Dec. 19, 1889,] 



FOREST AND STREAM SUPPLEMENT, 



426 



timber the next morning. The woods I wanted were 

 palo crnz. moira caia-a-ri and moira. pinima (tertoise 

 shell wood). The latter is the most valuable and beauti- 

 ful wood known to commerce. My crew did not take 

 kindly to the change from lounging about camp to wood 

 chopping, but I was in earnest, and they got out a little 

 after sunrise for a tramp of two miles to a point where 

 Diego assured me there was plenty of moira pirvima. He 

 was right. The trees were plenty enough — for such a 

 crew of axemen as I had. It is true the trees were scat- 

 tering., after the manner of Brazilian forests, where you 

 may find 300 varieties of timber on a single square mile. 

 At the north, two-thirds of the growth on a square mile 

 would be comprised in from one to three varieties. 



We were, fortunate in finding a tree loin, in diameter, 

 which the natives declared to be muito grande (very 

 large), and Antone set in to fell it with a light, thick, 

 dull Brazilian axe. Our axes consisted of one clumsy 

 boat hatchet, one Brazilian axe, my pocket hatchet, and 

 a bright, keen, American axe, that 1 had put in order be- 

 fore leaving home. It was so sharp and thin that I was 

 shy of using it on the hard woods of the tropics. But, 

 after watching Antone hack and haggle for half an hour, 

 I lost patience and struck in on the opposite side; in less 

 than ten minutes I reached the dark, flinty heart, and 

 almost immediately broke a liberal slice from the lower 

 corner of the bit. Then I desisted and allowed Antone 

 to finish the job. 



The trunk made two straight logs of 9ft, in length, of 

 which the only part of any value was the heart, and this 

 was scarcely 5in. in diameter. All wood outside of the 

 heart was light colored like our hickory or maple, and 

 had to be hacked, hewed and split to get at the valuable 

 portion. It was a slow process. My thin, sharp axe did 

 more than half of the work, but when the sun set the 

 task was not finished. 



A single American axeman with proper tools would 

 have done the job in less than a day, and the two sticks, 

 9ft. long, and 4 to 5in. in diameter, would bring from $5 

 to $10 in New York, according to color and grain. Oc- 

 casionally an extra fine, dark colored stick of moira 

 pinima will sell for a fabulous price. I saw $20 offered 

 and refused for a small log 80in. long by Sin. thick. It 

 was in the hands of a Paraense cabinet maker, who got 

 it from the Madeira, and was the finest piece of tortoise 

 shell wood I ever have seen. I should say that a couple 

 of Yankee axemen, with two or three natives like Diego 

 or Antone, might make a paying thing of "getting out" 

 moira pinima and palo cruz. The labor of splitting and 

 hewing the outside wood from the heart could be done 

 with fine steel wedges and sharp axes in less than one 

 quarter of the time taken by the natives, and the supply 

 is never equal to the demand. 



My lumbering operations on the Trombetas were not 

 heavy, the stock consisting of five moira pinima sticks 

 from 6 to Oft. long. We could find no polo cruz. And 

 the moira cata-a-ri, of which more than half the trunk is 

 available, was too bulky for transportation in canoes. 

 Moreover, Antone took it into his woolly head that he 

 had the sezoengs, and went into hospital accordingly: 

 while Pedro, the Muri, was beginning to weaken with a 

 low fever. 



Old Dom Diego and I held out. It was a cause for 

 pride that, in the matter of health or endurance, I was 

 outstaying the natives: but it came to a crisis. 



One morning, in the hottest part of the dry season, I 

 awoke in a cold sweat, with a general disposition to shake 

 and clatter my teeth. I thought at first a cold wave had 

 swept down from the north; but, finding the mercury at 

 87°, I concluded that the caxoeiras were getting in their 

 work. I got half drunk on caehaca and quinine, which 

 quelled the attack for the time; but at night I had fever 

 and delirium, seeing tapirs, jaguars and peccaries enough 

 to start a small menagarie. I had sense enough to know 

 it was all illusion; but saw them just as plainly, for all 

 that. Another chill in the morning, more severe than 

 the first; more rum and quinine: and I ordered a move to 

 the lower barrata, to be followed by a move down the 

 river, unless there should be decided improvement among 

 the invalids. A night at the lower camp did not mend 

 matters in the least, and I decided to return. My crew 

 could not conceal their delight at this decision ; three of 

 them were sick, and all had a wholesome dread of caxo- 

 eiras, They had been passively obedient, and though a 

 little lazy, uncomplaining and faithful. They stowed the 

 ■montaria with eager alacrity; and at 9 A. M. of a parch- 

 ing hot day in September we swung out into the current 

 for the voyage to Obidos. 



