The sun., 1908-10-16
EBLS FOR HUNTERS or ED
LONG ISLAND VETERANS MEET
AND EAT CHOWDER

And Tell Over the Stories OF q Day That
IL Gone-FIftyoeight Years AGO They
Held Their First Meeting. but They
Are Young and spry on Reunion Day.
Uncle Parshall Tuttle and Uncle Brcws-
ter Tuttie brewed that eel chowder yes
terday Just as they had brewed eel chow
dAvs for all the Hunters Garden Assooi-
alton meetings that have been held In
the garden back OF Eastport for the last
twenty years. And they cooked 'em
without fins, for everybody from Anna
gansett to Quog knows what Uncle Frank
Tuttle. the president OF the association.
thinks about cooking an eel with his fms
on. Just about as soon eat a cat back
ward. says Uncle Frank.
There were hundred pounds Of fresh
East Bay eels that went into the steaming
pots hanging on the wooden crane over
the slow ire. Half a bag Of potatoes
Uncle Brewster peeled and quartered
over the eels. Unole Parshall quartered
four thick white slabs OF picked pork
and dropped the chunks into the pots
Then, with the peeled branch Of hick-
CRY tree, he stirred and stirred the steam
ing mess while ninety-seven fellow
members Of the Hunters Garden Associ-
alton squatted about and shifted the
fugitive promises that slipped out from
under covers and up to the laced boughs
OF the oaks.
Here Is little story that has nothing
90 do with eels, even with their fms of:
A very long time ago, about the time that
the British were driving the Hotwater
road through that part Of the island. there
were hunters living along the shore.
They used to go back to the Rock Hills
and get deer, sometimes bear and always
mink and foyes. In the very middle
Of the undulating waste of scrub oak
and pine that sweeps down from the
Rock Hills to Moriches Bay these hunters
found spring, the only spring not near
civilization for miles around. These
hunters used to meet at this spring coca
sionally and swap tales as the bottles Of
Hollands went around.
Fifty-eight years ago. when Uncle Par
shall Tuttle was a boy Of IA. the old men Of
Eastport, of Speonk, Calverton and Aque-
bogue who had onoe been hunters, and who
had planted the rye and buried the pota-
toes and turnips in the Garden out there by
the spring met on the third Thursday OF
glade there and formed the Hunters Gar
den Association. Since then on every third
Thursday in October the old boys about
the Moriches Bay region drive out through
the scrub oaks to the Garden and there
prepared their chowder though not deers
hoof has cleft the bank Of the spring these
thirty years gone and there are no more
hunters of big game down on Long Island,
Before o o'clock yesterday morning
teams began coming down half a dozen
wheel tracks, of the old road through the
thicket to the Garden. For mile almost
the buggies and spring wagons had 10
push their way through the whipping
branches Of oak and maple. flaming with
the scarlet Of autumn and bound from tip
to tip by the thongs Of the foxgrape. The
horses feet crushed down the torches OF
the sumac.
At the Garden, where pine tables had
been laid across sawhorses between the
trees. kettles were dumped out. bags Of
oysters put in the shade and the .prepara-
tions for the chowder commenced. There
and then 1t was that some Of the old boys
from the half dozen towns along the
beach began to circulate. as Uncle
Horace Rayner put it. To circulate was
hitch on the trousers and slap the nearest
neighbor on the back with We'll. II it
isn't Cap'n Frank down from West Hamp-
toni How's eels runnin down your way
Uncle Frank Tuttle was there to start
Uncle Frank has seen good many flaming
Long Island autumns. but he is as spry as
two-year-old, ready with the quip and
the wink. When he has comfortable chew
tucked away his left .eyelid Is cooked up
into permanent wink. His fringe Of
silvery sedge hung gayly beneath his
chin from ear to ear gives Uncle Frank
the proper air Of harlequin. Oh, the
gay dog is he among the hunters OF the
SsSSt u-i. Toz.,,> .... .L ~.
Frank is one Of the Oldest emeritus life
savers on the Atlantic coast. He is red
and rosy as an apple, a little deaf, maybe, |
but one OF the boys whenever the chowder
time comes around. Capt. Frank stood |
SO en on sc sRdn ahd 20 OF 6y6ee Psh
cell she story OF the Man Of the Woods.
Uncle Parshall tells that story at every |
gathering Of the association.
While the chowder simmered the !
old boys sat on their hunkers about
OF ships down along Fire Island spit !
Of the great run Of maokerel of Mon |
tatik fifteen summers ago. Of how old |
Uncle Jed made home under jury rig and |
with the bottom Of his schooner sprung |
like an eel trae that bad night in Febru- |
sBoys, the two best cooks in Suffolk |
county says the chowders ready came |
the trumpet call OF Uncle Frank Tuttle. |
Then Tor an hour the best Efforts OF Uncle |
Parshall and Uncle Brewster went from |
pot to plate. Singing hot coffee washed |
down the chowder.
After that two visiting parsons got on !
the tail OF a wagon and spoke Of what a |
good thing IL was for the old boys to get !
together out under Gods beautiful woods |
and spend the day in communion. Then |
as the buggies and the wagons be gan to |
file down the flaming aisles Of the oaks
homeward the ghosts Of the hunters VIII
had found the Garden in the heart OF the
the topmost branches Of the Gardens
oaks whispering.