Deobmbkb 8, 1883.] 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



365 



IN THE "MASH." 



LEAVES t'ROM A. LOO-BOOK — lit. 



CAYUGA LAKE gives a straight course for the canoeist 

 01 thirty-eight miles. On both skies, for nearly Lis 

 wnole length, are high cliffs and wauled hills, with numerous 

 cascades and tumbling streams dividing them by ravines 

 and gorges of a hundred or more feet in depth. The only 

 winds experienced are either due north or south, and are 

 seldom fierce enough to endanger the voyager in the most 

 diminutive craft. The hunter can bag a reasonable number 

 of ruffed grouse or quail on its shores in season ; ducks are 

 quite plentiful, and fly-fishing fur black bass or trolling for 

 lake-trout is excellent. 



At the foot of the lake, where its waters are emptied into 

 Seueca River, begin the Montezuma Marshes, extending along 

 the river for ten miles, and varying in width irom one-hall 

 mile to two or three miles. Myriads of wild-fowl made 

 these marshes their spring and fall resting-place a few years 

 ago, and blftck and summer ducks found it a safe breeding- 

 ground; but railroads and cdy sportsmen, sink boxes and 

 batteries, and the native, whose wa'tr-spaniels are trained to 

 catch the youug ducks before they are able to fly, have so 

 decimated tha numbers of birds that a whole day's work now 

 will scarcely bring a score of ducks to bag. 



The inhabitants of the marshes are a peculiar class of 

 people— illiterate, poor, shiftless and lazy — and are as isolated 

 from the rest of the world as if dwelling on an island afar out 

 in the ocean. Their employments consists in "fykiug"fish 

 in summer, and shooting ducks and cutting " flag" iu fall, 

 with perhaps the cultivation of a small garden to supply them 

 with enough 'taters and " turnicks" to last through the 

 winter. Pew of them possess horses, the greater part of 

 their going and comiug being done by water; but on this 

 element they are at home, and none can surpass them in the 

 pursuits they are accustomed to. 



It was nearly dark on the cool, October night when the 

 canoe Gypsy, with Captain aud Judy aboard, crossed the 

 bay from Cayuga village to Mud Lock, and entered the slug- 

 gish current of the Seneca. The thirty odd miles that hail 

 been traversed from Busny Point had been accomplished 

 without fatigue, a friendly south wind having borne the 

 little boat along at a good rate; but now the sad had to be 

 lowered and siowed, and the feet and back braced for a 

 steady paddle for two or three hours. There is a sort of 

 free-and-easy delight in traveling thus along, nut knowing 

 where fate will call a halt for the night's rest, a delight only 

 experienced by two of the human kind — the canoeist and the 

 tramp. The former has rather the better lot of the two, for 

 he has a comfortable shelter to rest in, no matter where dark- 

 ness overtakes him, while the tramp must needs make the best 

 of it as he can, now in a barn, next under a haystack, or, 

 perhaps, beneath the blue vault of heaven, with no shelter 

 but the lee-side of a stump fence. 



While the Captain is moralizing aB above, the sun has with- 

 drawn its large, red disk below the horizon, and the noisy 

 cackle of the mud-hens betokens with an infallible certainly 

 the speedy approach of darkness. Boon, the outlines of the 

 grassy shores become blurred and indistinct, and the siars 

 and the new moon show brightly against the dark blue of the 

 nocturnal sky. There are rnauy cuts and channels through 

 the morass, divieling it in every direction, but the Captain 

 has hunted the marsh through many times and knows the 

 channel w T ell, so, whistling a gay tune in time wiih the pad- 

 dle's stroke, he threads the winding passages, turning here to 

 avoid a shoal and there to escape the three poles of a fisher- 

 man's fyke as he skims along. .No trees break the monotony 

 of ihe dim vista, only here and there a tall stake— driven in- 

 to the mud to indicate the whereabouts of some "fish-car"— 

 rises grim and ghost-like, nodding its head with the surge of 

 the current. 