A canoe voyage down stream is one of the most pleas- 

 ant things imaginable. No sail nor paddle is absolutely 

 necessary to progress. You can lounge, smoke, take in 

 the scenery, and possess your soul in patience, knowing 

 that every hour brings you nearer your destination. But 

 the crew were disposed to make time. Even the sick 

 Manoel handled his paddle with some vigor, and long be- 

 fore sundown we reached the bank where we had last 

 camped on our way up. Here, in an eddy formed by a 

 bend of the river, we found the swollen carcass of a huge 

 alligator, slowly turning round and round with the cur- 

 rent. Diego was positive it was the one I had shot above, 

 but to make sure, we laid him alongside and soon found 

 the two bullet holes, low down, and about 3Ln. apart. At 

 least one of them must have gone through the heart. 

 When I remembered the way his tail swept over me as I 

 flattened to the ground, I was not sorry for him. Judg- 

 ing his length by the montaria we estimated him as a 

 little over 25ft. in length, which I thought immense, 

 until I was assured on good authority that they had been 

 killed on the island of Marrajo considerably more than 

 30ft. long. 



As the river was low the cm-rent was not strong, but 

 we made good headway, for the men who were anxious 

 to reach Obidos and be paid off. kept the paddles going 

 pretty constantly. And the sick mended rapidly as w T e 

 got away from the malarial effects of the caxoeiras. 



Only one incident on the downward trip seems worth 

 special mention. We had landed on the left bank for 

 dinner about 2 P. M. on the second day; and, as the 

 walking seemed fine and dry to the eastward, I set the 

 compass (I always did that) and strolled into the forest 

 with the rifle, for anything that might happen to turn 

 up. In less than half a mile I came to a narrow igarape, 



over which was a fallen log on which I might have 

 crossed; but there happened to be a large wasps' nest 

 hanging over the log, and I did not wish to excite the 

 occupants. I quietly took a seat at the roots of a palm 

 tree, and had not been there five minutes when I saw a 

 beautiful onca. (tiger cat) come to the opposite bank and 

 gaze wistfully at the wasps' nest. The rifle came quickly 

 to shoulder. The onca stepped out on the log, intent on 

 wasps, when there was a sharp crack from the rifle, and 

 he went overboard with a bullet through his head. And 

 as he fell a swarm of wasps darted down on him and 

 fastened on his spotted sides. They were soon satisfied. 

 And at my side — as usual — there was the ever-faithful 

 Diego. 



He waited until the wasps were quiet, then crept out 

 on the log and recovered the onca. It was a beautiful 

 animal, lithe, graceful and with the yellow and black spots 

 of the large jaguar. 1 put him in the montaria, and 

 when we were afloat, spent the afternoon in taking off 

 and preserving the skin. But I had only salt and alum, 

 whereby it happened that the head spoiled, and I con- 

 verted the balance of the skin into a knapsack — which I 

 afterward lost by lending it to an honest friend. 



It was late on the third day when we came in sight of 

 the broad, open space of clear atmosphere, that told us 

 we were nearing the Amazon, and in an hour we were 

 passing to the left of the little island that divides the 

 mouth of the Trombetas into two channels. As we swung 

 around a bend into the grand river, the crew struck up 

 an Indian boat-song, and bent to the paddles with a vim 

 that brought us to the landing at Obidos in less than an 

 hour. Obidos is about five miles below the mouth of the 

 Tiombetas. In another hour I was swinging in my ham- 

 mock with all my impedimenta arranged about me. I 

 dismissed my crew with instructions to come back the 

 next morning for their pay; and addressed myself to 

 rest and sleep, for I was weak and exhausted. But the 

 padre and commerciante called around almost immedi- 

 ately, and the latter dragged me off to a late dinner, 

 which, after a month of boat and camp life, I enjoyed 

 hugely, though feeling far from well. The commerciante 

 suggested that I had better let him settle with my crew: 

 I w as paying them too much ; the month was not up, and 

 he thought he could save me several dollars. The propo- 

 sition was decidedly Brazilian. It simply meant that i 

 should pay him the money and leave him to cheat the 

 men with goods from his store. I explained that 1 had 

 already made advances, and had given my word to pay 

 the balance in coin of the realm; whereat he seemed dis- 

 appointed and a little less cordial. It is bad for Brazil 

 that she constantly cheats, discounts, overtaxes and de- 

 grades labor. 



I slept well that night, with no fever; and on the fol- 

 lowing morning all my crew were on hand betimes. 1 

 settled with them for the full month and paid them in 

 silver, besides making them presents of American knives 

 and Borba tobacco. They were more than well pleased, 

 and made some comparisons between American and 

 Brazilian gentlemen, not very complimentary to the lat- 

 ter. Diego urged me to employ him with his montaria 

 for a trip up the Tapajos in search of moira pinima, 

 which he declared to be plenty within 100 miles of San- 

 tarem; but I declined — and was afterward sorry. 



