2 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



[Jan. 24, 1889. 



EARLY MORNING IN THE WOODS. 



A BOVE the eastern mountain tops, 



A narrow line of gray 

 Proclaims the vanishing of night, 

 And coming of the day. 



Upon the lake the first pale rays 



Caress the watery plain, 

 While in the forest's lonely aisles 



Dark shadows still remain. 



The morning mist like drapery 



Hangs over reach and bay; 

 And through it, faint and fainter still, 



The shore lines fade away. 



The water with the vapor blends; 



The lake appears to be 

 As limitless as the ocean, 



An endless, unknown sea. 



But up the bay, the golden shafts 



Have pierced the mist y rim. 

 And in the distance, far and vague, 



I see the islands swim. 



Vast, dim and shadowy beyond. 

 The ghosts of mountains stand; 



Mysterious and stern as fate 

 They guard the silent land. 



The ripples lap along the beach 



In changing crystal linos; 

 On every leaf of birch and brake 



A dewdrop spangle shines. 



From stately pine and silver birch 



Sweet notes melodious ring. 

 As feathered songsters of the wood 



Their matin carols sing. 



And thus the glad day cometh on 



Across the mountain walls, 

 And down their ancient, rugged slopes 



A slanting splendor falls. 



Down through the whispering trcetops 



The yellow sunbeams pour, 

 And carpet with a cloth of gold 



The mossy forest floor. 



A silver light lo the westward, 

 To eastward, light of gold, 



And the spirit of the morning 

 To me a tale has told. 



W. A. B. 



A BREATH FROM THE MAINE WOODS. 



ICoiu ludcd from page MA.} 



ONE evening we were awakened by something gnawing 

 at the door, and on looking out there was seen a large 

 black porcupine, or "quill pig," as Bill called him, trying 

 industriously to get in, probably tempted by our provis- 

 ions. A shout caused him to scamper away and seek shel- 

 ter in the top branches of an ash tree close by. 



The day opened foggy and the Governor Coburn, which 

 was crossing the lake to the outlet, had the appearance of 

 a vessel standing out toward the open sea, the fog so 

 blended with the water on the horizon line. 



Bill gave us this morning an exhibition of one of his 

 accomplishments in the culinary art, frying flapjacks. 

 When the fritter was ready to turn he would take the 

 spider, and, with a dexterous turn of his wrist and a jerk 

 toss the delectable bit of dough into the air, and then 

 catch it the other side up as it came down. I never knew 

 him miss catching it just as he wanted it, and he would 

 never spill a drop of fat. After breakfast we crossed the 

 narrows and fished off a point, where a few days before 

 a Boston merchant had taken sixty -five trout with the fly, 

 but on this morning there were no fish there. We had. 

 however, fair success, keeping on the move, and landing 

 a fish now and then. Some of them were of good size, 

 and we caught both square-tails and togue till we had 

 quite a mess. Harry wanted one of the larger ones cooked 

 for dinner, and we returned to camp, where I left him and 

 the guide. 



I took the boat and rowed up the bay for a mile or more, 

 and then, seeing an opening in the forest where the water 

 appeared to set back among the trees, I pulled through 

 and found myself in a large lagoon of much greater area 

 than appeared from the lake. A row of trees and bushes 

 separated it from the lake, except at the narrow passage 

 through whicli I entered, and as I penetrated further, 

 other trees came between me and the opening. 



The lagoon was a good-sized pond, and the water being 

 so high there were no shores, the trees which surrounded 

 it standing m the water; so that I was literally afloat in 

 the forest. The silence was that of death. Not a breath 

 of wind; not a ripple on the dead water; not the rustle of 

 a leaf. There was no flight of birds; no movement of 

 animal life; no leaping fish; no hum of insects. 



The forest was damp and dark, and here and there 

 against the sombre background gleamed the white 

 bleached trunk of a dead pine, stretching out its sharp, 

 broken branches. Long festoons of gray moss hanging 

 from the trees added to the funereal aspect of the place! 

 Altogether it was the most lonesome, desolate place I 

 ever saw, and to add to its forbidding aspect, black clouds 

 were obscuring the sky. 1 wondered if such a scene 

 might not have been upon the earth in the old geologic 

 ages, and if some hideous antediluvian monster had 

 reared its head from the black water it would not have 

 seemed incongruous. Only one thing there was to re- 

 mind me of the world outside— a water-logged barrel 

 which had floated against some bushes and lodged there. 



