gondolier evidently was not disposed to strain his muscles, 
and our propirss was moderate; but the morning was charm- 
ing, a pleasant light breeze just stirred the surface of the 
lake, and the slight motion was soothing, ; 
Ween about half way across he stopped rowing and said, 
“T suppose I could pull ye around through the caval, but it 
is a Jong pull.” “How long?” said I. 
miles,” J entered into negotiations with him, offering him 
in addition what it would cost to hire a wagon, He cogi- 
fated a few moments, then shaking his head, resumed his 
oars. The effort was too great. ; 
_In due time we landed on a white sandy beach, and I 
found myself on Canadian soil. 
appearing, I interviewed him on the question of « wagon to 
conyey me across the island, seven miles, to my destination. 
The boy scratched his head and went into the house, presently 
appearing with a man who scratched Ais head and took time 
to consider my proposition. Much to my relief he concluded 
to drive me over and departed to catch his horse oul in the 
pasture. Meanwhile another man appeared and announced 
himself an officer of customs, who allowed that it was rather 
straining a point to do business on a Sunday, but it ended in 
his passing me through very courteously, declining any 
remuneratios for his trouble, 
The wagon being ready, putting my traps into it and get- 
ting into it myself, we started. ‘The horse was a good one, 
the road passably good and the driver cheery. We drove 
past well-kept farms, the fruit, especially apple trees, denoting 
a large crop; and did the seven miles in an hour. It was a 
pleasant ride, and when we drove up to the door of a moder- 
ate-sized, two-story stone buiding with a wide porch covered 
with vines completely shutting out. the sun and forming a 
delicious shade, the driver said: ‘‘Here we are, sir.” I paid 
him his*dollar and a half with satisfaction, and entered. A 
lady came up from the depths below, who proved to be Mrs. 
Hitchcock, the wife of the landlord, and gave me a pleasant 
welcome, 
I was just in ime for dinner and descended to the base- 
ment which I found was on the rear ground Jevel and almost 
at the edge of the lake. The dinner carried me back to days 
past, one of those such as a fellow’s mother cooked when he 
was a boy —a regular country home dinner, fresh vegetables 
from the garden alongside the house, fish fresh from the lake 
at the kitchen door, and all so neat and clean, and lastly I 
was hit in the tenderest spot by the pastry, a home-made 
apple pie. It went to the spot that had revolted at the gutta 
pereha, lard-saturated, dyspepsia-breeding abomiuations of 
city restaurant dinners. Lighting a cigar and seating myself 
in an arm chair on the back piazza, with the clear erystal 
waters of the lake rippling almost at my feet, I was a fit 
subject for being photographed as the happiest man out of 
pie PongERrs, 
a: LOG OF THE BUCKTAIL. 
Il.--Down the Tiadatton. 
EBUILDING the cache and making it much stronger 
than before, I paddle back to camp, and rather lay my- 
self outin getting up a plain, wholesome breakfast. Per- 
haps there is something in the cooking; perhaps it is a 
healthy out-of door appetite; anyway, it is certain that I eat 
More at one meal here in the forest than I eat at three when 
at home. And the calm, warm days pass away peacefully, 
monotonousiy, Only marked by the passing trains and an 
occusional shower, which cools the air and makes the wooded 
mountains and ravines brighter, greener than before. So 
passes the week and Satnrday morning comes, the day 
which I haye set to cruise down to Tiadatton Station, 
(They miss-spell the name, ‘‘Tiadaghton,” I cannot say why), 
I dread the trip, not for any danger to myself, but it 1s like.y 
to be hard on a light cedar canoe. The distance is only six 
miles, buf if is almost 2 continuous succession of rocky 
rifies and rapids, and no skill can dodge all the rocks, 
And so, having “‘tied in” as snugly as possible, I gently 
paddle out, 1n two minutes I am in the swirl and swash of 
the rocks. There is a dash and swirl of water, foam, jump, 
thump, quiver of light cedar and I shoot out into the foain- 
ing eddy below; only for a short breathing spell, however, 
and then comes the “Barber” rocks—the raftman’s terror— 
the worst and hardest place to run on the Tiadatton, More 
Jumber has been stove here than at any point on the stream, 
and as the canoe glides swiftly into the narrow channel I 
see plenty of foam, spray and dark curling water among 
the dangerous rocks that stick their ugly heads up along the 
tortuous cuvurse. For an instant I am sorry that I did 
attempt to carry round, but it turns ont that there is no eall 
for seare, <A light canoe may easily slip through a narrow, 
crooked course where a loug, lumbering raft would be 
wrecked, There is 2 breezy, thrilling rush, rolls of foam 
coming inboard, quick use of the paddle and the Bucktail 
glides out of the danger without a thump or jar into the 
level waters of ‘Second Neck.” 
