THE AMERICAN SPORTSMAN'S JOURNAL. 
[Entered According- to Act of Congress, in the year 18T9, by the Forest and Stream Publishing Company, In the Office of the Librarian of CongreBB, at Washington.] 
NEW YORK, THURSDAY, JANUARY 29, 1880. 
ffte J Vast § ranch off the jjgenobscot. 
TWO HUNDRED JULES THROUGH MAINE IN A CANVAS CANOE. 
THIRD PAPER. 
A T 6:80 A.M., August 30th, our camp was alive with 
preparations for the long anticipated run down 
Webster River, ten miles to the East Branch of the Pen¬ 
obscot River, and, as it afterwards proved, was the most 
exciting day’s experience of the two hundred mile tom-. 
Blankets, overcoats, and tent, were rolled closer than 
usual, and leather thongs five feet in length (some three 
dozen of which I had brought with me) were tied about 
them and safely crowded into the bottom of the long rub¬ 
ber bags, Covers to the various provision boxes, and 
pails were secured with straps and ropes, and every part 
of the camp kit made to occupy as little room as possible 
in the four canoes. Rubber leggings and wading shoes 
were put on and all unnecessary wearing apparel wrapped 
in rubber blankets and tied to the boats, that nothing 
might incommode the free use of our arms in the passage 
of the fall3 and cascades of the stream. The stretcher of 
our canvas boat was fastened to the wooden knees more 
tightly with thongs that no possible chance of accident 
might occur, while the pieces of extra canvas for patch¬ 
ing the canoe, with their accompanying needles, wax, 
and water-proofing, were tied in a convenient place in 
the bow, and before we had completed the day's adven¬ 
tures we found them of great service. 
Webster Stream is about sixty feet wide, and ih its 
course from the lake of the same name to Grand Palls 
(two miles above its mouth) descends one hundred and 
ten feet, while the falls, including the rolling dam and 
cataract below, make the entire "distance to the East 
Branch of the Penobscot not far short of one hundred 
and seventy feet. The stream issues from the lake with 
little force, being clogged by a mass of logs, the remnants 
of various “ booms." As it passes downward in its course, 
heavy walls of rocks crowned by tall pines arise on all 
Bides! often darkening the waters and producing a canon¬ 
like appearance of the surroundings. The course of the 
river is over immense boulders and ledges, often unob¬ 
servable just beneath the surface, while others in sight 
stand like sentinels in the middle of the stream disputing 
one's passage. The flow is repeatedly marked by beauti¬ 
ful falls and rapids, not high, but crowded together in 
narrow parts which give greater expression and grandeur 
to the water, presenting at various points the most re¬ 
markable scenery in this section. Cascade succeeds cas¬ 
cade, ending often in an abrupt pitch of three to five feet, 
and at their base are dark boiling pools flecked with 
snowy foam. 
The river has not great depth of water ateany time, 
three to five feet on the average, but we were fortunate 
in the extra supply of the last weeks’rain, which, although 
it prevented many “ carries,” also increased in volume 
and force of water to that extent that made canoeing haz¬ 
ardous and filled our path with greater dangers. The 
ladened birch canoes had passed ns down the river, when 
the Quartermaster and writer, buckling their belts tighter 
about them, stepped lightly into the canvas canoe and 
swung out into the impetuous river with feelings similar 
to what might be expected in one entering a battle. Mv 
friend at the stem held a trusty paddle, whose strength 
had more than once been tried, while the writer in a de¬ 
votional attitude on a rubber blanket at the bow, held a 
long “setting pole” ready for duty at a moment’s 
notice. 
In half the time I have narrated the above, we were 
among the furious rapids, battling with their difficulties 
and shouting to each other above the roar of the waters 
how best to circumvent them. 
The sun unfortunately shone the greater part of the 
time in our faces, which produced a glimmer on the water, 
often preventing the discovery of Bunken rocks. At one 
time, while dashing down a cascade, we mounted such a 
boulder, and swinging around leaped a five-foot fall, stern 
first, much to our peril. Again with mighty force we 
were hurled close to the rocky shore, which only a des¬ 
perate use of the paddle prevented our striking. At times 
we were obliged to hold the canoe in the middle of the 
stream by the long “ setting poles” firmly planted in the 
bottom, while we made our decision regarding the better 
of two channels—dangers of which there was little 
choice. Then on we wen t through the rush of waters, 
our “setting poles" keeping time with our eyes, noting 
the sunken rocks by the waters’ upheaval, avoiding this 
sha rp ledge, or thau rough boulder, or swinging into the 
foam of another, as we shot swiftly by. Often with ease 
we I'hought to pass a distant rock,'but mistaking the 
velocity of the water, doubled it by a hair’s breadth. 