By and by the roar of falling water and a steersman's 

 long-drawn ''Go-o o-on, Johnny," tell the Captain that he is 

 nearing the Aqueduct, where the Erie Canal is taken across 

 the river by a massive structure of stone masonry. The 

 river flows beneath this structure through a number of arches, 

 passable for a skiff except at high water, but unpleasant on 

 account of the continual leakage and overflow from the canal 

 above. For a moment the Captain pauses to don his Water- 

 proof coat and button the apron around the well, and then 

 strikes out boldly for the most easterly arch, where there is 

 less overflow than at any of, the others. The water gurgles 

 and whirls as it dashes through the passage, which looms up 

 black and uncanny ahead. The Captain hesitates to trust 

 himself in the inky gulf; but it is too late now, and with 

 one stroke of the paddle to direct the canoe aright, he bows 

 his head and shoots into the dismal cavern. The paddle is 

 of no use here, and he can only direct the canoe by pushing 

 with his hands on the slimy wall above. A sheet of falling 

 water seems as if it would burst, through the light deck of the 

 boat, and indeed nearly takes the Captain's breath with its 

 force, but after what seems an age, but is really only a 

 minute, the canoe dashes through on the other side, and the 

 Aqneduct is passed. 



Now a dim light, like a will-o'-the-wisp, is seen to glimmer 

 faintly ahead, right in the centre of the marsh, and toward 

 this the Captain makes his way. If his surmise be true, this 

 light comes from the shanty boat of old John, the Hermit of 

 the Marsh, who lives alone the year around in his old ark, 

 fishing, hunting, trapping and battling with the mosquitoes 

 and the " fever-'n'-ager." To all mankind this old recluse is 

 a surly, uncommuuicative soul, allowing no one to set foot- 

 within his strange domicile, and his tw« dogs are effective 

 aids in keeping intruders at bay ; but Ihe Captain knows him 

 better than does the rest of the world, and recognizes under his 

 rough and repelling exterior the instincts of a true lover and 

 worshiper of nature, and a heart as noble and kind as ever 

 throbbed in human breast. There must have been a bond of 

 union felt, between this old hermit and theyouug Captain, in that 

 each loved the solitudeof nature — Ihe one partaking of it in his 

 canoe, paddling whither he would through lake aud stream, 

 the other floating here and there in his awkward craft, back 

 and forth through the great, bleak marsh. At any rate, the 

 Captain's was the only foot known to have crossed the old 

 man's threshold, and even to him ihe hermit was rarely com- 

 municative, aud never demonsirative. Perhaps he had some 

 secret romance in his strange choice of life, but the Captain 

 never invaded the sanctity of his inner self, aud his secret, 

 if secret he had, died with him when he was buried in the 

 Potters' Field, with none to mourn him but his two faithful 

 dogs. 



As the canoe approached the light, one of the dogs oegau 

 bark a warning, and the light suddenly disappeared. The 



Captain knew the hermit would not show himself, trusting 

 to the dogs to keep intruders away, so he was compelled to 

 li'illoo io make his identity known. Instantly the glimmer 

 of the light re-appeared, and in a moment the door of the 

 cabin was opened and the bronzed face and grizzled leeks of 

 the old man were illuminated by the lantern he held aloft in 

 his hand. 



' Down, Jim ' downl Is that you, Cap'n ? " 



"Ay, ay, John." 



" Pull up alongside the little boat and hitch to the stake to 

 your left. Don't gel tangled in the fykes." 



Not a word of greeting nor a shake of the hand did I he 

 Captain receive as he stepped into the low-roofed cabin, hut 

 the hermit quietly placed a shining tin tea-pot on the little 

 round stove, the while intently scanning his visitor from 

 head to foot. At last the Captain spoke : 



" 1 see, John, you have hauled your house out on land." 



" Yes, I've hauled her out. She leaks at every seam, and 

 all the pitchin' and patchin' I can do won't make her float 

 agin, so Pve jest laid her up here, and here I guess she'll 

 stay." 



" But next spring's freshet will lift her off." 



" She'll stay as long as I do, Cap'n, and we won't neither 

 on us last till the ice breaks up." 



