"HEAP GOOD MAN." 



Wm. Edward Coffin. 



IN November, 1891, it was my good 

 fortune to make a successful hunt 

 for moose in the state of Maine. 

 The pleasure of the wild free life, the 

 freedom from care, can only be appreci- 

 ated by the man who has held down his 

 love for the woods and mountains 

 through two years of that hard, haras- 

 sing labor which the " struggle of life" 

 entails on most of us. My guide was a 

 full blood Penobscot Indian, a hard 

 worker, a good still hunter, neat in his 

 person and habits, but taciturn to a de- 

 gree, and apt to forget, in the excitement 

 of a hunt that the ability to cover dis- 

 tance over logs, through brush and up 

 mountains, silently and quickly, re- 

 quires both heredity and years of prac- 

 tice. He had no other faults than his 

 inability to plan for a party, or to hus- 

 band the few pots of Scotch jam which 

 were included among our supplies. 



For an entire day we would paddle 

 the canoe up winding streams, and along 

 the margin of beautiful lakes, or climb 

 mountain sides, without a word being 

 spoken. At the sight of game, his 

 stolid face would light up, and his very 

 hair seem to bristle with nervous 

 energy. No labor was too great, no wait 

 too long, to insure me a good shot. His 

 name was Sebattis, I presume a relic 

 of the davs when the Canadian French 

 traded with the Penobscots and led 

 them in forays upon the English settle- 

 ments. He was a fairly good canoe 

 man, though I have never seen the 

 Indian who could handle a canoe with 

 the consummate skill and cool daring 

 shown by Jock Darling, the prince of 

 Maine guides. 



One golden Indian summer day, from 

 distant Katahdin down to the margin of 

 the water, the rolling hills were clothed 

 in a glory of yellow, red and brown, set 

 off by the green of the cedar and 

 spruce ; while the blue lakes, with their 

 fringe of white boulders, reflected back 

 the blue sky dotted with fleecy clouds. 

 The sun was setting in a crimson pur- 

 ple and golden halo, contrasting with 

 the deep blue haze in the east, north 

 and south. The air, frosty and clear, 



tasted like wine to the lungs of a man 

 from the seaside, and the " altogether " 

 was a realization of the jaded man's 

 dream of freedom. 



We had been skirting the shores and 

 watching the lagoons on Upper Mata- 

 gamon lake, and were going through 

 the narrow, deep and rapid thorough- 

 fare leading to the Lower Matagamon 

 lake, on which we were camped. I sat 

 in the bow of the canoe, my gun in 

 hand, watching each bank and curve 

 with that eager hope which " springs 

 eternal in the breast " of the hunter. 



At a sudden turn in the stream I 

 motioned to a small hut which could be 

 dimly seen through the trees. With a 

 twist of the paddle, Sebat brought the 

 canoe to the bank, and without a word 

 walked toward the hut. I quietly fol- 

 lowed, and as he unlatched the door we 

 both entered. The hut itself was per- 

 haps eight feet by ten feet, built of 

 rough slabs and covered with birch bark. 

 In one corner a rude fire place of stone, 

 plastered with mud ; above a substitute 

 for a chimney, made from slabs. In 

 another corner, a rough bunk, partially 

 filled with dry hemlock twigs, yellow 

 with age. In a third corner an old pork 

 barrel, covered with birch bark, held 

 down by a stone. There was no floor- 

 ing beyond the rough ground, uneven 

 with hollows, stones and the roots of 

 trees. Upon the walls hung a few traps, 

 a forked branch evidently used for a 

 gun rack, several deer and moose skins, 

 and a pair of moose ears. There was 

 no other furniture, and the air, heavy 

 with the unpleasant muskrat odor, told 

 of winter evenings spent in skinning 

 animals by the light of the fire. Invol- 

 untary I thought of the hardships of a 

 life which called such a place home, 

 and blessed those ancestors of my own 

 who had risen through the stone and 

 other ages to a point where life had 

 some color, some comfort, some variety. 

 Sebat was apparently beyond such 

 impressions, for lifting the lid from the 

 barrel, and fishing with his hand in the 

 brine with which it was filled, he pro- 

 duced a piece of meat which with one 



