4 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



[July 6, 1895. 



afternoon that we entered the river after leaving Lake 

 Dexter. 



We had anchored alongside a nice well-behaved appear- 

 ing little island of about a quarter acre in extent when, 

 as a steamboat passed, much to our amazement, the island 

 began to move rapidly up the river. After the boat 

 passed, however, the island moved back to its original 

 position. The cause of its moving in the first place was 

 due to the suction of the paddle-wheels of the steamboat. 

 We were going to laud on this island but changed our 

 minds after the steamboat passed. On investigation we 

 found that we could shove an oar clean through what ap- 

 peared to be solid ground into the river. 



The river got to be so narrow and crooked and the trees 

 were so dense on either bank that ualess there was a 

 heavy wind blowing we wouldn't get enough to fill our 

 sail. We had to use the oar almost continuously until we 

 reached Blue Springs one night after dark. Our hands 

 were so sore from the drudge at the oar, and we were so 

 much discouraged and disgusted, that we had almost de- 

 cided to give up the trip altogether at this point. 



The morning after reaching Blue Springs we emerged 

 from the cabin of the Eambler to find the sky all clouded 

 over. A gale of wind was blowing from the north which 

 bent and swayed the branches of the trees on the river 

 bank as though determined to tear them from their very 

 roots. The roar of the wind was as sweet music in our 

 ears, however, and we hurried through with breakfast 

 so as to take all the advantage possible of this chance. 



After we got under headway it commenced to rain very 

 hard, but that didn't bother us any, as we were clothed 

 in heavy oilskins. Besides, we were making grand head- 

 way, and fairly flew through the water, which was al- 

 most perfectly smooth on account of the river being so 

 narrow and crooked. It stopped raining by the after- 

 noon, but the wind seemed to blow harder than ever, 

 fairly picking the swaying moss off the giant branches of 

 the trees, and skurrying it in gray patches through the 

 cheerless air. 



It was regular sharpie weather — a fair wind, in fact, a 

 gale, and smooth water. The little Rambler acted like a 

 wild horse that had been confined against its will and was 

 now suddenly loosed. 



We passed through considerable marsh land that after- 

 noon, where the river spread out in innumerable shallow 

 lakes on either hand. These lakes were literally alive 

 with ducks, which on account of the high wind acted 

 very wild. Flock after flock would arise and fly from 

 spot to spot in the wildest, most unsettled manner. 



We reached Lake Monroe that night shortly after 5 

 o'clock. After a most exciting sail across the lake in a 

 gale of wind, which made us strain every nerve and 

 muscle more than once to keep from turning turtle, we 

 anchored to the leeward of the dock at Enterprise, while 

 the ragged clouds were chasing each other in the wildest 

 conceivable manner across the pale face of the crescent 

 new moon. 



The next day was spent in exploring Enterprise, and 

 after two or three days here we sailed across to Sanf ord, 

 where we received letters and papers from home. 



While we stayed here, which was about a week, Tom 

 was taken so seriously ill with chills and fever that the 

 doctor ordered him to get out of the country, off from 

 the river anyhow. So after staying in Sanford long enough 

 to dispose of the little Rambler, which we did with many 

 regrets, as we hated to part with her after she had 

 carried us safely through so many hardships, trials and 

 pleasures, and after selling the rest of our outfit, includ- 

 ing Rake (Tom realized a good price for him and so knew 

 that the new owner would give him a good home), one 

 morning, when it seemed as though all nature smiled, 

 with the sun casting his warm rays over the sparkling, 

 laughing waters of the lake, we boarded the motherly 

 looking old steamboat Rosa, bound for Jacksonville, 

 en route for home. The little Rambler, anchored near by 

 and looking so deserted and lonesome that it went 

 straight to our hearts, bowed and bobbed us farewell as 

 we watched her from the deck. Our steamboat pulled 

 out from the wharf and headed down the river, and we 

 realized that our dreamed-of, wished-f or, Florida trip had 

 come and gone, and was a thing of the past. 



Wm. H. Avis. 



A WORD ABOUT CRACKERS. 



Editor Forest and Stream; 



I have taken your paper for the last eight years, have 

 read it very closely, clipped from it quite copiously and 

 now for the first time do I ask for space and to be heard. 



It was with the greatest pleasure that I read the first 

 installation of "Two Months on the St. John's." It 

 brings to my mind pleasant recollections of "days gone 

 by," recollections of my experience in Florida and my 

 experience with the "Florida Cracker." But I can't say 

 my reading of the second number was quite so pleasant. 