The lantern, hanging from a hook in the roof of the Cabin, 

 gave light enough to show the scrupulous neatness that per- 

 vaded the hermit's quarters. Everything, from the mat- 

 tresses of dried marsh grass in the one end of the cahin to 

 the old-fashioned wood stove in the other, showed the pains- 

 laking care of the old man. Th°. finished stock of a ten- 

 pound muzzle-loader, made by William Greener, reflected the 

 light of the lantern with dazzuug brilliancy, as il hung on its 

 wooden pegs. The simple articles of tin and earthenware 

 necessary for the hermiL's cookery shone on their shelf as if 

 just from the shop, aud bottles of root extracts and oils of 

 his own collecting were ranged neatly in order on another 

 shelf. A pair of flat-irons on the stove and some damp 

 underclothing on the table showed that the old man was 

 just about to do his woek's ironing. 



" Cap'n, you can get your own supper, for the irons is hot 

 and the clo'es sprinkled, and I must 'tend to 'em. There's 

 bread, grease and pickles in the chist, and pork in the bar'l 

 outside, so you can help yourself," 



"All right, John," and the Captain proceeded to prepare 

 the meal. While searching outside for the pork barrel he 

 saw that the hermit had a number of wild ducks — winged or 

 wounded birds that he had carefully nursed to recovery — 

 penned in an inclosure. He also discovered a fat pig on the 

 farthest point of the grassy island, whose obesity whs due to a 

 liberal diet of fish, which he devoured with the greatest 

 avidity. 



"John," said the Captain, returning with his pork, and 

 noticiog a pair of mallards hanging near the door, "are many 

 ducks about yet ? " 



"Not many," answered the hermit; "there's too many 

 sportsmen for an honest man to bag any." 



" What do you call a sportsman, John ? " 



"A sportsman is a city feller, Cap'n, who lives all his life 

 in a brick house and knows nothin' about a wild duck and 

 less about a gun; who calls every mau that shoots a muzzle- 

 loader and don't wear corduroys with braS3 buttons a ' pot- 

 hunter,' and who fires at a bird forty rods away, not to kill it, 

 but jest to hear his britch-loader bang: a man who wants a 

 stove put up in his bough-house to keep his dainty feet warm, 

 aud who ends up his trip by gittiu' drunk, rippin' up a fisher- 

 man's fyke nets and settin' lire to the masu with his Havany 

 cigar." 



" Your idea of him is partly correct, John, I've no doubt." 



"Correct? 1 know it's correct, Cap'n. Before them fel- 

 lers begun comiu' here there was ducks and geese in plenty, 

 and now they fly two miles high to pass over the mash. I've 

 seen 'em, Cap'n. 



"Then there's no use putting my gun together?" 



" Well, I've baited 'cm pretty well just below in the cove, 

 and mebbe we can get one or two in the morniu'." 



The supper over, preparations were made for an early start 

 for- the ducks next morning, and at a late hour the two men 

 retired to rest on the marsh-grass mattresses. Sknkoa. 



(to bb continued). 



CRUISE OF "THE NIPPER." 



IS THEBE PABTS — PAUT I. 



SHE r met me, by appointment, at Booneville. With 

 -praiseworthy punctuality — considering her sex — she 

 had arrived several hours before me. The express agent as- 

 sured me that her conduct had been most exemplary. 



The tourists, male and female, were just then thronging 

 into the Wilderness from either side. Everything on the 

 Northern road brought its quota of seekers for pleasure, recre- 

 ation or health. The Nipper was interviewed remorselessly. 

 Well dressed ladies, neat young girls, and even children ap- 

 proached her irreverently. They examined her graceful lines. 

 They made comments on her unknown owner, and in variably 

 ended with lifting her gently by the nose, with exclamations 

 quite irrelevant. No gentleman tourist passed her by with- 

 out critical examination and comments. As they raised her 

 carefully, they said— if they were worldlings — ' ' Holy Moses ! 

 who's going to paddle that eggshell?" Clergymen said : "I 

 cfodeciare! Is that intended' to go on the" lakes?" The 

 ladies remarked, "Oh, my!" " Did, you ever?" "Dear 

 me I" " What a beauty I" etc. 



