May 17, 1888.] 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



329 



ing Pete and I had turned our faces toward the clearing: 

 at noon we were resting at the big pine stump which 

 marks the terminus of the road, and at 4 P. M. were at 

 home. That evening and the morning of the next day 

 were devoted to getting a. change of flamiels, laying in 

 supplies, and organizing generally for a long hunt. 



At 2 P. M. we were jolting over the Pine Creek road 

 en route for fresh fields and "pastures new: and Pete was 

 so sore from his recent cat work that I tipped the driver 

 to let him ride. He cm-led down in the stern sheets of 

 the lumbering old conveyance in a way that showed it 

 was no new chromo to him; and at 4 P. M., just 24 hours 

 from the time of reaching home, we were left standing 

 on the east hank of Pine Creek, with all our groceries 

 round us. At this point, the valley had rather a civil- 

 ized and business-like appearance. "The Company" 

 (Phelps & Dodge) had built a large house and larger 

 barn, with a store-house, in which there was always a 

 good stock of supplies— and the post-office. There was 

 also a neat little church, wherein services were held seini- 

 occasionally, and "The Meadows," as the place was called, 

 included a farm containing 100 acres of rich alluvial bot- 

 tom land, and there were two powerful old-fashioned 

 saw-mills, known all over the country as the "Strap 

 Mills.". 



The contrast between the east and west banks of the 

 stream was almost startling. On the east bank the con- 

 stant clang and crash of the saws, the loud spank of the 

 boards as they dropped into place, the rough voices of 

 the teamsters^ and all the various noises incident to a 

 busy lumbering establishment. On the opposite side, a 

 dense, unbroken wilderness, extending from the water's 

 edge nearly forty miles to the west and south without a 

 clearing. True, there were old, weed-grown lumber 

 roads and mouldering wrecks of lumber camps; but these 

 only added to the desolation, and did not in the least de- 

 crease the chances for deer, nor did the noisy works at 

 the Meadows disturb them. On the contrary, they were 

 very apt to be found lying on the face of the mountain 

 overlooking the valley, Avhere they could hear and see 

 just what was going on below. This state of things was 

 largely attributable to the fact that owners, bosses and 

 mill hands were bitterly opposed to hounding. Not a 

 man among them was fool enough to believe that a pack 

 of dogs or wolves could go baying and howling among 

 the deer without frightening them away— far away — to 

 another range. And it was a cold day for the hound that 

 got caught after a deer in sight or hearing of the Strap 

 Mill hands. 



Wheu a hound was heard running on the hill it was 

 usual for a hand to pick up his rifle with the remark, "I 

 guess I'll go an' see if I can get a shot;" which simply 

 meant beating a hunting party out of the deer, and sink- 

 ing every possible hound in the creek, by fair means or 

 foul. If a lawsuit resulted, as it sometimes did — the 

 money and influence of the Company was quickly at the 

 defendant's back, with public opinion also on his side; 

 and though scores of deer dogs were thus "treated," I 

 never knew a prosecutor to get a dollar or a verdict for 

 his dog. 



The little camp before mentioned was a short two miles 

 from the Mills, and reached by an easy trail that crept 

 gradually up the face of the mountain to within a hun- 

 dred feet of the summit, where, in a small circular basin, 

 beside a cool, clear spring, stood the rough cabin. 



It was necessary to ford the stream, and, as there was 

 too much duffle for a single trip, a box of supplies was 

 left at the Mill. With the exception of a loose bear skin, 

 a square box is about the worst load a man ever toted 

 through the woods. The most comfortable way to man- 

 age it is to empty the contents into a grain bag, kick the 

 box into the shin-hopples and walk off with the bag on 

 your shoulder. The creek was forded, the man wading, 

 the dog swimming — and the ascent was made easily in 

 less than an horn. It ended at a little three-sided in- 

 closure which looked like an unfinished pig-pen. The 

 dimensions were 8x5 feet on inside; height, 5"£ feet in 

 front, 3 feet at back; front, open. There was no roof; 

