sio; 



FOREST AND STREAM.. 



LOOT. 12, 1895. 



UNCLE LISHA'S OUTING. 



I.— Planning the Campaign. 



TfrE company in Uncle Lisha's shop, after discoursing 

 of hunting and lamenting the decrease of game, lapsed 

 into a meditative silence, which was broken at last by 

 Sam Lovel's deep-toned, deliberate voice. 



"I tell ye what, I'm jest a hankerin' tu go daown tu 

 Leetle Otter Crik, a duck-huntin'. Don't ye remember, 

 Antwine, what a mess on 'em the' was, a hengin' 'raound 

 that spring we was a trappin? The' must be sights on 

 'em there in the fall, when the wild oats is ripe." 



The Canadian grunted emphatic assent without inter- 

 rupting the energetic pulls at a pipeful of damp tobacco, 

 till it was in full blast, then he gave further testimony. 



"Yas, seh, dey was great many dauk dat tarn, but 

 naow dey was two dauk quarrly for every wil' hoat, an' 

 dey was more as honded taousan' bushil wil' hoat." 



"That's ruther more'n I should ha' sot 'em at," said 

 Uncle Lisha, punching a hole in a patch with a crooked 

 awl and inserting the bristle of a waxed end, "But I've 

 seen slews on 'em on the ma'shes, an' I do' know's you're 

 lyin' much, for you, Antwine. Why don't ye go, 

 Samwil, you an' Solen an' Jozeff an' Peltier an' 'mongst 

 ye? Ye might jest as well as not, right arter ye git y'r 

 corn cut up, an' stay a good spell 'fore tater diggin'. 



"Bah, gosh! Ah'll go, me," cried Antoine, "Ah'U can 

 show you haow for shot de dauk! Ah'll was be preffick 

 mans for kill dauk, me." 



"Me an' yer father an' the women folks c'ld git along 

 wi' the chores, julluck rollin' off'm a lawg," Uncle 

 Lisha continued without noticing the Canadian's self-in- 

 vitation, "an' I don't see as there's nothin' tu hender ye 

 goin'." 



Sam pondered the proposition for a considerable time 

 before he replied with a question. 



"Why won't you go, Uncle Lisher? The chores hain't 

 no gret, an' I c'ld git Billy Wiggins tu help du 'em." 



"Me go? 'said Uncle Lisha, casting a quick glance on 

 Sam to see if he meant what he was saying. "Good airth 

 an' seas! I'm tew ol' tu go skylarkin' "raound wi' a passel 

 o' boys! I should jest sp'ile the rest on ye's fun. Better 

 take yer father, Samwil." 



"You couldn't snaike him daown thei'e wi' a yoke o' 

 oxen. He'd a sight druther stay 'long wi' the women 

 folks. You wouldn't spile no fun an' if we settle on goin' 

 you got tu go tew." 



"Yas seh, you jes' good leetly boy as we was One', 

 Lisha," Antoine declared for his further encouragement. 



The old man sat meditating for some time with idle 

 hands upon his knees before he answered: 



"Wal, the' hain't no deny in' but what I'd luf tu. I use 

 tu equirmish 'raound them ma'shes consid'able when I was 

 a 'whippin' the cat' daown there thirty year ago. An' I 

 sh'ld luf tu see the folks. I p'sume tu say the's some 'at 

 haint fergot me yit. But I guess I'd ortu stay tu hum an' 

 help yer father an' the women folks." He heaved a sigh 

 of resignation and gave the patch a resolute punch with 

 the awl. 



"You needn't let that hender ye," said Pelatiah Gove, 

 "for I c'n turn tu an' help 'mif the's any extry job." 



"Why, you'll go 'long wi' us, Peltier," said Sam. 



Pelatiah shook his ^head in slow but determined nega- 

 tion. "No, I don't want to go — not down there," and 

 they all knew why. 



"Wal, you'll go, Jozeff?" Sam asked. 



The first response was a dubious squeak of the rickety 

 chair as Joseph Hill shifted his position in slow perturba- 

 tion of spirit, and then as he leaned cautiously aside to 

 inspect his unstable seat, assuring himself in an under- 

 tone, "I ruther guess 't won't, not yit," he answered: 



"Wal, I s'pose I'd ortu, an' then again I s'pose I hedn't 

 ortu. I'd ortu go an' git rested up, which I hain't hed no 

 chance sence hayiu'. Then again the's lot tu du 'at I 

 hain't seemed to git 'raound tu, an' father he's kinder 

 peaked, do' know but he's sorter failin', do' know's I ever 

 see him quite so docyle. An' I do' know as M'ri an' Bub 

 c'ld git along wi' the chores erless they c'n punch that 

 'ere 'Lige Rellick tu help 'em some, they can't never git 

 hitn up tu in the mornin', the lazy shote. Bat I do' 

 know 's father'd let me hev his gun, if Bub 'Id spare it, 

 he's a whangin' 'raound wi' 't evy chance he gits. But 

 if the ducks is as thick as you tell on it seems 's 'ough a 

 feller c'ld git feathers 'nough tu fill a tick, an' that's jest 

 what M'ri wants. I got tu make that the main p'int in 

 talkin' on 't over with M'ri, an' I can't answer fer sar- 

 tain until I du, but I'm hopesin' the feathers '11 fetch 

 her." 



