28 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



(Feb. 4, 1886. 



AN ADIRONDACK DEER HUNT. 



BY CHARLES DUDLEY WARNER. 



From "In the Wilderness." By kind permission of Messrs. Hougrhton, 

 Mifflin & Co., Boston, Mass., publishers of Mr. Warner's works. 



EARLY on the morning of the 23d of August, 1 877, a doe 

 was feeding on Basin Mountain, The night had been 

 warm and showery, and the moruiug opened in an undecided 

 way. The wind was southerly ; it is what the deer call a 

 dog-wind, having come to know quite well the meaning of 

 "a southerly wind and a cloudy sky." The sole companion 

 of the doe was her only child, a charming little fawn, whose 

 brown coat was mottled with the beautiful spots which make 

 this young creature as lovely ae the gazelle. The buck, its 

 father, had been that night on a loug tramp across the 

 mountain to Clear Pond, and had not yet returned. * * * 

 The doe was feeding, daintily cropping the tender leaves of 

 the young shoots, and turning; from time to time to regard 

 her offspring. The fawn had taken his morning meal, and 

 now lay curled up on a bed of moss, watching contentedly, 

 with his large, soft brown eyes, every movement of his 

 mother. The great eyes followed her with au alert entreaty ; 

 and, if the mother stepped a pace or two farther away in 

 feeding, the fawn made a half movement, as if to rise and 

 follow her. You see, she was his sole dependence ia all the 

 world. But he was quickly reassured when she turned her 

 gaze on him ; and if, in alarm, he uttered a plaintive cry, she 

 bounded to him at once, and, with every demonstration of 

 affection, licked his mottled skin till it snone again. 



It was a pretty picture— maternal love on the one part, and 

 happy trust ou the other. The doe was a beauty, and would 

 have been so considered anywhere, as graceful and winning 

 a creature as the sun that day shone on— slender limbs, not 

 too heavy flanks, round body, and aristocratic bead, with 

 small ears and luminous, intelligent, affectionate eyes. How 

 alert, supple, free, she was! What untaught grace in every 

 movement! "What a charming pose when she lifted her 

 head, and turned it to regarcj her child! You would have 

 had a companion picture, if you had seen, as I saw that 

 morning, a baby kicking about among the dry pine neeedles 

 on a ledge above the Ausable, ia the valley below, while 

 its young mother sat near, with an easel before her, 

 touchiog in the color of a reluctant landscape, giving a 

 quick look at the sky and the outline of the Twin Mountains, 

 and bestowing every third glance upon the laughing boy,— 

 art in its infancy. 



The doe lifted her head a-littlewith a quick motion, and 

 turned her ear to the south. Had she heard something? 

 Probably it was only the south wind in'the balsams. There 

 was silence all about in the forest. If the doe had heard 

 anything; it was one of the distant noises of the world. 

 There are in the woods occasional moauings, premonitions 

 of change, which are inaudible to the dull ears of men, but 

 which, I have no doubt, the forest-folk hear and understand. 

 If the doe's suspicions were excited for an instant, they were 

 gone as soon. With an affectionate glance at her fawn, she 

 continued picking up her breakfast. 



But suddenly she started, head erect, eyes dilated, a 

 tremor in her limbs. She took a step; she turned her head to 

 the south ; she listened intently. There was a sound — a dis- 

 tant, prolonged note, bell-toned, pervading the woods, shak- 

 ing the air in smooth vibrations. It was repeated. The doe 

 had no doubt now. She shook like the sensitive mimosa 

 when a footstep approaches. It was the baying of a hound 1 

 It was far off — at the foot of the mountain. Time enough 

 to fly; time enough to put miles between her and the hound, 

 before he should come upon her fresh trail; time enough to 

 escape away through the dense forest, and hide in the 

 recesses of Panther Gorge; yes, time enough. But there 

 was the fawn. The cry of the houud was repeated, more 

 distinct this time. The mother instinctively bounded away 

 a few paces. The fawn started up with an anxious bleat. 

