^^ 



THE AMERICAN SPORTSMAN'S JOURNAL. 



r* n Year. I 

 i Copy. ] 



NEW YORK, THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 29, 1877. 



f Tolnme 9.-Jfo. IT. 

 Wo. Ill Jfulfon St., N. Y. 



THE OLD OAK TREE. 



yriS a gray old tree, and its branches three, 



-*- With thin, red leaves, sere and dry, 

 Llfce giants old, still grim and bold, 



Frown up "t tne Autumn bky ; 

 Yet once it stood 

 In the dark green -wood, 

 A sapling, young and slight, 



Which the doer might crush 



In his onward ruBh, 

 Or the whirlwind in its might. 



But ftufch : let us hear from the aged seer, 



Uis story of wonders bold; 

 Many and oft, were the strange sights seen 

 Eva his eyes grew dim and old. 

 Hark! hear him speak 

 To the breezes bleak. 

 As they whirl his dry leaves round; 

 His voice is hoarse, 

 Ali! grnir, and coarse, 

 Yd. withal, 'tis a pleasant sound 



-' I was barn la the Spring, when the breezes sing 

 Glad songs to the opening nowers; 

 I budded and grew, while the year was new, 

 In the shade of my parent bowers; 

 Since, many a Spring, 

 On the rapid wing 

 Of Time, with his hoary head, 

 And many a tree, 

 With its leaflets free, 

 Prom our beautiful home have fled. 



41 I'm bound by a spell, and I may not tell 

 The wonderful things I've seen ; 

 To oblivion's shade, a vow have I made, 

 To whisper them not again." 

 E'en as he spoke, 

 The " Storm King's " stroke 

 Passed his hoary and scathed head o'er; 

 Don n, down to the ground 

 He sank, and the sound 

 Of his voice was heard no more. 



As the howling storm, o"er his prostrate form, 



Swept on in his pathway dread, 

 A sad song passed on the wailing bias!, 



Like a requiem for the dead. 

 " Oh, proudly he stood 

 In the dark, green wood, 

 A long, long time ago ; 



But mourn for the Oak, 



His heart is broke, 

 And he lieth now full low." 



For Forest aiul Stream and Hod and Gun. 



J! § o m%dwn ^tehing J^f 



MOST of us have looked forward with keen excitement 

 and pleasant anticipation to summer excursions, on 

 whatever line they lead us, whether it be that of the resorter 

 to fashionable spas or those of less ambitious character; 

 whether they be of Acadian quiet and simplicity of country 

 retreats, far away not only from the bustle of the city, but 

 even of rare communication with it, or of village cottages sur- 

 rounded by but a patch of garden, with green fields to wander 

 in. Eyen the less pretentious trips, which last but a few days, 

 ereate a zest and desire for them which tell of innate feeling 

 of love of enjoying the freedom from the every-day life con- 

 sequent upon a city existence ; the palling influence which 

 seems to paralyze the capacity of rural felicity in the inhabit- 

 ants of towns and cities. By no means the less enjoyable 

 amusement is that of the sportsman ; and in making his pur- 

 chases prior to a trip he experiences an almost childish delight 

 in anticipation, not only of the pleasures, but the dangers be- 

 fore him ; for the quiet and passive river often becomes a bois- 

 terous and death-threatening rapids. 



Not long since I felt these variations of feeling on a fishing 

 excursion to one of the many fishing rivers near the city of 

 Quebec. It was difficult to make the choice of any one in 

 particular, for we had tried nearly all those within a radius of 

 thirty miles and were ambitious of trying new waters, where 

 few had ever thrown the fly, and where we might, in the 

 solitude of the primeval forest, broken only by the cry of 

 bird or the sound of the wind—" where," one might say, 

 ''man never trod before," and sit by our own camp fire and 

 cook the trout whipped by ourselves from lonely streams. 

 After many suggestions, Le bras de Nord de la Riviere 8te. 



Anne was decided on. Our knowledge of it was vague in 

 the extreme ; the way to it even was unknown to us, for in- 

 formation regarding it we could not at the time procure. But 

 to it we were determined to proceed, and our after experience 

 taught us that our decision was right, and that we had indeed 

 hit upon the beau ideal of fishing rivers and wild beauty. 



