NEW YORK, THURSDAY, JUNE 18 , 1874 . 
Volume 2, Number 19. 
17 Chatham St. (CityHall Sqr.) 
For Forest and Stream. 
JUNE ROSES. 
HIRAM E. GRIFI’IFTH. 
*rn he 
JL “l 
“How sweet their perfume, too!” 
And she pinned two rose buds to my coat 
All wet with morning’s dew; 
And I kissed her ere I turned to go 
Out in ttie dusty street, 
And all thal day in the dingy town 
My thoughts of home were sweet. 
And into my office all the’day 
Thronged weary and dusty men, 
But with lighter tread they turned away 
Out in the street again; 
Tor the fragrance of the rose buds, 
With their colors rich and rare, 
Stirred up the memories of youth 
In all hearts gathered there. 
Aye, hot and dusty the town that day. 
And a thousaud cares had T, 
But with smiles I met those ills of life, 
And they passed me lightly by; 
And my thoughts would wander far away, 
To pleasant summer bowers, 
And my heart beat closer up to God, 
The gardener of all flowers. 
Could those June roses be embalmed, 
And hold their fragrance true, 
And be forever as they were, 
All fresh with heaven’s dew, 
No diamonds, and no rubies rare, 
No corals from the sea, 
Would be in value half the worth 
Those pure buds would to me. 
Most charming they would ever be, 
Telling of pleasant ways, 
Of paths of green by running stream, 
Of sunny, summer days; 
And needle-like would ever point 
To a wife that loves me true, 
Whose heart through all these many years 
Still wears its morning dew. 
For Forest and Stream. 
sports in Wnliiornm. 
No. III.—WOODCRAFT. 
A S our fishing and hunting excursions sometimes led us 
y*; into danger, an Indian war having been carried oti 
in that pan of the country at that time, a few instances, 
way of illustrations of woodcraft, may prove not unin¬ 
teresting. And, when it is remembered that the famous 
Lava-Beds” are almost as near to Humboldt Bay as New 
York is to Philadelphia, that the Indians were of the same 
se t of tribes as the comrades of Captain Jack, (though their 
okief, Lassick, was not equal to Jack in ability,) and the 
War car ried on was of the same general character, the in- 
erest will in no wise be decreased. 
One lively bright day we concluded that we would go 
rout-fishing, although it was unsafe. We had become 
le o of staying at home or going to the town, and we 
Ranted some excitement; so at lunch, (1 P. M.,) we settled 
! ‘ There-were half a dozen of us, and. all, except myself, 
a been many years on the frontier and had much ex- 
Perienee in Indian matters—were, in fact, “old Indian 
% ters,” well skilled in the wiles and stratagems of our 
Us Y foe, and adepts in woodcraft. I, too, was not alto- 
^ ei , a n °vice in reading “Indian sign,” for a year’s resi- 
nee in the country had taught me much, and my ears and 
had always been open to this kind of lore. But wood- 
cannot be acquired in a day, so, though not exactly 
^gieen, 1 was y et a t y ro com p are( j 1 0 the rest. The 
- Pwience of that day, however, is indelibly imprinted 
P°n my memory, and I plume myself not a little on my 
Ah Cata ° n °f the few lessons I had learned. 
^ out 2 P. M. we mounted our mules and started. 
u es are far preferable to horses for mountain or forest 
jjj, ‘ They scramble over roots, stones and boulders; 
1 6 hown, or clamber up steep declivities; and go through 
briers or swamps in a manner perfectly unattainable by a 
horse. Then, too, they will stand tied more quietly and 
patiently, and are less troublesome to care for. But, best 
of all, they are the most watchful sentinels for Indians that 
exist. They will scent an Indian a mile, or more, if the 
wind be blowing strongly from the direction of “Mr. Lo,” 
and indicate his vicinity by a. restlessness and desire to es¬ 
cape, with ears pricked forward and glaring eyes, in a 
manner that, to the initiated, is unmistakeable. So we 
rode mules. 
The day was lovely—the sun shone brightly—the air 
was clear and bracing—the temperature perfection. It 
was'like some of those lovely Indian summer days of our 
autumn, without the lassitude which invariably accompan¬ 
ies them. We felt fresh, bright and equal to any emer¬ 
gency, and we left the Post, with our rods under arms, our 
cigars well alight, in full rig, (only we used haversacks for 
creels, which were unattainable there.) Our party were 
well armed with revolvers and knives, and we considered 
ourselves equal to any dozen Indians in the “District,” if 
it came to the scratch. In those days these arms were a 
part of our regular dress, put on when we arose in the 
morning and not dispensed with until we retired for the 
night. Our “fishing ground” was a small mountain stream 
which lay about six miles to the south of the Post, in the 
heart of the redwood forest and in the bosom of the hills. 
The road to it was a bridle-path, which skirted thickets, 
wound around the massive trunks of the gigantic redwoods, 
traversed ravines, and finally debouched upon the bank of 
the stream in a lovely little plateau covered with clumps of 
varied undergrowth, shaded by tall trees, and carpeted 
with a lovely green sod which was bespangled with a thou¬ 
sand varieties of charming flowers. The little stream mur¬ 
mured invitingly as it ran along its gravelly bed, and here 
and there was dotted with dark pools which were the favor¬ 
ite homes of our speckled prey. 