 The doe turned; she came back; she couldn't leave it. She 

 bent over it, and licked it, and seemed to say, "Come, my 

 child; we are pursued; we must go." She walked away 

 toward the west, and the little thing skippf d after her. It 

 was slow going for the slender legs, over the fallen 

 logs, and through the rasping bushes. The doe bounded 

 in advance, and waited; the fawn scrambled after her, 

 slipping and tumbling along, very groggy yet ou its legs, and 

 whining a good deal because its mother kept always moving 

 away fiom it. The fawn evidently did not hear the hound; 

 the little innocent would even have looked sweetly at the dog, 

 and tried to make friends with it, if the brute had been rush- 

 ing upon Mm. By all the means at her command the doe 

 urged her young one on; but it was slow work. She might 

 hive been a mile away while tbey were making a few rods. 

 Whenever the fawn caught up, he was quite content to frisk 

 about. He wanted more breakfast, for one thing; and his 

 mother wouldn't stand still. She moved on continually ; and 

 his weak legs were tangled in the roots of the narrow deer 

 path. 



Shortly came a sound that threw the doe into a panic of 

 terror, — a short, sharp ye]p, followed by a prolonged howl, 

 caught up and re-echoed by other bayings along the mountain 

 side^ The doe knew what that meant. One hound had 

 caught her trail, and the whole pack responded to the "view 

 halloo." The danger was certain now; it was near. She 

 could not crawl on in this way; the dogs would soon be upon 

 them. She turned again for flight ; the fawn, scrambling 

 after her, tumbled over, and bleated piteously. The baying, 

 emphasized now by the yelp of certainty, came nearer. 

 Flight with the fawn was impossihle. The doe returned and 

 stood by it, head erect, and nostrils distended. She stood 

 perfectly still, but trembling Perhaps she was thinking. 

 The fawn took advantage of the situation, and began to 

 draw his luncheon ration. The doe seemed to have made up 

 her miud. She let him finish. The fawn, having taken all 

 he wanted, lay down contentedly, and the doe licked him 

 for a moment. Then, with the swiftness of a bird, she 

 dashed away, and in a moment was lost in the forest. She 

 went in the'direclion of the hounds. 



According to all human calculations, she was going into 

 the jaws of death. So she was; all human calculations are 

 selfish. She kept straight on, hearing the baying every mo- 

 ment more distinctly. "She descended the slope of the moun- 

 tain until she reached the more open forest of hard wood. 

 It was freer going here, and the cry of the pack echoed more 

 resoundingly in the great spaces. She was going due east, 

 when (judging by the sound, the hounds were not far off, 

 though they were still hidden by a ridge) she turned short 

 away to the north, and kept "on at a good pace. In five 

 minutes more she heard the sharp, exultaut yelp of dis- 

 covery, and then the deep-mouthed howl of pursuit. The 

 hounds had struck her trail where she turned, and the fawn 

 was safe. 



Tl^tipg was jn good running condition, the grpuud was 



not bad, and she felt the exhilaration of the chase. For the 

 moment fear left her, and she bounded on with the exalta- 

 tion of triumph. For a quarter of an hour she went on at 

 a slapping pace, clearing the moose bushes with bound after 

 bound, flying over the fallen logs, pausing neither for brook 

 nor ravine. The baying of the hounds grew fainter behind 

 her. But she struck a bad piece of going, a deadwood slash. 

 It was marvelloas to see her skim over it, leaping among its 

 intricacies, and not breaking her slender legs. No other 

 living animal could do it. But it was killing work. She 

 began to pant feaifully ; she lost ground. The baying of the 

 hounds was nearer. She climbed the hard-wood hill at a 

 slower gait; but, once on more level, free ground, her breath 

 came back to ker. and she stretched away with new courage, 

 aud may be a sort of contempt of her heavy pursuers. 



After running at high speed perhaps half a mile further, 

 it occurred to her that it would be safe now to turn to the 

 west, and, by a wide circuit, seek her fawn. But, at the 

 moment, she heard a sound that chiUed her heart. It was 

 the cry of a hound to the west of her. The crafty brute 

 had made the circuit of the slash, and cut off her retreat. 

