BACK CAMP, CHANDLER LAKE, ME. MR. AND MRS. BEMIS AND GUIDE. 



over a camp-fire; and the moose-bird, or 

 Canada jay, came and made friends with us, 

 and ate off the same board. 



There was no time to linger, so we were 

 soon on our way again. With 10 miles to 

 our credit, night came on as we approached 

 the falls. The guides were to " carry " and 

 to work the canoes up, while we were to 

 follow a path through the woods, to a point 

 above the falls. 



It was dark, but my wife and I felt our 

 way along, until, somehow, we lost the 

 path. The thought of spending a night in 

 the woods was anything but pleasant. We 

 were grateful indeed when the light of the 

 moon came through the trees; for by its 

 aid we managed to reach the river. We 

 could not see the falls, nor did we know 

 whether the guides had gone on ahead; but 

 no more forest for us. On the bank of that 

 river we would stay until called for. Soon 

 we heard the men coming, having been de- 

 layed, in patching one of the canoes. 



Two miles farther we glided into Round 

 pond, and the poles were lain aside for the 

 paddles. To go suddenly from the rush- 

 ing river, with the splashing and pounding 

 of brass-pointed poles, into smooth water, 

 and on such a night, was delightful. A 

 glorious moon turning the foliage to silver; 

 not a sound from any living thing; not the 

 rustle of a leaf, nor even the air stirring; 

 not a sound from the paddle, not so much 

 as a drop of water. Never until that mo- 

 ment had I realized what is meant by still- 

 ness. 



Soon we came to a dam, over which we 



carried, and Millnocket lake spread out be- 

 fore us. 



The canoes were paddled swiftly toward 

 an island in the centre. A light appeared; 

 then another and another. Fred said, 

 " Camp," and I was glad, for I was cold 

 and hungry. Our host was at one of the 

 back camps, but his wife expected us. A 

 cabin had been prepared and a log fire 

 awaited us. 



It rained steadily the next 2 days, so 

 we simply rested. When Atkins returned 

 he explained the situation of the back 

 camps, and I consulted him as to which 

 would be the best for moose. All but 2 

 were occupied. One, an old logging camp, 

 at Chandler lake, was very rough, but in a 

 good game country, where practically no 

 hunting had been done. I decided on this. 



After breakfast, the 3d morning, our little 

 party started. Soon we crossed the lake, 

 took a parting shot at 2 screaming loons, 

 beached our canoes, and, loaded down with 

 packs, plunged, Indian file, into the woods 

 on a tramp of 9 miles. We were now in the 

 country of big game, and life in the woods 

 was a fact. 



Evidences of game were seen all along 

 the trail. Here a big bull moose, there a 

 cow, then a buck and a doe, occasionally a 

 caribou. Stopping now and then to study 

 a fresh track, while our guides explained it 

 all, learning at every step something of 

 game, the day passed; and it was a day 

 never to be forgotten. 



At 5 o'clock the dead water of Chandler 

 lake was reached. Here was a canoe, into 



