ‘‘raft-duck.’’ These fowls pass the nights
on the flats, in large flocks, and seldom resort to salt
meadows. Great havoc is made among them by batter-
ies, and we rejoice that the use of these destructive
machines are prohibited in many places. Of all wild fowl,
the most valued is the canvas-back, though we think
them not superior to their congener, the red-head. The
two fowl closely resemble each other in size and plumage,
and their food is identical, viz., the valisneria, or duck-
weed. They are very plentiful in North Carolina waters,
but the best ground for them seems to be the upper waters
of the Chesapeake. They arrive there about the middle
of November, and are then in poor condition after their
long flight from the North; but soon after feeding on
the succulent grasses, they acquire the delicious flavor
which makes them world-renowned. At such places the
BAY-SNIPE AND OTHER WILD FOWL SHOOTING. 21

canvas-back and broad-bill dive to the bottom and tear up
the roots of the grasses, while the red-heads and widgeons
feed on the leaves that rise to the surface. The widgeon
(bald-pate) is a regular thief, and thieves at the expense
of the canvas-back, snatching the treasure from the bill
of the latter as it brings it to the surface. The Chesa-
peake is their chosen place of rest and pasture.
By myriads there the wild fowl come
To taste the rich, delicious fare;
The red-head and the canvas-back,
The widgeon with his plumage rare,
The ruddy duck, the buffle-head,
The broad-bill, and the Canada goose,
Hovering o’er shoal or cove
Their winnowing pinions to unloose.

The best points in Long Island for geese, brant-duck,
and bay-snipe shooting are at the Great South Bay, the
East Bay, and Shinnecod Bay, and at the latter location
we have pleasantly passed several successive seasons,
enjoying excellent sport. It is a bay of only eight miles
in extent, and the points are all easily accessible; and
when the valisneria (duck-grass) is abundant, the shooting
for duck and snipe is very good. In former years, Great
South Bay was, and still is, a favorite resort for wild
fowl shooters, and there often came ‘‘Cypress, Jr.”’
(Hawes), W. H. Herbert, and others of sporting celeb-
rity, though we think that Frank Forester preferred the
sport to be had at Barnegat Bay, at old John Maxon’s,
and there he advised us to try it, which we did for sev-
eral years, with ample pleasure and success. The bay-
snipe, by their countless numbers, afford rare sport to
the bay-man and amateur gunner in July, August, Sep-
tember, and October, throughout our great coast-line
from Cape Cod to Cape May. Spring shooting is now
properly prohibited by law. In their fall migrations,
they turn aside from the open sea to frequent the vari-
22 UPLAND SHOOTING.

ous bays, marshes, and mud-flats of Long Islandand New
Jersey, where they enjoy their natural, abundant food;
and there the gunners, securely hid in ambush, await
their approach, and greatly thin out the flocks. These
migratory tribes are very diverse in their cries, shapes,
and color, and usually fly in separate flocks.

The splendid golden plovers, however, do not resort to
these bays, or consort with the bay-birds, but as their
natural feast consists of insects, grasshoppers, crickets,
etc., they frequent and feed upon upland pastures, and
there only are found. In years past, they were found in
countless numbers over the grassy slopes of Montauk
Point and the hill-sides of Gardiner’s Island, and there
for years we successfully interviewed them; but in later
years, from some unknown cause, they have forsaken
their old haunts, and flown to ‘‘ fresh fields and pastures
new.’ In the above-mentioned bay they still are found
in large, though diminished, flocks; and we think that,
warned by their destruction in those bays, they pursue
their southward course far out to sea, not pausing by
the way. We have been told by fishermen that they
often have seen their great flocks over the ocean, far
from land. In pursuit of them, the gunners issue forth
when the tides are out, secreting themselves in grass-
dressed boats, or amidst the sedge-grass, and there await
the flood-tides, which drive the birds from the marshes,
creeks, and mud-flats, and in their passage they are
readily lured by the wooden stools and imitative whistles
of the sportsman, and, so deceived, they hover and alight.
and become an easy prey to the destrover. It is usual to
make the blind at the edge of a pond or creek, and there
set out their stools, with long legs, in the water, where
they will make a more conspicuous show than if planted
on a mud-flat on the short grass of the marshes; when the
birds. such as the varieties of curlew, martin, willet,
BAY-SNIPE AND OTHER WILD FOWL SHOOTING. 23

brant-bird, yellow-shank, robin-snipe, dawitch, kreekers,
sanderlings, ox-eyes, ring-neck, etc., etc., rise from their
submerged feeding-grounds, they will pass through
the various leads and thoroughfares in great numbers,
and, enticed by the sight of the stools and the simulated
whistles of the gunners, they will approach, and, hover-
ing, will alight among or near the decoys, and receive the
deadly shot, after returning to their crippled and flutter-
ing mates, and so falling to a repeated volley of
No. 10 pellets. The black-breast plovers arrive here
in May from their winter quarters in the South, and
after delaying for a few days on the bars, beaches,
and uplands, they leave in a body for the North,
where the young broods are hatched and raised, and in
the months of August and September they return to
us again, reinforced by their now well-grown offspring.
Though shy, they are enticed within shot by the decoys,
and their imitated plaintive notes. In autumn they
are distributed along the coast, subsisting on minute
shell-fish and marine insects, on which fare they become
fat. They remain with us until September, when they
begin to pass southward, their migrating course extending
to the southernmost extremity of the Union. The brant-
bird, which we have often seen mixed with the black-
breast flocks, is very prettily marked; mingling with
its plumage are white, black, reddish-brown, and black-
ish-brown feathers. It is commonly known as the
‘‘horse-foot snipe,’’ from its feeding on the spawn of the
king-crab, or horse-foot, as it is termed. It arrives on the
coast early in, May, from the South, and leaves for its
breeding-place in the North by the end of May. It
returns to the bays of Jersey and Long Island in Sep-
tember, where it remains untillate in autumn. On the
New England coast,-we have recognized it chiefly under
the name of ‘‘turn-stone,’’ from its habit of turning the
24 UPLAND SHOOTING.

pebbles of the beach in search of food. In its ways it is
rather solitary, and is seen singly or in pairs only, skim-
ming the beach in search of marine insects and minute
shell-fish. It is then in plump condition, and considered
a delicacy. In the spring it moves with the black-breast
flocks, but at other seasons it does not seem to be gathered
in numbers with other migratory birds. The most numer-
ous fowl, perhaps, on our coast are the various tribes
of coot, old squaws, and shell-drake, and there should be
no restriction on the allowed time for shooting. ‘The
laws of New York have provided that no geese, black
duck, shell-drake, coot, or old squaws should be killed on
Long Island in certain prescribed months; but there
should be nothing to forbid the killing of these last-
mentioned fowl, as they are not valued for food or market
on Long Island or Jersey; they afford good sport, and it
should be left discretionary with sportsmen to kill or
spare them. There is no law in New England placing
any such prohibitions on shooting them, and nearly all
the fowl-shooting on that coast consists of coot, old
squaws, shell-drake, and loon. We have for years enjoyed-
that sport at some of the best points from Maine to
Seconnet Point, Rhode Island, and always found it to
be good. It is followed in Massachusetts Bay by
hundreds and thousands of gunners, with success and
satisfaction. But there these fowl are held in fair esti-
mation for the table, and fowlers come from remote
places in the interior to favorite locations on the coast
to enjoy their annual sport. Wherever there is a jutting
point or head-land, with a reef of outlying rocks project-
ing into the sea, there along the extended coast will be
seen long lines of the fowlers’ boats, tossing onthe
waves. At some such point we have seen a fleet of from
ten to fifty ‘“‘dories”’ strung out and ready for the flight
of the coot. There are zoot of many varieties: old
BAY-SNIPE AND OTHER WILD FOWL SHOOTING, 25

squaws, shell-drake, or loon are the chief and almost the
only game; for seldom does a brant, broad-bill, or black
duck cross that dangerous line of boats.

The coot and old squaws are in myriads all along fhe
coast, and we have seen acres of them in sailing, late in the
fall, from the mouth of the Chesapeake to York River,
a distance of 100 or more miles. The velvet duck (F'udi-
gula fusca), or white-wing coot, is in flesh rather tough
and fishy, and is so hard to kill that its slaughter is con-
sidered by fowlers a sure test of skill. It feeds on shell-
fish, especially the scollop. When migrating South, it
performs its long journey from its summer breeding-place
in perfect silence. It is a heavy-bushed bird, and well
supplied with down, and when in full plumage a heavy
chain of shot is requisite to bring them low. The surf
or spectacle duck breeds from Labrador northward.
Its flesh is coarse and fishy. It is peculiar to America, and
its life is spent in the bays and on the shores of the sea.
Its food consists of those smal] bivalve shell-fish, the
spoat-fish and others, that lie in the sand near the’ sur-
face. For these they dive constantly, seldom visiting
the salt marshes. They often remain with us in the
North during the winter months. They are very shy
birds, and not easily approached by boat. In these
waters are also very abundant the long-tailed duck, com-
monly called the old squaw or old wife, which we hear
along the shores repeating their sonorous cry of ‘‘ South,
south, southerly,” by which name they are known
along the southern coast. On the New England coast
they are called the ‘‘quandy.’’ This bird is the latest
to leave their remote northern feeding-grounds. Pro-
tected by its thick, downy plumage, it lingers long among
the ice-fields of the Arctic, till at last compelled to seek
its food in a milder region. They come in large flocks,
but soon separate in small flocks, and through the winter
26 UPLAND SHOOTING.

frequent the whole coast. It is expert in diving, and
goes under ‘‘shuts the door” so quickly that it is hard
to shoot. Its flesh is tough and fishy, like that of the
coot. It accompanies the coot in its migrations, and its
food and habits are similar. \Wherever there is an
abundance of small clams and mussels, there the old
squaws select their feeding-places. They remain with
us till the weather is severe enough to form ice, and so
prevent their getting any more food. Long Island Sound
abounds with them, where long lines of boats are ranged
for their destruction; but their chief flight extends along
the open sea-coast, and they may be seen at all times
skimming across the ocean waves or winging high in air
their ceaseless flight. Sometimes they will pass in wavy,
wide, long lines, like an immense undulating serpent,
and at other times passing on in dense phalanx and
solid columns, like an immense army. Neither the
broad-bills (scaup-duck) nor the brant seem to join in
their flight. In numbers the coot and old squaw tribes
seem to be countless, exceeding any species of fowl that
sweep the air. They have these in the North, on sandy
islands, as well as the curlew and others of the snipe
tribe, where they find their food in the salt deeps, and
deposit their eges in the sand, and these find deadly foes
in the provincial poachers, who rob their nests of the
eges without remorse. These men land on the sandy
islands at sundown, and then trample all over the sands.
destroying all eggs that cover the ground, and on the
following morning they revisit the spot and collect all
the fresh-laid eges. with which they load their small ves-
sels, and so proceed with their plunder to Boston or
other city markets. The brant and geese, however, are
more wary, do not resort to those sandy islands, but
retire to inaccessible swamps and marshes, where they
deposit their eggs and raise their young in perfect
BAY-SNIPE AND OTHER WILD FOWL SHOOTING. 27

security, beyond the reach of white poacher or Indian
robber. The Canadian laws prohibit all such devasta-
tions, but the enactments are easily evaded. It is said
that more fowls are thus destroyed than by the guns of
all the fowlers of the coast.

In New England there is no sporting-club to monopo-
lize the ground and maintain exclusive privileges. The
coot-shooting is free to all, and old ocean opens wide its
gates, and with its rolling billows invites the daring gun-
ner to its breast. There is much real hardship, and some
spice of danger, in the sport, that is unknown to the
shooter in the sheltered bays of Long Island, the waters
of Barnegat in Jersey, or the shoal creeks and shallows
of Carrituck Sound. The coot-shooter has to dare the
combing breakers ready to engulf, the sharp and hidden
rocks eager to impale, and the sudden and violent gales,
sufficient to sweep the dancing skiff far away from
friendly shore to the pitiless wastes of ocean. We have
had many a desperate struggle against wind and tide,
when caught out a mile at seain our diminutive craft, by
a sudden gale blowing from the shore, and we have seen
hair-breadth escapes from certain drowning among the
venturous coot-shooters. There are many capital points
for the shooting on that coast, the best of which are the
Boarshead, at Hampton, N. H.; Cohasset Rocks, Scit-
uate Harbor, Brant Rock, Marshfield, and Manamet
Point, at the mouth of Plymouth Bay. We have had many
a good day’s sport at each of these places, for at them
all, the fowl-flight is plentiful, and the fishing unsur-
passed. Itisa rule that the first boat in early morning
to reach the shooting-ground shall have the first choice of
place; and sometimes the sportsman most eager for the
sport will anchor his boat, in the darkness, off the outer
rock of the reef, and wrapping himself close in his shoot-
ing-coat, lie down and sleep till awakened by the dawn
28 UPLAND SHOOTING.

or by succeeding boats; and such has been our own not
unfrequent experience. If the wind and weather be calm
and adverse, there will probably be but a small flight of
fowl; but if a light or a smart breeze blows from the east-
ward, then ‘‘ look out tothe eastward.’ The first fifteen
or twenty boats to arrive anchor and set out decoys, and
then form a curved line from the outer rock, at about
gunshot distance from each other. Those who come later
form a second line, anchored some thirty rods in rear of
the former; and all the latest comers, who have lingered
too long in bed or at breakfast, form a straggling third
line in rear of all, and are content to open fire upon the
broken flocks that have escaped through the two front
lines, and ofttimes they are rewarded in picking up the
cripples.,Ona blowy day, with a rough sea running, these
third-line laggards do a profitable business in gathering
up the killed and wounded. These coot-shooters form a
mixed and curious assemblage. Some of them are city-
bred, fresh from the wharf and warehouse, rigged out in
the most correct sporting-garb, and armed in the best
fashion. Then there are rural gunners from the far-back-
in woods, provided with squirrel-guns, and using only 3B
shot, instead of No. 2 and 8. Then come the native
gunners, old fellows who have followed the sport at the
shore where they reside for half acentury or more. We
have known some of them, venerable with the frosts of
eighty years, yet strong enough to pull a boat or thin a
flock, using only their ancient muskets. In a favorable
day for the flight, it is exciting to take one’s stand on a
bluff and witness the sport. It is like overlooking a battle-
field, with constant roar and flash of guns. A light breeze,
then, perhaps, blows from the northeast. just sufficient to
ruffle the waves, without stirring them to anger. The
rolling surge frets and foams against the weed-draped
rocks and the yellow sands of the shore, where the dark
BAY-SNIPE AND OTHER WILD FOWL SIIOOTING. 29

pines and yellowing oaks cast their shadows. Above
spreads the blue canopy of sky, hazy with the vapors of
Indian summer. Far away spreads old ocean's gray and
melancholy waste, dotted here and there with snowy sail
or smoking steamer; while beneath you les the little
fleet of boats, in constant smoke, and, as the flocks of
fowl pass over them, we might celebrate the scene and
the coot in verse, thus:

High, high in upper air they rise,

Their dark forms melting in the skies;

Seaward, in solid, compact mass,

The flapping squadrons onward pass;

And now they skim the frothy brine,

In lengthen’d file, in wedge-like line,

Ne’er sweeping over land or bar,

But skirting headlands high and far.

Along the rocky shores of Massachusetts Bay, crowned
with bowery woodlands, bordered in vast acres of salt
marshes, and washed by the salty tides of the bay, lies
the little town of Marshfield, famous as the chosen and
last home of Daniel Webster. Many years since,
charmed with the location, he purchased an old farm-
house and a few acres of land, near the marshes and the
shore, where the Green River debouches into ocean, and
here he passed many happy years of life, ina haven where
he could retire from the bustle of the law and the dis-
tractions of politics, and refresh himself with the tranquil
pleasures of rural life and the exciting delights of fish-
ing, fowling for coot, and bay-snipe shooting. It was
our good fortune to be established, through his courtesy
and kindness, in his adjoining farm-house, and for some
three years of residence there we had good opportunity
to enjoy the sports of marsh and ocean, and the much
greater pleasure of seeing constantly the great states-
man. Brant Rock, not far from his home, was a famous
point for fishing, and for some years he might be found
30 UPLAND SHOOTING.

in the line of boats trying his hand at shooting; but his
greater pleasure, especially in later years, was to sail out
in his little sloop and enjoy the sport of cod and haddock
fishing. He was ever a generous and beloved landlord
among his dependents, and the kindest of parents, ever
delighted to have his sons with him, on marshes, over
the farm, or in the boat. The elder one, Fletcher, a
colonel in a Union regiment, fell in battle during the late
war, and the youngest, Major Edward, died of disease
during the Mexican War. It was a sorrowful day when
the remains of the statesman were interred, on a hill-side
overlooking the ocean and the meadows.

 
THE WOODCOCK.

 

By Winuram Jarvis (‘Mont CLARE”).

   

 

iN the list of birds pursued with dog and gun,
- there is one that has a lasting claim upon
5 the affections of a sportsman, both on
j> account of its beauty and the mystery that
' surrounds its ways; a bird of mighty
> wanderings and daily rest; a bird with eyes
© large, dark,-and deep, in whose depths the
i glories of an autumnal sky and landscape
are meee in miniature; a bird with the magic power to
turn its admirer from all other feathered game, if once
he hears the whistle of its wings or sees its form glide
stealthily down the glade.

Its plumage above is mottled with rufous, slate, and
black, the first two colors softly blending upon the sides
of the neck, while below, upon the shapely breast, there
is a tinge of pink, which changes to a rufous toward the
wings and thighs. This color—full upon the breast of a
perfect-plumaged bird, fading away as it nears the tail to
the shade of a bit of sedge—reminds one of the reflection
of an October sunset. Its legs are of moderate length,
delicate in their molding, and flesh-tinted; the toes are
long and slender; its bill dark in color and very long, and
the full dark eyes, set quite to the top of the head, that it
may more safely feed without injury to its eyesight, give
to this bird a most singular appearance. Its length is
about eleven inches, and its weight from five to eight

ounces, the female generally being the larger. Such is
(31)
32 UPLAND SHOOTING.

the woodcock, a bird once known, never to be forgot-
ten.

It has, too, a claim upon the epicure as well as the
sportsman, and, from those days when the Pontine
marshes furnished woodcock in such numbers that the
Romans feasted upon their tongues until to-day, this
bird has been regarded as one of the daintiest morsels
ever tasted by man.

Of woodcock we have but one variety, inhabiting
Eastern North America, and breeding in various sections
of the United States and Provinces, called by orinthol-
ogists Philohela minor, to distinguish it in a scientific
manner from its cousin, the woodcock of Europe, which
differs from ours in shape of wings and general markings,
being less beautiful in coloring, and in size a third larger.
Wherever the woodcock may be found, it is a migratory
bird, although in the most southern of its breeding-
grounds its migrations are of short duration. It is
something of a Bohemian in its ways, bound to live well
forthe day, or rather the night; no matter for the mor-
row; governed in its choice of home by no provincial laws,
but by the climate and the food which it loves so well;
fearing the cold, the sleet, and the snows, and altogether
being a lover of the sunny side of life.

The woodcock of the Northern States is the woodcock
of the Southern—no difference in its markings, no differ-
ence in its size, nor in the flavor of its flesh.

The bobolink of New England is the reed-bird of the
Pennsylvania marshes, the rice-bird of the South; its
food varies, and so does its flavor.

The ruffed grouse in certain winter months feeds upon
the buds of the birch, and its flesh at such times is bitter
to the taste, and unfit for food. The canvas-back
searches for the wild celery, revels in its fragrance, and
then furnishes to the epicure a far more delicate viand
«.

THE WOODCOCK. 33

than at other times. Butthe woodcock, no matter where
it wings its way, in all of the many sections in which it
may be found, at various seasons legitimate for shooting,
ismuch the same sort of bird, and woodcock-shooting

 

WOGDCOCK.—Philohela minor

is much the same sort of sport throughout the length and
breadth of the land; yet no other in the list of game birds
is so little understood by mankind in general; no other
has so wrecked the many theories which from time to time
have been advanced concerning its modes of life, and no

other has been subject to such relentless persecution.
3
34 UPLAND SHOOTING.

In the dells and covers where woodcock breed, they
are birds of curious ways, and it is in such places, with
no evil intent in one’s heart, that he can best learn their
nature, and get at those secrets of their forest lives
which are beyond his reach when, with dog and gun, he
beats the covers in autumn months.

The arrival of woodcock upon their breeding-grounds
varies with the season and the sections of country
through which they scatter. They leave their winter
resorts, where for a short time they have enjoyed a
southern sun, and commence their northward pilgrimage
latein January or early in February, advancing with the
spring-tide, until they find grounds suited to their
habits. In their most southern grounds they breed as
early as the last of February, and in their more northern
as late as April or May, depending upon the season.

Their breeding in the Southern States is rare, if the
season be favorable for early migration, as they prefer
grounds farther north; but the season being cold and
backward, some make short migrations, and go at once
to breeding. Again, there may be a few broods raised
near their winter habitat, on account of the inability of
the old birds to accompany their tribe; so everywhere
may the woodcock be considered a migratory bird, as the
isolated cases of their breeding in the far South are the
exceptions.

In sections where the woodcock breed as early as Feb-
ruary, they may rear a second brood; butin their northern
homes they do not, unless their first nesting is destroyed,
when they go to work at once to repair the injury.

Usually reaching the Middle States in March, the
New England States in April, this desire to return so
early to their breeding-grounds often meets with a cold
reception. The great storm of March, 1888, was, no doubt,
the shroud of many a woodcock.
THE WOODCOCK. 35

When first the bluebirds twitter in the orchards and the
robins sing their morning songs, then may we look for the
coming of the woodcock; for the deep snows of our
northern clime have nearly gone, and the warm rains
have swelled the rills to rivers and moistened the loam
along their banks.

Although it may freeze somewhat at night in the more
open glades, there are many streams flowing among the
hills and winding through the sheltered lowlands where
Jack Frost has performed his last work for the winter
gone.

Here upon these banks, softened by the sun’s warm
rays, woodcock feed, and here, later on, amid the alder-
covered environs and down in the bottom-lands, they nest
and rear their broods.

Although they are well-known lovers of fens and
alder-glades, and generally nest in such places—doubtless
from the fact of its being much easier to feed their young
—still an occasional pair, wiser, perhaps, than their gen-
eration, or more willing to work for the support of their
family, will select some spot high and dry, even though
quite distant from their feeding-grounds; and whatever
the labor, they are well repaid, since there is not the
danger from heavy rains that continually threatens the
lower breeding-grounds.

The woodcock, unlike the ruffed grouse, is satisfied
with a single mate, the choice being made in the course
of their flight, or just before setting ont on their north-
ward journey; for soon after their arrival, the weather
being propitious, they commence a skilled and careful
inspection of the breeding-grounds, to find a suitable
nesting-place. This skill consists not in building—for a
woodcock’s nest is rather a poor specimen of bird archi-
tecture—but in selecting some spot where little effort is
required to construct a nest, and where the immediate
36 UPLAND SHOOTING.

surroundings are such that there is nothing to distinguish
it. In this nest, built among a few loose twigs and
leaves, or, perhaps, in a slight depression amid a bunch
of withered grass, the eggs are laid. They are four in
number, quite round in form, of a dull clay-color, covered
with brownish spots, and in size corresponding to those
of the pigeon.

The male bird, no doubt, assists his mate in incubation,
since they are such voracious feeders that a great deal of
time must be consumed in obtaining food; and as they
feed in the cool of the early evening and morning, the
eggs would soon become chilled unless protected.

During this period, which is about three weeks, the
sitting bird is quite easy to approach, as she seems to
know that silence is her best protection, and indeed it is,
for the coloring of her plumage so blends with the sur-
roundings that he must have sharp eyes to find the nest
which she so silently protects.

The young being hatched, a transformation scene takes
place, for then, especially at eventide and early morning,
allis bustle and activity, the parent birds having a busy
time in caring for their little family, which is more help-
less than that of the grouse or the quail, and sometimes,
before the fledgelings are able to fly, have to be carried
from one feeding-ground to another.

It is stated by some authorities that the young are
carried upon the back of the parent bird, clinging there
with bill and toes; again, that they are carried between
the thighs, being held there partly by the aid of the bill
and the tail; the position of the bill, pointed downward
during flight, unless distinctly seen, would tend to con-
vey this idea. I have never seen the young carried in
either of these ways, but have seen them transported
from place to place, grasped by the long, slender toes of
the old bird and drawn up closely to the body.
THE WOODCOCK. 37

The young woodcock, when first hatched, very much
resemble bantam chicks, with the exception of their eyes
and bills, although even in these respects the difference
is not marked. .

The parent birds are very solicitous for their little
ones, and when their domain is encroached upon, endeavor
by all the arts known to bird-land to attract attention
to themselves, with a warning to their downy chicks to
drop silently and closely to the ground or to scatter in
different directions.

How her cry causes the little ones to disappear
upon an approach! How she flutters and feigns to be
lame and wounded, leading you a merry chase, if
you will only follow, anywhere, everywhere, through
the glades, to guard against any possible danger to her
family!

She will lead you a winding course, and then you see
her no more, for having successfully decoyed you, she is
off on pinions swift, noiseless, and strong from maternal
love. Taking a wide circle in her flight, she returns to
the vicinity of her young, and dropping quietly to the
ground, listens a little for the step of her pursuer; all is
still; her ruse has been successful; not a sound or move-
- ment, save here and there the song of some forest thrush
or sparrow, or the hopping of the tiny wren from bough
to bough, either of which contains no terrors for her little
ones, who are listening for that call of safety which never
yet deceived them.

The mother’s large dark eyes gleam with eagerness, as
her low, guttural ‘‘peek, peek, peek’? draws forth the
fainter answers from her little ones, that, rising slowly
from the ground, or appearing from under leaf or twig,.
rush with flapping wings to meet their mother, who, with
a tender care that would melta poacher’s heart, guides
her fledgelings through all the dangers that beset their
38 UPLAND SHOOTING.

paths by day, and when the sun has gone from sight,
directs them through the pleasures of the night.

Woodcock, in their intercourse with each other, dis-
play none of that pugnacious spirit possessed by the
quail and grouse, and are altogether more loving in
their ways, and seemingly better satisfied with their
surroundings.

It is during the warm spring evenings that one may
hear, by visiting the breeding-grounds, the song of the
woodcock; and the love-notes of the male, though not so
softas those of the thrush, are far sweeter than the strains
of many a well-reputed songster, doubtless sounding as
sweet to his lady-bird down in the ferns as any sere-
nade ever sung by ardent lover.

With guttural prelude to his song while on the
ground, he circles upward in his flight through the
twilight, till, lost to sight, his notes are heard high in the
air, not unlike those of a night-hawk; but it is in his
downward flight that the full melody of his love-song is
heard, as he approaches the female who is awaiting him;
resting a few moments, he repeats his upward flight and
song, and at intervals repeats this performance until
darkness has shut out the last glimmer of the daylight.
Who would suppose that this bird, indifferent as he
seems in the day-time to all sentiment, could sing such
love-songs in the gloaming?

There is no bird family of all our fields and forests so
peculiar in its ways, or any whose ways are so hard to
study, and consequently so little understood. Woodcock
do not fly about during the day for either food or pleasure,
rarely taking wing unless disturbed, seeking rest and quiet
all day long away from human eyes; but when the sun has
set, and most good birds have gone to bed, they start out
for their feeding-ground.

They seem to know by intuition what loam contains
THE WOODCOCK. 39

the fattest, freshest worms, what bog contains the
choicest loam, and by their borings leave for us, other-
wise unsophisticated in woodcock logic, indications of
their presence.

I know of bogs, meadows, fens, and alder-covers that
topographically, and from all evidence gained by man in
general, are seemingly as worthy of a woodcock’s choice
as those wherein they dwelland feed, but, for all that, are
never inhabited by these long-billed birds. No matter
how favorable such grounds may seem to the casual
observer, they contain none of the worms and larve upon
which woodcock feed; and such grounds, upon a careful
examination, will be found to be either sandy or so hard
that woodcock supplies can not exist, or else sour and
rank, as the growth of grass may indicate. I know ofa
favorite cover, through which a tiny brook picks its
course, whose waters are strongly tainted with iron, and
yet woodcock bore upon its banks, and are amply
rewarded for their labors; possibly they are invalids, who
go there for treatment; if so, they are fortunate in having
mineral springs so easy of access.

Woodcock have no choice as to the locality of their
feeding-grounds, if only the proper food may be found,
and in many a country village there are rich vegetable
gardens which furnish fine feasts to wise old woodcock,
who do not hesitate to take advantage of the dusk to
visit them, and whose only danger at such times is from
the telegraph wires or from the prowling house-cat.

Often, when the feeding-ground is quite distant from
suitable covers, the birds may be seen at dusk, rising
spirit-like from the deep gloom of the woods, and, darting
athwart the sky, dropping to the low, wet meadows, bogs,
and brook-sides beyond.

They well know where to find the proper food, how to
get it when found, and the exact moment in which to
40 UPLAND SHOOTING.

present their bills—they are long ones, too—for pay-
ment.

It must not be understood that woodcock never feed
between the hours of dawn and sunset, for I have caught
them at their borings where a dark morass, studded with
pools, each bordered with deep, rich loam, furnished the
choicest food, and where the alders were so thick that
the sunlight could not reach the ground beneath, and
low upon the earth all was dark and still, save the hum
of insects and the purling of the brook. Again, one day
in early autumn, I came upon a woodcock in a meadow
corn-field. I watched him for some time probing the soft,
moist soil, until, either becoming weary in well-doing or
suspicious of my presence, he walked slowly away, with
bobbing head, from his last feast, for I then flushed and
shot him. And again, one dark, rainy morning in July,
about 8 o’clock, as I was driving along a road which
had recently been repaired from the rich soil of a neigh-
boring alder-flat, a woodcock flushed in front of me, and
then another, and another, and another. As soon as
possible I stopped my horse, and again saw them, only a
few rods distant, busily feeding; punch, push, probe,
pull, and worm after worm, brought toward the surface
by the warm rain, was drawn from the soft road, not by
suction, but by the good muscular efforts of those long
bills. Driving on, they flushed again; but loath to leave
such a delicious breakfast, they would not take to the
covers, and stopping, feeding, flushing, for more than
fifty rods, that quartette of woodcock kept the highway
until there were open fields upon either side of them,
when, with a curve in their flight, they turned back and
disappeared in the cover.

Curious birds are they, forever presenting to him who
studies their modes of life new phases of character.
Their complete history has never yet been written.
THE WOODCOCK. 41

I have often pictured them upon stormy nights feed-
ing beneath the cover of overhanging tree-lined banks, or
in open marsh and fen, and wondered if their actions
were as solemn then as in the daylight. It must be sad
work in such weather, indeed almost funereal, and the
joy, like that of many a human life, be the anticipation
of the coming rest.

In festal moods, no doubt they pass many a night in
revelry, by the margin of some favorite pool, whose
mirrored surface refleots the star-lit zenith, with the moon
high above for a chandelier, and the wind-anthems
through the tree-tops for music. Perhaps, too, they
have some knowledge of astronomy, understand the
twinkling of the stars, study the signs of the zodiac,
thereby learning when to time their flights, and plac-
ing great reliance upon the moon’s phases, and the
tale which she telis them, as they watch her course; for
they take their migratory flights by the pale light of the
moon, rather than by the bright rays of the mid-day sun.

What other of our upland game birds enjoys such
nightly revels? The upland plover flies by night, and its
plaintive call, half sad, half glad, may be jean d wavering
upon the evening air; but it feeds by day, and does not,
like the woodcock, indulge in nocturnal feasts.

Woodcock are a riddle to the sportsman, who knows
them best, while to those without the pale of field-sports —
they are known only as their name is read upon some
tempting menu, or as they are brought to the table,
served with highest culinary skill.

To him who, in the early summer, with rod in hand,
follows some trout-brook asit dashes down from among
the hills and out through the interval, they often, for an
instant, show their mottled plumage ere they whistle
from sight in the thick, green foliage, and leave him gaz-
ing with eager eyes at ‘“‘what might have been.”
42 UPLAND SHOOTING.

To the rustic lad, and the farmer, upon whose land,
among the glades and swamps, they breed, they are
unseen, unknown, or, if seen, known only as ‘‘whistling
snipe,” ‘‘ timber doodles,’ or by some other such pro-
vincial name; and should one make an inquiry for wood-
cock, he would probably be directed to the old trees in
the orchard or upon the hill-top, but almost never to the
proper covers; for the farmer is notas familiar with these
bird-tenants of his freehold as with the quail, the ruffed
grouse, and many others of the feathered tribe who
encroach upon his domain.

Sometimes in the early summer mornings, as he mows
the swale, they spring from before him, and are seen
only for an instant ere they drop farther down among the
low-grown willows, leaving him to wonder whether he
saw a bird or spirit; and I myself often wonder that it is
not the spirits of woodcock only that are seen, consider-
ing the warfare that has been waged upon the tribe for
so many years, in season and out of season—north,
south, east, and west, from the rising to the setting of
the sun, and indeed from the setting to the rising again—
by that execrable practice of fire-hunting practiced in
some sections of the South. Truly, their time of peace is
very limited. Permitted by law, in some States, to be
shot before they are fairly fledged, they know no safety
from that time on until they once more return to their
breeding-places, and fora few weeks out of the fifty-two
are granted a short respite during their nesting and
hatching.

Summer cock-shooting must be everywhere abolished,
to save the tribe, already becoming scarce in many sec-
tions which formerly held them in great numbers. It is
true that, owing to the increase in population, large tracts
of swamps, rich with the best of soil, have been cleared,
drained, and reclaimed; and now the field-sparrow sings
THE WOODCOCK. 43

and nests where woodcock used to breed and furnish
shooting.

Again, as woodcock have decreased, the men who shoot
have increased, and just so much more should their
intelligent protéction be enforced. As forsummer shoot-
ing, it is cruel and wrong, both in theory and practice,
and no manner of logic can make it right.

It is strange that the selfish pleadings of a few should
have the power to enact laws permitting summer shoot-
ing; or, if enacted in times past, when it seemed folly to
be wise, should have sufficient force to overrule all those
who would legislate from a higher standpoint, and seek
to preserve one of the choicest game birds known.
Granting, for the sake of argument, that summer shoot-
ing has but little to do with the decrease in the number
of woodcock, no one, not even its most zealous advocate,
can deny that there is not only a possibility, but a proba-
bility, of its having some deleterious effect upon these
birds. Why not, then, keep upon the safe side, and for-
bid killing woodcock until the season legitimate for field-
sports shall arrive.

After all, what is there in summer shooting to draw
one forth? It can not be that they are more easily killed
than in autumn, for, although not so swift and strong of
wing, their flights are fully as erratic, and the covers,
thick with their wealth of leaves, block the aim.

- It can not be the desire for healthful pleasure afield
with dog and gun, for a summer day holds no exhilara-
tion when the sun shines hot upon pasture-lands that lie
dried and withered beneath his scorching rays; when the
grass upon new-mown fields is struggling to show a tinge
of green; when not a cloud flecks the sultry sky, and the
cattle upon the hill-sides stand beneath the friendly shade
of wide-spreading trees; when down in the alder-flats,
although the sun may not reach the sportsman’s path,
44 UPLAND SHOOTING.

the air is stifling, and the mosquitoes are in swarms about
him, while his dog is nearly exhausted from his efforts
to find the half-grown birds.

Where the law permits this summer shooting, some
feign to enjoy it, because there is nothing else to shoot;
others—and there are many of them—are drawn forth by
the market price of the early birds; while still others
claim that in certain sections, unless hunted before leav-
ing their breeding-grounds, there can be no shooting, as
the birds do not return, but, when through their moult,
start on their southern flight—which will prove true in
the near future, if this pernicious habit is not abolished,
for there will be no woodcock to return.

The uncertainty of our seasons is another very excel-
lent reason why July cock-shooting should every where
be abolished. One year the season may be early, and
favorable to their nesting, hatching, and rearing their
broods; the next year the heavy snows may retard their
early migrations and nesting, and later the floods destroy
the nests or young, so that the second broods are not half-
grown by July, and are in no way suitable for gun or
table; but, supposing that July of each year finds the
young well grown, still the habit of hunting them at this
season is disastrous to the race.

These are happy nursery days for the young wood-
cock, and should be guarded by every true lover of
Nature.

Many a young ruffed grouse meets his death at this
season, for ‘‘shooting woodcock,’’ by men who never
shoot them later, is simply an excuse for being in sum-
mer covers where many a fledgeling grouse helps to fill
the bag.

Someone may tell you that he never shoots half-
grown birds; but ‘‘to err is human,’’ and when a bird
flushes in thick cover before the setter’s point or the
  
 

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46 UPLAND SHOOTING.

spaniel’s spring, where the quickest snap-shot is required,
he must have a prophet’s eye who can tell whether it be
fledgeling or full-grown bird. Avoid such uncertainty,
and do not put temptation in the sportsman’s path.

There has always been a mystery connected with the
woodcock’s disappearance during the moulting season,
and various theories have been advanced in explanation;
some claim that they remain in their breeding-grounds,
but can not be found, as they give no scent, and will not
flush; some, that they betake themselves to the corn-
fields, and can be found there in numbers; some, that
they fly to the high mountains and ridges, where no one
ever thinks of looking for them; while still others assert
that upon leaving their breeding-ground they migrate
farther north. Each and all seem to attribute this dis-
appearance to their moulting, without taking into con-
sideration the fact that there may be other causes. Do
not all birds moult? and why should these not disappear
as well, if the cause be only the casting off of an old
gown, and the taking on of a new one?

After a careful comparison of the different years in
which I have studied the habits of these birds, and
recalling some unusually wet Augusts, when they seemed
to remain in numbers in their summer haunts, my con-
clusion is that their disappearance is not so much due to
their moulting, as to the effect that the season may hare
upon their feeding-grounds.

Woodcock are great gourmands, and the drought,
which usually comes about the time they begin to moult,
dries up and hardens the places where they have lived,
loved, and fed all the summer long, thus necessitating
a change, and so they scatter; and if, in certain sections,
they disappear, although their grounds are apparently
capable of furnishing food, it is only that appearances
are deceitful, and the food is not there in reality. The
THE,WOODCOCK. 47

young are able to take care of themselves by this time,

and do not need the parents’ solicitous attention, and

whether found alone by some secluded spring, deep in

the recesses of the hills, or in numbers in some back-

woods swamp, it is simply another phase of that great °
question which agitates so many minds—that of supply

and demand.

There may be a few birds willing to eke out an exist-
ence in the wettest portions of their old haunts, others
who choose the corn-fields, if they be moist enough, and
still others who know of springs among the mountains,
which early in the season reached the lowlands, moist-
ening the loam, but now lose their waters in more imme-
diate surroundings.

Among the hills there are swamps rarely visited by
man, which, tlooded in the earlier summer, now expose
their soil, furnishing fine feeding-grounds for woodcock.
In such places I have found woodcock in fair numbers
during the period of their moult, and I know of a pond
nestling in the depression of a high ridge of pasture-land,
forty rods away from the nearest grove of birches, pines,
and maples, where, in the spring, the dusky-duck stops
to rest and feed, that in August, when the hot sun has
absorbed its waters, shows countless woodcock borings,
while in the covers near, the moulting birds may be
flushed. After a week of sunshine, the soil becomes
parched, and that place knows them no more until
another season shall have run its course.

Even now, though one know where to find them, there
is no more real pleasure in their pursuit than in July, for
the chill of autumn is not yet in the air, nor are the
birds plump of body, or smooth and glossy of feather;
but when the heat of summer days and nights is on the
wane, and the forest is changing its robe of green to one
of many colors; when the crops have all been garnered,
48 UPLAND SHOOTING.

and the grass and clover are springing green again in the
stubbled fields; when the corn is ripe and ready to be
husked-—then, and not until then, can the sportsman
take the field with dog and gun, restrained by no twinge
of conscience, forbidden by no law; and he who has waited
all these days is well repaid for waiting, for the wood-
cock is altogether a different bird from what it is when
found in the summer months; its dress is richer in its
coloring, its body fast gaining that rotundity which
comes only when free from the worry of moulting and
finding food where food is scarce; its flight shows far
more vigor, and the whistle of its wings is sharper,
louder, clearer than before.

This whistle is another of the peculiarities of the
woodeock which are so puzzling. It does not come from
the throat and bill, as would naturally be supposed, but
from the pinions as they cleave the air. I have held a
woodcock by the legs, and heard this whistle as it flut-
tered to escape, and to satisfy myself that the noise was
made by its wings. have grasped it by the neck and bill,
and still that whistle; but when the wings stopped beat-
ing, the whistle ceased. The woodcock possesses vocal
powers of no mean order, as its love-songs during its
breeding-season testify: but the whistle when the bird is
flushed is not the result of vocal effort.

Examine the pinions, and you will find the first three
feathers altogether different from the others—shorter
and narrower—and in this difference lies that mysterious
whistle. It takes great force to start the woodcock in its
perpendicular flight, and the resistance offered to its
wings must be immense, since its body keeps about the
same relative position, with bill pointed downward, that
it has when its course is horizontal, and the air rushing
through the first three feathers of each pinion makes the
whistle, which ceases when the angle of resistauce is
THE WOODCOCK. 49

varied by the change of flight. No other of our upland
game birds whistles in its flight, for no other possesses
these peculiar characteristics. .

I have flushed moulting birds when these first three
feathers were imperfect, and only the faintest whistle
caught my ear; and I have seen them glide away from
their nesting-places with full-fledged pinions and make
no noise. But when their course is upward, or at a cer-
tain angle, in their startled flight, the whistle tells of
their presence—a sound as sweet to the sportsman, when
out with dog and gun, as was ever the music of Aolian
lyre to Apollo’s ear, and, like that, variable, irresponsible,
sounding only to the rushing of the wind.

During the cool moonlight nights of September—that
golden month of the harvest moon—woodcock commence
to leave their sylvan boudoirs, where they have changed
their summer dress, and visit the southern hill-sides,
sunny glades, and tinted brakes, there to linger until the
sharper frosts shall warn them to be on their journey,
ere the winter snows fly among the naked trees and cover
the brown hills and meadows.

But it is when October's scenes are full upon us, and
their beauty reigns supreme by the dashing streams, in
the woodlands, and along the furrowed hill-sides, that
the finest woodcock-shooting is enjoyed throughout the
northern covers. And what can excel an October day,
when the morning is clear and fresh, and the frost of the
night before, harbinger of the woodcock’s flight, whitens
the fence-tops and fallen trees, and hangs sparkling and
dripping from the lichen-covered tree-trunks, and from
every leaf and twig, while the grasses, wet with the dew
which came at sunset, are one mass of fretted silver? or
what, when the midday sun casts over land and water
that misty veil so peculiar toautumnal months, giving to

the pine and hemlock a softer hue than at any other
4
50 UPLAND SHOOTING.

season, and to the swamp maple and the oak a deeper
tinge, blending so perfectly with the yellow of the birch
and beech? Or what can surpass the setter’s work—the
eager, swift, yet cautious, pace, the quick turn on scent
of game, the poise so stanch and true? or what the
active roading of the cocker-spaniel and his merry yelp
when the bird is flushed? Truly these are glorious days;
golden links between heated summer and cold winter;
and of all who love these days, woodcock seem to love
them most, and are wont to take advantage of them as
they wing their way to southern grounds, furnishing in
their flights the best of sport; for though one shoots a
favorite cover clean, two or three moonlight, frosty
nights will bring others to it again.

But when the cold blasts of November rush through
the leafless trees, and the cold nights freeze the loam too
hard for the woodcock’s bill, then they whistle their
adieux, and are off for a warmer clime, moving south-
ward, as in the early spring they came northward, with
the change of seasons, until December finds them again
established in their winter quarters.

How the whistle of a flushed woodcock on an autumn
morning stirs the blood! what a thrill it sends dancing
along the nerves! None can excel it; not even the ruffed
grouse, as he springs like a feathery rocket from the
bank above one’s head, or from the evergreens almost at
one’s feet; nor the grouse of the western plains, as he
rushes from the stubble; nor the quail, as he whirs from
the sedge or corn-field; nor yet the snipe, as he twists
away upon the wind.

The woodcock, too, is unlike these birds in the man-
ner of its flight. When flushed, they are up and away—
one may be very sure of that; but the woodcock is quite
as likely to come into one’s face as to go elsewhere, for
there can be no dependence whatever placed upon its
THE WOODCOCK. 51

flight; and that very uncertainty is, perhaps, one of the
magic ties that bind us to its pursuit. Yet the wood-
cock is no dullard, but as great a rascal as ever flushed
before the gun. It will rise straight from before you, as
though impelled by some hidden spring; then, taking a
dash over the tree-tops, pitch just behind, not two rods
from where it was started; or it may dart through the
thicket to the outside, and skimming the edge quite close
to the ground, drop upon the very margin, or, suddenly
rising, dart back into the deepest portion of the cover;
or if the dog fails to catch the scent, it may wait until
you pass; then, when your back is turned, steal away
without even a note of warning.

Again, it may flush rods away, a veritable coward, or
sit in an open spot, like the bravest of the brave, seem-
ingly indifferent to yourself, dog, and gun, and watch
you with big, staring eyes. Keep still, stare it out of
countenance, if you can, and it will soon take flight, but
in which direction no one can tell-——possibly down the
open pathway, probably straight into the thickest
bush, where a sparrow would find hard work to force its
way.

It is truly wonderful how the woodcock directs its
flight, for no matter how thick the trees and branches to
mar your aim, it skillfully avoids them, and leaves
you wondering how it possibly escaped their network.
These leafy labyrinths are open sailing ‘to this dark-eyed
bird.

Its knowledge of curves and angles is shown with
mathematical certainty; and in the moderately open
woods it knows the exact position of all the trees, and
will dart away, twisting its flight behind these bulwarks,
so safely that you can only catch the shadow of its pin-
ions, while some tree catches your charge of shot. At
the report of a gun, it will often pitch headlong down
52 UPLAND SHOOTING.

into a tuft of grass or a bunch of brakes, even if caught
on the open hill-side, thereby giving to the novice the
idea that it is killed or badly wounded.

But put no faith in these antics, for unless well
skilled in the manner of its flight and lighting, you will
be deceived, and upon rushing up to gather the bird to
bag, find only a strong pair of wings whistling in mock-
ery at your eagerness, as with a sudden spring it is away
for the cover.

Although the woodcock springs from its resting-place,
when startled, with rapid, vigorous, and not too graceful
wings, yet, when it lights in a moderately open spot, its
action is as graceful as a falling leaf; its wings fan the
air for a moment, its slender legs drop down and gently
touch their resting-place, and the bird squats slowly to
the ground, or, the spot not being favorable, runs a few
rods before finding rest. Again, it will suddenly turn, as
if losing its balance, and dart to the ground with half-
closed wings, lying wherever it pitches until routed by
the pursuer. I say the ground, as woodcock never light
upon trees or fences—another of their eccentricities.

To hunt these birds successfully, one must thor-
oughly understand their habits, know the time of their
coming and going, and the grounds they frequent at cer-
tain seasons, whether wet or dry. It is not chance that
keeps half a dozen or more birds resting for several Octo-
ber days along a stretch of moss-covered rocks shaded by
pines and maples, for down in that interval the soil has
been turned up moist and fresh by the farmer’s plow, the
feed then is delicious, and those scattered trees afford
sufficient cover. It is not chance that brings to that hill-
side of birches, pines, and hemlocks these dreamy-eyed
birds in autumn weather, for here and there, by tiny
springs that moisten the surrounding soil, enriched by
the mold of fallen leaves, they find good feeding. You
THE WOODCOCK. 53

did not find them there last year, nor the year before,
for both years were dry, the loam of that field was not
turned up, and those little springs had not force enough
to reach the surface. Woodcock love a sunny spot to
lie in on cold autumn days, but the selection of this spot
is governed by their appetites.

The slopes, covered with brakes and sapling pines,
are the choice of some; the knolls, covered with birches,
of others; the alder-patch and willow-covered interval the
favorite resort of others. When the season is wet their
- feeding-grounds are more extended, and they more scat-~
tered, consequently it requires more tramping to secure
a bag. When it is dry they are harder to find, but when
discovered, are in numbers. A moderately wet autumn
furnishes the best woodcock-shooting, all other things
being favorable. ,

In their autumn flights, I have found them on the
highest hills and in the lowest covers, under hemlocks
near large woods, and among the briars in the open past-
ure; and one day, while walking along a river, my setter
wheeled to a point among the rocks under a thin line of
alders; I walked up and saw a woodcock lying on a little
patch of sand, headed toward the hills. Telling my
companion to shoot, if the bird should start, I went down
the stream a short distance, then out into the shallow
water, stepping from stone to stone until opposite the
bird. I tried to flush it by throwing pebbles; it would
not flush, and did not, until the young dog, becoming
restless, rushed in, when with characteristic obstinacy
the bird turned and came straight over my head. My
companion dared not shoot, and in turning to get a shot
my feet slipped on the rocks, and into the water I went.
Apparently having accomplished its object, the wood-
cock, when half way across the stream, turned, and just
as I arose, dripping from my bath, darted past me for
54 UPLAND SHOOTING.

the hill-side cover, where it should have gone in the first
place. It was particularly gratifying to see that bird
fall before my companion’s shot.

They are curious birds in their ways before the gun,
and just as strange when performing in the privacy of
their woodland homes; and I well remember the antics at
which ! caught one, when with a friend, one autumn
day, I was beating a high hill-top for ruffed grouse.

Our setter came to a point toward a clump of pines,
and we expected to hear the rush of a startled grouse;
but nota sound. Peering beneath the trees, there upon
the carpet of pine needles we saw a woodcock, strutting
about just like a turkey-cock in miniature, with tail
erect, spread like a fan, and drooping wings, nodding its
head in time with the movement of its feet, as though
listening to music we could not hear. It was a droll
scene, and at the same time picturesque—the tall, green
pines above their carpeting of red-brown needles, a red
dog standing in perfect pose, with outstretched neck and
glaring eyes, a small, long-billed, dark-eyed, mottled
bird marching to and fro with all the pomp of a grena-
dier, and two sportsmen on their Knees as silent spec-
tators. After watching it for some time, we flushed and
shot it, and in beating out a patch of pines not far away,
bagged four more.

Although woodcock are much the same sort of birds
wherever found, and woodcock-shooting much the same
sort of sport when followed legitimately, still there are
slight variations, depending upon the topography of the
different sections in which they rest and feed.

In certain parts of the West they are numerous in
extended swamps and corn-fields, while in other sections
it would be useless to look for them in these places.
because of the one being rank and sour and the other
dry and sandy.
THE WOODCOCK. 55

In the South, in the alluvial and swampy portions of
Louisiana, they are found in great numbers from Decem-
ber to February; but upon the higher land, covered with
open pine forests, they are rare, except where such bor-
der lakes and streams. In the thickets along the rivers
and ponds, in the little branches, in the low switch-cane,
and among the dwarf palmetto near swamps, they rest
by day, and feed at night in the wet savannahs and
neighboring cultivated fields. Here, as in their northern
quarters, they are very uncertain as to localities, for
to-day a certain thicket may be full of them and to-mor-
row not a bird be found.

During a period of unusually severe weather, they
collect in the warmer swamps in vast numbers; and in
the streets and gardens of Mandeville, a town upon the
shore of Lake Pontchartrain, they have been known to
collect in such numbers that a boy killed five dozen in a
single day.

Their winter habitat extends from the Carolinas
along the southern coast; but in that vast undrained terri-
tory of the Texas coast, which is claimed to be the finest
feeding-ground for the jack-snipe on this continent, and
where they abound from October to April, woodcock are
never seen.

In certain sections, when they take to the wide, open
fields for feeding, the pot-hunter kills great numbers by
the light of torches, which so bewilders them that they
are easily shot or beaten down with clubs. Although in
many places this fire-hunting has been given up, along
the Mississippi, as it nears the Gulf, and on some of the
bayous, notably the Beeuf, and along the Atchafalaya, it
is still practiced to some extent, owing to the physical
characteristics of the country, which, it is claimed, make
it almost impossible for one to find and shoot them in
their day-time haunts. This may be exciting, but has
56 UPLAND SHOOTING.

none of the inspiration of true sportsmanship, any more
than has the yarding and killing of deer when the snow
lies too deep for their legitimate pursuit.

When given a fair field and fight, woodcock can hold
their own against all comers. and seem at times to set all
human knowledge of their ways at defiance. puzzling the
most experienced hunter to find them with success; but
it is usually when he, unmindful of the peculiarities of
the country, or of that particular season, looks for them
in their usual haunts, or depends upon their flights being
at the same period as in some other year. different in
itself, and preceded by a different spring and summer.

Woodcock, before their migratory flights, are some-
what nomadic in their ways, changing their feeding-
grounds frequently. thus leading many to believe that
they are on their southern journey.

The autumnal equinox, if followed by two or three
sharp, frosty nights, usually starts the first flight south-
ward, and when once the birds commence to move in num-
bers, one may be sure of good shooting. A still day is
the best for woodcock-shooting. especially if following a
rain, for then the scent lies better. and so do the birds.
On windy days. woodcock are wild, and usually flush
with the wind, no matter which way it blows. The idea
that when found in their autumn flights they always
flush toward the south, and continue in that direction,
no matter how often started, is simply a theory not borne
out by facts.

These birds being unlike all others in their field
tactics, he who hunts them should have a somewhat
different outfit from that used in pursuit of other game.
The choke-bore is out of place in a woodcock cover, for
it either misses or tears the bird in pieces. and a heavy
gun has no advantage, for the range at which woodcock
are shot is usually within the killing power of the cylin-
THE WOODCOCK. 57

der-bore and light charge, and even half a pound makes
quite a difference in a long day’s tramp. A seven-pound,
twelve-bore gun, with barrels twenty-eight, or even
twenty-six, inches in length, loaded with three drams of
powder—that which gives least recoil and smoke pre-
ferred—and one ounce of No. 12 shot if early in the
season, or No. 10 if later, will, if held straight, render
a good account of every cock that rises.

The successful woodcock hunter must be the quickest
shot of all who follow the dog in autumn months. A
woodcock gliding down an open glade straight away is
the easiest of birds to kill, but when one springs from
its resting-place among the trees, he who hesitates is
lost, or rather the bird is, for, like time and tide, it waits
for no man. There are covers where one can take care-
ful aim, but even there, owing to the uncertainty of a
woodcock’s flight, the snap-shot is the most successful.
But for the fullest enjoyment of this sport, whatever
one’s skill with the gun may be, he must bring to his
aid the intelligence of the dog, and the choice depends
upon the character of the covers in which the birds are
found. In some covers the spaniel is no doubt the most
killing dog, provided he is well trained; while in others,
the setter or the pointer is to be preferred. When wood-
cock are found in covers where the underbrush is thick
and matted, along the banks of streams, and in ravines
where alders, willows, or briars grow so thick that it
would be impossible for the shooter to walk, or the
pointing dog to work, a small, well-trained spaniel could
penetrate and work out every spot and tuft, giving warn-
ing, by a stifled whine, of the flushing of the bird, while
the sportsman remains on the outside, and gets an open
shot. But of all dogs, unless thoroughly broken, he is
the most exasperating and useless. <A well-trained
spaniel should range within a few paces of the gun, drop
58 UPLAND SHOOTING.

to shot and wing, and retrieve; he should do all this
without a constant hallooing from his master; but to
teach him requires careful attention in the field, strict
discipline, and great patience at all times, and the tui-
tion must begin at an early age. Personally, I prefer
the pointing dog—and he is without any doubt the most
popular with woodcock shooters throughout the United
States—for it is half the pleasure in upland shooting to
see the highly trained setter or pointer at work; and
even if he does, in his higher-headed range, now and
then pass some dense thicket that contains a bird, he
will more than make up for it in the pleasure derived
from watching his graceful attitudes when pointing, and
by the intelligence displayed in giving one a shot in
some difficult location. Killing the birds is not all there
is in upland shooting.

The successful woodcock dog, whether setter or
pointer, must, first of all, have a very sensitive nose—for
the bird gives out but little scent—be very obedient,
moderately fast and stanch, and a good retriever. He
should work in a restricted range, around the shooter,
otherwise, many a bird, with its habit of turning back-
ward in its flight, will be passed. <A very fast dog is
to be avoided, but a slow, pottering one will try the
patience of the thorough sportsman fully as much, and is
perhaps the greater evil of the two. A dog that knows
his business may go through a cover with speed, until
his nose tells him birds are near; then all is changed, and
his caution is not excelled by even the pottering dog, who
would be far behind, nosing about some tuft of brakes. or
jogging along, poking into each clump of brush or bunch
of weeds.

I hunt my setter with a soft-tinkling bell attached to
the collar, and from its tone judge of the working of my
dog, whether slow or fast, near or far away, and find it of
THE WOODCOCK. 59

great assistance, while it seems to make no difference in
the lying of the birds. Although there are many dogs
over which good shooting may be had, yet a first-class
woodcock dog is rare, and invaluable to his owner.
Many dogs do not particularly care for the sport, but
prefer to hunt the grouse and the quail. I once had an
English setter, of a strain noted for its field-work in both
cover and open shooting, that although a bold and capi-
tal worker on ruffed grouse, seemed to fear the wood-
cook’s scent, and would stop hunting, drop his tail, and
come to heel the instant the odor reached his nostrils.
But whether you use setter, pointer, or spaniel, there is
a peculiar charm about woodcock and: woodcock-shooting
that no one can deny who is at all acquainted with the
birds, or has ever tried the sport. You have seen the
gamy quail tumble into the sedge before your aim, and
gathered him to your game-bag, with the knowledge of
a deed well done; you have felt a glow of pride as the
lordly grouse, rushing on pinions swift and strong, fell
before your prowess, and struggled in his death-battle
upon the autumn leaves; but there comes a feeling that
can not be explained when you take the woodcock from
your setter’s mouth, and watch the dark eyes close,
and that soft, velvety sheen over head and neck fade
away until there is only left the dull gloss of a mottled
plumage, and the bird-life has passed beyond recall.
How the memories of days passed amid the wood-
cock’s haunts crowd in upon our reveries when the land is
snow-bound and the streams are ice-locked! and how we
long for the time to come when these dark-eyed birds
shall once more breed among the alder-dells, and sing
their love-songs in the gloaming of warm spring evenings!
THE QUAILS OF CALIFORNIA.

 

By T. S. Van Dyxz,

Author of ‘ The Still Hunter,” ‘The Rifle, Rod, and Gun in California,”
“Southern California,” etc.

 

HERE is probably no other game
bird that flourishes under so many -
varied conditions as the valley
quail of California, and wherever
found, he seems to get more posi-
tive satisfaction out of existence
“eal? than any other bird. Though more abun-

dant 1 near sea- level, he is equally at home at an eleva-
tion of a mile or more above it; drinks plenty of water
or goes without it with apparently equal ease, and seems
quite as happy in the glare of the sunlit plain as in the
cool arbors of wild rose, sycamore, and wild grape that
form dense shades along the creek bottom. Alike to him
are the settler’s garden and the lofty hill-top miles away
from sight or sound of man; and though he can never be
satiated with raisin-grapes or strawberries, he will keep
quite as fat and cheerful upon scanty picking of dry
grass-seed upon the stoniest hill-side.

Few of our game birds are so eternally busy as this
quail. He hardly ever rests except at night, never looks sad
or bored, never sits around with ruffled feathers or droop-
ing head, but wears always either a decided business air
or a sublime look of contentment.. He lacks the modest,
retiring ways that make Bob White so hard to find, even

with a good dog, but rather courts inspection—comes
(61)

  
62 UPLAND SHOOTING.

boldly out to look at you, and seems generally anxious
to let you know that he is about. He lives and moves
the whole year round beneath the eye of everyone famil-
iar with the land beyond the pavement, and there is no
bird whose private life and business methods are so easy
to become thoroughly acquainted with.

The valley quail’s peculiar colors of slate-blue, gray,
white, and cinnamon, and the long, jaunty plume of jet
hanging forward over his bill, are now too generally
known to need special description here. In size he is
a little smaller than Bob White, and quite inferior to Bob
in flavor, though still a very good bird, except when in
the hands of a cook whose sole knowledge of quail is the
cabalistic phrase, ‘‘quail on toast.’”’ In such hands the
combination is almost as good as chip on pasteboard.

This quail apparently breeds but once a year, and sel-
dom raises a new brood if the first be destroyed, as
young ones are rarely seen late in the season, as is often
the case with Bob White. The number of eggs is from
twelve to seventeen, and though the bird is smaller, its
eggs are larger than those of the eastern quail, and are
well spotted with chocolate blotches. It shows a remark-
able instinct in not breeding, after winters of too low
rain-fall, in those sections where the winter rains are
occasionally too light for a good growth of vegetation.
In such cases it remains unmated all summer, in the large
flocks into which it was banded in the fall, and so con-
tinues until the next season of sufficient rain.

Few birds have so many different notes as the valley
quail, and in few do pitch, tone, and accent vary so
much, even with the same individual. The common call
is a flute-like, penetrating o-hi-o, rapidly repeated four
or five times, but varied often, so that it-sounds like
ko-loi-o. Again, the accent is shifted until it sounds
like tuck-a-hoe, and sometimes the accent is so heavy on
THE QUAILS OF CALIFORNIA. 63

the second sylable that it becomes k-woick-uh, and often
this last wh is dropped entirely, and only a low k-woick
is heard. During hatching-time, the male, perched upon
a bush near the nest, sends forth, at intervals of a
minute or two, alow wah full of deep content, and often
during this time, when on the ground or moving about,
he gives a metallic-toned wheeooo or teeooo, often
sounded several times in quick succession, and sometimes
ina husky tone. The alarm-call is a sharp whit, whit,
whit, changing often into a low, muffled wook, wook, wook,
wook, while the birds are on the ground, but when they
rise, a sharp, clear chirp, chirp, chirp, is the only sound
heard, and this is generally from birds started singly.

This quail is abundant over the greater part of Cali-
fornia, and for several hundred miles below the Mexican
line, in those sections where the rain-fall is sufficient.
Its numbers in many sections, before the railroads opened
the country to the market-shooter, were incredibly great,
especially in the County of San Diego, where it so
abounded as to astonish even old California shots from
other parts of the State. The statement may seem
extravagant, but for many years it was a simple mat-
ter for any good shot to bag 200 in a day, all at single
shots on the wing. For several years dozens of market
shooters shipped an average of 10,000 apiece for the sea-
son. This hoggish work, with the number crippled and
finally killed, has greatly reduced their numbers. But
seventy-five or a hundred can still be killed in a few
hours, though it requires far more tramping than for-
merly to do it.

These figures will be readily understood by recollect-
ing that the abundance of the birds is more apparent than
real. During the shooting-season they are concentrated;
during the months of July and August the bevies run
together, like those of the pinnated grouse, into flocks of
64 UPLAND SHOOTING.

several bevies; and these flocks again unite, until dark
sheets of quail, sometimes covering half an acre or more
of sun-dried grass or stubble, may be seen around the
edges of every valley. Out of cactus-patches, clumps of
sumac, and old piles of granite rock in the smaller cafions,
they flutter and squeal by hundreds, and even thousands;
and in the spring, in the morning or evening, one may
hear for several seconds a steady roar of wings, and see
the air in all directions filled with hundreds of blue lines
of wheeling, twisting, and chirping life. It is to this
habit of descending from the hills after the breeding-
season, and thus congregating in the valleys, that the bird
owes its name of ‘‘ valley quail.”

Before the gun this bird makes in some respects more
sport than Bob White, while in other respects the shoot-
ing is decidedly inferior. For one who knows how to
handle the valley quail, the shooting is much less
fatiguing, and much more certain to yield a good bag,
than any shooting now to be found in the Eastern States.
The shooting is nearly all open or in lowbrush, under the
clearest of skies, with great mountains looking down upon
one from all directions. There are no bogs to flounder
through, no briars to tear and swear one’s way through,
no very big hills to climb, and no big woods to get lost
in. Either in a buggy or on horseback, one can ride
directly to the game, tie up, shoot awhile, rest awhile,
lunch and smoke, and shoot again. <A large flock prop-
erly handled gives two or three men all the shooting
that rational creatures should wish; but if one wants to
be piggish, another large flock is easily found not far
away from where the first one became too much scattered
for further sport.

But while one can burn more powder behind this bird
than behind Bob White, become far more excited, and,
when accustomed to it, can carry home a much larger
THE QUAILS OF CALIFORNIA. 65

bag, there is asad lack of that charm that comes from
hunting a bird that can rarely be seen, even on the wing,
without the aid of a well-bred and well-trained dog.
This quail never lies to the dogas Bob White does in the
Atlantic States, and only in the northern part of Cali-
fornia does he sometimes lie as closely as Bob White
does in the Western States. In the south of California
he rarely lies much better than Bob White does in the
Western States during those short periods of migra-
tion when, for two or three weeks in early fall, two or
more bevies sometimes run together, run into town, fly
against houses, and make fools of themselves generally.
The first dependence of the valley quail is upon its legs,
and it rarely trusts to hiding until thoroughly scared and
scattered, when it will often lie quite well. But by this
time the dog, unless kept at heel or tied up, is generally
demoralized by the running and rising of innumerable
birds, and feels more like hunting shade than birds. The
more it is hunted, the more closely this bird seems to lie,
but it is doubtful if any amount of hunting will give it
the habit of lying from the beginning as closely as Bob
White lies. Though a dog can, in many places, and in
all places where the birds are scarce, be used to great
advantage by one who thoroughly understands these
birds, as well as the proper working of a dog, no such
fine exhibition of dog intelligence is to be seen as is an
every-day occurrence in hunting Bob White. There are
those who think otherwise, but it only proves to me that
they have never seen handsome work by good dogs on
close-lying birds.

Though large quantities of these quail may, in sum-
mer and early fall, be killed upon the ground by the
merest tyro, especially if shooting from a wagon, it be-
comes quite a different matter later in the fall, when they

are full-grown and strong, and especially where they are
5
66 UPLAND SHOOTING.

much hunted. Probably no bird on earth so baffles the
tyro. He hears the wook, wook, wook, and sees occasional
dark-blue streaks through open places ahead of him, gone
before he can raise his gun. ‘Trying all the time to get a
shot at a bunch on the ground, he thinks if he only goes
carefully, and looks keenly enough, he will get a fine
‘“not-shot.’? Meanwhile, the birds trot along ahead of
him through the brush, keeping up their whit, whit,
whit, and wook, wook, wook, just a yard or two beyond
good shooting distance, but with such a tempting tame-
ness as to delude him constantly with the idea that a
little more caution, and a little more keenness of eye, will
secure a fine shot ata bunch. In this way they lead him
up one hill, down the next slope, and up the next, nearly
always a little too far, yet always equally tempting.
Perhaps he gets a shot at thirty or thirty-five yards into
a large bunch in some opening, and pours his second
barrel in all confidence into the roaring black sheet that
rises at the report of his first barrel. No more stunning
surprise awaits mortal man than when, after two such
shots, the tyro advances hopefully through the smoke to
bag his game. He sees, perhaps, a wing-broken bird or
two scud darkly away through the brush almostas fastas
it once could fly, finds a few feathers, and hears a bird
fluttering in its death-struggles a dozen yards or more
down the hill-side among the brush. But more often he
finds nothing but a few feathers, and by the time he gives
up the search for a dead bird, the flock is two or three
hundred yards away on another hill-side, already col-
lected together, and ready to repeat the same games.

But still more amusing is often the work of the experi-
enced shot from the East, who comes with a good dog, a
quick eye, and ready finger—a skillful shot, perhaps, both
in cover and in the open. Most of the Californians claim
that their valley quail is a harder bird to shoot than Bob
THE QUAILS OF CALIFORNIA. 67

White. Beyond question it is a far harder bird to kill,
but taken under the same circumstances, and especially
at the same distance of rising, it certainly is not a harder
bird to hit. It flies no faster and twists no more than
Bob White does. Nevertheless, it is true that it bothers
the best shots very much at first. Capt. Ira Paine, on his
first introduction to this bird, some three years ago, a few
miles back of San Diego, missed his first nine birds in
succession—all single birds, all within easy range, and all
missed clean—before he settled down to steady shooting.
Captain Paine told me of this the same day, and two
friends of mine saw the whole performance. I have
known many instances, almost as remarkable, where the
missing lasted the whole day; and it has taken some good
shots two or three days to get to shooting well. This
seems to be due to the great numbers of the birds, rising
all around one at different times and distances, all buz-
zing and chirping and jumping from unexpected places,
which, combined with the peculiar color of the birds, and
the strange background of the picture, is quite certain
to demoralize the oldest shot from the East.

One recovers rapidly from this, andin a few days can
make as clean a score as upon Bob White—provided,
however, that he has in the meantime learned how to hunt
the bird; for if left to work out his own knowledge,
plenty of vexation is yet in store for him. Perhaps at
the first rising of the flock he brings down a bird with
each barrel. He walks confidently to the place where the
first one fell, A moment ago he believed he could put
his finger upon the precise spot where it fell. Heis now
prepared to swear that no mortal, either native or foreign,
can tell one bush from another. He discovers a few
feathers on a bush, under which he Jooks instead of look-
ing several yards ahead and inline with the place where
the bird rose. He quickly concludes it will be easier to
68 TPLAND SHOOTING.

find the second one, but when he tries to find where that
fell, he is even more exasperated than before at the
bewildering sameness of all the shrubbery. _He declares
there is no use in hunting these quail without a dog, for-
getting that the heaviest bags ever made are made on
precisely such ground without any dog—an experienced
hand retrieving almost every bird as quickly. almost, as it
was shot, and all birds being shot singly and on the wing;
forgetting, also, that if he had a dog he would soon have
his nose nearly worthless by letting him run too long in
dry air and hot sun without water instead of keeping him
at heel until really needed.

He loses just time enough in looking for these birds to
let the scattered flock run together again some 300
yards away, where they are making the hill-side ring
with their clear call, and can perhaps be seen darting here
and there through openings in the brush. Until this
flock is broken and scattered, he will have no shooting
worthy of the name, but only boundless vexation; and
he has lost just time enough to have to begin all over
again. Just before he gets within shooting distance of the
flock again, a bird starts from a bush almost at his feet,
runs a few yards along the ground. almost as swiftly asif
on the wing, then bursts into flight, with a clear chirp,
chirp, chirp, and goes wheeling off toward a ravine on the
left. The temptation is irresistible. Bang! goesthe gun,
and the bird whirls downward out of a cloud of feathers,
and, with a tremendous roar, over 1,000 birds rise
from the slope beyond. Running to the place where the
bird fell, our friend finds a few feathers on the edge of
the ravine, but looks in vain forthe bird. Suddenly there
is a violent fluttering near the bottom of the ravine; he
runs down, and finds it bouncing and gyrating in its death-
struggles. eluding all his efforts to seize it until it is a
dozen feet or more farther down the hill. By the time
THE QUAILS OF CALIFORNIA. 69

he has scrambled out of the ravine, and got to where he
can hear or see the main flock again, they are some
300 yards or more farther away, all together again,
and all prepared to lead him another weary chase. And
so he may go on until, heated, breathless, and thoroughly
mad, he quits the field with six or eight birds, declaring
that of allsublunary abominations California quail-shoot-
ing takes the lead.

Thisis a very hasty judgment, however, for nothing in
the line of shooting will exceed the certainty with which
that same man, after a few weeks’ practice, will bag from
150 to 200 birds with little more work than his first half
a dozen cost him. And the regularity and quickness of
his shooting will scarcely equal the certainty and quick-
ness with which he will pick up dead birds, remembering,
unconsciously, their course, speed, direction of wind, etc.,
and going at once to where they fell, guided only, perhaps,
by a single feather on a bush to a bird twenty or thirty
feet away.

The first, and in fact the only important, step to easy
success is not to attempt to bag anything at first, but
spend all your time in breaking and scattering the flock.
This can be done only by rapid and repeated flushing,
without giving them time to get together again. Firing
over them, and especially infront of them, materially aids
this scattering. For this reason, two persons can always
do better together than alone, and by working around on
the outside can keep the birds more or less rounded-up
toward a common center. The more rapidly you run
upon the flock, and the more noise you make, the more apt
you are to break the flock at the first charge; and if two
or more persons are ahead of them, and fire their guns off,
the greater the probability of this result. Wherever the
flock alights the first time, lose no time in getting there.
At each charge you make upon them, they will scatter
70 UPLAND SHOOTING.

wider and wider when they alight. If quickly handled,
you will have them scattered over fifteen or twenty acres
at the second or third flushing, which should not take
more than fifteen minutes in all; but even now turn your
attention first to any considerable number that may have
kept close together, and break and scatter every bunch as
fast as possible. You may now have 1,000 or 1,500 quail
fairly scattered over twenty or thirty acres of good
cover, and in a state of such alarm that they will trust
more to hiding than to their legs. Quite a number will
still run away on the sides, and at every report of the gun
some will rise and make off; but these latter will not fly far,
and will generally lie all the better when they alight. If
you are wise, you will now tie your dog to a shady bush, lay
aside your heavy: coat and all else that is unnecessary, for
unless you travel fast and work rapidly, too many of the
birds will yet steal away from you.

Before you have advanced many steps, there is a sud-
den rustling in a bush of white sage, which the wild pea
has festooned with a wealth of brilliant pink; a little dark-
blue object whips out of the other side, and rises with a
sharp chirp, chirp, chirp, and loud-buzzing wings. <A
puff of feathers rides the air behind it at the report of
your gun; but away itgoes. You havenotime, however,
to watch it; for there is a whiz to the right, a buzz on
the left, a chirp, chirp, chirp, behind, arustling of swift
little legs in a bush in front. and a dozen birds have
broken cover all around you at the sound of your gun.
Bang! goes your second barrel at one, whose rapid wings
make a dark haze around it as they fan the warm sun-
light. Another puff of white and blue feathers, with a
shade or two of cinnamon-color, comes back upon the air,
yet the bird goes gaily on, and with stiff-set wings sails
downward over a ridge as easily as if the shot had only
ballasted it for a swifter and steadier flight.
THE QUAILS OF CALIFORNIA. 71

You have now come upon another difficulty which
the Eastern shot little suspects, and which is quite sure
to mar at least one day’s happiness. These are the
toughest birds alive, and need an immense amount of
killing. They need, too, very dead killing, or half the
time you will find nothing but feathers where they have
fallen. Cartridges loaded for Bob White will not do.
For old, full-grown birds here, you need the finest shot,
up to No. 10, that the gun will shoot to best advantage,
with about as much powder as you would use for ducks.

_ Even then, thirty-five yards will be a long shot, and if
you kill everything clean at thirty that you hold on
closely, you have an extra-good gun.

Finding yourself out with weak cartridges, your only
remedy is to take no long shots. You will have plenty
at ten, fifteen, and twenty yards if you will possess your
soul in patience. See, now, as you advance, how from
this green sumac on the right, overhung with the snowy
drapery of the wild cucumber, from this wild alfalfa,
brilliant with scarlet and gold, upon your left, and from
among the crimson trumpets of this mimulus almost at
your feet, rise another, another, and another. Depend

_ upon it, you will get enough close shots.

Scarcely a dozen more steps do you take forward,
when another quail bursts, whizzing and chirping, from
the orange-glow of a bunch of poppies, and as you raise
your gun upon it, another breaks, just beyond it, from
some chemisal over which the dodder is fast weaving its
orange-colored floss. Before your gun is in line with the:
first bird, half a dozen more are buzzing, curling, and
chirping upward out of the wild buckwheat just at your
feet, over which the morning-glory is all in bloom;
another half-dozen join them at the report of your first
barrel, and the sound of your second barrel rouses as
many more from the spangled covert around you.
72 UPLAND SHOOTING.

What wonder that in all this confusion you hare
failed to mark the spot where the first bird went whirling
down upon the right, and the other fluttering to earth
upon the left! Where you think the first one fell, you
find only a bewildering wealth of violets, blue-bells, pop-
pies, and shooting-stars among the brush. Going to
where you think you saw the other fall, you find only
spangled confusion worse confounded—the green and
pink of the alfileria, the scarlet of the cardinal flower,
the blue of the phacelia, the gold of the primrose, with
a feather or two upon the red bracts of the painted-cup.
You will get the dog, you think; but remember that,
although this is mid-winter, the air is still very dry,
the direct rays of the sun are quite hot, and without a
frequent supply of water your dog’s scent will soon lose
that keenness that it will need a little later in the day.
Better learn to retrieve your own birds, and keep your
dog fresh. For the present, take no double shots. Keep
your eye on the place where every bird falls, and go
directly to it without taking another shot. With experi-
ence, you may play with these birds as you like, but not
now. Now, you might drop a dozen around you in all
directions, and neither you nor the dog could find half of
them without taking time that you can use to much
better advantage.

You may now go on for 200 or 300 yards, then
turn and come back a few yards on one side, then cross
your first path, and go forward again on the left of it;
and all the while, singly and in pairs, and in bunches
of four or five to a dozen, birds are rising around you,
some whizzing straight away, some circling around
behind, some crossing in front, some wheeling overhead.
Some burst at once into flight; others, before rising, seud
afew yards along the ground, making quite as harda
mark to hit as when on the wing. Some spring almost
THE QUAILS OF CALIFORNIA. 73

from beneath your feet, others rise at thirty, forty, fifty,
seventy, and even 100 yards and over. Very few fly over
300 yards before alighting again.

Nowhere else, outside of a good duck-pass during
“the evening flight,” shall you find such brain-befuddling
intensity of shooting as on ground like this. When you
have handled your birds right, the gun flames almost as
fast as you can load it, and birds you can not hope to
shoot at are whizzing and chirping on every hand at
every step forward. Through the smoke you see dark
lines darting and wheeling, and a constant chirp, chirp,
chirp, plays the interlude between its quickest thunders.
You are lost in the confusion and the strange nature of
the background; the earth ablaze with flowers that would
adorn any garden, yet all strangers to your eye; asky
above you that you have rarely seen elsewhere; the soft
air filled with notes of a score of other birds whose music
is all new to your ear; the distant slopes rolling away in
long undulations of green, and gold, and blue, until they
break into the chaparral of the hills, the higher hills
looking solemnly blue with distance, and above all, great
snow-clad peaks looking down upon the whole.

You may thus traverse this piece of ground to and
fro several times, but after the first and second beating
the shooting will rapidly decline. You may still have
fair shooting for two or three hours more, but when the
shooting falls off to anything less than a good shot every
two minutes, you may let loose your dog. You will now
be surprised at the number of birds still lying on the
ground you have just walked over several times. Many
of them lie about as well as Bob White, and for
hours to come you may have plenty of shooting
upon this same ground. But though no one loves hunt-
ing with a good dog more than I do, I prefer the uproar
and racket of a new flock, which, up to the last three
74 TPLAND SHOOTING.

years, used to be quite as easy to find as it is to keep
your dog in order to hunt on one sufficiently scattered to
lie closely.

When we leave the lowlands of California, and begin
to climb the highlands, where the rain-fall is much heavier
and timber and running brooks in summer more abundant,
and clear springs begin to break from every hill-side, we
meet another variety of quail, although we have by no
means lost sight of our old friend the valley quail. This
new quail is called the mountain quail in California. It
is said to be the common quail of Oregon, and to be found
there near sea-level. But in California, though occa-
sionally found within 1,500 feet or so of sea-level, its
favorite home is a mile or more above that. and it is
often most abundant at an altitude where the valley quail
has entirely disappeared. It is apparently a larger bird
than Bob White, being fuller feathered, but in fact only a
trifle larger, ifany. It is plump and full-breasted, and as
graceful and artless in every motion as Bob himself. Its
breast is a slate-blue, with a low-cut vest of bright cinna-
mon mottled with white. Farther back along the sides
are four bands of white; the back is a brownish gray. with
tail bluish above and cinnamon-tinged beneath. Around
a full, swelling throat isa white collar, with a cinnamon-
colored necktie. The head is slate-blue, small, and cun-
ningly set with a grayish-brown top-knot, from the top of
which rise two long. slender plumes of jet black.

In character, the mountain bird differs radically from
the valley quail. The valley bird is a perfect hoodlum,
roistering, bold, saucy, and defiant. He ravages vine-
yards almost beneath the owner's nose, vet his clear zrhit.
whit, whit, of alarm indicates an abiding confidence in his
ability to take care of himself. He knows quite well the
range of a gun, and though he makes, an occasional mis-
take by basing his calculations upon cheap powder and
THE QUAILS OF CALIFORNIA. %D

pot-metal, he generally has the laugh on the countryman,
and is again gorging his fine raisin-grapes before he has
got fairly into the house.

But the mountain quail is all gentility and politeness.
He lingers around in your presence as if he would like to
trust you, as if his better judgment inclined him to be
your friend, if only his foolish little legs could be per-
suaded it were safe. But the legs are the better logician,
and a decided tendency to disappear underlies all his
most trustful movements. In many parts of the State
this quail is much wilder than in others, and is so even
when little shot at; but in the mountains of the south
they are the most artless little innocents imaginable.
Yet, when once they find their confidence in you misplaced,
their little feet bear them away with a marvelous speed;
and when they find their legs too slow, they can unfold
as swift a pair of wings as any quail,and dart with ease
through the heaviest chaparral. Quick must be the eye
and the aim to catch one before it wheels behind the
dense arms of the manzanita, which will stop fully half
the shot, and quicker still the eye and hand that can
scatter on the air feathers of blue and cinnamon and
white before the owner crosses the opening between two
dense thickets of lilac. Often must the shot mow down
the dense green of the brush live-oak, and often on the
steep hill-side must one drop on one knee to catch a sight
on the swift-scudding mark before it fades among the
leaves above.

The calling-note of this bird is a mellow clot, clot, ‘cloi,
or woz, woi, woi, penetrating and far-reaching as the note
of the upland plover. Its note of alarm is ach, ch, ch,
ch, cheeah, sounding sometimes harder, like qu#t, quit,
quit, quit, queeah, most dolorous and distressing in tone
when the mother has her little brood with her. It lays
from twelve to fifteen eggs of pure white, in a nest along
16 ’ UPLAND SHOOTING.

the mountain-side quite difficult to find. The chicks are
little gray scraps of energy, that can eclipse even Bob
White in getting away with half the shell still clinging.

The mountain quail does not unite in large flocks as the
valley quail does, nor does it descend into the valley of
the mountains any more after reaching full growth than
before. It remains always until next mating-time in the
leveesin which it was hatched. It is more apt to fly into
trees when flushed than the valley bird, and, like it, will
not lie well to a dog. Like the valley quail, it must be
thoroughly scared and scattered and the bevy broken up.
Then, if the cover be good, it will often lie quite well, but
the covey will quickly unite if not hotly pursued, and
once together again the birds will quickly run, and almost
always up-hill and into the roughest ground and densest
cover.

Both the valley and mountain quail are easily tamed,
and live well in a cage. I have known the mountain
quail run at large every day with the chickens and return
to its coop at night. The valley bird does not well
endure very deep snows or very cold weather, but it
would seem that the mountain quail could be easily raised
on the Atlantic Coast. It loves the higher slopes of the
great inland hills, where it becomes very cold in winter
and the snow is very deep. Far away upward it climbs,
and lives and loves where the snow-banks linger through
mid-summer, where the cedar and fir are dwarfed and
distorted. Even far above where the blue jay squalls, and
where the condor rarely wheels, where no hawk, wild-
cat, coyote, or fox worries the fond mother, away up
where nearly all other birds have disappeared, this charm-
ing bird seems still at home.

Both of these quails will survive long years after the
market's royal demands and the piggishness of the “big
bag”? hunter have made Bob White a curiosity. There
THE QUAILS OF CALIFORNIA. 7

is here too much breeding-ground which can never be
broken up, too much cattle-range upon which the market-
shooter will not be allowed, to permit of their extermi-
nation. Much of their home will long lie unravaged by
the hoof of the great white spoiler of all that is fair in
Nature, and ourchildren’s children shall hear their cheery
call upon a thousand hill-sides when the valleys and
plains below are almost a solid mass of gardens and
orchards of the rarest and most valuable fruits that can
be grown in America.

       
     

  

UN oy / (i
one war hil i iW i yf!
THE RUFFED GROUSE.

(Bonasa wumbellus.)

 

By C. A. Cooper (‘‘ SIBYLLINE ”).

 

ADULT MALE.

<4YES, brown; superciliary membrane (con-
cealed), orange-color in the spring, faint at
other times. Bill, horn-color, darkest above
and at tip; short, with upper part curved
over lower. Head, capped by a brownish-
gray crest; short feathers above the eye.
Throat, brownish- yellow. Front of lower
Cor A neck and breast, lighter, crossed with dusky bars;
i brownish-yellow beneath the surface. Abdomen,
creamy-gray. Flanks, mottled with dark-brown
a) and white, or irregularly barred with black. Back,
and top of neck, reddish-brown, finely speckled with
dusky, each feather being marked by a large heart-shaped
spot of reddish-brown or gray. Sides of lower neck
with bare space, concealed by tufts of long, broad, black
feathers called ruffs. Ruffs occasionally brownish-black,
each feather being squarely cut at its end, and terminally
bordered with a metallic lustre of blue or green; erected
at will. Tail, moderately rounded; erected or spread at
will; light reddish-brown above, sometimes gray; crossed
with narrow bars of dusky or black, and with one broad
bar of black near its end; tip, gray, and slightly convex;

consists of eighteen broad feathers; measures from six to
(79)

   
80 UPLAND SHOOTING.

seven inches. Upper legs only feathered; naked behind.
Lower legs with two rows of hexagonal scales behind.
Weight, 21 to 26 ounces; length, 17% to 20 inches; stretch
of wings, 223 to 25. Habitat, east of Rocky Mountains.

ADULT FEMALE.

Similar to male, but smaller. Ruff lacks metallic
lustre, and varies in color from liver-color to dead black.
Lacks the trace of orange above the eye. Length, 154 to
172 inches; stretch of wings, 204 to 202; weight, 18 to

22 ounces. VARIETY UMBELLOIDES.

Marked similar to wmbellus, but general color bluish-
ash; tail, pale ash. Found in the Rocky Mountains and
South Central British America.

VARIETY SABINI.

Similar to wmbellus, but much darker generally.
Grayish specimens occur occasionally at high altitudes.
Found in Oregon, Washington, and British Columbia.

Although a description of the ruffed grouse may seem
to many unnecessary, in view of the scarcity of birds in
certain populous districts, and the increasing interest
taken in natural history by the young men of the day,
the writer has thought best to follow the mode of prede-
cessors, avoiding, however, the use of scientific terms.

As the sexes are so nearly alike, only the male bird
has been minutely described, but a little space further on
will be devoted to pointing out the few external differ-
ences, in order that sportsmen, with opportunities for
observing the habits of this beautiful bird, may assist in
clearing away the mists which envelop and leave in
doubt some of its characteristics.

