The Ouachita telegraph. [volume] (Monroe, La.) 1865-1889, 1879-12-12

Having been reading forest & Stream
rather attentively of late, and consid-
ering the State either redeemed, or
never to be redeemed, snatched up
the old lead pencil last week and
dropped quietly along down the river
some 10 miles, where it was said the
Numidian lions were roaring and the
whales were blowing and knocking the
steamboats, out of the water. Whether
the whales were rights, or let's, did
not alter the incentive to kill them.
In fact, 1t was the lions that formed
the chief attraction anyhow, as It did
with Du Chaillu in entering Africa.
Having learned that the lions roared
loudest and the wbang-doodle mourned
sweetest on the west bank, I selected
that side for operations; whales being
accessible from either side. .
A COW long ways of, it has been
said,- has big horns. Arrived at Mr..
McKrary's, was informed by that
gentleman that he had not heard a
lion roar since the year 1903 when he
was an infant, and that my whales
were all cats and buffaloes. my for
eign readers shall find out why buff
falo has and has not horns, and why a
cat can and can not make music. The
English found this out long ago-hav-
ing learned 1t when the Saxons hit
them over the heads with Webster's
dictionaries.] The information further
impaired by my host was that there
were plenty of squirrels in the adjacent
swamps which I might pursue, but
that having raised my sights for lions,
he thought it likely bunny was in no
immediate danger. This disparaging
allusion to my artillery practice (Which
subsequent events, it will be seen fur
Their along, was well-founded) no less
than the certainty of not seeing any
lions, begat a settled melancholy in my
bosom akin to that of the Tilted lover
who betakes himself to bacon and
greens and black coffee for a diet. 1t
was, however, a question with but one
side, and 50 said "green it shall be-"
Poor girl how often have sobbed
over the loss Of that pail of sweet milk,
before it was churned! So 1 said
would anchor my balloon, and grovel
in the mud of the swamps-out where
the hills come down to the swamp and
the swamp goes up to meet the hills.
This melancholy fall over with, a
young gentleman, Mr.. d. Port, was
! requested to become my companion,
and he very kindly consented. I shall
have occasion to mention Port several
times, it may be said here, and ought
to be said, that he is a worthy young
fellow, full of vigor, industrious, a
good hunter, and has seen, although
young, somewhat of life, but in its
humber walks. Born in Alabama, he
learned to walk early, and has been
travelling up and down bayous, creeks
and rivers in three States as a RATS
man ever since the war, occasionally
s'stopping OFF, to go to sea or to dig
wells, in which latter pursuit he is
now engaged with an energy and hon.
esty of execution not unworthy of
Sutro or any other great digger of min
ing or railroad tunnels. In his travels
Port has picked up Incidents, stories
and rough experiences which, COM
bined with a ready way of relating
them; made him an interesting COM
rade in the thicl<ct and gave me COM
fort in the sacrifice thought was
making in giving him my allegiance
in the hunt of which the reader is
about to hear.
And now pluming the old pencil and
invoking the mighty aid of Eli Per-
kins, the acknowledged deity whom
Mercury worshiped, or the aid of any
of the great and mighty hunters of
Monroe to whose marvellous tales 1
have often listened with enchantment,
let me tell the thrilling incidents of
one days squirrel hunt, and in doing
this I shall squander time and space,
both being plentiful. The patience of
the reader, as Toots would say-ssit's
of no consequence" so long as pay
c,. H.