 It would have been a great deal more pleasant if the 

 writer had not cast odium on the whole piece by his 

 reflective rubbish on the "Florida Cracker" — as it was 

 my reading it was with a feeling of disgust and deepest 

 pity for him. It has always seemed a little queer to me 

 that the Northern visitor will take his trip South only to 

 return home and spend his time complaining of the lazi- 

 ness of the white people and tae industry of the "hand- 

 some and intelligent" negroes. 



Now I have traveled in every State east of the Mississippi 

 River, I have fished and hunted, been in the wocds and in 

 the backwocds of many of the States, and I I ave been 

 nearly all over Florida from Tallahassee and Jacksonville 

 to Key West, but I have never yet run afoul of the "un- 

 washed, thin, humpbacked, concave-chested, long-haired, 

 be whiskered, vermin-covered, lazy, trifling, good-for- 

 nothing exister" that Mr. Avis claims the distinction of 

 having discovered in northern Florida. But I must con- 

 fess that the nearest to it can be found right there in 

 Florida, but as I understand it a "Florida Cracker" is a 

 person born and raised in Florida. Now let me state by way 

 of explanation to our erring brother that people born and 

 raised in Florida are used to the heat and chmate and are 

 therefore no more "lazy, trifling or good-for-nothing," 

 etc., than is the "cracker" of Maine, New York or any of 

 the other Northern States. If our friend had investigated 

 things a little while down here (and not formed "snap con- 

 clusions") it would "stand him in hand" as a writer, and 

 he would have discovered that ninety-nine cases out of a 

 hundred of the creatures that tallied with his glowing 

 description were emigrants from Northern States; too lazy 

 to make a living at home, they had come to the South and 

 were scraping out an existence without working — and if 



he had taken the trouble to inquire of them their birth- 

 place (as I have done in Georgia and Florida), I am sure 

 their answer would have been Philadelphia or other 

 refined and cultured centers of the North, and not Pata- 

 gonia, as he tries to intimate. 



There is one thing certain, we are a hospitable people, 

 and the hospitality of the South is noted. When I am in 

 Florida or any other State my chief reliance is in the 

 Crackers. They always appear desirous of helping me 

 out of trouble and always moderate in their charges. 



It is very distasteful for us (I mean all of us) to see a 

 journal of so much importance and value to the sporting 

 fraternity as is the Forest and Stream used as a vehicle 

 for dissatisfied writers to vent their spleen and prejudice 

 on any particular section. 



Now, Mr. Editor, it is certain that if Mr. Avis has 

 ever been in Florida he has enlarged on the Cracker 

 question to the proper extent to make his article readable 

 with a relish by your Northern readers, or he was too 

 young and verdant to have the power of observation 

 necessary for a good descriptive writer. 



Trusting this is not too great an intrusion on the mag- 

 nanimity of our editor, and promising to be more agree- 

 able next time I write, I am proud to be able to sign 

 myself A Georgia Cracker. 



Atlanta, Qa., June 25. 



NORTHWARD TO THE FAR WEST.— I. 



"All things move westward ho ! It is bound up in the heart of man, 

 that longing for the West."— Kingsley. 



"Alexander the Great having conquered the world, 

 sighed for new worlds to conquer," and no doubt there is 

 hidden, deep though it 'may be, in the breast of the aver- 

 age man, that same ambition to do, to conquer, to con- 

 trol. All may not care "to seek fame at the cannon's 

 mouth," or to amass great fortunes, or to become learned, 

 or to travel, but each mortal probably has some pet 

 ambition which he cherishes. 



Twenty years ago the writer dreamed of the West, and 

 his dreams became realities, and "the appetite has grown 

 upon that which itiias been fed on" and has not become 

 satiated. Each tour of the West but paves the way for 

 the next, and so, having been over most of the western 

 portion of the United States at various times, "new 

 worlds to conquer" were longed for. They were not 

 hard to find, as the boundless expanse of the Northwest 

 Territories and British Columbia were virgin fields. 



When planning former western jaunts the better half 

 of the family had never been included, but this time she 

 did not want to be left at home, and having heard so 

 much of the glories and grandeur of the West, was 

 anxious to see for herself some of the beauties and dis- 

 cover some of the charms 'that were so seductive and 

 which proved so alluring that they could not be resisted, 

 but took the man of the house off so often for long 

 months. This being the case it was necessary to plan a 

 little different programme from the ordinary hunting 

 trip. 



