May 1, 1885.1 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



287 



with all the strain I dared put on the line, whopping him 

 quickly at each turn, until he seemed to have lost his com- 

 pass points and all notion as to where he wanted to go. Then 

 I led him up to the canoe, and before he had time to take 

 scare, had my thumb in his mouth. He was so dazed that; 

 he hung limp while I knocked him in the head. It is a 

 pretty sure way to save a large fish — if your tackle be strong 

 enough. Weighing him carefully with thumb and four fin- 

 ger, 1 said, "Four pounds (river* weight), and enough for 

 dinner and supper. Bismillah! Am I a cormorant? And 

 there goes the Captain's gun; belike he has shot a turkey 

 or a duck, at least." 



So I paddled silently up stream, and found the Captain 

 gazing earnestly at a wilderness of Spanish moss that hung 

 iu festoons and masses from the limbs of a huge cypress, 

 lie said, "1 just wounded a hammock squirrel, but he dodged 

 into the moss, and he is the same color. Might as well look 

 for a needle in a hay-stack." And betook up the paddle 

 again while I followed noiselessly behind, to give the gun a 

 chance. Presently he laid in the paddle and raised the 

 12-bore. I backed water silently, as before, and his shot 

 was followed by the splash of a dead squirrel which struck 

 the water close to my canoe. "There," he said, "that's the 

 hammock squirrel you've been wanting to examine. Look 

 him over and say what you think of him." I did look him 

 over carefully from nose co the tip of his tail, and he was 

 just the same iu every particular as the gray squirrel of the 

 North. They are identical in all points, and not different 

 varieties. And they are not as handsomely marked or as 

 large by half as the fox-squirrel of this region. The latter 

 being to my thinking the finest squirrel I have ever seen. 



As we work our way leisurely up the dark, tortuous 

 stream, the banks grow higher, dryer and show an occasional 

 landing spot, at one of which the Captain pauses and 

 says, "This is as far up as I have ever been. I came here 

 with Mrs. K. last summer, and we tied up at this poiut for 

 a lunch. Just as I was making the canoe fast I noticed a 

 large water moccasin coiled up in easy reach of the canoe. 

 It didn't take long to come down on his neck with the edge 

 of the paddle and put him under. But it spoiled Mrs. K.'s 

 appetite. And Nessinuk,', old boy, don't pride yourself 

 too much in not being afraid of snakes ; you might cruise 

 all your life in Florida without being bitten, but the snakes 

 are here, and if you do get bitteu fairly and deeply either 

 by the water moccasin or diamond rattler, you may as well 

 sing your death song. Many cases have occurred iu the south- 

 western part of this State, and nearly all have proved fatal 

 in a few hours after the bite was received. A little caution 

 costs nothing." 



Which is all very true. But all the same I am watching 

 the chances for a black diamond rattler and a healthy, well- 

 grown moccasin, that the skins of the same may adorn the 

 sanctum of Fokest and Stkeam. 



Cruising leisurely up the stream we suddenly opened on a 

 burst of bright sunlight, and there was the usual Florida 

 landscape; dry palmetto ground, wire grass and scattering 

 pines, with a dry sandy bank on one side and thick hani- 

 mock on the other. 



We landed for a better view of the country, and the Cap- 

 tain suddenly ducked his head, came back to the canoe for 

 his gun, took sight along the ground and cut loose. A bevy 

 of quail got up and scattered off in different directions, while 

 the Captain picked up three birds as the result of his ground 

 shot. 



"I'm aware it's not scientific shooting," he said, "but I'm 

 shooting for the camp-pot. Besides if you undertake to 

 flush them here they will mostly run off and hide under the 

 palniettoes. " 



As the birds just filled the bill on fish and meat for one 

 day's rations. I voted the shot as being In order, and we 

 continued the cruise, but not for long. The stream narrowed, 

 became more crooked, and was much obstructed by vines, 

 hanging limbs and fallen trees. A few more crooked turns 

 and we came to a huge trunk lying straight across the 

 course. As it was a few inches above the water, the Cap- 

 tain , whose canoe is low in the rise and with little sheer, 

 thought he could work her under, while the Bucktail with 

 more rise and higher stems would have to be carried. So 

 he straddled the log and wriggled his canoe under it, got in 

 again and commenced to work his way up stream, while I 

 landed the Bucktail, and being doubtful as to much more 

 cruising in that direction, got out the pipe, selected a nice 

 log and commenced whittling navy plug. It was a pleasant 

 lonely nook for a contemplative, philosophical smoke, and 

 I felt willing to resign the honors of discovery to the Linnie 

 and her crew, while I enjoyed it. 



