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Lees The Green Paper Series. — os : ‘Pa |
W.H.H. MURRAY. |
Che Seventeenth Thousand,
| ADVENTURES
IN THE
_ ADIRONDACKS.
“ This little electric book which kindled a thousand camp fires, and taught a |
|
-| thousand pens how to write of nature —WENDELL PuIL.irs.
BOSTON: Bure EES & HURL
Entered oe the Post Office, Boethu, as
ond-class matter,
Important New Books.
o_O ooo — = eatin an ay
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DAYLIGHT LAND. The experiences, incidents, and adventures, humorous
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Superbly illustrated with 150 cuts in various colors by the best artists.
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Capitalist —Camp at Rush Lake— Big Game —A Strange Midnight Ride |
— Banff — Sunday among the Mountains — Nameless Mountains—- The Great
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bia — Vancouver City — Parting at Victoria.
Svo. 350 pages. Unique paper covers, $2.50; half leather binding, $3.50.
Mr. Murray has chosen the north-western side of the continent for the scene
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of its magnificent ‘scenery, shrewd forecasts of its future wealth and greatness
when developed, illustrated and embellished with such lavishness and artistic
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Containing John Norton’s Christmas — Henry Herbert’s Thanksgiving — A”
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Publishers, ie
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Library Agents,
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IN
RAE WiEDERNESS;
OR,
CAMP-LIFE IN THE ADIRONDACKS.
BY
WILLIAM H. H. MURRAY.
\
“The mountains call you, and the vales;
The woods, the streams, and each ambrosial breeze
That fans the ever-undulating sky.”
ARMSTRONG'S 47t of Preserving Health
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS.
BOSTON sk
CUPPLES AND HURD ——
PUBLISHERS
ay
Entered according to Act of Congress, nm the year 1869, by
FIELDS, OSGOOD, & CO.,
‘n the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the Distnct of Massachusetts
Printed by CUPPLES AND HURD a#
The Algonquin Uress.
27 Beach STREET, Boston,
To my friend and companion, O. H. Prat, of Meriden,
Conn., with whom I have passed many happy hours by
mountain and stream, and shared the sportsman’s tri-
umph and the sportsman’s toil; in memory of many a
tramp and midnight bivouac, and as a token of my very
sincere regard and friendship, this book is affectionately
dedicated,
Wi HoH.
Boston, April, 1869.
NHW ROUTE TO THE ADIRONDACKS.
N page 42 of this work the author com-
mends the Keeseville route to parties enter-
ing the wilderness from Lake Champlain. Since
its publication, information has reached him of
such a nature as to induce the recommendation
of the Plattsbyf route as well.
The latter” is comparatively an easy route.
From Plattsburg cars run to Point of Rocks (or
Ausable Forks), intersecting the Keeseville road,
and saving some sixteen miles of unpleasant
staging from Port Kent. At Fouquet’s Hotel,
Plattsburg, every facility for rest and prepara-
tion can be had. At Point of Rocks parties can
arrange to meet their means of conveyance to
Martin’s, Smith’s, Bartlett’s, and cther houses at
St. Regis.
Invalids, or persons not in robust health, who
may venture upon this trip, will find Plattsbureg
a pleasant and convenient place for recuperation
before cutting loose from all the amenities of
civilization.
The author would particularly advise all par-
ties, before starting, to engage by letter convey-
ance from Point of Rocks to their destination.
CONTENTS.
Pow Aaa
Pacr
INTRODUCTION : A : ; : - : we wae
Cuap. *
I. Tae WILDERNESS. ~
Why I go to the Wilderness’ . ; : eo
Sporting Facilities : : : 7 15
What it costs in the Tualieree ess , : 21
Outfit . A P 3 a : 26
Where to buy Tackle : F : : 30
Guides . : j : 32
How to get to rv W Teo 28S. 40
Hotels : . 44
When to visit the Wilder ness . , é 3
Healthfulness of Camp Life . 50
What Sections of the Wilderness to visit . ~ o2
Black Flies . 55
Mosquitoes ; : : a : : 2.56
Ladies’ Outfit : ‘ 5 : ‘ : 58
Wild Animals . ; : ; : i 5 80)
Provisions . ; c é p A A 62
Bill of Fare j j ; : : . «, 62
IJ. Tat Namevess CREEK . A Hl ‘ 65
III. Runnina tHE Rapips . 3 ‘ A A A
IV. Tur Bat : ; ; Z . A : 86
vi
CONTENTS.
. Loon-SHootinc mv A THUNDER-STORM
. CROSSING THE CARRY .
. Rop anp REEL
. PHantom FAs .
. JACK—SHooTinGe IN A Foccy Nicur A F
SABBATH IN THE Woops. : ‘ ‘
. A Rie wire A Map Horse in a Freicur-
CAR. ‘ x : $ F F
APPENDIX.
Beacu’s Sicut . 5 : - s A eu
233
IN ERO DU CTTLON:
EVERAL of the chapters composing this
volume were originally published in the
“Meriden Literary Recorder,” during the fall and
winter of 1867. Through it they received a wide
circulation, and brought to the author many let-
ters from all parts of the country, urging him to
continue the series, and, when completed, publish
them in a more permanent form. Lawyers, phy-
sicians, clergymen, and sporting men were united
for once in the expression of a common desire.
Not a few delightful acquaintances were made
through this medium. It was suggested by these
unseen friends, that such a series of descriptive
pieces, unencumbered with the ordinary reflec-
tions and jottings of a tourist’s book, free from
the slang of guides, and questionable jokes, and
“bear stories,’ with which works of a similar
character have to a great extent been filled, would
be gladly welcomed by a large number of people
who, born in the country, and familiar in boy-
hood with the gun and rod, still retain, in un-
8 INTRODUCTION.
diminished freshness and vigor, their early love
for manly exercises and field sports. Each article,
it was urged, should stand alone by itself, having
its own framework of time and character, and
representing a single experience. The favorable re-
ception the articles thus published received, and the
cordial communications from total strangers which
they elicited, together with a strong, ever-present
desire on my part to encourage manly exercise in
the open air, and familiarity with Nature in her
wildest and grandest aspects, persuaded me into
concurrence with the suggestion. The composi-
tion of these articles has furnished me, amid grave
and arduous labors, with mental recreation, from
time to time, almost equal to that which I enjoyed
when passing through the experiences which they
are intended to describe.
In the hope that what I have written may con-
tribute to the end suggested, and prove a source
of pleasure to many who, like myself, were “ born
of hunter’s breed and blood,” and who, pent up in
narrow offices and narrower studies, weary of the
city’s din, long for a breath of mountain air and
the free life by field and flood, I subscribe myself
their friend and brother.
iE;
THE WILDERNESS.
WHY I GO THERE, — HOW I GET THERE, — WHAT I
DO THERE, — AND WHAT IT COSTS.
“HE Adirondack Wilderness, or the “ North
Woods,” as it 1s sometimes called, hes be-
tween the Lakes George and Champlain on the
east, and the river St. Lawrence on the north
and west. It reaches northward as far as the
Canada line, and southward to Booneville. Its
area 1s about that of the State of Connecticut.
The southern part is known as the Brown Tract
Region, with which the whole wilderness by
some 1s confused, but with no more accuracy than
any one county might be said to comprise an
entire State. Indeed, “ Brown’s Tract ” is the least
interesting portioa of the Adirondack region. It
lacks the lofty mountain scenery, the intricate
mesh-work of lakes, and the wild grandeur of the
country to the north. It is the lowland district,
comparatively tame and uninviting. Not until
you reach the Racquette do you get a glimpse of
the magnificent scenery which makes this wilder-
ness to rival Switzerland. There, on the very
1 *¥
10 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.
ridge-board of the vast water-shed which slopes
northward to the St. Lawrence, eastward to the
Hudson, and southward to the Mohawk, you can
enter upon a voyage the like of which, it is safe
to say, the world does not anywhere else furnish.
For hundreds of miles I have boated wp and down
that wilderness, going ashore only to “carry”
around a fall, or across some narrow ridge divid-
ing the otherwise connected lakes. For weeks I
have paddled my cedar shell in all directions,
swinging northerly into the St. Regis chain, west-
ward nearly to Potsdam, southerly to the Black
River country, and from thence penetrated to that
almost unvisited region, the “South Branch,” with-
out seeing a face but my guide’s, and the entire
circuit, it must be remembered, was through a
wilderness yet to echo to the lumberman’s axe.
It is estimated that a thousand lakes, many yet
unvisited, lie embedded in this vast forest of pine
and hemlock. From the summit of a mountain,
two years ago, I counted, as seen by my naked
eye, forty-four lakes gleaming amid the depths
of the wilderness like gems of purest ray amid the
folds of emerald-colored velvet. Last summer I
met a gentleman on the Racquette who had just
received a letter from a brother in Switzerland, an
artist by profession, in which he said, that, “ having
travelled over all Switzerland, and the Rhine
and Rhone region, he had not met with scenery
WHY I GO THERE. ISL
which, judged from a purely artistic point of view,
combined so many beauties in connection with
such grandeur as the lakes, mountains, and forest
of the Adirondack region presented to the gazer’s
eye.” And yet thousands are in Europe to-day
as tourists who never gave a passing thought to
this marvellous country lying as it were at their
very doors.
Another reason why I visit the Adirondacks,
andurge others to do so, is because I deem the
excursion eminently adapted to restore impaired
health. Indeed, it is marvellous what benefit
physically is often derived from a trip of a few
weeks to these woods. To such as are afflicted
with that dire parent of ills, dyspepsia, or have
lurking in their system consumptive tendencies,
I most earnestly recommend a month’s experience
among the pines. The air which you there inhale
is such as can be found only in high mountainous
regions, pure, rarefied, and bracing. The amount
of venison steak a consumptive will consume
after a week’s residence in that appetizing at-
mosphere is a subject of daily and increasing
wonder. I have known delicate ladies and fragile
school-girls, to whom all food at home was dis-
tasteful and eating a pure matter of duty, average
a gain of a pound per day for the round trip.
This is no exaggeration, as some who will read
these lines know, The spruce, hemlock, balsam,
12 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.
and pine, which largely compose this wilderness,
yield upon the air, and especially at night, all
their curative qualities. Many a night have I
laid down upon my bed of balsam-boughs and
been lulled to sleep by the murmur of waters
and the low sighing melody of the pines, while
the air was laden with the mingled perfume
of cedar, of balsam and the water-lily. Not a
few, far advanced in that dread disease, consump-
tion, have found in this wilderness renewal of life
and health. I recall a young man, the son of
wealthy parents in New York, who lay dying in
that great city, attended as he was by the best
skill that money could secure. A friend calling
upon him one day chanced to speak of the Adiron-
dacks, and that many had found help from a trip
to their region. From that moment he pined for
the woods. He insisted on what his family called
“his insane idea,” that the mountain air and the
aroma of the forest would cure him. It was his
daily request and entreaty that he might go.
At last his parents consented, the more readily
because the physicians assured them that their
son’s recovery was impossible, and his death a
mere matter of time. They started with him for
the north in search of life. When he arrived at
the point where he was to meet his guide he was
too reduced to walk. The guide seeing his con-
dition refused to take him into the woods, fear-
——
WHY 1 GO THERE. a
ing, as he plainly expressed it, that he would “ die
on his hands.” At last another guide was_pre-
vailed upon to serve him, not so much for the
money, as he afterwards told me, but because he
pitied the young man, and felt that “one so near
death as he was should be gratified even in his
whims.”
The boat was half filled with cedar, pine, and
balsam boughs, and the young man, carried in the
arms of his guide from the house, was laid at full
length upon them. The camp utensils were put
at one end, the guide seated himself at the other,
and the little boat passed with the living and the
dying down the lake, and was lost to the group
watching them amid the islands to the south.
This was in early June. The first week the guide
carried the young man on his back over all the
portages, lifting him in and out of the boat as he
might a child. But the healing properties of the
balsam and pine, which were his bed by day and
night, began to exert their power. Awake or
asleep, he inhaled their fragrance. Their pungent
and healing odors penetrated his diseased and
irritated lungs. The second day out his cough
was less sharp and painful. At the end of the
first week he could walk by leaning on the pad-
dle. The second week he needed no support.
The third week the cough ceased entirely. From
that time he improved with wonderful rapidity.
14 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.
He “went in” the first of June, carried in the
arms of his guide. The second week of Novem-
ber he “came out” bronzed as an Indian, and as
hearty. In five months he had gained sixty-five
pounds of flesh, and flesh, too, “ well packed on,”
as they say in the woods. Coming out he car-
ried the boat over all portages; the very same
over which a few months before the guide had
carried him, and pulled as strong an oar as any
amateur in the wilderness. His meeting with
his family I leave the reader to imagine. The
wilderness received him almost a corpse. It re-
turned him to his home and the world as happy
and healthy a man as ever bivouacked under its
pines.
This, I am aware, is an extreme case, and, as
such, may seem exaggerated; but it is not. I
might instance many other cases which, if less
startling, are equally corroborative of the general
statement. There is one sitting near me, as I
write, the color of whose cheek, and the clear
brightness of whose eye, cause my heart to go out
in ceaseless gratitude to the woods, amid which
she found that health and strength of which they
are the proof and sign. For five summers have
we visited the wilderness. From four to seven
weeks, each year, have we breathed the breath of
the mountains ; bathed in the waters which sleep
at their base; and made our couch at night of
SPORTING FACILITIES. 15
moss and balsam-boughs, beneath the whispering
trees. I feel, therefore, that I am able to speak
from experience touching this matter; and I be-
lieve that, all things being considered, no portion
of our country surpasses, if indeed any equals, in
health-giving qualities, the Adirondack Wilderness.
SPORTING FACILITIES:
-
This wilderness is often called the “ Sportsman’s
Paradise” ; and so I hold it to be, when all its ad-
vantages are taken into account. If any one goes
to the North Woods, expecting to see droves of deer,
he will return disappointed. He can find them
west and north, around Lake Superior, and on the
Plains ; but nowhere east cf the Alleghanies. Or
if one expects to find trout averaging three or four
pounds, eager to break surface, no matter where or
when he casts his fly, he will come back from his
trip a “sadder and a wiser man.” If this is his
idea of what constitutes a “sportsman’s paradise,”
I advise him not to go to the Adirondacks. Deer
and trout do not abound there in any such num-
bers: and yet there are enough of both to satisfy
any reasonable expectation. Gentlemen often ask
me to compare the “North Woods” with the
“ Maine Wilderness.” The fact is, it 1s difficult to
make any comparison between the two sections,
16 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.
they are so unlike. But I am willing to give my
reasons of preference for the Adirondacks. The
fact is, nothing could induce me to visit Maine.
If I was going east at all, I should keep on, nor
stop until I reached the Provinces. I could never
bring my mind to pass a month in Maine, with
the North Woods within forty-eight hours of me.
I will tell you why. Go where you will, in
Maine, the dumbermen have been before you; and
lumbermen are the curse and scourge of the wil-
derness. Wherever the axe sounds, the pride and
beauty of the forest disappear. A lumbered dis-
trict is the most areary and dismal region the eye
of man ever beheld. The mountaims are not
merely shorn of trees, but from base to summit
fires, kindled by accident or malicious purpose,
have swept their sides, leaving the blackened
rocks exposed to the eye, and here and there a few
unsightly trunks leaning in all directions, from
which all the branches and green foliage have been
burnt away. The streams and trout-pools are
choked with saw-dust, and filled with slabs and
logs. The rivers are blockaded with “booms”
and lodged timber, stamped all over the ends with
the owner's “mark.” Every eligible site for a
camp has been appropriated; and bones, offal,
horse-manure, and all the débris of a deserted
lumbermen’s village is strewn around, offensive
both to eye and nose. The hills and shores are
SPORTING FACILITIES. L7
littered with rotten wood, in all stages of decom-
position, emitting a damp, mouldy odor, and send-
ing forth countless millions of flies, gnats, and mos-
quitoes to prey upon you. Now, no number of
deer, no quantities of trout, can entice me to such
a locality. He who fancies it can go; not I. In
the Adirondack Wilderness you escape this. There
the lumberman has never been. No axe has
sounded along its mountain-sides, or echoed across
its peaceful waters. The forest stands as it has
stood, from the beginning of time, in all its maj-
esty of growth, in all the beauty of its unshorn
foliage. No fires have blackened the hills; no
logs obstruct the rivers; no saw-dust taints and
colors its crystal waters. The promontories which
stretch themselves half across its lakes, the islands
which hang as if suspended in their waveless and
translucent depths, have never been marred by
the presence of men careless of all but gain. You
choose the locality which best suits your eye, and
build your lodge under unscarred trees, and wpon
a carpet of moss, untrampled by man or beast.
There you live in silence, unbroken by any sounds
save such as you yourself may make, away from
all the business and cares of civilized life.
Another reason of my preference for the Adiron-
dack region is based upon the mode and manner in
which your sporting is done. Now I do not plead
guilty to the vice of laziness. If necessary, I can
B
18 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.
work, and work sharply; but I have no special
love for labor, in itself considered; and certain
kinds of work, I am free to confess, I abhor; and
if there is one kind of work which I detest more
than another, it is tramping; and, above all,
tramping through a lumbered district. How the
thorns lacerate you! How the brambles tear your
clothes and pierce your flesh! How the mesh-
work of fallen tree-tops entangles you! I would
not walk two miles through such a country for all
the trout that swim; and as for ever casting a
fly from the slippery surface of an old mill-dam,
no one ever saw me do it, nor ever will. I do not
say that some may not find amusement in it.
I only know that I could not. Now, in the North
Woods, owing to their marvellous water-communi-
cation, you do all your sporting from your boat.
If you wish to go one or ten miles for a “ fish,” your
guide paddles you to the spot, and serves you while
you handle the rod. This takes from recreation
every trace of toil. You have all the excitement of
sporting, without any attending physical weariness.
And what luxury it is to course along the shores
of these secluded lakes, or glide down the winding
reaches of these rivers, overhung by the outlying
pines, and fringed with water-liles, mingling their
fragrance with the odors of cedar and balsam! To
me this is better than tramping. I have sported
a month at a time, without walking as many miles
SPORTING FACILITIES. 19
as there were weeks in the month. To my mind,
this peculiarity elevates the Adirondack region
above all its rivals, East or West, and more than all
else justifies its otherwise pretentious claim as a
“Sportsman’s Paradise.” In beauty of scenery, in
health-giving qualities, in the easy and romantic
manner of its sporting, it 7s a paradise, and so will
it continue to be while a deer leaves his track
upon the shores of its lakes, or a trout shows
himself above the surface of its waters. It is this
peculiarity also which makes an excursion to this
section so easy and delightful to ladies. There is
nothing in the trip which the most delicate and
fragile need fear. And it is safe to say, that, of all
who go into the woods, none enjoy the experiences
more than ladies, and certain it is that none are
more benefited by it.
But what about game, I hear the reader inquire.
Are deer plenty? Is the fishing good? Well,
I reply, every person has his own standard by
which to measure a locality, and therefore it is
difficult to answer with precision. Moreover, it
is not alone the presence of game which makes
good sporting. Many other considerations, such
as the skill of the sportsman, and the character
and ability of the guide, enter into this problem
and make the solution difficult. A poor shot, and
a green hand at the rod, will have poor success
anywhere, no matter how good the sporting is;
20 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.
and I have known parties to be “starved out,”
where other men, with better guides, were meeting
with royal success. With a guide who under-
stands his business, I would undertake to feed a
party of twenty persons the season through, and
seldom should they sit down to a meal lacking
either trout or venison. I passed six weeks on
the Racquette last summer, and never, save at one
meal, failed to see both of the two delicious arti-
cles of diet on my table. Generally speaking, no
imconvenience is experienced in this direction.
Always observing the rule, not to kill more than
the camp can eat, which a true sportsman never
transgresses, I have paddled past more deer
within easy range than I ever lifted my rifle at.
The same is true in reference to trout. I have
unjointed my rod when the water was alive with
leaping fish, and experienced more pleasure as I
sat and saw them rise for food or play, than any
thoughtless violator of God’s laws could feel in
wasting the stores which Nature so bountifully
opens for our need. I am not in favor of “game
laws,” passed for the most part in the interest of
the few and the rich, to the deprivation of the
poor and the many, but I would that fine and
imprisonment both might be the punishment of
him who, in defiance of every humane instinct
and reverential feeling, out of mere love for
“sport,” as some are pleased to call it, directs a
»
WHAT IT COSTS. pall
ball or hooks a fish when no necessity demands
it. Such ruthless destruction of life is slaughter, —
coarse, cruel, unjustifiable butchery. Palliate it
who may, practise it who can, it is just that and
nothing short. To sum up what I have thus far
written, I say to all brother sportsmen, that, all
things considered, the sporting, both with rifle and
rod, in the North Woods is good, — good enough
to satisfy any reasonable desire. In this, please
remember that I refer to the wilderness proper,
and not to the lumbered and inhabited and there-
fore over-hunted borders of it. I have known
parties to take board at North Elba, or Malone, or
Luzerne, and yet insist that they “had been into
the Adirondacks.”
WHAT ET COSTS.
This I know to some is a matter of no interest
at all, but to others, among whom, unfortunately,
the writer must number himself, it is a matter
of vital importance. The committee on “ways
and means” in our “house” is the most laborious
of all, and the six years a little woman has held
the chairmanship of it has made her exceedingly
cautious and conservative. Some very interest-
ing debates occur before this committee, and no
demur on the part of the defeated party, as I have
22 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.
often found, can change the unalterable decision.
What is true in the case of the writer is largely
true in respect to the majority of the profession
to which he belongs. Yet it is in the ministry
that you find the very men who would be the
most benefited by this trip. Whether they should
go as sportsmen or tourists, or in both capacities, a
visit to the North Woods could not fail of giving
them precisely such a change as is most desirable,
and needed by them. In the wilderness they
would find that perfect relaxation which all jaded
minds require. In its vast solitude is a total
absence of sights and sounds and duties, which
keep the clergyman’s brain and heart strung up,
the long year through, to an intense, unnatural,
and often fatal tension. There, from a thousand
sources of invigoration, flow into the exhausted
mind and enfeebled body currents of strength and
life. There sleep woos you as the shadows deepen
along the lake, and retains you in its gentle em-
brace until frightened away by the guide’s merry
call to breakfast. You would be astonished to
learn, if I felt disposed to tell you, how many con-
secutive hours a certain minister sleeps during
the first week of his annual visit to the woods!
Ah me, the nights I have passed in the woods!
