Gunning in the Potomac Marshes

The Opening of the Season - Peppering Reed Birds and Ortolan - The Fancy Sportsman and the "Pot Hunter," &c.

Last Saturday being the first day of the month with an "R," besides having the distinction of opening the oyster season, was hailed with delight by the gunner and sportsman as the opening of the gunning season, particularly on the marshes. Very early in the morning the ring of the shotgun could be heard. All the skiffs and every boat suitable for conveying gunners over the marshes were engaged. Some of them were secured weeks in advance, and not a few were built expressly for the occasion. The vast marshes on the Eastern Branch, extending from the navy yard to Bladensburg, Md., were numerously patronized by the eager gunners. All day a line of crafts of nearly every description, from the new skiff to the flat-boat, and bearing gunners of all ages, were seen making all possible speed for the field of operations. Every gunner who could raise a firearm and a water craft was on the marsh, and many a department clerk was absent from his post Saturday. There was as much variety and contrast in the weapons borne by the gunners as there was between the craft and the gunners themselves. There was every variety of firing piece from the modern breech-loading shotgun to the blunderbuss improvised from an old government musket bored out, and in some cases with the stock tied on with a string. The number of gunners was rather larger than usual, and the number of birds killed rather small. The ortolan were not so numerous, but the reed birds and black birds were more plentiful than usual. None of the birds were in good condition, but the quality was up to the average at this time of the season. The ortolan received the special attention of the professional gunners, who took little account of the other birds, and consequently more of these were killed by the gunners. Of course there were amateurs who killed whatever they could.

Successful Hunters.

Mr.Wm. Wagner, of Eash Washington, is supposed to have killed the most ortolan. He took home eighty-seven ortolan. Among the other successful hunters were Chas. Williams, Richard Jones, Drs. Muncaster and Ball, Geo. Eckloff, Geo, Zurhorst, Prof. Sousa, Chas. Morgan, Mr. Campbell Carrington, and Jno. Waggaman. The majority brought home less than a dozen ortolan, and a few reed birds.

The anticipation of the gunners, particularly the professional men and government employees, were, but in a few cases, realized. Some of these gentlemen made great preparations, providing themselves with good skiffs, breech-loading guns and hiring men at from $3 to $5 per day to shove them, and coming out of the marsh with as few as three ortolan. One of this class who keeps a pack of hunting dogs all the yer round, to make it hard for the birds, felt particularly sore when a river urchin shoved his little scow by, and, showing a dozen birds, laughed at the fancy gunner for having so few.

The Fancy Shot and the Pot Hunter.

A riverman who has been guiding on the marshes for a good many years told a Star reported that he would like to say a word in reply to a communication printed recently about "pot hunters." "What I want to say is this," said he: "It is all well enough for those fancy gunners with their breech-loading guns to talk about 'pot hunters' killing birds before the season opens, but if they don't do this they get left, and might as well stay home. They talk about the killing of woodcock on their nests and destroying the whole family. This is no worse than a couple of these fancy shots going through a strip of country with their modern guns and killing every bird that gets up before them. I know of two men who went up a ravine out here — one on each side — and they could load up and fire so quick that they killed every bird that got up. When they go through a place first a 'pot hunter,' as they call us, might as well stay at home, because he can't find anything to shoot at." There was the usual accidental peppering of clumsy or unfortunate gunners Saturday, but no serious accident occurred.

September 3, 1883. Gunning in the marshes. Washington D.C. Evening Star 62(9474): 4.

The Fowler - A Poem from 1841

By Delta. From Blackwood for Sept.

"And in there care in heav'n and is there love

In heav'nly spirits to these creature base.

That may compassion of their evils move

There is — else much more wretched were the case

Of men than beasts. But oh! the exceeding grace

Of highest God that loves his creatures so,

And all his works with mercy doth embrace,

That blessed angels he sends to and fro.

To serve on wicked man to serve his wicked foe."

Spenser.