Now it happens that Second Neck is a place of note. It 
was once the best runway on the river, and there was a time, 
on a bright October morning many years ago, when a noted 
huuter of this region had five full-grown deer lying near the 
head of the island, with their throats neatly cut, before 10 
o'clock in the forenoon, and without stirring from his blind, 
save to bleed each deer asit fell. Each man on the hunt 
had an itching for this runway, which was usually relegated 
to the best shot. Then atime came when no more deer 
“watered” at theronway. Jmyself watched there for three 
successive days without seeing deer or dogs, and it struck 
me thatsomething was wrong. It was dangerous and almost 
impossible to follow up the Larrow path along the steep side 
of the gulch, but by dint of hard scrambling one might fol- 
low the bed of the bright cold run that came tumbling down 
the rocky ravine, and thisI did. The mystery was easily 
solyed. At the distance of halfa mile up the gulch there 
had been a slide that cnt a clean swath sixty feet, wide from 
the mountain top to the bed of the stream. Nothing could 
get past the slide, and Second Neck runway has neyer been 
worth watching since. Thoughts of the olden time flit 
across my mind as the canoe glides down the smooth water, 
and I notice that the old favorite cauyping ground at the 
mouth of the run is occupied by strangers, I know they are 
strangers by the blue flannels hanging around the camp, and 
the fellow in knickerbockers who watches me from the bank, 
and asks ine, in down-country accents, ‘What does your 
canoe weigh?” 
Twenty-four pounds. And yourskiff?” (For they have 
askiff,) He muses a liltie, and answers “About ninety 
pounds.” §She is no larger than the canoe. : 
Then the Bucktail catches the draft of the swift, narrow 
channel, and the skipper has his hands full. The channel 
runs between perpendicular rocks on the right and a high 
wooded island on the left, It is very rocky. Time and 
again I haye made the run in my home-made, flat-bottomed 
4 . 
“Waal, about six 
A remarkably fat boy 
hour at an expense of 75 cents. 
pay Pal cae BE “4 J eee 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
canoes with impunity, even with pleasure. But there is no 
fun init now. The canoe seems imbued witha perverse de- 
sire to serape acquaintance with every rock in the course; 
and the way she thumps, jumps and rasps her (hin siding, 
fairly mukes my toe nails curl with wrath and disgust. As 
she scoots out of the channel onto Blind Rock Riffle L in- } 
wardly swear never to abuse her over this course again. 
The Riffie is broad and shallow, more aggravating than 
dangerous. There is a hundred yards of scraping and grind- 
ing on gravel; but by degrading the double blade to a setting 
pole, she manages to get over the Riffle without driving her 
skipper overboard, and debouches into the broad, smooth 
eddy by Four Mile Run. 
Four Mile Run and the mountainous country round-about 
haye been a favorite stamping ground with hunters ever 
since the country was settled. ‘I'he Run is a fine, cold 
mountainous stream of considerable size and yolume; it 
would be a splendid trout stream were it not for the falls 
half a mile above its mouth and thirty feet in height, Be- 
low the falls, when not overfished, small trout are abundant. 