I thought of Adirondack Murray's weird tale of the 

 lonely lake and the story which the keg told him; but as 

 this barrel did not have the appearance of having hidden 

 a miser's hoarded gold, I did not seek to investigate its 

 past history, but turned the boat and pulled back to the 

 opening through the trees and into the broad bay again, 

 and I was glad to leave the lagoon behind me. Before I 

 got back to camp the rain was falling, and I arrived just 

 in time to escape a severe thunder shower, which spoiled 

 the fishing for the balance of the day, A shower is not 



unpleasant, though, if one has good shelter over his 

 head, and we sat around the fire and listened to the drops 

 pattering on the roof and watched them through the 

 open door dripping off the leaves and spattering on the 

 ground. 



Late in the afternoon a heavy wind came up, and be- 

 fore bedtime there was a surf of which the ocean need 

 not have been ashamed. That night as we sat around 

 our fire Bill told us of his three-months' hunting trip for 

 fur during the winter, with Cy for a partner. 



Like all men whose lives were spent in woods. Bill was 

 inclined to taciturnity , but by questioning could be drawn 

 out, and would relate an interesting narrative. Life in 

 the forest, surrounded by the eternal silence of the wild- 

 erness, unbroken except* by the sounds with which nature 

 seeks expression, tends to make men reserved, and this 

 reserve, and the silent caution necessary to the successful 

 pursuit of the wild animals, becomes* a second nature. 

 "Bill," said I, "How would you like to live in the city ?" 

 "The city," repeated he, with a disdainful inflection of 

 his voice, "I have brothers in the city who want me to 

 come, but all my life has been spent in the woods, and 

 you might as well try to cage a wild man as to inclose 

 me in brick walls." 



In the morning it was still rough, but auother hard 

 shower beat down the waves, and after the rain we went 

 out. We had fished for some time and taken several 

 good fish, when a steamer from Kineo came through the 

 narrows and dropped her anchor. Three canoes were 

 dropped over the side, and in a few minutes as many 

 rods were whipping the water. The new comers were a 

 judge of the Supreme Court of Massachusetts, his brother, 

 and the gentleman who had taken the sixty-five trout the 

 week before; but on this day their success was no better 

 than ours, and most of the l'ish taken were caught by the 

 guides with bait. 



There did not seem to be many trout, or if there were 

 they were not very hungry, but after a while Bill said, "I 

 guess Ave'll get some fish uoav; there comes the Coburn 

 with her raft." It is a well-known fact that the trout 

 follow the timber rafts as they are towed across the lake, 

 and the unwieldy masses of logs move so slowly that a 

 canoe can be fastened to them, while the occupants angle, 

 for the trout which are sure to be underneath. The wind, 

 which had been so capricious all the morning, was fresh- 

 ening up again, and there was every appearance of a 

 heavy Woav, so when the Coburn got to the narrows she 

 tied her raft to a large tree, by means of a stout cable, 

 and leaving it in the bay went across the lake alone. 



A choppy sea Avas now tossing us about, and it was no 

 use to cast a fly, so we tied up to the lee of the raft, and 

 resorted to bait. We removed the flies from the ends of 

 our leaders, substituted hooks, and then fished under the 

 edge of the raft. Harry soon caught ahandsome speckled 

 trout, which weighed just 2.|lbs.,and before he had it off 

 the hook ] had one which fell short only a quarter of a 

 pound. 



We kept Bill busy with the lauding net, and did not 

 notice the weather, except that there seemed to be more 

 wind, till he suddenly exclaimed, "If we want to get 

 back to camp before that squall strikes us, Ave shall have 

 to hustle pretty lively." And no wonder, for on looking 

 toward the north, we saw that the horizon was entirely 

 obscured, and hidden by a dense Avail of clouds, as black 

 as midnight, and others were rolling in, and adding their 

 bulk to the inky mass, which was increasing rapidly in 

 height and breadth. The wind came in fitful gusts, and 

 a few large drops of rain began to strike the water. The 

 sky had become almost Avholly overcast, and Avas nearly 

 as dark as night, and Ave expected every moment that 

 the black squall would break. The trees had already 

 begun to sway. Bill sprang to untie the painter, and as 

 he did so I dropped my line over, and immediately I felt 

 the most vicious tug a trout had ever given to a hook of 

 mine. I struck and had him fast, and by the way my 

 line went out, I knew I had a good one. Bill had "been 

 so busy that he did not notice that I had a fish, and said 

 as he drew the painter in, "We've got to make her hum 

 or else get drenched," and then as he took the oars and 

 looked up he exclaimed "What have you got on that 

 line?" "1 don't know," I answered, "but it's' pulling like 

 a steam engine, and I wish you would get the boat away 

 from the raft, so as not to foul the line." 



