426 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



Deobmshb 29, 1881,] 



kets to a great extent. If this short notice should lead any in- 

 valid to seek "Oregon Ilill," Pa., as the hamlet is called, I feel 

 bound to add, as an inducement that may have weight with 

 naturalists, that you may secure a fine specimen of the raltle- 

 enake on almost any hot summer day. 



At Raquette Lake I met Mr. Durant, in whose boat my 

 knapsack had gone off. I accosted him : and before I could 

 make any inquiries, he smiled and said, " I guess I know what 

 you are going to say. Your knapsack is over at rny camp. 

 You can get it in two minutes." I found the camp a well- 

 furnished summer residence, and the genial proprietor quite 

 capable of keeping not only guides and boats, but a neat little 

 steam yacht. Money is a good thing — when one knows how 

 to use it. I found the knapsack alright, to the last fish- 

 hook, and was more than glad to get it. When I had it 

 well-packed with blanket, shelter-tent, hatchet, tinware, etc., 

 1 felt at home again, and went over to Leavitt's on Forked 

 Lake, bouud down the Raquette River, and — just where the 

 notion might take me. At Leavitt's I found some guides 

 whom 1 knew the previous season, aud got some useful notes 

 and polDts on routes, carries, etc. Also met the Justice of 

 the Peace who issued the warrant for Charles Parker, the 

 man who caused such a scandal in the Long Lake region last 

 summer. I gave a summary of that unhappy affuir in 

 Fobest and SifiEAii la9t August, and it is pretty well under- 

 stood now that it throws no stigma on the " guide class." 



Forked Lake is one of the most beautiful sheets of water 

 in the wilderness, and a healthy, delightful region for a sum- 

 mer camp, of which there are several on eligible points — 

 well-furnished summer residences, owned by men of taste, 

 wealth and leisure, who have the good sense to take their 

 families to the forest for three mouths or more, rather than 

 to such resorts as Long Branch, Newport, etc. It is possibly 

 quite as expensive ; but, I should say, worth the cost. 



It was a most delightful morning in August. I got an 

 early breakfast and launched out for Long Lake, intending 

 to stop awhile with Mitchell Sabattis and investigate the fish 

 question, of which I had heard a good deal in connection 

 with this fine sheet of water. It is said that two guides who 

 had been prosecuted for crusting de-er, stocked the lake with 

 pickerel out of revenge, and that the pickerel have extermi- 

 nated the salmon trout. And now there are black bass in the 

 lake, which, in turn, are demolishing the pickerel. Such is 

 the tale as it was told to me. 



I doubt it. I do not believe that any fresh water fish can 

 exterminate the agile, shark-nosed pickerel. Though it is 

 fair to add the testimony of Mr. E. Rose-, who has a fine 

 summer resort on Silver Lake, Susquehanna county, Pa., 

 and is a life-long sportsman. Pickerel were certainly plenty 

 in that lake twelve years ago. The lake was stocked with 

 small-mouthed bass ; and now he assures me the pickerel are 

 gone. The bass has cleaned them out. Maybe. I dunno ; 

 1 dunno. I cannot believe that the small-mouth whips the 

 pickerel in fight. But he may starve him out. 



From Leavitt's to the outlet of Forked Lake are four miles 

 of as pretty water and scenery as a tourist could a9k. If 

 you are a canoeist don't swing over to port for the sake of 

 an opeu channel. Keep near the right shore, and when you 

 open the course to the outlet you may have a mile or so of 

 heavy paddling among the lily-pod3, but you will cut off 

 considerable distance, and the double-blade works in lily- 

 pads, while oars tangle up. You will be interested, too, in 

 seeing at every open space fair-sized fish drop away from the 

 canoe, leaving a funnel-shaped swirl on the surface, and you 

 will be puzzled, hb I was, to name the fish. I am sorry I 

 did not put the rod together and try them with the fly ; but 

 I promised myself to do that when I came back. When you 

 reach the landing at the outlet take the double-blade aport, 

 turn the stems to the ends of the canoe, tie them fast, organ- 

 ize your duffle for the carry, and then spend an hour follow- 

 ing along the bank and taking in the rapids, with the scenery 

 on either side. If you have an eye for nature the time will 

 not be lost. The carry is one and a half miles, and a man 

 who lives there will drag your canoe across for a dollar and 

 a half. As you can carry it in thirty minutes more safely, 

 you had better trust your own shoulders. 



