SKITCHEWAUG. 



27 



must have been. On the broad bosom of 

 the Quon-iiee-tuc-quok, as the Indians called 

 it, danced many a birch-bark canoe, and 

 under the shadow of the mountain rose the 

 smoke from many a wigwam. Dams, saw- 

 dust and sludge-acid have exterminated the 

 salmon, and civilization has annihilated the 

 Indian; but the name, thank God, remains, 

 wild, gamy, and aboriginal. 



The region round about Skitchewaug is 

 rich in Indian annals and colonial history. 

 Near the Southern abutment of the moun- 

 tain the Black river (Kas-kact-cha-zi'ok) 

 joins its waters with those of the Connect- 

 icut, and along the banks of this stream 

 lay the Indian trail which led up into the 

 Green mountains and Canada. Over this 

 trail many captives, taken from the scat- 

 tered settlements in the New Hampshire 

 grants, were hurried on journeys from 

 which they never returned. It was sub- 

 stantially along the line of this old Indian 

 trail that the British, in 1758, under the 

 command of Gen. Amherst, constructed 

 that military thoroughfare known as the 

 " Crown Point Road." In October of that 

 year Col. John Stark completed that por- 

 tion of it lying West of Skitchewaug, and 

 traces of it may still be seen there. 



In revolutionary times the fires of pa- 

 triotism burned brightly up here among the 

 hills of Vermont, and Toryism, however 

 mild in form, met with scant courtesy. 

 Among the cliffs on the East side of 

 Skitchewaug is a cavern known as the 

 Tory's Cave, where certain adherents of 

 Royalty sought safety and seclusion until 

 the ruffled feelings of their neighbors 

 should be smoothed once more. 



But it is the Skitchewaug of to-day, 

 rather than of the past, that interests us 

 most, and it does not detract from its 

 charms to know that one's scalp is safe 

 there now. Some elements of danger may 

 still exist, it is true, for not many years ago 

 a lusty panther, whose mate may still be 

 there, waxed fat on the sheep and calves 

 from the farms near by, and screamed at 

 night upon the mountain; so that the small 

 game increased prodigiously that season 

 because of the scarcity of hunters. The 

 stuffed body of this gigantic cat now orna- 

 ments the ball-room of a little hotel in the 

 vicinity, where it is proudly exhibited as 

 one of the products of the country. Then 

 there are rattlesnakes, too, plenty of them, 

 notwithstanding the fact that the state of- 

 fers a bounty on them of $1 a head — or a 

 tail, I know not which. These snakes pos- 

 sess the Vermont characteristic of being 

 willing to make new acquaintances on short 

 notice, and to enter into an argument with 

 them immediately. They are frequently 

 seen in the wagon-road skirting the moun- 

 tain, whither they come apparently to warm 

 themselves in the dust. The hunter who 

 scrambles over the loose rocks, at the foot 

 of the cliffs, is apt to come upon them, 



even as late as October, if the days are 

 warm and sunny; but their vicious note of 

 warning and offensive odor, when aroused, 

 are generally sufficient to accelerate the re- 

 treat of the intruder. 



Among Skitchewaug's most attractive 

 features are the numerous old wood-roads 

 which climb its sides with many twists and 

 curves, or follow the great terraces which 

 lie one above the other on its slopes. 

 Time's fingers have so softened or effaced 

 the marks of man's agency in making these 

 roads that they now seem a part of the 

 original forest plan. They lure one on and 

 on; for there is a delightful uncertainty as 

 to where they will lead, and what one may 

 happen upon while following them. 



They feel good to the feet of the hunter, 

 for after slipping over rocks and digging 

 one's toes into the soil, the mere sensation 

 of putting the sole of the foot on level 

 ground is a decided satisfaction. Along 

 one of these leaf-carpeted and sinuous 

 aisles, one may be sure of catching glimp- 

 ses of the shy forest creatures. The gray 

 squirrel runs across it, the grouse dusts 

 herself in its dry spots, and the fox follows 

 it, knowing full well that there are chickens 

 to be found near the initial point of this 

 thoroughfare. Here the sunlight has been 

 let in, and has coaxed from the soil certain 

 weeds and flowers which are not found else- 

 where in the woods. Somewhere along 

 this sylvan path you are apt to find a spring 

 of pure, cool water, bubbling up from the 

 foot of the ledge, and sending over its 

 mossy rim a tiny stream, which goes tin- 

 kling down the mountain side. " The green 

 lane is the school boy's friend," says Emer- 

 son, but the woodland road is the friend of 

 boy and man alike. 



Far back on the broad shoulder of the 

 mountain is a wild, rough spot set with 

 enormous timber.. Sharp ridges and deep 

 gullies render it inaccessible and have pro- 

 tected the forest monarchs from the lum- 

 berman's axe, so that they have survived 

 their fellows and still stand to show what 

 Nature can do when left to herself. Here 

 are giant hemlocks, which seem to sug- 

 gest an era prior to our own, mighty co- 

 nifers, such as may have flourished in the 

 carboniferous age. Here, too, are lordly 

 oaks, whose very size and weight have an- 

 chored them forever to this spot. And 

 here also lie some of their huge ancestors, 

 whose knees gave out years ago and let 

 their scarred and weather-seamed bodies 

 down upon the earth. To stand on the 

 prostrate corpse of one of these sylvan 

 kings, perchance to feel your feet sinking 

 into what was once his stout and solid 

 heart, and to realize that long ere you were 

 born he was thus laid out in state, is 

 enough to set one thinking on the changes 

 that have come about since this moulder- 

 ing trunk stood erect and young upon the 

 mountain. Then the moose and caribou 