Quickly dismounting we unsaddled our mules, tied them 
strongly to the saplings, and, getting our tackle in shape, 
were soon in the bed of the stream. By this term I mean 
the water,, not the bed proper of the stream, for that was, 
perhaps, an average of forty yards in width; and the little 
creek, during the rainy season, filled its high banks to the 
brim and was a roaring torrent whose booming could be 
heard a mile. But now the water was low and the stream 
narrow, save where it opened into a quiet glassy pool. It 
ran along close under the bank, now on one side, now on 
the other. The rest of the bed was either a wide smooth 
sand bar, or a precipitous mass of boulders, piled together 
in every form and worn into varied shapes by the action of 
the water. We fished up stream, partly because we knew 
the trout lie head to the current and so could not see us as 
we advanced, and partly because the return, when we were 
tired and laden, would be easier. I may here remark that 
although the trout were abundant and not very shy, yet the 
large ones were always wary and required all the art of the 
angler to effect their capture. 
Being soonest ready, I led the van, the others following 
at various intervals, from one to five hundred yards. Pas¬ 
sing from pool to pool in search of large fellows, and leav¬ 
ing the greater part of the stream unfished, I was soon half 
a mile in advance of the party. I had just turned a sharp 
angle of the creek and was stealing quietly toward a beauti¬ 
ful pool where I fancied might be “a rouser,” when, raising 
my eyes to see that I had room to throw my fly neatly, I 
spied on the surface of one of the stones lying at the head 
of the pool, the outline of a moccasin—r>nly one edge, but 
clearly defined against the surface of the glittering mica¬ 
ceous sandstone. I stepped aside—it disappeared. I step¬ 
ped back—there it was. There was no mistake. 
To say I was startled would be faint language. My heart 
was in my mouth. I dared hardly breathe. Danger lurked 
on every side. Any moment a bullet or an arrow might be 
seeking my body for a target. I already felt it—in my 
chest—my back—my head—everywhere. Savage eyes 
were upon me, and I was doubtless appropriated as a law¬ 
ful prize. I felt—I felt—I really cannot tell how I did feel. 
The danger was imminent. A single wrong move on my 
part and the whole party would be sacrificed. I held their 
lives in my hand, and I was alone and inexperienced. At 
such times it is wonderful how immense the amount of 
ideas which pass through the brain. One lives a lifetime 
in a moment. I never before could realize how the vizier, 
in the eastern tale, when told by the astrologer to plunge 
his head in a bowl of water and hold it there an instant, 
and, ’vshen he took it out, relate to the bystanders what he 
saw—did so—and lived years; each day and incident being 
clearly marked and filled with the greatest variety of 
thought and deed, success and good fortune—as he thought. 
Yet, when he removed his head and returned, seemingly,to 
his former state, found that the time had not been thirty 
seconds. 
What I thought then I could not tell you if I filled a hun¬ 
dred numbers of your valuable journal. But it was no time 
to dally. I must act, and at once. I must betray no 
knowledge of my discovery. 1 must seem to be intent on 
the capture of my finny prey and to have never heard of an 
Indian or of danger. How I managed it I cannot say; but 
this, as nearly as I can recollect, is what I did. I threw my 
fly and caught a good-sized trout, transferred him to my 
haversack, and threw again, but this time missed—hand 
trembled too much, I suppose. Turning, I fished slowly 
down the stream. All this time, which to me seemed ages, 
but was, probably, not ten minutes, my back was turned 
towards the bushes where I supposed the savage foe lay 
concealed. Why no attack was made, though I expected 
every moment to hear the crack of a rifle or feel an arrow, 
I could not conjecture, unless they had a trap to catch the 
whole party, and my whole thought was to join that party 
and give the alarm. I dared not turn round to look, but 
not a sound escaped my ear. I believe I could have heard 
a bird alight on a branch, no matter how small he might 
have been, my nerves were so highly strung and sensitive. 
Almost breathless I watched and waited, and all the time 
was fishing slowly and steadily down the stream. I thought 
I never would get there, but at last I turned the angle of 
the stream, passed out of sight of the place where I had 
discovered the “sign,” threw my rod into the bushes, and, 
if ever “footsteps had wings,” mine had. At a pace which 
would have shamed the “American deer,” I dashed over 
sand-bar and boulder. I was somewhat lighter then than 
now, and was in good training, so the speed was tremen¬ 
dous and sustained. My companions saw me coming and, 
surmising the cause, at once disposed of their rods in a 
manner similar to mine, and, as, I came up, joined me, as 
the word “Indians” escaped my lips. In a few moments 
we arrived at the place where our mules were fastened. 
The animals were straining at their halters and unmistake- 
ably showed that danger was near. We threw on the sad¬ 
dles, hardly taking time to buckle the girths, and, hastily 
mounting, galloped off as hard as we could go, the mules, 
in their terror, being no laggards and requiring little urging. 
We arrived safely at the Post, gave the alarm, a party went 
out, but the savages had decamped. 
We heard a few days later, through some friendly 
Indian^, that a band of sixteen Indians belonging to the 
tribes dwelling about the head of Eel River, a war party, 
had been in that neighborhood, and hearing us scamper off, 
had tried to intercept us, but we had gotten by before they 
could reach the trail. They were on their way to attack an 
outlying settler, who, thanks to us, escaped attack, as the 
Indians, fearing pursuit from the Fort, lost no time in de¬ 
camping when they found we had gone clear. They had 
evidently passed over the spot where I saw the track not 
twenty minutes before my arrival. Trout fishing is a quiet 
pursuit; for this shyest of fish are as watchful and wary as 
the savages, and, thanks to that, our advance had been as 
quiet as that of the Indians themselves, and they had not 
heard us. Not supposing a fishing party would be out at 
such a time, or so far from the Post, they never dreamed 
of looking for us. Had they seen us before I saw their 
trail—an ambush—a few rifle shots—and our friends would 
have found our remains peacefully lying by the shady 