How they haunt me with their sweet, suggestive
memories of silence and repose! How harshly the
steel-shod hoofs smite against the flinty pavement
WHAT IT COSTS. Zo
beneath my window, and clash with rude inter-
ruptions upon my ear as I sit recalling the tran-
quil hours I have spent beneath the trees! What
restful slumber was mine; and not less gently
than the close of day itself did it fall upon me,
as I stretched myself upon my bed of balsam-
boughs, with Rover at my side, not twenty feet
from the shore where the ripples were playing
coyly with the sand, and lulled by the low mono-
tonesof the pines, whose branches were my only
shelter from the dew which gathered like gems
upon their spear-like stems, sank, as a falling star
fades from sight, into forgetfulness. And then the
waking! The air fresh with the aroma of the
wilderness. The morning blowing its perfumed
breezes into your face. The drip, drip of the
odorous gum in the branches overhead, and the
colors of russet, of orange, and of gold streaking
the eastern sky. After three or four nights of
such slumber, the sleeper realizes the force and
beauty of the great poet’s apostrophe, —
“Sleep, that knits up the ravelled sleave of care,
The death of each day’s life, sore labor’s bath,
Balm of hurt minds, great nature’s second course,
Chief nourisher in life’s feast.”
If every church would make up a purse, and
pack its worn and weary pastor off to the
North Woods for a four weeks’ jaunt, in the
hot months of July and August, it would doa
24 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.
very sensible as well as pleasant act. For when
the good dominie came back swarth and tough
as an Indian, elasticity in his step, fire in his eye,
depth and clearness in his reinvigorated voice,
wouldn't there be some preaching! And what
texts he would have from which to talk to the
little folks in the Sabbath school! How their
bright eyes would open and enlarge as he narrated
his adventures, and told them how the good
Father feeds the fish that swim, and clothes the
mink and beaver with their warm and sheeny fur.
The preacher sees God in the original there, and
often translates him better from his unwritten
works than from his written word. He will get
more instructive spiritual material from such
a trip than from all the “Sabbath-school festi-
vals” and “pastoral tea-parties” with which the
poor, smiling creature was ever tormented. It is
astonishing how much a loving, spiritually-minded
people can bore their minister. If I had a spite
against any clerical brother, and felt wicked
enough to indulge it, I would get his Sabbath-
school superintendent, a female city missionary,
and several “ local visitors,” with an agent of some
Western college thrown in for variety, and set
them all on to him!
“But how much does it cost to take such a
trip ?” I hear some good deacon inquire ; “ perhaps
we may feel disposed to take your advice.”
WHAT IT COSTS. 295
=)
Well, I will tell you; and I shall make a
liberal estimate, for I do not think it hurts a
minister to travel in comfortable style any more
than it does Mr. Farewell and Brother Have-
enough. And if he shall chance to find a ten-
dollar greenback in his vest-pocket after he has
reached home it will not come amiss, I warrant
you.
I estimate the cost thus : —
Gtide-hire, $2.50 per day; board for self and
ewide while in the woods, $2.00 each per week ;
miscellanies (here is where the ten-dollar green-
backs come in), $25.00.
If he feels disposed to take a companion, he can
do so (many go in couples), and thereby divide
the cost of guide-hire, making it only $1.25
per day. But I would not advise one to do this,
especially if his expenses are paid. Fifty dollars
will pay one’s travelling expenses both ways,
from Boston to the Lower Saranac Lake, where
you can meet your guide. From New York the
expense is about the same. It is safe to say that
one hundred and twenty-five dollars will pay all
the expenses of a trip of a month’s duration in the
wilderness. I know of no other excursion in
which such a small sum of money will return
such per cent in health, pleasure, and profit.
26 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.
OU Then.
There is no one rule by which to be governed
in this respect. Personal tastes and means con-
trol one in this matter. Generally speaking, outfits
are too elaborate and cumbersome. Some men go
into the woods as if they were to pass the winter
within the polar circle, supphed with fur caps,
half a dozen pair of gloves, heavy overcoat, three
or four thick blankets, and any amount of use-
less impedimenta. Dry-goods clerks and students
seem to affect this style the most. I remember run-
ning against a pair of huge alligator-leather boots,
leaning against a tree, one day when crossing the
“Carry” from Forked Lake around the rapids,
and upon examination discovered a young under-
graduate of a college not a thousand miles from
Boston inside of them. It was about the middle
of August, and the thermometer stood at 90°
Fahrenheit. Some half a mile farther on we met
the guide sweating and swearing under a pack of
blankets, rubber suits, and the like, heavy enough
to frighten a tramping Jew-pedler ; and he declared
that “that confounded Boston fool had brought in
a boat-load of clothes,’ which we found to be nigh
to the truth when we reached the end of the
“carry,” where the canoe was. Now I wish that
every reader who may visit the Adirondacks,
male or female, would remember that a good-
OUTFIT. 27
sized valise or carpet-bag will hold all the clothes
any one person needs for a two months’ trip in the
wilderness, beyond what he wears in. Be sure
to wear and take in nothing but woollen and
flannel. The air at night is often quite cool, even
in midsummer, and one must dress warmly. The
following list comprises the “ essentials” : —
Complete undersuit of woollen or flannel, with a
“ change.”
Stout pantaloons, vest, and coat.
Felt hat.
Two pairs of stockings.
Pair of common winter boots and camp shoes.
Rubber blanket or coat.
One pair pliable buckskin gloves, with chamois-
skin gauntlets tied or buttoned at the elbow.
Hunting-knife, belt, and a pint tin cup.
To these are to be added a pair of warm woollen
blankets, wneut, and a few articles of luxury, such
as towel, soap, etc. The above is a good service-
able outfit, and, with the exception of the blan-
kets, can readily be packed in a carpet-bag, which
is easily stowed in the boat and carried over the
“portages.” In this connection, it should be re-
membered that the Adirondack boats, while being
models of lightness and speed, are small, and will
not bear overloading. On the average they are
some fifteen feet long, three feet wide at the mid=
dle, sharp at both ends, some ten inches deep,
28 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.
and weigh from sixty to ninety pounds. Small
and light as these boats are, they will sustain
three men and all they really need in the way of
baggage, but it 1s essential, as the reader can see,
that no unnecessary freight be taken along by a
party. Nothing is better calculated to make a
guide cross and sour than an over-supply of per-
sonal baggage, and I advise all who attempt the
trip to confine themselves very nearly to the
above list. They will find that it is abundant.
For sporting outfit, this will suffice : —
One rifle and necessary ammunition.
One light, single-handed fly-rod, with “ flies.”
For rifles I prefer the “ Ballard” or “ Maynard”
among breech-loaders. No shot-guns should be
taken. They are a nuisance and a pest.
In respect to “flies,” do not overload your
book. This is a good assortment : —
Hackles, black, red, and brown, six each.
Avoid small hooks and imported “ French flies.”
Let the “flies” be made on hooks from Nos. 3
to 1, Limerick size.
All “fancy flies” discard. They are good for
nothing generally, unless it be to show to your
lady friends. In addition to the “ Hackles,”
Canada fly (6), —an excellent fly.
Green drake (6).
Red ibis (6).
Small salmon flies (6),— best of all.
OUTFIT. 29
If in the fall of the year, take
English blue-jay (6).
Gray drake (6), — good.
Last, but not least, a large, stoutly woven land-
ing-net.
This is enough. I know that what I say touch-
ing the salmon flies will astonish some, but I do
not hesitate to assert that with two dozen small-
sized salmen flies I should feel myself well pro-
vided for a six weeks’ sojourn in the wilderness.
Of course you can add to the above list many
serviceable flies; my own book is stocked with a
dozen dozens of all sizes and colors, but the above
is a good practical outfit, and all one really needs.
If you are unaccustomed to “fly fishing,” and
prefer to “grub it” with ground bait (and good
sport can be had with bait fishing too), get two or
three dozens short-shanked, good-sized hooks, hand
tied to strong cream-colored snells, and you are
well provided. If you can find worms, they make
the best bait ; if not, cut out a strip from a chub,
and, loading your line with shot, yank it along
through the water some foot or more under the sur-
face, as when fishing for pickerel. I have had trout
many times rise and take such a bait, even when
skuttered along on the top of the water. To every
fly-fisher my advice is, be sure and take plenty of
casting-lines. Have some six, others nine feet
long There are lines made out of “sea snell.”
30 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.
These are the best. Never select a bright, glisten-
ing gut. Always search for the creamy looking
ones. The entire outfit need not cost (rod ex-
cepted) over ten dollars, and for all practical
purposes is as good as one costing a hundred.
WAR By FP Oo BU Yao Awake Tir Be
Tn New York, go to Conroy, Bissett, & Malleson,
Fulton Street. This house is noted for its rods.
No better smele-handed fly-rod can be had than
you can obtain at Conroy’s. hash,
r « “fried. “ ~ spitted.
Fish.
Jake Trdut (salmon). Trout (spotted).
Boiled. Fried (in meal).
Baked. Broiled.
Broiled. Spitted.
Chowder.
Pancakes, with maple sirup (choice).
Bread, warm and stale, both.
Coffee. Tea.
Now imagine that you have been out for eight
hours, with a cool, appetizing mountain breeze
blowing in your face, and then fancy yourself
seated before your bark table in the shadow of the
pines, with the water rippling at your feet ; a lake
64 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.
dotted with islands, and walled in with mountains,
before you, and such a bill of fare to select from,
and then tell me if it looks like starvation? Ifa
man cannot make a pound of flesh per day on that
diet, I pity him!
And now, patient reader, having given you all
the information necessary to make you acquainted
with the geography of the wilderness, the charac-
ter of the sporting therein, the outfit needed for
the excursion, the best routes of entrance, and
certain suggestions as to hotels, guides, and con-
trivances of protection from gnats and flies, I close
this chapter with the wish that you may find, in
excursions which you may make thereto, the health
and happiness which have, upon its waters and
under its softly murmuring pines, come to me, and
more abundantly —as to one who needed them
more —to her who joins me in the hope of meet-
ing you amid the lilies which fleck with snow its
rivers, or in the merry circle, free from care, which,
on some future evening, we hope to gather around
our camp-fire.
Et:
THE NAMELESS CREEK.
T was five o’clock in the afternoon when, after
three hours of constant struggle with the cur-
rent, we burst our way through a mass of alder-
bushes and marsh-grass, and behold, the lake lay
before us! Wet from head to foot, panting from
my recent exertion, having eaten nothing since
seven in the morning, and weary from ten hours’
steady toil, I felt neither weariness nor hunger as
I gazed upon the scene. Shut in on all sides by
mountains, mirrored from base to summit in its
placid bosom, bordered here with fresh green
grass and there with reaches of golden sand, and
again with patches of lilies, whose fragrance,mineled
with the scent of balsam and pine, filled the air,
the lake reposed unruffled and serene.
I know of nothing which carries the mind so far
back toward the creative period as to stand on the
shore of such a sheet of water, knowing that as you
behold it, so has it been for ages. The water
which laves your feet is the same as that which
flowed when the springs which feed it were first
uncapped. No rude axe has smitten the forests
E
66 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.
which grow upon the mountains ; even the grass at
your side is as the parent spire which He who
ordereth all commands to bring forth seed after
its kind. All around you ss as it was in the begin-
ning. I know not how long I should thus have
stood musing, but for a motion of John’s, which
broke the chain of thought and brought my mind
back to the practical realization that we were
wet, hungry, and tired. In the middle of the lake
was a large flat rock, rising some two feet above the
surface of the water. Stepping noiselessly into our
boat, we paddled to the rock, and, wringing our drip-
ping garments, stretched ourselves at full leneth
upon it to dry. O, the pleasant sensation of warmth
which that hard couch, to which the sun had given
a genial heat, communicated to us! Never was bed
of eider-down so welcome to royal limbs as was
that granite ledge to ours. What luxury to he and
watch the vapor roll up from your wet garments
while the warm rock gave out its heat to your
chilled body! In an hour we were dry, at least
comparatively so, and we held a council. Our
comimissariat was getting rather low. Our stores,
spread upon the rock, amounted to the following :
two pounds of pork, six pounds of flour, four meas-
ures of coffee, one half-pound of tea. John esti-
mated that this would last us three days, if I
had ordinary success with the rod. “But what
are we to do to-night?” I exclaimed; “we have
THE NAMELESS CREEK. 67
neither trout nor venison, and I am hunery enough
to eat those two pounds of pork alone, if I once
get fairly at it, and there goes the sun back of
the tree-tops now?” “ Well, unstrap your rod and
select your flies,” responded he, “and we will see
what we can find. I don’t mean to have you wrap
yourself around that piece of pork to-night any
way. I did as requested. For the tail fly I
noosed on a brown hackle, above it I tied a killer,
and for the dapper I hitched on a white moth.
Taking the bow seat, John paddled straight for the
west shore of the lake, and the light boat, cutting
its way through the lily-pads, shot into a narrow
aperture overhung with bushes and tangled grass,
and I saw a sight I never shall forget. We had
entered the inlet of the lake, a stream some twenty
feet in width, whose waters were dark and sluggish.
The setting sun yet poured its radiance through the
overhanging pines, flecking the tide with crimson
patches and crossing it here and there with golden
lanes. Up this stream, flecked with gold and bor-
dered with lilies as far as the eye could reach, the
air was literally full of jumping trout. From amid
lily-pads, from under the overhanging grass, and
in the bright radiance poured along the middle of
the stream, the speckled beauties were launching
themselves. Here a little fellow would cut his
tiny furrow along the surface after a fluttering
enat; there a larger one, with quivering fin and
63 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.
open mouth, would fling himself high into the air
in a brave attempt to seize a passing moth; and
again, a two-pounder, lke a miniature porpoise,
would lazily rise to the surface, roll up his golden
side, and, flinging his broad tail upward, with a
splash disappear. Casting loose my flies and un-
coiling my leader, I made ready to cast; but John,
unmindful or regardless of the motion, kept the even
sweep of his stroke. Round tufted banks, under
overhanging pines, and through tangled lily-pads
we passed, and at every turn and up every stretch
of water the same sight presented itself. At length,
sweeping sharply round a curve, John suddenly re-
versed his paddle and checked the boat, so that the
bow stood upon the very rim of a pool some forty
feet across. Dark and gloomy it lay, with its sur-
face as smooth as though no ripple had ever crossed
it No one would have guessed that beneath the
tranquil surface lay life and sport.
Adjusting myself firmly on my narrow seat, un-
tangling the snells and gathering up my leader, I
flung the flies into mid-air and launched them out
over the pool. The moment their feathery forms
had specked the water, a single gleam of yellow
light flashed up from the dark depth, and a trout,
closing his mouth upon the brown hackle, darted
downward. I struck and had him. A small trout
he proved to be, of only some half-pound weight.
After having passed him over to John to be disen-
THE NAMELESS CREEK. 69
gaged, I again launched the flies out, which, paus-
ing a moment in mid-air as the straightened lune
brought them up, began slowly to settle down, but
ere they touched the water four gleams of light
crossed the pool and four quivering forms, with
wide-spread tails and open mouths, leaped high
out of water. I struck, and, after a brief struggle,
landed two. From that moment the pool was lit-
erally alive with eager fish. The deep, dark water
actually effervesced, stirred into bubbles and foam.
Six trout did I see at once in mid-air, in zealous
rivalry to seize the coveted flies. Fifteen succes-
sive casts were made, and twenty-three trout
lay flapping on the bottom of the boat. But of
them all none would weigh over three quarters
of a pound; yet had I seen fish rise which must
have balanced twice that weight. I turned to John
and said, “Why don’t some of those large ones
take the fly?” “Presently, presently,” responded he.
“The little ones are too quick for them ; cast away
quick and sharp, waste no time, snap them off, never
mind the flies, and when you have cleared the sur-
face of the small fry you will see what lies at the
bottom.” I complied. At last, after some forty
had been flung down the stream, the rises became
less frequent, the water less agitated, and, partly
to rest my wrist and partly to give John time to
adjust new and larger flies, I paused. In five
minutes the current had cleared the pool of bub-
70 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.
bles, and the dark water settled gradually into sul-
len repose. “Now,” said John, “lengthen your
line and cast at that patch of lily-pads lying under
the hemlock there, and if a large one rises, strike *
hard.” I did as desired. The flies, in response
to the twist of the pliant rod, rose into the air,
darted forward, and, pausing over the lily-pads,
lighted deftly on the water. Scarcely had their
trail made itself visible on the smooth surface, be-
fore a two-pounder gleamed out of the dark depths,
and rolling his golden side up to the light, closed
his jaws upon the white moth. I struck. Stung
by the pain, he flung himself, with a mighty effort,
high in air, hoping to fall upon the leader and
snap the slender gut. Dropping the point of my
rod, he came harmlessly down upon the slack.
Recovering himself, he dove to the bottom, sulking.
Bearing gradually upon his mouth, the only re-
sponse I got was a sullen shaking, as a dog shakes
a woodchuck. Fearing his sharp teeth would cut
the already well-chafed snell, I bore stoutly upon
him, lifting him bodily up toward the surface.
When near the top, giving one desperate shake,
he started. Back and forth, round and round that
pool he flashed, a gleam of yellow light through
the dark water, until at last, wearied and exhausted
by his efforts, he rolled over upon his side and lay
* This word is one employed by sportsmen to denote the
motion with which the fish is hooked.
THE NAMELESS CREEK. ve!
panting upon the surface. John deftly passed the
landing-net under him, and the next minute he lay
amid his smaller brethren in the boat. I paused a
moment to admire. A_ bluish-black trout he was,
dotted with spots of bright vermilion. His fins,
rosy as autumnal skies at sunset, were edged with
a border of purest white. His tail was broad and
thick ; eyes prominent, mouth wide and armed with
briery teeth. A trout in color and build rarely
seen, gamy and stanch. Noosing on a fresh fly in
place of the one his teeth had mangled, I made
ready for another cast. Expecting much, I was not
prepared for what followed.
Now, all ye lovers of bright waters and green-
sward, who lift a poor half-pounder with your big
trolling-rod and call it sport, listen and learn what
befell one of your craft at sunset at the pool of the
Nameless Creek. Nameless let it be, until she who
most would have enjoyed it shall, on some future
sunset, floating amid the lilies, cast flies upon its
tide.
A backward motion of the tip, and a half-turn of
the wrist, and the three flies leaped upward and
ahead. Spreading themselves out as they reached
the limit of the cast, like flakes of feathery snow
they settled, wavering downward; when suddenly
up out of the depth, cleaving the water in concert,
one to each fly, three trout appeared. At the
same instant, high in mid-air, their jaws closed on
72 ADVENTURES IN I'HE WILDERNESS.
the barbed hooks. No shout from John was need-
ed to make me strike. I struck so quick and
strong that the leader twanged lke a snapped
bow-string, and the tip of the light rod flew down
nearly to the reel. All three were hooked. Three
trout, weighing in the aggregate seven pounds, held
by a single hair on a nine-ounce rod, in a pool
fringed with lily-pads, forty by thirty feet across !
Then followed what to enjoy again I would ride
thrice two hundred miles. The contest, requiring
nerve and skill on the fisher’s part, was to keep the
plunging fish out of the lily-pads, in which, should
they once become entangled, the gut would part
like a thread of corn-silk or the spider’s gossamer
line. Up and down, to and fro, they glanced. The
lithe rod bent lke a coachman’s whip to the un-
usual strain, and the leader sung as it cut through
the water with the whir of a pointed bullet.
At last, when at the farthest corner of the pool,
they doubled short upon the line, and as one fish
rushed straight for the boat. Fishermen know what
that movement means. “Give ’em the butt! give
‘em the butt!” shouted John. “Smash your rod
or stop em!” Never before had I feared to thrust
the butt of that rod out toward an advancing fish ;
but here were three, each large enough to task a
common rod, untired and frenzied with pain, rush-
ing directly toward me. If I hesitated, it was but
an instant, for the ery of John te “Smash her!
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THE NAMELESS CREEK. Ties;
smash your rod or stop em!” decided the matter.
Gripping the extreme butt with one hand, and
clutching the reel with the other, I held them
steadily out, toward the oncoming fish. “Good
by, old rod,” I mentally exclaimed, as I saw
the three gleaming forms dash under the boat ;
“stanch as you are, you can’t stand that.” An
instant, and the pressure came upon the reel. I
eripped it tightly, not giving an inch. The pliant
rod doubled itself up under the strain, until the
point of the tip was stretched a foot below the
hand which grasped the butt, and the quivering
lance-wood lay across the distended knuckles. Nor
fish nor rod could stand that pressure long. I
could feel the fibres creep along the delicate shaft,
and the mottled line, woven of choicest silk, at-
tenuated under the strain, seemed like a single hair.
I looked at John. His eyes were fastened upon the
rod. I glanced down the stream, and even at the
instant the three magnificent fish, forced gradually
up by the pliancy of what they could not break,
broke the smooth surface and lay with open
mouths and gasping gills upon the tide. In
trying to land the three, the largest one escaped.
The other two averaged sixteen inches long. With-
in the space of forty minutes nearly a hundred
trout had been taken, fifty of which, varying from
one quarter of a pound to two pounds and a half in
weight, lay along the bottom of the boat; the rest
4
74 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.
had been cast back into the water, as unhooked by
John. It was Saturday evening. The sun had
gone down behind the western mountains, and amid
the gathering shadows we sought a camp. We
found one in the shape of a small bark lodge, which
John himself had erected fourteen years previous,
when, in company with an old trapper, he camped
one fall upon the shores of this lake. Kindling
a fire in the long-neglected fireplace, we sat down
to our supper under the clear sky already thickly
dotted with stars. From seven in the morning
until eight in the evening we had been without
food. I have an indistinct recollection that I
put myself outside of eleven trout, and that John
managed to surround nine more. But there may
be an error of one or two either way, for I am under
the impression that my mental faculties were not
in the best working condition at the close of the
meal. John recollects distinctly that he cooked
twenty-one fish, and but three could be found in
the pan when we stopped eating, which he care-
fully laid aside that we might take a bite before
going to sleep!
Our meal was served up in three courses. The
first course consisted of trout and pancakes; the
second course, pancakes and trout; the third, fish
and flapjacks.
aer.
RUNNING THE RAPIDS.
7 OW for the rapids,” said John, as our boat
left the tranquil waters of the lake, and,
sweeping around a huge shelving ledge, shot into
the narrow channel, where the waters, converged
from either shore, were gathering themselves for
the foam and thunder below.
The rapids were three miles in length, — one
stretch of madly rushing water, save where, at the
foot of some long flight or perpendicular fall, a
pool lay, specked with bubbles, and flecked with
patches of froth. The river is paved with rocks,
and full of boulders, amid which the water glides
smooth and deep, or dashes with headlong vio-
lence against them. And ever and anon, at the
head of some steep declivity, gathering itself for
flight, downward it shoots with arrowy swiftness,
until, bursting over a fall, it buries itself in the
pool beneath.