 There was nothing to do but to keep on; and on she 

 went, still to the north, with the noise of the pack behind 

 her. In five minutes more she had passtd into a hill- 

 side clearing. Cows and young steers were grazing 

 there. She heard a tinkle of bells. Below her, down 

 the mountain slope, were other clearings, broken by 

 patches of woods. Fences intervened; and a mile or two 

 down lay the valley, the shining Ausable, and the peaceful 

 farm-houses. That way also ber hereditary enemies were. 

 Not a merciful heart in all that lovely valley. She hesitated; 

 it^was only for an instant. She must cross the Slide Brook 

 Valley if possible, and gain the mountain opposite. She 

 bounded on ; she stopped. What was that? From the val- 

 ley ahead came the cry of a screeching hound. All the devils 

 were loose this morning. Every way was closed but one, 

 and that led straight down the mountain to the cluster of 

 houses. Conspicuous among them was a slender white 

 wooden spire. The doe did not know that it was the spire 

 of a Christian chapel. But perhaps she thought that human 

 pity dwelt there, and would be more merciful than the teeth 

 of the hounds. 



"The bounds are baying on my track; 

 O white man ! will you send me back?" 



In a panic, frightened animals will always flee to human- 

 kind from the danger of more savage foes. They always 

 make a mistake in doiug so. Perhaps" the trait is the survival 

 of an era of peace on earth; perhaps it is a prophecy of the 

 golden age of the future. The bminess of this age is murder: 

 — the slaughter of auitnals, the slaughter of fellow-men, by 

 the wholesale. Hilarious poets who-bave never fired a gun 

 write hunting songs, — Ti-ra la: and good bishops write war 

 songs : — Ave the Czar! 



The hunted doe went down the "open," clearing the fences 

 splendidly, flying along the stony path. It was a beautiful 

 sight. But consider what a shot it was ! If the deer, now, could 

 only have been caught ! No doubt there were tender-hearted 

 people in the valley who would have spared her life, shut her 

 up in a stable, and petted her. Was there one who would 

 have let her go back to her waiting fawn? It is the business 

 of civilization to tame or kill. 



The doe went on. She left the saw-mill on John's Brook 

 to her right; she turned into a wood path. As she ap- 

 proached Slide Brook, she saw a boy standing by a tree with 

 a raised rifle. The dogs were not in sight ; but she could 

 hear them coming down the hid. There was no time for 

 hesitation. With a tremendous burst of speed she cleared 

 the stream, and, as she touched the bank, heard the "ping" 

 of a rifle-bullet in the air above her. The cruel sound gave 

 wings to the poor thing. In a moment more she was in the 

 opening; she leaped into the travelled road. Which way? 

 Below her in the wood was a load of hay; a man and a boy, 

 with pitchforks in their hands, were running towards her. 

 She turned south, and flew along the street. The town was 

 up. Women and children ran to the doo.s and windows; 

 men snatched their rifles; shots were fired; at the big board- 

 ing houses the sumnipr boarders, who never had anything to 

 do, came out and cheered; a camp-stool was thrown from a 

 veranda. Some young fellows shooting at a mark in the 

 meadow saw the flying deer, and popped away at her; but 

 they were accustomed to a mark that stood still. It was all 

 so sudden. There were twenty people who were just aoing 

 to shoot her, when the doe leaped the road fence and went 

 away across a marsh toward the foot-hills. It was a fearful 

 gantlet to run. But no one except the deer considered it in 

 that light. Everybody told what he was just going to do; 

 everybody who had seen the performance was a kind of hero: 

 — everybody except the deer. For days and days it was the 

 subject of conversation, and the summer boarders kept their 

 guns at hand, expecting another deer would come to be shot 

 at. 



The doe went away to the foot-hills, going now slower, and 

 evidently fatigued, if not frightened half to death. Nothing 

 is so appalling to a recluse as half a mile of summer boarders. 

 As the deer entered the thin woods, she saw a rabble of 

 people f-tart across the meadow in pursuit. By this time the 

 dogs, panting, and lolling out their tongues, came swinging 

 along, keeping the trail, like stupids, and consequently losing 

 ground when the deer doubled. But, when the doe had got 

 into the timber, she heard the savage brutes howling across 

 the meadows. (It U well enough, perhaps, to say that 

 nobody offered to shoot the dogs.) 