 hut a few light poles rimning fore and aft seemed in- 

 tended to support one, and in fact the roof was in the 

 knapsack; it was a simple sheet of oiled drilling 9x7 feet, 

 and was made to go over all by stretching and tacking in 

 place. Such a roof is better than bark, as it cannot 

 warp, is impervious to any storm, and cannot be used as 

 firewood by the swamp-loafers who delight in destroying 

 the camps of outsiders— an "outsider" being any man 

 outside of their immediate neighborhood and acquaint- 

 ance. Now, I had noticed that these woods vagrants 

 never stopped to bother with an old roofless camp; be- 

 cause, in the first place, the dry hemlock leaves from the 

 bedding sifts down to the earth and forms a black, slimy 

 mulch in a few weeks, which requires considerable work 

 and a strong blaze to render dry and sweet. And. sec- 

 ondly, in the autumn when bark will not peel, or in the 

 summer when there is no axe to peel it with, the fixing 

 a roof in shape to shed rain requires too much labor, of 

 which they are notably economical. So 1 had come to 

 adopt the light, portable roof; and it proved so satisfac- 

 tory that it has been a permanency with me me for the 

 past thirty years. With this and the pocket hatchet I 

 can in a few minutes make a camp that will keep a party 

 of three dry in the hardest rainstorm, and it weighs less 

 than 31bs. 



An hour's work sufficed to clean up the camp, fix the 

 roof, clear out the spring, and get a good supply of hem- 

 lock bedding, and night wood. Then came the evening 

 smoke and lounge, so dear to the heart of every hunter, 

 The night was still and fine, there was a young moon, 

 and the litte rill from the spring broke over the brink of 

 the narrow basin with a silvery murmur that was very 

 suggestive of sleep, while at intervals the metallic clank 

 of the saws at the Mills below was borne upward by the 

 night zephyrs, only to sink into silence again a* the 

 gentle breeze shifted or fell off. The owls, always nu- 

 merous along the valley of Pine Creek, were holding a 

 noisy caucus in the hemlocks near the camp, and occa- 

 sionally one more ventursome than his fellows would 

 come flapping silently into the firelight, take a brief sur- 

 vey of the surroundings, and vanish into darkness again. 

 There was at least one pleasant, cosy spot in the wilder- 

 ness on that November night. 



And on the morrow the hunt commenced with a break 

 of good luck. Before we were a mile from camp Pete 

 winded a deer, which he roaded up to and pointed in his 

 best form, and I succeeded in getting very close before it 

 jumped from its bed. The deer fell dead at the crack of 

 the first barrel, and it was one of the "remarkable shots" 



wherein luck is the leading factor. The bead had been 

 drawn on the white hair behind: but the bullet flew high, 

 ranged along the back, and crashed through the head, 

 breaking the horns apart and scattering the brains. I am 

 always thankful for such luck, though I do not put in a 

 claim to marksmanship when the bullet strikes a, foot 

 higher than I intended. It was a fine yearling buck in 

 the "long blue," sleek, round and fat. Before noon it 

 was in camp, and I hardly need say that the dinner con- 

 sisted largely of broiled venison that day. In the after- 

 noon the saddle and skin, nicely packed, went down to 

 the Meadows to be sent home by the mail \^gon, and a 

 lot of supplies were brought to camp in return. 



