206 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



CAMPS OF THE KINGFISHERS.-X1. 



ECHO LAKE, ONTARIO, CANADA. 



IT was a long, hard pull to the Sault, and one not ac- 

 quainted with the river would be, tolerably certain to 

 miss the channel frequently, and more than likely get 

 lost in the dark among the many islands dotting the river 

 up toward the rapids. 



Cunningham was asked if he could find us a man who 

 knew the river to pull one of the boats, Charley and I 

 agreeing to follow in his wake in the other one, near 

 enough to keep from getting lost. He knew an Indian, 

 "Big Joe," who was just the man if we could get him, 

 "strong as an ox, and the best man with a boat in the 

 whole region." Joe was sent for, and brought another 

 much smaller Indian with him, and we recognized them 

 as the same two that had come to the camp after Louis, 

 "big Joe and little Joe" as they were called, and cousins 

 to Louis, as we afterward learned. 



Big Joe was a picture, over six feet in height, deep- 

 chested, broad-shouldered, with the prominent cheek 

 bones of his race, built from the ground up in perfect 

 proportion, with not an ounce of flesh on his big bones 

 that didn't belong there; his shirt sleeves rolled back, ex- 

 posing a pair of long, powerful arms, on which the cords 

 stood out like brown ropes, and straight as old Sam's 

 "tree box;" he was about as perfect a physical specimen 

 of a man as I had ever seen; and doubtless Cunningham 

 did not greatly exaggerate when he said he was "strong 

 as an ox." 



Asked what they would charge to pull the two boats to 

 the Sault, Joe said "a dollar and a half apiece and their 

 boat fare back in the morning," which was fifty cents 

 each. If he had doubled it we would have paid it just 

 as willingly, for the boats had to go back that night, or 

 we would be detained there another day and night. 



When the Indians got their suppers and reported back 

 ready for the start, it was D o'clock, and dark, except 

 for the faint light afforded by the stars. Charley volun- 

 teered to go along for company, but as he would only be 

 an additional weight to pull, it was decided that only the 

 "skipper" should make the trip, and at the same "time 

 learn, if possible, what had become of the other boat and 

 our two young comrades, for Uncle Dan was getting un- 

 easy about them. 



The larger boat had two sets of rowlocks and two pairs 

 of stout, tough, ash oars, and with little Joe at the bow, 

 big Joe at the after pair, and the skipper at the tiller, 

 with the smaller boat towing astern, we were off in the 

 darkness for a ride of twelve good miles, that will be re- 

 membered by the skipper as one of the "episodes" of his 

 life. 



Big Joe set a lively stroke from the start, and it was 

 kept up without the slightest noticeable variation, the 

 powerful sweep of the oars being as regular, and appar- 

 ently as tireless as the even throb of a smoothly running 

 engine. Once in a while he would lose the stroke for 

 half a minute, to dip up a drink of water from the river 

 with an old basin lying at his feet, and then the boats 

 would almost lose steerage way, but when he caught the 

 stroke again, a string of bubbles would go dancing by on 

 either side in the faint starlight, showing the increase in 

 the pace. The lesser Joe was made of good tough stuff 

 too, but he lacked big Joe's great strength and quickness. 



Big Joe was a wonder. Totally unlike Tom. he was a 

 good talker and spoke English very well. In fact he 

 talked all the way up in a natural tone of voice without 

 seeming to get out of breath on account of the violent 

 exercise; at least it looked to me like the hardest kind of 

 work, but he seemed to do it without the least effort. 

 He kept up his piston-like stroke, and at the same time 

 entertained me with hunting and fishing stories galore; 

 told me of" his adventures by flood and field, of his ex- 

 perience with hunting and fishing parties as guide and 

 cook, how he once packed ISOlbs. of provisions on his 

 back from the Sault, thirty miles back in the woods to a 

 lake for a party that had run out of grub; again how he 

 was caught in a storm in a small boat near Drummond 

 Island, while looking after some fish nets and tossed 

 about the upper end of Lake Huron for sixty hours, 

 without anything to eat before he was picked up. He 

 told me of his life, and family, and relatives, that there 

 were forty-seven of them of the same name — Lesarge — 

 and how his grandfather had died a short time before at 

 the great age of 102 years, instructed me how to build a 

 raft with no tool but an axe, how to construct a bark 

 camp, bow to smoke and cure a fish on green twigs over 

 a fire so it would keep fresh and sweet for days, and a 

 hundred other scraps of information that kept me inter- 

 ested from the time we left Cunningham's till we crossed 

 the river under the roar of the rapids. Big Joe was full 

 of the lore of the woods and the waters and good nature; 

 the lesser Joe seemed to be full of nothing but silence 

 and river water, and said not a word during the whole 

 trip. 