 

I have an old remembrance — 'tis as old

As Childhood's visions, and 'tis mingled with

Dim thoughts, and scenes grotesque, by fantasy

From out Oblivion's twilight conjured up.

Ere Truth had shorn Imagination's beams,

Or to forlorn reality tamed down

The buoyant spirit. Yes! The shapes and hues

Of winter twilight, often as the year

Revolves, and hoar-frost grimes the window-sill,

Bring back the lone waste scene that gave it birth,

And make me, for a moment, what I was

Then, on that Polar morn, a little boy,

And Earth again the realm of fairyland.

 

A Fowler was our visitant; his talk

At eve beside the flickering hearth, while howled

The outward winds, and hail-drops on the pane

Tinkled, or flown the chimney in the flame

Whizzed as they melted, was of forest and field,

Wherein lay bright wild-birds and timorous beasts

That shunned the face of man; and oh! the joy,

The passion which lit up his brow, to con

The feats of slight and cunning skill by which

Their haunts were neared, or on the heathy hills,

Or 'mid the undergrove; on snowy moor,

Or by the rushy lake — what time the dawn

Reddens the east, or from on high the moon

In the smooth waters sees her picture's orb,

The white cloud slumbering in the windless sky.

And midnight mantling all the silent hills.

 

I do remember me the very time —

Tho' thirty shadowy years have lapsed between?

'Tis graved as by the hand of yesterday,

For weeks had raved the winds; the angry seas

Howl'd to the darkness, and downfallen the snows;

The red-breast to the window came for crumbs;

Hunger had to the coleworts driven the hate;

The crow, at noontide, pecked the traveled road;

And the wood-pigeon, timorously bold,

Starved from the forest, neared the homes of man.

It was the dreariest depth of winter-tide,

And on the ocean and its isles was felt

The iron sway of the North; yes, even the fowl —

That through the polar summer months could see

A beauty in Spitzbergen's naked isles,

Or on the drifting icebergs seek a home —

Even they had fled, on southern wing, in search

Of less inclement shores.

 

Perturbed by dreams

Passed o'er the slow night-watches; many a thought

And many a hope was forward bent on morn;

But weary was the tedious chime on chime,

And hour on hour 't was dark, and still it was dark

At length we rose — for now we counted five —

And by the flickering hearth arrayed ourselves

In coats and 'kerchiefs, for the early drift

And biting season fit; the fowling-piece

Was shouldered, and the blood-stained game pouch slung

On this side, and the gleaming flask on that:

In sooth, we were a most accordant pair;

And thus accoutred, 10 the lone sea-shore

In fond and fierce precipitance we flew.

 

There was no breath abroad; each in its cave,

As if enchanted, slept the winds, and left

Earth in a voiceless trance : around the porch

All stirlessly the darksome ivy clung;

All silently the leafless trees held up

Their bare boughs to the sky; the atmosphere,

Untroubled in its cold serenity,

Wept icy dews; and now the later stars,

As by some hidden necromantic charm,

Dilate, amid the death-like calm profound,

On the white slumber-mantled earth gazed down. —

Words may not tell, how to the temperament,

And to the hue of that enchanted hour,

The spirit was subdued: a wizard scene!

In the far west, the Peatland's gloomy ridge

Belted the pale blue sky, whereon a cloud,

Fantastic, grey, and tinged with solemn light,

Lay like a dreaming monster, and the moon,

Waning, above its silvery rim upheld

Her horns — as 't were the Spectre of the Past.

Silently, silently, on we trode and trode.

As if a spell had frozen up our words :

White lay the wolds around us, ankle deep

In new-fallen snows, which champ'd beneath our tread;

And, by the marge of winding Esk, which showed

The mirrored stars upon its map of ice,

Downward in haste we journeyed to the shore

Of Ocean, whose drear, multitudinous voice

Unto the listening spirit of silence sang.

