Feb. 7, 1884,] 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



23 



ing snow of eight inches which concealed all treacherous, 

 slippery sticks, and T fell frequently— always with head up 

 hill. At length 1 got an extra noisy tumble, and three grouse 

 flatted out of a low poplar, scaled down the mountain on 

 level wings, like hawks, and disappeared in the dense hem- 

 locks below. On looking around I became aware, that there 

 was a rather large gathering of the birds in plain sight, and, 

 despairing of a shot at the doe, I clipped the head off the 

 nearest cock. He made a deal of unnecessary fuss about his 

 head, flapping, drumming and turning back somersaults 

 down hill, making the snow fly as he weut. This started a 

 few of the nearest': and, as I got in another and last shot, the 

 stampede became general. It was interesting, almost_ ex- 

 citing, to see the game, beautiful things, a dozen at a time, 

 glide like arrows down the steep slope without moving a 

 wing, and, as they neared their favorite trees, turu sharply 

 upward, put on the brakes with a thunderous clatter, and 

 disappear in the dense, dark foliage above. I am not going 

 to say how many 1 think there were on the feed at that time 

 and place. At least one hundred. Perhaps thrice as many. 



I have had the same experience on the mountain side two 

 miles below Ausonia, on the head of Asaph Hun, or Long 

 Run, and on the side hills along the Oanisteo, in Steuben 

 county, N". Y. 



1 only give these jottings as illustrative of how they live 

 in the long, hard, close season. The sportsman puts away 

 his shooting gear at the close of the open season, and it is 

 only the woodsman and naturalist who takes to the forest in 

 January and February to find out the winter ways of the 

 elfin woodfolk. 



Not of game birds and game quadrupeds alone, for these 

 are few in number, and it is our selfishness that leads us to 

 give precedence and importance to them at the expense of 

 other woods dwellers quite as sagacious and interesting. 

 The wildcat, the owl, the fox, each and all have hard work 

 to pick up a respectable living when there is a deep light 

 snow on the ground. The two first named often perish with 

 cold and starvation. 1 am not sure that the fox ever does, 

 though he becomes fearfully emaciated. The mink and 

 weasel manage very well. The former is a skilli'ul fisher- 

 man and the latter a capital mouser. Both are model 

 poachers and pot-hunters. They kill as long as anything is 

 left to kill, with no reference to present needs. They de- 

 serve neither mercy nor sympathy. 



Then there are fortunate individuals among the forest pop- 

 ulation who, on a sudden contraction of woodland currency, 

 can go into winter quarters and sleep comfortably until the 

 advent of better times. These are notably the bear, the 

 skunk, woodchuck and 'coon, They remind one of Oalver- 

 ly's lines: 



" Friend, there be those to whom mishap 

 Or never, or so rarely comes, 

 That at the very thought they snap 

 Derisive thumbs." 



And there are some few quadrupeds and birds that thrive 

 in the roughest winters. I do not think the deer — when un- 

 molested by enemies, is ever beaten by hard weather - alone. 

 While the iiare, the rabbit and the red squirrel can afford to 

 "snap derisive thumbs" at Siberian weather with a heavy 

 ice crust thrown in. 



I would like to say something about the muskrat, the most 

 intelligent animal of" nis size with which 1 am acquainted. 

 No matter whether he elects to pass his winter on a rattling 

 trout stream, a river or a lake, his industry and forethought 

 always pull him through in condition. He has one foolish 

 attribute that militates against his general intelligence: he 

 will continue to stick his fool feet into naked steel traps 

 until he loses his last foot. I have caught an old rat by his 

 fourth and last foot, the others having been left in traps. 

 And once— it may be a hard yarn, but it is true— 1 shot an 

 old male rat swimming near the shore without any feet at 

 all. They had all been left in traps; and he was swimming 

 very well on the stubs. 



When I remember that I have murdered more than 5,000 

 of these bright-eyed innocents and stretched their skins for 

 an average of twenty cents each, I am quite prepared for 

 the gospel of evolution. 



1 shouldn't be surprised to know that a few thousand years 



ick my ancestors wore hair instead of cassimere, and lived 



Nessmuk. 



back 



mostly in trees. 

