90 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



[Aug. 3, 1895. 



LOST IN THE SWAMPS.-l. 



It may have been to initiate me by easy stages into the 

 mysteries of swamp lore that Barnes decided to drop down 

 into Arkansas by John-boat. We took the river at Poplar 

 Bluff, and in a few hours entered a wilderness which has 

 changed but little since the first Creole trapp?rs ascended 

 the Black, two centuries ago. This was my first trip into 

 the cypress country, and I soon realized that such bits of 

 woodcraft as had been acquired in the northern hills 

 would be of slight service in the swamps. 



Barnes himself was a stranger to this part of the coun- 

 try, though quite at home in the White Eiver brakes for 

 which we were heading; so, beyond knowing that we 

 were in a current which would finally bring us up some- 

 where, we were lost almost from the start and enjoyed it 

 thoroughly. Deliver us from a country that has all been 

 measured and plotted, and sprinkled with names. There 

 is nothing quite so delightful as swinging round the bend 

 of an unknown river. Is it to be a rapid or a flock of 

 teal? Every sense that you brought with you is on the 

 alert and you soon find need for several new ones. 



From this point of view the Black is a generous stream, 

 for it is nothing but crooks and curves. Sometimes we 

 would paddle a mile, steer round a bend, paddle back an- 

 other mile, and then reach an isthmus over which we 

 could toss a stone to our starting place. 



For two or three days we enjoyed following the eagles 

 and herons around these crooked courses, shooting squir- 

 rels and waterfowl with the .22, camping under a lean-to 

 when it rained or under the stars when all was fair. But 

 bye and bye this sort of thing grew monotonous. Instead 

 of rapids to exhilarate us we found the current provok- 

 ingly slow. Nothing more exciting happened than an oc- 

 casional fracas With the razor backs, or a ram-bang-teeter 

 on a sawyer. The John-boat was clumsy as a raft — its 

 name, by the way, is swamp vernacular for a sort of punt, 

 built for paddling, out of If in. plank, and costing about 

 four hours' deliberate use of saw and hammer. It was the 

 only craft we could buy at Poplar Bluff. Under such con- 

 ditions 6001bs. paddling is too much like work. We began 

 to wonder where we were, how long it would take to get 

 to some place else, why deer sign was so scarce, what we 

 would do for breadstuff's if those appetites held out, and — 

 well, you have been there — we began to grumble. This 

 way of getting lost was altogether too tame. 



In the last eighty or ninety miles we passed but two 

 cabins and a sawmill. We met a few natives at these 

 places, some of whom could not Engliscli sprechen, while 

 others could, but were too tired. Nobody knew how far it 

 was to any place, nor cared, nor comprehended why we 

 should. Finally we discovered a man who sang out 

 promptly in answer to our hail: "One hundred and one 

 miles from Poplar Bluff by Government survey." 



"What is the nearest railroad station?'' 



"Moark." 



"How far is it from Poplar Bluff by rail?" 

 "Twenty miles." 



"Is the river any crookeder below?" 



"Can't be wuss, and I reckon it's no better." 



"Then if we keep on at this rate we ought to reach Das 

 Arc in time for Christmas." 



He eyed the John-boat critically, and thought the mat- 

 ter over with solemn deliberation. 



"Well, I'll bet on Santy Claus." 



"How far is it to Moark?" 



"Three miles." 



"Have you got a team?" 



"Got a span of muels." 



That settled it. One of us had an appointment with a 

 bear down on Whirl Creek, and was afraid it might get 

 tired waiting for him; so we took the train at Moark. 



Late that night we put up at the hotel in Bald Knob. 

 A band of local minstrels was serenading the neighbor- 

 hood, and we got abed to the tune of "Jesse James": 

 "His wife, she was a lady; 

 His children, they were brave," 

 and I have forgotten the rest of it, save that a stolid 

 Governor failed to appreciate the romantic interest of the 

 situation, and — 



"He hired Robert Fo-ard, 

 The dirty little coward, 

 To la-ay Jesse Ja-ames ia his gra-aa-ave." 



At daybreak we were bolting a hastily-served meal. 