 

Oh, leaf! from out the volume of far years

Dissevered, oft, how oft have the young buds

Of Spring unfolded, have the Summer skies

In their deep blue o'ercanopied the earth,

And Autumn, in September's ripening breeze,

Rustled her harvests, since the theme was one

Present, and darkly all that Future lay,

Which now is of the perished and the past,

Since then a generation's span hath fled,

With all its varied whirls of chance and change —

With all it's casualties of birth and death;

And, looking round, sadly I feel this world

Another, though the same; — another in

The eyes that gleam, the hearts that throb, the hopes,

The fears, the friendships of the soul; the same

In outward aspect — in the hills which cleave —

As landmarks of historical renown —

With azure peaks the sky; in the green plain,

That spreads its annual wild-flowers to the sun;

And in the river, whose blue course is marked

By many a well known bend and shadowy tree : —

Yet o'er the oblivious gulf, whose mazy gloom

Ensepulchres so many things, I see

As 't were of yesterday — yet robed in tints

Which yesterday has lost, or never had —

The desolate features of that Polar morn —

Its twilight shadows, and its twinkling stars —

The snows far spreading — the expanse of sand,

Ribbed by the roaring and receded sea.

And, shedding over all a wizard light,

The waning moon above the dim-seen hills.

 

At length, upon the solitary shore

We walked of ocean, which, with sullen voice,

Hollow and never-ceasing, to the north

Sang its primeval song. A weary waste!

We passed through pools, where mussel, clam and wilk

Clove to their gravelly beds; o'er slimy rocks,

Ridgy and dark, with dank fresh fuel green,

Where the prawn wriggled, and the tiny crab

Slid sideway from our path, until we gained

The land's extremest point, a sandy jut,

Narrow, and by the weltering waves begirt

Around; and there we laid us down and watched,

While from the west the pale moon disappeared,

Pronely, the sea-fowl and the coming dawn.

 

Now Day with Darkness for the mastery strove;

The stars had waned away — all, save the last

And fairest, Lucifer, whose sliver lamp,

In solitary beauty, twinkling, shone

'Mid the far west, where, through the clouds of rack

Floating around, peeped out at intervals

A patch of sky; — straightway the reign of Night

Was finished, and, as if instinctively,

The ocean flocks, or slumbering on the wave

Or on the isles, seemed the approach of dawn

To feel; and, rising from afar, were heard

Shrill shrieks and pipings desolate — a pause

Ensued, and then the same lone sounds returned,

And suddenly the whirring rush of wings

Went circling round us o'er the level sands,

Then died away : and, as we looked aloft

Between us and the sky, we saw a speck

Of black upon the blue — some huge, wild bird,

Osprey or eagle, high amid the clouds

Sailing majestic, on its plumes to catch

The earliest crimson of the approaching day.

 

'Twere sad to tell our murderous deeds that morn,

Silent upon the chilly beach we lay

Prone, while the drifting snow-flakes o'er us fell.

Like Nature's frozen tears, for our misdeeds

Of wanton cruelty. The eider ducks,

With their wild eyes, and necks of changeful blue,

We watched, now diving down, now on the surge

Flapping their pinions, of our ambuscade

Unconscious — till a sudden death was found :

While floating o'er us, in the graceful curves

Of silent beauty down the sea-mew fell :

The gilinot upon the shell-bank lay

Bleeding, and oft, in wonderment, its mate

Flew round, with mournful cry, to bid it rise;

Then shrieking, fled afar : the sandpipers,

A tiny flock, innumerable, as round

And round they, flew, bewailed their broken ranks :

And the scared heron sought his inland marsh.

With blood-bedabbled plume around us rose

A slaughtered hecatomb; and to my heart

(My heart then open to all-sympathies)

It spoke of tyrannous cruelty — of man

The desolator; and of some far day,

When the accountable shall make account,

And but the merciful shall mercy find.

