Adventures in the wilderness, or, Camp-life in the Adirondacks

i

Pa Lam, oe)

ae

Toad

ss)
>

ae Nr gs fn

Digitized by the Internet Archive
in 2008 with funding from
Microsoft Corporation

y — http://www.archive.org/details/adventuresinwild0Omurruoft
:

‘
a
M,
WNIT :
me ;
Ait 4
wl bi
, Wh Hit) .
wnt
st ¢
%
‘ @
a
<
8
&
=
we
Ss
&
XY
ss ,
~ i
Ss .
= 4
8
re
ws
>
. a
~
Ss
%
RN
i)
%S
=
~ ,
a
3
°
RY j
2 g
D~}
x 4
eo
4% 4
28
Sy
. &
os
s :
“j
x
:
i]
|
>

bod aye
ADVENTU RY

IN

OR,

(
CAMP-LIFE IN THE ADIRONDACKS.

BY

WILLIAM H. H. MURRAY.

“The mountains call you, and the vales;
The woods, the streams, and each ambrosial breeze
That fans the ever-undulating sky.”
ARMSTRONG'S Art of Preserving Health.

FIELDS, OSGOOD, & CO.,

SUCCESSORS TO TICKNOR AND FIELDS.
1869.

Pa

4

gp
;

pe

oo. Y

FIELDS, OSGOOD, & Co.,
inthe Ce’ Ofice ofthe Dstt Cou othe Dinu of

tie ‘University Press: Wetcx, BicEtow, & Co,
af; fd te CAMBRIDGE.

- .

-
4 wens ,
- a!

an ‘ \

co a ce Se ae

2 .
BAe
- ;
x \ < =
ye 4 ; es

_. To my friend and companion, 0. H. Puart, of Meriden,
% Conn., with whom I have passed many happy hours by
_ mountain and stream, and shared the sportsman’s tri-
_ umph and the sportsman’s toil; in memory of many a
_ tramp and midnight bivouac, and as a token of my very
sincere regard and friendship, this book is affectionately
i | W. H. H. M.
Bost, April, 1869.

CONTENTS.

INTRODUCTION . : ; ‘ : R ‘ OPS i

_ Cuap.
. |, Tae Wiperness.

nl Why Igotothe Wilderness . . +. «+. 9

Sporting Facilities : ee ae 15
What it costs in the Wilderness be she gee
Outfit .° . Salar ‘ atthe 6 26
Where to buy Tackle ha ee ‘ . 30
Guides... eure 7 ew 32
How to get to ‘tis Wilderness ot >
Hotels . , ? ‘ 44
When to visit the Wilderness ea a 43
Healthfulness of Camp Life. . . . 50

What Sections of the Wilderness to visit . . §2
Bee Black Flies : - = ‘ : 55
ere a ete be Ao Ee i ae
Ladies’ Outfit F : 3 ‘ $ : 58
Wild Animals . . : A ; . 60
ne “TEE ee ue Gea ek Se es 62
Bill of Fare é : 4 : ae - 62

II. Tue Nametess Creek . " ‘ ‘ < 65
Ill. Rounyine toe Rapips . er ae ; J » ae
IV. Tue Bau : ; ‘ $ ; >

vi CONTENTS.
V. Loon-Snoormna in A TuunpEer-Storm
VI. Crossinc THE CARRY . f ‘

VII. Rop anp Reet $ : 3

, VIII. Puanrom Fats . a se ae

IX. Jacx-Snootmne ix a Focay Nicur
X. Sapparn 1s rHE Woops .. 198
‘ XI. A Rive wira 4 Map Horse in a Freicur-

«

Bl Talat ate ieee fae ype

a his AP PEER
a Waites San 2, Oe ee

4. (oy

INTRODUCTION.

EVERAL of the chapters composing this
volume -were originally published in the
“Meriden Literary Recorder,” during the fall and
winter of 1867. Through it they received a wide
circulation, and brought to the author many let-
ters from all parts of the country, urging him to
continue the series, and, when completed, publish
them in a more permanent form. Lawyers, phy-
sicians, clergymen, and sporting men were united
for once in the expression of a common desire.
Not a few delightful acquaintances were made
through this medium. It was suggested by these
unseen friends, that such a series of descriptive
pieces, unencumbered with the ordinary reflec-
tions and jottings of a tourist’s book, free from
the slang of guides, and questionable jokes, and
‘bear stories,’ with which works of a similar
character have to a great extent been filled, would
be gladly welcomed by a large number of people
who, born in the country, and familiar in boy-
hood with the gun and rod, still retain, in un-

8 INTRODUCTION:

diminished freshness and vigor, their early love
for manly exercises and field sports. Each article,
it was urged, should stand alone by itself, having
its own framework of time and character, and
representing a single experience. The favorable re-
ception the articles thus published received, and the
cordial communications from total strangers which
they elicited, together with a strong, ever-present
desire on my part to encourage manly exercise in
the open air, and familiarity with Nature in her
wildest and grandest aspects, persuaded me into
concurrence with the suggestion. The composi-
tion of these articles has furnished me, amid grave
and arduous labors, with mental recreation, from
time to time, almost equal to that which I enjoyed
when passing through the experiences which they
are intended to describe.. SS

In the hope that what I have written may con-—
tribute to the end suggested, and prove a source

of pleasure to many who, like myself, were “born

of hunter’s breed and blood,” and who, pent up in
narrow offices and narrower studies, weary of the
city’s din, long for a breath of mountain air and
the free life by field and flood, I subscribe myself
their friend and brother.

|

THE WILDERNESS.

WHY I GO THERE, — HOW I GET THERE, — WHAT I
DO THERE,— AND WHAT IT COSTS.

: HE Adirondack Wilderness, or the “ North

Woods,” as it is sometimes called, lies be-
tween the Lakes George and Champlain on the
east, and the river St. Lawrence on the north
and west. It reaches northward as far as the
Canada line, and southward to Booneville. Its
area is about that of the State of Connecticut.
The southern part is known as the Brown Tract
Region, with which the whole wilderness by
some is confused, but with no more accuracy than
any one county might be said to comprise an
entire State. Indeed, “Brown’s Tract” is the least
interesting portion of the Adirondack region. It
lacks the lofty mountain scenery, the intricate
mesh-work of lakes, and the wild grandeur of the
country to the north. It is the lowland district,
comparatively tame and uninviting. Not until
you reach the Racquette do you get a glimpse of
the magnificent scenery which makes this wilder-

ness to rival Switzerland. There, on the. very
1*

Pn,

10 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.

ridge-board of the vast water-shed which slopes
northward to the St. Lawrence, eastward to the
Hudson, and southward to the Mohawk, you can
enter upon a voyage the like of which, it is safe
to say, the world does not anywhere else furnish.
For hundreds of miles I have boated up and down
that wilderness, going ashore only to “carry”
around a fall, or across some narrow ridge divid-
ing the otherwise connected lakes. For weeks I
have paddled my cedar shell in all directions,
swinging northerly into the St. Regis chain, west-
ward nearly to Potsdam, southerly to the Black
River country, and from thence penetrated to that
almost unvisited region, the “South Branch,” with-

out seeing a face but my guide’s, and the entire |

circuit, it must be remembered, was through a
wilderness yet to echo to the lumberman’s axe.
It is estimated that a thousand lakes, many yet
unvisited, lie embedded in this vast forest of pine
and hemlock. From the summit of a mountain,
two years ago, I counted, as seen by my naked
eye, forty-four lakes gleaming amid the depths
of the wilderness like gems of purest ray amid the
folds of emerald-colored velvet. Last summer I
met a gentleman on the Racquette who had just

received a letter from a brother in Switzerland, an —

artist by profession, in which he said, that, “ having
travelled over all Switzerland, and the Rhine

and Rhone region, he had not met with scenery

WHY I GO THERE. 11

which, judged from a purely artistic point of view,
combined so many beauties in connection with
such grandeur as the lakes, mountains, and forest
of the Adirondack region presented to the gazer’s
eye.” And yet thousands are in Europe to-day
as tourists who never gave a passing thought to
this marvellous country lying as it were at their
very doors.

Another reason why I visit the Adirondacks,
and urge others to do so, is because I deem the
excursion eminently adapted to restore impaired
health. Indeed, it is marvellous what benefit
physically is often derived from a trip of a few
weeks to these woods. To such as are afflicted
with that dire parent of ills, dyspepsia, or have
lurking in their system consumptive tendencies,
I most earnestly recommend a month’s experience
among the pines. The air which you there inhale
is such as can be found only in high mountainous
regions, pure, rarefied, and bracing. The amount
of venison steak a consumptive will consume
after a week’s residence in that appetizing at-
mosphere is a subject of daily and increasing
wonder. I have known delicate ladies and fragile
school-girls, to whom all food at home was dis-
tasteful and eating a pure matter of duty, average
a gain of a pound per day for the round trip.
This is no exaggeration, as some who will read
these lines know. The spruce, hemlock, balsam,

12 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.

and pine, which largely compose this wilderness,
yield upon the air, and especially at might, all

their curative qualities. Many a night have I

laid down upon my bed of balsam-boughs and —

been lulled to sleep by the murmur of waters
and the low sighing melody of the pines, while
the air was laden with the mingled perfume
of cedar, of balsam and the water-lily. Not a

few, far advanced in that dread disease, consump- —
tion, have found in this wilderness renewal of life —

and health. I recall a young man, the son of
wealthy parents in New York, who lay dying in
that great city, attended as he was by the best

skill that money could secure. A friend calling

upon him one day chanced to speak of the Adiron-
dacks, and that many had found help from a trip
to their region. From that moment he pined for
the woods. He insisted on what his family called
“his insane idea,” that the mountain air and the
aroma of the forest would cure him. It was his
daily request and entreaty that he might go.
At last his parents consented, the more readily
because the physicians assured them that their
son’s recovery was impossible, and his death a
mere matter of time. They started with him for
the north in search of life. When he arrived at
the point where he was to meet his guide he was

too reduced to walk. The guide seeing his con-
dition refused to take him into the woods, fear-

Ee ee eg eee eee oe ee eee

WHY I GO THERE. 13

: ing, as he plainly expressed it, that he would “ die
on his hands.” At last another guide was pre-
vailed upon to serve him, not so much for the
money, as he afterwards told me, but because he
pitied the young man, and felt that “one so near
death as he was should be gratified even in his
whims.”

The boat was half filled with cedar, pine, and
balsam boughs, and the young man, carried in the
arms of his guide from the house, was laid at full
length upon them. The camp utensils were put
at one end, the guide seated himself at the other,

and the little boat passed with the living and the

dying down the lake, and was lost to the group
watching them amid the islands to the south.
- This was in early June. The first week the guide
carried the young man on his back over all the
portages, lifting him in and out of the boat as he
might a child. But the healing properties of the
balsam and pine, which were his bed by day and
night, began to exert their power. Awake or
asleep, he inhaled their fragrance. Their pungent
and healing odors penetrated his diseased and
irritated lungs. The second day out his cough
was less sharp and painful. At the end of the
first week he could walk ‘by leaning on the pad-
dle. The second week he needed no support.
The third week the cough ceased entirely. From.
that time he improved with wonderful rapidity.

14 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.

He “went in” the first of June, carried in the

arms of his guide. The second week of Novem-
ber he “came out” bronzed as an Indian, and as
hearty. In five months he had gained sixty-five
pounds of flesh, and flesh, too, “ well packed on,”
as they say in the woods. Coming out he car-
ried the boat over all portages; the very same

over which a few months before the guide had

carried him, and pulled as strong an oar as any
amateur in the wilderness. His meeting with
his family I leave the reader to imagine. The
wilderness received him almost a corpse. It re-
turned him to his home and the world as happy
and healthy a man as ever bivouacked under its
pines. a |

This, I am aware, is an extreme case, and, as ~

such, may seem exaggerated; but it is not. I
might instance many other cases which, if less ~
startling, are equally corroborative of the general
statement. There is one sitting near me, as I
write, the color of whose cheek, and the clear
brightness of whose eye, cause my heart to go out
in ceaseless gratitude to the woods, amid which
she found that health and strength of which they
are the proof and sign. For five summers have
we visited the wilderness. From four to seven
weeks, each year, have we breathed the breath of
the mountains ; bathed in the waters which sleep
at their base; and made our couch at night of —

~~a

ON aoe

SPORTING FACILITIES. 15

- moss and balsam-boughs, beneath the whispering
- trees. I feel, therefore, that I am able to speak
_ from experience touching this matter; and I be-
lieve that, all things being considered, no portion
- of our country surpasses, if indeed any equals, in
health-giving qualities, the Adirondack Wilderness.

SPORTING FACILITIES.

This wilderness is often called the “ Sportsman’s
Paradise” ; and so I hold it to be, when all its ad-
vantages are taken into account. If any one goes
to the North Woods, expecting to see droves of deer,
he will return disappointed. He can find them
west and north, around Lake Superior, and on the
_ Plains; but nowhere east of the Alleghanies. Or
if one expects to find trout averaging three or four

pounds, eager to break surface, no matter where or

when he casts his fly, he will come back from his
trip a “sadder and a wiser man.” If this is his
idea of what constitutes a “sportsman’s paradise,”

I advise him not to go to the Adirondacks. Deer
and trout do not abound there in any such num-
4 bers: and yet there are enough of both to satisfy

any reasonable expectation. Gentlemen often ask
me to compare the “North Woods” with the
“ Maine Wilderness.” The fact is, it is difficult to
make any comparison between the two sections,

16 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.

they are so unlike. But I am willing to give my
reasons of preference for the Adirondacks. The
fact is, nothing could induce me to visit Maine.
If I was going east at all, I should keep on, nor
stop until I reached the Provinces. I could never
bring my mind to pass a month in Maine, with
the North Woods within forty-eight hours of me.
I will tell you why. Go where you will, in
Maine, the Zumbermen have been before you; and
lumbermen are the curse and scourge of the wil-
derness. Wherever the axe sounds, the pride and
beauty of the forest disappear. A lumbered dis-
trict is the most dreary and dismal region the eye
of man ever beheld. The mountains are not
merely shorn of trees, but from base to summit
fires, kindled by accident or malicious purpose,
have swept their sides, leaving the blackened
rocks exposed to the eye, and here and there a few
unsightly trunks leaning in all directions, from
which all the branches and green foliage have been
burnt away. The streams and trout-pools are
choked with saw-dust, and filled with slabs and
logs. The rivers are blockaded with “booms”
and lodged timber, stamped all over the ends with
the owner’s “mark.” Every eligible site for a
camp has been appropriated; and bones, offal,
horse-manure, and all the débris of a deserted
lumbermen’s village is strewn around, offensive

both to eye and nose. The hills and shores are a

SPORTING FACILITIES. 17

littered with rotten wood, in all stages of decom-
position, emitting a damp, mouldy odor, and send-
ing forth countless millions of flies, gnats, and mos-

| quitoes to prey upon you. Now, no number of

deer, no quantities of trout, can entice me to such
a locality. He who fancies it can go; not I. In
the Adirondack Wilderness you escape this. There
the lumberman has never been. No axe has
sounded along its mountain-sides, or echoed across
its peaceful waters. The forest stands as it has
stood, from the beginning of time, in all its maj-
esty of growth, in all the beauty of its unshorn
foliage. No fires have blackened the hills; no
logs obstruct the rivers; no saw-dust taints and
colors its crystal waters. The promontories which
stretch themselves half across its lakes, the islands
which hang as if suspended in their waveless and

translucent depths, have never been marred by

the presence of men careless of all but gain. You
choose the locality which best suits your eye, and
build your lodge under unscarred trees, and upon
a carpet of moss, untrampled by man or beast.
There you live in silence, unbroken by any sounds
save such as you yourself may make, away from
all the business and cares of civilized life.
Another reason of my preference for the Adiron-
dack region is based upon the mode and manner in

¥ _ which your sporting is done. Now I do not plead

guilty to the vice of laziness. If necessary, I can

18 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.

work, and work sharply; but I have no special
love for labor, in itself considered; and certain
kinds of work, I am free to confess, I abhor; and
if there is one kind of work which I detest more
than another, it is tramping; and, above all,
tramping through a lumbered district. How the
thorns lacerate you! How the brambles tear your
clothes and pierce your flesh! How the mesh-
work of fallen tree-tops entangles you! I would
not walk two miles through such a country for all
the trout that swim; and as for ever casting a
fly from the slippery surface of an old mill-dam,
no one ever saw me do it, nor ever will. I do not
say that some may not find amusement in it.
I only know that I could not. Now, in the North
Woods, owing to their marvellous water-communi-
cation, you do all your sporting from your boat. —
If you wish to go one or ten miles for a “ fish,” your
guide paddles you to the spot, and serves you while.
you handle the rod. This takes from recreation

every trace of toil. You have all the excitement of

sporting, without any attending physical weariness.

And what luxury it is to course along the shores

of these secluded lakes, or glide down the winding

_ reaches of these rivers, overhung by the outlying

pines, and fringed with water-lilies, mingling their
fragrance with the odors of cedar and balsam! To
me this is better than ¢ramping. I have sported
a month at a time, without walking as many miles"

SPORTING FACILITIES. 19

as there were weeks in the month. To my mind,
this peculiarity elevates the Adirondack region
above all its rivals, East or West, and more than all
else justifies its otherwise pretentious claim as a
| “Sportsman’s Paradise.” In beauty of scenery, in

health-giving qualities, in the easy and romantic

| manner of its sporting, it is a paradise, and so will.

it continue to be while a deer leaves his track
- upon the shores of its lakes, or a trout shows
himself above the surface of its waters. It is this
peculiarity also which makes an excursion to this
- section so easy and delightful to ladies. There is
- nothing in the trip which the most delicate and
fragile need fear. And it is safe to say, that, of all
' who go into the woods, none enjoy the experiences
- more than ladies, and certain it is that none are
_ more benefited by it.
But what about game, I hear the reader inquire.

_ Are deer plenty? Is the fishing good? Well,

I reply, every person has his own standard by
which to measure a locality, and therefore it is
_ difficult to answer with precision. Moreover, it
is not alone the presence of game which makes
good sporting. Many other considerations, such
as the skill of the sportsman, and the character
and ability of the guide, enter into this problem
and make the solution difficult. A poor shot, and
a green hand at the rod, will have poor success
anywhere, no matter how good the sporting is;

20 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.

and I have known parties to be “starved out,”
where other men, with better guides, were meeting .
with royal success. With a guide who under- —
stands his business, I would undertake to feed a
party of twenty persons the season through, and
seldom should they sit down,to a meal lacking
either trout or venison. I passed six weeks on
the Racquette last summer, and never, save at one ~
_ meal, failed to see both of the two delicious arti- —
cles of diet on my table. Generally speaking, no
inconvenience is experienced in this direction. —
Always observing the rule, not to kill more than
the camp can eat, which a true sportsman never
transgresses, I have paddled past more deer
within easy range than I ever lifted my rifle at.
The same is true in reference to trout. I have
unjointed my rod when the water was alive with
leaping fish, and experienced more pleasure as I —
sat and saw them rise for food or play, than any
thoughtless violator of God’s laws could feel in
wasting the stores which Nature so bountifully
opens@for our need. I am not in favor of “ game
laws,” passed for the most part in the interest of ©
the few and the rich, to the deprivation of the
poor and the many, but I would that fine and
imprisonment both might be the punishment of —
him who, in defiance of every humane instinct
and reverential feeling, out of mere love for
“sport,” as some are pleased to call it, directs ; a9

¥ WHAT IT COSTS. 21

ball or hooks a fish when no necessity demands
it. Such ruthless destruction of life is slaughter, o
coarse, cruel, unjustifiable butchery. -Palliate it

| who may, practise it who can, itis just that and
| nothing short. To sum up what I have thus far ~

written, I say to all brother sportsmen, that, all

things considered, the sporting, both with rifle and
rod, in the North Woods is good,— good enough
| to satisfy. any reasonable desire. In this, please ©

remember that I refer to the wilderness proper,

and not to the lumbered and inhabited and there-
fore over-hunted borders of it. I have known
_ parties to take board at North Elba, or Malone, or

Luzerne, and a insist that they “had been into

‘the Adirondac

WHAT IT COSTS.

This I know to some is a matter of no interest

at all, but to others, among whom, unfortunately,

the writer must number himself, it is amatter
of vital importance. The committee on “ways
and means ” in our “house” is the most laborious
of all, and the six years a little woman has held
the chairmanship of it has made her exceedingly
cautious and conservative. Some very interest-
ing debates occur before this committee, and no
demur on the part of the defeated party, as I have

What is true in the case of the writer is largely —
true in respect to the majority of the profession —
to which he belongs. Yet it is in the ministry —
that you find the very men who would be the
most benefited by this trip. Whether they should
go as sportsmen or tourists, or in both capacities, a

visit to the North Woods could not fail of giving
them precisely such a change as is most desirable,
and needed by them. In the wilderness they
would find that perfect relaxation which all jaded
minds require. In its vast solitude is a total
absence of sights and sounds and duties, which j
keep the clergyman’s brain and heart strung up, i
the long year through, to an intense, unnatural,” —
and often fatal tension. There, from a thousand .

22 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.
often found, can change the unalterable decision. —

ig

sources of invigoration, flow into the exhausted
mind and enfeebled body currents of strength and
life. There sleep woos you as the shadows deepen
along the lake, and retains you in its gentle em-
brace until frightened away by the guide’s merry
call to” breakfast. You would be astonished to
: learn, if I felt disposed to tell you, how many con-
secutive hours a certain minister sleeps during
the first week of his annual visit to the woods!
Ah me, the nights I have passed in the woods!
How they haunt me with their sweet, suggestive
memories of silence and repose! How harshly the
steel-shod hoofs smite against the flinty pavement

;
3
F

WHAT IT COSTS. 23

beneath my window, and clash with rude inter-
' ruptions upon my ear as [I sit recalling the tran-
-quil hours I have spent beneath the trees! What
restful slumber was mine; and not less gently
| than the close of day itself did it fall upon me,
| as I stretched myself upon my bed of balsam-
boughs, with Rover at my side, not twenty feet
| from the shore where the ripples were playing
_ coyly with the sand, and lulled by the low mono-
tone of the pines, whose branches were my only
‘shelter from the dew which gathered like gems
upon their spear-like stems, sank, as a falling star
- fades from sight, into forgetfulness. And then the
waking! The air fresh with the aroma of the
_ wilderness. The morning blowing its perfumed
breezes into your face. The drip, drip of the
odorous gum in the branches overhead, and the
* colors of russet, of orange, and of gold streaking
_ the eastern sky. After three or four nights of
_ such slumber, the sleeper realizes the force and
beauty of the great poet’s apostrophe, —
% “Sleep, that knits up the ravelled sleave of care,

The death of each day’s life, sore labor’s bath,

Balm of hurt minds, great nature’s second course,
Chief nourisher in life’s feast.’

_ If every church would make up a purse, and
_ pack its worn and weary pastor off to the
_ North Woods for a four weeks’ jaunt, in the
_ hot months of July and August, it would doa

- * =
- ,«

r 5 ot 4
:

es at ,

24 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.

very sensible as well as pleasant act. For when
the good dominie came back swarth and tough ~
as an Indian, elasticity in his step, fire in his eye,
depth and clearness in his reinvigorated voice,
wouldn’t there be some preaching! And what —
texts he would have from which to talk to the
little folks in the Sabbath school! How their
bright eyes would open and enlarge as he narrated —
his adventures, and told them how the good —
Father feeds the fish that swim, and clothes the -
mink and beaver with their warm and sheeny fur.
The preacher sees God in the original there, and —

often translates him better from his unwritten —
works than from his written word. He will get —
more instructive spiritual material from such ~
a trip than from all the “Sabbath-school festi- —
vals” and “pastoral tea-parties” with which the —
poor, smiling creature was ever tormented. Itis ~
astonishing how much a loving, spiritually-minded —

~~ people can bore their minister. If I hada spite —
“against any clerical brother, and felt wicked

enough to indulge it, I would get his Sabbath-

school superintendent, a female city missionary, —
and several “ local visitors,” with an agent of some

Western college thrown in for variety, and set
them all on to him! |

“But how much does it cost to take such —
trip ?” I hear.some good deacon inquite ; “ perhaps
we may feel disposed to take your advice.” —

an jus »' Bei ee? 6 ees 1

WHAT IT COSTS. 25

‘Well, I will tell you; and I shall make a
liberal estimate, for I do not think it hurts a
a inister to travel in comfortable style any more
han it does Mr. Farewell and Brother Have-.
enough. And if he shall chance to find a ten-
‘dollar greenback in his vest-pocket after he has
reached home it will not come amiss, I warrant
LT estimate the cost thus : —

_ Guide-hire, $2.50 per day; board for self and
muide while in the woods, $2.00 each per week;
miscellanies (here is where the ten-dollar green-
yacks come in), $25.00.

_ If he feels disposed to take a companion, he can
Jo so (many go in couples), and thereby divide
he cost of guide-hire, making it only $1.25
er day. But I would not advise one to do this,
especially if his expenses are paid. Fifty dollars
“will pay one’s travelling expenses both ways,
hii ‘om Boston to the Lower Saranac Lake, where
you can meet your guide. From New York the —
' xpense is about the same. It is safe to say that
one hundred and twenty-five dollars will pay all
the expenses of a trip of a month’s duration in the
wilderness. I know of no other excursion in
Which such a small sum of money will return
such per cent in health, pleasure, and profit.

a boat-load of clothes,’ which we found to be nigh

26 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.

OUTFIT.

There is no one rule by which to be goverr
in this respect. Personal tastes and means con- 7
trol one in this matter. Generally speaking, outfits 7
are too elaborate and cumbersome. Some men go ~
into the woods as if they were to pass the winter 7
within the polar circle, supplied with fur caps, —
half a dozen pair of gloves, heavy overcoat, three 7
or four thick blankets, and any amount of use- —
less empedimenta. Dry-goods clerks and students
seem to affect this style the most. I remember run-
ning against a pair of huge alligator-leather boots,
leaning against a tree, one day when crossing tl )
“Carry” from Forked Lake around the rapids,
and upon examination discovered a young under-
graduate of a college not a thousand miles from
Boston inside of them. It was about the middle
of August, and the thermometer stood at 90°
Fahrenheit. Some half a mile farther on we met
the guide sweating and swearing under a pack of
blankets, rubber suits, and the like, heavy e enough
to frighten a tramping Jew-pedler ; and he d ze
that “that confounded Boston fool had Tronghi

|
|
; |

e the truth wie we reached the end of t

“carry,” where the canoe was. Now I wish the 7
every reader who may visit the Adiendas ks,
male or female, would remember that a good-

a ji
» ji
;

OUTFIT. 27.

sized valise or carpet-bag will hold all the clothes
any one person needs for a two months’ trip in the
| wilderness, beyond what he wears in. Be sure
| to wear and take in nothing but woollen and
| flannel. The air at night is often quite cool, even
in midsummer, and one must dress epee The
following list comprises the “ essentials ”

| Complete undersuit of woollen or aaah with a
_ “change.”

_ Stout pantaloons, vest, and coat.

Felt hat.

_ Two pairs of stockings.

- Pair of common winter boots and camp shoes.
' Rubber blanket or coat.

One pair pliable buckskin gloves, with chamois-
_ skin gauntlets tied or buttoned at the elbow.

_ Hunting-knife, belt, and a pint tin cup.

_ To these are to be added a pair of warm woollen
blankets, wnewt, and a few articles of luxury, such
as towel, soap, etc. The above is a good service-
& able outfit, and, with the exception of the blan-
_ kets, can readily be packed in a carpet-bag, which
_ is easily stowed in the boat and carried over the
_ “portages.” In this connection, it should be re-
- membered that the Adirondack boats, while being
models of lightness and speed, are small, and will
not bear overloading. On the average they are
_ some fifteen feet long, three feet wide at the mid-
- dle, sharp at both ends, some ten inches deep,

28 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.

and weigh from sixty to ninety pounds. Small
and light as these boats are, they will sustain”
three men and all they really need in the way of
baggage, but it is essential, as the reader can see, ©
that no unnecessary freight be taken along bya ~
party. Nothing is better calculated to make a ©
guide cross and sour than an over-supply of per-
sonal baggage, and I advise all who attempt the
trip to confine themselves very nearly to the
above list. They willfind that it is abundant.

For sporting outfit, this will suffice :—

One rifle and necessary ammunition.

One light, single-handed fly-rod, with “ flies.”

For rifles I prefer the “ Ballard” or “ Maynard”
among breech-loaders. No shot-guns should be
taken. They are a nuisance and a pest. | |

In respect to “flies” do not overload your ©
book. This is a good assortment : — .

Hackles, black, red, and brown, six each.

Avoid small hooks and imported “ French flies.”

Let the “flies” be made on hooks from Nos. 3 _
to 1, Limerick size.

All “fancy flies” discard. They are good for
nothing generally, unless it be to show to your
lady friends. . In addition to the “ Hackles,”

Canada fly (6), —an excellent fly.

Green drake (6).

Red ibis (6).

Small salmon flies (6), — best of all.

i oe ee > ed a te = sa)
‘

OUTFIT. 29

If in the fall of the year, take
English blue-jay (6).
Gray drake (6),— good.
Last, but not least, a large, stoutly woven land-
-ing-net. ,
_ This is enough. I know that what I say touch-
ing the salmon flies will astonish some, but I do
, not hesitate to assert that with two dozen small-
sized salmon flies I should feel myself well pro-
vided for a six weeks’ sojourn in the wilderness.
Of course you can add to the above list many
_ serviceable flies; my own book is stocked with a
' dozen dozens of all sizes and colors, but the above
_ is a good practical outfit, and all one really needs.
___ If you are unaccustomed to “ fly fishing,” and
prefer to “grub it” with ground bait (and good
“sport can be had with bait fishing too), get two or
three dozens short-shanked, good-sized hooks, hand
_ tied to strong cream-colored snells, and you are
_ well provided. If you can find worms, they make
_ the best bait; if not, cut out a strip from a chub,
and, loading your line with shot, yank it along
through the water some foot or more under the sur-
face, as when fishing for pickerel. I have had trout
- many times rise and take such a bait, even when
_ skittered along on the top of the water. To every
_ fly-fisher my advice is, be sure and take plenty of
ecasting-lines. Have some six, others nine feet
long. There are lines made out of “sea snell.”

See Te ne a

30 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.

These are the best. Never select a bright, glisten-
ing gut. Always search for the creamy looking ~
ones. The entire outfit need not cost (rod ex- ©
cepted) over ten dollars, and for all practical ©
purposes is as good as one costing a hundred.

WHERE TO BUY TACKLE,

If you buy in. New York, go to J. Conroy,
Fulton Street. This house is noted for its rods, —
No better single-handed fly-rod can be had than —
you can obtain at Conroy’s. A rod of three pieces,
twelve feet long, and weighing from nine to
twelve ounces, is my favorite. A fashion has
sprung up to fasten the reel on close to the butt,
so that when casting you must needs grip the rod _
above the reel. This is a great error in construc-
tion. Never buy one thus made. The reel should —
be good eight inches from the butt, and thus ~
leave plenty of hand-room below it. At Con-
roy’s you can obtain such a rod, brass mounted, —
for some fifteen dollars ; in German-silver mount- —
ings, for seventeen. At other houses, for the very —
same or an inferior article I have been charged —
from twenty to twenty-five dollars. The first rod —
I ever bought at Conroy’s, some six years ago,
was a brass-mounted one, such as described above, —
which I used constantly for four years, but which
I saw, on an evil day, go into four pieces, in a

WHERE TO BUY TACKLE. 31

narrow creek, when I gave the butt to two large
fish in full bolt for a snarl of tamarack-roots.
Many a time have I seen that rod doubled up
‘until the quivering tip lay over the reel. I paid
fourteen dollars and fifty cents for it. I would
like to pay three times that sum for another like
it. If you want a rod that you can rely on, go
to Conroy’s in Fulton Street and buy one of his
single-handed fly-rods.
If in Boston, William Read and Son’s, No. 13
Faneuil Hall Square, is a good house to deal with.
Being less acquainted in Boston than in New York,
. I cannot speak with such directness as I can con-
cerning Conroy’s. But having looked over Mr.
Read’s stock, I am quite persuaded that you can
q be as well served with rods by him as by any
7 house in the country, Conroy always excepted.
‘If I was buying in Boston, for my rod I should
~ go to Read’s. In respect to price, I am inclined
_ to think that he sells the same class of rods cheaper
than the New York house. I saw some rods at Mr.
_ Read's the other day for twelve dollars, equal in all
t _Tespects, so far as I could see, (and I tested them
q _ thoroughly,) to the rods for which Conroy charges
. fifteen dollars. At the same time I examined
some split bamboo rods, price twenty-five dollars,
for which many dealers in fishing-tackle, in New
q ‘York, and perhaps some in Boston, would be likely
= o demand nearly twice that sum. Of course this

32 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.

firm is too well known to the sporting world for ~
me to mention that, for a thorough hunting out “
you can do no better than to go to this house. —
For flies I advise you to go to Bradford a
Anthony, 178 Washington Street. Iam nae oO
think that this house, in quantity, style, vari oty,
and finish, excel even Conroy. I have looked
their assortment over carefully, and know not ©
where to find its equal. «Wherever you buy,
never purchase an imported fly. The F ench 7
flies, especially, are most unreliable. Never put ©
one in your book. Select only such as are tied t 7
soft, cream-colored snells. The same holds good in.
respect to casting-lines or leaders. Beware of such
as have a bright, glassy glitter about them. Ths
will fail you on your best fish, and you will 1
flies, fish, and temper together. For your fimeate |
suggest, first, last, and always, braided silk. Be- |
ware of hair and silk lines. Formerly I hail
great passion for fancy lines, but years of e |
perience have caused me to settle down in fayor |
of the braided silk line as superior to every ;

.

GUIDES.

This is the most important of all consi %

_ to one about to visit the wilderness. An ionorant, |
lazy, low-bred guide is a nuisance in camp and 4
useless everywhere else. A skilful, active, well |

GUIDES. 33

mannered guide, on the other hand, is a joy and
consolation, a source of constant pleasure to. the
whole party. With an ignorant guide you will
arve ; with a lazy one you will lose your temper ;
: with a low-bred fellow you can have no comfort.

through the trip. A good -anttle like a good wife,
is indispensable to one’s success, pleasure, and
: If I were to classify such guides as are
RB anices, I should place at the head of the list
the “witty guide.” He is forever talking. He
inundates the camp with gab. If you chance to
have company, he is continually thrusting himself
impertinently forward. He is possessed from head
to foot with the idea that he is smart. He can
“never open his mouth unless it is to air his opin-
ions or perpetrate some stale joke. He is always
_ vulgar, not seldom profane. Avoid him as you
would the plague.

_ Next in order comes the “talkative guide.”
_ The old Indian maxim, “Much talk, no hunt,” I
have found literally verified. A true hunter talks
s little. The habit of his skill is silence. In camp
or afloat he is low-voiced and reticent. I have
_ .met but one exception to this rule. I will not
_hame him, lest it give pain. He is a good hunter
and a capital guide, in spite of his evil tendency
to gab. This tendency is vicious in many ways.
3* c

34 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.