 Wellsboeo. Pa. 



MY CAMP-FIRE. 



IT was such a fire as an old campaigner loves. Heaped 

 high with lusty logs, it blazed merrily into the dark 

 blue sky of the autumn night, and sparkled and flashed 

 through the linden leaves which overhung my couch. And 

 the more welcome, because unexpected. 



1 had taken the Kelpie, rather late in the afternoon, in- 

 tending to row quietly down Central Lake to Bellaire, re- 

 main there over night, continue my journey down the 

 Intermediate River, through Grass and Clam lakes, and 

 take the steamer Queen, at the mouth of Clam River, for 

 Elk Rapids, where i mid business which required attention. 



I rowed leisurely on, taking'little note of time, until, as i 

 rounded the point known as Buzzard's Roost. I perceived 

 that the evening twilight rested on the lake, and that I had 

 allowed the beauty of the scenery to interfere with the 

 plans of the expedition. Then I reflected. If I should 

 attempt to run the Intermediate Rapids by moonlight I 

 could not disguise from myself the fact that, however seduc- 

 tive the performance might appear when viewed from a 

 distance, there was a strong possibility that, just when I 

 should come to the liveliest part of the entertainment, I 

 might chance to find myself caught in one of the log-drives 

 of Messrs. Ri char di and Bechtold; "in which case," said I 

 to myself, "I shall, in the language of our late lamented 

 friend, Mr. William J. Snelling, have 'cooked up a pretty 

 kettle of fish, and brought my calf's head to a fine market;' 

 and, to quote another early acquaintance named R. Crusoe, 

 there would then undoubtedly be 'the devil to pay, and no 

 pitch hot.' These be the facts. Shall I, like the Danish 

 rover, lie on my own proud deck, before the sea aad sky? 

 No, the deck is too short. Shall T risk the rapid? No By 

 St. Bryde of Bothwell, T will camp!" 



It was the eleventh of October, the night was fine, and 

 though my camp equipage was scanty, it yet comprised an 

 overcoat, a tea kettle, and an axe, and provident hands had 

 stowed the mess chest, or more accurately, the bucket, which 

 usually accompanies the boat. 



I scanned the serried lines of cedars along the shores, and 

 the dark hues of the evergreens blended with those of the 

 upland maples in one sombre tint. Turning my course, I 

 rowed for the western shore, and after a time, shot silently 

 into a shallow cove, backed by tall cedars; a fringe of reeds 

 advancing to the waves. Seated in the stern of my light, 



narrow craft, I laid my hand upon a projecting branch, and 

 strove to force the boat further into the reeds, when a start- 

 ling rush Of wings burst from the tangled thicket, and I 

 loosed my hold on tree and paddle, and grasped my gun as 

 a dark object whizzed close past my head. Twisting myself 

 in the narrow boat, somewhat after the manner of Davy 

 Crockett's owl, my gun swung into line, and the moonbeams 

 glimmered for a second's space on the brown Damascus bar- 

 rels, as they ranged upon the fast disappearing shadow. A 

 stream of fire lighted hike and forest, and showed the out- 

 lines of the distant shores, and a silvery fountain sparkled 

 up, some forty yards astern. "It is a duck, sure enough. I 

 thought it was a grouse," was my thought; as I paddled 

 alongside the floating object, and lifted it into the boat. 



When at last i stepped ashore I found that, with one ex- 

 ception, I bad made a good selection of a site for a camping 

 ground, but this one waB decidedly condemnatory. The 

 leaves were soaked with the recent rains, and the density of 

 the foliage had prevented the sun from taking any active 

 measures toward preparing them for the couch of a lone 

 wayfarer like myself. Now, wood and wave are to me as 

 home, and this being the case, I am accustomed in the pres- 

 ence of Mother Nature to do much, as I would if under the 

 shelter of my own roof-tree, namely, to make myself as 

 comfortable' as the nature of the circumstances will permit. 

