As I was returning the  other evening from a stroll up Broadway I fell in with my cousin T., and before we separated I had agreed to make one of a party at Islip, on Long Island, as it is familiarly termed, or Nassau Island as designated on the maps, for the sport of deer hunting.He was to start on the morrow for Hicksville by the railroad ((opened in March 1837, marked the eastern terminus of the LIRR)), where he would be met by his brother with a wagon and pair, and offered to carry my luggage with him, that I might ride there on horseback and be equipped for service in the woods.

On the following morning I crossed the ferry at nine o’clock, and three hours riding took me to Hicksville, from whence we proceeded on our journey together.

The road we followed runs through a country abounding in timber, the sea was within a couple of miles of us, and the fresh breeze would bring with it every now and then the roar of the breakers; the weather was clear, bright and exhilarating, and the woods were tinted with the varied hues of autumn.

We were to dine at the house of a friend about twenty miles further on ((puts them roughly in between Babylon and  West Islip)), and as the road, although a natural one, was solid and level, we were making our way for it with haste at about nine miles an hour, dashing from time to time through trout streams, which I have never seen equalled for the clearness of their waters, and which in the spring of the year afford unrivalled sport.

In good time we entered the gates of our friend, whose house stands at some distance from the road surrounded by a few acres of grass. He met us with a hearty welcome on the piazza, and our horses were led to the stable by healthy-looking negro boys, our host calling after them to see that they were well taken care of.

The house had many trophies of the chase, which caught my attention even on the threshold. The skin of some once proud stag answered the purpose of a hall mat, and further on, our host being a bachelor, had not feared to decorate his dining-room with a pair of antlers. A rifle occupied one corner instead of a fire-screen, buck’s tails made excellent tassels to the bell-ropes, and the powder-flask I thought a more becoming ornament to the mantelpiece than a china flower-vase. Everything, in short, betokened a love of the chase; and [p 173] now and then the deep-mouthed bay from a kennel of blood-hounds might have made creep the flesh on a saddle of venison six months gone, and did actually make the deer-skin mats traverse the piazza, unless it may have been the wind, which in truth came now heavily in from the ocean.

Excellent soup, fish and game of many kinds, covered the table, but not all at the same time; our host knew too well the advantage of separate courses, and each came on hot in its proper order; champagne and excellent Madeira encouraged the soul during the repast,and by and by, wrapt in the white smoke of the soft Havana, we were borne away to visions of paradise. What wonder that we should have tarried there too long, or that, while we were enjoying, as it were, this peep of elysium, the earth should have been preparing disasters for our return! What wonder that the ocean should have added its malice and sent up a storm which came thundering against the windows, to drum us out of our Eden, and to meet us, beyond the gates, with all the conjoined fury of the elements; even so did it befall us, and there was an end to our progress for the day.

The storm raged until night, but was then chased away before the calm, sweet moon, who assumed her placid reign over the waters and the earth, and caused me to linger long on the piazza watching the witchery of her smile.

The next morning we tackled up wagon and pair, and single wagon, in which I rode with our good host. My saddle-horse having carried me about fifty miles the previous day, was allowed to follow in the rear. Thus we put ourselves on the route for old Sneidecker’s, whose inn, “The Connetquut Hotel,” for such is the name it assumes, was the place of our destination.

The country, although still level, became wilder as we trotted along, the early sun shot his first beams on the woods which bordered the road, their gay leaves glittering with dew-drops, and every now and then some pure and gurgling trout stream would cross our path, and be seen dividing the forest to the right, on its swift course to the ocean.

But the steam which rises from the flanks of our horses, tells that we must have come sixteen or seventeen miles ((At this point they would have been taking the South Country Road  aka RTE 27A)), and here we are in view of the Connetquut Hotel. My good friend whispers to his fast trotter as he takes faster hold of the reins, the trotter at the same time takes faster hold on the bit, and the traces falling back into an attitude of leisure, we are carried, or rather whirled up to the porch by the main strength of my friend’s arm, an easy mode of driving, or rather of drawing, said to have been introduced by enlarged convicts from the state prison; and a system pursued to extremity by dyspeptics; a class of invalids who labour on horseback before breakfast, with a windy stomach to expel the disease, and devour everything at their meal to nourish it, thus preserving a statu-quo to the great emolument of the venders of quack medicines.

