306 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



[May 10, 1888. 



GOING TO GUINEA.— II. 



EXCUSE me, Parson, but I must laugh. That's the 

 way you didn't go to Guinea. Waded round nine 

 hours, and got lost, and nary a trout. Excuse me, I hope 

 it hain't no disrespect, but I must laugh just a little 

 more." 



I assured him I considered it no disrespect for him to 

 laugh at my attempt to find Guinea Pond. I could have 

 helped him laugh, if I had felt like it. 



His name was Bean— John Bean. The reader will of 

 course know this to be his real name, it is so odd. He 

 was the same knight of the alder pole who had offered, 

 when the weather was clear, to show me the way to 

 Guinea. I had been telling him how Johnny and I, in 

 the storm, had tried to find Guinea without waiting for 

 his help. We hadn't found the pond, but our journey 

 had turned out to be excellent sport. That is, Bean en- 

 joyed it exceedingly. 



"Well," he said, after he had recovered his breath, "I 

 came over to say that to-morrow 1 will show you the way 

 to Guinea, if you wish to go. We'll have"a good day; 

 you never see such a sunset as that, when you may not 

 count on a good day follerin'. I reely Avant to see you 

 try one of them little rods o' yourn on'a half-pound trout. 

 Not that I doubt what you tell me, but, as the sayin' is, 

 'seehr is believinv " 



The next morning we made an early start. The sun 

 was rising over Ossipee Mountain as we began our four- 

 mile drive. The clouds that remained after the storm 

 were fleecy white: the fields and hills were fresh from 

 their copious baptism. It was exhilarating to have pleas- 

 ant weather once more. We congratulated ourselves, 

 Johnny and I, that we had had all the foul weather in a 

 lump that we could reasonably expect during our vaca- 

 tion weeks. 



I will not delay to describe that delicious morning drive. 

 All too soon it came to an end, and we, the trio of fisher- 

 men, Bean, Johnny and myself, began to climb Guinea 

 Mountain. 



Bean was in his way a character. Born and bred in 

 Sandwich, and never many miles from home, an indus- 

 trious, hard-working man, with a large family and no 

 farm, a ready "hand" for all the neighboring farmers 

 who needed his services by the day; he was yet a cheer- 

 ful man, the one outlook' of his Iff e appearing to be the 

 prospect of a day's fishing. Before I had met liiin he was 

 recommended to me as the man who knew where every 

 trout in Sandwich spent its time. "Yes, Parson," said 

 our Yankee host one day, "he. is a big fisherman— bigger 

 even than you are, I guess. Why, that man, if he hadn't 

 no wife and chidren, wouldn't do nothing but fish. He'd 

 git up and go before breakfast and stay all day without 

 his dinner, and then, to get a good string of trout, he'd 

 forget his supper. There hain't no brook around here 

 within five miles that he hain't acquainted with, every 

 inch. And he's a clever fellow, too — as clever as the 

 summer day is long." As we trudged behind him, he 

 became an interesting study to me. In pants, shirt and 

 hat, with low shoes, h# had such freedom of body as suited 

 his spirit. He had cumbered himself with no extras 

 whatever. His hook and line were in his pocket; his alder 

 rod awaited him on the shore of the pond. There was 

 nothing to mark him as a fisherman, unless it was his 

 breezy, youthful air. His love of angling was evidently 

 downright enthusiasm. It was the one thing which no 

 man could take from him. 



"Bean," I called, when we had climbed half an hour, 

 and he had got almost out of hearing ahead, and John- 

 ny's feet, as well as my own, were beginning to sweat in 

 our rubber boots. "Bean, let us stop here awhile; I want 

 to look at this view." We were soon comfortably seated 

 on the ground, and Johnny and I pulled off our boots to 

 cool our perspiring feet in the sunshine. 



We were prepared to observe the rare scenery spread 

 out around us and below. At the northeast the eye rested 

 on White Face and Chocorua; at the east stood Ossipee 

 Mountain, in dreamlike repose, a majestic Mil; at the 

 south Red Hill rose, a cap of silvery cloud giving the 

 illusion of Alpine proportions to the stately mound; at the 

 southeast, beyond the slopes of Mt. Israel, on the side of 

 which we were, we could see the dark crown of Black 

 Mountain, the highest of the Sandwich range. Below us 

 at the south, ten miles away. Lake Winnipiseogee lay in 

 the sheen of the sun, the steel-blue water studded with 

 numerous wooded islands, making a picture more like 

 romance than reality. Nearer, dotting the valley, were 

 minor lakes, with glistening faces and verdant shores — 

 rare jewels m emerald settings. The lesser hills of the 

 broad vale were under fruitful cultivation; the white 

 farm houses here and there betokened prosperous thrift. 