 I have found much comfort in a bed of wet moss on Echo 

 Island, in Lake Winnipesaukee, and also in sleeping on a 

 flat rock, in the Indian "Nation;" but at this time I had 

 the whole night in which to seek a couch, and all Michigan 

 to find it in, and I turned my course toward the nameless 

 island — most northerly of the three which adorn the lower 

 portion of Central Lake. I had passed this islet scores of 

 times, but never landed there. I reasoned, however, that if 

 1 should find as much solid land as the son of Godwin pro 

 posed to give Hardrada, the afternoon sunbeams should by 

 this time have fitly prepared it for my receptiou. 



The Kelpie grounded on a little beach of bard, smooth 

 sand, and I stepped into the bushes and paused under a jolly 

 old clump of basswood trees, with wealth of drift scattered 

 along the shore, "Behold," quoth I, "this is the very place 

 I have been hunting. Here will I camp, there build my fire, 

 'and the low shiver of the linden tree may bring to me a 

 joy.'" Then rang the strokes of the hunting axe, and up 

 against the spangled night there streamed a mighty blaze. 



Now, thought I, as, half an hour after, I sat at meat, with a 

 mug of tea in one hand, and the gambrel joint of the luck- 

 less bird before mentioned, in the other; this is something 

 like. Talk about the banquets of the gods— nectar and 

 ambrosia, or the beer and bacon of Walhalla. The highest 

 hall in Gladsbeim wouldn't touch the roof of my camp, and 

 I would not give the hind leg of this mallard for the whole 

 outfit of Olympus. I only wish that the professor, or the 

 cashier, or the barrister, were here, or that "Nessmuk" sat 

 foment me, just over against the teakettle, with his beard 

 waggina; over my commissary department, and the fragrance 

 of the Formosa floating up to his nostrils. Did you ask if 

 that gentleman and myself had ever met? Not that I know 

 of, but let him come paddling in the Sairy up to my camp, 

 and before many minutes we should, likely, be as old ac- 

 quaintances. Aye, and we'd have a night of it. We would 

 gang up the glen with "Bonny Kilmeny," and we'd have the 

 "Witch of Fife," and, mayhap, all the rest of the "Queen's 

 Wake," and a shy at "Holy Willie's Prayer," if he liked, 

 with, maybe a dab at the Talmud, and a dig at the Targum 

 of Bere Oziel, and perhaps a screed or so from the "Devil 

 on Two Sticks. " Any other literary rnorceaux which our 

 repertoires might furnish, would of course be in order. 

 There is the ballad — the very mournful ballad of "Peter 

 Gray," who — 



"Went trading to the West, 

 For furs and other skins, 

 And he was caught and killed, a-a-and drest, 

 By the bloody In-ji-ins." 



Do my ears deceive me? or did I hear from some unappre- 

 ciative person the word "nonsense?" Y"es, I was right. My 

 dear sir, before you pass over in disgust the remainder of 

 this paper, oblige me by remembering that the Kelpie and 

 myself are at present in unquestioned possession of this 

 island, the uttermost coasts of which may from this point 

 be swept at any moment with grape and canister; and fur- 

 ther, that our camp-fire was not built for your exclusive ben- 

 efit. I readily admit, however, that as the elder Weller 

 might say, the evening's discourse "werges" on the nonsen- 

 sical. Tnoreau said that going into camp was with him a 

 solemn affair, and I believe that I appreciate his meaning, 

 but I am happy to say that in this close communion with 

 nature solemnity does not always come to the front, or even 

 make itself unpleasantly conspicuous. Those who are 

 "forced to drudge for the dregs of men," and all the rest of 

 it, often manage during business hours to get, enough sense 

 drummed into thern to last over an infrequent evening by a 

 camp-fire. Were you, O man of the long aud rueful visage, 

 to be wrecked at. this moment upon the shores of the islet 

 where at present I hold supreme authority, you should be 

 welcome. I would seat you in the place of honor by my 

 camp-fire; would share with you my duck and dhudeen, and 

 would sit silent and attentive to the wealth of wisdom which 

 your lips let fall. Under certain limitations you should dis- 

 course of what might seem to you most instructive — Mo- 

 schus or Marcus Antoninus, Bion, Bacon, or Brillat-Savarin. 

 I bar the ever-increasing list of German metaphysicians 

 from them, for this night at least. My camp-fire is sacred. 

