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PLEASE  DO  NOT  REMOVE 
CARDS  OR  SLIPS  FROM  THIS  POCKET 

UNIVERSITY  OF  TORONTO  LIBRARY 


F        Street,  Alfred  Billings 
127         Woods  and  waters 
A2S82 
1865 


WOODS  AND  W 


IN  THE  SARANACS 


Hit*  1TFS>  ILLUSTRATIONS   ON  WOOD 

"  ^r  . 


DESIGNED   BT  WILLIAM  HART,  AND  ENGRAVED   BY   AVERT 


BY  ALFRED  B.   STREET 

AUTHOR  OF  "POEMS,"  "FRONTENAC,  A  NARRATIVE  POEM,"  &c. 


NEW  YORK 

PUBLISHED  BY  KURD   AND  HOUGHTON 

BOSTON:  E.  P.  BUTTON  AND  COMPANY 

1865 


n 

o 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  :'n  the  year  1860.  by 
ALFRED    B.    STREET, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  'the  District  Court  of  the  United  States  for  tne  Southern 
District  of  New  York. 


P 


CAMBRIDGE:  PRINTED  BY  H.  o.  HOUGHTON  AND  COMPANT. 


To    JOHN    A.    GRISWOLD, 

OP  TEOT,   N.   Y. 

I  dedicate  this  book  to  you,  as  a  memento  of  friendship  and  of  the 
happy  hours  we  have  enjoyed,  with  the  other  members  of  the  Saranac 
Club,  in  the  great  wilderness  of  our  native  State. 


THE  AUTHOR. 


ALBANY,  N.  Y.,  August  1st,  1860. 


ILLUSTEATIOE'S. 


MOOSE  MOUNTAIN, FRONTISPIECE. 

DOE  AND  PAWNS, VIGNETTE  TITLE-PAGE. 

MOUNT  SEWARD PAGE  41 


CONTENTS. 


PAGB 

INTRODUCTION, xv 


CHAPTER  I. 

Camp  of  the  Indian  Carrying-Place. — The  Saranac  Club  and  Guides. — 
A  Bear. — Seeking  Deer  and  finding  Musquitoes,. 1 

CHAPTER  II. 

The  Start  from  Home. — The  Yankee's  Story  of  the  taking  of  Ticon- 
deroga. — The  Ausable  Yalley. — The  Driver's  opinion  of  Deacon 
Brown. — Scenery  on  the  road. — A  quotation  under  difficulties.— 
Harvey  Moody. — Scenery  at  Baker's, 13 

CHAPTER  III. 

The  Saranac  Boats. — The  Buckboard. — Harvey  kills  a  Deer. — The  Song 
of  Glencoe, 25 

CHAPTER  IY. 

The  Lower  Saranac.  Lake. — The  Eagle. — Mount  Tahawus. — The  Loon. — 
The  Gull. — Moose  Mountain. — Cove  Hill. — Mount  Seward. — White- 
face 31 

CHAPTER  V. 

Lower  Saranac  Lake. — A  Talk  on  Trapping. — A  Moose  Story. — Sara- 
nac River. — Moose  Mountain. — Middle  Falls. — Round  Lake. — Um- 
brella Point^Bartlett's. — Upper  Saranac  Lake, ., 43 


CHAPTER  VL 

PAGB 

Sunrise. — Indian  Legend. — The  Saranac  Wizards. — Mode  of  Carrying 
the  Boats. — The  Beaver-Pond  Hunt. — The  Stony  Ponds, 55 

CHAPTER  VII. 

Stony  Creek. — Origin  of  the  Indian  Plume. — The  Racket  River.— 
Moose  Talk. — Panther  Story. — Palmer  Brook.— Racket-Falls  Camp, . .  G9 

CHAPTER  VIII. 

Floating  for  Deer. — Night  Scenery  on  the  Racket. — Owls. — A  Camp 
Scene 82 

CHAPTER  IX. 

Carry  at  Racket  Falls. — Up  the  Racket. — Cold  River. — Bowen's  Camp. — 
Long  Lake. — The  River  Driver. — Harvey's  Woods.  -  Almanac, 97 

CHAPTER  X. 
Camp  Sketches  in  a  Rain  Storm. — Lumbering  and  River  Driving, 104 

CHAPTER  XL 

Camp  Sketches — Racket  Falls  Camp  Left. — Down  the  Racket  to 
Calkins. — An  onslaught  of  Musquitoes  upon  the  Saranac  Club. — 
Mart's  imitations, 118 

CHAPTER  XIL 

A  Rainy  Day  on  the  Racket. — Down  to  Folingsby's  Brook. — Folings- 
by's  Pond. — Bingham  and  the  Ducks.— Captain  Folingsby, 131 

CHAPTER  XIII. 

Down  the  Racket.— Old  Ramrod.— Trout  Fishing  at  Half-Way  Brook. — 
A  Water-Maple.— Cloud  Pictures. — Woods  in  the  Wind. — The  Great 
Oxbow. — Ramrod's  Shanty ;  and  Chase  by  Indians. — A  Talk  on  Fish- 
ing, with  the  Opinion  of  the  Guides  about  it. — A  Night  Scene  on  the 
River, , U8 

CHAPTER   XIV. 

Simon's  Pond. — Harvey's  Story  of  Old  Sabele,  the  Indian. — Driving 
Deer.— The  Simon's  Pond  Pirate.— Tupper's  Lake.— Night  Sail  on 
Lake,.,.., .  163 


CONTENTS.  XIL1 

CHAPTER  XV. 

PASM 

Tapper's  Lake.— Old  Sabele  continued.— The  Devil's  Pulpit.— Its 
Legend. — A  Deer's  Leap. — The  Camp. — Trout  Fishing 177 

CHAPTER  XYI. 

Bingham  Kills  a  Deer  in  the  Lake. — The  Indian  Park. — Leo,  the. 
Indian. — The  Loon. — Showers  on  the  Lake. — In  Camp, 188 

CHAPTER  XVII. 

Thunder-storms. — Lightning  Island. — Thoughts  at  the  Indian  Pass. — A 
high  Wind. — Captain  Bill  Snyder. — Night  Sail  in  the  Wind. — Cove 
at  the  Devil's  Pulpit. — Mist  on  the  Water. — Harvey's  Indian  Story, . .  202 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 

The  Sabbath.— Preaching  at  the  Indian  Park.— The  Pool.— The  Sky.— 
Politics.— The  Constitution, 224 

CHAPTER  XIX. 

Sail  up  Tupper's  Lake. — Jenkins'  Clearing. — The  Shanty  of  the  Spring. — 
Bog  River  Falls. — Head  of  the  Lake. — Up  Bog  River. — Leo. — Track 
of  the  Moose. — Roar  of  the  Moose. — Mud  Lake. — Death  of  the 
Moose, 233 

CHAPTER  XX. 

Back  to  Tupper's  Lake. — Night  Sail  down  the  Lake. — The  Echo. — De- 
serted Camp. — Message,  woods  fashion. — Tupper's  Lake  left. — Down 
the  Racket. — Indian  Camp. — The  Water-lily. — Legend  of  its  Origin. — 
The  Mink. — News  of  the  Party. — The  Eagle-nest. — Through  Racket 
Pond. — The  Island. — The  Irish  Clearing. — Captain  Peter's  Rocks. — 
Camp  at  Setting-Pole  Rapids, 248 

CHAPTER  XXI. 

Fish-Hawk  Rapids. — Perciefield  Falls. — Death  of  Sabele. — Beaver  Trip 
agreed  upon. — Floating. — The  Dark  Woods. — The  Foot-Tread. — The 
Indian  Jack-Light, 261 

CHAPTER  XXH. 

Setting  Pole  Rapids  behind.— Wolf  Brook.— Little  Wolf  and  Big  Wolf 
Ponds. — Lumber-Road  in  the  Ram. — Picture  Pond. — Beaver  Mea- 
dow.— Maine  Shanty, 2t7 


XIV  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  XXHL 

PAOI 

Path  Resumed. — The  Medal — Musquito  Pond. — Rawlins  Pond. — Flood- 
wood  Pond.— The  Sable, — A  Network  of  Ponds. — Long  Pond.— The 
Cranes.— Slang  Pond.— Turtle  Pond.— Hoel's  Pond.— Boat  Left- 
Through  the  "Woods. — Beaver  Meadows. — Beaver  Signs. — Beaver 
Pond. — Beaver  Houses. — A  Beaver. — The  Bivouac 285 

CHAPTER  XXIV. 

Return  Path. — ClamsheH  Pond. — Song-birds. — Beaver-dam. — Beaver- 
talk. — Absence  of  Serpents. — Hoel's  Pond. — Carry: — Green  Pond. — 
UPPER  SARANAC.— Eagle.— Water-thatch.— Tommy's  Rock- 
Goose  Island. — Harvey's  Opinion  of  Neighbors. — Phin's  Idea  of  Subor- 
dination.— The  Loons. — Loon  Talk,  299 

CHAPTER  XXV. 

Up  Fish-Creek  "Waters. — Old  Dam  at  Floodwood  Pond. — Big  Square 
Pond. — Maine  Shanty. — Beaver-dam. — "Wind  on  Upper  Saranac. — 
Bear  Point. — The  Narrows.— Deer  in  Lake. — Camping  on  Point — 
Moonlight  Scene. — Dawn. — Trail  in  the  "Woods. — Down  Lake  to 
Bartlett's. — Moonlight  Sail  through  Lower  Saranac. — Baker's, 313 

CHAPTER  XXVL 

Whiteface. — Approach  to  Mountain. — Upward. — "White  Falls.— 
Chasm. — Little  Slide. — Great  Slide. — Summit. — Prospect. — Descent — 
Baker's. — Backwoods'  Dance. — "Whiteface  Notch. — Homeward  . .  , .  324 


INTRODUCTION. 


THE  wilderness  of  Northern  New  York  is  a  plateau 
ranging  from  fifteen  to  eighteen  hundred  feet  above  tide. 
It  is  one  hundred  miles  in  diameter.  On  the  north  and  east 
it  approaches  within  thirty  or  forty  miles  of  the  Canada  line 
and  Lake  Champlain ;  on  the  south,  within  fifteen  or  twenty 
miles  of  the  Mohawk  River,  and  on  the  west,  within  the  same 
distance  of  Black  River.  It  embraces  nearly  the  whole  of 
Essex,  Warren,  and  Hamilton  Counties,  the  southwest  portion 
of  Clinton,  the  south  half  of  Franklin,  the  southeastern  third 
of  St.  Lawrence,  the  eastern  third  of  Lewis,  and  the  northern 
half  of  Herkimer. 

Different  portions  of  it  are  known  under  different  names. 
The  northern  portion  is  called  The  Chateaugay  Woods ;  The 
St.  Regis  Woods  lie  next  below ;  then  comes  the  Saranac 
Region ;  then  that  of  Racket  Lake ;  to  the  east  extend  the 
Adirondacks;  and  below,  south  and  southwesterly,  are  The 
Lake  Pleasant  Region,  and  John  Brown's  Tract. 

The  eastern  portion  of  the  plateau  is  exceedingly  mountain- 
ous. Here  lies  the  Adirondack  range,  or  group,  the  most 
northerly  in  the  State,  extending  in  a  general  northeast  direc- 
tion from  Little  Falls,  on  the  Mohawk  River,  to  Cape  Trem- 
bleau  at  Lake  Champlain.  This  range  presents  the  conical 
summits  cloven  into  sharp  grey  peaks  peculiar  to  its  hyper- 
sthene  formation,  and  attains  in  some  of  its  peaks  nearly  the 
height  of  one  mile — almost  the  limit  of  eternal  snow. 


•XVI  INTRODUCTION". 

These  peaks  are  Tahawus  or  Mount  Marcy  (which  is  the 
central  and  tallest,  5,400  feet  high),  Mount  Mclntyre,  Mount 
St.  Anthony  (corrupted  to  Sanantoni),  and  Mount  Golden. 

These  mountains  are  generally  isolated,  sloping  somewhat 
moderately  toward  the  north,  but  precipitous  at  the  south. 

Other  summits  rise  north,  south,  and  west,  some  equal  in 
height  to  those  named  (except  Tahawus)  and  others  but  little 
inferior — Dix's  Peak,  Nipple  Top,  Blue  Mountain,  Mount 
Seward  (a  cluster  of  peaks),  Cove  Hill,.  Moose  Mountain, 
Mackenzie's  Pond  Mountain,  and  Whiteface.  The  last  is  the 
most  northern  of  all  the  high  crests  of  the  wilderness,  and 
hardly  inferior  in  elevation  to  Tahawus.  The  region  lying 
around  the  south  base  of  Mount  Seward  was  called  by  the 
Indians  Cough-sa-ra-geh  or  "  The  Dismal  Wilderness." 

In  the  middle  portion  of  the  plateau,  the  mountains  are  gene- 
rally rounded,  and,  like  most  of  those  mentioned  above,  waving 
from  base  to  top  with  forest.  The  western  portion  is  plea- 
santly varied  by  hill  and  plain. 

One  great  valley  shaped  like  a  Y  crosses  the  whole  plateau 
in  a  northeast  direction. 

It  begins  at  the  junction  of  Moose  River  with  the  Black, 
continues  seventy  miles  to  a  point  six  miles  south  of  Upper 
Saranac  Lake,  here  branching  northerly  to  Potsdam  in  St. 
Lawrence  County,  and  northeasterly  to  Plattsburg  on  Lake 
Champlain. 

A  remarkable  chain  of  lakes  and  streams  extends  along  this 
valley  and  its  northeastern  branch,  linking  (with  a  few  carries, 
and  with  the  exception  of  twenty  miles  of  rapids  on  the  lower 
end  of  Moose  River)  Lake  Champlain,  through  the  Saranac 
River  and  Lakes,  the  Racket  River,  Long,  Forked,  Racket 
Lakes,  the  Eight  Lakes,  and  Moose  and  Black  Rivers,  with 
Lake  Ontario.  The  River  St.  Lawrence  is  linked  with  this 
chain,  by  the  Racket  River  traversing  the  northern  branch 
of  this  vaUey. 


INTRODUCTION. 

The  waters  of  this  plateau  fall  naturally  into  four  groups 
or  systems,  the  Saranac,  the  Racket,  the  John  Brown  Tract, 
and  Hudson  River. 

The  first  system  lies  mainly  in  the  southern  part  of  Franklin 
County,  and  comprises  the  Saranac  River  and  Lakes,  with  the 
network  of  ponds  and  streams  lying  west  and  north  of  the 
Upper  Saranac.  All  these  are  discharged  into  Lake  Champlain. 

The  second  lies  just  south,  belonging  to  the  south  part  01 
Franklin  and  the  north  of  Hamilton  Counties.  It  includes 
Racket  River  through  those  Counties ;  Long  Lake ;  the  two 
Forked  Lakes ;  Racket  Lake ;  Blue  Mountain  Lake  (with  its 
two  lesser  sheets,  Eagle  and  Utowana  Lakes,  and  Marion 
River),  and  Big  and  Little  Tupper's  Lakes;  Blue  Mountain 
Lake  being  the  real  source  of  the  Racket  River,  although 
Racket  Lake  is  generally  so  designated.  These  waters  flow 
into  the  River  St.  Lawrence. 

T^he  third  group  includes  the  Eight  Lakes :  the  Reservoir 
Lakes  and  other  head  waters  of  Black  River,  and  the  Moose 
and  Beaver  Rivers  its  branches.  This  group  lies  in  the  west 
part  of  Hamilton,  the  northern  part  of  Herkimer,  and  eastern 
part  of  Lewis  Counties,  and  its  waters  flow  into  Lake  Ontario. 

The  fourth  system  produces  the  Hudson  River,  and  occu- 
pies a  portion  of  Essex  County  near  the  western  line,  and  the 
east  and  south  portions  of  Hamilton.  It  embraces  the  Uppei 
Hudson,  the  Sacondaga,  and  Schroon  branches  of  that  river 
(the  latter  branch,  however,  is  on  the  edge  of  the  wilderness), 
Piseco,  Round  and  Pleasant  Lakes,  and  others.  Thus,  these 
sources  pouring  themselves  forth  to  every  point  of  compass 
form  all  the  larger  rivers  of  the  State — besides  those  men- 
tioned, the  Ausable,  the  Salmon,  the  Grass,  the  St.  Regis,  the 
Oswegatchie,  and  the  East  and  West  Canada  Creeks  emptying 
into  the  Mohawk.  And  thus,  upon  this  great  watershed,  and 
within  a  circuit  of  ten  miles,  rise  springs  whose  waters  seek 
the  seas  of  Labrador  and  the  Bay  of  New  York. 


INTKODUCTION", 

The  extraordinary  arrangement  of  these  sources  is  illustra- 
ted by  the  fact  that  the  Upper  Hudson  ripples  from  the  south: 
west  portals  of  the  Indian  Pass,  and  the  west  branch  of  the 
Ausable  River  which  empties  into  Lake  Champlain  from  the 
northeast.  Preston  Ponds,  through  Cold  River,  .feed  the 
Racket  River  at  the  west ;  Fountain  and  Catlin  Lak.es,  west 
of  these,  supply  the  Hudson  at  the  east;  and  the  Mooso 
River,  flowing  southwest,  almost  twines  with  the  Racket 
waters  running  north. 

Other  waters  are  scattered  over  the  plateau,  but  not  falling 
within  the  above  systems:  the  east  and  west  branches  of 
the  Ausable,  Lake  Placid,  at  the  foot  of  Whiteface,  Cran- 
berry Lake,  an  enlargement  of  the  Oswegatchie  River,  and 
Chateaugay,  Ragged,  and  Chazy  Lakes,  near  the  northern 
edge  of  the  forest. 

Rich  marbles  are  found  in  the  plateau ;  valuable  timber 
and  beds  of  iron  ore  abound.  The  last-mentioned,  although 
distributed  generally  throughout  the  forest,  are  found  most 
abundantly  in  the  eastern  portion  of  the  plateau,  and  are  as 
extensive  as  any  in  the  world.  One  bed  on  the  Upper 
Hudson  (between  Lakes  Henderson  and  Sanford)  is  worked 
ea'sily,  yields  seventy-five  per  cent,  of  pure  metal,  and  will  pro- 
duce a  steel  equal  to  that  of  the  best  Swedish  or  Russian  ores. 

The  valleys  of  the  eastern  portion  of  the  plateau,  and  the 
middle  and  western  portions  generally,  are  capable  of  sup- 
plying nearly  all  the  agricultural  products  native  to  the 
State,  such  as  rye,  buckwheat,  oats,  pease,  beans,  turnips,  and 
potatoes.  The  soil,  however,  is  especially  adapted  to  grazing. 
There  is  but  a  small  quantity  of  arable  land  in  the  moun- 
tainous or  eastern  section;  and  even  this,  although  strong 
(shown  by  its  heavy  growth  of  timber)  is  made  less  valuable 
by  its  low  temperature,  owing  to  its  elevation  and  the  sur- 
rounding mountains. 

The  soil  is  a  gravelly  loam,  and  is  "  deep,  warm  and  rich" 
in  many  parts  of  the  western  division. 


INTRODUCTION.  XIX 

The  trees  are  the  pine,  hemlock,  spruce,  white  cedar,  and 
fir,  among  the  soft  or  evergreen  kinds,  and  prevail  on  the 
lowest  grounds  and  higher  slopes  and  summits  of  the  hills ; 
and  among  the  hard-wood  species,  the  maple,  beech,  white 
and  black  ash,  birch  and  elm  on  the  intermediate  surface. 
On  the  gentle  swells  between  the  lakes  maple  and  beech 
abound. 

The  climate  is  the  same  as  the  mountainous  portions  of 
New  England. 

It  is  needless  to  enlarge  upon  the  grandeur  and  picturesque 
beauty,  of  the  whole  plateau. 

Settlements  throughout  the  plateau,  of  any  extent,  there 
are  none.  Here  and  there,  on  the  edges  of  the  wilderness, 
are  clusters  of  rough  habitations,  and  along  the  lakes  and 
streams  is  an  occasional  log  cabin,  or  hunter's  shanty.  The 
summer  tent  of  the  sportsman  alone,  in  addition,  dots  the 
boundless  sweep  of  forest  verdure. 

All  the  wild  animals  of  our  northern  latitude,  the  panther, 
bear,  wolf,  and  wild-cat,  are  here,  with  the  moose,  deer,  fisher, 
sable,  otter,  mink,  and  muskrat. 

The  moose  is  the  rarest  of  all.  Still,  not  a  year  passes  but 
one  is  slain  in  the  deep,  dark  fastnesses  which  have  now 
become  the  animal's  haunt. 

The  eagle,  the  partridge,  the  loon,  the  duck  are  likewise 
found ;  lake  trout  swarm  in  the  broad  waters,  and  speckled 
trout  in  the  cold,  clear  spring-brooks  and  rapid  streams. 

Eight  or  ten  years  ago,  this  wilderness  hardly  contained  a 
hut  or  shanty,  and  was  rarely  invaded  by  visitors.  But  of 
late  the  number  of  sportsmen  and  explorers  has  gradually 
but  greatly  increased.  The  noble  trout,  however,  are  as 
abundant  as  ever,  as  are  also  the  deer.  But  the  latter  have 
grown  more  timid,  and  are  less  certainly  found  along  their 
once  familiar  waters.  The  shout  of  the  loon,  too  —  that 
symbol  of  the  wildness  and  loneliness  of  the  scenes  haunted 


XX  INTRODUCTION. 

by  this  wildest  and  loneliest  of  birds — now  rarely  meets 
the  ear.* 

As  suggested,  the  edges  of  this  enormous  wilderness  are 
thinly  inhabited  by  hunters  and  trappers,  who  pierce  its 
deepest  recesses  in 'their  light  boats,  and  act  as  guides  to 
visitors  in  summer. 

The  centre  of  the  plateau  comprises  the  region  of  the 
Saranac  Lakes,  the  Kacket  River  from  Racket  Lake  to 
Perciefield  Falls,  and  a  tract  around  Tupper's  Lake.  In  it 
are  found  all  the  distinctive  features  of  the  plateau — broad 
and  beautiful  expanses  of  water ;  the  loveliest  river  of  the 
forest ;  the  prettiest  cascades ;  one  of  the  highest  mountains, 
commanding  the  very  grandest  prospect  of  all ;  and,  save 
one,  the  sublimest  gorge.  The  chief  and  almost  the  only 
home  of  the  moose  lies  within  it ;  trout  swarm  in  the  myriad 
brooks  ;  and  the  deer  are  as  plentiful  as  in  any  other  spot. 

Into  this  centre,  then — this  wild  heart  of  the  wild  northern 
forest — the  reader  is  invited  through  the  following  pages. 

*  For  some  of  the  principal  routes  into  the  wilderness,  see  Appendix. 


WOODS    AND    WATERS; 

OR, 

SUMMER    IN    THE    SARANACS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

Camp  of  the  Indian  Carrying-Place. — The  Saranac  Club   and  Guides. — A 
Bear. — Seeking  Deer  and  finding  Musquitoes. 

SUNSET  at  the  foot  of  the  Upper  Saranac  I  A  golden 
light  kindles  a  little  clearing  -upon  the  southern  border  of 
the  glittering  lake:  one  sweep  of  dark  green  wilderness 
covers  the  remainder  of  the  scene. 

A  log  hut  stands  in  the  foreground  of  the  clearing. 
Behind,  on  a  gentle  slope,  lies  a  patch  of  rye  and  buck- 
wheat, the  rye  scarce  hiding  the  charred  stumps  within  it, 
and  the  silver  blossom  of  the  buckwheat  lending  bright 
contrast  to  the  coal-black  soil. 

Beyond,  gleams  a  broad  white  space  of  calcined  earth, 
with  dark  logs  strewing  it  everywhere.  Dead  and  living 
trees  stand  here  and  there  moodily  apart.  A  rough  zigzag 
track  leads  up  the  slope,  and  is  lost  in  the  close  woods  of 
the  background. 

Down  by  the  waterside,  are  two  tents.  The  larger  is 
open  in  front,  displaying  a  layer  of  hemlock  boughs  upon 
the  ground,  and  over  them,  blankets  of  grey,  crimson  and 
purple.  On  the  front  tent-pole,  hang  powder-flasks  and 
shot-pouches  :  against  a  tall  withered  pine,  lean  fishing  rods 
and  rifles,  while  one  of  its  skeleton  limbs  sustains  the  red 

1 


2  WOODS  AND  WATERS; 

forequarters  of  a  deer.  From  a  stick  in  a  stump,  dangles  a 
cluster  of  dead  partridges,  their  chequered  hues  warm  in. 
the  sun-glow.  One  has  fallen,  and  points  with  arched  neck 
and  hanging  wings,  as  if  for  attack,  at  a  black  and  white 
wood-duck,  whose  red  bill  is  open  to  grasp,  in  appearance, 
the  orange  leg  of  a  blue- winged  teal,  the  leg  drawn  up 
seemingly  from  dread.  A  slanting  beam  glitters  on  a  pile 
of  trout  between  a  brace  of  fish  baskets,  and  a  score  of 
the  same  glossy  prey,  strung  upon  a  birchen  twig,  lie  care- 
lessly on  the  neighboring  moss. 

Three  hounds,  white,  with  tawny  spots,  are  nosing  about, 
occasionally  bending  on  their  haunches  to  scratch  their  ears 
and  lick  their  paws,  crouching  to  stare  open-mouthed, 
through  their  fore-legs,  at  the  fire  and  snap  the  flies,  or 
curling  themselves  for  a  nap,  to  start  up  again  and  resume 
their  roamings. 

Around  a  crackling  fir^  of  piled  logs,  four  men  are  busy 
cooking.  One,  short  but  muscular,  in  a  red  hunting  shirt, 
watches  the  roasting  of  a  noble  haunch  of  venison ;  another, 
tall  and  lank,  in  a  shirt  of  blue,  is  frying  trout  in  a  bob- 
handled  sauce-pan,  while  a  third,  with  a  hare-lip,  and  in  a 
coarse  blue  check,  is  "  toasting,"  on  forked  sticks,  a  brace 
of  partridges  spread  out  like  fans. 

The  fourth  is  a  man  about  fifty,  of  brawny  shape,  bronzed 
skin,  an  air  ever  on  the  alert,  and  eyes  that,  gazing  at  any 
object,  protrude  in  keen  glances.  All  the  fingers  of  his 
right  hand,  except  the  first,  are  twisted  into  the  palm,  and 
there  is  no  sign  of  a  thumb,  yet  the  limb  is  almost  as  ready 
as  its  neighbor. 

He  wears  a  purple  check  shirt,  with  pantaloons  and  felt 
hat,  both  of  an  earthen  tint,  and  a  woodknife  sheathed  in  a 
belt  of  deerskin. 

His  actions  correspond  with  the  quickness  of  his  looks. 
Now  he  tries  a  pair  of  ducks,  roasting  on  sticks  like  the 
partridges ;  then  stirs  a  layer  of  frying  trout, ;  then  hurries 
to  a  large  Indian  cake,  arching  and  darkening  into  a 
rich  brown ;  next  turns  a  tawny  wheat  pancake,  then  stands 


OR.   SUMMER  IN  THE  SAEANACS.  3 

a  moment  with  arms  a-kimbo,  glancing  round  the  forest 
and  over  the  lake. 

On  the  stump,  a  boy  of  sixteen  is  dressing  a  string  of 
trout. 

A  little  removed  from  the  fire,  is  another  group ;  two 
sitting  on  camp-stools,  calmly  smoking,  one  standing  and 
loading  his  rifle,  one  reeling  a  fish-line,  and  one  reclining 
on  his  elbow,  with  his  shoulder  against  the  pine-tree,  gaz- 
ing upon  the  scene. 

Boats  are  resting  their  bows  on  the  brown  sandy  margin, 
with  their  sterns  buried  in  white  water-lilies ;  a  heap  of 
dead  prone  hemlocks  is  on  the  left,  half-drowned  in  the 
rushy  water ;  and  a  couple  of  white  cedars  point  horizon- 
tally, at  the  right  of  the  scene,  their  jagged  limbs  resting  on 
the  bottom  of  the  shallow,  so  as  to  lift  their  stiff,  bristling 
foliage  a  little  from  the  surface. 

The  whole  picture  is  soft  and  rich,  as  well  as  wild, 
steeped  as  it  is  in  the  mellow  charm  of  the  deepening  sun- 
set. 

"  Here  we  are  at  the  Indian  Carrying-Place,  and  only  two 
deer,"  said  the  one  with  the  rifle.  "  That's  miserable  luck 
enough.  I  hope  next  year  we'll  find  out  a  wilder  hunting- 
ground  ;  in  Maine,  for  instance,  where  we  can  get  not  only 
as  many  deer  as  we  want,  but  moose,  gentlemen,  moose !" 

"  What  a  restless  mortal  you  are,  Bingham,"  said  one  of 
the  two  on  camp-stools,  of  erect,  slender  shape  and  gentle- 
manly air,  and  whose  sporting  garb  of  coarse  grey  even 
had  a  neat,  trim  look.  "  We  shall  find  deer  enough,  before 
we're  through  with  our  trip ;  more  than  you'll  shoot,  I'll 
be  bound !  Harvey,"  turning  to  the  guide  with  the  maimed 
hand,  "  isn't  it  time  for  Mart  and  Will  to  be  back  ?" 

"  Source  yet,  Mr.  Gay  lor,"  replied  the  old  woodman, 
"  they  wont  be  likely  to  come  afore  they've  got  a  deer. 
Sometimes  though,  it's  mighty  quick  work  gittin'  one. 
Onst  me  and  Phin,"  glancing  at  the  young  man  with  the 
hare-lip,  "  was  at  Flood  wood  Pond  ketchin'  fur.  We " 

"  Hark !"  exclaimed  the  other  of  the  two  on  camp-stools, 


4:  WOODS  AND  WATERS; 

as  a  faint  sound  stole  out  of  the  far  distance.  He  was  in 
form  and  garb  much  like  his  companion,  and  wore  an  air 
of  decision  and  careless  self-reliance.  "  Wasn't  that  the 
hound,  Harvey?" 

"Jess  so,  Mr.  Eunnin' !"  answered  the  latter.  "  Watch 
has  sung  out  twyst  afore.  This  last  time,  'twas  jess  this 
side  o'  the  Gut.  I  shouldn't  wonder  ef  the  deer  takes  to 
the  water  there.  There's  a  runway  at  the  p'int,  isn't  there, 
Corey  ?" 

"  There  is  so,"  answered  the  one  at  the  haunch.  "  One 
day,  the  fust  week  I  come  to  this  place,  as  I  was  gittin'  out 
the  logs  for  my  cabin  there,"  nodding  toward  the  hut,  "I 
heerd  my  dog  Drive — hullo !"  as  a  dull  report  echoed  at 
the  right,  where  a  large  island  seemingly  blocked  the  lake, 
with  a  smaller  one  in  advance.  "  That  gun  come  from 
'twixt  Birch  and  Johnson  Islands,  and,  I  think,  jest  at  the 
runway." 

"  That's  Will's  rifle,  and  we'll  see  the  boat  soon,"  said 
Harvey,  shading  his  eyes,  and  gazing  in  the  direction  of 
the  islands.  "  By  goll,  I  thought  I  see 't  then,  but  I  didn't. 
'Twas  unly  a  loon  making  a  flash.  Besides,  'tisn't  time  3Tit." 

"  And  why  the  deuce  isn't  it  time !"  broke  in  Bing- 
ham.  "  Are  we  to  wait  here  all  night,  after  hearing  the 
gun,  before  Mart  and  Will  come,  and  then  it  may  be  with- 
out the  deer  ?  When  the  hound  speaks,  the  occasion  de- 
mands, as  old  Webster  says,  prompt  action  ;  in  other  words, 
that  I  should  be  there ;  eh,  gentlemen  ?" 

"  There  it  is  again  !"  said  the  one  on  the  camp-stool,  who 
had  called  attention  to  the  cry  of  the  hound.  "  Bing,  you 
do  keep  up  such  a  horrible  noise  about  your  shooting  qua- 
lities that " 

"  And  who  has  a  better  right,  I  should  like  to  know, 
Ealph  Renning  ?"  returned  the  other  loudly,  bringing  down 
his  rifle  with  a  thump.  "  I  only  wish  I  had  gone  with 
Mart  and  Will,  I  would  have  shown  you  what  shooting 
qualities  are,  that  is,  if  Watch  drives  a  deer,  eh,  Cort?" 
'  Jess  so,  Mr.  Bingham,"  answered  the  one  at  the  fire, 


OR,  SUMMER  IN  THE   SARANACS.  5 

with  the  blue  hunting  shirt ;  "  and  talkin'  o'  deer,  I  kin  take 
ye  to  a  place  after  supper,  not  fur  from  here  nuther,  where 
you'll  hev  a  shot  at  a  deer  in  no  time  't  all,  and  mebby  two 
or  three  on  Jm." 

"  Hurrah  !  let  us  be  going  immediately,"  said  the  other, 
shouldering  his  rifle  and  moving  off  almost  on  a  run. 
"  Good-bye,  gentlemen,  I'll  show  you  what  shooting  is ! 
Gome,  Cort,  what  are  you  waiting  for?  Which  is  the 
way  ?"  pausing  over  a  prostrate  log,  with  his  legs  astride, 
and  throwing  back  an  impatient  look. 

"Hadn't  you  better  get  your  supper  first,  Bing?"  said 
Gaylor. 

"  Not  when  a  deer  is  in  question,"  answered  Bingham, 
"  or  two  or  three,  as  Cort  says.  For  my  part,  I  think  we 
shall  find  half  a  dozen.  Cort,  why  don't  you  come  ?" 

"  Because  Cort  is  engaged,"  said  Eenning.  "  I,  as  one 
member  of  the  Club,  object  to  his  coming  or  going  any- 
where till  supper  is  ready." 

"  Umph !"  returned  Bingham.  "  Well,  if  Cort  can't 
come,  Cort  can  tell  me  where  to  go,  I  suppose !" 

"  It's  over  to  the  last  o'  them  three  p'ints  back  o'  Green 
Island  and  right  agin'  Fanny  Island,"  said  Cort,  launching 
his  arm,  without  looking,  towards  the  large  left-hand  island 
which,  with  Birch  Island,  closed  the  water  prospect. 

"  Hurrah !  Smith,  if  you  can  leave  your  tree  there,  and 
Coburn  can  stop  fiddling  at  his  fish-line,  we  three  '11  take 
the  boat  over  to  the  point,"  exclaimed  Bingham.  "I'll 
show  you  how  to  shoot  a  deer — eh,  what's  that  in  the  water 
there?" 

"  A  bear,  by  golly !"  exclaimed  Harvey,  seizing  a  rifle 
and  hurrying  towards  one  of  the  boats.  "  He's  makin'  torts 
Green  Island!" 

"  A  bear !"  echoed  Corey,  leaving  his  venison  and 
snatching  also  a  rifle. 

"A  bear!"  shouted  Gaylor,  Eenning  and  Coburn,  the 
two  first  overturning  their  camp-stools,  and  the  last  throw- 
ing down  his  rod,  and  all  springing  to  their  weapons. 


6  WOODS  AND   WATEES; 

"  A  bear !"  yelled  Bingham,  plying  his  long  legs  in  mar- 
vellous strides  towards  the  water.  "  Hurrah,  you  Cort, 
don't  be  all  day  in  getting  the  boat  ready !  Bears  don't 
wait  for  people,  a  bit  more  than  bucks.  Only  get  me  near 
enough,  and  if  I  don't  plump  that  bear  right  through  the 
head,  or  some  other  place,  I'm  a  'souced  gurnet,'  as  old 
Falstaff  says,"  and  he  tumbled  into  the  boat,  almost  upset- 
ting the  light,  buoyant  thing. 

In  a  few  minutes,  we  all  came  up  with  the  dark  mon- 
ster, who  glanced  round  upon  us  his  little,  wicked,  black 
eyes  snapping  with  fury.  Cort,  in  the  excitement  of  the 
moment,  urged  on  by  Bingham,  struck  his  boat  against  a 
sunken  log,  in  line  with  the  beast,  who  was  by  this  time 
but  a  few  feet  from  Green  Island.  Bingham  was  standing 
at  the  bow,  looking  as  wild  as  a  muskrat  in  a  trap.  His 
rifle  was  at  his  cheek  as  the  boat  struck,  but  fate  was 
against  the  enthusiastic  sportsman.  Unprepared  for  the 
shock,  over  he  toppled,  upon  a  plat  of  marshy  grass,  just 
as  he  was  about  to  fire.  He  fell  upon  his  knees  and  one 
hand ;  fortunately,  the  rifle  did  not  go  off  in  the  fall. 

The  bear,  meanwhile,  with  his  glittering  tusks  clicking 
like  gunlocks,  and  jaws  dripping  with  foam,  had  made  his 
way  to  the  bank  of  the  island.  As  he  leaped  upwards,  a 
mingled  sound  from  several  rifles  echoed,  and  his  black 
carcass  seemed  to  wither  down  among  the  bushes. 

"Good  evenin',  sir!"  shouted  Harvey,  as  he  landed. 
"  'hope  you  like  bullet  feed !  As  for  myself,  I  al'ys  take 
whiskey.  Here,  Phin !  (who  had  come  along  in  his  boat), 
you  kin  carry  the  bear  back  to  camp.  This,  Mr.  Smith,  is 
what  I  call  rael  old  hunderd." 

In  a  few  minutes,  we  had  all  returned. 

The  sun  had  now  sunk,  and  in  the  golden  transparency 
of  the  first  twilight,  every  object,  from  the  leafy  outline  of 
the  parallel  shores  to  the  minute  tracery  of  the  water- 
grasses,  was  pencilled  more  clear  and  sharp  than  even  at 
noontide.  The  white  lily  blossoms  looked  like  tiny  cones 
of  silyer  resting  among  their  broad,  heart-shaped  leaves;  for, 


OR,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.  7 

like  the  birds,  they  fold  themselves  to  slumber  at  the  setting 
of  the  sun. 

The  clouds  burn  in  vivid  hues,  the  woods  are  golden 
brown,  and  the  water  seems  as  if  a  mine  of  varied  jewels 
had  there  turned  liquid. 

Wrapt  in  the  beauty  of  the  scene,  the  Saranac  Club  hear 
all  important  call  twice  given  before  they  heed  it.  It  is 
"  Supper !  gentlemen !"  in  the  voice  of  Corey,  cook  and 
camp-master  to  the  club. 

Just  without  the  large  tent,  a  table  of  forked  poles  has 
been  thrown  up,  laid  with  bright,  sweet  flakes  of  spruce 
bark,  and  on  it,  smoke  our  wildwood  viands. 

Banquets  in  palaces !  what  are  they,  to  the  feast  before 
us  rovers  of  the  greenwood,  with  the  peerless  scene  in 
front  and  the  radiant  roof  above ! 

The  minutes  do  not  vanish  more  rapidly  than  the  fra- 
grant spoils  of  stream  and  fofest,  prepared  by  the  simple 
skill  of  our  guides,  who,  with  vigilant  eye  to  our  every 
want,  wait  upon  us. 

At  length  we  fall  back  and  the  guides  advance  in  turn. 
What  heaps  of  crackling  trout,  what  flakes  of  crusted  veni- 
son, disappear !  If  there  is  an  object  in  nature  more  vora- 
cious than  a  Saranac  guide,  I  have  yet  to  know  it. 

Suddenly  Harvey  rises  with  "  There  comes  the  boat !  jest 
this  side  o'  Johnson  Island !" 

A  dark  spot  is  relieved  on  the  water  in  front  of  the 
smaller  island  in  advance,  at  our  right. 

"  They  row  so  smart,  I  shouldn't  wonder  ef  they'd  got  a 
deer,"  continued  the  old  guide. 

"  Deer  are  not  so  plenty  in  this  region,  that  you  can 
imagine  all  that  row  fast  have  them,"  said  Bingham,  a  little 
querulously. 

Several  minutes  of  silence  followed. 

"  I  bleeve  I  see  the  horns  of  a  buck  over  the  sides  of  the 
boat !"  exclaimed  Harvey,  screwing  down  his  right  eye. 

"  Pho,  pho !  a  couple  of  dry  sticks!"  said  Bingham. 

"Mart  and  Will  feel  well!"   said   Corey.      "They're 


8  WOODS  AND  WATERS  | 

tunin'  their  pipes  like  a  couple  of  bullfrogs,"  as  a  hoarse 
strain  swept  across  the  water. 

"  Hev  you  got  a  deer  ?"  cried  Harvey,  at  length. 

"  Yes,  and  one  more  on  top  on't,"  answered  a  tall,  power- 
ful man,  paddling  at  the  stern,  in  a  red  hunting  shirt,  and 
leather  belt  with  the  usual  wood-knife. 

"  Two  deer  did  you  say,  Mart  ?"  exclaimed  Bingham, 
rushing  to  the  water's  edge. 

"  Shouldn't  wonder !"  said  the  one  at  -the  oars,  in  a  pink- 
striped  shirt  and  with  the  frame  of  a  Hercules. 

"  Why,  Will,  where  on  earth  did  you  come  across  such 
luck  ?"  asked  Bingham,  excited  as  if  some  extraordinary 
event  had  happened. 

"  Oh,  on  the  p'int,  jest  agin  Birch  Island,  that  is,  one  on 
Jem.  The  other  we  got — thalf  is,  the  fust  one,  'long  in  the 
Gut.  nigh  the  carry  to  Bartlett's,"  answered  Will,  drawling 
his  words  in  a  slight  nasal  accent. 

"  Come,  Cort,  hurrah !  now's  the  time  for  our  deer ! 
Come,  Smith,  'can't  wait  a  moment !"  said  Bingham,  strid- 
ing into  his  boat  so  as  almost  again  to  upset  it,  followed,  as- 
it  righted,  by  myself. 

"  Take  the.  stern,  Smith !  give  us  a  shove  off,  Harvey ! 
If  I  don't  have  one  deer  before  it's  dark,"  grasping  the  oars, 
"  I'm  a  donkey !"  giving  them  an  enormous  sweep. 

"  Don't  go  without  me,  Mr.  Bingham  1"  exclaimed  Cort, 
hurrying  to  the  margin;  "  you  can't  find  the  spot  without 
me!" 

"  Sure  enough !  I  forgot  all  about  you,  Cort !"  said  Bing- 
ham, backing  up.  "  But  when  we're  in  such  a  country  for 
deer  as  this  is,  a  man  must  be  wide  awake.  Now,  Cort, 
make  her  spin !" 

Cort  entered  the  boat  and  took  the  oars,  while  Bingham 
seated  himself  at  the  bow,  fronting  it. 

"  You  show  me  a  deer,"  continued  the  latter,  examining 
the  cap  of  his  rifle,  "  or  even  a  piece  <of  one  not  bigger  than 
the  eye,  and  if  I  don't  put  a  ball  straight  to  the  mark,  call 
me  a  spooney,  that's  all!" 


OR,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.  9 

We  were  soon  gliding  round  the  first  point.  "  We 
mus'n't  make  no  noise  now,"  whispered  Cort,  "we  may 
come  on  a  deer,  the  very  fust  thing." 

Bingham  raised  his  rifle  from  his  lap,  in  readiness. 

We  turned  the  point.  No  living  thing  disturbed  the 
solitude  of  the  cove,  except  a  black  duck,  which  burst  from 
the  water  and  darted  over  Green  Island  to  our  right. 

Bingham  aimed. 

"You'll  skeer  all  the  deer,  ef  you  shoot!"  said  Cort 
eagerly. 

"  True !"  returned  Bingham,  lowering  his  piece.  "  I  didn't 
mean  to  shoot ;  at  least  I  don't  think  I  did,  only  the  duck 
rose  so  sudden.  But,  hurrah,  Cort !  let's  see  what's  behind 
the  second  point." 

We  rounded  this  with  no  better  fortune.  The  broad 
surface  of  lily-pads  Jay  unbroken ;  not  a  living  shape  was 
seen  among  the  foliage  of  the  banks. 

"  Where  have  all  the  deer  gone  to,  Cort !"  said  Bingham, 
in  a  snappish  whisper. 

"  I  dunno  I"  answered  honest  Cort.  "  They  ought  to  be 
here,  by  good  rights.  But  less  see  what's  round  t'other  p'int." 

We  did  see :  sleepy  trees  and  lazy  lily-pads  and — nothing 
else. 

Bingham  began  to  fidget. 

"  We'll  land  here,  ef  you  say  so,"  continued  Cort,  "  and 
I'll  go  back  in  the  woods  a  leetle.  We'll  hev  a  deer  yit !" 
cheerfully. 

"  I'll  have  one  if  I  stay  all  night,"  said  Bingham  reso- 
lutely, as  Cort  brought  the  boat  up  to  a  dead  tree  jutting 
in;to  the  water  and  buried  in  moosehead-plants  and  rushes. 

A  few  steps  over  this  rounded  bridge  landed  us  on  a 
strip  of  black  mould,  stamped  into  hieroglyphics  with  the 
sharp  delicate  prints  of  deer,  many  quite  fresh ;  and  cross- 
ing, we  entered  a  little  glade,  shadowed  by  tall  alders. 

"  I  shan't  be  gone  long,  it's  gittin'  so  late,"  said  Cort,  fol- 
lowing a  line  of  tracks  leading  from  the  glade  up  into  the 
woods. 


10  WOODS  AND  WATERS; 

"  I'm  in  no  hurry,"  returned  Bingham,  seating  himself 
on  a  log,  "  I'd  as  lief  stay  here  till  pitch  dark,  that  is,  as  long 
as  I  could  see  to  shoot  at  all.  Now,  Smith,  isn't  it  pleasant 
here?" 

The  first  grey  which  succeeds  the  gold  after  sun-setting, 
now  trembled  in  the  air.  The  colors  of  the  water  had  lost 
their  brilliancy ;  a  soft  sheen  like  the  tints  of  the  wood- 
pigeon's  neck,  had  followed. 

As  I  gazed,  I  felt  some  sensations  more  decided  than 
pleasant.  Still  I  said  nothing. 

"  How  our  friends  will  open  their  eyes  when  we  bring 
a  buck  home,  this  evening !"  said  Bingham,  after  (for  him)  an 
extraordinary  pause  of  silence.  "  We'll  have  a  good  time 
around  the  camp-fire,  eh  (with  a  slap  on  his  cheek),  Smith !" 

"  Yes,  when  we  bring  the  buck  I" 

"When  we  bring !  why,  of  course  (another  slap),  confound 
the  musquitoes  !  we  shall  bring — (threshing  his  arms  wildly 
about)  'let  me  get  a  sight  of  one,  that's  all !  it  '11  be  good 
bite — night  I  mean  to  Mar — whew !  why  the  air  is  full  of 
the  devils !  I  say,  Smith,  do  the  musquitoes  trouble  you 
so  ?  I  do  wish  the  deer  would  come  along !  aha,  wouldn't — 
I  killed  two  this  time !  (scraping  his  cheek,  with  an  em- 
phasis.) What  confounded  little  rascals  they  are !  They 
come  (jumping  up,  breaking  off  a  branch  hastily  and  whip- 
ping the  air  fiercely)  not  in  companies,  but  in  battalions, 
regiments,  divisions,  whole  armies,  tribes,  nations ;  whizz, 
fizz,  sizz,  heavens !  I  shall  go  crazy !  I  hear  them,  I  see 
them,  the  Lord  knows  I  feel  them — yes  I  fairly  taste  them ! 
There's  two  in  my  mouth,  three  in  each  ear,  and  hang  me ! 
if  there  isn't  one  up  my  nose!  I'm  off!"  and  he  moved 
towards  the  boat. 

"  But  the  deer,  Bing,  the  deer !" 

"  Hang  the  deer  !  I  couldn't  shoot  one,  if  he  came.  One 
might  as  well  try  to  shoot  with  St.  Vitus's  Dance !  You 
may  stay  if  you  choose,  but  I'm  off!  or  stop  though !  Have 
you  matches  ?  we'll  make  a  smudge  1" 

"  Not  a  stick  ! "  feeling  in  my  pockets. 


OR,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.  11 

"  Oh,  of  course  not !  nobody  has  anything  when  it's 
wan  ted  I  Cort,  where  are  you?  (yelling  at  the  top  of  his 
voice).  Come  back  here  and  make  a  smudge !  I  never  saw 
the  flies  so  thick,  since  the  Lord  made  me  1" 

"But  the  deer  1" 

"  Hang  the  deer,  I  say !  let's  get  rid  of  the  flies  I  I 
wouldn't  stay  in  this  place  five  minutes  longer,  without  a 
smudge,  for  all  the  deer  at  the  Saranacs  1" 

Just  then,  Cort  made  his  appearance. 

"  I  followed  the  tracks  to  a  stream  jest  back  o'  here,"  said 
he,  "  and  there  I  lost  'm  and  was  lopkin'  round  fur  more, 
when  I  heerd  you  sing  out,  Mr.  Bingham!  Did  you  say  you 
wanted  a  smudge  ?" 

"  There's  nothing  on  earth  I  do  want  but  that.  I'd  go 
back  to  camp  quicker  than  lightning,  if  Eenning  and  Gay  lor 
wouldn't  crack  their  jokes  on  me  for  a  week.  But  hurry 
up  the  smudge,  for  conscience'  sake  1" 

Cort  left  and  returned  in  a  moment,  with  a  piece  of 
damp  wood. 

"  The  flies  is  a  leetle  thick,"  said  he,  in  his  usual  drawl- 
ing way.  "  I  dont  keer  for  the  skeeters  so  much,"  tearing 
off  strips  of  mouldy  bark  from  the  old  log  where  we  were 
seated,  making  a  pile,  with  the  wood  and  several  green 
hemlock  boughs,  and  lighting  it  with  matches  and  a  few 
dry  splinters.  "  It's  these  leetle  midgets  that  bite  so  bad. 
I  remember  one  night,  on  the  Eacket — there !"  as  the  smoke 
streamed  up.  "  You  wont  be  troubled  long  with  the  crit- 
ters now ;  they  hate  smoke  as  an  owl  does  daylight." 

"  Ah,  this  is  comfortable  1"  said  Bingham,  bending  over 
the  smudge  till  his  visage  looked  as  blear  as  one  of  the 
witches  in  Macbeth.  "Yes,  the  flies  are  all  gone,  Corty, 
and  now  bring  on  your  deer  I" 

But  the  deer  would  not  be  brought.  So,  after  waiting  an 
hour,  we  returned  to  the  camp. 

The  gray  of  the  twilight  was  now  yielding  to  the  dark- 
ness of  the  night.  The  shores  and  islands  grew  gloomy 
and  mysterious,,  and  the  water  soon  was  one  expanse  of 


12  WOODS  AND  WATERS; 

\ 

starry  purple.  Comrades  and  guides  bad  retired  to  the 
tents.  Nothing  disturbed  the  quiet  of  the  summer  night. 
The  solitude  was  intense.  The  silence  filled  my  heart. 
God  seemed  near  in  the  solemn  heavens.  Far  away  was 
the  world,  with  all  its  darkening  sorrows  and  corroding 
cares.  Here,  I  thought,  would  I  abide  and  forget  that 
world,  that  torturing,  maddening  world — here,  close  to 
the  heart  of  Nature.  The  solitude  would  teach  me  peace, 
the  quiet  would  yield  me  rest.  Here  would  I  abide,  where 
the  wilderness  sweeps  as  sweeps  the  boundless  sea.  Sin 
blights  not ;  pride,  hatred,  envy  and  ambition  never  enter. 
Here,  the  soul,  mingling  with  Nature,  would  soar  towards 
God.  May  Man,  then,  never  pollute  this  realm  with  his 
breath,  may  he  never  plant  his  foul  heel  on  its  bosom 
of  beauty !  Free  may  its  forests  wave,  teaching  their  stern, 
pure  lessons  of  self-denial,  self-reliance,  endurance  and 
courage ;  of  the  religion  which  dwells  with  Nature,  where 
the  bared  soul 

"  Like  Moses,  shall  espy, 
Even  in  a  bush,  the  radiant  Deity  1" 


OR,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.  13 


CHAPTER  n. 

The  start  from  home.  —  The  Yankee's  story  of  the  taking  of  Ticonderoga.— 
The  Ausable  Valley.  —  The  driver's  opinion  of  Deacon  Brown.  —  Scenery  on 
the  road.  —  A  quotation  under  difficulties.  —  Harvey  Moody.  —  Scenery  at 
Baker's. 

How  came  we  at  the  Indian  Carrying-Place,  in  the  wild 
forests  of  the  Upper  Saranac  ? 

One  day  toward  the  last  of  July,  I  was  debating  whither 
I  should  go,  to  escape  the  heat.  Now,  the  forest  sang  in  the 
breezy  tone  of  the  pine,  "Come  !"  Then  the  delicious  rumble 
of  the  sea  beach  murmured,  "  Come  !"  and  then  the  blended 
voices  of  some  rural  valley,  the  tinkle  of  sheep-bells,  the 
rustle  of  wheatfields  and  the  clinking  of  scythes  uttered, 
"  Come  !"  in  most  persuasive  music. 

"Where  shall  I  go?" 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?" 

The  voice  was  most  familiar  ;  I  looked  up  and  there  was 
Ralph  Renning,  a  fellow-townsman  and  a  lawyer  of  emi- 
nence, who  had  just  entered.  ,  • 

"I  mean,  where  shall  I  go,  to  escape  this  dreadful 
weather?" 

"  Go  ?  Why  to  the  Saranac  Lakes  and  Racket.  Join 
our  Saranac  Club;  Graylor,  Coburn,  Bingham  and  myself. 
We  start,  to-morrow  afternoon." 

"Enough!"  as  a  vision  of  that  noble  region  of  lake, 
stream  and  forest,  of  which  I  had  heard  so  much  from  my 
friend,  glowed  before  me.  "But  stay,  what  must  I  take 
for  the  trip?" 

"Well,  rifle,  rod,  powder,  Aot,  hooks  and  lines,  of  course. 
Then  a  warm,  wide  blanket,  to  sleep  in  ;  a  felt  hat  ;  your 


14  WOODS  AND  WATERS; 

winter  clothing  and  overcoat.  Better  take  a  flannel  hunt- 
ing-shirt, too.  Then  for  the  rain,  take  an  india-rubber  coat. 
Get  a  pair  of  large  thick  boots,  reaching  to  the  knee.  As 
for  stores,  you  will  find  them,  at  Baker's,  where  we  put  up, 
before  going  into  the  woods.  But  I  only  dropped  in  to  see 
how  you  were ;  so  good  bye,  and  be  at  the  Northern  Depot 
at  five." 

Accordingly,  the  next  day,  Kenning,  Coburn  (Renning's 
partner)  and  myself  left  Albany  in  the  cars,  for  Whitehall. 
At  a  neighboring  station,  we  were  joined  by  Gaylor  and 
Bingham,  the  former  a  wealthy  banker,  and  the  latter  a  pro- 
minent lawyer ;  and  the  Saranac  Club  was  fully  mustered. 

The  beautiful  evening  saw  us  sailing  down  Lake  Cham- 
plain  in  one  of  the  fine  steamers  of  its  waters.  All  was 
sweet  and  peaceful;  the  boat  skimmed  rapidly  over  the 
star-dotted  lake,  and  the  night  deepened  in  lovely  quiet. 

At  midnight,  we  reached  the  ruined  fortress  of  Ticonde- 
roga.  Darkly  in  view  rose  Mount  Defiance,  and  my 
thoughts  recurred  to  that  July  night,  eighty  years  ago, 
when  the  columns  of  Burgoyne  tore  upward  to  the  summit. 

A  slight  movement  attracted  my  attention  to  a  form  near 
me,  looking  earnestly  at  the  hill. 

"Ah,"  thought  I,  "here  is  one  with  whom  I  can  inter- 
change sentiments." 

Apparently  the  figure  thought  so  too,  for  it  turned  to  me 
with 

"  Ahem ! — I  say — Mister  I" 

"  Good  evening,  sir  1"  I  replied,  in  my  blandest  manner, 
but  not  exactly  liking  his  mode  of  salutation. 

"Good  evenin'  ter  yeu.  But  I  say,  there  must  be  a 
tarnal  heap  o'  snakes  up  on  that  aire  hill !" 

"  Ah,  ["-responded  I,  quite  crestfallen,  and  observing  the 
speaker  more  closely  by  the  deck-lamps.  , 

He  was  a  tall,  lank  genius,  with  a  hat  like  a  saucepan 
and  a  mouth  like  a  cat-fish.  His  vest  was  of  immense 
black  and  white  stripes,  across  which  ran  a  steel  watch- 
chain  like  a  ship's  cable. 


OB,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.  15 

"  Yaas,"  continued  he,  with  a  nasal  drawl,  "  I  kinder  con- 
Bate  so,  from  the  looks  on't  and  what  I've  heern  tell.  But 
I  say!" 

"Well!" 

"  Them  black  things  up  there's  old  Ty." 

"Ah?" 

"  Yaas.  I've  heern  my  old  grand'ther  tell  all  abaout  the 
time  that  tarnal  critter  Allen  tuk  the  fort.  Grandpop  got 
it  from  grandmom,  who  got  it  from  old  Aunty  Strides,  as 
we  used  to  call  her,  who  got  it  from  Miss  Fellows,  who 
al'ays  said  she  heerd  it  straight  from  Miss  Bunker,  the  wife 
o'  one  o'  Allen's  men.  All  these  ere  old  wimming-folks 
lived  in  the  place  where  I  was  raised,  up  on  Connecticut 
Eiver.  Waal,  as  I  was  a  sayin',  grand'ther  used  to  tell 
that  when  old  Allen,  with  his  Green  Mounting  b'ys,  got  up 
to  the  fort,  there  wasn't  nobody  nowhere's  araound,  no 
haow  it  could  be  fixed.  'Twas  very  airly  in  the  mornin'. 
Allen,  whilse  the  b'ys  was  a  goin'  one  way  inter  the  fort, 
went  t'other,  right  smack  up  to  the  door  where  the  Cap'n 
who  was  boss  o'  the  whull  consarn ;  Cap'n — let's  me  see — 
what  war  his  name !  he  war  a  married  man,  teu.  Waal,  I 
dunno  as  I  kin  call  his  name  naow ;  but  'twas  where  he 
done  his  sleepin'.  Old  Allen  gin  teu  or  mebby  three 
smart  bangs  at  the  door,  with  the  handle  of  his  seword. 
Now,  yer  must  kneow  that  though  Allen  war  a  tough  old 
critter,  yit  when  he  war  a  mind  teu,  he  could  be  as  per-lite 
as  a  dancin'  master. 

.     "  '  Up  with  yer  here !'  says  he,  '  yeu  tarnation  lazy  critter, 
and  s'render,  or  I'll  give  the  whull  consarn  to  Old  Sanko !' 

"  The  door  whips  open  quicker  nor  lightnin',  and  there 
stands  the  Cap'n,  and  who  should  be  there  but  his  woman 
teu,  in  her  night-cap ! 

"  Old  Allen  tuk  his  cap  off  with  one  hand  and  riz  his 
seword  with  t'other. 

"  S'ze  to  the  Cap'n,  s'ze — but  stop  though — fust  s'ze 
1  Haow  air  yer  ?'  s'ze,  '  haow  d'yer  come  on  ?' 

"'I'm  all  right!'  says  the  Cap'n,  for  yer  knows  them 


16  WOODS  AND  WATERS; 

French  fellers  is  jeest  as  per-lite  and  gin-teel  as  kin  be. 
'  Haow  de  yeu  come  on?'  s'ze. 

"'Oh,  stiddy  by  jerks,'  says  old  Allen,  'but'  s'ze — stop 
though,  fust,  s'ze,  smilin'  kinder  to  the  woman,  s'ze,  'I  ax 
yer  pairdon,  mom,'  in  the  per-litest  way' "  (here  the  fellow 
swung  his  leg  up  in  a  boorish  bow)  "  '  but,'  s'ze,  puttin'  on  a 
farse  look  at  the  Oap'n,  s'ze,  'ye must  s'render,'  s'ze,  'but  ye 
musn't  be  afeard,  mom,'  s'ze,  fust-rate  gin-teel  agin,  '  we  don't 
make  no  war  on  the  wimming-folks,.'  s'ze;  '  but,'  s'ze,  to  the 
Cap'n,  farse  agin,  s'ze,  'ye  must  s'render!' 

"  'In  whose  name?'  says  the  Cap'n,  who  but  he  ?  as  peart 
as  a  crow  on  a  tree-top. 

"  '  In  the  name,'  s'ze,  '  of  the  Great  Jehovy,'  s'ze,  'and  the 
Cont'nental  Con-gress,'  s'ze,  by  hokey !  an'  he  got  the  fort, 
an'  I'll  be  dod  durned  (slapping  his  thigh)  ef  he  lost  a 
single  man !" 

On  the  strength  of  this  very  reliable  account  of  Ethan 
Allen's  noble  capture  of  Ticonderoga,  I  retired,  with  my 
comrades,  to  rest. 

At  daybreak,  we  were  at  Port  Kent,  where,  with  the 
morning  star  blazing  on  the  water,  we  landed. 

Up  the  long  winding  hill  we  creaked  in  the  post-coach, 
toward  Keeseville,  four  miles  distant,  passing  trees  all 
wrenched  in  one  direction — signs  of  a  past  tornado.  Sud- 
denly, close  by  the  road,  a  chasm  opened,  of  sheer  precipices 
and  jutting  crags,  with  leaning  trees,  and  foam  flashing 
through  the  downward  gloom,  while  a  low  thunder  rum- 
bled upon  the  ear.  It  was  one  of  the  famous  chasms  of  the 
Ausable  Falls — a  wild  picture,  shaded,  as  it  was,  by  the 
morning  mist  that  deepened  the  spectral  lights  and  frown- 
ing shadows. 

"We  breakfasted  at  the  pretty  and  thriving  village  of  Keese- 
ville, on  trout  and  venison  (earnest  of  the  region  before  us), 
and  then  started,  in  a  public  conveyance,  for  Baker's  Lake 
House,  two  miles  this  side  of  the  Lower  Saranac  Lake  and 
forty-six  from  Keeseville. 

The  glow  of  a  bright  summer's  morning  was  kindling  the 


OK,  SIMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.  17 

landscape  as  we  launched  upon  our  planked  road,  which 
struck  off  southeasterly. 

At  our  left,  lay  the  beautiful  Ausable  valley,  sloping  up 
to  wooded  hills,  showing  points  of  wood  in  grassy  bays ; 
meadows  with  the  hay- wagon  loading ;  fields  with  cattle 
by  the  stream  or  under  shades ;  large  barns  nearly  drowned 
in  lakes  of  yellow  grain  ;  and  orchards  of  apple-trees  con- 
torted as  by  some  vegetable  spasm,  with  the  small,  red 
farm-house  blinking  through  the  branches. 

In  the  centre  of  the  scene  was  the  Ausable  river,  flowing 
to  Lake  Champlain,  in  bends  and  reaches,  rifts  and  stilly 
nooks,  with  tree  and  rock  photographed  upon  it. 

In  front,  was  a,  streak  of  mountain  pinnacles  on  the  sum- 
mer haze,  giants  of  the  enchanted  realm  we  were  to  visit. 
Chief  among  them,  pointed  out  by  one  of  my  comrades,  was 
Whiteface. 

We  passed  the  little  village  of  Clinton ville  and  were  now 
bowling  toward  the  larger  village  of  Ausable  Forks,  along 
a  level,  fringed  on  the  left  by  trees,  where  the  wild  grape 
twined  in  lower  bowers  of  foliage,  through  which  glanced 
the  scenery  of -the  river. 

"  Hullo,  Bill !"  said  our  driver,  to  the  Jehu  of  an  advanc- 
ing wagon,  which  a  sudden  turn  in  the  road  disclosed,  "  is 
that  you  ?  What's  the  news  at  the  Forks  ?" 

"  Bad  news  enough  I"  answered  Jehu,  "  the  Morgan  hoss 
is  dead!" 

"  Dead !"  exclaimed  the  other,  pulling  up  suddenly  and 
catching  his  breath,  while  his  jaw  fell,  "the  Morgan  hoss 
dead  ?  you  don't  say  so  !  Gaul  hang !  that's  bad  news,  sure 
enough  I  He  was  a  feelin'  tip-top,  t'other  day  I  When  did 
he  die,  and  what  of?" 

"He  died,  this  mornin'.  Nobody  knows  what  of!  He 
hadn't  been  ailin'  more'n  a  few  hours.  Yes,  he's  gone !" 

"  Well,  I  swan !  I  should  think  the  whull  village  'ud  be 
in  mournin'.     The  ^forgan  hoss  dead !     Well,  what  kin  be 
next !     But  it  can't  be  helped,  ef  we  mourned  here  all  day ! 
So  good-bye,  Bill !     I  s'pose  there's  nothin'  else  stirrin'  1" 
2 


18  WOODS  AND  WATERS; 

"  No !  good  bye !  git  up  there !  but  stop  though,  there  is 
a  leetle  suthin'  else  I  Deacon  Brown's  dead  1" 

"  Whew,  is  he?  But  unlj  think,  the  Morgan  hoss  dead! 
Who'd  a  thought  it  I  sich  a  stepper  too  I  Well  (sighing), 
good-bye,  Bill  I"  and  the  worthies  parted. 

As  we  proceeded,  bends  of  brooks  and  roads,  breadths  of 
rippling  rye,  white  houses  in  green  courtyards,  and  an 
occasional  tavern,  thrusting  its  gallows-shaped  sign  and 
large  horse-trough  into  the  traveller's'  eyes,  met  our 
glances. 

From  the  Ausable  Forks  (where  the  east  and  west 
branches  of  the  Ausable  river  unite),  the  country  grew 
wilder.  The  wilderness  stood  close  to  the  road,  or  left  stony 
lots  and  black  stumps  transparent  in  thin  grain.  Forest 
summits  with  gray  cliffs  looked  down,  and  barren  slopes 
stretched  away,  with  pines  stripped  nearly  to  the  top,  seem- 
ing, on  the  horizon,  as  if  they  might  scud  off. 

We  passed  Black  Brook,  funereal  with  its  furnace  smoke: 
lines  of  dark  charcoal  arks  drawn  by  mules  and  driven  by 
glaring  goblins ;  board-roofed  mud  hovels  for  charcoal 
burning,  puffing  black  smoke  from  their  loop-holed  sides, 
with  the  huts  of  the  charcoal  burners  crouching  by  in 
stumpy  patches. 

At  Franklin  Falls  (where  the  plank  road  ends),  we  first 
encountered  the  Saranac  river.  This  beautiful  stream,  flow- 
ing successively  from  the  Upper,  Eound  and  Lower  Saranac 
Lakes,  unites  after  a  score  and  a  half  of  leagues,  with  Lake 
Champlain  at  Plattsburgh. 

We  dined  at  the  tavern,  which,  with  the  red  store  opposite, 
had  found  miraculously  one  spot  free  from  rocks,  on  which 
to  rear  itself;  and  again  we  started.  Still  wilder  grew  the 
scenery.  The  close  forest  thrust  out  the  sharp  ends  of  logs 
cut  asunder  for  the  track,  and  shaped  a  groined  roof  above. 
Corduroy  bridges  spanning  the  frequent  marshes;  fireslashes, 
one  chaos  of  charred  logs  and  stumps;  wild  pastures  of 
fern  and  bramble,  burying  prostrate  trunks ;  tumble-down 
log  huts  and  new  cabins  in  fresh-cleared  Lots,  with  patches  of 


OB,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.  19 

potatoes,  rye  and  buckwheat,  showed  themselves  at  every 
turn.  0 

The  summits,  sketched  upon  the  morning  mist,  now  stood 
boldly  forth,  mountains  of  purple. 

Old  King  Whiteface  towered  loftier  than  ever,  and  I 
registered  a  vow  to  dare  his  summit,  at  some  future  period 
of  my  trip. 

Suddenly,  a  pool  near  by  was  wrinkled  as  with  a  myriad 
waterflies ;  a  humming  in  the  woods  began  and  soon  a  sun- 
shower  sparkled  in  the  air.  It  melted  in  a  few  minutes,  and 
then,  almost  without  warning,  a  rain  dashed  upon  us.  "We 
donned  our  india-rubbers,  but  supposing  it  a  passing 
shower,  agreed  that  it  varied  pleasantly  the  long  ride, 
while  Eenning  remarked  it  was  a  good  breaking-in  for 
the  woods. 

A  half  hour  dragged  along,  and  the  fierce  rain  still 
streamed. 

"  I  wish  this  breaking-in  of  yours,  Eenning,  would  break 
up,"  said  Coburn,  at  length,  querulously. 

Kenning  said  nothing. 

At  last  the  rain  ceased,  and  soon  the  only  reminder  of 
it  was  a  mist  which  Whiteface  sent  up ;  the  old  Sachem, 
smoking  his  calumet,  on  the  return  of  peace. 

Beyond  the  hamlet  of  Bloomingdale,  we  again  encoun- 
tered the  Saranac  river,  lost  as  soon  as  seen,  at  Franklin 
Falls.  Here  it  was  gliding  eastward,  full  of  sylvan  beauty. 

A  few  miles  farther  and  we  encountered  a  corduroy 
road ;  logs  laid  across  the  track,  at  a  swampy  portion. 

Bingham's  tongue,  ever  since  the  rain,  had  been  on  a 
gallop.  He  was  fond  of  quoting  from  his  favorite  authors 
and,  as  we  struck  the  road,  had  fallen  on  Daniel  Webster. 

"  I  tell  you  what,  gentlemen,  this  is  great !  '  Europe,' 
says  the  grand  old  fellow,  '  within  the  same  period,  has  been 
agitated  by  a  mighty' — bump,  bump,  bump,  all  the  time 
these  logs  are  awful — '  revolution,  which,  while  it  has  been 
felt,'  ugh !  what  a  cadunk ! — '  in  the  individual' — it's  out 
of  the  question,  gentlemen,  I  can't  talk — 'condition'" — 


20  WOODS  AND  WATERS; 

(here  we  came  to  the  most  horrible  piece  of  corduroy  I 
ever  saw,  its  huge  logs  lying  or  rather  weltering,  in  a  soil 
that  shook  like  a  jelly),  "  '  and  hap-pap-pap-iness  of  almum- 
mum-most  every  man  has  sha-sha-shaken  to  the  cen-cen- 
tre  the  po-po-po-litical  fabric' — look  out  for  that  log !  driver, 
can't  you  ?  it  '11  roll  over  as  sure  as  a  gun — '  and  d-d-d' — 
deuce  take  it—'  dashed  against  one  another  thrones  whoo- 
whoo- which  had  s-s-s-stood  tr-tranquil  for  ages!' — thank 
heaven !  boys,  we're  over  that  corduroy  I" 

The  gold  tangle  of  sunset  glittered  in  the  forests,  the 
damp  air  was  full  of  fragrance,  and  the  Saranac  river  gave 
flash  after  flash,  inviting  us  on,  as  we  came  in  sight  of 
the  Lake  House.  A  sharp  turn  to  the  left,  the  trample  of 
our  horses'  hoofs  over  a  little  bridge,  a  slight  ascent,  and  we 
were  at  Baker's. 

"  Now  we've  come,"  said  Eenning,  after  we  had  made 
ourselves  comfortable  in  the  little  parlor  of  the  inn,  "  the 
first  question  is,  Where  shall  we  go  ?" 

"  What  think  you  of  the  Upper  Saranac,  or  the  St.  Kegis 
region  ?"  suggested  Gaylor. 

"  I  should  think  Eawlins'  and  Floodwood  Ponds  and  all 
that  chain  of  waters  west  of  the  Upper  Saranac  would  give 
us  good  hunting,  if  not  fishing,"  said  Bingham. 

"  I've  a  notion  that  a  trip  up  the  Eacket  to  the  falls,  then 
down  to  our  old  camping  spot  on  Tupper's  Lake,  would  be 
pleasant,  beside  the  fishing  we  should  have,"  remarked 
Eenning.  "  But  suppose  we  send  for  Harvey  Moody.  I 
hear  his  voice  pretty  loud,  in  the  bar-room ;  he  will  give  us 
some  good  advice." 

In  a  few  moments,  Harvey  made  his  appearance.  He 
was  the  oldest  of  several  brothers,  all  living  in  that  vicinity 
and  nearly  all  guides  ;  was  the  father  of  four  or  five  sons, 
each  a  guide,  and  was  an  experienced  one  himself.  He 
had  been  brought  by  his  father  to  the  region  when  a  child, 
had  always 'lived  in  it  since,  and,  of  course,  was  perfectly 
familiar  with  its  localities. 

He  was  dressed  in  the  sober  colors  I  found  it  his  custom 


OR,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.  21 

to  wear ;  thus  blending  himself  with  the  natural  hues  of 
his  haunts,  so  as  not  to  startle  his  game — the  hues  of  the 
oozy  shore,  where  he  set  his  mink-trap ;  of  the  bark  of  the 
runway  trees',  where  he  lurked  for  the  deer ;  the  log  at  the 
pool,  where  he  stole  to  lure  the  trout ;  the  sand-banks  and 
gravel-beds  of  the  stream,  where  he  prowled  for  the  otter ; 
and  the  dawn  and  evening  greys  of  the  shallows,  where 
he  pried  to  waylay  the  fisher  and  the  muskrat. 

"  Harvey !"  said  Ealph,  after  that  worthy  had  paid  his 
respects  and  expressed  his  joy  at  again  seeing  the  four 
with  whom  he  was  acquainted,  "  we  are  considering  where 
we  shall  go ;  whether  to  the  Upper  Saranac,  to  Eawlins' 
Pond,  or  to  Backet  Falls  and  then  down  to  Tupper's  Lake. 
What  do  you  think  ?" 

"  Well,  Mr.  Eunnin ' !"  answered  Harvey,  in  his  some- 
what cracked  Voice,  "  as  for  Upper  S'nac,  I  don't  say  there 
ain't  as  likely  places  in  the  world,  but  I  do  say  there  ain't 
no  likelier.  I " 

"  But  how  about  the  fishing  there,  Harvey  ?"  interrupted 
Ealph,  who  would  not  have  cared  if  the  waters  of  Paradise 
shone  over  the  next  ridge,  were  no  trout  to  be  found  there. 

"  Well  I"  -^Id  Harvey,  "  I  al'ays  tell  jest  as  'tis.  As  fur 
the  fishin,'  'tain't  liothin'  wuth  speakin'  on ;  but  the  huntin' 
is  rael  old  hunderd.  One  -day,  'twas  jest  about  sundown, 
I  and  my  son  Will  shot  three  bucks  at  Black  Pond  outlet, 
above  Markham  P'int,  in  less  'n  no  time.  In  the  evenin', 
and  'twas  a  parfect  inkstand  of  an  evenin',  too,  as  black  as 
my  dog  Watch's  mouth,  we  went  floatin'  for  deer,  and  jest 
where  a  cat-tail  p'int  jets  out  from  a  cedar  swamp  above 
the  Narrers,  we  come  upon  the  goll  darndest  big  buck " 

"  That's  the  place  I1'  said  Bingham,  with  his  eyes  bulging 
out  like  a  hooked  trout's  (he  was  a  keen  hunter,  but  cared 
little  for  fishing)  and  starring  to  his  feet. 

"  Hold  on !"  said  Eenning,  "  don't  go  there  to-night, 
Bing!  We  have  time  enough  before  us.  You  forget 
Eawlins'  Pond  and  the  waters  along  there !  What  do  you 
think  of  that  region,  Harvey  ?" 


22  WOODS  AND   WATERS; 

"  Well,"  answered  Harvey,  "  Rawlins'  is  a  rael  tip-top 
place  for  huntin',  too.  You  kin  a'most  al'ays  kill  a  ven'son 
there.  But  the  fishin'  there  ain't  of  no  'count,  that  is,  when 
we  talk  about  the  Racket  and  T upper's  Lake;  that  is, 
there's  good  sport  ketchin'  whitefish  at  the  old  dam  in  the 
outlet  o'  Floodwood,  which  is  next  door  to  Rawlins,  but 
you  can't  ketch  'em  this  time  o'  year,  nohow.  It's  only  in 
October.  Still,  ef  you  want  to  go  to  Rawl " 

"  What  do  you  think  as  to  Racket  Falls,  before  we  go 
to  the  old  spot,  Tupper's  Lake  ?"  said  Renning. 

"  Fust  best !"  returned  Harvey,  slapping  his  knee  ;  "  you 
can't  git  no  better  place  than  Racket  Falls  and  all  above 
there  and  then  all  the  way  down  to  Tupper's  Lake.  You 
know,  Mr.  Runnin'  and  Mr.  Gaylor  and  Mr.  Bingham  and 
you,  too,  Mr.  Coburn,  all  about  the  Racket,  down  from 
Stony  Brook  to  Tupper's;  but  Racket  Falls  and  them 
places  up  there,  I  bleeve  you've  never  been  to.  Well, 
now,  as  fur  fishin',  you  won't  hev  much  till  you  git  to 
Palmer's  Brook — then  there's  the  Falls — then  Cold  Brook 
— then  Cold  River.  As  for  that  Cold  River,  you  may 
bleeve  there's  trout  there,  and  some  on  'em  full  grown,  too. 
And  as  for  huntin',  Mr.  Bingham,  the  deer's  around,  up 
about  them  slews.  It's  rael  inkstand  there  with  'em. 
There's  Stony  Slew  and  Loon  Slew  and  Moose  Slew," 
counting  on  his  fingers,  "  below  the  Falls,  and  Moose 
Creek,  above.  Ef  there  ain't  the  places  fur  night  huntin', 
then  there  ain't  none ;  and  ef  you,  Mr.  Bingham,  could  git 
only  two  or  three  of  them  big  bucks  I've  seen  at  Moose 
Slew  alone,  you  might  hold  up  your  head  like  a  school- 
inam.  It's  all  sorts  of  a  nice  place,  I " 

"  Suppose  we  say  Racket  Falls,  and  then  down  the 
Racket  to  Tupper's  Lake !"  said  Bingham,  transported  by 
Harvey's  suggestions  of  night-hunting. 

"  Agreed  1"  said  we  all,  and  the  thing  was  settled. 

Obeying  now  a  summons  from  our  host,  whose  portly 
form  appeared  at  the  parlor  door,  we  ranged  ourselves  at 
the  supper-table,  which  was  abundantly  supplied  with  the 


OR,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.  23 

two  staple  luxuries  of  the  woods,  trout  and  venison.  Piles 
of  the  delicious  fish,  browned  and  diffusing  a  most  appe- 
tising fragrance,  filled  the  space  between  a  venison  steak 
and  an  immense  boiled  lake-trout,  lapped  in  golden  cream. 
The  tea  and  coffee  also  mantled  in  cream,  whose  rich  clots 
looked  like  bits  of  golden  ingots,  while  the  white,  crum- 
bling biscuits  almost  melted  on  the  tongue. 

In  answer  to  our  queries,  our  host  informed  us  that  the 
trout  (except  the  large  one  caught  in  the  Lower  Saranac) 
came  from  Eogers'  Brook,  and  the  venison  from  Colby 
Pond,  both  in  the  vicinity. 

After  supper,  we  strolled  out  in  the  twilight,  to  enjoy 
our  surroundings.  The  Lake  House  was  a  low  building, 
of  two  stories,  partly  white  and  partly  in  the  wood's 
natural  weather-stained  hues,  with  a  projecting  gable.  A 
white  fence  inclosed  a  little  grassy  courtyard.  The  borders 
of  this  space  had  once  been  devoted  to  flowers,  but  all 
traces  were  now  being  fast  hidden  by  the  grass.  The 
Saranac  river  wound  from  the  forests  at  the  west  (although 
its  general  course  was  from  the  south),  and,  broken  into  a 
small  rapid,  flowed  northeasterly  a  short  distance  from  the 
inn.  A  little  wooden  bridge  spanned  the  rapid. 

Eough  upland  fields,  but  lately  wrested  from  the  forest, 
lay  around.  The  narrow  river-flat  northeast,  however,  was 
smooth  in  grass.  Several  buildings  were  scattered  along 
the  Keeseville  road,  with  one  or  two  not  yet  finished. 

The  Lake  House  was  at  the  intersection  of  two  roads ; 
the  Keeseville,  which  swept  round  at  the  foot  of  the  build- 
ing and  wound  to  the  Lower  Saranac  Lake ;  and  the 
Elizabethtown,  which  ran  hence  to  a  village  of  that  name 
and  to  Westport  on  Lake  Champlain. 

In  the  rear,  or  east  of  the  tavern,  a  wild  summit,  known 
as  Baker's  Peak,  heaved  its  dark,  leafy  cone  against  the 
sky.  Mackenzie's  Pond  Mountain,  cloven  into  two  points 
like  the  antlers  of  a  deer,  printed  the  horizon  next  in  that 
quarter,  with  other  crests  surging  away  to  the  south  and 
east. 


24  WOODS  AND  WATERS; 

An  irregular  line  of  the  wild  forest  was  traced  around 
the  whole  horizon. 

The  scene  was  enchanting  with  the  soft  semi-light,  the 
rose-leaf  clouds,  the  crimson  west,  the  darkening  fields, 
the  blackening  woods  and  the  purpling  mountains.  Blended 
with  the  dreamy  twitter  from  the  shadowy  trees,  were  the 
rush  of  the  rapids  and  the  distant  cry  of  a  huge  bird — the 
black  eagle  of  the  woods — winging  his  stately  way  high 
overhead,  toward  the  Lower  Saranac. 

We  ascended  the  acclivity  of  the  Blizabethtown  road 
and  made  our  way  to  the  right,  up  a  green  hill,  where 
was  a  flag-staff.  The  timid  stars  were  stealing  into  the 
heavens.  Deepest  quiet  prevailed,  broken  only  by  an 
occasional  bay  from  a  hound,  at  the  cabin  of  Moody  below. 

My  comrades  descended  the  hill,  but  I  lingered  behind. 
I  lingered  and  gazed  and  dreamed.  The  scene  was  so 
soothing,  the  tranquillity  so  holy  I  Nature  seemed  with 
folded  hands  to  praj. 


OR,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.  25 


CHAPTER 

The  Saranac  Boats. — The  Buckboard. — Harvey  Kills  a  Deer. — The  Song  of 

Glencoe. 

WHEN  I  descended  from  my  room,  the  next  morning, 
day  had  just  planted  his  golden  sandals  on  the  summit  of 
Baker's  Peak.  The  sky  was  a  lapis  lazuli ;  the  atmosphere 
bland  and  cool.  Early  as  was  the  hour,  the  tent  intended 
for  our  trip  was  already  pitched  between  the  tavern  and 
the  barn,  and  round  it  our  guides  had  gathered.  These 
were  Harvey  Moody,  with  Cortez  and  Martin  his  brothers, 
and  Phineas  and  William  his  sons. 

Beside  the  barn  door,  on  which  sprawled  a  dried  wolf- 
skin, two  bear  cubs  were  confined  in  a  long,  wooden  cage. 
One  was  pacing  to  and  fro,  with  quick  startling  motions, 
now  and  then  thrusting  his  nose  and  paw  through  the  bars 
in  front;  the  other,  lazily  winking,  was  crouched  on  a 
cross-bar  midway  the  height.  While  I  was  feeding  them 
with  blueberries  from  an  adjoining  field,  Harvey  saun- 
tered up. 

"  Good  mornin',  good  mornin' !"  said  he,  in  a  hearty  tone, 
"  lookin'  at  the  cubs  and  feedin'  on  'm  I  see,  Mr.  Smith. 
They  were  got  jest  out  here  on  Keene  Mountain,  and  the 
skin  of  the  old  bear's  in  the  loft  there,"  pointing  to  a  gable 
building,  newly  erected  for  a  corner  store.  "  I  didn't  git  these 
ere,  but  I  took  two  from  a  stump,  last  winter,  at  the  lower 
Lake.  The  old  'un  I  shot,  jest  as  he  poked  his  head  up. 
One  o'  the  cubs  died,  but  the  other  I've  got  chained  up  by 
my  shop." 

"  You've  killed  bears  enough  in  your  lifetime,  I  suppose, 
Harvey?" 


26  WOODS  AND  WATERS; 

"  Yes,  and  painters  too.  I  was  follerin'  up  a  saple  line 
onst,  from  Hoel's  Pond  a  leetle  north  o'  the  Upper  S'nac  to 
the  St.  Eegis  waters,  and  jest  by  Catamount  Mountain,  I 
come  crost  the  all-firedest  big  painter"  — 

"  Good  morning,  Smith,"  said  Eenning,  thrusting  his  head 
from  his  chamber  window.  "  Good  morning,  Harvey  1  are 
the  guides  all  ready  for  Kogers'  Brook  ?" 

"All  ready,  Mr.  Eunnin',"  answered  Harvey,  "I've  hed 
the  b'ys  here  sin'  afore  sunrise,  and  the  boats  is  in  the 
pond  by  Cort's." 

We  had  selected  our  guides,  the  evening  before;  Eenning, 
Gaylor,  Bingham  and  Coburn,  choosing  respectively  Will, 
Mart,  Cort  and  Phin,  and  I  taking  Harvey. 

Eenning  and  Gaylor  were  to  try  the  trout  at  Eogers' 
Brook,  and  Bingham  and  Coburn  to  drive   for  deer  at. 
Colby's  Pond.     My  choice  was  to  wander  around  Baker's. 

I  was  impressed,  the  more  I  saw  of  Harvey,  with  his  skill 
as  hunter  and  guide,  and  at  a  later  day,  as  trapper.  He 
not  only  thoroughly  understood  the  region  and  the  habits 
of  its  every  bird,  fish  and  animal,  but  was  full  of  resources 
in  his  vocations.  As  guide,  he  was  entirely  reliable  and 
always  ready.  He  handled  rifle,  rod  and  oar  with  equal 
skill,  and  taught  his  woodcraft  with  a  cheerful  patience. 
His  senses  were  wonderfully  acute  and  continually  alive. 
Not  a  sight  or  sound  of  the  woods  or  waters  escaped  him. 

As  hunter,  trapper  and  fisherman,  he  laid  the  whole 
forest  under  tribute.  In  the  swamp,  he  opened  the  jaws  of 
his  wolf-trap ;  through  leagues  on  leagues  of  woods,  he  blazed 
his  sable  line ;  on  the  borders  of  the  waters,  he  built  his 
deadfall  for  the  mink ;  over  the  entire  wilderness,  he  let 
slip  his  hound  for  the  deer,  while  his  fatal  hook  knew  the 
buoy  spots  of  every  lake,  and  the  mouths,  eddies  and  rapids 
of  every  stream. 

Eenning  and  Gaylor  started  with  their  two  guides,  all 
fully  equipped ;  and  the  morning  was  so  beautiful,  I  deter- 
mined to  accompany  them  with  Harvey,  to  their  point  of 
embarkation  for  the  Brook. 


OR,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.  27 

We  travelled  up  the  Elizabethtown  road,  passing  Har- 
vey's cabin  (half  log,  half  clapboard)  and  his  little  log 
smithy  in  the  corner  of  a  small  green  space  at  the  side  of 
the  hut. 

We  passed  also  the  red  farm  house  of  Harvey's  father 
and  turned  at  the  right  into  a  grassy  road,  which  soon 
brought  us  to  the  Saranac  River.  A  dam  at  Harrietstown 
(a  cluster  of  rough  dwellings  on  the  road  between  Baker's 
and  the  Lower  Saranac)  sets  the  waters  broadly  back  for 
miles,  and  the  overflow  had  killed  the  trees  and  thickets  that 
crowded  the  former  borders.  A  labyrinth  of  dead  trees, 
prostrate  trunks  and  withered  branches,  obstructed  the 
waters,  leaving  but  a  narrow  channel,  midway.  The  live 
forest  framed  in  the  whole. 

Drawn  half  way  up  the  green  bank,  near  a  log  hut, 
were  four  Saranac  boats.  These  boats  are  dark-colored, 
slender  as  a  pike,  buoyant  as  a  cork,  made  gracefully  of 
thin  pine,  with  knees  of  fir,  their  weight  from  ninety  to  one 
hundred  and  twenty  pounds.  Each  has  two  oars  on  iron 
pins,  a  paddle,  a  neck-yoke  for  the  "  carries;"  is  made  for 
three  (it  can  hold  five),  and  though  so  small  and  lightly 
built,  will  live  in  the  roughest  swells. 

Eenning  and  Gaylor  embarked  and  glided  rapidly  and 
smoothly  through  the  channel,  Will  and  Mart  handling 
their  oars  like  playthings. 

Harvey  and  I  returned  to  Baker's.  We  reached  it  just 
as  the  buckboard  (a  Ijoard  on  four  wheels  with  one  seat) 
drove  up  for  Bingham  and  Coburn,  who  were  on  their  way 
to  Colby  Pond. 

It  was  brought  by  a  scarecrow  of  a  boy,  all  broken  out 
into  tatters.  The  nag  was  a  tottering  mass  of  ribs  and 
knuckle-bones  with  a  skin  drawn  tightly  over,  and  it 
seemed  to  have  a  constant  inclination  to  fall  on  its  nose. 

Bingham  borrowed  a  hickory  goad  and  jumped  on  the 
buckboard  with  Coburn,  and  at  last,  between  the  two  and 
amid  the  grins  of  the  tavern  loungers,  old  Mortality  was 
punched  and  jerked  into  a  funereal  jog.  Down  the  hill  he 


28  WOODS  AND  WATERS; 

shambled,  his  legs  tangling  and  untangling  in  the  most 
mysterious  manner.  But  the  moment  he  struck  the  level 
(I  followed  to  see  the  sport),  he  subsided  into  his  constitu- 
tional crawl.  The  woods  echoed  to  Bingham's  goad,  but 
Bones  only  crinkled  his  hide,  without  budging  a  step  the 
faster.  I  left  them  as  they  began  the  hill,  with  Bingham 
hallooing  at  the  top  of  his  voice,  and  boring  the  goad  as  if 
it  were  a  gimlet,  into  the  old  nag's  crupper. 

After  the  buckboard  had  disappeared,  Harvey  and  I 
strolled  along  the  lane  behind  the  barn,  and  he  was  in  the 
middle  of  a  "jack-hunt  on  Eacket  Pond  onst,  nigh  the  mouth 
of  Wolf  Brook,"  when  he  interrupted  himself  with  "Hark! 
there's  a  hound  runnin'  a  deer.  It  sounds  like  Watch ;  hark  I" 

Although  I  listened  intently,  I  heard  nothing  but  the 
rush  of  the  rapids  under  the  bridge  above. 

"It's  Watch,  by  goll!"  resumed  Harvey.  "He's  bin 
missin'  ever  sin'  yesterday.  I  was  huntin'  out  on  the  Plains 
by  Eay  Brook,  when  he  started  a  deer  that  run  torts  the 
Lower  S'nac.  He  must  a  started  another.  There  he  goes 
agin !  Goll,  don't  he  sing  1"  and  a  yelp  or  two,  followed 
by  a  burst  of  cries,  came  to  my  ear. 

The  sounds  then  retreated,  floating  fitfully  here  a'nd  there, 
lower,  then  louder,  then  lower  again,  and  dwindling  to  a 
dreamy  echo,  then  swelling  once  more  until  the  tone  illus- 
trated the  "  wandering  voice  "  of  Wordsworth.  At  length, 
a  peal  sounded,  like  a  clarion's. 

"  Here  comes  the  deer,  and  a  buck  in  the  bargain  ;  here, 
Mr.  Smith,  here !  he's  comin'  this  way !"  exclaimed 
Harvey,  slinging  his  rine  over  his  shoulder  and  running 
before  me.  "  I'll  hev  a  shot  afore  he  reaches  the  river." 

The  deer  had  broke,  from  the  forest  at  the  base  of  the 
Peak,  and  was  now  darting  towards  the  stream.  He  cleared 
the  stumpy  field  next  the  Peak  and  was  crossing  the  river- 
flat,  when  Harvey  fired.  The  buck  gave  one  bound  and 
fell  headlong. 

Harvey  rushed  to  the  spot  and  cut  the  animal's  throat 
with  his  woodknife. 


OB,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.  29 

f 

1  Here's  Watch  I"  said  he,  as  a  brindled  hound  came 
leaping  over  the  field  toward  him. 

"  Good  feller,  good  pup !"  patting  the  head  of  the  hound; 
"  What  did  ye  do  with  the  deer  yisterday,  eh !"  while  the 
dog  rubbed  against  him,  whimpering,  and  twisting  his  lithe 
body  with  delight. 

"Well,"  said  Bingham,  stretching  his  long  legs  on  the 
chintz  sofa  of  the  inner  parlor,  just  after  tea,  while  we  all 
sat  round,  "  I'm  about  sick  of  this  business,  already. 
Here  Coburn  and  I  have  been  all  day  watching  at  Colby 
Pond  and  going  over  the  worst  road  to  get  there  that 
ever  afflicted  mortal  man,  all  rocks  and  corduroy,  and  such 
a  beast  too,  to  take  us ! — why  I've  drilled  so  many  holes 
with  the  gad  into  his  leather  carcass,  that  it  looks  like  a 
sieve ; — but  as  I  was  saying ;  here  we've  been  watching  all 
day  for  a  shot,  and  not  a  shot  do  we  get ;  not  even  a  yelp 
to  tell  that  one  was  wanted.  And  here  Harvey  Moody 
kills  a  deer  right  under  Smith's  nose,  without  stirring  from 
Baker's.  And  here  Eenning  and  Gaylor  come  back  from 
Rogers'  Brook,  and  they  too  have  a  deer,  without  mention- 
ing trout  enough  to  break  down  that  confounded  tetering 
buckboard  of  ours,  and  without  even  leaving  their  boats. 
Well,  so  goes  the  world,  Coburn,  and  suppose  we  take  a 
drink.  Ah,  this  liquor  is  good,  at  all  events !  and  I  say, 
boys,  if  I  had  got  a  shot,  wouldn't  I  have  given  the  deer  fits?" 

"  That's  so  much  a  matter  of  course,  Bing,"  said  Gaylor, 
"  there's  no  use  of  talking  any  longer  about  it.  But  here's 
Will  Moody  coming  from  the  bar-room.  Come  in,  Will, 
and  sing  us  Glencoe." 

Will  entered,  and  after  a  few  bashful  excuses,  struck  up 
in  a  powerful  but  rather  nasal  tone,  the  following  ballad, 
which  I  have  translated  into  English  from  the  Saranac 
vernacular. 

4  The  young  leaves  of  May  had  just  feathered  the  trees, 
And  the  heatherbell's  fragrance  was  filling  the  breeze ; 
I  went,  as  of  old,  to  see  day  dipping  low, 
On  the  wild,  gloomy  grandeur  of  rocky  Glencoe. 


30  WOODS  AND  VATERS; 

•  * 

'  The  bank  of  a  burnie  beside  me  that  run, 
Displayed  a  bright  lassie,  as  bright  as  the  sun ; 
All  flowing  in  tartans,  a  lass  long  ago 
That  loved  young  Macdonald,  the  Pride  of  Glencoe. 

1  With  heart  beating  wildly,  I  slowly  drew  nigh, 
The  lily  and  rose  in  her  cheek  seemed  to  vie ; 
I  asked  in  soft  tones  where  her  thought  was  to  go, 
And  she  answered,  I'm  straying  to  gaze  at  Glencoe ! 

*  Said  I,  lovely  lassie,  thy  look  and  thy  smile, 
My  pathway  for  ever  with  joy  can  beguile  1  • 
If  thou  thy  affections  on  me  wilt  bestow, 
Til  bless  the  glad  hour  we  met  at  Glencoe. 

'  Said  she,  My  affections  no  more  can  I  claim ; 
I  once  had  a  true  love,  Macdonald  his  name ; 
He  went  to  the  wars,  alas  I  long  years  ago, 
And  I  live  but  to  see  him  once  more  at  Glencoe. 

1  It  may  be  Macdonald  thou'lt  never  more  see, 
That  he  loves  some  far  lassie  more  fondly  than  thee^ 
That  he  thinks  not  of  tartans  so  simple  in  flow, 
But  of  jewels  that  shine  hi  disdain  of  Glencoe. 

'False  man  1  my  Macdonald  true-hearted  will  prove: 
The  valiant  in  battle  are  faithful  in  love  1 
And  soon  will  the  Spaniards  in  dust  be  laid  low, 
And  in  joy  will  my  true  love  return  to  Glencoe. 

'  So  loyal  I  found  her,  I  pulled  out  a  glove 
She  gave  me  at  parting,  her  token  of  love  ; 
She  hung  on  my  bosom  her  tears  all  aflow, 
Oh,  art  thou  Macdonald  returned  to  Glencoe  I 

4  Tes,  Nannie,  dear  Nannie,  thy  sorrows  are  o'er  I 
I  come  from  the  battles  to  wander  no  more  ! 
The  rude  winds  of  war  at  a  distance  may  blow, 
And  fond  and  contented,  we'll  dwell  at  Glencoe.1 


OR,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.  31 


CHAPTEE  IV. 

The  Lower  Saranac  Lake. — The  Eagle. — Mount  Tahawua. — The  Loon. — The 
G-ulL — Moose  Mountain. — Cove  Hill. — Mount  Seward. — Whiteface. 

THE  next  morning  arose  warm  and  threatening  rain. 
Breakfast  over,  my  four  comrades  and  myself,  with  rifles, 
rods,  blankets,  overcoats  and  carpet-bags  (holding  as  few 
articles  as  possible),  left  in  Baker's  wagon  for  the  Lower 
Saranac  Lake,  to  start  thence  upon  our  trip. 

Up  and  down  the  winding  road  we  merrily  went,  with 
the  picturesque  bends  of  the  Saranac  river  at  our  right.  • 
One  view  particularly  pleased  us,  soon  after  our  departure 
from  the  Lake  House :  a  graceful  curve  of  the  stream,  lost 
at  either  end  in  woods,  with  one  dry  jagged  tree  slanting 
athwart,  the  only  sign  of  decay  amid  the  overflowing  life. 

We  crossed  the  dam  bridling  the  river  at  Harrietstown, 
by  a  bridge,  and  leaving  the  hamlet  on  our  left,  ascended 
a  hill,  and,  with  log-cabins  and  rough-clearings  breaking 
the  wilderness  at  either  hand,  soon  saw  the  glancing  blue 
of  the  lake  in  the  background  of  the  road. 

"We  found  our  five  boats  in  waiting,  with  as  many 
guides ;  Corey,  our  cook  and  campman,  meeting  us  here 
from  the  Indian  Carrying-Place,  with  his  son  (little  Jess, 
a  boy  of  sixteen)  as  assistant,  and  two  boats  for  the  camp 
equipage  and  stores. 

There  was  a  party  of  sportsmen  at  Martin's  (a  tavern  at 
our  point  of  embarkation  much  frequented  by  visitors  of 
the  region),  bound  for  Blue  Mountain  Lake.  They  were 
lolling  on  the  green  slope  before  the  house  and  seated  on 
the  logs  scattered  around.  The  forest  makes  friends  of  all, 
and  soon  we  were  chatting  and  joking  together,  like  old 


32  WOODS  AND  WATERS; 

acquaintances,  exchanging  little  gifts,  discussing  plans  and 
relating  our  adventures. 

"You  seem  to  want  to  know  about  the  region,  Mr. 
Smith,"  said  Harvey  to  me,  after  lie  had  placed  his  boat 
(the  little  Bluebird)  in  complete  readiness;  "So  I'll  tell  ye 
that  the  Lower  S'nac  p'ints  southwest  and  is  six  miles 
long  by  two  wide.  Then  comes  the  S'nac  River,  three 
miles  inter  Bound  Lake,  which  is  two  miles  long  by  that 
broad,  and  lays  about  west.  Then  a  mile  o'  the  river 
agin  to  Bartlett's,  where  there's  rapids  and  a  carry  inter 
the  Upper  S'nac,  which  p'ints  north  agin.  So  you  see  the 
three  lakes  makes  a  horseshoe,  with  the  two  eends  p'intin' 
one  north  and  t'  other  tol'able  nigh  so." 

"  What  are  those  islands  south  there  named,  Harvey  ?" 

"  Them  two  little  ones  over  this  spread  o'  water  is  the 
Two  Sisters.  On  the  left  is  Eagle  Island,  the  largest 
island  in  the  lake,  three-quarters  of  a  mile  long.  Burnt 
Island  is  on  the  right,  and  then  comes  the  main  shore. 
That  fur  mountain  over  Eagle  Island,  is  Mount  Morris,  or 
Tupper's  Lake  Mountain,  that  we'll  see  clusser  afore  the 
trip's  over.  That  peak  north,  is  Baker's  Peak.  This  is  a 
great  country  fur  mountains,  and  waters  too.  The  lakes 
and  ponds  is  like  spots  on  a  fa'n,  and  the  streams  is  as 
thick  as  streaks  on  the  moose-missee  wood.  As  fur  the 
woods,  all  in  the  State  is  packed  away  in  this  'ere  region, 
with  now  and  then  a  clearin',  like  a  bug  on  a  chip  floatin' 
in  the  S'nac  here." 

In  a  few  minutes  we  were  underway ;  each  at  the  stern 
of  his  boat,  leaning  against  the  backboard,  and  the  guide 
near  the  middle,  plying  smoothly  and  rapidly  his  oars. 

Harvey  had  brought  Watch  with  him,  and  he  lay  coiled 
at  the  Bluebird's  bow.  Sport,  the  other  hound,  had  been 
consigned  to  the  care  of  Will.  Drive  and  the  Pup  com- 
pleted the  pack. 

Onward  the  five  boats  swept  toward  the  Two  Sisters, 
with  the  store  boats  at  the  left  crank  and  tottering  under 
their  loads. 


OR,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.  33 

On  either  side,  was  one  grand  sweep  of  mountain  woods, 
swelling  from  the  very  verge  of  the  water,  which  was 
scattered  with  manifold  islands.  Here  and  there  trees, 
withered  and  scorched,  strewed  their  gray  and  dull  red  tints, 
but  they  were  hardly  discoverable  amid  the  universal 
green. 

Heavy  clouds  with  bright  edges,  filled  the  sky.  The 
whole  scene  was  fitful  with  brights  and  darks.  Sometimes 
a  beam  lighted  sudden  and  startling,  on  the  top  of  a 
shadowed  mountain,  overflowing  it  with  splendor.  A  new 
shadow  then  darted  from  the  base,  peeling  off  the  light 
until  the  whole  mass  frowned  again  in  gloom. 

So  with  the  lake.  Now  it  showed  one  sullen  hue;  a 
gleam  would  then  break  forth,  widening  till  dazzling 
diamonds  danced  upon  the  view,  followed  by  a  leaden  tint, 
which  closed  like  an  enormous  lid  over  its  broad,  sparkling 
eye. 

Growls  of  thunder  were  echoing  all  around  the  scene, 
as  if  the  mountains  gave  vent  to  fitful  anger. 

"  Mackenzie's  Pond  Mountain,  over  there,"  said  Harvey, 
"  has  his  umb'rell  up  to-day,"  nodding  to  the  east, 
where  a  dense  mist  touched  the  cloven  crest.  "  It'll  be  a 
kind  of  on-the-fence  day,  nuther  much  rain  nor  shine, 
but  a  muxed  up  consarn,  and  mebby  some  wind.  "Well, 
in  any  blow  that  is  reasonable,  and  some  that  might 
be  unreasonable,  this  little  Bluebird  o'  mine  '11  live 
about  as  well  (jerking  his  old  hat  in  the  most  know- 
ing manner,  then  spitting  on  his  hand  and  sweeping 
wide  his  oars)  as  a  loon,  whether  it's  on  Upper  S'nac 
or  Round  Lake,  and  them  two's  about  the  wust  in  this 
region." 

A  breeze  now  crisped  the  lake,  freshening  till  we  danced 
onward  over  whitening  swells  I  bared  my  head  to  the 
wind ;  I  plunged  my  arm  in  the  waves.  Onward,  good 
Harvey  !  swifter  I  let  your  oars  play  more  merrily  !  How 
they  dash,  how  they  flash !  onward,  old  fellow !  on,  old 
guide  of  the  Saranacs ! 

3 


34  WOODS  AND  WATERS; 

On,  on  o'er  the  waters  I  song  dwells  in  their  sound, 
Brave  life  in  their  tumult,  and  bliss  in  their  bound ! 
Roam  thou  where  the  light  wind  makes  love  to  the  tree^ 
But  a  way  o'er  the  wild  rolling  waters  for  me  I 

Oh  the  eagle,  he  darts  through  his  mighty  domain  1 
Oh  the  steed,  with  what  triumph  he  tramples  the  plain ! 
But  the  bark,  the  bold  bark,  speeds  as  fleet  and  as  free  1 
Then  a  way  o'er  the  wild  rolling  waters  for  me  I 

Men  say  there  is  sorrow  and  darkness  in  life, 
That  the  heart,  it  grows  weary  and  worn  in  the  strife ; 
But  the  bark  has  no  heart-break ;  all  cares  from  it  flee ; 
Then  a  way  o'er  the  wild  rolling  waters  for  me  I 

Bound  onward,  bold  bark !  leave  the  tame  earth  behind 
Thy  path  is  the  white  wave,  thy  breath  is  the  wind  I 
Pash  whiter  thou  white  wave  1  wind  heighten  thy  glee ! 
Ho  I  a  way  o'er  the  wild  rolling  waters  for  me  1 

At  this  glowing  moment,  when  Pegasus  had  completelj 
run  off  with  me  from  the  present  scene  and  I  was  career- 
ing oVer  the  magnificent  ocean,  a  stealthy  dash  of  rain 
from  Eagle  Island  extinguished  my  enthusiasm  and  wet 
me  pretty  thoroughly  before  I  could  don  my  India-rubber. 

I  could  see  Harvey  grin  as  I  clutched  my  coat ;  but  I 
wrapped  myself  in  my  philosophy  as  well  as  my  garment, 
and 

"  Did  what  they  do  in  Spain- 
Let  it  rain." 

The  pelted  lake  leaped  into  convulsions  of  foam,  and 
through  the  mist  the  Two  Sisters  looked  spectral. 

The  rain  at  length  ceased,  so  suddenly,  it  seemed  as  if 'a 
wet  curtain  had  in  a  twinkling  been  lifted;  but  mist 
still  hung  upon  us. 

"  I  had  a  rainy  time  on't,  one  time,  in  Lonesome  Pond 
Bay,  over  therev  to  the  east,"  said  Harvey,  "  watching  for 
deer.  Old  Spot — he's  dead  now — was  out,  and  as  I  hadn't 
heerd  him  for  some  time,  I  consated  I'd  fish.  I  ketched 
four  big  lake  trout  and  bimeby  I  heerd  Spot.  How  he 
did  yelp  1  Jest  as  I  drawed  sight,  for  I  knowed  suthin'  was 


OR,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.  35 

a-comin',  what  should  bust  out  of  a  lorrel  swamp  but  an 
onmassifull  big  painter !  I  fired,  but  only  wounded  'im. 
He  sprung  into  a  watermaple  and  sot  openin'  his  green 
eyes  on  me  as  farse  as  a  milishy  cap'n  on  trainin'  day.  He 
was  jest  drawin'  up  for  a  jump,  when  I  fired  t'other  barr'l 
right  at  his  eye,  and  he  tumbled  as  dead  as — well,  I  won't 
say  divil,  'case  that's  swearin' — but  as  dead  as — well,  I 
dunno — but  he  was  as  dead  as — w-a-a-1,  dead  as  kin  be. 
I've  got  his  skin  now  in  my  shanty  to  hum.  But  look 
at  that  eagle  I  He  jest  rose  from  Otter  Island!  How 
cluss  he  flies  1" 

As  he  spoke,  a  mass  shot  by  so  near,  I  caught  the  flasl} 
of  a  wild  eye-ball.  On  the  mass  darted,  into  a  range  of 
stronger  light.  I  saw  his  silver  crest,  his  stately  motion  ; 
he,  the  dark  chieftain  of  the  crag,  swift  of  wing  as  the 
blast  and  keen  of  sight  as  the  sunbeam ! 

"  There  he  lights  on  Saple  Island  !"  continued  Harvey. 
"  I  kinder  consate  I'll  hev  a  chance  at  'im." 

Swaying  the  head  of  a  fir-tree  downward,  the  eagle  rose 

again  and  throned  himself  on  the  top  of  a  tall  hemlock, 

standing  high  and  proud  on  his  yellow-pillared  feet.     He 

,  cast  his  fierce  eye  down  as  we  drew  near,  seeming  to  regard 

us  with  profound  disdain  and  looking  "  every  inch  a  king." 

Harvey  raised  the  rifle;  but  as  he  did  so,  the  eagle 
launched  forth  again  his  black  shape  ;  but  the  rifle  cracked, 
and  the  majestic  bird  swooped  and  fell,  with  a  broken 
wing,  into  the  lake.  Watch  leaped  from  the  boat  and  in 
an  instant  was  upon  him.  The  wild  orbs  of  the  eagle 
flashed  gleam  upon  gleam,  as  he  darted  his  terrible  beak 
at  the  eyes  of  the  hound  and  struck  with  his  sinewy  claws 
and  one  massive  wing,  while  Watch,  eluding  his  enemy 
with  quick  motions,  made  at  him  rapid  dashes  of  attack. 
The  water  foamed  with  the  strife,  almost  concealing  at 
times  the  combatants  in  a  showery  veil.  Gallantly  did  the 
superb  creature  battle  for  his  life;  but  his  bristling  neck 
was  at  last  grasped  by  the  hound,  who  shook  him,  as  it 
were  in  triumph.  In  a  few  moments,  the  streaming  blood 


36  WOODS  AND  WATERS; 

and  relaxed  frame  of  the  victim  showed  that  the  strife  was 
ended. 

Harvey  pulled  the  hound  and  his  prey  into  the  boat, 
patting  the  back  of  the  former  proudly  and  lovingly,  while 
I  looked  with  pity  on  the  latter.  There  he  lay,  the  con- 
queror of  the  clouds,  so  lately  careering  in  the  glory  of  his 
strength,  mangled,  at  my  feet,  and  weltering  like  a  warrior 
in  his  blood.  Haughty  and  dauntless  to  the  end,  he  fas- 
tened his  grand,  tawny  eye  upon  me,  flashing  even  through 
the  mists  of  death,  until  he  shook  in  his  last  tremor. 

Harvey,  however,  was  not  troubled  with  any  sentimen- 
talities about  the  bird. 

