With Dog and Gun in Great Game Preserves of South

THIS is the season of the shooting boxes in the South. They call them shooting boxes because that was the name hung on by the pioneers and former hunt families years ago when they were shooting boxes, before they were equipped with hot and cold water and a bath with every room.

It might be better to term the current run of shooting boxes "shooting palaces," since some of the handsomest country houses in America are built on the immense game preserves of the South, where wealthy men and their friends spend the season at this time of the year. The preserves are all well stocked with game, too, and roughing it on some of them gives the hunter as much comfort as had the reporter who covered a Mexican revolution from a room and bath in a hotel at El Paso, Tex. That was war correspondence de luxe.

On some of the big preserves of the South they do everything but tie the game by the leg for the hunters to shoot, but this style of sportsmanship is confined largely to the Nimrods who have recently acquired preserves and a bank roll and count their success by the number of birds bagged. The majority of the hunters with preserves are thorough sportsmen and always aim to give the game the best of it.

The men who have been going back to the South in the fall for years also adhere closely to the traditions of the country even on their own preserves, and there are many of these traditions which have grown up to be observed as solemnly as the form in the ritual of initiation of a college fraternity, probably the most solemn thing in the world when a boy is 18 years old.

If a man shoots a fox or a coyote in the South he is liable to be tried for murder, according to the hunting code, and most of the visitors who spend a few months each year on the preserves carefully observe the custom, which requires that a coyote or fox must be run down with dogs. They tell a story about an Englishman with a title and a hankering for the daughter of a man whose name is prominently mentioned in Bradstreet's as well as the Social Register. The titled visitor was prospering in his wooing until he went South to hunt and made the mistake of shooting a fox while he was slightly stimulated and exhilarated by good cheer. He is still searching for an heiress, on which subject there is no closed season.

The South is fairly freckled with magnificent game preserves, which are used for only a few months each year during the open season. Few persons realize the extent of the acres devoted to this use in the South because it is the very few who ever have an opportunity to visit one of these well guarded preserves. And game is almost as safe, if not safer, on the preserves than in the open country, since the majority of the owners and their friends are true sportsmen. On the other few preserves, where the hunters are not capable sportsmen, the game is even safer, since poor sportsmen are usually poor shots as well.

Thousands of dollars are spent each year in stocking these preserves so that they will be well supplied with game for the fall hunting. Money is scattered lavishly to keep up the places and pay the wardens, who protect the preserves, and it is all done for just a few weeks of pleasure.

"Is it worth the outlay?" a well known sportsman with a big preserve in South Carolina was asked recently. "I wouldn't miss the sport for twice the amount I spend," he replied. "It is the only chance I get really to live out doors and feel the flow of the blood of primitive man spin through my veins."

This is probably what makes the sport attractive to the real sportsman. It is a call to the elemental in the man. Of course there are always the imitators who do it because society does it, and they are of the sort which has the game tied by the leg and shoots it on the ground, an unpardonable sin among true hunters.

Late United States Senator Matthew Stanley Quay was a great huntsman and also loved to fish for tarpon and always went to Florida each year with several friends to catch this gamest of fish.

"I figure," said Senator Quay once, "that each tarpon I get when the fishing is good costs me $1,000. If the fishing is bad I don't stop to figure the cost, but it is worth it, I know."

Senator Quay was taking into account the expensive manner in which he lived when he figured the cost per fish. If some of the wealthy men who have Southern preserves would stop to estimate the cost per bird they would probably find that this ran into the hundreds. An acute mathematician might even find out how much each feather dented the bank roll. But the beauty of it is that they don't care about cost — don't need to care. And they believe it is worth the cost whatever it amounts to in dollars and cents.

"No matter how often I hear the whirr of the partridge as he rises it always gives me a thrill," said Senator Quay once. "The bird is so full of life and fluttering, struggling feathers and he has a chance. Yet if I hit him I always sort of regret to look at the huddled mass of plumage which was welling with life just a moment before."

Rich men go South for their thrills and they don't care how much it costs per thrill. Most of them have refused to purchase the new automatic shotguns that permit the hunter to bang away until the bird drops.

"It isn't fair to the birds," said a man the other day who could afford to equip a regiment with firearms if he wanted to. "I am going to stick to the old double barrelled shotgun."

One of the best known preserves of the South belongs to the Thomasville Club, which is at Thomasville, N.C. This is also called the "Millionaires' Club," the reason for the name being apparent. One of the most enthusiastic members of the Thomasville Club is Robert C. Cornell, the City Magistrate, who has a famous collection of pointer dogs. Mr. Cornell was the owner of Old Sensation, probably the best known pointer dog ever bred in this country. Most of the hunting at the Thomasville preserve is for quail, which abound in great number. The dogs used are the very finest, Mr. Cornell having contributed several of his most valuable pointers.