With the exception of the forests bordering on the
Gulf of Mexico, this species may be found in consider-
able numbers in nearly all the wooded sections of the
United States and Southern British America.
THE RUFFED GROUSE. 81,

Although it should be universally known as the
ruffed grouse, it is called, in different localities, part-
ridge, pheasant, drumming-grouse, tippet-grouse, birch-
partridge, white-flesher, etc.

 

RUFFED GROUSE.

Specimens from each of the three varieties, wmbellus,
umbelloides, and sabini, are occasionally found with part
of the plumage shading into one or both of the other
varieties. As arule, however, we find the lighter-plum-
aged birds at high altitudes, and in cold countries,
though exceptions are numerous. The winter coat is also
slightly lighter in color than that of summer, and it has

6
82 UPLAND SHOOTING.

been noticed that birds, when transferred from cold to
warm countries, have become darker after moulting.

Chapters have been written upon this variation in
plumage, but Baird, Brewer, and Ridgway, in ‘* North
American Land Birds,”’ tell the story in so few words
that I take the liberty of quoting the following: ‘‘These
three varieties, when based on specimens from the regions
where their characters are most exaggerated and uni-
form, appear sufficiently distinct; but when we find that
specimens from the New England States have the rufous
bodies of wmbellus, and that examples from Eastern
Oregon and Washington have the dark, rusty bodies of
sabini and gray tails of wmbelloides, and continue to
see that the transition between any two of the three
forms is gradual with locality, we are unavoidably led to
the conclusion that they are merely geographical modifi-
cations of one species.”’

To show to what extent this individual variation, or
whatever we choose to call it, is often carried, I quote
from the private letter of a gentleman well known to
American sportsmen:

‘“Many years ago I killed a ruffed grouse near
Albany, N. Y., which had one side of its tail all black—
a case of partial melanism; and in November or Decem-
ber, 1856, I saw a flock of the same birds near Fort Rip-
ley, Minn., one of which was entirely black. The flock,
of perhaps thirty, passed within a few feet of me while
I was watching a deer from behind a log, and, as they
were not alarmed, I noted the bird carefully.

One of my female wood-ducks has an extra-wide white
stripe at the base of the bill, one has almost none; one
more white under the throat, etc.’’

Nearly grown birds are thought by some authors to
be darker than old ones, but the difference is frequently
so slight that persons comparing the two disagree.
THE RUFFED GROUSE. 83

Soon after the disappearance of the snow, in the
spring, the female responds to the love-call of the male.
In the United States this mating usually takes place
early in April, and precedes the laying of the first egg two
or three weeks. A single meeting of the pair, at this
time, insures a fertile laying.

The nest is composed of a few leaves placed in a slight
depression on the ground, usually under a log, but often
nnder low bushes, low, spreading evergreens, or in weeds.
It is as frequently found along the edges of sunny open-
ings as in dense cover, but is always located within half
a mile of the male’s headquarters.

For her second laying, when the first has been
destroyed, the female sometimes takes possession of
abandoned nests, in trees or on the tops of stubs, remov-
ing her young to the ground in her bill. This is of rare
occurrence.

The eggs of each laying vary in number from seven
to fifteen; they also vary in color, being usually a clear
cream or buff, but sometimes dotted or splashed with
brown. They are ovoidal in form, and measure 1.65 by
1.20 inches, although specimens have been taken consid-
erably larger as well as smaller.

But one brood is raised each year; but should the first
laying be destroyed, a second (or even a third) is pro-
duced, the male being revisited each time.

When on her eggs the hen often permits a very close
approach. I have seen them captured by the hand, and
one by placing a hat over her. Such cases are rare, how-
ever, as she usually sneaks away from her nest upon the
approach of man. The fact that she covers her eggs with
leaves, when leaving them to look for food, leads me to
believe that she hides from the cock during the hatching
period, much after the manner of the hen turkey, and for
the same reason.
84 UPLAND SHOOTING.

During incubation, which lasts twenty-one days, and
until the chicks are half-grown, the males wander soli-
tary, or in twos and threes, keeping, however, within
easy reach of their respective drumming-stations, so that
their russet wives may occasionally be cheered by well-
known notes, and come to them, if their eggs be molested
by predatory vermin. Like the average man, they are
very busy elsewhere during the season which corresponds
with baby-wheeling, but by some strange instinct manage
to find their families when the work of raising the young
is over. This is about September 1st, and unless sepa-
rated by a scarcity of food, or persistent pursuit, the
members of each family, with the exception of some of the
young males, remain together until the following spring.

The young can fly a few yards when a week or ten
days old; and being nearly the color of dead leaves, are
seldom captured.

When danger threatens, the mother shows a brave
front, usually succeeding in diverting attention from her
young until they have found shelter. Everyone who
spends much time in the woods in June knows the
strength of this maternal love; how the wanderer is sud-
denly checked in his walk by the charge of an infuriated
bird, sometimes so determined that he steps back in
alarm or amazement before he realizes what is being
enacted; how the bird flies at the face, or pecks furiously
at the feet, before retreating and simulating a broken
wing, or leg, or both; and how, when the scattered
thoughts have been collected, and pursuit is made, the
maimed bird suddenly recovers, and flits away, leaving
no trace of her deftly concealed progeny.

I have never seen anything in bird-life that compares
with this fierce attack of the mother, nor have I seen
acting that surpasses the subterfuge of the distressed and
trembling bird.
THE RUFFED GROUSE. 85

The drumming of the male begins with the earlier
indications of spring, and is more frequently heard as the
love-season advances. This peculiar throbbing roll is
common to the woodland during March, April, May, and
the latter part of February; is occasionally heard in
summer, frequently in the fall, and rarely upon very
warm or rainy days in December and January.

The morning hours are usually selected by the cock
as the time to send forth these notes of love, although
they are often heard in the late afternoon, and at other
hours, when the weather is warm and cloudy. It is also
common on warm, cloudy nights, which usually precede
rain.

‘*« Archer,’ who is excellent authority, says that barren
hens drum occasionally in the summer. I regret that. this
assertion can not be verified by personal experience or
ornithological works at hand. The difficulty experienced
by gunners in distinguishing the sex of these birds, is the
principal reason for this point remaining in dispute.

Young males, more gallant than wise, do much of the
fall drumming, and often pay for their temerity with their
lives.

The muffled, throbbing sound called drumming is
essentially a love-call, and, under favorable atmospheric
conditions, may be heard three-quarters of a mile, or even
farther. When loudest, it somewhat resembles the quick
roll of a muffled drum, being occasionally mistaken for
distant thunder. It begins with an indistinct thump,
which is considerably augmented in volume at the second
stroke of the wings. The first two or three strokes are
quite regularly spaced, with intermissions of about a
second each, and sound very much like the flaps of the
domestic game-cock when he is about to crow. After
this preliminary flapping, the wing-strokes suddenly
increase in speed until they can be no longer counted,
86 UPLAND SHOOTING.

and the sound becomes a roar, which is continued for
perhaps five seconds, when it is gradually decreased in
volume, and brought to an end by a shortening of strokes
rather than by diminishing the speed of the wings.

Many theories are advanced as to the exact manner of
producing this peculiar sound, but that it has a ventril-
oquial power, in seeming equally loud and distinct at the
distances of 150 feet and 150 yards, everyone who has
stalked a drumming bird will acknowledge.

Long ago, this woodland music was thought to result
from wing-strokes upon a hollow log, but it is now con-
ceded by the majority of close observers to be due to the
rapid movement of the stiffened wings, which strike
neither the body nor the foot-rest of the bird. The hollow
log theory exploded when it became known that the bird
drummed occasionally when standing upon rocks, roots,
and mounds. Many experienced ornithologists claim that
the sound is made by beating the wings against the body;
others, by striking the shoulder-points together over the
back; while a few insist upon its being ‘‘the conjoint
action of the muscular force of the wings and the inferior
larynx, which" is the special avian organ of sound.”
These theories seem to fall before the shafts of ‘‘ Archer,”’
who, in the Chicago Field for October, 1878, relates
his experience with a pet canary, which learned to drum
while drying its feathers after a bath, and subsequently
kept up the habit, when dry, for the applause he received.
When drumming while perched upon the hand, the
wings failed to touch the body or the perch, and a finger
held over the back showed conclusively that they did
not touch above; yet the drumming was in exact imita-
tion of the grouse, partaking even of the ventriloquial
effect.

Before drumming in the spring of the year, the
male marches pompously back and forth upon his perch,
THE RUFFED GROUSE. 87

imitating very closely the strutting of the turkey-cock.
The great pride and passion displayed on these occasions
is transiently broken by drumming, for the strained and
inflated appearance of the bird indicates that all of his
muscular force is centered in the production of the love-
call.

For his drumming-post, he usually selects a log in
dense underbrush, and when unmolested will give vent
to his feelings each morning from the same perch. Pro-
fessor Baird, in speaking of this attachment, mentions a
case where a grouse was said to have adhered to his
drumming-log after the woods had been cut away, and a
road made near by. :

In the fall, this habit is not so strictly observed, as
the writer believes that on several occasions, in districts
where grouse were very scarce, and easily marked down,
he has heard them drum after alighting from the first
and second flushing.

From all that I can learn, this bird does not drum in
captivity. Mr. J. B. Battelle, editor of the Business
World, at Toledo, Ohio, who has been kind enough to
favor me with the result of his experience in domesticat-
ing the ruffed grouse, says, however, that when excited
the female taps so rapidly upon the sides of the coop
with her bill that the sound could be mistaken for the
drumming of the male.

One must be a quick, cool snap-shot to excel in shoot-
ing this grouse. Instead of being blinded by the sudden
whir of wings, he must have his senses so keenly alert
that the moment the bird leaves the ground he calculates
instantaneously at what point in the course of its flight
he will shoot, and the allowance to be made, if any.
This having been done, he raises the gun quickly, and
fires the moment it touches his shoulder. Nothing will
help him to accomplish this feat so quickly as the prac-
88 UPLAND SHOOTING.

tice, at home, of raising the gun, and trying to have the
sight upon a nail-head, or other small mark, when the
stock strikes the shou. lder, : a

Nervous men often miss by shooting before the bird
has reached its line of flight, forgetting in their excite-
ment to hold over, while others thoughtlessly fire directly
at abird descending from its perch, instead of ening
under.

Sometimes it is seen that a flying bird will pass from
view, behind leaves and twigs, before the gun can be
brought to bear upon it. In this case, always make a
quick estimate as to where the bird will probably be by
the time you can fire, and then shoot to hit that point.
The cool man, quick to decide, kills many birds in this

manner.

Cross-shots are. not frequent, and do not require as
much allowance as we give to ducks, the flight of grouse
in timber being slower, and the shooting at shorter
distances. In large openings, however, the speed occa-
sionally equals that of teals.

An eight-pound, double-barreled, twelve-bore gun
seems to be the favorite for this game; although when I
once stood beside a snow-covered brush-heap, from which
ten birds emerged at two-second intervals, I wished for
a repeater.

On account of the short distance at which most grouse
are killed, and their zigzag flightin timber, an open-shoot-
ing gun will not only bring more birds to bag, but it will
do it in a manner that permits of their being roasted
instead of converted into hash.

The conditions upon which guns are usually targeted
are, 14 ounces of No. 8 shot, thirty- inch circle, distance
forty yards. :

Upon this basis, the right barrel, if habitually used
first, should make a pattern of about 250 pellets; the left,
THE RUFFED GROUSE. 89

350. Ina large majority of cases, the above-mentioned
gun will give satisfaction when loaded as follows: Right
barrel, 3i drams of high-grade black or wood powder,
two heavy wads, 14 ounces of No. 8 shot, card-board
wad; left barrel, 3} drams best black powder, two heavy
wads, 14 ounces of No. 6 shot, card-board wad, or if
using brass shells, au Ely shot-wad.

All hunters do not find pleasure in the pursuit of a
bird so difficult to capture, in a sportsmanlike way, as
the ruffed grouse; but here, as elsewhere, perseverance
and energy win, especially if coupled with the faculty of
observing closely.

I do not know why, but it is a fact, that when we hear
aman spoken of as a successful hunter of this bird, we at
once believe him to be energetic, persevering, intelligent,
generous—in short, a desirable camp companion.

We would. know more of the successful still hunter
before joining him upon a long trip; for have we not read
that he wears his hair long, and is crafty and garrulous,
or lazy, or that he toes in, or ‘has killed hoop-snakes?

But we never hear these things about the grouse-
hunter. When helooks us in the eyes, and says: ‘John
and I killed fourteen yesterday, and we’re going again
to-morrow; come and go with us,’’ we say without hesita-
tion: ‘‘ All right, Tom; we'll be with you in the morning,
without fail.”’

The man who never gives a retrospective moment to
the time when he looked on the magnified form of his
first ruffed grouse, must be more than ordinarily busy
or care-laden.

That blissful day of youth, to which we subsequently
manage to refer on all social occasions, regardless of the
subject under consideration, was probably fraught with
boundless exultation, a fitful sadness we could not define,
and were ashamed to acknowledge, and an Aladdin-like
90 UPLAND SHOOTING.

growth, which would have carried us quite tothe sky had
not our listeners refused to swallow, verbatim et literatim,
our proffered cup of joy.

Does it make the retrospection less delightful to think
of the first successful shot as having been made at a sit-
ting bird, with a woful-looking gun, loaded with cheap
powder, newspaper wadding, and No. 1 shot?

Was not the boy of whom we borrowed a jolly bit of
humanity, for one obliged to work on Saturdays, and did
he ever refuse to lend that venerable relic upon the
unsubstantial consideration of I O U eternal friendship?

Did not the man who sold us the powder say it was
some he had bought for his own use, and he only parted
with a little of it because of the great love he bore us?

Did he not say that he was out of No. 3, but that
with No. 1 we need not carry a club with which to give
the finishing stroke?

And was not the newspaper equal to hornet’s-nest for
wadding?

Indeed it was, for it brought a ‘‘free from care”’
happiness we do not experience later in life, though
equipped with all that fancy dictates.

In looking back upon my many trips afield in pursuit
of this noble bird of the uplands, it is with regret that I
recall the fact of having been denied the brief period of
ecstasy which nearly always accompanies the capture of
the first specimen. It is a thousand miles to the scene
of that first exploit, yet distance and time are obliterated
at a glance, for I see a smooth-flowing, beautiful river,
between woods of maple, and beech, and oak. The sun
shines upon a light skiff which contains an indulgent
father and a ten-year-old, happy boy. On one of the
longer reaches, the boat is met by a lone Indian in a
light canoe, who, without flourish of rhetoric, tells of a
flock of wild turkeys to be found at the bend above.
THE RUFFED GROUSE. 91

The wily aboriginal, having exchanged a mental inven-
tion for a good cigar, drops his txolling-spoon into the
water, and paddles away with silent stroke.

In astage whisper, the boy asks to be put ashore.
The father consents, then continues quietly on his way,
while the boy, who has never seen a quail or a grouse—
much less a wild turkey—with fast-beating heart and
unsteady step, follows the indistinct path along the
stream. Very soon he is startled by a rustling in the dry
leaves, and sees a large bird, with fan-like tail, step into
the path before him. The gun is raised, and fired without
aim, and the bird is seen fluttering in its death-struggles.

‘*So you are a wild turkey, are you?’ soliloquizes
the boy, as he holds with trembling hands his prize.
But before he can shout to his father, two men appear
on the path, and stop to learn the cause of the shot.
The boy holds his game aloft, but is checked in enthusi-
astic utterance by the indifference on the two new faces.
Then one of the two slowly says: ‘‘ Ye killed a pattridge,
did ye?’

Confused beyond responsibility for his words, the boy
asks: .‘‘Is that a pattridge?”’

“Yes, sonny, that’s a pattridge; didn’t think it was
a whale, did ye?”

But we will pass by that first great disappointment,
and the fact that the dismantled ‘‘turkey’’ regained
much of its original magnificence before the day was
ended, and return to the habits of Bonasa, which will
perhaps interest the reader more.

This species, I believe, is the only one known to have
the habit of plunging into light snow for protection from
pursuit or extreme cold. The momentum of flight,
which carries the bird under the snow several feet hori-
zontally, and nearly a foot perpendicularly, is supposed
to be necessary for the accomplishment of this act; but
2 UPLAND SHOOTING.

having seen birds emerge at least six feet from where
they entered, the writer believes them capable of forcing
their way throngh very light snow, after entering in the
manner described.

One cold morning. I started a ruffed grouse, which
flew into the deep snow less than 100 yards away. Keep-
ing the spot in view while making a cautious approach,
I soon saw the bird stick its head out of the snow, about
six feet from where it entered, and, after a hasty survey,
take wing.

Several times since, I have seen burrows in the snow
evidently made by these birds. Although many believe
that birds thus concealed may be easily captured, it
will be found a very difficult thing to do. Ido not pos-
itively know of one having been taken in this way.

There is alsoa general belief that when crusts form
over the snow, larce numbers of birds are imprisoned and
perish. Insupport of this, several ornithologists point to
a scarcity of birds during seasons succeeding winters
noted for deep snows. and weather favorable to the
formation of crusts. and to the finding of dead birds
after the snow has melted in the spring. While it is true
that naturalists, who are especially active in the spring.
should know more about this subject than the sportsman.
who rarely enters the woods earlier than July. I incline
to the opinion that comparatively few grouse die from
this cause.

In the boreal regions. where thaws and rains are
infrequent in the winter. this practice of roosting under
the snow may be common, but south of Latitude 45.
everyone who has explored the woods on cold morn-
ings knows it to be rare. from the fact that grouse are
found in trees. fallen tops. or loose brush-heaps.

Authors agree that the bird enters only dry, light
snow. To imprison them, then, the weather must sud-
THE RUFFED GROUSE. 93

denly turn warm, and as suddenly cold. Birds come
forth every warm or pleasant day in search of food, and
should the snow become crusted or damp during their
absence, would not reénter it at night. Consequently
the disastrous change must take place at night, and
consist of rain, night thaws being uncommon.

How many instances can the reader recall, when the
snow was fresh and deep, where the weather has changed
from extreme cold to rain, and again to cold, between the
hours of 5p. m. and 8 a. m.?

If very few, and single birds, unable to find a bed-fel-
low, only occasionally indulge in this eccentricity, the
loss from crusting can not be very great. Either insuffi-
cient food, prolonged cold in connection with deep snows
of early winter, disease, or gunshot wounds, may
account for dead birds being found when the snow has
disappeared.

What few ‘‘burrows’’ I have seen were situated in
comparatively open parts of the woods—therefore reached
by the sun. While this seemingly indicates that the
grouse remains in his snowy retreat during a part of the
sunshiny days, the open spaces are more probably
selected because of the absence of underbrush, which
permits of his striking the snow at the angle necessary to
make a horizontal burrow. ,

Except in a few districts in the far North or North-
west, the ruffed grouse has learned to fear man to such
an extent that it is next to impossible to make a satis-
factory score without the aid of a well-broken dog, to
divert the bird’s attention while one gains the proper
shot-gun range.

Even in those outlying districts where pot-shooting is
the rule, the bag may be increased with the help of an
experienced setter, pointer, or spaniel.

The setter is best, because of his thick coat, which
94 UPLAND SHOOTING.

enables him the more easily to enter briar-patches and
thorny thickets, and to withstand cold; for the ruffed
grouse is nearly always hunted in cold or temperate
weather.

The following experience in support of his superior-
ity comes to mind:

I was among the blackberry-patches of Saginaw
County, Mich., for a week's shooting, and had as com-
panions two dogs; one a well-broken pointer (not a blue-
blood), the other a thick-coated Irish setter, who had so
far forgotten his early training, by serving as ‘‘ town
dog,’’ as to chase a bird until it took refuge in a tree,
and then proclaim the fact with an indefatigable vehemence
that was very amusing to everyone save his owner.

On the second morning, the pointer refused to enter
the thorny coverts. I therefore sent in the ambitious
red-coat, who hurriedly dispersed the congregations.
At the end of the first hour, I caught and thrashed him.
This was repeated at irregular intervals until night-fall,
when I had a thoroughly subjugated dog, and all of my
shells intact.

Next morning, much to my surprise, this dog pointed
like a veteran, while the pointer again refused to face
the briars. The setter was therefore used during the
remainder of my stay.

By the third night he had worn off what we term the
‘wire edge,’ and a large portion of his coat; but,
undaunted as before, he resolutely obeyed every motion,
pointed with excellent judgment, and without breaking,
and worked as industriously and unflinchingly on the last
day as on the third. It was a wonderful performance,
but one that shall never be repeated by one of my dogs,
for after our return home the poor fellow lay by the fire
three days, nearly blind, and so foot-sore he could not
walk.
 

(95)
96 UPLAND SHOOTING,

A dog broken on ruffed grouse is better for that par-
ticular game bird, and an old dog better than a young
one. If the sportsman can own but one dog, whose time
afield will be equally divided between ruffed grouse and
quail, I would suggest his being broken on the former
bird, unless the hunting be done on horseback, or the
puppy be a descendant of potterers.

It being the fashion at present to raise fast, wide-rang-
ing dogs, it will be found easier to restrain this instinct
in the puppy than after it has been sanctioned a season
or two upon the quail-field. The disposition of the high-
strung dog to range just behind the border of his limit is
never quite eliminated by early work on ruffed grouse,
and is only checked by frequent practice under a master
hand.

_ As Nature asserts herself when untrammeled, so will a
temporary ‘‘ grouse potterer’’ soon range wide enough
when transferred to the more open domain of Bob White.
In many parts of our country, however, this dog-break-
ing on ruffed grouse is a tedious and expensive task;
but if Bonasa is our favorite game bird, and we hunt it
more than any other, the time given to the dog’s educa-
tion is an investment that will eventually bring us many
happy hours, and a companion capable of sympathizing
with us in our sorrowful moments, and worthy of sharing
the joy of our happiest days in the woods.

Never begin the work, though, unless you have ample
time and patience, or money to pay for its being well
done; for of all the exasperating and comfort-destroying
things which come to the sportsman afield, none equals
the torture brought by the crazy antics of a half-broken
dog. The initial lessons may be given on young birds,
which lie better; but if this course be too long followed,
many old birds will be flushed ere the dog learns that
safety lies in stopping the instant a bird is scented.
THE RUFFED GROUSE. 97

The perfect dog has a keen nose; knows nearly as well
as his master where game is likely to be found; silently
approaches promising coverts from the leeward; points
the instant he catches scent; keeps in sight of his master;
watches him, and obeys each motion; holds his point
until ordered to flush; stops until ordered to retrieve, and
quarters his ground thoroughly at a moderate gait.

Next in value to the setter and the pointer is a well-
broken spaniel, which follows at heel until ordered to
scour a thicket upon whose border your companion and
self have taken stands.

In wooded regions, where but little hunting is done, a
fast, ranging, yelping cur will tree about one-half of the
birds found; but etiquette no longer allows the sportsman
to shoot a sitting bird, though the chances are two to one
he will miss it if flushed.

When conscious of danger, this grouse rises with a
loud whir, and, if the surroundings are favorable, flies
straight away from the cause of alarm. It seldom rises
more than ten feet in the air, and the flight is rarely pro-
tracted beyond 250 yards. When suddenly disturbed by
a dog or fox, and rising, as it were, to a point of inquiry,
the flight is often silent, as it always is when the bird
rises of its own accord. In the latter case, the flight
closely resembles that of the pinnated grouse, part of it
being made with extended wings; but when forced, it is
almost invariably a continual beating of wings.

This bird flies at night only when disturbed. I have
never known of its coming in contact with trees, on even
the darkest nights, though it occasionally rises above
them, as if to avoid the possibility of such an occurrence.
In the day-time, it has been known to fly against windows
and white houses.

Young birds are most delicious as food. In fact, all

are in prime condition for the table during early autumn,
7
98 UPLAND SUOOTING.

and, if properly cooked, rank with the best of game
birds.

A belief prevails in districts where the laurel (Aa/nia
latifolia) grows, that the flesh can not be eaten with
safety when snow covers the ground. If, from a scarcity
of other food, there be reason to think that the bird has
eaten of this poisonous shrub, the crop and intestines
should be removed immediately after death, and examined.
The fact that the bird is not killed by an occasional indul-
gence, seems to indicate that the laurel is not a virulent
poison, or that dangerous absorption is possible only
after death. The examination, however, will put the
mind at rest, if our Southern brother sportsmen be in
doubt regarding this absorption in life.

The food of this species consists, in summer, of straw-
berries, blackberries, raspberries, blueberries, huckleber-
ries, wheat, choke-cherries, grasshoppers, and other
insects; in the fall, of wild grapes, cranberries, the seeds
of blackberries, insects, haws, wintergreen berries and
leaves, buckwheat, corn, thorn-apples, and partridge-
berries; in the winter, of thorn-apples, acorns, winter-
greens, grape seeds and leaves, and cone-seeds of ever-
greens; and during the early spring, principally of the
buds of the birch, the poplar, the beech, the alder, and,
rarely, those of the apple.

Whenever ruffed grouse enter a grain-field, which
is not often, they keep close to the fence, and upon the
first intimation of danger, retire to the nearest sequéstered
retreat. Like the domestic fowl, they avail themselves of
sunny, sandy spots wherein to dust and scratch.

Mr. Audubon states that, where very abundant, these
birds perform partial migrations, evidently in search of
food. These sallies have always been extremely rare. and
now that birds are no longer abundant, have undoubt-
edly ceased.
TILE RUFFED GROUSE. 99

Rarely do they wander more than a mile from their
birth-place. Knowing this, one would naturally expect
to find them far more plentiful away from civilization
than near small towns, where they are often hunted; but
while this is usually true, there are so many glaring
exceptions that one loses himself in trying to account
for them. Of course the wariness of the ‘‘civilized”’
bird tends to foil the exterminator, and the unsus-
pecting nature of the other assists carnivorous animals
and certain birds of prey to many a meal; but this
does not satisfactorily explain the scarcity of birds
where the natural increase should make them plen-
tiful.

When snow covers the ground, the roosting- place is
either the lower branches of a thick-topped tree, or some
sheltered spot upon the ground, such asa fallen top, a
brush-heap, or acavity beneath a log. At other seasons,
they roost in thickets, on logs, on the ground beside a
log or stump, and occasionally in pine, oak, beech,
spruce, birch, or poplar trees, often making a flight before
settling, either that they may leave no trail for Reynard
to follow, or because they have been driven or have
wandered from home during the day or the day previous.
These flights are silent, and best known to hunters who
watch for feeding deer at sunset.

The variety found in the dense forests of the North-
west, roost in the tops of tall evergreen trees in winter.
They feed upon the buds and cones, which impart a dis-
agreeable flavor to the flesh. When flushed, they fly
to the upper branches of other trees. At other times,
they differ in habit from the Eastern variety only in more
readily taking to trees at a greater height.

While upon the habits of this bird, I am tempted to
quote a few lines from the poet Isaac McLellan, a close
student and lover of Nature. Only half of the charming
100 UPLAND SHOOTING.

poem is quoted, as were I to give the other half, there
would be nothing left for me to say:

“In rocky regions, where the pine
And spruce and hemlock intertwine,
Forming an overhanging roof,
Against the rain and sunbeam proof,
So dense that scarce a ray may pour
Across the dark and russet floor,
There doth the speckled partridge come,
In dim recess to make a home;
To sound the drum, or forth to lead
The young, on berries ripe to feed;
Prompt on affrighted wing to break
When foes the tangled thickets shake.
They love the lofty, breezy height,
The hill-side, with its sunshine bright;
The long, mountainous range of hills,
Where bubble forth the crystal rills,
Where oak and laurel intertwine,
And shakes its plumy crest the pine;
And there they love to lurk, and feed
On falling mast and dropping seed.”

If the sight of these brown-eyed, innocent beauties,
busily dusting themselves or receiving food from the
mother’s bill, will not inspire a man with tender and
pleasing emotions, it is doubtful if anything ever will.
The instinct to kill is strong in the hunter; so strong, in
fact, that he sometimes kills with the knowledge that
regret, will follow; but I have yet to see the man so
merciless—so utterly destitute of all the qualities that
make life enjoyable—as to fire into a huddled brood of
these harmless birds. The temptation to shoot single
birds, upon the ground or in trees, is greater, perhaps,
than the inclination to deny it when done; but such acts
bring lasting pleasure only to the youthful tyro; whereas
one bird killed upon the wing is worth a dozen potted
ones to the sportsman, who hunts for pleasure.

The members of a scattered covey return on foot to
THE RUFFED GROUSE, 101

the point whence they were flushed, reuniting about an
hour after the separation. They then usually move to
some other part of the forest, returning on the evening
of the following day.

When danger threatens, they generally squat, and
remain motionless until forced to rise, which they do
with aloud, whirring noise. At times, however, especially
in extensive forests, they spread the tail and walk
proudly some distance; then, dropping all appearance of
dignity, run swiftly before taking wing. Even in local-
ities where often disturbed, there are occasions when
they seem to know but little fear, and again, they are
quite wild in. deep woods, where one would expect to
find them tame.

When shot only in the head, they tower above the
tallest trees, fluttering to the earth almost perpendic-
ularly.

In addition to their deadly enemy, man, they have
the fox, the weasel, the mink, the wildcat, the lynx, the
opossum, the owl, and the hawk to guard against, all of
which, in some sections, are sufficiently numerous to
render bird-life precarious.

East of the Rocky Mountains, the ruffed grouse lies
better in September and December than in the interven-
ing months, and closer on snowy days than on pleasant
ones. I have found them unusually wild on very windy
days in autumn, thongh a frequent contributor to one of
our leading journals says the opposite is true.

It occasionally happens that we find eight or ten of
these birds in an evergreen tree. A belief prevails that
when thus circumstanced one may pot the covey by
each time shooting the lower bird. Different coveys, how-
ever, seem to have different opinions as to the fitness of
the proceeding, as very many times the gunner has to
content himself with a single bird. With a rifle of small
102 UPLAND SHOOTING.

bore, one may do a little better if he shoot at the body,
but the first fluttering bird is pretty apt to flush the
remainder of the covey.

Nearly every sportsman has had experience in shoot-
ing at sitting birds with a rifle. Being proverbially hon-
est, he can confess to frequent misses (when he was a
boy—when he was a boy), possibly more than one at the
same exalted neck, which finally left him, in order that
some other beginner might have his little anecdote to tell.

Another feature known to sportsmen, and lovers of
Nature, is the peculiar throb or flap which is often made
by this grouse when alighting in a tree, and which dis-
closes their location while yet unseen. While obviously
made by the closing of the wings, it is not always heard,
being more frequent when the bird has attaimed consid-
erable speed before alighting, but often when rising by
silent flight to a perch but a few feet from the ground.
Whether made at will, or the result of the state of mind
when flushed, I know not, but it is not caused by the
wings coming in contact with leaves or branches, as I
once supposed; for I have heard the sound under con-
ditions which rendered such a thing impossible. If
caused by the wings striking the perch, the sound would
scarcely be intermittent, as the bird rises to its perch
at a sharp angle, instead of sitting upon it from above.

Wing-tipped birds are pretty certain to escape, unless
you have a knowing dog. They not only flatten them-
selves among the leaves of their color, but quickly hide
under stumps and logs, and in cavities at the foot of
decayed trees.

In semi-cultivated districts, they either tree at the
second or third flushing, or lie closely. Whenever they
fly straight toward a field, or other large opening, distant
not more than 150 yards, the probabilities are that they
will be found in trees near the edge of the wood.
THE RUFFED GROUSE. 1038

Although they dislike to cross large rivers or fields, they
decide the question, when nearing the opening, without.
the least hesitation. If the decision be in the affirmative,
and the flight be down wind, they soon attain a speed
that astonishes the beholder, especially if he witness the
latter part of the open flight, which is often made with
set wings.

Ordinarily, they are easily approached when in a tree.
A barking dog insures success; but the boy, minus the
dog, who thinks whistling such airs as ‘‘ Zip Coon”’ or
‘¢Yankee Doodle’’ helps him in stealing a march, chews
the cud of disappointment quite as often as that of
success.

Do not think because you have flushed half a dozen
birds almost simultaneously, from either tree or thicket,
that all have gone. Very often one or two remain to
startle you with their nerve-destroying whir when you
have turned your back upon the spot.

In flat, densely wooded localities, they afford rather
better sport than among mountains, for the reason that
they lie better to the dog; and the walking being easier,
one can hunt over more ground in a given time.

The color of the clothing worn by the grouse-hunter
is not so material as in wild fowl shooting, but gray
seems to occupy about the same place in the list of colors
as No. 6shot among its kind. <A light drab or cream-
colored suit of corduroy answers very nicely for all sorts
of shooting—is noiseless and durable in briars, and resists
moderate moisture. Corduroy is preferable to mackin-
tosh, moleskin, or canvas for all-round work.

Carry your gun cocked, if alone; in company, do so
only when expecting a rise. When separated from your
companion, and on territory where you can see but a
short distance, ener fire unless you know exactly where
he is, more especially if the ground be uneven. The
104 UPLAND SHOOTING.

low flight of the ruffed grouse makes such shooting
extremely dangerous. It will be found as hard to restore
your peace of mind when once you have shot out the eye
of a beloved companion as to *‘buy with gold the old
associations." The men who fire at all moving objects,
patches of hair, tufts of feathers, or at unknown objects
in waving grass, are not desirable comrades. Let your
motto be: WVerer fire till vou Anow what you are shoot-
ing at. By following this rule, I have missed killing
several deer and a bear——also a man.

Naturalists unite in ascribing polygamy to the ruffed
grouse; and just here I wish to remark that it is unsafe
to disagree with all, or even one of them, for their state-
ments—unlike their birds—contain something more sub-
stantial than cotton.

Still, I can find a little fault with the word as applied
to this grouse. and I can also theorize a little, without
disturbing very many feathers. Even *polygyny,”
which seems to me a more suitable word, implies the
violation of a law, and is harsh and unsatisfactory when
applied to animate nature, which knows and follows
instinct alone. If those birds which pair anew each
spring comply with the unwritten law, it is surely
unjust to term them polygamous; and equaHy unkind to
apply the word to those females which seek the society
ofa male a second time only when their first laying has
been destroyed. I would place the female ruffed grouse
in the latter class.

As [have taken but very few specimens in the sum-
mer, I can not speak by the right kind of experience
regarding barren hens, said to do much of the summer
drumming. Neither can I understand why they occur,
if polygamy be practiced, as the female is nearly always
within hearing distance of the drummer's call.

The belief that the male deserts the hen during incu-
THE RUFFED GROUSE. 105

bation seems to be responsible, in part, for the assertion
that the males are impartial in their love-making; but if
the desertion be wholly the act of the female, through
fear that the cock will destroy her eggs, or chicks, for
the purpose of a new courtship, the argument loses its
force. Lincline to this theory, from never having found
a male with the mother of chicks, and from the habit the
hen has of concealing her nest when leaving it in search
of food.

It is quite certain that mature birds of both sexes are
often found with well-grown broods after the 1st of
September; and that, under favorable conditions, these
harmonious relations continue until the young seek
mates in the spring. Ifthe mature birds thus found are
the parents of the brood, it would seem that something
beyond chance brings and keeps them together, and is
suggestive of a renewal of the former relationship. In
case of unavoidable separation, or more females than
males, new ties might, and probably would, be formed;
but the violation of Nature’s law—if such it can be called
—on the part of the hen is more technical than real.
The great passion shown by the male during three months
of each year, and his apparent indifference at other
times, would seem to be prima facie evidence of a more
elastic virtue; still, unless an equal number of cocks and
hens could be cooped together, I should consider all
experiments touching this point unsatisfactory.

Mr. Battelle, before referred to, has had the following
experience: Twice he found one set of fertile and one of
sterile eggs in a coop of two hens anda cock, but each
time the sterile laying was begun within a week after the
male had been placed in the coop, while the fertile eggs
were laid two or three weeks later. Mr. Battelle’s ex-
perience leads him to think the bird polygamous, or at
least polygynous, though I believe he still lacks positive
106 UPLAND SHOOTING.

proof. For the past five or six years he has kindly
given the result of each season’s experiments to the pub-.
lic through the medium of sportsmen’s journals. Unfort-
unately, his efforts have been hampered by an insuffi-
ciency of birds; but if students of natural history will
help him in this particular, they will not only confer a
mutual benefit, but will favor future generations, as Mr.
Battelle expects to demonstrate that the ruffed grouse
may be wholly or partially domesticated. He predicts
that, eventually, they will occupy here the place of the
pheasant in England.

And now we come to the item upon which hinges the
dispute concerning the habits of the grouse, viz: the
similar appearance of the sexes.

All busy men, who now and then take a day afield,
have noticed it. Many have thought that a solution of
the problem involved a study of natural history, for
which they had not time, or that the knowledge, when
gained, would prove more interesting than useful, besides
being a topic in which brother sportsmen would take but
little interest.

In the determination of sex by external observation,
we first look at the ruff. If found with a metallic lustre,
reflecting green or blue tints in the sunlight, we have an
adult male; otherwise, a female or a young male.

The specimen we will describe has a brownish-black
ruff, without lustre, and has been taken in December.
We must now ascertain the difference between the adult
and immature bird. We examine the feathers, especially
on the back and sides, and find that the brown on the
tip of each shades into the lighter color instead of having
sharply detined edges.

It indicates a young bird; but we go on, and find the
following additional evidence: A large feather, pulled
from the wing, is half-filled with half-dried blood or
THE RUFFED GROUSE. 107

other liquid; the feet, bill, and end of breast-bone are
softer than those of maturity, and all the feathers, espe-
cially the large ones, are soft and easily bent. Unfortu-
nately, we have an immature bird which must be dissected;
still, as it is so nearly grown, we will measure and weigh
it, though the results may be confusing. The weight is
18? ounces—scarcely decisive, for the adult female weighs
from 18 to 22, and the male from 21 to 25, or possibly
more.

We find the tail measures, from the point of the
‘‘pope’s nose”’ to end of central feathers, 5 inches. We
probably have a hen, as the adult measures from 44 to 54,
the male from 6 to 7.

The adult female measures, in extreme length, from
154 to 172 inches, the male from 172 to 20. Our specimen
shows, under the tape-line, 162. If mature, this would
be decisive, but now it is a trifle confusing.

The final measurement, the stretch of wings, is found
to be 214 inches, which proves nothing, though from the
fact that we believed we had a nearly grown bird, the
measurements indicate a hen.

We open the body, and there, resting upon the kid-
neys, is a small, whitish, granular object—the ovary of

.the female. .

There is one more test, useful to breeders. Just over
the eye of the male, and concealed by short feathers, will
be found an orange-tinted spot, bright in the spring and
faint or lacking at other seasons.

The color of plumage is not a certain test, though I
believe the females, and all young, area shade the darker.

Quite a difference of opinion exists as to the signifi-
cance of the break in the black terminal tail-band of
some specimens. My unsatisfactory study of this pecul-
iarity scarcely warrants an assertion, although I will
hazard the opinion that it is not found in birds three or
108 UPLAND SHOOTING.

four years old. Mr. Battelle also thinks the brown in the
ruff becomes dead black with age.

If these surmises are found to be correct, it would
seem that the bird does not reach perfection until at
least three, years of age.

The slight foundation for my opinion regarding the
broken terminal band, reminds me of a great discovery
once made by two young mining friends, whom we will
call ‘Bill’? and ‘“‘Tom.’’ They had sunk a shaft 125
feet deep, and had been rewarded with seventy feet of
water.

The easiest way to get it out was the question.

After a day of profound thought, Bill startled his
companion by remarking: ‘‘ Tom, we will buy 300 feet of
hose, and siphon that water out.”’

“That's what we will,”’ said Tom, brightening up.

But it was noticed that Tom was more than usually
thoughtful next day. Toward night he disheartened his
partner by saying: “Bill, ain’t it almighty queer that
nobody.ever thought of that before /”’

Whoever hunts this grouse on strange ground, does
so at a disadvantage. This is one reason why the country
boy, with the ‘‘ bucking ’’ musket, is often as successful
as the noted wing-shot from the city. The boy may not
know why birds are found at this or that particular spot
at 7 o'clock on a bright September morning, or why they
are found at another place at noon on a storm y December
day; but he knows where they will probably be found,
and that when flushed they will fly to another place well
known to him.

The skillful and observant hunter knows why it is,
but his knowledge of their habits often fails to reveal
their whereabouts, as we shall see.

He steps from the ‘* 8.30 a. m. train,’’? at a small sta-
tion, on November 15th. He has no dog. The air is
THE RUFFED GROUSE. 109

cold, and there are signs of a storm. The hunter looks
about him, and asks a boy the best place for partridges.
‘“There’s lots of ’em over east,’”’ the boy says. ‘‘ Over
east’’ the country is swampy, and appears to be covered
with alders and tamaracks. ‘‘That might be all right in
the winter,’’ thinks the wise man.

He turns to the west. It is hilly, and dotted with
both evergreen and deciduous.patches. He smiles, and
says, mentally: ‘Ah! we shall find them there; that boy
can't fool me.’’ He enters a forty-acre tract of compar-
atively open woods, in the center of which he sees a
thicket. It is on high ground, contains a big pine-tree, a
moss-covered drumming-log, and is bordered on one side
with beech-trees.

‘¢ Just the place for them!’ exclaims the sportsman;
‘‘and,”’ reflectively, ‘‘it’s a little cool this morning, and
they may be there yet.”’

But they are not there; they have been gone nearly
an hour, and are searched for in vain upon the beech-
ridge. It is finally noticed that the beech-trees are
unfruitful, and the keen hunter turns to the ‘left, where
he sees a patch,of scrub-oaks. He does not know that 100
yards to the right, on lower and more open ground, stand
two thorn-apple trees, which produce nearly all the bird-
food upon this tract, and that a dozen grouse are squatted
there, watching him in mingled wonder andalarm. Had
our friend a capable dog, he would have found these
birds, as the inclination to follow the nearly cold trail
would have been humored, whereas the tyro would have
prevented the quartering of apparently barren ground.

An hour later, the best of men and dogs would have
missed this covey.

How about the boy with the musket; would he have
missed it?

Oh, no; he would have struck straight for the thicket,
110 UPLAND SIIOOTING.

and then for the thorn-apple trees, simply because he had.
flushed ‘‘ pattridges’’ from each place half a dozen times.

Our imaginary hero crosses a field, then passes
through another piece of woods which offers no especial
inducements to the grouse for a home. The ground is
nearly level; there are no thickets, no fallen trees, and
there is apparently no food; yet our friend has missed
a couple of birds, which lay on a little wintergreen-
covered knoll that tie knew nothing of. He next enters
a hilly section traversed by a creek. Half-way up a hill
he notices a small bushy depression, orbench. He judges
the place to be wet, and knowing that the bird he seeks
drinks but seldom at this season, is inclined to pass on.
Still, he hesitates, for a little earlier in the year he would
go straight to what is a favorite haunt. Then he thinks
the bushes may be haws, and moves in that direction.
His conjecture is right.

Out of eight birds flushed, he gets two with three
shots.

Knowing the habit of this grouse to fly toward the
base of a hill when flushed high up on its side, our sports-
man had approached from the side, thereby giving his
game a chance to follow its inclination, and being
rewarded with side-shots on fairly open ground.

Near the bottom of the hill, four of the birds turn
sharply to the left, and settle in some bushes near the
creek. The other two cross the stream, and stop near a
large log. The four will probably fly up and across the
hill, if approached from any except the up-hill direction;
the other two are uncertain, or will probably fly straight
away. .

The same tactics are followed as before, and one of
the four is captured. As the distance to the top of the
hill is about 100 yards, the hunter correctly divines
that the three will be found just over the top. He fol-
THE RUFFED GROUSE. 111

lows, shoots twice at one bird, and misses. A cold wind
now arises, accompanied by snow. The sportsman un-
wisely leaves the birds he has marked down, thinking
to find more in his circuitous tramp to the station. He

 

RUFFED GROUSE.

no longer follows the ridges. The birds have done feed-
ing, and are to be found out of the wind, protected from
the snow by logs or oak-tops. Look as carefully as he
may, he is unable to start a bird. He notes the scarcity
of bird-food, and thinks perhaps the boy was right; he
will work around east of the station, and see.
112 UPLAND SHOOTING.

But first he will lunch. From one of his capacious
pockets, he produces two sandwiches and a small flask
of coffee. Experience has taught him that coffee on a
cold day is more beneficial than brandy; and though
he has heard that only ‘‘dudes’’ carry lunch, he believes
that all who start for a day’s shooting without breakfast
or lunch, because Daniel Boone or Davy Crockett may
have done so, will eventually repent, and wish they had’
repented sooner.

Lunch disposed of, our hero circles to the right, and
_crosses the railroad. Ordinarily, he would scour the
thickets parallel with the track, for birds which had
been in search of gravel, and had retired to pass in quiet
the midday hours; but on account of the storm, he —
believes they have omitted this part of the programme,
and are to be found sheltered nearer their food ware-
houses. He finally reaches the low-lying tract-east of
the station. His only consolation is the correctness of
his prediction that it would prove barren. But there is
a hill for every valley, and, beyond and to the right, he
sees the heavily wooded ground rising, and then evi-
dently descending to a still lower valley.

The snow ceases as he reaches the summit. It is
doubtful about the birds coming out to feed again, and
our friend knows it; he will therefore look for their
hiding-places. He glances down the hill, which faces
the south, and knows too late that he has found the fall
and winter home of the ruffed grouse. To the left, the
side-hill is dotted with blackberry thickets and scattering
pines. At the bottom, there are tangled coverts and grape-
vines, while beyond these are cedars, alders, and a brook.
To the right are deciduous trees, and hazel, thorn, and
crab-apple clumps. Many of the large trees have been
cut down, leaving dead tops in plenty. ©

“Tl bet I can kill five birds yet to-night,’’ says our
THE RUFFED GROUSE. 113

city friend; then he looks at his watch, only to find that
he has just time enough to reach the station before the
train. He will come again, however, when his dog has
been returned from the country; but to-day—he wishes
someone would kick him for having doubted the boy's

word.
To give the beginner an insight into the manner of

hunting this bird in September, I will briefly describe
a hunt once taken by two ‘‘Michiganders,’’ Jim, a
farmer, and Ben, my office mate.

Jim lived a mile out of town. At the time of the
hunt I shall describe, he had just received ‘‘ the best gun
in the world,’ and naturally was anxious to see how it
would behave on state occasions.

Ben worked steadily from morning till night at long
columns of figures. In July and August, Jim would
occasionally drop in and regale him with stories of
newly found broods, or the wonderful peformances of his
dog Don, until, in moments of abstraction, each figure
seemed a full-fledged grouse, which would in turn be
aimed at with the pen. Or, perhaps, when others were
taking their vacations, he would look wearily across the
alley at the heated brick walls, which would often open
under his dreamy gaze, and reveal sylvan retreats in the
Eagle Water region, or a white tent near a trout-stream,
in some little park of the Rocky Mountains,

““Where a vision fell, solemn and sweet.”

Then the vision would vanish, and he would say:
‘Not for me, not for me;’’ then, with his accustomed
energy: ‘‘Only wait till the 15th, and [Pll show Jim that
it isn’t all in the gun.”’

But the 15th of September found Ben at his desk.
Two days later, just as he had decided himself at liberty,
the door was vigorously opened, and Jim spoke in his

irresistible way: ‘‘I was up west yesterday, and found
3
114 UPLAND SHOOTING.

five or six nice bunches, and by to-morrow they’ll be
back where I found ’em; can't you go?”

“Well, Dll tell you,’ said Ben, looking serious, and
shaking his head; ‘‘it all depends on one thing, and that
rests altogether with you.”’

‘How so,’ returned Jim, thinking some great obsta-
cle in the way. ‘ You know, Ben, I'll do anything or
everything to help you get away.”’

*- Well, its just like this. I can’t go unless vou will
agree to—to—to hare that old coffee-pot warm at 5
o'clock to-morrow morning.”’

We will pass by the undignified performance that
followed, and meet our heroes again as they cross the
field toward the woods at sunrise next morning.

The energetic, but dignified, old setter is trotting
straight for the woods—and that reminds me that Ben and
Jim had decided, long before, that one dog, well broken,
suited their purpose better than two, or more, equally
good; also that partners were as necessary in grouse-
shooting as in whist, and that the methods were identi-
cal, i. e., only he won who remembered that his partner
had rights which the other was bound to respect, and
that nothing was gained by getting excited or in a
hurry. Through a good-natured rivalry, which existed
for years, they never lost sight of these points, nor that
the observance of these laws was responsible for a con-
tinuation of the friendship.

They also knew it to be safer and more companionable
to keep together, and that with one strong dog enough
ground could be covered between sunrise and sunset to
satisfy anyone except a professional pedestrian.

Each had provided himself with forty carefully loaded
shells. hoping, as usual, that the events of the day might
be recorded in red letters. As they marched buoyantly
along, Ben asked: ‘‘ Where shall we go first, Jim?’
J

THE RUFFED GROUSE. 115

“Well,” said Jim, ‘I've got it all laid out. We will
leave those coveys I found the other day until the middle
of the forenoon and afternoon, because that was the time
I found ’em; this morning we will look along that bridle-
trail of Mathias’ for birds that come after gravel and
horse-droppings, and then cross over and look among the
blackberry-bushes along the railroad. Then we'll take
in three or four coveys I know of, and, about noon, get
around to the grape-vines by the creek, where they’re
likely to come to drink to-day; then we’ll take in the
others I found, and, along toward night, get down into
Secord’s blackberry and huckleberry patch. Do you
know any better scheme?’

‘No,’ replied Ben; ‘‘that’s about the route we made
our record on last year. By the way, wasn’t I a couple
of birds ahead that day?’

““Not much! we came out even; but I'll see it don’t
happen again. I want to show you to-day that that old
crow-bar is ’way behind the times.”’

Ben replied by touching his companion’s shoulder,
and pointing to Don, who had suddenly stiffened to a
point in the open woods they had just entered. Then,
in a low voice: ‘‘I believe that’s a stray bird, and he will
make for that raspberry-patch in the corner. You go ©
to the right, and T’ll walk up on the left till I flush '
him.”’

There were two reports close together, a delightful
thud, and two small feathers drifted earthward.

‘Whose was that?’ asked Ben, smiling in a way
intended to be both consoling and decisive.

‘Guess [ll have to give that to the crow-bar. I
pulled a second too soon, and caught that sapling out
yonder,”’ said Jim, with his usual good-nature.

Half an hour later, the two sportsmen indulged ina
very expressive pantomime, while old Don was cautiously
116 UPLAND SHOOTING.

locating the nearest bird of a scattered covey, on com-
paratively open ground.

Asa show of humility seemed proper, in view of his
late success, Ben asked: ‘‘ Where will these go, Jim?’

‘*Probably straight away,’’ came the answer; ‘‘ there’s
plenty of room and cover, so you take one side, and I
will the other; but keep your eyes open, for we are likely
to raise one anywhere.”’

Some poor shooting followed. Seven shots brought
but three birds to bag, while the next covey found gave
eight shots, in three flushings, and only two birds. It
was now 9 o'clock. One of Jim’s located coveys, being in
adjoining woods, was sought for, but failed to materialize.

‘‘Well,”’ said Jim, in response to another premature
outburst of humility, ‘‘they probably haven’t settled
yet for the day, for I don’t believe they’ve been dis-
turbed, so we’ll take a bee-line for their nearest food, and
save some of ’em the trouble of walking clear home.”’

‘‘ Ah! great head-—that of yours, Jim. Ever have it
examined—for bugs?”

‘*Never did,”’ said Jim, laconically; “but you’li bd
scratching yours about 4 0 ’elock, and wondering how you,
are three behind instead of two ahead.”’

And so it proved.

The prophecy regarding the absent covey also came
true, and resulted in the bagging of four grouse. Two
were taken from a covey found along the creek at noon,
seven from two early afternoon coveys, and three from
the huckleberry-patch at the end of their circuit.

Just as the rays of the setting sun were making
rubies of the glass in Jim’s chamber window, the two
tired sportsmen emerged from the woods back of the
house.

‘That ain't much of a house,” said Jim, apologetic-
ally, pointing at the modest little cottage, with its flam-
‘

THE RUFFED GROUSE. 117

ing carbuncle near the roof; ‘‘but when I am tired and
hungry, and old Sol paints it up in that style, it looks
better to me than any I know of.”

‘Very true, Jim; that is the sentiment of the patriot
and statesman. Always feel that way toward the old
place, and perhaps—well, perhaps I'll let you beat me
again sometime.”’

“‘'m always ready to have you try,’ said Jim, as
they parted at the turn of the road, each hoping the
opportunity might soon come.

 
INLAND DUCK-SHOOTING IN THE UNITED
STATES.

 

By Joun G. Smita,
President of the Iowa State Sportsmen’s Association.

 

ue wild duck may be found in almost

_ every part of the United States;

S, and during their flights feo

Sg... the South to the North and

~ from the North to the South,

sportsmen, and especially the sports-

men who are fond of shooting ducks, think

of little else, or care for little else, but their guns
and the ducks.

Many of the wild ducks leave the South sometime
in the latter part of February or the first part of
March. Some of the varieties stay there till April. If
the season is quite early, the mallards will work their
way slowly north, and sometimes arrive in Northern Iowa
in February. Some years ago I killed six mallard-ducks
on the Des Moines River, in Kossuth County, Iowa, the
6th of February. Usually their flight is in the month of
March.

I do not think the mallard-ducks generally make
very long flights. They will stop where there are many
sloughs. They do not care to be in the large lakes, as
there is no food for them in those places; but in the
sloughs and cane-brakes, where the water is shallow, and
where the wild grass roots are beginning to sprout, the

mallard-ducks find their home. They like it very much
(119)

  
 
 
   
  
120 UPLAND SHOOTING.

if they are in the neighborhood of a large corn-field,
where they can go morning and evening for breakfast
and supper, and will often go many miles to feed in
them.

The green-wing tealleaves the South about the same

time as the mallard, or soon after. They make short
a one down often to feed in the sloughs.
— Next following the
- green-wing teal, come
| the pin-tails, dusky-
ducks, plain and hood-
ed mergansers, blue-
bills, American widg-
eons, butter-balls, small
gray ducks, scaup-
ducks, golden-eyes, red-
heads, canvas-backs,
ruddy-ducks, and
wood-ducks; and, last
of all, the blue-wing
teal leave the South
about the Ist of April
for their northern
haunts. Their flights
are short, and made
mostly in the night.
They feed in the sere and small streams on their way
north, and generally arrive at their breeding-grounds the
last of April or the first of May.

The mergansers, blue-bills, red-heads, canvas-backs,
butter-balls, and ruddy-ducks usually leave the South in
March.

They make long flights and their passage from south
to north is made in avery short time. I do not think
they stop more than two or three times on the way to

 

 

 

 

 
INLAND DUCK-SHOOTING. 121

their ‘‘breeding-grounds.”? On their way north they
drop into the large lakes and rivers to feed. These may
be classed as the inland deep-water ducks. Their flight
is very rapid, and I have no doubt but that they often fly
more than ninety miles an hour.

The pin-tails, American widgeons, small gray ducks,
golden-eyes, and broad-bills mix with the mallards, teal,
and ‘‘ deep-water ducks,’? and may be found in most of
‘the sloughs and ‘‘ inland waters.”’

The beautiful wood-duck is more of a family by itself.
Their breeding-grounds may be found, wherever there is
timber along a stream, all the way from the South to
British America. Their flight is made in pairs, and always
at night. Itis not rapid, and they do not fly far without
dropping down to feed.

The dusky-duck is seldom found in the West, and is
called by Western gunners the ‘‘black mallard.’’ Its
flight and feed are much the same as the mallards, and
when killed in the West is most always found with the
mallards.

The great breeding-grounds for wild ducks are to be
found in British America, although many thousands of
them breed in the United States. Minnesota, North and
South Dakota, Northern Iowa, Northern [linois, North-
ern Indiana, Michigan, and parts of Wisconsin furnish
the chief breeding-grounds in the United States, although
some wild ducks breed in almost every State. I recollect,
when I was a boy, a gentleman found a brood of blue-
wing teal within five miles of Boston. I think there
were ten of the young ones. Wood-ducks, dusky-ducks,
and some others breed in many of the swamps in New
England.

All of the wild ducks that breed are mated when they
come north, and they commence work on their nests
almost as soon as they arrive at their breeding-grounds.
122 UPLAND SHOOTING.

I think they use the same breeding-grounds year after
year, unless they are very much disturbed.

Wild ducks make their nests on the musk-rat houses,
or in the grass not far from the small sloughs, and, in a
country where they are not disturbed, build their nests
oftentimes quite close together.

The female lays from ten to fifteen eggs, and when
the ducks are not disturbed, every egg is sure to hatch.
As soon as the young ducks are out of the eggs, the
mother takes them to the water, and in about ten weeks
they are able to fly a little.

After the wild ducks reach their breeding-grounds,
they are very tame, and care but little for man. They
seem to know that any man that is a man will not
trouble them when breeding. Many times I have passed
within six feet of a mallard-duck on her nest, and she
would not move.

The mallard is generally first of the wild ducks to
bring forthits young. The time, in most seasons, is about
the middle of May. Ido not think that the young mal-
lard-ducks, teal, broad-bills, gray ducks, and pin-tails
develop as quickly as the young deep-water ducks.
such as the sheldrake, blue-bills, red-heads, canvas-
backs, scaup-ducks, butter-balls, golden-eyes, and ruddy-
ducks, all of which go north to breed.

The food of the mallards consists of young grass and
roots, except in the fall and spring, when they are in
the neighborhood of corn or grain fields, and when the
wild rice is ripe, and falls on the water. They are very
fond of wild rice, and Iam satisfied that all wild ducks
will go long distances to find a rice-pond.

As soon as the young mallards can fly well, the old
birds take them to the rice-ponds in the North, where
they remain till they commence their flight south. The
habits of all the shoal-water ducks are much the same as
INLAND DUCK-SHOOTING. 123

those of the mallards, except that they seldom go to
the corn or grain fields ‘for feed.

Neither the red-heads nor any of the deep- water
ducks ever leave the water to feed; yet they often feed
close to the shore, where the water is not deep. They are
very fond of being in the lakes where the wild celery
grows, and where the mud-hens are so plentiful that they
seem to be in one another’s way. Mud-hens are great
feeders, and wherever they are very numerous, there is
most sure to be good duck-shooting.

The best places to hunt mallard-ducks are in the rice-
marshes, or, ‘‘later in the season, after the rice is gone
and the farmers have gathered their corn,’’ in the large
corn-fields which are to be found all over the West. If,
about the 15th or 20th of September, the hunter can find
a large rice-marsh, or, what is better, several of them
connected, where there is a good crop of rice, he is sure
to have fine shooting. The mallards are easily killed at
that time, and are apt to be in fine condition. The
hunter can station himself between two of the marshes,
or ponds, and have someone go around and stir up the
ducks. He will have many good shots at other ducks
besides mallards, as most of the wild ducks are fond of
wild rice. The blue-wing teal are very fond of it, and
may be found in the rice-marshes in large numbers.

The hunter will need a good retrieving dog, one that
will keep a sharp lookout, as most of the ducks killed
will drop in the long rushes and grass. After the hunter,
or, if there are two or three shooting together, after
each has stationed himself, the one who is to stir up the
ducks starts out among the marshes.

Now the hunter must keep his eyes about him, for he
does not know from which direction the ducks will come.
When he is on the lookout, here comes a pair of mallards,
They do not fly very fast, as they want to drop down to

/
124 UPLAND SHOOTING.

feed. The hunter is in a good cover of long grass. The
frost has not touched it yet. He ean let the ducks come
quite close to him. I need not give the old duck-shooter
any instructions—he has *‘‘ been there’? too many times:
but the novice wants to be careful. and not move too
quickly. Let the first duck get nearly over you. Bring
the gun quickly to your shoulder, glance along the
barrels. and if the duck is not more than twenty-five
to thirty vards away, lead him from six inches to one
foot; touch the trigger, and, as soon as possible, take
aim at the other duck. It will, when you shoot the first
one, go towering up into the air, and you can shoot
directly at it. Ifyou have held your gun as I have told
you, you have killed both birds. Let the dog go after
them as quickly as possible, as there may be more ducks
flying toward you. When you have shot at the first
duck, never stop to see whether you have killed it or not, but
shoot directly at the otherduck. Load your gunat once,
and be on the lookout for more birds. Your dog having
retrieved the birds. make him lie down beside you. You
soon see another bunch of ducks coming. Keep down.
They look quite close. You think vou will shoot. You
bring your gun toyourshoulder. The ducks go towering
up. You shoot, but discover you have shot too far.
Ducks look large when coming directly toward one. Ina
wild rice marsh most of the ducks will come near enough
if you will let them.

While vou are mourning over your bad judgment in
shooting too quickly. your companions start up a large
flock of blue-wing teal from the marsh below you. They
shoot, and on the birds come toward you, at the rate of
eighty or ninety miles an hour. They are just above the
tops of the reeds. How they do come! Now be careful!
When they are close enough, shoot at the first bird, and
lead it three or four feet. You will be surprised to see
INLAND DUCK-SHOOTING. 125

some of the last birds of the flock fall. Select one, and
shoot the second barrel as quickly as you can, or the
birds will be out of range.

Mallards and teal will seldom leave a rice-marsh so
long as there is feed. Once, in company with my brother
and two gentlemen from New York, I shot mallard-ducks
and teal in the rice-marshes at the foot of Bancroft Lake,
in Northern Iowa, three days, and the birds were just as
plentiful when we left as when we arrived. They were
there by thousands, and it was impossible to drive them
away. I believe I could have killed 1,000 ducks in ten
days.

If the hunter likes to walk, he can have quite a good
deal of sport jumping ducks from the small sloughs and
ponds. In the month of September, before the grass is
dead, the hunter can get close to the ducks, and, when
they jump, he must shoot directly at them. They are
very easy to kill at that time, as they are almost a stand-
ing mark.

Oftentimes, in the month of October, splendid mal-
lard-duck shooting may be had in the buckwheat-fields.
Mallard-ducks are very fond of buckwheat, and will fly
long distances, morning and evening, to feed on the new-
grown grain. If you know where there is a buckwheat-
field, and the mallards have begun to feed there, you will
have to be on hand at the field before day-break, for
mallards are early birds. I have often known them to
come to a buckwheat-field when it was so dark that I
could not see them more than fifteen yards away. You
will most likely be able to find cover near the edge of the
field; but if you can not find cover, you will have to
bring a spade along and dig a hole, which will take you
but afew moments. Spread the soil around, and cover
it over with some old straw, so that the ducks will not
notice the fresh earth. It is a good thing to be ready
126 UPLAND SHOOTING,

when the ducks come. Many-good shots are lost by the
hunters not being on hand when the first birds come to
the field.

Now you have the hole ready, throw a little straw
into the bottom, so that you will not have to stand in the
dirt. Get into the hole, and keep a good lookout, as,
early in the morning, it is impossible to tell from which
direction the ducks will come. They will be likely to
come in quite large flocks, and are apt to. bunch quite
close to you. Now, mark! there is a bunch. They are
not more than five or six yards high. Have your gun to
your shoulder. They bunch together. Pour both barrels
into the thick bunch as quickly as possible. Load
quickly, and step out of the hole and gather your ducks.
Take your gun with you, as you may have another shot
before you find all the dead ducks.

Just at day-break the ducks are so eager for food that
they will not notice you. Set up the dead ducks, placing
a stick in the ground to hold their heads up. Now get
back into the hole and look out for another flock. If it
should happen to be a cloudy, windy morning, your
shooting will be likely to last till 10 or 11 o’clock; but
if the sun shines, it will be over before 9.

About the time the sun begins to show itself, keep a
sharp lookout for a few Canada geese. They, too, are
fond of buckwheat. You will, of course, have a few shells
with you loaded with BBB or O shot. Hark! ‘‘Honk,
honk, honk!’’? Now get down close in the hole; change
your shells; the geese will soon be here. Let them come
within twenty yards of you before you shoot. Shoot
directly at the leader’s bill, and then pull at the next one.
You have shot the first one dead, but only winged the
other slightly. He flaps the other wing, and calls. Load
quickly. Keep close. The other geese have turned to
him. Now they are close enough, give it to them, and
INLAND DUCK-SHOOTING. 127

sit back in the hole and load again. They want to come
back to that wounded goose. Here they come! Make
sure of your shots, as this will probably be your last
chance at that flock. About three rounds is all they will
stand. I have many times killed five or six out of a flock,
when they came to a field, and I got a winged goose with
the first shot. Now gather up your birds, and look out
for more ducks.

When the flight of ducks has ceased, gather your
birds, but be sure to be back again by 3 in the after-
noon.

As soon as you get back to the buckwheat-field in the
afternoon, go at once to the hole where you shot in the
morning. You will not have to wait long before the ducks
come to feed. You will have to be very careful now, as
the ducks are more shy than in the morning, and, besides,
many of them have heard your gun, and are on the watch.
Do not shoot unless you are sure the ducks are near
enough, as long, wild shots serve only to frighten the
ducks away. You will be likely to have very good shoot-
ing in the afternoon, but after that it is of no use to go to
that field for about ten days. By that time the ducks
will be over their fright, and you will have more sport
with them.

Shooting mallard-ducks in corn-fields is great sport.
After the farmers have gathered the corn, the ducks often
come to the fields in great numbers. There is always a
great deal of corn scattered over the ground, which makes
fine feed for them. When once they get a taste of it, thev
will feed in the corn-fields, morning and evening, as long
as they stay in the country. If they are shot at very
much in one field, they will go to another. They are
bound to have corn for breakfast and supper.

The hunter will need a good ‘‘retrieving dog,”’’ as,
when he shoots his ducks, many of them will drop
12

L

UPLAND SHOOTING.

among the corn-stalks, and itis almost impossible to find
them without the aid of a dog. Nearly every winged
bird will get away.

When you find that the mallard-ducks are feeding in
the corn-fields, go out before daylight in the morning.
You will not need a blind, as you can get among the
corn-stalks. Your shooting will be about the same as at
the buckwheat-fields. Should the day be a cold and
rough one, and should there be plenty of mallards in the
country, your shooting may last all day. Be sure to
have plenty of shells and a luncheon with you, as I know
of nothing so provoking as to be where there are plenty
of ducks, and get out of shells.

T had some experience of that Kind three years ago—
the day after Thanksgiving. My brother and I went to
a pond early in the morning, when the ducks had gone
out to the corn-fields to feed. All the ponds in the coun-
try except this one were frozen over, and the ducks
came there for water. We put out half a dozen mallard
decoys, and sat down on the edge of our light duck-boat.
Soon the ducks began to return—two, four, five, or six at
a time. I never saw such mallard-shooting before or
since. In two hours we killed over 100 splendid mallard-
ducks, and all shot on the wing at single shots. We got
out of shells, were ten miles from home, and the ducks
were coming just as plentifully asever. At that time I
would have given 810 for another 100 shells. We had
expected to have thirty or forty shots, and had taken
only a few more than 100 shells with us.

Good duck-shooting may be had in streams and small
lakes; but here the hunter will need a good duck-boat.
He must, in order to be successful, have a boat that sets
very low in the water, or one largeenough to be trimmed
with brush and dry grass. I have a boat that I like very
much to use in shallow water, or where the grass and
 

IN TH

aac ie

  

een

E MARSH AT BREAK OF DAY

 

(129)
130 UPLAND SHOOTING.

reeds are plentiful. I have crossed some quite large lakes
in it when the wind was high; but none save an expert
boatman should be out in a large lake when the waves
are running high, on account of the danger of running
the boat under. The boat is all decked over, except the
place where I sit. It is made pointed at both ends; is
thirteen feet long and thirty-two inches wide. The sides
are five inches high. ‘The weight of this boat is thirty-
five pounds, and it will run well in four inches of water.
I paddle it most of the time with two short paddles, but
carry a long one with me, so that I can have a change if
T have a long distance to go. When I am in this boat,
and ina good duck neighborhood, I have a strong line
attached to each paddle, so that if a duck starts up I can
drop the paddles in the water, and not be in danger of —
losing them.

On the large lakes and rivers the sportsman will need
a larger boat. It should be large enough to carry two
men and a dog, and forty or fifty decoys, with comfort.
It should be made so that the hunter can shoot.in any
direction from the boat, and run no risk of upsetting it.
It should be made with a scull-hole, so that when the
hunter is bearing down on a flock of ducks in open water
the ducks can not see the motion of the oar. Such a
boat is very handy when the hunter discovers the ducks
dropping down in some bay where he can get good cover
and put out his decoys.

I have had a good deal of sport by taking a team,
loading on my large duck-boat, and going up our river
ten or twelve miles, putting the boat on the river, trim-
ming it with a little dry grass, and floating down. The
ducks do not notice one until within range.

By many duck-shooters, shooting over decoys is con-
sidered the best of all duck-shooting; and I am one of
those who think it is fine sport.
INLAND DUCK-SHOOTING. 131

In order to have success in shooting over decoys, the
hunter must use good judgment in putting out his
decoys. Look over your land well before you set them
out; they must be set so that the ducks will notice them,
and at the same time not be scared away by them. Do
not place them too close together, but set them so that
they will show well from all directions.

After you have found a good place to set out the
decoys, in a situation where you can make a blind, put
them out about twelve or fifteen feet apart. If you
expect to shoot mallards alone, six or eight decoys are
enough, but if you expect to shoot deep-water ducks,
you may put out fifty. Ido not think there is any dan-
ger of putting out toomany. Deep-water ducks like a
great deal of company. When you find the ducks have
come, you will need to be at your ground before day-
break, so that when the day dawns you will be all ready
to put out the decoys. Put them out as fast as possible |
after you commence. It is better to have someone to
manage your boat for you, then you can set them very
rapidly. As soon as the decoys are out, get into the
blind and load your gun, as you will wish to be ready
for the first duck.

Here comes a mallard, quacking as she comes along.
She has seen the decoys. If it is too dark for you to
shoot her on the wing, you can let her light, as she will
be sure to. If you do not wish to have her light, shoot
when she is settling over the decoys. Shoot directly at
her, as she is making but very little headway. If you
are in a place where there is but little or no current, and
but little wind, let the ducks lie, as you will need to
be out of sight and ready when other ducks come.
Soon after day-break is the best time for decoy shooting.

But here comes a bunch of blue-bills. How they do
fly! They have not seen the decoys yet. If you can
132 UPLAND SHOOTING.

imitate a blue-bill, do so just a little when they are just
out of gunshot, passing by. Now they see the decoys,
and turn back. Wait till they bunch over the decoys,
and then shoot. Now be quick! Shoot all the winged
birds before they dive. I never like to have wounded
birds get away.

As soon as you have killed the wounded birds, look
out for more ducks. It is time for them to fly thick
and fast.

Here comes a nice pair of red-heads. Let them come
close, as you will wish to make a nice double. They are
over the decoys; shoot the first one, and then take a good
aim at the other before you shoot. You must get a red-
head in the center of your charge if you wish to kill
him. A wounded red-head is soon under the water, and
the chances are that you will not see him again.

While you are waiting, along comes a small bunch of
canvas-backs. They have seen the decoys. Let them
come close. If you shoot too soon, you will be likely to
see them fly away, with perhaps a wounded bird leaving
the bunch. Then you will be provoked to think you shot
too far. Canvas-backs are very easy to decoy, and the
shooter should let them come close.

While you mourn over the loss of the canvas-backs,
you will probably see two or three ducks high up in the
air. They have seen the decoys, but they hardly know
whether to come to them or not; but at last they de-
cide to come a little closer, and you will notice that they
are American widgeons. If you get them within forty
yards of you, you had better shoot, as the chances are
that they will come no nearer. They may fly around
fifteen or twenty minutes before they come within that
distance.

If it be a cloudy day when you are out, you may
have good shooting most of the day; but if the day be
INLAND DUCK-SHOOTING. 133

pleasant, the ducks will not fly much after 9 o’clock.
Sometimes the ducks fly well after 2 or 3 o'clock in the
afternoon, and some good shooting may be had.

Soon after the first of October comes the finest of all
duck-shooting — shooting on a pass. If there is any
place where ashooter enjoys himself, it is on a good duck-
pass, on a cool October day, with company enough to
make it interesting-—such a pass as there was at Spirit
Lake, or at Ruthven, ten years ago, where the ducks
flew day after day for five or six weeks.

Pass-shooting is the most difficult of all duck-shoot-
ing. Most of the ducks fly very fast when they are over
the land, and the shooter who kills three ducks out of
five on a pass does fine work. It is the place to test a
gun. The gun must bea strong shooter, or it will be of
no use, as most of the ducks are killed fifty or sixty.
yards away. Many a sportsman who thought he was a
fair shot has been surprised at his shooting on a pass.
Shot after shot, and no ducks fall And why isit? The
greatest trouble is, he has shot behind the ducks. He
has not learned to judge of the distance or the speed of
the fast-flying ducks. He can hardly be made to believe
that the ducks are flying from seventy to one hundred
miles an hour. With a cold north wind, and the ducks
flying with it, it is difficult for the oldest duck-shooters
to estimate their speed.

The sportsman on a duck-pass will need a No. 1
retrieving dog—a dog that is not afraid of cold ice-water,
a quick swimmer, one that is able to catch a wounded
duck should it fall into the water.

When the shooter brings down his duck, the dog
should go after it at dnce, as many ducks that drop in
cold water may be only slightly wounded, and if the dog
does not get hold of them quickly, will recover sufficiently
to dive and get away.
134 UPLAND SHOOTING.

The cold north winds are very severe on the duck-dog,
and it takes a race of dogs with great courage and strength
to stand the work. The dog may have to go into the
cold water more than 100 times a day. and then be
obliged to stand or sit still when he is on the land. If
the dog could run around and warm himself, it would be
different; but he must keep close when not after his birds,
or he will frighten the passing birds away.

A race of dogs has been bred on the shores of Chesa-
peake Bay which are very superior duck-dogs. No cold
water, ice, or snow can daunt them. They will go any-
where after wounded or dead ducks. The cold water is
almost home to them. I have used them three years, and
found them the best duck-dogs that I ever shot over.
They have a fine nose, and can trace a wounded duck
through the grass where it would seem almost impossible
for them to find their bird. They are quick, active. and
always ready for work, and yet they are very docile and
kind, and so tender-mouthed ‘that they will scarcely
ruffle a feather on a duck. They carry the largest goose
or swan with ease, and are always so delighted with
their work that it is a great pleasure to see them per-
form.

If the sportsman has never shot ducks on a pass, he
should not lose the first chance that is offered to have a
day or two of that kind of work. He will findit “royal
sport,” and although he may count up a good many
misses, and only a few kills, yet he will be satisfied that
he has had the best of all shooting.

The sportsman on a duck-pass should have a 10-gauge
gun, of about 10 or 104 pounds weight. His shells should
be loaded with 44 drams of powder and 12 ounces
of shot. I think most of the shells ought to be loaded
with No. 6 shot, but if the ducks fly high, say fifty or
sixty yards away, he will require No. 3 or 4.
INLAND DUCK-SHOOTING. 135

He should be on the pass at day-break. as some of his
best shots will be early in the morning. In order to have
the ducks fly well, there should be a strong wind. If
there are several shooters on the pass, and the ducks are
working south, and there is a north wind, he will hear
some one of them say, ‘‘Mark north!’ Now be on the
lookout!

Here the ducks come. They are coming directly over
him, about fifty yards high, and flying very fast. He
shoots, but no ducks fall. Here comes another lot. He
shoots again, but they all go on. He fires shot after shot.
but gets no ducks. What is the trouble? He has shot
from ten to twenty feet behind the ducks.

Watch that ‘‘ gray-haired shooter,’ just below him
on the pass. See how the ducks fall when he shoots.
Almost everyone of them is killed in the air. He has
held his gun right.

There is a pair of ducks going toward him. Now
watch. He brings his gun to his shoulder, carries it
from three to ten feet ahead of the first duck, ‘‘ according
to the speed at which the ducks are flying,’’ touches the
trigger, and, quick as lightning, pulls on the other. They
are killed in the air. He is not troubled much with crip-
pled ducks.

The sportsman should bear in mind that one shot put
in front of the wings is worth four put three inches
behind the wings. Where one sportsman shoots ahead
of a duck, twenty shoot behind.

Pass-shooting is different from all other kinds of
duck-shooting, for the sportsman will find that he will
oftentimes have the best shooting in the middle of the
day. Ducks like to trade back and forth, where there
are large lots of them bedded in the lakes.

The best day’s duck-shooting that I ever had did not
begin till 10 o’clock in the forenoon. It was at Elbow
136 UPLAND SHOOTING.

Lake, Ruthven, Iowa. My old friend, Frank Nicoulin,
and myself, got up at 3 o'clock in the morning, to take
the early train on the Chicago, Milwaukee & St. Paul
Railway for Ruthven, thirty-five miles west of where we
live. We wert to our depot, and sat there three long
hours waiting for a ‘‘freight train.” Itcame at last. but
we did not get to Ruthven till after 9 o'clock. We went
down to the lake, and found but few ducks there. The
wind was southeast, and blowing very strong. We sat
down on the pass. and concluded that shooting would not
be very good that day. We looked up toward Lost
Island Lake, which is situated about three or four miles
northwest of Elbow Lake. We noticed some ducks in
the air. Soona stray flock came down against the wind.
They went over Frank, and he shot a pair of canvas-
backs. He is a sure shot, and any duck that comes
within range of his gun is almost sure to fall.

Other flocks followed, and soon almost a stream of
ducks was pouring into Elbow Lake. The wind blew so
hard that they flew very low. Canvas-backs, red-heads,
and blue-bills came in in thousands. The lake was full
of wild celery, the favorite food of the deep-water ducks.
There were times that day when I saw more ducks than
IT ever saw at one time before. I shot into one flock of
canvas-backs, and seven of the handsome birds fell with
the first barrel. We had two fine retrieving dogs with
us, and we gave them all they could do for five hours.

Between 2 and 3 o'clock in the afternoon, Frank got
a shell stuck in his gun, and could not move it. We
worked at it over half an hour. and finally Frank had to
go to town to get the shell taken out.

Just before he started it began to rain, and I told him
to send down a team for the ducks. as I do not care much
to shoot in the rain. I did not shoot much after Frank
went to town, but gathered the ducks and counted them.
INLAND DUCK-SHOOTING. 137

We had in all 250, and over seventy of them were canvas-
backs, the balance being red-heads and blue-bills.

I once had very fine shooting at the Spirit Lake Pass,
in company with my brother, Mr. Nicoulin, a gentleman
from Dubuque, Iowa, and one from Burlington, Vt. I
never saw two men more delighted than were the gentle-
men from Dubuque and Burlington. They had never
seen such shooting before. Both were very poor shots,
but they had just as much sportas anyone. I think it
cost them forty shells for each duck they killed. They
were fair shots in the field, but the pass-ducks were too
fast for them.

There are many different opinions regarding duck-
guns. Some sportsmen think that a 12-gauge is large
enough for any duck; but that has not been my experi-
ence. I prefer a 10-gauge gun for deep-water ducks,
and it must be well loaded. I think a 12-gauge gun
will do for mallards, teal, and wood-ducks; but when the
sportsman has to kill most of his ducks outside of forty
yards, he will need a 10-pound, 10-gauge gun—a gun
that will take 43 drams of good powder and not recoil.

The shot to use for deep-water ducks is from No. 3 to
6; other ducks, No. 6 to 8. I would use from 3 to 3}
drams of powder in a 12-gauge gun, and from 4 to
44 in a 10-gauge gun. Put two or three good wads over
the powder, and one over the shot. I use 1} ounces of
shot, but 1 or 14 ounces may be used, and will shoot
well.

The duck-shooter at a pass, or in a blind, should
always dress warmly, but his dress should not be cum-
bersome. He should wear two good flannel shirts, good,
heavy woolen drawers, thick woolen stockings, good,
stout woolen trousers and vest, and over his vest he
should wear a dog-skin shooting-coat. That will keep
all the wind away from his body. If the morning be
138 UPLAND SHOOTING.

very cold, put ona woolen coat, and over all a canvas
or corduroy shooting-coat, with plenty of pockets for
shells, ete.

Always havea small screw-driver and a shell-extractor
in your shooting-coat pocket. You may have trouble
with your gun, and have to takeitapart. Carry anextra
firing-pin, as you may break one. Wear an old light-
colored cap or hat; a cap or hat that looks like dry grass
is what the sportsman needs. Ducks do not like black
clothes, nor a great black hat.

If you are shooting where the pass is dry, use leather
boots or shoes, but where it is wet, use rubber hip-boots.
Keep the feet dry. if possible.

If the shooter has no shooting-coat except a dark-col-
ored one, he can make one out of an old coffee-sack.
Cut a hole in the bottom of the sack for the head, and
one for each arm, and you have a coat of good color for
duck-shooting. It does not look quite as fine as a well-
made shooting-coat, but the ducks do not care for style.

  

pote a os 4
In speechless admiration, his eyes with rapture gloat
Tpon his horde of trophies, the mallards in his boat.
A sudden doubt confronts him—how bear them from the shore
Unto the distant station, two miles away or more!
BOB WHITE.

 

By Amory R. Starr (‘‘Jacos STAFF”).
> F all North American game birds, no one is
\\ so well known to all true sportsmen, or so
Mm deeply seated in their affections, as the
’ subject of this chapter; and, alas! no one
is so thoroughly misnamed. The name
“quail”? is most generally used, and
is still further growing in favor. Never-
theless, it is a decided error so to call the
bird. Universal custom may be pleaded to
justify the use of this name, but the bird is not a quail,
despite the arguments of Herbert, Hawes, and later
writers. It is useless to discuss at length the difference
between the European quail and the American bird; this
ground has been repeatedly covered. Suffice it to say,
that the European quail has dark flesh, and is strictly
migratory and polygamous, while the American bird has
white flesh, and is non-migratory and monogamous, and
in these three respects resembles the English partridge.
In size alone, Bob White resembles the quail more nearly
than the partridge; and this led the Puritans of New Eng-
land so to misname our bird. The cavaliers of Virginia
and Maryland were better sportsmen than the Puritans,
being generally drawn from the landed proprietors and
rural population of England.’ They observed more closely
the habits and characteristics of all game, and they called
the bird a partridge. Unfortunately, however, the con-

tributors to sportsmen's journals, as a rule, lived in the
(189)

   
  
  

 
140 UPLAND SHOOTING.

part of the country where the name ‘“‘ quail’’ was in gen-
eral use, and they so called the bird in their writings, and
fortified their position by arguments more or less falla-
cious; and here the power of the press to disseminate
misinformation as well as information became painfully
apparent. Moreover, the West and Northwest being
settled from the North, the term ‘‘quail’’ followed civ-
ilization in those directions, until now, I believe, fully
_ =e ee four-fifths of those who
/shoot on the wing call
See ' this bird a quail. For
~ all that, the use of this
name is as improper as
it is for us in the South
to call the black bass a
trout; still, however, it
| smacks of affectation to
call the bird by any other
| title than the misnomer
«in popular use.
| While in this quan-
dary, I turned to an
ee é article originally pub-
» gets lished in the Century
| WVagazine,and now form-
ing one of not only the most entertaining, but also most
instructive, chapters in ‘Sports with Rod and Gun.”” It
is from the pen of Alfred M. Mayer. In this article the
writer says: **In the North and East heis called quail, in
the South and West he is partridge, while everywhere he
is known as Bob White. Let ns then call him as he calls
himself, and we will not be berated for our ignorance of
natural history.’”’ I had before been favorably impressed
with the above, but it seemed to me rather like using a
pretty pet uame. Just at that moment a white-cheeked

 

 
BOB WIIITE. 141

little fellow on my orchard fence, standing guard over
his wife and home, said: ‘‘ Bob White!” and, as if eager
to emphasize the name, repeated: ‘‘ Bob, Bob White!’ A
mocking-bird on the swaying branch of an immense pin-
oak reiterated: ‘‘ Bob White! Bob White!” Itseemed to
me a way out of the difficulty. The bird so called him-
self, the most versatile of all Nature’s conversationalists
indorsed the name, and J, too, would, like the mocking-
bird, become an imitator, and in this article follow the
suggestion of Mr. Mayer.

I am further fortified in this position by the action of
the American Ornithological Union, in their ‘‘ Check List
of American Birds,’’ where they reject the name quail,
and place the bird in the subfamily Perdicinae, or par-
tridges, a summary of their classification being as fol-
lows:

Order Gallinae—gallinaceous birds.

Suborder Phasiani—pheasants, grouse, partridges,
quails, ete.

Family Tetraonidae—grouse, partridges, etc.

Subfamily Perdicinae—partridges.

Genus Colinus.

Species Colinus virginianus—Bob White.

Subspecies Colinus virginianus floridanus—Florida
Bob White.

Colinus virginianus texanus—Texan Bob White.

There seems to be little or no difference between the
Virginia, the Florida, and the Texas Bob Whites except
their habitat and color, the Florida bird being the darkest
and the Texas bird the lightest of the three. The Vir-
ginia Bob White is also, probably, the largest bird, but the
size of each varies somewhat with the character of the
food, it being said that birds which are found in a coun-
try devoted to small grains are larger than those found
elsewhere.
142 UPLAND SIIOOTING.

The description of Bob White as given by Wilson is
minute and accurate. It is as follows:

‘Nine inches long and fourteen inches in extent; the
bill is black; line over the eye, down the neck, and whole
chin, pure white, bounded by a band of black, which
descends and spreads broadly over the throat; the eye is
dark hazel; crown, neck, and upper part of breast, red-
brown; sides of the neck, spotted with white and black
on a reddish-brown ground; back, scapulars, and lesser
coverts, red-brown, intermixed with ash, and sprinkled
with black; tertials, edged with yellowish-white; wings,
plain dusky; lower part of the breast and belly, pale
yellowish-white, beautifully marked with numerous curv-
ing spots or arrow-heads of black; tail, ash, sprinkled
with reddish-brown; legs, very pale ash.”

He does not mention their weight, which may be
stated as being from six to 84 ounces, the latter, however,
being rare. Seven or 74 ounces is, I think, about the
average weight for well-grown, well-fed birds.