The second day's hunt resulted in getting another deer, 

 after which my recollection of events is not so clear. I 

 know there were heavy aut'iunn gales with rain, when 

 the roaring of the storm in the forest sounded precisely 

 like a storm at sea, and the weather rendered hunting 

 useless. There were times also, when the leaves were so 

 frozen and noisy that a deer could hear a man walk forty 

 rods away, and on the whole I think there were not more 

 than a dozen days of really good still-hunting during the 

 four or five weeks I hunted from that camp. I have for- 

 gotten, too. just how many deer I killed, but less than a 

 dozen anyhow, and for nearly all of them I was under 

 obligations to Pete, whose knowledge and sagacity on a 

 deer hunt were something wonderful. It was amusing 

 to see the look of silent reproach he would give me if, in 

 creeping up to a deer I happened to break a stick or make 

 a noisy step; he knew the value of silence, and in follow- 

 ing a wounded deer he never gave tongue, but made his 

 race swiftly and without noise.' When," however, he had 

 caught and killed his deer he would stay by it for hours, 

 barking loudly at intervals, and occasionally giving a 

 long, loud howl. If no one came to his assistance he 

 would work his way back to his master and try to explain 

 in simple dog language that there was a dead deer in the 

 distance and help was needed to bring it into camp. 

 When he had succeeded in making himself understood 

 and was leading the way to his quarry, he was a pi'oud 

 dog, and he never lied; though his deer was sometimes 

 solar from camp that it scarcely paid to pack it in. Like 

 most still-hunt dogs, he would not follow a well deer a 

 mile; but a few drops of blood on the track would set 

 him off for an all-day race, and the deer was pretty cer- 

 tain to be run down, though the wound might be trifling. 



Before the hunt was over I had a chance to try liim on 

 bear, and he was the best bear dog of his size I have ever 

 been out with. His hunting weight was about 401bs. ; 

 but at times he weighed 51bs. less. When an able-bodied 

 bear- has been thoroughly frightened and has made up 

 his mind to leave the country rather than climb a tree, it 

 takes a pretty smart dog to stop him until the hunter can 

 catch up for a Bhot; but Pete would often do it. Not al- 

 ways, though. For the bear has a shrewd way of drag- 

 ging bis enemy through the worst possible tangles of 

 brier and laurel brake or knocking him loose against fallen 

 timber, rocks, etc. But his most effective ruse is to drag 

 the dog into a tangle of undergrowth, and then tlirow 

 himself over with a sudden back-flop, reaching out and 

 striking savagely with his fore paws; or, to reverse the 

 operation, he will suddenly drop his nose between his 

 forelegs and change ends, which draws the dog over and 

 in reach of his claws; and it is a wise and wary dog that 

 escapes all these tricks. Whence it sometimes happened 

 that Pete was left on the trail so utterly beaten and ex- 

 hausted that he had to be helped into camp. This, how- 

 ever, was rarely the case. 



The bear, when suddenly attacked and sharply bitten, 

 would usually take the nearest large tree he came to, 

 where, with coolness and skill, he could be easily ap- 

 proached and shot. If only a slight wound were in- 

 flicted he was apt to come down with a heavy thump, 

 gather himself up and commence to emigrate in dead 

 earnest; in which it took a good "bear team" to stop him; 

 and Pete was a team by himself. I have known him to 

 seize a bear by the ham and hang his hold, with legs 

 stiffly braced, until he was dragged more than a hundred 

 yards at a stretch. He had a very creditable score on 

 bear scalps, as I subsequently learned, though we only 

 got after three bear while he was with me, two of which 

 got away. These two were wary old pig-tliieves who 

 knew all about dogs and would sooner die than be treed. 

 In each case they wore the dog out and left him on the 

 trail in a half day's run, while the hunter, with his best 

 etforts, could not' get near enough for a shot. 



The foregoing will give a pretty fan idea as to the 

 htmting traits of Pete; and his accomplishments were by 

 no means exceptional at that day, only that they were 

 condensed under one dog skin. In other cases they were 

 spread out and divided among different dogs, as it were. 



But we were fated to part. When the off season came 

 for man, dog or game, and the frozen hand of bitter 

 winter was pressing the frost into forest and clearing, 

 earth and water— there came to our shop a hook-nosed, 

 long-legged, shambling Dutchman, who introduced him- 

 self as "Yohn Shultz, from vay out py ter Plockhouse," 

 and he wanted to know you know," if "souiepotty here 

 haf cot a leedle tawg, mit one ear straight up, unt de 

 odder lop town py his het, like dis;" and he illustrated by 

 a bent leather chip. 