As you reach the foot of the carry you launch again for 

 an easy trip of one and a half miles ; another and a shorter 

 carry, then a half-mile by water, then a carry of 100 rods, 

 and you strike the head of Long Lake. It is four miles to the 

 lauding at Kellog's, aud a little less to Mitchell Sabattis' 

 landing. To make the latter you turn to the tight on 

 sighting the bridge at Kellog's, and steer to tne right end of 

 the sandy beach before you. Take the steep path that leads 

 up from the landing, and Auntie SabattiB will take care of 

 you. She has been doing that sort of thing for a good many 

 years. What the famous Indian guide, Mitchell Sabattis, is 

 in the woods, his wife can supplement liim as camp- 

 keeper. 



I found no tourists at the Sabattis house, but it was not 

 lonely. Two married daughters, a son and his wife, with 

 eight grandchildren pretty nearly of one size, made it quite 

 lively for Grandma Sabattis. She managed the household 

 well, and kept the unruly youngsters in order to a degree 

 that won my admiration. I was glad to meet the son, Ike 

 Sabbattis, whose acquaintance 1 had made in the summer al 

 '80, and was sorry that Mitchell was away guiding, I should 

 have been pleased to meet Ike's suggestion that we go down 

 Long-lake floating ; but, alas, we were both on the sick list. 

 Ike was suffering from a severe attack of cholera morbus, 

 and I bad been growing weaker every day since leaving the 

 Forge House. 1 coughed almost incessantly, and had sweat- 

 ing spells every night. 1 lost appetite. My knees jack- 

 knifed going over the shortest carries, and I began to realize 

 that I might get laid by the heels in the middle of the wilder- 

 ness, hundreds of miles away from home. I have little 

 feeling for myself or any other man, as a sick patient. But 

 no man can transcend possibilities, and, as it happens, sick- 

 ness does come to us all, soon or late. The muscular young 

 guide, Ike Sabattis, was r.n bis back. Two other y< >ung 

 guides. Hall aud Staunton, were far gone with consumption, 

 the latter in a dying condition, at the LoDg Lake settlement,. 

 All the same I was ashamed of the physical weakness that 

 steadily headed me off from day to day, and did my level 

 best to beat it, but iu vain. I kept my feet, however; 

 fished, excursed in the woods, paddled down to Kellog's 

 every day, and picked up all the information possible. 



Not a daypaaaed that I did not hear Of a death in the 

 Saranac region, from consumption. Landlords and guides 

 looked serious at these reports, but did uot dispute them. 

 They said, '* These people were past help when they came 

 in. They should have staid at home." Perhaps; but it 

 does not go to prove that a reaidence in the North Woods is a 

 cure for lung diseases. 



It was on the sand-beach, in front of Kellog's, that I met a 

 young invalid of the feminine persuasion, who interested me 



more deeply than any human being had ever done on so 

 short an acquaintance. 



It was a perf i. ct morning. The lake was like a mirror. I 

 had paddled down without particular aim or object, and was 

 drawing the canoe up the beach, when I noticed a little girl, 

 walking with cat-like tread up and down the shore, and 

 humming an opera catch softly to herself. 



Suddenly she stepped up to the cau^e, raised it by the 

 stem, turned it to port and starboard, read the name, and 

 said sharply, " Humph ! 'Susan Nipper.' Dickens. 'Master 

 Dombey is a permanency : Miss Edith is temporary.' Why 

 don't you name her Miss Edith ? She looks sufficiently tem- 

 porary ? " 



She was about the first one who had recognized the name, 

 and I looked her over with more interest. ~ Why, she was a 

 woman ! Hair and eyes like an Indian princess — weight and 

 size like a girl of ten years. A thin, attenuated form, a 

 bright glow in either cheek, and a sharp, intellectual expres- 

 sion, with the worn, womanly outlines, told the story. She 

 pushed the canoe afloat, drew it back and forth, hauled it up 

 on the beach, and said in low, sad voice, "Oh, I should so 

 like a ride in it — would you dare let me? " 



" Dare ? my dear young lady, can you trust yourself ?" 