As we rounded a point a couple of miles up, the lights 

 at Garden River twinkled in the darkness a short dis- 

 tance ahead, and we pulled in to see if we could learn 

 anything of our stray boys. Entering the post-office and 

 store — a country post-office won't thrive without the in- 

 separable "store" — we stated our errand to the proprietor, 

 who said the boys had been there, but finding no mail 

 for them they had got aboard the steamer Atlantic with 

 their boat and gone up to the Sault. 



Back in the boat and out in the stream again, Joe 

 looked over his shoulder — he seemed to have a joint in his 

 neck like an owl— and to hold the boat for a certain star 

 hanging low down near the top of the hills, as he in- 

 tenued to edge over to the American side to avoid the 

 current as much as possible, and then he launched into 

 some more yarns of the woods. An interruption broke 

 the thread of his discourse a mile or more above Garden 

 River, when we had gone fifty yards or so past a house 

 near the edge of the water, but only for a minute or two. 

 A light flashed out over the water at the corner of the 

 house, and a shrill, piping feminine voice hailed, "Oh, 

 Mister Harrison, is that you?" "No, ma'm," answered 

 big Joe, as he dropped his oars and dipped up a drink 

 from the stream. "Oh, I thought it was Mister Harri- 

 son," and in the same breath, "did ye come up from 

 about the landin'?" "Yes, ma'm," Joe answered; and the 

 lesser Joe rested and scooped up a drink with the basin. 

 Again the piping voice pierced the darkness in search of 

 some more information, "How is the diptheery down at 

 the landin' — is it gittin' any better?" "No, ma'm, but 

 some of the children are," Joe replied; and the light went 

 out behind the corner of the house as suddenly as it had 



appeared, and the female went in, doubtless as full of 

 information— and wrath— as I was of laugh. Another 

 "episode," as old Sam would have happily figured it out. 



The four oars fell as one, Joe picked out another star to 

 steer by, and the boat was quartered across to the Canada 

 side to get into easier water. It was so dark that the 

 shore line could with difficulty be made out unless within 

 a few yards of it, and as we neared a point reaching out 

 in the stream the shadows were so delusive and mystify- 

 ing that I held the tiller a trifle too much " port," and 

 the boat crashed into the rocks with a shock that sent the 

 lesser Joe sprawling on his back over in the bow, and big 

 Joe nearly on top of him, while I was only saved from a 

 headlong dive under the thwart Joe had just vacated by 

 the firm grip I had on the tiller ropes. 



Reaching out quickly, the bow of the little boat towing 

 astern was shoved to one side barely in time to miss 

 crashing in the stern of the other one, and then when the 

 two Joes had got back on their thwarts, after a look to 

 see if any serious damage had been done, we backed out 

 and gave the point a. wider birth for a new start. An- 

 other " episode," which old Sam well would have greatly 

 enjoyed had he "bin thar," for Sam heartily relishes a 

 good episode. 



Again we crossed over to the American side, and fol- 

 lowed the dim outline of the shore for half a mile or 

 more, in the deep shadows of the hills frowning darkly 

 above us, and then back to the Canada side, which we held 

 till ready to cross the river below the rapids. After fol- 

 lowing this shore a while, Joe said we were nearing a widen- 

 ing in the river infested with numerous snialL islands, and 

 I w T ould have to keep my eye peeled, and be on the alert 

 to obey his order to " starboard" or " port" without fool- 

 ing away any time , and then his entertaining talk resumed 

 its flow where he left off. 



When we entered the widening, we ran into a fog so 

 white and thick that we could scarcely see the boat's 

 length into it, and I intimated to Joe that we were possi- 

 bly in a category, but he said it looked more like a fog to 

 him, and as he didn't seem to be rery well acquainted 

 with categories, the stroke and speed were kept up, as 

 though it were broad daylight and the sun shining. 



He seemed to know every current and eddy and chan- 

 nel in the broad river by intuition, but it was impossible 

 for me to steer with perfect certainty in the thick pall 

 that had settled on the water, even in accordance with 

 "his orders to the wheel," and two different times in less 

 than a quarter of a mile we tried to run over two differ- 

 ent rocky islands under "full steam," but fortunately no 

 damage of consequence resulted, only a good shaking up 

 all around. Had only Charley and I been together we 

 would have camped on the first island struck, and staid 

 there till the morning sun dispelled the fog. 



After the last "island episode" I had a notion that Joe's 

 faith in my ability to steer through the fog without run- 

 ning aground on every island in turn was a trifle 

 shaken, as he ordered the helm aport, and said we would 

 work over against the shore into a channel free of islands, 

 but the route would take us a little out of a direct line, 

 and make our time a few minutes longer at the Sault. 



