The sun. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1833-1916, 1903-10-18
THE ANNUAL GATHERING IN
HUNTERS GARDEN.
stories Told by Ninety.Year.Oiders OF
WOOdcraft and Proves Half Gem
fury ASo-Hardy Old John Gordon.
Who Spent . Winter Night In . Tree.

reason updTOuHu Odhuhit way aLi't rAa u6ht'A
them by the dozens on open days in the fall
but the real old timers who hunted through
the Long Island woods forty or fifty years
ago, and have tales TO tell Of the strange
things that lived in those woods then which
mako the young hunters OF this generation
green with envy.
Hunters Garden is to this section of Long
Island what the Smith family picnic at Pea
pack Is to New Jersey. All the Smiths go
to Peapack once a year to eat and drink
and make merry with "reminiscences, and
all the old hunters 60 out to Brewsters lot
once q year for identically the same pur-
nose. or those who celebrate Hunters
Garden it must be remembered that there
IL none under 90 years Of age and few
who are on the shady sd, Of 80. When the
old timers get to telling hunting stories,
which they generally Go after the fish
chowder. which is the piece de resistance
Of the feast. gets in its work youngsters of
forty and fifty are supposed to sit on the
side lines and with wide open ears absorb
wisdom. If any young cub of so or there
abouts ventures to tell of his deer hunt or
his coon experience, Ia gets very little
attention, and if he persists in the relation
OF his tale he is invited to reserve it for the
county fair or the next trottNg meet, as
youth isto be seen and not heard at hunters
Garden.
Forest fires and lumbernen have made
sad havoc with the woods herea bouts, but
sixty or seventy years ago they were full
of deer and bear, foxes OF a half dozen
species ran wild and the coon was common
grew up. few men became famous
FOR their skill and prowess in the woods,
and these are the men who Yesterday cele-
brated Hunters Garden in Brewster's lot
Not an incident Of the old hunting days
has been forgotten. The old timers get Up
this annual picnic for the very purpose
Of keeping alive the memories OF those old
days. In their preservation few things
that never happened have been born, but
Y isn't safe at Hunters Garden to insinuate
that anything an old hunter says Is not
true. All the other old hunters will rush in
to his defencs, for they never know when
they may need the same aid.
Brewster's lot is the only clearing In the
woods hereabouts, and far away from
human habitation; and. reeking with men,
cries of the old days as 1t is. is the most
appropriate spot on the island for such
q gathering as that held Yesterday. There
Is a spring there, and tradition has it that
Indians. After big hunts the Indians used
to gather there for their feasts-at least
Uncle Silas Tuttle says so. and he has
memory Of this section that runs back
almost ninety years. Uncle Silas is a strict
Quaker now goes to meeting regularly and
has very little to do with the affairs Of the
world, but there was time when Uncle
skin hat and with Frank Tuttle, now IS,
Uncle Wells Tuttle, who died several years
ago aged 90, and a lot Of other Tuttles, and
Jaynes and Gordonses and Wellses roan,ed
these woods with gun over his shoulder
and won reputation as hunter that has
never been equalled by Long Island
woodsman since.
Uncle Silas can tell you tales of Great
Pond, Of Terrell's Hole. OF the deer that
led an old Long Island family to the first
cranberry bog In these woods. thereby
laying the foundation OF that family's
fortune; and score OF other things. But
Uncle Sias only tells these tales once a year
now, and that is on the occasion Of Hunters
Garden.
1t is no wonder. then, with all these
hunter heroes OF bygone age invading
the woods at once, that the remnants OF
animal life should get out Of the way. Had
the scattered deer but known it, the worst
bottles they carried in their hip pockets,
The old hunters need little stimulant
when they get to telling their hunting
stories, and If the story is good one the
teller always has a dozen bottles at his
disposal. There is no use in having a story
spoiled for the sake Of little liquor.
At 10 o'clock this morning the hunters
began the invasion OF the woods. They
came from Speonk, from Eastport, from
the Moriches, from the north shore and
the south shore, from the farms Of the in
terior-in fact, every old hunter on Long
Island, no matter how far away from here
his home may be, managed to get to the
n
day. At noon the old hunters prepared
dinner. It wasn't dinner of sandwiches
and cold chicken and pickles and DIV es
and all that sort of thing. Some Of the
hunters brought fish and made big fish
chowder. Others brought crabs, others
boilers full Of coffee which We're filed with
water and set to boil over wood fires. Wien
oil the dinner contributions had been pre-
pared and put on the table it was feas
for a king, and the old hunters smacked
their lips as they sat down to it.
All there is to Hunters Garden outside
Of eating, is talking. No speeches are made,
but each hunter is supposed to tell at least
one story; and it doesn't matter whether it
is the same story he told the year before
or not, 1t is welcome.
Old Silas futile. for the tenth consecutive
year, told the tale of the deer that led the
way to the cranberry bogs; Elias futile re-
lated once more the story Of the strange
prehistoric beast which was seen gallivant-
Ing over the woods shortly before the body
Of old man Terrell was found in the hollow
which has ever since been known as Ter
rell's hole, and score of other familiar old
tales were dug up from their twelve months
rest and told again.
But there were some new ones, too. For
instance, Uncle Frank futile, stroking the
fringe Of whskers which runs around his
neck four inches back Of his chin, listened
TO the disinterring Of old tales until he
thought 1t was time to tell story himself.
did you ever krow old John Gordon
that married Aunt Jennie, out here piece?"
he inquired.
Knew him well, snort ed Uncle Silas.
Aunt Jennie was left in these uars by
the British soldiers af er the battle Of Lorg
Island, and ] reckon kr ew J e. as well
as anybody" said William Gordon
We'll, well, said Trcle Frark u guess
we all knew John Gordon. Did you over
hear about the shirt tail hunts If his2 No?
Well, John was he'll hent IN ting, ard If
he got the smell Of the heas In his srooi
he jest vert out after him as he YVES. Most
usually after o O'Clock nj night John was D.
his shirt tail, 20 II wasn't convenient fer
him TO get The Whit OF game then, ~ ecslly
when II was cold, We'll, one winter night
about 0 o'clock Johr WIGS as usual in his
shirt tail and not a thing GOVERN his hare
legs, when he hears the deer out on the
snow. II was colder thAn all FIRE, but Jobr
grabs his gun, leaps out into he night and
climbed tree, thinking the deer will soon
pass under and he can get comfortahl
shot nj him.
well, all night John STAYED I'D in that
tree. and Aunt Jennie she reckonod he VIE