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ARKANSAS SNIPE,{Okioinal.)“ You’re off now. Good-bye, Take care of yourself, and give those bears particular fits !” sang out Dory, as the plank of the steamboat on which we were bound down the Mississippi was drawn in, and we left our friend Marion—one night last winter-—on the wharf-boat at Napoleon, Arkansas.We should have left him in pitch darkness had it not been for the pitch pine lights which shed a halo of glory around his head, and the tail of his Newfoundland dog. They were bound up the Arkansas river on a. bear bunt. A more whole-souled man, or a finer dog, never walked; and as we left him behind, there was a sense of something lost.In order to find composure, and fill up the vacuum, we adjourned to “ The Exchange,” or “ Social Hall,” of the steamboat to take a “snifter.” On entering this favored region, we were at once made aware of the fact that the Rackensackians at Napoleon considered a fair exchange no robbery-—in payment of our Roland of a Marion, they had given us an Oliver of an Arkansiau. He was a beauty. Straight as a hickory sapling, and fully as tough ; he seemed to be just the stuff that red-eyed whisky-barrel hoops are made of—waterproof at that. He was already a firm friend of the bar-keeper, having taken two drinks inside ninety seconds, and as lie still wore a thirsty look in his left eye, we at once asked him to take another.“ Stranger,” said he, “ count me in thar.”So we did, and after drinks all round, we settled about the stovewith cigars. Conversation soon fellon bear hunting, deer hunting, and finally was closing up with a description of a “ mighty big coon hunt,” wherein our friend, the Raekeu sackiau, had performed prodigies of valour, in the way of putting whisky “ hors de combat/' or out of harm's way, cut down an untold number of cotton trees, and pitched into a live oak, till he made dead wood of it; and finally killed, on that one night, one hundred coons, whose united weight he judged to be well on to a ton! After this, we knew our man, but Dory, ill whose locks the “ hay seed” still gleamed, was moved in turn to tell his story of hunting, and dwelt long and feebly oil a certain snipe shooting -excursion, wherein each gunner bagged his four dozen birds—he drew it strong, being away from home—and went on sawing away how the snipe rose and fell, until the Rackensaekian woke lip with the question “ What air snipe ?”“ Snipe,” said Dory, “ are the best game that flies. The kind I mean are called English or Wilson's snipe, andarc splendid!—-long legs, long bills,dusky hue 5 5“ Stranger, stop thar ! I've seen the critters, know 'em like an old boot/’ interrupted theRackeusackiani. “ I’ve been down in the Lewzianuyswamps, I have! Do you really eat them ar’ critters on North?”“ Certainly we do,” said Dory, “ but you said you had seen them down in the Louisiana swamps—tliey winter there, I expect,”“ Winter and summer both. Thar ar a few, I should think, in Arkausaw ! Two of my boys was down choppingwood for the steamer t’other day, andthem ar’ snipe sung so loud, they conic back at night, and said thar war a camp meetm* goin’ on down river.” “Sing?” enquired Dory; “that is singular. At the North, as they rise I have heard them utter a low whistle, but never knew they sang before.” “Sing I!” said the Rackensackian, “ they sing so they make my ha’r stand on eend. You raally slioot them W critters on to the North ? Stran-ger, if you’ll only come up to my plantation and shoot oft the crop tlmr, I’ll give you the best horse you can pick out, and throw in a nigger to take kecr of him,”“ Where do you live ?” asked Dory.“If I ever am up your way. you’ll have to owe me a horse and a negro,” “Wall, stran-ger, I live at Powder Horn Point, on Meto Creek, ’bout 30 miles from Napoleon, and euss me if the mail that shoots off them ar* birdsifor me don’t be my eternal friend—he will! Look liyar, the infernal
Newspaper Details
Milton Bruce Herald
Milton, Otago, NZ
Fri, Jun 16, 1882
Page 4
Full Page
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Kevin S.
CA 12 Mar 2022
Other Publications Near Milton, Otago
Milton Bruce Herald