It is closely allied with that other vice, — bragging.
Such a guide in a large party is apt to breed”
dispute and difference. He is very liable to give
the gentleman who employs him the impression ©
that others in the party are striving to “ get aii
of him.” Moreover, he is always interrupting you ~
when you do not want to be interrupted. Silence,
which is a luxury found only in the wilderhesall
flees at his approach. Beware of the talkative ~
guide. ‘
The next in order, and the last I shall men-
tion, is the “lazy guide.” Such a guide is the
most vexatious creature you can have around. ©
Nothing short of actual experience with one can ~
give you an adequate impression. Now, a guide's ©
duties, while not absolutely laborious, are neverthe-
less multiform. To discharge them well,a man ©
should have a brisk, cheerful temperament anda —
certain pride in his calling. He should be quick, ©
inventive, and energetic. With these qualities |
even ordinarily developed, a man makes a good
guide; without them he is intolerable. A lazy
guide is usually in appearance fleshy, lymphatic,
dirty, and often well advanced in years. As a
rule, avoid an old guide as you would an old horse. —
His few years’ extra experience, compared to a
younger man, cannot make good the decline of his
powers and the loss of his ambition. A young,
active fellow of thirty, with his reputation to make, -

GUIDES. ' 35

is worth two who are fifty and egotistical. The
worst sight I ever saw in the woods, the exhibi-
tion which stirred me most, was the spectacle of a
fat, lazy lout of a guide lying on his stomach, read-
ing a dime novel, while the gentleman who hired
him was building “smudges.” If he had been
my guide, I would have smudged him! The “ wit-
_ ty,” “talkative,” and “lazy guide” are the three
_ hindrances to a party’s happiness. If you find
‘ yourself or party burdened with either species,
admonish kindly but firmly ; and if this mild appli-
cation will not suffice, turn him mercilessly adrift,
and post him by name on your way out, at every
eamp and hotel, as an imposition and a pest.
~ Make an example of one or two, and the rest would
take the hint. Every respectable and worthy
_ guide will thank you for it, and your conscience
_ will have peace as over a duty fulfilled.

_ For the most part the “independent guides”
are models of skill, energy, and faithfulness. I
say “independent,” to distinguish the class so

called from another class yclept “hotel guides.”

_ The difference between the two classes is this:

_ the “hotel guides” are paid so much per month

_ by the hotel-keepers, and by them furnished to
_ their boarders and such as come unprovided. This

system is faulty in many respects. The “ hotel

guide ” is not responsible to the party for its suc-
- ess, and therefore is not quickened to make his

36 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.

best endeavor. He has no reputation to make, as
has the independent guide, for his service is se-—
cured to him for the season, by virtue of his con-
nection with the hotel. Furthermore, the “hotel —
guide” is often unemployed for weeks if the sea-
son is dull; and, hanging around a frontier hotel
in daily proximity to the bar, is very liable to be- —
get that greatest of all vices in a guide, —drunken- ~
ness. If, on the other hand, the season is a crowded
one, the proprietor finds it difficult to secure
guides enough for his guests, and so must needs
content himself with men totally unfit for the .
service. Thus it often happens that a party taking ~
their guides at the hands of the landlord finds, —
when too late, that out of half a dozen guides, —
only one is capable, while the others are mere

make-shifts, the good guide being sent along asa

teacher and “ boss” of the raw hands. I do not —
say that there are no good guides among those
known as hotel guides, for there are; but as a class —
they are far inferior in character, skill, and babe |
to the others.

The independent guides, so called, are, as a
whole, a capable and noble class of men. They
know their calling thoroughly, and can be relied —
on. They have no other indorsement than such —
as the parties to which they act as guides give them; —
and as their chances of subsequent service depend
upon their present success, they are stimulated to

GUIDES. 37

the utmost to excel. Between these and the hotel

guides there exists a rivalry, and I might employ
astronger term. The independent guide feels,
and is not slow to assert, his superiority. He is
justified in doing it. The system of hotel guiding
is wrong in theory and pernicious in practice.
Every guide should be immediately responsible to
the party hiring him. His chances of future em-
ployment should depend upon his present success.
This is the only natural, simple, and equitable
method. It is beneficial to both parties. The
sportsman is well served; and the guide, if he is
faithful, secures constant employment from season
to season. Many of the best guides are engaged
a year in advance.

I cannot let this opportunity pass unimproved

of testifying to the capacity, skill, and faithfulness
' of a great majority of the guides through the
' Adirondack region. With many I am personally
| acquainted, and rejoice to number them among my
friends. I have seen them under every circum-
stance of exposure and trial, of feasting and hun-
ger, of health and sickness, and a more honest,
cheerful, and patient class of men cannot be found
the world over. Born and bred, as many of them
were, in this wilderness, skilled in all the lore of
wooderaft, handy with the rod, superb at the pad-
a dle, modest in demeanor and speech, honest to a
' proverb, they deserve and receive the admiration

38 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.

of all who make their acquaintance. Bronzed
and hardy, fearless of danger, eager to please, un-
contaminated with the vicious habits of civilized
life, they are not unworthy of the magnificent sur-
roundings amid which they dwell. Among them
an oath is never heard, unless in moments of
intense excitement. Vulgarity of speech is abso-
lutely unknown, and theft a matter of horror and
surprise. Measured by our social and intellectual
facilities, their lot is lowly and uninviting, and yet
to them there is a charm and fascination in it.
Under the base of these overhanging mountains
they were born. Upon the waters of these se-
cluded lakes they have sported from earliest boy-
hood. The wilderness has unfolded to them its
mysteries, and made them wise with a wisdom no-
where written in books. This wilderness is their
home. Here they were born, here have they lived,
and here it is that they expect to die. Their
graves will be made under the pines where in
childhood they played, and the sounds of wind —
and wave which lulled them to sleep when boys
will swell the selfsame cadences in requiem over

their graves. When they have passed away, tradi- |

tion will prolong their virtues and their fame.

I am often in reception of letters from gentle- —
men who wish to visit the wilderness, inquiring
the names of guides to whom they can write for
the purpose of engaging their services. I have

Se

|
|
i
i
i)
‘4
:
2.
¥
F
i |
ry
f
;
i.

GUIDES. 39

been prompted to publish the following list in

answer to such correspondence. I do not wish
any to understand that the list is perfect, contain-
ing the names of all the good guides, for it does
not. It contains the names of such as, through,
personal acquaintance or reliable information, I
know to be worthy of patronage. Others, not
mentioned here, there may be equally reliable. I
make no invidious comparison in this selection. I
seek only to give such as may be about to visit
the region the names of certain guides to whom
they can write with confidence, and whom, if they
secure, they may deem themselves fortunate.

Long Lake Guides, or those whose Post-Ofiice Address
is Long Lake, Hamilton County, N. Y.

John E. Plumbley, John Robinson,

Jerry Plumbley, | Amos Robinson, ate
Amos Hough, Michael Sabatis and Sons,
Henry Stanton, Alonzo Wood,

Isaac Robinson, Reuben Cary.

Lower Saranac Guides.

Stephen Martin, Duglass Dunning,
» James McClellan, George Ring,

Lute Evans, Daniel L. Moody,

Harvey Moody, Mark Clough,

John King, Reuben Reynolds,

40 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.

George Sweeny, Alonzo Dudley, tee
William Ring, Daniel Moody. oni

Post-office address, ae
Lower Saranac, Franklin County, N.Y.

St. Regis Guides.
I can recall the names of only three.

Seth Warner, Stephen Turner,
David Sweeny.

Post-office address,
St. Regis, Foaaldan County, N. a

Concerning the guides in the “ Brown Tract”
and on the western side of the wilderness, around —
the Potsdam region, I know nothing. The Ar —
nolds, I understand, of the Brown Tract district, —
owing to an unfortunate occurrence last fall, have —
all deserted that section of the country. The
house their father kept is now unoccupied, and —
whether it will be opened this spring I know not.

HOW TO GET TO THE WILDERNESS.

There are several routes which you can take in t
an excursion to the North Woods, but only one or —
two which are easy and practicable for a party —
composed both of ladies and gentlemen. If you —

wish to enter at the southern end of the wilder- —

= Seer ee <u

Se PE OE EE ara ae Pa.

HOW TO GET THERE. 41

ness, and do your sporting in the Brown Tract
region, go to Albany and thence to Booneville, from
which place you can get transported on horseback
to the first of the chain of lakes known as the
“Right Lakes.” Here was formerly a hotel, known
as “ Arnold’s.” The Arnold family have now left,
and I know not if the house is kept open. This
entrance is not easy for ladies, nor is the region
into which it brings you at all noted for the beauty
of its scenery. Still many sportsmen go in this
way, and to such a classit is a feasible route. You
can also “go in” via Lake George and Minerva to
Long Lake, if you choose. The distance is some
eighty miles by this route, the roads bad, and
the hotel accommodations poor. Long Lake is a
good starting-point for a party, as it is situated

midway of the forest, the centre of magnificent

scenery, and the home of many guides. All it

needs to make this route one of the very best is,

that the roads should be improved, and a good line
of coaches established. But as it now is, it is

_ neither practicable nor entirely safe.

The best route by which to enter the wilderness

ig the following. It is easy and quick. The ac-

commodations are excellent all the way through.

_ I do not know how I can give a true impression of

this route so briefly as by going, in imagination,
with the reader, from Boston to the Lower Saranac,
where I meet my guide. I leave Boston Monday

4? ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.

morning, we will say, at eight o'clock, on the Bos- —

ton and Albany Railroad. At East Albany we con- g

nect with the Troy train; at Troy, with the Sara- —
toga train, which lands you at the steamboat dock ~
at Whitehall, Lake Champlain, at nine o'clock, ©

p.M. Going on board you sit down to a dinner, ©

abundant in quantity and well served ; after which —
you retire to your state-room, or, if so inclined, roll
an arm-chair to the hurricane deck, and enjoy that —
rarest of treats, a steamboat excursion on an inland
lake by moonlight. At 4.30 A. M. you are oppo- —
site Burlington, Vt., and by the time you are
dressed the boat glides alongside of the dock at —
Port Kent, on the New York side of the lake. —
You enter a coach which stands in waiting, and,
after a ride of six miles in the cool morning air,
you alight at the Ausable House, Keeseville. Here —
you array yourself for the woods, and, eating a
hearty breakfast, you seat yourself in the coach at —

7 A. M., the whip cracks, the horses spring, and you ~

are off on a fifty-six mile ride over a plank road, —
which brings you, at 5 Pp. M., to Martin’s, on the
Lower Saranac, where your guide, with his narrow
shell drawn up upon the beach, stands waiting you.

This is the shortest, easiest, and, beyond all odds, ~

the best route to the Adirondacks. You leave
Boston or New York Monday at 8 A. M., and reach
your guide Tuesday at 5 p.m. So perfect are the —
connections on this route, that, having engaged —

HOW TO GET THERE. 43

“John” to meet me a year from a certain day, at
5 p. M., on the Lower Saranac, I have rolled up to
“Martin’s” and jumped from the coach as the

| faithful fellow, equally “on time,” was in the act

of pulling his narrow boat up the beach. It is not

_ only easy and quick, but the cheapest route also,
- and takes you through some of the sublimest
| scenery in the world. At Keeseville, if you wish,
| you can turn off to the left toward North Elba,
and visit that historic grave in which the martyr of

the nineteenth century sleeps, with a boulder of
native granite for his tombstone, and the cloud-
covered peaks of Whiteface and Marcy to the
north and south, towering five thousand feet above
his head. By all means stop here a day. It will
better you to stand a few moments over John

_ Brown’s grave, to enter the house he built, to see
_ the fields he and his heroic boys cleared, the
| fences they erected and others standing incomplete

as they left them when they started for Harper’s

if Ferry. What memories, if you are an American,
_ will throng into your head as you stand beside

that mound and traverse those fields! You will
continue your journey a better man or purer
woman from even so brief a visit to the grave of
one whose name is and will ever be asynonyme of
liberty and justice throughout the world. If you
are mere tourists, and intend going no farther west-
ward than North Elba, stop at Westport, above

44. ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.

Crown Point, and take stage to your destination. ~
At a Mr. Helmer’s (I think that is the name) you 7
will find all necessary accommodation. If you are ©
going into the wilderness, it is better to engage 7
your transportation from Keeseville in advance, in~
order to prevent delay. To this end you can ad- 7
dress the proprietor of the Ausable House, Keese- ©
ville, or W. F. Martin, keeper of “ Martin’s,” as it is, 7
familiarly known to sportsmen at the Lower Sara- : |
nac. This is the direct route also to reach Paul
Smith’s, at the St. Regis Lake. Another route, — q
a new one just opened, which I have never tried, —
is via Plattsburgh, by which you can go by rail to
a point within thirty miles of “ Martin’s.” Address
W. F. Martin for particulars. rea

HOTELS.

This subject I shall dismiss with a brief allusion. ~
Paul Smith, or “Pol,” as he is more commonly ©
known among the guides, is proprietor of the St.
Regis House. This is the St. James of the wilder ~
ness. Here Saratoga trunks and Saratoga belles are
known. Here they have civilized “hops,” and ~
that modern prolongation of the ancient var ae 5
modified and improved, called “ operatic singing,” ~
in the parlors. In spite of all this, it is a capital |
house, with a good reputation, well deserved 3

4

HOTELS. ——

“Bartlett’s” is situated on the carry between
' Round Lake and the Upper Saranac. This house
is well kept. The rooms are neatly furnished, the
| service at the tables slightly suggestive of “style.”
| The proprietor is a brisk, business-like-looking man,
pleasant and accommodating. I have never seen
or heard aught to his discredit, and much in his
praise. Many gentlemen leave their wives and
: children here while they are in the wilderness
_ sporting. This house is conveniently located, and
- within easy reach of excellent hunting-ground. I
heartily recommend it to public patronage.

“Mother Johnson’s.’—This is a “ half-way house.”
_ It is at the lower end of the carry, below Long Lake.

t Biter. in a log-house, hospitality can be found anh
as might shame many a city mansion. Never
shall I forget the meal that John and I ate one
| night at that pine table. We broke camp at 8
__ A. M., and reached Mother Johnson’s at 11.45 pP. M.,
[: Ri ving eaten nothing but a hasty lunch on thé
Bs way. Stumbling up to the door amid a chorus of
noises, such as only a kennel of hounds can send
fd forth, we aroused the venerable couple, and at 1
' A.M. sat down to a meal whose quantity and qual-
‘e ity are worthy of tradition. Now, most house-
F keepers would have grumbled at being summoned
to entertain travellers at such an unseasonable

i
&

P

46 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.

hour. Not so with Mother Johnson. Bless her |
soul, how her fat, good-natured face glowed with ~
delight as she saw us empty those dishes ! How
her countenance shone and sides shook with laugh- —
ter as she passed the smoking, russet-colored cakes 7
from her griddle to our only half-emptied plates. ~
For some time it was a close race, and victory
trembled in the balance; but at last John and I
surrendered, and, dropping our knives and forks, and |
shoving back our chairs, we cried, in the language |
of another on the eve of a direr conflict, “ Hold, ©
enough!” and the good old lady, still happy and
radiant, laid down her ladle and retired from her
benevolent labor to her slumbers. Never go by ||
Mother Johnson’s without tasting her pancakes, "|
and, when you leave, leave with her an extra dollar. |

“Uncle Palmer's” is at Long Lake, and com- |
mands a view of lake and mountain scenery |
rarely surpassed. There are many houses open to
guests in the wilderness more ostentatious; but for |
downright solid comfort commend me to “ Uncle |
Palmer’s.” The table is well supplied; the cuisine
is excellent ; the beds neat and clean; the location
central. Mr. Palmer is one of the most honest, —
genial, and accommodating men whom I have ©
ever met. His wife is active, pleasant, and moth-—
erly. Both are full of the spirit of true kindness, ©
and sympathetic in all their words and acts. You ~
may be a total stranger, but no sooner are you

HOTELS. 47

fairly inside the house than you feel yourself per-
fectly at home. In this neighborhood live John
Plumbley, and his brother Jerry, Amos Hough,
Henry Stanton, Isaac Robinson and boys, Michael
Sabatis and sons, and many others of the very
best guides in the wilderness. Sabatis keeps a
hotel on the shore of the lake, and at his house
“many sportsmen resort. I have heard it well
_ spoken of, but cannot speak from experience, as I
never had the pleasure of stopping over there.

_ On the whole, I do not hesitate to say that Long
_ Lake is, in my opinion, the best rendezvous of the

_ wilderness, and Uncle Palmer’s long table the
_ very best spot to find yourself when hungry and
tired. |
_ * Martin’s.”” —This is the last house of which
Tshall speak. It is located on Lower Saranac, at

_ the terminus of the stage route from Keeseville. It

4 ‘is, therefore, the most convenient point at which to
_ meet your guides. Its appointments are thorough
- and complete. Martin is one of the few men in

the world who seem to know how “to keep a

hotel.” At his house you can easily and cheaply
~ obtain your entire outfit for a trip of any length.
Here it is that the celebrated Long Lake guides,
_ with their unrivalled boats, principally resort.
Here, too, many of the Saranac guides, some of
_ them surpassed by none, make their head-quarters.
Mr. Martin, as a host, is good-natured and gen-

rae _—— et ee
‘ 7 , def
\ 4 » err ve
; a ier ¥ = »
1g sa
. “aa ae

48 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.

tlemanly. His table is abundantly provided, 7
not only with the necessaries, but also with |
many of the luxuries, of diet. The charges are”
moderate, and the accommodations for families, as |
well as sporting parties, in every respect ample. ~
“Martin’s” is a favorite resort to all who have ever ©
once visited it, and stands deservedly high in a .
estimation. :

WHEN TO VISIT THE WILDERNESS.

The purpose for which you go, and the character 7
of the sporting you desire, should decide this ~
point. If you desire river fishing for spotted
trout, and trolling for the lake trout, some of which
grow to weigh from twenty to thirty pounds, you 7
should go in during the month of May or June. 7
The objection to this time lies in the fact that the
wilderness is wet and cold at this season of the
year, when the snow is barely melted, the portages — :
muddy and unpleasant, and the “black flies” in: |
multitudinous numbers. | oe )

These objections, to my mind, are insurmounta- —
ble. No ladies should go into the wilderness —
sooner than the-middle of June. If you want to —
see autumnal scenery, unsurpassed by any the
world over, and hear the “music of the hounds” : |
in full ery after that noblest of all game for dogs,

WHEN TO VISIT THE WILDERNESS. - 49

fhe antlered buck in swift career, go in during the
month of September, and remain until snow and
the cold drive you out.

_ My favorite season is in midsummer. I go in
J early in July, and remain for about two months.
| Late in June or early in July the “black fly”
disappears. The wilderness is dry, and the climate
is delightful. The thermometer stands at about
eventy-five or eighty degrees. The portages are
n good condition, the water not high, the lily and
aarsh flowers in bloom. The fishing is excellent.
The trout have left the rapids and the upper por-
tions of the streams, and gathered in great num-
bers at the “spring-holes,” the location of which
your guide is supposed to know, if not, he can
easily, if he understands his business, ascertain.
No better fishing can be found than spring-hole
fishing, which you will find carefully described in
th e chapter entitled “The Nameless Creek.” As ©
for hunting, the sport is excellent during these two
‘months. July is the best month for Jack or night
_ shooting, —the most exciting of all shooting. The
bucks by this time are in good condition, and not
over-shy. These are the only months when you
have shore-shooting, as it is called; that is, when
z you see deer feeding in broad duphiotes and take
them from the open boat at a good, easy range, —
“say from twenty to thirty rods. This is what I

call good, honest sport, and not slaughter, as when
3 D

a — —————<<““€§ —<—<— -*. ' ™ -— a Oe i ee eee

50 . ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS. -

the dog drives a deer into the lake, and, rowing —
up beside the poor frightened and struggling thing, | .
the guide holds him by the tail while you blow ©
his brains out! Bah! I should be ashamed to
ever look along the sights of a rifle again if I had
ever disgraced myself with any such “sporting” (!)
as that! At this time of the year rain-storms are
unknown in this region, and the thunder-showers
which occur are a source of pleasure, and ‘not of ©
inconvenience, to a camp. No more sublime sight —
can the eye behold than is presented to it when
such a shower passes over these mountains. ~

HEALTHFULNESS OF CAMP Ls ee
T am often asked if ladies would not “ catch old, » |
_ in the woods, and if the physical exertion which |
one must put forth is not such as to forbid thab@
any but robust people should undertake the trip.
To this I reply that I believe it to be a physical
impossibility for one, however fragile or delicate
to “catch cold” in this wilderness. Remember. |
that you are here in a mountainous region, where —
dampness and miasma, such as prevail in lower |
sections, are entirely unknown. Consider, too, |
how genial and equable is the climate in the
summer months, and how pure and rarefied the
atmosphere. Remember, also, that you breathe an

HEALTHFULNESS OF CAMP LIFE. 51

‘air odorous with the smell of pine and cedar and
balsam, and absolutely free from the least taint of
_ impurity ; and when you take all this into account,
you will see how very dissimilar are the conditions
and surroundings of life in the woods to life in the
' city or village. Acquainted as I am with many
" ladies, some of them accustomed to every luxury,
and of delicate health, who have “camped out” in
' this wilderness, I have yet to meet with a single
_ one who ever “caught cold,” or experienced any
other inconvenience to the bodily health in the
woods.
_ As to the “ physical exertion,” there is no such
exertion known here. It is the laziest of all
_ imaginable places, if you incline to indolence,
Tramping is unknown in this region. Wherever
‘you wish to go your guide paddles you. Your
> oe fishing, sight-seeing, are all done from the
_ boat. Going in or coming out you cross the neces-
_ sary carries, which, for the most part, are short and
| good walking, and you can take your own time for
_ it. In this I refer, of course, to the most frequent-
_ ed parts of the wilderness, and not to the portions
_ seldom visited and more difficult of access. There
~ are sections which I have visited by dragging my
_ cedar shell behind me up narrow creeks and ues
‘ tamarack swamps, middle deep in mud and water ;

a

but no guide would think of taking a party, unless
urged by the party itself, into any such region ; and,

|
r
4

52 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.

ordinarily speaking, there is no need of exertion #
which a child of five summers could not safely put |
forth, from one end to the other of a trip.

WHAT SECTIONS TO VISIT. }

If you go in by way of the Saranacs, do not
camp down in that section as some do, but pass
over Indian Carry, through the Spectacle Lakes and
Ramshorn Creek (called by some Stony Creek),
into the Racquette River. Then turn up or down ~
as you please. If you desire to see some of the i
finest scenery imaginable, pass up the Racquette to
Long Lake, and, when some two miles up the lake, ~
turn your face toward the north, and you will be- —
hold what is worth the entire journey to see. |
Then go on, and do not camp until you doso onthe ©
southern or western shore of Racquette Lake. Here —
you will find good sporting and scenery unsur- —
passed. Build here your central camp, and, as soon —
as you are established, take your boat and go over A
to the “'Wood’s Place,” and from the knoll on ~
which the house stands you will gaze upon one of —
the finest water views in the world. Then visit
Terrace Lodge, on an island to the front and left of —
you, and, climbing up the ledge, you will either find
the writer there to welcome you, or see where he
and one better than he have passed many ss

.
:
|
.

PO PET ec

WHAT SECTIONS TO VISIT. 53

ful hours. Only beware how you appropriate it,
for we have a sort of life-lease on that camp-
ground, and may appear to claim possession when
you least expect us. Then paddle to Beaver Bay,
and find that point in it from which you can
arouse a whole family of sleeping echoes along
the western ridge and the heavy woods opposite.
Then go to Constable Point, and quench your thirst
at the coolest, sweetest spring of pure water from
which you ever drank. Go next to the southern
part of the lake, so hidden behind the islands that
you would never suspect such a lovely sheet of

_ water lay beyond, with its two beautiful reaches of
_ softly shining sand, one white as silver, the other
_ yellow as gold; and in the waters which lave the
& golden, find the best bathing in the whole wilder-

ness. Do not leave this region until you have
made an excursion to that Lake George in minia-

ture, Blue Mountain Lake, and fill your mind

with an impression which will remain in memo-

_ ry as one of the sweet and never-to-be-forgotten

recollections of life. When you have retraced

your progress up, and reached the mouth of Rams-

horn Creek, keep on down the Racquette until you
_haveswung round to Big Tupper Lake and lunched
on the sloping ledge over which the outlet of

Round Lake and Little Tupper pours its full tide in

thunder and foam ; and, if it be not too late in the

eer.

season, and you know how to use the rod, you will

54 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.

raise, amid the froth and éddies of the falls, some
of the largest, gamiest, brightest-tinted trout that
ever gladdened a sportsman’s eye. Then, if you are
robust and full of pluck, force your way over the —
four-mile carry, between the Falls and Round Lake, —
and, hurrying on through its sluggish waters, do
not pause until you enter the narrow, secluded
stretch of Little Tupper. But the moment you —
enter stop, joint your rod, and noose on your
strongest leader and largest flies, for you will
find right there, at the entrance of Bog Creek, —
trout that will put your skill and tackle to the
severest test. When I passed through that region —

last, I left, as John expressed it, “more than five

boat-load of fish” in that deep, sluggish pool. —
Honest John Plumbley, the prince of guides, patient —
as a hound, and as faithful, — aman who knows the ~
wilderness as a farmer knows his fields, whose in-
stinct is never at fault, whose temper is never ruf-
fled, whose paddle is silent as falling snow, whose ~
eye is true along the sights, whose pancakes are —
the wonder of the woods,— honest, patient, and —
modest John Plumbley, may he live long beyond —
the limit so few of us attain, and depart at last full —
of peace as he will full of honors, God bless him!

As you pass out, visit the St. Regis waters, by —
the way of Big Wolf, and Rollin’s Pond, and Long ~
Pine, and so circle down to “mine host” at Mar- —
tin’s. What a trip you will have had, what won-

BLACK FLIES. 55

_ ders seen, what rare experiences enjoyed! How
many evenings will pass on “golden wings” at
fs _ home, as friends draw close their circle around the
_ glowing grate, and listen as you rehearse the story
| of your adventures, — shoot over again your “ first
buck,” and land for the hundredth time your “ big-
_ gest” trout!

te, ;
| BLACK FLIES.

I will speak of these and other nuisances before
Pe I close, in order to state the exact truth in refer-
ence to a subject concerning which newspaper and
magazine writers have given the public an erro-

F neous impression. The spirit of exaggeration, and
4

a

*

the necessity of “getting up a good article,” have
contributed to the dissemination of “anecdotes”

t and “experiences ” which are the merest balderdash
_ imaginable. I am prompted, therefore, to make,
; as we were accustomed to say in college, a “ plain
statement of facts,” that my readers may know
: precisely how much inconvenience a tourist or
' sportsman is subject to, from this source, among
the Adirondacks. The black fly, concerning which
} so much of the horrible has been written, is a
_ small, dark-colored fly, about the size of a red ant.
| Its bite is not severe, nor is it ordinarily poisonous.
_ There may be an occasional exception to this rule ;

56 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.

but beside the bite of the mosquito, it is compara-

tively mild and harmless. This fly prevails during —
the month of June and disappears early in July. —
It also invariably retires at the setting of the -
sun, and gives you no more trouble until late in
the morning. TI regard it as one of the most harm-—
less and least vexatious of the insect family. For
five years my wife and self have camped in the
wilderness; we have traversed it near and far,
sleeping where the night found us, but we have
never been, to any extent worth mentioning, —
disturbed by its presence. The black fly, as pic- —
tured by “our Adirondack correspondent,” like the —
Gorgon of old, is a myth,—a monster sce :
only in men’s feverish imaginations. © |

MOSQUITOES.

In some localities these are numerous, but with —
care in the selection of your camp you will ©

not be very much troubled. A headland, or a

point which projects into a lake, over which the
wind sweeps, or, better still, an island, is excel-
lent ground for a camp, where mosquitoes will
not embarrass you.

Gnats can also be avoided by the same care; ;
and, in my way of thinking, they are much worse
than the black fly or mosquito.

MOSQUITOES. 57

Against all these insects you can find abundant
protection. The following precautions, which we
have adopted with complete success, I would recom-
_ mend, especially to such of my lady readers as con-
_ template a visit to this or any other inland region.
_ For the hands, take a pair of common buckskin
_ gloves and sew on at the wrists a gauntlet or
_armlet of chamois-skin, reaching to the elbow,
sf and tightly buttoned around. Do not leave any
_ opening, however small, at the wrist, else the

: fect protection to the hand. For the face, take a
? ~ yard and a half of Swiss mull, and gather it with
an elastic band into the form of a sack or bag.
Have the elastic so as to slip over the head, which
when you have done, fix the elastic inside the
_collar-band, and you can laugh defiance at the mos-
_ quitoes and gnats. We, in addition to this, take in
apiece of very fine muslin, some four yards square,
_ which, if threatened with gnats or flies, having first
_ thoroughly smoked the tent or lodge, we drop over
_ the front or doorway, and behind its protection sleep
undisturbed. To sportsmen, and indeed to all, I
- suggest this also. Take in a bottle of sweet oil
and a vial of tar. These the guide will mix, and
_ with a small bottle of the compound in your pock-
_ et you can go and come night or day as you please.
_ All manner of insects abhor the smell of tar.

_ When, therefore, you have need to fish or hunt or
. 3%

58 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.

journey where they may be expected, pour out a
little into the palm of your hand and anoint your
face with it. To most persons the scent of tar is
not offensive, and the mixture washes off on the
first application of soap and water, leaving no trace
or taint. To reconcile my lady readers to it, I
may add, that it renders the skin soft and smooth
as an infant’s.

I have mentioned these various protections, not
because we often resort to them, but simply from
a desire to furnish my readers ample knowledge
for every emergency. Last summer we were in
the wilderness nearly two months, but suffered
more in the first two weeks after our return, in a
city in Connecticut, than during our entire stay in
the woods. Care in the selection of your camp,
and the employment of the above-mentioned meth-
ods of protection, will obviate every difficulty and
make you as free from inconvenience as you would —
be in the majority of New England villages.

LADIES’ OUTFIT.

A lady at my elbow, recalling how valuable a
few suggestions would have been to her five years —
ago in respect to what is most appropriate and —
serviceable for a lady to wear in the wilderness, —
inserts the following list : —

LADIES’ OUTFIT. 59

_ A net of fine Swiss mull, made as we have pre-
viously described, as protection against mosqui-
_ toes, gnats, etc.
A pair of buckskin gloves, with armlets of cha-
-mois-skin or thick drilling, sewed on at the wrist
_ of the glove and buttoned near the elbow so tightly
as to prevent the entrance of flies.
For the head, a soft felt hat, such as gentlemen
| wear, rather broad in the bri. This is light and
cool for the head, and a good protection from sun
and rain.
A fiannel change throughout.
. Thick balmoral boots, with rubbers.
_ A pair of camp shoes, water-proof, warm and
{ roomy.
: Short walking-dress, with Turkish drawers fas-
T tened with a band tightly at the ankle.
Waterproof or rubber coat and cap.
‘ _ A pair of Lisle-thread or kid gloves.
To this I add, as it occurs to me at this point,
_ that no party should go into the wilderness unpro-
vided with linen bandages, prepared lint, salve,
_ and whatever else is needed in case of acci-
dent. You will not, probably, have occasion to
use them, but if any casualty should occur they
would be of the utmost service.

60 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.

WILD ANIMALS,

I am often asked, especially by ladies, if it is”
not dangerous to take such a trip, and if wild ani-
mals do not abound in the wilderness; and I
know that many are deterred from making the
excursion because of their timidity. The only
animals concerning Which the most timid could be
~ alarmed are the bear, wolf, and panther. The
latter is a very ugly neighbor indeed, and the
less you have to do with him the better. I am
tolerably familiar with wood life, and the sights
and sounds of such danger as one is liable to
meet in the wilderness; and John and I have
slept more than once, calmly enough, with our
rifles inside our blankets, not knowing when we
lay down what cry might awaken us; but I should
-not purposely put myself in the way. of a panther, —
unless I could run my eye along the sights of my —
double rifle when the barrels were freshly charged, —
In speaking of the panther, I do not, of course, al-
lude to the Canadian wild-cat, with which the igno-
rant often confound the panther, but to the puma
itself, an animal which often measures twelve feet
from tip to tip, and is the slyest, strongest, bloodiest
ranger of the woods. Now, fortunately, the pan-
ther is almost wholly unknown in this region. - A ~
few still live among the loneliest defiles and darkest

WILD ANIMALS. 61

‘gorges of the Adirondack Mountains, but they
‘never come down, unless in the depth of winter,
to the shores of the lakes to the west, or the banks
the rivers. Many years have passed since one
as been seen by any of the guides. The region
traversed by parties is as free from them as the
State of Massachusetts.
Black bears abound in some localities, but
“more timid, harmless creatures do not exist, all the
old stories to the contrary notwithstanding. In
temper and action toward men they resemble very
closely the woodchuck. Their first and only anx-
iety is to escape man’s presence. If you penetrate
far enough into the wilderness, you will occasional-
ly, at night, hear them nosing around your camp,
_ with hedgehogs and the like, but ever careful to keep
put of your sight. A stick, piece of bark, or tin plate
‘shied in the direction of the noise, will scatter
_ them like cats. The same is true of wolves. They
e only too anxious to keep out of your sight and
hearing. Touch a match to an old stump, and in
_ two hours there will not be a wolf within ten miles
of you. I wish all to take the statement as in every
sense true, when I declare that there is absolutely
no danger, nor indeed the least approach to danger,
in camping in the wilderness. Many and many a
night has my wife, when John and I were off on a
hunt, slept soundly and without a thought of
| danger, in the depths of the forest, fifty miles

62 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.

from even a hunter’s cabin. It is true that her
education in woodcraft is more extensive than
that of most ladies, and, for presence of mind,

quickness and skill with the rifle, many so-called
“crack shots” might well take lessons of her; but

were this not true, I regard a camp, granted only

that it be so far in that men cannot reach it, as a

place of absolute security.

PROVISIONS.

All you need to carry in with you is

Coffee, Pepper,
Tea, Butter (this optional), 4
Sugar, Pork, and Condensed Milk.

Always take crushed sugar; powdered sugar is
not easily picked up if the bag bursts and lets it
out among the pine-stems. 4

If you are a “high liver,” and wish to take in :
canned fruits and jellies, of course you can do so.
But these are luxuries which, if you are wise, 4
you will leave behind you. ,

BILL OF FARE.

I am often asked, “ What do you have to eat up ;
there?” In order to answer the very natural
question, and show the reader that I do not starve,

y

he al

¢

BILL OF FARE. 63

‘I will give my bill of fare as you can have

it served, if you will call at my camp on the

‘Racquette next July. This is no “fancy sketch,”
“but a bona fide list which I have “gone through”
“more than once, and hope to many times more.

Vegetables.
Potatoes, boiled, fried, or mashed.
| Meats.
Venison, roast. Venison sausages. hive 7 oe

5 steak, broiled. «DEB n. oe

“ “ ~ fried. “ — spitted. a e » *
a hae
Fish. % ane Aa
Lake Trout (salmon). —_ Trout (spotted). Gntarta,
Boiled. Fried (in meal).
Baked. Broiled.
Broiled. Spitted. .
Chowder.

Pancakes, with maple sirup (choice).
Bread, warm and stale, both.
Coffee. Tea.

Now imagine that you have been out for eight
hours, with a cool, appetizing mountain breeze

| blowing in your face, and then fancy yourself

seated before your bark table in the shadow of the

_ pines, with the water rippling at your feet; a lake

64 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.

dotted with islands, and walled in with mountains,
before you, and such a bill of fare to select from, |
and then tell me if it looks like starvation? If a
man cannot make a pound of flesh per day on that
diet, I pity him!

And now, patient reader, having given you all
the information necessary to make you acquainted
with the geography of the wilderness, the charac-
ter of the sporting therein, the outfit needed for
the excursion, the best routes of entrance, and
certain suggestions as to hotels, guides, and con-
trivances of protection from gnats and flies, I close
this chapter with the wish that you may find, in”
excursions which you may make thereto, the health
and happiness which have, upon its waters and
under its softly murmuring pines, come to me, and -
more abundantly—as to one who needed them
more —to her who joins me in the hope of meet-—
ing you amid the lilies which fleck with snow its
rivers, or in the merry circle, free from care, which,
on some future evening, we hope to gather around
our camp-fire.

If.

THE NAMELESS CREEK.

JT was five o'clock in the afternoon when, after
} 4 three hours of constant struggle with the cur-
}rent, we burst our way through a mass of alder-
bushes and marsh-grass, and behold, the lake lay
before us! Wet from head to foot, panting from
my recent exertion, having eaten nothing since
seven in the morning, and weary from ten hours’
steady toil; I felt neither weariness nor hunger as
I gazed upon the scene. Shut in on all sides by
mountains, mirrored from base to summit in its
placid bosom, bordered here with fresh green
grass and there with reaches of golden sand, and
again with patches of lilies, whose fragrance,mingled
with the scent of balsam and pine, filled the air,
the lake reposed unrufiled and serene.