I spent a couple of days very pleasantly roaming 

 among the cocoa plantations between Obidos and Alem- 

 quer; and then the steamer put in an appearance opposite 

 the town on her downward passage. Dom Diego helped 

 me on board with my traps, and I bade adieu to the pleas- 

 ant little tropical town of Obidos forever. On the third 

 evening thereafter, I was lazily smoking and swinging a 

 hammock at my old quarters, the Hotel de Europa. 



Nessmuk. 



THE REPORTER. 



I WONDER if we have reporters in America ? What a 

 question ! Are not our newspaper reporters the best 

 and most indefatigable in the world? But I do not mean 

 the reporting homo; it is the reporting canis I am won- 

 dering about. Do we have reporting dogs in America ? 

 If so, I have not seen them, neither have I heard of 

 them. Our stories about the pointing dogs revolve about 

 "the point," and of the dog's sticking to it like grim 

 death. "He's so steady on a point that you can't kick 

 him forward on to the bird," says the dog trainer in high- 

 est praise of the brute he is trying to sell. And we all 

 recollect the story of the crack Western dog, thai was 

 lost at the close of a day's shooting. Search was made 

 next morning, and the dog was found in the brush, close 

 to where he was missed the night before, and still point- 

 ing the game he had come upon as darkness overtook 

 him. So I doubt if we have "the reporter" in the Land 

 of the True, and perhaps a word about him may not be 

 uninteresting to American readers. 



I was out partridge shooting in the south of Sweden in 

 the fall of 1884. I had a sprightly fellow, Joseph, as 

 guide and bearer of cartridges and game, and was shoot- 

 ing that day over an old German pointer a friend had 

 loaned me, so that I could give my own dog a day's rest. 

 We had enjoyed a fairly good day's sport, and toward 

 evening were returning down the valley of the river 

 Nissa, toward our headquarters at Oscarstrom. We were 

 tired, the shooting was over, and our dog was allowed to 

 roam at will. As we sauntered along I saw old Lila 

 make her appearance over the top of a distant heathery 

 ridge. She looked up and down over the valley, and as 

 soon as she caught sight of us came toward us in a 

 straight line on a brisk gallop, wagging her tail in a joy- 

 ful sort of way. Coming in she raised a forepaw, placed 

 it on my leg, looked up in my face, wagged her tail briskly, 

 turned about, took a dozen leaps back in the track she 

 had come, then looked around at me and wagged her tail 

 again. 



" Well, what does all this mean ? " asked I. 



" Oh ! Lila has got a covey of partridges over the hill 

 yonder, and has come in with the report," answered Jo- 

 seph. 



' ' Nonsense ! " 



But Lila rushed on a dozen steps more, looked back, 

 and seeing I did not follow, her came in, put up her paw 

 and again went through all her motions. 



" Well, old girl, lead on ! " I said at last, " we'll follow 

 and see what you've got at all events." So over the hill 

 we went, Lila leading and ever and anon looking back — 

 down across a valley, then straight up the further hill- 



side where she came to a point at a bunch of bushes. 

 Before I got within shot the partridges began to whirr 

 up; at least a dozen flew, but old Lila stuck now to her 

 point, and on my reaching her side the last bird of the 

 covey flew, which I knocked over and Lila retrieved, We 

 now hunted along the bosky hillside, and Lila pointed and 

 I shot six more of this covey, bringing up my bag for the 

 day to nineteen partridges and a hare. 



" You din't know Lila was a seporter ?" quoth Joseph. 



" No. I did not know before this day that there was 

 such a dog in the world." 



Since then I have made the matter of " the reporting 

 dog" the study of some leisure hours. The reporter 

 occurs most often among German pointers, or in crosses 

 between German and English pointers, but even among 

 them not more than one trained dog in twenty is a re- 

 porter. The trait is rare among English full bloods, and 

 I have never yet seen a setter report. 



It is asserted that a dog cannot be trained to report. 

 The reporting instinct must be born within him, and then 

 he takes to it naturally. I, however, am inclined to 

 think that any dog that "rings" game, or from any 

 cause breaks his point to take up another, may be trained 

 to report, by whistling him in, whenever he comes to a 

 point, and then advancing with him to the quarry. "Re- 

 porters" have different ways of imparting their informa- 

 tion; not every dog is so clear as old Lila. Some come 

 back only till they make themselves seen, then return 

 directly to the game. Others hop up on a hillock or 

 stone and jump and wag their tails till you approach. 