At the head of such a stretch of water, whose
roar and murmur filled the air, we ran our boats
ashore. Never until this season had these rapids
been run, even by the guides; and now, untried,
76 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.
inexperienced, against the advice of friends, I was
to attempt, unaided and alone, to guide my boat
past ledge, through torrents, and over waterfalls,
to the still bay below. The preparation was
simple, and soon made. I strapped my rifle, rod,
and all my baggage to the sides and bottom of the
boat, relaced my moccasins and tightened my belt,
so that, in case I stove the shell, or, failing to keep
her steady, should capsize her, I might take to the
water light, and have my traps drift ashore with
the wreck. Nevertheless, I did not intend that
the boat should upset; indeed, the chances were
in my favor. Oars and boats had been my play-
things from a boy ; and wild indeed must be the
current up and across which I could not shoot
the shell in which I sat,— made of forest pine,
fourteen feet in length, sharp as an arrow, and
weighing but seventy pounds. In addition, John
had given me valuable hints, the sum of which
might be expressed thus: “In currents, keep her
straight ; look out for underlying rocks, and smash
your oars before you smash your boat.” “Little
danger,” I said to myself, “of snapping oar-blades
made of second-growth ash, and only eight feet
from butt to tip.” Yet it was not without some
misgiving that I shot my boat out into the swift
eurrent, and with steady stroke held her on the
verge of the first flight of water, while I scanned
the foam and eddies for the best opening between
RUNNING THE RAPIDS. on
the rocks to get her through. In shooting rap-
ids the oarsman faces down stream in order to
watch the currents, direct his course, and, if need
be, when within his power, and danger is ahead, to
check his flight and choose another course. The
ereat thing and the essential thing to learn and
do is to take the advantage of the currents, whirls,
and eddies, so as to sway your boat, and pass from
this to that side of the rapids easily. The agree-
ment was, that John should precede me in his
boat; that I, watching his motions, and guided
by his course somewhat, might be assisted in the
descent by his experience. A good arrangement,
surely ; but
“ The best laid schemes 0’ mice and men
Gang aft agley,”
as we found before half a mile of the course
had been run; for my boat, being new and light,
beside less heavily loaded than John’s, caught at
the head of some falls by the swift current, darted
down the steep decline, and entering side by side,
with a mighty leap, the yeasty foam, shot out
ahead, and from that moment led the race to the
foot of the rapids. But I anticipate.
Thus, as I said, I sat in my boat, holding her
steadily, by streneth of oar, in mid-stream, where
the water smoothed itself for the plunge, until
John, with friend Burns sitting upon his feet like
78 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.
a Yurk, on the bottom of the boat, holding on to
either side with his hands to steady himself
(whether John had strapped him down or not \
can’t surely say), pushed from shore, and, taking
the current above, brushed swiftly by, with the
injunction to “follow.” I obeyed. Down we
glided, past rock and ledge, swerving now this
side, now that, sweeping round giant boulders and
jutting banks, down under the dark balsams and
overhanging pines, the suction growing stronger
and stronger, the flight swifter, until the boats,
like eagles swooping on one prey, took the last
utretch almost side by side, and, lifted high up on
the verge of the first falls, made the wild leap
together, and disappeared into the yeasty foam,
whence, rising buoyantly, uplifted by the swelling
water, shot out of the foam and mist, and, like
birds fresh from sport, floated cork-like on the
pool below.
We paused a moment to breathe, when, looking
up, the two remaining boats, guided by Jerry and
the younger Robinson, bearing Southwick and
Everitt as passengers, came sweeping round the
curve, and rushing, as from the roof of a house,
to the brink of the fall, flung themselves into the
abyss, and ina moment lay along our side. The
excitement was intense. No words can describe
the exhilaration of such a flight. It was thought,
after mature deliberation by the company, that
RUNNING THE RAPIDS. 79
Everitt’s delighted yell alone, in ordinary weather,
with a little wind in its favor, might have been
heard easily sixteen miles. His whole being, cor-
poral and spiritual, seemed to resolve itself into
one prolonged howl] of unmitigated happiness.
Having rested ourselves, we started again. By
this time, brief as the experience had been, I had
learned much as to the action of currents, and was
able to judge pretty correctly how low a rock or
ledge lay under water by the size and motion of
the switl above it. One learns fast in action;
and fifteen minutes of actual experience amid
rapids does more to teach the eye and hand what
to do, and how to do it, than any amount of infor-
mation gathered from other sources. To sit in
your light shell of a boat, in mid-current, with
rocks on either side, where the bed of the river
declines at an angle of thirty degrees, knowing
that a miscalculation of the eye, a misstroke of the
oar or the least shaking of the muscles will send
your boat rolling over and over, and you under it,
has a very strong tendency to make a man look
sharp and keep his wits about him.
Well, as I said, we started. For some fifty rods
the current was comparatively smooth and slow.
The river was wide and the decline not sharp.
The chief difliculty we found to be in avoiding the
stones and rocks with which the bottom of the
river is paved, and which in many places were
80 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.
barely covered. My boat, with only myself in it,
needed but some two inches of water to float in,
and would pass safely over where the other boats
would touch or refuse to go at all. It required
ereat care on the part of the guides to let theirs
over gently, as their bottoms are but httle thicker
than pasteboard, and held by small copper tacks.
At last the shallows were past, and, bringing our
boats in line, one behind the other, we made all
ready for another rush. The sight from this point
was grand. Our boats were poised as on the
ridge-board of a house, while below, for some
twenty rods, the water went tearmg down ; now
eliding over a smooth shelving ledge, with the
quick, tremulous motion of a serpent, and now
torn to shreds by jagged rocks at the bottom, and
again beat back by huge boulders which lifted
themselves in mid-current, presenting to the
eye one continuous stretch of mad turmoil and
riot. At the foot of the reach the eye could just
discern the smooth, glassy rim of a fall, we knew
not how high, while far down the river, shut from
view by a sharp curve, the rush and roar of other
falls rose sullenly up through the heavy pines and
overhanging hemlocks, which almost arched the
current from side to side. Ata word from John,
who, leading the van, sat as a warrior might sit
his steed, bareheaded and erect, the oars were
lifted, and the freed boats, as though eager for
KU"
li | \
it |
Lame MT)
Mh
NA
ul
1
, | | i}
ie
one after another over the
them come
"O, royal sight it was to sce
RUNNING THE RAPIDS. 81
flight, started downward. Away, away they flew.
If before they went like birds, they went like
eagles now. No keeping in line here; each man
for himself in this wild race ; and woe to boatman
and to boat if an oar should break or oar-bolt
snap. Close after John, gaining at every rush,
my light boat sped. No thought for others, all
eye and nerve for self, with a royal upleaping of
blood, as my face, wet with the spray, clove
through the air, I flashed until the fall was
reached, and, side by side, with trailing oars, we
took the leap together. Down, down we sank
into the feathery foam; the froth flung high over
us as we splashed into it. Down, down, as if the
pool had no bottom, we went, our boats half full
of spume and foam, till the reacting water under-
neath caught the light shells up and flung them
out of the yeast and mist, dripping inside and out,
from stem to stern, as sea-birds rising from a
plunge. No stop nor stay for breathing here.
Around the curve, by no effort of mine leading
the race, I went, swept down another reach and
over another fall, and, without power to pause a
moment, entered into the third before I had time
to think. Steeper than all behind, it lay before
me, but straight, and for a distance smooth, for
aught I could see as I shook the spray from my
eyes, until it narrowed, and the converging tor-
rent met between two overhanging rocks in one
4* F
82 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.
huge ridge of tossing, swelling water. What lay
below I knew not ; how steep the fall, or on what
bottom I should land. In rapids, John had told
me, the wildest water was the safest, and so I
steered straight for the highest swell of water and
the whitest foam. Fancy a current, rods in width,
converging as it glides, until the mass of rushing
water is brought as into an eaves-trough five feet
across, with sharp, jutting rocks for sides, where
the compressed water flings itself wildly up, in-
dignant at the restraint put upon it; and then
fancy yourself in a boat weighing but seventy
pounds, gliding down with a swiftness almost
painful into the narrow funnel through which,
bursting, you must shoot a fall you cannot see,
but whose roar rises heavily over the dash of the
torrent, and you can realize what it is to shoot the
rapids of the Racquette River, and my position at
the time.
Balancing myself nicely on the seat, dipping
the oar-blades until their lower edges brushed
along the tide, I kept my eyes steadily upon the
narrow aperture, and let her glide. Nothing but
the pressure of the air upon the cheek, as the face
clove it, and the sharp whistling of the seething
current, bespeaks the swiftness with which you
move. When near the narrow gorge, — which
you must take square in the centre, and in direct
line, or smash your boat to flinders,— while the
——
RUNNING THE RAPIDS. 83
width would yet allow, wishing some steerage-way
before I entered the chasm, I threw my whole
strength upon the oars. The lithe ash bent to
the strain, and the boat quivered from stem to
stern under the quick stroke. Then, bending for-
ward upon the seat, with oars at a trail, I shot
into the opening between the rocks. For an in-
stant the oar-blades grated along their sides, and
then, riding upon the crest of a wave, I passed out
of the damp passage, and lo! the fall whose roar I
had heard yawned just beneath me. Quick as
thought, | swung the oars ahead, and as the bil-
low lifted me high up upon the very brink, gave
way with all my might. Whatever spare strength
I had lying anywhere about me, at that particular
point of time, I am under the impression was
thrown into those oar-blades. The boat was fairly
lifted off the wave, and shot into the air. For an
instant, it touched neither water nor foam, then
dropped into the boiling caldron. Another stroke
and it darted out of the seething mass with less
than a gallon of water along the bottom.
The rapids were run! Wiping the sweat from
my face, and emptying the water from the barrels
of my rifle, I rested on my oars, to see the boys
come down. O, royal sight it was, to see them
come, one after another, — John leading the van,
— over the verge! As boats in air they seemed,
with airy boatmen, as they came dashing along.
84 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.
O, royal sport, to see them glide like arrows down
the steep, at an angle so sharp that I could see the
bottom board in each boat, from stem to stern!
O, noble sight to see them enter in between the
mighty rocks,— the chasm shutting them from
view a moment,—from which, emerging in
quick succession, with mighty leaps, quivering
like sporting fish, they shot the falls triumph-
antly !
What sports have we in house and city like
those which the children of wood and stream
enjoy ?— heroic sports which make heroic men.
Sure I am, that never until we four have done
with boats and boating, and, under other pilotage,
have entered into and passed through the waters
of a colder stream, shall we forget the running of
the Racquette Rapids, on that bright summer day.
And often, as we pause a moment from work,
above the harsh rumble of car and cart, the sound
of file and hammer, rises the roar of the rapids.
And often, through the hot, smoky air of town
and city, to cool and refresh us, will drift, from
the far north, the breeze that blows forever on the
Racquette, rich with the odors of balsam and of
pine.
That night I slept upon the floor at Palmer’s,
proud to feel that I was the first “gentleman ” —
in the language of the guides — “that ever ran
the rapids”; prouder of that than of deeds, at-
eS > a
RUNNING THE RAPIDS. 80
tempted or done, of which most men would longer
dream. I nearly forgot to state that several un-
earthly yells in the chamber overhead, during the
night, revealed the fact that somebody, in dreams,
was still running the rapids.
IV.
AE Ee BAviin.
E were seven in all, — as jolly a set of fel-
lows as ever rollicked under the pines,
or startled the owls with laughter, that summer
of ’67, when camping on the Racquette. Our com-
pany represented a variety of business and profes-
sions; but, happily, we were of one temper and
taste.
There was Hubbard, a gentleman faultless in
bearing and speech; the fit of whose coat and the
gloss of whose boots, whether you met him in Wall
Street or at his manufactory in Connecticut, might
well stir the envy of an exquisite. There was
Everitt, to whose name you could write photog-
rapher, artist, violinist; the most genial, sunny,
kind-hearted, and rollicksome fellow that ever en-
livened a camp, or blest the world with his pres-
ence. Southwick, when at home, supplied half the
city with soles ; who sells boots and shoes in such
a manner as to make you feel, as you go stamping
away from his presence, that he has done you a spe-
cial favor in condescending to take your money at
all; a man who crossed the Isthmus, and tunnelled
THE BALL. 87
the gulches of California for gold in 1848 ; a shrewd,
wide-awake Yankee, such as are grown principally
in that smartest of all our States, —the Nutmeg
State. And there, too, was Fitch, who had han-
dled the saw and lancet in the army during the
war. And Fay, the lawyer, who had fought the
battle all young lawyers must fight, and won.
And Burns, and the Parson. A goodly set of
fellows, one and all, equally ready for business or
fun.
We were on our way “out,” bronzed and tough
from exposure to the sun, water, and wind; and
with hearts as free from care and as light as chil-
dren’s, we clomb the hill, at the base of which we
had run our boats ashore, and eatered, with merry
ereetings, Uncle Palmer’s house. What a hunery
set we were, when, at four o'clock that afternoon,
we drew up to that never-to-be forgotten table!
What jokes and stories and peals of laughter en-
livened the repast, and made the table and dishes
shake and clatter as the meal progressed. No
coarseness nor rudeness there ; each man a gentle-
map. still, amid the liveliest sally of wit and loud-
est roar of merriment. At last the meal was over,
and we adjourned to the open air to smoke or
lounge, or to engage in rivalry of skill, until the
day, rich in its summer loveliness, should fade
away. Several matches with the rifle — the result
of boastful banter— at last engage the attention of
90 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.
this had the true sermon ring. No, I had not lost
my power. My birthright had not been filched
from me. I began to feel the oratorical impulse
once more. I drew myself up, closed the thumb
and two middle fingers of my left hand, and point-
ing the other two directly at the audience, as I had
seen some of our celebrated orators, clenched the
right fist, and shook it at an invisible foe over
my head, —a gesture borrowed from some of our
Congressmen, — and shouted: “ Dancing will be a
perilous amusement to you to-night; because —
because —” I lost the connection here, but re-
membering what a shght matter such a lapse is
jn a sermon, before most congregations, and feel-
ing that it would not do to stop just there, con-
tinued, — “ because it leads to a promiscuous min-
gling of the two sexes. On this ground I am
to-night, and ever shall be, opposed to it. I warn
you against Mr. Southwick’s suggestion.”
At this point I was interrupted by the most
uproarious tumult. Intense and indecorous mer-
riment seize the entire group. Hubbard was
pressing his hands against his sides in the
most suggestive manner. Everitt was hammer-
ing Southwick with both fists upon his back, in
the hope of saving him from death by stran-
culation. It was impossible to proceed. I was
conscious that I ought to go on. I had several
splendid sentences all ready for utterance. I felt
THE BALL. 91
that every moment I was losing my hold upon the
audience. Stiil the uproar grew. In wrath, min-
gled with love, I descended from the slabs, and
taking Burns gently but decidedly by the collar,
demanded the cause of his unseemly mirth.
Sobered slightly by my attitude, which was
sternly affectionate, Burns managed to articulate,
“ How can there be a ‘ promiscuous mingling of the
sexes’ in this crowd ?”
I stood perfectly dumb. I saw the justness of
the criticism and the dilemma suggested. I real-
ized, at that moment, the value of logical connec-
tion.
Had my audience been in a church, and devoutly
drowsy or piously asleep, such a shght slip would
never have been noticed, and the report of the
sermon, written out by a godless expert, who had
not left his hotel during the day, would have ap-
peared excellently in Monday’s papers.
I retired in haste and mortification from the
yelling and writhing group; nor did I regain my
composure until the sounds of Everitt’s violin
charmed the darkness from my soul as the harp
of David exorcised by its melody the wicked
spirit from the bosom of Saul.
Now Everitt is a natural fiddler. He fiddles as
easily as a rabbit runs. While camping on Con-
stable Point, on the Racquette, we had several
toncerts. They were, in every sense, impromptu
IP ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.
affairs. The audience was small, but very appreci-
ative. (That sentence is not original. I borrowed
it from the musical column of the New York Her-
ald.) These concerts were especially well sus-
tained; that is, for about four hours and a half
each time. We had some very fine singing at
those soirées. (Soirées is a good word. It sounds
well. That’s why I use it.) I hesitate to in-
stance individual members of this troupe, lest it
should seem invidious. Hubbard is an excellent
singer. He missed his chance of eminence when
he went into business. He should have taken to
the stage. The Parson would have distinguished
himself, had he lived before notes were invented.
Nothing in the world but notes prevents him from
ranking first class. Even this fact did not pre-
clude him from standing high in this company.
Nevertheless, I am still impressed with the thought
that he was born too late. I never listened to a
circle of amateurs who seemed to rise so superior
to the arbitrary dictum of the masters as did this.
Not one of them, so far as I could observe, allowed
any such artificial impediments as notes, pitch,
time, and the like, to obstruct the splendid out-
bursts of nature. In point of emphasis, which is,
as all my readers know, the great desideratum in
music, I judge them to be unrivalled. In that
classi¢e stanza,
“There sat three crows upon a tree,”
THE BALL. 93
their emphasis was magnificent. But I was tell-
ing about Everitt’s fiddling. Nature dealt bounti-
fully with my friend in this respect. His capacity
and perseverance in drawing a bow border on the
marvellous. Indeed, he is a kind of animated mu-
sical machine. Set him going, and he will play
through the entire list of known tunes before he
comes to a halt. His intense activity in this di-
rection afforded the only possible solution for the
greatest mystery of the camp, — Everitt’s appetite
while in the woods. I find in my “ notes” a math-
ematical calculation, made the fifth night in camp.
It was the result of the gravest deliberation on
the part of the whole company, and is beyond
doubt nearly correct. This is the formula : —
“ Exhaustion of muscular fibre through fiddling,
two pounds per night. Consumption of venison
steak, three and a half pounds.
“Net gain to Everitt, one pound and a half per
night.”
This conclusion contributed materially to relieve
the minds of the company from an anxiety con-
cerning the possible results of the trip to Everitt.
When I entered the room, drawn thither, as I
have said, by the tones of the violin, the company
were in full career. The intricacies of the Vir-
ginia reel were being threaded out with a rapidity
which, with ladies for partners, would have been
rather embarrassing. After the quadrille, Spanish
94 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.
dance, and several others had been gone through,
the floor was cleared for individual exhibitions
of skill. Then was the double-shuffle executed
with an energy never excelled. Gentlemen and
guides contended in friendly rivalry. Everitt
was in prime condition, and drew the bow with
a vehemence which, if long continued, would
have sent him out of the woods lighter im flesh
by several pounds than when he came in. At last
the floor was again cleared, partners chosen, and
with every rule of etiquette observed, good old
money-musk was honored,— partners gallantly
saluted as if they were ladies, jewelled and fair,
and the company seated.
At this point the proceedings assumed a new
character. The conversation might be reported
thus : —
Guide. “TI suppose you folks down in the settle-
ments don’t dance as we do ?”
Everitt. “Well, no, not exactly. Our dances
are largely French.”
Guide. “Do tell! Well, now, how is that 2?”
Everitt. “1 do not think I could give you a cor-
rect idea of them; they are very peculiar.”
Guide. “Come, now, could n’t some of you give
us a notion about it? We would like to see how
you dance down in the cities.”
Everitt. “The fact is, we have more action in
our dancing than you have in yours. It would
THE BALL. 95
make your eyes stick out to see a French
dance.”
Guides. “Come, now,” they all shouted, “show
us how it is done; we all want tosee. Give us one
of your tip-top French dances. Come, now.”
“ Well, fellows,” said Everitt, giving us the wink
as he tuned his violin, “what say you, shall we
show our friends how to dance a real, swinging
French dance? If so, shall we put Hubbard or
Southwick on the floor?”
“QO, Southwick by all means!” shouted Burns.
“No disparagement to Hubbard, but Southwick is
the man; especially if he will give us the dance
he danced last summer on our fishing-trip ‘ Down
East.” So it was arranged, and Southwick took
the hint and the floor.
Now Southwick was the best dancer there ; that
is, he covered the most ground. His performance
was the theme of universal remark. His style
was superb. There was a certain abandon in it,
which few Americans could rival. I know of but
one word which can at all describe Southwick
when dancing ; it is— omnipresent. This epithet
is moderately accurate.
The room was some thirty-five feet long, but he
was often at both ends of it at the same time. If
to rivet the attention of the audience is success,
my friend certainly achieved it. There was but
one thought on the part of the whole company
96 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.
whenever Southwick danced ; it was to get out of
the way. Greater unanimity in this respect was
never seen. Never, before that evening, did I de-
sire that aroom might have more than four corners,
but I more than once devoutly wished that that
room had had sixteen. Sixteen would not have
been one too many, with my friend on the floor. I
called Uncle Palmer’s attention to the terrible lack
of corners in his house. At the time I made the
suggestion, the old gentleman was trying to force
himself in between the door-post and the sheath-
ing. He appeared to appreciate it. After a few
preliminary flourishes, Everitt shouted the word
“Go!” and Southwick struck out. I saw him com-
ing, and dodged; I escaped. The next time he
swung round, I was prepared for him. There were
several wooden pins driven into the logs near the
ceiling, such as our forefathers were wont to season
their beef-hams on. Spying one of these just over
my head, as I stood flattened against the wall, I
vaulted from the floor and clutched it. The scene
from this point of view was very picturesque. The
fellows had observed my movement, and followed
my example : it affected them like an inspiration.
In an instant the whole company were suspended
from pins around the room. A sense of the ludi-
crous overcame my terror, and I began to laugh.
That laugh grew on me. I found myself unable to
stop laughing. My eyes began to moisten and run
THE BALL: 97
over. Now, a man cannot laugh in that fashion, and
hang on to a pin at the same time. I have tried
it, and know. First one finger began to slip, then
another loosened and gave way a little; the mus-
cles of my hand would not obey my will to con-
tract. I found it impossible to retighten my grip ;
I knew it would probably be fatal to drop. I
endeavored to stop laughing. Now, it is a well-
known fact, that when one tries to stop laugh-
ing he can’t. If you ever doubted this, reader,
never doubt it again. If any man strove to stop,
I did. My effort was vain. I fairly shook my-
self off the pin, and dropped. That sobered
me. The instant I struck the floor, all laugh-
ter departed. I saw Southwick coming. I seized
hold of the window-sill, the wood of which
was cedar; I sunk my nails deep into it; %#
held. The next time he swung round the circle
I was saved by a miracle, that is, in a way
I cannot account for. I was just poising my-
self for a plunge at the door, when the music
ceased, and my friend sat down. We all cheered
him immensely. I cheered louder than all the
rest. I never had greater cause to cheer. Every-
body complimented him. One exclaimed, “ What
a free action!” another, “ How liberal in style!”