Only two years ago the place was hard toreach, ‘The trip 
included a wagon ride over the hills with a four mile tramp 
down the rugged banks at the end of it, and if one ventured on 
a skiff or eanoe it was all the craft was worth to get it back 
again, But the flat at the mouth of the Run was one of the 
pleasantest camping spots in the whole course of the river. 
On the 7th of June, 1883, revular passenger trains com- 
meneed running over the P. O. R. R., and all is changed as 
if by magic. Two years ago one might camp here for two 
weeks without hearing a word from tlie outside world. Now 
there is a Four Mile Run station, with a boarding house and 
semi-daily mail, just across the mouth of therun, and you 
get your boat carried to any point on the road at a 
nominal cost, or at no cost at all if she be very light and 
small. It isa settled policy of the road to treat outers and 
tourists in the most liberal and accommodating manner, and 
young as the enterprise is, this is beginning to be understood. 
It is about the only road 1 know where the conductor of a 
passenger train will stop at a remote farmhouse, or some 
point distant from any station, to let off a party of two or 
more sportsmen with their traps, or carry a canoe on the 
same terms as a trunk of equal weight. 
As I drift past the Run I notice that the camping ground 
is being utilized, There isa bark camp above the Run with 
a skiff hauled up in front, while below, among the shade 
trees, is a neat wall tent and a very decent looking canoe. I 
know ata glance that the bark camp and clumsy skiff are 
native, and the party of the tent are strangers. 
A. mile of idle, pleasant drifting brings me to the site of 
Stowell’s Pond—a pond no more, for dam, mill, boarding- 
house and the entire plant went down stream yearsago. And 
above, where the dam once stood, is a most aggravating, 
rocky, gravelly riffle*, where the canoe, after scratching and 
dragging on the grayel for a hundred yards, jumps her stem 
on a rock, comes to a dead stop, and begins to swing broad- 
side on. Any canoeist knows the next move, 7, ¢., to step 
out lightly and quickly on the upper side, jerk the canoe 
free—with some terse remarks, and ease her down to deeper 
water, wading barefooted over sharp, slippery stones for a 
dozen rods or so; then, standing knee-deep and holding the 
canoe in swift water, get in as you may, It requires a trifle 
of acrobatic skill to get in without getting out on the other 
side, From Stowell’s to the site of Slide Island Pond there 
is over & mile of fine canoeing in the midst of the finest 
mountain scenery, passing half a dozen nice camping spots 
and as many clear, cold springs; and then another broad, 
shallow riffle, with more getling overboard and wading bare- 
foot on sharp stones, for the lumber plant at Slide Island, 
with its mills, boarding-houses and its substantial dam, long 
ago went where such things are sure to go when le[t to them- 
selves on the banks of the Tiadatton. 
A long’ stretch of easy, pleasant paddling lands the canoe 
ati Tiudaghton Station, better known as Round Island, once 
a noted place as a leading lumber establishment. In 1840-42 
there were several families and a large force of loggers and 
teams at the island, with a store, blacksmith’s shop and 
schoolhouse. 
When the best pine had been cut up and the works no 
longer could be run, save at a loss, the place was deserted 
and soon went the way of forsaken lumber camps. Dam, 
mills and ali buildings in reach of floods soon went down 
stream, and forest fres finished the rest. For three decades 
Round Island was desolate. To-day it isa railroad station, 
with a semi-daily mail, a telegraph office and two rough but 
comfortable boarding-houses. There is fair trouting in easy 
reach, which an old hunting chum of mine, Howe Warner 
by name, makes the most of, and on the high wooded bills 
to the west it is easy to start a deer within two miles of the 
station. 
Warner treats me toa good dinner and also offers to take 
care of the canve until 1 am ready to pick her up fora 
further cruise. ‘‘And may he take her out on the river?” 