The courage of the panting fugitive was not gone; she was 

 game to the tip of her high-bred ears. But the fearful pace 

 at which she had been just going told on her. Her legs 

 trembled, and her heart beat like a trip-hammer. She 

 slowed her speed perforce, but still fled industriously up the 

 right bauk of the stream. When she had gone a couple of 

 miles, and the dogs were evidently gaining again, she crossed 

 the broad, deep brook, climbed the steep left bank, and fled 

 on in the direction of the Mount-Marcy trad. The fording 

 of the river threw the hounds off for a time. She knew, by 

 their uncertain yelping up and down the opposite bank, that 

 she had a little respite: she used it, howerer, to puthon until 

 the baying was faint in her ears ; and then she dropped, ex- 

 hausted, upon the ground. 



This rest, brief as it was, saved her life. Roused again by 

 the baying pack, she leaped forward with better speed, 

 though without that keen feeling of exhilarating flight that 

 she bad in the morning, It- was still a race for life ; but the 

 odds were in her favor, she thought. She did not appre- 

 ciate the dogged persistence of the hounds, nor had any 

 inspiration toid her that the race is not to the swift. She 

 was a little confused in her mind where to go; but aninstirjet 

 kept her course to the left, and consequently further away 

 from her lawn. Going now slower, and now faster, as the 

 pursuit seemed morereistant or nearer, she kept to the south- 



west, crossed the jtam again, left Panther Gorge on her 

 right, and ran on by Haystack and Skylight in ihe^dirr ction 

 of the Upper Ausable Pond. I do not know her exact course 

 Through this maze of mountains, swamps, ravines, and 

 frightful wildernesses. 1 only know that the poor thing 

 worked her way along painfully, with sinking heart and 

 unsteady limbs, lying down "dead beat" at intervals, and 

 then spurred on by the cry of the remorseless dogs, until, 

 late in the afternoon, she staggered down the shoulder of 

 Bartlett, and stood upon the shore of the lake. If she could 

 put that piece of wafer between her and her pursuers, she 

 would be safe. Had she strength to swim it? 



At her first step into the water she saw a sight that sent 

 her back with a bound. There was a boat rnid-lakp; two 

 men were in it. One was rowing, the other had a guu in 

 his band. They were looking towards her: tbey had seen 

 her. (She did not know that they had heard the baying of 

 hounds on the mountains, and had been lying in wait for 

 her au hour.) What should she do? The hounds were 

 drawiug near. No escape that way, even if she could still 

 nm. With only a moment's hesitation she plunged into the 

 lake, and struck obliquely across. Her tired legs could not 

 propel the tired body rapidly. She saw the boat headed for 

 her. She turned toward the center of the lake. The boa t 

 turned. She could hear the rattle of the oar-locks. It was 

 gaining on her. Then there was a silence. Then there was a 

 splash of the water just ahead of her, followed by a roar 

 round the lake, the words "Confound it all!" and a rattle of 

 the oars again. The doe saw the boat nearing her. She 

 turned irresolutely to the shore whence she came; the dogs 

 were lapping the water, and howling there. She turned 

 again to the center of the lake. 



The brave, pretty creature was quite exhausted now. In 

 a moment more, with a rush of Witter, the boat was on her, 

 and the man at the oars had leaned over and caught her by 

 the tail. 



"Knock her on the head with that paddle!" he shouted to 

 the gentleman in the stern. 



The gentleman was a gentleman, with a kind, smooth- 

 shaven face, and might have hfen a minister of some soit of 

 everlasting gospel. He took the paddle in his hand Just 

 then the doe turned her head, aud looked at him with her 

 great, appealing eyes. 



"I can't do it! my soid, I can't do it!" and hedropped the 

 paddle. "Oh. let her go!" 



"Let H. go!" was the only response of the guide as he 

 slung the deer round, whipped out his hunting-knife and 

 made a pass that severed her- jugular. 