The habitat of Bob White in the United States and
Canada may be given as follows: Beginning at and
including Southern New Hampshire; thence down the
Atlantic Coast to the Everglades of Florida; thence west-
ward with the Gulf of Mexico to the mouth of the Rio
Grande, and up that stream to the twenty-fourth merid-
ian, which may be taken as the western boundary line,
although it is gradually extending westward, especiaily
in Nebraska and Dakota, some having been found even
in Wyoming, and they have been successfully trans-
planted into Colorado. The forty-fifth parallel appears
to be about their northern boundary line in the extreme
Northwest. It then bears southward toward the Great
Lakes, including Southern Minnesota, Wisconsin, and
Michigan, crossing into Canada near the lower end of Lake
Huron, and continuing eastward through the Province
BOB WHITE. 143

of Ontario and the State of New York to the beginning.
Some birds are found beyond these limits, but they are
too rare to be specially sought for by sportsmen. In
Ontario they do not appear to be found so far north as
formerly, while in Dakota they are spreading to the
north as wellas to the west. They have been occasionally
transplanted into Maine, and being liberated in the
spring, good broods would be reared; but few would sur-
vive the following winter, being exterminated more by
the deep snows than by the excessive cold.
- Bob Whites are found in México, in the States
of Coahuila, Nuevo Leon, and Tamaulipas, and. even
farther south, being said by good authorities to extend
down to the Balize. They are also abundant in Cuba,
though I have never heard of them in any of the other
West India Islands. The Cuban bird is, by some natu-
ralists, made a different subspecies. The following de-
scription and remarks I received from Dr. H. McHatton,
of Macon, Ga., who for many vears was a planter and
keen sportsman in Cuba: ‘‘ The Cuban Bob Whites gen-
erally pair from April 1st to April 15th; the young
furnish good shooting about October Ist. The broods
are large, averaging eighteen or twenty. They abound
in all cultivated parts of the island, their favorite cover
being sugar-cane and hedges, and their favorite food
all varieties of grass-seed, especially caldo, santo, and
lechosa. They are very numerous, and increase rapidly,
and but for heavy storms would overrun the island.
While the shooting is done mostly before 10 o’clock a.m.
and after 4 o'clock p.m., it is not unusual for an average
brace of dogs to find fifteen or twenty coveys in that time.
‘*Cuba, for several reasons, is probably the best quail-
hunting country in America; the climate is all that could
be desired; food is abundant all the time; there are very
few snakes, no carnivorous animals, except an occasional
144 UPLAND SHOOTING.

stray domestic cat; literally no shooting over dogs, no
netting, and very little trapping, the climate and the
laws of the land being well calculated to prevent market-
hunting. The Cuban bird is, in some respects, different
from ours, bearing a close resemblance to the bird of the
pine-barrens of Georgia, being smaller than our local
bird, and of a deeper color, especially noticeable in the
male. He is strikingly red—so deep in this color that no
one fails to notice it. In all other respects he is the same
old Bob White. The hunting is done principally in the
morning. I usually stopped at 9, and never hunted
later than 10a.m. In the Partido de Cabezas, where I
lived, the number of birds killed depended on the num-
ber I could use. In the fall, the best hunting is on the
cattle-ranches and old fields. By January the cane on
the plantations is pretty well cut off, and in February
and March the hunting there is simply unequaled, there
being just enough cover for the birds to lie well, and
nothing to obstruct the shooting. There is one method
of hunting, and quite a destructive one it is, in vogue
among the guajyiros (peasants). As I have never seen it
in any other place, it may prove of interest. Nearly all
the plantations are divided by hedges, and these, in that
tropical climate, soon become impenetrable thickets of
briars and vines; the birds, of course, are found in abun-
dance inreach of this cover. The guajiro has ablack-and-
tan dog, or common fice, trained to run into the coveys
and bark. If the birds are near a hedge, they tree instead
of lighting on the ground. Thedog gets under them, and
keeps up a continuous barking. The guajiro, armed with
a pole ten or twelve feet long, with a small wire snare at
the end, will often clean up an entire covey in a very few
minutes.”’

Some time since I prepared numerous questions about
Bob Whites, which I had printed in circular form and
BOB WHITE. 145

sent out to several hundred sportsmen in the United States
and British Possessions. I did this because I desired to
obtain the opinions of practical sportsmen on the subject,
to eke out the information which I had acquired through
my own observation as to the habits of Bob White. As
the greater number of those applied to were utter
strangers to me, it was rather a presumptuous proceed-
ing, but I relied upon that bond of sympathy which
exists between all true sportsmen, and my faith in the
brotherhood was not misplaced. The answers came in
from every direction, and nearly all showed a desire to
communicate accurate and trustworthy information. I
beg to reiterate here, to each and all, the thanks which I
returned as the answers were received. Two hundred
and seventy-six sportsmen responded. The answers to
some of the questions I have tabulated, and taken in
some places the average, in others giving the different
views, pro and con, on various disputed points. Many
would leave one or more questions unanswered, or would
not answer positively, consequently the footings I give
do not show the total number of persons from whom I
received answers. The summary is as follows: The num-
ber reared in an average brood is thirteen. One hundred
and twenty-eight who answer say that two broods are
frequently reared by a pair of birds in one season, while
eighty-eight deny it. One hundred and eighty credit the
cock with assisting the hen in setting, while fifty do not.
Twenty-six say that Bob White migrates, one hundred
and forty-five deny it, and forty-nine say that he does so
toa limited extent. Ninety-five believe that he has the
power to withhold his scent at will, seventy-seven say
not, and thirty give what I believe is the true explana-
tion, as hereinafter mentioned. Seventy-six prefer the
pointer, one hundred and fourteen the setter, and many

like both. Where the kind of setter is mentioned, it is
10
146 UPLAND SHOOTING.

nearly always the English; some few prefer the Irish,
and two or three the black-and-tan, or so-called Gordon.
One hundred and thirty-eight believe that Bob Whites
are decreasing, sixty-seven say increasing, and twenty
believe that he is just holding his own in numbers. The
average gun and charge is a twelve-gauge, weighing seven
and one-half pounds, with thirty-inch barrels, either
cylinder or slightly choked, loaded with three and one-
half drams of powder, and one and one-eighth ounces
of shot. The average number of coveys found in a day
by an average brace of dogs is nine, out of which an
average shot bags twenty birds, killing 53 per cent. of
his shots.

The time when Bob Whites disband their coveys, and
separate into pairs, depends largely on the weather. If
it has been mild and pleasant, they of course mate much
earlier than when it is cold and inclement. I have on
several occasions seen coveys break into pairs, and then,
upon the weather becoming cold and stormy, reassemble
into covers. Jam of the opinion that they select their
mates sometime before they separate from the covey.
May ist appears to be about the usual time for pairing
in the North, and the 20th of April in the extreme
South. This year (1889) we had a remarkably early
spring. I have watched the birds carefully, and as a
rule they paired about April 15th, some remaining in
coveys a fortnight later.

The Bob Whites build their nests on the ground, in
some slight depression, among weeds, grass, or stubble,
avoiding bare ground on the one hand, and dense and
heavy undergrowth and cover on the other. The nest is
meagrely lined, if at all, and therein the hens lay from ten
to eighteen eggs—the smaller number being probably laid
by birds in their first season, or by those of advanced years
and decreasing fecundity. There are occasions when
BOB WHITE. 147

more birds than one will lay in the same nest, as is done
by the domestic guinea-hen and some other birds. T have
been told by close observers that in such cases there was
but one male, which was acting a Mormon’s part; but
of this I can not speak of my own knowledge. I am confi-
dent, however, that more than one hen will lay in the
same nest. The eggs are pure white, and a blunt oval
in shape. The period of incubation is variously given,
but it is most probably twenty-one days.

It has been a mooted question whether the cock assists
the hen in sitting on the eggs. I have several times seen
the cock-bird on the nest, and there are those in whom I
have the utmost confidence who state that they have
repeatedly seen it. One especially close observer, and a
trustworthy man, informs me that he watched several
nests, and that in each and every case the hen-bird sat
during the night. Early in the morning she would leave
the nest in care of the cock. He would sit on it for an
hour or two, until the hen returned from search of food,
then she would sit till the latter part of the afternoon,
when he would again relieve her for a similar period, she
returning to the nest a little before sundown. I do not
know that this routine is invariably adopted, but that the
cock-bird does assist the hen in hatching the eggs, I have
not the least doubt. When the weather is very warm,
both birds will sometimes vacate the nest for an hour or
two at noon.

The young birds, when hatched, are tiny things, but
Nature has thrown many safeguards around them for
their protection. A wonderful power of concealment, the
vigilance of their parents, and the instinct, or rather
reasoning power, which causes the hen to act.as if she were
crippled, and thereby draw the intruder away from her
infant brood, are among the most beautiful of Nature’s
provisions for the protection of the weak and helpless.
148 UPLAND SHOOTING.

The time at which the young are large enough to
afford sport varies greatly, being regulated, of course, by
the period at which their parents mated. They are
occasionally large enough by the first of September,
frequently so at the beginning of October, but | think
that probably none should be shot until November Ist,
for while I, on one occasion, saw a covey of young birds
on April 1st which were quite large and able to fly well, I
have, on the other hand, seen many broods late in October
of which I doubted the ability to survive the loss of their
parents. The opening of the season should be postponed
until all, or nearly all, are not only large enough to take
care of themselves, but have sufficient strength of wing to
test the marksman’s skill, and a sufficient accumulation of
flesh to tempt the epicure. Nothing is more detestable
than going out early in the season to butcher fluttering
‘‘cheepers,’’? and thereby gratify the miserable desire to
make a big bag. Anybody can do this if he is willing to
make his dog suffer from the heat, and degrade his own
manhood; it is no test of sportsmanship.

The food of Bob Whites depends largely upon the
locality which they frequent and the season of the year.
In the North, buckwheat seems to be their favorite food;
in the South, the corn-field pea. All small grains are
eagerly sought for—Indian corn, the seed of sorghum, and
of many weeds. The small varieties of mast they swal-
low whole, and I have found in the crops of many birds
parts of large acorns, which they had either broken up
themselves or found broken by hogs or other agency.
They are largely insectivorous. In the South, sometimes,
in the early fall, they feed upon the cotton-worm, when
those pests are abundant, to such an extent as to give an
unpleasant flavor to the flesh. There is no bird which
does the farmer less harm and more good than the Bob
White. Whatever grain he takes, it is not missed, while
BOB WHITE. 149

he destroys innumerable noxious insects and weed-seeds.
Itis said that he is very fond of the tiny seeds of the Japan
clover, which has of late years spread over our section of
the country ; but I have never been able to verify this by
my own observation. In the spring, when the mast is
gone and seeds have generally decayed or sprouted, the
Bob White eats various young weeds. The favorite cover
of Bob White is stubble, weed-fields, broom-sedge, and
grass. When flushed or frightened, they fly to the
thickets, especially the brush along streams, and are
generally found within a few hundred yards of some
such coverts, which causes many to believe that they look
upon water as a matter of prime necessity; this [am
somewhat inclined to doubt, for the following reason:
In September, 1884, I went on a bear-hunt to what is
known as the Nueces Cafion, which runs through Uvalde
and other counties in the southwestern portion of Texas.
It was during a severe drought. Water was to be found
only on the Nueces River and a few of its tributaries, and
while the cattle had eaten all the grass within several
miles of the stream along part of our road, in other places
we found it quite abundant, because the cattle would not
go so far from water to graze upon it, and yet in those very
places I saw more Bob Whites than I ever saw before or
since. They were just as abundant miles from water as
they were upon the banks of the stream. The country
was so dry and elevated that there was no dew. We
could leave our guns out in tbe open air all night, and
they would not gather a particle of rust. The only solu-
tion I could give of this, was either that the birds could
do without water or that they’ must quench their thirst
from the “‘ prickly pears”’ (fruit of the cacti) which abound
in that section. My limited time, and my desire to secure
larger, not nobler, game, prevented me from making a
close investigation into this.
150 UPLAND SHOOTING.

I believe that the number of birds reared in a brood
is overestimated by many, who place it as high as
eighteen or twenty. In the first place, the number of
eggs found in a nest will not justify this, if you
allow for the probable loss between the hatching and the
maturing of the broods; moreover, if you will go out
early in the season, when the coveys hare not been
reduced in number, and flush a covey where you can watch
them closely, you will soon be able to satisfy yourself
that a dozen is a liberal estimate for an average covey,
and from this the two parents are to be deducted.

There has been much discussion as to whether or not
a pair of birds rear more than one brood in a season.
Many believe and stoutly assert that they rear two, and
sometimes three. J doubt the correctness of this conclu-
sion except in rare and exceptional cases. If the nest is
destroyed, they will frequently lay again, but not other-
wise. Many base their opinion that a second brood is
reared upon the fact that birds of different sizes are found
in the same covey. We have all seen this, but I believe,
if we had watched closely, we would have generally found
at least three parent birds among them. Last season I
watched closely all coveys containing both large and
small birds—in such cases I never shoot into them—and
almost without exception I could see three or four birds
which I thought were a year or more older than the rest
of the covey. The fact that some birds are hatched early
in June, and others late in October, will not sustain the
supposition of those who believe that two broods are
reared by one pair. In hunting deer we frequently find
fawns well able to care for themselves early in July, and
again we find them small and helpless as late as Novem-
ber, and yet we know that it is a physical impossibility
for deer to breed twice in one summer. It is simply a
natural phenomenon which appears in all animate creation.
BOB WHITE. 151

The Bob Whites which have been transplanted into
Colorado, I am informed, do certainly breed twice, and it
may be also true for Florida, but I do not believe that it
will apply to the great proportion of the territory where
the birds are found. At my ranch, I have a small field
which is separated by several miles of dense woods from
any other open land frequented by Bob Whites. The
birds on this place are well protected in the breeding-
season, and the nests carefully located. These pairs rear
only one brood each. Last year the high water destroyed
several nests; some of these birds nested again, but not
all of them. Knowing the number of nests, and watch-
ing all the coveys reared on the place, I am positive that
no pair reared more than one brood. There was one large
covey of young which varied greatly in size. I flushed
it repeatedly, and there were at least three old birds, two
of them being hens. While my own observation leads
me to believe that only one brood is reared in each season
by a pair, I hesitate to assert this positively, for the con-
trary view is held by so many whose opportunities for
knowing the facts are equally as good as myown. Dog-
matic assertions should in all such matters be carefully
avoided.

Another disputed question is whether or not Bob White
is a migratory bird. If we except what is called the ‘‘ run-
ning season’’ in some of the Middle States, Bob Whites
are certainly non-migratory. Overflows, forest fires, and
scarcity of food will occasionally drive them from their
accustomed haunts, but they rarely go farther than a few
miles. We can not speak of them as migratory in the
sense that the snipe, woodcock, plover, wild fowl, and
other birds are migratory. The seasons neither time their
movements nor control the direction of them; it might
as well be said that a man migrates to his office for busi-
“ness, to the restaurant for his luncheon, to the theatre
152 UPLAND SHOOTING.

for amusement, and to his own fireside for home comfort
and enjoyment. That entertaining but most inaccurate
writer, Herbert, in his anxiety to miscall the bird a quail,
used his utmost endeavors to prove that it was migratory.
In this section, the birds frequently leave the fields in
October or November, when the grain and weed-seeds
appear to be exhausted, and stay in the woods, especially
when there is a good mast. Ifthe mast is an utter failure,
they go to the woods only in bitterly cold weather, and
not always then. Under no circumstances do they go
more than a mile or two from where they were reared,
and in January or February they return. Where your
dogs found a covey in October, you may expect to find
them again in February. Some writers have claimed that
while Bob Whites were always found in particular local-
ities, this did not prove the birds to be non-migratory;
for, they claimed, new coveys were continually taking
the place of those which preceded them in a general
movement in some particular direction. The incorrect-
ness of this opinion is demonstrated by the fact that cer-
tain coveys have peculiarities, and that the birds found
at that particular place will, during the entire season and
for successive seasons, act in the same manner; for
instance, I have known coveys which, when flushed,
would fly into trees and perch there, and this they would
do time and again, and year after year, thereby demon-
strating that they were the same birds which were always
found at that particular spot.

Many claim that Bob Whites have the power of with-
holding their scent at will. This is an error, and here
again we find Herbert using his undoubted talents in a
misdirection. To the casual observer, it would appear
that they have this power, but a closer investigation will
enable one better to understand the phenomenon. If vou
will take a musty, moth-eaten fur rug and move it across
BOB WIILITE. 153

the room, it will give out an unpleasant odor; but if you
take it into the open air, shake it violently for several
minutes, then wrap it up into a small compass and put it
under some article of furniture in the same room, your
olfactories will not be able to detect its presence. It is
so with Bob Whites; when flushed, their rapid motion
through the air dissipates the scent, and sometimes they
will plunge into thick grass or cover, press themselves
closely against the ground, fold their wings tightly to
their bodies, and appear hardly to breathe; then, until
they move, it is difficult for the dogs to smell them. But
these instances are rare; as a general rule, when the bird
alights, he moves enough to give forth scent. Herbert,
and others, who advise novices to hold up their dogs for
a considerable space of time, are misled. In some cases
it will be well, but far oftener it will cause useless delay.
If your dogs are good, and the day be an average one for
scent, mark your birds down and go promptly to them.
If you delay too long, the birds will run together again,
and you will merely get another covey rise. That the
Bob White does this because he is frightened and wishes
to conceal himself from the eye of the hunter, not from
the nose of the dog, I believe, for two reasons. First, if
they had this power and knowledge, we should have to
steal upon them unaware to secure a point; and, secondly,
we find this phenomenon most frequent where the birds
have been flushed and scattered by hawks, whose keen
sight, not scenting powers, they dread.

No men know better than our field-trial handlers
what a bird-dog can do, and none are better informed
about Bob Whites; and anyone who has ever judged at
field trials, will readily testify to the vexatious, but
rather excusable, manner in which these handlers will
rush their dogs to secure points on birds just flushed and
scattered, in order to earn thereby valuable prizes, and
154 UPLAND SHOOTING.

to add to the reputation of their dogs. Dogs with poor
noses are largely responsible for the idea that Bob
Whites can withhold their scent at will. When Harry
Archer said that these birds close the pores of their skins,
and thereby withhold the scent, he should have referred
to his dog’s nose as being closed.

The future of our game animals and birds causes the
thoughtful sportsman much anxiety. Whether we look
backward or forward, the result is the same. The buffalo
is practically extinct; the elk can be reached by but few,
and deer and wild turkeys are now unknown in sections
where they were once superabundant. The annual flights
of wild fowl are yearly less and less. From the answers
received to my inquiries, it appears that Bob Whites are
also, as a general rule, decreasing alarmingly in num-
bers, and this is especially to be regretted; for, from the
nature and habits of the birds, they can be made to
increase, even in densely settled farming districts; but to
do this is not a matter of a day nor a year. ,Good game
laws are, of course, most essential; but game laws are
mere dead letters unless they are supported by public
sentiment, and not only actively enforced by prominent
sportsmen, but also closely observed by them. This is
what Imean: I know many sportsmen who would not
think of shooting Bob Whites out of season, who are
earnest in their efforts to protect them, and yet will, on
occasions, violate the law for the protection of some
other kind of game, thereby destroying whatever influ-
ence they may have for good. The sportsman should
observe all game laws; he should learn and obey the laws
of the land, no matter how unjust and unwise he may
think some particular clauses to be, for if he violates
one, the market-hunter and bag-maker will violate them
all; and he should observe even still more closely the
laws of Dame Nature, and under no circumstances molest
 

 

BOB WHITE SHOOTING,
156 UPLAND SHOOTING.

the breeding and undeveloped game. There is a wide
discrepancy of opinion as to what period should be
embraced in the closed season for Bob Whites. It must
depend to some extent upon the locality, and also upon
their abundance, and even upon the number of shooters
who pursue them. Where they are plentiful, and there
are but few who hunt them, nearly all the non-breeding
period can be made an open season, beginning with the
time when the young birds are old enough to furnish
sport, and ending with the commencement of the mating-
season—say from the 1st of October until the 1st of
April. This is the lawin my State, and in this immediate
vicinity Bob Whites are not decreasing to any marked
extent; still the open season is too long. The heat and
heavy cover, and the immaturity of many of the birds,
make it better that the season should open November
1st. It should not extend beyond March 15th, and it
would perhaps be well, in this latitude, to close it March
1st—that is, let the open season be the months of Novem-
ber, December, January, and February. This would
give only four months’ shooting, but it would enable us,
like well-conducted banks, to accumulate a reserve fund,
rather than, like reckless spendthrifts, to overdraw our
accounts and become bankrupt. Where birds have
become scarce, and the sportsmen are very numerous, it
is necessary that the open season be short. The reports I
have received from Indiana go to show that Bob Whites
have rather increased in that State, owing in part to the
mild winters, and partly to a well-enforced game law,
which has only from October 15th to December 20th as
an open season. In extreme cases, the absolute protec-
tion of Bob Whites for several years has been found most
beneficial. This appears to be the case in the Province
of Ontario. From persistent shooting and hard winters,
the birds had become too scarce to furnish sport. They
BOB WIILITE. 157

were protected for three years, and I am informed that
last season they were plentiful, and sport was excellent.

The exact features. of the law should be adapted to
the wants of the State which enacts it, and due attention
must be paid to all the rights, and even to some of the
prejudices, of the community. Game laws are too often
considered as intended to benefit the town and ‘‘dude”’
sportsmen, and as inimical to the farmer. This is to be
deplored. Proper game laws, well executed, are more
beneficial tothe farmers and the farmer sportsmen than to
any other class. It enables them to realize a source of rev-
enue from the game found on their farms, if they so desire,
anc it secures to the farmer sportsmen game. near at hand
—a most desirable thing for them, for they, as a rule, do
not visit distant sections in the pursuit of game. The law
which enables a man to post his property and prevent
trespassing is most desirable; for, while game birds are the
property of no one, still the owner of inclosed premises
should have the right to say who may hunt and fish
thereon. It seems to me that a gentleman would as soon
intrude in another’s parlor as in his field, and such instru-
sions should be met alike in both cases. There are but
few farmers who object to the proper persons hunting on
their lands.

Non-export laws are excellent. The absolute prohibi-
tion of shooting Bob Whites for the market is desirable.
The destruction of their eggs and netting or trapping them
should be prohibited at all seasons of the year. These
and other provisions can be inserted, care being taken,
however, not to make the law obnoxious. The penalty
should not be too heavy. If you put it at $5 or $10 for
ordinary shooting out of season, you can get local courts
and juries to convict; and this penalty, if imposed and
collected, will be amply sufficient, especially where the
ever-present court costs are attached. If you make the
158 UPLAND SILOOTING.

penalty too heavy, you practically kill thelaw. Itisa
good idea to provide that the fine shall go to the public
school fund of the nearest municipal subdivision to which
it can be legally applied. It will enable the prosecuting
attorney to paint the game-butcher in dark colors, while,
on the other hand, he can hold up before the jury the
bright-eyed little children who will be benefited hy the
fine assessed. Sportsmen should impress upon their Jaw-
makers the necessity for game laws. The ambitious
young aspirant for the legislature is ever open to argu-
ments of this sort. Sportsmen, as a rule, are active,
-intelligent, and influential men, and they can do much in
this line. I don’t mean that the sportsmen shall organ-
ize a sportsmen’s political party—that is not necessary;
but look after your candidates in nominating conventions
and primary elections. In a certain county, there was
an officer who had for years paid undue attention to the
views of certain poachers. He was otherwise an excellent
man, but he was not educated up to the proper standard
on the subject of game protection. The sportsmen proper
had generally supported him with their votes and influ-
ence, but finally they wearied of his diplomacy, and he
was speedily convinced that the votes of a score of
poachers were not eqnivalent to the active, intelligent
opposition he wonld meet from the sportsmen of his
county, some of whom could control alone more than a
score of votes. Game protection is practical, and we
should look at it as practical men, not as sentimentalists.
If we throw the proper safeguards around our game birds,
they will be with us for many years to come—a constant
source of delight and pleasure. Rewards offered for the
destruction of vermin and birds of prey, would conduce
greatly to the protection of our game birds; but our
legislatures are slow to adopt such measures. Sports-
men’s clubs can, however, do much good in this direction,
BOB WHITE. 159

not only by offering such rewards as they can afford to
pay, but by having side-hunts, in which the object shall
not be to disgrace themselves by striving to see who can
most worthily wear the title of game-butcher, but by
each endeavoring to be foremost in the destruction of
furred, feathered, and scaled pot-hunters.

In the foregoing remarks, I have treated of the habits
of Bob Whites as I have found them, and as they have
been reported to me by intelligent, practical sportsmen,
but I have spoken only indirectly of the pursuit of them
as game birds, and the proper means and methods for
doing so. The choice you will make here will depend
very largely upon the kind of man you are. I write this
for sportsmen, not for the game-butcher, whose idea of a
successful day’s sport is the number of birds bagged,
whose gun is prized simply in proportion to its capacity
for exterminating game, and who esteems his dog merely
for the number of birds he can find, point, and retrieve,
regardless of the manner in which it isdone. To this
miscalled sportsman I have nothing to say, but I address
the true sportsman, the one who enjoys a day’s sport
not so much for the destruction of life as for the pleasure
he derives from each and every incident connected with
it. This is the kind of man one should select as a com-
panion for a day's shooting on Bob Whites. Let him be
aman who observes closely, compares and analyzes the
habits and characteristics of game birds, and of every-
thing that pertains to sportsmanship; not a dull, dry
fellow, but one in whose nature there is something of the
poet; who is a mental, moral, and physical epicure; who
can enjoy the ranging of his dog, the clean execution of
his gun, the swift flight of the bird, its wondrous instincts
for self-preservation, his compahion’s skill and success,
and everything connected with sportsmanship, with an
intense satisfaction, which he feels and appreciates at the
160 UPLAND SHOOTING.

moment, as does the epicure who presses some savory
viand to his palate, or the connoisseur of wine, as he
leisurely enjoys the rich bouquet and fruity flavor of some
ancient vintage; or even as the strong, vigorous man who
feasts his eyes on the delicate beauty and refined grace of
purest womanhood. This is the spirit with which the
sportsman should enter into his pleasures. Secure sucha
man for your companion if you can, and strive hard that
he may have such a one in you.

The next essential is not the gun, but the dog. The
gun is merely a machine or insensate instrument in your
hands, but the dog is more. He not only contributes to
your sport, but he enjoys it himself. A good dog is more
than a servant; he is a pleasant companion, a tried and
trusted friend. For the pursuit of Bob Whites, sports-
men are divided in their choice. Many prefer the
pointer, others the setter, while some are admirers equally
of both. I, like others, have my preference, but I
believe that the best of either strain are of about equal
merit, and are good enough for any man. In selecting
a bird-dog, the prime requisites are, of course, intelli-
gence, disposition, nose, endurance, speed, and courage;
but there is another quality which he should possess to a
high degree, and that isthe one commonly called ‘‘style”’
—a quality peculiar to the dog that is graceful in motion
and handsome on point; whose drawing on game is in
itself a display of beauty, and which, while working
single birds, will spring from point to point in a quick,
accurate manner; who retrieves with an appearance of
absolute pleasure, not going after the dead birds like a
lazy boy sent on a disagreeable errand. This trait can
be had in either the pointer or the setter. He may not
give any more points than an ugly brute, who, full of bird
sense, goes with wonderful accuracy from covey to covey,
and trots around among the scattered birds in a slouch-
BOB WHITE. 161

ing, tramp-like manner; he may not even give so many
points, but an hour with such a dog is worth a week over
the other. The Zulu savage and the Indian buck prize
their wives largely for their capacity for manual labor and
their coarser physical powers, but the educated man of
to-day wishes something more than a mere beast of burden
for his household companion. Civilization has developed
his greed and egotism until he thinks himself worthy of
that which is noblest on earth—a beautiful, refined, and
educated woman. So the true sportsman should be with
his dog. This kind of dog is difficult to obtain, but by
careful selection it is obtainable.

Look well to the qualities of your dog’s ancestors, as
they exhibited them in the field. “Probably you can not
see many of them yourself;. look, then, to the records of
our field trials, which have donemore to develop the good
qualities of our bird-dogs than any other one thing;
but don’t look to the bench-show records, for there you
will get but little information which is useful, and much
that is worse than useless. If you can do so, breed and
train your dog yourself—he will then be more a part
and parcel of you; but if you can not, procure him from
some breeder of reputation and reliability, and have him
well and thoroughly trained; then keep him so. Care-
fully correct every sin, whether of omission or commis-
sion, with gentle but positive firmness, Don’t get into a
tempest of passion, and be guilty of brutally mistreating
your dog, but correct all faults until the habit of obedi-
ence gets firmly fixed. Give your dog all the experience
possible, as without it, no matter how fine his natural
qualities, and how thoroughly he may have been drilled
in the yard, he will not be a first-class field-dog. See, too,
that his physical condition is perfect. Nothing irks the
true sportsman more than to see some ignoramus expect-

ing first-class work of a good dog, which is either in bad
14
162 UPLAND SHOOTING.

health, or else overloaded with fat and in soft flesh.
Last, but by no means least, get your dog’s confidence
and affection, and let him have yourown. Such a dog as
I have described is well worthy of it—more so, perhaps,
‘than some of the men in whose society you take pleasure.
Until your dog is thoroughly educated and trained, let the
number of birds bagged be a matter of secondary impor-
tance. No sportsman is likely to have a thoroughly
, trained dog unless he can enjoy leaving his gun at home,
and with whip and whistle work his dogs, while some
friend does the shooting.

After your dog is thoroughly trained, with the habit
of obedience firmly fixed (I again use the expression, for
it seems to me to express exactly the idea which I wish
to convey), you can enjoy yourself fully in pursuit of
Bob Whites, undisturbed by the many petty vexations
which are entailed upon a sportsman by the use of half-
trained dogs. A man can hardly overestimate the good
qualities of a first-class field-dog, but there are men who
fail properly to appreciate our canine friends. In my
kennel-yard there is a modest little tomb, covered by the
twining vines of the honey-suckle, which also coil
around a marble monument, upon which is chiseled the
name of a faithful pointer, whose remains are buried
beneath it. This tribute of respect to a dumb animal
occasionally elicits expressions of surprise from some of
those who see it. It is a matter of regret to me, that I
can not read to them a poem which I read many years ago,
and enjoyed intensely, but which I have never been able
to find again. It was to me full of pathos. A man of
strange appearance, travel-stained and worn, entered the
studio of a famous Grecian sculptor. He was accom-
panied by a noble dog, which, like his master, showed
the effects of ageand want. The stranger, drawing from
his ragged vestments a precious stone, graven with a
BOB WHITE. 163

device of Eastern royalty, asked the sculptor if he would
take it as a fee for carving a statue of the dog. The
great man scornfully replied that he would not degrade
his genius to perpetuate the memory of a beast. The
visitor then told his tale. It was of kingly birth and
wealth, of rebellion and bitter treachery. He told how
his subjects had revolted, his friends had betrayed, and
even the wife of his bosom had deserted him, but how,
through all, the faithful dog stood by his master; and he
closed his pathetic appeal with these words:
“ Ay! stranger, but a dog, a beast;

But of all earth's creatures not the least.”
The sculptor bowed his head, and made due apology.
He declined to take the jewel, but in his city, for many
centuries, could be seen the choicest product of his
chisel—a faithful likeness of the noble dog.

In selecting a gun, I would use the advice of Polonius
to his son about dress. Let it be as ‘costly as your
purse can buy,’’ with justice to your other wants and
necessities; adapt it, also, to your strength and skill. No
gun for field-shooting should weigh over eight pounds,
and from that down to five and a half, according to the
gauge. I would earnestly recommend the hammerless,
on the ground of both convenience and safety. During
one hunting-season, I noticed all the various accounts of
hunters who were injured by the accidental discharge of
guns, and where sufficient particulars were given, it was
evident that fully three-fourths of such accidents would
not have happened had the gun been a hammerless. If
you can afford but one gun, and shoot wild fowl to any
great extent, you may find it necessary to use a ten-gauge
gun on Bob Whites, but don’t put your duck charges in
it. It is not giving the little fellows a fair show. Re-
duce your ammunition somewhat, shoot in a sportsman-
like manner, and don’t permit some unreasonable bigot
164 UPLAND SHOOTING.

to call you a boor and butcher because your weapon is so
much larger than his little sixteen-gauge. Still, 1 think
that the twelve-gauge is as large as should be used: on
Bob Whites. If you are an exquisite shot, you can get
down as low as a twenty-gauge; that altogether depends
upon the individual and his tastes. The gun most gen-
erally used is good enough, being a seven and a half
pound twelve-gauge. The barrels should be cylinder, or
only slightly choked. There is a world of nonsense writ-
ten about the shooting qualities of guns. The guns of
all standard makes shoot about alike. The greater
superiority of the finer guns is not in their shooting quali-
ties, but because they are more handsome to look at,
handle better, and are much more durable. Geta gun
that suits you fairly well, and then stick to it. Chang-
ing guns is like changing friends—a risky business.
In Bob White shooting, for such a gun as I have
mentioned, a charge of three and a half drams of
powder and one or one and one-eighth ounces of shot
will generally do well; but guns apparently the same
will shoot better with different charges. Test your gun
thoroughly for pattern and penetration at a rack-target;
find out the proper charge, and then stick to that. The
smokeless niter powders are especially desirable in field-
shooting. The size of shot should be from No. 10 to
No. 8; or, rather, No. 8 shot will do the season through
as well as any. Some prefer the chilled, others the
soft. I could never see any particular difference in
their killing powers. The other portion of a sports-
man’s outfit I will not discuss. Everyone knows what
suits him best, and a little experience will teach him
what he really needs. Let the lunch-bag be well filled,
and the whisky-bottle conspicuously absent. The man-
ner of hunting Bob Whites—or shooting them, if you
prefer it —differs widely in various sections. In the
BOB WHITE. 165

North and East, where the fields are small and the fences
difficult to let down, the sportsmen generally go on foot;
in the South and West, the hunters usually ride until
the coveys are found, and then dismount to work up the
scattered birds. This requires the highest type of dog.
He is expected to range farther and faster, and conse-
quently to have more endurance, than is necessary in a
dog which must keep within sight of a man on foot. He
must also be better trained, for he is at one moment re-
quired to range far out in search of coveys, and the next
he is called to work the ground closely for scattered birds.
Ido not wish, however, to be understood as saying that
the dogs of the South and West are superior to those of
the East; being of the same blood, their natural qualities
are practically the same; but dogs hunted by mounted
sportsmen are not only required to cover more ground,
but should also be better trained, as they are not so
directly under their handler’s control. For this very
reason, however, they are frequently not so well trained.
They do admirable covey work, but are less steady to
wing and shot, and less inclined to work ground closely
for scattered birds.

Bob Whites roost at night in a circle, with their heads
outward, as if to guard against surprise in every direc-
tion. Early in the morning, if the weather is pleasant,
they start out to feed, and it is a pleasure to watch a
feeding covey, and see the contented industry, and I might
almost say the jolly good-nature, with which they search
for food. Toward noon their appetites are satisfied, and
they will seek some comfortable place for a midday rest.
If the day be cold and bleak, they will stop on some sunny
southern exposure. If it be hot and sultry, they will
seek some cool and shady place. Later in the day they
will again start forth to forage, and, if undisturbed, will
generally return to their last night’s roosting-place.
166 UPLAND SHOOTING.

They occasionally, but by no means always, take wing
and fly to the place where they propose to spend the
night. This, I believe, is generally done when they have
been recently disturbed by foxes or other animals, which
trail them up by scent.

Some sportsmen prefer to shoot alone, but a pleasant
companion, while he may diminish your bag, should more
than double your sport. With rare exceptions, the days
when I have shot alone are now overlooked and forgot-
ten, while those spent afield with some chosen friend are
treasured up as precious reminiscences, to gladden my
heart as I glance back along the mile-stones of the past.
On the other hand, some of my most exasperating recol-
lections are of days of so-called sport, where four or five
endeavored to shoot together. In shooting, as in love-
making, ‘‘two is company, but three isa crowd.’ For
this section, I consider the acme of pleasant sport to be
had by two friends, well mounted and equipped, with a
brace of well-trained, experienced dogs of fine natural
qualities, attended by an intelligent, active servant, also
well mounted, whose duty it is to carry the bulk of the
ammunition, the game and luncheon, to let down fences,
mark down birds, and lead up the horses when desirable.
This is rather a lazy method, but the man who pursues it
from sunrise till dark will have an abundance of exercise;
but while this is my preference, I have great respect for
the athlete who on foot keeps up with his good dogs
throughout the day. It is merely a matter of taste,
after all.

I would here suggest that every sportsman keep a diary
in which to enter briefly or at length, as he may prefer,
an account of each day's sport. He will find it a useful
reference and a source of pleasure. It will make him
more accurate in his knowledge of the habits of game
birds and animals. and benefit him in many other respects.
BOB WHITE. 167

He should, however, avoid making himself a servant to
his diary, and should also, if possible, keep his record
accurate and correct. Exaggeration about matters pertain-
ing to field-sports seems to be a weakness peculiar to man,
but a sportsman’s diary should be as truthful as human
nature will permit; otherwise it possesses but little real
value.

There is a wide difference of opinion among practical
sportsmen as to the proper manner of aiming at moving
game. Ido not know why thisis. It may be that with
some there is more thorough sympathy and closer connec-
tion between the will-power and the nervous system than
there is with others. The former resemble the present
percussion fire-arms, and discharge their guns simulta-
neously with aiming; while the latter resemble the old
flint-lock pieces, and require more time between the fixing
of their aim and firing. The former will advocate the
holding on theory, the latter will believe in holding ahead,
when, in fact, their shooting is practically the same. Not
long since, I went on board a steamboat chartered by a
fishing-party. Among the party were two gentlemen who
are by many considered to be the*best duck-shots in
North Louisiana. The proper method of aiming at ducks
was discussed. One of these gentlemen was an extreme
advocate of holding ahead, while the other, with equal
earnestness, insisted that one should hold on, or nearly
on, the game. Of course the gun should be so pointed
that the line taken by the shot and that traveled by the
bird will intersect each other. If the bird is flying either
directly to or from you, and getting higher, aim above it.
If getting lower, aim beneath it. If crossing to the right
or left, aim in front—just how much will depend upon
the shooter, and experience only can educate him. No
quantity of book-reading can give him this information
and skill. I would advise the beginner to avoid snap-
168 UPLAND SHOOTING.

shooting, and to take only the plain and open shois; to
take notice how he aims, and observe closely the result.
He should, on the other hand, avoid shooting too slowly.
As his skill increases, let him undertake to make the more
difficult shots with increased quickness, until it is with
him automatic to calculate while raising his gun the dis-
tance to the bird, and the direction and speed of its flight,
and to aim so that the center of his charge will strike it
down with reasonable certainty: then he will have the
right to consider himself an expert in all Sports Pteri-
plegistic, so far as marksmanship is concerned.

The distance at which Bob Whites are killed, and the
percentage of successful shots, are, I believe, both gen-
erally overestimated by sportsmen. Fully two-thirds, if
not three-fourths, of the birds bagged are killed under
thirty yards. Nearly all the others are brought down
under forty yards. Those who kill frequently at sixty
and eighty yards, do it in their rocking-chairs or on
paper; they don’t do it in the field. As to the percent-
age of the killing shots, where the sportsman takes all
reasonable chances, shooting in the brush as well as in
the open, I believe that 40 per cent. is a fair average.
Those of us who have shot a great deal, occasionally make
some wonderful scores; these we remember, and rate our
skill by them. We forget our ‘‘off’’? days, when we
would make a half-dozen consecutive misses. It is with
ease that I can recall my runs of fifteen or twenty birds
killed clean without a miss, but it requires considerable
mental effort to remember the days when my repeated
misses made even my good dogs wear an expression of
vexation and disgust.

Of all field-sports, the shooting of Bob Whites is the
most refined, and the surroundings pertain most closely
to civilization. The wild-fowler stands alone amid bleak
surroundings; the snipe-shooter must plod his way
BOB WHITE. 169

through marsh and ooze; the deer-hunter, in the forest,
listens for the fierce cry of the savage pack, which he
hopes will bring the flying deer to his stand; he who
seeks the bear, must follow him through swamps and
morass, or through chaparral and caiion—but it is not so
with those who would bag Bob Whites. There the sur-
roundings are fields and farms. Intense excitement may
be wanting, but there are unbounded opportunities for
great pleasure and enjoyment, provided we but educate
ourselves to appreciate them; and we should endeavor to
assist in educating others, especially the rising genera-
tion, who, with active limbs and bright, keen eyes, are to
take our places when age and infirmity will cause the
fields to know us no more. The boy has no hero worship
more devout than for the man whom he believes to be a
thorough sportsman. Let us try to be worthy of it, and
to inculcate, by act as well as by precept, the principles
of true sportsmanship in the lads around us. Let us teach
them to look for pleasurable excitement to field-sports,
rather than to the gambling-hell, the dance-hall, and the
saloon. If we do this much, we shall not have lived in
vain; and to accomplish this, I know of no better means
than the proper pursuit of that gallant gentleman, our
little friend Bob White.

 
 

(17)
SHARP-TAILED GROUSE, SPRUCE GROUSE,
AND PTARMIGANS.

 

By Water M. Wo tre (‘‘SHosHone ”).

 

OME years ago, a party of sportsmen en-
camped one evening on the bank of a
famous trout-stream in Southern Idaho.
For two days they had traveled northward

f==75) across the desert, wasting ammunition
apon sage-hens that were so highly flavored with the rank
young shoots of artemisia as to be absolutely unpal-
atable, and upon jack-rabbits that were also left to the
coyotes; but now they were in game-land, on a grassy
plateau, beside clear waters fringed with bear-berries and
quaking aspens, and all recollections of dust, fatigue, and
thirst were lost in anticipation of the morrow.

Daylight found us stirring, and, after a cup of coffee,
we started, with approved tackle, to woo the speckled
trout. Of course guns were left in camp; our dependence:
was upon rod and rifle. Scarcely had we gone 100
yards from the tent, when from the thicket in front
of us came a whir, and a flock of grouse arose straight
in air, and then glided swiftly away, with so slight a
motion of the wings that they seemed propelled by some
invisible power. The manner of flight, and the loud
‘‘euk, cuk, cuk,’’ were proofs positive that we had some-
thing new in the game line, and, as the birds dropped
within 200 yards, it took but a few minutes to get
the breech-loaders and reach the spot we had marked.

When within twenty yards of them they flushed, and we
(171)

  
172 UPLAND SHOOTING.

secured three of the covey. By the time we had brought
our birds to camp, I had learned three lessons—to load
with No. 8 shot instead of with No. 6, to let the birds get
well under way before shooting, and, last, but not least,
to waste no time in searching for a lost or wounded bird.
If no dogs are with the party, the most careful marking
will be fruitless.

The preparation of the birds for the frying-pan gave
us an opportunity to study their distinguishing charac-

 

 

OLEODP DIMI TIA Tn ok WE i ee “A

 

 

teristics. Longer than the pinnated grouse, they are
much less compact, and they lack the pointed neck-
feathers of the prairie fowl. The tail is long, wedge-
shaped, and contains eighteen feathers, the central pair
being elongated a full inch beyond the rest. The dense
feathering of the tarsi, extending onto the tues, the stout
bill, the papillous, naked skin above the eye, bordered
externally by feathers. are important marks in the deter-
mination of the species. The plumage is uniqne. Above,
a light brown (buff rather than rusty) always predomi-
nates over black markings, in bars rather than in spots.
The scapulars are marked by broad, elliptical, central spots
SHARP-TAILED GROUSE, ETC. 173

of white, and there are similar roundish spots upon the
wing-coverts. The head and neck are a brownish buff,
which shades into pure white on the breast. On the
throat are dusky spots, which, on the breast, become rich
brown, V-shaped lines—the conspicuous and distinctive
markings of the bird. The feathering of the feet is a
pale gray. It took a shorter time to pick the birds than
to describe them, and with the drawing came another
surprise. Not a tint of suge could be detected, and the
crop was full of rose-fruit, wild currants, bear-berries,
and other mountain delicacies, thereby proving them to
have been dainty feeders. The flesh was light-colored,
tender, juicy, and we considered it the choicest of our
Rocky Mountain game birds. Such was my introduction
to the ‘‘ white-belly,” ‘willow grouse,’’ and ‘‘ spotted
chicken”’ of the cow-boy and the mountaineer, the sharp-
tailed grouse of the sportsman, and the Pediocaetes phasi-
anellus columbianus of the naturalist. The name willow
grouse is also applied to the ptarmigans, though they are
generally known as white or mountain quail. Similar
to the male, but smaller, and with tail-feathers shorter,
is the female.

The Columbian sharp-tailed grouse is common in the
region north of Great Salt Lake and west of the Black
Hills. East of the mountains, its place is taken by the
prairie sharp-tailed grouse, the rusty color of the latter
being the principal specific difference. The sharp-tail of
the mountains belongs to the region of the quaking aspens,
of purple bear-berries, and of white mountain columbine;
to the beautiful valleys that are to be found at an altitude
of 6,000 feet, between the sage-brush and the pines,
between the home of the Soares ae and the haunts
of the ptarmigans.

With the first signs of spring, joie before the leaves
appear or the grass is green, the birds fly from the thickets
174 UPLAND SHOOTING.

of pine and cedar where they have passed the winter, and
come down to the streams, near which they will live until
cold weather again drives them into winter quarters.
They do not arrive in families, but in groups—the young
males first, then, one by one, the old cocks, heroes of
many a battle, and last, the females. No chaperon ever
assigned quarters to a camping-party with a greater sense
of propriety than is observed by the old hens in selecting
a roosting and feeding place for themselves and for the
tender pullets. All courtship must be carried on in an
open manner, and there must be no peeping behind the
scenes, so, for a few days, the sexes remain apart; but,
with the warm ‘‘chinook,’’ the males tire of their life of
celibacy. The papillous membrane over the eye becomes
inflamed, and the hens look forth in admiration as their
lords strut around the grove in hopes of drawing some
mate from the seclusion of the bower; but this method
of securing a partner is futile, so the oft-described dance
of the grouse comes next upon the programme. In their
parades, the males have tramped a smooth place a few
yards square, and this they convert into a ball-room. At
first only the old birds take part in the exercise. Their
neck-feathers are expanded, and, with wings trailed, yet
constantly vibrating, they commence with stately measure,
now on this side of the circle, now on that, yet always
within sight of the object of their devotion. Often they
pretend to fight, but their belligerent attitude is assumed
only for effect. When one tires, he gives a satisfied cluck,
and goes among the hens to secure compliments upon his
Chesterfieldian appearance, and then, having satisfied
his egotistical emotions, returns to the floor. All this
time the younger males survey the stamping-ground with
enviouseyes. At length, one of the more daring makes
a break for a prominent position, and proceeds to emulate
his elders. Such an intrusion is not tolerated without a
SHARP-TAILED GROUSE, ETO. 175

fight, but if the youngster proves game, and stands his
ground, he is soon admitted as an equal, and bows to his
confreres and to the admiring pullets with as much
dignity as though he were an old hand at the business.
Only the cowards are kept out of the charmed ring, and
these, I believe, go without a mate until another spring;
but, like all other good. things, the time of courtship
must come to an end. One by one the dancers stop their
evolutions, one by one they go to the females, and each
walks a few times about his inamorata; then, together,
the pair leaves the band, and, like Hiawatha and Minne-
haha, walks slowly through the forest to make a new
home. The dance may last for several days, as all do not
participate at one time; but at its close the breeding-
season has fairly commenced, and the few males who
have not secured mates remain by themselves until
the fall pack. Sharp-tailed grouse are rarely, if ever,
gregarious, and ‘the male proves a faithful and helpful
husband.

As the female feels the maternal instinct, and the time
of incubation approaches, she selects a place for a nest—
not in the grove of quaking aspens, not among the lordly
pines, nor yet among the tall, rank grasses of the upland
valleys, but in some thicket of wild roses, in some clump
of purple-blossomed arctostaphyllos, where the low-hung
foliage forms a perfect screen, she lays her eggs. The
place of her choice is not far from a stream. While she
is upon the nest the male is never far distant. He is a
warrior-sentinel, and, while I do not know that he ever
relieves her in her duty, he not infrequently brings her
some dainty morsel that he has picked up on his rambles.
The nest is a rude affair, constructed of coarse grasses and
dried ‘leaves scratched together, sometimes in a slight
depression, but more frequently upon the level ground.
From twelve to fifteen eggs are deposited. They are
176 UPLAND SHOOTING.

olive-green in color, speckled with a rich dark-brown.
In size they are slightly larger than the eggs of the prairie
chicken, and are longer, proportionally, than are those
of the ruffed grouse.

Late in April in the southern Snake River country, and
by the middle of May or the first of June north of the
Ceeur d’ Alene, the young brood is hatched, and at this
time a coolness arises upon the part of the male. He does
not desert the hen until the young are able to fly, but he
remains at a respectful distance. The downy young are
a bright buffy yellow, the upper parts tinged reddish, and
coarsely marbled with black; the fore part of the head all
around is immaculate, and a small black spot is apparent
on the middle of the crown. Before they are able to fly,
the mother resorts to every artifice to prevent the dis-
covery of her brood. In her tricks she closely resembles
the partridge. As best suits her purpose, she sulks
through the bushes or rises and flies away with a loud
whir, and then, when danger is past, she rejoins her
offspring, and calls them together with cluck and action
of the barn-yard fowl. As they grow older, the rusty
plumage of the back becomes a darker brown, spotted and
barred with black and conspicuously streaked with white,
and the lower parts change to a dull white, spotted with
dusky. Not until after their first moult do the clear-cut,
V-shaped markings become prominent.

During May, June, and July, the chicks thrive and
fatten. From their mother they acquire a fearless dis-
position, that prompts them, when disturbed, to draw
themselves close to the ground rather than to seek safety
in flight; and so closely do they resemble in hue the
mountain vegetation, that it takes sharp eyes to discover
them when once the buffy down of infancy is lost. The
female, while incubating, will suffer herself to be almost
trodden upon before she will leave her nest, and were it
SHARP-TAILED GROUSE, ETC. 177

not for her sparkling eyes, she would seldom, if ever, be
discovered.

Were sportsmen’s ethics in the mountains what they
should be, the birds would not be hunted before the
middle of August, at which time, if the reader will, we
shall take a trip for them. Our weapons must be a gun
for grouse, a rifle for deer, bears, and other large game,
and rods suitable for trout or salmon, according as we
camp by brook, river, or lake. For this early shooting
a light 16-gauge breech-loader is just the thing, and the
shells should be loaded with 34 drams of powder and an
ounce of No. 10 shot. Heavier charges and No. 8, or
even No. 6, shot will do late inthe autumn; but in sum-
mer shooting the birds will make only short flights, and
they will never rise until they are compelled to do so.
The straight rise and straight-away flight give the sports-
man ample opportunity for covering them, and his
trouble will be that he peppers the young and tender
fowl so full of pellets that they are difficult to pluck and
clean, and are much more liable to spoil.

Sharp-tailed grouse being one of the principal objects
of our expedition, we must have a team of good pointers
—dogs that will range freely, and that, when a bird has
dropped, will not quickly give up the search for it. In
these altitudes, a setteris much more apt to get out of
condition than is a pointer; and the long, arid deserts
that must be traversed, from stream to stream, tell upon
the constitution of a water-loving dog.

No matter whether our route be from the south or the
east, we must cross a hot, dusty, sage-covered desert in
coming into Southern Idaho—a region that tries the tem-
pers of the best of friends; but game-land is just ahead,
and the green tints and white patches that cover the
mountain-sides become hourly more distinct, and at last,

late in the hotsummer afternoon, we reach our destination.
12
178 UPLAND SHOOTING.

It is a level park, four or five acres in extent. covered
with rich grasses that reach the backs of our horses.
About three sides of the camping-ground is a brook, clear
as crystal, save where it dashes into white spray amid
rocks and ritiles, and cold as the snow-banks whence it
springs. The fourth side is a bluff, and beyond this the
plateau stretches away to the mountains. The brook is
girt with willows and other shrubbery, and upon it open
canons, where the trembling aspen grows and where the
black-tailed deer rests during the heatoftheday. Peaks,
capped with eternal snow, seem almost within rifle-shot,
and just below the snow-line are forests of pine. Horses
are soon hobbled or picketed, the tent is set up, a string
of trout is caught; then supper and bed-time crowd on
apace, and hardly have we fallen into a good sound sleep
ere another morning is upon us, and we arise with the
matin-song of the warblers. Lest our occupations
become monotonous, we divide, after breakfast, into
three parties—one with rifles to go up among the quaking
aspens, another to explore the stream with rod and reel,
and the third, with guns and dogs, to beat the thickets
for birds. During our stay here it will be a poor repast
at which we do not sit down to broiled venison steak,
fried grouse, speckled trout. with an occasional teal or
widgeon, and to sauces of wild currants or gooseberries,
stewed ‘sarvice-berries.”’? and sweet black-caps; but it
is hardly time to discuss supper, as we start out after
breakfast, ready for the work of the day, lightly clad in
suits of canvas. We wear thick-soled, laced shoes in
preference to boots, as we have noclimbing. The grouse
will fly up and down stream, but not across the bluffs on
either side. Unless they scatter in the aspens. our path
will be as level as a floor. Crossing the brook, our dogs
range well, and we follow at an easy pace. Suddenly
they catch the scent, wheel, and slowly advance toward a
SHARP-TAILED GROUSE, ETC. 179

dense thicket, where they stiffen to a dead point. There
isno hurry. The birds are young, and this is their first
interview with dog or man. They do not run or try to
hide-—just squat composedly, as though believing that we
could overlook them; but, alas! their cunning is fatal.
We get close to them before they are flushed, and then,
as they sail away, give them the contents of four barrels.
It takes but a glance to mark them down, as their flight
is unwavering. The dogs will get the dead; let us look
after the cripples. There is one that is winged; it no
longer resorts to its old tactics, but hurries away, as fast
as its legs will carry it, to the shelter of some tussock.
Another is crawling under some leaves, and its brown
back is so deceptive that we look twice before we can be
sure of our eyes.

Five birds are bagged, aa now we hear the cluck of
the mother as she calls her brood about her. Once more
we advance. This time they are more wary, but still we
get within thirty yards before they rise; and now the
dogs have a stronger scent, which they follow for some
distance. They flush a covey of males, who are in the
vicinity of the females and chickens, though they do not
associate with them. They are more easily disturbed,
rise higher, and fly faster than did the others, though
they are not difficult to hit, nor do they carry away the
lead when they are wounded. A very slight injury brings
them to the ground, and the only trouble is that, when
winged, they go farther than do the young to find a
place of concealment.

There would be no sense in killing more birds than
we can dispose of in camp, so we let a dozen suffice, and
return to camp before the fishermen have fairly begun
their work.

Such is hunting the sharp-tailed grouse; and just so
numerous and so tame will they be found in all these
180 UPLAND SHOOTING.

upland valleys. Up to this time their food has been of
the most tempting and delicate kind, and this makes
them a treat for the epicure; but, unfortunately, they are
very tender birds, and, no matter how carefully packed,
will not bear transportation as well as do most similar
species.

With September, berries and green shoots fail, and
then they eat cedar-berries, pine-nuts, and other articles
of similar flavor, until their flesh reminds one of spruce
gum; but this taste is not disagreeable, nor do they ever
become so saturated with the rank essential oils that are
to be found in their winter food as do the sage-hens.

Snow falls early in these mountains, and, with the
first squall, there is another change in their mode of life.
All the birds, old and young, male and female, assemble
in large packs, and select some place for passing the
winter. They do not come from different sections in a
migratory wave, but those families that have spent the
summer here and there along some stream, all assemble
near its head-waters and choose a camping-ground. This
is generally among the evergreens, where they can find
food and shelter beneath the decumbent branches. The
winter plumage now appears, and, though the birds grow
exceedingly wild, they will not allow themselves to be
separated when once the pack has been formed. The males
appear much more gray in winter than in summer, and
so nearly are the V-shaped markings obliterated that the
male and the female seem to belong to different species,
especially as the sexes, when in the pack. do not mingle,
but each keeps its own side of the yard. During the
winter season they roost upon the pine-branches, and on
very cold days, unless a storm is threatening, prefer not
to leave their perches. At this time the usually wary
bird may be shot from the boughs, and sometimes three
or four shots may be fired before the flock flies away.
SHARP-TAILED GROUSE, ETC. 181

Such instances are, however, veryrare. They areusually
off with the first sign of danger, but they will not go so
far that they can not easily return to the same perch that
they left. The pot-hunter can now secure all the birds
he can carry by driving them away from the yard, and
then concealing himself in a thicket. The birds will
return at dusk, if not before, and all night long the
hunter may blaze away among the trees, and thus secure
a large bag. After dark the grouse will scarcely change
position, only move from limb to limb as they are dis-
turbed by flashes from below, or by the fall of some slain
companion from a higher branch. This murderous
method is worthy of an Indian, but not of any sports-
man.

In common with Pediocetes phasianellus campestris
of the prairies, the sharp-tail of the mountains burrows
in the snow, and can travel quite rapidly beneath its
surface when it imagines itself in danger from an enemy.
In the same way, if the thicket does not afford sufficient
protection from a storm, it buries itself until the bliz-
zard is over. Once in awhile, a sudden freeze forms such
a crust over the soft snow that the birds are imprisoned;
they will then make long tunnels, in hope of escape,
though sometimes they perish in the attempt.

The prairie sharp-tail is found in our northern tier of
States and Territories, between Lake Superior and the
eastern slope of the Rocky Mountains. It may be found
in Western Nebraska and in Eastern Wyoming and Colo-
rado, as far south as the New Mexico line; but as the
prairie chicken increases with the advent of the farmer,
so does the sharp-tail disappear; and as the well-watered
valleys where it thrives are the first lands to be home-
steaded by the settler, it is now a rarity, excepting in
Eastern Montana and Dakota. The rusty or ochraceous
ground-color of the upper parts is the most apparent
182 UPLAND SHOOTING.

specific difference, and the eggs of the prairie sharp-tail
are a trifle shorter than are those of her mountain sister.
It can not be supposed that during the whole of our
excursion we devote ourselves to the sharp-tail. Guides
and cow-boys have told us strange tales about the ** fool-
hen,’ that lives among the pine and spruce, above the
white-leaved poplars, close to the snow-belt. If sucha
bird exists, we must find it, and hence a hunt for the

SPRUCE GROUSE.

This bird belongs to the genus Dendragapis, which
is well represented in the Northern United States and
throughout British America. The Dendragap/are divided
into two families. The first of these is distinguished by
a tail of twenty feathers, and the sides of the neck are,
in the male, with distinct inflatable air-sacs. Its mem-
bers live in the Far West, and are the dusky grouse, with
the varieties known as the sooty grouse and Richardson’s
grouse. The members of the second family have but six-
teen tail-feathers, and the males have no apparent air-
sac on the side of the neck. To it belongs the Canada
grouse, or spruce partridge, of the Northeast. and Frank-
lin’s grouse of Northern Montana, Idaho, and the Cas-
cade Ranges. Throughout the West these species are
known, indiscriminately, as spruce grouse, pine grouse,
black grouse, mountain grouse, gray grouse, hill-cock,
and fool-hen, the last term being the one most commonly
inuse. All varieties of the dusky grouse resemble the
typical Dendragapus obscurus in appearance and habit.
Above, they are a dusky gray or dull blackish (a blue-
black in the sooty grouse), usually more or less mottled,
especially on the wings; tail, black, generally with a
broad terminal band of gray; lower parts. chiefly a plain
slate-gray, more or less varied with white on the flanks.
The female is distinguished by faint buffy or brownish
SHARP-TAILED GROUSE, ETC. 183

shades upon the upper parts, and the downy young differ
from all other grouse in their pale, chestnut-brown color,
mottled with black, forming six irregular stripes down
the rump. As the spruce grouse commonly rears two
broods in a season, the young of the first brood will be
found to have attained almost their full growth by the
middle of August. Where shall we look for them? They
wander more from day to day than do the sharp-tails.
In the morning and at evening, the young birds may be
found near some mountain brook. They are now free
from parental care, and; during August and September,
afford first-rate sport, and act like game birds. They lie
well to the dogs, but will not allow the shooter to walk
over them before they can be flushed. Flying swiftly,
but not far, they afford good wing-shots. They are,
moreover, in best condition for the table. Again, the
brood will not allow itself to be scattered for any length
of time. Their days are spent away up among the pines.
An hour or two before sunset, they come down to the
stream to drink, and remain in the underbrush all night,
returning to the mountains soon after sunrise. They
travel on the wing, and sportsmen who lie in wait for
them at the opens which they are obliged to cross are
usually rewarded with good bags.

For hunting them we shall load with 14 ounces of No.
8 shot; and high hunting-boots will be a convenience, as
we may have streams to wade. We shall certainly have
to clamber over rocks, and make our way through thick-
ets, before we find them at their midday meal; but in
this exhilarating atmosphere such tramps are not hard
work, and as we climb higher and higher, and, now and
again, turn to get views of the green hills, with snow-
clad crests, of timber-lined cafions opening upon the
desert of a pearly haze—a boundless sea, upon whose
breast the distant purple peaks seem inverted like islands
184 UPLAND SHOOTING.

in mid-ocean, and where every mirage pictures a tropical
oasis—we forget our quest, and are lost in admiration of
the scene. The sportsman who will not draw vigor and
inspiration from such a view has no business in this
country. He may be a piece of walking mechanism, but
he lacks a soul. Up we go! The smoke of the camp-fire
fades in the distance. Clouds float about us, and at
length, as conquerors, we tread the carpet of fragrant
pine-needles. Not here, where trees are far apart, but in
some cdlense thicket, where the stunted conifers try in
vain to lift their heads among their stately elders, will
we find the objects of our search. Perchance our pointers
will be of little service. No—already they catch a scent,
but do not seem to be able to locate it. Probably it is
from some old bird that is perched ina tree. There is a
low clump where we may be successful. The dogs come
up against the wind, and stand. How the chickens look
at us, and ruffle np their neck-feathers as though longing
for a fight! Get ready, for there is no telling how soon
they will fly. Up they rise, circling as they go, and then
dart noiselessly for a tree, where they will remain long
enough for us to get a sitting shot. Notice how closely
they resemble the brown excrescences on the weather-
beaten trunk, and then pick out the lowest bird, and
shoot up, so as not to frighten them. That was soon
done. The bag is heavier now. Let us retrace our steps
for an instant to find the bird whose scent the dogs lost.
It is probably some moulting male, that seeks retirement
at this season. The moulting season lasts from July
until September, and Franklin’s grouse moults earlier
than does its dusky brother.

We soon tire of walking up and down hill upon the
slippery needles, so we shall go down to a coppice-guarded
spring and discuss our lunch; but if you are a stranger
in the mountains, and are interested in natural history, I
SHARP-TAILED GROUSE, ETC. 185

would advise you to keep ears attent and eyes open.
Down in the tall grass, whatis the clucking that we hear?
Steal softly up, and see the hen with her second brood.
Ah! she spies us, but does not appear alarmed on that
account. The little ones crouch down, and eye us sus-
piciously, while the old lady continues her clucking
and scratching as composedly as though we were miles
away. Approaching nearer, she ruffles her feathers, and
acts like a barn-yard fowl under similar circumstances,
Can they be domesticated? Yes; the dusky grouse
breeds in confinement. and could the hen be constantly
surrounded by her brood, she would never think of flying
away. The young birds are frequently captured and
tamed by the cow-boys, but when the cattle move down
from the mountains in the autumn, the young birds are
generally fried, or are turned loose to return to their old
haunts. Here, in a grassy tussock, is a nest containing
seven eggs, creamy, and sprinkled with a chocolate brown.
At least fifteen eggs would have been found had we
located the nest in the early spring.

Early in April is heard the ventriloquistic love-call of
the amorous male. Itis made by the gular air-sacs, and
is of a softer tone than the boom of the pinnated grouse.
It is preceded by a prolonged whir. At this time the
cock presents a striking appearance. His air-sacs are a
bright orange, plumage metallic in lustre, and he spreads
a gorgeous, fan-like tail upon some lofty bough, preferring
a pedestal to the vulgar ground. To these charms, rather
than to ball-room accomplishments, does he trust, and,
while not quarrelsome, he will, in wooing season, fight
longer and harder than will the sharp-tail. After the
broods break up, they never form a winter pack, as do
the sharp-tails. Their habits of feeding keep them soli-
tary, and in the depth of winter they are much more
wary than at any other time. They will remain for days
186 UPLAND SHOOTING.

on a pine-tree, getting both food and moisture from the
lance-like leaves. When disturbed, they do not rise, but
drop almost to the ground, and then glide away in silence,
their flight at this time being wonderfully swift. They
do not deserve the name ‘‘ fool-hen,’? which comes from
the refusal of the female to desert her chicks and from
the unwillingness of the moulting male to vacate his
perch.

The sooty grouse, locally known as the blue grouse,
is found throughout the mountain region north and west
of the falls of the Yellowstone River. It is the common
grouse of the coast ranges between the Columbia River
and Alaska. This bird does not love to travel. If he
leaves an open valley on the approach of winter, he does
not, as many imagine, desert the country; he simply
seeks the top of some tall fir or pine tree, where, for
months, his diet consists entirely of buds, tender twigs,
and needles. Although the sooty grouse lives at a high
altitude and in a cold country, it is partial to sunlight
and warmth, and, in almost every case, will be found on
the hill-side having a southern exposure, and sheltered
from piercing blasts of the north wind. Neither does it
prefer the seclusion of a forest and the gloom of heavy
timber. It requires a clearing, or else scattered pine or
tamarack trees at the edge of the dense timber. This
bird does not ‘‘pack’’ in winter, and I doubt if, asa
rule, families remain together during cold weather. A
pair will be found, or a female with a late brood, but the
sooty grouse is by no means inclined to be social. They
succeed in concealing themselves more effectively than
do most of their congeners. Instinct teaches them to
perch amid the most dense foliage, and if they are discov-
ered seated upon a naked branch, they crouch lengthwise
upon it, and so succeed in concealing themselves from
aught but the closest observation. I lave never found
SHARP-TAILED GROUSE, ETC. 187

the nest of the sooty grouse among quaking aspen tim-
ber or among the willows and tall grasses near an upland
brook. The favorite spot is beneath the wide-spreading
roots of a hill-side pine, and I have found one nest remote
from heavy timber, beneath a mountain mahogany.
While the sharp-tail prefers grassy slopes, the blue
grouse haunts the rocks. The males, especially, look for
rocky points during the season of incubation, and one
and another will perch upon a commanding pinnacle,
and while ostensibly acting as a sentinel, will court the
admiration of all observers. As a rule, nine to twelve
eggs are found ina set, and the period of incubation is
eighteen days. The young chicks remain with their hen
for a week or two, in close proximity to the place where
they were hatched, and when they get sufficiently strong
to make a short flight, their mother takes them down to
the willow-fringed stream. Their food, atthistime, ismuch
like that of the sharp-tailed grouse, though they are
rather more partial to insects, and will wander away from
the thickets to some grass-grown park in search of grass-
hoppers. Later in the season, their food consists of ber-
ries, and they are especially fond of the seeds of the
helianthus. While with the young, the note of the hen
is very much like the cackling of a common barn-yard
fowl.

August comes, and now the tyhee cullaw-cullaw (the
chief-bird of the Indians) is in prime condition, and equally
interesting to gourmand and sportsman. Two months
later the flesh will begin to assume a resinous flavor, and
by the 1st of January par-boiling with onions will fail
to take away the taste of spruce gum. Rare sport it is,
in the bracing morning atmosphere of early autumn, to
shoulder a twelve-gauge gun, and with a good dog beat up
the thickets about a mountain brook, or skirt the heavier
pine timber of the uplands. Hunt the coolest places, is
188 UPLAND SHOOTING.

the rule, and in the heat of the day you will have the best
luck almost at the water's edge. In fact, if you are after
trout, you will often want to temporarily exchange the
split bamboo for a gun, and if you are after grouse, you
will long for your rod, that you may try some specially
inviting pool or riffle, upon which you come most unex-
pectedly. The birds never outgrow their disposition to
hide, and the smallest tussock or clump of leaves serves
their purpose. They le well to the dog, and without a
dog you will almost step upon them before becoming
aware of their proximity; but when they rise, there is
nothing to equal their swift, strong, straight-away flight.
If a brood is carefully marked down, they may all be
brought to bag, as nothing but a rock wall will make them
vary their line of direction. In spring, and until the
young are able to fly. the Indians of the Northwest have
a superstitious horror of killing or eating a sooty grouse.
Why the bird should, at this particular season, be espe-
cially sacred to the Great Spirit, I can not tell, but it is
certain that the Indian believes that ill-luck and disaster
will follow the slayer of a newly mated or breeding ‘*chief-
bird;’’ but once the game season opens, their conscien-
tious scruples vanish in an instant, and any means of
extermination, fair or foul, are legitimate with them.
Some of the coast Indians dry the birds in the sun, or
smoke them for a season, and, while the flesh is never
thoroughly cured. as is venison, an Indian’s stomach can
stand a meal from this half-prepared pemican long after
it is too *‘high”’ for a civilized tourist. The sportsman
in going for grouse can not find all kinds in any one loca-
tion. If he takes the Union Pacific route, he will find
himself in the region of the Columbian sharp-tailed grouse.
If he travel over the northern route, very few sharp-tails,
but plenty of sooty and dusky grouse, will find their way
to his bag as he moves westward from the main chain of
SHARP-TAILED GROUSE, ETC. 189

the Rocky Mountains, and, nearing the coast, Franklin’s
grouse will become abundant. The Canadian line would
give him plenty of sport with ptarmigans. Franklin’s
grouse lives at a lower altitude than does the dusky
grouse, and prefers a sandy, pine-barren region. To this
species the term ‘‘ fool-hen’’ may be properly applied, for
it will almost put its head in a noose, and, when disturbed,
it does not trust to its wings, but sneaks through the
underbrush or runs to cover as fast as its legs can carry
it. The males are occasionally gregarious, but a polyg-
amous family is the exception and not the rule.

The specific difference between this bird and other
Western members of the genus Dendragapus is found in
the tail, which has but sixteen feathers, and in the absence
of the air-sac on the side of the neck. Both sexes are
barred above with black and grayish, but beneath, there
is a great difference. In the male, black predominates,
barred with white, while the ground-color in the female
is a rusty white or buff, barred with black. In the male,
the tail is black to the extreme tip; in the female, the tail-
feathers are tipped with a narrow band of white. The
eggs are buff, spotted with dark-brown, and are consider-
ably smaller than those of the sooty grouse.

Franklin’s grouse is more easily domesticated than are
any other birds of the family. Often cow-boys and sheep-
men, who summer in the grass-covered upland valleys,
bring in a nest of young chicks to the camp. The little
strangers soon get over their natural timidity. They do
not attempt to hide, nor yet to escape, so there is no use
in clipping their wings, and they readily learn to recognize
and seek the hand that feeds them.

I once attempted to form a ‘‘happy family.’’ I built
a little stockade of willows just outside my cabin, and, as
a nucleus for an aviary, put therein a pair of burrowing
owls about two weeks old. My next acquisition was a
190 UPLAND SHOOTING.

pair of young grouse. As the owls slept all day and the
chickens slept all night, peace reigned supreme. At even-
ing, when I returned to camp, after the day’s ride over
the range, and fed my pets, they would all eat from
my fingers, and the only sign of a quarrel would be when
three of the birds would unite to rob the lucky fourth of
some especially tempting morsel; but, in a most unfort-
unate hour, I discovered a pair of Western red-tailed
hawks up the cafion. They were circling above a nest
in an old pine-tree, and Iinstantly made up my mind that
another ornithological prize was mine. I threw the bridle
over the horse's head,and commenced to climb, and a
hard forty-foot pull it was, but I met with no serious
trouble until almost within reach of the nest. ‘Then
the trouble began to brew.” It did not brew long. It
naturally burst, and those old hawks fanned my back
with their powerful wings, and flew into my face with
such fury that I was about ready to slide down as grace-
fully as possible. My wrists still bear the scars received
from the talons of the mother bird. But my blood was
up. I could hear the young hissing in the nest just
above my head, soI made a last effort, obtained a foot-
hold, and being in position to fight, soon had the melan-
choly and irate parents flapping twenty feet above me.
The young birds were as large as full-grown prairie fowl,
and well able to fly if they had possessed sufficient sense
to leave the nest. As it was, they fought most viciously,
but my handkerchief bound one and a piece of string the
other, and the success of the expedition was assured. The
old hawks followed me back to the cabin, though they
were content to remain at wrespectful distance. I clipped
the wings of the captives, and put them in durance vile.
Chicks and owls gave them a wide berth, and I thought
I discerned signs of an approaching storm, so I gave
them a hearty meal, to which the hawks did full justice,
SHARP-TAILED GROUSE, ETC. 191

and then settled themselves for an after-dinner nap. I
offered them food again at night, but the red-tails seemed
still satisfied with the memories of their noonday repast.
All ate heartily the next morning, and I rode away think-
ing the aviary the success of the season; but alas for
the best laid plans of mice and men! I came home at
night, and no grouse were to be found. Feathers and
bones told the tale. My little owls in the corner were
hissing in a terrified manner, and those treacherous hawks,
with bloody beaks and breasts, were dozing as tranquilly
as doves. It was a time for the display of justice, not of
wrath, so I searched the cabin for the oldest, strongest
pipe that ever afforded solace to a cow-boy, and upon my
knife-blade I scraped a few grains of the black, moist
nicotine; then I reached into the cage, and caught Master
Hawk by both legs before he had time to scratch, and,
as he opened his month to protest against such unwar-
rantable impudence, drew the blade across his tongue,
pulled out my watch, and took notes. In fifteen seconds
he acted as though he had taken a powerful emetic: then
he commenced to tremble violently, and in fifty seconds
was upon his back gasping. Then his eyes began to glaze
and his legs to stiffen, and in two minutes from the time
of taking the dose he was a dead bird. His companion
traveled the same road. That night the lonely owls bur-
rowed their way out, and so ended my experience as a
professional collector of live-stock. The dusky grouse,
sooty grouse, and Franklin's grouse can, I believe, be
successfully introduced into the mountain regions of the
East, north of the Alleghenies of Pennsylvania. The
Green Mountains, the Adirondacks, and the peaks of
Maine would prove most home-like resorts for Frank-
lin’s grouse, and its sooty brother, that does not like to
wander, would soon become contented with the rocky
slopes of the Blue Ridge. They can obtain almost the
192 UPLAND SHOOTING.

same food in the East that they have in the West, and the
experiment of transplanting these game birds into regions
where the ruffed grouse is almost extinct is worth trying.
As Eastern fishermen whip the salmon-pools of Quebec
and Nova Scotia, so the opening of the great inter-mount-
ain and coast range region by the Canadian Pacific Rail-
way should give our American sportsmen the desire to
wander more widely, and become better acquainted with
the grouse and other game birds of the Northwest. which
are as well worthy their attention as are the woodcock;
quail, snipe and partridge of the Atlantic seaboard.

PTARMIGANS.

The ptarmigan belongs to British America and to
Alaska, although it is found in the United States among
the higher Sierra, Rocky, and Cascade Ranges. As Doc-
tor Grinnell says: ‘* Their tracks in the snow and their
feathers are more often seen than the birds themselves.”
But two species are to be found in this country. One,
the black-tailed or willow ptarmigan (Lagopus), is a
rare winter immigrant, coming down from the Far
North to the heights of the Adirondacks and of Maine.
In these regions it may be found in mid-winter in packs,
but by March it has taken its departure for its Arctic
home. The second species is found upon the Alpine
summits of the Rocky Mountains, thence westward to
the higher ranges of Oregon, Washington, and British
Columbia. It is the white-tailed ptarmigan, white
or mountain quail, and is known to science as Lago-
pus leucurus. The fact that their habitat, except
when they are feeding, is above the timber-line. makes
them, although neither wild nor wary, a rare bird for the
sportsman to bag; but the trouble that one must neces-
sarily take to secure them does not pay in a region where
spruce and sharp-tailed grouse are abundant. It is a
SHARP-TAILED GROUSE, ETC. 193

very singular fact that, excepting in winter, no two
sportsmen will give the same description of the white-
tailed ptarmigan. This is because the bird, from March
to September, is in a continual moult. In winter, the
only distinction in plumage between the two species is to
be found in the black tail and primaries of the willow
ptarmigan. The white-tailed ptarmigan
is the smallest of its genus. In size, it
is between the common quail and ruffed
grouse; in shape, it agrees with the
partridge, especially as to head and
tail. The toes are partially feathered
in summer, and in winter are com-
pletely covered with a tine white down.
Four times in each
year does the bird
change its appear-
ance. In winter itisa
pure white, and so |
thick is the covering _
of feathers that it ap-
pears to be quite a
good-sized chicken,
but when killed it is -
found to be a very

small wild fowl. In
July, although it may be in ‘first-rate pon attan it may
appear quite poor. Theupper parts of the male are a yel-
lowish gray, coarsely blurred with black, and the breast is
a dirty white, cross-barred with black. The whole appear-
ance is as though the ptarmigan needed a bath to show
off his true colors; but this is not the case, for he
indulges in a snow-bath several times each day, taking
to a dry, northerly snow-bank as naturally as does a

domestic fowl to a dusty road. The female looks very
13

  
 
  
  
   
194 UPLAND SHOOTING.

much like the male, but is smaller. The spring and
autumn moults give the male a more uniform coat of
reddish-gray, in which are irregular black patches, and
the head and neck are more regularly barred. At this
season the female is somewhat more tawny than is the
male, and she always moults before he does. These
changing colors most wonderfully adapt themselves to
the storm-beaten rocks among which the birds are found
in summer; to the snows where they make their winter
home. The nest is made of mosses or lichens, and is gen-
erally sheltered by some overhanging rock. In it are
deposited ten or twelve eggs—buff, sprinkled with a lus-
trous black. While upon the nest the female will not
leave the eggs for any enemy, nor will the male hesitate
to do battle in behalf of his mate, and this devotion and
bravery are exhibited until the young brood leaves its
parents.

In the latter part of the summer, the best time for
hunting them, the white-tailed ptarmigans will be found
in small coveys at the upper timber-line, where there are
afew stunted pines and heather, within easy distance of
snow on one side, and of twigs and berries on the other.
They are very tame, and, if alarmed, will fly but a few
yards, hence a very light charge of powder and shot
will suffice for their destruction; but I doubt if dogs are
an assistance in hunting them. Generally they cluck so
loudly that there is no trouble in finding their location.
If we fire into the flock for the purpose of alarming them,
they will run to cover rather than take to flight. If the
snow is of any depth, they will burrow in it, and so,
almost instantly, sink out of sight. Their burrows are
quite deep, and in this respect they differ from the tun-
nels of the sharp-tailed grouse. As, in autumn, the
snow-line descends the mountain, the ptarmigan goes
with it. The lower he goes the more wild does he become,
SHARP-TAILED GROUSE, ETC. 195

so that in winter it is almost impossible to get a shot at
him. The flesh, too, has a piny flavor, and is very bit-
ter. Owing to the shyness of the bird, and to its method
of flight, the hunter at this season should load as though
his campaign were to be for ducks, and should never use
shot finer than No. 6.

With the nreuntain goat, the ptarmigan is one of the
trophies of those sportsmen who isolate themselves from
even camp-fire comforts, and who are willing alone to
climb the lofty peaks and cross the barren ridges that
form the mighty continental divide; and he who has
filled his bag with ptarmigans has, in this country, at.
least, nothing in the bird line left to satisfy his ambitious
ardor. és

 
PLOVER-SHOOTING.

 

By E. Hoven,
Of ‘‘Forest and Stream.”

 

= LOVER-SHOOTING, as a sport, yearly
assumes a greater importance and attracts a
more general attention. Writers of the first
and second quarters of the century have
S recorded that this bird, then plentiful to
the last degree all through the mid-continent, was not
pursued by the sportsman, on account of its insignifi-
cance, and was in danger only from market-shooters, who
killed it for sale. To-day, the scarcity of the grouse, the
quail, and other formerly abundant birds is causing
shooters who love the breezy uplands to cast about them
for new or practicable sport; and since the plover may
be said to fit a vacant season in the shooting-year, there
is a considerable and an additional interest taken init asa
game bird. Asa pastime, plover-shooting can not be called
wild, laborious, difficult, or dangerous, and it is there-
fore lacking in much that appeals to the hardy hunter’s
nature; yet it has some peculiar and not uninteresting
features of its own—a certain individual fascination, quite
capable of winning its own blind followers and devotees,
and that all-abiding and all-worthy charm of any sport
or occupation which calls us away from the desky and
dusty city, out into the wide fields and under the clear
sky.
I did never like a lawyer’s brief, with long ‘‘Whereas’’

and ‘‘Therefore,’? nor did I ever fancy a book full of
(197)

 
198 UPLAND SHOOTING.

learned disquisition. The unnamed flowers are the
sweetest, the unclassified bird has the sweetest note of
the air, and the unclassifying writer or reader the freest
sweep of the wing, be that of fact or fancy. The sports-
man, however, is naturally half naturalist. This is what
Audubon says for us about our bird:

“Family Charadriine—plovers. Bill, short, straight,
subcylindrical, and obtusely pointed; wpper mandible,
with dorsal line straight for one-half ifs length, after-
ward, convex; nasal groove, bare, extended along two-
thirds the length of the bill. Head, moderate size, rather
compressed, roundedinfront. Eyes, large. Neck, rather
short. Body, ovate, rather full. Plumage, soft, blended,
somewhat compact above. Wings, long, pointed, with
the first quill longest. Tail, of moderate length, some-
what rounded, or with middle feathers projecting; of
twelve feathers. Nest, on ground, shallow; eggs, gen-
erally four, large, pyriform, spotted. Young, densely
covered with down, and able to walk immediately after
birth.”’

In the above description, it is probable that the
average sportsman will remember, out of his own experi-
ence, only the rounded head, the large eye, the short
neck, and the ‘‘ovate, rather full’ body, noticeable as
salient form-features in the species of plover familiar to
himself. When it comes to the matter of coloration,
there is wide divergence in the plover types, and in many
cases the scientific description will not call to mind any
bird familiar to the inland or Western shooter. Audubon
gives seven species of the genus Charadrius, which may
be briefly mentioned as the black-bellied plover, the
golden plover, the Rocky Mountain plover, the killdeer
plover, the Wilson’s plover, the American ring plover,
and the piping plover. With the exception of the golden
plover, none of these birds is of such habits, or such
PLOVER-SHOOTING. 199

habitat, as to deserve our attention herein. We will bear
the golden plover in mind.

When we have gone through all the species which the
scientists permit us to call plovers, we shall not yet have
found the bird which, of all plovers, or so-called plovers,
is perhaps the most generally kKnown—the ‘‘upland
plover.”’ I doubt not that many a shooter who has
looked down upon the brown, striated back of this beauti-
ful bird, as it lay before him on the grass, has thought
how like it looked to the jacksnipe; it will perhaps sur-
prise him to know, however, that, according to the scien-
tists, the upland plover is not a plover at all, but a snipe!
This, although everybody knows that our bird keeps as
far away from water as it possibly can! We must, how-
ever, meekly submit to our friends the scientists, and
read as below:

Family Scolopacine—snipes. Genus 1, Tringa;
species Bartramia. ‘ Bartramian sandpiper”’ (Audu-
bon). ‘‘ Bartram’s tatler’’ (Baird, Brewer, and Ridgway).
Bartramia longicanda (Less. ).

We have now located our second plover, and may call
it, if we wish to be prim about it, the Bartramian sand-
piper, or Bartram’s tatler. After this, we may, if we
wish, forget all about Mr. Bartram’s connection with
our bird, or our bird’s connection with the snipe family,
and pass on to the more practical consideration of our
narrowed theme, which will have to do with the two
birds which the upland shooter most often meets, and
which will afford him the best sport at plover-shooting.

THe GoLpEN PLoverR (Charadrius marmoratus).-—
This, the more important of our two birds, is doubtless
familiar to most upland shooters of the West and South,
and certainly, if one has ever seen it, he will not readily
forget the fact, for it is a singularly beautiful and stylish
bird. The clean-cut lines of the head and neck, the deep
200 UPLAND SHOOTING.

black of the breast, and the golden mottle of the back are
the main remembrances one brings away from the side of
a flock of golden plovers as they stalk, tall and erect, or
run swiftly across a field. Seen at a distance, the birds
look nearly as large as pigeons, and their appearance is
alert, wary, and truly game-like. On the ground, swift,
bright and self-possessed; on the wing, rapid, erratic—
now sweeping close along the ground in long and loose
array, and now glancing with a hundred golden gleams
as they turn in serried rank against the shafts of the
morning sun—they are fit subjects for the artist’s pencil,
and worthy incentives for the sportsman’s enthusiasm.
They are birds of the fair, warm fields, of the blue sky, of
the gentle breath of spring or early fall. They come first
when the frost has left the air, when the grass is growing
green, and when the leaves on the hedges are bigger than
a squirrel’s ear. They come again in the fall, when sum-
mer has just finished the rounding out of her golden
work, and before the chill winds have laid their blight
upon the land. Golden with the promise of the spring,
and golden with the fruition of the summer, I know not
why we should not love and cherish them, and hold them
very worthy of good place and proper sportsman’s
handling.

The golden plover is preéminently a migratory bird,
and wide, indeed, is the range it covers with the sweep
of its bold and sinewy wing. Its loose and scattered
bands are often seen far out at sea, and it still seems per-
fectly at home and perfectly confident. It goes to the
Bahamas and to Bermuda, is found in the West Indies,
in Central and South America, and even in Paraguay and
Chili. Itis seen at Sitka and the Northwest Coast, and
indeed over most of the British Possessions. It breeds
far to the north, on the Arctic Coast, or on the islands of
the Arctic Sea. We who hear its “whit! whit-whit!”’
PLOVER-SHOOTING. 201

in May, do not stop to reflect on the long journey ahead
of our cheerful traveler; yet by June the young birds
are hatched, and by August or September we may see
the armies going south, seeking, it may be, the pampas
of South America, or some unknown Andean plains
untouched by foot of man. The migration to the North
is just at the heels of winter, and the birds reach us in
Indiana and Dlinois just after the duck season has closed,
and when the jacksnipe are first beginning to grow scarcer.
Their time depends much upon the season, but the ist of
May can be roughly called their date. Usually they
appear in good numbers along in April. They pass on
north gradually, and as warm weather comes on, they
disappear, after affording the shooter perhaps three, four,
or even six weeks of sport. Before the birds have left
the latitude of the States named, they have paired, and
the females are often heavy with eggs. It is unquestion-
ably wrong to shoot them then, but as we have not any
laws adequately protecting them, that must be a question
for each shooter's own conscience. May all our con-
sciences grow tender.

In the fall flight, the birds do not look as they did
when going north. They have lost their brave black
breast-plate, and have taken on a paler and more mot-
tled color. This is noticeable not only in the young birds,
but also in the old ones. The brilliant black of the
breast is peculiar to the breeding-season, and the bird is
far more beautiful in spring-time, when it has on the
livery of love. We should respect this livery, and let
the little creatures love on and rear their families in
peace. That is all there is to life, and there is in all
Nature a sympathetic voice of protest against intrusion
or destruction then.

There are three ways of shooting the golden plover,
the latter of which alone is to be held effective and
202 UPLAND SHOOTING.

sportsmanlike—by flight-shooting, by stalking with a
team, and by shooting over decoys. Flight-shooting in
the North rarely affords any sport, unless by mere acci-
dent. On rare occasions, the gunner may find a fly-way
along some low swale or strip of green country, lying in
the path of the moving bands of birds, but this is so
infrequent an occurrence that it barely deserves mention.

