m 



ST AND STREAM. 



IN CAMP. 



For Forest and Stream. 



SLt) VV down the mist the dying sun . 

 Drops to his crimson bed, 

 And sad, wierd voices of the night 

 Lament the day as dead. 



The moon climbs up above the hill, 



In golden garments bright. 

 And marks the ripples on the lake 



In lines of silver light. 



Amid the trees strauge shadows glide 



Around our flickering fire, 

 Going and coming as the .flame 

 Falls low or rises higher. 



Like sentinels above our camp,] 



The shattered hemlocks stand, 

 Gray warders, who a hundred years 

 Have looked o'er lake and land. 



And softly through the silence comes 



The outlet's distant roar, 

 And mingles with the rippling waves, 



Along the sandy shore. 



One flashing spark, the fading fire 

 Throws up, and then is dead, 



While forest breezes soft and cool, 

 Blow o'er the hunter's bed. 



Fern Fly. 



AMONG TH E AD I R ON PACKS. 



SUNRISE ON LITTLE TUPPER'S LAKE. — A DEER HUNT AT ROCK 

 POND. — CHASE AFTER A BUCK. 



Editor Forest and Stream : — 



One day last September, just as the gray dawn was break- 

 ing in the east, and before objects became barely discerna- 

 ble, I awoke and throwing my blanket aside sprang from 

 my hemlock boughs, and pushed back the folds of the tent 

 and stepped out into the morning air. How wondiously 

 calm was all nature! So peaceful and quiet had been her 

 slumbers here in the wilderness that night. The wind but 

 barely stirred the leaves ; the wavelets lapped the shore 

 at our feet with a soft rippling sound, and across the waters 

 in a path of silver sheen the moonbeams danced, while the 

 moon, full orbed rose right royally from behind the dark 

 sides of old Buck mountain, and held court with her 

 bright starry satelites over forest and stream. Soon the 

 scene shifts. From the heavens the morning star, so lately 

 sparkling like gold, is withdrawing its lustre, and the dark 

 of the morn is becoming a pale gray, and surrounding ob- 

 jects are becoming visible; a warm pink flush suffuses the 

 east; higher it mounts, and the day is fairly breaking. 

 Our camp is now astir. The guides begin to gather logs; 

 the axe soon divides them; some splinters arc whittled, and 

 soon a bright, cheerful flame is dancing through the fuel. 

 The water is soon boiling, the coffee is made, and with 

 some cold biscuits and fried potatoes, we despatch our 

 breakfast, and then unchaining our hounds we enter tne 

 boats and are once more dancing over the rippling waters 

 of Little Tuppers toward its head, where a party encamped 

 there are to join us in our hunt. The sun ha ) risen above 

 the mountains and is flooding the forest world with glory, 

 painting with purple and gold cloud and mountain, and 

 running around their edges golden lines, while others glow 

 with crimson fire; and through this floating sea of clouds 

 gleam all the colors of the rainbow. Such a mass of fan- 

 tastic shapes, such changing hues, and yet so beautiful! I 

 would that I had my paints and brushes with me that I 

 might hastily sketch this wondrous scene, this most rare 

 cloud effect in sunrise. But no, on we must push as 

 the sooner we get our dogs started the better, and I turn 

 my back to the glorious cloud palace, with its jewelled 

 lines, and feel the breath of the fresh, pure morning blow- 

 ing in my face, as our Saranac boat is swiftly propelled 

 over the water by the strong arms of Hank, my trusty 

 guide. How sparkle the waters, a ruby tint upon each 

 wavelet! How liquid and transparent they appear in the 

 morning glow! Up towards the head a fog bank lies cold 

 and gray, its upper edges bathed in faint coral hue. On 

 we dash, and as we round Watch Island we find the wind 

 freshening, and out toward yonder point the waves are be- 

 ginning to dash. "We'll have a windy day, and I rayther 

 guess we'll get some rain." I glance at the heavens as 

 Hank speaks, and find the clouds gathering and fast losing 

 their bright, gleaming colors, while those of violet, salmon 

 and gray are taking their places, and over to our right 

 spanning the sky is painted a rainbow, and the old>aying 

 comes to mind, "rainbow in the morning is the sailor's 

 warning." The loons are flying, and their clarion call echoes 

 like a bugle blast from mountain to mountain. "That ere 

 wind's risin' fast;" and sure enough Hank's words proved 

 true, for in a few moments we had hard work to make 

 headway against the combing, crested waves. On we pull 

 off from the lee shore, and upon rounding the point at the 

 head, see lowering in a dark gray mass, far over Smith's 

 Lake, a shower. 