The north branch of the River St. Anne, also sailed the 

 " Little Saguenay " from its almost savage scenery, rises in 

 the mountains of the Laurentian Range and falls into the 

 main river of the same name, which empties itself into the St. 

 Lawrence, some miles above Quebec* Its rocky sides rise 

 precipitously to the height of several hundred feet, and its 

 many rapids render the descent of it in boats a difficult and 

 dangerous undertaking. The country at the upper part of it 

 is wholly uninhabited, and is covered with a dense forest. 

 The consequence is that few but fishermen and sportsmen 

 visit this beautiful and rugged locality. Countless trout shoot 

 the many rapids, or linger in the deep frigid pools of the St. 

 Anne River, and any follower of Izaak Walton may easily 

 entrap many dozens a day. 



It was mid-summer— in the dog days— when the frightful 

 heat hurried all who could snatch such liberty from the boil- 

 ing city to the seaside or to country retreats. The burning 

 pavements were trodden by few pedestrians ; the Venetians 

 were tightly closed to shut out the glaring sun, and darkened 

 rooms were sought after by prostrate humanity. Water carts 

 paraded up and down the streets, deluging the thirsty earth, 

 and panting dogs hid themselves in grateful shades. It was 

 mid-summer, and the heat and ennui had become intolerable, 

 when I joined the party to try the fishing in the St. Anne 

 River. We were three men — Mr. Torrance, Mr. Percy and 

 myself — and Mr. Torrance's three boys. The purchase of 

 provisions and fishing tackle did not long detain us, and we 

 started from the North Shore Railway station at Quebec at 

 about six o'clock in the afternoon. The first-class carriages 

 had not then been placed on the line, and considering that the 

 road was not completely ballasted, we found the wooden 

 benches rather uncomfortable. This, however, was made up 

 by the courtesy of Mr. Robetaille, the conductor, and the ex- 

 actitude with which Mr. Robdaille, the engineer, kept up to 

 time. Fortunately the wreckers had not then commenced 

 their diabolical attempts, and we safely arrived at Pont 

 Rouge, or rather Ste. Jeanne de Neuville, as the village is 

 called, in about an hour and a half. Since the building of the 

 North Shore Railway, this village has made rapid strides. 

 Where before there were but few houses, are now erected 

 handsome stores and villas. Near by, the wild River Jacques 

 rushes down its stony bed, and in its waters may be seen the 

 lordly salmon plunging and leaping. Here we engaged two 

 back-boards, and on them we placed ourselves with the lug- 

 gage and drove on to St. Raymond, about eighteen miles dis- 

 tant, where we arrived about midnight. St. Raymond is 

 delightful ; well built shops and dwellings strike one with 

 surprise, for we can scarcely expect to see such signs of pros- 

 perity as here represented. A fine church, whose walls inside 

 and ceilings are beautifully frescoed, stands in the centre of 

 the village, through which runs a broad street, flanked by 

 wide wooden sidewalks. The river St. Anne runs alongside, 

 and is here crossed by a substantial bridge. Mr. Savary, a 

 prominent villager, very kindly lent us his tent, cooking uten- 

 sils ana a flat which we tried to transport over sixteen miles 

 on an abominable road, which ran over a succession of moun- 

 tains, so that it was approaching evening before we reached 

 our dsstination and camping grpund. The latter part of our 

 journey was made through the primeval forest, the road hav- 

 ing gradually dwindled to nothingness or a squirrel track up a 

 tree. The two men whom we had brought with us from St. 