"An' what du you say, Solen?" Sam asked. 



Solon Briggs heaved a sigh so deep that it served to clear 

 his throat as well as to express regret. 



"Well, I'm obleeged tu say that my goin' on sech a 

 taower has got tu be forewent, because I have hereto- 

 before gin my bonafied promise tu Mis' Briggs, betwixt 

 hoein's, tu take her over tu Adams to visit her folks, if 

 she'd wait till after hayin', which she hevin' done so, I 

 can't intricate myself aout on, hon'able." 



"I s'pose not," Sam admitted, "but I s'pect all onus 'at 

 goes hev got tu talk aour women folks raound fust. They 

 gen'ally hev objections tu stag parties. If it hain't the 

 work 'at ortu be done, it's your health. Stag parties is 

 tumble onhealthy." 



"Bah gosh," said Antoine, straightening and swelling 

 himself to his greatest dimensions and speaking in a big 

 voice, "when Ah'll took notion Ah'll goin' somewhere, 

 mah hwomans make off hees min' Ah'll goin', an' ant 

 said nothing 'f he aint want hees head slap." 



"Wal," Solon said, "my idee is 'at moral persuasion goes 

 furder'n rambumptiousness in argyin' wi' femaline folks." 



"Antwine's got the advantage o' most on us," Sam 

 explained, "in hevin' of him a he wife 'at's twicte as big 

 as what he is." 



'•0, Sam, no he an't, too. Ah toF you, seh Ah'll took it 

 w'en he was young an' Ah'll brought it up for suit me, not 

 hesef . An't you see, Hem?'' 



"Wal, I cal'late the truth on't is, she's glad tu git red on 

 ye as often as she ken," Uncle Lisha said as he rubbed 

 down the seam with the handle of the awl. 



"It 'pears 'ough aour huntin' party was simmered daown 

 tu Uncle Lisher an' Jozeff an' Antwine an' me, anyways, 

 for Peltier won't an' Solon can't an' mebby the' can't none 

 on us, not for sartain 'f o 'fore we find aout what aour 



women folks says. But s'posin' we du go, we want tu 

 borry Peltier's scaow boat — over 't the pond, haint it, 

 Peltier? — for Uncle Lisher an' Jozeff, an' me an' Antwine 

 '11 hev my canew, an' we c'n lwud them an' aour tent pro- 

 miscuous ontu a waggin an' drive daown within tew rod 

 o' where we camped when we went fishin' an' git aour 

 team kep' somewher's nigh." 



"Why, Samwil, you've got us so nigh there a'ready, I 

 can e'enamost smell the camp-fire," said Uncle Lisha. 



"We don't want tu kerry no gre't var'ty o' pervisions," 

 Sam continued, "jest some pork an' taters an' a leetle 

 smidgin o' bread tu start on — we c'n buy bread o' the folks 

 daown there when we git aoutan', le' me see — " 



"An' onion, Ah'll drudder not have had anyt'ing as not 

 had onion, me." 



"Of course, so's 't you c'n be strong whilst we suffer," 

 said Sam, and went on enumerating the necessaries of the 

 trip. "An' a slew o' paowder an' shot an' caps an' wad- 

 din' an' blankets an' lemme se what else?" 



"Why, Samwil, you goin' tu du julluk t'other feller 'at 

 went a-huntin'? He got already tu start wi' bis ammer- 

 nitionlwuded intu bis pockets, an' tu make sure he hedn't 

 forgot nothin' he went over 'em all. 'Here's my shot,' 

 says he, a-saippin' his hand on one pocket, 'an' there's my 

 paowder,' a-puttin' his han' on another, 'an' there's my 

 caps. All right,' an' off he went till he come tu the 

 woods an' a pa'tridge a-stan'in' on a lawg, not six rod off. 

 'By thunder!' says he, 'I hev forgot suthin', an' it's my 

 gun.' " 



"Yes," Sam said, "guns might be hendy an' we'll have 

 us some, an' le' me see — " 



"We want tu kerry a gre't big bag tu put them 'ere 

 feathers in," said Joseph Hill; "I do' know as sech an al- 

 mighty gre't bag, but a tol'lable rniddlin'-sized sort o' bag, 

 but I've got tu kerry a bag for 'em if I don't kerry nothin' 

 else, 'cause the heft o' my argyment lays in them feathers. 