 

Soul-sickened, satiate, and dissatisfied,

An altered being, homeward, I returned,

My thoughts revolting at the thirst for blood

So brutalizing, so destructive of

The finer sensibilities, which man

In boyhood owns, and which the world destroys. —

Nature had preached a sermon to my heart :

And from that moment, on that snowy morn,

I loathed the purpose and the power to kill.

October 4, 1841. New York Tribune 1(151): 4. Based upon terminology and other linguistic clues, this prose may have been originated on the east side of the North Atlantic Ocean. There may be transcription errors due to a lack of legibility associated with the online presentation of the source document.

Diary of the Brownville Buffalo Hunters

Brownville, Neb., Jan. 10, '71.

This morning seven wagons and fifteen men of us start for a general hunt on the Republican and Soloman [Solomon] rivers. We made the city of Tecumseh the first day, all in good spirits, the weather being very mild and pleasant.

Jan. 11.— Rolled out of camp bright and early, and traveled to the third crossing of Yankee Creek, and, taking dinner there, we traveled on to the city of Beatrice, situated on the Big Blue, and camped for the night. The weather began to get colder in the night and near morning, it began to snow and kept increasing, so we concluded to lay by that day. We spent the day in getting up wood and making fires. There were six rabbits and several quail killed while in this camp.

Jan. 13.— Got up and had our breakfast so as to start by daylight. It was a very disagreeable day to travel, the snow blowing and drifting so that it made it hard on our teams, we finally reached the Little Sandy a small stream running into the Little Blue river, not stopping at noon to feed. We had plenty of wood, so we had a good comfortable fire.

Jan. 14.— We drove out of camp bright and early, crossed Big Sandy, a very pretty little stream running in to the Blue river. We then drove about three miles and passed through the thriving little village of Meridian, situated on the Little Blue river. We then traveled fifteen miles and crossed the Little Blue at Hebron. We then traveled about four miles and camped on Springs Creek. On going into camp Samuel Summers killed a fine wild turkey, which we had for supper.

Jan. 15.— Got up at 4 o'clock and eat our breakfast and started as soon as it was light. Three of the boys, Wm. Morris, Nate Westfall and Capt. Starry, followed up the stream and succeeded in killing three wild Turkeys and some other small game. We then traveled until we came to a small stream by the name of Oak Creek, where two of our party had a battle on our fall hunt, about some misunderstanding. We celebrated the event by a speech delivered by the Rev. Mr. Brookens, a colored gent who was along with our party.

Jan. 16.— We rolled out of camp early and traveled up the Republican river all day. We passed two stockades on the river, about twelve miles apart; there were eight or ten families at each of them. We also passed several hunting parties going home with fine loads of game. They reported game a good ways off. We drove into camp on the Republican river about 4 o'clock. Upon making fire it caught in the grass and came very near getting the start of us. It raised quite an excitement in camp, and there was some lively kicking and stamping of fire there for some time. We finally succeeded in extinguishing the fire, and prepared our evening repast.

Jan 17.— Got under way about 7 o'clock, and drove four miles and tried to cross the river, but did not succeed, the ice not being solid enough to bear our teams. We then drove about ten miles and then unhitched our teams and drew our wagons across by hand. We then drove up the river five or six miles. We found a small gang of turkeys, on driving to camp and killed five. Wm. Moore, Capt. Starry, John Summers and H. C. Baker brought down one each. We seen several deer but did not get a shot.

Jan. 18.— Traveled all day on the dividing ridge between the Republican and Soloman river. Did not stop for dinner. We met several hunting parties, who reported game very scarce unless we would go a long ways. We pitched camp about four o'clock on one of the tributaries of White Rock; wood and water plenty. Capt. Starry killed three turkeys; John Summers and H.C. Baker killed one grouse each.

Jan. 19.— We kept on the divide all day not stopping for dinner. Seen some pretty fresh signs of Buffalo, but seen none of the beasts themselves. Sam. Summers, Capt. Starry and Hugh Baker started out on their ponies hunting, but seen no game except a gang of turkeys, or which they killed four. Camped on a small stream running into the Soloman, about ten miles west of what is called the Hay Stack Mound, a very high hill that can be seen some twenty-five or thirty miles off.