 It was a picture in its scope and details to bring despair 

 to a painter's heart, yet inexpressible delight to the 

 beholder. For a time I was lost in the view, I was wak- 

 ened from my revery by the practical Bean, reminding 

 us it was time we renewed our tramp. 



Then up again through the forsaken orchard; up and 

 down through the juniper forest; now wading the 

 streams extemporized by the recent rains; now through 

 stretches of mud, which we searched in vain for more 

 bear tracks — we went hurriedly and hotly on, till we 

 came to the old mill site. 



"Now here's where ye got lost," said Bean, "You fol- 

 lowed this stream up Mt. Israel; you should have fol- 

 lowed it down. But Lord bless you, you'd ha' gone round 

 and round like a hen with her head cut off, if you'd tried 

 to get to the pond that way. This brook is the most be- 

 wilderin' thing a sober man ever had anything to do 

 with. The pond is right over there about half a mile, 

 but this brook goes about five miles to get to it, and I 

 hain't made up my mind that it has ever found it 

 yet," 



Under Bean's confident lead we started into the brush. 

 Emerging presently we found ourselves by the side of the 

 brook, where it spread into a little pond. I was tempted 

 to try a fly on the luring pool. I jointed my 8-ounce bam- 

 boo and whipped the water for a while, more to Bean's 

 satisfaction than my own, for no trout was to be taken 

 from that water. Then we started for Guinea Pond 

 direct. I did not think it worth my while to encase my 

 rod for so short a distance. I hooked the flies through 

 the rings and slung it across my shoulder. Soon of course 

 it got into a snarl; the line had an affection for every 



twig it came near. The brush grew thicker. The day 

 had become immoderately warm. 



"Bean," I said, "how much of this brush have we got 

 to go through"? It is getting to be a little hard— for 

 Johnny. 



'•We'll find a trail soon," said he, not in the least dis- 

 composed. 



Presently we came to a "lumber slash." This signifies 

 a section of forest where hemlock trees have been felled 

 in the winter, their trunks peejed of the marketable bark 

 and then left to decay. The stumps here were about six 

 feet high, indicating the depth of snow on the ground at 

 the time the woodman did his work; the branches re- 

 mained on the prone trees, making an almost impenetrable 

 barricade. It is easier getting a comb through a tramp's 

 hair than a fly-rod through such a labyrinth of dry brush. 

 Alas for me that I was in haste. Alas again that It is my 

 fate to wear eye-glasses. Alas once more that Johnny 

 had fallen headlong and sadly scratched his face and torn 

 his jacket. I own I felt embarrassed. When I gathered 

 up my senses for a calm survey, this I found to be the 

 condition of things. My haste had served to wind my 

 line and rod around at least three dozen twigs; my eye- 

 glasses had gone, cord and all; I was corraled by fallen 

 trees. Go ahead I could not; to go back seemed almost 

 impossible. With Johnny's help, however, I recovered 

 my eye-glasses; he discovered them hanging on a limb; I 

 deliberately proceeded to untwist and unsnarl my line 

 and to carefully encase my rod. Johnny, meanwhile, 

 had been calling for our guide. 



"Mr. Beau! Mr. Bean!" he called. I soon began to 

 help him. 



Bean is not a good name to shout aloud. It contains 

 no vowel favorable for a protracted orotund swell. I 

 expended on the word my utmost resources in elocution. 

 Johnny also showed an astonishing lung power. 



No sound but echoes came back. 



Then, for convenience to our vocal organs, we changed 

 Bean's name. We called explosively, "Hi-yi-yi-i!" Out- 

 voices must have been frightful to the wild beasts. Still 

 only echoes came back to us. 



"What are we going to do?" asked Johnny, 



"That is what I would like to know," I said. "It is the 

 most ridiculous predicament I have been in for a week. 

 To think of getting lost of a sudden like this. I can't 

 understand what Bean means by leaving us in such style." 



"I guess he means to go to the pond and catch all the 

 fish before we get there," said Johnny. 



It is never comfortable to feel lost in the woods. It is 

 all the more uncomfortable when you are in a hurry to 

 make the most of a day's fishing. It does not add to 

 your equanimity not to know how you got lost. With a 

 desperate effort, however, we calmed ourselves. We at- 

 tempted to move on in the direction we assumed Bean 

 might have gone. Whether we were going ahead or 

 back we could not tell. Johnny, I am sorry to say. began 

 to show some signs of temper, I am not certain but I 

 sympathized with him a little. It was, of course, need- 

 less. The scratching brush was not to be blamed for tear- 

 ing our clothes and flesh, and Bean, who had left us to 

 our lonely battle, was not present to hear our remarks. 