Reaching the other camp, we find them all astir and 

 ready. "Well, boys," says Pliny, "we had better wait 

 awhile till we see whether it's going to rain or not; 'taint 

 no use for me to put out the dogs if 'tis." And we wait; 

 and now the rain drops patter on the water which has be- 

 come quite tranquil, breaking the surface with myriad 

 white spots; and now the cloud is passing to the westward, 

 and through flying clouds we catch glimpses of the blue 

 sky. "Well, I guess we'll try it;" and as the rain has 

 ceased two boats start for Smith's Lake and Charley Pond, 

 another for Salmon Lake, while the other two go one to 

 Rock Pond and the other to the island near the inlet of the 

 lake. I also am to watch Rock Pond, and taking the dogs, 



we start. Hank steps into the boat with me, and off we 

 go up the inlet. Pliny meanwhile takes the other dogs 

 and plunges to the west of the camp. Rowing along up 

 the reed fringed banks of the stream, we breathe in great 

 draughts of the pure, fresh air, and gaze with delight upon 

 the deep amber waters in which is reflected as in a mirror 

 the long brakes and ferns, sky and clouds. The broad 

 leaves of the lilly lie floating on its bosom, upon which 

 lay contentedly here and there some frog or huge dragon 

 fly, the former blinking at us comically as we pass, the lat- 

 ter waving its wings to and fro glistening in the sunlight. 



From the bushes of the mountain ash with its scarlet 

 benies, from the showy stems of the golden rod, and from 

 reeds and rushes so brightly emerald, drip the crystal rain- 

 drops, glistening like pearls in the bright beams. "Look 

 there, Hank; just see how the deer travelled through here 

 last night," I exclaim, as in the mud and sand all around us 

 are seen the prints. "The shore is cut up like a sheep pas- 

 ture." "Gollv," says Hank, "aint that an all-fired big fel- 

 ler that made that there huge track; as big as an ox." 

 The lilly pads were broken off where they had fed, and the 

 bushes beaten doAvn all around. The stream is very crook- 

 ed and narrow and shallow, except here and there where 

 at a bend lies a dark pool, where the trout love to lie. We 

 at last arrive at the "carry," and Hank and I shoulder the 

 boat and contents, and walk over it, and we did it without 

 a slip or stumble over the old gnarled roots and rough 

 stones that obstructed our path. Launching the boat again 

 in the stream, we put off, now running upon some sunken 

 log, now grating over a concealed rock, tugging and pull- 

 ing, we at last emerge into Rock Pond, a beautiful sheet of 

 water with an island almost m its centre. I row to my 

 watch ground on the point near the outlet, thus command- 

 ing a view of the Pond and the "runway" near the carry. 

 Am ay down toward the westward, near the outlet of Sal- 

 mon Lake, upon a small rock ties the boat of H. and his 

 guide, a mere speck. Farther on, a mass of purple haze, 

 loom the mountains of the lake, while all around is a cor- 

 don of forest primeval. The red man has disappeared, as 

 also the solitude-loving moose and beaver. By the far back 

 lakes they still exist with the wolf and panther; the two 

 latter, with the bear, make a tour now and then to this 

 region. 



The pond now lies quite calm, "the calm before the 

 storm," as afar over the woods is heard the hoarse murmur 

 of the wind, like the roar of the sea, and out to the west 

 the mountains are hid from view by a thin gray veil, as the 

 rain comes steadily on; and now the island is shut from 

 sight, and the patter of the rain over the trees and water 

 sounds like the foam of some distant cascade. "Ough! 

 this is pleasant," I exclaim, as the storm comes down upon 

 me, wetting me through. I wrap my rubber blanket as 

 closely around me as I can. "Hope they haven't started 

 the dogs yet." How dismal now is the scene; everything 

 gray and leaden; but I think it nothing more than a shower; 

 still it comes down fast, and I have to stand and take it. 

 Ah, there it a streak of blue sky again, to the west. Not 

 so bad a day after all. And the wind lulls, and the rain 

 ceases to patter, though all around me is wet and dripping. 