"  They're  a  wild,  cruel  sort  o'  critter,"  said  he,  "  them 
eagles,  and  boss  it  over  the  whull  wing  kind  in  the  woods. 
They've  bin  known  to  ketch  fa'ns  when  they  was  sleepin', 
and  pick  their  eyes  out  as  quick  as  a  wink.  They're  great 
robbers,  too.  When  a  fish  hawk  has  took  a  fish,  an  eagle 
'11  bust,  as  'twere,  right  out  o'  the  air,  pounce  on  the  hawk, 
kill  him  and  steal  the  fish.  Now  that  hawk  had  as  good 
a  right  to  that  fish  as  I  hev  to  any  trout  I  ketch,  and  I 
should  like  to  see  a  man  take  away  my  trout.  He'd  stand 
a  mighty  good  chance  to  feel  what's  in  my  rifle,  that's  all. 
I  don't  hev  no  kind  of  pity  fof  the  greedy  rascals,  when 
they  are  killed.  I'll  skin  'im  fur  ye,  when  we  git  to  the 
Injin  Carry,  and  you  kin  git  him  stuffed  and  show  folks 
what  kind  o'  critters  comes  from  the  S'nac  country.  But 
you  was  askin'  me  t'other  day  about  Mount  Tawwus, 
or  Mount  Maircy  as  sonie  people  calls  it,  and  why  they 
should  I  dunno ;  it's  only  the  name  of  a  big  man,  it  don't 
mean  nothin' ;  but  Mount  Tawwus  means  a  good  deal,  it 
means — lets  me  see — it's  suthin'  about  split,  but  whether  it's 
case  it  goes  full  split  up  into  the  clouds,  or  it  splits  folks 
most  in  two  straddlin'  up  't,  I  can't  say  now — rowin' 
kinder  muxes  up  things  in  my  head.  You  kin  jest  git  a 
squint,"  resting  on  his  oars  and  pointing  eastward ;  then 
dipping  an  old  battered,  tin  coffee-pot  into  the  lake  and 
drinking  from  the  half-flattened  spout. 


OR,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.  37 

A  gauzy  summit  on  a  blue  background  of  cloud  and 
kindled  by  a  stray  glance  of  the  sun,  met  my  gaze,  seeming, 
every  moment,  as  if  it  would  melt  away.  Was  that  dreamy 
shape,  tender  as  memory  and  bright  as  hope,  the  grim  god 
that  piles  one  on  another  his  defiant  crags,  and  tosses  with 
scorn  the  thunderbolt  from  his  breast  ?  There  it  shone  in 
almost  transparent  beauty,  more  like  a  fairy  painting  .than  a 
terrific  mountain  whose  crest  pierced  the  clouds  and  froze 
in  the  cold  of  the  sunshine. 

A  point  in  front  now  concealed  the  other  boats,  and  we 
entered  a  channel  between  two  islands. 

The  water  is  smooth  ;  the  trees  are  quiet  in  the  lull  of 
the  wind ;  the  solitude  is  complete.  "  The  gentleness  of 
heaven  is  on  the  " — hey  !  what  the  deuce  is  that  ? 

A  sound  burst  upon  me,  making  me  jump  in  my  seat.  It 
was  like  the  laugh  of  a  maniac ;  more — the  jeering  laugh  of 
a  demon  over  a  fallen  victim — a  bitter,  taunting  laugh  and 
yell  mingled.  It  came  from  the  opposite  side  of  the  island, 
to  the  left. 

I  looked  at  Harvey  with  wonder. 

Harvey  grinned. 

"  "Wait  a  little,  Mr.  Smith,  till  we  pass  Buck  Island  here ! 
There  !  d'ye  see  that  black  speck  ?" 

"  Why,  yes ;  but  you  don't  mean  to  say  the  infernal 
sound  I  heard,  came  from  that  speck  ?" 

"  Wait !" 

Again  the  demoniac  laugh.  It  sounded  evidently  from 
the  speck.  It  echoed  and  re-echoed  over  the  lake,  now 
from  the  neighboring  point  and  now  from  the  little  island 
in  our  rear,  until  the  air  seemed  filled  with  a  diabolical 
gabble. 

"  Hoo,  hoo  I  yes,  you  may  hoo,  hoo,  there  ;  but  look  out ! 
don't  be  sassen  us  too  much !"  said  Harvey. 

"  But  what  the  plague  is  this  hoo-hoo  thing  of  yours, 
Harvey  ?  I  never  before  heard  such  a  sound,  out  of  Bed* 
lam !" 

" That's  a  loon,  Mr.  Smith!" 


38  WOODS  AND  WATEES; 

"A  loon!" 

"  Yes,  and  he's  the  sassiest  thing " 

"  Well,  Harvey  1"  said  I,  "  I've  often  heard  the  saying, 
'  crazy  as  a  loon,'  but  I  never  realized  the  truth  of  it  before. 
His  cry  is  horrible  1" 

"Yes,  siree!  fightin'  torn  cats  and  owls  stirred  up  by 
jacklights  aint  nothin'  to  a  loon  when  he's  a  mind  to  holler, 
sayin'  nothin'  of  a  couple  on  'em.  There  he  goes  agin' 
ho-ooooooo-ah-ho-oooooooo-ah-hoooooo-ee.e-e-e.  Don't  you 
be  a  sassen  us  all  the  time !  I've  killed  loons  afore  I  ever 
see  you,  you  sassy  tjrke !  He's  comin'  up  quite  cluss  1"  as 
a  swell  (we  were  now  out  upon  the  lake  again)  lifted  him 
so  that  I  could  see,  against  a  background  of  island,  his 
glancing  shape  of  black  and  white. 

Harvey  lifted  his  rifle. 

"I  bleeve  I'll — there  I  consated  he'd  pop  under,  the 
sassy  villyan !" 

And  pop  under  he  did.  Lightning  could  hardly  have 
been  quicker.  Minutes  elapsed. 

"  Why,  where  has  he  gone,  Harvey  ?" 

"  He'll  be  up  in  a  minute.     There  he  comes  I" 

Sure  enough,  and  reappearing  as  suddenly  as  he  va- 
nished;  so  near  too  that  I  could  see  his  sharp  beak  and 
even  the  white  strips  round  his  dark,  graceful  neck.  But 
he  had  hardly  risen,  before  he  gave  a  quick,  frightened 
cry,  and  once  more  shot  downward.  Minutes  again  passed 
and  I  saw  the  black  speck  of  his  head  a  quarter  of  a  mile 
away,  floating  near  an  island. 

"There  was  a  feller,  ho!  ho!  ho!"  said  Harvey,  "from 
York;  he  was  out  with  me,  one  time,  on  Tupper's  Lake,  and 
a  loon  hollered  out  and  then  ducked  under  and  staid — 
w-e-1-1,  I  should  say  ten  minutes ;  and  he  wanted  to  know, 
ho !  ho  I  ho !  ef  't'adn't  got  so  feared  at  us  't'ad  drownded 
itself.  I  thought  I  should  split ;  but  see  that  gull !  there, 
on  that  little  bare  rock  jest  afore  Schooner  Island,  where 
them  two  trees  stands  up." 

There  it  stood,  relieved  against  the  leaden  hue  of  a  ledge 


OB,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.  39 

upon  the  island,  as  if  formed  from  white  water  lilies,  and 
filling  entirely  its  little  pedestal. 

"  I  bleeve  I  must  make  short  work  of  that  critter,  at  any 
rate.  I'm  gettin'  rayther  hungry  for  a  shot  1"  said  the  old 
hunter,  aiming  his  rifle. 

"  Don't  shoot  that  bright  thing,  Harvey !" 

"Too  late,  Mr.  Smith!"  crack  went  the  rifle,  and  the 
gull — flew  away. 

Yes,  positively.  I  looked  at  Harvey,  and  Harvey,  he — 
why  he  tried  to  whistle.  But  it  was  of  no  use — he  couldn't. 
He  had  shot  and — the  bird  wasn't  there.  He — the  deadly 
rifle  of  the  Saranacs !  To  be  sure,  an  hour  afterward,  he 
broke  a  silence  of  fifteen  minutes  by  telling  me  that  it  was 
"  all  Watch's  doin's !  that  he  stuck  his  consarned  nose  right 
agin  my  elbow  jest  as  I  was  pullin' ; "  but  I  noticed  a 
slinking  air  in  the  old  woodman,  the  rest  of  the  day. 

But  just  now,  he  tried  to  change  the  topic. 

"Don't  you  think  that  island  looks  suthin'  like  a 
schooner,  Mr.  Smith?"  in  a  subdued  voice,  and  giving  a 
sweep  with  his  oars. 

It  certainly  did.  It  was  about  a  quarter  of  an  acre  in 
extent,  rocky,  with  groups  of  thickets  and  two  tall  trees 
resembling  masts. 

"  There's  old  Moose !"  exclaimed  Harvey,  shortly  after, 
pointing  to  a  vast  mountain,  »smooth  with  its  woods  and 
blocking  the  horizon  to  the  south-east. 

"  Next  is  Cove  Hill.  You'll  see  this  and  Mount  Morris, 
all  the  way  crost  Eound  Lake,  till  you  come  nigh  abouts  to 
Bartlett's.  Cove  Hill  agin  comes  out  plain  at  the  fust  of 
the  Stony  Creek  Ponds,  crost  the  Injin  Carry.  On  t'other 
side  o'  Moose  Mountain,  twixt  it  and  Mount  Seward,  is  Am- 
persand Pond;  that  sends  out  agin  Ampersand  Brook, 
which  j'ines  the  last  of  the  Stony  Creek  Ponds  jest  where 
Stony  Creek  goes  out." 

Harvey  now  rowed  for  a  considerable  distance  in  silence. 

The  sun  had  marched  into  a  broad  space  of  blue  sky, 
the  breeze  had  fallen  and  the  lake  was  glassy.  We  passed 


40  WOODS  AND  WATERS; 

island  after  island,  heaped  with  their  forest  foliage,  some 
like  green  domes,  others  broken  with  ledges.  Counterparts 
were  painted  on  the  crystal  of  the  lake — the  rocks  to  the 
most  delicate  lichen  stain  and  tiniest  moss  cup,  the  trees  to 
the  most  spider-webbed  fibre,  and  even  the  waterplants  to 
their  most  fairy  blossom.  We  glided  over  these  green 
pictures,  as  if  skimming  the  air  in  some  magic  bark  above 
the  real  rock  and  forest.  The  furrows  from  the  oars  ruf- 
fled them  for  a  moment,  but  they  reunited,  fragment  to 
rock,  branch  to  tree,  blossom  to  plant,  as  the  gentle  water 
pulses  ceased ;  and  all  was  once  more  perfect. 

"  There's  Outlet  Island,  where  the  S'nac  river  leaves  the 
lake  for  Plattsburgh  on  Old  Champlain,"  said  Harvey, 
jerking  his  head  to  the  east.  "  A  queer  thing  happened 
there  onst ;  I  set  my  trap  fur  a  bear  on  the  island,  nigh  a 
deadfall  fur  mink.  Well,  I  didn't  go  nigh  it  agin  fur  a 
fortnight.  Finally,  at  last,  I  consated  I'd  go  and  see  what 
luck  I'd  had.  Afore  I  got  to  the  trap,  I  found  the  trees  all 
gnawed  and  stripped  round,  and  the  bushes  stamped  flat, 
and  some  old  logs  all  bruk  up  ;  and,  by  goll !  ef  there 
wasn't  bear  tracks  round,  enough  to  set  a  dozen  school 
mams  a-puzzlin' !  Finally  at  last,  I  come  to  a  little  holler, 
and  there  was  the  biggest  bear  I'd  seen  that  season,  dead, 
with  the  trap  all  bent  and  battered  up,  hanging  to  his  hind 
leg.  The  deadfall  was  bruk  up  too,  with  a  mossle  o' 
mink's  hair  nigh  it.  My  idee  was,  that  the  bear  'ad  got 
into  the  trap  shortly  after  I'd  set  it,  and  finally  at  last 
starved  to  death,  after  he'd  eat  a  mink  that  'ad  got  into 
the  deadfall ;  but  see  that  wood-duck  steerin'  by  Loon 
Island  1"  pointing  to  a  small  rock  in  the  middle  of  the 
lake. 

"  Why,  how  many  islands  are  there,  Harvey  ?  It  seems 
to  me  they  form  a  perfect  network." 

"  There's  fifty-two  !  The  lake  looks  like  speck-maple 
from  Boot  Bay  Mountain  with  'm.  But  there's  Mount 
Tawwus  agin,  and  Mount  Mclntyre  by  it.  That's  where 
the  great  Ingin  Pass  is,  and  a  mighty  grand  place  'tis  too." 


OR,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.  41 

"  You've  been  there,  Harvey  ?"  said  I,  pricking  up  my 
ears. 

"  Onst,"  resting  on  his  oars,  to  dip  his  old  coffee-pot 
again  and  drink.  "  How  the  rock  on  one  side  o'  the  Pass 
could  get  up  so  high  into  the  clouds,  isn't  inkstand  with 
me.  Why,  it  scoots  up  right  afore  ye,  as  if  'twasn't  never 
goin'  to  stop  till  it  bunks  its  head  agin'  the  moon  or 
some  other  place  up  there.  That  air  pine,"  pointing  to 
a  vegetable  Anak  on  shore,  "wouldn't  look  bigger  on  top 
there,  than  a  deer-weed.  And  there's  holes  in  the  rocks 
you  hev  to  scramble  over,  to  git  through  the  passage,  big 
enough  to  hide  all  Gen'ral  Jackson's  army  at  Orleens. 
But  speakin'  o'  the  mountains,  there's  Mount  Seward  next 
to  Mount  Mclntyre  and  risin'  over  old  Moose." 

I  looked  and  saw  the  blue  summit,  with  a  spot  like  a 
star  sparkling  high  upon  its  breast. 

Since  then,  I  have  grown  familiar  with  that  star. 

Once,  in  the  fearful  wilderness  that  stretches  from  the 
base  of  the  mountain,  I  became  accidentally  separated  from 
my  comrades.  I  knew  not  where  to  turn.  A  tempest  was 
near  and  I  looked  forward  with  dread  to  a  night  passed 
alone  in  that  forest,  exposed  to  the  storm's  fury  and  to  the 
chance  prowlings  of  the  savage  animals  roaming  the  gloomy 
depths  which  were  unknown  even  to  the  oldest  hunters. 
The  shanty  of  an  Indian  trapper  was  within  an  hour's 
distance,  but  where?  Above  me,  soared  the  vast  moun- 
tain, and  it  frowned  more  darkly  than  ever,  in  the  shadow 
of  the  coming  storm. 

Just  as  I  had  surrendered  all  hope  of  extricating  myself, 
a  spot  flashed  out  on  the  breast  of  the  mountain,  to  a  sud- 
den gleam  of  sunshine.  It  was  the  star ;  and  guided  by  it, 
I  found,  before  the  night  fell,  the  kindly  cabin,  and  heard 
against  the  protecting  walls,  the  wild  tempest  thundering 
through  the  pauses  of  my  slumber. 

<;That  flashy  place  there  on  Seward  is  a  ledge  with  a 
waterfall  over  it,  and  it  al'ays  shines  jess  like  a  tin  platter 
in  the  sun,"  continued  Harvey,  "but  fur  a  shiny  thing, 


42  WOODS  AND  WATEES; 

the  slide  on  Old  Whiteface,  standin'  up  out  there,  is  the 
most  flashiest!  It  looks  as  much  like  a  white ' riband,  as 
any  that  a  pooty  schoolmam  puts  in  her  hair,  when  she's 
riggin'  out  fur  a  dancin'  bee." 

"  Aha !  Whiteface  I  have  you  been  up  it,  Harvey  ?" 
"  I  hev  so !  Gittin'  up  gives  yer  a  high  old  time. 
Hadn't  I  better  put  a  stop  to  that  crane's  flyin'  any  fur- 
der?"  pointing  his  rifle,  as  the  slim  bird,  stretching  her 
snaky  neck  and  towing  her  spindle  legs,  moved  heavily 
athwart  the  green  mainshore;  "but  let  her  go"  (remember- 
ing probably  the  gull).  "  As  I  was  say  in',  gittin'  up  that 
mountain  is  mighty  bad  sleddin' !  It's  a  rael  old  Dutch 
ruff  of  a  consarn,  and  afore  ye  strike  the  slide,  you  tug. 
right  up  straight  a'most  with  your  hands  and  feet,  about 
the  same  as  a  bear  'ud  go  up  a  tree.  Eisin'  the  slide  is  a 
good  deal  like  mountin'  a  ladder  from  the  top  of  a  meetin'- 
'ouse  up  to  the  steeple.  It  makes  ye  fairly  dizzy.  But 
it's  old  hunderd  when  yer  git  there,  Mr.  Smith.  You  kin 
see  miles  on  miles,  all  round  yer.  It  makes  yer  feel  as  ef,  as 
a  body  may  say,  you  was  one  o'  them  eagles  high  up  in  the 
air  a-lookin'  down'ards,  and  ef  a  feller  could  make  himself 
into  a  ball  like  a  bear  and  roll  down  agin,  you'd  feel  all 
the  better.  But  you  can't  stay  up  long,  unless  you  camp 
all  night,  for  there's  no  housen  within  miles  on  ye,  even 
from  the  foot  of  the  mountain,  lettin'  alone  the  mountain 
itself." 

"  Oncle  Joe  Estis,"  continued  the  old  guide,  a  moment 
after,  "  see  that  slide  made.  He  was  roofin'  a  barn,  nigh 
Lake  Placid — 'twas  about  thirty  years  ago — and  all  of  a 
sudden,  he  heerd  a  sound  like  thunder  from  the  mountain, 
and  see  smoke,  with  rocks  and  trees  tumblin'  kinder  dim 
like  through  't,  down,  down  the  side,  a  crashin'  and  a  roar- 
in'  ;  and  when  the  cloud  of  smoke  cleared  away,  there  was 
the  grey  slide  o'  rock  half  way  down  to  the  foot,  the  same 
as  'tis  now." 


OB,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.  43 


'CHAPTER  V. 


Lower  Saranac  Lake.  —  A  Talk  on  Trapping.  —  A  Moose  Story.  —  Saranac 
River.  —  Moose  Mountain.  —  Middle  Falls.  —  Round  Lake.  —  Umbrella  Point. 
—  Bartlett's.  —  Upper  Saranac  Lake. 

WE  had  been  skimming,  for  some  little  time,  in  sight  of 
a  long  mountain  at  the  right,  or  west  side  of  the  lake,  and 
now  came  abreast  of  a  beautiful  bay,  opening  in  the  same 
direction. 

"I've  camped  often  at  the  lower  eend  o'  Boot  Bay  here," 
continued  the  old  woodman.  "  It  winds  and  twists  south 
along  'twixt  Boot  Bay  Mountain  that  you  see  there,  and 
Loomis'  P'int.  Pope's  -Bay  winds  on  t'other  side,  with 
Mack's  P'int  twixt  the  bay  and  lake.  Both's  old  hunderd 
for  ketchin'  fur.  There's  as  much  as  a  dozen  of  old  dead- 
falls o'  mine  tucked  away  'long  the  shores  of  each  on  'm,  at 
this  very  time." 

"  What  do  you  trap  for,  Harvey  ?" 

"  Muskrat  and  otter  and  mink  and  saple  and  fisher. 
The  two  last  is  gittin'  source  about  here.  But  I'll  tell  ye 
suthin',  Mr.  Smith,  ef  you'll  keep  it  cluss.  I  know  where 
there's  beaver  I" 

"Beaver  !  Harvey,  beaver  !  Can  ye  take  me  to  them?" 

"I  kin  take  ye  to  the  waters  where  they  hev  their 
housen  and  where  I've  trapped  'm  fur  years,  every  fall 
a'most." 

"Where?" 

"  Up  in  the  St.  Regis'  woods,  off  north-east  o'  the  head 
of  the  Upper  S'nac." 

"  Good  !  we'll  make  that  expedition,  before  I  leave  this 
region,  Harvey  !" 


44  WOODS  AND  WATERS; 

"  I'm  with  ye !"  answered  the  old  trapper,  "  and  we'll 
consider  the  consarn  settled  on !" 

"How  do  you  take  the  animals  you  have  mentioned, 
Harvey  ?" 

"Muskrats  and  beaver  and  otter,  gin'rally  in  common 
steel  traps.  But  we  make  deadfalls  fur  saple  and  mink. 
They're  made  this  way :  You  cut  large  chips  or  blocks  of 
wood  and  fix.  'em  in  the  ground  in  a  tight  half  round,  and 
cover  the  top  over  with  hemlock  or  spruce  or  other  thick 
boughs.  That's  called  the  boxin'.  Then  yer  lay  down  a 
piece  o'  wood  along  the  openin',  called  the  bed- wood.  Then 
yer  lay  a  round  stick,  called  the  spindle,  crost  the  bed- 
wood,  with  a  piece  of  ven'son  or  trout  on  the  eend,  that's  in 
the  boxin'.  On  the  forred  part  o'  the  spindle,  yer  stand 
up  another  round  stick,  called  the  standard,  and  on  top  o' 
that  yer  lay  a  heavy  piece  o'  timber,  a  tree  or  big  bough, 
that's  called  the  top  pole.  So  when  the  mink  or  saple 
crawls  in  and  nibbles  the  bait,  down  comes  the  top  pole 
squash,  and  there's  an  eend  o'  the  critter.  Them  kind  o' 
traps  is  scattered  all  along  these  waters ;  and  as  fur  the  saple 
traps,  we  make  a  line  on  'm  forty,  fifty  miles  through  the 
woods,  and  hack  the  trees  along,  which  we  call  blazin',  and 
scatter  the  traps,  a  dozen  or  mebby  twenty  to  the  mile ; 
and  some  take  fresh  deer  entrails,  when  they  kin,  and  scent 
up  the  traps,  fur  the  mink  and  saple  to  smell  and  foller  'm. 
As  fur  the  fisher,  he's  al'ys  breakin'  inter  the  back  o'  the 
boxin'  and  stealin'  the  bait  in  these  traps,  so  we  hev  a  trap 
or  contrivance  fur  him,  in  these  saple  lines.  We  bend  down 
a  saplin'  so  as  to  hev  the  eend  in  a  notch  we  make  in  a 
root  or  log  cluss  to  the  ground ;  then  we  fasten  a  common 
trap  to  this  eend,  baited ;  so  when  the  fisher  pulls  on  the  bait, 
the  saplin'  flies  up.  out  o'  the  notch  with  Mr.  fisher  danglin' 
with  his  foot  in  the  trap,  and  there  he  hangs  till  he  dies 
or  the  trappers  comes  'long  and  bags  the  tarnal  sputterin' 
thief.  Sometimes  he  gnaws  his  foot  off  to  git  away,  but 
gin'rally  we  find  him  danglin'  there  like  a  piece  o'  smoked 
ven'son ;  but  shell  I  git  ye  a  taste  of  the  spring  up  there?" 


OR,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.  45 

Eeceiving  my  assent,  he  rowed  to  the  shore,  through  a 
broad,  aisle  of  lily-pads,  disappeared  up  the  steep  bank,  and 
returning  with  his  coffee-pot  brimmed  with  the  liquid, 
offered  me  a  draught. 

Of  all  beverages,  commend  me  the  spring  water  of  this 
region.  The  crystal  of  the  lakes  and  streams  is  sweet  and 
refreshing,  but  the  cold  nectar  that  bubbles  up  from  the 
grainy  silver,  at  some  old  mossy  root  or  lichened  ledge,  is 
worthy  the  lips  of 

"Heroes  in  history,  and  gods  in  song." 

"  Look  at  that  rock  up  there  1"  said  Harvey,  after  we  had 
resumed  our  way  ;  pointing  to  a  ledge  rearing  its  mural 
front  upon  a  bank  three-hundred  feet  high,  near  the  inlet 
or  entrance  of  the  Saranac  River. 

The  cliff  looked  like  some  grey  rampart  of  the  dark 
ages,  frowning  from  its  steep  upon  its  vassal  waters. 

"  There  was  an  old  hunter  by  the  name  o'  Ramrod,  that 
had  an  adventur  up  there,"  continued  he.  "  Well,  fust  of 
all,  there  used  to  be  in  a  corner  of  the  rock,  an  old  dead 
pine  with  prongs  all  down  its  sides.  It  come  up  to  a  level 
with  the  head  of  the  rock.  One  day,  he  telled  me,  he 
rousted  up  a  bull  moose  and  unly  wownded  him.  Did  ye 
ever  hev  a  mad  bull  make  at  ye?  I  tell  ye  that's  some, 
but  'twant  nothin'  to  the  way  that  moose  made  at  Old  Ram- 
rod, 'cordin'  to  his  tell,  full  trot.  'Twant  but  a  leetle  way 
from  the  head  o'  the  ledge,  and  I  tell  ye,  he  put  it.  A 
half  a  minute  fetched  him  to  the  top  o'  that  air  pine, 
and  he  throwed  himself  on  the  prongs,  and  down  he  went. 
But  he  hadn't  tuk  more'n  four  steps,  afore  the  moose  come 
to  the  edge  o'  the  rock,  and  over  he  went,  licketty  split. 
Ho !  ho !  ho !  wa'n't  there  a  dead  moose  ketched  in  some 
spruces,  a'most  down  to  the  edge  o'  the  water,  after  he'd  bin 
knocked  from  rock  to  rock  down  the  precipyce,  'cordin'  to 
Ramrod  I  and  wa'n't  he  glad !  I  tell  ye  it  sot  him  up,  as 
he  said,  for  the  rest  o'  the  day,  fur  it  wouldn't  ha'  bin  no 


46  WOODS  AND  WATERS; 

b'y's  play,  ef  that  dod-blamed  wownded,  cross-grained  old 
moose  had  a  ketched  him  afore  he'd  got  to  that  air  pine, 
now  I  tell  ye.  I  know  suthin'  about  that,  myself.  They're 
a  terr'ble  farse  critter,  when  they're  riz  up,  and  I'd  ruther 
eat  dumplins  any  day  than  fight  one  on  'm.  There's  an 
otter  slide !"  pointing  to  a  smooth  path  down  a  bank  of  the 
main  shore.  "  But  here  we  are,  at  the  S'nac  Eiver !  The 
rest  of  the  boats  is  out  o'  sight,  but  we'll  overhaul  'm  at 
Middle  Falls,  where  they'll  stop,  I've 'a  notion,  to  fish. 
It's  a  good  place  for  trout  there!  or  mebby  they'll  stop  this 
side ;  there's  a  good  brook  there,  too  1" 

As  the  old  guide  was  speaking,  we  entered  the  river. 
Directly  at  the  entrance,  on  our  right,  lay  an  expanse  of 
wild  grass,  and  thickets,  with  a  deep  fringing  of  water- 
plants. 

The  views  now  changed  suddenly  as  the  scenes  of  a 
theatre.  The  banks  became  low,  the  woods  frequently 
yielding  to  broad  spaces  of  natural  grass,  called  indiffer- 
ently by  the  guides,  parks  and  wild-meadows.  They  were 
skirted,  next  the  water,  either  with  thickets  or  trees,  the 
green  levels  beyond  being  seen  through  the  loops  and 
vistas  of  the  foliage. 

Sometimes,  these  meadows  wound  like  bays  into  the 
recesses  of  the  background  forest,  beckoning  the  fancy  to 
distant  nooks  of  beauty. 

Here  and  there,  in  the  forked  head  of  a  dry  tree,  was 
the  nest  of  the  fish-hawk,  a  rounded  mass  of  grey  withered 
sticks.  From  the  abundance  of  the  water  in  these  woods, 
this  bird  haunts  almost  every  scene,  and  its  huge  nest, 
frequently  met,  gives  a  wild  picturesqueness  to  the  mono- 
tony of  the  verdure. 

Spread  over  the  shallows,  was  a  broad  floor  of  lily-pads, 
glistening  in  green  varnish  and  brilliant  with  white  and 
yellow  blossoms,  the  pearly  scallops  of  the  former  resting 
on  the  surface,  and  the  globes  of  the  latter  erect  upon  their 
short,  thick  stems. 

The  dark  red   Mohawk-tassel  and  the  scarlet-berried 


OR,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.  47 

Solomon's-seal  gleamed  upon  the  banks,  and  on  their  tall 
stems,  tufted  in  the  water,  shone  the  purple  blossoms  of  the 
moosehead. 

Between  these  meadows,  the  forest  thronged  to  the  river's 
edge  so  densely  as  to  slant  many  of  the  skirting  trees 
nearly  athwart  the  stream.  We  skimmed  over  the  shadows 
in  the  water,  where  some  jagged  branch  was  so  accurately 
depicted,  it  seemed  that  the  little  Bluebird  would  be  torn 
while  gliding  over. 

Black,  soaking  logs,  almost  buried  in  the  waterweeds, 
lay  along  or  pointed  from  the  banks,  whence  the  twittering 
stream-birds  vanished  at  our  approach,  while  from  among 
the  plants,  the  duck  whizzed  and  the  frog  and  occasional 
muskrat  plunged. 

"  Look  out  fur  the  fifth  bend  o'  the  river,  Mr.  Smith, 
fur  a  nice  sight,  as  you  seem  to  hev  a  notion  of  seein' 
mountains,"  said  Harvey  ;  "  but  here's  all  the  party,  and 
they've  bin  fishin'  like  sixty." 

Sure  enough,  comrades  and  guides  were  just  leaving 
the  mouth  of  a  little  brook  which  joins  the  river  at  the 
east. 

"  Here  comes  the  loiterer  I"  shouted  Bingham.  "  "What 
have  you  been  about,  Smith  ?  Here  we've  been  pulling 
up  trout  as  fast  as  Joe  Bunker,  the  pettifogger,  can  lie. 
But  whew !  The  musquitoes  !  We've  been  like  the  Jews 
in  building  the  walls  of  Jerusalem,  fighting  with  one  hand 
and  working  with  the  other.  Ealph  and  Graylor  don't 
seem  to  have  minded  them,  though !  I  lay  it  to  the  thick- 
ness of  their  skins !  But  poor  Coburn !  he " 

"  Do,  for  Heaven's  sake,  stop  that  tongue  of  yours,  Bing  I" 
exclaimed  Gaylor.  "  It's  like  a  runaway  horse !" 

"  It  runs  to  some  purpose,  then,  or  you  wouldn't  try  to 
stop  it !"  retorted  Bingham.  "  I'll  gird  ye,  as  Falstaff  says, 
if  the  musquitoes  can't." 

"  These  musquitoes  are  terrible,  there's  no  mistake  about 
it!"  said  Coburn,  his  usually  bluff,  hearty  tone,  now 
low  and  slightly  fretful.  "I-I  hardly — beL  ve — I  can 


48  WOODS  AND  WATERS  ; 

stand  it  all  the  way,  if  the  whole  trip  is  to  be  so.  I  don't 
know  but  I  begin  a  little  to  repent  coming." 

"Nonsense,  Coburn,"  exclaimed  Bingham,  "pluck  up 
what  spirit  you  have  and  put  it  through !" 

"  Exactly  !"  returned  poor  Coburn,  plaintively,  "  put  it 
through — that's  what  I  complain  of.  There's  been  no- 
thing but  putting  it  through,  ever  since  we've  been  at  this 
plaguey  spot." 

"  Didn't  I  hear  you  singing,  '  The  woodpecker  tapping 
the  hollow  beech  tree,'  pretty  loud,  on  the  lake,  Coburn  ?" 
said  Gaylor,  smiling. 

"  Yes !  but  I  didn't  bargain  for  the  tapping  I've  had  here," 
returned  Coburn,  fidgetting  in  his  seat. 

"Well,  come,  let  us  tap  on  our  way.  We've  caught  our 
fish,  don't  let  us  waste  any  time  in  talking,"  said  Ealph, 
who  was  smoking  like  a  locomotive.  ¥ 

"  On,  Stanley,  on !"  roared  Bingham,  and  we  all  again 
started. 

"  Now  look  out  for  the  view,  Mr.  Smith  1"  said  Harvey, 
shortly  after. 

We  opened  upon  a  bend,  and,  filling  the  horizon,  a 
mountain  broke  out  with  an  expanse  of  its  broad  breast,  so 
sudden  as  to  be  startling. 

"Old  Moose  agin!"  said  Harvey,  "but  look,  Mr.  Smith, 
look  I"  dropping  the  oars  and  grasping  his  rifle  which  lay 
within  reach,  fitted  into  the  side  of  the  boat. 

On  a  little  glade  of  smooth  grass,  at  my  right,  were  two 
deer,  one  with  head  erect  looking  at  the  boat,  and  the  other 
crouched  at  its  feet. 

Mine  was  a  mere  glance,  for  before  Harvey  could  point 
his  weapon,  the  two  had  vanished,  more  like  shapes  of 
smoke  dissolving  into  air,  than  living  things  shooting  into 
the  foliage. 

A  dashing,  crashing  sound  now  filled  the  air,  and  we  saw 
the  gleam  of  foam  in  the  channel  of  the  stream.  It  was  the 
"  Middle  Falls,"  where  the  water  was  broken  by  scattered 
rocks,  into  a  rapid. 


OR,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.  49 

Here  was  our  first  carrying-place.  Landing,  I  made  my 
way  through  the  narrow  footpath,  up  and  along  the  bank 
clustered  with  aspens,  spruces  and  maples,  to  the  broad 
ledges  at  the  side  of  the  falls,  where  Ealph  and  Gaylor  fell 
as  greedily  to  the  task  of  deluding  the  trout  on  their  hooks, 
as  if  they  had  never  before  thrown  a  line.  Bingham  com- 
menced spouting  "  The  Falls  of  Lodore ;"  Coburn,  taking 
a  seat,  began  rubbing  his  musquito  bites ;  I  looked  about 
the  spot  and  watched  the  two  anglers. 

Gaylor.  A  jerk ;  a  "  squttering"  (as  Harvey  says)  in 
the  water;  curl  of  trout  on  surface;  frantic  slap  on  nose 
at  musquito ;  mosquito  nowhere ;  trout  ditto. 

Eenning.  Twitch;  twitch  and  jerk  up;  hook  in  air; 
nothing  on  it;  growls;  hook  swings  into  rapid;  three  grabs 
at  gnats ;  gnats  nowhere ;  trout  ditto.  Scene  ended. 

For  the  boats  have  by  this  time  been  dragged  through 
the  rapids  by  the  guides,  and  all  is  ready  once  more  for  a 
start. 

During  this  process,  my  eye  had  been  fastened  on  Har- 
vey. Each  boat  was  towed  by  a  rope  at  the  bow,  with  a  guid- 
ing oar  in  the  middle.  The  old  guide  was  most  industrious. 
Planted  to  his  waist  in  the  white  waters,  now  he  dragged 
at  the  bow,  now  kept  the  boat  from  the  rocks  by  the  oar. 
But  the  greatest  trial  of  skill  was  in  running  the  two  store- 
boats.  With  his  keen  eyes  widening,  his  whole  form  alive 
with  excitement,  yelling,  pulling,  pushing  off  with  the  oar 
from  the  rocks ;  shouting  quick  commands,  as  the  stern  of 
Corey's  boat  once  nearly  buried  itself  in  the  foam  and 
then  keeled  as  if  to  spill  her  load  in  the  rapids,  the  old 
boatman  showed  himself,  as  his  after  bearing  proved  him, 
the  master  spirit  of  the  guides. 

"  We'll  hev  a  dancin'  time  on't,  over  Eound  Lake,"  said 
he,  resuming  his  rowing  and  jerking  his  head  at  the  sway- 
ing of  the  trees,  even  on  this  sheltered  stream.  "But  the 
swells  '11  be  with  us  instid  of  agin  us,  and  that's  jest  all  the 
diff 'rence.  One's  a  boost  in  the  back  and  t'other's  a  punch 

in  the  belly." 

4 


50  WOODS  AND  WATEKS; 

A  curve  of  the  river  was  passed,  and  Bound  Lake,  roll- 
ing and  dark,  now  opened.  Here  we  stopped  for  lunch. 
An  enormous,  prone  hemlock  on  the  left  bank  of  the  stream, 
was  our  table,  with  myriads  of  wild  roses,  which  spangled 
the  thickets  as  if  a  pink  snow  storm  had  fallen  there,  per- 
fuming the  air,  and  with  the  low  roar  of  the  lake  for  our 
accompanying  music. 

We  were  soon  on  its  angry  waters.  Gallantly  did  old 
Harvey  swing  his  oars,  and  boldly  did  the  little  Bluebird 
dance  along,  after  rustling  through  the  long,  dense  rushes  of 
the  shallows  at  the  entrance,  the  swells  threatening,  every 
moment,  to  bury  our  little  bark.  Onward,  however,  she 
went  safely,  although  with  shifting  walls  of  water  on  either 
hand,  and  ridges  swelling  in  front,  while  the  other  boats 
were  rising  and  sinking  in  deep  see-saws.  The  white- 
edged  rollers  were  climbing  wrathfully  the  sides  of  the 
islands,  and  the  air  was  filled  with  the  hoarse  voice  of  the 
lake. 

Eastward,  Moose  Mountain,  the  whole  grand  breast  of 
Cove  Hill  and  the  summit  of  Mount  Morris,  bounded  the 
horizon,  without  an  opening  or  scorched  tint  in  the  fresh 
smooth  foliage,  with  tall  pines  and  hemlocks,  "  the  haughty 
senators  of  mighty  woods,"  rising  here  and  there  above  the 
general  surface. 

Over  these  mountains,  sailed  swift  lights  and  shades,  like 
the  play  of  color  upon  velvet.  Occasionally,  the  breast  of 
a  ridge  glowed  in  golden  sheen ;  an  immense  shadow  then 
rose  from  the  lake  like  the  Afrite  from  his  crystal  vase,  and 
clambered  the  acclivity,  the  startled  sunshine  shrinking 
before  it,  until  it  vanished  over  the  summit. 

"  There's  somebody  taking  a  snack  on  Bark  Canoe  Island 
to  the  right  there !"  said  Harvey,  looking  over  his  shoulder 
towards  a  blue  streak  of  smoke  undulating  through  the 
trees.  In  a  few  minutes,  we  were  abreast  a  noon  camp. 
In  the  foreground  of  a  little  green  dingle,  the  carcass  of  a 
deer  hung  from  a  limb ;  a  camp  fire  crimsoned  a  ledge  in 
the  back  ground;  and  a  spotted  hound  crouched  by  a  bush. 


OR,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.  51 

In  the  middle  picture,  were  two  men  in  red  hunting- shirts; 
one  toasting,  on  a  stick,  a  flake  of  venison,  and  one  seated 
on  a  stump,  examining  his  rifle. 

"  Halloo,  Harve !"  shouted  the  former,  as  we  danced  past, 
"  you're  hevin'  a  Scotch  jig  on  the  lake  there,  aint  ye  ?" 

"Yes,  it's  lively  times  here!"  answered  Harvey,  "but 
where  did  you  kill  your  deer?" 

"  Nigh  Duck  Island,  out  there !  He  took  to  the  water 
from  Bartlett's  clearin'  and  run  down  TJmb'rell  P'int.  He 
swum  lively,  but .  'twas  no  go.  Loot  settled  him  afore  he 
got  to  the  island!" 

"Stearns  Williams  and  Loot  Evans!"  said  Harvey, 
"they  live  with  Bartlett.  But  there's  Umb'rell  P'int!" 
glancing  toward  a  tongue  of  wood  thrust  into  the  lake  at 
the  west,  near  an  upland  which  had  been  burned  over,  dis- 
playing darkened  rocks,  charred  logs,  and  standing  trees 
of  a  dull  red,  scattered  over  a  partially  blackened  soil. 

"  That  pine,  lookin'  so  like  an  umb'rell,  gives  the  name 
to  the  p'int,"  pointing  to  a  tree  standing  far  above  the 
other  foliage  of  the  spot,  with  a  trunk  bare  nearly  to  the 
top,  where  a  few  large  branches  curved  out,  the  whole  very 
like  the  object  mentioned. 

"  I  remember  the  time  well,"  added  Harvey,  "  when  that 
tree  had  all  its  branches  like  any  other  pine.  But  there's 
a  story  round  the  woods  about  it :  how  one  time,  Old  Mck 
wanted  to  go  a-fishin'  in  the  lake  when  'twas  rainin' ;  so  he 
tore  up  the  tree  and  whipped  off  the  branches  with  his  big 
jack-knife,  carried  it  with  him  into  the  lake  and  stood 
under  it  whilst  he  grabbed  the  all-firedest  big  trout  that 
ever  was  seen  in  these  waters  ;  then  as  soon  as  it  come  to 
the  top  and  see  his  eyes,  it  turned  all  cooked  to  his  hands, 
and  when  he  got  through  fishin',  he  put  the  pine  back  agin, 
and  went  ridin'  over  on  a  streak  o'  blue  sulphur  to  Tupper's 
Lake  Mountain  or  Mount  Morris,  that  you  see  over  there 
to  the  south-west.  There's  no  eend  of  sich  stories  in  the 
woods,  Mr*  Smith,  but  it  takes  a  fool  to  believe  half  on 
'm." 


52  WOODS  AND  WATERS; 

"  Ought  not  this  lake,  Harvey,  to  be  called  the  Middle 
Saranac  ?" 

"  That's  jest  as  folks  has  a  mind  to.  It's  gin'rally  called 
Eound  Lake  'cause  'tis  round ;  but  then  it's  about  in  the 
middle  'twixt  Upper  and  Lower  S'nac." 

"  How  many  islands  has  it  ?" 

"  There's  Duck  Island  and  Buck  Island  and  Feather 
Bed  Island,  Bark  Canoe  Island,  Bear  and  Amelia  Islands, 
west ;  and  Watch,  Hatchet  and  Fawn  Islands,  east ;  nine 
in  all." 

"You  see  that  burnt  ridge  over  there  by  the  p'int,"  con- 
tinued he ;  "  'twas  burnt  over  three  years  ago,  and  a  rousin' 
time  'twas,  I  tell  ye.  Ef  all  the  furnaces  in  Black  Brook 
could  be  brought  to  blaze  away  t'gether,  'twouldn't  be 
nothing  to  what  that  fire  was.  Why,  the  pines  and  hem- 
locks quirled  up  like  caterpillars,  and  as  fur  the  bushes, 
they  went  off  like  blottin' -paper,  and  the  leaves  fell  jest 
like  bugs  inter  a  camp-fire.  'Twas  night,  and  I  was  on  the 
lake  at  the  time.  Sich  a  roarin'  and  sich  a  red  it  throwed 
on  the  sky  and  on  the  lake !  Why,  my  two  b'ys,  Sim 
and  Phin,  that  was  with  me,  looked  like  a  couple  o'  red 
divils.  And,  sanko  !  how  the  sparks  flew  !  All  of  a  sud- 
den, I  heerd  sich  a  screech.  'Twas  so  shrill-like  and  piti- 
ful, it  cut  right  through  me.  Onst,  twyst,  three  times  it 
come,  then  there  was  four  or  five  doleful  whines,  and  'twas 
all  still.  'Twas  a  painter,  I've  a  notion,  ketched  in  some 
holler  in  the  rocks  where  it  couldn't  git  out,  and  was  burnt 
to  death." 

We  had  now  crossed  the  lake.  We  entered  once  more 
the  Saranac  river,  losing,  as  we  did  so,  the  influence  of  the 
wind. 

The  ripples  from  the  oars  washed  over  the  broad,  thick 
lily-pads,  the  water  quickly  peeling  from  the  oily  varnish 
or  shrinking  upon  it  into  large  drops.  The  white  lily 
leaves,  where  they  had  been  stirred  up  by  the  oar  or  feed- 
ing deer,  showed  in  their  inner  lining  a  dull  crimson,  and 
those  of  the  yellow,  only  a  lighter  green. 


OK,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.  53 

A  mile  farther  brought  us  in  sight  of  Bartlett's.  We 
threw  our  lines  at  the  mouth  of  a  brook  on  our  left,  and  a 
brief  half  hour  rewarded  us  with  a  dozen  trout,  of  a  pound 
each.  We  then  crossed  and  landed  among  the  rest  of  our 
boats,  close  to  a  large  slab  boat-house. 

At  this  point,  began  a  quarter-mile  carry  westward, 
along  the  rapids  of  the  river,  to  the  Upper  Saranac 
Lake. 

The  clearing  contained  but  an  acre  or  so,  on  the  north 
bank  of  the  river.  Here  stood  Bartlett's  two-story,  un- 
painted,  frame  tavern,  and  its  shadow  lay  cool  and  black 
upon  the  gentle,  grassy  slope,  as  I  passed  to  ward  the  entrance. 
Our  guides  were  clustered  at  the  open  door  of  a  log  hut  at 
one  side,  with  several  gaunt  hounds  that,  I  found,  belonged 
to  Bartlett. 

A  huge,  savage-looking  bull-dog,  with  porcupine  quills 
clinging  to  his  coat,  and  his  black  lips  curled  over  his  white 
fangs,  stalked  near  the  hut,  looking  powerful  enough  to 
bring  down  even  a  moose,  while  Bartlett  himself,  a  short 
but  strong,  square-built  man,  with  a  hat  that  seemed  made 
of  dingy  jackstraws,  talked  to  one,  laughed  with  another 
and  kicked  the  hounds  generally  out  of  his  way,  with  exple- 
tives more  emphatic  than  pious. 

In  the  sitting  room,  I  found  my  comrades  louder  than 
usual  in  conversation,  for  which  the  empty  glasses,  telling 
clearly  of  punch,  probably  accounted. 

The  boats  and  luggage  having  been  carried  on  wheels 
over  the  portage  to  the  Upper  Lake,  we  followed,  leaving 
Bartlett  in  the  act  of  applying  his  right  foot  to  the  ribs  of 
an  unlucky  hound,  and  the  bull-dog  gazing  after  us  with  a 
face  grim  enough  to  darken  daylight. 

The  afternoon  sun  sprinkled  the  bushes  and  trees  of  the 
ridge  like  golden  rain,  and  soon  the  bright  waters  of  the 
Upper  Saranac  gleamed  before  us.  We  watched  the  guides 
as  they  reloaded  the  boats ;  steadying  them  by  the  bows, 
while  we  entered  to  our  places  at  the  stern.  The  wind  had 
lulled ;  the  lake  lay  in  smooth  sleep ;  no  more  symptoms 


54  WOODS  AND  WATERS; 

of  rain  were  visible.  Gaily  we  launched  upon  the  water, 
here  narrowed  into  a  bay,  and  merrily  rose  our  songs. 

Sometimes  a  playful  breeze  stooped  to  the  surface  brush- 
ing it  into  darkening  ripples,  then  fanned  our  brows  with 
its  delicate  wings  and  melted  away. 

"We  soon  turned  the  point  at  the  east,  whence  we  could 
see  the  lake  stretching  upward  to  the  north,  narrowed  by 
islands  into  winding  channels.  As  I  glanced  through 
these  liquid  paths,  I  longed  to  thread  -them  toward  the 
upper  waters,  which,  the  guides  united  in  saying,  were  so 
exquisite  in  their  beauty. 

Pointing  southwest,  we  passed  Birch  and  Johnson 
Islands,  crossed  the  intervening  basin  and  landed,  an  hour 
before  sunset,  at  the  Indian  Carrying-Place. 


OR,  SDMMEH   IX   THE  SAUANACS.  55 


CHAPTER  YI. 

Sunrise. — Indian  Legend. — The  Saranac  Wizards. — Mode  of  Carrying  the 
Boats.— The  Beaver-Pond  Hunt.— The  Stony  Ponds. 

I  KETIEED  to  rest  in  the  tent  about  midnight  and  awoke 
at  day-break.  There  was  a  cool,  grey  light  over  the  lake, 
which  lay  like  glass.  The  fronts  of  the  islands  rose  indis- 
tinctly as  if  reared  in  air,  with  dark  pictures  below  them. 
The  atmosphere  was  fresh  almost  to  chilliness,  and  sweet 
with  the  odors  of  the  woods.  The  tent  looked  ghostly, 
the  forest  gloomy.  A  brace  of  loons  near  the  margin 
were  sending  out  their  wild  halloos  like  Indian  warwhoops, 
awakening  a  hundred  quavering  echoes.  An  eagle  was 
sailing  over  the  lake ;  a  drowsy  twitter  was  creeping 
through  the  woods.  The  smokeless  cabin  looked  dead. 
The  camp  fire  was  smouldering  in  brown  ashes,  with  em- 
bers melting  along  the  charred  back-log. 

The  largest  of  the  stars  were  still  shining,  although 
dimly,  through  the  sombre  tints  of  the  sky. 

Soon,  however,  the  ash  color  of  the  east  commenced  to 
clear  into  serai-transparent  grey,  then  to  kindle  into  pale 
yellow.  Trees  began  to  creep  out  from  the  massed  forest, 
and  a  streak  of  distant  mist  to  crawl  along  the  lake.  The 
islands  stood  out  more  boldly.  The  twitter  from  the 
woods  increased  to  chirps,  swelling  occasionally  into  song. 
The  lake  showed  differing  though  still  sober  tints ;  here  a 
space  of  marble  grey,  there  of  polished  black. 

At  length,  the  cheeks  of  the  clouds  at  the  zenith  blushed 
into  rose :  one  long  cloud  in  the  east  began  to  glow  into 
ruby,  then  burn  into  gold.  Gemmed  colors — sapphire, 
emerald,  topaz  and  amethyst — glanced  upon  the  lake. 


56  WOODS  AND  WATERS; 

Gold  ran  along  the  tops  of  the  tallest  trees.  The  east 
gleamed  with  royal  crimsons  and  imperial  purples.  At 
last,  through  a  vista  of  the  background  ridge,  striking  the 
landscape  into  gladdening  light,  poured  the  lustre  of  the 
risen  sun. 

The  scene  was  now  astir.  The  guides  left  the  smaller 
tent  (where  they  had  slept  with  the  exception  of  Harvey, 
who  had  preferred,  wrapped  in  his  blanket,  to  make  his 
bed  in  a  neighbpring  thicket)  and  began  preparing  the 
morning  meal.  My  comrades  appeared  from  the  larger 
tent,  Bingham's  face  opened  with  a  yawn  like  a  cavern, 
while  Ealph's  seemed  swollen  as  if  all  his  diabolical  snores 
of  the  past  night  (he  is  a  most  horrible  and  provoking 
snorer,  that  Ealph)  had  settled  there  for  the  day.  He 
also  wore  a  hang-dog  look,  as  though  he  felt  guilty  for 
his  disturbance  (may  the  Lord  forgive  him !)  of  at  least  one 
suffering  individual. 

The  smoke  of  the  camp-fire  commenced  curling,  and,  as 
if  it  were  a  signal,  the  rough  chimney  of  the  log-cabin 
began  to  breathe.  The'  guides,  bending  over  the  crackling 
blaze,  toasted  slices  of  ruddy  venison  and  spread  the  trout 
on  the  winking  coals  for  broiling,  while  the  sauce-pans 
began  to  carol  and  the  head  of  the  tin  teapot  to  strike  up 
a  clattering  jig. 

Our  sylvan  meal  ended,  we  lighted  our  pipes  for  a 
social  smoke  on  the  grass. 

"Ealph!"  said  Bingham,  "you  must  feel  quite  ex- 
hausted by  your  last  night's  performance  I" 

"  How  is  that  ?"  returned  Ealph,  with  a  twinge  of  his 
shoulder,  as  if  conscious  of  what  was  coming. 

"  Why,  those  sounds  that,  more  than  human,  echoed 
through  the  tent !  those  unearthly  snores,  fit  to  wake  the 
dead,  let  alone  live  people !" 

"  Pish!"  said  Eenning,  pettishly,  "do  let  my  snores  alone !" 

"  But  your  snores  won't  let  other  people  alone.  Poor 
Smith  there,  looks  as  if  he  were  becoming  insane  from 
want  of  sleep.  It  is  really  villanous!  I — really — I — 


OR,  SUMMER  INJTHE  SARANACS.  57 

with  my  delicate  nerves  too  (with  a  languishing  look),  I — 
I — won't  be  able  to  stand  it.  I  shall  break  down  ;  at 
the  beginning  of  the  trip  too !  What  will  you  do,  when 
the  air,  out  here,  and  the  exercise  have  made  you  even 
stronger  and  heartier?  I  really  dread  to  think  of  it!" 
and  the  inveterate  tease  affected  to  shudder. 

"I  move  we  let  each  other's  little  peculiarities  alone,  and 
confine  ourselves  to  general  subjects,"  said  Renning,  twist- 
ing uncomfortably  in  his  position. 

"  Little !"  returned  Bingham,  putting  on  a  stare.  "  Little ! 
Here's  impudence !  And  peculiarities !  Well,  I  never  heard 
full,  deep-chested,  air-shaking,  sleep-murdering  roars,  called 
little  peculiarities  before.  Why,  gentlemen,"  rising  as  if 
for  a  harangue,  "  he  ascends  the  scale  regularly,  from  the 
double  bass  of  the  biggest  bullfrog  to  a  height  where  he 
is  in  imminent  danger  of  choking.  There  is  no  use  in 
shaking  him ;  it  only  breaks  the  sound  into  numerous  par- 
ticles and  distributes  them  over  a  wider  surface,  splinter- 
ing, as  it  were,  one  monotonous  note  into  counter,  tenor 
and  treble ;  the  scale  then  proceeding  with  more  rascally 
vehemence  than  before.  I'll  match  him  against  a  dozen, 
I  was  going  to  say  a  regiment,  of  loons,  any  day  or  rather 
night ;  for  like  the  whippoorwill,  this  interesting  friend  of 
ours  only  sings  at  that  season.  I  move  we  proceed  against 
him  as  an  outlaw,  on  the  spot  1" 

"  How  about  the  musquitoes,  Bing  ?"  said  Renning,  reco- 
vering his  good-humor,  and  charging  in  his  turn  upon  the 
enemy — the  common  enemy,  I  might  say.  "You  were 
going  to  outlaw  them,  last  night." 

"Bing  is  better  in  denouncing  snores  and  musquitoes 
than  in  killing  deer,"  said  Gay  lor  quietly. 

"Deer!"  exclaimed  Bingham,  "where's  the  deer  I've 
missed,  I  should  like  to  know  ?" 

"Where's  the  deer  you've  shot?"  enquired  Coburn. 

"  Shot  1"  returned  Bingham  crossly.  "  How  the  deuce  can 
you  shoot  a  deer,  when  you  don't  see  any  ?  I've  shot  all 
.the  deer  I've  seen  I" 


58  WOODS  AND  WATERS; 

"And  that's  nil!"  said  Gaylor. 

"  Nil,  sure  enough !  I  would  have  shot  one  of  the  deer, 
if  not  both,  that  Mart  and  Will  brought  in,  last  evening, 
had  I  seen  them  first.  It  is  nil,  sure  enough !  All  the  hunt- 
ing stories  that  sportsmen  and  writers  tell,  of  finding  deer 
on  every  point  and  island  and  drinking  at  every  creek  in 
this  wilderness,  should  be  scouted,  denounced,  gentlemen! 
by  all  decent  men.  They  talk  as  if  deer  are  to  be  found  in 
every  alder-bush,  and  trout  in  every  little-  ripple,  no  bigger 
than  Coburn's  conscience  here ;  and  if,  gentlemen !  (waving 
his  hand),  you  can  find  anything  smaller  than  that,  you 
must  turn  your  eyes  into  microscopes,  that's  all !" 

"  Smith  says  you  found  the  musquitoes  rather  trouble- 
some at  the  point,  last  evening,"  said  Coburn,  with  a  grim 
smile. 

"  Oh,  Smith !"  said  Bingham,  turning  to  me.  "  Smith's 
tongue  is  the  only  thing  about  him  that  is  even  reasonably 
alive.  I've  wondered  ever  since  we  started,  why  we've  ad- 
mitted him  among  us.  Killing  deer  and  catching  trout  are 
as  much  beyond  him  as  Ealph's  nasal  accomplishments 
here  are  beyond  a  whole  orchestra  of  hoot-owls,  or  even 
a  moderate  knowledge  of  men  and  things  is  beyond  my 
friend  Coburn  here.  But  what  on  earth  is  that?" 

A  long,  open  box  of  wood,  mounted  on  round  wooden 
blocks,  about  a  foot  from  the  ground,  drawn  by  shadowy 
oxen  and  driven  by  a  tatterdemalion  that  looked 
like  a  scarecrow  from  Corey's  cornfield,  met  our  sight. 
This  picturesque  conveyance,  moving  with  most  diabolical 
screeches  as  if  laboring  under  a  wooden  rheumatism,  we 
found  was  to  transport  our  luggage  over  the  carry  (a  mile 
of  travel),  while  our  guides  would  bear  our  boats,  and  we 
betake  ourselves  to  our  independent  feet. 

Shouldering  our  rifles  and  rods,  up  the  ascent  we  started. 
I  subsequently  learned  the  legend  connected  with  the 
clearing. 

About  a  hundred  years  ago,  a  large  tribe  of  the  Saranac 
Indians  inhabited  the  forests  through  which  runs  the 


OR,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.  59 

Indian  Carrying-Place ;  an  old  path,  named  by  them,  the 
Eaglenest  Trail  of  the  Saranacs.  The  site  of  the  clearing 
held  their  village  and  Council-Place.  They  claimed  as  their 
exclusive  hunting-grounds,  not  only  the  Eaglenest  Forests, 
but  those  of  the  Wampum  Waters,*  the  Stream  of  the 
Snake, f  and  the  Sounding  Eiver,J  from  the  Lake  of  the 
Blue  Mountain  to  Wild  Mountain  at  the  Leap  of  the  Foam- 
ing Panther.  § 

Two  young  warriors,  stately  and  brave,  divided  the 
admiration  of  the  Tribe ;  Ta-yo-neh,  the  Wolf,  and  Do-ne- 
on-dah,  the  Eagle. 

Whenever  the  war-path  led  to  the  lodges  of  the  fierce 
Tahawi,  on  the  slopes  of  grand  Tahawus, — The  Splitter  of 
the  Sky — the  young  warriors  vied  with  each  other  as  to 
which  should  win  the  most  scalps  to  his  belt.  Ta-yo-neh 
was  brief  in  talk  and  his  chants  at  the  war-dance  were  few, 
but  his  eye  burned  with  the  fire  of  his  heart.  Do-ne-on-dah 
was  frank  in  speech,  and  his  song  in  the  dance  was  loud. 
Although  rivals  on  the  war-path,  the  young  braves  smoked 
together  the  calumet  of  friendship.  Love  had  made  soft 
the  heart  of  Ta-yo-neh  and  he  had  gathered  to  his  lodge 
O-we-yo,  the  Blossom  of  the  Tribe,  but  no  maiden's  eye  as 
yet  had  kindled  the  breast  of  Do-ne-on-dah.  The  old  men 
looked  at  both  with  pride,  and  the  young  with  admiration. 
Each  could  skim  the  Lake  of  the  Silver  Sky  at  the  head 
of  the  Eaglenest  Trail,  in  his  yellow  canoe,  as  the  eagle 
skims  the  air.  The  Lake  of  the  Great  Star||  saw  the  prints 
of  each  on  his  margin,  after  the  deer,  at  noon ;  the  Stream 
of  the  Snake  beheld  on  his  winding  banks  at  eve,  the  trail 
of  the  same  feet  unwearied.  The  Tribe,  at  length,  became 
divided  as  to  the  merits  of  the  two,  but  the  strife  was 
friendly. 

So  rolled  on  the  suns,  and  now  the  two  young  warriors 
were  to  visit  the  torrent  of  the  Wild  Mountain  in  search 

*  The  Stony  Ponds.  f  Stony  Creek.  \  Racket  River. 

§  Perciefield  Falls.  ||  Racket  Lake. 


60  WOODS  AND  WATERS, 

of  the  stately  moose.  Both  departed  in  their  birch  canoes, 
over  the  Wampum  Waters  at  the  foot  of  the  Trail  of  the 
Eaglenest. 

The  moon  of  the  month  of  young  leaves  hung  its  bow 
to  the  glittering  orb  of  the  early  evening,  then  grew  round 
as  the  red  ring  in  the  eye  of  the  loon,  and  nought  was 
heard  of  the  warriors. 

At  last,  as  that  same  moon  was  quenched  in  its  rising  by 
the  sun,  Ta-yo-neh  appeared  but  no  Do-rie-on-dah. 

"  Where  is  the  Eagle  of  the  Tribe  ?"  asked  old  O-qua- 
rah,  the  Bear  of  the  Saranacs,  the  Sachem  of  his  Tribe. 

"  He  went  with  his  brother  to  the  Falls  of  the  Wild 
Mountain,  after  the  trotting  moose,"  answered  Ta-yo-neh- 
"  but  the  Black  Terror  of  the  woods  was  not  to  be  seen 
even  by  the  keen-sighted  Eagle.  Ta-yo-neh  and  his  bro- 
ther then  paddled  through  the  Eye  of  Hah-wen-ne-yo*  up 
the  Lonely  Riverf  to  the  Dark  Lake,:}:  where  the  Black 
Terror  fell  before  the  arrows  of  Do-ne-on-dah  and  Ta-yo 
neh.  As  the  bright  Sachem  of  the  sky  touched  his  feet 
upon  the  Hill  of  the  Raven,  Ta-yo-neh  and  his  brother 
went  out  upon  the  trail  of  a  deer.  They  climbed  a  tongue 
of  the  wood  by  the  Dark  Lake  and  Ta-yo-neh  left  his 
brother  to  follow  a  panther's  trail  leading  from  the  trail 
they  were  treading.  Since  then,  Ta-yo-neh  has  mourned 
for  the  sight  of  his  brother." 

"Wolf!"  shouted  0-qua-rah,  while  his  eye  gleamed  like 
the  fire  in  the  wood,  "  the  Sachem  of  the  Saranacs  hears  a 
forked  tongue — Ta-yo-neh  has  torn  with  his  claws  the  heart 
from  Do-ne-on-dah  1" 

"  Ta-yo-neh  cannot  lie,"  answered  the  other  firmly.  "  He 
knows  not  what  has  happened  to  his  brother  the  Eagle. 
He  searched  the  tongue  and  the  dark  waters  beneath  it. 
He  was  a  whippoorwill,  all  night  calling  '  Do-ne-on-dah ! 
Do-ne-on-dah !'  but  nought  answered,  save  the  mocking 
spirit  that  only  speaks  what  the  voice  utters." 

*  Tapper's  Lake.  \  Bog  River.  $  Mud  Lake. 


OK,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.  61 

"Wolfl"  again  shouted ,  0-qua-rah ;  and  this  time,  he 
clutched  his  tomahawk.  "  Where  is  Do-ne-on-dah  ?" 

"  Ta-yo-neh  has  said,"  answered  the  other. 

"  Die  I"  yelled  the  Sachem,  and  swung  on  high  his  toma- 
hawk, but  a  light  form  shrieking  flew  between  it  and  Ta- 
yo-neh  and  the  glittering  axe  sank  into  the  brain  of  0-we- 

y°- 

Ta-yo-neh  started  as  his  bride  fell  dead  at  his  feet, 
clutched  his  tomahawk  in  his  turn  and  swung  it  toward 
the  head  of  the  Sachem.  But  the  blow  was  arrested  by  one 
of  the  old  men  of  the  Tribe. 

"  Go  1"  said  he,  "  the  old  Bear  of  the  Saranacs — the 
Sachem  of  the  Tribe — must  not  be  torn  by  the  young  Wolf. 
0-kah  also  asks,  where  is  Do-ne-on-dah  ?" 

"  Do-ne-on-dah !  Do-ne-on-dah !"  rose  in  notes  of  wailing 
and  anger  from  a  portion  of  the  Tribe;  "Ta-yo-nehl 
Ta-yo-neh!"  mingled  with  "  0-we-yo,"  in  accents  of  grief, 
broke  out  from  the  others.  Knives  and  hatchets  flashed 
and  a  terrible  conflict  had  commenced,  when  old  0-qua-rah, 
with  Ta-yo-neh's  knife  plunged  in  his  heart,  fell  headlong 
among'  the  combatants.  The  strife  was  arrested ;  the  arm 
of  Hah-wen-ne-yo  had  interposed ;  the  sacrifice  to  justice 
had  been  made.  The  heart  of  Ta-yo-neh  had  been  cloven 
by  the  death  of  0-we-yo;  0-qua-rah  had  been  stricken 
down  by  the  bereaved  Ta-yo-neh. 

But  though  the  combat  ceased,  the  feelings  springing 
from  these  events  soon  caused  a  separation  of  the  Tribe. 
One  portion,  under  Ta-yo-neh,  went  down  the  Sounding 
River  to  the  Green  Council -Place,  close  to  the  beautiful 
lake,  the  Bye  of  Hah-wen-ne-yo ;  the  other,  under  0-kah, 
remained  at  the  Eaglenest  Trail  of  the  Saranacs.  Moons 
upon  moons  passed  away,  while  the  two  portions  of  the 
Tribe  became  more  and  more  angry  with  each  other.  Ta- 
yo-neh  claimed  the  hunting-grounds  down  the  Sounding 
Eiver  to  the  Council-Place,  0-kah  those  of  the  Eaglenest, 
the  Wampum  Waters  and  upward  to  the  Lake  of  the  Blue 
Mountain ;  but  the  Stream  of  the  Snake  that  winds  from 


62  WOODS  AND  WATERS; 

the  Wampum  Waters  saw  often  the  gleam  of  the  hatchet 
between  the  two  and  his  own  bright  brow  stained  with 
Saranac  blood  drawn  by  kindred,  but  now  alien,  Sara- 
nacs.  Hundreds  of  moons  passed.  Ta-yo-neh  grew  into 
a  withered  pine,  with  grey  moss  fluttering  thinly  from  his 
top,  and  then  a  fallen  trunk,  which  the  Tribe  reverently  hid 
within  the  earth. 

One  day,  the  Tribe  of  the  Baglenest  saw  a  canoe  coming 
upon  the  Lake  of  the  Silver  Sky.  It  touched  the  shore 
and  an  old  man  tottered  out  and  with  feeble  steps  ap- 
proached them. 

"  Has  the  tribe  of  the  Saranacs  forgotten  Do-ne-on-dah  ?" 
he  asked,  in  faltering  accents. 

"  The  dead  still  lives  in  the  Tribe,"  answered  0-nech-tah, 
the  son  of  0-kah,  who  had  in  turn  become  the  Sachem, 
"  but  it  is  as  the  song  of  a  bird  heard  when  the  heart  was 
young,  lingering  faintly  in  the  thoughts  of  the  aged." 

"  Do-ne-on-dah  is  here  1"  answered  the  stranger,  laying 
his  hand  feebly  on  his  breast. 

Doubt  flitted  across  the  face  of  0-nech-tah.  The  stran- 
ger opened  the  beaver  skin  from  his  bosom,  and  lo !  there, 
stamped  upon  his  heart,  shone  the  totem  of  the  Eagle. 
Then  knew  the  Tribe  it  was  indeed  Do-ne-on-dah  tottering 
before  them.  A  shrill  cry  of  joy  and  welcome  went  up, 
and  "  Do-ne-on-dah !  Do-ne-on-dah  I"  echoed  in  the  woods 
of  the  Baglenest  and  over  the  waters  of  the  Silver  Sky. 

"  How  did  Do-ne-on-dah  return  from  the  bright  Land  of 
the  Happy  ?"  asked  O-nech-tah.  "  Has  Hah-wen-ne-yo 
spared  him  for  a  while  from  the  Feast  of  the  Strawberry,  to 
gladden  the  hearts  of  his  people  the  Saranacs  ?" 

"Do-ne-on-dah's  feet  have  not  yet  trod  the  trail  that 
leads  to  the  land  of  Hah-wen-ne-yo,"  answered  the  other. 
"  He  lingers  like  the  hemlock  that  the  moss  covers,  but 
must  soon  fall  and  mingle  with  the  dead  leaves  of  the 
forest." 

He  then  told  them  how,  after  Ta-yo-neh  left  him,  he  had 
fallen  through  a  cleft  into  a  cave,  where  he  had  lain  help- 


OR,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.  63 

less,  until  discovered  by  hunters  on  their  way  to  Canada ; 
how  he  had  joined  the  British  against  the  French  in  the 
war  between  the  two  countries ;  was  rescued  from  death  in 
battle  by  an  Indian  Chief,  who  gave  him  his  daughter,  and 
whose  Tribe  made  him  Chief  after  the  death  of  his  pre- 
server ;  how  he  had  lived  since  happily,  surrounded  by 
his  children  and  children's  children  in  the  distant  spot 
where  the  Tribe  had  dwelt,  and  how,  lately,  the  whole 
Tribe  had  been  swept  away  by  the  Hurons  and  he  had  now 
come  to  die  among  the  people  of  his  youthful  love. 

Joy  took  possession  of  the  Tribe  of  the  Eaglenest,  as  they 
listened.  A  runner  was  despatched  with  the  tidings,  to 
the  Tribe  at  the  Eye  of  Hah-wen-ne-yo,  and  the  next  day, 
at  sunset,  both  tribes  were  assembled  in  the  Council-Place 
of  the  Eaglenest.  Do-ne-on-dah  took  his  seat  upon  a  mound 
with  0-nech-tah  and  Ko-nu-teh,  Chief  of  the  lower  Tribe,  at 
either  hand  supporting  him,  for  he  drooped  like  the  elm 
when  the  water  is  washing  under  its  roots.  The  old  man  then 
repeated  his  story  and  ended  by  solemnly  enjoining  both 
Tribes  to  live  together  hereafter  in  amity.  They  as  solemnly 
promised,  raising  in  unison  the  shrill  whoop  of  friendship. 
As  the  last  quavering  note  died  away,  Do-ne-on-dah,  with 
a  quick  motion,  bent  his  ear,  reared  himself  suddenly  on 
high,  flung  his  arm  aloft  and  saying  loudly,  "  The  Eagle 
hears  the  voice  of  Hah-wen-ne-yo  I  He  comes  I"  stepped 
forward  a  few  paces  and  fell  dead  in  the  sight  of  all  the 
people. 

The  two  Tribes  buried  him,  just  as  he  had  sat  upon  the 
mound,  by  the  side  of  Ta-yo-neh,  on  the  margin  of  the  Eye 
of  Hah-wen-ne-yo,  and  ever  after  lived  in  harmony  and 
peace.  When  the  sad  time  came  to  leave  the  Green  Coun- 
cil-Place and  the  woods  of  the  Eaglenest,  together  their 
canoes  rippled  the  Lake  of  the  Silver  Sky  and  together 
they  sought  the  waters  of  the  Ottawa  in  the  hunting-grounds 
of  Canada.  There,  remnants  of  the  Tribe  still  live  in  con- 
tentment and  prosperity. 

We  had  a  delightful  walk  over  the  carry.     The  track 


64  WOODS  AND  WATERS; 

was  broad  and  passably  smooth,  with  here  and  there  huge 
roots  running  across  and  bordered  with  luxuriant  wood 
plants.  It  dipped  into  hollows  and  wound  pleasantly 
along,  with  the  fresh  morning  sunshine  lighting  up  the 
whole. 

Upon  one  side,  was  the  curiosity  of  the  carry.  Withered, 
jagged  limbs  projected  from  the  bark  of  living  trees 
like  struggling  skeletons.  The  sight  was  truly  death 
in  life. 

The  legend  runs  thus.  While  the  Saranacs  inhabited 
the  carry,  certain  wizards  from  the  lonely  waters  of  Am- 
persand Pond  in  the  wild  region  between  Moose  Mountain, 
Cove  Hill  and  Mount  Seward,  so  troubled  the  Tribe  that  a 
feast  was  holden  on  Turtle  Island ;  and  the  old  Patriarch 
Priest  of  the  Tribes,  forsaking  his  cave  in  a  gorge  of  Cove 
Hill,  prayed  for  help  to  Hah-wen-ne-yo.  The  Great  Spirit 
listened  to  the  prayer.  One  night  of  lightning  and  rain, 
the  wizards  who  were  slumbering  in  hollow  trees,  were 
awakened  (so  said  one  who  had  been  least  guilty  and  who 
escaped  to  tell  the  tale)  by  finding  themselves  walled  in 
with  growing  bark.  In  their  despairing  struggles,  they 
thrust  forth  their  arms,  which  were  caught  by  the  bark  and 
there  they  withered.  To  this  day,  when  the  fall  wind  wails 
in  the  forest,  sounds  of  sorrow  float  upon  it  from  these 
magic  trees,  the  coffins  of  the  wizards  of  the  Saranacs. 

At  the  end  of  the  carry,  on  the  shore  of  the  first  of  the 
three  Stony  or  Spectacle  Ponds,  we  found  one  of  our 
American  ruins,  a  dilapidated  log  hut,  with  a  dead  clearing 
around  it,  dotted  with  dark  stumps  and  strewed  with  half- 
burned  logs.  % 

Here  we  basked  in  the  sunshine,  after  drinking  from  a 
spring  that  bubbled  through  the  overgrown  border,  await- 
ing the  transportation  of  our  boats  over  the  carry. 

The  conical  breast  of  Cove  Hill,  dark  with  wood,  heaved 
grandly  up   eastward.     Ampersand   Pond  is  cradled  at' 
its  foot  and  sends  out  a  brook,-  which,  after  a  rocky  and 
tortuous  course,  links  itself  with  the  last  of  the  three 


OR,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.  65 

Stony-Ponds,  its  mouth  being  a  famous  resort  for  large 
trout. 

The  scene  was  quiet  and  delightful.  Faint  cries  from 
hawks  dotted  around  a  distant  fir,  touched  the  ear ;  a  king- 
fisher, with  his  purple  back  gleaming  in  the  light,  watched 
the  water,  from  a  dry  limb;  and  a  little  family  of  black 
ducks  steered  out  from  a  hollow  in  the  bank  and  pushing 
through  a  broad  field  of  lily-pads,  made  their  way  diagonally 
down  the  pond. 

Bingham  had  just  seized  his  rifle  for  a  shot,  when  a 
couple  of  legs  appeared,  working  nimbly  under  the  long 
curve  of  a  boat.  The  bow  being  rested  on  a  stump,  let 
from  under  it  a  man,  no  other  personage  than  Cort,  some- 
what red  in  the  face  from  his  exertions.  And  here  let  me 
notice  farther  the  mode  of  transporting  boats  practised 
throughout  the  forest. 

The  guide  balances  his  upward-turned  craft  by  a  wooden 
yoke  clasping  the  base  of  his  neck,  the  ends  fitting  in 
iron  rings  at  the  sides  of  the  boat,  and  the  weight  also  rest- 
ing on  his  upturned  arms.  He  thus  bears  his  burden  over 
the  portages  of  the  innumerable  waters  that  make  one  vast 
Venice  of  the  wilderness. 

When  the  portage  is  long,  the  guide  rests  himself  for  a 
moment,  by  leaning  the  boat's  bow  against  some  tall  stump, 
broken  sapling  or  small  rock  and  withdrawing  from 
beneath  it. 

Our  comrades  started  to  fish  the  mouth  of  Ampersand 
Brook,  but  the  restless  Bingham  resolved  to  visit  a  beaver 
pond  a  mile  or  two  off  (the  knowledge  of  which  had  been 
infused  into  him  by  Cort)  for  his  favorite  sport,  deer-hunt- 
ing. He  (unlucky  Bingham)  invited  me  to  accompany 
him  and,  propelled  by  Cort's  oars,  we  were  soon  furrowing 
the  mirror  of  the  pond.  We  crossed  ;  entered  the  second 
pond ;  skirted  on  the  left  a  bank  of  open  trees,  and  passing 
an  island  fronting  a  bay,  pushed  into  a  creek  which  twisted 
through  a  wild  meadow. 

"  Turkic  Island  there  is  a  great  place  for  the  black 
5 


66  WOODS  AND  WATERS; 

snappin'  turkles,"  said  Cort.  "  There's  a  turkle's  nest  on't 
where  the  critters  lay  their  eggs.  D'ye  see  that  streak  o' 
brown  sand  ?  That's  where  they  crawl  up  from  the  water." 

We  left  the  boat  a  short  way  up  the  meadow,  and 
wading  through  the  long,  coarse  grass,  reached  at  last  a 
wooded  point.  Here  Cort  whispered  to  be  "  keerful  and 
not  make  the  least  bit  o'  noise,  for  round  it,  he'd  no  doubt 
but  there  was  mebby  two  or  three  deer  feedin'." 

Treading  softly,  in  Indian  file,  Cort  foremost,  we  rounded 
the  point.  As  usual,  in  taking  the  utmost  care,  my 
unlucky  feet  would  keep  cracking  all  the  dry  twigs  in 
the  path ;  and  it  was  ludicrous  to  see  Bingham's  impatient 
face  turned  towards  me  as  some  crisp  snap  broke  the  still- 
ness. I  knew  I  should  pay  at  the  camp-fire  for  every 
crackle,  in  his  stinging  jests  and  provoking  raillery;  but 
the  more  gingerly  I  tried  to  tread,  the  more  I  kept  up  the 
snapping. 

No  deer  was  in  sight ;  but  another  point  was  ahead,  and, 
Indian  fashion  again,  we  neared  it. 

Crack,  crack,  snap,  snap,  crackle,  snap.  At  last,  Bing- 
ham lost  all  patience. 

"  Confound  you,  Smith !"  jerking  his  head  alternately 
as  he  whispered,  "  has  the  devil,  if  I  must  say  so,  got  into 
* — what  do  you  see,  Cort  ?  Heavens !  are  those  big  feet  of 
yours  shambling  around  without  any  control  or — do  you 
see  anything,  Cort  ?  Have  all  the  bones  in  your  body  got 
loose — eh,  what  is  it,  Cort  ?  Where  on  earth  Smith  do  you 
manage  to  find  so  many  twigs  to  step  on !" 

"  Hush-sh !"  said  Cort,  who  was  now  peering  round 
another  headland.  The  next  moment,  he  beckoned  to 
Bingham,  who  quickly,  though  quietly,  advanced.  I  fol- 
lowed. In  a  lily-pad  pond,  with  head  and  earflaps  erect 
and  one  forefoot  lifted,  stood  a  large  buck.  Bingham 
aimed,  but  at  the  critical  juncture,  my  unlucky  pedals 
struck  another  twig — snap — whew !  Didn't  that  deer  run  ? 
Bingham  fired;  but  the  buck  still  bounded  through  the 
scattering  lilies.  Another  shot — this  time  from  Cort — and 


OR,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.  67 

the  deer  fell.  Cort  rushed  forward  with  his  wood-knife, 
which  he  carried,  like  the  other  guides,  sheathed  in  his 
leathern  belt ;  and  by  the  time  Bingham  and  I  had  reached 
him,  he  had  cut  the  throat  of  the  victim.  The  ball  had, 
however,  pierced  its  heart. 

Bingham  looked  narrowly  at  the  wound. 

"  I  say,  Cort !  couldn't  it  have  been  possible  that  I  hit 
the  buck  before  you  did  ?" 

"  There  isn't  but  one  hole  there !"  answered  Cort. 

"  Ah,  Smith  !"  said  Bingham,  shaking  his  head,  "  you're 
an  unlucky  creature,  or  rather  I'm  the  unluckiest  of  mor- 
tals in  bringing  «you.  I  was  as  sure  of  that  buck  as  I  am 
that  you're  my  evil  genius.  What  on  earth  got  into  those 
hoofs  of  yours !  But  no  matter  now ;  let's  join  the  boys 
at  Ampersand  Brook,  or  the  next  thing,  I  shan't  be  able 
to  get  even  a  trout !" 

Cort  swung  the  deer  over  his  stalwart  shoulders  and  we 
returned  to  the  boat,  left  the  second  pond  behind  and, 
pushing  through  the  long  grass  and  lily-pads  of  the  con- 
necting channel,  opened  into  the  third. 

This  and  the  first  of  these  linked  sheets  of  water  are  a 
mile  in  diameter  and  of  exquisite  beauty ;  round,  as  if 
traced  by  a  compass ;  rimmed  with  a  belt  of  snowy  sand, 
and  ringed  with  the  dark  green  woods.  Not  a  shape  or 
color  of  decay  can  be  seen  on  any  side. 

The  second  is  much  larger  and  quite  irregular. 

The  forests  were  tranced  in  the  morning  calm,  and  the 
pond,  as  we  crossed  it,  was  a  reflected  picture  of  blue  and 
white.  Now  we  cut  through  a  wreath  of  pearl  and  now 
ruffled  a  belt  of  sapphire. 

"  There  they  are,  at  the  mouth  of  the  Ampersand !"  said 
Cort,  glancing  round. 

"  And  whipping  up  the  trout  like  Old  Sanko !"  added 
Bingham.  "  Pull  away,  Cort,  and  let's  have  a  chance 
among  them.  Jupiter!  if  Eenning  isn't  bringing  up  a 
two-pounder  in  that  landing-net  of  his !  Pull,  pull,  Cort ! 
Good  morning,  gentlemen.  Have  you  left  any  trout  for  a 


68  WOODS  AND  WATERS; 

luckless  lawyer  and  one  Smith,  gentlemen,  whose  name 
has  been  adjudged  by  the  Supreme  Court  to  be  no  name, 
and  who  would  be  the  life  of  our  party  if  he  could  only 
crack  jokes  as  he  can  twigs !  Why," 

"  For  heaven's  sake,  stop  that  bawling  of  yours,  Bing- 
ham  I"  exclaimed  Eenning,  who  had  just  dropped  his  prize 
with  a  broken  neck,  into  his  boat,  "  you'd  frighten  all  the 
trout  in  the  universe." 

"And  if  I  did,  I'd  but  follow  Smith's  example  here  in 
the  way  of  bucks.  What  do  you  think,  gentlemen  !  In- 
stead of 

'  Stepping  like  Fear  in  a  wide  wildenfess,' 

which,  by  the  way,  is  a  very  appropriate  line  in  these  old 
woods,  he  stepped  like  a  cart-horse  on  paving-stones,  and 
the  consequence  was — I — heml — have  the  honor  to  an- 
nounce that  a  deer  is  in  the  bottom  of  the  boat.  What 
do  you  think  of  opening  the  day  with  a  fat  buck,  gentle- 
men? What  do  you  think  ?" 

"  I  think  I  shall  pull  out  of  this  place,"  said  Coburn. 
"Bingham's  tongue  has  got  loose  again,  and  the  Lord 
knows  now  when  it  will  stop." 

"  Are  ye  afraid,  gentlemen,  I  shall  rival  you  all  in  my 
trout  exploits  also,  that  you  go  as  soon  as  I  appear  ?"  re- 
torted Bingham.  "  However,  I'll  follow.  Smith,  please 
get  into  your  own  boat.  I'll  say  this  of  ye,  before  we  part, 
that  your  feet  in  size  and  shape,  are  more  like  snowshoes 
than  any  natural  extremities  I  am  acquainted  with,  and 
make  a  noise  to  match." 

Again  I  found  myself  in  the  little  Bluebird  with  my 
friend  Harvey,  and  we  all  filed  into  Stony  Creek,  whose 
source  lies  but  a  rod  or  two  from  the  mouth  of  the  Amper- 
sand. 


OR,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.  69 


CHAPTER  VII. 

Stony  Creek. — Origin  of  the  Indian  Plume. — The  Racket  River. — Moose  Talk 
— Panther  Story. — Palmer  Brook. — Racket-Falls  Camp. 

STONY  CREEK,  or  Wahpolichan-igan — its  Indian  (St. 
Regis)  name — flows  in  a  succession  of  sharp  oxbows,  three 
miles,  into  the  Racket  River,  principally  through  wild  mea- 
dows skirted,  at  the  stream,  as  is  usual,  with  trees.  Among 
these,  the  most  conspicuous  are  the  elm  and  white  or  water 
maple ;  some  of  the  latter,  grouped  into  a  score  of  stems  from 
one  root.  This  tree  is  the  Banyan  of  these  woods,  and  its 
"  pillared  shade  "  is  one  of  the  most  noticeable  objects  along 
their  streams.  Particularly  along  the  Racket,  is  it  seen 
clustering  its  trunks  on  the  grassy  banks,  coverts  for  the 
deer  and  "  leafy  house  "  for  the  birds. 

The  Creek  was  quiet  and  beautiful,  stealing  beneath  the 
gothic  roof  of  branches  in  gold-speckled  green  and  some- 
times laughing  in  open  light  from  the  meadows  or  parks. 
Pointed  logs  frequently  narrowed  the  channel  to  a  few  feet 
in  width  and  sunken  trunks  now  and  then  stretched  entirely 
across,  obliging  my  guide  to  sink  them  deeper  with  his 
paddle  for  he  had  abandoned  the  oars  from  the  continual 
windings.  As  I  sat  at  the  bow,  with  my  eyes  half  shut, 
steeped  in  the  wild  beauty  of  the  scene  and  shaping  some 
chance  moulding  of  leaves  and  sunshine  into  an  ambushed 
hunter  or  crouching  panther,  my  attention  was  at  length 
caught  by  glowing  flakes  among  the  dense  herbage  of  the 
low  borders. 

"  What  is  that  beautiful  flower,  Harvey  ?" 

"  That's  the  Injin  Plume  1" 


70  WOODS  AND  WATEKS; 

"  The  Indian  Plume  !  A  pretty  name  and  most  lovely 
flower !" 

It  rose  in  a  slender  spire  of  superb  scarlet,  about  a  foot 
high,  its  delicate  petals  like  the  geranium's.  The  plant 
seemed  nearly  to  blaze  in  the  sunshine  and  to  kindle  into 
ruby  light  the  green  nooks  where  it  nestled. 

As  I  looked  at  the  flower,  glowing  almost  like  live  coals 
against  the  grasses  of  the  banks,  I  shrined  it  in  my  memory 
and  heard  afterward  from  a  St.  Regis  Indian,  this  legend  of 
its  birth. 

A  very  long  time  ago,  long  before  the  incidents  related 
of  the  Indian  Carrying-Place,  Onwee  was  the  Sachem  of 
the  Saranacs,  dwelling  by  the  Stream  of  the  Snake.  One 
daughter  shone  in  his  lodge,  beautiful  as  a  star,  and  pure 
as  a  snowflake  on  the  wintry  summit  of  Whiteface.  She 
was  betrothed  to  Ka-no-ah,  named  "  The  Arrow,"  from  his 
swiftness  on  the  trail,  whether  of  the  deer  or  the  foe.  All 
went  happily,  and  the  life  of  Len-a-wee  or  "  The  Indian 
Plume"  was  like  the  mellow  days  that  the  Indian  Summer 
smiling  in  the  stern  face  of  Winter,  breathes  in  purple  mist 
through  the  wood.  But  at  last,  the  Demon  of  the  Quick 
Death  darkened  over  her  people.  Eight  and  left  he  swung 
his  startling  tomahawk,  and  the  white  hair — the  frolic  boy 
— the  strong  warrior  and  the  blossoming  maiden  fell  alike 
beneath  it.  All  trembled  before  the  viewless  foe.  Onwee 
bowed  his  old  head  and  died,  and  the  Swift  Arrow  was 
launched  upon  the  shadowy  trail.  The  Tribe  veiled  their 
faces  in  dread ;  Hah-wen-ne-yo  was  angry  with  his  children. 
In  vain  the  Great  Calumet  sent  its  smoke  from  the  lips  of 
the  Prophet  toward  His  Dwelling-Place.  In  vain  was  the 
White  Dog  slaughtered,  to  bear  upward  the  sins  of  the 
people.  At  last,  the  old  Prophet  proclaimed  that  Hah- 
wen-ne-yo  had  appeared  to  him.  He  came  in  dazzling 
splendor,  one  night  of  lightning,  on  the  top  of  the  Tempest- 
Darer  that  looks  upon  the  first  of  the  Wampum  Waters. 
And  thus  he  said,  "  Not  the  breath  of  the  Great  Calumet 
and  not  the  blood  of  the  dog  of  snow  will  soften  my  wrath. 


OR,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.  71 

The  warm  blood  from  a  human  heart  will  alone  appease  it 
That  spilled,  my  smile  will  again  beam  upon  my  chil- 
dren!" 

The  old  Prophet  spoke  and  deep  silence  hushed  the 
tribe.  But  a  moment  after,  Len-a-wee  glided  into  the  ring 
of  warriors  ranged  around  the  Prophet  on  the  banks  of 
the  winding  stream. 

"  Len-a-wee  is  a  blighted  flower;"  said  she,  in  her  tones  of 
music,  but  now  sad  as  the  wail  of  the  wind  in  the  time  of 
the  falling  leaves ;  "let  the  blood  of  her  heart  atone  for 
the  sins  of  her  people  1" 

She  said,  and  grasping  the  knife  from  the  belt  of  the 
Prophet,  darted  close  to  the  stream  which  she  and  her 
Ka-no-ah  had  so  often  skimmed  together  in  their  birch 
canoe,  and  plunged  it  into  her  bosom.  The  red  blood 
flowed  upon  the  earth;  the  keen  weapon  had  cleft  her 
heart.  Reverently  and  sorrowfully  did  the  warriors  of  the 
Tribe  raise  her  in  their  arms,  and  solemnly  did  they  lay  her 
form  by  that  of  Onwee  and  Ka-no-ah.  As  the  next  Morn- 
ing trod  through  the  forest,  his  golden  fingers  touched  the 
spot  which  had  been  stained  by  the  blood  of  the  msiden. 
No  blood  was  there,  but  instead,  a  slender  flower,  red  ag 
the  flush  that  kindles  the  cheek  of  the  Sunset  as  it  sinks 
in  the  gloom'  of  night.  The  Demon  of  the  Quick  Death 
plied  his  tomahawk  slower  and  slower  from  the  birth  of 
the  flower,  and  soon  his  presence  darkened  no  more  the 
hearts  of  the  people.  And  ever  after,  was  the  flower  loved 
by  the  Saranacs.  The  warriors  twined  its  blossoms  in' 
their  scalp-locks,  the  maidens  spangled  its  glowing  sparks 
over  their  tresses  of  darkness.  When  the  Autumn  blighted 
it,  they  mourned ;  when  the  late  Summer  told  it  to  bloom, 
they  were  glad.  A  feast  was  instituted  in  its  honor,  for  it 
glowed  in  their  minds  as  the  emblem  of  unselfish  devotion 
to  the  common  good. 

Another  curve  of  Stony  Creek,  and,  darkening  for  an' 
instant  under  a  log  bridge,  we  came  to  the  junction  of 
the  stream  with  the  Backet,  where  two  leaning  water- 


72  WOODS  AND  WATERS; 

maples  watched  like  Dryads  the  wedding  of  the  lovely 
Naiad.  We  turned  to  the  left,  or  eastward,  up  the  river, 
as  the  last  of  the  other  boats,  containing  Bingham's  tall 
form,  vanished  beyond  a  bend. 

Broad  in  comparison  with  the  channel  we  had  just 
quitted  (which  is  about  a  rod  in  width),  this  truly  beautiful 
river,  like  the  Saranac  Lakes,  impresses  its  character  upon 
the  region  it  traverses.  Its  source  is  Backet  Lake ; 
thence  it  expands  into  the  Forked  and  Long  Lakes,  and 
after  flowing  one  hundred  and  fifty  miles,  in  two  bold  sweeps, 
to  the  north-east  and  north-west,  falls  into  the  St.  Lawrence, 
north  of  its  source.  From  crystal  cradle  to  grass-green 
grave,  its  shadowy  footsteps  glide  through  an  unbroken 
wilderness.  I  say  unbroken,  for  the  dots  of  clearings  only 
heighten  by  contrast  the  general  wildness  of  the  scene. 

Its  name,  as  some  suppose,  is  derived  from  the  French 
Canadian  hunters,  in  old  times,  hunting  the  moose  in  winter 
by  means  of  the  raquette  (the  French  for  snow-shoe),  around 
the  waters  now  known  as  Raquette  or  Eacket  Lake. 

Others  affirm  the  name  to  be  taken  from  a  small  marsh 
which  a  Frenchman,  accompanying  Indians  who  were 
exploring  upward  from  the  river's  mouth,  thought  to  be 
shaped  like  a  snow-shoe. 

"  But  I've  al'ys  heerd,"  said  Harvey,  "  the  name  come 
from  the  tarnal  racket  the  river  keeps  up  with  the  falls  and 
rifts  and  what  not,  on't." 

Its  three  Indian  names  are  Mas-le-gui  (St.  Francis), 
Ta-na-wa-deh  and  Ni-ha-na-wa-te  (both  Iroquois),  the  last 
signifying  "  full  of  rapids." 

"  "We  are  now  'mongst  another  set  o'  waters  from  what 
we  was  at  the  S'nac  Lakes,"  continued  Harvey,  after  he 
had  given  his  idea  of  the  name  of  the  river.  "  The  ridge 
that  the  Injin  Carry  runs  over,  is  the  dividin'  place.  The 
Stunny  Ponds  runs,  as  you  know,  by  way  of  the  Creek, 
inter  the  Eacket.  This  ridge,  about  thirty  miles  west  or 
mebby  northwest  o'  here,  turns  the  Big  and  Little  Wolf 
Pond  waters  inter  the  Kacket  too.  On  the  other  side  o' 


OR,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.  73 

the  ridge  the  waters  of  the  Musquiter  and  Kawlins  and 
Floodwood  and  other  ponds  round  there,  go  inter  the 
Upper  S'nac." 

A  short  distance  east,  we  found  the  river  bending  short 
to  the  south.  Two  or  three  miles  from  the  bend,  glimpses 
of  an  opening  broke  upon  us  through  the  foliage  of  the 
border  on  our  right. 

"  Big  Meadow,"  said  Harvey.  "  I'll  see  if  there's  a  deer 
there." 

He  landed,  taking  his  rifle,  and  ascended  the  bank,  fol- 
lowed by  myself.  The  wild  meadow  contained  about  a 
hundred  acres,  moulded  into  bays  by  points  of  wood  and 
grouped  with  groves  like  islets.  Irregular  streaks  of  stem- 
less  cedars,  like  green  tents  planted  on  the  ground,  and 
tamaracks,  with  their  graceful  limbs,  skirted  here  and  there 
the  grassy  surface. 

"We  cast  our  glances  around ;  no  living  shape  dis- 
turbed the  loneliness.  We  entered  deeper ;  and  Harvey, 
stopping  suddenly  at  the  muddy  margin  of  a  thread  of 
water,  exclaimed — 

"By  golly,  I  raally  hed  a  notion  at  fust  glance  this 
track  b'longed  to  a  moose,"  pointing  to  a  large,  rounded 
hoof-print  stamped  in  the  ooze.  "  How  on  airth  could 
oxen  'ave  strayed  out  here !  We're  miles  away  from  any 
clearin'  or  where  any  human  critter  lives.  Let  me  see ! 
Oh,  I  hev  it !  The  lumber  people,  workin'  on  Cold  Eiver, 
'bove  Racket  Falls,  must  ha'  drove  their  oxen  'cross  here." 

"  Is  a  moose-track  like  that  of  an  ox  ?"  I  inquired,  as 
we  were  gliding  again  upward. 

"  It's  longer  and  more  peaked.  The  time  has  bin 
when  I've  seen  a  good  many  moose- tracks,  but  not  of  late 
years.  Of'en  and  of'en,  when  I  was  a  young  man,  I've 
hunted  'em  on  snow-shoes,  on  the  sides  of  old  Tawwus,  but 
they've  gone,  most,  from  there  now." 

"  They've  gone  almost  entirely  from  this  region,  haven't 
they,  Harvey?" 

"  Jest  round  here,  they  hev.    But  in  them  woods  south 


74  WOODS  AND  WATERS; 

o'  Mount  Seward,  they  say  they  kin  be  found  yit.  Them 
woods,  though,  I  don't  know  nothin'  about,  nur  nobody 
else  that  I  ever  see,  but  the  Injun  guide,  Mitchell  Sabatis. 
I  dunno  but  some  o'  the  Keene  Mountain  trappers,  too, 
may  go  'long  the  edges  in  winter,  layin'  saple  lines  on 
snow-shoes.  And  they  finds  'em  round  at  Mud  Lake" 

"  I  suppose  you've  shot  numbers  of  them,  Harvey,  in 
your  time  ?" 

"  You're  right,  I  hev.  But  they're  a  terr'ble  critter  to 
kill." 

"Why  so?" 

"  Oh,  they're  so  farse  when  they're  wounded  or  brought 
to  bay.  There  isn't  no  critter  in  the  woods  that  I  wouldn't 
fight,  sunner  than  a  moose.  A  bear  or  a  painter  ain't 
nothin'  to  'em.  I've  fit  a  good  many  and  killed  a  good 
many  and  I  tell  ye,  when  their  blood  is  up,  by  goll !  it's 
lively  times.  They  jump  at  ye  with  their  mane  on  eend, 
and  glarin'  as  though  they'd  eat  ye  up ;  and  them  broad 
horns  o'  theirn,  too,  look  mighty  ugly.  You've  got  to  be 
consid'ble  smart  in  dodgin'  about  the  trees  and  watchin' 
your  time  to  fire,  or  let  'em  hev  it  with  your  knife  whiles 
the  hound  tugs  at  their  flanks,  or  it's  kingdom  come  with 
ye.  I've  fit  'em  when  'twas  about  an  even  chance  whether 
I  should  be  killed  or  them.  And  there's  no  give  up  to  'em, 
nuther.  They'll  fight  as  long  as  there's  breath  left.  And 
you  take  a  critter  five  or  six  foot  high,  and  weighin' 
eight  hunderd  or  a  thousand  pounds,  with  great  horns, 
and  feet  that'll  cut  into  ye  like  a  knife,  and  you  may  hev 
a  notion  it's  no  child's  play  fightin'  'em.  I've  heerd  a  bull- 
moose  roar  afore  now  and  was  glad  he  was  miles  off!" 

"  What  sort  of  sound  does  he  make,  Harvey  ?" 

"  Well,  I  can't  scurce  tell  ye.  It's  a  loud,  shrill,  ringin', 
twangin'  sound,  like — I'll  tell  ye- — 'tis  more  like  the 
twangin'  of  a  tin  horn  than  anything  I  kin  think  on,  and 
kin  be  heard  through  the  woods  a-ringin'  and  echoin'  fur 
miles." 
•  "  What  does  the  animal  feed  on  ?" 


OR,  SUMMER  IN  THE  gARANACS.  75 

"  Water-lilies  jest  like  tlie  deer ;  but  they're  more  fond 
o'  the  tap-borers  or  moose-heads  or  pick'rel  weeds,  as  some 
calls  'em ;  and  they  say  in  the  woods  that  the  piek'rel 
come  from  these  weeds.  They're  old  hunderd  on  'em. 
The  big  upper  lip  o'  the  moose,  when  it's  feedin',  goes 
flop,  flop,  in  twistin'  in  their  fud,  so  that  a  body  kin  hear 
it,  a  mile  or  more.  I  remember,  one  time,  at  the  head  o' 
Cold  Eiver — 'twas  one  still  night  in  the  airly  part  o'  July, 
Them  queer  things,  the  tree-toads,  was  singin'  away— 
quir-r-r-r-r-r,  and  as  for  the  lightnin'  bugs,  by  goll!  I 
never  see  'em  so  plenty.  Well,  I  sot  in  my  boat — 'twas 
Little  Mary,  afore  I'd  built  the  Bluebird— and  the  fust  J 
knowed,  I  heerd,  kinder  faint-like,  that  flop,  flop,  flop. 
The  moose  was  either  in  a  lily-pad  pond,  more'n  a  mile  off, 
or  in  the  second  o'  the  Preston  Ponds  not  so  fur,  but  over 
a  mile  at  enny  rate.  They're  a  big  critter  and  don't  do 
things  like  a  mink  by  a  derned  sight." 

"  You  say  you  would  rather  meet  a  panther  than  an 
angry  moose,  Harvey  1" 

"  Pooh  I  painters  ain't  nothin'.  I'd  about  as  lieve  meet 
a  dog  as  one  on  'm.  They're  a  good  deal  more  skeered 
at  you  than  you  at  them,  and  '11  run,  that  is,  when  they 
ain't  got  no  cubs  to  fight  fur.  I've  hunted  and  trapped  in 
these  woods  and  fished  in  these  waters  about  forty-two 
year  and  I've  never  seen  a  tarnal  sight  on  'em.  I've 
camped,  too,  alone  of'en,  right  under  Catamount  Peak, 
that  lays  off  in  the  St.  Eegis'  Woods,  nigh  the  head 
waters  of  the  Upper  S'nac,  and  never  even  then  heerd  a 
great  many.  I  remember  one  time,  though.  I'd  bin  trap- 
pin'  beaver  on  a  pond  right  under  the  Peak  and  'ad  killed 
a  doe  and  dressed  her  jest  outside  my  camp.  I  call  it 
camp,  but  I  hadn't  no  shanty  nur  tent,  unly  the  ground  to 
sleep  on.  I  was  alone,  unly  I  bed  Watch.  Well,  I  made 
a  rousin'  big  fire,  fur  'twas  a  leetle  cold  and  there'd  bin  a 
flurry  o'  snow  at  sundown.  About  midnight,  I  was  woke 
up  by  the  dolefullest  sounds — well,  they  was  •  more  like  a 
woman  cryin'  out  fur  help  in  the  woods  than  anything 


76  WOODS  AND  WATERS; 

else — a  pitiful,  kind  o'  whinin',  wailin'  cry.  'Twas  comin' 
clusser  and  clusser,  and  at  fust  my  head  was  so  twistified 
by  bein'  woke  up  so  sudden,  I  raally  consated  some  one 
was  lost  in  the  woods ;  so  I  sung  out  and  the  doleful  cries 
stopped  right  off  and  I  knowed  then  'twas  a  painter. 
Well,  I  was  jest  a  goin'  to  turn  over  and  go  to  sleep  agin, 
when  Watch  begun  to  show  his  teeth  and  growl,  and  the 
hair  on  his  neck  riz  up.  I  couldn't  see  nothin',  and  yit,  as 
I  stared  round  the  camp,  I  consated  I  see  a  blazin'  kind  o' 
eyeballs  nigh  the  fire.  But  Watch  wouldn't  stir,  fur  the 
catamount  would  a  killed  'im  with  one  blow  of  his  paw. 
Finally  at  last,  I  heerd  a  creep,  creep,  creep,  off  through 
the  woods,  and  that  was  the  last  on't ;  and  sun  I  fell  asleep 
agin.  But  talkin'  o'  moose  :  when  he's  riled  or  wounded 
or  crowded  up  too  cluss,  look  out  fur  'im,  that's  all.  You 
must  git  out  o'  his  way,  fur  he  won't  git  out  o'  yourn,  take 
my  word  for't." 

"  I  should  like  to  see  a  moose,  Harvey  I" 

"  I'll  take  ye  to  Mud  Lake,  up  Bog  Eiver,  that  comes 
in  at  the  head  o'  Tupper's  Lake,  where  you'll  be  tol'ble 
sure  o'  seem'  one  and  p'raps  git  a  shot." 

I  expressed  myself  delighted  with  this  arrangement  and 
he  resumed. 

"  It's  a  dreary,  skeery,  dark  hole  of  a  place,  that  Mud 
Lake.  There's  a  wild  meader  or  slew,  some  ways  from  it, 
the  biggest  I  ever  see.  You  can't  much  more  'n  look  crost 
it,  and  there's  the  place  where  the  moose  find  their  feediii'. 
This  meader  isn't  known  much.  I  never  knowed  but  one 
man  beside  myself  that  ever  spoke  on't.  Well,  I've  saw 
the  time  when  I've  skeert  up  in  that  meader  two,  or  even 
three  moose,  in  a  day,  and  shot  one  or  two  on  'em.  But  it 
can't  be  done  now.  Talkin'  o'  trappin'  too.  I've  ketched 
fisher  and  mink  and  saple  and  black  foxes  on  Tupper's 
Lake,  'twixt  sunrise  and  sundown,  enough  to  kiver  the 
little  Bluebird  all  over.  But  that  can't  be  done  now 
nuther; — see  how  the  deer  Ve  turned  up  old  sanko  there, 
and  no  later  than  last  night,  too !"  pointing  to  a  broad  shallow, 


OR,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.  77 

bristling  with  the  cropped  stems  and  heaped  with  the  tumbled 
pads  of  the  yellow  lily,  interspersed  with  the  upturned  dull 
red  leaves  of  the  white.  "  What  say  ye  For  a  jack-hunt  to- 
night ?  There's  fust  rate  slews  all  along  here,  up  to  Kacket 
Falls,  where  we  camp  for  a  day  or  so,  as  I  onderstand  1" 

Gladly  did  I  express  my  readiness,  for  I  had  long  wished 
to  witness  this  mode  of  hunting  deer. 

These  slews  (i.  e.  sloughs)  are  frequent  in  the  forest  and 
are  either  low,  marshy  spots  with  narrow  streams  and 
covered  with  wild  grass  which  affords  pasturage  for  the  deer, 
or  shallow  basins  of  water,  mantled  in  water-lilies,  of  which 
the  yellow  species  is  the  animal's  favorite  luxury.  The' 
principal  hours  for  feeding  are  from  sunset  to  early  morn- 
ing. The  day  is  generally  passed  by  the  deer  in  covert. 

In  about  an  hour,  we  reached  Palmer  Brook,  a  charming 
little  stream  meandering  through  the  usual  wild  meadow, 
where  trees  single  and  clustered,  and  shrubbery-like  thick- 
ets, all  disposed  as  by  the  hand  of  taste,  gave  the  scene  not 
only  a  picturesque  but  habitable  look,  so  that  the  eye 
involuntarily  wandered  to  discover  the  country-seat. 

There  we  found  the  whole  party  landed,  with  their  boats 
drawn  up  the  shore.  They  had  decided  to  send  their  three 
hounds  out  for  a  drive  and  were  waiting  for  Harvey  to 
bring  Watch. 

It  was  now  deep  in  the  afternoon. 

Mart,  Will  and  Cort  each  led  off  a  hound,  to  let  him 
loose ;  my  comrades  started  for  their  several  stations,  while 
Harvey  and  I  set  out,  he  leading  Watch  by  his  chain. 

We  entered  the  forest,  and  the  old  woodman  undid  the 
collar  from  the  hound,  who  looked  up  with  his  bright, 
intelligent  eye,  waving  his  tail  delightedly.  Harvey 
bade  the  dog  start.  Watch  bounded  off  with  a  yelp  and 
then  moved  in  a  quick  walk,  with  his  nose  to  the  ground. 
After  completing  a  circle,  he  returned  and  gazed  up  at 
Harvey,  as  if  to  say,  "  No  deer  there."  Harvey  waved 
him  off  again,  and  vaulting  logs,  threading  thickets,  search- 
ing bushes  and  spruce  caverns  and  nosing  the  underwood 


78  WOODS  AND  WATEKS; 

generally,  in  another  and  still  wider  circle,  once  more 
he  returned  with  his  mute  message  as  before.  A  third 
time  Harvey  sent  him  away,  but  a  half  hour  now  elapsed 
without  the  return  of  the  dog.  The  old  guide  then  turned 
to  me  and  said, 

"  The  pup  has  got  the  trail  at  last,  so  we'd  best  make 
tracks  torts  the  brook  again.  Bimeby  we'll  hear  him  tell 
his  luck." 

Returning,  we  found  Coburn  at  the  mouth  of  the  brook ; 
Corey  and  Little  Jess  had  pushed  on  to  Racket  Falls  with 
the  baggage  boats,  to  prepare  the  camp  before  night. 

My  station  was  also  at  the  brook's  mouth  on  my  left. 
Beyond,  was  the  runway. 

The  scene, — late  alive  with  shapes  of  hurrying  men  and 
eager  hounds,  flitting  colors  of  red  and  blue  hunting-shirts 
and  flashes  of  guns  and  wood-knives,  boats  gliding  up  and 
down  the  river  to  their  stations,  with  loud  talk  and  calls  and 
short,  joyful  yelps, — -was  now  quiet  and  solitary,  with  only 
the  common  sights  and  sounds  of  the  wilderness.  The  fal- 
setto of  the  jay ;  the  bass  note,  softened  by  distance,  of  the 
raven ;  the  harsh  cry  of  the  wheeling  hawk,  the  tap  of  the 
woodpecker,  and  the  pervading  monotone  of  the  river, 
soothed  the  ear  and  deepened  the  loneliness.  Occasionally 
I  hushed  my  breath  for  a  cry  from  the  hounds,  but  nothing 
was  heard.  My  boat  lay  with  quiet  ripples  sparkling 
around  its  stern,  and  bushes  burying  its  bow.  The  sun- 
light glanced  from  the  river,  twinkled  on  the  leaves  and 
bathed  the  grass.  Minute  after  minute  crept  by ;  no  cry 
from  the  dogs,  no  human  sound ;  my  rifle  lay  idle  at  my 
knee.  Seated  near  me,  on  a  mound  of  moss,  was  Harvey, 
with  his  rifle  also  across  his  knee ;  and  over  a  clump  of  tall 
ferns,  close  to  the  borders  of  the  stream,  I  saw  the  motion- 
less head  and  shoulders  of  Coburn. 

At  last,  a  burst  of  music  from  a- hound  made  the  woods 
echo.  A  rifle  shot  succeeded ;  then  came  a  fainter  yelping, 
followed  by  another  report,  dull  and  lengthened,  down  the 
river. 


OR,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.  79 

Soon  Bingham  and  Cort  appeared,  skimming  down 'the 
Eacket,  the  face  of  Bingham  radiant  with  pleasure,  and  Cort 
rowing  with  buoyant  speed.  As  the  boat  came  nearer,  I 
saw  a  buck  at  the  bottom  and  Watch  curled  at  the  bow. 

"  I  fixed  him  this  time  !"  shouted  Bingham,  "  Eight 
through  the  heart,  or  I'm  a  humbug !  By  goll  I"  landing, 
"  as  old  Harvey  here  says,  it  was  a  splendid  sight !  How 
Watch  yelled  and  how  the  deer  flew  1  And  how  he 
stopped  too — and  fell — right  flat  in  his  tracks !  But  I  sup- 
pose it  will  be  all  Cort,  Cort,  at  the  camp-fire.  Eenning 
will  say,  in  that  confounded  cool  way  of  his,  'Why,  of 
course,  Cort  shot  the  deer ;  who  doubts  it !'  And  then 
Gaylor  will  say,  'There's  one  thing  Bing  can't  do;  he 
can't  shoot  1'  And  then  you,  Coburn  and  Smith  here,  will 
chime  in.  Well,  I've  heard  such  before.  But  it  doesn't 
affect  me !  I  tower  above  it  all,  '  like  some  tall  cliff ' — Ah, 
here  comes  Gaylor  and  Eenning — and — hang  me  if 
there  isn't — yes — there  is — a  deer,  by  Jupiter!  in  Gay's 
boat !  Well  now  I  call  this  last  superfluous.  It's  really 
robbing  the  forest !  Of  course,  Gaylor,"  as  the  last  party 
landed,  "  you  shot  the  deer,  and  not  Will." 

"  Of  course  I  shot  him,"  responded  Gaylor  in  a  cheery 
tone.  "  There's  one  in  your  boat,  I  see.  When  did  Cort 
shoot  him  ?" 

"  There  it  is  I"  said  Bingham.  "  But  I  shall  enter  into  no 
controversy  on  the  subject.  I  shall  merely  mention  I  shot 
him  and  say  no  more." 

"  Ha,  ha,  ha  1"  exploded  from  the  whole  company. 

"  Oh  laugh  away  1"  said  Bingham,  taking  a  seat. 
•"  There's  the  buck  though,  and  here's  the  tool,"  slapping 
his  rifle,  "that  did  the  business.  Cort  I  hand  me  my 
flask  I" 

After  enjoying  the  quiet  and  leafy  beauty  of  Palmer 
Brook,  a  little  while  longer,  we  all  moved  gaily  up  toward 
Eacket  Falls,  which  we  reached  at  sunset.  We  found  the 
tents  pitched  and  the  camp-fire  kindled  upon  an  elevated 
point  or  headland,  on  the  east  bank,  at  the  foot  of  the 


80  WOODS  AND  WATERS, 

falls  or  rather  rapids,  the  foam  of  which  gleamed  red  among 
the  scattered  rocks. 