There was no need to answer, Pete heard the voice, 

 and the way he went into ecstacies over and around that 

 Dutchman settled the question of ownership to my mind, 

 I never saw a steady business dog exhibit such extrava- 

 gant joy. 



All the same I had determined not to lose Pete. The 

 man looked poor, and his clothes were patched to a won- 

 derful extent. The Blockhouse was a rough, poverty- 

 stricken region. Probably ten or fifteen dollars would 

 be worth more to the man and his family than any dog; 

 so I commenced to negotiate, and, as often happens, was 

 mistaken in my man. He said, "No; I coodn't solt him. 

 You see, he vas grow up mit our leedle poy, Peter, unt 

 ven der poy vas took sick unt go det, my olt voman Bhe 

 say, 'now ve call ter tawg Peter, unt keep him so long as 

 he lif. ! He is wort more to me as a goot hoss." 



And old Shultz, like his dog, was better than he looked. 

 It turned out that he was a well-to-do farmer, with a bank 

 account and a strong penchant for hunting, though he 

 did not allow his love of the woods to lessen his savings. 

 Hunting that did not pay was no sport for him. He had 

 hunted and trapped for more than thirty years in the 

 Blockhouse Range and the Armenia Mountains, and it 

 ' transpired that he was the man who had built the Chest- 

 i nuc Shanty, an enterprise that did not pay from a money 

 1 standpoint. He offered to pay for Pete's keeping, and 



thought $2 would be about right. In return I offered to 

 keep the dog a year for nothing and himself until the 

 next day on the same terms. The latter part of the offer 

 he accepted, and we spent the evening together, he doing 

 most of the talking, as was meet, for he knew all about 

 the romantic history of^that quaint, out of the way settle- 

 ment called Blockhouse, and had paid for his land with 

 wolf scalps — a fact that proved him the skilfull trapper 

 and woodsman. 



When we finally turned in it was understood that we 

 would meet at the Chestnut Shanty on or about the mid- 

 dle of the ensuing October; and at early daylight the 

 next morning old Shultz was making for home at a telling 

 pace, with Pete at his heels, leaving me to regret the loss 

 of the best still-hunt dog I had ever known; nor have I 

 yet seen his equal for bear or deer. And, alas! he had no 

 pedigree. Nessmtjk. 



EARLY FIELD LITERATURE. 



Editor Forest and Stream: 



I have the first volume of the Cabinet*, one of the earli- 

 est publications of its kind in the United States — which 

 I think must be rare, as it Avas not very liberally sup- 



?orted, and only reached the second volume, as I believe, 

 his volume was rescued from the great Chicago fire of 

 1871, where Vol. II. was consumed. 



Thomas Doughty, one of the publishers, was a well- 

 known landscape painter of that day, and most of the 

 illustrations of the work were from his pencil on stone, 

 and are very good; they are in colors, and are, T think, 

 equal to those of Audubon and Bachman. The Vhginia 

 deer, the ruffed grouse, the quail and the woodcock were 

 drawn from nature by Doughty, and are very lifelike 

 and spirited. So is the dra wing of the bighorn or moun- 

 tain sheep, which he calls the American argali; at that 

 time little known, and supposed to be the same as the 

 argali of Central Asia. 



To show how far away from the modern sportsman the 

 year 1830 was, I find in this work an elaborate defense of 

 the percussion lock, as against the older flint and steel, 

 which some conservative men of the period argued to be 

 superior to the new invention both in range and penetra- 

 tion. I myself well remember the discussion which ran 

 through the sporting papers of the day; and now the per- 

 cussion lock is itself superseded by the breechloader, and 

 that is contending against the hammerless. 



A writer in the Cabinet gives an account of grouse 

 shooting in Pennsylvania, in which two sportsmen kiUed 

 fourteen brace of pinnated grouse in two days. Even 

 then these birds were scarce, and the writer wisely 

 declines giving the scene of the exploit. 