After much cogitation and discussion a plan was agreed 

 upon whiGh would give madame an introduction to the 

 West that would never be forgotten and under the best 

 of auspices, and the writer would get a little chance to 

 "rough it" in his beloved mountains. 



The middle of August came and with it the time set for 

 our departure, and we were off on what proved to be one 

 of the most pleasant tours of our lifetime. 



As we crossed the broad and clear flowing waters of 

 the Detroit River on the graat car ferry of the Canadian 

 Pacific we looked back at the beautiful City of the Straits, 

 wondering whether all would be well with us until we 

 again beheld its shining spires and towering electric 

 lights. A shade of sadness came over one of the party as 

 she was going into a new country and to her mind a 

 rough one, but when once seated in the speeding train, 

 reclining in the luxurious chairs of the parlor car, home 

 for the time was forgotten, and only the enjoyment of 

 the future was thought of. 



Toronto, "the Queen City of the West," as the Canadi- 

 ans love to call it, was reached on time and a day was 

 spent running about, though it had been visited several 

 times before. We of the States would dispute the right 

 to the title of the "Queen City of the West," but we will let 

 it be the queen city of western Ontario and give it all the 

 honor we can. The city is a queer mixture of English and 

 American customs and manners and inhabitants. It has 

 many of the characteristics of our cities over the border, 

 and yet it is not like them. It is a pleasant place to vis : t 

 and in summer is quite a center for tourists doing Canada, 

 as the boats running the St. Lawrence start from there, 

 and it is also the most central point for tours of the great 

 Muskoka and Georgian Bay countries. 



Northward from Toronto we go to Owen Sound, where 

 we take the steamer for Lake Superior. This is the most 

 pleasant way of travel in the summer and we never fail 

 to go by boat when we can avail ourselves of the privi- 

 lege. 



It is only 122 miles from Toronto to Owen Sound and 

 the steamboat express soon takes us through , a very 

 charming country. The nearer one approaches the 

 Georgian Bay region, the more picturesque the country 

 becomes. High rolling hills, deep gulches and brawl- 

 ing trout streams abound, and ever and anon rough and 

 rugged rocks crop out and lend a charm peculiarly their 

 own to the scenery. The Georgian Bay country is a 

 charming one to spend the summer in and possesses a 

 charm foreign to most resorts. 



It is the cheapest place to spend a vacation ever found. 

 This is true also of Muskoka, but the two sections go hand 

 in hand. 



I t Owen Sound is a great summer resort, and one can find 

 good fishing near by, and better by taking one of the 

 numerous steamers that ply on the bay and go further 

 north. 



Many fine excursions by water can be taken from here, 

 as all the bay steamers call, if they do not make it a point 

 of departure. The Canadian Pacific has a fine line of 

 steel steamships, consisting of three boats; two of them 

 were built on the Clyde and brought over the Atlantic, 

 being cut in two, so as to pass through the canals up the 

 St. Lawrence, the third is a home production and the 

 largest of the fleet. These vessels are built more on the 

 model of ocean steamships than most lake boats. 



If one wishes and has the time, arrangements can be 

 made to take one of the local steamers that run through 

 the Georgian Bay to the Sault Ste. Marie and take the 

 regular Canadian Pacific steamer at that point. By doing 



this all the principal ports along the eastern shore of 

 Georgian Bay can be visited, and the sail in among the 

 thousands of islands is very charming. There is great 

 bass fishing at numerous points, an i at Parry's Sound one 

 can take a stage for the head of Lake St. Joseph, one of 

 the Muskoka chain. Having visited this region on a 

 former tour, we took the regular boat, the Athabasca, one 

 of the Clyde-built steamers. 



The scenery after one leaves Owen Sound as viewed 

 from the hurricane deck of one of these steamers is very 

 fine, as the town is situated on the head of the sound and 

 is surrounded by high hills, covered by dense timber or 

 rugged rock. The scenery of Georgian Bay is not unlike 

 that of the St. Lawrence, "only," as a person expressed 

 it, "more so." 



The steamer usually leaves about 1 o'clock in the after- 

 noon, but we were a little late, so that the sun was on the 

 decline as we pulled in the gang-plank and threw off our 

 lines. 



To the left lies the western coast of the Indian Penin- 

 sula, and we pass the high headlines of Cabot's Head, and 

 as we pass the lighthouse a salute is given by our whistle. 

 Evening is with us ere we pass from the waters of the 

 bay into Lake Huron proper. 