The  tents  stood  in  a  grassy  space,  with  a  background  of 
firs  and  cedars  intermingled  with  the  birch,  aspen  and 
maple.  One  large  white  pine  towered  on  either  side,  with 
one  near  the  front  of  the  headland  looking  upon  the 
Eacket,  which  glided  swift  and  dark,  with  large  blots  of 
foam  from  the  falls,  whirling  and  loosening  in  their  downward 
way.  In  one  corner,  a  tamarack  hung  its  beautiful  foliage. 

The  opposite  shore  rose  into  an  acclivity,  with  here  and 
there  a  dry  pine  like  a  flag-staff,  above  the  verdure,  and 
fluttering  with  pennons  of  grey  moss.  Paths  meandered 
from  the  headland  (which  was  a  well-known  camping-spot) 
down  to  the  river  on  either  side  and  into  the  background 
of  forest. 

After  our  usual  meal,  we  disposed  ourselves  for  a  genial 
smoke  before  the  crackling  camp-fire. 

The  lucent  gold  of  the  twilight  tinged  the  scene  and 
vanished ;  the  dusk  darkened  into  night. 

A  breeze  crept  through  the  high  woods  opposite ;  above 
me,  the  white  pine,  that  tree  of  sorrow,  heaved  its  long  deep 
sigh,  and  the  low  crashings  of  the  rapids  filled  the  air. 
Ralph  and  Graylor  had  left  to  lie  down  in  the  tent,  the 
grassy  floor  of  which  had  been  spread  deep  by  the 
guides  with  mattresses  of  hemlock.  Coburn  had  taken  his 
seat  on  the  end  of  a  log,  close  to  the  camp-fire,  to  smoke 
and  cogitate  perhaps  his  next  speech  in  Congress  (as  he 
was  a  member  and  a  powerful  speaker),  while  I  had  gone 
aside  to  observe,  if  not  also  to  meditate. 
«  At  first,  my  eye  was  caught  by  the  camp-fire  shedding  its 
gloss  in  a  wide  circle  over  the  grass  blades,  brakes  and  tiny 
wood-sprouts,  cutting  the  nearest  trees  into  gigantic  yellow 
cameos  on  a  sable  background  and  touching  with  wild  scar- 
let the  black  river  below ;  the  dark  figures  of  the  guides 
flitting  athwart  the  flame  like  goblins,  with  Coburn  shown 
in  sharp  relief,  his  countenance  fixed  and  arm  slightly 
raised  as  if  thrusting  an  argument  upon  "  Mr.  Speaker," 


OR,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.  81 

and  the  sparks  whirling  through  the  smoke  like  fiery 
insects. 

I  thought  then  of  the  vast  expanse  of  this  sea-like  wil- 
derness, almost  unchanged  since  its  creation,  and  of  the 
wild  freedom  of  that  savage  life  known  upon  our  continent 
before  the  "  White  Throats"  came.  I  asked  myself  whe- 
ther man  has  gained  greater  happiness  with  his  boasted 
civilization.  Do  all  the  trophies  won  by  that  civilization, 
its  treasures  of  science,  its  enchanted  realms  of  painting, 
poetry,  sculpture,  music,  eloquence,  its  elegancies  and 
luxuries,  outweigh  its  sufferings,  cares  and  crimes,  the 
daily  anxieties  and  toils  and  battles  for  its  miscalled  prizes ; 
its  galling  conventionalities,  its  scourging  necessities,  its' 
malignant  rivalries,  its  treacherous  smiles — real  ability  fail- 
ing where  grinning  trickery  succeeds ;  mere  poverty  de- 
spised and  mere  gold  adored ;  genius  trampled  beneath  the 
hoofs  of  pompous  dulness;  frank  honesty  supplanted  by 
wary  villany ;  right  throttled  by  the  ruffian  hand  of  power ; 
all  these,  the  rank  weeds  that  choke  the  hotbed  of  our  arti- 
ficial existence  ?  I,  for  one,  am  sick  of  the  griefs  and  strifes 
and  follies  of  the  world.  Oh  men  !  when  will  ye  cease  to 
torture  and  crush  your  fellow-men  ?  Thy  wailing  winds, 
oh  earth !  are  but  the  echoes  of  our  human  sighs,  thy  very 
throes  the  emblems  of  our  agonies ! 

Here,  thought  I  once  more,  would  I  live ;  here,  in  this 
fresh,  free  wilderness,  this  tranquil  realm  of  content,  where 
honor  is  not  measured  by  success,  where  pretension  does 
not  trample  upon  merit,  where  genius  is  not  a  jest,  good- 
ness not  a  seeming  and  devotion  not  a  sham.  Here,  where 
the  light  of  day  is  undarkened  by  wrong,  where  silence  is 
the  parent  of  pure  meditation  and  the  solitude  is  eloquent 
of  God.  Here  would  I  live,  listening  the  forest's  calls  to 
self-communing,  and  all  those  teachings  that  guide  the  in- 
sight, soften  the  heart,  and  purify,  while  they  expand,  the 
soul. 

6 


82  WOODS  AND  WATERS; 


CHAPTEK  YIIL 

Floating  for  Deer. — Night  Scenery  on  the  Racket. — Owls. — A  Camp  Scene. 

I  WAS  awakened  from  my  reverie  by  the  voice  of  Harvey 
at  my  side. 

"  Come,  Mr.  Smith !  it's  about  time  now  for  our  night- 
hunt,  and  a  rael  inkstand  of  a  night  'tis,  too,  dark  and  not 
windy  ;  and  I  think  one  deer,  ef  not  two,  's  jest  about 's 
good  's  dead.  Keady  ?" 

I  slipped  on  my  overcoat  and  grasped  a  blanket  to 
defend  my  knees  against  the  chill  of  the  night  air.  At  the 
boat  I  found  Corey,  who  was  to  go  with  us  as  marksman 
(as  I  had  had  little  experience  with  the  rifle),  while  Harvey 
was  to  handle  the  paddle.  The  latter  duty  required  con- 
summate skill,  which  the  old  boatman  proved  himself 
to  possess.  He  seated  himself  in  the  stern  while  Corey 
took  the  oars ;  I  sat  in  the  middle,  and  the  Bluebird 
skimmed  rapidly  down  the  river,  a  bend  of  which  soon 
hid  the  camp-fire. 

Our  jack  was  a  semicircular  piece  of  birch  bark,  painted 
dark;  the  top  and  bottom  of  wood,  with  two  oil  lamps 
behind  a  glass  front,  and  planted  on  a  wooden  handle  at  the 
prow.  It  was  not  yet  lighted. 

The  black  woods  looked  threatening,  but  the  water, 
although  dark,  seemed  more  companionable  sprinkled  with 
the  stars,  and  even  the  wilderness  did  not  appear  entirely 
abandoned,  with  the  same  dots  of  light  glittering  among  the 
breaks  in  the  gloom. 

Nor  was  the  solitude  completely  silent.  Now  and  then 
came  the  chirp  of  some  bird  startled  by  our  oars,  while  the 
owl's  prolonged  hoo  hoohoo,  hoo  hoohoo-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o- 


OR,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.  83 

ah,  rounding  into  a  deep-throated,  peevish  caw,  frequently 
came  on  the  ear. 

Here  and  there  a  skeleton  tree,  leaning  over,  made  a 
thick  black  streak  in  the  air,  or  a  protruding  branch  dropped 
an  arch,  while  dark  bulks  told  the  margin  logs. 

"  We're  nigh  Palmer  Brook,"  at  length  said  Harvey,  in 
a  guarded  voice.  "  I  forgot  to  put  ile  in  the  lamps  or  trim 
'em  to-day,  so  we'd  best  land  to  light  up  the  jack,  hadn't 
we?" 

We  landed  on  the  steep  bank,  in  a  cavern  of  the  foliage. 
We  had  not  much  more  than  entered  it,  however,  before  my 
face  and  hands  broke  out  as  it  were  into  an  intolerable 
tickling. 

"  Whew,  the  flies  is  comin',"  said  Corey.  "  How  quick 
they  smell  a  feller  out !  Plague  take  these  mitchets  ;  but 
we'll  fix  'em,  skeeters  and  all !" 

The  charges  of  these  winged  lancers  were  indeed  terrible. 
They,  the  mixed  legion  of  musquitoes  and  gnats  or  midges, 
are  the  serious  annoyance  of  the  summer  woods.  They 
seem  to  lie  in  wait,  and  the  moment  one  ventures  from 
the  boat  on  shore,  they  swarm  in  myriads ;  like  fire  on 
invisible  ink,  your  very  corning  strikes  the  atmosphere  into 
gnats  and  musquitoes. 

If  you  open  your  mouth,  in  they  go ;  if  you  inhale 
through  your  nose,  up  they  go ;  they  play  an  unceasing 
fife  to  the  drum  of  your  ear,  and  dart  in  as  if  to  assault 
your  brain.  Just  as  you  motion  to  slap  your  forehead, 
there  is  a  quick  sting  on  your  temple,  and  you  don't 
know  which  to  slap  first.  If  you  rub  your  cheek — 
w-h-i-z-p — there  is  a  terrific  bite  on  your  eyelid.  You 
crush  the  sight  out  of  your  optics  with  a  finger  that 
has  three  little  fiends  tacked  to  it;  you  try  to  rub  both 
your  prickling  hands  at  once,  while  your  elbows  are 
suffering;  you  shrug  your  shoulders  and  begin  to  wrig- 
gle your  back  in  your  shirt,  at  the  same  time  your 
legs  are  twitching  as  if  in  a  galvanic  battery ;  in  short, 
you  are  defending  the  tip  of  your  nose,  while  the 


84  WOODS  AND  WATERS; 

aggregate  flesh,  of  your  body  is  creeping  off  your 
bones. 

"Yes,  yes!  we'll  fix  'em!"  repeated  Corey,  as  he  and 
Harvey  gathered  the  materials  of  combustion  at  the  foot  of 
a  pine  tree.  Soon  a  snapping  blaze  was  licking  the  rough 
bark,  bringing  out  the  immense  tree  from  its  dark  back- 
ground and  tinging  the  leaves  and  stems  around  into  ruddy 
gold.  With  the  light  flickering  over  their  persons,  the 
two  guides  then  prepared  the  jack,  kindled  it,  and  we  re- 
embarked,  leaving  the  fire  to  burn  down,  like  a  red  eye- 
ball alternately  winking  and  glaring  in  the  darkness  of  the 
bank. 

Corey  examined  his  rifle,  to  see  if  all  was  right,  theii 
seated  himself  directly  behind  the  jack,  so  as  to  front  the 
water,  with  his  weapon  across  his  lap. 

A  red  glare  played  upon  the  shore  and  the  stream  ahead, 
while  the  boat  remained  in  deep  shadow.  The  unnatural 
light  dazzles  and  bewilders  the  deer,  which  frequent  the 
banks  and  shallows  and  particularly  the  sloughs,  at  night, 
to  feed  upon  the  water-lilies,  and  it  strikes  them  motionlesSj 
the  boat  and  its  occupants  being  concealed  in  gloom.  They 
stand  gazing  out  from  the  dark  background,  quite 
covered  with  the  light,  affording  a  near  and  generally 
fatal  shot. 

The  boat  seemed  now  to  glide  of  its  own  volition,  Har- 
vey drawing  his  paddle  so  still,  as  not  to  wake  even  the 
whisper  of  a  bursting  bubble.  Once  dipped,  the  paddle  is 
not  withdrawn,  but  worked  by  the  wrist  and  elbow  noise- 
less as  the  fin  of  a  fish. 

As  I  hushed  my  breath  while  thus  borne  along,  there 
was  a  weird  effect  from  the  glide,  making  me  feel,  with 
Hecate, 

"  Oh,  what  a  dainty  pleasure  'tis, 
To  sail  i'  the  air!" 

The  water-flies  entering  the  glare  of  the  jack-light  glit- 
tered like  specks  of  gold.  As  the  broad  crimson  gleam 


OR,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARAXACS.  85 

startled  up  the  banks,  a  gigantic  shadow  seemed  to  chase 
the  boat  and  swallow  the  trees,  touching  them  first,  then 
meandering  over  the  branches  down  to  their  very  tips. 

The  red  beams  flitted  athwart  the  bushes  and  water- 
plants  of  the  margin  near  us  and  turned  the  bushes  into 
moving  gold,  upon  which  and  the  gleaming  lily-pads,  we 
would  rustle  suddenly,  as  suddenly  leaving  for  the  still 
water.  A  quick  dropping  shot  of  splashes  in  the  shallows 
told  the  "  plops  "  (one  of  Harvey's  Saranac  words)  of  the 
startled  muskrats,  as  they  tumbled  into  the  water  from  the 
logs  and  borders.  Their  little  black  heads  spotted  the 
water  all  around  in  the  jack's  radiance,  vanishing  when  out 
the  stream  of  light,  with  the  quickness  of  thought. 

We  were  now  gliding  across  the  opening  of  Palmer 
Brook.  Suddenly  I  heard  a  slight  rustling  close  to  the 
bank  and  then  two  or  three  light,  paddling  sounds  in  the 
water.  Corey  raised  his  rifle  and  motioned  toward  a  black 
thicket.  The  boat  glided  up,  as  if  sentient.  The  click  of 
Corey's  springing  gunlocks  followed  ;  I  saw  two  spots  of 
pale  fire  in  front  of  an  immense  black  tree ;  Corey  caught 
his  weapon  to  an  aim  ;  the  figure  of  a  deer,  motionless  as 
a  sculptured  image,  with  head  turned  toward  the  jack, 
started  out ;  a  rifle-crack ;  the  deer  sank ;  the  boat  shot  to 
the  bank  and  Corey,  drawing  his  wood-knife,  leaped  out. 
The  deer  scrambled  up,  fell  and  then  lay  motionless. 

"  It's  down  among  the  rushes  0 1  with  that  ven'son  I" 
said  Harvey,  laughing. 

"  'Tisn't  nothin'  else  I"  answered  Corey,  dragging  the  doe 
into  the  boat,  with  her  throat  cut.  "  I  sent  her  my  'spects 
right  'twixt  her  eyes !" 

"  Old  hunderd,  and  all  the  folks  jine  in  1"  cried  Harvey. 
"  Now  for  the  slews  below,"  singing, 

"  Ob,  Susy  was  her  name  1 
Sich  a  purty  little  dame — zip  I" 

Again  we  were  skimming  along  the  margin,  Harvey 


86  WOODS  AND  WATERS; 

dipping  without  care,  as  no  feeding-places  were  afforded  by 
the  bolder  shores  now  presented. 

The  ripples  clinked  along  the  sides  of  the  boat  in  the 
quiet,  like  little,  muffled  bells,  and  I  heard  the  gulp  or  gut- 
tural yelp  of  a  frog,  sounding  like  a  blow  on  a  tree,  awaken 
ing  an  echo. 

At  length  the  dash  of  the  paddle  and  ripple-taps  at  the 
prow  stopped  and  we  were  again  gliding  along,  with  the 
stillness  of  death.  Corey  would  motion  first  with  one  hand 
and  then  the  other  and  the  boat  would,  as  if  human,  obey. 
Now  it  turned  and  stole  into  a  little  cove,  looking  this  way 
and  that  with  its  broad,  red  glance,  like  a  Chinese  candle- 
bug,  and  then  it  drew  itself  backward  and  resumed  its 
course.  Now  it  felt  along  an  opening,  glided  beside  a 
pavement  of  lily-pads,  pushed  its  face  into  a  space  of  rushes 
or  crept  athwart  a  cluster  of  alders.  Often,  some  dark 
object  seemed  to  me  a  deer,  but  the  light  turned  it  into  a 
small  rock  or  an  immense  log  foreshortened  or  an  up- 
turned root.  Occasionally  there  would  be  a  splash  or 
paddling  near  the  margin,  but  Corey  would  whisper,  "  a 
bullfrog"  or  "  a  muskrat." 

At  length,  we  turned  into  a  basin  of  lily-pads. 

"  Loon  Slew,"  whispered  Harvey. 

On  we  rustled;  the  newness,  the  picturesqueness,  the 
romance  of  the  entire  scene  delighted  me.  Gliding  as  if  by 
magic  over  these  wild  waters,  hemmed  in  by  the  trackless 
forest ;  not  a  human  creature  (but  our  own  party)  probably 
within  leagues  of  us ;  not  one  human  habitation  ,  the  stars 
our  only  watchers ;  my  two  companions,  inhabitants  of  the 
wilderness,  caring  for  or  knowing  little  else  than  its  sports 
and  laughing  at  its  hardships ;  the  whole,  presenting  such 
utter  contrast  to  my  usual  experience  of  life,  impressed  me 
with  the  profoundest  interest. 

We  had  now  approached  a  low  point  covered  with  tall, 
dense  thickets.  The  jack-light  played  upon  the  edges  but 
failed  to  penetrate  the  interior.  Corey  raised  his  hand  as 
if  warning  us  to  perfect  stillness.  A  light,  quick  smack- 


OR,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.  87 

ing  or  chopping  sound  within  the  alders — an  animal  feed- 
ing 1  Corey  raised  himself  cautiously ;  the  sound  ceased 
but  was  instantly  resumed.  He  peered  on  this  and  then 
on  that  side  the  jack ;  swung  it  either  way ;  then  motioned 
now  on  one  side,  now  on  the  other,  the  boat  turning  as  if 
chained  to  his  gestures.  At  last,  another  light,  paddling 
sound  came,  then  a  trickle  or  two  of  drops.  Corey  aimed 
with  lightning  quickness,  but  with  the  motion  a  loud  start- 
ling huh-h-u-u-u,  huh-huh  rose  from  the  thickets,  followed 
by  a  rapid  crash  through  them.  As  if  the  first  sounds 
were  signals,  three  more  like  them  burst  from  the  shore,  a 
rod  or  two  from  us.  Light  boundings  were  heard  ;  a  few 
moments  elapsed  and  then  for  some  distance  within  the 
forest,  echoed  the  same  thick,  fierce  sounds  between  a  snort 
and  a  scream,  only  fainter. 

"  Confound  'em  I"  said  Corey,  in  a  tone  of  vexation. 
"  Five  whistles  and  every  deer  off!" 

"  And  no  leave  axed,"  added  Harvey.  "But  let's  try 
the  other  places  below !  Them  deer  by  this  time  is  mindin' 
their  own  business.  '  Ef  it's  all  the  same  to  you,'  says  they, 
'  we'll  bid  ye  good  evenin' ;  we  don't  like  no  sich  company!' 
But  didn't  they  whistle  !" 

Making  our  way  out  of  the  slough,  to  the  usual  terror  of 
the  frogs  and  muskrats,  who  were  "  floppin'  and  ploppin' 
and  poppin'  and  squigglin'  "  (whatever  that  was),  as  Harvey 
said,  all  around,  we  once  more  glided  down  the  river. 

We  passed  several  low  openings,  which  the  Bluebird 
swept  with  her  searching  eye,  but  fortune  had  deserted  us ; 
no  more  deer  were  seen ;  no  sounds  were  heard  that  told 
even  of  their  vicinity. 

"  The  deer  has  all  gone  to  night  meetin',"  said  Harvey,  at 
last.  "  I  felt  quite  sarten  of  one,  at  Moose  Slew,  but  'taint 
no  more  go.  'Spos'n  we  turn  back  to  camp,  Corey !  Shell 
we,  Mr.  Smith  ?" 

The  boat's  direction  was  accordingjy  changed  up  stream. 
The  same  caution  was  still  observed  but  it  was  fruitless. 
By  the  wheel  of  the  magic  paddle,  the  little  Bluebird  would 


88  WOODS  AND  WATERS; 

turn  her  gaze  full  in  front  of  the  openings  and  sweep  them 
with  red  scrutiny,  but  nothing  was  seen  across  the  flat  ex- 
panses. Wheeling  her  great  eyeball  half  round  again, 
onward  the  boat  would  steal,  bringing  the  various  dark 
objects  of  the  shore  into  momentary  crimson  life.  Up 
Loon  Slough  once  more  we  moved,  starting  out  over  the 
rustling  surface,  as  if  by  an  enchanter's  wand,  the  stemmed 
balls  of  the  yellow  lilies  with  their  broad,  glistening  leaves, 
but  we  could  hear  or  discern  nothing  that  showed  a  deer 
had  even  visited  the  spot.  We  reached  the  point.  The 
bushes  moved  gently  in  the  faint  night  breeze ;  but  there 
was  no  sound  upon  the  bank,  no  ripple  on  the  water. 

Out  of  the  slough  again  we  glided. 

"  I  guess  the  deer  has  all  gone  to  bed  1"  said  Harvey  at 
length,  giving  a  plunge  with  his  paddle.  "  There's  no  use 
tryin'  any  longer,  so  we'll  git  on  to  camp  as  fast  as  we 
kin ;  hey,  Corey!  What  say  ye,  Mr.  Smith?" 

"  Yes  I"  answered  Corey,  "  let's  git  out  o'  this,  jest  as 
soon  as  we  kin  go.  For  my  part  I'm  tired  o'  lookin' 
without  seein'.  Hang  the  deer  say  I !" 

I  was  also  in  favor  of  moving  camp-ward,  as  the  air  was 
increasing  in  its  damp  chilliness,  and  every  limb  felt 
cramped  in  keeping  my  position  with  such  entire  quietude  ; 
so  we  turned  and  pulled  rapidly  up  the  river;  Corey 
extinguishing  the  jack  and  betaking  himself  once  more  to 
the  oars. 

Again  came  the  distant  hoot  of  the  owl  floating  over  the 
dark  silence. 

"  Shut  up  there !"  exclaimed  Corey.  "  What  d'ye  think 
we  care  for  you  !" 

"  Them  owls  is  a  sassy  thing ;  them  and  loons,"  said  Har- 
vey, lighting  his  pipe  with  a  match.  "  They  seem  to  hev 
a  notion  nobody  haint  no  business  in  the  woods  but  them." 

"  I  tell  ye,  shut  up  and  mind  yer  business !"  said  Corey, 
as  another  hooting  was  heard,  but  this  time  appearing  to 
come  from  a  considerable  distance.  "If  I  hear  another 
word,  I'll  give  ye  a  bullet  to  feed  on." 


OR,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.  89 

"  How  can  you  shoot  him,  Corey  ?"  said  I.  "  He  must 
be,  from  the  sound,  certainly  a  quarter,  if  not  half  a  mile 
away." 

"  He  isn't  twenty  rods !"  replied  Corey ;  "  that's  a  way 
the  critters  hev  of  hootin'  in  their  throat  so  as  to  seem  a 
long  way  off,  when  they're  close  by." 

"  That's  a  true  bill,"  chimed  in  Harvey.  "  And  they're 
just  the  re varse  o' wolves.  Let  them  howl  and  you'd 
think  yourself  nigh  enough  to  look  down  their  throats 
a'most,  when  they're  mebby  so  fur  off  they  couldn't  smell 
ye,  if  their  noses  was  as  long  as  pine-trees.  They'll  go 
y-o-w-1,  y-o-w-1,  one  beginnin'  fust  and  the  rest  strikin'  in, 
jest  as  they  sing  in  meetin',  when  the  parson  lines  the 
hymn." 

"  Hear  that  owl  snap  his  jaws !"  said  Corey,  as  a  click- 
ing sound  in  front  met  my  ear.  "  Look  1"  continued  he, 
after  the  boat  had  moved  a  few  rods,  "  there  he  stands !" 
pointing  to  a  dry  tree  leaning  over  the  water  a  short  dis- 
tance before  us.  Sure  enough,  there,  dimly  seen,  was  a 
large  bird  perched  on  the  top  of  the  tree  and  shaking  his 
head  sidewise  and  up  and  down,  like  a  political  orator  in 
a  paroxysm  of  patriotism. 

"  He  don't  appear  to  mind  us  much,"  said  I. 

"They're  the  sassiest "  Harvey  was  commencing, 

when  another  hoo  hoo,  broken  short  \)j  the  report  of 
Corey's  rifle,  intervened.  Whether  it  was  the  jar  I  gave 
the  boat  in  my  desire  to  see,  or  carelessness  on  Corey's 
part,  from  being  too  sure  of  his  aim,  the  bird,  instead  of 
tumbling  dead  as  I  expected,  glided  away  smooth  and 
noiseless  as  thistle-down,  showing  for  a  moment  athwart 
us,  and  then  swallowed  in  the  gloom. 

"  These  stump  speakers  can't  always  be  killed  off,  Corey !" 
I  observed. 

"  Specially  when  the  place  you  shoot  from  plays  teter !" 
said  Corey  in  a  slightly  vexed  tone.  "But  no  matter, 
misfortins  will  happen." 

"  In  the  best  regilated  fam'lies,"  added  Harvey. 


90  WOODS  AND  WATERS; 

"  Tootle  too  loo,  too  loo,  too  looty, 
Tootle  loo — whew,  whew,  whe — whew  whew" — 

a  sudden  crack  sounded,  and  then  a  dull,  reverberating 
report. 

"  A  tree  fallin',''  said  Corey,  as  I  gave  a  slight  start. 
"  They'll  fall  sometimes  in  the  woods  without  any  warnin', 
jest  as  human  bein's  will  in  apoplex." 

"  That's  so,"  said  Harvey.  "  I've  bin  out  afore  now, 
and  a  tree  that  looked  jest  as  sound  as  a  trout  'ud  give  a 
quick  skrick  like,  as  a  deer'll  bleat  when  tackled  by  the 
hounds,  and  then  fall  with  a  most  onmassyful  noise.  It 
takes  a  two-hoss  pettyfogger  to  git  out  o'  the  way." 

At  this  moment  came  the  most  singular  sound  I  ever 
heard.  It  was  a  sharp  whine,  half  smothered  in  a  thick 
wheeze,  or  a  loud  hiss  with  a  fine  whistle  cutting  through 
it,  like  an  exhausted  blacksmith's  bellows  or  a  person 
breathing  in  an  asthma. 

"  What  on  earth  is  that,  Corey  ?"  asked  I. 

"  It's  a  young  owl  tryin'  to  whistle !"  answered  he,  "  and 
a  rael  doleful  sound  'tis.  It  sounds  as  if  his  throat  was 
dry,  and  he  couldn't  pucker  his  mouth." 

"It  sounds  as  if  he  had  the  phthisic,"  said  Harvey, 
"and  was  tryin'  to  breathe  through  a  holler  knittin'- 
needle." 

A  hollow,  choking  ubble-bubble  now  sounded  close  at 
hand. 

"  There's  somebody  drowning  there  in  the  river,  boys  I 
do  make  haste — quick  !" 

But  the  "  boys"  only  laughed. 

"  That's  another  of  the  owls  agin ;  the  big  horned  critters, 
or  cat  owls,  as  they're  called,"  said  Corey. 

"  An  owl  again !"  exclaimed  I ;  "  why,  how  many  noises 
do  the  creatures  make  ?" 

"  As  many  a'most  as  ridin'  skimington,"  answered 
Harvey.  "  Sometimes  they'll  screech  like  a  catamount ; 
then  they'll  whine  like  an  old  woman  at-camp-meetin'. 
Another  sounds  like  a  bell — a  leetle  owl,  not  much  bigger'n 


OR,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.  91 

a  couple  o'  white  lily-blows.  Another  sounds  for  all  the 
world  like  the  whet-whet  of  a  saw — and  that  isn't  a  great 
sight  bigger'n  a  pine-knot.  I've  heerd  some  bark  like  a 
dog,  some  mew  like  a  cat,  and  spit  'pit  'pit  they  will  and 
snarl  and  growl  as  ugly  as  Satan.  Others  agin  '11  c-r-y  out 
so  doleful,  you'd  think  they  had  the  belly-ache.  Others 
agin  '11  whu-i-stle  clear  as  a  nigger.  They're  great  hands 
to  steal,  too,  'specially  the  big  horned  ones.  I've  seen  'em 
spyin'  round  my  traps  for  what  they  could  git,  time  and 
agin.  And  I've  ketched  'em  tearin'  rats  they've  found  in 
traps  all  to  pieces,  and  lookin'  farse  as»  wild-cats." 

"  What  do  they  live  on  ?" 

"  Well,  ducks,  and  patridges,  and  dead  fish ;  the  last  is 
old  hunderd  to  'em.  I've  seen  'em  skim  cluss  to  the 
ground,  and  then  fall  quick  as  a  wink  on  a  squirrel,  or 
muskrat,  or  rabbit,  mebby.  I've  shot,  afore  now,  and 
wounded  'em,  and  they'd  throw  themselves  on  their  back, 
and  lift  up  their  long,  black  claws,  and  snap  their  beaks, 
and  wink  their  round  eyes,  they  would,  and  sw-e-1-1  like  a 
big  puff-ball.  They're  all  sorts  o'  colors,  too,  grey  and 
brown,-  and  white  and  brindle  ;  and  one  kind's  red  at  fust, 
as  ef  'twas  singed  by  the  camp  fire,  and  then  grows  mottled 
like.  This  'ere  makes  sounds  like  a  body's  teeth  a-chat- 
terin'  and  clickin'  t'gether  with  the  cold.  The  fust  time  I 
heerd  one  I  couldn't  think  what  on  airth  'twas.  I  looked 
round  and  round,  and  finally  at  last  I  see  the  leetle  red 
sarpent  a  p-e-e-kin'  out  of  a  holler  low  down  in  a  maple, 
lookin'  like  a  konkus  on  a  pine-tree." 

We  now  glided  along  in  silence  past  the  grim,  ghostly 
trees.  I  almost  fancied  we  were  spectres  flitting  through  a 
phantom  scene,  bound  in  a  spell,  and  I  feared  to  draw 
breath  lest  I  should  break  it,  and  incur  some  dreadful 
punishment.  Now  and  then  I  imagined  the  darkness 
gathering  into  a  vast  demon,  and  threatening  to  whelm  us 
in  the  gloom  of  his  frown ;  sometimes  I  thought  the  sombre 
walls  on  each  side  were  closing  to  annihilate  us. 

Suddenly  another  hissing  was  heard,  but  this  time  accom- 


92  WOODS  AND  WATERS; 

panied  with  a  sound  between  a  snarl  and  a  snore.  It  filled 
the  woods  in  the  stillness,  until  I  thought  it  might  be  the 
demon  napping  on  his  lonely  vigil. 

Corey  clattered  one  of  the  oars,  and  immediately,  with  a 
keen  shriek,  a  large  black  object  burst  from  the  shore,  and 
sailing  over  our  heads,  became  lost  in  the  darkness. 

"  An  eagle,"  said  Corey,  unconcernedly.  "  He  was 
sleepin' ;  and  though  he  snores  like  a  nor'wester,  the  least 
leetle  sound  '11  wake  him,  and  off  he  goes." 

A  sudden  light  now  gleamed  from  the  gloom  in  front, 
and  Harvey  exclaimed — 

"  Here  we  are  cluss  to  camp.  I'm  glad  on't ;  my  j'ints 
feel  rayther  creaky  in  the  damp  air  so  long  I"  Then 
croaking : 

"  And  it's  are  you-u-eu  Macdon-ald,  returned  to  Glenco-o-o 
Oh!  it's  hung  on  my — hayl  hul-lol" — 

At  this  instant  there  came  out  of  the  camp  the  voices 
of  Kenning  and  Gray  lor  raised  in  a  song.  I  could  hardly 
believe  my  ears,  as  I  knew  they  had  no  more  idea 
of  music  than  a  brace  of  loons.  And  yet,  there  they 
were,  tangling  their  voices  together  in  an  ear-splitting 
discord  of — 

"  Some  love  to  roam 

O'er  the  wild  sea  foam, 
Where  the  shrill  winds  whistle  free  I 

But  a  mountain  la— (No,  Ralph,  you're  wrong.) 
But  a  chosen  band, 
In  a  mountain  land, 

And  a  life  in  the  woods  (a  tremendous  roar)  for  me  I 
Oho  ho  oh !  ho,  ho,  ho,  ho ! 

But  a  chosen  ba — (No,  no,  not  yet,  Ralph.) 
Oho  oh  oh !  ho,  ho,  ho,  ho-o-o-o  I 

(Like  the  blast  of  a  cracked  trumpet.) 
But  a  chosen  band, 
(With  a  clap,  as  if  they  had  joined  hands  in  eternal  friendship.) 

In  a  mountain  land, 
And  a  life  in  the  woods  for  (clear  up  in  the  air)  me." 

(With  a  sudden  drop  into  a  long  groan.) 


OR,  SUMMER  IN   THE  SARANACS.  93 

"  That  last  sound  's  a  good  deal  like  the  c-a-w-w-w  of  one 
of  them  owls  we've  bin  speakin'  about,"  said  Harvey. 
"  I've  knowed  my  two  tom-cats  sing  better  'n  that." 

"  I've  got  two  b'ys  to  hum,"  said  Corey,  "  that  kin  beat 
that  noise  on  a  couple  o'  punkin  vines." 

The  two  singers  recommenced — 

"  Some  love  to" • 

* 

I  had  now  reached  the  camp,  and  the  fire  revealed  me 
to  them.  They  were  seated  on  one  end  of  a  green  log,  the 
other  end  lying  in  the  camp-fire,  and  smoking  like  a  huge 
calumet. 

The  song  broke  oif  short. 

"  Why,  Smith,  is  that  you  ?"  said  Kenning.  "  Come, 
take  a  punch.  By  the  way,  what  luck  have  you  had  ?" 

"  We've  one  deer  I" 

"  Good.  I  may  say  very  good.  But  I  don't  care  much 
for  deer-shooting.  Give  me  trout  (loudly,  and  clutching 
the  air  with  a  swing)  eh,  Gay  ?" 

"  Certainly,"  returned  Gaylor. 

"  Trout !  that's  the  word — trout !  Come,  Smith,  take  a 
punch :  a  moderate  punch  !  But  I  say,  Smith,  put  me  in 
a  boat,  and  Gay,  here,  in  his,  and  you  in  a  third :  no,  not 
you !  you  can't  catch  trout :  but  Bingham :  no,  nor  Bing 
either :  he's  only  down  on  deer.  Well — we'll  say  Coburn, 
that  is,  if  he  wasn't  so  afraid  of  the  flies !  But  the  truth 
is,  Smith,  the  flies  are  rather  bad  in  the  woods.  They  do 
bite,  old  boy !  sometimes  better  than  the  trout — and  as  I 
was  saying,  put  me  and  Gay  in  our  boats,  and — who- 
ever you've  a  mind  to,  I  don't  care  a  fig — at  Half  Way 
Brook,  down  there  on  the  Eacket,  or  at  Redside  Brook,  on 
Tupper's  Lake ;  wouldn't  we  have  lively  times  there  with 
the  trout  ?  from  one  pound  to  two,  eh,  Gay  ?" 

"  Precisely !" 

"  The  punch  is  in  the  pitcher,  by  the  partridges  there, 
Smith.  Isn't  that  good  punch  ?  Stop  I  I'll  take  a  little  1 


94  WOODS  AXD  WATERS; 

Gaylor  and  I  have  been  so  busy  conversing^  we  quite 
forgot  the  punch — eh,  Gay  ?" 

"  Umph !"  said  Gaylor. 

"  Talking  of  punch,"  resumed  Ralph,  "  Gay,  here,  makes 
the  best" 

"  Hold  your  jacklight  a  little  more  around,  Cort !"  a 
loud  voice  here  broke  in,  which  we  recognised  as  Bing- 
ham's,  sounding  from  the  woods  a  little  above.  "  It 
appears  to  be  a  sort  of '  facilis  descensj^  Averni'  here,  Cort ! 
— in  other  words,  a  most  diabolical  mud-hole.  Lord,  one 
of  my  boots  is  gone !  Ah !  here  it  is,  all  right !  Hurrah, 
there,  Cort,  come  back  a  moment !  your  long  legs  don't 
recognise  the  difficulties  of  a  pair  not  brought  up  in  the 
woods.  I've  lost  the  path  to  the  camp,  and  I'm  down  here 
by  the  river.  These  woods  are  'a  mighty  maze,'  and 
deucedly  '  without  a  plan,'  and  in  the  night  time  they're  a 
good  deal  '  like  the  light,'  as  Byron  says,  '  of  a  dark  eye  in 
woman' — that  is,  the  dark  with  the  light  left  out.  Ah ! 
here  we  are !  Good  evening,  gentlemen.  What !  are  ye 
thieves  of  the  night,  cutpurses,  that  you  sit  up  so  late  ?" 

"  What  have  you  got  ?  "  asked  Ralph,  laconically. 

"  Got !  a  pair  of  barked  shins  and  a  cold,  I'm  afraid,  on 
this  confounded  river !" 

"  Where's  your  deer,  Bing  ?"  said  Gaylor. 

"Deer!"  repeated  Bingham;  "I  don't  believe  there's 
a  deer  on  the  Eacket.  Here  we've  been  floating  from  the 
head  of  the  fells,  up  as  far  as  Moose  Creek ;  into  the  Creek 
for  a  mile,  and  back  again,  and  I  pledge  you  my  word 
there  are  no  more  signs  of  deer  to  be  found  than  of  com- 
mon sense  in  our  friend  Smith,  here.  There  were  signs  of 
musquitoes,  though.  In  fact,  I  may  say,  my  face  is  one 
great  sign.  Every  pore  is  a  bite.  But  there's  an  awful 
smell  of  punch  here.  It  truly 

"  '  "Wastes  its  sweetness  on  the  desert  air.'  " 

"  You'll  find  some  in  the  pitcher  there,"  said  Ralph. 
"  Help  yourself.  That's  the  way  we  did." 


OR,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.  95 

"So  I  should  think,"  said  Bingham,  looking  into  the 
pitcher  at  the  camp  fire ;  "  and  '  we'  have  helped  ourselves 
so  thoroughly,  the  pitcher  is  as  dry  as  a  President's  mes- 
sage. Why,  you  must  have  used  a  forcing-pump  here  I 
there  isn't  even  a  seed  left.  Cort,  make  me  a  glass  of 
punch  1"  sitting  down  on  a  log. 

"  So  you  found  no  deer,  Bing !"  said  Gaylor. 

"  Deer,  poh,  deer !  Why  not  say  elephants,  hippopo- 
tami ?  One  can  find  the  last  as  well  as  the  first  in  these 
woods.  Take  my  word  for  it,  gentlemen,  there's  no  deer 
here.  I  shall  certainly  go  to  Maine  next  year,  if  I  have 
to  go  alone.  You  can  there — why,  Cort,  what  on  earth  is 
in  this  punch  ?  it's  as  black  as  old  Harvey's  tom-cat,"  hold- 
ing the  cup  containing  it  at  the  camp-fire. 

"I  ax  your  pardon,  Mr.  Bingham,"  said  Cort  aghast, 
"  but  I  do  bleeve  I've  mixed  it  in  the  cup  that  had  black 
pepper  in't." 

"  Black  pepper !"  said  poor  Bing,  clapping  his  hand  to 
his  stomach,  "  gunpowder,  you  mean  ;  and  from  the  heat 
in  my  throat  and  all  the  way  down,  I  think  it  has  exploded 
there.  -  Black  pepper,  Cort,  is  good  in  its  place,  but  it's 
confounded  bad  in  the  place  it  has  got  to  now !" 

Gaylor  and  Kenning  soon  after  this  went  to  their  tent, 
whither  Coburn  had  gone  early ;  the  guides  sought  lairs 
in  the  thickets,  preferring  them  to  the  close  air  of  the  lesser 
tent.  Bingham,  after  giving  birth  to  a  diabolical  yawn, 
followed  his  comrades,  and  I  was  alone. 

The  black  river  below;  the  dark  bank  in  front;  the 
murky  woods  around ;  the  hollow  rush  of  the  falls ;  the 
hoot  of  a  neighboring  owl  and  the  distant  cry  of  a  wolf 
— a  long  drawn  melancholy  cry — all  made  a  scene  of  the 
deepest  solitude.  Man  !  how  far  off  he  appeared  and  how 
near  God  I 

The  wilderness  is  one  great  tongue,  speaking  constantly 
to  our  hearts ;  inciting  to  knowledge  of  ourselves  and  to 
love  of  the  Supreme  Maker,  Benefactor,  Father.  Not  in 
the  solitude  of  the  desert,  nor  on  the  mighty  ocean  do  we 


96  WOODS  AND  WATERS; 

more  deeply  realize  the  Great  Presence  that  pervades  all 
loneliness.  Here,  with  the  grand  forest  for  our  worship- 
ping temple,  our  hearts  expanding,  our  thoughts  rising  un- 
fettered, we  behold  Him,  face  to  face. 

I  walked  to  the  end  of  the  point ;  I  surrendered  myself 
to  the  influence  of  the  hour  and  the  scene.  ,  From  the 
starry  heavens  and  the  solemn  landscape,  breathed  the 
Invisible  Presence ;  and  from  the  depths  of  my  heart  rose 
an  aspiration  of  unbounded  faith  and  love.  And  I  knew 
I  was  immortal — I  knew,  despite  the  sin  and  weakness  of 
my  wrecked  humanity,  I  was  still  in  some  poor  measure 
one  with  Deity. 


OR,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.  97 


CHAPTEK  IX. 

Carry  at  Racket  Falls. — Up  the  Racket. — Cold  River. — Bowen's  Camp. — 
Long  Lake. — The  River  Driver. — Harvey's  "Woods- Almanac. 

WE  rose  with  the  sun  for  an  excursion  up  the  river, 
to  the  foot  of  Long  Lake  (Wee-cho-bad-cho-nee-pus,  lake 
abounding  in  bass-wood),  belonging  to  the  Kaeket  System 
of  waters. 

As  I  awoke,  a  path  of  gold  gleamed  into  the  tent  through 
an  aperture  in  front  left  for  air. 

Upon  the  sun-streaked  space  before  it,  the  camp-fire  was 
merrily  blazing,  and  around  were  the  guides  busy  for  the 
breakfast,  the  first  symptom  of  which  appeared  as  I  left  the 
tent,  in  a  gridiron  grinning  at  a  gaping  lake  trout,  as  if 
anticipating  the  lively  broil  to  which  it  would  shortly  put 
him. 

The  scene  was  fresh  and  cheerful.  The  tips  of  the  white 
pines,  and  the  upper  rim  of  the  bank  opposite,  were  of  a 
yellow  burnish;  a  brown,  decayed  stump,  against  which 
stood  a  jack,  a  neck-yoke  and  a  landing  net,  looked  mellow 
and  rich  in  the  light,  and  the  stem  of  a  silver  birch,  touched 
by  a  finger  of  the  sun,  gleamed  like  a  pillar  of  pearl. 

A  carry  of  a  mile  and  a  half  led  around  the  falls  over  a 
steep  ridge. 

Each  guide,  except  Corey  (who,  with  Jess,  remained  to 
keep  the  camp),  shouldered  his  boat,  and  up  through  the 
fresh,  odorous  woods,  we  moved  over  an  undulating  track, 
a  foot  in  width,  with  the  accompanying  music  of  the  rapids 
and  forest.  The  guides  strode  steadily  on,  with  firm  and 
even  buoyant  step ;  around  huge  roots,  over  prone  trunks, 


98  WOODS  AND  WATERS; 

and  through  tangling  underbrush,  although  the  burden  upon 
them  was  over  six  score  pounds. 

We  passed  the  Titanic  pine,  with  its  long  tassels ;  the 
hemlock,  with  its  stiff  fringes ;  the  pointed  cedar  poised  on 
the  ledge  and  clinging  to  the  cleft ;  the  dense  cones  of  the 
spruce;  the  perfect  pyramid  and  finger-like  apex  of  the 
balsam  fir;  the  maple,  the  beech,  the  birch,  with  their 
varieties  and  differing  hues ;  the  streaked  moose-wood  ;  the 
low-branched  hopple ;  hundreds  of  seamed  columns  around, 
a  firmament  of  foliage  above;  sprouts,  herbs  and  plants, 
ferns  and  mosses,  lichened  rocks,  tall  thickets,  low  bushes 
and  creeping  vines  forming  the  floor;  the  whole  scene 
bewildering  the  eye  and  stimulating  the  fancy. 

The  landscape,  too,  was  full  of  life.  A  wandering  breeze 
put  all  the  leaves  in  a  flutter ;  the  golden- winged  wood- 
pecker, with  an  upward  slide,  clutched  the  bark  of  some 
old  tree  and  rattled  with  his  black  beak  till  echo  laughed 
again ;  the  raven  winnowed  his  sable  shape  over  the  tall- 
est trees ;  the  ground  squirrel  made  a  brown  streak  across 
the  green  log ;  and  the  rabbit,  jerking  his  long  ears,  bounded 
athwart  our  winding  track. 

At  the  summit  of  the  ridge  we  found  the  remains  of  a 
camp  but  lately  deserted ;  the*  black  remains  of  the  fire, 
and  the  beds  of  hemlock  boughs  showing  the  locality  of  the 
tent,  A  deer's  head  lay  under  a  neighboring  thicket,  with 
its  brush  lodged  in  the  leases ;  and  a  large  trout,  freshly 
dressed,  hung  from  a  forked  stick  in  the  dead  leaves,  where 
it  had  probably  been  forgotten.  We  respected,  however, 
the  law  of  the  woods,  which  says,  "  Thou  shalt  not  touch 
thy  neighbor's  traps,  nor  his  venison,  nor  his  trout,  nor 
anything  which  is  his,  not  even  a  jack-knife."  Every- 
body honors  that  law.  In  the  loneliest  shanty,  the  hunter 
may  find  a  rifle,  a  fishing  rod,  a  haunch  of  venison,  a 
basket  of  fish,  and,  lawless  as  he  may  be  otherwise,  he 
thinks  no  more  of  disturbing  it  than  if  the  owner  were 
present. 

There  is  another  law.    Every  empty  cabin  is  taken  pos- 


OB,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.  99 

session  of  for  the  time  being  as  if  the  intruder  were  tne  law 
ful  occupant. 

We  descended  to  the  head  of  the  falls,  and  launching  our 
boats,  moved  up  the  river  sparkling  before  us  like  a  track 
of  diamonds.  The  trout  leaped  into  the  light  like  a 
flying  fish ;  the  duck  rose  with  a  splash  and  shot  before 
us ;  the  brown  heron  spread  his  wide  sails  from  the 
sandy  islet.  Sprinkles  of  hawks  were  pin-pointed  around 
a  dry  pine  in  the  background ;  a  flock  of  blue  jays  scolded 
in  a  near  clump  of  trees  ;  and  a  black  eagle  swept  lessening 
over  the  rolling  surface  of  the  woods,  alighting  at  length 
on  a  hemlock,  like  a  musquitp  on  a  finger. 

We  presently  came  to  a  beautiful  headland  of  open  trees 
and  luxuriant  grass  scattered  with  firs  and  cedars.  Near 
it,  was  a  wild  meadow,  softened  and  smoothed  over  with 
such  a  rural  home-look  that  I  almost  bent  my  ear  to  hear 
the  sheep-bell,  and  glanced  to  see  the  boy  ride  the  farm- 
horse  in  his  rattling  harness  to  water. 

At  Cold  Brook  we  stopped  to  fish,  as  also  at  the  mouth 
of  Moose  Creek,  and  soon  after  we  reached  Clear,  or  Cold 
Eiver,  presenting  at  its  intersection  a  much  broader  surface 
than  the  Eacket.  Cold  Eiver  rises  in  the  Preston  Ponds  at 
the  south  foot  of  Mount  Seward,  and  empties  here  after  a 
flow  of  forty  miles.  It  being  noted  for  trout,  we  entered, 
and  soon  scores  of  the  speckled  fellows  were  flapping  in 
our  boats. 

We  then  explored  farther  up  the  beautiful  stream,  and  at 
length  a  distant  sound  of  axes  touched  our  ears.  "  The  lum- 
ber people  that  I  told  you  of  at  Big  Meadow !"  said  Harvey. 

Now  the  bank  thrust  some  black  tongue  of  a  log  into 
the  stream  to  collect  the  floating  twigs  and  water- weeds ; 
now  the  elm  leaned  over  so  as  to  touch  the  sparkling  water- 
break  as  if  to  drink,  and  now  the  lady  birch  gleamed  out 
with  her  waxen  skin  and  flowing  tresses. 

At  our  right,  or  to  the  north-east,  Harvey  pointed  out 
Mount  Seward,  some  six  or  eight  miles  distant  and  mellow 
with  aerial  tints. 


100  WOODS  AND  WATERS; 

A  mile  farther  on  we  passed  a  little  opening  in  the 
woods.  A  fire  was  sparkling  there,  and  around  it  were 
several  stalwart  fellows  in  red  flannel  shirts  engaged  at 
their  dinner.  Among  them  the  copper  skin  and  long  dark 
locks  of  an  Indian  were  conspicuous.  A  yoke  of  oxen 
were  near,  one  ox  lying  down  and  the  other  feeding. 

Following  the  example  of  the  lumbermen,  we  shot  into 
a  little  cove  and  swallowed  our  lunch  on  the  back  of  a  pro- 
strate cedar,,  with  our  knees  buried  in  herbage. 

We  then  returned,  and  taking  the  cross  cut  of  a  small 
channel  to  our  left  came  again  into  the  Eacket.  Up 
we  pulled  once  more,  and,  after  a  few  miles,  landed  on 
the  right  bank,  whence  a  half-mile  carry  led  to  Long 
Lake. 

A  path  that  touched  along  through  the  woods  soon 
brought  us  to  a  small  stumpy  clearing,  where  stood 
"  Bowen's  Camp,"  a  little  four  by  six  shanty  of  spruce 
bark  and  sloping  to  the  earth  from  a  cross  stick  on  forked 
poles.  The  recess  contained  a  chest  and  a  bed  of  boughs. 
A  sapling  fish-pole  stood  in  a  corner.  Outside  was  the 
kitchen — an  upturned,  propped  scow,  with  a  gridiron,  a 
saucepan,  an  iron  pot,  and  a  tin  cup  or  two  underneath. 
Blackened  stones  showed  the  fire-place,  with-  a  pole  planted 
in  a  rocky  cleft  whereby  to  hang  the  pot ;  the  whole 
disclosing  a  very  primitive  mode  of  life. 

It  was  the  home  of  Bowen,  a  solitary  hunter  and  trapper, 
who  cultivated  also  a  small  patch  of  potatoes,  rye  and 
buckwheat  on  the  adjacent  hillside. 

We  skirted  the  clearing,  passing  the  grey  eye  of  Bowen's 
spring  sparkling  between  long  fern  leaves,  ascended  a 
height,  and  the  lake  burst  upon  us.  Eeflecting  in  its  broad 
bosom  the  blue  and  white  of  the  soft  heaven,  it  stretched 
down  toward  the  south,  until  an  abrupt  curve  closed  the 
view.  In  front  was  a  charming  bay,  a  leafy  mountain 
beyond.  A  bare  rock  stood  by  a  green  island  in  the  mid- 
distance,  with  another  bay  rounding  to  the  right.  Thence 
the  vision  was  closed  by  the  curve,  although  it  still  would 


OR,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.  101 

fain  have  roved  beyond  where  fancy  imaged  a  hundred 
fairy  coves  and  stately  reaches  and  romantic  shades. 

I  gazed  at  the  lake  in  its  enchanting  beauty,  with  playful 
breezes  darting  over  its  gloss  and  the  sunlight  kissing  it 
into  radiant  smiles,  and  thought  how  it  pierced  onward  and 
downward  into  this  splendid  wilderness,  so  lonely  in  its 
surrounding  details,  so  imposing  in  its  sweep  of  grandeur. 
Far  to  the  east,  towered  I  knew  the  sublime  Indian  Pass 
and  the  cloud-cleaving  Tahawus  with  the  wild  lakes  gem- 
ming like  dew  drops  his  giant  feet.  Southward  from  its 
head,  down  through  the  great  forest  glittered  a  network  of 
water  to  Lake  Greorge,  that  storied  lake  of  mountains.  To 
the  west  wound  the  savage  Bog  Eiver,  dim  artery  to  the 
core  of  the  wliole  region's  heart,  its  gloomy  fastnesses  offer- 
ing, with  the  Mount  Seward  wilderness  and  the  lonely  shades 
of  Indian  Lake,  the  only  home  now  of  the  almost  mythic 
moose. 

We  returned  to  our  boats  and  were  soon  on  our  down- 
ward way  toward  the  camp.  The  dash  of  the  oars  echoed 
pleasantly  and  the  ripple  of  the  wake  made  hollow  gurgles 
and  pulsated  among  the  lilies  and  rushes  of  the  margin. 

As  we  passed  the  mouth  of  Cold  Eiver,  a  boatman,  de- 
scending the  stream,  joined  us.  He  was  a  river  driver ;  and 
belonged  to  the  lumber  crew  we  had  seen,  but  for  a  week 
had  been  hunting  with  success  near  Mount  Seward ;  had 
heard  the  roaring  of  a  moose  in  the  distance,  had  caught  a 
fine  lot  of  trout,  and  was  now  on  his  way  to  his  shanty  near 
Tupper's  Lake.  He  was  a  frank,  talkative  fellow,  and  we 
gave  him  an  invitation  to  camp  with  us  the  coming  night, 
which  he  accepted. 

"  We'll  hev  rain  shortly,"  said  Harvey,  pointing  to  the 
sky.  "  When  I'm  off  the  lakes  and  can't  hear  the  loons,  I 
look  out  for  other  signs  o'  rain  in  Natur.  Now  the  weather 
seems  jest  at  this  time  fair  enough,  but  do  ye  see  up  there 
how  them  white  clouds  take  to  one  another  jest  like  b'ys 
and  gals.  That's  a  sign  I've  source  ever  knowed  to  fail 
that  rain's  a  comin'.  Ef  they  hang  off  though,  meltin' 


102  WOODS  AND  WATERS; 

away  in  the  sky,  that's  the  sign  of  a  dry  spell.  There's 
another  sign  I  see  too !  Look  at  that  popple  flutt'rin  1" 
directing  nay  attention  to  a  quivering  aspen  or  wild  poplar. 
"  There  aint  no  other  leaves  stirrin'.  Them  trees  know 
jest  as  well  as  the  loons  when  wet  weather's  ahead.  Ef  I 
hear  the  owls  to-night  I  shell  be  more  sarten  than  ever." 

"  A  deer,  a  deer !"  at  this  moment  shouted  Gay  lor,  who 
was  leading  the  van.  I  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  pair  of  ant- 
lers skimming  the  surface  of  the  stream  in  front  of  Gaylor's 
boat,  and  then  a  sudden  turn  concealed  them. 

Both  the  boats  dashed  round  the  bend,  but  we  were  only 
in  time  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  a  white  brush  disappearing 
by  a  thicket  in  a  small,  wild  meadow  on  our  right. 

After  this  little  incident,  nothing  occurred  to  waken  our 
attention  until  we  heard  the  note  of  a  kingfisher  perched  on 
an  old  rotting  tree. 

"  Did  ye  ever  see  them  little  critturs,  'bout  breedin'  time  ?" 
asked  Harvey.  "  They're  cute,  they  be.  I  come  nigh  a 
nest,  one  day,  in  a  hole  in  a  bank,  and  one  on  'em  made 
a  suddent  flop  onto  the  water  and  went  flounderin'  and 
splutterin'  about  as  ef  he  was  a-dyin',  and  t'other  stood  on 
the  bank,  all  bristlin'  up  and  his  tail  a-shakin',  and  makin' 
a  squawkin'.  They  cut  them  didoes  jest  fur  to  git  me  off 
the  nest.  It  beats  me  how  much  critters  without  sense 
knows.  They  know  a  great  deal  more'n  some  men !"  and 
with  this  aphorism  he  comforted  himself  with  a  portion  of 
i(  stick." 

We  shortly  reached  the  head  of  the  falls.  It  presented 
a  sweet,  peaceful  water  scene  of  scattered  rock  and  leaning 
tree,  with  dark  spots  of  cedars,  and  logs  laving  their  jackets 
of  golden  green  in  the  crystal ;  a  marked  contrast  to  the 
dash  and  foam  of  the  stream  immediately  below.  We  tra- 
versed the  carry,  and  found  the  camp  fire  merrily  blazing 
under  Corey's  superintendence,  and  the  camp  in  perfect 
order. 

Our  sylvan  meal  was  soon  spread  and  cheerily  we  de 
spatched  it. 


OB,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.  103 

Merry  merry  outlaws 

Of  the  greenwood  free, 
Far  from  toil  and  trouble, 

Self-made  monarchs  we  I 
Over  us  its  banner 

"Waves  the  windy  tree, 
"Waters  round  us  warble, 

Oh  how  blithesome  we  I 

Night  draws  around ;  the  stars  jewel  the  trees  and  we 
prepare  for  slumber. 

Just  as  we  had  slouched  our  felt  hats  over  our  ears  and 
were  wrapping  ourselves  in  our  blankets,  a  most  horrible 
uproar  burst  from  the  opposite  bank.  It  sounded  like 
imps  in  convulsions  of  laughter.  The  tones  and  the  echoes 
were  so  blended  it  was  impossible  to  tell  the  number  of  the 
voices. 

"  Harvey !"  shouted  Bingham  to  that  worthy  at  the 
camp-fire.  "  Are  the  ghosts  of  the  Saranac  Tribe  pealing 
out  their  warwhoops  preparatory  to  an  onslaught,  or  have 
all  the  panthers  in  the  woods  become  suddenly  mad,  and 
are  coming  to  attack  the  camp  ?" 

"  Them's  owls !"  said  Harvey  laconically. 

"  Owls  once  more !"  cried  I.  "  Are  the  woods  made  of 
owls,  and  every  owl  with  a  different  voice  ?" 

"  The  sort  of  owl  that  makes  this  noise,"  said  Harvey, 
"  is  a  part  of  my  almynack  of  the  weather.  We  shell  hev  a 
rainy  day  tomorrer  depend  on't  I" 


104  WOODS  AND  WATERS; 


CHAPTER  X. 

Camp  Sketches  in  a  Eain  Storm. — Lumbering  and  River  Driving. 

I  HAD  been  dreaming  of  floating  through  a  forest,  with 
a  jack-light  for  an  eye  and  trying  to  halloo  between  a 
scream  and  a  hiss,  when  a  humming  like  an  enormous  bee- 
hive wakened  me.  Harvey  had  proved  a  true  prophet; 
the  rain  had  come.  I  rose,  and  opening  a  fold  of  the  tent 
in  front  looked  out.  It  was  early  dawn.  Through  a 
brown  light,  masses  of  the  landscape  were  dimly  breaking. 
Across  the  background  of  the  opposite  bank  the  fine  rain 
was  glimmering.  A  rainy  mist  mantled  the  sky  and  shut 
in  the  farther  view. 

As  the  grey  dawn  strengthened,  near  outlines  came  out, 
but  the  whole  view  looked  sulky  and  promised  only  a  day 
of  unvarying  wet.  The  guides  were  soon  astir,  and  the 
camp-fire  was  at  length  spluttering  and  flaming,  our  only 
comfort  in  the  dreariness. 

Presently  my  comrades  awoke.  The  front  of  the  tent 
was  open  for  the  fire  to  shed  its  genial,  cheerful  light 
within. 

"  A  nebulous  prospect  I"  exclaimed  Bingham  rising, 
"  everything  looks  like  a  wet  sponge.  How  watery  these 
forests  are!  Every  appearance  of  a  social  day  in  camp, 
eh,  fellows?" 

"  A  very  good  time  to  kill  that  buck  you're  always  talk 
ing  about,  but  never  doing,  Bing !"  said  Gaylor. 

"  Who  killed  that  buck  at  the  Beaver  Pond  I  should  like 
to  know  ?"  said  Bingham  with  some  heat. 

"  Cort !"  answered  Coburn  laconically. 


OR,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.  105 

"  Ah !  la. — e — m  !  but  who  shot  the  other  at  Palmer 
Brook  ?"  triumphantly. 

"  Heaven  knows  1"  said  Eenning.  "  You  said  you  did. 
But  what  shall  we  do  to-day,  boys  I" 

"  A  capital  day,  Ralph,  for  you  to  fish  the  river !"  re- 
torted Bingham.  "  A  little  water  by  absorption  may  pos- 
sibly neutralize  something  else  in  your  system !" 

The  odors  of  breakfast  now  rilled  the  air ;  the  frying- 
pan  hissed,  and  the  teapot  bubbled. 

Tea,  in  the  woods,  hot  or  cold,  is  most  delicious,  refresh- 
ing and  invigorating.  The  air  of  the  forest,  sparkling  with 
vitality,  requires  not  the  aid  of  spirits  to  make  the  blood 
glow  and  the  heart  bound.  Tea  adjusts  and  sustains  the 
true  equilibrium. 

The  meal  finished,  we  quartered  ourselves  comfortably 
in  the  tent,  pipe  in  mouth,  to  pass  the  day  as  pleasantly 
as  we  could. 

Our  canvas  room  presented  quite  a  picturesque  appear- 
ance. Guns  and  fishing-rods,  in  their  woollen  covers,  were 
piled  in  a  corner.  Blankets  were  spread  over  layers  of 
hemlock,  the  warm  reds  and  purples  of  some  contrasting 
with  the  cool  -greys  of  the  others,  as  well  as  the  greens  of 
the  foliage,  to  which  red  and  blue  hunting-shirts  added 
their  colors.  Camp-stools  stood  legs  up  ;  pipes  and  meer- 
schaums, boxes  of  cigars  and  papers  of  tobacco  littered  one 
nook;  partridges  chequered  another;  one  overcoat  hung 
loosely  by  the  neck  from  the  tent-pole  and  one  was  sprawl- 
ing below ;  carpet-bags,  pillows  of  the  night  before,  were 
strewed  about ;  the  skin  of  our  bear  stood  rolled  up  in  a 
corner  near  a  pair  of  moccasins  and  a  neck-yoke  acciden- 
tally left  and  on  which  my  luckless  cranium  had  slipped 
in  my  jack-light  dream,  adding  to  its  sensations  a  feeling 
as  if  the  owls  were  busy  with  my  brain. 

Outside,  was  another  picture  composed  entirely  of  forest 
touches.  In  the  hollow  of  a  tree  was  a  slain  wood-chuck, 
its  grey  dimly  relieved  by  the  gloom  of  the  cavity  ;  a  rifle, 
slanted  low  against  a  stump,  was  pointed  at  a  dead  deer 


106  WOODS  AND  WATEKS; 

propped  against  a  tree;  on  another  stump  forked  a  pair 
of  antlers ;  half  screened  by  a  twisted  root  stood  a  jack ;  on 
a  flake  of  bark,  covering  a  camp-kettle,  glistened  a  gluti- 
nous pile  of  trout ;  and  a  dead  mink  showed  its  teeth  at  a 
mud-hen,  which  trailed  her  brown  wing  in  seeming  defiance. 

Of  the  guides,  two  were  at  the  entrance  of  the  small  tent 
smoking  with  the  river  driver,  who  had  decided  to  spend 
the  day  with  us ;  two  within  were  playing  a  game  of  cards ; 
and  one  next  them  was  turning  a  sapling  into  a  ramrod. 
Corey,  his  red  shirt  lighting  up  the  covert,  was  under  a 
stooping  cedar,  cutting  venison  steaks,  and  Little  Jess  was 
by  him,  dressing  a  wood-duck. 

Add  to  these,  the  glimmering  air ;  the  dripping  trees ; 
the  tamarack  drooping  its  boughs  as  a  lurcher  its  ears,  and 
the  aspens  in  hysterics  from  the  ceaseless  pelting ;  the  river 
pricked  into  one  continual  twitching  by  the  rainy  needles ; 
with  the  dense  grey  blanket  of  the  mist  spread  over  all,  and 
the  scene  is  complete. 

"  Well,  boys,  how  we  shall  spend  the  day,  out  in  these 
rainy  woods,  where  the  sun  has  hardly  room  to  shine  in 
the  best  of  times,  I  can't  imagine,"  yawned  Bingham. 

At  this  moment  the  river  driver  passed,  and,  hearing  the 
last  remark,  stopped  and,  with  the  latitude  of  the  region, 
spoke. 

"  Onst  in  a  while,"  said  he,  "  we  hed  jest  sich  times  in 
the  lumber  woods  when  we  didn't  know  what  to  do  with 
Ourselves,  but  'twas  in  the  wust  kind  o'  snow-storms  instid 
o'  this  mite  o'  rain." 

"  Come  in  and  tell  us  about  this  lumber  life !"  said  Een- 
ning. 

"  Well,"  said  the  boatman  entering,  and  settling  down 
against  an  overturned  camp-stool ;  "in  the  fust  place, 
there's  big  comp'nies  in  Maine  that  follers  lumb'rin'  for  a 
business.  In  the  fall  they  send  out  their  timber  hunters  to 
find  out  where  the  thickest  white  pine  clumps  is,  for  this 
pine  mebby  you  know  lives  t'gether  like  parents  and  chil- 
dren and  grows  not  a  great  ways  from  the  water. 


OR,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.  107 

"  Then  the  buildin'  hands  come,  and  bush  out  a  spot  for 
a  camp,  and  build  up  the  shanties.  The  shanties  are  nice 
ones  and  they're  scatterered  all  round  in  the  woods,  p'tic'ly 
round  the  Upper  S'nac  Lake.  They're  called  Maine  Shan- 
ties. Then  other  hands  comes  and  lays  out  the  roads ; 
fust  the  main — that's  the  big  road  through  the  woods — and 
then  the  branch  roads  leadin'  to  the  pine  clumps.  Then 
the  crews  is  made  up,  and  comes  inter  the  woods  fur  the 
winter. 

"  All  our  fam'ly's  bin  in  them  crews  and  bin  everything 
but  Boss  and  Cook.  The  old  man's  bin  swamper,  I've 
bin  chopper,  Tim  and  Hank,  my  two  brothers,  lumb'rin' 
up  Cold  Eiver  with  Joe  Slack  and  Injin  Jake,  they've  bin 
barker  and  teamster,  and  'ave  tuk  keer  o'  the  bateau  with 
the  tents,  cookin'  things  and  victuals." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  swamper  and  barker?"  asked  I. 

"The  swampers  bush  out  the  roads  to  the  pines  that's 
felled,  and  the  barkers  strip  the  bark  off  the  eends  of  the 
logs  that  slides  on  the  snow  from  the  bob-sleds  that  carries 
'em  to  the  landin's. 

"I've  been  chopper,  as  I  said  afore,  and  though  I  say't 
myself,  it  takes  a  smart  man  to  be  a  good  chopper.  Fust, 
you  must  look  out  and  not  take  pines  that's  got  the  rot,  or 
the  konkus  as  we  call  it.  You've  got  to  look  out  purty 
sharp  fur  that.  The  tree  on  the  whull  is  jest  as  good 
lookin'  as  one  that's  sound,  and  it's  unly  by  lookin'  cluss 
that  you  see  a  brown  blotch  even  with  the  bark,  not  fur 
from  the  butt,  and  from  the  size  of  a  popple  leaf  to  the 
biggest  size  hopple's  and  there  you  see  the  konkus.  And 
then  you  must  hev  jedgement  about  fallin'  a  pine,  or  mebby 
you'll  be  knocked  by  't  inter  kingdom  come.  I've  knowed 
pines  to  fall  contr'y  a'most  from  the  skid." 

"Skidl" 

"  Yes !  the  bed-piece  or  little  cord'roy  road  o'  poles  we 
lay  on  the  snow  fur  the  tree  to  fall  on,  and  not  bury  itself 
in  the  banks ;  and  there  you  hev  't  handy  to  strip  the 
limbs  off.  and  cut  it  inter  logs. 


108  WOODS  AND  WATERS; 

"Well,  as  sun  as  the  snow  sets  in  the  crews  go  ter  work 
in  the  woods,  fur  ye  see  the  snow  makes  it  rael  handy  in 
these  thick  woods  to  drag  the  timber.  After  the  pines  's 
down  we  chop  'em  inter  good-sized  logs,  and  mark  every 
one  so  we  kin  pick  'em  out  agin  at  the  booms  along  and 
p'tic'lar  at  the  big  boom  at  the  eend.  They're  then  hauled 
to  the  water  by  the  teamsters  with  bob-sleds  and  oxen. 
But  about  the  choppin' !  I  tell  you  when  we're  all  to  work 
we  make  the  old  woods  ring  agin  fur  miles  round  the 
shanty.  Sich  a  whack,  whack,  and  sich  a  crackin'  and 
roarin'  as  the  pines  fall!  And  then  the  draggin' !  It's 
gee  up  and  gee  ho !  and  whoe,  and  go  'lang,  and  the  sleds 
they  go  a  screechin'  through  the  snow  with  the  weight  o' 
the  logs  on  'em ;  and  the  woods  is  in  a  parfect  hallerbelloo 
with  it  all.  So  we  gets  'em  to  places  handy  fur  the 
high  water,  and  the  river  drivers  come,  and  drive  'em  down 
to  the  big  boom  at  Plattsburgh. 

"  What  waters  do  they  drive  the  logs  through  ?"  asked 
Gaylor. 

"  Gin'rally  through  the  Upper  S'nac,  Eound  Lake,  and 
Lower  S'nac  into  S'nac  Eiver  and  then  down.  But  there's 
waters  all  round  the  Upper  S'nac  that  they  drive  through. 
There's  Musketer,  and  Eawlins  and  Floodwood  Ponds  and 
the  Fish-creek  waters,  and  twenty  more  up  and  round  there. 
Now  about  the  drivin'.  That's  stirrin'  work  I  tell  ye.  It's 
bad  enough  in  runnin'  the  bateau  to  keep  right  sides  up 
through  the  logs  and  rapids  along,  but  this  is,  I  was  a  goin' 
to  say,  the  very  old  Harry.  A  stavin'  off  the  logs  from  the 
rocks,  and  one  another,  and  pushin'  on  'em  down  with  your 
pike-poles,  and  jumpin'  on  'em  and  strikin'  up  a  dance  as 
they  roll  over  to  keep  up  straight,  and  straddle  'em  when 
they  come  to  a  rift ;  I  tell  ye  it's  some  ! 

"  The  river  drivers  's  a  hard  set.  It's  rum,  rum,  with 
'em  most  all  the  time,  and  when  they  aint  drinkin'  they're 
fightin',  that  is  when  they  aint  workin'.  But  after  all,  ef 
rum  must  be  drinked,  I  don't  know  any  folks  that  ought 
to  hev  it  more  than  them  Maine  river  drivers.  They're 


OR,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.  109 

in"  the  water  a'most  all  tlie  time,  and  you  know  as  well  as  I 
doos  what  the  water  is  in  Mairch.  There's  a  good  deal  o' 
fun,  though,  afore  the  rael  drivin'  begins.  The  fun  is  gittin' 
the  logs  into  the  water.  All  go  to  work  with  their  pries 
and  hand-spicks  and  cant-dogs,  and  it's  tug,  and  it's  roll,  till 
swash  go  the  logs  into  the  stream  that's  all  swelled  up  and 
comes  a  rushin'  and  a  roarin',  hur-r-r-r-r-r-a  b'ys !  down 
through  the  woods  like  a  nor'-wester  or  a  hail-storm.  In 
the  logs  go ;  swirlin'  round  ;  turnin'  eend  over  eend ;  a  dar- 
tin'  here  and  slap-dash  agin  a  rock  there;  knockin'  agin 
each  other,  cadunk,  cadunk,  makin'  the  splinters  fly ;  divin' 
down  and  stickin'  up  their  noses  agin  like  ^c-rth  Eiver 
sturgeons,  or  jumpin'  half-way  out  o'  water  like  a  hungry 
trout,  and  all  the  while  a  rushin'  down  with  the  current. 
When  there's  a  high  bank  for  'em  to  roll  down,  I  tell  ye, 
it's  some  to  look  at  'em.  I've  seen  'em  often  roll  down 
them  steep  hills  by  Fish  Creek  waters  up  there  on  Upper 
S'nac.  Down  they  go,  topsy-turvy,  eends  up,  head  over 
heels,  any  way,  a  crushin'  down  the  small  trees,  bringin'  up 
agin  the  bigger  ones,  and  jumpin'  over  the  rocks  and  rollin' 
like  thunder  and  lightnin'  both  down  over  the  ledges  till 
they  come  to  the  water,  and,  Jesse !  what  a  splashin'.  I've 
seen  the  stream  as  white  as  a  cloth  with  'em. 

"Now  comes  the  work.  Sometimes  they'll  go  fur  a  con- 
sid'able  ways,  jest  like  a  flock  o'  sheep,  till  the  stream  looks 
as  ef  'twas  made  o'  logs  a'most ;  and  w,e  walk  over  'em 
as  ef  'twas  one  big  raft.  Then  there  comes  a  little  bay 
like  or  eddy,  and  fust  one,  then  a  dozen  or  twenty  mebby 
gits  a  kant,  and  noses  up  torts  shore,  and  then  the  others 
comes  along  and  jams  up  the  forred  ones,  and  I  tell  ye 
there's  fightin'  fur  a  consid'able  time  arid  the  foam  flies, 
but  the  rael  old  jam  mebby  don't  come  yit. 

"  Bimeby  that  comes.  We'll  spose  there's  a  little  island 
or  a  rock  in  the  narrer  part  o'  the  channel,  or  a  sharp  crook 
in  the  stream,  and  a  log  or  two  gits  ketched ;  then  a  dozen 
or  fifty  so  as  to  make  a  boom  like ;  and  then  them  that's 
behind  comes  dunk,  dunk,  bum,  bum,  and  the  big  ones 


110  WOODS  AND  WATERS; 

rides  down  the  smaller  ones,  and  the  others  comin'  down 
shoots  up  on  them  and  others  come  a  crashin'  on  them  and 
workin'  under,  and  the  jam  gets  bigger  and  bigger,  and 
the  stream  roars  down  through  and  over,  enny  way  it  kin 
to  git  along ;  and  the  whull  kit  that's  a  comin'  down  comes 
a  tumblin'  and  a  dashin'  and  a  rollin'  and  grindin'  agin  one 
another,  and  flyin'  back  and  rarin'  up  and  divin'  down,  and 
the  waves  wash  up,  and  you'd  think  all  cr'ation  was  a 
breakin'  to  pieces.  All  this  ere  unly  makes  the  jam  bigger 
and  stronger.  It  lays  all  eends  and  p'ints,  and  it  must  be 
got  rid  on.  So  when  the  stream  has  high  rocks  over  it,  a 
man  is  let  <^>wn  by  a  rope  round  his  waist,  with  his  picka- 
roons  on,  to  cut  or  pry  away  at  the  lower  eend  o'  the  jam 
where  the  trouble  is.  This  is  gin'rally  in  a  small  spot,  a 
log  or  so,  and  ef  the  log,  the  key-log  some  calls  it,  has  the 
bigger  part  o'  the  weight  on't,  a  few  cuts  with  the  axe  doos 
the  business ;  the  log  breaks  and  hurra !  the  man's  jerked 
up  by  the  rope  ag'in  and  the  jam  comes  a  tumblin'  down 
like  old  Sanko.  Ef  the  trouble  can't  be  got  rid  on  so,  the 
man  knots  a  rope  round  the  log  and  the  hands  go  down 
stream  with  the  rope  and  tug  and  tug  and  he  pries  or  cuts, 
or  both,  and  the  jam  starts  that  way. 

"  Other  times  and  when  there  aint  no  high  banks,  one, 
sometimes  more,  'cordin'  as  the  jam  is,  goes  with  his  axe 
and  hand-spick  and  pickaroons  agin — you  knows  what  them 
is !  No  ?  Well,  they're  leetle  steel  spikes  druv  into  the 
heels  and  soles  o'  their  boots  so  as  to  keep  'em  from  slip- 
pin'.  "Well,  he  goes  a  treadin'  over  the  jam  as  well  as  he 
kin,  for  it's  dusty  trav'lin',  I  tell  ye,  to  cut  away  and  pry 
off  the  trouble,  and  he  tugs  and  h-e-a-v-e-s  and  s-t-r-a-i-n-s 
and  cuts,  and  sometimes  one  nip  or  blow  doos  it.  and  all 
gives  way  at  onst,  with  a  roar  like  the  breakin'  up  o'  the 
ice  in  Tupper's  Lake,  and  down  the  logs  come  tumble-te- 
tumble.  The  thing  is  now  fur  the  man  to  git  away.  There 
he  is  in  the  middle  mebby  of  the  logs,  and  it's  mighty  hard 
sleddin'  there,  all  a  rollin'  and  tumblin',  and  it's  some  to 
git  ashore.  He  runs  and  he  jumps  (these  river  drivers  are 


OR,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.  HI 

as  spry  as  cats)  and  he  goes  cornerin'  round  ana  twists,  and 
sometimes  what  he  steps  on  turns  over,  and  afore  he  knows 
it,  down  ho  goes  'twixt  two  logs  and  he  hes  to  dive  down 
and  come  up  where  he  kin  ketch  it,  and  sometimes  don't 
come  up  at  all.  There  was  Will  Tiniball,  he  was  as  nice  a 
young  feller  fur  a  river  driver  as  ever  I  see ;  a  sober  (fur 
all  on  'em  don't  drink),  good,  honest  feller,  as  merry  as  a 
cricket  all  day  long,  and  couldn't  he  sing !  I  tell  ye,  there's 
no  use  o'  talkin',  but  some  of  his  songs  they  fairly  witched 
your  heart  out.  Well,  he  went  in  a  heavy  jam  to  pry  off, 
and  he  went  down  and  he  never  come  up  agin.  I  see  him 
onst  with  his  hands  up  above  his  head  twixt  some  logs, 
but  they  shut  up  tight  like  the  wink  o'  your  eye,  and  that 
was  the  last  of  him.  Poor  Will,  he  must  ha'  got  hurt  as 
he  fell,  fur  a  spunkier  feller  never  lived,  and  strong  and 
nimble,  and  knowed  how  to  drive  as  well  as  the  best  on  'em. 
There  was  Betsey  Chase,  his  sweetheart,  he  was  to  be  mar- 
ried to  her  as  sun  as  he  got  to  Plattsburgh,  as  nice  a  young 
gal  as  ever  growed.  Oh  how  she  took  on !  Them  that 
ee  her  at  Plattsburgh  when  she  was  told  on't,  said  it  e'en 
a'most  bruk  their  hearts  to  see  her  take  on  so ;  she  was 
kinder  onsarten  after  that  about  the  head,  and  finally  at 
last  died.  Well,  when  the  logs  druv  past,  we  found  the 
body  and  took  it  to  Plattsburgh,  and  we  buried  him  along- 
side of  his  mother. 

"  I  see  another  terr'ble  sight  onst  in  a  jam.  The  jam  was 
jest  above  a  long  stretch  o'  rapids,  and  rael  bad  rapids  they 
was  too,  about  fifteen  mile  above  Plattsburgh,  in  the  S'nac 
River.  Well,  there  the  jam  was,  and  a  feller  they  called 
Dare  Devil  Dick — his  name  was  Dick  Siples — and  he  was 
one  on  'em,  now  I  tell  ye !  one  o'  yer  rael  harum-scarum 
kind  o'  critters  that  didn't  know  what  bein'  skeert  was. 
He'd  al'ys  go  right  head  foremost  into  scrapes,  and  some- 
how or  other  he'd  al'ys  git  out  on  'em  too.  I  see  him  fight 
two  men  one  time  and  they  was  the  bullies  of  Plattsburgh  ' 
too.  Well,  he  licked  'em  both.  I  tell  ye  he  fit  spiteful. 
He  was  the  sassiest  feller  to  strike  I  ever  see,  and  I've  seen 


112  WOODS  AND  WATEKS; 

a  good  many  fightin'  charackters  too  in  my  day.  Well,  as 
I  was  say  in',  Dick  spoke  out,  says  he,  '  I  know  jest  where 
the  trouble  is,  and  I  bleeve  I  kin  set  it  right,'  and  with  that 
he  jumped  with  his  hand-spick  right  out  on  the  logs,  and 
ef  he  didn't  spring  and  jump  over  'em — I  tell  yer !  Well, 
he  come  to  a  sarten  spot  and  he  tugged  and  pried  and 
tugged  agin,  and  finally  at  last,  quick  as  that  (slapping  his 
hands)  it  'peared  to  me,  the  whull  give  way.  Dick  sprang, 
but  the  log  he  was  on  went  slap-dash  right  into  the  rapids, 
and  what  did  he  do  but  fall  right  a  straddle,  and  down  he 
shot,  and  all  the  logs  a  tumblin'  after  him.  I  tell  ye  we 
all  quaked.  There  was  Dick,  a  riding  the  log  jest  like 
a  hoss,  and  a  tossin'  and  a  plungin'  a  leetle  ahead  o' 
the  rest,  but  precious  little  though.  Now  he'd  shoot 
twixt  rocks  where  the  foam  flew  six  foot  high,  and  now 
he'd  seem  to  be  a  goin'  right  on  a  bed  on  'em ;  but  some- 
how or  the  other  he'd  fly  as  'twere  past ;  and  now  he'd 
dive  down  into  a  great  white  swell  o'  foam,  like  a  loon, 
and  up  he'd  come  agin.  All  this  while  the  logs  behind 
was  a  strikin'  agin'  the  rocks  and  keelin'  up  and  rollin'  over* 
and  over  and  s-w-a-s-hin'  down  agin.  I  tell  ye  'twas  an  orful 
sight.  And  sich  a  roarin'  and  crackin'  and  splittin'  as  there 
was.  Two  or  three  times  we  all  had  an  idee  he  was  gone. 
Onst  he  grazed  a  log  so  cluss  he  had  to  throw  his  legs  up, 
and  hang  on  by  his  knees,  and  then  on  t'other  side  a  log 
come  p'intin'  right  agin  him,  and  'twould  ha'  tore  him  all 
to  pieces  ef  it  had  a  hit  him ;  but  he  kinder  twirled  himself 
round  and  it  unly  struck  the  log.  It  keeled  that  over 
though,  and  down  he  went  and  made  what  you  may  call  a 
summerset  in  the  water.  Up  he  comes  agin  a  gripin'  and 
holdin'  on  like  death.  He  hadn't  though  got  more'n  sot 
up  agin  afore  a  tre-mew-jious  log  come  a  strikin'  on  a  bed  o' 
rocks.  It  jumped  up  I  should  raally  say  six  foot  and  then 
rolled  over  and  over  right  upon  him  as  we  had  an  idee. 
It  didn't  though,  but  it  struck  the  log  he  was  on,  jest  on 
the  eend,  and  it  tipped  it  up  Kke  a  rarin'  colt.  Down  it 
come  agin  caswash,  and  the  foam  flew,  and  we  could  jest 


OR,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.  113 

see  Dick  through  it,  but  down  stream  he  went  and  wasn't 
hurt  a  hair.  But  now  come  the  wust  thing  of  all.  There 
was  a  passle  o'  logs  struck  a  smooth  ledge  o'  rock  that 
Dick  had  shot  aside  of.  They  come  a  cornerin'  like, 
and  hung  jest  like  a  ruff  right  over  Dick's  head.  We  all 
thought  nothin'  now  could  save  him  from  bein'  crushed  flat 
as  a  shingle.  Down  come  the  logs,  whonk,  and  Dick's  log 
flew  up  on  eend  and  then  fell  back'ards  on  the  other  logs. 
But  where  was  Dick  all  this  time !  Why  I'm  afeard  you'll 
set  me  down  as  a  liar  ef  I  tell  ye  that  he  see  the  logs  a 
comin'  (for  his  eyes  appeared  to  fly  round  his  head  like  a 
hum-bird's  in  a  tumbler)  and  he  sprung  and  he  hit  on 
another  log  jest  along  side,  and  the  next  we  see  of  'im  he 
was  a  shootin'  right  into  a  swift  place  where  the  stream  was  a 
runnin'  like  a  mill-tail ;  and  here  was  the  very  wust  place,  fur 
'twas  where  it  pitched  a  foamin'  like  a  bear's  mouth  when 
he's  riled,  down  about  six  foot  into  a  hole  where  'twas  a 
bilin'  jest  like  a  pot.  Ef  he'd  a  gone  down  there,  nothin' 
could  ha'  saved  him,  I  bleeve,  fur  that  aire  hole  was  jest 
one  bed  o'  sharp  p'inted  rocks  and  he  knowed  it.  Well, 
I'll  be  swizzled  ef  that  aire  critter,  jest  as  that  aire  log  was 
a  pitchin'  down  that  aire  cobumbus  like  o'  water,  didn't 
reach  out  and  ketch  hold  on  a  branch  o'  hemlock  a  growin' 
from  a  pint  o'  the  bank,  and  swing  himself  up  jest  like  a 
squirrel.  Didn't  we  hooray !  I  tell  ye,  we  did,  some ; 
and  Dick  he  hoorayed  too,  and  he  got  a  straddle  of  the 
branch,  and  '  Hail  Columbee !'  s'ze  he,  and  he  clapped  his 
sides  and  gin  a  crow  and  s-s-pun  it  out  so  long,  you  could 
ha  heerd  him  a  mild.  Then  he  slipped  down  from  the 
tree  and  the  fust  thing  he  said,  s'ze,  '  Gimme  a  drink,'  s'ze, 
4  fur  I'm  so  tarnal  dry,'  s'ze,  '  fur  all  I'm  so  wet,'  s'ze,  '  and 
so  chilled  through,'  s'ze,  '  that  I  don't  know,'  s'ze,  '  but  I'd 
go  off,'  s'ze,  '  ef  my  teeth  should  happen  to  strike  fire,'  s'ze, 
and  he  gin  a  laugh  and  then  a  jump  as  ef  he  was  a  goin'  to 
jump  down  his  own  throat. 

"  Poor  Dick,  poor  Dick !  he  didn't  fere  so  well  the  next 
scrape  he  got  into ;  fur  the  very  next  year  he  got  inter  a 
8 


WOODS  AND  WATERS; 

jam,  and  a  couple  o'  logs  come  t'gether  and  cut  him  right 
in  two,  they  did.  Poor  Dick !  I  see  the  eends  of  the  logs 
all  red  fur  a  minute  afterwards,  and  down  he  went,  and  we 
buried  him  at  Plattsburgh,  jest  as  we  did  Will  Timball. 

"  Yes,  yes,  it's  a  danng'rous  life,  and  a  hard  life  this 
drivin'  the  river.  It's  a  good  deal  like  drivin'  a  passle  o' 
onrooly  cattle  in  the  woods.  Some  o'  the  hands  go  be- 
hind in  boats  and  a  wadin'' where  they  kin,  and  ridin'  on  the 
logs  to  see  that  they  don't  stick  by  the  way ;  arid  pole  'em 
and  hand-spick  'em  along,  and  drive  'em  enny  way ;  fur  in 
the  coves  and  eddies  along  a  good  many's  mighty  unwillin' 
to  go ;  and  then  agin  they're  too  willin'  and  shoot  away 
with  ye,  as  I've  said,  and  shoot  up  on  the  banks,  and  then 
it's  tug,  tug,  to  git  'em  back  agin.  Some  on  us  hev  to  go 
on  the  banks  keeping  pace  with  the  logs,  up  the  ridges  and 
down  the  ridges,  and  through  the  swamps  and  over  the 
trees  and  stuns,  heltery  skeltery,  licketty  scramble,  jest  as 
we  kin  ketch  it ;  sometimes  makin'  a  short  cut  that's  often 
a  long  one,  crost  a  bend,  takin'  a  bite  o'  suthin'  through 
the  day ;  dartin'  in  a  tavern  ef  there  should  happen  to  be 
enny,  and  pitch  suthin'  to  drink  down  our  throats  and  a 
cracker  or  two,  and  out  agin  and  follerin'  along.  Some- 
times we  folly  all  night,  but  gin'rally  we  don't.  As  a 
gin'ral  thing  we  put  up  at  night,  and  let  the  logs  slide 
along  and  ef  there  comes  a  jam  it's  all  the  better.  But  a 
few  times  in  my  drivin'  though  I've  druv  all  night,  when 
the  woods  was  so  dark  it  rally  seemed  as  ef  you  might  cut 
the  air  into  solid  blocks ;  all  the  time  'twas  rainin'  too, 
that  cold  mizzlin'  kind  o'  rain  that  feels  like  needles  on  yer 
face ;  you  couldn't  folly  the  stream  nuther,  a  quarter  o'  the 
time  on  the  bank,  the  brush  was  so  thick ;  and  ye  could 
unly  tell  by  the  roarin  o'  the  water  and  crashin'  and  wal- 
lopin'  o'  the  logs  where  'twas.  Sometimes  you'd  hev  to  go 
a  mild  or  so  clearn  round  where  the  stream  made  a  spread 
drownin'  some  swamp  ;  and  other  times  where  'twould  run 
up  some  deep  gully  and  we'd  hev  to  swim  crost  and  mebby 
feel  our  way  over  some  tree  felled  from  one  bank  to  t'other, 


OR,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.  115 

each  side  lookin'  like  a  giet  black  gulf.  I  tell  ye,  we'd 
hev  ter  put  hands  and  feet  one  crost  tother  mighty  keerful 
goin'  crost,  treadin'  like  a  painter  or  a  bear,  or  fare  wuss. 
And  sometimes  there'd  come  up  a  thunder  storm  and 
b-l-o-w,  and  the  wind  'ud  smash  down  the  trees,  whack,  all 
round  ye,  and  the  thunder  'ud  roll  and  crack  so  that  'twas 
onpossible  to  hear  the  stream  roarin',  and  the  rain  'ud  fall 
hogsheads  full.  The  unly  thing  pleasant  about  the  thing 
then  'ud  be  the  lightnin',  fur  that  flashin'  and  glarin'  all 
round,  showed  the  trees,  and  they  seemed  company  fur  ye, 
and  showed  the  way  through  'em  too.  It  offen  cut  so 
cluss  crost  your  eyes  as  to  cut  the  sight  out  on  'em  a'most, 
and  I've  seen  it  strike,  whizz,  the  big  pines  and  hem- 
locks, so  nigh  to  ye,  'twas  next  to  scorchin'  the  hair  on  yer 
head. 

"  'Twas  a  wild  sight,  too,  and  I  don't  know  but  skeery 
to  see  the  stream  a  rollin'  down  through  the  black  night 
and  hear't  moanin'  jest  as  though  'twas  lost  in  the  woods. 
And  the  dark  logs  streamin'  'long  and  pitchin'  through  the 
rapids,  seemed  as  ef  there  was  an  all  fired  set  o'  black 
things  a  fightin'  t'gether." 

"  Was  there  nothing  to  enjoy  in  this  kind  of  life  ?"  I 
asked. 

"  Oh  yes !  I  somehow  enj'yed  the  whull  on't ;  that  is 
rayther.  Part  o'  the  time  'twas  as  pleasant  as  kin  be. 
After  workin'  in  the  woods  all  day,  to  come  back  at  night 
to  a  rousin'  good  fire,  and  the  fellers  all  a  jokin'  and  laughin' 
after  supper,  with  now  and  then  a  good  song ;  I  tell  ye, 
'twas  fust  rate.  Here's  one  o'  the  songs !"  and  he  struck 
up,  in  a  not  unmusical  voice,  the  following,  timing  the  air 
with  his  foot : — 

Oh,  it's  lumb'rin  in  the  forest,  it's  a  lumb'rin  we  will  go, 
When  the  winter  winds  is  whistliu'  and  the  woods  is  full  6f  snow, 
When  the  winter  winds  is  whistlin'  and  the  air  is  bitter  cold, 
"We  leave  the  life  of  menkind,  for  lumber  life  so  bold. 

Oh,  it's  lumb'rin'  in  the  forest,  it's  a  lumb'rin'  we  will  go, 
With  our  axes  on  our  shoulders  fur  to  lay  the  pine-wood  low. 


116  WOODS  AND  WATERS; 

The  deer  is  close  a  hidin'  and  the  ice  it  holds  the  trout ; 
All  Natur'  fast  is  fi  ozen,  but  we  long  to  stir  about ; 
The  lumber  lads  is  merry  and  the  pine  has  ready  pay, 
So  wife  takes  keer  of  cabin  and  we  low  the  pinewood  lay. 
Oh,  it'a  lumb'rin1  in  the  forest,  &c. 

Whack,  whack  from  dawn  till  sundown  we  do  lay  our  lusty  blows, 
And  thund'rin'  to  the  snow-banks  deep,  down,  down  the  pinewood  goes. 
And  when  the  day  is  ended,  in  the  shanty  all  do  meet, 
And  round  the  fire  a  roarin'  all  our  songs  and  jokes  repeat 
Oh,  it's  lumb'rin'  in  the  forest,  <tc. 

"  When  the  logs  got  down  to  the  lakes,  too,"  continued  he, 
"  and  we  ketched  and  pinned  'em  t'gether — what  we  call 
cribbin'  or  boomin'  on  'em— twas  high  old  times  agin.  We 
boomed  'em  tight  all  round  with  timber  and  made  a  big 
raft,  then  warped  'em  through  the  lakes.  That  is,  we'd 
sink  an  anchor  thirty  or  forty  rods  ahead,  and  hev  a  rope 
twixt  it  and  a  windlass  on  the  raft,  and  then  we'd  (twisting 
his  arms  round)  warp  up,  warp  up.  When  the  weather 
was  kinder  warm,  I  never  hev  enj'yed  enny  thing  more'n  a 
sail  this  way  down  the  Upper  S'nac.  The  lake  'ud  be  as 
smooth  as  glass,  not  a  riffle  on't,  except  where  some  loon 
or  other  skimmed  along,  or  a  trout  jumped  up,  or  a  gull 
or  so  dipped  inter  the  water ;  and  we'd  go  glidin'  by  the 
islands  and  the  p'ints,  and  the  sun  'ud  burn  softly  and  the 
wind  make  fannin'  all  over  ye.  You  forgit  all  yer  trou- 
bles a  drivin'  and  wish  you  could  git  'long  so  all  yer  life. 
And  the  moonshiny  nights  I've  seen  on  the  lakes  too; 
when  there  'peared  to  be  a  line  o'  gold  dollars  sparklin' 
half  crost  the  water ;  and  some  places  as  white  and  shiny 
as  the  breast  of  a  deer  and  others  as  black  as  a  raven. 
'Twas  nice.  Sometimes  though  the  Upper  S'nack  'ud  be 
as  ugly  as  p'isen.  'Twould  be  all  black  and  white  with 
the  swells  and  foamin'  and  dashin',  and  the  wind  'ud 
g-w-i-s-s-s-k  down  as  ef  'twas  a  big  blacksmith  bellus. 
Wouldn't  the  raft  dance  ?  I  tell  yer,  'twould  be  lively 
times  there !  And  then  by  the  time  we  got  inter  the  Gut 
by  Bartlett's,  mebby  'twould  be  calm  agin. 


OB,  SUMMER  IN  TH^  SARANACS.  117 

"  Then  'ud  come  lettin'  the  logs  loose  to  shoot  the  rapids 
at  Bartlett's. 

"  So  you  see  the  sort  o'  life  the  river  drivers  live.  "Tisn't 
a  feather  bed  one,  take  it  by  and  large,  by  a  blamed  sight ! 
But  I  telled  "Will  I'd  shoot  with  him  fur  a  pint  jest  about 
this  time,  and  I  must  be  stirrin'." 

So  saying,  the  boatman  rose  and  sauntered  out  of  the 
tent 


113  WOODS  AND  WATERS; 


CHAPTER  XL 

Camp  Sketches. — Racket  Falls  Camp  Left. — Down  the  Racket  to  Calkins.— 
An  onslaught  of  Musquitoes  upon  the  Saranac  Club. — Mart's  imitations. 

HM,  m,  m,  m ;  hm,  m,  m,  m,  patter,  patter,  drip,  drip. 

We  had  our  dinner  in  the  tent,  and  I  then  stepped  out 
to  change  the  scene. 

The  nearer  trees  were  looking  dark  through  the  misty 
air,  and  glimmering  more  and  more  indistinct,  until 
they  were  completely  shaded  in.  Over  the  hill  in  front 
ragged  scuds  were  flitting,  while  white  vapor  rolled  down 
its  breast.  The  dripping  forest,  and  the  river,  mezzotinted 
with  the  ceaseless  drops,  looked  forlorn  and  desolate.  The 
guides  were  in  their  tent,  showing  dimly  from  the  gloom ; 
four  now  in  a  game  of  cards  on  a  flake  of  bark  over  their 
knees,  and  one  cleaning  his  rifle.  Corey  was  looking  at 
the  players,  and  -Little  Jess  was  repairing  a  rod. 

Two  of  the  hounds  were  before  the  tent,  one  snapping  at 
the  drops  that  splintered  on  his  nose,  and  the  other  gazing 
at  the  forest  with  uplifted  foot,  and  an  ear-flap  erect. 
A  third  went  stalking  solemnly  around,  occasionally 
lengthening  himself  back  with  protruded  fore-feet  and 
gaping  lazily ;  while  a  fourth  now  rose  to  his  fore-legs 
sweeping  his  tongue  around  the  corners  of  his  mouth,  and 
now  reared  himself  entirely  to  look  sleepily  about ;  then, 
after  a  turn  or  so,  as  if  in  search  of  his  tail,  crouching  again 
with  his  head  between  his  fore-paws  for  apparent  slumber. 

All  these  live  dottings  of  the  monotonous  picture  served 
but  to  amuse  for  a  moment,  and  I  re-entered  the  tent. 


OR,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.  119 

"Kenning,  your  tongue  is  the  longest,  tell  us  a  story  !' 
said  Bingham,  stretching. 

"  I'm  not  much  of  a  story-teller,  boys,  but "  com- 
menced Ralph. 

"  In  one  sense,"  said  Bingham. 

"  But,"  repeated  the  other,  lighting  a  fresh  cigar  and  dis- 
daining to  notice  the  insinuation,  "  I'll  do  what  I  can. 
About  three  years  ago,  I  went  up  the  west  branch  of  Bog 
River  to  Mud  Lake  with  a  friend  and  a  guide.  It  is  the 
loneliest  and  gloomiest  of  rivers,  and  the  same,  or  more,  is 
true  of  the  Lake. 

"  We  reached  the  Lake  about  sunset.  My  friend  and 
the  guide  took  our  boat  to  visit  a  cove  some  distance  up, 
where  the  latter  said  he  had  on  a  former  visit  seen  a  moose. 
Left  thus  to  myself  I  felt  inexpressible  loneliness  stealing 
\over  me.  I  thought,  should  any  accident  befall  my  friend 
and  the  guide,  how  inevitably  would  I  perish !  To  enhance 
the  wildness  of  my  position,  I  saw  in  -the  sand  of  the  shore 
the  huge  tracks  of  a  moose  and  panther. 

"  As  I  sat  plunged  in  my  reflections,  I  heard  low  deep 
sounds,  apparently  of  anger,  rising  from  a  neighboring 
ravine.  I  fastened  my  eyes  there,  and  saw  an  object  just 
above  the  edge.  It  looked  like  the  head  of  some  wild 
beast.  I  placed  my  gun  in  readiness;  the  object  rose 
higher  ;  and  now  it  seemed  a  human  form  which  advanced 
toward  me.  I  looked  with  astonishment.  The  form  was 
that  of  an  old  man.  His  clothes  were  woven  of  pine 
fringes,  his  hair  fell  on  the  shoulders  in  large  masses.  It 
was  composed  of  the  grey  moss  which  clings  to  the  dead 
pines  and  hemlocks,  and  was  surmounted  by  the  antlers  of 
a  deer.  A  beard  of  moss  flowed  to  his  knees.  His  face 
and  hands  were  scaly  with  lichen.  His  eyes  were  like  the 
red  balls  of  the  wolf;  tusks  projected  from  his  mouth  like  a 
panther's,  and  his  nails  were  long  and  curved  like  the  claws 
of  an  eagle.  His  gait  was  a  long  stride,  and  his  feet,  or  rather 
hoofs,  made  clicking  sounds  like  those  of  the  moose. 

"  As  he  approached,  I  tried  to  move  away.     But  some 


120  WOODS  AND  WATERS; 

power  fastened  me  to  the  spot.     I  found  I  had  to  '  face  the 
music.' 

"  '  Aha !'  said  he,  '  I've  found  you,  have  1 1' 

"  As  the  remark  could  not  well  be  controverted,  I 
answered  that  I  thought  he  had. 

"  '  Do  you  know  who  I  am  ?' 

"  I  regretted  most  politely  that  I  did  not. 

"  '  I  am  the  Spirit  of  the  Wilderness,'  said  he. 

"I  begged  to  be  allowed  to  say,  and 'would  have  risen 
had  I  been  able,  that  I  was  very  happy  to  see  him. 

"  '  I  am  the  only  survivor  of  a  family  that  once  covered 
all  this  State,'  said  he. 

"  '  Ah!'  said  I,  attempting  a  look  of  regret. 

"  '  Here  was  our  abode,'  continued  he,  '  centuries  upon 
centuries.  The  red  men  were  our  dependents.  They  lived 
happily  for  generations  under  our  protection.  The  moose,' 
the  panther^  the  wolf,  the  bear,  the  deer,  the  beaver,  also 
enjoyed  our  bounty.  The  winds  were  our  breath ;  and, 
drinking  in  God's  gift  of  rain  and  sunshine,  we  rendered 
Him  our  thanksgiving  and  praise  in  happy  murmurings 
and  songs.  The  birds  bore  our  thoughts  in  merry  sylla- 
bles ;  the  waters  were  our  bands  of  brotherhood.  Where 
are  we  now !  The  accursed  white  man,  with  his  pitiless 
axe  and  devouring  fire,  has  destroyed  all  but  me.  Here 
I  have  lived  in  such  content  as  the  fate  of  my  poor  family 
would  allow.  But  these  last  years  have  brought  a  woeful 
change.  My  solitude  has  been  outraged,'  and  his  eyes 
began  to  gleam,  'by  these  detested  whites.  Parties  of 
them  from  the  cities,  affecting  the  airs  of  hunters,  invade 
my  peace  with  unmeaning  uproar,  mountebank  pranks, 
forlornest  jokes,  and  most  villanous  rum.  My  eyes  and 
ears  are  offended  with  them ;  my  nostrils  are  sick  of  them. 
Therefore  have  I  vowed  vengeance;'  and  as  he  said  this, 
he  snapped  his  tusks  together  with  a  click  that  chilled  my 
blood. 

"  'You,'  added  he,  glaring  more  fiercely  than  ever,  'you 
are  one  of  them  1' 


OR,  SUMMER   IN  THE  SARANACS.  121 

"  I  hastened  to  say  that  though  constrained  to  aamit  I  was 
white,  I  was  merely  passing  through  the  region  on  very 
particular  business,  and  all  alone.  t 

"  '  Business !'  repeated  he,  and  his  eye  grew  fiercer ; 
'  business !  That  word  I  hate.  Are  you  a  lawyer  ?  Of 
all  these  people,  a  lawyer  I  most  detest.' 

"  My  heart  (to  use  a  slang  but  most  appropriate  phrase) 
sank  into  my  boots.  However,  I  said  nothing.  In  fact,  I 
could  say  nothing. 

" '  These  lawyers,'  continued  he, '  are  for  ever  nosing  under 
titles  and  unsettling  my  boundaries ;  and  then  the  axe 
comes  crashing  in.  I  hope  you  are  not  a  lawyer,'  fasten- 
ing his  great  wild  eye  on  me. 

"  I  hastened  to  protest — that  I — I — in  fact  that  I  was  an 
artist. 

"  '  I'm  glad  of  it.  These  artists  and  poets,  if  they  do  no 
good,  they  do  no  hurt.  They  paint  me  in  pictures  and 
verses  rather  shabby  sometimes,  but  I — on  the  whole — I 
like  the  craft.  Yes,  yes,  'I'm  glad  you're  one  of  them,  and 
not  a  lawyer.  If  you  were' — and  his  tusks  began  to 
gnash  again. 

"  I  rejoiced  at  my  escape.  Politely  proposing  to  spend 
the  evening  in  my  agreeable  company,  he  advanced  close 
and  asked  my  name.  I  told  him.  He  seemed  about  to 
seat  himself.  At  this  instant  my  unlucky  fate  intervened. 
As  I  whisked  out  my  handkerchief  to  wipe  away  the  drops 
of  my  excitement,  a  paper  flew  out  with  it,  in  red  tape ;  a 
paper  with  the  boldest  writing  on  it — '  Supreme  Court. 
Bugg  v.  Rugg,  R.  Renning  Attorney.' 

"  I  grasped  it,  but  too  late ;  the  fierce  eye  was  on  it. 

"'Aha I'  growled  the  Spirit,  'Renning,  Attorney,  is  it? 
So  you  are  a  lawyer!'  with  a  yell  that  rang  like  a  loon's  j 
and  with  flashing  eyeballs  he  sprang  at  me.  His  claw 
was  in  my  shoulder ;  and  the  next  moment — I  saw — my 
friend's  good-humored  phiz  smirking  full  in  mine. 

"  '  Well,  of  all  snoozers,'  said  he,  '  you  beat  I  I've  been 
shaking  the  very  boots  off  you  to  start  you  up.' 


122  WOODS  AND  WATERS; 

"  Start  me,"  said  I.  "  Why— wliere's  the  Spirit  of  the 
Wilderness?" 

"  '  Spirit  of  the  pqpket-bottle  1'  said  my  friend ;  '  here  it 
is !'  producing  his  flask  of  whiskey ;  '  and  the  next  time  I 
go  to  hunt  up  moose  for  the  company,  I  hope  you'll  keep 
awake  long  enough  at  least  to  light  a  smudge  for  the  mus- 
quitoes." 

"  So  my  friend  has  been  humbugging  us  with  a  dream, 
has  he,"  said  Bingham.  "  This  Spirit  of  his  was  unques- 
tionably the  spectre  of  his  own  sins ;  and  as  the  rest  of  us 
must  despair  of  telling  a  greater — h-e-m — than  this,  I  move 
we  play  eucre." 

As  I  did  not  play,  I  again  left  the  tent. 

The  scene  was  now  brown  in  the  declining  day.  The 
sharp  head  of  the  woodchuck  was  alone  seen  in  the 
gloom  of  the  hollow  stump ;  several  small  trout,  left  in 
the  pan,  were  undulating  in  the  water  that  had  rained  in  it. 
The  hill  in  front  was  blackening ;  the  flashes  of  the  rapids 
were  getting  dim ;  darkness  was  creeping  into  the  white 
pines  and  turning  into  a  mass  the  forest  background.  No 
symptoms  of  clearing.  It  seemed  as  if  the  rain  would  last 
for  ever. 

A  hound  stopped  from  grazing  the  ground  with  his  nose, 
to  shower  the  rain  around  him  with  a  quick  shake.  H> 
then  gave  a  sniff  as  if  trying  to  blow  his  nose,  and  another 
vigorous  shake,  and  grazed  the  earth  as  before.  Drive, 
with  his  neck  raised  into  a  crescent  and  his  upper  lip 
wrinkled  above  his  teeth,  watched  the  hill  with  an  occa- 
sional low  growl  sharpened  into  a  spiteful  bark,  while 
Pup,  fastened  to  a  log,  had  twisted  himself  into  a  cat's 
cradle,  and  was  endeavoring  in  every  wrong  way  to  untwist 
himself,  confounding  his  tail  •  with  his  head,  and  his  legs 
with  one  another. 

The  guides  had  ceased  their  game,  and  were  now  ear- 
nestly talking.  As  I  approached  I  heard  old  Harvey 
say. 

"  I  tell  ye,  Mart !  it  can't  be  done.     No  man  ever  went 


OB,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.  123 

up  Settin'  Pole  Eapids  alone  in  a  boat.  You  never  did  ic 
cr'atidn." 

"  I  know  I  did,"  said  Mart  doggedly. 

"  Onderstand  me  now,"  returned  Harvey.  "  You  kin  go 
up  part  o'  the  way ;  but  there's  a  p'int  o'  rock  which  no 
man  kin  git  round.  Now  I  tell  ye  so  !" 

"  Well,  /  went  round,"  said  Mart,  talking  so  earnestly 
as  to  catch  his  breath.  "  I  went  up  to  the  p'int,  and  there 
I  did  hev  a  tussle.  'Twas  licketty  whang  which  should 
beat,  I  or  the  water,  but  I  pulled  and  I  strained !  I  tell  ye 
didn't  I  work !  Well,  I  did  some.  But  I  broke  my  oar  in 
gittin'  up." 

"  I  tell  ye  'tis  not  a  thing  to  be  done.  Don't  I  know,  and 
didn't  I  row  a  boat  afore  you  was  born.  Now  I  tell  ye 
you  might  as  well  try  to  row  up  old  Whiteface,  as  to  row 
round  a  sarten  p'int  there.  But  ef  you  didn't  go  up  you 
come  down  onst.  Ho  !  ho  !  ho !  you  and  Cort,  ho !  ho ! 
ho !  licketty  whip  !  I  see  the  boat  go  round  like  a  kitten 
chasin'  her  tail." 

"  What  bad  weather  we're  a  hevin',"  here  interposed 
Will,  •"  it's  rained  so  much  to-day  it  don't  'pear  to  know 
how  to  stop." 

"  This  ere  weather,"  returned  Harvey,  "  is  aggravatin'. 
I  wish  I  could  turn  inter  a  trout,  and  then  I  wouldn't 
mind  it.  But  while  it's  about  it,  why  don't  it  rain  a  leetle 
whiskey  as  well  as  water.  I  think  'twould  be  a  rael  old 
hunderd  idee." 

I  retreated  again  to  the  tent.  As  my  companions  were 
still  engaged  in  "eucre"  I  seated  myself  by  the  entrance 
and  watched  the  camp-fire  blazing  and  crackling  in  the  fast 
gathering  darkness.  The  rain  but  sprinkled  it  into  fresh- 
ness. Now  and  then  the  pine  tree  near  it  spit  a  broad 
drop  that  stung  a  snappish  ember,  made  a  testy  coal  hiss,  or 
a  dot  of  warm  ashes  sound  sullenly  to  its  pat.  I  saw  in  the 
glowing  depths  a  red  deer  drinking  at  a  water-streak  of 
ashes ;  and  wasn't  that  Cort  in  his  red  hunting  shirt  seated 
on  a  crimson  rock  ?  And  the  smoke  1  now  it  was  the 


124:  WOODS  AND  WATERS; 

dark  topsail  of  the  Flying  Dutchman,  and  now  Surtur  with, 
his  flaming  falchion  moving  to  the  last  grand  battle-field  of 
Yigrid.' 

My  picturings  were  at  last  destroyed  by  the  simultaneous 
risings  of  my  comrades  from  their  game,  and  after  an  hour's 
glancings  and  Sittings  of  talk  we  all  retired  to  our  hemlock 
beds  for  slumber. 

The  heavy  eyes  of  the  morning  opened,  still  glazed  with 
tears.  But  the  rain  soon  dwindled  into  a  waterv  trans- 

*/ 

parency  and  then  glimmered  away.  The  blanket  of  mist 
broke  into  huge  fragments  with  glaring  white  edges,  as  if 
the  light  were  trying  to  drain  through,  and  curls  of  scud 
grazed  the  trees,  twining  around  the  higher  ledges.  The 
outlines  of  the  forest  began  to  show  with  hair-like  distinct- 
ness. The  surface  of  the  Racket  below  the  falls  was  like 
oil,  and  the  windless  trees  stood  still  as  in  a  painting. 