I know of nothing which carries the mind so far
back toward the creative period as to stand on the
shore of such asheet of water, knowing that as you
behold it, so has it been for ages. The water
“which laves your feet is the same as that which
flowed when the springs which feed it were first

uncapped. No rude axe has smitten the forests
EB

66 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.

which grow upon the mountains ; even the grass a
your side is as the parent spire which He who
ordereth all commands to bring forth seed afte
its kind. All around you is as it was in the b kod
ning. I know not how long I should thus have
stood musing, but for a motion of John’s, which |
broke the chain of thought and brought my min¢
back to the practical realization that we were
wet, hungry, and tired. In the middle of the le
was a large flat rock, rising some two feet above the
surface of the water. Stepping noiselessly into ov
boat, we paddled to the rock, and, wringing our aviv 0-
ping garments, stretched ourselves at full length
upon it to dry. O, the pleasant sensation of warmth |
which that hard couch, to which the sun had giver
a genial heat, communicated to us! Never was bed
of eider-down so welcome to royal limbs as was
that granite ledge to ours. What luxury to lie and
watch the vapor roll up from your wet garments
while the warm rock gave out its heat to yout
chilled body! In an hour we were dry, at least
comparatively so, and we held a council. Our
commissariat was getting rather low. Our stores,
spread upon the rock, amounted to the following
two pounds of pork, six pounds of flour, four m
ures of coffee, one half-pound of tea. John enti
mated that this would last us three days, if T
had ordinary success with the-rod. “But what
are we to do to-night?” I exclaimed; “we have

THE NAMELESS CREEK. 67

neither trout nor venison, and I am hungry enough
to eat those two pounds of pork alone, if I once
get fairly at it, and there goes the sun back of
the tree-tops now?” “Well, unstrap your rod and
select your flies,’ responded he, “and we will see
| what we can find. I don’t mean to have you wrap
ie ourself around that piece of pork to-night any
way.” I did as requested. For the tail fly I
‘noosed on a brown hackle, above it I tied a killer,
md for the dapper I hitched on a white moth.
“Taking the bow seat, John paddled straight for the -
west shore of the lake, and the light boat, cutting
its way through the lily-pads, shot into a narrow
a overhung with bushes and tangled grass,
and I saw a sight I never shall forget. We had
entered the inlet of the lake, a stream some twenty
feet in width, whose waters were dark and sluggish.
' The setting sun yet poured its radiance through the
overhanging pines, flecking the tide with crimson
patches and crossing it here and there with golden
anes. Up this stream, flecked with gold and bor-
dered with lilies as far as the eye could reach, the
air was literally full of jumping trout. From amid
4 y-pads, from under the overhanging grass, and
‘in the bright radiance poured along the middle of
_ the stream, the speckled beauties were launching
themselves. Here a little fellow would cut his
tiny furrow along. the surface after a fluttering
- gnat ; there a larger one, with quivering fin and

\

68 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.

open mouth, would fling himself high into the - i
in a brave attempt to seize a passing moth;
again, a two-pounder, like a miniature porpois
would lazily rise to the surface, roll up his gcldeil
side, and, flinging his broad tail upward, with a
splash disappear. Casting loose my flies and on
coiling my leader, I made ready to cast; but John,
unmindful or regardless of the motion, kept the even
sweep of his stroke. Round tufted banks, under
overhanging pines, and through tangled lily-pads
we passed, and at every turn and up every stretch
of water the same sight presented itself. At length,
sweeping sharply round a curve, John suddenly re-.
versed his paddle and checked the boat, so that th 8
bow stood upon the very rim of a pool some forty’
feet across. Dark and gloomy it lay, with its sur-
face as smooth as though no ripple had ever crossed |
it. No one would have guessed that beneath the
tranquil surface lay life and sport. . rT
Adjusting myself firmly on my narrow seat, un-'
tangling the snells and gathering up my leader, I
flung the flies into mid-air and launched them out.
over the pool. The moment their feathery forms’
had specked the water, a single gleam of ye ve
light flashed up from the dark depth, and a trout,
closing his mouth upon the brown hackle, darted
downward. I struck and had him. A eal trout,
he proved to be, of only some half-pound weight ns
After having passed him over to John to be “

s 4 all
5 _ we =
je ame a eS

THE NAMELESS CREEK. 69

ied, I again launched the flies out, which, paus-
i a moment in mid-air as the straightened line
rought them up, began slowly to settle down, but
e they touched the water four gleams of light
ossed the pool and four quivering forms, with
ride-spread tails and open mouths, leaped high
ut of water. I struck, and, after a brief struggle,
nded two. ‘From that moment the pool was lit-
ally alive with eager fish. The deep, dark water
tually effervesced, stirred into bubbles and foam.
trout did I see at once in mid-air, in zealous
valry to seize the coveted flies. Fifteen succes-
ive casts were made, and twenty-three trout
wy flapping on the bottom of the boat. But of
hem all none would weigh over three quarters
f a pound; yet had I seen fish rise which must
‘have balanced twice that weight. I turned to John
‘and said, “Why don’t some of those large ones
ake the fly?” “Presently, presently,” responded he.
The little ones are too quick for them ; cast away
“quick and sharp, waste no time, snap them off, never
‘mind the flies, and when you have cleared the sur-
face of the small fry you will see what lies at the
“bottom.” I complied. At last, after some forty
had been flung down the stream, the rises became
Tess frequent, the water less agitated, and, partly
fo rest my wrist and partly to give John time to
adjust new and larger flies, I paused. In five
‘Ininutes the current had cleared the pool of bub-

70 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.

bles, and the dark water settled gradually into sul-
len repose. “Now,” said John, “lengthen your”
line and cast at that patch of lily-pads lying unde
the hemlock there, and if a large one rises, strike *
hard.” I did as desired. The flies, in respons
to the twist of the pliant rod, rose into the ai
darted forward, and, pausing over the lily-pads,
lighted deftly on the water. Scarcely had thei
trail made itself visible on the smooth surface, be-
fore a two-pounder gleamed out of the dark depths,
and rolling his golden side up to the light, closed
his jaws upon the white moth. I struck. Stung ©
by the pain, he flung himself, with a mighty effort,
high in air, hoping to fall upon the leader and
snap the slender gut. Dropping the point of my ~
rod, he came harmlessly down upon the slack. —
Recovering himself, he dove to the bottom, sulking, —
Bearing gradually upon his mouth, the only re-
sponse I got was a sullen shaking, as a dog shakes _
a woodchuck. Fearing his sharp teeth would cut
the already well-chafed snell, I bore stoutly upon 7
him, lifting him bodily up toward the surface. —
When near the top, giving one desperate shake,
he started. Back and forth, round and round that
pool he flashed, a gleam of yellow light through
. the dark water, until at last, wearied and exhausted
by his efforts, he rolled over upon his side and la: 4

* This word is one employed by sportsmen to denote Rn
motion with which oe fish is hooked.

THE NAMELESS CREEK. 71

: panting upon the surface. John deftly passed the
- Janding-net under him, and the next minute he lay
amid his smaller brethren in the boat. I paused a
moment to admire. <A bluish-black trout he was,
dotted with spots of bright vermilion. His fins,
rosy as autumnal skies at sunset, were edged with
a border of purest white. His tail was broad and
- thick ; eyes prominent, mouth wide and armed with
_ briery teeth. A trout in color and build rarely
_ seen, gamy and stanch. Noosing on a fresh fly in
| place of the one his teeth had mangled, I made
ready for another cast. Expecting much, I was not
¥ prepared for what followed.
Now, all ye lovers of bright waters and ereen-
z ‘sward, who lift a poor half-pounder with your big
_ trolling-rod and call it sport, listen and learn what
- befell one of your craft at sunset at the pool of the
Nameless Creek. Nameless let it be, until she who
most would have enjoyed it shall, on some future
: sunset, floating amid the lilies, cast flies upon its
tide.
_ A backward motion of the tip, and a half-turn of
the wrist, and the three flies leaped upward and
' ahead. Spreading themselves out as they reached
_ the limit of the cast, like flakes of feathery snow
_ they.settled, wavering downward; when suddenly
_ up out of the depth, cleaving the water in concert,
_ one to each fly, three trout appeared. At the
_ same instant, high in mid-air, their jaws closed on

:

Lt

“Ps =

72 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.

the barbed hooks. No shout from John was need-
ed to make me strike. I struck so quick and |
strong that the leader twanged like a snapped
bow-string, and the tip of the light rod flew down
nearly to the reel. All three were hooked. Three ~

trout, weighing in the aggregate seven pounds, held
by a single hair on a nine-ounce rod, in a pool
fringed with lily-pads, forty by thirty feet across !
Then followed what to enjoy again I would ride ©
thrice two hundred miles. The contest, requiring ©
nerve and skill on the fisher’s part, was to keep the ©
plunging fish out of the lily-pads, in which, should
they once become entangled, the gut would part ©
like a thread of corn-silk or the spider’s gossamer |
line. Up and down, to and fro, they glanced. The
lithe rod bent like a coachman’s whip to the un-
usual strain, and the leader sung as it cut through
the water with the whir of a pointed bullet. :
At last, when at the farthest corner of the pool, 7
they doubled short upon the line, and as one fish
rushed straight for the boat. Fishermen know what
that movement means. “Give ’em the butt! give 7)
‘em the butt!” shouted John. “Smash your rod ©
or stop em!” Never before had I feared to thrust
the butt of that rod out toward an advancing fish ;
but here were three, each large enough to task a
_ common rod, untired and frenzied with pain, rush-
‘Ing directly toward me. If I hesitated, it was but
an instant, for the cry of John to “Smash her!

\) Ki

“wht “iN
a

1s : | bh
hit

Pe Pee ge ee eg ee Ee Te

ae ee? Pe Be et

THE NAMELESS CREEK. 73

smash your rod or stop em!” decided the matter.
Gripping the extreme butt with one hand, and
lu hing the reel with the other, I held them
teadily out, toward the oncoming fish. “Good
y, old rod,” I mentally exclaimed, as I saw
the three gleaming forms dash under the boat ;
stanch as you are, you can’t stand that.” Sh
nstant, and the pressure came upon the reel. I
sri ead it tightly, not giving aninch. The pliant
od doubled itself up under the strain, until the
joint of the tip was stretched a foot below the
“hand which grasped the butt, and the quivering
4 a nce-wood lay across the distended knuckles. Nor
~ fish _ nor rod could stand that pressure long. I
could feel the fibres creep along the delicate shaft,
. and the mottled line, woven of choicest silk, at-
tenuated under the strain, seemed like a single hair.
| T looked at John. His eyes were fastened upon the
i od. I glanced down the stream, and even at the
instant the three magnificent fish, forced gradually
ou : pay the pliancy of what they could not break,
broke the smooth surface and lay with open
; on the and gasping gills upon the tide. In
trying to land the three, the largest one escaped.
_ The other two averaged sixteen inches long. With-
in the space of forty minutes nearly a hundred
trout had been taken, fifty of which, varying from
| one quarter of a pound to two pounds and a half in
ight, lay along the bottom of the boat; the rest
4 -

74. ADVENTURES IN THE .WILDERNESS. — —

had been cast back into the water, as unhooked by”
John. It was Saturday evening. The sun had
gone down behind the western mountains, and amid
the gathering shadows we sought a camp. We
found one in the shape of a small bark lodge, which
John himself had erected fourteen years previous,
when, in company with an old trapper, he campec
one fall upon the shores of this lake. Kindling
a fire in the long-neglected fireplace, we sat down
to our supper under the clear sky already thickly
dotted with stars. From seven in the morning
until eight in the evening we had been without
food. I have an indistinct recollection that 1]
put myself outside of eleven trout, and that Johr
managed to surround nine more. But there may
be an error of one or two either way, for I am under
the impression that my mental faculties were not
in the best working condition at the close of th
meal. John recollects distinctly that he cooked”
twenty-one fish, and but three could be found in |
the pan when we stopped eating, which he ca 4 }
fully laid aside that we might take a bite befor
going to sleep! c
Our meal was served up in three courses. mn
first course consisted of trout and pancakes; the x
second course, pancakes and trout; the third, fi
and flapjacks.

Se Ge

G niarto.
: ie oY

RUNNING THE RAPIDS.

“AT OW for the rapids,” said John, as our boat
4 left the tranquil waters of the lake, and,
Weeping around a huge shelving ledge, shot into
jhe narrow channel, where the waters, converged
rom either shore, were gathering themselves for
the foam and thunder below.

_ The rapids were three miles in length, — one
stretch of madly rushing water, save where, at the
oot of some long flight or perpendicular fall, a
pool lay, specked with bubbles, and flecked with
| patches of froth. The river is paved with rocks,
and full of boulders, amid which the water glides
{ “smooth and deep, or dashes with headlong vio-
lence against them. And ever and anon, at the
head of some steep declivity, gathering itself for
flight, downward it shoots with arrowy swiftness,

: a At the head of such a stretch of water, whose
| roar and murmur filled the air, we ran our boats
ashore. Never until this season had these rapids
been run, even by the guides; and now, untried,

76 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.

inexperienced, against the advice of friends, I y
to attempt, unaided and alone, to guide my hoe
past ledge, through torrents, and over watertall ,
to the still bay below. The preparation was
‘simple, and soon made. I strapped my rifle, rod,
and all my baggage to the sides and bottom of the
boat, relaced my moccasins and tightened my belt,
so that, in case I stove the shell, or, failing to k
her steady, should capsize her, I might take to tig
water light, and have my traps drift ashore with
the wreck. Nevertheless, I did not intend that”
the boat should upset; indeed, the chances were ~
in my favor. Oars and boats had been my play-_
things from a boy ; and wild indeed must be the”
current up and across which I could not shoot”
the shell in which I sat,— made of forest pine,”
fourteen feet in length, sharp as an arrow, and
weighing but seventy pounds. In addition, John”
had given me valuable hints, the sum of which”
might be expressed thus: “In currents, keep her
straight ; look out for underlying rocks, and smash
your oars before you smash your boat.” “ Little
danger,” I said to myself, “ of snapping oar-blades”
made of second-growth ash, and only eight ,
from butt to tip.” Yet it was not without some
misgiving that I shot my boat out into the swif
current, and with steady stroke held her on tk i.
verge of the first flight of water, while I scann
the foam and eddies for the best opening patel

RUNNING THE RAPIDS. TF

the rocks to get her through. In shooting rap-
the oarsman faces down stream in order to
watch the currents, direct his course, and, if need
be, when within his power, and danger is ahead, to
check his flight and choose another course. The
great thing and the essential thing to learn and
do is to take the advantage of the currents, whirls,
and eddies, so as to sway your boat, and pass from
this to that side of the rapids easily. The agree-
ment was, that John should precede me in his
boat; that I, watching his motions, and guided
by his course somewhat, might be assisted in the
descent by his experience. A good arrangement,
urely ; but

1as
4

“ The best laid schemes 0’ mice and men
Gang aft agley,”

as we found before half a mile of the course
had been run; for my boat, being new and light,
' beside less heavily loaded than John’s, caught at
oa head of some falls by the swift current, darted
lown the steep decline, and entering side by side,
with a mighty leap, the yeasty foam, shot out
ad, and from that moment led the race to the
ic - of the rapids. But I anticipate.

a Thus, as I said, I sat in my boat, holding her
‘steadily, by strength of oar, in mid-stream, where
the water smoothed itself for the plunge, until
_ John, with friend Burns sitting upon his feet like

78 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.

a Turk, on the bottom of the boat, holding on a |
either side with his hands to steady himself ©
(whether John had strapped him down or sdeisl
can’t surely say), pushed from shore, and, takin |
the current above, brushed swiftly by, with the ©
injunction to “follow.” I obeyed. Down we)
glided, past rock and ledge, swerving now this )
side, now that, sweeping round giant boulders ¢ |
jutting banks, down under the dark balsams ai
overhanging pines, the suction growing strong ar 4
and stronger, the flight swifter, until the bos
like eagles swooping on one prey, took the ll |
stretch almost side by side, and, lifted high up on
the verge of the first falls, made the wild leap
together, and disappeared into the yeasty Le
whence, rising buoyantly, uplifted by the swelling ~
water, shot out of the foam and mist, and, like ©
birds fresh from sport, floated cork-like on the |
pool below. rs 4
We paused a moment to breathe, when, lookin

up, the two remaining boats, guided by Jerry ¢
the younger Robinson, bearing Southwick and
Everitt as passengers, came sweeping round the
curve, and rushing, as from the roof of a house
to the brink of the fall, flung themselves into
abyss, and in a moment lay along our side.
excitement was intense. No words can describe
the exhilaration of such a flight. It was thought,
after mature deliberation by the company,

q
|
voll

- RUNNING THE RAPIDS. 79

_Everitt’s delighted yell alone, in ordinary weather,
with a little wind in its favor, might have been
heard easily sixteen miles. His whole being, cor-
‘poral and spiritual, seemed to resolve itself into
‘one prolonged howl of unmitigated happiness.
_ Having rested ourselves, we started again. By
this time, brief as the experience had been, I had
earned much as to the action of currents, and was
- able to judge pretty correctly how low a rock or
ledge lay under water by the size and motion of
the swirl above it. One learns fast in action;
- and fifteen minutes of actual experience amid
" rapids does more to teach the eye and hand what
to do, and how to do it, than any amount of infor-
F ‘mation gathered from other sources. To sit in
_ your light shell of a boat, in mid-current, with
rocks on either side, where the bed of the river
declines at an angle of thirty degrees, knowing
that a miscalculation of the eye, a misstroke of the
~ oar or the least shaking of the muscles will send
~ your boat rolling over and over, and you ugder it,
| has-a very strong tendency to make a man look
} sharp and keep his wits about him.
Well, as I said, we started. For some fifty rods
- the current was comparatively smooth and slow.
The river was wide and the decline not sharp.
The chief difficulty we found to be in avoiding the
stones and rocks with which the bottom of the
‘ Tiver is paved, and which in many places were

80 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.

barely covered. My boat, with only myself in it, 7)
needed but some two inches of water to float in, ~
and would pass safely over where the other boats
would touch or refuse to go at all. It required
great care on the part of the guides to let theirs
over gently, as their bottoms are but little thicker
than pasteboard, and held by small copper tacks.
At last the shallows were past, and, bringing our
boats in line, one behind the other, we made all
ready for another rush. The sight from this point
was grand. Our boats were poised as on the
ridge-board of a house, while below, for some
twenty rods, the water went tearing down ; now |
gliding over a smooth shelving ledge, with the ©
quick, tremulous motion of a serpent, and now
torn to shreds by jagged rocks at the bottom, and —
again beat back by huge boulders which lifted”

themselves in mid-current, presenting to the
eye one continuous stretch of mad turmoil and
riot. At the foot of the reach the eye could just
discern the smooth, glassy rim of a fall, we knew
not how high, while far down the river, shut from
view by a sharp curve, the rush and roar of other
falls rose sullenly up through the heavy pines and —
overhanging hemlocks, which almost arched the
current from side to side. Ata word from John, —
who, leading the van, sat as a warrior might sit —
his steed, bareheaded and erect, the oars were —
lifted, and the freed boats, as though eager for

RUNNING THE RAPIDS. 81

flight, started downward. Away, away they flew.
‘9 If before they went like birds, they went like
Ԥ| eagles now. No keeping in line here; each man
for himself in this wild race; and woe to boatman
and to boat if an oar should break or oar-bolt
snap. Close after John, gaining at every rush,
| my light boat sped. No thought for others, all
J) eye and nerve for self, with a royal upleaping of
| blood, as my face, wet with the spray, clove
through the air, I flashed until the fall was
eached, and, side by side, with trailing oars, we
took the leap together. Down, down we sank
- into the feathery foam; the froth flung high over
"us as we splashed into it. Down, down, as if the
| pool had no bottom, we went, our boats half full
po spume and foam, till the reacting water under-
sath caught the light shells up and flung them
| B st of the yeast and mist, dripping inside and out,
from stem to stern, as sea-birds rising from a
| plunge. No stop nor stay for breathing here.
_ Around the curve, by no effort of mine leading
the race, I went, swept down another reach and
_ over another fall, and, without power to pause a
~ moment, entered into the third before I had time
_ to think. Steeper than all behind, it lay before
| me, but straight, and for a distance smooth, for
petight I could see as I shook the spray from my
yes, until it narrowed, and the converging tor-

“rent met between two overhanging rocks in one
4* ¥

82 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.

huge ridge of tossing, swelling water. Whebis
below I knew not ; ham steep the fall, or on whe i
bottom I should ve In rapids, John had tol ;
me, the wildest water was the safest, and so I
steered straight for the highest swell of water and
the whitest foam. Fancy a current, rods in width,
converging as it glides, until the mass of rush ag
water is brought as into an eaves-trough five fe
across, with sharp, jutting rocks for sides, whe e
the compressed water flings itself wildly up, i
dignant at the restraint put upon it; and her a
fancy yourself in a boat weighing but seve:
pounds, gliding down with a swiftness alme ie
painful into the narrow funnel thebalee which,
bursting, you must shoot a fall you cannot see,
but whose roar rises heavily over the dash of t *
torrent, and you can realize what it is to shoot th
rapids of the Racquette River, and my pdaition
the time. ag
Balancing myself nicely on the seat, di y 0) 1g
the oar-blades until their lower edges brushed
along the tide, I kept my eyes steadily upon the
narrow aperture, and let her glide. Nothing but
the pressure of the air upon the cheek, as the face
clove it, and the sharp whistling of the seething
current, bespeaks the swiftness with which you
move. When near the narrow gorge, — which
you must take square in the centre, and in direct
— line, or smash your boat to flinders, — while the —

RUNNING THE RAPIDS. 83

_ width would yet allow, wishing some steerage-way
_ before I entered the chasm, I threw my whole
strength upon the oars. The lithe ash bent to
: the strain, and the boat quivered from stem to
f stern under the quick stroke. Then, bending for-
ward upon the seat, with oars at a trail, I shot
' into the opening between the rocks. For an in-
stant the oar-blades grated along their sides, and
_ then, riding upon the crest of a wave, I passed out
_ of the damp passage, and lo! the fall whose roar I
had heard yawned just beneath me. Quick as
_ thought, I swung the oars ahead, and as the bil-
_ low lifted me high up upon the very brink, gave
‘ way with all my might. Whatever spare strength
_ Thad lying anywhere about me, at that particular
- point of time, I am under the impression was
_ thrown into those oar-blades. The boat was fairly
lifted off the wave, and shot into the air. For an
instant, it touched neither water nor foam, then
_ dropped into the boiling caldron. Another stroke
and it darted out of the seething mass with less
than a gallon of water along the bottom.
The rapids were run! Wiping the sweat from
my face, and emptying the water from the barrels
of my rifle, I rested on my oars, to see the boys
_ come down. O, royal sight it was, to see them
_ come, one after another,— John leading the van,
> —over the verge! As boats in air they seemed,
_ with airy boatmen, as they came dashing along.

:

84 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.

O, royal sport, to see them glide like arrows down 7
the steep, at an angle so sharp that I could see the 7
bottom board in each boat, from stem to stern Y ;
O, noble sight to see them enter in between the 9
mighty rocks,— the chasm shutting them from 9
view a moment,—from which, emerging in 9
quick succession, with mighty leaps, quivering 7
like sporting fish, they shot the falls trumph- 7
antly ! }

What sports have we in house and city like
those which the children of wood and stream
enjoy ?— heroic sports which make heroic men, ©
Sure I am, that never until we four have done ~
with boats and boating, and, under other pilotage, ©
have entered into and passed through the waters ~
of a colder stream, shall we forget the running of
the Racquette Rapids, on that bright summer day.
And often, as we pause a moment from work,
above the harsh rumble of car and cart, the sound
of file and hammer, rises the roar of the rapic 3. ‘
And often, through the hot, smoky air of town |
and city, to cool and refresh us, will drift, from ~~
the far north, the breeze that blows forever on the
Racquette, rich with the odors of balsam and of —
pine. ! , . a

That night I slept upon the floor at Palmer's,
proud to feel that I was the first “gentleman” —
in the language of the guides — “that ever ran
the rapids”; prouder of that than of deeds, at-

ra ie a
a an we
‘. “ahi +. t a >
sib 7 ’

RUNNING THE RAPIDS. 85

tempted or done, of which most men would longer

dream. I nearly forgot to state that several un-

earthly yells in the chamber overhead, during the

night, revealed the fact that somebody, in dreams,
as still running the rapids.

(G yaar

IV.

THE BALL.

E were seven in all, —as jolly a set of fel-

lows as ever rollicked under the pines, —

or startled the owls with laughter, that summer
of 67, when camping on the Racquette. Ourcom- ~
pany represented a variety of business and profes-
sions; but, happily, we were of one temper and
taste. : |
There was Hubbard, a gentleman faultless in 7
bearing and speech; the fit of whose coat and the ~
gloss of whose boots, whether you met him in Wall ©
Street or at his manufactory in Connecticut, might
well stir the envy of an exquisite. There was |
Everitt, to whose name you could write photog- |
rapher, artist, violinist; the most genial, sunny, _
kind-hearted, and olliekaome fellow that ever en-.
livened a camp, or blest the world with his pres-
ence. Southwick, when at home, supplied half the
city with soles ; who sells boots and shoes in such
a manner as s make you feel, as you go stamping
away from his presence, that he has done you a spe-
cial favor in condescending to take your money at
all; a man who crossed the Isthmus, and tunnelled

eS

THE BALL. 87

ie

the gulches of California for gold in 1848 ; a shrewd,
wide-awake Yankee, such as are grown principally
in that smartest of all our States,— the Nutmeg
State. And there, too, was Fitch, who had han-
dled the saw and lancet in the army during the
war. And Fay, the lawyer, who had fought the
battle all young lawyers must fight, and won.
And Burns, and the Parson. <A goodly set of
fellows, one and all, equally ready for business or
fun.

We were on our way “out,” bronzed and tough
from exposure to the sun, water, and wind; and
with hearts as free from care and as light as chil-
dren’s, we clomb the hill, at the base of which we
__ had run our boats ashore, and entered, with merry
4 greetings, Uncle Palmer’s house. What a hungry
_ set we were, when, at four o’clock that afternoon,
_ we drew up to that never-to-be forgotten table!
~ What jokes and stories and peals of laughter en-
livened the repast, and made the table and dishes
_ shake and clatter as the meal progressed. No
coarseness nor rudeness there ; each man a gentle-
~ man still, amid the liveliest sally of wit and loud-
est roar of merriment. At last the meal was over,
and we adjourned to the open air to smoke or
_ lounge, or to engage in rivalry of skill, until the
_ day, rich in its summer loveliness, should fade
away. Several matches with the rifle —the result
_ of boastful banter— at last engage the attention of

-
oe

ky

Se
~~

eS

PE NM

iat

88 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.

the entire party. Our targets were pennies stuck ~ |
into the end of a slender stick, two or three feet — !
long, which Jerry held out some thirty paces off;
the rule being that no bullet must graze the 7
stick. Pretty close work it was, requiring steady 7
nerves and an exact eye; but penny after penny ‘
had been dashed‘ out of the slot, and hurled into —
the oat-field beyond. The blue smoke from the |
muzzle of my rifle was curling gracefully into the —
air as I closed the contest, when Everitt exclaimed,
“What shall we do to-night, boys?” “Let us —
have a dance,” shouted Hubbard; “Uncle’s dining-—
room is just the place to trip the light fantastic _
toe.” And he jumped up from the log on which ~
he had been sitting, and struck into a double- ~
shuffle, which sent the chips flying in all direc- 7
tions. | (a
“Hurrah! a ball, a ball!” screamed Southwick,
“unless the Parson objects. A speech from the |
Parson ! hear, hear!” he continued, as he turneda
double summersault over Fay’s back, and landed. “|
some distance down the slope in an onion-bed. —
Unfortunately for the Parson, Southwick’s yell
was taken up, and the words “Speech!” “Ball!”
“Parson!” “Dance!” resounded on all sides.
Being thus called upon, I could not refuse to
give my opinion. Indeed, I may be pardoned —
when I admit that I felt quite flattered by the |
heartiness of the call. It was more direct and

THE BALL. 89

unanimous than I ever expect to receive from any
hurch whatever. Moreover, for I wish the true
state of the case to be thoroughly, understood, I
‘had not made a speech for nearly three weeks.
Pow, as all my readers know, “making speeches”
is about the only bona fide perquisite of the pro-
fession. This is the great advantage we have over
C laymen. The moment you take this away from
: a clergyman, you rob him of his great prerogative,
-and he becomes no better than an ordinary man.
_ My clerical readers will, I am sure, sympathize
with me in my position. For three weeks I had
_ been of no importance whatever to the world, but
_ here was a chance to do some good; here, unex-
pectedly, an opportunity to make a speech had
presented itself. I mounted a pile of cedar slabs,
and, trying to feel modest, began :—

b _ “Dancing, my friends, I remark in the first
he ‘place, is a very pernicious habit.” That was -a
_ good beginning. Even three weeks of constrained
| t and cruel deprivation had not deprived me of my
“gift.” Pausing a moment to note the effect of
2 my opening sentence upon the audience, I was
e slightly embarrassed at the sight of Southwick
A dropping small chips down the neck of Burns’s
shirt. Rallying in an instant, I resumed: “It has
_ been the means, my hearers, of getting many a
young man into a scrape.” Here I paused again.
_ Whatever weakness the first sentence had in it,

90 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.

this had the true sermon ring. No, I had not lost ©
my power. My birthright had not been filched 7
from me. I began to feel the oratorical impulse }
once more. I drew myself up, closed the thumb 7
and two middle fingers of my left hand, and point-
ing the other two directly at the audience, as Lhad ©
seen some of our celebrated orators, clenched the
right fist, and shook it at an invisible foe over
my head, —a gesture borrowed from some of our
Congressmen, — and shouted: “Dancing will be a
perilous amusement to you to-night; because — |
because —” I lost the connection here, but re- ©
membering what a slight matter such a lapse is
in a sermon, before most congregations, and. feel- |
ing that it would not do to stop just there, con- ~
tinued, — “because it leads to a promiscuous min- |
gling of the two sexes. On this ground I am |
to-night, and ever shall be, opposed to it. I warn
you against Mr. Southwick’s suggestion.”
At this point I was interrupted by the mon
uproarious tumult. Intense and indecorous mer- .
riment seized the entire group. Hubbard was
pressing his hands against his sides in the
most suggestive manner. Everitt was hammer-
ing Southwick with both fists upon his back, in
the hope of saving him from death by stran- |
gulation. It was impossible to proceed. I was
conscious that I ought to go on. I had several |
splendid sentences all ready for utterance. I felt ; ;

PNA pete

‘tery +t

ST

iF

THE BALL. 91

"that every moment I was losing my hold upon the

- audience. Still the uproar grew. In wrath, min-
, gled with love, I descended from the slabs, and
_ taking Burns gently but decidedly by the collar,
- demanded the cause of his unseemly mirth.

‘Sobered slightly by my attitude, which was

sternly affectionate, Burns managed to articulate,
_ “ How can there be a ‘ promiscuous mingling of the

sexes’ in this crowd ?”

I stood perfectly dumb. I saw the justness of
_ the criticism and the dilemma suggested. I real-
ized, at that moment, the value of logical connec-
_ tion
Had my audience been in a church, and devoutly
7 or piously asleep, such a slight slip would
never have been noticed, and the report of the
sermon, written out by a godless expert, who had

not left his hotel during the day, would have ap-
peared excellently in Monday’s papers.

I retired in haste and mortification from the

yelling and writhing group; nor did I regain my
composure until the sounds of Everitt’s violin
a charmed the darkness from my soul as the harp
of David exorcised by its melody the wicked

spirit from the bosom of Saul.

Now Everitt is a natural fiddler. He fiddles as
easily as a rabbit runs. While camping on Con-
stable Point, on the Racquette, we had several
toncerts. They were, in every sense, impromptu

92 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.

affairs. The audience was small, but very appreci- —
ative. (That sentence is not original. I borrowed |
it from the musical column of the New York Her-—
ald.) These concerts were especially well sus-
tained ; that is, for about four hours and a half
each time. We had some very fine singing at
those soirées. (Sotrées is a good word. It sounds —
well. That’s why I use it.) I hesitate to in- —
stance individual members of this troupe, lest it
should seem invidious. Hubbard is an excellent
singer. He missed his chance of eminence when
he went into business. He should have taken to
the stage. The Parson would have distinguished —
himself, had he lived before notes were invented, ~
Nothing in the world but notes prevents him from

ranking first class. Even this fact did not pre- ~
clude him from standing high in this company.
Nevertheless, I am still impressed with the thought ~
that he was born too late. I never listened toa
circle of amateurs who seemed to rise so superior
to the arbitrary dictum of the masters as did this. —
Not one of them, so far as I could observe, allowed ©
any such artificial impediments as notes, pitch,
time, and the like, to obstruct the splendid out-—
bursts of nature. In point of emphasis, which is,
as all my readers know, the great desideratum in ©
music, I judge them to be unrivalled. In that

classic stanza, a

“There sat three crows upon a tree,”

THE BALL. 93

| their emphasis was magnificent. But I was tell-
‘ing about Everitt’s fiddling. Nature dealt bounti-
fully with my friend in this respect. His capacity
| and perseverance in drawing a bow border on the
marvellous. Indeed, he is a kind of animated mu-
‘sical machine. Set him going, and he will play
through the entire list of known tunes before he
' comes to a halt. His intense activity in this di-
rection afforded the only possible solution for the
" greatest mystery of the camp, — Everitt’s appetite
“while in the woods. I find in my “ notes” a math-
ematical calculation, made the fifth night in camp.
_ Tt was the result of the gravest deliberation on
| the part of the whole company, and is beyond
- doubt nearly correct. This is the formula :—
_ “£xhaustion of muscular fibre through fiddling,
| two pounds per night. Consumption of venison
| steak, three and a half pounds.
i _ “Net gain to Everitt, one pound and a half per
night.”
e This conclusion contributed materially to relieve
| the minds of the company from an anxiety con-
cerning the possible results of the trip to Everitt.
When I entered the room, drawn thither, as I
have said, by the tones of the violin, the company
were in full career. The intricacies of the Vir-
o -ginia reel were being threaded out with a rapidity
f v hich, with ladies for partners, would have been
. rather embarrassing. After the quadrille, Spanish

4

94. ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.

dance, and several others had been gone through,
the floor was cleared for individual exhibitions 7)
of skill. ‘Then was the double-shuffle executed |
with an energy never excelled. Gentlemen and |
guides contended in friendly rivalry. Everitt 7
was in prime condition, and drew the bow with 7
a vehemence which, if long continued, would
have sent him out of the woods lighter in flesh
-by several pounds than when he came in. At last
the floor was again cleared, partners chosen, and
with every rule of etiquette observed, good old
money-musk was honored,— partners gallantly
saluted as if they were ladies, jewelled and fair, |
and the company seated. | |
At this point the proceedings assumed a new |
character. The conversation might be reported |
thus :— |
Guide. “I suppose you folks down in the se
ments don’t dance as we do?” |
Everitt. “Well, no, not exactly. Our dances
are largely French.” S|
Guide. “Do tell! Well, now, how is that?” —
Everitt. “I do not think I could give you a cor=
rect idea of them; they are very peculiar.” ;
Guide. “Come, now, could n’t some of you give
us a notion about it? We would like to see how
you dance down in the cities.” i
Everitt. “The fact is, we have more action im
our dancing than you have in yours. It would ~

THE BALL. 95

make your eyes stick out to see a French
dance.” ;
Guides. “Come, now,” they all shouted, “show
us how it is done; we all want tosee. Give us one
of your tip-top French dances. Come, now.”
“ Well, fellows,” said Everitt, giving us the wink
as he tuned his violin, “what say you, shall we
' show our friends how to-dance a real, swinging
French dance? If so, shall we put Hubbard or
' Southwick on the floor?”
: “0, Southwick by all means!” shouted Burns.
- “No disparagement to Hubbard, but Southwick is
_ the man; especially if he will give us the dance
he danced last summer on our fishing-trip ‘Down
- East.”” So it was arranged, and Southwick took
the hint and the floor.
_ Now Southwick was the best dancer there ; that
| is, he covered the most ground. His performance
_ was the theme of universal remark. His style
7 was superb. There was a certain abandon in it,
_ which few Americans could rival. I know of but_
one word which can at all describe Southwick
_ when dancing; it is—omnipresent. This epithet
_ is moderately accurate.
_ The room was some thirty-five feet long, but he
was often at both ends of it atthe same time. If
to rivet the attention of the audience is success,
“ny friend certainly achieved it. There was but
_ one thought on the part of the whole company

96 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.

whenever Southwick danced; it was to get out of
the way. Greater unanimity in this respect was 9
never seen. Never, before that evening, did I de-

sire that aroom might have more than four corners, 7

but I more than once devoutly wished that that
room had had sixteen. Sixteen would not have
been one too many, with my friend on the floor. I —
called Uncle Palmer’s attention to the terrible lack —
of corners in his house. At the time I made the
suggestion, the old gentleman was trying to foree
himself in between the door-post and the sheath- ]
ing. He appeared to appreciate it. After a few —
preliminary flourishes, Everitt shouted the word
«(Go !” and Southwick struck out. I saw him com- 7
ing, and dodged; I escaped. The next time he |
swung round, I was prepared for him. There were ~
several wooden pins driven into the logs near the - |
ceiling, such as our forefathers were wont to season
their beef-hams on. Spying one of these just over —
my head, as I stood flattened against the wall, 1 7
vaulted from the floor and clutched it. The scene —
from this point of view was very picturesque. The
fellows had observed my movement, and followed —
my example : it affected them like an inspiration. —
In an instant the whole company were suspended
from pins around the room. A sense of the ludi- 3
crous overcame my terror, and I began to laugh.
That laugh grew on me. I found myself unable tog
stop laughing. My eyes began to moisten and run

THE BALL. 97

over. Now, a man cannot laugh in that fashion, and
hang on to a pin at the same time. I have tried
it, and know. First one finger began to slip, then
another loosened and gave way a little; the mus-
cles of my hand would not obey my will to con-
tract. I found it impossible fo retighten my grip ;
‘I knew it would probably be fatal to drop. I
endeavored to stop laughing. Now, it is a well-
known fact, that when one tries to stop laugh-
ing he can’t. If you ever doubted this, reader,
never doubt it again. If any man strove to stop,
~Idid. My effort was vain. I fairly shook my-
‘self off the pin, and dropped. That sobered
‘me. The instant I struck the floor, all laugh-
~ ter departed. I saw Southwick coming. I seized
hold of the window-sill, the wood of Mie
was cedar; I sunk my nails deep into it;
held. The next time he swung round the ssi
I was saved by a miracle, that is, in a way
I cannot account for. I was just poising my-
| self for a plunge at the door, when the music
| ceased, and my friend sat down. We all cheered
him immensely. I cheered louder than all the
rest. I never had greater cause to cheer. Every-
'z . complimented him. One exclaimed, “ What
a free action!” another, “ How liberal in style!”
T said, “ Astonishing!” We all saw that it had
_ made a great impression on the guides. They said
that “they had no idea folks danced so, down in
; 5

G

98 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.

the settlements.” “It isn’t anything to what I

could do if the room was only larger, is it?” said —

he, appealing to me. “No; this room is terribly
cramped,” I responded, thinking of my narrow
escape, and fearful that he might repeat the per-
formance ; “no educated dancer can do himself
justice in it; I would not try again, if I were in
your place.”