One fall o.ver -which the guides had led their canoes, we 
amateurs passed in the canvas canoe, the water falling in 
spray about us, but the cheer for our bravery, with which 
we were greeted at its base, paid us well for the risk in¬ 
curred. At “Pine Knoll” we were obliged to let our ca¬ 
noes over the falls by long ropes from the cliffs above, 
and at another, soon after, two of the guides, Weller and 
Morris, passed safely in our canvas boat,on account of its 
slight draft of water, although they carried the birch ca¬ 
noes around. 
So we continued our rapid progress down the stream, 
running most of the falls, our boat conforming to each 
situation, and almost seeming a part Of us and taking 
an interest in our exploits. At noon we stopped for an 
hour’s rest and lunch on the right bank of the stream, 
and while disposing of hard-tack, canned corned beef and 
coffee, our Artist plied his profession and then on we 
went through other perils. 
It was fearfully fascinating, as our four canoes follow¬ 
ing each other’s lead dashed onward through dangers 
which one could hardly anticipate before they were 
passed, only to be repeated and repeated at every mile of 
the stream. But the stimulant to one’s feelings gave 
strength and courage and even recklessness, which in the 
wild surroundings made one feel as if no danger was too 
great to dare. An hour after our tarry for lunch we en¬ 
tered the deep and narrow chasm of swift, dark water 
above Grand Falls, and swinging our canoes into an eddy 
on the left, under the shadows of a great rock (some five 
hundred feet high) ve stepped out on the shore, having 
completed the excitements of a half day that many years 
will fail to erase. Our canoes had suffered less than we 
had anticipated. 
A sharp rock had left its mark on Bowley’s birch, 
which the application of rosin and grease rectified. 
The bottom of the canvas boat had two small cuts about 
midships, so the use of needle and thread soon became 
necessary, the Quartermaster and Compagnon du voyage 
choosing for their modus operandi different sides of the 
canoe, putting the needle back and forth with iron 
pliers. A few moments’ rest, and while the guides were 
“ sacking" the camp kit across “Indian Carry,” three- 
quarters of a mile to the East Branch (at right angles with 
Webster Stream), we gathered up the Artist’s camera and 
lates, and pushed forward to examine the picturesque 
eauties of Grand Falls, and catch all we could while the 
light lasted. 
Grand Falls is from forty to fifty feet high, seventy-five 
feet wide, surrounded on all sides for half a mUe by 
ledges of Iron-colored rocks, of nearly the same height, 
which decrease in altitude as they near the Penobscot 
River below. From a point beneath the scene is grand in 
its sombre magnificence, as the swift torrent, striking 
midway upon a projecting ledge in the centre of the fall, 
rebounds in foam flakes, which after the momentary in¬ 
terruption continues to fall into the dark whirlpool of 
water below. We place the tripod on a prominent ledge, 
and mounting the camera, our Artist prepares the plates 
in his mysterious cloth-covered box or “dark room,” 
while we further exclude the light by covering him with 
our rubber blankets. But the mist and spray blind us, 
and we are obliged to gather up the camera, and retreat 
to another ledge, before we can operate. 
The water, ef a dark reddish hue—in strong contrast 
with the snowy foam—circles around and around in the 
eddies, kissing the roelcs on all sides in its whirl, and amid 
the roar of the fall goes dashing on for about four hun- 
dredfeet, and then plunges over a “rolling dam” on its 
way to the Penobscot, making canoeing the balance of 
the distance on this river impossible. The light from 
above reflecting on the cliff above the falls, glancing with 
rich beauty on rock and cascade, the fantastic growth of 
trees on every ledge, make up a fascinating charm that 
each succeeding picture varies in detail, but which per¬ 
tain with almost equal force to every part of the entire 
chasm. While our Artist was at work we busied our¬ 
selves gathering the luscious blue and black berries and 
scarlet wintergreen berries, which grew in profusion 
around us. They were of great size, the average blue¬ 
berry being an inch, and the wintergreen berries an inch 
and a half in circumference, measurement being taken 
at the time on the spot. After filling a three-quart pail 
with berries we divided the Artist’s “kit” among us, 
found the “ carry,” and pressed on to camp, to which 
place our guides had preceded us with tent and canoes. 
Supper ended, we again sought the river’s bank, a mile 
below the falls at ajilace called “ the Arches,” where, in 
the radiance of a gorgeous sunset, again drank to our fill 
of this picturesque locality. Words fail to describe the 
beauties of this scene, with which even the guides, slow 
to recognize the attractiveness of nature, were enrap¬ 
tured. Around the big camp-fire that night each narrated 
his individual experience of the day’s adventures and the 
hair-breath escapes in running the rapids. 
“But,"saysBowley, the guide, “ you should accompany 
the lumbermen ' on the drive ’ and see the perils they run 
while starting- a ‘ jam' on these rivers. Often the logs 
are piled one upon another, until it seems that nothing 
but an avalanche would start them, But one log is loos¬ 
ened, and then another and another, and in a moment 
the whole mass goes sweeping down stream with terrific 
force, and woe betide the un lucky ‘ driver ’ in its path.” 