The Connetquut Hotel is a good old-fashioned Dutch inn, of a corpulent form, with an open space around it partly covered with turf. An immense elm stands on the west side, which is a marked object, famous for having had more fat bucks triced up to it than any other tree in the country. The large square sign over the porch shows a faded picture of an Indian drawing his arrow to his ear upon a fine stag, which is bounding across a plain pursued by bloodhounds; and antlers whitened by time ((at this point Snedicor had been running the inn for roughly 15 years. Since Lif took over the inn from a previous owner, it’s possible the sign predated him.))  and weather are nailed upon the sign.

Tall, solemn-looking deer-hounds came trotting towards us as we drove up, all matched in pairs – some of black and tan, others marked like the English fox-hound, but of twice their size and weight; and the deep baying of many others burst from a long range of kennels
in the rear.

We were received by old Sneidecker ((Eliphalet Snedecor, ca. 1788-1861Long Island Surnames)) himself, and two of our friends who are frequenters of the place. Old Sneidecker, whose Christian name is abbreviated to Liffy, is a very pattern of an inn-keeper, whose house depends upon the patronage of sportsmen. He is a fine, full-chested fellow, with a broad forehead, and dark, healthy-looking countenance – expressing all that you require, and more than you often meet with in our host of the inn – the disposition and the tact to make you comfortable. He has, too, a portly rotundity of belt – a strong recommendation in a landlord. There is somewhat of the air of an English game-keeper about him; and, as your eye rests upon him, your imagination is apt to wander off to the forest and the deer.

We were shown to rough, but clean bed-rooms – destitute, it is true, of wardrobe, or chest of drawers – but with pegs sufficient on which to hang up your trousers and shooting-jacket, and a dry change of clothes. Two of my companions shared a double-bedded room; I, being a stranger, was shown, or rather allowed to find my way, (for liberty is here the order of the day,) into a single one -and our ambitious friend of the trophy of the horns, being of a gay disposition, was allotted a bed in the ball-room – so called from its being appropriated sometimes to the solemnity of dancing, which, in this part of the country, is a grave and grotesque ceremony.

Presently, we all met in our general sitting-room – a blazing wood-fire crackled within the ample chimney, and threw its warm and cheering reflection on the walls – lit up, as it were, with a sunny glow, the autumnal pictures of English fox-hunting, which were suspended around, and gleamed brightly on the locks and barrels of rifles and fowling-pieces in the corners.

Then came the snowy table-cloth, spread by the hands of old Liffy’s graceful and dark-eyed daughter ((he had two: Cornelia born ca. 1823 and Amelia born ca. 1830Long Island Surnames)); and we sat down with keen appetites to a dinner of soup, fish, roast beef, broiled chickens, ham, partridges and wild ducks, with a variety of fresh vegetables, all admirably cooked. Oysters, roasted in the shell, were piled up before us; and empty shells were piled up in turn, and were carried out and succeeded by full ones – the oysters, like stanch veterans, always maintaining a bold front, and finally beating us off the ground.

But one word more as to the position of the hotel, and then for some field sport.

Know, then, that on the east side of old Liffy’s, you come upon the borders of a forest, fifty miles in length, and eight or nine miles wide – a small river, called by the Indian name the Connetqutt, flows through the forest, forms a mill-pond by the side of the inn, and then winds away through swamp, brushwood and meadow, to the ocean.

After dinner, as deer-hunting always commences with the morning, my cousin T. and I shouldered our guns, and entered the swamp and brushwood just described, in search of snipe and ducks. We had a glorious scramble. T. was down several times before we had penetrated half a mile – stumbling over concealed roots, tripped by strong brambles, and sinking into swamps. It would, doubtless, have fared as badly with myself, had I not discreetly kept continually in the rear of my friend, and thus profited by his discoveries, which, in truth, were of so marvellous foul a nature, that I was in no way envious of the honour of exploring them.