 An' Samwil an' Uncle Lisher," he leaned far forward and 

 spoke in a loud, impressive whisper which was empha- 

 sized by a prolonged creak of the unstable chair, "you 

 don't want tu say nothin' 'baout it tu your women folks, 

 'cause they'd up an' tell M'ri' an' then daown 'ould go my 

 shanty." He settled back in his seat with spasmodic 

 chuckles, to which the chair responded with a series of 

 short squeaks, then its legs began to slip and sprawl apart; 

 there was a gathering sound of splitting and breaking 

 wood fibers, till with a final crash and resounding bump 

 chair and occupant went down to the floor together. 



"I'm almighty glad cn 't," Uncle Lisha roared, almost 

 like an echo of the brief sudden uproar. ' 'I wish't it had 

 bruk two year ago, the dumb'd squeakin' thing. Open the 

 stove door, Peltier, an' chuck in the pieces 'fore some 

 tarnal fool sets tu mendin' it. Hurt ye any, Jozeff?" 



"Wal, not ra'ly," Joseph answered, looking helpless and 

 foolish as he sat amid the ruins. "I sod daown a little 

 sollider 'an I cal'lated tu, an' it jarred me some, an' I 

 b'lieve I bit my tongue, seems 's 'ough." 



"Where was de litlin' struck?" Antoine asked; and Aunt 

 Jerusha appearing at the door of the kitchen, cried out in 

 a tremor of anxiety: 



"What in the livin' airth! Has the stove fell daown? 

 Lisher Peggs, be you hevin' a fit?'' 



"It's that dumb'd chair, an' I'm glad on 't." 



"It's fort'nate 'at the linter hain't unierminded by no 

 suller," said Solon, as he viewed the wreck, "or Joz-ff 

 might have been promulgated into the dep's." 



"Sam Hill! ' Joseph ejaculated, as he began to push 

 aside the wreckage with deliberate hands preparatory to 

 rising. "Ef that wan't a kerwollups! Wal, I guess 1 11 

 g' hum an' kinder begin tu hint tu M'ri 'baout the feath- 

 ers. Don't seem 's 'ough I sod daown on none that time 

 sca'cely." And as he went forth the other visitors de- 

 parted after him. 



MAINE GAME NOTES. 



Jock Darling. 

 Jock Darling is a representative of the old type of 

 hunters and pioneers that is fast disappearing, and which 

 in a few years will be a thing of the past! Born and 

 brought up under the shadow of Maine's pine trees, he 

 has that intimate sense of acquaintance with nature that 

 comes to few, and I doubt if a man more at home in the 

 woods could be found. He is a master of all the intrica- 

 cies of woodcraft and hunting, and a man of great origin- 

 ality. 



Though sixty-five years of age he stands erect and his 

 step is springy and tireless. Even now you can't get Jock 

 to ride over a road if there is a chance to walk. His fea- 

 tures are clear cut, of the old Roman type, and betoken 

 determination and resource. In manner he is gentlemanly 

 and obliging. He is a good conversationalist, possessing 

 a fund of interesting anecdote and reminiscence, and as 

 a companion in the woods he is the same the last day as 

 the first, and I know of no greater tribute. 



Jock has his own ideas on the game laws and the man- 

 ner of their enforcement, and his honest convictions have 

 caused him to run foul of the wardens more than once 

 but no man has a greater respect for law and order. He 

 holds the office of first selectman in his native town 

 which shows the regard of those best situated to know 

 him, and as a game warden he has a long and enviable 

 record. 



Next to his many-sided knowledge of woodcraft the 

 thing that impressed me most about Jock Darling was his 

 great ingenuity. He has not only learned -what other 

 woodsmen know, but also, through his quick-witted ness 

 he has acquired an extra power over nature which is en- 

 tirely original. 



A single instance will suffice to explain what I mean. 

 Tired and wet one winter's evening he came to a deserted 

 lumber camp, where he proposed to spend tho night 

 His first requisite for comfort was a fire, but when he 

 examined his matches he found that all were wet and 

 that the heads came off without producing a light. ' 



Another man in his predicament would have spent a 

 cheerless night, but the dilemma only set Jock's wits a- 

 working. He had heard of fire being produced by friction 

 and this principle furnished him a working basis. ' 



Inside the camp was a "deacon seat" — a plank bench 

 supported by four rude legs cut from saplings— and Jock 

 set to work to whittle a smooth groove in its side. When 

 he had finished this to his liking he procured a cedar stick 

 that nearly fitted the groove and rubbed it briskly back- 

 ward and forward. Soon he had the bench smoking hot 

 and placing one of his matches in the groove began the 

 drying process. By repeating this a number of times he 



succeeded in getting the match so dry that it was no 

 trouble at all to start a fire. 