 We had planned to spend a few days reconnoitering the 

 swamp3 at the junction of the White and Little Esd, 

 or thereabouts, and then make a knapsack tramp to the 

 Bayou des Arc, sending our outfit ahead by wagon. 



Barnes thought that some friends of his in the lower 

 part of town might care to go with us for a little hunt in 

 the overflows, so visited them. Early as it was the fam- 

 ilies were astir. We learned that Green and George and 

 Uncle Dan were camped at the Twin Sisters, a pair of 

 small lakes about fifteen miles distant. Another fellow, 

 who shall be nameless, informed Us that he was j ust hitch- 

 ing up to carry the boys some supplies, and that there 

 was plenty of room in his wagon for our outfit; so we 

 could walk on ahead, hunting as we went, and he would 

 soon be on our trail with the grub. Surely here was a 

 streak of luck. We could easily make fifteen miles of 

 good and level footing by noon. Our coats were tossed 

 into the wagon, and with no encumbrances but our rifles 

 and ammunition we strode into the forest and soon were 

 alone with that best of all good company, our blessed 



came more tangled, twisted and contorted the further we 

 penetrated into the overflow. But there was so much to 

 see, to investigate, to ask questions about; and anyhow 

 what was the use in hurrying? If we didn't reach the 

 Sisters till evening our appetites would be all the better 

 for it. Yes, there could be no doubt about those appe- 

 tites. Now and then we would find some persimmons 

 away back there in the Ozark bottoms. 



But countless wild porkers had been out after the swamp 

 fruit earlier in the day and had not left much of it. By 

 the way, I don't like wild hogs a little bit. An old razor- 

 back sow is the only animal, excepting a razor-back boar, 

 that ever approached me with belligerent intentions, un- 



Never had I enjoyed along, swinging, business-like 

 stride as I did that forenoon, after the leg-cramping pad- 

 dle of the past week. I would give money for a chance 

 to try it over again right now. There was new life in the 

 autumn air. It seemed that one could never tire in such 

 a magnificent wilderness of oaks, with the level ground 

 so free of brush and carpeted with freshly fallen leaves. 

 Barnes felt the charming invigoration too, and suggested 

 that instead of taking a short cut we might better follow 

 an old trail, which was more roundabout, but which 

 would be easy for me to find and keep if ever I had occa- 

 sion to go back to town alone. We did so. 



The trail gradually led off to the east more than we had 

 expected. It was noon when we reached the overflow. 

 Of course I had to fool around a good deal in such novel 

 surroundings, and equally of course the surroundings be- 



"Then they'll soon get tired of depending. These 

 people are like Indians, so far as depending on them to do 

 anything is concerned; it's all a matter of how they hap- 

 pen to feel five minutes later. They mean it all right 

 enough; it's just their way. But you needn't look for our 

 friend with the wagon to-night. If he hadn't heard of a 

 dogfight, or something else, he would have made a bee 

 line for the Sisters while we were swinging off toward the 

 Hurricane, and would have been here an hour before us." 



" Humph, well, here's a pretty fix. Aren't there any 

 houses within a few miles of us?" 



" None; unless they've been built since I was last here." 



' ' How far is it to the Knob by a short cut ? " 



IN THE SWAMP. 

 Amateur photo by Horace Kephart. 



provoked, and the only one before which 1 ever lo3t my 

 dignity. I have sundry personal grievances against sev- 

 eral individuals oi this species, which rankle every time 

 they are recalled, and — I just don't like wild hogs. But 

 here was a revelation. These cane-fed hogs had some- 

 thing on them besides bristles and warts. They were 

 plump and sleek, and made a fellow think of sugar-cured 

 hams, whic.i, come to think of it, are not bad eating. 