On June 22, 1831, a pigeon match for $500 a side was 

 shot between two men of Philadelphia and two from New 

 Jersey. Philadelphia, 15, 19— 34. New Jersey, 17, 15— 32. 

 It is not stated whether flint or percussion guns were 

 used. 



Even as early as 1831 there was a scarcity of quail abcut 

 New York, and the sportsmen of that city were arrang- 

 ing to buy and protect through the winter 3,000 of those 

 birds. 



An angling club was formed in Cincinnati in 1830, the 

 proceedings of which are described. The meeting took 

 place at Whitewater, twenty miles northwest of the city. 

 About fifteen members angled there for one and a half 

 days with rod and reel and took 353 black bass and sal- 

 mon (pike-perch). The largest bass was taken by the 

 president of the club, and it weighed 51bs. 2oz. , and was 

 the largest bass ever taken by any angler from the waters 

 of the Miami. This seems to show that the size of black 

 bass has not diminished in fifty-eight years. The writer 

 goes on to describe the black bass and the sport of taking 

 it. His account reads like a chapter of Dr. Henshall's 

 book, except that in 1831 the minnow was used exclu- 

 sively. The present writer was one of the first to take 

 black ba-ss with the fly; this was in Wisconsin, about 

 1841. 



Fly-fishing for trout is treated in the Cabinet and the 

 article is illustrated by two colored drawings of red- 

 spotted and silver trout, done hy a lady. At that time 

 the big trout of Maine and the Lake Superior country 

 were little known, and a pound trout was considered a 

 prize. I have heard anglers disputing whether such a 

 fish as a three-pound trout existed. This, however, was 

 in New England, where hrook trout were plenty, but 

 small. 



I find nothing about trotting in the Cabinet, but a run- 

 ning race for a purse of $10,000 was run at Norfolk, Va., 

 on Nov. 2, 1831. Two-mile heats, Avon by W. R. John- 

 son's Annette, in two heats, 3:474 and 3:50. The next day 

 a race for $4,000, on the same course, won by Doswell's 

 Sally Hornet, four miles in 7:55 and 8:13. W. R. Johnson 

 was' the leading turfman of that day, usually called the 

 "Emperor of the Turf." I saw this same mare Annette in 

 1832 win a three-mile race in Charleston, S. C, and John- 

 son's famous gray mare, Bonnets of Blue, win a great 

 fom-mile race at the same meeting, against Col. Single- 

 ton's Clara Fisher, for $5,000, in 7:45. In those days a 

 horse vrhich coidd trot a mile in 2:30 was considered a 

 wonder. So that within fifty years the trotting record has 

 been cut down twenty seconds to the mile, and the run- 

 ning record of four miles from 7:45 to 7:20, twenty-five 

 seconds, this time having been made by both Fellowcraft 

 and Lexington. S. C. C. 



♦"The Cabinet of Natural History and American Field Sports," 

 Vol. I., Philadelphia, J. & T. Doughty, 1830. 



WooncHtTOK IK Tree,— Auburn, Pa., May 5.— I met 

 with: a new experience to-day, While drinking at a 

 spring near a piece of woodland, my attention Avas at- 

 tracted by the excited harking of my dog. Going to him 

 to ascertain the cause I found liim at the foot of a thrifty 

 young hemlock, some lOin. in diameter, and among the. 

 branches, at least 35ft. from the ground, rested a large 

 woodchuck, the forefeet over a branch, the others cling- 

 ing to the bark of the trunk. A few stones throAvn at it 

 caused it to shift its position and go 10ft. higher up 

 as readily as a coon might have done. A brisir Avalk of 

 fifteen minutes and I was back Avith my rifle, at the crack 

 of which it loosened its hold and came to the ground with 

 a big thump. The tree stood perpendicular without knot» 

 or limbs for the first 25ft. Is it not uncommon for them 

 to take to a tree?— Bon Ami. [A few years ago a number 

 of incidents of this character were related in our 

 columns.] 