I think it was ten minutes before I lost sight of that red 

 shirt and black skull cap, wiring and twisting among vines, 

 logs, bushes, etc., and in ten minutes more a voice hailed 

 from above. 



"You needn't come any further. Here's the head of navi- 

 gation. " 



"I wasn't coming any further; I was smoking. Drive a 

 stake and come back." 



"No; you come up here." 



So I went, and found the stream had degenerated to a 

 forest rill, hardly big enough to float a bread tray. And it 

 was scarcely a mile and a half back to the lake, and only 10 

 o'clock A. M. This was the tropical, mysterious- and 

 little-known Brooker Creek, where deer and turkeys were 

 said to be plenty, with lots of wildcats and a few bear 

 thrown in as extras. We saw fresh deer tracks, but no bear 

 nor turkey signs; and the only living thing we saved 

 was a large, black woodpecker, with a very bright scarlet 

 crest, which, being only winged, fought and screamed like a 

 demon, driving its strong, lance-like bill into the Captain's 

 hands until they were covered with blood as he vainly tried 

 to extinguish it by gentle strangulation, so as not to injure 

 the feathers for a specimen. 



Then we got into the canoes and headed down stream. 

 We had packed all our traps and come prepared to camp on 

 the iulet, but decided to go back to our camp on the bay, 

 loaf around until evening, then shoot birds and fish for bass 

 to take home. Man proposes, etc. When we had paddled 

 half way to the lake, and were in the swamp where there 

 was no landing, the Captain hailed sharply with, "I've cut 

 a hole in my canoe; leaking fast." 



"Dig out for a dry landing," I yelled. And with his long, 

 muscular arms and nine-foot double blade he turned the 

 canoe and soon sent her out of sight up stream. I followed 

 at a leisurely stroke and found him landed on a dry, sandy 

 bank, the canoe unpacked and turned up to dry, while he 

 had started a fire and was busy with bits of canvas, wax 

 and the usual duffle of those who go down to rivers and 

 lakes in canvas canoes, and as he stuck the hatchet-head in 

 the fire to heat he remarked sententiously, "The beauty of a 

 rag canoe is that she is so easily mended." And I rejoined, 



"The beauty of a clinker-built cedar is that she takes ten 

 times the amount of snagging and don't need any mending 

 at all." "And costs twice as" much," said he. "And lasts 

 four times as long and will float a man when she is 

 swamped, " said I. 



On the whole, it was not so unlucky that cut iu the can- 

 vas. For in unpackiug the canoe the Captain missed his 

 favorite camp axe, which he remembered to have left stick- 

 ing in a log where he had turned to go down stream; and 

 that axe could never be made good by a new one. It had 

 cruised with him ail the way from St. Jdhnsbury, Vt., to 

 Tarpon Springs iu the Solid Comfort, and thousands of miles 

 besides, and it had to be retrieved if it took all summer. 

 Then it struck me that we were in a very good place, for a 

 camp; there was plenty of wood, pure, cool water, and dry 

 ground, with pine timber for a frame in the. hammock near 

 by. The Captain had made the camp on the bay, and I 

 volunteered to make one on the inlet while he went for his 

 axe. So, the mended canoe being dried, he paddled out and 

 T proceeded to cut crotches and poles for a frame. It was 

 not a long job, and when he came back with his axe 1 had 

 the camp all ready for the palmetto thatch, which he assisted 

 in laying on properly; and by the middle of the afternoon 

 we had a snug camp for the night. Dinner was a little late, 

 but good, and we feasted on fried bass and squirrel to our 

 heart's content, with coffee made iu the Captain's best man- 

 ner — and no man makes it better. 