We found Whirl Creek, and it reminded me that my 

 last drink was taken from a puddle in the uplands some 

 hours before. There wasn't the ghost of a current in 

 Whirl Creek (miasma, chills, microbes), but the water was 

 clear, and a felfow has to drink sometimes. Here the 

 footing was decidedly bad. After a man stumbles over a 

 root two or three times and has a ,45cal. 101b. repeater hit 

 him a few whacks on the back of his head, thoughts will 

 arise in spite of early training. Did I say a 101b. gun? It 

 should have been lllbs., or possibly twelve, for the maga- 

 zine was full, and every one of those cartridges weighed 

 more at this time in the afternoon than the Winchester 

 catalogue said it did. I must call my friend Hooper's at- 

 tention to this matter. Also, the next time I start out for 

 nowhere in a flannel shirt, with a 131b. gun, I will have a 

 pair of epaulettes sewed on and Btuffed with 3in. of 

 cotton. 



Soon we came among the cypress knees— not the little 

 knobs that stick up oh the banks of the Black Eiver in 

 old Missouri, but great big fellows, tall as a man some- 

 times. They are interesting,' indeed puzzling, but are 

 not good to eat. 



At last the Twin Sisters! How surprised those fellows 

 would be to see us stalking in upon them, laughing, un- 

 concerned, just as if we hadn't tramped twenty-five miles 

 since daybreak on an empty stomach! We quickened our 

 pace. 1 wiped the sweat off a very red face, cocked back 

 my hat and tried to look jaunty. We skirted the shore 

 of Upper Twin, followed down the outlet, took a short cut 

 through a nasty bit of switch cane, strode straight for- 

 ward to the place where our party must have made camp, 

 and — 



They weren't there! 



"About fifteen miles." 



"Twenty-five and fifteen make forty, for the day's 

 ramble. Can you find the way by night ? " 

 "Yes: after the moon rises." 

 " It doesn't rise till midnight." 



"Just so. We must mog along and get out of the over- 

 flow before dark. Better take a drink, for you may not 

 see water again till morning " 



We moved on. In half an hour Barnes remarked that 

 he was not sure of his bearings. 



"I've spent three years in this neighborhood," he said, 

 "and you may think it strange that I don't know quite 

 where we are; but now I want to teach you something 



"Homeless, ragged and tan'd, 

 Under the changeful sky, 

 Who so free in the land, 

 Who so contented as 1?" 

 That is the best song that ever was sung— after supper. 

 We went from place to place hallooing and finding 

 nothing. 



Were you ever in the heart of a primitive wilderness, 

 and did you ever yell at the top of your voice just to try 

 the effect ? Did you listen to the echoes rolling away, did 

 you feel the shiver that ran through the forest as though 

 something holy had been disturbed, and were you abashed 

 by that solemn, rebuking silence— that vast silence, I can 

 express it in no other way— which returned to shame your 

 puny insolence with its calm majesty ? 

 . After making the circuit of those lakes and finding no 

 trace of a camp, nor so much as a human footprint, 

 Barnes looked a little grave. It was about four o'clock in 

 the afternoon, and we had been walking steadily since 

 sunrise. My shoulders and neck were raw from carrying 

 the heavy gun, and I wondered if Barnes was getting 

 hungry. He turned to me presently and asked: "Well, 

 are you game to walk back to the Knob to-night? " 



"Ye-e-s, if I've got to. But we ought to meet that fellow 

 with the wagon somewhere on the back track." 



" That fellow haB gone back on us." 



" What do you mean ? " 



"I mean that he let 'us get a good start, and then 

 changed his mind." 



"Oh, no: he wouldn't play us such a dirty trick. 

 Besides, the hunters were depending on him to bring 

 them their own supplies." 



THE JOHN-BOAT. 

 Amateur photo by Horace Kephart. 



about this kind of country. Do you notice anything 

 peculiar about these trees?" 



"Yes, that's the biggest persimmon tree I ever saw. It, 

 must be nearly a hundred feet high and straight as a 

 mast." 



"Is that all you see?" 



"Well, I'd like to see a 'simmon, but I don't." 



"Anything uncommon about the trunk?" 



"Yes, there isn't a limb for 60ft. I always thought 

 that persimmons were smallish trees that branched out 

 freely." 



"All the trees grow tall here and branch out only at the 

 top. The woods are so dense that the sunlight can scarcely 

 get in, except around the water fronts, so the lower 