And the gentleman ate that night of the venison. 



The buck returned about the middle of the afternoon. 

 The fawn was bleating piteously, hungry and lonesome. 

 The buck was surprised. He looked about in the forest 

 He took a circuit, and came back. His doe was nowhere to 

 be seen. He looked down at the fasvn in a helpless sort of 

 wav. The fawn appea'ed for his supper. The buck had 

 nothing whatever to give his child,— uothing but his sym- 

 pathy. If he said anything, this is what he said: "I'm the 

 head of this family; but. really, this is a novel case. I've 

 nothing whatever for you. I don't know what to do. I've 

 the feelings of a father; but you can't live on (hem. Let us 

 travel." 



The buck walked away : the little one toddled after him. 

 They disappeared in the forest. 



Point op Beach. — New Year Day was so pleasant and 

 warm, that a few of us thought that if Saturday was as 

 pleasant we would make one more trip to the mill. Friday 

 night found us cleaning guns aud loading shells prepaiatory 

 to an early start Saturday. Early Saturday morning the 

 horses were hitched up and T., Joe Miller and the writer were 

 aboard the surrey, bound for the mill. We were driving up 

 Nostrand avenue (Brooklyn). Miller's dog, a superb poiuter, 

 tried to get into the surrey when it was in motion, only suc- 

 ceeding in getting his hind toe Turnover by the rear wb< el. 

 Duke, we thought, was not hurt mucli and so we wouldn't take 

 him in the wagon. He, however, thought otherwise, and 

 jumped on to a car that was going our way, stepped inside 

 and seated himself on the cushion, looking out of the win- 

 dow toward us. When we reached the car stables he changed 

 cars and got into the little one-horse concern that turns 

 toward the park and showed such a desire to ride that Miller 

 had to get out and haul him out of the car. We carried him 

 the rest of the way. My little cocker spanitl ran all the 

 seven miles and seemed to enj>y it. When we reached the 

 mill we got the little 14 by 4 skiff and dropped down the 

 creek for the end of Barren Island, called Point of Beach. 

 Some time since one of your correspondents wrote quite a 

 long article about the bad smells of this place. Now 1 have 

 been down at all times of the year and never expedenced 

 such ill effects as he mentions; and at the same tittle I have 

 shot lots of bay birds, and in the fall a good many black sea- 

 ducks and English dpe. Arrived at the beach, we walk up 

 near the water, around the island nearly, Miller getting a 

 couple of butterball ducks. We saw no snipe of any kind, 

 though the season had been so very mild. There were quan- 

 tities of gulls, crows and helldivers, and some old sportsmen 

 whom we met said that some geese and braut bad been shot 

 near the beach. Right across from Poiut of Beach is the 

 tail end of Rockaway Point. This is a splendid place in 

 August, September and October for bay birds and cities and 

 a good many are shot. After dinner F. saw some ducks out 

 in the channel and offered to row any one who would go out 

 and shoot them. Of course Miller went and he got four out 

 of this flock, all butter balls. They were very fat and had 

 quantities of feathers. Toward sundown it began to grow 

 chilly and we sorrowfully packed up our duds aud started 

 with slow oars home.— Cookek. 



The Hotjnders' Confession.— Tfce deer hounder ring? 

 the changes on the destmctiveness of jacking, except when 

 he forgets himself and inadvertently shows what he really 

 thinks. Thus the editor of tkeBoonville Herald, who is a 

 rabid advocate of the hound and club, commenting on Mr. 

 White's bill to allow jacking in August, and hounding not 

 untU after Aug. 15, "gives himsek away" by saying: "This 

 bill is not what is wanted by the true sportsmen. It does 

 not allow the use of dogs in August, at which time the 

 greater number of tourists are in the woods, and in order to 

 get a deer they will have to float night after night for it or 

 go without. The deer of the woods are for the sportsmen 

 who go to the forests for rest and recreation, and dogs 

 should be allowed to run as much in August as September. " 

 "Float night after night for it." That is to say, jacking is 

 harder work and a less certain method than bounding. It 

 that not a fair inference frorn the words? 