The commonest way of shooting the golden plover, in
Illinois, Indiana, Iowa, Kansas, Nebraska and Dakota, is
by means of ateam. The birds can rarely be approached
closely enough on foot, but they do not so readily take
fright at a vehicle or at horses or cattle. When, there-
fore, a flock has been discovered feeding upon some green
field, strip of meadow, or wide stretch of prairie, the
shooter, or shooters—for several may indulge in this
sport together—drive quietly and slowly in that direction,
not advancing too directly upon the flock, but aiming to
skirt the edge. The birds will lower their heads and dart
along the ground, pause, lean and listen, and perhaps
half-spread their wings, but unless much hunted they
will usually allow a wagon to be driven within fifty or
sixty yards of them; then away they go, skimming the
ground swiftly for alittle way, then rising and heading
off for another feeding-ground, whither that hunter who
is best acquainted with the country will next head the
party. As the birds begin to stretch their wings over
their heads, and to show the uneasiness which precedes
the flight, the shooters at once descend upon the side of
the vehicle opposite the flock, and walk in as closely as
possible, perhaps taking a smart run of a few steps just
before firing. No true sportsman, of course, will think
of firing at these birds upon the ground. The discharge
is apt to be quite fatal enough, as the birds cross and
huddle in the act of rising, and the No. &'s or 7's will
make sad lavoc in the gleaming golden ranks. It is not
PLOVER-SHOOTING. 2038

unusual for one gun to kill from 100 to 150 golden plover a
day, in this style of shooting, on the prairies and fields of
Northern Illinois. It is not a sort of sport demanding
any especial skill, and is too apt to be followed by a
rabble of pot-hunters, boys, greenhorns, and all the
unspeakable mob who hang on the skirts of decent gun-
nery. Followed rightly, it is fairly successful early in
the season, though never so much so on the golden plover
as on the upland plover. At its best form, and in the
hands of gentlemen, it is capable of being a bright,
breezy, cheerful, and not unwholesome sort of shooting.
It may be varied by stalking on horseback, or by the use
of a led horse. Sometimes a good caller will bring a flock
around for a second shot at this style of shooting. This
is most apt to happen when a cripple or two are left
standing or running. Like the curlew, the golden plover
is loath to leave a comrade in distress, and decoys readily
to the note of such a comrade.

The only artistic and truly sportsmanlike form of
sport at the golden plover, however, is in shooting over
decoys, to which the birds are called in by an imitation
of their whistle. This form of sport is not well under-
stood, and is not practiced by very many sportsmen,
although doubtless it will soon become more general. It
is by all means the most successful and the most interest-
ing way to hunt the golden plover. It is the method
followed by the most skillful market-hunters.

In this form of sport, the general principles of decoy-
shooting obtain, and the old duck-shooter will be the first
to take up the idea well. The main difficulty, of course,
is to learn the country where the birds are feeding, and
to map out the fly-ways between the feeding-grounds.
When such a fly-way has once been established, the
shooter who finds it will not be forced to change his blind
so often as the duck-shooter, and he will have to deal
204 UPLAND SHOOTING.

with a bird far less wary than the cunning wild fowl.
When, therefore, he has gained a knowledge of the local
trading of the birds, and found their crossing-points, he
may. comfortably seat himself, and not bother about a
possible change of the flight. He may, perhaps, shoot a
week out of one blind, and kill as many birds the last
day as the first. If he spends his time chasing around
over the prairies, he probably will not get half so many
in the total bag.

It should be borne in mind that the decoys must not
go down upon the feeding-ground, but upon a passage-
way between two feeding-grounds. Such a passage-way
can be determined only by a study of the flight. The
golden plover feeds on small insects, grasshoppers, sur-
face worms, tender vegetation, and the seeds of grasses
and certain herbs. A field of sprouting oats, a green
meadow, or a last year’s plowing is apt to be frequented
by them. If disturbed on such a ground, they fly to the
nearest similar ground they have discovered, which may
be half a mile or two miles away. A good bit of meadow
lying between the two feeding-grounds, in a place promi-
nent enough to be readily seen from a distance, will be a
likely place to put out the decoys. The birds will not
observe any very definite line in going and coming, for
they are not so methodical as wild geese, but they will
pass near enough to be reached by the shooter's call-note.
It may be necessary to move once or twice until the right.
spot has been obtained, where the birds most often pass
over when pursued from their feed. After that, you will
let someone else do the pursuing, while you do the
watching and the shooting. The golden plover is unlike
the wild duck in the matter of decoying. It is an old
saying among duck-shooters that ‘you can’t drive ducks
to decoys.’’ To some extent, you can drive golden plover
so, for they are a very gullible bird, affectionate, constant,
PLOVER-SHOOTING. 205

and sociable to a degree. They decoy not only once, but
often two or three times, to the false flock and the
deceitful whistle, until sometimes the greater part of
their numbers shall lie dead upon the grass. It is there-
fore the main desire of the blind-shooter that something
shall keep the birds stirred up. They have no regular
movements when left undisturbed, although in some
erratic moment a whole flock may take a notion to rise
and pass over to some other distant spot.

The blind of the plover-shooter need be no very
elaborate affair. A fringed pit is good, but if the shooter
can find some ditch or hollow into which he can crawl,
he will find a thin barrier of grass or weeds sufficient,
provided he keeps still. The duck-shooter will under-
stand this perfectly. Itis the motionless shooter in the thin
blind who gets the birds. A heavy blind is not desirable.

Plover decoys are sold on the market. One can
secure as large a flock as he desires, but if he has half a
dozen decoys he need not feel afraid, if he knows how to
call the birds. It is the call that does the business. A
passing flock of plover, over half a mile away, will swing
about on hearing a call, and will then fairly hunt for
the decoys until they find them. The best possible decoys
are the wing-tipped live birds, which the shooter, if he
be heartless as the market-shooters are, will always pre-
serve and tie out among his flock. These, by their
motions and their cries, will bring the wild flock in
again and again. Much better than the wooden or tin
decoys are the dead birds, set up on sticks, much as
the duck-shooter sets out his dead ducks for decoys.
You will see the market-hunter put out his dead birds
so, until he may have fifty or a hundred scattered about
him.

Let no one gather the idea that plover-shooting over
decoys is a simple thing, which any fellow can do. It is
206 UPLAND SHOOTING.

the easiest thing in the world to make a mistake in set-
ting out the decoys which shall cost you half your birds.
You do not want the wind to blow across your blind to
the decoys, or across the decoys toward your blind. The
decoys must be at one side of the blind. Suppose the
wind is blowing from the east to the west, you put out
your decoys to the north of your blind, and not to the
east or west. :

The decoys should be set out in a longish line, rather
wedge-shaped, point down the wind, and all at easy gun-
range—not too close. Hearing the call, the birds swing,
cross over, and come up-wind to alight among the decoys,
drawing to the encouraging low ‘‘whit, whit’? of the
gunner. By no means shoot when the birds are crossing,
or skimming the ground on any side but the decoy side.
They will swing and draw in obliquely toward the blind,
and the fire should be reserved till then, if the most mur-
derous effect is what is desired. Even when the point of
the flock is well within range, do not fire at the leading
birds; aim at the middle—oblique of the flock; the charge
will then rake the flock. As the remnant double up and
rise, the second barrel, held till the right time, goes
far toward completing the work. The flock passes on,
depleted. The low, deceitful, bewildering whistle still
assails their ears, and they see still the likeness of their
friends standing unmoved amid the confusion. Again
they swing, their own notes now half-frightened and half-
plaintive. If you have the heart for further slaughter,
your chance has come again. Twenty, thirty, or forty
birds may fall to your gun from one flock. If you got
only six or eight, your friend, and possible companion,
the market-hunter, would laugh at you. Two hundred
in a day, 1,000 in a week—you can do this in Northern
Illinois, even to-day, if you have the natural heart for
butchery.
PLOVER-SHOOTING. 207

But in order to be thus successful, you must be an
expert plover-shooter, and to be an expert, you must be
able to call the birds. You may buy a plover-call, and
from it produce a fairly accurate note; but the trouble
about this is that you can not hear it at any great dis-
tance, which latter is just what you want. The best
market-shooters do not use any call, but put their fingers
in their mouths and give a shrill whistle. I do not think
I exaggerate when I say that a flock of plover can thus
be called nearly a mile down-wind. The note is a keen
‘“‘ahit! wheet-wheet! whit’’ repeated at about equal
intervals. It can only be gained by constant practice in
the field, and the proficiency with which one can execute
the call is about the measure of his success at golden
plover shooting.

There lives in Chicago an Italian about forty years of
age, who keeps a little fruit-store on Wabash Avenue,
and is known in the game market and among Chicago
shooters as ‘‘ Italian Joe,’’ or sometimes as ‘‘ Plover Joe.”’
He hunts for the market, and except a little shooting
at woodcock, he never hunts anything but plover. He
shoots over decoys, and is possessed of a rare judgment,
which makes him invariably successful. He is the best
plover-hunter of Chicago, and I presume there is not one
in the United States who could surpass him. His whistle
is the most perfect imitation of the golden plover’s call-
note Lever heard. Back in the rear of his little shop, on
a warm summer day, he repeated the plover-call again
and again as we sat talking, and the loud, clear note
rang out through the open door, and pierced the jumbled
din of the noisy street, till people turned and listened.
Then Joe’s eyes grew far-away in their look, and, as the
rumble of the city claimed its own, I presume Joe
dreamed of unsmoked skies and fields well paved with
green.
208 UPLAND SHOOTING.

My Italian friend gave me one hint that shooters may
well notice. He claimed that in the fall, when the birds
are so very fat, No. 7 is a better shot to use than No. 8,
as the latter shot is hardly heavy enough to pierce the
heavy layer of fat which fairly swaddles the birds at that
season of the year. In the spring, No. 8 is the correct
shot, unless one is trying to walk upon the birds, or to
shoot them from a vehicle after they have grown wild.

For the upland plover, my market-shooter expressed
an unqualified contempt, partly because it brings so little
in the market, and partly because it can not be worked
with decoys. Neither did he care for the ‘‘ May plover,’
“‘prairie plover,’ ‘‘gray plover,’ or ‘‘sand-snipe,”
whose dense flocks sometimes wheel in over the decoys
and leave heavy tribute behind them. We also can
afford to leave this latter little bird out of our consid-
eration as a game bird, and now pass on to our second
plover, not so good a game bird as the golden plover,
but perhaps even more widely known.

Tur UpLtaxp PLover (Bartramia longicanda, Less.).
—This bird is called ‘‘ grass plover” in Texas and most
of the South, and in the Southwest. It is called ‘‘ papa-
botte’’ in New Orleans, where it is much prized as a
delicacy. It has different local names in the North, some-
times being known as the ‘‘ vellow-leg,’”’ which is wrong,
as confusing it with the yellow-shanked tatler, and
besides as being not descriptive. It is sometimes loosely
called ‘‘ prairie runner,’ ‘‘spring plover,” or ** tilt-up.”’
The name of ‘‘upland plover.’’ however, is one very
widely known for it, and will instantly bring the bird to
mind for every upland shooter in Illinois, Indiana, Iowa,
Kansas, Nebraska. Dakota, and the entire West and mid-
continent generally.

If the golden plover is a bold traveler. the upland
plover is yet more so. Few birds are more widely
PLOVER-SHOOTING. 209

scattered. It is found pretty much all over the United
States, as far north as the plains of the Saskatchewan,
and as far south as Mexico, Central America, and the
pampas of South America. A few specimens of it have
been killed in England; one specimen was killed near
Sydney, Australia; one was taken on the Island of Malta,
in the Mediterranean Sea, and it sometimes visits the
Island of Trinidad. It has been known to breed so far
north as Fort Yukon, also in the mountains of Lower
Mackenzie, and in the Gens de Large Mountains, 200 miles
northeast of the Yukon. It is occasionally found in the
sparser districts of New England, and once bred plenti-
fully on Long Island and throughout Pennsylvania. It
fairly swarms at times on the lower table-lands of Utah
and Colorado, and overruns Kansas and Nebraska in large
flocks. It breeds very largely in Northern Illinois and
Southern Wisconsin to-day, and the bulk of the flight
does not go any farther north than that. It leaves South-
western Texas from the 1st to the 10th of May, and re-ap-
pears there in July, passing thence on south by Septem-
ber or October. It appears in the North with the first
warm weather of settled spring, about the time the young
grass is knee-high to it on the burned-over prairies or
high swales. It passes farther north than Kansas, but
in the latitude of Northern Illinois it lingers all through
the summer, and breeds on the high prairies. At the date
of this writing (July, 1889), I could go out any day,
within twenty miles of Chicago, and kill three or four
dozen of the upland plover, did I care to do so at such a
season of the year. I should be inclined, from my own
experience, to name Illinois, Kansas, Nebraska, and the
Indian Territory as the best shooting-grounds for this
bird. It is usually noticed more abundantly in the spring
than in the fall in Kansas and Nebraska, although it is

not then nearly so fat and tender as in the fall. There is
14
210 UPLAND SIIOOTING.

no bird that flies which takes on so remarkable an amount
of fat as the upland plover. I have often known them to
split open across the breast upon falling from no very
great height. They fatten very readily when feeding
upon wheat-stubble, and are then delicious eating.

I presume we shall be obliged to call this bird a snipe,
although in habit and appearance it is so unlike one.
We may findsome kinship to the snipe in the bill of the
upland plover, which is longer than the head, and slightly
curved. The legs are yellow-gray in color, the feet being
darker. The head is dark brown, striped with a pale
yellow median line, as in the jacksnipe. The sides of the
head and neck are streaked with a dusky color, and the
eye is surrounded with a yellow-white strip It is a
graceful and beautiful bird.

The upland plover migrates by night, and also by day.
It usually flies high, except in rough weather, and moves
in straggling bands. In Iowa City, Iowa, in 1878, I once
heard a passage of plover at night which lasted for over
an hour. Theair seemed full of their soft, plaintive cries
of ‘‘plitt! plitt! pu-litt!” I think there were also some
golden plover in that flight.

The upland plover does not customarily feed in so
large flocks as the golden plover, and even when one
finds them in considerable abundance, they are apt to
appear in long, strung-out bands or scattered little
bunches. They do not decoy regularly enough to war-
rant the use of decoys, and the shooter need not waste
time in putting outa flock. I have, in a few instances,
shot them over decoys made of dead birds, but could
hardly say that they drew in to the flock; nor is it cer-
tain that they will pay more than the slightest attention
to a good imitation of their whistle, although they may
take a notion to draw in to a call-note once in awhile,
when about to alight upon a feeding-ground. They are
PLOVER-SHOOTING. 211

nervous, keen, erratic little birds, sometimes so tame that
they can be approached at a short distance, and again so
wild that the gunner can hardly get within range, except
by the most careful maneuvering. It is hardly worth
while to undertake hunting them on foot. Riding upon
them in a vehicle is the best way to handle them. That
is the way they are usually hunted in the West and
Southwest, and it is a very successful method. This is a
popular form of sportin Nebraska and Kansas, and great
bags are often made, fifty birds to a gun being no extraor-
dinary score. Iam sure I can not see why a couple of
dozen would not do as well. In speaking further of the
sport of upland plover shooting, I shall quote partly
from an article on that sport which I had occasion to
write, in 1889, in the course of a series of articles upon
field sports, published in the Globe- Democrat newspaper,
of St. Louis. Speaking in the early spring, this recountal
said:

“This bird, in its physical configuration, might appear
to be a cross between a jacksnipe and a sparrow-hawk,
but it isn’t, although it is marked somewhat like the
former bird, and in its flight might, at a little distance, be
mistaken for the latter, which it resembles in bigness of
body and spread of wing. The upland plover, however,
although it often hovers aloft, or skates down with
strongly curved wing to some selected lighting-spot, does
not sail in long parallels, as does the little hawk, but con-
tinuously works its passage with repeated flappings of
the wings, and in its hasty flights its wings describe so
large an arc that they seem to touch like wide fans, first
above and then below the body of the bird.

“This peculiarity will betray it at once to the hunter
who has become familiar with it, even did he not become
advised of its presence by that long, liquid, silvery, and
sweetly musical note which drops down like a spoonful
212 UPLAND SHOOTING.

of melted vocal pearls out of some unidentified corner of
the sky. This ‘whistle’ of the upland plover—though
it is not more a whistle than the softest breathings of the
flute—is the purest and sweetest, the most inimitable
and unapproachable sound in Nature. As the note of the
mourning-dove is the very soul of melancholy grief, the
likeness of the plaint of widowed woe, so may this trans-
lucent, innocent sound, so light that you can see through
it, almost, and sweet as the dew that hangs on any honey-
vine, be likened to the careless and unsyllabled laugh of
a virgin soul, too young to think of widows or of brides.
It is so very sweet that Nature, always fit and proper in
her ways, surrounds it with mystery, so that on a bright,
warm day of spring, when one hears this gentle, spark-
ling sound bubble out of the blue sky, apparently just
above his head, he may look up and see no bird, and may
further look about him on all hands, examining earth
and sky alike, and yet find no trace of the origin of the
winged music. At last there may be the flit of a gray
wing across a half-section of plowed ground, and finally
he may see this feathered ghost alight yet farther away,
tossing both wings apeak high over its head, and utter-
ing ashrill, joyful ‘wy-ee-ee,’ which may be heard a mile.

‘“When the migrating birds alight, as they do pretty
much all through the wilder prairie sections of Missouri,
Kansas, Nebraska, Iowa, and kindred States, they usually
overrun the country very rapidly, so that a locality unten-
anted by them one day may on the day following be fairly
swarming with them. They do not affect low, marshy
grounds, as their cousins in the long-legged family, the
snipe, but keep up on the high prairies, being especially
fond of ground that has been recently burned over. If
there are any plovers in the country, they are pretty sure
to make their appearance on or near such a strip of
ground. They are also partial to good, soft, warm,
PLOVER-SHOOTING. 213

plowed ground, especially such as lies on high, ‘rolling
hills or table-lands. Sometimes, too, they patronize dry
corn-fields, or closely cropped meadows. They will fly
around over a last year’s stubble-field, which is being
turned under by the plow, and alight close behind thé
plowman in the fresh furrow; but in that case they are as
likely to hop over on the dry ground as on the fresh.
They feed mostly on seeds, fresh young grasses or herbs,
and small insects. These birds were once more plentiful
in Iowa and Missonri than they are now. They have
kept near the front edge of civilization, although they
are not strangers even in such States as Illinois and
Indiana. In the Indian Territory, they are very abun-
dant, although I never heard of anyone caring enough for
them to go so faras that for them. They are very plenti-
ful pretty much all over Kansas and Nebraska, in season,
and probably sport at them may be had about as well in
those States as anywhere. :
“‘The hunter for upland plover does not need any dog.
If he has a dog, he would better tie him up at home, and
then shoot him, for fear he would get loose. Most of all,
the hunter needs a horse, or team of horses, properly
broken to ‘stand fire,’ and a light rig of some kind,
which will admit of his getting in and out very quickly.
The upland plover is, in some respects, no fool. It will
rarely allow itself to be approached by the hunter on
foot, and although a few birds may be bagged by the
walking hunter, it is safe to say that his bag will be light
beside that of the shooter who has a forty-year-old horse,
blind in both eyes, deaf, and of a sweet and peaceful dis-
position. A very good rig for plover-shooting is a light
two-wheeled road-cart, with no body, and only a seat and
a pair of wheels. With this sort of an outfit, the hunter
can travel over almost any kind of country, and can
easily jump out and fire when he has worked in close
214 UPLAND SHOOTING.

enough to his birds. The subsequent proceedings all
depend on the horse. If that animal takes a notion to go
home just then—and under such circumstances the staid-
est old family horses often develop unaccountable kitten-
ishness—the hunter can do little but follow patiently
after, and pick his chariot off the first wire fence. He will
swear, but that won’t help him. The etiquette of plover-
shooting admits of swearing when one’s horse runs away.

‘¢When it has been determined that the plover are
‘using on’ a certain piece of ground, the shooter, or
shooters—for several may practice this sport together
very nicely if their wagon be big enough—repair to that
neighborhood on almost any day, or at any time of the
day. The weather does not make any insuperable differ-
ence. There is no necessity to get out betimes for an
early morning hunt, nor is there any bundling up or
waiting on some lonesome stand, knee-deep in mud and
water. Plover-hunting is a leisurely, fair-weather sort
of sport, a truly dilettante sport, and if the plover-
hunter were not often a duck-hunter, in season, there
would be justice in the suspicion that he had something
of the sybarite in his disposition, rather than the rugged,
hardy spirit of the genuine hunter.

‘In the bright, warm days, however, when the blood
takes on a mellow mildness in the veins, and no other
game is in the land to stimulate the slumbering ambition,
the best of shooters might be forgiven for taking a day
at the plover, or perhaps two days, in the short season
of afew weeks when plover-shooting is at its best. And
let the older hunter take his days near the close of the
season, when the persistent pounding of the greenhorns
has rendered the birds more wild. There will then be an
added difficulty to the sport, which will give it additional
claim to consideration. Early in the season, before the
birds have mastered the fact that man is a ravenous and
PLOVER-SHOOTING. 215

wantonly cruel animal, they are easily approachable, and
may easily be knocked down by a moderately skillful
shot. I have even heard of their being shot on the
ground by some persons, although Ido not believe that
there is any foolish butcher so self-distrustful of his skill
as to creep up on this open-minded little bird and shoot
it with a shot-gun before it has taken wing. The man
who would do that would steal. Investigation will show
the truth of this assertion. Even an indifferent wing-
shot may bag fifty, sixty, or even 100 plovers a day
on a country thickly occupied by them, as often hap-
pens. Such shooting as this does not appeal to the
thorough sportsman.

‘It sometimes happens, however, that these long-legged
little fellows acquire a certain shrewdness of their own,
which makes their capture by no means a foregone con-
clusion. They will take a long spurt across the field or
prairie, fairly making their slender legs twinkle as they
sprint along ahead of the shooter; then they will
straighten up, look around, and if they think the shooter
is getting too close, will take wing, with a nonchalant
‘Oh, quit! quit? In sucha flight, they skim along close
to the ground. They go a pretty good pace, and the gun-
ner who jumps one at forty yards rise is by no means
certain of knocking it down.

‘¢The proper gun for upland plover shooting would be
a 16-gauge, if we shot that gun very much in this country,
or if we could all afford to have as many guns as we
liked. Barring that, the 12-gauge, that best of all guns
for an all-around weapon, will do only too well. The
size of shot is naturally No. 8, and the powder charge
should not be over three drams. Of course, there will be
some shooters who will hunt plovers with duck-guns and
duck-loads, but such fellows want the earth, and are afraid
some of it will get away. They are the kicking brethren.
216 UPLAND SHOOTING.

They would kick if they were hung, as the saying is in
Arizona. The man who hunts plover with a 10-gauge
gun thinks he has the best gun on earth. He can kill
birds farther than you can. He can alsodive deeper and
come up cleaner and jump farther than you can, and tell
you who will be the next President.

“Upland plover shooting is usually not so good in the
fall as it is in the spring, but it would be far better forall
our sportsmen never to shoot a plover in the spring.
When they reach the States of the Middle North, they
are already paired and ready to nest; indeed, many and
many willbe found large with eggs. If we would but stop to
think! If we would but lay up our guns for half the year
in these times of lessening numbers! We do not think
of our boys in the cradle. We are robbing our boys of
all their game as rapidly as we can. We are leaving for
them, not the heritage of health and strength and con-
fident manliness which comes of skill at outdoor sports,
but the narrow chest and white face of the counting-room.
We do not mean that our boys shall rideand shoot; we
want them toaddand measure. Wedonot care that they
shall keep alive either the hunter spirit, which is the
warrior spirit, or the love of the outdoor air, which is the
poet spirit. We want our boys to grow up thin and
white. They will make more money then, and so the
country will advance toward the happy state of those
countries whose boys hire out as bare-legged models to
painters in search of ruins.

** May our slim and sweet-voiced little bird long do its
humble share toward preserving us from the hunterless
days. No—more than that: let us preserve it, not simply
from any selfishness or care for ultimate gain, but because
it is one of Nature’s own creatures, and because it is so
cheerful and so confident, and because its voice is like the
laugh of the girl we loved long vears ago.”
THE WILD PIGEON.

(Columba livia.)

 

By Witi1amM Bruce LEFFINGWELL.

 

7 takes no prophetic eye to look into the
future, and, as all wise men judge it, by
the past, to see that the greed of the
human race will eventually wipe from
the face of the earth the wild game of
the fields, the fowls of the air.

While I have written many articles
on subjects pertaining to field sports,
hi never have I written one wherein the
spin of sadness pervaded the innermost recesses of my
heart as does this one of ‘‘The Wild Pigeon.” Asa
child, I was bred and reared among them; the gigantic
oaks and hickories that threw their umbrageous shades
o’er the roof of my home, were frequently the roosting-
places of these now extinct birds, while the trees of the
forests, beneath whose branches I passed so many of the
summer hours in my boyhood, were enlivened by the
sparkling colors of the pigeons as they sat in thick
bunches basking in the sunshine, or teetered and cooed
on the dead limbs of the trees over my head; then, again,
I have often stood in the farm-yard, gazing in rapt
admiration, as the setting sun was darkened by the
traveling flocks, while flock after flock seemed to dissolve
and extend into endless space, for while the darkness of
night hid them from my view, the fluttering of their

strong wings could long be heard after the day had
(217)

  
218 UPLAND SHOOTING.

closed, and the earth had gone to rest. How pretty the
sight! A sweeping line of graceful undulations, bur-
nished by the setting sun with colors of blue and gold,
while the purple and orange seemed to cast upon the
clear sky a rosier huc. To one who has never seen wild
pigeons in their flight, neither the tongue or pen of man
can show its beauties, for when they skim the heights of
the ancient trees, the air is alive with flitting colors, the
world is on the move, and the very sky is filled with
gladness. And now they are
gone! Gone never to return;
they who were ubiquitous,
extending from the Atlantic
to the Pacific, from the ex-
treme North to the Gulf of
Mexico; whose familiar forms
were known to civilization
in the East, the Indians of
the West, the slaves of the
South, and the inhabitants
of the North; they are gone.
They did not meet their fate
because of disease, because
necessity demanded it, but by reason of the power
Divinity decreed, that the fowls and beasts should be
subservient to the will of man. Having this power, and
seeing in these birds a commodity which represented
dollars and cents, these birds, to their destroyers, were
only as meat, sought for and destroyed to bring to the
pockets of their pursuers and persecutors money—just
the same as cattle or swine. It wasn’t done by sports-
men, for no man having the heart of a sportsman could
go into a roost of pigeons and strike down the innocent
fiedgeling with a club, while its mouth was crying for
food, and its mother fluttered and circled around it, try-

 
THE WILD PIGEON. 219

ing to win it with piteous cries to take wing and fly with
her away from this threatening danger. It hardly seems
possible, that the countless millions of a few years ago
are now dead, and forever removed from our sight; but
alas! it is too true. This month, the month of April,
used to be the time of their coming; the season is the
same, the same gentle, pattering rains; the warm south
winds are blowing as freshly; the budding trees are swell-
ing with a new life; the robins and the bluebirds have
long been with us; the forests, the meadows, the streams,
look as of old; the rivulets course as merrily through the
timber-lands, and lose themselves in their meanderings;
the sky looks the same, the same drifting clouds of white
tinged with blue; the wind soughing as sweetly through
the upland hills; the placid bosom of the Mississippi is
disturbed by passing steamers, rolling along in grandest
waves, that decrease as they are left from the boat, and
gradually grow smaller and smaller, until they form tiny
crests of white foam, or whirl in spinning eddies, to be
dissolved in the swift current; but over the tree-tops,
where I have so often seen myriads of pigeons flecking
the sky with a deeper blue, to-day no living bird is in
sight.

There is a pleasure in the pathless woods; there in the
depths of the forest the cares of business are forgotten,
and our life is renewed, sweetly rejuvenated, for we can
not silently commune with Nature unless becoming better
for it. Only yesterday, I wandered beneath the branches
of the sturdy trees where years ago I passed so many happy
hours, and the gap of twenty years was closed, and in
imagination I was again one of the number waiting
impatiently for the evening flight. Away off to the
south, the mild wind carried to our expectant ears the
faint boom of the first gun; a signal to us of the approach-
ing hosts; then another shot; still another, and we traced
220 UPLAND SHOOTING.

the coming birds by these frequent reports. No birds in
sight, yet our signals of warning were unfailing, and
when the deep roar of some gun a few hundred yards
ahead of us rolled and echoed through the hills and val-
leys, the cry resounded along the hill-sides: ‘‘ Down!
Down! Here they come by the thousands !’’ At this time,
the advancing flock seemed to rise out of the hill-tops far
ahead of us, and everyone, man and boy, quickly secreted
himself behind the first bush or tree and awaited the con-
gregated flock’s approach; then, when near enough, the
shooter would arise and pour from his destructive gun
the leaden hail, while the frightened flock would break
its solid ranks and sheer from the dangerous place; but of
no avail, for there were hunters secreted all through the
woods, and ‘‘bang!’’ ‘‘ bang!’ the guus roared out, until,
within a few acres space, perhaps twenty different hunters
fired into the flock, while the birds separated at each
report, and quickly came together again, veering from the
spot where the ascending smoke was, or at times turning
completely around, and then advancing by another route.
As the day sped along, the flight increased until, at times,
flocks of all sizes were to be seen, all flying in the same
direction, but each succeeding flock followed its predeces-
sor as accurately as if onamarkedline. This peculiarity
in their flight is noticeable, for they fly over the hills and
dart down the vales in graceful, sweeping lines, which are
particularly pleasing to one’s sight. During their flight
it was amusing to see the boys shooting them; all kinds
of guns were represented, and fortunate the boy who
owned a gun, for he was admired and envied by all his
companions; they followed him with undisguised admira-
tion, and their youthful voices were always first and loud-
est in asserting claims for disputed birds. The flocks
were simply immense, and it was impossible, when many
fired into the same flock, to tell who brought down the
THE WILD PIGEON. 221

birds; there was no chance for field etiquette, but to the
captor belonged the spoils, and my young legs were as
successful in swelling the number I took home, as the
science I displayed in shooting. Science? It makes me
smile now to think of it. Really, I never thought of such
a thing as displaying science, for the birds were so thickly
bunched together, that I blazed away into the densest por-
tion of the flock; then, when one fell, no base-ball player
ever dropped his bat quicker than I did my gun, and, like
a streak, I lit out for the bird, frequently rolling over
and over down the hill, or coming into contact with some
other boy who was playing the same game. For a wonder,
boyish fights were of rare occurrence; for there was a
tacit understanding among the boys, that the first one
having the bird in hand, when it was uncertain who shot
it, held the legal right of ownership. This was very try-
ing to our mothers; but one reinforcement of our pants at
the knees, and on the places most used in taking the slides
for the birds, usually lasted through the pigeon season.
At this time, my shooting friends consider me to be a
cool, deliberate shot, one not prone to excitement; but
in those days—Well! I used to have a body-guard
whose special duty was, one to watch that my ramrod
didn’t get lost, another my shot-bottle, another my
powder horn, while the fourth was a general substitute,
whose duty was to fill the vacancy in the event of desertion
or disability of any of the regulars, and, in case the paper
wadding was lost, to gather sufficient mullein-leaves to
keep the battle raging. How I used to practice loading
quickly! But my maneuvers at home and in the field
were far different. A single-barrel muzzle-loader; trying
to gauge and measure in the palm of my hand four fingers
of powder after it was rammed into the barrel of the gun;
then the same motions to go through with the shot,
when all the while my chums were urging haste, while
222 UPLAND SHOOTING.

the air above and around me was one fluttering mass of blue
and red, and the spiked tails of the birds flitted just out
of my reach. Excited? I was simply wild, and those
boys rattled me still more with such exclamations as
“Down!” ‘Down!’ ‘Oh, look at them! right over
your head.’’ ‘‘There! there!’? ‘Whale it into that
bunch.”’ ‘‘ Bah! you nevertouched a feather.”’ ‘‘Oh, hurry
up! you’re too slow.”’ Then, when in my haste and excite-
ment I poured the shot in first, one would exclaim:
“Oh, Gosh! if he hasn’t put in the shot instead of the
powder.’ Confound those boys! It wasmany years ago
that they said those things, and their voices still ring in
my ears; but then at night I always forgave them, for
we went home in the gloaming together, proud and happy,
a nice bunch of birds for each to carry—the males tied in
one bunch, with their pretty red breasts together, then
both sexes mixed, tied, not by strings, but with the longest
feathers of their tails, fastened in a knot at the silken
ends, while the quill part was thrust through the lower
bill. What blessed days those are to recall!—the days of
our youth. No successes of after life can compare with
them; for, in our maturer years, some day we find our-
selves in the forest, and the mild, soft breeze of summer
winds plays sweetest music through the trembling leaves,
the birds sing their melody to our delighted ears, the
grass.is a deeper green, the violets a purer purple, and
the sky a more lucid blue—for these scenes of Nature
transport us back, we forget our existence as men, and,
lifting the veil of years, we see ourselves, children in
thought and deed, roaming in the forest, fishing at the
stream, or gathering flowers in the meadows.

The immensity of some of these flocks of pigeons
almost surpasses belief, and it is well for those of us who
have seen and enjoyed these sights that there are living
witnesses to substantiate what we say of them. In going
THE WILD PIGEON. 223

to their roosting-places, they annually flew up the Valley
of the Mississippi, following the river in its windings.
In this vicinity, they flew about a mile west of the city,
sweeping up and down over the hills and valleys, resem-
bling the long tail of a kite, that would be changed into
serpentine form by the fitful wind. East of us, drifting
rapidly and gracefully over the tops of the willows, oaks,
and elms in the bottom-land, they darkened the shores of
the western boundary of the State of Illinois. The tall
bluffs of Fulton, sloping gently from the south, terminate
abruptly at the north, and sink into miles and miles of
bottom-lands, islands, and verdant fields; when they
reached these bluffs, instead of dropping down and flying
over the islands, they crossed the Mississippi River, mean-
dered over the bluffs in Iowa, swelling the numbers that
had passed over us, and disappeared in their tireless
flight. At that time, I lived in Lyons, Iowa, one of the
prettiest little cities on the Mississippi River—just such a
spot as Nature intended for a town, providing it herself
with all naturaladvantages. The hills arose back of us in
gradual and lofty grandeur; climbing these hills, and
brushing through the thick hazel-brush, we suddenly
came unaware on the highest elevation of the hills, and
here Nature had dispensed with trees, brush, and vines,
and we stepped forth and beheld the most beautiful
prairie, of the greenest grass, enlivened and beautified by
the whitest daisies, the yellowest buttercups, and the
purplest violets. Such was the ‘‘ Little Prairie.” Com-
ing as a man would out of the dense forest, and unexpect-
edly stepping into this open land, the heart must be cold
indeed that could not appreciate it. This spot was about
three-quarters of a mile square, and was a succession of
rolling hills; here it was that the hunters congregated
from the town and waited for the evening flight. As they
lounged around indolently, laughing, chatting, and tell-
224 UPLAND SHOOTING.

ing stories, of a sudden some watchful eye would espy
the dim outline of a flock in the distance. Instantly
there was a great commotion among the hunters. ‘‘ They
are coming! They are coming! *’ would hurriedly be passed
from mouth to mouth, and the hunters would at once dis-
perse, seeking a place for concealment in the neighboring
woods, or lie prone behind the sloping hills. What
immense flocks passed over us there!

One bright afternoon, I was early on the grounds.
The flight usually began about 5 o’clock, but this day
there were so many birds moving, that it seemed as if
they had consulted, and thought it best to obtain an
early start. About half-past 3, a few scattering flocks
dotted the horizon, and swept gracefully over the timber.
I located myself so the sun shone on my back, and was
under their line of flight. At first, they flew in flocks of
from 300 to 500. Many of the flocks consisted entirely of
males, then others of females. One could not imagine a
prettier sight than a drove of the males, rising up over
our heads as they swept on graceful wings out from the
valley below. The sky was cloudless, except here and
there tiny crests of white dotted and made deeper the
blue background, while the setting sun cast its mellow
rays on the purple heads, the blue necks and backs, the
golden orange, the cinnamon and copper color of their
breasts, until their sparkling feathers cast a sheen, and
filled the air with brilliant colorings. The main body
first appeared at 4 o’clock; the flock was fully 100
yards wide, and densely massed together. Shot after shot

was fired into them, the only effect being a momentary ~

opening; then they quickly closed together again, and
advanced as before. Each moment I expected to see the
end of this trailing army of crimson and blue, but there
was apparently no end. Time and again the deep double
report of some heavily loaded gun would roar through-
THE WILD PIGEON. 225

out the woods, the smoke waft over the tree-tops, dead
or wounded birds drop to the earth, or with set wings -
sail gently lowering through the scraggy trees. Five
o'clock, then 6 passed by, still no end to the flight—it
increased if anything; the pure air was contaminated by
the ever-present smoke, and the odor coming from the
flying birds, while the guns kept up an incessant crack-
ing. I had loaded and fired until my ammunition was
expended; friendship ceased at this time, and my com-
panions had ‘‘just a few loads left,’’ and I could not bor-
row any from them; so, gathering my birds and tying
them in a bunch, I stood my gun against a tree, and
silently gazed in astonishment and admiration at the
wonderful sight before and around me, for I intended
remaining until I saw the last of this caravan, or until
night shut it from view. The day drew speedily to a
close; the sun sank to rest in a bed of crimson glory; the
sky, brightened by the reflection of the sun, gradually
lost its coloring,and was of aleaden hue. Whip-poor-wills
flew screeching through the darkened sky, night-owls
hooted and flitted through the woods, yet the flight never
ceased; the mist arose in the valleys, the shades of night
fast fell over the earth; the faint boom of distant guns
was heard before and behind us, then, nearer, the guns
themselves were to be seen; sheets of fire shot toward the
heavens, and belched forth here and there along the hill-
sides; streaks and streams of flamé suddenly and unexpect-
edly shot forth from hidden, darksome places. It was
now dark; the stars glittered in the sky, and twinkled
merrily at us. The birds could no longer be seen, except
in a faint dark streak as we looked over us and toward
the western sky, but the whistling of their wings, as they
winnowed their way along, could be plainly heard.
Nothing could be seen now, and, as I wended my way

homeward, I heard frequent reports, and ever and anon
15
226 UPLAND SHOOTING.

saw the rocket-like flame pierce the air, while the boom-
ing report followed it. How many pigeons were in that
flight, no man could tell; it was the most astonishing
sight, of the kind, I ever saw; there were not only thou-
sands, but hundreds of thousands, in the flight that after-
noon. I candidly believe there were more pigeons in
that drove than there are game birds in the United States
to-day. Our early ornithologists, Audubon, Wilson, and
others, tell what may seem wonderful tales of the abun-
dance of pigeons, but there can be no question of the birds
having been as plenty as they say. The flight of the
pigeons, when flying singly or traveling, is very rapid, its
speed being estimated at 100 miles an hour; this speed
is attained when darting through the woods or when
in high flight. When going to and returning from
their feeding-grounds, they follow the hills and ravines,
searching for food, and do not fly at such great speed.
Their food consists of corn, oats, wheat, berries, and rice,
but more especially the acorns and beech-nuts—indeed,
nuts of all kinds that they can swallow. These nuts are
sought for on the ground, and are called under the gen-
eral head of mast. Where mast can be found, there the
birds congregate in immense flocks, devouring, in their
voracity, and by reason of their numbers, all the food
they can get at. Providence did not intend these birds
should die of starvation, and provided them with the
means of sustenance in their strong wings, and conse-
quent powers of flight and endurance. They have fre-
quently been found in the Eastern States, their crops
filled with rice, which they only could have obtained in
Southern fields. Distance has no effect on them when
they are searching for food, and they will fly sixty or 100
miles to feed, then return to their roosts. They loved
the forests; these shaded spots were their homes, for, as
the poet says:
THE WILD PIGEON. 227

“The blue wild pigeons seek the deepest woods,
The loveliest forests of far Michigan,
Of the Minnesota and Kentucky realms,
Indiana woodlands and Ohio wastes;
And farther south, in Mississippi groves,
They swarming congregate in early spring,
And late in year their roosting-places seek.”

Yes, they sought these several States, they wended
their unceasing flight into the Territories; but, wherever
they went, they were followed, not only by the hawks, the
eagles, the vultures of the air, the wolves, foxes, vermin,
and beasts of the fields, but by man, heartless, unpitying
man, more unfeeling than their wild and inhuman ene-
mies, who murdered them in their babyhood or pinched
them to cruel death for a few paltry cents perdozen. It’s
asad review of human character, to think that this has
been done, and done in States where the violators were
within easy reach of an outraged law. When the birds
arrive at their feeding-grounds, they flutter along
through the trees close to the ground, picking up mast,
and hopping in short flight one over another, pell-mell,
gulping down everything edible within their reach.
When seen at a distance, at this time, they represent roll-
ing billows of blue and white in the gray woods. When
a breeding-place is chosen, then is a time of great excite-
ment, and the destruction begins, as they appear with
regularity, and the pigeon-netters and all interested par-
ties are constantly on the watch for them. One of the
most common and successful methods of bagging them
was shooting from stands. These stands were made by
cutting two poles eighteen or twenty feet long, then nailing
them on uprights nine or ten feet high. The manner of
building these stands and the place of putting them was
as follows: The pigeon-shooter selected a stand directly
in the line of flight, and near a piece of timber. It was
necessary that the place selected should be open, so the
228 UPLAND SHOOTING.

pigeons could alight on the ground, for if trees, bushes,
or twigs were near, the birds would light on them. The
shooter, therefore, picked out an open spot near the
woods, from 100 to 200 yards, built him a small house of
boughs, just large enough to hide him nicely, then
paced off about thirty long steps and placed his first poles;
these were nearest him, and a foot lower than those the
farthest from him, the idea being that from the bough
house the shot might follow an upward flight; the charge
also had a chance to scatter, for the parallel poles were
gradually separated, being perhaps a foot apart nearest
the shooter, then from three to four feet at the other end;
the result was, that the whole charge of shot was fired
into the fluttering birds with great effect. A ten-gauge
gun was usually used, loaded with an ounce and three-
quarters of shot. As many as three dozen birds were
killed, at times, at a single discharge of one barrel, one
party telling methat he once killed seventy-one birds in
two shots. After the place had been selected for a stand,
around this spot grain was scattered to entice the birds;
but the most effective way was to coax them down with
stool-pigeons. These stool-pigeons were known as flyers
or heverers. Whena flock was sighted coming toward
the stand, the shooter selected one of the flyers, and tossed
him into the air, his feet tied to a long string; the bird
flew until the end of the string was reached, then, feeling
it could go no farther, gradually lowered, settling softly
onto the ground. At this time, from the bough house,
there was called, rapidly, ‘‘keek,’’ ‘‘keek,’’ ‘‘keek,”’
this cry being the kind the bird made when feeding or
closely searching for food; then another flyer would be
thrown up, then another. By this time, the attention of
the incoming flocks would be attracted. To interest
them still more, the strings attached to the hoverers
would be pulled, their pedestals jerked from beneath
THE WILD PIGEON. 229

them, and weights dragged them slowly to the ground;
their legs restrained and their wings free, naturally they
used their wings constantly; this sight, to the birds com-
ing in, bad the appearance of birds fast alighting to feed.
The flocks, after making two or three wide circles, would
settle on the poles, and then the hunter quickly fired at
them; experience had demonstrated that it would not do
to wait too long before firing, but the shots must be
made just after the first birds had settled on the poles, and
_While their companions were hovering over them. At
times, they lit on one another in such dense quantities
that the poles were broken. In the Eastern States, the
birds were fond of alighting in the salt licks or beds, and all
along their line of flight these stands were built, remain-
ing year after year; no one thought of molesting them,
and a hunter always held sacred the stand of another,
and would never use one without the consent of the
owner. Many of these stands were of localreputation, and
had descended from sire to son, grandchildren and great-
grandchildren. It is agrand sight to see a flock of sev-
eral thousand swoop down, decoyed into the fowler’s
stand. They will come along, sweeping and trailing over
the hills and down the valleys, or in straight and steady
flight high in air. Flyers will be thrown up, hoverers
flutter to the ground, when suddenly the leaders of the
flock espy the invitation to the feast, and with bowed
and set wings begin their descent, cutting the keen air
with vibratory wings; they can not and do not attempt
to come down perpendicularly, but each bird tries to
follow the path of its predecessor, and the long trail of
purple, blue, and white descends like an avalanche, in
appearance a huge inverted cone or spiral stream of life.
As they wind around ina circle before alighting, and then
cover the ground in a fluttering mass, they hover and flit
over the earth, covering it at times to the depth of sev-
2380 UPLAND SHOOTING.

eral feet with their struggling bodies. One ofthe largest
pigeon-roosts ever seen in the United States, was during
the year 1878, at Petoskey, Mich. Professor Roney
went to this roost for the purpose of protecting the birds,
so faras he could, from the slaughter carried on by the
attendants there. The reader can forman accurate idea
of the immensity of one of these roosts from the following
graphic description of Professor Roney:

‘‘On reaching Petoskey, we found the condition of
affairs had not been magnified; indeed, it exceeded our
gravest fears. Here, a few miles north, was a pigeon-
nesting of irregular dimensions, estimated, by those best
qualified to judge, to be forty miles in length by three
to ten miles in width, probably the largest nesting that
has ever existed in the United States, covering some-
thing like 100,000 acres of land, and including not less
than 150,000 acres within its limits. At the hotel, we met
one we were glad to see, in the person of ‘Uncle Len’
Jewell, of Bay City, an old woodsman and ‘land-
looker.’ Len had for several weeks been looking land
in the upper peninsula, and was on his return home. At
our solicitation, he agreed to remain for two or three
days, and coéperate with us. In the village, nothing else
seemed to be thought of but pigeons. It was the one
absorbing topic everywhere. The ‘pigeoners’ hurried
hither and thither, comparing market reports, and solic-
iting the latest quotations on ‘squabs.’ A score of
hands in the packing-houses were kept busy from day-
light until dark. Wagon-load after wagon-load of dead
and live birds hauled up to the station, discharged their
freight, and returned to the nesting for more. The
freight-house was filled with the paraphernalia of the
pigeon-hunter’s vocation, while every train brought
acquisitions to their numbers, and scores of nets, stool-
pigeons, etc. The pigeoners were everywhere. They
THE WILD PIGEON. 231

swarmed in the hotels, post office, and about the streets.
They were there, as careful inquiry and the hotel regis-
ters showed, from New York, Wisconsin, Pennsylvania,
Michigan, Maryland, Iowa, Virginia, Ohio, Texas, Ili-
nois, Maine, Minnesota, and Missouri.

‘‘ Hiring a team, we started on a tour of investigation
through the nesting. Long before reaching it, our course
was directed by the birds over our heads, flying back
and forth to their feeding-grounds. After riding about
fifteen miles, we discovered a wagon-track leading into
the woods, in the direction of the bird-sounds which came
to our ears. Three of the party left the wagon and fol-
lowed it; the twittering grew louder and louder, the
birds more numerous, and, in a few minutes, we were in
the midst of that marvel of the forest, and Nature’s won-
derland—the pigeon-nesting. We stood and gazed in
bewilderment upon the scene around and above us. Was
it indeed a fairy-land we stood upon, or did our eyes
deceive us? On every hand the eye would meet these
graceful creatures of the forest, which, in their delicate
robes of blue, purple, and brown, darted hither and
thither with the quickness of thought. Every bough was
bending under their weight, so tame one could almost
touch them, while in every direction, crossing and
recrossing, the flying birds drew a net-work before the
dizzy eyes of the beholder, until he fain would close his
eyes to shut out the bewildering scene. This portion of
the nesting was the first formed, and the young birds
were just ready to leave the nests. Scarcely a tree could
be seen but contained from five to fifty nests, according
to its size and branches. Directed by the noise of chop-
ping and falling trees, we followed on, and soon came
upon the scene of action. Here was a large force of
Indians and boys at work, slashing down the timber, and
seizing the young birds as they fluttered from the nests.
232 UPLAND SHOOTING.

As soon as caught, the heads were jerked off from the
tender bodies with the hand, and the dead birds tossed
into heaps. Others knocked the young fledgelings out of
the nests with long poles, their weak and untried wings
failing to carry them beyond the clutches of the assist-
ant, who, with hands reeking with blood and feathers,
tears the head off the living bird, and throws its quiver-
ing body upon the heap. Thousands of young birds lay
among the ferns and leaves, dead, having been knocked
out of the nests by the promiscuous tree-slashing, and
dying for want of nourishment and care, which the par-
ent birds, trapped off by the netter, could not give. The
squab-killers stated that ‘about one-half of the young
birds in the nests they found dead,’ owing to the latter
reason. Every available Indian, man, and boy in the
neighborhood was in the employ of buyers and specu-
lators killing squabs, for which they received a cent
apiece.

‘* The news of the formation of the nesting was not long
in reaching the various Indian settlements near Petos-
key, and the aboriginals came in tens and fifties, and in
hordes. Some were armed with guns, but the majority
were provided with powerful bows, and arrows with
round, flat heads two or three inches in diameter. With
these they shot under or into the nests, knocking out
the squabs to the ground, and raked the old birds which
loaded the branches. For miles, the roads leading to the
nesting were swarming with Indians, big and little. old
and young, squaws, pappooses, bucks, and young braves,
on ponies, in carts, and on foot. Each family brought
its kit of cooking-utensils, axes, a stock of provisions,
tubs, barrels, and firkins to pack the birds in, and came
intending to carry on the business until the nesting
broke up. In some sections, the woods were literally full
of them. With the aid of Sheriff Ingalls, who spoke
THE WILD PIGEON. 233

their language like a native, we one day drove over 400
Indians out of the nesting, and their retreat back to their
farms would have rivaled Bull Run. Five hundred more
were met on the road to the nesting, and turned back.
The number of pigeons these two hordes would have
destroyed would have been incalculable. Noticing a
handsome bow in the hands of a young Indian, who
proved to be a son of the old chief Petoskey, a piece of
silver caused its transfer to us, with the remark, ‘ Keene,
kensau mene sic’ (Now you can go and shoot pigeons),
which dusky joke seemed to be appreciated by the rest
‘of the young chief's companions.

‘“‘There are in the United States about 5,000 men who
pursue pigeons year after year as a business. Pigeon-
hunters with whom we conversed, ‘ncognito, stated that
of this number there were between 400 and 500 at the
Petoskey nesting, plying their vocation with as many
nets, and more arriving upon every train from all parts
of the United States. When it is remembered that the
village was alive with pigeoners, that nearly every house
in the vast area of territory covered by the nesting shel-
tered one to six pigeon-men, and that many camped out
in the woods, the figures will not seem improbable.
Every homesteader in the country, who owned or could
hire an ox-team or pair of horses, was engaged in haul-
ing birds to Petoskey for shipment, for which they
received $4 per wagon-load. To ‘keep peace in the
family,’ and avoid complaint, the pigeon-men fitted up
many of the settlers with nets, and instructed them in
the art of trapping. Added to these were the buyers,
shippers, packers, Indians, and boys, making not less
than 2,000 persons (some placed it at 2,500) engaged in
the traffic at this one nesting. Fully fifty teams were
engaged in hauling birds to the railroad station. The
road was carpeted with feathers, and the wings and feath-
234 UPLAND SHOOTING.

ers from the packing-houses were used by the wagon-
load to fill up the mud-holes in the road for miles out of
town. For four men to attempt to effect a work having
for opponents the entire country, residents and non-resi-
dents included, was no slight task.

“The majority of the pigeoners were a reckless, hard
set of men, but their repeated threats that they would
‘ buck-shot us’ if we interfered with them in the woods,
failed to inspire the awe that was intended. It was four
against 2,000. What was accomplished against such
fearful odds may be seen by the following:

“The regular shipments by rail before the party com-
menced operations were sixty barrels per day. On the
16th of April, just after our arrival, they fell to thirty-five
barrels, and on the 17th down to twenty barrels per day,
while on the 22d the shipments were only eight barrels
of pigeons. On the Sunday previous, there were shipped
by steamer, to Chicago, 128 barrels of dead birds and 108
crates of live birds. On the next Sabbath following our
arrival, the shipments were only forty-three barrels and
fifty-two crates. Thus it will be seen that some little
good was accomplished, but that little was included in a
very few days of the season, for the treasury of the home
clubs would not admit of keeping their representatives
longer at the nesting; the State clubs, save one, did not
respond to the call for assistance, and the men were
recalled, after which the Indians went back into the nest-
ing, and the wanton crusade was renewed, by pigeoners
and all hands, with an energy which indicated a determi-
nation to make up lost time.

‘The first shipment of birds from Petoskey was upon
March 22d, and the last upon August 12th, making over
twenty weeks, or five months, that the bird war was car-
ried on. For many weeks the railroad shipments aver-
aged fifty barrels of dead birds per day—thirty to forty
THE WILD PIGEON. 235

dozen old birds and about fifty dozen squabs being packed
ina barrel. Allowing 500 birds to a barrel, and averag-
ing the entire shipments for the season at twenty-five
barrels per day, we find the rail shipments to have been
12,500 dead birds daily, or 1,500,000 for the summer. Of
live birds, there were shipped 1,116 crates, six dozen per
crate, or 80,352 birds. These were the rail shipments
only, and not including the cargoes by steamers from
Petoskey, Cheboygan, Cross Village, and other lake ports,
which were as many more. Added to this were the daily
express shipments in bags and boxes, the wagon-loads
hauled away by the shot-gun brigade, the thousands of
dead and wounded ones not secured, and the myriads of
squabs dead in the nest by the trapping off of the parent
birds soon after hatching (for a young pigeon will surely
die if deprived of its parents during the first week of its
life), and we have, at the lowest possible estimate, a grand
total of 1,000,000,000 pigeons sacrificed to Mammon dur-
ing the nesting of 1878.”’

I trust the knowledge obtained by the reader will be
sufficient recompense to insure me a frank forgiveness
for engrafting into this chapter so much of the language
and experience of another; but many of our sportsmen,
especially the younger members of the fraternity, wonder
what has become of the birds that, a decade since, dark-
ened the sky with their traveling hordes. The report of
Professor Roney tells the tale, for there are not sufficient
of any living animals to have taken from them the
numbers that were taken from that pigeon-roost, and not
speedily become extinct. Every day in the spring-time,
the time when we used to see so many pigeons with us,
flying so gracefully over the hill-tops, or high in air
traveling northward, our thoughts revert to those good
old times when they were so plenty with us; and ‘we can
not but think tenderly of the dead, for they are dead to
236 UPLAND SHOOTING.

life, yet ever fresh in our memories, and the sky would
seem gladder, the trees and grass a richer green, if they
were only brought in contrast with the variegated colors
of the pigeons resplendent in the light of the setting sun.
We miss them more than any other birds, for with us
we always looked forward in pleasant anticipation of
their coming, for they were the companions and the mild
associates of budding spring; and when we saw them
skimming along just over the highest trees, looking for
some expected place for alighting, seeking a spot to build
their homes, we knew that,
“In soft spring-time they seek some lone retreat,

Where endless forests stretch their bowery realm,

And here they build their nests and rear their brood;

Here tender grass and underwood die out,

And earth is strewn with wither’d branch of trees,

Broken by weight of birds that roost above.”
And then, when summer months have passed, when the
leaves are tremulously falling to the earth, and the
changing beauties of the maples awaken our admiration,
‘*when ripe October kindles all the woods, flushing the
oak and beech trees with a blaze,’ as if the pigeons
knew how welcome they were, they brightened the
heavens again in their homeward flights, wending their
way toward their southern homes, where, in mid-winter,
free from frost and snow and the piercing wintry winds
of the North, they sought the ambrosial forests, and
beneath the sunny skies, sitting basking inthe warm sun’s
rays, they dozed the time away, listening to the tinkling
of the surf on the beach, or the songs of the bright-plum-
aged birds that fluttered near, and favored them with
sweetest melody in their constant serenadings.
SNIPE, AND SNIPE-SHOOTING.

 

By Tuomas C. Aszorr (‘‘RECAPPER”).

    
   
 
  
    

ROTHER sportsman, are you a snipe-shooter?
If not, perhaps before trying the sport it were
—_ oe ell to know a little of the natural his-
\\ tory of the bird. He isa great traveler.
Coues’ “Birds of the Northwest”
» says: “Throughout the greater
part of the United States the
snipe is found only during the mi-
—- erations, and in winter. It breeds,
however, in Northern New England, and may
2 do so along other portions of our northern border,
i though I have not so determined. It occurs in South
¢ America, Central America, Mexico, and the West
Indies.” Other authorities tell us that they breed
from Nova Scotia to Virginia; that they breed at times
in New Jersey, I feel pretty sure. Formerly it was the
custom to shoot them during their spring migration, but
Iam glad to be able to say that this custom is now for-
bidden by law in most of the States. I can not refrain
from saying here that the practice of spring shooting of
any winged game was a most barbarous one, born of
ignorance, and continued through thoughtlessness. That
itis so fast being put down, is due to the fearless, perse-
vering energy of one man, and that man is Dr. N. Rowe,
editor of the American Field.
In the hunting for and shooting of other winged game,

if the sportsman is a good shot, and has dogs of fair
237)

’
238 UPLAND SHOOTING.

average abilities, he can follow certain hard and fast
rules and meet with success, supposing him to be in a
country fairly well stocked with game; but in snipe-
shooting, beyond the old rule of always working down-
wind, this will not apply. Andwhy? Simply because,
of all our game birds, none are so erratic in their habits
as thesnipe. Every variation in temperature, every shift
of the wind, is sure to be followed by a change in their
feeding or lying grounds, and they will often shift their
quarters even when these apparent causes are absent.
One hour they may be very wild, the next, extremely
tame; hence the novice, who, perhaps, may have been
having good shooting, and is congratulating himself on
the accommodating humor of the birds, may the same
day, within a short time, be anathematizing them for
their wildness or their seemingly causeless veering of
quarters.

One of the golden rules in all game-shooting may be
summed up in one word, and that word is, silence.

There may be other game as acute of hearing as the
snipe, but if so, I do not know it; hence it follows, as a
matter of course, that the more quietly you and your
dogs work the greater will be the chance of success.

The next thing to be considered is the gun you will
use. To give useful advice on this point, it is necessary
to know the style of shooting of the one who asks for
information. If you are a very quick shot, shooting
the moment the bird rises, you will do best with the cyl-
inder-bore. If, on the other hand, you are deliberate in
your movements, waiting for the bird to get done twist-
ing and dodging in his efforts to outflank you, then you
need the choke-bore. As the walking in snipe-shooting
is apt to be bad, every ounce in weight in the gun tells in
a long tramp, and a gun of seven pounds weight, or less,
is the thing. As to the gauge, each one has his fancy,
SNIPE, AND SNIPE-SHOOTING. 239

but the twelve-gauge is, to my mind, the best. I have
tried shot of all sizes, from No. 5 to No. 10, and, taking
Tatham’s shot as the standard, I prefer No. 9. For a
seven-pound, twelve-gauge gun, three drams of good

 

WILSON'S SNIPE.—JACKSNIPE.

powder and from one ounce to one ounce and an eighth
of shot will be found to be very effective.

In the important matter of dogs, I agree fully with
Frank Forester, that ‘‘the best dogs for snipe are the brav-
est, fastest, and best trained that can be got for money,”
240 UPLAND SHOOTING.

It is true that. on the rice plantations of the South. or on
the wet prairies of the West, where snipe are often found
in hundreds, a retrieving spaniel may seem to be all that
is needed, the shooter doing the finding and flushing of
the birds: but. as Forester says. ‘where would be the
sport of such slow gunning?" To the true sportsman—
the man who shoots for the sake of the healthful exer-
cise, and not for the market—seeing the good work done
by his dogs is by far the most enticing part of any shoot-
ing. As regards snipe-dogs, it may be said of them, as
of the snipe-shooter, neither can ever become absolutely
perfect at the work. Don't start. reader: I will explain.
You may be a crack shot, have a dog, or a brace of dogs,
so perfect on woodcock, grouse, and quail, and be your-
self so thoroughly well up in all the habits of these
game birds, that you never have any difficulty in outwit-
ing them, but in snipe-shooting you have a different
bird altogether. After thirty years of constant experi-
ence with them, the writer might reasonably be supposed
to know all their ways, yet such is not the case. Every time
Igo after them I learn something new. because of their
changeableness of mood. In fact, about the only thing
certain you can say of them is that they are very uncertain.
Dr. Lewis. in his American Sportsman, says that he
has **never seen a good snipe-dog.” Well, he was cer-
tainly unfortunate in his experience. I have seen them,
and owned them. He also insists that the best days to
shoot snipe are very windy ones. and that he can get
nearer to them, and get more and better shots. on such
days, and find and flush the birds himself, than can anyone
on still days. He is wholly at variance with our best
authorities on this point. Curiously enough, it so hap-
pens that Dr. Lewis, Forester, and myself have done
the most of our snipe-shooting in the same State—New
Jersey—and on grounds not very wide apart.
SNIPE, AND SNIPE-SHOOTING. 241

As an illustration of the advantage held by one
working with goods dogs over one without a dog,
let us suppose that we have two meadows, of twenty
acres each in extent, and that on each of these meadows
there are distributed forty snipe. Let two men, who are
equally good shots, each beat over one of these meadows.
To make the test complete, let half a gale of wind be
blowing over one meadow, and only a gentle breeze over
the other. Suppose one man to be aided by a brace of
good snipe-dogs, and the other, who works over the
windy meadow, to have no dog, but work on Dr. Lewis’
plan, and find the birds himself. Let both begin at the
same time; and now mark the inevitable result. The
man with the dogs walks quietly down-wind, keeping
near the center of his ground, and the dogs working to
the right and left of him. The dogs will find every bird,
and there being but little wind, they will not fly until
forced to do so. The shooter need not turn aside, except
when his dogs point, and so saves himself much walking;
and in an hour, at the most, he has got, or driven off, all
the birds on that piece of ground.

Now turn to the other shooter; doing all of the work
himself, he must tramp over the whole ground to find his
birds. Beas quiet as he may, he will unavoidably make
some noise, and the strong wind behind him carries the
sound far in advance of him to warn the birds. It being
a strong wind, the birds know they can rise easily and
fly fast, and the result is that they do so, oftentimes out
of shot. Not having dogs to locate them, the shooter
does not know when, where, or how they may flush, and
he has to take shots at all sorts of angles, and seesa good.
many birds go off. Moreover, to find them all, he must,
do from four to six times the tramping done by the other
man, and this takes a proportionately greater time. It

takes no prophet to tell which of those two men will be
16
242 UPLAND SHOOTING.

most fagged out at night, or which of them will have the
most birds to show. No, no, reader, don’t try the snipe
in windy weather, for you will find ‘“‘the game is not
worth the candle.”’

side from the knack of hitting them, snipe are not
hard to kill. One or two pellets of shot will bring them
down, and it is seldom that they fly far if hit.
_ <After advising caution in approaching a hit snipe,
which has been marked down, Forester says that he has
‘*seen a wounded one, after being marked down to a
square yard of ground, get away, and this after the
ground had been beaten over by a brace of capital dogs,
and as many men.’’ Now if any man ever knew just
what constituted a brace of ‘‘ capital dogs,’’ he did; but
I can not imagine how a ‘‘ brace of capital dogs *’ could go
up to within a yard of a wounded snipe and not wind it,
when it is a well-known fact that dead or wounded birds
are readily-located by dogs, and this, too, when they have
failed to scent unhurt birds in the immediate vicinity.
Possibly I may have been more than usually fortunate
in my experience, but I can say truly that, in all the
years I have shot, I have lost but one dead or wounded
snipe. It is true I was attended on that occasion by
dogs which were excellent at retrieving, an accomplish-
ment which I seem to have an inborn knack of teaching;
but had I known then, as I now know, that snipe can
swim well for short distances, I am confident that I
should not have lost even that one bird. I will give the
incident here: It was in the month of April, before I had
realized the wrong of shooting snipe in spring. Iwas, at
the time, walking along the edge of one of a series of
high knolls, separated by water on three sides. Sud-
denly, in front of me, and not over thirty yards away, two
birds arose. One turned to the right, and it was instantly
killed; the other, bearing away to my left, and flying
SNIPE, AND SNIPE-SHOOTING. 243

fast, received my second shot, but I aimed not quite
far enough in advance of him, and failed to stop him.
He was hit, however, and flew but about 100 yards,
and dropped upon the far edge of the farthest knoll to
my left. Keeping my eyes on the spot, I went there at
once, after one of my setters had retrieved the dead bird.
On reaching the place, my dogs took the scent, but failed
to find the bird. It had not flushed, or I should have seen
it; and there was no cover for it to have hidden in. After
long searching by my dogs and myself, I gave it up; but
I am now satisfied that that snipe entered the water,
there about twenty yards wide, and swam over to a wet
thicket on the farther shore. Had I sent one of my dogs
across the water, that bird would have been bagged, for
if he had flushed again, he would have done so within
easy range.

So far, all writers, while they admit that during the
spring migration snipe resort to other grounds than the
open meadows, make no mention, so far as I know, of
their being anywhere except on the open meadows during
autumn; and some claim that they are to be found only
on the open ground. This latter claim I have found to
be a mistake. During the autumn, I have found them
along neglected meadow ditches overhung by large willow
trees, and again, hidden in the reeds along the banks of
creeks. Though Forester asserts positively that at this
season they never go there, I have shot them repeatedly
in wet woodland meadows, and on high meadows over-
grown with tussocks of coarse grass, where the ground
was hard, and as dry as the inside of a powder-canister.

One fact worth mentioning is, that I have found
them in such spots only during the middle of the day,
and I have always believed that, after feeding during the
morning hours, they retire to such places to dress and
preen their feathers, and perhaps to take a digestive
244 UPLAND SHOOTING.

snooze; hence, I would urge it upon the sportsman
that, if he knows that there are any birds on the ground,
and fails to find them in their usual hiding-places during
the noon hours, he should try such places as I have
named. He may not find many birds, but if he watches
those he does find, and which go off unshot at, they
will almost invariably go to where the main body of the
birds are, and thus guide him to good shooting.
The snipe is a bird of strange ways, and the sooner
you recognize that fact, the sooner will you become
expert in finding them. As they do not give out a strong
scent, do not be in a hurry to find fault with your dog
because he points, and you fail to flush the birds at once
on going up to him. Wild as they are in general, they
will, at times, squat till almost trodden upon. To show
how cunning they are, I will relate the trick one tried to
play on me. I was, at the time, working a red and white
setter—the grandest and most trustworthy snipe-dog I
have ever seen. The dog had worked over alow, wet
place without finding game, and had, with myself,
reached the high, dry ground. Suddenly he turned, and
- pointed where the ground was entirely bare, and close to
where a fence had beenstanding. On walking up to him,
no bird flushed, and so devoid of all cover was the ground,
that I could have seen a sparrow had one been there. I
spoke to the dog, and for an instant he looked up in my
face and wagged his tail, and then straightened out
again. I began to think that, for once, dear old Monk
was wrong, but I was too old a hand to show him I
thought so. I walked out in front of him for some
yards, walked around on the meadow, and still nothing
flushed. Coming back to him, I walked up to a post-
hole about a foot deep, when up, witha ‘‘scaipe, scaipe,”’
rose a snipe. I was so completely taken with surprise,
that the wonder is I did not make a clean miss, yet I cut
SNIPE, AND SNIPE-SHOOTING. 245

him down neatly. I turned and looked at Monk’s face,
and [tell you, reader, the look I saw there was to me,
at once, one of reproach and of gratitude—reproach
that my manner had shown a doubt of his trustworthi-
ness, gratitude that I had done my part equally as well
as he had done his. Perhaps it is needless to add that
I never doubted him again: Now that snipe knew that
he was in very unusual quarters, and, not seeing or
hearing the dog, thought, perhaps, that I should fail to
find him, and so kept still till I wasalmost in the act of
treading upon him. |

Possibly the reader may think I am giving birds
credit for too much sense, but if he had seen as much of
their ways as I have, he might change his mind. I will
relate another strange occurrence. One pleasant after-
noon in October, 1871, I concluded to see if I could finda
snipe. Taking the dog above named, and his brace-mate,
a dark liver-and-white setter bitch, I started over the
meadows I knew so well. After working over all but
one of them, and failing to find any sign of a snipe, I
started homeward across the yet unhunted meadow.
About midway in it, there was a wet, springy place, not
over ten feet square, and on nearing this spot both dogs
pointed. When I walked up to them, up rose a snipe,
which I killed. No more birds were found, and I
returned to the house. Knowing that there may be no
snipe to be found on one day, and plenty of them the
next, I looked upon.this one bird as a sort of pioneer of
a flight yet to come. The next day I worked the mead-
ows all over again, and with the same result as before;
no birds anywhere about, except where I found the first
one, and there only one, which I killed. Now comes the
strange part of it; for three more successive days, I found
and killed on each day one snipe in that same place,
and on those 500 acres of meadow could find no
246 UPLAND SHOOTING.

others. How did each of those birds come in there just
at the right time to have the place to himself, and how
was it that, on so large a stretch of good feeding and
lying ground, each of those birds happened to select that
particular spot to stop in? I leave it for wiser heads
than mine to answer.

Let me give a word or two of advice to the intending
snipe-shooter. If vou are in a strange part of the coun-
try, and are, therefore, unacquainted with the ground
over which you intend shooting, try to find someone
who knows the nature of the meadows. You can almost
always succeed in this, and, for a reasonable compensa-
tion, get a man or a boy to devote at least a day to
showing you over the meadows. Get him to point out
any deep, treacherous spots, where, if you were to go,
you would run the risk of getting sunk in a spring-hole,
or abed of quicksand. Oftentimes, good snipe-grounds
abound in such places. If there are any ditches, as there
almost always are, have your guide show you the
places where they can be forded safely, or crossed in
other ways. If the ground be intersected with small
creeks, too deep to ford, and these creeks be tributaries
of some larger stream bordering the meadows, have your
man get a boat and keep it where it can be got at hand-
ily, so that he can at any time set you and your dogs
across. This will oftentimes save you and the dogs
much walking which otherwise were unavoidable. If
the main stream be affected by the tides, ascertain when
the tide will be rising, as then will be the best time for
you to be onhand. The rising tide will drive the birds
from the lower grounds to the higher meadows, con-
fining them within narrower limits, where they may
more easily be reached. Ground which at low tide you
might be able to walk over with ease, will at high tide
be so far under water that a boat will be necessary for
SNIPE, AND SNIPE-SHOUTING. 247

getting over it. By having the boat, you will be enabled
to outmaneuver another shooter not so far-sighted as
yourself; and while he is laboriously toiling around the
heads of the streams, you will be getting the cream of
the sport.

Although, as a rule, the birds will be well out on the
meadows, the rule, like many others, has its exceptions.
Consequently, if you do not find so many birds there as
you think are in the neighborhood, turn your atten-
tion to the sides of the meadows. Never neglect to work
over small wet spots on the dryer and higher parts of
the ground. Spots which may seem, to the novice, too
small to be worth investigating, are often found to hold
birds. I have found and flushed from one to five birds
out of little wet spots not more than five feet square, and
all such places are worth looking through.

Never hurry over your ground in snipe-shooting.
The snipe being but a small bird, and one of weak scent,
as compared with the grouse or the quail; you should
give your dog, or dogs, every chance to locate the game.
Owing to the constant evaporation going on from the
‘moist ground on which they are found, snipe leave little
or no foot-scent. From learning to feel in the air for the
body-scent, your setter or pointer will get the correct
habit of working with a high head. He will learn the
absolute necessity of turning to investigate the very
faintest indication of the presence of his game, and from
this, and from learning to work down-wind from the gun,
he will, when once he has become a fine dog on snipe,
become all the quicker a crack dog on game of stronger
scent. I am well aware that Southern and Western
sportsmen argue the very reverse of this. I think I
understand their position fully, and it is this: With
them, snipe are so plentiful, and so many of them are
found near together, that in the mere matter of making
248 UPLAND SHOOTING.

a large bag a retriever answers every purpose. Moreover,
if working a setter or a pointer at all inclined to be nerv-
ous, the constant cautioning and chiding of such a dog,
if fast, would have a tendency to discourage him, and
make him slow. While Ifully admit that the argument
is a good one as applied to those localities, and others where
snipe are so abundant, it will not apply where the birds
are scarce. With my snipe-dogs, I have more than once
beaten, in the open fields and hill-sides of Monmouth
County, New Jersey, both on snipe and quail, dogs
which had been reared there, and knew the grounds better
than my dogs. Again, I have done the same thing
in our Jersey pines, on the same game, and all because
my dogs had been taught both speed and caution on that
tricky little rascal, the Wilson’s snipe. For this reason,
though many may disagree with me, I contend that a
young dog who is very good on snipe will, if taken West
or South, become good on grouse and quail far more
quickly than if introduced to those birds there without
the previous work on snipe ere. I have no desire to
seem dictatorial, but write as experience has taught me,
and I feel sure that every old snipe-shooter, in this part of
the country, will bear me out in saying that it is far
easier to make a dog good onany other game than it is to
make him equally good on snipe here.

Though the true sportsman is never inclined to over-
look the comfort of his dogs at any time, it is especially
needful to be careful of the snipe-dog. It is work par-
ticularly trying to the dog, as heis in mud and water the
whole time he is at work. Therefore, immediately on
coming in from your shoot, bathe him clean of all mud,
and then rub him with a dry, coarse cloth. See if his
feet be cut, or his ears torn by briers, and clean out the
latter with a soft, moist sponge. If any scratches or
thorn-wounds show, anoint them with vaseline; then feed
SNIPE, AND SNIPE-SHOOTING. 249

your dog, and allow him,if the weather is at all cold,
an hour’s nap before the fire. A dog so cared for will
last as long again as if allowed to go dirty, if not hungry,
and to sleep in some cold, damp, draughty kennel; and
I repeat that a good dog is always worth the best and
kindest.care you can give him.

I have often been asked which I prefer for the rot:
the setter or the pointer. It depends entirely upon the
locality in which you intend shooting. If I were going
to shoot in the Southern. or the Southwestern States, I
should choose the pointer, as, not only in autumn, but
throughout the winter, the temperature of both the air
and the water is mild and pleasant. Moreover, the
pointer is somewhat more easily trained than the setter,
and not quite so much inclined to have a will of his own.
From his coat being short, he carries less mud in it, and
dries off more quickly than the setter; but, for the more
Northern States, the setter is the dog. His longer coat
keeps him warmer, evaporation is less rapid, and less
danger exists of his being struck down with pneumonia
or crippled with rheumatism—snipe-dogs being pecul-
iarly liable to the last-named disease as they advance in
years. Aside from these considerations, I have no preju-
dices in favor of, or against, either breed. I have seen
too many noble dogs of either breed (and have owned
some of each myself) to allow me to speak or think
depreciatively of either.

‘¢ And now, young brother sportsman, you have not
yet tried snipe-shooting on our Jersey meadows; shall
we spend an hour or two at the sport? Ah! you second
the motion, do you? Allright; and now let us see your
gun. Well, you areinluck. Yes, Iseeitisatwelve-bore,
with twenty-eight-inch barrels. What does it weigh? Six
and three-quarters pounds. Well, that makes a mighty
handy gun. Mine is a seven-pound hammerless, of
250 UPLAND SHOOTING.

the same gauge and length as yours. You say yours
is a modified choke in the right barrel, a full choke in
the left. Mine is full choke in both barrels, and I some-
times think I will have the choke taken down a little. I
like both barrels to shoot alike, as I always fire them in
alternation; but the full choke don’t exactly suit my
snap-shot style of shooting. Come, let us be off, for it
is a beautiful morning in that loveliest of the months—
October.

‘Let us try this open pasture meadow; it is high, and,
for the most part, dry, but the dogs can take off their
wire edge on it. Yonder, you see, are one or two low
places, and they are almost always wet.

‘*Look at my dogs; you see they don’t go through
those places as a green dog would be likely to, but along
the down-wind side, or, as a sailor would say, on the lee-
ward side.

‘*There! the bitch has a point, and the dog is backing
her. Well, I did not expect we should find a bird quite
so soon. Only a lark, you say. No, siree! my dogs
don’t point larks; but come up and take the shot.

‘* There! stand where youare; Pll put him up. Well,
that was cleanly done. He did twist about some when
he first got up, but you let him go just to the right spot
before you pulled on him.

‘* Now here is a wet meadow, with quite a creek wind-
ing through it. Yonder, about the center, you see those
old flood-gates; go right out to them, and cross over the
stream there. That is the most likely ground, and the
best walking, too. Take the red and white dog with you;
he will work for you while I am in sight. Ill keep the
bitch, for she will work for no one but me. Let the dog

have his own way, and give him no orders, except to
tell him to retrieve when you have a bird down; and
now go ahead.”’
 

 

 

Wer Zz te Ks te,
Wee Tv alk x
= SNIPE-SHOOTING.

 

(251)
252 UPLAND SHOOTING.

An hour has passed, several shots have been fired by
both, and now we come together.

‘Well, what luck? You fired, let me see, sixteen
shots; what have you to show for them? Only nine birds,
you say. Well, let me tell you, that is doing right well
for a new hand; I have done worse myself many a time,
though I have done pretty well to-day. I had ten shots,
six single and two double ones, and have all the birds
here.

‘* And now, as you have to leave by the next train, we
have only time to get home. We have no need to grumble,
for twenty birds out of twenty-six is a score we need
not be ashamed of.”’

This is but a faint, a very faint, outline of many a day
I have had on those meadows. I fear I shall never have
such sport again; certainly, I’‘am not likely to on those
same meadows.

I have said that I believe the Wilson’s snipe some-
times breeds in New Jersey. My reason for so thinking
is all based upon two slight incidents, coming under my
personal observation. On July 4, 1867, I had a relative,
then living in Philadelphia, Penn., come up to see if he
could find any woodcock on our meadows. I had little
hope of finding birds, for the two preceding months of
May and June had been very rainy. This enabled the
birds to remain in the little upland swamps, which at
other times were too dry.

My prediction proved correct, for we found in a morn-
ing’s long walk only three woodcock; but, on a meadow
adjoining those of my old home-farm, my dogs found,
and I flushed, an adult Wilson’s snipe. I could have shot
the bird easily enough, but did not molest it, for I felt sure
it had a nest or young near by. On the 11th day of the
following September, I found and shot two well-grown
but not fully feathered snipe, not 200 yards from where
SNIPE, AND SNIPE-SHOOTING. 253

I had flushed the old bird on the 4th of the preceding
July. They were the fattest snipe I ever saw; for, to use
a common expression, they were “just like lumps of
butter.’’ Neither of them could fly more than 100 yards
at a stretch, and their feathers were so much lighter in
color than that of an adult bird, that I did not recognize
them for snipe when they flushed, or I would not have
shot at them. Coupling their inability to fly far with
the fact of their exceeding fatness, it is fair to say that
they were bred in the immediate vicinity. Coupling
these two facts with the previous one of my flushing an
old bird from so near by, only six or eight weeks earlier
in the season, I think it will be admitted that I have a
right to think that those birds all belonged to one family,
and that the young were ‘hatched on those meadows.
Furthermore, I worked over those meadows with my
dogs two or three times a week thereafter, and I find,
by reference to my shooting-notes, that the autumn flight
of snipe did not begin to be seen, in that year, till October
8th, which was within a few days of being one month later.

The earliest date on which I have ever shot snipe in
spring was on the 24th of February, 1866; yet the next
year my first birds were killed on the 28th of March.
I have shot them so late as the 12th of December, and it
is not an uncommon thing for them to winter quite far
north. We should hear of it far oftener than we do, but
that sportsmen, during autumn, turn their attention to
larger game.

Sportsmen of the West and Southwest are somewhat
excusable for wishing to shoot them in spring, since in
those sections they are frequently driven off by the dry-
ness of the grounds in the autumn, and if they were not
shot during the spring flight, they would not be found
at all. That they are shot there almost entirely without
the aid of dogs, other than retrievers, is due to the fact
254. UPLAND SHOOTING.

that they are found in such great numbers, and so easily.
It is not by any means an uncommon thing for a good shot
to kill from fifty to 100 birds in a day. Tastes differ,
and to me the working of the dogs, and not the size of the
bag, is the measure of the sport, and, for that reason,
I would rather kill twenty birds over a brace of fast,
well-trained, keen-nosed setters or pointers than 200 with
a mere retriever. Tastes also differ as to the edible
qualities of game; but, in the writer’s estimation, no bird
surpasses the snipe as a table delicacy.

During the spring flight, snipe do not resort only to
the meadows. Wet upland pastures, corn-stubbles, the
sides of ditches, and wet spots on fields of upstanding
winter wheat or rye, will be found to be frequented by
them. In cold, windy weather, they resort to open, wet
woodlands, alder and willow thickets, or places on the
marshes protected from the wind by tall rushes.

It is a mistake for the novice to suppose that every
marsh is good ground for snipe. If the soil is of a sour
nature, the worms they delight in will not be found
there, and neither will the birds. They never come in
the spring till the frost is well out of the ground, so that
their feed will be plentiful, and easily reached; and
instinct teaches them that warm spring rains have a
tendency to bring about the proper conditions.

On their first coming, they are thin and worn down,
but, if they be undisturbed, and feed be plentiful, they
soon become fat and lazy in bright, still weather. The
feed must be plentiful indeed, for a snipe will consume
from three to four times his weight of food in a day.
Beyond having to look for them in places to which they
rarely resort in autumn—such places as J have named—the
shooting of them differs in nowise from that in autumn.

How best to shoot them is a mooted point. I always
take them the instant they flush, unless very close by;
SNIPE, AND SNIPE-SHOOTING. 255

others wait till they steady in their flight, and do good
shooting.

Although most of their migrating is done at night,
they sometimes fly in dark weather. They can fre-
quently be heard passing overhead at night, as they
keep up the well-known cry of ‘‘scaipe, scaipe.’”? The
drumming, as it is called, which is so often referred to by
other writers and sportsmen, is a thing I have never seen
them do. Neither have I ever heard them ‘“‘chuckle like
laying hens,” nor seen them ‘“‘perch upon fences or trees.”’
I can not doubt their doing these things, as the facts are
too well substantiated to admit of doubt, and it is well
known that these are habits of the mating and breeding
season.

I sometimes wonder how many sportsmen there are
who have had the good fortune to observe a migrating
flock of snipe coming onto the meadows. I have had
the good luck to see it twice in my experience—once in
the spring and once inautumn. By mere chance, it hap-
pened, on both occasions, that I was out without a gun,
merely giving my setters a race. It also happened that
both times the birds came in on the same meadow. It
was one of some twenty acres of ground, and one which
during the summer was dry, and from which hay was cut.
Though it was only about a mile from home, there were
no birds to be found on my return with my gun, though
to get it I was, in neither instance, absent over three-
quarters of an hour; nor could I find any birds on the
adjacent meadows. They had dropped in only for a little
rest.

In boring for their food, snipe make holes in the mud
which look as if a thin pencil had been pushed into the
ground. You may, however, find many of these borings,
yet find no birds, they having changed their quarters;
but should you see the droppings of the birds where the
256 UPLAND SHOOTING.

ground is at all wet, you may know the birds are near at
hand, or have just left. On dry spots, the droppings
remain plain to the sight for days, but on wet ground
speedily lose color, and are absorbed by the soil.

I have noted elsewhere that it is best to look for the
game on bright, warm days, when little wind is blowing.
They are loath to rise at such times, but on raw, cold,
windy days they will be wild and uneasy.

I have before me an excellent little chapter on snipe
as they are found in the Western States, from which I
quote. Unfortunately, I do not know who the writer is,
so can not give him credit, as I would like to:

**Snipe are as eccentric in their habits as when on the
wing. At times, in the spring, they come early and tarry
late, affording most excellent sport throughout the
season. Again, they feed on the open marshes mostly
by night, and with the earliest dawn hie away into the
inaccessible center of the slough, or among the low brush-
wood growing up in or close by the marsh, or even upon
the near uplands, where they rise always far out of range.
A peculiarity of good snipe-ground is its seeming inex-
haustibility. On a well-stocked snipe-ground, you raise
possibly 100 birds to-day, and kill off a couple of
dozen. , To-morrow, there seem about as many, and your
success corresponds with that of yesterday; so through a
whole week, perhaps, with apparently no marked addi-
tion or subtraction from the quantity of game when you
desist.”

Always hunt snipe with the wind on your back, as
they seem to require the resistance of the wind to enable
them to rise quickly. By workingin this way, the birds
lie closer, and you get shots nearer at hand, for. as they
spring up in the face of the wind, they will present to you
side-quartering shots. They are not a hard bird to kill,
as one or two pellets of No. 8or9 shot will stop them. As
SNIPE, AND SNIPE-SHOOTING. 257

to hitting them, that is another matter, for out of twenty
birds flushed no two may rise in the same way, and you
must watch how they rise, and vary your tactics on each
individual bird.

In looking for them, and especially during the spring
migrations, look for them wherever there are moist spots
of ground. This, besides including the open marshes, also
includes wet places on corn-stubble, grain-stubbles, past-
ure-fields, and, if there be a raw, cold wind, open, wet
woodlands and half-filled old ditches.

In bright, warm weather, with low southerly winds,
during the morning and afternoon hours the open mead-
ows and marshes are the grounds.

Work your grounds over slowly and thoroughly,
since, though one or two birds may be in an unaccommo-
dating humor, and flush far out of range, the next one
may lie up close, and let you pass him, unless carefully
looked for.

Snipe are given many names by the country people,
but their true title is the Wilson snipe—Scolopax Wil-
sonii of the early naturalist, Gallinago Wilsonii of the
later ones. ‘‘ English snipe’’ and ‘‘jacksnipe’’ are both
misnomers, as the names of two birds found in the British
Isles are given to a single bird.

As in snipe-shooting you are most of the time on wet
ground, it is well, particularly in the spring, when both
water and the soil beneath it have the chill of winter yet
in them, to keep the feet dry, if possible. Therefore use
long rubber boots, and, with moderate care and some
knowledge of your ground, you may escape wet feet, and
a possible attack of pneumonia. With the exception of
duck-shooting, there is more exposure to wet in snipe-
shooting than in any other sport.

Remember (as I have already pointed out) that not

every piece of low, wet ground is necessarily good ground.
17
258 UPLAND SHOOTING.

If the soil is sour, or washed by mineral springs, the
worms the birds feed on will not be there, and, as the
snipe is a ravenous feeder, he will not go onto such
places, though they will come to good feeding-ground as
soon in the spring as the frost is out so that they can
reach their food, and on such grounds, and in good
weather, will most probably be found day after day.
Hence, if you do not find them to-day where yesterday
there were plenty of them, do not be discouraged, but try
other ground, and return to the old quarters on the
morrow.

Every sportsman has his favorite game, but, though I
am fully cognizant of the delight of shooting other game,
the snipe, because of the eccentricity of his ways, is and
ever will be my favorite game bird. Next to him I rank
the woodcock.

I have spent many happy days in the pursuit of snipe,
and feel to them a lasting indebtedness for that pleasure.
Ihave written of them as I have found them, relying
upon other authors as little as possible, and giving the
results of such experience and observation as unlimited
opportunities have favored me with.