At this point of the entertainment a delightful —

addition was made to the party. Certain messen-
gers, who started early in the evening on horses

and in boats, had scoured the country and lake

shore, and returned accompanied by a bevy of
young ladies. Their entrance caused great com-
motion. Hubbard glanced uneasily at his un-
polished boots. Burns had fished a pair of old
kids from the depth of his hunting-shirt pocket,
and was inspecting their condition behind South-

wick’s back. Everitt suddenly discovered that he —

could keep his seat without the use of three chairs.

The Parson brightened up at the prospect that his —
philippic against dancing, and the “ promiscuous ‘
mingling of the sexes,” might yet be delivered —
with effect. There was a dead pause. All were

introduced to the ladies, each guide presenting

“his man.” Uncle Palmer's benignant face ap- —

peared at the door, looking perfectly jubilant. ”
Here the writer would gladly pause. He feels
that the narration has proceeded far enough.

ae e oe Po a

n
a

THE BALL. 99

| Would that he might record that the company
_ played “ blind-man’s-buff,” or “roll the trencher,”
or those refined “ring plays” where healthy and
moral exhilaration is experienced by each man
hugging and kissing his partner. But his duty
as a historian forbids. Truth must not be muti-
lated through partiality for friends; and, as a
chronicler of facts, he is bound to say, affirm, and
transmit to posterity, that the company actually
danced! Yes, that is the word,— danced. O tem-
_pora! O mores! which, freely translated, signifies,
“What is the world coming to!” Reader, pardon
this exhibition of virtuous feeling, this generous
outburst against the vices of the day. Even He-
_rodotus could not have restrained himself, in my
| position. But I must return to the historic style,
_ —the plain narration of facts.

| First, Uncle Palmer led off with his wife, —age
| countenancing the foibles of youth! - Then Uncle
- Ike Robinson tripped down the floor with his
‘daughter. Next, O ye gods! Hubbard whirled
_ away with a nimble-footed damsel. Burns shot
| { by with little Miss Palmer, and Southwick, the
indomitable, careered along the floor with Jerry,
his guide. (Which was the lady I cannot say.)
And last of all, “John,” the trusty, honest John,
_ whizzed past with a lovely attachment to his arm.
_ The costumes of the dancers were unique. In cut
and color no one could complain of sameness.

100 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.

Uncle Ike was in his stockings. John had on
tightly-laced moccasins. Southwick sported a pair
of bright scarlet slippers. Hubbard shook the floor
with boots that had seen service on the “carry.”
All were mingled together; while above the din
made by heavy boots smiting the resounding floor, —
the merry laugh of girls, and peals of irrepressible —
mirth, the voice of Everitt, who sat perched upon
the back of a chair, sawing away with all his
might, rang out the necessary orders. It has been
reported that at this juncture the Parson himself
was swept by the centripetal attraction into the

revolving mass, and that the way he “cut itdown” ~
revealed a wonderful aptness for the “double-shuf- —
fle,’ and that a large amount of the old Adam ~
remained yet to be purged out of his natural con- ~

stitution. The probabilities are that this report is
entirely unfounded, or at least grossly exaggerated. —

At last, well along in the fashionable hours, the ~
revelry ceased, the company separated, and silence —

settled down over the household. With the sounds

the scene itself would have passed away and been
forgotten save by the actors, had not the pen of —
the Parson rescued it from threatened oblivion, :
and in these pages preserved it for transmission —
to posterity. He thus avenges himself on those —
who interrupted him in the exercise of his right, —
by recounting the folly his speech would undoubt- —
edly have prevented, had he been permitted to
proceed.

¥
' LOON-SHOOTING IN A THUNDER-STORM.
HE shrill cry of a loon piercing the air broke

. my heavy slumber, and brought me to my
feet in an instant, riflein hand. The night before,

late in the evening, we had run our boat ashore, and,

stretching ourselves on either side of the quickly
lighted camp-fire, with no shelter but the overhang-
_ ing trees, dropped instantly to sleep. From that

_ slumber, almost as deep as that which is endless,

_ the cry of a loon had aroused me. Directly in

front of the camp, with his long black head and
spotted back glistening in the sun, some fifteen

' rods from the shore, the magnificent bird sat,

eying the camp. If there is any sound which will
Start a fellow to his feet quicker than the cry of a
loon under his camp, about six in the morning, I

have yet to hear it. Wide awake the instant I

1 struck the perpendicular, I dropped my rifle —
never in those woods, by day or night, beyond
_ reach —into the extended palm, and simultane-

_ ously the sharp concussion broke the surrounding

"silence. The sight was good, and the lead-well sent ;

but the agile bird,— well named the Great Northern

102 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.

Diver, — ever on the alert, had gone under with the
flash ; and the bullet, striking the swirl made by
his dive, glanced up, and went bounding, in ever-
lessening skips, across the lake. The crack of the
rifle awoke John from a slumber such as men sleep
after fourteen hours of constant rowing ; and, start-
ing up, the fire was soon rekindled, and the coffee
boiling. Soon all was ready, and we were pro-
visioning ourselves for the coming day. ‘Trout,
coffee, and the inevitable flapjacks made up the
bill of fare.

The morning, in its atmospheric appearances, was
peculiar. Not a breath of air was stirring. The
little lake was as liquid glass, without ripple or
seam. Even the forest, that, like the sensitive
strings of a harp, is rarely, if ever, silent, sent
forth no sound, and its dim recesses were still as
death. Above, the clouds were dull and slaty.
They, too, hung motionless. No scud drifted
athwart their surface; no rift broke their smooth
expanse. The sun, with its broad face barred with
streaks of cloud, looked red and fiery. It had
a hot, angry look, as if enraged at seeing the ob-
structions in its upward path. In the west, out
of the slaty cloud, the white and feathery heads of
some cumuli upreared themselves, suggesting rain
and the hot blaze of lightning. |

“John,” said I, as we each sat with a warm
trout in one hand and a pint-cup of coffee in

LOON-SHOOTING [N A THUNDER-STORM. 103

the other, — “John, we shall have a tough day
of it.”
“Yes,” said he, pausing a moment in his eating to
listen, and holding on with one hand to the tail of
a fish, of which the front half was already beyond
human sight; “there goes some thunder now”; and
even as he spoke a jar shook the earth under us,
and a heavy roar rolled up sullenly out of the west.
We finished our meal, and then, lighting our
_ pipes, seated ourselves on the shore of the lake, in
counsel. The air was heavy, thick, and oppressive ;
not a sound broke the.stilmess. Had the heavens
above us been the roof of a cavern a thousand
- fathoms under earth, the breathless quiet could not
have been deeper. The colloquy ran something in
this wise :— :
_ “How long is the next carry, John ?”
_ Three miles, if we go to Bottle Pond; a mile
and a half, if we go to Salmon Lake,” was the
F . answer.
“How is the carry to wae Pond ?” I asked.
_ “A mere trapper’s line,” said John; “it is n't
~ cut out; two miles and a half by blazed trees, and
half a mile of slough.”
| “That’s delightful !” I exclaimed ; “ how is it by
| way of Salmon Lake ?”
_ “It’s a mile and a half to Salmon,” was the
_ response ; “not cut out; crossed only in winter by
hunters; half a mile of swamp.”

104 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS. —

“Well, we ‘ll go to Salmon Lake; that’s the ~
nigher,” I said. “Shall we get rain ?” |
As John was about to reply, a dull, heavy sound ~
came up from the depths of the forest, — a solemn,
ominous sound, breaking the dead silence. An- —
. other and another followed ; a muffled roar, filling
the air, so that one might not tell from what Sa :
ter it came.
“Yes,” said John, as. the noise died away,— “ yes,
it will rain. The old trees neverlie. Those sounds —
you have just heard are made by ee tapes,
You always hear them before a storm.” |
“But, John,” I exclaimed, “ what makes chess 4
fall this morning? There is not a breath of air~~
stirring.” a |
“JT don’t know,” responded John, “what makes
them fall. I have often thought how queer it is.
Many a time have I sat in my canoe on a morn- ;
ing like this, when there was not wind enough ~
to float a feather, and seen the old fellows come
crashing down. I tell you what,” continued he,
“;t makes a man feel solemn, to see tree after tree, |
great, giant chaps, a hundred and fifty feet high,
begin all of a sudden to quiver and reel, and then —
fall headlong to the ground; when, for aught you —
can see, there is no earthly cause forit. Let us sit 7
still a moment and hear them.”
I did as requested. Now, far away in the forest,

the same dull, heavy roar would arise, linger a mo-
: ,

LOON-SHOOTING IN A THUNDER-STORM. 105

ment in the air, then die away. Then, nigh at hand,
_ a rushing sound, as the broom-like top of some
mighty pine swept through the air, would fall
_ upon the ear, followed by the crash of broken
| boughs and the heavy thump of the huge trunk
as it smote the earth. Then, far away, half
- smothered between the mountains, would rise
- again the dull roar, and we knew another mon-
arch of the woods had yielded its life at an
~ unknown summons.
_. I am free to confess, that John’s remark as to
_ the effect of such a phenomenon upon one, was
_ then and there fully verified by myself. I know
~ nothing more mysteriously solemn than this sound
of falling trees coming up from the forest, — falling,
so far as you can see, without cause. What unseen
hand smites them? What pressure, unfelt by man,
fe pushes their vast trunks over? Is it to the Spirit
of the coming Storm they bow, prostrating them-
1 selves in anticipation of his chariot’s approach? Is
ii there some subtle and hostile chemistry in the air
{ _ which penetrates their fibres, weakening them to
their fall? Or do these aged patriarchs of the
wood, with fearful prophecy, foresee their hour
of doom, and, in the breathless lull ere the tem-
| pest breaks, yield like an ancient Roman to their
___ *Perchance,” I said to John, “He who noteth

: j the falling of a sparrow and marketh the boundary
| ae

106 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.

of human life, hath given the trees a limit also, |
which they may not pass; and these are tiene |

summoned, and so go down.”
We sat a moment in silence ; then, with a com-

mon impulse, without a word, arose, and, gathering

up our traps, made ready for a start. As we pushed

out into the lake, we saw that the clouds in the "
west were blacker; a flash of lightning ran along —

their upper verge, and the mountain above us
caught up the heavy boom, and, as if enraged at
the intrusion on its silence, hurled it back angrily
toward the cloud. At the same instant the shrill,
mocking cry of a loon rose into the air, mingling
with the reverberations of the thunder, as light
treble notes break sharply through a heavy vol-
ume of bass.

“ There ’s the scahiom alk loon,” exclaimed John,
“that frightened the deer from the shore last night.
If it was n't for that thunder-shower in the west,
we 'd teach her to keep her mouth shut before we
left the pond. I think you might start the
feathers off her back any way, tube or no tube.”

The last sentence needs explanation. Loons
are the shyest and most expert swimmers of all
waterfowl. ‘Twenty rods is as near as you can get
to them. When under fire, they sink themselves
into the water so that nothing but the feathers
along their backs and heads are in sight, and so
quick are they that they dive at the flash, getting

Nee ee or

ee a

vee

CPt ite

LOON-SHOOTING IN A THUNDER-STORM. 107

under in time to escape the bullet, Yet I have
_ killed them repeatedly on Long Island Sound, driv-
_ ing my bullet through the butt of the wing, thirty
rods away. There are two styles of gun-tubes ; the
first kind is so open as to allow the powder to pass
up to the cap. Wheh the cap explodes, this pow-
der must burn grain by grain, and so comparative-
_ lyslow. The other kind is so made as to prevent
- the powder from passing up into it; and the
lightning-like percussion has free course to the
_ centre of the charge in the chamber. Slight as the
difference would seem to be, it is a vital one in

F Joon-shooting. With tubes of either make in-the
barrels of my rifle, loading with the same charge, I

have killed with the one and invariably failed to
' kill with the other. Unfortunately, the tubes in my
barrels this season were both open ones ; and to this

b _ John alluded in his closing remark.

“John,” said I, counting out fifty bullets and

a _ laying them on the bottom of the boat within
| easy reach, “there are fifty bullets; and if you
say the word, shower or no shower, we ll give that
old Joon a lively time before we strike the carry.”

“Well,” said John as he ran his eye over the

a western heavens, now black as night, save when a

bright flash clove the darkness or leaped crinkling
along the inky mass, “let’s give heratry. We

shall have an hour, anyway, before the rain reaches
, us, and I would like to see that loon in the bottom
of the boat.”

108 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.

_Dipping his paddle into the water with a strong
sweep, he turned the bow of the light boat about,
and started toward the bird. Light as a cork the
loon sat upon the water, some sixty rods away, its
neck, marked with alternate rings of white and
black, proudly arched, and almost at every breath
sending forth its clarion ery, as if in boastful chal-
lenge.

“Sound away, you old pirate you!” exclaimed
John, as he swept along ; “ we ll make you shorten
your neck, and sit lower in the water before we
are through with you.”

And even as he spoke the bird settled slowly
down, until nothing but a line of feathers lay along
the water, and the quick, restless head, with its
sharp-pointed bill, was barely above the surface.

“See her,” said John; “I warrant she has smelt
powder and heard the whistle of lead before this.
I wish she did n’t know quite so much, or else that
‘ that cloud would pass back of the mountains.”

The plan proposed was to keep her under wa-
ter, giving her no time to rest after her long dives,
and so tire her out that she would be forced to rise
often to the surface to breathe. Before we had
come within forty rods the loon went under.

“Now,” shouted John, as he shot the boat to-
ward the wake, “the Lord only knows where she ’Il
come up; but we will take that swirl of water for
our centre, and, when she breaks, you show her
what she may expect.”

$
:
nx

| : My

MAW a I

MI S

| 2

ii H Ny, { |

Ny
aay My hh

LOON-SHOOTING IN A THUNDER-STORM. 109

“There she rises,” I exclaimed, as we swept over
e wake. “Steady with your paddle, there”; and
as I spoke, catching the line of feathers along the
ights, I launched the bullet toward her.

_ “Well done!” said John, as the spray made by
e smitten water broke over her webbed feet,
erked out of the lake by her frantic effort to get
nder ; “load quick, and save the other barrel for
mergencies.”

After some twenty shots she began to come more
yuickly to the surface; and as we took the wake
he made in diving for our centre, the circumference
lescribed through her position when she arose grew
nearer and nearer to the boat.

“Now,” said John, as the loon went under for the
_ twenty-fifth time, “when she rises again take her
before she shakes the water out of her eyes. I
“saw the direction of the dive, and she will come up

in the line of that dead hemlock there.”

i fastened my eyes upon the spot, and, catching
2 first ripple through the sights, the ball struck
| al bove her back before a feather was in sight.
Whether the bullet had ruffled her plumage some-
What, or from some other cause, for the first time
she rose in the water and shook her narrow wings,
uttering a defiant cry.

_ “Steady there,” I whispered hoarsely to John.
For an instant the tottlish boat, which the weight
of my ramrod would jar, stood, held by the paddle,

110 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.

as motionless as though embedded in ice; and ag”
the sharp crack of the other barrel sounded,
loon was knocked flat eye upon her back.
“There, you old — ‘ta
I don’t know exactly what John was about t
say, for he did not say it; for as he spoke the le 8 |
with a mighty splash, sent down, leaving a hun=—
dred feathers around her wake The bullet had
rasped along her side, shearing off the specklec
plumage, but had not penetrated sufficiently deey
into her body to disable her. By this time tl
heavens, toward the west, even to the zenith, were”
black as ink. The red lightning darted ita 2a )
zag course this way and that, amid the elo m5
white, fleecy clouds raced athwart the dark expanse,
and ever and anon a fierce whirlwind, in minia- |
ture, would settle down upon the water, an spin
across the glassy bosom of the lake; while the
thunder, peal on peal, crashed above thieemil -
tains, until the very air and water shook and quiv-
ered at the shock. To a looker-on the scene would —
_ have been grand in the extreme. Amid the gath-
ering gloom, now dense as twilight, the light boat
went moving hither and thither, now gliding straight
ahead, now swerving in lessening circles around the
spot of the anticipated rising, while above the ere |
ling thunder rose the clear report of the rifle, whose
beieels, choked with smut, and dangerously ho
from rapid firing, rang fiercely sharp, as if in ang ry

LOON-SHOOTING IN A THUNDER-STORM. 111

protest at the abuse. The gloom grew darker.
' The wind, in quick, nervous puffs, broke over the
‘mountain, and where it touched the lake lifted
the spray high into the air. A few plunging drops
‘of rain smote the water and boat like bullets.
' The hot lightning fairly hissed through the murky
atmosphere above us; so sharp, so bright, so close,
| that the lake at times seemed as on fire, burning
with a blue, ghastly light. The thunder was inces-
sant. The dwellers in lowland countries know
nothing what thunder is amid the hills. No single
clap or peal was there, but rush and roar continu-
~ ous, and crackling bolts and rumble and jar. Across
' the lake, over our heads, the volleys went. The
“mountain eastward, receiving a bolt against its
sides, would roll it back, while the mountain op-
posite, catching the mighty boom as players do a
_ ball, would hurl it sharply home. And so the wild
p ay went on. Mountain besieging mountain, hill
b I elting hill; while we, amid the deepening gloom
and tumult, swept hither and thither, keeping sight
of the loon, whose rises were frequent and breath ;
nearly gone.
“John,” said I, shouting so he could hear me amid
_ the confusion, —“ John, pull for the shore ; it’s
_ time to go.”
“Give her one more,” said John ; “ here she rises,
‘over your left”; and as the smoke from the dis-
charge floated up, split by a gust, John shouted :

112 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.

4
~ “Ready with your other barrel there. The loor :
is tiring. I hear her blow when she comes up.)
She can’t stay under long. I’ll run you dowr |
upon her soon. HERE she is!” he screamed
“under your very muzeles !” |

I turned, and sure enough there sat the loor
within six feet’ of the boat, in the very act of shak.
ing the water from her eyes. The rifle lay across
my knee, the barrels in direct lme with the bird
Without lifting it, or moving an inch, I pulled,
and water, smoke, and feathers flew into the air
together. A loud “quack” from the loon, and a
convulsive yell from John, his mouth opening and
shutting spasmodically as roar after roar of almost
hysterical laughter came pouring out, followed the
discharge. I was just fitting a cap to a freshly
charged barrel, when the loon broke the water
again at short range, her back nearly bare of —
feathers ; and as she dived another tuft flew up,
cut by the passing ball, and John pronounced her
“nearly picked.” But now the storm broke over
the mountain. The rush and roar and crash of ;
wind and thunder drowned the report, and only
by the flash might a spectator know I was firing.
The gloom grew thicker. A cloud settled over the
lake, and we were wrapped within its fleecy folds. —
Only once more, as a flash clove through the fog, 1 |
saw the loon, and fired. Then dense and dark the
_ storm swept down around us. . Wild, fitful gusts

LOON-SHOOTING IN A THUNDER-STORM. 113

ore through the air. The lightning crinkled through
jhe fog; white patches of froth and splashing
‘drops of rain drifted over and fell into the boat ;
while, as a bass to the wild minstrelsy. of bursting
bolts, the dull, monotonous, roar of the storm,
whose heavy-footed squadrons were charging over
the mountain’s brow, rose with dread, augmenting
grandeur. The quivering of the frail boat told me
that John was vigorously plying his paddle; and
in a moment we shot into the lily-pads, and, pull-
ing our boat ashore, turned it bottom side up and
erawled under it, just as the grayish sheet of plung-
ing water swept over us, and the floods came down.
_ There we lay, safely sheltered, regretting the
storm, and recounting the ludicrous passages of
th e Banta until the water, gathering in a pool
beneath the boat, saturated our garments and
_ warned us to be moving. Suggesting to John that

“we had better not stay under that boat until it
. Broated off,’ we crawled out from under our tempo-
ery shelter ; which, John remarked, “had a good
_ roof, but a mighty poor cellar.” Standing, as a pre-
: iminary caution, long enough in the rain to get thor-
~ oughly wet, we prepared for the start. An uncut
_ carry for nearly two miles lay before us, the first
half of which ran directly through a swamp, now
filled to overflowing with water. We had a tough
experience in getting through, which the reader
will find described in the next chapter.

H

VI.

CROSSING THE CARRY.

OHN,” said I, as we stood looking at each’
other across the boat, “this rain is wet.” |
“Tt generally is, up in this region, I believe,”
he responded, as he wiped the water out of his
eyes with the back of his hand, and shook the ac-
cumulating drops from nose and chin; “but the ~
waterproof I have on has lasted me some thirty-_
eight years, and I don’t think it will wet through
to-day.” ‘|
“Well!” I exclaimed, “there is no use of ey A.
ing here in this marsh-grass any longer ; help me 5
to oe up. Ill take the baggage, and you they j
boat.’ |
“You ’ll never get through with it, if you net |
take it all at once. Better load light, and I 1
come back after what ’s left,’ was the answer.
“T tell you,” he continued, “the swamp is full of ©
water, and soft as muck.” ¢
“John,” said I, “that baggage is going over at
one load, sink or swim, live or die, survive or per-
ish. I ‘ll make the attempt, swamp or no swamp. —
My life is assured against accidents by fire, water,

CROSSING THE CARRY. 115

nd mud ; so here goes. Whats life to glory?” I
‘exclaimed, as I seized the pork-bag, and dragged
it from under the boat ; “stand by and see me put .
my armor on.”
Over my back I slung the provision-basket,
made like a fisherman’s creel, thirty inches by
forty, filled with plates, coffee, salt, and all the
f in nvedimenta of camp and cooking utensils. This
“was held in its place by straps passing over the
i . oulders and under the arms, like a Jew-pedler’s
p There might have been eighty pounds
ight in it. Upon the top of the basket John
las shed my knapsack, full of bullets, powder, and
‘clothing. My rubber suit and heavy blanket,
‘slung around my neck by a leather thong, hung
down in front across my chest. On one shoulder,
I t 1e oars and paddles were balanced, with a frying-
pan and gridiron swinging from the blades; on
. the other was my rifle, from which were sus-
“pended a pair of boots, my creel, a coffee-pot, and
abag of flour. Taking up the bag of pork in one
hand, and seizing the stock of the rifle with the
other, from two fingers of which hung a tin ket-
_ tle of prepared trout, which we were loath to throw
away, I started. Picture a man so loaded, forcing
his way through a hemlock swamp, through whose
‘floor of thin moss he sank to his knees ; or pick-
g his way across oozy sloughs on old sits: often
Deed with mud and water, and slippery beyond

}
-

on
116 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.

description, and you have me daguerreotyped im)
your mind. Well, as I said, I started. For som
dozen rods I got on famously, and was congrat
ing myself with the thought of an easy
when a root upon which I had put my right foc
gave way, and, plunging headlong into the muc
I struck an attitude of petition; while the frying
pan and gridiron, flung off the oars and forward by
the movement, alighted upon my prostrated head
An ejaculation, not exactly religious, escaped me
and with a few desperate flounces I assumed onee
more the perpendicular. Fishing the frying-par
from the mud, and lashing the gridiron to my bel
I made another start. It was hard work. The
most unnatural adjustment of weight upon m
back made it difficult to.ascertain just how far
behind me lay the centre of equilibrium. I found
where it did not lie, several times. Before I had |
gone fifty rods, the camp-basket weighed one hun=
dred and twenty pounds. The pork-bag felt as
if it had several shoats in it, and the oar-blades”
stuck out in the exact form of an X. If I went
one side of a tree, the oars would go the other
side. If I backed up, they would manage to get
entangled amid the brush. If I stumbled and
fell, the confounded things would come like a
goose-poke athwart my neck, pinning me down,
As I proceeded, the mud grew deeper, the roots
farther apart, and the blazed trees less frequent.

.
ANSI

Ee la ER a - ETRESS _oie ee

&
CROSSING THE CARRY. 117

Never before did I so truly realize the aspiration
the old hymn, —

i *
yi

“ O, had I the wings of a dove!”

At last I reached, what seemed impossible to
iss, —an oozy slough, crossed here and there
by cedar roots, smooth and slippery, lay before me.
from a high stump which I had climbed upon I
gave a desperate leap. I struck where I expected,
md a little farther. The weight of the basket,
lich was now something over two hundred
yunds, was too much for me to check at once. It
pressed me forward. I recovered myself, and the
abominable oars carried me as far the other way.
fhe moccasins of wet leather began to slip along

1e roots. They began to slip very often; and, at
‘bad times. I found it necessary to change my posi-
tion suddenly. I changed it. It was n’t a perfect
Success. I tried again. It seemed necessary to
‘Keep on trying. I suspect I did not effect the
‘hanges very steadily, for the trout began to jump
about in the pail and fly out into the mud. The
gridiron got uneasy, and played against my side
ke a steam-flapper. In fact, the whole baggage
Seemed endowed with supernatural powers of
Motion. The excitement was contagious. In a
Moment, every article was jumping about like
a d. I, in the mean time, continued to dance a
mpipe on the slippery roots Now I am con-

a
118 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.

scientiously opposed to dancing. I never da nce
I did n’t want to learn. I felt it was wicked ft
me to be hopping around on that root so. Whe
an example, I thought, if John should see m
What would my wife say? What would my deas
cons say? I tried to stop. I couldn't. I had
an astonishing dislike to sit down. I thought
would dance there forever, rather than sit down, - —=
deacons or no deacons. The basket now weighed,
any imaginable number of pounds. The
were leaping about my head, as if in their natiy
element. The gridiron was in such rapid motic
that it was impossible to distinguish the barge
There was, apparently, a whole litter of pigs in the
pork-bag. I could not stand it longer. I cor
cluded to rest awhile. I wanted to do the th in
gracefully. I looked around for a soft spot, ¢
seeing one just behind me, I checked myself. My
feet flew out from under me. They appeared to h |
unusually light. I don’t remember that I ever sab
down quicker. The motion was yery decided)
The only difficulty I observed was, that the seat T
had gracefully settled into had no bottom, The)
position of things was extremely picturesque,
The oars were astride my neck, as usual. 4
trout-pail was bottom up, and the contents lyi n
about almost anywhere. The boots were he agin
on a dry limb overhead. <A capital idea. I thoug
of it as I was in the act of sitting down. One

>
CROSSING THE CARRY. 119

piece of pork lay at my feet, and another was
8 ticking up, some ten feet off, in the mud. It
pered very queer, — slightly out of place. With
the same motion with which I hung my boots on
a Tin, as I seated myself, I stuck my rifle care-
lly into the mud, muzzle downward. I never saw
a gun in that position before. It struck me as
bei ng a good thing. There was no danger of its
falling over and breaking the stock. The first
thing I did was to pass the gridiron under me.
Wi en that feat was accomplished, I felt more com-
It’s pleasant for a man in the position [
s in to feel that he has something under him.
en a chip or a small stump would have felt
¢ comfortable. As I sat thinking how many uses a
gridiron could be put to, and estimating where I
hould then have been if I had n't got it under
me, I heard John forcing his way, with the boat
on his back, through the thick undergrowth.

~ “Tt won’t do to let John see me in this posi-
tion,” I said; and so, with a mighty effort, I
‘disengaged myself from the pack, flung off the
Janket from around my neck, and seizing hold
of a spruce limb which I could fortunately reach,
lrew myself slowly up. I had just time to jerk
he rifle out of the mud and fish up about half of
2 trout, when John came struggling along.

eed ohn,” said I, leaning unconcernedly against
pte, as if nothing had happened, — “ lens ohn,

i
posed

120 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.

put down the boat, here’s a splendid spe
rest.” +
“Well, Mr. Murray,” queried John, as —
emerged from under the boat, “how are vou
ting along ?”
“ Capitally !” said I; “the Carry i is vo
when you once get down to it. I felt a litt!
of breath, and thought I would wait for you a a fi
“moments.” | q
“What’s your boots doing up there, in #
tree ?” exclaimed John, as he pointed up to ¥
they hung dangling from the limb, about i : a
feet above our heads. :
“Boots doing!” said I, “why they are han;
there, don’t you see. You didn’t suppose I
drop them into this mud, did you?” a
“Why, no,” replied John, “I don't suppose yi
would; but how about this?” he continued :
he stooped down and pulled a big trout, tail fe
most, out of the soft muck; “how did that t
come there ?”
“Tt must have got out of the pail, someho :
I responded ; “ I thought I heard one
ses as I sat down.” 3
“What in thunder is that, out there ” ex
claimed John, pointing to a piece of pork, 0
end of which was sticking about four inches ot U
of the water ; “is that pork ?” BY
“Well, the fact is, John,” returned I, speaki

on
re

«MY aapun Suryjauos svy 7 poyy 79af op ‘up svar 7 poYys UoIjISOg ay} ui ‘MDE v 40f juDsvaI St 7] ,,

CROSSING THE CARRY. 121

ith the utmost gravity, and in a tone intended to
iggest a mystery,—“the fact is, John, I don’t
‘quite understand it. This Carry seems to be all
covered over with pork. I would n’t be surprised to
‘find a piece anywhere. There is another junk,
now,” I exclaimed, as I plunged my moccasin into
the mud and kicked a two-pound bit toward him ;
“it’s lying all round here, loose.”

‘I thought John would split with laughter, but
my time came, for as in one of his paroxysms he
turned partly around, I saw that his back was
eovered with mud clear up to his hat.

_ “Do you always sit down on your coat, John,”
T inquired, “ when you cross a Carry like this ?”
“Come, come,” rejoined he, ceasing to laugh
from very exhaustion, “take a knife or tin plate,
id scrape the muck from my back. I always
ll my wife to make my clothes a ground color,
at the color is laid on a little too thick this
‘time, anyway.”

_ “John,” said I, after having scraped him down,
“take the paddle and spear my boots off from
at Timb up there, while I tread out this pork.”
Plunging into the slough, balancing here on a
bog and there on an underlying root, I succeeded
‘“M concentrating the scattered pieces at one point.
As I was shying the last junk into the bag, a
‘disappointed grunt from John caused me to look
round. I took in the situation at a glance. The
‘ 6

‘
:
\
;

i

122 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.

boots were still suspended from the lied 4
paddle and two oars had followed suit, and 7
cosily amid the branches, while John, poi s
himself dexterously on the trunk of a fallk
spruce, red in the face and vexed at his want
success, was whirling the frying-pan over
head, in the very act of letting it drive at
boots. J
“Go in, John!” I shouted, seizing hold of. dl
eridiron with one hand and a bag of bullets wi
the other, while tears stood in my eyes from ve
laughter; “when we’ve got all the rest of t
baggage up in that Hemlock; I'll pass up the boa
and well make a camp.” aaa
The last words were barely off my lists he
John, having succeeded in getting a firm foc ‘in
as he thought, on the slippery bark, threw all hi
strength into the cast, and away the big iron pa
went whizzing up through the branches. Bu
alas for human calculation! The rotten bar
under his feet, rent by the sudden pressure as h
pitched the cumbrous missile upward, parted from
the smooth wood, and John, with a mighty thump
which seemed almost to snap his head off, came
down upon the trunk; while the frying-pan, g} ra
ing like a broken-winged bird, landed rods ¢ ‘
in the marsh. By this time John’s blood was uy
and the bombardment began in earnest. The fi
thing he laid his hand on was the colfe-pot

Bees
ca
i} 2" ESBOSSING THE CARRY. 123

Ontariy.
followed suit with the gridiron. Then my fishing-
wen ‘and a bag of bullets mounted upward.
Never before was such a battle waged, or such
weapons used. The air was full of missiles. Tin
tes, oar-locks, the axe, gridiron, and pieces of
rk were all in the air at once. How long the
‘contest would have continued I cannot tell, had it
“not been brought to a glorious termination ; but at
sn heavy iron camp-kettle, hurled by John’s ©
ous wrist, striking the limb fair, crashed
ugh like a forty-pound shot, and down came
ts, oars, paddle, and all. Gathering the scat-
| oy articles together, we took our respective bur-
‘dens, and pushed ahead. Weary and hot, we
‘reached-at length the margin of the swamp, and
4 feet stood once more upon solid ground.
At this juncture another cloud from out of the
est swept up the heavens, and its distended
dorders, heavy with rain, parted, and down the
; unging torrents came. The wind, sweeping
through the lofty pine-tops over our heads,
ounded like the rush of airy squadrons charging
| ti 0 battle. - The lightning blazed amid the descend-
¢ sheets of water, lurid and red, or shot its elec-
ee 4ric currents amid the trees; while, overhead, peal
“and boom and rattling volleys rolled and broke.
Forcing our way along through spruce and balsam
Besickets, and heavy undergrowth of deer-bush,
| which flapped their broad flat leaves, loaded with

124 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.

water, into our eyes, we came upon a giant p
which some descending bolt had struck, far
amid the topmost branches, and riven to ~
very roots. Huge slabs, twenty feet in —
weighing hundreds of pounds, torn out from t
very heart, thrown a dozen rods on either si :
and the ground strewn with yellow splinters, bo:
palpable witness of the lightning’s power. Pau
ing a moment amid the wreck and ruin, look
ing into the yellow heart of that riven pine, weey
ing great drops of odorous gum, how weak th
effort of man appeared beside the power of nature
What is our boasted strength of brawn and mus=_
cle compared with the terrific forces which lie hid
den amid the elements? And what is ours 0
theirs beside the power of Him who holds thei
violence in check, and uses at will the wild chem=
istry of the skies ? , ; S|
At length (for all journeys have an end) ©
tore our way through the last opposing thicke
and stood upon the coveted beach. The dreaded”
Carry was crossed; and, as if to reward our” oi .
and cheer our drooping spirits, even as we lay
panting upon the wet sands, the cloud above u
parted, and the bright sun came out, gemming thi
dripping trees with jewels, and swathing the lake
in golden sheen. Patches of fleecy fog rose from
the shores, and, changing to yellow mist as the
sun warmed them, floated lazily along the moun-—

CROSSING THE CARRY. 125

in’s side. Kindling a fire, we cooked some
™ 2, watching, as we drank it, the bright ver-
lilion bow which grew upon the eastern cloud,
nti iss spanned the horizon from north to south ;
under whose arch of gold and azure the
sau Becaingued thunder rolled its dying cadences
> away eastward over the Racquette.

ret

st yt

VII.