" We haven't much time to fool away," said Bill. 



"I know it, but we must have this fish," and as my 

 captive had slacked up I began to reel him in. 



The boat was now tossing and slapping against the 

 wa ves, and as I was standing up to manipulate the trout, 

 I had about all I could attend to to retain my balance, 

 and keep one eye on the squall, and the other on the fish, 

 as it were. 



I worked him up nearly to the boat, and Harry had 

 the net all ready, when he began to fight again, and I 

 had to let him go. This time he leaped into the air, in 

 his endeavors to shake himself clear of the hook, and 

 Ave saw that he was a large square-tail trout. 



"Four pounds," observed Bill laconically, "He's a good 

 one, but get him in here as quick as you can." 



But the fish had some objections to make, and again 

 after getting him nearly in, I was obliged to give him 

 more line, but he was getting tired, and the next time, 

 Harry had the net under him and lifted him in. 



The moment Bill saw that he was in the net, his oars 

 went into the water, and Ave were making for camp at 

 a pace Avhich made the boat fairly fly. The muscles on 

 the guide's brawny arms stood out like cords, and he 

 pulled as I never saAv a man pull a boat before, but be- 

 fore we could make the shore, the squall broke. We 

 were nearly in, however, and just waiting to fasten the 

 boat, we made a break for the camp, and readied it Avith- 

 out getting very wet. Five minutes more would have 

 given us a drenching. Our friends from Kineo also 

 came to the camp, and we all dined together. 



The fire soon dried our clothing, and while the guides 

 were preparing dinner, we spent a pleasant half hour 

 chatting and watching the storm, Avhich was severe 

 while it lasted, but the waves were again beaten down 

 by the rain, and before our meal Avas over the sun was 

 struggling through the clouds. The steamer had an- 

 chored in the bay, just off the camp, and as the force of 

 the squall came in that direction, and the great raft was 

 to windward of her, one of the guides remarked, "The 

 cap'n better get out of that, or the raft will shove him 

 up on shore, high and dry, and smash his boat to kind- 

 ling Avood." 



It did not seem possible that the wind would move the | 

 great mass of timber lying so low in the water, but > 



when we went out after dinner, the raft was up against 

 the shore, and the steamer was in the lee of the point 

 across the narrows. 



Our carte civ , four that day at our Hotel des Forets was 

 as follows: 



POISSON. 



Truite. Togue. 



ENTKI515S. 



Pore sale frit. Pommes do terre. 



DESSERT. 



Flapjacks a la melasse. Pain et betirre. 



A'INS. 



Eau de Moosehead. 

 Cafe. 



If I could always sit down to dinner and have it relish 

 as that one did I should never complain, but. alas! no 

 city chef can give us that sauce piquante, which is con- 

 cocted of wild woodsy odors, pure air, aroma of balsam, 

 and evergreen and other ingredients, which are only to 

 be procured "under the greenwood tree." 



Dinner disposed of, we went out and cut large sheets of 

 birch bark to wrap our fish in, and then our friends bade 

 us "good-by," and Avent aboard the steamer. As it had 

 ceased raining, Ave decided to try our luck again, and 

 went up the bay. The raft was lying against the shore, 

 and Ave had to go out around it. We fished with small 

 success, the storm of the forenoon seeming to have driven 

 the fish away, but we caught two, Avhich weighed nearly 

 three pounds apiece. 



We spent most of the afternoon till it was time to re- 

 turn to camp, and then found that we had some hard 

 work before us, for the wind had veered around till it 

 blew directly through the narrows, and was kicking up 

 a nasty sea. 



I never saw a lake where a wind will spring up and a 

 sea begin to run as quickly as they will on Moosehead, 

 and on this trip we had a constant succession of calm and 

 Avind, sunshine and rain. If we could have kept along 

 by the .shore we should have had no trouble, but the raf t 

 prevented that, and we were obliged to go out around it, 

 with wind and sea dead against us. 



