FOREST AND STREAM. 



THE RIVERS OF 



For Forest and Stream. 

 COLORADO. 



COLORADO, like many of the Western States and Ter- 

 ritories, has a large number of long, winding and 

 rapid streams, which have been raised to the dignity of 

 rivers, although, except for their length, little deserving of 

 the name, None of the rivers within the confines of the 

 Territory are navigable, or of any use whatever to inland 

 trade or commerce. They are to the country what the 

 veins and arteries are to the human system— they supply 

 health and vigor to the earth, they stimulate agriculture, 

 are of vast benefit to mining undertakings, furnish power 

 for mills, and supply the indispensable water to cities, 

 towns and villages. On the map these rivers appear of 

 great magnitude and importance, threading the county, as 

 they do in all directions, and containing within themselves 

 the germs of wealth for the future State . A short descrip- 

 tion of these rivers may perhaps interest the general read- 

 er, as they are somewhat different from ihose in the Ea^t 

 or Europe. 



The Platte River has its source immediately under the 

 snowy crest of the main range of the Rocky Mountains, 

 and is divided into two main branches — the South Platte 

 and its north fork. The north fork of the South Platte 

 and the river proper unite in Jefferson county, about twen- 

 ty-four miles south and twelve miles west of Denver, not 

 very far from where the turbulent waters of Elk Creek 

 flow into the north fork. From their junction these two 

 rivers receive the name of South Platte, and flow through 

 the most picturesque mountain scenery until they reach 

 the plains, at an elevation of about 5,600 feet above the 

 level of the sea. In the mountains they are rapid, sinuous, 

 narrow, of crystal clearness, and abounding in trout of the 

 finest character. On reaching the plains, and on their way 

 to Denver, these waters become shallow, of great width, 

 and full of sand banks and quicksands. The tall pines 

 and waving spruces disappear, and the banks of the river 

 are fringed with a scanty growth of willow and cotton- 

 wood, with here and there the delicate foliage of the 

 "quaking asp," a species of poplar. The country on both 

 sides of the Platte is of varied character. On the banks 

 of the little brook which forms its source are the log huts 

 of the settlers, the board buildings of the miners, or the 

 white tents of Summer tourists. On all sides rise dark, 

 pine-clad mountains, gray precipices, snowy peaks and 

 waving pines. All is nature — nature as undisturbed by 

 the handiwork of man. Mountain sheep browse on the 

 steep inclines of the mountains; the stately elk and timid 

 deer peer from the willow thickets; the beaver is busy on 

 his dam; the squirrel chirps from the top of the pine tree; 

 grouse and ptarmigan flutter among the grass, and the wa- 

 ters of the bubbling brook seethe and foam in their moss- 

 covered basins, as if impatient to be on their way to the 

 great plains of the east. Further down, the waters in- 

 crease in volume and pour past the lonely mountain farms, 

 or skirt the mountain road. Here they are crossed by a 

 rude bridge of unhewn logs. Down the opposite hill lum- 

 bers the red mail coach, with its freight of adventurous 

 travelers; it rumbles over the bridge, the bright waters 

 leap upwards and then pass on to the abode of man. Leap- 

 ing over rocks, surging around stumps, boiling in deep holes, 

 roaring over gravelly reaches, turning the wheels of many 

 saw mills, past high mountains, through deep ravines, pleas- 

 ant meadows, and by picturesque log houses, it pours through 

 its final ravine and enters the wide spread plains below, 

 just as the setting sun lights up the broad expanse of em- 

 erald with an effulgence which creates a sort of mirage on 

 those pampas or steppes of the West, In the mountains 

 '"Twas pebble, rubble and fallen tree, 

 'Twas babble, double,, through every mile; 

 It battled on with a shout and shock, 

 And white with foarn was the rugged rock, 

 And dark were tbe heml*cks all the while, 

 Till the road grew broad and the creek ran free." 



while here, on the plains, 



"It creeps away in the tangled grass 



"With a voiceless flow and a wandering will." 