ROD AND REEL.

"M R. MURRAY, wake up! the pancakes an
ready !” shouted John. id
Aroused by the familiar cry, I arose, and, walk
ing down to the shore of the lake, waded out j ante
its tide, and, plunging my head under water, hele
' it there for a moment, while the delicious sense o
coolness ran through my system ; then I raised it,
turning my dripping face straight toward the bright,
warm sun. O the sweet experience of that m ~
ment! How cool the water ; how fresh the air;
how clear the sky; how fragrant the breath of
balsam and of pine! O luxury of luxuries, to have
a lake of crystal water for your wash-bowl, the
morning zephyr for a towel, the whitest sand for —
soap, and the odors of aromatic trees for perfumes!

What belle or millionnaire can boast of such sur- .
roundings ? .

+
-

:
:
:

Fresh as an athlete in training, I returned t 7
camp and to breakfast. Breakfast in the wilder-
ness means something. No muttering about “those

=e

miserable rolls”; no yawning over a small strip. of | |
steak, cut in the form of a parallelogram, an inch — .

a
g@

ROD AND REEL. 127

3 and a half by three; no lying about tawny-colored
| water by calling it “coffee.” No; but up in the

: ( just the diameter of the Hae and one inch thick,
\ and go conscientiously to work to surround it.
- You seize a trout ten or fourteen inches long, and
send it speedily to that bourne from whence no
trout returns. You lay hold of a quart pan full
_ of liquid which has the smack of real Java to it,
made. pungent with a sprinkling of Mocha; and
_ the first you know you see your face in the hottgna
_ of the dish. And the joke is, you keep doing so,
right along, for some thirty minutes or more, rising
_ from each meal a bigger, if not a better man.

_ The meal was finished. It did not take long to
_ wash the dishes; and over the remnants of what
had once been a feast we sat in council.

“John, what shall we do to-day ?”

“Well, I think,” said John, “we'll take some
trout. I told you, when we started, you should see
a three-pounder before we got back; and here we
‘are within twenty miles of the Risa ate and my
_ promise unfulfilled. I know a little lake, hidden
p.3 eway back of that hard-wood ridge yonder, which
i ¥ ‘is one huge spring-hole ; and when scouting through
_ here on my own account, some six years ago, I
_ took some fish from it such as you seldom see. I
_ doubt if there has been a fly on it since; and if
& the rote will freshen a little, you’ll fies rare

-

128 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.

Ba
re’

Soon after, John shouldered the boat, and
started. Some forty minutes’ tramp, and w
reached the shore and made our camp. F rom if
the scene was delightful. The lake was nearly
circular, some half a mile across, its waters d a
and clear. Into it, so far as we could see, no water
came; out of it no water went. It was, as John
had called it, one huge spring-hole ; the mountain:
on all sides sloped gradually up, an unbroken sweep
of pine and balsam, save where, at intervals, <
silver-beech or round-leayed maple relieved the
sombre color with lighter hues. Thus seclude dj
seldom visited by man, the little lake reposed,
mirroring the surrounding hills in its cool depths,
and guarded safely by them. We stepped into
our boat and glided out toward the centre of th ‘-
pool. Not a motion in the air; not a ripple o:
the water. At last the beeches ace the western :
slope began to rustle. The mournful pines felt th
pressure of airy fingers amid their strings, a
woke to solemn sound. The zephyr at len th
reached the lake, and the cool water thrilled iz
ripples at its touch; while the pool, which an in=
stant before shone under the sun like seamless
glass, shook with a thousand tiny undulations. —

“Now,” said John, “if the fish have n’t
drowned since I was here, you’ll see-’em soo oad
When one rises I’ll put you within casting dis a
tance of the wake, and if he likes it he ll take the ~

ROD AND REEL. 129

If one takes, strike hard; for their jaws are
ile and bony, and you must hook them well or
“youll lose them in the struggle.”

We sat and watched. “There!” suddenly
| shouted John; “one is n’t dead yet.” And whirl-
"ing the boat about, he sent it flying toward a swirl
“in the water, some twenty rods away, made by a
W “tising fish whose splash I had heard but did not
‘see. We had traversed half the distance, perhaps,
and all alert I sat, holding the coil and flies be-

- tween my fingers, ready for a cast, when, as we
‘ shot along, a bright vermilion flash gleamed for
an instant far below us, and a broad, yellow-sided
_ beauty broke the surface barely the length of my
rod from the boat. The swoop of a swallow is
San swifter than was the motion of the boat as
_ John shied it one side, and, with a stroke which
prom have snapped a less elastic paddle, sent it

_ circling around the ripples where the fish went
Po down. Twice did I trail the flies across the circle
i and meet with no response; but hardly had the
" feathers touched the water at the third cast, when
_ the trout came up with a rush. He took the fly as
a hunter might take a fence, boldly. I struck, even
as he hung in mid-air, and down he went. Aftera
_ sharp fight of some ten minutes’ length the trout
_ yielded, the fatal net enclosed him, and he lay flap-
| ping within the boat. Thus‘five were captured in

little more than an hour’s time, good two-and-a-
6* I

130 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.

half-pound fish each of them, —a string which.
man might contemplate with pride. We paus 2¢
a@ moment to give John time to inspect the tackle
to see if it was all right. The trout had made
sad work with the flies. The largest and stror cest
came out of their mouths bare to the Shank. Five
Tuined flies lay with the fiye captured trout on
the bottom of the boat, wiee
“Mr. Murray,” said John at length, as he sat
looking at the mangled flies ; “ have n’t you some- —
thing larger? These trout are regular sharks,”
“ Nothing,” replied TI, running over the leayes
of my fly-book, « except these huge salmon-flies” 5 |
and I held half a dozen gaudy fellows out to-
ward him, the hooks of which were nearly two —
inches in length, covered with immense hackle of |
variegated floss, out of whose depths protrude d @i
a pair of enormous wings, and brilliant with hues ©
of the ibis and the English jay, an
“Let ’s try one, anyway,” said John, laugh- —
ing. “N othing is too big for a fish like that!” .
and he nodded his head toward a deep swirl m ade
in the water as a monstrous fellow rose to the sur-.
face, closed his jaws on a huge dragon-fly that had —
stopped to rest a, moment on the water, and, throw-
ing his tail, broad as your hand, into the air, darted —
downward into the Silent depths, « There,” con-
tinued he, as he tossed the tuft of gay feathers
into the air, “that’s the first pullet’s-tail I ever

ROD AND REEL. 131

-noosed on to a leader. A trout that takes that
will be worth baking. Lengthen your line to the
last foot you can cast, and when a big one rises
I'll put you within reach of his wake.”
_ We sat for several minutes in silence, watching.
_ At last, some fifteen rods away, a magnificent fish
shot up out of the water after a butterfly which
_ chanced to be winging its way across the lake, and
- missing it by only a few inches, fell back with a
_ splash into the very ripple he made in rising.
“Now!” shouted John, as he sent the light boat
_ skimming over the water, “give him the feathers,
and if he haen, sink the hook to the very shank
_ into his jaws.”
I pitched the coil into the air, and by the time
_ it had fairly straightened itself out the boat was in
reach of the wake ; and, obedient to the quick turn
_ of the wrist, the huge fly leaped ahead. It had
. hot reached the surface by a yard, when the water
_ parted and out came the trout, his mouth wide
open, quivering from head to tail with the energy
of the leap ; missed, as he had before, and fell back
flat upon his side.
“Quick, quick! cast away!” shouted John, as
_ with a stroke of the paddle he sent the boat
_ sheering off to give me room for the cast.
= Feeling that there was not an instant to lose, by
. -asudden jerk I caused the fly to mount straight
up into the air, trusting to the motion of the boat

]

132 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.

to straighten the slack as it fell. John understood ©
the motion; the boat flew round as on a pivot, and
glided backward under the reversed stroke. It
was well done, as only John could do it; nor was |
it a second too soon ; for as the tuft of gay plumes
alighted amid the ioniel the huge head of the. |
trout came out of water, his mouth opened, and, ©
as the feathers disappeared between his teeth, I 7
struck with all my might. Not one rod in twenty
would have stood that blow. The fish was too
heavy even to be turned an inch. The line
sung, and water flew out of the compressed ©
braids, as though I had sunk the hook into an ©
oak beam. |
Reader, did you ever land a trout? I do ne a
ask if you ever jerked some poor little fellow out ©
of a brook three feet across, with a pole six inches ©
around at the butt, and so heavy as to require both ~
hands and feet well braced to hold it out. No,
that’s not landing a trout. But did you ever sit in
a boat, with nine ounces of lance-wood for a rod, )
and two hundred feet of braided silk in your )
double-acting reel, and hook a trout whose strain j
brought tip and butt together as you checked him
in some wild flight, and tested your quivering line
from gut to reel-knot ? No one knows what game
there is in a trout, unless he has fought it out,
matching such a rod against a three-pound fish,
with forty feet of water underneath, and’ a,clear,

ROD AND REEL. 133

unimpeded sweep around him! Ah, then it is
that one discovers what will and energy lie with-
in the mottled skin of a trout, and what a mir-
acle of velocity he is when roused. I love the
_ rifle, and I have looked along the sights and held
the leaping blood back by an effort of will, steady-
ing myself for the shot, when my veins fairly
ha tingled with the exhilarating excitement of the
' moment; but if one should ask me what is my
conception of pure physical happiness, I should
assure him that the highest bodily beatitude I
- ever expect to reach is, on some future day, when
' the clear sun is occasionally veiled by clouds, to
"sit in a boat once more upon that little lake, with
_ John at the paddle, and match again a Conroy
rod against a three-pound trout. That ’s what I
~ eall happiness ! 3
_~Well, as-I said, I struck; and, as we afterwards
_ discovered, the huge salmon-hook was buried to
_ the shank amid the nerves which lie at the root of
a trout’s tongue. Then came a fight for the mas-
tery such as never before had I waged with any-
_ thing that swims. Words should have /ife in them
to depict the scene. Quick as a flash, before I
had fairly recovered my balance, partially lost by
_ the energy with which I struck, the trout started,
and before I could get a pressure upon the line,
not twenty yards were left on the reel. A quick
_ stroke from John, and the boat shot one side; and

Piotr

(134 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.

bearing stoutly on him, tasking the rod to the last ~
ounce of resistance, I slowly swayed him about ©
and recovered a little slack. After a few short 7
sweeps he doubled on the line and shot ances
for the boat as an arrow from a bow.
“Double, and be hanged to you!” shouted John,
as he shied the light shell to one side and swung it —
round so as to keep me facing the fish. “If you
get under this boat it will be because this paddle ©
brea
Failing in his attempt to run under us, he dove ~
to the bottom. “Let him rest a moment,” said
John; “recover your line ; you’ll need it all when ~
he rises. He’s big and ugly, and his next rush ~
will be like lightning.”
After I had stowed away some forty yards of

_ line upon the reel, winding it on hard and evenly, ~

so that it would render well, I began to feel of the —
fish. The first pressure elicited only a shake. At

the next he described a circle, still keeping to ~
the bottom, then came again to a stand-still He —

acted ugly. I felt that, when the rush came, it
would try nerve and tackle alike. . Enjoining John ~
to watch the fish and favor me all he could, and —
by no means to let him pass under the boat, I —
gave a quick, sharp jerk. My arm was still in
the air and the rod unstraightened, when I caught —
a gleam far down below me, and before I had time ~
to wink the huge fellow parted the water almost |

sm sfoxp yoqshsd ay} sfpasuiry yooys 74 tarp pra ur Bry YUM

*-

anf Kaa Kit 07Ut Sunyf a4

oe

Hi i
i i Nall

}

=
——————
——$=———

| tl

y

ROD AND REEL. 135

| within reach of my arm, and when high up in

mid-air he shook himself, the crystal drops were

flung into my very face. Perhaps I shall live long
enough to forget the picture, as that trout for

an instant hung in the air, his blue back and

azure sides spotted with gold and agate, his

fins edged with snowy white, his eyes protruding,

1.4 gills distended, the leader hanging from his jaws,

while a shower of pearly drops were shaken from
his quivering sides» He fell; but while still .

' ‘in air the boat glided backward, and when he

touched the water I was thirty feet away and ready

for his rush. It came. And as he passed us,
_ some forty feet off, he clove the water as a boltr
__ from a cross-bow might cleave the air. Possibly
_ for five minutes the frenzy lasted. Not a word
was uttered. The whiz of the line through the

water, the whir of the flying reel, and an occa-
sional grunt from John as the fish doubled on the

boat, were the only sounds to be heard. When,
‘suddenly, in one of his wildest flights, the terribly

taxed rod straightened itself out with a spring,
the, pressure ceased, the line slackened, and the
fish again lay on the bottom. Wiping the sweat
from my brow, I turned to John and said, “ What
do you think of that ?”

“Mr. Murray,” replied John, laying the paddle

_ down and drawing the sleeve of his woollen shirt

across his forehead, beaded with perspiration, —

136 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.

“Mr. Murray, that fish is ugly ; if he should get
the line over his back, he ’d smash the rod like a
pipe-stem !”

“He won't get it over his back,” replied I.
“Ready with your paddle; he’s getting too much
breath.” a

“But I say,” said John, looking affectionately
at the rod as he took up the paddle ; “if I was in
your place, and he did get the line over his shoul-
der, I would part my tackle before I smashed that
rod.” |

“I won't do either, John ”; and as I answered I
gave a jerk, and the trout started again. But why
repeat ? Why tell of flights and rushes which.
followed? Twice did he break the surface a hun-
dred feet away, flinging himself out like a black —
bass. Once did he partially get the leader over his |
back and dashed away like lightning; while J ohn,
anxious to save so true a rod from ruin, shouted —
to me, “Part the gut!” But who ever knew a
fisherman, when his blood is up, refuse a risk to
save the game? I screamed to J ohn to shoot the —
boat one side ; and when the last foot of silk was
given I advanced the butt. The heavy fish and P|
pliant rod were pitted one against the other,
Three days later, in another struggle, the old rod —
parted ; but this time it triumphed. For a mo-
ment the quivering tip rattled upon the bars of s
the reel. The fish struggled and shook himself,

ROD AND REEL. 137

but the tenacious fibres would not part. He ceased
to battle, came panting to the surface, and rolled
over upon his side. The boat shot toward him,
and as it glided by John passed the landing-net
beneath him, and the brave fighter lay upon the
bottom board. His tail, across its base, measured
five inches; and his length from tip to tip was
"seventeen inches and three quarters !

_ “John,” I said, twisting round in my seat and
~ facing him, — “ John, I should have lost that fish
_ or smashed the rod, if it had not been for your
paddle.”

'- “Of course, of course,” replied John; “that’s
_ my business. Those fly-rods are delicate things.
_ Like women, they should n’t be put to heavy work
_ if you can help it, but they are able to bear a
heavy strain if necessary. But with all I could
_ do I thought it was gone once. I don’t think I
_ ever came so near breaking this paddle as on that
last sweep. It made my flesh creep to hear the
- old rod creak. I really believe my own back
would have snapped if it had parted.”

+4 We had captured six trout in two hours, whose
_ average length was sixteen inches and a half. I
asked John if we should take another.

“I don’t think it will be sin to take one more,”
he responded. “I saw a tail show itself out there,”
; —and he nodded over his left shoulder, — “ which
_ looked like a lady’s fan. If there is a larger trout

£

138 © ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.

than that last one lying anywhere about this pond,
I would like to see him”; and as he spoke he ©
swept his paddle through the water, and the boat ~
started. I looked at my fly. The teeth of the
trout had torn the hackle half away, and shorn
off from the body one gaudy wing. An exclama- ©
tion from John started me. The fish had risen
again. I too saw his tail as he disappeared, and it
was as broad as a fan. |
“Mr. Murray,” exclaimed John, “ that fish is the -
biggest trout I ever saw.” ’T is full two feet long.
I saw him fair, broad side on. His mouth was
like a bear-trap. Ready for a cast. Send the fly
straight for the centre of the wake, and if he
takes, strike like thunder!” sl
John was evidently getting excited, and the ©
glimpse I had of the trout had thrilled me ag 7
the blast of a bugle might thrill a warrior har-—
nessed for battle. The boat was forty feet away
when the tuft of gay plumes, mangled but still —
brilliant, floated downward, and lighted amid the —
glistening bubbles.. I had not trailed it a yard —
when a gleam of blue and yellow passed me, and ui
with a splash and plunge which threw the water
in silvery spray high into the air, the trout broke.
I saw the feathers disappear within his mon- —
strous jaws, and, lifting myself involuntarily half —
off my seat, I struck. I think John was con- —
vinced that I struck hard enough that time, for —

ROD AND REEL. . 139

_ the strong nine-foot leader parted under the quick
‘stroke, and down into the depths went the trout,
_ with leader and flies streaming from his mouth.
_ “Well,” said John, as I swung myself around
- go as to face him, “for twenty-seven years I’ve
_ boated up and down the waters of this wilderness,
_ and rarely will you strike a lake or stream, from
_ the Horican to the St. Lawrence, above whose sur-
_ face I have not seen fish leap; but never before
_ this day have I seen, on lake or stream, a spotted
_ trout as large as that which has just carried fly
_ and leader to the bottom. Well, let him go,” he
continued ; “he ’ll manage, some way, to get that
hook out of his jaw, and live to take another fly.
_ And you and I will build our camp-fire some even-
ing next summer upon the shore of this pond
again; and when the sun comes over those pines
_ there, I ‘ll -warrant we ’ll find the old fellow active
as ever.”
So speaking, he turned the boat about, and
headed toward the camp. That afternoon we lay
4 on the beach and watched the leaping trout
_ sporting before us; or gazed, dreaming of absent
M friends, into the deep blue sky, across whose ceru-
~ lean dome the snow-white clouds drifted, urged
silently onward by the pressure of invisible cur-
rents. The sun at last withdrew his beams. One
moment, and the pines that crested the western
slope were all ablaze. The next, gloomy and

aR

140 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.

dark they stood, their dense and sombre foliage
_unlighted by a ray. The shadows deepened, The
ripple left the lake, and its unruffled surface

skies, and every star which shone in the ~heayen
above shone in the depths below. Thus we sat

Swered in a moment by the prolonged howl of ¢ cS
wolf, hunting amid the hills far to the north
Throwing some huge logs on the fire, and wrap=
ping our blankets around us, we stretched our-
Selves beside the blaze, and, with malice in our —
hearts toward none, sank peacefully to our night’s _
repose, ba

VIII.

| PHANTOM FALLS.

mm J

| « TOHN,” I exclaimed, as I stood emptying the
J water out of my boots, — “John, I will surely ©
_ write an account of this night’s adventure.”

_ No one will believe you if you do,” replied he.
_ “Tf it was not for this water,” he continued, as he
" gave his soaked jacket a wring with both hands, “I
' should doubt it myself, and declare that we have
_ only been dreaming, and had not shot two miles of
' those rapids to-night, nor dragged our boat from
~ under the suction of Phantom Falls.”

“I. do not care whether people believe it or not,”
_ Ireplied. “ There lies your broken paddle,”— and I
_ pointed to the piece of shivered ash, — “and there
_ you stand, wringing the water of the rapids from
_ your jacket, and we know that something more
- than human has now for two nights appeared off
our camp, and that we did, two hours ago, take
_ boat and follow it until it vanished into mist ; and
TI shall tell the story of what we have seen and
done, not expecting any one will believe it.”

. Gentle reader, I keep the promise made to John,
as we stood by our camp-fire under the pines, and

142 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.

advise you to believe no more of it than you see ©
fit. “Perhaps the reading will serve to entertain a 7
circle of friends some winter evening, when the |
wind moans dismally without, as the writing will
rest him who, in front of a glowing grate, on a ©
December night, for his own amusement even
more than for your own, tells you the story of

PHANTOM FALLS.

“John,” said I, “since eight. o'clock we have
made good forty miles, and my fingers are so stiff
that I can scarcely unclasp them from this paddle-_
staff. Let us make camp before the sun goes
down. 7 ig |
“Well,” replied he, “fifteen years ago I camped ©
one night by. that big rock there at the mouth of —
the rapids, and I would like to see how the old ©
camp looks, for I saw something there that night ~
that I could not account for ; I will tell you sii
it after supper to-night.”

Of course I assented, and bent myself to
paddle with renewed energy.

We were in the heart of the wilderness, where
even trappers seldom penetrated. -For fifty miles —
on either side not even the smoke of a hunter’s ©
_ cabin colored the air. For weeks I had not seena ~
human face or heard a human voice other than our _

”?

PHANTOM FALLS. 143

own. Day after day we had been pushing our
light, narrow shell up unexplored creeks, building
our fire each night on the shore of some lake or
pond where it is doubtful if fire was ever kindled
_ before. As we proceeded down the lake, the roar
_ of the rapids came more and more distinctly to our
q ears, and as the shores converged the boat began
to feel the action of the water beneath it, where
were the beginnings of the current. As John felt
_ the movement, he lifted his oars, and, laying them
- carefully along the bottom of the boat, pointed
"toward a huge pine that stood to the west of

5 a projection of land along the other side of which
i rushed the rapids. Understanding the motion, I
turned the bow of the boat toward the tree, and
_ then, with easy stroke, urged it along.

_ “How well I remember the night I camped
here,” said John, speaking half to himself. “ How
e naturally that old pine looks, and the three hem-
iz locks on the point, and the rock against which I
F built my fire. I wonder if the old story is true,
5 and if I did see her, or whether it was only a
; dream!”

By this time the boat had run into a little
notch or bay, and a few sharp strokes sent it to
the shore with a force that urged it half its length
_ up over the yielding sand. We stepped to the
Supper having been prepared and eaten, we

ay

i
7.

144 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.

threw some heavy logs upon the fire, and, reclining
upon our blankets, gazed off over the lake. The
moon was nearly at the full. Her rounded orb @
was just appearing above the eastern mountains, |
and across the tranquil water she poured herpure 7
white radiance. The lake lay motionless; not a 7
wave, not even a ripple, broke the smooth surface. 7
Above, the sky was cloudless. Suspended in
the still ether, a few of the larger stars strug-
gled for existence. Weak and vain such rivalry !
for the queen of night ‘held open audience, and
their lesser lights paled in her more- brilliant pres-
ence. The woods were dumb. Silence brooded
in the heavy pines and amid the darker firs.
The balsams, through their spear-like stems, yield-
ed their fragrance upon an air too motionless to
waft it. Even the dull roar of the rapids was sO.
even in tone, that, instead of disturbing, it seemed
rather to deepen the all-pervading silence. E

“Mr. Murray,” said John, at length, “do you
know that we are camped on haunted ground?”

“Haunted ground!” I returned, raising myself ,
upon my elbow, and turning toward him. “ What
do you mean? You don’t ‘believe in ghosts, do :
you ?” ;

“Well, I don’t know,” replied John, “what to.
believe; but some of the -old trappers tell queer
stories cloak this place, and I know that, just
fifteen years ago this month, I made my camp —

PHANTOM FALLS. 145

mder this very pine, and that during the night

“So that was what you were muttering about,
vas it, John, when we were running in?” [ re-
sponded. “Give us the story, as you promised ; this
is the very night and place to hear a ghost-story.
T can almost catch the soft, cat-like tread of old
Tndian warriors gliding through the shadows, and
‘the dip of unseen paddles along the motionless
‘water. So go ahead, John; give us the whole
‘story, and take your own time for it.”
_ “Well, it won’t take long,” replied John ; “and I
would like to know what you think of it, anyway.
‘The story which the old trappers tell is this : —
! -* ‘The tribe of Indians that once hunted around
: he shores of this lake, and over these mountains,
fas called the Neamski. It was a branch of

Neosko, which means thunder-cloud, or some such
‘thi Well, this chief had a daughter, Wisti by
na me. The French called her the Balsam, because
of the richness of her dark beauty: This girl fell
in love with a young Frenchman, a Jesuit priest,
~ whom the missions in Canada had sent down to
_ this tribe to convert them. Her love, it seems,
was returned with ardor, and here in this little
cove they were wont to hold their nightly tryst.
At last the young priest, impelled by his passion
7

J

146 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.

for the girl, determined to visit Montreal, get dis
charged by his superiors from the service, return)
for his mistress, and, striking through the lakes
eastward, reach Albany, where he could embark fo:
France. He left in the early spring, with the un- |
derstanding that he would meet her at this spot on)
a certain night in June. For some reason, per.
haps because he could not get a release, perhaps
piety prevailed at last over love, or, more. probable”
still, because he was ambushed on his journey
by hostile Indians and killed, he never returne d

Night after night, as the story runs, Wisti woul
take her canoe, paddle to this point, where, no
finding her lover, she would return dejected tall ne
father’s camp. She had many lovers, of cours
Chiefs from near and far, even from the big lakes.
came seeking her hand. She refused each and all
In vain her father threatened, her relations urged, —
her tribe insisted. ‘To every suitor she returnet
the same answer: “My heart is far away in the
North, and will not come back to me.” <A ye ro
came and went. The snow for a second time melt-
ed from the mountains, and the ice deserted the
streams. Her lover had been sick, she said to her-
self, and could not keep his promise; but now he
would surely come. Thus she kept her hope uy
as she watched and waited. Night after might 4
would visit this spot, only to be disappointed. *
burden was too heavy for her to bear, The ligh ght

PHANTOM FALLS. 147

deserted her eyes and agility her limbs. With the
aves of autumn she faded, and one September
nicht she launched her canoe and left her father’s
amp. When last seen, she was directing her
gurse toward this point. It is possible that,
¢aught in the sweep of the rapids, she was swept
down, or else, broken in spirit by the continued ab-
ance of her lover, and weary of a life, every day of
‘which brought only a new and bitterer disappoint-
‘ment, she purposely paddled out into the current,
‘and sought, through the white foam and mist of
the rapids, a meeting with him who was, as she
: believed, no longer on earth,’ And they say,” con-
‘tinued John, “that thrice each year, about this
_ time in June, there comes up out of the rapids a
_ eanoe, which leaves, as it glides, no wake, urged by
@ noiseless paddle, and in it a figure sits, clothed in
raiment whiter than the mist.”
_ “Well, John,” I said, after a slight pause, “is
that all?» Do you believe the story? Did you ever
- see her ?”
= “Mr. Murray,” said John, solemnly, “I do be-
- lieve the story ; and I have seen her.”
ee: “What!” I exclaimed, now thoroughly interest-
ed; “do you say that you have seen her, John ?
When, and how? Tell me all about it.”
“Tt was just fifteen years ago this moon,” con-
- tinued he, “and I was returning from a trip down
-_ Black River country, when, late in the evening,

selena identi
:

148 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.

I ran my boat into this little bay. The moon, th
lake, the mountains, all looked as they do ¢
this moment. Against this very rock I built m
fire, and, being tired, quickly dropped to sleep. —
lay that night in the same position in which yo
are now lying. How long I had been sleeping _

do not know, when a low, uneasy whine from my

hound, and his nose rubbing against my face

aroused me. Thinking that some wild anin aa]

had approached the camp, I seized my rifle ant

peered steadily into the forest. Not a © ris |
snapped. Twice did the dog walk around the
fire, lift his noseinto the air,and whine. I did no
know what to make of it. I was about to orde
him to be quiet, when he started to his feet, took
step toward the lake, and then crouched, shivering
~ to the eround. Quick as thought I aio ee
there, Mr. Murray,” said John, speaking in a]
but steady voice, and pointing with his ee
hand toward the east, “there, just rounding that

point, I saw a sight which made my blood eurdle.
A boat, or what seemed to be a boat, was there, - i
a birch canoe, curved’up at either end, — and in it —
sat a girl, or what seemed a girl, all clothed in
white, and airy asa cloud. In her hand she grasped |
a paddle, and her head was turned as in the atti- i
tude of listening. Up to the very margin of the |
water the canoe came, and twice did that face, ¢
what seemed a face, look steadily into mine. ~ hen,

PHANTOM FALLS. 149

with a motion as when one shakes his head with
; isappointment, it turned away, and the canoe,
s if impelled by a paddle, described a circle, and
g ided, with the white form in it, around the
90int.”
yan paused, That his narrative was honest I
had no doubt. Every tone and syllable proved it.
I did not know precisely what to say, so we sat for
_ awhile in profound silence. At last John started
up, seized hold of the end of a large log which the
fire had burned through in the middle, ended it
over upon the pile of glowing coals, and as he
| seated himself said, —
_ “Well, Mr. Murray, what do you think of it?”
__ Rising to my feet, I turned about so as to face
him, and responded :—
. “John, I do not doubt that you think you saw
; what you say you did see ; but I do not believe that
you really saw any such sight after all. The fact is,
Be Toh a, it was what the doctors would call a mental
p z ision. You were very tired; you had heard
old story about the place— Be still, Rover,
il you!” I exclaimed, interrupting myself to
touch the old dog with my foot, as he rose to his
feet, lifted his nose into the air, and began to
q a h bier ,— “it is nothing but a wolf or a wildcat,
you old fool you; lie down. — The fact is, John,”
I resumed, “ you were very tired that night; you
had often heard the story about the place; you

'
7 A
a
|

‘a
a

150 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.

were here all alone, and dropped aatiasis thinking
of it, and, pees in a feverish state, you dreamed
that you saw —

“Mr. Murray,” whispered John, et
rupting me, “for God’s sake, look there }” 2

There was something in his voice, and in the |
quick motion of his hand as he thrust it out |
toward the lake, which startled me. Searcely
knowing why or what I was doing, I turned and
saw what was enough to quicken the blood in
cooler veins than mine. Within a hundred feet
of the beach on which I was then standing was
what seemed at least to be a canoe, and in ita
form sat, bent slightly forward as in the act of
listening. A moment it sat thus, and then the —
attitude became erect, and a face, as it were the
face of a girl imprinted on the air, looked directly
into mine. I neither spoke nor moved, but stood
steadfastly gazing at the apparition. I was not
frightened to bewilderment. All my faculti Se
seemed supernaturally active. I noted the form ~
of the canoe. It was as John had described it, :
curved up at either end, and delicately “a
noticed the paddle, slender and polished ; the whi
drapery, the shadowy face. I remembered a
ward that the moonlight fell athwart the gigi 05 |
it projected from the dark shadows of the pin
into the unimpeded radiance. It may have ee a
minute that the apparition faced us; then, with a

a a

PHANTOM FALLS. 151

movement of the head as when one seeks in vain
for something not to be found, the paddle sank
into the water and the phantom boat, urged as by
‘a steady stroke which stirred no ripple, glided, with
the white figure in it, along the shore and around
the point, and then, heading toward the rapids,
-yanished from sight.
It must have been several minutes before either
‘of us spoke. Then John broke the silence with
the words, “ Well, Mr. Murray, what do you think
about it now ?”
_ “J think,” said I, “that imagination has played
' atrick on me, or else the old story is true and this
3 § haunted ground.”
“Did you notice the canoe,” continued John,
3 “how it was curved and ornamented at either end ;
and the paddle, what a delicate shaft it had; aad
_ the face, was it not as the face of a girl?”
. “Yes,” I returned, solemnly, “it was as you de-
_ Seribe it, John, save that it did not seem like a
oo real boat or paddle, and the face looked like the
outline of a face printed on the air, rather than a
5 solid head.”
“So it did, so it did,” responded he; “but does
. net the good Book say somewhere that we shall all
_ be changed at death, and that our bodies will not
} Block as they do now ?”
7 “Well, John, we won't talk any more about it
_ to-night,” I replied ; “I want to sleep on it. Toss

152 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.

me my blanket there, and roll those two logs on to
the fire, and we will go to sleep. In the morn-
ing we will hold a council, and decide what to |
do. If there is any truth in the old story, you andl |
I might as well find it out.” S|
John did as he was requested, and, coming
round to where I stood, we wrapped ourselves in
our blankets, and side by side, with Rover at our
feet, prepared ourselves for slumber. “What g.
that ?” I exclaimed, as a sharp, quick ery, fol-
lowed by a prolonged howl, came up from the F
depth of the forest. ae
“A wolf has killed a deer,” murmured Jo
“and he is calling in the pack”; and then we slept. 1
The sun was high in the henge before we
awoke. Our sleep had been a heavy, oblivious
slumber, which took as it were so many hours
clean out of our lives,—a gap across which was
stretched not even the filament of a dream by S|
which the memory could afterward connect the | )
lying down and the rising up. i |
“John,” said I, when breakfast was ended, ei re b |
tell you what we will do to-day. We will explore
the rapids and mark us out a course down as far
as Phantom Falls, and we will lay in wait off our
camp to-night, when, if the apparition makes us
another visit, we will run alongside of that canoe Ons
shadow, whichever it may be, and solve the myie
tery. What say you ?”

PHANTOM FALLS. 153

_ “Tsay anything you say, Mr. Murray,” prompt-
ly responded John. “I never yet saw a canoe I
was afraid to run my boat alongside of ; but what
shall we do if it goes from us? Shall we give
chase ?”

“ Certainly,” I responded ; “and I don’t believe
that anything short of a ghost can out-paddle us,
_ if we fairly settle ourselves down to it.”

_ “Nor I either,” returned John, laughing ; “but
_ what if it leads down the rapids? I heard an old
trapper say that he followed it once to the very en-
_ trance of them, down which it glided and escaped
“Well, as I said, John, we will explore the
- rapids to-day, and map us out a course. The river
is high, and with the full moon we can easily run
_ them. It is a good mile, you say, before we reach
_ the falls, and it must be ghost or devil if, with a
_ good paddle at either end of this shell, you and I
cannot catch it in a mile race.”
So it was arranged, and, taking up our paddles,
4 i we stepped into our boat and started for the
rapids. In a moment we had turned the point and
_ shot out into the current, in which, with reversed
_ strokes of the paddles, we held the light shell
' stationary while we scanned the reach of tremu-
_ lous water below. No prettier sight can a man
- gaze at, nor is there one more calculated to quicken

_ the blood, than to see two men sit bareheaded and
7*

154 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.

erect at either end of their cedar boat, paddle in
hand, in the smooth water which gathers like a
pool at the mouth of rapids. And many a wild,
ringing cheer have I heard rise, mingling with the
roar of waters, from those who glided in their 7
skeleton boats over the verge, and passed from the 7
gazer’s sight amid the foam and rocks below. nd |
“John,” said I, as we sat looking downward, ~
“it’s all clear ahead; let her glide.” a
“All right,” <epliat John; “the waters are
high, and we shall have a elses run of it. The
small rocks are covered, and the boulders we can |
dodge. We will aim for the centre, and let the 7
current take us. I guess we shall ride fast enough. 7
Only one thing before we start. We shall find ©
several small falls, which we must jump; but !
when you hear the roar and see the smoke of —
Phantom Falls, look well to your paddle and mind —
what you are about. It won’t do to go over them. ~
Twenty-five feet are more than I care to jump.” 5 .
“Exactly my sentiment,’ returned I, “ but
which side are we to land? If you and I shoot
this boat out of such a current as that,” and I mo- ‘
tioned downward, “it must be with a stroke ce :
as lightning and well together.” =
“I know that,’ said John. “I explored tia
banks above the falls, one day, not knowing but —
that I might be swept down some time, and about —
thirty rods up stream, right abreast of a dead hem- __

PHANTOM FALLS. 155

lock, there is a large whirlpool. We will strike it
to the right, and when exactly abreast of the tree
we must jump our boat with one stroke under cover
‘of the bank. Do you understand ?”