If anything I have written should be of any use to
some young brother of the trigger, or should call up in
the minds of old hands at snipe-shooting memories of
past pleasant days with the long-bills, my work will not
have been in vain. Much that has been written of them
by writers like Forester, I could have reproduced here,
but the desire not to be tedious has kept my pen within
bounds, and had I written a volume on the subject, I do
not feel that I could have written more to the purpose.
WESTERN FIELD SPORTS IN EARLY DAYS.

 

By SamMvet C. CLARKE,
Author of ‘‘ Fishes of the Hast Atlantic Coast,” Ete.

 

‘* Old men forget, yet shall not all forget,
But they’ll remember with advantage
What feats they did that day.”

SHAKESPEARE, King Henry V.
4A T was in October, 1839, that the writer landed
x\) in Chicago, from the lake steamer Jddi-
nois, which plied between Buffalo and Chi-
‘ cago, no railroads then existing west of
x. Central New York. Chicago then contained
less than 5,000 people, living on half a dozen
streets running parallel with the river, on its north and
south banks.

The West Division was then hardly existent, and a
low, wet prairie extended from the Chicago River to the
Des Plaines—twelve miles—a wide sea of grass, embel-
lished with flowers. At that time, there were only three
or four brick buildings on Lake Street, on which, with
South Water Street, the main business of the town was
done. It was in that year that the first shipment of
wheat, about 150 bushels, was made to Buffalo, and it.
was thought worthy of record that, in 1840, 1,000,000 feet.
of lumber were sold in a city since become the largest °
lumber market in the world. In fact, times were dull;
the great land boom of 1836 had expended its force, and
lots which two years before had sold for thousands, now

sought in vain for purchasers at any price. Some people
(259)

 
 
 
  
 
260 UPLAND SHOOTING.

thought that Chicago was a failure, and were going back
East, or north to the more prosperous village of Mil-
waukee. But living was very cheap; the writer boarded
for $2 a week at the City Hotel, where venison, grouse,
ducks, and white-fish covered the board. So the more
hopeful of us concluded to stay and wait for better
times.

There were three brothers of us, all living in Chicago,
and all fond of field sports, and as business was so dull
that one of us could easily look after the store, the
others could improve the great opportunities offered in
the way of shooting and fishing.

I was then over thirty years old, and had been a
wanderer in many lands, and had been where game was
plentiful, but had never seen anything like the abundance
of fur and feather there was in Northern Illinois. The
Sac and Fox Indians had been removed a few years before
from this region, which they naturally were unwilling to
leave. and all kinds of game had increased since their
departure.

The day after my arrival, my brother drove me out a
few miles to a farm where the prairie fowl abounded.
In summer they were found all over the prairies, but in
the fall they collected about the grain-fields. Our old
pointer, Phil, soon came toa point, and we left the wagon
with our guest; but when a flock of twenty or thirty
birds, as big as barn-door fowls, rose from the stubble
with a roar of wings, I stood bewildered. My brother,
however, brought down a bird with each barrel. They
fell on the sod, thump, and I picked up my first pinnated
grouse, abird, in my estimation, at the head of American
game. To those accustomed to its noisy way of rising,
this bird is not difficult to kill, but I have known the
best Eastern shots, men who could cut down the ruffed
grouse as it dodged among the trees, or the snipe as it
WESTERN FIELD SPORTS IN EARLY DAYS. 261

flew zigzag over the meadows, unable to stop a prairie
hen on the first day’s shooting.

These birds are usually hatched, in broods of twelve
to fifteen, in May, and on the Ist of August shooting
was allowed, though the young birds were not really
large enough to be killed till September, their flight being
still weak and their flesh insipid; but it was so easy to
kill the half-grown birds, that the gunners usually did it,
though the sportsmen waited till the grouse were strong
on the wing and had a game flavor.

I was once crossing the prairie west of Chicago, late
in July, with a friend, on our way to some woodcock
grounds, when we saw a couple of Germans shooting the
young grouse. My friend, who was a very free-spoken
man, called out to them as we passed: ‘‘Say, boys,
why don’t you suck the eggs?”’

We had in Chicago at that time many good dogs, not
valued at hundreds of dollars, as in these wealthy times,
but well bred, and good workers in the field. In fact, if a
dog was well bred it was easy to train him, where grouse
were so abundant. There was a large breed of liver-and-
white setters, which, from their size, could easily be seen
in the long grass. They were called the ‘‘ Southport ”’
setters, from a town where they originated. I have seen
a young dog of this breed, which had never seen a bird
in the field, taken out in the morning with a trained dog,
and before night the youngster would stand as stanchly
as the old dog.

I had myself a brace of pointer pups, out of old Phil,
which, at six months old, never having been off my
premises, were taken by me to a field near town where I
thought birds were to be found. While I was fastening
my horse, the young dogs jumped the fence and disap-
peared. I followed, and found them afar off, apparently
standing birds; as I approached, I saw the remarkable
262 UPLAND SHOOTING.

sight of two young dogs, which had never before seen or
scented game, one at a point, the other backing him.
When I came up, J flushed a brood of young grouse, and
the dogs, although much excited, did not attempt to chase
—a remarkable instance of education transmitted through
many generations of trained dogs. Phil, the father of
these puppies, was a famous dog in his day; he would
retrieve his birds when ordered, and even go into the
water for ducks, if allowed. He has more than once
pointed a covey with a dead bird in his mouth, and I have
seen him come to a point on the top rail of a fence as he
was jumping over, scenting birds in the next field.
When grouse ran before him, and lie feared that his mas-
ter would not get up in time to shoot, he would back out,
run around the covey, and bring them to a halt, never
flushing them, and would fetch the wounded birds before
the dead ones, Knowing, as it seemed, that the wounded
ones might escape. He would hunt with anyone he
knew, but if the hunter shot badly, would leave in dis-
gust, and go home. He was often stolen, but always
returned in a few days, sometimes with a rope around his
neck, foot-sore and weary, as if he had traveled far. He
was astrongly built, liver-colored dog, with a white spot
on his breast; lived to a good old age, and left many
descendants of value in and about Chicago. I have
owned many dogs of various breeds, but I think that this
pointer, Phil, was the most intelligent of his race—
perhaps because he lived day and night at his master’s
side, and so became almost human in his ways.

Grouse being so plenty, of course large bags were
made—thirty or forty to a gun in a day. My friend
J. EL 4 i
to Chicago in a day—forty miles—and killed about 100
grouse on the way, with one dog. As full-grown grouse
were worth only $1 a dozen at Chicago, there was little

                                      
WESTERN FIELD SPORTS IN EARLY DAYS. 263

shooting for the market. A sportsman could easily kill
all he wanted for himself and friends, and was not apt to
play the hog.

IT once tried the experiment of keeping this bird in
captivity in winter, when the farmers used to catch them
alive in traps and bring them to town for sale. I put
about 100 in a large garret, and fed them on corn and
wheat, but they never got tame enough to bear the sight
of me, and flew up against the roof at my approach,
wounding and killing themselves, and the cocks would
fight furiously together. By spring, four were left alive
out of the 100, and those poor in flesh, so I turned the
survivors loose.

I once turned out a cock grouse, with clipped wings,
among my poultry; but they would not associate together,
and when his wings grew out again, he flew away. I
have heard that grouse have been tamed, but think they
should be hatched by a hen to make a success of it.

About 1842 or 1848, I found a covey of grouse on the
prairie, somewhere near Michigan Avenue and Twelfth
Street, as it now is, and we killed some of them. These,
I think, were the last shots fired by us within the limits
of the present City of Chicago.

We had woodcock-shooting in summer along the Chi-
cago River, and in the sloughs along the lake shore. In the
timber along the Des Plaines River, woodcock abounded.
I was there once with Dr. J. T. T——,who was one of the
best shots I ever saw. We put up many birds that day.
Out of twenty shots, Doctor T—— killed eighteen birds,
and that in thick cover—a feat hard to surpass. I always
liked to shoot with this gentleman, for he gave me the
easy shots, and if I missed the birds, he would bring
them down.

Doctor T—— used to huntin early days with the famous
Capt. Martin Scott, who commanded the garrison in Chi-
264 UPLAND SHOOTING.

cago, and was afterward killed in Mexico. I asked the
Doctor whether Scott could outshoot him. ‘TI usually
got as many birds as the Captain,” said he, ‘for he was
so careful of his reputation of being a dead shot, that he
picked his shots, while I blazed away at everything that
came along.’ I doubt if there were two men in America
who could have got more game of any kind in a day than
Captain Scott and Doctor T——. They were both men of
untiring muscle, with the piercing black eyes generally
found in successful hunters.

There were many good shots in Chicago at that time,
game being so plentiful that all who had a taste for field
sports could easily gratify it. ;

After the grouse, came quail, for those who cared for
small game; then came the ducks, which were to be found
in every river. creek, pond, and slough.

In 1840. there was an old swing-bridge at Randolph
Street, the only means of crossing to the West Division,
which contained not more than a dozen buildings.
Above Madison Street. the river banks were uninhabited
till you came to a small farm, half a mile up the south
branch. I have killed many ducksin theriver just above
Madison Street bridge. In the falland spring, this whole
West Division was a wet prairie, the haunt of curlew,
snipe, and other wading birds. The rare and beautiful
bird known as Wilson's phalarope used to breed in these
marshes. and I supplied Eastern collectors with speci-
mens. I have seen the snipe so abundant in that region,
now the most populous part of Chicago, that you could
not walk a rod without flushing one of the long-bills,
and perhaps the next day they would all be gone.

For ducks we usually went to the Calumet River and
the Calumet Lake, now the site of a larger and mach
handsomer city than Chicago was in 1840. I made a col-
lection of fowl from that river, and it contained four
WESTERN FIELD SPORTS IN EARLY DAYS. 265

species of geese and twenty of ducks, besides a swan
and a pelican—all killed by myself and friends. We
used no blinds or decoys, but paddled our own canoes,
and the old muzzle-loaders would bring a bag of from
twenty to fifty ducks ina day to each gun. I brought
with me, from Boston, a female pup of the short-haired
Newfoundland breed, which I imported from St. Johns,
and a remarkable retriever she proved to be. The first
time I took her out, though she had never heard a gun
fired, when I killed a duck, and it fell into the river, Fan
brought it out as handsomely as an old dog could have
retrieved it. After that, no wounded ducks could escape
her, she swam so fast and dived so deep; but she
sometimes failed to distinguish between wild and tame
fowls, and always wanted to bring me the ducks and
geese belonging to the Irish folks along the river.

In the woods and groves, ruffed grouse were to be
found abundantly. I have seen a bag of at least thirty
of them brought by two sportsmen from the Des Plaines
timber, the result of one day’s sport, which is more than
we could ever get in my youth in New England.

In the winter came deer-hunting, and the whole coun-
try was full of them. A party of four or five hunters
would, ina two days’ hunt, get ten or fifteen deer. About
1842, I remember a circular drive, where 100 men or more,
and a mixed pack of dogs, surrounded Blue Island, and
drove probably fifty deer into town as far as Thirtieth
Street. Most of them, however, broke through the ring
and escaped; perhaps six or eight were killed. One win-
ter’s day I was out on the prairie south of the town, in a
sleigh, with a friend who drove a pair of thorough-bred
sorrels; along came a buck, pursued by a brace of deer-
hounds then in use, powerful and fleet dogs, a cross
between the English greyhound and the bull-dog. My
friend put his horses on the run, and we kept up with the
266 UPLAND SHOOTING.

chase for a mile or so; but the snow was deep, and the deer
outran both dogs and horses. These hounds were also
used to chase prairie wolves, which were plentiful, and
one of them could kill a wolf without help. Another
time, I was out on the prairie with my brother, ina sleigh,
when a deer came in sight. ;

My brother unharnessed his horse, put on a saddle,
todk a gun, and started in pursuit, leaving me on the
boundless prairie. He returned in half an hour, having
killed the buck, which we picked up. We had a mare
so well trained that we could shoot off of her back, or
leave her on the prairie while we went to shoot, and she
would follow us about, grazing as she went.

About thirty miles north of Chicago is the town of
Lake Forest, with a large population of wealthy Chicago
men. This, in 1840, was a region of heavily wooded
ravines, where deer were abundant. The only white
inhabitant was an old hunter by the name of Clark—
‘Indian Clark,”’ he was called, to distinguish him from
others of the same name. He lived in a log cabin, and
subsisted on the proceeds of the chase. The deer he called
his cattle. and would call on any brother who was fond
of deer-hunting, when he came to town, with this invi-
tation: ‘‘ Doctor, my cattle are getting fat; won’t you
come out and killa few?’ which suggestion was seldom
refused.

My first deer-hunt was. as I remember, with J. E.
M——,, in the wooded country west of Fox River. We
were driving through a grove in McHenry County, and
were descending into a little valley, when up sprang a
dozen deer from the long grass all around us. My com-
panion, always ready, quickly raised his rifle, and
brought down a fine buck; but I was so much astonished
at the unaccustomed sight, that I forgot my gun, and sat
gazing at the retreating herd. We marked where they
WESTERN FIELD SPORTS IN EARLY DAYS. 267

went into the timber, half a mile away, and as a wagon
and ox-team came along, M—— engaged the driver to
follow the deer, which are not afraid of oxen. We left
our wagon, and I got into the other one, which was driven
slowly toward the deer, M——, in the meantime, making
a circuit through the woods, and hiding beyond the deer.
They kept out of range of my shot-gun, feeding along
until they got within 100 yards of the ambushed hunter,
who got two of them in range, and killed them both with
one bullet. This was all the meat we wanted. A deer’s
carcass could then be bought for $1.50—hide and all.

I have always been more fond of fishing than of
shooting, and in 1840 the fish in the Illinois waters were
as abundant as game on the land. From the lake piers
we could catch perch, pike, lake trout, black and white
bass, cat-fish, and sometimes a muskallonge. At that time
the Chicago River water was pure enough to drink, and
pike, black bass, rock bass, cat-fish, and dog-fish could
be taken in either branch of the river, above the forks.
In the Calumet River, all these species were to be found
in great numbers, so that 100 pounds a day were often
taken with the rod. Big gar-fish and muskallonge were
there also. I saw one of the latter, which was six feet
long, and weighed eighty pounds, taken in a seine at the
river's mouth. In the Fox River, and the lakes in the
northern part of the State, all these fish were plentiful,
as also in the Rock River. I caught black bass with the
fly in those waters fifty years ago. It is claimed that the
spoon is rather a modern device for catching fish, but I
used them on the lakes as long ago as 1842, and I think
they were, inasimple form, brought from Norway by the

immigrants.
In the fall of 1840, I went, in company with Doctor
T—,, to the new Territory of Iowa. We traveled ina

light wagon, with two horses, taking a change of clothing,
268 UPLAND SHOOTING.

our guns, and a pointer dog. We went by way of
Aurora, on Fox River, and Dixon, on Rock River, and
struck the Mississippi at Savannah. The distance, by
the way we went, was about 200 miles, and we did it in
about five days, the roads being good at the time. The
country between Chicago and the great river had few set-
tlers, and we drove over the prairies many hours ata
time without seeing a house or a human being. Early
travelers were always impressed with the likeness of
these immense grassy plains dotted with groves, to the
ocean with its islands—the horizon extending to the sky-
line, and the surface of tall grass waving in the wind like
the gentle ripple of the summer sea. Like the ocean, the
prairie was then pathless, and we steered due west, like
‘an ocean steamer bound across the Atlantic to America.
Game was abundant; every creek and slough had its
ducks; the prairie fowl ran along the roadside, and the
deer bounded through the thickets. The Doctor killed
birds enough every day to feed us, and we had them
cooked at the log cabins at the roadside where we
stopped.

We reached Savannah toward noon on the fifth day.
There was a ferry, but the ferryman was absent, and his
cabin was closed, and there was no other habitation in
sight. We waited some time, and then the Doctor entered
the cabin through the window, and opened the door. We
were hungry, and looking for something to eat, found a
pot with a venison stew, and some corn-bread, of which
we began to eat, when suddenly the door opened, anda
tall, muscular figure, with a blackened face, entered—a
formidable fellow, who seemed able to throw the intruders
into the river. Although he must have been surprised to
see his property in the hands of strangers, he showed it
not, but accosted us with civility, and when we hastened
to apologize for our freedom, he made us welcome,
WESTERN FIELD SPORTS IN EARLY DAYS. 269

showing a natural politeness which was very pleasant.
He was a charcoal-burner as well as ferryman, which
accounted for the blackness of his countenance. The
ferry-boat being on the other bank, he took us across in
adug-out. The river being high, with a heavy current,
and about a mile wide, the passage seemed rather peril-
ous. He called an assistant, and went over with the flat-
boat for our wagon and horses.

We were in Jackson County, Iowa, which territory
was settled only about thirty miles west of the river,
and that sparsely. We found shelter in a log cabin that
night, and in the morning we went west to look for the
claim of two Chicago men, who had gone there a year
before, and who had invited us to visit them. At noon,
we stopped at the cabin of an old patriarch lately arrived
from Illinois, with wife, sons, daughters, sons-in-law,
and: grandchildren—a dozen or more—not one of them
with a shoe or a hat, and with nothing in the house to
eat except boiled corn and venison; but they all seemed
happy and contented, and gave us of what they had.
The old man was one of the pioneers; he had moved
first from Ohio to Illinois, and when that State became
too thickly settled to suit him, he came to Jowa. While
we were there, one of the daughters had a fit, and Doctor
T—_, with his pocket-knife, opened a vein and relieved
her.

From the cabin of this philosopher of the wilderness,
we traveled a few hours, until we found our friends’
place, which was also a lodge in a vast wilderness. There
we staid two days while our friends were organizing a
hunting-party. This was hard on the lady of the house,
who had to do the house-work, servants not being
obtainable.

On the third day we started—our hosts, two neighbors,
the Doctor, and myself—in two wagons, with camp equi-
270 UPLAND SHOOTING.

page, guns, anddogs. We traveled through a wild coun-
try to a region seventy-five miles west of the river,
known as the ‘‘neutral ground,’’ lying between the land
of the Sacs and the Foxes and the white settlements; in
this territory the Indians did not hunt, and it was there-
fore supposed that game would be plentiful. Here we
encamped, near the head-waters of the Wapsipinicon,
for a week, but did not find game as plentiful as we
expected; six deer and an elk were killed, but no
turkeys. Wolves were numerous, and howled about our
camp at night, making it hideous; and one of the party,
returning to camp after dark, was followed by a pack of
the big timber wolves, who seemed eager to make him
their meat. :

We had heard that the Sac and Fox Indians, who
had been expelled from Illinois a few years before, were
unfriendly to the whites, and had robbed and ill-treated
some hunters whom they had found hunting on their
grounds. One day, when I was left alone in camp, two
well-mounted and armed Indians rode up and dis-
mounted. Our dog fled to me, howling with fear, and I
felt similar sensations; but I had always been told by
the pioneers that you must never let an Indian know that
you fear him, so I pretended unconcern, and went on
with my cooking, and when they entered the tent I
greeted them in a friendly way, as if I was expecting
them to dinner. They were big fellows, but did not seem
unfriendly; asked first for whisky, by signs, speaking
no English, and by signs I told them I had none. I
asked them to eat some venison stew, which they did
with an appetite, doing justice to my cookery. While
they were eating, I made up my mind that, if attacked, I
would shoot one of them with a pocket pistol which I
had ready to use. In the tent stood a double-barreled
gun, on which they had their eyes, and one inquired (still
WESTERN FIELD SPORTS IN EARLY DAYS. 271

by signs) how many were in our party, and where they
were. I held up both hands to signify ten, and pointed
to the woods. Then one of them moved toward the gun
as if to take it, but I stepped before him and shook
my head. Then they laughed, shook hands with me,
mounted their horses, and rode away, greatly to my
relief.
Next day we broke camp and returned home, the
Iowa men thinking these Indians were spies, and that
they might return with a large party and drive us away.
Traveling over the prairies of Iowa, we often met with
scattered skulls and bones of the buffalo, which could
not have long disappeared from that region; and on a
high bluff on the Rock River, in Illinois, the remains of a
chief of the Sacs was still to be seen in a tree-top,
wrapped in his blanket, after the manner of sepulture
used by those Indians.

+

 
 

 
FIELD ETIQUETTE.

By F. E. Ponp (‘ Witt Witpwoop”),
Author ce ‘Memoirs of Eminent Sportsmen,” ‘‘ The Greenwood Club,” Ete.

 

CHE ethics of field sports must be
regarded, to some extent, as an
unwritten code, recognized and
* appreciated by perhaps a majority

a of those who use the gun for recre-
*e ation, yet strictly put in practice by only
"a minority of the vast legions claiming fellow-
ship in the fraternity. Multitudes of men become toa
degree proficient in the use of the gun, either for glory or
gain, but the true knight of the trigger possesses chivalry
and courtesy, an inherent and ever-abiding love of fair
play, and his code of ethics may be considered the
promptings of his nature, not an acquired formula to be
put on with his shooting-suit, and laid aside as readily.
Field etiquette, in short, may be defined as the spirit

of courtesy that springs into action spontaneously, as the
outcome of kindred tastes—the genial, generous feeling
of fraternity and good-fellowship. The genuine sports-
man, like the poet, is born, not made. Wealth and rank
and education will give greater opportunities for the
indulgence of a natural taste for field sports, but neither of
these, nor all combined, can impart the essential qualities
we have briefly outlined. The unlettered woodsman,
skilled in nothing except the gentle science of woodcraft,

may show finer perceptions of the ethics of field sports
18 (273)

 
    
274 UPLAND SHOOTING.

than the wealthy sportsman who has grown cold and
callous in pursuit of the almighty dollar. That doughty
old highland chieftain, Roderick Dhu, in entertaining his
royal adversary, Fitz James, evinced the true spirit of
courtesy when
“‘ He gave him of his highland cheer,
The hardened flesh of mountain deer.”

Considering the time and circumstance and surround-
ings, the rude feast thus provided was a truer test of
hospitality than many a banquet of rarest viands.

Inasmuch as the ethics of sportsmanship can not be
practically learned from books, or even imparted by pre-
cept, it would be useless to attempt to lay down the rules
that should govern the shooter’s conduct when afield.
The task, at best, so far as it could be theoretically per-
formed, would require the tact of a Chesterfield, with
more space at command than can be accorded in a single
chapter. In lieu, therefore, of a set formula, it will be
safer to touch upon a few of the negative qualities—often
unconsciously developed, or, at least, exercised without
restraint.

In the field with genial companions—and no others
need be considered—one shouid lay aside the selfishness
associated with business life, and assume the nobler
attributes of hisnature. Let him lock the spirit of avarice
in his office safe, within the deepest receptacle, and if he
can forget the combination to reach and resurrect it, so
much the better. At all events, let him show as little
of avarice and as much of kindliness as possible. He
whose greed can not be held in check, should be content to
take solitary rambles with dog and gun. Possibly the
bountiful character of Dame Nature may subdue his
selfishness, open his heart and hand, and teach him the
true philosophy of out-door recreation—its social and
moral requirements.
FIELD ETIQUETTE. 275

Until this lesson has been thoroughly learned, his
society will not be eagerly sought, and he may remain
aloof from select parties of sporting tourists with full
confidence that he never will be missed. That gifted
writer and well-known authority, ‘‘Gloan,’’ touches upon
some of the principal points under consideration in his
admirable work, ‘‘ The Breech-loader,”’ thus: ‘‘To evince
disregard—even the slightest—for the possible safety of
others, is something more than a mere solecism in man-
ners. Therefore, no man should infringe the rules of the
field as to carrying his gun, or as to pointing it or shooting
it in the direction of another. The caps of a muzzle-loader
should always be removed upon entering a dwelling, riding
in a conveyance, and whenever not actually in the field; and
more than that, the fulminating powder should be care-
fully brushed from the nipple. The cartridge of the gun
should always be taken out of the gun on such occasions.
Abandon any shooter who refuses to do either!

‘“To give a younger or less successful man the choice
and majority of shots in a day, should be the rule of
courtesy; for even between experienced and equal shots,
sometimes the luck will all run to one gun, and no shift
in position or change of locality will alter it. Generosity
then becomes a duty.”

‘The field is the touchstone of the man. A gentleman
—he who claims the title by his even nature, his thought-
fulness for friends and others, his self-respect, and, when
necessary, self-sacrifice, his forbearance, his politeness,
in deed as well as word—will find the opportunities
greater to show his qualities brighter in the field than in
the parlor.

“To the man of business cares and toils, the field
should be an occasion of self-improvement as well as
relaxation. While he is in the world of strife, making
his race for wealth and fame and power, he may excuse
276 UPLAND SHOOTING.

to himself his selfish habits upon worldy reasons. He
may button up the nobler impulses of his nature in his
breeches pocket. He may grasp whatever gain his busi-
ness brings, and'call it thrift. But when in the field, let
him put away his grosser self and resume his better attri-
butes. Let him be joyous in the health and liberty it
brings; let his joyousness make him a coveted companion,
an amiable friend, a truer man, bringing sunshine and
gladness to those about him, inducing them to emulate
his example and imitate his virtues.”’

‘*Veteran! remember the days when you were young.
Not always were you the dead shot which you now are.
It was not ina day ora year that you learned all of that
lore of the chase and matured that judgment of which
you are now so proud. Not without many a timely hint
and friendly word, did you accumulate those stratagems
and resources which render you now so successful and
expert. This young man hangs upon your every word.
Be his friend indeed. If you are his instructor, do not
be his tyrant. His nerves may be weak, his actions
awkward, his sight uncertain, and his bag unfilled.
Kindness and encouragement may bring him out, but, be
sure of it, that derision never will.”’

‘‘Be not a miser with the treasures of your experi-
ence. Give them freely to him and toall. Reflect that
when, at last, you lay down your gun to be taken up
again in this world no more forever, you will leave behind
you spirits as buoyant and sportsmen as ardent as ever
were before. It is not enough that from the great fund
of your field-wealth you shall dole out parsimonious
scraps as your legacy to sport. Spread it broadcast and
generously. Give, and give so gladly and humanly that
it shall be in reality and literally with you, more blessed
to give than to receive.”

Very little need be added to the foregoing well-chosen
FIELD ETIQUETTE. 277

words of field philosophy from the pen of one of the
brightest and best sporting authors of our time. Every
lover of out-door recreation can call to mind the diverse
characteristics of associates or companions frequently
met with in the shooting-field. The two extremes may
be compared to positive and negative forces—the one
type attracting and the other repelling.

Who has not come in contact with the would-be oracle
—the pariah of camp and field? This specimen of the
genus homo is nothing if not autocratic. He impresses
upon those around him the vast extent of his forest lore,
his skill, and varied experience as a mighty Nimrod, and
assumes the air of a dictator or the patronizing tone of a
superior being. He may vary it with a sarcastic remark
concerning the arms or appliances of his associates, their
lack of judgment, etc., and setting forth his dictum as to
the proper gauge of guns, utterly unconscious of or obliv-
ious to the fact that he is himself a perfect bore.

Then there is the doleful individual, grumbling
continually over ill-luck in the field, bad weather, and
the petty annoyances of camp life, which should be taken
in cheerful spirit by all devotees of out-door sports.
The chronic fault-finder will magnify a shower into a
deluge of misfortune, and an empty game-bag, or even
two or three ‘‘unaccountable misses,’ will furnish
material for a woful tale, too often spiced with excla-
mations more forcible than elegant, until the luckless
shooter spoils the serenity and general good-will of his
companions. Such a man is almost invariably one to
shirk all responsibilities in camp, throwing the entire
burden upon his comrades, and devoting his attention to
finding fault with the elements and all animated nature.

From these characters—gunners, perhaps, but not
sportsmen—it is a relief to turn to the devotee of field
sports who has ever a kind word and a helping hand, a
278 UPLAND SHOOTING.

cheerful nature to dispel the gloom of the darkest day,
and an encouraging tone to cheer up the less fortunate
companions. He may not be a Creesus or tower of
strength on ’change, in fact he may be but a modest figure
in business circles, but in his sphere he is, nevertheless, a
jolly good fellow, in the best sense of that much-abused
term, and as such will fill a warm corner in the hearts and
memories of his companions. Long life to him and his
kindred, and may good luck and good comradeship fall
to the share of all who have at heart the inborn spirit of
field etiquette.

 
PRAIRIE CHICKENS—PINNATED GROUSE.

 

By WILLIAM BRUCE LEFFINGWELL,
Author of “Wild Fowl Shooting.”

 

HROUGHOUT the Western States, where
waving fields of corn and golden yellow
grain mark in checkered squares the varie-
gated landscape, where oceans of prairie
grass, rippling streams, placid ponds, and
tiny forests abound, there is the home of
the prairie chicken; ’tis there they live,
breed, and rear their young. There are no
other birds that have caused youthful
hearts to bound in such exciting rapidity
as these. The village} youth knows them well, for their love-
calls, inthe spring-time, when the grass peeps out through
the brown earth, and the glad sunshine is nursing into
animated life all vegetable matter, float in early morn o’er
the dewy fields and into the open window of the house,
where, lying in bed, prone to sleep, yet knowing he should
arise, the yawning boy hearkens, and the musical ‘‘ boo-
woo-woo”’ reaches his listening ears, while, in imagina-
tion, he sees his serenader promenading the green sward,
surrounded by his attentive consorts, naively admiring
the lofty manner of their lordly spouse, who treads with
proud disdain the grass, while, with wings curved down
scraping the ground, tail erect, in fan- fike; shape, he bows
his neck and struts about as if he knew the admiration
he was causing. A speckled beauty he is, in his mottled

dress, and as he fills his sacs with air, the tan skin swells
(279)

  
280 UPLAND SHOOTING.

at the sides of his neck until, like huge globes, it stands
out; the feathers are erect, or stick straight from his
swollen neck; then he quickly stoops, and running a few
yards with agile steps, emits through his partly closed
bill the confined air, and there bubbles forth, in a melo-
dious note, a soft ‘‘boo-woo-woo,” until, by frequent
repetitions, the highlands and the lowlands are filled with
this mellow peal of morning welcome. Welcome music
is this in the spring-time, for it brings to us the news of
approaching sport with these same birds, when their
young are strong of flight and vie with their parents in
size.

There is a marked similarity between the male and the
female pinnated grouse, and among the young the sex
can not be distinguished; but when advancing age has
overtaken them, the bald neck of orange-yellow is a sure
indication that the possessor is of the sterner sex. The
colors of the birds are, one might say. but two—dark
brown and a grayish white; these colors wind around
their bodies in graceful wavy lines, and present a hand-
some appearance. Their forms are elegant in proportion,
and the full-grown pinnated grouse weighs about two and
a half pounds, at times as high as three pounds. They
are found in all the Western States bordering the Missis-
sippi or Missouri slopes. They frequent the grain-fields,
the corn-fields, and, most of all, they love the broad
prairies, where oceans of waving grass roll and heave in
apparently endless space.

When spring-time comes, and Nature asserts herself,
they seek these spots to build their nests, to lay their
eggs, and to rear their young. In selecting a spot for
this, their home, they seek the grassy edges, rank with
the outgrowth of weeds, bordering some grain-field, the
corn-fields, along creeks, beside ponds, or a sunny slope
in the heart of the broad prairie, where the parent bird
PRAIRIE CHICKENS—PINNATED GROUSE, 281

can sit in quiet contentment, full of confidence in the
security of her home; for her eyes behold the face of the
land for miles and miles, and instinct as well as experi-
ence teach her that the unbroken prairie, not yet opened

 

PINNATED GROUSE —Tympanuchus Americanus-
by the husbandman’s plow, is the most likely spot in
which to incubate and rear her little brood free from
intrusion and danger. She therefore chooses a place on the
prairie and builds her nest, selecting” for its construction
282 UPLAND SHOOTING.

blades of grass, weeds, and small twigs; her eggs are laid,
the number ranging from eight to twenty, and she
patiently sits on her nest day after day, hatching her
expected brood. The eggs are about the size of those of
the bantam hen, and very similar in appearance, except
that the eggs of the prairie chicken are yellowish white.

The young birds are hatched in May or June, depend-
ing on the season. If the weather is bright, dry, and
warm, the bird begins her domestic duties early, and
brings forth into the world her tiny brood; if the season
is cold and rainy, she delays the days of her motherhood
until the season is further advanced. The process of
incubation is the same as that of the domestic fowl.
Before the birds are hatched, the eggs are lable to be
destroyed in many ways—by hawks, owls, skunks, and
foxes; thus by actual spoliation of the eggs, or by the
destruction of the old bird, the expected brood is wiped
out of existence. Many and many a bird is slain on her
nest by prowling birds and beasts; but the greater causes
of destruction of prairie chickens, before they are hatched,
are cold spring rains and prairie fires. Frequently, eggs
are laid along the edges of creeks—lazy. indolent creeks,
that flow sluggishly within their confined banks until
the spring rains o'erfill them, when they rush along,
sweeping with wide arms over the valleys and bottom-
lands, carrying devastation in their course. The water
drives the birds from her nest, chills the eggs, and then
all is lost; the bird deserts her nest. Worse still than
this are the prairie fires, started by the farmer to burn
the dried grass from his unfenced field, either to prepare
for his plowing or to protect his crops and buildings.
He starts with lighted wisp in hand, and burns an area
sufficient to guard his property. Slowly, at first. the tiny
flame flickers and sparkles. encouraged by the breath or
fanned by the hat of the incendiary; then it shoots up
PRAIRIE CHICKENS—PINNATED GROUSE. 283

in doubtful blaze, and seems to die out in its beginning.
Fresh dry hay is tenderly placed on the feeble flames, and
soon, along the defined line, as marked with the plow,
the crackling blaze speeds forward, the faint blue smoke
ascends in drifting clouds toward the dome of heaven;
increasing its volume and speed, the hesitating flames
wave along, getting higher and stronger as the rank dry
grass is thrust into its yawning maw, and, like a red
demon, it engulfs all in its path. Feeble at first, it
now advances with the confident rush of successful hosts,
its hot breath withering and scorching to death all within
its reach; the trembling flames have overcome their hesi-
tancy, and wave and roll in huge billows of seething fire,
while flickering yellow tongues flash and strive to reach
the very sky. Now the whole earth is a living fire, while
the pure air is contaminated with the blackening smoke,
and beneath its reddened edges, whirled up by the strong
draught of the advancing fire, blades of corn-stalks spin
in eddying flights, and fall again in spiral quiverings into
the seething bed. Up from their prairie homes the birds
rise in dire alarm, and with shrieks and cries circle in air,
and with pinioned wings and accelerated flight seek a
place of safety. The prairie chicken in her hidden nest
scents the tainted air; then, peering through the bladed
grass, she sees the leaden smoke ascending to the blue
sky; soon the crackling flames and the hot air frighten
her, and seem to rob her of her breath. Closer she hugs
the parching ground; in dire alarm she looks around, and
then, with frightened cluck, springs from her bed, and,
with bristling feathers, runs threateningly toward the
advancing flame, which smokes and roars, mocking at
her feebleness. Disheartened, she runs again to her
sacred nest, and nestling closer with her protecting
wings, shielding her all, closes her eyes to perish with
her charge; but the stifling smoke suffocates her, and with-
284 UPLAND SHOOTING.

out thought she instinctively springs upward, her wings
scorched by her cruel enemy, and soon breathes again
the pure air of the open field. A grand sight is a prairie
fire, but woe be unto man or quadruped who is caught
unaware in its relentless path; for, urged by a strong
wind, a wind that increasesin strength and volume, in its
flight the speediest animal soon submits, and the
blackened path, the sooty ground, the sickening odor of
burning flesh, sadly tells the story of life and death.

If driven from her nest, the prairie chicken builds
again in some other place her destroyed home, and pro-
duces another brood.

The mother bird is thoughtful and solicitous for the
welfare of her little ones, and, in her anxiety to protect
and shield them from harm, will resort to various sub-
terfuges. Counterfeiting a broken wing, she will run
before her human enemy, then fly a short distance, seem-
ing all the while in dire distress, merely to divert attention
from her brood, while they, dear little things, sometimes
not larger than a sparrow, will quietly and quickly run
away, each one for itself, and seem to disappear by
magical illusion, for we look where we saw them last,
but can not find them. Still, I have often caught them.
The power of flight is given them at an early age, and when
the old ones arise, with aloud whir, these little ones fly up,
their diminutive bodies looking about as large as a half-
grown quail, scatter at once, and after a short flight, drop
softly into the prairie grass, where, remaining concealed,
they await the expected call, the anticipated cluck of
their solicitous mother.

How long prairie chickens can survive without water,
is an undecided question; certain am I that the period is
beyond one’s expectations. It is truethey are frequently
found in the rank grass and weeds of prairie ponds, and
along the thick growth of furze at the edges of creeks,
PRAIRIE CHICKENS—PINNATED GROUSE. 285

adjacent to stubble-fields, but in time of drought they
do not seem to change their habitation, for in the early
morning, when the dew is on the meadow, and the leaf-
lets are freshened with its pearly drops, the birds wander
through these elysian fields, and archly pick them from
the glistening blades of grass. At such times, refreshed
with the water they find in their cooling retreats, they
are prepared for the day’s siege of heat. I have often
seen them drinking in creeks and at the edges of marshy
ponds, but they are an upland bird, and while they must
have water for sustenance, the same as all animated life,
yet they require little of it, and that not frequently.

The male grouse is a polygamous old rooster, and
his vanity is equal to his handsome appearance. In
the spring-time, when the hens gather together in
flocks, and mildly associate together, the lordly old chaps
strut around, their air-sacs filled with wind, their minds
with conceit, and they try in different methods to attract
the attention of the gentler sex, that they may entice one
more into their harem. Early in the morning, their flow-
ing ‘‘boo-woo-woo’’ is wafted over the awakening fields,
and these old cocks promenade up and down, longing for
some ambitious rival to throw down the gage of battle
and meet him in fierce contest. They don’t have to wait
long, for soon one equal in valor runs toward the boom-
ing bird; they eye one another with fierce hate; then, as
if to tell the other birds of the many victories he has
won. the bird who first held the citadel swells out in
conscious pride, and his orange-colored neck expands
until it seems as if the sacs would burst, and running
quickly along, he emits a ‘‘boo-woo-woo,”’ prolonging the
last note until its echoes, wafted on the morning wind,
can be heard for miles, when it dies out in sweet, mourn-
ful cadence. The new arrival goes through the same
performance—utters the same cries; then they warily
286 UPLAND SHOOTING.

approach each other, watching to discover some weak
point of attack, then dash together with great violence,
their feathers upright or reversed, and they advance and
retreat, their fighting being similar to that of tame roosters,
until at last one is defeated, and runs away crestfallen,
while the victor marches over with majestic mien to the
coterie of admiring hens, who accept him as their lord
and master.

While the spring-time is one of so much moment to
the hens, and they build their nests preparatory to hatch-
ing out their young, these old roosters are either too
proud or lazy to work; possibly they think the females
are born to work, like the Indian who said: ‘‘ Buck no
like work; squaw do all work. Buck get tired; squaw
no get tired. If squaw get tired, squaw die; then Buck
get young squaw, who no get tired, but do heap work.”’
The cock grouse do not help build the nest, neither do
they aid in hatching or rearing the young; but while the
hens are performing these maternal pleasures and duties,
these old roosters wander around, leading a lonesome life,
in groups or flocks, quarreling and fighting; about the
only good thing that can be said of them at this time is,
that they stay home nights. The food of the prairie
chicken consists of seeds, beans, peas, grasshoppers,
insects, and all kinds of grain. While they are found in
greatabundance in the prairie States, throughout the fields
of prairie grass, yet they like best the partially settled
lands, for there they find food in plenty and of great
variety. When they are young, they are especially fond
of grasshoppers, which they are expert in catching.
They grow rapidly, the strength of their bodies seemingly
exceeding that of their wings, for they soon tire of flight
when young, and fly but a short distance. About August
1st they are two-thirds grown, and are the easiest bird to
hit that flies; they will then lie well to the dogs, dislike
PRAIRIE CHICKENS—PINNATED GROUSE. 287

to use their wings, and to avoid discovery trust, instead,
to their skill in hiding. When, at last, they feel the hot
breath of the pointer or setter, and see his staring eyes,
they spring up with a loud whir but a few paces from
the shooter, and become an easy victim to his aim. Early
in the season, they are so easy to approach that it is
nothing unusual to wipe out the whole covey; for, after
rising, they will settle in the grass or rank, weedy stub-
ble, spring up singly, and then the hunter bags them all.
They do not fear civilization; on the contrary, rather
enjoy it. They are hardy birds, and survive our severest
winters. \Were they protected, they would nest and rear
their young in the grass and grain-fields within sight and
hearing of our smaller cities. Their roosting-places in
the summer-time are in the grass and stubble-fields, and
in the winter, when the wind blows bleak and raw, and
the drifting snow fills all the crevices of the field, they go
into the corn-fields or the heavy grass, or roost in the
trees at the edges of some sheltered grove. I have often
seen them in trees in winter, and at such a time it is
impossible to bag them, except an occasional one with a
rifle, for they are exceedingly watchful, and can not be
approached near enough to shoot with a shot-gun. As
they are accustomed to see farmers pass along with
wagons or sleighs, the sight of such conveyances does
not alarm them, and if the hunter is with such a rig,
he can at times obtain shots; but these old birds are
extremely wary, and a successful shot is more the result
of accident than the evidence of skill. Prairie chickens
must be hunted with a dog; no other method can prove
successful. The dog employed must possess three requi-
sites—speed, staunchness, and endurance. The breed of
dogs combining these qualities to the greatest extent is
the one most to be desired, and in selecting a dog for this
special branch of sport, one must not allow his love of
288 UPLAND SHOOTING.

beauty, or his admiration of well-known sterling qualities
in a certain breed of dogs, to influence his choice. To me,
the most beautiful dog that ever skimmed the field is
the setter, English, Irish, or Gordon, as the case may be;
there is a dash and vim to be seen in the actions of these
dogs that causes my heart to beat with delight. In the
autumnal September days, I have so often seen them skirt
the plain after pinnated grouse, or silently and grandly
workirg among the bogs and fences for that grayish imp,
jacksnipe, which, like a flash, streaks the dead-brown
grass in his eccentric flight, only to be quickly brought
down by a shot from our guns, while there dies in its
white throat that enervating ‘‘scaipe, scaipe.”’

In the russet woodland, the drumming ruffed grouse
lives among his kind, and thrills us through and through
with startled expectancy when he springs from behind
the old decayed log, and darts through the thickly
branched trees. After long years, still fresh and green
is the memory of the summer-time in the dear old island,
where my early love, the saucy woodcock, made his home
among the alders, willows, and brakes; of the placid
pond with its silvery sheen, the trembling leaves of the
aspen, the delicate, sensuous perfume of the pond lilies,
and before me, in grand rigility, my companion, my
protector, my faithful Felo, in his glossy silken coat,
pointing out this nocturnal bird; the whistling cock just.
about to dart from the nearest tree, the deep report, the
drifting feathers, and then, at my feet, with deep-brown
eyes looking with undying love into mine, my faithful set-
ter handing me our bird, and the golden bars of sunlight,
symbolic of the brightness of my young life, streaming
down through the quivering leaves. And then a few
months later, in the golden autumn, in October, when
the grass was brown and sere, crisp with the brilliant
coating of frost, and the purple wild grapes vied in
PRAIRIE CHICKENS—PINNATED GROUSE. 289

beauty with the maple-leaves and the changing color of
the sumac, how often have Felo and I stood together in
the cold, bleak marsh, when the leaden clouds skurried
athwart the skies, and the north wind swerved within
gunshot for us, the noble mallard, the plunging red-
head, the swishing blue-bill, or the dainty teal; Felo
then, his sparkling eyes first sighting the game, would
beam on me in mute appeal, fearing lest I might not see
the incoming birds; or, perhaps, startled by that well-
known cry, the grating ‘‘ me-amph,”’ I would glance o’er
head and see a young drake climbing in air, his red feet
extended, his neck curved, glorious to my youthful eyes
in all his gorgeous dress of velvet-green, chestnut, and
‘white. Sweet are the recollections of those childhood
days, those days of blessed memory! When the threads
of time in their silvery strands streak our hair, those
early days return to us with realistic vividness, and in
dreamy retrospection we live again our Heaven on earth.

Now, when for hunting prairie chickens I advocate
the use of a dog other than the setter, let not the lover of
that breed say I am prejudiced, do not know them, or do
not like them, for I do know them and like them. Aye!
a noble race of dogs are they, to the hunter’s heart the
noblest of them all, and when, in the selection of a
dog for prairie chicken hunting, I choose the pointer, it
is not that I forget the good qualities of the setter, but
because the setter can not stand the heat of our August
sun as can the pointer. I have owned them both, hunted
them side by side, season after season, and am speaking
not unadvisedly, but after the results of years of practical
experience. I shall not treat of the way in which a dog
should be trained to hunt prairie chickens, for other gen-
tlemen, in this book, have written of the manner of break-
ing them for other upland game birds, and the dog that

is thoroughly broken to hunt quail, woodcock, ruffed
19
290 UPLAND SHOOTING.

grouse, and snipe will, with a trifling experience, become
proficient in the pursuit of prairie chickens. The three
requisites heretofore mentioned—speed, staunchness, and
endurance—are the golden virtues which, when possessed
by and found in a dog, make him perfect for this branch
of sport. There isno sport where greater freedom can
and must be allowed the dog than this.

On our Western prairies, the range is, one might say,
unlimited; there are places where for miles and miles the
soil is unbroken and unfenced, and where the wild grass
grows in thickest profusion, the monotony of the waving
fields being broken here and there by the brown stubbles
of grain or the yellow corn-fields; the territory is appar-
ently endless, for the eye follows the grass until the blue
sky seems to sink down and meet it, while the drifting
white clonds float on its very tips. In such a place as
this, the hunters drive along in their wagons, getting out
to shoot when the birds are found. Away speed the dogs,
the young with impetuous bounds, the older ones with
that long, swinging lope which tells us of the reserved
strength, to be tested ina few hours, when to the piercing
rays of the summer sun all the inhabitants of the parched
earth must succumb. The dogs should be worked by
hand, for the length and breadth of their range preclude
the thought of directing them by voice. With heads
high in air and tails beating their sturdy sides, they go
ahead, then cross and recross, beating back and forth in
their several journeys, covering every point that seems
favorable for hiding the secreted birds; then, in the midst
of their rapid run, a faint scent is wafted to them in
delicate indistinctness, but it suffices for their experienced
nose, and, quick as thought, the bounding machines of
life are checked and transformed to motionless figures as
rigid as steel. And nowis the time to test their staunch-
ness, for the hunters are perhaps a quarter, perhaps half
PRAIRIE CHICKENS—PINNATED GROUSE. 291

a mile away, urging their horses forward on a smart trot
through the noiseless grass; but the dog pays no atten-
tion to them; like a carved image he stands, his eyes
staring into the apparently deserted grass, his ears bent
a little forward, as if hoping to hear what he smells, but
can not see; his left fore foot raised, its ball pressing
against his heart as if to stop its excited throbbing; his
tail standing parallel with his body, his legs braced, lest
some power from behind may thrust him forward and
break the charm which is the delight of his life. Back °
of him, a little at one side, perhaps fifty yards, his com-
panion comes toward him as if borne on the wings of the
wind; he hears nothing, smells nothing, but suddenly his
bright eye sees the entranced form of his comrade, and he,
too, is transformed into a living monument, and having
supreme confidence in the ability of his companion to
know what lies concealed in the brown grass, he stands
staunchly, awaiting developments. The hunters have
arrived, birds are flushed; ‘‘crack!”’ ‘‘ crack!” rings out
on the still air, and the charm is broken for the dogs, to
be renewed time and again throughout the day.

In the selection of a gun for the purpose of shooting
prairie chickens, care must be taken to choose such a one as
will best fulfill all the requirements for which it is intended.
At the present day, the gauges used are from twenty to
ten bore, but the standard gauges, that is, the ones mostly
used, are twelve and ten. These sizes are used because
they meet the demands for all kinds of game, as well as
trap-shooting. Early in the season, the shooting of prairie
chickens is not difficult; on the contrary, it is extremely
easy to bring them down, as they are large to shoot at,
rise within easy gunshot, and the half or two-thirds
youngsters are not tenacious of life, and succumb to light
blows or a few pellets of shot. In shooting them at this
time, one can not congratulate himself that he has
292 UPLAND SHOOTING.

exhibited any degree of skill, while he has cause for
humiliation and chagrin should he make many misses.
Unless the fields are open and unfenced, hunting prairie
chickens is attended with much fatigue, for it is necessary
to tramp for hours, following the dogs, andat a time when
the sun is high in the heavens and beating strongly down;
under such circumstances, one must remember that the
weight of the gun adds to or detracts from the pleasure of
the hunt. In those early summer days when the law
has thrown aside its protecting shield, and the hunter is
tilled with ambition to go afield, he should be fitted in his
accoutrements, clothing and gun, so as to derive the
greatest enjoyment from his outing. The gun should be
light of weight, not weighing more than eight pounds,
twelve-bore, the first barrel a modified choke, the second
full choke.

It isn't really necessary to have a gun shoot so close
as full choke, but the birds rapidly grow stronger, rise
farther from the shooter, and it requires a hard-hitting
gun to bring them to bag. Early in the season, No. 8
shot is the best size; as the months advance, 7’s, then 6's,
this latter size, in late fall, being none too large. There is
no especial skill required to shoot the birds in early
season. They are apt to frustrate the beginner, for they
fly up with a loud whir. that will rattle the tyro, and
cause him to fire hastily, and perhaps score amiss. They
do not fly fast at this time, but when they spring up each
bird starts out for itself, and if one is fortunate enough
to bag two or more with one barrel it is the result of acci-
dent. The proper way is to select your bird, no matter
how many get up; pay no attention to the majority until
you have first fired at the one selected. Don't be in a
hurry, and fire with hasty or ill-judged aim, but bring
your gun up coolly; hold just over the bird’s body if it is
going straight away. Don't dwell on your aim, but when
PRAIRIE CHICKENS—PINNATED GROUSE. 293

you think you are right, steadily pull the trigger, and
the bird will be yours. Don’t wait and watch to see the
effect of your shot, but quickly draw on another, and let
drive at it; if it isa quartering bird, be very careful or
you will shoot behind it, and you will be apt to do this
if the bird is over twenty-five yards from you. When
you see you have a quarterer, draw in behind it, cover it,
then pull in ahead from one to three feet, depending on
the distance it is from you. When a bird jumps up
almost in your face, be very careful or it will get away
from you, for it will be so close then that, if you shoot,
your shot will not have a chance to scatter, while if you
hit, the bird will be torn to pieces; the better way is, let
the bird go over your head, wheel as it passes you, then
fire just under it, and a trifle ahead of its bill, and it will
come down. The flight of the prairie chicken is exceed-
ingly graceful, similar to that of the quail and others of
the grouse family. Their wing-motion is made with the
greatest rapidity; this gives them propelling force. After
getting this motion, they stiffen their wings, and sail,
sometimes 100 yards, as true as an arrow, and without
the least preceptible motion. At this time, they present a
pretty appearance, for they are held up by their slightly
curved wings, while one forgets for the time the power
that forced them to this great speed. Such is their man-
ner of flight, and is kept up until they alight. While
their flight going with the wind is very swift (in a strong
wind at a rate of perhaps 100 miles an hour), I have often
noticed them flying along at the side of a passenger train,
and would estimate their average speed to be from thirty-
five to forty-five milesanhour. When the season forshoot-
ing prairie chickens has arrived, throughout the vicinity
where they are to be found the excitement is intense,
and each hunter has some favorite place where he intends
to be located at the break of day, early enough to be
294 UPLAND SHOOTING.

ahead of any accidental comer; his gun has had an extra
cleaning, his traps have been gathered together, and his
dog has been carefully watched and faithfully guarded,
lest he be missing on this eventful morning. Long before
sunrise, the hunters quietly drive to the neighboring
fields, and when the first faint light shows the approaching
day, they are in the stubble-fields, fresh in their dewy
smell of hay and clover. Soon it is light enough to see to
shoot, and the morning air bears to their ears the faint
boom of guns from the moist valley they are in. How
sweet the morn, when the air is fresh and pure, and fra-
grant smells the field! although the days are dry and
hot, and under the midday sun the earth gasps for
refreshment to moisten its parched bosom. In this early
morning hour, the hunter’s trail leaves behind it a dark-
green path, while their limbs are wet with the heavy dew.
How grandly the dogs work on this summer’s morn! ’Tis
their gala day, the beginning of many happy ones for
them, for in this sport they are never leftat home. The
fresh, cool air, the moist stubble, fill the spirit of the dogs
with rivalry, and they race forward at break-neck speed,
until checked by the stern command of their master.
Soon the birds are found, and an old cock rises just far
enough away to tempt the beginner. Cunning old chap,
he hasn’t forgotten his experience of the previous year.
Don’t shoot at him; let him go, for the young brood must
be within close gunshot. ‘‘Whir! whir!’’? and each
hunter bags his bird. No time for talking now, for
shells are hastily slipped in, and before the gun is closed
other birds are in air; quickly slamming it together, a
double is made; the birds are gathered, the stray ones
who feared to fly are pointed almost at the hunter’s feet,
and they, too, are flushed and bagged. At such a time as
this, my dog has often pointed them in little bunches of
weeds in the heart of the stubble-fields, and I have seen
“ONILOOHS N3MOIHD 3Idlvud

 

 

 

 
296 UPLAND SHOOTING.

the speckled beauties lie there, with heads drawn down
onto their bodies, only to be perceived by the glitter of
their eyes, and have shoved my foot under them, lifting
them from the ground, and it has oftener happened that,
urged by my voice, the dog has sprung on them and
caught them, in the tangled grass or weeds, before they
could take flight. In theearly morning, the birds should
always be sought for in the stubble-fields, for there they
go to roost at night, and begin their feeding at break of
day. If undisturbed, they feed in the stubble until 8 or
9 o’clock in the morning, then go to the corn-fields, tall
grass, or heavy weeds, and remain until late in the after-
noon, say about 5 o'clock, when they return again to the
stubble. In the stubble-field, where the soil is light and
flaky, the birds often scratch and make a spot just large
enough for them to wallow in, and here they dust and
shake themselves in the same manner as tame chickens;
they frequently dust in the middle of the road, and at
times are seen crossing in advance of an approaching team,
when they run into the rank weeds or grass. On cool,
cloudy days, they often remain in the stubble-fields
through the entire day. In their going to and fro, they
do not resort to flight, as a general thing; indeed, seldom
do, but feed their way along, enjoying the fallen grain,
and catching insects, especially grasshoppers. The experi-
enced hunter knows these peculiarities, and profits by
them, and an old chicken-dog has learned thesame things,
and when a stubble-field is reached, if late in the morning
or late in the afternoon, the dog will work its edges, if lead-
ing to a slough or corn-field, for he knows the birds have
wandered to those retreats, and he can quickest find them
by striking their trail, which he is apt to do at the places
bordering the field. As the birds are in the tall slough
grass or the rank corn-fields in the middle of the day,
and the dog will soon tire himself out in the grass, while
PRAIRIE CHICKENS—PINNATED GROUSE. 297

it is practically impossible to obtain shots in the stand-
ing corn, the hunter should be patient, and not attempt
to hunt them then, but go to some shady place, provide
his dog with cooling water, and patiently wait till even-
ing; then he will be refreshed and rested, while his dog
will be as fresh as in the morning, and filled with new
life.

When evening is approaching, then is the time when
the hunter revels in this exciting sport; for the birds
leave the grass and corn, and travel back to the
stubble-fields, where they go to roost, and lie better for
the dog at this than any other time. At such times as
these, the hunter shoots at them until dark, then regrets
that daylight ‘‘lidn’t last just a little longer.’’

My dear old friend, Mr. Isaac McLellan, who is now
eighty-three years of age, on my writing him that in this
book Iwould treat the subject ‘‘ Prairie Chickens,’ said
that many years ago he had visited the prairies of the Great
‘West, and had participated in many pleasant hunts after
prairie chickens, and he promised to write me a poem
descriptive of this fascinating sport. He kindly did
so, and wrote for me the following beautiful lines, so
realistically descriptive of the habits of the birds and
the season when they are hunted. To one who has
breathed the pure air of our Western prairies in the
glorious autumn-time, these lines will recall most pleasant
memories of days delightfully spent in pursuit of
pinnated grouse:

Now autumn is flushed with tarnished gold,
The woodlands shine with prismy dyes,

The oak-trees flutter their yellow leaves,
Resplendent clouds sail thro’ the skies;

The leaf of the elm shows dusky brown,

' The maples with scarlet bonnets blaze,

The withered grass, over prairie plain,

Shines thin and crisp in these autumn days.
298

UPLAND SHOOTING.

The drooping willows that shade the stream
Shower down to earth their fading leaves;
The golden wheat is garnered in,
Corn-fields are strewn with folded sheaves;
The blue wild pigeons circle in air,
The plaintive wood-doves mourn in shades,
The quail-flocks whistle in coverts dense,
The partridge flutters in bosky glades,
The upland plovers utter shrill cry
As they whirl on glancing pinions by.

But the noblest bird that haunts the plain,
That hides in grasses its speckled brood,
That sweeps over fields of ripen’d grain,
That skirts the borders of brook and wood,
Is the prairie chicken, pinnated grouse—
Breasting on storming wings the air,
Defying bravely the fowler’s aim,
The prowling fox, the poacher’s snare.

When hot mid-summer heats prevail,
To restful shades their broods they lead,
To refuges at corn-field edge,
Where the wild grasses drop the seed;
But best they love the prairie space,
Where measureless leagues of land extend,
Far from the harmful homes of men,
An unfenced pasture without end.
And when the wheat-blades ripen rich,
Lavishing treasures to the ground,
The grouse-flocks muster to the feast,
And ’mid the juicy stacks are found.

At night, amid the sumptuous fields
Secure, they range the corn-field space,
Sharing a banquet rich and rare,
The feasts luxuriant of the place;
But when the dusky clouds of dawn
Are touched and gilded by the light,
On clashing pinions they arise,
nd o’er the prairies speed their flight;
There all day long, ‘mid sheltering grass,
They find a shelter and repose,
Alarm’d at times by slaughtering guns,
The deadly havoc of their foes.
PRAIRIE CHICKENS—PINNATED GROUSE. 299

The middle of September the birds are full-grown,
strong of wing and body, and are beginning to gather
together in packs or flocks; at this time it is hard to dis-
tinguish the old from the young birds. This is the
season of the year when they afford the most exciting
sport, for the birds are large and strong, and in every
way worthy of pursuit, and the hunter feels that his
work must be careful, his sight quick, his aim sure, and
his powder strong, for the grouse are wary and tenacious
of life, and will carry off many pellets of shot. As the
mornings are cool, the birds pass more time in the
stubble-fields, and on cloudy days spend the entire day
there. At this time, the wheat and small grain that have
fallen from the sheaves have sprouted, and, intermin-
gling with clover and short weeds, make an excellent cover,
where the birds can feed without danger of being seen, and
‘yet can see suspicious danger approaching from any quar-
ter; their flight at this time is long, and when flushed they
arise in a whirring body, and fly froma half to a full mile
before alighting, when they usually drop into the
immense corn-fields. These corn-fields are their resorts
in times of danger, for after they once alight in these
protecting places, they run so fast that they will keep
far ahead of the pursuing hunters and their dogs, whom
they hear coming, rattling the dried leaves of the stalks,
or occasionally running against them, which serves a
notice to quit on the alert birds. It takes a wise dog to
circumvent the birds in these corn-fields, but I have had
great sport shooting them with a dog that was up to all
their tricks. Of all the dogs that Iever shot over, he was
the only one I ever saw that could get the best of the
birds in the corn-field, and it was rarely that, on warm,
bright days in the late months of November and Decem-
ber, this cunning old fellow would not outwit the birds.
He seemed to know that extreine cautiousness must be
300 UPLAND SHOOTING.

exercised in the corn-fields, and while in the stubble his
tail waved from side to side, as an invitation for us to
follow him. When he entered the corn-fields, so, brittle
from sun and frost, he knew that an incautious move-
ment might spoil all, and he would trot stealthily between
the rows, with head held high to catch the faintest scent,
his tail drooping and immovable, for he knew that his
swinging tail would rattle the stalks and frighten the
birds. Dear old boy, how I remember his actions, his
looks, his caution! and how quietly he glided through
the fields, never touching the fallen stalks, but stepping
over them, and trotting around a fallen or tangled bunch.
At times, he would be out of sight; but no fear of him.
I have known him strike a trail of the birds, follow them,
then return to us after having been long hidden from our
view, then start out again, and come to the staunchest
point at a bird one would suppose within thirty feet of
us; this was only a ruse on his part to attract our atten-
tion, to warn us to be on the lookout, for I never saw him
make a bona fide point in the late corn-field. After having
warned us, he would carefully and cautiously lead us, at
times hundreds of yards, through the fields, then stop,
and almost crawl on his belly to us. It was wonderful
the human wisdom he possessed, but lacked the power
of speech to tell; when he got to us, he would look into
our faces, as much as to say, ‘It’s all right; Pve got
them located.’? Then he would go back of us, perhaps
thirty yards, and making a wide detour, get the birds
between him and us; at this time, his great wisdom
showed itself, for he knew that the birds would run from
any noise, and if closely pressed, fly. After he had gotten
beyond the birds, knowing they would run or fly toward
us, he would rush toward them, running against the
stalks, and the racket he made flushed the birds, and we
always got quartering shots; at times, the birds flew
PRAIRIE CHICKENS—PINNATED GROUSE. 301

almost in our faces. The owner of this dog and myself
shot eighteen one December day over him in the corn-
field, and I never knew a dog, except him, with whom,
under similar circumstances, we could have bagged
a single bird. The dog is still living, in good health, so
Iam told, and I will go many miles to see him, to look
into his honest face and stroke his broad brown head.
On warm October days, the grouse are often found
sunning themselves along the edges of the stubble, where
the ground is sloping, and where they get the benefit of
the sun’s warm rays and are protected from the wind at
the same time; at such times, they lie well, and good shots
can be obtained at them. One of the most delightful
days I ever spent atield was in the month of December,
after pinnated grouse; the night before, it had snowed
about four inches, but the morning dawned clear,
with the air keen and cold. It was in the western part
of Iowa; the land was unfenced, and we drove wherever
we pleased. The birds had left the corn-fields, and were
found sitting on hay-cocks and hay-stacks that were
scattered all through these upland meadows. A dog was
of no use, because the birds were on their high pedestals,
and could sight any approaching object. We were in a
farmer’s bob-sled, with the seat well back, while the
driver sat in the bottom of the sleigh, far forward. On
sighting the birds, the driver would jog his sturdy old
horses along, while my partner and self sat, with heavy
ten-gauge guns, ready to hurl No. 6's at the birds at
our first opportunity. Being familiar with the sight of
farmers’ teams passing by, the birds were not so timid of
them, provided the team kept at a respectable distance.
It would not do to drive directly toward the birds, so we
made acircuit, or semi-circle, gradually working toward
them, and striving to get within forty or fifty yards of
them, and on their springing up we would get in both
302 UPLAND SHOOTING.

barrels as soon as possible. It took quick shooting and a
hard-hitting gun to bag those veterans; we killed none
inside of forty yards, while most of them dropped nearer
sixty. During that day we bagged twenty-eight, and they
were the handsomest lot of grouse I ever saw, each one
being of unusual growth and of fully three pounds weight.

Our English cousins, who have never experienced the
delights of pinnated grouse shooting, and who know of
these birds as they are in the summer months, at a time
when their young lives are as tender as those of the fee-
blest of birds, think that the bagging of them lacks the
spirit of sport found in hunting the heath cock of their
own country. To such my earnest desire is, that the fair
breeze of fortune will bring the white wings of some ves-
sel to our land, and that these gentlemen will be aboard,
and in the golden autumn, when the frost has touched
with gilded fingers the meadows and the uplands, cloth-
ing all Nature in her winter garments, that they may
partake of the indescribable pleasure of trying their skill
at our full-grown, vigilant grouse in a November stubble
or corn field, and they will say, as others have said, that
there is no upland bird harder to bag, and more thor-
oughly appreciated, than the pinnated grouse of our land,
when killed on an October or November day.

The thought has often been brought to many, whether
or not these birds migrate. Yes, they do; not, however,
in the manner of migrating wild fowl, but they work
slowly southward in large flocks, apparently not with
the intention of avoiding cold weather, for they don’t
seem to mind the cold, but most of them seem to desire to
spend the winter in places other than where reared. This
we know, for all through the winter months we find large
flocks where we had hunted during the fall and found no
birds. We notice them in driving across the country, and
especially when riding on the trains; they are a beautiful
PRAIRIE CHICKENS—PINNATED GROUSE. 3038

sight, standing up so alertly a couple of hundred yards
from the track, their mottled feathers blending prettily
with the ground, covered with the spotless white of the
soft snow. At such times, the novice wishes he was out,
and had his gun; foolish boy, he could not get anywhere
near gunshot to them, for at this time they are the wild-
est. As their line of flight is about the height of the tel-
egraph wires, many birds are killed by flying against
them, and the sharp eyes of the section-men along the
railroad are always on the watch for the ever-welcome
chicken. At the season of the year when the snow is
deep and food is hard to obtain, the farmer’s boy exhibits
his cunning, and with his trap baited with corn catches
the birds, and at home he marches in, throwing down his
feathered prizes, when for a time salt pork and bacon are
relegated to the cellar, and the family feast on prairie
chickens. The laws are very stringent against the trap-
ping of pinnated grouse, but the farmer seems to think
that the law of the land has no effect on iis land, so far
as he or his family are concerned; in other words, that he
has the right at all times to capture, as he sees fit, suffi-
cient of the birds for the use and benefit of himself and
family. This impression is entirely erroneous, for the
prairie chickens are regarded in the eyes of the law as
fere nature—that is, animals of a wild nature, belong-
ing to no one, but being under the protection of the law
as provided by statute; and the farmer has no more right
to kill or capture these birdsin the close season than has
the veriest stranger. The fact that they breed on his land
makes no difference; they are not his until he has them
in his actual possession; even then, they are only his so
long as he retains possession of them; let them escape, and
they become again animals fere nature, and remain
so unless they have animus revertendi (the intention
of returning), which no member of the grouse family ever
304 UPLAND SHOOTING.

had after having once been captured and then regained its
liberty. The law, while protecting game birds in the close
season, aS against every individual, is as generous in the
open season, when it says: ‘‘ All mankind has, by the
original grant of the Creator, the right to pursue and
take any fowl or insect of the air, any fish or inhabitant of
the water, and any beast or reptile of the field, and this
natural right still continues in every individual, unless
when it is restrained by the civil laws of the country.”
Sportsmen, at times, feel bitter at farmers because they
will not allow hunting on their premises; but if sports-
men would only consider the damage farmers sustain, at
times, by reason of the carelessness of hunters and hood-
lum boys, they would not blame them for making an
iron-clad rule refusing all persons the privilege of shoot-
ing in their fields.

I have seen thoughtless hunters trample down grain,
grass, buckwheat, leave open gates and bars, break down
fences, and allow their dogs to chase sheep and run after
cattle, while the hunters themselves shot indiscriminately
where cattle were feeding. It isn’t necessary for a sports-
man to show his breeding in the drawing-room alone, for
the true sportsman will be as much a gentleman in the
field, with the waving fields of grain around him and the
blue sky overhead, as witnesses, as if he were in the
midst of the most brilliant gathering and under the sur-
veillance of the most critical eyes.

The game of our country is being surely exterminated,
and unless we desire the death of the goose which is
laying for us the golden egg, the most rigid observance
must be made of the enforcement of our game laws. It
was but a few years ago that our plains were black with
grazing buffaloes; to-day, the bison is a thing of the past
—butchered in cold blood by thoughtless and heartless
men, who forgot the element of sport that is inherent in
PRAIRIE CHICKENS—PINNATED GROUSE. 305

the character of man, and sunk themselves into human
ghouls, who reveled in animal blood for the sake of a few
dollars, killing, killing, ever killing, and allowing the
carcasses to lie and rot on the plains, or serve as food for
the howling wolves or the scavenger crows and buzzards.
Then the wild pigeon—that beautiful bird that used to
darken the setting sun with myriad flocks, while the rus-
set of the male and the blue of the female seemed to
make the sky alive in variegated shades of colors; they,
too, are gone, exterminated from the face of the earth,
not for sport, but for gain, the death of each bird telling
its destroyer that he had made a few pennies, or that one
more drop had fallen to quench his thirst for the blood
of these innocents. Because the buffaloes and the pigeons
have been exterminated, it doesn’t follow that the prairie
chicken must necessarily go the same way; on the con-
trary, not only can they be saved, but they can be multi-
plied; but this can be done only by moderation and strict
observance of existing laws. I appeal now to the heart
of every true sportsman, the most generous class of men
on earth, to practice moderation in your shooting; do
not, when you are in the midst of a covey of birds, kill
for the sake of killing, or to see how many you can bag;
you know what you are going to do with them, what
friends you wish to remember. In other words, within
your mind is fixed the number of your friends who will
appreciate the birds. When you have gotten your num-
ber, you have a quantum sufficit; then stop. I have wit-
nessed too much of this trying to make big scores in
shooting prairie chickens, and have seen them in heaps at
the roadside, rotting in the August sun, because they
could not be shipped, and the parties shooting them
knew at the time of shooting that, of necessity, the birds
must spoil. Shame! shame! on the man who will do

this. Many hunters will go out in advance of the open
20
306 UPLAND SHOOTING.

season, a day, perhaps two days, just enough to be first
into the young broods; these men know they are violat-
ing the law, and in their guilty hearts there lurks but
one fear, and that fear is, that they may be apprehended
and fined. The sanctity, the purity of the law, that they
as good citizens should uphold, is willfully violated, and’
to cover their shameful acts, they hide their guns and
dogs in their wagons and sneak out before daybreak, and
return after dark; if seen coming in by’some friend, and
asked where they have been, they reply in a nonchalant
manner: ‘‘ Been after snipe.’’ To say they do this because
others do, is to present a childish excuse, devoid of rea-
son, for no sane man can knowingly violate a law and
be excused. The maxim Jgnorantia legis neminem
excusat (ignorance of the law excuses no one) is as old
as the hills, and its principles will never change. We
can only attribute this willful violation of the game laws
to extreme selfishness, and no man with the heart of the
true sportsman throbbing in his breast will doit. Fora
number of years the time for shooting prairie chickens
commenced August Ist; this was entirely too early. A
step in the right direction was taken when the law, in
Iowa, was changed to August 15th, but a beneficent
advancement was still further made when the law was
passed making the open season to begin the 1st of Sep-
tember. September ist! Thatis aglorious time to com-
mence to shoot these birds, for they are full-grown,
worthy of pursuit, and are kings and queens of the
prairies. At this time I would rather bag a half-dozen
than to get three times as many early in the season. The
Legislature of Illinois has passed a law prohibiting the
shooting of prairie chickens for the period of two years.
This law went into effect in 1887. At the time of its
passage, it met with the most violent opposition on the
part of many sportsmen, for they felt it to be an unwar-
PRAIRIE CHICKENS—PINNATED GROUSE. 307

ranted restriction on a sport they had always looked
forward to with interest, and had enjoyed. On the plea
that other States allowed the killing of these birds within
certain seasons, also saying that their dogs would become
useless, that others would not observe the law, they
sought to hinder its passage; but the law was passed,
went into effect, is generally observed, and to-day there
are more prairie chickens within the boundary of the
State of Illinois than there has been for years. Thus the
sportsmen were deceived in the effect of this law, for the
great ills they thought would happen by temporarily
depriving them of the pursuit of birds was only imagin-
ary, and the actual truth of the goodness of this wise
law showed itself in the ultimate result—the great
increase of the birds.

Other States can follow the example of Illinois with
profit. We are all inclined to be a little selfish when
our ancient and long-established rights are threatened
with interference, and we dislike having any laws go into
effect that may in anywise preclude us from the enjoy-
ment of field sports. The greatest good to the many,
should be our motto. Can we not be generous, and help
to increase rather than diminish these birds? Tempora-
rily we may be deprived of pleasures afield, but the in-
crease of birds will reward us, and our growing children
and their descendants will thank us for our forethought
in years tocome. Unless we take wise and manly steps
toward the preservation and protection of game, the time
is not distant when game pictures, taxidermized speci-
mens, word paintings of birds, will be the only sources.
from which our descendants can obtain information of
birds that will be extinct, but which at this time we find
fairly plenty. At times during the past few weeks, I
have noticed one of my boys, a youth of twelve, intently
studying the pages of my shooting papers and sporting
308 UPLAND SHOOTING.

magazines. When I cautiously peeped over his shoulders,
l always found him looking at the cuts of guns. Of late,
he has asked me many questions concerning their
mechanism,the proper weight, bore, how to hold on moving
objects, etc., etc. I knew the latent fire that was raging
within him, for my boyhood days seemed just passed, and
vivid is my recollection of the time of my longing fora
gun—my first gun. I was not surprised, therefore, when
last night he, with boyish enthusiasm, recounted to his
mother and me the successful shots he had made during
the day with his spring-gun; the sparrows he had killed,
the tin cans he had hit when thrown up by his compan-
ions. Finally he came to me when I was writing, and
gently threw his arm around me, looking tenderly into
my eyes with his deep-blue ones, while in timid voice he
said: ‘Papa, how old were you when your papa bought
you your first gun?’ And then his voice grew stronger,
and he continued with earnestness, ‘‘I would rather have
a gun than any other thing in this world.’”’ When you
are fourteen, my son, said I, then I will— ‘‘Why, my
boy,’’ exclaimed his mother, ‘‘when you are large enough
to go into the fields and hunt, the birds will all be gone—
killed off”’ The growing scarcity of game was so appar-
ent to her, that she made this remark. She was not
interested in the preservation of game, except so far as to
feel an interest in what she knew was of moment or
interest to me. There was solemn truth in what she said,
and unless we, whose place it is to obey the law and to
pass laws which in our wisdom and experience we know
to be for the protection and preservation of game, do our
duty, we are unfit to be classified as sportsmen, and
should hide our heads in shame, bury ourselves in our
several places of business, try to forget our early lives,
the days we spent with Nature in the forests, at the hill-
sides, by the gurgling brooks, on the silvery streams, on
PRAIRIE CHICKENS—PINNATED GROUSE. 3809

the rolling prairies, in the pursuit of fin and feather;
forget all these ever living and recurring memories, and
through our selfishness fail to leave our children the

4 delights to be found in the field, which the poorest of us
have the power to leave them—as our legacy, as their
inheritance.

 

 

 

 

 

 

RRS

 
THE WILD GOOSE.

 

By C. R. Tran (‘‘ Nani ”).
+

 

of the goose family, including the brant. Covering almost
every portion of the United States in their migratory
flight to the frozen North in the early spring, and to the
sunny South with the first signs of cold weather, the
“honk! honk! honk!”’’ of the Canada goose, and the
peculiar cries of the other varieties, are recognized by
everyone; but rearing their young in the wilderness
of the British Possessions,or in the icy fastnesses of the
Arctic regions, has made their habits during their breeding
season but little known, and the small area of the United
States which they frequent during their migratory flights,
leaves the great body of sportsmen practically unac-
quainted with the methods adapted to the successful
pursuit of them.

In a work of this kind—especially in a chapter neces-
sarily limited in its length—it is even quite impossible to
enter into a scientific ornithological treatment of the wild
goose, even were the writer competent to do so. The
naturalist or ornithological student would not be enlight-
ened further than what has already been written, and the
average reader would be more wearied than entertained.

It is my purpose to skip as lightly as possible over that
(311)
312 UPLAND SHOOTING.

portion of the subject, and, in imagination, take the
reader with me, properly equipped for the sport, out onto
the low, broad plains of Southern Texas, some pleasant
winter day, or, better yet, into the golden stubble-fields
of Nebraska or Dakota, where goose-shooting is to-day
seen at its best; but a chapter on the wild goose without
a partial description of the general appearance of the
bird it treats of, would be incomplete atits best. It would
be like a well-known Shakespearean drama with the
principal character left out.

The wild goose family contains not less than a dozen
different varieties. When the many different names
applied to the same species is taken into consideration, one
is inclined to believe—the novice especially—that there
must be ten times one dozen; but of the different varie-
ties, not over six or seven are well defined. In one of the
best known works on wild fowl shooting, only two varie-
ties are mentioned, the Canada goose and the white-
fronted goose, two of the best known to Western sports-
men in anearly day. In amore recent and better work,
the author refers to four varieties—the Canada, snow-
goose, brant or brent goose, and the white-fronted.
These four varieties comprise about all that are commonly
met with in the West, of which the last named is nowa-
days but seldom seen.

To attempt to so accurately describe the different vari-
eties of geese and brant that the novice would instantly
recognize them when seen, seems a hopeless task, so
mixed is the nomenclature of the goose family. Itisa
clear case of making confusion worse confounded. Asa
well-known writer on wild fowl truly says, ‘‘ The nomen-
clature of goose family will put in doubt and mystify
the wila fowl hunter greatly, for they receive their names
in the West, not scientifically and historically, but
locally.” The same author then cites as an illustration
THE WILD GOOSE 313

the fact that what are called ‘‘Hutchins’’ geese in
Nebraska are precisely like the Canadas, only smaller.
Incidentally, I believe that the variety referred to is rightly
named in Nebraska. I once thought to the contrary,
that the Hutchins geese were but the unmatured Cana-
das, but a subsequent study of the birds has altered the
early-formed opinion. In Dakota, many local sportsmen
call the Hutchins geese ‘‘Mexican’’ geese or ‘‘Texan”’
geese. Everything else is a ‘‘brant,’’ except the Cana-
das, which they call ‘‘old honkers,’? and the snow-
geese. The white-fronted geese they term ‘‘speckled
brant.”’

The following semi-ornithological descriptions and the
local names of the respective varieties of the goose family
will perhaps give the average sportsman as nearly a per-
fect idea of the appearance of the birds as will be found.
For the ornithological descriptions I am indebted to
Gordon Trumbull’s late work, ‘‘ Names and Portraits of
Birds.”

Brant (Branta bernicla)—(brent-goose—brent—brand-
goose—common brant—black brant). Head and bill,
with neck all around, and extreme fore part of body,
black; on either side of neck a group of white scratches.
The back, with front wings, brown; the feathers paler at
the ends; remainder of wings, black, or nearly so, as is
the tail, the latter, however, being almost concealed by a
covering of white feathers, technically called ‘ coverts.”’
Under parts of plumage, grayish brown, the ends of the
feathers touched with white, this producing transverse
bars; legs, blackish; length, about twenty-four inches;
extent, forty-six to forty-eight inches; weight, about five
pounds.

Of the breeding-habits of the black brant but little is
known. They rear their young far into the frozen North,
and their domestic life may forever remain a mystery.
314 UPLAND SHOOTING.

When in captivity they show no disposition to breed, and
seemingly never become reconciled to the unnatural
restraint. Their food consists almost’ wholly of vegeta-
tion, but they readily subsist upon grains when in cap-
tivity. They are much more common on the sea-coast
than in the interior, and are rarely met with in the West.

Snow-goose (white brant—wavey—fish-brant—Texas
goose—blue goose—blue snow-goose—white-headed goose
—bald brant). The true snow-goose is white, with end of
wing black; fore parts of plumage frequently stained with
reddish brown, this generally more noticeable on front
of head; bill, light purplish red, but variable from a
dusky tone to flesh-color, with black recess along its sides;
legs, deep purplish red, though variable. In the young,
the upper parts are bluish gray or lead-color, more or less
varied with white; end of wing as in adult; billand legs,
dusky.

Two varieties are recognized by ornithologists, viz.:
lesser snow-goose and greater snow-goose. The smaller
bird measures twenty-five inches in length and about fifty-
two inches in extent: the larger, which has just been
described, measures several inches larger. The two
varieties grade toward one another confusingly. The
names snow-goose, fish-brant, and white brant are locally
applied to the larger variety, and the names blue goose,
bald brant. blue snow-goose, etc., to the smaller kind.
The smaller variety is the same shape and form as the
larger kind, and has the appearance of being arrayed in
the undeveloped plumage of the true snow-goose. The
head and neck of the lesser snow-goose is white, with the
remaining plumage principally grayish brown, with more
or less bluish gray, the feathers ending paler; wings,
plain, light bluish gray, with their flight-feathers black,
or nearly so; rump, light gray, or more whitish; legs and
bill, like the larger kind.
* THE WILD GOOSE. 315

This latter variety is not common in the West, at least
not in those States and Territories most frequented by the
geese and brant. Their larger cousins—the true snow-
geese—are, however, found in countless numbers all over
the prairie States, and are common to all the country
between the Missouri River and the Pacific Coast. In
Dakota, they arrive at about the same time as the other
varieties, and are always found associated with the
Canadas. The Pacific Slope is a favorite winter home of
these birds, and large numbers are killed. The shooting,
in years past, has been equally as good in Dakota and
along the Platte River, in Nebraska, during the fall. Of
their breeding-habits but little is known. Like the black
brant and other varieties, they nest in the far North.

White-fronted goose (laughing goose—harlequin brant
—pied brant—prairie brant—speckled belly—speckled
brant—yellow-legged goose—gray brant). Upper parts,
principally grayish brown, the broad ends of the feathers
narrowly edged. with brownish white, the pale edgings
turned to pure white on tail and certain feathers of the
wings; the head and upper neck of closer mixture, or
nearly plain brown; extreme front of head, next to bill,
white, this white intensified by the brown just back of it,
which is of a deeper tint, or blackish; breast, in a high
state of plumage, blackish brown, broken only by a few
pale or white edgings to the feathers, but, as more often
seen, a blotchy mixture of black and white; the feathers
of rump, and those beneath the tail, pure white; color
of bill, varying with different specimens, from flesh-color
and yellowish to darker and more reddish tint; the nail
at end, white, or nearly so; legs and feet, orange, the
webs lighter, and the claws white. Length, twenty-seven
inches; extent, sixty inches; weight, six pounds.

The white-fronted goose, called ‘‘brant’’ or ‘‘ speck-
led belly’’ by nearly all Western sportsmen, is rarely
316 UPLAND SHOOTING.

ever found east of the Mississippi River, and, in these
days, is by no means common in Nebraska, Dakota, or
other Western States. During the first few years of set-
tlement of these States, they were very abundant, but
for the past few years seem to have surrendered the ter-
ritory to their cousins—the Canadas and the snow-geese.
They generally arrive from the North early in September,
a few weeks in advance of the Canadas and Hutchins,
and leave for the South as much earlier. They breed
north of the 60th parallel, in the wooded districts, and
are found in great numbers in Alaska during the sum-
mer. Their favorite winter home is Mexico and the
Pacific Slope.

Canada goose (common wild goose—big gray goose—
honker). Head, neck, bill, and legs, black; patch about
throat, and feathers above and below tail, white; upper
parts of plumage, principally brown, this fading into
light gray beneath; brown of rump and tail, darker, or
blackish. Length, thirty-six to forty inches; weight, ten
to eighteen pounds.

Hutchins goose (lesser Canada goose—small gray
goose—prairie goose—little wild goose). A small variety of
the common wild goose, and in appearance, excepting
size, like it in all respects. Length, about twenty-seven
inches; extent, forty-eight inches; weight, seven to ten
pounds.

I have grouped the description of these two birds
together, in that they are both known as the Canada or
common wild goose; but while the true Canada goose
is common to all parts of the United States, the Hutchins
goose is only found west of the Mississippi, I believe,
and throughout Dakota and Nebraska is more often met
with than the larger variety. The Hutchins goose breeds
in the Arctic regions, while the Canadas breed in isolated
lakes and streams throughout portions of the United
THE WILD GOOSE. 317

States, though, as a matter of fact, the great body of
them breed in the British Possessions. In all other
respects, the habits of the two varieties are identical.
Years ago, the Canadas bred in considerable numbers on
the northern tributaries of the Mississippi and Missouri
Rivers, but the rapid settlement of the country has driven
them farther north, except in rare instances, so that it
is safe to say that, in these days, no variety of the goose
family breeds within the boundaries of the United States.

The common wild goose is easily reared in captivity,
but never becomes thoroughly domesticated. Unless
their wings are clipped, they will at the first opportunity
join some passing flock. They cross readily with domestic
geese, and the flesh of the cross-bred bird is the superior
of either the wild or native. When three years old, in
captivity, they lay from three to five eggs, and gradually
increase the number as they grow older. In their wild
state, they frequently nest in trees.

The Canadas are the last of the geese or brant to
come down from the North in the fall, and the first to
arrive from the South in the spring, often coming before
the ponds, lakes, and rivers are open sufficiently to wet
their feet.

The Canada goose lives to a great age—100 years, it
is said. I believe it. I have eaten them—or tried to.
A yound wild goose—Canada, Hutchins, white-fronted,
or snow-goose, or brant—is delicious eating, however,
when properly baked; but the trouble of it is, sometimes,
a novice can not distinguish an old bird from a young
one, and when it comes to picking out a. young goose
. from a mixed lot of Canadas and Hutchins, it becomes a
most difficult task, one is so liable to select an old
Hutchins goose for a young Canada.

Standing on a bluff of old Lake Erie, thirty-five miles
east of Cleveland, one cold March morning way back in
318 UPLAND SHOOTING.

the ’70s, I brought down an old gander, who was leading
his flock out for a midday drink in the lake, which I
have every reason to believe was piloting his fellows across
the country in Washington’s time. If I remember
rightly, he weighed eighteen pounds, and an all-day’s par-
boiling in a wash-boiler and a half-day’s roasting in a hot
oven was not sufficent to get him in shape to set before
company. Tough? Well, he was tough enough to have
gotten up and walked out of the room with the invited
guests. Since that bit of cuisine experience, I have made
it a rule, when superintending the preparation of a goose
of uncertain age for the table, to place a robust and
healthy brick in the roasting-pan. When the brick is
easily pierced with a fork, it is safe to test your guests on
the goose.

The receipt for cooking a hare, ‘‘first catch your
hare,’’ well applies to the wild goose. Now that I have
enabled the novice to readily distinguish any variety of
the goose family brought to bag, itis fit that he should
be instructed how to ‘‘ catch his goose.”’

Space will not allow, nor is it necessary to go into
details over the different methods pursued in the capture
of each of the different varieties. It is safe to say that nine
out of every ten readers of this work will, if they ever go
upon a goose-hunting trip, encounter the Canadas or
Hutchins almost exclusively, and as all that may be said
of them and their habits applies to all the other varieties,
except as noted further on, I shall confine myself almost
wholly to them; but before coming to that, a few hints
about hunting some of the other varieties may be
instructive to the amateur and interesting to the old and
experienced hunter.

‘*Silly as a goose’ is a saying familiar to all, but it is
not, perhaps, until one’ has hunted them in their wild
state that the saying is given even a passing thought, and
THE WILD GOOSE. 319

but one opinion then prevails, that the author would have
qualified his expression had he been familiar with his
subject, for a keener, wilder, and a more difficult bird to
bring to bag does not exist. The manner of hunting
them depends somewhat on the variety at hand, and more
particularly upon the country and the season of the
year.