Jan. 20.— Drove out of camp early. Three of the boys, Capt. Starry, Sam. Summers and John Crook rode out on horseback prospecting for game. About noon one of them came to the teams, reporting a herd of buffalo off about three miles. We drove to a suitable place and stopped, unhitched and prepared to make chase. In the mean time we spied, as we supposed, a much larger herd than the first. So the Captain gave orders to hitch up again and drive for the larger herd, about two miles distant. Some of the boys that had never seen buffalo were very anxious to get after them; so much so that they rode a good ways ahead. Just as we were coming out of a draw on higher ground, so we could have a better view of the them, they proved to be a band of Red Skins, numbering about one hundred, with their ponies loaded with buffalo meat, and on the travel. It was amusing to see how quick the boys that were on ahead stopped, when the cry of Indians was raised. We did not make chase after them, that was not the kind of game we wanted to meet. We wheeled around and made chase after the buffalo that we had first seen. After getting as close as we could conveniently with our wagon, we stepped and eight or nine of us started after them; four were mounted; we found we could not get close enough on foot, as they were moving, so the horsemen started on the chase. They run them about a mile and finally got them turned about, and here they came. John Summers, H.C. Baker, John Crook and Hugh Baker started to head them off and stayed down flat on the ground, near where they supposed the buffalo would pass. Capt. Starry separated two from the herd, and drove them toward the footmen and here came the Captain on a the full run with his long hair flying in the air, driving the buffalo in front and heading them straight for the footmen. When about-twenty yards off H.C. Baker and John Summers fired, succeeding in bringing one of them down, and Capt. Starry killed the other one. James Coons also killed one. Several others were crippled but got away. We then dressed our game and drove into camp on the Middle Fork of Soloman. Some small game was also killed.

Jan. 21.— Left camp about half past seven o'clock and traveled five or six miles when we spied a herd of buffalo off about three miles. After driving down and camping on the South Fork of Soloman, seven of the boys mounted and gave chase; while the horsemen were chasing the first herd. Geo. Peabody and H.C. Baker started off on foot and after going four or five miles they found a herd feeding quietly, and crept up on them and fired. H.C. Baker killed a fine cow. Peabody wounded one but did not get it. The horsemen killed eight. Capt. Starry, killed four, Sam. Summers two, and Nate Westfall two. H.C. Baker also killed a jackrabbit.

Jan. 22.— Laid over all day and all have been hunting. John. Summers, H.C. Baker and Geo. Peabody killed one buffalo; John Crook killed one; Capt. Starry, Sam. Summers and Hugh Baker each killed one. They then rode to camp, took two teams and hauled their game into camp.

Jan. 23.— Laid over all day and run buffalo Sam. Summers killed two, Capt. Starry five, and John Crook three, John Gelphart, Wm. Morris each killed. one. They reported large herds of buffalo south of our camp, about ten miles.

Jan. 24.— Got up early and loaded our meat, drove about ten miles and camped on the same stream we left in the morning; killed no game except a couple of prairie dogs.

Jan. 25.— Got up in the morning and found it snowing, it continued until about four o'clock; the snow was about four inches deep on a level. Mr. Brookens, our colored gent amused us most of the day with songs and dances. Hugh Baker and John Crook killed one buffalo. Some grouse were also killed. We decided to start homeward the next day thinking we could finish loading our teams on the road back.

Jan. 26.— Rolled out of camp bright and early; had a very pleasant day after the storm; drove about five miles and Capt. Starry halted the train, he had seen a small herd of buffalo; in company with Sam. Summers and Nate Westfall, he started after them. Westfall and Starry each killed one; they then came to the teams and H.C. Baker took a pony and started down through the breaks, and succeeded in killing one buffalo. After strapping the quarters on the pony he started for the train and found it in camp on a beautiful little stream running into the Republican river, on the south side, by the name of Prairie Dog; wood and water plenty. The timber consists of cottonwood, elm, ash, and also some cedar.