Here in Sweden a reporter readily sells for one-third 

 more than an equally good dog without this faculty, and 

 I can assure American sportsmen that the report lends 

 an additional pleasure to the chase. 



As the shooting season approached this year I looked 

 about for a reporter, and at last bought a large, powerful 

 pointer, a cross between the German and English. The 

 German dog is exceed ingly kind , faithful and obedient, 

 but too heavy and slow. The English pointer, with all 

 his good quality, is apt to be too hot and headstrong. 

 The half-breed is best for Swedish shooting, and, I be- 

 lieve, admirably adapted for America. - 



I shot black cock and capercailzie over Nero, and as 

 the season advanced partridges, but as I always kept well 

 up with him never saw him report, and had half forgot- 

 ten that he possessed the accomplishment. One day my 

 boot hurt me, and leaning my gun against a fence I sat 

 down, took off my boot, pulled off my stocking and made 

 a general readjustment. As I was lacing up my boot in 

 came Nero over a rise of the field, and looking up at me 

 turned about and came to a half point, then looking up 

 once more shot along the track whence he came. Fol- 

 lowing over the hills I came in view of the blue waters 

 of Lake Nefode: Nero was still rushing on in a straight 

 line over the field. When he reached the lake shore he 

 came to a point at a tuft of dry rushes. But it was an 

 easy kind of a point. Every few moments he looked 

 back at me, and expressed his satisfaction at my ap- 

 proach with one wag of the tail, which instantly stiffened 

 into business again. Reaching his side a little flock of 

 seven partridges hustled up, and I had the pleasure of 

 dropping a couple, and Nero the satisfaction of retrieving 

 them. Since then I let Nero hunt as far and wide as he 

 pleases, confident that he will come in and report all 

 game he finds out of my sight. I frequently whistle him 

 in when he points at a distance, and then advance over 

 the field side by side with him. Sometimes when Nero 

 points at a distance, and is sure that I see him, he will lie 

 down, so as not to scare the birds, rising on his forepaws 

 now and then and looking back at me if I make any un- 

 reasonable delay. 



The other day he came to a point far away over a vast 

 plowed field. Looking around and making sure that I 

 saw him, he backed in his tracks a dozen steps and then 

 disappeared from view as absolutely as if the black 

 plowed field had swallowed up his white body. We kept 

 on toward the spot where he was last seen, and after 

 some five minutes' plodding over the soft upturned earth, 

 Master Nero arose out of a dry ditch just in front of us 

 and quietly resumed his point. Coming up with the dog, 

 two great coveys of partridges arose, my friend made a 

 right and left shot out of the flock to the right and I took 

 a bird with each barrel out of the left covey. 



The trait of reporting causes a dog to be freer and 

 easier on his point, he is less like a cast-iron statue, more 

 like a reasoning being. 



As Nero and I advance on a running covey, he lifts his 

 ears, looks up at me and takes in the situation "like a 

 little man," pointing now here, now there, and ringing 

 the game in between us if necessary. 



A reporter really seems to go through a chain of reason- 

 ing something like this, "Here is game, but where is my 

 master? Of myself I can do nothing. Here's for it. I'll 

 go hunt him up, for it takes both of us to do the shoot- 

 ing." 



Frequently when Nero makes game I hide to see him 

 go through his motions. Gradually he stiffens into a 

 solid point, then loolrs around, first one side, then the 

 other. No master in sight. Then he slowly backs out of 

 it, step by step, a dozen steps or so; next he turns round 

 as slyly as a snake, then sneaks away, and in another 

 moment is in a full gallop toward where he last saw me. 

 I always meet him with a pat on the head and a "Bravo, 

 Nero!" It seems to me that the advantage of a reporter 

 is at once apparent, whether it be on the wide prairies of 

 the West, in the hill country of the East, or in the dense 

 woodcock coverts of New England. What a comfort and 

 luxury to have a dog who will come in and report game 

 and then lead you quietly to it. How many forced 

 marches in the alder swamps one might save, and how 

 lazily he could saunter along the ridges, leisurely waiting 

 for the report of his faithful four-footed friend. Ameri- 

 cans are never satisfied with anything short of the best. 

 If we have not the reporter in America, we have not the 

 best possible pointing dog. 



Is not the subject worthy the attention of our dog 

 breeders and dog lovers? Wl y not import the German 

 reporting pointer and cross with our best pointers of 

 English blood? Or why not develop and perfect the re- 

 porting instinct whenever it manifests itself among our 

 own dogs? 



Of one thing I am sure, the American sportsman who 

 has once shot over a reporter has experienced a new joy 

 in life, and this joy he will ever keep, if he can, among 

 the many pleasures which give zest to the life of the true 

 lover of the chase. Makstrand. 



Stockholm, Sweden. 