I said, “ Astonishing!” We all saw that it had
made a great impression on the guides. They said
that “they had no idea folks danced so, down in
2 Q
98 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.
the settlements.” “It isn’t anything to what I
could do if the room was only larger, is it?” said
he, appealing to me. “No; this room is terribly
cramped,” I responded, thinking of my narrow
escape, and fearful that he might repeat the per-
formance ; “no educated dancer can do himself
justice in it; I would not try again, if I were in
your place.”
At this point of the entertainment a delightful
addition was made to the party. Certain messen-
gers, who started early in the evening on horses
and in boats, had scoured the country and lake
shore, and returned accompanied by a bevy of
young ladies. Their entrance caused great com-
motion. Hubbard glanced uneasily at his un-
polished boots. Burns had fished a pair of old
kids from the depth of his hunting-shirt pocket,
and was inspecting their condition behind South-
wicx’s back. Everitt suddenly discovered that he
could keep his seat without the use of three chairs.
The Parson brightened up at the prospect that his
philippic against dancing, and the “promiscuous
mingling of the sexes,’ might yet be delivered
with effect. There was a dead pause. All were
introduced to the ladies, each guide presenting
“his man.” Uncle Palmer’s benignant face ap-
peared at the door, looking perfectly jubilant.
Here the writer would gladly pause. He feels
wnat the narration has proceeded far enough.
THE BALL. 99
Would that he mieht record that the company
played “blind-man’s-buff,’ or “roll the trencher,”
or those refined “ring plays” where healthy and
moral exhilaration is experienced by each man
hugging and kissing his partner. But his duty
as a historian forbids. Truth must not be muti-
lated through partiality for friends; and, as a
chronicler of facts, he is bound to say, affirm, and
transmit to posterity, that the company actually
danced! Yes, that is the word,— danced. O tem-
pora! O mores ! which, freely translated, signifies
“What is the world coming to!” Reader, pardor
this exhibition of virtuous feeling, this generouw
outburst against the vices of the day. Even He-
rodotus could not have restrained himself, in my
position. But I must return to the historic style,
—the plain narration of facts.
First, Uncle Palmer led off with his wife, — age
countenancing the foibles of youth! Then Uncle
Ike Robinson tripped down the floor with his
daughter. Next, O ye gods! Hubbard whirled
away with a nimble-footed damsel. Burns shot
by with little Miss Palmer, and Southwick, the
indomitable, careered along the floor with Jerry,
his guide. (Which was the lady I cannot say.)
And last of all, “John,” the trusty, honest John,
whizzed past with a lovely attachment to his arm.
The costumes of the dancers were unique. In cut
and color no one could complain of sameness.
100 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.
Uncle Ike was in his stockings. John had on
tightly-laced moccasins. Southwick sported a pair
of bright scarlet shippers. Hubbard shook the floor
with boots that had seen service on the “carry.”
All were mingled together; while above the din
made by heavy boots smiting the resounding floor,
the merry laugh of girls, and peals of irrepressible
mirth, the voice of Everitt, who sat perched upon
the back of a chair, sawing away with all his
might, rang out the necessary orders. It has been
reported that at this juncture the Parson himself
was swept by the centripetal attraction into the
revolving mass, and that the way he “cut it down”
revealed a wonderful aptness for the “ double-shuf-
fle,’ and that a large amount of the old Adam
remained yet to be purged out of his natural con-
stitution. The probabilities are that this report is
entirely unfounded, or at least grossly exaggerated.
At last, well along in the fashionable hours, the
revelry ceased, the company separated, and silence
settled down over the household. With the sounds
the scene itself would have passed away and been
forgotten save by the actors, had not the pen of
the Parson rescued it from threatened oblivion,
and in these pages preserved it for transmission
to posterity. He thus avenges himself on those
who interrupted him in the exercise of his right,
by recounting the folly his speech would undoubt-
edly have prevented, had he been permitted to
proceed.
Lg
LOON-SHOOTING IN A THUNDER-STORM.
HE shrill ery of a loon piercing the air broke
my heavy slumber, and brought me to my
feet in an instant, riflein hand. The night before,
late in the evening, we had run our boat ashore, and,
stretching ourselves on either side of the quickly
lighted camp-fire, with no shelter but the overhang-
ing trees, dropped instantly to sleep. From that
slumber, almost as deep as that which is endless,
the cry of a loon had aroused me. Directly in
front of the camp, with his long black head and
spotted back glistening in the sun, some fifteen
rods from the shore, the magnificent bird sat,
eying the camp. If there is any sound which will
start a fellow to his feet quicker than the ery of a
loon under his camp, about six in the morning, I
have yet to hear it. Wide awake the instant I
struck the perpendicular, I dropped my rifle —
never in those woods, by day or night, beyond
reach — into the extended palm, and simultane-
ously the sharp concussion broke the surrounding
silence. The sight was good, and the lead well sent ;
but the agile bird,—well named the Great Northern
102 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.
Diver, — ever on the alert, had gone under with the
flash ; and the bullet, striking the swirl made by
his dive, glanced up, and went bounding, in ever-
lessening skips, across the lake. The crack of the
rifle awoke John from a slumber such as men sleep
after fourteen hours of constant rowing ; and, start-
ing up, the fire was soon rekindled, and the cot-ce
boiling. Soon all was ready, and we were pro-
visioning ourselves for the coming day. Trout,
coffee, and the inevitable flapjacks made up the
bill of fare.
The morning, in its atmospheric appearances, was
peculiar. Not a breath of air was stirrmg. The
little lake was as liquid glass, without ripple or
seam. Even the forest, that, like the sensitive
strings of a harp, is rarely, if ever, silent, sent
forth no sound, and its dim recesses were still as
death. Above, the clouds were dull and slaty.
They, too, hung motionless. No scud drifted
athwart their surface; no rift broke their smooth
expanse. The sun, with its broad face barred with
streaks of cloud, looked red and fiery. It had
a hot, angry look, as if enraged at seeing the ob-
structions in its upward path. In the west, out
of the slaty cloud, the white and feathery heads of
some cumuli upreared themselves, suggesting rain
and the hot blaze of lightning.
“John,” said I, as we each sat with a warm
trout in one hand and a pint-cup of coffee in
LOON-SHOOTING IN A THUNDER-STORM. 103
the other, — “John, we shall have a tough day
of it.”
“Yes,” said he, pausing a moment in his eating to
listen, and holding on with one hand to the tail of
a fish, of which the front half was already beyond
human sight ; “there goes some thunder now ”; and
even as he spoke a jar shook the earth under us,
and a heavy roar rolled up sullenly out of the west.
We finished our meal, and then, hghting our
pipes, seated ourselves on the shore of the lake, in
counsel. The air was heavy, thick, and oppressive ;
not a sound broke the stillness. Had the heavens
above us been the roof of a cavern a thousand
fathoms under earth, the breathless quiet could not
have been deeper. The colloquy ran something in
this wise : —
“ How long is the next carry, John ?”
“Three miles, if we go to Bottle Pond; a mile
and a half, if we go to Salmon Lake,” was the
answer.
“ How is the carry to Bottle Pond ?” I asked.
“A mere trapper’s line,” said John; “it is n’t
cut out ; two miles and a half by blazed trees, and
half a mile of slough.”
“That ’s delightful !” I exclaimed ; “ how is it by
way of Salmon Lake ?”
“It ’s a mile and a half to Salmon,” was the
response ; “not cut out; crossed only in winter by
hunters ; half a mile of swamp.”
104 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.
“Well, we ‘ll go to Salmon Lake; that’s the
nigher,” I said. “Shall we get rain ?”
As John was about to reply, a dull, heavy sound
came up from the depths of the forest, — a solemn,
ominous sound, breaking the dead silence. An-
other and another followed; a muffled roar, filling
the air, so that one might not tell from what quar-
ter it came.
“Yes,” said John, as the noise died away,— “ yes,
it will vain. The old trees never lie. Those sounds
you have just heard are made by falling trees.
You always hear them before a storm.”
«But, John,’ I exclaimed, “what makes them
fall this morning? There is not a breath of air
stirring.”
“T don’t know,” responded John, “what makes
them fall. I have often thought how queer it is.
Many a time have I sat in my canoe on a morn-
ing like this, when there was not wind enough
to float a feather, and seen the old fellows come
crashing down. I tell you what,’ continued he,
“'t makes a man feel solemn, to see tree after tree,
ereat, giant chaps, a hundred and fifty feet high,
begin all of a sudden to quiver and reel, and then
fall headlong’ to the ground; when, for aught you
can see, there is no earthly cause forit. Let us sit
still a moment and hear them.”
I did as requested. Now, far away in the forest,
the same dull, heavy roar would arise, linger a mo-
~
LOON-SHOOTING IN A THUNDER-STORM. 105
ment in the air, then die away. Then, nigh at hand,
a rushing sound, as the broom-like top of some
mighty pine swept through the air, would fall
upon the ear, followed by the crash of broken
boughs and the heavy thump of the huge trunk
as it smote the earth. Then, far away, half
smothered between the mountains, would rise
again the dull roar, and we knew another mon-
arch of the woods had yielded its life at an
unknown summons.
I am free to confess, that John’s remark as te.
the effect of such a phenomenon upon one, was
then and there fully verified by myself. I know
nothing more mysteriously solemn than this sound
of falling trees coming up from the forest, — falling,
so far as you can see, without cause. What unseen
hand smites them ? What pressure, unfelt by man,
pushes their vast trunks over? Is it to the Spirit
of the coming Storm they bow, prostrating them-
selves in anticipation of his chariot’s approach? Is
there some subtle and hostile chemistry in the air
which penetrates their fibres, weakening them to
their fall? Or do these aged patriarchs of the
wood, with fearful prophecy, foresee their hout
of doom, and, in the breathless lull ere the tem-
pest breaks, yield like an ancient Roman to their
fate ?
“Perchance,” I said to John, “He who noteth
the falling of a sparrow and marketh the boundary
5*
106 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.
of human life, hath given the trees a limit also,
which they may not pass; and these are being
summoned, and so go down.”
We sat a moment in silence; then, with a com-
mon impulse, without a word, arose, and, gathering
up our traps, made ready for a start. As we pushed
put into the lake, we saw that the clouds in the
west were blacker; a flash of lightning ran along
their upper verge, and the mountain above us
caught up the heavy boom, and, as if enraged at
the intrusion on its silence, hurled it back angrily
toward the cloud. At the same instant the shrill,
mocking cry of a loon rose into the air, mingling
with the reverberations of the thunder, as lght
treble notes break sharply through a heavy vol-
ume of bass.
“ There ’s the confounded loon,” exclaimed John,
“that frightened the deer from the shore last night.
If it was n’t for that thunder-shower in the west,
we ‘d teach her to keep her mouth shut before we
left the pond. I think you might start the
feathers off her back any way, tube or no tube.”
The last sentence needs explanation. Loons
are the shyest and most expert swimmers of all
waterfowl. Twenty rods is as near as you can get
to them. When under fire, they sink themselves
into the water so that nothing but the feathers
along their backs and heads are in sight, and so
quick are they that they dive at the flash, getting
LOON-SHOOTING IN A THUNDER-STORM. 107
under in time to escape the bullet, Yet I have
killed them repeatedly on Long Island Sound, driv-
ing my bullet through the butt of the wing, thirty
rods away. There are two styles of gun-tubes ; the
first kind is so open as to allow the powder to pass
up to the cap. When the cap explodes, this pow-
der must burn grain by grain, and so comparative-
ly slow. The other kind is so made as to prevent
the powder from passing up into it; and the
lightning-like percussion has free course to the
centre of the charge in the chamber. Slght as the
difference would seem to be, it is a vital one in
loon-shooting. With tubes of either make in the
barrels of my rifle, loading with the same charge, I
have killed with the one and invariably failed to
kill with the other. Unfortunately, the tubes in my
barrels this season were both open ones ; and to this
John alluded in his closing remark.
“John,” said I, counting out fifty bullets and
laying them on the bottom of the boat within
easy reach, “there are fifty bullets; and if you
say the word, shower or no shower, we ’ll give that
old loon a lively time before we strike the carry.”
“Well,” said John as he ran his eye over the
western heavens, now black as night, save when a
bright flash clove the darkness or leaped crinkling
along the inky mass, “let’s give hera try. We
shall have an hour, anyway, before the rain reaches
us, and I would like to see that loon in the bottom
of the boat.”
108 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.
Dipping his paddle into the water with a strong
~ sweep, he turned the bow of the light boat abeut,
and started toward the bird. Light as a cork the
loon sat upon the water, some sixty rods away, its
neck, marked with alternate rings of white and
black, proudly arched, and almost at every breath
sending forth its clarion cry, as if in boastful chal-
lenge.
“Sound away, you old pirate you!” exclaimed
John, as he swept along ; “we ‘ll make you shorten
your neck, and sit lower in the water before we
are through with you.”
And even as he spoke the bird settled slowly
down, until nothing but a line of feathers lay along
the water, and the quick, restless head, with its
sharp-pointed bill, was barely above the surface.
“See her,” said John; “I warrant she has smelt
powder and heard the whistle of lead before this.
I wish she did n’t know quite so much, or else that
that cloud would pass back of the mountains.”
The plan proposed was to keep her under wa-
ter, giving her no time to rest after her long dives,
and so tire her out that she would be forced to rise
often to the surface to breathe. Before we had
come within forty rods the loon went under.
“Now,” shouted John, as he shot the boat to-
ward the wake, “the Lord only knows where she ‘IL
come up; but we will take that swirl of water for
our centre, and, when she breaks, you show her
what she may expect.”
LOON-SHOOTING IN A THUNDER-STORM. LOY
“There she rises,” I exclaimed, as we swept over
the wake. “Steady with your paddle, there”; and
as I spoke, catching the line of feathers along the
sights, I launched the bullet toward her.
“Well done!” said John, as the spray made by
the smitten water broke over her webbed feet,
jerked out of the lake by her frantic effort to get
under ; “load quick, and save the other barrel for
emergencies.”
After some twenty shots she began to come more
quickly to the surface; and as we took the wake
she made in diving for our centre, the circumference
described through her position when she arose grew
nearer and nearer to the boat.
“Now,” said John, as the loon went under for the
twenty-fifth time, “when she rises again take her
before she shakes the water out of her eyes. I
saw the direction of the dive, and she will come up
in the line of that dead hemlock there.”
I fastened my eyes upon the spot, and, catching
the first ripple through the sights, the ball struck
above her back before a feather was in sight.
Whether the bullet had ruffled her plumage some-
what, or from some other cause, for the first time
she rose in the water and shook her narrow wings,
uttering a defiant cry.
“Steady there,” I whispered hoarsely to John.
Foran instant the tottlish boat, which the weight
of my ramrod would jar, stood, held by the paddle,
110 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.
as motionless as though embedded in ice; and as
the sharp crack of the other barrel sounded, the
loon was knocked flat over upon her back.
“There, you old —”
I don’t know exactly what John was about to
say, for he did not say it; for as he spoke the loon,
with a mighty splash, went down, leaving a hun-
dred feathers around her wake. The bullet had
rasped along her side, shearing off the speckled
plumage, but had not penetrated sufficiently deep
into her body to disable her. By-this time the
heavens, toward the west, even to the zenith, were
black as ink. The red lightning darted its zig-
zag course this way and that, amid the gloom;
white, fleecy clouds raced athwart the dark expanse,
and ever and anon a fierce whirlwind, in minia-
ture, would settle down upon the water, and spin
across the glassy bosom of the lake; while the
thunder, peal on peal, crashed above the moun-
tains, until the very air and water shook and quiv-
ered at the shock. To a looker-on the scene would
have been grand in the extreme. Amid the gath-
ering gloom, now dense as twilight, the light boat
went moving hitherand thither, now gliding straight
ahead, now swerving in lessening circles around the
spot of the anticipated rising, while above the crack-
ling thunder rose the clear report of the rifle, whose
barrels, choked with smut, and dangerously hot
from rapid firing, rang fiercely sharp, as if in angry
LOON-SHOOTING IN A THUNDER-STORM. I11
protest at the abuse. The gloom grew darker.
The wind, in quick, nervous puffs, broke over the
mountain, and where it touched the lake lifted
the spray high into the air. A few plunging drops
of rain smote the water and boat like bullets.
The hot lightning fairly hissed through the murky
atmosphere above us; so sharp, so bright, so close,
that the lake at times seemed as on fire, burning
with a blue, ghastly light. The thunder was inces-
sant. The dwellers in lowland countries know
nothing what thunder is amid the hills. No single
clap or peal was there, but rush and roar continu-
ous, and crackling bolts and rumble and jar. Across
the lake, over our heads, the volleys went. The
mountain eastward, receiving a bolt against its
sides, would roll it back, while the mountain op-
posite, catching the mighty boom as players do a
ball, would hurl it sharply home. And so the wild
play went on. Mountain besieging mountain, hill
pelting hill; while we, amid the deepening gloom
and tumult, swept hither and thither, keeping sight
of the loon, whose rises were frequent and breath
nearly gone.
“ John,” said I, shouting so he could hear me amid
the confusion, — “John, pull for the shore ; it’s
time to go.”
“ Give her e292 mere” said John ; “ here she rises,
over your left”; and as the smoke from the dis-
charge floated up, split by a gust, John shouted:
a2; ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.
“Ready with your other barrel there. The loon
is tiring. I hear her blow when she comes up.
She can’t stay under long. I’ll run you down
upon her soon.. HERE she is!” he screamed,
“under your very muzzles !”
I turned, and sure enough there sat the loon
within six feet of the boat, in the very act of shak-
ing the water from her eyes. The rifle lay across
my knee, the barrels in direct Ime with the bird.
Without lifting it, or moving an inch, I pulled,
and water, smoke, and feathers flew into the air
together. A loud “quack” from the loon, and a
convulsive yell from John, his mouth opening and
shutting spasmodically as roar after roar of almost
hysterical laughter came pouring out, followed the
discharge. I was just fitting a cap to a freshly
charged barrel, when the loon broke the water
again at short range, her back nearly bare of
feathers ; and as she dived another tuft flew up,
cut by the passing ball, and John pronounced her
“nearly picked.” But now the storm broke over
the mountain. The rush and roar and crash of
wind and thunder drowned the report, and only
by the flash might a spectator know I was firing.
The gloom grew thicker. A cloud settled over the
lake, and we were wrapped within its fleecy folds.
Only once more, as a flash clove through the fog, I
saw the loon, and fired. Then dense and dark the
storm swept down around us. Wild, fitful gusts
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LOON-SHOOTING IN A THUNDER-STORM. lal
tore through the air. The lightning crinkled through
the fog; white patches of froth and splashing
drops of rain drifted over and fell into the boat ;
while, as a bass to the wild minstrelsy of bursting
bolts, the dull, monotonous, roar of the storm,
whose heavy-footed squadrons were charging over
the mountain’s brow, rose with dread, augmenting
erandeur. The quivering of the frail boat told me
that John was vigorously plying his paddle; and
in a moment we shot into the lily-pads, and, pull-
ing our boat ashore, turned it bottom side up and
crawled under it, just as the grayish sheet of plung-
ing water swept over us, and the floods came down.
There we lay, safely sheltered, regretting the
storm, and recounting the Indicrous passages of
the contest, until the water, gathering in a pool
beneath the boat, saturated our garments and
warned us to be moving. Suggesting to John that
“we had better not stay under that boat until it
floated off,” we crawled out from under our tempo-
rary shelter ; which, John remarked, “had a good
roof, but a mighty poor cellar.” Standing, as a pre-
liminary caution, long enough in the rain to get thor-
oughly wet, we prepared for the start. An uncut
carry for nearly two miles lay before us, the first
half of which ran directly through a swamp, now
filled to overflowing with water. We had a tough
experience in getting through, which the reader
will find described in the next chapter.
VI.
CROSSING THE CARRY.
« TON,” said I, as we stood looking at each
other across the boat, “this rain is wet.”
“Tt generally is, up in this region, I believe,”
he responded, as he wiped the water out of his
eyes with the back of his hand, and shook the ac-
cumulating drops from nose and chin; “but the
waterproof I have on has lasted me some thirty-
eight years, and I don’t think it will wet through
to-day.”
“Well!” I exclaimed, “there is no use of stand-
ing here in this marsh-grass any longer ; help me
to load up. Ill take the baggage, and you the
boat.”
“You ’ll never get through with it, if you try to
take it all at once. Better load light, and I ’ll
come back after what ’s left,’ was the answer.
“T tell you,” he continued, “the swamp is full of
water, and soft as muck.”
“John,” said I, “that baggage is going over at
one load, sink or swim, live or die, survive or per-
ish. I?ll make the attempt, swamp or no swamp.
My life is assured against accidents by fire, water,
CROSSING THE CARRY. 115
and mud ; so here goes. Whats life to glory ?” I
exclaimed, as I seized the pork-bag, and dragged
it from under the boat ; “stand by and see me put
my armor on.”
Over my back I slung the provision-basket,
made like a fisherman’s creel, thirty inches by
forty, filled with plates, coffee, salt, and all the
impedimenta of camp and cooking utensils. This
was held in its place by straps passing over the
shoulders and under the arms, like a Jew-pedler’s
pack. There might have been eighty pounds
weight in it. Upon the top of the basket John
lashed my knapsack, full of bullets, powder, and
clothing. My rubber suit and heavy blanket,
slung around my neck by a leather thong, hung
down in front across my chest. On one shoulder,
the oars and paddles were balanced, with a frying-
pan and gridiron swinging from the blades; on
the other was my rifle, from which were sus-
pended a pair of boots, my creel, a coffee-pot, and
a bag of flour. Taking up the bag of pork in one
hand, and seizing the stock of the rifle with the
other, from two fingers of which hung a tin ket-
tle of prepared trout, which we were loath to throw
away, I started. Picture a man so loaded, forcing
his way through a hemlock swamp, through whose
floor of thin moss he sank to his knees; or pick-
ing his way across oozy sloughs on old roots, often
covered with mud and water, and slippery beyond
116 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.
description, and you have me daguerreotyped in
your mind. Well, as I said, I started. For some
dozen rods I got on famously, and was congratulat-
ing myself with the thought of an easy transit,
when a root upon which I had put my right foot
gave way, and, plunging headlong into the mud,
I struck an attitude of petition; while the frying-
pan and gridiron, flung off the oars and forward by
the movement, alighted upon my prostrated head.