" 1 am used to boats aud water ; we have a guide an d a 

 gpod boat," she answered, " but I would like to ride in this." 



So I took the old handkerchief with its stuffing of hem- 

 lock browse and ferns that serves me for a seat, placed it 

 well forward ; made the shelter-tent and blanket into a com- 

 fortable lean-back in the bow, and seated her as I would an 

 infant. Got in carefully myself, with the old grass eott be- 

 tween the keelson and the terminus of my spinal column, 

 and paddled cautiously up and down the shore iu three feet 

 of water to test her sea-going qualities. She waa steady and 

 immovable as a sand -bag. 



Then she said: "You see I am safe? Now cross the 

 lake, aud laud mo in the woods." 



I did. When we were more than half way across there 

 came a loud "lialloo,'' from the landing. She opened her 

 large black eyes, waved her sailor hut, and settled back, 

 saying: " It's my father. He will understand.'' 



I landed her on the beach just where the firs and spruce 

 were thickest, spread tent and blanket, on a dry sunny spot, 

 and left her to herself. For an hour she reclined on the im 

 provised couch, or gathered the trifling ferns and lichens of 

 which young ladies are so fond, and then she said, quite as 

 though I had been her guide : " Now take me back to my 

 father. I am tired — so tired." So I lauded her on the clean, 

 white beach, where paterfamilias was impatiently poking the 

 sand with his gold-headed cane, and resigned my position as 

 amateur guide. She held out her thin little hand at parting, 

 saying "1 trust you will understand me? I am a dying 

 girl. They let me do as I please, now. I have left con- 

 ventional fetters and forms behind, with a good deal more 

 that 1 valued once — but no matter. Good-bye." Was there 

 a little romance connected with her case, I wonder? 



As the old gentleman seemed nervous, I th< mght it a good 

 time to leave, aud went up to the village to call on Ike Sab- 

 attis. Found him much better and disposed to go down the 

 lake floating. Thought he coidd "put. me on to a deer." 

 But the man who is liable to a hard coughing spell at a 

 minute's notice is more likely to scare three deer than to get 

 a shit at one, so 1 declined, and paddled around the point to 

 the grove near Sabattis' landing, where li spent bouts, sitting 

 on aiog — a style of amusement in which I was fast becoming 

 an adept — bidding fair to rival "Old Phelps." Indeed, it 

 was getting to be my "beet hold." 



And here while listlessly watching the calm, Clearwater, I 

 witnessed one of the little incidents th it the lone tourist who 

 knows the value of silence may often pick up. It was only 

 a couple of little fish ; a bull-head four or li ve inches long, and 

 a bass much smaller. The former was working his way 

 laboriously along the beach, his nose at the surface aud his 

 rudder gone, while the bass was spitefully nipping him at the 

 counter. It was evidently a hopeless case for the bull-head J 

 and such a piece of uncalled for cussedness on the part of 

 the bass that, unthinkingly, I seized a stick of flood trash 

 and made a vicious clip at, him. As often happens in this 

 world, the innocent suffered while the guilty rascal " lit out" 

 for deep water. May he grow to a four-puunder, to be wor- 

 ried and tormented along that same beach, with a sharp hook 

 in his gills. Nessmtjk. 



[The continuation or " Nessmuk's" narrative, detailing i he fun her 

 Ineluenta oi ul.ssl.ory at Mitchell Sabattis', lonns a stilling story ol 

 Adirondack Hie. It Is given below.] 



A NIGHT RACE AGAINST DEATH. 



AFTER dark, as I was smoking by Auntie Sabattis' 

 gate, two brisk-steppping young guides came hurriedly 

 by through the yard and made for the landing below the hill. 

 They carried a sharp-stemmed Long-laker and a lantern. 

 They were bound on a night trip to Raquette Lake and re- 

 turn, to be buck before sunrise ; for young Staunton, the 

 sick guide, lay dying, and his one wish was to see and know 

 a favorite brother before crossing the Dark Carry. Aud the 

 doctor had said that, if the brothers were to know each other 

 again on earth, the meeting must take place before another 

 sunrise. 