Jan. 27.— We concluded to lay by and hunt turkey, as there were plenty of fresh signs, and we had not killed many. The boys all got ready and started out, except H.C. Baker, he could not go on account of having a lame foot. They had good luck. Samuel Summers killed eight, Capt. Starry nine, John Crook four, James Coons three, John Summers five, Wm. Morris five, Hugh Baker six, Westfall, jr. three, Geo. Peabody went out after buffalo, and killed one and brought it into camp on his horse. When they all got in and gathered around the camp fire the Captain left it to a vote whether we would stay there another day or not. As game was plenty in that vicinity, all voted for staying. So every fellow went to work cleaning and getting his gun in order.

Jan. 28.— All hands that were going hunting rolled out by sun rise. Several turkeys were killed. John Crook went buffalo hunting and killed two.

Jan. 29.— Got under way early. The weather was fair until about eight o'clock, when a heavy fog came up making it very hard for us to keep our course. We lost our course several times and had to turn back, but we finally got straightened up all right. Seen one herd of Buffalo. Starry and Morris gave chase. The teams moved on and went into camp again on Prairie Dog. Starry and Morris got in about eight o'clock at night with three horses packed with buffalo meat. They each killed one.

Jan. 30.— We drove down Prairie Dog until noon, then we fed our teams and, drove to the divide between Prairie Dog and Soloman; we kept on that until camping time, then drove to a small stream that flows into the Soloman and camped; water plenty but wood scarce. Capt. Starry killed wild turkeys.

Jan. 31.— Drove on the divide all day. Seen about two hundred buffalo but did not give chase; also seen some elk but did not get any. Camped on a tributary of Prairie Dog; wood plenty but water very bad. Capt. Starry killed three turkeys, and Nate Westfall killed a Porcupine.

Feb. 1.— Rolled out of camp bright and early; drove on the divide all day, not stopping for dinner. Starry and Coons killed one buffalo and three turkeys. Camped at the head of White Rock; wood and water plenty.

Feb. 2.— Traveled the divide all day again. The wind blew very hard making it disagreeable traveling. We struck the Republican river about six miles above the upper stockade and camped. Captain Starry killed three turkey.

Feb. 3.— Got up early and crossed the river. One of the party broke the coupling pole of his wagon, which delayed us about half and hour. We then started down the river, passing the two stockades, camped on Beaver Creek; wood and water in abundance.

Feb. 4.— Rolled out of camp and traveled until about nine o'clock, when we spied a herd of elk. We drove down to the river and unhitched and prepared to give chase. Sam. Summers, Nate Westfall, John Crook, James Coons, John Clark, Wm. Morris and Capt. Starry then mounted and chased them about ten miles, succeeding in killing nine. They came to camp, and drove out and got them. Then we drove about five mile to Oak Creek, and camped for the night.

Feb. 5.— Rolled out of camp before daylight; traveled until about four o'clock, when we reached the Little Blue river at Hebron. We crossed and camped; wood not very plenty. Coons killed one elk and brought the hams to camp.

Feb. 6.— Traveled all day, passing through Meridian; stopped on Big Sandy for dinner. We then drove to Little Sandy and camped.

Feb. 7.— Drove out of camp before daylight; reached the city of Beatrice stopped there a few minutes, then drove to Bear Creek, five miles from there and camped; wood very scarce.

Feb. 8.— Got up in the morning and found it snowing; we rolled out however, and drove across an eighteen mile ridge suffering considerably with the cold and eat our dinners and fed our teams. We then drove to the last crossing of Yankee Creek, and camped close to the Wild Irishman's. By night it cleared up nice, but was very cold. While we were getting supper, the Irishman came to camp and talked a while, wanting us to come and stay in his house, we declined his offer on account of having our supper most ready, and had our teams fed. He saw that we were pretty short of wood and told us if some of us would go with him he would give us some wood, three of the boys went along, he gave them all they could carry, after they had got to camp, we heard a wagon coming, some one remarked that there was a team out pretty late, he drove up to our camp and stopped, and behold it was the Irishman with a load of wood and hay, it was very acceptable. We acknowledged it by giving him several nice pieces of buffalo meat and a turkey. He certainly was a gentleman in every respect. We can recommend him to any one traveling that way as a gentleman, that has a good place to stop at.