“Perfectly,” replied I.

_ “Ready, then,” said John. “Steady as you are.
_ Now !””

At the word “Now!” we lifted our paddles and
glanced like an arrow down the slope.

' Three times that day we ran the rapids, and
each time without a mishap. Indeed, it was not a
difficult matter, as the water was very high ; and as
_ soon as we got accustomed to the extreme swift-
ness of the motion, we found no difficulty at
a il in handling our boat. The most trying spot
was where we had to run out of the current, to do
; which it was necessary that the stroke of our pad-
' dies should be as one, and made with our united
“There,” said John, as for the third time we ran
under the bank, “I am not afraid to run these
_ vapids night or day, even if chased by a ghost.
_ Come, let us go and see the falls.”

_ Foreing our way through the underbrush, we
_ Cclambered down the. bank, and, walking out upon
_ the shelving rock, stood where the mist and spray
_ fell on us. The falls were some twenty-five feet
high, perpendicular as the face of a wall, The edge
_ of the rock over which the water rushed must have

o

156 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.

been notched or chipped ; for, starting from the very
rim of the cataract, spouts of water leaped into the
air, and, falling in feathery spray, formed a veil
through which the dark green torrent might be
seen as it fell behind it. In one spot only did th .
current flow unimpeded. Near the middle of t
stream, for some eight feet in width, the dow
rushing waters rolled to the brink and- curver
over without jet or seam, smooth as a sheet of
glass. Underneath, the water was churned in J
foam, boiling and tossing about in the wildest
confusion. 3

For several minutes we stood admiring the ¥ Id
scene in silence. “Mr. Murray,” at length shoute
John, putting his mouth close to my ear, so as fi
make himself heard amid the uproar, “if any poor
fellow should ever get caught in the rapids alone,
and have to shoot the falls, he should steer for that
smooth water, and, when on the very brink, put his
whole strength into one stroke of his paddle;
and if he could project his boat so that, when it
struck, it would fall on the outside of that uphee v~
ing ridge, he would be safe, but if he fell inside o:
that white line of foam, he would be sucked age
the falls and torn to pieces on the jagged bot-
tom.”

“John,” said I, “it could be done, I verily be
lieve, as you say, but not one man in fifty cou
hold his paddle or sit his boat steadily, alin

3

PHANTOM FALLS. , 157

‘downward to such a fearful leap; but will and
‘nerve could do it, only Heaven keep us from try-
ing it.”
_ Amen,” said John, “and yet there is no telling
what may happen to those who boat by day and
night up and down this wilderness as much as we
_ do; and if you ever have to do it, Mr. Murray, steer
_ for that smooth water, and, as you love your life,
_ when on the brink, do as I have told you.”

_ “Well,” said I, changing the subject, “if that
poor Indian girl did really come down the rapids,
_ she must have met her death under these falls.”

_ “Yes, that is why they call them Phantom
Falls,” answered John. “An old trapper told me
once that he camped in the bend of the river there
one night, and as he was rebuilding his fire about
midnight, he saw acanoe and a white form rise
_ slowly out of the mist and go sailing tip the rapids. -
_ He was so frightened that he took boat and pad-
- dled all night down stream till he reached the set-

A ) tlement.”

“Well,” said I, as we turned from the falls and
_ clambered up the bank, “to-night we will see if

_ the old story is true or not. Let us go to camp.”
_ $o saying we shouldered our boat and started for
__ the camp above. |

> It might have been eleven o’clock when, taking
up our paddles, we stepped into our boat and
__ pushed off into the lake. We took our position in

158 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.

the shadow of a hemlock which grew on the very
margin of the bank, some fifty yards to the west
of the camp, and waited. I cannot say that I x
pected anything unusual would show itself. T a:
no believer in Spiritualism. I am not nervous I
nature. I never dream. It was these facts whi
made it so hard for me to account for ches ap
ance of the night before. The more I had refle
the more had I‘been puzzled. ‘id

“John,” said I, at length, speaking in a g
whisper, “this is the queerest ambush you
ever made.”

“T was just thinking of that very same thing
responded he; “but I am very glad we are I ere e.
For fifteen years I have wanted to do this very
thing, but never found any one to attempt itv
me. How do you feel ?” tae

“ Never better in my life,” I replied ; “althou me iL I
must say that I hope we may not run the re
Moonlight is not sunlight, ane all; and if 5
should make a mistake, or —” pt

“Mr. Murray,” broke in John, “ did 5 you eve r
know me make a mistake? Have not you anc - :
run rapids worse than these, time and again “
when have we taken anything but foam and s
into our boats? I tell you I am not afraid to r
the rapids ; only if we do go down, ae

dead hemlock. It would n’t do to go —
falls.” |

7

xe

PHANTOM FALLS. 159

_ “Never fear on that point, John; when I am
_ ready to die, I shall choose another grave than
_ that boiling hell of water to sleep in. When I
- feel the tap of your paddle-staff on the boat, I
_ will do my part; never fear.”
é _ Here the conversation ceased, and we sat in
silence,—a silence so profound as to be almost
_ painful. Ten, twenty, thirty minutes passed, and
_ nothing appeared. I grew impatient, incredulous.
- T even began to feel that I would not like my
friends to know what a fool I was making of
' myself. “John,” said I at length, taking out my
_ watch, and holding its face up to a bright beam
: of light which had found its way through the
~ dark foliage overhead,— “John, it is five min-
utes to twelve, and we have made fools of our-
selves long enough. I don’t think the Indian
bo girl will make her toilet under the falls to-night,
even if we should sit cramped ae here till
morning. Come, shove into the —
: r A low moan, almost human in its piteousness,
_ arose on the midnight air. Again the hound, by a
supernatural instinct, had divined the ‘approach of
- _ the spirit. I looked toward the camp. The dog
_ sat on his haunches, facing the lake, his nose lifted
_ into the air. Outlined as he was against the fire,
T could see the uneasy tremulousness of his body.
i. opened his mouth, and up through the stillness
: swelled the saddest of all sounds, — the prolonged

“= win

160 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.

cry of a hound, when, in unknown grief, he wails out
his feeling. At the same instant I felt the boa
shake. Never did I obey that signal to be on he
watch more quickly. Never was I signalled befo ::
to look at such an object. A canoe, and in ita f
ure like a girl’s, was in the very act of turni aid
the point. A living girl could not have Kept a
steadier stroke, or urged a boat along more nat-
urally. And yet I felt that it was not flesh ar i
blood, nor a real boat, nor ashen paddle before m e.
Onward the apparition came. Up to the very
border of our camp that spectral boat glided, then
paused. A human face could not have gazed more
searchingly into the fitful firelight ; a human form
could not have taken a truer attitude of search. I
saw a shadowy arm move through the air, ar $ ;
the formation of a hand rested for a IGG
the brow, — as when one shields his eyes, peering
into darkness, — then sank upon the Lee
and the boat moved forward.

That motion roused me. It started J ohana
An instant more and we had solved the myster
But even as ‘our boat glided out of the deep shadaw
the apparition turned her head full on us. Iwon-
der we did not stop. But, with that ghostly face —
not fifty feet away, looking through the bright. |
moonlight steadily into mine, I gave a’stroke which
bent my paddle like a sword-blade when you throw _
your weight suddenly upon it. The deed was done. —

i

i } I i i Mil Wi i
| 1! V4 iH
tt

HM |
MI

[ svi 492°N ,,

vUusis

« PI9LQO UR YINS JO 2007 07 atofeg PI}}

PHANTOM FALLS. 161

Jevil or saint, spirit or flesh, we had her! I thrust
ny hand out to grasp the garments of the girl. I
| clutched the empty air; the girl was gone full
twenty yards away, and speeding toward the point.
Not thus were we to be eluded. John had not
missed his stroke, and, seizing my paddle again, we
“sent our boat flying over the surface of the lake in
hot pursuit. Never, as I believe, was boat of bark
or cedar sent faster over the water. Our paddles
were of choicest ash, smooth as ivory, three feet in
jhe staff and thirty inches in the blade, while the
- shell that floated us turned barely sixty pounds, with
a bottom like polished steel, and so cork-like that,
balanced carefully at stem and stern, as it was now,
it seemed to rest upon, rather than part, the water
Ir n which it sat; and as we cast our utmost strength
into our paddies as only boatmen can, the lithe thing
aitly flew, while its delicate framework of cedar
c roots and paper-like sides quivered under the ner-
yous strokes from stem to stern. Around the point
s e rushed, pursuer and pursued. Into the swift
~ suction we shot almost side by side; down over the
j verge and through the white rift-into the gloom of

overhanging pines, leaped a cascade, and with hands
and faces wet with spray, and garments flecked
=, patches of froth and foam cast high over us as
we splashed through the rapid torrent, plunged
_ down the second reach and over a second fall
4 without losing a stroke. Still, just ahead, the boat

‘

wr —

162 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.

and spectre glided. At one moment entering int
the shadow of some dark pine or hemlock whicl
overhung the stream, her white form with the white
face looking back at us would show an outline 4
clearly marked as though of flesh and blood;
next, as it passed out of the gloom, it wedi me a
away into the moonlight, until it seemed only as ax
airy formation, making no obstruction to the eye, —
a thing of mist and air. Once, as we leaped a fall, I
thought our race was over ; for even as we hung it
air, I reached to seize the phantom. I closed my
hand, but grasped the atmosphere. I felt it was in
vain. No mortal hand might ever touch it, or if it
might, the human senses were too gross to feel the
contact. At that moment the white figure arose
and, standing erect, pointed with one hand down-
ward, and with the open palm of the other waved
us as in warning back. The moon shone full upon
her face. The look was sad, almost plaintive. A
indescribable expression of patience possessed i t.
“Living or dead, form or spirit, the years. ha ve
brought no hope to you, poor girl!” said I ¢
myself. Ina moment her posture changed,
hands dropped to her side. Her head was bent, as
though in the attitude of listening, down the stream.
Then, suddenly starting, she stood erect, and, flin - id
ing her arms over her head with a gesture whi

had in it both warning and supplication, she way
us back. That instant I heard the'roar of Phu:

PHANTOM FALLS. 163

Falls. 1 tapped the side of the boat with my pad-
dle-staff. In a moment I felt an answering jar
from John, aid knew that he had caught the heavy
boom which warned us to end the race. Down,
down we went, past rock and bulging ledge, swept
round a curve, and lo! the hemlock was in sight.
Right glad was I to see it. It looked like a friend
standing there, leaning out, as it was, over the
swiftly gliding water, which hissed and quivered
under it. I saw the eddying pool which spun
_ abreast of it, and marked the white line of foam
_ fringing the black circle, and noted with joy how
| surely John was sending the boat to the identical
_ spot from which, with one brave stroke, we were to

jump her out of the fierce suction under the pro-
Je “¢ ¢ banks. I had uo thought of accident. The
faintest suspicion of failure had not crossed my
m find With the thunder of the falls filling the air
with a deafening roar, barely thirty di away,
I with the siz-z of the current around me as we
IE di shed down the decline, I felt as calm and confi-
~ dent as though the race was over and we were
‘standing on the bank. Nearer and nearer to the
line of froth we flew ; straight as an arrow from the
_ bow the light boat shot. I grasped my paddle,
| ching my left hand well down to the blade,
ts hol ding it suspended and stretched far out ahead,
| ady for the stroke. The moment came I
tied the paddle into the current and bent upon

164 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.

the staff. Even as I bent to the stroke, the sou ad
of rending wood, a crash, a quick ery, piercing
sharply through the roar of the falls, sthote upon um
ear. No words were needed to tell me what had
happened. John had broken his paddle! — ne
treacherous ash had failed him even in mid-stroke,
I did my best. I felt that life, sweet to all at all
times, doubly sweet as it seemed to me then, lay in
the strength of my arms. I threw the last ounce
of power I had into that stroke. The elastic staf
bent under the sudden pressure like a Damascus
blade. It held ; but all in vain. The suction wai
too strong. It seized John’s end of the boat,
whirled it round, and sent it flying out into the
middle of the stream. It is said that men grow
cool in danger ; that the mind acts with supernati
ral quickness in moments of peril. Be that as”
may with others, so it was with me in that fea
moment. J knew that we must go over the fal
felt that John must make the awful shoot. I h
more confidence in him than in myself. As the
boat spun round upon the eddy, I seized advan-
tage of the current, and righting it, directed the bow
down stream. Then, calmly turning in my seat, ©
reversed my paddle, and, holding it by the blade,
reached the staff to John. He took it. Ney
shall I forget the look of John’s face as his fingers
closed on it. No word was uttered by either of u
No voice might make itself heard in that uproai a |
|

: S|

- PHANTOM FALLS. 165

[The moon made everything almost as discernible
isin the day. He took the paddle, understanding
ny thought, looking straight at me. Upon his
| face was an expression, plain as speech might make ~
“it, which said, “ All that man can do, Mr Murray,
all that man can do.” Then he passed the blade
into the water. I saw him take two strokes, steady
and quick, then turned. Down, down we went.
), how we shot along that tremulous plain of quiv-
ring water! I felt the shell tremble and spring
s John drove it ahead. A joy I cannot express
rilled me as I felt the boat jump. Hope rose
vith every nervous stroke of that paddle, as it sent
flying toward the verge. No matter how we
truck, provided our projection carried us beyond
e deadly line of bubbles and the suction inward. —
| held my breath, seizing the rim of the boat on
ea h side with either hand, and crouched low down
forthe leap. The motion was frightful. My face
_ seemed to contract and sharpen under the pressure
F ( 4 the air as I clove through it. How John could
eep his stroke, rushing down such a decline, was
| a d will ever be to me a matter of increasing won-
Yet, quick and smiting as his stroke was, it
s as regular as the movement of a watch. Down,
bo d down we glanced, straight for the middle of the
~ falls and the smooth opening along the jagged rim.
ower and lower I crouched. Quicker and quicker
umped the boat, until the verge was reached, and,

/
f.
bs
re

:
a

j
i
}
1"
i

ep
oe
Re

hy =.

A:
1d
9 ;
r ‘
if *

/

166 . ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.

quivering like a frightened fish, the shell, driven by
what seemed to be more than mortal strength, wi .
a mighty leap, sprang out into the air. So nice
had long custom taught us to balance it, that, kee
ing the inclination given it by the current, it cloy:
through the cloud of rising mist, passing clean d
of it before we touched the water ; for even as wi
hung above the abyss, I saw the deadly line wa
passed and we were saved. The boat, keeping thi
angle of declination, struck the water, and went
under like a pointed stake hurled from the hand
and John and I were left struggling in the ¢ ti

We swam to the edge of the deep pool, and,
climbing upon the sloping ledge, lay for a brie
time motionless, and, side by side in the deep
shadow of the pines, our faces prone on our d
arms, filled with the sweet sense of life delivered,
and with emotions known only to Him witl
whom, with the roar of the falls, out of whose hel
of waters we had been snatched, rising around us,
we held communion. y

At the lower end of the pool we found our be
drifted ashore and John’s broken paddle beside it
Shouldering the shell, and striking eastward, w
soon came to the carry, traversing which we quickly
reached the lake, and launching out upon it, in five
minutes stood where the opening sentences of our
story found us wringing our clothes beside ow
‘rekindled camp-fire. And there, reader, we wil

USSE

- PHANTOM FALLS. 167

eave you standing in fancy by the flickering fire-
ight, with Rover at your feet and the lake shim-
ering, like a sea of silver under the white radi-
nce of the full-orbed and perfect moon, lying»
ranquilly before you.
“Just one word, Mr. Murray, before you stop.
Did you really see a ghost, and is there any such
ya ee as Phantom Falls?” To which query of
ours, gentle reader, pausing only one moment to
wer, before I quarter this Christmas orange, I
sont “ Ask John.”

Gracrie:

IX.

JACK-SHOOTING IN A FOGGY NIGHT. ©

E were camping on Constable Point, John”
and I,in the summer of 1868, when the

following experience befell me. I tell it becaus 2
it represents one phase of Adirondack life, and be- !
cause it will enable me to enjoy over again os |
of the most ludicrous and laughable adven Tr
which ever assisted digestion. z:
It was the 8th of July, and a party of Saranac —
guides, consisting of Jim McClellan, Stephen Mar-
_ tin, and a nephew of his, also a Canadian, r :
unknown, at least unpronounceable by me, he qd
come up from the Lower Saranac, and were going ~
through to Brown’s Tract for a party of Germe
gentlemen (and gentlemen in the best sense of the |
word we afterward found them to be), who had ar- —
ranged the year before to camp on the Racquette ise :|
awhile. The guides were instructed to select and —
build a camp as they came through, and ther |
leaving one of their number to keep it, to come .
after the party, who were to await them at Ar- |
nold’s. The spot the guides selected was only some
twenty rods to the north of us, and there they

JACK-SHOOTING IN A FOGGY NIGHT. 169

itched their tent, close by the little projection of
low sand which thrusts itself out into the deep
ue waters of the lake. The following morning
the guides save the elder Martin started for
nold’s, leaving him to keep camp. Soon after
rk Martin, having put everything in order to
seive the party, dropped over to our lodge, in
e door of which John and I were sitting, smok-
¥ our pipes, and chatting of this or that, as men
Il in the woods.

“Well,” said I to Martin, as he came up, “I
»pose you have all your arrangements made for
3 party to-morrow.” ’

“Yes,” returned he. “I don’t know as I can do
ich more ;. only I do wish I could have a big
ek hanging by his gambrels when they come
line in. It would please Mr. Schack mighty
1 I tell you. The fact is,’ he continued, “I
me over here to see if you didn’t want to go
Beo-night with your jack. We might take a
rt stretch up Marion River there, and I think
La venison without much trouble.” Of course
vas ready to go. Indeed, I was exceedingly
dof the chance. The fact is; one deer a week
us all John and I could manage to dispose of ;
das I never permit myself to shoot more than
€ camp can eat or give away, and as no parties
( “as yet come in, I had very little sport, and
gerly ap the opportunity which Martin’s

170 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.

proposition gave me of “drawing it fine” on
deer’s head once more. r.

So it was settled that we should go jack-sho
ing up Marion River; and, after a few minutes o
further conversation as to our outfit, Martin le
to prepare his boat. I proceeded to discharge n
rifle, which was loaded with conical balls, in ord
to recharge with round ones, which are far bett
for short range and night work. ee

Perhaps, as a matter of interest to sportsme
and for the information of the uninitiated read
I should pause a moment in my carrey
describe, not only “ jack-shooting,” but also “1
jack.” ..
Be it known to all, then, that a deer is a “ ;
‘inquisitive as well as a timid animal. His our
osity is generally greater than his timidity, and a
the sight of anything new or strange he is i
pelled by this feeling to inspect it. Hence it
that, instead of flying from a blazing torel ¢
lighted candle at night, he is more apt to s
stock still and gaze at it. Hunters avail the
selves of this peculiarity, and hunt them by toi
light in the night-time. Ordinarily spee a
they take a piece of bark some two feet long }
ten inches wide, and, bending it into the shape o
a half-moon, tack it to a top and bottom board o
the same shape. Into this box of bark, shap
like an old-fashioned half-moon lantern, they in=_

JACK-SHOOTING IN A FOGGY NIGHT. 171

4 one or more candles, and fasten it to a stick
me three feet in length. The stick is then stuck
to the bow of the boat, and the “jack” is ready.
e hunter, rifle in hand, seats himself close be-
nd and under the jack, and the paddler at the
her end of the boat or canoe. Thus equipped
ey start out. The guide paddles quietly along,
until a deer is heard feeding, as is their custom
ab night, upon the edge of the bank, or walking
the water nipping off the lily-pads, which they
love exceedingly. The jack is then lighted and
the boat run swiftly down toward the deer. If
} is young, or has never seen a jack before, he
will let the boat (which he does not see, so intently
: d 1¢ gazing at the light) come very near him,
d he is easily shot. If he is old and shy, it is a
r more difficult task to get near him. The de-
fects of this jack are evident. It is worthless on any
but a perfectly still night, for the least current of
air will blow the light out. It necessitates also
the scratching of a match previous to “lighting
up, and the noise incident to such an opera-
fion in the open air at night, when every object
about you is damp and wet, and in the presence
;

Of game, does not tend to steady the nerves of
‘am amateur. It is also stationary, and if you
‘Tun past the deer, as you are liable to do, it is
difficult to turn the light on him. If, further-
“more, the deer is in motion in any but a straight

—_—————— eS Se

172 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.

line from you, the jack is of no service at a
Now, when deer are scarce and shy, or the nigh
windy, such a jack is almost useless, and f
sportsman is often driven to change his camp.
starve, although deer are all around him. Ha
ing in seasons previous experienced the disé
vantages of the old jack, I determined to i
vent and construct one which should absolut
overcome all these imperfections. This is wl
I hit upon. I took a common fireman’s hat, az
having the rim removed, had the crown padd
with wadding, and lined with chamois-skin. :
caused a half-moon lantern of copper to be mai
with a concave bottom which fitted closely to a
hat, and was fastened thereto with screws. Throug
the top of the hat a hole was made large enous
for the burner to pass; the lamp itself, contai ait
the oil, was fitted and held by brass studs to tl
crown, between it and the head. In the back sit
of the lantern was placed a German-silver refle
tor, heavily plated. The screw which lifts au
lowers the wick was connected with a shat
that projected through the side of the lanter
so that by a touch of the finger the light mig]
be let on or cut off. A large, softly padded throat=
latch buckled the jack firmly to my head. O}

serve the advantages of this jack over the ¢
style. Being enclosed by an air-tight glass froi
it might be used in a tornado. When floating for

JACK-SHOOTING IN A FOGGY NIGHT. 173

eer you could turn the wick so low down that
9 light was visible, and when one was heard you
wuld run down toward him, and, with your finger
. the adjusting screw, turn on the light just when
ou wanted it, and not an instant before, and this
» without a moment’s pause. If the deer was
the jump, it made no difference. The reflector
$ so powerful, that, if you turned the wick well
p, it made a lane some three rods wide and fifteen
ods long as light as day, and the jack being on your
lead, the blaze was never off the leaping deer,
hose motion your eye would naturally follow,
‘and as your head turned, so, without thought or
effort on your part, turned the jack. Moreover, as
1 hunters know, one trouble with the old style
f jacks is, that as you hold your rifle wnder it,
then taking aim, only the front sight is lighted
“up; and the rear sight being in the dark, you can-
ot “draw it fine,’ but are ever liable to “shoot
er.” Shooting with the old style is but little bet-
ter than guess shooting, any way. To be sure, you

al discard the rifle, and with an old blunder-
uss, charged with slugs or buck-shot, which scat-
er twenty feet in going forty, get your deer. But
3 is simply slaughter, — a proceeding too shame-
d 1 for a sportsman ever to engage in. A man

v fho drops his deer with anything but a single
let should be hooted out of the woods. Now
3 tl 3 — I am describing, when placed firmly on

174 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.

the head, casts its light from lock to muzzle, a
so enables the hunter to draw his bead as “ fin
as he may choose. Nothing need be said in fa
of this jack, — which is here for the first time d
scribed, and thus made common property, —]
yond the fact that, during the whole season :
which I hunted, mostly nights, I never marked
deer with a bullet back of the ears, unless he we
on the jump when I shot. And time and agai
as John Plumbley and many friends can testify,
on nights good, bad, and indifferent, sitting, kneel=
ing, or standing in the bow of a tottlish boat, I hay
sunk my bullet as squarely between the eyes ¢
one may place his finger. One word more toue.
ing the advantages of this jack. All my reade:
who have hunted deer at night know that fu
one half of them started will go out of the rive
on a jump, and, when ten or twelve rods fre

‘the bank, come to a stand-still. Now this dis
tance is too great for an old-style jack to illu
minate; and often the hunter must signal ni
guide to paddle on, when he knows the buck t
wants stands not a dozen rods away, looking
straight at him. Now, with the aid of a reflector
my jack will throw a lane of light from fifteen t
twenty rods; and if the deer stops within that dis-
tance, as three out of five will, and you hold steady
he is sure to come into your boat. Never shall -
forget an old buck I laid out one night up South

JACK-SHOOTING IN A FOGGY NIGHT. 175

Y et, on the Racquette, as he stood with his nose
stuck into the air and blowing away like an ani-
mated trumpet. It was just seventeen rods from
he bow of the little shell I stood in, and the lead
yent in at one ear and came out of the other.

— $o much for jack-shooting and my jack. I
have been thus minute in my description, because
I thought it might assist my brother sportsmen
0 enjoy what I regard the most exciting of all
sport,— deer-shooting at night. I take this way
also of answering the many letters of inquiry con-
cerning my jack recently addressed me by gentle-
m en who have heard of my invention from the
guides, and who would like to avail themselves of
it. It is rather expensive, but a sure thing, if
well made.

_ Well, to return to my narration. I was driving
' the ball into the right barrel of my rifle when I
heard the soft dip of a paddle abreast of the camp,
and in a moment Martin stepped up the bank and
entered, paddle in hand, the circle of the firelight.
Many who read this may remember Martin, brother
to him of the Lower Saranac House; but for the
__ sake of others, who have never seen him, I will give
a sketch of him. I recall him perfectly as he
_ stood leaning on his paddle in my camp that night.
A tall, sinewy man he was, in height some six feet
_two, in weight turning perhaps one hundred and
Seventy pounds, — every ounce of superfluous flesh *

176 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.

“sweated” off his body by his constant work at th
paddle and oars, which gave him a certain gaunt
bony look, to be seen only in men who live the
-hunter’s life and eat the hunter’s fare along ¢
frontiers. Yet there was a certain litheness about
the form, a springy elasticity in the moccasinec
foot, a suppleness of motion, which, if it was no
grace, was something next akin to it. His hair wa
sandy, short, crisp, and curly. His shoulders were
brought the least trifle forward, as boatmen’s gen-
erally are, and especially such as leave their boats
to follow, with cat-like tread and crouching pos-
ture, the trail. Pants and hunting-shirt of Scotch ©
gray ; a soft felt hat of similar color, and the iney-
itable short, thin knife stuck in a leathern sheath,
made up his outfit. A wiry, nervous man, I sai
to myself, as I looked him over; none the less
nervous because a certain backwoodsman’s indif=
ference and nonchalance veiled the dash and fire
within. A good guide I warrant, easy and pleas-
ant of temper when fairly treated, but hot, anc 7
violent as an overcharged and smutty rifle wh
abused. <a 3
“Martin,” said I, as I dragged my jack from
under a bag where it had lain concealed can os
did n’t wish every one to copy my invention the
first season), “what do you think of that?” and,
touching a match to the wick, I lifted the jack
to my head and buckled the throat-latch. —

JACK-SHOOTING IN A FOGGY NIGHT. 177

“Well,” said he, after looking at it a moment,
“that’s a new idea, anyway. Should n’t wonder
f it worked ; but I have seen so many new-fangled
notions brought into the woods that were not
worth a toadstool, that I have about given up
ever seeing anything better than a piece of bark,
and a tallow dip, mean and tricky as that is.”
_ “Well,” said I, moistening my finger and lift-
ing it into the air, “if that current of wind comes
out of the north, we shall want something better
than a tallow dip to see through the fog with be-
fore ten o'clock.”
_ “That’s the fact,’ broke in John; “I saw, an
hour ago, by the way that hard maple brand
snapped and glowed, that it was getting colder. By
the time you reach the river the fog will be thick
enough to cut, and the best thing you can do, both
of you, is to bunk in here with me, and help me
lessen this bag of ‘Lone Jack’”
_ “No,” said I, “fog or no fog, we Il go out. I
know how much it would please the party to-mor-
‘ow to see a good buck hanging in front of the
camp as they come down the lake; and, Martin,
if you will do your part at the paddle, I’ll show
~ you how Never Fail acts when a deer stands look-
_ ing into the muzzles”; and I patted the stock of
| my double rifle, of which it is enough to say that it
has“ N. Lewis, Troy, N. Y.,” etched on either barrel.
“Well,” replied Martin, as he turned toward

gs #

178 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.

the beach, “it’s thirty-five years since I raised the
first blister on these hands with a paddle-staff, aunt
though it is a mighty silent paddle that is usue
back of you, yet we Saranac boys don’t admit th
any man in this wilderness can beat us in a still
hunt.” Ty
With this allusion to John’s repaid at the
paddle, he headed his long, narrow boat out into
the lake, and steadied it between his knees until. e|
was seated in the bow; then, with a slight push, ©
sent the light shell from the beach, vaulting at t
same instant, with a motion airy as a cat's, into
his own seat astern. p
Who that has ever visited the Adirondacks de
not grow enthusiastic as he recalls the beauty and
solemn splendor of the night, as he has beheld it
while being paddled across some one of its many
hundred lakes ? The current of air which I had
noted at the camp, cool and refreshing after the
hot summer’s day, was too steady and slight to stir
a ripple on the glassy water. The sky was in it 7
bluest tint, sobered by darkness. In the sonthay 7
heavens, and even up to the zenith, the stars wel
mellow and hazy, shorn of half their beams by the
moist atmosphere through which they shone. A
few, away to the south, over the inlet of that
name, lying back of a strata of air saturated al-
most to the density of vapor, beamed like so mar
patches of illuminated mist. But far to the north

JACK-SHOOTING IN A FOGGY NIGHT. 179

nd west, whence at intervals a thin gleam of
lightning shone reflected from some far-off nether
region, the low growl of thunder was occasionally
heard. Above, in the clear, cool blue, the star
which never moves, the Dipper, and countless
other orbs, differing in glory, revealed in sharp,
clear outlines their stellary formations. The wave-
ass water was to these heavens a perfect mirror ;
and over that seamless surface, over planets and
worlds shining beneath us, over systems and con-
stellations the minutest star of which was visible
we softly glided. With bowed head I gazed into
that illuminated sea. I thought of that other sea
which is “of glass like unto crystal” before the
hhrone, and the glory which must forever be re-
er. up from its depths. “Is this the same
rorld of cities and cursing in which I lived a
eek ago?” I said to myself, “or have I been
translated to some other and happier sphere?”
A round me on all sides, as I gazed, Night dusky
= md dim sat. on the mountains, and brooded over
the starry sea, and the all-enveloping silence of the
_ wilderness rested solemnly over all. As I sat and
mused, — yea, and worshipped,— memory stirred
Barithin me; the words of the Psalmist came to
my lips, aba I murmured, “This is night which
_ showeth wisdom, and the melody of which has
_ gone out through all the world.”

_ My meditations were somewhat rudely interrupt-

180 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.

ed by the grating of lily-pads against the sides of
the boat. We had crossed the lake, and were
entering the river. My mood changed with
change of locality. The lover of nature was in-
stantly lost in the sportsman, and as we shot into ©
the fog, which, rising above the river, from the lake
looked like a great fleecy serpent twined amid the ©
hills, eye and ear were all alert to detect the pres
ence of game. But we were doomed to delay.
For nearly two miles we crept through the damp ~
and chilly fog, hearing nothing to interrupt the ©
profound silence save the occasional plunge of a
muskrat or the sputter of a frog skating along the
surface of the water. But all of a sudden, when
heart and hope were about to fail, some distance
ahead of us we heard the well-known sounds,
k-splash, k-splash, and knew that a deer, anda |
large one too, was making for the shore. Here
our adventures began. I signalled Martin, by a
desperate “hitch” on the thwart, to run the boat
at full speed toward the sound. He did. The .
light shell shot through the fog, and when in
swift career struck the bank, bow on. Martin was
tremendous at the paddle, and a little more force |
would have divided that marsh from side to side; — |
as it was, the thin, lath-like boat was buried a third - |
_ of its length amid the bogs and marsh-grass. With
much struggle, and several suppressed but sugges- _
tive exclamations from Martin, we extricated the

JACK-SHOOTING IN A FOGGY NIGHT. 181

boat from the meadow and shoved out into clear
water. Wehad heard nothing from the deer since
he left the river. Thinking that possibly he might
have stopped, after gaining the bank, to look back,
as deer often do, I rose slowly in the boat, turned
up the jack, and peered anxiously into the fog.

The strong reflector bored a lane through the fleecy
mass for some fifty feet, perhaps ; even at that dis-
tance objects mingled grotesquely with the fog. At
the extreme end of the opening I detected a bright,
diamond-like spark. What was it? I turned the
jack up, and I turned it down. I lowered myself

until my eyes looked along the line of the grass.
Traised myself on tiptoe. Nothing more could be
seen. “It may be the eye of a deer, and it may be
only a drop of water, or a wet leaf,’ said I to my-
| Still it looked gamy. I concluded to launch
: a a bullet at it anyway. Wsdhispering to Martin to
steady the boat, I sunk my eye well down into the
sig shits, and, holding for the gleam amid the marsh-
erass, fired. The smoke, mingling heavily with the
a ‘og, made all murky before me, while the explo-
sion, striking against the mountains on either side,
started a dozen reverberations, so that we could
9 ——? see nor hear what was the result of the
shot. After waiting in silence a few moments,

hoping to hear the deer “kick,” without any such.
happy result, I told Martin I would go ashore to
. Dead, and see what it was I had shot at. He paddled

182 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.

forward, and, seizing the tall grass, while he forced ©
the boat in against the bank with his paddle, I
clambered up. Being curious to ascertain whai
had deceived me, I strode off into the me
some forty feet, and, turning up the jack, lo and ~
behold a dead deer lay at my feet! “ Martin,” ~
shouted I, “here the deer is, dead as a tick!”
“The d—1!” exclaimed the guide from the in |
“What did you say ?” again I shouted.
“T said I did n’t believe it,” returned Martin, |
soberly. |
“Paddle your canoe up here, then, you old scep-
tic, and see for yourself,’ I rejoined, taking the ©
deer by the ear and dragging him to the bank. ~
“Here he is, and a monster too.” Martin did as ~
directed. “ Well,” exclaimed he, as he unbent his
gaunt form from the curve into which two hours ©
of paddling had cramped it, and straightened him= ~
self to his full height, until his eyes rested upon the
buck, —“ well, Mr. Murray, you are the first man
I ever saw draw a fine bead in a night like this,
standing in the bow of a Saranac boat, at the twin- |
kle of a deer’s eye, and kill. That jack of yoursis— |
a big thing, and no mistake.” By the time he had
finished, the boat had drifted off into the river, —
for the current was quite strong at that point, —
and I was alone. I was just fitting a cap to the
tube of the recharged barrel, when I felt a move-
ment at my feet, and, casting my eyes downward, —

JACK-SHOOTING IN A FOGGY NIGHT. 183 .

I saw that the deer was in the act of getting up!
The ball, as we afterward discovered, had glanced
along the front of the skull, barely creasing the
skin. It had touched the bone slightly, and
stunned him so that he dropped; but beyond this,
it had not hurt him in the least. Quick as
thought, I put my foot against his shoulder and
pushed him over. “Martin,” I cried, “this deer
n't dead ; he’s trying to get up. What shall I
do?”

“Not dead!” exclaimed he, shouting from the
‘middle of the river through the dense fog.

- “No, he is n’t dead; far from it. He is mighty
ively, and getting more and more so,” I returned,
now having my hands full to keep the deer down.
“Come out and help me. What shall I do?”

_ “Get hold of his hind leg; Ill be with you in
a minute,” was the answer. :

_ I did as directed. I laid hold of his left hind leg,
just above the fetlocks, and sprang to my feet.

