Feb. 35, 1886.] 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



83 



Address all communications to the Forest and Stream Publish- 

 ing Co. 



CAMP FLOTSAM. 



XXV. — THE AFTERMATH. 



FOR a few days of the last fortnight of the camp, Garden 

 Island was converted into a bower of beauty. An ad- 

 ditional tent was set up, and two young daughters of the 

 Colonel with a school girl friend, made glad the lonely camp 

 of the veterans. When at last the light went out with their 

 departure, the Colonel and the Captain lagged superfluous 

 on the stage for a day or two, and then, one rainy morning, 

 struck their tents and were gone. 



The remaining days were cold and cheerless, and most of 

 the time a heavy coat was needed while on the water, even 

 at noonday. The Canadian autumn was upon us, and trac- 

 ings of scarlet and yellow on the wall of forest around, re- 

 corded the flight of the summer days. Day and night the 

 camp stove did duty in the tent, making a desirable retreat 

 when the thermometer stood at 50 degrees. But, notwith- 

 standing the chill without and the sharp winds from the 

 northwest, a fair amount of fishing was done. It was almost 

 useless to try the fly so late in the season, and the best of the 

 fishing was with bait. On one of the cold, cheerless morn- 

 ings which marked these latter days, we took the fly-rod, and 

 with but a single cast, went over the old course, through the 

 narrows at Burnt Point and into the bay beyond Porcupine 

 Island. The distance was something over two miles, and we 

 cast the whole way without the sight of a fin. In sheer des- 

 peration we ordered George to turn the boat into the cove at 

 the foot of the bay where, on ground celebrated for pike, we 

 hoped that we might get one strike at least and perhaps save 

 our fish, though the chances were that we would lose our 

 flies. No pike greeted us on our course around the cove, but 

 as we turned the point of a ledge of rocks, a little goggle-eye 

 frisked out with mate and made fast to the tail fly while the 

 other took the dropper. We extracted all the sport possible 

 out of the adventure, gravely landed the fish and returned 

 them to the water, and then tried to repeat the performance. 

 We succeeded, and with every cast brought up another A. 

 rupestris to the front, until we had passed through a narrow 

 opening between two small islands into the main lake. Here, 

 casting close in to the shore in not more than eighteen inches 

 of water, we had a world of sport with the rock bass. The 

 shore was thickly strewn with fallen small timber, the 

 branches of which formed a network in the water with an 

 occasional small opening between, from which a response 

 came to every cast. Suddenly a strike, fiercer and stronger 

 than the last dozen combined, took the stretcher and turned 

 for a treetop. We snubbed it close, and soon landed a pound 

 and a quarter small-mouth. A half dozen more rock bass 

 followed, and then another small-mouth, which fastened us 

 by the time we had hooked it most securely in one of the 

 ever present treetops. We could not dislodge it until we had 

 dropped the anchor among the branches and raised them 

 above the surface, when we succeeded in recovering the flies 

 without the fish. 



Along a single island of less than a quarter of a mile in 

 length, we took eight small-mouths and a countless number 

 of rock bass. With nearly every strike from the former 

 we were fouled in the submerged branches, from which we 

 could free ourselves only by casting the anchor overboard 

 and lifting the mass of treetops. With every strike we ex- 

 pected to lose the cast, but escaped by luck more than by 

 good management. At the end of the island we crossed to 

 the north shore to cast among the sunken branches and logs 

 where one day last summer we lost gang after gang in quick 

 succession. Here we found the rock bass, if possible, thicker 

 than ever and soon had thrown away a dozen before we 

 landed a single small-mouth. We had taken two or three 

 of the latter when we laid the line alongside the trunk of a 

 tree, which, with the butt on shore, extended a dozen feet 

 into the water. Waiting for the flies to sink beneath the 

 surface two or three inches, we drew them toward the boat, 

 then came a strike which threw all the others into the shade. 

 We promptly put the butt of the rod in the fishe's face, while 

 George, in two seconds' time, had put the boat where we 

 thought a safe distance from all possible entanglements, when 

 we felt justified in easing up the strain on the rod. With 

 the first let up on the line there was a downward dash for 

 three or four feet, and despite all the precautions we had 

 taken we were stalled. We soon discovered the cause of the 

 embarrassment. The tree extended thirty or forty feet into 

 the lake and we were directly over the topmost branches, 

 and in these the fish had taken refuge. No amount of 

 straight pulls was sufficient to dislodge it, and as a last resort 

 we dropped the little fluke anchor in among the branches 

 with the hope that we might be able to lift some of them and 

 to save the leaders and flies at least. The attempt to raise 

 the tree was a, failure, and when we tried to lift the anchor 

 that too was fast. . The leader was forgotten in a moment, 

 for the little anchor, forged by hand to our order, was more 

 precious in our sight than all our tackle. After a series of 

 tugs and pulls from every direction it was dislodged and 

 came home, and we felt all the gratitude of the country 

 preacher, who at the end of a barren collection, gave thanks 

 that he had received back his hat from the congregation. 