Occasionally the lesser Joe would get tired, and let his 

 oars trail in the water while he rested a few rods — the 

 stroke was too quick for him — but big Joe appeared to be 

 absolutely tireless, and the boats were kept booming 

 through the water with a barely perceptible falling off in 

 the pace. 



Big Joe was indeed a marvel of strength and endur- 

 ance, and I caught myself wondering if the man was 

 made of iron, and his muscles fashioned out of steel, 

 with a boiler hid somewhere inside, carrying lOOlbs. of 

 steam to the square inch to furnish the jjowter; He 

 started out from Cunningham's with a quick, powerful 

 stroke, and I don't believe the strokes varied two in the 

 minute on the whole trip, except when he dipped up a 

 drink of water, when we stopped at Garden River, and 

 during the "episodes" that occurred on the way, and the 

 distance was made in a little less than four hours, towing 

 a jerking boat at the stern against a strong current a 

 good part of the time, and the last five miles in a dense 

 fog. Had we tied the little boat jam up against the 

 stern she would have towed much easier, but it would 

 have interfered with the working of the rudder. 



We were now in hearing of the rapids, and all we had 

 to do was to keep the boats in the water, and not try to 

 climb the bank. Sometimes we would get so close in, 

 the trees would be hanging over us through the fog, and 

 once we had to go around a long point reaching out in 

 the river, but Joe seemed to feel when he was within a 

 few T yards of it, and with a "Hold her out a little more," 

 we passed around, with the starboard oars striking the 

 rocky bottom as we went by. 



The fog was a regular old-fashioned "Scotch mist," 

 and my coat — not a heavy one — was wet through on the 

 shoulders, as well as my arms and legs where exposed, 

 and the air had turned quite cold, and I was chilled to 

 the bone, and cramped and doubled into the semblance 

 of a figure 5 from long sitting in one position, and I 

 heartily wished the voyage at an end. 



Joe said from the sound of the falls we must be very 

 near the town, and just then a light shone dimly through 

 the fog almost over us, and in a moment we were right 

 under the stern of the Atlantic lying at her dock, which 

 was barely missed by jamming the tiller hard-a-starboard, 

 so closely had he calculated the distance from the shore, 

 for we could see it no more than if we had been in the 

 middle of Lake Superior. With the roar of the rapids on 

 the starboard beam to steer by, we soon slowed up on the 

 other side of the river, to feel our way through the fog to 

 a landing place. For the last mile or two we had been 

 looking for the powerful electric light at the lock, which 

 could be seen for five miles, Joe said, on a clear night, 

 but not until right at the dock could we see it, struggling 

 faint and dim through the drifting mist with a brighter 

 gleam at intervals, like the fitful flashes of a feeble fire- 

 fly. Pulling slowly along down the dock, feeling our 

 way the while till we found the slip where the boats 

 belonged, they were made fast, and I got out, stiff, sore, 

 wet and chilled, but glad to be once more on solid ground 

 where I could cut a few capers and work the kinks and 

 cramps out of my benumbed legs. The two Joes were in 

 better trim, as pulling the boats had kept their blood in 

 circulation, and they were little the worse for the trip; 

 big Joe was not even tired. Big Joe Lesarge is still a 

 wonder to me. 



We found our way into a street, dim, dark and deserted 

 at this hour of the morning, and following it through the 

 gloom a short distance, f ortunately ran across, and nearly 



over, a friendly policeman, who put us on the trail to 

 Everett's house, where, after some vigorous knocking, he 

 was roused out, the boats paid for, and our mission was 

 accomplished. 



Everett said the boys had returned the other boat the 

 previous evening, and as every thing was now squared 

 to his pleasement, we searched our way back through 

 the fog, till we found the "Messenger" lying in her slip 

 below, got the clerk out under a protest of growls about 

 "waking people up at 1 o'clock in the night," went to 

 bed to have a sure thing on not getting left in the morn- 

 ing, and slept solidly, till awakened "by the working of 

 the engine, as the boat backed out of the slip to go up to 

 her dock in front of the town. 



I looked for the stray boys to come aboard and go down 

 with us, but saw nothing of them, and no time being 

 left to hunt them up, they were left to follow when the 

 spirit moved them, or stay there the rest of the season, 

 as they chose; their erratic "gaddim 'round'' having 

 about exhausted the small stock of patience I had left 

 on hand for the next "shipwreck." 



A friendly morning breeze had blown the fog from the 

 river, leaving only a few straggling wisps of mist cling- 

 ing along the shore, and around under the lee of the 

 islands here and there, as reminders to the two Indians 

 and the "skipper," of the episodes of the night before. 



At Cunningham's we took the boys and the calamities 

 aboard, shook our Samaritan friend and the Indians a 

 kindly good-bye, waved our hats courteously at Mrs. 

 Cunningham standing in the store door — may her days 

 be full of happiness for her kindness to the "Kingfishers!" 