None noticed the little gray-haired fellow, who, dressed in 

 coarse blue flannels, smoking a clay pipe, dangliug his short 

 legs off the platform, and reading the last number of Forbst 

 and Stkbam, was quietly taking in the thing— until the 

 agent pointed him out as the Skipper of the light craft they 

 were admiring. He was immediately interviewed, and 

 questions were frequent and fast. 



" Do ysu expect to live in her on Raquette Lake?" 



" Can you stand rough water ?" 



" Can you throw a line from her, and handle a good-sized 

 fish ?" 



"Isn't she too frail?" 



" And what is that little green canoe iu the corner? She 

 looks still smaller." 



The Skipper answered the last question first. The little 

 green canoe is the Ncssuiuk that was paddled last summer 

 over 550 miles, came out tight and staunch, was taken 230 

 miles to northern Pennsylvania by rail, paddled on the rocky 

 affluents of the upper Susquehanna, and is going back to the 

 v\ ilderness, still tight aud seaworthy. The second question. 

 Yes ; she is frail. She is intended, both by her owner and 

 builder, to be the lightest canoe of her dimensions ever built 

 of oakj elm and cedar, with light spruce gunwale. (Here 

 the Skipper showed a letter from her maker, Rushton, ex. 



pressing doubts a? to her strength, and giving pen and ink 



diagrams of the way she might be strengthened by bracing, 

 Ihwarts, etc.) 



"But," said the Skipper, growing enthusiastic, "she 

 don't need strengthening. The "two nairs of strips nearest 

 the keel are of full thickness— 3-16 of an inch. The third 

 pair taper a little toward the gunwale, and the three upper 

 pairs run light, very light. Her weight is sixteen pom 

 length, ten feet, six inches ; beam, twenty-eight inches ; 

 rise at centre, eight inches: at stem, thirteen incli 

 ribs, forty five inches. Gentlemen, if any of you are 

 canoeists you know that you have no busiuess to put 

 weight on the upper strips or the gunwale. All weight 

 in a light canoe must come on the keelson, and the first, two, 

 possibly three, pairs of strips. The Nipper is strong enough 

 for me. As to throwing a line fiom her, she is the very best 

 possible craft for fly fishing. You can make a ten-ounce 

 trout tow you in any direction you please, until he floats 

 helpless. I have done it in the Nessmuk. 



"As to rough water and squalls, I expect to stay as long as 

 the average guide boat of ihe Adirondacks, aud ride more 

 steadily in a short, sharp sea " 



With expressions of sympathy and hopes that they might 

 see the light canoe and her Skipper on the lakes, the tourists 

 went off on the inevitable buckboards. and the Skipper began 

 to organize for a cruise. It was necessary to make the first 

 twelve miles of it overland, and the route was not pleasant. 

 Hills, hollows, sand up to the hub, boulders, and six miles of 

 corduroy road. Such was the first twelve miles — as every 

 man knows who has made the route from Booneville to 

 Moose River. 



The trip was made in and on a lumber wagon, with the 

 canoes packed in straw and guyed with heavy twine, the 

 Skipper kneeling on the port side and keeping a death-grip 

 on the gunwale of the of The Nipper, unmindful of the 

 hemlock lee-board that was steadily abrading his spinal 

 column. The charge for the tow was four dollars, with a 

 stipulation that the' horses should walk all the way. When 

 the latter clause of the contract was enforced by the Skipper 

 the disgusted driver relieved his feelings by a twelve-mile 

 string of oaths that would have struck a Missouri bullwhacker 

 with paralysis. 



It is a weary trip that road from Booneville to the " Tan- 

 nery." But it has an end ; and both driver and canoeist 

 fell better when the two canoes made a landing on Tom 

 Nightingale's porch, without crack or scratch. A double nip 

 of whisky quieted the driver, while the hearty greeting of 

 Jolly Tom, ei. Holliday, Charley Phelps, Colonel Claskiu, 

 and a dozen others, made Hie Skipper feel as though he had 

 got home. 



Moose River is not by any means a bad place to stop at. 