Tired  of  the  landscape  around  the  camp,  we  prepared  to 
leave. , 

In  an  hour  our  tent  was  struck,  our  boats  loaded,  and 
all,  except  Harvey  and  myself,  on  the  downward  voyage 
to  Tupper's  Lake. 

With  his  usual  care,  Harvey  went  over  the  camp  to  detect 
any  article  left  behind.  He  shortly  passed  me  toward  the 
boat  with  a  candle-end,  several  matches,  a  piece  of  twine 
and  a  tooth-pick  taken  from  one  of  the  smaller  bones  of  a 
deer's  leg  in  the  cup  of  one  hand,  and  a  fork  with  one 
prong,  a  sugar-crusher  whittled  from  pine,  and  a  broken 
jack-knife  thrust  into  the  knots  of  his  other ;  while  a  bat- 
tered pewter  spoon  divided  his  mouth  with  a  sooty  un- 
lighted  pipe.  I  lingered  for  a  moment  to  throw  a  farewell 
glance  over  the  camp.  A  ghastly  sunbeam  glared  across 
the  silent  scene  late  so  full  of  color  and  motion.  There 
were  our  beds  of  hemlock ;  there  the  thickets  in  which  the 
venison  had  been  sliced  and  the  trout  dressed ;  there  the 
white  pines  whose  murmurs  had  been  to  me  so  full  of 
music;  there  the  roots  and  stubs  to  which  the  ropes,  draw- 
ing our  tent  to  its  shape,  had  been  fastened ;  there  was  the 


OR,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.  125 

stump  of  the  marmot ;  there  stood  the  acclivity  where  the 
owls  had  assured  Harvey  in  his  weather  wisdom ;  and  there 
the  background  forest  with  its  meandering  paths.  The  single 
thing  left  of  all  our  property  was  the  grinning  deer's  head. 

The  rapids  were  flashing  over  the  rocks,  and  they  seemed 
to  say  "farewell!"  the  murmuring  pines  breathed  the 
same  ;  the  aspens  trickled  it  as  with  tears. 

As  I  passed  the  thicket  at  the  head  of  the  path  leading 
down  the  headland  to  the  river,  I  gave  one  more  glance  to 
the  sylvan  beauty  of  Eacket  Falls  Camp,  and  the  next 
moment  was  at  the  stern  of  the  Bluebird.  Harvey  pushed 
her  from  the  bank  with  his  oar,  and^immediately  we  were 
following  the  other  boats,  which,  however,  were  by  this 
time  out  of  sight. 

A  deep  sound ;  a  report  of  a  gun,  but  distant. 

"  They've  shot  at  suthin'  forred  there,"  said  Harvey. 
"  A  deer  most  likely !" 

We  passed  a  little  distance  farther  and  another  sound 
touched  my  ear.  It  was  faint  and  quick,  delicate  as  the  tap 
of  a  ripple. 

"Another  gun,"  said  Harvey,  "but  a  long  way  off  I 
That  come  from  Folingsby's  Pond,  ten  mile  from  here.  It 
can't  in  course  be  one  of  our  party,  fur  not  even  Mr.  Bing- 
ham,  quick-as-a-snap  kind  o'  gen'leman  as  he  is,  couldn't 
ha'  got  there  yit,  ho,  ho,  ho !  How  fond  he  is  o'  tellin' 
how  many  deer  he's  killed  or  would  a  killed  ef  he'd  hed 
a  chance!" 

It  is  surprising  how  far  the  report  of  a  gun  can  be  heard 
in  the  wilderness.  The  brittle  sound  flits  across  the  ear 
from  a  distance  almost  incredible. 

What  with  stopping  to  look  over  the  "  slews  "  for  deer, 
gathering  Indian  Plumes,  mohawk  tassels,  moose  heads, 
and  white  water-lilies,  and  otherwise  loitering,  we  did  not 
reach  the  bend  to  the  left  or  north-west,  above  Stony  Creek, 
until  sunset. 

There  was  a  splendid  flush  of  color  in  the  west,  with 
clouds  like  blazing  coals  in  a  furnace. 


126  WOODS  AND   WATERS'; 

"  Too  much  red,"  said  Harvey.  "  I'm  a  leetle  afeard 
of  to-morrow.  Kain  '11  be  the  order  agin,  I  think ;  but  it 
can't  be  helped." 

The  beautiful  twilight  shed  its  softness  over  the  scene. 
On  either  bank  the  trees  and  herbage  were  drawn  in  the 
glassy  river  with  the  most  delicate  pencilling,  forming  a 
series  of  fairy  paintings  flecked  with  the  gold,  crimson,  and 
purple  of  the  zenith.  From  the  trunk  of  the  tree  to  the  cut 
edges  of  its  leaf,  everything  on  the  margin  was  seen  as  if 
the  water  was  air.  The  ripplings  generally  of  our  way 
only  made  the  emerald  pictures  undulate  without  breaking 
them.  Occasionally,  however,  a  deeper  plunge  of  the  oar 
fractured  the  beautiful  tracery,  but  in  a  moment  it  was 
again  joined  as  if  by  invisible  fingers. 

We  had  now  arrived  at  the  mouth  of  Stony  Brook. 
Here  Harvey  pushed  the  stern  of  the  boat  in  among  the 
grasses  of  the  bank,  and  I  landed,  took  a  seat  in  the  smooth 
fork  of  the  leaning  water  maple  at  the  western  edge,  and 
watched  him  while  he  angled.  Only  one  trout  rewarded 
his  trouble,  which  he  threw  into  the  bottom  of  the  boat. 
Several  white  flashes  at  the  end  of  his  raised  line,  however, 
told  the  shiners  or  minnows  were  abroad.  These  elfin 
members  of  the  fish  tribe,  with  all  their  delicate,  silver- 
scaled  armor,  only  excited  Harvey's  contempt,  and  he 
either  flirted  them  back  into  the  stream  with  "dang  the 
minnies,"  or  kept  them  "  for  bait."  Indeed,  I  had  noticed 
early  that  Harvey  was  wanting  in  a  sense  of  the  beautiful, 
he  regarding  a  trout  as  a  trout,  without  reference  to  the 
golden  bronze  and  rubies  in  which  it  glittered.  I  remarked 
about  its  beauty  to  him  once.  He  had  just  cut  off  a  por- 
tion of  "ladies  twist"  with  his  dark  jack-knife,  and  he 
answered,  as  with  great  gusto  he  placed  the  morsel  into  his 
mouth,  that  "  'twas  all  well  enough,  but  a  trout  'ud  be  jest 
as  good  eatin'  ef  its  color  was  like  a  tadpole's."  As  the 
remark  was  true  enough,  I  said  no  more.  So  with  a  radiant 
wild  flower  to  which  I  called  liis  eye  one  day,  so  rich  it 
shed  a  gleam  on  the  water,  and  turned  a  passing  water- 


OK,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.  127 

fly  into  a  gem.  "  Them  things  'ud  make  right  good  greens 
b'iled,"  said  he,  "  and  muxed  up  with  a  leetle  inion  and 
vinegar  they'd  go  good  raw." 

As  for  the  tints  of  sky,  cloud,  and  water,  the  purple 
films  of  distance,  and  the  picturesque  beauty  of  near  pros- 
pects, they  were  entirely  beneath  his  notice. 

Forward  we  went  again,  over  a  surface  gleaming  with 
the  colors  of  the  wood-duck's  back. 

I  looked  at  the  trout  in  its  splendid  blazonry,  and  the 
golden-eyed  water-lily  in  its  creamy  silver  lying  beside  it, 
and  thought  with  what  little  reference  to  man  exists  the 
greater  part  of  the  Deity's  creation.  Some  things  appear 
to  be  made  for  his  use,  but  what  myriads  of  others,  grand 
and  beautiful,  have  no  connexion  with  him  or  his  presence. 
The  trout  and  the  lily  glitter  generally  in  the  solitude. 
The  graceful  deer,  the  forest  waving  in  curves  of  matchless 
beauty,  the  billow  splintering  on  lonely  shores,  the  grandeur 
stretching  from  inaccessible  peaks;  all  these  ask  not  the 
eye  of  man  to  admire  them.  And  yet  he  thinks  the  world 
made  specially  for  him  !  instead  of  being  but  one  of  the 
myriad  expressions  of  the  Creator,  one  of  the  links  in  the 
infinite  series  of  creation.  All,  from  the  constellations  to 
the  mote,  are  but  portions  of  that  mantle  which  the  inscru- 
table I  Am  wraps  around  Him  for  His  own  purposes. 

The  tender  tints  tremble  away  into  the  soft  pearl  of  the 
deepening  twilight.  Solitude  and  silence  reign.  No  move- 
ment save  our  own.  Even  Harvey  seems  impressed  with 
the  quietude,  for  he  is  musing  while  he  rows. 

A  distance  of  two  miles  from  Stony  Brook  brought  us  to 
Calkins'  clearing,  our  goal  for  the  night.  "We  found  the 
boats  of  the  company  at  the  margin,  and  securing  our  own, 
after  tasting  the  spring  upon  the  bank,  we  ascended  the 
rough  clearing  in  the  grey  of  the  evening  to  the  log  hut 
that  crowns  it. 

My  comrades  had  found  the  hut  alone,  had  taken  posses- 
sion, and  were  gathered  near  the  door  where  two  fires  were 
blazing. 


128  WOODS  AND  WATERS; 

Log  outhouses  were  each  side  the  hut,  with  a  cleared 
ridge  in  front  sloping  into  a  natural  meadow  on  the  wind- 
ing Racket,  and  an  upland  in  the  rear.  The  whole  was 
walled  with  forest,  in  some  places  touched  red  with  an 
old  burning. 

I  immediately  found  the  fires  were  necessary  to  repel 
the  musquitoes.  In  fact,  if  the  whole  clearing  had  been 
kindled  it  would  scarce  have  sufficed. 

Gaylor  and  Ealph  stood  by  oiie  fire, -and  Bingham  and 
Coburn  by  the  other.  The  first  were  performing  a  tragic 
pantomime;  slapping  their  foreheads,  beating  their  breasts, 
and  almost  tearing  their  hair.  The  last  were  in  the  comic 
spasms.  Bingharn's  knees  cringed  as  Coburn's  shoulders 
hitched.  Then  Bingham's  arms  tossed  wildly  and  Coburn's 
hands  dashed  still  more  wildly  over  his  person  wherever 
they  could  hit.  Now  Bingham  shook  his  head  as  if  to  let 
his  brains  loose,  and  now  Coburn  struck  up  a  perfect  hys- 
teric of  motion  as  if  every  muscle  and  nerve  had  begun  a 
dance  of  its  own,  and  would  end  in  running  bodily  away 
with  him. 

As  for  myself,  preferring  musquitoes  alone  to  musquitoes 
and  smoke,  I  struck  down  into  the  dark  grey  clearing. 
The  evening  was  warm  and  close,  and  the  thickening  gloom 
had  shaded  away  the  outlines  of  bush,  stump,  and  tree.  The 
owls  were  shouting  at  the  tops  of  their  voices. 

While  sauntering  along,  I  came  upon  Mart  Moody  shap- 
ing out  a  paddle.  I  watched  his  work ;  at  last  he  looked 
up  and  spoke. 

"  Is  that  you,  Mr.  Smith  ?  The  woods  as  well  as  the 
flies  is  in  full  blast  to-night.  Did  ye  ever  hear  a  painter 
sing  out  ?  H-e-c-h !"  (giving  a  horrid  scream.)  "  And  here's 
the  wolf"  (with  a  howl  so  that  Watch  bounded  forward  with 
a  yelp) ;  "  the  deer"  (imitating  perfectly  their  heavy  inde- 
scribable whistling) ;  "  and  the  bear"  (with  a  snarl  and  growl 
that  made  me  jump  involuntarily  backward) ;  "  but  I  guess 
you  never  heerd  a  moose  beller,"  uttering  a  sharp  roar 
that  startled  the  woods  into  an  echo. 


OR,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.  129 

"  Why,  Mart !  you're  an  artist !"  said  I. 

"  There's  a  good  many  sounds  in  my  throat,"  answered 
he  complacently.  "  Here's  the  loon,  and  the  raven  and 
the  eagle  and  the  hawk,"  producing  in  succession  the 
sounds  of  the  several  species  he  mentioned. 

He  then  continued  his  work,  while  I  strolled  farther 
down  into  the  glimmering  meadow. 

I  fancied  the  sublimity  of  possessing  what  alone  belongs 
to  the  Deity ;  an  existence,  the  idea  of  which  is  given  in  the 
scriptural  expression,  "  a  thousand  years  are  as  one  day." 
To  see  light  leaving  some  immeasurably  distant  orb  for 
this  earth ;  its  splendor  moving  on,  on,  on,  through  what 
would  be  to  mortals  centuries  upon  centuries ;  on,  on,  cleav- 
ing the  startled  darkness  until  it  reaches  its  goal — to  mark 
the  formation  of  a  world,  the  first  throb  of  chaos,  the 
mingling  of  the  elements  into  the  spinning  orb,  the  with- 
drawal of  those  elements  to  their  appropriate  spheres  and 
their  elaboration  into  the  perfect  world — to  note  the  march 
of  events  over  our  earth,  the  progress  of  the  forest  to  the 
empire,  decay  drawing  its  grassy  mantle  over  the  latter ; 
new  empires  rising  and  Time  successively  crushing  them 
under  his  tread  f  while  swarms  upon  swarms  of  life,  human, 
animal  and  vegetable,  glance  and  disappear — such  is  the 
sublime  existence  of  God,  and  such  the  eternity  of  the 
past  and  the  future  under  His  eye ; — all  one  immeasurable 
present  1 

What  a  Being !  self-existent,  self-sustained !  His  habi- 
tation that  magnificent  system  of  universes,  in  which  our 
own  cluster  is  only  one  of  the  myriad  pillars  and  our  world 
a  tiny  leaf  of  its  capital.  And  yet  amid  all  the  wonders  He 
has  created,  none  is  more  wonderful  than  the  human  soul, 
boundless  as  eternity,  yet  enclosed  with  all  its  divine  attri- 
butes in  a  frame  fragile  as  the  leaf  that  May  calls  into  exist- 
ence for  October  to  waft  into  its  grave.  Grand  thought ! 
The  loftiest  archangel  that  smites  the  sunbeam  with  superior 
lustre  has  no  more  enduring  existence  than  the  lowliest 
beggar  that  dies  in  the  winter  storm  unsheltered  as  the  dog 

9 


130  WOODS  AND  WATERS; 

beside  him,  and  nameless  as  the  snow-flakes  that  stream 
around  him  in  the  blast. 

And  yet  what  an  infinite  distance  between  man  and  his 
Maker;  between  the  Creator  and  the  mightiest  created! 
Yea,  the  stately  suns  that  with  systems  for  their  diadems 
tread  in  gorgeous  march  through  the  countless  ages  along 
the  illimitable  spaces,  approach  no  nearer  the  essence  of  the 
Father  than  the  swarming  animalcules  that  live  and  die  in 
a  single  drop  of  water,  approach  in  splendor  and  duration 
to  the  suns. 


OR,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.  131 


CHAPTER  XII. 

A  Rainy  Day  on  the  Racket  — Down  to  Folingsby's  Brook. — Folingsby's 
Pond. — Bingham  and  the  Ducks. — Captain  Folingsby. 

WE  retired  to  rest  at  an  early  hour.  Ralph  and  Gaylor 
occupied  the  lower  room,  Bingham,  Coburn,  and  I  ascended 
by  a  ladder  to  the  loft,  and  the  guides  took  sleeping  apart- 
ments outside. 

The  lighted  pine-knot  which  one  of  us  held  brought  out 
in  dark  crimson  relief  the  slanting  roof,  five  feet  at  its  high- 
est and  three  at  its  lowest  height ;  a  row  of  bunks  filling 
one  half  the  floor  and  a  pile  of  potatoes  the  other.  A  little 
window  gleamed  in  the  rear.  A  stifling  air  pervaded  the 
loft  and — what  can  I  say  of  the  musquitoes,  except  tBat 
they  composed  (almost)  the  very  air  itself. 

We  laid  ourselves,  however,  upon  the  straw  of  the  bunks, 
after  demolishing  the  window  panes  and  letting  in  a  stream 
of  fresh  air,  and  tried  to  sleep. 

In  a  few  moments  Coburn  caracoled  from  the  bunk  and 
stampeded,  followed,  after  a  short  series  of  ground  and 
lofty  tumblings  on  his  mattress,  by  Bingham. 

As  for  myself,  thinking  that  as  there  was  greater  space 
outside,  there  was  more  room  for  the  musquitoes,  I  armed 
myself  with  a  kind  of  heroic  despair  and — let  the  fiends 
bite.  They  could  not  do  so  more  than  one  night  through, 
and  I  thought  my  blood  might  possibly  stand  that.  "  Tired 
nature  "  at  last  subsided  into  a  kind  of  a  trance — a  sort  of 
transparent  sleep,  in  which  I  solemnly  affirm  I  beheld  a 
huge  musquito  stalk  into  the  room  droning  like  a  buzz  saw. 
Fastening  his  great  glaring  blood-thirsty  globes  on  my  un- 
fortunate person,  he  made  as  if  to  plant  his  horrible  pump 


132  WOODS  AND   WATERS; 

on  my  face.     I  started  up,  and  found  the  little  square  of 
the  window  grey  in  the  daybreak. 

There  was  a  humming  too  on  the  roof  as  of  a  million 
musquitoes,  as  well  as  a  dampness  in  the  loft  which  told  of 
rain.  I  arose  and  looked  out.  Sure  enough  there  were 
the  now  familiar  streaks  glancing  athwart  the  wall  of  forest 
and  against  stump,  tree,  bank,  and  hollow  of  the  clearing. 
Another  rainy  day  !  I  descended  to  the  lower  room,  and 
there  found  my  comrades  and  the  guides'. 

After  a  hasty  breakfast  we  decided,  rather  than  loiter  in' 
that  dreary  clearing,  to  push  on  to  where  Foliugsby's 
Brook  entered  the  Eacket,  and  there  camp. 

We  embarked  once  more.  I  had  donned  my  India  rub- 
ber, and  the  thick  tent  blanket,  and  bade  defiance  to  the 
storm. 

Down  we  all  swiftly  flew,  I  catching  glimpse  through 
the  misty  air  of  the  forward  boats  and  occupants  as  we 
turned  some  bend ;  now  of  a  stern  with  Gaylor  leaning 
back ;  now  of  a  broadside  with  Cort's  flashing  oar  and 
Blngham  bending  to  a  rake  of  rain  ;  now  of  Coburn  hud- 
dling in  the  middle  of  his  craft,  and  now  of  Kenning  dipping 
a  vigorous  paddle. 

Past  the  bald  hemlock  flowing  with  moss  like  an  old 
bearded  prophet ;  past  the  mined  elm,  its  top  tilting  to  our 
ripple  and  raising  dimples  in  the  water;  past  the  grey 
finger  of  the  skeleton  pine — finger  pointing  to  the  centuries 
that  have  rolled  over  the  forest ;  past  the  water-maple's 
peristyle  of  pillars  upholding  the  blended  dome  ;  past  the 
ledge  green  with  moss  as  an  emerald ;  past  the  tongues  of 
the  banks  thrust  far  into  the  channel,  and  the  coves  of  hol- 
lowed foliage  where  the  duck  dimly  seen  had  doubtless  cast 
anchor  for  the  day ;  past  the  old  fir  hardened  into  iron 
like  the  trees  of  Jarnvid,  and  wreathed  into  green  softness 
by  the  moss  ;  past  the  trunk  wrestling  on  the  border  with 
some  strangling  grapevine,  a  Laocoon  of  the  wood ;  past 
the  black  sunken  log  where  the  ripples  undulated ;  past  the 
windy  pebbles  in  the  channel  where  the  rain  launched  its 


OR,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.  133 

fiercest  lash,  we  swept  along.  On  either  hand  frowned 
the  aboriginal  wilderness — a  wilderness  like  that  which 
walled  Hudson  as  he  tracked  up  his  river ;  which  darkened 
on  Champlain  as  he  coasted  down  his  lake  ;  where  no  axe 
but  the  one  clearing  space  for  the  camp  shanty  had  ever 
rung,  no  smoke  had  ever  curled  save  that  breathed  by  the 
camp  fire ;  close-twined  save  at  the  beautiful  green  open- 
ings, grassy  nests  of  the  forest,  tempting  one  to  make 
there  a  home  where  existence  should  glide  along  in  sylvan 
peace. 

But  little  life  was  abroad.  On  the  sandbank  at  the 
Three  Corners  a  tall  crane  was  standing  as  if  in  mute  soli- 
loquy over  his  prospect  of  a  fish  dinner,  and  at  Wolfs 
Point  by  the  Four  Corners  we  saw  the  white  brush  of  a 
deer  glancing  into  a  thicket.  At  "  Buck  Slew,"  where  the 
bleaching  skull  of  the  enormous  deer  shot  there  by  Harvey 
(he  naming  the  slough  from  the  circumstance),  glistened 
from  the  alders,  a  mink  leaped  through  the  foliage. 

Just  after  we  had  turned  the  Little  Oxbow  my  eye  was 
caught  -by  another  of  those  objects  I  have  before  men- 
tioned ;  the  enormous  nest  of  a  fishhawk  in  the  antlers  of  a 
dead  pine,  cutting  against  a  background  of  dark  purple 
cloud. 

The  rocks  of  the  Three  Sisters  looked  grim  in  the  grey 
air  as  we  glided  by,  but  The  Emerald  (the  little  grassy 
island  close  by)  seemed  in  the  polishing  rain  bright  as  the 
gem  whence  its  name  was  taken. 

At  one  of  the  spring  brooks  flowing  into  the  river  my 
comrades  had  stopped  to  try  the  trout.  Having  caught  a 
number  before  we  came,  they  started  down  with  us,  all 
checking  progress  at  the  mouth  of  another  brook.  Although 
success  rewarded  our  efforts,  we  found  fishing  in  the  rain 
too  much  like  the  Chinese  method  of  swimming  under 
water  to  capture  ducks,  so  we  pushed  onward. 

The  afternoon  was  advancing  as  we  came  abreast  the 
wild  meadow  at  our  left  or  south  bank  of  the  Backet,  where 
Folingsby's  Brook  entered. 


134  WOODS  AND   WATERS  ; 

The  cheerful  hack  of  the  axe  was  echoing  as  we  landed 
Corey  and  Little  Jess  had  preceded  the  party,  as  usual,  to 
select  our  camping  spot,  and  had  commenced  clearing  on  a 
knoll  west  of  the  meadow,  and  at  the  mouth  of  the  brook. 

As  if  vexed  at  our  coming  escape,  and  to  give  it  to  us 
while  it  had  us,  the  rain  now  fairly  poured.  But  tree  after 
tree  fell  before  the  guides;  poles  were  planted;  saplings 
shortened  into  stubs ;  and  presently  the  tent  was  reared  and 
secured  by  the  looped  and  knotted  ropes. 

Meanwhile  we  "  lookers  on"  sheltered  ourselves  as  well 
as  possible  in  the  hollow  trees,  under  jutting  ledges  and 
dense  cedars,  and  in  grottoes  of  hanging  hemlocks. 

A  glorious  fire  shed  a  glow  over  the  dripping  scene,  and 
we  enjoyed  its  warmth  and  radiance  until  we  could  enter 
the  tent,  which  we  soon  did.  The  ground  covered  with 
dead  pine  needles  absorbing  the  rain,  formed  a  compara- 
tively dry  floor  to  our  little  dwelling.  The  fire  played 
over  our  variously  tinted  blankets,  gleamed  on  our  India 
rubber  coats,  powder  flasks,  and  shot  belts,  hung  along  the 
slender  tent  rafters;  upon  the  brass  reels  and  rings  of  our 
rods,  and  along  our  rifles  and  fowling  pieces ;  kindling  bits 
of  color  and  flashes  of  light  all  over  our  pleasant  apart- 
ment. 

The  opened  curtain  of  the  front  framed  another  picture. 
Stems  seamed  and  smooth,  dark,  mottled  and  grey,  columned 
a  part  of  the  view,  with  the  newly  prostrate  trees  heaping 
another.  The  falling  axes  of  the  guides  glittered,  and  their 
red  hunting  shirts  glowed  in  the  firelight.  Below  the 
knoll  a  bright  background  was  made  of  the  rain-freshened 
meadow  grass  tinted  with  brilliant  water  weeds. 

Just  before  sunset,  following  a  shower  which  came  tram- 
pling over' the  woods,  river,  and  meadow  at  our  front,  and, 
beating  our  tent  as  with  tiny  flails,  went  roaring  away  in 
the  rear,  a  gleam  of  fluid  gold  shot  over  the  scene.  The 
remaining  drops  were  transmuted  into  a  sparkling  sheet 
flung  athwart  the  dark  landscape,  like  the  silver  veil  over 
the  brow  of  Mokannah,  and  a  streak  of  tender  blue  opened 


OR,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.  135 

above  the  western  trees.  Splendid  tints  flashed  over  the 
clouds;  a  cool  breeze  poured  liquid  balm  around;  each 
tree  shook  off  its  glancing  gems,  like  a  deer  after  a  bath, 
while  the  whole  landscape  breathed  the  freshest  fragrance. 

Shortly,  a  jocund  crew  were  we,  around  the  usual  table 
on  the  sylvan  floor  in  front  of  the  tent. 

Lo,  the  treasures  of  that  table ! 

Piles  of  trout,  their  crusted  skin  cracking  open  from  the 
dark  golden  flesh ;  flakes  of  venison  richly  browned  and 
swimming  in  ruddy  juices  ;  partridges  showing  their  white 
dainty  substance ;  ducks,  their  juicy  breasts  distilling 
red  nectar ;  curls  of  crisp  potato  clippings,  brittle  biscuits, 
Indian  cakes  like  sponges,  and  tea,  a  real  cordial. 

At  dark  Bingham  took  Cort  and  went  on  a  night  hunt 
down  the  river.  The  rest  of  us  preferred  remaining  in 
camp. 

I  wandered  a  short  distance  into  the  woods.  Overhead 
were  broken  streaks  of  sable  sky,  the  stars  seeming  to  cling 
to  the  tree  tops  and  struggle  through  the  higher  branches. 
I  could  see  a  few  black  trunks  close  round  me,  but  the  rest 
were  lost  as  in  a  dungeon.  Ebon  masses  told  the  near 
thickets.  Not  a  stir ;  not  a  breath.  So  dead  the  silence 
the  Runic  fetter  of  Grleipnir  might  have  been  woven  from  it. 
Spots  of  ghastly  glare  showed  the  phosphorescence  of  the 
decayed  logs  and  stumps.  There  seemed  at  last  a  weird  influ- 
ence, a  frowning  horror  in  the  murky  depths.  If  phan- 
toms had  appeared  I  should  scarcely  have  been  startled. 

From  where  I  stood  the  mighty  wilderness  extended 
threescore  miles  unbroken  either  way,  motes  of  cabins  in 
specks  of  openings  alone  excepted. 

At  length  I  returned,  and  the  gleam  of  the  camp-fire,  the 
movements  of  the  guides  around  it,  the  tent,  the  cheerful 
voices  of  my  companions  within,  all  casting  that  social 
spell  so  congenial  to  our  nature,  restored  the  equilibrium 
of  my  spirits.  The  gloom  dissolved  ;  the  feeling  of  isola- 
tion fled  away  ;  I  was  again  one  of  the  family  of  man. 

In  about  two  hours  Bingham  returned. 


136  WOODS  AND  WATERS; 

He  had  been  unlucky  as  usual,  the  perverse  deer  keep- 
ing purposely  from  his  rifle.  "  The  fact  is,  gentlemen, 
they  know  the  light  of  the  jack  just  as  well  as  Ealph  here 
knows  how  to  take  a  glass  of  punch,  and  no  more  can  be 
said  on  the  subject.  Cort,  make  me  a  glass  of  punch !" 

The  morning  arose  fresh  and  radiant  from  her  bath  as  did 
Aphrodite  from  the  sea.  The  rose  tints  of  dawn  faded ;  the 
summits  of  the  far  hills  warmed  into  purple ;  the  tops  of 
the  trees  brightened  into  gold.  A  little  while  and  the  sun 
was  kindling  the  bushes,  low  rocks,  and  logs  into  yellow 
life,  and  then  picking  out  the  sprouts  and  dead  leaves,  until 
all  was  one  broad  illumination. 

We  were  now  to  explore  the  beauty  of  Folingsby's  Pond 
unknown  to  my  comrades,  and  of  course  to  me,  but  painted 
in  strong  colors  by  the  guides. 

We  rowed  one  after  another  up  the  crooked  brook  or 
outlet,  which  flows  in  a  north-westerly  direction.  At  either 
hand  was  an  expanse  of  wild  meadow  with  wooded  accli- 
vities. The  sunlight  lay  like  a  golden  mantle  on  the  mea- 
dow embroidered  at  the  edges  by  the  shadows  of  the  hills. 

The  light  tinged  the  adder's  tongue  into  a  deeper  purple, 
and  made  a  red  intaglio  of  the  Indian  Plume  fitting  into 
some  cranny  of  the  bank. 

The  brook  narrowed  as  we  ascended,  with  thickets  and 
broad  tufts  of  wild  grass  in  the  channel,  until  it  dwindled  to 
a  mere  streak  doubling  and  twisting  like  a  water-snake  striv- 
ing to  hide  in  the  herbage  of  the  meadow.  Side  cul-de-sacs 
enticed  the  boats,  whence  they  were  obliged  to  back  once 
more  into  the  channel,  through  which  now  and  then  they 
were  forced  by  main  strength  over  the  sand  and  rushes 
having  but  a  film  of  water  upon  them.  The  oars  of  the 
party  had  been  abandoned  almost  from  the  first  for  the 
paddle,  Harvey  alone  clinging  to  his  until  the  blades 
more  often  slid  yver  the  borders  than  touched  the  water. 

The  stake  driver  rose  awkwardly  from  her  seat  in  the 
long,  coarse  grass  of  the  bank,  and  fanned  heavily  away 
with  a  hoarse  cry,  the  light  touching  her  brown  slender 


OB,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARA.NACS.  137 

shape;  that  feathered  buffoon,  and  peculiarly  American 
bird,  the  blue  jay,  sent  from  the  hills  his  peevish  trumpet- 
ings,  and  the  hawk  sailed  the  blue  as  if  he  delighted  in  the 
freshness  of  the  morning. 

"  Them  stake-drivers  's  a  queer  thing,"  said  Harvey. 
"They  make  a  noise  like  drivin'  posts *in  wet  ground. 
You  hear  it  all  over,  and  yit  can't  fix  it  to  one  spot." 

At  last,  on  turning  a  bend,  a  broad  sheet  of  water  burst 
upon  us — Folingsby's  Pond— expanding  from  the  brook 
with  a  suddenness  almost  startling.  It  lies  north-westerly, 
in  an  angular  course  with  a  succession  of  points  either  side 
of  its  five  or  six  bays ;  is  without  an  island,  and  has  a  length 
of  three  miles,  with  a  breadth  of  two.  Hilly  forests  slope 
to  the  water's  edge  unbroken  by  a  clearing,  and  unstained 
by  the  red  hues  of  fire  or  the  grey  of  withered  trees.  Upon 
entrance,  a  headland  rounding  blunt  to  the  lake  like  an 
eagle's  beak  arrests  the  eye  with  a  rock  like  a  huge  duck 
in  the  water  before  it. 

Harvey  again  betook  himself  to  the  oars,  and,  in  the 
wake  of  the  other  boats,  laid  his  course  swiftly  through  the 
pond.  At  the  head,  where  the  shores  are  low  and  swampy, 
Kenning  and  Gaylor,  true  to  their  instincts,  began  prying 
for  trout  around  the  mouth  of  the  inlet  that  came  crawling 
zigzag  through  the  alders  and  swamp  willows.  Dropping 
here,  flinging  there,  they  teazed  the  lazy  water  for  a  half- 
hour  in  vain.  Not  a  trout  even  the  length  of  a  finger 
rewarded  them.  At  last  Renning  tried  the  fly.  Skipping 
it  over  the  broad  parts,  speckyig  the  sleepy  pools  with  it,  a 
little  more  time  elapsed  with  evidently  oozing  patience  on 
the  part  of  the  unlucky  angler.  Meanwhile  Gaylor  was 
working  up  the  inlet,  his  grey  coat  glancing  like  a  heron 
in  and  out  of  the  water  bushes. 

A  croak  from  a  lazy  bullfrog  now  and  then  sounded  by 
a  lily -pad,  while  the  eager,  brassy  deer-fly  buzzed  around 
our  ears  and  occasionally  lighted  with  a  tingle  on  our 
hands. 

"  Come,  gentlemen  1"  at  length  said  Bingham,  addressing 


188  WOODS  AND  WATERS; 

Coburn  and  myself,  the  former  of  whom  had  squatted  him- 
self on  a  surly  old  log  thrusting  its  nose  from  the  dark 
mud  of  the  margin ;  "  aren't  you  tired  of  the  antics  of 
these  two  great  fishermen.  There's  but  little  venison  in 
the  camp,  and  Cort  says  there's  a  good  chance  of  a  deer  in 
Grassy  Bay,  around  the  next  point.  And  you  know, 
gentlemen  "  (presenting  his  piece  as  if  to  fire),  "  if  my  rifle 
covers  a  deer,  it's  good-bye  to  Mr.  Deer.  Come,  Coburn, 
you  look  on  that  log  more  like  a  huge  frog  than  a  human 
being,  wake  up.  Come,  Smith !  you  can't  snap  twigs  in 
the  boat,  thank  fortune !  so  come  along !  We'll  leave  these 
two  knights  of  the  rod,  whose  ideas  in  this  grand  wilderness 
never  soar  above  a  trout,  to  the  exciting  pastime  of  whip- 
ping water-flags  and  catching  old  sunken  roots,  and  we'll 
catch  a  deer,  eh,  Cort !" 

We  left  Eenning  on  a  green  bog  where  he  was  unable  to 
stand  still  long  enough  to  catch  a  trout  from  fear  of  sinking 
to  his  waist,  and  dancing  in  consequence  from  one  leg  to 
the  other  as  if  in  a  nest  of  snapping  turtles,  while  Gaylor 
was  crawling  back  round  a  mid-channel  bush  like  an  otter 
after  its  prey. 

Bounding  the  point  and  reaching  into  the  depths  of  the 
bay,  we  looked  narrowly  into  the  thickets  of  the  shore 
for  the  tawny  hues  that  tell  the  deer,  but  none  were  dis- 
covered. 

"  Shall  I  let  Watch  go  ?"  said  Harvey. 

"  I  think  not,"  said  Coburn,  interrupting  Bingham,  who 
was  giving  assent.  "  Our  stay  at  the  pond  will  be  too 
short  for  that." 

"  We'll  hev  chances  enough  too  at  Simon's  Slew  and  Tup- 
per's  Lake  fur  drivin',  on  second  thoughts,"  said  Harvey. 
"  Mr.  Eunnin  and  Mr.  Gaylor  expecks  to  be  back  to  camp 
afore  sundown  sarten,  so  as  to  try  a  brook  down  the  river." 

"That's  always  the  way!"  said  Bingham,  pettishly; 
"  everything  has  to  yield  to  trout  in  this  party.  A  deer  is 
no  more  thought  of  than  a  chipmunk.  That's  the  reason  I 
never  kill — hem — that  is — but  by  the  powers,  it's  raining  I" 


OR,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.         139 

Sure  enough  the  golden  scene  had  become  grey.  One 
of  the  prowling  showers  of  the  region  had  stolen  upon  us, 
and  light,  watery  threads  were  glimmering  against  the 
broad  breasts  of  the  hemlocks  and  cedars,  and  athwart  the 
dark  cavities  of  the  woods. 

"  It  won't  be  much  of  a  rain,"  said  Bingham,  covering 
the  lock  of  his  rifle  with  his  coat ;  "  and  maybe  it  will 
rouse  up  the  deer  from  the  thickets." 

At  this  instant  a  loud,  mocking,  taunting  shout  burst 
from  the  middle  of  the  pond  where  the  mist  of  the  shower 
had  already  enclosed  a  narrow  horizon. 

"  Uncle  loon  says  diff'rent !"  exclaimed  Harvey. 

"Confound  him!"  said  Bingham,  gasping  his  rifle; 
"  where  is  he  ?" 

"  Bound  the  p'int  there !"  answered  Harvey. 

"  Give  me  a  chance  at  him,"  said  Bingham. 

Another  war  whoop. 

"I'll  stop  his  yell,"  continued  Bingham;  "pull  round, 
Harvey !" 

Down  came  the  rain  like  a  cataract.  The  narrow  circle 
of  the  pond  bubbled  and  frothed  like  a  kettle  over  a  fire. 

A  clear,  bold,  ringing,  clarion  sound  broke  from  the 
mist. 

"  Clear  out !"  said  Bingham. 

The  burst  of  rain  lasted  until  it  had  smitten  us  through 
and  through,  and  then  ceased  as  suddenly  as  it  came.  It 
stopped  so  quick  that  the  middle  drops  didn't  know  it,  but 
kept  patting  the  water  -for  several  moments  later. 

The  tr^es  again  struggled  out  from  the  near  fog ;  the  far 
wreaths  grew  transparent  and  melted.  From  a  vanishing 
curl  appeared  the  boats  of  Eennirig  and  Graylor  rapidly 
gliding  towards  the  outlet. 

"  We're  going  back  to  camp  ["hallooed  Kenning,  mak- 
ing a  speaking  trumpet  of  his  hand. 

"  I  too,"  said  Coburn  to  us.  "  This  is  rather  poor  sport, 
Push  ahead,  Phin !"  and  off  he  went. 

At  this  instant  the  base  of  the  wooded  acclivity  in  front 


140  WOODS  AND  WATERS; 

blazed  into  splendid  colors.  Higher  they  rose ;  higher, 
higher ;  they  bent ;  it  'seemed  as  if  invisible  spirits  were 
forming  an  arch :  downward  the  colors  curved,  down,  down, 
until  they  linked  themselves  once  more  to  the  edge  of  the 
water. 

"  Well,"  exclaimed  Bingham,  "  I  never  saw  a  rainbow 
grow  before." 

It  had  built  itself  before  our  very  eyes,  and  now  glowed 
there  upon  the  background  of  the  hill,  beautiful  as  Bifrost 
before  the  portals  of  Yalhalla. 

It  held  its  gleaming  being,  with  a  paler  bow  above  it, 
longer  than  is  wont,  but  at  last  the  fainter  arch  died  away ; 
the  superb  colors  of  the  other  commenced  slowly  to  dim, 
until  dissolving  gently,  the  bright  messenger  of  returning 
sunshine  vanished  like  some  returning  seraph  from  our 
view. 

We  were  now  abreast  the  blunt  headland  and  rock, 
where  the  lymph  was  so  clear  I  could  see  the  white  sticks 
at  the  deep  bottom  twisting  like  water-snakes. 

"  Suppose  we  follow  the  rest  to  camp,"  said  Bingham. 
"  I  dont  believe  we'll  find  any  deer,  and  there's  nothing 
else  I  care  for — Jupiter,  see  those  ducks !  a  flock  of  them, 
by  the  living  Mars !  Pull,  Cort,  pull !  and  give  me  a  shot! 
pull,  pull !  let  me  get  any  sort  of  a  chance  at  them,  and  if 
you  don't  see  slaughter  I'm  a  donkey !"  grasping  the  pad- 
dle and  bending  his  tall  form  in  deep,  long  plunges. 
"  More  speed,  more  speed,  Cort !  I  say,  Smith,  we'll  have 
some  duck  for  supper,  hey  !  Pull  away,  Cort,  pull  away ! 
How  the  little  devils  scud !  A  mother  and  ten  young 
ones !  Pull,  pull !  Hurrah  for  ducks  on  Folingsby's 
Pond !" 

"  Ef  you  holler  so,  Mr.  Bingham,  now  you've  got  so 
cluss,  you  wont  git  no  ducks  I"  at  last  said  poor  Cort,  pant- 
ing with  his  exertions  and  his  face  streaming. 

"  Don't  I  know  that,"  said  Bingham,  looking  at  his  caps, 
and  then  aiming  as  the  flock  huddled  close  a  short  distance 
ahead.  "Oh,  confound  them!  there  they  go  again!" 


OR,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.  141 

And  go  they  did,  the  cluster  breaking  away  like  beads 
with  the  string  broken,,  and  all  scouring  over  the  grey  sur- 
face. •  « 

Once  more  we  approached,  and  once  more  away  they 
scudded,  making  the  water  white  as  they  went. 

"They'll  git  off,  Mr.  Bingham,  after  all.  They  aint 
forty  rod  from  shore." 

"  I  know  it ;  and  how  the  little  rogues  skip,"  said  Bing- 
ham. "  There  they  go !"  and  the  flock  struck  the  margin 
and  vanished  into  a  thicket  like  a  flash. 

"  You  may  git  'em  yit,  Mr.  Bingham !"  said  Harvey, 
'  ef  you'll  land,  and  beat  round  a  leetle.  I  kinder  guess 
you'll  find  'ern  under  some  log  or  bush.  They  aint  gone 
fur,  that's  sarten !" 

"  Harvey,  you're  a  trump  1"  said  Bingham,  making  one 
stride  to  shore. 

The  rest  of  us  remained  in  the  boats.  Now  and  then  a 
snap  or  rustle  in  the  woods  told  that  Bingham  was  ferret- 
ing around.  A  minute  or  two  succeeded.  The  near  shout 
of  a  loon  echoed ;  the  flashing  dragon-fly  again  threaded  the 
water  plants  or  darted  in  startling  angles  over  the  shallow ; 
and  the  lake  stretched  away  in  dazzling  whites  and  cool 
breezy  darks,  quiet  as  if  nothing  had  ever  disturbed  it. 

Another  rustle  and  in  a  cleft  of  the  foliage,  a  huge  boot 
and  a  long  leg  appeared  followed  by  what  proved  to  be  the 
whole  of  Bingham.  Leaning  his  left  hand  on  a  hemlock, 
with  his  forehead  ruffled  up  and  his  eyeballs  distended, 
he  peered  around  a  moment  and  then  glided  silently 
away. 

Bang,  bang,  and  a  terrible  tumult  in  the  water. 

"  By  the  powers !  didn't  I  say  so !"  in  Bingham's  loudest 
tones.  "  Four,  as  I'm  alive,  four  '  in  one  fell  swoop,'  or 
rather  two,  as  I  fired  both  barrels  1  I'd  had  the  whole 
flock  if  I'd  had  another  gun."  * 

We  pulled  around  a  little  rocky  point,  and  there,  in  a 
beautiful  covert  of  white  sand,  lay  four  white-breasted 
ashen- winged  copperhead  ducks.  The  bright  orange  legs 


142  WOODS  AND  WATEKS; 

of  one  beside  the  grey  ones  of  the  rest  showed  the  mother 
of  the  brood. 

"  I  found  them  sitting  in  a  row  as  close  and  cosy  as  you 
please ;  quite  a  family  party,"  continued  Bingham,  while  Cort 
threw  them  into  the  box,  which  was  fashioned  at  the  bow 
of  the  boat.  "  There  they  were  quacking  and  putting  their 
heads  together  as  if  in  serious  conversation  over  their 
escape.  Cort,  where's  my  flask  ? "  entering  the  boat. 
"  We'll  all  take  a  drink  on  these  shots  of  mine,  eh,  Smith! 
here,  drink  my  boy  !  a  good  shot,  Smith !  here,  Harvey, 
take  some!  Cort,  help  yourself!  a  pret-ty  good  shot,  eh, 
boys !  and.  now  I'm  ready  to  follow  to  the  camp  !  Go 
ahead,  Cort!" 

"  Suppose  we  go  around  the  pond  first,"  said  I.  "  It  is 
a  beautiful  sheet  of  water." 

"  Very  well !  I'm  up  to  any  thing  now !  Go  ahead 
Cort!" 

We  then  took  the  circuit.  We  rounded  the  bays; 
brushed  the  herbage  of  the  headlands  and  pierced  the 
grottoes  of  the  leaning  trees.  Now  we  caught  glimpse  of 
a  duck  skulking  into  the  water-flags ;  and  now  we  startled 
into  the  air  a  crane  watching  the  water  behind  a  point. 
Then,  after  loosening  the  echoes  with  three  ringing  cheers, 
we  left  the  lovely  pond,  and  threaded  the  twisted  silver  of 
the  brook  by  sunset  to  the  camp. 

I  afterwards  gleaned  some  particulars  of  the  mysterious 
personage  who  had  given  the  pond  its  name,  from  those 
conversant  with  the  traditions  concerning  him,  and  espe- 
cially from  one  who  was  accidentally  present  at  his  death. 

Captain  Folingsby,  as  he  was  called,  was  a  strange, 
melancholy  man,  of  an  age  almost  impossible  to  determine. 
From  several  indications  he  appeared  to  be  in  the  meridian 
of  life,  but  his  hair  was  grey,  and  his  frame,  though  massive 
and  sinewy,  was  bowed.  * 

He  lived,  forty  years  ago,  in  a  shanty  of  thickest  logs, 
built,  as  he  stated,  by  his  own  hands,  in  the  rear  of  the 
blunt  headland.  The  whole  region  at  that  time  had  no 


OR,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.  143 

residents,  except  here  and  there  a  red  man,  and  was  un- 
known save  to  the  white  hunter  or  trapper  who  straggled 
into  it  from  the  Lower  Ausable  or  Lake  Champlain. 

No  one  knew  when  Folingsby  came.  A  wandering  trap- 
per who  visited  the  secluded  waters  (more  secluded  proba- 
bly from  the  difficulty  of  ascending  the  shallow  and  wind- 
ing brook)  saw  the  shanty  already  erected.  He  was  told 
of  Folingsby's  existence  by  an  Indian  whom  he  met  at  the 
mouth  of  the  brook,  and  who  had  just  seen,  for  the  first 
time,  the  strange  white  man  fishing  in  the  pond. 

Entrance  into  the  shanty  was  .only  allowed  to  those  driven 
thither  by  stress  of  weather.  A  lock  of  great  strength  and 
curious  intricacy  secured  the  massive  door,  and  the  one  win- 
dow was  furnished  with  a  thick  ironwood  shutter. 

While  at  home  Folingsby  passed  most  of  his  time  on  the 
pond  with  his  rod,  or  in  the  woods  with  his  rifle.  Some- 
times he  launched  into  the  adjacent  region,  penetrating  now 
and  then  to  great  distances. 

The  hunter  at  the  head  waters  of  the  Upper  Saranac 
saw  him  bearing  his  bark  canoe  over  some  carry,  or  skim- 
ming some  water ;  the  Indian  trapper  among  the  ponds  of 
the  St.  Eegis  in  search  of  the  beaver,  caught  glimpses  of 
him,  rifle  in  hand,  stalking  through  the  surrounding 
forests. 

Thus  he  bestowed  his  name  on  other  sheets  of  water 
besides  this  pond — Folingsby's  Clear  Pond,  near  the  head 
of  the  above  lake,  and  Folingsby's  Pond  in  the  St.  Eegis 
woods. 

A  trapper,  whose  sable  line  ran  by  the  pond,  was  weather- 
bound one  day  in  Folingsby's  cabin.  The  recluse  talked 
but  little,  appearing  to  be  generally  sunk  in  gloomy  medi- 
tation, and  occasionally  moving  his  lips  as  if  in  soliloquy. 
He  showed,  however,  no  want  of  hospitality ;  on  the  con- 
trary, he  produced  his  finest  trout  and  venison  for  the 
trapper's  repasts.  The  trapper  said  afterward  in  effect, 
that  what  most  impressed  him,  was  the  lordly  authority 
which  diffused  itself,  as  it  were,  from  Folingsby's  presence. 


144  WOODS  AND  WATERS; 

There  was  a  grace  and  refinement  too,  in  his  movements 
and  actions,  especially  at  the  meals,  which  made  the  rude 
trapper  feel  "  as  though "  (in  his  own  language)  "  he 
wasn't  no  man  at  all,  but  a  kind  o'  half  nigger  all  the 
time." 

When  the  storm  passed,  the  trapper  left,  Folingsby  ac- 
cepting his  simple  thanks  with  the  condescending  kindness 
of  a  king. 

A  year  or  two  passed,  when  one  October  day  a  sports- 
man from  a  village  on  the  eastern  edge  of  the  wilderness, 
visited  the  pond  with  an  •Ausable  trapper,  in  search  of 
fisher. 

Passing  the  cabin  they  heard  a  loud  voice  talking  rapidly, 
interrupted  by  hoarse  screams.  They  broke  in  the  door 
after  great  exertion,  and  found  Folingsby  stretched  on  his 
bed  of  bear-skins,  and  delirious  with  fever. 

Unable  to  aid  him,  all  they  could  do  was  to  listen  to  his 
ravings,  and  restrain  him  in  his  occasional  fits  of  insane 
strength. 

His  wild  talk  made  them  wonder  and  occasionally  shud- 
der. Sometimes  he  seemed  addressing  himself  to  high  per- 
sonages, Lord  this  and  General  that ;  sometimes  to  one  he 
called  Georgiana,  and  he  would  then  break  into  mingled 
curses  on  her  and  on  one  whom  he  called  villain  and  de- 
stroyer. His  tones  would,  however,  sometimes  melt  to 
tenderest  music  while  mentioning  her ;  but  his  mood  would 
again  change,  and  exclamations  of  "wretch"  and  "weak 
wicked  creature  "  would  flit  through  his  ravings  in  accents 
of  the  most  horrible  hate. 

Blood,  blood,  was  then  his  theme,  and  from  what  the 
hearers  could  gather,  his  hands  had  been  imbrued  in  the 
blood  of  both  victim  and  destroyer. 

Then  he  would  fancy  himself  in  battle,  calling  upon  his 
men  to  follow  him,  and  hurling  scorn  on  all  cowards  who 
would  desert  their  leader.  His  bearing  at  those  times,  the 
sportsman  said,  was  bold  and  majestic,  something  as  he 
supposed  Washington's  might  have  been  in  some  great 


OR,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.  145 

fight ;  Folingsby  whirling  his  hand  over  his  head  as  if 
waving  a  sword  and  striking  out  right  and  left. 

He  also  muttered  broken  words  about  a  chest,  rolling  his 
mad  eye,  and  once  or  twice  pointing  his  lean  finger  toward 
the  stone  fire-place,  and  he  would  then  huddle  up  his  bear- 
skins as  if  to  conceal  some  object. 

All  through  the  day  and  night  he  raved,  and  at  dawn 
he  died,  the  name  of  Georgiana  the  last  sound  upon  his 
lips. 

The  two  wrapped  him  in  his  bear-skins  and  buried  him 
in  a  neighboring  dipgle,  planting  a  pair  of  rude  stones  at 
his  grave. 

They  then  explored  the  cabin.  It  was  composed  of  two 
.rooms,  with  loop-holes,  the  front  one  having  the  window. 
Nothing  was  seen  in  either,  beside  the  bear-skin  bed,  but  a 
rude  bench  or  two,  an  arm-chair  of  roots,  two  or  three 
rifles,  with  wooden  angle-rods  and  their  apparatus,  axes, 
hunting-shirts,  with  other  coarse  clothing,  and  a  few  culi- 
nary utensils  of  the  roughest  description.  The  exclama- 
tions concerning  the  chest,  however,  stimulated  farther 
search,  and  under  a  stone  of  the  hearth  they  discovered  in 
a  cavity,  a  strong  wooden  box.  Within,  was  a  magnificent 
sword  in  a  gold  scabbard,  with  a  gold  hilt,  sparkling  in 
diamonds  and  impressed  with  something  which,  as  well  as 
I  could  gather  from  the  description,  was  a  coronet.  There 
was  also  a  brace  of  pistols,  the  stocks  of  rich,  polished  wood, 
mounted  in  silver,  and  inlaid  with  pearl,  and  stamped  like- 
wise with  the  coronet. 

A  scented  dressing-case  was  also  within,  with  gold  and 
gemmed  articles  of  toilet ;  a  little  cabinet  of  glossy  and 
fragrant  wood ;  a  splendidly  decorated  uniform  coat  of  the 
British  scarlet,  with  gorgeous  epaulets,  and  a  gold  laced 
chapeau. 

At  the  very  bottom  was  a  package  of  letters.   Some  were 

signed  Georgiana;    were  addressed  to  her  dear  Hubert, 

and  filled  with  expressions  of  love,  with  details  domestic 

and  otherwise.     The  sportsman  (who  was  an  educated  and 

10 


146  WOODS  AND  WATERS; 

intelligent  man)  was  struck  with  some  things  in  these  let- 
ters, tending,  as  he  thought,  to  throw  a  little  light  upon 
Folingsby.  She  mentioned  in  one,  the  arrival  from  the 
Peninsula  of  her  Hubert's  wounded  friend,  Lord  — — ,  who 
brought  her  dear  Hubert's  letter ;  and  that  he  spoke  of 
owing  his  life  in  a  certain  battle  to  her  brave  Hubert.  In 

another,  she  mentioned  that  Lord was  residing  near 

the  castle.  In  another  that  the  Earl,  her  Hubert's  father, 
was  confined  to  the  castle  from  his  failing  health. 

There  was  another  letter  of  a  subsequent  date  to  the 
above,  which  appeared  to  be  written,  by  a  high  official  of 
the  British  Government.  It  was  addressed  to  Colonel,  the 

Earl  of ,  and  in  friendly  and  familiar  terms,  informed 

him  of  his  approaching  promotion  for  his  distinguished 
gallantry  in  a  certain  battle ;  the  sportsman  thought  the 
battle  of  Salamanca. 

What  became  of  the  articles  and  letters  the  sportsman 
never  definitely  knew.  They  were  replaced  in  the  chest, 
together  with  the  other  articles,  and  transported  by  the 
two  in  their  boat  on  their  return  course  to  the  foot  of  the 
Lower  Saranac,  where  they  passed  the  night  in  the  shanty 
of  a  hunter.  In  the  morning  the  chest  was  missing.  Whe- 
ther the  trapper  or  the  hunter  made  away  with  it  the  sports- 
man could  not  ascertain.  The  former  asserted  it  was  the 
latter.  The  letters  were  most  probably  used  for  wadding, 
and  the  other  articles  doubtless  changed  into  rifles,  traps, 
powder,  ball,  and  other  necessaries  of  wilderness  life  in  some 
of  the  cities,  or  large  villages,  to  which  the  hunters  and 
trappers  occasionally  made  their  way. 

The  strange  circumstances  that  surrounded  Folingsby 
invest  him  even  to  this  day  with  mystery.  The  simple- 
minded  woodmen  visiting  the  pond  still  think  his  spirit 
inhabits  it.  In  the  misty  days  of  Indian  summer  they 
imagine  him  glimmering  in  his  boat  off  some  point,  or  in 
some  bay  in  pursuit  of  the  trout,  or  gliding  through  some 
ravine  of  the  hills  in  the  track  of  the  deer.  In  the  sounds 
that  echo  over  the  calm  sheet  they  hear  his  shout  or  the 


OR,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.  147 

report  of  his  rifle.  During  the  moonlight  nights  they  have 
fancied  glimpses  of  his  form,  now  crouching  under  a  tree 
on  the  bank  gazing  at  the  shining  expanse,  now  moving 
around  the  spot  where  his  remains  were  buried,  and  now 
shooting  with  his  canoe  athwart  the  golden  glitter  of  the 
moon-glade.  In  the  wailing  night  winds  of  November  they 
recognise,  while  seated  around  the  camp-fire,  his  tones  of 
mourning,  and  occasionally  his  wild  shrieks  as  the  blast 
swells  through  the  forest. 

A  haunted  place  is  Folingsby's  Pond,  and  many  the 
daring  hunter  or  trapper  who,  laugliing  at  every  other 
peril,  trembles  as  night  environs  him  in  its  dreaded  pre- 
cincts. 


148  WOODS  AND  WATERS; 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

Down  the  Racket. — Old  Ramrod. — Trout  Fishing  at  Half- Way  Brook. — A 
Water-Maple. — Cloud  Pictures. — Woods  in  the  Wind. — The  Great  Oxbow. 
— Ramrod's  Shanty;  and.Chase  by  Indians. — A  Talk  on  Fishing,  with  the 
Opinion  of  the  Guides  about  it. — A  Night  Scene  on  the  River. 

OUR  camp  was  astir  as  the  morning  colors  were  kindled 
on  the  hills  of  Folingsby's  Pond.  The  day  promised  to  be 
fine,  and  soon  our  tent  was  struck,  Brook  Meadow  Camp 
deserted,  and  we  afloat  down  the  beautiful  Racket. 

Down  we  went  over  the  glossy  greens,  the  glittering 
whites  of  the  river ;  down  past  elms  and  spruces  and  hem- 
locks and  pines  and  water-maples  and  alders ;  down  past 
sand-banks  and  gravel-beds,  sunken  logs  and  slanting  trees ; 
old  withered  upright  trees  and  trees  thrust  midway  into 
the  channel  where  the  water  eddied  and  sparkled ;  down 
past  lily-pads  and  water-grasses,  leafy  arcades  and  cloisters, 
colonnades  and  peeping  nooks;  down  past  glades  and 
swamps  and  lichened  ledges  and  dry  ridges  brown  with  the 
diopped  needles  of  the  pine: 


Down  the  winding  woodland  river, 

Oh  how  swift  we  glide  1 
Every  tree  and  bush  and  blossom 

Mirrored  in  the  tide ; 
Bright  and  blue  the  heaven  above  us 

As — whose  azure  eye  I 
Soft  and  sweet  the  wandering  breezes 

As — whose  gentle  sigh ! 
White  the  cloudlet  wreathing  o'er  us 

As  her  spotless  brow  I 
Oh  what  king  was  e'er  so  joyous 

As  we  roamers  now  1 


OB,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.  149 

Ho,  ho,  we  merrily  go 

Down  the  winding  sparkling  flow  I 

Down  so  cheerily, 

Never  wearily, 
Ho,  ho,  we  merrily  go 
Down  to  the  lovely  lake  below  I 

"  Mark  the  crane  wide  winnowing  from  us! 

OS  the  otter  swims  ! 
Round  her  fortress  sails  the  fish-hawk ; 

Down  the  wood-duck  skims  I 
Glitters  rich  the  golden  lily, 
Glows  the  Indian  Plume, 
On  yon  point  a  deer  is  drinking, 

Back  he  shrinks  in  gloom ; 
Now  the  little  sparkling  rapid  1 

Now  the  fairy  cove  1 
Here,  the  sunlight-mantled  meadow! 
There,  the  sprinkled  grove  I 
Ho,  ho,  we  merrily  go 
Down  the  winding  glittering  flow ! 
Down  so  cheerily  I 
Never  wearily  1 
Ho,  ho,  we  merrily  go 
Down  to  the  lovely  lake  below !" 

"  There  was  an  old  feller,"  said  Harvey,  breaking  a  half- 
hour's  silence,  and  pointing  to  a  little  green  opening  be- 
tween a  couple  of  cedars,  "  that  shantied  out  there  some 
twenty  years  ago,  who  was  old  hunderd  in  the  way  o' 
huntin'.  We  used  to  call  him  Old  Kamrod,  and  a  cur'ous 
old  critter  he  was  too.  When  he  fust  come  to  the  river  he 
camped  down  on  the  Great  Oxbow  in  a  holler  tree. 

"  But  couldn't  he  handle  a  rifle  ?  I  tell  ye  !  He  could 
shoot  inter  a  squirrel's  eye!  Why  he  al'ys  cut  off  a 
patridge's  head  with  a  single  ball ;  that  wan't  no  kind  of 
a  trick.  All  in  the  way  of  shootin'  was  inkstand  to  'im. 
And  he  wasn't  nobody's  fool  at  trappin'.  He  had  the 
greatest  lot  o'  traps  I  ever  did  see.  Bear-traps  and  wolf- 
traps  and  painter-traps  and  otter's  and  beaver's  and  what 
not.  And  he'd  named  'm  all  too.  'There  was  Clapper- 
jaw,  and  Sticktooth,  and  Whangdown,  and  Big  Billy,  and 


150  WOODS  AND  WATERS; 

Little  Billy,  and  Bear's\Misery,  and  Wolfclick  and  Bangup. 
and  all  sorts  o'  names.  There  wasn't  no  stream,  nor  slew, 
nor  pond  anywheres  about  this  here  part  o'  the  country, 
but  he  kno wed  about  as  well  as  I  know  the  S'nac  Lakes 
and  the  Eacket. 

"  He  was  about  as  big  as  a  small  sized  moose  that  feller, 
and  in  the  way  o'  wrastlin' — there's  'n  orful  sight  o'  deer 
tracks  there ;  the  bank's  cut  up  with  'm — he  could  throw 
all  that  I  ever  heerd  on ;  and  when  it  come  to  fightin', 
w-a-a-1,  he  didn't  sing  psalms  much  when  he  was  at  that 
business.  How  he  would  strike!  It  'peared  .to  me  that 
the  very  wind  his  fist  made  'ud  knock  a  common  man 
down. 

"  There  was  another  feller,  too,  about,  that  was  an  orful 
critter  to  fight.  But  he  didn't  hev  no  rule  for  fightin'. 
He'd  claw  and  he'd  bite,  and  he'd  jump  up  and  strike  his 
heels  right  agin  your  breast,  like  's  not,  jest  like  a  hoss,  and 
run  'twixt  your  legs,  and  all  sorts  o'  ways.  He  was  a  stout 
feller,  too,  almost  as  stout  as  Old  Kamrod ;  and  young ; — 
he  wan't  more'n  twenty-five  ef  he  was  that. 

"  Well,  one  day,  there  was  a  shootin'  match  at  the  settle- 
ment at  Harrietstown — one  Christmas  day,  for  five  fat 
turkeys.  Old  Eamrod  was  there  and  this  feller — let  me 
see — what  was  his  name?  Snazy  !  no!  Snar — Snowy! 
what  the  mischief!  Snow,  Snudgeon,  Snack,  Snew !  oh, 
Potter  was  his  name !  we  called  him  Foxtail  'case  he  al'ys 
wore  a  cap  made  o'  that  critter's  fur,  with  the  tail  stuck  up. 
Well,  Foxtail  had  drinked  consid'able  and  couldn't  git  no 
turkey.  All  he  could  do — see  that  bear  track !  what  an 
all  fired  big  one  'tis !  there  by  them  alders — he  couldn't 
git  no  turkey.  He  was  suthin'  of  a  shot  too,  that  is, 
when  he  was  himself.  When  Foxtail  was  Foxtail  he  could 
shoot  old  hunderd,  but  there  'twas ;  that  day  he  couldn't 
git  no  turkey.  Well,  what  riled  him  most  was  that  Old 
Ramrod  got  two  out  o'  the  five.  In  the  fust  place,  the  rael 
truth  on't  was,  he  didn't  like  Old  Ramrod  a  bit  more'n  a 
crow  likes  a  raven,  or  a  bluejee  a  hawk !  'caze  why !  ho 


OR,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.  151 

was  jealous  of  Old. Ramrod  as  a  fightin'  charackter ;  but  he 
didn't  do  as  the  crow  doos,  keep  away  from  the  raven,  but 
he  jest  up  and  stuck  his  blamed  fool  of  a  nose  right  inter 
Old  Eararod's  face,  jest  as  a  passle  o'  bluejees  will  in  a 
hawk's  till  the  hawk  jumps  on  one  and  gives  'im  fits.  But, 
as  I  was  sayin',  Old  Kamrod  got  two  turkeys  out  o'  the  five, 
and  he'd  a  got  'm  all  I  spose  ef  he'd  a  tried,  but  he  was  a 
gin'rous  old  sarpent,  and  didn't  want  I  spose  to  grab  all  on 
'm.  Howsever,  whether  or  no,  this  Foxtail,  he  got,  as  I 
said  afore,  r'iled,  and  so  he  ups  and  says  to  Old  Kamrod, 
s'ze,  '  Some  folks  feels  mighty  farse  about  turkeys.'  '  Well, 
no,'  says  Old  Kamrod,  s'ze,  '  not  as  I  knows  on  !' 

" '  Well,'  says  Foxtail,  '  I  kin  lick  any  man  on  these 
grounds,  turkey  or  no  turkey.'  Old  Kamrod  didn't  say 
nothin',  but  he  tuk  a  chaw  of  tobaccy.  Says  Foxtail,  s'ze, 
'  I  don't  ax  no  odds  of  no  man !  I  kin  lick  an-y  m-a-n  on 
these  grounds,  'tickally  one  what  gits  two  turkeys  out  o' 
five  in  a  shootin'  match.'  Old  Ramrod  began  to  cock  his 
eye,  and  I  could  see  he  was  gittin'  kinder  riz,  but  he  didn't 
say  nothin'  yit.  Says  Foxtail  agin,  s'ze.  '  Folks  says  there's 
an  old  critter  called  Ramrod  about  here  that's  some  on  tur- 
keys, and  thinks  he  kin  lick  all  cr'ation ;  now  I'm  jest  the 
chap  for  all  the  old  Ramrods  that  kin  be  skeered  up,  and 
ef  so  be  as  the  old  critter  wants  an  all  fired  lickin',  I'm  the 
b'y  what  kin  do  it,  right  square  up  to  the  handle,  turkeys 
or  no  turkeys,  hooray !'  Didn't  Old  Ramrod  jump !  I  tell 
ye  he  had  his  old  deer-skin  shirt  off  in  the  twinkle  of  a 
deer's  tail  in  a  brush  heap,  and  the  way  he  thro  wed  down 
his  wolf-skin  cap  wasn't  slow,  now  I  tell  ye  !  Well,  there 
he  stood,  and  he  drawed  up  his  big  old  fists  he  did,  and 
'  Come  on,'  s'ze,  '  I'm  hungry,'  s'ze,  '  after  jest  such  leetle 
chaps,'  s'ze,  '  as  you  be !'  He  hadn't  sunner  said  that  'an 
Foxtail  (he  had  his  coat  and  cap  off  too)  run  up  and  gin  a 
jump  to  jam  his  heels  interOld  Ramrod's  breadbasket,  but 
the  old  feller  kitched  hold  on  one  o'  his  heels  and  gin  a 
swing,  and,  lick-a-my-dod !  didn't  Foxtail  turn  over!  I 
kinder  consate  he  did  !  about  a  rod  !  and  fell.  I  wondei 


152  WOODS  AND  WATERS; 

'he  didn't  break  his  consarned  neck.  Qld  Ramrod  looked 
at  'im,  as  he  lay  down  there  all  quirled  up  in  a  heap,  as  I've 
seen  Watch  look  at  a  leetle  cur  dog,  and,  s'ze,  '  Landlurd,' 
s'ze,  'gimme  suthin'  to  drink,'  s'ze,  'I'm  dry  !'  Well,  after 
a  while,  Foxtail  got  up  with  his  shoulder  out  'o  j'int,  and 
you  may  b'leeve  he  let  Old  Ramrod  alone  after  that.  But 
here  we  are  at  Half- Way  Brook !" 

This  was  one  of  the  many  streams  emptying  into  the 
Racket,  at  the  mouths  of  which,  in  the1  late  summer,  the 
trout  gather. 

My  comrades  were  there  busy  at  their  fishing,  and  directly 
as  we  came  up  I  saw  the  flash  of -a  half-pound  trout  on 
Renning's  line.  The  broad  deep  pool  at  the  brook's  mouth 
was  already  too  crowded,  so  I  selected  a  spot  at  the  side  of 
the  bank  where  a  streak  of  bubbles  glided  from  a  water- 
break  and  cast.  My  hook  had  scarcely  touched  the  water 
before  I  felt  the  thrill  of  a  trout's  bite  (very  gentle  in  these 
waters),  and  up  I  whipped  a  half-pounder.  Up  glittered 
three  more  among  my  friends.  Harvey  cast  in,  and  out 
came  a  fine  speckled  fellow  of  nearly  the  same  size  as  mine. 
He  commenced  talking  to  the  trout,  as  was  his  custom. 
"  Now  don't  be  too  greedy  !  Be  decent  and  we'll  sarve  ye 
all  alike.  We  don't  make  no  odds  'twixt  ye !  One's  jeest 
as  good  as  another.  Leetle  or  big,  it  don't  make  no  bit  o' 
diff' rence !  Unly  come  along !  By  goll !  he's  took  my 
bait  off  as  clean  as  a  whistle !  That  was  a  chubb,  I  know ! 
Yes !"  jerking  one  up  and  swinging  it  with  vast  contempt 
into  the  river.  "  We  might  as  well  be  goin'  now ;  when 
these  ere  reptyles,  and  minnies,  and  sich  vagabones  venter 
out,  you  may  be  sure  there  aint  much  trout  about." 

Just  as  he  caught  the  chubb,  however,  I  had  spied  a  dot 
of  a  pool  under  a  sycamore  root,  where  the  bubbles  of  a 
little  rapid  had  turned  melting  into  a  scale  of  froth.  Cast- 
ing my  line  into  its  centre,  another  half-pound  trout  swung 
into  my  hand,  smooth  and  luscious,  and  up  flashed  another 
from  the  waterbreak  on  Graylor's  hook.  After  that,  the  busy 
tantalizing  nibbles  told  us  it  was  really  as  Harvey  said,  and, 


OR,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.  153 

waging  no  war  on  the  small  populace  of  the  river,  and 
having  in  prospect  two  or  three  more  tilts  with  the  trout 
before  we  came  to  our  camping-place,  we  desisted. 

"  There's  a  path  from  Half- Way  Brook,"  said  Harvey, 
as  we  started  again.  "  It  leads  through  the  woods  to  the 
Upper  S'nac,  a  mile  above  the  Gut  to  Bartlett's." 

"  Are  there  many 'of  these  paths  in  the  woods  ?" 

"  Not  a  dreffle  sight.  There's  a  passle  o'  lumber  roads, 
but  they're  plain  to  see.  In  winter  there's  a  grist  o'  roads 
made  in  the  snow  for  lumb'rin.  These  paths  though,  what 
there  is  on  'm,  is  hard  to  hit.  You  might  never  find  'm, 
unless  you  stumbled  on  'm,  ef  ye  didn't  know  where  to  look." 

We  all  landed  for  our  lunch  in  a  little  wild-grass  dingle, 
with  a  fringe  of  silver  sand  tasselled  at  the  edge  with 
arrowheads  and  rushes,  mingled  with  Tyrian-dyed  moose- 
heads  and  golden-globed  lily  blossoms. 

Close  to  us  was  a  splendid  water-maple  with  thirty  trunks. 
The  gold  and  blacks  beneath  it  made  a  floor  of  mosaic. 

A  kingfisher  perched  there  before  betaking  himself  to  a 
dry  overhanging  limb  at  the  margin,  and  gave  a  hoarse 
shout  as  if  struggling  with  a  bad  cold  caught  from  the 
damps  of  his  business.  A  woodpecker  followed  him  with 
a  cracked  laugh  ;  then  began  a  rat-tat  like  a  drummer  mark- 
ing time,  warming  into  a  roll,  and  he  then  flew  away. 

The  lunch  being  finished,  I  lay  within  the  shadow  of 
the  tree,  and  gazed  on  the  sky-pictures. 

The  blue  was  of  that  tender,  transparent  tint  through 
which  we  seem  to  penetrate  into  unbounded  depths,  and 
over  it  the  summer  breeze  wreathed  its  graceful  cloud 
paintings.  Now  passed  a  turreted  castle  ;  now  a  pillared 
'palace  ;  then  a  fleet  bore  up  ;  then  came  knights  on  snowy 
steeds ;  then  a  Spanish  muleteer,  an  Arab  on  his  camel, 
an  Indian  with  his  hatchet,  a  group  of  palm-trees ;  and  then 
a  superb  gleaming  Himmalayan  peak. 

At  last  my  eyes  ached  with  the  lustrous  images,  and  I 
bathed  them  in  the  soothing  green  below,  watching  the 
motions  of  the  woods  in  the  wind.  I 


154  WOODS  AND  WATERS; 

At  a  little  distance  an  aspen  shook  as  if  to  drop  into 
pieces ;  then  a  pine  waved  its  emerald  plume.  An  oak 
next  trembled,  and  a  tremor  ran  through  a  massive  fir-tree. 
Next  a  maple  turned  up  the  whites  of  its  Argus  eyes  as 
the  Meadow-Sweet  kissed  the  blushing  Indian-Plume ;  while 
the  hemlock  murmured  through  all  its  fringes  at  his  lofti- 
ness forbidding  a  caress  to  the  wild  rose,  which  had  opened 
her  pink  beauty  directly  beneath  him.. 

The  breeze,  after  its  run  through  'the  woods,  betook 
itself,  like  a  deer,  to  the  water.  It  skimmed  away  like 
a  great  water-fly;  then,  after  throwing  a  dark,  ruffled 
mantle  over  the  surface,  it  leaped  into  a  white  cedar  and 
flitted  off  through  the  pulsating  forest. 

I  was  at  last  aroused  by  a  summons  from  Harvey,  and 
hurrying  to  the  boat,  found  my  companions  already  in  the 
stream. 

Down  again  we  went,  checking  our  course  at  the  mouths 
of  two  or  three  spring  brooks  for  the  speckled  prey. 

Passing  a  shingle  weaver's  camp,  and  threading  the 
Eapids  where  a  dozen  rocks  of  differing  sizes  in  the  channel 
caused  various  currents  and  eddies,  we  came  to  the  Great 
Oxbow. 

This  is  a  two-mile  sweep  of  the  river  around  a  long 
point.  Across  its  base,  however,  the  portage  is  scarcely 
more  than  a  score  of  paces. 

We  landed  at  the  base,  and  drew  the  boat  across,  crush- 
ing the  lush  wood-plants  into  an  emerald  paste.  Before 
launching  again,  we  regaled  ourselves  on  the  whortle- 
berries, whose  blue,  misty  eyes  glanced  at  us  in  every 
direction. 

"  Folks  gin'rally  say  the  Oxbow  or  the  Great  Oxbow, 
when  they  talk  o'  this  place;  but  there's  two  Oxbows. 
T'other  one  is  out  there  cluss  to  this ;  but  it's  a  bad  carry, 
and  the  boatmen  don't  never  notice  it,"  said  Harvey. 

"  There's  bin  a  mighty  thrashin'  'mongst  the  bushes 
here,"  continued  he,  glancing  round.  "  The  bears  'as  bin 
here,  that's  sarten— ryes,  yes — there's  the  tracks !  But  about 


OR,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.  155 

Old  Eamrod,  as  I  was  a  tellin'  on  ye,''  seating  himself  at 
the  foot  of  a  biteh,  I  doing  the  same,  "  he  made  a  good  deal 
o'  this  place ;  he  camped  here  for  some  years ;  and  in  his 
young  days  had  lived  here  in  a  sort  o'  cave,  or  rather  a 
holler  in  a  big  pine-tree,  the  biggest,  'cordin'  to  his  tell,  I 
ever  see  in  these  woods.  You  switched  a  thick  cedar-bush 
a  one  side,  and  crawled  inter  a  shelvin'  place  'twixt  the 
roots  like  a  wood-chuck's  hole,  and  there  was  a  place 
in  the  body  of  the  tree  big  enough  to  stand  up  in  and  walk 
a  leetle  about  and  lay  down  too,  curled  up,  though,  as  a 
hound  sleeps.  Old  Kamrod  made  two  or  three  knot-holes 
in  the  tree  bigger  to  give  'im  air  and  light.  They  made 
good  places  to  shoot  from,  too ;  and  the  St.  Regis  Injins 
bein'  about  the  Racket  in  them  days,  these  'ere  loopholes, 
as  'twere,  stood  him  a  good  turn  sometimes. 

"  He  was  a  great  Injin  fighter,  was  Ramrod,  for  he  had 
an  idee  the  Injins  had  no  business  comin'  on  the  Racket  to 
hunt  and  fish,  as  they  had  their  own  waters  all  round  the 
Upper  S'nac.  'Twas  treadin'  on  his  toes,  so  he  was  down 
on  'em,  and  got  up  a  fight  whensumever  he  could,  'tickelly 
when  there  wasn'^  more  'n  two  or  three  agin  'im.  He  pop- 
ped over  all  he  could,  and  finally  at  last  the  Injins  didn't 
never  go  on  the  Racket  without  expectin'  a  row  with  Old 
Ramrod  or  the  Quick  Wind,  as  they  nicknamed  'im,  'caze 
he'd  pounce  so  dreffle  sudden  on  'em  with  his  rifle.  The 
Injin  for  that  name  was  Grollywolly ;  and  I  guess  that  word, 
by  goll,  that  I  use  so  much,  comes  from  it.  Whether  or 
no,  one  day,  he,  that  is  Old  Ramrod,  had  been  up  to 
Folin'sby's  Pond,  and  had  fell  agin  a  rock,  so  as  to  break 
the  lock  of  his  rifle.  Well,  he  started  torts  hum,  and  jest 
as  he  rounded  the  left-hand  p'int  o'  the  brook  down  inter 
the  Racket,  what  did  he  see  but  an  Injin  canoe  hauled  up 
on  the  bank.  He  got  at  the  same  time  a  squint  o'  two 
Injins  crooched  up  like  a  couple  o'  mud-turtles,  or  like  a 
couple  o'  black  squirrels,  we'll  say,  crackin'  hickory  nuts. 
The  Injins,  though,  was  a  smokin'  through  them  queer 
kind  o'  things  o'  theirn — hatchets  hollered  out  in  the 


156  WOODS  AND  WATERS; 

handle,  with  the  bowl  in  the  head.  There  they  was,  with 
their  backs  torts  him.  Well,  he'd  got  'fairly  inter  the 
Backet,  and  he  was  in  hopes  they  wouldn't  see  'im  't  all,  as 
two  to  one  with  rifles  was  too  much  odds  for  the  old  feller, 
farse  as  he  was,  when  he  hadn't  got  no  rifle,  or  what  was 
next  to't,  one  that  was  broke.  But  jest  as  he  was  turnin' 
a  bush,  didn't  they  screech !  Did  you  ever  hear  a  war- 
whoop,  Mr.  Smith?  it's  so  (clapping  his  hand  to  his  mouth, 
and  playing  it  with  a  rapid  motion) :  hoo-oo-ooooooeee,  hoo  I 
And  as  they  sung  out,  they  started  for  their  canoe  in  sich 
a  hurry  that  they  didn't  never  think  o'  their  rifles.  Old 
Eamrod  see  the  whull  consarn,  and  he  put  to  't.  Didn't 
he  make  his  dug-out  spin !  I  tell  you  I  But  he  unly  got 
clear  by  the  skin  of  his  teeth ;  that  is,  by  rushin'  his  canoe 
up,  and  dashin'  crost  with  it  to  t'other  side  here  (for  the 
Injins  didn't  know  this  place,  and  kept  straight  on),  and 
lickety  splittin'  it  down'ards  to  Simon's  Slew,  where  he 
hid  a  whull  day  in  the  bushes." 

Again  we  were  on  our  downward  way,  and  the  sky 
began  to  burn  in  the  colors  of  the  sunset.  The  clouds  had 
long  been  streaming  towards  the  west,  and  now  reared  their 
gorgeous  architecture,  gold,  purple,  and  crimson,  radiant 
as  the  angel-ladder  that  shone  to  the  patriarch  in  his  dream. 

"  A  glorious  day  we'll  have  to-morrow,  Harvey,  for 
Tupper's  Lake,"  remarked  I. 

Harvey  shook  his  head. 

"  Too  much  deep  red  agin,  Mr.  Smith  1"  said  he. 
"  There's  rain  in  that  sundown ;  and  hark !  hear  them  two 
cranes  fly  in'  along  there.  All  that  jabberin'  says  jeest  as 
plain  as  the  sky  doos,  'rain  tomorrer.'  But  here's  our 
campin'  place  for  the  night,  and  there's  our  folks  all 
landed." 

The  spot  selected  was  a  little  green  hollow  on  the  right 
hand  bank,  with  a  spring  sparkling  from  the  roots  of  a  birch 
along  the  dell's  edge  to  the  river. 

Before  the  rose  had  faded  from  the  shreds  of  the  zenith- 
clouds,  the  grassy  plat  began  to  have  a  home-look;  a 


OR,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.  157 

blazing  camp-fire  reddening  up  our  tent,  and  the  crotched 
sticks  whereon  hung  portions  of  venison,  with  a  cluster  or 
so  of  trout,  ducks,  and  partridges.  In  the  thickening 
dusk,  by  pine-knot  torches,  we  took  our  supper,  and  after 
a  smoke  under  the  hazy  stars,  my  comrades  retired  to  the 
tent  for  eucre.  I  strolled  to  the  river-bank,  and  found 
three  of  the  guides,  with  their  pine-torches,  around  the 
boats.  It  was  a  striking  scene ;  the  black  walls  of  forest, 
the  dark  river  dotted  here  and  there  with  a  star,  relieved 
by  pallid  spaces  caught  on  the  sensitive  surface  from 
lighter  portions  of  the  sky,  and  flecked  with  the  deep 
crimson  of  the  torches  under  which  a  stone,  a  water-log,  a 
ripple,  a  spot  of  lily-pads,  a  dipping  bush,  looked  redly 
forth.  The  same  dark-red  lustre  brought  fitfully  out  a 
hunting-shirt,  a  bronzed  face,  a  hand,  an  oar-blade,  or  the 
half  hollow  of  a  boat ;  the  whole  presenting  a  picture  of 
strange,  flitting  effects,  worthy  Kembrandt. 

I  listened  to  the  guides  a  moment. 

"  There's  a  trout  as  is  a  trout,"  said  one,  lifting  a  two- 
pounder.  "  This  mouth  o'  his'n  is  open  as  wide  as  a  school- 
mam's  a  singin'  Coronation." 

"  I  wonder  ef  we  go  to  Tupper's  Lake  tomorrer  ?"  asked 
a  second.  "  I'm  a  kinder  hungerin'  after  Eedside  or  Grind- 
stone Brook,  I  don't  keer  which." 

"  'Twould  be  news  to  us  ef  ye  ever  stopped  hungerin' 
after  anything,"  said  the  first.  "  But  hang  it !  I've  carried 
boat  so  much  this  summer,  my  neck's  so  hard  a  bear  *ud 
crack  his  jaw  on't." 

"  Say  skull,  and  we'd  all  b'leeve  ye  I"  retorted  the  hun- 
gerer.  "  I'll  leave  it  to  the  company  ef  there  ever  was  a 
time  yet  that  this  chap  wasn't  more  fond  o'  lettin'  suthin' 
run  through  his  neck  than  carryin'  ennything  on't !" 

"Well,  hooray,  boys,"  exclaimed  Harvey,  "let's  hurry 
up  our  work  and  make  a  sleep  on't  jest  as  soon  as  kin  be. 
I'm  consid'able  tuckered  out  fur  one,  and  I  guess  by  tomorrei 
we'll  all  feel  suthin'  a-runnin'  every  where  over  us,  ef  I'm 
any  judge  when  rain's  a-comin'." 


158  WOODS  AND  WATERS; 

Entering  the  tent,  I  found  my  companions  in  a  paroxysm 
of  argument  on  one  of  the  political  questions  of  the  day, 
Gay  lor  and  Kenning  (as  well  as  I  could  ascertain,  from  the 
hubbub)  fighting  off  Bingham  and  Coburn.  In  a  short  time, 
Gaylor,  having  the  weakest  voice  and  the  most  modesty, 
and  finding  himself  buried  in  the  clamor,  turned  to  me  in 
a  lowered  tone,  and  then  to  Harvey  (who  had  just  made 
his  appearance  with  an  ejaculation  of  something  about  sup- 
per), finishing  on  him  what  he  had  to  say  in  a  sort  of  con- 
fidential aside.  Renning  soon  after  made  a  grumbling 
retreat,  evidently  crippled,  and  Bingham  and  Coburn  had 
the  field  to  themselves.  Then  in  following  up  their  victory 
they  fell  out  between  themselves,  each  at  length  pummel- 
ling the  other  with  hard  assertions,  and  each  voice  striving 
to  soar  above  the  other,  until  a  shout  from  Harvey  that  sup- 
per was  ready  sliced  the  battle  short  off,  and  sent  all-  to  the 
waiting  trout  and  venison,  now  as  cool  as  the  argument  had 
been  flaming. 

As  Harvey  had  once  more  predicted,  rain  came  with  the 
morning,  confining  us  to  the  tent.  In  the  desultory  con- 
versation that  after  a  while  occurred,  we  all  caught  at  last 
upon  the  topic  of  fishing,  Renning  and  Gaylor  becoming 
exceedingly  learned,  and  I  thought  rather  tedious,  in  explain- 
ing the  varieties  of  hooks  and  flies,  and  enlarging  upon 
trolling,  fishing  at  buoys,  and  what  not.  The  guides 
seemed  much  interested  in  the  discussion,  listening  with  an 
air  of  great  respect,  while  Renning,  leaving  Gaylor  behind, 
with  an  occasional  glance  at  them,  contrasted,  fluently  and 
enthusiastically,  but  (the  truth  must  be  owned)  somewhat 
pompously,  the  merits  of  the  different  hackle  flies,  and 
hooks,  reels,  baits,  rods,  and  so  forth,  until  Bingham  invo- 
luntarily commenced  a  whistle,  which  he,  however,  bit  off, 
and  even  the  faithful  Gaylor  showed  by  the  swelling  of  his 
features  that  he  was  struggling  with  an  inward  yawn.  Still 
the  guides  lingered  and  listened,  nodding  their  admiration 
to  each  other,  and  retreated  only  when  Renning,  fairly 
bothered  with  his  own  arguments,  seemed  hardly  to  know 


OR,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.  159 

which  fly,  hook,  reel,  bait,  or  rod,  he  most  preferred  him- 
self, and  covered  his  confusion  under  the  smoke  of  a  fresh 
cigar. 

Happening  shortly  after  to  pass  along  a  thicket  skirting 
the  open  tent  of  the  guides,  I  became  the  involuntary 
depository  of  their  reflections  on  Ralph's  eloquence. 

"  Dang  my  parsnips,"  said  one  on  his  breast,  tossing  up  his 
leg  and  putting  a  hemlock  twig  in  his  mouth,  "  ef  I  didn't 
swell  all  up,  I  was  so  full  o'  laugh  at  Mr.  Runnin's  topsy- 
turvy talk  about  fishin'.  How  he  did  go  on  about  his 
black  flies,  and  grey  flies,  and  green  flies.  Ef  he  likes  flies 
so  much,  I  wish  he'd  all  on  'em  to  himself  in  this  ere 
quarter  o'  the  country." 

"  Talkin'  o'  black  flies,"  said  another,  "  it's  my  idee  ef 
he'd  got  unly  about  a  dozen  o'  them  nips  that  I  had  from 
the  black  divils  last  June  in  Simon's  Slew,  he  wouldn't 
want  to  see  no  more  o'  that  color."  • 

"  And  as  fur  his  reels,  his  plain  and  multiplying  and 
Lord  knows  what  all,"  said  a  third,  "  the  unly  reel  I  keer 
about  is  the  Scotch  reel,  and  the  more  multiplyin'  that 
with  a  sarten  schoolmam  I  knows  on  down  at  the  settle- 
ment, the  better  for  me  1" 

Here  old  Harvey  broke  in. 

"  I  don't  say  there  aint  as  nice  men  in  the  world  as  Mr. 
Runnin',  but  I  do  say  there  aint  no  nicer :  he's  old  hunderd, 
that's  a  fact ;  and  he's  good  enough  fur  fishin'  in  the  streams 
and  brooks  round  in  the  settlements — that  is  fur  what  I 
know — but,  massy,  b'ys,  I  raally  thought  I  should  split 
when  I  heerd  him  agoin'  on  about  his  reels,  and  his  rods, 
and  his  flies,  and  grubs,  and  so  on.  It  doos  make  me 
cackle  to  see  these  city  fellers  bring  out  to  S'nac  their  rods, 
lookin'  as  ef  slicked  all  over  with  'lasses,  and  all  shinin' 
with  brass,  and  their  brass  reels  that  takes  more  trouble  to 
handle  than  a  dozen  oars  over  a  two  mile  carry.  Them 
devilish  reels  is,  after  all,  the  wust  things  I  knows  on. 
They're  al'ys  a  gittin'  ketched  some  way  in  yer  coat,  jest 
when  ye  hook  a  big  trout ;  or  they  go  spinnin'  out,  jest 


160  WOODS  AND  WATERS; 

when  ye  don't  want  'em  to,  and  ef  ye  hev  a  stop  in  'em, 
the  'tarnal  stop  stops  at  the  p'int  where  it  shouldn't  stop. 
But,  howsever,  this  is  the  thing.  About  them  shiny  rods. 
Now,  b'ys,  I  kin  git  a  rod  ennywheres  in  the  woods,  with 
a  good  plain  hook,  that  '11  do  all  I  want  a  rod  to  do,  and  I've 
fished  more'n  forty  year  in  these  ere  wild  waters ;  and  as  for 
flies,  I'll  take  a  worm,  or  mebby  a  bit  o'  minnie,  and  I'll 
go  right  after  one  that's  bin  fishin'  with  a  fly  and  ketch  jest 
twice  as  many  as  he  did  in  the  same  spot.  I  don't  keer  how 
much  he  skitters  here  and  skitters  there,  and  all  that.  A 
worm's  a  worm  in  these  ere  waters.  And  then  the  rifles 
the  gen'nlemen  bring.  Why,  my  darter  Polly  kin  see  to 
fix  her  hair  in  the  stocks,  and  they're  all  finified  off  with 
silver.  Now  there's  my  old  rifle  Spitfire,  that  I've  killed  a 
hunderd  deer  with  in  about  three  weeks  at  Tupper's  Lake 
in  one  season  alone ;  I  wouldn't  give  that  rifle  fur  any  one 
o'  them  kitteningoes  they  brings ;  and  that,  b'ys,  is  the 
whull  matter !" 

At  noon  it  cleared.  It  was  decided  upon,  however,  as 
the  camp  spot  was  so  pleasant,  to  stay  where  we  were  until 
the  next  morning. 

"  And  as  that's  the  case,"  said  Bingham,  "  and  we  shall 
have  a  clear,  pleasant  night,  I  intend  to  start  on  a  jack- 
hunt  as  far  as  the  Rapids  as  soon  as  it's  dark.  Harvey, 
will  you  be  paddler  ?  Cort  don't  feel  very  well." 

"  Sarten !"  answered  the  old  boatman. 

"  Well,  have  your  boat  ready,  and  if  there's  a  deer  as 
^,r  as  we  go  on  the  river,  I  intend  to  make  its  acquaint- 
ance !" 

But  about  sunset  it  thickened  up  once  more,  and  shortly 
the  rain  threads  began  glimmering. 

"  Another  rainy  night  on't,"  said  Harvey  sauntering  up. 

"  Well,"  said  Bingham,  "  truly  may  we  say,  in  all  sin- 
cerity, in  these  woods,  '  The  Lord  reigneth.'  But  rain  or 
no  rain,  I  mean  to  float  for  deer  to-night  up  the  Kacket. 
Be  all  ready,  Harvey,  so  we  can  start  at  dark.  The  rain 
after  all  may  stop  soon." 


OR,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.  161 

The  rain  still  fell.  And  it  looked  as  though  it  wouldn't 
stop  in  a  hurry. 

Night  came. 

"  Come,  hurrah  there  I"  said  Bingham,  slipping  on  his 
rough  overcoat  and  clapping  his  rifle  within  it.  "  All 
ready,  Harvey?" 

"  All  ready,  Mr.  Bingham  I     Come,  Mr.  Smith !" 

"What,  is  Smith  going  too?  Well,  hurrah,  hurrah! 
the  deuce  take  the  rain  !  Come,  Harvey,  light  your  jack 
and  push  off!  ought  to  be  nearly  to  the  Rapids  by  this 
time !  Come,  hurrah,  hurrah,"  and  off  we  pushed  upon 
the  rainy  river. 

The  most  intense  darkness  wrapt  the  scene,  with  a  silence 
broken  only  by  the  humming  on  the  leaves  and  sprinklings 
on  the  water. 

Up  we  went,  the  Bluebird  glancing  her  eye  into  the 
banks,  but  we  saw  nothing,  heard  nothing  that  told  of  deer. 
From  a  gloomy  clearing  on  the  left  bank,  came  the  asthma- 
tic whine  of  an  owl,  and  now  and  then  the  hoarse  gulp  of 
a  frog.  At  last  we  reached  the  foot  of  the  Rapids,  with 
the  shingle- weaver's  camp  just  above.  A  single  light  like 
a  star  told  where  the  woodman  was  weaving  his  shingles 
by  his  pine-knot  torch.  All  else  was  solitude.  Here  Bing- 
ham and  I  landed,  while  Harvey  pushed  up  through  the 
Rapids  to  visit  the  camp.  We  kindled  a  bonfire  with  some 
old  shavings  on  the  bank,  upon  a  broad  rock  at  the  foot  of 
the  Rapids.  The  glare  flashed  the  black  scenery  into  crim- 
son life.  Soon  a  shout  sounded  from  the  head  of  the 
Rapids,  and  amid  the  wild  flaming  light  and  a  shower  of 
red  sparks,  I  saw  Harvey  descending  in  his  boat  and  kneel- 
ing in  Indian  fashion.  Darting  hither  and  yon  like  a 
frighted  bird ;  seeming  at  one  time  to  be  dashing  on  a  rock, 
then  swinging  round  in  some  eddy,  the  little  Bluebird  at 
length  emerged  from  her  perils,  ready  for  her  return  flight 
to  camp.  Down  the  river  again  she '  sped,  but  as  before 
we  saw  nothing.  Once  only  there  was  a  light,  cautious, 
paddling  tread  in  the  water,  but  the  gloom  disclosed  no 
11 


162  WOODS  AND  WATERS; 

living  shape ;  black  logs  and  blacker  rocks  alone  met  our 
view. 

A  little  before  midnight  we  returned  to  the  camp.  The 
rain  was  still  falling,  freshening  into  ruddier  light  the  camp- 
fire,  which  sent  up  among  the  leaves  long  lines  of  golden 
lace  work.  Seated  upon  their  stools  around  the  tent,  front- 
ing the  genial  blaze,  were  my  comrades,  pretending  to  be 
lost  in  admiration  of  the  glittering  curls  that  were  winding 
through  the  foliage,  but  really  lost  in  the  effects  of  a  huge 
pitcher  of  punch. 

Soon  the  rain  ceased,  and  by  the  time  we  went  to  bed 
the  stars  were  shining. 


OR>  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.  163 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

Simon's  Pond.— Harvey's  Story  of  Old  Sabele,  the  Indian. — Driving  Deer. — 
The  Simon's  Pond  Pirate. — Tapper's  Lake. — Night  Sail  on  Lake. 

MORNING  arose  calm,  and  mantled  in  light  cloud.  The 
sun -glow  interfusing  the  delicate  mist  kindled  it  into  a 
veil  of  pearl  streaming  over  the  brow  of  the  day. 

We  had  fallen  so  in  love  with  our  camp,  and  the  softness 
of  the  weather  was  so  luxurious,  that  we  deferred  our  depar- 
ture from  hour  to  hour. 

My  comrades  went  to  their  eucre  again,  and  I  took  a 
seat  on  a  log  near  where  the  guides  were  "  lying  around 
loose." 

"  That  chap  that  goes  about  peddlin'  so  much  from 
t'other  side  o'  Keene  Mountain,"  said  one,  rolling  from  his 
breast  to  his  back,  and  slouching  his  hat  over  his  eyes, 
"let's  me  see,  his  name  is — no  matter,  he's  cross-eyed 
and  chaws  t'baccy  some  I  tell  ye !  well,  he  was  a  tellin' 
round  t'other  day  at  Harrietstown,  that  he  could  kill  more 
deer,  ketch  more  trout,  and  row  a  boat  better  than  enny 
guide  about  Baker's. 

"  '  Why,'  said  I,  'you  don't  know  as  much  as  a  yaller 
dog  about  enny  o'  them  things  you're  a  braggin'  about.' 
He  was  a  goin'  to  get  mad,  but  he  kinder  thought  better 
on't." 

"  Fools  is  fools,"  said  Harvey,  "  and  you  can't  make 
nothin'  else  on  ?m.  But  I  say,  b'ys,  let's  hev  a  shootin' 
match !" 

As  he  spoke,  a  ground  squirrel  darted  upon  a  mossy  log 
near,  and  lifting  his  brush,  looked  saucily  at  the  guides. 
Will  seized  his  rifle,  and  as  the  little  striped  clown  of  tK 


164  WOODS  AND  WATERS; 

underbrush  turned,  lie  fired,  and  the  animal  fell,  minus 
a  head.  Tiny,  chirpy  titmouse  next  came  hopping  along, 
bending  his  brown  turban  to  one  side  and  the' other;  but 
as  he  paused  under  a  buff  hopple-sprout  to  peck  at  his 
raised  foot,  away  went  his  turban,  picked  off  by  a  bullet 
from  Oort.  Then  Harvey  glanced  at  a  yellow  bull's-eye 
of  a  knot  bulging  high  on  a  pine-tree.  Up  went  his  piece 
to  his  left  shoulder,  and  as  the  short,  flat  report  rang  in  my 
ears,  I  saw  a  black  spot  in  the  middle  of  the  bulge  like  a 
robin's  eye. 

"  Wa-a-1 1"  said  the  remaining  guide,  "  I  don't  see  no 
more  chipmunks,  or  chickadees,  or  knots,  and  not  even  a 
respectable-sized  devil's  darnin'-needle  on  the  stream  to 
shoot  at ;  but  there's  suthin'  up  there,"  pointing  to  a  pre- 
maturely crimsoned  leaf  of  the  mercury  plant,  which 
wreathed  a  maple-stem,  looking  like  a  red  dot  on  the  soft 
grey  of  the  sky,  "  that  I  rayther  guess  I'll  drill  a  hola 
through." 

So  saying,  he  aimed,  and  the  leaf  vanished. 

After  dinner,  we  decided  to  start  for  Tupper's  Lake  (six 
or  eight  miles  distant,  and  connected  with  the  Racket), 
and  there  erect  our  camp  for  a  week.  A  spot  on  the  east 
shore,  nearly  opposite  two  islands  called  the  Two  Brothers, 
and  about  a  mile  from  where  we  entered  the  lake,  as 
explained  to  me  by  Eenning,  was  the  spot  selected. 

Everything  being  in  readiness,  we  started,  Corey  and 
little  Jess  taking  the  lead  in  the  store-boats.  They  were 
to  precede  us  to  the  lake,  to  place  the  camp  in  readiness  for 
our  arrival,  we  having  settled  on  a  drive  at  Simon's  Pond 
on  our  way  thither. 

Harvey  and  I  took  the  lead  of  the  party. 

The  river  was  smooth,  and  the  colors  upon  it  were  all 
soft  and  velvety. 

"Stetson's!"  said  Harvey,  as  we  passed  where  a  brook 
came  in  at  the  north  bank,  with  a  boat  or  two  drawn  up 
on  the  muddy  margin.  "  There's  his  house  and  clearin'  I 
There's  quite  a  little  settlement  about  here !  half  a  dozen 


OR,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.  165 

fara'lies,  sarten  !  My  son  Sim's  'mongst  'em.  'Tisn't 
more  'n  a  mile  right  crost  the  woods  to  Eacket  Pond, 
below  Tupper's  Lake,  and  the  Pond's  eight  -miles  from 
here.  So  you  see  what  an  onmassyful  twistin'  river  the 
Eacket  is." 

As  we  doubled  a  point  we  came  upon  a  shanty,  crouch- 
ing, with  its  two  gleams  of  windows,  under  a  leaning  fir, 
like  a  frog  under  a  tilted  lily-pad.  A  hunter  sat  upon  a 
log,  cleaning  his  rifle. 

"  Goin'  to  Tupper's  Lake,  I  'spose  ?"  shouted  he. 

"Nothin'  shorter,"  shouted  Harvey,  in  return;  "but  I 
say !  had  enny  sport  at  Simon's  Slew,  or  on  the  pond, 
lately?" 

"  Killed  two  in  the  pond,  jack-huntin',  unly  last  nighx — 
a  buck  and  a  doe.  They're  mighty  thick  up  thf3. 
Kicked  the  lily-pads  clean  up  on  eend." 

"  All  right !"  said  Harvey ;  and  we  passed  on. 

We  turned  shortly  into  a  little  stream  to  the  south,  ttat 
spread,  after  a  few  rods,  into  a  broad  expanse. 

"  Simon's  Pond !"  ejaculated  Harvey,  and  steered  out 
upon  its  surface.  All  around  us  was  a  pavement  of  lily- 
pads,  which  bore  fresh  tokens  of  deer  in  the  piled  and 
upturned  leaves. 

"We  had  taken  the  short  cut  into  the  pond,  and  had  to 
await  the  other  boats  through  the  usual  channel.  After  a 
while  they  appeared ;  and  "Watch  and  Sport  were  taken 
by  Harvey  into  the  woods  for  the  drive.  He  soon  returned, 
taking  his  seat  at  the  prow,  with  the  encouraging  remark, 
that  it  wouldn't  be  long,  he  guessed,  "afore  we'd  hear 
music." 

The  other  boats  dwindled  off  to  their  stations. 

We  were  in  a  beautiful  little  nook;  the  Bluebird  ginned 
to  a  log  by  Harvey's  oar  planted  close  to  her  side  )  a  the 
ooze  of  the  shallow.  A  streak  of  white  lilies,  with  sp  >ts  of 
little,  furzy  pink  blossoms,  was  just  outside. 

The  snipe  alighted  and  hopped,  bowing  in  his  grey  coat 
and  white  waistcoat,  along  the  wet  stones,  and  the  green 


166  WOODS  AND  WATERS; 

bullfrog  jumped  with  a  croak  on  the  black  log,  and  lifting 
his  yellow,  speckled  throat,  stared  at  us  with  his  great  eye- 
jewels,  as  if  he  were  carved  from  stone, 

"  I  never  telled  ye  about  old  Sabele,  I  bleeve !"  said 
Harvey,  after  a  while,  but  in  a  cautious  tone.  "  He  was 
an  old  Injin.  I  knowed  'im  well.  When  I  fust  knowed  'im 
he  was  shantyin'  where  old  Leo  is  campin'  now,  down  on 
the  Racket,  jest  above  Racket  Pond.  He  was  as  good  a 
shot  at  a  deer,  and  could  ketch  as  big  a  lot  o'  trout  as  the 
next  man,  and  he  wa'n't  no  man's  fool  at  trappin' ;  he  was 
an  orful  old  critter,  though,  when  he  got  mad  ;  but" — 
bending  his  ear  suddenly,  "  I  bleeve  I  heerd  one  o'  the 
pups  then — was  as  smart,  actyve  a  man  for  his  years  as 
I've  most  ever  seen,  and  as  a  gin'ral  thing  was  purty  good- 
natered.  But  when  he  got  rum  aboard,  look  out !  Why, 
he'd  dance  and  kick  about,  and  keep  his  tommyhawk 
a-goin'  and  sssss-sing,  he  would,  like  a  dozen  bagpipes. 
'  Hah,  hah  slammerawhang,  hooh !'  he'd  go,  '  hah,  hah, 
wah — hay'  (cocking  his  ear,  with  eyes  and  mouth  wide 
open),  that  must  ha'  bin  one  o'  the  dogs — Watch,  I  think. 
Well,  he  used  to  tell  me  some  o'  the  terr'blest  long  yarns 
about  what  he  did  when  he  was  a  young  man  in  Canady, 
in  the  last  war.  He  fit  fur  us,  he  said,  and  he  must  ha' 
bin  round  some,  'cordin'  to  his  tell.  '  Sabele,'  he  used  to 
say,  '  put  on  de  TN  ax-paint — all  red  on  one  side  de  face,  and 
black  on  toder — den  he  dance  de  war  dance,  and  hit  de 
war  post  all  down  to  noting,  and  den  he  took  de  war  trail ;' 
that  is,  he  went  out  for  a  gin'ral  spree  agin  the  British, 
a  tomahawkin'  and  a  sculpin — there's  a  blue  jee  agin' !  what 
a  squawkin',  sarpent  'tis ! — the  wust  way. 

"  He  was  livin'  with  his  tribe  on  the  'Tawy  River,  and 
fell  in  love  with  a  white  gal — what  a  tattin'  that  plaguy 
woodpecker  keeps  up  !  I  could  hear  the  pups,  though,  for 
all  that  sharp  rattlin'.  There  ain't  no  sound  in  natur'  that 
joggles  enny  other  sound  to  me.  But  as  I  was  say  in' 
about  old  Sabele.  This  white  gal  was  the  darter  of  an  old 
trapper  that  lived  nigh  the  tribe.  Now,  as  Old  Sanko  would 


OR,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SAKANACS.  167 

hev  it,  there  was  two  things  agin  Sabele  and  the  gal ;  one 
was,  it  was  agin  the  law  o'  the  tribe  fur  to  marry  ermy 
except  Injins ;  and  the  other  was,  the  old  chief  of  the  tribe 
wanted  Sabele  to  marry  his  own  darter ;  and  as  he  was  a 
bright,  smart,  actyve  chap,  and  a  great  warryor  (as  the 
Injins  calls  their  fightin'  charackters),  the  old  chief — let's 
see,  what  was  his  name  ? — well,  I  forgit  it ;  but  no  matter, 
he  forbid  the  match.  But  that  didn't  make  not  a  mite  o' 
diff'rence  with  their  feelins — that  is,  Sabele  and  the  gal — 
they  hed  sich  an  orful  sight  o'  love  aboard.  So  the  old 
,chief,  as  ye  may  s'pose,  didn't  like  it. 

"  But  afore  he  did  anything,  he  hed  a  talk  with  Sabele. 
Old  Sabele  has  telled  me  this  ere  talk  more'n  twenty  times ; 
when  he  got  very  drunk  he  used  to  tell  it,  I  tell  yer,  with 
all  the  hifilutens. 

"  Well  the  old  chief,  s'ze,  to  Sabele,  s'ze,  '  "Wing  o'  the 
cloud,'  s'ze,  '  Eagle  o'  the  sun !'  the  old — lem  me  see — was 
it  oak  ?  I  disremember,  but  'twas  some  old  tree  or  other — 
the  old — whatever  'twas — cedar,  or  white  pine,  or — maple 
fur  what  I  know — is  now — the  idee  was — a  tott'rin'  like — 
and  '11  soon — the  idee  was — fall  down — that  is — the  p'int 
on't  was,  that  the  old  chief  might  soon  die  off,  and  then  the 
Eagle — ef  so  be  he  behaved  himself — would  be  head  o'  the 
tribe.  '  But,'  s'ze,  '  listen,'  s'ze !  the  '  Eagle,'  s'ze,  '  when  he 
— kinder  tries,  you  know,  to  fly  right  agin  a  blast  o'wind 
— w-e-1-1 — a  harricane  like — -that's  the  idee — he's — the  idee 
was — throwed  back  catwallopus  right  agin  the  rocks,  where 
— as  a  body  may  say — he  breaks  all  the  bones  in  his  body' 
—by  goll !  there's  the  pups,  and  in  airnest  too  I"  spring- 
ing his  locks.  "  The  runway  is  by  that  little  openin'  there, 
cluss  to  that  leanin'  white  cedar.  Look  out  now,  and  you'll 
see  suthin'  in  a  few  minutes.  Watch  and  Sport's  both 
a  singin'  like  a  row  o'  schoolmams  at  camp  meetin'." 

As  he  ceased,  a  distant  guttural  yet  sweet  and  liquid 
ough,  ough,  ough,  ouoo,  ouoo,  ouoo,  ul-lul-ul,  lul-ull-lull- 
loo  touched  my  ear,  rapidly  swelling;  nearer  and  nearer; 
then  sinking,  and  floating  away,  then  rising  again;  the  music 


168,  WOODS  AND  WATEES; 

of  different  tones  blending,  separating,  blending  once  more, 
and  now  coming  closer  and  closer. 

Harvey,  with  his  rifle  raised,  and  his  whole  appearance 
bristling  with  excitement,  sat  with  his  protruded  eyes 
gleaming  and  fixed  on  the  opening  that  was  gauzed  in  a 
curl  of  sunny  mist  from  the  water. 

Nearer,  nearer,  nearer  swelled  the  music  of  the  hounds. 
At  last  in  the  woods  just  beyond  the  cedar,  a  brown  shape 
glanced,  and  the  next  moment  a  buck,  with  his  antlers  on 
his  shoulders  and  his  sharp  face  lifted,  shot  across  the  open- 
ing, his  dark  stretched-out  frame  appearing  like  a  phantom . 
darting  through  golden  smoke.  With  one  bound  he  leaped 
into  the  water.  Harvey  fired ;  the  deer  gave  a  convul- 
sive spring  and  then  sank. 

"  Deer  sink  this  time  o'  year  in  the  water  jest  like  a  stun 
ef  they're  shot  dead,"  said  Harvey,  pulling  up  his  oar 
and  making  the  boat  fly  toward  the  spot  where  the  deer 
had  disappeared;  "but  this  can't  sink  fur  in  this  shall er. 
There  'tis,"  pushing  aside  the  lily-pads. 

The  deer  was  lying  on  the  bottom,  not  more  than  two 
feet  from  the  surface. 

'  "A  three  year  old  buck  at  least,"  added  Harvey,  strik- 
ing the  prongs  of  a  boat-hook  he  always  carried  into  the 
animal's  neck,  lifting  his  head  above  the  water  and  drag- 
ging him  into  the  boat. 

"  The  dogs  has  turned,"  as  a  faint  burst  of  cries  came 
from  another  direction ;  "  they  must  'ave  rousted  up  two 
deer.  You  shot  the  buck  you  know,  Mr.  Smith!  This 
is  a  mason  boat !  You'll  be  rael  old  hunderd  with  'm  after 
this.  They  kinder  think  you  can't  shoot  no  deer  no  way  ; 
but  this  '11  make  'm  feel  thank  ye  mam  all  over  torts  yer ! 
Ho,  ho,  ho  1  won't  they  look  jealous — but  by  goll  there's 
another  deer  in  the  pond — there — don't  ye  see  a  speck  like 
a  loon's  head?  Mr.  Eunnin's  boat's  closin'  on't  too. 
Mart's  a  goin'  to  tail  it.  Yes,  by  hokey  he  has,  and  Mr. 
Eunnin's  shootin' !  We've  got  another  deer,"  as  the  crack 
of  a  rifle  echoed  over  the  pond. 


OK,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.  169 

"  So  you've  a  deer  too,"  said  Renning  as  we  approached ; 
'  pretty  well  for  an  hour's  work.  Gay]  or  has  taken  up  the 
dogs,  and  what  say  you  all  now  to  having  a  look  at  the 
pond!" 

"Jess  so!"  answered  Harvey,  "that  is  ef  so  be  Mr. 
Smith's  agreeable,  as  I  b'leeve  he  is,  that  is,  I  kinder  con- 
sated  you'd  all  hev  a  notion  to  take  a  cruise,  and  so" — 

"  Well,  hurrah  then  !"  said  Renning,  leading  the  way. 