 Then a strong pull on the line set us free, but the flies, leader 

 and ten feet of enameled taper line, were left behind, lodged 

 somewhere in the treetop. It was the only tackle which we 

 had brought with us, so we started homeward. The day, 

 however, had not been without its sport, and we did not 

 lament, but it was the inglorious end of our fly-fishing for 

 the season. 



Tired and disgusted, we determined to fish no more, but in 

 the waning days of the camp the Madame entered, heart and 

 soul, into bait-fishing, and there was no rest for the weary. 

 With the Princess for oarsman and guide, she succeeded in 

 bringing in daily strings of bass, their joint catch, which 

 put us to the blush, and we were nightly taunted with our 

 ill luck and indolence. 



One afternoon, during the last week of the camp, while 

 we were loafing, as usual, about the tents, the two set out on 

 their daily quest. They had been gone for an hour when we 

 started on a trip to the outlet. Midway on our course we 

 heard a faint shout from far down to the right, and saw our 

 camp signal hoisted from a boat. We suspected at once that 

 some surprise was in store for us, and we turned the boat in 

 the direction of the white flag. Ten small-mouths, not one 

 of which was under two pounds, were lying in the boat. 

 "See what we have got," cried the Madame," and here's 

 another, " she shouted, as she landed a mate to the rest, "wait 

 and see us catch them." We waited. In a moment each of 



the feminine anglers had landed another. Then, as the 

 Indian girl baited afresh and cast out, there was a mighty 

 surge on her line, and she rose to her feet and lifted with 

 main strength. A splendid bass leaped from the water along- 

 side, the pole of the girl broke, but she grasped the line before 

 the fish was fairly out of sight. Dropping the oars, George 

 leaped into their skiff, caught the line from the girl's hands 

 and brought in a small-mouth that weighed just four pounds 

 and two ounces. The Madame hurrahed and clapped her 

 hands, but the Princess neither spoke nor made a sign of ex- 

 ultation. We stayed alongside until they had taken four or 

 five more, and then, after they had put their catch in our 

 boat for distribution at the outlet, we left them. It was the 

 best fishing that we had seen during our outing, and in it we 

 had had no part. Yet it was with no little pride that we 

 showed the string and related to the two or three to whom 

 we gave them, the story of the long fight which we had with 

 that four pounder. 



The Madame and her guide never faltered in the fishing 

 but kept it up to the end. We could not understand the 

 reason why, but they brought in nightly scores such as we 

 had never made, and we were soon satisfied that it was 

 neither tackle, bait, skill, nor knowledge of the grounds that 

 gave them the lead. It was all luck. We could understand 

 now why it was that we used to sit the afternoon through, 

 under the big tree by the mill pond, without a bite, while 

 our companion truant from school would land fish after fish; 

 it was pure, simple luck. We philosophized in vain, the 

 Madame had the biggest and we were grasping after the un- 

 attained. But our fishing had been done almost entirely 

 with the fly and in casting. In this our success had eclipsed 

 everything in our experience, so far as small-mouths were 

 concerned. As to the big-mouth, the time has come when 

 we feel called upon to answer the demand of the author of 

 the Bigosh papers, made both by letter and in the columns 

 of Forest and Stream, that we speak of its readiness to 

 take the fly, as compared with the other variety. Truth 

 compels us to write that we have never found it behind the 

 small-mouth in this respect, and, as a rule, the catch, so far 

 as weight went, has generally been in favor of the big-mouth. 

 We will not dispute our- friend's proposition that it excels 

 the small-mouth in this respect, nor do we doubt it. 



One day, during the last week in camp, was spent in a 

 supreme effort to rival the Madame's score, and we struggled 

 from Burnt Point to the Narrows, from the Narrows to 

 Griffin Island — and got left. When we displayed our catch 

 with a three-pounder at the head, the Madame had one which 

 weighed close to four pounds to show against it and we sur- 

 rendered. 