 The hotel is well kept, family very pleasant, and charges 

 reasonable, let alone that pretty fair trout fishing may 

 be had in several spring brooks, easily reached in an hour's 

 walk. It took four days to work these brooks and a few 

 spring-holes in the river, the result being a reasonable supply 

 of fine brook trout, saving none under six inches. 



The road from the "Tannery" to foot of the Fulton 

 Chain is so rough that no prudent tourist will send a light 

 canoe in by the buck-boards, and boats are usually sent iu 

 from the west side, via Jones' Camp, on. the shoulders Of 

 guides. And even in this way l hey do not always get through 

 safe. There was a fine new boat sent in that way last I 

 in which the guide contrived to knock an ugly hole. So the 

 Skipper decided to send his duflle by buck-board to ihe 

 Forge House, make the nine- mile carry through the woods 

 to Jones', and paddle the twelve-mile Stillwater to the lakes, 

 which he did. In fact, he overdid il by taking the no 

 hand trail when within three miles of Jones', and carrying 

 The Nipper over to Little Gull Lake. This lengthened the 

 carry to twelve rules, but the visit to this lonely, beautiful 

 lake almost compensated for the extra labor. It was late in 

 the afternoon when Jones' Camp was finally readied and the 

 Skipper learned that the Camp was bare of trout. Pork, 

 potatoes and tea were indulged in to a moderate extent, and 

 the night's rest which followed was of the soundest. The 

 next day was spent in a faithful but vain attempt to inveigle 

 a mess of speckled trout from their old haunts in the Moose ; 

 and it was remembered with regret ihat these same hauuTs 

 gave a dady supply of trout on the previous season. Every- 

 where, so far, trout had been found less plenty than in the 

 summer of '80. 



A second night of sound sleep at Jones' Camp, and The 

 Nipper was put afloat for the first time, her owner boarding her 

 rather cautiously for a canoeist who had faith in himself and 

 his craft. She proved marvelously steady, however, and a 

 paddle up-stream of three and a half miles in one hour 

 brought her to the carry around the flood-raft, and gave the 

 Skipper confidence in her steadiness. The Forge House 

 landing was easily made inside of four hours, and, once in 

 the boat-house at Barrett's, the cruise of the Fulton Chain 

 was fairly commenced. 



And here let us drop the third person singular, aud pick 

 up the eternal Ego, that 1 am as sadly weary of as my read- 

 ers possibly can be. 



At the Forge 1 met very rnauy whom I knew last senson ; 

 also, many who were visiting Brown's Tract for the first 

 time. Among the latter were invalids of the Lung Disorder 

 type, who did not seem very favorably affected by the clamp. 

 chilly weather, which prevailed during July and well into 

 August of the past summer. As to the brigade of con- 

 sumptives who came to the Northern Wilderness last sum- 

 mer in search of health, which they wore destined do 

 find, 1 shall have something to say further on. Many were 

 induced to come through reading a magazine article emit led 

 "Camp Lou," and the disappointment felt by most of them 

 was sad aud bitter. 



It was 4 p. m. on the lGth of July when I paddled out from 

 the Forge House for a ratucr exended cruise through the 

 Fulton Chain, Raquette Lake, Forked and Long Lakes, the 

 Raquette River, Tupper Lakes, and, by a circuitous route, 

 back to the Fulton Cham. It was a very pretty programme, 

 destined to be carried out only in part. 



The afternoon was gusty and stormy. Black, wind- 

 laden clouds went whirling across the sky with ominous 

 speed, and I heard a guide remark, " L'ncle Nessmuk ain't 

 auxious to take this in." So I made my gum coat into a 

 cushion and struck out. For a mile and a half up the chan- 

 nel the canoe flew along smoothly with the wind dead aft. 

 Then came the open water of First Lake, white and spumy, 

 with short, sharp seas, that I must fake fairly abeam to the 

 inlet, where I could see the waves dashing white over the 

 large boulder at its mouth. I hesitated for a minute about 

 trying for the inlet. But it was the trial trip of The Nipper. 

 If she would swamp in a blow, better do ir on one of the 

 smaller lakes, aud 1 pulled out. When fairly out of the 

 roughest water her behavior surprised and delighted me ex- 