"  There  may  be  as  nice  men  about,"  said  Harvey,  hitch- 
ing his  hat  over  his  eyes,  "  as  Mr.  Runnin',  but,  as  I've 
said  afore,  there  aint  no  nicer.  But  don't  you  think,  Mr. 
Smith,  he's  sometimes  got  a  kind  o'  way  of  cuttin'  crost 
folks  when  they're  talkin'  ?  Now  I  don't  never  stick  my 
tongue  in  when  I  ought'n  ter,  and  as  you  knows  I  haint  no 
great  shakes  of  a  talker  enny  way ;  I  al'ys  'ud  a  great  sight 
ruther  hear  other  folks  talk  than  talk  myself;  but  some- 
times when  I  do  say  suthin'  I  somehow  kinder  like  to  say 
it  through.  But  it's  all  right,  so  (croaking) 

"  '  He  went  to  the  wars,  alas,  long  years  ago-o-o-o, 
And  I  live  but  to  see  him  unst  more  at  Glencoe  1'  " 

and  so  on ! " 

The  shores  were  high  and  covered  with  forest.  The  water 
was  clear  as  air,  and  in  the  soft  afternoon  light  had  in  it  a 
golden  gleam  like  champagne.  We  skimmed  rapidly  to 
the  head,  landing  on  a  ledge  of  grey  rock  for  a  lunch.  We 
then  entered  the  inlet  leading,  as  Harvey  informed  me,  into 
a  small  pond  back  of  Mount  Morris. 

','  There's  the  place  for  a  jack-hunt,"  said  he,  as  leaving 
the  inlet  we  skirted  a  swampy  meadow.  "  But  I  must  tell 
ye  of  an  old  feller  that  lived  on  this  pond  some  twenty 
years  ago.  I'll  tell  ye  the  rest  about  old  Sabele  tomorrer 
on  Tupper's  Lake.  "Tisn't  old  Simon  that  the  pond's  named 
after  that  I  mean,  but  an  old  man,  a  hermit  like,  as  I  heerd 
a  gen'leman  call't,  that  was  as  lonesome  in  his  way  o'  livin' 
a' most  as  an  old  loon.  He  was  a  cur'ous  old  critter,  and 
/  think  a  leetle  out  of  his  head.  He  was  about  the  wust 


170  WOODS  AND  WATERS; 

lookin'  man  I  ever  see.  He  had  a  scar  from  his  eyebrow 
clearn  down  his  cheek,  and  when  he  was  in  liquor  and  mad, 
for  when  he  was  in  one  he  was  t'other,  that  scar  'ud  turn 
the  color  of  a  red  huntin'  shirt,  and  his  eye  looked  as  farse 
as  a  painter's.  Some  folks  said  he'd  been  a  pirate,  and  I 
raally  b'leeve  he  hed,  for  he'd  talk  the  queerest  when  he'd 
rum  aboard  I  ever  heerd  a  decent  man  talk. 

"  '  I've  cut  a  man  to  pieces  when  I  was  down  in  Cuby 
fur  a  less  thing  'n  that,'  said  he  one  time  when  a  chap  gin 
him  the  lie  in  a  shootin'  match  at  Harrietstown,  '  and  dern 
me'  (or  suthin'  wusser  'n  that)  '  ef  I  stand  it  now,'  and  with 
that  he  outs  with  his  knife  and  makes  a  spring  at  him, 
and  ye  may  bleeve  there  was  a  row  there  a  leetle  while. 
The  old  feller — his  name  was  Kelsey — didn't  use  his  knife 
though,  fur  a  leetle  chap  by  the  name  of — what  was  that 
feller's  name  agin  ?  Doodle !  no  !  well,  he  had  a  game  leg, 
and  we  used  to  call  him  Hoppy.  He  was  one  o'  them  kind 
o'  fellers  that  wasn't  afeard,  well,  I  might  as  well  say  it,  of 
the  divil ;  he  come  up  and  took  him  right  by  the  elbow — 
he  was  as  spry  as  a  cat  that  feller — and  afore  old  Kelsey 
knowed  it,  he  had  the  knife  away.  Oh,  but  wa'n't  old 
Kelsey  mad,  old  Moose  Kelsey,  as  we  used  to  call  'im  !  He 
fairly  roared,  but  twant  no  use,  and  finally  at  last  he  cooled 
down  and  took  a  drink. 

"  He  wa'n't  much  of  a  hunter  or  fisherman,  but  he -was 
an  all  fired  trapper.  At  one  time  he'd  a  longer  saple  line 
than  enny  other  man  in  all  the  S'nac  region.  It  reached 
from  this  pond  clearn  up  inter  the  St.  Regis,  massy  knows 
how  fur.  More'n  fifty  mile  though.  I  shantied  with  ,'im 
a  week,  one  fall,  on  Tapper's  Lake  ketchin'  fur.  We  got 
all  the  rats  we  wanted,  besides  fisher  and  mink  and  saple ; 
and  we  killed  a  good  lot  o'  ven-'son  too.  But  I  wouldn't  a 
stayed  with  him  a  week  longer  fur  all  the  fur  and  ven'son 
on  the  lake.  Why  he'd  start  out  of  a  sound  sleep  right 
onto  his  feet  with  one  jump,  and  y-e-11 ;  and  his  eyes  'ud 
glare,  and  sometimes  he'd  stagger  and  tottle  back  as  ef  he 
wanted  to  hide  himself,  and  tremble  he  would  jest  like  a 


OR,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.  171 

fa'n  when  he's  ketch  ed,  and  he'd  scream  out,  in  a  kind  o' 
jerk,  '  Go  'way,  go  'way !'  and  at  other  times  he'd  jump 
forred  and  ketch  the  air  and  hev  a  fight  all  to  himself  with 
his  knife.  Sometimes  he  wouldn't  sleep 't  all,  but  walk  up 
and  down,  up  and  down,  all  night.  I  got  beat  out  at  the 
end  o'  the  week  and  put  fur  hum." 

"  What  became  of  him,  Harvey  ?" 

"  Well  he  died.  He  was  found  by  a  couple  o'  hunters 
dead  under  a  tree  nigh  a  wolf-trap  o'  his'n  on  the  edge  of 
the  little  pond,  up  there  under  Mount  Morris.  I  never 
could  fairly  make  out  about  'im.  After  he  died  his  shanty 
was  sarched,  and  a  cutlash  and  an  old  sailor's  jacket,  with 
an  anchor  on  the  sleeve,  was  found  in  a  cubby  hole,  and 
an  old  scrap  of  a  newspaper,  printed  I  bleeve  in  New 
Orleans,  that  had  a  long  account  of  a  nest  o'  pirates  that 
bed  bin  broken  up  in  one  o'  the  islands  round  Cuby. 
Some  on  'm  had  bin  hung  and  some  put  in  a  dungeon  fur 
trial,  and  some  o'  these  had  broke  out  and  run  away.  One 
in  partic'lar  was  spoke  of  as  bein'  the  farsest  and  bloodiest 
and  most  desprit  of  all,  and  a  big  reward  was  offered  fur 
'im.  His  parson  was  all  in  print,  the  cut  of  his  face  and 
height  and  all,  and  I  tell  ye,  the  newspaper  and  old  Kel- 
sey's  looks  'greed  like  two  mushrats.  But  here  we  are  at 
the  Eacket  agin,  and  now  hooray  for  Tupper's  Lake  I" 

Doligbted  at  the  prospect  of  so  soon  beholding  a  lake  of 
whose  beauty  I  had  heard  so  much,  I  leaned  back,  after  our 
turn  to  the  left  into  the  river  again,  and  watched  the  gliding 
banks,  anticipating  the  moment  when  we  should  open  out 
into  the  lovely  waters,  and  expecting  it  at  every  bend. 

"  I.  spoke  o'  Simon's  Slew  as  bein'  the  spot  where  Old  Kam- 
rod  hid  away  from  the  Injins,"  said  Harvey.  "  We  passed 
it  a  leetle  while  ago.  It's  on  the  opp'site  side  to  Simon's 
Pond,  and  the  all  firedest  place  fur  lily-pads  I  'most  ever 
see.  You  may  bleeve  there's  jack-huntin'  there.  And 
talkin'  o'  huntin',  I  shot  a  mighty  big  buck  jest  by  that 
jam  o'  flood  wood  in  the  river  up  there.  He  was  'most  aa 
big  as  the  one  I  shot  at  Buckslew. 


172  WOODS  AND  WATERS; 

We  had  now  reached  a  bend  to  the  rignt.  A  low  island 
covered  with  vegetation  lay  before,  dividing  the  river  into 
two  narrow  channels,  while  to  the  left,  or  south,  stretched 
a  path  of  water.  Into  this  we  turned.  A  few  minutes 
passed,  when  suddenly  a  broad  sheet  of  water  expanded  at 
our  prow. 

"  Tupper's  Lake  !"  said  Harvey. 

The  view  was  surpassingly  beautiful. 

A  green  and  gold  sunset  was  burning  in  the  west  and 
gleaming  on  the  water. 

On  each  side  the  lake  curved  gracefully  away ;  at  the 
left  in  an  unbroken  line,  and  at  the  right  blending  to  all 
appearance  with  a  network  of  islands.  In  front  were  two 
other  islands  rounded  as  if  by  an  architect,  identical 
in  shape  and  forming  the  gateway,  as  it  were,  to  the 
inner  view  of  points  and  headlands,  crescent  bays,  island 
edges  and  liquid  vistas  that  extended  downward  until 
closed  by  a  mass  of  forest.  Within  this  gateway  glowed 
a  golden  film  of  light,  while  a  depth  of  shadow  purpled 
the  water  before  it. 

Over  this  splendid  water  picture  we  laid  our  course,  lead- 
ing the  way  diagonally  to  the  left.  As  we  skimmed 
along  I  heard  again  the  bravura  of  the  loon.  The  distant 
quaver  came  over  the  water  from  the  direction  of  the 
grouped  islands  at  the  right,  and  I  felt  that  something  in 
keeping  with  the  wild  region  was  restored.  Except  the 
instance  at  Folingsby's  Pond  we  had  not  heard  the  sound 
since  we  left  the  Saranac  Lakes,  broad  expanses  of  water 
alone  constituting  the  loon's  haunt. 

I  turned  to  detect  the  speck  of  its  head  on  the  surface, 
but  my  eye  only  fell  on  the  boats  of  the  party  skimming 
in  our  wake  over  the  superb  enamel  of  the  water. 

At  length  we  touched  the  shore  at  a  little  cove,  some- 
what to  the  right  of  the  south  gateway -island,  and  running 
the  bow  up  the  sandy  margin  we  awaited  the  coming  of  the 
other  boats. 

Corey  had  pitched  our  tent  in  a  little  opening  at  the  edge 


OR,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.  173 

of  the  water,  at  the  foot  of  the  bank.  The  tent  of  the 
guides  was  beside  it. 

Here  was  to  be  the  camp  for  our  week  upon  the  lake, 
and  a  pleasant  spot  it  was. 

In  due  time  our  traps  were  transferred  from  the  boats 
(hauled  in  a  row  half  way  up  the  sand)  to  the  tent ;  our 
rustic  table  was  again  erected  under  a  cedar,  and  our  even- 
ing meal  of  customary  trout  and  venison  prepared. 

It  was  with  a  home  feeling,  after  our  roamings  along  the 
Kacket,  that  we  drew  around  the  rude  board  in  the  sunset 
to  discuss  our  wild  delicacies. 

Suddenly  an  unearthly  scream  rang  through  the  forest. 
It  came  from  directly  over  our  heads ;  fierce,  threatening, 
making  our  ears  tingle. 

"  What  the  deuce  is  that  ?"  said  Bingham,  his  cheek  bulg- 
ing with  a  huge  bite  of  trout,  as  he  stared  upward. 

The  guides  laughed. 

Another  scream,  more  diabolical  if  possible  than  the  first, 
echoed  from  the  lower  branch  of  the  cedar,  and  I  saw  what 
I  had  taken  to  be  a  large  knot  take  wing,  and  with  a  glide 
like  thistledown  perch  on  a  stump  near  the  table.  Two 
round  eyes  like  small  moons  gleamed  in  the  light  of  our 
camp-fire,  and  we  then  saw  it  was  an  owl. 

"  Well,  this  is  the  strangest  country  I  ever  knew,"  said 
Bingham.  "  If  you  go  on  the  water  in  the  day  you  hear 
a  yell  like  an  Indian's  in  a  war  dance,  and  you  are  told  it  is 
a  loon.  You  cruise  through  some  tangled-up  lily -pad  hole 
that  goes  by  the  name  of  slew,  in  the  night,  and  suddenly 
there  '11  burst  out  a  sound  like  a  strangled  tornado,  making 
you  jump  out  of  your  skin  almost,  and  the  guide  will  say, 
'  How  that  deer  whistles !'  when  it  is  as  much  like  a  whistle 
as  a  north-wester  is  like  a  piccolo  flute.  And  now  a  com- 
pany of  Christians  cannot  enjoy  a  meal  in  their  own  camp, 
which  I  take  to  be  their  own  castle  "  (here  Bingham  was 
evidently  carrying  the  case  to  the  jury)  "  without  owls 
coming  and  screaming  in  the  most  disgraceful  manner; 
just  like  a — a — a — a — in  fact,  as  I  may  say,  just  like  the 


174:  WOODS  AND  WATERS; 

devil.  And,  by  the  way,  these  owls  have  each  more  sounds 
in  their  throat  than  a  military  band  with  a  company  of  cats 
and  the  north  wind.  They  hiss  arid  they  whizz,  they  bark 
and  they  yell,  they  whine  and  they  hoot,  and  they  mew 
and  they  snarl ;  in  fact,  Mr.  Harvey  Moody,  head  guide  of 
the  Saranacs,  can  you  tell  me  what  sounds  they  don't 
make  ?" 

During  the  excited  Bingham's  harangue,  the  owl  had 
alighted  nearer  to  the  table,  and  now  began  to  eye  the  pro- 
visions on  it,  as  if  wondering  why,  in  the  name  of  all  that 
was  polite,  he  was  not  invited  to  partake.  So  pert  was  his 
look,  and  so  impudent  his  actions,  that  we  all,  Bing- 
ham  (after  his  spasm  of  eloquence)  included,  burst  into  a 
laugh. 

This  pursuit  of  a  supper  under  difficulties  continued 
until  Watch,  thinking,  probably,  that  the  matter  was 
"  about  played  out,"  uncoiled  himself  from  a  hemlock 
root,  and  with  his  ear-flaps  erected  into  a  stately  frown,  and 
his  tail  ringed  into  severe  determination,  stalked,  as  if  to 
stop  this  foolery  at  all  hazards,  towards  his  owlship,  who, 
waiting  till  the  hound  was  within  a  few  feet  of  him,  gave  a 
spitting  bark,  ending  in  a  caw  of  vast  contempt,  and  glided 
spectre-like  away. 

The  dark  water  now  stretched  before,  with  the  black 
shapes  of  the  islands  massed  within  the  gloom.  Lines  of 
faint  light  lay  upon  the  surface  from  the  few  rays  that 
lingered  at  the  zenith,  seeming  to  beckon  me  on ;  and  the. 
scene  looked  so  dimly  mysterious,  I  felt  impelled  to  explore 
its  shadowy  recesses; 

Calling  Harvey,  we  pushed  off,  he  taking  the  paddle. 
He  drew  it  with  a  meek,  regular  sound,  scarcely  disturbing 
the  divine  quiet  in  which  the  scene  was  lapped.  The 
water  gurgled  sweetly  at  the  prow,  and  the  air  opened  by 
our  motion  was  balmy,  and  filled  with  the  peculiar  fragrance 
of  the  forest. 

We  ran  up  the  shore,  the  woods  assuming  strange,  fanci- 
ful shapes  as  we  passed.  Now  a  procession  of  kings 


OR,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.  175 

streamed  along  with  crowns  of  gold,  and  spangled  with 
golden  jewels.  Now  a  fairy  city  of  dark  marble  met  my 
view,  with  sparkling  casements.  A  dead  pine  on.  a  bank 
before  a  ledge,  and  with  a  long*  star-tipped  arm,  was  Pallas 
before  the  Parthenon,  with  her  spear-point  gleaming  in  the 
everlasting  lamp.  Those  withered  trunks  were  Baalbeck 
in  starlight;  and  the  black  object  above  on  the  boulder, 
with  a  speck  of  pallid  light,  some  would  have  said  it  was 
a  log,  with  a  bit  of  phosphorescence,  but  it  seemed  to 
me  a  panther,  with  his  gleaming  eye  on  a  slumbering 
hunter. 

"We  left  the  shores  and  steered  into  the  lake,  and  between 
the  two  islands  in  its  centre.  All  was  shadowy ;  dark 
trees  mingled  with  dark  rocks ;  alleys  of  black  water 
studded  with  stars — all  in  the  highest  degree  exciting  to 
the  fancy. 

From  the  islands  we  glided  into  the  broad  space  of 
jewelled  black  directly  opposite  the  camp. 

Breathing  an  air  redolent  of  the  balsamic  odors  of  the 
pine  and  rich  pungency  of  the  cedar.  I  leaned  back  and 
gazed  into  the  sweeping  constellated  heavens.  I  strove  to 
pierce  into  the  spangled  depths,  and  to  realize  the  gran- 
deur of  the  upper  spaces,  whose  infinitude  crushes  power- 
less the  wings  of  the  most  soaring  imagination. 

Nothing  gives  a  deeper  feeling  of  solitude  than  float- 
ing over  one  of  these  wild  lakes  at  night.  The  profound 
quiet,  broken  only  by  the  loon's  cry  and  some  nightbird's 
plaint,  which  rather  deepen  than  disturb  it,  and  the  darkness 
mystifying  the  surrounding  woods,  are  full  of  mysterious 
promptings. 

This  feeling  is  also  purifying.  The  colors  are  not  those 
with  which  the  day  appeals  to  the  sensuous  within  us ;  the 
sombre  tone  prevalent  touches  our  deepest  and  holiest  emo- 
tions. We  lament  past  deficiencies  and  sins ;  we  form  wise 
and  good  plans  and  resolutions ;  we  long  to  initiate  a  bet- 
ter and  loftier  future.  Our  highest  affections  are  awakened; 
home  and  its  loved  ones;  our  friends,  those  on  whom 


176  WOODS  AND  WATERS; 

we  are  dependent,  and  who  depend  on  us,  crowd  around. 
How  the  gloom  is  peopled!  how  the  night  overflows 
with  dear  forms  and  faces !  The  soul  speaks,  cleansed  for 
the  time  from  its  impurities,  as  malaria  is  swept  by  the 
breath  of  autumn. 


OR,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.  177 


CHAPTEE  XV. 

Tupper's  Lake. — Old  Sabele  continued. — The  Devil's  Pulpit.— Its  Legend. — 
A  Deer's  Leap. — The  Camp. — Trout  Fishing. 

THE  frescoes  of  the  dawn  had  not  yet  melted  when  I  left 
the  tent ;  but  soon  the  tip  of  a  white  pine  on  the  nearest 
island  broke  into  rosy  fire,  and  the  dead  grey  brightened 
into  a  golden  landscape  of  wood  and  water. 

There  was  no  stir  yet  in  the  tent.  At  length  a  red 
squirrel,  twirling  his  brush  like  a  housewife  her  dish- 
cloth, cantered  to  the  rear,  where  a  corner  had  been  left 
exposed,  and  threw  within  a  chatter,  as  if  in  scorn  at  slug- 
gards, and  then  scampered  up  a  beech  hard  by.  Out 
darted  Bingham,  rifle  in  hand,  and  sent  a  bullet  after  his 
squirrelship,  visible  in  a  high  fork;  but  as  only  a  twig 
fell  instead  of  a  squirrel,  Bingham,  catching  my  eye,  turned 
around,  red  in  the  face,  and  picked  a  quarrel  with  Pup,  on 
pretence  that  he  had  nipped  his  leg  as  he  shot. 

After  an  early  breakfast  we  all  separated ;  Gaylor  and 
Eenning  to  try  the  trout  below  Perciefield  Falls  which  were 
about  ten  miles  down  the  Racket ;  Bingbam  and  Coburn  to 
fish  the  buoys  sparkling  between  the  islands,  and  to  explore 
the  lake,  and  I  to  visit,  with  Harvey,  the  mouth  of  Redside 
Brook,  a  mile  up,  also  for  trout. 

Tupper's  Lake  is  about  eight  miles  long,  with  an  average 
width  of  two.  Of  its  Indian  names,  'Pas-kun-ga-meh  signi- 
fies "  a  lake  going  out  from  the  river,"  and  Tsit-kan-i-a-ta- 
res-ko-wa,  "  the  biggest  lake."  The  former  has  reference  to 
its  connection  with  the  Racket. 

It  forms  an  angle,  and  Mount  Morris,  or  Tupper's  Lake 
12 


178  WOODS  AND  WATERS; 

Mountain,  extends  along  its  south  and  east  sides  at  a  dis- 
tance from  the  water  of  three  or  four  miles. 

The  lake  lies  north-east  and  south,  is  south-west  of  the 
Backet,  and  connected  with  it  by  two  channels.  The 
southern  channel  is  the  one  by  which  we  entered. 

The  northern,  or  "the  outlet,"  leads  to  the  "Indian 
Park,"  a  tongue  of  land  formed  by  a  semicircular  bend  of 
the  Racket  on  the  one  hand,  and  a  little  bay  of  the  lake 
on  the  other.  It  flows  for  some  distance  between  a  rocky 
bluff  of  the  Park  to  the  north,  and  an  island  which  divides 
it  from  the  southern  channel. 

The  north  and  west  shores  of  the  lake  are  hilly,  Gull  Pond 
Mountain  extending  along  a  portion  of  the  course. 

We  coasted  up  the  camp  side  of  the  lake  to  Bedside 
Brook,  and  Harvey  fastened  the  boat  by  its  chain  to  a  log. 

There  was  a  golden  flutter  of  light  on  a  ripple ;  the  gleam 
of  a  white  birch  kindled  the  purple  gloss  of  a  pool ;  there 
was  the  emerald  flash  of  the  dragon-fly,  and  around  the 
brown  water-spider  skated. 

"  Well,"  began  Harvey,  after  we  had  settled  to  our  fish- 
ing, "  as  I  was  tellin'  on  ye  about  old  Sabele.  When  the 
old  chief  heerd  o'  the  love  scrape — I  had  a  bite  then — but  I 
guess  'twas  onljf  a  minnie — he  had,  as  I  was  a  sayin',  quite 
a  jaw  with  Sabele,  a  smoothin'  on  'im  down  at  fust  by  callin' 
'im  an  Eagle  and  so  on,  which  I  don't  think,  fur  myself, 
was  enny  great  shakes  of  a  name.  I  don't  think  half  as 
much  of  an  eagle  as  I  do  of  a  fish-hawk — one's  honest  and 
t'other  aint !  I  can't  give  ye  all  the  speech,  but  the  long 
and  short  of  it  was  it  didn't  do  no  good,  and  so  the  old 
chief  was  detarmined  on  suthin'  else.  So — aha,  how  de  do, 
sir !"  (jerking  up  a  large  trout,  breaking  its  neck  on  the 
boat's  edge,  and  casting  it  to  the  bottom),  "so  one  day 
Sabele  went — these  deer-flies  bite  most  as  bad  as  mitchets 
this  mornin' — he  went  to  see  his  gal,  and  found  the  old 
trapper  dyin' — hold  'im  well  up,  Mr.  Smith !  taut  line — not 
too  taut,  though,  or  he'll  break  away — -jest  so  that  he'll  feel 
the  bit.  Give  'im  line  now!  that's  a  two  pounder,  Mr. 


OR,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SA.RANACS.  179 

Smith,  I'll  bet  a  saple  skin  agin  a  mushrat's — now  reel 
in,  and  I'll  ketch  'im  by  the  gills — there  1"  breaking  his 
neck  also  and  throwing  him  below.  "  But,  as  I  was  a  savin', 
there  was  the  old  trapper  dyin',  and  the  gal  dead,  and  the 
trapper  telled  Sabele  that  the  old  chief  and  another  fightin' 
charackter  of  the  tribe  'ad  come  to  the  shanty  and  'ad  tom- 
myhawked  and  sculped  'm  both.  Wasn't  Sabele  mad? 
Wasn't  he  ?  I  tell  yer  he  could  a  chawed  up  a  wolf-trap, 
'cordin'  to  his  tell !  His  heart  was  a  bustin'  too — massy 
alive,  I  b'leeve  I've  got  the  great  grand' ther  of  all  the 
trout  in  this  ere  part  o'  the  country  on  my  hook !  sizz- 
whizz — don't  ye  wish  yer  could  git  off? — but  yer  can't, 
yer  know.  I'll  tell  ye  the  rest  o'  the  story  in  a  minute, 
Mr.  Smith  !  There  now,  you  hed  to  give  up,  didn't  yer — 
though  you  aint  so  big  as  I  thought  you  was"  drawing  in, 
then  lifting  an  immense  trout  with  a  back  like  a  leopard- 
skin  by  the  gills,  and  joining  him,  with  a  broken  neck,  to 
the  others.  "Well,  back.  Sabele  went,  lickety  split,  to  the 
tribe,  and  was  a  goin'  to  let  it  right  inter  the  old  chief  with 
his  knife,  but  the  rest  on  'm  wouldn't  let  'im. 

"  Well,  when  Sabele  found  he  couldn't  let  inter  the  old 
chief,  he  says  to  'im,  s'ze  he, — I  can't  give  it  to  yer  as  the 
old  feller  used  ter,  'tickelly  when  he  got  drunk  (which  was, 
'twixt  you  and  me,  nigh  about  all  the  time),  for  he'd  go 
high  up,  I  tell  yer,  and  slash  about,  and  make  mouths,  and 
strut  he  would,  like  a  crow  in  a  gutter — but  the  idee  was, 
'  you '  — that  is,  ef  you,  as  a  body  may  say,  was  dreffle  mad, 
and  wanted  to  tell  a  man  he  was  a — I  dunno  as  I  know 
'zack'ly  how  to  say  it — but  ef  you  thought  he  was  a  great 
villyan,  and  scoundrel,  and  rascal,  and  mean  feller,  you'd 
say  so,  wouldn't  ye  ?  and  mebby  not  say  it  scripter  fashion 
nuther ! — well  this  was  the  idee  on't.  Sabele  said  to  the  old 
chief,  'You  con-demned  old  villyan!  I've  found  yer  out! 
You've  killed  the  gal !' — Them  wa'n't  the  words,  Mr. 
Smith  !  but  that  was  the  idee,  the  p'int  on't. 

"  '  S'posen  I  did !'  said  the  old  sarpent,  '  that's  my  busi- 
ness !' 


180  WOODS  AND  WATERS; 

"  '  Well,  it's  my  business  too !'  says  old  Sabele — he  was 
young  Sabele  then  though — 'tisn't  the  rael  words,  Mr. 
Smith,  as  I  said  afore,  but  the  idee — '  and  I'm  a  goin'  to 
let  daylight  through  your  dod  darned  old  pictur-frame !' 
With  that  he  rips  out  his  knife  agin,  but  they  held  him 
back  tight  by  his  coat-tails — no — not  coat-tails,  fur  Injins 
don't  wear  none  a  bit  more'n  a  frog,  but  they  held  'im  back, 
enny  way.  '  So,'  s'ze,  that  is  Sabele,  s'ze,  '  you  want  me  to 
marry  your  darter !  now,  go  to  the' — that  is,  Sabele,  s'ze — the 
idee  was — go  to  t'other  place  with  your  darter,  and  I'll  go 
to  Texas — that  is,  there  warn't  no  Texas — that  is,  Sabele 
didn't  know  nothin'  about  Texas,  but  that  was  the  idee — 
and  with  that  he  turns  on  his  heels  and  off  he  goes.  At 
fust  he  felt  so  bad  he  thought  he'd  kill  himself,  but  bless 
ye,  Mr.  Smith,  this  ere  love  business  aint  no'  killin'  matter, 
after  all,  and  life's  kinder  sweet — goll !  ef  there  aint  a  rael 
old  settler !"  peering  over  the  log. 

Poised  in  the  mottled  depths  above  a  sunken  limb 
which  was  wriggling  in  the  refraction  of  the  restless  water, 
was  an  immense  trout  undulating,  fanning  himself  with 
his  fins  and  "laying  off"  generally. 

Harvey  let  his  hook  down  cautiously  by  the  fish,  which 
gave  a  look  at  it,  and  then  moved  away  from  it  like  a  mas- 
tiff' from  a  puppy. 

"  Be  off  with  yourself!"  said  Harvey,  casting  his  line 
in  another  direction — "  but  as  I  was  sayin'  about  Sabele — 
he'd  heerd  tell  o'  this  wilderness  region,  and  so  he  come 
down  here  to  get  a  livin',  and  the  fust  I  knowed  of  him  he 
was  a  shantyin'  on  Long  Island  in  the  lake  here.  He 
used  to  trap  and  hunt  and  fish  there,  and  then  he  went  to 
the  Injin  Park  at  the  outlet  o'  the  lake,  and  then  furder 
down  to  where  I  telled  yer — where  old  Leo  is  now — we 
must  go  and  see  Leo  when  we  git  down  there  !  he'll  sell  ye 
a  nice  pair  o'  moc'sins,  and  cheap  too.  Well,  finally  at 
last  he — that  is  Sabele — got  to  be  old  and  ragged,  and  went 
back  to  Canady  and  found  all  the  tribe  gone  west ;  and 
come  back,  and  was  drefHe  lonesome,  and  got  the  rheumatiz, 


OR,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS. 

and  couldn't  trap  much,  nur.  hunt  nur  fish  fur  that  matter, 
and  didn't  git  no  money  and  couldn't  git  no  rum  caze  he 
hadn't  no  fur,  nur  no  ven'son,  nur  no  trout,  nur  no  nothin' 
to  git  rum  with,  and  nobody  'ud  give  'im  any,  and  the 
older  I  grow  the  more  I  see  that  nobody  don't  give  much 
to  nobody  enny  way— and  so  when  he  found  he  couldn't  git 
no  rum  he  made  up  his  mind  he  wouldn't  live  no  longer, 
and  got  in  his  canoe  and  went  singin'  his  death-song,  as  he 
called  it.  I  s'pose  you  never  heerd  an  Injin's  death-song, 
Mr.  Smith  ?  I  heerd  Sabele  one  time,  when  he  wasn't  as 
drunk  as  common !  oh,  how  he  did  d-r-o-n-e  and  draw-1-1-1 
it  out,  hoh-hoh-je-me-neddy-hoh-hoh-massy  on  us !  hoh- 
hoh,  'lasses  candy,  and  then  he  gin  the  warwhoop.  Well, 
as  I  was  sayin',  he  went  floatin'  down  the  Racket,  and 
finally  at  last  went  whipperty  fling  over — there's  a  duck 
— a  copperhead  !  I'll  fetch  him  !"  throwing  down  his  rod, 
and  the  bird  fell  with  Harvey's  bullet  directly  through  the 
green  polish  of  his  head.  "  This  is  fur  your  dinner,  Mr. 
Smith !"  rowing  with  alternate  dips  to  where  the  bird  was 
floating,  and  depositing  him  in  the  boat. 

"  But  where  was  it  he  went  over,  Harvey  ?" 

"  Went  over  ?  why,  he  went  whicketty  clash  over — I'm 
bound  to  hev  that  patridge  too  under  that  cedar  bush — all 
these  leetle  things  count  in,"' firing,  and  stepping  on  shore 
he  returned  with  the  partridge  minus'  a  head. 

"  But,  Harvey,  I  want  to  know  where  he  went  over?" 

"  He  went  over  Pussyville  Falls,  and  enny  body  that 
wants  to  go  over  them,  may  go  and  be  darned ,  'twont  be 
me,  this  year  at  any  rate ;  but  spos'n  we  don't  fish  enny 
more,  Mr.  Smith — there  don't  appear  to  be  many  more 
bites,  and  as  the  mornin'  is  so  pleasant  I'll  row  ye  round  to 
the  Devil's  Pulpit." 

"  The  Devil's  Pulpit !" 

"  Yes !  it's  a  high  rock  on  Birch  Island !" 

"But  why  is  it  called  so ?" 

"  Well,  they  say  the  devil  once  got  all  the  deer  and  fisher 
and  saple  and  mink  and  rats  and  eagles  and  loons  and  trout 


182  WOODS  AND   WATERS; 

and  what  not  together  to  preach  to  'm.  He  come  from  the 
top  o'  Mount  Morris  out  there,  and  sailed  up  over  the  lake 
on  two  pine  trees  which  he  cut  down  with  his  claws.  He 
telled  'm  that  in  a  short  time  the  fishermen  and  hunters 
and  trappers  was  a  comin'  and  a  goin'  to  hev  a  high  old 
time  with  'm  all.  And  he  laughed  till  all  the  sides 
o'  the  rock  cracked.  When  he  got  through,  he  dug  his 
heels  inter  the  rock  down'ards,  ketched  a  two-year-old 
buck,  blew  on't  and  cooked  it,  took  a  brook  trout  weighin' 
about  four  pounds,  sarved  it  the  same,  and  then  eat  'm 
both  with  about  a  dozen  patridges,  which  he  popped  inter 
his  mouth  like  dumplin's  right  afore  'm  all.  He  then  took 
and  slung  a  couple  o'  the  fattest  deer  over  his  shoulders, 
stuck  a  lake  trout  they  say  three  foot  long  twixt  his  teeth, 
and  baggin'  about  twenty  black  ducks,  and  kickin'  the 
pine  trees  all  to  flinders,  he  skulled  along  with  his  tail 
through  the  lake  till  he  got  to  the  mountain,  where  he 
turned  eend  over  eend  and  lit  on  top  head- foremost  and 
went  down  through  like  a  streak  o'  lightnin'." 

Harvey  urged  the  boat  slowly  along,  while  I  gazed  at 
the  rock  lifting  its  stern  front  from  the  lake  four  score  feet 
in  height.  Its  length  of  three  hundred  feet  was  curved 
like  an  enormous  half-moon  bastion.  There  was  a  little 
cove  at  its  lower  extremity  darkened  by  dense  cedars. 
Thence  the  mass  heaved  rounding  onward,  with  large  boul- 
ders at  its  base,  their  summits  plumed  with  evergreens. 
Mossy  seams  furrowed  its  black  and  grey  sides  from  top  to 
base.  In  the  clefts  of  its  enormous  ledges — cracked  and 
splintered  and  scaled  with  lichen — tottering  pines  had 
clutched  their  claw-like  roots,  and  in  nooks  and  on  plat- 
forms, bushes  had  clustered  and  spruces  planted  their  dark 
spear  heads.  The  rock  was  also  broken  into  several 
steep  profiles,  and  its  head  was  a  smooth,  iron-like  precipice, 
rounding  downwards  to  the  lake.  All  along  its  summit 
dead  pines  stretched  their  jagged  arms  and  reared  their 
withered  antlers. 

"  There  was  a  deer  jumped  right  from  the  top  o'  that 


OR,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.  183 

rock  onst,"  said  Harvey  dipping  a  birch  bark  cup  and 
drinking. 

"  From  the  top  of  that  rock,  Harvey  ?" 

"  'Twas  a  cur'ous  thing,  but  'twas  so,"  replied  Harvey. 
''  'Twas  one  afternoon  in  August,  jest  afore  sundown,  Will 
and  me  and  Cort  was  campin'  on  the  lake  on  one  o'  the 
Two  Brothers.  There  was  two  or  three  b'ys  in  the  lake 
agin  this  ere  Pulpit  which  we'd  bin  baitin'  fur  some  time, 
and  they'd  got  to  be  fust  best  places  fur  lake  trout.  Well, 
one  day,  about  sundown,  as  I  said  afore,  Will  and  Cort 
was  there  fishin'  at  the  b'ys,  one  in  one  boat  and  one  in 
another.  Will  was  right  under  the  Pulpit,  and  had  jest 
ketched  an  all-fired  big  trout ;  well,  'cordin'  to  his  tell,  it  must 
ha'  bin  a  trout  weighin'  nigh  about  five  pounds,  and  had  a 
kinder  riz  up  to  rest  himself,  and  was  a  lookin'  right  at  the 
top  'o  the  rock.  All  on  a  sudden,  an  almighty  big  buck, 
with  horns  like  a  rockin' -chair,  bust  up  to  the  top,  and 
sprung,  and  fell  kersplosh  inter  the  lake.  He  put  to  't, 
and  both  Will  and  Cort  was  struck  so  all  up  in  a  heap, 
that  they  let  the  deer  git  away.  I  al'ys  thought  the  way 
the  deer  come  to  jump  was,  that  some  bear  or  painter  was 
a  runnin'  the  buck,  and  he  didn't  mebby  know  the  spot, 
and  come  so  sudden  on't,  he  couldn't  stop,  or  mebby  he 
jumped  slap  dash  enny  way.  There's  one  thing  about  it, 
a  painter  did  take  to  the  water  a  short  time  after  that  from 
Birch  Island,  and  Will  see  'im,  and  shot  'im.  But  talkin'o' 
bucks :  there's  Grindstone  Bay  out  there  to  the  left — a  fust 
best  place  fur  jack-huntin',  and  'taint  a  very  bad  place  fur 
trout  where  Grindstone  Brook  tumbles  in." 

We  then  coasted  down  the  north-east  shores,  dipped 
into  a  little  bay  with  a  baldric  of  silver  sand,  next  into 
Gull  Pond  Bay  (so  called  by  Harvey),  and  threaded  the 
group  of  islands  I  noticed  on  my  entrance  upon  the  lake ; 
the  dark-green  polish  of  the  water-alleys  and  the  inter- 
mingling shadows,  full  of  sprinkled  light.  We  then  went 
into  Mink  Bay  (which  forms  the  lake  side  of  the  Park), 
and  I  began  trolling,  making  the  circuit  of  the  spot  of  rock 


184  WOODS  AND  WATERS; 

in  the  midst,  like  a  mud-turtle,  but  I  caught  nothing.  We 
then  pushed  into  the  outlet,  and  I  cast  beneath  the  grey 
beetling  bluff.  The  water  was  deep  and  weedless,  and 
under  Harvey's  quiet  rowing  I  soon  secured  a  lake  trout, 
of  two  pounds  or  more. 

Its  thick  frame,  with  its  grey  and  yellow  spots,  con- 
trasted unfavorably  with  the  more  slender  shape  of  red 
spangled  brown  and  golden  bronze  shown  by  his  gorgeous 
cousin  of  the  brook. 

"We  then  turned  and  made  for  the  camp,  in  the  low  after- 
noon light.  Reaching  it,  we  found  all  the  party  returned. 
A  back  shanty  for  a  kitchen  had  been  built.  A  deep 
square  pit  had .  been  dug  as  a  cellar,  wherein  our  stores 
were  deposited,  and  covered  by  a  flake  or  two  of  spruce 
bark.  A  rude  table  had  been  planted  under  a  cedar,  with 
cross  pieces  on  forked  sticks  for  seats.  Cross  poles,  on 
which  to  hang  powder  flasks,  bullet-pouches,  and  the  like, 
also  stood  at  various  points. 

In  the  centre  stood  the  tents,  with  the  usual  camp  fire  in 
front.  A  path  led  up  the  ridge  (as  I  discovered)  to  a  spring. 

The  beautiful  spot  was  alive  with  culinary  operations ; 
the  old  trees  listening  to  the  song  of  gridiron  and  saucepan 
instead  of  bird  and  ripple. 

I  took  a  seat  in  a  green  root,  twisted  like  an  arm-chair, 
and  looked  around.  My  attention  was  caught  by  Pup. 
He  dashed  from  a  thicket  to  the  fire,  stopping  so  quick  as 
to  cant  his  hind  legs  up.  There  h«  gazed,  with  one  ear 
pointed,  as  if  for  a  stab,  until  a  tiny  rocket  discharged  by 
the  flame  wheeled  him  short  round,  with  a  yell  like  a  loon. 
He  then  trotted  sidewise  to  a  bush,  with  a  sniff  at  a  stone, 
and  a  blow  of  his  breath  like  a  pshaw.  At  the  bush  he 
barked  himself  for  a  few  moments  off  all  his  legs.  He 
then  stole  toward  the  camp-kettle,  hung  by  a  sapling  over 
the  fire,  and  in  whose  twitching  froth  potatoes  were  bob- 
bing, stretching  his  neck  so  far  as  to  uncurl  his  tail,  till  a 
glance  from  Corey  shrank  him  into  half  his  size,  and  he 
sneaked  off  limpsy. 


OR,  SUMMER  EN  THE  SARANACS.  185 

Never  did  a  hungry  set  enjoy  a  dinner  more.  The  pure 
air  of  the  woods,  the  exercise,  and — I  know  not  what, 
keeps  you  on  a  sort  of  famished  look-out  all  the  time. 
The  very  exercise -of  eating,  too,  seems  to  give  you  fresh 
appetite.  And  without  meaning  to  turn  informer  on  my 
comrades,  or  tell  tales  out  of  school,  I  must  say  that  Bing- 
ham's  stomach,  in  the  woods,  gave  me  a  nearer  idea  of  the 
bottomless  pit  than  any  other  thing,  human  or  divine,  I 
have  met  in  my  travels. 

After  our  meal  we  all  betook  ourselves  to  pipes  and  com- 
fort. One  lolled  against  an  upright  of  the  tent,  another  on  a 
camp  stool  or  in  a  dry  brown  hollow,  or  on  a  bank  of  moss ; 
while  one  lay  flat  on  his  back,  with  his  boots  planted 
against  a  tree,  as  if  determined  on  pushing  it  out  of  his 
way.  Our  talk  was  light  and  lazy.  The  sunlight  spread 
broad  and  dreamy  upon  the  grass;  here,  sprinkled  itself 
away  among  the  leaves,  there,  struck  aisles  into  the  forest. 
The  little  birds  touched  upon  the  trees,  and  there  was  the 
occasional  bark  of  a  squirrel.  Before  us  stretched  the 
glittering  white  and  sombre  grey  of  the  slumbering  lake. 

One  of  our  party  at  length  seized  an  axe  and  laid  vigor- 
ous but  rather  ineffectual  blows  on  a  pine,  which  the  Anak 
seemed  to  scorn,  for  he  did  not  show  even  a  tremor.  And 
no  wonder,  for  if  the  axe  fell  twice  in  the  same  cut  it  was 
by  accident,  and  as  I  turned  to  look  at  a  beam  of  light  like 
a  ladder  against  a  cedar,  my  friend  was  tugging  with  a 
face  of  scarlet  and  frown  of  fury  at  his  axe,  having  by  a 
desperate  blow  buried  it  in  the  soft  wood  to  the  eye. 

The  islands  and  headlands  threw  long  eastward  masses 
of  shade  upon  the  lake ;  the  sunset  sky  was  one  glitter  of 
light,  and  the  water  broke  into  a  glory  of  color. 

Nothing  delighted  me  more  during  our  sojourn  at  the 
lake  than  the  daily  variety  of  its  looks.  Not  a  fragment 
of  cloud,  not  a  flying  hue,  but  found  on  its  delicate  texture 
an  immediate  image.  Tints  not  detectable  in  the  atmo- 
sphere, kindled  its  surface.  Thus,  every  moment  almost,  its 
appearance  changed.  Now  it  smiled  in  tenderest  azure, 


186  WOODS  AND  WATERS; 

then  a  little  airbreath  lighted  upon  it  and  a  gleam  of  silver 
ripple  cut  athwart ;  next  some  impalpable  shade  turned  it 
into  purple.  Now  it  was  grey  glass,  then  a  vagrant  wind 
fanned  up  flitting  darks  all  over.  Again,  a  blue  and  golden 
calm;  then  the  surface  blackened,  and  intermittent  foam 
broke  out  like  the  gleam  of  fireflies ;  the  tumult  followed 
once  more  by  softest  quiet  and  divinest  hues. 

As  the  light  just  after  sunset  is  most  propitious  to  the 
angler,  the  whole  party  now  embarked  for  the  mouth  of 
Redside  Brook,  a  little  distance  above.  This  spot  is  the 
most  famous  for  trout  of  all  the  cold  spring  brooks  that 
enter  the  lake,  and  fine  sport  was  anticipated.  Nor  were 
we  disappointed. 

We  moored  to  the  logs  and  bushes,  and  shortly  trout  in 
numbers  were  gleaming  and  leaping  on  the  bottom  of  our 
boats.  Toward  the  last,  Kenning  tried  a  white  night-fly, 
thinking  he  might  strike  a  larger  fish  than  with  worm  or 
minnow.  He  touched  the  water  just  where  a  log  peered 
out  from  a  lair  of  grasses.  Whew !  wasn't  that  a  bite ! 
Off  the  fish  darts  like  a  bullet ;  down  he  dives  as  if  the 
pricking  in  the  throat  could  be  doctored  in  that  fashion ; 
up  he  comes  again,  finding  little  consolation  down  below ; 
then  he  launches  out  and  spins  around.  He  darts  toward 
a  log,  but  Renning  turns  him  off;  how  skilfully  he  plays 
him !  how  he  gives  him  rope  to  hang  himself  more  cer- 
tainly at  last !  mark  the  countenance  of  the  angler  so  grave, 
and  the  whole  demeanor  so  collected  and  self-reliant  I  He 
reels  in  and  reels  out,  keeping  the  fish  "  taut  up  to  the 
rein."  But  now  the  prey's  motions  are  slower — he  makes 
one  more  desperate  lunge  for  the  lily-pads,  one  more  dart 
toward  the  pool  under  the  hanging  lid  of  the  sedgy  bank ; 
but  he  is  wearied  and  drowning ;  so  Renning  pulls  him 
carefully  toward  him.  There  is  a  flap  or  two  in  the  water, 
and  a  faint  outpull ;  at  length  something  glitters  under  the 
surface  near  the  boat.  Mart  seizes  the  landing-net ;  dips 
quickly,  and  in  a  trice  a  three  pound  trout  is  captured. 

After  this  Waterloo  of  our  Napoleon,  we  rowed  back  in 


OR,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.  187 

the  dusk  toward  the  camp.  Is  a  bear  crouching  in  yon 
nook  ?  or  is  it  a  cedar  bush  on  the  edge  of  the  water  ? 
If  I  had  not  known  that  Bingham  was  ahead  in  his  boat,  I 
should  certainly  say  this  lank  shape  was  his  with  rifle  rest- 
ing against  a  rock  for  a  shot.  But  no,  it  is  merely  a  broken 
trunk  with  its  crooked  elbow  leaning  upon  a  ledge.  If  we 
were  at  Mud  Lake,  I  should  take  that  object  for  a  moose 
looking  at  us  with  staring  eyes.  Too — hoo  too — woo-o-o-o-o 
— psha  1  it  is  an  owl  in  a  low,  broad  water-maple. 

"  It  is  rather  singular  we  don't  encounter  panthers,"  said 
Gaylor,  after  we  had  returned  to  camp.  "  I've  been  here 
four  times,  yet  I've  never  seen  one  alive  yet." 

"  "Tisn't  offen  they  are  seen,"  said  Cort.  "  I've  hunted 
and  fished  round  here  all  my  life,  yit  I've  never  seen  many 
on  'm.  There's  quite  a  passle,  take  it  by  and  large,  but 
they  keep  back  in  the  woods  and  rocky  places  where  peo- 
ple don't  go.  There's  a  good  many  more  on  'm  in  Maine, 
'cordin'  to  the  lumber  fellers.  Deer  and  trout  is  as  plenty 
as  here  too,  and  moose  a  plaguy  sight  plentier ;  fur  I  tell  yer 
what  'tis,  gen'lemen,  it's  one  thing  to  talk  about  moose  and 
t'other  thing  to  git  'm.  But  they  say  out  there  on  the — 
lets  me  see,"  putting  his  finger  on  his  forehead,  "there's  a  nob 
iu't,  or  a  nub — no,  nob;  what  the  plague  is  that  name" — 

"  Androscoggin,"  said  Bingham. 

"  No,  no,  there's  a  nob  in't,  I  know." 

"Well,  they  call  mountains  knobs,  sometimes,"  said 
Bingham ;  "  and  all  Maine  is  nothing  but  mountain.  As 
a  fellow  once  said  in  my  hearing,  you're  scarcely  half  way 
down  one  before  you're  going  up  another." 

"  Cort  means  Penobscot,  probably,"  suggested  Gaylor. 

"  That's  it,"  said  Cort  quickly,  "  the  Nobscot !  well,  they 
say  there's  an  all-fired  grist  on  'm,  that  is,  moose,  up  there, 
and"— 

"  Come,  come,  Cort !"  broke  in  Bingham,  "  we  know  all 
about  that.  Suppose  you  moose  up  a  little  punch.  I 
haven't  had  any  in  two  days !  I  shall  forget  the  taste  of  it." 
And  the  obedient  Cort  immediately  set  about  his  brewing. 


188  WOODS  AND   WATERS; 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

Bingham  kills  a  Deer  in  the  Lake. — The  Indian  Park. — Leo,  the  Indian.— 
The  Loon. — Showers  on  the  Lake. — In  Camp. 

IN  the  morning  we  all  decided  upon  a  drive.  Watch 
and  Sport  were  accordingly  let  loose,  and  we  took  our 
several  stations  on  the  lake  for  the  expected  deer — Harvey 
and  I  in  the  little  Bluebird,  as  usual.  "We  crossed  the 
lake,  and  fastened  to  a  bush  in  a  small  cove. 

The  spot  at  first  was  lonely  and  quiet.  At  length  sights 
and  sounds  began  to  steal  out.  The  grey  wheel  of  the 
gnats  revolved  up  and  down  with  its  fine  hum  of  motion  ; 
the  water-spider  skipped  along ;  the  sparkling  waterbreak 
made  its  purl  heard ;  while  a  squadron  of  musquitoes, 
charging  from  a  cover  of  rushes,  filled  the  air  with  their  fine 
sultry  trumpets,  and  plied  their  lances,  till  I  thought  every 
pore  held  a  needle. 

"  "Don't  mind  the  flies,  Mr.  Smith,"  remarked  Harvey, 
crushing  a  phalanx  between  his  hands,  "  and  they  won't 
trouble  ye  half  so  much.  I  wouldn't  glad  the  little  var- 
mints so  much  as  to  notice  'm.  Ef  they  will  bite,  let  'm 
bite  and  be  derned.  But  I  consated  I  heard  Watch," 
bending  his  ear,  "  I  didn't,  though." 

I  had  for  a  little  time  been  observing  a  spruce  perfectly 
drenched  in  a  broad  fall  of  light.  This  illumined  spot 
shaped  itself  at  length  to  a  cathedral  window.  There  it 
glowed  with  its  lancet  arches,  its  mullions,  its  trefoil,  all  its 
bold  and  delicate  traceries,  and  all  a-blaze  with  jewelled 
hues.  Those  hues  streamed  from  off  the  shoulders  of 
saints,  and  melted  through  the  pinions  of  angels  in  vivid 


OR,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.  189 

reds,  greens,  and  yellows;  they  stained  the  aisle  below, 
and  sprinkled  the  roof  with  gem-like  rain. 

"  About  trollin',"  Harvey  drawled  out  at  this  moment, 
causing  my  window  to  vanish,  "  'taint  every  feller  kin  troll 
that  thinks  he  kin.  Trollin'  is  trollin',  and  it  ain't  nothin' 
else.  'Taint  fishin  for  brook-trout,  nur  deep  fishin'  at  the 
b'ys,  though  every  fool  that  comes  out  here  thinks  ef  he 
can't  do  nothin'  else  he  kin  troll.  Hark  I — no,  it's  nothin' ! 
About  trollin',  splice  your  two  hooks  back  to  back,  and 
stick  yer  minnies  from  mouth  to  tail,  so  as  to  hev 
'em  wobble  in  the  water ;  hev  your  oarsman  row  slow ; 
keep  clear  o'  the  weeds  (weeds  is  the  deuce  and  all  in 
trollin') ;  drop  your  line  as  keerful  and  quiet  as  a  painter 
walks ;  then  draw  in  and  out,  in  and  out ;  and  ef  ye 
don't  ketch  yer  trout,  there  ain't  no  trout  about  there  to 
ketch." 

A  half  hour  glided  away,  I  watching  the  glint  of  the 
light  on  the  water,  and  looking  at  the  forest,  and  Harvey 
whistling  and  humming  to  himself. 

Suddenly  he  started. 

"  There's  the  deer,  by  golly !  there  in  the  water !" 
unchaining  the  boat  and  seizing  the  oars,  while  I  snatched 
the  paddle ;  "  it's  strange  we  didn't  hear  the  hounds!" 

At  this  moment  a  boat  appeared,  making  swiftly  for  the 
deer.  It  contained  Bingham  and  Cort,  the  former  paddling 
with  all  his  might,  and  the  latter  rising  and  falling  to  his 
rapid  oars. 

"  Now  for  a  chase,"  said  Harvey  ;  "  that  buck's  as  good 
as  gone,  though,  with  our  two  boats  after  'im." 

The  scene  was  the  open  water  opposite  the  camp. 

The  buck  made  for  the  west  Brother  Island,  straining 
every  nerve,  and  driving  swiftly  through  the  water. 

Our  boat  was  nearer  the  island  than  Bingham's,  and  we 
tried  our  utmost  to  head  the  deer  off;  for,  once  there,  Birch 
and  Long  Islands — the  three  divided  only  by  alleys  of  water 
— would  lead  him  too  far  down  the  lake  for  us  to  hope 
anything  in  his  pursuit. 


190  WOODS  AND  WATERS; 

We  succeeded,  and  the  buck  turned  again  to  the  open 
space. 

Bingham,  by  this  time,  had  also  approached,  and  I  could 
see  he  was  in  a  frenzy  of  excitement. 

"  Pull  away,  Cort !"  shouted  he,  "pull  away  I  We  must 
have  that  deer !  Jupiter,  what  horns !  Don't  let  Smith 
get  in  before  us !  Pull  as  though  you  were  drawing  your 
legs  through  your  mouth !  Hurrah !" 

The  deer,  wild  with  terror,  was  plying  every  sinew, 
leaping  half  way  out  of  the  lake  in  his  desperation ;  the 
water  furrowing  from  his  shoulders,  his  nose  in  the  air,  and 
his  eyes  almost  bursting  from  his  head  with  his  exertions 
and  fright. 

Both  boats  were  now  within  a  rod  of  the  striving,  pant- 
ing, snorting  animal. 

"  Hurrah,  Cort !"  yelled  Bingham,  dipping  his  paddle  to 
the  eye,  "  one  or  two  more  pulls,  and  then  tail  him ;  and 
if  I  don't  give  that  deer" 

The  boat  shot  up  as  he  spoke,  and  Cort,  leaving  his  oars, 
lunged  to  seize  the  brush  of  the  deer.  Quick  as  thought 
the  latter  eluded  him,  turned,  dived  completely  under  the 
boat,  and  rose  on  the  other  side.  This  brought  the  deer 
closer  to  us,  and  Harvey,  throwing  aside  his  oars,  made  a 
dash  on  his  part  to  tail  the  animal.  The  frenzied  creature 
once  more  dived,  but  was  again  forced  to  rise. 

"  Cort,  it's  very  strange  you  can't  tail  that  deer,"  at  last 
said  Bingham.  "  He's  either  made  of  quicksilver,  or  both 
you  and  Harvey  there  are  as  lazy  as  Deacon  Haskell's 
preaching,  and  you  can  take  a  drink  between  every  word 
he  says.  Now  at  him  again !" 

The  deer  had  again  struck  out,  but  Cort  shot  up,  and 
this  time  he  grasped  the  brush,  while  the  animal,  snorting 
loudly,  redoubled  his  frantic  efforts  at  escape. 

Bingham  aimed  within  a  foot  or  two  of  the  deer's  grace- 
ful head.  I  caught  the  wild  gleam  of  the  dilated  eye ;  the 
report  then  rang,  the  head  fell,  and  a  tremor  shook  the 
tawny  frame.  Cort's  keen  knife  next  flashed  at  the  victim's 


OB,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.  191 

throat,  and  his  strong  arms  lifted  and  deposited  him  in  the 
boat. 

"  That's  the  way!  hurrah  for  our  side!"  exclaimed  Bing- 
ham.  "  The  best  way,  after  all,  to  shoot  a  deer,  is  to  tail 
him.  If  I  could  have  had  all  the  deer  tailed,  I've  shot  at 
in  these  slippery  woods,  I  could  start  a  victualler's  shop  in 
the  settlements,  eh,  Smith!"  and  off  he  and  Cort  pulled 
toward  the  camp,  while  Harvey  and  I  steered  toward  the 
Indian  Park. 

We  entered  the  outlet;  at  our  left  rose  the  cliff,  its 
ledges  breaking  out  of  the  clinging  foliage,  and  turning  with 

i  afternoon  shadow  the  belt  of  water  into  ebony,  and 
darkening  the  long  low  island  between  the  two  channels. 
Soon  we  reached  the  Park.  It  wore  a  sweet,  pastoral  look 
m  the  lowering  light,  the  glowing  atmosphere  softening  the 
lights  into  golden  down,  and  the  shades  into  transparent 
purple. 

A  single  log  cabin,  unoccupied  and  ruined,  stood  in  the 
Park,  with  an  old  haystack  at  one  corner,  and  a  beautiful 
birch  tree  at  the  other. 

Beneath  the  slanting  radiance,  the  weather-stained  hues 
of  the  hut  were  turned  into  a  rich  tawny,  the  russet  of 
the  stack  gleamed  in  golden  brown,  and  the  tree,  together 
with  a  black  cherry  beside  it,  seemed  burning  in  amber 
flame. 

Up  the  Eacket  Mount  Morris  met  the  eye,  mingled 
and  smoothed  into  one  misty  blue.  In  the  middle  distance 
the  river,  divided  by  its  midchannel  island,  came  flowing 
through  two  branches  into  the  board  basin  which  fronted 
and  flanked  the  Park. 

There's  iron  up  there,"  said  Harvey,  nodding  at  the 
wooded  ridge  that  rose  above  the  Park.  "Folks  don't 
know  much  about  it,  but  I'm  a  blacksmith  you  know,  and 
keep  my  eye  out  for  sich  things.  If  you'd  like  ter,  I'll 
show  ye  some  blocks  on't,"  and  drawing  the  Bluebird's  bow 
on  shore,  the  old  woodman  led  the  way  across  the  pleasant 
grassy  plat,  scattered  with  trees  and  thickets,  and  showing 


192  WOODS  AND  WATERS; 

traces  of  old  cultivation,  into  the  forest  covering  the  swell  of 
the  ground.  We  had  risen  nearly  to  the  summit,  when 
Harvey  picked  from  the  rocky  earth  a  fragment  of  black, 
sparkling  ore,  which  I  found  to  be  a  specimen  of  magnetic 
iron,  rich  and  very  heavy.* 

"  There's  plenty  more  all  round  here.  See  there,  and 
there,  and  there,"  continued  he,  pointing  about.  "  But  let's 
go  on,  I  want  to  show  yer  where  this  p'int  begins." 

Crossing  the  summit  and  descendingj  we  came  to  a  small 
wild  meadow,  the  neck  of  the  peninsula,  where  the  river 
came  with  one  bold  bend,  toward  the  little  bay  belonging 
to  the  lake. 

"  It  looks  jest  as  ef,"  said  Harvey,  "  old  Tupper  had  put 
"out  his  little  finger,  and  the  Eacket  was  comin'  to  take  it, 
and  the  woods  had  stepped  up  and  dropt  a  green  hand- 
kercher  'twixt,  and  gone  on  agin  to  drop  another  -one  at 
the  eend." 

Eeturning  to  the  boat,  we  found  drawn  up  by  it,  a  canoe 
or  dug-out,  smoothly  hollowed  from  a  birch  log,  with  a 
beautifully  shaped  paddle  athwart  it.  Immediately  an 
Indian,  with  a  rifle,  and  followed  by  two  dogs,  appeared 
from  the  woods  nearest  the  lake. 

"  (roll,  ef  here  aint  old  Leo !"  said  Harvey.  "  Why,  Leo, 
how  de  do !" 

"  How  do,  how  do  1"  answered  the  Indian,  in  a  low,  gut- 
tural accent,  smiling  and  holding  out  his  hand. 

"  Been  a  huntin' !"  asked  Harvey,  shaking  it 

"  Yese,  oh  yese !" 

"  Kill  enny  thing?" 

"  Nah,  nah,  oh  hang,  nah  1" 

"  See  enny  thing?" 

"  Yese,  yese,  oh  yese  I  See  a-a-a — yu-yaw-gwin — a-a — vat 
you  call  eet?" 

"I  dunno.     How  should  I?"  said  Harvey. 

"He  goes  so,  bo-o-o-m-m-m,"  striking  his  sides  with 
his  elbows. 

*  Tbis  specimen  I  subsequently  found  to  contain  ninety  per  cent,  of  iron. 


OR,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.         193 

"  Bullfrog !''  said  Harvey. 

"  Taun,taun,  nab,  nah,  oh  hang,  nah — he  fly." 

"  Flies  and  goes  boom,"  said  Harvey,  thoughtfully. 
"  Well,  a  crow  goes  boom,  or  quaw,  which  is  the  same 
thing.  Was  it  a  crow,  a  black  thing  that  goes  quaw, 
quaw?" 

"  Nah,  nah,  oh  hang!  n-a-a-h  I"  said  the  Indian.  "  Dare, 
dare  I"  as  one  of  the  dogs  roused  a  bird  at  the  edge  of  the 
woods. 

•'  Oh,, a  patridge!    Well,  what  else  did  you  see?" 

"  Quaah — he  go  so,"  jerking  his  head,  "  and  says 
qu-a-a-h." 

"  That's  a  crow,  I  know." 

"  Nah,  nah,  nah  black  thing !     Nah  crow." 

"  Well,  what  the  old  mischief  is't  then  ?" 

"  Go  so — oh  goo'  mannee,"  rapping  on  his  rifle-stock. 

"  Woodpecker  I  why  didn't  you  say  so — what  else?" 

"  Dyaweh,  oh  so  mooch  I"  placing  his  han<is  about  a  foot 
apart. 

"  I  should  think  a  body  'ud  die  away  all  to  pieces,  to 
talk  to  this  old  wild  goose  of  an  Injin.  I  git  everything 
so  rnuxed  up  in  my  head1  tryin'  to  find  out  what  he  means, 
I  can't  remember  nairy  thing  when  I  talk  to  him  nor  which 
from  t'other.  What  the  Old  Sanko  is  dieaway?"  tartly. 

"  Down  dare,"  said  the  Indian,  pointing  to  the  water. 

"Well,  what  d'ye  mean?  Trout,  muskrats,  mink?" 

"  Yese,  yese!"  interrupted  the  Indian. 

"  Oh,  mink,  hay !  Where  is  yer  fur  ?  I  should  like  to 
see  it.  But  'taint  the  right  time  o'  year,  Leo,  to  ketch  fur, 
you  must  know  that." 

"  Nah,  nah !  oh  hang,  n-a-a-h,"  and  Leo  threw  aside  a  cedar 
branch  in  the  stern  of  the  canoe  and  showed  a  string  of 
trout  on  a  birch  twig. 

"  Oh,  trout !  I  don't  think  there's  much  die-away  on  them 
onless  ye  eat  enough  to  kill  a  hoss !  " 

"Yese,  yese!  trou,  trou,  so  mannee!"  holding  up  the 
string,  which  was  really  a  fine  one. 
18 


194  WOODS  AND  WATERS; 

"  Very  good,  Leo !  a  good  nice  bunch  on  'em.  Them's 
good  dogs  o'  yourn  too,"  looking  at  the  gaunt,  tawny,  wiry, 
wild-looking  animals.  "  Eael  wolf-dogs,  Mr.  Smith  1  swift 
as  lightnin'  and  savage  as  a  mad  moose.  That's  a  good 
rifle  you've  got  to  boot  I"  taking  the  weapon  and  examin- 
ing it  critically. 

I  looked  at  the  two  as  they  stood  together,  both  repre- 
sentatives of  a  class  unknown  to  cultured  life ;  'the  old, 
bronzed  hunter  and  trapper,  and  the  wild  red  man,  united 
by  their  habits  and  modes  of  life,  and  both  so  perfectly  in 
keeping  with  the  scenes  where  I  saw  them — the  natural 
meadow — the  primeval  woods — the  lonely  lake — the  log 
hut — the  wolf-dogs — all  so  different  from  the  objects  to 
which  I  had  been  accustomed.  I  could  hardly  realize  that 
I  was  scarce  two-score  leagues  from  populous  and  polished 
cities,  and  I  revelled  in  the  charm  of  the  contrast  before 
me. 

"  "Well,  Mi»  Smith  !"  said  Harvey,  handing  the  Indian 
his  rifle,  "  we  might  as  well  be  goin'.  Good-by,  Leo  !  I'm 
comin'  to  see  ye !  Down  there  yit,  I  s'pose !"  pointing 
down  the  Eacket. 

"  Yese,  yese,"  said  the  Indian,  laughing  as  if  the  old 
trapper  had  uttered  a  good  joke. 

«  Good-bye !" 

tj  Goo-bye  I"  and  whistling  to  his  dogs,  that  were  revolv- 
ing in  a  snapping  and  gurgling  ball  on  the  bank,  the  old 
Indian  shoved  off.  Harvey  did  the  same,  and  we  glided 
toward  the  left-hand  channel  of  the  river,  on  our  way  to 
the  camp. 

The  Indian,  paddling  on  his  knees  in  the  middle  of  his 
canoe,  turned  the  Park  and  went  down  the  Eacket,  mous- 
ing along  the  banks,  his  hunting-shirt  as  he  descended 
dwindling  to  a  red  spot,  which  glanced  in  and  out  the 
thickets  and  hollows  of  the  shores  in  the  low  sunshine  like 
a  jack-light,  until  an  elbow  of  the  stream  shut  it  entirely 
from  view. 

Coasting  along  the  mid-channel  island  of  the  river  we 


OR,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.  195 

turned  to  the  right,  and  entered  the  lake  through  the  south 
channel.  The  waters  were  kindled  in  the  sunset ;  the  top 
of  Gull  Pond  Mountain  was  in  a  glow,  and  the  islands  of 
the  Two  Brothers  had  assumed  the  golden  softness  peculiar 
to  the  hour.  The  great  star  of  the  camp-fire  was  filling  the 
nook  with  ruddy  light,  giving  it,  with  the  tinged  tents 
and  shanty,  and  figures  moving  about  in  the  flitting  flame, 
a  picturesque  as  well  as  a  genial  look.  As  we  approached 
we  heard  Bingham,  just  returned  from  a  partridge  hunt, 
as  I  discovered,  detailing  to  his  comrades  at  the  highest 
pitch  of  his  loud  voice  his  exploit  of  the  buck. 

The  last  lustre  of  the  sunset  was  pouring  into  the  camp. 
The  hounds  were  gliding  about  all  in  a  glitter ;  a  rod  and 
rifle  were  pointing  keen  glances  over  a  stump,  and  Bing- 
ham's  buck,  not  yet  dressed,  was  lying  at  a  root  sleeked 
over  with  light. 

The  sunshine  was  peeping  into  the  bushes,  and  striving 
to  force  its  way  into  the  forest.  Although  it  made  a  high- 
rooted  birch  glow  like  a  vast  lamp  hung  upon  the  bank,  it 
but  edged  the  adjoining  cedars. 

Pup  again  caught  my  eye.  He  was  roaming  about,  lift- 
ing one  ear  and  then  the  other,  looking  at  the  tree-tops, 
cantering  and  stopping  short  to  bite  off  a  fly,  then  twirling 
into  a  heap  only  to  untwirl,  see  that  the  ring  of  his  tail 
was  perfect  on  his  hollow  back,  and  peer  under  the  bushes. 
At  length  he  stopped  before  a  hollow  tree  with  a  hole  at 
its  root,  and  the  play  opened.  Now  he  started  back  to  his 
haunches ;  then  launched  forward,  streaming  out  in  yells ; 
then  bounded  with  all  his  feet  from  the  ground  back  again, 
and  then  dashed  his  pointed  nose  beneath  the  beech  to  jerk 
it  quickly  away.  Occasionally  during  these  manoeuvres  a 
grey  paw,  or  slim  whiskered  snout,  would  dart  out  in  the 
direction  of  the  dog.  At  last  Pup  buried  his  head  and 
shoulders  under  the  tree,  with  one  hind  leg  after  the  other 
quivering  in  mid-air.  This  was  immediately  succeeded 
by  his  hasty  retreat  with  a  hideous  yell  and  a  dismal 
whine,  his  nose  one  gore  of  blood.  Bending  it  to  the 


196  WOODS  AND  WATERS; 

earth,  he  rubbed  it  with  his  fore  paw  as  if  it  were  a  nuisance 
to  be  rid  of,  glancing  continually  at  the  bush  with  a  rueful 
air.  At  last  Watch,  who  had  been  to  all  appearance  sleeping 
between  his  paws,  rose  as  though  his  patience  was  exhausted 
and  he  was  resolved  to  see  what  all  this  racket  was  about, 
and  marched  with  a  severe  dignity  and  a  not-to-be-baffled 
look  to  the  bush.  Pup  had  contented  himself  with  peeping 
in  at  the  basement,  but  "Watch  magisterially,  with  arched 
neck  and  lifted  tail,  looked  in  at  the  window.  As  he  did 
so,  he  pealed  his  slogan,  and  rushing  into  the  citadel,  reap- 
peared, shaking  a  kicking,  spitting,  snarling  woodchuck  by 
its  neck.  After  a  short  struggle,  the  battle  ended  in  the 
death  of  the  woodchuck,  which  was  taken  by  one  of  the 
guides,  who  forthwith  skinning  and  dressing  it  and  stretch- 
ing the  white,  delicate  frame  on  a  pronged  stick,  proceeded 
to  broil  it  for  dinner. 

The  evening  wrapped  around  us  sultry  and  close.  The 
camp-fire  died  down,  and  as  the  darkness  gathered  there 
was  a  fine  show  of  summer  lightning.  The  tents  flashed 
in  and  out — the  shanty  and  trees  stepped  forward  and 
back — a  dog  gleamed  forth — a  gun — a  human  form  stood 
out  and  vanished ;  and  amid  this  black  and  red  dance  I 
retired  to  my  bed  of  hemlock  feathers  and  was  soon  asleep. 

I  was  awakened  by  a  violent  shake. 

"  Come,  Smith,  wake  up.  It's  about  daylight,  and  if  you 
sleep  any  longer  what  brains  you  have  will  evaporate.  I 
can  almost  see  them  melt  now." 

"What  do  you  want,  Bingham?"  said  I. 

"  I  want  lake-trout.  Harvey  says  we  can't  have  a  bet- 
ter time ;  and  if  I  don't  make  those  buoys  out  there  suffer, 
you  may  say,  when  you  get  back  home,  I  didn't  kill  that 
buck.  So,  hurrah !  Smith,  get  up,  and  go  with  Harvey  and 
me." 

I  accordingly  rose,  and  in  a  few  minutes  we  were  gliding 
toward  the  first  buoy. 

"The  guides  take  a  great  deal  of  pains  to  bait  these 
buoys,"  continued  Bingham.  "  According  to  Harvey,  you 


OR,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.  197 

can  hardly  go  amiss  of  one  of  these  fish  with  worm-bait 
Diet  of  Worms,  eh  ?  But  ph-e-w,  how  close  it  is.  I  wish  we 
had  brought  Kenning  out  with  us  just  as  we  left  him. 
The  tornado  he  raises  with  that  nose  of  his  would  shake  up 
the  air  a  little,  at  all  events.  But  here  we  are  at  the  buoj. 
Now,  Harvey,  my  line — hurrah  1" 

"  Hurra-a-a-h  I" 

"Hey!"  said  Bingham,  seizing  his  rifle  (he  carried  it 
wherever  he  went).  u  Where  is  he,  Harvey  ?"  staring 
around. 

"  There  !"  said  Harvey. 

"  Good-bye,  Mr.  Loon,"  exclaimed  Bingham,  firing. 

"  Psh-a-a-ah,"  said  the  loon,  ducking  under. 

"  He's  a  dead  loon,"  said  Bingham. 

"  Wait,"  said  Harvey. 

"  Hurrah !" 

"  There  he  is,"  said  Harvey. 

"  The  deuce  take  his  impu" — 

"  Hurr-a-a  a-h !" 

"  Head  up  like  a  soger,"  said  Harvey. 

"  Let  us  get  a  little  closer,"  said  Bingham,  fidgeting.  "  I 
didn't  have  a  good  chance  that  time." 

"  Pshah  psha — pish,  pish — p-s-h-a-w-w-w !  Hurrah  1 
hurrah !  hurrah ! "  shouted  the  loon,  burying  himself 
nearly  to  his  head.  "  Hurrah,"  rising  again  to  his  shape. 

"  Now's  your  chance,"  grins  Harvey. 

"  Hurr" — bang.     No  loon  there. 

"  We'll  see  him  floating  on  his  back  in  a  moment,"  said 
Bingham,  confidently. 

"  Hurrah."  The  sound  rings  proudly,  but  more  distant. 
The  loon's  neck  specks  the  water  near  the  east  Brother. 

"  Psha-w-w-w,  psha-w-w-w ;  hurrah,  hurrah,  hurrah-eee," 
and  with  this  final  challenge  the  loon  disappeared. 

Bingham  tried  to  look  unconcerned,  but  only  succeeded 
in  looking  brazen.  He  turned  once  more  to  his  line  and 
threw  it.  For  ten  minutes  he  played  it  up  and  down, 
according  to  the  approved  mode. 


198  WOODS  AND  WATERS; 

"  Where  the  plague  have  the  trout  gone  to,  Harvey !' 
said  he  at  length,  crossly. 

"  One  has  gone  onter  my  hook,"  said  Harvey ;  "  and 
from  Mr.  Smith's  line,  I  g\iess  another  is  on  his'n." 

"  There's  none  gone  on  mine,  that's  certain,"  looking 
fixedly  at  the  fine  specimen  that  Harvey  raised  and 
secured.  "  On  the  whole,  I  think  breakfast  must  be  on  by 
this  time.  At  all  events  it  ought  to  be,  judging  from  cer- 
tain interior  feelings  I  have  ;  so  let  us  go  back  to  camp." 
And  back  we  went. 

After  breakfast  we  again  divided.  Gaylor  and  Eenning 
went  with  Mart  to  fish  in  Grindstone  Brook;  Bingham 
and  Coburn  with  Cort  and  Sport,  up  the  lake  for  a  drive ; 
while  Harvey  and  I  visited  the  outlet  bluff  again,  to  troll 
the  deep  waters  at  its  base.  Will  and  Phin  went  to 
Simon's  Pond  with  Drive,  also  for  deer.  Corey  and  Jess 
remained  to  take  care  of  the  camp. 

Not  proving  fortunate  in  trolling  we  decided  to  return  to 
camp,  particularly  since  what  air  there  was  proclaimed  rain. 
After  proceeding  nearly  across  the  lake,  I  saw  a  cloud  in 
the  west  drop  its  gauzy  ladder  to  the  rim  of  the  horizon. 
Eeaching  the  camp  I  entered  the  tent,  and  watched  the 
coming  of  the  shower. 

The  forest  outlines  on  Gull  Pond  Mountain  mingled 
greyly,  then  the  whole  mass  was  swallowed.  Over  the 
darkening  lake  the  dense  mist  moved,  devouring  the  pros- 
pect. The  pyramid  of  a  cedar  on  the  farthest  of  the  Two 
Brothers  melted ;  a  group  of  jagged,  scorched  hemlocks  died 
away ;  a  skeleton  pine,  rearing  the  nest  of  a  fish-hawk,  like 
a  skull,  glided  back,  and  the  whole  island  vanished.  The 
nearer  Brother  was  next  in  a  misty  mingle,  and  then  with 
a  rush  the  shower  was  upon  us.  The  prospect  was  limited 
to  a  white  half  circle  of  water,  with  dim  images  of  rocks 
and  trees  around  me.  The  camp,  so  soft  and  pleasant  in 
the  sunset  of  the  day  before,  became  in  a  moment  reeking 
with  wet.  The  hounds,  however,  enjoyed  it  hugely.  Pup, 
having  washed  his  face  from  the  blood,  was  as  frolicsome  as 


OR,  SUMMER  IN   THE  SAKANACS.  199 

a  boy  in  the  snow.  He  lapped  the  pools,  snapped  at  the 
drops  and  shook  them  into  sprinkles  from  his  coat,  while 
the  sober  Watch,  having  endured  quite  philosophically  the 
liquid  beating  on  the  wind  side  of  a  thicket,  settled  himself 
by  the  camp  fire,  thrust  out  his  paws  as  if  to  dry  them,  and 
blinked  at  the  rain. 

At  length  the  halloo  of  a  loon  sounded  from  the  mist, 
and  out  he  glided ;  the  rain  ceased ;  to  the  wand  of  a  sun- 
beam, the  misty  curtain  lifted,  and  there  was  the  instan- 
taneous glitter  of  a  diamond  scene.  In  another  half-hour, 
however,  a  new  shower  came,  swallowing  the  lake  in  its 
mist  from  the  south,  and  changing  again  into  jewel-work 
under  the  sun. 

For  the  next  two  or  three  hours,  there  was  a  quick  inter- 
weaving of  rain  and  sunlight.  The  former  would  streak 
the  scene ;  then  blue  eyes  would  open  in  the  sky.  The 
arcades  of  the  forest  would  glow,  darken,  be  masked  in  the 
shower,  and  flash  again  into  gold. 

Things  continued  so  until  past  noon,  when  the  clouds 
blended  themselves  into  one  smooth  leaden  mantle,  and  a 
rain  set  in,  which,  from  its  obstinate  look  and  pertinacious 
pour,  threatened  to  last  a  week.  There  was  such  a  sulky 
pig-headed  air  about  the  storm,  a  determination  to  give  the 
whole  scene  "  the  devil "  (according  to  Bingham)  this  time, 
that  I  began  to  find  a  legion  of  devils  flitting  about  my 
spirits.  At  the  expiration  of  some  three  or  four  hours, 
however,  I  was  most  agreeably  disappointed.  The  lead- 
color  above  whitened,  then  broke  into  large  fragments, 
while  a  splendid  gathering  of  clouds  at  the  west  com 
menced  to  kindle,  as  if  under  a  strong  wind,  for  a  gorgeou,. 
sunset.  And  gorgeous  it  was — peaks  of  gold,  ridges  of 
crimson,  waves  of  purple,  filling  the  west  and  firing  the  lake. 

Emerging  from  a  path  lying  on  the  water,  like  a  crimson 
column,  a  returning  boat  appeared,  which  a  nearer  view 
showed  to  contain  Bingham  and  Cort. 

"Phew!"  said  the  former,  taking  two  strides  from  thy 
b.eru  to  an  old  gre.n  log  at  the  margin.  "Ph-e-c-w!  if 


200  WOODS  AND  WATERS; 

ever  there  was  a  poor  devil  glad  to  get  back  here,  I  am. 
This  watching  a  runway  in  the  rain,  with  no  run  on  the 
way  but  the  rain,  which  run  away  like  the  deuce,  especi- 
ally my  way,  and  was  most  confoundedly  in  the  way,  till  I 
wished  I  was  out  of  the  way,  is  about  the  meanest  thing  in 
my  experience,  especially  when'  the  pocket-bottle  gives  out, 
as  mine  did.  It  was  literally — 

1  Water,  water  every  where, 
Nor  any  drop  to  drink.' 

Cort,  make  me  a  glass  of  punch." 

This  harangue,  delivered  with  the  greatest  volubility 
and  in  the  most  stentorian  sounds,  made  the  woods  echo  ; 
and  after  the  delivery,  the  excited  orator  took  a  seat  on  a 
stump,  with  an  eye  on  the  glass  which  the  long-suffering 
Cort  was  hastening  to  manufacture. 

"  We  had  better  luck,"  said  Kenning  (he  and  Gaylor 
had  reached  the  camp  from  an  opposite  direction,  while 
Bingham  was  roaring) ;  and  he  placed  a  basket  brimmed 
with  glittering  trout  on  a  log.  "  There  are  thirty  pounds 
there,  at  least !  Good  game  trout,  too  ;  none  less  than  half 
a  pound,  and  from  that  up  to  two,  and  in  one  or  two 
instances,  three." 

"  Never  was  the  old  adage  about  a  fool,  and  luck  more 
strikingly  verified  than  in  an  instance  happening  on  Tup- 
per's  Lake  on  a  certain  day  in  the  present  month  of 
August,"  said  Bingham.  "  I've  about  made  up  my  mind 
to  abandon  shooting  and  take  to  fishing.  Any  blockhead 
can  fish,  but  it  takes  the  wits  of  ten  Yankee  pedlars,  and 
the  patience  of  twenty  Jobs,  to  do  the  shooting.  I've  about 
made  up  my  mind  now  there  are  no  deer  in  the  woods." 

"  I  didn't  catch  the  trout  at  Tupper's  Lake,"  said  Ken- 
ning. "  We  found  poor  sport  at  Grindstone  Brook,  so  we 
went  down  to  Setting  Pole  Rapids." 

"Who  said  you  did  catch . them  at  Tupper's  Lake?" 
returned  Bingham.  "I  appeal  to  the  company  if  my 
respected  comrade  here  doesn't  show  a  marvellous  alacrity 


OR,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARAXACS.  201 

in  applying  to  himself  the  adage  mentioned.  1  think  it  a 
remarkable,  if  not  painful,  instance  of  self-consciousness. 
Ah,  Cort,  this  glass  is  fit  for  Jove !" 

"  I  knowed  a  feller  by  the  name  o'  Joe,"  said  honest 
Cort,  "  that  was  the  best  hand  at  makin'  a  glass  o'  punch  I 
ever  see.  And  when  he  made  it,  he  could  drink  it,  too, 
and  without  winkin'.  Good  gracious,  how  that  feller  could 
liquor  up  I  He  druv  the  river  for  a  livin',  and  was  the 
best  hand  about  here.  He  was  called  Driver  Joe.  I've 
seen  'm  drive  logs" 

"  I  wish  I  could  see  you  drive  musquitoes,"  interrupted 
Bingham.  "  Every  drop  of  rain  to-day  has  hatched  a 
family  of  them,  and  hungry-mad  at  that,"  threshing 
about.  "  Coburn,  your  skin  is  thicker  than  mine,  some- 
thing like  sole-leather,  I  take  it,  from  the  looks — do  come 
here  and  let  them  settle  on  you.  You  will  this  way  do 
more  good  than  youVe  done  to-day,  for  I  believe  the  deer 
went  by  on  your  runway,  where  you  doubtless  were  asleep, 
while  I,  awake  and  watchful,  saw  nothing.  But  there's 
one  thing  about  it,  Coburn ;  I  hope  Renning  and  Gay  lor 
won't  celebrate  their  luck  to-night  with  one  of  their  con- 
founded choruses !  I  can  stand  anything  mortal,  but 
when  it  comes  to  sounds  so  utterly  diabolical,  I  yield — eh, 
Smith  ?"  and  Bingham,  after  scenting  a  pinch  of  pulverized 
tobacco  (he  had  forsworn  all  other  use  of  the  weed),  began 
examining  his  gunlock. 

Deep  in  the  evening,  while  I  was  watching  the  stars 
glittering  through  the  black  trees,  Will  and  Mart  appeared 
with  a  doe  they  had  shot  at  Grindstone  Bay.  The  moment 
Sport  and  Pup  saw  each  other,  they  rushed  into  one 
embrace,  rolling  over  and  over  with  yelps  and  harmless 
bites ;  and  it  was  not  until  Will  threw  each  a  slice  from 
the  venison  which  was  already  dressing  by  the  light  of 
the  camp-fire,  that  they  separated,  attacking  the  slices, 
tooth  and  nail,  and  wheeling  their  eye-balls  round,  as  if 
every  stick  and  stone  were  in  wait  to  wrest  their  morsels 
from  them. 


202  WOODS  AND  WATERS; 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

Thunder-storms. — Lightning  Island. — Thoughts  at  the  Indian  Pass. — A  high 
Wind. — Captain  Bill  Snyder.— Night  Sail  in  the  Wind.— Cove  at  the 
Devil's  Pulpit. — Mist  on  the  Water. — Harvey's  Indian  Story. 

ALTHOUGH  clear,  the  succeeding  morning  was  warmer 
and  closer  than  the  last.  There  was  a  brooding  calm  after 
the  first  freshness  of  the  dawn  had  vanished,  which  hung 
like  a  weight  upon  the  frame  and  spirits. 

The  trees  dozed  in  the  languid  light ;  the  hazy  islands 
looked  drowsy ;  and  the  opposite  hills  seemed  half  dis- 
solved in  the  warm,  dreamy  mist. 

After  an  hour's  sport  at  Bedside  Brook,  we  were  driven 
back  by  the  sultriness  of  the  air,  and  the  sun  which  beat 
like  a  great  burning-glass  upon  the  lake. 

The  morning  was  passed  in  the  camp — all  seeking  the 
most  comfortable  positions.  Bingham's  long  legs  were 
sprawling  in  everybody's  way,  until  he  adopted  the  expe- 
dient of  lying  on  his  back  and  crossing  them,  with  his  toe 
in  the  air  like  the  tip  of  a  balsam  fir.  The  hounds  moved 
sluggishly,  or  coiled  themselves  at  the  apertures  of  the 
thickets,  where  the  slightest  air  could  draw,  with  their 
tongues  lolling  from  their  mouths,  and  their  tawny  forms 
streaked  like  sweat.  The  delicate-stemmed  maple-leaf 
did  not  show  a  glimpse  of  its  pearly  lining  ;  and  even  the 
wild  poplar,  that  quakes  if  a  raven  fan  it,  gave  scarce  a 
flutter.  From  the  edges  of  the  forest  came  the  snappish 
bark  of  the  ground-squirrel  slinking  under  the  shady  logs 
and  roots,  as  if  in  complaint  of  the  heat.  Over  its  floor, 
too,  ran  a  slight  rustle,  as  though  the  dead  leaves  were  also 
restless  and  were  striving  to  turn  over.  Across  the  glass 


OR,  SUMMER   IN   THE  SARANACS.  203 

of  the  lake,  quavered  with  startling  distinctness,  and  waken- 
ing a  thousand  echoes,  the  cry  of  the  loon ;  now  it  was  the 
despairing  shout  of  some  drowning  wretch,  and  now  the  tri- 
umphant whoop  of  an  Indian  warrior  on  the  trail  of  his  foe. 

About  noon,  the  hot,  filmy  sky  became  broken  at  the 
south-west  by  glaring  white  vapor  tinged  with  copper.  ~ 

At  length  two  crags  of  cloud  rapidly  rose  over  the 
shoulders  of  Gull  Pound  Mountain.  Up  they  moved  above 
the  darkened  summit,  deepening  as  they  came,  till  they 
frowned  black  as  the  ravens  on  the  shoulders  of  Woden. 

As  they  approached,  they  joined  into  a  mass,  with  streaks 
of  vivid  red  darting  through  its  heart,  as  if  it  were  cracking 
open  in  the  terrible  flame  behind  it. 

The  lake  blackened ;  glances  of  lightning  quivered  over 
it,  and  volumes  of  thunder  unrolled  their  jarring  lengths. 
The  swells  danced ;  the  quick  white-caps  flashed ;  the  woods 
of  the  Two  Brothers  tossed  to  and  fro,  in  the  outburst  of 
the  wind ;  then  a  blinding  glare,  a  quick,  ringing,  splitting 
bolt,  as  if  the  heart  of  the  forest  had  been  cleft ;  and  the 
rain  tumbled.  All  now  was  one  wild  turmoil  of  howling 
winds  and  writhing  trees,  and  driving  rain  sheets,  and  the 
hoarse  dash  of  the  foaming  lake. 

At  length,  through  the  driving  scud,  a  large  object  sud- 
denly broke,  which  we  saw  was  an  eagle  borne  struggling 
on  the  wind.  One  wing  was  evidently  injured.  On  he 
came,  swooping  and  tumbling,  and,  wafted  over  the-  tops 
of  the  trees,  was  lost  in  the  rainy  mist  behind. 

The  fierce  mountain  storm  soon  passed,  and  the  afternoon 
was  quiet  and  beautiful. 

Corey  and  Harvey  being  bound  for  Stetson's,  to  replen- 
ish some  of  our  stores,  I  accompanied  them. 

When  half  way  up,  however,  an  angry  black  and  red 
sunset  glared  through  the  woods  upon  us,  threatening 
trouble. 

We  obtained  our  meal,  milk  and  maple  sugar,  and  started 
on  our  return.  Corey  was  at  the  oars  and  Harvey  at  the 
paddle,  and  we  skimmed  through  a  gloom  which  (although 


204  WOODS  AND  WATERS; 

the  eagle  eyes  of  the  guides  pierced  it)  was  to  me  like  a 
cavern's.  Except  the  sounds  of  our  way,  the  ear  of  Heim- 
dall  could  not  have  detected  a  whisper  in  the  woods  or  on 
the  water. 

Suddenly  the  black  sky  opened  in  a  quick,  fierce  glance 
^f  lightning,  displaying  enormous  clouds,  hanging  low 
over  the  forest  and  water.  A  growl  of  thunder  succeeded. 
Then  came  another  glare,  redder,  fiercer,  and  a  peal  was 
launched  that  made  the  ear  ring. 

The  storm  now  burst.  The  lightning  kindled  an  almost 
stationary  blaze  in  the  clouds,  and  there  was  nearly  one 
grand  continuous  roll  of  thunder.  The  rain  streamed 
upon  us,  while  the  roaring  of  the  woods  told  that  the 
wind  had  spread  its  pinions.  Steadily  onward  we  went, 
however,  to  the  torch  of  the  lightning,  the  trees,  rocks, 
windings  of  the  banks,  and  spaces,  of  water  glaring  out  in 
the  fierce  crimson,  until,  leaving  the  kindled  and  black- 
ened vista  of  the  river,  we  emerged  upon  the  wrathful  lake. 
"We  had  not  danced  far  over  the  wild  swells  and  through 
the  tinged  rain,  when  a  blue,  forked  flash  left  the  ragged 
zenith.  It  fell  upon  the  top  of  a  towering  pine,  on  the  East 
Brother  Island,  like  the  hammer  of  Thor  on  the  forehead  of 
Thrym.  The  top  burst  into  flame,  casting  a  scarlet  track 
upon  the  lake  and  flooding  our  boat  with  a  passing  glare. 

But  now  the  logs  of  the  shore,  the  tents,  the  trees,  the 
very  streak  of  water-lilies  edging  the  shallow,  the  red  pic- 
ture of  the  camp  painted  by  the  lightning,  gleamed  into 
view,  and,  in  a  few  moments,  we  had  safely  moored  the 
Bluebird,  and  entered  the  shelter  of  the  tent. 

The  stars  were  soon  shining  from  between  the  parted 
clouds,  but  the  pine  tree  still  burned,  and  by  the  light  of 
this  gigantic  candle  I  sank  into  my  dreams. 

Fresh  and  breezy,  rose  the  following  morning ;  the  sky 
was  a  delicious  blue,  against  which  the  trees  waved  their 
tops  joyously,  the  leaves  fluttering  and  flashing,  while  the 
fragrance  of  the  woods  was  delightful.  The  eagle  sailed 
up  the  stream  of  the  wind,  dipping  his  wings  either  side, 


OR,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.  205 

and  the  loon  glided  below,  his  brindled  shape  clearly  cut 
against  the  crystal  air. 

The  deep  black  shadows  were  drawn  in  hair  lines  in  the 
sunlight,  while  the  million  ripples  of  .the  lake  bore  each  a 
star  upon  its  front. 

The  whole  party,  except  Corey  and  Jess,  Harvey  and 
myself,  left  for  a  drive.  The  first  two  busied  themselves 
in  drying  some  venison,  while  the  old  guide  and  1  launched 
on  the  lake  toward  the  buoys. 

"  The  wind  was  consid'ble  heavy  at  one  time  yisterday," 
said  Harvey,  "  but  I've  knowed  it  blow  a  good  deal  harder 
on  these  waters  round.  There  was  a  man  bio  wed  clean  off 
a  raft  on  the  lower  lake,  one  spring.  'Twas  a  river-driver. 
Sassy  Dick  we  called  him,  and  the  sassiest  kite,  next  to  a 
loon,  I  ever  come  crost.  Well,  he  was  on  a  dozen  logs, 
comin'  down  the  lake,  and  when  he  got  within  a  mile  or 
so  of  the  outlet,  a  gust  come  and  took  him  clean  off  his  legs 
inter  the  lake.  He  was  a  fust  best  swimmer,  and  kept  up 
nice,  though  the  swells  was  or.ful,  and  after  a  little  while 
he  made  out  to  git  onter  the  raft  agin,  that  was  catwollopin' 
about  in  the  lake,  and  went  a  swashin'  along  till  he  got 
inter  the  S'nac  river. 

"  That  pine  too  was  a  good  deal  of  a  sight,"  continued 
he.  "  I  see  another  tree,  onst,  struck  jest  about  as  cluss. 
'Twas  in  an  island  in  the  Lower  S'nac,  not  fur  from  Mar- 
tin's. It's  called  Lightnin'  Island,  by  some.  The  tree 
was  cut  round  like  a  corkscrew,  and  as  deep  as  my  finger. 
I  see  't  done.  I  was  comin'  from  Bartlett's  one  afternoon 
in  J'ly,  and  h-o-t  'twas — why  it  raally  'peared  to  me  as  ef 
the  water  'd  bile !  Well,  all  on  a  sudden,  as  I  was  rowin' 
'long,  a  do-zin'  like,  the  lake  turned  as  black  as  a  loon's  bill, 
and  jest  as  I  come  abreast  o'  the  island,  massy,  didn't  there 
come  a  flash!  Why  I  thought  my  eyes  was  scorched  right 
out ;  and  'twas  follered  right  along  by  a  crack.  Goll,  ef 
it  didn't  seem  to  split  me  right  in  two !  It  struck  that  tree. 
But  spos'n  we  don't  try  the  b'ys  this  mornin',  but  see  if  we 
sau't  git  some  trout  at  Grindstone  Brook." 


206  WOODS  AND   WATEKS; 

We  went,  tap,  tap,  tapping  across  the  lake  to  Grindstone 
Bay,  where  the  brook  tumbles  down  the  rocky  stairs  of  the 
bank,  and  in  an  hour  filled  our  basket  with  large  and 
handsome  trout. 

"  There's  a  little  pond  up  there,"  said  Harvey,  pointing 
to  the  northwest,  "and  follerin'  a  brook  along  the  same 
p'int  o'  compass  brings  you  to  Gull  Pond.  The  outlet  o' 
the  Pond  jines  the  Racket  twixt  Settin'  Pole  Rapids  and 
Fish  Hawk  Rapids,  nigh  the  head  o''Fish  Hawk.  But 
what  say  ye  to  a  short  tramp  in  the  woods  torts  the  little 
pond?" 

The  emerald,  gold-dotted  light  of  the  forest  was  grateful 
after  the  glare  on  the  lake ;  and  the  fresh,  cool  air  was  so 
invigorating  I  seemed  to  step  on  springs. 

We  entered  a  vista  whose  carpet  was  woven  deeply  of 
moss. 

These  vistas  strike  the  eye  with  beautiful  effect,  wearied 
with  the  endless  entanglement  of  the  woods.  Streaks  of  light 
dart  athwart,  mottling  their  floors  and  kindling  the  bushes  at 
their  margins.  Sometimes  a  rill  bickers  through,  murmur- 
ing a  continuous  music  mingled  with  the  songs  of  perching 
and  glancing  birds.  They  are  spots  for  dreams,  where  the 
tricksy  wood-sprites  might  hold  their  moonlight  revels. 
The  deer  feeds  there;  they  are  haunted  by  the  ground- 
squirrel  and  rabbit;  and  there  the  black-cat  steals  at  night 
to  cheat  of  its  bait  the  hunter's  trap  lurking  in  the  mossy 
cavern  of  the  hemlock's  roots  for  the  mink  or  sable,  while 
the  fallen  trunk  stretches  within,  under  its  pall  of  moss, 
like  some  old  Sachem  of  the  Forest. 

We  came  after  a  while  'to  a  small  dark  sheet  of 
water.  The  dense  verdure  crowded  to  the  very  edge, 
except  where  two  or  three  little  bays  pierced  inward,  show- 
ing bits  of  gleaming  sand.  As  we  gazed,  a  deer  appeared 
wading  around  a  curve  of  the  nearest  bay,  cropping  the 
water-lilies  right  and  left.  He^came  on,  sinking  lower  and 
lower  in  the  deepening  water,  until  he  opened  into  the 


OR,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.  207 

pond  and  struck  boldly  out,  his  an  tiered  head  and  plying 
shoulders  alone  visible.  He  crossed  the  sheet,  leaving  a 
track  of  silver,  bounded  into  the  bushes,  shaking  glittering 
spray  around  him,  and  vanished.  ' 

At  length  we  retraced  our  way  to  the  boat. 

At  the  camp  we  found  the  party  returned  from  their 
drive,  with  a  fine  doe.  We  had  a  pleasant  dinner  in  the 
sunset,  and  as  the  broad  yellows  and  blacks  began  to  shrink 
into  stripes  and  patches  over  the  land  and  water,  we  rowed 
to  Redside  Brook  for  an  hour  of  twilight  angling. 

On  our  return  the  auroral  splendors — the  weird  valkyrior 
of  the  Scandinavian  Runes — arose.  Up  sprang  these  wild 
riders  of  the  North,  urging  their  rainbow-steeds  far  up  the 
steeps;  wielding  their  battle-axes,  darting  their  spears,  and 
waving  their  banners  in  the  magic  tournament  of  the  dark- 
blue  field  above. 

A  moaning  wind  was  in  the  forest  when  I  awoke.  A 
sombre  sky  greeted  us ;  the  lake  looked  grey  and  mournful. 

I  sat  beside  our  tent  and  listened  to  the  wind.  A  deso- 
late wail  thrilled  through  the  wood,  that  plunged  me  into 
the  deepest  sadness.  But  once  only,  and  that  since,  have 
my  thoughts  been  so  sorrowful.  Then  I  was  under  the 
grand  battlements  of  the  Indian  Pass.  Weary  with  wander- 
ing through  the  woods,  I  halted  a  little  distance  from 
the  Pass,  in  the  dim  twilight  of  a  cloudy  day,  to  bivouac 
for  the  night.  At  my  side  whispered  the  ripples  of  a 
little  stream,  and  to  accompany  my  frugal  meal,  it  fur- 
nished me  a  draught  from  its  cold  goblet  of  crystal. 
Before  me  towered  that  stupendous  wall,  the  north  barrier 
of  the  Pass,  second  only  in.  sublimity  to  Niagara.  Then 
also  a  wailing  wind  went  through  the  forest.  Night 
came  on  apace.  As  I  gazed  upon  the  rock,  soaring  and 
looming  in  the  darkness,  the  wind  seemed  to  say,  "  Poor, 
fleeting  mortal,  what  are  thou  to  this  work  of  untold  ages  I 
Does  it  not  rebuke  thee  with  its  grandeur,  and  crush  thee 
with  the  frowning  of  its  strength?  And  if  a  mere  rock,  .1 


208  WOODS   AND   WATEES; 

grain  brushed  from  the  Almighty's  hand,  thus  awes  thee 
into  nothing,  how  darest  thou  claim  immortal  life,  the 
loftiest  attribute  of  that  Almighty  !"  And  a  more  bitter 
mockery  seemed  to  deepen  in  the  wind. 

"  Thou  pratest  of  a  soul !  Thou,  to  arrogate  what  is 
denied  this  stately  pile!  thou,  perishing  as  the  flower  it 
nourishes  in  its  clefts !  Away  with  thy  presumptuous 
folly !  Know  this  and  tremble — to  thee  and  thy  wretched 
race,  the  end  cometh  with  the  grave  I"  . 

I  shuddered  to  the  core  of  my  heart.  I  felt  utterly 
abandoned  and  desolate.  The  after  life  that  sheds  its  smile 
upon  the  dark  trouble  of  this,  was  it  indeed  a  fantasy  ? 

While  I  thus  mused,  a  cloud  overshadowed  the  rock  and 
blotted  it  from  my  sight.  But  above  me  beamed  a  star 
lone  through  a  rift  in  the  cloudy  mantle.  A  mere  point  it 
shone,  and  yet  so  pure,  so  brilliant,  my  nature  rose  expand- 
ing as  I  gazed.  The  wind  no  longer  spoke ;  music  instead 
seemed  lengthening  from  the  star. 

"Fear  not,  and  be  not  sorrowful,"  my  heart  thus  inter- 
preted the  cadence;  "  thou  bearest  a  light  within  that  shall 
shine  when  I,  counting  my  life  by  centuries,  have  for  ever 
vanished.  Though  perishing  as  the  flower,  thou  art  eter- 
nal as  God.  Let  the  consciousness  of  this  sublime  truth 
rest  ever  upon  thee,  and  may  it  prove  thy  felicity  and  not 
thy  curse !" 

The  earth  was  my  bed  that  night,  with  the  swinging  pine 
for  canopy ;  and  through  the  forest  tore  and  raved  the  chilly 
wind,  but  a  happy  glow  was  at  my  heart,  and  my  slumber 
was  balmy  and  sweet. 

And  often  now,  the  memory  of  that  night  rises  soft  and 
clear,  and  the  shadows  that  oppress  me  flee  away. 

The  clouds  looked  wilder,  the  wind  strengthened,  the 
lake  grew  darker.  Swelling  more  and  more,  the  blast 
swooped  through  the  rocking  forest.  Far  away  would 
Sound  a  deep  roar,  increasing  rapidly  into  trampling  thun- 
der ;  the  gust  would  then  burst  over  head  with  the  shock  of 
a  mighty  billow,  and  sweep  furiously  down  the  foaming  lake. 


OR,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.  209 

At  the.  forest  edge,  the  white  pine  streamed  out  crazily, 
the  maple  was  in  convulsions,  and  the  aspen  seemed  as  if 
it  would  fracture  itself  into  atoms. 

Nor  did  the  lowly  tribes  of  the  forest  floor  escape  the 
searching  wind.  The  adder's-tongue  hissed  to  the  trem- 
bling, shrinking  Indian  Plume ;  the  sword-grass  and  arrow- 
head exchanged  quick  passes,  and  the  bulrush  beat  with 
its  brown  war-club  the  purple  helmet  of  the  moosehead. 

At  length,  I  summoned  Harvey,  and  as  the  wind  had 
somewhat  lessened,  we  launched  the  little  Bluebird  upon 
the  lake,  Watch  leaping  in  at  Harvey's  call  as  we  left  the 
shore. 

Up  we  went.  The  white-caps  gleamed  and  the  dash  of 
the  tossing  swells  filled  our  ears.  We  landed  at  last  off  the 
foot  of  Long  Island,  in  a  little  cove  on  the  west  shore  of  the 
lake.  It  was  a  wild,  tangled,  jagged  spot;  dead  pines 
slanting  from  the  foliage,  streaming  with  grey  moss;  firs 
bending  outward;  cedars  pointing  straight  to  the  water, 
and  a  multitude  of  dry  twigs,  steeped  in  moss,  tangled  all 
about.  Old  trees  lay  in  the  water,  which  last  was  clustered 
broadly  ,with  water  lilies.  Lighting  a  fire,  we  passed  the 
afternoon  gazing  at  the  swells  rolling  and  frothing  over  the 
lake ;  at  the  trees  bending  and  writhing  to  the  wind,  and  in 
listening  to  the  volume  of  sound  poured  by  it  through  the 
woods.  Various  tones  made  up  that  sound ;  howls,  like 
a  giant  in  agony ;  shrieks,  like  a  score  of  perishing  victims; 
unearthly,  mocking  voices,  as  if  from  a  legion  of  maniacs, 
sinking  occasionally  to  one  lingering  cry,  like  a  wail  over 
a  lost  soul. 

Deep,  dead,  prolonged  shocks  of  sound  would  also  fre- 
quently echo — the  fall  of  great  trees  overturned  by  the 
wind. 

Amid  all  this  tumult,  my  ear  was  caught  by  strange, 
wild  tones,  that  issued  from  a  neighboring  ridge.  Now 
shrill  screams,  then  jarring  screeches ;  they  made  my  blood 
run  cold. 

"  In  the  name  of  wonder,  Harvey,  what  sounds  are  these  ? 
14 


210  WOODS  AND  WATERS; 

If  the  Saranac  Indians  were  here  now,  I  should  think  they 
were  torturing  some  one  at  the  stake." 

Harvey  laughed,  and  leading  the  way  a  little  up  the 
ridge,  pointed  to  where  one  pine  leaned,  from  the  loosening 
of  its  roots,  against  another,  and  was  swayed  to  and  fro  by 
the  gusts. 

"  Talkin'  of  Injins,"  said  Harvey,  "  when  I  fust  come  to 
the  S'nac  with  father,  there  was  nobody  else  about  there 
but  Injins.  I  used  to  meet  'm  on  the  lakes  fishin'  in  their 
bark  canoes,  and  trappin'  about  the  streams,  and  huntin' 
everywheres.  They  was  great  hands  to  still-hunt  and  good 
shots  too.  There  was  a  tribe  on  Bear  Island  in  the  Lower 
S'nac,  and  one  Injin — come  here,  Watch !  what  are  yer 
hazin'  and  nosin'  about  fur  I  we  don't  want  ter  roust  out 
no  deer  now !  come  here  and  stay  here,  or  there'll  be  a 
yellin'  in  the  woods  enough  to  wake  up  dead  folks ! — one 
Injin,  a  young  feller,  killed  another  of  the  same  tribe.  He 
ran  away  down  here  to  Tupper's  Lake,  but  he  was  ketched, 
and  the  chief  killed  'im  with  his  tommyhawk.  I  was  trappin' 
on  Mink  Island  when  the  others  fetched  'im  back. 

"  There  was  old  Captain  Bill  Snyder,  he  was  o'  that  tribe. 
He  lived  around  here  until  about  fifteen  years  sin',  huntin', 
fishin'  and  trappin',  to  the  last.  One  day  I  met  'im  though, 
jest — there's  a  hawk  bin  sailin'  over  that  fire-slash  for  the 
last  five  minutes  ;  I  shouldn't  much  wonder  ef  there  was  a 
dead  deer,  or  mebby  a  sick  fa'n  in  the  deer- weeds  there ;  or 
mebby  it's  only  a  woodchuck — well,  'twas  jest  this  side  o' 
the  Middle  Falls,  'twixt  Eound  Lake  and  the  Lower  S'nac, 
all  painted  up,  and  an  eagle's  feather  in  his  sculp-lock. 

"He  hadn't  nothin'  on  but  a  strip  o'  wolf-skin  round 
his  body.  He'd  got  to  be  then  about  ninety.  Well,  I 
axed  'im  where — a  trout  jumped  up  then  by  that  lily-blow, 
a  good  un,  a  two-pounder  I  should  jedge — where  he  was 
goin'  fixed  up  so,  and  he  said  in  his  way,  '  Down  dare,' 
p'intin'  hereaway.  '  Ole  Injin  on  war  path ;  nebber  come 
back.  Goo'  bye !  Too  ole ;  don't  want  to  live  no  more — 
goo'  bye  I' 


OR,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.  211 

"  He  never  was  heerd  on  agin,  that  is,  for  sartin.  Joe 
Platter,  or  Hunter  Joe,  as  they  called  'm,  who  was  shanty  in' 
at  that  time  on  the  Injin  Park  out  there,  huntin'  by  Little 
Wolf  Pond,  about  a  month  after,  come  upon  a  couple  o' 
wolves,  snarlin'  and  fightin'  over  a  passle  o'  bones  in  a 
little  holler  o'  rocks.  He  shot  one,  and  that  skeered  away 
t'other,  and  he  picked  up  a  feather  that  he  showed  me,  and 
'twas  'zactly  like  the  one  I  saw  on  Cap'n  Bill's  head ;  but 
there  was  no  knowin'  to  a  sartenty  what  did  happen  to  the 
old  chap." 

The  wild  and  troubled  sunset  came,  and  the  drear  twi- 
light. The  wind,  which  had  been  increasing  since  our 
landing  so  as  to  render  dangerous  an  attempt  to  return, 
began  to  lull  at  the  folding  in  of  the  darkness. 

Although  the  night  was  black  with  the  great  clouds  that 
rolled  over  the  sky  like  stormy  billows,  and  the  roar  of  the 
lake  still  hoarse  and  threatening,  Harvey  at  last  decided 
on  returning  to  the  camp. 

True,  with  a  fire  and  under  the  boat,  we  might  have 
passed  the  night  somewhat  comfortably ;  but  there  was  a 
dash  of  wild  romance  to  me  in  wrestling  with  the  fierce 
lake ;  besides,  Harvey's  word  in  all  wood  matters  was  law. 

We  embarked,  and  over  the  black  rolling  water  we  went, 
against  the  swells,  Harvey  at  the  oars,  and  I  at  the  paddle. 
Harvey  had  lighted  his  jack,  and  the  ghastly  foam  glistened 
as  it  flew  about  us,  and  I  felt  the  sprinkles  of  the  spray, 
raked  off  by  the  wind.  Still  onward  we  danced  through 
the  darkness,  and  Harvey's  blithesome  whistle  blended  with 
the  wind. 

At  length,  a  low  roar  in  the  distance  caught  my  ear; 
rapidly  it  approached ;  Harvey  ceased  his  careless  whistle 
and  braced  himself  to  his  oars. 

"  It's  comin',  Mr.  Smith,  look  out !"  said  he,  dipping  his 
oars  deep,  and  lifting  himself  from  his  seat  as  he  pulled. 

"What,  Harvey?" 

"  The  gust  o'  wind.  It  'ill  make  the  Bluebird  jump, 
but  I  consate  she'll  hold  her  own.  We  shan't  go  fur, 


212  WOODS  AND  WATERS; 

though,  afore  I'll  try  shelter.  It's  too  squally  a  night  to  be 
out." 

On  came  the  gust.  It  struck  us;  the  little  Bluebird 
staggered  as  if  hit  by  a  blow,  and  swung  off;  two  black 
walls  of  water  foamed  beside  us,  and  the  air  was,  for  a 
moment,  filled  with  flying  spray. 

The  next,  her  head  rose  up  a  steep  swell,  and  onward  we 
darted,  rising  and  sinking,  the  howl  of  the  wind  mingling 
with  the  dash  of  the  rollers. 

Suddenly  a  black,  towering  mass  burst  out  of  the 
gloom. 

"  The  Devil's  Pulpit,"  said  Harvey.  "  I  guess  I'll  try 
the  cove." 

There  was  a  loud  wash  of  waves  for  a  moment,  and  a 
glimpse  of  climbing  foam.  The  boat  seemed  about  to  be 
dashed  against  the  beetling  precipice,  that  looked  as  if  a 
portion  of  the  murky  darkness  had  become  solid,  when  we 
glided  instantaneously  into  smooth  water. 

"  Here  we  are !"  said  Harvey,  "  snug  as  in  the  Harriets- 
town  mill-pond.  "We'll  hev  a  fire  in  the  rocks  here  in  a 
jiffy,  and  make  ourselves  as  comfortable  as  we  kin.  We've 
got  the  jack  to  see  by,  and  "  (rummaging  in  the  box  at  the 
bow)  "here's  crackers,  and  goll!  if  there  aint  a  couple  o' 
ducks  here  too !  The  b'ys  must  have  shot  'm,  put  'm 
in  the  box  here  and  forgot  it.  But  they'll  do  for  our 
supper." 