- Reader, did you ever seize a pig by the hind
g? If so, multiply that pig by ten; for every
ich he gives, count six; lash a big lantern to
your head ; fancy at standing alone on a
wampy scdteal in a dark, foggy night, with a rifle
in por left hand, and being twitched about among
the bogs and in and out of muskrat-holes, until
= whole system seems on the point of a sepa-
‘ration which shall send you in a thousand in-

184 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.

finitesimal parts in all directions, like fragments
of. an exploding buzz-wheel, and you have my
appearance and feelings as I was jerked about
that night amid the mire and marsh-grass, as I
clung to the leg of that deer. Now, when I fas-
ten to anything, I always expect to hold on. 7
This was my determination when I put my fin-
gers round that buck’s leg. I have a tremendous ©
grip. My father had before me. With his hands ©
at a two-inch auger-hole in the head of a barrel, f
have seen him clutch, now with his right, now with
his left hand, twenty-two house-rats as they came —
darting out to escape the stick with which I was ©
stirring them up, and dash them dead upon the ©
floor, without getting a single bite ; and everybody ©
knows that a rat, in full bolt, comes out of a barrel —
like a flash of lightning. I fully expected to main-
tain the family prestige for grip. I did. I stuck ©
to that deer with all my power of arm and will I
felt it to be a sort of personal contest between him ~
and myself. Nevertheless, I was perfectly willing —
at any time to let go. I had undertaken the job at
the request of another, and was ready to surrender
it instantly upon demand. I shouted to Martin to —
get out of that boat mighty quick if he wanted to —
take his deer home, for I should n’t hold on to him —
much longer. It took me about two minutes to de-
liver that sentence. It was literally jerked out of —
me, word by word. Never did I labor under greater —

JACK-SHOOTING IN A FOGGY NIGHT. 185

embarrassment in expressing myself. In the mean
while Martin was meeting with difficulty. The
bank of the river was steep, and the light cedar
shell, with only himself in it, was out of all bal-
ance, and hard to manage. It may be that his
very strong desire to get on to that meadow
where I was holding his deer for him operated
to confuse and embarrass his movements! He
a propel the boat at full speed toward the
, then jump for the bow; but his motion
ard would release the pont from the mud,
‘ nd om he reached the bow the boat would be
a ulf-way across the river again. Now Martin is a
man of great patience. He is not by any means a
01 rofane person. He had always shown great re-
ect for the cloth. But everybody will see that
SD sisition was a very trying one. Three several
. ‘ti mes, as he afterward informed me, did he drive
that boat into the bank, and three several times,
_ when he got to the bow, that boat was in the mid-
die of the river. At last Martin’s patience gave
“way, and out of the fog came to my ears ejacula-
tions of disgust, and such strong expletives as
are found only in choice old English, and howls
_ of rage and disappointment that none but a guide
could utter in like circumstances. But human
Semdnrance has a limit. I was fast reaching a
condition of mind when family pride and trans-

“mitted powers of resolution fail. What did I care

186 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.

for my father’s exploit with the rats at the two- 7 |
inch auger-hole? What did the family grip
amount to after all? I was fast losing sight of ©
the connection such vanities sustained to me. I] ©
was undergoing a rapid change in many respects,
— of body as well as mind! When I got hold of
that deer’s leg, I was mentally full of pluck and
hope; my hunting-coat, of Irish corduroy, was
whole and tightly buttoned. Now, mentally, I
was demoralized; every button was gone from
the coat, and the right sleeve hung disconnected
with the body of the garment. The jack had been —
jerked from my head, and lay a rod off in the ©
marsh-grass. I could hold onno longer. I would ©
make one more effort, one more appeal. I did. ~
“Martin,” said I, “are n’t you EVER going to get
out of that boat ?”

The heavy thug of the boat against the bank, an
explosive and sputtering noise which sounded very —
- much like the word “damn” spoken from between
shut teeth, a splash, a scramble, and then I caught —
sight of the gaunt form of Martin, paddle in hand —
and hunting-knife between his teeth, loping along
toward me, through the tall, rank grass. But,
alas! it was too late. The auspicious moment
had passed. My fingers one by one loosened —
their hold, and the deer, gathering all his strength, —
with a terrific elevation of his hind feet sent me
reeling backward, just as Martin, doubled up into —

JACK-SHOOTING IN A FOGGY NIGHT. 187

a heap, was about to alight upon his back. He
missed the back, but, as good luck would have it,
even while the buck was in the air,—the deer
“going up as Martin came down, —the fingers of
the guide closed with a full and desperate grip
upon his tad. Quick as a flash I recovered myself
from the bogs, replaced the jack, which fortu-
nately had not been extinguished, upon my head,
‘and stood an interested spectator of the proceed-
ings. Now everybody knows how a wild deer
can jump when frightened; and the buck, with
Martin fastened to his tail, was thoroughly
roused. The first leap straightened the poor fellow
out like a lathe, but it did not shake him from his
hold. If the reader has ever seen a small boy
hanging to the tail-board of a wagon, when the
horse was at full speed, he can form a faint idea
_ of Martin’s appearance as the deer tore like a
_ whirlwind through the tall grass. Blinded and
bewildered by the light, frenzied with fear, the
buck, as deer often will, instead of leading off,
_ kept racing up and down just within the border
of light made by the jack, and occasionally mak-
ing a bolt directly for it. My position was
unique. I was the sole spectator of a series of
gymnastic evolutions truly original. Small as the
_ audience was, the performers were thoroughly in
earnest. Had there been ten thousand spectators,
_ the actors could not have laid themselves out with

188 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.

greater energy. No applause could have got anoth-
-er inch of jump out of the buck, or another inch ©
of horizontal position out of Martin. Whenever, —
at long intervals, his feet did touch the ground, it
was only to leave it for another and a higher aerial ”
plunge. Now and then the buck would take a short
stretch into the fog and darkness, only to reappear
with the same inevitable attachment of arms and
legs streaming behind. The scene was too ludi-
crous to be endured in silence. The desperate ex-
pression of Martin's face, as he was swung round and
jerked about, was enough to make a monk explode _
with laughter while doing penance. I rested my
hands on either knee, and laughed until tears rolled

down my cheeks. The merriment was all on my

side. Martin was silent as death, save when the |
buck, in some extraordinary and desperate leap, |
twitched a grunt out of him. Between my parox- —
ysms I exhorted him: it was my time to exhort. —
“ Martin,” I shouted, “hang on; that’s your deer.
I quit all claim to him. Hang on,I say. Save
his tail anyhow.” %
Whether Martin appreciated the advice, wheth-

er he exactly saw where the “laugh came in,” I

cannot say, and he could not explain. Still, I am ¥
led to think that it was to him no trifling affair, ee

but a matter which moved him profoundly. At —

last the knife was jerked from his teeth, either
because of the violence of his exertion, or because

°

i» i

ia {Wa

i iu (ht |
i yi MAN
ae

)" AN vii
{ i a i i ht Hi i
i Ly

$
x
®
x
bod
r
rs
3
:
a
‘
:
>
|
4
:
q
:
$
>
=

aah Wa
‘ al

vi A tl fi
MAI WIN ey

JACK-SHOOTING IN A FOGGY NIGHT. 189

he had inadvertently loosened his grasp on it.
Be this as it may, Martin’s mouth was at last
opened, and out of it were projected some of the
most extraordinary expressions I ever heard. His
sentences were singularly detached. Even his words
were widely separated, but brought out with great
emphasis. He averaged about one word to a jump.
Tf another got partially out, it was suddenly and
ruthlessly snapped off in mid utterance. The
result of his efforts to express himself reached my
ears very much in this shape: “ Jump — will —
you — be-e—damned— I ’ve-e—cGot—you! I'll
hold-d — on — till — your — ta-i-l — comes —
off-f. — Jump-p-p — be D-D-DAMNED — I ’vE —
got — you-u-u.”
When the contest would have ended, what
would have been the result had it continued,
whether the buck or the guide would have come
off the winner, it is not easy to say. Nor is it
? nec essary to speculate, for the close was speedily
reached, and in an unlooked-for manner. The deer
had led off some dozen jumps out of the circle of
light, and I was beginning to think that he had
shaken himself loose from his enemy, when all at
once he emerged from the fog with Martin still
‘streaming behind him, and made straight for the
river. Never did I see a buck vault higher or
_ project himself farther in successive leaps. The
‘Saranacer was too much put to it to articulate a
word ; only a series of grunts, as he was twitched

190 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.

along, revealed the state of his pent-up feelings. —
Past me the deer flashed like a feathered shaft,

heading directly for the bank. “Hang on, Martin!”
I screamed, sobered by the thought that he would
save him yet if he could only retain his grip, —

“hang to him like death!” He did. Never did my —
admiration go out more strongly toward a man than —
it did toward Martin, as, red in the face and un-
able to relieve himself by a single expression, he —

went tearing along at a frightful rate in full bolt

for the river. Not one man in fifty could have

kept his single-handed grip, jerked, at the close

of such a struggle as the Saranacer had passed —

through, and twitched mercilessly as he now was

being through the tall bog-grass and over the un-—

even ground. But the guide’s blood was up, and

nothing could loosen his clutch. The buck reached

the bank, and, gathering himself up for a desper-
ate leap, he flung his body into the air. I sawa
pair of widely separated legs swing wildly up-
ward, and the red face of Martin, head downward,
and reversed, so as to be turned directly toward me
by the summersault he was turning, disappeared

like a waning rocket in the fog overhanging the |

river. Once in the water, the buck was no match.
for his foe. I hurried to the edge of the bank.
Beneath me, and half across the river, a desperate

struggle was going on. Martin had found his voice, —

and was using it as if to make up for lost time. In
a moment a gurgling sound reached my ears, and

sjesns tainted ie nines cc Snel la aig ai NOS ARE

ee ee eee

JACK-SHOOTING IN A FOGGY NIGHT. 191

I knew that the deer’s head was under water; and
hortly, in answer to my hail, the guide appeared,
dragging the buck behind him. The deer was
drowned and quite dead. Drawing my knife across
the still warm throat, we bled him well, and, wait-
ing for Martin to rest himself a moment, slid him
down into the boat and stretched him at full
eneth along the bottom. Taking our places at
either end, and, lifting our paddles, we turned our
faces campward. Down through the dense, damp
fog, cleaving with dripping faces its heavy folds, we
passed ; glided out of the mist and darkness of the
lowland upon the clear waters of the lake, now
lively with ripples, and under the brightly shining
‘stars, nor checked our measured stroke until we
ran our shell ashore in the glimmer of the fire, by
‘the side of which, rolled in his blanket, with his
© jacket for his pillow, John was quietly sleeping.
At the touch of the boat on the beach he started
_ up, and the coffee he had made ready to boil at
- our coming was shortly ready, and, as we drank
_the warming beverage with laughter which startled
the ravens from the pines, and woke the loons,
sleeping on the still water of Beaver Bay, we told
John the story of our adventure with a buck up
“Marion River on a foggy night. And often, as I
sit in my study, hot and feverish with toil which
_wearies the brain and wrinkles the face, I pause,
and, throwing down pen and book, fancy myself

192 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.

once more upon that bank, enveloped in fog, with ©
the buck and Martin at his tail, careering before
me. Then, with brain relaxed, and eyes which had —
been hot with the glimmer of the gas on the white

sheet cooled and washed in mirthful tears, I turn 7

to pen and book, and graver thoughts, refreshed —
and strengthened. Blessed be recollection, which, —
while it allows the ills and cares of life to fade
away, enables us to carry all our pleasures and —
joys forever with us as we journey along !

XxX.

SABBATH IN THE WOODS.

AROSE early, that I might behold the glory
t of morning among the mountains. As my
yes opened, the eastern sky was already over-
ead as with a thin silvery veil, with the least
race of amber and gold amid the threads; while
ne solitary star, like a great opal, hung suspended
n the translucent atmosphere, with its rich heart
lowing with red and yellow flame.

My camp was made on the very ridge-board of
‘the continent. Below me, to the south, stretched
‘tthe silurian beach, upon which, as Agassiz believes, |
he first ripples broke when God commanded the
dry land to appear. As I lay reflecting upon the
issertion of science, — that these mountains were
mong the first to rise out of the Profound, that here
the continent had its infancy, that amid these
heights the earth began to take shape and form, —
seemed to be able to overlook the world. Nor was
t at the cost of any oréat effort of the imagination
that I: seemed to hear, as the dawn brightened in
the east and the rose tints deepened along the sky,
as the darkness melted, the vapors floated up, and

9 M

194 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.

the atmosphere grew tremulous as the lance-lik
beams began to pierce it, the Voice which, in thi
beginning, said, “ Let there be light!” As I gazed
novel emotions arose within me. The experience
was fresh and solemn. The air was cool, delicious
The earth was clothed as a queen in brida
robes; and Morn, with garments steeped in sweet-
smelling odors, her golden curls unbound and li
by unseen winds, streaming abroad as a yellow
mist, — like a maiden at the lattice of her lover, ="
_ stood knocking at the windows of the rR: AK
saying: “Open to me, my love, my undefiled:
my head is filled with dew, and my locks with t
drops of the night.” iz
If a person would know how sensitive his 1
ture is, how readily it responds to every exhibitio
of beauty and power, how thoroughly adapted it
is, in all its faculties, to religious impressions, he
must leave the haunts of men,— where every
sight and sound distracts his attention, and check cS
the free exercises of his soul,—and, amid t
silence of the woods, hold communion with I
Maker. It is the silence of the wilderness whic :
most impresses me. The hours of the Sabbath
pass noiselessly. No voice of conversation, no
sound of hurrying feet, no @angor of bells, no roll
of wheels, disturb your meditations. You do not
feel like reading or talking or singing. The heart
needs neither hymn nor prayer to express its em 0

SABBATH IN THE WOODS. 195

tions. Even the Bible lies at your side unlifted.
he letters seem dead, cold, insufficient. You feel
3 if the very air was God, and you had passed into
iat land where written revelation is not needed ;
or you see the Infinite as eye to eye, and feel him
)you and above you and on all sides. It is true, at
ntervals, you turn to the Bible. You have your
sading moods, when some apt passage, some appro-
riate selection or chapter, is read, with a profit and
pture never before experienced. But this mood I
9elieve to be the exception. Ordinarily, the spirit
s above the letter. The action of eye and voice in-
erfere with the sentiment. You do not want to
ead, but think. When you feel the presence of a
riend, have his hand in yours, see him at your very
ide, you do not need to take up a letter and read
that he is with you. So with God: in the silence
_ of the woods the soul apprehends him instinctively.
de is everywhere. In the fir and pine, which,
like the tree of life, shed their leaves every month,
ar d are forever green; in the water at your feet,
Which no paddle has ever vexed and no taint pol-
luted, rivalling that which is as “pure as crystal” ;
in the mountains, which, in every literature, have
_ been associated with the Deity, you see Him who
‘of old time was concei#ed of as a“ Dweller among
the hills.” With such symbols and manifestations
of God around, you need not go to the lettered page
to learn of him. The Bible, with its print and

196 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.

paper, is a hindrance rather than a help. Like
glass with too narrow a field, it concentrates th
vision too much. It clips the wings of the imagi
nation, and narrows the circle of its flight. i
spirit which, for the first time, perhaps, has escape
‘the bonds of formal worship, for the first ime
tasted of freedom and tested its capacities to s
returns regretfully to the restraint and nondasail
book and speech. It takes these up as an ange 1]
whose hands have once swept a heavenly harp,
touches again the strings of an earthly instru-~
ment. te
This I have always observed, that the memo:
is unusually active, and takes great delight
recalling texts of Scripture and devotional hym:
when brought under the influence of nature. Pas
sages from the Psalms, which I do not rememhb .
that I ever committed ; fragments of old and solemn ~
hymns, hewn I know-not from what block, long 2 . |
forgotten if ever learned ;.snatches of holy melod:
— echoes awakened by ne voice you cannot t
come floating back upon you, or rise at the biddin 7
of the will. Often have I said to myself, St
even memory is in bondage to sin.” Nature
through her refining and spiritualizing agen ie ‘
emancipates it; and sweet“is it to think that, by
and by, when our grossness is entirely purged
away, all pure things passed by or forgotten will —
come back to us, and the past, in reference to wk

SABBATH IN THE WOODS. 197

ever of goodness and truth it had in it, will be, to
the holy, an eternal present. Such has been my
experience, in reference to religious impressions,
felt amid the solitude of forests. It takes more
‘than one season to analyze your emotions. The
mind, for a while deprived of the customary re-
‘straints and incitements of forms and ceremonies,
‘is in a chaotic state. Thoughts come and go with-
‘out order. Emotions are irregular and inconstant.
The Occidental cast of intellect which conceives
of Ged largely through the reason, changes slowly
into the Oriental. It analyzes less, but it adores
far more. The religion of the forest is emotional
| and poetic. No mathematician was ever born amid
‘the pines. The Psalms could never have been
_ written by one not inspired by the breath of the
_ hills. The soul, when it spreads its wings for flight
- upward, must start from the summit of moun-
tains. It must have the help of altitude, or no
- movement of wings will lift it. And I dare to say
that he who has never passed a Sabbath amid the
solemn loneliness of an uninhabited region, has .
“never knelt in prayer at the base of overhanging
mountains, has never fallen asleep with no roof
above him but that of the heavens, and no protec-
‘tion from the dangers which lurk amid the dark-
“ness of the night season save the watchful care of
_ God, can realize little the significance of these two
words, — Adoration and Faith.

198 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.

The day wore on as I mused. The sun passed ~
the meridian line, and soon the shadows of the pines .
and hills began to stretch their cone-like forma-~
tions out toward the east. As I gazed upon the”
landscape, with a hundred mountains within sweep —
of my eye, at whose feet lake after lake lay in peace
ful repose, and between which numberless streams
flowed, gleaming amid the forests of pine and fir
as threads of silver woven into a robe of Lincoln-
green, I thought of the words of Isaiah: “I will
open rivers in high places, and fountains in the —
midst of the valleys. I will make the wilderness —
a pool of water, and the dry land springs of water.” ~
“The beast of the field shall honor me, and the owls, ~
because I give waters in the wilderness and rivers
in the desert.” And I said to myself, “Surely He ©
sendeth the springs into the valleys, which run
among the hills.’” About three o’clock in the after-
noon, as I sat locking out upon the lake, a heavy
jar shook the earth, and simultaneously the air vi-
brated with the sound of thunder. Turning my
eyes toward the west, I perceived a whitish mist —
gathering along the mountains, while a few ragged —
scuds came racing up from behind it, and I knew
that in the valleys westward columns of storm
were moving to the onset. | a

Amid this mountainous region tempests give
brief warning of their approach. Walled in as —
these lakes are by mountains, behind which the -

SABBATH IN THE WOODS. 199

cloud gathers unseen, the coming of a storm is like
the spring of a tiger. A sudden peal of thunder, a
_keen shaft of lightning which cuts through the
atmosphere in front of your startled vision, a puff
of air, or the spinning of a whirlwind across the
ake, and the tempest is upon you. So was it now.
iven as I gazed into the white mist, a heavy bank
f of jet-black cloud rose up through its feathery
depths, unrolled itself as a battery unlimbers for
battle, and the next instant a sheet of flame darted
out of its very centre, and the air seemed rent into
fragments by the concussion. Here was an exhi-
bition of grandeur and power such as one seldom
beholds; and yet it did not seem out of harmony
with the day. Behold, I said to myself, the sym-
bol of the old dispensation. Here is Sinai, the
terror, and the cloud; here is law and judgment,
~ vengeance and wrath. And there, I said, turning
to the eastern ridge, upon whose crest the sun, not
yet obscured, shone warmly, is the symbol of the
_ new,—of Calvary, its light and love. Warned by
the scattering drops which, plunging through the
air, smote like shot upon the beach and water, I
_ hastened to the lodge; and as, seated in the door,
I gazed into the dark masses now rolled in wild
- convolutions together, — through whose gloomy
_ folds the winds roared and rushed, tearing the dark-
ness into shreds, and scattering black patches on
_ every side,— I thought of Him who “clothes the

200 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.

heavens with bincknee, and makes sackcloth
their covering.” . |
The storm passed. The cloud toward the -
grew thinner, and broke into rifts and ridges,
through which the sun sent its radiance in diverg-
ing columns. As the beams deepened and spread
across the cloud, an arch of purple and gold began
to creep over it. Beginning at the southern and
northern extremities, the colors clomb upward un- ~
til they joined themselves together at the centre, ~
and there, with two mountains for its pedestals, — )
the magnificent arch stood spanning the inky mass
from north to south; and as I sat silently gazing
upon the resplendent symbols of God’s abiding ~
mercy, which stood out in full relief against the
sombre cloud, in whose bosom might still be heard
the roll of thunder, I remembered the language of
Ezekiel, where he says, “I fell upon my face, and
I heard a voice of one that spake ; for the appear-
ance was of the likeness of the glory of the Lord.”
Suddenly the colors faded away. The sun had —
called home his beams, and the glory of theirre-
flection deserted the cloud. I turned my eyes to
the west, and up to the summit of the mountain
overhanging our camp. For a moment the glowing
orb stood as though balanced on the top of the pines;
for a moment lake and forest and mountain were
ablaze with its radiance; the next it dropped from
sight. The dark trees gloomily outlined themselves

SABBATH IN THE WOODS. 201

‘against the clear blue of the sky ; and, as the shad-
ows deepened, I thought of the day foretold in the
Apocalypse, when “our sun shall no more go
down, neither shall the moon withdraw herself.
_ For the Lord shall be our everlasting light, and
_ the days of our mourning shall be ended.”

The day was over. Night spread her sable
wings over the camp, and the lake darkened under
_ the shadow. On the sky and highest peaks a few

patches of crimson were still visible. For a few
moments an aureole lingered around the head of
Blue Mountain. The pines which adorn its crest
gleamed like the rich plume of a king when he
_ rideth at noonday to battle. One instant the
_ beams lingered lovingly about the summit, and
then, obedient to a summons from the west,
- flew to join their companions in another hemi-
sphere. And now began the marvellous transfor-
mations from day to night. The clouds were rolled
together and lifted from sight. Unseen hands
flung out new tapestry for the skies, and lighted
lamps innumerable around the circling galleries,
as though the Sabbath had passed from earth, and
the heavens were being made ready for service.

If the day had been suggestive, much more so
was the night. To the north the Dipper hung
suspended royally against the blue of the sky,
journeying in silent revolution around the polar

star. Farther eastward, and higher up, the mourn-
9 *

202 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.

ful Pleiades began their nightly search for their lost
sister. In the zenith a meteor wavered and trem- ~
bled for a moment, then fell and faded away. “A ©
wandering star,” I said, “to which is reserved the

blackness of darkness forever.” The balsams felt ©

the dew, and from their pendant spears dropped —
odors. I rolled myself in my blanket, and lay
gazing upward. A thousand recollections thronged
upon me; a thousand hopes rose up within me. —
The heavens elicited confidence, and unto them I —
breathed my aspirations. I felt that He who tell-

eth the number of the stars took note of me. The

Spirit which garnished the heavens would grant me
audience. I approached Him reverently, and yet
with confidence, for I remembered that it is writ-
ten, “the heavens shall vanish away like smoke,
and the earth shall wax old like a garment, but
my salvation shall be forever, and my Bp
ness shall not be abolished.”

Then, without help of book or spoken word, I
committed myself to Him, in whose sight the
night is as the day ; and, alone in that vast wilder-
ness, far from home and friends, I closed my eyes
and slept as one who sleeps on a guarded bed.

XI.

TA RIDE WITH A MAD HORSE IN A.
FREIGHT-CAR.

HOULD the reader ever visit the south inlet

of Racquette Lake, — one of the loveliest bits
of water in the Adirondack Wilderness,—at the
lower end of the pool, below the falls, on the left-
hand side going up, he will see the charred rem-
nants of a camp-fire. It was there that the fol-
lowing story was first told,—told, too, so graphi-
eally, with such vividness, that I found little diffi-
culty, when writing it out from memory, two.
months later, in recalling the exact words of the
_ narrator in almost every instance.

It was in the month of July, 1868, that John
and I, having located our permanent camp on
_ Constable’s Point, were lying off and on, as sailors
_ gay, about the lake, pushing our explorations on all
sides out of sheer love of novelty and abhorrence
of idleness. We were returning, late one afternoon
of a hot, sultry day, froma trip to Shedd Lake, —a
lonely, out-of-the-way spot which few sportsmen
have ever visited, — and had reached the falls on

South Inlet just after sunset. As we were getting

204 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.

short of venison, we decided to lie by awhile, e )
float down the river on our way to camp, in hope ©
of meeting a deer. To this end we had gone ©
ashore at this point, and, kindling a small fire, |
were waiting for denser darkness. We had barely
started the blaze, when the tap of a carelessly
handled paddle against the side of a boat warned
us that we should soon have company, and in a
moment two boats glided around the curve below,
and were headed directly toward our bivouae. The —
~boats contained two gentlemen and their guides,
We gave them a cordial, hunter-like greeting, and, —
lighting our pipes, were soon engaged in cheerful —
conversation, spiced with story-telling. It might ~
have been some twenty minutes or more, when
another boat, smaller than you ordinarily see even ~
on those waters, containing only the paddler, came >
noiselessly around the bend. below, and stood re-
vealed in the reflection of the firelight. I chanced
to be sitting in such a position as to command a_
full view of the curve in the river, or I should not —
have known of any approach, for the boat was so —
sharp and light, and he who urged it along so —
skilled at the paddle, that not a ripple, no, nor the —
sound of a drop of water falling from blade or shaft,
betrayed the paddler’s presence. If there is any- —
thing over which I become enthusiastic, it is such
a boat and such paddling. To seea boat of bark or
cedar move through the water noiselessly asa cloud-— .

A RIDE WITH A MAD HORSE IN A CAR. 205

shadow drifts across & meadow, no jar or creak
above, no gurgling of displaced water below, no
whirling and rippling wake astern, is something
bordering so nearly on the weird and ghostly, that
custom can never make it seem other than marvel-
lous to me. Thus, as I sat, half reclining, and saw
that little shell come floating airily out of the dark-
‘ness into the projection of the firelight, as a feather
might come, blown by the night-wind, I thought
TI had never seen a prettier or more fairy-like sight.
None of the party save myself were so seated as to
look down stream, and I wondered which of the
three guides would first discover the presence of
the approaching boat. Straight onit came. Light
as a piece of finest cork it sat upon and glided over
the surface of the river; no dip and roll, no drop
of falling water as the paddle-shaft gently rose and
sank. The paddler, whoever he might be, knew
his art thoroughly. He sat erect and motionless,
the turn of the wrists, and the easy elevation of his
arms as he feathered his paddle, were the only
‘movements visible. But for these, the gazer might
deem him a statue carved from the material of the
boat, a mere inanimate part of it. I have boated
“much in bark canoe and cedar shell alike, and
John and ‘TI have stolen on many a camp that
never knew our coming or our going, with paddles
which touched the water as briow-flalkba touch the
earth ; and well I knew, asI sat gazing at this man,

206 = ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS:

that not one boatman, red Tnan or white, in a hun-—
dred could handle a paddle like that. The quick —
ear of John, when the stranger was within thirty _
feet of the landing, detected the lightest possible —
touch of a lily-pad against the side of the boat as
it just grazed it glancing by, and his “ Hist!” ¢ |
sudden motion toward the river drew the attenti
of the whole surprised group thither. The boat
glided to the sand so gently as barely to disturb a |
grain, and the paddler, noiseless in all his move-_
ments, stepped ashore and entered our circle.
“ Well, stranger,” said John, “I don’t know how —
long your fingers have polished a paddle-shaft, but
it is n’t every man who can push a boat up ten,
rods of open water within twenty feet of my baie |
without my knowing it.” .
The stranger laughed pleasantly, and, without |
making any direct reply, lighted his pipe and |
joined in the conversation. He was tall in stature, —
wiry, and bronzed. An ugly cicatrice stretched on ©
the left side of his face, from temple almost down to —
chin. His eyes were dark gray, frank, and genial. —
I concluded at once that he was a gentleman, and
had seen service. Before he joined us, we had
been whiling away the time by story-telling, and
John was at the very crisis of an adventure —
with a panther, when his quick ear detected the —
stranger's approach. Explaining this to him, I told
John to resume his story, which he did. Thus —

A RIDE WITH A MAD HORSE IN A CAR. 207
an hour passed quickly, all of us relating some
“experience.” At last I proposed that Mr. Roberts
—for so we will call him— should entertain us;
“and,” continued I, “if I am right in my surmise
that you haveseen service and been under fire, give
us some adventure or incident which may have
efallen you during the war.” He complied, and
then and there, gentle reader, I heard from his
lips the story which, for the entertainment of
friends, I afterward wrote out. It left a deep im-
pression upon all who heard it around our camp-
fire under the pines that night ; and from the mind
of one I know has never been erased the impres-
sion made by the story, which I have named

4]

®
= I

. RIDE WITH A MAD HORSE IN A FREIGHT-
;

CAR.

_ “Well,” said the stranger, as he loosened his belt

and stretched himself in an easy, recumbent posi-
tion, “it is not more than fair that I should throw
something into the stock of common entertain-
ment; but the story I am to tell you isa sad one,
and, I fear, will not add to the pleasure of the
evening. As youdesire it, however, and it comes
in the line of the request that I would narrate
‘some personal episode of the war, I will tell it, and
trust the impression will not be altogether unpleas-
ant.

208 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.

“Tt was at the battle of Malvern Hill, —a battle |
where the carnage was more frightful, as it seems
to me, than in any this side of the Alleghanies dur-
- ing the whole war, — that my story must begin. I
was then serving as Major in the —th Massachu-
setts Regiment, — the old —th, as we used to call
it, and a bloody time the boys had of it too.
About 2 P.M. we had been sent out to skirmish
along the edge of the wood in which, as our g
erals suspected, the Rebs lay massing for a ‘dnd
across the slope, upon the crest of which our army
was posted. We had barely entered the under-~
brush when we met. the heavy formations of Ma-_
gruder in the very act of charging. Of course, ©
our thin line of skirmishers was no impediment
to those onrushing masses. They were on us and ©
over us before we could get out of the way. I do |
not think that half of those running, screaming —
masses of men ever knew that they had passed —
over the remnants of as plucky a regiment as ever ©
came out of the old Bay State. But many of ©
the boys had good reason to remember that after-
noon at the base of Malvern Hill, and I among the
number ; for when the last line of Rebs had passed —
over me, I was left amid the bushes with the breath ~
nearly trampled out of me, and an ugly bayonet-gash ~
through my thigh; and mighty little consolation —
was it for me at that moment to see the fellow
who run me through lying stark dead at my side, —

A RIDE WITH A MAD HORSE IN A CAR. 209

with a bullet-hole in his head, his shock of coarse
black hair matted with blood, and his stony eyes
| looking into mine. Well, I bandaged up my limb
the best I might, and started to crawl away, for
our batteries had opened, and the grape and canis-
ter that came hurtling down the slope passed but
a few feet over my head. It was slow and painful
work, as you can imagine, but at last, by dint of
perseverance, I had dragged myself away to the
left of the direct range of the batteries, and, creep-
ing to the verge of the wood, looked off over the
green slope. I understood by the crash and roar
of the guns, the yells and cheers of the men, and
that hoarse murmur which those who have been
in battle know, but which I cannot describe in
words, that there was hot work going on out there ;
~ but never have I seen, no, not in that three days’
' desperate mé/é at the Wilderness, nor at that ter-
rific repulse we had at Cold Harbor, such absolute
_ slaughter as I saw that afternoon on the green
slope of Malvern Hill. The guns of the entire
army were massed on the crest, and thirty thousand
of our infantry lay, musket in hand, in front. For
eight hundred yards the hill sank in easy declen-
sion to the wood, and across the smooth expanse
the Rebs must charge to reach our lines. It was
nothing short of downright insanity to order men
to charge that hill; and so his generals told Lee,
but he would not listen to reason that day, and so

N

210 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.

he sent regiment after regiment, and brigade after
brigade, and division after division, to certain death.

Talk about Grant’s disregard of human life, his —
effort at Cold Harbor — and I ought to know, for I
got a minie in my shoulder that day — was hope-
ful and easy work to what Lee laid on Hill’s and ©
Magruder’s divisions at Malvern. It was at the
close of the second charge, when the yelling mass
reeled back from before the blaze of those sixty
guns and thirty thousand rifles, even as they began
to break and fly backward toward the woods, that
I saw from the spot where I lay a riderless horse”
break out of the confused and flying mass, and, —
with mane and tail erect and spreading nostril, ©
come dashing obliquely down the slope. Over
fallen steeds and heaps of the dead-she leaped with
a motion as airy as that of the flying fox, when, ~
fresh and unjaded, he leads away from the hounds,
whose sudden ery has broken him off from hunt- —
ing mice amid the bogs of the meadow. So this
riderless horse came vaulting along. Nowfrommy |
earliest boyhood I have had what horsemen call a —
‘weakness’ for horses. Only give me a colt of —
wild, irregular temper and fierce blood to tame,
and I am perfectly happy. Never did lash of ~

mine, singing with cruel sound through the air, —
fall on such a colt’s soft hide. Never did yell or q :
kick send his hot blood from heart to head delug-
ing his sensitive brain with fiery currents, driving

A RIDE WITH A MAD HORSE IN A CAR. 211

him to frenzy or blinding him with fear; but
touches, soft and gentle as a woman’s, caressing.
words, and oats given from the open palm, and
unfailing kindness, were the means I used to ‘sub-
jugate’ him. Sweet subjugation, both to him
who subdues and to him who yields! The wild,
-unmannerly, and unmanageable colt, the fear of
horsemen the country round, finding in you, not
an enemy but a friend, receiving his daily food
from you, and all those little ‘nothings’ which go
as far with a horse as a woman, to win and retain
affection, grows to look upon you as his protector
and friend, and testifies in countless ways his fond-
ness for you. So when I saw this horse, with
action so free and motion so graceful, amid that
storm of bullets, my heart involuntarily went out
to her, and my feelings rose higher and higher at
every leap she took from amid the whirlwind of
fire and lead. And as she plunged at last over
a little hillock out of range and came careering
toward me as only a riderless horse might come,
her head flung wildly from side to side, her nostrils
widely spread, her flank and shoulders flecked with
foam, her eye dilating, I forgot my wound and all
the wild roar of battle, and, lifting myself invol-
untarily to a sitting posture as she swept grandly
_ by, gave her a ringing cheer. |
_ “Perhaps in the sound of a human voice of
happy mood amid the awful din she recognized a

212 . ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.

resemblance to the voice of him whose blood —
moistened her shoulders and was even yet dripping
from saddle and housings. Be that as it may, no~
sooner had my voice sounded than she flung her |
- head with a proud upward movement into the air,
swerved sharply to the left, neighed as she might
to a master at morning from her stall, and came
trotting directly up to where I lay, and pausing,
looked down upon me as it were in compassion. —
I spoke again, and stretched out my hand caress- —
ingly. She pricked her ears, took a step forward
and lowered her nose until it came in contact with —
my palm. Never did I fondle anything more ten-—
derly, never did I see an animal which seemed |
to so court and appreciate human tenderness as
that beautiful mare. I say ‘ beautiful.” No other —
word might describe her. Never will her image —
fade from my memory while memory lasts. .