The great game preserve of Harry Payne Whitney and Herman Duryea is one of the most famous in the South. It covers thousands of acres in Hickory Valley, Tennessee, and is one of the most extensive in the United States. Mr. Whitney does not confine the sport here to bird shooting, but has stocked the preserve with foxes, coyotes, brought from the West, and bears. To add to the sport Mr. Whitney sends his thoroughbreds to Hickory Valley when they get to be too old or slow to run on the track and the guests ride these to the hunt. These horses are from the famous Whitney stud and furnish considerable sport in themselves without the thrills of the chase.

The great sport on the Whitney and Duryea preserve is to ride the thoroughbreds after bears, coyotes and foxes. None of the coyotes or foxes is ever shot, and the bears seldom. The country is miles of broken country and the riding is of the roughest. The property is dotted with lodges, and provision wagons are sent out ahead over the rough, corduroy roads to these so that the hunters can get refreshment at any lodge to which the chase leads. E.H. Wilbur, a well known hunter, was relating recently the story of a bear hunt on the Whitney preserve.

"We went out for bear one morning at daybreak," said Mr. Wilbur. "The dogs started up a big black one after an hour or so. We gave the animal an hour's start, and then began the pursuit.

"That bear knew all of the roughest parts of the preserve as well as if some expert had made a topographical survey for him. For the most of the day we could hear nothing but the yapping of the dogs. Once in a while we would get close enough to distinguish the cracking of the heavy underbrush as the bear and dogs broke through, and then we would lose ground again. Occasionally would come to us the yelp of an injured dog as the bear turned and caught one of his tormentors with a deadly paw.

"It was sunset before we finally got our first look at the bear in a canebrake, with the persistent dogs still on his heels. He made for a tree, and that was where we left him. The bear was not killed. To have shot him would have been as difficult as hitting the side of a big barn. The pack was shy five dogs as a result of the hunt. They were the bear's share.

"To many sportsmen bear hunting is unfamiliar. It is generally believed to be as safe as dipping the lighted end of a cigar into a gasolene tank to discover whether there is enough of the automobile fluid to run the car five miles further. As a matter of fact, there is no danger attached to hunting black bears. Grizzlies will fight a man if you miss them, but black bears seldom.

"Of course, if the animal is cornered and wounded, he will attack his tormentors with the courage of a death struggle. The weakest of game will fight when wounded. Some of the struggles, of course, are pitiable, but not from a wounded bear.

"On the preserves of the South bears are usually hunted with dogs, ten or twelve in a pack. These are not straight breeds such as the animals used for pursuing other sorts of game, but are of the mongrel class. Airedales make very good bear dogs, but a cross between the bulldog and the bloodhound is largely used.

"These dogs will pursue a bear and nip at his heels and flanks until he turns and swings with his paw. The dogs become streaks of lightning at avoiding these strokes, but the quickness of the bear often catches one or more of the pack, and one blow usually settles a dog. There is hardly ever a hunt that the pack does not lose from four to six dogs. But they must be used in order to delay the game with their nipping tactics until the hunters can overtake him."

Besides the bears, foxes and coyotes on the Whitney preserves there are immense quantities of quail, with deer, partridges and pheasants. Fifty-seven coveys of quail were started up on the Whitney preserve in one day by a party last fall. The birds are as plentiful as bees around a hive.

It is on the Hickory Valley preserve that Mr. Whitney built a hotel for the entertainment of his guests. This is one of the most modern buildings in the South and permits Mr. Whitney to entertain to his heart's limit, which is some limit. Here all the greatest field trials in the history of the sport have been held over the thousands of beautiful acres. It is estimated that more true sportsmen have been on this preserve than on any other one in the country.

One of the most enthusiastic sportsmen to go South each fall is W.F.S. Hart, the New York attorney, of the firm of Hart & Tompkins. His preserve is at Woodville, Va., and is one of the finest in the South. He kills a number of wild turkeys here each season, one of the hardest game birds to get because hunting them requires endurance and, most of all, patience.

"How do you get these turkeys?" a sportsman who went South one fall asked Mr. Hart.

"You get out before daybreak into the blind," replied Mr. Hart, "and lie perfectly still after the light comes. These blinds are located in swamps. Then you give the call of the hen turkey. It is the same way in which moose is called. After a while, if you stay very quiet, you may see one pop his head up just for a minute from behind some underbrush. Then is the time to shoot because he isn't going to hold his head there long."

"What! Get your bird on the ground?" inquired the visitor.

"If you think it is easy and unsportsmanlike, try it."