So  saying  he  paddled  the  boat  between  a  labyrinth  of 
old  logs  in  the  water  next  the  margin,  landed  on  a  rock, 
followed  by  myself  and  "Watch,  drew  the  boat  on  the  edge 
of  the  gravel,  and  then  separating  the  jack  from  its  handle 
flashed  the  light  around.  We  were  at  the  threshold  of  a 
large  fissure  in  a  rock,  with  a  cedar  slanting  over,  and 
dense  foliage  on  either  side.  Soon  Harvey  had  a  fire  blaz- 
ing in  front,  and  a  bed  of  hemlock  boughs  on  the  floor  of  the 
nook,  over  which,  dividing  it  into  two  equal  portions,  a 
dead  trunk  had  fallen. 

All  without  was  tumult,  all  within,  peace. 


OR,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.  213 

Rage,  cruel  wind !  in  vain  thy  wrath  I 

Tbe  shelter  of  this  isle  I  share ! 
No  more  to-night  the  billowy  path 

My  swift  but  fragile  bark  will  dare. 
I  hear  the  blast  hi  roaring  flight, 

I  hear  the  surge  in  angry  shock, 
But  feel  the  camp-fire's  generous  light, 

Flooding  with  joy  my  nook  of  rock. 

Soft  radiance  bathes  the  slumbering  hound ; 

It  flits  athwart  my  stalwart  guide 
Who,  on  his  couch,  a  rest  hath  found ; 

I  also  soou  will  seek  his  side. 
Hark  1  was  not  that  the  panther's  scream 

"Borne  from  yon  rock  upon  the  blast  ? 
But  ruddier  leaps  my  camp -fire's  gleam, 

And  li velier  joy  around  is  cast. 

Rage,  cruel  wind  1  my  little  bark 

Trembled  as  down  thy  fury  fell  1 
Wild  foam  flew  glancing  through  the  dark 

Death  seemed  to  ride  on  every  swell : 
Without,  the  blackness  blinds  my  view ; 

Billow  and  forest  blend  their  roar ; 
Within,  falls  quiet's  blessed  dew ; 

Come,  slumber,  spread  thy  pinion  o'er  I 

The  wind  had  ceased  as  I  looked  out  from  my  nook  at 
sunrise,  but  the  lake  was  lost  in  mist.  Soon,  however,  a 
broad  beam  of  the  sun  cleft  it,  and  the  light  wind  caused  it 
to  rise.  How  beautiful  was  that  rising !  Silver  billows 
rolled  over  the  lake ;  spotless  pinions  waved  above.  Now 
gleamed  the  walls  and  summits  of  a  city,  now  an  enormous 
forest  moved  slowly  by,  and  now  a  grove  of  pearl.  The 
masses  vanished,  leaving  fragments  to  work  their  magic. 
Was  that  the  white  canoe  of  Hi-a-wont-ha  stealing  into  yon 
winding  cove  ?  See  that  white  eagle  clinging  to  the  pine ! 
And  so  the  mist  went  curling  up,  until  its  flakes  all  melted 
upon  the  rich  blue  of  the  summer  heaven. 

As  we  floated  toward  the  camp,  Harvey  told  me  of  a  wiz- 
ard shape,  a  white  spectre,  that  on  misty  mornings  the  hunt- 
ers had  been  accustomed  to  see  around  and  upon  the  lake. 


214:  WOODS  AND   WATERS; 

Now  it  glanced  through  the  forest,  now  it  trod  the  water. 
It  climbed  the  hill,  it  threaded  the  gully ;  it  was  a  pan- 
ther in  the  tree  or  a  wolf  on  the  rock ;  a  deer  in  the  grass; 
a  fisherman  at  the  brook  or  a  hunter  in  the  glen. 

"  As  for  me,"  said  Harvey  in  conclusion,  "  I  al'ys  telled 
the  consarned  fools  twant  nothin'  but  a  piece  o'  mist,  but 
most  on  'm  wouldn't  bleeve  but  they  see  some  one  o'  them 
things,  'tick'ally  them  that  had  bin  out  all  night  with 
whiskey  in  the  boat.  Them  last  'ud  stick  to  't  so  fur  as  to 
say  sometimes  that  each  man  on  'm  not  unly  see  one 
painter  and  deer  and  what  not,  but,  goll,  ef  they  wouldn't 
say  they  see  two."  *•' 

Beaching  the  camp  in  time  to  take  breakfast  with  the 
others,  we  again  embarked  upon  the  lake,  all  scattering 
as  usual  to  different  points  for  fishing  or  hunting.  The 
day's  beauty  was  just  fitted  for  exploration  and  the  enjoy- 
ment of  leisure  and  freedom. 

"  How  many  islands  belong  to  this  lake,  Harvey  ?"  asked 
I,  as  we  approached  the  Two  Brothers. 

"  Forty-two,"  he  answered.  "  Some  on  'm  hev  names, 
but  the  most  part  don't.  There's  the  two  afore  us ;  and 
next  up'ards  is  Birch  and  Long  Island,  and  the  two  Nor- 
way Islands  next,  and  then  Jinkins's  Island,  and  another 
at  the  head." 

"  Folks  gin'rally  say,"  he  continued,  "  that  Tupper's 
Lake  is  the  handsomest  piece  o'  water  in  the  whull  region, 
but  to  my  thinkin'  the  Upper  S'nac  is.  The  head  on't  is 
the  beautifulest  I  ever  set  eyes  on.  Standin'  on  a  little 
rocky  island  called  Goose  Island,  where  I've  camped 
many's  the  time,  there's  water  round  ye  four  miles  broad, 
with  unly  one  more  island  nigh,  a  leetle  round  rock  that 
looks  like  a  snappin'  turkle's  back.  But  still,  Tupper's 
Lake  's  nice,  'tick'ally  the  head  on't  that  we'll  see  on  our 
way  to  Mud  Lake." 

We  landed  on  the  west  Brother,  leaving  the  Bluebird 
with  a  knot  of  white  lilies  touching  her  waist  like  a  bouquet. 
We  lay  in  the  warm,  brown  hollows,  sprinkled  with  light 


OR,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.  215 

through  the  nel  work  of  giant  hemlocks ;  glanced  out  upon 
the  water,  that  shot  here  and  there  a  keen  glance ;  watched 
those  feathered  mice,  the  ground-birds,  leaping  along  and 
bending  their  dusky  red  turbans  this  way  and  that  over 
the  decayed  leaves ;  and  listened  to  the  squall  of  the  blue- 
jay  and  the  rat-tat- tat  of  the  woodpecker. 

Island  after  island  tucked  away  in  the  north-western 
part  of  the  lake,  we  visited,  inhaling  the  fresh  odors  of  the 
water,  laving  our  arms  and  brows  in  its  balmy  softness 
and  enjoying  the  shady  coolness  and  speckled  light. 

At  length  we  glided  through  the  outlet,  and  along  the 
beautiful  basin  that  opened  before  the  green  sandal  of  the 
Indian  Park. 

"  A  tribe  o'  S'nac  Injins  lived  on  the  Park  there,  onst 
upon  a  time,"  said  Harvey,  dipping  softly  alternate  oars. 
"  Old  Sabele  telled  me  a  storj-  about  'm  one  day  that  I'll 
tell  ye,  ef  you'd  like  to  hear  it.  Don't  ye  feel  dry? 
(producing  a  pocket  bottle  from  the  box  at  the  bow,  swal- 
lowing a  large  draught  and  following  it  with  a  sip  or  two 
of  water,  in  his  hand,  from  the  boatside.)  This  lake 
water's  so  warm,  it  want's  suthin'  to  take  the  sun  out  on't. 
But  as  I  was  sayin',  this  tribe  was  a  part  o'  the  one  that 
lived  on  the  Injin  Carryin'  Place.  They  had  a  quarrel, 
and  so  this  part  came  down  here,  and  the  other  stayed  up 
there.  Well,  things  went  on  so  bad  that  they  wouldn't 
speak  when  they  came  crost  one  another ;  and  every  now 
and  then  the  big  bugs  'mong  'm,  when  they  happened  to 
bunk  up  agin  each  other  on  the  Eacket  or  round,  would 
hev  a  fight  with  their  sculpin'-knives  and  tommyhawks,  as 
politicianers  'rnong  us  white  folks,  whenever  they  come 
t'gether  on  'lection  day,  pitch  in  and  give  one  another 
lickety-whack.  "Well  (this  talkin'  makes  me  kinder  dry), 
bimeby  there  was  queer  doin's  noticed  around  and  about 
the  Park,  or  rayther  he  was  fust  seen  at  Simon's  Slew,  not 
that  'twas  Simon's  Slew  then ;  I  don't  know  't  'ad  enny 
name  then,  onless  'twas  some  Injin  name ;  and  I'll  tell  ye 
what  'tis,  Mr.  Smith,  there's  more  inkstand  in  some  o'  them 


216  WOODS  AND  WATERS; 

Injin  names  than  one  'ud  s'pose  them  kinder  hay  then  sort 
o'  people,  as  a  body  may  say,  knowed.  Now,  there's  a 
good  many  of  these  Injin  names  about" 

"  But  about  the  story,  Harvey  ?" 

"  Oh,  lets  me  see !  I've  got  so  many  things  to  think  on ! 
How  fur  had  I  got  ?" 

"  Mercy  knows ;  but  you  were  saying  that  he  (whoever 
that  may  be)  was  first  seen  at  Simon's  Slew." 

"  He — why  that  was  the  young  Injin  b'longin'  to  the 
Injin  Carry  tribe  that  came  a-sparkin'  the  gal  that  b'longed 
to  the  Injin  Park  tribe.  His  name  was — well,  I  never  kin 
think  o'  names,  but  it  meant  in  Injin,  The  Big  Wind  what 
Howls.  I'll  call  him  Howl  fur  short.  The  gal's  name 
was  Hop-so-me-turvy,  or  some  sich  name;  but  I'll  call  her 
Hopsy.  I  knowed  a  gal  when  I  was  a  young  man  by  that 
name,  that  jest  was — wa-a-1,  I  won't  say  there  hasn't  bin  as 
nice  gals  as  Hopsy,  but  I  will  say  there  haint  bin  no  nicer. 
Oh,  that  gal ! — why  don't  you  take  suthin'  too,  Mr.  Smith  ? 
this  whiskey  is  fust  best! — couldn't  she  dance  !  and  wasn't 
she  a  hoss  at  singin' !  We  had  singin'  school  at  Harriets- 
town  onst  a  week,  and  a  chap — an  all-fired  good  singer,  too 
— he  was  a  school-teacher  by  the  name  of — well,  I  bleeve 
I'll  forgit  my  own  name  one  o'  these  days.  He  was  a 
Yankee,  that  chap,  and  I  kinder  consate  he'd  been  a 
peddler.  I  calkilate  he  could  do  the  thing  up  in  the  way 
o'  singin  about  as  well  as  enny  a-goin',  that  is.  in  my 
'pinion.  I  don't  want  nobody  to  s'pose  I  want  folks  to 
bleeve  that  'caze  I  say  so  'tis  so.  I've  as  good  right  to  my 
'pinion  as  ennybody  has  to  his'n ;  and  my  'pinion  is,  that 
that  chap  was  about  as  good  a  singer  as" — 

"  But  the  story,  Harvey,  the  story." 

"  Oh,  yes,  sarten.  You  don't  remember  where  I  left  off, 
do  ye?" 

"  You  were  speaking  of  Hopsy,  the  Indian  girl." 

"  Yes,  yes.  She  and  Howl  got  'quainted  somehow  on 
the  Racket ;  he  skeered  off  a  wolf,  I  bleeve,  that  was 
a-goin',  or  Hopsy  consated  was  a-goin'  (but  'twant  no  sich 


OR,  RUMMER  IN  TIIE  SARANACS.  217 

thing  :  there  aint  no  wolf  on  the  Racket,  nur  nowhere  else, 
that  a  human  critter  couldn't  skeer  off,  onless  he  was 
al-mighty  hungry)  to  make  mince-meat  on  her.  'T  all 
events,  they  got  a  hankerin'  after  each  other,  as  b'ys  and 
gals  will ;  and  as  'twouldn't  do  for  'm  to  keep  comp'ny 
afore  folks,  as  both  tribes  'ud  a  bin  in  their  hair  then,  they 
got  t'gether  behind  their  backs,  as  'twere,  that  is,  around 
and  about  the  Injin  Park,  when  they  thought  nobody 
wasn't  seein'  on  'm. 

"  This  love  business,  Mr.  Smith,  is  a  cur'ous  thing. 
Some  love  one  thing,  some  another,  some  half  a  dozen 
things  ter  onst.  Now,  I  love  tobaccy,  and  trout,  and 
ven'son,  and  inions ;  and  I  tell  yer,  Mr.  Smith,  what's  old 
hunderd  in  the  way  of  eatin' — it's  two  things — a  moose's 
lip  and  a  beaver's  tail.  Ef  you  ever  happen  to  light  on 
'm,  and  don't  say  they're  the  best  eatin'  you  ever  had,  you 
may  say  right  to  my  face  I'm  a  fool.  But  talkin'  about 
this  love :  there's  a  good  many  people  loves  rum,  and  I 
don't  think  it  bad,  sometimes,  myself — won't  ye  take  a 
1-e-e-tle  suthin'  ?  it'll  do  yer  good,  this  hot  day  ! — but,  as  I 
was  sayin',  as  a  gin'ral  thing,  young  folks  loves  one 
another,  and  these  two  did  to  death  a'most ;  and  so,  as  I 
was  a  sayin',  they'd  come  t'gether  when  they  cackilated  no 
one  was  a-lookin'. 

"  But  there  was  somebody,  though :  a  feller  b'longin'  to 
the  same  tribe  she  did,  that  had  a  hank'rin'  after  her  too, 
and  was  consarnedly  put  out  that  she  didn't  take  to  him. 
Well,  whether  he  kinder  consated  there  was  another  feller 
— that  stake-driver  looks  kinder  sassy  in  that  slash  there, 

•/ 

and  I've  a  great  mind  ter — off  with  ye,  ef  ye  must  go — 
another  feller  that  she  liked  better,  or  whether  he'd  seen 
'm  t'gether  when  he  was  a  snoopin'  around,  I  most  forgit 
what  Sabele  said  about  it.  'T  all  events,  he  got  all-fired 
jealous,  and  went  a-snoopin'  and  a-sneakin'  round — what 
was  his  name? — well,  I'll  call  him  Snoop-round — and 
he  found  out  the  place  where  they  used  to  come  t'gether 
on  moonshiny  nights,  and  all  kinds  o'  nights,  for  that 


218  WOODS  AND  WATERS; 

matter.  Well,  I  forgot  to  say  that  Hopsy  was  darter  to 
the  chief  or  boss  of  the  Injin  Park  consarn,  and  Howl  was 
son  to  the  boss  up  there  at  the  Carry.  "Well,  now,  Mr. 
Smith,  I'll  tell  ye  what  'tis — won't  ye  raally  take  another 
drink  ?  it's  rael  old  hunderd,  this  whiskey.  Well,  as  I 
was  sayin',  there's  mighty  mean  men  in  this  world !  men 
that  'ud  kill  a  doe  with  a  fa'n  by  her  side,  jest  as  lives  as 
not,  and  a  leetle  liver,  ef  they'd  a  notion  they  could  make 
a  little  suthin'  by't ;  and  what's  jest  as"  bad,  that  'ud  kill 
half  a  dozen  deer,  mebby,  when  they  didn't  want  more  'n 
one,  ef  they  did  that,  and  the  consekens  is,  there  they  lay 
for  the  painters  and  wolves  to  feed  on.  I've  seen  a  good 
deal  of  sich  kind  o'  business  in  my  life.  Onst,  at  Big  Wolf 
Pond,  F- 

"  But  the  story,  Harvey !     You  were  telling  how  jealous 
the  young  Indian  was." 

"  Oh  yes.  He  got  so  jealous,  he  up  and  telled  the  old 
man,  that  is,  the  old  Boss,  the  old  Boss  I  mean  that  had 
Hopsy  fur  a  darter.  Let's  see — his  name  now  !  wasn't  it 
Linkumdoddy  ?  No  !  that's  in  the  chorius  of  a  song  Will 
Johnson  sings.  What  was  it  ? — well  I'll  call  'm  Linkum- 
doddy, or,  I  guess,  Linkum  fur  short.  As  I  was  sayin'- 
let's  me  see,  what  was  I  sayin'  ? — oh  !  about  Snoop-round 
tellin'  the  old  man !  Wasn't  the  old  feller  riled  ?  I  tell 
ye,  he'd  horns  down  and  mane  up !  He  was  a  terrible  farse 
old  critter,  and  he  up  and  telled  Snoopy  to  take  two  or  three 
with  'im,  and  crooch  in  amboosh,  and  when  Howl  and 
Hopsy  was  t'gether,  to  pounce  on  Howl  like  a  hawk  on  a 
June  bug,  and  haul  'im  right  up  to  the  old  Boss.  The  next 
thing  old  Linkum  did,  says  he  to  Hopsy,  '  Darter  o'  the 
S'nacs,'  s'ze,  '  the  Pine  o'  the  clouds,'  's'ze,  '  bends  his  head,' 
s'ze — I  can't  give  it  to  ye  in  the  hifalutin  way  old  Sabele 
used'ter,  but  the  idee  on't  was 'that  he,  the  Poppy,  that  is 
old  Linkum,  was  a  mighty  big  bug,  in  his  own  consate, 
enny  way,  and  was  'shamed  that  he  had  a  darter  that  could 
make  sich  a  fool  of  herself  as  to  keep  comp'ny  with  a  feller 
b'longin'  -to  t'other  tribe,  and  that  as  fur  'lowm'  it  he'd  see 


OR,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.  219 

her— that  is  as  much  as  to  say— that  is,  ef  a  feller  wanted 
me  to  do  a  thing  I  wouldn't  do  no  way,  I'd  say  I'd  see  'im 
dod  darned  to  darnation  fust  and  then  I  wouldn't. 

'  But  somehow  or  the  other— you  know  what  gals  is, 
Mr.  Smith— she  didn't  mind  her  daddy ;  and  I  consate  she 
wasn't  old  hunderd  there,  fur  ef  I  tell  my  darter  not  to 
keep  comp'ny  with  a  young  feller  fur  reasons  best  knowed 
to  myself 'and  after  that  she  doos— why  'taint  my  fault  but 
hern,  and  ef  I  ketch  the  young  feller  around  and  about,  I'll 
twist  'im  out  of  his  boots,  and  as  fur  her,  why— well,  no 
matter— but  mas-sy  I  wouldn't  do  nothin'  like  what  'old 
Link  urn  did.     He  must  a  bin  a  terr'ble  farse,  cross-grained, 
cruel,  bloodthirsty  old  sarpent,  as  you'll  see,  Mr.  Smith. 
Well,  things  went  on  so  a  week,  or  mebby  eight  days— by 
golly,  I  consated  that  black  stump  in  that  bush  was  a  bear, 
the  leaves  was  a  kinder  over  it  so !— when  Snoop-roundj 
who'd  bin  a-sneakin'  round  and  about  all  that  time  with  two 
or  three  others  jest  as  mean  as  he  was/finally  at  last 
ketched  Howl  when  he  and  the  gal  was  a-walkin'  and  a- 
castin'  sheep's  eyes  fust  on  one  another  and  then  on  the 
moon,  and  a-goin'  this  way  and  that  way,  and  a-mincin' 
and  a-smilin',  and  he  praps  savin'  to  Hopsy  that  she  was 
a  leetle  the  nicest  gal  in  all  c'ration,  and  she  was  a  swallerin' 
it  all  whull,  but  holdin'  her  head  down  and  pretendin'  not 
to  like  it,  but  L-o-r-d  bless  yer,  Mr.  Smith,  she  did— all 
wimming  doos.     Well,  they  was  a  goin'  over  all  that  aire 
when  little  Snoopy  pounced  with  the  others  that  was  as  a 
body  may  say  jest  like  two,  and  I  dunno  but  three  tin  pans 
on  one  dog's  tail,  my  Watch  ef  yer  a  mind  ter,  and  I  don't 
bleeve  that  four  tin  pans  'ud  be  more'n  a  flea-bite  to  him 
ef  he  was  after  a  deer.     How  he  would  lickety -spang  over 
the  ruts  and  things,  and  how  the  pans  'ud  fly,  hey !     I 
remember  one  time  I  was  on  a  runway  and  I  could  see  up 
the  side  of  a  ridge  as  plain  as  the  ruff  of  a  house.     Bimeby 
the  deer  come  like  old  Sanko,  and  a  leetle  after  'im  come 
Watch,  and  I  tett  yer,  he  went  so  fast  'twas  as  much  as  I 
couJd  do  to  see  'im.     Now,  do  you  bleeve  that  five  or  even 


220  WOODS  AND  WATERS; 

six,  and  I  dunno  but  I'll  say  ten,  I  will  say  ten  tin  pans  'ud 
a  stopped  him !  By  the  'tarhal  Jehosiphat,  no  I  Watch 
is  leetle  the  grittiest  dog" 

"  You  had  got  as  far  as  the  courting  in  the  story,  Har- 
vey." 

"Oh — yes — yes — a — a — had  I?  let  me  see — what  did 
happen  then  1  They  courted  so  of  en  that  I  disremember 
the  partic'lar  p'int  on't.  That  was  the  trouble  twixt  that 
Snoopy  and — oh,  I  remember  now !  Well,  Snoop-round 
and  his  tin  pans  as  'twere,  not  as  they  was  tin  pans  raally, 
but  unly  as  you  might  tie  one  and  mebby  half-a-dozen  to 
Watch " 

"  So  the  Indian  and  his  friends  I  suppose  lay  in  wait, 
that  is,  lay  in  ambush  for  Howl  and  Hopsy " 

"That's  it — jest  it.  Did  I  ever  tell  it  to  you  afore? 
No !  well  it's  strannge  you  should  a  guessed  so  cluss.  But, 
as  I  was  sayin',  Snoop-round  and  his  tin  pans,  as  I  call  'em, 
tuk  Howl  (but  he  fit  like  a  wounded  bull-moose ;  still  it  didn't 
do  no  good — how  kin  a  body  fight  three  to  one  ?)  and 
he  tuk  Hopsy  too.  '  Aha !'  says  he  (this  is  about  the  idee 
on't),  '  What  will  yer  poppy  say  to  this,  Miss  Hopsy  ?' 
'  Jest  mind  yer  own  business  you  great,  big,  mean  feller 
you,'  said  Hopsy  ('t  all  events  that  was  the  upshot  on't), 
fur  I  tell  ye,  Mr.  Smith,  she  was  mad ;  and  I  don't  blame 
her  a  bit ;  'twas  an  orful  mean  trick  in  that  Snoopy  ;  still 
what  kin  ye  expect  from  sich  kind  o'  chaps !  There's  a 
feller  now  they  call  Catamount  Pete  ('caze  he  telled  sich  a 
rousin'  lie  one  time  about  a  catamount  he  bragged  on  he 
killed) ;  he's  about  the  meanest  scamp  when  he  gits  riled 
agin  a  feller !  There's  no  let  up  to  'im,  enny  way.  Well, 
the  p'int  on't  was,  they  fetched  'im — I  raaly  consated  I 
heerd  a  mink  then,  but  I  guess  I  didn't — they  fetched  'im 
afore  old  Linkum.  That  aire  Howl  must  a  bin  consid'ble 
of  a  young  feller  fur  an  Injin  't  all  events,  fur  when  he 
come  afore  the  old  Boss,  he  kinder  straightened  himself  up 
as  ef  he  said,  '  What's  the  meanin'  'n  all  this !  Why  hevent 
I  as  much  right  to  spark  a  gal  as  enny  body  else  ?'  But 


OB,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.  221 

the  old  Boss  spoke  up  so  kinder  quick  he  hadn't  time  to 
say  nothin'  much  enny  way.  ( Prepare  to  die !'  sez  the 
old  critter.  '  Prepare  to  die  I'  jest  as  quick,  he  kinder 
tumbled  it  out.  '  W-a-a-1,'  says  Howl  (this  is  the  idee  on't, 
Mr.  Smith!  I  can't  give  ye  the  rael  Injin  touch — old 
Sabele  did  that,  and  he  would  wobble  his  arms  and  twist 
about,  and  roll  his  eyes,  and  look  farse,  and  yell,  he  would, 
tellin'  on't,  tick'ally  this  part  you  could  a  heerd  'im  a  mile). 
Says  Howl,  '  Ef  I  must  die,  I  must,  but  I  want  ter  see  Hopsy 
agin  afore  I  do.' 

Didn't  the  old  feller  skip  and  jump !  I  tell  yer !  '  You 
shell  see  Hopsy,'  sez  he,  '  and  in  a  way  you  won't  like  to, 
no  how.  Here,'  sez  he  to  his  folks  round,  '  you  jest  tie  up 
this  chap  to  the  tree  there,  and  you,  Hopsy,  you,  come 
here !'  Hopsy  came  up  a-tremblin',  and  they  tied  the 
young  feller  to  the  tree,  and  here  old  Sabele  used  to  spread 
himself.  I  remember  a  leetle  on't.  '  Wind  what  Howls,' 
sez  old  Linkum,  '  when  Natur  is  all  blossoms,  but  kinder 
•dies  kway  to  a  whisper,  when  the  tornader's  about'  (meanin', 
Sabele  said,  that  Howl  was  a  tarnal  great  feller  when  'twas 
all  fair  weather — a  fair-weather  Christian  as  'twere — but 
was  a  kind  o'  sneak  when  enny  misfortin'  was  about  to 
happen),  '  sing  yer  death-song  with  a  loud  voice  ef  you  kin, 
which  I  don't  bleeve ;  fur  why  ?  Linkum  don't  see  a  waryer 
tied  up  to  that  aire  tree,  but  a  woman,'  and  here  old  Sabele 
used  to  ketch  his  breath  and  his  eye  bulged  out  as  big  as, 
w-a-a-1 — as  big  as  a  twenty -five  cent  piece,  '  and  he  shell 
die  by  the  hand  of  a  woman.  Here,  Hopsy,'  said  the  old 
sarpent,  '  take  the  hatchet  and  strike  it  inter  the  head  of 
the  coward !' 

"  Hopsy  she  scrooched  right  down  to  her  pa's  feet 
(as  I  heerd  a  young  lady  tellin'  another,  one  time,  in  my 
boat  on  the  Lower  S'nac.  She  was  tellin'  a  story  about  a 
pa,  as  she  said,  comin'  down  on  his  darter's  lovyer  a  good 
deal  like  this ;  twas  pa  here  and  pa  there — I  thought  I'd 
hev  to  snicker  right  out),  and  she  cries  and  she  begs,  but 
massy,  Mr.  Smith,  twant  no  use;  Pop  had  made  up  his 


222  WOODS  AND  WATERS; 

mind,  and  that  was  the  eend  on\  Well,  when  Hopsy 
found  all  her  snifflin'  and  carryins-on  didn't  do  no  good, 
and  that  she'd  got  to  take  the  hatchet  enny  way,  she  riz 
up,  and  finally  at  last  she  grabbed  it.  All  this  time  Snoop- 
round  was  lookin'  on  and  a-grinnin'  and  a-larfin'  at  the 
twist  things  had  took.  'Twas  rael  nuts  to  him.  Well,  as 
I  was  sayin',  Hopsy,  when  she  found  she  couldn't  do  no 
better,  she  grabbed  the  hatchet  and  she  gin  a  screech  and 
— I  do  wonder  what  all  that  snarlin'  and-  spittin'  means  out 
there !  it  sounds  to  me  like  a  fisher  in  a  trap — I'll  go  and 
see !  but  I  guess  I  wont — 'taint  none  o'  my  business.  The 
fisher  aint  mine,  an  'taint  in  season  ef  'twas.  I  wonder 
a'most  there  should  be  enny  trap  there  so  airly  ;  but  it  may 
be  an  old  one — and  she  gin  a  spring  clearn  up  to  where 
Snoop-round  stood  a-grinnin',  his  mouth  stretched  from  ear 
to  ear,  and — shuck!  didn't  that  aire  hatchet  go  inter  that  aire 
skull  o'  his'n.  It  must  a  struck  fire  I  I've  no  notion  but 
'twas  hard  enough  ;  sich  mean,  off-ox  folks's  skulls  aly's  is. 
And  didn't  he  yell?  He  throwed  up  his  arms  and  fell  jest 
like  a  log,  and  was  dead  in  half  a  minute.  And  what  d' 
yer  spose  come  next  ?  Kin  ye  tell,  Mr.  Smith  ?  Kin  ye 
guess  ?  Well,  I'll  tell  ye.  'Twas  the  stranngest  thing  in 
the  world.  But  Sabele  telled  me  he'd  swear  to  it  on  a 
stack  o'  Bibles,  or  that  was  the  idee  on't.  Jest  as  Snoop- 
round  gin  his  last  gasp  there  was  an  orful  skreekin'  and 
howlin'  in  the  bushes,  and  about  twenty  of  the  fightin' 
charackters  of  the  Carry  Tribe  bust  in,  took  Hopsy  and  the 
young  feller — young  Howl  I  mean — off,  and  what's  more, 
they  took  the  old  Boss  himself,  fur  a  big  part  o'  his  fightin' 
charackters  was  away  moose  huntin'  on  Bog  Eiver,  where 
we're  a-goin',  though  he  bit  and  scratched  and  fit  off  jest 
like  the  very  old  Scratch.  The  way  the  Carry  folks  come 
to  bust  in  was,  that  the  old  daddy  on  the  Carry  kinder  got 
oneasy  about  his  son  stay  in'  away  so  long,  and  hustled 
'm  off  to  see  what  the  upshot  was.  Well,  to  make  a  long 
story  short,  the  Carry  daddy  he-  made  as  ef  he  sot  all  the 
store  in  the  world  by  the  Injin  Park  daddy  and  old  Link- 


OR,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.  223 

um,  he  finally  at  last  consated  lie  couldn't  do  no  better 
than  to  let  Howl  hev  Hopsy,  and  so,  as  the  old  song  says, 
they  lived  in  peace  and  died  in  a  pot  o'  grease !  And  now 
s'pose'n  we  twist  round  these  islands  here  twixt  Mink  Bay 
and  Gull  Pond  Bay  a  leetle,  afore  we  go  to  camp." 

We  accordingly  wound  through  the  island  channels,  with 
the  rich,  birchy  perfume  of  the  woods  extracted  by  the  after- 
noon sun  scenting  the  air,  and  with  little  suns  and  dancing 
meteors  and  steely  sprinklings  and  broad  dazzling  lights 
on  the  water,  until  they  gave  place  to  the  topaz  and  ruby 
of  the  sunset,  and  they  in  turn  yielded  to  the  sober  tints  of 
twilight. 

At  last  we  laid  our  course  for  the  camp.  We  found  our 
comrades  and  the  guides  there ;  a  deer  and  "  no  end  to  the 
trout,"  testifying  to  the  success  of  their  day's  sport. 


224  WOODS  AND  WATERS; 


CHAPTER  XVIII 


The  Sabbath.— Preaching  at  the  Indian  Park.— The  Pool— The  Sky.— Poli- 
tics.— The  Constitution.    . 


THE  next  day  was  the  Sabbath.  The  sky  was  robed  in 
bright  blue  and  gold,  with  an  embroidery  of  pearl.  The 
lake  was  breathless.  Not  a  leaf  fluttered  in  the  forest.  As 
I  viewed  the  scene's  repose,  I  thought  how  beautiful  is 
the  fancy  that  the  day's  sanctity  in  the  Christian  mind 
finds  sympathy  in  the  visible  universe — that,  at  this  time, 
Nature  stills  her  throbbing  pulses,  the  tree  waves  with  more 
tranquil  grace,  the  bird  sings  with  softer  tone,  the  water 
lapses  in  a  calmer  ripple.  Poets,  whose  hearts  are  filled  with 
love  of  Nature,  have  delighted  so  to  depict  this  day,  and  the 
thought  spreads  tranquillity  in  turn  over  the  heart.  And 
thus  does  soul  transfigure  Nature,  and  Nature  sanctify  the 
soul.  What  images  crowd  the  fancy,  too,  in  gazing  upon 
Nature's  grandeur  or  beauty !  What  serene  joys  of  thought, 
what  pure,  sweet,  lofty  sentiments  are  her  offspring ! 

All  the  beautiful  mythology  of  the  olden  time  is  born 
of  her. 

"  The  intelligible  forms  of  ancient  poets, 
The  fair  humanities  of  old  religion, 
The  Power,  the  Beauty,  and  the  Majesty, 
That  had  their  haunts  in  dale,  or  piny  mountain, 
Or  forest,  by  slow  stream,  or  pebbly  spring, 
Or  chasms  and  watery  depths  1" 

To  the  tree,  did  the  antique  fancy  give  the  dryad ;  and 
the  naiad  to  the  stream.  On  the  cloudy  peak,  with  its 
gleaming  levin,  it  seated  the  thunder-bearing  Zeus ;  from 


OR,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARAXACS.  225 

the  glancing  light,  it  created  the  golden-sandalled  Hermes ; 
and  Aphrodite  from  the  grace  of  the  breaking  wave. 

And  though  "  Pan  is  dead"  with  the  deifying  faith  that 
worshipped  him,  still  fancy  finds  moral  emblems  in  the 
various  forms  of  Nature.  In  the  rose's  blush,  we  see  love's 
own  hue ;  and  purity  in  the  whiteness  of  the  lily.  In  the  flow 
of  the  majestic  river,  we  recognise  strong  resolve,  calm  in  its 
very  depth,  and  moving  toward  a  determined  end.  In  the 
bursting  torrent  we  see  impetuosity  of  spirit ;  in  the  tangled 
glen,  the  heart  dark  with  evil  passions;  and  self-reliance 
looks  calmly  forth  in  the  steadfast  and  towering  mountain. 
Indeed,  these  myths  of  the  old  civilization  typify  each 
a  sentiment  or  truth.  May  we  not  behold  in  Jason  and 
the  Golden  Fleece,  the  type  of  a  daring  spirit  in  search  of 
some  rare  secret  of  Nature,  bearing  from  far  and  unknown 
coasts  of  speculation  some  sterling  thought?  Porphyrion, 
is  he  not  the  emblem  of  Will  assaulting  Fate,  and  recoiling 
from  the  rock  of  its  immutability  ?  Prometheus,  the  symbol 
of  a  grand  soul  crucified  on  the  bleak  and  barren  crag  of 
untoward  circumstance,  and  while  conscious  of  the  sacred 
fires  of  genius  and  all-embracing  love,  feeling  but  the  vul- 
ture of  inexorable  fate  gnawing  at  his  heart  ?  Ixion  clasp- 
ing the  cloud,  is  it  not  Ambition  grasping  worldly  fame  ? 
Sisyphus,  Toil  struggling  upward,  unrewarded,  to  die  in 
despair  at  last? 

About  ten  o'clock,  Phin,  who  had  rowed  as  far  as  the 
Indian  Park,  returned  with  the  tidings  that  a  travelling 
preacher,  on  his  way  down  the  Racket  to  Potsdam,  intended 
to  hold  forth  an  hour  hence.  We  all,  accordingly,  em- 
barked, and  on  reaching  the  Park,  found  two  or  three 
black-bearded  woodmen  from  the  vicinity,  in  red  hunting- 
shirts  and  clean  check  collars,  waiting  for  the  promised 
service.  The  two  boats  in  which  they  had  arrived  were 
placed  upon  the  bank,  bottom  upwards,  under  the  birch 
tree,  near  the  water's  edge,  and  formed  seats. 

Soon,  other  boats  appeared  gliding  down  the  Racket, 

and  one  through  the  outlet,  which  I  found  afterward  was 
15 


226  WOODS  AND  WATERS; 

from  the  head  of  the  lake,  eight  miles  distant.  These  were 
filled  with  men,  women,  and  children,  in  their  best  and 
gayest  a,ttire.  Together,  we  numbered  some  twenty-five  or 
thirty. 

The  scene  from  a  mound,  a  little  back  in  the  Park,  pre- 
sented a  lively  and  beautiful  picture.  In  the  foreground 
was  the  meadow,  deep  in  its  wild  grass,  dappled  with  sun 
and  shadow.  Next  was  the  spot  of  worship,  the  bank 
and  boats  chequered  with  the  different  dresses  of  the  group. 
The  middle  distance  gleamed  with  the  silver  lights  and 
purple  darks  of  the  river,  over  to  the  sunny  greens  of  its 
midchannel  island  and  shores.  A  soaring  background 
of  downy  tints,  reared  by  Mount  Morris,  closed  the 
picture. 

The  preacher  was  a  long,  lank  personage,  with  an  apple 
of  a  head  perched  on  a  stick  of  a  body.  He  stepped  from 
the  log  hut  to  the  front,  and  began  the  service,  by  reading 
a  hymn  with  a  nasal  drawl,  and  stumbling  over  the  longest 
words. 

An  old  fellow,  with  features  buried  in  an  ambush  of 
wrinkles,  then  sounded  the  pitch ;  joined  in  a  keen  falsetto 
by  one  whom  I  took  to  be  his  wife,  an  old  lady  whose  sour 
face  seemed  sharpened  on  the  grindstone  of  a  rather  quick 
temper,  and  who  appeared  to  have  run  so  pertinaciously 
after  her  work  as  to  run  all  the  flesh  off  her  bones. 

The  first  then  opened  upon  the  air  in  a  thick  bass,  as 
though  the  rugged  tones  were  too  big  for  his  throat,  and 
as  one  of  the  guides  said  afterwards,  "  a-kinder  scraped  as 
they  come  up." 

The  air  was  carried  by  the  wife,  whose  shrill  tones  seemed 
momentarily  threatening  to  sharpen  into  the  termagant 
pitch  of  home.  In  fact,  she  appeared  angry  with  the  tune, 
from  the  beginning,  and  no  wonder,  for  it  crawled  over  the 
words  like  a  mud-turtle  over  stones. 

The  two  had  the  air  mainly  to  themselves,  portions  of 
the  congregation  occasionally  breaking  in  with  discordant 
blots  of  sound.  All  these  gave  up  after  a  while,  with  the 


OR,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARAXACS.  227 

exception  of  a  wiry-looking  chap,  eager  in  his  expression 
as  though  ready  at  any  time  to  jump  out  of  his  skin,  and  a 
bouncing  girl,  whose  dot  of  a  nose  perked  up  from  between 
two  red  worsted  cheeks;  both  of  whom  busily  engaged 
themselves  in  snapping  at  the  tune,  without  catching  it,  all 
the  way  through.  Next  them,  however,  stood  a  brawny, 
check-shirted  fellow,  smelling  awfully  of  whiskey,  who, 
with  a  pertinacity  worthy  to  behold,  clung  to  his  singing, 
evidently  without  knowing  the  tune,  and  belched  out  his 
muddled  tones  in  the  loudest  manner,  carrying  havoc  as  he 
went. 

The  performers  had  opened  their  lips  for  the  "seventh 
verse  (three  more  to  come),  when  the  preacher  (or  "  Dea- 
con"), probably  and  naturally  supposing  the  tune  bid  fair 
to  last  the  time  of  service  out,  broke  in  upon  it  with  the 
invitation  to  prayer,  leaving  the  singers  to  close  their 
mouths  as  quick  as  they  could  over  their  half-strangled 
notes. 

The  prayer  was  a  compound  of  fierce  joy  at  the  certainty 
of  so  great  a  portion  of  the  human  race  being  doomed  to 
destruction,  with  the  exception  of  "  the  elect,"  and  a  self- 
hugging  complacency  that  the  said  elect,  of  which  he  plainly 
intimated  he  was  one,  were  to  be  the  inheritors  of  so  certain 
a  happiness. 

At  the  conclusion  of  the  prayer,  he  gave  out  another 
hymn,  and  as  if  he  wished  to  'be  spared  the  excruciation 
of  the  former  music,  opened  on  a  tune  himself  with  great 
power,  if  little  melody,  elevating  his  chin  at  the  high  notes, 
and  dipping  it  into  the  pool  of  his  loose  white  cravat  at  the 
lower,  like  a  duck  drinking. 

He  was  alone  in  his  music,  the  old  couple  probably  not 
knowing  the  air,  and  the  rest  restrained  by  respect  from 
trying,  as  at  first,  to  catch  it  on  the  wing. 

The  sermon  was  a  repetition  of  the  ideas  in  the  prayer, 
spread  thin,  the  worthy  plainly  considering  himself  on  the 
most  intimate  terms  with  the  Deity,  and  dealing  out  life  and 
death  with  the  air  of  a  principal. 


228  WOODS  AND  WATERS; 

At  the  conclusion  of  the  service,  the  motley  company  de- 
parted, the  Deacon  drawing  paddle  down  the  Racket,  toward 
his  destination,  with  a  companion  at  the  oars,  while  we  re- 
turned to  camp. 

After  dinner,  I  rowed  myself  in  the  afternoon  glow  to  a 
point  on  Birch  Island,  just  below  the  Devil's  Pulpit,  to 
enjoy  the  seclusion  and  quiet. 

I  fastened  my  boat  to  a  log,  and  in  the  idleness  of  the 
moment  noted  the  slight  effects  around  me.  By  the  water's 
edge  was  a  pile  of  rocks  shaped  like  a  cromlech,  and  near  it 
an  oak  with  a  crescent  of  light  clipping  its  shadowed  stem, 
like  the  golden  knife  of  a  Druid  severing  the  sacred  mis- 
tletoe for  the  rites  of  his  ancient  and  mysterious  faith. 

In  the  forest  there  was  a  flitting  of  light  and  shade,  and 
a  tremble  of  branches  in  the  low  wind,  with  an  occasional 
glance  of  a  bird  through  the  fretted  vaults. 

A  pool  lay  near,  sheltered  by  a  stooping  birch,  and  a 
small  rapid. 

In  its  airlike  depth  was  a  trout,  moving  around  restlessly, 
scenting  a  lily  stem ;  pondering  over  a  mossy  rock ;  dart- 
ing toward  the  surface ;  steadying  himself  by  the  occasional 
flutter  of  his  fins ;  staring  with  huge  eyes  all  about ;  wav- 
ing his  tail,  like  a  deer  grazing,  and  working  his  mouth 
as  if  chewing  a  cud.  By  and  by,  a  miller  came  close  to 
the  glass  of  the  surface,  quivering  with  admiration  at  the 
image  of  his  silver  coat.  His  spasm  of  self-love  was  short, 
for  the  trout,  lurking  in  the  ambush  of  a  stone,  like  a 
bandit  in  his  cave,  darted  forth,  gave  a  nip,  and  the  luck- 
less miller  vanished. 

Then  came  a  shiner  that  sent  a  silver  flash  through  all 
the  pool.  Now  he  poised  himself,  head  downward,  as  if  to 
lunge  through  the  ooze ;  then  stood  on  his  tail  and  gaped. 
At  last,  he  turned  himself  into  a  wheel  and  gyrated  away. 
He  was  succeeded  by  a  gleam  of  gold,  cast  by  a  sunfish, 
that  flattened  himself  on  his  side,  and  lay  there,  until  a 
bullhead  blundered  along,  and  turned  one  of  his  horns  on 
him,  when  the  sunfish  whisked  himself  away. 


OE,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.  229 

At  this  juncture  there  was  a  plump,  and  then  a  sudden 
darkening  of  the  crystal  inclosure,  through  which  I  saw  the 
dim  shape  of  a  muskrat,  who  scampered  across  the  bottom, 
and  then  rose  by  a  sedge  on  a  dot  of  grass,  with  its  flag  half- 
way up  its  staff. 

First,  his  ratship  pulled  the  stem  of  a  yellow  lily  as  if  to 
ring  the  bell ;  then  he  nibbled  the  gold  of  the  blossom ; 
then  he  skimmed  to  the  edge  of  the  bank,  with  two  furrows 
like  a  wedge  pencilled  from  his  shoulders,  and  cut  with  his 
needle  teeth  the  barb  of  an  arrowhead,  and  towed  it  in  his 
mouth  to  his  burrow,  where  he  vanished.  In  a  moment, 
however,  his  blunt,  whiskered  face  and  glittering  specks 
of  eyes  were  thrust  forth  again  in  my  direction,  thinking,  I 
suppose,  what  a  queer  thing  that  log  was,  when  an  invo- 
luntary motion  on  my  part  caused  him  to  disappear  in  the 
winking  of  an  eye. 

I  then  leaned  back  at  the  boat's  stern,  and  gazed  into  the 
noontide  heavens.  As  I  viewed  the  overwhelming  arch, 
springing  so  magnificently  from  the  horizon,  robed  in  an 
azure  so  rich  and  tender,  and  gleaming  with  its  silver  clouds, 
I  thought  how  little  appreciated,  comparatively,  is  this 
most  wonderful,  beautiful,  and  majestic  of  all  the  Creator's 
handiwork^ 

The  brightest  and  loveliest  hues  dwell  within  its  con- 
cave, as  do  the  blackest  and  most  threatening.  There 
beams  the  rainbow,  born  of  gold  and  precious  gems ;  and 
there  glares  the  lightning  from  the  scowling  cloud.  There 
fans  the  breeze  on  downy  pinion,  and  there  whirls  the 
dread  tornado.  Within  it,  echo  the  sweetest  sounds  as  well 
as  the  most  awful.  There  the  lark  warbles  to  the  ear  of 
the  morning,  and  there  the  thunder  hurls  its  crashing  ter- 
rors. We  talk  of  the  vastness  of  ocean,  the  desert,  the 
forest,  the  prairie ;  but  what  is  the  horizon  presented  by 
each  to  the  mighty  sweep  of  that  canopy  we  have  but  to 
raise  our  eyes  at  any  moment  to  behold  ?  There  it  arches, 
ever  present,  whether  blinded  with  its  grey,  rainy  mantle, 
rolling  in  cloudy  surges,  smiling  in  blue  loveliness,  or 


230  WOODS  AND  WATERS  ;  ' 

kindled  by  the  sunset  and  the  dawn.  There  in  the  highest 
degree  is  the  sublimity  of  magnitude  and  the  beauty  of 
softness.  And  not  only  are  the  tenderest  and  most  delicate 
objects,  the  transparent  film,  the  twining  mist,  the  spangling 
snow  and  the  curling  cloud,  found  there,  but  it  is  the 
home  of  the  glorious  sun,  his  gentle  sister  of  the  silver 
brow,  and  the  far-away  constellations.  And  what  sway  it 
holds  over  us !  Be  it  sombre,  we  grow  mournful ;  be  it 
bright,  our  heart  leaps  up  "  and  is  glad." 

We  look  upward  when  in  sorrow ;  into  the  sky  have 
departed  the  loved  and  lost ;  there  prayer  is  wafted ; 
there  soars  the  released  spirit ;  there  dwells  God. 

We  fall  into  raptures  beneath  the  dome  of  St.  Peter's, 
at  the  beauty,  the  grandeur  there  seen;  we  revel  in  its 
streaming  sunlights ;  we  bend  to  the  almost  crushing  sense 
of  its  immensity ;  and  yet  we  never  fasten  an  eye  for  one 
half  hour  on  the  sky's  dome,  its  loveliness,  its  majesty,  its 
illuminated  glories,  its  boundless  sweep.  All,  too,  to  be 
had  in  a  moment,  without  crossing  stormy  wave  or  moun- 
tain peak ;  all  its  beautiful  and  stately  changes,  its  glory 
of  rising  and  of  setting  tints.  If  by  some  magic  the  sky 
could  be  shut  off,  and  then  be  opened  upon  us  for  a  price, 
we  would  make  the  welkin  ring  with  voice  of  admiration 
and  wonder. 

We  gaze  at  the  summer  ocean  in  its  heaving  slumber ! 
What  is  its  smoothness  and  quiet  to  the  boundless  expanse 
above,  with  the  cloud-sails  gliding  over,  and  the  fairy 
barks  at  anchor  ?  Yiew  this  same  ocean  in  a  storm, 
with  its  watery  cliffs  and  chasms,  and  dashing  its  fierce 
foam  in  the  black  brow  of  the  tempest ;  the  sight  is  not 
grander  or  more  fearful  than  a  sky  of  battling  thunder- 
storms. Its  roar ;  why,  the  crashing  bolt,  the  unchained 
blast,  the  trampling  hailstones,  roll  out  sounds  more  dread 
and  wrathful ! 

We  thrill  with  the  sublimity  of  Mont  Blanc  and  Chim- 
borazo,  the  grand  range  of  Alp  and  Himmalaya — mighty 
crags,  clutching  the  upper  air  with  icy  fingers ;  but  behold 


OR,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.  231 

the  cloud-ridges,  pile  upon  pile,  lowering  m  a  mighty 
frown  over  one  half  the  heavens,  and  plunging  leagues 
on  leagues  of  earth  in  shadow !  We  bow  before  the 
grandeur  of  Niagara,  where  seas  plunge  upon  the  globe's 
heart  in  reverberating  thunders ;  but  glance  merely  at  some 
cataract  of  stormy  vapor  dashing  down  the  sky-slope! 
Niagara,  to  it,  is  a  mere  cascade  1 

We  linger  days  on  the  beamy  lights,  the  velvet  shades 
of  the  old  masters :  of  Domenichino,  of  Cimabue,  of  Gior- 
gione,  of  Titian,  of  Tintoretto  and  Claude,  whose  names 
glitter  with  the  magic  tints  of  Italy,  and  ring  with  the 
golden  richness  of  her  music.  The  colors  born  of  that  one 
painter,  the  atmosphere,  flash  disdain  upon  the  tame  bla- 
zonry of  their  mimic  hues.  Even  the  divine  frescoes  of 
Eaphael  must  yield  to  the  common  tints  of  dawn  and 
twilight.  And  the  architecture  of  Angelo,  of  Brunelleschi 
and  Giotto — they  have  cast  a  spell  to  which  Time  is  power- 
less ;  but  look  upward,  in  your  walk,  or  from  your  desk, 
your  study,  your  plough,  even  while  your  hands  are  busy, 
and  there  is  architecture,  with  pillars  and  arches  and  colon- 
nades and  towers,  not  tiring  the  eye  in  their  sameness,  but 
changing  even  as  you  look,  resting  on  foundations  of  living 
sapphire,  and  flushed  with  flitting  tints  tjiat  transcend  even 
the  divinest  dreams  of  those  mighty  masters,  the  "great 
heirs  of  Time." 

Returning  to  the  camp,  I  found  my  comrades  darting 
furious  gestures  through  a  cloud  of  words,  amid  which 
flitted  the  cant  political  expressions  of  the  day,  with  the 
word  "  Constitution"  particularly  conspicuous. 

Politics,  next  to  business,  occupy  us  Americans  almost 
exclusively.  We  elevate,  consequently,  our  political  leaders 
into  national  idols.  The  press  supplies  the  pedestal  on 
which  they  are  reared  to  the  altitude  of  giants.  We  abuse 
them,  it  is  true,  but  upon  the  principle  of  the  Chinese,  who, 
though  they  cuff  their  josses,  never  cease  to  regard  them 
as  gods. 

Thus  we  ascribe  to  these  political  heroes  of  ours  all 


232  WOODS  AND  WATERS; 

kinds  of  qualities  not  their  own,  and  crown  them  with  our 
honors,  as  barbarous  nations  stud  storks  and  ostriches  with 
jewels,  and  then  bow  to  them  in  worship. 

I  had  been  so  frequently  worried  by  this  political  talk 
of  my  comrades,  that  I  hastened  to  bury  myself  from  the 
din  in  the  tent  of  the  guides.  Outside  I  found  them  col- 
lected, listening  with  great  attention,  and,  as  the  talkers 
probably  supposed,  with  a  due  impression  of  their  superior 
wisdom. 

I  might  have  supposed  so  too,  had  I  not,  an  hour  after- 
ward, heard  one  of  them  say  to  another,  and,  in  my 
opinion,  summing  the  whole  matter  up  most  sensibly : 

"  The  gen'lemen  set  a  good  deal  of  store  by  the  cons'too- 
tion,  but  for  my  part,  I  think  it's  the  best  plan  fur  each  one 
to  take  keer  of  the  cons'tootion  what  b'longs  to  'im.  It's 
more'n  most  on  us  kin  do,  with  all  our  lookin'  out.  <I  say, 
let  all  this  talk  about  presarvin'  the  cons'tootion,  and 
standin'  by  the  cons'tootion,  jest  go  to  the  dogs,  and  we'll 
go  to  snoozin',  that  is,  as  sun  as  we  take  a  drink  round — 
b'ys,  what  say  ye  ?" 


OR,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.  233 


CHAPTEE  XIX. 

Sail  up  Tapper's  Lake. — Jenkins'  Clearing. — The  Shanty  of  the  Spring. — 
Bog  River  Falls. — Head  of  the  Lake. — Up  Bog  River. — Leo. — Track  of 
the  Moose. — Roar  of  the  Moose. — Mud  Lake. — Death  of  the  Moose. 

MONDAY  I  had  fixed  upon  for  my  excursion  up  Bog 
Kiver  to  Mud  Lake,  in  search  of  moose. 

This  river  is  composed  of  two  branches;  runs,  after 
their  union,  northerly,  a  couple  of  rods  wide,  and  tumbles 
into  Tupper's  Lake  at  its  southern  extremity  or  head,  by  a 
winding,  foaming  cascade  over  two  rocky  terraces,  about 
thirty  feet  in  height. 

The  branches  unite  two  miles  from  the  lake,  and  west- 
erly up  the  northern  branch  fourteen  miles  lies  the  lake 
to  which  I  was  bound. 

Understanding  the  trip  was  difficult,  I  engaged  Phin  to 
accompany  Harvey  as  an  assistant.  We  were  to  be  gone 
two  days.  Meanwhile,  my  comrades  were  to  continue  the 
camp  at  Tupper's  Lake,  or,  if  they  moved,  were  to  leave 
word  on  bark  or  paper,  woods-fashion,  as  to  their  where- 
about. 

The  morning  was  passed  in  preparation. 

Deep  in  the  afternoon  we  left  Camp  Cedar  (so  christened 
by  Eenning),  in  the  Bluebird,  with  Phin  at  the  oars ;  I,  upon 
my  folded  blanket,  in  the  middle,  with  a  back-board ;  Har- 
vey at  the  stern,  with  his  paddle ;  and  Watch  curled  up  at 
the  bow. 

The  lake  was  all  blue  and  silver,  with  scarce  air  enough 
to  bend  the  streak  from  Harvey's  pipe. 

Onward  we  went,  the  opening  vistas  and  changing  shores 
offering  continually  new  water-scenes. 


234.  WOODS  AND  WATERS: 

Leaving  the  Devil's  Pulpit  at  our  back,  we  glided 
along  the  mile's  length  of  Long  Island,  and  turned,  oppo- 
site its  head,  and  a  small  rooky  point  of  the  shore,  into 
the  south  limb  of  the  lake. 

"  Bog  River  Falls !"  exclaimed  Harvey,  pointing  to  what 
appeared  a  sloping  plate  of  pearl  amid  the  rounded  shores 
at  the  head  of  the  lake,  three  miles  distant.  "  About  a 
mile  furder  you'll  hear  the  roar.  In  the  spring,  when 
there's  high  water,  the  falls  gits  up  consid'ble  young 
thunder.  The  foam  splashes  over  ugly.  I've  seen  mighty 
big  trees  dashin'  and  quirlin'  and  crashin'  over  the  rocks, 
as  though  lightnin'  'ad  sent  'em ;  and  then  a  deer  'ud  come 
rollin'  and  strugglin',  and  be  pitched  down'ards,  like  a 
duck's  feather  in  a  ripple.  The  deer  'ud  be  dead  enough, 
though,  when  it  got  to  the  bottom." 

Large  masses  of  light  and  shade,  cast  by  the  shores  and 
islands  in  the  low  sun,  lay  along  the  water.  Beautiful  little 
sunset  pictures  gleamed  out  as  we  went ;  a  mossy  rock ;  a 
tiny  dingle ;  a  brook  rapid ;  a  colonnade  of  trees  ;  an  arbor 
of  linked  branches ;  a  pool  under  a  bank,  like  a  peeping  eye ; 
a  half-whelmed  trunk,  with  water  sparkling  round  it ;  an 
islet  of  watergrass;  or  a  bit  of  marsh,  where  tiger-lilies 
curled  their  spotted  pennons  among  the  spears  of  the  rushes. 

Opposite  the  two  Norway  Islands  (on  the  lower  of  which 
the  tall,  slender  Norway  pine  was  thinly  towering),  as  well  as 
a  little  above  the  upper,  we  cast  successfully  at  the  mouths 
of  three  trout  brooks  that  crept  into  coves  upon  the  east 
side.  We  then  crossed  the  lake,  passing  a  small  island  like 
a  leafy  dome,  and  entered  a  beautiful  bay,  at  the  head  of 
which,  in  a  small  clearing,  stood  a  log-hut,  with  several  out- 
houses. On  the  left  a  wild  mountain  frowned  against  the 
sunset  sky. 

"  Jenkins,  who  has  the  choppin'  up  there,  is  the  unly  one 
who  lives  on  the  lake,"  said  Harvey. 

"  How  near,  or  rather  how  far  off  are  his  neighbors  ?" 
asked  I.  (A  neighbor  in  wood  parlance  is  any  one  within 
fifty  miles.) 


OR,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SAKANACS.  235 

"  On  along  the  Eacket  they're  rather  nigh,"  answered 
Harvey,  as  we  continued  up  towards  the  next  point,  "  that 
is  about  eight  or  nine  miles  off.  But  up  over  that  way," 
pointing  to  the  mountain,  "on  to  Potsdam  about  forty 
mile.s,  I  guess  'twould  be  puzzlin'  to  find  as  many  as  ye 
could  count  up  on  one  hand." 

"  Isn't  that  rather  solitary  for  him,  Harvey  ?" 

"What?" 

"  Solitary,  lonely !" 

"  Oh,  lonesome  1  Why  bless  ye,  no  !  In  his  boat,  with 
enny  kind  o'  rowin',  'twill  take  'im  unly  about  two  hours 
to  go  to  the  Eacket,  where  there's  lots  o'  people.  There's 
some  five  or  six  fam'lies  stringin'  along  mebby  ten  or 
twelve  miles.  I  call  it  rather  crowded,  that  is,  ef  a  man 
raally  takes  to  the  woods.  Now  I  don't  live  in  the  woods 
't  all.  There's  a  big  settlement  round  me,  some  five  or  six 
housen  that  I  kin  count  up  right  off.  Fust "  (counting  on 
his  fingers)  "  there's  the  school-house  ;  then  there's  a  barn ; 
then  father's  in  the  holler ;  then  there's  a  brother  o'  mine 
furder  on ;  then  Cort's  at  the  S'nac  Pond ;  then  there's  Col. 
Baker's,  and  Miller  his  son-in-law;  and  as  fur  Harriets- 
town,  there's  a  settlement  there  sartenly  of  a  dozen  housen, 
without  reckonin'  the  sawmill.  It's  a  dufned  sight  too 
thick  fur  me  round.  But  I've  of 'en  wondered  how  you 
folks  git  along  in  the  city.  I  should  raally  s'pose  you'd 
git  kinder  tangled  up  'mong  so  many  people  there.  Ef  I 
lived  there  I'd  hardly  know  my  legs  from  another  man's 
without  chalkin'  on  'm.  But  what  d'ye  say  fur  campin'  ? 
There's  a  fust  best  place  inside  this  p'int." 

We  accordingly  landed  at  the  spot  indicated,  a  dry  smooth 
knoll,  where  we  found  a  large  bark  shanty,  with  the  front 
open  to  the  lake.  In  a  little  hollow  adjoining  was  a  spring, 
about  six  feet  in  diameter,  boiling  clear  as  dew  and  cold  as 
snow  from  a  deep  floor  of  pearly  sand. 

We  landed,  put  our  "  traps  "  in  the  shanty,  kindled  our 
camp-fire  to  repel  the  charges  of  a  fierce  corps  of  musqui- 
toes,  and  cut  our  hemlock  mattresses  for  the  night. 


236  WOODS  AND  WATERS  ; 

It  was  now  just  after  the  sunsetting.  A  blush  was  painted 
on  the  lake,  below  a  streak  of  golden  purple  with  a  white 
star  trembling  at  its  edge. 

Beyond,  the  dome-island  (which  Harvey  called  Deer 
Island)  seemed  moored  in  mid-air,  while  the  background 
of  the  sky  was  rilled  with  the  mass  of  Mount  Morris. 

At  the  right,  or  south  of  the  latter,  frowning  over  Bog 
Eiver,  a  little  above  the  falls  that  I  could  see  sparkling 
down  the  bank,  were  two  mountain  tops,  which  I  christ- 
ened the  Hawksnest  and  the  Panther,  the  former  from  its 
hollowed  outline,  and  the  latter  from  a  fancied  resemblance 
to  the  head  of  the  animal  named. 

Everywhere  around  the  water,  and  upon  the  islands 
(except  the  clearing  of  Jenkins)  swept  the  woods,  darkening 
now  in  the  twilight. 

Merry  was  our  meal  in  the  eye  of  the  star,  and  we  fell 
asleep  with  the  camp-fire  drenching  our  shanty  in  pleasant 
light. 

The  dawn's  first  grey  was  tinging  the  darkness  as  I 
awoke  at  Harvey's  summons  for  our  start. 

The  lake  showed  its  broad  neutral  tint  in  the  front,  with 
the  dim  shores  on  either  hand,  and  the  islands  beyond 
swollen  against  a  black  background. 

The  east  momentarily  warmed,  while  in  the  strengthen- 
ing grey  of  the  zenith  the  stars  were  melting  like  sparks  in 


After  breakfast  we  pushed  out  in  the  fresh,  cool  (almost 
chilly)  air,  diagonally  toward  the  falls,  whose  voice  was 
loud  in  the  stillness. 

We  ran  up  to  the  rocks,  where  the  cascade,  dashing  and 
twisting  in  severed  channels  between  log,  thicket  and  rock, 
rushed  in  a  broad  mass  of  foam  down  a  sloping  ledge  into 
the  lake,  pushing  its  dancing  waters  far  beyond.  At  its 
spinning  foot  we  threw  our  lines  and  soon  secured  a  goodly 
number  of  fine  trout. 

Harvey  and  Phin  then  clambered  with  the  boat  and 
"  traps  "  up  the  steep  bank  of  the  carry  around  the  falls.  I 


OB,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.  237 

lingered  behind  to  gaze  once  more  down  the  broad  vista  of 
the  lake,  with  its  jutting  points  and  the  dome-island  in 
the  distance,  until  the  view  was  closed  by  the  high  back- 
ground of  Long  Island.  At  the  right  -heaved  up  the  broad 
blue  breast  of  Mount  Morris,  which,  owing  to  the  angular 
form  of  the  lake,  is  equally  conspicuous  at  its  foot  as  at  its 
head. 

After  I  had  stamped  on  my  memory  this  enchanting  water- 
view,  I  followed  my  guides,  turning  aside  as  I  went  up  to 
glance  at  the  dark  log- fragments  of  the  old  military  road 
laid  through  the  wilderness,  from  the  Mohawk  valley  to 
the  St.  Lawrence,  in^he  war  of  1812. 

Blotting  the  grey  engravings  on  the  surface,  up  Bog 
Eiver  we  swiftly  glided. 

The  grey  light  gave  place  to  the  soft  glow  preceding  the 
sunrise.  Eosy  clouds  smiled  overhead,  and  in  the  east  the 
umber  of  a  long  cloud  burned  into  tawny  gold. 

Suddenly  a  high  pine  brightened  and  stood  transfigured. 

Even  so,  thought  I,  is  woman  glorified  by  the  divine 
fancy  of  poets.  She  owes  the  recognition  of  her  charms  to 
those  children  of  the  passionate  heart  and  glowing  brain. 
They  kindle  the  aureole  that  crowns  her  brow. 

"  Apollo  was  pitching  his  darta  " 

thick  and  fast  into  the  trees,  which  flashed  gold  at  every 
blow,  as  we  reached  the  fork  of  the  river.  Up  the  right, 
or  westerly  branch  (as  before  noted),  lay  our  path  with  an 
immediate  carry. 

I  asked  Harvey  whither  led  the  other  branch. 

"  To  Little  Tupper's  Lake,  six  miles,"  answered  the  old 
woodman,  as  he  and  Phin  prepared  to  shoulder  the  boat 
with  its  luggage,  "  and  the  nicest  lookin'  lake,  next  to  Big 
Tupper's,  and  al'ys  exceptin'  the  Upper  S'nac,  that  there  is 
about  here.  There's  three  carries  two  miles  in  all,  to  git 
there." 

"  Where  then  do  you  go  ?" 


238  WOODS  AND  WATERS; 

"  A  carry  of  about  thirty  rod  '11  bring  ye  from  there 
inter  Rock  Pond,  about  two  miles  long.  Then  a  carry  of 
two  miles  takes  ye  inter  Bottle  Pond,  one  mile  long.  A 
carry  then  of  about  sixty  rods  brings  ye  inter  Carey 
Pond,  half  a  mile  long.  Then  a  carry  of  eighty  rod  '11 
take  ye  to  Sutton  Pond,  a  mile  long.  Then  a  carry  of 
half  a  mile  brings  ye  to  Little  Forked  Lake,  two  or  three 
miles  long.  You  then  run  up  inter  Big  Forked  Lake, 
eight  miles  long,  and  then  a  carry  of  half  a  mile  brings 
ye  inter  Racket  Lake,  and  crossing  it  you  git  by  a  carry  of 
a  mile  inter  the  Eight  Lakes,  and  down  them  inter  the 
middle  branch  o'  Moose  River,  clearn  down  inter  John 
Brown's  Tract.  Or  you  kin  turn  down  Big  Forked  Lake 
inter  Long  Lake,  and  so  inter  the  Racket  River  and  come 
to  this  very  spot  agin,  and,  except  at  Racket  Falls,  and  them 
below,  not  stir  out  of  yer  boat,  makin'  a  rael  twist-round." 

A  mile's  tramp  brought  us  again  to  the  stream,  and  after 
another  mile  we  reached  the  third  carry  a  score  of  rods 
across.  An  equal  number  on  the  stream  bore  us  to  "  Wind- 
ing Falls,"  forcing  us  to  the  fourth  carry.  The  fifth  lay  a 
half  mile  farther,  and  after  three  more  portages  respec- 
tively of  forty,  thirty,  and  eighty  rods,  we  entered  a  pond. 

"  The  Lower  Pond,"  said  Harvey,  "  and  after  a  good 
dry  carry  on  t'other  side,  and  the  last  one  too,  we  hev  four 
more  ponds  to  cross  and  we're  at  Mud  Lake." 

Crossing,  we  struck  the  carry,  which  was  about  fifty  rods 
over,  and  entered  the  river  again,  ascending  it  half  a  mile 
to  a  small  winding  lily-pad  pond.  Three  miles  more  of 
river  brought  us  to  the  third  pond  of  the  same  size  as  the 
first  or  "  Lower,"  with  high  banks,  and  crossing  it  the  river 
again  received  us. 

All  along  we  had  found  the  same  scenery ;  close  ranks  of 
firs  and  cedars  on  either  side,  throwing  their  sharpened  sha- 
dows across  so  that  we  seemed  floating  over  their  transverse 
tops ;  and  green  openings,  with  a  rear  wall  of  forest.  The 
trees  above  named,  however,  bristling  in  masses,  or  scattered 
in  the  parks,  formed  the  prevailing  feature  of  this  grim  and 


OR,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARAXACS.  239 

sluggish,  or  dashing  and  foaming  river,  yielding  it  its  lonely 
and  funereal  aspect.  In  every  direction,  also,  dead  pines 
and  hemlocks  thrust  up  their  pallid,  rough  raggedness, 
dripping  with  grey  moss,  and  frequently  clutching  in  their 
raised  talons  the  huge  nest  of  the  fish-hawk. 

Suddenly  around  one  of  the  bends,  an  Indian  in  his 
canoe '  came  rapidly  towards  us.  He  was  on  his  knees 
paddling  in  the  middle  of  his  craft,  which  was  of  birch 
bark,  expanded  at  the  sides,  with  ends  sharp  and  rising 
like  a  crescent. 

"Why,  here's  old  Leo,  agin!"  exclaimed  Harvey.  "Why 
Leo,  is  that  you  ?  Where  on  airth  you  come  from,  eh  ?" 

"  Conutie,  dat  ees,  up  dere,  over  dere — Ookostah  Conu- 
tie,  vat  you  call  eet — Ingleese?"  said  the  Indian,  ceasing 
to  paddle,  and  allowing  his  bubble  to  float  up. 

"  Cost  her,  what !"  asked  Harvey. 

"  Taun — nah — nah !  Ookostah  Conutie,  vere  nindunhe — 
dat  ees — vere  moose  go,  down  dere,  up  dere,  over  dere — 
fool  of — uh — uh — what  disl"  dipping  at  a  lily-pad,  but 
missing  it,  and  bringing  his  paddle  up  dripping. 

"Water!"  said  Harvey. 

"Nah,  nah!"  shaking  his  head  impatiently,  "nah,  nah, 
oh  hang,  nah !" 

"  I  don't  know  no  other  name  but  water  for't.  Consarn 
his  old  picter!" 

"  Nah,  nah — vater  not  a  beet — dis,  dis,"  tearing  up  a 
lily-leaf  this  time  with  his  paddle. 

"  Oh,  you  mean  lily-pad !  Why  couldn't  ye  say  so  at 
onst !  Plague  take  the  old  feller !  Forty  1'yers  couldn't 
understand  him.  Well,  what  of  the  lily-pads?  You've 
been  up  in  'm,  eh  I" 

"  Yese,  yese,  up  dere — over  dere,  vere  moose  go." 

"  You  mean  Mud  Lake,  I  guess." 

"  Nyuh !  yese,  yese !  Muddee  Lake,  oh  yese !  No  see 
no  moose.  Up  dere  squaut  (holding  up  one  finger  after 
another),  ticknee,  shagh" 

"  Sha,  sure  enough  1     What  do  you  mean,  Leo  ?" 


240  WOODS  AND  WATERS; 

"  Mean,  mean,  what  dat?" 

"  How  many  days  were  ye  up  there  ?" 

"  Squaut,  ticknee" 

"  Don't  understand,  Leo  I" 

"  No  onderstand !  what  fur  no  understand  ?" 

"  'Case  I  don't,"  sharply,  "what  d'ye  mean  by  squat?" 

"  So  mannee,"  holding  up  a  finger. 

"So  many,  what?" 

"  So  mannee  what ! — nah — nah — nah— so  mannee  day — 
squaut,  ticknee,  shagh  day"  (raising  three  fingers). 

"  Oh,  three  days !" 

"  Yese,  yese,  tree  day— oh  hang!" 

"  What  shoot  there  ?" 

"  Yat  shoot  dere  ?  Shoot  naagah ;  dat  ees,  vat  you  call 
eet  ? — o-h  yese,  plantee,  plantee !" 

"  Nagur,  nagur !  nigger,  you  mean.  I  shouldn't  s'pose 
you'd  a  shot  niggers  there.  There  aint  none,  nur  white 
people  nuther,  fur  that  matter." 

"  Neeger,  neeger !  vat  dat  ?" 

"Why  niggers,  black  niggers!  people  what's  black! 
Bless  the  Injin,  can't  he  onderstand  notbin'?" 

"  Neegers — black — dat  ees  jenshtau — nah,  nah,  n-a-h — 
oh  hang !" 

"Well,  what  is't  then?' 

"  Go  so,  go  so !"  motioning  with  arms  and  body,  as  if 
bounding  along.  "  Head  so,"  pointing  his  hands  either 
side. 

"  0-o-o-h !  you  mean  deer." 

"  Oh  hang,  yese — deer,  deer — oh  yese,  plantee,  plantee!" 
throwing  off  a  blanket,  and  showing  a  large  pile  of  dried 
venison. 

"  Ok>od,  Leo,  you've  done  well.  But  d'ye  raally  say  you 
didn't  see  no  moose  ?" 

"  Moose !  oh  hang !  nah,  nah,  vat  you  tink ;  you  git 
moose !  nah,  nah !"  shaking  his  head  violently,  "  you,  nah, 
git  moose  nudder.  I  git  nah  moose,  you  git  nah  moose — 
oh  hang,  nah,  nah  1" 


OR,   SUMMER   IN"  THE  SARA.NACS.  241 

"  Well,  I  dunno  as  we  shell.  We'll  try  hard  for't,  though. 
But  we're  summat  in  a  hurry,  so  good  bye,  Leo !" 

"  Goo  bye  I"  and  off  the  canoe  shot  to  the  Indian's  quick 
dexterous  paddle,  and  in  a  moment  he  was  hidden  behind 
a  turn. 

"Ahead  is  the  last  pond,"  said  Harvey,  "  and  then  comes 
the  river  agin,  and  the  confoundedest,  crookedest  consarn 
'tis  too,  that  I've  seen  in  these  woods,  not  even  leavin'  out 
Folingsby's  Brook,  and  Little  Wolf  Brook,  and  to  go 
twistin'  through  the  last  makes  the  boat  wriggle  like  an 
eel!" 

We  landed  at  the  entrance  of  the  pond  for  a  lunch.  In 
a  few  moments  my  guides  had  lighted  a  fire,  over  which 
the  trout  we  had  taken  at  the  falls  were  soon  hissing,  im- 
paled on  the  forked  sticks. 

The  sky,  notwithstanding  the  brightness  of  the  morning, 
was  now  overcast,  and  threatening  rain. 

Against  this  lowering  background  rose,  here  and  there, 
a  tall  withered  pine  above  the  general  foliage,  in  one  of 
which  was  an  eagle's  nest,  like  a  Doric  column  with  its 
capital. 

We  had  just  finished  our  meal,  and  Harvey  was  flow- 
ing out  in  a  story  about  "  Wrastlin'  Will,  who  lived  nigh 
the  Ausable  Forks,"  when  suddenly  he  stopped. 

"  Look  there,  Mr.  Smith,"  said  he,  "  aint  that  moosey 
lookin'?" 

I  glanced  around,  but  saw  nothing. 

"  Here,  Mr.  Smith,"  turning  aside  a  leaf  of  brake.  There, 
was  a  track  stamped  in  the  black  ooze  of  the  bank,  much 
larger  and  more  rounded  than  a  deer's,  nevertheless  long 
and  somewhat  pointed. 

"  Is  that  a  moose-track,  Harvey  ?" 

"  'Taint  nothin'  else,  and  not  an  hour  old,  nuther,"  an- 
swered he. 

"  I'm  in  fur  that  moose,"  said  Phin,  starting  from  a  log 
where  he  had  been  seated  with  his  rifle  between  his  knees, 
and  moving  rapidly  toward  a  thicket.  "  That's  the  dod 

16 


242  WOODS   AND  WATEKS; 

"blamedst  big  moose  what's  a  goin',  and  I'm  after  'im  enny 
way." 

"  Stop,  Phin,"  said  his  father,  "  the  moose  aint  behind 
that  aire  bush,  no  how.  Don't  you  see  the  track's  p'inted 
torts  the  water.  See  there  where  he's  fed,"  glancing  to- 
wards the  lily-pads,  all  torn  and  tilted,  near  the  margin. 
"  Let's  be  goin'  though ;  moose  don't  stay  long  in  one  place, 
and  we  may  git  a  shot  afore  we  know't." 

Closely  examining  the  wooded  hills,  •  we  crossed  the 
pond,  and  once  more  entered  the  river. 

It  was,  indeed,  a  watery  cork-screw,  narrow,  with  broad, 
grassy  intervals. 

We  had  wound  through  about  two  miles,  and  Harvey 
was  again  in  the  midst  of  a  story  about  a  "  black  fox  he'd 
shot  at  Loon  Lake  onst,"  when  he  suddenly  exclaimed, 
"  Hark!"  at  the  same  time  stopping  his  paddle  and  raising 
Ms  hand,  while  Phin  rested  on  his  oars,  and  erected  his 
head  like  a  listening  hound. 

After  a  silence  of  several  moments,  I  was  about  to 
inquire  what  was  the  matter,  when  there  came  a  distant 
bellow,  sharp,  ringing,  and,  notwithstanding  the  distance, 
startling. 

"  It's  from  Mud  Lake,  sarten,"  said  Harvey,  dipping  his 
paddle  deep,  while  Phin  did  the  same  with  his  oars. 
"  That's  moose  all  over,  and  a  rael  bull-moose,  too.  Hoo- 
ray !  won't  we  hev  some  fun  bimeby !  and  it's 

"  '  Too-rool-loo-rool,  loo-rool-loddy !' 

Let's  make  the  Bluebird  sing  through  the  water,  Phin.  I 
raally  feel  as  ef  we're  goin'  to  hev  a  moose's  lip  fur  supper 
to-nigh1>— hey,  Mr.  Smith  ?" 

I  answered  cheerfully,  and  then  resigned  myself  to  my 
thoughts.  There  was  something  solemn  and  exciting  in 
thus  winding  through  the  innermost  heart  of  this  immense 
wilderness,  with  the  stern  voice  of  the  rare  animal  in  whose 
search  we  had  come  still  ringing  in  my  ears.  The  wild, 


OB,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SABANACS.  243 

dark  stream,  the  awful  solitude — all  rendered  the  scene 
deeply  inthralling. 

Proceeding  some  distance,  we  now  reached  a  pavement 
of  lily-pads,  extending  from  bank  to  bank.  Pushing 
through  these,  a  gloomy  sheet  of  water  at  length  spread 
before  us. 

"  Mud  Lake,"  said  Harvey,  in  a  low  voice.  "  Don't 
make  no  noise  I  Praps  a  moose  may  be  right  agin  us — 
who  knows!" 

I  didn't,  and  kept  perfectly  quiet,  gazing  at  the  scene. 

The  sheet  appeared  to  be  about  two  miles  long,  by  a 
mile  in  width,  with  low  shores  of  broad  marsh,  closed  in 
by  a  thick  barrier  of  firs  and  spruces.  At  the  left,  as  we 
entered,  was  a  high  point  or  bluff,  forming  a  small  bay. 

Lily-pads  covered  the  lake,  except  toward  the  head, 
where  was  a  space  of  dark  water. 

Over  the  whole  brooded  an  air  of  utter  loneliness,  which, 
aided  by  the  dull,  heavy  sky,  rested  with  a  depressing 
weight  upon  my  spirits. 

"  'Tis  a  lonesome  kind  o'  place,  as  I  telled  ye !"  said 
Harvey,  in  a  whisper,  ceasing  to  paddle,  as  did  Phin  to 
row,  "  that  is,  as  fur  as  menkind  goes,  but  not  deer,"  point- 
ing to  where  the  broad  margin  was  cut.  up  by  the  sharp, 
delicate  feet  of  these  creatures.  "  And  yes,  by  golly,  see 
there  !  there's  a  dozen  tracks  or  more  of  moose.  It's  goin' 
to  be  a  good  night  for  floatin'.  But  come,  Phin,  make  a 
smudge  while  I  git  out  some  sticks  fur  a  fire,  or  Mr.  Smith 
'11  be  eat  up  sun  with  the  flies ;  and  after  that  we'll  bush 
up  a  shanty,  fur  it  may  rain  in  the  night." 

The  smudge  was  indeed  grateful,  for  every  inch  of  my 
face  and  hands  seemed  to  hold  a  musquito  and  a  midge 
added.  But  I  comforted  myself  philosophically  with  the 
reflection,  while  I  was  thus  being  set  on  fire  by  the  infernal 
insects,  that  the  terrible  black  fly,  which  draws  blood  with 
every  sting,  was  not  also  marauding.  The  golden  days  of 
June  are  dimmed  by  his  horrors,  but  the  sun  of  mid-July 
gives  him  his  general  quietus,  although  he  does  not  entirely 


244  WOODS  AND  WATEKS; 

disappear  until  the  other  little  winged  pests  of  the  forest 
vanish. 

"  I've  met  with  'm,"  said  Harvey,  in  answer  to  my  ques- 
tion, "  all  'long  till  cold  weather,  with  the  other  flies." 

"  Where  on  earth  do  they  come  from,  Harvey?"  I  asked, 
pantomiming  wildly  in  the  air. 

"  The  black  flies  hatches  in  rapids  and  swift  water,  and 
also  in  yaller  lily  blossoms ;  the  mitchets  in  fir  and  spruce 
trees,  and  the  musquiters  in  swamps.  But  the  Old  Sanko 
unly  knows  what  the  critters  hatch  at  all  fur ;"  and  Harvey 
commenced,  with  Phin,  making  the  camp. 

I  sat  on  an  old  stump  and  watched  the  two.  A  few 
hacks  of  Harvey's  axe  brought  down  a  maple,  from  which 
he  detached  the  limbs.  He  then  divided  the  trunk  into 
suitable  logs,  splitting  them  for  the  camp-fire,  which,  with 
the  aid  of  dry  sticks  strewed  around,  was  soon  merrily 
blazing.  Meanwhile,  Phin  had  levelled  a  small  hemlock, 
and  stripped  its  branches,  from  which  he  cut  with  his 
wood-knife  the  fringes  for  our  beds.  While  one  then 
planted  in  front  of  a  smooth-faced  rock  two  crotched  poles, 
with  a  cross-stick,  the  other  girdled  a  couple  of  spruces, 
and  by  inserting  his  axe,  stripped  lengths  of  the  bark  for 
the  sides  and  roof.  In  a  brief  time  the  shanty  was  com- 
pleted. 

"  Qui-r-r-r-r-r-r !"  said  Harvey,  lighting  his  pipe  by  the 
camp-fire,  after  he  and  Phin  had  removed  the  blankets  and 
other  needful  articles  from  the  boat  to  the  shanty,  and  seat- 
ing himself  to  prepare  the  jack,  "  how  them  tree-toads 
squawk !  They're  queer  things,  Mr.  Smith.  You  can't 
tell,  half  the  time,  where  the  noise  they  make  comes  from. 
You  may  be  lookin'  right  at  the  critters,  that  is,  ef  you 
look  sharp,  fur  it's  unpos'ble  a'most  to  see  'm  ;  and  there's 
another  thing ;  they  look  jest  like  a  big  wart  on  a  limb,  or 
a  spot  o'  moss  or  a  knob  on  the  bark,  as  much  as  one  wild 
pigeon's  like  another.  But  as  I  was  sayin',  ef  so  be  you 
look  right  at  'm,  the  squirkin'  they  make  don't  seem  to 
come  from  them,  but  some  other  place." 


OR,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.         245 

The  air  rang  with  the  hollow  notes  the  little  minstrels 
piped,  while  the  deep  gulp,  or  rather  smothered  roar,  of  a 
bull-frog  now  and  then  sounded,  which  seemed  to  jar  the 
log  it  came  from. 

All  was  now  ready  for  our  night-hunt  after  the  moosa 
hoped  for,  notwithstanding  honest  Leo's  disappointment, 
and  we  embarked. 

The  jack,  in  the  intense,  quiet  darkness,  shed  a  bright 
light  on  all  objects  within  its  range. 

Phin  managed  the  paddle  with  the  same  noiseless  skill  I 
had  so  often  admired,  while  Harvey  sat  under  the  jack,  in 
an  attitude  of  intense  watchfulness,  with  his  double-bar- 
relled rifle  on  his  knees.  Watch,  to  prevent  mistakes,  had 
been  chained  to  a  post  of  the  shanty. 

On  the  little  Bluebird  stole,  close  to  the  shore. 

Once  or  twice  Harvey  lifted  a  warning  hand,  or  motioned, 
but,  after  a  moment's  gazing,  or  bend  of  his  ear  aside,  he 
relapsed  again  into  his  passive  attitude. 

"  I'll  tell  ye  what  'tis,  Mr.  Smith !"  at  last  he  said,  but  in 
a  low  whisper,  "  old  Leo  I  bleeve  has  skeered  all  the  moose 
off,  and  deer  too.  We've  bin  'most  half  round  the  lake, 
and  here's  the  clear  part  o'  the  water,  and  nothin'  seen  or 
heerd.  But  we  may  hev  luck  yet,  after  gittin'  past  this 
bank.  A  leetle  clusser  to  the  edge,  Phin !" 

We  passed  through  the  clear  space,  struck  the  pads  again, 
and  went  rustling  on. 

Opposite,  I  saw  the  camp-fire  like  a  red  speck  on  the 
blackness,  but  it  was  soon  lost. 

We  had  now  reached  the  inner  side  of  the  point  or  bluff, 
near  our  starting  point.  Suddenly  we  heard  a  paddling  in 
the  water.  Harvey  thrust  his  head  forward  ;  a  quick  deep 
snort  sounded ;  he  motioned  to  the  right,  then  to  the  left, 
the  boat  obeying  closely  ;  then  came  the  click  of  the  gun- 
locks. 

At  the  same  time  I  saw  two  large  orbs  of  pallid  flame, 
and  the  darkness  gathered  around  them  into  a  mass  which 
rose  higher  and  higher,  and  loomed  nearer,  till  a  huge  black 


246  WOODS  AND  WATERS, 

hulk  stood  before  the  jack,  and  hanging  over  it  a  large 
head,  with  blazing  eyeballs,  surmounted  by  what  appeared 
to  be  an  enormous  half  circle. 

Harvey  gave  a  quick  backward  gesture,  the  boat  drew 
to  the  rear  about  a  rod,  and  then  two  sharp  reports  rang, 
so  close  together  as  to  be  nearly  blended.  A  violent  splash- 
ing followed,  with  several  terrific  snorts,  and  thick,  heavy 
blows  of  breath,  and  I  heard  Harvey  exclaim, 

"  He's  got  it,  he's  down  !  that's  a  dead  moose  !  up  with 
the  boat,  Phin,"  whipping  out  his  wood-knife,  "  but  slow, 
slow  ;  they're  an  awful  critter  if  they're  unly  wounded.  I 
rather  hev  an  idee,  though,  he's  got  enough  on't." 

The  boat  glided  cautiously  up,  the  mass  did  not  stir,  and 
Harvey,  bending  low,  made  a  quick  motion  with  his  knife. 

"  Dead  as  a  smoked  trout,"  said  Harvey,  with  an  exultant 
laugh,  "  and  his  throat  cut  to  boot.  Now  fur  gittin'  'im 
round  the  p'int  to  the  shanty.  He's  a  big  critter,  and  aint 
to  be  handled  like  a  mushrat,  but  T  guess  we  kin  with  hard 
strainin'.  This  is  great  luck,  Mr.  Smith !  It  '11  be  hang 
with  old  Leo  all  the  time  when  he  hears  on't. 

"  We  wont  dress  'im  till  mornin',  Phin,"  continued  he,  as 
we  landed  the  carcass,  "  and  as  this  luck's  rael  old  hunderd 
s'posen  we  take  a  drink  all  round.  What  d'ye  say,  Mr. 
Smith  ?  Come,  Watch,  stop  yer  yelpin'  and  whinin'.  You 
seem  to  be  mighty  farse  to  git  at  a  dead  moose,  pup,  but  be 
still,  or  I'll  make  yer  yell  fur  suthin',  and  it's 

'  Lighted  with  canneon  the  wilderness  blazed.' 

My  'specks  to  ye,  Mr.  Smith !" 

The  savage  lake ;  the  bark  shanty ;  the  blazing  camp-fire, 
the  black  forest,  all  presented  an  impressive  picture.  Height- 
ening it  was  the  mass  near  me ;  that  of  an  animal  uncom- 
mon even  in  this  wild  region,  its  existence  scarce  believed 
in  by  the  denizens  of  our  cities,  and  fast  disappearing 
from  these  dark  haunts,  to  live  but  in  the  traditions  of  the 
hunter's  fireside.  My  two  guides  also  had  their  place  in 


OR,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.  247 

my  solitary  musing.  Seated  in  careless  attitudes  by  the 
camp-fire,  the  flame  tinging  their  bronzed  features  and  rude 
garb,  they  represented  a  class  indigenous  to  the  region. 
With  eye,  ear,  every  sense  sharpened  to  intensity,  full 
of  forest  resources,  self-reliant  and  brave,  they  seemed  a  por- 
tion of  the  forest,  like  the  deer  and  the  panther. 

Again  I  asked  myself  if  man  is  happier  for  all  his  cul- 
ture and  refinement !  living  a  life  whose  air  is  thick  with 
human  sighs,  and  whose  path  is  thronged  with  weary  foot- 
steps. And  yet  in  all  this  misery,  may  there  not  be  design  ? 
May  not  the  All- Wise  -Father  be  leading  man  through 
puritying  trial  to  the  height  predestined  ere  the  fall  ?  Pro- 
gression is  His  law.  The  bud  becomes  a  flower,  the  chry- 
salis a  butterfly,  "  this  mortal  puts  on  immortality."  I 
cling  to  the  hope  that  humanity,  with  all  its  burden  of  woe, 
is  moving  in  the  right  direction ;  falling  back  here,  but 
advancing  there ;  the  long  line  reeling  and  plunging  along 
but  onward,  till  in  the  future  ages  it  may  struggle  up  into 
the  unclouded  sunlight  of  Truth.  Oh  blessed  Millennium ! 
dream  and  hope  of  Prophet  and  Apostle !  when  will  your 
splendors  dawn !  when  will  the  earthly  happiness  man 
sighs  and  toils  for,  descend  upon  the  earth  ! 

The  falling  asunder  of  a  log  in  the  camp-fire  woke  me 
from  my  reverie.  The  wind  had  risen  and  was  moaning  in 
the  forest  like  the  wail  of  a  broken  heart,  and  rain  was 
beginning  to  fall  like  tears.  I  retreated  into  the  shanty, 
whither  my  guides  had  preceded  me,  and  in  listening  to 
the  increasing  wind  which  soon  roared  through  the  forest, 
like  the  rumble  of  distant  breakers,  I  fell  asleep. 


248  WOODS  AND  WATERS: 


CHAPTER  XX. 


Back  to  Tapper's  Lake. — Night  Sail  down  the  Lake. — The  Echo. — Deserted 
Camp. — Message,  woods  fashion. — Tapper's  Lake  left. — Down  the  Racket. 
Indian  Camp. — The  Water-lily. — Legend  of  its  Origin. — The  Mink. — News 
of  the  Party. — The  Eagle-nest. — Through  Racket  Pond. — The  Island. — The 
Irish  Clearing. — Captain  Peter's  Rocks. — Camp  at  Setting-Pole  Rapids. 


THE  morning  arose  clear  and  inspiriting.  The  guides 
had  dressed  and  quartered  the  moose,  and  at  the  early 
breakfast  taken  on  the  inner  sheet  of  fresh,  fragrant  spruce 
bark,  I  first  tasted  that  wild  wood,  delicate  luxury,  a  moose's 
lip. 

We  then  embarked  upon  our  return  course ;  I  taking  a 
farewell  glance  at  Mud  Lake,  as  it  hid  its  sombre  loneliness 
from  the  radiance  of  the  morning,  like  sorrow  from  the 
gladness  of  the  world.  At  sunset  we  hailed  once  more  the 
plunging  waters  of  Bog  River  Falls. 

We  angled  in  the  upper  pool  and  in  the  tossing  waters 
at  the  foot  of  the  cascade,  with  the  soft,  pleasant  light 
from  the  west  sprinkled  over  the  scene ;  and  in  a  brief  half- 
hour  we  caught  sufficient  trout  for  our  supper  and  break- 
fast at  Camp  Cedar.  Harvey  and  Phin  then  stretched 
themselves  on  the  bank  at  the  lowest  plunge  (for  their 
labor  on  the  carries  with  the  moose  and  boat  both  had  been 
severe),  while  I  explored  the  beautiful  falls — the  several 
channels  braiding  the  rocks  as  they  dashed  to  the  basin 
above  me  and  then  poured  in  a  rich,  divided  mass  of  white 
into  the  lake ;  the  rocky  nooks  at  the  side  where  the  wild- 
flower  dipped  its  chalice  and  the  bush  laved  its  leaves ;  the 
spray's  silver ;  the  dark  pools  where  the  dashing  waters 


OR,  SUMMER  IN   THE  SARAXACS.  249 

paused  suddenly,  gathering  into  stagnant  quiet  the  floating 
plants  and  foam-bells. 

We  launched  upon  the  lake  once  more,  pulling  toward 
our  shanty  of  the  spring.  The  twilight  stole  around  us  as 
we  enjoyed  our  supper  at  the  open  front  of  our  bark  camp, 
inhaling  the  spicy  odors  of  the  woods  and  watching  the 
melting  colors  of  the  water. 

We  were  interrupted  by  a  furious  yelping  which  burst 
from  the  side  of  the  shanty,  and  in  a  moment  more,  was 
ringing  in  the  woods  arousing  a  thousand  echoes. 

"  Watch,  by  golly  1"  exclaimed  Harvey,  and  he  rushed 
with  Phin  around  the  corner  of  the  shanty. 

"  Sure  enough,"  said  the  former,  reappearing,  with  a 
collar  and  chain,  "  Watch  is  off.  He's  seen  a  deer,  I  'spose, 
and's  after  'im." 

"  I  chained  'im  to  a  stump,  round  there,"  chimed  in  Phin, 
"  and  let  the  collar  loose  a  leetle." 

"  And  he's  slipped  it  off,"  said  Harvey.  "  I'm  dreffle 
sorry.  He's  as  valy'ble  to  me  as  the  ball  o'  my  thumb. 
Watch !  Watch !" 

The  echo  alone  came  back  from  the  woods. 

"  It's  no  go,"  said  Harvey.  "  But  I  guess  we'd  better 
wait  a  leetle,  and  then  ef  he  don't  turn  up,  we'll  move  torts 
camp,  and  mebbee  he'll  come  in  the  mornin'." 

The  dusk  gathered  on  the  landscape,  and  the  barred  owl 
skimmed  the  bushes  in  his  velvet  flight,  giving  now  and 
then  his  strange  laugh. 

The  umber  hues  settled  at  length  into  the  blacks  of  the 
forest  and  the  clear  darks  of  the  slumbering  lake.  Mount 
Morris  loomed  up  with  an  occasional  flit  of  summer  light- 
ning around  his  brow ;  the  Hawk's  Nest  bore  a  jewel  in  its 
hollow,  and  the  Panther  seemed  watching  with  a  starry  eye 
over  the  raven  woods  of  the  wild  river  we  had  so  lately 
tracked. 

After  vainly  waiting  an  hour  for  the  return  of  Watch, 
we  embarked  for  Camp  Cedar. 

A  divine  quiet  tranced  the  fragrant  night.    The  mea- 


250  WOODS  AND  WATERS; 

sured  dip  of  oar  and  paddle,  and  the  low  ripple  at  the  bow, 
alone  disturbed  the  silence.  A  starry  realm  was  glittering 
on  the  water.  Islands  lay  before  us,  each  one  mass  of  black  ; 
but  as  we  glided  by,  the  trees  would  part,  letting  out  the 
stars.  Crawling  motions  were  perceptible  along  and  be- 
neath the  banks,  doubtless  of  the  loon  or  mink,  skulking 
into  coverts. 

Suddenly  Harvey  lifted  his  voice  in  a  cry  of  "  Watch !" 
The  effect  was  magical.  An  echo  started  up.  Far  away 
it  sped  in  dulcet  boundings,  and  stopped.  Again  it  sprang 
— away,  away  —  far,  far,  far — and  was  lost.  Again  he 
shouted.  Again  the  bell-like  echo — pausing,  sounding, 
stopping,  sounding — on,  on,  fainter,  fainter,  fainter — seem- 
ing to  pierce  illimitable  depths ;  waxing  more  ethereal,  more 
transparent,  till  it  melted  so  deliciously,  the  tingling  ear 
could  scarcely  tell  the  delicate  sound  had  ceased. 

Two  hours  passed  on,  the  shores  and  islands  loosening 
from  their  massed  blackness  as  we  neared  them,  with  the 
same  ethereal  melting  of  the  magical  echo  waked  by  the 
frequent  shout  of  Harvey. 

We  had  now  reached  the  farther  end  of  the  east  Brother 
Island,  when  Harvey  exclaimed, 

"  I  don't  see  no  signs  of  the  camp.  There  aint  a  spark 
o'  fire  !  I  guess  they've  pulled  up  stakes!" 

Sure  enough,  no  tent  glimmered  from  the  gloom,  and  the 
sounds  of  nature,  generally  hushed  in  the  close  presence 
of  man,  were  in  full  career.  Among  them  was  an  occasional 
chest-note  rolled  out  by  a  wakeful  frog  ;  the  silvery  chirp 
of  the  cricket  sounded  about  the  space,  and  a  fir  seemed 
tolling  a  little  bell  in  its  dark  steeple. 

"  That's  the  grey  owl,  I  telled  ye  about  on  the  Eacket,  makin' 
the  noise  in  the  fir  there,"  said  Harvey  as  we  struck  the 
shore.  "They're  all  gone  sure,"  continued  he,  stepping  out 
and  hauling  the  bow  up  the  margin.  "  Here  Phin,  light  the 
jack,  and  hand  me  some  o'  them  pine  knots  from  the  box,  and 
we'll  hev  a  fire  a-burnin',  that  '11  make  this  dark  hole  laugh." 

Kindling  the  knots  and  the  jack  from  his  matches,  Phin 


OR,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.  251 

planted  the  first  among  the  stumps  and  logs  around,  and 
then  threw  the  jack's  half-circle  of  light  upon  a  charred  log, 
which  told  where  had  been  the  camp  fire.  Soon  another 
fire  blazed  there,  pouring  the  dark  scene  full  of  ruddy, 
merry  light. 

Immediately  a  stick,  bearing  in  its  split  head  a  piece  of 
silver  birch  bark,  and  inserted  in  an  old  log,  sprang  to  sight. 
On  the  bark  were  pencil  marks  (the  most  villanous  scratches 
imaginable,  the  words  sprawling  into  each  other  as  if  for  a 
general  fight),  which  ran  thus,  "  gwontewsetnpolraped." 

"  What  in -the  name  of  common  sense  is  this  rigmarole, 
Harvey  ?"  said  I,  after  trying  it  upside  down,  backwards, 
and  all  ways  at  once. 

"  I  thought  they'd  go  there,"  said  Harvey,  taking  his 
pipe  from  his  mouth,  and  glancing  at  the  scrawl.  "  It's 
jest  as  I  consated." 

"  Go  where?"  enquired  I. 

"  Why,  the  bark  tells  ye!  to  Settin'  Pole  Eapids." 

"  Oh !"  said  I.  "  Well,  we'd  better  join  them  in  the 
morning !" 

"  Sarten,"  returned  Harvey.  "  'Twont  take  more  'n  two 
or  three  hours.  They're  unly  a  mile  below  Racket  Pond, 
and  \that's  scarce  three  miles  from  here.  But  what  say 
yer,  Mr.  Smith,  to  a  moose-steak  afore  turnin'  in  ?" 

"  It  wouldn't  be  amiss.  But  who  is  the  writer  of  this, 
Harvey  ?" 

"  I  kinder  consate  it's  Mart's  handwrite.  He's  the  best 
at  readin'  and  writin',  and  all  that  kind  o'  trash,  of  all  the 
guides  round.  But  come,  Phin,  let's  hev  supper." 

The  odors  of  broiling  meats  soon  vanquished  the  bal- 
samic night-scents  of  the  wilderness.  After  a  pleasant 
meal  by  the  genial  blaze  of  the  camp-fire,  which  had  long 
since  chased  away  the  chill  of  the  night,  we  wrapped 
ourselves  in  our  blankets  and  sought  repose  on  the  boughs 
left  by  the  party,  with  the  gabble  of  a  couple  of  loons, 
answered  by  the  scornful  hoots  of  half-a-dozen  owls  echo- 
ing in  our  ears. 


252  WOODS  AND  WATERS; 

Beautiful  and  bright  dawned  the  day,  suffusing  the  lake 
and  forest  with  a  cheery  beauty. 

The  morning  sunlight  has  a  jocund  splendor,  not  shared 
by  the  sunset.  The  former,  fresh  from  heaven,  seems 
gladdened  in  obeying  the  behest  of  the  Creator,  while  a 
sadness  mingles  in  the  latter's  brightness,  as  though  it 
grieved  over  what  it  had  witnessed  in  its  course ;  a  sad- 
ness that  would  darken  all  its  lustre,  were  it  not  for  joy 
that  its  bidden  ministry  for  the  time  was  ended,  and  it 
was  leaving,  if  but  for  a  season,  a  world  it  had  illumed 
only  to  behold  follies,  calamities  and  crimes. 

As  I  left  the  shanty,  I  found  Harvey  and  Phin  roaming 
about  the  deserted  camp. 

"  There's  an  orful  sight  o'  used-up  bottles  round  here," 
said  the  former ;  "all  hands  must  a  bin  more  dry  than 
common,  the  last  two  or  three  days.  There's  enough  to 
set  up  a  small  chany  shop.  Goll,  but  here's  a  bottle  filled 
with"  (uncorking  and  tasting)  "  rum,  by  golly !  and  rael 
old  hunderd,  too.  Well  now,  this  doos  beat  me,  how  they 
could  a  left  this  'ere.  Wa-a-1!  there's  no  'countin'  for 
ennything  in  this  world.  Here's  luck,  Mr.  Smith.  Oh, 
but  aint  this  fust  best !"  glueing  his  lips  to  the  bottle  again, 
and  withdrawing  it  with  a  sigh.  "  Here,  Phin,  try  some  I. 
a  leetle,  though — a  leetle !  it'll  bite  young  folks !" 

We  lingered  until  noon,  and  then  bade  adieu  to  Camp 
Cedar.  We  crossed  to  the  outlet,  the  whole  water-scene 
etherealized  in  the  dreamy  haze  of  the  noontide.  We 
turned  into  the  narrow  channel,  and  the  lovely  lake  of  the 
island-pathways  was  hidden  from  our  view. 

With  the  Indian  Park  at  our  left,  we  entered  the  basin 
into  which  the  river  broadens  in  its  downward  course.  We 
had  proceeded  some  little  distance,  when  clearing  a  bend, 
we  found  ourselves  in  a  scene  of  excitement.  A  couple 
of  bark  canoes,  in  each  of  which  was  an  Indian,  were 
darting  forward  a  little  in  advance  of  us,  while  twenty  or 
thirty  rods  ahead  was  a  deer  swimming  gallantly  down  the 
river. 


OR,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.  253 

The  sight  fired  Harvey  and  Phin. 

Down  sped  all  three  of  the  boats  in  line,  the  Indians 
gabbling  their  gutturals,  their  wild  faces  gleaming  with 
ardour. 

On  went  the  deer,  turning  toward  a  point  at  the  right. 

"  Row,  row,  row,  Phin !"  exclaimed  Harvey,  bending 
low  to  his  paddle,  "  he's  'most  to  the  shallers,  and  we  must 
be  nigher  than  this,  or  he's  off." 

As  he  spoke,  the  deer  struck  the  shallows  and  bounded 
on  in  a  shower  of  foam. 

Harvey  sprang  to  his  feet. 

"  A  leeile  nigher!"  exclaimed  he,  twitching  up  one  leg 
after  the  other,  "  a  leetle — a  leetle  I"  presenting  his  piece ; 
but  as  he  did  so,  one  of  the  Indians  fired ;  and  the  next 
moment  the  deer  vaulted  upon  the  bank  and  vanished  into 
the  forest. 

"  Well,"  said  Harvey,  lowering  his  piece,  "  I  don't  bear 
no  malice  agin  that  buck ;  he  fit  like  a  man  for  his  life. 
But,  goll,  ef  here  aint  old  Leo  agin  1" 

"  Yese,  yese,"  said  one  of  the  Indians ;  "  how  do,  how 
do?" 

"  Fust  best,  fur  an  old  man,"  returned  Harvey ;  "  how 
is't,  yourself?" 

"  Good,  good,  where  nindunhe — aha  1" 

"  Here !"  uncovering  the  quarters  from  the  blanket. 
"  Eh  !  aigh !  uh,  uh !  oh  hang !  where  git  ?  uh,  uh !  up 
dere,  down  dere,  over  dere — eh  ?" 

"  Sarten !" 

"  Oh  hang !  Onyarhe — he  go  up  de — uh,  uh— de — 
Ahonogeh  Keech-honde — dat  ees  de" — 

"  Bog  River,  I  spose  you  mean  ?" 

"  Yese,  yese !  Boog  Rivaire — up  dere — squaut" — 

"  Oh,  ef  you're  a  goin'  to  squat  agin,  I'm  off  1" 

"  Ticknee"— 

"  Goin'  to  camp,  Leo  ?" 

"  Shagh  day"- 

"  What  a  denied  old  fool"— 


254  WOODS  AND  WATERS; 

"  Yese,  yese,"  said  Leo,  smiling  and  bowing,  as  Harvey, 
in  the  energy  of  his  vexation,  motioned  toward  him. 
"  Yese,  Onyarhe  fool  of  uh,  uh,  o-kah"  (placing  his  finger 
on  his  eye),  "  fool  of,  uh,  uh,  ooh-tah"  (touching  his  ear), 
"  fool  of,  uh,  uh,  owyngawshaw"  (placing  his  hand  on  his 
heart),  "  g-r-e-a-t  beeg  Achshanuane"  (lifting  his  form),  "  de 
chief  de  Senekee !" 

"  Well,  Leo,  we  go  to  wigwam  now,"  said  Harvey. 

"Oh  yese — nindunhe  —  uh,  hah! — you  git  moose! 
Onyarhe  beeg  chief !  he  no  git  no  moose  up  dere" — 

"  Come  'long,  Leo !" 

"  Oh  yese,  you  git  moose.     0-h  hang !  yese !" 

In  a  little  cove  to  the  left,  canoes  were  moored,  and 
thither  the  Indians  led  the  way.  As  we  struck  the  bank, 
I  saw  through  the  open  trees  a  long  tent  or  shanty  on  the 
brow  of  the  ridge.  Two  of  the  canoes  were  of  birch-bark, 
beautifully  made,  sewed  with  deer's  sinews,  and  shaped  in 
a  crescent,  with  pointed  tips,  swelling  gradually  to  the 
waist  or  middle.  They  were  without  seats,  and  of  a  rich 
yellow  hue.  Moose  hair  was  braided  into  their  sides,  with 
bright  beads  and  bits  of  red  and  purple  cloth.  The  paddles 
were  smooth  ;  and  altogether  the  canoes  seemed  admirably 
fitted  for  the  streams  and  lakes  of  the  wilderness. 

The  two  other  craft  were  mere  dug-outs,  birch  logs, 
hollowed,  and  as  Harvey  expressed  it,  "  consid'ble  tottlish." 

A  peculiar  jack  for  night-hunting  leaned  against  a  tree. 
It  was  of  tin,  shaped  like  a  little  cask,  with  the  handle  in 
the  middle,  and  a  leather  blind,  so  as  either  to  cover  the 
light,  or,  by  an  aperture  the  size  of  a  buckshot,  to  diminish 
it  to  a  speck. 

A  slight  track  led  me  up  the  ridge  to  the  wigwam.  It 
was  merely  of  blankets  over  a  skeleton  of  poles,  and  stood 
in  a  small  space  cut  from  the  forest,  with  large  peeled  logs 
before  the  entrance,  evidently  the  out-door  settees. 

Two  Indian  women,  one  a  crone,  and  the  other  a  large- 
framed  girl  of  twenty,  were  in  the  shanty,  seated  on  their 
knees,  embroidering  a  pair  of  deerskin  moccasins. 


OR,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.  255 

An  Indian  lad  of  sixteen  was  on  one  of  the  logs  fasten- 
ing hooks  to  fish-lines. 

They  were  a  family  of  the  St.  Eegis  Tribe,  living  by  the 
Lake  of  the  Two  Mountains,  an  expansion  of  the  Ottawa 
Eiver  in  Canada.  Every  summer,  for  the  last  year  or  two, 
they  had  ascended  the  Kacket,  and  while  the  men  foraged  the 
waters  and  forests  for  trout  and  venison,  the  women  tanned 
deerskins  and  worked  them  into  purses  and  moccasins. 

The  girl,  I  found,  was  the  wife  of  the  Indian  I  had  seen 
among  the  lumber  people  at  Cold  Eiver. 

Although  Leo  had  joined  the  Tribe  of  the  Two  Moun- 
tains, he  was  in  fact  a  Seneca. 

"  Talk  Iroquois  ?"  said  the  girl  to  me,  after  I  had  bought 
a  pair  of  moccasins.  "  St.  Eegis  ?" 

I  shook  my  head. 

"Senekee?" 

Again  a  negative  shake. 

In  a  low,  musical  voice,  she  then  began  :  "  Hah-wen-ne-yo 
(her  broken  English  I  discard)  loved  His  children  the  Iro- 
quois. They  lived  scattered,  till  To-gan-a-we-ta  joined  them 
in  the  League,  making  the  branches  one  tree.  Then  they 
grew  mighty.  Their  tomahawks  turned  red  among  the 
snowbanks  of  the  Hurons  and  the  flowers  of  the  Chero- 
kees.  One  end  of  their  Long  House  looked  upon  the  great 
Eiver,  where  tumbles  the  Thunder- Water,  the  other  on  the 
stream  that  crawls  from  Ta-ha-wus  to  roll  into  the  Salt 
Lake  that  has  no  shore.  How  strong  and  happy  they 
were !  But  two  large  birds  with  white  wings  came — one 
up  the  stream  of  Ta-ha-wus,  the  other  up  the  Eiver  of  the 
Thunder- Water.  They  bore  the  white  man.  Where  are 
the  Iroquois  now  ?"  in  a  wailing  accent,  clasping  her  hands 
and  bowing  her  head  in  an  attitude  of  intense  grief. 

"  Grone !"  here  broke  in  the  crone.  "  Ho-de-no-sonne 
gone  !  white  man  here — red  man  no  here  no  more !" 

"Well,  Mr.  Smith,  we'd  better  be  agoin',  hadn't  we?" 
said  Harvey,  coming  up  with  Leo  and  the  other  Indian. 
M  I've  bin  lookin'  at  a  wolf's  paw  that  the  critter  'ad  gnawed 


256  WOODS  AND  WATERS; 

off  after  he'd  got  inter  Leo's  trap  out  there.  What  a  farse 
critter  a  wolf  is,  after  all !  though  I  don't  mind  'm  in  the 
woods  a  bit  more'n  a  dog.  But  good-bye,  Leo,  and  all  the 
rest  on  ye  1" 

"  Goo-bye,  goo-bye,"  returned  Leo.  "  You  kill  moose — 
me  no  kill  no  moose" 

"  Good-bye,  good-bye  I" 

"  Up  dere,  over  dere — Boog  Rivaire !  oh  hang !  goo-bye ! 
hang!" 

"  I'd  ruther  talk  to  a  beaver,  enny  day,  than  old  Leo,"  said 
Harvey,  after  we  were  afloat  again.  "  He  raally  don't  'pear 
to  onderstand  nothin'." 

We  wound  along  the  banks,  the  water  green  with  the 
floss  silk  of  the  rich,  swaying  eel-grass  which  the  boat  drew 
into  the  most  graceful  and  plume-like  shapes. 