An ejaculation, not exactly religious, escaped me,
and with a few desperate flounces I assumed once
more the perpendicular. Fishing the frying-pan
from the mud, and lashing the gridiron to my belt,
I made another start. It was hard work. The
most unnatural adjustment of weight upon my
back made it difficult to ascertaim just how far
behind me lay the centre of equilibrium. I found
where it did not lie, several times. Before I had
gone fifty rods, the camp-basket weighed one hun-
dred and twenty pounds. The pork-bag felt as
if it had several shoats in it, and the oar-blades
stuck out in the exact form of an X. If I went
one side of a tree, the oars would go the other
side. If I backed up, they would manage to get
entangled amid the brush. If I stumbled and
fell, the confounded things would come like a
goose-poke athwart my neck, pinning me down.
As I proceeded, the mud grew deeper, the roots
farther apart, and the blazed trees less frequent.
CROSSING THE CARRY. 1a
Never before did I so truly realize the aspiration
of the old hymn, —
“O, had I the wings of a dove!”
At last I reached, what seemed impossible to
pass, —an oozy slough, crossed here and _ there
by cedar roots, smooth and slippery, lay before me.
From a high stump which I had climbed upon I
gave a desperate leap. I struck where I expected,
and a little farther. The weight of the basket,
which was now something over two hundred
pounds, was too much for me to check at once. It
pressed me forward. I recovered myself, and the
abominable oars carried me as far the other way.
The moccasins of wet leather began to slip along
the roots. They began to slip very often; and, at
bad times. I found it necessary to change my posi-
tion suddenly. I changed it. It was n’t a perfect
success. I tried again. It seemed necessary to
keep on trying. I suspect I did not effect the
changes very steadily, for the trout began to jump
about in the pail and fly out into the mud. The
gridiron got uneasy, and played against my side
like a steam-flapper. In fact, the whole bageage
seemed endowed with supernatural powers of
motion. The excitement was contagious. In a
moment, every article was jumping about like
mad. I, in the mean time, continued to dance a
hornpipe on the slippery roots. Now I am con-
118 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.
scientiously opposed to dancing. I never danced.
I did n't want to learn. I felt it was wicked for
me to be hopping around on that root so. What
an example, I thought, if John should see me!
What would my wife say? What would my dea-
cons say? I tried to stop. I couldn't. I had
an astonishing dishke to sit down. I thought I
would dance there forever, rather than sit down, —
deacons or no deacons. The basket now weighed
any imaginable number of pounds. The trout
were leaping about my head, as if in their native
element. The gridiron was in such rapid motion,
that it was impossible to distinguish the bars.
There was, apparently, a whole litter of pigs in the
pork-bag. I could not stand it longer. I con-
cluded to rest awhile. I wanted to do the thing
gracefully. I looked around for a soft spot, and
seeing one just behind me, I checked myself. My
feet flew out from under me. They appeared to be
unusually light. I don’t remember that I ever sat
down quicker. The motion was very decided.
The only difficulty I observed was, that the seat I
had gracefully settled into had no bottom. The
position of things was extremely picturesque.
The oars were astride my neck, as usual. The
trout-pail was bottom up, and the contents lying
about almost anywhere. The boots were hanging
on a dry limb overhead. A capital idea. I thought
of it as I was in the act of sitting down. One
CROSSING THE CARRY. 119
piece of pork lay at my feet, and another was
sticking up, some ten feet off, in the mud. It
looked very queer, — slightly out of place. With
the same motion with which I hung my boots on
a limb, as I seated myself, I stuck my rifle care-
fully into the mud, muzzle downward. I never saw
agun in that position before. It struck me as
being a good thing. There was no danger of its
falling over and breaking the stock. The first
thing I did was to pass the gridiron under me.
When that feat was accomplished, I felt more com-
posed. It’s pleasant for a man in the position I
was in to feel that he has something under hin.
Even a chip or a small stump would have felt
comfortable. As I sat thinking how many uses a
gridiron could be put to, and estimating where I
should then have been if I had n’t got it under
me, I heard John forcing his way, with the boat
on his back, through the thick undergrowth.
“Tt won't do to let John see me in this posi-
tion,” I said; and so, with a mighty effort, I
disengaged myself from the pack, flung off the
blanket from around my neck, and seizing hold
of a spruce limb which I could fortunately reach,
drew myself slowly up. I had just time to jerk
the rifle out of the mud and fish up about half of
the trout, when John came struggling along.
“John,” said I, leaning unconcernedly against
a tree, as if nothing had happened, — “John,
120 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.
put dwn the boat, here’s a splendid spot to
rest.”
“Well, Mr. Murray,” queried John, as he
emerged from under the boat, “how are you get-
ting along ?”
“ Capitally !” said I; “the Carry is very level
when you once get down to it. I felt a little out
of breath, and thought I would wait for you a few
moments.”
“What’s your boots doing up there, in that
tree ?” exclaimed John, as he pointed up to where
they hung dangling from the limb, about fifteen
feet above our heads.
“ Boots domg!” said I, “why they are hanging
there, don’t you see. You didn’t suppose I’d
drop them into this mud, did you?”
“Why, no,” replied John, “I don’t suppose you
would; but how about this?” he continued, as
he stooped down and pulled a big trout, tail fore-
most, out of the soft muck; “ how did that trout
come there ?”
“Tt must have got out of the pail, somehow,”
I responded ; “I thought I heard something drop,
just as I sat down.”
“What in thunder is that, out there?” ex:
claimed John, pointing to a piece of pork, one
end of which was sticking about four inches out
of the water ; “is that pork ?”
“Well, the fact is, John,” returned I, speaking
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with the utmost gravity, and in a tone intended to
suggest a mystery, — “the fact is, John, I don’t
quite understand it. This Carry seems to be all
covered over with pork. I would n’t be surprised to
find a piece anywhere. There is another junk,
now,” I exclaimed, as I plunged my moccasin into
the mud and kicked a two-pound bit toward him ;
“it’s lying all round here, loose.”
I thought John would split with laughter, but
my time came, for as in one of his paroxysms he
turned partly around, I saw that his back was
covered with mud clear up to his hat.
“Do you always sit down on your coat, John,”
I inquired, “when you cross a Carry like this ?”
“Come, come,” rejomed he, ceasing to laugh
from very exhaustion, “take a knife or tin plate,
and scrape the muck from my back. I always
tell my wife to make my clothes a ground color,
but the color is laid on a little too thick this
time, anyway.”
“John,” said I, after having scraped him down,
“take the paddle and spear my boots off from
that limb up there, while I tread out this pork.”
Plunging into the slough, balancing here on a
bog and there on an underlying root, I succeeded
in concentrating the scattered pieces at one point.
As I was shying the last junk into the bag, a.
disappointed grunt from John caused me to look
around. TI took in the situation at a glance. The
6
22 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.
boots were still suspended from the limb. The
paddle and two oars had followed suit, and lay
cosily amid the branches, while John, poising
himself dexterously on the trunk of a fallen
spruce, red in the face and vexed at his want of
success, was whirling the frying-pan over his
head, in the very act of letting it drive at the
boots.
“Go in, John!” I shouted, seizing hold of the
gridiron with one hand and a bag of bullets with
the other, while tears stood in my eyes from very
laughter; “when we’ve got all the rest of the
baggage up in that hemlock, Ill pass up the boat,
and we ll make a camp.”
The last words were barely off my lips, when
John, having succeeded in getting a firm footing,
as he thought, on the slippery bark, threw all his
strength into the cast, and away the big iron pan
went whizzing up through the branches. But,
alas for human calculation! The rotten bark
under his feet, rent by the sudden pressure as he
pitched the cumbrous missile upward, parted from
the smooth wood, and John, with a mighty thump
which seemed almost to snap his head off, came
down upon the trunk ; while the frying-pan, gyrat-
ing like a broken-winged bird, landed rods away
in the marsh. By this time John’s blood was up,
and the bombardment began in earnest. The first
thing he laid his hand on was the coffee-pot. I
CROSSING THE CARRY. 123
followed suit with the gridiron. Then my fishing-
basket and a bag of bullets mounted upward.
Never before was such a battle waged, or such
weapons used. The air was full of missiles. Tin
plates, oar-locks, the axe, gridiron, and pieces of
pork were all in the air at once. How long the
contest would have continued I cannot tell, had it
not been brought to a glorious termination ; but at
last the heavy iron camp-kettle, hurled by John’s
nervous wrist, striking the limb fair, crashed
through lke a forty-pound shot, and down came
boots, oars, paddle, and all. Gathering the scat-
tered articles together, we took our respective bur-
dens, and pushed ahead. Weary and hot, we
reached at length the margin of the swamp, and
our feet stood once more upon solid ground.
At this juncture another cloud from out of the
west swept up the heavens, and its distended
borders, heavy with rain, parted, and down the
plunging torrents came. The wind, sweeping
through the lofty pine-tops over our heads,
sounded like the rush of airy squadrons charging
to battle. The lightning blazed amid the descend-
ing sheets of water, lurid and red, or shot its elec-
tric currents amid the trees; while, overhead, peal
and boom and rattling volleys rolled and broke.
Forcing our way along through spruce and balsam
thickets, and heavy undergrowth of deer-bush,
which flapped their broad flat leaves, loaded with
124 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.
water, into our eyes, We came upon a giant pine,
which some descending bolt had struck, far up
amid the topmost branches, and riven to the
very roots. Huge slabs, twenty feet in length, and
weighing hundreds of pounds, torn out from the
very heart, thrown a dozen rods on either side,
and the ground strewn with yellow splinters, bore
palpable witness of the lightning’s power. Paus-
ing a moment amid the wreck and ruin, look-
ing into the yellow heart of that riven pine, weep-
ing great drops of odorous gum, how weak the
effort of man appeared beside the power of nature.
What is our boasted strength of brawn and mus-
cle compared with the terrific forces which he hid-
den amid the elements? And what is ours or
theirs beside the power of Him who holds their
violence in check, and uses at will the wild chem-
istry of the skies ?
At length (for all journeys have an end) we
tore our way through the last opposing thicket,
and stood upon the coveted beach. The dreaded
Carry was crossed; and, as if to reward our toil
and cheer our drooping spirits, even as we lay
panting upon the wet sands, the cloud above us
parted, and the bright sun came out, gemming the
dripping trees with jewels, and swathing the lake
in golden sheen. Patches of fleecy fog rose from
the shores, and, changing to yellow mist as the
sun warmed them, floated lazily along the moun-
CROSSING THE CARRY. 125
iain’s side. Kindline a fire, we cooked some
coffe, watching, as we drank it, the bright ver-
milion bow which grew upon the eastern cloud,
until it spanned the horizon from north to south ;
from under whose arch of gold and azure the
heavy-tongued thunder rolled its dying cadences
fu2 away eastward over the Racquette.
Vit:
ROD AND REEL:
a R. MURRAY, wake up! the pancakes are
i ready !” shouted John.
Aroused by the familiar cry, I arose, and, walk-
ing down to the shore of the lake, waded out into
its tide, and, plunging my head under water, held
it there for a moment, while the delicious sense of
coolness ran through my system ; then I raised it,
turning my dripping face straight toward the bright,
warm sun. O the sweet experience of that mo-
ment! How cool the water; how fresh the air;
how clear the sky; how fragrant the breath of
balsam and of pine! O luxury of luxuries, to have
a lake of crystal water for your wash-bowl, the
morning zephyr for a towel, the whitest sand for
soap, and the odors of aromatic trees for perfumes !
What belle or millionnaire can boast of such sur-
roundings ?
Fresh as an athlete in training, I returned to
camp and to breakfast. Breakfast in the wilder-
ness means something. No muttering about “those
miserable rolls”; no yawning over a small strip of
steak, cut in the form of a parallelogram, an inch
ROD AND REEL. 127
and a half by three; no lying about tawny-colored
water by calling it “coffee.” No; but up in the
woods you take a pancake, twelve inches across
(just the diameter of the pan), and one inch thick,
and go conscientiously to work to surround it.
You seize a trout ten or fourteen inches long, and
send it speedily to that bourne from whence no
trout returns. You lay hold of a quart pan full
of liquid which has the smack of real Java to it,
made pungent with a sprinkling of Mocha; and
the first you know you see your face in the bottom
of the dish. And the joke is, you keep doing so,
right along, for some thirty minutes or more, rising
from each meal a bigger, if not a better man.
The meal was finished. It did not take long to
wash the dishes ; and over the remnants of what
had once been a feast we sat in council.
“John, what shall we do to-day ?”
“Well, I think,” said John, “we'll take some
trout. I told you, when we started, you should see
a three-pounder before we got back; and here we
are within twenty miles of the Racquette, and my
promise unfulfilled. I know a little lake, hidden
away back of that hard-wood ridge yonder, which
is one huge spring-hole ; and when scouting through
here on my own account, some six years ago, I
took some fish from it such as you seldom see. I
doubt if there has been a fly on it since; and if
the breeze will freshen a little, you’ll have rare
sport.”
128 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.
Soon after, John shouldered the boat, and we
started. Some forty minutes’ tramp, and we
reached the shore and made our camp. From it
the scene was delightful. The lake was nearly
circular, some half a mile across, its waters deep
and clear. Into it, so far as we could see, no water
came; out of it no water went. It was, as John
had called it, one huge spring-hole ; the mountains
on all sides sloped gradually up, an unbroken sweep
of pie and balsam, save where, at intervals, a
silver-beech or round-leaved maple relieved the
sombre color with lighter hues. Thus secluded,
seldom visited by man, the little lake reposed,
mirroring the surrounding hulls in its cool depths,
and guarded safely by them. We stepped into
our boat and glided out toward the centre of the
pool. Not a motion in the air; not a ripple on
the water. At last the beeches along the western
slope began to rustle. The mournful pines felt the
pressure of airy fingers amid their strings, and
woke to solemn sound. The zephyr at leneth
reached the lake, and the cool water thrilled into
ripples at its touch; while the pool, which an in-
stant before shone under the sun like seamless
glass, shook with a thousand tiny undulations.
“Now,” said John, “if the fish haven't all
drowned since I was here, you’ll see ’em soon.
When one rises I’1l put you within casting dis-
tance of the wake, and if he likes it he ‘Il take the
ROD AND REEL. 129
fiy. If one takes, strike hard; for their jaws are
stout and bony, and you must hook them well or
you ll lose them in the struggle.”
We sat and watched. “There!” suddenly
shouted John; “one is n't dead yet.” And whil-
ing the boat about, he sent it flying toward a swirl
in the water, some twenty rods away, made by a
rising fish whose splash I had heard but did not
see. We had traversed half the distance, perhaps,
and all alert I sat, holding the coil and thes be-
tween my fingers, ready for a cast, when, as we
shot along, a bright vermilion flash gleamed for
an instant far below us, and a broad, yellow-sided
beauty broke the surface barely the length of my
rod from the boat. The swoop of a swallow is
scarcely swifter than was the motion of the boat as
John shied it one side, and, with a stroke which
would have snapped a less elastic paddle, sent it
circling around the ripples where the fish went
down. ‘Twice did I trail the flies across the circle
and meet with no response; but hardly had the
feathers touched the water at the third cast, when
the trout came up with a rush. He took the fly as
a hunter might take a fence, boldly. I struck, even
as he hung in mid-air, and down he went. Aftera
sharp fight of some ten minutes’ length the trout
yielded, the fatal net enclosed him, and he lay flap-
ping within the boat. Thus five were captured in
little more than an hour’s time, good two-and-a-
o™ I
130 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.
half-pound fish each of them,—a string which a
man might contemplate with pride. We paused
a moment to give John time to inspect the tackle
to see if it was all right.. The trout had made
sad work with the flies. The largest and strongest
came out of their mouths bare to the shank. Five
ruined flies lay with the five captured trout on
the bottom of the boat.
“Mr. Muwray,” said John at length, as he sat
looking at the mangled flies ; “ have n’t you some-
thing larger? These trout are regular sharks.”
“ Nothing,” replied I, running over the leaves
of my fly-book, “ except these huge salmon-flies ” ;
and I held half a dozen gaudy fellows out to-
ward him, the hooks of which were nearly two
inches in length, covered with immense hackle of
variegated floss, out of whose depths protruded
a pair of enormous wings, and brilliant with hues
of the ibis and the English Jay.
“Let ’s try one, anyway,” said John, laugh-
ing. “Nothing is too big for a fish like that!”
and he nodded his head toward a deep swirl made
in the water as a monstrous fellow rose to the sur-
face, closed his jaws on a huge dragon-fly that had
stopped to rest a moment on the water, and, throw-
ing his tail, broad as your hand, into the air, darted
downward into the silent depths. “There,” con-
tinued he, as he tossed the tuft of gay feathers
into the air, “that’s the first pullet’s-tail I ever
ROD AND REEL. Veit
noosed on to a leader. \
]
MY JACK.
x
SABBATH IN THE WOODS.
AROSE early, that I might behold the glory
of morning among the mountains. As my
eyes opened, the eastern sky was already over-
spread as with a thin silvery veil, with the least
trace of amber and gold amid the threads; while
one solitary star, like a great opal, hung suspended
in the translucent atmosphere, with its rich heart
glowing with red and yellow flame.
My camp was made on the very ridge-board of
the continent. Below me, to the south, stretched
the silurian beach, upon which, as Agassiz believes,
the first ripples broke when God commanded the
dry land to appear. As I lay reflecting upon the
assertion of science, —that these mountains were
among the first to rise out of the Profound, that here
the continent had its infancy, that amid these
heights the earth began to take shape and form, —
J seemed to be able to overlook the world. Nor was
it at the cost of any great effort of the imagination
that I seemed to hear, as the dawn brightened in
the east and the rose tints deepened along the sky,
as-the darkness melted, the vapors floated up, and
9 uM
194 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.
the atmosphere grew tremulous as the lance-like
beams began to pierce it, the Voice which, in the
beginning, said, “ Let there be light!” As I gazed,
novel emotions arose within me. The experience
was fresh and solemn. The air was cool, delicious.
The earth was clothed as a queen in bridal
robes ; and Morn, with garments steeped in sweet-
smelling odors, her golden curls unbound and lifted
by unseen winds, streaming abroad as a yellow
mist, — like a maiden at the lattice of her lover, —
stood knocking at the windows of the East, and
saying: “Open to me, my love, my undefiled: for
my head is filled with dew, and my locks with the
drops of the night.”
If a person would know how sensitive his na-
ture is, how readily it responds to every exhibition
of beauty and power, how thoroughly adapted it
is, in all its faculties, to religious impressions, he
must leave the haunts of men,— where every
sight and sound distracts his attention, and checks
the free exercises of his soul,—and, amid the
silence of the woods, hold communion with his
Maker. It is the szlence of the wilderness which
most impresses me. The hours of the Sabbath
pass noiselessly. No voice of conversation, no
sound of hurrying feet, no clangor of bells, no roll
of wheels, disturb your meditations. You do not
feel like reading or talking or singing. The heart
needs neither hymn nor prayer to express its emo-
SABBATH IN THE WOODS. 195
tions. Even the Bible lies at your side unlifted.
The letters seem dead, cold, insufficient. You feel
as if the very air was God, and you had passed into
that land where written revelation is not needed ;
for you see the Infinite as eye to eye, and feel him
in you and above you and on all sides. It is true, at
intervals, you turn to the Bible. You have your
reading moods, when some apt passage, some appro-
priate selection or chapter, is read, with a profit and
rapture never before experienced. But this mood I
believe to be the exception. Ordinarily, the spirit
is above the letter. The action of eye and voice in-
terfere with the sentiment. You do not want to
read, but think. When you feel the presence of a
friend, have his hand in yours, see him at your very
side, you do not need to take up a letter and read
that he is with you. So with God: in the silence
of the woods the soul apprehends him instinctively.
He is everywhere. In the fir and pine, which,
like the tree of life, shed their leaves every month,
and are forever green; in the water at your feet,
which no paddle has ever vexed and no taint pol-
luted, rivalling that which is as “ pure as crystal” ;
in the mountains, which, in every literature, have
been associated with the Deity, you see Him who
of old time was conceived of as a “ Dweller among
the hills.” With such symbols and manifestations
of God around, you need not go to the lettered page
to learn of him. The Bible, with its print and
196 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.
paper, is a hindrance rather than a help. Like »
glass with too narrow a field, it concentrates the
vision too much. It clips the wings of the imagi-
nation, and narrows the circle of its flight. The
spirit which, for the first time, perhaps, has escaped
the bonds of formal worship, for the first time
tasted of freedom and tested its capacities to soar,
returns regretfully to the restraint and bondage of
book and speech. It takes these up as an angel,
whose hands have once swept a heavenly harp,
touches again the strings of an earthly instru-
ment.
This I have always observed, that the memory
is unusually active, and takes great delight in
recalling texts of Scripture and devotional hymns,
when brought under the influence of nature. Pas-
sages from the Psalms, which I do not remember
that I ever committed ; fragments of old and solemn
hymns, hewn I know not from what block, long
forgotten if ever learned ; snatches of holy melody,
— echoes awakened by what voice you cannot tell
come floating back upon you, or rise at the bidding
of the will. Often have I said to myself, “ Alas !
even memory is in bondage to sin.” Nature,
through her refining and spiritualizing agencies,
emancipates it; and sweet is it to think that, by
and by, when our grossness is entirely purged
away, all pure things pass. «=7 or forgotten will
come back to us, and the past, in reference to what-
SABBATH IN THE WOODS. 197
ever of goodness and truth it had in it, will be, to
the holy, an eternal present. Such has been my
experience, in reference to religious impressions,
felt amid the solitude of forests. It takes more
than one season to analyze your emotions. The
mind, for a while deprived of the customary re-
straints and incitements of forms and ceremonies,
is in a chaotic state. Thoughts come and go with-
out order. Emotions are irregular and inconstant.
The Occidental cast of intellect which conceives
of God largely through the reason, changes slowly
into the Oriental. It analyzes less, but it adores
far more. The religion of the forest is emotional
and poetic. No mathematician was ever born amid
the pines. The Psalms could never have been
written by one not inspired by the breath of the
hills. The soul, when it spreads its wings for flight
upward, must start from the summit of moun-
tains. It must have the help of altitude, or no
movement of wings will lift it. And I dare to say
that he who has never passed a Sabbath amid the
solemn loneliness of an uninhabited region, has
never knelt in prayer at the base of overhanging
mountains, has never fallen asleep with no roof
above him but that of the heavens, and no protec-
tion from the dangers which lurk amid the dark.
ness of the night season save the watchful care of
God, can realize little the significance of these twe
words, — Adoration and Faith.