 — and were off again in search of a new camp, and glad 

 to get out of a region that had bowed us down under a 

 burden of big trout— (stories) echoes, "shipracW and 

 "episodes," albeit the kind treatment received at the 

 hands of the Rnttles and Cunninghams more than made 

 amends for the disappointments and back-sets that had 

 betaken us since Captain Tate stranded U3 at the sawmill 

 dock, through too much "tamperin' with the critter." 



Happily we saw nothing more of Captain Dave after 

 he disappeared in the woods back of the mill, carrying 

 his skin full of "snake breeder" and the marks of the 

 "wollopin' " administered by the big engineer as remind- 

 ers to him that "the ways of the bibulous bring them at 

 last to grief." 



Nor did we see anything of our friend from Detroit*, 

 but this was a disappointment, for Brother Fritz was 

 one of our kind, and a sportsman "of many parts," He 

 got as far as the Sault, he afterward informed us by let- 

 ter, but having promised his wife not to go beyond reach 

 of telegraph communication, on account of sickness in 

 the family, he had taken the back track next day for 

 Mackinaw City, where a dispatch awaited him to corns 

 home at once; and we thus missed a chance of judging 

 his attainments as a beguiling "fi-h liar" in the flicker of 

 a camp-fire, for which Knots said he had a high and unr 

 tarnished reputation. 



As we passed by the sawmill, Captain Barker was re- 

 minded of the unpleasant predicament he had left us in 

 the previous evening, but he "crawfished" out of the 

 responsibility by saying he was at supper at the time and 

 didn't see us, else he would have landed and taken us 

 aboard; and the unctuous mate, who was at the wheel, 

 said there was a bad bar running out in the stream above 

 the mill that would have delayed them some time in get- 

 ting around had he made the landing at the dock, and he 

 didn't know it was our party, and he couldn't stop the 

 boat without orders, etc., etc., all of which was highly 

 satisfactory to them, but mighty "onsatisfyin' " to us, 

 who bad been put to a deal of inconvenience and trouble 

 because they chose to be pigheaded and disobliging to 

 their fellows when in a "category." 



But we were in a better humor than we were the night 

 before, and as we had in reality lost no time, the hatchet 

 was buried and we turned to the enjoyment of the scen- 

 ery along the course of the grand old stream, of which a 

 lover of nature can never grow tired. 



About 6 o'clock in the evening we were once more in 

 Mackinaw City, bothering our friend Carpenter, of the 

 G. R. & I. R. R., about another camping place, but 

 having "a leanin' that way himself," he is always ready 

 and willing to help a brother angler with his advice and 

 services without leaving the impression that he owns the 

 road , a disease that frequently crops out on the average 

 station agent with alarming and sometimes fatal symp- 

 toms. 



We had thought of making a camp in Carp Lake, 

 seven or eight miles down the road, but he thought 

 Douglass Lake, about half way between Mackinaw City 

 and Petoskey and six miles off the road, would suit us 

 better if we could get boats, and after dictating a few 

 inquiries that covered the case, a brief talk Dy wire with 

 the agent at Pellston and a wait of half an hour or more 

 brought back the information that he had hired a team 

 to be on hand when we arrived in the morning, and had 

 also secured two boats, and there were a couple more 

 that we could hire when we got to the lake. 



This was better luck than we had been used to, and old 

 Sam at once pronounced it "a heap the best episode that 

 had hit us." 



In the morning Dan decided to wait for the two 

 Decatur boys, and give them his "blessing" when they 

 did come for the worry and anxiety they had caused 

 him, and the Jedge's business calling him home, there 

 were but four of us left to go on and make the camp. 

 However, the truants came down on the Jay Gould that 

 evening, and were at camp next morning, ready for an- 

 other lesson in pitching a tent under the watchful eye 

 of Uncle Dan, this time without the annoyance of the 

 blackfly. 



Just as we got the last of the calamities out on the 

 platform at Pellston, and the train was starting, old 

 Knotts startled us with, "Where's my trunk?" and with- 

 out waiting for an answer, swung on to the step and dis- 

 appeared in the baggage car as the train moved off. The 

 engine was, in railroad parlance, one that "picked up 

 quick," and before 200ft. from the platform was going at 

 a lively speed. 



As the train was just then passing over a short "fill" of 

 loose sand 10 or 13ft. high, Knots appeared on the lower' 

 step of the baggage car, and without hesitation sailed out 

 in the air, with arms and legs extended like the sails of 

 an ancient windmill, or, as old Sam made it out, "Like a 

 great fat water spider doin' a flyin' trapeze act without 

 the trapeze." He struck the loose sand on his feet with- 

 out the usual dull thud, pitched heels over head, and 

 rolled over four or five times to the bottom of the em-' 