Certainly he may. He is a canoeist himself, and a maker of 
both rods and canoes, ingenious withal. His own canoe is 
only 16 inches in width. As heis a tall man, and, as he 
stands up in her while poling her up the rapids, I reckon he 
will find the Bucktail steady enough. And, talking over 
old times, when we hunted together, we saunter up to the 
neat liltle station house, which looks for all the world like 
an exaggerated cigar box cocked up endwise, and wait for 
the up train. It is soon in sight and duly flagged, for this is 
a flag station. It barely halts while 1 jump on board with 
the pack-basket on my back. Conductor Richardson, gen- 
tlest and most accommodating of conductors, comes around 
and tenders me a cigar. Before it is smoked out I am at 
home, Little more than a year ago the trip would have cost 
a tiresome, all-day tramp; or, a half day’s rough riding, with 
expense of rig, say $4. Now, it is made in less than an 
There is some good in rail- 
roads. 
And the ‘‘catch,” the “creel,” without which no outing 
trip is supposed to be worth mention. 
Well, the catch consisted of seven silver eels, several white 
chubs and one trout, most of the two latter being put back. 
I trust I may not be relegated to the ranks of the trout hog 
and fish liar. NESSMUE. 
*A ripple is not 4 riffle. An insect, a leaf, or a light zephyr may 
cause a ripple on the water. A riffle is a shallow widening of the 
stream, usually stony and gravelly. There may bea thousand ripples 
on one riffle—{backwoods vernacular). 
TuE KauamMAzoo Trovut.—The experience of the sports- 
men true of Kalamazoo in restocking their streams with 
trout is yery instructive and very encouraging. The point 
to be particularly noted is that they were content to wait 
until the supply of trout was well established before they 
began to fish, 
dlatmyal History. 
WHERE THE MARTINS ROOST. 
Hiditor Forest and Stream; 
In a former letter I tried to paint you a picture of martins 
feeding their young, To-day I will tell you how and where 
the martins go to roost. 
It is generally known that they spend the night in their 
boxes only during the breeding season. At all other times 
they sleep in the open air. By taking possession of a box 
in early spring the martin shows its intention to become 
pater familias, All old males take boxes on arriving, as soon 
as they cun find any to suit them. Young males, although 
several weeks behind in arriving, do not show so much eager- 
ness to own their own box, and even young pairs prefer 
camping out until nest building has begun. Bachelors sleep 
in the open air all summer, but visit the colony of their 
brothers and sisters regularly in the morning and evening, 
meddling sometimes with their domestic affairs, playing 
tricks, and doing real mischief by annoying the young ones. 
During the breeding season both parents sleep in their box 
until the young ones have left the box. The iirst few nights 
the young martins are often brought home by their parents. 
The weather has much to do with it; rainy, windy weather 
brings home most of them, but asarule the best parents, 
those which feed them most regularly and diligently, bring 
them home safest and longest, even toa whole fortnight, 
This home-bringing is aftended by much noise-making, and 
great excitement prevails until the young are safely lodged. 
The parents do not enter the boxes, but one of them watches 
the entrance until quite dark, when it hurries off in the 
direction of the common roost. 
Where is the roost? This is not so easily found out. 
When Audubon saw a high old tree covered with martins 
after sunset and again the next morning before sunrise, he 
thought he would make no mistake by imegining that the 
martins sleep on those dead trees all night. But they do not. 
Those trees are only the meeting place for the martins of a 
certain district, from whence they start for the distant 
roost in the willow thicket, which they do not enter until 
it is quite dark, and which they leave with the first 
dawn, from ten to fifteen minutes before the swift leaves its 
chimney. 