As soon as we had got to a breathing x>lace we began 

 to call our guide again. We went through the programme, 

 "Bean! Hi-yi-yi-i!" protracting each vowel as long as 

 our breath would allow, and feeling like sailors befogged 

 on the briny deep, we added the resonant, "Ahoy!" and 

 only echoes came back to us. Then we sat down. We 

 couldn't enjoy the view. Scattering trees above, with 

 dry logs and dead brush beneath, do not make a very 

 enticing forest scene. If we could have felt we had anv 

 laurels to rest on we might have been more contented. 

 A half hour wore away, three-quarters, it began to be 

 monotonous. 



"Hillo!" 



Bean's voice at last! It came from a distance. We 

 started again. We had got on perhaps half a rod, when 

 Bean came within talking distance. 



Good nature, like consistency, is a jewel. If one don't 

 for the moment feel it, it does no harm to assume it. I 

 gently asked Bean where he had been. 



"Sure as preachin'," he replied, "I don't know. I have 

 been trying to find the pond, and I must ha' got beyond 

 it. This beats me all out. There used to be a sort of 

 trail I could f oiler, but I hain't seen it yet.'' 



Bean came up. We held a council. We knew, at least 

 Bean knew, the general direction of the pond. We pro- 

 posed to shape our course by the sun. Well, after half 

 an hour more of such difficulties as we had thus far 

 endured, we cleared the lumber slash and then came 

 quickly to the pond. 



Guinea Pond! Our elusive goal was reached at last. 

 We had got to Guinea. It was not a remarkable sheet 

 of w ater to look upon. Snugly ensconsed in the thick 

 spruces, it could scarcely be seen more than twenty feet 

 inland. It was perhaps two acres in size. Our adven- 

 tures, however, were not quite over. 



"My soul," said Bean, "I never saw this water so high. 

 Now where is the raft?" Taking a survey he declared it 

 must be in the bushes on the opposite side. ' 'Just wait 

 here," he said, "and I will go around and pole it across." 



I proceeded to get my gear in readiness. When I had 

 my rod and line in working order and had also fixed out 

 Jolmny for business, I attempted to make a cast from the 

 shore. I waded out, that my line might clear the trees. 

 The water had flowed over a wide space of sward, leaving 

 it shoal enough to wade with rubber boots. The bottom 

 rolled under my tread as I walked, the sward itself was 

 afloat. It gives one a queer sensation to walk on actually 

 rolling ground. I was careful not to stand long in one 

 place for fear of sinking through. I essayed to go further 

 out. I saw about five rods away what might be the out- 

 let to the pond. It seemed clear wading to its proximity. 

 When I had come within casting distance of the right 

 spot the water was within two inches of the top of my 

 waders. I could not stand a moment in one place with- 

 out even that space being uncomfortably lessened. 

 Nevertheless I made a cast. The flies had no sooner 

 lighted in the water than a trout rose to them. 



"What was that?" asked Jolmny from the shore. 



Before I could answer I slumped through. The cold 

 water instantly filled my boots. "Amen!" I heard Bean 

 shout across the pond. What he meant I didn't know 

 and didn't care. I had at once sunk nearly to my waist. 

 I confidently testify that I did some vigorous treading. 

 I after a while scrambled to the surface. My rod (fortu- 

 nately 1 had not hooked the trout) had flown out of my 

 hand when I sank, and was lying some distance from me. 



I started toward it. At about the second step I went 

 through again. I heard Johnny on the shore exploding 

 with laughter. 



"I'll tell of you," he shouted, "you're dancing." 



I hadn't thought of such a thing! When I stooped for 

 my rod I went through again. When I had recovered 

 myself a little, I said to Johnny, who was capering on the 

 shore : 



"You shouldn't have laughed at me; you should have 

 come and helped me." 

 "I'll come now," he said. 



It was what he had been aching to do. He came 

 toward me on the run, not hearing me telling him to go 

 back, till he had come some two rods from the shore. 

 Here he paused to listen to my appeal. The pause was 

 unfortunate, for he, too, went through. It was my turn 

 to laugh at Johnny; but I hadn't the breath or the* heart 

 for it. When I had dragged him to shore we both had 

 time to feel glad. 



That was our introduction to Guinea Pond. 



"What was you doing, Parson, out there on the mash?" 

 asked Bean, at that moment coming: toward us on the 

 raft. 



"First tell me what you meant by crying 'amen,' " I 

 said. 



"Oh, that's what we Methodists say when we feel glad. 

 Just then I was glad 'cause I had found the raft." 



"All right," I replied. "I was out on the marsh tread- 

 ing down the bottom." 



"I thought," he rejoined, "you was trying to tread a 

 muskrat out of his hole." 