The gap in the mountains from which the Platte enters 

 upon the plains is a beautiful spot, and called the Cation 

 of the Platte. In the foreground are green meadows dot- 

 ted with innumerable flowers of countless hues; tall grasses 

 wave and nod in the passing breeze; the river ripples over 

 its gravelly bed, and clumps of willows display their sil- 

 very buds and delicate foliage. Further back, to the right 

 of the river, is a solitary farm house, surrounded by fields 

 of grain and grass, and the background is formed by gently 

 rising hills, bare of trees; pine-clad mountains and peaks 

 covered with glistening snow. Over all is a clear, blue 

 sky, dotted with fleecy white clouds, with here and there a 

 floek of birds winging their silent way to their nests in the 

 mountain solitude. Further down the river it is crossed 

 by a long pile bridge, over which the heavy laden train 

 rushes with a continuous roar on its way to the south . 

 Farms, more or less cultivated, frame in the river on both 

 sides. Waving fields of grain, serried plots of potatoes, em- 

 erald stretches of grass, bristly meadows dotted with mounds 

 of fragrant hay, snug farm houses with their diminutive 

 groves, herds of lowing kine, and long lines of freight 

 wagons, like an Eastern caravan, form the chief features 

 of the scenery of this portion of the Platte. 



Beyond Denver the river passes through a vast expanse 

 of prairie, dry, cactus grown, and full of the wild sage. 

 Long irrigating ditches stretch out to the distant horizon; 

 patches of glistening gravel or silvery sage dot the plains; 

 to the right sit countless prairie dogs, barking and frisking 

 in the sun. Here and there is a solitary farm house with 

 outbuidings; the well has the old-fashioned sweep; fields 

 of growing crops are scattered about, and many a tow- 

 headed urchin waves his battered hat as the train from 

 Cheyenne rushes by on its way to Denver, the "Queen 

 City of the Plains." It would be useless to describe the 

 lonely way stations, the thrifty villages , or the rising towns 

 which overlook the turbid and shallow waters of the 

 Platte, for they all have the same general character, and 

 would not prove of interest to the reader. Out on the 

 boundless plains the river, with its fringe of foliage, pre 

 sents an agreeable change to the monotony of the grassy 

 level. Herds of buffalo cross a ford; groups of graceful 

 antelope bound over the plain; the shy coyote skulks 

 among the sage brush; a long line of mounted Indians 

 skirt the horizon, or a straggling train of white canvas- 

 covered wagons toil along the river banks. It is difficult 

 to give full justice to the scenery of the Platte, for it is of 

 so varied a character that each view would seem to demand 

 a separate description. To ^Eastern people, used to the 

 grand scenery of the Hudson, the romantic views on the 

 Susquehanna, or the rural beauty of the Houstonic, the 



rivers of Colorado may appear tame and uninteresting; 

 still, after a short residence in this country they will find 

 many points of interest which they, in their nonchalance, 

 have overlooked. H. W. Pollitz. 



THE NOTTOWAY 



For Forest and 8trea?n. 

 REGION. 



EER hunting, by this time, is getting rather unprofit- 

 able sport; not that the deer migrate or leave— but 

 they seem to learn wisdom, and instead of being driven to 

 certain points by the hounds, they run in erratic routes, 

 and baffle the calculation of the sportsmen, who wait pa- 

 tiently for hours on a stand, in the hopes of getting a shot. 

 In the Summer or early Autumn, five deer can be killed 

 where one is now, and the explanation is simple: In warm 

 weather, when started by the hounds, they strike in a di- 

 rect line for the water, and whether it is a mill dam or a 

 river, the huntsman knows exactly where his game will 

 cross the road, and is nearly certain to get his shot. But 

 in cold weather it is different. The deer take to water, it 

 is true, when hard pressed; but in the usual drive the}' 

 don't seem in a hurry to escape the hounds, and make for 

 the woods and thickets, and the very number of animals 

 is their safety in a long run. Other deer are certain to be 

 started, and the tracks crossing and intermingling baffle 

 the hounds, and confuse them so that they generally give 

 up the chase. 