 Do you remember the old Scotchman's definition of meta- 

 physics? "Weel, sawney, fin the mon wha hears disna ken 

 what the mon says wha speaks, and fin the mon wha speaks 

 disna ken what he says himsel', that's metaf eesics. " 



Are you a scientific don ? I would gladly learn from you. 

 We, would discuss the relative density of a half-baked, three 

 years ©Id army hard tack and a piece of porphyritic granite, 

 and tell each other how the ptermiognastis builds its nest. 

 Are you a speculator, or a man of commerce? I would sell 

 you a town lot, or talk of the late extraordinary fluctuations 

 in the price of putty. If you should— bad luck on it— preve 

 to be a lobbyist or a ward politician, bent upon obscuring 

 the light from my fire with the murky cloud which muddles 

 the brains of your particular following, I would reach for my 

 gun, and, first having seen that the charges were in a trust- 

 worthy condition, would look in the direction of your boat; 

 and, while carelessly playing with the locks, would relate an 

 episode in the life of the late Captain Simon Suggs, of the 

 Tallapoosa Volunteers, which, in the language of that dis- 

 tinguished warrior, ran much as follows: 



"He kep' up a most a dingnation growl in', t'well I rolled 

 up my sleeves, which it was a tollable warm day, and my 

 coat was off, and says I: 'You see that hos yender?' T do,' 

 says he. 'He's yourn, aint he?' says I. 'He is,' says he. 



'Then,' says I, 'if you don't want to be most boddaciously 

 eetup, you'd better get atop of him, and make tracks.' " 



The tea things having been cleared away, and the cloth 

 removed, I knocked the ashes out of my pipe, and uplifted 

 my voice in song. (I sometimes commit these indiscretions 

 where there is no danger of being arrested for disturbing the 

 peace and dignity of the realm.)' 



I was just iri the midst of a Northland saga when my 

 dulcet strains roused grave remonstrance from a flock of 

 geese just passing overhead. Truly, thought I, even though 

 "my voice has been tuned to the notes of the gun," there 

 seems no good reason why I should scare the lives out of 

 these unoffending birds. All hail, ye cleavers of the wind! 

 Your ancestors on the Grand Prairie could have told you that 

 the crack of my old mnzzleloader, "Dora Dean," or a hail 

 from the iron "throat of its companion, "Punkinslinger," 

 was even more dangerous, though perhaps less irritating to 

 your sensitive natures, than the roar of the Aristophauie 

 anapests you heard but now. 



Those who may have chanced to read such papers as I 

 have contributed to the columns of the Forest and Stheam 

 will perhaps have observed that there is little bloodshed in 

 them, and it is true that I have in a great measure outgrown 

 any taste I may formerly have had for. mowing swathes 

 through swarm's of birds, or for pumping a Winchester rifle 

 while a band of retreating antelopes should remain in sight. 



My experiences in shooting and in fishing belong, for the 

 most part, to the days when breechloaders were inf requent. 

 not to say unknown, and were by most sportsmen regarded 

 as a nuisance. We loaded quickly, however, in those times, 

 aud even now. My preference for a breechloader arises not 

 from the rapidity with which it can be discharged, but from 

 the readiness with which its charges can be changed or re- 

 moved without firing. I have been a persistent angler, and 

 have burned much powder in my time, and a man does not 

 acquire skill in the use of firearms against game without 

 some waste of innoeent blood. 



I may some day tell how "the deer was hungup before the 

 camp," or of the'grouse in countless hundreds which could 

 formerly have been seen on any bright winter's day, sitting 

 in peaceful enjoyment of the farmer's corn in the great fields 

 of Central Illinois. 



In my time, I have made some shots which, in one way or 

 another. I thought remarkable, I think so still, but — have 

 no fears. All sportsmen have done the same, and who be- 

 lieves the tales? While "Major Verity" lives I shall not 

 publish mine. I should as soon think of telling you how 

 with my red right hand I calmly choked to death a grinning 

 bear, while the iron hilt, of the. bowie in my left, clashed 

 against the cuspids and incisors of its wailing mate, and 

 the keen blade caused such serious abrasions of the. internal 

 tissues, that the poor animal ceased its wailings and calmly 

 gave up the ghost. 