Again we made the run to the bridge — this time for a fare- 

 well — for the day which we had so^long seen like a night- 

 mare hovering in front, was upon us, and August had 

 drifted away. The summer had gone like a dream, the tide 

 of its golden hours had ebbed and we were stranded, discon- 

 tented and dissatisfied. Never did the lake seem more 

 charming than on the afternoon when, after a cruise far 

 above the bridge, we set out on our return. Every point 

 and cove and bay had its host of glorious memories, and 

 each smiled and waved its farewells as we passed. We 

 rounded headland after headland, until we came to the last 

 where we swept into the bay before the camp. There, be- 

 fore us, was the spot which for four months of the past two 

 years had been our home. Within those white walls, 

 nearly two years of the last ten had been spent, weeks and 

 months of peace and joy. The rain and sun had beaten 

 upon them, from the open door we had looked out upon the 

 storm and wind whirling the waters, and the moonbeams 

 silvering the waves of many a lake. Clustering around 

 them were the memories of royal nights, when the woods 

 rang with the sound of revelry and the midnight air was 

 startled by lofty declamation and soul-stirring song. About 

 them lingered the halo of dear friendships, reaching with 

 their golden chains almost athwart the world, from the 

 golden gate of the Pacific to the long wash of Australasian 

 seas, from regions illumined by the glory of the midnight 

 sun to lands haunted by memories of the Iucas; friendships 

 of brave, warm hearts which throbbed with ours beneath 

 that canvas and whose thoughts still go forth and cluster 

 around the lone camper and will so cluster until they die. 

 Two grand volumes are those tents, written over with chap- 

 ters from many lives. All that the wilderness and lake and 

 stream inspire, are traced on the weather-stained walls, 

 but its meaning can be read by no vulgar eyes, the 

 unhallowed gaze can see but the mildew, or the stains from 

 long lying leaves upon the roof. 



And now, the volume of another outing was ready for its 

 "Finis." It was written that night by the wild glare of the 

 camp-fire, which blazed high from the pine logs, lighting up 

 the dark recesses of forest and streaming out in golden shafts 

 on the water. It shone on the dark faces of our Indian 

 friends as they sat in farewell council with us — their heredi- 

 tary foes — who were bronzed by the long outing to a color 

 which rivaled their own. 



The night which followed, saw only a heap of gray ashes 

 and the well worn trail mark the site of the American camp, 

 and by noon of the day after we were in Kingston, with 

 faces set toward the border. But we were not suffered to 

 shake the dust of the Dominion from our feet without a 

 greeting and farewell. The Colonel and Captain were in 

 waiting to receive us and we were right royally entertained. 

 First, we were led to the Te"te du Pont Barracks, which 

 were just filled with troops returned from the scene of the 

 Northwest rebellion, where we passed a pleasant hour in 

 the officers' quarters with Major Short of B Battery, the 

 commandant of the Post, who is one of the heroes of the 

 "late unpleasantness" in Manitoba. Upon the wall hung 

 two large portrait engravings, one of Her Royal Highness, 

 the Princess Louise, the other of the Marquis of Lome, each 

 with an autograph beneath, which were the gift of the former 

 to the officers at the Post. Near by was another of General 

 Middleton; and sketches of Canadian winter scenes and other 

 pictures adorned the room, mingled with Egyptian blades, 

 muskets, bayonets and sabres, mementoes and souvenirs of 

 incidents and men in times when nations have betaken 

 themselves to the last great argument. In the Battery stables 

 stood two clean-limbed, supple-jointed horses, as trim as 

 thoroughbreds, belonging to the Major, which were captured 

 by him in the field; while in the yard, each chained to a 

 gun carriage, was another of his prizes, a team of immense 

 Indian dogs with wolf-like heads, trained to sledge work and 

 capable of carrying over a hundred pounds of baggage 

 apiece upon their backs. From the Barracks we were 

 carried by the Colonel to his home, where the remnants of 

 the camp fraternized through the afternoon and around the 

 hospitable board viewed the memories of the jovial hours on 

 Loughborough. 



By 4 o'clock the spires of Kingston, the fort on the hill, 



and the towers along the city front were drifting out of sight 

 as we plowed down the river, and thoughts of the nether 

 shore began to thicken about us. An hour and a half later 

 and Uncle Sam's officials were engaged in examining with 

 much admiration our assortment of well-worn camp truck. 



And now wc bring to a close the record of another outing. 

 Begun with the Christmas days it has outlived the winter 

 and closes as the spring tide is about to dawn upon the 

 earth, and the heart warms and the pulse beats high in ex- 

 pectancy of a glorious to come. If its recital has brought a 

 moment of relaxation to a brother whose longing for the 

 camp, the lake and the wilderness has gone ungratified, to 

 such an one we say that our pleasure is no less than his. For 

 him we have written, and for him we wish in the coming 

 season an outing which will compensate for all that he has 

 been denied. And to ' May, " ' 'Norman," our old friend of the 

 Bigosh, and the other brothers of the angle, whose appreci- 

 ation of our Camp Flotsam has been so generously expressed 

 in Forest and Stream, we extend our hauds in greeting, to 

 their encouragement is due all that has been written of the 

 Anabasis of 1885. Wawayanda. 



Address all communications to the Forest and Stream Publish- 

 ing Co. 