It was rather a manly, plucky thing to make a night cruise 

 of between thirty and forty miles, mostly in a fog, aud with 

 four carries, two stretches of rocky, torturous current and 

 two lakes, all to be "doubled" in the darkness. The lantern 

 would only be available on the carrie. On water the course 

 is better seen without it. I followed the guides to the 

 landing, and watched them with interest as, bending to oar 

 and paddle, they disappeared swiftly into the darkness. 



Tuen 1 went up to the house, consumed the time cutting 

 up plug aud smukiug it, tried to feel at ease ; but the dyins 

 guide and absent brother somehow got in on my nerves. 1 

 mentioned that I would like to know just how the sick man 

 was getting on ; if he was likely to pull through the night. 



"You'll know," said Auntie Sabattis, "when any one 

 dies here, the bell is tolled as soon as a man can get to it, 

 night or day." 



I went to my room, The night was very warm, and I 

 was unwell and weak. I am not nervous. I have no 

 sympathy or pity" for nerves— my own or others'- But how 

 tue dread of that bell did worry me. 1 pictured to myself 

 the guides racing over the course in the foggy maimer night, 

 going quickly over the slippery carries, one carrying the 

 boat, the other lighting the path wilh glimmering lantern; 

 rowing swiftly across long stretches of water by the shimmer 

 and glitter of starlight ; reaching the camp on an island in 

 Raquette Lake, only to find George Staunton gone off, 

 floating with his "party." I thought of the "tide from 

 Ghent to Aix," but that race was on horseback. The strain 



of muscle came heaviest on "Rolanu." Here, the Roland 

 was a cranky, Darrow Long-laker, und the muscle was of 

 men. Would they wiu ? I walked the room, smoked and 

 listened. A stroke of that bell would have made me stagger 

 like a drunken man. But it came not. 



At midnight I turned in for a few hours of drowsy, 

 feverish unrest, and at 3 a. m. I dressed and walked down 

 to the lauding , where I made a fire against the rock used as 

 a washing station by the House of Sabattis, lighted a pipe, 

 and resumed my favorite exercise of sitting on a log. The 

 fog still hung over the lake, thick and dark. 



Then came faint, dull streaks of light, gray and brown, 

 from the east. It grew lighter, gray and brown turned to 

 dull yellow. " Owl's Head" began'to be visible. The fog 

 grew denser, brighter, and began to rise in well-defined line 

 from off the water, like the lifting of a blanket, and from 

 under that blanket darted a sharp stemmed regulation Long- 

 laker, the same oars and paddle playing with unabated vim, 

 but with three men instead of two. Sbecame to the landing 

 with a swift, silent rush, and, before she was fairly still, an 

 athletic young man sprang to the beach and took his way 

 through the grove toward the settlement at a Beven-knot gait. 

 I had no need to ask if it were George Staunton. It, was less 

 than a half mile from the landing to where his brother lay 

 dying. Now, suppose, just as he came in sight of the house 

 where his brother lay that the bell should give his nerves a 

 trial with its first, fearful death-announcing clang! Would 

 he stage er some ? Would he sort o' swerve off to port, and 

 sit down on a log, faint, and white, and sick ? It might be. 

 It was painful. I took out my watch, as he disappeared in 

 the grove. I said, " He will be there in five minutes." The 

 minutes passed. One guide Baid, "How long?" "Six 

 minutes," I answered. "Six minutes is enough to get 

 there,", he said. I still held the watch. Teu minutes passed. 

 '■ He is there," I suid ; " has been there five minutes." Then 

 the guides tied in oars, paddle and seats, took up lantern 

 and boat and started for the little hamlet, called on the maps 

 "L.ng Lake P. O." 



I never did and never shall like the Long-lakers. They 

 are swift, but frail, weak, cranky and tiresome to ride in. 

 Nevertheless, as the fagged guides brushed passed me I in- 

 stinctively raised my old felt hat to the craft lhat h«d run 

 an all-night race against death — and won. Nessmoe. 



GROUSE SHOOTING IN NEWFOUNDLAND. 



BY D. W. PKOWSE. 



THIS year's campaign of fishing and grouse shooting over 

 di 'gs is ended. It has been a very wet and cold summer, 

 with a stormy autumn, and at present (November) there is 

 every appearance of a hard winter. The fishing during the 

 summer has been much affected by the weather. 