Then he, doing as he had a mind, paddled off in search of 

 specimens, while I took the Bucktail down to the lake intent 

 on trolling for bass; but fishing was a failure. There was a 

 strong breeze directly up the lake, and the sharp, chopping 

 sea. made work for both hands with the double blade. Lake 

 Butler can kick up a stiffer sea for its size than any sheet of 

 fresh water this side of the Adiroudacksthat I am acquainted 

 with. I paddled back and spent the balance of the after- 

 noon slicking up the camp and making things cosy for the 

 night, and just before dark the Captain came back with a 

 long-legged, ill-looking bird that was new to me. 



It was a pleasant camp that. The weather was fine, the 

 wind went down with the sun, the tea had a flavor that it 

 only has in the woods, the pine burned brightly and steadily, 

 and our pipes drew to perfection. And when, having 

 swapped yarns until a late hour, we drew our blankets 

 about us, there came the old familiar Voices of the Night. 

 Voices f ami bar, yet unknown. Voices that I knew fifty 

 years ago, but the owners thereof have always been to me a 

 mystery. And not to me alone, but to all the naturalists 

 with whom I have ever spent a summer's night in the forest. 

 And there were the voices, too, that I had known from child- 

 hood as belonging to the owls, the night-hawks, frogs, and 

 best of all, that incarnation of a woodland sprite, the stately 

 loon. 



Then, as my eyelids drooped, I remembered nights passed 

 in a cabano barrata on the Amazon, where the lofty forest 

 that is so silent and lonely by day becomes a pandemonium 

 of racket at night, with not a single voice that a northern 

 ear can recognize. And then — and— I forgot all about it — 

 to waken and find it daylight, with the Captain making cof- 

 fee in that two-story tin invention of his, which really does 

 make admirable coffee. 



We had planned an early start down the lake to avoid the 

 strong sea breeze that was pretty certain to be against us. 

 For the Bucktad, being lightand high on the water, does not 

 take kindly to a head wind. And when she jumps the crest 

 of a sharp sea, catching the wind under her fiat bearings, I 

 don't seem to get on. "Perhaps we dallied too long over an 

 epicurean breakfast of broiled quail and spent too much, time 

 with the pipes, or were dilatory in packing the canoes. Any- 

 way, it was so rough when we reached the mouth of the in- 

 let that I was tempted to turn back. But the Captain encour 

 aged me, and laying his course diagonally across the lake, 

 gave me a chance to paddle under his lee quarter. And 

 when he luffed, taking it square in the teeth, I managed to 

 catch on to his wake, which made things go a deal smoother. 

 (I am not above taking a little help from a younger, stronger 

 man, and an abler canoe). 



What with winding in and out of bays, stopping to exam- 

 ine points of interest, shooting and fishing, witn an hour for 

 lunch on a palm -shaded point, it was late in the afternoon 

 when we doubled the carry over to the Salt Lakes. And 

 when we said good-bye at the neat sandy landing on Oak 

 Point the sun was sinking behind the Anclote Keys. 



Nessmttk. 



REMINISCENCES. 



"And quhan to the Norroway shouir we wan, 



We muntyd our steedis of the wynde. 

 And we splashit the floode, and we darnit the woode, 



And we left the shouir behynde. 



"Fleet is the roe on the grein Lommond, 



And swift is the couryng grew; 

 The reindeer dun can eithly run 



Quhan the hundis and the horais pursue. 



But nowthir the roe nor the reindeer dun, 



The hynde nor the couryng grew, 

 Can fly owr nmntaine, muir and dalle, 



As our braw steedis they flew." 