The great Manitoulan Island is away to the right, and 

 the outer course is taken. The night is cool and we are 

 glad to retire early, as the air so pure and fresh has had 

 a soporific effect. That is one of the great charms in 

 traveling on our great lakes, one is always assured of a 

 good night's rest, and it is far superior to be in a commo- 

 dious stateroom than in a narrow berth in a sleeper. 



Morning comes all too soon and we are loath to arise, 

 even to go on deck to see the scenery of the far-famed Ste. 

 Maries River. Maybe we would have been more eager 

 had we not seen it many times before, as it should not be 

 missed ; and even though it had been very familiar to us 

 some years before, we found its charms still held us, and 

 the novel we intended to read was not opened, Twenty 

 years ago a writer who visited this region wrote: "The 

 scenery of the Ste. Maries River seems to grow more 

 attractive every year; there is a delicious freshness in the 

 countless evergreen islands that dot the river in every 

 direction, from the falls to Lake Huron, and I can imag- 

 ine of no more tempting retreats from the dusty streets of 

 town in summer than these islands. I believe the time 

 will come when neat summer cottages will be scattered 

 along the steamboat route on these charming islands. A 

 summer could be delightfully spent in exploring for new 

 scenery and in fishing and sailing in these waters." 



The writer of the above was an old man seventeen years 

 ago, when I met him on the steamer in Ste. Maries River, 

 and has since gone to his rest; but he was a true prophet, 

 for many cottages, hotels and summer resorts are to be 

 found on the river now. 



The beautif ul sail of fifty-five miles is too soon over, and 

 we are in sight of the "Soo" Rapids, with the Canadian 

 Pacific bridge, the great locks and the two towns, one in 

 the United States, the other in Canada, spread out before 

 us, a living panorama. 



The "Soo" is a great tourist resort and an old and reli- 

 able "stamping ground" of the sportsman. The trout 

 fishing at and near the "Soo" is very fine, and by engaging 

 Indian guides and going up the shores of Lake Superior 

 nearly virgin waters can be found. A short distance in 

 Canada, via the Canadian Pacific's Soo Line, are a great 

 number of small lakes which teem with black bass, and 

 in September the bass fishing down the river near the 

 Neebish Rapids and in other localities can hardly be sur- 

 passed. Ruffed grouse are abundant, and many ducks 

 breed in the little bays and inlets along Lake George and 

 Mud Lake. There is always scVnething to see at the 

 "Soo," and even if one does not stop off time is generally 

 given to run about, as the lake traffic is so great that a 

 steamer cannot lock through at once. ' Some of our fellow 

 voyagers wander about town and purchase Indian curios- 

 ities, the handiwork of the natives who live nearby, others 

 catch grasshoppers to feed the trout in the fountain near 

 the lock, others watch the Indians in their canoes out in the 

 rapids, scooping up the far-famed "Soo" white fish, while 

 others more adventurous hire some red man or half-breed 

 to take them through the rapids in a canoe. "Shooting 

 the rapids" it is called, and a great sensation it is. 



It is a pastime more dangerous in appearance than 

 reality, but it is an experience worth having. 



The Government locks are stupendous examples of en- 

 gineering skill, but a technical description might weary — 

 they must be seen to be appreciated by the layman. 



In 1846 J. G. Whittier visited this region and was pre- 

 sented with an eagle's quill, whereon hewrote the follow- 

 ing, which is quite appropriate in view of the present 

 situation: 



THE SEER. 



I hear the far-off voyager's horn, 



I see the Yankee's trail— 

 His foot on every mountain pass, 



On every stream his sail. 



He's whistling round St. Mary's falls 



Upon his loaded train; 

 He's leaving on the pictured rocks 



His fresh tobacco stain. 



I hear the mattock in (he mine, 



The axe stroke in the dell, 

 The clamor from the Indian lodge, 

 k^The Jesuits' chapel bell. 



I see the swarthy trappers come 



From Mississippi's springs, 

 And war chiefs with their painted brow 



And crests of eagle wings. 

 Behind the scared equaw's birch canoe 



The steamer smokes and raves, 

 And city lots are staked for sale 



Above old Indian graves. 

 By forest, lake and waterfall 



I see the peddler's show: 

 The mighty mingling with the mean, 



The lofty with the low. 

 I hear the tread of pioneers 



Of nations yet to be, 

 The first low wash of waves where soon 



Shall roll a human sea. 

 The rudiments of empire here 



Are plastic yet and warm; 

 The chaos of a mighty world 



Is rounding into form. 