We were both of us so much taken down in spirit by working our way through this ragamuffin thicket, that we were heartily rejoiced to find the side of the river, where it made a friendly bend to our relief – and the bottom being hard and pebbly, we entered the clear, cool current, and walked down it, about half-thigh deep, until we found better footing on its banks. Here our dogs put up  a couple of ducks, which rose far out of shot, and flew in an opposite direction; but one of them fortunately turned, and came sweeping past us at the distance of forty yards. T. being the nearest, I, in proper courtesy, left him the shot, but his gun missed fire, and I then dropped the duck, which proved to be of a very fine kind.

At night, turning our chairs the wrong side up, so as to afford a sloping reception for the shoulders, and stretching our feet toward the warm hearth, we talked over the plans for the morrow’s deer-hunting.

The system on which we hunt is this. There are several stands, or cleared spaces, on the side of the river, each of which is occupied by a sportsman; while others, in parties of two, with each a couple of deer-hounds, enter the forest above the mill-pond, and beat it on both sides of the river.The hounds give tongue when they come upon a scent, and the deer, finding themselves pursued, generally take to the water, which is only one or two feet deep; and, as they bound down the current, are shot from the stands.

The morning broke tardily, and the house was silent long after I had raised my window, looked forth at the weather, and returned again to my bed. At length the creaking of beds, and murmuring of female voices in the next room, which was only separated from mine by a thin partition, told me that old Liffy’s daughters were leaving their nests, and soon afterward there was a general stir throughout the bed-rooms.

We found a famous breakfast ready for us when we descended, and a singular display of shooting-dresses.

The most marked figure among those who had come to join us from the neighbourhood, was old John Murray, a tall, gaunt Indian, of seventy years of age, said to be one of the remnant of the powerful tribe of Montauk Indians, thirty or forty of whom still hold a certain degree of proprietorship, under protection of the state of New York, in the eastern extremity of Long Island, termed Montauk-point, and in some small lakes on that neck of land, celebrated for their fish. He is the most famous hunter about the country, and always attaches himself to shooting-parties, making himself useful in pulling a boat, or conducting strangers to their respective stands; but taking care, where he can, to reserve the best position for himself. He wears a green baize jacket, and rough drab trousers, and his countenance is more than half concealed by a slouched white hat. A thin grizzly beard, which would escape attention, were it not for the swarthy shade of his complexion, announces the frailty of some [p 181] squaw in his maternal line of ancestors, the visage of the pure Indian being devoid of that hoary ornament, and suggests, at the same time, the accident to which he may owe his European name. Nor are the hopes of his civilization, which you are thus led to infer, in any way disappointed in your further experience of him, for he continually exhibits the most indisputable evidence of redemption in an Indian – a tender susceptibility to the love of inebriating liquors.

Our breakfast-table was joined by a veteran sportsman, in a bluish-gray jacket, with the mouth of a tin trumpet protruding from the bosom of his waistcoat, as he sat opposite to me. A couple of stark grave deer-hounds sat erect, one on each side of him; and a long, cruel-looking fowling-piece was reared up in the window-recess behind. “Such,” thought I, “is the vision which disturbs the forest slumbers of the timid deer.”

Three of us, in addition to the old Indian, were appointed to the stands, and I obtained by lot the second choice, and selected the third stand, about two miles up the river. T., having the last choice, got the first stand; a gentleman who was a stranger to us, having selected the second. Old John Murray was to leave me at the third stand with the boat, and then to take his way through the forest to the fourth, called the Buck’s-horns.

My cousin G., being familiar with the forest, had followed it’s paths, on horseback, for Morris’s stand, which was above all.

After breakfast, T., the stranger, and myself, got into the small boat on the mill-pond, and we entered the natural river, which varies from fifteen to twenty yards in width.

The water was as clear as crystal; in some places, dark moss and long green weeds grew from the bottom, and waved out with the current; in others, each clear white pebble was as distinctly seen, as if there were no water above it. Shrubs and brush-wood, in their autumnal hues of orange, purple, green and crimson, grew thickly to the very verge of the stream; and tall fir-trees, their branches drooping with long, melancholy-looking moss, reared themselves at every few yards above the gay underwood.