Almost any one can tell you how he caAight his fish, or 

 killed his game, and the story shall lose nothing in the nar- 

 ation. I am, nowadays, seldom disappointed, if I return 

 with a brace only of birds from a shooting excursion, and it 

 is a pleasure to remember that since mere boyhood I have 

 not wantonly wasted life. He who goes forth amid the 

 sights and sounds of nature, doth sadly miss his opportuni- 

 ties, if slaughter is his only mission. It is a case of "eyes 

 aud no eyes." 



I toss more wood upon the fire, and merrily doth it blaze. 

 The lines of light stream southward, and in the distance 

 Lewis's Island looms. That is the place, as I suppose, where 

 one should seek the sad and wandering ghost of the "rude, 

 but comfortable camp," immortalized by the gentleman (I 

 had written "the magnificent pestle-head," but erased the 

 words), who makes, or made a certain guide-book devoted 

 to a description of this portion of Michigan. Had I em- 

 ployed the term "pestle-head," it would have been advisedly, 

 for, as the autocrat says of "boodle," it is a "diabolish good 

 word." Nevertheless, had I in camp a "Thesaurus of Eng- 

 lish words," I might, perhaps, select another more fully ex- 

 pressive of my feelings. 



Every copy of the aforesaid guide-book which has chanced 

 to come under my notice states (I quote from memory) that 

 at Central Lake will be found a "rude, but comfortable 

 camp," and this is about the extent of the information con- 

 cerning the lake and its surroundings, vouchsafed by the 

 editor of this interesting periodical. 



I believe that Frank Lewis did, six or eight years ago, 

 build some sort of a shanty on his island ; but it had gone 

 down the stream of time before I saw its site. [N. B. — 

 Nothing contained in the foregoing remarks is so to be con- 

 strued as to convey the slightest intention on my part of giv- 

 ing offense to the editor of the guide-book to which I have 

 made allusion. I like editors— they are harmless beings — 

 aud their knowledge is as the knowledge of Allah. I have 

 seen several, and gazed upou them from a distance with won- 

 der and admiration. There was S., of the Chicago Alliance— 

 bless his little heart — who, because of the fact that during 

 the season when the woodland leek appears above the ground ; 

 the butter, in localities favored with the presence of this 

 plant, is often tainted by its odor; gravely, through the 

 columns of his paper, informed the "'moss-back" farmers 

 that "salt, duly administered to the kine," would prevent 

 them from eating this weed. He also volunteered the in- 

 formation that the air of Torch Lake was more healthful 

 than that of the Intermediate Chain, for the principal reason 

 that the first named sheet of water is so much higher, and 

 therefore feels the Mackinaw breezes. Dear, dear. If I 

 only could see that noble specimen of manhood carrying a 

 surveyor's chain up the Intermediate Rapids, with a pound 

 of lee'ky butter under his nose! 1 had been under the im- 

 pression that Central Lake discharged its water in to Torch, 

 through some thirteen miles of river, lake and rapid, and was 

 therefore the higher of the two. But we live and learn.] 



The fire burns low — more wood — more wood; and up the 

 sparkles fly ; and 1 spread the sheepskin rug which I use as 

 a cushion in the boat, and draw over my head the hood of 

 my nor'west capote. The lindens whisper overhead, and 

 the soft waves stir the reeds. 



The mists hung lightly over the lake as I rose in the early 

 morning light, shook myself clear from my heavy coat, and 

 after mending my fire and setting the inevitable tea kettle 

 about its business, prepared for my morning toilet. Looking 

 through a low clump of brushwood, 1 saw upon the surface 

 of the water that which attracted my attention. Stepping 

 backward I reached my gun (having in my haste slightly 

 disarranged my camp outfit), and moved forward, just as a 

 couple of mallard ducks flashed up on sudden wing and 

 sped away. No, they are too far; and without shooting at 

 too long a range, I returned to the fire and at once perceived 

 that all was not precisely as it should have been. Whew! 

 Omne tulit punctum qui miscuit utile cluki. Just so — the 

 useful with the agreeable ; though why I should seek to 