198 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.
The day wore on as I mused. The sun passed
the meridian line, and soon the shadows of the pines
and hills began to stretch their cone-like forma-
tions out toward the east. As I gazed upon the
landscape, with a hundred mountains within sweep
of my eye, at whose feet lake after lake lay in peace-
ful repose, and between which numberless streams
flowed, gleaming amid the forests of pine and fir
as threads of silver woven into a robe of Lincoln-
green, I thought of the words of Isaiah: “I will
open rivers in high places, and fountains in the
midst of the valleys. I will make the wilderness
a pool of water, and the dry land springs of water.”
“The beast of the field shall honor me, and the owls,
because I give waters in the wilderness and rivers
in the desert.” And I said to myself, “Surely He
sendeth the springs into the valleys, which run
among the hills.” About three o’clock in the after-
noon, as I sat looking out upon the lake, a heavy
jar shook the earth, and simultaneously the air vi-
brated with the sound of thunder. Turning my
eyes toward the west, I perceived a whitish mist
gathering along the mountains, while a few ragged
scuds came racing up from behind it, and I knew
that in the valleys westward columns of storm
were moving to the onset.
Amid this mountainous region tempests give
brief warning of their approach. Walled in as
these lakes are by mountains, behind which the
SABBATH IN THE WOODS. 199
cloud gathers unseen, the coming of a storm is like
the spring of a tiger. A sudden peal of thunder, a
keen shaft of lightning which cuts through the
atmosphere in front of your startled vision, a puff
of air, or the spinning of a whirlwind across the
lake, and the tempest is upon you. So was it now.
Even as I gazed into the white mist, a heavy bank
of jet-black cloud rose up through its feathery
depths, unrolled itself as a battery unlimbers for
battle, and the next instant a sheet of flame darted
out of its very centre, and the air seemed rent into
fragments by the concussion. Here was an exhi-
bition of grandeur and power such as one seldom
beholds ; and yet it did not seem out of harmony
with the day. Behold, I said to myself, the sym-
pol of the old dispensation. Here is Sinai, the
terror, and the cloud; here is law and judgment,
vengeance and wrath. And there, I said, turning
to the eastern ridge, upon whose crest the sun, not
yet obscured, shone warmly, is the symbol of the
new, — of Calvary, its light and love. Warned by
the scattering drops which, plunging through the
air, smote like shot upon the beach and water, I
hastened to the lodge ; and as, seated in the door,
I gazed into the dark masses now rolled in wild
convolutions together, — through whose gloomy
folds the winds roared and rushed, tearing the dark-
ness Jnto sbreds, and scattering black patches on
every side,~- I thonght of Him who “clothes the
200 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.
heavens with blackness, and makes sackcloth
their covering.”
The storm passed. The cloud toward the west
grew thinner, and broke into rifts and ridges,
through which the sun sent its radiance in diverg-
ing columns. As the beams deepened and spread
across the cloud, an arch of purple and gold began
to creep over it. Beginning at the southern and
northern extremities, the colors clomb upward un-
til they joined themselves together at the centre,
and there, with two mountains for its pedestals,
the magnificent arch stood spanning the inky mass
from north to south; and as I sat silently gazing
upon the resplendent symbols of God’s abiding
mercy, which stood out in full relief against the
sombre cloud, in whose bosom might still be heard
the roll of thunder, I remembered the language of
Ezekiel, where he says, “I fell upon my face, and
I heard a voice of one that spake ; for the appear-
ance was of the likeness of the glory of the Lord.”
Suddenly the colors faded away. The sun had
called home his beams, and the glory of their re-
flection deserted the cloud. I turned my eyes to
the west, and up to the summit of the mountain
overhanging our camp. For a moment the glowing
orb stood as though balanced on the top of the pines;
for a moment lake and forest and mountain were
ablaze with its radiance ; the next it dropped from
sight. The dark trees gloomily outlined themselves
SABBATH IN THE WOODS. 201
against the clear blue of the sky ; and, as the shad-
ows deepened, I thought of the day foretold in the
Apocalypse, when “our sun shall no more go
down, neither shall the moon withdraw herself.
For the Lord shall be our everlasting light, and
the days of our mourning shall be ended.”
The day was over. Night spread her sable
wings over the camp, and the lake darkened under
the shadow. On the sky and highest peaks a few
patches of crimson were still visible. For a few
moments an aureole lingered around the head of
Blue Mountain. The pines which adorn its crest
gleamed like the rich plume of a king when he
rideth at noonday to battle. One instant the
beams lingered lovingly about the summit, and
then, obedient to a summons from the west,
flew to join their companions in another hemi-
sphere. And now began tke marvellous transfor-
mations from day to night. The clouds were rolled
together and lifted from sight. Unseen hands
flung out new tapestry for the skies, and lighted
lamps innumerable around the circling galleries,
as though the Sabbath had passed from earth, and
the heavens were being made ready for service.
If the day had been suggestive, much more so
was the night. To the north the Dipper hung
suspended royally against the blue of the sky,
journeying in silent revolution around the polar
star. Farther eastward, and higher up, the mourn-
QO
Vv
202 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.
ful Pleiades began their nightly search for their lost
sister. In the zenith a meteor wavered and trem-
bled for a moment, then fell and faded away. “A
wandering star,” I said, “to which is reserved the
blackness of darkness forever.” The balsams felt
the dew, and from their pendant spears dropped
odors. I rolled myself in my blanket, and lay
gazing upward. A thousand recollections thronged
upon me; a thousand hopes rose up within me.
The heavens elicited confidence, and unto them I
breathed my aspirations. I felt that He who tell-
eth the number of the stars took note of me. The
Spirit which garnished the heavens would grant me
audience. I approached Him reverently, and yet
with confidence, for I remembered that it is writ-
ten, “the heavens shall vanish away like smoke,
and the earth shall wax old lke a garment, but
my salvation shall be forever, and my righteous-
ness shall not be abolished.”
Then, without help of book or spoken word, I
committed myself to Him, in whose sight the
night is as the day ; and, alone in that vast wilder-
ness, far from home and friends, I closed my eyes
and slept as one who sleeps on a guarded bed.
XI.
A RIDE WITH A MAD HORSE IN A
FREIGHT-CAR.
HOULD the reader ever visit the south inlet
of Racquette Lake, — one of the loveliest bits
of water in the Adirondack Wilderness,—at the
lower end of the pool, below the falls, on the left-
hand side going up, he will see the charred rem-
nants of a camp-fire. It was there that the fol-
lowing story was first told, — told, too, so graphi-
cally, with such vividness, that I found little diffi-
culty, when writing it out from memory, two
months later, in recalling the exact words of the
narrator in almost every instance.
It was in the month of July, 1868, that John
and I, having located our permanent camp on
Constable’s Point, were lying off and on, as sailors
say, about the lake, pushing our explorations on all
sides out of sheer love of novelty and abhorrence
of idleness. We were returning, late one afternoon
of a hot, sultry day, froma trip to Shedd Lake, —a
lonely, out-of-the-way spot which few sportsmen
have ever visited, — and had reached the falls on
South Inlet just after sunset. As we were getting
204 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.
short of venison, we decided to lie by awhile, and
float down the river on our way to camp, in hope
of meeting a deer. To this end we had gone
ashore at this point, and, kindling a small fire,
were waiting for denser darkness. We had barely
started the blaze, when the tap of a carelessly
handled paddle against the side of a boat warned
us that we should soon have company, and in a
moment two boats glided around the curve below,
and were headed directly toward our bivouac. The
boats contained two gentlemen and their guides.
We gave them a cordial, hunter-like greeting, and,
lighting our pipes, were soon engaged in cheerful
conversation, spiced with story-telling. It might
have been some twenty minutes or more, when
another boat, smaller than you ordinarily see even
on those waters, containing only the paddler, came
noiselessly around the bend below, and stood re-
vealed in the reflection of the firelight. I chanced
to be sitting in such a position as to command a
full view of the curve in the river, or I should not
have known of any approach, for the boat was so
sharp and light, and he who urged it along so
skilled at the paddle, that not a ripple, no, nor the
sound of a drop of water falling from blade or shaft,
betrayed the paddler’s presence. If there is any-
thing over which I become enthusiastic, it is such
a boat and such paddling. To seea boat of bark or
cedar move through the water noiselessly as a cloud
A RIDE WITH A MAD HORSE IN A CAR. 205
shadow drifts across a meadow, no jar or creak
above, no gurgling of displaced water below, no
whirling and rippling wake astern, is something
bordering so nearly on the weird and ghostly, that
custom can never make it seem other than marvel-
lous to me. Thus, as I sat, half reclining, and saw
that little shell come floating airily out of the dark-
ness into the projection of the firelight, as a feather
might come, blown by the night-wind, I thought
I had never seen a prettier or more fairy-like sight.
None of the party save myself were so seated as to
look down stream, and I wondered which of the
three guides would first discover the presence of
the approaching boat. Straight onit came. Light
as a piece of finest cork it sat upon and glided over
the surface of the river; no dip and roll, no drop
of falling water as the paddle-shaft gently rose and
sank. The paddler, whoever he might be, knew
his art thoroughly. He sat erect and motionless,
the turn of the wrists, and the easy elevation of his
arms as he feathered his paddle, were the only
movements visible. But for these, the gazer might
deem him a statue carved from the material of the
boat, a mere inanimate part of it. I have boated
much in bark canoe and cedar shell alike, and
John and I have stolen on many a camp that
never knew our coming or our going, with paddles
which touched the water as snow-flakes touch the
earth ; and well I knew, asI sat gazing at this man,
206 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.
that not one boatman, red man or white, in a hun-
dred could handle a paddle like that. The quick
ear of John, when the stranger was within thirty
feet of the landing, detected the lightest possible
touch of a lly-pad against the side of the boat as
it just grazed it glancing by, and his “ Hist!” and
sudden motion toward the river drew the attention
of the whole surprised group thither. The boat
elided to the sand so gently as barely to disturb a
erain, and the paddler, noiseless in all his move-
ments, stepped ashore and entered our circle.
“ Well, stranger,” said John, “I don’t know how
long your fingers have polished a paddle-shaft, but
it is n't every man who can push a boat up ten
rods of open water within twenty feet of my back
without my knowing it.”
The stranger laughed pleasantly, and, without
making any direct reply, lighted his pipe and
joined in the conversation. He was tall in stature,
wiry, and bronzed. An ugly cicatrice stretched on
the left side of his face, from temple almost down to
chin. His eyes were dark gray, frank, and genial.
I concluded at once that he was a gentleman, and
had seen service. Before he joined us, we had
been whiling away the time by story-telling, and
John was at the very crisis of an adventure
with a panther, when his quick ear detected the
stranger’s approach. Explaining this to him, I told
John to resume his story, which he did. Thus
A RIDE WITH A MAD HORSE IN A CAR. 207
half an hour passed quickly, all of us relating some
“experience.” At last I proposed that Mr. Roberts
—for so we will call him — should entertain us;
“and,” continued I, “if Iam right in my surmise
that you have seen service and been under fire, give
us some adventure or incident which may have
befallen you during the war.” He complied, and
then and there, gentle reader, I heard from his
lips the story which, for the entertainment of
friends, I afterward wrote out. It left a deep im-
pression upon all who heard it around our camp-
fire under the pines that night ;and from the mind
of one I know has never been erased the impres-
sion made by the story, which I have named
A RIDE WITH A MAD HORSE IN A FREIGHT-
CAR.
“Well,” said the stranger, as he loosened his belt
and stretched himself in an easy, recumbent posi-
tion, “it is not more than fair that I should throw
something into the stock of common entertain-
ment; but the story I am to tell you isa sad one,
and, I fear, will not add to the pleasure of the
evening. As youdesire it, however, and it comes
in the line of the request that I would narrate
some personal episode of the war, I will tell it, and
trust the impression will not be altogether unpleas-
ant.
208 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.
“Tt was at the battle of Malvern Hill, —a battle
where the carnage was more frightful, as it seems
to me, than in any this side of the Alleghanies dur-
ing the whole war, — that my story must begin. I
was then serving as Major in the —th Massachu-
setts Regiment, — the old —th, as we used to call
it, —and a bloody time the boys had of it too.
About 2 Pp. M., we had been sent out to skirmish
along the edge of the wood in which, as our gen-
erals suspected, the Rebs lay massing for a charge
across the slope, upon the crest of which our army
was posted. We had barely entered the under-
brush when we met the heavy formations of Ma-
gruder in the very act of charging. Of course,
our thin line of skirmishers was no impediment
to those onrushing masses. They were on us and
over us before we could get out of the way. I do
not think that half of those running, screaming
masses of men ever knew that they had passed
over the remnants of as plucky a regiment as ever
came out of the old Bay State. But many of
the boys had good reason to remember that after-
noon at the base of Malvern Hill, and I among the
number ; for when the last line of Rebs had passed
over me, I was left amid the bushes with the breath
nearly trampled out of me, and an ugly bayonet-gash
through my thigh ; and mighty little consolation
was it for me at that moment to see the fellow
who run me through lying stark dead at my side,
A RIDE WITH A MAD dORSE IN A CAR. 209
with a bullet-hole in his head, his shock of coarse
black hair matted with blood, and his stony eyes
looking into mine. Well, I bandaged up my limb
the best I might, and started to crawl away, for
our batteries had opened, and the grape and canis-
ter that came hurtling down the slope passed but
a few feet over my head. It was slow and painful
work, as you can imagine, but at last, by dint of
perseverance, I had dragged myself away to the
left of the direct range of the batteries, and, creep-
ing to the verge of the wood, looked off over the
ereen slope. I understood by the crash and roar
of the guns, the yells and cheers of the men, and
that hoarse murmur which those who have been
in battle know, but which I cannot describe in
words, that there was hot work going on out there ;
but never have I seen, no, not in that three days’
desperate mé/ée at the Wilderness, nor at that ter-
rific repulse we had at Cold Harbor, such absolute
slaughter as I saw that afternoon on the green
slope of Malvern Hill. The guns of the entire
army were massed on the crest, and thirty thousand
of our infantry lay, musket in hand, in front. For
eight hundred yards the hill sank in easy declen-
sion to the wood, and across the smooth expanse
the Rebs must charge to reach our lines. It was
nothing short of downright insanity to order men
to charge that hill; and so his generals told Lee,
but he would not listen to reason that day, and so
N
210 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.
he sent regiment after regiment, and brigade after
brigade, and division after division, to certain death.
Talk about Grant’s disregard of human life, his
effort at Cold Harbor — and I ought to know, for I
got a minie in my shoulder that day — was hope-
ful and easy work to what Lee laid on Hill’s and
Magruder’s divisions at Malvern. It was at the
close of the second charge, when the yelling mass
reeled back from before the blaze of those sixty
guns and thirty thousand rifles, even as they began.
to break and fly backward toward the woods, that
I saw from the spot where I lay a riderless horse
break out of the confused and flying mass, and,
with mane and tail erect and spreading nostril,
come dashing obliquely down the slope. Over
fallen steeds and heaps of the dead she leaped with
a motion as airy as that of the flying fox, when,
fresh and unjaded, he leads away from the hounds,
whose sudden cry has broken him off from hunt-
ing mice amid the bogs of the meadow. So this
riderless horse came vaulting along. Now from my
earliest boyhood I have had what horsemen call a
‘weakness’ for horses. Only give me a colt of
wild, irregular temper and fierce blood to tame,
and I am perfectly happy. Never did lash of
mine, singing with cruel sound through the air,
fall on such a colt’s soft hide. Never did yell or
kick send his hot blood from heart to head delug-
ing his sensitive brain with fiery currents, driving
A RIDE WITH A MAD HORSE IN A CAR. 211
him to frenzy or blinding him with fear; but
touches, soft and gentle as a woman’s, caressing
words, and oats given from the open palm, and
unfailing kindness, were the means I used to ‘sub-
jugate’ him. Sweet subjugation, both to him
who subdues and to him who yields! The wild,
unmannerly, and unmanageable colt, the fear of
horsemen the country round, finding in you, not
an enemy but a friend, receiving his daily food
from you, and all those little ‘nothings’ which go
as far with a horse as a woman, to win and retain
affection, grows to look upon you as his protector
and friend, and testifies in countless ways his fond-
ness for you. So when I saw this horse, with
action so free and motion so graceful, amid that
storm of bullets, my heart involuntarily went out
to her, and my feelings rose higher and higher at
every leap she took from amid the whirlwind of
fire and lead. And as she plunged at last over
a little hillock out of range and came careering
toward me as only a riderless horse might come,
her head flung wildly from side to side, her nostrils
widely spread, her flank and shoulders flecked with
foam, her eye dilating, I forgot my wound and all
the wild roar of battle, and, lifting myself invol-
untarily to a sitting posture as she swept grandly
by, gave her a ringing cheer.
“Perhaps in the sound of a human voice of
happy mood amid the awful din she recognized a
212 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.
resemblance to the voice of him whose blood
moistened her shoulders and was even yet dripping
from saddle and housings. Be that as it may, no
sooner had my voice sounded than she flung her
head with a proud upward movement into the air,
swerved sharply to the left, neighed as she might
to a master at morning from her stall, and came
trotting directly up to where I lay, and pausing,
looked down upon me as it were in compassion.
I spoke again, and stretched out my hand caress-
ingly. She pricked her ears, took a step forward
and lowered her nose until it came in contact with
my palm. Never did I fondle anything more ten-
derly, never did I see an animal which seemed
to so court and appreciate human tenderness as
that beautiful mare. I say ‘ beautiful.” No other
word might describe her. Never will her image
fade froia my memory while memory lasts.
“In weight she might have turned, when well
conditioned, nine hundred and fifty pounds. In
color she was a dark chestnut, with a velvety
depth and soft look about the hair indescribably
rich and elegant. Many a time have I heard
ladies dispute the shade and hue of her plush-like
coat as they ran their white, jewelled fingers
through her silken hair. Her body was round in
the barrel, and perfectly symmetrical. She was
wide in the haunches, without projection of the
hip-bones, upon which the shorter ribs seemed to
A RIDE WITH A MAD HORSE IN A CAR. 213
lap. High in the withers as she was, the line of
her back and neck perfectly curved, while her
deep, oblique shoulders and long thick fore-arm,
ridgy with swelling sinews, suggesting the perfec-
tion of stride and power. Her knees across the
pan were wide, the cannon-bone below them short
and thin; the pasterns long and sloping ; her hoofs
round, dark, shiny, and well set on. Her mane
was a shade darker than her coat, fine and thin,
as a thoroughbred’s always is whose blood is with-
out taint or cross. Her ear was thin, sharply
pointed, delicately curved, nearly black around the
borders, and as tremulous as the leaves of an
aspen. Her neck rose from the withers to the
head in perfect curvature, hard, devoid of fat, and
well cut up under the chops. Her nostrils were full,
very full, and thin almost as parchment. The eyes,
from which tears might fall or fire flash, were well
brought out, soft as a gazelle’s, almost human in
their intelligence, while over the small bony head,
over neck and shoulders, yea, over the whole body
and clean down to the hoofs, the veins stood out as
if the skin were but tissue-paper against which the
warm blood pressed, and which it might at any
moment burst asunder. ‘A perfect animal, I said
to myself, as I lay looking her over, —‘an animal
which might have been born from the wind and
the sunshine, so cheerful and so swift she seems ;
an animal which a man would present as his
214 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.
choicest gift to the woman he loved, and yet one
which that woman, wife or lady-love, would yive
him to ride when honor and life depended on bot-
tom and speed.’
“All that afternoon the beautiful mare stood
over me, while away to the right of us the hoarse
tide of battle flowed and ebbed. What charm,
what delusion of memory, held her there? Was
my face to her as the face of her dead master,
sleeping a sleep from which not even the wildest
roar of battle, no, nor her cheerful neigh at morn-
ing, would ever wake him? Or is there in animals
some instinct, answering to our intuition, only
more potent, which tells them whom to trust and
whom to avoid? I know not, and yet some such
sense they may have, they must have; or else
why should this mare so fearlessly attach her-
self to me? By what process of reason or in-
stinct I know not, but there she chose me for her
master ; for when some of my men at dusk came
searching, and found me, and, laying me on a
stretcher, started toward our lines, the mare, un-
compelled, of her own free will, followed at my
side; and all through that stormy night of wind
and rain, as my men struggled along through the
mud and mire toward Harrison’s Landing, the mare
followed, and ever after, until she died, was with
me, and was mine, and I, so far as man might be,
was hers. I named her Gulnare.
A RIDE WITH A MAD HORSE IN A CAR. 215
“As quickly as my wound permitted, I was
transported to Washington, whither I took the mare
with me. Her fondness for me grew daily, and
soon became so marked as to cause universal com-
ment. I had her boarded, while in Washington,
at the corner of — Street and Avenue. The
groom had instructions to lead her round to the
window against which was my bed, at the hospital,
twice every day, so that by opening the sash I might
reach out my hand and pet her. But the second
day, no sooner had she reached the street than she
broke suddenly from the groom and dashed away
at full speed. I was lying, bolstered up in bed,
reading, when I heard the rush of flying feet, and
in an instant, with a joyful neigh, she checked
herself in front of my window. And when the
nurse lifted the sash, the beautiful creature thrust
her head through the aperture, and rubbed her nose
against my shoulderlikeadog. I am not ashamed
to say that I put both my arms around her neck, and,
burying my face in her silken mane, kissed her again
and again. Wounded, weak, and away from home,
with only strangers to wait upon me, and scant
service at that, the affection of this lovely creature
for me, so tender and touching, seemed almost hu-
man, and my heart went out to her beyond any
power of expression, as to the only being, of all the
thousands around me, who thought of me and
loved me. Shortly after her appearance at my
216 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.
window, the groom, who had divined where he
should find her, came into the yard. But she
would not allow him to come near her, much less
touch her. If he tried to approach she would lash
out at him with her heels most spitefully, and then,
laying back her ears and opening her mouth sav-
agely, would make a short dash at him, and, as the
terrified African disappeared around the corner of
the hospital, she would wheel, and, with a face
bright as a happy child’s, come trotting to the win-
dow for me to pet her. I shouted to the groom to
go back to the stable, for I had no doubt but that
she would return to her stall when I closed the
window. Rejoiced at the permission, he departed.