From the first of the trip to this moment, the guides 
had failed to praise the working of the canvas canoe, as 
it came in competition with their birch barks. But this 
day’s trial proved beyond question its qualities, and 
wrung from them an acknowledgment they were not 
slow to utter. “It was fun to watch you gentlemen,” 
says Morris to the Quartermaster and myst-lf (as we sat 
drying ourselves before the fire). “You came over the 
‘ rips ’ like a perfect duck; I don’t believe you could 
drown the craft if you tried ; ” while the French Cana¬ 
dian, Weller, taking the pipe from his mouth, ejaculated, 
‘ ‘ Ma fois! she goes over the falls like a chain over a log.” 
On Thursday, August 21st, we wet our canoes for the 
first time in the East Branch of the Penobscot River, 
although from Chamberlain Lake to this point it iB strictly 
a part of the same stream under different names. The 
river at this spot is only about fifteen feet wide, very 
deep, with long meadow grass lapping and fringing its 
border, and flowing with the rapidity of a mill course, 
each bubble as it shot by seeming to have an individu¬ 
ality of purpose, which to the writer was very amusing. 
Hardly had we dropped into our accustomed positions m 
the canoes before we were swept away from the bank, 
past the tall alders, and darted with lightning speed 
down the river, a mile and a half and out on to the placid 
MatagamonsiB Lake. This was one of the loveliest bodies 
of water on our course, dotted with small islands and 
far reaching points of shore, the tall Norway pines form¬ 
ing a wall of beauty on either side. The lake is about 
one mile wide and four long, and the spruce-covered 
tops of Sourdnahunk Mountains to the southwest are re* 
fleeted in its mirror-like surface. Prom the top of a bold 
crag at its foot we stopped for a sketch of the lake and 
then passed downward through the sluggish stream of 
three miles which connects it withMatagamon, or Grand 
Lake. 
To the left or east of this stream, and half way between 
these lakes, is another lake about two miles in extent, 
which we fail to find noticed on any map we have seen, 
and lies in close proximity to Hay Creek, out is not what 
is termed in this section “ alogam” Half a mile from this 
lake the stream passes underja foot bridge which leads to 
Trout Brook Farm, on Trout Brook Stream, the first log¬ 
gers’ camp since leaving Chamberlain Farm, a distance of 
over seventy-five miles. This farm, owned by E. S. Coe, 
Esq., of Bangor, consists of four houses, built close to¬ 
gether, and eight or ten barns, with about four hundred 
acres of cleared land, through which flows the swift run¬ 
ning Trout Brook. Half a dozen batteaux lay turned 
over on the grass, bounteous crops of oats and potatoes 
were ripening in the fields, while the industrious chicken 
(evidence of civilization) was picking about the doors. 
The house where our party dined was occupied by a man 
and his wife and one small boy. The rooms to this house 
were low and smoky, like all the rest we had seen, with 
the big iron box stove in the centre; the only change from 
the usual wall decoration was perceived in an advertise¬ 
ment of Pinafore opera music, which, pasted beside the 
other illustrations, made ns feel quite homesick. 
After dinner at the house our party bade our new found 
friends adieu, and paddled down the thoroughfare into 
Grand, or Matagamon Lake, which is about one third 
larger than Lake Matagaraonsis, and we went into camp 
on the right bank, at its foot, near another old dam. 
The eastern shore of this lake (the largest body of water 
on our course since leaving Chamberlain Lake) is not es¬ 
pecially attractive to the Artist, being low and covered 
with meadow grass. But the western is decidedly pic¬ 
turesque, being bold and rocky, which, climbing from 
elevation to elevation, finally culminates in the precipi¬ 
tous and ragged peaks of Matagamon Mountain, towering 
above one’s head to the height of six hundred feet, ana 
is almost divested of foilage. We halted but one night 
on this lake, but were well rewarded by the number and 
size of the fine trout captured, adding also to our creel a 
salmon. Thomas Sedgwick Steele. 
(To be Concluded.) 
NOTES FROM NORTHERN TEXAS. 
T HE place from which I write this sits on the north¬ 
ern edge of Texas, four miles from the beautiful 
Indian Territory. It is the southern terminus of M. K. 
& T. Railroad, and the northern terminus of the Texas 
Central. Seven years ago the place where it stands was 
a cotton field ; now it is a bright, sparkling little city of 
seven or eight thousand people. The old gentleman who 
owned the cotton plantation has retired to enjoy his 
otium cum dignitate and to wonder at the sudden strokes 
with which Fortune sometimes—very rarely—hits a fel¬ 
low, Ho owns but a little part of this plantation now ; 
he sold it off by the foot instead of the acre ; but what 
little of it he has left to him returns him a far bigger in¬ 
come, in the shape of rents for stores and residences, than 
it brought him when cultivated in cotton. He lives hap¬ 
pily ; thinks the Almighty never created such a place as 