As I said before in a former letter, notwithstanding their 

 being hunted, the deer of this section are steadily increas- 

 ing in numbers. They can only be killed by driving with 

 dogs, and as but few farmers keep a pack, it is impossible 

 to steal upon them, or to shoot them by night; the forests 

 may be full of them, and one could walk the woods until 

 doomsday and get but a chance look at them. Their 

 hearing is good; the cracking of a twig, noise of a footstep 

 — the very rustling of a leaf, makes them bound from their 

 resting place and fly, even when the wind is from you; but 

 their great safeguard is their scent. It is marvelous to see 

 how they are gifted in this respect. I have seen them run- 

 ning at full speed directly for the spot where the hunts- 

 man lay concealed, with throbbing heart, bounding pulse 

 and cocked gun in his eager bauds, certain of his game; 

 and I have seen them at a hundred yards detect their hid- 

 den enemy by their exquisite sense of smell, and turn ob- 

 liqel y without any reduction in their speed, leaving the pa- 

 tient but unlucky shooter staring with open eyes and drawn 

 down mouth at the form fast vanishing in the distance. 

 The rutting season commences now, and the bucks have 

 desperate battles when they meet, and it is of common oc- 

 currence to come across plain evidences of the combat, the 

 ground being torn up by their hoofs and the sod flecked 

 with blood. The doe brings forth her young in the early 

 Summer, one generally, sometimes twins at a birth; the 

 fawns can keep up with their mother in a few days. They 

 make beautiful pets, and are* domesticated in a short time. 

 Any one desiring to get these fawns can communicate with 

 Capt. Wm. Blin, of Littleton, Sussex county, Ya., who 

 can obtain all he wants. The negroes catch many of them 

 to sell in the Petersburg markets. I saw a gentleman in 

 Sussex who found two pairs of antlers in the woods, so in- 

 terlocked and so interlaced that he could not separate 

 them, Near by was a pile of bones, the remains of the 

 two bucks, who had clearly got into a struggle during the 

 "rutting season, 1 ' and in the furious battle their antlers had 

 gotten the prongs so firmly fixed that they fell linked to- 

 gother, and died on the field from slow exhaustion and 

 starvation. It is an exciting thing to see a deer running in 

 full view, and I can understand easily why novices or 

 the amateur hunters have what is called the "buck ague." 

 Yet I think it is unjust to charge a man with having a 

 tremor of the nerves and not being able to fire off his gun; 

 the delay in shooting frequently arises from anything but 

 nervousness. I can understand the feeling now. Not very 

 long ago I was hunting partridges, and was slowly riding 

 through a field, my pointers searching a cover of chestnut 

 and oak at the bottom, and right before me jumped up a 

 buck with at least ten points to his antlers. He did not see 

 me, but stood for a moment, with starting eye and heaving 

 flank, gazing at the dogs. As quick as thought I extract- 

 ed my bird cartridges and slipped in a pair of Ely's wire 

 cartridges, loaded with buckshot, which I had handy in 

 my vest pocket, and then cocked the gun. The buck by 

 this time was fifty yards away, running parallel to the 

 fence, not going fast, but in an easy lope, with here and 

 there a high bound. It was the most magnificent sight I 

 ever saw in my life. The atlered head thrown high in the 

 air, the delicate figure, the movements — the very grace and 

 poetry of motion. I did not fire, but only stared in honest 

 admiration at the "monarch of the glades," and let him 

 pass, free as the very air to go where he listeth. I could 

 have as soon pulled trigger at a child playing in the aban- 

 don of glee, as to have shot that noble and graceful ani- 

 mal. I told my tale to the captain when I reached home, 

 and in half an hour his pack of hounds was trailing his 

 lordship splendidly. We had a fine run and that was all. 