The waters were full of beautifully-spotted trout, and every now and then, as we shoved the boat up the stream, for it had now become too shallow for rowing, wild ducks would bustle out from the low brushwwod, and fly screaming down the river. But we were after higher game, and it is against the laws of the chase to blaze at anything but deer, when out after that object.

Presently, T. received a hint from John Murray, that we were approaching his stand, and the boat shot into the bank, where we found a small cleared space behind the brushwood, with a rough board as a seat. There we left Master T., who looked much like an Indian, crouching in his solitude. Five strokes of the oar, and so perfect was the screen, that I could hardly perceive where he was concealed. Our second man was deposited in like manner, about half a mile further up, and then old John Murray and I pushed off for my stand. It was about three-quarters of a mile further on, and we had to contend with a strong current. We passed many little islands, dividing the stream, and as we ascended, I thought the forest looked more likely for deer. At length we reached my post.

I found the root of an old oak, affording a seat, and a screen of bushes, of the most brilliant colours. Here we secured the boat, by forcing it into a bed of rushes; and old John Murray, after a few moments’ rest, took his way through the forest, for the Buck’s-horns.

I sat for a long time listening to every sound; the occasional plunge of a trout, the gurgling of the stream, the sighing of the breeze, as it rose and fell through the tall firs, and the whispering it made with the gay leaves of the underwood; while the scream of the blue-jay would now and then pierce the air, as he flew from tree to tree.

At length the deep-mouthed bay of a hound came echoing through the forest, followed by another, still deeper and more prolonged – and then again all was silent. I could hear my heart beat beneath my waistcoat, as I now listened intently; but the hounds were silent – they had evidently lost the scent.

About half an hour afterward, I again caught the distant baying of hounds. Gradually it approached me, swelling and swelling into fine chorus, and at length was close at hand. I advanced, and crouched warily behind the brushwood; there was a rushing through the water below, and a fine doe darted round a bend of the river, and came leaping toward me. I took off my hat, and crouched still lower as she advanced, and, when within twenty yards, I sprang up and fired, as she bounded for the thicket. She dropped on the spot; her graceful head alone waving for a moment above the current, looking reproachfully on me for the deed.

I pulled my boat up to her, as her head sank beneath the surface, raised her with difficulty into the bow, bore her to the shore, and cast her before me on my stand. She was a fine young doe, and twice the size of any park-deer I had seen in England. I had shot her through the heart.

The hounds continued for a time to beat the forest around me; but losing the scent of the doe, where she took to the water, they struck off in another direction, and the forest again was silent.

At about one o’clock, I heard a shout from behind me, to warn me of the approach of a man, and presently the old Indian pushed his way through the brushwood, saying, as he stepped on to my stand: “Well, what has master got?” “A fat doe,” was the reply; at which John said he felt more glad than if he had shot her himself. So saying, he cast his rough blanket-coat upon the brushwood, and sank down upon it for repose; his long, curious-looking fowling-piece reared against a bough in front of him. A low, hollow cough was all that came from John Murray, until the hour appointed for our return.

Placing the beautiful doe, whose gentle countenance cost me a pang as I stooped to raise her, in the forward part of the boat, I took a seat bestriding her, and the old Indian in the stern steered us down the current. We took in the other sportsmen on our way down the river, the second of whom, the stranger, told me he had wounded a deer.

We found the hunters, who had rode after the hounds, already returned to the Connetquut Hotel, and old Liffy bestirring himself about dinner.

All who set out in the hunt, whether they follow the hounds, or take stands on the river, have an equal share in the spoils, and old Sneidecker’s is the general rendezvous after the chase. The discharge of three guns in quick succession, is the signal for withdrawing from the forest; then the horsemen collect the hounds, and take their way home through the forest paths, and the boat drops down the river, touching at stand after stand, taking in each sportsman, and his deer, if he has had the fortune to kill one. In the latter case, the boat is apt to run upon every shoal in the river, to come to a halt, and to stick fast, as obstinately as some testy old horse, who conceives himself to be overtasked. An oar will occasionally break in an effort to dislodge it, and some unlucky sportsman, too strenuous in his exertions, will plump into the stream. An accident of the kind generally seems to satisfy the spleen of the boat, which then rises over the shoal, and at length bears her cargo to the foot of the mill-pond.