So we went to Guinea! Of course we embarked on the 

 raft and scorched in the sun till our clothes were dry 

 again. Of course we filled our creel with speckled beau- 

 ties. Of course Bean had the satisfaction of seeing the 

 withe-like rod capture a big trout. He gracefully ac- 

 knowledged that an alder pole and an angleworm could 

 not monopolize + he catch of wary trout. We on reaching 

 home that night were congratulated as having had better 

 than the fisherman's luck. Johnny was not the only boy 

 among us. 



The moral of my story: If one tell you to go to Guinea, 

 think twice before you start; but if 'you start, expect a 

 trial of perseverance and patience. 



Rev. Oscar F. Safpord, D.D. 



LAKE MISTASSINI. 



IN his guide book descriptive of the Lake St. John and 

 Saguenay region Mr. W. II. H. Murray has this to ' 

 say of the Labrador Peninsula and Lake Mistassini: 



If you will but glance at the map you will observe that ' 

 the country north and east of a line drawn from the 

 southern point of Hudson's Bay to Quebec is of enormous 

 size, and those of us who have* traversed it to any extent 

 and studied its geography and its strange historic and I 

 prehistoric races and traditions, regard it as one of the 

 most unique and interesting sections of the globe. Its 

 physical characteristics are remarkable. It is a land of 

 lakes, of rivers, of forests, of tangled swamps, of wild 

 wastes, of rocky desolation, of strange'phenomena. 



The country lying between Hudson's Bay and the east- 

 ern line of Labrador, on a fine drawn east and west, and I 

 from the St. Lawrence and Hudson's Straits drawn north 

 and south, is a vast sweep of territory. The distance 

 from Moose Factory, on the west side of James's Bay to 

 Labrador, is as great as from Moose Factory to Washing- 

 ton, D. C. This will serve to give the American tourist 

 some idea of its extent. Pere Albanel, who partially 

 trailed across this monstrous wilderness in 1G71-2, notes 

 that he met and overcame the opposition of two hundred 

 rapids and four hundred portages, and he began his 

 journey no further east than Tadousac. No white man, 

 as far as is known, living or dead, has ever crossed this 

 country from east to west or from north to south, and 

 save for a few patch-like settlements, as at Chicoutimi 

 and Lake St. John, and a few straggling lumber camps, 

 or fishing stations, it is an uninhabited wilderness of a 

 most savage character, only threaded here and there for 

 short distances by trapping fines. The Jesuit Missionary 

 — Pere Albanel, two hundred and fifty years ago drew a 

 trail across it from Tadousac to Hudson's Bay, a single 

 trail through a space as wide as the country between 

 Maine and Lake Erie. The Price brothers have pushed 

 their lumber camps a little beyond Lake St. John in spots. 

 The government some years ago started two expeditions 

 into it that went a considerable distance, but completed 

 nothing; while the Lake St. John Railway and the 

 Provincial Department of Crown Lands have surveyed a 

 score or more of townships or parishes, but beyond the 

 scanty and unsatisfactory glimpses thus obtained, noth- 

 ing is known of this monstrous forest and wild waste of 

 land. It is a terra incognita, as truly so as when it w as 

 in popular belief the home of pigmies, of dwarfs, of 

 giants, of headless men and semi-human monsters. 



In this connection it is fit to state that there is no map 

 of this region that is worthy to be dignified by such a 

 name. The reason of this is because the first one was 

 drawn from the map makers' imagination, and all sub- 

 sequent ones have only repeated the first. The charts of 

 the St. Lawrence coast are of course correct, but the 

 land maps are useless. The survey made by John Big- 

 nell, Esq., began at Bersimites and' ending at Little Mis- 

 tassini was scientifically conducted, and so far as 

 he went he did his work well. But no map has 

 been published of his survey, nor is there one 

 likely to be. I have the honor and profit of a 

 personal acquaintance with Mr. Bignell, and he has most 

 courteously put his knowledge of the country he tra- 

 versed at my disposal. He probably knows more of the 

 Labradorian Penninsula in its physical geography, than 

 any other man living, and without his valuable assist- 

 ance I could never have prepared for the public the 

 splendid map accompanying this volume. In honor of 

 Mr. Bignell, and in acknowledgment of the valuable 

 services rendered his country by a life time of profess- 

 ional labor in her interest, especially by his great explo- 

 ration from Bersimites to Little Mistassini, and as a 

 protest to the treatment to which he has been subjected 

 by the country he benefitted, I have accredited it to the 

 public with his name. This Bignell map is the only map in 

 existence that is accurate over any large extent of territory. 

 We could have filled the blank space up easily enough, had 

 we not decided to draw the map by what is actually 

 known of the country, and not what is guessed at. 

 There is not a lake located, a river traced, a portage 

 marked, good camp sites designated, or locality of sport 