After some thirty minutes, the last ten of which
she was standing with her slim, delicate head in
my lap, while I braided her foretop and combed
out her silken mane, I lifted her head, and, pat-
ting her softly on either cheek, told her that
she must ‘go’ I gently pushed her head out
of the window and closed it, and then, holding
up my hand, with the palm turned toward her,
charged her, making the appropriate motion, to ‘go
away right straight back to her stable.” Fora mo-
ment she stood looking steadily at me with an in-
describable expression of hesitation and surprise in
her clear, liquid eyes, and then, turning lngeringly,
walked slowly out of the yard.
“Twice a day, for nearly a month, while I lay in
ard, — my caress.”
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A RIDE WITH A MAD HORSE IN A CAR. 217
the hospital, did Gulnare visit me. At the ap-
pointed hour the groom would slip her headstall,
and, without a word of command, she would dart
out of the stable, and, with her long, leopard-
like lope, go sweeping down the street and come
dashing into the hospital yard, checking herself
with the same glad neigh at my window ; nor did she
ever once fail, at the closing of the sash, to return
directly to her stall. The groom informed me that
every morning and evening, when the hour of her
visit drew near, she would begin to chafe and wor-
ry, and, by pawing and pulling at the halter, adver-
tise him that it was time for her to be released.
“But of all exhibitions of happiness, either by
beast or man, hers was the most positive on that
afternoon when, racing into the yard, she found me
leaning on a crutch outside the hospital building.
The whole corps of nurses came to the doors, and
all the poor fellows that could move themselves, —
for Gulnare had become an universal favorite, and
the boys looked for her daily visits nearly, if not
quite, as ardently as I did, — crawled to the win-
dows to see her. What gladness was expressed in
every movement! She would come prancing to-
ward me, head and tail erect, and, pausing, rub her
head against my shoulder while I patted her glossy
neck; then, suddenly, with a sidewise spring,
she would break away, and, with her long tail ele-
vated until her magnificent brush, fine and silken
10
218 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.
as the golden hair of a blonde, fell in a great spray
on either flank, and her head curved to its proud-
est arch, pace around me with that high action
and springing step peculiar to the thoroughbred.
Then like a flash, dropping her brush and laying
back her ears, and stretching her nose straight out,
she would speed away with that quick, nervous,
low-lying action which marks the rush of racers,
when, side by side, and nose to nose, lapping each
other, with the roar of cheers on either hand and
along the seats above them, they come straining up
the home stretch. Returning from one of these ar-
rowy flights, she would come curvetting back, now
pacing sidewise, as on parade, now dashing her
hind feet high into the air, and anon vaulting up
and springing through the air, with legs well under
her, as if in the act of taking a five-barred gate,
and, finally, would approach and stand happy in
her reward, — my caress.
“The war, ab last, was over. Gulnare and I
were in at the death with Sheridan at the Five
Forks. Together we had shared the pageant at
Richmond and Washington, and never had I seen
her in better spirits than on that day at the capi-
tal. It was a sight, indeed, to see her as she came
down Pennsylvania Avenue. If the triumphant
procession had been all in her honor and mine,
she could not have moved with greater grace and
pride. With dilating eye and tremulous ear, cease-
A RIDE WITH A MAD HORSE IN A CAR. 219
lessly champing her bit, her heated blood bringing
out the magnificent lace-work of veins over her en-
tire body, now and then pausing, and, with a snort,
gathering herself back upon her haunches, as for a
mighty leap, while she shook the froth from her
‘bits, she moved with a high, prancing step down
the magnificent street, the admired of all beholders,
cheer after cheer was given, huzza after huzza rang
out over her head from roofs and balcony, bouquet
after bouquet was launched by fair and enthusias-
tic admirers before her; and yet, amid the crash
and swell of music, the cheermg and tumult, so
gentle and manageable was she, that, though I
could feel her frame creep and tremble under me
as she moved through that whirlwind of excite~
ment, no check or curb was needed, and the bridle-
lines — the same she wore when she came to me
at Malvern Hill— lay unlifted on the pommel
of the saddle. Never before had I seen her so
grandly herself. Never before had the fire and
energy, the grace and gentleness, of her blood so
revealed themselves. This was the day and the
event she needed. And all the royalty of her an-
cestral breed, — a race of equine kings, — flowing
as without taint or cross from him that was the
pride and wealth of the whole tribe of desert
rangers, expressed itself in her. I need not say
that I shared her mood. I sympathized in her
every step. I entered into all her royal humors,
220 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.
I patted her neck, and spoke loving and cheerful
words to her. I called her my beauty, my pride,
my pet. And did she not understand me? Every
word! Else why that listening ear turned back
to catch my softest whisper? why the responsive
quiver through the frame, and the low, happy
neigh? “ Well,” I exclaimed, as I leaped from her
back at the close of the review, — alas ! that words
spoken in lightest mood should portend so much!
—‘well, Gulnare, if you should die, your life has
had its triumph. The nation itself, through its ad-
miring capital, has paid tribute to your beauty, and
death can never rob you of your fame.” And I
patted her moist neck and foam-flecked shoulders,
while the grooms were busy with head and loins.
“That night our brigade made its bivouac just
over Long Bridge, almost on the identical spot
where, four years ‘before, I had camped my compa-
ny of three months’ volunteers. With what ex-
periences of march and battle were those four
years filled! For three of these years Gulnare had
been my constant companion. With me she had
shared my tent, and not rarely my rations, for in
appetite she was truly human, and my steward
always counted her as one of our ‘mess.’ Twice
had she been wounded, — once at Fredericksburg,
through the thigh ; and once at Cold Harbor, where
a piece of shell tore away a part of her scalp. So
completely did it stun her, that for some moments
A RIDE WITH A MAD HORSE IN A CAR. 221
I thought her dead, but to my great joy she short-
ly recovered her senses. I had the wound carefully
dressed by our brigade surgeon, from whose care
she came in a month, with the edges of the wound
so nicely united that the eye could with difficulty
detect the scar. This night, as usual, she lay at
my side, her head almost touching mine. Never
before, unless when on a raid, and in face of
the enemy, had I seen her so uneasy. Her
movements during the night compelled wakeful-
ness on my part. The sky was cloudless, and in
the dim light I lay and watched her. Now she
would stretch herself at full leneth, and rub her
head on the ground. Then she would start up,
and, sitting on her haunches, like a dog, lift one
fore leg and paw her neck and ears. Anon she
would rise to her feet and shake herself, walk off
a few rods, return, and le down again by my side.
I did not know what to make of it, unless the
excitement of the day had been too much for her
sensitive nerves. I spoke to her kindly, and petted
her. In response she would rub her nose against
me, and lick my hand with her tongue —a_pecu-
liar habit of hers —like a dog. As I was passing
my hand over her head, I discovered that it was
hot, and the thought of the old wound flashed into
my mind, with a momentary fear that something
might be wrong about her brain, but, after think-
ing it over, I dismissed it as incredible. Still I
wan ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.
was alarmed. I knew that something was amiss,
and I rejoiced at the thought that I should soon
be at home, where she could have quiet, and, if
need be, the best of nursing. At length the morn-
ing dawned, and the mare and I took our last meal
together on Southern soil, — the last we ever took
together. The brigade was formed in line for the
last time, and, as I rode down the front to review
the boys, she moved with all her old battle grace
and power. Only now and then, by a shake of the
head, was I reminded of her actions during the
night. I said a few words of farewell to the men
whom I had led so often to battle, with whom I
had shared perils not a few, and by whom, as I had
reason to think, I was loved, and then gave, with
a voice slightly unsteady, the last order they would
ever receive from me: ‘ Brigade, attention! Ready
to break ranks, Break ranks!’ The order was
obeyed. But ere they scattered, moved by a com-
mon impulse, they gave first three cheers for me,
and then, with the same heartiness and even more
power, three cheers for Gulnare. And she, stand-
ing there, looking with her bright, cheerful counte-
nance full at the men, pawing with her fore
feet, alternately, the ground, seemed to understand
the compliment; for no sooner had the cheering
died away than she arched her neck to its proudest
curve, lifted her thin, delicate head into the air,
and gave a short, joyful neigh.
A RIDE WITH A MAD HORSE IN A CAR. 223
“ My arrangements for transporting her had been
made by a friend the day before. A large, roomy
car had been secured, its floor strewn with bright,
clean straw, a bucket, and a bag ef oats provided,
and everything done for her comfort. The car was
to be attached to the through express, in consider-
ation of fifty dollars extra, which I gladly paid, be-
cause of the greater rapidity with which it enabled
me to make my journey. As the brigade broke
up into groups, I glanced at my watch and saw
that I had barely time to reach the cars before
they started. I shook the reins upon her neck,
and with a plunge, startled at the energy of my
signal, away she flew. What a stride she had!
What an elastic spring! She touched and left the
earth as if her limbs were of spiral wire. When
I reached the car my friend was standing im front
of it, the gang-plank was ready, I leaped from the
saddle, and, running up the plank into the car,
whistled to her; and she, timid and hesitating, yet
unwilling to be separated from me, crept slowly
and cautiously up the steep incline, and stood be-
side me. Inside I found a complete suit of flan-
nel clothes, with a blanket, and, better than all, a
lunch-basket. My friend explained that he had
bought the clothes as he came down to the depot,
thinking, as he said, ‘that they would be much
better than your regimentals, and suggested that I
doff the one and don the other. To this I assented
224 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.
the more readily as I reflected that I would have
to pass one night, at least, in the car, with no bet-
ter bed than the straw under my feet. I had
barely time to undress before the cars were coupled
and started. I tossed the clothes to my friend
with the injunction to pack them in my trunk and
express them on to me, and waived him my adieu.
I arrayed myself in the nice, cool flannel, and
looked around. The thoughtfulness of my friend
had anticipated every want. An old cane-seated
chair stood in one corner. The lunch-basket was
large, and well supplied. Amid the oats I found
a dozen oranges, some bananas, and a package of
real Havana cigars. How I called down blessings
on his thoughtful head as I took the chair, and,
lighting one of the fine-flavored jigaros, gazed out
on the fields past which we were gliding, yet wet
with morning dew. As I sat dreamily admiring
the beauty before me, Gulnare came and, resting her
head upon my shoulder, seemed to share my mood.
As I stroked her fine-haired, satin-like nose, recol-
lection quickened, and memories of our compan-
ionship in perils thronged into my mind. I rode
again that midnight ride to Knoxville, when Burn-
side lay intrenched, desperately holding his own,
waiting for news from Chattanooga, of which I
was the bearer, chosen by Grant himself because
of the reputation of my mare. What riding that
was! We started, ten riders of us in all, each
A RIDE WITH A MAD HORSE IN A CAR. 225
with the same message. I parted company the
first hour out with all save one, an iron-gray stal-
lion of Messenger blood. Jack Murdock rode
him, who learned his horsemanship from buffalo
and Indian hunting on the Plains,— not a bad
school to graduate from. Ten miles out of Knox-
ville the gray, his flanks dripping with blood,
plunged up abreast the mare’s shoulders and fell
dead ; and Gulnare and I passed through the lines
alone. J had ridden the terrible race without whip
or spur. With what scenes of blood and flight
she would ever be associated! And then I thought
of home, unvisited for four long years, — that
home [I left a stripling, but to which I was return-
ing a bronzed and brawny man. I thought of
mother and Bob, — how they would admire her !—
of old Ben, the family groom, and of that one who
shall be nameless, whose picture I had so often
shown to Gulnare as the likeness of her future
mistress ;— had they not all heard of her, my
beautiful mare, she who came to me from the
smoke and whirlwind, my battle-gift ? How they
would pat her soft, smooth sides, and tie her mane
with ribbons, and feed her with all sweet things
from open and caressing palm! And then I thought
of one who might come after her to bear her name
and repeat at least some portion of her beauty, —
a horse honored and renowned the country through,
because of the transmission of the mother’s fame.
10* oO
226 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.
“ About three o'clock in the afternoon a change
came over Gulnare. I had fallen asleep upon the
straw, and she had come and awakened me with a
touch of her nose. The moment I started up I
saw that something was the matter. Her eyes
were dull and heavy. Never before had I seen
the light go out of them. The rocking of the car
as it went jumping and vibrating along seemed to
irritate her. She began to rub her head against
the side of the car. Touching it, I found that the
skin over the brain was hot as fire. Her breath-
ing grew rapidly louder and louder. Each breath
was drawn with a kind of gasping effort. The
lids with their silken fringe drooped wearily over
the lustreless eyes. The head sank lower and low-
er, until the nose almost touched the floor. The
ears, naturally so lively and erect, hung limp and
widely apart. The body was cold and senseless.
A pinch elicited no motion. Even my voice was
at last unheeded. To word and touch there came,
for the first time in all our intercourse, no response.
I knew as the symptoms spread what was the mat-
ter. The signs bore all one way. She was in the
first stages of phrenitis, or inflammation of the brain.
In other words, my beautiful mare was going mad.
“T was well versed in the anatomy of the horse.
Loving horses from my very childhood, there was
little in veterinary practice with which I was not
familiar. Instinctively, as soon as the symptoms
A RIDE WITH A MAD HORSE IN A CAR, 227
had developed themselves, and I saw under what
frightful disorder Gulnare was laboring, I put my
hand into my pocket for my knife, in order to open
avein. There was no knife there. Friends, I have
met with many surprises. More than once, in
battle and scout, have I been nigh death ; but
never did my blood desert my veins and settle so
around the heart, never did such a sickening sen-
sation possess me as when, standing in that car
with my beautiful mare before me, marked with
those horrible symptoms, I made that discovery.
My knife, my sword, my pistols even, were with
my suit in the care of my friend, two hundred
miles away. Hastily, and with trembling fingers,
I searched my clothes, the lunch-basket, my linen ;
not even a pin could I find. I shoved open the
sliding door, and swung my hat and shouted, hop-
ing to attract some brakeman’s attention. The
train was thundering along at full speed, and none
saw or heard me. I knew her stupor would not
last long. A slight quivering of the lip, an occa-
sional spasm running through the frame, told me
too plainly that the stage of frenzy would soon be-
gin. ‘My God?’ I exclaimed, in despair, as I shut
the door and turned toward her, ‘must I see you
die, Gulnare, when the opening of a vein would
save you? Have you borne me, my pet, through
all these years of peril, the icy chill of winter, the
heat and torment of summer, and all the thronging
228 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.
dangers of a hundred bloody battles, only to die
torn by fierce agonies, when so near a peaceful
home ?
But little time was given me to mourn. My
life was soon to be in peril, and I must summon up
the utmost power of eye and limb to escape the
violence of my frenzied mare. Did you ever see a
mad horse when his madness is on him? Take
your stand with me in that car, and you shall see
what suffering a dumb creature can endure before
it dies. In no malady does a horse suffer more
than in phrenitis, or inflammation of the brain.
Possibly in severe cases of colic, probably in rabies
in its fiercest form, the pain is equally intense
These three are the most agonizing of all the dis-
eases to which the noblest of animals is exposed.
Had my pistols been with me, I should then and
there, with whatever strength Heaven granted, have
taken my companion’s life, that she might be
spared the suffering which was so soon to rack and
wring her sensitive frame. A horse laboring under
an attack of phrenitis is as violent as a horse can
be. He is not ferocious as is one in a fit of rabies.
He may kill his master, but he does it without
design. There is in him no desire of mischief for
its own sake, no cruel cunning, no stratagem and
malice. A rabid horse is conscious in every act
and motion. He recognizes the man he destroys.
There is in him an insane desire to kill. Not so
A RIDE WITH A MAD HORSE IN A CAR. 229
with the phrenetic horse. Heis unconscious in his
violence. He sees and recognizes no one. There
is no method or purpose in his madness. He kills
without knowing it.
“T knew what was coming. I could not jump out ;
that would be certain death. I must abide in the
car and take my chance of life. The car was for-
tunately high, long, and roomy. I took my position
in front of my horse, watchful and ready to spring.
Suddenly her lids, which had been closed, came
open with a snap, as if an electric shock had passed
through her, and the eyes, wild in their brightness,
stared directly at me. And what eyes they were }
The membrane grew red and redder, until it was of
the color of blood, standing out in frightful contrast
with the transparency of the cornea. The pupil
gradually dilated until it seemed about to burst
out of the socket. The nostrils, which had been
sunken and motionless, quivered, swelled, and
glowed. The respiration became short, quick, and
gasping. The lin:p and drooping ears stiffened and
stood erect, pricked sharply forward, as if to catch
the slightest sound. Spasms, as the car swerved
and vibrated, ran through her frame. More horrid
than all, the lips slowly contracted, and the white,
sharp-edged teeth stood uncovered, giving an in-
describable look of ferocity to the partially opened
1aouth! The car suddenly reeled as it dashed
around a curve, swaying her almost off her feet,
230 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.
and, as a contortion shook her, she recovered her-
self, and, rearmg upward as high as the car per-
mitted, plunged directly at me. I was expecting
the movement, and dodged. Then followed exhibi-
tions of pain which I pray God I may never see
again. Time and again did she dash herself wpon
the floor, and roll over and over, lashing out with
her feet in all directions. Pausing a moment, she
would stretch her body to its extreme length, and,
lying upon her side, pound the floor with her head
as if it were a maul. Then, like a flash, she would
leap to her feet, and whirl round and round, until,
from very giddiness, she would stagger and fall.
She would lay hold of the straw with her teeth,
and shake it as a dog shakes a struggling wood-
chuck ; then dashing it from her mouth, she would
seize hold of her own sides, and rend herself.
Springing up, she would rush against the end of
the car, falling all in a heap from the violence of
the concussion. For some fifteen minutes, without
intermission, the frenzy lasted. I was nearly ex-
hausted. My efforts to avoid her mad rushes, the
terrible tension of my nervous system produced by
the spectacle of such exquisite and prolonged suf-
fering, were weakening me beyond what I should
have thought it possible an hour before for anything
to weaken me. In fact, I felt my strength leaving
me. -~
of “Scribner”? will need no further recommendation to the perusal of this
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In these days when so much interest and sympathy is evoked by the narration
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aristocratic, governing class ; who, notwithstanding their adherence to French
models, still have that indefinite touch of their Oriental ancestry which gives
them their romance and passion, and renders them as emphatically Russian as
the most humble peasant.
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ands of men and women of other patronymics take pride in their descent from
Tristram, its first American patriarch, that what concerns them all, any consid-
erable branch or distinguished individual of the race, seems rather history than
biography.
THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF COMMODORE CHARLES
MORRIS. With heliotype portrait after Ary Scheffer. 1 vol. 8vo.
111 pages. $1.00,
A valuable addition to the literature of American history; a biography of
one who, in the words of Admiral Farragut, was ‘‘America’s grandest seaman.”?
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HOW TO WRITE THE HISTORY OF A FAMILY. By W. P.
W. Purtirmore, M.A., B.C. L. rvol. Cr. 8vo0o. Tastefutly printed in
antique style, handsomely bound. $2.00.
Unassuming, practical, essentially useful, Mr. Phillimore’s book should be in
the hands of every one who aspires to search for his ancestors and to learn his
family history. — Atheneum.
This is the best compendious genealogist’s guide that has yet been published,
and Mr. Phillimore deserves the thanks and appreciation of all lovers of family
history. — Religuary.
Notice. —Large Paper Edition. A few copies, on hand-made paper, wide mar-
gins, bound in half morocco, may be obtained, price $6.50 ze¢.
<
THE KINSHIP OF MEN: An Argument from Pedigrees; or, Genealogy
Viewed asa Science. By Henry KENDALL. Cr. 8vo. Cloth, $2.00,
The old pedigree-hunting was a sign of pride and pretension; the modern is
simply dictated by the desire to know whatever can be known. The one
advanced itself by the methods of immoral advocacy; the other proceeds by
those of scientific research. — Sfectator (London).
RECORDS AND RECORD SEARCHING. A Guide to the Genealo-
gist and Topographer. By WALTER Rye. 8vo, cloth. Price $2.50.
This book places in the hands of the Antiquary and Genealogist, and others
interested in kindred studies, a comprehensive guide to the enormous mass of
material which is available in his researches, showing what it consists of, and
where it can be found.
ANCESTRAL TABLETS. A Collections of Diagrams for Pedigrees, so
arranged that Eight Generations of the Ancestors of any Person may be
recorded in a connected and simple form. By WiLtt1am H. Wuitmore,
A.M. SEVENTH EDITION. Ox heavy parchment paper, large gto,
tastefully and strongly bound, Roxburgh style. Price $2.00.
“No one with the least bent for genealogical research ever examined this in-
Seuely compact substitute for the ‘family tree’ without longing to own it.
t provides for the recording of eight lineal generations, and is a perpetual
incentive to the pursuit of one’s ancestry.”? — Nation.
THE ELEMENTS OF HERALDRY. A practical manual, showing
what heraldry is, where it comes from, and to what extent it is applicable to
American usage; to which is added a Glossary in English, French and
Latin of the forms employed. Profusely Illustrated. By W. H.
Wuirmorg, author of “ Ancestral Tablets,” etc. [/ press.
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PROF. CLARK MURRAY’S WORKS.
SOLOMON MAIMON: An Autobiography. ‘Translated from the Ger-
man, with Additions and Notes, by Prof. J. Clark Murray. 1 vol
Cr. 8vo. Cloth. 307 pp. $2.00.
A life which forms one of the most extraordinary biographies in the history
of literature.
The London Sfectator says: ‘‘ Dr. Clark Murray has had the rare good
fortune of first presenting this singularly vivid book in an English translation
as pure and lively as if it were an original, and an original by a classic
Inglish writer.
George Eliot, in ‘‘ Daniel Deronda,” mentions it as ‘‘that wonderful bit of
autobiography —the life of the Polish Jew, Solomon Maimon”; and Milman,
in his ‘‘ History of the Jews,” refers to it as a curious and rare book.
HANDBOOK OF PSYCHOLOGY. By Prof. J. Clark Murray,
LL.D., Professor of Mental and Moral Philosophy, M’Gill College,
Montreal. Cr. 8vo. 2d edition, enlarged and improved. $1.75.
Clearly and simply written, with illustrations so well chosen that the dullest
student can scarcely fail to take an interest in the subject.
ADOPTED FOR USE IN COLLEGES IN SCOTLAND, ENGLAND,
CANADA, AND THE UNITED STATES.
Prof. Murrasy’s good fortune in bringing to light the “ Matmon Memoirs,”
Yogether with the increasing popularity of his “Handbook of Psychology,” has
attracted the attention of the intellectual world, giving him a position
with the leaders of thought of the present age. His writings are at once
original and suggestive.
AALESUND TO TETUAN. By Cuas. R. Cornine. A Volume of
Travel. 12m0. 4oopp. Cloth. $2.00.