The deer is then triced up to the ancient tree, and old John Murray proceeds to show his Indian craft in undressing it. The hunters collect round during the process, forming a motley group, and now and then some eager hound will creep from behind the tree to lap the blood from the throat, and get a sound kick in the ribs by way of sauce.

The deer being thoroughly stripped, is put up at auction, one of the party being selected to perform auctioneer, and those only who have been engaged in the hunt are allowed to bid.

“Here she is, gentlemen, every charm exposed. I’d thank you for a bid! Look at those kidneys – see the fat on that haunch – start her, if you please. Off she goes at two dollars! two dollars! – skin worth all the money -two dollars! two dollars! Gentlemen, what do you mean?” Here the marksman who shot the deer, having of course predetermined to possess her; and if uninitiated, having imparted his resolve, in confidence, to most of his friends, makes the eager advance of “one dollar.” “Three and a half from the other side.” Marksman, quickly, “Four and a half.” All take the scent; one after the other they give tongue; marksman, a quarry for all, still keeping the lead – a dollar at every breath – becoming short-winded – “fifty cents.” “Fifty from the other side.” Marksman breathes low down in his pocket – staggers from exhaustion – eyes fixed upon the venison.

This is the deer’s revenge. John Murray enjoys the joke in silence, and the negro-boys show their ivories from ear to ear. Marksman, for the last time, looking desperation round upon his pursuers — “Twenty cents.” The hammer falls, and the scene ends.

The money is divided, and the old Indian gets a few shillings from the purchaser, in addition to his share. Another will aboard him after this fashion – “Well, John, will you come and take a drink?” – to which he will be answered with one of old John’s crafty smiles, and, “Well, what’s the use of the gentleman killing of me!” but with a motion, at the same time, toward the bar, which shows that he is resolutely prepared for martyrdom.

Apropos, last week John had the good or bad fortune to shoot a buck, when roaming the forest alone; and I am told that the shot was near proving as fatal to him as to the deer; for having sold the saddle for a keg of whiskey, the liquor had so taken possession of him, that it was for a long time doubtful which should predominate, the flesh or the spirit; but John has wrestled too long with spirits of all kinds, to be an easy conquest; and if there be a reward on earth for those who observe the Christian precepts, the old Indian is sure to prosper – for he loveth his enemy.

The deer being sold, coffee, cigars and whist reigned during the evening, and finally, one by one, we straggled off to bed. Soft is the pillow of the hunter, and he needs no rocking to lull him to repose.

The warm south wind, which had distressed the hounds yesterday, had changed during the night. The air, as I sprang from bed,was bracing as a cold-bath, and raising my window-blinds, I found the country covered with a white frost; yet so rosy a hue was thrown over everything from the east, that I cast up the window, and indulged in the vivifying luxury of an air-bath.Some huntsmen from the country round had already found their way to the porch before I descended, for the weather was highly favourable, and Saturday is a great day for the chase.

Old Captain G. joined our breakfast-table; he is above six feet in height, a noted hunter, and his whole appearance is in character: even his horse, it is said, can track a deer as well as a hound.

Horsemen, with hounds coupled, were seen trotting up the sides of the mill-pond, as old John Murray again pulled us across it. The broad still waters of the pond reflected back the rosy hue of the morning sky; and the bright crimson leaves on its borders were rendered more brilliant by the silvering of the frost.

The second stand fell this day to my lot, the third to T.’s, and G. resumed his former station, called Morris’s stand.

The forest above me was soon awakened by a chorus of hounds, and crack came a sharp report through the keen air; there was no second shot – the first had evidently done business. Again all was quiet. A large eagle, disturbed by the report, or by the baying of the hounds, came wheeling aloft. Perceiving me on his second circle, I heard the air rush like a torrent from his powerful pinions, as he beat it in his sudden ascent.