Occasionally would come to us the yelp of an injured dog as the bear turned and caught one of his tormentors with a deadly paw.

"It was sunset before we finally got our first look at the bear in a cane brake, with the persistent dogs still on his heels. He made for a tree, and that was where we left him. The bear was not killed. To have shot him would have been as difficult as hitting the side of a big barn. The pack was shy five dogs as a result of the hunt. They were the bear's share.

"To many sportsmen bear hunting is unfamiliar. It is generally believed to be as safe as dipping the lighted end of a cigar into a gasolene tank to discover whether there is enough of the automobile fluid to run the car five miles further. As a matter of fact, there is no danger attached to hunting black bears. Grizzlies will fight a man if you miss them, but black bears seldom.

"Of course, if the animal is cornered and wounded, he will attack his tormentors with the courage of a death struggle. The weakest of game will fight when wounded. Some of the struggles, of course, are pitiable, but not from a wounded bear.

"On the preserves of the South bears are usually hunted with dogs, ten or twelve in a pack. These are not straight breeds such as the animals used for pursuing other sorts of game, but are of the mongrel class. Airedales make very good bear dogs, but a cross between the bulldog and the bloodhound is largely used.

"These dogs will pursue a bear and nip at his heels and flanks until he turns and swings with his paw. The dogs become streaks of lightning at avoiding these strokes, but the quickness of the bear often catches one or more of the pack, and one blow usually settles a dog. There is hardly ever a hunt that the pack does not lose from four to six dogs. But they must be used in order to delay the game with their nipping tactics until the hunters can overtake him."

Besides the bears, foxes and coyotes on the Whitney preserves there are immense quantities of quail, with deer, partridges and pheasants. Fifty-seven coveys of quail were started up on the Whitney preserve in one day by a party last fall. The birds are as plentiful as bees around a hive.

It is on the Hickory Valley preserve that Mr. Whitney built a hotel for the entertainment of his guests. This is one of the most modern buildings in the South and permits Mr. Whitney to entertain to his heart's limit, which is some limit. Here all the greatest field trials in the history of the sport have been held over the thousands of beautiful acres. It is estimated that more true sportsmen have been on this preserve than on any other one in the country.

One of the most enthusiastic sportsmen to go South each fall is W. F. S. Hart, the New York attorney, of the firm of Hart & Tompkins. His preserve is at Woodville, Va., and is one of the finest in the South. He kills a number of wild turkeys here each season, one of the hardest game birds to get because hunting them requires endurance and, most of all, patience.

"How do you get these turkeys?" a sportsman who went South one fall asked Mr. Hart.

"You get out before daybreak into the blind," replied Mr. Hart, "and lie perfectly still after the light comes. These blinds are located in swamps. Then you give the call of the hen turkey. It is the same way in which moose is called. After a while, if you stay very quiet, you may see one pop his head up just for a minute from behind some underbrush. Then is the time to shoot because he isn't going to hold his head there long."

"What! Get your bird on the ground?" inquired the visitor.

"If you think it is easy and unsportsmanlike, try it."

This visitor did not get a single turkey. These are the most wary of all game birds and many a hunter who makes a practice of going out after them each fall has never seen one. They refuse to come close to anything that looks dangerous, and they inhabit swamps. They seldom expose more than their small heads as a target, and the shot is almost always a difficult one because of the thickness of the underbrush. The only way to get them is to give the call of the hen turkey on a piece of bone. Besides the turkeys, Mr. Hart has many quail, pheasants and partridges on his preserve.

Of course the Jekyl Island Club is a famous preserve which includes all of Jekyl Island and abounds with game. Because of the immense amount of game on this preserve the hunting is not considered altogether perfect by the seasoned sportsman who reckons his pleasure by the fun of the chase and not by the slaughter he brings about. Many wealthy men belong to this club, including Pierre Lorillard, Harry Payne Whitney and George Brewster.

Another famous club of the South is the Oakland Club in South Carolina. Shares in this club are worth $11,000. At least that was the price obtained for the last ones sold; no shares are to be purchased at the present time and there probably will be none offered for some time to come. The finest duck shooting in the country is to be found here, and the preserve also abounds with quail, wild turkeys, deer and bear. Edward Johnson of Johnson & Johnson, the manufacturers of surgical supplies, and Edward F. Hutton of New York are leading members of this club. It includes 60,000 acres.

The Santee Club on the Santee River in South Carolina is another famous old hunting ground of the wealthy. If somebody were to get up an advertisement for this preserve, which of course no one ever does, he would say that "everything was to be found here to suit the tastes of the most discriminating sportsman." Besides the deer, bears, quail and wild turkeys there is wonderful fishing for the Isaak Waltons among the mem[...]