Tne young join the p1rents as soon as they are able to fly 
the distance, or, as here, to cross the Mississippi, From 
that moment the boxes are never entered again, but their 
roofs are used for social gathering in the morning hours 
during the next few weeks. The regularity of these visits 
does not last long; pauses occur; in dry, hot weather the 
visits are short, in cool spells they are cut oft entirely, but a 
sultry, rainy term brings them back again to spend a few 
hours in animated chattering around the old home. In the 
evening they only pass without stopping, but they visit often 
their old hunting grounds in the neighborhood. During the 
day they are seldom seen after the first of August. After 
this date they appear Jate in the evening, but their number 
increases rapidly. They collect on treetops, church steeples 
and other points of prominence and lofliness, around which 
they swarm like bees for about half an hour, when the air 
for a mile around is filed with martins, which now form a 
whirling body of many thousand, rolling up anid down at 
first above the bluffs, then above the Mississippi, going and 
returning in wide circles, but all this time drawing surrepti- 
tiously toward the willows on the other side of theriver. It 
has now become dusk and the descent cannot be seen from 
this shore, but the moment can be known by a sudden outcry 
of alarmed crows and blackbirds which had retired into the 
same willows long before. 
Such vast numbers of martins cannot be sent forth from 
one city nor from a few counties. The martinsof half of the 
States of Missouri and Illinois nmust flock together to form, 
such an army. Butitis not yet migration; it is only the 
prelude to it. Such common roosts are the starting poiuts 
for those thousands, and are the resting stations for many 
more thousands which pass through-in the last week of Aug- 
ust and in September. 
Our birds became peculiarly excited and mysteriously rest- 
less after Aug 12. After an interval of several weeks, the 
old birds began at this day to visit their boxes again, hung 
around them for half hours, not with merry carols as in 
early summer, but for the purpose of giving a last look at 
the scenes of former happiness. 
Aug. 20 and 21 were stormy, followed by a north wind 
period with several cool nights. The tactics of the great 
army were Dow changed. Migration began. After the 24th, 
the gatherings on this side of the river ceased, our St. Louis 
martios had left, and to the St. Louis mun the martins had 
become very scarce, Not so to the initiated, and if you come 
along with me across the Mississippi, [ will show you more 
marting than one can otherwise see in a lifetime. 
Tt is Aug, 25,6 P.M. Only a few martins are seen on 
this side of the river going east. We take a skiff and follow 
them. Atter ten minutes’ rowing, we approach the opposite 
shore. What is that? Hundreds and hundreds of birds 
sailing low, above the water, hundreds of silvery splashes 
flashing up from the now dark waters of thegreatriver, What 
astrange sight! The martins are taking their bath. Now we 
are on the sandbar of the Illinois side, opposite the southern 
part of St. Louis, just north of Arsenal Island It is a large 
tract of fine river sand, newly formed, almost quite dry and 
free from vegetation, except a strip along the willow thick 
ets which border it on the east. It is 6:30. Since we have 
arrived, the air all around us has filled up with martins, 
pouring in from all directions, high up and low above the 
water, all going toward the one place—the outer rim of the 
sandbur, where on a tew acres of sand ten thousand martins 
are sitting alreadyin solemn silence, probably in secret sess- 
ion. Ten thousand martins sitting close together on a few 
acres of sandbar is a sight not often met with, and we must 
lookat them very sharply, They are not yery shy, many 
alighta few yards from us and we can watch every move- 
ment. The only moyement we can see is a picking motion 
as if taking up a grain of sand, but this is only play work, 
because we see them also pick at straw protruding from the 
sand. They did not come to eat sand, their only purpose is 
to meet here and decide if to go on with their journey south- 
ward or to take a rest in the neighboring roost. It is now 
6:45 and getting dusk. The smoke of the city driven by a 
northeast wind, has enveloped the western horizon and all will 
be dark in a few minutes. Do they sleep on that sand? 
They have been sitting here now for half an hour. Look 
bere, four birds coming toward théwillows, they arescouts! ° 
Is this not a strange call? a call never heard around 
their breeding boxes? They are now all four above us, cir- 
cling over the willows and returning to the sand. Presently 
> 