 Raymond were perfect woodsmen and chasseurs. In a very 

 short time our tent was set up in a charming spot on the bank 

 of the river, a fire lit and supper being prepared— a supper of 

 bacon, eggs, trout which we had quickly taken from the river, 

 bread, butter, tea and coffee. Our hunger satisfied, and 

 weary with oiu - long drive and prostrated by the intense heat, 

 we gathered ourselves together in the tent and prepared for 

 slumber. But we reckoned without our host, for myriads of 

 flies— black flies, sand flies, mosquitoes— attacked us so furi- 

 ously that we were in a short time a mass of bites. The 

 smoke from the immense fire in front of our tent seemed only 

 to exasperate them. Sleep was banished, and we surrendered 

 in a kind of despair to our merciless foes. They seemed not 



to trouble the two chasseurs, but devoted their united energies 

 to us from the city. Sullenly and anxiously we waited for 

 the break of day and then hurried to plunge into the cool 

 water to refresh ourselves and allay the inflammation of the 

 bites. The bath was delightfully cool, and in some measure 

 relieved us from pain, and the boys could hardly be induced 

 to leave it even for our alfresco— breakfast— after having des- 

 patched which we prepared for fishing. Our tent was pitched 

 upon the bank of a certain cove in which the water was some- 

 what sallow. Outside, the current rushed down tumultu- 

 ously and a precipitous wall, fringed at the summit with lux- 

 uriant herbage, guarded the further side. On either side of 

 the tent was a grove of maple trees, while in its rear was a 

 sort of nneultivated field filled with raspberry bushes and 

 strawberry plants rich with their luscious fruits. The beauti- 

 ful maples completely shaded our tent, and in front of it was 

 built a huge fire to keep off the flies and to cook our meals. 

 Alongside the fire the chasseurs had erected a sort of inclosed 

 miniature shed, beneath which our provisions were stored, 

 and they themselves rested secure from the attacks of the 

 sun's rays and descending showers of rain. 



We divided into two parties— Mr. Percy, with one of the 

 boys and a chasseur, in one boat, and myself, with the two 

 other boys and a chasseur, in the second boat. Mr. Torrance 

 remained in camp, he having suffered sd much from fatigue 

 and the flies that he felt too much indisposed to venture out. 

 In truth, so much did he suffer that later in the day he des- 

 patched one of the men to the nearest house — ten miles off — 

 for a horse and vehicle, and returned to St. Raymond to wait 

 for us on our homeward trip. The whole day unceasingly 

 we fished up and down the river, sometimes running rapids, 

 at other times poling up against the stream, the flies all the 

 while continuing their ferocious attacks and onslaughts. The 

 wild beauty of the scenery of the river is indescribable. At 

 its every turn new scenes of grandeur meet the eye, and one 

 becomes lost in admiration, and bewildered with the varied 

 and picturesque views constantly charging the sight. At one 

 time we find ourselves quietly floating over an inky r pool, whose 

 surface is disturbed by whirling eddies and covered with froth 

 and bubbles. In these deep pools lie the monster trout, which 

 give to the sportsman a chance to play his spotted victims 

 and show his skill. From the edge of the river, on each side, 

 rise perpendicular rocks, seemiDg almost to lean toward each 

 other at their high summits of several hundreds of feet above 

 us, while stunted trees and shrubbery overhang the stream 

 from their rugged sides. At another time the troubled waters 

 rush over a pebbled incline, with here and there huge boul- 

 ders standing from out the rapid, and giant forest trees of birch, 

 beech, maple, oak and fir grow up from the water's bank in 

 an impenetrable confusion to the foot of the distant mountains, 

 whose purple tops can hardly be discerned from the blue clouds 

 which cover them. In parts these immense trees stretch 

 their branches across the river, which then runs through a 

 shaded avenue of variegated foliage. It was almost dark 

 when we returned to camp, weary with the labor of paddling 

 and wielding the rod, and we were glad to rest on the ground 

 and take our supper. We had been very successful in our 

 catch, having over thirty dozen of fine trout, often having 

 hooked two and three at a time. As on the previous night, 

 the dread flies remorselessly and viciously sucked our blood ; 

 but notwithstanding them we were able to snatch a few hours 

 of slumber from the night, and woke in the morning somewhat 

 refreshed, but terribly inflamed in all parts of the body. After 

 again fishing in the vicinity of the camp we landed, and the 

 men struck our tent and placed everything in the two boats 

 for our expedition down the stream W our second camping 

 ground. While they were thus engaged, we wandered about 

 gathering strawberries and raspberries which literally colored 

 the ground. At one o'clock we started the other boat, taking 

 the lead, as the man with Mr. Percy was better acquainted 

 with the river than the min with me, who, it turned out, was 

 very short sighted. Consequently he endeavored to keep as 

 close as possible in rear of the leader, and had He succeeded 

 in doing so an accident, which very nearly caused the loss of 

 all our lives on board, would not have occurred. There was 

 no necessity of much exertion in paddling, as the current is 

 strong and in some places becomes a rapid. So we drifted 

 down the weird, wild river, whipping its surface and becoming 

 every moment more entranced by its unique beauty. By some 

 mismanagement our boatman allowed the leading boat to dis- 