 I thrown off my blai ket and brush the water from my rifle, 

 and— ah, isn't that a dog? Away to the north I hear a faint 

 hum like a bee. I listen. Another hum; and another and 

 another. Fast it booms and nearer. Ah, sweet music! 

 and now the deep voices of the hounds are heard ringing 

 out clearly on the mountain not two miles away. Nearer 

 and nearer. The chase is warmer as they open out quick- 

 er. Now look out, sharp. The deer may be in the lake 

 any minute. I await with breathless expectation, the 

 blood coursing quick and hot through me. Ah! Abound 

 in the bush, a crash, and into the pond leaps a large doe. 

 I crouch down to let her swim out far enough to cut her 

 off. Her ears are working back and forward; she swims 

 out but a few yards, turns, and makes for shore again. I 

 ran through the woods towards the spot which she is mak- 

 ing for, in order to frighten her out again, as I desired to 

 make her swim out to H, after I got into my boat, which 

 I could easily do, as he was very desirous of killing his 

 deer, and I had killed two old does already in the past few 

 days ; but though I ran with all my might she was ashore 

 before I arrived, and we met almost face to face. With a 

 bound like lightning she dashes by me on the beach. I fire, 

 but it is like shooting at a rocket, and I miss, and she is out 

 of sight across the point. I take a long breath and wish I 

 had fired at her at once while she was in the water. But 

 no matter; "make the best of it." And now come down 

 the dogs hot and fierce. I call them; "here, Spot, here 

 Drive," and show them where the deer came ashore; but 

 no use ; they think the deer swam into the lake, and will 

 not follow. And now, crashing through the brush, comes 

 Hank, and he hastily inquires where the deer went in, and 

 he tries to put the dogs on the track, but no use. "Durn 

 the dogs," says he, "that's all-fired mean." I jump upon 

 my watch ground and look over the pond. What is that 

 swimming out there by the island! A black speck! Is it 

 moving? Yes. "By Jove, Hank, there's another deer?" 

 To make sure, I level my field glasses upor. it. Hank seizes 

 them and says, "where?" and looks through them quickly, 

 and with a "by goll, so it is; get into the boat quick," we 

 dash out, and though the distance is about a mile and a 

 half, we overhaul him fast. "Why don't they start out 

 from the island," (meaning H. and his guide,) I exclaim, as 

 they are seen standing upon it watching us, apparently 

 wondering what we are rowing so fast across the lake for. 

 "Don't see the deer," says Hank. The perspiration rolls 

 from his forehead as he pulls with all his might, and we 

 dash swiftly along. "A big buck," I cry, and Hank re- | 



plies, "Guess it's the same buck I put Watch after up fa 

 the slash. " And now we near him ; truly a big fellow, with 

 a fine pair of antlers. "Just the one I have been looking 

 for the past two weeks; how splendidly he will looknipunf 

 ed for a hat rack in my hall, eh, Hank? Can't let H. have 

 him anyhow; if 'twas a doe 'twould be a different thing >' 

 Now the buck sees us and makes for the point he is near 

 (and which I was afraid he would reach before we started 

 as he was heading for it.) "Faster, Hank," I yell, "fc^i 

 get ashore," and Hank tugs faster, the water flies, the oar 

 blades bend, and the boat fairly jumps along." 'aIi the 

 deer is turning from the point; he sees he cannot reach it 

 and makes for the marsh. We near him; he turns again 

 for the Island; around again goes our boat. Ah, there 

 comes H, his guide rowing with all his might; but he can't 

 overtake us, and the deer is ours, for the law of the woods 

 is "wdio kills the deer to him it belongs," and so we dash 

 alongside. What a splendid big neck. "Hold, Hank; keep 

 the boat steady," I say, and aim at his back just below the 

 neck. I fire, but on he keeps. I fire a little higher. "He's 

 a tough old fellow; shoot him through the neck," says 

 Hank, and I put another cartridge in and aim and fire. I 

 send the ball through his neck, his head falls over and he is 

 ours. We tow him ashore, and it as much as we two wish 

 to do to drag him on the rocks. "A buster; an old chap- 

 will weigh 200 sure." "I'm satisfied," I replied. "Ah' 

 there is Watch down at the runway where the buck came 

 in." A white spot is teen across the lske in the slang or 

 marsh, and we row across and take him, and call him 

 "good dog, good fellow, and rowing back to our watch 

 ground, we built a fire, and each taking off his clothes 

 while the other watches, dry them and feel better. 