From all quarters I have heard bad accounts of the sea- 

 trout fishing, as compared with former years. Captain Ken- 

 nedy, R. N., ("Manner" of the London Field"), had some 

 good fishing ; and one clergyman, quite a novice at the gen lie 

 craft, hooked thirty salmon iu the Salmonier River, landing, 

 alasi but six or seven The falling off in the fishing in St. 

 Mary's and Placentia Bays was attributable, no doubt, in a 

 great decree to the exceptional weather this season. Par- 

 tially, however, it is due iu some places to the barbarous 

 practice of barring the rivers with ne;s. Several persons 

 have been fined and their nets confiscated. This doubtless 

 will have a good effect. The thanks of all sportsmen are 

 due to the learned, active and assiduous Stipendiary Magis- 

 trate of St. Mary's for his exertions in punishing violators of 

 the law. May Mr. James Harney's praises be sounded 

 through the whole American continent. 



Caribou shooting in October was splendid sport. "Mari- 

 ner" aud his part}'" killed seven stags in Hall's Bay. Two 

 young sportsmen killed three deer in one day within about 

 thirty-five miles from St. Johns. Two other sportsmen at 

 the head of La Poile Bay, on the southern coast, had fine 

 sport with the caribou. Sir Rose Price and several othtr 

 deer hum era have been shooting in the interior, and ad, I 

 believe, have been very successful. 



I think the broods of grouse weie larger than usual this 

 year, and that there were more than the average number of 

 coveys in most localities ; but owing to wet, cold and stormy 

 weather, aud the prevalence of cold winds m October, shoot 

 ing was not good, and heavy bags the exception. The wil- 

 low grouse is par excellence the game bird of Newfoundland, 

 delicious to eat, and still more delightful to shoot. In the 

 interior, and especially on the southern and western purls of 

 the island, ptarmigan abound on the dry, barebills. They are 

 so abundant, and so tame, that they afford very litle sport. 

 Not so the willow grouse ; they stand well to the dogs • and 

 when flushed the covey rises with a whirr and rapid flight 

 that tries the nerves considerably. Grouse shooting is my 

 favorite sport. I love the wild, wind-swept barrens, l he 

 hard exercise ; and I delight to watch the sagacious work- 

 ing of good setters. 



Grouse shooting in the old country is the pastime of 

 princes and potentates, and though only a small brown bird 

 Tt-truo lagopm is a political power in the land. Parlia- 

 ment rises in his honor, and he rises for the pleasure of 

 sporting M. P's. Any one who has witnessed the stirring 

 scenes on the Scotch lines about the 10th and 11th of August , 

 will never forget the tennis of splendid pointers and setters, 

 the endless gun cases, and the eager sportsman, all bound 

 north for the land of the bouuie heather. Punch has a comi- 

 cal picture of an irate Station MaBter at a small Scotch 

 si ttion, addressing au over-driven porter, who is vainly 

 striving to hold half a dozen eager setters: ".Now then, 

 look alive with they dougsl where arc you?" Porter— 

 "Hoots, they've a' "eatin' 'their tuckets, an' dinna ken fa 

 the 're a gaen tac." Far different from the Scutch grouse 

 shooting with the gaitered and well wot-up sportsmen, the 

 garbs of old Gael, the gillies, and all that, is the Newfound- 

 land sport. Here there are no limits or restrictions to the 

 shooting, no beats, no fences ; the whole unbounded barrens 

 arc your own; the fisherman, who is your guide, gillie and 

 gamekeeper, may not look so picturesque in his old canvas 

 clothes as his Highland compeer, but forfincphysicalhealth, 

 for endurance, for quickness of eye and skill iu marking, I 

 will back my countryman, on his native heath, against the 

 bravest Saundie that ever scratched himself in the early 

 dawn, or drank raw whisky. In the matter of drinks my 

 stalwart fisherman, too, could fairly hold his o%vn wilh tho 

 MacTavishes ; but his choice is quite distinct ; his taste iu 

 liquor is tropical ; it is caused by commerce. He sends the 

 rugger lish, and his colored brother returns the southern 

 rum, mellow Jamaica, or fiery St. Jago. With the youDger 

 general ion temperance has made great progress ; but the 

 older fishermen commonly regard the teetotaler a3 a harm- 