Feb. 9.— Traveled all day hard, and passed through the city of Tecumseh and made home about eight o'clock at night, tired and hungry. The total amount of game killed was 40 buffalo, 10 elk, 105 wild turkey, 3 jack rabbits, 3 porcupines, and a number of grouse.

Anonymous. February 23, 1871. The diary of the Brownville buffalo hunters. Nebraska Advertiser 15(19): 1.

Dude of the Swamp and Duck Hunting at Church Lake

Church Lake has always been a famous place for shooting. The haunt of ducks, snipe and geese as they pass up or down the Jordan in search of fresh feeding grounds. Many are the times that the usual quiet of the fields has been disturbed by those who seek this place to waste ammunition and sleep.

True, it is exciting to lie on the grassy shores or in the rushes and absorb the dew drops as they nestle in each leaf, awaiting the magical warmth of the sun to vaporize them. To hopefully listen for the whir which tells of the approach of the coveted game. To cuss the mud-hens as they noiselessly approach your hiding place and as they appear to your view, almost betray you into taking a shot. To sit and enjoy a pipe, listen to your friend on the opposite shore firing away, hear the splash or thud which awakens visions of roast duck and then relapse into a quiet mood and wonder if the horse has slipped his halter and is quietly loping up the road to the city. Some of the fellows go down and in two, or three hours return with "a few," as they call a dozen. Then some amateur goes to Evans & Spencer, hires a gun, buys some shells, and in company with a friend, starts for the lake.

To hear them talk, why it makes the horse tired to think of the load he must return with. A— and B—., the heroes of the last shooting affair at the lake, are young men well known up town, the former being a skilled shoer of horses, the latter a manipulator of calf skin, under Colonel Rowe.

On Thursday, the 20th last, these jolly hunters started for Church Lake, bent upon having a night's shooting. The grey mare stepped out briskly down the road and in an hour the party had arrived on the ground. After unhitching and tying the stepper to the fence, they cautiously approached the most likely portion of the lake and betook themselves to thinking of the glorious time they would have. The moon played hide and seek with the stars behind the clouds for a while, and then broke forth, shedding her mellow light upon the water and the meadow, and each blade of grass seemed fresh and green. Not so with the game which they sought. They flew high and were not so frequent as they wished.

The Dude of the swamps - the mud hen - was discussed at last, and the conclusion arrived at was as a Dude, the mud-hen is a complete success, being entirely useless. Thus an hour or more was spent and then their thoughts turned to the beautiful gray, which they had securely tied to a fence post. A— raised up and looked in the direction of the buggy, but no gray could he see. "The mare is loose," to B—. They walked out some distance but could not see anything of the brute. They walked on, and finally saw a white object testing the fence for the lowest portion. As the boys approached, the lowest portion was found, and over she went at a bound. The hunters broke into a run and soon had the equine corralled in the corner of the paddock. Horses, as a rule, go blind when they get loose, for they will not approach nor be approached by those whom they most willingly obey. This one was no exception to the rule, and over the fence she went. The duck shooters, now bare-headed, went tearing after her. As the first appearance of dawn came down over the valley, two bare-headed gentlemen might have been seen alternately chasing and coaxing with outstretched hands, the gray mare, which cantered up the lane and as she turned into the State road, switcher her tail and seemed to say, "Fare ye well, Brother Watkins, ah." It was farewell, for the horse came up to Jackson's gate and seemed to smile when A—'s father let her into the yard. Two hunters walked up, arriving in town about 10 o'clock. B— had the head of one snipe dangling from his belt, the cooking part having been lost in the mad chase after the mare. This was all they had to show for their night's shooting.

