Letter from Mockhorn Island

NORTHAMPTON, VA., August 26, 1873.

EDITOR FOREST AND STREAM: -

My last to you was from Hog Island, when I gave you some ideas of the bay snipe and curlew shooting there. I have found the birds this season quite as plenty, and in as good condition, as in any previous year. The snipe were confined, as usual, to willets, yellow-legs, marlin, godwits, and sand pipers. The plover, I think, are getting scarce on the island, although, as you may see, I have killed one, and quite a rare specimen. Jake backs up my opinion as to their being scarce, and is loud in his denunciation of the "white trash" on the main land, who make it a practice to destroy plover eggs. I recollect myself to have seen, some four years ago, on the Buena Vista plantation, in Northampton, just opposite to Hog Island, bushels on bushels of plover and bay snipe eggs on the sands until the ground was almost white with them. Whites and Negroes make regular egging parties, and sell the eggs in Norfolk for twenty-five cents a dozen, breaking in sheer wantonness what they cannot carry. What measures should be used to prevent this destruction of eggs I can scarcely suggest. If not discontinued it must ultimately destroy all wild-fowl breeding in this section.

Jake having suggested my going to Mockhorn, an island about fourteen miles from Hog Island, assuring me that I should find jack curlew there, we left Hog Island early on Monday in Jake's boat, carrying our stools and provisions with us. It took us about four hours, owing to a contrary wind, before we made Mockhorn. This island is the longest and largest of the group, and is quite picturesque in appearance, having a fine growth of red cedar, which is invaluable to the sportsman for the making of "blinds." In fact; the island possesses so many charms that some years ago a number of Philadelphia and Baltimore gentlemen made overtures for its purchase with the idea of converting it into a southern Long Branch. The beach is a magnificent one of hard sand, and on it roll the breakers of the broad Atlantic; on the bay side stretches the trees. I suppose the reason why these islands abound with sea fowl is because there is precisely found on them the two conditions necessary for the existence of the birds. Sea birds are no more fond of rough weather than are human beings. If on the ocean side they can find the peculiar food best adapted to their wants, on the bay side, in stiller water, they have the shelter so necessary for their repose.

Jake was exceedingly mysterious as to the exact point where he was to land me, and to my many inquiries was speechless, only replying by a placid grin. I am a fast friend of Jake's, however, and my confidence in him is unlimited. He landed us at the northeast point on the Atlantic side. A long point of sand jutting out into the ocean, terminating in a high rock thirty feet in height, whitened with the dung of the sea-fowl. Jake quickly constructed a shelter of red cedar brush, as we were to pass the night there. The tide not being unfavorable we waited patiently until almost sundown, when we put out our stools. We had hardly got them planted when there appeared in the horizon the largest flock of sand pipers I ever saw. As they twirled in the sun, the light glancing on their wings, they looked as they whirled in spirals like a huge water spout. They made directly for our decoys. In addition to my Snyder Allen I had my Pat Mullen, nine bore, thirty-six inch barrel. Jake and I were on our backs, the stools thirty yards from us, with the rock in the background, the great ocean being the limit to our picture. Jake piped and twittered most melodiously as down swept the birds with a noise that was almost dinning. They went to the stools beautifully, when I gave them the contents of both my guns, Jake's gun missing fire from the caps having been wet. We picked up seventy-six birds. I am almost ashamed to acknowledge having killed so many, but as they are a migratory bird I trust may not be considered in the light of an indiscriminate slaughter. Having provided Jake with some of my Eley caps, we waited for another flock. The tide now was almost full, and the wind going down with the setting sun, it was near twilight before any flying thing made its appearance. Then came a rather strange flock composed of curlew, jack curlews, willets, and sicklebills from the southward. As they passed the stools I was about firing, when a word from Jake stopped my finger on the trigger. "They will come back, sir," he said, and so they did. They flew over us, and Jake and I rose on our knees and let them have it. One jack curlew fell completely in the blind, and the rest of the dead among our stools. We had several more shots at flocks composed of the same mixed elements, and our was 135 sand pipers, twenty-two curlews, seven sickle bills, twenty-six willets, and five jack curlews.. The jack is the prince of curlews. The largest one I measured by my Indian-rubber boots, and he reached quite to the top of it, and would weigh fully three and a half pounds. Jake then proposed supper, and whilst he was preparing a fine jack curlew as the piece de resistance I took a saunter on the beach. I saw a few stray ducks, quite early for the season, perhaps prognosticating a cold winter, and I was about returning to camp when I noticed three black plover coming directly towards me from the northward. They flew well over me, all in a bunch. Quite a risky shot, but, although it was quite twilight, with a lucky shot from my Snyder Allen I brought down the middle bird. He proved to a very handsome specimen of the black plover. He had very glossy black plume on his back and wings, while on the ordinary plover the feathers are mottled. On my returning to Jake, the old man declared he had not seen a black plover killed for quite a number of years.

Jake's birds were cooked to a turn, and shortly after supper, I listened to some of his stories - histories of grand times, when Virginia families kept retinues of servants, and were lavish with their hospitality - all of which good old Jake said "were done gone away long ago, sir, and never to come back no more." No doubt they were quite interesting stories, but I found myself nodding, and was glad at an early hour to retire to the bed of cedar brush Jake had provided. It was cool enough during the night for me to find the fire quite comfortable. Next morning Jake was anxious to show me a celebrated place, which the red-head duck resorts to later, and going there, leisurely walking along the beach, I killed a few marlin and dowitch. The birds seemed quite scarce this particular morning. My experience in regard to shooting all these bay birds is, that the wind should be blowing in shore and that there should be a full flood tide. By one o'clock Jake had me on board again, and after a pleasant sail he landed me on the main land, just below Taylor's plantation, as the sun was going down, and I have barely light enough to write this, Jake promising me faithfully to carry it to Cherrystone to-night, if the tide suits, as he proposes to sell his birds there.

Sincerely yours,

C. B.