TABLE oF ConTENTS. — Portsmouth— Isle of Wight— Channel Islands -—
Normandy — Nice — Monte Carlo — Genoa— Naples and its Environments —
Rome — Verona— Venice — Norway — Sweden — St. Petersburg — Moscow —
Warsaw — Berlin— Up the Rhine — Barcelona — Valencia — Seville — Cadiz
— Morocco — Gibraltar — Granada— Madrid and the Royal Wedding— Bull
i ghts — Escurial — Biarritz — Bordeaux — Paris.
TAPPY’S CHICKS: or, Links Between Nature and Human Nature.
By Mrs. Georce Curries. Illustrated. 16mo, Cloth. $1.25.
The tenderness and humor of this volume are simply exquisite. —Z. P,
Whipple. Pea 4
The title is altogether {oo insignificant for so delightful and valuable a work.
—- Spectator (London).
It is not merely a work of talent, but has repeated strokes of undeniable
genius. — George Macdonald. [lx preparation.
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A New Book By W. H. H. Murray.
DAYLIGHT LAND. The experiences, incidents, and adventures, humorous
and otherwise, which befell Judge John Doe, Tourist, of San Francisco;
Mr Cephas Pepperell, Capitalist, of Boston; Colonel Goffe, the Man
from New Hampshire, and divers others, in their Parlor-Car Excursion over
Prairie and Mountain ; as recorded and set forth by W. H. H. Murray.
Superbly illustrated with 150 cuts in various colors by the best artists.
Contents: — Introduction —The Meeting — A Breakfast — A Very Hopeful
Man—The Big Nepigon Trout—The Man in the Velveteen Jacket— The
Capitalist —Camp at Rush Lake— Big Game —A Strange Midnight Ride
— Banff — Sunday among the Mountains — Nameless Mountains—- The Great
Glacier —The Hermit of Frazer Cation — Fish and Fishing in British Colum-
bia — Vancouver City — Parting at Victoria.
Svo. 350 pages. Unique paper covers, $2.50; half leather binding, $3.50.
Mr. Murray has chosen the north-western side of the continent for the scene
of this book ; a region of country which is little known by the average reader,
but which in its scenery, its game, and its vast material and undeveloped
resources, supplies the author with a subject which has not been trenched upon
even by the magazines, and which he has treated in that lively and spirited
manner for which he is especially gifted. The result is a volume full of novel
information of the country, humorous and pathetic incidents, vivid descriptions
of its magnificent scenery, shrewd forecasts of its future wealth and greatness
when developed, illustrated and embellished with such lavishness and artistic
elegance as has never before been attempted in any similar work in this coun-
try.
ADIRONDACK TALES. By W.H. H. Murray. Illustrated. 12mo.
300 pages. $1.25.
Containing John Norton’s Christmas — Henry Herbert’s Thanksgiving — A
Strange Visitor — Lost in the Woods— A Jolly Camp — Was it Suicide?—
The Gambler’s Death— The Old Beggar’s Dog —The Ball — Who was he ?
Short stories in Mr. Murray’s best vein —humorous; pathetic; full of the
spirit of the woods.
HOW DEACON TUBMAN AND PARSON WHITNEY KEPT
NEW YEARS, and other Storiess By W. H. H. Murray. 16mo.
Illustrated. $1.25.
A HEART REGAINED. By Carmen Sytva (Queen of Roumania)
Translated by Mary A. MitcHety. Fcap. 8vo. Cloth. $1.00.
A charming story by this talented authoress, told in her vivid, picturesque
manner, and showing how patient waiting attains to ultimate reward.
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RALPH WALDO EMERSON, Puitosoruer ann Seer. An Estimate
of his Character and Genius. By A. Bronson Atcorr.
With portraits and other illustrations. Foolscap octavo. Gilt top. $1.50.
One hundred copies will be printed on larger and finer paper, 8vo, suitable
for the insertion of extra illustrations. Bound in Roxburgh, gilt top. Price
to Subscribers, $3.00.
A book about Emerson, written by the one man who stood nearest to him of
all men. It is an original and vital contribution to Zznersonza ; like a portrait
of one of the old masters painted by his own brush. [Jz Press.
HERMAN GRIMM’ S WORKS.
THE LIFE OF RAPHAEL asshown in his principal works. From the
German of Herman Grimm, author of ‘Vhe Life of Michael Angelo,”
etc. With frontispiece, after Braun, of the recently discovered portrait,
outlined by Raphael in chalk, Cr. 8vo. Cloth. $2.09.
ESSAYS ON LITERATURE. From the German of Herman Grimm,
uniform with ‘“The Life of Raphael.” Mew and enlarged edition, care-
Jully corrected. Cr. 8vo. Cloth. $2.00.
BY JAMES H. STARK.
ANTIQUE VIEWS OF YE TOWNE OF BOSTON. By James H.
Stark, Assisted by Dr. SAmuEL A. GREEN, Ex-Mayor of Boston, Libra-
rian of the Massachusetts Historical Society; JouN Warp Dean, Libra-
rian of the New England Historic Genealogical Society; and Judge
ME LLEN CHAMBERLAIN, of the Public Library. 4 2% extensive and exhaust-
wwe work in 378 pages. Large quarto. Illustrated with nearly 200 full
size reproductions of all known rare maps, old prints, etc. 1vol. flo.
Cloth. $6.00.
BERMUDA GUIDE. A description of everything on or about the Ber-
muda Islands, concerning which the visitor or resident may desire informa-
tion, including its history, inhabitants, climate, agriculture, geology,
government, military and naval establishments. By James H. Srark.
With Maps, Engravings and 16 photo-prints. 1 vol. 12mo, cloth,
157 pp. $2.00.
PAUL REVERE: Historical and Legendary. By Evsrince H. Goss.
With reproductions of many of Revere’s engravings, etc. [/2 press.
A DIRECTORY OF THE CHARITABLE AND BENEFICENT
ORGANIZATIONS OF BOSTON, ETC. Prepared for the Asse.
ciated Charities. 1 vol., 196 pp. 16mo. Cloth, $1.00.
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TRANSLATIONS OF TWO POWERFUL GERMAN NOVELS BY AUTHORS
NEW TO AMERICAN READERS.
THE LAST VON RECKENBURG. By Louise von Francois. Trans-
lated from the third German edition. 370 pages. Cr. 8vo. Cloth, gilt.
$1.50.
The popularity of this book among the reading public of Europe, and the
interest it has excited in critical circles, led to the present translation into
English. Gustave Freytag, one of the greatest of German novelists, says of
it: ‘‘ Clear, terse, with not a word too much, and rich in powerful expres-
sions, it depicts everything in short sentences, obedient to every mood, every
change of color. Readers will always close this volume with a consciousness
that they have received a rare gift.”
MM. Erckmann-Chatrian have depicted the feverish excitement of France
during the height of Napoleon’s meteor-like blaze: this equally powerful ro-
mance shows the reaction in Germany immediately after his downfall, when
the pulse of Europe was striving to regain its normal beat.
THE MONK’S WEDDING. A novel. By C. F. Meyer. Cr. 8vo
unique binding, gilt top. $1.25.
This is an Italian story, written by a German, and translated by an American,
and purports to be narrated by the poet Dante at the hospitable hearth of his
patron, Can Grande. He evolved it from an inscription on a gravestone:
“‘Hic jacet monachus Astorre cum uxore Antiope. Sepeliebat Azzolinus’”’
(Here sleeps the monk Astorre with his wife Antiope. Ezzelin gave them
burial). Those who have any acquaintance with the unscrupulous machina-
tions of the Italian, and particularly of the Italian ecclesiastic, will have little
difficulty in conjuring up what a grim, lurid tale of secret crime and suffering a
““Monk’s Wedding’’is sure to be. It is of sustained and absorbing interest, full
of delicate touches and flashes of passion, a tragedy which cannot fail to leave
an impression of power upon the mind.
Works BY WILLIAM H. RIDEING.
THACKERAY’S LONDON: HIS HAUNTS AND THE
SCENES OF HIS NOVELS. With two original Portraits (etched
and engraved); a fac-simile of a page of the original manuscript of ‘‘ The
Newcomes;” together with several exquisitely engraved woodcuts. 1 vol,
square 12mo. Cloth, gilt top,in box. $1.00. Fourth Edition.
ElinEe YU PSTART, A. ANovel. Third edition. 16mo. Cloth. $1.25.
“Asa study of literary and would-be literary life it is positively brilliant:
Many well-known figures are drawn with a few sweeping touches. The book,
as a Story, is interesting enough for the most experienced taste, and, as a satire,
it is manly and healthy.”” —/John Boyle O’ Reilly.
“ Notably free from the least sensationalism or unnaturalness. . . Flashes of
sterling wit, with touches of exquisite pathos, and with a quiet mastery of style
which I have rarely seen surpassed in American fiction and seldom equalled.
The incidental bits of philosophy, observation, and keen worldly knowledge
have few parallels in our literature.”’ — Edgar Fawcett.
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Books ABOUT RALPH WALDO EMERSON.
RALPH WALDO EMERSON: PHILOSOPHER AND SEER. By
Bronson A. AtcottT. Second edition. Portraits, etc. Cr. 8vo. Cloth. $1.00,
A book about Emerson, written by the one man who stood nearest to him of
all mea. It is an original and vital contribution to Ewersoniana ; like a portrait
of one of the old masters painted by his own brush,
““A beautiful little book.” — Boston Transcript.
“This book, more than any other which Alcott published, shows his highest
quality as a writer.” — Boston Unitarian.
RALPH WALDO EMERSON: HIS MATERNAL ANCESTORS,
WITH SOME REMINISCENCES OF HIM. By his cousin, D. G.
Haskins, D.D. With illustrations reproduced from portraits and _ sil-
houettes never before made public. 12mo. Large paper, $5.00; cloth, $1.50.
Printed in the antique style, and a very choice book. The illustrations are
exceedingly interesting, while the work itself throws unique and valuable side-
lights on the life and character of its subject.
THE OPTIMISM OF RALPH WALDO EMERSON. By Wixt1am F.
Dana. 16mo. Cloth. 75 cents.
An essay of reach, insight, and ripeness of judgment, showing the teaching
ef Emerson’s philosophy in terse, well-chosen language. One of the best of
many critical expositions.
THE INFLUENCE OF RALPH WALDO EMERSON. By W. R.
THAYER. 8vo. Paper. $0.50.
An eulogy of his work by one qualified to speak with authority by reason of
his studies of philosophic systems, who compares Emerson’s solution of the
problems of the Infinite with those propounded by other great minds,
LONGFELLOW AND EMERSON. The Massachusetts Historical
Society’s Memorial Volume, with portraits. Quarto boards, $2.00; cloth,
$2.50.
Containing the addresses and eulogies by Dr. Oliver Wendell Holmes,
Charles E. Norton, Dr. G. E. Ellis, and others, together with Mr. Emerson’s
tribute to Thomas Carlyle, and his earlier and much-sought-for addresses on
Sir Walter Scott and Robert Burns. Illustrated with two full-page portraits in
albertype after Mr. Notman’s photograph of Mr. Longfellow, and Mr. Hawes’s
celebrated photograph of Mr. Emerson, taken in 1855, so highly prized by col-
lectors.
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HARVARD UNIVERSITY.
HARVARD, THE FIRST AMERICAN UNIVERSITY : ITS HIS-
TORY IN EARLY DAYS. By G.G. Busu. Choicely illustrated,
with rare and curious engravings. Large Pager, 4to, $5.00; 16mo,
Roxburgh binding, cloth, $1.25.
Printed in the antique style; a very careful and beautiful piece of book-
making, and a valuable contribution to the early history of education in our
country,
HARVARD UNIVERSITY IN THE WAR OF 1861-1865. A
record of services rendered in the army and navy of the United States by
the graduates and students of Harvard College and the professional
schools. By F. H. Brown. 8vo. With index. Cloth, gilt top, rough
edges. $4.00.
HOMES OF OUR FOREFATHERS. A selection of views of the
most interesting Historical Buildings now remaining in New England,
and consisting of four volumes, each independent of the others. About
three hundred illustrations in the four volumes from original drawings
taken on the spot by E. Whitefield.
Each volume is royal 8vo, bevelled boards, gilt edges, $6.00 per vol., or
$20.00 for the entire work. ‘The first, third, and fourth volumes are now ready,
and the other will soon be completed.
Vol. I., Eastern Massachusetts; Vol. II., Western Massachusetts; Vol. III.,
Connecticut and Rhode Island; Vol. IV., Maine, New Hampshire, and
Vermont.
EDITED BY RUSKIN.
THE STORY OF IDA. By Frances ALEXANDER (FRANCESCA). Edited,
with preface, by JoHn Ruskin. With frontispiece by the author. 16mo,
Limp cloth, red edges. Eleventh thousand. 75 cents.
WILLIAMS ON THE Care oF THE Eye.
OUR EYES AND HOW TO TAKE CARE OF THEM.
By Henry W. WititaAms, M.D. 12mo. Cloth, red edges. $1.00.
The fact that the first edition of this work was some time since exhausted,
and that two editions of it have been published in London (without the know-
ledge and consent of the author), permits him to hope that its republication,
in a revised form, may be acceptable to those who wish to know what should
be done and what avoided in order that the sight, the most important of our
senses, may be enjoyed and preserved.— Preface.
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Books sy Anti-SLAverY WRITERS.
ACTS OF THE ANTI-SLAVERY APOSTLES. By Parker
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THE STORY OF ARCHER ALEXANDER, FROM SLAVERY
TO FREEDOM. By W.G. Extor. Illustrated. 16mo. Cloth. go cents.
WITH 32 ILLUSTRATIONS AND Maps.
THE WINNIPEG COUNTRY. A record of a journey of 3500 miles by
canoe, stage, saddle, and ox-cart, through the northern portion of the Ameri-
can continent. By a Professor of Harvard University. 12mo. Cloth. $1.75.
Works Asout Boston.
RAMBLES IN OLD BOSTON, NEW ENGLAND. By Epwarp
G. Porter. With forty-two full-page and over fifty smaller illustrations
from original drawings by G. R. Torman. Second edition. Large paper,
parchment binding, $15.00; half levant, $25.00; 1 vol. quarto, half leather,
cloth sides, uncut edges, $6.00.
ANTIQUE VIEWS OF YE TOWN OF BOSTON. By James H.
STARK, assisted by Dr. SamuEL A. GREEN, Ex-Mayor of Boston, and others.
Illustrated. 4to. Cloth. $6.00.
A DIRECTORY OF THE CHARITABLE AND BENEFICENT
ORGANIZATIONS OF BOSTON, ETC. Prepared for the Asso-
ciated Charities. 1 vol. 196pp. 16mo. Cloth. $1.00.
THEEVACUATION OF BOSTON. By Georce E. Extts, D.D., LL.D.
With a Chronicle of the Siege. Steel engravings, full-page heliotype fac-
similes, maps, etc. Imperial 8vo. Cloth. $2.00.
NOTES ON THE HISTORY OF THE OLD STATE HOUSE
(BOSTON). By Georcre H. Moorz, LL.D. 2vols. in one. 8vo. Cloth.
$2.00.
BanbeLier’s Mexico.
ARCHAZ.OLOGICAL RECONNOISSANCE INTO MEXICO. By
A. F. BANDELIER. With upwards of one hundred illustrations, heliotypes,
woodcuts, colored engravings, etc. Second edition. Large 8vo. Cloth,
bevelled, gilt top. $5.00. (P~- The right to raise the price without
notice is reserved: aletter-press book, and not stereotyped.
The standard work on the subject, always quoted as the authority.
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Works By Russian AUTHORS.
THE POEMS OF ALEXANDER PUSHKIN. Translated from the
Russian, with a bibliographical preface, an introduction, and notes, by Ivan
Panin. 1 vol. 16mo. Bound in yellow satin and white vellum, with an
appropriate design and gilt top. Price, $2.00.
This is a solitaire anda masterpiece. Pushkin is by far the most celebrated
of all Russian poets, and onlya Russian can translate him. ‘The volume is
beautifully printed, and appeals to choice minds.— The Beacon.
THOUGHTS. By Ivan Panin. First and second series (sold separately).
16mo. Cloth. Price, 50 cents each.
““Good thoughts and wise precepts.’’—Boston Advertiser.
“An expert in pithy expression.’’—Bostox Globe.
“ The truth is, this little volume in asmall compass isa treasury of thought.””
—Church Press.
ANNOUCHKA. A novel. By Ivan TourGuENEFF. 16mo. Cloth. $1.00.
POEMS IN PROSE. By Ivan TourGuenerr. Portrait. 12m>. Cloth,
gilt top, uncut edges. $1.25.
Works RELATING TO Music AND THE DRAMA.
YESTERDAYS WITH ACTORS. By Karte ReicNotps Wrinsiow.
Second edition. Illustrated with many portraits and vignettes. Cr.:8vo. Cloth,
Colored top, uncut, $2.00; white and gold, gilt top, $2.50,
Anecdote and sparkling reminiscences concerning famous actors and
actresses who have flitted across the American stage, by a distinguished actress
whose personality still lingers in the memory of the theatre-goer of twenty
years agoand later. (&P~ he pudslishers reserve the right to raise the price of
this book without notice.
AN ACTOR’S TOUR; OR SEVENTY THOUSAND MILES
WITH SHAKESPEARE. By Daniet E. BanpMann. With portrait
after W. M. Hunt. 1r2mo. Cloth. $1.50.
ADELAIDE PHILIPPS, THE AMERICAN SONGSTRESS. A
Memoir. Second edition. With portrait. r2mo. Cloth. $1.00.
RICHARD WAGNER, AND HIS POETICAL WORKS, FROM
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PAYNE WOHN HOWARD). By C. H. Bratnarp. A_ Biographical
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$3.00.
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TRAVESTIES, PARODIES, AND JEUX D’ESPRIT.
THE IMAGINARY CONVERSATIONS OF HIS EXCELLENCY
AND DAN. By C. W. Taytor. With 40 full-page silhouette illustra
tions by F. H. BLartr. go pp. i6mo Paper. 25 cents,
“Tt is fun for the masses, wholly irrespective of political parties,— such good.
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THE LITTLE TIN-GODS-ON-WHEELS; OR, SOCIETY IN
OUR MODERN ATHENS. A Trilogy, after the manner of the
Greek. By Ropert Grant. Illustrated by F.G. Atrwoop. Tenth edz.
tion. Pamphlet. Small 4to. 50 cents.
Divided into Three Parts: The Wall Flowers; the Little Tin-Gods-on-
Wheels; The Chaperons. A broad burlesque of Boston society scenes.
ROLLO’S JOURNEY TO CAMBRIDGE. A Tale of the Adventures
of the Historic Holiday Family at Harvard under the New Regime. Witt
twenty-six illustrations, full-page frontispiece, and an illuminated cover o1
striking gorgeousness, By Francis G. Artwoop. 1 vol. imperial 8vo
Limp. London toy-book style. Third and enlarged edition. 75 cents.
“All will certainly relish the delicious satire in both text and illustrations.’’—
Boston Traveller.
“A brilliant and witty piece of fun.’? — Chicago Tribune.
EVERY MAN HIS OWN POET; OR, THE INSPIRED
SINGER’S RECIPE BOOK. By W. H. Mattock, author of ‘“‘ New
Republic,” etc. Eleventh Edition. 16mo. 25 cents.
A most enjoyable piece of satire, witty, clever, and refined. In society and
literary circles its success, both here and abroad, has been immense.
TWO COMEDIES: AN ILL WIND; AN ABJECT APOL-
OGY. By F. Donatpson, Jr. Fcap. 8vo. Paper, elegant. 50 cents.
These comedies belong to the same class of literature as do the lightest of
Austin Dobson’s lyrics and Andrew Lang’s least serious essays, and their form
is admirably suited to the depicting of the foibles and rather weak passions of
that indefinite caste, American society. They are evidently modelled on the
French vaudeville, and their characters are clever people, who say bright things.
Why should we not choose the people we describe from the clever minority,
instead of making them, as is sometimes done, unnecessarily dull, although
perhaps more true to nature at large? Mr. Donaldson has done so, and much
of the dialogue in these comedies is clever as well as amusing.
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RECENT FICTION.
Admirable in Quality. Thoroughly Interesting. Specially
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BiepisLoz. By ADA M. TROTTER. 1.50
ZoraH. By ELisaABETH BALCH bi ld = OL RORb 1.25
Tue Last Von Reckensurc. By Louise FRANCOIS . 1.50
THE ANGEL OF THE VILLAGE. By L. M. OnorRN 1.25
How Deacon TusMAN AND ParsON WHITNEY SPENT ee
Year’s. By W. H. H. Murray. 1.25
Mauary Sawyer. By S. E. Doucuass 1.25
Tue TERRACE OF Mon Desir. A Russian Norel 1.25
Story OF AN OL_p New EnciLanp Town. By Mrs. ition 1.00
Carre Cop Forks. By Satity P. McLean 1.50
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Some OTHER Forks. By Satry P. McLean. 1.50
Stmpty A Love Story. By Puitire ORNE . : 1.25
A» LittLte Upstart. A Novel. By W. H. hoon 1.25
AnnoucHKA. By Ivan TourGuenerr. Translated by F. P. esone 1.00
MoonsHine. By F. A. Tupper oh ic atr ates 1.00
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From Manpce to MARGARET. By CARROLL WINCHESTER . 1.00
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CUPPLES & HURD, THE ALGONQUIN PRESS, BOSTON.
ae [or nn
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a =
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Mch. 1. 1. ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS; on, Cawe Lire
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Mch. 155 2, SILKEN THREADS. A Detective Story. By the Author
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Apr. t. LASTCHANCE JUNCTION. Satty Pratt McLean.
io:
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ADAMS.
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June 1. 7. A SUMMER CRUISE ON THE COAST OF NEW
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July 1 9. STRAY LEAVES FROM NEWPORT. E. G. WuHeEEceEr.
July 15. 10, CIVILIZATION IN THE UNITED STATES, Marruew
ARNOLD. ;
Aug. « 11, AUNT PEN’S AMERICAN NIECES AT BLEDISLOE.
Aug. 15. 12. TOWHEAD: Tue Story of A Girt. Saity Peart
"McLean,
Sept. 1. 13. ZORAH. A Love Story of Mopern Eayet. E. Barcn.
Sept. 15. 14. OLD NEW ENGLAND DAYS, Sorum M. Damoy.
Oct. r 15. CAPE COD FOLKS, Satty Pratrr McLean.
Oct. 15. 16. THEQDORE PARKER, Frances Cooks.
Nov. 17. A LITTLE UPSTART. W. H. Riverna.
Noy. 15. 18. ABELARD AND HELOISA. W. W. Newton.
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