"  The  deer's  very  fond  of  the  roots  of  that  aire  grass,"  said 
Harvey,  "  as  much  a'most  as  the  yaller  lily-stems.  The 
white  lily  they  never  take  to,  when  they  kin  git  the  other. 
The  stem's  tougher.  They're  very  fond  too,  in  the  spring, 
of  the  lily -pots." 

"  Lily-pots  ?" 

"  Yes.  They're  a  plant  that  grows  on  the  bottom  of  the 
water,  the  fust  thing  in  spring.  They  look  a  good  deal 
like  a  collyflower." 

The  white  and  yellow  water-lilies  also  grow  from  an 
immense,  rough  stem,  several  feet  in  length,  embedded  in 
the  bottom.  This  throws  out  fibres  which,  lengthening, 
lets  up  the  bud  to  blossom  on  the  surface. 

May  crowns  the  yellow  lily  with  her  gold  diadem,  but 
the  white  receives  her  perfumed  chalice  from  the  hands  of 
more  beautiful  June.  As  before  observed,  the  chalice  shuts 
at  sunset  to  re-open  at  the  morn. 

The  white  lily  delights  in  the  empire  of  the  ponds  and 
lakes,  as  if  her  loveliness  demanded  a  broad  domain,wherein 
to  smile  upon  island  and  headland,  ripple  of  breeze,  wake  of 
loon  and  shadow  of  eagle ;  but  the  sister  finds  more  con- 
genial reign  in  the  narrow  kingdom  of  stream  and  river. 


OR,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARA.NACS.  257 

The  following  is  a  St.  Regis  legend  concerning  the  origin 
of  the  lily,  yellow  and  white. 

"  The  eagle  is  screaming,  hark !  Soaring  and  scream- 
ing on  high  !  See  !  the  red  war-path  is  bright !  See !  the 
great  warrior  comes !  He,  the  Brave  of  his  people,  Wa- 
yo-tah  the  Chief  of  the  Saranacs !  He  The  Blazing  Sun. 
He  comes  from  the  trembling  Ta-ha-wi — kooh  !  the  quaking 
Ta-ha-wi.  The  Blazing  Sun  has  changed  them  to  women ! 
Hooh,  hooh,  The  Blazing  Sun  !  Wa-yo-tah,  the  Chief  of 
his  Tribe  !  Wa-yo-tah,  The  Blazing  Sun  !" 

Such  were  the  sounds  that  pealed  from  the  Isle  of  the 
Eagle  in  the  Lake  of  the  Clustered  Stars.  Beautiful  Lake 
of  islands,  that  are  strewed  on  its  bosom  of  crystal  as  spots 
on  the  back  of  the  loon ! 

Wa-yo-tah,  Chief  of  the  Lower  Saranacs,  has  come  from 
the  war-path  laden  with  scalps  of  the  wild  Ta-ha-wi — the 
foes  of  his  people  and  race.  Therefore  the  song  goes  up 
in  the  sunset  from  a  hundred  voices  ;  from  the  boy  whose 
plume  is  the  red  rose  of  the  dingle  to  the  sire  on  whose 
head  fourscore  winters  have  frozen.  And  the  matrons  and 
maidens  of  the  Tribe,  they,  too,  raise  the  song. 

And  as  all  sing,  all  dance  the  dance  of  victory.  The 
warriors  circle  the  war-post,  whirling  their  hatchets  and 
knives  that  glance  round  their  forms  as  lightnings  glance 
round  the  trees.  And  the  women  in  their  ring  apart,  sing 
their  sweet- voiced  songs  and  toss  their  arms  in  triumph. 

But  who  is  that  pale  and  silent  maiden  hovering  near  the 
ring  of  the  women  ?  Pale  is  she  as  the  first  little  flower  that 
Spring  opens  with  her  timid  touch,  save  when  the  red  tints 
glance  across  her  face,  as  sunset  glances  on  rippling  waters. 

Now  her  eyes  flash  in  triumph  and  now  their  sparkle  is 
quenched  in  tears.  Who  is  this  lovely  maid  of  the  Saranacs  ? 
Why  does  she  stand  apart,  changeful  in  her  mood  as  the 
month  of  the  dawning  blossoms — the  month  of  the  sun  and 
rain  ?  Ah,  0-see-tah,  sweet  Bird  of  the  Tribe !  she  loves  and 
she  suffers !  She  loves  the  Chief  of  her  people,  Wa-yo-tah 

The  Blazing  Sun.  She  loves  and  she  suffers.  Hah-wen-ne-yo 
17 


258  WOODS  AND   WATEES; 

has  given  a  mate  to  the  lodge  of  the  Sun  ;  not  0-see-tah  the 
Bird;  but  To-scen-do  the  Morning.  Still,  Wa-yo-tah  is 
young  and  has  seen  that  0-see-tah  loves  him,  and  his  own 
heart  is  wild  with  love  for  O-see-tah.  And  therefore  has 
he  whispered  in  her  ear,  "  Let  the  beautiful  Bird  of  the 
Saranacs  warble  to  The  Sun  her  melody  of  love!"  And 
she  has  answered,  "  Go  !  Wa-yo-tah  does  not  well !  Hah- 
wen-ne-yo  has  said,  '  Let  the  glance  of  The  Sun  shine  only 
on  the  cheek  of  The  Morning!'  Gro,  leave  the  Bird  of  the 
Saranacs  to  pour  her  note  in  loneliness !" 

But  Wa-yo-tah  has  despaired  not ;  he  has  trusted  that  the 
music  of  The  Bird  might  still  be  waked  to  the  kindling 
glance  of  The  Sun.  And  now  in  this  hour  of  his  triumph, 
he  has  watched  her  as  she  smiled  and  wept,  blushed  and 
grew  pale,  to  his  praises  from  the  Tribe. 

And  at  last  the  sorrowful  maid,  she,  the  lonely  0-see- 
tah — pure  as  the  fountain  under  the  rock — has  unbound 
her  fleet  canoe  and  fled  through  the  starry  darkness  to  an 
island  of  the  lake — fled  to  moan  her  sorrow  to  the  water 
and  the  wind. 

Wa-yo-tah  has  watched  her  and  followed.  "  Bird  of  the 
Saranacs,  let  thy  warble  cheer  the  heart  of  Wa-yo-tah.  Behold, 
he  has  come  from  the  trail  of  the  proud  Ta-ha-wi,  and  his 
belt  is  heavy  with  the  scalps  of  the  foe !  '  Hooh,  the  Brave 
of  his  people  !  Hooh,  The  Blazing  Sun  !'  These  are  the 
songs  that  pealed  in  the  ear  of  0-see-tah  and  Wa-yo-tah, 
but  all  would  Wa-yo-tah  give  for  one  note  of  love  from  the 
bright  Bird  of  his  Tribe." 

"  Away !  Sun  of  the  Saranacs  !  Shall  the  Blaze  that 
scorched  the  fierce  Ta-ha-wi  burn  the  little  Bird  that  has 
piped  to  her  harm  to  the  Fiery  Light  ?  Away  !  0-see- 
tah's  heart  is  weak,  but  her  ear  shall  not  listen  to  the 
words  of  Wa-yo-tah !" 

"  0-see-tah  must  listen  !" . 

"  Away  1" 

"  The  Bird  must  fold  her  wing  to  the  warmth  of  the 
loving  Sun  I" 


OR,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.  259 

"  Away !" 

"  O-see-tah  shall  listen  to  the  Chief  of  her  people !" 

He  darted  forward  and  she  bounded  away.  Away  her 
light  form  flew,  to  a  rock  overhanging  the  lake.  She  stood 
upon  the  edge  and  waved  him  back. 

But  he  came  onward. 

She  balanced  on  the  edge  and  waved  him  back. 

But  he  came  onward. 

She  waved  her  arms  upward  to  Hah-wen-ne-yo  and 
sprang.  Wa-yo-tah  darted  to  the  brink  and  sprang  also. 
He  rose — the  water  was  black  in  a  crossing  cloud;  the 
black  water  alone  met  his  yearning  sight.  "  O-see-tah ! 
O-see-tah  1"  as  with  maddened  strength  he  cleaved  the 
wave,  "  where  art  thou  ?  Bird  of  the  Saranacs !  ah,  beau- 
tiful Bird  of  my  Tribe,  speak !  let  Wa-yo-tah  rescue  thee 
and  no  more  will  he  molest  thee  with  his  love.  O-see-tah ! 
O-see-tah !"  but  no  voice  answered. 

And  the  East  opened  her  eye  over  the  Lake  of  the  Clus- 
tered Stars,  but  where  was  the  Bird  of  the  Saranacs? 
"  Where  is  my  little  Bird,  the  little  sad  warbler  of  my 
lodge  ?"  asked  the  old  father — a  Brave  of  many  battles. 
"  Oh,  where  is  my  Bird,  my  Bird  ?"  moaned  the  mother — 
she  the  most  honored  of  all  the  matrons  that  bore  the  totem 
of  the  Panther.  "  Where  is  O-see-tah  ?"  asked  the  young 
warriors,  and  "  Alas,  where  is  O-see-tah  ?"  asked  the  bloom- 
ing maidens. 

The  Chief  heard,  and  as  he  heard,  his  head  sank  lower 
and  lower.  The  day  passed  and  the  night,  and  again  the 
East  opened  her  brightness,  and  his  head  drooped  lower 
still,  and  his  step  was  slow,  for  his  heart  was  heavy.  And 
the  sorrowful  To-scen-do  told  her  sire  that  Wa-yo-tah 
moaned  in  his  sleep  like  the  pine  in  the  low  breeze  of  the 
evening. 

Well  might  Wa-yo-tah  moan,  and  name  himself  Ne-so. 
Truly  had  the  Sun  become  the  Night ;  Night  with  the  wail 
of  the  whippoorwill,  instead  of  the  Sun  with  the  scream  of 
the  eagle.  Night  with  eternal  wail ;  wail  for  the  love  that 


260  WOODS  AND  WATERS; 

Hah-wen-ne-yo  frowned  on  ;  wail  for  the  love  that  should 
have  been  all  To-scen-do's ;  wail  for  the  love  that  had 
destroyed  The  Bird ;  wail,  wail  for  the  fate  of  the  beautiful 
Bird  of  the  Saranacs ! 

And  the  Night  sought  in  his  sorrow  the  lonely  lodge  of 
the  Great  Medicine  of  the  Tribe. 

As  noon  gleamed  on  the  village,  a  fisherman  came  with 
tidings  of  a  strange  sight.  In  a  hidden  cove  of  the  Isle  of 
Elms,  was  a  robe  of  flowers  on  the  breast  of  the  water,  some 
white  as  the  feathers  of  winter  and  others  yellow  as  the 
lake  at  sunset.  The  Tribe  all  hurried  to  the  scene,  and 
there  indeed  was  the  sheet  of  blossom. 

And  "  See !"  said  the  old  Medicine,  the  pine  ringed  with 
a  hundred  winters,  "  there  lives  0-see-tah !  the  white  her 
purity,  the  yellow  her  burning  love !  And  see !"  said  he, 
after  they  had  gazed  again  and  again,  on  the  beautiful  blos- 
soms, "  holy  in  her  purity,  the  love  still  sways  her.  She 
closes  her  bright  heart  in  sorrow  at  the  going  of  the  sun, 
to  open  it  in  joy  at  his  coming." 

"  And,"  continued  the  old  Indian,  the  narrator,  "  Hah- 
wen-ne-yo,  to  mark  between  the  love  and  the  purity,  placed 
a  moon  between  the  blossoming  of  the  two,  and  made  the 
broad  lake  cherish  the  purity,  and  the  narrow  stream  the 
love." 

We  turned  a  thicket,  and  a  light,  brisk,  sipping  sound, 
or  whistling  chirp,  came  from  the  bank. 

"  There's  a  mink  on  shore  there  somewheres,"  said  Har- 
vey. "  I  see  'im  1  He's  nosin'  up  suthin'  fur  dinner." 

The  little  animal  was  bounding  between  the  thickets  with 
its  head  grazing  the  earth,  like  a  hound's.  It  stopped  a 
moment,  and  Harvey  raised  his  rifle. 

"  Ah,  it's  gone !"  exclaimed  he,  "  yusp,  yusp — 'twill  be 
out  in  a  minute  agin  though." 

"  Let's  see  what  it  will  do,  Harvey !"  Harvey  nodded, 
and  we  glided  behind  a  bush. 

He  repeated  his  chirp,  and  the  mink  reappeared,  this 
time  pricking  its  short  ears  and  rearing  its  white-starred 


OR,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.  261 

throat,  apparently  at  some  object.  The  next  moment  a 
frog,  with  a  flying  leap,  plumped  into  the  water,  and  the 
little  shore-haunter  vanished. 

"Where  do  they  have  their  burrow,  Harvey?" 

"  They  don't  have  none  of  their  own,  as  a  gin'ral  thing. 
They're  squatters  like,  in  mushrat  holes.  They're  a  farse 
little  critter.  They'll  take  a  mushrat  by  the  throat  in  the 
water,  for  all  he's  the  biggest,  and  kill  'im  'most  as  quick 
as  a  dog.  But  here's  Eacket  Pond." 

This  pond,  or  Lough  Neak  (its  Indian  name  is  Tsi-kan- 
i-on-wa-res-ko-wa),  has  an  average  width  of  half  a  mile,  and 
is  three  miles  in  length. 

"'Sposin'  we  call  at  MacLaughlin's  a  moment,"  said 
Harvey,  pointing  at  a  large  log  hut  which  stood  with  out- 
houses on  the  north  bank  of  the  pond,  "  and  hear  what 
news  there  is." 

As  he  spoke  a  succession  of  yelps  burst  from  the  direc- 
tion pointed  out,  sounding  as  if  in  the  insanity  of  canine 


"  Why,  that's  Watch,  sarten,"  said  Harvey,  "  and  here  he 
comes." 

Sure  enough,  the  hound  at  seeing  his  master,  had  taken 
to  the  water,  and  whimpering,  with  his  head  up,  was  ra- 
pidly approaching.  We  pushed  to  meet  him,  and  in  a 
few  minutes  he  was  drawn  into  the  boat  by  Harvey,  shak- 
ing a  shower  of  spray  around  him,  and  the  next  moment 
was  thrusting  his  nose  all  over  his  master,  whining,  and 
twisting  his  lithe  frame  almost  double. 

"  Poor  dog,  poor  pup,  good  Watch  !  where  has  Watch 
bin,  hey?"  said  Harvey,  patting  his  head  and  smoothing 
back  his  ears,  while  Watch  broke  every  moment  out  from 
his  whine  into  a  shrill  bark  of  delight. 

"  You've  got  your  dog,  I  see,  Harve,"  said  a  man  on  the 
shore  as  the  boat  touched  it. 
•  "  Where  did  you  pick  'im  up,  Mac  ?"  returned  Harvey. 

"  B'low  Settin'  Pole  Rapids.  I  see  'im  swimmin'  crost 
the  river,  from  about  the  lay  o'  Gull  Pond." 


262  WOODS  AND  WATERS; 

"  I  hev  it.  He  left  us  last  night  at  the  head  of  Tupper'a 
Lake,  after  a  deer  I'm  sarten,  and  druv  it  inter  Gull  Pond. 
That's  it..  How  is't,  Mac,  about  the  deer  here?  Plenty?" 

"I  see  two  yisterday  at  the  Irish  Clearin',  and  an  al- 
mighty sight  o'  tracks  jest  opp'site  Captain  Peter's  Books." 

"  Did  ye  see  a  party  at  the  Eapids  ?" 

"  Oh  yes.  There's  four  on  'm  with  Cort,  Mart,  Will, 
and  Corey,  without  reck'nin'  little  Jess." 

"  Hev  they  had  enny  luck  ?" 

"  Lots  o'  trout,  and  three  deer." 

"  How  long  had  they  bin  there  ?" 

"  About  two  days,  I  b'leeve.  They're  hevin'  all  sorts  o' 
fun  there." 

"  There's  one  feller  there,"  said  a  rough-looking  black- 
bearded  woodman,  who  had  joined  us  from  the  house, 
"  a  tall  chap,  wot  seems  detarmined  on  claimin'  two  of  the 
three  deer  as  his  shots.  And  Cort,  he  backs  'im  up.  The 
three  others,  smart  bright  chaps  they  are  too,  do  nothin'  but 
laugh  when  the  tall  feller  (I  forgit  what  they  called  'im, 
but  I  call  'im  Legs,  and  dreffle  long  ones  they  are),  goes  on 
to  explain  matters,  as  he  says.  'Why  gen'l'ums,'  he'll 
say,  '  there's  no  mistake  about  it.  How  could  I  help  kill 
'm  ?  I  wasn't  ten  rods  off  from  both  on  'm.'  And  then 
they'll  laugh  agin.  He's  consid'ble  techy,  I've  an  idee,  on 
the  p'int  o'  killin'  deer,  though  he  seems  etarnally  runnin' 
the  others  on  every  other  p'int.  Oh,  they're  heving  a  high 
old  time  there." 

"  Well,  we  must  be  a  goin'.  We're  on  the  way  to  jine 
this  party.  We  b'long  to  'm." 

"  So  I  onderstand,"  said  the  woodman.  "  Legs  was  a- 
shoutin'  and  a-preachin'  about  Smith  (I  b'leeve  that  was 
the  name)  gittin'  up  Bog  River  there,  and  never  findin'  his 
way  out  '  Fur  you  see,  gen'l'ums,'  he'd  say,  '  ef  there's 
a  wrong  way,  Smith's  al'ys  sure  to  take  it,  and  ef  Harvey 
should  lose  sight  on  'im  a  minute,  he'd  stray  off,  and  ef  he 
found  his  way  out 't  all,  which  I've  no  idee  he  would,  he  'd 
come  out  torts  St.  Lorrence ;  kind  o'  burrer  out  like  a  mole." 


OR,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.  263 

"  Push  off,  Harvey,"  said  I,  "  or  we  wont  get  down  there 
to-day." 

" Good  bye!"  said  Harvey,  with  a  chuckle,  and,dipping 
his  paddle  while  Phin,  grinning,  bent  to  his  oars,  we 
stretched  out  into  the  pond. 

"  In  them  rushes  out  there,"  remarked  Harvey,  after  a 
little  while,  and  dipping  his  head  to  the  north,  where  a 
broad  surface  of  those  plants  extended,  "  it's  fust  best  for 
floatin',  and  'long  in  "Wolf  Brook,  that  comes  in  out  there. 
But  look  at  the  eagle's  nest  on  that  dead  pine,"  pointing 
out  the  object  on  the  same  side  of  the  bank.  "  You  kin 
see  the  young  'un  lookin'  over  the  edge  o'  the  nest  for 
its  daddy  or  mammy  to  come  home,  with  suthin'  to  eat, 
I  'spose." 

True ;  there  was  a  small  head  pointing  from  the  grey 
nest,  and  I  fancied  the  gleam  of  the  young  tawny  eyes,  as 
the  fierce  dam  swooped  down  with  the  partridge  or  rabbit 
for  the  expected  feast. 

We  now  glided  along  a  shore  (also  on  the  north  side), 
which  presented  that  same  soft  and  rural  look,  with  its 
single  trees,  shrubbery-like  bushes,  and  smooth,  green-sward 
I  had  so  often  admired  throughout  the  forest.  At  the  lefl 
rose  the  top  of  Gull  Pond  Mountain,  and  the  higher  sum- 
mit of  Mount  Morris ;  and  all  around,  with  the  exception  of 
MacLaughlin's  uplands,  and  the  beautiful  park  just  noticed, 
swept  as  usual  the  wilderness. 

We  landed,  for  a  moment,  on  a  beautiful  island  full 
of  elms,  where,  as  Harvey  said,  "  There  might  be  suthin' 
of  a  chance  o'  seein'  a  deer,"  and  where  he  pointed  out  a 
tree,  in  the  fork  of  which  "he'd  time  and  agin  sot  hours 
watchin'  fur  deer  on  the  shores  and  round ;"  and  then,  find- 
ing his  "  suthin'  of  a  chance "  nothing,  we  continued  on 
our  way. 

The  old  guide  also  showed  me  the  Irish  Clearing,  or  the 
"  Paddy's  Choppin',"  a  steep  clearing  on  the  south  bank, 
"  made  by  a  little  stumpy  Paddy  who'd  cleared  the  coun- 
try ;"  adding,  "  there,  wa'n't  no  better  place  fur  deer  about." 


264  WOODS   AND   WATERS  J 

In  a  mile  or  two  more,  the  banks  approached  each  other. 

"  Cap'n  Peter's  Eocks,  and  we're  through  the  pond,"  said 
Harvey,  glancing  at  several  immense  grey  masses  standing 
in  the  water  and  separating  it  into  alleys.  "  Old  Cap'n 
Peter  was  an  Injin  and  used  to  hide  his  game  there. 
Mitchell  Sabatis,  the  Injin  guide  up  in  Newcomb,  is  his 
son." 

A  mile  more  of  the  stream  was  passed,  and  we  came 
to  a  broad  bend,  the  gleam  of  a  fire  breaking  out  from 
among  the  trees. 

"  There's  the  camp,"  said  Harvey,  "  and  a  nice,high,  dry 
spot  they  hev,  too.  It's  at  the  head  o'  the  rapids.  Don't 
ye  hear  'm  rattle  ?" 

We  struck  the  bank  at  our  right,  where  a  beautiful  cove 
rounded  into  the  shore.  Here  we  found  the  boats  of  our 
party  moored  to  the  logs,  and  drawn  half-way  into  the 
wild  grass.  A  light  path  wound  up  the  bluff  or  headland, 
and,  ascending,  I  found  myself  at  the  camp. 

A  large  pine,  with  a  hollow  in  its  heart  from  decay  and 
fire,  was  at  my  left ;  and  flanking  it,  with  a  background  of 
thicket  parallel  to  the  rapids  below  and  with  an  open  space 
before,  stood  the  two  tents.  A  large  camp-fire  blazed  in 
front.  A  buck's  head  was  looking  from  the  hollowed  pine 
on  a  pole,  and  the  usual  quarters  of  venison  and  piles  of 
trout  were  hanging  and  lying  around.  Supper  was  now 
preparing.  Cort  was  toasting  slices  of  bread,  fastened  by 
wooden  pins  to  a  large  maple  block ;  Mart  was  cooking 
rows  of  trout,  pinned  in  the  same  manner,  one  row  over 
the  other,  with  shreds  of  salt  pork,  to  a  concave  flake  of 
birch  bark  curled  at  the  bottom  to  receive  the  drippings ; 
and  "Will  was  giving  the  "  ramrod  toast "  to  cuts  of  venison, 
i.e.  roasting  them  on  sticks  which  he  held  before  the  fire. 
Corey  was  bending  over  the  camp-kettle,  ladling  out  smok- 
ing hot  potatoes  on  a  leaf  of  spruce  bark.  The  table  was 
at  one  side,  with  Little  Jess  arranging  the  pewter  dishes 
upon  it,  while,  seated  on  a  log,  were  my  three  comrades. 

Wandering  sunset  lights  put  their  kindling  touch  upon 


OR,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.  265 

various  points  of  this  picture,  chequering  tents,  comrades 
and  guides ;  and  showered  into  the  forest  so  that  a  sprout, 
a  mossy  stone,  a  bit  of  cedar  fringe,  a  tassel  of  tamarack, 
or  the  round  of  a  hemlock  stem  glowed  seemingly  in  golden 
fire. 

"  Hurrah !"  exclaimed  Bingham,  standing  up  and  strik- 
ing an  attitude.  "  Art  thou  a  goblin  damned ! — sent  to 
torment  us  before  our  time ! — come,  let  me  clutch  thee" — 
mixing  his  quotations  and  gestures  most  energetically. 
"Gentlemen,"  taking  an  oratorical  position,  "behold  a 
wonder !  Smith  has  returned !  Chance  or  Harvey  Moody 
has  favored  him,  not  himself!  He  never  would  alone  have 
returned  to  bless  his  friends.  Why,  I  made  up  my  mind 
to  begin  to-night  to  mourn  the  dead.  Well,  we're  awful 
glad  to  see  you,  Smith !  But  where's  your  moose  ?" 

"  In  the  boat !"  said  I,  after  exchanging  warm  greetings 
with  Ealph  and  Gaylor. 

"  Umph !"  said  Bingham,  "  as  much  as  I  am  in  Elysium, 
among  the  gods.  How  this  world  is  given  to — what  shall 
I  add,  gentlemen  ?" 

"Add,  bragging  about  deer  one  never  shoots,"  said 
Gaylor. 

"  Confound  it  I"  returned  Bingham  in  a  heat,  "  I  tell  you, 
I've  no  more  doubt  I  shot  those  deer 'than — but  here  comes 
Harvey  and  Phin !  Well,  Harvey,  is  it  a  fact  you've  got 
a  moose  among  ye  ?" 

"  It's  a  rael  old  hunderd  truth,  Mr.  Bingham !  you  kin 
go  down  to  the  boat  and  look  at  the  quarters !" 

"Lord!"  said  Bingham,  "what  luck  some  folks  have. 
Still,  two  deer  are  equal  to  one  moose,  eh,  Harvey  ?" 

"  Why,  yes ;  that  is  about,  ef  so  be  Mr.  Bingham  has 
shot  two." 

"If!  if!"  said  Bingham.  "Well,  I'll  say  no  more," 
waving  his  hand.  "  Cort,  bring  me  my  rifle,  I  want  to 
examine  it  a  moment." 

Here  Sport  appeared  around  a  thicket,  trotting  rapidly 
sidewise,  steering  by  his  perpendicular  tail,  while  Drive 


266  WOODS  AND  WATERS; 

cleared  a  bush  with  a  flying  bound,  both  darting  toward 
Watch.  The  three  in  a  moment  made  one  revolving  braid, 
then  galloped  away,  the  two  lavishing  caressing  bites  on 
"Watch,  until,  gurgling  and  yelping,  all  disappeared  down 
the  bank.  Meanwhile,  Pup,  knowing  he  would  receive 
in  the  hubbub  more  cuffs  than  caresses,  had  stood  apart, 
jerking  himself  off  his  feet  with  his  barks.  As  the  three 
vanished,  however,  he  set  off  after  them  with  legs  that 
seemed  split  up  into  a  centipede's. 

Eight  pleasantly  passed  our  meal,  all  together  once  more, 
and  after  it  I  strolled  about,  marking  the  localities.  From 
the  overhanging  corner  of  the  bluff,  where  the  rapids  begin, 
I  looked  at  the  bold  sweeping  bend,  the  quiet  cove,  the 
high  banks ;  and  caught  glimpses  of  the  dashing,  foaming 
waters,  now  crimsoned  by  the  sunset.  An  evening  in  camp 
succeeded,  the  hours  passing  quickly  away  in  smoking, 
talking  and  dipping  moderately  into  Harvey's  fragrant 
punches,  with  the  monotone  of  the  rapids  filling  the  pauses 
(to  say  nothing  of  the  needle-points  of  the  infernal  mus- 
quitoes  sprinkling  us  all  over  as  with  fire-dust)  till  the  stars 
of  midnight  warned  ys  to  repose. 


OR,  SUMMER  IX  THE  SARANACS.  267 


CHAPTEE  XXI. 

Fish-Hawk  Eapids. — Perciefield  Falls. — Death  of  Sabele. — Beaver  Trip 
agreed  upon.— Floating.— The  Dark  Woods.— The  Foot-Tread.— The 
Indian  Jack-Light. 

KENNING  and  Gaylor  started  down  the  river,  as  the  sun 
rose,  to  fish  Dead  Creek.  Coburn  and  Bingham  went  with 
Cort  to  the  Irish  Clearing  for  a  drive,  while  Harvey  and  I 
left  for  Perciefield  Falls,  three  miles  down  the  Eacket. 

Shrouding  his  head  and  the  greater  part  of  his  back  in 
the  shell  of  his  reversed  boat,  Harvey  strode  over  the  carry 
round  the  rapids  like  some  paleozoic  lizard  on  two  legs, 
speckled  with  the  light  trickling  through  the  leaves,  while 
I  followed.  Embarking  at  the  foot  of  the  swift  water,  we 
glided  two  miles  down  between  the  wooded  islets  and 
grassy  spaces  of  the  broad  river  which  expands  from  Tup- 
per's  Lake  downward  to  double  its  size  above. 

"  Here's  a  boom  o'  the  river-drivers,"  said  Harvey  at 
length,  as  we  skirted  a  long  piece  of  timber  stretched  upon 
the  surface  of  the  river ;  "  and  over  there,"  nodding  to  the 
east,  "is  Gull  Pond  Brook.  And  here's  Fish-Hawk 
Eapids !  What  a  rattle  they  keep  up !  They're  called  so 
from  a  fish-hawk's  nest  that  used  ter  onst  be  on  the  top  of 
a  pine  at  the  head  on  'm.  Jess  so,  Settin'  Pole  Eapids  is 
called  from  the  Injins  in  old  times,  when  they  used  ter 
come  up  the  Eacket  from  St.  Lorrence,  leavin'  their  settin' 
poles  stuck  in  the  bank  at  the  head  o'  the  rapids.  But 
there's  a  carry  here  to  the  falls." 

We  left  our  boat,  and  after  a  half-mile's  tramp  down  the 
west  bank,  along  a  narrow  path,  we  heard  the  rumble  of 
the  water-fall. 


268  WOODS  AND  WATERS; 

We  again  struck  the  river  at  the  foot  of  the  rapids,  where 
a  short  space  of  smooth  water  intervened  between  them 
and  the  falls.  Skirting  then  the  bank  and  scrambling 
over  fallen  trunks  which  bridged  chasms,  through  prostrate 
trees  bristling  with  sharp  points,  among  brambles  and 
blinding  thickets,  we  emerged  upon  the  broad,  smooth 
granite  ledges,  at  the  head  of  the  falls  and  forming  a  stair- 
way to  their  foot.  Descending,  we  stood  on  a  projecting 
rock,  whence  we  gained  an  upward  view.  Down  three 
terraces  the  torrent  sprang,  almost  directly  at  us,  white 
and  wild  with  fury;  then,  flinging  upward  its  mane  of 
spray,  it  plunged  into  the  tranquil  Kacket. 

As  I  stood  where  the  surges  boiled  like  a  witch's  caul- 
dron, over  a  rock,  and  gazed  at  the  river  hidden  away  in 
the  wilderness's  heart,  here  bursting  into  foamy  lightnings 
and  jarring  thunders,  the  reverie  into  which  I  was  gliding 
was  broken  by  Harvey. 

"  One  o'  the  guides  hed  a  tight  squeeze  of  his  life  above 
these  falls,"  he  remarked.  "  He  took  the  idee  to  shoot 
Fish-Hawk  Rapids,  and  went  through  safe,  but  he  got 
kind  a  foolhardy  in  the  smooth  water,  and  the  fust  he 
knowed  he  was  goin'  it  fast  torts  the  falls.  D'ye  see  that 
dam  o'  timber  up  there  at  the  head  ?  It's  called  a  wing 
dam,  and  was  made  by  the  river-drivers  to  hev  it  easier  fur 
the  logs  to  shoot  over.  Well,  when  he — what  was  that  feller's 
name  ? — I  disremember  now,  but  he  went  by  the  name  o' 
Paddlin'  Pete,  'caze  of  the  nice  paddle  he  drawed,  night- 
huntin'.  Well,  when  he  found  that  he  was  likely  to  go  down 
over  the  falls,  he  throwed  himself  out  o'  the  boat  and 
ketched  by  chance  a  hold  o'  the  bushes  on  the  side  o'  the 
dam,  and  away  went  the  boat.  It  shot  agin  the  timber  and 
then,  whang,  down  it  tumbled  and  rolled ;  and  by  the  time 
it  got  to  where  we  are,  there  was  some  sticks  and  splinters 
a-whirlin'  and  a-floatin'  round,  but  nothin'  else.  Didn't 
that  guide  quake  when  he  stood  safe  on  the  bank  ?  'Twas 
touch  and  go  with  him,  and  more  likely  the  go,  unly  it 
jeest  wa'n't." 


OR,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.  269 

As  we  returned,  Harvey  related  in  detail  the  fate  of  the 
.  old  Indian  Chief  Sabele,  as  told  him  by  an  eye-witness,  a 
hunter,  who  was  shantying  for  the  time  on  the  spot,  trap- 
ping sable. 

Left  alone  of  all  his  tribe  and  borne  down  by  his  many 
sorrows,  feeling,  too,  the  near  approaches  of  old  age,  the 
Chief  launched  his  canoe,  after  bearing  it  over  the  carries 
of  the  two  rapids,  on  the  calm  water  at  the  torrent's  head. 
Arrayed  in  the  full  costume  of  a  Chief  and  warrior, 
glaring  in  black  and  crimson  paint,  his  wolfskin  round  his 
loins,  the  scalplock  erect  on  his  head,  knife  in  his  wampum 
belt,  and  gun  and  tomahawk  slung  at  his  back,  the  aged 
savage  stood  singing  his  death-song  as  he  glided  toward  the 
verge.  Nearer  and  nearer  slid  his  canoe ;  higher  and 
higher  swelled  the  death-chaunt.  The  frail  bark  trembles 
at  the  edge ;  it  bends ;  down  like  an  arrow  it  shoots,  down 
over  the  terraces  of  foam.  The  hunter,  quivering  with 
horror,  gazes  on  the  dark  water  below  the  falls ;  he  sees 
nothing  but  a  few  splinters  floating  along  the  quiet  river. 

I  had  a  pleasant  sail  and  stroll  in  the  afternoon  light,  and 
at  Camp  Tamarack  found  Ealph  and  Gaylor  with  two  fine 
baskets  of  trout,  and  Bingham  and  Coburn  with — loud 
assertions  from  the  former,  that  "  he  must  have  killed  him ! 
why,  he  couldn't  have  been  more  than  ten  rods  off,"  but  I 
regret  to  say  again,  with  nothing  else. 

Hearing  that  Mart  and  Will  talked  of  a  hunt  by  jack- 
light  in  the  evening,  I  determined  to  join  them  in  this  fas- 
cinating sport. 

At  dusk,  while  they  were  preparing,  Harvey  joined  me 
with  his  rod  at  the  rock  by  the  cove,  where  I  was  watch- 
ing the  fading  colors  of  the  scene. 

"  Well,  Harvey,  you  know,  I  suppose,  we  break  up  camp 
to-morrow." 

"  I  hed  an  idee  so  from  the  talk  at  supper,"  answered  he, 
whipping  up  a  trout,  "  and  as  I  went  by  the  tent  jest  now, 
I  heerd  Mr.  Bingham  sayin'  that  he  was  tuckered  out  with 
Settin'  Pole  Kapids ;  that  there  waVt  no  deer  here,  and 


270  WOODS  AND  WATERS; 

that  lie  for  one  was  a  goin'  to  move  his  settin'  poles  rapid 
torts  Baker's  as  sun  as  poss'ble — ha !  ha  1  ho  I" 

"  You  remember  our  talk  about  the  beaver  up  in  the 
St.  Eegis  woods,  Harvey  ?" 

"  Sarten." 

"  My  friends  return  to  Baker's  by  way  of  the  Eacket. 
Suppose  we  separate  from  them,  and  take  the  jaunt  we 
agreed  upon." 

"  I'm  with  ye,  Mr.  Smith." 

"What  will  be  our  course  to  reach  the  St.  Regis  Ponds?" 

"  Go  up  Wolf  Brook  out  of  Racket  Pond  to  Little  and 
Big  Wolf  Ponds,  and  then  through  a  passle  o'  ponds,  west 
and  north  o'  Upper  S'nac,  to  Hoel's  Pond." 

"  How  many  carries  ?" 

"  Eight  to  Hoel's :  two  a  mile  long,  and  one  half  a  mile, 
and  the  rest  from  four  to  twenty  rods." 

"  After  we  get  to  Hoel's,  what  then  ?" 

"  We  leave  the  boat  and  steer  into  the  woods,  five  or  six 
mile,  till  we  come  to  the  waters  where  the  beaver  is.  On- 
derstand  now,  Mr.  Smith !  I  won't  promise  to  show  ye 
the  beaver,  and  I  wont  not  to,  nuther.  But  I'll  show  ye 
plenty  o'  beaver  sign  and  fresh  too;  and  beaver  housen 
good  as  ef  made  to-day.  Many  and  many's  the  time  I've 
trapped  beaver  on  them  waters,  and  last  October  I  trapped 
two." 

"  Enough,  Harvey,  we  go ;  and  as  the  route  must  be  a 
pretty  hard  one,  take  Phin  with  you." 

"  All  right !  and  we'll  hev  an  airly  start  to-morrer  morn- 
in'." 

"  How  long  will  it  take  to  make  the  trip  ?" 

"  About  four  days." 

At  this  moment  Mart  and  Will  informed  me  all  was 
ready,  and  we  pushed  off,  Mart  rowing  and  Will  at  the 
stern  with  the  paddle.  The  jack  was  not  yet  lighted. 

"This  is  the  lucky  boat,  Mr.  Smith,"  said  Mart;  "one 
deer,  as  Harve  says,  is  as  good  as  dead,  and  mebby  two ; 
hey,  Will?" 


OR,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.  271 

"  Oh  yes!"  said  taciturn  Will. 

"  The  other  fellers  goes  out,"  resumed  Mart,  "  and  ef  so 
be  as  how  they  don't  git  no  deer,  there's  a'lys  a  reason  for't, 
a'lys.  They  didn't  see  right  or  the  deer  was  too  fur  off, 
or  the  rifle  wasn't  good,  or" 

He  broke  off,  looked  keenly  a  moment,  grasped  his  rifle, 
and  fired.  We  were  just  abreast  of  a  wild  meadow,  and  I 
caught  a  dissolving  view  of  a  deer  bounding  away  between 
two  bushes. 

"  He's  gone,  Mart,"  said  Will,  looking  at  him.  Mart 
looked  at  his  rifle. 

"  He  wan't  mor'n  ten  rods. off,  Mart,"  said  Will. 

"  Hey?"  ejaculated  Mart,  still  eyeing  his  rifle. 

"  Jeest  about  ten  rods !"  responded  Will. 

"  T  wenty ,  by  hookey !  Will.  I  j  est  got  sight  on  'im,  that's 
all.  This  aiht  my  rifle,  Will.  It's  Harvey's,  as  sure  as  preach- 
in'.  I  didn't  look  at  it  when  we  left  camp,  and  thought 
as  much  as  could  be,  'twas  mine,  they're  so  cluss  alike.  I 
kin  hardly  tell  'm  apart  any  way,  but  I  see  it's  his  rifle. 
Well,  I  snum !" 

"  Zactly  1"  said  Will. 

"  Twenty  rods,  Will  I" 

"  Jess  so  1"  said  Will,  with  a  gurgling  sound  in  his 
throat. 

"And  then  the  rifle !  Will.  Unly  think,"  looking  up  and 
down  and  all  round  the  weapon.  "  I  don't  b'leeve  (length- 
ening out  his  words  as  if  in  deep  thought),  I  raally  don't 
b'leeve  I  ever  shot  this  rifle  afore  in  my  life.  There's 
everything  in  a  rifle  that  you've  a'lys  shot  with,  hey,  Will?" 

"  Jess  so,"  said  Will,  turning  his  face  aside  with  a  broad 
grin  on  it. 

"  Ah,  it's  old  hunderd,  as  Harve  says,  to  shoot  a  rifle 
you  know  all  about.  By  the  way,  I  didn't  see  enny  thing 
but  the  tail,  Will.  'Twas  dreffle  quick  work  to  see  't  all," 
and  Mart  essayed  to  sing.  He  couldn't ;  so  he  whistled. 

The  gold  light  faded  into  grey,  as  we  reached  Captain 
Peter's  Eocks  and  skirted  the  shore  of  Eacket  Pond  to  the 


272  WOODS  AND  WATERS; 

left,  and  when  we  had  arrived  opposite  the  Irish  Clearing, 
the  trees  were  mingling  in  the  umber  dusk. 

While  listening  to  the  pleasant  ripples  of  our  darkening 
course,  I  saw  Mart  thrust  forward  his  head  and  aim  his 
rifle  like  lightning.  A  shoot  of  red  light,  a  crack,  and  a 
dart  of  the  boat  toward  the  shore  followed.  As  we  entered 
the  shallow,  rustling  through  a  belt  of  lily-pads,  I  caught 
sight  of  a  large  object  glancing  in  the  dark  water,  and  the 
next  moment  Mart  had  grasped  the  antlers  of  a  buck. 

"  Dead  enough,  Will,"  chuckled  he. 

"  How  on  earth  could  you  see  to  shoot,  Mart,"  remarked 
I,  "  in  this  light  ?"  . 

"  I  see  'im  and  heerd  'im  too,"  said  Mart,  laughing. 
"  I  heerd  his  drip,  drip,  in  the  water,  and  then  I  see  suthin' 
dark,  that  I  had  a  notion  might  be  the  head  or  forequarters 
of  a  deer,  and  blazed  away.  He  was  feedin'  on  the 
pads." 

It  was  really  an  extraordinary  shot,  and  fully  redeemed 
the  first  failure. 

Indeed  I  have  been  frequently  struck  with  the  keenness 
of  both  ear  and  eye  possessed  by  these  guides,  seeming,  in 
many  instances,  almost  intuition,  and  rivalling  that  of  the 
native  Indian. 

Mart  now  kindled  the  jack,  and  I  was  noting  the  flitting 
effects  of  the  light  upon  the  bank,  when  I  heard  the 
quick  click  of  Mart's  locks,  succeeded  by  another  report  of 
his  rifle. 

"He's  off!"  said  Will,  urging  the  boat  ashore  with  a 
powerful  sweep  of  his  paddle. 

"Not  fur,  though,  I  guess,"  returned  Mart,  springing 
from  the  boat. 

He  lighted  a  match,  and  making  a  little  lantern  with  his 
hollowed  hand,  lowered  it  to  the  shrubs  around,  kindling 
them  with  a  fire-fly  radiance. 

"  There's  blood,"  said  Mart ;  "  one  drop  here,  and  one  on 
this  brake.  Bring  on  the  jack,  Will ;  I've  peppered  'im. 
See,"  lighting  another  match,  and  sprinkling  more  light 


OR.  SUMMER  IN   THE  SARANACS.  273 

from  his  sweeping  hand  upon  the  herbage,  "  he's  bled 
some,  I  tell  ye." 

Will  now  came  up  with  the  jack,  which  cast  a  broad, 
steady  radiance. 

"  Here's  the  track,"  said  Mart,  holding  the  jack  close  to 
the  bushes ;  "  and  here's  more  blood  and  hair.  We'll  find 
'im  lyin'  down  furder  on ;"  and  we  entered  the  forest. 

We  had  gone  on  a  little  in  the  black  woods,  Mart  and 
Will  bending  low,  scrutinizing  the  weedy  growth  at  our 
feet,  when  the  former,  turning  to  me,  said : 

"  Will  you  please  stay  here  a  leetle,  Mr.  Smith,  and 
Will  and  I'll  go  furder  in.  When  we  whoop,  ef  you'll 
whoop  too,  we  kin  find  the  boat  agin.  It's  so  dark,  we'll 
lose  it  ef  we  don't  do  so." 

I  assented,  and  the  two  pushed  on,  the  light,  low  voices, 
and  slight  crackling  of  even  their  careful  footsteps,  becom- 
ing fainter  and  fainter,  until  all  ceased. 

I  was  now  in  almost  impenetrable  darkness,  or  rather 
blackness,  only  two  or  three  outlines  around  and  above 
betraying  the  trees. 

Presently  the  hissing  whine  of  an  owl  commenced  close 
to  me ;  but  it  soon  ceased,  and  a  breathless  silence  again 
reigned.  Suddenly  I  heard  in  the  sable  depths  a  low  rus- 
tling, as  of  a  slow,  stealthy  tread — sounding,  ceasing,  sound- 
ing again — coming  closer  and  closer.  It  approached  to 
within  a  few  rods,  stopped,  advanced,  stopped  again  ;  then 
came  nearer,  nearer,  till  within  several  feet  of  me;  and 
then  once  more  it  stopped.  A  slight  scratching  sound 
succeeded ;  but  at  this  moment  a  clear  whoop  rang  in  front. 
I  answered  it ;  a  touch  of  light  showed  upon  a  bush,  and 
a  glow  lighted  upon  a  trunk.  At  the  same  time,  I  heard 
a  loud  and  now  hurried  rustling,  with  bound  ings,  in  the 
direction  of  the  former  sounds  and  lessening,  until  lost  in 
a  course  the  farthest  from  the  light. 

The  latter  brightened  momentarily ;  voices  again  sounded, 
and  Mart  and  Will  approached. 

"  We  hevn't  hed  no  luck,  Mr.  Smith,"  said  the  former, 

18 


274  WOODS  AND  WATERS; 

as  we  returned  toward  where  we  supposed  the  boat  lay. 
"  The  deer's  bin  'cute  enough  to  git  off  so  fur ;  but  I  rayther 
guess  we'll  try  it  agin  in  the  mornin'." 

And  such  disappointment  has  been  generally  my  expe- 
rience in  following  wounded  deer,  the  animal's  endurance 
being  so  great,  and  its  haunts  so  secret.  Now  and  then 
the  hunter,  tracking  by  signs,  finds  the  victim  where  he 
has  lain  down  to  die ;  but  the  success  is  the  exception,  not 
the  rule.  ;.  .7 

We  found  our  boat,  and  pushed  off. 

"  Spos'n  we  try  Wolf  Brook  now,  Will  ?"  said  Mart. 

Will  nodded,  and  we  continued  upward. 

As  we  turned  a  curve  of  the  bank,  a  light  like  a  star 
appeared  ahead,  just  over  the  water,  rapidly  enlarging,  and 
coming  down  the  pond  obliquely. 

"  A  jack  makin'  for  the  Brook,"  said  Mart,  in  a  whisper. 
"  I  shouldn't  wonder  ef  'twas  the  Injins.  Quick,  Will, 
quick,  or  they'll  be  ahead  on  us,  sure  as  a  gun !" 

Onward  skimmed  the  light,  like  a  will-o'-the-wisp,  toward 
the  shore  at  our  left,  and  onward  we  darted  at  the  same 
point.  The  race  became  animating,  Mart  having  betaken 
himself  to  the  oars.  Both  lights  were  within  the  broad 
rushes  that  cover  the  shallows  of  the  pond  in  this  direc- 
tion ;  and  it  seemed  at  one  moment  as  if  we  should  win 
the  entrance ;  but  the  red  spot  glanced  through  a  cluster 
of  thicket  and  vanished. 

"  Gaul  hang !"  exclaimed  Mart,  "  they're  in  the  Brook. 
But  spos'n  we  go  up  past  where  the  Injins  is  camped.  I 
don't  bleeve  they've  floated  up  there  to-night,  and  we 
might  stand  a  good  chance  o'  findin'  another  deer  afore  we 
git  to  the  Injin  Park." 

We  accordingly  floated  to  the  basin  before  the  Park,  and 
back  again  to  within  a  short  distance  of  Eacket  Pond,  but 
without  success.  Suddenly  a  light  appeared  from  around 
a  bend  of  the  river.  It  was  zigzagging  along  toward  us, 
pausing  a  moment,  then  advancing  as  before.  As  it  glanced 
in  and  out,  gliding  in  a  half-circle  around,  lost  for  an 


OR,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.  27  'j 

instant,  then  sparkling  out  and  skimming  on,  I  almost 
fancied  it  the  eye  of  some  swimming  animal  searching  the 
banks  for  prey. 

Suddenly  it  stopped;  dwindled,  until  it  glimmered  a 
mere  grain  of  light,  and  then  vanished.  In  a  few  minutes 
more,  a  black  object  skulked  close  along  the  bank.  Mart 
turned  the  jack  upon  it,  and  a  canoe  with  two  Indians 
gleamed  forth. 

"  Old  Leo  and  t'other  Injin,"  said  Mart.  "  They've 
either  got  a  deer  up  Wolf  Brook  and  don't  want  us  to 
know  't,  or  they  hevn't  and  don't  want  us  to  know  their 
bad  luck.  But  spos'n,  as  it's  so  late,  and  the  deer  don't 
seem  very  plenty,  we  don't  hunt  no  more,  but  git  back  to 
camp  as  sun  as  we  kin ;  and,  Will,  let's  hev  a  song  as  we 
go  !  and  let  it  be  what  we've  bin  on  to-night,  '  Floatin'  fur 
Deer.' " 

Will  accordingly,  as  Mart  bent  to  the  oars  and  he  to  the 
paddle,  struck  up  the  following  song  (altered  from  the  ori- 
ginal), Mart  tugging  along  by  his  side  in  gutturals  more 
loud  than  musical : — 

The  woods  are  all  sleeping,  the  midnight  is  dark ; 
"We  launch  on  the  still  wave  our  bubble-like  bark ; 
The  rifle  all  ready,  the  jack  burning  clear, 
And  we  brush  through  the  lily-pads,  floating  for  deer, 

Floating  for  deer. 
And  we  glide  o'er  the  shallow,  boys,  floating  for  deer. 

We  turn  the  low  meadow ; — now  breathless  we  skim ; 
That  eye!  no,  the  phosphor!  yon  head!  no,  a  limb! 
This  step  in  the  stream  I  no,  a  spring  dripping  near ! 
Thus  we  brush  through  the  lily-pads,  floating  for  deer, 

Floating  for  deer. 
Thus  we  glide  o'er  the  shallow,  boys,  floating  for  deer. 

Ton  nook  I  spring  the  locks  1  the  deer's  eyeballs  of  fire 
Still,  still  as  a  shadow !  hush  1  nigher,  yet  nigher ! 
He    falls !    draw    him    in !     now  away  in  good  cheer, 
Through  the  lily-pads  blithely  from  floating  for  deer, 

Floating  for  deer. 
Back  to  camp,  through  the  shallow,  from  floating  for  deer. 


276  WOODS  AND  WATERS; 

At  length  the  light  of  the  camp-fire  saluted  us,  and  leav- 
ing the  two  guides  busy  with  the  boat,  I  ascended  the 
bank. 

Suffused  with  the  social  radiance  of  the  flame,  my  four 
comrades  were  seated  on  the  log  which  served  for  a  camp- 
sofa,  each  with  a  glass  of  what  I  took,  from  the  fragrance, 
to  be  punch. 

"  Ha,  ha,  ha ;  he,  he,  he ;  ho,  ho,  ho  I" 

"  What's  the  joke,  boys  ?" 

"Ha,  ha,  ha;  he,  he,  he;  ho,  ho,  ho!" 

"  Can't  you  tell  a  fellow  ?  I  want  to  laugh  too  1  "We've 
had  pretty  good  luck,  but  I'm  very  cold." 

"  Ha,  ha,  ha ;  he,  he,  he ;  ho,  ho,  ho  1" 

"What  the  joke  was,  I  have  never  learned  to  this  day. 


OR,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.  277 


CHAPTEE  XXII. 

Setting  Pole  Rapids  left.— Wolf  Brook.— Little  Wolf  and  Big  Wolf  Fonda. 
— Lumber-Road  in  the  Rain. — Picture  Pond. — Beaver  Meadow. — Maine 
Shanty. 

AT  dawn  we  broke  up  Camp  Tamarack.  While  the 
boats  were  being  prepared  for  our  departure,  I  wandered  a 
short  way  into  the  forest  by  a  path  that  had  been  bushed 
out  to  the  spring,  for  a  last  draught  of  the  delicious  water. 
Beyond,  I  came  upon  another  decayed  log-hut.  The  bark 
roof  had  fallen  away ;  the  broken  and  prostrate  door  was 
nearly  buried  in  herbage,  while  the  area  was  choked  with 
bushes.  It  had  once,  doubtless,  been  the  home  of  some 
hunter  or  trapper  who,  with  characteristic  restlessness,  had 
abandoned  even  this  remote  spot  to  plunge  into  lonelier 
wilds. 

A  low  whoop  from  Harvey  recalled  me  to  the  bank ;  we 
all  embarked,  Corey  and  Jess  leading  the  way  with  the 
tent,  baggage,  and  what  remained  of  the  stores. 

At  the  head  of  Eacket  Pond  we  separated ;  my  comrades 
with  their  guides  turning  to  the  right,  up  the  Eacket,  on 
their  way  to  Baker's,  while  I,  Harvey  and  Phin,  with 
Watch  chained  at  the  bow  (Harvey  no  more  went  without 
his  hound  than  his  rifle),  sought  Wolf  Brook  at  the  left. 
Henceforth  we  were  to  travel  rapidly,  passing  through  a 
wilderness,  a  portion  of  which  was  but  little  known,  even 
to  the  guides,  pushing  on  by  day  and  sleeping  on  the 
ground  at  night.  We  were  encumbered  therefore  with  no 
luggage  or  stores  we  could  possibly  dispense  with,  the  trip 
being  limited  to  a  week,  to  enable  me  to  rejoin  my  comrades 
at  Baker's  previous  to  their  (if  not  my)  departure  for  home 


278  WOODS  AND  WATERS; 

Passing  through  an  a-lley  in  the  rushes,  we  struck  the 
mouth  of  the  brook,  and  were  soon  threading  the  sharp 
windings  of  the  stream.  Openings  scattered  with  alders 
and  swamp  willows  lined  the  banks,  yielding  soon  to  the 
usual  close  forest.  Through  the  green  light,  the  water 
dotted  as  with  golden  beetles,  with  gnats  whirling  their 
speckled  wheels  in  front,  dragon-flies  shooting  like  sapphire 
darts  cast  right  and  left  by  elves,  and  now  and  then  a  bird 
whirring  athwart,  we  went,  with  oar  and  paddle.  The 
channel  grew  shallower  and  more  winding,  so  that  only 
Phin's  paddle  could  be  used,  Harvey  and  I  aiding  by  pull- 
ing on  the  branches,  like  sailors  at  the  ropes. 

At  length,  the  water  growing  so  shallow,  Harvey  said, 
"We'd  better  git  out  at  the  sand-bank,  Mr.  Smith,  and 
let  Phin  paddle  up  to  Little  Wolf.  We  kin  go  on  foot 
through  the  woods.  It's  unly  half  a  mile  from  the  bank 
through,  but  it's  more'n  a  mile  and  a  half  by  the  brook." 

We  accordingly  landed  on  a  broad  space  of  sand,  at  our 
right,  where  a  huge  wolf-track  had  been  freshly  stamped, 
and  entering  a  cleft  in  the  bushes,  we  found  ourselves  in  a 
winding  deer-path.  A  labyrinth  of  stems  was  round,  below 
was  a  dense  undergrowth  and  above  a  web  of  branches. 
Through  them  fell  the  scattered  light,  here  in  rich  spots 
like  myriads  of  yellow  butterflies,  there  in  broad  patches 
kindling  the  pine  cones,  dead  leaves,  sprouts  and  ferns  into 
lambent  flame.  Now  and  then  a  tree  dropped  an  arch  so 
low  as  to  make  us  dip  our  heads  to  pass,  or  thrust  forth  a 
green  hand  as  if  to  tap  our  breast;  and  under  the  che- 
quered light,  the  forest  floor  was  radiant  with  the  differ- 
ing hues  of  the  lichens,  mosses  and  creeping  vines,  that 
velveted  every  rock  and  log,  and  threaded  every  patch  of 
earth  not  covered  by  the  undergrowth. 

After  a  half  hour's  walk,  we  came  to  an  old  deserted 
chopping,  with  black  logs,  cushioned  in  blackberry  bram- 
bles. We  regaled  ourselves  upon  the  fruit,  and  struck  soon 
a  bend  of  the  brook,  crossing  it  by  a  little  log  bridge. 

Again  we  entered  the  forest,  and  shortly  emerged  upon 


OR,  StJMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.  279 

Little  Wolf  Pond,  the  first  of  the  chain  in  our  road.  Best- 
ing a  moment  on  a  fallen  tree  at  the  margin,  we  started  for 
the  head,  along  the  sandy  edges,  printed  over  with  deer 
tracks.  Here  we  sat  down  and  gazed  over  the  expanse, 
which  is  nearly  round  and  a  mile  in  diameter.  Nothing 
appeared  on  the  surface  but  the  brush  of  a  breeze,  and 
nothing  above  but  a  sailing  fish-hawk.  The  silver  sunshine, 
for  the  sky  was  thickening,  fell  pleasantly  upon  us  as  we 
lay  upon  the  warm  earth,  and  the  scents  of  the  forest  were 
delicious. 

At  length  a  boat,  with  its  bow  in  the  air,  a  hat  at  its 
stern,  and  flashes  at  either  side,  appeared  from  the  forest 
rim  opposite,  all  which  turned  out  to  be  Phin,  skimming 
rapidly  towards  us. 

We  struck  our  first  carry,  and  passing  a  deserted  saw- 
mill upon  the  brook-link  between  the  two  ponds,  came  soon 
upon  Big  Wolf,  where  a  little  bark  shanty  was  crouching 
in  the  bushes,  with  "  Ring's  Camp"  scrawled  upon  its  front. 
We  drank  from  a  clear  spring,  at  the  base  of  a  grassy  point, 
which  was  bare  of  trees,  except  a  large  pine  at  the  tip ; 
and  turning  the  point,  we  enjoyed  a  bath  in  the  little 
bay  which,  rimmed  with  white  sand  and  clear  from  the 
usual  lilies,  rounded  into  the  shore.  We  then  crossed  a 
portion  of  the  pond  (which  is  a  third  larger  than  Little 
Wolf),  and,  passing  a  group  of  islands,  struck  the  bank, 
where  a  lumber  road  had  been  bushed  out  for  drawing  logs 
through  the  woods.  At  the  edge  of  the  water  was  another 
deserted  camp,  a  large  cedar  slanting  almost  horizontally, 
the  sides  closed  with  lopped  maple  branches,  whose  wilted 
leaves  emitted  a  pleasant  perfume. 

Here  began,  as  Harvey  remarked,  a  mile  carry,  to  a 
small  pond  without  a  name,  hidden  away  in  the  woods,  but 
in  our  direct  path.  Leaving  the  two  guides  to  follow  with, 
the  boat,  I  went  on  before ;  the  "  dudods,"  as  Harvey  called 
the  luggage,  being  placed,  with  the  oars,  paddle,  and  neck- 
yoke,  in  the  boat.  Sinking  ankle  deep  in  the  green  morass 
that  spread  from  the  margin,  and  seesawing  over  the  logs,  or 


280  WOODS  AND   WATEES; 

corduroy  which  spanned  the  deepest  parts,  we  entered  the 
forest.  Now  I  stumbled  over  a  great  root,  coiled  in  and  in 
like  a  knot  of  sleeping  black  snakes,  now  threshed  through 
a  barricade  of  bushes,  and  now  scaled  some  enormous  pine 
fallen  athwart.  Stumps  studded  the  margin,  and  chopped 
logs  lay  parallel,  embedded  in  ferny  and  shrubby  leafage, 
and  pointing  from  the  sumacs  and  hopple  bushes  like  can- 
non-muzzles ;  while  a  dense  carpet  of  various  wood-sprouts, 
intermingled  with  dead  leaves,  evergreen  cones,  and  dry 
pine-needles  covered  the  dark  forest  mould.  Suddenly 
there  sounded  a  slow,  measured  dropping,  which  quick- 
ened, until  a  steady  hum  in  the  green  depths  told  the  rain. 
At  first,  its  coolness  in  the  close  forest  air  was  delightful, 
but  it  soon  fell  so  dense  that  I  looked  round  for  shelter. 
The  thatch  of  a  slanting  cedar  offered  its  protection,  but  I 
soon  discovered,  that  if  in  old  times 

"  Such  tents  the  patriarchs  loved," 

they  must  have  loved  the  tents  better  than  the  contents,  for 
I  soon  found  mine  decidedly  leaky. 

A  large  hollow  hemlock,  no  doubt  the  winter  nest  of  a 
bear,  promised  more  comfort,  and  thrusting  myself  within, 
I  looked  out  protected,  upon  the  scene,  and  listened  to  the 
forest  roof  rumbling  in  the  rain. 

The  maple  trembled  all  over  as  the  rapid  shot  of  the 
drops  pelted  its  broad  leaves,  the  pine  shook  its  loose 
tassels  as  if  to  repel  the  rainy  attack,  but  the  hemlock  only 
twitched  his  sturdy  branches  as  a  dog  beset  with  flies 
twitches  his  skin. 

Suddenly  the  sounds  ceased,  and  stepping  out,  I  resumed 
my  way  amid  a  throng  of  loosened  odors  in  the  damp, 
bland  air.  By  and  by,  Harvey  and  Phin,  bearing  the  boat 
upright,  under  a  layer  of  spruce,  overtook  me.  Then 
came  another  shower,  more  heavy  than  the  first.  Dislodg- 
ing the  boat  of  its  load,  which  they  covered  with  more 
boughs,  the  guides  propped  it  on  a  brace  of  stout  sticks, 
and  lo !  an  off-hand  shanty,  under  which  we  crouched, 


OR,  SUMMER   IN  THE  SARANACS  281 

bidding  defiance  to  the  torrents.  The  rounded  roof  echoed 
to  the  batterings  upon  it,  splintering  the.  streams  into  spray. 
Through  a  narrow  front  I  could  only  see  a  breadth  of 
quaking  undergrowth,  with  one  green  log  that  absorbed 
the  rain  like  a  sponge,  and  a  cushion  of  ferns  between  two 
roots  that  slaked  itself  in  it  like  a  duck. 

At  length  the  shower  expired  of  its  own  violence,  and 
another  half-hour  brought  us  to  the  nameless  pond. 

A  most  beautiful  liquid  gem  it  was.  Opposite  rose  an 
acclivity  of  cedars,  with  a  smooth,  green  headland.  At 
the  right,  and  forming  a  little  winding  bay,  stood  a  small, 
bare,  pyramidal  island.  The  scene  was  lonely  as  beauti- 
ful. We  crossed,  cutting  through  the  sunset  colors,  and 
entered  the  bay,  which  was  roofed  with  foliage.  Here  and 
there  a  drop  of  carmine  or  a  spangle  of  gold  had  fallen,  or 
a  little  arrow  of  light  had  shot  through  the  woven  canopy 
upon  the  dark  water.  We  returned  and  skirted  the  island, 
Harvey  pointing  out  a  turtle-bed  on  its  summit. 

We  traversed  the  rich,  beamy  polish  of  the  pond,  which 
I  named  Picture  Pond,  with  the  dabble  of  Phin's  oars 
(Harvey  sat  idle  at  the  stern)  wakening  the  profound  still- 
ness, and  landed. 

"  I  guess  we'll  leave  the  boat  here,"  said  Harvey. 
"  There's  a  Maine  shanty  a  little  ways  above  here,  where 
we  kin  spend  the  night.  We'll  leave  the  Bluebird  here. 
I'll  stand  bail  there's  nobody  round  to  be  off  with  her. 
Phin,  you're  young,  you  take  up  the  dudods." 

Ascending  a  ridge,  we  found  ourselves  in  front  of  the 
shanty,  which  was  a  low,  comfortable  log  cabin.  Below, 
at  our  left,  lay  a  large  beaver-meadow,  long,  narrow,  irre- 
gular, with  little  points  of  wood  jutting  into  it,  and  tama- 
racks streaking  the  edges  or  grouped  like  islets  in  its 
cove-like  nooks,  and  ground  cedars  planting  their  dark 
tents  picturesquely  around. 

In  one  of  these  nooks  stood  two  stacks  of  hay,  under 
a  low  pencil  of  light,  while  in  the  farthest  distance  a 
quick  glitter  told  of  water. 


282  WOODS  AND  WATERS; 

For  the  hundredth  time  I  asked  myself,  where  was  the 
farm-house,  with  the  grazing  cows,  the  dotted  sheep,  the 
yoked  oxen  dozing  in  the  lane,  and  the  sturdy  steeds  cross- 
necked  in  the  shade. 

Instead  of  this  rural  picture,  I  saw  a  deer  under  a 
lurching  tamarack,  now  feeding,  then  stopping  to  look, 
then  dropping  its  head  again  to  the  grass.  At  the  same 
time,  I  caught  sight  of  Harvey,  with  his  rifle,  creeping 
from  bush  to  bush,  toward  it,  stealthy  as  a  wild-cat.  The 
next,  the  deer  lifted  its  pointed  face ;  then,  with  a  gentle 
trot,  glided  between  some  cedar  thickets,  and  vanished. 

We  now  crossed  the  meadow,  to  see  the  remains  of  an 
old  beaver-dam  at  its  head.  "We  passed  the  little  pond 
whose  winking  eye  I  had  seen,  and  whose  margin  was  a 
picture-writing  of  deer- tracks.  Ascending  a  hill  spotted 
with  thickets,  we  came  upon  a  low,  gently-sloping  wall  of 
wild  grass,  which  Harvey  pronounced  the  dam.  We  then 
retraced  our  steps  toward  the  shanty,  turning  on  the  bank 
to  gaze  at  the  meadow  glowing  like  green  velvet  in  the 
last  rays  of  the  sun,  with  long  black  shadows  printing  its 
surface.  The  soft  look  of  culture  was  stronger  than  ever, 
but  all  resemblance  to  civilization  there  ceased.  Instead 
of  the  crow  of  chanticleer,  the  wild  cry  of  a  hawk  circling 
a  dry  pine  startled  the  echoes.  •  A  grey  fox  was  skulking 
between  the  golden-tanned  haystacks,  instead  of  the  house- 
dog, roaming  around  with  his  protecting  tread;  and  in 
place  of  the  laden  honey-bee  seeking  the  sunset  hive,  the 
hungry  deer-fly  threaded  the  tangle  of  the  wild  beaver- 
grass. 

Twilight  now  rested  on  the  rough  clearing  before  the 
shanty.  I  sat  at  the  rude  porch  while  Harvey  and  Phin 
began  the  night-fire.  The  evening  was  close  and  sultry 
after  the  rain,  and  of  course  it  was  holiday  among  the 
musquitoes.  Their  premonitory  symptoms  were  discernible 
in  the  actions  of  Harvey,  who  was  in  the  clearing,  gather- 
ing chips  (left  by  the  lumbermen)  for  the  fire.  From  that 
staid  soberness,  not  only  natural  to  him,  but  quite  becom- 


OR,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.  283 

ing  in  one  of  his  age  and  experience,  I  saw  him  suddenly 
transformed  into  a  dancing-Jack.  At  the  same  time,  a 
sting  on  my  forehead,  another  on  the  throat,  and  a  most 
diabolical  one  inside  my  pantaloons,  showed  in  earnest 
my  time  was  come.  Bred  from  the  beaver  meadow,  and 
this  generation  probably  never  before  tasting  human  blood, 
the  musquitoes  poured  a  living  torrent. 

At  first  I  pounded  myself  as  much  as  the  little  mocking 
fiends  could  wish,  but  at  length  encased  myself  in  the 
mail  of  philosophic  don't-care-ativeness,  and  "  took  it"  like 
a  hero.  In  fact,  I  began  rather  to  enjoy  the  thing,  and  at 
last  took  notes.  One  fellow,  I  particularly  remarked.  First, 
he  darted  across  my  forehead,  then  down  the  cheek,  then 
glanced  into  my  eye  with  an  "  Aha !"  Next,  he  sent 
a  twang  into  my  ear  like  the  first  nip  of  a  fiddle-string, 
then  gave  a  sounding  flourish,  intensifying  it  into  a  fine 
hum,  which  rang  like  the  buzz x  of  a  sharp  bell,  warning 
me  plainly  to  look  out.  At  last,  down  pounced  the  little 
grey-coated,  globe-eyed  sapper  delicately  on  his  elastic, 
long-angled  legs,  and  planted  his  slender  sucking-pump  on 
a  pore  of  my  hand.  I  endured  the  tickling,  and  watched 
the  enormous  pouch  and  transparent,  black-ribbed  needle 
of  a  body  expanding  ruddily,  till  the  elfin  marauder, 
gorged  to  repletion,  lifted  with  difficulty  his  pump  and 
floated  sluggishly  away. 

Glancing  upward  as  it  flew,  I  saw  with  a  thrill  the  new 
moon  beaming  timidly  on  the  edge  of  the  warm,  red  west, 
a  silver  barque  upon  a  ruby  sea. 

The  dark  night  now  came,  blending  all  objects  in  one 
general  gloom,  except  within  the  crimson  ring  of  the  camp- 
fire. 

We  enjoyed  our  supper  of  dried,  trout  and  venison,  and 
then  went  into  the  cabin  for  rest.  There  was  but  one 
room ;  the  board  floor  was  partly  broken,  showing  the 
dark  earth  below.  The  shaft  of  the  chimney  of  stones  and 
clay  ran  up  from  the  centre,  and  a  large,  flat,  upright  stone, 
blackened  by  fire,  with  two  stone  jambs,  made  the  hearth. 


284  WOODS  AND  WATEKS; 

"  Them  lumber  fellows  had  rousin'  times  here  in  the 
winter,  fur  all  they  was  clearn  away  from  folks,"  said 
Harvey,  as  he  entered,  after  lighting  his  pipe  at  the  fire. 

"  They  must  have  had  some  cold,  stormy  times  in  this 
wild  spot,"  remarked  I. 

"  Yes,  the  winds  bio  wed  and  the  snow  flew,  sometimes, 
but,  bless  ye,  they  didn't  mind  it  a  bit.  I've  lumbered  it 
myself  among  'm.  They're  jest  as  tough  as  a  pine-knot, 
them  fellers  I" 

"  Did  they  cut  the  hay  stacked  in  the  meadow  ?" 

"  Sarten  !  to  fodder  their  oxen  with.  But  they  left  the 
next  winter  fur  Big  Square  Pond,  nigh  Upper  S'nac.  But 
as  we  must  be  out  o'  here  afore  sunrise,  what  say  ye  fur 
sleep  ?  Good  night !" 

So  saying,  he  and  Phin  threw  themselves  on  a  bed  of 
hay,  which  the  latter  had  found  in  a  little  log  barn,  back 
of  the  shanty,  and  I  followed,  falling  into  slumber,  while 
fancying  a  wild  winter  storm  thundering  through  the 
woods  and  raving  round  the  shanty  for  entrance. 


OR,  SUMMER  IX  THE  SARANACS.  285 


CHAPTEE  XXin. 


Path  Resumed. — The  Medal. — Musquito  Pond. — Rawlins  Pond. — Floodwood 
Pond. — The  Sable. — A.  Network  of  Ponds. — Long  Pond. — The  Cranes.— 
Slang  Pond. — Turtle  Pond.— Hoel's  Pond.— Boat  Left. — Through  the 
Woods. — Beaver  Meadows. — Beaver  Signs. — Beaver  Pond. — Beaver 
Houses. — A  Beaver. — The  Bivouac. 


THE  grey  of  the  early  daybreak  was  struggling  in  the  air, 
as  I  was  aroused  by  Harvey,  who,  with  Phin,  had  already 
brought  the  boat  from  the  pond.  My  first  plunge  into  the 
atmosphere  was  like  a  cold  bath ;  I  was  refreshed  in  an 
instant.  The  stars  were  fading,  and  the  confused  woods 
becoming  momentarily  clearer,  as  we  resumed  our  road, 
which  shortly  brought  us  to  another  pond,  smaller  than  the 
last  and  almost  perfectly  round,  which  I  named  ."  The 
Medal."  Crossing  it,  the  next  water  in  our  chain  was 
Musquito  Pond,  with  a  mile  carry,  the  least  known  of  any 
in  our  path.  No  signs  of  a  track  met  our  eyes,  and  the 
guides  decided  to  leave  the  Bluebird  and  push  on  with  me 
to  the  pond,  over  the  best  path  to  be  found,  then  return 
and  transport  the  boat.  Long  and  toilsome  was  our  way 
through  the  tangled  and  trackless  woods,  but  at  last  the 
shining  level  of  the  pond  broke  through  the  trees ;  and  leav- 
ing me  in  a  little  green  dingle  on  the  margin,  with  Watch 
for  company,  my  guides  went  back. 

The  scene,  after  they  had  left,  was  as  utterly  lonely  and 
wild  as  could  be  imagined.  The  shores,  unlike  those  of 
the  other  lakes  and  ponds  in  this  alpine  region,  were  low, 
belted  with  swamp  and  disfigured  with  dead,  ghastly  trees. 

Although  I  am  a  lonely  man  by  nature,  habit  and  choice, 
shrinking  from  mankind  instinctively  as  from  a  blow,  yet  as 


286  WOODS  AND  WATERS; 

this  profoundly  desolate  scene  smote  my  sight,  I  felt  a 
weight  deeper  than  I  had  ever  experienced  in  the  forest. 

Watch  looked  up  into  my  face;  cocked  his  ear  inquiringly, 
as  if  to  say,  "  What  d'ye  think  of  it  round  here  ?"  Then 
he  dropped  his  jaw  and  panted  the  pantomime  for  "  Rather 
hot  I"  snapping  this  way  and  that  to  suggest,  "  Flies  plaguy 
thick  I"  A  short,  rapid  laugh,  under  his  breath,  probably 
at  my  woe-begone  looks,  followed,  till  at  length  he  fixed 
his  head  between  his  paws  and  winked  himself  to  sleep. 

On  the  pond  a  couple  of  copperhead  ducks,  their  brown 
necks  shining  in  the  light,  were  steering  out,  and  soon 
vanished  in  the  dazzling  glare  midway.  Then  a  raven 
slowly  flapped  over,  and  then  a  kingfisher,  settling  on  a 
dry  limb,  threw  a  bit  of  rich  color  on  the  mirror  below. 

At  last  I  fell  into  a  day-dream,  only  broken  by  a  whim- 
per from  Watch,  and  looking  in  the  direction  his  nose 
pointed,  I  saw  at  my  distant  right  Harvey  and  Phin  emerg- 
ing from  the  forest  with  the  boat.  They  skimmed  rapidly 
to  where  I  stood  and  took  in  myself  and  the  hound.  Cross- 
ing the  length  of  the  dismal  sheet,  we  then  passed  over  a 
dry  open  ridge  of  a  few  rods,  and  embarked  upon  Eawlins' 
Pond  at  the  head  of  a  long  narrow  bay  with  an  arm  pene- 
trating the  woods  at  our  right. 

"  This  pond's  the  head  waters,  through  Fish  Creek,  of 
the  three  S'nac  Lakes  and  S'nac  River,"  said  Harvey 
while  passing  an  island  he  named  to  me  as  Camp  Island. 
4t  Fish  Creek,"  continued  he,  "  is  a  string  o'  ponds,  and 
throws  an  all-fired  big  batch  o'  water  in  Upper  S'nac,  about 
three  quarters  of  a  mile  from  its  head." 

Passing  three  other  islands,  and  crossirig  northerly  a 
distance  three  times  the  extent  of  Musquito  Pond,  we 
landed  on  the  left,  at  the  foot  of  the  pond,  where  the  swift, 
rocky  outlet  brawled  forth  into  the  forest.  Here,  sur- 
mounting another  ridge  of  six  or  seven  rods,  we  launched 
into  Floodwood  Pond,  linked  to  Rawlins  by  the  outlet. 

It  was  about  the  same  size  as  the  latter,  and  lay  in  a  gene- 
ral easterly  direction.  Pointing  north-easterly  we  passed  a 


OR,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.  287 

small  island,  and  leaving  at  our  left  another  and  larger 
(called  by  Harvey,  Beaver  Island),  we  glided  along  a  third 
one  still  larger.  "We  had  passed  midway,  when,  suddenly, 
"Watch,  who  had  been  all  along  curled  up  at  Harvey's  feet, 
rose  on  bis  haunches,  and  jerking  his  ears,  looked  narrowly 
at  a  small  maple  on  the  bank. 

"  Down,  Watch !  what  are  ye  pointin'  that  nose  o'  yourn 
out  there  fur  ?  Down  with  ye  or  I'll " 

Watch  melted  away.  In  a  moment  after,  however,  he 
sprang,  this  time  to  his  feet,  with  a  yelp,  still  gazing  at 
the  same  place. 

"  What's  he  seein',  Phin  ?"  asked  Harvey. 

"  I  dunno  as  I  kin  tell,"  commenced  Phin,  settling  his 
oars  in  the  water. 

"  I  do  though  I"  broke  in  the  former,  throwing  his  paddle 
into  the  boat,  dropping  a  sounding  knock  as  he  did  so  on 
poor  Watch's  skull  (who  complained  by  a  dismal  howl), 
then  catching  his  rifle  to  his  shoulder  and  firing.  "  Saples 
aint  so  mighty  plenty  that  I  kin  afford  to  let  one  go,  even  if 
't  aint  in  season."  Then  driving  the  boat  to  the  margin,  he 
stepped  on  shore,  and  soon  returned,  bringing  a  dead 
animal  with  a  white  head  and  coat  of  light  tawny  fur, 
large  hind  quarters  and  bushy  tail ;  which  he  handed  me 
for  inspection.  It  was  the  sable,  rare  even  here. 

"  The  nicest  and  most  valyble  fur  in  the  woods,"  con- 
tinued he.  "  I've  telled  ye  afore  how  we  ketch  'm.  I 
drive  sometimes  a  fust  trade  best  in  this  fur,  as  well  as 
what  I  git  from  fisher  and  mink,  to  say  nothin'  o'  rats. 
But  about  these  ere  ponds  we're  crossin'.  The  whull  region 
is  as  full  o'  ponds  as  the  ponds  is  o'  lily -pads  a'most.  Now, 
a  leetle  south  o'  here,  p'intin'  from  Kawlins  torts  Big  Square 
Pond  to  the  east,  there's  Whey  Pond,  and  a  leetle  one  that 
hasn't  no  name.  Furder  from  here,  torts  Fish  Creek  waters, 
is  Otter  Pond  and  Buttermilk  Pond.  Then  up  west  and 
north,  a  mile  or  two,  is  two  or  three  more  ponds,  and  north 
o'  Long  Pond  is  Rainbow  Pond.  You  can't  go  amiss  source, 
and  reck'nin'  in  the  lakes  and  streams,  may  go  enny  wherea 


288  WOODS  AND  WATERS; 

a'most  in  your  boat,  with  a  few  carries.  But  here  we  are 
at  the  end  of  the  pond,  with  a  carry  of  half  a  mile  afore  ua 
inter  Long  Pond." 

Day  was  creeping  low  as  we  crossed  the  carry,  and  he 
had  thrown  a  golden  path  over  the  pond  as  we  struck  it 
midway  its  winding  three-mile  length. 

We  had  gone  nearly  through  when,  turning  a  point,  a 
deafening  clamor  and  a  novel  sight  saluted  us. 

In  a  low  marshy  spot,  hundreds  of  cranes  were  running, 
walking,  hovering,  darting  through  the  air,  and  cleaving 
spirally  upward  until  almost  invisible,  and  then  swooping 
downward  on  their  broad  sails,  their  plumage  flashing  white 
in  the  sunset.  The  voices  were  prodigious,  and  quite  pecu- 
liar. One  who  seemed  the  stump  orator  to  the  crowd, 
standing  some  four  feet  on  his  pins,  was,  at  the  moment  of 
our  arrival,  making  a  speech  at  the  top  of  his  harsh  voice 
and  stamping  his  foot  as  if  to  emphasize  it. 

As  we  passed,  the  whole  flock,  seemingly  unable  longer 
to  restrain  their  fire,  broke  in  upon  the  harangue,  with,  as 
it  were,  three  cheers  and  a  tiger.  Even  as  far  off  as  the 
carry,  the  echoes  were  in  a  flutter,  from  the  tall  orator's 
eloquence.  The  name  of  the  next  pond  struck  me  as 
appropriate  in  the  highest  degree  to  stump  speeches  in 
general. 

"  Slang  Pond,"  said  Harvey,  as  the  inlet,  in  the  form  of 
a  bow,  received  our  boat.  Through  its  half  mile  channel 
we  went,  in  the  golden  glow  succeeding  the  sundown,  the 
rustle  of  our  way  amid  the  continuous  lily-pads  of  the  upper 
end,  sounding  like  a  shower  in  the  woods. 

"  The  next  is  Turtle  Pond,"  remarked  he,  as  we  entered 
a  little,  swift,  gravelly  stream.  "  and  the  outlet  here,  after 
about  three  rods,  brings  us  inter  it.  It  lays  straight  along 
about  a  mile,  has  a  waist  jest  like  a  woman,  and  hasn't  no 
lily-pads  't  all  to  speak  of.'1' 

I  found  the  comparison  just.  We  traversed  the  sheet  in 
the  "  gloaming ;"  and  as  we  crossed  the  last  carry,  between 
us  and  Hoel's  Pond,  Harvey  and  Phin  bearing  the  boat  on 


OR,  SUMMEIi   IN   THE  SARANACS.  289 

the  same  shoulder  they  had  from  the  beginning,  so  that  I 
thought  the  spot  must,  by  this  time,  be  grooved,  the  woods 
began  to  grow  dusky. 

The  night  had  quite  settled  down,  with  the  crescent 
moon  too  faint  for  light,  as  the  guides  woke  with  oar  and 
paddle  the  breathing  silence  of  Hoel's.  Gliding  for  some 
distance  in  the  ambrosial  dark  of  the  air,  and  over  the  star- 
sprinkled  ebony  of  the  water,  we  landed  on  what  appeared 
a  point,  penetrating  far  into  the  pond. 

Soon  the  blaze,  kindled  by  my  guides,  stripped  the  dark- 
ness from  the  scene,  showing  our  camping  spot  to  be  indeed 
a  long  tongue  of  the  mainland.  The  light  threw  a  scarlet 
over  the  backs  of  the  old  logs  at  the  margin,  blushed  on 
the  bushes  covering  the  point,  and  reddened  the  stars  from 
out  the  sable  water. 

Our  simple  supper  ended,  overcome  by  fatigue  we 
stretched  ourselves  in  our  blankets  on  the  grass,  with  our 
feet  to  the  camp-fire ;  and  under  the  cool  stars,  and  lulled 
by  the  natural  sounds  of  our  wild  bivouac,  the  gentle  talk 
of  the  ripples  to  the  sand,  the  murmur  of  the  night  wind 
through  the  leaves  and  the  fitful  chirping  of  some  wakeful 
bird,  we  resigned  ourselves  to  slumber. 

Day  was  just  breaking  as  I  awoke.  A  chill,  misty 
air  was  flowing  through  the  woods  and  curdling  the 
water. 

My  guides  had  already  dragged  the  boat  over  the  point 
to  the  eastern  of  the  pond's  two  divisions  and  we  shortly 
struck  the  opposite  shore.  Here  we  were  to  leave  the  Blue- 
bird and  take  up  our  line  of  march  through  the  forest  to 
the  beaver  waters,  several  miles  to  the  east.  We  accord- 
ingly hid  the  boat  in  one  hollow  log,  and  to  prevent  the 
use  of  it,  if  found,  hid  the  oars  and  paddle  in  another. 
Harvey  shouldered  his  rifle  which  supported  a  coarse  check 
sack  with  half  our  stores,  and  a  small  camp-kettle,  while 
his  left  hand  grasped  his  axe. 

Phin  carried  a  knapsack  of  leather,  containing  the  rest 
of  the  stores,  and  his  rifle,  with  Watch  buckled  to  his  waist 

19 


290  WOODS  AND   WATERS; 

by  a  long  strap.  I  avoided  all  encumbrance,  anticipating 
truly  a  toilsome  tramp. 

We  then  started,  Harvej7"  leading  the  way,  Phin  follow- 
ing close  in  his  footsteps,  and  I  bringing  up  the  rear. 

An  aisle  between  a  colonnade  of  trunks,  invited  us 
through  its  grassy  length.  We  then  ascended  a  somewhat 
open  ridge,  or  "  hog's-back,"  continued  upon  it  for  a  con- 
siderable distance,  and  then  descended.  The  woods  grew 
darker  and  wilder.  The  underbrush  deepened.  Decayed 
logs  more  thickly  blocked  the  way.  Harvey  began  to 
hack  the  trees  on  either  side,  making  what  in  woodcraft  is 
known  as  a  "  blazed  line." 

At  every  step,  I  could  see  we  were  piercing  deeper  and 
deeper  into  the  wildest,  loneliest  recesses  of  this  wild  and 
lonely  wilderness.  The  great  trees  stood  round  in  myriads 
upon  myriads,  with  smaller  ones  between,  bewildering  the 
eyesight ;  the  ground  entangled  with  the  densest  growth, 
which  almost  buried  the  fallen  trunks,  patriarchs  of  the 
forest,  that  had  been  undermined  by  age  or  hurled  flat  by 
storms.  Now  and  then  a  broad  tract  of  laurels  over  which 
rose  dead  tamaracks  and  cedars,  warning  the  foot  not  to 
enter  its  blinding  and  treacherous  depths,  or  an  immense 
labyrinth  of  prostrate  trees,  all  twisted  and  interlaced, 
showing  where  some  tornado  had  whirled,  sent  us  widely 
from  our  course.  Wilder  and  wilder  grew  our  way.  Here 
and  there  a  broken  sunbeam  lay  athwart  the  higher  branches 
of  a  pine  or  hemlock,  or  a  long  spear-like  ray  reached  to 
•  a  bush,  or  its  splintered  point  sprinkled  the  innumerable 
woodsprouts,  but  the  general  tone  of  light  was  grey  and 
sombre.  The  leaves  of  the  forest's  summit  frequently  flut- 
tered in  passing  currents,  but  below  was  a  stagnant  quiet. 
No  sound  could  be  heard,  save  the  sharp  hack  of  Harvey's 
axe,  or  the  "  uggle-uggle"  of  the  crossing  raven,  that  might 
well  be  deemed  some  flying  ghoul  of  the  sepulchral  re- 
cesses. 

Nature  showed  herself,  not  in  the  fresh  loveliness  of  her 
sylvan  haunts,  but  as  if  borne  down  by  the  weight  of  cen- 


OR,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.  291 

turies ;  and  was  mouldering  silently  and  sullenly  away, 
under  a  mantle  of  moss  that  clothed  rock,  log,  bank, 
and  hollow,  clung  in  great  patches  on  the  trees  and  was 
so  intermingled  with  the  dank,  rotten  leaves  upon  the 
eajth,  as  to  nearly  overlay  their  umber  hues.  The  sunken 
streams,  crawling  under  logs  and  between  rocky  crevices, 
burrowed  at  times  underneath  this  mossy  screen,  flashing 
out  here  and  there  like  a  deer's  eye  from  ambush. 

Threshing  through  bushes,  scaling  enormous  logs,  slip- 
ping and  tumbling  over  roots,  tripping  among  tough  creep- 
ing plants,  plunging  headlong  into  thickets  and  falling  to 
the  waist  in  mossy  cavities,  on  we  went.  Now  and  then, 
a  bear-path  showing  punctures  of  the  huge  creature's  claws, 
or  a  light  deer  trail,  was  seen,  but  it  was  quickly  lost,  and 
all  became  trackless  as  before.  The  inequalities  of  the 
ground  too,  heightened  my  fatigue.  Now  a  ridge  forced 
us  to  cling  to  the  branches,  in  laboring  up ;  the  steep  de- 
scent proving  more  toilsome  still.  We  paused,  however, 
frequently,  to  drink  at  some  lurking  spring,  bared  by 
scooping  out  the  dead  leaves,  thus  resting  my  tired  limbs 
a  moment ;  but  soon  forward  again  was  the  word,  for  my 
guides  seemed  men  of  iron. 

"  'Tisn't  like  floatin'  down  the  Kacket,  is't,  Mr.  Smith?" 
said  Harvey,  as  trembling  with  fatigue,  I  grasped  a  bough 
to  keep  from  sinking  to  the  earth.  "But  take  some  o'  this," 
cutting  a  portion  of  gum  from  a  spruce  with  his  axe; 
"  'twill  make  yer  stronger,  and  keep  yer  from  being  so 
dreffle  dry.  This  drinkin'  at  all  the  springs,  on  a  tramp 
like  this,  isn't  the  best  thing  in  the  world.  It  makes  yer, 
after  all,  uuly  more  tired." 

"Look  a'  here!"  said  he,  a  little  farther,  pointing  at 
some  gashes  in  several  stems.  "  See  where  the  confounded 
bears  've  stuck  their  teeth  inter  the  bark  and  wood,  and 
here  they've  scratched  with  their  sharp  claws,  and  here 
they've  twisted  off  the  limbs  with  them  paws  o'  their'n. 
They're  a  plaguy  wild  brute,  them  bears,  as  bad  as  a  mad 
moose  a'most,  when  they're  ugly." 


292  WOODS  AND  WATERS; 

"We  crossed  one  more  ridge,  and  turning  another  ledge, 
saw  water  glancing  brokenly  through  the  trees. 

"  The  fust  o'  the  St.  Regis  Ponds,"  said  Harvey,  and  in 
a  few  moments  a  most  lovely  pond  gleamed  in  the  sunshine 
before  us.  Sheer  to  the  edge  came  its  circle  of  forest,  save 
where  one  small  headland,  green  as  an  emerald,  rounded 
into  the  water.  Once  more  did  I  notice  with  delight,  the 
shrubbery-like  grouping  of  the  thickets.  Streaks  of  cedars 
also  wound  along  as  if  the  hand  of '  taste  had  guided 
them.  I  stepped  on  the  back  of  a  log,  lying,  like  a  gigantic 
lizard,  far  into  the  water,  and  drank  in  the  beautiful 
picture. 

In  the  middle  was  a  loon,  drawing  a  track  of  silver,  and 
sounding  incessantly  his  bugle  note,  awaking  a  thousand 
echoes.  . 

"  What  is  the  name  of  this  pond,  Harvey?" 

Receiving  no  answer,  I  turned  to  the  old  guide,  and 
repeated  the  question.  I  was  struck  with  the  expression 
of  his  face.  It  was  blank  and  puzzled.  He  exchanged 
glances  with  Phin ;  both  retired  a  little,  and  conversed  in 
low  tones.  Harvey  pointed  in  several  directions,  and 
swept  his  arm  round  with  a  keen,  but  doubtful  look.  At 
length  they  returned ;  Harvey  looking  up  and  down  the 
pond,  and  glancing  back  the  way  we  came. 

"  Confess,  now,  Harvey,"  said  I.  "  You  don't  know 
where  you  are." 

"  Well,  I  must  say,  Mr.  Smith — that  is,  I  b'leeve — I 
kinder  think — I  dunno  but  that — that — hem." 

"  In  other  words,  you're  lost." 

"  Well,  I  vow,  things  does  look  a  leetle  queer  to  me, 
around  here.  I  can't  'zactly  git  straight.  Strannge  too. 
I've  ketched  fur  and  killed  ven'son  on  the  St.  Regis  waters 
year  after  year,  and  yit,  somehow,  I — a — a — I  don't"- 

"  Know  where  you  are,"  added  I. 

"  Well — a — I  dunno — as  I  ever — see  this  pond  afore." 

"Why,  Harvey!  what  shall  we  do?  How  many  miles 
have  we  travelled,  and  how  long  will  it  take  us  to  get  out 


OR,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.  293 

of  these  terrible  woods,  supposing  we  are  lost,"  said  I, 
breaking  into  a  lieat  with  ray  apprehensions. 

"  Well,  ef  we  kept-  right  straight  along,  I  rayther  guess 
we  could  scratch  out  after  about — I  say  about — forty  miles 
travel." 

"  Forty  miles !"  exclaimed  I,  starting ;  "  forty  miles — the 
Lord  deliver  us!" 

"  W-a-a-1,  mebby  a  leetle  less ;  mebby  not  more'n  thirty- 
five  or  six — that  is,  ef  we  go  ahead.  But  we  might  turn 
back,  that  is,  ef  I  knowed  'zactly  where  back  is.  I  b'leeve 
I'm  kinder  turned  round.  It's  very  queer !  I've  not 
unly  trapped  here,  but  I've  bin  guide  all  through  these 
woods  some  years  ago  to  a  pairty  o'  surveyors,  when  they 
run  the  line  o'  Township  Twenty.  Well,  I  am  beat!  an 
old  woodsman  like  me,  too.  What  kin  this  pond  be !" 

"  Heavens !  that  I  should  ever  have  been  such  a  fool  to 
come  out  here  after  beaver  !"  groaned  I,  sinking  on  a  log. 

"  Don't  give  up  so,  Mr.  Smith,"  said  Harvey,  who  had 
started  down  the  pond  to  a  curve,  and  returned.  "  I  aint 
dead  yit.  And  somehow  or  other — jest  let's  go  down  the 
pond  a  leetle.  Down  there,  torts  the  outlet." 

"  Ef  it  turns  out  there  as  I  expect,"  continued  he  as  we 
went  down,  "I'm  all  right.  I  think  I've  trapped  on -that 
outlet ;  but  as  fur  this  pond ! — it's  strannge  I  shouldn't  a 
come  upon't.  But  we'll  see — we'll  see." 

With  many  misgivings  I  tramped  along  with  him,  and 
arrived  at  last  beyond  the  curve,  at  a  sharp  oxbow,  where 
the  pond  was  completely  hidden. 

"  All  right,"  said  Harvey.  "  I'm  as  right  as  a  book. 
Here's  the  very  place  I  footed  a  fisher  three  year  ago  next 
October.  After  that,  I  started  straight  fur  hum,  and  never 
see  the  pond.  Yes,  yes,  it's  all  right  now  !" 

I  need  not  say  I  felt  relieved,  and  with  a  lighter  step  I 
again  followed  my  guides. 

A  mile  farther,  and  we  came  upon  a  small  beaver- 
. meadow,  with  grass  waist  deep,  and  shortly  after  a  second, 
through  which  we  also  waded.  At  the  edges  of  this  wa 


294  WOODS   AND  WATERS; 

noticed  the  first  beaver  signs.  Saplings,  and  even  con 
siderable  trees  were  cut  asunder  by  the  teeth  of  the  animal. 
The  edges  were  black  with  age,  and'  chiselled  irregularly 
to  a  point.  Again  we  entered  the  forest ;  and  in  a  little 
while  a  third  meadow,  with  borders  full  also  of  chiselled 
signs,  immersed  us. 

We  now  ascended  a  comparatively  open  pine-ridge, 
whence  at  either  hand  shone  glimpses  of  water. 

"  There's  ponds  on  all  sides,"  said  Harvey,  "  and  all  on 
'm  used  to  be  great  places  fur  beaver ;  but  they're  sich  a 
shy,  timorsome  thing,  they're  most  on  'em  cleared  out. 
Some's  left,  though ;  and  ef  we  don't  see  them,  we'll  see 
their  housen,  as  I  said  afore,  and  'twont  be  a  very  long 
time  nuther.  There's  otter  sign,  too,  here  !  See  the  slides 
o'  the  critters !"  pointing  to  discernible  paths  down  the 
declivities,  which  were  slippery  with  the  dead  pine  foliage. 

Descending  the  farther  point  of  the  ridge,  we  struck  off 
at  our  left,  and  soon  came  to  the  sloping  border  of  a  beau- 
tiful little  pond,  where  a  narrow  stream  flowed  out  through 
a  natural  meadow. 

"  The  pond  that  the  beaver  housen  is  on  is  jest  back  o' 
this,"  said  Harvey,  pointing  diagonally  with  his  left  hand , 
"  and  after  we/ve  had  a  bite  o'  suthin'  we'll  go  there.  L 
isn't  over  half-an-hour's  walk,"  opening  his  knapsack  ir 
the  grass  of  the  little  dingle  where  we  had  halted. 

And  here  let  me  whisper  that  cold  pork  and  baked 
beans,  although  homely  and  possibly  vulgar  in  some  eyes, 
are  two  of  the  standing  dishes  of  the  forest.  The  former 
is  particularly  grateful  to  the  palate,  after  being  cloyed 
with  trout  and  venison,  and  the  latter  is  like  solidified 
cream,  crumbling  in  the  mouth  in  brittle  and  mellow 
richness. 

These,  with  dried  deer's  flesh  (we  saw  the  last  of  our 
smoked  trout  at  Hoel's)  and  biscuit,  strewed  on  the  wild 
grass  of  the  spot,  formed  our  meal. 

"  I've  trapped  beaver  in  these  ponds  fur  thirty  year,  off 
and  on,"  said  Harvey,  "  but  the  unly  fam'ly  left  now  is  on 


OR,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SAKANACS.  295 

that  pond  out  there  torts  Catamount  Mountain  (pointing 
to  a  near,  dark  summit  among  a  group  of  hill-tops  rising 
above  the  woods),  where  the  housen  is.  I've  kinder  nussed 
'm  along,  and  never  take  more'n  two  at  a  time.  There 
isn't  another  feller  in  the  whull  S'nac  region  that  knows 
about  this  pond  but  me.  Phin,  here,  don't  know  it,  nur 
Will,  nor  Mart,  nur  enny  on  'm.  I've  al'ys  gone  alone, 
and  kept  my  own  secrets.  But  you'll  know  it  sun,  and" — 

Here  he  broke  short  off,  glanced  his  keen  eye.  toward 
the  outlet,  snatched  his  rifle  from  the  grass  with  one  hand, 
and  stopped  a  yelp  from  Watch  by  a  blow  with  the  other, 
and  swiftly,  but  cautiously,  descended  the  slope  leading  to 
the  water.  As  Phin  grasped  Watch  round  the  nose,  thus 
effectually  sealing  another  yelp,  I  glanced  in  the  direction 
indicated  by  the  eyes  of  both,  and  saw  a  deer  gliding 
between  the  thickets  of  the  wild  meadow,  toward  the  out- 
let. Crawling  like  a  snake  from  bush  to  bush,  Harvey 
went  nearer  and  nearer.  At  last  he  fired.  The  deer, 
however,  did  not  fall,  neither  did  it  swerve  from  its  course 
toward  the  stream.  It  probably  had  never  before  heard 
the  report  of  a  gun,  and  took  this  for  one  of  the  natural 
sounds  to  which  it  was  accustomed.  But  a  second  crack 
from  Harvey's  double-barrel  came,  and  the  animal,  who 
had  just  stooped  his  graceful  neck  to  drink,  fell  in  his 
tracks.  Phin  and  I,  followed  by  Watch,  who  poured  out 
a  torrent  of  cries,  overtook  Harvey  as  he  was  wading  the 
outlet,  and  we  all  reached  in  a  twinkling  the  spot  of  long 
grass  where  the  deer  had  fallen.  He  was  a  two-year-old 
buck,  and  in  excellent  condition.  My  guides  shouldered 
him,  and  all  returned  to  our  dingle,  merry  with  our  luck. 

"  We'll  let'im  lay  there,"  said  Harvey,  after  he  and  Phin 
had  deposited  the  animal  on  a  bank  of  moss,  "till  we  come 
back  from  the  beaver  housen.  I  don't  bleeve  enny  painter 
or  wolf  '11  git  'im  the  short  time  we're  away." 

We  rounded  the  pond,  and  after  the  toilsome  ascent  and 
descent  of  a  ridge,  reached  at  last  a  small  sheet  of  water 
lurking  among  acclivities,  and  sleeping  so  dark  and  still  in 


296  WOODS  AND  WATERS; 

their  shadows,  Nature  seemed  to  have  forgotten  it  as  soon  aa 
formed.  Plunging  through  the  dense  underbrush,  which 
not  only  heaped  the  margin,  but  tangled  for  some  distance 
the  water,  we  came  at  length  to  a  little  opening  in  the 
foliage. 

"  Here's  the  fust  of  the  two  housen,"  said  Harvey,  paus- 
ing before  an  object'  standing  on  the  very  edge  of  the 
water,  "  but  the  ruff's  all  to  pieces.  You  kin  see  though 
how  'twas  made  inside." 

It  was  a  fractured  mound  of  smooth  clay,  about  two  feet 
high,  and  six  across,  inside  which  were  layers  of  water-lily 
leaves.  A  roof  had  been  over  it,  made  of  broken  sticks 
that  lay  around,  smeared  with  dried  mud. 

"  Them  pads  is  where  the  beavers  lay,"  said  Harvey, 
"  and  unly  a  few  days  ago  too.  You  see  they're  fresh  ! 
Some  bear  or  other  has  come  along  and  made  the  house 
fly  with  his  tearin'  big  paws.  They're  apt  to  do  it  to  git  at 
the  beaver,  and  they've  skeered  'm  clearn  away.  I  hope 
they've  left  t'other  house  alone.  It's  much  bigger  'an  this. 
Beaver,  Mr.  Smith,  is  like  the  rich  folks  in  the  big  settle- 
ments, sich  as  York  is,  I  spose.  I've  never  seen  any  place 
bigger  'n  Burlin'ton,  and  Plattsburgh  and  Keeseville,  and 
Liz'bethtown,  and  so  on,  but  onst,  and  that  was  when  I 
straggled  down  to  Troy  with  a  load  o'  fur,  and  nice  fur 
they  was  too.  There  was  fisher,  and  saple,  and  mink,  to 
say  nothin'  o'  rats  in  fust  best  order.  "Well,  I  went  there 
and  come  back  too,  mighty  quick.  I  thought  I'd  choke  to 
death,  the  housen  was  so  cluss  t'gether,  and  the  air  so 
kinder  thickened  up.  And  then  the  people  a-flyin'  about! 
'Twas  some  great  day  or  other — a  p'litical  rneetin'  I  bleeve 
— and  some  feller  was  a-goin'  to  tell  what  his  idees  was  on 
matters  in  gin'ral,  the  Gov'nor  or  some  other  big  bug ! 
what  was  that  chap's  name  !  well,  no  matter,  I  heerd  it  too 
at  the  time.  But  there  was  sich  a  pressin'  and  pullin'  and 
haulin',  and  so  many  folks  jammed  up  t'gether,  that  I  went 
to  the  tavern,  settled  with  the  landlord  right  off,  and  started 
a-foot  out  o'  the  confounded  hole,  and  tramped  on  till  night 


OR,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.  207 

come,  when  I  camped  in  a  piece  o'  woods  jest  outside  a 
village  till  mornin'  and  then  made  tracks  torts  old  Cham- 
plain  fur  the  steamboat  to  Keeseville.  Wasn't  I  glad  to  git 
back  to  S'nac  agin  ?  I  tell  ye !  But  where  was  I  ?  oh — the 
beavers  has  their  city  house  and  their  country  house,  one 
fam'ly  gin'rally  to  a  pond.  This  was  their  country  house. 
But  s'posen'  we  move  torts  t'other. 

"  Here's  more  sign,"  continued  he,  pointing  to  a  quan- 
tity of  saplings  gnawed  asunder  like  those  we  first  saw, 
"  and  a  good  part  on  'm  fresh.  The  beavers  is  here,  but 
where,  at  this  partic'lar  p'int  o'  time,  is  more'n  I  kin  say." 

We  struggled  along  the  pond's  edge  once  more,  until  at 
last  Harvey  ascended  a  fallen  tree,  and  stepping  downwards, 
said — 

"  Here's  t'other  hut,  and  all  right  and  tight  too,  thank 
fortin'." 

I  scrambled  across  the  barricade,  and  saw  what  I  first 
took  to  be  a  collection  of  driftwood,  partly  on  the  bank  and 
partly  over  the  water.  I  stepped  upon  it.  It  was  a 
rounded  fabric,  fifteen  or  twenty  feet  in  diameter,  wrought 
of  dry  saplings  and  water-grass,  welded  together  smoothly 
with  dried  mud.  An  extra  roof  of  long  loose  poles  was 
placed  upon  the  top,  making  the  projection  over  the  shal- 
low. 

The  fabric  itself  rested  on  the  bank,  and  before  it,  heap- 
ing the  bottom  of  the  shallow,  were  stems  of  small  trees. 

"  The  beaver  lays  round  the  sides,  inside  o'  this  Dutch 
oven,  on  sep'rit  beds,"  said  Harvey.  "  They  don't  gin'rally 
stay  in  their  housen  in  summer  though,  but  roam  about. 
The  wood  in  the  water's  what  they  feed  on.  A  good  deal 
on't  's  moose-missee  that  they're  most  fond  of,  with  birch, 
wilier,  and  water-maple  mixed  in.  They/  haul  the  stuff 
down  with  their  teeth,  and  then  stick  it  to  the  bank  some- 
way. I've  never  seen  'm  make  their  housen  but  I've  hearu 
tell  how.  They  gnaw  the  trees  down,  haul  'm  to  the  water, 
and  plaster  mud  over  'm  with  their  forepaws,  and  some 
say  they  smooth  it  over  with  their  flat  tails." 


298  WOODS  AND  WATERS; 

"  Well,"  continued  the  old  woodman,  after  I  bad  lingered 
over  the  localities  some  little  time,  "  we've  seen  all  here, 
and  I  guess  we  may  as  well  be  movin'.  A  ven'son  steak 
wouldn't  be  bad  to  take  after  we  git  back,  would  it  ?  Ef 
I  could  unly  put  a  beaver's  tail  now  by  it,  'twould  be  rael 
old  hunderd.  But,  goll,  look  at  that  1"  suddenly  pointing 
to  the  pond. 

Upon  it  I  saw  part  of  a  dark  head,  a  mere  dot,  skimming 
rapidly  along,  and  approaching  a  small  grassy  point. 

"  There's  a  beaver  by  golly !  and  I  mean  to  hev't  too," 
continued  the  old  guide,  raising  his  rifle,  but  at  the  very 
instant  the  head  vanished  behind  the  point. 

"  Ah,  it's  gone !"  added  he  in  a  disappointed  tone.  "  So 
we  might  as  well  trudge  on  fur  all  the  beaver's  tail  we'll 
git,  this  time  enny  how." 

The  west  was  on  fire  with  the  sunset,  and  the  woods 
were  sounding  with  the  flute  of  the  Saranac  Nightingale  as 
we  re-entered  our  dingle.  The  guides  prepared  our  supper 
of  toasted  venison,  and  after  we  had  taken  it  they  built  a 
framework  of  poles  over  the  fire  to  dry  the  remainder  of 
the  deer. 

The  trees  crept  into  the  night ;  the  pond  winked  and 
glimmered  into  a  dark- grey  dimness,  save  where  a  portion 
glowed  softly  to  the  young  moon,  which  had  filled  with 
silver  her  fairy  shell  over  Catamount  mountain.  Seated  on 
a  root,  I  watched  the  dark  forms  of  my  guides  flitting 
athwart  the  fire  as  they  superintended  the  drying  of  their 
venison,  and  listened  to  the  low  tones  of  their  talk.  No 
other  sound  disturbed  the  silence. 

At  length  the  guides  left  their  venison  to  harden  in  the 
smoke  throughout  the  night,  levelled  a  small  hemlock, 
made  a  bed  of  its  fringes,  and  close,  as  usual,  to  the  camp- 
fire  we  lay  down  side  by  side,  wrapped  in  our  blankets,  I 
for  one  soon  passing  into  the  shadowy  realm  of  dreams. 


OR,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANAOS.  299 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 


Return  Path. — Clamshell  Pond. — Song-birds. — Beaver-dam. — Beaver-talk. — 
Absence  of  Serpents. — Hoel's  Pond.— Carry. — Green  Pond. — UPPER  SA- 
RAN  AC.— Eagle. — Water-thatch.— Tommy's  Rock.— Goose  Island. — Har- 
vey's Opinion  of  Neighbors. — Phin's  Idea  of  Subordination. — The  Loons. — 
Loon  Talk. 


DAWIT  was  peeping  with  bis  ashen  face  through  the  trees, 
as  I  awoke.  I  sat  upon  the  half-burned  log  of  the  blinking 
camp-fire,  watching  my  guides  completing  their  arrange- 
ments to  start,  and,  from  my  yesterday's  fatigue,  dreading 
the  signal.  At  length,  Harvey  and  Phin  had  shouldered 
their  knapsacks  and  rifles,  and  hung  all  their  articles  around 
them,  and  "  All's  right,  Mr.  Smith  I"  came  from  the  former. 
I  rose,  and  our  return  line  of  march  was  taken  up.  As  I 
turned  a  thicket,  I  cast  a  last  look  at  the  dingle.  There 
was  the  framework,  there  the  green  'couch  of  hemlock 
branches.  I  caught  a  farewell  flash  from  the  pond,  and 
then  left  the  camp-fire  to  blink  itself  to  death,  and  silence 
and  solitude  to  settle  on  the  spot,  as  profound  as  when  we 
first  invaded  it. 

We  had  not  gone  far  before  Harvey  paused  at  a  pine 
tree. 

"  Here  was  one  o'  my  fisher  traps,"  said  he,  pointing  at 
a  pole  slanting  upward  from  the  ground  at  the  root.  tc  I 
ketched  two  on  'm  the  week  I  was  here  last  fall." 

Again  over  ridge  and  hollow,  plunging  into  mossy  clefts, 
dashing  aside  low  branches,  wading  through  underbrush, 
with  short  stoppages  for  rest.  Again,  stooping  to  drink  at 
some  streak  of  a  runnel  nearly  choked  in  fern,  picking  the 
blisters  of  gum  from  the  spruce  to  refresh  the  lips,  stumbling 


800  WOODS  AND  WATERS; 

among  sharp  hidden  rocks,  and  vaulting  over  prostrate 
trees.  Here,  a  cedar  colonnade  received  us,  smooth  to  the 
foot,  balsamic  to  the  scent;  there,  a  miry  bog,  shaking  like 
quicksilver  as  we  crossed. 

Again  Harvey  paused,  this  time  before  a  decayed  stump. 

"  Here  I  had  a  wolf-trap,  chained  round.  It  had  a  snap 
like  a  gunlock.  I  come  one  mornin',  and  found  old  claw- 
tooth  had  the  biggest  kind  o'  wolf  in  the  tightest  kind  o' 
place.  Massy,  how  he  grinned,  and  clicked  his  jaws !  You 
could  a  heerd  it  a  quarter  of  a  mile.  He  was  farse  for  fight, 
his  neck  and  back  a  bristlin'  like  a  porkypine.  I  wonder 
he  hadn't  gnawed  his  paw  off.  Didn't  I  send  a  ball  straight 
through  that  skull  o'  his'n,  right  'twixt  his  eyes?  His  skin 
and  sculp  fetched  me  five  dollars !" 

We  now  turned  a  little  off  from  our  course,  on  both  sides 
of  which  I  recognised  Harvey's  blazes  of  the  day  before, 
to  visit  Clamshell  Pond,  where  were  the  remains,  as  the  old 
guide  said,  of  a  large  beaver-dam.  The  water-gleam  soon 
shot  between  the  trees,  and  we  made  our  way  to  the 
margin.  The  surface,  on  which  a  little  breeze  was  dancing, 
spread  blue  and  cool  to  the  sunny  morning  sky,  the  water- 
lilies  glittered,  the  rushes  trembled,  the  forest  leaves  sparkled 
as  with  stars,  and  a  general  gladness  brightened  the  scene. 

There  is  a  prevalent  idea  that  songsters  in  these  woods 
are  wanting.  This  to  an  extent  is  true.  Still  many  of  our 
rural  birds  are  here.  Their  colors  flash  in  the  broken  sun- 
light, and  their  notes  pierce  the  sweeping  verdure,  but  the 
restless  eye  and  the  open  ear  of  the  lovers  of  nature  alone 
detect  them.  To  others,  their  shapes  are  unseen  in  the 
dim  vastness,  and  their  tones  are  unnoticed  amid  the  voices 
of  the  larger  and  more  infrequent  of  the  feathered  race 
here  found. 

The  Saranac  Nightingale  is,  however,  an  exception. 
The  loud,  clear,  triumphal  music  of  this  lonely  bird  claims 
the  ear,  amid  the  shriek  of  the  eagle,  the  croak  of  the  raven, 
the  whoop  of  the  crane,  the  boom  of  the  bittern,  and  shout- 
ing of  the  loon. 