Three other reports startled the forest during the day, but I saw neither deer nor hound.

At length the click of an oar, and the low cough of John Murray, came to me down the water, and the boat dropped round one of the islands, bearing T. in its bow. As it neared me, I saw that it was encumbered with a fine young buck. T. informed me that he had also knocked down a large doe, as she paused in front of him, listening to the hounds; but she had risen as he approached her, and escaped into the thicket.

On reaching the inn, we found that G. had killed two fine does.

In the afternoon, my horse, having been for two days without exercise, showed a disposition to carry off the stable at the end of his halter; so, ordering him saddled, and T. bestriding his long-tailed blue – or black, I should rather say – we galloped for miles through the forest paths.

A gloomy morning was the next; distant thunder clouds were piled heavily upon the horizon; and the damp, heavy atmosphere which had weighed upon the heart during sleep, engendering dreams and nightmares, would fain have kept dominion over me. The morning should long since have broken, yet the whole house seemed under the influence of some misty magician of the night. That accidental rap against the wall, however, has caused a rustling in the next room, and uncurtained a pair of orbs that might light up the mists of Mont Blanc.

The boat again put forth upon the mill-pond, and moved sluggishly over its bosom. Old John’s cough was more frequent than usual, as he pulled the oar, owing to the heaviness of the atmosphere; and the forest closed around me with unusual gloom, as I rode through its paths for Morris’s stand.

A warm shower descended soon after I had reached my post by the river. The lank moss drooped mournfully from the dark firs, and there was here none of the gay underwood which in other parts relieved the gloom of the forest. As I gazed upon the scene, I could have fancied myself transported to the neighbourhood of Mobile, for I recollected just such melancholy forests of pine in the vicinity of that city.

The morning passed away, and neither deer nor hound came near me, and I left my stand in obedience to the signal to return.

When nearly home I was arrested by the bay of hounds, close by the borders of the forest, and entered the brushwood, on foot, to make my way to them. I was beguiled on and on through the matted and tangled underwood, crossing bogs deep enough to swallow me had I not sprung from root to root. After an hour’s toil, directing my course by the sun, I penetrated to the borders of the river. Pausing for a moment, I thought I heard a slight sound from below, and giving a light hallo, I was promptly answered. A boat shot toward me, bearing an old hunter of the neighbourhood, who asked, with looks of extreme alarm, what upon earth had induced me to come there. He had been listening to my progress through the thicket, and had made sure of a deer; he had seen the bushes move behind which I paused on the river-side. The noise I heard was the slight concussion, as he deposited the oar; and he had cocked his gun to fire, as I spoke.

He had already seen one man shot in this part of the forest, and cautioned me repeatedly not again to venture in it.

My alarmed deer-stalker shoved me home in his boat, and came by my invitation, to dine with us.

Toward evening I took leave of my merry companions of the rifle, my good chestnut carried me a thirty mile canter to Hempstead, the greater part by moonlight, and on the following morning I bestrode him for the remaining distance to New-York.

A fine saddle of venison came to the city for me, with one of my companions, the day following.

The skin which I have had dressed, I shall preserve as a trophy of the chase; and it will likewise be a talisman, which, in after times, [p 189] and far away, shall bring before me visions of the good old Dutch inn, with its significant sign. Liffy, who is a very king of his class, at the porch to receive his guests; and an Indian apparition of John Murray, whose true conversion to Christianity, so continually illustrated in his forgiveness of his enemy, would gratify the zeal of all sincere missionaries, saving that it is of spontaneous growth. An uplifting of the elbow, indeed, rather than of the soul, characterizes his religion; and an inpouring, rather than an outpouring, of the spirit.

Farewell, John Murray! it is a hearty good-will which suggests my jokes upon thee, and thou shalt walk in my memory long after thou hast ceased to steal upon the deer. I think I hear thee answer me with one of thy mysterious smiles, that “many gay waves of the rivulet have dashed on the ocean, while the old twig they reflected still bends over the stream.”