THE AUDUBON SOCIETY. 



THE encouraging letters which we receive in regard to 

 tho establishment of the Audubon Society are most 

 gratifying, and are an earnest of the widespread interest 

 taken'in this movement to protect our birds. To make it 

 general, and to enlist the aid of every individual who has 

 a love of nature and admires the beautiful birds, is now our 

 object. There is no one whose influence cannot do some- 

 thing to forward this good work. We desire the co-opera- 

 tion of every reader of the Forest and Stream, and again 

 invite all who are interested in the subject and willing to lend 

 their influence to communicate with us. Circulars of infor- 

 mation, with full details of the work contemplated, will be 

 sent to any address, without charge. No expense whatever 

 will attach to membership in the Audubon Society. 



It would be impracticable to publish all the letters that 

 we have received on this topic since the plan of the Audu- 

 bon Society was first outlined in these columns. We may 

 give three or four as indicating the ground occupied by 

 some of the leaders of modern thought: 



Brooklyn, N. Y., Feb, 20, 1886. 

 Editor Forest and Stream: 



I am heartily in sympathy with your purposes for the pro- 

 tection of birds, and should be glad to contribute any influ- 

 ence that I can to that end. 



If there were no purchasers there would be no demand, 

 and no reason for slaughtering these winged gems. But as 

 only women create a demand, it rests upon them to stay this 

 wanton destruction. I am sure that it is only necessary to 

 bring before American women the cruelty of this "slaughter 

 of the innocents" that fashion is carrying on to secure a re- 

 nunciation of this ornament and the salvation of birds. 



On this subject the kind feelings, the taste, and aesthetic 

 sympathy of the whole community arc on your side, and if 

 you persevere you will assuredly win, Yours, 



Henry Ward Beecher, 



Oak Knoll, Danver.«, Mass., 2nd mo., 20, 1886. 

 Editor Forest and Stream: 



I heartily approve of the proposed Audubon Society. We 

 are in a way to destroy both our forests and our birds. A 

 society for the preservation of the latter has long been 

 needed, and I hope it is not too late for the accomplishment 

 of its objects. 



I could almost wish that the shooters of the birds, the taxi- 

 dermists who prepare their skins, and the fashionable wear- 

 ers of their feathers might share the penalty which was 

 visited upon the Ancient Mariner who shot the Albatross. 



Thy friend, ■ John G. Whittier. 



Andover, Mass., Feb. 21, 1886. 



Editor Forest and Stream: 



I am in earnest and indignant sympathy with the motive 

 of any society organized to prevent the murder of birds for 

 decorative purposes. If you will put into rcy hands all the 

 statistics you can command on this subject, I will try and 

 write something about it — somewhere. 



Very truly yours, E. 8. Phelps. 



"MURDER MOST FOUL." 



A few years since I was driving over a country road in 

 early April. An exceptionally forward spring had stirred 

 all nature from its sleep, and the grass and the leaves, as 

 well as the birds and insects, had begun to make the earth 

 bright and cheerful. In an orchard, hard by, my attention 

 was called to a man who, with a gun in hand and two small 

 boys "at heel," was skulking from tree to tree as if in quest of 

 a goodly "quarry." I drew rein and became a keen on- 

 looker to see what game he was stalking so earnestly, well 

 knowing there was none to stalk. Ere long a few bluebirds 

 and robins took wing and flew to a tree within the range of 

 the would-be shooter. He leveled and discharged his piece, 

 but with no visible result. I could not allow this outrage 

 to go on, and was soon on the ground and over the fence 

 with a challenge of "Hold hard, there!" I bridled my tongue 

 and in quiet tone asked the man if he knew he was liable to 

 a fine of $10 for every bird he shot. He said no. I told him 

 such was the law, and advised him to amuse his boys by 

 shooting at a mark rather than at the innocent birds. He 

 said he would fire at no more birds, so we parted and I 

 resumed my drive. I cite this instance as one of thoughtless 

 and ignorant transgression, of which there are doubtless 

 many, but the cases of willful murder of the "innoceuts" are 

 exceeding many. 



The killing of birds is an outrage on nature, is reprehen- 

 sible, is cruel and should be condemned and effectually 

 stopped. The late papers in Forest and Stream are 

 timely and thoroughly commendable, and for one, I indorse 

 them heartily. There are those who would strip this poor 

 earth of every green and pleasant thing for gain, and what 

 with the ruthless and indiscriminate destruction of forest 

 trees and the slaughter of birds for millinery purposes, it is 

 fast becoming a bare and wiud-driven and songless waste in 

 many portions. I often wonder if women ever thiuk of the 

 needless pain that caused the wing or skin of a bird to be 

 displayed in a shop for their approval and purchase? Women 