This is only a circumstance to some of the obstacles Jock 

 has overcome in the woods. In fact, he does not recog- 

 nize obstacles except to get the better of them. If he 

 wants a piece of cord he takes it from a cedar or bass- 

 wood tree. The woods afford him shelter, bedding, 

 means of transportation (by water at least), food for sus- 

 taining life and a thousand other things as well. 



When one sees a man so thoroughly the master of the 

 situation it seems hard to realize how some people will 

 get lost and starve, and suffer cold and hardship in the 

 same woods that are such a generous storehouse of gifts 

 to the one who has the key. 



Jock .About the Camp. 



Jock not only does a lot of difficult things, but he also 

 does everything well, even if it is so simple a thing as 

 building a fire or pitching a tent. I found this out the 

 first day in camp as I watched him do the two things 

 mentioned. As soon as the wagon which had brought 

 our boats and outfit, the first stage of the journey, disap- 

 peared, Jock proceeded to erect the tent, and the pro- 

 gramme thus inaugurated was at every future camp 

 rigidly adhered to— shelter first, grub afterward. 



Jock cut his poles a little longer than necessary. After 

 he had sharpened the two uprights at the bottom he pro- 

 ceeded to trim out the crotch designed to hold the ridge 

 pole and this he did in a masterly way, supporting the 

 pole in one hand and wielding his light axe with the 

 other. He changed the V which nature had given to a full 

 U shape by means of adroit cuts with the inside edge of 

 the axe delivered over the upper arm of the crotch, and 

 he finished by trimming the points short so as not to 

 punch holes in the tent roof. 



Taking the uprights in both hands he drove them into 

 the ground by successive blows till they were sufficiently 

 steady to stand erect, after which he took them down. 

 He inserted the ridge pole in its proper position in the tent 

 and then from the inside fitted the ends to the crotches. 

 It only remained to raise the uprights and place them in 

 the holes in the ground which had been prepared and to 

 anchor the tent to convenient tree3 or roots, lacking 

 which p^gs were used. 



Having pitched the tent satisfactorily and gotten our 

 things under it, including some straw, which in the ab- 

 sence of balsam was used our first night in camp for bed- 

 ding, Jock made his preparations for supper. 



As a preliminary he procured two dry logs which he 

 placed side by side. Next he cut huge chips from a sea- 

 soned stump near by, some of which he whittled with his 

 knife into a series of long shavings, grouped like the 

 feathers in a rooster's tail. These he arranged between 

 the parallel logs, heaping up the other pieces above. He 

 applied a lighted match to the shavings and thirty seconds 

 after had as good a fire as heart could wish. 



To satisfy our woods appetites Jock was compelled to 

 bake bread for every meal. I knew his bread was good, 

 but I was a little surprised to hear a practical cook of the 

 other sex acknowledge that she had never eaten anything 

 better. How this lady came to taste his bread I do not 

 know, but she said that she had and that her opinion was 

 based on the actual thing. Jock mixed his own flour — 

 and I don't know what went into it, except that I saw 

 him once direct a thin stream of pork fat from the frying 

 pan into the dough— but it was good bread and whole- 

 some. And in this regard I think my word should carry 

 weight, for I lived off Jock's bread for ten days and 

 came out of the woods a better man than I went in. 



When Jock came to bake the bread he had to rearrange 

 his fire, so as to get from it a direct outward heat. 



S jmetimes he would accomplish this by setting up per- 

 pendicular splinters of dry wood against a back log, while 

 at other times he arranged them horizontally. The effect 



JOCK AND THS STONE DOG, 



was always the same — a glowing fiery mass that sent 

 great waves of heat into the open front of the oven and 

 that baked the thin bread to the core. 



Jock cooked other things at the fire — one day it was a 

 mixture of resin and boiled oil, designed to make his new 

 canoe watertight. I a3ked him how he was going to apply 

 this, and he replied: "With the only brush I've got." That 

 paint brush proved to be his naked hand, and a good 

 brush it was, and a good job he made of the canoe. 



So much for Jock about the camp. 



Moose Facts and Theories. 



J ock is a most interesting conversationalist on topics 

 pertaining to the woods, and you may be sur« that what 

 he sa^s is the result of his own experiences. He dislikes 

 to talk from hearsay, and when he tells you there are 

 three kinds of yellow lilies in the Maine streams, you are 

 morally certain that the knowledge came to him at first 

 hand and that he can back it up. He does not confine 

 himself to his facts, however, but generalizes from them 

 and puts them to interest. 



Years ago, when he was a young man, Jock hunted 

 through the wildest portions of Maine for moose. One 

 year he killed a hundred of these great animals. He 

 would not do it again if he had the opportunity, but in 

 those days things were very different, and the moose had 

 no extrinsic value such as the sportsman has since given 