 I believe I spoke in a former letter of the want of a 

 game law for this section . The curse of this region is the 

 negroes. The majority of them wont work, but squat on 

 somebody's land, build a hovel, and live by hunting, trap- 

 ping and stealing. They are generally armed with an old 

 army musket, and will sit all day under the trees watching 

 for a squirrel, and creep along all the paths in the late eve- 

 ning and shoot every old hare who is taking his evening 

 prowl; then they trap every living animal that can be 

 caught. I was out hunting one day and I passed along the 

 edge of a corn held about a mile in length, bordering the 

 low grounds. A short distance away was the Nottoway 

 River. In these low grounds are immense trees, that 

 seem to have lived since the flood, and in them used to 

 be countless hordes of squirrels, raccoons and 'possums; 

 but now they are scarce indeed, and no wonder. They 

 are baited and trapped out of all season. In this one corn- 

 field bordering the swamp, in the distance mentioned, I 

 counted sixty-eight log traps baited and set. They were 

 placed at regular intervals of about ten yards distant; and 

 this is just an instance — a thousand could be given. I 

 gave sixty-eight kicks and sixty-eight traps fell. I performed 

 this duty religiously. An old darkey, telling the Cap- 

 tain about it, said: "De debble must a bin a meddlin' wid 

 dem traps; dey was all down, and no varmints caught, 

 nutker!" 



There is an old lady here— once the celebrated belle of 

 the State--who lives near this place— a very old lady, one 

 of the ancient matrons which many have seen in faded 

 portraits, but few have met face to face — well, my friend 

 has passed long since the limit of human life spoken of in 



Holy Writ. She still retains the same remarkable mind, 

 well stored with ancient lore, and her charming conversa- 

 tional powers that she was noted for in the Old Dominion 

 a half a century ago. She is familiar with all the old tra- 

 ditions and historical records of Southeast Virginia, and 

 can present a melange of facts that are worth knowing. 



In the early days of Virginia, Col. Byrd, of Westov'er 

 a famous country seat lying on James River, afterward the 

 manor of the Selden family, was selected by Virginia to 

 run the dividing line between his State and the State of 

 North Carolina. Col. B}a-d was, at that time, one of the 

 most learned and accomplished men of his day, and the 

 high honor conferred on him was worthily bestowed. In 

 the performance of his duty he selected the sites of the fu- 

 ture city of Richmond, at the foot of the falls on James 

 River, and also of Petersburg, on the Appomattox River. 

 The size and prosperit}^ of these twin cities show what 

 marvelous judgment and far-reaching sight the Col. had. 

 On his way back, he mentions in his chronicle — which 

 was published in the old Farmers' Register, the great gen- 

 tleman's sporting journal of that day, which was published 

 in the State — that he camped on a stream called Sappony 

 Creek, a branch of the Nottoway River, in the upper part 

 of Sussex county, and gives a long account of the great 

 profusion of game, and the large number of Indians, and 

 also what excited his astonishment and wonder was the 

 large specimen. of silver ore which one of the Sappony In- 

 dians brought to him in exchange for knives and axes. 

 Col. Byrd says he closely questioned those swarthy sons of 

 the forest in regard to this silver ore, and they assured him 

 that there were^mines of incalculable wealth on the Notto- 

 way River, but that their chiefs had forbidden them to re- 

 veal them to the whites, for fear that they would come and 

 destroy their hunting grounds. Col. Byrd, in his memoirs, 

 lays great stress upon the richness of the specimens in his 

 possession, and affirmed his belief that there were rich 

 veins known to the Indians. It was his intention to ex- 

 plore carefully the whole country, and to discover, if pos- 

 sible, the whereabouts of the silver, but old age and in- 

 creasing infirmities prevented him from carrying out his 

 plans; but he always, to the day of his death, spoke of his 

 firm belief in these undiscovered mines. My historian be- 

 lieves it thoroughly now; she told me of an old hunter 

 named Simmons, who lived on the banks of the Nottoway 

 in her girlhood, who was very intimate with the Indians — 

 indeed almost one of them. He "took up" with a squaw, 

 and lived in a small hovel on the river. Simmons often 

 brought deer, turkeys and coons to sell at her father's 

 house, and the old huntsman was a great favorite of her 

 brothers. Old Simmons ussd to bring back something be- 

 sides the spoils of the chase— something that would be 

 more eagerly coveted than the fattest buck that ever 

 cleared a ten rail fence, and that was a nugget of silver. 