The sportsman who starts in search of a fortnight’s
shooting at geese nowadays would, in almost all proba-
bility, make Dakota or Nebraska his objective point, and
the fall of the year the time. The varieties he would
encounter in those States would be mostly the Hutchins,
Canadas, white geese, and a sprinkling of the white-
fronted geese. The white geese are seldom made a
sole object of pursuit by Western sportsmen. Unlike the
Canadas, they do not decoy readily; and although always
found associating with the Canada and Hutchins geese,
are more uncertain in their habits, and those I have shot
have been brought tobag more by some fortunate circum-
stance than any particular skill on my part. They are
strikingly handsome birds when flocked in large numbers,
and I know of nothing that will delight a sportsman’s
eyes more than a sight at 1,000 or more of them sit-
ting upon some prairie knoll that has been burned
over and blackened, or when they are circling over some
stubble-field on a bright, sunny afternoon.

One early morning, some five years ago, I lay ina
stubble-field located about two miles west of White Lake,
Aurora County, 8. Dak., waiting the expected arrival
of the Canada geese for breaktast. Around me were
clustered a dozen profile Canada geese decoys and one
lone white goose decoy—the latter a sample from the
manufacturers. As the sun rose above the low eastern
bank of the lake, a long, glistening white line arose from
the lake and bore down in my direction. On they came
320 UPLAND SHOOTING.

direct to the field, but instead of swinging into my decoys,
as expected, made one or two circles at a safe distance,
and, with that irregular, snipe-like pitch peculiar to them,
dropped down in the corner of the stubble, 150 yards
away. Presently there came another flock, and with
much the same maneuvering they joined their fellows.
Had I had a little more experience with geese, I would
have at once arisen from my blind and frightened them
away, for as decoys they held over my insignificant dozen
most disastrously to me. While mentally trying to
decide how I would get a shot at the snowy mass of birds
at the end of the field, flock after flock came in and
joined the first arrivals, until it seemed to me that every
white goose in the West was sitting there before my
eyes, and, for all the execution I could do among them,
they might as well have been on top of the Rocky Mount-
ains. From where I lay, there appeared to be 1,000,000
of them—there were probably close to 1,000 of them— .
and the sight they made in the bright morning sun will
never be forgotten. I tried to crawl within shooting dis-
tance, but the first move started them, and my two loads
of No. 1’ssped harmlessly after them.

My experience is, that the white-fronted goose, or
‘speckled belly,” as they are termed in the West, is
the wildest variety in the family. Unless found in
abundance, the hunter will have unsatisfactory sport
hunting them exclusively. They decoy as readily—if the
term ‘“‘readily’’ may be used—to Canada geese decoys
as to those of their own kind. The fact of the matter
is, they are very hard birds to decoy. They seem to be
of an unsociable nature, and pass over or by one’s decoys
—may be to alight less than 200 yards away—with the
most provoking indifference. Their feeding-habits are
identically the same as the Canadas. When their roost-
ing-places and feeding-grounds lie near together, they fly
THE WILD GOOSE. 321

low, and, if abundant in numbers, good shooting may be
had by locating upon an elevated piece of ground in line
with their flight. If convenient, it is a good plan to set
out decoys. They may not draw them in, but they serve
to disarm suspicion. When the hunter is located ina
stubble-field, with decoys set out, these birds havea
provoking habit of bearing down on the field with the
speed of an express train, seemingly bound straight for the
decoys, but when just out of shooting distance, sheer off,
and alight but a short distance away. When up to such
tricks, carefully note from which direction most of them
come, and then locate yourself 100 yards away from
your decoys in that direction. This will bring them
between you and the decoys, and give you many good
opportunities, if you are properly concealed and arise to
shoot at just the right moment. When using Canada
geese decoys, and they act in this manner, the novice is
apt to believe that if he but had decoys after their own
kind, they would come in readily. Well, they wouldn’t
do anything of the kind.

The sportsman who yearns for goose-shooting will
never experience its delights and pleasures to the utmost
until he encounters the Canadas and the Hutchins.
While almost as wary, keen, and wild as any bird that
flies, they decoy readily under favorable circumstances,
and the sport is simply magnificent.

As previously stated, it is probably in Dakota that
goose-shooting is to-day seen at its best, though by no
means as good as was to be had a few years ago. During
the years of 1880-85, the goose-shooting in Dakota was
grand almost beyond belief. The very few cultivated
fields of grain at that time—particularly during the
earlier years mentioned—served to attract the great body
of birds then in the country during their southern migra-

tions, and a visit to any one of them, during an afternoon
21
322 UPLAND SHOOTING.

or morning flight, was all that was necessary to secure
splendid shooting. Decoys were not then necessary, and
a blind or other artificial place of concealment by no
means indispensable. You could fairly ‘‘knock ‘em
down with clubs,”’ so plentiful they were, and so little
hufited. They were a terror and asource of annoyance
to farmers, picking out the seed-grain in the spring, and
making a ten-acre field of corn, in the fall, look as though
visited by a hail-storm. It was no uncommon occurrence
for the geese to completely ruin a field of corn in from
two to three days’ time, leaving so little that it was not
worth gathering. Even nowadays. an isolated piece of
corn. left uncut and not shocked, is apt to fare badly at
their hands—or bills, rather.

My first experience with wild geese in Dakota was in
the fall of 1883. the locality the same as that in which I
had my morning’s experience with the white geese. A
fellow sportsman—whom I will call Tom—and myself
had been told by a farmer acquaintance that large num-
bers of geese came into his wheat-stubble every after-
noon—‘‘ thousands of ‘em,”’ he said. The next afternoon
found us in the immediate vicinity about 2.30 o'clock.
We knew the field by a fresh stack of straw on its edge;
then, too, we knew the place because there was no other
stubble for several miles around. The spot was an ele-
vated piece of prairie, in full view of White Lake—a
great resort for ducks and geese —and a more likely place
for the sport could hardly be conceived. The day. too,
was a grand one—one of those perfect October days, rarely
seen in greater loveliness and more thoroughly enjoyed
than upon the broad, sweeping prairies of Dakota. The
air was heavily impregnated with that pure. invigorating,
life-giving ozone for which Dakota is so justly famous,
and a better day for the anticipated sport could not well
have been chosen.
THE WILD GOOSE. 323

It is such days as these—in Dakota, the rule rather
than the exception all through the autumn—that gives
to goose-shooting there one of its chiefest charms.
Despite the inevitable disappointment that often comes
in the pursuit of these wary, uncertain birds, there is,
nevertheless, that absence of excessive fatigue more or
less encountered in the hunting of almost ony other game
bird. It is a decided contrast to the suffocating heat and
eternal mosquito-fighting one must endure in search of
the long-billed woodcock; or the climbing, exhausting
work after that noble bird, the ruffed grouse; or the
blinding, burning heat of an August day on prairie
chickens; or the wearisome tramp, tramp, after the zig-
zag snipe—which always is flying ‘‘zag’’ when your shot
goes ‘‘zig;’’ or the briers and thorns and tiresome march
to secure the little brown Bob Whites; or the cold, wet,
mud and general discomforts of duck-shooting. It is so
great a contrast to all these, that goose-shooting, when
the game is fairly plentiful, may be termed a deliciously
lazy sport, but one which, while it does not exhaust the
physical being, tires the mind and tests the nerve as few
things can. In some respects, it is like standing on a
deer-drive. The birds come to you; you do not go to
them. But when they do come, aye, there’s the rub.
To lay in some large stubble-field on one of these lovely
October days, with just enough breeze sweeping across
the prairies to render the air fragrant and bracing, gives
to one who is a lover of Nature an indescribable sense of
pleasure that nothing can take away. It matters little
whether he has a feather to show for his afternoon’s out-
ing, he has enjoyed himself, and that thoroughly, and
his evening meal and night’s rest is the sweeter there-
for. While this is true of all field sports to a certain
extent, yet the pure air and bright sun of the Dakota
prairies on an autumn day gives to the hunter a certain
324 UPLAND SHOOTING.

animation and buoyancy of spirits, and a peculiar sense
of enjoyment, found in but few places.

To the east, two miles away, White Lake lay in the
gently sloping valley, shining like a massive sheet of
silver. As we busily unloaded our trappings, guns, shell-
boxes, etc., the sharp eyes of my companion, ever
on the alert with true hunter’s instinct, espied a low
black line—once seen, never afterward mistaken—rise
slowly over the lake. With a warning exclamation, he
grabbed gun and shell-box, and started on a dead run for
the field, leaving me to secure the horse, and come on after
as best I could. Ashe passed the straw-pile, he hurriedly
gathered up an armful of straw, and then made another
start for the center of the stubble as fast as his legs could
carry him, looking back over his shoulder every rod or
two to see how near the geese were, for they were coming
directly toward the field. Meanwhile, I was not asleep,
but before I could get ready to leave the buggy in fight-
ing order, the geese had gotten so near that I saw it was
useless to attempt to get into the stubble in advance of
them; but I managed, by a brisk run, to reach the straw-
stack, in hopes that they would swing over that and give
me a shot, in which I was not disappointed. On they
came, about fifty of them—Hutchins geese—flying nearly
abreast, and not over forty feet from the ground, and
although they must have caught sight of us when we ran
for the field, seemingly unconscious of any danger.
They swung directly over the stack, and without taking
any particular aim—little excited, you know—I let two
loads into them, and down tumbled one, with a thump on
the ground that, as it came to my ears, produced a sensa-
tion as delightful as ever experienced in the field. I had
killed my first Dakota goose. As the big fellows passed
out over Tom, they met a still warmer reception, and two
of their number fell to his cooler aim. Before we had
THE WILD GOOSE. 325

time to shake hands over the result, and form a mutual
admiration society, another flock was seen approaching,
and with a rapidity that warned us to get to cover as soon
as possible. I had hardly time to catch up an armful of
straw, and get into the stubble and lie down, before they
were over us. Just how many we dropped out of this
flock I can not at this day recall. Perhaps we didn't get
any. It wasa poor time for book-keeping; I can distinctly
remember that; also recollect that we were justa little bit
rattled fora time. The ball was now fairly opened, and
how the geese did come into that field! Never before or
since have I seen geese as we saw them that day. For
another such an opportunity I would willingly travel
hundreds of miles. For an hour the birds'came in over
the field with but a few minutes interval between the
arrivals. Within the hour, and before we left the vicinity,
not less than fifty flocks came into the field, averaging
from twenty to fifty to the flock. We had no decoys, no
pits dug, and no blinds of any kind. We simply lay on
our backs in the stubble, with a little straw over our legs,
and as the geese would come in and circle over the field,
we would raise up to a sitting posture and let them have
it. Often they would be too high for effective work, and
all were killed at long distances. Once Tom killed three
out of the same flock, in three different shots, before they
could get away. That is what you might call quick work.
Weexhausted about sixty shells each, and then, of course,
had to quit. We had seventeen geese to show for them.
Not very many for so much ammunition, you think?
Well, no, but under the conditions we labored it was a
fair bag, and we were too well satisfied to complain; but
often afterward we talked over that afternoon’s sport, and |
estimated how many we could bring to the earth did just
such an opportunity occur again, and we never placed it
much less than seventy-five. We found it impossible to
326 UPLAND SHOOTING.

transport the seventeen geese to town in oursmall buggy,
even after tying them on, and had to dispose of some of
them to people we met on the road.

The experience we had that afternoon, though never
afterward so fully realized, was by no means an uncom-
mon one at that time and during the few years preced-
ing. Even during the few years succeeding, fields of
small grain and corn were occasionally found into which
the geese were sure to come in large numbers; but now-
adays it is difficult to find a field in this same country into
which there is a reasonable certainty of over a half-dozen
flocks coming, more oftenless. There are exceptions, of
course, and it is to locate those favored spots that taxes
the patience and time of the hunter. The geese, too, are
better educated, more familiar with the tactics of the
enemy, and a correct knowledge of their habits is abso-
lutely essential to successful sport.

In these days, the best shooting in South Dakota is
found in the counties bordering on the Missouri River,
particularly Charles Mix and Brule, with a_ prefer-
ence for the latter. Bounded for over 100 miles by
the ‘Big Muddy,” parallel with the course of which
the main flight of the geese in the spring and fall runs,
the frequent sand-bars and ‘‘ tow-heads’’—small, low-
lying islands covered by little willows and cotton-woods—
afford enticing resting-places and roosting-beds for the
geese. To follow the breaks in the bluffs out to the
adjacent feeding-grounds in the corn and grain fields is
natural, and it is here that the sportsman may be fairly
sure of a few days’ happiness.

Next to a good gun and properly loaded shells, the
first essential of a goose-hunting expedition is decoys.
Better start out with an inferior gun and shells and plenty
of good decoys than a $300 hammerless and no decoys,
or poor ones. The proper decoys are what are called
THE WILD GOOSE. 327

‘*profiles,’’ made from sheet-iron, and painted to resemble
a Canada goose.’ The necks and supports are fastened to
the bodies by rivets, and the decoys can be folded up to
occupy a small space. A dozen of them are enough for

.one pit or blind. If two are shooting, it is better to have
a couple of dozen, one lot for each, as better shooting can
be had, as arule, by locating either in separate fields or
on two different spots in the same field.

In searching about for a place to go when determined
upon a fortnight’s goose-shooting, it is a good idea to
have a bag of salt beside you—tiguratively speaking—
when the answers to your numerous inquiries come in by
mail. You will need afew grains for each letter—usually
—and you will not be so disappointed then when you reach
the hunting-grounds; for, on the best of grounds, and
in the most likely territory, goose-shooting is very
uncertain sport, and is becoming more so every year; but
if you are bent upon having a little experience with the
geese, let me suggest that you make your trial trip—upon
paper—with me. It may save you a needless amount of
time and expense, and it would be strange were not your
total of geese larger.

You mast come with the expectation of roughing it
if necessary, and prepared to at any time exchange the
fairly comfortable quarters of the country hotel for the
humble lodging of a Bohemian cabin, or a night’s roost
in his barn—depending somewhat upon the size of the fam-
ily. ‘‘Thought you said goose-shooting was deliciously
lazy sport,’’ did I hear you say? Well, yes, er, er—I did
—sometimes. That was a few years ago I had reference
to. Itisn’t quite so ‘‘deliciously lazy’’ nowadays. The
birds are scarcer and wilder, and we may have to do
considerable traveling and roughing to find them.

I want you to bring the decoys, as previously men-
tioned, a hunting-suit of dead grass color, and hat to
328 UPLAND SHOOTING.

match, plenty of heavy under-clothing, and a loose-fit-
ting, warm overcoat. Be sure that your hunting-suit and
hat is light enough in color. Nine-tenths of the regula-
tion canvas suits are too dark. About the gun, it does
not matter as to size and weight. A twelve-gauge will do,
buta ten-gauge is better, and an eight-gauge is better yet.
The principal thing is to hit the geese, and you will be
more certain to do it with a gun that you are accustomed
to—be it light or heavy—than one you are unfamiliar
with. Everything else being equal, the heavier gun is the
better.

For a ten-gauge gun, the best all-round load for geese is
five drams of powder and one ounce of No. 2shot. When
they come in well to the decoys, No. 4’s in the right bar-
rel and No. 2’s in the left is about the thing. Do not
be misled into loading any larger shot under any circum-
stances. A few loads of heavier shot, for chance shots at
long distances, would not be out of place in your car-
tridge-box, and always have a few dozen shells loaded
with 6’s for a stray prairie chicken or jack-rabbit.

Well, suppose you put in an appearance, properly
equipped, about November ist, and find me somewhere
in the neighborhood of the Missouri River, in South
Dakota. ‘‘ What is the prospect for geese?’ is your first
natural inquiry. It’s hard to tell; we will have to doa
little exploring on the morrow. Ido not make a practice
of questioning farmers. The sources of information thus
taken are too uncertain in results. It has cost me many
a wild goose chase to learn this. Not one farmer in ten
is a sportsman, and not over one in ten hunt at all, and
only an insignificant few have any conception of what
constitutes satisfactory shooting. If a stray flock of
geese happens to alight on Mr. Farmer's stubble-field
or in his corn some morning or evening, it is likely that
he will say that ‘‘there’s pilesof’em.’’ Ifthey chance to
THE WILD GOOSE. 3829

come a few mornings or evenings in succession, he will
tell you that they are there every morning. You drive
out to his place, and find that only one flock has been
feeding on his farm any of the time, at which, perhaps,
you get an indifferent shot. It has taken a ten-mile
drive before daylight on a cold, frosty morning to learn
this, and as you slowly pick up your decoys, and place
your trappings in the buggy, you naturally fall to won-
dering if all men are liars, or are geese uncertain. As the
Bohemians say, ‘‘I tank so.”

So we go to the livery stable in the morning, and secure
a light driving team, with a buggy or wagon to match.
We will put in but one box of a dozen decoys to-day, for
the chances are exceedingly slim for an opportunity of
setting any of them up, or securing any shooting what-
ever. This is‘more of an exploring trip than anything
else, remember. If we find any geese this morning, they
will either be in the stubbles or corn, and too late to get to
work on them; but we will put in a couple of shovels,
for we may want to use them.

We have traveled nearly all the morning, and most of
the geese we have seen have been on their way to the
river from their morning flight for food. You will
notice that they all fly in that peculiar drag-shape so
familiar from pictures you have seen. This is always
their manner of flight when bound for some particular
locality. When flying across the country in search of
food, with no definite spot in view, they move in a low,
sweeping, undulating line, and nearly abreast—now ris-
ing high in the air at some suspicious object below, now
swerving down to within twenty feet of the ground, only
to arise again farther on, until lost to sight in the distant
horizon.

The geese we have seen hurrying for a drink in the
river will be coming back again this afternoon. As this
330 UPLAND SHOOTING.

is our first trip out, of course it is impossible to tell just
what time to look for them; but it is perfectly safe to
say that it will be at the same time as yesterday after-
noon, and that it will be the same time to-morrow after-
noon, for it is a remarkable peculiarity of wild geese
that they leave their roosting-grounds and go out to
feed with a regularity truly wonderful. I have fre-
quently timed their afternoon flights so accurately that
I would not have five minutes to wait after setting up my
decoys.

‘* Whoa!”

Look at that stubble-field yonder! it’s full of ’em, just
as sure as you’re alive. What! want to get out and
make a sneak on them? My dear fellow, you couldn’t
get within rifle-shot of them to save your life. The grass
is high, to be sure, but the stubble-field is much larger
than it looks from this distance; they are near the center
of it, and if you could crawl to its edge without being
discovered—which is extremely improbable—you would
still be 150 yards away. Take my advice now, as well as
hereafter; don’t ever waste your time trying to creep
upon geese sitting either on a stubble or in a corn-field.
It is an almost impossible task.

There they go! They got suspicious at our stopping;
evidence to them that we were plotting them no good.
Lots of them, are there not? Must be a dozen or twenty
big flocks in that outfit. They are going to the river.
Let us drive over and take a look at the field. Had we
kept on driving, they would not have taken flight, unless
we drove very close to them. When there is a chance to
make a sneak on them, the team must not be stopped, but
the shooter drop out of the wagon into the grass while
the team is moving; and while the team and driver
endeavor to retain the attention of the geese, the hunter
crawls up on them from an opposite direction. We
THE WILD GOOSE. 331

reach the field, and find, upon looking it over carefully,
that while it does not give evidence of having been a
regular feeding-ground for any considerable length of
time, yet it is a likely looking spot—not a house within a
mile of it, and away from any road. It is almost noon,
the sun is getting hot, and taking everything into consid-
eration, we might as well halt right here for a time. We
may get some good shooting here this afternoon, or
toward evening. We will unload our decoys and shovels,
and drive over into that swale a half-mile away, take the
horses from the buggy, and while they get a little fresh
grass, we will sample the contents of the lunch-basket,
which, aside from the substantials, contains a few bottles
of ginger ale—the best drink for prairie hunting you can
find.

As we have got several hours to dispose of here, per-
haps no better opportunity will come to give you a few
hints on goose-shooting in general, flavored, may be, with
some interesting personal reminiscences.

In the first place, there is quite a science in setting up
decoys properly, and in locating or arranging your pit or
blind in connection with them. The decoys should be
set at least ten feet apart, with the face of the profiles
toward the direction from which the geese are most likely
to come. A part of the decoys want to be set at right
angles to the others, of course, so that the sides of some
of them show from any direction. When set out ten feet
apart, they will look pretty well spread out; but if you
will step off a couple of hundred yards or so, they will
look much more like a genuine flock of geese than when
set closer together. It is strange how life-like they look
when set out properly. I have had mine crawled upon
and shot at on two different occasions, much to my
amusement. They present a much more natural appear-
ance than a decoy-duck, I think. By the way, let me
332 TPLAND SHOOTING.

tell you how to *‘ catch on™’ to decoy-ducks when puzzled
over the matter. If you will notice, a decoy-duck always
rocks with the action of the waves or ripples on the
water: a live duck does not. but retains a perfect perpen-
dicular. In setting out your geese decoys, avoid setting
them with heads in one direction. This is the position
the geese assume when uneasy, or about to take flight,
and is not such as to gain the confidence of a passing
flock. If shooting alone, and there is a breeze blowing,
locate yourself about thirty yards on the leeward side of
the decoys. The reason of this is obvious. In common
with all wild fowl, geese always alight against the wind.
By being on the leeward side, they will, when through
circling around the field, fly over you with set wings
preparatory to settling among the decoys, and give you a
much better shot than you could possibly obtain were
you on the opposite side. If you have a companion with
you, place the decors between you, and locate your pits
or blinds so that the geese will fly between yon, as they
come into the decoys toward the wind. You then geta
deadly cross-fire on them.

A friend and myself were thus fixed one aticmibon
when a flock of five Hutchins geese came in. We killed
themall. Ina few minutes, another flock of seven came
in, and out of them we knocked down six. The poor,
lone goose remaining went across the field. turned and
came back to the decoys, and we downed him. On
another occasion we wiped out a flock of thirteen in
much the same manner—the geese returning to the decoys
the second time. When not much hunted, it isa common
occurrence for them to act in this manner, if the hunter
or hunters drop into concealment immediately after the
first volley. Otherwise a very suspicious and wary bird,
the wild goose decoys more readily than any other. Let
me relate an instance. I was shooting in a stubble one
 

   

SHOOTING GEESE OV

ER DECOYS.

 

(338)
334 UPLAND SHOOTING.

afternoon, and lying on my back, with my feet to the
decoys. I caught sight of a flock of twenty or more
coming into the field directly toward me, and in line with
the direction in which I was lying. After coming to
within a 100 yards or so of the decoys, they suddenly
stopped, and there they hung in mid-air, neither advanc-
ing nor receding. After watching their strange actions for
a moment or two, I became satisfied that there was some-
thing unusual behind and beyond me to cause it, and
cautiously raising and turning my head, I looked around.
.There sata boy onamule, not fifty yards away, evidently
waiting to see me kill some of those geese. I told him, in
language more forcible than elegant, that I would like to
have him make himself scarce, which he did in a hurry;
and he had no sooner left the field, when the geese, which
must have seen me when I raised up to read the riot act
to the boy, came right into the decoys, and I bagged a
couple of them.

No, Ido not always dig a pit. In fact, I rarely dig
one. While much more effective shooting can be done
from a pit, it is considerable work to make one large
enough for practical purposes, and unless I am positive
that the field selected will be visited by enough flocks to:
pay for the work, I do not use the shovel. IfI can not
find a likely hiding-spot on the edge of a field, I select
the next best location in the stubble, and, with a tumble-
weed or two and a little old hay or straw, manage to fool
’em completely. It is a fact, nevertheless, that this
manner of shooting has its disadvantages, particularly to
one unaccustomed to goose-shooting. In shooting from
such a position, it is absolutely important that the
shooter lie as motionless as the stubble which surrounds
him as the geese approach, never moving a muscle until
the right moment comes to ariseand shoot. When the
geese come in from one certain direction, this is nota
THE WILD GOOSE. 335

difficult thing to do, but when as liable to come into the
field from one direction as another, one must be some-
thing of a contortionist and acrobat to be in the best
position to shoot every time. It is also much more
difficult to judge of distances while lying flat in a stubble,
or below it, than when sitting upright in a pit. This
reminds me that the hardest lesson you will find to learn
is to know when the geese are within reasonable killing
distance. Ordinarily, a flock of geese 100 yards away do
not look to be over fifty, and the deception is even greater
when coming head on. You will find your-greatest fault
and lack of success—if success is lacking—will be due
to shooting too soon. I can not impress this fact too
strongly. Let them comein. When once headed for the
decoys, let them approach as closeas they will before you
move a muscle to shoot. When they sheer off, or have
gotten asnear to you as it is possible for them to get, then
letthem have it. Justas long as they keep approaching,
don’t you move, no matter if you are positive that they
are within fifty feet of you; otherwise you are extremely
liable to discover that as a goose-hunter you are nota
glittering success. Often the geese will come into a field,
and pass within 100 yards or so of the decoys with
the appearance of not having seen them, or, if they have,
with no intention of coming any nearer—something after
the manner of. canvas-back ducks. Keep low, give them
time to circle around a few times to investigate the gen-
eral appearance of things, and your patience will be
rewarded. They are just as anxious to see what that
other flock (decoys) have got for supper as you are to
have them. Don’t spoil it all.

The flight of wild geese is very deceptive. To the
casual observer, they have the appearance of a slow and
lazy flight. Nothing could be further from the truth.
The rapidity with which they can cover five or ten miles
336 UPLAND SHOOTING.

of space is simply astonishing. It will be well for you to
remember this when you come to shooting at them over
decoys, instead of deluding yourself with the idea that
because they are a big bird vou could not miss one if you
tried. You heard about the chap, didn’t you, that com-
plained that ‘‘all the rabbits hereabouts are about six
inches too short ?’’ You have had enough experience on
other game birds to know that when a flock arises you
must single out your bird instead of shooting into the
flock at random. Well, the same rule holds good on
goose-shooting. Always try, too, to get your gun on one
in a bunch; if you miss it, you may catch one next to it,
and you stand a good chance of Knocking down two or
more with one barrel. Ifa goose falls on the stubble or
prairie out of your sight, go and get it at once, unless
there are particular reasons why you should not leave
your position. Often birds that you may think fell stone
dead are only winged or badly wounded, and the read-
iness and facility with which a wounded goose will hide
in six inches of grass is astonishing. I have had wounded
geese get away from me on a prairie under circumstances
in which it would not seem possible for a quail to escape.

Just reach me another sandwich, please.

Did I ever use live decoys? Well, yes, after a fash-
ion. Ido not think much of them, and, furthermore, I
never talked with an experienced goose-hunter who did.
We read considerable about them in books and writings
on field sports, but my own experience and the experi-
ence of others leads me to believe that live geese decoys
are a delnsion and a fraud. All that I have ever seen,
when taken into a field and picketed out, would go the
length of the string, and then stretch flat on the ground
and lie there. A friend of mine had three which, when
at home in the yard, would pretty near burst their
throats calling when a flock went over the house, but
THE WILD GOOSE. 387

when taken into a field would act just as stated. Winged
geese, if placed among the decoys, will remain with them
of their own accord, and it is amusing, often, to watch
them. When you approach the decoys they will scamper
off across the field, and as often return after you are hid-
den in your pit or blind; but I never saw or knew of
one so situated to call a passing flock, or do anything
else but lie flat on the ground when a flock was hovering
near.

Well, I don’t Know but what we had better be mov-
ing toward the field. By the time we get our pits dug
and the decoys set out, it will be time for the geese to be
coming out for supper.

Here we are. You dig your pit here, and I will dig
mine over there. Dig it with a seat in one end, and deep
enough so that when sitting down your shoulders will be
about on a line with the stubble. After your pit is com-
pleted, go and get a small armful of that old hay on the
edge of the stubble and strew it around the edge
of the pit, but not too thickly—just enough to cover
the fresh dirt. I have given you the best side, for, as the
geese come in over the decoys against the wind, you will
be able to swing your gun from right to left instead of
the more awkward way, from left to right.

There, everything is in ship-shape style, as they say
on the water, and now if the geese will only make us a
few friendly —

Mark west! See them, eh? Allright. Now bear in
mind what I told you at luncheon. Let them come in if
they come this way. ;

They didn’t come in, did they? though they must have
heard me calling. Got more important business farther
east; I saw them go down in a stubble about a mile away.
There comes another flock, and there’s another right

behind it. Get down!
22
338 UPLAND SHOOTING.

Allright. You know how to keep down, that’s cer-
tain. Both those flocks have gone where the first one
went. Wish we were over there, but it’s too late to make
a change now. Get down!

This is interesting, isn’t it, to sit in these pits and
watch flock after flock pass within a quarter of a mile,
and go to another field? That isa regular feeding-ground
where they have gone. You will notice that each flock
turns neither to the right or left, but flies straight to that
one field, and that, too, without having seen any other
flock go there. That is a sure sign of a regular feeding-
ground. Such a place is absolutely sure of affording
good shooting for several consecutive mornings or even-
ings, depending somewhat upon whether they visit the
field once or twice a day, and when. To-morrow after-
noon I want you to come out to this field. Imay not be
able to get away and go with you, and it is not necessary
that I should. After what you have seen to-day, and
the few hints I have given you, you can scarcely fail to
bring in a dozen geese to-morrow night. Where are the
geese that were in this field this morning? You mean the
ones we frightened away, I suppose? You tell I don’t
know; possibly we might have seen some of them in the
flock going over to that other field. They probably
dropped in here by chance this morning. Some flock
happened to stop here, and others saw them and followed
suit. Youdon’t understand why they should go a mile
or two farther on for no better food. Bless your soul!
neither does anyone else. There is just as good feeding-
grounds within a mile of the river as there is out here
ten miles away, and possibly better. Why they fly
across ten or fifteen miles of good feeding-grounds for
something no better, no man can find out, but do it they
do, and elsewhere as well as in Dakota. Perhaps they
like to work up an appetite.
THE WILD GOOSE. 339

Well, the show is over, and we might as well pull up
and go home. By staying here an hour longer we might
catch a goose or two from some stray flock, but it would
hardly pay.’ You will have all the fun you want to-mor-
row. We will drive over and locate that field exactly,
so you will have no trouble in finding it again, stop and
dig a pit for you, and then we will take the nearest road
home. -It’s a little hard luck to go back without a
feather, but if you hunt geese much, you will soon learn
not to mind a day like this. Remember, all is not lost.
What you lack in game, you have gained in knowl-
edge.

If the reader has patiently followed me thus far, not
much can be added that will prove either interesting or
instructive. Possibly it would have added to the imag-
inative afternoon’s hunt to have capped it with a score
or more of geese, but I have written it from many days’
actual experience.

As the season advances, along toward the middle of
November and Thanksgiving, the geese begin to seek the
corn-fields, and the hunting of them becomes more
tinged with disappointment than pleasure. About this
time they make but one trip a day for food, that in the
morning, and they generally remain out all day. After
feeding, they will seek some bare knoll or burnt piece of
prairie in the vicinity of the corn-field for a loafing-place
until again hungry. They never alight in a corn-field,
but always on the edge, and walk in. They prefer corn
planted upon sod (first breaking), in that such fields of
corn are usually of thin stand, the stalks short, and the
ears easily reached, and they can readily see around and
about them. At this time of year they do not decoy
readily, each flock seeming to prefer its own company.
When the geese are known to be feeding upon a certain
field of corn, make a blind, about fifty feet from its edge,
340 UPLAND SHOOTING.

by pulling up several hills of corn and standing them
together: then set the decoys out a rod or two from the
edge of the corn. Ifa stubble adjoins the field, set them
on the stubble. While it is not probable that they will
come in directly to the decoys, yet they will be less sus-
Picious upon seeing what. to them, appears to be another
flock.

In the spring of the vear, wild geese are so uncertain
in their habits, and so erratic in their flights, in Nebraska
and Dakota, that even were not spring shooting to be
discountenanced on general principles, it is poor sport
hunting them. I have never known them to decoy at
this season of the year: and they never seem to be twice
in the same place.

The general directions I have given for hunting the
wild goose in Dakota, willapply to Nebraska and all
the Western States and Territories, where their habits are
nearly the same. Years ago, the best goose-shooting in
the United States was to be had along the Platte River,
in Nebraska. Aside from excellent stubble-field and corn-
field shooting, there was superb shooting on the sand-
bars of the river. The usual method of building a blind
ona sand-bar is to sink a barrel, or water-tight box, in
the sand, around which is thrown pieces of drift-wood or
brush, the whole so constructed as to leave the imme-
diate surroundings as natural and undisturbed as possible.
If the box is clear from brush or débris, none should be
employed in arranging the blind. Into the box—a shal-
low one—can be placed some hay for the hunter to lie
on, and around about it are placed the decoys. If the
weather is clear and fair, and particularly on moonlight
nights. the geese prolong their afternoon visits to the
stubbles until late in the evening, and the concealed
hunter often gets fine shooting by the light of the
moon.
THE WILD GOOSE. 341

The sportsman whose business is such that a goose-
hunt is only permissible during the winter months will find
a visit to Texas filled with pleasant results. The geese
generally arrive in that locality about November 1st, and
keep coming until the middle of December. The natives
will tell you that but three varieties winter there, namely,
the Canadas and the white and black brant. As in
many other localities, everything in the goose family is
a brant except the Canadas. In Texas the geese resort
to the pond-holes and marshy grounds as a loafing-place
and to the high, dry, upland prairies for feed. The hours
for feeding are the same as in more northern localities.
They feed chiefly on the young sprouts of green grass
and such insects as they can pick up on the prairie. As
the prairies are studded all over with pond-holes and
marshes in many portions of the State, the geese have no
trouble in finding ample feeding-grounds in close prox-
imity to their roosting-places; hence they fly very low in
going and coming, and in moving about from place to
place in search of food, in localities where not much
hunted, they also fly close to the ground, not over twenty
or thirty feet high. The sportsman can therefore find
good shooting by roaming the prairies in a hap-hazard
manner, and keeping both eyes open for passing flocks.
The general plan of hunting them, however, and the most
successful one, is by building a blind upon the shore of
some marshy place, or, if the indications are better, in
the center. If the hunter is supplied with profile decoys,
they can be set out by binding a stick to the supporting
rod, and shoving it into the mud, until the decoy presents
a life-like appearance. A dead goose may be set up as a
decoy by pushing, one end of a stick in the mud and the
other end, sharpened, up through the neck into the head.
This is easier written than done, however, as it is quite a
trick to set up a dead goose or duck so that it will look
342 UPLAND SHOOTING.

life-like; but practice and a little patience will soon
enable the amateur to do the work successfully. Inci-
dentally—and conclusively—it is such seemingly trifling
things that characterize the successful sportsman. As
in everything else, it is the sum total of the little details
that go to make a perfect whole.

 
WILD TURKEY SHOOTING.

 

By Greores W. Barnes (‘‘ Fusit”).

 

       
  

go HE Meleagris gallopavo is éssentially an
aCe American fowl, and in these late years
has come to be a genuine southerner,
being found but seldom in sections
\\. north of the historic Mason and Dixon’s
\\ line. He flourishes also in Mexico and
Central America.

As this article is not designed nor desired to be a
treatise, I shall not take up space with facts and observa-
tions easily found in standard works on natural history
and in encyclopedias. The wild turkey is a turkey,
and compares with the domestic fowl about as a game
chicken does with the common mixed-blooded dunghill,
being a trimmer and more symmetrical fowl, with longer
neck, wings, and legs. The wild turkey varies slightly
in color according to the various sections where found,
the lighter shades predominating as the equator is neared.
The hen is a dusty-brown color on the breast, neck, and
upper back, and the lower back is a dirty gray, or rusty
brown. The gobbler is about the same color of the hen,
except on the breast, neck, and upper back, which are a
glossy, green-tinted black, or silky, purplish hue. Some-
times, as he stands in the sun, he appears to be a rich
bronze. Generally the heads of wild turkeys are light,
bluish color, often more white than blue, especially with
gobblers in the spring, they having the power to change

color from blue to white or red at will. Both hens and
(348)
344 UPLAND SHOOTING.

gobblers have large wattles, that are nearly always white.
In the spring, an ardent gobbler’s wattles are red.
Gobblers are always armed with spurs, and ornamented
with beards, varying in length according to age, the
former sometimes measuring an inch and a quarter long
and the latter twelve inches. Hens sometimes have
beards, but they are not very common: on my last turkey-
hunt, of the three hens bagged, two wore beards. I have
seen a few gobblers in my long experience that had more
than one beard—one that had three. In weight, the wild
and domestic turkeys are about the same, the tendency
of the former being to grow slightly heavier with the
gobblers, and with the hens lighter. Sixteen pounds for
gobblers and eight for hens, I believe to be a fair average
in weight. Still itis not uncommon to find gobblers that
will pull the scales to twenty pounds, and sometimes—
but rarely—one will be brought in that will weigh twenty-
five, six, or seven. I myself killed in one day two that
weighed twenty-five and twenty-seven, respectively. A
friend of mine in the Indian Territory tells of killing one
that tipped the beam at twenty-eight; and Prof. J. L.
Smith, one of the Texas pioneers, and one of the most
truthful men I ever knew, told me of one he killed that
weighed even thirty pounds.

The wild turkey isa much hardier and stronger fowl
than those we rear at home, and so the gobblers put
more vim into their gobbling and strutting. How the
gobbler makes that thunder-like sound when he struts. I
do not know, but am certain that it is not by scraping
his wings on the ground, since he struts as loudly ina
tree, where his wings touch nothing, and where he can
not walk at all. as when on the ground. Iam also sure
that his crop, puffed full of air, is an important factor,
since no turkey ever struts without this. It is easy to
distinguish a fat gobbler from a poor one, or an old one
p

WILD TURKEY SHOOTING. 345

from a young one, by the character of his gobbling. Ifthe
hunter hears several gobblers, and wishes to select the
fattest, let him go after the one whose gobble is the

 

 

 

 

 

4
p

\

THE WILD TURKEY.—Meleagris ocellata.

heaviest and most muffled. Beware of the one with the
tenor voice, especially if he cuts his gobble short.

Wild turkeys always go in flocks except in the spring,
and often, in small flocks, then; but the old gobblers will
346 UPLAND SHOOTING.

be found associating together, while the hens and young
gobblers will be together, except at this season.

When spring fairly opens, the flocks break up, and
the breeding season begins. The old hens are the first to
go off and make their nests, always followed by the
gobblers to the vicinity where they are going to hatch
their young. Gobblers always open the love-making
season, the hens seeming to be very coy at first. At this
time, the gobblers fight each other vigorously, break up
the flocks, scatter out over the country, and give them-
selves up to gobbling, strutting, and rambling. At this
early period, as they have no hens with them, they come
to call very promptly. In a week or ten days the flocks
of hens break up, and they scatter out into the hills to
make their nests, and soon become ‘‘located,’’ as the old
hunters say, by which is meant that they settle down to
a certain range in the vicinity of their nests. At this
time an old gobbler is very apt to have from one to four
—sometimes more—hens with him, and he manages to
have them pretty well bound to him, so that they are not
likely to go off to other gobblers. They know his gob-
ble, and go to him when they hear him. Any gobbler in
this fortunate situation is likely to be very hard to call
up by the hunter, either morning or evening. The best
way to call such is to get near him while he is gobbling
on his roost, and select an open space into which he can
and will be likely to go when he flies down. A few
low yelps, given before he flies down, will generally bring
him, and if he gobbles to call promptly, let the hunter
yelp no more, but be ready for business. Nine chances
to one, he will go in shooting distance of the well-hid
yelper as soon as he is off his roost, especially if there be
an open spot for him to get into; for he likes such a place
early in the morning, before there is much light, and at
this season he is apt to fly down very early, sometimes
WILD TURKEY SHOOTING. 347

while it is very dusky. His purpose seems to be to get
somewhere near the hen, and wait for her to fly down to
him. The hunter will find it very fortunate if he can get
on an open hill-side above the gobbler. Those gobblers
that are unprovided with hens, from any cause whatever
—and where turkeys are plentiful there will always be
some of this sort—are easily called up at any time, morn-
ings or evenings.

The hen lays from ten to fifteen eggs, in a rudely con-
structed nest, scratched out in the ground, and filled with
leaves or grass. The eggs are always covered up with
leaves or grass when she goes away. It is not uncommon
for nests to be made near houses, roads, and in fields or
orchards. A wheat, oat, or barley field is a fine place for
them. The period of incubation is twenty-eight days.
The young are hardy, active, and shy from the first, and
in two or three weeks are able to fly a little, from which
time they go into bushes, and soon into trees, to roost.
The mother is a model for care and good management, and
is usually very successfulin bringing up her young. Soon
after the hens begin to sit upon their nests, the gobblers
again flock together, and remain so until the next spring.
The hens also drift into flocks, with their young, along in
August and September, and it is often the case that three
or four broods will be combined.

Unquestionably, the wild turkey is rapidly decreasing
in this country, owing chiefly to the want of suitable
game laws, and the murderous work of the market-hunter.
My opinion is, that the open season should embrace the
months of November, December, January, and February
alone. I know that many will object to being shut up
during the gobbling season, but I see no good reason why
other game should be protected during breeding-time
and the turkey not. Fond as I am of hunting at this sea-
son, I am ready to see spring shooting forbidden. The
348 UPLAND SHOOTING.

one reason for keeping the season open during the spring
is the fact that comparatively few hens are killed then;
but more gobblers are than at any other time, and the
killing of gobblers in any section does not materially
interfere with breeding, unless all should be killed, which
is not likely, for if there be a gobbler in the country, the
hens will find him when they need him, and he is sucha
thorough polygamist that he will file no objection. One
gobbler can fertilize all the eggs in his section, and then
gobble for more. Still, I can not resist the force of the
fable of the hen (or goose) that laid the golden egg, and
can not see why the turkey should not have just as fair a
chance to perpetuate its species as other kinds of game.
I must confess, however, that I would listen to a strong
argument in favor of spring shooting at gobblers only
with a partial ear, and my great fondness for pitting
skill against turkey wariness would prejudice me largely
in its favor; and, if not convinced, I fear I should be
like the regulation New Year’s reformers—defer reforma-
tion until next year. Were the framing of a law left to
me, there would be great danger of an exception or two
being introduced, as is reported of a law against fire-
hunting for deer in an early day in Arkansas, It was
said that a representative introduced a bill on this sub-
ject, when the most influential member, an inveterate
fire-hunter, made a vigorous speech in its favor, and con-
cluded by saying that he would vote for the hill, provided
he could get an amendment excepting any night when
it was ‘‘very still, very dark, and a leetle misting of
rain.” The temptation to fire-hunt on such a night was too
strong; and so the temptation to go for a gobbler would
be very great any still, clear morning in the early spring,
especially if a light shower had fallen during the night.

T have hunted nearly all kinds of game in the United
States and Mexico, from the buffalo down to blackbirds,
WILD TURKEY SHOOTING. 349

and I know of nothing that taxes the skill and patience
of the hunter more than the wild turkey. It is wild, and
no mistake. It is also wily. It has the keenest eye and
quickest ear of anything I have hunted. The hunter
must know turkeys as a pilot knows the channel, if he
succeed well. He must have a keen eye, quick decision,
anc the patience of a statue. Besides, he must be able to
‘‘talk turkey’’ as well as understand it.

For turkey-shooting, both the shot-gun and rifle have
their advocates; and it must be confessed that both have
their advantages. I like both, and often when I have
one I wish I had the other. The ideal turkey-gun is a
three-barrel, weighing nine or ten pounds. I speak from
experience. The rifle ought to take the 38-55 cartridge,
and must be an accurate shooter. The shot barrels ought to
be ten-gauge, and be loaded with 43 drams of powder and
1} ounces of No. 6 shot in the left barrel, and five drams
of powder and 14 ounces 00 shot in the right. They mnst
be extra-good shooters, or the user of them will be tempted
to say ugly words quite often. At all distances under
forty yards, the small shot should be fired, at the necks
of turkeys, just under their heads, and the large shot, at
their bodies, all distances over forty and up to sixty
yards; at distances beyond these, use the rifle. When I
have used a three-barrel, I seldom fired the large shot at
turkeys at all, except when running, flying, or on the
roost when it was too dark to shoot at their necks. Ifa
turkey was not near enough for the small shot, I gen-
erally used the rifle. ‘The surest load ever sent after a
turkey when no farther than forty yards, is the No. 6's,
fired at the neck.

As to ‘callers,’ I hardly know what to write, since
every hunter who has been successful with any particular
kind thinks that the best tobe found anywhere. I havemy-
self used seven different kinds of callers, always returning
350 UPLAND SHOOTING.

to the use of a green leaf, especially when I had a sharp
gobbler to deal with. I never could make the thin rubber
sheets used by dentists answer my purpose so well as
the leaf. For a beginner, I believe there is no caller so
easily learned to use as one made as follows: Saw out
a section of a cow’s horn two inches long, the larger end
being about two inches in diameter, and plug with some
hard, well-seasoned wood the smaller end. It must bea
perfect-fitting plug, very tight, and about half an inch
thick. Trim out the open end of the horn for a quarter
of an inch, until the edges are nearly sharp; and then,
with glass or steel, scrape the horn on the outside until
it is about an eighth of an inch thick allround. Geta
four-penny nail with a very large head—the larger the
better—and drive it squarely into the center of the plug,
on the outside, taking care to leave a full inch of the
_ nail sticking out on the outside. By holding this in
the right hand, cupped over the hollow of the horn, and
scraping the nail on a very fine but rather soft whet-
stone—a razor hone is best—-a good call is produced,
by patient and intelligent practice. The whetstone
should be very small and thin. Practice will show any-
one how to use this kind of a caller. Always hold the
nail slightly off perpendicular to the stone, and scrape
toward you, drawing the edge of the nail-head against it.

«A favorite method of hunting turkeys in heavily tim-
bered sections, especially in the bottoms, is with a dog.
This has the double advantage of giving the hunter a
chance at them in the trees, if they do not fly into pines
or other thick-leaved or mossy trees, and also a good
chance at calling them, since they generally are well scat-
tered when flushed by a dog. Almost any kind of dog,
keen of nose and still of tongue when running a trail, can
be made good for turkeys, but [have found that pointers,
or mongrels having pointer blood, usually turn out best.
WILD TURKEY SHOOTING. 351

No dog that gives tongue while trailing can ever be first-
class for turkey-hunting, since turkeys are easily alarmed,
and will run like deer, taking care to cross all the
streams and sloughs possible, or go to the hills, when
chased, from which they can fly off to other hills, very
often before the dog gets near them. The best dog is
very swift on a hot track, always running still, and hence
usually dashes right into a flock before they know he is
coming, putting them into the first trees they can reach.
He ought to be noisy enough after he flushes them, as
this shows the hunter where they are, and also distracts
their attention. Then he must be well trained, and kept
always under good control, so that he can be whistled to
heel, or made to lie like a chunk when necessary. One
of thé best turkey-dogs J ever hunted with was a dropper,
good alike for quail, prairie chicken and turkey—yes,
even for squirrels and a crippled deer; but the very best
I ever knew, I owned and trained myself (of course). His
mother was called a Scotch terrier, and his sire was
unknown. After hunting with him three years, it did
seem that he knew everything necessary for a dog to
know about turkey-hunting, and surely was as devoted
to his master and as fond of hunting as any dog could
be. When my father wrote me of his death, at ten years
of age, it was impossible to hide my grief.

It is December, and the trees are naked and dead-like
on this chilly day. Their ashy-tinted branches had snow
on them last week, and they seem to be still shivering as
a gentle breeze sweeps through them. The dull, dead
leaves cover the earth everywhere, hiding acorn and
hackberry and elm-seed, good food for the turkey. A
friend of mine, Bob by name, is with me, and we have
come horseback, two miles from home, for the purpose of
laying in a supply of turkeys for Christmas, and have
hitched our horses in the edge of Caney Bottom, which
352 UPLAND SHOOTING.

at this place is about half a mile wide, and is a splendid
place for the game we hunt. I know that there is a flock
of about thirty turkeys ranging here. and with my famous
dog, Jeff, to find them, feel absolutely certain of getting
all we want to-day. Bob is a novice after turkeys, and
carries a heavy double-barrel shot-gun, which he knows
well how to use on other kinds of game. I carry a rifle,
the companion of years, the delight of my heart, the
winner of many atrophy from the forest.

“We will walk, Bob, because the Bottom is very
thick in many places, and we can do better every way.
We will hunt up this side of the creek for half a mile, and
if unsuccessful, then down the other until opposite here.”’
On entering the Bottom, Jeff is told to go, and he is off
like a well-trained pointer, and not unlike him, either, in
his ranging back and forth across our course. Every
now and then he looks to see which way we are going,
always keeping in sight. Here and there we see where
turkeys have been scratching, turning up the leaves as
they searched for their food. After having gone half a
mile, we come to the Jones field, and stop for a short rest.
Though we have seen plenty of fresh signs, Jeff caught
no scent, and I am sure the turkeys are on the other side
of the creek. While we sit and talk, we hear some noisy
mallards over in the field, where there is a grassy pond
that has afforded me much sport many a time, for itis a
famous place for ducks. Bob insists upon trying to get
a shot at those mallards, urging as a reason that we may
not find the turkeys; but he is restrained by the strong
assurance that we will find them, and besides, when after
turkeys, there should be no promiscuous shooting. since
turkeys easily take fright if a gun be fired near them,
and will get away as fast as possible, going into the hills,
if near enough, so that a dog can do but little with
them.
WILD TURKEY SHOOTING. 353

It is now 11 o’clock, and we.cross the creek on a drift,
taking a course angling toward the hills, down the Bot-
tom; and, before we have gone 300 yards, Jeff begins to
sniff the air significantly, and touch his cold, damp nose
to a twig or vine here and there, all the while wagging his
bushy tail energetically. Thereare very fresh scratchings,
and some tracks seen in the damp soil indicate the direc-
tion the turkeys have gone. ‘‘It isa cold trail, Bob, but
Jeff will find them, sure.’? The faithful, intelligent ani-
mal trots from side to side, keeping the general course of
the tracks. Every now and then he stops and takes a
good long smell in some moist place where a turkey has
walked. After we have gone perhaps 200 yards, it is
easy to see that Jeff is getting livelier, and is beginning
to settle so well on the scent that he hardly sways from
one course. Now he straightens out, stops wagging his
tail, and goes as straight as though he knows exactly
where the turkeys are, and, before we are aware of it, he
is out of sight, though we run after him as fast as we can.
All at once we run on him, for he lost the trail, and is
busy trying to get it again, which enabled us to overtake
him. Ina moment he is off again, and werush after him,
only to lose sight of him in a few seconds. Still we run
as fast as possible, while I keep one ear turned somewhat
to the course we travel. All at once I hear the well-
known and welcome ‘‘put, put, put,’? and we stop at
once. ‘‘Here, Bob, squat right here by me, and cock both
barrels of your gun. Keep still.’’ We hear the turkeys
flying in different directions, and lighting in the trees;
one is seen to stop in a tall pin-oak about sixty yards
from us; but I am watching intently under the bushes,
for I know what may happen. Long ago I learned the
trick turkeys often play on a dog, dodging around and
behind him, and running straight back on the track, with-

out taking wing at all. Some are almost sure to try it,
23
354 UPLAND SHOOTING.

where there isa flock. Sure enough, there they come, a
hen anda young gobbler, right at us. ‘‘ Take them, Bob,’’
I say, and he fires both barrels quickly. The hen, with
rapid wing, climbs the air, right out to the top of the
trees, and sails away untouched, while the gobbler, with
leg hanging down, goes swinging through the timber, to
fall, with a crash, in the bushes a short distance from
us, but out of sight. ‘‘That’s all right, Bob; we'll get
him after awhile.’ As Bob loads his gun, I slip to a
large tree near by, and laying my rifle up beside it, take a
shot at the turkey we saw light, and which had the
temerity to remain after Bob’s shooting. It wilts at the
keen rifle-crack, and falls like a chunk. ** Now, Bob, fol-
low my instructions already given. Go to where you
hear Jeff barking, for there are several turkeys there.
Don’t be uneasy about my part of the sport; you just
take care of yourself.’’ I pass along where my turkey
fell, and hang it ina bush. After going a short distance,
a young gobbler is seen sitting high up in a tall pin-oak,
about 100 feet from me. It would be a nice shot to
take him now, but there are too many intervening
limbs. My plan is soon formed. There is a large over-
cup oak about half-way between me and him, and nearly
inline. Behind this I slip, and then on noiselessly to it,
taking care to keep the turkey exactly behind it from
me. I peep out, to make the discovery that I amina
bad place to shoot, as there are so many twigs in the line
of sight. Both sides of the tree are tried, and then I
squat down, and see how the prospect is. I see the
turkey is growing restless, and so I step out from the tree,
in the hope of finding an open space through the limbs,
through which to shoot, but can’t find it, and in sheer
desperation, since I must shoot very quickly, I do my
best at him; but he goes away unhurt, while I have
the poor satisfaction of seeing a limb half an inch thick
WILD TURKEY SHOOTING. 855

fall to the ground, cut by my bullet. Some 150 yards
farther on, I see a small hen standing straight up, very
high, in a tall cotton-wood, and she doesn’t look bigger
thana crow, though she is not more than seventy-five yards
from me. Just in front, a little to my right, is an old
dead tree, and to this I quickly step, to find that there is
a clean, open way for my bullet. Squatting down, and
laying my rifle on a knot of the old tree, a fine bead is
drawn on that turkey’s breast, which is a hard thing to
do, as she stands clean against the open sky beyond.
Hunters know how trying it is to make a rifle-shot under
these conditions; but I makeit successfully. Taking my
game on my shoulder, I go to find Bob, who has not fired
since I left him, but has succeeded in scaring away a
number of turkeys. He answers my whistle, and I soon
reach him. ‘‘ Bob, you are not doing as you were told,
or you would have had several shots before this.’’ He
confessed he had not obeyed orders. ‘‘ Now Pll show
you.” Jeff is barking not far from us, and, on going in
that direction, we find he has a young gobbler. ‘‘ Walk
right after me, and when I say shoot, lose no time.”
The turkey is seventy-five or eighty yards away, sitting
with its left side toward us. We walk swiftly, almost
trotting sometimes, as though we were going to pass well
to the front, and gradually circle nearer and nearer,
until we are about to pass to the turkey’s right side, at
which time we are not more than thirty yards from him.
IT have kept an eye on him all the while, and now say
“shoot.”? In an instant, Bob throws up his gun, but I
walk on. It is a good kill, and Bob is happy. ‘‘ Oh, I
can do it now right along. I was afraid I might scare
them before; but I see now how it is done,”’ said my com-
panion, enthusiastically. Pretty soon, Jeff has found
another, and so I send Bob to try his skill by himself.
Sure enough, he gets his turkey. When turkeys have
356 UPLAND SHOOTING.

been flushed by a dog into the trees, and one-uses a shot-
gun, it is often impossible to slip near enough to shoot
them, and the best way is to walk right ahead as though
you were going to pass by them, always:circling gradu-
ally nearer, and avoid getting behind them. If one hesi- |
tate or waver, he is almost sure to scare his turkey when
employing this method. Asin courting, so in this, ‘‘ Faint
heart never won fair lady.’’ But the trustful, confident,
steady-going, quick-moving soul is very apt to win; still,
of course, he will sometimes fail, though less often than
when the slipping process is tried. When using a rifle,
I generally try to slip on turkeys in the trees, because
when they are approached openly they watch the
hunter closely, and when he stops to shoot they often fly
at once, giving him no chance to draw a bead; and then,
when I have a rifle, I can make much longer shots, and
take more time in selecting an open place through which
to send my bullet. I have never found this way of walk-
ing openly around them to succeed, except when they
had been flushed by a dog or by shooting at them. On
the roost, they do not sit so well. They seem to think
that the hunter has not seen them, and is going to pass
them, not noticing that he is gradually getting nearer to
them. Whenever he stops, though, they have their fears
fully aroused, and are off like a shot, as a rule.

Calling Jeff to heel, we go to where Bob shot the
young gobbler that flew away crippled, and taking the
course he flew, Jeff is sent out to find him, a task soon
performed, Five turkeys now swing by their necks to
trees; three fell to Bob’s gun. I am glad for him, and
give him my congratulations.

“Well, Bob, we could doubtless find other turkeys
scattered through the Bottom, if we would take time to
hunt them, but I believe we can do, better by calling
them.’’ So we go out near where Jeff flushed the flock,
”

WILD TURKEY SHOOTING. 357

everywhere looking for a suitable place for our purpose.
Finally we find a tolerably open space, sixty or seventy
yards across, in the very center of which there are some
old rotten logs. Rolling two together, so as to make a
V, we pile brush and sticks on them and about them,
making a very natural-looking blind, that will completely
hide us on all sides, at the same time allowing plenty of
openings to see and shoot through. We have left an
open space on the inside, from which we scrape away all
the leaves, so that if we have to move we will make no
noise. There is plenty of room within, and we sit down,
back to back, so as to command a good view in every ©
direction. Two hunters, understanding each other well,
can always do better than one, because by sitting as we
sit, those startling and confusing ‘‘ back surprises’’ are
effectually prevented. Jeff lies snugly by my side, but
shows himself to be wide-awake to every proceeding.
The leaves are all dead, and I have no caller except my
lips, which always serve me, as a dernier ressort. By
folding the lower lip under the upper, and sucking, while
holding my hands closely cupped over my mouth, pretty
good yelping can be done. When all is ready, afew low,
muffled yelps are given, rather long drawn out. It has
been half an hour since the last shot was fired. Quietness
reigns in the solemn forest. Not even a noisy crow is
heard, near or far. In a few minutes, I yelp again, and
immediately we hear a long, keen, loud /ee-owk on Bob's
side. I whisper: ‘‘ Get ready; that’s a fool of a young
gobbler, and he'll be on you before you know it.’ A yelp
or two by me, and we hearthe pattering of his feet in the
leaves as he comes rushing to destruction. Jeff gives a
convulsive shiver, for he has heard everything, and
knows what is going on as well as either of us. The
deadly gun booms, and the young fellow, deceived by a
motherly yelp, lies fluttering in death. Jeff springs out
358 UPLAND SHOOTING.

and on him in a jiffy, and fondles him, not tearing out a
feather, seeming to say: ‘‘I wish you would get up and
run, so I could have the fun of catching you. Itis too
bad to kill turkeys so dead as this.”’ Into our blind we
get, and in ten or fifteen minutes Iyelp again, about as
at first, when we immediately hear a young hen, 200
yards or more away to my left. Her call isa sort of
half-whistle and half-yelp, and that is how I know what
sheis. I yelp again, a little louder than before, to indi-
cate confidence and unconsciousness of danger. She
yelps repeatedly, drawing nearer fast. Pretty soon she
steps into the opening, as she passes from my left to my
front. The faithful gun comes to my face; a quick
whistle stops her; the bullet crashes through her, and,
with outspread wings, she lies quivering on the ground.
This one is gathered in, and we again seat ourselves in
the blind. We wait half an hour, but bring nothing in
sight, though we have heard yelps in two or three direc-
tions. We wait half an hour longer, and have heard four
or five turkeys, one that came quite near, but failed to
show itself to us. Bob suggests that we go, as we have
plenty, and he is growing hungry and tired. I plead for
only a few minutes longer; it was a wise thing to do this
time, for in less than five minutes an old hen walked
shyly into the opening in front of me, and I dropped her
dead before either Bob or Jeff knew what I was about.
“Now we will go, as I am even with you. Four to
four, we stand. Good shooting we have done; and we've
had a splendid day, haven’t we?’ ‘‘ The best I ever had,
and I'll hardly ever have another so good, I fear,’’ Bob
responds, as he heaves a big sigh. Leaving Bob with the
turkeys, I go and bring the horses, that soon carry us and
our game home, where, of course, we are warmly welcomed
and given a good dinner by my folks. Jeff assumes
guard over the turkeys as they hang by their necks to a
WILD TURKEY SHOOTING. 359

post, and will not let another dog, or even the negro
children, get near them. They are his game as well as
ours. Faithful dog! I recall even now that self-satis-
fied air of his, as he lay beneath the mass of legs and
wings, every now and then looking up to see if they were
all there, or just to feast his eyes on them and exult over
the achievements of the day.

In the piny woods, or where the trees are very mossy
and thick, or in the hills anywhere, but few opportuni-
ties are given the hunter to shoot turkeys in the trees
after they have been flushed by a dog, but always, in such
places, he has a good chance to callthem up. It is always
advisable to build a blind near where the turkeys flushed,
selecting every time an open place, if possible, so that
one can easily see a turkey as soon as it gets near. Too
much care can not be bestowed upon a blind, to make it
safe, and at the same time natural looking. As said
before, two men, sitting back to back, are far more suc-
cessful than one, in a blind, for there is no telling on
which side a turkey is going to come when called. Some
have thought that it is not best to use a dog in flushing
turkeys, when one wishes to scatter them before calling,
preferring to run them up or fire into the flock; but my
experience does not justify this, and so I always use a
dog, when one can be had.

When the warm, sunny days of spring arrive, and
shrub and tree and earth don their new light-green robes
—when the buds are bursting into leaf and flower, and
the woodland songsters tune their voices for their merry
concerts in the wildwoods—then the old gobblers burnish
up their armor, and put on their handsomest suits of
silky, plushy feather, and go forth for battle and for love.
I frankly confess that I love them best at this time. My
sentiments about protecting them at this time have been
expressed; yet, outwiting a really sharp old gobbler is far
360 UPLAND SHOOTING.

more interesting to me than killing half a dozen that know
nothing of the hunter’s wiles and arts. No gobbler ever
gets too sharp for a good hunter, and sooner or later falls
to his gun, if he persist in pursuit. I have never failed to
bag the wiliest, best-educated gobbler, when I have had
time to spend on him; and I am sure this is the general
experience of good turkey-hunters.

I have known men to use domestic gobblers, trained
for hunting, but I never tried them myself. From what
they say, it must be a very successful method. I can not
gobble very well, yet I have brought both gobblers and
hens to me repeatedly by gobbling in my poor way.

As to hiding when calling gobblers, men differ: but
my preference always is for a blind, hastily constructed
cf green bushes, if possible to obtain them. Generally,
some can be found standing to suit my purpose, and
these I cut so as to leave them about as high as my head
while sitting on the ground. Iaddto them as may be
necessary, taking care to protect myself on every side,
especially behind. The bushes can be stuck in the
ground, as though they grew there. On the inside, there
should be space enough toallow the hunter to turn about
if necessary, and so it is well tobrush away dead leaves.
I have tried getting behind trees and before them, behind
logs and lying down in brush-piles—in fact, almost every
way. but the one for which I here express preference
has given best results. The hunter ought to be weld hid,
and keep hid, when he is calling. He ought to get his
gun to his face as soon as a turkey is in sight, for the
slightest movement is almost sure to be seen after he
gets near. Ihave lost many a gobbler by not adhering
strictly to this rule. I remember, once, calling up an old
gobbler for a friend, and. when about thirty vards from
us, he tried to shoot; but the gobbler stepped behind a
tree, and did not show himself plainly until he had
WILD TURKEY SHOOTING. 361

moved about ten feet. This necessitated moving the gun
a little—something that ought to have been done while
he was moving and out of sight—which movement was at
once caught by the keen-eyed fowl, and he was off like
a flash. We were as well hid as it is possible to be, and
the morning was cloudy, so there was no glittering of
the sun on the barrels. The only thing he could see was
‘the movement of the gun. I made my friend fix himself
as before in the blind, and I went to where the turkey
was when he took fright ; and I could not see anything
except the barrel of his rifle.

Ordinarily, if gobblers have no hens with them, and
have not grown smart by experience with human decep-
tions, they are easily called up by an expert; and some-
times the hunter will be able to call hens and gobblers
up together, in which case the former will always be in
advance of the latter, so that, if he has his heart set ona
gobbler, he must either make a long shot, or let the hens
pass on by him. In such cases, be must be well hid,
and Keep very still.

A party of ladies and gentlemen were camping on
Little River, Texas, fishing and hunting. It was a jolly,
lively company of cultivated, refined persons, who had
met there for a week of wildwood enjoyment; and they
' got all there was to get, for they knew how. My wife
had gone out with them at first, and I joined them about
three days afterward. Soon after my arrival, the wel-
come information was imparted that there was a very
smart old gobbler in the neighborhood that could not be
fooled by any human device. Several of the party had
tried him, only to fail; and, though he gobbled every
morning, it was never until he had left his roost. A
meeting was held, and a solemn resolution was passed, to
the effect that that turkey wasa nuisance, and that I be
appointed to abate it forthwith, under penalty of ban-
362 UPLAND SHOOTING.

ishment from camp in case of failure—two days being
allowed in which to accomplish it.

Before sunrise next morning I was seated on a log,
half a mile from camp, anxiously waiting for Mr.
Gobbler to open the game at which he und I were to
play. It wasa lovely spring morning. The violets and
the daisies had, ere this. breathed out their sweet
lives: the ‘“‘red bids,” that erstwhile wreathed with
pinkish blossoms every branch of the dark, polished
iron-wood trees, had all fallen, faded and limp. to the
earth in showers of sweetness, and, in the dim morning
light, looked like rose-leaves on the floor of a deserted
banquet-hall. The heavy, humid air still retained a faint
odor of the dying wild-plum blossoms, while the snowy
dogwood flowers were busily breaking their buds into
bloom, bridal-wreathing the gladsome spring. A mag-
nificent trumpet-vine, right over me, clinging to a dead
tree, and enwrapping itself around and about it, emhow-
ering it in a shaft of living green, reaching skyward,
reminds me of Wirt's beautiful words about the vine and
the oak—the wife. and the broken, discouraged husband.
The time of its flowers, grand carnation trumpets. is not
vet. Delicate silvery-green leaves are struggling into
form and dimension on elm, and oak. and blackberry,
and alder, while, here and there, a greenbrier-vine
unfolds its broad young leaves. ruddy with vigor. and
lovely with blushing beauty. not unlike delicate-tinted
Venetian gloss. The woods teem with life, and a thou-
sand wildwood voices are heard, from the scarlet song-
ster right in front of me, sending forth every few
moment~ his praiseful -* tube, tube. tube,’’ as he sits on
topmost twig of a tallelm, whose gracefully rounded and
upreaching bowers make for him a throne, silverv-
sheeny in the first rays of the morning sun. to the blue-
backed, white-breasted cliorister—whose name I never
WILD TURKEY SHOOTING. 363

knew—hopping from twig to twig, always followed by
his less handsome mate, wooed continuously after him
by his clear, musical ‘‘chick-’twill-a-wee.” A. stick
cracks to my right, and the sharp sound shoots into me
like an arrow, causing me to start suddenly. What a
sight greets my vision! There are three deer leisurely
walking past me, and I instinctively grasp my rifle, and
begin to raise it. No, no; they are does heavy with
young, so l remain perfectly still, as they, in absolute
fearlessness, ramble slowly by, stopping to examine some
suspicious-looking stump, or to listen to some unusual
sound, or to nibble the dainty buds of some vine or bush.
So they wander on, passing within twenty yards of me,
never looking at me once; and the last I see of them is
the swish of one’s tail, as it signals its movement
onward. . Graceful, innocent creatures! How can we
hunters have the heart to kill you? But we have, some-
times.

Humph! my right leg has become benumbed, sitting
so long and so still in one position, and I rise up to work
it about, to start the circulation. I wonder if my gobbler
has not taken fright by my happening to pass near him
as I walked through the dark woods to this place; or, if
some other hunter has not disturbed him; or, if my friends
at camp have not played a trick on me, there being no
gobbler at all in these woods.

The sun is now well up, and is climbing higher and
higher, driving away all duskiness, spangling the polished
leaves of greenbrier and haw with a thousand miniature
suns, and making the grass at my feet fairly dazzling
with diamonds of dew.

‘“ Ah, there he is!’ Itis spoken quickly and audibly.
My heart beats harder and quicker. The object of my
search is in 200 yards of me. Standing like a statue,
I listen with that intensity peculiar to the hunter
364 UPLAND SHOOTING.

and the startled deer. Again the interesting sound is
borne to my ears; but I wait. He gobbles again and
again. He has not moved since he first gobbled; certainly
not far. ‘‘Tll try him, right here.’? If he were mov-
ing, I would try to work in ahead of him; but he isn’t.
There is a big tree-top, several years fallen, that offers a
very good hiding-place, and, after placing a few chunks
and a green bush or two in necessary places, I step into
this hastily constructed blind, plucking a young haw-
leaf from a convenient bush. This is adjusted to my lip,
and I wait for him to gobble. The instant he does, I
give two or three yelps, short and smothered, just loud
enough to be heard by him. dHe vigorously gobbles
twice in quick succession, so I know he has heard me.
His strutting is more frequent and louder than before.
Again and again he gobbles, but gets no nearer. I wish
he gobbled less. His frequent gobbling is not a good
indication, for it tells me that he is not going to be in a
hurry about drawing nearer, and that he is going to do
his best to woo the yelper to him. He hasn’t drawn an
inch nearer. In about ten minutes, I yelp again, about
as at first. Again he gobbles and struts, but does not
move. I know exactly how far he is, and that he can’t
see me if I move, and so I get out of my blind, after
about ten minutes, and walk quickly, but noiselessly,
about 100 yards to the left, getting no farther from the
turkey, and get into a hiding-place of bushes. As soon
as he gobbles, I yelp again, and he answers quickly. The
yelping has been faultless, and I know he is not alarmed
at any bad note. My object in moving was to make him
think that the hen was feeding along, and not going to
him. To stay in one place all the time is not hen-like,
and any sharp gobbler knows it. Ordinarily, it is best to
stay in one place, but when dealing with an ‘‘educated”’
gobbler, it is often best to move occasionally, especially
WILD TURKEY SHOOTING. 365

early inthe morning. He gobbles and struts right along,
but gets no nearer. Soon everything is quiet, and I
know he is moving, but which way I cannot tell, and so
keep my eyes busy, and my gun in a convenient position.
The swish of a squirrel’s tail, seventy yards from me,
causes me to start my gun to my face; but the mistake is
detected instantly. I hear him strut, and know he is
nearer, but can’t locate him. I give an easy yelp, and
he instantly gobbles, squarely off to my left, not over
100 yards away. Quietly turning to face him, I watch,
in the hope that he may circle near enough for a
shot; but he doesn’t, and the next I hear of him is when
he gobbles, about the same distance away, and exactly to
my left. If I had not turned, he would now be behind
me. Keeping my front to him, a close watch is kept up,
and developments are awaited. Here he stops, gobbles,
and struts for tifteen minutes, while I yelp just a very
little. Now he strikes off down the Bottom, going to my
left still, but going straight; every few minutes he gobbles,
so that I can course him exactly. Believing that he will
swing round farther to my left, and keep an ear inmy
direction, I cast off to his left, leaving him on my right,
and travel fast until I am a little ahead of him. He
gobbles a good deal, which convinces me that he is still
hopeful of results from the yelping he has heard. All at
once, I come to an open glade, about 100 yards long
and sixty wide, in the edge of which there is a small, thick
cluster of bushes, exactly suited to my purpose, and in
the very center of this I squat flat down on the ground.
‘“*T can make him show himself here, sure,’’ is the con-
fident thought in my mind. JHe is not more than
200 yards away, when a few low yelps are given
with a green-brier leaf, to which he makes no response
except to strut. In about five minutes, he gobbles low,
to which I respond at once, and he gobbles again. Two
366 UPLAND SHOOTING,

or three minutes elapse, when he gobbles—a sort of
chuckle—much nearer than before. A couple of very
low, short yelps are given, and I drop the leaf from my
fingers, cock my rifle, raise it to my face, resting both
elbows on my knees, for I am confident he is going to
pass in sight somewhere along the glade, my expectation
being that he will show up opposite me, on the other side.
Not a strut or a gobble is heard, and I know he is moving
slowly and carefully. The silence heightens the intensity
of my feelings; my nerves are strung to tightest tension;
nothing could escape my eyenow. In about two minutes
—ten, it seems—lI catch a glimpse of his white head across
the glade in the bushes; it is held perfectly still for a
moment, and, as it moves, there comes gliding from the
bushes, easily as oil, noiselessly as a spirit, shyly as
modesty undressed—the very embodiment of suspicion
and wariness—-the glossy form of this wily knight of the
forest. Before he reaches the glade, he stops and stands
erect, his neck stretched high, his head turned to one side
in listening attitude, his feathers pressed close like mail
of steel; and, as he stands, he looks as though he could
dissolve from view in the twinkling of an eye. I
know that he has come just to take a peep out into
the glade, and that no time is to be lost. There is a
quick but steady glance along the barrel, and the silver
bead freezes in the notch of the rear sight, and settles,
with the steadiness and fixedness of a ton weight, right
on the center line of his body, just above the point of the
breast-bone, when instantly the hair-trigger is touched,
followed by the murderous crash of the report, and a
quick vision of flying feathers, right and left, outspread
wings, and head thrown convulsively back. Springing
instantly up, I go to him at once, stepping the distance,
which is exactly sixty-nine steps. He seemed to have
been paralyzed by the shot, so, when [reached him, Isaw
  

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368 UPLAND SHOOTING.

only a slight tremor of his wings and one dying gasp.
In all my experience, but a very few times have I ever
seen a turkey killed so very dead. Without touching
him, I stood close by and looked at this splendid fowl.
He lay upon his breast, slightly turned to one side; his
legs stretched straight behind him, as he fell forward;
his wings were about half-spread, the white spots glister-
ing in the bright light; his tail, so perfect of feather and
rich, of dark, rich russet, was partly spread, and lay gently
touching the ground; his neck, with a very life-like curve,
lay prone upon the earth, while his head lay on one side,
showing an eye half-closed, and his mouth partly open,
with a few drops of blood about his tongue.

Gathering him up carefully, I went to camp as fast as
possible, exulting over my skill, and eagerly anticipating
the warm congratulations awaiting me, in which I was
not disappointed. A bright little woman, with blue eyes
and auburn hair, triumphantly said: ‘‘I knew my hus-
band would: bring him.’”? He weighed twenty-four
pounds, and was a most splendid fowl every way. The
next day we had him for dinner, cooked to perfection, and
a vote of thanks was tendered me.

A favorite way of hunting turkeys, with many sports-
men, is to roost them, and shoot as many as they can
before it becomes too dark, and then call them the next
morning. A good hunter will hardly ever fail to get
several shots in the morning, after they have been scat-
tered the evening before. Many points could here be
given on roosting turkeys, but the limits of this article
forbid; and so I give an experience.

In the month of February, several years ago, two
friends and myself camp on Cedar Creek, Burleson
County, Texas, for the purpose of turkey-hunting; and,
as we wish to roost them, each goes in a different direc-
tion—‘‘every fellow for himself.” After half an hour
WILD TURKEY SHOOTING. 369

spent in the creek bottom, I have made the discovery
that the turkeys are not feeding there, and so I go to
the hills, where, by numerous fresh scratchings, as well
as tracks in the soft earth, it becomes evident that they
are ranging. The fact is plain to me that, while they
range in the hills during the day, they go to the bottom
to roost at night, as the tracks next to the bottom are all
seen to have been made going and coming, and itis their
custom to roost in the bottoms at this season. After
looking around among the hills for an hour, a descent is
made into the bottom, where, from observations carefully
made, it seems most likely turkeys may roost. This
is a place where the creek comes squarely against the
hills, forming a horseshoe bend, in which there is a
shallow pond, of perhaps five acres, full of tall trees,
many of them being pecans. Turkeys are fond of roost-
ing over water, when they can find good trees.

Finding a large tree-top, broken off during the sum-
mer, and now retaining its dead leaves, I slip into it, and
happily find it to be a splendid blind, well located, as it

‘is, between the pond and the creek, at a point where the
distance between them is about sixty yards. Across the
creek, the hills rise abruptly, furnishing a good place for
the turkeys to take wing when they go to roost. Having
found some smart-weed leaves growing in a protected,
sunny spot on the edge of the pond—though spring has
not yet begun to show any indications of being near—
a few are gathered for callers. The sun is about half
an hour high, when I hide in my blind, and make my-
self comfortable. Asa general thing, turkeys are very
easily drawn to a good roosting-place by yelping, espe-
cially if the hunter begin before they have decided to go
to any particular place. A few long, whining yelps are
given, as nearly like the notes of an old hen as possible.

No response; it was hardly expected, my purpose being
24
370 UPLAND SHOOTING.

to notify turkeys in hearing that this place was going to
be occupied to-night by some of their friends. In about
ten minutes, a few more yelps are given, and at once a
hen out in the hills responds with a few lively yelps,
which say: ‘‘Never mind; we will soon be there, too.”’
I yelp a few times more, in a low, careless sort of way,
and then drop my leaf, as I feel sure it will not have to
be used again. Pretty soon, turkeys are heard scratch-
ing in the leaves on the hill-side, and occasionally yelp-
ing in a low, muffled tone. The hunter is now confident
of his game, and, patiently and contentedly, waits. A
gray squirrel playfully interviews him, and then goes
away. A couple of wood-ducks swim along the edge of
the pond, within thirty feet of their dangerous foe,
unconcerned, and busily engaged in their evening meal.
The fiery eyes and silky green crest of the male well
become him—this gallant knight of the woody ponds
and creeks. A buzzard sails lazily, easily past, and
lightly drops on the jagged limb of a dead tree standing
out in the pond, and is soon joined by several others.
‘*A good omen,’’ Isay. I am not superstitious, but I
have often observed that turkeys frequently roost near
buzzards. It is very still, so still that a wagon on the
road, half a mile below, seems to be within a quarter,
and the whir of a sparrow’s wings can be heard seventy
yards or more. The last gleam of the sun on the ashy
limbs of the forest-trees has faded away; dusk comes on
apace; the air grows chilly; the chirping of the birds
ceases; and the last gray squirrel has slipped into his
hole for the night, bidding me adieu with a few graceful
swishes of his beautiful tail. Iam alone, and lonesome.
There isn’t a sound to be heard, except the rippling of
water going over a log in the creek and the far-off low-
ing of some cattle coming into the bottom to spend the
night. Suddenly is heard the welcome whiff! whiff!
WILD TURKEY SHOOTING. 571

whiff! of a turkey’s wings, as it rises on the hill-side,
and comes past me into a tree not forty yards away, on
the edge of the pond. It is a hen turkey, and wears a
beard. She turns her head about, and carefully looks in
every direction, to see if anything dangerous can be dis-
covered. Here comes another; but this one goes on, and
lights near the buzzards. Soon a dozen or more have
gone to roost, but not an old gobbler has yet been
heard. The hunter waits; for, while two fine hens anda
young gobbler are in easy reach of his shot-gun, the time
has not yet come for work, it not being dark enough;
and then he wants to see if some old gobblers are not
coming, too. They nearly always are later than the hens
about going to roost—very like the male of the ‘‘ genus
homo” in these degenerate days. Ah, there's a gob-
bler! His heavy flight can not be mistaken; he can not
be seen, but he is marked, nevertheless, and is not
100 yards up the creek. Sakes alive! Here comes
one right at me, passing so near that I instinctively
duck my head, though he passed thirty feet over me.
In a big pecan-tree, twenty steps away, he stops—on the
very scaffold of death. He is mine. Two others are
heard above, in the creek, and then all is quiet again.
From his secure hiding-place, the hunter contentedly
watches his game, and plans the assault, while he waits
for the darkness to deepen. There they stand, their
feathers hanging loosely, indicating that they are not
alarmed one bit; but they peer about, dropping their
heads below the line of their bodies, until at last, one by
one, they ease themselves down upon their perches, their
tails hanging almost straight down; and then they look
to be satisfied that all is well for one more night. Alas
for them! how often security is only fancied! Itis now
dark enough—so dark that a man can not be distin-
guished from a tree thirty yards; but above it is light
372 UPLAND SHOOTING.

enough to easily see a turkey’s head against the sky.
The trusty double-barrel, loaded with 6’s in the left and
00's in the right, is cocked, and the hunter slowly risesto
his feet, to bring death and confusion into that flock of
turkeys. On rising, a very little noise is made, and the
old gobbler that flew so near me when going to roost
stretches his long neck, and looks about suspiciously.
The gun comes to the face, and, as the head is seen just
above the barrel, the trigger is pulled, and a load of 6's
crashes through his head and neck, making him tumble
out limp and lifeless. Before he strikes the ground, and
while a hen near by is rushing on the wings of fear from
out a tree to my left, the faithful old gun glides in just
ahead, and, as its bang breaks upon the confusion, she
folds her wings, and strikes the water with a mighty
splash. Turkeys, alarmed at the firing, are now flying
in almost every direction, and by the time I have loaded
my gun not one isin sight. It is growing darker fast.
Gliding along near the edge of the pond, I carefully look
in every tree, to see if some one of the many has not had
temerity enough to remain on its roost, and, after going
about 100 yards, make the glad discovery that two in one
treeremain; but they are out in the pond so far that I must
wade in—something willingly done, though the water is
cold and rubbers are absent. Against the sky, their
long necks can be seen moving suspiciously, and the
decision is made that it will not be best to try to get
close, and I fire away at one with 00’s, only to badly
cripple it, and lose it in the darkness, though I found it
the next morning, and carried it home, it having fallen
about 100 yards out in the bottom. Gathering up the
two previously killed, I go up the creek toward camp,
all the way closely watching in the trees against the
western sky, where linger yet the dying beams of day-
light. I know there are some gobblers somewhere near,
WILD TURKEY SHOOTING. 373

for I did not hear them fly at the firing. Before I have
gone 150 yards, a fine fellow is seen clearly outlined
against the western sky, and plenty near for a good kill;
and it is made with 6’s. The load is too heavy to carry,
and so, after drawing the turkeys, they are hung ina
tree, far out on a swinging limb, and high enough to be
secure from wild animals.

On arriving at camp, my companions report two
turkeys to one gun; nothing to the other. A good sup-
per, hunting-yarns, and some plans for the morrow, are
all properly attended to, and we sleep soundly. Early
next morning we are out, I taking with me my friend,
who came empty-handed to supper, for whom I call up,
of the flock scattered the evening before, two turkeys
which he bags and two which he misses. I bag two
myself. Our other friend brings in one. Eleven in all!
It does not always turn out so well. Is there anything
in luck ?

It is with reluctance that these lines are brought to a
close, for the writer is conscious that the half has not
been told; and, writing hastily, as he has been compelled
to do, under many pressing duties, he feels sure that he
has not properly accomplished his task, though he has
filled his allotted space.

_\Ww

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CONCERNING POINTERS AND SETTERS.

 

WRITTEN AND ILLUSTRATED By JNO. M. Tracy.

 

, Sportsman must beware of the influence of Euro-

.. pean taste and opinion which pervades sporting lit-
erature, and, while good for Europeans on their own
ground, is utterly misleading in America. In Europe,
game is so preserved and protected that birds are very
abundant; land-holdings are comparatively small, save
the estates of the nobility, covert is sparse, and tres-
pass on another’s ground is not to be thought of. It
follows that a slow, cautious dog is needed, one that can
be relied on to cover every inch of his master’s little pre-
serve, and nose out all the birds, without dashing off into
neighboring fields and getting into trouble with jeal-
ous game-keepers.

Here all is different. The farms are large, covert is
exceedingly dense, restrictions as to trespass on private
property are quite rare, and may generally be removed
by a polite word. Game, also, is less abundant, save in
exceptional localities.

We therefore need a fast dog, who can cover a great
deal of ground, high-spirited and dashing, with plenty
of intelligence to think and judge of the ground he works
over, and go to the likely places without losing time in
useless ‘‘ quartering.’ A tough, wiry, hardy fellow he
must be, able to endure heat, not afraid of briers, and
staunch to the last degree when birds are found. At the

same time, the greatest delicacy of nose is required to
(875)

af N choosing a dog for upland shooting, the American
376 UPLAND SHOOTING.

locate birds in thick weeds in our dry, scent-killing
atmosphere.

We have not here the immense hares that dogs in
Continental Europe are required to retrieve, nor the
chance of a wounded roebuck to pull down, or a wild
boar to bring to bay, so we need no such great weight
or power as is required in France and in Germany.

Our dog must be as small and light as is consistent
with speed and endurance. We need a portable dog to
take in the buggy or on the cars, on trips to distant
hunting-grounds. Such gad-abouts as we Americans
can not afford to be burdened with any surplus weight.

My personal experience leads me to differ most posi-
tively from many good sportsmen and able writers regard-
ing. the value of high breeding in dogs. ‘‘ Blood will
tell’? is my doctrine. Since 1852, when I first began
acquaintance with field dogs, I have seen many a scrub
and mongrel who would work fairly well—some few,
indeed, that could be classed as very ‘‘killing’’ dogs—
but never one that could compare, even for pot-hunting,
let alone style, with blue-blood pointers or Llewellyn
setters of the field-trial kind.

It has been my privilege, since the establishment of.
trials, not only to see a good deal of the running, but to
work many of the winners in private, as well as to own
and train highly-bred puppies for my own use; and I
must say that the worst of all these was far better than
the best mongrel I have ever seen. J regard the merito-
rious scrub as a highly improbable possibility, while the
good blue-blood is an every-day occurrence.

The great trouble with highly bred dogs is, that few
owners take the precaution to begin training by bringing
their dogs into complete and willing general obedience,
but put them on game too soon, and let them in an
uncontrolled state form a habit of yielding to excitement.
‘MSLNIOd SHL

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378 UPLAND SHOOTING.

It should be remembered that a dog hunts and points
by natural instinct, and only needs to be trained to
adjust his movements to those of his master.

With only such training as is needed to make any
kind of dog fit fora companion or guard, your pointer
or setter becomes a useful ally in the field.

I would rather pay a trainer $100 to teach my pup to
come quickly when called, stop instantly when ordered,
and walk quietly at heel, than to get him ‘‘ well broken’’
(as the thing is usually done) ‘‘free of charge, and a
chromo thrown in.’

HINTS ON AMATEUR TRAINING.

While not pretending to rival the instructions given by
Waters, Hammond, and other eminent trainers, I can
assure the sportsman that, if he has the gift to handle a
dog at all, he can, by following the ensuing few direc-
tions, bring a green puppy into sufficient training to be
useful in the field in a week’s time, with not very long
daily lessons. .

The same system, with a little more vigorous use of the
spike-collar, will do for bringing a recalcitrant old dog to
a sense of his duty.

Begin by teaching your dog to come, to go, and to stop at
command. Have a stout check-cord sixty or eighty feet
long, and tie both ends to his collar—a spike-collar with
blunt points, if the animal is so self-willed as to require
punishment. This will subdue without terrifying him
out of his senses, as a whip does.