The afternoon wears away. Now and then, afar off 

 toward Salmon and Smith's Lakes, we heard the notes of the 

 hounds, waking the woods with their music, and once the 

 chase came so near we were all expectation to see the deer 

 enter the lake; but presently it winds, and off up towards 

 Salmon Lake it dies in the distance; and after waiting an 

 hour or so longer, until near five o'clock, we enter onr 

 boat and with our game and hounds find it heavily weighted. 

 We reach camp after dark, hungry and tired, but pleased 

 with our clay's hunt. And so go the days, happy ones, full 

 of golden hours, but we must soon turn our faces home- 

 ward, after painting a few more scenes to show my friends 

 glimpses of this wondrous forest world up here in the Adi- 

 rondacks. C. C. Makkham, 

 ■ ♦♦•*»• 



HONK! HONK! HONK! 



♦ ■ 



Chincoteaqtje Island, Dec'r 19th, 1878. 

 Editor Forest and Stream: — 



I had been stopping for several days with Mr. Griffin, in 

 Accomac county, Virginia, awaiting Jake's coming, and 

 was somewhat annoyed at my gunner's delay in not turn- 

 ing up. However, on the 3d of this month, near the cot- 

 ton field at the end of the garden, I heard honk! honk! 

 honk! and rushing to thefhouse for my gun, was making 

 for the open fields near the shore, when who should I 

 meet but my stalwart gunner, Jake, in person. My first 

 question was, ' 'are there any geese yet at Chincoteague, 

 Jake?" His reply was reassuring to a degree. "Yes, sail; 

 lots of 'em ; my boat is on the creek, and by the feel of the 

 wind, I 'spose we might make Chincoteague to-night." I 

 was somewhat doubtful in regard to the weather, not relish- 

 ing exactly a thirteen mile sail in a cranky boat of a stormy 

 evening, but on Jake's assuring me that he "was bound to 

 do it under three hours, if I didn't mind getting jess a 

 little wet now and then," I put on my water-proof, took, 

 my two guns, blankets and valise, and consigned myself to 

 Jake's care. One hour out in the bay, I had rather good 

 reasons for regretting my voyage. The wind blew from 

 the north w r est, "a good wind for geese," as Jake remarked, 

 "but a mighty unsartain one for folks in a boat." The 

 water broke over our craft repeatedly, the spray driving 

 with stinging violence against my face, though thanks to 

 my water proof, my body was perfectly dry. The gun 

 cases I had laslied under the thwarts, and the ammunition, 

 being in the for'castle hole, I knew would not be damaged. 

 The wind came in so strong that Jake reefed close, but in- 

 stead of three hours it was nearer seven hours before we 

 made Wallop's Island. A few hundred yards back of the 

 inlet, on a point, I was welcomed by one of Jake's colored 

 friends. In fact I found every preparation made for me. 

 No sooner had I thrown off my wet wraps than supper was 

 announced, and a glorious one was it. Imprimis, a brant 

 stuffed with persimmons; secondly, a slice of baked drum- 

 fish, some fried spod; lastly, a roasted coon with sweet po- 

 tatoes, all flanked with flapjacks and corn pone. How will 

 this do for a Chincoteague supper? But gunners always do 

 live on the fat of the land, providing they can accommo- 

 date themselves to circumstances. In the present case 

 Jake and I were old friends. With these colored people 

 of the better class, for Jake had been the body servant of 

 an excellent master before the war, money was no object. 

 What Jake wanted was to be treated with that respect 

 which he was entitled to, and which he fully merited for 

 his faithfulness and honesty, not counting his sportsman- 

 like ability. Jake's invariable price is $.3,^00 a day, includ- 

 ing stools. 



I turned in and had a comfortable night. Next morning 

 I was up at daybreak, it wanting about an hour to flood 

 tide. Isaiah, Jake's friend, had four live geese stools and ten 

 pairs of decoys. They have no blinds at Chincoteague; we 

 therefore made the boat the blind, easily accomplished by 

 nailing cedar brush, some two and a half feet high all 

 around the'boat. The live geese stools were arranged on a 

 platform of wood, a kind of raft, a pfece of leather with 