OR,  SUMMER   IN  THE  SARAXACS.  301 

In  the  moist  sand  of  tlie  margin  I  noticed  a  swarm  of 
deer  prints,  with  here  and  there  the  broad  track  of  the  bear 
and  panther.  Presently  the  guides,  who  had  left  me  to 
turn  a  bend  of  the  pond,  reappeared  with  a  quantity  of 
beautifully  tinted  shells,  which  give  the  water  its  name. 

The  beaver  dam  was  a  rod  or  two  from  the  pond.  It 
was  a  long,  low  mound  of  earth,  broad  at  bottom  and  nar- 
row at  top,  overgrown  with  grass  and  shrubs,  with  the  usual 
meadow  before  it. 

We  seated  ourselves  upon  the  dam.  The  green  round 
of  the  meadow  looked  pleasant  and  soft  in  the  circle  of  the 
forest;  insects  were  chirping,  and  the  warm  air  was  full  of 
fragrance. 

"  D'ye  see  them  alley  ways  ?"  said  Harvey;  "you  kin  jest 
spy  'em  now !  They  was  the  roads  the  beaver  had  'twixt 
the  pond  that  stood  where  this  meader  is  now,  and  the 
big  pond  there.  They  used  'm  to  travel  'twixt  the  two, 
and  to  haul  the  wood  they  fed  on  to  the  housen  here. 
They're  an  awful  knowin'  critter.  When  they  want  to 
change  a  place  for  another  where  there's  more  o'  the  sort 
o'  wood  they  like  to  feed  on,  or  when  some  on  'm  want  'er 
to  go  off — pull  up  stakes  as  'twere,  jest  like  the  b'ys  of  a 
fam'ly  goin'  off  to  Californy,  or  out  West,  to  seek  their 
fortins  like — one  on  'm  goes  ahead  and  marks  out  the  p'ints 
o'  compass  he  goes,  by  leavin'  heaps  o'  mud  along,  scented  up 
with  castor  or  bark-stone,  as  we  call  it ;  so  there's  the  track 
all  marked  out  like  a  blazed  line  o'  trees,  with  these  castor 
beds. 

"  There's  another  kind  o'  these  queer  fish,  called  bank 
beaver.  They  don't  make  no  housen,  but  .burrow  in  the 
banks  o'  the  ponds,  like  mushrats.  But  we  must  be  goin'." 

I  picked  a  beautiful  wild  flower  from  the  grassy  dam, 
and  we  all  then  pressed  onward.  After  another  hour's 
struggle,  I  found,  to  my  dismay,  that  my  strength  was  fail- 
ing. Lagging  behind,  my  guides  were  frequently  lost  sight 
of,  but  as  I  checked  my  footsteps  in  doubt  where  to  go,  the 
direction  was  given  by  a  low  whoop  from  Harvey,  or  a 


302  WOODS  AND  WATERS; 

clink  of  his  rifle- against  the  camp-kettle.  In  these  pauses,  I 
was  more  and  more  impressed  with  the  utter  savageness  of 
the  scene,  and  my  entire  helplessness  should  I  be  left  alone. 
The  few  paths,  if  not  of  deer,  could  only  be  of  bear,  wolf, 
or  panther,  and  tended  doubtless  toward  their  fearful 
haunts.  The  deep  marks  on  the  trees,  cutting  into  the 
wood,  were  more  frequent  than  those  of  yesterday,  and  I 
shuddered  at  the  thought  of  the  merciless  fangs  that  made 
them. 

There  was  one  thought,  however,  from  which  I  derived 
comfort,  assured  of  its  truth  by  all  the  guides :  I  could 
plant  my  feet  anywhere  in  the  wilderness — in  the  deep 
grass,  the  crumbling  trunk,  or  the  rocky  cavity — without 
fear  of  noxious  serpents. 

"  Ef  them  infarnal  critters — copperheads  and  rattle- 
snakes, and  sich  like — was  about  in  these  'ere  woods,"  said 
Harvey,  once,  in  conversing  on  the  subject,  "  a  feller  about 
my  size,  for  one,  would  be  source  there.  A  man  mought 
as  well  die  at  onst  as  be  skeered  to  death.  But  the  long, 
cold  winters  doos  the  business  up  fur  them  divils." 

My  every  step  was  at  last  more  and  more  painful.  I 
tottered  with  weakness,  and  was  obliged,  at  times,  to  pull 
myself  forward  by  the  branches,  and  even  by  the  trees  them- 
selves. On  every  ridge  I  looked  for  the  expected  sparkle 
of  Hoel's  Pond,  but  was  disappointed.  In  fact,  I  began 
almost  to  fancy  the  pond  gifted  with  a  fiendish  trick  of 
receding  as  I  advanced.  At  last,  on  the  brow  of  an  accli- 
vity, I  caught  a  watery  twinkle,  arid  heard,  with  a  flash  of 
delight,  from  Harvey, 
v  "  There's  Hoel's  !" 

We  found  the  boat,  oars,  and  paddle,  safe  in  the  hollow 
logs,  and  very  shortly  we  were  afloat.  It  was  with  more 
pleasure  than  I  care  to  acknowledge  that  I  felt  the  smooth 
glide  of  the  little  Bluebird  in  exchange  for.  the  toilsome 
tramping  of  the  woods.  "We  passed  the  tip  of  the  tongue 
near  the  base  of  which  we  had  camped  before  our  plunge 
into  the  beaver  recesses,  and  after  a  delightful  sail  we 


OR,   SUMMER  IN   THE  SARANACS.  303 

landed  on  the  southern  bank,  where  a  huge  root  grasped 
the  smooth  bank  like  a  gigantic  claw. 

"  The  carry  'twixt  this  and  Green  Pond,  the  next  water 
in  our  way,"  said  Harvey,  "  is  rayther  long — half  a  mile, 
mebby — but  it's  a  nice,  dry,  open  one,  as  good  a'most  as 
the  Injin  Carry." 

Inflamed  by  this  flattering  contrast  to  the  roughness  of 
my  late  path,  and  considerably  renovated  by  the  passage  over 
the  pond,  I  insisted  upon  bearing  the  camp-kettle,  and  at 
least  one  of  the  oars,  across  the  carry.  Harvey,  complaining 
of  a  touch  of  "  rheumatiz  in  the  small  o'  the  back,"  directed 
Phin  to  shoulder  the  boat  while  he  loaded  himself  with 
the  "dudods." 

We  then  started,  the  latter  loping  ahead  with  blankets, 
overcoats,  two  knapsacks,  two  rifles,  and  a  basket,  with 
Phin  lurching  just  behind,  in  a  haze  of  musquitoes,  his 
head  and  shoulders  extinguished  in  the  huge  chapeau  of 
his  upturned  boat,  and  threatening  to  run  into  his  sire's 
back  at  every  stagger. 

At  first  I  stepped  with  considerable  elasticity ;  but  toward 
the  end,  such  was  my  weakened  •  strength  from  my  tramp, 
that  my  oar  had  the  weight  of  a  pine-tree,  and  the  kettle 
bore  down,  as  if  to  drag  me  not  only  to,  but  into,  the  earth 
at  every  tread. 

Lovely  Green  Pond,  with  waters  that  seemed  distilled 
from  the  foliage  around  them,  next  received  us,  and  cross- 
ing its  half  mile  extent,  we  came  to  the  last  carry  between 
us  and  the  Upper  Saranac. 

This  was  brief,  a  few  minutes  bringing  us  to  a  little 
clearing  of  logs  and  raspberry  bushes,  in  which  stood  a 
deserted  Maine  shanty,  with  a  cloud  of  swallows  twittering 
around  its  eaves.  Winding  down  the  bank,  through  tall 
wood-plants,  we  pushed  our  boat  into  Spring  Pond,  and 
rippled  through  a  water  so  clear,  I  could  trace  the  lithe 
ribbons  of  the  numberless  white  water-lilies  down  to  the 
large,  rough  stems  at  the  bottom. 

The  reds  of  the  upturned  white  lily-pads,  glowing  like 


304.  WOODS  AND  WATERS; 

live  coals  in  the  slanted  sun,  spoke  vociferously  of  deer- 
feasts,  eliciting  loud  laments  from  both  Harvey  and  Phin, 
that  the  moon  would  rob  them  of  a  night  hunt.  One  cove 
in  particular,  at  the  right,  was  pointed  out  by  the  former 
as  "  old  hunderd  fur  floatin'." 

"We  emerged  into  Spring  Pond  Bay,  and  at  length  the 
noble  expanse  of  the  Upper  Saranac  opened  before  us. 

It  lay  more  than  a  league  in  breadth,  with  three  islands 
— one  a  mere  speck  of  rock — alone  in  sight. 

As  we  glided  along,  a  splendid  black  eagle  caught  my 
eye,  flying  over  the  lake. 

Now  he  skimmed  onward,  dipping  his  stately  wings  on 
either  side ;  then  he  poised  himself,  remaining  motionless 
a  moment,  and  then  up,  up  he  mounted — a  speck,  a  dot,  a 
pin-point,  and  was  gone. 

Such,  I  thought,  is  the  flight  of  genius.  In  its  proud 
disdain,  its  conscious  power,  onward  it  directs  its  kingly 
flight,  onward  and  upward,  high  above  mortal  ken,  to  its 
cloudy  pinnacle. 

"  The  water-thatch  out  there  makes  pipe-stems  that's 
parfect  inkstand  to  smoke  with,"  said  Harvey,  bringing 
my  heroics  flat,  and  pointing  to  a  space  of  tall  rushes. 
Pushing  among  them,  we  gathered  a  quantity  of  the  long, 
jointed  tubes,  which  I  afterwards  found  fully  equal  to  the 
eulogy  of  the  old  boatman. 

We  landed  upon  the  farthest  isle.  It  sloped  steeply  up 
from  the  water,  covered  with  grass  and  whortleberry- 
bushes,  and  scattered  thickly  with  trees. 

Westward  rose  the  rocky  islet,  and  gleaming  in  the  sun, 
it  looked,  as  Harvey  once  said,  like  a  turtle  on  the  water. 

"  Tommy's  Rock,"  said  Harvey,  in  answer  to  my  look ; 
"  and  this  we're  on  is  Goose  Island." 

"  Goose  Island  !"  I  exclaimed.  "  No,  no !  Wild  Goose, 
at  any  rate,  if  there  must  be  a  goose  in  the  name  I" 

"  Alter  it  as  you  like,  Mr.  Smith.  There's  one  thing 
that's  a  fact !  'Twould  puzzle  the  smartest  1'yer  in  York 
or  Albany  to  find  a  tame  goose  about!  How  of 'en  I've 


OR,  SUMMER  IN   THE   SARANACS.  305 

camped  here,"  he  continued,  as  we  ascended  the  acclivity, 
"  ketchin'  fur  along  these  waters.  It's  so  nice  and  lone- 
some, I  al'ays  try  to  git  here  when  night  comes,  'cause  I'm 
pretty  sarten  there's  no  one  to  trouble  me." 

"  Do  you  like  to  be  away  from  people,  Harvey?" 

"  Well,  I  like,  as  agin'ral  thing,  to  be  alone,  'specially  when 
I'm  huntin'  or  trappin'.  When  I'm  fishin',  it's  no  great 
matter." 

"I  shouldn't  think  you'd  be  troubled  with  neighbors 
anywhere  in  these  woods." 

"  There's  no  tellin' !  Sometimes  you  may  be  campin'  in 
sight  a'most  o'  somebody  without  you're  knowin'  it,  the 
woods  is  so  al-mighty  thick,  and  then  the  fellers  come 
snoopin'  about,  talkin'  and  askin'  questions,  when  you'd  a 
good  deal  ruther  be  a  fixin'  up  your  traps  or  rifle,  or 
snellin'  your  hooks  or  what  not.  I'm  never  better  off  when 
I  go  out  fur  business,  than  when  me  and  Watch  hes  the 
campin'  spot  to  ourselves.  I  kin  talk  a  little  to  the  dog, 
and  think  over  what  I've  got  to  do  next  day ;  where  to  set 
my  traps,  or  where  it's  more  likely  to  roust  a  deer.  There's 
plenty  o'  things  to  think  on  when  a  body's  alone  so,  that 
he  can't  do  when  folks's  a-dingin'  into  his  ears  suthin'  or 
other  all  the  time.  But  how  would  you  like  to  take  a 
swim  ?  There's  a  nice  place  out  there,  where  you  kin  dive 
and  kerlikew  round  consid'able." 

I  found  the  bath  delicious,  the  cool  delicate  lymph  lap- 
ping me  in  elysium  after  my  tramp.  With  the  blood  tin- 
gling in  every  invigorated  vein,  I  re-entered  the*  boat,  and 
once  more  we  pushed  out  into  the  lake. 

The  broad  surface  was  now  kindling  to  the  level  sun. 
Down  we  rapidly  went,  Tommy's  Eock  and  Wild  Goose 
Island  lessening  in  light  purple  haze, 

As  the  wild  freedom  I  was  enjoying  glanced  for  the 
hundredth  time  through  my  mind,  I  spoke  to  Phin. 

"  This  life  of  yours,  Phin,  must  be  very  pleasant ! — going 
when  and  where  you  please,  asking  no  one !  " 

"  Well,"  said  Phin,  feathering  his  oar,  "  y-e-s — I  dunno 
20 


306  WOODS  AS*D  WATERS; 

hut  'tis.  But  I  al'ys  bed  a  notion  I  might  do  better  workin1 
in  some  big  settlement,  and  lay  up  more  money  than  in 
killin'  ven'son  and  ketchin'  fur,  and  guidin',  and  so  on." 

"  You  have  no  one  to  ask  as  to  your  movements  about 
this  region,  have  you  ?" 

"  No,  sir-ee,"  giving  a  sweep  to  his  oar.  "  Now,  I'm  of 
age,  even  father  there  don't  never  tell  me  nothin'  when  to 
go,  and  which  way  to  go,  and  so  on." 

"  Well,  now,  suppose  you  were  working  in  one  of  these 
settlements  and  the  boss  should  reprima — blow  y'ou  up,  for 
one  thing  or  another,  what  then  ?" 

"Blow  me  up!"  said  Phin,  stopping  his  rowing,  "blow 
me  up !" 

"  Yes !" 

"  I'd  like  to  see  the  man  that  'ud  blow  me  up  !"  hitching 
down  his  hat. 

"  Well !  what  would  you  do  ?" 

"  I'd  see  plaguey  quick  who  was  the  best  man !  I'd  lick 
him  or  he'd  lick  me !"  and  Phin  plunged  his  oar  so  deep 
he  caught  a  crab. 

"  Them  big  bugs  in  the  settlements  's  mighty  sassy  when 
they've  got  a  leetle  money,"  said  Harvey,  his  cracked  voice 
more  cracked  than  ever.  "  They  think,  I  do  bleeve,  that  a 
poor  man  haint  got  no  right  to  live,  no  how.  But  sich  kind 
o'  chaps  'ad  best  keep  out  o'  the  woods,  fur  they'd  git  more 
sass  'an  gravy." 

Down  we  still  went,  and  gliding  along  near  a  large  island 
in  mid-channel,  with  no  object  save  enjoying  the  beauti- 
ful sunset  hour  with  its  wooing  airs  and  streaming  golds 
and  purples  before  selecting  our  camping  spot  for  the 
night,  suddenly  we  heard  a  wild  shout  ringing  over  the 
water. 

"  It  come  from  Fish  Hawk  Bay,  over  west  there,"  said 
Harvey.  "  S'posen,  Mr.  Smith,  as  we've  got  nothin'  else  to 
do,  we  hev  some  fun  with  the  loon  ?  I  see't  there,  in  a 
line  with  that  elm  slantin'  out  from  Buck  Island  here. 
Goll,  there's  two  on  'm !  We'll  make  chase." 


OR,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.  307 

Oars  and  paddle  plunged  deep  and  brought  us  swiftly  to 
the  bay. 

"  It's  a  mother  and  her  young  'un ;  you  see  how  grey 
the  second  one  is,"  continued  Harvey.  "  'Twould  be  a 
pity  to  shoot  her,  though  loons  is  the  tantenest  and  most 
aggravatin'  critters  next  to  black  flies  and  mitchets  I  knows 
on.  But  I  won't  shoot  her!  'twould  be  too  much  like 
shootin'  a  doe  with  her  fa'n.  We'll  skeer  her  though  I*' 

The  birds  had  evidently  caught  sight  of  us  the  moment 
we  left  Buck  Island,  for  they  buried  their  bodies  almost 
under.  As  we  came  near,  the  mother  gave  a  deep  shout, 
breaking  up  into  a  shrill  scream,  and  dived,  followed  by 
her  young. 

Some  little  time  passed,  and  then  both  necks  suddenly 
emerged  a  long  distance  upon  our  right. 

The  boat  flew  over  the  water,  approaching  so  near  to 
them  that  their  hand-breadths  of  back  became  visible  as 
they  wallowed  swiftly  onward. 

Again  came  the  cry  from  the  mother,  the  warning  cry, 
and  both  pitched  under  again,  quick  as  thought.  This 
time  they  shot  up  so  near,  I  caught  the  wild,  red  gleam  of 
the  mother's  eyeball.  With  a  frightened  "  phibb,"  down 
again  she  went  with  her  young,  and  once  more  the  dark 
necks  of  the  two  came  above  the  surface.  It  was  touching 
to  see  the  anxious  care  with  which  the  old  bird  endeavored 
to  guard  the  other,  keeping  in  front  of  the  boat,  which  was 
all  the  while  doubling  upon  them  like  a  hound  upon  a 
deer. 

Suddenly  a  clarion  sound  pealed  over  the  water,  and  a 
superb  loon  came  sailing  down  the  lake,  lifting  its  trumpet 
tone  as  it  moved. 

"  The  old  man,"  said  Phin,  "  comin'  down  to  see  about 
his  fam'ly,  and  what  all  this  carryin'-on's  up  to !" 

"  And,  massy,  how  mad  he  is,  and  so  full  o'  consekens 
too !  You'd  think  he  owned  all  cr'ation,  lettin'  alone  my 
blacksmith  shop,"  added  Harvey. 

Up  came  the  magnificent  creature,  riding  high  upon  the 


808  WOODS  AND   WATERS; 

water,  and  swept  past  us,  so  intent  upon  the  two  birds 
before  him  that  he  did  not  seem  to  fear,  or  even  notice  us. 

Eeaching  the  others,  he  made  a  circle  as  if  to  enfold 
them  in  a  protecting  ring,  while  shrill  cries  echoed  from 
the  three.  Pushing  then  to  the  front  he  led  the  way  down- 
ward, all  in  file,  he  frequently  turning  completely  round  as 
if  to  see  whether  danger  menaced  the  rear. 

We  ceased  following,  in  pure  admiration  of  the  sight,  and 
far  down  the  lake  the  three  sailed,  lessening  into  specks, 
until  they  vanished  in  a  rosy  gleam  of  water. 

"  S'posen  we  drop  into  Buck  Island  Bay,  there  to  the 
east,"  said  Harvey,  after  we  had  turned  our  course,  and 
doubled  the  lower  end  of  the  large  island.  "  We  might  as 
well  be  lookin'  out  for  our  campin'  place.  I've  sometimes 
camped  on  Wind  Island,  in  the  bay  here — but  durn  me,  ef 
that  loon  aint  a  comin'  agin  !"  as  the  well-known  peal  once 
more  shook  upon  our  ears. 

"  It's  the  same  one,  I  consate,  that  is,  the  old  he  feller. 
"Tisn't  of'en  you  see  two  sich  big  ones  cluss  together. 
Now,  ef  he  comes  nigh  enough,  I'll  fix  'im.  They're  the 

sassiest,  provokinest  critter" 

f  "  That's  so,"  chimed  in  Phin.  "  Ef  ye  git  sight  on  a 
deer,  jest  as  yer  paddlin'  up  still  like,  or  mebby  about  to 
fire,  the  fust  you  know,  a  dod-blamed  loon'll  set  up  his 
sass,  hoo-oo-in'  away,  and  the  deer'll  look  up ;  and  then 
the  loon'll  sass  up  agin,  and,  hokey !  the  deer's  off  like 
lightnin'." 

"  It's  jest  as  if  it  said,"  continued  Harvey,  "  at  fust, 
'  Look  out  there,'  and  next,  '  Be  off;'  and  off  'tis.  On  top 
o'  that,  ef  you  should  be  ketched  out  on  the  lake  in  a  spit 
o'  rain,  the  loon'll  al'ys  hoot  out  jest  afore  it,  as  ef  'twas 
laughin'  at  ye.  Or  ef  so  be  there  comes  up  a  smart  blow, 
we'll  say  in  the  Narrers  down  there,  you'll  hev  the  con- 
founded loon  a-yellin'  and  a-bowwowin'  and  a-tantin',  as  ef 
it  raally  enj'yed  itself  in  seem'  you  a-bobbin'  up  and  down. 
I  hate  'm.  There  he  comes  !"  handling  his  rifle. 

Up  again  swept  the  bird,  riding  high  as  before,  and  car- 


OR,  SUMMER  IN   THE  SARANACS.  309 

rymg  his  neck  proudly,  sounding  at  intervals  his  ringing, 
triumphal,  defiant  note. 

"  Don't  be  sassin'  us  too  much,"  said  Harvey,  as  a  bold 
flourish  burst  from  the  bird.  "  I'll  give  ye  Hail  Colum- 
bee" 

"Don't  shoot  him,  Harvey,"  interposed  I;  "he's  a 
brave  bird,  and  has  done  bravely." 

"  Ef  you'd  lost  as  many  deer  as  I  hev,"  returned  Har- 
vey, squinting  over  his  barrel,  "  jou  wouldn't  be  so  tender- 
hearted about  the  divils." 

"  I  tell  ye,  it  cuts  cluss,"  added  Phin,  steadying  the  boat 
with  his  oars,  "  to  lose  a  nice  fat  buck  from  the  yellin's  and 
catterwaulin's  of  these  'ere  good-fur-nothin's." 

"  Zactly,"  said  Harvey,  and  he  fired. 

Down  plunged  the  loon ;  but  immediately  after  there 
was  a  flutter  near  the  surface,  and  then  a  glance  of  white. 

"He's  got  it  this  time,"  said  Phin,  grinning,  and  pulling 
at  his  oars.  "  No  more  hoo-hooin'  from  that  critter." 

"  He's  got  a  hole  in  his  neck  that  isn't  his  mouth,"  said 
Harvey,  as  he  lifted  the  lifeless  bird,  and  placed  him  in  the 
boat ;  "  and  now,  s'posen  we  go  inter  Saganaw  Bay,  instid 
o'  Buck  Island,  and  find  a  campin'  spot.  In  the  mornin', 
ef  you  say  so,  Mr.  Smith,  we'll  go  up  the  Fish  Creek 
waters  inter  Big  Square  Pond,  and  then  about  a  mile  in 
the  woods,  nigh  Rawlins  Pond,  where  I'll  show  ye  the 
biggest  beaver-dam  and  meader  you've  seen  yit." 

As  the  boat  glided  downward,  I  looked  again  and  again 
at  the  dark  purple-green  of  the  loon's  neck ;  the  two  white 
collars  below;  his  back  and  wings  of  ebony,  inlaid  with 
pearl ;  the  pure  snow  of  his  undershape  ;  the  black  dagger 
of  his  beak ;  his  fierce  red  eye ;  and  his  short,  straight, 
jointless  leg,  so  adapted  to  propel  the  buoyant  barque  of 
his  body.  His  structure  was  wild,  almost  grotesque,  and, 
like  his  Indian  whoop,  in  harmony  with  the  secluded  and 
savage  waters  which  he  alone  makes  his  home. 

"  They're  an  odd  fish,"  said  Harvey,  as  he  watched  my 
interest  in  the  bird.  "  In  the  spring,  jest  as  soon  as  the 


310  WOODS  AND  WATERS; 

ice'is  out  o'  the  lakes,  you'll  see  'm  start  up,  as  'twere,  out 
o'  the  water.  In  the  evenin'  there  won't  be  none  on  'm 
seen,  p'raps ;  and  the  next  mornin',  mebby  in  a  snow- 
squall,  the  fust  thing  you'll  hear'll  be  their  hoo-o-o,  looddle, 
loddle  loddle,  by  some  island  or  other.  And  jest  so  it  is, 
late  in  the  fall.  At  night  you'll  hear  'm  in  full  blast,  and 
at  mornin'  they  aint  nowheres.  They're  the  queerest 
critter  to  get  out  o'  the  water,  too.  Fur  all  they  swim  so 
fast,  they're  an  awk'ard  thing  to  rise,  their  wings  is  so 
short  and  their  body's  so  heavy.  They'll  mebby  go  on 
a-strugglin'  a  rod  or  two,  beatin'  the  water  with  their 
wings,  and  at  last  they'll  make  out  to  git  clear.  The  best 
way  they  find  to  raise  up  is  agin  the  swells ;  they  git  a 
cant-up  then  quick.  Onst  up,  they  fly  like  the  mischief 
high  in  the  air,  so  that  you  kin  jest  see  'm,  and  they  keep  up 
a  terr'ble  hootin'  and  squallin'  as  they  go,  the  same  as  in 
the  water." 

"  They  have  nests,  of  course  ?" 

"  Sarten.  They  build  'm  along  the  edges  o'  the  islands, 
and  on  the  p'ints,  and  in  the  lonesomest  coves.  Very  of 'en 
they  build  on  floatin'  bogs,  which  is  tied  by  threads  of 
grass  to  the  bottom,  like  the  water-lilies.  I've  seen  'm  a 
half  a  mile  from  shore,  sometimes,  on  these  bogs.  The 
nests  is  made  of  wet  mud,  and  they  lay  two  or  three  big- 
sized,  green-lookin'  eggs,  speckled  with  brown  spots.  In 
the  spring,  and  along  airly  in  the  summer,  the  male  bird  '11 
go  with  his  mate.  After  that,  the  mother  '11  go  with  her 
young,  and  the  old  loon  goes  sailin'  about  alone  by  himself. 
It  takes  a  quick  hand  to  shoot  'm,  they  dive  so  at  the  flash 
o'  the  gun." 

"  They  can't  be  eaten,  can  they  ?" 

"  Oh  massy,  no  !  I'd  as  lieve  eat  a  raven.  They're  so 
full  of  ile,  that  their  feathers,  as  ye  see,  is  as  dry  .as  a  pine- 
board  as  sun  as  they  come  out  o'  the  water." 

"  What  do  they  feed  on  ?" 

"  Fish  and  frogs  and  plants  and  grass,  and  sich  like,  that 
they  find  round  the  water.  They  dive  after  the  fish,  and 


OR,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.  311 

gulp  'm  down  while  they're  under  water.  They're  weather- 
wise,  too.  Such  a  howlin',  and  catterwaulin',  and  bow- 
wowing  as  they'll  set  up  afore  a  rain-storm  or  a  gale  o' 
wind !  Hark !"  as  a  succession  of  faint  cries  came  from 
behind  a  point.  "  The  loons  in  Gilpin  Bay,  down  there 
to  the  west,  is  sayin'  that  rain's  now  makin'  fur  us.  There's 
the  deer,  too.  They  kin  tell  three  days  aforehand  when  a 
long  storm's  a-comin'.  No  matter  how  clear  the  weather 
is,  they'll  go  off  from  where  they've  bin  in  the  habit  o' 
feedin',  to  the  thickest  woods  and  swamps,  a-housin'  them- 
selves agin  the  storm.  The  truth  is,  Mr.  Smith,  I'm  in  a 
wonder  like,  how  much  all  the  dumb  critters  in  the  woods 
knows.  They  kin  take  keer  o'  themselves  a  good  deal  bet- 
ter than  most  folks.  I've  watched  a  common  mushrat,  afore 
now,  seein'  'm  dodge  about  after  his  food,  keepin'  a  good 
look-out  all  the  time  for  dannger,  till  I  raaly  didn't  know 
what  to  think,  except  that  all  this  preached  up,  jest  as  clear 
as  the  sun,  that  there  was  suthin'  directin'  all  this.  Even 
ef  there  was  no  sich  thing  as  a  Bible,  all  what  I  see  in  the 
woods  tells  me  there's  a  God." 

We  turned  a  long  point,  and  directed  our  course  toward 
a  bay  on  the  east  side  of  the  lake. 

.  "  Markham  P'int,"  said  Harvey,  "  the  biggest  p'int  on 
the  lake.  The  bay  here  is  Saganaw  Bay,  where  we'd  better 
camp  lor  the  night.  The  island  is  Trout  Island." 

We  landed  upon  a  beautiful  beach  of  smooth  white  sand, 
in  a  little  green  nook.  The  broad  print  of  a  panther's 
paw  was  stamped  in  the  sand  near  the  water,  where  he  had 
probably  paused  to  drink. 

The  sun  had  now  set.  As  I  watched  him  sinking  below 
the  tree-tops,  I  felt,  with  the  wide  lonely  lake  in  front  and 
the  overwhelming  forests  around,  more  profoundly  than 
ever  before,  as  if  some  protecting  power  had  departed. 

Rosy  clouds  were  scattered  over  the  zenith.  On  the  rim 
of  the  west  was  a  cloudy  terrace  of  violet,  pink,  and  lus- 
trous grey ;  the  lake  displayed  a  rich  burnish,  and  the 
island  began  thickening  in  golden  umber. 


312  WOODS  AND  WATERS: 

We  selected  our  sleeping-room  beneath  an  old  iron-like 
trunk,  glued  to  the  ledge  out  of  which  it  twisted,  the  whole 
looking  as  if  the  rock  had  shot  out  into  a  tree.  Here  we 
spread  our  mattresses  of  boughs,  built  our  camp-fire,  and 
ate  our  evening  meal.  The  dusk  crept  on,  and  the  night 
breeze  came  in  delicious  breaths  of  coolness.  Above,  the 
moon  was  shining,  yielding  to  the  water  a  dim,  tremulous 
lustre,  and  painting  the  forest  with  silver  lights  and  deep, 
sweeping  shadows. 

After  a  while,  father  and  son  commenced  a  song,  which 
I  give  in  "  corrected  form." 

Oh,  give  me  a  home  where  the  far  winds  roam 

Through  the  forest,  as  over  the  sea  1 
Where  the  waters  wide  are  flashing  and  the  torrents  bold  are  dashing, 

And  the  eagle  waves  his  pinion  far  and  free ! 
Where  the  trout  is  glad  up-leaping  and  the  lily-cup  is  sleeping, 

And  the  deer  is  skimming  onward  like  a  dart; 
In  this  home  of  simple  pleasures,  which  in  sooth  are  greatest  treasures, 

In  this  home,  this  free  home  of  the  heart  1 

Oh,  why  should  we  stay,  where  our  toilsome  way 

Is  beset  by  the  pitfall  and  thorn  1 
Where  we  call  each  other  brother,  but  to  prey  on  one  another, 

And  we  better,  never,  never  have  been  born  I 
Yes,  why  should  we  so  sorrow,  when  here  the  day  and  morrow  .  ^ 

Are  made  of  vanished  Paradise  a  part  1 
In  this  home  of  leaf  and  fountain  1  in  this  realm  of  lake  and  moon  tain  I 

In  this  home,  this  free  home  of  the  heart  I 


OR,   SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.  313 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

Up  Fish-Creek  Waters. — Old  Dam  at  Floodwood  Pond. — Big  Square  Pond.— 
Maine  Shanty. — Beaver-dam. — Wind  on  Upper  Saranac. — Bear  Point. — 
The  Narrows. — Deer  in  Lake. — Camping  on  Point. — Moonlight  Scene. — 
Dawn. — Trail  in  the  Woods. — Down  Lake  to  Bartlett's. — Moonlight  Sail 
through  Lower  Saranac. — Baker's. 

DAYBREAK  saw  us  afloat,  our  dips  alone  disturbing  the 
crystal  of  the  lake.  Little  wheels  of  dead  leaves  revolved 
occasionally  athwart  the  open  dingles  of  the  woods,  along 
the  bay;  the  nervous  aspens  shook  their  round  leaves  in 
quick,  glancing  motions,  like  the  play  of  water,  while  the 
wan  tinge  of  the  sky  was  momentarily  darkening  the  blue 
into  brown,  threatening  to  drive  away  the  sunshine.  All 
betokened  rain,  like  the  loons  in  Gilpin  Bay  the  day  before. 
We  decided,  however,  to  visit  Big  Square  Pond,  as  con- 
templated, and  accordingly  we  crossed  the  lake  to  Fish 
Creek  Bay,  directly  opposite  where  we  had  encamped. 
Passing  through  the  bay,  we  entered  Fish  Creek  north- 
westwardly, and  went  through  its  first  three  ponds,  from 
the  third  of  which  Big  Square  Pond  opens  to  the  west. 

"  Shell  we  go  up  as  far  as  Floodwood  Pond,  Mr.  Smith  ?" 
said  Harvey;  "I'd  like'to  show  yer  the  old  dam  at  the  out- 
let of  this  creek,  where  I  net  white  fish  in  the  fall.  I 
start  from  hum  so  as  to  be  on  the  ground  airly  in  the 
mornin',  fill  my  barr'l  and  git  to  hum  agin  afore  night." 

"We  pushed  accordingly  through  the  other  expanses  of 
the  Creek,  silvered  over  with  the  white  lily -blossoms,  and 
glanced  at  Little  Square  Pond,  lying  also  to  the  west  and 
looking  sombre  under  the  fast  darkening  colors  of  the  sky. 
A  mile  farther  of  the  Creek  brought  us  to  the  dam. 

An  immense  log  lay  athwart  the  mouth  of  the  outlet, 


314  WOODS  AND  WATERS; 

resting  on  beds  of  gravel.  At  the  left  were  the  blackened 
timbers  of  the  old  dilapidated  dam,  while  the  broken,  pre- 
cipitous banks  were  bristling  with  cedars,  the  lighter  green 
of  the  hard  or  deciduous  trees  mingling  with  their  dark 
hues.  Beyond,  spread  the  waters  of  the  pond,  dim  under 
the  leaden  sky,  which  was  fast  thickening  into  mist. 

The  quick  drops  were  beating  merrily  upon  the  lily -pad 
surface  of  Duck  Pond,  as  we  passed  downward,  and  when 
we  turned  into  Big  Square  Pond,  the  whole  scene  was 
roaring  with  the  rain. 

"  Thank  fortin'  for  the  Maine  Shanty  up  ahead,"  said 
Harvey  ;  "  it  looks  to  me  'twould  rain  all  day." 

The  shanty  was  at  the  extreme  western  end  of  the  pond, 
and  proved  tight  and  comfortable. 

"  The  lumber  fellers  has  left  a  good  stove,  I  see,"  con- 
tinued the  old  woodman,  "  and,"  picking  up  a  fragment  of 
spruce  board,  "  here's  a  part  o'  the  deacon-seat,  that'll  be 
old  hunderd  fur  kindlin'." 

The  stove,  after  puffing  a  little  in  smoky  anger,  sup- 
plied farther  by  the  dry  billets  of  wood  lying  in  a  little 
closet,  diffused  a  ruddy  glow  through  the  room  and  a 
grateful  warmth  over  our  chilled  frames.  All  the  afternoon 
we  heard  the  monotonous  song  of  the  rain  upon  the  roof, 
only  varied  by  the  gusty  strike  of  the  sheets  against  the 
sides  of  the  cabin,  as  if  they  wished  to  make  us  a  visit 
bodily.  The  open  door  let  our  vision  out  upon  the 
white,  bubbling  surface  of  the  water,  and  the  dark,  wet 
woods. 

There  was  a  second  story,  of  one  room,  littered  with 
straw,  in  which  I  found  a  dingy  pack  of  cards.  The  hollow 
bass  of  the  rain  alone  awoke  the  silence,  and  I  listened  to 
it  with  the  pleasure  yielded  by  my  security  from  the  "  piti- 
less "  peltings  without. 

At  sunset  there  was  a  change.  The  storm  struggled 
heavily  against  the  charging  winds  and  the  spears  of  sun- 
shine, marshalling  its  sullen  columns  and  rolling  and  wel- 
tering over  the  battle-ground  of  the  concave,  but  at  last 


OR,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.  315 

piled  its  black  masses  in  retreat  at  the  east,  leaving  a  bare 
zenith  and  a  west  glowing  in  ruby. 

At  midnight  I  was  awakened  by  a  wild  shout.  I  started 
to  my  feet,  for  I  thought  some  wretch  was  drowning  in  the 
lake,  or  perishing  in  the  woods.  A  second  cry  came,  and 
I  found  it  was  that  of  a  loon.  I  looked  from  the  little  win- 
dow of  the  loft.  It  was  repeated,  and,  in  the  dead  darkness 
of  the  hour  and  blackness  of  the  water,  the  cry  seemed  the 
wail  of  some  demon  mocking,  while  it  despaired. 

Morning  arose  with  a  high  wind.  We  crossed  the  pond 
to  another  lumber  shanty,  and  then  followed  a  faint  trail 
through  the  woods  for  a  mile,  which  brought  us  to  the 
beaver  meadow.  It  was  larger  than  any  I  had  found,  with 
the  usual  grass  and  islands  of  wood  and  edges  of  tamarack. 
A  stream  coursed  through,  with  two  small  ponds,  one  of 
which  was  skirted  by  the  dam.  This  was  much  higher 
than  those  I  had  seen,  having  an  altitude  of  six  feet.  Soli- 
tude and  silence  claimed  the  whole  scene,  and  after  enjoy- 
ing the  quiet  beauty  awhile,  I  returned  with  my  guides  to 
the  boat. 

"  We  shell  hev  a  dancin'  time  on't,  on  S'nac,"  said 
Harvey,  as  we  came  in  sight  of  Fish  Creek  Bay;  "  it's  a 
south  wind,  and  it  has  the  whull  rake  o'  the  water." 

The  trees  were  waving  on  the  borders  of  the  Creek,  and 
the  leafy  depths  gave  out  a  sullen  sound,  ominous  of  the 
truth  of  Harvey's  words.  No  signs,  however,  were  in  the 
bay  to  verify  them,  the  surface,  though  rolling,  being  by  no 
means  menacing.  Nevertheless,  as  I  looked  into  the  main 
lake,  I  saw,  with  some  misgiving,  a  black,  stormy-looking 
water,  with  quick  flits  of  white  upon  it. 

Phin  was  at  the  oars  and  Harvey  at  the  stern  with  his 
paddle.  Watch  was  curled  at  my  feet.  Eight  toward  the 
black  water  the  old  boatman  steered,  the  swells,  every 
moment,  although  we  were  still  in  the  bay,  growing  more 
and  more  threatening.  At  length  a  dull,  deep  roaring 
met  our  ears. 

"  Old  S'nac  is  rael  mad  to-day,"  said  Harvey,  quietly 


316  WOODS  AND  WATERS; 

looking  at  the  black  water  in  front.  "  This  south  wind 
plays  the  mischief  with  the  lake.  It  rakes  it  all  along  and 
makes  the  edges  jest  as  bad,  if  not  wuss,  than  the  middle. 
The  swells  'ud  pound  a  boat  on  the  rocks  and  stuns  o'  the 
banks  all  to  pieces  in  five  minutes.  "We've  got  to  take  it  in 
the  deep  water  jest  as  we  kin,  and  we  will  take  it  as  sun 
as  we  git  round  Moose  P'int  there,"  nodding  toward  a 
point  on  the  right,  bounding  the  bay. 

Higher  and  higher  rose  the  swells,  and  at  length,  turn- 
ing the  point  downward,  we  found  ourselves  amid  rollers 
several  feet  high,  flashing  with  foam  and  bursting  with 
portentous  roar.  Up  to  the  summit  of  the  swells,  and 
pitching  into  the  hollows,  on  we  went.  Occasionally,  as 
some  roller  higher  than  the  rest  hung  over  us,  Harvey,  with 
a  gesture,  would  direct  the  course  of  Phin's  oars,  dipping  a 
rapid  paddle  himself,  and  we  would  skirt  the  base  of  the 
threatening  swell,  like  the  darting  swallow,  until  we  could 
CT:OSS  its  lessened  slope  with  safety. 

For  one  mile  we  thus  fought  our  way,  Harvey  smoking 
his  pipe  with  great  calmness,  and  Phin  pulling  with  the 
same  careless  air  he  would  have  worn  on  the  sheltered 
Racket. 

At  length  Harvey  spoke. 

"  You  see  that  p'int  out  there  to  the  right  ?  That's  Bear 
P'int,  and  there  the  wust  part  o'  the  Narrers  begins.  I 
don't  want  to  be  skeery,  but  I  raaly  think  'twont  do  to  try 
to  go  through  'm  in  this  blow.  The  rollers  here's  next  to 
nothin'  to  them  down  there,  and  it's  my  jedgment  we'd 
better  land  on  the  p'int  and  wait  for  the  blow  to  die  off,  as 
I  think  'twill  about  sundown.  At  all  events  we'll  hev  good 
dry  campin'  there  ef  we're  obleeged  to  pass  the  night.  Shell 
wedo't?" 

I  gladly  assented,  an-d  passing  over  several  perilous  rollers, 
we  were  at  length  enabled  to  moor  our  slight  craft  at  the 
point,  after  a  paroxysm  of  thumpings  upon  the  rocks  that 
threatened  its  destruction.  Our  spot  was  a  small,  tree- 
less ledge  rounding  into  the  lake,  with  two  or  three  little 


OE,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARA.NACS.  317 

grassy  hollows  near  the  edge  of  the  woods,  and  large  blocks 
and  points  of  splintered  rocks  at  the  water-margin,  through 
and  over  which  the  angry  swells  dashed  themselves  into 
flying  spray  with  hoarse  sounds.  Downward  for  half  a 
mile  rolled  and  foamed  the  black  Narrows. 

Harvey  leveled  a  maple,  and  soon  a  blazing  fire  kindled 
the  bleak  point  into  comfort.  We  then  partook  of  our 
frugal  dinner,  and  passed  the  afternoon  very  pleasantly. 

Although  the  gale  swept  furiously  up  the  lake,  whistling 
over  the  point  and  howling  through  the  bordering  trees, 
yet  a  little  distance  within,  the  branches,  except  at  top, 
spread  out  in  a  silence  and  quiet  as  profound  as  in  the  most 
breathless  atmosphere ;  so  little  did  even  this  fierce  wind 
affect  the  huge  mass  of  the  wilderness. 

In  front  and  on  either  hand,  the  dark,  wrathful  lake  was 
tossing  and  bursting  into  white,  while  the  roar  of  the  swells 
was  mingled  with  that  of  the  wind.  The  upper  clouds 
were  -almost  motionless,  but  below,  the  ghastly  scuds  flew 
from  south  to  north  with  almost  the  speed  of  lightning. 

It  was  now  near  sunset,  and  the  two  guides  had  gone  a 
rod  or  two  into  the  forest  for  branches  with  which  to  sup- 
ply the  fire.  Looking  above  the  Narrows,  I  suddenly 
espied  a  small  white  object  gliding  over  the  rough  water, 
which  a  second  glance  assured  me  was  a  deer. 

The  guides  emerging  upon  the  point  at  the  instant,  saw 
the  deer  also,  and  rushed  to  the  boat,  which  had  been  drawn 
upon  the  rocks.  Directly,  they  Were  tossing  upon  the 
surface  in  pursuit  of  the  animal,  which  had  caught  sight  of 
them,  turned,  and  was  now  making  back  for  the  shore. 
Although  the  boat  almost  flew  over  the  water,  I  saw  the 
deer,  which  was  swimming  rapidly,  still  fa.r  in  advance. 
At  last  he  raised  his  light  frame  and  shot  up  the  bank.  In 
a  minute  or  two  the  Bluebird  also  touched  the  bank,  and 
the  two  men  disappeared. 

After  a  half  hour  passed  by  me  in  watching  the  chasing 
Bwells,  and  listening  to  their  tumult,  I  saw  a  black  speck 
at  the  opposite  shore,  and  then  a  flash  of  silver.  It  was  the 


318  WOODS  AND  WATERS; 

returning  boat,  bringing,  however,  no  deer.  Although  shot 
by  Harvey  in  the  hind-quarter,  it  had  managed  to  escape. 

The  wind,  instead  of  lessening,  grew  wilder  as  the  twilight 
thickened.  The  guides  cut  down  a  hemlock,  and  with  its 
branches  strewed  our  couches  for  the  night,  in  one  of  the 
hollows  nearest  the  woods.  The  fire  was  supplied  gene- 
rously. We  hauled  the  boat  up,  propped  it  at  the  edge  of 
the  hollow,  and  then  stretched  ourselves  for  slumber  under 
its  roof,  which  curved  half  way  over,  thus  protecting  us 
mainly  from  the  wind. 

I  raised  myself  on  my  elbow,  before  sleeping,  to  survey 
the  scene.  The  jack  had  been  kindled,  and  was  burning 
under  the  stern  of  the  boat;  the  fire  suffused  the  point 
with  yellow  light,  which  caught  upon  our  ribbed  roof,  and 
brought  out  in  bold  though  unequal  relief  the  background 
row  of  trees,  leaving  the  depths  beyond  to  murky  black- 
ness. The  lake  in  front  spread  in  lighter,  but  still  uncer- 
tain hues,  and  the  swells  made  a  continual  wash  upon  the 
point. 

Suddenly  the  moon  burst  from  a  huge,  black  cloud, 
covering  one-half  the  sky,  and  threw  her  soft  smile  upon 
the  lake,  in  strong  contrast  to  its  rolling  and  foaming  rage. 
The  near  picture  of  the  point  started  out  in  clear  outline  ; 
the  paled  fire,  the  phalanx  of  forest,  the  curved  boat,  the 
two  sleepers,  and  the  rocks  at  the  edge  of  the  water,  now 
darkly  glistening  and  now  buried  in  the  silver  lashings  of 
the  spray. 

The  burst  of  moonlight  seemed  the  sudden  coming  of  a 
friend,  and  with  a  glow  of  pleasure  from  its  guardian  pre- 
sence, I  lay  down  beside  my  companions,  and,  to  the  moan- 
ing of  the  forest  and  splashing  of  the  lake,  fell  asleep. 

I  woke.  The  fire  had  died  away  ;  the  moon  was  filling 
the  hollow  of  the  boat  with  silver,  showing,  clear  as  day, 
my  guides  in  the  attitude  of  slumber ;  and  the  east  was 
turning  into  amber  with  the  coming  of  the  sun. 

The  swells  had  ceased ;  the  wind  no  longer  moaned  in 
the  branches ;  all  was  peaceful  and  beautiful.  An  owl  was 


OR,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.  319 

whining  in  the  yet  murky  depths,  and  a  couple  of  loons 
were  in  a  convulsion  of  howls  and  screams  upon  the  lake. 
.  I  again  slept,  and  awoke  this  time  at  the  summons  of 
Harvey.  The  moon  was  in  the  west,  blind  and  pale ;  the 
east  was  glowing  with  gold,  and  the  scuds,  which  were 
driving  like  smoke  before  the  again  wakened,  but  now 
gentler  wind,  gleamed  in  flakes  of  flame. 

The  Narrows  heaved,  but  were  no  longer  swelling  and 
bursting  in  anger. 

We  embarked ;  but  previous  to  laying  our  course  down- 
ward, crossed  over  to  look  up  the  wounded  deer. 

Harvey  soon  struck  the  trail  among  the  herbage,  where 
I  saw  nothing. 

4-t  none  of  the  peculiarities  of  forest  life  have  I  been 
more  astonished  than  at  the  quickness  of  sight  and  skill  (I 
might  almost  say  intuition)  of  the  guides,  in  deciphering 
the  little,  delicate  signs  left  by  the  wood  animals,  in  token 
of  their  late  presence.  The  tilting  of  a  fern,  the  rent  of  a 
dead  leaf,  a  dash  of  moss,  a  drop  of  rusty  blood  scarce 
distinguishable  from  a  weather-stain,  a  crushed  sprout,  the 
edge-mark  of  a  hoof,  the  puncture  of  a  claw,  even  the 
cling  of  a  hair  on  a  shrub,  etches  the  trail  to  the  hunter's  or 
trapper's  eye,  unerringly  as  the  beaten  deer-track  winding 
through  the  woods. 

The  old  guide  wove  the  bits  of  his  trail  together  for  a 
mile,  but  in  vain.  He  then  decided  to  return,  and  resume 
our  downward  course,  fearful  the  wind  might  again  rise 
in  its  strength  and  imprison  us  another  day. 

As  we  passed  through  the  Narrows,  I  asked  Harvey 
some  questions  about  the  lake. 

"  It's  ten  miles  long,  and,  as  a  gin'ral  thing,  three  wide," 
he  answered.  "  From  the  head,  as  you  come  out  o'  Spring 
Pond  Bay,  you  can  see  clearn  to  the  foot,  where  the  Injin 
Carry  is,  lyin',  as  it  doos,  about  due  north  and  south. 
From  bay  to  bay — that  is,  through  Fish  Creek  Bay  to 
Saganaw  Bay — it's,  say,  four  miles ;  and  it's  four  miles  at 
the  head,  by  Tommy's  Hock  and  Goo — Wild  Goose  Island. 


320  WOODS  AND  WATERS; 

It's  a  grand  sheet  o'  water,  and  has  a  shore  line  of  mebby 
fifty  miles,  with  nine  bays,  eleven  p'ints,  and  twenty-five 
islands." 

As  we  opened  upon  the  broad  part  of  the  lake  below 
the  Narrows,  the  water  grew  rough  again,  and  opposite  a 
wild  clearing  at  the  west,  belonging  to  Bartlett,  we  encoun- 
tered a  few  rollers  that  reminded  us  of  those  of  the  day 
before ;  but  we  danced  merrily  over,  making  for  the  islands 
in  front. 

"  There's  smooth  water  agin,  jest  beyond  Mink  Island 
there,"  said  Harvey ;  "  and  I  smell  the  breakfast  a'most 
from  Bartlett's." 

We  threaded  the  islands  and  turned  around  a  point  into 
the  bay  or  "  Gut,"  from  which  dash  the  Saranac  river- 
rapids. 

Upon  our  right,  at  the  foot  of  the  beautiful  lake,  rose 
the  woods  of  the  Indian  Carrying-Place;  and  I  let  my 
fancy  wander  through  its  leafy  corridor  to  those  wild 
realms  beyond,  I  had  so  lately  traversed  with  ever  new 
delight. 

We  passed  through  the  Gut  to  the  carry  around  the 
rapids,  and  a  short  walk  in  the  fresh  morning  air  brought 
us  to  the  dip  in  the  road  beneath  which  stood  Bartlett's  Inn. 

Here  I  passed  the  day.  I  looked  at  the  little  garden ; 
listened  in  the  log-hut  to  the  talk  of  two  of  Bartlett's 
guides ;  watched  Bartlett  himself,  as  in  high  good-humor 
he  led  his  hounds  by  couples  to  the  water  for  a  plunge- 
bath,  he  shouting  at  the  top  of  his  shrill  voice  as  they 
shrank  and  strove  to  escape ;  examined  the  dam ;  crossed 
the  picturesque  bridge,  and  wandered  along  the  wooded 
acclivity  opposite ;  re-crossed,  and  caught  glimpses  of  the 
rapids  from  the  carry ;  partook  of  a  capital  dinner  of  trout 
and  venison ;  strolled  in  the  gentle  afternoon  light  through 
the  whole  grassy  area  of  the  little  clearing;  made  the 
acquaintance  of  a  party  just  setting  out  with  their  guides 
toward  the  Indian  Carrying^  Place,  over  which  a  deep 
purple  thunderstorm  was  lowering ;  opened  another  with  a 


OR,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.         321 

second  party  firing  at  the  head  of  a  dried  loon-skin  on  a 
pine  near  the  line  of  hound-kennels,  the  crack  of  the  rifle 
and  cough  of  the  fowling-piece  making  the  echoes  rattle  in 
the  woods ;  and  after  the  sun  had  closed  his  broad  eye 
behind  the  western  trees,  listened  to  the  song  of  the  Sara- 
nac  Nightingale,  rising  and  sinking  from  the  forest  toward 
the  Upper  Lake. 

How  I  love  the  music  of  this  hermit  bird !  In  the 
rudest  recesses,  it  has  caught  my  ear,  as  well  as  in  the  most 
beautiful.  I  have  listened  as  it  melted  over  the  sunset 
mirror  of  the  Lower  Saranac,  floated  through  the  wild 
beaver- woods  of  the  St.  Regis,  cheered  the  depressing  lone- 
liness of  Dead  Creek,  spread  a  charm  over  the  Bog  Eiver 
fastnesses,  and  pierced  as  with  a  silver  arrow  the  roar  of 
Perciefield. 

Oh  the  trill  of  the  beautiful  bluebird  1 

It  sends  a  quick  joy  through  the  breast ; 
For  it  tells  us  the  blossoms  are  coming, 

That  Nature  has  waked  from  her  rest! 
And  witching  the  red  robin's  warble, 

That  floats  the  May  sunset  along ; 
But  the  woods  own  a  melody  sweeter, 

The  Saranac  Nightingale's  song! 

And  merry  the  lay  of  the  bobolink, 

Hither  and  thither  so  free, 
Till  the  bushes  and  stalks  of  the  pasture-field 

Tremble  and  sway  in  his  glee  I 
And  the  wren  at  her  tiny  wood-cottage, 

"What  notes  from  her  little  bill  throng! 
But  both  would  I  turn  from  to  listen 

The  Saranac  Nightingale's  song. 

When  saddened,  how  low  sinks  the  melody  I 

Lower  and  tenderer  still; 
Till  a  fountain,  distilled  from  true  happiness, 

Softly  the  heart  seems  to  fill  1 
"When  blithe,  oh  how  loud  and  how  bell-like 

The  strain  she  then  seems  to  prolong ! 
Yes,  the  spirit  of  rapture  is  ringing! 

The  Saranac  Nightingale's  song. 
21 


322  WOODS  AND  WATERS; 

I  have  heard  it  when  day-break  was  blushing, 

When  evening  was  gleaming  in  gold, 
When  sunshine  was  sparkling  around  me, 

When  storm  robed  the  sky  with  its  fold ; 
And  to  each  of  the  summer-day  changes 

Her  song  seemed  in  turn  to  belong. 
Oh,  faithfullest  echo  to  Nature  1 

The  Saranac  Nightingale's  song. 

And  now  when  fond  memory  pictures 

The  far-away  wilderness  scene, 
Where  I  wandered,  unchained  as  the  eagle, 

Among  the  rich  splendor  of  green ; 
Though  the  pine  sounds  its  deep-hearted  harmony, 

Ripple  the  waters  along, 
Far  dearer  one  strain  to  remembrance, 

The  Saranac  Nightingale's  song  I 

Twilight  had  shown  its  last  tint  in  the  brightening  moo«i 
as  we  crossed  Bound  Lake,  which  was  one  glow  of  ruby. 
We  entered  the  narrow  channel  of  the  Saranab  Eiver, 
and  the  close  woods  threw  a  darkness  over  the  scene, 
save  where  a  reaching  moonbeam  kindled  the  silver  birch 
or  flashed  upon  a  reach  of  the  river. 

We  made  the  short  portage  of  the  Middle  Falls,  and  at 
length,  emerging  from  the  gloom  of  the  river,  saw  before 
us  the  superb  moonlight  picture  of  the  Lower  Saranac. 

So  quiet  was  the  water,  we  seemed  floating  through  air, 
with  the  shadowy  islands  like  clouds  around  us.  Now 
we  glided  over  a  broad  space  of  splendor,  and  now  blended 
ourselves  in  the  gloom  of  some  aisle  of  foliage  or  rock. 
The  quiet  was  perfect,  for  Harvey  had  shipped  the  oars, 
and  Phin  was  drawing  the  paddle  noiseless  as  in  the  night 
hunt.  Not  a  leaf  rustled,  not  a  ripple  murmured.  Never 
did  the  world  appear  so  far  away,  with  its  childish  pomp, 
its  hollow  conventionalities,  its  follies  and  its  crimes.  Na- 
ture seemed  to  whisper  rest  to  the  weary  heart,  to  throw 
her  arms  around  it  and  say,  "Come!  find  on  my  bosom 
the  solace  of  thy  sorrows  and  thy  cares."  And  never  had 
my  whole  being  been  so  spell-bound  in  the  witchery  of  the 
moon.  I  have  since  seen  her  glowing  above  the  awful 


OR,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.  328 

solitudes  of  the  Indian  Pass ;  on  the  slope  of  Mount  Seward, 
I  have  marked  her  silver  pouring  upon  the  terrific  wilder- 
ness that  stretches  southward  from  his  base,  the  mysterious 
region  of  "  The  Chain  Lakes  " — the  lone  eleven ;  I  have 
gazed  upon  her,  a  pearly  pendent  on  the  sublime  brow  of 
Tahawus,  and  thought  her  loveliness  enhanced  by  the  stern 
contrast.  But  now  all  was  in  harmony ;  all  one  blended 
scene  of  almost  heavenly  beauty. 

At  length  we  glided  between  the  Two  Sisters,  leaving 
Eagle  Island  to  our  right  one  ridge  of  pearl,  crossed  the 
molten  silver  of  the  intervening  basin,  and  stopped  at  Mar- 
tin's. X 

Here  we  refreshed  ourselves  on  some  of  the  host's  excel- 
lent wildwood  viands,  and  then,  leaving  the  guides  to  care 
for  the  faithful  Bluebird,  which  had  so  long  borne  me  in 
my  wanderings,  I  took  up-  my  solitary  midnight,  moonlight 
way  to  the  Lake  House. 

The  tops  of  the  woods  were  illumined ;  splashes  of  white 
light  lay  on  the  bushes,  chequered  the  prostrate  logs,  and 
turned  the  twisted  roots  into  slumbering  serpents.  The 
rude  houses  of  Harrietstown  were  painted  into  sharp-cut 
lights  and  shadows,  and  the  dam  was  one  sheet  of  silver. 
As  I  ascended  the  hill,  I  again  noticed  the  picturesque 
river-bend  more  beautiful  than  ever  in  the  delicate  light. 
Another  turn  in  the  road  brought  in  view  the  white,  gabled 
tavern  of  Baker's. 

How  stifling  was  the  air  of  my  chamber  after  camping 
so  long  in  the  woods !  It  seemed  at  first  I  could  hardly 
breathe,  but  the  long  usage  of  conventional  life  triumphed, 
and  I  fell  asleep,  the  murmurings  of  the'  little  rapid  chang- 
ing into  the  hum  of  the  pine,  and  the  lighter  square  of  my 
open  window  into  the  parted  drapery  of  the  "  breezy  tent." 


324  WOODS  AND  WATERS; 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

Whiteface. — Approach  to  Mountain. — Upward. — White  Falls.-'Chasm. — 
Little  Slide. — Great  Slide. — Summit. — Prospect.— Descent. — Baker's. — 
Backwoods'  Dance. — Whiteface  Notch. — Homeward. 

THE  next  morning  I  started  on  the  last  of  my  excursions, 
the  visit  to  the  summit  of  Whiteface. 

This  mountain  is  the  northern  outpost  of  the  Adirondacks. 
It  is  a  detached  summit,  wearing  near  its  brow  a  light  grey 
appearance,  which  has  given  it  its  name ;  it  is  over  five 
thousand  feet  in  height,  and  owns  but  one  superior,  Mount 
Tahawus  (a  recent  survey  makes  that  doubtful)  between 
the  Connecticut  and  the  Mississippi.  Its  south-western 
foot  is  bathed  by  Lake  Placid,  and  along  its  southern 
and  eastern  sides  flows  the  west  branch  of  the  Ausable 
River. 

The  great  slide  of  the  mountain  is  on  its  western  flank — 
a  steep  channel  of  rock,  Jike  a  torrent  transformed  into 
stone — and  reaches  from  its  brow  half-way  to  its  base.  The 
mountain,  with  one  exception — a  rough,  stony  opening 
around  its  southern  summit — is  wrapped  to  its  very  peak  in 
forest,  is  totally  uninhabited,  and  is  wild  and  savage  to 
the  last  degree.  It  is  seen  in  every  direction  for  fifty  miles, 
and  might  well  be  crowned  the  king  of  the  region. 

Our  Club  had  already  left  the  woods  for  their  homes,  and 
in  the  afternoon,  through  an  air  freshened  by  the  showers 
of  the  morning,  I  started  with  a  chance  companion  (a  gentle- 
man who  had  just  returned  from  an  excursion  up  Bog 
River)  for  the  ascent. 

We  took  the  road  to  Nash's,  a  ride  of  twelve  miles  • 


OR,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.  325 

whence  a  half-mile  on  foot  would  carry  us  to  Lake  Placid, 
across  whose  four-mile  length  lay  our  course  to  the  foot  of 
the  mountain. 

I  had  a  passing  view  of  Harvey  at  the  door  of  his  cabin, 
with  a  sapling  angle-rod  leaning  beside  him  and  a  rifle  on 
his  knee,  the  lock  of  which  he  seemed  examining,  and  we 
exchanged  a  word  of  hearty  greeting.  Several  hounds  were 
gliding  in  and  out,  conspicuous  among  which  were  Watch 
and  Pup. 

We  crossed  "  The  Plains,"  noted  for  deer,  passed  the 
track  to  Ray  Brook,  famous  for  trout,  and  a  few  miles  far- 
ther saw  at  our  left,  detached  from  the  mountains  that 
hitherto  had  formed  our  east  horizon,  the  grand  form  of 
old  Whiteface. 

We  emerged  from  the  woods,  that  with  intervals  of 
rough  clearing  and  wild  meadow  had  crowded  the  wheel- 
track,  and  opened  on  the  smooth  fields  of  North  Elba. 
Opposite  the  white  dwelling  of  the  blind  Priest  of  the 
Adirondacks,  we  turned  eastward,  still  finding  a  road. 

At  Thompson's  we  secured  our  guide — young  Dauphin 
Thompson,  since  engaged  in  John  Brown's  famous  raid  at 
Harper's  Ferry  and  there  shot.  Toward  sunset,  we  reached 
Bennet's  Pond,  on  the  borders  of  which  was  Nash's  clear- 
ing. 

To  the  south  stretched  the  superb  Adirondacks,  with 
Tahawus  soaring  above  all. 

Sunset  came,  flashing  from  his  front  the  most  imperial 
colors.  The  range  turned  into  a  haze  of  rose-violet,  the 
little  pond  in  front  into  a  ruby,  while  to  the  extreme  left 
of  the  mountain-picture  gleamed  the  purple  cone  of  White- 
face. 

By  and  by  the  round  moon  rose,  and  the  lovely  landscape 
lay  in  the  silver  silence  of  the  night. 

Sunrise  found  us  at  Paradox  Pond,  which  opens  by  a 
narrow  channel  into  Lake  Placid. 

This  beautiful  lake  lies  in  a  northeast  direction,  two  long 
islands  and  one  smaller  giving  it  the  appearance  of  a  series 


WOODS  AND  WATERS; 

of  lagoons.  It  is  sheltered  by  lofty  shores,  and  its  quiet 
depths  are  of  crystalline  clearness.  Not  a  trace  of  cultiva- 
tion breaks  the  surrounding  woods.  Whiteface  towers 
over  its  northeastern  head.  And  here  I  may  remark 
another  peculiarity  of  this  wilderness — scarce  a  mountain 
but  owns  its  lake  spread  like  a  mirror  to  reflect  its  grand 
forests  and  beetling  crags. 

The  outlet  flows  from  its  southwest  border,  and  bends 
easterly  to  join  the  west  branch  of  the  Ausable  River. 
Wild  Chub  Eiver  flows  into  the  outlet  from  the  southwest. 

The  whole  scene  is  wrapped  in  loneliness.  As  we  stood 
upon  the  edge  of  the  Paradox  Pond  our  presence  seemed 
intrusion  upon  some  enchanted  region,  and  as  if  it  might 
call  up  the  awful  Genius  of  Solitude  in  quick  wrath  upon 
us  for  breaking  in  upon  his  repose. 

The  guide  drew  a  boat  from  a  thicket,  and  we  crossed 
the  lake  toward  Whiteface,  the  mountain  all  the  while  lift- 
ing his  proud  cone  higher  and  higher  until  the  summit 
smote  the  blue  of  the  morning. 

But  the  dark  mass  seemed  to  cast  a  great  sorrow  over 
the  brilliant  sky  and  sparkling  lake ;  for  I  was  then  full  of 
trouble.  To  shun  the  haunting  shadow,  whither  should  I 
flee  ?  In  the  sunshine,  it  was  there,  and  in  the  quiet  night ; 
in  the  lonely  musing ;  in  the  tumult  of  the  storm  and  the 
music  of  birds  and  waters.  Whence,  oh  heart !  this  sad- 
ness!  Is  hope  indeed  a  mockery  and  love  but  a  long- 
drawn  sigh  !  Is  life  but  another  name  for  woe — its  past  a 
regretful  memory,  its  present  one  dreary  waste,  its  future 
lost  in  darkness  ? 

Then  I  felt  a  voice  sinking  into  the  depths  of  my  spirit, 
— as  it  were,  the  voice  of  the  mountain. 

"  Cease,  fool  of  thine  own  fantasies !  cease  thy  vain  repin- 
ings  1  Listen !  Yesterday,  storms  beat  upon  my  bosom  ; 
to-day,  I  rejoice  in  sunshine.  But  what  if  storms  should 
return  to-morrow  ?  Still  would  I  stand  upon  my  solid  base 


OR,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.  327 

and  brave  the  clouds  that  dashed  upon  my  breast.  Light- 
nings may  shatter  these  crags  and  cut  their  pathway  to  my 
core,  yet  shall  I  keep  my  heart  forever  firm  in  the  strength 
of  peace." 

I  bowed  to  the  teachings  of  the  voice ;  I  took  the  truth 
into  my  soul.  If  joy  is  transient,  so,  too,  is  sorrow ;  and 
sorrow  nobly  borne  finds  consolation  in  the  very  conscious- 
ness of  the  strength  which  it  reveals. 

It  was  seven  in  the  morning  when  we  commenced  our 
three-mile  ascent.  Path  there  was  none.  Here  and  there, 
as  in  the  beaver-woods,  a  trail  of  bear  or  deer  meandered 
through  the  hollows  and  along  the  low  ridges,  and  was 
often  lost  under  prostrate  trees  and  thickets. 

The  ascent  at  first  was  neither  steep  nor  toilsome.  Soon, 
however,  it  became  obstructed  by  large  rocks,  which  we 
clambered  up,  inserting  our  feet  in  the  crevices,  or  resting 
them  upon  the  mossy  points  and  notches,  and  clinging  to 
the  knotted  roots  or  branches  of  the  firs  and  hemlocks. 

A  deep  murmur  at  length  filled  the  air,  and,  glancing  to 
the  left,  we  caught  flashes  of  falling  water.  Descending, 
we  reached  the  margin  of  a  headlong  brook.  Above,  a 
milk-white  water-fall  hurled  itself  over  frowning  ledges, 
and  foamed  past  and  down  a  wild  ravine  until  lost  in  leafy 
gloom.  It  was  the  stream  of  the  White  Falls. 

The  ascent  now  became  more  and  more  precipitous. 
Dead  trunks  blocked  our  way,  crumbling  into  bro\vn,  damp 
flakes  almost  at  the  touch  of  our  climbing  feet;  immense 
masses  of  roots  erect,  with  corresponding  hollows,  thickets 
almost  impenetrable,  mossy  cavities  in  which  we  plunged 
waist-deep,  underbrush  that  clung  around  our  feet  like  ser- 
pents, and  low  boughs  forcing  us  to  stoop  for  passage,  also 
interrupted  our  progress.  As  in  the  beaver-woods,  again, 
the  moss  spread  its  piled  velvet  over  almost  every  object — 
the  coiling  root,  the  mouldering  log,  the  runnel  cradled  deep 
in  the  dingle,  and  the  ledges  on  the  levels  of  our  way. 

Although  we  were  continually  ascending  I  was  unaware, 


328  WOODS   AND   WATERS  , 

so  dense  twined  the  forest,  of  the  height  to  which  we  had 
clambered.  But  suddenly  the  green  gloom  opened  into 
broad  sunlight,  and,  looking  out  and  down  in  that  direc- 
tion, I  instinctively  recoiled,  with  thrilling  nerves.  There, 
its  edge  within  three  paces,  frowned  a  terrific  chasm,  cloven 
thousands  of  feet  down,  down  through  the  breast  of  the 
mountain.  On  the  nearest  side  it  sank  almost  sheer,  while 
opposite,  a  wall  slightly  sloping  rose  hundreds  of  feet  above. 
Half-way  down  this  awful  gorge,  I  saw  a  floating  atom  that 
I  supposed  an  eagle  tacking  up  the  side.  From  a  ledge, 
seeming  but  a  hand's-breadth  and  near  the  moving  speck, 
slanted  what  appeared  a  shrub,  but  was  really  one  of  those 
enormous  pines  which  towered  up  into  the  sky  opposite, 
and  went  dwindling  rank  below  rank  down  the  chasm. 

Shuddering  at  the  terror,  and  yet  fascinated  by  the  wild 
grandeur  of  the  scene,  I  remained  gazing,  until  a  whoop 
from  my  guide  recalled  my  thoughts,  and  turning,  I  once 
more  bent  my  energies  to  clambering  the  mountain.  This 
became  harder  and  harder,  from  the  increasing  steepness 
and  the  density  of  the  underbrush,  as  well  as  the  bar- 
ricades of  branches  through  which  we  plunged,  twisting 
aside  and  breaking  off  limbs  for  passage.  Frequent  halts 
were  now  made,  generally  beside  some  cool,  clear  spring, 
oozing  from  moist  roots  and  mossy  clefts,  for  deep  and  most 
delicious  draughts. 

Now  and  then  a  dead  pine  or  hemlock,  fallen  from  above, 
would  bridge  some  deep  ravine,  offering  an  upward  path 
along  its  broad  breast  and  jagged  points. 

Struggling  thus  an  hour  longer,  all  at  once,  we  broke 
through  a  dense  thicket,  and  a  startling  sight  met  us.  A 
slant  plunge  of  rock,  perfectly  smooth  and  sloping  steeply 
to  a  sheer  precipice,  lay  directly  in  our  path.  A  few  spots 
of  moss  alone  broke  the  smooth,  glistening  granite. 

"This  is  the  Little  Slide,"  ^said  Thompson,  and  to  my 
amazement  and  no  little  dread,  he  planted  his  foot  upon  it 
with  the  evident  intention  of  crossing. 


OR,  SUMMER   IN   THE  SARAXACS.  329 

"You  don't  mean  to  say  that  our  course  lies  over  that 
place !"  said  I. 

"  Sarten,"  returned  he,  "  right  crost." 

"  There's  no  right  about  it,"  returned  I,  "  and  hang  me 
if  I  go!" 

"  No  other  way,"  responded  the  other  coolly,  and  ad- 
vancing toward  the  middle.  "  There  aint  no  dannger  as  I 
knows  on.  T^hese  spots  o'  moss  is  the  dandy  to  git  us 
crost." 

"  They  are,  eh !  Suppose  these  spots  of  moss  should 
slip,  where  would  we  go  then  ?  Down  that  precipice  as 
sure  as  we're  alive  I  There  isn't  a  crack  in  that  slide — and 
slide  it  is,  sure  enough ! — as  big  as  a  knife-blade,  to  squeeze 
a  finger  in,  and  it's  as  smooth  as  a  new-washed  dinner-plate 
except  the  moss  1"  4 

"  No  dannger  and  no  other  way,"  returned  the  lad,  tread- 
ing over  the  shining  surface  unconcernedly  as  if  on  his 
cabin  floor.  "  We  can't  go  below  it,  that's  sarten,  and  we 
can't  git  above  it  as  I  knows  on ;  at  least  without  tuggin' 
and  scratchin'  and  scrabblin'  wuss  than  a  bear  climbin'  a 
tree  with  a  twenty  pound  trap  on  his  paw.  Folly  me,  and 
we'll  git  crost,  I'll  be  bound." 

"  Folly,  sure  enough  !"  thought  I,  "  the  greatest  folly  is 
in  coming  here  at  all!  climbing  this  savage  and  nearly 
inaccessible  mountain  with  a  hare-brained  boy !  Why, 
that  rock  is  like  a  steeple,  and  smooth  as  a  looking- 
glass!" 

"  Come  on  Mister  I"  said  the  guide,  who  had  crossed 
and  was  standing  on  the  opposite  edge. 

Finding  no  help  for  it,  I  stepped  upon  the  rock,  and, 
with  my  frame  tingling,  moved  cautiously  along  the  slope, 
looking  steadily ,  before  me,  with  my  companion  at  my 
right.  It  was  not  more  than  two  or  three  rods  wide,  and 
once  over,  I  found  myself  inwardly  vowing  (forgetting  that 
I  must  return)  never  again  to  commit  such  insanity. 

Turning  sharply  to  the  right,  we  once  more  applied  our- 
selves to  our  task.  It  was  now  doubly  painful.  The  sides 


330  WOODS  AND  WATERS; 

of  the  mountain  became  almost  perpendicular.  We  made 
one  continuous  struggle  of  it;  pulling  ourselves  up  by 
branches,  hanging  to  roots,  scrambling  through  clefts  and 
over  ledges,  until,  bursting  through  a  barrier  ,of  close 
underbrush,  we  found  ourselves  on  the  brink  of  a  long, 
slanting  pathway  of  granite.  It  was  the  Great  Slide. 

Down  it  pointed,  and  up,  up,  up  it  sloped,  a  stony  ladder, 
grey  and  glistening,  up  to  the  very  summit  which  now 
stood  boldly  out  against  the  sky. 

Although  not  nearly  so  steep  nor  so  perilous,  to  all 
appearance,  as  the  Little  Slide,  the  thought  of  ascending 
it  produced  a  new  crawling  of  the  nerves.  I  knew  it  must 
be  four  thousand  feet  in  air,  and  that  all  around  were  tre- 
mendous chasms  and  dizzy  precipices,  over  which,  by  one 
slip  of  the  foot,  I  might  be  hurled.  But  the  guide's  figure, 
sharply  relieved  against  the  sky  as  he  travelled  upward, 
called  me  on,  with  my  comrade  by  my  side.  The  steepness 
hardly  allowed  us  an  upright  position ;  huge  boulders 
blocked  our  path;  springs  spread  an  oily,  slippery  ooze 
over  the  bare  granite.  My  soles,  too,  from  the  polishing 
of  the  dead  leaves  and  pine-needles,  had  become  like  glass, 
and  my  tread,  consequently,  was  not  sure. 

But  I  persevered.  The  scene  behind  us  was  but  a 
glimpse  of  a  distant  region,  narrow  and  vague.  On  either 
side,  the  close  forest  stood  up  to  the  very  edges. 

We  had  been  half  an  hour  on  the  Slide,  and  still  were 
toiling  up,  up — the  grey  path  slippery  and  blocked  with 
boulders  as  before,  when  we  came  to  a  bed  of  pebbles  and 
broken  rock,  which  often  rolled  from  under  our  tread,  and 
went  rattling  down  the  Slide.  A  little  way  above  stood 
the  summit — a  high  rampart  of  rock.  Suddenly  we  turned 
from  the  Slide  into  a  slight  track  winding  upward,  and 
went  along  a  rocky  platform  or  gallery,  jutting  from  the 
sides  of  the  rampart.  Glancing  to  the  left,  I  shuddered 
at  the  dizzy  chasm  below,  and  grasped  a  bush  instinctively. 
A  few  more  winding  steps  to  the  right,  and  I  stood  upon 
the  summit. 


OR,  SUMMER  TN  THE  SARANACS.  331, 

A  deliciously  cool  wind  was  flowing  over  the  peak,  as  if 
the  air  was  stirred  by  a  mighty  fan. 

I  threw  myself  beside  my  companion  upon  the  ground  ; 
I  drew  in  with  delight  the  nectarean  air ;  my  heated  pulses 
grew  calm,  and  the  dews  of  my  long  struggle  with  the 
mountain  dried  upon  my  forehead. 

After  a  short  repose,  I  turned  to  study  the  scene. 

The  summit  was  level,  one  or  two  hundred  feet  broad, 
with  ledges  of  granite  weather-stained  and  patched  with 
lichen,  cropping  out  of  the  thin,  desolate  soil.  At  the 
west,  was  a  wall  of  serrated  rock,  the  rampart  as  seen  from 
below.  I  ascended  by  a  step  or  two  of  jutting  strata,  and 
a  most  grand  and  enchanting  prospect  opened.  Beyond 
the  billows  of  verdure  rolling  down  the  mountain,  lay, 
like  a  picture,  Lake  Placid,  studded  with  emerald  island- 
gems.  To  the  utmost  horizon,  stretched  the  forest,  surging 
into  summits  and  sinking  into  valleys,  holding  the  bright 
Saranac  Lakes  like  a  silver  horse-shoe  ;  while  around  and 
beyond,  were  other  waters  of  their  group,  like  shields  of 
steel  or  meandering  veins  of  light.  A  long  gleam  betrayed 
the  course  of  the  Eacket,  with  Tupper's  Lake,  a  glittering 
mirror,  toward  the  south. 

I  descended  from  the  rock  and  looked  northward.  At 
my  feet,  lay  a  cultivated  region,  meadows  and  grain-fields, 
the  roofs  of  "Wilmington,  and  the  two  villages  of  Jay ;  and 
afar,  mountain-chains  melted  into  the  sky,  with  tracts  of 
forest  darkening  between. 

"  Guide,  what  is  that  long,  narrow  gleam  in  the  farthest 
distance  north  ?" 

"  That's  old  Champlain,"  answered  the  lad,  reclining  on 
his  elbow,  and  picking  his  teeth  with  a  jack-knife. 

"  And  that  range  of  mountain  ?" 

"  The  Green  Mountains,  in  old  Varmount." 

I  looked  at  the  gleam  and  the  misty  summits,  forty  and 
fifty  miles  away,  and  realized  the  height  on  which  I 
stood. 

"  The  Eiver  St.  Lorrence  has  bin  seen  from  here,  but  it 


332  WOODS  AND  WATERS; 

must  a  bin  on  a  clearer  day  than  this,"  said  the  lad,  again. 
"  I  never  see't  myself,  but  folks  sez  so.  Still,  folks  don't 
say  al'ys  what  they  oughter  1" 

Southward  rose  the  Adirondack  range,  breaking  the  sky 
with  its  pointed  peaks.  A  single  cloud  stood  over  Tahawua 
like  a  plume — the  only  sign  of  human  life  between  me  and 
it,  being  the  smooth,  bright  fields  of  North  Elba ;  and  I 
exulted  in  the  feeling  that  I  had  conquered  a  height  little 
inferior,  if  at  all,  to  his  imperial  crest. 

Turning  from  the  prospect  a  moment,  and  while  my 
companion  and  I  were  exchanging  admiring  expressions 
and  sentiments  inspired  by  the  scene,  I  chanced  to  espy  at 
my  feet  a  little  meek-eyed  blossom,  struggling  through  the 
ungenial  moss. 

Even  so,  thought  I,  are  the  feeblest  natures  lifted  some- 
times to  positions  fitted  only  to  the  sternest ;  and  thus  also 
do  the  hardest  hearts  wear  the  softest  virtues. 

My  farther  reflections  were  interrupted  by  the  guide. 

"  Gaul  darn  !"  said  he,  "  how  dry  I  am  I  as  dry  as  a 
powder-horn !  But  here's  some  blueberries !  Psha  I" 
spitting  them  out  in  disgust,  "  they're  as  bitter  as  boneset. 
But  say,  some  folks  is  great  fools  !" 

"  Indeed  !"  said  I. 

"  Ef  they  aint,  I'm  darned.  I've  heerd  a  heap  o'  the 
fools  say,  and  they  bleeved  it,  too,  that  there  was  a  pond 
right  on  top  o'  this  'ere  mountain ;  and  I  must  say  I 
bleeved  it  too,  before  I  come  on  top  on't.  Now,  do  you 
see  any  pond  ?" 

"  I  must  confess  I  do  not." 

"  You'd  hev  to  hev  more  eyes  than  you've  got,  to  see 
one  here  on  the  top  o'  this  all-fired  big  hill — so  big,  'twould 
bung  up,  as  a  body  may  say,  a  crow  to  fly  up't.  But  why 
can't  you  see  no  pond  ?  'Cause  there  aint  no  pond  here 
fur  to  see.  Consarn  'em  I" 

I  once  more  turned  to  the  prospect.  Eor  two  hours  I 
studied  the  splendid  picture,  stamping  it  upon  my  memory ; 
and  then  observing  that  the  shadows  had  wheeled  eastward, 


OR,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.  333 

and  calling  to  mind  that  the  wild  mountain  offered  no  hos- 
pitality for  the  coming  night — that,  in  fact,  the  nearest 
shelter  was  Nash's,  beyond  Lake  Placid — I  suggested  our 
return. 

Bidding  adieu  to  the  stern  summit,  we  wound  down  the 
rocky  gallery  and  once  more  planted  ourselves  upon  the 
Slide.  Down  we  went,  down  among  the  loose  pebbles, 
sending  them  spinning  and  bounding  before  us — down, 
scaling  the  boulders  and  sliding  oveV  the  oily  spots — down, 
until  we  reached  the  point  where  we  had  entered.  We 
plunged  into  the  forest,  glad  to  change  for  trusty %earth  the 
slippery  and  treacherous  rock.  Then  down  again — down  the 
ledges  by  the  loops  of  roots  and  jutting  crevices — down 
the  abrupt,  almost  sheer  declivities,  steadying  our  descent 
by  the  pendent  boughs,  until  we  reached  the  Little  Slide. 

Once  more,  plucking  up  courage,  I  followed  my  guide 
safely  across,  my  companion  beside  me  as  before.  Down 
again,  plunging  down,  vaulting  over  the  prostrate  trees, 
threshing  through  the  thickets ;  down  the  ridges  and 
through  the  hollows,  pausing  a  moment  at  the  silver 
springs,  down,  down  we  went,  until  once  more  we  saw  before 
us  the  welcome  waters  of  Lake  Placid,  crimson  now  in  the 
last  lustre  of  sunset. 

Our  ascent  took  seven  hours,  our  descent  four. 

Delightful  was  the  skim  of  the  boat,  after  my  rough 
tramping.  Some  little  distance  on,  I  looked  behind.  Was 
it  possible  that  I  had  trod  the  top  of  that  tremendous  cone, 
soaring  so  haughtily  in  the  evening  sky ! 

No  doubt  about  it !  Every  bone  in  my  body  proclaimed 
it,  "  trumpet-tongued."  Was  it  worth  the  toil  ?  That  was 
it,  by  the  grandeur  of  the  scenes  beheld,  and  by  the  con- 
sciousness that,  despite  the  monarch's  frown,  despite  the 
"  divinity  "  of  dizzy  terror  that  "  doth  hedge  him  in,"  I 
had  planted  my  foot  victorious  on  his  brow.  Sternly,  old 
Whiteface!  thou  frownest  back  from  thy  throne  of  rock  the 
mortal  who  approaches,  but  thou  yieldest  thy  secret  to 
endurance  and  energy,  and  rewardest  graciously  thy  victor. 


334  WOODS  AND  WATERS; 

So  with  adverse  fortune ;  stern  in  advance,  but  yielding  to 
the  will,  it  smiles  on  those  who  have  the  strength  to  van- 
quish it. 

From  the  opposite  margin,  I  again  looked  backward 
lingeringly. 

The  velvet  softness,  the  dreamy  haze  in  the  twilight, 
was  that  the  savage  scene  of  such  terrific  chasms,  such 
splintered  crags,  such  jdread  acclivities?  And  was  not 
another  emblem  of  life  offered  by  it,  so  smooth  to  hope,  so 
stern  to  experience  ? 

We  reached  Nash's,  and  there  rested  for  the  night. 
Passages  of  my  tramp  fashioned  half  my  dreams.  Now  I 
was  dragging  myself  up  the  ledges  by  the  snaky  roots,  now 
swinging  like  a  pendulum  from  a  slanting  tree  over  un- 
fathomable chasms;  now  speeding  on  the  wings  of  fear 
down  the  Great  Slide  from  a  huge  rock  that  was  bounding 
and  thundering  close  behind  me,  striking  fire  as  it  flew. 
At  last  I  was  on  the  top  of  the  rampart  overlooking  Lake 
Placid.  Suddenly  my  head  whirled,  I  fell,  and  in  my 
wheel-like  passage  toward  the  lake,  I  awoke.  A  ray  of 
moonlight  through  the  little  window  shot  athwart  the  entire 
length  of  the  loft,  kindling  the  rough  beams  and  rafters 
All  was  quiet ;  and  congratulating  myself  that  I  was  not 
really  circling  five  thousand  feet  into  Lake  Placid,  I  again 
slumbered. 

"With  the  returning  light,  in  the  glow  of  a  beautiful 
morning,  I  returned  to  Baker's. 

Here  I  remained  two  days ;  catching  trout  in  the  lovely 
windings  of  Eay  and  Mackenzie-Pond  Brooks  ;  chasing  a 
deer  of  Cort's  imagination  on  "  The  Plains,"  and  finding 
fatigue  and  a  ferocious  appetite,  with  nothing  there  to 
satisfy  it ;  achieving  Baker's  Peak  and  its  radiant  prospect ; 
visiting  Moose  Pond,  leafy  and  lone  and  beautiful,  and 
gazing  once  more  over  the  cool,  blue  expanse  of  the  Lower 
Saranac,  whence  I  again  heard  in  the  sunset  the  wild  laugh 
of  the  loon. 


OR,  SUMMER   IX   THE   SARANACS.  335 

Hark  !  the  loon's  laugh  on  the  lake  I 

Hark !  the  taunting,  jeering  sound  I 
Shore  and  wave  in  echoes  wake ; 

Mocking  fiends  seem  revelling  round. 
What  disdain  on  man  it  throws  1 

"Heart,  despair!  in  anguish,  break  I 
Life  is  but  a  scene  of  woes," 

Says  the  loon's  laugh  on  the  lake — 
Laugh  so  scornful ! 

Ah !  the  loon's  laugh  on  the  lake  I 

Fame  I  how  gloriously  it  tears 

From  unwilling  Time  the  wreath  1 
Power  1  what  haughty  front  it  wears, 

Trampling  all  it  meets,  beneath  1 
Wealth — the  monarch  of  its  sphere, 

Breathing  air  that  flatterers  make  1 
Surely  happiness  is  here  1 

Hark  I  the  loon's  laugh  on  the  lake — 
Laugh  so  scornful  I 

Ah  1  the  loon's  laugh  on  the  lake ! 

Touth,  that  bright  and  bounding  time, 

Treading  paths  knee-deep  in  flowers  I 
Manhood,  in  its  towering  prime, 

Heedless  of  the  rushing  hours ! 
Age,  the  sunset  melting  clear 

Hues  that  mellow  lustre  make  I 
Surely  happiness  is  here  1 

Hark  1  the  loon's  laugh  on  the  lake — 
Laugh  so  scornful  I 

Ah  I  the  loon's  laugh  on  the  lake  I 

The  evening  before  I  left,  I  stood  on  the  rustic  bridge 
below  Baker's,  and  listened  to  the  chiming  of  the  little 
rapids.  Gladly  did  they  dash  and  glitter  in  the  moon- 
beams, but  sadly  did  my  heart  pulsate  to  their  music.  Oh, 
troubled  heart ! — but  again  ?  Eemember  the  voice  of  the 
mountain,  oh,  troubled  heart !  and  rest. 

On  returning  to  the  tavern,  I  found  three  or  four  guides 
in  the  bar-room  talking. 

"  Them  two  tame  bear  by  the  barn  keeps  up  an  all-fired 
pacin'  back'ards  and  forreds,"  said  one.  "  They'll  sarten 
wear  their  paws  out.  And  that  puts  me  in  mind,  b'ys,  of 


836  WOODS  AND  WATERS; 

the  al  mightiest  big  bear-track  I  see  t'other  day  in  White- 
face  Notch.  It" 

"  Whiteface  Notch !"  interrupted  I,  "  I've  heard  of  that 
spot.  What  kind  of  place  is  it  ?" 

"  It's  a  tarnel  big  kind  o'  place.  The  rocks  go  up  so 
high,  it  seems  as  ef  they  didn't  want  'er  stop  at  all." 

"  Aha !"  said  I.    "  And  where  is  this  Notch  ?" 

"  It's  on  the  road  to  Jay.  You  go  up  the  'Lizbethtown 
road  to  North  Elby,  and  then  turn  up  the  road,  east  by 
the  O'Sobble  river  to  Jay,  and  then  by  '  The  Forks'  to 
Keeseville." 

"I  wonder  when  the  next  dance  '11  come  off,"  said 
another  a  moment  after.  "  I  kinder  feel  as  ef  my  legs 
want  limb'rin." 

"Less  see,  that  last  was  at  Bloomin'dale I"  said  a 
third. 

"  'Twan't  nowheres  else,"  responded  the  describer  of  the 
Notch,  "  and  a  good  'un  it  was,  too,  but  nothin'  like  that 
we  hed  over  Keene  Mounting — less  see — 'twas  last  Wash- 
in'ton's  Birthday." 

"I  heerd  tell  a  leetle  suthin'  about  that  dance,  Jake. 
Tell  us  about  it!" 

After  the  usual  "drinks  round,"  the  narrator  settled 
himself  on  a  barrel,  which  shared  a  corner  with  two  rifles, 
a  pair  of  snowshoes  and  a  bearskin. 

"  Well,"  commenced  he,  ll  I  heerd  the  dance  was  a-comin' 
off,  and  so  I  went  for  Molly  Keeler,  a  rael  tip-top  gal,  with 
an  eye  like  a  fa'n's,  and  as  fur  dancin',  there's  no  use  a 
talkin' — the  swells  on  Eound  Lake  in  a  wind  don't  move  no 
purtier.  Molly  was  all  prinked  up  in  yaller,  with  a 'red 
ribbon  round  her  little  waist,  and  a  pi'ny  blow  stuck  in  her 
hair  as  big  as  my  fist.  Well,  we  started.  I  hed  a  nice 
smart  critter  to  go,  and  about  the  easiest  buckboard  that 
could  be  skeered  up — why,  Jim  !  you  knows  Bill  Koskin 
that  made  the  slash  last  Spring  jest  t'other  side  o'  Harriets- 
town,  torts  the  pond !  well,  he  hired  me  the  buckboard, 
and  I  give  'im  a  mink  skin  fur  the  use  on't.  Well,  as 


OR,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARAXACS.  337 

I  said  afore,  we  started.  Molly  looked  jeest  as  nice  as 
a  poppy -show,  now  I  tell  you  I  and  her  tongue  was  a-goin' 
and  her  eyes  was  a-dancin',  the  whull  way— oh,  orful! 
Well,  we  got  to  the  tavern — Old  Samson  kept  it,  you  all 
knows  him !  a  purty  clever  old  critter,  but  a  hoss  to  drink 
— and  the  b'ys  and  gals  o'  the  whull  settlement  was  there. 
There  was  Jack  Ketcham  that  shantied  nigh  Mount  Sew- 
ard  last  fall,  ketchin'  fur — he  ketched  an  al-mighty  sight  o' 
fisher  and  saple  that  time — well,  he  was  there  with  his  gal, 
Betsey  Parkins,  and 'there  was  that  Nelson  feller — what 
was  his  fust  name !  you  know,  Josh !  the  feller  that  shot 
the  big  moose  last  October  on  Bog  Eiver — yes,  that's  it — 
Sim ! — he  was  there  with  Faith  Larkins.  Then  there  was 
Pete  Johnson,  and — did  ye  ever  go  guidin'  with  Pete? 
He  can  take  a  bigger  boat  on  a  furder  carry — well,  I  won't 
say  no  more.  He  h'ed  Huldy  Skinner  with  him.  Well,  I 
can't  tell  ye  all  on  'm !  but  there  was  as  good  a  lot  o'  b'ys 
and  'gals  as  I've  most  ever  seen.  We  hed  good  music  too, 
what  I  call  good  music !  Tom  Stackpole  was  there  with 
his  fiddle !  You  all  knows  Tom,  and  you  needn't  fur  to  go 
tell  me  Tom  can't  handle  a  bow !  Well,  at  it  we  went, 
rick-a-tick,  rick-a-tick,  rick-a-tick-a-tickv,  hey,  b'ys  I  Coats 
off  after  the  fust  breakdown  and  hankerchers  tied  round 
the  waist,  and  didn't  we  go 't  heel  and  toe !  Oh,  sha,  there 
aint  no  use  a-talkin' !  And  Tom,  didn't  he  make  that  bow 
o'  his'n  fly  I  well,  he  did !  and  his  foot  it  went  tapity-tap, 
keepin'  time,  and  he'd  holler  out,  "  All  hands  round ! 
dance  to  pardners,  down  in  the  middle,"  as  farse  as  a  tad- 
pole in  a  bog.  And  as  fur  Moll,  I  tell  yer,  b'ys,  ef  her 
leetle  feet  didn't  go  and  her  big  eyes  didn't  snap,  oh  go 
'way  now  I  '  Hooray  !'  says  Jack  Ketcham,  '  make  way 
fur  the  bear  down  the  middle !'  Whiles  Pete  Sawyer's  legs 
flew  about  so  nimble,  I  consated  he'd  ontwist  all  the  knots 
out  o'  his  hankercher.  Finally  at  last  Jack  Ketcham — 
well,  I  must  say,  b'ys,  he  was  purty  well  swiped,  ef  he  is 
old  hunderd  on  trapping  as  old  Harve  says — but  as  I  was 
a-sayin' — finally  at  last  Jack  he  kicks  off  his  boots  and  goes 

22 


WOODS  AND  WATERS; 

it  in  his  stockin'  feet,  and  lie  jumps  up  and  down,  and 
'Whoop,  h-o-o-r-a-y !'  s'ze,  'fur  the  tiger,'  s'ze,  'and  the 
rhinoceros,'  s'ze,  'and  all  kind  o'  painters,'  s'ze,  'lettin' 
alone  mushrats,'  and  kep'  strikin'  his  hands  agin  his  heels 
every  jump  he  made.  Well,  we  kep'  it  up  till  about  sun- 
rise, and  I  hev  an  idee  we'd  a  danced  till  after  breakfast 
time  ef  'twant  for  one  thing,  and  that  is  ef  't  'adn't  bin  that 
all  on  us  got  a-fightin',  that  is,  all  the  b'ys.  And  this  was 
the  way  on't.  Every  time  twixt  the  breakdowns,  all  hands 
went  to  the  bar-room  and  we  was  all  terr'ble  dry,  and  you 
needn't  say  'twas  buttermilk,  nur  'lasses  and  water,  nur 
cider-ile  and  ginger,  hey !  Not  by  consid'ble !  W-a-a-1, 
'bout  sunrfse  the  whiskey  begun  to  work.  Jack  Ketcham 
was  purty  well  loaded,  and  the  last  drink  fired  'im  off. 
'  I'll  bet  as  much  mink,'  s'ze,  '  as  a  leetle  grasshopper  like 
me,'  s'ze,  '  kin  put  in  his  pocket,'  s'ze  (he  was  as  big  as  a 
two-acre  clearin',  Jack  was)  '  agin,'  s'ze,  '  a  couple  o'  rats, 
what  this  bull-moose,'  s'ze — slappin'  little  Phil  Campbell 
on  the  back — { can't  more'n  carry  on  his  shoulders,'  s'ze, 
'  that  this  baby  kin  outdance,'  s'ze,  '  enny  chap  in  this  ere 
breakdown,'  s'ze,  and  l  whoop,'  s'ze,  and  '  h-o-o-r-a-y,'  s'ze, 
and  he  jumped  up  three  times,  and  hit  his  heels  with^  his 
hands  every  time  agin.  Now,  b'ys,  Phil  was  leetle,  but 
wa'n't  he  smart  ?  wa'n't  he  ?  whew  !  5e  was  the  grittiest 
critter !  Well,  Phil,  fye  brustled  up  like  a  woodchuck  in 
his  hole !  '  What  yer  'bout  1'  s'ze,  '  slappin'.  folks  on  the 
back,'  s'ze.  '  I  aint  a-goin'  to  stand  no  sich  carryin's-on  as 
that,'  s'ze ;  and  with  that  he  let  drive  r-r-r-ight  agin  Jack's 
nose,  and  you  may  bleeve  the  fight  was  in.  Nick  Tanner 
he  sprung  and  Sam  Libby  and  Chris  Topple,  and  the  fists 
flew,  and  ye  may  s'pose,  b'ys,  that  this  chap  wa'nt  a-goin' 
to  be  punched  in  the  back  and  kicked  round  gin'rally  with- 
out hevin'  a  hand  in  ;  and  in  the  midst  on't  all,  in  come 
Tom  Stackpole  fur  his  pay,  and,  '  b'ys,'  s'ze,  '  stop  your 
fightin'  jest  fur  a.  minute,'  s'ze,  -'  and  gimme  my  pay !  two 
dollars,'  s'ze,  '  and  what  drink  I  wanted,  and  I've  tuk  the 
drink,'  s'ze,  '  and  now,'  s'ze,  '  fur  the  two  dollars,'  s'ze ;  and 


OR,  SUMMER  IN  THE  SARANACS.  339 

as  lie  said  it,  up  went  his  heels,  and  down  come  his  head- 
piece; and  no  wonder ;  fur  I  see  Jack  Tapper  a-kinder  swing 
his  hands  down,  and  Je-rusalem  wa'n't  Tom  mad  when  he 
scrabbled  up !  But  by  this  time,  the  landlurd  'ad  hollered 
out  that  he'd  stand  treat  ef  they  wouldn't  fight  no  more ! 
and  all  stopped  right  off  and  tuk  a  drink  round,  and  was 
good  frinds.  But  the  gals,  they  wouldn't  dance  no  more, 
fur  they  was  mad  at  bein'  left  •  *  fur,'  says  they,  '  ef  they 
like  ter  fight  better  'n  to  dance  with  us,  they  may  go  on 
fightin',  but  we  won't  put  up  with  no  sich  doin's ;'  and  the 
whull  upshot  was,  we  all  bruk  up  and  tuk  the  gals  to  hum, 
and  that  was  the  eend  on't.  Ondrew !  I'll  take  a  leetle 
suthin'  I  B'ys,  what  '11  yer  drink  ?  It's  my  treat  now !"  and 
they  all  drank  round  again. 

"  Now,  Josh,"  continued  the  narrator,  "  as  I've  give  my 
story,  you  and  Abe  sing  us  one  o'  your  songs." 

And  two  of  the  group,  taking  seats  side  by  side  and 
clearing  their  throats,  sang  in  a  nasal  drawl  the  following, 
which  I  have  robbed  of  its  vernacular — 


Gusty  the  day  and  the  lake  is  wroth ; 
Fearful  its  face  with  its  flashing  froth ; 
Right  in  our  teeth  are  the  wind  and  foam, 
Down  in  the  hollow,  and  up  on  the  comb ; 
Onward  we  dash  and  we  sing  in  our  glee, 
Things  may  take  care  of  things,  what  care  we ! 

Sun  of  October  1  how  soft  its  glow ! 
Eager  the  hounds  and  away  we  go  I 
Sorrow  is  working  all  over  the  earth ; 
Wrong  and  injustice  are  treading  on  worth ; 
Up  springs  the  deer,  and  we  sing  in  our  glee, 
Things  may  take  care  of  things,  what  care  we  I 

Starless  the  midnight  and  bitter  the  cold ; 
"Wild  through  the  woods  is  the  snow-storm  rolled ; 
Nought  that  is  human  breathes  far  or  nigh, 
Hark  how  the  fierce  wolf  is  pealing  his  cryl 
Still  round  the  camp-fire,  we  sing  in  our  glee, 
Things  may  take  care  of  things,  what  care  we  I 


340  WOODS  AND  WATERS; 

I  left  the  bar-room  and  strolled  for  an  hour  through  a 
scene  of  silver,  shaded  with  ebony,  visiting  many  of  the 
localities,  and  then  retired  with  the  music  of  the  rapid  lull- 
ing me  to  slumber. 

The  next  morning,  after  a  warm  adieu  to  our  good  host 
and  his  kind  family,  and  shaking  Harvey's  honest  hand 
repeatedly,  I  left  the  Lake  House  and  its  forest  luxuries, 
with  my  companion  of  the  "Whiteface  visit,  in  a  conveyance 
for  Keeseville  by  way  of  "  The  Notch." 

Again  I  took  the  Blizabethtown  road,  and  hailed  as  an 
old  acquaintance  the  colossal  pyramid  of  Whiteface  loom- 
ing from  the  woods. 

At  North  Elba,  we  crossed  a  bridge  where  the  Ausable 
came  winding  down,  and  then  followed  its  bank  towards 
the  north-east,  over  a  good  hard  wheel-track,  generally 
descending,  with  the  thick  woods  almost  continually  around 
us,  and  the  little  river  shooting  darts  of  light  at  us  through 
the  leaves. 

At  length  a  broad  summit,  rising  to  a  taller  one,  broke 
above  the  foliage  at  our  right,  and  at  the  same  time  a 
gigantic  mass  of  rock  and  forest  saluted  us  upon  our  left — 
the  giant  portals  of  the  Notch.  We  entered.  The  pass 
suddenly  shrank,  pressing  the  rocky  river  and  rough  road 
close  together.  It  was  a  chasm  cloven  boldly  through  the 
flank  of  Whiteface.  On  each  side  towered  the  mountains, 
but  at  our  left,  the  range  rose  in  still  sublimer  altitude, 
with  grand  precipices  like  a  majestic  wall,  or  a  line  of 
palisades  climbing  sheer  from  the  half-way  forests  up- 
ward. The  crowded  row  of  pines  along  the  broken  and 
wavy  crest  was  diminished  to  a  fringe.  The  whole  prospect, 
except  the  rocks,  was  dark  with  thickest,  wildest  woods. 
As  we  rode  slowly  through  the  still-narrowing  gorge,  the 
mountains  soared  higher  and  higher,  as  if  to  scale  the 
clouds,  presenting  truly  a  terrific  majesty.  I  shrank  within 
myself;  I  seemed  to  dwindle  beneath  it.  Something  alike 
to  dread  pervaded  the  scene.  The  mountains  appeared 
knitting  their  stern  brows  into  one  threatening  frown  at 


OR,  SUMMER  IN   THE  SARANACS.  341 

our  daring  intrusion  into  their  stately  solitudes.  Nothing 
seemed  native  to  the  awful  landscape  but  the  plunge  of  the 
torrent  and  the  scream  of  the  eagle.  Even  the  wild,  shy 
deer  drinking  at  the  stream  would  have  been  out  of  keep- 
ing. Below,  at  our  left,  the  dark  Ausable  dashed  onward 
with  hoarse,  foreboding  murmurs,  in  harmony  with  the 
loneliness  and  wildness  of  the  spot, 

We  passed  two  miles  through  this  sublime  avenue,  which 
at  mid-day  was  only  partially  lighted  from  the  narrow  roof 
of  sky. 

At  length  the  peak  of  Whiteface  itself  appeared  above 
the  acclivity  at  our  left,  and  once  emerging  kept  in  view 
in  misty  azure.  There  it  stood,  its  crest — whence  I  had 
gazed  a  few  days  before — rising  like  some  pedestal  built 
up  by  Jove  or  Pan  to  overlook  his  realm.  The  pinnacles 
piled  about  it  seemed  but  vast  steps  reared  for  its  ascent. 
One  dark,  wooded  summit,  a  mere  bulwark  of  the  mighty 
mass  above,  showed  athwart  its  heart  a  broad  pale  streak, 
either  the  channel  of  a  vanished  torrent,  or  another  but  far 
less  formidable  slide.  The  Notch  now  broadened,  and  in  a 
rapid  descent  of  the  road  the  Ausable  came  again  in  view, 
plunging  and  twisting  down  a  gorge  of  rocks,  with  the  foam 
flung  at  intervals  through  the  skirting  trees.  At  last  the 
pass  opened  into  cultivated  fields ;  the  acclivities  at  our 
right  wheeled  away  sharply  east,  but  Whiteface  yet  waved 
along  the  western  horizon.  On  we  still  pushed,  with  the 
river  brawling  at  our  left,  and  soon  reached  the  pretty 
little  village  of  Jay,  and  soon  again  The  Forks,  with  its 
busy  Iron  Works;  and,  keeping  the  beautiful  Ausable 
valley  upon  our  right,  we  arrived  by  twilight  at  Keese- 
ville 

The  mellow  moonlight  found  me  in  the  fine  steamer, 
The  United  States,  gliding  homeward  over  Lake  Cham- 
plain,  delighted  with  my  month's  excursion  through  the 
Woods  and  Waters  of  the  Saranacs  and  Eacket. 


APPENDIX. 


SOME  OF  THE  PRINCIPAL  ROUTES 

INTO  TIE  NORTHERN  WILDERNESS. 
FROM  EASTERN,  SOUTHERN,  AND  WESTERN  NEW  YORK. 


I.   INTO  THE   OHATEAUGAY   WOODS. 

1st.  From  Plattsburgh  to  Dannainora  State  Prison,  and  Chazy  Lake, 
25  or  30  miles,  over  a  road. 

2d.  From  Rouse's  Point  to  Chateaugay  Four  Corners  and  Chateau- 
gay  Lakes. 

II.   INTO   THE  SARANAO   REGION. 

3d.  By  steamboat  to  Port  Kent  (or  steamboat  or  railroad  to  Burlington 
opposite),  on  Lake  Champlain.  Thence  by  post-coach  to  Keeseville 
(Essex  Co.)  4  miles.  From  Keeseville  46  miles  to  Baker's  Saranac 
Lake  House,  2  miles  short  of  the  Lower  Saranac  Lake ;  or  to  Martin's 
on  the  bank  of  the  Lower  Saranac ;  or  to  Bartlett's,  between  Round 
Lake  and  Upper  Saranac  Lake,  13  miles  from  Martin's. 

The  Keeseville  road  is  a  good,  travelled  road,  planked  from  Keese- 
ville to  Franklin  Falls,  30  miles  from  Keeseville. 

At  the  village  of  Ausable  Forks,  12  miles  from  Keeseville,  the  visitor 
can  turn  off  into  a  road,"  through  the  village  of  Jay,  intersecting  the 
Elizabethtown  road,  about  12  miles  from  Baker's.  This  road  leads 
through  the  famous  Whiteface,  or  Wilmington  Notch. 

4th.  By  steamboat  to  Westport  on  Lake  Champlain.      Thence  to 


344  APPENDIX. 

Elizabethtown,  and  thence  to  Baker's,  or  Martin's,  or  Bartlett's.  This 
route  is  about  the  same  distance  as  the  Keeseville  route,  but  the  road 
is  by  no  means  so  good. 

III.     INTO   THE   ADIRONDACK,    RACKET,    AND   HUDSON   RIVER  REGIONS. 

From  Crown  Point,  on  Lake  Champlain,  to  Root's,  about  20  miles. 
From  Boot's  to  the  Adirondack  Lower  Works,  20  miles ;  thence  to 
Long  Lake,  20  miles.  A  stage  runs  from  Root's  to  Long  Lake  usually 
once  a  week  during  the  summer. 

From  the  Lower  Works  to  Adirondack  village  or  Upper  Works,  by 
water  (through  Lake  Sanford),  10  or  12  miles ;  by  road,  do. 

From  the  Upper  Works  to  Mount  Tahawus  (Mount  Marcy),  4  miles, 
and  3  miles  to  top. 

From  the  Upper  Works  to  the  famous  Indian  Pass  (the  most  majes- 
tic natural  wonder,  next  to  Niagara,  in  the  State),  4  miles. 

From  the  Indian  Pass  to  Scott's,  on  the  Elizabethtown  road  (through 
the  woods,  with  scarcely  a  path),  7  miles ;  thence  to  Baker's  (over  a 
road),  14  miles. 

6th.  From  Glen's  Falls  to  Root's,  over  a  good  road,  30  miles,  viz. — 

From  Glen's  Falls  to  Lake  George,  9  miles ;  thence  to  Warrensburgh, 
6  miles ;  thence  to  Chester,  8  or  10  miles ;  thence  to  Pottersville,  6  or 
8  miles ;  thence  to  Root's,  and  thence  to  Long  Lake,  or  the  Lower  or 
the  Upper  Works.  Or,  from  Pottersville  to  the  Boreas  River,  15 
miles. 

7th.  From  Carthage,  in  Jefferson  County  (by  way  of  the  Beach 
road),  to  Long  Lake,  40  or  50  miles;  thence  to  Pendleton,  10  miles; 
thence  to  Hudson  River  Bridge,  about  5  miles ;  thence  to  the  Lower 
Works,  about  5  miles.  Can  drive  the  whole  distance  from  Carthage 
to  the  Lower  Works. 

8th.  From  Fort  Edward  to  Glen's  Falls  and  Lake  George;  thence 
to  Johnsburgh;  thence  to  North  Creek;  thence  to  Eagle  Xake  or 
Tallow  Lake  (the  middle  of  the  three  Blue  Mountain  Lakes).  From 
North  Creek  to  Eagle  Lake,  20  miles. 

9th.  By  road  from  Saratoga  Springs  to  Lakes  Pleasant  and  Piseco. 

IV.   INTO   THE  JOHN  BROWN  TRACT  REGION. 

10th.  From  Utica  by  railroad  to  Boonville ;  thence  to  Lyonsdale  and 
Port  Leyden,  7  miles  by  stage  road ;  thence  to  Deacon  Abby's  place, 


APPENDIX.  345 

5^  miles,  over  a  good  road ;  thence  to  Arnold's  (over  rather  a  poor 
road,  although  passable  by  wagon),  14  miles. 

llth.  From  Utica  by  railroad  to  Boonville ;  thence  to  Booth's  Milfe, 
11  miles,  over  a  good  wagon  road;  thence  to  Arnold's  by  packhorses 
(sent  by  Arnold  to  Booth's  Mills),  14£  miles,  over  a  bad  road. 

12th.  From  Utica  by  railroad  to  Alder  Creek ;  thence  by  road  to  the 
Keservoir  Lakes. 

13th.  From  the  village  of  Prospect  (Oneida  County,  and  reached  by 
railroad),  through  Herkimer  County,  to  Morehouse,  in  Hamilton 
County. 

14th.  From  Ogdensburgh  to  Potsdam,  on  the  Racket  River,  by  rail- 
road; thence  to  Colton  by  stage,  10  miles;  thence  to  foot  of  the  Little 
Bog  at  McEwen's,  on  the  Racket  River,  12  miles,  by  private  convey- 
ance, over  a  good  road ;  thence  by  boat,  l£  miles,  to  Bog  Falls ;  then 
a  short  carry  on  east  side  of  river;  thence  to  Hams'  place,  4-j-  miles, 
opposite  the  mouth  of  the  Jordan  River ;  thence  3i  miles,  by  wagon 
road,  to  John  Ferry's ;  thence  3  miles  farther  on,  same  road,  to  foot  of 
Moose  Head  Still  Water ;  thence  through  the  latter,  6  miles ;  thence 
9  miles  to  Racket  Pond,  and  thence  5  miles  to  Big  Tupper's  Lake. 


THE  END. 


457