Plant a smooth, round stake in the ground (a broom or
hoe handle will do), and pass the cord over it. Now take
a position as far from the stake as the cord will allow,
holding the latter loosely in your hand. The dog can
now come and go easily, the cord rtinning around the
stake as through a pulley; and you can pull him in either
POINTERS AND SETTERS. 379

direction, at will, when he does not obey commands. You
should have a good many small pieces of meat at hand, to
serve as rewards of merit. Now tell him, ‘‘ Come here,”’
and if he obeys, praise him and give him a taste of meat.
If he does not, pull him to you by the cord and soothe
him a little, to show that you mean him no harm. Then
say ‘‘hie on,’’ and wave him gently away with your
hand. He will probably not understand this, so by pull-
ing on the other side of the cord you draw him slowly:
out toward the stake, repeating the command a couple of
times as you do so. When he has gone far enough, you
call ‘‘to-ho,’’ and stop him by the cord. Holding both
strands taut, so that he can not move, go up to him and
pet him a little; then return to your place, and repeat the
performance. Give your commands in an ordinary tone
of voice, and do not repeat more than twice before
enforcing compliance by means of the cord. Be exact.
about this, as it insures promptness. Keep your temper,
be kind, but firm, and reward every symptom of volun-
tary obedience with a piece of meat. Let the lessons be
short, but as frequent as possible. Give each lesson on
different ground, and change your position with reference.
to the stake very frequently during the lesson.

When he has learned to obey the commands without.
any pull on the cord, take him away from the stake, but
leave the cord on him for awhile; then gradually dispense
with it, but have it handy, so that you can clap it on him
if needed.

Absolute perfection in stopping at the word ‘“ to-ho,”’
and remaining motionless until ordered on, is the key to.
field work, so you must give extra lessons on this.
Throw down a little piece of meat, and let him approach
within a few feet of it; say ‘‘to-ho,’’ and stop him with
the check-cord. Make him stand rigidly inplace. If he
moves, put him back in the same position, and repeat.
380 UPLAND SHOOTING.

‘““to-ho.’’? If he moves his head or foot, put it back
exactly as it was. He must not even wag his tail. <At
every sign of movement, check it with the hand, and
repeat ‘‘to-ho.”’ When he has been perfectly still for
a few seconds, say ‘“‘ hie on,’’ and let him take the meat.
As he becomes more perfect in the exercise, try him
without meat, rewarding his obedience with praise and
caresses. Finally, exercise him without the cord; he
will be perfect in a few days, but you should watch for
opportunities to make him ‘‘ to-ho”’ under circumstances
of great excitement, such as the presence of strange dogs
or of people he does not like.

Your dog being now thoroughly under control, it is
time to acquaint him with game. Take him out in the
field, put him through all his lessons, and allow him to
run awhile, untilhis first exuberance at the outing is over.
Then take him to a place where you are confident of find-
ing birds—quail preferably. Let him work at will on the
scent until he locates them for himself. He will probably
point them; if so, let him stand two or three minutes,
checking every symptom of restlessness by the word
“to-ho.”? When you have seen that he is really settled
on a steady point, walk up and flush the birds, keeping
your eye on him all the while, to check any disposition
to move with your advance or at the rise of the birds.
Should he move, put him right back in the same place,
and settle him again into a rigid position. This putting
back into place is of the very greatest importance. Above
all, don’t shoot, no matter how well he does, until you
have seen him steady on several points and flushes. If he
seems deficient in pointing instinct, or tries to work in too
near, and flushes birds, you must stop him with ‘‘to-ho”’
when you see by his actions that scent is very hot; and in
every case stop him for a couple of minutes at all acci-
dental flushes. He will soon point staunchly.
POINTERS AND SETTERS. 381 .

When he has found and pointed a few times, and
become steady at the rise, begin to shoot, using at first
wood-powder; but on no account must you shoot ata
bevy rise until several singles have been killed over him.
The excitement of such a powerful scent, and the roar of
so many wings, with the added crack of a gun, is too much
for the high-strung nerves of a thorough-bred; and you
are liable to make your puppy gun-shy, even though he
has been fully accustomed to the gun by presence at
target-shooting, etc.

Begin by shooting only at well-pointed singles. Keep
the dog still for a minute or so after firing; then make
him find and point the dead bird, but do not allow him to
retrieve. Pick it up carefully, and allow him to smell
but not to mouth it, and show him that you handle it
with care. When you see that he is steady on singles,
you may shoot at bevies. Do not shoot at any accidental
flushes until he is thoroughly trained and steady in his
work. When punishment is necessary, do not call the
dog in to receive it, but making him ‘‘to-ho”’ at some dis-
tance from you, walk up and take him by the collar. If
you proceed otherwise, he will learn to run away to avoid
punishment. To control his motions in the field, call his
attention, and wave your hand in the direction you wish
him to go, and start that way yourself; but it is best to
let him work the ground in his own way as much as pos-
sible, so as to exercise his judgment about likely places.
In using the whistle, it is best to adopt a system of calls;
say a single short blast for calling attention, and two
‘longer repeated blasts for him to come in. You can begin
the whistle instruction at the end of the check-cord and
stake course mentioned above.

If your dog is gun-shy, get rid of him, unless you see
that he has remarkable qualities otherwise. In that case,
take him out hunting frequently, and have him find and
382 UPLAND SHOOTING.

point birds, taking especial care to make him steady at
the rise; but do not shoot until his passion for the sport
has become very strong; then you can begin on singles,
using wood-powder. Your only chance of failure is in
commencing to shoot too soon. If you have a perfectly
staunch dog to take with him, so much the better.

Yard lessons in retrieving may begin as soon as ‘‘ to-ho”’
has been mastered. Use any soft object, such as a roll
of cloth or a leather glove. Show this to him; say
‘*fetch,’’ and put it gently in his mouth; make him hold
it an instant, and then take it away, saying ‘‘give.”’ You
can gradually take a step or two away as he holds it, and
draw him to you with the check cord, repeating all the
time, ‘‘fetch.”? He will soon takeit from your hand, hold
it, and bring it to you, at command. Then you have to lay
it on the ground and make him pick it up. He may be
induced to do this by blowing or spitting on it, and wav-
ing it to excite his interest, before you throw it down;
or you may have to take his nose in your hands, bring it
down to the object, open and close his mouth upon it,
using force, but quietly andgently. All severity is worse
than wasted. Patience, firmness, and gentleness will
insure success 77 every case. I have tried severe force
systems without success, but on the above plan have
never failed. Remember that lessons must be short; so
do not try to do too much at once. From the first,
accustom the dog to remain quiet while the object is
being put or thrown down for him, and to go out for it
only at the word ‘‘ fetch.”

When you begin to let your dog retrieve birds, he must
be sent for such only as are cleanly killed. Cripples
may be tried when he has had more experience. When
he has become very fond of retrieving, he will probably
begin to pinch the birds. To cure this, take him by the
lower jaw and ram the mangled bird down his throat until
POINTERS AND SETTERS. 383

it nearly chokes him, twisting and turning it about, hurt-
ing his mouth, filling it full of feathers, and making the
whole performance very disagreeable to him. Throw the
bird down before him, and do not allow him to go near
it. You must make him understand that the bird is
spoiled. A few repetitions of this will cure the fault.
Never allow him to go for a dead bird until ordered, and
on no account take him out with an unsteady dog.

By all means teach him to walk at heel. Any pains
you may take to attain this object will be amply repaid
in the increased comfort you will have in his company.
Carry a little switch or cane. Call the dog in and put
him behind you, repeating the word ‘“‘heel.’? Walk on
slowly, and if he does not follow, call him, and if he
attempts to pass you, motion him back with the switch,
or tap him lightly with it, if necessary. Exercise him in
this every time you take him out for a run. If I could
make and enforce a dog law, its first provision would be
that no person should be allowed to keep a dog that was
not perfectly obedient to the commands ‘‘come here,”’
**to-ho,”? and ‘‘heel.’”’” With one ill-trained in these
respects, the best-intentioned master is not able to
prevent his dog from injuring persons or stock, if so
inclined.

To teach him to lie down at command, first say ‘‘to-ho,”’
then go up to him, and repeating the command ‘‘down
charge’ in a quiet tone of voice, take him by the collar,
put one hand on his withers, and push him downward
and backward until you force him to the ground. Be
sure to push backward as well as downward, otherwise
you might injure him. Make him lie still, with fore legs
extended to the front and hind legs well drawn under.
Do not allow him to turn on his side. A moderate use of
the whip is useful in this lesson, if the dog is stubborn.
For this one purpose it is better than the spike-collar.
384 UPLAND SHOOTING.

THE POINTER. -

My favorite dog for upland shooting is the pointer; yet
I can not claim for him any superiority over the setter,
save that his coat does not gather burrs. Other claims
that are urged seem to me without foundation; and my
preference is founded solely on the pleasure I take in
watching the play of the muscles unhidden by long hair.

The breed is very ancient. As far back as we can trace
it, through descriptions by writers and by old pictures,
we find that it has not changed in the least in form, size,
color, or habits. In certain localities where special work
was required, varieties have been developed by outcross-
ing to other breeds and by selection; but as regards the
breed in general, there has been no change. As to its
origin, nothing is known. Italy, Spain, France, and
England have in succession excelled in its production, as.
each has for the time led the taste of the world in sport.

Regarding the notion of a hound origin, that theory
was framed when natural science was less advanced than
now, and nothing has been proved tosupport it. For all
we know, it is quite as likely that the hound is derived
from the pointer.

But we do know, to our sorrow, that there have been
hound crosses which have greatly injured the pointer in
speed, staunchness, and obedience. Generations of care-
ful breeding and inbreeding have been required to bring
him back to his old-time quality, which we are now
beginning to reach in the best strains.

Under careful breeding for field use, the pointer,
wherever found, tends to assume a certain type, which I
will now describe:

The pointer should weigh from fifty to sixty pounds,
though good ones are often of greater or less weight.
(I must here correct an almost universal error regarding
the Spanish pointer’s weight, which was not anywhere
as

Nida

JB,

oes

Fig. 1.-THE SPEED LINES.

 

  

(385)

25
386 UPLAND SILOOTING.

near so great as is usually supposed; not above that of
the heavy-weight dogs now common in our shows.) In
color he may be white, with liver, lemon, orange, or black
spots; or he may be solid white, black, or liver. Liver
and white and lemon and white are now the favorite colors.
His general appearance gives the impression of a bold,
frank, dashing dog, carrying his head high, and having
his shoulders quite above the level of his quarters, thus
giving a decided slope to the line of his back.

He should be bony and rugged in form. Smoothly
pretty dogs are sometimes good, but should be distrusted.

In detail, the description is as follows, with scale of
points adapted from Stonehenge, but with valuations
further subdivided for the more easy use of amateurs:

The general aspect of the head must be lean and bony.
The skull (ten points) should be of good size, wider
between the ears than that of the setter, with forehead
rising well at the brows. There must be a well-developed
occipital protuberance (P. 385, Fig. 1), and the upper sur-
face must be in two slightly rounded flats, with a furrow
between. The nose (ten points) should be long (about 44
inches) and broad, with widely open nostrils. The end
must be moist and cool to the touch. Its color should be
black or dark brown, but in lemon and white dogs may
be of a deep flesh-color. It should be cut off square,
and not pointed; teeth meeting evenly. An upper jaw
projecting far over the lower is called ‘‘snipey’’ (Fig.3),
and is a grave defect, which superficial judges confound
with lack of lip, which is a trifling defect. Ears
(1% points) soft in coat, moderately long, and thin
in leather, set on low, and flat to the cheeks, without
any tendency to prick. Eyes (14 points) soft, and of
medium size, brown in color, varying in shade according
to that of the coat. Lips (one point) sufficiently devel-
oped to give a square appearance to the muzzle, but not
POINTERS AND SETTERS. 387

pendulous, like those of the hound. The neck (six
points) should be arched toward the head, long and
round, without dewlap or ‘‘ throatiness’’ (Fig. 2). The
shoulders (seven points) should slope backward, like
those of a race-horse, and be strongly muscled and very

 

Fig. 2.—'"THROATY." Fig 3.—''SNIPEY.”

loosely set on, so as to have perfect freedom of action.
The chest (eight points) must be deep and narrow, with
breast-bone sloping rapidly upward in front. Behind
the shoulders the ribs should gradually spring to
greater width with extreme fullness well back where
it will not interfere with shoulder action (Fig. 4, A B).
The back ribs should also be deep to give room for
well-developed internal organs. The back (seven points)
should present the general outline of a low arch, sprung

 

Fig.4.—~TOP VIEW,

from a point as close behind the shoulders as possible.
and extending to the root of the tail, the curvature being
somewhat lessened toward the hips, whence it droops
slightly to the quarters. The loin should be full of
muscle, running well up on the back ribs, but must
388 TPLAND SHOOTING.

not be so heavy as to lose its suppleness. The hips
should be wide and bony, with pronounced angles.

The quarters (five points) should be powerfully
muscled, but their best quality is indicated by width
rather than thickness of the ham. Thick, showy hams
indicate great development of certain muscles little used
in the work of running, while the wide ham indicates
the development of those most needed. The after-part
of the ham should seem to reach low down on the ‘‘ second
thigh’ (Fig.5, A). The stifles (three points) should be
let down low by great length of femur (thigh-bone); must
be well bent, and carried widely
apart, so as to allow the legs to be
reached well forward in the gal-
lop, giving a long stride. The
bend of stifle comes from the
length of femur and the dog’s habit
of hunting with head up, to feel
for the body scent; whereas a fast
hound must also have a long
femur, without which his action
would be weak, but from his habit
of carrymg his head low he stands
high behind and has a straight
stifle. Legs (four points) must be
straight; should have good strength
of bone in both shanks and joints,
and the ‘second thigh”’ should
> be well muscled (Fig. 5, A). The
elbows (three points) must be let

Riga REAR: MIE Ws down as far as possible, and should
be turned neither out nor in—the former being the
lesser fault. They should be very loose and free in their
action, not closely bound to theside. The hocks (three
points) should be strong, bony, and very firm against flex-

 
POINTERS AND SETTERS. 389

ion to the rear. They should be slightly turned in, or
‘“cow-hocked,’’ a formation necessarily accompanying
the out-turned stifle (Fig. 5, B). The pasterns (two points)
should be short, nearly but not quite upright, and suffi-
ciently strong in bone. The feet (eight points) should
have strong, well-arched toes, set close together, with
hard, horny pads beneath. Strength and arch of toe and
hardness of pads are for work; closeness of toes, for
beauty rather than for use.

The tail (five points) must be strong in bone at the
root, but diminish as it leaves the body, and gradually
taper to a point. It should be carried a little above the
line of the back, without any tendency to curl at the tip.
Symmetry and quality (seven points) involve what is
usually expressed by the word style, as well as a gener-
ally high and well-balanced endowment of the essential
features of the breed. As an indication of good breed-
ing, this is & very important count in selecting a
pointer.

The coat (three points) should be soft to the eye, but
hard and dense to the touch. The color (five points)
admits of great variety, as above stated, but should be
bright and clear, with distinct markings. (Total—100
points. )

The ‘‘speed lines,’ so called, are identical in both
pointers and setters. While their possession is the proof
of great merit, one should not accept an animal for
breeding purposes that does not also possess in a high
degree the distinctive characteristics of the breed. Beware
of hound-like or greyhound-like pointers, or of setters
with spaniel or collie appearances about them. In regard
to strength of limbs, that depends not on bulk of bone so
much as on good articulation. Short and square joints
are weak, no matter how much bone. Good joints
should reach far up and down the limb, while their
390 UPLAND SHOOTING.

points of junction with the shank on one side of the joint
should be much higher or lower than on the other, but
never squarely opposite (as A B and C JD, Fig. 6).
On one side of the limb, a good joint will seem to reach
far up, and on the other side far down it.

Pay great attention to this, as it has much to do with
soundness and endurance. The speed lines require (Fig.
1) AB long and sloping (can be tested by touch better
than by sight), B C, D E, E
F, and F G as long as possi-
ble. A good arch of back,
IH, with point H as far for-
ward as possible. Great
depth from L to K. GM
and N O quite short. Line
of breast-bone from K to J
sloping rapidly upward (Fig.
1). This analysis of the lines
applies to all the setters as
wellas pointers. The pointer
has been used for illustra-
tions of these points, because
his hair does not obscure the
form.

Cy I will also explain that
Figs GF RONT. VIEWS for my illustrations I have
preferred to take from my portfolio exact drawings of
dogs of known merit, without idealizing any features to
give what I conceive to be ultimate perfection in any
part. Ithink it better to familiarize the eye with such
degrees of merit as are often to be met, rather than with
ideals that might never be realized.

In considering the action of pointers and setters, we
must keep in view the fact that the animals are required
to run for a long time at great speed, therefore their

   
POINTERS AND SETTERS. 391

form must be such as to promote the best staying gait,
which is quite different from that which would give the
most rapid spurt.

The action in a staying gallop consists mainly in pro-
pulsion from the shoulder. A fore foot moved by mus-
cles connected with the shoulder, throws the animal clear
of the ground when he makes his spring. As he flies
through the air, he reaches forward with his hind feet,
and, touching the ground first with one and then the
other, carries the body forward until one fore foot has
touched the ground, when the hind feet are successively
drawn up, and the other fore foot is brought down in
position to repeat the spring. I find the popular opin-
ion is that the dog springs off with his hind feet, and
alights on his fore feet, but this is only true when he is
jumping over obstacles, or when pushed to the utmost
speed. In the latter case, when he can run no faster on
his shoulder action, he begins also to spring off with one
hind foot, and alight on one fore foot, but this spring is
never as long as the fore foot spring, which is still kept
up. This run consists of alternate springs from fore and
hind feet, and represents the extreme of possible speed.
No animal can long endure the shock at shoulders and
pasterns of alighting on the fore feet after a spring from
behind, so this gait is useful only for a spurt; but an
animal who is light both in build and actual weight, can
endure it longer than a heavier one. The greyhound is
especially adapted to this form of running.

Pointers and setters should be chosen with especial
reference to their shoulders, rather than to their hind
quarters.

THE ENGLISIL SETTER.

I have just observed that Webster’s Dictionary
describes the setter as ‘‘a hunting dog of the hound
kind.’? Other authorities describe him as a kind of
   

392 UPLAND SHOOTING.

spaniel.* But I discover, on study of old books and old
pictures, that these breeds have been separate and distinct
in the most ancient times of which we have any record.

Science may indeed hold that ages ago they had a
common origin, and to a naturalist their resemblances
are of interest; but their value to the sportsman depends
upon their differences of form and habit, and he is prin-
cipally interested in knowing that they have been so
long and so entirely distinct that any result of inter-
crossing can be easily bred out again. In the year 1700,

  

2 Vee
— —————

Fig. 7.—ENGLISH SETTERS.—BY FRANCOIS DESPORTES.

the fashionable type of English setter was what is shown
in the illustration, from a painting by Francois Desportes
(Fig. 7). It will be observed. that it was then the practice
to clip the feather of the tail. The other drawing shows
the field-trial type of to-day. Barring the fact that many
Laverack and Llewellyn setters have too much occipital
protuberance, the legacy, perhaps, of a Gordon or Irish

 

*T find it stated in various encyclopedias that the setter results from a
cross between the spaniel and the pointer. I think this is completely dis-
proved by the fact that in crosses between the setter and the spaniel the
setter blood is most prepotent, and stamps itself most strongly on the prog-
eny, which would not be the case if the spaniel were the purer breed.
POINTERS AND SETTERS. 393

cross, they give us the true race type of the English
setter as he existed in Europe for several centuries. In
stating that for a number of years this breed has eclipsed
all others in the field, I wish to record my belief that it
results from the fact that the appearance of the coat has
protected the breed from the hound, greyhound, and
bull-dog crosses that have so injured the pointer.

Such crosses injure the appearance of the setter’s coat
so much that their results are weeded out.

Spaniel, collie, and poodle crosses hurt the coat less,
and are, to some degree, allowed to remain, but they do
infinitely less damage to the working instincts of a bird
dog than the smooth-haired crosses that have been
allowed to pollute the best pointer blood, and which
have only been bred out again in a few strains.

The weight of the English setter should approximate
that of the pointer, but will average a little less.

Like the pointer, the setter should stand high at the
shoulder and low at the rump, and there is mmeh that is
identical in the proportions of working parts. But there
are essential differences marking the race type, and these
are important as indices of merit, although we should be
at a loss to explain their connection with the dog’s work.

The scale of points is the same as for the pointer,
except in regard to coat, and to symmetry and quality,
which are rated at five points each.

The skull should be lighter and narrower between the
ears than the pointer’s, and should be without the occipi-
tal protuberance, although when that is present it is but
a trifling fault. The nose should be at least four inches
long, and wide at the end. Between the point and root
there should be no fullness, and the brows must rise
sharply from it. The nostrils should be wide apart, with
large openings; end moist and cool; color, black, or dark
brown; jaws exactly equal in length. The ears should be
394 UPLAND SHOOTING.

shorter than those of the pointer, slightly rounded, thin,
and soft in leather; carried flat to the cheeks, so as not to
show the inside; destitute of tendency to prick, and
clothed with silky hair about two inches long.

The eyes should be of medium size, bright, rich brown
in color, and set with angles straight across. Lips not so
long as the pointer’s, but slightly full at the angles.

The neck is thinner and flatter than the pointer’s, and
less arched, though still slightly so. It should be well

   
   

a, / (7 lf Z

Fig. 8.-ENGLISH SETTER.
set on the shoulders, not ‘‘ewe-necked.’’ Though the
skin is loose, there must be no throatiness. The shoul-
ders and chest must be as described for the pointer. The
same is true of back, quarters, stifles, legs, elbows, and
hocks, save that the hips should be less angular and
bony.

The feet differ in having a good deal of hair between
the toes, owing to which advantage they will do with less
arch of toe. The tail should be carried slightly above
the line of the back, though a higher carriage is admissi-
ble if there be no curl. The feather should be of straight,
POINTERS AND SETTERS. 395:

silky hair, and of good length, tapering to the point, and
giving an outline like a scythe-blade.

Symmetry and quality form a less valuable index to
a setter’s merit than to a pointer’s, and are rated at only
five points. In general terms, they should give a style
suggesting more of softness and grace and less of rugged
strength than the pointers. While smooth prettiness of
form is of bad augury as to working ability in the
pointer, it is, on the contrary, a very good sign of field
quality in an English setter. The coat is rated at five
points, and is very important. It should be soft and
silky, without curl. The color should be bright and
clean. It offers the same variety as the pointer’s, with.
the addition that tan-markings are often found with
black and white, and are very much admired. When the
white is interspersed with a profusion of small, delicately
shaded ticks it is called ‘“‘belton,’’ and is very handsome.

THE BLACK-AND-TAN, OR GORDON, SETTER.

The black-and-tan, or Gordon, setter has appeared to
less advantage in America than other breeds. In public
trials he has done little, and in private I have not been so
fortunate as to see a brilliant performer, though of
good, steady, practical dogs not a few, especially show-
ing to advantage on snipe-marshes or in dense coverts.
It has been claimed by some breeders that a smaller and
more lightly built Gordon could be bred, which would |
equal the English setter in speed and endurance.

On theoretical grounds, I have been inclined to favor
this idea, and were I breeding Gordons, would certainly
try it. Unfortunately, such light weights as I have seen
in the field were inferior to those of heavier build.
Speaking, then, from what knowledge I have been able
to gain, I must prefer the heavy type until the advan-
tages of the light dogs shall have been demonstrated.
396 UPLAND SHOOTING.

These dogs are to be recommended chiefly for their
great beauty, and for their special adaptation to the use
of the sportsmen of the North and the East, where small
fields, swampy ground, and dense coverts are principally
to be worked. The points of the Gordon setter are the
same as those of the English, but the appearance of the
dogs differs in many respects, as follows:

 

Fig.9 —GORDON SETTER.

The general outline of the dog is more square and
massive, and the actual weight is considerably greater.

The skull is heavier, and has more occipital protuber-
ance.

The nose is a little wider; the feather of the tail is
shorter, and does not begin so near the root.

The coat is harder and coarser, and shows more dispo-
sition to curl, though the less of this the better.

The color should be a rich black, without mixture
with the tan, and the latter should be of a deep ma-
POINTERS AND SETTERS. 397

hogany tone, appearing on lips, cheeks, throat, spot over
eyes, fore legs nearly to elbow, hind legs up to stifles,
and on under side of flag, but not running into the long
hair. There may bea spot of white on breast or toes,
but the less the better.

Many of the best specimens of this breed are too
straight in stifles and tight in shoulders to run well, but
the proper type, as I conceive it, should be built much
like a bear—loose-jointed, with elbows let far down and
hocks very low, giving an easy, rolling gait, admirably
adapted to getting over bad ground.

Such dogs are rare, and the owner of one has a treas-
ure he can not too highly prize.

I consider this to be distinctly a Scotch breed, and
probably quite ancient, though I have not been able to
trace it to such antiquity as the English setter.

THE IRISH SETTER.

The very best field dog I ever saw was an Irish setter;
yet, seek as I will, I do not find enough such dogs to put
the breed on a par with either English setters or pointers.
It is common to account for the infrequency of good per-
formers by saying that the Irish dog needs more train-
ing and constant work; but this will not account for
the fact that these exceptionally good dogs are very
tractable and easy to handle, and are no more rank than
other dogs at the beginning of the open season.

My own way of accounting for the facts is this:

I consider that the ‘‘bird dogs” are true and ancient
breeds, whose instincts regarding their approach to game
have been fixed for ages so firmly, that they can only be
disturbed by the introduction of the blood of some other
breed having conflicting instincts. Such outcrosses have
been frequent in all times, and the remedy for the
damage they occasion is usually found in inbreeding,
398 UPLAND SHOOTING.

whereby the proportion of the alien blood is speedily
diminished.

But it may happen that the outcross has been to some
extremely prepotent breed, when, if the infusion be
strong in a given strain, inbreeding will rather strengthen
than diminish its effects. Something like this seems
to have happened to some of the Irish setter strains most

 

Fig. 10.—IRISH SETTER.

extensively bred here. Their faults appear to be aug-
mented rather than diminished by inbreeding.

The remedy will be found in uniting the blood of
many separate strains, in order to get in as much as pos-
sible that is free from the particular taint in question.
A good Irish dog is so exceedingly good, that no pains
should be spared to make the breeding of them more sure.

For those who shoot a great deal, and work the same
dog on a great variety of game, there is no dog like a
good Irish setter.
POINTERS AND SETTERS. 899

Hard, courageous, fast, and with endurance une-
qualed, with a beautiful coat and cleanly habits to rec-
ommend him as a house dog, he will always be a favorite
with the men who keep but one dog.

The points are the same as for the English setter, but
the description differs materially, and while such has not
been the practice in show-judging, I believe it is of the
highest importance to this breed that all such differences
should be made the most of.

The skull should be longer and narrower than the
English setter’s, with strong occipital protuberance.

The nose is longer, and the end is of a reddish brown
color, and should not be pink or black.

The eyes should be deep brown in color—a pale eye is
ablemish. Ears long enough to reach within about half
an inch of the end of the nose, set on low and well back,
hanging close to the cheeks. Lips deep enough to give
a@ square appearance to the muzzle, but not pendulous;
whiskers red. The shoulders are very long and sloping;
chest deep and narrow, with back ribs shorter than the
‘English setter’s, giving more the appearance of being cut
up under the loin. Loin narrower than the English set-
ter’s, yet well arched and strong; hips also narrower, and
more bony. Legs rather long, with elbows well let down,
and very free; stifles very much bent; quarters quite
sloping, and, though muscular, not heavy. The tail is
clothed with straight hair, falling down like a comb;
never bushy nor curly.

The coat should be of moderately coarse, but glossy,
hair, which may be wavy, but not curly. The legs are
well, but not profusely, feathered. The color should be
arich red, of a burnt sienna tone, without any black
hairs interspersed. There may be a little white on the
breast or toes, or a blaze in the face, but the less the
better.
400 UPLAND SHOOTING.

The general appearance of the Irish setter is of a slen-
der, rather leggy dog, somewhat gaunt, his ribs showing,
even when in good condition. His style is most taking,
being very bold, free, and dashing. I have found an old
dog of this breed to be the best of all for use on ruffed
grouse. This bird flushes very wild before a white or
black dog, but apparently mistakes the red dog for a fox,
and lies much better, since it expects to escape easily
from any closer approach, and, seeing the dog motionless,
does not take wing until alarmed by the approach of the
hunter, thus affording a shot; or, if flushed by the dog,
the bird will usually alight in some tree near by.

In concluding this brief review of our field dogs, I
would be glad to dispel the doubts and distrust so many
entertain regarding our dog shows and trials. Accus-
tomed to take part in public competitions of various
kinds, I have ever found these to be the best-conducted
and most correctly judged of all, and Iam able to act in
reliance on their results as a guide to merit. The often
assumed discrepancy between field trials and shows is
merely imaginary. The dog who wins in the one will
make a good record in the other so constantly as to be a
matter of surprise. Theory and practice are not always to
be found in such good accord as here. Yet there are
influences, coming mostly from across the ocean, that are
seeking to create and uphold a purely show type for
these dogs, in complete antagonism to that which has
been established and confirmed by centuries of field work.
It is for our practical sportsmen to unite in resistance to
such innovations, and jealously to preserve the ancestral
form of each breed.

To all who love dogs, there is the constant temptation
to have too many, resulting in the necessity of confining
them to the kennel-yard, where they will not thrive. No
dog can be happy and well unless free to enjoy the
POINTERS AND SETTERS. 401

society of his master, and be in truth a member of his
family. To have the best results, therefore, one should
keep only as many as can be admitted to such privileges.
I have never looked in one of the great kennels where a
swarm of dogs was kept, without thinking of children in
some great asylum, where there might indeed be every
comfort and luxury, but, after all, no home. Though
the fare be coarse and scanty, still man or dog will thrive
best where there is close personal sympathy and compan-
ionship.

 

26
THE CANVAS-BACK DUCK.

 

By Wrui1am Bruce LEFFINGWELL.

 

 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  

HERE isa charm in the scenes of early life
that passing years can only recall in
“S most delightful memories, and
jw, things we loved best, when
children, still cling fondly to
: us, and our riper years only add to
their remembrances. Then itis that the boyish
» hunter, when he arrives at manhood’s estate,
® recalls with deepest fervor those incidents which
afforded him the greatest pleasure, when, as a child, he
trod the carpet of the forest green, clambering the hill-
sides, or communed in sweetest harmony with the feath-
ered songsters in the glen, or, with hook, rod, and line,
made by his own ingenious fingers, captured the finny
tribe, in tempting spots, where his inquisitiveness taught
him to try; and so the man, when called upon by some
enthusiast to name the bird he prizes above all others,
will at once recall to mind the days when he was a
boy, and the lessons he learned then, under the silent
trees, studying the birds as Nature made them, in the
warm and budding spring-time, when the mellow wind
pervades forest, stream, and field, and instinct told these
birds to mate, build their nests, and rear their young.
When one has, as a boy, had opportunities for study
and observation, has grown up among the wilds of semi-
civilization, and has passed hours, and days, watching

and studying birds in their wild state, the silvered years
(403)
404 UPLAND SHOOTING.

of manhood touch the chords of departed years, and his
heart vibrates with the memories of those days, gone for-
ever, but engraved for life upon his mind, never to be
effaced; and so it is that every experienced hunter
loves some particular bird best. The foundation on
which is built his love was formed in years gone by; for,
if the pinnated grouse, the vision of the past is before his
eyes—the boundless prairies he visited and settled on in
early days, the constant
| presence of these birds,
their booming cries in
| early spring, the pursuit
‘| of them in autumnal days,
| and their most excellent
| flavor.
| Another mind reverts to
: a time when there floated,
| insweet, delicious strains,
‘| through the dewy morn-
| ing a plaintive ‘‘Bob
White, Bob White,” and
-| silvered fields were white
| in shrouds of frost, while
4 dogs were racing in
a. fevered anticipation of
secreted game. While selice whose heart is softened
by the sweet solitude of pathless woods. is bound, by the
strongest ties of early affection, to the bosky wood,
beneath whose silent trees his very being has time and
again been startled into feverish excitement, as the ruffed
grouse sprang from its hiding-place. or when, in stealthy
silence, he has tried to draw himself into faintest obscurity
on hearing the distant gobble, or the nearer ‘‘ put, put.”’
of the much-prized wild turkey. And so it is that to
assemble a body of sportsmen, each individual would

 

 

 

 
TIE CANVAS-BACK DUCK. 405

champion some game bird as the one par excellence, in
his estimation, one fit to be/crowned king of game birds.

It is the belief of many, that the height of sporting
pleasures, with the gun, can only be obtained in conjunc-
tion with a setter or pointer, and this is the opinion gen-
erally, and has been from time immemorial. Kings and
princes have enjoyed their greatest sport when in com-
pany with well-trained dogs. While we can not boast of
the blood-royal coursing through our veins, still, there
has never existed one of royal birth who enjoys sports
afield more than the average citizen of America.

It is our existence, born free, breathing the pure air
of the grandest country on the face of the earth from
toddling infancy, having our ears filled with tales of
the chase, seeing our fathers and brothers going forth in
the morning, wandering where they chose, returning at
night laden with game—the game belonging to no man
until captured—no wonder that we inherit a love for
shooting, and fishing, and all out-of-door recreation.

I had sent me, the other day, a proof of the excellent
illustration gracing Mr. Baines’ article on ‘‘ Wild Tur-
key Shooting” in this book. While looking at it, and
admiring the alert expression, the bold, yet startled,
look of the bird, a friend of mine called. I knew him to
have had great experience in hunting turkeys, and, with-
out saying a word, handed him the illustration. He
gazed at it intently, studied it fully a minute, then, lay-
ing it down on my desk, said: ‘‘7’hereisa perfect portrait
of the shrewdest, wildest, and most cunning bird that
ever spread wings. Look at him! He was traveling
along without any suspicion; he has heard a stick break,
a distant voice, or some noise he mistrusts, and now he
listens to learn what’s up. I tell you, the American wild
turkey ought to have been selected as the bird emblem-
atic of our country, for he is the king of game birds.”
406 UPLAND SHOOTING.

‘“Why,”’ said I, laughingly, ‘“‘I have just received a let-
ter from a friend on the Chesapeake, and he uses almost
your language, only he says the canvas-back duck is
entitled to the crown.’’ I wished so much, then, that
the two advocates could have been present, for their
discussion would have afforded me both pleasure and
profit. Both past the middle age of life, one reared in
the East, on the Chesapeake, the other brought up in the
West, where game could be had for the seeking, and who
had bagged hundreds of turkeys, surely none could be
found more competent or experienced than they, and
yet each proclaimed the bird he knew best as the noblest
game bird in existence.

When one seeks the canvas-back duck of to-day, he
little knows, that is, if a young man, of the great abun-
dance that once existed of these birds. It is generally
supposed that, in the Chesapeake Bay and Eastern
waters, the birds are found in greatest plenty, and many
believe that they are a bird so rare, and so delicious in
their flavor, that they confine their presence entirely to the
East. This is not so, as they are found, at times, in the
Middle and Western States, while in California and
Oregon they are fully as plenty as in the regions of the
Chesapeake. Where food is plenty—the food which
they especially like, and which gives to them the deli-
cious flavor for which they are noted, the Valisneria
spiralis—there they may be found. Some are shot in
the marshes and lakes of Illinois, Wisconsin, Iowa, Indi-
ana, Minnesota, and other Northern and Western States,
the places they go to depending entirely upon the food
to be obtained.

Canvas-back ducks are deep-water ducks, and seek
their food in an entirely different manner from the mal-
lards and other shoal-water ducks, which feed similarly
to tame ducks, for canvas-backs get their food by div-
THE CANVAS-BACK DUCK. 407

ing, disappearing completely from the surface of the
water, and re-appearing with the food in their mouths.
Their food, the Vadisneria spiralis, is a bulbous plant
which grows in deep water in some inland lakes and
bays. The plant is described scientifically as follows:

“ Valisneria spiralis.—A genus of plant remarkable
on account of the very curious manner in which the pro-
cess of fertilization is effected. A perennial herb, bearing
a tuft of thin, narrow, green, grass-like leaves. The two
sexes are borne on separate plants. The male flowers are
extremely minute and sensile, but when mature they
become detached and rise to the surface of the water.
The female plants, on the other hand, are borne singly on
the end of a long, slender, spirally-twisted stalk, uncoils
more or less, according to the depth of the water, so as
to allow the flower to float on the surface, where it
expands, and is fertilized by the floating pollen, after
which the spiral stem coils up again and conveys the
flowers to the bottom of the water.”

Mr. E. Hough, in a recent communication to the Forest
and Stream, having investigated the Valisneria spiralis
in its home, thus writes of it:

During a recent visit to Lake Koshkonong, Wis-
consin, I had opportunity to learn something of the wild
celery which gives that lake such a reputation as a resort
for the canvas-back duck. In company with Mr. W. Y.
Wentworth, superintendent of the Blackhawk Club, and
Mr. Duane Starin, perhaps the best-known shooter of
that locality, I went out on the lake, and was shown how
the wild celery seeds are gathered from the bottom of the
lake—for that is where they must be gathered, if at all.
These gentlemen probably have more practical knowl-
edge oF the wild celery plant and its seed than anyone
else, for they used to sell the seed to parties wishing to
plant waters to wild celery. They experimented for
themselves, and found that the seed taken from the bot-
tom of the lake would grow, and they have heard from
408 UPLAND SHOOTING.

successful results from different lots of seed they have
shipped to clubs, etc. It is a simple matter to plant the
seed, the only thing necessary being to drop the pods at
the spot where the celery is wished to grow. The seeds
should doubtless be kept wet all the time, as that is their
natural condition. In Koshkonong Lake the wild celery
grows out of sand, clay, mud, or almost any other kind
of bottom, and there is no apparent reason why it
should not grow in any shallow water where it is well
planted.

At the bottom of the water the fertilized seed-pod lies
until moisture and decomposition have released the seeds
from their covering. At any time before the pods have
reached the bottom on their return journey, it is prob-
able they are not fertilized sufficiently for growth. It is
on the bottom, therefore, that the celery hunters look for
the seed. The only implement they use is a rake with a
wooden head about sixteen inches long, into which are
set ten inch teeth of stiff wire, about three-fourths of an
inch apart. Koshkonong is a shallow lake, hardly more
than six or eight feet at its deepest, so that the rake
need not be very long or ponderous.

We rowed out of the mouth of the pretty Rock River,
crossed the head of the lake, along where the canvas-
back blinds are, and in front of the big bluff where
‘*Koshkonong Place”’’ sits looking out over the lake.
We fell to raking like toilers of the sea. Three or four
ineffectual hauls were made, bringing up moss, pickerel
weed, decayed stems, and a few young croppies and bull-
heads, when Mr. Wentworth called my attention to a
long, dark, slim-looking affair, tapered at both ends and
slightly curved. It was five or six inches long, and an
eighth of an inch thick, and looked more like a frozen
and disgruntled angleworm than anything else.

‘‘There’s your celery seed,” said he. And in this way,
after_a half-hour of hard work in the icy water—this
was November 24th—we got half a dozen pods or so,
including a good specimen, and several in which the
natural decomposition had gone so far as to leave the
seeds exposed to view. We then went home, and it
appeared to us that the acquisition of wild celery seeds
was a very slow and laborious process.
THE CANVAS-BACK DUCK. 409

That night we divided a pod into one-inch sections,
and counted the number of seeds carried in a one-inch
length of the pod. We found that the seeds ran about
sixty to the inch, and we figured that from this there
must be about 500,000 seeds in a quart jar of the pods.
It is very probable that there are normally more than
sixty seeds to the inch, as the specimens we counted had
already partly opened, and perhaps some of the seeds
had escaped. The seeds are very minute, slender, and
pointed. They resemble ant-eggs, but are very much
smaller and a little darker in color.

From what we saw of the seeds, and their great num-
bers, it would appear that the wild celery is a plant
which could easily and abundantly be sown and grown
in any shallow waters. I have heard of, and I believe in
the mention of the Hennepin Club last winter I described,
an attempt to plant the wild celery roots. This attempt
was, I believe, unsuccessful. I don’t believe it is the
natural or rational way to plant wild celery, and I think
anyone who would tear up the roots of this plant from a
water where it was native, would be doing a very unwise,
wasteful, and foolish thing.

The delicacy of flavor found in the canvas-back is
lacking in others of the duck species, and epicures pride
themselves that, so infallible is their taste, in no pos-
sible manner can they be deceived, even going so far
as claiming that the locality where a bird has been shot
can be told by the flavor of the bird. This peculiar flavor
is produced by the wild celery they have eaten. Now,
this assertion is not made in an unauthorized manner, for
it came within my knowledge, about a year ago, that
certain connoisseurs claimed the canvas-backs of the
Potomac to be superior to any of the Western birds, and
two game dinners were served in New York City, to six
persons at each cover, and they were unable to decide,
three claiming the Eastern birds much the finer flavored,
while the other three could see no difference. The gentle-
men who forwarded the Western birds submitted the cor-
410 UPLAND SHOOTING.

respondence to me, also the verdict, which was a dis-
agreement, and the trial is to be made again.

As the Valisneria spiralis is the same wherever
found, and imparts to and thoroughly impregnates the
bird with its celery taste, there ought not to be, and can
not be, any difference in the birds when they have par-
taken of these bulbous roots to the exclusion of other
food. When, through overflows, droughts, or other
causes, the canvas-backs are deprived of this Valisneria
spiralis they feed on other food, snails and fish. This
gives them a dry, leathery taste, that makes them almost
unfit for food.

But there is another duck, the companion of the can-
vas-back, that vies with itas a table luxury. That bird
is the red-head, so similar to the canvas-back that thou-
sands have been sold and eaten for canvas-backs, and
where one is acquainted with them, their habits, feeding,
and resorts, it is not to be wondered at. The difference
between them is not great, and one is often mistaken for
the other. The canvas-back is larger, plumper, with
darker coloring on the head and neck; but the dis-
tinguishing difference is the bill. As in the canvas-back,
the bill begins high up on the head, is jet-black, and runs
in a straight line to its tip, being quite narrow. In the red-
head, the bill is of a bluish slate, broader than in the
canvas-back, and slightly concave. Gastronomically
speaking, let both be shot after weeks of feasting in
beds of wild celery, and the man who can discover a
finer flavor in the canvas-back has a much more acute
sense of taste than I.

Where these birds breed, while definitely known, is a
source of astonishment; for, while they are with us in the
fall, remaining in southern climes throughout the winter,
when the wintry months have passed, they fly in tireless
flight, traversing thousands of miles of settlements and
THE CANVAS-BACK DUCK. 411

solitudes, to breed in Alaska and the extreme North.
The Canada goose is much the same in taking such long
flights, and yet they willoften stop and rear their young
in Dakota or Minnesota. Not so with the canvas-back,
for their desire seems to be to always seek the impene-
trable wilds of the far North, and only to return when
the cold blasts warn them to depart from their summer
homes.

I have been in correspondence with a gentleman in
San Francisco, Cal., and his description of shooting can-
vas-backs on the Coast will open wide the eyes of some
of the Eastern hunters. It is nothing unusual for him to
bag from sixty to eighty canvas-backs in a day’s hunt to
his gun. Their food in California and Oregon is the same
as in the East, and epicures there claim there is no bird
on earth that equals their bird when properly placed on
the table; but, as I said before, the food makes the bird,
and let the canvas-back be fattened on wild celery, and
it will taste the same whether it comes from Maryland,
Wisconsin, Iowa, or California.

There seems to be a local prejudice about these birds
that is highly amusing. As an illustration, one writer
says: ‘‘In the Chesapeake alone are they perfect; of
course they are all canvas-back ducks from the point of
view of the gastronomic enthusiast. The bird only reaches
culinary superiority when it alights on the Chesapeake
Bay and its myriad arms. Here, its flesh acquires a
peculiarly delicious and indescribable taste, which is
largely owing to its feeding on a plant called wild celery.
Water and climate in the Chesapeake must contain some
other and unknown quality or condition which brings
the canvas-back ducks to astate of perfection, for I am
told that California and Ilinois—I am not certain about
Texas and North Carolina—also supply wild celery as
food for the canvas-back, and yet it permits no dispute,
412 UPLAND SHOOTING.

that the fowls which come from those States are no more
akin to the Chesapeake canvas-back than the rice-bird
of the South is equal to its own self when, under another
name and different food conditions, it furnishes an
incomparable morsel as the, buttery reed-bird of the
Delaware marshes. As to the canvas-backs which are
occasionally found along the shores of Long Island, their
flesh is not distinguishable from the ordinary duck’s,
because, in the absence of the wild celery, they demean
themselves by feeding upon fish.”

I hope the reader will not deem me guilty of agreeing.
with such broad assertions, for I do not, but simply
quote from him, that you may see how prejudice will
affect a man; but when we read further, that ‘‘ decoys
are not used because the canvas-back, unlike his more
plebeian brothers, will not fly to them,”’ we feel our hearts
tempered with charity, for owr experience has been that,
tempted by good decoys, properly placed and set out by
an expert, one of the easiest ducks to decoy is the can-
vas-back. When a man says a duck will not decoy,
he simply asserts that it will not alight among its kind.
I have shot thousands of ducks, and have yet to find
the species that will not decoy at the right time and
place.

Some months ago, when in the office of Robert Law,
one of the most prominent citizens of Chicago, he said to
me: ‘‘I see, Mr. Leffingwell, you have written a book on
wild fowl shooting. I wish I had known you intended
doing so, for I would liked to have told you what I know
about canvas-back ducks.’’ Imagine my surprise, for
here was a man talking duck-shooting to me, who I sup-
posed never fired a gun. ‘‘ Why, Mr. Law,’’ said I,
‘*do you mean to say vou have had experience with can-
vas-back ducks?’ He invited me to be seated, and this
is the story he told me:
 

CANVAS

BACK DUCK

 

 

Rk

 

(413)
414 UPLAND SHOOTING.

‘When a young man, my capital consisted of health
and perseverance. I found myself on the shores of the
Chesapeake Bay, where my mother bought a large farm.
The only labor obtainable, at that time, were slaves, that
T hired from their masters. I boarded these negroes, and
their meat-bill was a serious item, for I had many
under my control. What do you suppose I fed them on?
Canvas-back ducks! Yes, canvas-back ducks; and at this
late date, you can form no idea of how plenty they were.
Why, I have seen the sky darkened with them, the bay
like the driven snow, as their white backs glistened in
the sun, and when they arose, it seemed like one con-
tinuous roar of thunder. I hired a man to shoot them
for me, simply to keep our men supplied with meat. It
was no trick to kill them, for they abounded in countless
thousands. All through the winter, we lived on canvas-
back ducks, served three times a day, until salt pork
became a delicacy, and canvas-back ducks, which now
command 86 or 87 a pair, were set aside by slaves in dis-
gust. Toward spring, my men threatened to quitme. I
could not stand this, for no other help could be had; but
they threatened to leave me, and J called in their leader,
and wanted to know if I everabused them. ‘No, Massa
Law,’ said he; ‘but facts am, we’s gwine to quit ’less
you stop feedin’ us on canvas-back, for de Lawd knows
dat a nigger’s stomach can't allus be punished wid can-
vas-backs, an’ ’Jess you feed us on po’k, least twice a day,
we's gwine to go back to de plantation.’ Of course I
gave in; but I often think of it now, when canvas-backs
are worth 37 a pair, of how those niggers refused them,
and made me supply them with pork. Another thing,
do you know I believe that winter was when decoys were
first discovered? Tell you how it was; we were repairing
a vessel, and ducks were flying thick. The day was a
cloudy, blustery one, and the birds flew near the shore.
THE CANVAS-BACK DUCK. 415

Some boys threw some whitish-colored blocks into the
water, and the canvas-backs kept darting to them. I
noticed an old gunner watching this performance, and
the next day the old fellow went out with a gunny-sack
half-filled with blocks, hewn to resemble ducks. That
night he returned with his boat half-full of ducks.
Every time, after that, he took the same bag along, and
some other hunters watched him, and found the ducks
were constantly sailing in to these imitations he had out.
After this, they all got to using them, with added
improvements; but I am satisfied that those boys throw-
ing blocks were the origin of decoys. Soon after this, I
began using decoys, also sink-boxes, with the best of
results. You can form no idea how plenty canvas-backs
were through the late fall and winter. One winter, a
neighbor of mine, who was blessed with some ice, packed
at least 1,000. They were so plenty that they com-
manded a very small price. A shilling apiece was con-
sidered high, and hundreds were sold at a sixpence apiece,
or given away. The exceedingly low prices that could
be obtained for them were no inducement for market-
shooters, and the ducks were not sought after much,
except by local hunters; but soon after this, New York,
Philadelphia, Boston, and other cities began to learn and
appreciate the delicacy of the canvas-back. They brought,
at the bay, 50 cents a pair, and, even at that price, a good
shot would make from $10 to $20 a day. As the demand
increased, so the ingenuity of the hunters was taxed to
capture the birds, and they were coaxed near shore by
the process known as ‘toling,’ that is, by a little
spaniel trained to romp and play along the shore, while
the hunters lay concealed in blinds within gun-range;
but the sportsman delighted most to shoot them over
decoys, as they came into the little bays or pockets to
feed on the wild celery. They were plenty then, and we
416 UPLAND SHOOTING.

shot them from blinds, made of cedar boughs stuck into
the mud or sink-boxes. They flew across from place to
place, and there were plenty of points where we got pass-
shooting, or caught them sitting among our decoys. I
wish you could have seen some of those birds. When
they fell, and struck the frozen ground, the concussion
often split them wide open, they were so fat from feeding
on wild celery.

‘‘T notice many authorities state ‘that the widgeon
isa daring thief, and robs the canvas-back of its food,

_after the canvas-back has dived and brought it to the
surface.’ Now, when it comes to stealing wild celery
sprouts, the canvas-back is the biggest thief on record.
There used to be another duck associating with the
canvas-back. It wasn’t the red-head, and I don’t now
recall its name. It was rather a small duck, but a great
diver. It used to dive down and bring up the wild celery
bulbs and sprouts, but it would no sooner appear than
three or four canvas-backs would rush for it, and snatch
away the celery. I have seen this done scores of times;
and, before one of these ducks could get a decent meal,
it would have to supply celery for perhaps half a dozen
big, fat, lazy canvas-backs. Am sorry I don’t remember
the name of this industrious duck, but we never shot
them. They were small, with slim bodies, while their
bills were long and powerful; besides, they seemed to
enjoy pulling up the celery, and left plenty floating
around, which enticed the canvas-backs in.

“You never saw a swivel-gun, did you? Of course you
didn’t, for they were before your day; but I tell you, they
were murderous things. Just imaginea gun loaded with
a couple of pounds of shot, with powder enough to throw
it with great penetration. These swivel-guns were used
at night, by poachers and men who didn’t care how
many ducks they destroyed or crippled. The gun was
THE CANVAS-BACK DUCK. 417

fastened on the bow of the boat; then, on moonlight
nights, or with artificial lights thrown on the drifting or
sleeping birds, the ducks, naturally inquisitive, would
gently swim aside from the boat that was being slowly
sculled among them, and, when an immense body of
them were together, the death-dealing gun would
belch forth, killing anywhere from twenty to fifty, while
the cripples dove, or sneaked away, to be gobbled up the
next day by fish-hawks. Why, these guns were young
cannons, and I have heard them roar over the bay all
night long. At break of day, one could see these
immense hawks hovering, circling, and darting after the
cripples. Of course the ducks would dive, but the mid-
dle of the bay afforded them no hiding-place, and, at
last, the persevering hawk would tire them out. A
quick dart, and then we would see a whitish object hang-
ing below the hawk, as it flew to some tree to devour
the bird. The hawks were immense, and looked as large
as eagles. This shooting of the ducks at night was simply
scandalous, for it was bound to exterminate them.
Between being hunted in the day-time and persecuted
at night, there was no time or place in which they could
feel secure or obtain rest. So outrageous did this appear,
that (I think it was in the winter of 1845) the Legislature
of Maryland passed a law prohibiting the use of swivel-
guns and shooting the birds after dark.

‘‘T wish you could have seen the birds in some of
their great flights. Why, that was forty-five years ago!
Great Scott, man! Here I have been telling you of scenes
in my early life that I haven’t thought of for years and
years, and look at the time of day! Why, I promised to
have been home an hour ago. You must excuse me,
for I must go.”’

He buttoned up his great-coat, and laying his hand

fondly on my shoulder, as he bade me good-night, there
27
418 UPLAND SHOOTING.

shone in his handsome face the delight of happy days,
recalled in telling me some of the scenes of his early life;
for, in imparting what he had seen to me, the pleasant
years he passed on the shores of the Chesapeake were
once again before him, and I don’t know who was the
more pleased, he in recalling or I in listening to his fas-
cinating stories—descriptions of days long since passed
among the canvas-backs. I could imagine I was with
him in all the sights he described, for I have seen acres
and acres of mallards, blue-bills, and other ducks float-
ing in dark squares on the bosom of the Mississippi, and
have seen the sky, at evening-time, just as it was crimson
and purple in the light of the setting sun, filled and
flecked with thousands of mallards, as they flew hither
and thither, seeking their roosting-grounds, while the air
resounded with their ‘‘m’amph, m’amph,” and ‘‘ quack,
quack, quack,’’ as the birds dropped softly into the
marsh.

In shooting canvas-backs over decoys, great judg-
ment must be displayed in placing out the decoys, select-
ing the place and building the blind, the desire, at all
times, being to place one’s self as near as possible to
the place where they habitually feed.

Cold, blustery days are the best, for on such days
they are less suspicious. While they are exceedingly
wary, and are blessed with eyes of the keenest percep-
tion, yet they are as full of curiosity as a woman, and
while at times they will not come in to the decoys with-
out much coaxing, at others they rush in with the
greatest recklessness.

There is no duck in which the bump of inquisitive-
ness is as fully developed as in the canvas-back. They
seek to know the meaning of every uncertain movement
or suspicious object. I have seen them sit with their long
necks stretched up, staring with intense curiosity at a
THE CANVAS-BACK DUCK. 419

passing steamboat, and then, flying, make an almost com-
plete circuit around the boat, to see if there wasn’t some-
thing they had overlooked. I have seen them alight far
outside of decoys, then, after gradually swimming nearer,
at last boldly swim among the decoys, within fifty feet
of our concealed boat. It fills the soul of the hunter
with delight to see them dart down to decoys. Down they
come, aided by the strong wind, at a 100-mile gait, flying
past the decoys as if they did not see them, just out of
gun-range; then, with a wide circle, return up-wind with
a speed almost as great, and with set wing and unabated
speed slide into the water, shoving the water ahead of
them in crested foam.

They are very cunning when wounded, great divers,
and cripples should at once be shot. There is no bird in
the world, that is hunted as a game bird, that so taxes the
endurance of a dog, and the dog, to retrieve them, must
be brave as a lion, entirely devoid of fear, hardy enough
to withstand cold, snow, and to retrieve among floating
ice as well as in early fall. When aman has a dog like
this, he is blessed with a jewel almost beyond price.

I will forbear the discussion of the breed of dogs to
use, the kind of guns best adapted, and the charge to be
used, for Mr. John G. Smith, in his most excellent article
on ‘‘Inland Duck-shooting,’’ has given his views on those
subjects, which fully accord with my many years of
experience in the pursuit of wild fowl.

There is a charm in duck-shooting which defies the
pen of the most gifted writer to explain, and only the
experienced can enjoy; and to-day, as I write this article,
seeing before me the little group of red-heads that
appear in this article, they recall to mind many days in
departed years, when the frost had gilded the meadows,
and I had sat reclining in my boat, watching red-heads
basking in the October sun, while starlings and black-
420 UPLAND SHOOTING.

birds, in their suits of black, red, and gold, were teeter-
ing on the waving rice-stalks, as they sang their merry
songs, a fit accompaniment to music of 1,000 harps, that
the winds imitated, as they played through the seared
and yellow rushes in the marsh, making the sweetest
music in the world for the man who loves the fields and
streams.

 
GUNS.

 

By ArrHur W. vu Bray (‘‘ GaucHo”).

   

 

WILL endeavor, to the best of my ability, to
treat on the subject of guns in as brief and
concise a manner as possible—brief, because
my tether is limited as to space; concise,
because I will deal with nothing further
than the practical part, leaving all theoret-
ical points to other pens and wiser heads.

The shot-gun of to-day is the breech-
loader, fast tending to the hammerless, and gradually
leaning toward the ejector; therefore, descriptions of
antiquated fire-arms, be they ever so elaborate, can be
of little practical value nowadays, excepting insomuch
that the younger sportsman will do well to read of these
old-fashioned guns and rifles, and then compare them with
what he can obtain now, and thereafter thank his stars
that he was not contemporaneous with flint-locks, which
went off with a whiz-bang that rendered wing-shooting
decidedly uncertain to any but a first-class marks-
man.

I will divide my subject into three parts, viz.: Field-
guns, Trap-guns, and Duck-guns, and endeavor to
describe each from a thoroughly practical standpoint,
and from the education gained by twenty-five years of
experience over thousands of miles of ground—some in
Europe, but more particularly over the vast area con-
tained between the British frontier of North America

and that of Patagonia in the far South—while my range
\ (421)
422 UPLAND SHOOTING.

of guns embraces Purdey, Westley Richards, Lancaster,
in years gone by, latterly, Scott and Parker, besides
many an odd gun, here and there, of both English and
American makes. Imay furthermore add that I never
have let the opportunity go by to test a reputedly good
gun, and that I have fired thousands of shots for pattern
and penetration, with all kinds of guns and about every
variety of ammunition, so that, if my knowledge is
meagre on these subjects, it is purely from want of ability
to comprehend, as my opportunities have been legion.

FIELD-GUNS.

The sine gua non of a fowling-piece is that it be a
perfect fit—the bore, weight, length, and make are,
individually or in the aggregate, as nothing compared
to the fit—and in this most essential feature no man can
impart much more than the most superficial information;
while nothing short of actual trial on game will reveal
the hidden mystery contained in every gun-stock, or,
rather, peculiar manner, position, style, or action of the
man that stands behind it. One man mounts a gun with
a jerk, aligns it, and shoots; another brings it up deliber-
ately, but the moment the heel-plate touches his shoulder,
the trigger is pulled. Now, in the first case, though not
an exact fit, yet moderately good shooting can be done,
because a certain aim is taken, while in the second—by
far the better way—no gun that is a misfit will do good
execution, for the simple reason that this style of shooter
does not see his gun, but is staring, both eyes wide open,
at his quarry; so that a poor shot, who only shootsa
little now and then, will generally go nearer his aver-
age with any borrowed gun than the good shot, who
never troubles himself about breech or muzzle, but rather
shoots from intuition—trusting entirely to his hands get-
ting the proper direction, while his head instantly
GUNS. 423

calculates the amount of leading required for every shot.
Beware of any gun that is nearly a fit; for with one
that is clearly a misfit one will take more pains, and
be sure to, at any rate, try to direct it, whereas the gun
that seemingly is pointed right, but in reality is a little
high or low, right or left—why, this kind of gun is a
nuisance, and has made many an otherwise good shot
give up wing-shooting in despair. Standing opposite a
mirror, placed perpendicularly in front of the shooter, may
help him to know where the muzzle and breech of ‘his gun
are the instant he mounts it; so, also, willthis be discovered
by standing in a dark room, and sighting quickly ata
light, when wheeling about, in some other room or hall-
way as far distant as possible. These are make-shifts,
and may teach the rudiments, as it were; but actual cer-
tainty can only be reached by frequent trials at moving
objects—birds flying in all directions, inanimate targets
going high or low, swift or slow, and particularly all
shots going fast and low to the right (these, to the
right-handed man, are hardest of all).

A gun should never be bought, out and out, in a gun-
store without the privilege of trying it on game or at the
trap; for, be it ever so good a shooter according to its
tag, or even its tested performance before the intending
purchaser, yet there is always a much more important
point to decide, and one that can only be settled by a
real test, so that, to save much trouble and annoyance,
the gun should be taken to some shooting-ground, loaded
with smokeless powder, and then tried at all angles and
elevations obtainable; then, if found to come to place
without any adjustment after touching the shoulder,
that gun is a fit.

I lay particular stress on using smokeless powder—
preferably Schultze—as when this kind, in light loads, is
used, the shooter can tell at once just where his gun is

\
424 UPLAND SHOOTING.

pointing, eveninthe act of discharge; while, what with
the noise, smoke, and recoil incident to the explosion of
black powder, it is extremely difficult to locate both gun
and object aimed at—in fact it can't be done by any but a
person of great experience, and to all such I can give no
pointers, while I merely write this article for the guid-
ance and help of beginners. Don’t be guided in the way
of how to handle the gun by the one whois trying to sell
it; for, aside from any pecuniary motives, it is always
best to put up a gun in the most natural way. and, as
nature needs but little instruction, the easiest and quick-
est manner will generally prove the best.

The bore of the gun is, fortunately, a point on which
there can not be so much difference of opinion; for,
although some isolated cases are found where men stren-
uously uphold that a twenty-gauge gun is equalasa
game-killer to a ten, yet, fortunately, these are rare; and as
the penetration and pattern of any two guns can be readily
ascertained, the merits of all bores can easily be discov-
ered. For all field-shooting a twelve-gauge gun should
be large enough, while such a one. if of sufficient weight
to withstand heavy charges with comfort to the shooter,
is also a very serviceable weapon on wild fowl. Such
game as prairie chickens, quail, snipe, woodcock, all of
which are usually killed inside of thirty-five yards,
excepting the first mentioned where cover is short. or late
in the season, can readily be killed with twelve or six-
teen gauge guns, and as every ounce in weight operates
against the sportsman in a hard day's tramp, a field-gun
should not weigh over 74 to eight pounds. while if a gen-
eral utility gun is needed, a twelve of 8} to nine pounds
will prove a very handy weapon; yet it will not be
the equal of a nine-pound, ten-gauge, neither will it
handle as easily or freely as one of small bore and less
weight.
GUNS. 425

The penchant for feather-weight guns is, unfortu-
nately, leading many otherwise level-headed men to such
extremes, that many English sportsmen are to-day using
twelve-gauge guns of less than six pounds in weight.
Such guns, to be reasonably safe, must be of very best
material; and, as no man can with comfort shoot many
shots with the full charge of a twelve-gauge gun in such
extremely light tubes, the load is usually cut down in
powder and lead to about what would be the equiva-
lent of a sixteen-gauge charge. While a gun of this bore
would answer every purpose, and be much more sym-
metrical than a wider one, on sucha light frame and
aerial stock—chacun @ son gotit—and while men with
perfect vision will encumber themselves with eye glasses
in the endeavor to adorn their physiognomies, it is
quite to be expected that others will claim that their
pet little twelve-bores are the equals of any. Actual
tests prove to the contrary; but, none being so deaf as
those who won’t hear, it is useless to reason against
reason. It is safe to say that a twelve-gauge gun,
with thirty-inch barrels, and weighing about 74 pounds,
is about right as a field-gun, and if properly bored
will answer every purpose.

When choke-boring first came out, the man who had
nothing better than a cylinder was unhappy in the
extreme; for the man with the choke-bore was relentless,
cruel, and so selfish that he lost no opportunity of display-
ing the marvelous performance of his improved weapon
by sieving paper targets at long range, and making,
by contrast with his, the unfortunate owner of the
cylinder go fairly crazy with chagrin and mortification in
seeing his expensive old pet completely distanced by a
common, though closer-shooting, rival. Thesuperiority of
the choke-bore was simply squelching; it threw its charge,
particularly when loaded with small shot, so much
426 UPLAND SHOOTING,

more compactly, and with fully as much or more penetra-
tion, that the poor old gun was discarded, and the full-
choked one took its place.

There were some men, though, who, content to let well
enough alone, stuck to their colors, or, if they did modify
their views, so did they modify their chokes; and expe-
rience has clearly proved that this class went in the right
direction, for it is much easier nowadays to get too close
a shooting gun than one that is too open. A field-gun
that makes the greatest killing-circle in one barrel at
thirty to thirty-five yards, and ten yards farther with the
other, is just as much superior to an excruciatingly close
shooter as the choke is to the cylinder, for all distances
over forty-five yards, while for all shooting in cover,
even a wider spread is an advantage. In the hands of
an expert, perhaps as many quail flying through thickets,
or ruffed grouse darting between leaves and branches,
all the while with a rising out or in curve, may be killed
with a very close as with an open bored gun, but I doubt
it; for all such shots are snapped at, and it stands to
reason that the gun that gives one thirty inches of spread
is much more certain to be a killer than the one that cuts
that circle down to only twenty or twenty-four inches,
so that, as such shots are the rule rather than the excep-
tion, the evenness and extent of the killing-circle of a gun
should formits standard of merit, rather than its closeness
and compactness of delivery. In proof of this, I may
mention that the very best field-shots avoid with artistic
cleverness the use of full chokes when afield, and reserve
them for places where increased distances make them
most effective.

But, again, to reduce the number of pellets in a given
circle, at any distance, does not necessarily turn out the
best-shooting gun; for there are many guns that, although
they put more shot in such a circle than another, yet
GUNS. 427

they are better game-killers, and that is because these
shoot more regularly, and make evener, more sieve-like
spreads. For instance, a gun may place with one barrel 350
No. 8 shot in a thirty-inch ring, at forty yards, and only
300 with the other. It does not follow that the 300 barrel
is the better one, for it may leave great gaps, and put shot
on in bunches, while the 350 barrel will give quite as
large a spread and a much more killing one all over.
Hence it is that the tags which accompany a gun, though
of great value in establishing its shooting qualities, yet
do not reveal the spread and manner in which the gun
delivers its load; so here again comes in the importance
of fully testing a gun before purchasing it. Furthermore,
so long as all guns are not tagged from the same basis, 1. e.,
at the same range and same sized circle, it is absolutely
impossible to draw any but the vaguest conclusions as to
their relative merits.

English guns are targeted at forty yards at a thirty-
inch circle, and all first-class ones with Curtis & Harvey’s
powder if black, Schultze or E. C. if smokeless, and
nearly altogether with chilled shot, No. 6 of a certain
make, generally Newcastle, that runs with great evenness,
so that here we can at a glance see how two Or more guns
compare—provided their tags represent the actual work
done by the gun.

With us it is different. Some of our makers use one
kind of powder and shot, while another, living in another
State, loads with aniinely different ammunition, and nearly
all of them lean toward coarse, slow powder, totally unlike
that usually used by sportsmen or men who shoot much at
the trap; hence it is that tags, while serving as a capital
guide as between guns of one make or factory, are yet,
when fastened to the trigger-guards of half a dozen
different makes of guns, of very little value in establishing
accurate comparisons between them.
428 UPLAND SHOOTING.

No respectable gun-maker can possibly object to his
gun being tried in the open, and by the would-be pur-
chaser, for such men are bent upon pleasing their cus-
tomers, knowing full well that one good gun sells others,
and so on ad infinitum.

TRAP-GUNS.

Trap-guns may be said to be of two kinds only, viz., the
ten-bore, at any weight, and the twelve-bore, under eight
pounds; and just so long as guns of smaller gauge are
not allowed the handicap in rise allowed a twelve over a
ten, the smaller bores can never come into general compe-
tition with the wider ones. It seems absurd to give an
advance of two vards to a twelve over a ten, when the
sixteen-gauge, which is four sizes smaller than the twelve,
has to toe the same scratch; nor is there the least bit of
justice in this, for it is well known that an eight-pound
twelve-gauge will outshoot any sixteen-gauge, at their
ordinary weight, and both charged to their utmost limit.

There are many places where guns go in according to
their gauge; but until this obviously just ruling prevails
everywhere, the narrow bores will be merely dotted here
and there, and never be recognized as of full force in an
open competition.

One of the most arbitrary rules governing any kind of
sport, is that which limits the weight of the twelve-bore
to eight pounds; and it is a mark of the advance of liber-
alism to learn that Hurlingham has outgrown the trran-
nical prejudice that brought trap-guns under the scale at
that weight. For instance, why should a strong, able-
bodied man be pulled down to an eight-pound gun when
he can do better shooting with one that weighs more?
Again, the limit of powder being liberal, why make the
gun come under a weight that will preclude using the
full charge permissible under the rules’ No man can
GUNS. 429

shoot, with comfort, four drams of Curtis & Harvey’s
fine-grained powder and one and a quarter ounces of
shot in a twelve-bore under eight pounds in weight,
while in a nine-pound gun this load goes off smoothly
and pleasantly; then, if the object is to equalize the
weak, light man with the strong, heavy one, itis apparent
that the limit of charge must be cut down, as no slight,
delicate man can ever hope to stand behind a kicking
gun, which jars him from head to foot, as well as his
heavier and stronger opponent, whose weight and grip
hold the gun much more in check.

There can be no objection to a limit of charge as well
as one of gauge, but in the matter of weight there should
certainly be no restriction; for if the man uses a heavy
gun because he prefers to, the one shooting a lighter one
has the advantage of more rapid manipulation, and so it
-would be a matter of choice, and not one of compulsion,
as it now stands.

I have made this digression, and will now resume;
nor could I write on this subject without ventilating my
views on what has always appeared to me to be a gross
injustice, and a most one-sided rule, made to fit one man
exactly, and just so surely break another.

The matter of fashion plays a more important part on
the kind of piece used for trap-shooting than many
would imagine, and so long as London leads in this, we
may expect to dance to the tune of the British fiddle.
Twelve-bores being in vogue in Europe, ¢a va sans dire
that we must also go in for them, not because they are
better than our old tens, that have done us such good
service, but because most of us have ten-bores, and now,
since they won’t wear out, we must keep the gun-makers
at their trade, and delve in our pocket-books for the
wherewith to buy the gun a la mode.

Many, whose observation has been drawn to one side
430 UPLAND SHOOTING.

of the argument only, are under the impression that it is
more sportsmanlike to kill a pigeon with a twelve than
with a ten bore gun; they think it requires finer holding
and better marksmanship, while as a matter of fact, both
guns being equally choked, the ten-gauge will put its
load more compactly, at the distance within which pigeons
are shot, than the much-lauded twelve. The ten-gauge
has one advantage, it shoots harder, for it stands to
reason that four and a half drams of powder will drive
one and a quarter ounces of shot harder than three and a
half; but this very reason ought to carry the ten-bore ina
winner, for certainly it is more humane to shoot a bird
with the more powerful shooting weapon, in other words,
the better killer, than with the weaker one, and, as both
can be made to shoot about alike as regards pattern,
with the advantage in favor of the larger bore, there can
be no good reason advanced why the ten should go to the
wall to make way for the twelve, unless it be the same
grounds that consign my lady's last bonnet to the depths
of her darkest closet—to presently appear in the latest
fad from Paris. With men, in guns, substitute London
for Paris, and, presto! we have the solution to the
problem.

The trap-gun, pure and simple, should possess two
qualities, viz., be a perfect fit and an even, regular, hard
shooter; these are imperative. Other essentials, that so
largely go to make up a first-class field or duck gun, are
not of such vital necessity here. For example, we see in
every club guns that are so constructed that water could
be poured into the breech and lock mechanism, by
simply pushing the top lever back and withdrawing the
extension rib from its bed. Dust, sand, salt air, rain, in
fact anything within a reasonable limit as to size, could
be dropped into this catch-all; and yet, in trap-shooting,
such a chasm, opening wide to receive whatever may
GUNS. 431

fall into it, is not a positive detriment, for one seldom
shoots in bad weather, so that the ‘‘glass case’’ gun,
which at once proclaims its own unfitness to the practiced
eye of a thorough sportsman, stands on a level here with
guns of so much greater instrinsic worth that comparison
between them would be utterly ruinous.

Then, again, trap-shooting is generally done in the
vicinity of towns or villages, so that a complete break-
down merely bars the owner from the day’s sport, while
should such a catastrophe happen far away from the
ever-ready gun-smith, then the journey of many miles,
taken in perhaps the one annual vacation, assumes dif-
ferent proportions iz toto. So long, then, as the very best
fitting and shooting guns can be obtained that are not
open to these most serious objections, it seems strange
that so many guns possessed of such glaring defects
should sell side by side with others of perfect construc-
tion; yet such is the irresistible power of printers’ ink,
that we may always expect to see catch-penny schemes,
well advertised, push their way alongside of true and
honest workmanship, that, costing, as it invariably does,
more money to execute, leaves less profit to the maker
with which to puff his own wares.

A perfect trap-gun, regardless of its bore, weight, or
dimensions, should be so bored and regulated in its
shooting that it will give the greatest killing spread at
the distance for which it is intended to fire it. There-
fore, if a marksman shoots at thirty-five yards, his gun,
if bored and loaded to best advantage, should give him
all the chances compatible with a regular and even spread
of shot at that distance, for itis clearly handicapping him-
self to use a gun that so compactly delivers its load at
that distance that nothing but dead center shots will
score as hits. A gun so bored that it will keep the load
together, and kill at extreme ranges, is indeed a truly
432 UPLAND SHOOTING.

valuable weapon for some kinds of shooting; but to
score with such a one at half its killing and striking
limit of range, necessitates masterly skill in handling
it. Norcan such a gun, in the hands of equal shots, be
expected to win when shot against one that favors the
shooter by allowing him an extra spread of perhaps a
whole foot, at the ordinary range at which trap-guns are
used.

In all artificial bird-shooting, it is well to use a mod-
erately close-shooting gun; yet far better is it to accustom
oneself to a little quicker shooting than to drill on
swift-moving birds, and trust to the gun at the other
end. On still, calm days, with perfect trapping and even
flights, a good shot can account for a high percentage of
his targets at long range, provided his gun is loaded
and bored as a ‘‘reacher;’’ but the instant the wind
comes up, or the traps throw irregularly, then the whole
onus falls on the one at the helm, and then it is that
quick shooting comes into play. Some men can’t shoot
quickly—it isn’t in them. Such men hardly ever make
successful trap-shots, and most rarely, if ever, first-class
marksmen at flying targets. There are too many chances
against them when they measure their skill, long drawn
out, against the greater certainty of the one who thinks
fast, moves with more celerity, and therefore has less
allowance and brain-work generally to break his com-
bination. There isa happy medium between snapping
at birds and poking after them, while the odds, in these
two styles, are usually in favor of the quicker shot.
When shooting at long distances, such, for instance, as
at ducks on a flight, then the most trifling error at the
shoulder carries the load wide of the mark upon reach-
ing the distance at which the bird is flying, and invari-
ably causes a miss; but when inside of forty yards, it is
not compulsory to be so dead center, though, of course,
GUNS. 433

such precautions are always in the right direction, pro-
vided it does not take too much time to make them.
Shooting, for instance, at a straight tailer from the
center trap, when good strong live birds are the targets,
one had better pull up and shoot instanter, even if not
‘‘dead on,’’ than poke. about to get there; for on such
shots the vitalspot is mighty small, and distance is rapidly
increasing, both toward the boundary and away from the
score, while, if the second barrel is to be of any avail, it
must certainly soon be let drive at the now fast-retreating
pigeon. At thirty-three yards, say, a properly bored
pigeon-gun will give a killing spread of twenty-four to
thirty inches, according to the load, etc.; so that six
inches to one side or the other, on a straight-away shot,
does not signify, for still the bird will come handsomely
inside of the killing-circle.

On side and quartering shots one can afford to be more
deliberate; in fact, here errors must not accumulate into
many inches, for it does not take a fast-flying bird long
to move across and beyond the width of the whole charge.
Smokeless powder, however, is of such decided advan-
tage, where both barrels may be used, that nowadays
scores are being made that before its advent would have
been quite impossible to attain.

DUCK-GUNS.

In this country, the gun most universally used for
wild fowl shooting is the heavy ten-gauge, while in Eng-
land the eight-bore is the favorite. As regards shooting,
pure and simple, a ten can’t compete with an eight any
more than a twelve can with a ten-bore; but in order to
‘be a serviceable gun, if an eight-gauge, it must be of
considerable weight, and that is a bar against its use,
excepting where the shooter is at a stand-still—be it in a

blind, boat, or on a pass; add to which, he must be of
28
434 UPLAND SHOOTING.

powerful build to shoot for any length of time with a
very heavy gun.

One thing must be borne in mind, else experience
may be dearly bought at the most inconvenient and
critical moment. A man accustomed to shooting a ten-
pound, ten-gauge gun at the trap and in the field will find
himself completely at sea when using a twelve pound
eight-gauge, and as most guns of that caliber go over
that weight, why, it is as well to get the swing of such a
monster well in hand before attempting to pull down
swift-flying birds with it; and as all wild fowl are of the
most rapid flight, it is apparent that nothing but perfect
control of the weapon will insure success when shooting
at this kind of game.

Experience has taught me this, that while I can
manage an 114-pound ten-bore of thirty-one-inch barrels,
when I attempt to wield a 134-pound eight-gauge with
thirty-four-inch barrels, I simply get belind all fast-fly-
ing cross-shots, from the very fact that I can’t swing the
heavier gun, through being unaccustomed to handle so
much weight of metal away off from the left hand, so
that, although my eight-bore with its full charge is unques-
tionably a better and much more powerful shooter than
any ten-bore, yet I certainly bag much more game with
the ten; and so it will be with most men unless they
become thoroughly accustomed to holding and moving,
with rapidity and precision, very heavy and long-barreled
guns. <A light eight-bore is a most undesirable and
unwise venture; for, if loaded with full charge, it must be
an-inordinate kicker, while if only half charge, it will do
no better execution than a ten-bore, and always will
remain a much more unwieldly weapon. Inside of twelve
pounds, therefore, for a double gun, better get a ten-
gauge, while a full-weighted eight will go from thirteen to
fifteen pounds. Such a gun will shoot, with comfort to
GUNS. 435

the man behind it, seven drams of good powder and two
ounces of large shot. When thus loaded, it is quite clear
that a ten-bore with five drams and its 1} ounces is simply
nowhere in comparison.

A thoroughly serviceable wild fowl gun should be as
heavy as the owner can handle with comfort and accuracy.
If it must weigh between eight and nine pounds, let it be
a twelve-bore; if between 94 and 103, then, by all, means,
a ten, while the barrels need not be over thirty inches in
length, unless very coarse, slow-burning powder is used,
then it may go to thirty-two.

All duck-guns should be bored specially with a view
to shooting heavy charges of powder without undue
recoil, and be so regulated that they will throw, with
compactness and regularity, large shot, as No. 6 is the
minimum size used at ducks. A properly bored gun will
put over 80 per cent. of its charge of No. 4 shot in a
thirty-inch circle at forty yards, while a really first-
class one will put fifty pellets of that size of shot on a
square foot at that distance. In no branch of shooting
is the advantage of choke-boring of so much benefit as in
turning out duck-guns, for here, range and penetration,
with closeness of delivery, are all-important.

Next to the shooting qualities of guns intended to be
carried in all weather, liable at any time to be drenched
from breech to muzzle, exposed to damp and rough usage
generally, comes the gun which, if I may use the expres-
sion, is nearest to being water-proof, or, rather, the kind
and make of gun that willstand the most exposure and
remain internally dry.

A perfect duck-gun would be one that could be
plunged into water in all its length, then withdrawn,
wiped off with a rag, and pronounced out of danger of
rust. There being no such gun so long as triggers are
used, the next approach to perfection is the kind that
436 UPLAND SHOOTING.

will admit of no water excepting through the trigger-
plate. It stands to reason that any style of action that will
allow water to penetrate into it, or the lock, from above,
is a faulty one for duck-guns; and while such systems may
do very well for trap-shooting, where a gun is seldom
exposed to the rain or snow, yet it should be eschewed
when selecting a gun for rough service in the field.

It is not the writer’s object to particularize nor to
stigmatize certain makes of guns in this chapter, but it
is clear that any gun which, when open or closed, pre-
sents a gap, in which water or salt air may easily find its
way into its working-parts or mechanism, is decidedly
a defective style of gun for the wild-fowler; for, even
with the staunchest one, water will eventually get into
the joints, and rust them, unless far more than the usual
amount of care and elbow-grease (besides other grease) be
plentifully and constantly bestowed on them. I will,
therefore, merely warn the novice to look to this, and
thereby save himself many an hour’s hard work, to say
nothing of the possibility of premature break-downs,
caused from rusty surfaces bearing against each other,
and therefore increasing the strain and wear and tear of
any piece of machinery.

A man who habitually uses a field or trap gun under
eight pounds in weight and with a crook of say two inches
at comb and three at butt, had better choose a rather
straighter stock when in quest of a ten or eleven pound
gun, especially if long in the barrels. A gun of seven
and a half pounds in weight and thirty-inch barrels, that
mounts perfectly with a certain crook, would be no crite-
rion upon which to order a 103-pound, thirty-two-inch
barrel one. The light gun would naturally come up more
easily and with less exertion than the heavier one, so
that allowance must be made accordingly, and nothing
but experience will teach just how great or little the
GUNS. 487

difference should be. Then, again, a crooked stock is
apt to cause a gun to drop at the muzzle, which isa fatal
error where long shots are in vogue, as the tendency
will be for it to drop at extreme ranges, while a muzzle
that holds well up will, in a measure, rectify this depres-
sion by giving the charge a higher trajectory.

In the matter of length of stock, duck-guns are best
made with rather shorter ones than those intended for
shooting in warm weather, when less and thinner clothing
is worn; for nothing is more aggravating than to be con-
tinually balked by having the heel chuck up against the
hunting-coat, and stay there fast as wax, just because an
extra flannel shirt may have been epee on a very
cold morning.

Rubber maa and all such sansiosiess are useful
enough in their way, in that they check the recoil so far
as the shoulder is concerned; but nothing will make a
kicking gun pleasant to shoot, and nothing but weight
and proper boring (with rational loading) will take up the
recoil; for although these appliances may deaden the
severity of the blow, yet the whole system receives the
shock, which, when often repeated, jars the shooter to
such an extent that all pleasure is lost, fine shooting
impossible, voluntary flinching inevitable, headache most
probable—then good-bye sport.

My observation, covering, as it does, a good deal of
ground and a great many men, inclines me to the opinion
that a ten to tenand a half pound, thirty-inch barrel gun,
of ten bore, is about the very best gun for duck-shooting;
yet my good friend Fred. Kimble, of Peoria, II1.,
reputed (and I declare I honestly believe it) the finest
shot at wild fowl in America, prefers a heavier and
much longer gun, his being one of eleven pounds in
weight, and barrels thirty-four inches long. That gun,
in his hands, with five drams of F. G. Dead Shot, good
438 UPLAND SHOOTING.

wadding, and one and a quarter of 4’s, reaches ducks at
such tremendous heights, kills them so dead—stone dead in
the air—that it seems sacrilegious to even mention one of
different dimensions. It may be that greater experience
in this, the most difficult of all shooting, would teach me
that longer barrels are of benefit.

Of one thing there can be no doubt; a well-bored
ten-gauge gun, with thirty-inch barrels, can be made to
shoot so compactly that it will be a sure killer, if prop-
erly held and loaded, up to fifty-five yards, nearly
always reliable at sixty, and generally good up to sixty-
five or seventy. Now, in order to fully understand this
part of the question, it is essential to clearly understand
the pace at which a duck flies. Itis far easier to obtain
a gun that will kill at sixty yards seven times out of ten,
than it is to finda man capable of doing the steering
three times out of as many shots; in fact, it takes a
remarkably good marksman to kill and bag two ducks in
five shots in flight-shooting, even if shooting inside of
forty-five yards, while most men who are considered
good wild-fowl shots are content with bagging one duck
for every three shells. Up to forty yards, a charge of
loose shot does not lose much of its highest velocity; but
after going fifty yards, it commences to slacken to such
an extent that the holding ahead on all cross-shots is a
matter of great consideration. For instance, the lead
allowed on a duck flying across at forty yards should be
doubled if the bird is at sixty; and even then, unless a
good double allowance is given, the chances are the load
will get where the bird was—‘‘ too late.”

It would be absurd to lay down any given rule by
which this leading on cross-shots could be measured.
One man throws his gun to his shoulder, swings well
ahead, and pulls; another deliberately catches up to his
bird, leads it far more than the other, draws just a frac-
GUNS. 439

tion of a second, and then pulls trigger. This man must
be extremely liberal in the allowance, if in nothing else,
for the duck is going ahead all this time. Then comes
the man whose muscles and nerves act in quickest con-
cert with his brain. This man does not lead his birds as
much, but still he must pullin ahead if he would kill,
for nothing can overcome the flight of the bird at right
angles to the charge of shot—nothing except getting the
load where the bird will be when it reaches it; and, by
the way, if, as many suppose, a load of shot could be
made to fly through the air flat asa plate, instead of
stringing out for several feet, it is very doubtful if any-
one could be found skillful enough to kill birds on the
wing, for then the connection of the bird and the shot
would have to be simultaneous, else they would never
meet.

The pattern of a shot-gun, therefore, as revealed on a
piece of paper, is very misleading, for although there
may be gaps and many places untouched by a single
pellet, yet were this paper a moving object it would be
pretty certain to fly into the shot by going across it, and
thereby allowing either the fastest or slowest pellets to
perforate it; hence it is that many guns that don’t per-
form above the average when tried at paper circles, yet
as game-killers they answer admirably, giving, as they do,
a greater margin to the shooter, helping him, by their
large spread, to correct faulty aim or improper allowance,
where a very close-shooting gun just misses altogether.
Yet, as before stated, a duck-gun should be a long-range
one, for wild fowl are shy, wary birds, that take plenty
of hitting to double them up; and as cripples are, for the
most part, lost in many places, it is far better to miss
completely than wound a lot of fine birds, doomed to die
a lingering death, and furnish food for the marauders that
ceaselessly watch their prey.
440 UPLAND SHOOTING.
RESUME.

Many years ago, the average American sportsman, to
be well served, had to purchase his guns of English make,
for very few good and handsome guns were made in his
country as compared with those turned out abroad.
London then, as now, went in the van, for the most
beautiful and highest art in guns certainly claims Lon-
don as home. There is no disputing this. Still, magnifi-
cent guns are built in Birmingham, more particularly by
the Messrs. Scott & Son, who have so justly earned a
most enviable reputation, here and in many foreign coun-
tries, for the general excellence of their fire-arms. Tolley,
Greener, Bonehill, and others too numerous to mention,
make splendid guns, all well known in America, than
which, in its length and breadth, it would indeed be a
hard matter to find a more trying country on fire-arms.

Nowadays, and for several years back, guns are pro-
duced in America which, for range, durability, closeness
of fitting, and absolute worth, can not be excelled, at the
price, by any made the world over, so that it is quite
en régle for some of the English makers to attempt to
make it appear that the home guns are merely ‘‘mus-
kets,’’ while theirs are works of art. This is a last gasp
of the man who finds his much-vaunted and highly over-
rated wares steadily pushed to one side, to allow others
possessing greater and more enduring merit to take preced-
ence. Such a master as Purdey, for instance, is totally
oblivious of any and all machine-made guns; they come
not into competition with his masterpieces. Theman who
wants a Purdey is after something different from an
ordinary gun, though it be ever so good. He wants
symmetry, beauty, elegance, high-bred work all over, com-
bined with greatest shooting power and durability, and
he is willing to pay for his fancv—and so he must; while,
GUNS. 441

for actual service, a home-made gun, costing only one-
tenth as much, may be found to be just as well; but it can
never present the same appearance, nor have its exquisite
balance and grace of outline, and herein lie its principal
charms.