Gid. September 23, 1883. Duck Hunting. And Horse Following as Well. Salt Lake Herald 14(94): 2.

Mud Hens, Musical Cranes and Hunting Cranks

Mud Hens! How a Festive M.H. Slayer Would Deceive.

Musical Cranes and Hunting Cranks.

Salt Lake City, Sept. 9, '82.

Shooting at ducks often proves but a disappointment.  Four brave hunters left town late on the night of the 4th inst., for a night's sport at Church Lake. There did not exist a doubt in their minds as to the result of the shoot. After a few hours sleep the hunters of the party were up and persuasively asking the indifferent ones if they were not going out to get some ducks. Finally the whole party were starting for the marshy shores of the lake, the alleged haunt of innumerable ducks, the abiding place of the musical mud hens and the wandering crane. Not until the depths of several post holes had been explored and the efforts thereunto belonging had been partially recovered from did ye hunters awake to a sense of the many and varied responsibilities resting upon them as sportsmen. As they grey dawn came from behind the mountains and stole over the valley the darkness became less frequent, and the most unassuming stakes and bunches of grass became mallards or teal, just as the beholders imagination inclined. Some kind hand placed those stakes there little dreaming that they would prove so attractive, or cause many an old sportsman to drop to the ground and crawl noiselessly through the wet grass until within range, and then empty both barrels of his fine Parker gun into an old fence pole, thinking he has a sitting shot at a line of ducks. Any attempt to explain would have been lost on the rest of the boys, so we all took beer. The party now worked an example in grand division, and each one took such a position as he deemed best, and on the sparkling dew drops we sat down to wait for the victims. On a quiet Sabbath morning, seated upon the unmown hay, wet with penetrating dew, such pleasant thoughts come to one's mind, as he dozes a little and wakes with a start, thinking he hears the whir of flying birds, only to see a convention of mosquitoes. A feeling of restful restlessness comes into the heart and goes out to the hand, suspended for a moment preparatory to coming down upon the interesting family of acrobats having a picnic on your right cheek. Everything around is so calm, quiet and serene that any demonstration on the part of the sufferer would seem sacrilegious. Soon, however, the delightful stillness was smashed by the report of a gun, and each one was on the alert lest he should miss a good shot. Of course we all expected that some of the party had brought down a brace of ducks. In this we were disappointed. The cause of the sudden report was that one of the party had cautiously approached a bird which he claims was a duck, but which afterward proved to be a mud hen. There can be no harm in killing a mud hen, but when one mistakes a musical m.h. for a duck, and then tries to convince his friends that the m.h. is a duck, it is wrong. Not satisfied with this, he further attempts to yank the clothing of the unshorn lamb over the eyes of his friends by hiring Phil, to get one of our ducks out of the wagon, and take it to the point where he killed the bird and then bring our duck to the house in triumph. This also is wrong, teaching the youthful mind to deceive, and not only teaching but prefacing the lesson with a dollar piece.

The ducks were not out early, had perhaps been up late at Buhring's the night before. We did not kill many ducks, but the party promptly assisted in putting away several which "Ort" had killed the evening previous. After a delightful breakfast prepared by "Aunt" Margaret, some went for a nap, while others went for a ride. The out was pleasant, not only for us, but for the ducks. The sand hill cranes tuned their harps and gave vent to their appreciation in a series of dont-care-if-you-die-I-am-going to sing sort of notes, and we gracefully submitted. The next time we go out after ducks we will buy a flock of tame ducks and be sure that there are none that can fly.

Thoughtfully we left our guns to be brought up by a team, and rode into town, wet, muddy, and tired, but none the less grateful to our friends at the farm, who did so much to make our stay pleasant; and the chances are we will take another trip when the birds begin to migrate to the southward.

Gib. September 10, 1882. Salt Lake Daily Herald 13(84): 12.