Bill took the bow oars, and I the others, and we started. 

 For a while it seemed that pull as we would we made no 

 headway, and it Avas about all we could do to hold our 

 own. 



We had to Watch every wave and hold her with all our 

 Strength as we went over, and then get in a few strokes 

 when we could; but the boat was staunch and strong, 

 and we kept her fiom taking any water aboard, except 

 in the form of spray. 



So we fought our way back for a mile, but finally 

 reached camp With Cut accident, and we were all glad 

 Avhen we were beneath its friendly shelter. 



My knee was blistered where I had braced it against 

 the side of the boat, and my arms were stiff from the 

 strain they bad. been subjected to. 



Soon after supper my companions went up the ladder 

 and disappeared through the trapdoor, which gave access 

 to our sleeping apartments; but I did not feel sleepy and 

 remained below alone. 



Outside everything was in total darkness; the wind did 

 not abate, and I sat there musing and listening to the 

 water, and to the mournful swaying aud rustling of 

 the trees and the soughing of the wind through their 

 branches. 



The fire had burned low, but still diffused a faint glow, 

 and the flickering light of a candle, stuck in a bottle iu 

 lieu of a candlestick, cast weird shadows on the walls 

 and in the corners. As I sat there alone in the dim light, 

 the sight of the rods, nets and creels, and other acces- 

 sories of outdoor life with which the walls Avere decor- 

 ated, started me into a train of thought which carried me 

 back to other days and other scenes, and in my reverie I 

 lived over again the happy old time of boyhood and 

 student days. There was nothing to disturb my retro- 

 spection, and out of the blackness of the night came 

 visions so vivid that they seemed reality, and not the 

 "unsubstantial fabric of a dream." Instead of being in 

 this lonely camp in the Maine woods, I was transported 

 by the swift flight of memory to an old brick farmhouse 

 on a Vermont hillside, from which I could look away over 

 a great stretch of hilly, rolling landscape, and down 

 through the peaceful valley of a pleasant river. 



Down there in the green meadow still flowed the brook 

 where I was wont to fish, where as a little lad I first 

 began to feel the witchery of nature's charms. There by 

 the bend was the big black rock, under Avhich Avas a 

 pool, where the fish loved to lie, and where I would peer 

 over and watch them gliding about in the shadow. 



Over there beyond the road still runs the old "Virginia 

 rail fence, with the row of elms and maples, where we 

 hunted gray squirrels and where I first learned to use a 

 gun. 



The fence ran back up into the Avoods and divided a 

 pasture from a cornfield; and when the corn was ripe 

 the squirrels used it as a highway and came down after 

 the sweet corn. 



The row of trees gave them shelter when alarmed, and 

 we would stand, one in the pasture and one in the field, 

 and as they dodged around a tree to escape one, the other 

 would be pretty sure to get a shot. 



How it all came back— all the little details. The 

 bushes and piles of stones in the angles of the old fence, 

 the woodcock burroAvs and the chipmunks and crows, 

 the hollow butternut tree, which had been struck by 

 lightning, and the gnarled old apple trees in the pasture. 

 I thought of these same scenes as I had looked on them 

 when snow lay deep on the ground, and I heard again 

 the rustle of the dead oak leaves whicli clung to the trees 

 long after the other leaves had fluttered to the earth. I 

 saw again the tracks in the clean snow of the little dwel- 

 lers of the woods — the rabbits and coons and foxes. Even 

 little incidents like the finding of a phebe bird's nest, 

 saddled on to the top of the stovepipe in the little red 

 schoolhouse, and a bluebird's nest in a hollow fence post 

 came to mind as if they Avere but of yesterday. 



Back up on the hill, behind the house, I saw in fancy 

 the great white quartz rock, where my brother caught a 

 big hawk in a trap. The rock is just outside the edge of 

 the woods, and not far aAvay is where he shot four coons 

 out "of one tree. The skin of the largest coon now serves 

 as a mat on the library floor and the hawk is perched on 

 top of the cabinet of birds' eggs in the hall at home; not 

 quite so fierce now as when he fought with Avings and 

 beak in his endeavors to escape from the steel trap which 

 gripped his ankle. From the hill I took one of these un- 

 accountable strides, which one's memory makes some- 

 times, to another brook, leaping noisily down a rocky 

 channel at the bottom of a steep-sided narrow ravine, 