RETURNING at eventide from a snowshoe tramp through 

 the forest, I loose the slings, stand the "raquettes" in 

 a corner of the piazza, and congratulate myself that we of 

 the frozen North have blessing denied the sojourner under 

 tropical skies. No saw-grass, no sand- spurs, no moccasin 

 snakes, no alligators, no cutting your way with a machete 

 through the first thicket you wish to penetrate in search of 

 game, no — well, never mind the rest; and I turn my gaze 

 where the cold light of the waning moon rests on the frozen 

 lake. The chill wind rustles the leafless vines around the 

 porch, where moth and humming bird erst held high carni- 

 val, and I bethink me that away down South there are, after 

 all, some comforts and many good things. North — South, 

 both good, neither best ; and with a slight shiver I open the 

 door and pass into my sanctum. The wind rises, the chim- 

 neys roar, the occasional snapping of frost-work is heard. 

 "Pau-puk-kee-wis is gathering in his harvest." It is a wild 

 night — a good night for reminiscences. 



I punch the fire, and betake myself to an easy chair and a 

 meditative meerschaum. The smoke-wreaths curl around 

 the grim trophies on the walls, and the mellow light of the 

 reading-lamp falls on weapons and mementoes from pole and 

 tropic — of peace and war; on spur and spear and sabre, 

 creese and kandjar. There rest at last from chase and battle 

 the axe and arrows of the pre-historic man, chipped by our 

 brother hunters in the silent past; the knife of the Norseman 

 in its silver sheath, the channelled buffalo shafts of Sioux 

 and Pawnee, and the mighty bow and more than cloth-yard 



arrows of the Oarib savage; beside the snaky African assegai 

 and the deershorn naligeit of the Arctic seal'huuter. Hum-in, 

 That old kirschfanger reminds me of Herman, and there, 

 from the antlers of a mighty stag, swing the pistols of other 

 days — long, damasquined muzzieloaders, whose carved butts 

 shone at my saddle-bow, as side by aide with Colonel Delles, 

 and hard iu the wake or his stalwart hounds, we swept the 

 plains in the long ago at the break of the breezy morn. 



But one sad eve, the prairie stained with blood, we 

 watched the last gleam of the Pawnee spears disappearing 

 over a ridge, and gathered around our fallen leader, wounded, 

 we feared, to death. 



A jolly party of ten, well mounted and armed, we had 

 fallen into a trap. Too strong for capture or extermination, 

 we yet had lost our outfit— arms and buffalo horses excepted 

 — and the scalps which hung at the belts of the guides but 

 illy paid the loss. Contrary to our expectations, the morn- 

 ing found the Colonel able to ride, though slowly; and it 

 was voted in council that we lose no time in making the best 

 of our way to the nearest settlement. 



1 have spoken of the Colonel. A born leader of men, his 

 was the kingliest presence I have known. Of the best blood 

 in England, his ancestors had ridden at Hastings in belt and 

 byrnie ; in buff and corslet at Marston Moor, and the curtal- 

 axe of him who rode by Baldwin's side under the walls of 

 Jerusalem, still hung beneath his helm in the old hall in 

 Kent, 



At the breaking out of the Sepoy mutiny in India, he had 

 been besieged, with his family and a few faithful followers, 

 in his country residence, and fought with desperation in their 

 defense. When at last he stood at bay, with sabre In hand, 

 above his dying wife, and with yet no hope of rescue, he 

 cursed the foemen with the curse of steel. The rattle of 

 scabbards announced that help was near— it came, and he 

 was saved, the only living one. He rendered good service 

 throughout the war, then sought to forget his grief, as far 

 as possible, in the excitements of Continental wars; these 

 failing, then in travel and the chase. Not one of our party 

 but would have followed wherever he might lead. Calm and 

 courteous, he never smiled except when engaged in some 

 act of kindness; as when, to rescue a comrade in immiuent 

 danger of captivity, he rode, with never a look behind, 

 against the Pawnee spears. It was then he received the 

 lance wound which had nearly proved his death. 



Our homeward progress was necessarily slow, and game 

 proved scarce, so that on the evening of the third day we 

 encamped without food upon the bank of a small river, 

 which skirted a low range of bills. The indomitable spirit 

 of the Colonel had thus far sustained him, but he was weak 

 and fevered, and we feared the worst. His tall German 

 servant, Herman, prepared his couch, and made him as com- 

 fortable as possible, and it was arranged that with the first 

 streaks of light those who could, should leave the camp and 

 seek for game. 