Occasionally would come to us the yelp of an injured dog as the bear turned and caught one of his tormentors with a deadly paw.

"It was sunset before we finally got our first look at the bear in a canebrake, with the persistent dogs still on his heels. He made for a tree, and that was where we left him. The bear was not killed. To have shot him would have been as difficult as hitting the side of a big barn. The pack was shy five dogs as a result of the hunt. They were the bear's share.

"To many sportsmen bear hunting is unfamiliar. It is generally believed to be as safe as dipping the lighted end of a cigar into a gasolene tank to discover whether there is enough of the automobile fluid to run the car five miles further. As a matter of fact, there is no danger attached to hunting black bears. Grizzlies will fight a man if you miss them, but black bears seldom.

"Of course, if the animal is cornered and wounded, he will attack his tormentors with the courage of a death struggle. The weakest of game will fight when wounded. Some of the struggles, of course, are pitiable, but not from a wounded bear.

"On the preserves of the South bears are usually hunted with dogs, ten or twelve in a pack. These are not straight breeds such as the animals used for pursuing other sorts of game, but are of the mongrel class. Airedales make very good bear dogs, but a cross between the bulldog and the bloodhound is largely used.

"These dogs will pursue a bear and nip at his heels and flanks until he turns and swings with his paw. The dogs become streaks of lightning at avoiding these strokes, but the quickness of the bear often catches one or more of the pack, and one blow usually settles a dog. There is hardly ever a hunt that the pack does not lose from four to six dogs. But they must be used in order to delay the game with their nipping tactics until the hunters can overtake him."

Besides the bears, foxes and coyotes on the Whitney preserves there are immense quantities of quail, with deer, partridges and pheasants. Fifty-seven coveys of quail were started up on the Whitney preserve in one day by a party last fall. The birds are as plentiful as bees around a hive.

It is on the Hickory Valley preserve that Mr. Whitney built a hotel for the entertainment of his guests. This is one of the most modern buildings in the South and permits Mr. Whitney to entertain to his heart's limit, which is some limit. Here all the greatest field trials in the history of the sport have been held over the thousands of beautiful acres. It is estimated that more true sportsmen have been on this preserve than on any other one in the country.

One of the most enthusiastic sportsmen to go South each fall is W. F. S. Hart, the New York attorney, of the firm of Hart & Tompkins. His preserve is at Woodville, Va., and is one of the finest in the South. He kills a number of wild turkeys here each season, one of the hardest game birds to get because hunting them requires endurance and, most of all, patience.

"How do you get these turkeys?" a sportsman who went South one fall asked Mr. Hart.

"You get out before daybreak into the blind," replied Mr. Hart, "and lie perfectly still after the light comes. These blinds are located in swamps. Then you give the call of the hen turkey. It is the same way in which moose is called. After a while, if you stay very quiet, you may see one pop his head up just for a minute from behind some underbrush. Then is the time to shoot because he isn't going to hold his head there long."

"What! Get your bird on the ground?" inquired the visitor.

"If you think it is easy and unsportsmanlike try it."

This visitor did not get a single turkey. These are the most wary of all game birds and many a hunter who makes a practice of going out after birds each fall has never seen one. They refuse to come close to anything that looks dangerous, and they inhabit swamps. They seldom expose more than their small heads as a target, and the shot is almost always a difficult one because of the thickness of the underbrush. The only way to get them is to give the call of the hen turkey on a piece of bone. Besides the turkeys Mr. Hart has many quail, pheasants and partridges on his preserve.

Of course the Jekyl Island Club is a famous preserve which includes all of Jekyl Island and abounds with game. Because of the immense amount of game on this preserve the hunting is not considered altogether perfect by the seasoned sportsman who reckons his pleasure by the fun of the chase and not by the slaughter he brings about. Many wealthy men belong to this club, including Pierre Lorillard, Harry Payne Whitney and George Brewster.

Another famous club of the South is the Oakland Club in South Carolina. Shares in this club are worth $11,000. At least that was the price obtained for the last ones sold; no shares are to be purchased at the present time and there probably will be none offered for some time to come. The finest duck shooting in the country is to be found here, and the preserve also abounds with quail, wild turkeys, deer and bear. Edward Johnson of Johnson & Johnson, the manufacturers of surgical supplies, and Edward F. Hutton of New York are leading members of this club. It includes 60,000 acres.

The Santee Club on the Santee River in South Carolina is another famous old hunting ground of the wealthy. If somebody were to get up an advertisement for this preserve, which of course no one ever does, he would say that "everything was to be found here to suit the tastes of the most discriminating sportsman." Besides the deer, bears, quail and wild turkeys there is wonderful fishing for the Isaak Waltons among the members. [...]