There are so many excellent makes of guns in this
country, that it is a good deal a matter of choice as to
which one we will select. The cheapest American guns
are to be preferred to common Birmingham or Belgian
makes, as they invariably fit closer in their joints, are
more durable, and, as a rule, are much better shooters;
aside from this, they are made with interchangeable parts,
so that any break-down can easily be remedied at a
trifling expense.

In so vast a country, and where so many thousands of
men use guns, there ought to be room for all; yet some
will get driven to the wall, and experience only will
teach many which are the best guns.

 
COURSING.

 

By G. Irwin Roycs, M. D.

 

JO other field sport or contest with animals
attracts such universal attention as coursing.
|| It is devoid of unpleasant and objectionable
i features that attach to horse-racing, gun-
==] ning, and many other legitimate field sports,
ory in themselves are comparatively harmless; but
associations attending them prevent their being engaged
in or enjoyed by those who are endowed with intensified
moral sentiments.

But coursing, or contesting the speed of greyhounds,
although comparatively new in this country as a scien-
tific contest, has an assured popularity, and justly so, for
the old and young, ladies and gentlemen, can attend a
coursing meet with perfect propriety, and with the most
intense pleasure.

Local clubs are being formed in all portions of the
United States, and the graceful greyhound is eagerly
sought after, not only for field-work, but as a suitable
companion for a lady on horseback or a gentleman on a
stroll, and as a necessary adjunct to complete an elegant
turnout, and also as an ornament for the lawn.

The younger Xenophon, in his description of the grey-
hound when first introduced into Greece, says:

‘“‘Tn figure the most high-bred are a prodigy of beauty
—their eyes, their hair, their color, their bodily shape
throughout. Such brilliancy of gloss is there about the

spottiness of the parti-color, and, in those of uniform
(443)

  
444 UPLAND SHOOTING.

color, such glistening over the sameness of tint, as to
afford a most delightful spectacle to an amateur of
coursing.

‘‘T have myself bred up a swift, hard-working, cour-
ageous, sound-footed dog. He is most gentle and kindly
affectioned, and never before had I any such a dog for
myself or my friend, or my fellow sportsman. When
not actually engaged in coursing, he is never away from
me. Ifashort time only has passed since he saw me or my
friend, he jumps repeatedly by way of salutation, and
barks with joy as a greeting to us. He has also different
tones of speech, and such as I never heard from any other
dog. Now I do not think that I ought to be ashamed to
chronicle the name of this dog, or let posterity know
that Xenophon the Athenian had a greyhound called
Hormé, possessed of the greatest speed and intelligence
and fidelity, and excellent in every point.”

The Greek sportsmen held their greyhounds in the
highest regard, even employing servants as bed-fellows,
and would exact as much attention from them .as they
required shown to their children.

Until the last century, the common people were not
allowed to possess a greyhound in many portions of
Europe, and even to-day they are acknowledged the aris-
tocrats among dogs.

Should I attempt to give a full history of the grey-
hound and coursing, it would fill a large volume; but
being limited in space, it will suffice to say that coursing,
or hunting wild animals with fleet-footed dogs, is of very
ancient origin, and the greyhound, in a somewhat varied
form from what we now see, was one of the first dogs
mentioned in history, and is seen sculptured on the ruins
of some of the most ancient structures.

They were originally employed in the chase for large
game, as tigers, wolves, wild boars, deer, etc., and were
COURSING. 445

necessarily of a larger and more ferocious type; but as
the larger game became less numerous, the form, size, and
disposition of the greyhound was materially changed,
until to-day we have several varieties of the same species,
different countries having a greyhound best adapted to
the purpose for which they are made most useful to their
owners.

The different varieties will be briefly considered, and
to. prevent confusion a classification will be chosen that
will enable anyone to distinguish the variety to which
each belongs, and breeders and owners will do well to
adhere to this classification.

We often hear mentioned the deer-hound, the stag-
hound, boar-hound, wolf-hound, and these terms can be
applied with equal propriety to the Scotch greyhound,
the large fox-hound, the Russian greyhound, or even the
Great Dane, and endless confusion is the result; and in
order to avoid any misunderstanding, I shall arrange
them in the following order:

Scotch Persian
English Greyhound. Russian
Grecian Italian

We have only included the best-known and well-
authenticated varieties, although there may be other dogs,
bearing a resemblance to the greyhound, that are
used in hunting game by sight, as the French matin,
which, however, resembles the collie quite as closely as
the greyhound, and, in fact, is made useful as a herder.
Other varieties, as the Irish wolf-hound, so called, might
with propriety be included in the list; but they so closely
resemble the Scotch greyhound, and are so nearly extinct,
that they are hardly worthy of a separate classification.

As to the origin of the name greyhound, very little has
been definitely learned. Some authors claim that the name
was derived from Greecus (Greek hound), while others
446 UPLAND SHOOTING.

give it as their opinion that it was a corruption from gaze-
hound.

Be that as it may, the name is now firmly attached to
this family of dogs, and there being such a close resem-
blance in the several varieties, it is more comprehensive
to include all under the name greyhound.

It is generally conceded that they were of Celtic origin,
and were brought by the various tribes to the southern
part of Europe and the British Isles.

THE SCOTCH GREYHOUND

Will be first considered, because they are better known
and are more numerous than either of the other varieties,
except the English greyhound, and perhaps more nearly
resemble the old Celtic hound.

The extremes of size and peculiarity of coat were
brought about by breeding, to adapt them to the more
northern and rougher country, and in time they became
strong enough to pull down the largest stag. The coat is
long and wiry, and well calculated to afford protection
against injury and the vicissitudes of the weather in the
Scottish mountains.

They are large and powerfully made, with extra-strong
bone, and well muscled. The color is more commonly
a dark brindle or gray, but often light fawn, or even
mouse-color.

Being unable to pursue their game by sight in a mount-
ainous country, the power of scent was cultivated, and
speed was in a measure sacrificed to size; and fanciers of
the Scotch greyhound are careful to mention the fact that
they are able to pursue a wounded deer silently by the trail,
and when they have overtaken him, have the power and
courage to kill.

Their size naturally inspires confidence, their coarse.
bristly coat giving them the appearance of being much
COURSING. AAT

larger than they really are. A variety is coming into
favor in this country having a longer and softer coat than
the older dogs. The coat, though quite like that of the
collie or Newfoundland, lacks that close under-coat which
is the real protection against inclement weather, and,
when wet, they have a drabbled appearance, which will
detract from their usefulness as a rough country worker.

They are, as a rule, intelligent and affectionate to
their owner; but when in the field show undoubted cour-
age, and are emphatically killers.

They are gradually becoming more numerous in this
country, and will in time be found a necessity, with the
other types of greyhounds, in destroying the wolf and
coyote, which are gaining in numbers in the Western
country to a dangerous extent.

They have been employed successfully in the Rocky
Mountains in hunting elk, deer, and other large game,
and in coursing antelope on the plains. In the lowlands
of Scotland, they are used for coursing hares, but are a
smaller variety.

THE ENGLISH GREYHOUND

Is pre-eminently the most popular form of the greyhound
family, and has been brought nearer to a state of
perfection.

As the larger game became nearly or quite extinct in
England, and the hare only remained for the greyhound
to pursue, he was gradually reduced in size, the coat
became closer, and speed and ability to turn more clev-
erly was cultivated, and for over 100 years they have
been employed in scientific contests; and to-day they are
nearly a match for the swiftest hare in this country or
in England, but, like the thoroughbred horse, have
undoubtedly reached the height of speed possible to
attain, and only now and then one appears having
448 UPLAND SHOOTING.

phenomenal speed and working power, that gives him a
manifest pre-eminence above his fellows.

To within a few years, little attention has been given
to careful breeding in this country, and, as a result, we
more commonly see a large, coarse dog, showing an out-
cross with some other breed of dog; but as the interest in
coursing increases, a strain will be developed that will be
able to contest the honors with the best-bred specimens
on their native heath.

No attention has ever been given to breeding any
special color, and a greyhound may be the color of any
other dog known. The name greyhound has no reference
to color whatever.

They have been trained to run altogether by sight,
and the power of scent has lain dormant for want of exer-
cise; but should a pair of greyhounds be allowed to run a
trail, and encouraged to do so, the offspring will show
the same inclination in a marked degree.

Jt is not an uncommon sight to see a greyhound take
the trail of a wolf before a pack of fox-hounds, and run
by the scent for miles, far in advance of the pack.

Even the imported greyhounds, from the best strains
in England, are quite diligent in picking up the trail,
when unsighted, from a rabbit they have been pursuing.

Why such erroneous ideas in regard to this breed are
held, it is difficult to conceive; but the great majority of
those not familiar with their peculiarities entertain the
view that they are neither intelligent or affectionate.
All kinds of animals have their individual peculiarities,
like human beings, and the greyhound is no exception to
the rule.

Some of them are as sensitive and delicate asa young
fawn, while others are as coarse and stubborn as a mule,
possess the courage of a bull-dog, and are what would
be called good watch-dogs.
COURSING. 449

Sir Phillip Warwick, in writing of Charles I., who was
as fond of a greyhound as his son Charles II. was of a
spaniel, says of him:

‘‘Methinks because it shows his dislike for a common
court vice, it is not unworthy the relating of him, that
one evening, his dog scratching at his door, he com-
manded me to let him in, whereupon I took the liberty
to say, ‘Sir, I perceive that you love a greyhound better
than you do a spaniel.’

‘“<*Yes,’ says he, ‘for they equally love their master,
but do not flatter him so much.’ ”’

They are quiet and dignified, and not as demonstrative
as many other varieties of dogs, but to their owners dis-
play marked affection and a high grade of’ intelligence.

Again referring to color, we will say that it is a matter
of taste as to the color selected. For exhibition only, the
fawn, mouse, or white is preferable, but some old coursers
contend that the darker colors, as black or brindle, are
more hardy; but observation will show that color has
very little to do in influencing speed or endurance. To
combine the greatest speed with the most pleasing color
and outline, should be the results aimed at in breeding.

We also find a considerable variation in size, ranging
from 35 to 100 pounds; but the heavier dogs are not
adapted to coursing hares, and are only used to hunt
larger game. They are more showy, and for the city, to
be used as coach-dogs, are more desired than the smaller
greyhounds.

A model greyhound should be about sixty pounds in

weight, with the muscular system evenly developed, with
‘*A head like a snake,
A neck like a drake,
A breast like a bream (a fish),
A back like a beam,
Paws like a cat,

A tail like a rat.”
29
450 UPLAND SHOOTING.

The head should be long, and slightly wedge-shaped,
with ears small and well set upon the head. The eye
should be moderately full, with an expression of alertness,
and possessed of a power to see objects at a great dis-
tance.

The neck is an important factor, and should be long, to
correspond to the length of the legs, in order to enable
him to seize the hare, while running at the height of his
speed, without throwing extra weight on the fore quar-
ters. and to prevent falling.

The neck should taper from the shoulders to the head,
and should be slightly arched. The chest should be
capacious, with ribs well sprung, but not so wide at the
lower portion as to prevent a free action to the elbows.

The shoulders should be broad and deep, and placed
obliquely.

The fore legs should be nearly straight, with only a
slight curve at the pasterns, and well set on the feet,
which should stand straight, neither turning in or out.

The loin should be strong, moderately wide, gradu-
ally tapering from the middle to the attachments, and
well arched, and free from any appearance of coarseness,
and not too long. With muscular hind quarters and a
well-developed loin, a dog has the advantage in the pro-
pulsory motion over another dog deficient in this partic-
ular, be he ever so perfectly developed otherwise.

The hind legs should be wide as well as thick, with
well-bent stifles, and hocks placed low down.

The tail must be long, well set on, and gradually taper-
ing from the body to the extremity, where it should be
no larger thana lead pencil. The carriage of the tail by
a greyhound has considerable influence in giving a pleas-
ing appearance to his outline. Itshould be carried low
down, and only rolled sufficiently so that the end points
toward the top of the hips.
COURSING. 461

The feet may be either cat-like or more like the hare’s
foot; but a foot that avoids either extreme is preferable.
It should be close, giving the dog the appearance of
standing on his toes. A splay-footed dog is to a great
disadvantage, especially when running a plowed field.

The bones should be large, but not coarse, in order to
give firm attachment to the muscles.

For coursing, the male should weigh about sixty
pounds and the female fifty-five.

The Grecian and Persian greyhounds are owned and
bred almost exclusively in the countries from which they
derive their names, and are little known in connection
with public coursing.

The Grecian greyhound is not as large as the English
greyhound, and has a coat of hair more like a setter, with
rather long, drooping ears and a bushy tail. He hasa
very pleasing and graceful outline.

The Persian greyhound is smaller than the English
greyhound, but made on a more graceful model. On the
body, the coat is closer than the Grecian, but the ears
have a coat of long, silky hair, like a spaniel. The ears
are long and drooping, and the legs are more or less
feathered, like the setter. The tail is long, and well
curved, and is unfortunately provided with a super-
abundance of long, bushy hair, giving it the appearance
of being overburdened.

They are used for coursing the hare, antelope, wild
ass,and boar. Although they are slender and delicate
in appearance, they are possessed of most wonderful
courage.

They are used, in connection with the falcon, in pursu-
ing the wild ass and antelope, which are more than a.
match for even these fleet-footed dogs; and not infre-
quently the rifle is brought into requisition to assist in
their capture, as these fearless riders pursue the game
452 UPLAND SHOOTING.

over the roughest mountainous country, across ravines,
through swift-flowing streams, undaunted by the most
formidable obstacles.

The Russian greyhound, which is more commonly
called the Siberian wolf-hound, is probably the most
majestic and noble specimen of the greyhound. He isa
large, powerful fellow, with the courage of a lion, and the
speed and endurance of both the Scotch and English
greyhounds.

They are used for killing large game, especially the
wolf, but are occasionally used in following the hare.
They hunt by scent as well as by sight, and are often
taken out in packs in hunting the wolf.

The coat is long, soft, and silky, with a close under-
coat, that enables them to endure the rigors of the Rus-
sian winter. Their color is a dark brown, or gray, with
variations in shading. They are owned mostly by the
nobility in Russia, and but few specimens of the breed
can be found in this country.

Undoubtedly they would be well adapted to our North-
western country, being well able to endure the cold. and
would materially assist in ridding the country of the
wolves and coyotes.

THE ITALIAN GREYHOUND

Is emphatically a parlor pet, and is of no practical use in
the pursuit of game. In their outline they resemble the
English greyhound, but are as delicate in structure as a
young fawn, and being natives of a warm country, are
extremely sensitive to cold. They have less diversity of
color, being usually of a delicate, golden fawn-color. but
are frequently mouse-color, or may be pure white, or mot-
tled, and are very attractive in the drawing-room.

Their weight is about ten pounds, but often much
heavier, from careless breeding, and some of the larger
COURSING. 453

specimens have been used for coursing the hare or small
rabbit.

Now that coursing is thoroughly established in this
country as a popular pastime, and in view of the value
which must attach to the greyhound from now on,
special care should be exercised in breeding this
noble animal. An inferior greyhound shows defects
more quickly, to an experienced judge, than almost any
other breed. A departure from the laws of symmetry
detracts from that grace which they so perfectly illus-
trate in outline and motion. The laws governing the
reproduction of species are simple and easily applied, but
success in breeding depends upon an instinctive love for
the animal kingdom, combined with a close study of for-
mation.

The Darwinian theory of selection, if one acquaints
himself with it, will lead to success in breeding all kinds
of animals, for the rules laid down are always sure in
their results if properly applied.

It need not take a long series of experiments, requir-
ing years, for even a novice to produce a greyhound hav-
ing a beautiful outline, with the greatest speed attainable,
for there are enough good greyhounds in this country,
including those recently imported, to give a foundation
for breeding.

The first desideratum is speed, and the second is
ability to recover after turning a hare; but a perfect out-
line, with a pleasing color, with strength and endurance,
should by no means be ignored in an effort to produce a
speedy greyhound.

All of these qualities can be secured by careful
breeding.

The theory of selection, and its practical application,
is based on the principle that like begets like; and
by selecting both parents having the qualities desired
454 UPLAND SHOOTING.

largely developed, the offspring will likely have the
same developed in a still more intensified degree—
some of them, at least. Now, to overcome any marked
defect in either parent, and to prevent its being shown
in the young, select for a mate to the one defective, one
having the peculiarity largely developed.

In some of the produce the defect will be entirely
overcome, while in others of the same litter it will plainly
show. Retain for future breeding those showing the
desired points, and discard the defective ones.

Always keep the best.

Unless these rules are observed, failure will nearly
always result.

How often we see disappointment in breeding, when an
inexperienced person, transient in his enthusiasm, but
having an abundance of cash, attempts to reproduce a
perfect specimen of any variety of the canine race by
purchasing and mating two prize-winners, one taking
honors on the bench and the other in the field. Either,
for the purpose designed, have the qualities desired, and
justly won the medals, but a marked dissimilarity of
structure, and being of a distinct strain, and possibly
defective in the same points, prevents their mixing prop-
erly, and their offspring are quite worthless; and the
novice is disgusted, sells out at a sacrifice, and will
contend that he was swindled in the purchase.

Had a scientific breeder been consulted, he would have
seen at a glance that it was an improper mating.

Not that this is always the case, for frequently one
blunders into success, and some of the best combination
dogs have been produced in this way: but should the
matter be traced up carefully, it would be found that,
more frequently than otherwise, the results were obtained
by one conversant with the laws governing the reproduc-
tion of species.
COURSING. 455

One of the principal causes of failure in breeding is in
leaving these matters in the hands of attendants, who
have little or no interest further than to obey orders,
when it does not conflict with their ease and pleasure.

A person not having time to personally superintend
the mating of any fine stock, should not engage in breed-
ing with any expectation of success or profit.

The care of the greyhound while rearing its young,
and while in training for field contests, should be care-
fully studied; and, as the interest extends, the novice will
eagerly seek all information obtainable, that he may
compete successfully with those having obtained their
knowledge by careful observation and an expensive
experience.

The first requisite is to obtain a pair of greyhounds
from an honorable and successful breeder, and then bear
in mind that the training should really begin sixty-three
days previous to their birth. The mother should be
carefully fed, and all the affection possible lavished on
her.

She should be exercised regularly to within ten days
of the birth of the future winners.

The disposition, and many other qualities desired, can
be stamped in the young, through the mother, the first
thirty days of conception; and in order to give activity,
an eagerness for the chase, and a desire to kill, the
mother should be taken into the field and allowed to
share in the chase. To allow her to lie around the ken-
nel or yard, and accumulate fat and laziness, is positively
injurious to the mother and young both.

While in the field, great care should be exercised, lest
she become exhausted or overheated, especially the
latter. After the birth of the pups, the mother should
be fed all she will possibly eat, and food of rather a
sloppy nature. The little ones should be fed about the
456 UPLAND SHOOTING.

fourth week, or earlier if they are not receiving sufficient
nourishment from the mother.

The food should be made of boiled milk, rolled
crackers, stale bread, and well-cooked meat picked up
into small fragments, with a moderate amount of thor-
oughly cooked oatmeal.

Feed this mixture twice daily for two weeks before
fully weaning them.

The stomach and bowels will by this means become
accustomed to the change gradually, and when finally
taken from the mother will not suffer in the least.

They should now be fed three times a day, and with
regularity.

After the third month, the food can be made more solid,
and soft bones can be given them now and then. Table-
scraps, well selected, are often made a standard diet for
growing pups, but the greatest care should be exercised
in selecting them, especially when obtained from hotels,
or acid substances, pie, an excess of mustard, salt, or
pepper will be inadvertently added, and may cause a dis-
turbance of the stomach or bowels that will be difficult
to remedy.

Admonish the cook to provide only meal, bread, pota-
toes and other vegetables. A gentle admonition in this
case will not suffice, and a repetition will do very little
injury.

For the first nine months, pups should be allowed to
run about with little or no restraint, and should be fed
liberally, and kept sleek and fat. If allowed sufficient
liberty, they will take all the exercise that they require,
especially if there are two or more together.

If you are obliged to confine them to a kennel, supply
as much space as possible; but under no circumstances
should they be kept constantly on a chain before they
have reached maturity. Other breeds of dogs will appar-
COURSING, 457

ently do well and thrive, and only see freedom for a very
few minutes each day, but a greyhound is not made that
way.

Although you may exercise your authority, and
oblige them to go into the kennel, still it is better to
induce them to go in by offering a bit of food. Never
attempt to subdue their will or break their spirits,
for a greyhound becomes cowed and sneaky by harsh
treatment; their usefulness is greatly lessened, or, more
likely, they are ruined entirely. When of mature age,
they can, with patience, be taught anything, but usually
their education is sadly neglected, and they give one the
impression that they have little intelligence; but take those
having ordinary dog sense, and carefully teach them
various tricks, and see how readily they will take to their
lessons after finding out what is wanted of them.

Actual field-training can begin about the tenth month,
especially with the females, as they develop about six
months earlier than the dogs.

Allow them to follow the carriage or saddle-horse for
a short distance each day; but until the muscles are well
developed, they should not be allowed in the field after
game.

When first taken to the coursing-ground, let them
accompany a pair of good reliable killers; and after the
game is secured, allow them to mouth it, and encourage
them by a friendly pat. Soon they will learn the trick,
and then may assist one dog for a race or two. They
may now be twelve months old, and a pair of youngsters
may be taken afield together.

Their diet can be changed gradually to a drier and more
concentrated food, and the largest meal given at night,
that digestion may be completed while they are sleeping.
A bit of dry bread or a few small pieces of meat in the
morning is all-sufficient.
458 UPLAND SHOOTING.

A greyhound, like a wolf, will pursue his game best
when hungry; and even two days of abstinence will do a
dog very little injury, and will enable him to show almost
phenomenal speed for a special occasion.

A full stomach prevents perfect iung action, and a
greyhound may be permanently injured by allowing
him to exert himself to his utmost, as an ambitious dog
will, immediately after a large meal.

The food best adapted to mature dogs, while preparing
them for field contests, can be prepared daily with the
best results. Prepared food, or patent biscuit, is subject
to changes of the atmosphere, and becomes stale and
mouldy by age, and is soon inhabited by a numerous
family of insects, and often does much injury to dogs in
training. |

An article that will best serve the purpose fora steady
diet can be made as follows:

Boil a quantity of beef or mutton in sufficient water
to make a rich soup; when the meat is well done, salt a
little, separate the meat from the bones, and cut in small
fragments; mix with this equal parts of old bread, well-
cooked oatmeal and corn-meal. making a batter about
the consistency of ordinary corn-cake batter; spread it
quite thin in a bake-pan, and bake till quite dry and hard.

This will keep for some time, and will make a most
excellent training-food, although it is more difficult to
prepare than ordinary table-scraps, meat and the like, but
will pay in the end.

Of course, a little judgment should be used, and the
dog given more or less of a variety daily.

Vegetable matter is a necessity, given in some form,
potatoes, carrots, or beets being the best.

The food should never be made sloppy fora greyhound.
in training, and only enough food given to keep him in
good health, with coat glossy. and with the muscular
COURSING. 459

system developing gradually, without showing an ounce
of excessive adipose tissue. .

A raw bone may be given twice per week. Dogs
seem to require an excess of carbonate and phosphate of
lime, and their efforts to secure the meat on the bone
will keep the tartar from forming on the teeth, and also.
keep the gums healthy.

When it is impossible to prepare the food as directed,
give carefully selected table-scraps.

Whatever the diet may be, try and select food that
you can surely supply to the end of the coursing season,
and adhere to it strictly.

To make a radical change two weeks before a coursing
meeting is fatal to success. Dogs were brought to the
meeting at Great Bend, a few days previous to the meet-
ing, that had been petted and fed at home like one of the
family, but hearing of Spratt’s biscuit being such a valu-
able training-food, their owners would feed them quite
liberally of the biscuit, hoping to supply a special stim-
ulus for the occasion; but what was their disappoint-
meut to find the poor creatures’ bowels out of condition,
and quite undone for a six days’ contest.

We had other examples, where young dogs had been
fed on the coarsest corn-meal to within three weeks of the
meeting, and then changed to a diet selected from the
best hotel-scraps; and although they were fed sparingly
of this, they became ‘“‘logy’’ and out of heart, and of
course made a very sorry showing in the public contests,
although they were quite speedy.

Two meals per day is ample for a dog in training, but
one is much better if you accustom him to it from the
first. The heartiest meal should always be given at
night.

The quantity of food for each dog should be regulated
as before stated, and no two will require the same kind
460 UPLAND SHOOTING.

or amount; and to throw a large quantity on the ground
promiscuously, before a kennel of dogs in training, is the
sheerest nonsense. Some will eat an enormous quantity
in less time than we are telling it, while others may take
a bone and retire to a corner and only secure about a
mouthful. Each individual dog should be fed sepa-
rately.

There are various methods of giving exercise, but road-
work is, above all, absolutely necessary. This may be
given by allowing the dog to follow the carriage ora
horse under the saddle. It is a favorite method of the
English to lead their greyhounds in the field for hours
daily. Thisis too laborious, and requires too much time,
unless one has no other business except to care for a
couple of greyhounds; even then we believe that, after
the first few days, a walk for a half-mile, a trot for a
mile, a gallop for another mile, a run for a quarter, and a
walk in, is far preferable.

The use of the brush, followed by a vigorous hand-
rubbing, is invaluable, and should be employed as one of
the most reliable assistants in fitting up greyhounds.

The principles of the massage treatment are quite
applicable in this case. Roll, pinch, rub, and pat the
whole body, especially the shoulders, loins, and hips.
This passive exercise, if thoroughly given, will take the
place largely of field-work.

Very few actual chases should be given the greyhound
in training, and only enough to make him eager. Two, or
at the utmost three, races per week after rabbits is ample
for any greyhound in training; for, if allowed to pursue
game too frequently, they lose that eagerness so much
desired in a greyhound, and are quite apt to acquire a
habit of running cunning, or waiting behind for the head
dog to turn the rabbit, which they soon learn will be done
when they are closely pursuing the game.
COURSING. 461

This will disqualify any dog from further competition
in a public coursing meeting, as will be seen by the rules
governing coursing.

A greyhound after the fourth running season is not
safely employed in public coursing, although the famous
Miss Glendyne, of England, ran her coursing honestly
last spring, winning the Waterloo purse, although she
was defeated for the Waterloo cup by a three-legged
hare being raised at her first course, and her opponent
did such vigorous work at the start, and caught the lame
hare so quickly, that she scarcely got to her work. She
divided the Waterloo cup in 1885; won it in 1886.

However, it is much safer to leave the old ones in the
kennel when selecting a brace for a public contest.

SLIPS.

When taking a pair of dogs into the field for training,
a pair of slips is.as necessary as a harness for a horse
when you desire todrive. Theadvantage to a dog so taught
is very appreciable in a close course, for the run up to
the hare may be the only advantage one dog may have
over his adversary in a sharply contested trial.

The slips are an ingenious device, so constructed that
a pair of dogs are held together as though in a yoke.

The two straps around their necks, instead of being
buckled, are held by a spring, as the dogs stand side by
side. The straps are attached to a piece of steel by
swivels. This will enable the dogs to turn without get-
ting twisted or tangled up. A leading-strap is attached
to one of the swivels, and passes back between the dogs
to the slipper, or man whe does the leading. Through
this round leading-strap runs a strong string, on one end
of which is fastened a small iron pin. This pin holds the
collars in place until the slipper has the word from the
judge to let them go. He then pulls the string, and both
462 UPLAND SHOOTING.

collars are loosened from the dogs’ necks, and they are
free to pursue the hare untrammeled by anything, and
they are thereby given an even start in the race.

THE JACK-RABBIT.

There is probably but one animal that will call into
activity all of the qualities of the greyhound, and that is
the jack-rabbit; and he being such an important factor in
coursing, we deem it essential to give a general descrip-
tion of him, for the benefit of the many readers who have
never seen one of these little fleet-footed residents of the
plains.

He is, undoubtedly, the swiftest animal in the world
for a short distance; and when in good condition, and in
training for being pursued, frequently he is more than a
match for the swiftest greyhound that ever had an
existence.

Their habitat is on the open prairie, from the eastern
border of Texas, Kansas, Nebraska, and Minnesota to the
Pacific Coast. In different localities their size and color
vary considerably, but they all retain their peculiarities
where found. In Dakota they are very large, and are
lighter in color, and have a thicker coat.

In New Mexico and vicinity they are very large, but
much darker in color than in Dakota and other Northern
States.

There are two varieties, the white-tail and the black-
tail; and, as the name would indicate, the tail is the dis-
tinguishing feature, although there are other marked
peculiarities worthy of mention.

The black-tail has a lighter body and longer legs, and
the ears are tipped with seal-brown for about an inch.
The tail much resembles the common cotton-tail in
form, but on the upper surface is the same color as
the tips of the ears. They keep it rolled close to the
COURSING. 463

back, and where it rests, there is also a streak of dark
brown.

The color is a light brown or gray, very closely
resembling the dry grass. The gray color gradually gets
lighter from the back to the under part of the body,
where it is pure white.

A full-grown jack-rabbit will weigh from eight to
fifteen pounds, the female being larger by two or three
pounds.

The white-tail variety has shorter legs, a heavier
body, with a closer coat, than the black-tail, and closely
resembles a young deer in color. The ears are shorter,
and tipped with black; the tail is pure white, about four
inches long, and has a coat of hair less compact than
the black-tail; it tapers to a point, and when running is
carried straight back. This variety is found in greater
numbers on the open buffalo-grass prairies, and is often
spoken of as the prairie hare, and probably quite resembles
the English hare in many respects.

The jack-rabbit never burrows; but when closely
pressed by a greyhound, especially when nearly ex-
hausted, will suddenly dash into a badger-hole, or even a
wolf-den, and not infrequently will take refuge in an old
deserted burrow that will scarcely conceal their form from
view. They rarely resort toa thicket, but depend onspeed
and ability to dodge their pursuers to effect their escape.

Their home, or form, as it is called, is a slight depres-
sion in the ground, under a tuft of grass. They back into
this, and flatten themselves out, with ears laid close to
their backs, only about half of the body being exposed.
With the grass blowing over them, and with the color so
nearly the same hue, it is a difficult matter to see them
when not more than six feet away. They remain at
home during the day, but are on foot as soon as the
shades of nightappear. Not infrequently they are found
464 UPLAND SHOOTING.

on a plowed field, or stubble; but even here, where one
would naturally expect to see them exposed, they have
the faculty of affiliating so closely with mother earth
that they are not seen until they rise, like a phantom, and
glide away. Their coat of hair is of that texture that
enables them to stand the severest cold or the scorching
rays of a southern sun.

The young are brought into the world with a full coat
of hair, and eyes open, and are soon jumping about.
They are quite different from the cotton-tail in this
respect, which are born hairless, and remain in the nest
for about a week.

The natural enemies of the jack-rabbit are the wolf
and hawk. When raised from his form, and if not
closely pressed, he will go away with a sort of hop-step-
and-jump, with ears erect, and will delude a novice with
the impression that he is crippled. If carefully observed,
it will be seen that they have the two hind legs close
together, and use them as one. As they hop away, they
change from side to side in a very defiant way, now and
then making along, high jump. These tactics are kept
up for some time if pursued by a common cur dog; but
turn a greyhound loose in the wake of a jack-rabbit, and
he will find that there is a force in nature hitherto
unknown to him, and he unfurls his legs, drops his ears
close to his body, and you can only see a streak of jack-
rabbit half a mile long. When caught by a greyhound,
they are killed almost as quickly as though shotby a rifle-
ball, and for this reason all the elements of cruelty are
abolished in coursing. He is a prolific breeder, and will
probably never become extinct, and we can be assured of
always having a supply on which to try our greyhounds.

The method of competition, or the manner of contest-
ing the speed of two greyhounds, will now be considered.
The dogs are drawn by lot, and in pairs, and an experi-
. COURSING. 465

enced man, called a slipper, is selected to handle the
dogs while in the field. One dog wears a red collar and
the other a white, made of flannel cloth, one light thick-
ness, for the purpose of enabling the judge to distinguish
the dogs while running. This is necessary if the two
dogs are of the same color. When starting to a course,
a long line of beaters—ladies and gentlemen on horse-
back—is thrown out, in the shape of a crescent. The
dogs, led by the slipper, are in front, and the judge close
by. The spectators are permitted to follow close in the
wake of the beaters. It isa grand sight to see such a
cavalcade marching over the smooth prairie, there having
been at least 3,000 people in attendance at the meeting, in
1888, of the American Coursing Club, at Great Bend,
Kan., where the meetings are held.

The crescent form in which the beaters move is for
the purpose of forcing the rabbit to the center, and before
the dogs.

As he jumps from his form, the slipper attracts the
attention of the dogs to him by some exclamation, and,
as they take sight, they dash for him with such force as
to nearly upset the slipper; and when the rabbit is about
eighty yards away, the word is given by the judge, the
slipper pulls the string, the collars are loosened from
their necks, and away they go. Sucha long lead gives
the greyhounds an opportunity to display their speed,
and affords the rabbit a chance to escape; and not infre-
quently he takes advantage of this kindly offer, and never
lets the greyhounds reach him, and escapes in tall grass
or weeds. <A race is decided on the principle that the
dog showing the greatest speed and ability to turn the
quickest is the superior greyhound, and necessarily does
more toward catching the hare, although he may not kill
him; and in order to estimate their relative value, the

work done is counted by
30
466 UPLAND SHOOTING.
POINTS.

Speed is valued at one, two, or three points, and depends
on the degree of superiority shown; but speed alone is
not sufficient to decide a race, unless subsequent work is
done, except in a very long race to covert.

The go-by is where one dog, at any stage of the race,
starts a length behind his adversary and runs by him,
and gets a length in the lead; for this he is given two
points, or, if they are running on a large circle, and he
passes him on the outside, he is counted three
points.

The turn is where the rabbit is so closely pressed that
he turns at a right angle; for this the dog making the
turn is scored one point.

The wrench is where the rabbit is turned slightly
from a straight line, but at less than a right angle, and
still keeps the same direction; for this the greyhound is
counted a half point.

The ¢rip is an unsuccessful effort to hold a rabbit,
although the greyhound may touch him, or even tumble
him, and counts one point.

The £i// is counted two points, one or nothing. If he
is caught by a greyhound while running straight away,
the highest count is given; but should one dog pick him
up as the foremost greyhound turns him back, he is not
allowed anything.

Those not conversant with the rules of coursing are
quite apt to give all credit to the dog that catches the
rabbit; and the greyhound that has done all the work,
and even turns the rabbit into his mouth, is given no
credit whatever.

These points can be repeated an unlimited number of
times in one race, and it keeps the judge on his mettle to
keep the counts, as they are rapidly repeated.
COURSING. 467

One very important point in the rules, that is often
overlooked, is that after six successive points have been
made, the greyhound making them is counted double
for every point made after the six until the other dog
scores.

No allowance is made for an injury to a greyhound,
except he be ridden over by the owner of the opposing
greyhound.

There can be but little jockeying in coursing, as the
dogs are free, and will do their utmost to kill the hare;
and for this reason the element of fairness enters largely
into this style of competition. Coursing proper is an
open field pastime, and the rabbits are free, and are
frightened from their resting-place; and they flee for
safety, and are only limited by the face of the earth. But
another method, called inclosed park coursing, has been
instituted, whereby the chase is confined to an inclosure,
and the rabbits are captured, and confined to a space
varying from 100 acres to several sections. They are
kept in bounds by a closely woven wirefence. They are
allowed their liberty until such time as they are required
for testing the speed of the greyhounds; they are then
driven into a corral, and are let out one at a time for
the races.

The race-track is usually a narrow space of 100 to 200
yards in width, and from one-half to a mile long. At
the end of the track, there is an escape for the rabbit
through a high board fence; so if the greyhound is
unable to catch him in this distance, he is free. They are
run over this track to the escape very frequently previous
to a formal competition; and when an old rabbit is
in good training, a greyhound stands very little show of
catching him. A grand stand is erected on each side of
the track, and the spectators are afforded a grand view of
the race from start to finish.
468 UPLAND SHOOTING.

Inclosed park coursing is not an experiment, as the
sport has been in vogue for a number of years in England,
Australia, and in California.

At Hutchinson, Kan., a model park has been com-
pleted within the past year, and arrangemerts have been
made for a large meeting annually.

There is a growing popularity for the park coursing,
and we will undoubtedly see parks established near many
of the Eastern cities.

The American Coursing Club meeting at Great Bend,
Kan., is the national and grand meeting of this country,
and will compare favorably with the great Waterloo meet-
ing at Altcar, England. The meeting is held in an open
field, or on alarge ranch, comprising about seventeen sec-
tions ina body. It is situated on a vast plain, called the
Cheyenne Plains, and is as levelas ground can be, afford-
ing a grand view foramile. The jack-rabbits have always
found this well suited to their wants, and recently have
been well protected from hunters and dogs, and are in no
sense artificially prepared for the trials, but are hunted
in their natural state. They often flee to the elevated
ground, three miles from the center of the plains, and
escape their pursuers, the swift greyhounds.

At 9 o'clock in the morning of a pleasant October day,
the beaters are in line, and a long train of carriages are
close in the rear; and as they march across the level
stretch of country, with every mind centered on the one
object that will cause the blood to tingle in the veins, the
ery is given, ‘‘ There he goes!’ and a long pair of ears
rises like a phantom, and speeds away, challenging the
dogs for a trial of speed.

The quick-sighted greyhounds in an instant jump to
the limit of the slips, and the slipper races away with
them for a few feet. and then the word is given by the
judge; the cord is pulled, and away they go like a rocket,
 

 

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470 UPLAND SHOOTING.

with the judge, reporters, and owners of the greyhounds
close in the rear, while the spectators halt to view the
- race. There are only two greyhounds in the race at-one
time, and they are easily distinguished at a distance;
and as the favorite leads up, the excitement begins. The
red collar has turned the rabbit, with the white collar only
a jump behind; and as he makes an unsuccessful effort to
catch, bunny jumps nimbly to one side, and the grey-
hounds go on for a few feet, and while they are trying to
regain their stride the jack-rabbit has gained on his pur-
suers, and away he speeds for safety. The dogs turn,
catch sight of the fleeing game, and quickly settle
down for another dash. The red is again in the lead.
but the white is just getting to his work, and gradually
draws up to his antagonist; is now at his flank, now shows
a head in the lead, and in another moment is a full
length in thelead. ‘‘ A go-by! a go-by!”’ is shouted from
hundreds of throats, and the white scores two points.
He is now at the rabbit, and another turn is made. The
gamy red is handy by, and before the rabbit fairly gains
his stride, he is forced to the tactics of jumping from
side to side to avoid his stroke, and six wrenches are
made.

The wrenches allow the white dog to draw up, and he
being but a point ahead, the interest deepens.

Away they stride, like a double team, for nearly a
quarter, with no appreciable advantage to either. The
pace is too hot for bunny, and gradually they draw up,
and a turn is made—another and another in quick succes-
sion. The red dog makes a terrific dash to catch, but
only trips, loses his footing, and over and over he goes,
but is up again without injury, and is soon taking part
in the exchanges; but the white, seemingly cogniz-
ant of the fact that he has two points to make up,
exerts himself to the utmost, and, with a most phenom-
COURSING. 471

enal burst of speed, makes a straight go-by and kills the
rabbit. Up goes the white flag, and the wearer of the
white collar is the winner by four points; and the judge
hears the shouts from the spectators a mile away.

He dismounts to give his panting “steed a moment’s
rest, and secures the game as the owners of the dogs
hasten up to relieve their thirst from a well-filled flask of
pure water.

As the dogs are secured, another brace is placed in the
slips, and race follows race in quick succession. About
twelve races are run in a day, or more if the rabbits are
plentiful, and this is kept up for six successive days. In
a sixty-four-dog stake, there will necessarily be thirty-
two pairs the first round, and thirty-two winners; six-
teen pairs in the second, eight in the third, four in the
fourth, and two in the last round, leaving one grey-
hound winner over all. He will necessarily run six races
in as many days; but frequently, at the close, he may be
obliged to run two races in one day. The dog last run-
ning with the winner is called the runner up, because he
ran through the races up to the last race without being
defeated once.

To judge the races successfully, it requires a swift and
level-headed horse, a fearless rider, with quick perception
and staunchness, and thoroughly conversant with the
rules.

It is almost impossible to keep with the dogs; but the
frequent turns enable the judge to cut corners, and in this
manner is kept insight. Not infrequently a badger-hole
suddenly appears, and as the horse attempts to avoid
it, he loses his footing, and a header is taken that dis-
turbs the judge’s anatomy not a little; but no serious
accident has befallen anyone in three yearly meetings,
although several have been thrown from their horses
with considerable violence.
472 UPLAND SHOOTING.

The old style of coursing is perhaps the most enjoya-
ble, it being in the nature of a wild, free gallop over the
smooth, level prairie, after a pack of, say twelve, grey-
hounds, uncoupled and free.

A private party of ladies and gentlemen, mounted on
ponies, meet in the suburbs of some small city or village,
and by a ride of three miles are on good running-grounds,
where the rabbits are numerous; and, after readjusting the
saddle-fastenings, the hunt begins. They have scarcely
formed in line before a rabbit is raised, and away go
dogs, and riders at their heels, yelling like a band of
Indians on the war-path, and often with the ladies in the
lead riding like mad.

The lady first in at the death secures the ‘‘ brush,”
which in this instance consists of a pair of long ears.

Several rabbits are usually caught in a half-day’s hunt,
and all return brightened in spirits, and with appetites
sharpened to a keen edge.

Wolf or coyote hunting is similar to rabbit coursing,
and is indulged in quite as frequently, only it differs
somewhat in the wind-up, there being a fierce fight
between dogs and wolf before the despoiler of the hen-
roosts is finally dispatched.

It is difficult to make a close start on the coyote, and
a long, hard ride straight away for five miles, over more
or less rough country, across streams, through corn-fields
and hedges, is expected, giving one a rare opportunity of
displaying good horsemanship. It is wonderfully exhila-
rating, and after once being enjoyed, leaves a strong
desire for a repetition of the pleasure.

Antelope coursing with greyhounds is usually attended
with considerable danger to both dogs and horses, as the
race isa long, straight-away run for miles on the open
prairie, without a turn.

The antelope being very keen of sight, is difficult to
COURSING. 473

approach, and will scarcely allow a party to get nearer
than a quarter of a mile. They run in a wide circle, and
the dogs have a long, stern chase to reach them.

Often the hunter can, by strategy, approach to within
100 yards, by making a detour, and coming upon them
from behind a slight elevation on the prairie; and by
this means the greyhound can make a sudden dash, -
and secure an antelope before he fairly gets his stride.
They seize them by the ham-strings, and throw them to
the ground, and then take the throat.

The greyhound is frequently killed by the excessive
and long-continued exertion and heat.

Although the sport of coursing originated in England,
it appeals strongly to our American tastes. Itis attended
with just enough of the spirit of competition, gives a
grand display of speed, showing the greyhound in his
true element, and partakes of a spice of adventure, and
shows a graceful rider to the best advantage, and is free
from cruelty.

As this delightful pastime is better understood, and
the aristocrat among dogs is more generally appreciated,
and truly his day is approaching, it will surpass in
interest all other out-door sports, and the greyhound will
be placed in the front ranks of the great canine family.

“Yet if for sylvan sport thy bosom glow,
Let thy fleet greyhound urge his flying foe.
With what delight the rapid course I view!
How does my eye the circling race pursue!
He snaps deceitful air with empty jaws;
The subtle hare darts swift beneath his paws.
She flys; he stretches now with nimble bound;
Eager he presses on, but overshoots his ground.

She turns; he winds, and soon regains the way,
Then tears with gory mouth the screaming prey.”
PORTABLE HOUSES

Manufactured by the Building Department

OF THE

T. W. Harvey Lumber Co.,

Twenty-second and Morgan Sts.,

CHICAGO, ILL.

 

 

   

These Houses can be readily taken down in a short time
and set up again without the use of nails,
screws, bolts, etc.

ONE WAGON WILL GARRY A COMPLETE HOUSE WITH EASE.

Windows, Doors, Screens, Galvanized-lron
Chimneys, Chairs, Cots, Etc., Furnished.

el DD FOR: elo eS-
NMIASON & HAMLIN
Grand and Upright Pianos.

Remarkable Purity and Refinement of Tone. Unusual Delicacy of Touch and Action.
Great Capacity for Remaining i. Tune.

Indorsed by such Eminent Musicians and Artists as

W.H.SHERwooD, W.S.B MattHews, W.C.E.SEEBOECK, ROBERT GOLDBECK,
S. B. MiLLs, Dr. We. MASON, ANGELO DE PROSSE, JULIUS EICHBERG.

MASON & HAAKLIN LISZT ORGANS.

It is the common expression of musicians who hear and play them for the first time,
that they had no idea that such instruments were possible. We earnestly invite all musicians
who yet retain any prejudice against reed organs, to take the earliest opportunity to test
one of these Liszt Orcans. They will then agree with the very distinguished Xaver
ScHarwenka of Berlin, that ‘‘these Mason & Hamlin Organs are THE MOST EXCELLENT
INSTRUMENTS I KNOW OF,” and that No other instrument so ENRAPTURES THE PLAYER.

SUPPLIED TO

ADELINA PATTI; QUEEN VicToRIA; THE EX-EMPRESS EvUGENIE;, THEO. THOMAS
AND ORCHESTRA; THE LATE FRANZ Liszt; SainT-SAENS; GOUNOD;
THE SuLTan or TURKEY; Sir ARTHUR SULLIVAN; ITALO CAMPANINI;
Geo. W. Morean; B. J. Lana; DupLey Buck; FrEDERIC ARCHER;
METROPOLITAN OpzRA Co.; Her Masesty’s OpersA Co.; THe CHILDREN’S
ORCHESTRA—PRESIDENT, Princess Mary, Ducness oF TEcK; YounG LaDIEs’
OrcHEsTRA, NEw YorK; WESTMINSTER ABBEY; MISSIONARIES AND CHURCHES
IN ALL PARTS OF THE WORLD; Oscar, Kina or SwepEN; J. K. Paine;
Geo. W. Warren; S. P. Warren; Dr. STaIneR; W. W. GILCHRIST;

P. S. GitmorE; X. SCHARWENKA; JOHANN StRAvusS; Wm. L. ToMLINS;

Dr. Wu. Mason; THe Roya Navy; S. S. ‘“‘TzuTontc,” ‘‘ Erruria,”
“Umpria,” “Orry or New York,” anp “City oF Paris;” St. James Hau;
LIEDERKRANZ AND ARION SocieTIEs; Mapame Saran BERNHARDT;

Mr. Irvine AND Miss Terry; THE Late Sir Juuius BENEDICT;
PHILHARMONIC SOCIETIES; MENDELSSOHN, MusurGi4, AND APOLLO
GuzE Ciuss; METROPOLITAN Society; ANTON SEIDL AND ORCHESTRA, ETC.

 

There now exists a literature for the Liszt Organ in solo, in duo with piano-forte, in
-combination with other instruments, and with voice. This literature is known as the
Liszt Organ Library, published by Mr. Arthur P. Schmidt, of Boston, and for sale at
warerooms of the Company.

Both the Mason & Hamlin Organs and Pianos excel chiefly in that which is the chief
-excellence in any musical instrument, quality of tone. Other things, though important, are
much less so than this. An instrument with unmusical tones can not be good. Illustrated
catalogues of new styles, introduced this season, sent free.

Pianos and Organs Sold for Cash or on Easy Payments.

MASON & HAMLIN ORGAN AND PIANO Co.,

149 Wabash Ave., CHICACO.
WILD FOWL SHOOTING

WILLIAM BRUCE LEFFINGWELL.

 

TREATS OF

Guns, Decoys, Blinds, Boats, $7 Retrievers,
FOR WILD FOWLING.

This Book has never Received an Adverse Criticism.
First Edition of 1,000 Copies sold in less than 30 Days.

 

Endorsed hy Every Prominent Sportsman and Sporting Paper in America.

DR. N. ROWE, of American Field, the leading authority in America, says:

Frank Forester has the reputation of having been the best writer on field sports we
ever had, but he never wrote a work of such enduring merit as this. I consider it the best.
book on field sports ever written.

Forest and Stream; Shooting and Fishing; Outing; Turf, Field, and Farm;
Breeder and Sportsman, Sports Afield; Sporting Goods Gazette; Charles W.
Budd; James R. Stice; H. McMurchy, and hundreds of others, endorse it as the
best work on the subject extant.

Write for Descriptive Circular to

RAND, MCNALLY & CO.,

CHICAGO, ILL.
Price, $2.50 Cloth ; $3.50 Half Morocco.
The Big Game
North America.

Its Habits, Habitat, Haunts, and Char-
acteristics. How, When, and
Where to Hunt It.

A BOOK FOR THE SPORTSMAN AND THE NATURALIST,

EDITED BY

G. O. SHIELDS (“COQUINA”),

Author of ‘“CRUISINas IN THE CascADEs,” ‘‘ RUSTLINGS IN THE Rocg1gEs,” ‘‘ HUNTING IN
THE GREAT WEstT,” “‘THE BATTLE OF THE Bia House,’ “ CAMPING
AND Camp OvuTFITs,”’ etc.

8vo, 600 Pages, 80 Illustrations. Gloth, $4.00; Half Calf, $5.00.

CONTENTS.

{ntroduction, by the Honorable John Dean
Caton, author of ‘The Antelope and Deer of
America,” etc.
Moose Hunting in the Rocky Mountains, “by
Newton Hibbs (**Roxey Newton
Elk x Hunting in the Olymple ‘Mountains, by W.
Ap ery (el Siieicum:)
The ‘Wapiti ys" Wan. -bah-mi-mi.”
The Caribou, oy Yiittarn ittman Lett (“ Al-
gonquin’’) and Dr. R. B. Cantrell.
The, Mu Mule g Deer by Rey. Joshua Cook
The Male Deer of Southern California, by T. S.
VanDyke, author of ** The Still Hunter,” ete.
The Columbia Black-tail Deer, by Thomas G.

Farrell.
The se, Viretnta Deer, by Walter M. Wolfe (‘‘Sho-

A Deer Hunt (Poem).....by ‘‘ Wah-bah-mi-m. i”

Hunting the Grizzly Bear, by Rev. Dr. W. &

a1n3'

The Polar Bear, by Sergt. Francis Long, of the
Greeley Arctic Expedition, and George S.
McTavish, of the Hudson Bay Company.

A Polar Bear Hunt..........c.ccceseeceeeees suet

The Black Bear...... by Col. Geo. D. Alexander.

 

The Buffalo, by Orin Belknap (‘‘ Uncle Fuller”),

The Musk Ox, by H. Blerdebick, of the Greeley
Arctic Expedition.

Stil: huating the Antelope, by Arthur W. du
B aucho”’).

Coursing the Antelope......... by M. E. Allison.

The Death of Venus (Poem)..,.by Wm. P. Lett.

‘Phe Rocky Mountain Goat.. iby John Fannin.

The mocks. Mountaln Sheep, by G. O. Shields
¢‘ Coquin

   

 

 

The: PeCcary:: siasiecstacumaseata by A. G. Requa.
the Sitalicutn or ii Lion, by W. A. Perry
if a
The Lynx war OP aa C. Nattrass.
The Wolf.. P. Lett.
The Wolverine. . y C. A. Cooper {u'Stbylléne),
The Wild Cat, by Daniel Arrowsmith (*San-
gamon’ 2
Coon Hunting in Southern TMinols, by Daniel

Arrowsmith (‘¢ Saneamon
Fox Hunting in Virginia.. by, Dr. M. G. Ellzey.
Alligator Shooting in Flor da, by Cyrus

Butler,
The Ethics of Field Sports, by Wm. B. Leffing-
well,

The Honorable John Dean Caton, the eminent naturalist and jurist, author of ‘‘The Ante-

lope and Deer of America,”’ etc, says of this work:

‘It is, without exception, the most

glabra eae eee and valuable treatise on our Big ‘@ame Animals that has ever

bie abl ished.

book will be mailed, post paid, on receipt of price by
RAND, McNALLY & CO.,

162 to 172 Adams St., CHICAGO.
A Sporting Library in Two Volumes.

WiLdwoood’s MAGAZINE

AN ILLUSTRATED MONTHLY OF OUT-DOOR RECREATION.

May, 1888, To JUNE, 1889. COMPLETE FILE, $2.

Partial List of Contents.

ANGLING.

American Game Fish and Fishing. Jdustrated. cuapters on Salmon, Brook Trout,
Black Bass, Grayling, Muskallonge, etc. By the best authorities—Dr. Henshall, Charles
Hallock, W. David Tomlin, J. Harrington Keene, S. C. Clarke, and others. Daniel Webster
as an Angler, by Hon. Charles Lanman; Fishing in the Gogebic and Eagle Waters, by
Piscator, Jr.; Pleasures of Angling, by Harry Fenwood; Fishing Near Chicago Fifty Years
Ago, by S. C. C.; Trout Fishing in the Gunnison, by Calumet; Florida Fishing, by John
Mortimer Murphy; Rod and Tackle Making; Recollections of Angling at Pelee Island, by
Alex. Starbuck; Sport Among the Spartans; William Elliott, the Devil Fisher, by Hon.

Charles Lanman, etc.
ADVENTURE.

The Land of the Dakotahs, by Gen. H. H. Sibley; Anecdote of Frank Forester, by Ned
Buntline; How Old Jim Killed the Tiger, by H. C. B.; Old Brick and the Annie Glade
Alligator, by Jacob Staff; Sketches of the Olden Time, by Gen. H. H. Sibley; Pummeling a
Puma, by J. M. Murphy, etc.

BIOGRAPHY.

Life and Adventures of Ned Buntline (nine chapters), by Will Wildwood; Memoirs and
Portraits of Gen. H. H. Sibley, He Wm. Herbert (‘‘ Frank Forester’), Col. Thomas B.
Thorpe, Col. E. Z. C. Judson (“Ned Buntline* ), Chas. Fenno Hoffman, Jobn Harrington
Keene, Charles Astor Bristed (‘‘Carl Benson’), Hon. Robert B. Roosevelt, ‘* Morgan
Herbert,” W. B. Leffingwell, Seth Green, Geo. W. Peck, Dr. J. A. Henshall, and Charles

Hallock.
HUNTING.
Bear Hunting in Russia, by Dr. Otto Moebes; A Florida Coon Hunt, by J. M. Murphy;
A Southern Fox Hunt, by Susan de Vere; Hunting the Black Tail Deer, by Wakeman
Holberton; Hunting the Raccoon, by a Woodsman, ete.

KENNEL.
The Modern Pointer, by Bernard Waters; English Setter, by ‘‘ Kingrail;” Irish Setter,
by ‘‘Mont Clare; Gordon Setter, by Harry Malcolm: English Beagle, by ‘‘ Pious H.;”
Clumber Spaniels, by ‘‘Clumber;’ Coursing in America, by Bernard Waters; A Plea for
Carlo, by Eleanor Harlowe; Modern Coursing, by H. W. Huntington, etc.

SHOOTING.
Sculling for Mallards, by W. B. Leese Prairie Chicken Shooting, by Rambler;
Florida Field Sports, by John Mortimer Murphy; Reminiscences of Virginia Sports, by
James Norris; My First Day’s Snipe Shooting at Cambridge, by Frank Forester, etc.

TRAVEL.
_A Glimpse of Southern California, by Emma J. C. Davis; Visit to a Model Club House,
by Ringwood; An Outing in Iowa, by Piscator, Jr.; Florida Scenery, by J. K ; Scene on the
Allegheny Mountains, by Ella Phelan, etc.

MISCELLANEOUS.
Ancient and Modern Archery; Sport of Falconry, by Sylvanus; Virginia Deer, by
Paul Pastnor; A Sport History of Polo, by Morgan Herbert; Corinthian Yachting, by T.
Robinson Warren; Dells of the Wisconsin River, by Paul H. Lear: Polo in America, by
Polonius; Our First American Sporting Magazine, by Antiquarian; The Giant’s Causeway,
by J. Kost; Tobogganing as a Pastime, etc. &

VERSE.
The two volumes contain many beautiful poems by Isaac McLellan, Libbie C. Baer,
Emma J. C. Davis, Paul H. Lear, R. B. Williams, Mrs. H. O. Brown, and others.

Two Volumes, Finely Iustrated, 600 Pages, $2.00 Postpaid. Single Copies, 20 Cents.

 

 

N. B.—The early numbers of this bright magazine are becoming scarce, and orders
should be sent promptly to secure full sets. Address

SPORTSMAN’S BOOK EXCHANGE,

WESTFIELD, WIS.
FOLIO OF

Pimerican @porting Scenes

FROM ORIGINAL PAINTING, BY J. B. SWORD.

This superior work will appeal not only to the sports-
man, but to all lovers of the beautiful and picturesque in
nature. The scenes are laid in various parts of America,
from the mountainous regions of New England to the
everglades of Florida; from the prairies of the West to
the seaboard of the Atlantic. These reproductions are
remarkable for their artistic and picturesque qualities,
preserving all the tone and even the brush-marks of the
originals. They are 12x 20 inches, on paper 22 x 30
inches, and finished in the highest style of the art, giving
a folio that will be a strong feature in any collection.
The edition is limited to 500 sets, which are sold for $25
per set. Most of the edition has already been sold, and
there will be no more when the balance are disposed of.
The following is a list of the plates:

 

 

 

i—Retriever. 2—Game. 3—Ouail Shooting.
4—Prairie Chicken Shooting. 5—Florida Snipe Shooting.

6—Rail Shooting. 7—Woodcock Shooting. 8—Duck Shooting.
9—Ruffed Grouse Shooting. !0—Beach Bird Shooting.

FOR INFORMATION, ADDRESS

J. B. SWORD, 1520 Chestnut Street,
PHILADELPHIA, PA.

The illustrations on pages 45, 95, 129, 155, and 295, in the Book, are
copies from some of the folio pictures,
Southern Pacific

COMPANY’S LINES

COMPRISE THE

SU NSET ROUTE, Via New Orleans to

TEXAS, MEXICO, ARIZONA, CALIFORNIA;

CENTRAL ROUTE, Via ogden to

NEWADGA, CALIFORNIA, OREGON;
AND THE

SHASTA ROUTE, Via Portiand to

OREGON, CALIFORNIA;

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Thus offering the Merchant, Tourist, Health-Seeker, and Sportsman a
choice of three routes to California and Oregon.

Specially low round-trip tickets are on sale from all principal stations
to California and Oregon, good to return any time within six months, with
sixty days’ limit going, and permitting a variation in the return route.

Round-trip tickets are also on sale to Texas, Mexico, and Arizona
points.

Through Pullman Buffet, and Pullman Tourist Sleeping Car Service,
quick time, and courteous treatment, are the features of this Company

We have on hand, for free distribution, pamphlets descriptive and
illustrative of this Company's lines, and of California, and also land
books, maps, and time tables, which we shall be pleased to furnish to
any upon application to the undersigned.

W.C. WATSON, T. H. GOODMAN,
Gen’t Pass'r and Ticket Act., Gen't Pass’r ano Ticket Act.,
NEW ORLEANS. SAN FRANCISCO.
RICHARD GRAY, Gen't Trarric Manacer, SAN FRANCISCO.
OR TO
E. HAWLEY, Gene East'n Acr., W. G. NEIMYER, Gent West'N Acrt.,

343 BROADWAY, N. Y. 204 CLARK ST., CHICAGO.
HOME OF THE WILb Fowt

Scene at Cedar Lake, Ind., one
of the charming Hunting and
Pleasure Resorts on the line of the

 

  

 

 

 

For r pamphlets and folders with information descriptive of the many pleasant Hunting
and Sanitarium Resorts, etc., call on or address any agent of the Monon Route.

W. H. McDokt, Traffic Manager, JAMES BarKER, General Passenger Agent,
GENERAL OFFICES, ‘ “MONON” BUILDING CHICAGO.

MAPS AND GUIDES

TO ALL OF THE

PRINCIPAL CITIES

Every Country in the World.

Globes, Map Racks, Spring Map Rollers, Wall and Pocket
Maps, Historical Maps; Classical, Biblical, Historical,
Anatomical, Astronomical, Physical, and General
Atlases of all kinds kept in Stock.

ApprRess RAND, McNALLY & CO.,

MAP PUBLISHERS AND ENCRAVERS,
162 to 172 Adams Street, CHICACO.

 
Great Railway

, BUFFALO,

CHICAGO, NEw YORK,
TOLEDO, BOSTON,
CLEVELAND, EASTERN POINTS.

 

SELECTED BY THE GOVERNMENT

On account of its superior facilities for prompt
and reliable service, to run

THE Famous Fast ANAIL TRAIN.

This is also the route of the

Chicago & New York Limited

(WAGNER VESTIBULE.)

Patrons of this train have at their disposal, luxuriously furnished
apartments, single or en suite, with hot and cold water, gas, bath-room,
electric call-bells, a well-stocked library, barber shop, in fact, nothing has
been omitted that would promote the comfort and convenience of the
traveler. For full information regarding this and other trains via ‘‘The
Lake Shore Route,” apply to representatives named below.

During the Summer /Nonths Tourist Tickets
are on Sale via this Route

To all the Mountain and Seaside Resorts of the East, a full
list of which, with rates, etc., will be furnished
on application.

A. J. SMITH, Generat Passencer AND TICKET AGENT, CLEVELAND, OHIO.
Cc. K. WILBER, Western Passencer AGenT, CHICAGO, ILL.
Camp out on the Line of the

[jhicago, [Jitwaukee & Or. Paul

RAILWAY.

 

The following are a few of the many localities on the lines of the Curcaco,
MILWAUKEE & St. Pavut RatLway in Wisconsin, Minnesota, South and
North Dakota, and Northern Iowa, where the ‘‘ Rod and Gun” can be kept in
constant use, and Sportsmen of an inquiring turn of mind can readily ascertain
their whereabouts.

For a copy of the Game and Fish Laws of Wisconsin, Iowa, Minnesota,
and Dakota, send to A. V. H. Carpenter, General Passenger Agent,

Milwaukee, Wis.
WISCONSIN.

For Huntine—Junction City, Wausau, Merrill, Tomahawk, Minocqua.

For Fisnryvec—Pewaukee, Hartland, Oconomowoc, Tomahawk Lake,
Minocqua, Winneconne, Oshkosh, Sparta, Tomah, Tunnel City, Madison,
Delavan, Stoughton, Palmyra, La Crosse, Prairie du Chien, Eagle.

MINNESOTA.

For Huntine—Bird Island, Montevideo, Appleton, Ortonville, Austin,
Blooming Prairie, Faribault, Northfield, Cannon Falls, Fairmont, Sherburn,
Jackson, Lakefield, Fulda, Edgerton.

For Fisarnc—Big Stone Lake (on the boundary line), White Bear Lake,
Minnesota River, Vermillion River, Cannon Lake, Lakes Sisseton, Budd,
Buffalo, George, and Hall (these last five all near Fairmont).

SOUTH AND NORTH DAKOTA.

For Huntrnc—Webster, Groton, Aberdeen, Ellendale, Ashton, Wolsey,
Woonsocket, Wahpeton, Canton, Lennox, Parker, Flandreau, Egan, Madison,
Howard, Diana, Mitchell, Sioux Falls, Yankton.

For Fisuine—Big Stone Lake, Lake Madison, Big Sioux River, Lake
Traverse, Waubay Lake, Rice Lake, Lake Preston.

IOWA.
For Huntinc—Le Roy, Plymouth, Carpenter, Algona, Emmetsburg,
Ruthven, Okoboji, Sanborn, Rock Valley, Calliope.

For Fisuine—Lakes Okoboji, Spirit Lake, Clear Lake, Des Moines River,
Pelican Lake, Trumbull Lake, Swan Lake.

EXCURSION TICKETS

Are for sale at Reduced Rates to all the principal resorts along the lines of the
Cuicaco, MILwAvuKEE & St. Paut Rartway. For further particulars inquire
of the nearest Station Ticket Agent.

DOGS AND GUNS

When accompanied by the owner thereof, are carried FREE in the baggage
cars of the Cutcaco, MinwavKEE & St. PauL Raitway.
FIRST-CLASS RAILROAD

Penetrating the most attractive portions of

Iinois, lowa, Wisconsin, Michigan, Minnesota,
Dakota, Nebraska and Wyoming.

 

THE Direct Route

Tourists :Sportsmen

Milwaukee, Waukesha, Madison, Neenah
and Menasha, Creen Lake, Marquette,
Lake Geneva, Fox Lake, Devll’s Lake.

8t. Paul, Minneapolis, Duluth, Ashland,
Lake Minnetonka, Yellowstone
National Park.

Council Bluffs, Omaha, Denver and the
Mountains of Colorado, Salt Lake City,
San Francisco, Los Angeles, Colton,
San Dlego, Portland, Tacoma,
Seattle, Victoria, Vancouver and
all California, Alaska and
Pacific Coast Polnts.

Train
Service,

 

Consisting of A

THROUGH FAST TRAINS

Between CHICAGO and destinations, is carefully arranged.
to meet the requirements of Through and Local Travel, and
its equipment of new and superb SLEEPING CARS,
PALATIAL DINING CARS and ELEGANT PAR-
LOR CARS AND COACHES is such as to command
the patronage of the best class of travelers. It is the ONLY
LINE to the BLACK HILLS.

Rates, Maps, and all information furnished on epplenen
is 4 ay Ticket Agent, or to the General Passenger Agent, at

cago.

 

 

WwW. H. NEWMAN, J. M. WHITMAN, E. P. WILSON,
3d Vice-President. General Manager. General Passenger Agent.
INE GUNS

  
   

FIC JISF

Purdey’s, W. & G. Scott & Son’s,
Westley Richards, Lang, Grant,
Parker, Lefever, Colt, L. €. Smith,
Davis, Forehand & Wadsworth,
Harrington & Richardson, Etc,

Send for Catalogue and List of High-Grade
Second-Hands taken in Exchange. |
Some Bargains.

WILLIAM READ.& SONS,

107 Washington Street,
| BOSTON, MASS.

THE OLD HOUSE.-ESTABLISHED 1826.
The Lelevel Alms Company

SYRACUSE, N. Y.

$30 TO “a
ROO SS BNY GAUGE

OR WEIGHT.

  
   

 

Engine-Turned Rib. —
THE LEADER OF ALL

HAMMERLESS GUNS.

The only gun in the world with Compensated Action to take up wear in every direction.
The best balanced, most symmetrical, and strongest gun made. Has an unex-
celled record for pattern and penetration. Special attention given to boring
for trap and wild fowl shooting. All guns bored on the taper system,
giving the greatest penetration and even distribution of shot.

   
  

 

 

The columns of the leading sporting papers have for years been recording the

Successes of the Lefever Gun at the Trap and its Triumphs
as a Prize Winner.

ADVANTAGES OF THE LEFEVER HAMMERLESS GUN.

The strongest and simplest action in the world.
Compensated action to take up wear in every direction.
Long frame increasing strength of action.
. No thicker frame than an ordinary hammer gun, avoiding the clumsy and “out of
proportion’ appearance of the majority of hammerless guns.
5. The locks and action can be taken apart and cleaned as easily as a hammer gun.
6, The position of the hammers can be ascertained by the indicators as readily as with
a hammer gun.
Hammers can not be jarred off even with a trigger-pull as light as two pounds.
8. Trigger-pull can be regulated to any desired weight by eccentric-screw, without
removing locks from the stock.
. The action of the locks is twice as quick as ina hammer gun, thus increasing the
chances of the sportsman when firing at quick-moving objects.
No hammers to obstruct the sight or catch on twigs or bushes.
11. The safety, that can be made either automatic or non-automatic.
12. The use of gas-tight, independent plungers prevents any chance for escape of gas
into the locks.
13. The locks are rebounding.
14. Both hammers being raised by a single lever, need no adjustment screws or pins to
make them cock together.
15, The ease with which the gun is opened, there being but little friction to overcome,
as only two pieces are employed to raise the hammer.
16. Less liability to misfire than in any other hammerless action, because there are no
levers or cocking-rods to obstruct the fall of the hammer.

SEND FOR CATALOGUE.

Agr
H. W. JENNEY, Cc. L. GRAHAM,

President. Sec’y and Treas.
BOATS, HUNTING EQUIPMENTS, RODS,
TENTS, REELS,
== SPORTING GOODS
NETS, BAITS,

LAWN FINE ANGLING OUTFITS. BASE
S BALL

   

TENNIS,

   

Lefever Hammerfess Guns

The best trap and field Gun made. It will out-shoot all others; is simpler
in construction and more durable.

A COMPLETE LINE OF AMERICAN AND FOREIGN GUNS

Of every standard make. W. & C. Scott & Sons’ Premier Hammerless;
Colts’ Hammer.ess; Diana Hammerless; Davis’ Hammerless.

DALY THREE-BARREL,

Parker, Ithaca, Bonehill, Remington and others

Winchester,

       

Ballard, Stevens and all Modern Rifles,

Tae Oh
ee WA LER Bs PELs id =

PETERS’ LOADED SHELLS.

Penetration Increased, Pattern Improved, Recoil! Diminished,
Fou'ing Prevented.

JENNEY & GRAHAM GUN CoO.,

{02 Madison St., CHICACO.

  

SEND FOR CATALOGUE.
HE FARKER { 7UN

xx XX XX x x xX X KX XX XX XX KX XX xxx xX KX
——aaree epee —

 

BEST AND LOWEST PRICE GUN IN
THE WORLD.

HAMMERLESS axo—#
=——HAMMER GUNS

SOLD BY THE TRADE EVERYWHERE.
Deseriptive Catalogue Mailed on fpplication.

MANUFACTURED BY

PARKER BROS.,

Meriden, Conn.
Show Rooms 97 Chambers St.. New York.
Before going to the Score, or into the field, see to it and know that your Shells
are loaded with Powder manufactured by

JLDU PONT de NEMOURS & CO

WILMINGTON, DEL.

DU PONT RIFLE. SIZE OF GRAIN.
In three sizes of grain: FF¥Fg (fine), FFg (medium),
Fg (coarse).
Is packed in kegs, 25 pounds; half-kegs, 124 pounds;
quarter-kegs, 64 pounds; one-pound canisters.
DU PONT’S EACLE DUCKING.
In three-sized grains: No. 3 (fine), No. 2 (medium),

  
     

  
    

o

No. 1 (coarse). Ngee EE. Poon

Packed in kegs, half-kegs, quarter-kegs and one-pound Nes CHOKE BOR. N07
canisters. ers. 2S”. Sa

; aw.2f see

Undoubtedly the most popular high-grade powder ger Yeh & ones
manufactured at the present day. No brand isasfa- op wes
miliar with sportsmen everywhere as Du Pont’s ‘Eagle qetese e 4 ¥
Ducking.’ Its peculiar properties are extreme quick- A »

ness, strength, and cleanliness.

DU PONT’S CHOKE BORE.

In two-sized grains: No. 5 (medium), No. 7 (coarse). wae,

Packed in kegs, half-kege, quarter-kegs and one-pound @ yy Een
canisters. % et

Anew brand specially adapted for choke-bore guns; oe or GRR, Kf .

a high grade of powder at an intermediate price; burns
slowly with great strength; does not burn or cake on
the barrels, and gives the most regular pattern possible.

DU PONT’S CRYSTAL CRAIN.

In three-sized grains: No. 3 (fine), No. 2 (medium),
No. 1 (coarse).

A brand made to supply a limited demand for an ar-
ticle where price is no object, and in which (by using
nothing but the very choicest, selected and several times
refined materials) the highest point of perfection is
attained.

 

DU PONT CARTRIDCES.

Loaded expressly for us by the STANDARD
CARTRIDGE CO. These loaded shells
although having been but a short time on
the market, have won especial favor, and
have taken the lead over all others. For
price list address

K. 5. RICE, Gen’l Agent,

62 Wabash Ave., - = CHICAGO.

 
Light! Gool! Comfortable!

HANDSOME, ABSOLUTELY PORTABLE

Summer Cottages, Hunting and Fishing Cabins,
Children’s Beautiful Lawn Play-Houses,

Art Studios for the Amateur and Traveling
Photographer,
Lawn Smokers, Glub-Houses, Etc.

No Marting While Being Taken Down.

No Nails or Screws.

Absolutely Portable.

GRAND RAPIDS PORTABLE HOUSE Co.

102 to 116 Prescott St., GRAND RAPIDS, MICH.
CAMPING

——aAND—

CAMP OUTFIIS.

A MANUAL OF INSTRUCTION FOR YOUNG AND OLD SPORTSMEN.

12mo. 200 Pages. 30 Illustrations. Cloth, $1.25.

 

This book contains practical points on how to dress for Hunt-
ing, Fishing, or other Camping Trips; what to carry in the way of
extra Clothing, Bedding, Provisions, Cooking Utensils, and all
classes of Camp Equipage ; how to select Camp Sites ; how to make
Camp Fires ; how to build Temporary Shelters ; what to do in case
of Getting Lost, etc. It contains check lists of articles constituting
Complete Camping Outfits; alist of the names and addresses of
Guides, in various hunting and fishing countries, and much other
information of value to Campers, and which has never before been
given to the public.

The instructions given are based on an experience of twenty-
five years in Camping, and in the study of Camp Lore, Woodcraft,
etc., and it is believed that the work will prove of great value to
thousands of men and boys, who have not had such favorable
opportunities for study.

The book also contains a Chapter by

Dr. CHARLES GILBERT DAVIS,
CAMP HYGIENE, MEDICINE AND SURGERY.
—ONE BY—

Col. J. FRY LAWRENCE,

—on—

CAMP COOKERY,

— AND ONE BY—

FRANK F. FRISBIE,

THE DIAMOND HITCH, OR HOW TO LOAD A PACK HORSE.

This book should be in the library of every Sportsman, and will
be sent, post-paid, on receipt of price, by

RAND, McNALLY & CO.,
162 to 172 Adams St., CHICAGO.
323 Broadway, NEW YORK.
CROFUTT’S GUIDE BOOKS.

The New Series of Crofutt’s Tours Books are pro-
fusely illustrated and contain a marvellous amount of
condensed information specially valuable to all classes of
travelers—Pleasure Seekers, Capitalists, Emigrants,
Miners, Wage-workers, etc., etc. These books deal in
facts, figures and authentic descriptions of nearly two thou-
sand Cities, Towns, Villages, Stations, Government Forts
and Camps, Indian Reservations, Mountains, Lakes, Riv-
ers, Sulphur, Soda and Hot Springs, Scenery, Big Trees,
Geysers, Watering Places, Summer and Winter Resorts,
etc., etc.; where to hunt Deer, Bear, Antelope and other
game ; Trout fishing, etc.—in fact, tell you what is worth
seelng and knowing—where to go, how to go, and where
to stop, while journeying over the Union, Central and
Southern Pacific Railroads, the Denver and Rio Grande,
Utah Central, Oregon Railway & Navigation Co., and
portions of the Atchison, Topeka & Santa Fe and the
Northern Pacific Railroads, their branches and connec-
tions by rail, water and stage—nearly 30,000 miles—
through Nebraska, Kansas, Colorado, Wyoming, Utah,
Nevada, Montana, Idaho, Oregon, Washington; ana
from Victoria, British Columbia, to Ensenada, Old Mexi-
co. The Agricultural, Horticultural, Mineral, Stock-
raising, Lumbering, the Fisheries, Climate and General
Resources of each and every section traversed will be
particularly noted, as well as the present and future
prospects.

No. 1! of the Series Comprises the Union Pacific
and Oregon Railway and Navigation Co’s. Systems Com-
plete, with their Auxiliary Lines, by rail, water and
stage—13,850 miles in extent. This book commences at
Omaha and Kansas City, and traverses the lines through-
out Nebraska, Kansas, Colorado, Wyoming, Utah, Idaho,
Montana, Oregon and Washington—touching Victoria,
British Columbia, and San Francisco, by Steamship Lines.

No. 2 of the Series Commences at Denver, Colo-
rado, and comprises the Denver & Rio Grande Railway
System to Ogden, Utah ; portions of the Union Pacific,
in Colorado and Wyoming; all of the Central Pacific,
and the Complete Railway System on the Pacific Coast
from Portland, Oregon, south through California to Totos
Santos Bay, Old Mexico.

Bound in cloth. Price, $1.00 each. Sent by mail, postage paid, on receipt of

price. Address,
RAND, McNALLY & CO.,
CELLICAGO-.
CRUISINGS IN THE CASCADES

‘ A NARRATIVE OF i = ,
Travel, Exploration, Amateur Photography, Hunting = Fishing
With Special Chapters on Hunting the

Grizzly Bear, the Buffalo, Elk, Antelope, Rocky Mountain Goat, and Deer; also
on Trouting in the Rocky Mountains; on a Montana Roundup 3
Life among the Cowboys, Ete.

BY G. O. SHIELDS (‘COQUINA"),

Author of “ RUSTLINGS IN THE ROCKIES,” ‘‘ HUNTING IN THE GREAT WEST,”
“THE BATTLE OF THE Bia HOLE,” Erc.

12mo. 300 Pages. 75 Illustrations. Cloth, $2.00; Half Calf, $3.00.

The learned writer, scientist and sporlenian, Col. W. D. Pickett, better
known as “P.,” says of this book: ** The true lover of nature who delights
to occasionally escape from the annoyances and worriments inseparable
from so-called civilized life, and to wander amid scenes that tell only of the
infinite power, the beneficence, and the grandeur of the Great Ruler; who
delights to worship in the grandest of all His temples—the mountains; who
realizes and feels His presence on every mountain peak, in every dark
canyon, in every rushing wind, in every gentle zephyr, and who, amid such
scenes, above all realizes his own weakness and littleness; he it is who will
take pleasure in following the author amid some of the grandest and most.
peautiful scenery on this continent.”

Mr. T.S. Van Dyke, author of “The Still Hunter,” and other popular
books, says: ‘‘It is one of the most entertaining books on field sports yet
publishe . Mr. Shields always has something to say, and says it ina way
that makes one see it. Heis never dull, and there is an air of truth about
his work that fully satisfies the reader.”

Mr. Orin Belknap, known and loved of all sportsmen by his familiar
pseudonym of ‘* Uncle Fuller,” says: ‘The author of this work has placed
the sportsmen of America under pea ot eatone by his pleasing descrip-
tions of his adventures in the wilds of these little-known mountains.”

“In all that pertains to exploration, the wild journeys into wild places,
the dangerous ascent of rugged peaks and no less perilous descent into
obscure valleys, hitherto untrodden by the foot of man, the lungs expanded
with deep breaths of untainted air, the blood bounding with sudden pros-
pects and unexpected discoveries, the keen feeling of full and abundant life
and the nearness of the great heart of nature—in all this the author wins,
and deserves to win, the hearty sympathy of readers of every cast of
thought, opinion and condition.”—Belford’s Magazine.

Says W. B. Leffingwell, the gifted author of ‘* Wild Fowl Shooting,” and
of ‘‘Shooting on Upland, Field, and Marsh:” ‘I have rarely encountered,
anywhere, such vivid descriptions of life in the mountains as are found in
*Crusings in the Cascades.’”’

**Men who enjoy jaunts into the woods in search of big game will find
this book extremely interesting.”—New York Herald. _

‘**Cruisings in the Cascades’ is by far the best thing Coquina has ever
written.”—American Field. :

“It is a handsomely printed and finely illustrated volume, made up of
spirited sketches of travels, explorations, hunting and fishing. It is charm-
ingly interesting. The author mingles solid facts of great value with
accounts of his wild adventures, and tells the story with an off-hand style
that banishes sleep from tired eyes.”—Chicago Inter-Ocean.

***Cruisings in the Cascades’ is Mr. Shields’ latest, and, we think, best
publication. It will be heartily appreciated by American sportsmen.”—
Shouting and Fishing. : :

“The Dares are breezy and the illustrations numerous and attractive,
the camera having been freely used by the author in his travels.”--Turf,
Field and Farm.

“Mr. Shields is not only a hunter, but an angler, and an amateur photo-
grapher, and on his excursions in the mountains has made good use of his
opportunities. Asa narrative of adventure the book is entertaining, and as
a record of sport it will delight many readers.”—The Literary World.

‘Tt is sure to meet with a large sale.””— Chicago Tribune. ‘

“*Tt is by all odds the most fascinating book on big game hunting ever
published.”—The Journalist. . : 7

This book will be mailed, post-paid, on receipt of price, by

RAND, McNALLY & CO., Publishers,
CHICAGO.
BY THE SAME AUTHOR.

THE BATTLE OF THE BIG HOLE

A History of Gen. Gibbon’s Engagement with the
Nez Perce Indians, in the Big Hole Basin,
Montana, August 9, 1877.

12mo. 150 Pages, Profusely Illustrated. Cloth, $1.00.

Read the following indorsment of the book from General Gibbon:

HEADQUARTERS DEPARTMENT OF THE COLUMBIA,
VANCOUVER BARRACKS, W. T., August 11, 1889.
Mr. G. O. SHIELDS, Chicago, III. ;

DEAR S1R: I was very much pleased with your account of the Big Hole
fight, and I believe your statement of the facts are all correctly given. The
book is well written and handsomely printed and bound. The likenesses
are all good and easily recognizable. If I were to criticise your book at all, I
should say that your comments on the story are somewhat too complimen-
tary to myself. :

I thank you for piacing on record, ir a permanent shape, such a satis-
factory account of the battle.

Very truly yours, JOHN GIBBON.

And this from Captain Coolidge:

Camp Pitot Butte, Wyoming, March 17, 1889.
Mr. G. O. SHIELDS, Chicago, lll.

DEARSIR: I have read witha great deal of interest and pleasure the
manuscript of your book, entitled “The Battle of the Big Hole,” and as a
participant in the tragic affair it describes can cheerfully commend it to
all who are interested in obtaining a true history of the Nez Percé campaign.
It is a graphic and truthfulaccount of the Big Hole fight, and of the events
leading up to it, and must prove a most valuable contribution to the history
of our Indian wars.

I trust the book will meet with the generous reception it deserves.

Yours truly, CHAS. A. COOLIDGE,
Capt. 7th U.S. Infty.

_ “Itis good to recall from time to time the gallant conduct of our sol-
diers in the West, and Mr. Shieldsisto be thanked for refreshing people’s
memories in regard to this important event.”—New York Times.

“Tt is a graphic story of Indian warfare, and the author is to be thanked
for the manner in which he has again brought to remembrance the story of
a battle in which the brave and historic Seventh Infantry won a _ great
renown. The book is a valuableaddition to the history of the Great West.”
—Chicago Herald.

“Itisan exciting history of Gen. Gibbon’s enpenenens with the Nez
Percé Indians. Itisa well-told story, printed in large, clear type, with
Many portraits of the actors in the contest.” —Chicago Inter Ocean.

“In the battle of the Big Hole, Mr. G. O. Shields (Coquina) gives an
exceedingly interesting description of one of the most desperate fights in the
history of our Indian wars. He gives his readers a very accurate idea of
some of the hardships necessarily endured in such Western campaigns, and
takes occasion to eulogize, in no faint terms, the American soldier in gen-
als ane pene John Gibbon in particular.”—Journal of the Military Serv-
ace institution.

This book will be mailed, post-paid,on receipt of price by
RAND, McNALLY & CO., Publishers,
CHICAGO,
THE RIALTO SERIES

The books of this series are all works of special merit, and
are either copyright productions of American authors, or
noteworthy writings of foreign authors,

 

They are bound in neat and modest paper covers, at 50 cts.
each; and most of them also in tasteful cloth bindings, with
gold back and side titles, at $1.00 each, postpaid.

The paper series, being entered at the Chicago Post Office,
is mailable at one cent a pound,

The Dream (Le Réve). By E. Zoua. Mlustrated. Paper and cloth.

The Iron Master (Le Maitre de Forges). By GEorcEs OHNET. Iilus-
trated. Paper and cloth.

The Blackhall Ghosts. By Saran TYTLER.

The Immortal, or one of the “Forty” (L’Immortel). By A. DaupDEt.
Illustrated. Paper and cloth.

Marriage and Divorce. By Ap Ricuarp and others. Paper and cloth.

Daniel Trentworthy; a Tale of the Great Fire. By JonN McGovern.
Typogravure Illustrations, Paper and cloth.

The Silence of Dean Maitland. By MaxweELu Grey. Paper and cloth.

Nikanor. By Henry GREVILLE. Translated by Mrs. E. E. Coase. Typo-
gravure Illustrations. Cloth and paper.

Dr. Rameau. By GeorcEes OHNET. Illustrated. Paper and cloth.
The Slaves of Folly. By Wm. Horace Brown. Cloth and paper.

Merze; The Story of an Actress. By Maran Etiis Ryan. Typo-'
gravure Illustrations. Cloth and paper.

My Uncle Barbassoue By Mario Ucuarp. Illustrated. Paper and cloth.
Up Terrapin River. By Orie P. Reap. Cloth and paper.

Jacob Valmont, Manager. By Geo. A. Watiand G. B, HecKEL. Illus-
trated. Cloth and paper.

Herbert Severance. By M. FRENCH-SHELDON.
Kings in Exile. By A. DaupeEr. Illustrated. Cloth and paper.

The Abbe Constantin. By Lupovic Hatevy, with Thirty-six Illustra-
fone ah Madeleine Lemaire, Double number. Half morocco, gilt
Op, $2.00.

Ned Stafford’s Experiences in the United States. By Puxr.ir
MILForD.

The New Prodigal. By STEPHEN PauUL SHEFFIELD.

LATER LISTS CAN BE HAD ON APPLICATION.

Rand, McNally & Co., Publishers,

CHICAGO.
323 Broadway, NEW YORK.
If We Were Selling Clothing Only.

we could say so in a few words and you would believe us, but when we
say we sell all the necessary and unnecessary appliances to ride, walk,
dance, sleep, eat, fish, hunt, work, go to church or stay at home with,
all these in various styles and qualities, and in any quantity, you will
doubt the statement and may be ask if we keep groceries or saddles.
Our stock of Groceries is complete, even to Pickled Whang-doodles— and
we have saddles that will fit any Gazoontite on ‘earth. If you will send
us 15 cents to pay postage or expressage we will send you a catalogue
that will tell you all about it. 540 large sized pages full of brains, 7,500
illustrations, 30,000 quotations, and instructions how to buy goods.
Bless you, the book is worth 50 cents to “wad agun” with. Ifyou visit our
City, please call on sessO nly two blocks north of the Exposition build-
ing. No obligation to buy goods. Come in and expectorate tobacco
juice on the floor or make yourself at home in any way agreeable to
yourself, Respectfully,

MONTGOMERY WARD & CO.

III, 112, 113, 114, 115, 116 Michigan Ave., Chicago, Ill.
a eS SSC arc CMe OD EE Or Oe ee

teatime rr ee