“In weight she might have turned, when well ©
conditioned, nine hundred and fifty pounds. In |
color she was a dark chestnut, with a velvety ©
depth and soft look about the hair indescribably —
rich and elegant. Many a time have I heard
ladies dispute the shade and hue of her plush-like ~
coat as they ran their white, jewelled fingers —
through her silken hair. Her body was round in —
the barrel, and perfectly symmetrical.. She was —
wide in the haunches, without projection of the
hip-bones, upon which the shorter ribs seemed to

A RIDE WITH A MAD HORSE IN A CAR. 213

lap. High in the withers as she was, the line of
her back and neck perfectly curved, while her
deep, oblique shoulders and long thick fore-arm,
tidgy with swelling sinews, suggesting the perfec-
tion of stride and power. Her knees across the
pan were wide, the cannon-bone below them short
and thin ; the pasterns long and sloping ; her hoofs
round, dark, shiny, and well set on. Her mane
was a shade darker than her coat, fine and thin,
as a thoroughbred’s always is whose blood is with-
out taint or cross. Her ear was thin, sharply
pointed, delicately curved, nearly black around the
borders, and as tremulous as the leaves of an
aspen. Her neck rose from the withers to the
head in perfect curvature, hard, devoid of fat, and
well cut up under the chops. Her nostrils were full,
very full, and thin almost as parchment. The eyes, -
from which tears might fall or fire flash, were well
brought out, soft as a gazelle’s, almost human in
_ their intelligence, while over the small bony head,
over neck and shoulders, yea, over the whole body
and clean down to the hoofs, the veins stood out as
if the skin were but tissue-paper against which the
-warm blood pressed, and which it might at any
“moment burst asunder. ‘A perfect animal, I said
to myself, as I lay looking her over, — ‘an animal
which might have been born from the wind and
the sunshine, so cheerful and so swift she seems ;
an animal which a man would present as his

214 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.

choicest gift to the woman he loved, and yet one
which that woman, wife or lady-love, would give
him to ride when honor and life depended on bot-
tom and speed.’

“ All that afternoon the beautiful mare scial
over me, while away to the right of us the hoarse
tide of battle flowed and ebbed. What charm,
what delusion of memory, held her there? Was
my face to her as the face of her dead master, —
sleeping a sleep from which not even the wildest
roar of battle, no, nor her cheerful neigh at morn-—
ing, would ever wake him? Or is there in animals —
some instinct, answering to our intuition, only —
more potent, which tells them whom to trust and —
whom to avoid? I know not, and yet some such
sense they may have, they must have; or else
why should this mare so fearlessly attach her-
self to me? By what process of reason or in- —
stinct I know not, but there she chose me for her
master ; for when some of my men at dusk came —
searching, and found me, and, laying me on a i
stretcher, started toward our lines, the mare, un= —
compelled, of her own free will, followed at my —
side; and all through that stormy night of wind ~
and rain, as my men struggled along through the —
mud and mire toward Harrison’s Landing, the mare —
followed, and ever after, until she died, was with —
me, and was mine, and I, so far as man might ba 4
was hers. I named her Guinare. |

NES SO EA CT TCS PEE SE"

A RIDE WITH A MAD HORSE IN A CAR. 215

~“ As quickly as my wound permitted, I was
transported to Washington, whither I took the mare
with me. Her fondness for me grew daily, and
soon became so marked as to cause universal com-
ment. I had her boarded, while in Washington,
at the corner of — Street and Avenue. The
groom had instructions to lead her round to the
window against which was my bed, at the hospital,
twice every day, so that by opening the sash I might
reach out my hand and pet her. But the second
day, no sooner had she reached the street than she
oke suddenly from the groom and dashed away
at full speed. I was lying, bolstered up in bed,
-Teading, when I heard the rush of flying feet, and
in an instant, with a joyful neigh, she checked
herself in front of my window. And when the
nurse lifted the sash, the beautiful creature thrust

her head through the aperture, and rubbed her nose

against my shoulderlikeadog. I am not ashamed
tosay that I put both my arms around her neck, and,
_ burying my face in her silken mane, kissed her again
-andagain. Wounded, weak, and away from home,
with only strangers to wait upon me, and scant
service at that, the affection of this lovely creature
for me, so tender and touching, seemed almost hu-
Iman, and my heart went out to her beyond any
_ power of expression, as to the only being, of all the
‘thousands around me, who thought of me and
loved me. Shortly after her appearance at my

s

216 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.

window, the groom, who had divined where he |
should find her, came into the yard. But she
would not allow him to come near her, much less
_touch her. If he tried to approach she would lash
out at him with her heels most spitefully, and then,
laying back her ears and opening her mouth say-
agely, would make a short dash at him, and, as the
terrified African disappeared around the corner of —
the hospital, she would wheel, and, with a face —
bright as a happy child’s, come trotting to the win- —
dow for me to pet her. I shouted to the groom to
go back to the stable, for I had no doubt but that —
she would return to her stall when I closed the

window. Rejoiced at the permission, he departed.
After some thirty minutes, the last ten of which |

she was standing with her slim, delicate head in | :
my lap, while I braided her foretop and combed |

- out her silken mane, I lifted her head, and, pat-

ting her softly on either cheek, told her that —

she must ‘go.’ I gently pushed her head out ~

of the window and closed it, and then, holding —
up my hand, with the palm turned toward her, ~
charged her, making the appropriate motion, to‘go _
away right straight back to her stable. Fora mo-
ment she stood looking steadily at me with an in- —
describable expression of hesitation and surprise in
her clear, liquid eyes, and then, turning lingeringly, ~
walked slowly out of the yard. :

“Twice a day, for nearly a month, whileI layin

A RIDE WITH A MAD HORSE IN A CAR. 217

he hospital, did Gulnare visit me. At the ap-
jointed hour the groom would slip her headstall,
md, without a word of command, she would dart
ut of the stable, and, with her long, leopard-
ike lope, go sweeping down the street and come
lashing into the hospital yard, checking herself
vith the same glad neigh at my window ; nor did she
ver once fail, at the closing of the sash, to return
lirectly to her stall. The groom informed me that
very morning and evening, when the hour of her
yisit drew near, she would begin to chafe and wor-
ry, and, by pawing and pulling at the halter, adver-
‘ise him that it was time for her to, be released.

“But of all exhibitions of happiness, either by
beast or man, hers was the most positive on that
fternoon when, racing into the yard, she found me
leaning on a crutch outside the hospital building.
The whole corps of nurses came to the doors, and
al | the poor fellows that could move themselves, —
for Gulnare had become an universal favorite, and
the boys looked for her daily visits nearly, if not
quite, as ardently as I did,—crawled to the win-
dows to see her. What gladness was expressed in
every movement! She would come prancing to-
ward me, head and tail erect, and, pausing, rub her
head against my shoulder while I patted her glossy
neck; then, suddenly, with a sidewise spring,
she would break away, and, with her long tail ele-

yated until her magnificent brush, fine and silken
| 10 .

218 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.

as the golden hair of a blonde, fell in a great spray
on either flank, and her head curved to its proud-.
est arch, pace around me with that high action
and springing step peculiar to the thoroughbred, |
Then like a flash, dropping her brush and laying
back her ears, and stretching her nose straight out,
she would speed away with that quick, nervous,
low-lying action which marks the rush of racers,
when, side by side, and nose to nose, lapping each
other, with the roar of cheers on either hand and ;
along the seats above them, they come straining up
the home stretch. Returning from one of these ar-_
rowy flights, she would come curvetting back, now
pacing sidewise, as on parade, now dashing her |
hind feet high into the air, and anon vaulting up |
and springing through the air, with legs well under |
her, as if in the act of taking a five-barred gate, —
and, finally, would approach and stand happy in-
her reward, — my caress. |
“The war, at last, was ovér. Gulnare and T=
were in at the death with Sheridan at the Five
Forks. Together we had shared the pageant at
Richmond and Washington, and never had I geen _
her in better spirits than on that day at the capi- |
tal. It was a sight, indeed, to see her as she came

she could not have moved with greater grace and
pride. With dilating eye and tremulous ear, cease- _
f

Vj }y/ Y 5 . = = ——s. \ , Ls WY
WN, \Zoe Lyd Wi
’

A LF;
A) At

fA
i
HY

| . -
\) We

£0 OOS EA EE

‘ssaav7 hue —‘paomas say ur t/'py puvjs puv yovoadgo Aypouy puy ,,

é
oc

a

A RIDE WITH A MAD HORSE IN A CAR. 219

Messly champing her bit, her heated blood bringing
gut the magnificent lace-work of veins over her en-
fire body, now and then pausing, and, with a snort,
vathering herself back upon her haunches, as for a
nighty leap, while she shook the froth from her
bits, she moved with a high, prancing step down
the magnificent street, the admired of all beholders,
cheer after cheer was given, huzza after huzza rang
out over her head from roofs and balcony, bouquet
after bouquet was launched by fair and enthusias-
tic admirers before her; and yet, amid the crash
and swell of music, the cheering and tumult, so
gentle and manageable was she, that, though I
¢ ould feel her frame creep and tremble under me
s she moved through that whirlwind of excite-
ment, no check or curb was needed, and the bridle-
' lnmes—the same she wore when she came to me
at Malvern Hill— lay unlifted on the pommel
of the saddle. Never before had I seen her so
‘grandly herself. Never before had the fire and
energy, the grace and gentleness, of her blood so
revealed themselves. This was the day and the

vent she needed. And all the royalty of her an-
stral breed, — a race of equine kings, — flowing
as without taint or cross from him that was the
pride and wealth of the whole tribe of desert
Tangers, expressed itself in her. I need not say
‘that I shared her mood. I sympathized in her
every step. I entered into all her royal humors,

220 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.

I patted her neck, and spoke loving and cheerful
words to her. I called her my beauty, my pride,
my pet. And did she not understand me? Every
word! Else why that listening ear turned back
to catch my softest whisper? why the responsive
quiver through the frame, and the low, happy
neigh? “ Well,” I exclaimed, as I leaped from her.
back at the close of the review, — alas ! that words”
spoken in lightest mood should portend so much!
—‘well, Gulnare, if you should die, your life has”
had its triumph. The nation itself, through its ad-
miring capital, has paid tribute to your beauty, and
death can never rob you of your fame” And IT
patted her moist neck and foam-flecked shoulders,
while the grooms were busy with head and loins. ‘

“That night our brigade made its bivouac just |
over Long Bridge, almost on the identical spot,
where, four years before, I had camped my compa-_
ny of three months’ volunteers. With what ex-_
periences of march and. battle were those four
years filled! For three of these years Gulnare had
been my constant companion. With me she had
shared my tent, and not rarely my rations, for in~
appetite she was truly human, and my steward |
always counted her as one of our ‘mess.’ Twice
had she been wounded, — once at Fredericksburg, —
through the thigh ; and once at Cold Harbor, where
a piece of shell tore away a part of her scalp. So
completely did it stun her, that for some moments —

|

A RIDE WITH A MAD HORSE IN A CAR. 221

) I thought her dead, but to my great joy she short-
ly recovered her senses. I had the wound carefully
dressed by our brigade surgeon, from whose care
‘she came in a month, with the edges of the wound
so nicely united that the eye could with difficulty
‘detect the scar. This night, as usual, she lay at
my side, her head almost touehing mine. Never
before, unless when on a raid, and in face of
the enemy, had I seen her so uneasy. Her
movements during the night compelled wakeful-
hess on my part. The sky was cloudless, and in
the dim light I lay and watched her. Now she
would stretch herself at full length, and rub her
head on: the ground. Then she would start up,
and, sitting on her haunches, like a dog, lift one
fore leg and paw her neck and ears.. Anon she
' would rise to her feet and shake herself, walk off
a few rods, return, and lie down again by my side.
I did not know what to make of it, unless the
excitement of the day had been too much for her
sensitive nerves. I spoke to her kindly, and petted
her. In response she would rub her nose against
me, and lick my hand with her tongue —a pecu-
“liar habit of hers —like a dog. As I was passing
-my hand over her head, I discovered that it was
hot, and the thought of the old wound flashed into
my mind, with a momentary fear that something
might be wrong about her brain, but, after think-
ing it over, 1 dismissed it as incredible. Still I

222 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.

was alarmed. I knew that something was amiss, _
and I rejoiced at the thought that I should soon
be at home, where she could have quiet, and, if
need be, the best of nursing. At length the morn-
ing dawned, and the mare and I took our last meal
together on Southern soil, —the last we ever took

together. The brigade was formed in line for the —
last time, and, as I rode down the front to review
the boys, she moved with all her old battle grace
and power. Only now and then, by a shake of the
head, was I reminded of her actions during the
night. I said a few words of farewell to the men .
whom I had led so often to battle, with whom I —
had shared perils not a few, and by whom, asI had —
reason to think, I was loved, and then gave, with — |
a voice slightly unsteady, the last order they would |
ever receive from me: ‘ Brigade, attention! Ready |
to break ranks, Break ranks!’ The order was
obeyed. But ere they scattered, moved by a com- —
mon impulse, they gave first three cheers for me, 1
and then, with the same heartiness and even more ~
power, three cheers for Gulnare. And she, stand-—
ing there, looking with her bright, cheerful counte- |
nance full at the men, pawing with her fore
feet, alternately, the ground, seemed to understand |
the compliment; for no sooner had the cheering —
died away than she arched her neck to its proudest
curve, lifted her thin, delicate head into the air, —
and gave a short, joyful neigh.

A RIDE WITH A MAD HORSE IN A CAR. 223

“ My arrangements for transporting her had been
made by a friend the day before. A large, roomy
ear had been secured, its floor strewn with bright,
clean straw, a bucket, and a bag of oats provided,
and everything done for her comfort. The car was
to be attached to the through express, in consider-
ation of fifty dollars extra, which I gladly paid, be-
cause of the greater rapidity with which it enabled
me to make my journey. As the brigade broke
up into groups, I glanced at my watch and saw
that I had barely time to reach the cars before
they started. I shook the reins upon her neck,
and with a plunge, startled at the energy of my
signal, away she flew. What a stride she had!
- What an elastic spring! She touched and left the
earth as if her limbs were of spiral wire. ‘When
_ I reached the car my friend was standing in front
of it, the gang-plank was ready, I leaped from the
saddle, and, running up the plank into the car,
_ whistled to her; and she, timid and hesitating, yet
unwilling to be separated from me, crept slowly
and cautiously up the steep incline, and stood be-
side me. Inside I found a complete suit of flan-
nel clothes, with a blanket, and, better than all, a
lunch-basket. My friend explained that he had
bought the clothes as he came down to the depot,
thinking, as he said, ‘that they would be much
better than your regimentals, and suggested that I
doff the one and don the other. To this I assented

224 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.

the more readily as I reflected that I would have
to pass one night, at least, in the car, with no bet- — |
ter bed than the straw under my feet. I had 7
barely time to undress before the cars were coupled |
and started. I tossed the clothes to my friend —

with the injunction to pack them in my trunk and
express them on to me, and waived him my adieu. -
I arrayed myself in the nice, cool flannel, and —
looked around. The thoughtfulness of my friend
had anticipated every want. An old: cane-seated |
chair stood in one corner. The lunch-basket was
large, and well supplied. Amid the oats I found — |
a dozen oranges, some bananas, and a package of |
real Havana cigars. How I called down blessings
on his thoughtful head as I took the chair, and,

lighting one of the fine-flavored jigaros, gazed out_
on the fields past which we were gliding, yet wet |}
with morning dew. As I sat dreamily admiring ~
the beauty before me, Gulnare came and, resting her
head upon my shoulder, seemed to share my mood.
As I stroked her fine-haired, satin-like nose, recol-
lection quickened, and memories of our compan- |
ionship in perils thronged into my mind. Irode ~
again that midnight ride to Knoxville, when Burn-
side lay intrenched, desperately holding his own,
waiting for news from Chattanooga, of which I
was the bearer, chosen by Grant himself because
of the reputation of my mare. What riding that
was! We started, ten riders of us in all, each

A RIDE WITH A MAD HORSE IN A CAR. 225

with the same message: I parted company the
first hour out with all save one, an iron-gray stal-
lion of .Messenger blood. Jack Murdock rode
him, who learned his horsemanship from buffalo
and Indian hunting on the Plains,—not a bad
_ school to graduate from. Ten miles out of Knox-
ville the gray, his flanks dripping with blood,
plunged up abreast the mare’s shoulders and fell
dead ; and Gulnare and I passed through the lines
alone. J had ridden the terrible race without whip
or spur. With what scenes of blood and flight
she would ever be associated! And then I thought
of home, unvisited for four long years,— that
home I left a stripling, but to which I was return-
ing a bronzed and brawny man. I thought of
mother and Bob, — how they would admire her !—
of old Ben, the family groom, and of that one who
shall be nameless, whose picture I had so often
shown to Gulnare as the likeness of *her future
mistress ;— had they not all heard of her, my
beautiful mare, she who came to me from the
smoke and whirlwind, my battle-gift? How they
would pat her soft, smooth sides, and tie her mane
with ribbons, and feed her with all sweet things

_ from open and caressing palm! And then I thought

of one who might come after her to bear her name
and repeat at least some portion of her beauty, —
a horse honored and renowned the country through,

because of the transmission of the mother’s fame.
10* F °

226 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS. —

“ About three o’clock in the afternoon a change — |
came over Gulnare. I had fallen asleep upon the

straw, and she had come and awakened me witha ~

touch of her nose. The moment I started up I
saw that something was the matter. Her eyes —
were dull and heavy. Never before had I seen
the light go out of them. The rocking of the car
as it went jumping and vibrating along seemed to
irritate her. She began to rub her head against —
the side of the car. Touching it, I found that the
skin over the brain was hot as fire. Her breath-
ing grew rapidly louder and louder. Each breath
was drawn with a kind of gasping effort. The
lids with their silken fringe drooped wearily over
the lustreless eyes. The head sank lower and low-
er, until the nose almost touched the floor. The
ears, naturally so lively and erect, hung limp and
widely apart. The body was cold and senseless.
A pinch elicited no motion. Even my voice was

at last unheeded. To word and touch there came,
for the first time in all our intercourse, no response.

I knew as the symptoms spread what was the mat-
ter. The signs bore all one way. She was in the
first stages of phrenitis, or inflammation of the brain.
In other words, my beautiful mare was going mad.

“TI was well versed in the anatomy of the horse.
Loving horses from my very childhood, there was
little. in veterinary practice with which I was not
familiar. Instinctively, as soon as the symptoms

A RIDE WITH A MAD HORSE IN A CAR. 227

had developed themselves, and I saw under what
frightful disorder Gulnare was laboring, I put my
hand into my pocket for my knife, in order to open
a vein. There was no knife there. Friends, I have
met with many surprises. More than once, in
battle and scout, have 1 been nigh death ; but
never did my blood desert my veins and settle so
around the heart, never did such a sickening sen-
sation possess me as when, standing in that car
with my beautiful mare before me, marked with
those horrible symptoms, I made that discovery.
My knife, my sword, my pistols even, were with
my suit in the care of my friend, two hundred
miles away. Hastily, and with trembling fingers,

- I searched my clothes, the lunch-basket, my linen ;

not even a pin could I find. I shoved open the
sliding door, and swung my hat and shouted, hop-
ing to attract some brakeman’s attention. The
train was thundering along at full speed, and none
saw or heard me. I knew her stupor would not
last long. A slight quivering of the lip, an occa-
sional spasm running through the frame, told me
too plainly that the stage of frenzy would soon be-
gin. ‘My God!’ I exclaimed, in despair, as I shut
the door and turned toward her, ‘must I see you
die, Gulnare, when the opening of a vein would
save you? Have you borne me, my pet, through
all these years of peril, the icy chill of winter, the
heat and torment of summer, and all the thronging

228 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS. ~

dangers of a hundred bloody battles, only to die
torn by fierce agonies, when so near a peaceful
home ? ae Sa
But little time was given me to mourn. My
life was soon to be in peril, and I must summon up
the utmost power of eye and limb to escape the —
violence of my frenzied mare. Did you ever see a
mad horse when his madness is on him? Take
your stand with me in that car, and you shall see —
what suffering a dumb creature can endure before
it dies. In no malady does a horse suffer more
than in phrenitis, or inflammation of the brain. |
Possibly in severe cases of colic, probably in rabies
in its fiercest form, the pain is equally intense.
These three are the most agonizing of all the dis- |
eases to which the noblest of animals ‘is exposed, |
Had my pistols been with me, I should then and
there, with whatever strength Heaven granted, have _
taken my companion’s life, that she might be
spared the suffering which was so soon to rack and
wring her sensitive frame. A horse laboring under
an attack of phrenitis is as violent as a horse can
be. He is not ferocious as is one ina fit of rabies.
He may kill his master, but he does it without
design. There is in him no desire of mischief for
its own sake, no cruel cunning, no stratagem and E .
malice. A rabid horse is conscious in every act
and motion: He recognizes the man he destroys.
There is in him an insane desire to kul. Not so

A RIDE WITH A MAD HORSE IN A CAR. 229

with the phrenetic horse. Heis unconscious in his
violence. He sees and recognizes no one. There
is no method or purpose in his madness. He kills
- without knowing it.

“T knew what was coming. I could not jump out ;
_ that would be certain death. I must abide in the ©
car and take my chance of life. The car was for-

tunately high, long, and roomy. I took my position

in front of my horse, watchful and ready to spring.

Suddenly her lids, which had been closed, came

open with a snap, asif an electric shock had passed

through her, and the eyes, wild in their brightness,

stared directly at me. And what eyes they were!

The membrane grew red and redder, until it was of

_ the color of blood, standing out in frightful contrast

with the transparency of the cornea. The pupil

gradually dilated until it seemed about to burst

- out of the socket. The nostrils, which had been
sunken” and motionless, quivered, swelled, and

_ glowed. The respiration became short, quick, and

gasping. The limp and drooping ears stiffened and

stood erect, pricked sharply forward, as if to catch

the slightest sound. Spasms, as the car swerved

and vibrated, ran through her frame. More horrid

than all, the lips slowly contracted, and the white,

_ gharp-edged teeth stood uncovered, giving an in-

_ describable look of ferocity to the partially opened

mouth! The car suddenly reeled as it dashed

around a curve, swaying her almost off her feet,

230 ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.

and, as a contortion shook her, she recovered her-
self, and, rearing upward as high as the car per-
mitted, plunged directly at me. Iwas expecting ~
the movement, and dodged. Then followed exhibi-~

tions of pain which I pray God I may never see
again. Time and again did she dash herself upon
the floor, and roll over and over, lashing out with
her feet in all directions. Pausing a moment, she
would stretch her body to its extreme length, and,
lying upon her side, pound the floor with her head _
as if it were a maul. Then, like a flash, she would
leap to her feet, and whirl round and round, until,
from very giddiness, she would stagger and fall. |
She would lay hold of the straw with'her teeth,
and shake it as a dog shakes a struggling wood-
cliuck ; then dashing it from her mouth, she would
seize hold -of her own sides, and rend herself. — |
Springing up, she would rush against the end of
the car, falling all in a heap from the violence of
the concussion. For some fifteen minutes, without — |
intermission, the frenzy lasted. I was nearly ex- |
hausted. My efforts to avoid her mad rushes, the 2
terrible tension of my nervous system produced by
the spectacle of such exquisite and prolonged suf- |
fering, were weakening me beyond what I should |
have thought it possible an hour before for anything
to weaken me. In fact, I felt my strength leaving —
me. A terror, such as I had never yet felt, was
taking possession of my mind. I sickened at the

A RIDE WITH A MAD HORSE IN A CAR. 231

sight before me, and at the thought of agonies yet
to come. ‘ My God, I exclaimed, ‘must I be killed
by my own horse in this miserable car!’ Even as
I spoke, the end came. The mare raised herself
until her shoulders touched the roof, then dashed
her body upon the floor with a violence which
threatened the stout frame beneath her. I leaned,
panting and exhausted, against the side of the car.
Gulnare did not stir. She lay motionless, her
breath coming and going in lessening respirations.
I tottered toward her, and, as I stood above her,
my ear detected a low, gurgling sound. I cannot
describe the feeling that followed. Joy and grief
- contended within me. I knew the meaning of
that sound. Gulnare, in her frenzied violence,
had broken a blood-vessel, and was bleeding inter-
nally. Pain and life were passing away together.
I knelt down by her side. I laid my head upon
her shoulders, and sobbed aloud. Her body moved
_ alittle beneath me. I crawled forward and lifted
her beautiful head into my lap. O, for one more
sign of recognition before she died! I smoothed
the tangled masses of her mane. I wiped, with
a fragment of my coat, torn in the struggle, the
blood which oozed from her nostril. I called her
by name. My desire was granted. In a moment
Gulnare opened her eyes. The redness of frenzy
had passed out of them. She saw and recognized
me. I spoke again. Her eye lighted a moment

pb ADVENTURES IN THE WILDERNESS.

with the old and intelligent look of love. Her ear |
moved ; her nostril quivered gently as she strove
to neigh. The effort was in vain. Her love was —
greater than her strength. She moved her head a
little, as if she would be nearer me, looked once
more with her clear eyes into my face, breathed
a long breath, straightened her shapely limbs, and —
died. And there, holding the head of my dead
mare in my lap, while the great warm tears fell
one after another down my cheeks, I sat until the | :
sun went down, the ‘shadows darkened in the car, 3
and night drew her mantle, colored like my ae /
over the world.’ 4

APPE NEITX,

——

BEACH’S SIGHT.

FEEL that I cannot do my brother sportsmen
who may read this book a greater service than by
bringing this invention to their notice.

The great desideratum and problem with rifle-
makers and sportsmen, as all are aware, has been to
invent a sight that would combine all the merits of
“bead” and “open” sight, so that the hunter would
be able at will, and without a moment’s delay, to
use the globe or open sight, according as the game
- might be in motion or stationary, amid the shadows
of the forest or in the sunlight of the fields, or as the
color of the object might be dark or bright.

All sportsmen know how vexatious it is to have to
“rap” out one sight to insert another, necessitating
as it does tedious delay and the wearisome process
of “sighting,” when there may be neither time
nor powder to spare, and no appliances at hand to
effect an accurate adjustment. |

In this invention this desideratum is met, and the
solution found.

By a glance at the following cuts, every man ac-
quainted with the rifle will see how completely Mr.

234 APPENDIX.

Beach’s ingenuity has furnished what every rifleman

has so long desired. He will see that this sight
combines, in a cheap and simple form, the merits of
the “bead” and “open” sights, so that without
any removal, without an instant of delay, by a single

movement of the finger, the hunter can use either, as _
his judgment decides is best, when he stands looking at —
his game.

Adjusted for Open Sight. Adjusted for Globe Sight.

The writer of this has had for nearly a year this ~
sight upon his favorite rifle, where it has had months
of actual trial; and, whether upon the target-grounds
of our best ats or amid the Adirondack wilderness,
it has met every want, and remains to-day, where it
always will remain, on his rifle, an inde pae witness
to the value of the invention.

If space would allow, we might quote the enthusi-
astic indorsement of such men as Lewis of Troy,
W. P. McFarland, Superintendent of the Massachu-
setts Arms Company ; the celebrated veteran sportsman
Edward Stabler, Esq., of Maryland; F. G. Gunn, Esq.,

President of the Hawk Eye Rifle Club of Connecti-.

APPENDIX. 235
cut, and of scores of hunters and trappers in Northern
New York, where the sight was taken for trial last
summer.

Without a single exception, the verdict has been
unanimous for its adoption.

A hunter in Canada writes: “I would not part with
Beach’s sight, after four months’ trial, for twenty mink-
skins.” Another, from Connecticut, writes: “ Fifty
dollars would not purchase my sight.” Yet another,
from the North Woods, declares: “The best thing I
ever saw. I have hunted and trapped for thirty years,
and I can kill one third more game with this sight
than with any other I ever had.” An amateur in
New York City writes: ‘The moment I saw the sight,
my heart leapt for joy. Here is what I have always
been looking for. I would have bought it at ten times
its price. No rifle is fit for use without it.”

The following note is from Mr. Stabler.

Sanpy Sprinc, November 30, 1867.
To E. B. Beacon, Patentee of Beach's Combination Sight, West Meri-
den, Connecticut : —

I duly received, by mail, the patent bead or globe rifle
sight. In principle it is by far the most complete and per-
fect affair of the kind I have ever seen. In thus combining
the two sights, the hunter has all the advantage of both,
by a mere touch of the finger,—a perfect bead sight for
hunting, and a globe for close and long range shooting.

Very respectfully,
EDWARD STABLER.

The two illustrations will serve to give you an idea
of how the sight operates, but to fairly appreciate it

236 APPENDIX.

you must have it on your own rifle a few days, and
see how admirably and completely it meets every want
of the practical sportsman, in wood and field service.
The sights are made with bases of different sizes, so as _
to fit any rifle, whether the slot is wide or narrow. In
ten minutes, any man with a file can fit one to his
rifle. Every sight is warranted. If it does not give
perfect satisfaction, upon trial, you can return it and
the money will be refunded.

Unfortunately, the firm which contracted with Mr.
Beach to manufacture the sights failed before intro-
ducing them to the public, and the affairs of the
company still being in litigation, the demand for
these sights is left unsupplied. I understand that
arrangements are making by which Mr. Beach will |}
proceed to manufacture them himself; and I advise
every one who owns a rifle to write him on the receipt
of the information herein given, which, without the
solicitation or knowledge of Mr. Beach, I gladly and
freely impart.

Address, E. B. Bzacu, Esq., West Meriden, Conn.

THE END.

Cambridge: Electrotyped and Printed by Welch, Bigelow, & Co.

|

| J. C. CONROY & CO.,

| IMPORTERS AND MANUFACTURERS OF

Fish - Hooks, Fishing Tackle, &e.,

No. 65 FULTON STREET,

NEW YORK. —

J. C. CONROY & CO. (late J. & J. C. Conroy), 85 years
- manufacturers and importers of Fish-Hooks and Fishing Tackle, in
all its branches, inform their friends, amateurs, and the trade gen-
erally, that they have usually on hand, and are continually making,
to supply deficiency, a very complete assortment of

THE BEST ANGLING MATERIALS,
as well as a desirable stock for the Wholesale Trade.

In competition, J. C. C. & Co. have been

AWARDED THE ONLY GOLD MEDAL

EVER GIVEN IN THE UNITED STATES,

AND NINE SILVER MEDALS
FOR

THE BEST ARTICLES OF AMERICAN MANUFACTURED
FISHING TACKLE.

SS at A Ne ee ee =

WILLIAM READ & SONS,
13 Faneuil Hall Square, Boston,

DEALERS IN

FINE FISHING-RODS AND TACKLE,

KEEP CONSTANTLY ON HAND

The celebrated ‘‘ Tout’? make fine-spliced Bamboo Trout
and Salmon Rods, for fly and bait fishing, of very best quality.

Medium Quality Fly Rods of Hornbeam, with spliced bamboo
tips, in great variety.

Medium and Common Fly-bait, and General Rods of all
prices and kinds.

Atso, REELS, FLY-BOOKS, BASKETS, HOOKS, FLIES,
in great variety, and every article in the line.

ALSO, A LARGE STOCK OF FINE

MUZZLE AND BREECH LOADING GUNS,

Comprising all the best English and other makes, —

WESTLEY RICHARDS, SCOTT, GREENER, DOUGALL, POPE,
PURDEY, ELLIS, AND OTHERS,

With every article in the line of Shooting-Tackle,

As ELEY’S CAPS, WADS, and WIRE CARTRIDGES, DIXON & rae
FINE FLASKS, POUCHES, &o.

ALL THE DIFFERENT AMERICAN RIFLES AND REVOLVERS.
ALSO, FINE

“BRONZE YACHT GUNS,”

ONE-POUNDERS, MOUNTED ON BEST MAHOGANY CARRIAGES.

BRADFORD & ANTHONY,

178 WASHINGTON STREET, BOSTON,

Manufacturers and Dealers in

FISHING TACKLE,

Bote. Lines, Hooks, Reels, Baskets, Baits,
loats, Silkworm Gut, Gimp, Snells,
Bait-Boxes, Tackle-Books,
&C., KC.

ARTIFICIAL EHLIES,
For SALMON, BASS, TROUT, &c.,
MADE TO PATTERN OR FURNISHED FROM STOCK.

CALCUTTA BAMBOOS, CHINA LINES, WATER-
PROOFED BRAIDED SILK LINES,
OILED SILK LINES,

HISH-HOOKS,

HAND MADE AND WARRANTED QUALITY ; ALSO MADE TO SPECIAL
ORDER TO PATTERN IN LARGE QUANTITIES.

i@~ JOINTED FISHING-RODS MADE TO ORDER.

BRADFORD & ANTHONY,

178 Washington St., Boston.

A LIST OF FLIES ADAPTED TO NORTHERN NEW YORK
AND EASTERN WATERS.

1. MonTREAL. 7. Dr. Fiske.

2. WARE FLy. 8. GRAY DRAKE.

8. ScARLET Ins. 9. GOLDEN PHEASANT.

4. HawKINs. 10. Satmon Fuss, ¥f to %
5. Grizzty Kine. 11. GOVERNOR.

6. Cupsuctruc. 12. HAWTHORNE.

13. HACKLES, Rep, BLAcK, AND GRAY.

I would most cordially recommend the above list to my readers as containing
what I regard the most serviceable and reliable flies. Buy from this list, and
you will not be disappointed. I prefer to have them dreSsed on a Dublin-bend
hook. W. H. H. MURRAY.

ON THE WING.

A BOOK FOR YOUNG SPORTSMEN.
Br JOHN BUMSTEAD.
Richly Illustrated. ° ° One Vol. 16mo. $2.50.

This book, prepared by one of the most experienced sportsmen of
New England, treats of all the principal subjects that engage the at-
tention of a sportsman; and the author’s ideas respecting the ele-
mentary matters connected with the use of the gun are not only
practicable, but they are imbued with much common sense. The
book is eminently a practical one. It contains much valuable

information respecting the various styles of weapons now in use,— —

how they are made, and what Gonstitutes the superiority of one
weapon over another.

The author’s long experience has enabled him to gather much that
is necessary for every sportsman to know, respecting the habits and
haunts of the many varieties of game-birds found in our Northern
States, — the Woodcock, the Quail, and the Partridge, as well as the
game-birds and water-fowl of New England. The observations of the
author, however, apply to sporting everywhere, as, to use words of
the Preface, “to be a good shot in New England is to be one the
world over.”

The volume is fully and appropriately illustrated.

.

,

ae:

esis, 4.00

Sis ey ee

a

a

ae

eg

al

oe
ere fis

———eEeee

BINDING SECT. SFP 28 1982

PLEASE DO NOT REMOVE

CARDS OR SLIPS FROM THIS POCKET

UNIVERSITY OF TORONTO LIBRARY

Murray, William Henry
Harrison

Adventures in the wilder-
ness

aS Segue eee

aad Someta awe bytes
rae agate REN, A ag SRS A tag on tet

a

She NE a ET

ieee apse Oe Be, beer Mente aes Oe
ie rceaaciok Pe te

ge RAD VP ~~. Bs Sra ert Sed -
a ta a
Peiparentonerect qnaveetate Sten ay ears: a

we eee peeree

u RE Sgn antes 3o 2"
aw ace Berens) eee as Mose I
SR NO Rm OS ee tae Se *
ales arr Aeieam anes sae whit
poten toes : .

ate nee ln Be a ae ie oe | eA =e ering agile
te ey Qe ae er nee

Stu sowte & et a
aire Temgone I ATA Anny YN DRSRE BERIT EY
bok een 7 ye % Se SOAS MEE PE chibde TAS eae Kate
. aoe ERIE SARS UAE SATS Cette eiete ee eanoue
ctecer earecereneaeecel eos koe ‘ A ee ae geummyrte aartaa
eae a . Brasbseinaarrss Sree acne ak ca a lh é Wein premert ana ptt
: : mice! a ae a a
a a re sete Seyret Paes Tae Ae

Snare 8 EOS TEA apace

ae

Ligh ASAI re en ae ee
sn ie neareneneae’
.

sem SE mee seve jan gene
prathe aee a al See he ee a nese es ioean

BERS

gether ere
Tos Tey tt Art Pn Sa wap eagne SAMI

. ene Se a ys ee. cerned om, the)

i fi thy e. ty eee Ne eet ie BATES ed et eke
he eidniauntequeibaians pera es ie pb Ae MaRS RENE OF UMN RY AE
1 Ye Aan 9 ites ks ah) ere et CE ee ate aeeiet Palas So at eee ry Lindt " f : .

ox pce Sie care PT per"

ae

>

Aerts

ae, et eater AMIDA TE

Dipcmce a nich See Me sR ee ea DY sees eae careeaeee canons en ARTIS Oe ee - : aoe ;

aA TS 2 rere At ne aa =e ca . 7
pes ed ee es eee . * " - bs nee

da er Ara a sient her pete koait

Pee rn ee