 He said that he knew where the mines were situated, but 

 that he was sworn to keep the secret undivulged. Every 

 argument, threat and cajolery was used on old Simmons 

 by her young brothers to get him to carry them and show 

 the spot where he fouud the nugget, but all to no purpose. 

 Old Simmons could not be bribed ; fame or power he never 

 heard of; money he did not know the value of; luxuries 

 he had a contempt for, and so he kept his faith truly, and 

 when he died his secret died with him. This is a true tale, 

 and I write it for the benefit of those who desire a future 

 easily won, and not for that class whose motto is, "By In- 

 dustry We Thrive," and who are content to plod along, 

 walking steady and hoping earnestly, and waiting trusting- 

 ly for their "ships to come home from sea." From what 

 I have heard, the old traditions have convinced me and I 

 believe that there is a veritable "El Dorado" in this wild 

 section which will make the discoverer richer and more 

 powerful than the Genii of Alladdin's wonderful lamp, 

 and will throw in the shade the Oomstoek and the Gun- 

 powder lode. 



During the Indian and French war there marched from 

 this region six hundred warriors, by name called one of 

 the six nations, to fight against Braddock's army, and but 

 few returned from the war. It is a singular fact that in 

 Southamptou, the county adjoining Sussex, there is a tract 

 of land of six thousand acres, which was granted to the 

 Southampton Indians by the State of Virginia, which has 

 never been revoked or repealed. The descendants of those 

 Indians live on the track yet, but they have amalgamated 

 so thoroughly with the negroes that the trace of their de- 

 scent and lineage is nearly obliterated; they only show 

 their blood by their hatred of labor and their love of the 

 chase. It is a common thing to pick up relics of them in 

 the shape of an arrowhead of flint, or a tomahawk of 

 fieldspar. Whenever I find such relics it always sets me 

 dreaming, and I picture to myself the noble red man, as 

 he, in his primitive state, wild, untutored, yet with his sav- 

 age virtues — not as he became after contact with the white 

 men, who had cowed him, and the pale face's fire water 

 had completely demoralized and brutalized him, until he 

 became an Iskmael among men. I must confess that I nave 

 a strong sympathy for the Indian; lie is as God made him, 

 and he was robbed of the fairest inheritance on earth, his 

 game killed, his lodges defiled, and he kept like Joe, in 

 "Bleak House," always a moving on, with his face to the 

 setting sun, seeking for rest and peace and finding it not. 

 Is it any wonder that he turned at last and learned what 

 his white friends taught him — that revenge was sweet? 



But it is time I was putting on the brakes. In my next 

 I will describe some of the fox hunts of the olden time- 

 that same old glorious time when a Virginia youth had but 

 three things to do, go to court on court days, ride and 

 hunt, and drink the best of home-brewed apple jack. But as 

 old Uncle Manuel used to say: "Dem times aint dese 

 times," and we all sigh an affirmative. Chassetjr. 



Home-made Apotbegms. — Hard worn and no pay is bad 

 enough, but no pay and no credit is worse than to die and 

 be forgotten. 



The Forest am> Stream is much quoted, but seldom 

 mentioned. 



The Toronto Sporting Times of last week appropriates a 

 column and a half of our editorial matter and gives no 

 credit. This neglect is so habitual that no one now looks 

 to it for original articles. 



The Nashville (Tenn.) Mural Bun copies two full col- 

 umns in like manner. We have exchanged with it just 

 two weeks; and yet we are not happy! 



The devil may get his due, but the rural newspaper ex- 

 change is a hard creditor. 