I have spoken of Herman as the servant of the Colonel, 

 but he was, rather, a familiar companion and friend. Of 

 brilliant prospects in his native land, he had quitted home 

 for political reasons, and after a time found himself in this 

 country, half starved, and but imperfectly acquainted with 

 our language. He chanced to attract the attention of Colonel 

 Delles, who, commiserating his forlorn condition, addressed 

 him in German, asking if he could be of service, and Her' 

 man, rejoiced, was only too glad to join the train of his new 

 found friend. Finely educated and accomplished, he proved 

 a decided acquisition. A capital rifle shot and an expert 

 horseman, he moreover possessed a magnificent voice. Our 

 lonely camps were often cheered by the notes of his flute, or 

 some wild Switzer lay, and the chorus of the Kuh-lied, or 

 the Zingaresca, oft roused the deer and antelope from their 

 grassy beds on the slopes of the western hills. 



Slowly passed the hours of that night, and ere yet the day 

 had dawned, one after another of our party arose from his 

 bed of leaves, saddled his horse and silently rode away 

 through the heavy mist. 



At daybreak there remained only the Colonel, the old In- 

 dian guide, E-ta-pe-tah, (Fire-face), and myself. I was sit- 

 ting by the sulky fire, repairing a rent in my leather chap- 

 arejos, while the Indian was engaged in performing a simi- 

 lar office for one of his moccasins, when, much to our sur- 

 prise, the Colonel raised his head from the macheers of his 

 saddle, and announced his intention of riding westward in 

 search of deer. 



Said he, "I marked the slot of a large buck near where We 

 crossed the stream last night, and it seemed quite fresh. I 

 may get a shot; if not, and we rouse him, we will try the 

 hounds." Mounting wearily his Irish hunter, he rode away, 

 the well-trained dogs following quietly at heel, while we con- 

 tinued our labors. 



Soon after the mist lifted, and I saw the Indian drawing 

 his tomahawk from his belt. A moment later it whirred 

 across the stream and stuck quivering in a tree, while a rab- 

 bit sprung from a clump of bushes near, into which E-ta-pe- 

 tah had seen it hop. A sharp whistle, the twang of the bow 

 of the Fire-face, and the little animal, transfixed by the 

 aiTOW, lay dead on the river's bank. "Ugh, good for 

 Colonel," muttered the savage, as he proceeded to retrieve the 

 game, while I, having finished my task, caught up my horse 

 and rode slowly westward along a faint trail which followed 

 the course of the stream. 



Suddenly I checked my horse, as the note of a hound 

 struck upon my ear; another. ''That was Turco." Then 

 sounded a deep bay from Nona, a crash from both the 

 hounds, and a thundering "tayho" burst from the summit 

 of the hill above my path, as a mighty stag broke covert on 

 its side, and then appeared the wide-awake of the Colonel 

 above the black crest of his horse, Shaunbuie, as they crashed 

 through the brushwood in pursuit. 



The stag was plunging down the hill, at that point steep, 

 and covered with loose boulders. To my utter amazement the 

 Colonel hardly checked his pace, but hallooed to the hounds 

 and held his course. Surely, in his weak condition he will 

 not try that slope. But the' blood of the old East Indian hog 

 hunter was up, and the spirit of the N eilgherries was upon 

 him, and sitting well back in his hunting saddle, with a 

 strong pull on the snaffle, he went down the hill like an 

 avalanche and reached its foot in safety. 



My horse was trembling with excitement, but now "ride" 

 was the word, and I loosed the rein. A bound and we 

 reached the river's gravelly brink that crashed to the dint 

 of the spurning hoofs, as we soared across and lighted on the 

 plain, with the sun just cresting the eastward hills, and the 

 tall deer full in view. 



"Now nerve thy limbs, El-Azrelr, fling 

 Thy head aloft, and like a wing, 

 Spread on the wind thy cloudy mane, 

 The hunt is up." 

 Harkawayl heyawayl Over the prairie we swept like 



